Richard Simmons, I Hardly Knew Ye

Last Sunday, Marshal Latham contacted me to offer his condolences at the loss of Richard Simmons.  Huh, I thought.  The next day, Big contacted me to ask why I hadn't done a blog post memorializing Simmons.  After all, he died on my birthday.*

Years ago, when I first moved out to L.A., the only work I could get (not unlike today, I suppose) was extra work (which I enjoyed, don't get me wrong).  But the lowest rung on the ladder of extra work was being an audience member on a talk show or game show.  They would pay you to sit and applaud for the taping of the show, and then you'd either sit for another episode, or drive home, knowing that what you made today would barely feed you for the next twenty-four hours.

I did audience work for shows hosted by Craig Kilborn, David Allan Grier, Alan Thicke, and Roseanne Barr (oh, and "Win Ben Stein's Money"), and one day, I was booked to sit in the audience for "The Richard Simmons Show."  Now, everybody knew Richard Simmons from the Eighties, but always more of a punchline than a real celebrity.  He was so odd and flamboyant, like Liberace in short-shorts, but a very positive person, who helped fat people become less fat, probably by the millions.

I sat in the audience and was struck by how sincere he was, happy to have a show, and eager to use his little forum to brighten folks's day.  His first guest was Michael York, there to promote the second AUSTIN POWERS (everyone in the audience got a--get this--free VHS copy of the first movie, which I already had on DVD), and his second guest was an unwell civilian woman who Richard had helped feel better about herself.

Big Anklevich remembered me telling him that I was moved to tears by her story, so, at the end of the show, when Richard Simmons stood there and asked who in the audience wanted to hug him . . . I ran up and did so.  Yes, I made fun of the fact that he was oily and in a tanktop, but I had been genuinely impressed by his exuberance and decency, and from that point on, when I made fun of Richard Simmons, I did it with affection.

So, the man slipped from the public eye for the last few years, alarming some (I vaguely remember standing in front of a People magazine with the headline What Happened To Richard Simmons? in 2020 or so), and the last I heard from him was when it was announced that--ugh--Pauly Shore wanted to play him in a biopic.

He died at the age of seventy-six, from natural causes.  And I hope he was remembered for his sparkling personality and big heart, as well as his oddness and camp appeal.

As foul and obnoxious as Pauly Shore is, he's no Richard Simmons.  Richard Simmons was one of a kind.

*Can you imagine if some celebrity you loved died on your birthday (although, technically, Lon Chaney Jr. did)?  Conversely, can you imagine if a celebrity you HATED died on your birthday?

Donald Sutherland R.I.P.

Today I finished editing an upcoming Outcast called "All's Well That Ends Well," where I talk about four of my favorite movie endings (and one television episode ending), the first being INVASION OF THE BODY SNATCHERS from 1978.

I drove home from the cabin, and when I got phone reception again, I had a message from Marshal Latham asking me if I wanted to watch INVASION OF THE BODY SNATCHERS (both versions) with him to review on our movie podcast.  A little bit strange, but I didn't think anything of it until I got a message from my buddy Jeff asking if I wanted to watch INVASION OF THE BODY SNATCHERS (1978) with him.  

Very strange.

Well, it wasn't a coincidence, or just the fact that INVASION '78 might be my favorite remake ever*.  It was on the news that he had passed away.

Years ago, I worked on "Commander-In-Chief" for a day over at Raleigh Studios, and there was Sutherland, looking unpleasant and intimidating (as usual--the guy just had the most villainous face even though he surely played good guys more often than not), and I told him that when I was a kid, I was afraid to sleep with the window open because I was afraid of the plants from BODY SNATCHERS getting me.  And he laughed, like he'd never heard somebody say that before.**

Anyway, he died, at eighty-eight years old, and Deadline said he was best remembered for playing President Snow in the HUNGER GAMES films.  I initially took umbrage at that statement, since he'd been a working actor for decades before that, but after I thought of it, I figured that even with his hit films, like MASH and BACKDRAFT and A TIME TO KILL and JFK, you put the box office of every one of his movies together, it wouldn't equal what the HUNGER GAMES flicks made.  So, okay.

*Really, what else would even be on the list?

**He HAD to have, though, right?  I mean, a hundred times over the years?

R.I.P. Roger Corman

Over at the Outfield Excursions podcast, Marshal Latham and I have reviewed a handful of movies, but there has been one director we've gone back to again and again, and that is Roger Corman.  Corman, often known as the King of the B-s, was one of the greats of the 20th Century, directing, then producing more films than we could ever possibly review (although we never did get to WASP WOMAN, Corman's 1959 "hit").

Corman died this week, at the ripe age of 98.  

You know who Corman was, right?  Director of the Vincent Price Poe Cycle of movies, the man who gave a start to Ron Howard, Francis Ford Coppola, Jack Nicholson, Joe Dante, Dennis Hopper, Jonathan Demme, Martin Scorsese, and James Cameron.  The man who produced more schlock than, jeez, anybody I can think of.

But I appreciate schlock myself.

I'm reminded of the summer between my Junior and Senior years at college, when those of us in the Film program who weren't getting married that summer, volunteered to be interns in Los Angeles, to be placed (at random) at a variety of different companies and businesses, to get experience, make contacts, and in my case, run a Xerox machine for hours at a time.

I was placed with a low- to mid-level talent agency, which I do not disparage (at the end of the summer, they offered me a full-time job there, and I always wonder what would've happened had I taken it, instead of coming back the next year and being told they had no position for me or even memory of my time there).  But the point is, one of our group (not me, unfortunately) was placed with Roger Corman's company, Concorde/New Horizons.  At the end of our days/weeks, the group of interns would get together and talk about what sorts of things we had done that week, and Erik, that one guy, told mind-boggling stories of Corman's company making him work on actual productions, doing whatever had to be done, including playing a henchman who had to tie Michelle Lintell to a chair.  Poor guy absolutely hated that.*

Anyhoo, the man died, and I should have written more . . . except I never met the man, and he was finished directing movies by the time I was an adult who could recognize any director's body of work other than Spielberg (and Hitchcock, I suppose).  But he made a huge mark, and to my surprise, he got an honorary Oscar in 2009, for his mark on cinema and encouraging filmmakers who went on to much greater things.

Like Jim Wynorski, famed director of SORORITY HOUSE MASSACRE 2 and 3 (which are the same movie, just in different locations).  Oh, and a remake of WASP WOMAN.  Hmmm.

*Am I exaggerating?  No, if anything, I'm underselling it.  He bitched about working on an actual set (as an unpaid P.A., sure, but still), with lights and makeup and fight choreography and everything, while the rest of us had to learn how to get coffee and replace toner cartridges in copy machines.

Matthew Perry 1969-2023

It was November 4th, 1994, and I turned on the television for something to do (it was a Thursday, and Thursday night always meant something good on NBC, ever since "Cheers" debuted in 1982).  The show that was on had already started, so I didn't know what it was called, but a likeable, sarcastic young man named Chandler got stuck in an ATM vestibule with a Victoria Secret model during a blackout, while his buddies back in their apartment have various hijinks.

At one point, trying not to seem nervous in front of her, Chandler tells the beauty (Jill Connick) that "Gum would be perfection."  Of course, he then questions his choice of words (in an inner monologue that was--I think--absolutely unique for the series).  I didn't know the name of the show, but I knew how hard it was making me laugh, and that I liked the characters, especially the one I mistook for "the main guy."

Matthew Perry as Chandler Bing was my favorite of the "Friends," a series I watched religiously (even it's mediocre third season) from that point until its finale a decade later.  I know the show has its haters, but in a time when I was lonely and all-too-aware of the fact, I really considered these six fictional characters my friends, and looked forward to watching the show each Thursday, whether I had roommates to watch with me, or all by myself.

Over the years, they gave the character all sorts of interesting quirks and developments, and I was extremely pleased when they introduced a romance with Monica Geller, new insecurities that came with being with her (such as abiding her obsessive cleanliness and measuring up to the perfect ex-boyfriend played by Tom Selleck), and I ultimately rooted for the two of them to live happily ever after, rather than the constant focus on Ross and Rachel in the first few seasons.

There were good episodes and lesser ones, great laughs and small chuckles, but when all was said and done, I felt the show deserved its enormous spotlight, and I followed Perry to other projects, like FOOLS RUSH IN, "Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip," and those two NINE YARDS movies he made with Bruce Willis.  Heck, I even watched "Go On" until it was canceled, and "Mr. Sunshine" until I couldn't stand any more.

Well, it was with sadness that I read today that Matthew Perry, TV's Chandler Bing, was found dead, of an apparent drowning in his hot tub.  He was fifty-four.  

Rest in peace, my friend.  Gum would be perfection.

Two Strikes, You're Out

I'm at the cabin, and yesterday afternoon, as I was doing some audio editing (a Ray Bradbury story that's possibly his most famous, but one I don't like at all . . . so why would I present it on my show?), there was a loud BANG to the right of me.  I knew what it was immediately (it had happened before): a bird had flown into the window.  There have been a number of times when I've gone to the upper deck and found a dead bird up there, and no doubt, that was the reason why.  But this time, it startled the crap out of me, but I got up and went out there, and found a large brown and orange bird (I thought it was a woodpecker for the moment I saw it) awkwardly walking on the deck.  The second it saw me, it flew away, but it had left a telltale grey mark on the glass* and a couple of white feathers on the sill.  I felt bad for it (I feel bad for a lot of injured or dead animals, leading me to free the squirrels I caught in the traps around the building, and even going so far as to pity the yellowjackets I swat when they get inside and buzz around the east window), but was glad it was alright.

I kept thinking about how hard it hit the glass (imagining Alfred Hitchcock-esque scenarios), and ended up writing a story about it once the sun went down (one I'll surely never share with anyone, but pretty much wrote in one day), and that was it.  I wasn't going to mention it to anyone, and certainly wouldn't have blogged about it.

Now it's the next day, and I was reading instead of writing or editing (sorry), when, to my right, on a different window, came another meaty THUMP.  It startled me, though not as badly, and I got up to see if it had been the same bird.  

It was, but this time, he wasn't getting up.  It was fluttering its wings, its little claws opening and closing, its mouth agape, and a long thin tongue lolling out like you see in the movies.  Before my eyes, its movements ceased, and its eyes actually closed as it died.  There was another grey mark on the glass where it hit, but I swear, this one hadn't struck nearly as hard.  My guess is, the poor thing's neck was broken, but the time between flying into the window and being dead was less than a minute.  Unfortunate, beautiful animal, and now it was gone for no reason.  

The story I wrote last night was meant to be scary, since that's how I'd reacted, but if I wrote one now, it would just be sad.

*I tried to get a picture of it just now, but you just can't see it amid the mid-day reflection.

Queen of Rock & Roll 1939-2023

 Tina Turner, the Queen of Rock and Roll, passed away. I was a fan.

The first time I ever watched "Saturday Night Live" by myself (a lovely tradition I've continued for nearly forty years) was not for the guest host or the cast, but for Turner, who was on the radio with "What's Love Got To Do With It" at the time.

Anyway, Tina Turner died today, at age eighty-three.  She'd been sick for a while, living out her final years in Switzerland, where she had repatriated a decade ago.

Big Anklevich has told me time and time again over the years how much he hated Turner's music, mostly due to her voice (which Juggy Murray, president of her first record label, described as "sounding like screaming dirt."), but it's never come between us as friends.  After all, he knows what I think of his favorite band.

Something remarkable (and unheard-of in 2023) is that, when I first became a fan, when "WLGTDWI"" and "Private Dancer" and "We Don't Need Another Hero" and "Better Be Good To Me" came out, she was already in her forties, having been half of Ike and Tina Turner in the Sixties and Seventies.  But she had this enormous comeback, with hit after hit, like "Simply The Best" and "Typical Male" and "I Don't Wanna Fight Anymore" and the theme to GOLDENEYE, and when Big and I talked about her silly title ("The Queen of Rock & Roll"), we couldn't really come up with somebody else who deserved it more.*

We took a few minutes going through honorific titles for various other artists (there was a whole page for it on Wikipedia), playing a sadistic game where I would ask Big who was known as The Chairman of the Board, or The Voice, or Godfather of Soul, or the King of Swing, or The Artist.  Before I knew it, I had wasted two of Big's precious hours with the game, and he hung his head in shame.

Anyway again, I wanted to say something, because I was a big fan, and was happy to see her get the recognition she had earned from such an enormous career, and music that reached me so profoundly that I still remember that first SNL I watched, waiting to hear that song.

"Who needs a heart, when a heart can be broken?"

*Except Carly Rae Jepsen.  We both agreed on that.

7-30 and 7-31

7-30

I got one of those fun "Prove it's really you" tests over on Paypal today, where it wanted me to confirm my identity by sending me a text to my phone, then I had to type it in on the computer before the time elapsed.  No big deal, right?  Except for once I typed it in, I got the error, "Sorry, unable to verify your ID," and it wouldn't log in.

Didn't quite get 700 words today.  I kept trying to find synonyms for "concern" and "worry."  There aren't a lot, at least in my mind.

Anyway, I'm gonna head home and get some more reading done.  I'm in the home stretch now.

Oh, hey.  CatsCast asked if I wanted to do another story for them already.  I'll have to come up with something funny to say in my bio.

Writing or Exercise: Writing

7-31

So, last week, David Warner died.  He was an excellent actor, nearly always playing bad guys (in TRON and TIME BANDITS and TIME AFTER TIME and even TITANIC), and played Gul Madred in the excellent two-part "Chain of Command" episode on Star Trek: TNG.  David Warner was cool, and because he died while I was reading Abbie's book, I thought I'd try and make one of the new characters sound like him.

The same day, Paul Sorvino died, who had a great film career . . . but also played Worf's foster brother on a seventh season TNG episode called "Homeward."

And then today, Nichelle Nichols, who played Lt. Uhura on the original "Star Trek" (and six movies), passed away too.  She was 89.

My friends and I were always disappointed that Uhura had nothing to do on the show, especially knowing how important she was in inspiring so many people to pursue communications, linguistics, and the space program.  And hey, anybody who was on the original "Star Trek" is pretty great, between you and me.

There were so many tributes, both from Trek alumni and from others, and that was great, but Pat Carroll, who played the GOAT of all Disney villains, Ursula the Sea Witch died that same day, and I wished she'd had a day of her own to be appreciated.

I had a long drive in the morning, which is pretty irresponsible considering the price of gas (which has dropped more than thirty cents since the start of July, so it could be worse), but there was a guy who's moving and wanted to get rid of some of his figures, and the deal was good enough I was willing to make the drive. 

I made sure to finish reading Abbie's book, though it didn't take much (the last several pages were author's notes, and I had read those as I went along).  Then my nephew wanted to ride his little bicycle around, so I told him I'd take him to the park, and he could bike while I ran.  It was hot and fairly miserable, but we went all the way around, and I did the stairs three times (well, four times, technically, since there's another set of much steeper steps on the far side of the park).  Afterward, I got him (and me) a Slurpiee, and figured we'd both earned it.

Writing or Exercise: Exercise

Blog 4/29 - 5/1

 4/29

Wow, I've come to the library five days in a row.  The people who work here must think I haven't got a life.  Pretty perceptive, the people here.

Comic artist Neal Adams died today at eighty.  He was an excellent Batman artist in the Seventies, worked on the X-men at the end of its run (when the art really got good), and was the artist on Green Arrow when it was revealed "My ward Speedy is a junkie!!!"  

He was very active at conventions, and I wish I had spoken to him more before he died (but he was before my time reading comics, and I was never much of a DC guy to begin with).  He was a co-creator of Ra's Al Ghul, Man-Bat, and was responsible for bringing the Joker and Two-Face into their modern, twisted versions (from the lighter, sillier Silver Age incarnations).

On the "Balms & Sears" front, I got to the part in the story I started writing in 2018 or '19 where a character says "faggot" and Alec's friend Chase (who is in the closet) tries to talk him out of using that word.  It's a difficult scene, because in my day, we used that word all the time, and the student that uses it doesn't mean it as hate speech, just as a casual angry word.  I'm not sure we live in a world where a character can say that and not seem villainous, you know?  And it makes me wonder if I'm a villain if I use it in my story, regardless of context.*

4/30

This marks six days in a row at the library.  But I don't know if today counts.  I was anxious to record a bit for a future podcast, so I took my microphone with me on the drive, and then I wanted to say more, so I just sat in the car with the windows closed for twenty minutes recording, despite the library closing in half an hour. 

When I finally came in, I had sweated through my shirt, which is pretty embarrassing.  But hey, maybe people just thought I didn't know how to work a drinking fountain.

The book now sits at 35,691 words.  But of course, only 34,000 of those are actual story.  To my horror, as I was typing this, I realized I had not emailed myself the work-in-progress.  I'd be logged out in two minutes (although they've screwed me twice before on that, logging me out before the timer reached zero).  I didn't do a great deal of writing today, but any loss is a pain, you know?

Gosh, I wish I were a better writer, and successful at it.  But it's something I love to do, so that's a huge point in its favor.

5/1

It's a new month, with a chance to start again, and get things done.  I wrote and/or exercised every day but one in April.  We'll see if I can do better in May.

May is a cool month.  Well, I'm a fan.

I mostly drove around, talking to Big Anklevich and podcasting today.  Guess all I can say about that is, Buh!

*Like that listener of my podcast that said I was basically a white supremacist for saying the n-word in somebody else's screenplay years ago.

Gilbert Gottfried R.I.P.

Gilbert Gottfried died today.  He was sixty-seven.  

While best known as the voice of Iago in ALADDIN (whoops, I've got to put 1992 on there now, damn you, Disney), he had a pretty widespread career, from being a SNL cast member that terrible first year without Lorne Michaels, to having his own hit podcast just this past year.  I was surprised--still am, actually--to discover how many other people thought he was a hilarious comedian.  I tried, over the years, to do a Gottfried impression, and could never quite get it right.

His voice was so gross, and his little scrunched-up face was like an apple left out under a tree.   He got it right, though.  A funny, funny man.

I'd tried to find a picture of him doing "the voice."

His jokes were always so crass and so shocking (" I ran into Jackie Onassis at a party, and broke the ice by asking, 'Do you remember where you were when you heard JFK was shot?'") that you'd laugh twice.  His style was not for everyone, but hey, it was style. 

R.I.P. Ivan Reitman

Sadly, filmmaker Ivan Reitman died over the weekend.  He was, of course, most famous for directing GHOSTBUSTERS, which was a seminal film for those in my generation (and one of the first films I ever saw twice in theaters, it played so long).  He's also known for STRIPES, TWINS, MEATBALLS, KINDERGARTEN COP, and DAVE.

I met the man back in 2000 when I worked a few days on his film EVOLUTION.  I played a student, a soldier, a partygoer, and an ice cream shop employee, and had a good time working on it.*  I'll always remember the seventeen-and-a-half hour day I spent on it, the longest one of my experience, and the shouts of joy from the Union members when they reached the sixteenth hour and "Golden Time" began.

It's sad how badly this photo turned out.  Ah well, better luck next life.

Reitman recently produced GHOSTBUSTERS: AFTERLIFE, which was directed by his son Jason (and I just read today that Ivan himself played ghostly Egon Spengler in the film's finale, and that's pretty great way to go out.

Reitman died on February 12, in his sleep.  He was seventy-five.  I read the Deadline obituary, and there was no mention of EVOLUTION.  Hmmm, guess they liked it as much as I did.

*I did learn, for the first time, not to overexert myself on a film shoot, as I leapt out of a truck in my National Guard uniform and ran past the camera, then had to do it over and over again for additional takes, making me wish I had taken it easy like the dudes around me.

January Sweeps - Day 720

Sit-ups Today: 100
Sit-ups In January: 2044

A stranger told me that Meat Loaf had died today.  I was in a waiting room, and there was this aging stoner who was telling anybody who cared about Meat Loaf dying of COVID after recovering from back surgery, and I was sad to hear it.  The guy really wanted to tell somebody about his love for Meat Loaf, and I was a receptive audience (at least for the two minutes I was sitting there).  He also told me that comedian Louie Anderson died, but I couldn't call myself a fan (even though he was a fine stand-up).

When Jim Steinman (who wrote the majority of Meat Loaf's hit songs) died last year, I remarked how much I loved his music, though I wasn't aware of him until recently.  Meat Loaf was a pretty similar situation, as I really only knew the hit song he had in 1993* (later), and the follow-up in 1995.**  But it was really a dozen years ago, when my family went out to a karaoke restaurant, and this heavyset dude sang an impassioned "Two Out of Three Ain't Bad," that I thought, "Dang, I ought to listen to some Meat Loaf songs," and grabbed his excellent "Bat Out of Hell" album.

And I became a fan.  There was something so profound and bombastic about his music that it really spoke to me, and I especially enjoyed listening to his songs while running these past two years.  Meat Loaf died from complications of COVD.  He was seventy-four.

Push-ups Today: 100
Push-ups In January: 1878

I asked Fake Sean Connery to record a song for me today, and he kept screwing up one line (so much so that I started over again at one point).  I had picked the song because it's been particularly challenging for me to sing in my own voice, but except for one line, it was easier than in my own voice.  So weird.

Words Today: 569
Words In January: 11,676

*"I Would Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That)."

**I'd Lie For You (And That's The Truth)."

Rish Outcast 210: Cry Uncle

In this TMI show, I talk about my Uncle Len, who passed away.  I drone on about his funeral, and then share a new story in his memory, "Here With My Childhood Friend."

Note: The story is a sequel to "Who Can It Be Now?" which was presented in Episode 170 of the show. 

Download the episode HERE.

Support me on Patreon HERE.

Logo by Gino "My Adulthood Friend" Moretto.

September Sweeps - Day 604

The funeral for my Uncle Len is today.  

My brother complained to my mom that he didn't have any "church clothes," but he'd have to go buy some, and she impressed me by saying that he could wear what he wanted, that the only thing Len would care about was that he'd come to the funeral, not what he was wearing.  

Sit-ups Today: 100
Sit-ups In September: 2935

They had set up a table with a ton of Len's favorite things (I only got about half of it in this photo), and it was kind of delightful: little cars, motorcycle paraphernalia, a lucha libre mask, cans of his favorite toxic energy drink, hats, hot sauce, a karaoke microphone, and photos of Len with his kids, and from his wedding thirty years ago.

They had the viewing (which was really awful*), then the funeral, then a sort of informal, open-mic wake type thing.  That was filled with stories and photos and shared experiences, and except for one small fit (thrown by another of my uncles), it went without a hitch.

Push-ups Today: 100
Push-ups In September: 3372

The post-funeral segment was the best part.  It was a real lovefest (and yes, I'm aware that they all are), with tons of positivity, happy memories, reminders of jokes he'd made, the kind of funeral you'd throw a hero or a celebrity or I dunno, somebody not at all like me.

And while my Uncle Len died WAY too young (nineteen years younger than my father, who probably should've made it to 83 or so, like his parents did), it was neat to see how many lives he touched, and the passion with which the various people spoke about him.

Words Today: 242
Words In September: 18,976

*When I go, hey, there's no need for an open casket funeral, okay?  I have enough problems with my face as it is, let alone after weeks in a hospital and almost no recognizable features.

September Sweeps - Day 599

Well, I'm at the cabin today, and the sun is going down, getting dark already, an hour earlier than the last time I noticed.  Everywhere there are changing leaves, and that is a reminder that death comes for us all.  But more on that later.

I had meant to type--briefly--about working on a TV series this morning, and how tired I got after it let out, driving toward the cabin, but what can I say?  I am enamored of the film industry, and even as a lowly extra, I enjoy the lights and excitement and glamour.

A sight no one should have to witness (not just vampires).

Sit-ups Today: 100
Sit-ups In September: 2435

Push-ups Today: 100
Push-ups In September: 2940

But instead, I guess I'll write about my uncle.  You see, I drove home from my cousin's house last night around 1:40, and got home a bit after two, sitting in the car listening to Olivia Rodrigo singing Traitor before I killed the engine and went inside.  My uncle John's truck was in the driveway, but I assumed someone was borrowing it.

I noticed I had a text from my sister, marked 2:06am, telling me my Uncle Len had passed away.

He had been in the hospital for weeks (between five and six, far as I can figure), and it had looked bad for him early on, but then he'd seemed to recover a bit.  He's in Las Vegas, and I didn't speak to him, though my mom would forward the text messages he'd write and give the family reports every couple of days or so.  Then, just yesterday, he took a turn for the worse, went back on the ventilator, and they were saying the recovery would be very slow, if he again managed to come out of it.

And he didn't.  He was only fifty-seven.

My Uncle Len was a big deal to me, a funny guy, a strong guy, a supportive guy, talented and playful and sincere.  I guess I ought to sit down and record a few words about him, rather than struggle with typing some here.  

Talk to you later.

Words Today: 665
Words In September: 16,613

September Sweeps - Day 591

One of my most enjoyable gigs while doing Extra work in Los Angeles was appearing on the sitcom "Norm."  I don't talk about it all the time, but it's in my top three, I'd say (the others being FLAGS OF OUR FATHERS, and either SPIDER-MAN or the hillbilly cultists episode of "X-Files").  "Norm" was a sitcom with SNL alum Norm MacDonald, Laurie Metcalf, and Artie Lange about troublemaking social workers.

It was one of those shows shot before a live studio audience, and while we rehearsed it before the actual shoot, I was unprepared for just how funny the dialogue was that we, the background, were supposed to ignore.  If I recall, we did the scene multiple times (even with the live spectators) because of crack-ups, and people trying alternate lines, and then . . . it was over, people were applauding, and we got to go home.  I only worked on four or five sit-coms the whole time I was an extra (and "Frasier" didn't count because it was a taped remote at the Staples Center), but that was my favorite.

And now, Norm MacDonald has died at the age of 61.  Cancer again, even in the midst of a pandemic.  

I knew him from his work on "Saturday Night Live," where he anchored the Weekend Update desk, and would often throw the same joke into multiple episodes (about David Hasselhoff or Frank Stallone) to reward people who were paying attention.  He was pretty great, until he was abruptly fired for making a few too many O.J. Simpson jokes, and replaced by the staggeringly unfunny Colin Quinn.

After SNL, he starred in multiple Adam Sandler productions, got his own movie (DIRTY WORK) that my roommates and I saw on opening day, did some television work (he had his own talk show, apparently), but mostly did stand-up and guest appearances on talk shows, where his talent was best displayed.  He had a unique delivery and a rambling, seemingly-lost style, and I'll never forget his appearance on the last week of Letterman, where he ended his set with a tearful goodbye, despite admitting that "Mister Letterman is not for the mawkish, and has no truck for the sentimental," which are words of such Shakespearean poetry I've never forgotten them.

As usual, it has been nice to hear people who knew him go on about the man, and share funny stories or clips that make me laugh just as hard if I'd seen them before.

Sit-ups Today: 125
Sit-ups In September: 1563

Push-ups Today: 219
Push-ups In September: 1923

Words Today: 683
Words In September: 10,195

July Sweeps - Day 520

This was a nice, lazy day, with not a great deal of work (I left that for the end of the day) and nothing to ship (no post on federal holidays).  I don't know if I'll manage today.  I just don't feel like writing.  Big deal, I know, but I got the cover art back from Big today for "Waffle Iron Man," and I made it a priority to get the story published (it was a goal for April, May, and June, I believe).  In trying to figure out the main character's name, I discovered that the text file on my computer was incomplete for some reason, once again having reverted to an earlier draft, or the program crashing before I could incorporate the final changes on the pass I did when recording the audio version.

Luckily, I had that audio version all edited (though I discovered two mistakes in reviewing it), and I was able to sit down and listen to it, typing in all the gaps in the final draft.  That ended up taking a crazy long time, though, partly because I found even more things I wanted to change, but realized they would only be in the text version (since the audio was recorded--and edited--months ago).

Oh, and here's the cover art, with text by Big Anklevich, that I ended up going with:

Finally, I've achieved one of those niggling goals that I was too lazy to tackle.

Sit-ups Today: 111
Sit-ups In July: 522

I thought about cover art for the next Lara Demming story, "Made Just For You," which isn't quite ready to go, but ought to be soon.  I had a mock-up I had created back in March, that sucks quite a bit, but also shows what I had in mind:

I knew then--and still do--exactly what I wanted: a mushroom, very much like the one I used in the first story's art*, as a Christmas ornament on a tree.  And barring that, any mushroom ornament, if such a thing existed.

I found several that I liked, but none that I loved.  What do you think of these?

Then I got it into my head that, if not an ornament, I could maybe use a mushroom snowglobe (there is a reference to a snowglobe in the story early on).  I found three different photos of the same snowglobe, all of which were fine, but I'd much rather they had been blue mushrooms.

This I did instead of writing today, and I dunno, it doesn't really bother me.  

I also found this excellent shot of a blue shroom, in what appears to be a much more fatalistic image for a story:

So, I have utterly failed with the writing today.  So far, I only have "Lara" typed, which is only one word (I did a couple of rewritten lines earlier, but I forgot to do a word count for them, so I don't think they count at all).  

Push-ups Today: 66
Push-ups In July: 559

There was some sad news out of Hollywood today.  Famed director Richard Donner passed away, at the venerable age of 91.  

Donner was one of my favorite directors, responsible for THE OMEN, the LETHAL WEAPON series, THE GOONIES, MAVERICK (1994), several classic "Twilight Zone" episodes, and as director of one and a half Superman films, was responsible for the best comic book movie of all time, at least until 2008.

I had the chance, in 2001, to meet Donner, at a signing for the DVD release of SUPERMAN (1978) at a laser disc store in Burbank.  But I was working on the series "Boston Public" at the time, playing a graduating high school student, complete with cap and gown.  As the day went on (and on, and on), I started to worry we would not be wrapped in time to get all the way up from the Torrance high school we were shooting at to Burbank.  And indeed, the shoot went long, which meant a check for the overtime, but also that I missed the signing entirely.

Luckily, Donner (and his wife Lauren) did a signing a couple of years later to promote the release of TIMELINE, and I bought a VIP ticket for that, to ensure that I'd actually get to meet him.  I got him to sign my copy of SUPERMAN, and shake his hand, and that was nice (since I had always regretted missing the 2001 signing, even though it was fun to graduate from school again).

Big and I saw Donner again in 2006, when he was at San Diego Comic-Con, promoting his director's edition of SUPERMAN II (which was a sort of precursor to this year's unbelievably expensive Snyder Cut of JUSTICE LEAGUE, except that they spent very little money on it).    Donner was one of the great directors, and I will always be saddened that the Superman franchise was taken away from him, especially as he and Tom Mankiewicz had said they'd be happy to make Superman movies for the rest of their lives (Donner once said he'd told Warner Brothers he'd be willing to do ten films for them, as long as they gave him creative freedom to do what he wanted--and that's a real loss). 

Words Today: 618
Words In July: 4471

*It's blue, but I had forgotten that it was actually a yellow shroom that I MADE blue, and not 100% successfully.  In my mind, there would be a blue mushroom on the art for every one of the "Lara and the Witch" stories.

April Sweeps - Day 445

 "So, it's April 21st, and everybody knows today is Earth Day,
Merry Christmas, Happy birthday to whoever's being born."
Dramarama

Jim Steinman died yesterday.  He was a songwriter primarily known for his collaborations with Meat Loaf, the big, bombastic love songs he wrote in the Seventies and Eighties.  

His great track "Two Out Of Three Ain't Bad," was slaughtered by me in one of my Storage Unit Serenades, and I remember the first time I heard it--a heavyset guy at the karaoke diner in the next town up was performing it, and in the part that goes, "I'll never be able to give you something, something that I just haven't got," belted it out with real, palpable emotion, making everybody stop what they were doing and pay attention.  I was a fan of that song ever since.

My favorite of his songs, "Total Eclipse of the Heart," was made famous by Bonnie Tyler, and I sang it (and Meat Loaf's "I Would Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That)") on the drive toward my cousin's house.  And I gotta say, I really wrecked my voice doing so.*

I found myself tired this afternoon, and I don't know if that was a side effect from the vaccination shot yesterday or not (maybe I'm just a lazy sod, I dunno), but I was unable to go to sleep due to the shrieking children outside my window (which was closed).  One of those bastards has that gear-grinding adolescence screech thing going on, so it sounds like Froggy from "The Little Rascals" kicked in the Frankenberries, and I am tempted to kill literally every time I hear it.  So, I put on a YouTube video of a reading of an old MR James ghost story, and turned it up high enough to drown out the screaming (I could have put on a Corrosion of Conformity album, but I fear it wouldn't have been loud enough).

Weirdly, I woke up when the narration ended and silence returned to the room.

Push-ups Today: 50
Push-ups In April: 2247

Now I'm at the library, and I've got that dumb problem that hits one in three visits here: erectile dysfunction.  No, that's one in two visits.  This one is that I don't want to write, even though this is my designated writing time.  Things that would NEVER be important to me, such as the career of Betsy Palmer, the musical career of Cher, or what films Tony Leung is famous for.**

I only managed 147 words before I decided that I absolutely HAD to get out of the library.  Weird.  If it ends up getting hit by an asteroid, I guess I'll understand why I felt such an intense desire to leave.

So, another song Steinman wrote--this one a hit in the Nineties--was "It's All Coming Back To Me," which was recorded by Celine Dion around 1996 or so.  Just for fun, I put that one on as I was driving to get gas this afternoon.  Somehow, my vocal range is about an octave below Celine's, so it works out pretty well.  It might have to be my go-to karaoke song, if I ever end up having friends with whom to do karaoke again.

Sit-ups Today: 111
Sit-ups In April: 2144

I sat around after my run, eating a sandwich and watching "Modern Family," and I could hear my brother-in-law listening to music in the shower downstairs.  And I recognized the song: it was "I Would Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That)," which seemed a little bit like that Baader-Meinholf Phenomenon I was talking about last week.

Also, I'm now in the fourth season of the show, and after 92 episodes, I have to admit that I'm getting a little tired of the previously-sacrosanct Taylor Swift Capital One commercial.  And I have learned to despise Jake From State Farm.

Yes, I know, welcome to the club.

Words Today: 359
Words In April: 14,633

*He also wrote "Making Love Out of Nothing At All" by Air Supply.  Maybe I'll wreck my vocal chords singing that one today.

**I also wasted a good long time looking up the post-"Little Rascals" careers of the "Our Gang" kids.

March Sweeps - Day 419

Oscar Wilde famously said, "To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance."  I saw that today as part of a list of inspirational sayings . . . but knowing Wilde, he either meant it as a joke or meant it as a double-entendre.  Good for him.

I'm at the library again--with an hour before closing--for the first time in what seems like a while (I'm pretty sure I was here Tuesday, but not Wednesday, and yesterday, I came to the library, but was talking to Big on the phone, so I stayed in my car, and then just ended up writing there in the car once he'd hung up, since the library would close most likely as soon as I got into my writing).  But I'm here now, and if I can stop blogging and start writing, maybe I'll salvage something.*

I was talking about the pizza place the other day.  I started writing it a year back, not sure when the story would be set, but leaning toward the mid-Nineties.  As I got further into it, I decided it took place the summer of 1991 (which means poor Meeshelle would be nearing fifty in modern stories--instead of about thirty, but that will just have to be a plothole**), but never went back to earlier in the story and mentioned that Bush is President or cellphones don't exist (I know you think they did, but dude) or that gas is still less than a dollar a gallon.

But in looking it over this week, I discovered a reference to FORREST GUMP in the second chapter/section of the story, and recalled all too well that the film didn't come out until 1994.  So I racked my brain trying to come up with a substitution for Gump, because a character makes the reference to call another character dumb, and then there is a joke about Gump getting shot in the butt.  So first, I thought, Dan Quayle (our 1991 Vice-President) was regarded as dumb, and I made the switch, but couldn't come up with a joke (because the thing I remember Quayle being famous for was misspelling "potato").  So, I thought, "The Simpsons" was on in 1991, and Homer Simpson was dumb, so I made that switch.  But in 1991, Homer was less-than-brilliant, but he was still a well-meaning, simple guy.  He hadn't yet become a cartoon character.

So I thought, "Beavis & Butthead?"  But I think that was 1993 or so.  What movie character was dumb?  And I drew a blank.  Still am.

Finally, I picked--almost desperately--Bill and Ted, from BILL & TED'S EXCELLENT ADVENTURE, which I believe came out in '88, but it took me four seconds to see it was '89.  And the sequel was definitely 1991, so that would've been an appropriate reference that year.  Of course, I couldn't come up with a joke to follow it, not a butt one, anyway.  If you have any suggestions, I'd be happy to switch it out.

Not sure why I share stuff like this with you.

Sit-ups Today: 150
Sit-ups In March: 2779 (and sit-ups move ahead again!)

I was saddened to see that Larry McMurtry died today.  He was eighty-four.

Reading his book "Lonesome Dove" in 2005 was one of the seminal book experiences of my life.  I took the paperback to the various sets I was an extra on, and wept openly at the end.  Another extra approached me and said, "Jesus, what book was that you were reading?"  A little embarrassed, I showed it to him, and he said, "I want to read it too.  How much?"  I sold it to him for a dollar, and then was vexed when I discovered the way he kept his place while reading was not by a bookmark, or bending the corners, but by tearing out the pages as he read them, so he was always on the first page of the book.

That Christmas, I tracked down a hardcover copy of "Lonesome Dove" and gave it to my dad for Christmas, writing him a message on the inner cover.  I don't know if he ever read it, but when he died, it was one of the things that ended up in my pile.

If I live long enough, I'd love to read through that entire series again, and hopefully enjoy them as much as I did the first time through.

Also, I wrote "Birth of a Sidekick" in 2005, my first ever Western story.  There's little chance I would've written it without Larry McMurtry.  Thanks, man.

Push-ups Today: 152
Push-ups In March: 2718

I did the thing where I rollerblade in the backyard, on the grass (where it's safe) again today.  I set a goal for myself to go ten times around the lawn, and by the second time, I wanted to quit.  I think I've explained that the blades are uncomfortable on my feet, and they seem to be working muscles that I don't use while walking or running (which surprises the hell out of me, but maybe shouldn't because, despite doing push-ups every single day, which have actually changed the way my shoulders and chest look in the mirror, I have even less arm strength than I did a year or two years ago, as I slowly spiral toward geriatricity).  And while I have not fallen a single time since the last one I did on cement, I am virtually certain that this safe form of rollerblading is not preparing me for real rollerblading, any more than riding a tricycle prepares you for riding a bicycle without training wheels.***

But it is possible that I'll make my goal of ten for the month, if I don't let it slide again.  No pun intended.

Rollerblading In March: 7 (of 10)

Words Today: 1285
Words In March: 22,365

*Not that yesterday was a failure.  I got about eight hundred words in at the parking lot, then got another three or four hundred at night before I fell asleep, really trying to finish up this Lara story.

**You see, I don't feel fifty.  I feel too old to be going to high school, sure, but not the age my parents were just a few years back.  The characters in the "Dead & Breakfast" universe are young--except for Mrs. Bice--and that works well for people who'd work the desk at a small town hotel.  Mason is somewhat based on me, but he can't be my age and background, because then, whoa, he would seem like a giant loser, especially falling so hard for Natalie, who was probably born around the time "Seinfeld" went off the air.

***Although, if you really wanted to be a cheerleader, you could say that riding that tricycle built up your leg muscles with all the peddling, which can't help but help out on a real bike, and the "training wheels" rollerblading can't help but improve my ability to propel myself forward using only my calves and ankles.