Keeping Up With the Joneses

Growing up as a young film-dork in the suburbs many of my summer days were spent outside of a local movie theater, waiting on-line for hours at a time to buy tickets to whatever blockbuster film was being released that year. In those pre-Internet days that was the only way to guarantee you would be the first to see the big movie you just couldn’t wait for. It could be a humiliating experience (I was more than once interviewed by the town paper because of it; “Local A-hole Sees Movie” must have read the headlines) but luckily I always had a brother or two there to wait with me, which made the whole ordeal worth it. Now that I am old and cranky, and e-commerce allows me to purchase tickets from my air-conditioned work cubicle, I never wait on line anymore. But last week I had something of a flashback to those days, as my brother Bill and I waited patiently for two hours outside of the Anthology Film Archives in NYC to see Raiders of the Lost Ark.

This wasn’t for a screening of the original Indiana Jones film, but rather Raiders of the Lost Ark: The Adaptation -- a shot-by-shot remake of the film made by three 12-year-olds. A couple of years ago word of the existence of this movie began to spread on the Internet after it was screened at a film festival, and shortly after Vanity Fair published an article that recounted the story of the kids and how they made their film. It’s a totally charming story and a great article, which you can read here:

http://www.theraider.net/films/raiders_adaptation/downloads/vanityfair_article.pdf

The Adaptation itself is just as charming, and actually quite mind-blowing in its complexity. It took the boys 7 years to make -- they started when they were in grade-school and didn’t finish until their freshman year of college. As a result the kid who plays Indy, Chris Strompolos (also credited as the film’s “producer”), appears in the opening scene as a squeaky-voiced, chubby 12-year-old, and plays his last scene as a deep-voiced 19 year-old with whiskers. The prolonged shooting schedule allowed the boys to get every detail of the original Raiders right. The giant boulder, the bar burning to the ground, Indy dragging behind the truck, and the melting Nazis are all there. Though the movie was shot on a crappy home-video camera and the sound is atrocious, the spirit and sensibility matches exactly that of the Lucas/Spielberg template.

In some ways a little too well: the movie is impressive from the start, but the audience really perks up when the action moves to the burning bar-fight. If you recall in the original Raiders there were several mini-cliffhangers though out this scene, most of them involving the fighters getting or almost-getting consumed by fire. When the Nazi Toht lights a trail of booze that comes within inches of burning Indy’s head, your heart jumps as you realize THAT’S A REAL KID getting pulled away with only a second to spare. When the Nepalese guard has his back engulfed fully in flames, that’s no stuntman pulling it off. The danger is realer than it ever feels in any “real” movie. The filmmakers win over the viewers so completely that by the time of the truck chase, we not even phased that those are actual children getting thrown off of a moving vehicle at FULL-SPEED. When Indy gets dragged behind the truck by his bullwhip, you feel Strompolos’ pain far more that you ever did Ford’s.

The Archives arranged for one of the kids, Eric Zala, who directed the film (and plays Belloq) to be present for a Q&A after the screening. Now in his mid-30s Zala came across as a really nice guy, totally surprised that a dumb home-video he made as a teenager has come to garner so much interest (his college roommate copied the tape without Zala’s knowledge and passed it on -- which is how it got out in the world in the first place). Zala recounted stories of the making of the film, of getting to meet Steven Spielberg recently (who loved it), and how the success of the movie has given he and his friends a shot at a Hollywood career. It seemed the perfect punctuation mark to their efforts.

Watching the film with a packed house was an almost out-of-body experience, for a few reasons. First the sheer spectacle of watching these kids pull of what many would think impossible is worth the price of admission alone. It didn’t need to be Raiders; these kids could have made a shot-by-shot remake of Broadcast News and it would have been just as thrilling. Kids come up with grand schemes all the time, but they rarely pull them off, because kids loose focus and patience, and their attention wanders elsewhere. The audience cheered the follow-through, perhaps because most of them as kids had an outsized idea that had got away from them.

But if you are a fan of Raiders, The Adaptation works even better. If you remember every move Spielberg’s camera made, or relish every quirk of Paul Freeman’s bizarro-French accent (“Blow eet up-uh! Blow eet bach to GAHD!”), then the fun of it all is echoed back ten-fold once the kids have retransmitted it. I was nerdy enough to notice that several of the John Williams music cues came not from Raiders, but from the Temple of Doom and Last Crusade soundtracks. I figured that the reason for this was because many of the Raiders cues weren’t included on the original soundtrack pressing, so the kids had to fill in the gaps as best they could. Normally I would feel bad about myself for even knowing that. But in the context of watching the movie, it momentarily made me feel like I was in on a secret. I knew these guys, and I knew where they were coming from.

I mean that last statement quite literally. I would say that Raiders of the Lost Ark: The Adaptation is truly a unique experience, but it’s not -- for me at least. I reveal to you now my secret shame: I also made an Indiana Jones movie when I was a kid.

I was around 14 years old, and I made it the summer between the end of grade-school and the start of high-school. Mine was not a serious Indy movie, but rather a parody called Montana Mike and the Lost Cause (you can tell by the title that my comedy writing skills at the time barely hovered above Mad magazine standards). My brothers and I had been making movies with our home video camera for a while, and they were almost always comedies, but rarely lasted longer than 3-5 minutes each (The Dog Ate My Two Brothers and Mrs. Butterworth Kills were formative classics). After getting the swing of it I wanted to attempt something truly epic, and successive viewings of the recently released Indiana Jones trilogy on VHS spurred me to action. Montana Mike would clock in at 15 minutes. It was the first time I wrote out a detailed script for one of our movies (though there was no dialogue written, as my brothers and I were better actors when we just winged it). In addition to writing I would “produce” the film -- which mostly meant buying the video tape, building the sets, designing the costumes, and rigging the special effects (including an exploding airplane and miniature rope-bridge). I would also play the lead role -- Dr. Montana “Monty” Mike. I was adamant that I would not direct the film -- I came to this decision, quite seriously, after reading an interview with Leonard Nimoy in which he explained how difficult it was to serve as both director and an actor in the Star Trek films. Determined not to compromise the quality of the film, I approached my older brother Rick to be director, and he agreed.

Family-friend Paul Paris would play my side-kick Dr. Muckus Dummee (the Denholm Elliot analog). Tom would play Bell-hop, my archaeological rival. Rick would play Captain Volkswagen -- the head Nazi, Bill stepped-up to play “Nazi Goon,” and though Ken did not appear, I think he helped out as a crewman.

The story was pretty straight-forward: the action opened in South America (the town park doubling) with Monty in pursuit of a golden idol (a gold horse statue that decorated my Mom’s kitchen). After performing hopscotch across the temple floor to retrieve the prize (the ZAZ guys would have been proud), evil Bell-hop appears with gun in hand (a real prop owned by Rick that could have had us all sent to juvy if the cops found out) to steal the statue away from Monty. Damn him.

Back in the States Monty and his colleague Muckus meet with a government official (also played by Rick), who presses them to aide in recovering from the Nazis the ancient artifact know as The Holy Cross (as a Catholic family we always had extra crosses lying around, and it was a much easier prop to carry around than an Ark). Monty and Muckus are to fly to South America, to the site of the excavation, to steal back the treasure (this location was indicated by pointing to a world map, but it only occurred to me during editing that I was having everybody go back to same spot the movie started in). On the flight over Monty and Muckus are asleep on the airplane, but a Nazi Goon plants a bomb to kill them and escapes via parachute (the "airplane" Bill leaps from is the back door of our house). The heroes awake just in time to parachute out (not a forward thinking Nazi Goon, Bill) and the plane explodes in the biggest fiery crash lighter-fluid and firecrackers can provide.

Luckily Monty and Muckus land in the front yard of the local South American hotel (my house again) and reserve a room for the night. While heading for the ice machine Monty discovers the Nazi's have taken over the basement of the hotel as a headquarters for the excavation (we all pitched in to play Nazis, shooting from below the neck to obscure our faces). Even worse -- Bell-hop is leading the search! (Damn him). Monty and Muckus follow the Nazis to the dig (the field of one of the local public grade-schools) where they beat up some guards and abscond with the Holy Cross. As they prepare to make good their escape Monty literally runs into Bell-hop who steals back the cross by force of that illegal firearm prop (Damn him).

Bell-hop passes the cross onto General Volkswagen and tells him to drive it away from the dig (in a VW Beetle, natch). Volkswagen complies, but when Bell-hop is momentarily distracted, Monty knocks him out with a punch (or a dead-arm, as it looked in the footage). Monty pursues the VW Beetle on foot and manages to attach himself to the bumper by his bullwhip. Monty drags behind for a while (me at first, a dummy after an awkward jump-cut) until the whip comes off. Then Volkswagen turns the Volkswagen around and drives over Monty (the dummy again). Since it's a comedy Monty recovers quickly, hops in the car, and steals back the Holy Cross.

With the Nazis in pursuit Monty and Muckus flee across a rope bridge (wide-shots: the model I built, close-ups: our garage roof). With no signs of escape Bell-hop tells them to give it up. Muckus responds by cutting the bridge (a nice proactive moment for the side-kick) and all involved fall to the side of the mountain (a pile of rocks at the grade-school). Monty and Bell-hop fight for the cross -- and Monty ends up kicking his nemesis off the mountain (Damn him). Triumphant the boys return to the States and hand off the cross to the government official. The official gives the heroes assurance that after the government has studied the cross it will return in to the University -- but blurts out a quick "Not!" on the way out the door (Wayne's World was big at the time, and we didn't have access to a warehouse). Monty and Muckus go for coffee -- The End.

Reading over that synopsis it doesn’t make Montana Mike sound like a particularly funny movie. And, hey, maybe it wasn’t. The plot is quite conventional, and most of the humor is limited to funny names and asides to the camera (“We see again there is nothing you can possess that I can’t take away -- until the end of the movie.”) Even the MacGuffin -- “The Holy Cross” -- isn’t all that humorously preposterous. If you were to make a proper Indy parody you’d have him going after L. Ron Hubbard’s handwritten manuscript of Dianetics or something. Of course my motivation was much the same as the Raiders Adaptation guys -- to dress up and play Indian Jones for a while. Though there were lots of funny times making the movie.

My favorite had to do simply with my age. At 14 I was still growing, and I was not yet the hulking mass of Andrew Morton you all know today. Right after the scene where I steal back the Holy Cross from the Volkswagen we had a shot where I was supposed to come running down a hill at full-speed and scream to Paul (who was framed in the foreground) “Muckus -- head for the rope bridge, the Nazi’s are after us!” What's funny to me now about this is that I would have no problem screaming a line like that in the middle of nice, quiet Connecticut suburbia (I could only imagine some reserved housewife sitting out on her patio, enjoying her morning coffee, gazing out on the hill her house overlooks, and spotting what must have looked to her like a young kid in a fit of paranoia screaming about Nazis -- while wearing a hat that had gone out of style years ago). But the real humor was in the delivery. I was determined to give my Harrison Ford-best and unleash the line with guttural intensity. Rick called action and I started barreling down the hill. The first part came out fine: "MUCKUS -- HEAD FOR THE ROPE BRIDGE..." But my mid-pubescent physiology could handle no more. My voice broke -- and in a high-pitched shriek reminiscent of an underwater dolphin scream came "...ThE NaZi'S aRe AfTeR uS!!! Birds cleared from the trees, babies got nose-bleeds, CDs played music without the assistance of a laser. Everybody cracked up, myself included. Harrison Ford surely never had this problem. We tried the shot a few more times, and I couldn't get though it without laughing. Eventually I composed myself, the voice held, and the shot was in the can. Later that day we watched the tape back, and when my sister Claire heard it she went into a laughing fit that lasted all through dinner. Years later I would have much sympathy for Howard Dean (and as I think about it, did the housewife on the patio hear it? And did she think it was a paranoid GIRL screaming about Nazi's?).

But mostly what I remember was the drudge work of getting the movie done. We mostly shot outside in the horrible summer heat, and when most of the costumes involved leather jackets or wool coats, it was slow going. In fact we almost lost Paul on the project, as much if his time was spent sitting around in the blazing sun with not a lot of action to participate in (the curse of the side-kick role). It took a lot of negotiations to keep him coming back over the months. There were a plenty of technical challenges that took hours to get right. In the scene where Monty had to drag behind the Volkswagen by bullwhip, I was supposed to perform the stunt for the majority of the shot. We were more squeamish than the Raiders Adaptation guys, so I wouldn’t really be dragged behind the car. Our rig was to have me lay stomach-down on a skateboard and get pulled along by the VW. I didn’t account for the fact that my arms and legs would still be exposed in this situation, and the first take I scraped up my elbows and knees. In the second take I lifted my arms and legs, but the gliding action of the skateboard made it look like I was hovering above the ground, and the position I held myself in caused the skateboard to pull quickly to the left -- and I would veer right out of the shot. By the time this was dealt with, we found that we couldn’t get the bug up to a convincing speed, because once we did we would quickly run out of road and Rick (driving the car) would have to break suddenly after “cut” was called. And if this happened I would shoot right into the back of the car, probably smashing my face into the bumper or firing through under the car and getting crushed under the screeching tires.

As grueling as all of this was, I enjoyed every minute of it. The motivation of making a movie like Monty wasn’t just to be Indiana Jones for a while, but also to be Steven Spielberg for the summer. Writing the script, drawing the storyboards, making the budget (yes, there was one), and getting the thing made was all very satisfying. I even loved editing the thing, even though it was done with the clumsy VCR-to-VCR method. In the end it actually cut together, and worked pretty well (if I do say so myself). At that age it was the biggest creative endeavor I had accomplished, and was quite a confidence booster.

A sequel was planned -- Montana Mike and the Basement of Doom -- but it never happened. I think it would have been too hard to convince all of my brothers to donate another summer to it. Of course when I saw what the Raiders Adaptation guys did, it made me think that I should have stuck it out.

Ultimately that is why Raiders of the Lost Ark: The Adaptation is so great. Being a kid movie-nerd is a fairly isolating experience. It doesn’t have the social currency that other pastimes have; if you’re a 12-year-old and you like sports, it’s likely that your town funded leagues and teams. I don’t imagine there are any towns that promote movie-recreation clubs. No one looks twice at kid walking down the street with a bat and glove, but if a kid is carrying a video camera, tripod, and has a bullwhip tied to his belt, it’s likely they’ll call the cops on him. But when you are bit by the dork-bug it becomes an obsession, and when you devote your energies to something that futile, all you can hope for is that someday, in some way, it will come to mean something. And that is the mini-miracle of the Raiders Adaptation for me. It was nice to discover that I wasn’t as alone in my pastime as I had thought, and reassuring to know that I was part of a community, even if I found out about it 17 years too late.

The cast and crew of Montana Mike and the Lost Cause (from left to right): Paul Paris (Muckus Dummee), Me (Montana Mike), Rick Morton (Director; Captain Volkswagen), and Tom Morton (Bell-hop).

I'm Going Hungry

Sorry it has been a while since I have posted. Please enjoy this photo (taken by Laura Renga) of Evan Kessler and I reenacting Temple of the Dog's video for their song "Hunger Strike."

Compacting My Discs

I did something the other night I swore to myself I would never do. I murdered another human being. No - just kidding. I took all of my CDs out of their plastic cases and put them into one of those giant CD wallet-books. I kept the booklets (and in some cases the back covers) and bundled those into a clear shoebox. I was worn down to do this by realizing that I live in New York -- and though I am totally comfortable with the size of my apartment, the reality is in NYC space is always at a premium. I had not found a proper place to store my CDs since I switched rooms in my apartment (more than a year ago), and the majority of them were crammed into my clothes closet -- and thus not easily accessible. I wanted my music back out and in easy reach, and this seemed to be the most sensible solution.

But it’s the sensible part of this that’s killing me. Sensible? This is rock and roll, sister -- the complete antitheses of “sensible.” I used to be cool, man! What the hell happened? I never thought the day would come when I couldn’t make room for ROCK in my life.

But seriously -- I am a packaging man. As much as I love the fluidness of the digital age, there is something to be said about holding an album in your hands. When I was younger and I bought a CD -- I would first listen to it while reading along with the lyrics, and I felt that allowed you a deeper connection to the music than just putting it on as background noise. Packaging gives the music weight and a sense of permanence. As someone who grew up at the tail end of records, I always felt something important disappeared when CDs became the norm -- and the physical presence of music was reduced to a quarter if its previous size. And now that we’re losing even that fraction makes me kind of sad. No more staring down that long stretch of Abbey Road, I guess.

But progress is progress. And a nice benefit of having freed my CDs is that I can load a ton of new stuff on my iPod. It has been entirely Beatles-less the whole time I have owned it, but I corrected that last night. I have also grabbed a bunch of the crappy albums I only liked one song on, and will burn all the killer onto one CD with no filler. So upwards and onwards.

And I still have the booklets in that clear shoebox -- so anytime I feel the need to see those shots of U2 dressed in drag on the Achtung Baby sleeve, I know where to find them.

You Can’t Spell “Kevin” without “Evan”

My friend and meta-comedian Evan Kessler has started a hilarious new blog venture which is better to just see than to have me explain. Evan has kindly allowed me to contribute to this project, and is having some success in getting the thing to go “viral.”

http://ifiblogit.blogspot.com/

And if you in any way know Kevin Costner, please direct him to the site.

Re: Oscar Nominations 2007!!!!

I don't care.

Happy (3 Days Late) New Year

I missed the chance for some bloggy symmetry by not posting on January 1st, the official 1 year anniversary of this blog. Anywho -- Happy New Year and thanks for continuing to read this thing.

I would like to pat myself on the back for making it this far. I tend to start projects like this (can a blog be considered a project?) strong, and then lose any semblance of forward momentum rather quickly -- so the fact that I logged posts in 11 of the 12 previous months (I don’t know what the hell was going on in July) feels like some type of accomplishment. Though you will notice if you wander though the archives that my prodigious multi-posts a week pace burned out real quick. But it’s fine, I’m no Evan Kessler, and I don’t feel the need to pretend to be. I am happy these days if I post twice a month, so that’s the goal I will stick to.

So onwards and upwards. You should be seeing the long promised cross-over here real soon. And before that probably a summary of my favorite movies of the past year. Or maybe not. If writing this blog has taught me anything about myself, it’s that I am notoriously unreliable when it comes to this stuff.

President Ford

I am sad to hear about the death of President Gerald Ford. I’ve always been fascinated with Watergate, and Ford’s emergence as our President at the end of that scandal is, to me, one of the most interesting occurrences in our history. I admired Ford because the way he became President is the way the majority of us could even remotely see ourselves landing the job -- through pure serendipity. And he handled it well. Ford’s presidency may not have been the most dynamic, and he may personally have been easy to poke fun at -- but he kept the country’s crap together when we really needed someone to -- and that is to be respected.

I suppose he’ll be best remembered (and perhaps reviled) for pardoning Nixon. But it was the right thing to do. It guaranteed him a short term in office, but it was an act of political courage that I doubt many of our elected leaders today would have the spine to see through.

RIP, Jerry.

The Morning in Brooklyn Pre-Approved Holiday Movie List

Are you burnt out on multiple viewings of It's A Wonderful Life, A Christmas Story, and The Santa Clause 3: The Escape Clause? Try substituting one or more of the following films for your Christmas-time movie watching needs. They always put me in the spirit of the season.

Die Hard (1988): Don't let the explosions, gun-fights, and liberal use of the F-word fool you -- this is a Christmas movie, through and through. Do I need to remind you that the whole reason New York cop John McClane (Bruce Willis) gets trapped in an L.A. high-rise with the terrorists in the first place is because he is visiting his estranged wife and kids for the holiday? Some may find only high-octane action in the narrative, but I look at it more as the story of a man trying to get home (in the spiritual, not architectural sense) for Christmas -- if only those 20 or more German terrorists with enough C4 to level Nakatomi Plaza will let him. If that doesn't do it for you, at least appreciate the best use of the song "Let it Snow" in a movie ever.

Die Hard 2: Die Harder (1990): This time McClane has to save his wife from terrorists in a D.C. airport. It has everything great and Christmasy from the first film, but this time with the regionally appropriate use of snow.

Scrooged (1988): A modern-day retelling of Dickens' A Christmas Carol, filtered through the sensibilities of comedy great Bill Murray. Murray is Frank Cross, a TV network executive who must be visited by the ghosts of Latka Gravis' wife and Buster Poindexter to learn the true meaning of Christmas. It's highly quotable ("Could you please stop the damn hammering"), features the last performance of Karen Allen before she went into the FBI's relocation program, and has a great cameo by Lee Majors. Plus, my brother Ray, while working at Paramount Pictures, snuck onto the set, and disrupted filming when the studio executives he was hiding behind turned out to be extras in the film. He was yelled at and thrown off the set personally by director Richard Donner.

Love Actually (2003): If your name is anything other than Laura Renga, I guarantee that you will like this film. It's a veddy British comedy -- a pastiche of a dozen or so interconnected love stories, all set against the backdrop of Christmas in London. It stars just about every actor in the UK. It is unabashedly sweet, sentimental, and wears its heart on its sleeve -- but all is a good way. Plus, Keira Knightley's smile in the opening montage will melt your face off. I can't even make any snarky jokes about the film, because I loved it so much. I think in a few years it will be as popular a Christmas movie as Wonderful Life and Christmas Story. And just so you know, Renga thought Cat in the Hat was a good movie.

Catch Me If You Can (2002): Again, ostensibly not a Christmas film, but it was released over the holiday a few years back and reminds me of the season. Directed by Steven Spielberg and starring Leonardo DiCaprio as Frank Abagnale, a teenager who stole millions of dollars from banks by counterfeiting checks, and used the money to fund a lavish lifestyle that led to him impersonating an airline pilot, doctor, and lawyer. Tom Hanks plays the FBI agent who stays on the kids trail for years. The movie is a light mixture of comedy and drama, with a great supporting performance by Christopher Walken as Frank's dad. As the story takes place over several years, there are a few Christmas interludes, which also lends to my veiw of this as a Christmas movie. This is also the first film that had me thinking Steven Spielberg was stalking me when he used my local bank branch in Brooklyn as a stand in for the Chase Manhattan Bank. His recent remake of War of the Worlds substituted Park Slope for Boston. I hope all the attention doesn't drive the rent up.

The Godfather I & II (1972/1974): The Godfather Part III came out Christmas day of 1990 -- and my older siblings were very excited to see it. Since we don't leave the house on Christmas day, they decided they would all go to the first show the next day. I had never seen the Godfather films, but I liked going to the movies with my siblings, so I asked if I could tag along. My brother Ray had received videos of the first two films as a present, so I borrowed them from his gift pile and disappeared to the upstairs TV -- and for six hours straight that Christmas night I had a Godfather marathon. I was young enough to not understand it all, but I knew it was something special, and I was pretty blown away. I did pick up enough to be sorely disappointed the next day when we saw III, but that didn't diminish my appreciation for the original films. So if you feel like staying up past your bedtime Christmas night, there are worse ways to pass the time than by watching these two classics.

That's it. I wanted to include Christmas with the Kranks, but you know I just ran out of room.

Buy My Book

Hey, I wrote a book -- and it comes out today. Order it by clicking here. Or pick it up at bookstores everywhere (?)

Who-vember

It just occurred to me that today is the last day of November, and that I have not logged a single post all month. I did start an entry about my reaction to the new Bond movie (and the series in general) but progress on that was lost to a busy couple of work weeks and my nervousness in revealing just how big a dork I actually am to the internets public (although at this point, I imagine the genie is out of that particular bottle). Also, it was a slow month for doings-on. But, hey, my brother Ken and I saw The Who the other night, so let me talk about that:

For my bro Ken, The Who is THE band. I consider myself a big fan, as does my brother Tom -- who picked up the tickets for the three of us to see the show (in honor of Ken’s recent birthday) in beautiful downtown Bridgeport, CT (quoting Jodie Foster: “The armpit of Connecticut”). Unfortunately, at the last minute, Tom was whisked away to California on business, but Ken and I soldiered on.

There is always the danger when seeing a “classic” act that their performance will not measure up the greatness of their reputation. You worry that decades of successes have bred complacency, and that aging rockers are just out there doing it for the easy paycheck. A more localized concern was whether or not we would REALLY be seeing The Who that night. Their drummer and bass player are both now dead, so the band was now at half-strength -- just Roger Daltrey on vocals and Pete Townshend on guitar. Could it still be The Who without the musical backbone of the Entwistle/Moon rhythm section?

Any concern I may have had was put to rest when the show started. Forgoing any fancy U2-like intro to the show, the lights went out and Roger and Pete just took to the stage with a “let’s get on with it” attitude. The set opened with “Can’t Explain” and just never stopped from there. Roger and Pete may be north of 60 these days, but they performed like they were still in their twenties. Everything you have heard about Townsend being one of the best guitar players of all time remains true. He was pitch-perfect all night, windmilling for the entirety. Baby-boomer dudes all around me couldn’t containment their excitement and air-guitared to their hearts content (this was more charming than it might read). The backing band (which included Pete’s younger brother on rhythm guitar and Ringo Starr’s son Zak on drums) was up to the challenge and damn it if it didn’t sound like The Who!

Roger was fantastic as well. If age has deteriorated his voice at all, I sure couldn’t tell, because he belted it out just a full-throated as he did on the records. When they played “Won’t Get Fooled Again” I was expecting him to omit that famous “Yeeeeeaaaaaaah” scream. First time I heard the song on the radio I figured it was a one-time studio thing that probably required throat surgery afterward. But Roger reproduced it exactly in all of its red-faced glory -- and this was BEFORE the encore.

They played a lot of hits, but they also made room for a lot of new stuff (the band put out a new record a few weeks back). And it was good! It all sound very Who-like, but not in a retread kind of way. I’ll admit that I mistook a few of the new tracks for earlier stuff I figured I had just not heard before. I chalk the sustained vitality up to the fact that Pete Townshend remains just as nuts now as he was when younger. His asides to the audience during the song breaks proved this. Although always funny and intelligent (his impersonation of a Welsh Mafioso was particularly good), you can tell that Pete’s though process is just not fuelled by the same stuff as the rest of us here on planet Earth. To be successful creatively you have to be a little nuts, and by that yardstick Pete is going to be successful for a very long time.

All in all I enjoyed the hell out of it. High points for me included "Can't Explain," my favorite Who song "Baba O'Reilly" (aka "Teenage Wasteland"), the aforementioned "Won't Get Fooled Again" (not a single thought of C.S.I entered my mind), the acoustic "Man in the Purple Dress" (new song!) and the encore -- a "Tommy" medley. If the band comes to your town, don't hesitate to get tickets.

That was November. I'll try to have more for December.

Things I Have Learned Watching VH1's Top 20 Countdown

-The only people on Earth who find Fergie attractive are Will.I.Am and Fergie.

-John Legend is a prick because his newest video is all about how tough it is for him to bed a succession of hot super-models. Also, because his real last name is Stephens.

-It turns out Hinder is NOT intended to be a joke band like The Darkness, as I had first figured. But if you watch the video for "Lips of an Angel" enough, it just sort of works out that way

-Justin Timberlake still thinks he's Michael Jackson

-For your song to even be considered for the Countdown, half of it must be sung my Timbaland.

-That bald guy from The Fray needs to lighten up, and make eye contact when being interviewed.

-If Oasis = Beatles, then Jet = Herman's Hermits.

-Even though I should have burned out on it by now, I continue to find the video with the guys on the treadmill funny.

-There has been no dip in the quality of Nickelback's songwriting over the years. Which is to say that it sucks at the same level now as it did four years ago.

-John Mayer has stopped singing like Dave Matthews, and now sings like Curtis Mayfield.

-Weird Al has still got it.

Barack the Vote Part II: Barack the Book Signing

As soon as I posted my previous entry about Barack Obama I found out the Senator had a book signing event scheduled at the Union Square Barnes and Noble. As I mentioned in the earlier post, I had been to an Obama signing at the very same store a couple of years ago, and it was a thrilling experience. But at that time I had only found out about the signing the day of, so by the time I arrived at the bookstore I was crammed pretty far in the back. In addition I had already purchased the book he was then promoting (Dreams from My Father) at another bookstore, so I was unable to get my book signed. This time I was determined to get some “face-time” with the Senator, so I took the day off from work last Thursday to attend.

The book signing was scheduled for 12:00 noon. Barnes and Noble opened at 10:00AM, so I decided to get to the store a little early in case there was a line. Of course there was, starting at the door on 17th street and stretching all the way around the corner and up Broadway -- probably about 100 people. At 10 on the dot the B&N opened and we were slowly ushered into the store. I quickly purchased my copy of The Audacity of Hope and rejoined the line. The event was held on the 4th floor, a great deal of which had been cleared out to make room for seating. All of the attendees were issued color-coded bracelets which would be used to determine where you were allowed to sit, and thus the likelihood of you getting your book signed. Lucky I got a green bracelet, which entitled me to a seat close the podium, and guaranteed me getting Obama’s autograph. I had thought only Star Trek conventions worked this way.

The signing had been advertised as having a Q&A session. I settled into an aisle seat (figuring that would increase my chances of getting near the roaming mic-person) and spent some time composing my question. Now everybody has been asking Obama if he is planning on running for President. I assumed it would be the first question somebody in our audience would ask him, so I decided to take it from there, but word my question in a way that would leave room for the Senator to maintain his “I’m only focused on the 2006 elections” stance. If called upon I was going to ask a 2-part question, worded thusly:

1) Do you think a so-called Apollo program for energy independence could serve as a viable centerpiece issue for a Presidential campaign -- especially since it would directly touch on other vital issues such as national security, jobs, and the environment?

And,

2) What do you think General Wesley Clark's chances are of securing the Democrat’s 2008 Vice-Presidential nomination?

I expected the second-part would get a huge laugh from the audience and the Senator himself, and I patted myself on the back for my Tim Russert-like cleverness. But then a Barnes and Noble coordinator took the stage and announced Obama would be foregoing the Q&A so he could sign as many books as possible in the time he had. I guess that was nice of him. But screw those orange bracelet people; I wanted to ask my question!

Noon quickly arrived and by that time the entire 4th floor of the building was packed like a Dave Matthews concert. Some lady who was the head of Barnes and Noble or something took the stage to formally introduce the Senator. She got about half a sentence in before she was interrupted by applause and cheers coming loudly from the back of the store. Obama had started the walk from the back to the podium and instantly everyone turned away from the lady and all eyes were focused on the Senator. I sort of felt bad for how quickly the lady was dismissed, but it's not like the hopes and dreams of the Democratic Party are riding on HER shoulders.

Obama strolled casually and confidently across the floor, accepting the adulation with humility and a smile. The newsmagazines aren’t lying when they report that Barack is greeted like a rock star. The way people were crowding the man I figured he was about to be lifted up and body-surfed Eddie Vedder-style up to the podium. If indeed Barack is ever to become President, I hope they give the Secret Service a raise.

The crowd kept on cheering when Barack took the mic, and it was only his prodding that got them to stop. He spoke only briefly, for about ten minutes or so, and mostly about the book itself. A couple of people screamed out “Obama ‘08”, which got the crowd applauding again, but he deflected it all with a smile, and stuck to talking about the book. Soon he was finished and took his seat at the signing table. We lined up in orderly fashion and were ushered slowly up to have our books signed.

Barack was very cool with the crowd, taking time to shake everyone’s hand and ask them there name. I noticed that he was actually answering the questions some of the attendees were asking, so I decided that when I got up there I would ask him my Q&A question (but probably omit the Wesley Clark part for time).

A quick aside: my father has a funny anecdote about “meeting” President Truman. Dad was a Truman man, and one day while taking care of some business in New York City he rounded a corner to find an impromptu Truman re-election campaign event taking place on Broadway. Truman was waving to the crowd and gestured in the general direction of where Dad was standing. Dad got swept up in the excitement and feeling a personal connection was made with the President called out “Hey, Harry!” -- the way one would call to an old friend.

I would uphold the Morton tradition of composure in the presence of political stardom when I stepped up to the table to meet Obama. Up close Obama is one of those guys who looks so much like himself on TV that it throws you. And he’s really huge. He extended his hand for a shake, and it swallowed up my hand like a baseball glove. “Thanks for coming out today” the Senator said to me.

I froze. I was completely star-struck. This doesn’t normally happen to me. I grew up in a town populated with celebrities. I visit L.A. often and live in New York City -- running into famous faces is really nothing new to me, and most of the time I am able to keep myself together just fine. But I am so taken with Obama, and the sudden realization that I wasn’t just standing in front of some guy signing a book, but rather quite possibly our next Commander in Chief, I felt the sudden weight of history on me. This was no time for clever questions -- I needed to make a respectful statement:

“Hi. My name is Andrew.”

Do you remember in the movie A Christmas Story, when Ralphie gets up to the “real” Santa Claus to ask for him for the toy gun, but get so flustered that he loses his ability to speak, and finds himself muttering about wanting a football instead? It was exactly a moment like that. Later, I would convince myself that I was being respectful of the Senator’s time constraints by forgoing the inclusion of my last name in that sentence.

Obama speedily signed his name in my book. As his aide handed the book back to me, I my words returned to me, and I was able to blurt out “I may never meet you in person again, sir -- so let me just say ‘thank you, Mr. President.’” Lame, I know, but it was all I could come up with. It didn’t seem Barack was paying much attention to me at that point, but I did get his aide to laugh, so that was something.

But, hey, in the end I got to at least meet the guy, and if he does someday become President, I now have a pretty cool family heirloom that I can hand down. Just don’t look for me to be making the keynote address at the 2008 Democratic National Convention.

Keith Olbermann: American Hero

Okay, that’s just a joke -- but I do think Keith Olbermann is doing amazing work as and editorialist these days. Here is a link to a piece he did on his MSNBC show Countdown about President Bush’s signing of the Military Commissions Act -- which has, in a very real way, killed of Habeas Corpus. You can read the piece in transcript form, but I would encourage you to click on the link to watch the video. The angry comes through much better that way.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/15321167/

The Sweeps Week Sweepstakes Revisited

Evan Kessler and I continue our Sweeps Week contest:

You may or may not recall that at the end of August Andrew Morton and I announced a contest where we were allowing you, the reader, to pick the name of our Sweeps Week Story that we were co-writing and posting on our respective websites. Well that contest was a resounding success (mostly on Andrew's blog) We received between 10 and 12 responses, mostly our own or few people picking several titles. Two of the Titles were unquestionable favorites garnering two votes each. Other possible titles received 1 vote but most of the potential monikers received zero votes. Of the titles receiving one vote, Andrew and I chose 2 of them to compete against the two unquestionable favorites. Now, we leave it to you, dear readers, to once again make the final choice in the SWEEPS WEEK SWEEPSTAKES.

You pick from the potential titles, we write the story for your enjoyment. So in a way, you'll be helping yourself and we'll all be winners.

Alright so without further ado here are combatants in the competition:

Incident At Crossover Overpass (2 votes)

War and Peace 2: Peace and War (2 votes)

Dick Private: Private Dick (1 vote)

C.S.U.V.N.S.I (1 vote)

So there you have it...The 4 Choices for our Sweeps Week Story. Choose wisely and you shall have the pleasure of soon reading a mindblowing collaboration between myself and Mr. Andrew Morton a soon to be published author.

Remember your vote counts.

Barack the Vote?

A couple of weeks ago Senator Barack Obama gave a well-received, 40-minute keynote address at Sen. Tom Harkin's annual steak fry event in Iowa. In another week or so Obama will be making a second trip to Iowa, this time to stump for the state's Democratic congressional candidates. At about the same time, Obama will have a new book out called The Audacity of Hope, in which the Senator will discuss his take on the political issues of the day. Now you don't need to be a high-level political insider to do the math: Charismatic Senator + Multiple Trips to Iowa + Gamely Choking down a Fried-Twinkie at a Steak Fry + New Book = The Possible Start of a 2008 Presidential Run.

Now I assume that I don't need to tell you who Illinois Senator Barack Obama is. He's the junior U.S. Senator from Illinois. If you are unfamiliar with him, I suggest you Google the keywords "greatest motherf---ing speech ever given at a democratic national convention." Or "Barack Obama 2004 convention speech." Either of these searches is sure to turn up a transcript or video of the wonderful keynote address then-candidate Obama gave at the 2004 Dem convention which transformed him overnight into a political superstar. I'll give you a moment to watch/read the speech.

Done?

Great! Did Sen. Obama's powerful message of tolerance, hope, and the importance of electing John Kerry the next President of the United States resonate with you as much as it did with me? Until that night I had no clue who Barack Obama was. Earlier that evening NBC Nightly News ran a brief segment where Barack was interviewed by Tom Brokaw, but the info was pretty basic: he was born of a Kenyan father and white Kansas mother (ooh, bi-racial), he wrote his autobiography just out of law school (ooh, audacious), and that he was given the keynote speaker slot just to give him a boost in the Illinois Senate race (ooh, smart strategy). Watching Barack deliver that speech live was exhilarating. In the space of just a few minutes he summed up a vision for America that I completely agreed with, and reminded me of all the reasons I love my country in the first place. Barack's words literally brought a tear to my eye (hey, it was an emotional election cycle). It was one of those lightning bolt moments when you realized you just saw history in the making -- the first great speech by the first black President of the United States.

Barack rocked everybody's socks off, and he cruised to victory in his Senate race. I instantly become an Obama-dork -- I read his book, read all of his press, read all of his speeches. I even attended a book-signing he did at a Barnes and Noble in NYC. THAT was fantastic. It was one thing to see the man on TV, but quite another to see him live (much like U2). The B&N was jam-packed, and I got crammed somewhere back in Self-Help with the Legalize Hemp delegation, but Barack's energy cut through it all. I didn't get the chance to have him sign my book, though, as I had bought my copy at the NYU bookstore and the B&N staff was checking receipts. Jerks.

So the point is I am a huge Barack booster. But I admit that when those rumblings of Barack in '08 kicked in a couple of weeks ago, I got nervous. He's only been in the Senate for 2 years. Actually, less than 2 years. We need to wait until January before it's the full 2. That doesn't sound like an enormous amount of time. My feeling was that it would do the Senator all the good in the world to stick it out at least a full Senate term and get some more seasoning. Build a strong record that he could run on later.

Luckily the Mainstream Media has ridden in and is beginning to convince me that a long career in government may not necessarily be the key to a successful presidency. Below are a few recent articles that argue the point far more journalistically and eloquently that I can:

http://www.time.com/time/columnist/klein/article/0,9565,1198859,00.html

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/15132259/site/newsweek/

http://www.newyorkmetro.com/news/politics/21681/index.html

My personal wish is still, as I noted in an earlier post, to have Al Gore make another run. But if Al decides that he’s not interested -- I’m starting to think Barack is my guy.

It’s All Building Up To Something…Something That Can Only Be Redeemed with Fire!

Sorry. I’m having another one of those really boring spells. But I’m feeling guilty about not updating the blog, so let me try and cobble together a few tidbits for you. First -- thanks to all who have written in with your votes for the “Name the Crossover” contest. I believe the resulting 10 comment posts are a personal best for this site. Evan and I have not yet decided on a winner, or what “winning” in this case actually constitutes. But I’m sure it will be real interesting, whatever it is. Not having picked the winning title has had the unfortunate side effect of Evan and I not starting the writing of the crossover event. But we will. Evan himself has not been idle -- check out the latest in his growing family of blogs here.

Previously I have had little interest in football, or sports in general. But I am so intrigued by Evan’s methodology here that I may just start watching a few NFL games to see if it works.

In other friend news, quite literally, Brooklyn’s own Laura Bassett was the cover girl for today’s New York Times (or at least the on-line version, I didn’t see the print edition), and we were all very proud. Her picture ran just under the famous Times’ logo, and she is featured prominently in the accompanying article that you can read here. Although Laura alerted me a few weeks back that there was a possibility she would be appearing in the paper, I did not know it was a firm “go” until I dialed up this morning’s batch of internets and saw her fit-to-print visage staring right back at me. Although the context of her appearance is a solemn one, it’s still fun to see a buddy on the cover of The Paper of Record.

So a few months back, out of nowhere, I got the song “White City Fighting” by Pete Townshend stuck in my head. I hadn’t heard the song, or the full album it’s from, “White City,” in a million years. But in my head it stayed, until I was forced me to borrow the CD from my brother just to flush it out. I’ve been playing it non-stop for the last week. It’s a really great record -- a loose concept album based around the theme of urban blight. “Oh, boy -- urban blight!” I know. But trust me, the CD takes care of business. Some of Pete’s best music and lyrics if you ask me. I think I like “Hiding Out” the best -- even if it does start with a fairly silly drum-machine count-in. But “Give Blood” is a hell of an opener, and you can’t discount the guitar work of David Gilmour on the previously mentioned “W.C.F.” All around -- a worthy package. You can probably pick it up at Virgin for “The Nice Price.”

Speaking of shiny plastic discs encoded with entertainment, I just picked up the new special edition DVD of “Apocalypse Now.” I had seen it only once, about ten years ago. I remembered liking the film, but I can’t say it really stuck with me as a personal favorite. I came across it at Circuit City where it was on sale for $12, and figured “what the hell.” Another classic rediscovered! You can justifiably fault the film for a number of things; there’s no real story, and Brando is very fat and probably not trying too hard. But none of that really matters. “Apocalypse” is a visual movie, and at that it succeeds spectacularly. If it was made today half the shit they do in it would be CGI. When you watch the scene of the helicopter attack on the Vietnamese village set to the classic “Dah-duh-dun-dun-dun, duh, DAH! Dun-duh-duh-duh-DAH-duh” music (I don’t know how to spell it in German), and realize that every shot in the sequence was MAN MADE -- I do believe you will have your mind blown. Throw in some great performances by Bobby Duvall, Marty Sheen, and Denny Hopper (or should I say Denny Hopped-up?), and I’ll say you’ve got yourself 80% of a great movie. And if you’ve seen yourself some of Francis’ post-“Apocalypse” output (including, sadly, the “Redux” edition) -- you’ll know that ain’t a bad average.

Now for something I don’t like: I caught about a half-hour of a Dane Cook comedy special on HBO the other night. Um, is this guy funny? I know I’m not the first one saying this. But, seriously, is he funny? I don’t get it. He wanders around the stage, tells stories that don’t have any actual jokes in them, makes some funny voices, and then the audience goes nuts. I’m aware that he’s the biggest thing in comedy right now, but I find that so strange, because from what I saw there was no comedy on display at all. A standard joke seemed to go like: “Hey, guys, do you every get really hungry? Like, monster hungry? Like, so hungry that you just want to eat something, but not just a (insert funny voice here) a little something like a snacky-snack? So you make yourself a SANDWICH! Like a big FRIGGING SANDWICH!? And you EAT IT? DO YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN, BRO?” And that would be it -- and the crowd would go wild. Seriously, that’s what he’s like. His whole act was like a New Yorker cartoon aimed at the finger-painting set. I’m not even saying any of this is an angry way; I’m just genuinely mystified.

That’s all I got. I’ll try to be more interesting next time. Now that the summer is over, I thought I should write a sum-up of the summer movie season. But since we are now past Labor Day, I feel I may have missed the best moment to do so. Thoughts?

The Sweeps Week Sweepstakes!

Evan Kessler and I have decided to do a sweeps week crossover event between our two blogs. We are having a contest where you, the reader, get to pick the title of the event! Or, more accurately, you get to select from a list of pre-approved titles. Evan explained to rules of the contest much better on his blog, so I will simply reproduce his post here. Please note that his post had a picture of Ed McMahon at the header, thus the references to that:

So, I'm sure you're all thinking what's this all about? Or maybe you're just thinking, "I Like Ed McMahon but I hated getting those letter that said I won a million bucks and then never actually won anything". That's probably more like what you're saying. Anyway, the answer to the first question which you weren't asking yourself is as follows. Evan Kessler and Andrew Morton have decided to write a story as a fictional Sweeps Week Event and tonight the two of us (sending postcards, writing letters on my wall) met at the Lighthouse Tavern in Brooklyn to discuss possible titles for said event. At this point I will list the titles and have you, the readers vote for them. Those who vote for the winning title will win the Sweepstakes. After said title is picked we will write a story over the course of one week alternating each day on our blogs. The final result will be either, hilarious, mediocre, or just plain awful. No matter how hilarious, mediocre, or just plain awful it is, remember, as Janet Jackson once said, or said several times within the course of one song "It's All For You"(the readers).

That brings us to the summation of Prizes:
First Prize is the satisfaction of knowing that you helped pick the winner. Maybe even a phone call from yours truly or Mr. Andrew Morton. Though maybe if we feel like it we'll surprise you with a gift. I'm well aware that if there are many votes there will be more than one first prize winner but let's not get sidetracked by a technicality.

Runner up wins moral fiber.

So without further ado. Here are the names for said Sweeps Event that we have come up with:

The Road To Arkadelphia

Hang In There

Dandelions for Algernon

Ishtar II: The Quickening

The Presidio Without Mark Harmon

C.S.U.V.N.S.I

The Mirror is 2-Sided

Tuesdays with Andrew and Evan

The Phantom of Jack FM

Not Another Blog Movie

The Starpeople

Avalanche In The Jungle

Cave-In

Caged Heat

Bottled Rage

Passive Agressive Behavior

La Pidiere: Private Dick

Dick Private: Private Dick

Behind Barz, Metaphorically

LAVA! The Motion Picture

Sandy Koufax: Famous Jewish Pitcher

The Adventures of Slappy McFinnegan

From Russia With An Accent

The Eagle and The Scallion

Fate and The Fat Man

Herbivore

Let There Be Judith Light

Billz to Buy The Skillz

Boyz In Tha Woodz

Palpable Tension

Vengeance In Terrortown

The Caning

14 Points of Judith Light

Solar Eclipse

A Stitch In Crime

The Good Swede

Incident At Crossover Overpass

You've Got Murder

Murder.Blogspot.com

The Lisp

Covert Theory

The Feelings Police

The Induction Party

Dial # for Options

SuperAssholes

The Jefferson's Starship

Carnal Regression

Explosions for Algernon

Murder on Death Road

The Puppy Sniper

Murder By Revenge

Dial Collect For Death

Adventures in Complaining

War and Peace 2: Peace and War

Lava Avalanche

Revenge Is A Dish Best Served Open-Faced


Alright, that's it, now vote away!

Hot As Balls

So it's a little warm here in NYC. The news says we are supposed to hit 100 degree temperatures for the next couple of days. Most of July was very hot and humid. I like to tell all of the people who squeal at me how much they love summer to remember the days like these. I understand that the first couple of weeks of May, when we're finally allowed to leave the house without a jacket, are very enjoyable. I like t-shirts as much as the next guy. But it seems to me and Al Gore that, all too soon, pleasant 75 degree temps give way quickly to oppressive heat, oppressive humidity, and oppressive swamp-ass. And for the majority of the season it stays that way. Give me fall/winter any day of the week -- at least then I can add as many layers of clothing as I need. With summer you can only strip away so much. And trust me, I look really weird in shorts.

If the hot weather is doing anything for me, it's making my dreams very strange. Take this one from last night (which I swear I really had): I'm in the gym of my old grade-school, where there is a science-fair taking place. Naturally I am standing next to hip-hop's 50 Cent. 50 notices me admiring one of the displays -- a guitar amplifier. But 50 does not seem to take as much pleasure in it as I do -- so he smashes the amp with his fists and destroys it. The audience turns with a gasp to see who is responsible for the damage, and all of their eyes settle on me. Next thing I know a helicopter lands on the sidewalk outside of the gym, and from out of it emerges -- Pete Townsend! Pete enters the fair and is very pissed to discover that someone has destroyed HIS amp. I try to explain to Pete that I didn't bust the thing, that 50 did, but he won't have any of it and just berates me in front of the fair attendees. It never occurred to me to ask Pete why a rock star of his caliber would have entered an amp in a grade-school science fair, or point out the irony that HE of all people would be upset that somebody wrecked his amp. The dream ended with my telling Pete that although I respected his music quite a bit, I thought he was being kind of a dick here.

If the heat keeps up, and it causes me to have more dreams like this, I think I'll need to get an AC for my bedroom.

Lindsey & Tom’s Wedding Fotonovel

On the weekend of June 9th my brother Tom and his longtime girlfriend Lindsey were married. Here are some photos from the big day:

“I thought you were kidding when you said 11 immediate family members.”


Lindsey had been dreaming of marrying Tom, Paul, and Larry since the day she first met them.


Rich mistakes the Lord’s Prayer for the Pledge of Allegiance.


As the piercing whine filled his ears and drowned out the priest’s oratory, Dad wondered again why he ever gave Jimmy Olsen that blasted signal watch.


The look on Tom’s face leads me to believe that I wasn’t the only one who thought the priest had a bit of a Shatner thing going on.


When the first sweet sip hit her lips, Lindsey knew the Diocese made the right move in switching to Black Opal.


Tom and Lindsey turn to receive the applause of a grateful Rebel Alliance.


Having dutifully handed over the wedding rings, Slash left the ceremony early to bust out a sweet-ass guitar solo.


I prefer Tom & Lindsey’s wedding in its original theatrical aspect ratio -- the way it was meant to be seen.


“Let the children come to me.”


“Honey, once the reception is over, I think it’s best if we join Jay-Z’s Cristal boycott.”


The bridesmaids reflect back on what a beautiful ceremony it was, while I explain to the groomsmen just how Eddie Valiant escaped from The Weasels in “Who Framed Roger Rabbit.”


Two Round-Headed Men and a Little Lady.


Awww…


AWWWWW….


The cover of Ralph Lauren’s 2006 Spring Collection catalog.


Don’t F with Tom.


Lindsey’s instructions to me were clear; if Paul messed up his toast, I would have to kill him.


Paul threw Larry when he unexpectedly took the Natalie Cole part of their “Unforgettable” duet.


Lindsey’s stalker took this shot.


I’m glad they went with the Entenmanns cake.


A cute shot of my nieces Carrie and Caitlin playing cards. What wasn’t so cute was when I lost $10,000 to them and they broke my legs.


Tom impressed Mom that day with his grace under pressure and good humor. I vowed to do the same with an attempt to bend her salad fork with my mind.


Although the cheers had not yet died down, it was time to get back on the road. Next stop -- The Budokon!

Why Can’t We Be Friends?

It’s nice to see Batman and Superman getting along so well.

We’re Gonna Get Gored In ‘08

This one’s for those of you who lean a bit left in your politics: a great article from New York magazine about the possibility of an Al Gore presidential-run in 2008. I will confess to being one of those Dems who is scared to death of the likelihood of a Hillary run (and the probable spanking we’ll get that November if she’s the nominee). Although I’m not as convinced as the pundits that the primaries are going to be a cake-walk for Hillary, I know it will take a formidable candidate to knock her out completely, and Al may just be the guy to do it.

Let’s start a vast left-wing conspiracy!

A Date with Dentistry

Wisdom teeth are a lot like a frozen caveman. Both are evolutionary anomalies that should no longer exist. Both can remain buried for years before revealing themselves. Both will emerge greatly confused about their place in this world, and will react violently -- the wisdom teeth by upsetting the alignment of your healthy teeth; the caveman by swinging his club at any person or object that makes a noise he’s not familiar with. And the idea of having to take either of them out is always scary.

Okay -- bad analogy. But is was three months ago that my dentist Dr. Malaty (see "Donuts Diner" post) told me, with caveman-like bluntness, that my wisdom teeth needed to come out. Apparently pressure was building, or the potential for pressure was building, or the tectonic plates had ruptured...I don’t know, I really didn’t understand the details. But the bottom line was clear: Teeth. Out. Now.

My wisdom teeth had come in more than a decade ago, but I figured that they would need to be removed someday. Genetics was not on my side: most of my immediate family members have had theirs out. My brother Rick was cursed with a total of SIX wisdom teeth (the average person has only 4). His operation was a grizzly affair; he was in so much pain afterwards that he couldn’t even make it up the house stairs to his bedroom for recovery. My parents had to let him spend the first night on the living room couch. This arrangement did lead to a humorous incident in which Rick, under the influence of heavy-duty pain-killers, got up in the middle of the night, stripped of all of his clothes, and attempted to wash our kitchen windows with a bag of rubber bands. Luckily Mom stopped him before he could do the outsides.

Comical nudity aside, it was stories like these that had me freaking out about the procedure. I am a researcher by nature, so the minute I found out what I was in for I asked everyone I knew if they had their wisdom teeth removed. I heard horror story after horror story -- most involving copious amounts of blood, gauze, and dry-sockets. Everyone pleaded with me “make sure they put you under, you DO NOT want to be awake for it.” Of course Dr. M said all I was getting was Novocain. Great.

Obviously the prospect of having your teeth removed is going to be unpleasant, no matter how many “don’t worry” reassurances you get from your friends. The other reason I was so dreading my appointment was because it would be the first time I’ve ever had a major medical procedure done to me. I’ve been very lucky with my health in that I have not often had to go under the knife, and the times I have it’s been for really minor things. Sure -- if you told me I need to have open heart surgery it would put things in perspective quick. But, please, allow me the dread appropriate to my medical histories.

My brother Tom had his wisdom teeth surgery just recently. His advice was to bring my iPod with me and listen to Van Halen during the procedure. “Eddie’s guitar sounds like a drill anyway, so it all kind of blends together.” Dr M. made no mention of his allowing portable electronic devices into the operating room, and even if he did I discovered the day of the extraction that it was out of juice anyway. Which I guess was fine since listening to “Poundcake” would probably just remind me of all the foods I wouldn’t be allowed to eat in the following days.

I asked brother Bill to go with me on the day of because I had no idea what type of pain-killers I would be on after the surgery and I wanted an escort for the subway ride home, to avoid having my wallet stolen or getting bum-humped while in an altered state. Bill functioned as something of my own personal GPS device, as concerned family member called his cell to get up-to-the-second updates on my whereabouts. He must have looked like a Hollywood agent in the waiting room.

When my name was called I entered the room with a hefty reservoir of nerves sloshing around in my stomach. I got in the chair with visions of Marathon Man running through my head. Dr. Malaty entered the room and mercifully got right down to business -- I think he sensed that I didn’t need the whole wind-up and was keen just to get the affair over with. He shot up my gums with Novocain (needle in your mouth; that’s always pure bliss). Dr. M then arranged his arm around my head in a fashion that suggested he was going to give me a “noogie.” My breathing stopped as I waited for the horrible pain to start, or the nasty sound of bone-crunching to ricochet in my skull, or blood to spew out all over…

“First one’s out.”

What? I felt nothing -- it wasn’t possible he just did anything remotely medical. But before I could protest I was having gauze shoved in my mouth. Quickly Dr. Malaty moved to my left side and again performed the noogie maneuver. Just as unbelievably the 2nd and final wisdom tooth was gone. I was not invited to look at the pulled teeth (which I didn’t want to anyway, as I heard they resemble something like vampire bat skulls). The next thing I knew I was being given all of the instructions on how to care for my mouth for the next few days. Surprisingly I would not be given any Matthew Perry-strength loopy pills for the pain. Instead I was given a Motrin the size of a remote control. Some fresh gauze later I was returned to the waiting room to pay my bill. Bill told me I was gone for less than 15 minutes.

I think the reason my teeth removal went so well was because my wisdom teeth were not impacted. They had come in fully so there was no real need to disturb the surrounding gum tissue. A reexamination of the horror stories I had heard from my friends revealed that theirs were all impact jobs -- and thus the mega-pain. Even when my Motrin wore off later, I was feeling very little discomfort. I couldn’t believe it. The perverse side of me felt a little bummed -- surely 3 months of freaking out about this operation deserved a little something, no? Even the bleeding stopped the next morning. Jeez.

I had planned to spend the night at Bill’s place -- expecting that I would be doped up and in need of the Heimlich if I accidentally choked on gauze. None of that was necessary now. But since I had already brought the sleeping bag, I crashed at his anyway. The Carnation Instant Breakfast the next morning indeed tasted sweet.

Laura Bassett Has Gone Meta

I brought it on myself. I was warned -- and I even posted that warning here on the blog. I stalled -- I made promises of future posts to come. I thought a pic of Bill’s sweet-ass mustache would be enough to sate her, but it seems posting a shot of someone else’s accomplishment does not make it MY accomplishment. Therefore -- I have been put on notice:

http://updateyourdamnblog.blogspot.com/

I am glad that Judy is being made an example of alongside me -- it’s nice to know I’m not the only one derelict in my posting duties. She does fare much better than me in the picture department -- I am apparently displaying my dual mutant powers of looking like a duck and lighting beer on fire to impress Pete Fritz.

A few words about Webmistress Bassett: I met her on a rooftop on a 4th of July (whoa -- that totally sounded like a Paul Simon lyric) and we’ve been buddies ever since. She’s the best person to get drunk with in the first 45 minutes of a party. She’s a founding partner of Thinking Caps, Brooklyn’s premiere writing/dinner salon. We may or may not have made out at a showing of “Good Night and Good Luck.” I think she should write a play. And, yes, her work is Microsoft Paint IS that good (she didn’t just cut-and-paste that “Last Supper”).

Laura’s admonishment has been noted. I promise to update my damn blog.

Bill Fantana

A few months ago my brother “Dollar” Bill Morton felt the call of his own manhood and grew out his beard. Bill informed me yesterday that due to the warmer weather or his being accused of a murder he did not commit and needing now to go on the run – that he was going to shave it off. I informed Bill that before he said goodbye to the facial hair entirely he had to, for my own personal amusement, retain his mustache for a 24 hour period.

I present to you now for posterity a shot of Bill at his most “Boogie Nights:”



Elliot Gould would be proud.

Reader Mail

Laura Bassett from Brooklyn, NY writes:

Listen here, you (expletive deleted). I am sure you are busy with your "real lives" and "other plans" and "interesting goings-on" but it's been two weeks since you've updated your blogs. I miss them. I like the little snapshots into your lives. And there's nothing. I feel like I don't know you at all anymore.

Put something new up there, or I will be forced to start a blog documenting how there's nothing on your blogs.

Thanks for the words of encouragement, Laura. I can assure you that I have no such thing even approximating a “real life.” In fact, that is the precise reason why I have been absent this page for the last couple of weeks. Work, or as I refer to hit, “that glorious 8 hours when a major metropolitan university pays me money to slack off and write blog entries” has become what NYPD Blue’s Andy Sipowicz would call “a real pain in the balls.” Students apparently need services, or some such, and it turns out that I am expected to render them. I know -- I couldn’t believe it either!

Secondly -- for the last few weeks I have been the most boring person alive. No, really. The most exciting thing to happen to me recently has been maxing out my La Taqueria restaurant Burrito Plan card. If you buy 10 burritos, you get the 11th for free. Check it out:



Seriously, if anything of note had happened to me lately would I have spent the time to scan a burrito card? Exactly. I mean, getting a free meal is kind of an event, especially at La Taqueria (and you know what I’m talking about, L.B.) -- but hardly the type of incident to waste bandwidth on.

But don’t worry -- lots of exciting stuff coming up. I have a rant against the new Godfather video-game that I need to spew, and next week I’m having some teeth cut out of my head. Maybe I’ll write about that event while under the influence of Matthew Perry-strength pain killers. Anything could happen! So keep checking back.

And for caring enough about the blog to light a fire under my butt -- you are awarded the very first Official Morning In Brooklyn No-Prize. Keep an eye on the mailbox!

Doppelgangers

This guy I know from work told me the other day that, because of my glasses and now longer hair, I looked like the actor Cillian Murphy. You may be familiar with Murpy as the creepy guy from "28 Days Later," or the creepy guy from "Batman Begins," or the creepy guy from "Red Eye." I wasn't happy to hear this, but it is just another in a long line of odd celebrity comparisons made in my life. I assume most of you know what I look like, but if not, here is a recent pic:











Here's how I rate my "look-alikes":

Wil Wheaton



Pros: Played the character of Gordy in "Stand By Me," one of my favorite movies ever. Really identified with his portrayal of a shy & sensitive kid with an overactive imagination and leeches in his underpants.

Cons: Played Wesley Crusher on "Star Trek: The Next Generation" -- the Jar Jar Binks of Trek. Puberty was not flattering to him, nor was his rainbow-striped unitard. Quit show to do nothing for ten years, then started website to complain about how quitting show was a mistake. A-hole.

Kevin Bacon, specifically from "Animal House" (Left)



Pros: "Thank you sir, may I have another?" Has cool game named after him that I'm really good at.

Cons: Seriously, would you want to look like early Kevin Bacon? Or any period Kevin Bacon? I only see a resemblance in "Hollow Man" -- our circulatory systems are like mirror images.

Tobey Maguire



Pros: Does whatever a spider can. Starred in "The Ice Storm," which was filmed in my hometown of New Canaan, CT. Into Yoga.

Cons: Most non-Spiderman performances are kind of sleepy. Perpetuates Man-Child image guys who look like us are eager to shake off.

Topher Grace




Pros: Funny and likable performer. Pokes fun of self in "Ocean's 11" movies. Grew up in Darien, CT -- one town over from New Canaan. Will appear in "Spider-Man 3" with Mr. Maguire.

Cons: Comes across as kind of a dick on talk-shows. When I see him and Maguire on-screen together in “Spider-Man 3”, will I cease to exist?

Corporal Upham from “Saving Private Ryan”



Pros: None

Cons: Too busy having a crying fit to prevent Private Melish from getting stabbed to death. Shooting of Nazi responsible afterwards -- too little, too late.





Cillian Murphy



Pros: Um…really sells the creepy thing?

Cons: Fights to destroy Batman -- something I could never do. I totally can’t wear my burlap mask anymore now that he made it uncool.




***
What really bums me out is that nobody ever sees the resemblance to the guy I really look like:

Get Your Tickets Now

Are you as excited as I am for the upcoming movie “Snakes on a Plane?” If you have no idea what I am talking about, I urge you to check out the trailer here.

The film stars Samuel L. Jackson as a cop who has to, as the title indicates, battle escaped snakes on a passenger plane. When this project was announced a few months back people could not believe that somebody was seriously making a movie with that story, let alone using such a literal title. Most figured it was a joke. But it turned out that the producers indeed set out to make a serious horror film.

Almost overnight fan-sites began popping up goofing on the film. The on-line movie sites reported on the progress of the movie almost daily. When the producers learned that people were laughing at the movie, they tried to change the title (to “Flight 347” or something), but there were immediate protest petitions, and the studio relented. Even Sam Jackson himself complained, revealing that the only reason he agreed to do the film was because it was called “Snakes on a Plane.”

With the groundswell of ironic support building up for this movie, I think New Line is going to have a big hit on their hands. I may need to see it opening night in the theater, if only to witness the audience’s reaction to the shot where Sam snake-whips that dude.

P.S. It was just announced this morning that the studio has authorized reshoots for the film, in order to bring the rating up from PG-13 to R -- and to allow Sam to angrily refer to the snakes (I’m not making this up) as “motherf--kers.”

Don’t Eat the Burger at the Donuts Diner

Last Sunday it was decided by the Lauras Bassett and Renga that we would all go bowling. There is a reasonably good alley near us in the Sunset Park area of Brooklyn. Sunset Park, just as it’s portrayed in the Rhea Pearlman-starring film of the same name, is kind of a shitty neighborhood -- defined mostly by its huge cemetery and numerous industrial buildings. It’s the type of place you would normally only go to return your cable box. But the thrill of sport was the business of the day, so we decided to brave it anyway.

We arrived at the alley and discovered that a children’s birthday party had sucked up most of the lanes. The Anne Ramsey-ish counter lady told us that the wait for a lane would be an hour. Grabbing some food seemed to be the best option to kill the time. Not wanting to stray too far away from the alley, we settled on the nearest option: The Donuts Diner.

Apparently there are a chain of these diners in New York, or Brooklyn, at least. That’s what I overheard one of our bowling party members say. If that’s true this particular D.D. must be the one the regional manager doesn’t like to talk about. It was pretty nasty, and reminded me a lot of the diner in Superman II where the powerless Clark Kent gets the shit beat out of him by a trucker. Donuts Diner’s hot item is, you guessed it, donuts. But they also serve regular diner food. The other Bowlers all seemed to order some variation of grilled cheese. I was the rebel and asked for the “Jumbo Cheeseburger.”

What arrived on the plate could in no way be described as "Jumbo." A more accurate description would have been "similar in size to the burgers your Mom used to buy in a 10-pack at the supermarket and served on Freihoffer's buns." But luckily the cook burned the meat, so chewing the thing took a long time, thus fooling you into thinking you were eating more burger than you really were. This is what tripped me up. While taking one of the required jaws-of-life bites my bottom teeth moved forward past my front teeth. When I pulled away my bottom teeth snapped back, jamming one of them against my right big tooth. It made the loudest sound inside of my head I have ever heard, and the pain was excruciating. I thought for sure that I had lost the tooth. I spit out the burger, and Maureen produced a make-up mirror for me to inspect the damage. The tooth was still there, and nothing looked out of the ordinary. We moved on to the bowling alley.

Bowling was fun, but the tooth kept hurting. I bitched about it in front of everybody -- probably a little too much. Everyone said the pain would probably go away. Maureen suggested I go see the dentist just to be safe, so I did. Dr. Malaty, my dentist, looks like an odd mix between Clark Gable and The King of Cartoons from Pee Wee’s Playhouse. He did a visual inspection, tapped on the tooth (which hurt like a mofo), and took an x-ray (does anyone else share with me the useless habit of closing your eyes when they take the x-ray?). His diagnosis: there was no damage to the tooth, and it hadn’t moved. The pain was most likely TRAUMA in the gum at the base of the tooth. I capitalized trauma because Dr. Malaty pronounced it with much theatricality, and I didn’t know trauma was an actual thing. Just to be sure I tested him by using the word “bruising” and he corrected me: TRAUMA! He advised me to take Motrin for two days and that the pain should eventually go away. I told him I had Advil, but he said “not Advil -- MOTRIN!” On the way home I stopped at CVS and learned Advil and Motrin are the same medicine. Dr. Malaty is a weird man.

I’m happy this tooth incident ended innocuously, but it did remind me that the April appointment I have to remove my wisdom teeth is coming up fast. That’s going to suck.

Are We Clear?

As some of you may know I have a huge fascination with Scientology. Not so much in an “I want to join it” way, but more in an “I can’t believe anybody, even complete f—ing morons, would swallow this crap” way. Rolling Stone has published a HUGE article on the “religion” in their new issue, and it’s up on their website. It’s really fascinating, even more so because “church” officials actually agreed to be interviewed for it. They conduct themselves with as much dignity as Tom Cruise did on that couch:

Xenu commands you!

Oscars

It seems kind of useless to complain that the show was too long and kind of boring in the middle, as it is every year. It’s like going to the movies and still being shocked that the popcorn is expensive.

I thought Jon Stewart was funny, and the pre-taped bits were good (especially the “hosts” opener and the gay cowboy montage), but he wasn’t helped much by the lifeless audience. I have a feeling that he will not be invited back again next year.

As for the winners themselves, as I did not see many of the nominated films, I have no idea if those who picked up an Oscar deserved it or not. But it was cool to see George Clooney win, because - hey, who doesn’t like Clooney? His speech was a lot of fun and I liked the “proud to be out of touch” comment. I’m happy Reese Witherspoon won. She has not done much for me as an actress before, but I thought she was genuinely excellent in “Walk The Line,” so good for her. Feel bad for Joaquin, because he was great, too. The whole 3 Dog Mafia (or whatever they were called) episode was embarrassing.

Re: The Best Picture upset. Whatever. I did not see either “Crash” or “Brokeback Mountain,” but the consensus I have heard from those who have is that “Brokeback” is the better film. I have read a few editorials that pin the “Brokeback” loss on the Academy not wanting to vote for a “gay” movie. I think that’s mostly a bunch of crap. Hollywood likes it when you are popular, but not TOO popular, and for months the critics’ consensus was that “Brokeback” had a lock on Best Picture. I think a lot of voters resented the film’s success and wanted to knock it down a peg. Thus “Crash” won. Either that or David Geffen really hates himself.

My prediction for next year? “Snakes On A Plane” sweeps.