Supporting the Troops

As the day when we honor our military vets draws to a close, I hope you will forgive me for indulging in a small rant along with a humble brag. 

I come from a long line of military veterans. My Dad, my uncles, and my Grandpa all served. As a child of the Vietnam era, I have no stomach for war.

I would not have done well in the military, because I have a speech impediment.

I am incapable of uttering the words, "Yes, Sir!"

But, some of my generational peers did not suffer from my affliction, and, in the absence of a draft, voluntarily signed on to fight the recent wars that were instigated by a group of government chicken hawks.

And, while I may question their judgement, I respect their choices, and, to drag out that hoary cliché, I thank them for their service.

Which brings me to my rant.

Over the last decade or so, the right-wing, "conservative" noise makers and their followers have accused left-leaning, Liberal, pacifists of being unpatriotic, anti-Americans who, because we were opposed to the wars, we therefore, must not support our troops.

I, personally, have been accused of such things, to my face.

Well, not really to my face.

Rather, from behind the cowardly, semi-anonymity of internet chat rooms and Facebook threads.

And, to them I say, "Suck on this!"

When my next door neighbor, (not the Teabagger who is living off the government safety nets of Disability and Unemployment Insurance,) but the other neighbor, a high ranking Army non-com officer who, after doing a tour in Bush Sr.'s war, got pulled back in to serving not one, not two, but three tours in Jr.'s illegal war...

Here comes the humble brag...

Mrs. Blog and I set out to support our neighbor and his company the best we knew how.

We sent "CARE" packages. And not the usual razors, toothbrushes, DVDs and playing cards, which, we were assured, they had plenty of.

But rather, all the fixin's, (food and decorations,) needed to celebrate whatever seasonal party was on the calendar.

I would like to take credit for this. But, the truth is, Mrs. Blog orchestrated it all.

Do you have any idea how much it costs to send 50 pounds of tortilla chips, and enough cans of Nacho cheese, refried beens and jalepeño peppers to feed 100 solders on, Cinco de Mayo, to Fallujah?

Don't ask.

Fast forward to my neighbor's return home.

One afternoon, he shows up at our door, in uniform, accompanied by two of his men, standing at attention. 

They presented us with these...

That flag flew over their base, Camp Bucca.

And the medal of appreciation on the right?

The box bears a brass plaque, signed by, get this, then President George W. Bush, himself.

I know, right?

Our neighbor presented us with these tokens of appreciation with a hint of a tear in his eye, and thanked us for our service.

And then, the three of them snapped off a crisp salute.

It was a moment that left Mrs. Blog and I moved, proud and humbled.

Hannibal Buress v. Bill Cosby

Your Blog is feeling #conflicted, right now.

First, some back story...

Your PC has been a stand up comedy junkie for as long as he can remember.

In my earliest days, I remember watching people like Bob Newhart, Rodney Dangerfield, Joan Rivers, and Señor Wences do their comedy thing on Ed Sullivan.

In my teens, there was George Carlin, Cheech and Chong, Flip Wilson and David Steinberg.

In my youth, I aspired, for a while to be a stand up comedian. I also aspired to be a circus clown, a mime, a magician, a cartoonist and/or an actor. In the cold light of adulthood, I realized that, if you were not one of the very lucky and exceptionally talented few, every one of these professions were a ticket to sadness, loneliness, public derision and, in far too many cases, eventual suicide.

Instead, I chose a much more stable career as a Hollywood make-up artist. (Place irony font, here.) So, okay, I have been very lucky, in my risky career choice. Maybe even exceptionally talented. But, that is open for argument. Discuss among yourselves.

In the '80s, I worked on "A&E's Evening at the Improv" with such future comedy icons as Bill Hicks, Ellen DeGeneres, Jim Carry, Rita Rudner and John Fugelsang.

In the last years of the 20th century, I worked with the likes of Sarah Silverman, Margaret Smith, Pauley Shore, Gilbert Gottfried and Louis Anderson.

In recent years, I have had the pleasure of working with Ron White, Bill Engvall, Katherine Madigan, Kate Rigg and the late John Pinette.

Anyhoo... Somewhere between the Sullivan stable and the 1970's comics, there was Bill Cosby.

At some point during the early '70s, the Blog Dad brought a couple of Cosby records home. We all listened together as a family, and I listened over and over again to this funny, funny man.

I idolized Bill Cosby.

To an extent, I still do.

Which brings us to my conflict.

If you are paying attention to what is trending on the Book of Faces, you may have seen this.

The brilliantly funny Hannibal Buress has publicly called "The Cos" out as as a hypocrite and a rapist.
Here is one of the many versions of this story that you can find online, if you Google it, there are more. Feel free to Google "Buress Cosby" for more.

Strong and ugly words from Buress. But...

He is not wrong.

Hollywood, and by "Hollywood" I mean Hollywood, New York, and entertainment industry hubs in between, is a small town.

We have all heard the stories and accusations.

Stories of womanizing and racism about "America's favorite Dad," are common among the people, mostly women, that I work with.

And, as Hannibal points out, there are accusations of drugs and date rape.

Your PC got to scratch, "Working with Bill Cosby" off his professional bucket list.

Bill... excuse me... Dr. Cosby, as he prefers to be addressed...

...Was arrogant and empirical. He treated make-up (me) hair and wardrobe as annoying worker bees. Beneath his respect.

So, what?

"Rapist? Racist? Womanizer? Passive aggressive, asshole?"

Yes, yes, yes and yes.

And yet...

I still admire him as one of the funniest humans on earth.

#conflicted

Phil Hartman Didn't Have to Die: A "What If" Story

A new book about the wonderfully talented Phil Hartman includes a detailed chronicle of his early morning murder. It is a fascinating and tragic read.

Read the excerpt, here.

It is a fact that every decision we make holds unforeseen, future consequences, good and bad. Each path we take presents alternative outcomes. Life is a big "What If?" story.

In the month of May, 1998, production began on "Baywatch" star Pamela Anderson's action/comedy "V.I.P."

Your Blog was there.

In an early production meeting in the weeks preceding the filming of the first episode, we were given a list of the expected cast, stars and guest stars.

At that time, Phil Hartman was in final talks to guest star as the "has-been" 1970s TV action star Colt Arrow. For whatever reason, negotiations broke down in the eleventh hour, and Phil declined the role.

Had Phil taken the role, he might still be alive today.


"What if?"

Had he taken the role, instead of being a sleeping sitting duck for his, (I'm gonna call it like I see it,) psycho third wife Brynn Omdahl, her temper and a gun, in the early hours of May 28th, 1998, he would have been hard at work, (or at least, enjoying a catered breakfast, sitting in my make-up chair,) at a port in San Pedro, CA.

But, he didn't take the role. And the rest is tragic history.

"What if?"

And, now, also, too...

Your PC doesn't want to trivialize Phil's murder, or suggest that backing out of a "V.I.P." guest star role came with some sort of superstitious curse....

(Even though, for four seasons, we regularly joked, darkly, about the "V.I.P. Curse." "David Cassidy has backed out of his cameo and will now be replaced by Ian Ziering? Has anyone warned David?")

But...

In that same first episode, some guy named Charlie Sheen was originally slated to play movie idol Brad Cliff. (No one in casting was delusional enough think they could get Brad Pitt to play Brad Cliff. Get it?) Charlie, like Phil, passed at the last minute. And Charlie, instead of working a more or less honest living doing the acting thing that he does, found himself, instead, cooling his heels in a Las Vegas jail, charged with disorderly conduct. (Which takes some effort in Las Vegas.)

"What if?"

"What if?" Indeed.

Post Script...

The part of Colt Arrow went to a, mostly, unknown "working actor" by the name of Bryan Cranston.

Your Blog wonders whatever became of him.

Once Upon a Time: Some Thoughts

So you all know that "Once Upon a Time" is one of my most favorite, current TV shows. I have not yet seen tonight's episode, (it's Tivoed.) but, based on last week's season premier, I am feeling a bit ambivalent.

The thing that I have loved about the show is it's subversive deconstructionism.

"OUAT" has taken characters and stories that are the lifeblood of ABC's parent company, Disney, and totally screwed with them.

Think about it. "Once" writers created an eighth dwarf and promptly killed him. Mulan is a lesbian. Peter Pan is a scary, Mafia Don, cult leader. And Captain Hook is a pretty decent guy. And let's talk about Rumplestiltskin, aka: "Mr. Gold." Not just the guy who spins straw into gold, but Belle's "Beast," and Hook's "Crocodile," Another bad guy, in fact, not just a bad guy. but the embodiment of evil, as "The Dark One." But, still, a decent person, deep down, fighting his own demons, tooth and nail. And, maybe even winning.

And, speaking of evil fighting demons, Regina, Snow White's evil queen stepmother, and mayor of Storybrooke. Gotta love her and gotta root for her as she fights her own demons on her off and on journey to redemption.

Meanwhile, the show is loaded to the gills with the most delightful "Easter eggs."

For example, the town's resident therapist is "Doc Hopper." A soft spoken guy with a penchant for green clothing and umbrellas. Get it? And, he has a dalmatian named Pongo.

And not just Disney characters. Storybrooke is the home of Ruby and her Granny, Dr. Whale and a hat maker named Jefferson.

Like I said, subversive.

So, why does the first episode of this new season, featuring the characters from "Frozen" feel so, I don't know, corporate? Like "Frozen II." Maybe I will feel better about this story arc after I see tonight's show. Or the shows that follow. We will see. I love the show and have faith that the show's creators know what they are doing and that Disney has given them carte blanche to do what they will.

So, moving on... I got to thinking about what "OUAT" should do next. And I had the most amazing idea.

How cool would it be to introduce Jack Skellington and the "Nightmare Before Christmas" cast to the world of Storybrooke?

Attention "OUAT" writers and producers... Feel free to use this. If you feel that you should send me a royalty check for this idea, I will not refuse it. But, I will understand if you don't.

Bashing the GOP. (And Proud of It.)

Hey Blogglitts! Your Uncle PC has been away for a while.

But, I'm back! And I am on fire.

Why do I criticize Republicans? (Or, as my GOP friends put it, "bash" Republicans.) Well, the recalled Arizona senate president, Russell Pearce, is a good example.

Get yourselves caught up, here.

Lack of empathy. No comment beyond this. If you have read this story and don't get it, you may be a Republican.

Ignorance of recent history. (Drug testing for welfare in the states that are doing it has shown that drug use among welfare recipients is a statistical zero. And expensive, to boot.)

Ignorance of recent history, The Last Three Decades Edition. Because if you have lived through the last three decades and have not grasped the damage that Reagan, Bush I, Clinton (GOP Light,) and Bush II inflicted on America, you must have been in a coma. Or, you may be a Republican.

Ignorance of what things public assistance does and does not cover. (“No cash for Ding Dongs and Ho Hos, you’d only get money for 15-pound bags of rice and beans, blocks of cheese and powdered milk – all the powdered milk you can haul away,” Pearce said. “If you want a steak or frozen pizza, then you’d have to get a job.” Go ahead. Try buying Ding Dongs and Ho Hos with an EBT card. G'head! I'll be right over here watching and laughing. Rice and beans and powdered milk are okay? In 15 pound bags? Great idea! All the carbs with none of the nutrition. Meat based protein? Like a 75¢ a pound flap steak? Fuck that, lazy takers! Here, have some blocks of cheese, instead. "All you can haul away." Blocks and blocks of artery clogging, colin blocking, minimally nutritious cheeeeezzzze! Or, as I like to call it, frozen pizza in it's embryonic state. Don't get me wrong, I'm not bashing cheese, here. Because, Mmmmmm...... cheese!

Seriously, your Blog could live on cheese as long as he has a proper supply of Triscuts™ to put it on. (But, I am guessing that Triscuts™ = Ho Hos (also ™) in Russell Pearce's view.) But, yeah. I could live on cheese three meals a day.

Wait, what? My left arm just went numb. My back hurts. So does my chest. Can't breathe. Aackkkkk.

jk, lol. I'm okay. Because I do not live, entirely on cheese. Entirely. Also, bacon. And scotch. And tobacco. But, I am still okay. For now...

I've lost my train of thought. Where was I? Oh, yeah! I'm back...

More ignorance of what things public assistance does and does not cover. "Plasma TVs and X-Box 360s." He forgot to mention pimped out Escalades and Hawaiian vacations.

Basic big government vs. small government hypocrisy.

Exhibit A... Military barracks style housing. “You’ll maintain your property in a clean, good state of repair, and your home will be subjected to an inspection at any time, possessions will be inventoried."  Nope, no government intrusion to be found here. Here in Los Angeles, we actually have a huge, dorm style, mega-shelter for any homeless persons who would like to avail themselves of the amenities. It is run by "bleeding heart, libtards." All while L.A. has perfectly good, municipal, homeless facilities, better known as "Skid Row," and "the 405 off-ramp at Rosecrans Ave."

Exhibit Two... “You put me in charge of Medicaid, the first thing I’d do is get Norplant, birth-control implants, or tubal ligations..." aka: "forced sterilization" which is nothing like anything going on in commie Red China.

Finally, Mr. Pearce sums up with the classic Christianist, conservative, go-to argument.

“I know there’s people out there [who] need help, (Stop right there! "...there's people out there...?" "There's?" Call the grammar police! "There's" some super good talking of Englishness, right there, their, they're... it is "there are," you semi-literate dunce... [pause for hyoer-ventilation.]) and my heart goes out to them, too.”  Because he, somehow, is qualified to judge who are worthy of help and who are not. And, he goes on... "That should never be a government role. That’s a role for family, church, and community.”

This takes us back to Ignorance of History.

If taking care of "the lesser among us," could be done by "family, church and community," alone, welfare, Social Security, housing assistance, food stamps, Medicaid and Medicare, would never have had to be enacted, in the first place.

And therefore, also too, I criticize Republicans. I also bash Christianist, Tea-bagging, Ayn Randian, right-wing douche nozzles.

If the (probably made in China,) tri-corner hat fits...

I make no apologies.

Robin Williams, Pt. 2

Your Blog is still working through his reaction to the sudden loss of one of the funniest humans of his lifetime. 

I have spent the last couple of hours, thanks to the wonder of the internet, immersed in all things Robin Williams. 

I have laughed and cried, (there is about half a box worth damp of Kleenexes™ piled on my desk,) and sat in awe of his genius. 

But, I am still not ready to put all of my thoughts and "feels" (as the kids say,) into a coherent post. Maybe tomorrow night. 

Until then...

I came across a transcript from one of Robin's "Mork from Ork" reports to his intergalactic leader, Orson, that feels all too appropriate at this time.

"Mork calling Orson. Come in Orson..."

Orson: The report, Mork.

Mork: This week I discovered a terrible disease called loneliness.

Orson: Do many people on Earth suffer from this disease?

Mork: Oh yes sir, and how they suffer. One man I know suffers so much he has to take a medication called bourbon, even that doesn't help very much because then he can hear paint dry.

Orson: Does bed rest help?

Mork: No because I've heard that sleeping alone is part of the problem. You see, Orson, loneliness is a disease of the spirit. People who have it think that no one cares about them.

Orson: Do you have any idea why?

Mork: Yes sir, you can count on me. You see, when children are young, they're told not to talk to strangers. When they go to school, they're told not to talk to the person next to them. Finally when they're very old, they're told not to talk to themselves, who's left?

Orson: Are you saying Earthlings make each other lonely?

Mork: No sir, I'm saying just the opposite. They make themselves lonely, they're so busy looking out for number one that there's not enough room for two.

Orson: It's too bad everybody down there can't get together and find a cure.

Mork: Here's the paradox sir, because if they did get together, they wouldn't need one. Isn't that zenlack?

While we are at it, here is a clip of another report that feels appropriate...

"Saying Goodbye to a Friend."  

Shazbot! Isn't that zenlack?

Nanu Nanu.

Robin Williams

The world is a little more empty, tonight.

A little less funny.

Robin Williams has "shuffled off this mortal coil."

While not officially confirmed, it appears that Robin asked Hamlet's ultimate question, "To be, or not to be..." and like the prince of Denmark, he chose the latter.

I want to write something meaningful about Robin and his influence on, at least, two generations of fans, friends and admirers.

And I have much to say. But, right now, my thoughts are a chaotic mess, and it is going to take a day or so to get them into some sort of coherent order.

In the meantime, The Blog, Jr., aka: The Hapless Romantic, has beat his old man to the punch and has written a moving tribute to Robin's legacy from his perspective.

Please take a few minutes and check it out.

Until tomorrow night...

                                                                     "Nanu Nanu."

Celebrity Make-up Artists

As I sit here at my computer, printing classroom stuff for my wife, the TV drones on in the background. A rerun of "Criminal Minds" ends and an infomercial comes on, touting some "miracle" cosmetic product being sold by a "celebrity make-up artist" that I have never heard of. 

God, how I hate the term, "celebrity make-up artist." 

We are make-up artists. We often work with celebrities. That is what we do. If we gain some modicum of fame for our association with a celebrity, well, that's pretty nice. 

But, we are not celebrities. I call bullshit on any make-up artist who pretends otherwise. 

Infomercial "celebrity make-up artists" are the modern day version of old timey snake oil salesmen. Selling the same old products, hyped by competent publicists. 

A while back, while in Las Vegas for the Daytime Emmys, I ran into a minor celebrity and her make-up artist in an elevator. The minor celebrity informed me that her make-up artist aspired to be a "celebrity make-up artist," and "could I give her some advice?"

My advice was thus...

"Do not aspire to be a 'celebrity make-up artist.' Aspire to be the best make-up artist that you can be. Aspire to help your clients to become glamorous celebrities. And when and if that happens, enjoy your association with your celebrity client. But, do not mistake your client's celebrity for your own."

I continued...

"If you want to be a celebrity, become a successful actor, yourself. Or, you know, star in a viral sex tape. That worked for Paris and Kim." 

"But, if you want success as a make-up artist, eschew "celebrity" and embrace the success of continual employment."

That is all I have to say about that. 

Comebacks

For all the violence, political crap, hypocrisy, and reasons for Your Blog to be, generally, pissed off at the world...

For all the personal annoyances and inconveniences plaguing your Uncle PC...

Today, I am happy for a couple of reasons.

And I am going to bask in those reasons, for as long as I can.

We all experience loss in our lives.

Some are major.

The death of a loved one. The end of a friendship. An ugly break-up.

Those losses happen.

We grieve. Then we move on.

Other losses are small. Some might even say "petty."

But, those losses touch us in a personal way.

So, when a small but personal loss happens, an unexpected "comeback" is nothing short of glorious!

(Did you catch that exclamation point, there? You know I don't use those, unless I am super excited.)

So, here we go...

Comeback Number One...

Remember a couple of years ago, when the iconic purveyor of baked junk food, Hostess, suddenly declared bankruptcy and went out of business?

A year later, predictably, the company rose, like a phoenix from the ashes, under new ownership, and about six months ago, declared it, "The Sweetest Comeback Ever!"

(Their exclamation point, not mine.)

Hostess was back.

Those chocolate cupcakes with the trademark curli-que frosting. Doughy mystery pastries they call "fruit pies." Dry, bland "Donettes." And, of course, the cream filled sponge cake fingers that sport a "half life" rather than a "shelf life." The delicacy that Archie Bunker once called, "White Man's Soul Food..."

                                                                          Twinkies.

*DIGRESSION*

The notion that Twinkies never spoil is, actually, a myth. The fact is that the shelf life of a Twinkie is actually about 30 days. But, like Santa Claus, Bigfoot and The Loch Ness Monster, it is a myth that is fun to believe in."

*END DIGRESSION*

And your PC said, "Meh."

The resurrection of Hostess has been, in Your Blog's not so humble opinion, like a cat buried in Big Steve King's "Pet Semetary."

Reanimated, but just not quite right.

Until today.

I hate the phrase "guilty pleasure." 

If you get pleasure watching "The Real Housewives of Wherever," or smoking cheap cigars, or listening to the music of ABBA on your iPod™, or getting your munchie on with a Taco Bell "Doritos Loco," own it and tell the judgmental ones to shove it.

But if I have one, so called, "guilty pleasure," it is this...

Take a Hostess cupcake. Strip off the chocolate and curli-que frosting. Turn it upside down and cover it with rubbery marshmallow and coconut.

Are you with me?

This morning, I was at one my 8 or 9 local "7Eleven" stores, picking up a copy of the L.A. Times.

I turned around and a new Hostess display caught my eye.

That's not accurate.

The sky opened and shined heavenly light on the display as a choir of angels sang.

                                                      Hostess Sno-Balls are, finally, back.

Hallelujah!

Now, truly, "The Sweetest Comeback Ever!"

And if that was not enough for one day...

Comeback Number Two..

*SPOILER ALERT! SPOILER ALERT!  SPOILER ALERT!*

If you are, in any way, invested in the Marvel Comics or Marvel movie universe, and don't want to walk into a major spoiler, connected to tonight's release of Marvel's...

                                                            "Guardians of the Galaxy"

... movie. Stop reading now. I am not fucking kidding.

Click away and enjoy this cute clip, instead.

Seriously.

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Are they gone?

Okay.

Let's do this. 

Your Blog has always had mixed feelings about the announcement of movie adaptations of existing properties that I love.

Comic books, novels series, TV shows, whatever.

At first, I get excited.

And then, I get cynical.

More often than not, movie adaptations of things that I love, at best, miss the mark.

Some are successful. Some are even good, on their own, but personally disappointing.

I'm thinking, both film adaptations of "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory," "Chitty, Chitty, Bang, Bang," "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy," and Joel Shoemaker's "Batman" movies. 

In the old days, an adaptation that tanks could kill any hope of a future sequel or franchise or remake. In some cases, it could even kill the future of the original source. (i.e.: "Barb Wire.")

Studio suits would run like they were on fire from any attempt to revive a horribly failed adaptation. And who could blame them?

But we are living in the age of the "reboot."

Did "Batman and Robin" kill the Batman franchise? Wait a few years and hire a quirky indie director to go back to the drawing board and give us "The Dark Knight" trilogy.

"The Hulk" was a steaming pile of art? No need to wait generations to tackle it again. Just pretend it didn't happen and start over.

What am I going on about, here?

I am a comic book nerd, but I have no emotional investment in the Marvel Universe.

I am a DC, (and ancient history, Warren Publishing,) guy.

I like Marvel comics, and I like the Marvel movies, (mostly.) But, I am have no personal investment in most of the Marvel characters. (Emphasis on "most." There is one...)

So, when The Nerdist posted a *MAJOR SPOILER* regarding an "after the credits" cameo from

"The Guardians of the Galaxy" on Facebook, today...



I plowed ahead.

If you don't care about any of this, you won't care. Feel free to keep reading, but you won't care.

But, if you love this Marvel character from the past as much as I do, read on at your own risk. Or...

*LAST CHANCE! CLICK AWAY NOW! I MEAN IT!*

*Legal Disclaimer...*

"This Blog will not be held responsible for spoiling your future fun, or for the damage that may be done to your person or your computer, when your mind is blown and your head explodes."

*End Disclaimer. You have been warned!*

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Are you still here?

Okay.

Here we go...

Back in the late '80s, no less than George Lucas and Robert Zemeckis made a big budget movie based on the only Marvel character that I loved as much as I could love any fictional character.

It was an epic failure.

It missed it's mark so badly that the movie's title remained a Hollywood punchline for decades.

Your Blog never, in his wildest imagination, ever thought that he would see this character on the big screen, (or even, in comic books,) ever again.

But, I have been informed that he is back, in all his feathered, blustery, pants-less glory, (voiced by Seth Green.)

That's right!

                                                           Howard the Duck is back!!!

(Three, count 'em, 3, exclamation points.)

Adam West

It was the fall of 1983, (or, maybe the spring of '84.) I was hired to work on my first Hollywood movie production. A semi-awful, straight to cable, super soft-core skin flick that had a pretty impressive "C-List" cast. (A story for another day.)

And who was the first actor to sit in my chair? 

None other than my very first, (okay, maybe second, Capt, Kangaroo was probably my first,) childhood, celebrity idol. Batman, himself, Adam West. 

I was nervous. I had always heard that Adam was bitter about the fact that he was forever typecast as The Caped Crusader.

And, I had been taught, in make-up school, "Be professional. Stay cool. Never get all fan-boy when an actor/actress sits in your chair."

Man, that was some stupid advice. 

Actors live to be recognized. I learned that, eventually.

But, in this case, I struggled to maintain my cool, totally missing the signals. 

Not minutes in my chair, Adam said, "I have just one request. Could you draw a cleft on my chin? I spent three years acting with just my chin, so I like to take good care of it."

On Day Two, the make-up trailer had been improperly leveled, and, by that I mean, not leveled at all. The floor slanted at what must have been about a 30 degree grade. My rather weak filter failed for a moment as I quipped, "We had this done to make you feel at home." 

Adam laughed. 

On Day Three, I found myself having lunch with Adam. And, I could control myself, no longer. As we ate and talked, I broke out in an ear-to-ear grin. 

"What?" Adam asked. 

"I'm sorry," I replied. "But, I just can't believe that I am having lunch with Batman!"

Adam smiled, and, feeling emboldened, I went on...

"Can I tell you something?" I continued. "When I was six-years-old, you were my hero." 

Adam got all serious looking and put his hand on my shoulder. 

("Aw shit!" I thought, "I just fucked up, royally."}

"Do me a favor," Adam said, as he looked straight into my eyes. "Do not EVER tell anyone how young you were, when I was your hero."

*GULP*

Then, he burst out laughing. 

Relived, I followed. 

On Day Four, I took a Sharpie™ and wrote "BAM!"  on the back of his powder puff.

He loved it. 

And that was when I, finally, got up the nerve to ask him...

"I had always heard that you were bitter about being typecast as Batman. That it ruined your career. But, I'm not sensing that that is true."

His response blew me away.

"You know," he said, "For a lot of years, that was true. I was bitter. I couldn't get cast in anything. The only jobs I could book were car shows and shopping center openings, and only if I wore the costume. But, one day, I had an epiphany. I realized that I am, at best, a mediocre actor. But, for three glorious years, I got to work with some of the finest actors in Hollywood. Caesar Romero, Burgess Meredith, Vincent Price, Otto Preminger, Victor Buono. I mean, who gets to do that? And now, all these years later, the kids who grew up watching Batman all want to cast me in their movies and TV shows. I mean, how lucky can a bad actor get? I realize, now, that I am blessed beyond belief. 

Which brings us to today's USA Today, ComicCon interview with Adam. 

Read and watch it here. 

Happy Batman Day

Today is July 23, "Batman Day," celebrating the 75th birthday of The Caped Crusader.

But, why July 23?

Batman made his debut in "Detective Comics" #27. The cover states that it is the May issue. And, do to the quirks of comic book distribution, that means it probably hit the stands sometime in February or March.

So, again, why July 23?

Because, according to a DC Comics spokesman, since The Dark Knight's actual birthday is kind of fuzzy anyway, why not make "Batman Day" coincide with the opening day of the San Diego Comic-Con?

Makes sense. Why not?

Maybe I am reaching here. But, I am detecting an historical parallel.

(I know. This is going to sound like I am stoned. I swear I am not. I have not partaken of the herb in decades. But, it would be fair to assume that I have a dram or two of moderately priced scotch in my system.)

The actual birth date of Jesus is unknown. Most Biblical scholars believe that he was born sometime between April and August.

But, when the pagan Emperor Constantine decided to organize Christianity into a thing that was, well, organized, he and his crew of advisors felt that the masses would be more accepting of new holidays if they coincided with established pagan celebrations.

Therefore, the official birthday of Jesus Christ was assigned to the winter solstice.

So there you go.

Are you seeing what I am seeing here?

Happy Batman Day, everyone!

And those of you who were lucky enough to score tickets...

Happy Comic-Con! Grab some swag for me, if you can.

How New York City Am I? How New York City R U?

Go ahead and take the test.

I'll be here when you get back.

Your Blog is 41% NYC. Only surprised that I am that NYC.

"You don't belong in this city. Just take the Statue of Liberty tour and GTFO. And quit walking so damn slow, too!"

Your Blog has visited NYC three times in his life.

Always on business. Always at a four star hotel. (I would rather stay at Motel 6 then ever spend another night at Trump Tower. Give me the St. Regis, thank you very much.) Always with a driver at my disposal. (Seriously? We've been driving for 20 minutes and we have only gone around the block to point ourselves in the right direction?) 

I have never seen the Statue of Liberty, except from the air. I have only seen the Empire State Building from a distance. The first time I was there, I saw the WTC from a distance. The next time I was there, it wasn't.

I like Central Park, except that it covers more square miles than the city I live in. Nobody told me that when I went searching for the Alice in Wonderland statues. I should have packed a lunch. And dinner. And a compass.

Here's a crazy story.

I have used the services of NYC taxi cabs three times.

Twice, about eight years apart, I got the same cabbie.

I know this because, cabbie #1, upon learning that I am a make-up artist, launched into a story about how, in his pre-cabbie days, he was the "go-to" hairstylist, in the disco days, with a salon next door to "Studio 54."

Eight years later, I flagged a cab outside of a warehouse in some godforsaken part of town that was the site of the Spike TV "up fronts" party, and cabbie #2 told me the exact same story.

What are the odds?

The Saddest Calvin & Hobbes Story You Will Ever Read

If you love Calvin & Hobbes, (and who doesn't,) this bit of fan fiction from the Redditor known as "samuraitiger19" has been making the rounds and is a must read.

*WARNING* Have a full box of Kleenex™ with you when you read this. Your Blog started reading this last night while I was waiting for KISS to hit the stage at The Forum. I stopped when I realized that I was openly sobbing in public. The people around me must have thought I was insane.

The story chronicles Calvin's last talk with Hobbes, as Calvin lays on his deathbed. It is beautiful and moving and gut wrenching.

You have been warned.

"Calvin? Calvin, sweetheart?"


In the darkness Calvin heard the sound of Susie, his wife of fifty-three years. Calvin struggled to open his eyes. God, he was so tired and it took so much strength. Slowly, light replaced the darkness, and soon vision followed. At the foot of his bed stood his wife.

Calvin wet his dry lips and spoke hoarsely, "Did... did you.... find him?"
"

Yes dear," Susie said smiling sadly, "He was in the attic."
Susie reached into her big purse and brought out a soft, old, orange tiger doll.

Calvin could not help but laugh. It had been so long. Too long.


"I washed him for you," Susie said, her voice cracking a little as she laid the stuffed tiger next to her husband.
"

Thank you, Susie." Calvin said.


A few moments passed as Calvin just laid on his hospital bed, his head turned to the side, staring at the old toy with nostalgia.


"Dear," Calvin said finally. "Would you mind leaving me alone with Hobbes for a while? I would like to catch up with him."
"All right," Susie said. "I'll get something to eat in the cafeteria. I'll be back soon."


Susie kissed her husband on the forehead and turned to leave. With sudden but gentle strength Calvin stopped her. Lovingly he pulled his wife in and gave her a passionate kiss on the lips. "I love you," he said.
"And I love you," said Susie.
Susie turned and left.

Calvin saw tears streaming from her face as she went out the door


Calvin then turned to face his oldest and dearest friend. "Hello Hobbes. It's been a long time hasn't it old pal?"
 Hobbes was no longer a stuffed doll but the big furry old tiger Calvin had always remembered.

"It sure has, Calvin." said Hobbes.


"You... haven't changed a bit." Calvin smiled.


"You've changed a lot." Hobbes said sadly.


Calvin laughed, "Really? I haven't noticed at all."


There was a long pause. The sound of a clock ticking away the seconds rang throughout the sterile hospital room.


"So... you married Susie Derkins." Hobbes said, finally smiling. "I knew you always liked her."


"Shut up!" Calvin said, his smile bigger than ever.


"Tell me everything I missed. I'd love to hear what you've been up to!" Hobbes said, excited.


And so Calvin told him everything.

He told him about how he and Susie fell in love in high school and had married after graduating from college, about his three kids and four grandkids, how he turned Spaceman Spiff into one of the most popular sci-fi novels of the decade, and so on. After he told Hobbes all this there was another pregnant pause.


"You know... I visited you in the attic a bunch of times." Calvin said.


"I know."


"But I couldn't see you. All I saw was a stuffed animal." Calvin voice was breaking and tears of regret started welling up in his eyes.
"You grew up old buddy." said Hobbes.
Calvin broke down and sobbed, hugging his best friend. "I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry I broke my promise! I promised I wouldn't grow up and that we'd be together forever!!"


Hobbes stroked Calvin's hair, or what little was left of it.

"But you didn't."


"What do you mean?"


"We were always together... in our dreams."


"We were?"


"We were."


"Hobbes?"


"Yeah, old buddy?"


"I'm so glad I got to see you like this... one last time..."


"Me too, Calvin. Me too."


"Sweetheart?" Susie's voice came from outside the door.


"Yes dear?" Calvin replied.


"Can I come in?" Susie asked.


"Just a minute."
 Calvin turned to face Hobbes one last time.

"Goodbye Hobbes. Thanks... for everything..."


"No, thank you Calvin." Hobbes said.


Calvin turned back to the door and said, "You can come in now."


Susie came in and said, "Look who's come to visit you."


Calvin's children and grandchildren followed Susie into Calvin's room. The youngest grandchild ran past the rest of them and hugged Calvin in a hard, excited hug. "Grandpa!!" screamed the child in delight.
"Francis!" cried Calvin's daughter, "Be gentle with your grandfather."
Calvin's daughter turned to her dad. "I'm sorry, Daddy. Francis never seems to behave these days. He just runs around making a mess and coming up with strange stories."


Calvin laughed and said, "Well now! That sounds just like me when I was his age."


Calvin and his family chatted some more until a nurse said, "Sorry, but visiting hours are almost up."
Calvin's beloved family said good bye and promised to visit tommorrow.

As they turned to leave Calvin said, "Francis. Come here for a second."


Francis came over to his grandfather's side, "What is it Gramps?"


Calvin reached over to the stuffed tiger on his bedside and and held him out shakily to his grandson, who looked exactly as he did so many years ago.

"This is Hobbes. He was my best friend when I was your age. I want you to have him."


"He's just a stuffed tiger." Francis said, eyebrows raised.


Calvin laughed, "Well, let me tell you a secret." 
Francis leaned closer to Clavin. Calvin whispered, "If you catch him in a tiger trap using a tuna sandwich as bait he will turn into a real tiger."


Francis gasped in delighted awe. Calvin continued, "Not only that he will be your best friend forever."


"Wow! Thanks grandpa!" Francis said, hugging his grandpa tightly again.


"Francis! We need to go now!" Calvin's daughter called.


"Okay!" Francis shouted back.


"Take good care of him." Calvin said.


"I will." Francis said before running off after the rest of the family.


Calvin laid on his back and stared at the ceiling. The time to go was close. He could feel it in his soul. Calvin tried to remember a quote he read in a book once. It said something about death being the next great adventure or something like that. He eyelids grew heavy and his breathing slowed. As he went deeper into his final sleep he heard Hobbes, as if he was right next to him at his bedside.

"I'll take care of him, Calvin..."


Calvin took his first step toward one more adventure and breathed his last with a grin on his face.

Best If Used Before...

Today, Joan Rivers lost her sense of humor during a CNN interview.

Your Blog knows Joan. She is a really nice lady. I mean, really nice.

That said, I have not found her to be funny in decades.

I have a theory about comedians.

They come with expiration dates.

Think about all the comedians who used to be funny, until they weren't.

Some old. Some not.

Billy Crystal.

Milton Berle.

Chevy Chase.

Even the PC's own, personal, comedy god, George Carlin, in his last days went from funny to pissed off, cranky old man.

Some will call me a heretic and a blasphemer for this, but...

With the exception of a couple of iconic scenes...

                                                                   "I Love Lucy."

Not funny anymore.

They have passed their expiration dates.

Some years ago, Eddie Murphy skewered expired comics, (when he was still funny.)

                                                                "I'm Gumby, dammit!"

Your Uncle PC guesses that Eddie misses that bit of irony.

Sadly, some comedians die before their expiration date. But, at least, they went out still funny.

Richard Pryor.

Lenny Bruce.

Bill Hicks.

Jonathan Winters.

Your Blog is still mourning the death of his friend...

                                                                     John Pinnette,

Who somehow managed to die at the healthiest point in his life.

Ain't that some shit?

Of course, there are exceptions to the rule...

                                                                        Tim Conway

and...

                                                                      Bob Newhart

... are still going strong and as funny as ever.

Don't believe me?

Send both of them "friend requests" on Facebook.

You can thank me later.

The Facebook™ Experiment

So, have you heard about this?

For one week, back in 2012, The folks at the Book of Faces helped some academic researchers perform a social experiment.

Read all about it, here.

Facebook™ manipulated the news feeds of around 70k users, (I'm guessing a pretty small percentage of total users,) placing a majority of positive posts on some feeds, and negative posts on others.

The idea was to find out how those posts affected the subsequent posts of those who saw them.

Not surprisingly, the experiment concluded that positive posts begat positive posts, while negative posts...

Well, you get the picture.

This is the sort of experiment that draws such a predictably mundane conclusion that it needs to be filed under...

                                                                  "No shit, Sherlock!"


So, are you offended, angered, surprised or shocked...

                                                                     "Shocked, I say!"


... about this revelation?

If you answered "Yes" to any of the above, your Uncle PC has one thing to say to you...

"WAKE THE FUCK UP!!! You are not paying attention!"

(You know that your Blog seldom uses "caps lock" or exclamation points, So, you know that your Uncle PC is laying some serious truth on you.)

Do you get your news from "mainstream" TV or cable "news?" and accept it as fact? 

"WAKE THE FUCK UP!!! You are not paying attention!"

Do you get your information from web sites and email?

"WAKE THE FUCK UP!!! You are not paying attention!"

Do you swipe a "rewards card" at your favorite grocery store or restaurant?

"WAKE THE FUCK UP!!! You are not paying attention!"

Do you use your GPS enabled cell phone to Google™ or Mapquest™?

"WAKE THE FUCK UP!!! You are not paying attention!"

Are you getting the picture? Or, is the Facebook™ story still pissing you off?

"WAKE THE FUCK UP!!! You are not paying attention!"

For better or worse, we have traded in our expectation of privacy for convenience, entertainment, and lower prices.

And I know that I am not going to give up the benefits of this brave new world.

I don't have to like it. And, neither should you.

But, it is what it is. And we have all let it happen.

So, check your outrage.

See you later, on Facebook™.

Some Rambling About Music

When I was a kid, my mom was adamant that I learn the piano. I had a great piano teacher, Mrs. Marquard, who I remember with affection. I guess I was competent, but I wasn't great.

I wish, in hindsight, that I had been better at it.

Because, who doesn't own a party like someone who can play piano?

When school band came along, I chose the trombone.

In a recent conversation about the topic, a new friend asked me, "Why the trombone?" I answered, "I really don't know." I really wanted to be a drummer, like Ringo Starr, Keith Moon, Micky Dolenz and my grandfather. My parents steered me away from that. Although, they did buy me a "practice pad" and a set of bongos. In hindsight, again, I get that. I have a neighbor kid who plays the drums. She is pretty good, but, oh, the noise!

So, about the trombone.

Maybe it was about cool people like Tommy Dorsey.

Or, maybe, the whole slidey thing was weird enough to appeal to me.

Again, I was competent, but not great.

But, by the time I was in college, I had lost interest and sold my 'bone.

A few years ago, I picked up a prop trombone on a set I was working on.

The sound that came out was sad and scary. My "chops" are long gone.

For a brief time, in high school, I flirted with the guitar. But, practicing until my fingers bled didn't work for me.

As an adult, I wish that I had learned the saxophone.

Because there is no instrument that is sexier than the sax.

But the truth is, as much as I love music, I am not musical.

At heart, I am a hard rocker. KISS, Cooper, Ozzy, AC/DC...

Those are my jams.

But, I also love classical, swing, do-wop, bubble gum, punk and Broadway musicals.

I have to accept that, at my age, I will never be a rock star.

But I still entertain one small fantasy.

That, one night, someone will put enough alcohol in me that I can be coaxed onto a stage for some karaoke.

And I will sing "Mack the Knife," "What I Like About You," "(You Shook Me) All Night Long," and "Paradise by the Dashboard Light."

                          That's right. I want to emulate a fat, sweaty, Republican. So sue me.


And I will kill each and every one of them, like a boss.

I can dream, can't I?

My Visit to the Doctor

So, I went to the doctor this morning, to tell him that the massive doses of ibuprofen that he prescribed for the arthritis in my right foot worked for about a month, but no more.

"So," he asked. "Do you want a shot?"

"You're the doctor, you tell me." I replied. "If that's the next move, let's do it."

As I watched him prepare the syringe, I asked, "I notice that you are drawing from two vials. What's that about?"

"One vial is cortisone, the other is Novocain. The cortisone will help for one to six months, but will take a couple of days to kick in. The Novocain will take the pain away for a couple of hours. But it will wear off."

And he was right. For the next four hours or so, I was without pain, (in my foot at least. Absent the foot pain, I found that I was noticing my knee pain for the first time in quite a while.)

I said, "I work on a TV show with a bunch of doctors, so I tend to ask a lot of questions."

"That's okay," he said. "What show do you work on?"

"The Doctors," I said.

"I love that show!" He replied. "I watch it whenever I get the chance."

YESSS! I love it when non-TV doctors praise my show.

Where was I?

Oh, right.

I watched him stick the needle in my foot and did not pass out. Which I could not have done, six years ago.

Working on The Doctors, I have seen things that no one who doesn't have a degree in medicine should ever see. I have become amazingly desensitized to gruesome medical procedures.

As promised, for a couple of hours, I could have tap danced.

And, as promised, the effects of the Novocain began to wear off.

And here is the part that he didn't warn me about.

Not only did the foot pain return, it was accompanied by a "pins and needles" pain. And, instead of spending my afternoon doing planed yard work, I, instead, sat in my recliner, watching my foot do an impression of Linda Blair in "The Exorcist," twisting and turning at unnatural angles, completely out of my control.

Freaky.

The pins and needles have passed. Hope the steroid kicks in soon.

Happy Birthday, Nikola Tesla

Nikola Tesla invented the future we now call "today."

Seriously, everything from X-rays, to wireless communication, to A/C electricity.

Marconi stole radio from Tesla.

When Thomas Edison was finished stealing moving pictures from Georges Mélies, he moved on to stealing electricity from Tesla.

Marconi and Edison were a couple of douche canisters.

Irony, coincidence or, maybe a clever plan...

Just days ago, SpaceX entrepreneur Elon Musk gave away all patents of his electric car company to "open source" development. It has been done before, (JVC gave away the patents for VHS video tech, effectively killing Sony's Beta tech.) But, never on something this huge.

The name of Musk's car company?

Tesla Motors.

An unrelated, but sort of interesting fact...

Nikola Tesla, in spite of his own impressive head of hair and awesome 'stache, suffered from chaetophobia, sometimes called trichophobia, a fear of hair.

Because of this phobia, poor Niki died a virgin, because he could not bring himself to touch a woman, because, hair.

On the head, and other parts.

One of my favorite Sci-Fi authors, Spider Robinson, gave his hero, a fictionalized version of Tesla, a gift.

The novel was "Lady Slings the Booze," a funny and heartwarming tale of a "house of excellent repute" that caters to time-travelers, aliens and humans that have nowhere else to go.

In that story, Lady Sally Callahan provides a time-traveling Tesla with the services of a completely hairless "working girl." Love and "happily ever afters" ensue.

Happy Birthday, Nikola Tesla.

Calvin Before Swine or Pearls Before Hobbes.

Hey, my bloglitts!

Are you like me?

Do you still subscribe to a dying, old timey, paper and ink newspaper? Or two.

So do you, like your Uncle PC, require ink stains on your fingertips as you order your bacon and eggs from you favorite greasy-spoon diner?

Do you, like me, start your morning with the comics section, before you move on to the more depressing parts of your newspaper?

Do you love "Doonesbury" even though the strips are reruns from 30 years ago?

Do you tolerate "Classic Peanuts" or "Garfield" even though those strips haven't been funny in years?

Do you share "Bizarro" and "Non Sequitur" strips on your Facebook page, while feeling disgust for right-wing comics like "Mallard Fillmore" and "Prickly City?"

If so, then this post is for you.

Did you catch last week's "Pearls Before Swine" story arc?

Did you get that you were witnessing something historic?

I sure missed it.

Until it was explained to me.

The clues were there.

Your Blog feels like an idiot for missing them.

But, there they were.

Go on over to BuzzFeed and read all about it.

I will be here when you come back.

Did you get that?

Bill Watterson, creator of the greatest comic strip ever...

  The J.D. Salinger of comics, secretly contributed artwork to Stephan Pastis' "Pearls Before Swine."

And it was his idea!

My mind is blown. How are you feeling?