FRASIER Lives! -- Pass It On...

Thought I'd take a break this week from coming up with something new and fresh (if not necessarily entertaining) and  give you a sample of what I spent almost 10 years in Los Angeles trying to accomplish.

Now, understand that the level of talent and competition in the TV industry is far higher than most people realize despite the trash that a lot of times currently passes for network primetime television these days -- believe me, I know some topflight writers and performers who have written for, produced and starred in major hit sitcoms. And ultimately, it wasn't surprising that the opportunities that come along for anyone aspiring to write for TV are few and far between, and in my case didn't quite pan out as I had hoped they would.

But I  still wanted to post this  not only as an example of where one of my major interests continues to lie, but also as an example of what anyone who reads it and is also a writer can use as a fun exercise.

The following is a teaser from a spec FRASIER script I wrote back sometime in the early to mid-90's; and as teasers go I think it does what it's supposed to do: get the show off to a lighthearted start, grab the viewer's interest, and provide a few good jokes within its short timeframe.  (Oh, and for those of you who aren't sure what a teaser is, it's the beginning scene of a show that the opening credits are run over).

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FADE IN:

INT. RADIO BOOTH - DAY

FRASIER IS AT HIS DESK. ROZ IS IN THE CONTROL BOOTH.

                                FRASIER
               
                 (INTO MIKE) ...And remember, for the
 
                 finest in car care, it's Dr. Tire,
   
                 Seattle's  four-star, full-service

                 independent auto center.

HE SWITCHES OFF HIS MIKE.

                               FRASIER  (CONT'D)

                 Not to mention one of the biggest liars

                 and schlock artists by whom I've ever

                 had the pleasure  of being gouged out

                 of twenty-five hundred dollars.

ROZ SHOOTS HIM A LOOK THROUGH THE GLASS.  FRASIER TURNS
HIS MIKE BACK ON.

                              FRASIER  (CONT'D)

                 (INTO MIKE) So if your car's condition

                 is critical, see Dr. Tire -- stat! 

                 (REACTING TO THE INANE COPY) Who's

                 next, Roz?

                              ROZ

                 Next we have Jerry from Bremerton,

                 who is having difficulty being honest

                 with people.

                              FRASIER

                 How timely.  And appropriate.  Go ahead,

                 Jerry.  I'm listening.

                              CALLER  (JERRY, OVER PHONE)

                 Dr. Crane, I don't really know 
 
                 how to say it.  I just can't come

                 clean with some people.

                              FRASIER

                 Tell me, Jerry, would you happen to

                 be in, say, the auto repair busness?

                              CALLER

                 Excuse me?

                              FRASIER

                 I'm sorry.  The very fact that you're

                 admitting you have a problem is a first

                 step towards dealing with it.  A very

                 big step. Now, what exactly aren't

                 you coming clean with?

                              CALLER

                 You name it.  Job, finances, marriage.

                 Where do you want me to start?

                              FRASIER

                 Well, where do you want to start?

                              CALLER

                 Well, how about the fact that Jerry 

                 isn't my real name? It's Ralph.

                              FRASIER

                 There, that wasn't so hard, was it?

                              CALLER

                 Actually, it isn't Ralph.  It's Henry.

                              FRASIER

                 Well, all right, you just may be a

                 little  --

                              CALLER

                 Actually, it's not Henry, it's William. 

                 And I'm from  Renton, not Bremerton.

A SHORT PAUSE, THEN:

                              FRASIER

                  Roz, could we get some referrals for

                  Jerry?  Or whoever he thinks he is.

                  Perhaps an appointment with Dr. Tire?

AND WE:

                                                  DISSOLVE TO:

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Hope you enjoyed it.  Just for a fun creative writing exercise, try taking your favorite TV show (preferably a sitcom, but drama shows work too) and write a teaser for it.  See how close you can come to the tone and  the personalities of the characters -- and see how quickly you can get a joke in and get to the point of the scene (this one ran 2 1/2 typewritten pages in standard sitcom format, by the way).

In the future I'll try to post a few more  examples of this kind of stuff.

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"Every weirdo in the world is on my wavelength."

-- Thomas Pynchon

What Never To Sing At A Nursing Home

Since my hip surgery, I guess I’ve become more sympathetic to and have developed an increased awareness towards those who are not as well off as me, health wise -- the elderly, the infirm, those recovering from an illness or injury, etc. -- in other words, those who for one reason or another are currently confined to a nursing home or senior living residence.  And one of my goals has been to try and offer some sort of diversion and entertainment for those folks, by bringing whatever singing and guitar-playing talents (skills? abilities? self-delusions of competence?) I may possess to that group, who from all reports really appreciate that someone will take the time to give them a break from their worries and tedium. Now I am by no means any type of virtuoso or musical prodigy -- I’ll never be mistaken for Clapton, Eddie Van Halen, or Roger McGuinn. But I can get by fairly well and I have a friend who does play such facilities, and though it doesn’t command much money, it seems to be a very fulfilling and worthwhile endeavor.

Unfortunately, while planning all this, I realized early on that if you don’t perform the right stuff, all your good intentions may completely go for naught, when in the course of believing that you’re entertaining them, you’re actually instilling fear and anxiety in those poor souls regarding their own suffering and mortality -- plus I hear metal walkers and half-gallon jugs full of prune juice can really hurt when rhey hit you after being thrown in anger at high velocity.  And so, after exhaustive and intensive research (meaning I talked to all three of my family members over 80 years old) I came up with a list of the top 10 songs that (should you ever be in a position to do so) you must NEVER sing at nursing homes or senior living facilities -- or if you do, make sure a defibrillator and a riot shield are part of the gear you bring with you:

Top Ten Worst Songs To Sing at a Nursing or Retirement Home:

(10)  STAYIN' ALIVE -- The Bee Gees

(9) THE OTHER SIDE OF LIFE -- The Moody Blues

(8) NEEDLES AND PINS -- The Searchers

(7) SPIRIT IN THE SKY -- Norman Greenbaum

(6) HELP! (subtitled "I've Fallen And I Can't Get Up") -- The Beatles

(5) EVERY BREATH YOU TAKE -- The Police

(4) AND WHEN I DIE -- Blood Sweat & Tears

(3)  DON'T FEAR THE REAPER -- Blue Oyster Cult

(2) HIGHWAY TO HELL -- AC/DC

And the Number One Worst Song to Sing at a Nursing or Retirement Home.....

KNOCKIN' ON HEAVEN'S DOOR -- Bob Dylan

Wish me luck -- I’d hate to be the victim of reverse elder abuse.

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"Every weirdo in the world is on my wavelength."

-- Thomas Pynchon

My Ready-made Pro Football Hall Of Fame Induction Speech

I watched some of the induction ceremony last night from the Pro Football Hall of Fame in Canton, Ohio, which led me to realize that if worn and weary cliche-ridden acceptance speeches are suddenly upon us, could football be far behind?

While I congratulate the new inductees (and believe me, some of my idols over the years have deservedly been so honored), after a while I realized that most of these speeches all pretty much have the same structure, and that you can break them down into several main themes -- and the particular details can just be plugged in in the appropriate spots. So with that in mind, and for the benefit of any future Hall Of Fame inductees (you can send the check directly to me), I now offer a ready made Pro Football Hall Of Fame induction speech:

“Fans, friends, family, fellow inductees, and members of the Hall: Thank you for this warm reception. To say that I am [a. honored / b. humbled / c. honored AND humbled / d. humbled and honored / e. still recovering from the hangover after our all-night drinking bash following the banquet] would be an understatement. I stand here before you, having a difficult time expressing my feelings and emotions [a. over this honor / b. over this ceremony / c. over the fact that right now, I can't even remember why the hell I'm standing here in the first place].

“My journey to Canton has not been an easy one for someone who started out as a poor [a. white man / b. black man / c. biracial man / d. biracial man who was born in either Hawaii or Kenya, I'm not sure which]. There were many times during the early years of my career as I was shuttled from one city to another such as [a. Detroit / b. Buffalo / c. Cincinnati / d. several arena football teams and a women's Roller Derby league] that I wasn't sure I'd made the right decision, and there were many times that I thought I might be running out of [a. options / b.  cities / c. performance-enhancing steroids]. But in the end it was all worth it, as the honor you have bestowed on me tonight has taught me that even a man of my modest [a. talents / b. perseverance / c. immunity to pain -- one side effect of the steroids] can reach the pinnacle of his profession.

“One person I need to single out is my dear mother. Going all the way back to my high school days, she was always there to [a. encourage me that I'd definitely succeed / b. encourage me that I might succeed / c. suggest that maybe I'd succeed / d. wish she'd paid for violin lessons instead]. But through it all, I know that despite wherever my love of football might take me, she'd always be there to [a. offer her love / b. offer her advice / c. criticize my wardrobe / d. expect to have the check from me to cover the mortgage payment on her condo within two days after each game].

“Nowadays, as I look back on my career from the position of being the [a. CEO of my own company / b. hedge fund manager of the financial institution that's currently foreclosing on your house / c. night attendant at a convenience store / d. greeter at my local Walmart] I realize that football has taught me lessons that I can put to good use for life in general. Oh sure, there were some bumpy spots in the road along the way, such as [a. the DUI arrests / b. being caught in a motel room in Terre Haute, Indiana with two underage females / c. the suspensions for testing positive for banned substances / d. the concealed weapons charge / e. my part in the Bountygate scandal -- hey, my name on the check doesn't prove a thing; just ask my agent, my lawyer, and the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader whose account I laundered it through], but in the end, I know that all my experiences have made me [a. a better person / b. an older but wiser person / c. a very bitter, disgruntled, short-fused person – don't EVER try to cut in line in front of me at the checkout at Kroger's!].

"And of course, there was always the fans. What can I say about our fans? It seems they were always there, regardless of how good or bad I played. I know that in several cities I played in, I could freely walk down the street the day after a game, and literally dozens of people would come up to me and [a. ask me for an autograph / b. ask me for money / c. beat the crap out of me after I dropped the pass against the Giants which would have won the game and put us into the Super Bowl]. Thank you, fans! I'll never forget you and [a. the love you showed me / b. the loyalty you showed me / c. the scars on my back after one of you drove over me in your Hummer following the aforementioned dropped pass].

"And I certainly can't forget my coaches and teammates.  If I wanted to hand-pick a group of guys to to play with, I couldn't have chosen a better bunch. We went through so much together. Such a close-knit, happy group! It still seems like just yesterday that some of you were [a. hoisting me on your shoulders / b. pantsing me as we ran out onto the field that day against the Falcons / c. running me over me in a Lincoln Navigator after the game against the Giants].

“Finally, last, but certainly not least I have to thank [a. my wife / b. my second wife / c. my third wife / d. my fourth wife / e. all four of my wives / f. my divorce attorney / g. my girlfriend]. I couldn't have made this journey over my fifteen-year career with out the support of [a. her / b. them / c. my marriage counselor / d. the law firm of Finkelfuss, Snootch & Kapoo]. I just hope that someday,  I can somehow pay back that love and support by [a. buying us a home in Tahoe / b. spending a week at Disney World / c. not having to move in with my mother].

“In closing, I would just like to paraphrase the words of the immortal Vince Lombardi, who said 'Winning isn't everything, it's the ONLY thing.' Considering how many times during my career my nose had to be moved back to the center of my face, I can honestly say: Winning isn't everything, it's the UGLY thing.

“Thank you and God Bless.”

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"Every weirdo in the world is on my wavelength."

                                                   

                                                    -- Thomas Pynchon

My Search For The Most Uninteresting Man In The World

OK, by now I’m starting to get a little aggravated, if not actually creeped out by those Dos Equis commercials featuring an actor named Jonathan Goldsmith as “The Most Interesting Man In The World.” I guess he won the part by default since neither Fernando Lamas or Ricardo Montalban were available, both of them being long dead….

Since what’s being advertised is nothing more than a common beer, the ad guys obviously thought it best to play up their product by having it be endorsed by “the most interesting man in the world,” a man who (according to the commercials) can affect the fabric of our existence in some of the following ways:

When in Rome, they do as he does…

His words carry weight that would break a less interesting man’s jaw…

He’s won trophies for his game face alone…

If he were to pat you on the back you would list it on your resume… [hey, Jenny McCarthy actually did that to me! Check my resume, line 28]

Both sides of his pillow are cool…

He has dissected frogs that are alive and happy to this day… [he obviously never attended a 10^th grade biology class]

Well, considering that I will probably never cross paths with this most interesting and unique of men (in fact I doubt if any of us ever will, unless you’re his agent, his girlfriend or the concierge at the hotel in Vegas where he likes to drop half a mil or so three or four times a year), I thought it might be fun to start a search for someone who’d be much easier to locate -- hence, I’m initiating my pursuit of “The Most UNinteresting Man In The World" (and all you smartasses who know me, I don't want to hear any "Hey Tom, why don't you just look in the mirror?" crap!)...

First off, I have to determine what characteristics would define such a man -- and I came up with a few parameters with which to begin:

His modest studio apartment located in the geographical center of Nebraska is decorated in a tasteful grey on grey theme…

At the age of 50, he still wears Banlon polo shirts that his mother gave him for his 21^st birthday…

He likes to while away his spare hours playing checkers with himself, just so he can see how high he can make the red stacks versus the black stacks and vice versa…

He once had his jaw broken by a 2 1/2 foot tall circus clown…

His idea of a gourmet sandwich is peanut butter and jelly with a slice of American cheese on white bread...

He thinks that WHEEL OF FORTUNE is the most intellectually stimulating show on TV…

As soon as his black Chevy Impala reaches exactly the 45,000 mile mark on exactly its third anniversary, he trades it in on another black Chevy Impala…

The next time his rotary phone malfunctions, he’s committed himself to thinking about stepping up to one of those new pushbutton types…

When he sleeps, he doesn’t use a pillow, preferring instead a fluffed up Hefty kitchen trashbag full of material that's oozed out of the cushions of his sofa…

He’s convinced that Mrs. Garrett from THE FACTS OF LIFE is the sexiest woman on the face of the Earth…

His idea of social networking is calling his neighbors and asking if they remember that he lives next door to them…

He doesn’t own a computer, preferring to get all his news and information from reading the headlines on the newspaper in the window of the vending machine down the street…

The first time he ever tried to use an ATM, he caught his hand in a slot and nearly deposited himself to death…

He thinks that guy on TV doing the “Dos Equis” commercials is actually endorsing something called “Those Ickys”…

Well, that’s a start… Any further suggestions? Worse yet, any of these hit eerily close to home? (you might want to think about getting a life, then)…

Stay thirsty, my friends... And stay away from the geographical center of Nebraska...

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"Every weirdo in the world is on my wavelength."    

                                                  -- Thomas Pynchon

What Is Hip

Sorry it's taken me so long to post this.   The reason is, I'm contemplating running for Congress and I've been busy tweeting lewd photos of myself to underage females.

Actually, what's taken me so long is my hip – I had hip replacement surgery in March to replace what one of my surgeon's assistants said was “The worst looking I've ever seen.” Well, at least I'm unique. But for the last eight months or so you could have mistaken me for Hugh Laurie with the cane – but without his paycheck.

So early this year I decided to take the plunge and scheduled the surgery for March. They took me in the same morning I was admitted (just like my barbershop, eight operating tables, no waiting). And two and a half hours later – voila! I couldn't walk. Well, besides loading me with  stuff  that numbed me from the nipples down, thereby rendering me paralyzed, I probably couldn't crawl either.

No big deal. The next day they had me up and walking – I figured that at this pace, what they were saying behind my back was “Let's get his ass outta here as soon as possible and then make him walk home.” To my great relief, I did go home in a car. They only made me walk the five flights down to the main floor and through the lobby – without telling me that I forgot to put on pants.

The only hiccup came on the morning I was supposed to leave. I passed out in the bathroom while I was getting cleaned up and ready to go home. When I came to, I was surrounded by six hotties wearing nurses uniforms with their hands all over me. I thought I had died and woken up in my favorite skin flick, DEBBIE DOES ORTHOPEDICS (in it, Debbie's not only double-jointed, she's artificially double-jointed -- ever see somone having sex while contorted like a pretzel and at the same time making noises like a squeaky door hinge? I have).  I assessed the situation and suggested to the ladies “What say we continue with this back at my place?”

Anyway, about the hip itself. During the surgery, when I would have been expected to be fully sedated and asleep, apparently whatever they gave me had all the power of a watered down gin and tonic, and it kept me just enough awake to hear and see what was going on during the surgery. The high point came when I heard the doctor fitting the new titanium hip into place – with a hammer. CLANK! CLANK! CLANK! – and it was in. I thought “My God, they've taken out my old hip and replaced it with a wheel cover from a 1993 Pontiac Grand Am – and he's securing it with a tire iron!” Fortunately, the X-rays proved otherwise.

One question that came up was: What do they do with the top of the thigh bone  that they have to remove?  Well, I couldn't tell you for sure myself,  but based on the fact that  the broth they gave me for lunch the next day had a really funny taste, I could venture a guess that might not prove to be too far wrong...

The recovery period lasted three months, and if you'd seen the list of stuff I was restricted from doing during those 90 days, you probably would have said to yourself "Why didn't they just euthanize the poor guy while he was there on the operating table?"   Among other things,  I couldn't bend my leg at the hip more than 90 degrees, couldn't cross my legs, couldn't drive, and had to use an elevated commode when I when to the bathroom --  and boy, what better way to lose all sense of respect and proper demeanor when you have to hobble into the bathroom, park your walker in front of you, lower yourself down, and pray that this time you don't squeeze something that forces all the internal sutures to explode; and not to to be any more crude about the whole ordeal than you can probably already guess it is, but do you know what it sounds like when one of those babies hits the water from over a foot above sea level? For three months, whenever I had a bowel movement I felt like the pilot of an F-16 dropping cluster bombs on Kabul, Afghanistan. The words “Holy Crap!” took on a whole new meaning for me.

But there are plenty of good things that have come out of it. I can finally walk again – without a cane – and unfortunately, without Hugh Laurie's paycheck, still. On the other hand, I started thinking that with a new hip,  a new beginning as it were, perhaps I could start raising my sense of self-esteem a measure or two by comparing myself to others who have had the same procedure done -- like Billy Joel for instance. And once I started to think about it, I realized how eerily similar his life and mine have been:

Billy Joel had a hip replacement; I had a hip replacement...

Billy Joel was once married to a top international supermodel; I had a hip replacement...

For nearly 35 years, Billy Joel has entertained people around the world and sold millions of records and CDs; I had a hip replacement...

Billy Joel lives in a large private estate on Long Island; ...yeah, you got it – hip replacement....

Billy Joel has won six Grammys; .... hip....

Billy Joel once had – you know, come to think of it,  Billy Joel had a double hip replacement. I only had one done... so maybe our lives aren't so similar after all...

Well, enough... The only thing I can add is that when you're cooped up recuperating from such an ordeal for as long as I was, your mind starts to come up with some strange things, a few of which I'd like to share with you:

Q: How many members of the Osmond Family does it take to change a light bulb?

A: None – they're so bright and perky that they can light up a room all by themselves!!!

Newt Gingrich's take on gay marriage: “I believe that marriage is an institution that should be between a man and a woman.... And a man and another woman... And a man and another woman....”

Q: What do you call a wild west lawman who belongs to a senior citizens' organization?

A: WYATT AARP

A philosophical musing:
“I think, therefore I am” – René Descartes
“I drink, therefore I am” – David Hasselhoff
“I stink, therefore I am” – Pepé Le Pew

I really feel sorry for the Dodgers, one of the premier franchises in Major League Baseball.  Owner Frank McCourt has probably managed to  squeeze more money out of that team than Alyssa Milano....

Hey, I never said they were funny -- I just said they were strange...  Thank God I can finally get out of the house now....

Last Minute 2010 Thoughts... And The New Year's Joke That Yakov Smirnoff Didn't Like

Reflecting as we come to the end of 2010...

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I think as a change of pace this year, facing the prospect of a hip replacement in the near future,  instead of going out this Friday night, I thought I'd just stay home and watch "The Larry King Prune Juice and Lipitor New Year's Eve Party", during which Larry asks each female guest who appears: "Was I ever married to you?"... Program note: The show actually ends at 10:30 pm when Larry unsnaps his suspenders,  takes off his support hose and goes to bed...

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I met Charles Dickens' great-great grandson, Gerald Charles Dickens a few weeks ago at a local mall here in Rochester. He is an actor who gives performances and readings of his famous ancestor's works (and I guess every now and then, just to confuse the audience, he'll sing the death scene from Puccini's "Tosca"... -- just kidding) and was in town to perform at a local theater here. The mall appearance was to promote the performance and also help sell a line of Christmas decorations being offered by a Hallmark store located in the mall. I can imagine the marketing/promotional tie-in that must cripple all his performances: "And so, as Tiny Tim observed, 'God bless us everyone -- with a Keepsake Ornament from Hallmark!'"...

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From the minutes of the local Adult ADD support group:  "As per usual, the meeting convened at 7:30 and adjourned at 7:31"....

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Watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade is always fun... I'm just waiting for the year that they decide to inflate Willard Scott and turn him into a balloon.... I can see all those Macy's volunteers, straining at the guy wires to pull him him down Broadway while he's up there about four stories high yelling "With a name like Smucker's, it's got to be -- oh, shit, I just hit a light pole!" ... And with a loud gaseous exhaust of helium, he plummets to earth, landing right on top of the NBC reporters' stand, inflicting mass destruction and carnage, and leading to a new opening sequence the on the network the following morning: "This is the TODAY show, with NBC News senior correspondents, Kathie Lee and Hoda".... Yeah, I think that would be fun to watch...


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Poor Lindsay Lohan's screwed herself up again... I swear, that young lady has tiptoed through so many 12-step programs that now she shows up for rehab wearing ballet slippers....


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Ever watch the news programs on the Spanish network channels?... Without exception, the female anchors and reporters are all wearing outfits that make them look like they work for Elliot Spitzer's escort service -- or for Fox News...  I don't know all that much Spanish, but I know that Hispanic television does tend to place a lot of value on female physical attributes, and I just can't help but think that if I could translate it, these women would all be starting each evening's broadcast with "My heaving breasts, full hips and glistening thighs are fairly exploding out of my Size 2 dress... Here are the headlines..."

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TOP TEN REASONS WHY AL AND TIPPER GORE SPLIT UP
 
10) She got fed up with him telling her to recycle the hair he leaves in the sink

9) They each decided to adopt a poor tropical island to save from climate change -- she picked Haiti, he picked Aruba

8) Maybe he did invent the Internet -- so why can’t he fix the damn toaster?

7) He started listening to marriage advice from Bill Clinton

6) These days his kisses are less tongue and more nose

5) She just never forgave him for blowing that 2000 Presidential thing

4) The house he bought in Montecito has a one-car garage -- Hey, Tipper, get the hint?

3) Since he gained weight, she’s tired of people stopping her in the store and asking “So, are you still married to Lard-Ass?”

2) Global warming stops at the bedroom door

AND THE NUMBER ONE REASON WHY AL AND TIPPER GORE SPLIT UP…

His new documentary film: “An Inconvenient Marriage”

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You've no doubt heard I'm sure of the pasta product from Betty Crocker called "Suddenly Salad".... Can you imagine being the poor schmuck who came up with the concept of "Probably Salad"?... Odds are there's a good chance that person will spend the rest of his or her life sadly thinking  "Damn!  --  And I was THAT close to success!"...

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Letter received at a particular corporation from a particular celebrity:

"May, 2010

"Dear British Petroleum,

"It is with a certain degree of concern and trepidation that I am writing you to report that recently, for some strange and mysterious reason, the value of my shares in your company have experienced a sudden, drastic and inexplicable decline.

"I wonder if you could please look into this and get back to me? Thank you.

"Respectfully Yours,

"Elizabeth II, HRM

"p.s. Charles and Camilla send their regards."

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Was watching the HLN cable news show MORNING EXPRESS the other morning when the host, Robin Meade was on, who was, as she always seems to be every morning, so bright and perky and perfectly made up, and started thinking to myself that just one morning, I'd like to see her go on air looking like she had a hangover... Her hair would be tousled and disheveled, her blouse would be on inside-out, her mascara would be running, her lipstick would be on crooked and she'd be wearing only one huge dangling earring that resembled a disco ball -- and it kept sliding off her ear lobe and plopping into her coffee... She'd start off the show with the question "Does anyone know where I was last night?... If you do, please call, I-M or tweet me... I'd like to find out where I left my car keys... And my phone... And my purse... And my shoes... [looking down at her blouse] And my bra! -- EEK!!!"... And the first time they went to a commercial break, (although I know she's on HLN, not the sister network) I could imagine the voice of James Earl Jones resonantly intoning "This is C-N -- Holy shit! What the hell happened to YOU?!!"...

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Finally...

A joke I wrote and sent to Yakov Smirnoff a few years back that I thought was ideal for his shtick -- and for this time of year...  He didn't like it... 

People ask me how did we observe the New Year's holiday in the Soviet Union, and I tell them that actually, in both America and in the Soviet Union, we would always celebrate it pretty much the same way. In America on New Year's Eve, everyone will go to Times Square and celebrate "Happy New Year!".... In the Soviet Union, everyone would go to Red Square -- and celebrate "Happy 1984!"

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A Happy New Year to you all who've taken the time to read my blog this year - - your time, thoughts and comments are really appreciated -- and Best Wishes for a Fantastic 2011!

tq

The Ultimate Holiday Newsletter

Admit it, it's happened to everyone of us. 

Every year we receive the inevitable "holiday newsletter" from that friend or relative with the huge inferiority complex who still thinks he or she can impress us with the pathetic, sorry state  that has passed for being their lives over the preceding 12 months,  if they just turn the right phrase, paint a rosier picture or mention an exclusive vacation spot that neither they or anyone else in their family has ever been to and will probably never even get near in their lifetimes.

 And every year we feel that whether out of a sense of obligation, sympathy, or just plain  "let's get this over with," we have to feign some sense of happiness for these people because they're trying so hard to convince us that they're leading lives the rest of us would die for, when in fact we know that if we read between the lines, we understand what these literary masterpieces are in reality: a desperate, psychotic cry for help.

So this year, in order to save you the time of reading all those holiday newsletters you may receive this season, I thought I'd just offer one we probably all can relate to, with the added convenience of a little explanation in brackets of what's really being said:

December 2010

Dear _____________:

Has it really been a whole year since I sat down to update you on our family’s comings and goings? It seems that we just don’t get the chance to keep in touch with each other anymore [Forget about the fact that I haven’t returned any of your phone calls or acknowledged any of your letters since the Carter administration.  You've been so much on my mind ever since I remembered I loaned you $15 and never got it back].

Anyway, Frank and I have been busy looking over travel brochures and cruise itineraries describing such places as Fiji, Mazatlan and Aruba. Now that we’re entering our golden years, the extra free time will give us a chance to catch up on those vacations we’ve been putting off for so long. [On the other hand, with my disability checks being cut off because of the fraud investigation, our next door neighbor convincing us to invest in that ponzi thing, and Frank's 401K gushing dollars faster than a BP oil rig, we’ll probably end up spending our vacation in the same place we do every year –  at my sister's trailer park in Toledo.]

Of course, Frank retired this year after 45 years of faithful service to his company. And they really gave him a royal sendoff at his retirement party. [Considering the fact that they forced him out, “royal” is also a pretty good description for another thing they gave him after 45 years of faithful service to his company.] The board chairman and company president both spoke of him in glowing terms [after about 10 or 12 drinks apiece] and let Frank know that he will be remembered long after he’s gone [or at least for as long as it takes for them to pry the nameplate off the wall of his cubicle]. I can’t begin to tell you how much Frank and I were touched by the whole evening [after about 10 or 12 drinks apiece].

As for our children, things just seem to be getting better and better for them. If there’s another mother around with more reason to be proud than me, I haven’t met her [Well,  I suppose that at least I can be more proud than any mother who goes by the last name of Sheen or Lohan].

Daughter Megan’s singing career is really starting to take an upward swing. [She just got hired as the backup to the substitute for the fill-in who’s replaced the part-time singer for Barry Manilow’s third cousin who’s doing a Bar Mitzvah at a club in the Poconos.] She’s scheduled for an engagement at New York City’s famous Cipriani in February [see above] – starting to get just a little nervous about it with the occasional butterflies in her stomach. [“Butterflies?” -- She’s been retching her guts out ever since she found out about it. In fact, it’s ruined her voice. People are starting to refer to her as "the female Michael Bolton".] But we’re all excited and happy and hope that it goes well for her [because if it doesn’t,  it means she moves home again – for the eighth time].

Our other daughter Sarah surprised us just last week: she and her husband are expecting twins. [I guess that ends the debate about the guy’s gender orientation -- or maybe not. Kind of hard to tell when the man keeps wanting to dress up like Cher -- or maybe not.] Hopefully, being a mom won’t put too much of a crimp in her career ambitions, [I mean, you’ve really taken on a mountain of responsibility trying to care for two screaming kids and at the same time work out of your house running your own personal phone sex gig] but we’re hoping things go well. No lofty expectations [because if you expect nothing, you won't be disappointed] -- just a prayer for happy and healthy babies [and the hope that they don’t look like his side of the family, or as we like to call them, “The Menagerie”].

Son Jason is still out on the coast enjoying the sunny climes of Southern California, and reports that his screenwriting career is going along as expected. [As expected, people keep telling him “Don’t make any plans to move out of that dumpster in Santa Monica just yet -- if ever.”] Several studios are so enthusiastic over his work that they have his latest script in what they call “turnaround.”  [“Turnaround” -- that’s a polite way for studios to say “We’ve decided that your recent submission, TEENAGE LESBIAN VAMPIRE NYMPHO CHEERLEADER TERMINATORS is unproduceable garbage. Perhaps Fox would be interested in it.”] Word is that he’ll be involved in several major projects that are being planned right in the midst of the hustle and bustle of Hollywood in the upcoming year [they’re re-paving Sunset Boulevard, and he’s been hired as a flagman], and he may soon be hooked up with a prestigious agent [meaning he'll be delivering dry cleaning to the same genius that talked Ben Affleck into doing GIGLI].

Our other two sons, Dave and Roger have also had an eventful year. Dave is well on his way to becoming a topflight computer tech wizard [It’s nice to know that our long-haired, pot-smoking, no-ambition, live-at-home 30-year-old son has finally found a vocation that interests him: becoming the largest spam sender of junk emails in the country. -- You know those 83 ads for Viagra that suddenly showed up in your Inbox the other day? You can thank our boy!] He’s even tried to teach me a thing or two. I’m still not quite sure how computers work, but I’m certainly impressed with the window on the world they’ve opened up, and how much of an impression they’ve made on our household. [After all, what other family can boast of your house being under 24/7 surveillance by the FBI, simply because your son hit the F5 key on his laptop and completely froze the Department of Homeland Security’s computer network?] And Roger has finally made a decision as to which field of medicine he wants to specialize in [four med schools and $250,000 dollars later]. Hopefully, this is a sign that he’s ready to slow down his lifestyle a bit and won’t be quite so footloose and fancy-free with the ladies. [By the way, did I mention that he’s decided on Gynecology? -- Yeah, that should really settle him down.]

Well, would love to report more, [although I can’t believe you would actually want to read more of this pure fictitious, unadulterated crap] but have to close for now. Want to take some time to relax and reflect back on the year [and watch our favorite holiday movie, “Silent Night, Deadly Night"] and start planning the big Christmas get-together for the family [it was a battle, but at least some of us are actually speaking to each other again], and with the kids flying in from all over, Frank and I want to be ready to welcome them with open arms [after about 10 or 12 drinks apiece]. So, our best to all, and Happy Holidays!

Love and Snowflakes,

Bunni