Brown 'N' Serve Links

'Cause I feel compelled to post something tonight (why I don't know) and yet don't feel up to a comic review, book review, comment on this week's very funny Mad Men, or haiku...here are some things that caught my eye today (really it's yesterday now, isn't it?)

• I say let's give Amr Waked his own action franchise with helmer Michael Bay. That's the best way to stick it to the frakin' Egyptian Actors' Union.
• I thought it was funny when Jonathan Franzen sorta dissed Big O. And again when she got embarrassed by "bad boy" James Frey (who's about as tough as Tucker Carlson). But hoo-boy is this story from The Times Picayune's Chris Rose hilarious. "AS NOT SEEN ON OPRAH!" via Levitt and Dubner
• Had lunch with my buddy Jared today. We hadn't gotten together in a few months and it was great catching up. Did not hurt one bit that our itty-bitty tight and toned waitress had Tinkerbell tattooed on her limber lumbar just above her sacred sacrum. A vast improvement over the last waitress we had at this restaurant (not her fault: she was sorta cute, but the restaurant makes the girls wear the skimpy miniskirt and skanky mini-shirt even if they shouldn't). We chatted about a wide variety of things and he mentioned his interest in blogging on his commuting tactics. It may sound lame, but he manages to go 25 miles in 30 minutes on the 101 in rush hour traffic. (This is AZ, not CA. Let's not be crazy here.) I told him I thought that would make a nifty post. See for yourself, here. I swear, he's not even the slightest bit Asperger-y.
• Wil Wheaton's got a problem with DirecTV. Great. I've already been pissy for two years now that I can't upgrade to a new TiVo because I've got the one and only HD DirecTV-TiVo box ever built (and those two don't like playing nice together anymore). I'm very worried that we're going to have to go to cable when it's finally time to replace the TiVo (or worse...use whatever shit DVR DirecTV had built in Hyderabad). Now, I've got to worry that my next TV will only have HDMI inputs instead of composite and I'll have DRM issues. DRM issues. With a TV. That's cracked.
  

Stall Tactics

Harsh light on cold tile
Hot blood beating against skin
Yearning with stance wide

Immapperacy Hurts

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Won't you please join me and Lauren Caitlin Upton, Miss South Carolina Teen USA 2007, in helping to stamp out the growing problem of immapperacy amongst US Americans? Every bit helps. For just 50 cents a day, you can adopt a map-deprived youngster, providing her with legends, scale markers, topographical contour lines, and boundaries. You'll not just be adopting one child, but helping her whole village learn north from south, east from west. You'll receive letters and pictures, showing her progress. You'd be surprised how many maps we can buy with your donation.

Any donation will help. Five dollars, ten dollars, a used map of the Twin Pines Mall, or even a poster of that old Saul Steinberg New Yorker cover. Let's stamp out immapperacy in our times. Let's help the US, and South Africa and Iraq and the Asian countries.

Supershort read: I Love You, Beth Cooper

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I was looking for a quick read the other day and saw this sitting on one of the sky-high piles of books to read on my nightstand. The wife had enjoyed it, the reviews were decent, and it wasn't going to take more than a few hours. Four hours later (after some interludes in which I had to actually help with an upholstery project I said I would do) I turned the final page. My life was permanently changed.

Nah. It's not earth-shattering. But it was funny, light, and compelling. All the while I was mentally casting the characters for the movie soon coming from the tortured psyche of Chris Columbus. (You remember in Multiplicity when they cloned the clone of Michael Keaton? That's how John Hughes made Chris Columbus.) In fact, it's clear from reading the book that Larry Doyle - former writer for The Simpsons, Beavis and Butthead, Daria, and more - had been shopping his screenplay around town for awhile until he got so frustrated he figured he'd prose-ify it.

Haha! Joke's on the clowns who passed before. This slight book garnered enough attention and sales to warrant more money than if they'd just bought his screenplay the first time around.

If you have a soft spot for sweet-hearted teen comedies like Can't Hardly Wait, Ten Things I Hate About You, or the classics like Sixteen Candles, you'll enjoy this book. If you find their empty calories vapid and charmless, avoid this like the plague.

Sepinwall on the Sitcom Room

Image stolen with little to no regard from Sepinwall

Well, I've joined good company. Like that other bald, heavy, huggable sociopath above, I've shown up in the Jersey mob's paper of record, the Star-Ledger. Dismember a few weeks back (oops, sorry, that should be "remember"...I've got to get Tony outta my head), I spent a glorious weekend at the fabulous LAX Hilton at Ken Levine's Sitcom Room? My favorite TV critic's written about it here.¹

After the all-nighter we pulled in our writers' room and my quick nap/workout/shower/shoveled breakfast, I headed up to the main conference room for the "Sitcon Room" and the performance of all our re-written scenes. I heard my team leader Liz say hi to Alan Sepinwall and figured I'd walk on over and say howdy. I've been reading him just about as long as he's been blogging and about six months ago realized he'd edged ahead of the SacBee's Rick Kushman as my go-to TV critic. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep, or maybe the mega-dose of MSG from the Chinese "food" Dan O'Day brought us on Saturday night, but I was as pleased to meet Alan as I was to meet Ken and all the amazing writers on Sunday afternoon's panel. (Just kidding, Alan. It wasn't the exhaustion or the flavor enhancement.)

Alan had taken a side trip over from the TCA summer press tour because he's a big fan of Ken's (and I suspect he wanted a break from some of this year's more contentious sessions). He probably thought this would be a fun lark for a few hours. I can only guess how excited Alan was when he witnessed the obvious quality of our output. I mean, here's a guy whose vocation and avocation is writing about television, witnessing the emergence of the next generation of great comedy writers from the womb of the airport Hilton. Being the smart guy he is, he grabbed a few of us and practically begged us to be interviewed. We tossed the guy a bone and a few of us gave him our email addresses. I mean hell, it's not the last time he'll need to interview us.²

In case you're wondering, the A-Team joke really is funny, but Jesse's right...it's a "sitcom joke". Trust me though, it's not the joke I feel bad about. Be careful what you say in a writers' room late at night. It might end up in the script against even your own better judgment. Especially if everyone belly-laughs for a half-hour.

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¹ Be careful with this one. I'm blogging about an article in which I am interviewed, written by someone who will also blog about writing the article, and possibly refer to the blogs of those of us he interviewed. When you unwind this recursion, be sure you end up where you started, Achilles.
² Unless Sam Simon's right. Then we're all fucked. Or if we're untalented hacks. I shouldn't discount that possibility, as remote as it may be.

Sweeney Dud? I hope not, but...

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Over the next several months the hype for Tim Burton's version of Sweeney Todd is going to increase. Were any other director attached to this, the hype machine wouldn't get turned on, but all the Burton freaks of the world are going to be pimping this flick to their utmost. And it is most likely going to suck balls. Big, massive donkey balls. The sort of hairy balls that Benjamin Barker could shave smooth as a novice's knees in the time it takes to whistle a happy tune.

I don't hate Tim Burton, but I think he's got a few problems that make him particularly ill-suited to bring my favorite musical¹ to the big screen. Let's count out those problems!

• He insists on casting the missus in just about everything. Hey, I've got nothing against her, and I thought she was great in Wallace & Grommit in The Curse of the Were-Rabbit, but Mrs. Lovett? She's no Murder She Wrote.
• He has a massive man-crush on Johnny Depp². I know Johnny can sing (at least his bandmates told him so) but at a booming baritone? Maybe that will work out, but I have my doubts right now. Also, honestly, he's too pretty. Anthony, he could play. Todd?
• Tim Burton hates you. Yes, you. He doesn't give a shit about your hopes, dreams, and childhood pleasures. All he cares about is his vision.
• Tim Burton hates everyone else. He hates Pierre Boulle and Rod Serling. He hates Frank Miller and Bob Kane. He hates them all. They're all hacks who lack his vision, his brilliance, his panache and style.
• Tim Burton hates himself. At least, if he had an ounce of sense and taste he would. God knows the sensible among us hate him for all the reasons above.

Hey, what do you know? I do hate Tim-tim!

I've commented on a couple of other blogs about Tim-tim's lack of love for anyone but himself and anything he didn't "put his stamp on". I realized it would be a lot easier for me to just put it all together here and link to it every time I read something about how wonderful Sweeney is going to be by one of Tim-tim's adoring fanatics.

TIM BURTON
Anybody who knows me knows I would never read a comic book.
KEVIN SMITH
Which I guess explains "Batman".

Maybe I'll be wrong this time. Maybe this will be the time that Tim-tim has even the tiniest spark of respect for the source material. Maybe Sondheim's veto powers are broad and sweeping and Tim-tim couldn't steamroll his "vision" onto the screen. Maybe I'll be shocked and amazed by what he brings to screen.

Still, would it have hurt to cast Victor Garber somewhere? I mean, it's nice he gave a wee speck of a role to ASH, who's got quite a solid musical background. But no. It was more important to find space for Sacha Cohen³ than for the original Anthony. Beautiful.

Then again, I'm sure Tim-tim has never listened to any of the cast recordings. Why would he want to muddy up his perfect vision with other, inferior products?

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¹ That's actually a tough call. It could be Camelot or even Guys and Dolls instead, but I think the multi-layer vocal pieces pull Sweeney ahead by a nose.
² Honestly, who doesn't? The problem isn't that I don't love the Depp.
³ His cousin does some really good research into autism. I will leave it to the gentle reader to make snarky comments about who inspired him to go into that field.

When I was on Top of You

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Someday, damn it, Matt and Trey are going to put Cannibal! on Broadway so it can get the proper orchestral arrangements it needs. It's a pity such lovely songs have to be backed by a Casio.

Stop Snitching!

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♫ They call him Melo Yelo ♫

Life on McBeal

Good news-ish on the casting front for David E. Kelley's American cover version of Life on Mars: Colm Meaney has been cast to inhabit Phil Glenister's shoes. If there's anyone in America who can pull off Gene Hunt, it's a crusty old Irishman like Colm. He'll be doing it with an American accent, of course.

Of course now I'm sure Kelley's going to settle on Boston for his Manchester replacement. I'd really hoped he would look for a city with some old, interesting character instead of sticking with his standby, but he's going to write what he knows. I suppose it could be worse. He could take the AS-P route and write about a place he passed through once as though he'd never even passed through¹. Colm is a fine actor and will certainly do a great job with this role. The fundamental problem isn't going to be him.

A show that ran for two seasons of eight eps each is going to be tough to translate to an indefinite run of 22-per. Compound that with an American setting that isn't going to have a tenth the character of Manchester and the normal inclinations we have toward irony and kitsch as opposed to sincerity² and I think this is in for a Coupling-level translation from the English.

The biggest problem? By the time the show airs no one will not know about the big twist at the end of the series. I haven't even seen series two yet, and I know what it is. Then again, I miraculously nailed it when I saw the pilot.³

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¹ That's right Amy, I'm calling you out for your dreadful mischaracterization of my home state. Not since Green Acres has someone made CT look so little like CT. In fact, I'm pretty sure Green Acres was more accurate than Stars Hollow.
² Please see Hutch, Starsky and Phillips, Todd et al 2004 if you need any support for that statement.
³ First off, if you don't like spoilers, don't read this footnote. Second, if you think it's a spoiler to a show that aired a year ago just because BBCAmerica hasn't aired it yet, you're cracked. Third, I'm not actually going to give the spoiler, just the link above to my review of the pilot. Fourth, I don't technically know that I know, but I've accidentally seen enough information to be pretty sure I'm spoiled. Fifth and finally, I'm not patting myself on the back. At the time I thought I was making an interesting and unique observation about the cinematography, but in retrospect I merely picked up something that was intended to be seen by anyone paying attention. If anything, the fact that my observation (may have) turned out to be prescient only dilutes its cleverness.

Can you hear me now? Wait, I'm still in Scottsdale.

I had to make a personal call the other morning at work, but I get no cell coverage in my office. Wait, let me elaborate: I get no cell coverage within the borders of the city of Scottsgrad, AZ. I hear rumors that people with other carriers get decent service, but inside the city limits I'm one bar, two if it's 3:15pm on the second Thursday of a month with an 'R' in it.

No biggie, as I figured I was going to make my call over Skype. This was last Thursday. Oops. I'm calling long distance and don't want to charge it to the company, so I've got to find somewhere I can get a stable cell signal. So I step outside. No go. I get in the batmobile. No go. I start driving.

All kidding aside, I was pretty sure I'd catch a decent signal by the time I'd hit Scottsgrad Rd. I'd pull into a Starbuck's, grab an iced coffee, and have my chat. No go. Aaargh! So I keep driving west. I know by the time I hit the PHX border I'm going to get a signal, so I watch the phone as I'm driving down the road. Sure enough, I cross the line and my signal jumps from one/two bars straight up to four.^* I park, grab a drink, and have my chat.

Golly, I love the fact that Scottsgrad puts a camera on every street corner, traffic enforcement vans on every third block, tries to shut down good, hard-working citizens, and won't allow cell towers because they're a "blight" on the community. It's a gulag with golf courses.

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^* No, I'm not exaggerating for effect. My phone literally went from piss-poor to rock-solid signal when I crossed the line. It was as though they had signal jammers running.

Catch and Release

There's a link above, with an image of a randomly selected baseball glove for sale at Amazon. Feel free not to click it if you don't want to buy it. It is there as a visual cue.

Watched The 4400 this evening. It's a guilty pleasure. By "guilty", I mean it's a mildly entertaining mish-mash of X Files and J. Michael Straczynski's Rising Stars series (someday, someday, Sam Raimi's production company is going to get off its collective asses and bring that to the small screen). Still, I enjoy watching the trials and tribulations of agents Baldwin and Skouris, the messianic majesty of Jordan Collier (a fantastic Billy Campbell), and some great recurring guest turns from Summer Glau, the adorable (but not-too-talented) Lindy Booth, and the Reanimator himself, Jeffrey Combs.

So I watch the show, am mildly entertained by most of the performances, and keep coming back, hoping they're going somewhere. Tonight, they did. They went somewhere surprisingly big which will probably require them to make some other rather large adjustments in the coming weeks. Good for them. It does seem that they have a game plan.

Why do I bring up this moderately entertaining show about which I've never posted? Why is there a link to a baseball glove at the top of the post?

Because tonight, for at least the third time in my life on TV or in a movie, I've seen someone "prove" that an American male was left handed by throwing a ball at his head and seeing him catch it with his left hand. Really? An American male?

Are these shows written exclusively by people who've never played sports? Never played American sports? (By the way, I'm not trying to discriminate here...a right-handed hockey goalie would have the same reaction, but this is basically an American show, though it shoots in Vancouver.) Trust me. If you ever played baseball or softball and are right-handed, your reaction is to catch with your left hand. You might barehand a hot roller, or a slow bunt, but generally you're going to use your glove hand and then transfer it to your right. American, Cuban, Dominican, Japanese, the list goes on for quite a while.

I don't know why this particular thing irritates me, but every time I see it I want to hurl a ball - with my right hand of course - at the screen.

Slammed by Slamdance

Looong weekend. Decided on Friday that I'd try to get a spec pilot ready for the Slamdance deadline on Monday. I'd written one back in June but just wasn't happy with it - all plot and limited characterization. I had a much better idea for an A story using the same setting and characters, both of which I think have some real long-term viability, so I broke the story on Saturday and started pounding it out last night.

Progress was pretty limited on Saturday. I knew what I was writing, but got bogged down in a transitional scene. Finally gave up and hit the sack. Parker got me up bright and early this morning and I got right to it. Ripped right through my transition problem and the remainder of the screenplay in about seven hours. At the end, I had a really solid draft. Needs to be punched up and the third act needs another minute or two, but it's pretty solid for 12 hours of work.

The problem is that it's solid but not superior. That's to be expected for a weekend rush job, of course. It needs a day of repose and reflection, and ideally some coverage before it sees the light of day. I could submit it, but it's no winner. All I'd get is some paid coverage back (and from what I've heard, the Slamdance readers might not be super-detailed.) Better I hold it back and get it polished up for the agent search which starts in earnest in September. One spec + one spec pilot = time to find an agent.

The great thing about my weekend efforts is the end of the writer's block with which I've been suffering. I've been vacillating over that damn 30 Rock spec for a month. I was pretty sure I'd figured out last week how to get through the story block but was worried I still had a bigger problem. After this weekend's slam-fest I'm feeling more confident.

NPH == Dorothy Lamour

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"What's up with the guy with the weird eyes? He handicapped or something?"

U-N-C-L-E F****

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Apparently, ladies in their sensibilities don't like it when we make with the longshoreman talk. For those delicate flowers, I offer the video above.

Well met, helmet

Back in the day I was quite into cycling. Fit my personality beautifully, providing me hours of quiet time with my thoughts. I had quite the crush on the ebullient Rebecca Twigg, in small part for her two-wheeled prowess, in (very) large part for her awesome cuteness, and in (probably bigger than the former but smaller than the latter) part because she'd gone to college early (16, as I recall) and graduated in short order.

It was no small cause of grief between me and my 'rents that they'd prevented me from skipping grades the two times it was offered to me in school, and this aspect of the lovely Ms. Twigg just enhanced her appeal to me. Smart, athletic, AND cute. A triple-threat. (Wifey-poo, as you read this you should realize why you're such a catch to me.)

So about seven years ago, I'm talking with my Fly Tenafly buddy, O. He'd also been into cycling in his teenybopper years and the topic of Ms. Twigg came up. And his recollection of her cuteness equaled mine. "To the Internet!!!"

Oh, we found Rebecca. She was working on her MS in computer science at UCCS and had a ***resume*** out there! Unfortunately, her emphasis on UI wasn't going to fit in particularly well at our company dedicated to building network monitoring/management tools, but we did think about seeing if we couldn't convince her to fly out to Cali for an interview...just to bask in the glow of the Twigg.

So the other day my mind was a-wandering and alit on a Twigg. So I made like Barney Google with the Goo-goo-googly eyes and looked for her footprint. It's actually smaller now than it was at the turn of the millenium! I didn't know that was possible, at least not for someone still actively involved in software. From what I can gather, she finally finished up her thesis work and got her Masters this past spring. But really, I'm just guessing there. There are a few faint echoes of her time at UCCS, but nothing like what one would expect for an Olympic medalist and former postergirl who'd just finished up her MSCS. Rebecca, Rebecca, wherefore iz-it thou?