Category Archives: Personal

This is the time o' year when everyone says things like, "Good riddance to the old year…here's hoping that the new year will be a lot better." It's always nice to think things will get better and I always think they will. It's just a matter of how long that's going to take.

At least around here, 2009 wasn't so horrible that I'm unduly thrilled to be rid of it. The worst parts of it for me were in the pain and problems (and occasional deaths) of friends, mainly due to financial distress. Some who write me in opposition to Health Care Reform do not seem to get that I'm militant on this issue not because I have some deep-seated yearning to turn this country into Sweden but because I believe that people I know, some of whom have been eulogized on this site, have died for want of affordable health care. Others have either gone into serious debt or emptied their bank accounts. I don't want to get into the argument over whether reasonably-priced insurance is a privilege or a right. I just think people shouldn't lose their lives or homes because of hospital bills.

Other friends are simply suffering from the bad economy. I don't know what to tell them except to offer some heartfelt optimism and remind them they're not alone. Others have their problem…and others are around to help in whatever way they can. This past year, I've also witnessed some heartwarming acts of generosity and compassion. And one of those can balance out a dozen acts of craven selfishness. I hope they become less necessary in 2010…but that they're still around for those who need them.

Christmas was never that big deal in our house, at least not after I hit age 10 or so. This was not because we were mostly Jewish. We observed every holiday we could find. If we'd known what it was, we would have celebrated Kwanzaa…but like all our holidays, with great restraint. We just never made that much fuss about any day.

My Uncle Aaron had been in the business of manufacturing store window displays and he gave us crates of leftover Christmas ornaments. So each year when I was a kid, we bought and decorated a tree, in part because we had twenty cases of decorations in the garage and it seemed like a shame to not put some of them to use. Eventually though, it began to feel more like an annual obligation than a pleasure…so we gave all the balls and snowflakes and garlands to a local charity and I'm sure the holiday baubles thereafter yielded more joy for more people than they'd ever given us. By the time I hit my teen years, we'd managed to whittle Christmas down to a family dinner and a brief exchange of presents.

I had friends who somehow managed to devote most of every December to Christmas…and often, it required a running start commencing shortly after Halloween. For them, the yuletide seemed to come with great excitement but also with all manner of stress factors relating to buying gifts, decorating homes, throwing parties and consorting with relatives who fell into the category of "People You'd Avoid At All Costs If They Weren't Family." So all the merriment was accompanied by a lot of angst and expense. A classmate once told me his father had found it necessary to arrange a bank loan that year just so he could afford a proper Christmas. That didn't sound like a holly jolly time to me.

We had none of that. No one felt pressure. No one went into debt. Everyone would somehow convey a few suggestions as to what they might like as a gift, and always an affordable one. That meant no one had to agonize too much to decide what to buy…and no one wasted their money on something the recipient didn't want or would never use or wear.

It all worked well but for a long time, I saw the huge productions that others made of Christmas and felt like I was missing out on something. Christmas was a special day but it wasn't as special to us as it seemed to be to others. I was well into my twenties when I figured out what was going on there. I was then going with a lady who dragged me into her family Christmas arrangements that year. Hours…days…whole weeks were spent planning the parties, the dinners, the gatherings. She spent cash she didn't have to buy gifts and purchase a new party-going outfit for herself…and the decorating took twice as long as Michelangelo spent painting the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

It seemed to me more like a chore than a celebration, and one night I asked her why she went to so much trouble. She said, "Christmas is important. When I was a kid, It was the one time of the year when we all got along…or came close to getting along."

There it was. She'd come from a large and dysfunctional family. Siblings were forever fighting. Parents drank and split up and got back together and screamed a lot and separated again. There was much yelling and occasional violence…

…but not as much at Christmas. Christmas was when they managed to put most of that aside. Christmas was when they generally managed to act the way they should have acted all year. That was why, when it came around, they made so much of it.

We never had to declare a holiday cease-fire in my family. We always got along. There was very little arguing between my parents or between them and me, and what little occurred never lasted long. I never had fights with brothers or sisters because I never had brothers or sisters. And my folks and I were known to give each other gifts for no special occasion and to occasionally get the whole (small) local family together for a big meal. So Christmas wasn't that much different from the way we lived all year.

A year or two ago, I told a friend all of the above and his reaction was on the order of, "Gee, too bad for you." Because in his household, Christmas was wondrous and festive and the source of most of his happy childhood memories. I never saw it that way. I have loads of happy childhood memories. They were just no more likely to occur around Christmas than at any other time…and I liked it that way. I mean, you can have Christmas once a year or you can have it 365 times a year. Peace on Earth, good will towards men doesn't have to stop later tonight.

Winners (plural), actually. E-mails arrived simultaneously from Jack Lechner and Brian Carroll identifying the song I asked about as "Little Green Bag," recorded in 1968 (much earlier than I thought) by a group called the George Baker Selection. Needless to say, I had the lyrics all wrong. The part I quoted actually goes…

Lookin' for some happiness
But there is only loneliness to find
Jump to the left, turn to the right
Lookin' upstairs, lookin' behind, yeah!

Thank you, Jack and Brian. Now, that's off my mind.

Okay, let's see if this works. There's a song I keep hearing on the radio that I can't identify…and I can't even make out most of the lyrics. I thought I'd describe as much of it as I can and see if anyone here can tell me what it is, who recorded it, anything. It's a loud, up tune and I'm guessing late eighties or early nineties. The vocal goes roughly like this…

Looking for some loveliness
But there is so much loneliness you'll find
(Something or other)
Look to the left
Look to the right

I probably have most of the words wrong but does that jog a memory for anyone? Maybe they're saying, "Lean to the left, lean to the right." I don't even like the song that much. I just need to identify it to get it out of my head.

Yes, I can taste the difference between different brands of bottled water.

I don't swear I can tell them all apart, mind you. But I was drinking Sparklett's and then I started drinking Crystal Geyser and I decided I liked Crystal Geyser better. I also like it better than Dasani and Arrowhead and Aquafina and a number of other waters I tried. Some others — like Deer Park, which you don't find much in Southern California — are very close to Crystal Geyser. For the most part, I prefer water that comes from a spring to water that's been filtered, though I've encountered examples of each kind I didn't much like.

Even between good spring water and good filtered water, the difference is tiny. If I'm coming to your place to visit, please (pretty please) don't run out and buy Crystal Geyser just so you can be a good host. It's like the difference between an A+ and an A. One is perfectly fine. The other is, to a microscopic degree, perfectly finer. But whatever's on hand is usually okay.

And please…don't tell me the tap water at your house is perfectly fine. Once upon a time, the tap water at my house was perfectly fine and I wouldn't be buying bottles of the stuff if it was still perfectly fine. It's gotten worse and worse over the years. For a while, it was okay if I ran it through a Brita pitcher. Now, even that doesn't work. I had a city Water Inspector out a year or so ago and he ran tests and said it was perfectly safe, which I assume it still is, but even he couldn't stand (or explain) the taste. I decided it was better for my health to go with the bottled stuff, if only because I consume more water when I have the bottles available. Also, it's easier to drink if you don't have to hold your nose at the same time.

Beyoncé is now selling Crystal Geyser bottled water. That's great but it doesn't make me any more eager to buy the stuff. That's because I couldn't be more eager. I already purchase Crystal Geyser by the caseload. When home, I drink nothing else…and I mean nothing else. No tea, no juice, no soda, no coffee, no liquid of any kind but Crystal Geyser bottled water. And when I'm not home, I try for Crystal Geyser but settle for whatever kind of H2O I can get.

I had Gastric Bypass Surgery in May of '06…and those of you who've tracked my medical history on this blog know that I was briefly hospitalized in February of that year. Before then, I was darn near addicted to beverages full of sugar and carbonation. During the day, I'd consume 3-5 Pepsi-Colas and then, at 6 PM, I'd switch over to the clear stuff (7-Up or Canada Dry ginger ale) so that I wouldn't still be highly-caffeinated by bedtime. I tried to quit but got headaches and other nagging symptoms…and since I always have a deadline, I'd rationalize: "I'd better go drink a Pepsi so I can get this script done today. I can start quitting some time when I don't have a script due." That's a real handy way out if you always have a script due and don't really want to quit.

Early in 2006, I decided tentatively (meaning I might still back out) to have the surgery. One argument against it was that, they say, one needs to give up carbonated drinks after G.B.S. and I wasn't sure I could do that. Then in February, I had to spend four days in a hospital bed and while there, I had nothing with carbonation, sugar or caffeine. I also had no withdrawal symptoms. So I decided to see how long I could go without a cola…and I haven't had a sip since. Nor have I missed it. Sometimes, it's easier to break an addiction than you think.

I never liked coffee, tea or anything artificially-sweetened so my beverages of choice became fruit juices…but in a slow curve following the operation, I began losing my taste for anything with high sugar content in it. They warn you that after a gastric bypass, your body may not process sugar all that well but they don't say you'll stop liking the stuff, Well, I did. I started watering down lemonade or orange juice and eventually gave them up completely. For six months or so, I drank only water or tomato juice…and not long ago, I gave up the tomato juice. Of course, I'd already given up cake, candy, pie, ice cream, cookies and anything else with more than about 2 grams of sugar per serving.

Friends ask, "Don't you miss sweets?" And the way I've started answering is like this. Imagine there's a restaurant that you used to love and every time you went there, you left full and delighted. Now, imagine that restaurant is still there but it's changed owners and chefs and it has all different menu items and recipes and now there's nothing special about it and you can no longer get the same wonderful feeling there. Well, I miss sweets the way you miss that restaurant. You recall the happy sensation but you know things have changed and that eating there again is not going to give it to you. So you accept it and move on.

And I've accepted that I really can't drink anything except water, and discovered it's not as big a disadvantage as I once might have thought. I found a brand I really like — Crystal Geyser — and I buy cases of it. Many cases of it. I probably have about fifty gallons in various sized-bottles in my garage at this moment and when I see it on-sale in a store, I think, "Hmm…maybe I should pick up a few more crates." So, Crystal Geyser People…you didn't need to spring for Beyoncé to do your ads. Not to get my business, at least. I'd be buying your product if your spokeswoman was Richard Belzer in drag. I just wouldn't post his photo on my blog.

This is the time of year when the hit counter goes berserk as folks access my story about a Christmas-time encounter with the legendary singer-songwriter, Mel Tormé. It took place at Farmers Market (seen above) and you can read the piece at this page of my site. You can also find it on quite a few other sites where folks have copied it without my permission, including one guy who introduced it as if it had happened to him. For some, Christmas is a time of taking.

Lately, I've had a lot of friends do something that irks me a bit, probably because I've been so often guilty of it, myself. I call it "Dead-End Complaining," though there's gotta be a better name for it out there. Basically, it's arguing about some injustice or stupidity when (a) there's no realistic chance that the complaint will do a damn bit of good and (b) it does more damage to complain rather than to just go along with it, whatever it is. I can best illustrate with an example I posted on this here blog in July of '08. I was reporting on an experience I had at the airport…

Security at LAX was the usual drag, made draggier by a raging debate ahead of me in my line. A lady who looked a lot like Paris Hilton (but wasn't) was refusing to remove her footwear…and getting very loud and strident about it. On one hand, she had a point. They were sandals — and I could have hidden a lot more weaponry or explosives in my wallet, which I did not have to put on the conveyor belt, than she could have secreted in her flip-flops. On the other hand, it was not like she had a prayer of winning the argument and having one lowly Security Agent reverse TSA policy.

"You're required to put your shoes through the x-ray," said a man of steadily-diminishing patience while behind us, we could all hear voices crying out, "My plane leaves in ten minutes" or similar pleas. For some reason, no one thought to move her to one side and debate the issue while others passed on through. Paris kept responding, as if someone was paying her to say it as many times as possible, "But these are not shoes." She was right on some theoretical level but wrong to think she was getting on her plane without complying. By the time she did as ordered, the line behind her was the length of the Nile and at least a few people had probably missed their flights.

There are many perfectly good reasons in this world to complain about what you perceive as "wrongs," the first being that sometimes, the complaint causes someone to actually right the wrong. At the very least, you put your dissatisfaction out there into the atmosphere where it might combine with the gripes of others and become a force so potent that it will foment change. That's all well and good, but in the above example, Not Paris Hilton was bitching about being inconvenienced a little and in so doing, was inconveniencing others a lot.

She was wasting her own time and compounding the inconvenience to herself…but more significant is that she was wasting others' time and wronging an awful lot of other people. If there was any chance her protest could somehow trickle up to the TSA management and promote a policy change, it was microscopic compared to making strangers, at that moment, wait longer in line and perhaps miss their flights. At some point, you also had to feel sorry for the poor Security Agent who had to endure her rage and who wasn't allowed to say, preferably in a loud Lewis Black impression, "Hey, I know it's ridiculous but I don't make the rules, lady!"

Complaining has other uses. There are times when one just needs to kvetch, just to let it out. There are times when you do it so others will reassure you that you're not the one being crazy; that the offense really is as illogical and vile as it seems. There are also times when complaints are just plain entertaining. I carry on about a lot of stuff not because I think it's going to rectify matters but because it seems like it might amuse the folks around me, especially when their frustrations match mine. If we can all make a joke out of it, that's so much better than being angry about that particular nuisance.

That said, I increasingly come to see that there are also times when complaining wastes time…and maybe fools you into thinking you're solving a problem when you're not. Lately, I've had a couple of friends call to gripe about some crappy thing that was done to them. On and on they go, not getting it when I say, "You're absolutely right. That's a stupid/lousy/unfair [whatever] thing that was done to you…and telling me about it for an hour is not going to solve anything. You need to figure out how to press on in spite of it." Often, the only possible solution is not to fix the wrong but to find a way to work around it.

There's also complaining as what, back in the sixties, we called an "attention-getting device." It's kind of like, "Show that I matter by listening to my beef" and there's also complaining as a form of snobbery…but we won't get into those. One of the reasons though that I no longer actively participate in the Writers Guild is that I realized that about 90% of the complaints I had to listen to there were in one or both of those categories.

It's a bit early for New Year's Resolutions but there's no law that says you can't make one in November. I intend to keep complaining —

1. — when there's a realistic chance that it can do some good.
2. — when I need to vent and it won't inconvenience anyone else if I do vent. And, lastly —
3. — when I think it's funny.

But I resolve to try and not confuse #2 and #3 with #1. And I further resolve to take the time I'd otherwise spend grumbling about some destructive force that I cannot halt and use it to figure out how to dodge or at least minimize the harmful effects of that force. Most of all, I think I need to stop listening to people who do what I'm going to try to not do. Life is just too friggin' short.

And the day in this case is yesterday. Woke up around 8 AM. Did a little work on an issue of Groo and some last minute prep on the day's recording session for The Garfield Show.

Left the house at 9:30 and arrived at the recording studio about 9:45. We recorded two half-hour episodes of the show with a sterling voice cast — regulars Frank Welker, Gregg Berger, Wally Wingert and Jason Marsden, along with guest stars Jack Riley and Grey Delisle. I had to let Wally go at 2:30 so he could scurry out to Burbank and do his announcing work for that night's episode of The Jay Leno Show. The rest of us finished at 3:00.

On the way home, I stopped at a local Petco to buy supplies for the menagerie of strays in my backyard, then scurried home to work more on Groo and climb into fancier clothes. Then at 5 PM, I drove to FedEx to send off Groo pages. Shipping them turned out to be the hard part of the day. 5:30 is the cut-off time for Eastern and International send-offs, and people kept showing up with parcels in those two categories and the counterfolks there (there were two of them, working as fast as they could) would wave them ahead of us.

About 5:27, a burly gent with a huge crate on a dolly marched in and went past all the folks waiting with things to ship. Someone told him to go to the end of the line. Motioning to his package, he yelled out, "My job depends on getting this shipped out today so I don't give a damn about your line. I'm mailing this next." If he'd asked to go ahead of us, I suspect we'd all have said it was okay…but a rather nasty argument broke out, lasting until the clerk was ready to take his box, which she did. The next person in line, when he got to her, complained that since she saw darn well what had happened, she should insist he go to the end. She said, "We're told to take some customers ahead of others if there's danger of missing a cut-off time." Then she added, "If I'd made him go to the end, he's have caused trouble. Who needs trouble?" The debate was still going on when the other clerk was ready to take another customer. I rushed up, had my package processed and got the heck outta there.

Then it was off to the Magic Castle for the evening. Our dinner party consisted of Leonard and Alice Maltin, Gregg and Dora Berger, Earl and Denise Kress, and my friend Carolyn Kelly. Oh, yeah…and I was a part of it. Then we adjourned to the Inner Circle of the Castle, an especially magical place where comedians, cabaret performers and other non-magicians have been known to perform.

For the last two nights, it's been two of my favorite folks…Hunter and Stan Freberg. Stan, as you know, is the great satirist, actor, maker of funny records and commercials and cartoon voice performer. Hunter is his spouse and partner. For 90-some-odd minutes, following an impromptu introduction by me, they told stories of their lives together and tales from Stan's multi-layered career. There were anecdotes about him voicing Warner Brothers cartoons. Some of his commercials were played. He re-created a bit of his first record, "John and Marsha" and sang "Take an Indian to Lunch" from the greatest comedy record ever made (I think), Stan Freberg Presents the United States of America, Volume One.

The crowd loved every minute of it…and by the way, it was nice to see so many readers of this blog there, as well as friends like Paul Dini and Misty Lee, Mark Nelson, Milt Larsen and many others.

Got back here just before Midnight…and that's why I didn't post more yesterday. And why I'm going to bed now. Good night, Internet! See you in the morning.

Don't anybody call me until Noon. Preferably Noon on Monday. Good night, Internet!

Hotel reservations are now open for the 2010 WonderCon in San Francisco, which is being held April 2-4. Never mind that Sergio and I are Guests of Honor. We're always Guests of Honor. The big news is that Stan and Hunter Freberg are Guests of Honor, as well as other fine folks you'd enjoy hearing and meeting. Those of you who think the convention in San Diego is too damn big may find WonderCon to be the perfect size for you: Large enough that there's always something to see or do, small enough that you can cross the hall without needing to set your watch ahead or back an hour. Your attendance is recommended.

In light of several e-mails I've received, I re-read those lists I linked to of things the staff of a restaurant should never do. This morning, they strike me as more misguided than they did last night. A lot of 'em are, of course, simple common sense and courtesy…but some fault the staff for things (like the music policy) which the restaurant's management oughta handle. And what bothers me this A.M. is how much of the list is calculated to reduce the poor waiter or waitress to an impersonal, servile robot. Obviously, I'd like my meal delivered promptly and the way I want it…but I'd also kinda like it delivered by a human being. If that human being feels like telling me what his or her favorite dessert is or gets otherwise chatty, fine. It makes me uncomfy to be treated like I'm Genghis Khan, ready to lop off the head of any servant who folds my napkin the wrong way.

Here's a report on that thing I attended over the weekend.

I just walked until my feet asked for political asylum, then hopped into a cab and came back here. Amazingly, David Siegel was not driving it.

Everything was packed, it being Saturday night…an awful lot of couples, an awful lot of alcohol consumption, even by Vegas standards. I was darn near the only one on The Strip without one of those yard-long drinks that look like some glass blower has been doing steroids. There was a major pedestrian sigalert where the pavement snakes through Harrah's Carnaval (why do they spell it that way?) Court.

Before I reached the populated areas, I was on a side street where I made eye contact with a woman who looked so much like a stereotypical hooker, I wondered if she was a police plant or something. She wasn't a bad-looking lady…or wouldn't be, I suspect, if she hadn't laid the make-up on with a trowel. I looked at her and then she looked at me and she surprised the hell out of me when she informed me that Congress had just passed the Health Care Reform bill, 220-215 with one Republican voting yes and 39 Democrats voting against.

No, I made that up. She didn't say anything. I just shook my head "no" and she shrugged like she expected it. I guess they generally expect that.

I walked through the Palazzo, the Wynn and the Encore, and I noted how the classier a hotel is, the more outta-place all those slot machines and video poker displays seem. I didn't lose any money gambling, possibly because I didn't play. Them days is behind me and I'm not entirely sure why.

It's suddenly feeling like time for bed. From Las Vegas, this is Mark Evanier saying, "Good night, Internet!"

Mark (that's me) had a fine time today at the Valley Vegas Comic Book Festival. Nice room. Nice turnout. Fun panels. Otherwise, not a lot to report.

My pal Tom Galloway and I had a dinner at a local casino called Ellis Island, which is famous for ridiculously cheap food. The place was packed because of it and because of some sort of Star Wars fan gathering that was dining there — lots of folks who like to dress up like Storm Troopers plus "little person" actor Felix Silla, who I guess played an Ewok in something. Anyway, Tom and I had Ellis Island's famous steak dinner which for $6.99 gives you soup or salad, a piece o' beef about the size of Felix Silla, garlic string beans, your choice of potato and beer or root beer brewed on the premises. I don't drink beer or root beer and for allergy-type reasons, skipped the soup or salad and the green beans. Even passing on those, it was a fine meal. In fancier places, I've paid four times as much for shabbier meat.

It's almost Midnight here. I've been writing for three hours so it's time to go out and take a walk. See ya later…