Yesterday, we had a neat bit of animation set to The Drifters' recording of White Christmas. He's a cappella specialist Nick McKaig doing his version of the classic Drifters record. Nick's a good singer and he's good at making funny faces, too…

One more thing about the finale on The Colbert Report: If you showed that musical number to someone who'd never heard of any of those people, I think they could do a pretty good job of figuring out which ones were professional entertainers (singers, comedians) and which ones were professional politicians, newspersons or journalists. Most in the latter category looked so awkward and even though their individual voices could not be heard, many could not even bring themselves to mouth along with the lyrics.

I've written a long piece about the decision by Sony not to release The Interview, at least not now. I'm going to read it when I wake up, see if I still agree with it and post it if I do. I don't think this is as big a First Amendment issue as some seem to think it is. And I'm usually pretty militant about First Amendment issues.

And I'm still welcoming nominations for older posts on this site that are deserving of an encore here.

This was originally posted to this site on August 4, 2003. It's still a very important memory for me and I hope everyone who has kids will take them when they're the proper age to a show they'll remember as well as I remember this one…

My Fair Lady was the first real musical comedy I ever saw performed live on a stage. This is discounting a couple of "kiddy theater" productions I saw at an earlier age which failed to entertain me or, insofar as I could tell, anyone else on the premises. I remember a probably-unauthorized musical version of The 500 Hats of Bartholomew Cubbins I saw when I was around seven that was so low-budget, they were short 499 pieces of head gear. A lady was playing Bartholomew and she kept doing inept sleight-of-hand to make it appear as if new chapeaus were magically appearing on her head, but she didn't fool anyone. We all knew she wasn't a boy and that it was the same hat, over and over and over.

A few other such plays failed to get me interested in theater. Fortunately though in 1961 when I was nine, my mother took me to see the touring company of My Fair Lady at the Biltmore Theater in downtown Los Angeles. A gentleman named Michael Evans — who spent much of his career playing Henry Higgins in various productions — played Henry Higgins, while research has suggested that Liza was played by either Caroline Dixon or Anne Rogers.

Anyway, I'll tell you what I remember of the experience. I remember my mother briefing me for days about what I was going to see, explaining and perhaps over-explaining the story. I also remember going there with a certain familiarity with the songs, inasmuch as my folks played the cast album over and over and over. I still own their copy of that record and it's a wonder you can even get a sound out of the thing today, so worn down are the grooves. I remember getting dressed up for the event and I remember my father, for God knows what reason, dropping us off at the theater and picking us up later, rather than coming in with us. Most of all though, I remember The Orange Drink.

At the time, it was apparently quite customary for legit theaters to sell orange drink at intermission. I assume they had alcohol and soft drinks but one could also purchase a certain orange-hued beverage that they all sold — or at least, they sold it at the Biltmore. For days before we attended, my mother not only told me about the show but explained that at intermission, she would buy me this terrific orange drink. I realize now she was very worried that I would find My Fair Lady an utter bore but she figured, I guess, that I would at least enjoy the orange drink. I heard so much about it that I began thinking, "This must be some orange drink" and presuming that it was so special, you could only get it if you sat through an entire musical comedy.

Our seats were high in a balcony, several kilometers from the stage and all the way on the left. I sat there in my suit and tie all through the first act, trading off with my mother on using a pair of very old binoculars she owned. I enjoyed the show a lot but my mind kept drifting to thoughts of the wonderful orange drink I would be savoring at intermission. When the moment finally came, my mother took me out to the lobby and bought me a small carton, like a milk carton, of what turned out to be a pretty mediocre orange drink. It was very much like Kool-Aid — sugared water with artificial coloring and flavor, and I didn't particularly want to drink it but figuring it was part of the ritual of the theater, I did. For all I knew, the second act couldn't start until every child in the place finished his or her orange drink.

As it turned out, I liked the show a lot more than the orange drink. And it's funny what you remember from an experience like that. I remember the "Wouldn't It Be Loverly?" number with the buskers pushing Liza around stage on a flower cart and whistling. I remember Alfred Doolittle and three other characters singing, "With a Little Bit of Luck." I remember Doolittle doing, "Get Me to the Church on Time" and in it, I vividly recall Doolittle in his tuxedo saying goodbye to someone. He did an elaborate gesture of removing one of his gloves so he could shake hands. Then he shook with the still-gloved hand. Then he put the glove back on the hand from which he'd removed it. Big laugh.

It all added up to my first real memory of the theater. It was many years after that I began attending on an even semi-regular basis but when I did, something connected with that first experience. First time I took in a show on Broadway, I found myself flashing back to that balcony at the Biltmore and thinking, "This is the same wonderful experience." Maybe it was even better. On Broadway, they don't make you drink the rotten orange drink.

An annual Christmas tradition on this blog…

The folks at Slate have "annotated" the finale from The Colbert Report to show who everyone is. Their video is full of code I don't want on this site so you can go to this page to watch it.

I have a feeling that Keith Olbermann, when he chose what coat he'd wear to the studio for this, asked himself, "What color jacket could I have on that guaranteed I'd stand out and be noticed?" And then when he got there and they saw it, the person who was staging everything thought, "Hey, I'll show him! I'll put him in a shot with Big Bird!"

I was a tad disappointed in the last Colbert Report but, you know, the show's batting average was still amazing over its nine year run. Folks I know seem split on how he's going to do in the time slot Mr. Letterman is vacating. I think he's a lot more talented and innovative than anyone else who's been competing in late night for quite some time. If he tries to do the same show as everyone else, he'll just disappear into the mix. I'm thinking he won't.

That finale with a zillion celebs flooding onto his stage last night was impressive, though. Here's an attempt by the folks at Talking Points Memo to identify all of them. They seem to be updating the page every so often to add in more names. One wonders how certain people there felt about sharing a stage with Henry Kissinger in that some of them have fingered him as a war criminal. (Oh, what am I saying? War criminals are getting to be socially acceptable in our country…)

I've been having an Into the Woods week. Tuesday night, I saw a pretty good stage production of the musical. Last night, I went to the Motion Picture Academy's theater to see a screening of the new movie, followed by a panel discussion with the director, screenwriter and most of the stars. The panel discussion was pleasant enough, though 95% of it was about how much they all loved being involved in this film and how much they loved working with each other. Meryl Streep and Tracey Ullman spent a lot of it playfully annoying each other.

I liked the movie a lot. It's very lovely and extremely faithful to the show. Journalist Pete Hammond, who moderated the panel after, and James Corden (who's quite wonderful as the Baker) both made the interesting point that they managed to cut a three-hour play down for a two-hour movie without losing anything notable. Actually, all the performers are quite wonderful and, since the purpose of this showing was to rally some support for Academy Awards, I found myself wondering which of them, besides Ms. Streep, they're going to put up for Best Actor/Actress and which ones will have campaigns for supporting roles. In many ways, the best performance was given by the cinematographer.

The film hasn't formally opened so I guess I'm not supposed to post a real review…and by the time I can, everyone will be reviewing it and raving about it. It's a fine piece of work and if you have any love for the material, you won't be disappointed.

Early in 2011, I posted this piece of what I still think is sound advice. And hey, if you have a past posting here you think is worthy of a reprise, please drop me a line and tell me. In the meantime, here's what I wrote about the awesome, life-changing power of One Phone Call…

If you have a steady job, you may want to skip this. It's directed to many friends, acquaintances and total strangers who never have jobs that are all that steady: Writers, artists, actors and various other freelancers who think it's a big deal if they get something that pays them for six months or a year…or who even subsist on a string of one-shot gigs.

It's been a rough couple of years and no one's forecasting a huge change in this one. Our unemployment level is impossible to chart but (obviously) way too high. I can't remember a time of so many calls and e-mails that include the phrase, "Please, if you hear of anything…" The answer, alas, is that I rarely hear of anything.

So what can we tell these folks? The first thing to remember is that there are two kinds of problems in this world. You might be unfortunate enough to have both kinds at once but you should never forget that there are two kinds — the ones that can be largely solved by One Phone Call and the ones that can't. "I don't have a job" can be solved with One Phone Call. Someone calls up and hires you. That happens all the time…admittedly, not as often or as perfectly timed as you would like but it certainly happens and if it's the right One Phone Call, the problem disappears in its entirety. Gone. Evaporated. A distant memory. Congrats.

The other kind of problem is the kind that can't be solved by One Phone Call. Being very ill would probably be the most obvious example but it can also be a relationship problem that isn't going to get better and we can all imagine plenty of other situations. I have a friend who has severe Fibromyalgia. No One Phone Call is going to make that go away.

People keep plunging themselves into depression and despair because they mistake the first kind of problem for the second kind. Neither is fun and I'm not suggesting the second kind is necessarily hopeless. I know plenty of folks who've recovered from pretty severe disasters. I just think it's valuable to distinguish between them and to not overdramatize the former into the latter. I don't know how many times a friend has called on Monday, wailing about unemployment and speaking in the bleakest, most depressing terms. And then on Tuesday, they get that One Phone Call.

It doesn't always happen that neatly. But it does happen.

When it doesn't happen, that may be because of simple numbers. It's sometimes the case that the talent pool is too large for the marketplace. Back in the eighties in the animation business, there was a period when there were 25 cartoon series in production in Los Angeles, many of them Monday-Friday shows that required 65 episodes to fill out a season. That meant a great demand for scripts and a lot of people who hadn't been animation writers before suddenly became animation writers. Dozens of 'em.

Then only two or three years later, there was a downswing in production and the business was down to (I think) 16 series, mostly Saturday-only shows that produced but 13 episodes a year. I may have the precise numbers wrong but it was something like a 70% drop in the quantity of scripts that were needed.

There was not, however, a 70% drop in the number of animation writers looking for work. Some got out (mostly those who were never fully in) but not enough for there not to be a lot of frustrated folks asking themselves, "What happened? I had plenty of work last year…and this year, I can't get anything." That can be jarring, especially when you plan your life on the assumption that this year's income will approximate last year's income.

I had friends who lost homes or had to move to cheaper apartments or otherwise downsize their lives. Many punished themselves and agonized, wondering as many creative folks do at times and especially lately, "What am I doing wrong?" There are four possible answers to that question…

1. Some people are not as good as others, at least in the eyes of those who do the hiring and buying. That is not always the same thing as just being good since sometimes, those who hire and buy have odd tastes and whims. The kind of jobs I'm talking about here — writing, drawing, even acting — are meritocracy jobs. You get one because someone thinks you're the best available person to fill some need they have. So you might not be getting hired because what you do just doesn't coincide with the tastes and judgment calls of those who make the selections and that might be (just might be) because you're not that good. If you've had some success in the past, it's probably the former of those two options. But the latter is always possible.
2. Some people are not as well-known to those who make the selections as they could be. You might be doing something wrong in that you're not known by those who can pick you…though I don't think that's the problem as often as some think it is. There's a tendency to think, "Well, if they don't know how good I am, they must not have seen my work." That's easier to believe than, "They have but they weren't impressed." Still, it's at least possible that you need to do something to cut yourself away from the herd and not just be one more entrant in the cattle call or slush pile of submissions from whence few emerge. (I should also add that I've seen people — actors, especially — unsell themselves by being too pushy, too arrogant or, most often, too desperate. A casting director once said to me, "Anyone who feels they have to tell you how good they are probably isn't very.")
3. Sometimes, it's just casting. Actors especially know this. You're a tall white guy and all the jobs this week are for short black women. You can try everything within your power but you're still going to be a tall white guy. It works that way with writers and artists, too. Editors may think you're good but they think you're good at film noir drama and this week, they need folks who can handle funny talking poodles. It may or may not be possible for you to diversify…though that's at least easier for you than it is for the tall white guy to become a short black woman.
4. And lastly, it may just be the numbers. This is the most likely thing you're doing wrong. You're one of fifty people competing for ten jobs. No matter how wisely the selectors select…no matter how they pick or choose or flip a coin, forty people ain't getting hired. On an individual basis, you might think, "Well, why can't I be one of the ten?" There are times when you are, just as there are times in Blackjack when the dealer deals you a 10 and an Ace. But imagine a gambler who then asks, "Well, why can't I always get a 10 and an Ace?" Because you can't, that's why. The numbers don't work like that.

What you're doing wrong in at least the last two situations is that you're not diversifying enough. The marketplace is ever-changing. When I got into TV writing, I met a lot of unemployed guys who'd written Banacek-style cop shows and variety programs. Those guys either diversified or they didn't work…and amazingly, some of them stubbornly chose to not work. They'd actually say things like, "Hey, I'm not doing anything wrong. I'm doing the same thing I did ten years ago when I was working constantly." It was like the business was out of sync with them, not the other way around.

Some though knew enough to write other kinds of TV or to pursue novels or comic books or journalism or even to get out of writing completely. One I know became a top film editor. Even if what you do is still commercial, you should have other outlets for when one contracts…because they all do at some point. And the time to think about what else you might do is before that happens…because it's always easier to break into a new area when you can do it at a proper pace and not out of desperation.

I know a lot of talented people. I do not know anyone who is good at one thing who can't do anything but that one thing. A good actor may also be a good director. A good artist may also be a good writer. A good comedy writer may also be a good mystery novelist. Instead of asking yourself, "What am I doing wrong?" maybe you oughta be asking, "What else would I be happy doing?" I'll bet there's something and it may not be a huge career change. It might be as modest as writing for a younger audience or in the case of actors, accepting the reality that maybe you're getting a bit too old to go out on a casting call for "college age types."

Also, New Media is creating a lot of new job descriptions that weren't there for you to contemplate when you decided what you wanted to be when you grew up. I've actually turned down offers (admittedly for rotten money) to be a professional blogger. That's not a career path I considered when I was in high school but someday soon, it might be viable.

But for crying out loud, don't sit around and cry out loud and wait for the business to revert back to the way it was when you had all that work ten years ago. The odds are that it won't. If nothing else, think of it this way: The more different things you do, the more people might want to work with you. And the more people want to work with you, the better your odds are of getting that One Phone Call. Because if you're out of work and all your problems in life flow from that, your situation isn't as hopeless as it might feel. You just need to get that One Phone Call.

Here's a few minutes of audio of Woody Allen reflecting on his early days as a stand-up. Thanks, Steve Stoliar, for the link.

My favorite short Christmas cartoon…

Fred Kaplan on the Sony computer hacking and the resultant cancellation of the release of the film, The Interview. I'm still trying to figure out what I think of all this, above and beyond the fact that it's awful that cyber criminals have done what they've done.

I assume Sony has canceled the film's release because they were afraid of a terrorist attack (like, a bomb) in a public theater…or afraid that worries of that happening would keep filmgoers away. That perhaps could be viewed as a financial decision and perhaps could be viewed as an act of responsibility. And yes, it could also be just corporate cowardice…but maybe not if there was a credible fear that to go ahead and open the film would be risking the lives of theater operators and those who went and purchased tickets.

I really don't know. My primal response is always to support Free Speech and the free availability of that which creators create, even if it is a Seth Rogen comedy. Still, you have to weigh that against real or likely threats…and I don't think the movie is being destroyed. It'll be available somewhere, I imagine, maybe even uploaded across the web by counter-hackers. What's being destroyed at the moment is Sony's current marketing campaign for the movie.

These are rambling thoughts because my brain is still rambling on about it. I think I'm outraged but I'm not sure about what just yet. I do agree with Fred Kaplan that we're going to see a lot more of this kind of thing.

Our pal Ken Levine has some good advice for aspiring TV writers.

Do me a favor. I appreciate that you like my Mel Tormé story and want to share it with others but please do not cut and paste it onto your sites or Facebook pages or wherever. Tell people about it and link to it here. For one thing, you always change the spacing of paragraphs and almost always cut off the ending. Thanks.

Fourteen years ago, at a time when most folks (including me) had never heard the term "blogging," I began blogging. I thought it would be a post or three a week but once I got going, I discovered I liked the forum and the feedback too much to not do more. In case anyone's interested, there are now 20,922 posts on this site, counting this one. I've made some great friends and a few enemies and, yes, I still enjoy doing it.

In order to celebrate, I'm going to spend the rest of this year re-posting some of the most popular postings of years past, starting with the most-read piece I've ever put up here. It also holds the record for the post that has most often been stolen by other people who put it up on their blogs, often making it sound like what happened to me had actually happened to them. This was a column I wrote for the Comics Buyers Guide in 1999 — the story of my holiday encounter with Mel Tormé —

I want to tell you a story…

The scene is Farmers Market — the famed tourist mecca of Los Angeles. It's located but yards from the facility they call, "CBS Television City in Hollywood"…which, of course, is not in Hollywood but at least is very close.

Farmers Market is a quaint collection of bungalow stores, produce stalls and little stands where one can buy darn near anything edible one wishes to devour. You buy your pizza slice or sandwich or Chinese food or whatever at one of umpteen counters, then carry it on a tray to an open-air table for consumption.

During the Summer or on weekends, the place is full of families and tourists and Japanese tour groups. But this was a winter weekday, not long before Christmas, and the crowd was mostly older folks, dawdling over coffee and danish. For most of them, it's a good place to get a donut or a taco, to sit and read the paper.

For me, it's a good place to get out of the house and grab something to eat. I arrived, headed for my favorite barbecue stand and, en route, noticed that Mel Tormé was seated at one of the tables.

Mel Tormé. My favorite singer. Just sitting there, sipping a cup of coffee, munching on an English Muffin, reading The New York Times. Mel Tormé.

I had never met Mel Tormé. Alas, I still haven't and now I never will. He looked like he was engrossed in the paper that day so I didn't stop and say, "Excuse me, I just wanted to tell you how much I've enjoyed all your records." I wish I had.

Instead, I continued over to the BBQ place, got myself a chicken sandwich and settled down at a table to consume it. I was about halfway through when four Christmas carolers strolled by, singing "Let It Snow," a cappella.

They were young adults with strong, fine voices and they were all clad in splendid Victorian garb. The Market had hired them (I assume) to stroll about and sing for the diners — a little touch of the holidays.

"Let It Snow" concluded not far from me to polite applause from all within earshot. I waved the leader of the chorale over and directed his attention to Mr. Tormé, seated about twenty yards from me.

"That's Mel Tormé down there. Do you know who he is?"

The singer was about 25 so it didn't horrify me that he said, "No."

I asked, "Do you know 'The Christmas Song?'"

Again, a "No."

I said, "That's the one that starts, 'Chestnuts roasting on an open fire…'"

"Oh, yes," the caroler chirped. "Is that what it's called? 'The Christmas Song?'"

"That's the name," I explained. "And that man wrote it." The singer thanked me, returned to his group for a brief huddle…and then they strolled down towards Mel Tormé. I ditched the rest of my sandwich and followed, a few steps behind. As they reached their quarry, they began singing, "Chestnuts roasting on an open fire…" directly to him.

A big smile formed on Mel Tormé's face — and it wasn't the only one around. Most of those sitting at nearby tables knew who he was and many seemed aware of the significance of singing that song to him. For those who didn't, there was a sudden flurry of whispers: "That's Mel Tormé…he wrote that…"

As the choir reached the last chorus or two of the song, Mel got to his feet and made a little gesture that meant, "Let me sing one chorus solo." The carolers — all still apparently unaware they were in the presence of one of the world's great singers — looked a bit uncomfortable. I'd bet at least a couple were thinking, "Oh, no…the little fat guy wants to sing."

But they stopped and the little fat guy started to sing…and, of course, out came this beautiful, melodic, perfectly-on-pitch voice. The look on the face of the singer I'd briefed was amazed at first…then properly impressed.

On Mr. Tormé's signal, they all joined in on the final lines: "Although it's been said, many times, many ways…Merry Christmas to you…" Big smiles all around.

And not just from them. I looked and at all the tables surrounding the impromptu performance, I saw huge grins of delight…which segued, as the song ended, into a huge burst of applause. The whole tune only lasted about two minutes but I doubt anyone who was there will ever forget it.

I have witnessed a number of thrilling "show business" moments — those incidents, far and few between, where all the little hairs on your epidermis snap to attention and tingle with joy. Usually, these occur on a screen or stage. I hadn't expected to experience one next to a falafel stand — but I did.

Tormé thanked the harmonizers for the serenade and one of the women said, "You really wrote that?"

He nodded. "A wonderful songwriter named Bob Wells and I wrote that…and, get this — we did it on the hottest day of the year in July. It was a way to cool down."

Then the gent I'd briefed said, "You know, you're not a bad singer." He actually said that to Mel Tormé.

Mel chuckled. He realized that these four young folks hadn't the velvet-foggiest notion who he was, above and beyond the fact that he'd worked on that classic carol. "Well," he said. "I've actually made a few records in my day…"

"Really?" the other man asked. "How many?"

Tormé smiled and said, "Ninety."

I probably own about half of them on vinyl and/or CD. For some reason, they sound better on vinyl. (My favorite was the album he made with Buddy Rich. Go ahead. Find me a better parlay of singer and drummer. I'll wait.)

Today, as I'm reading obits, I'm reminded of that moment. And I'm impressed to remember that Mel Tormé was also an accomplished author and actor. Mostly though, I'm recalling that pre-Christmas afternoon.

I love people who do something so well that you can't conceive of it being done better. Doesn't even have to be something important: Singing, dancing, plate-spinning, mooning your neighbor's cat, whatever. There is a certain beauty to doing almost anything to perfection.

No recording exists of that chorus that Mel Tormé sang for the other diners at Farmers Market but if you never believe another word I write, trust me on this. It was perfect. Absolutely perfect.

Scott Edelman turned me on to this — a video of novelty singer Candy Candido, performing a song that was recorded by dozens of different artists in the forties. Mr. Candido was a musician and singer with, as you'll hear, a trick voice. He made a number of records and was tapped occasionally for animation voice work, mainly by Disney. You heard him in Peter Pan, Sleeping Beauty, Robin Hood and The Rescuers, along with many others. In the early sixties, after Lou Costello died, Bud Abbott took him on as a partner and they toured — with almost no success — as Abbott and Candido. Here he is in better times singing a very sad song…