OK, as a point of order, let's note the fact that the "Batman" TV show ran from 1966 to 1968. That's 42 years ago.
Let's also note that catchphrases usually run their course within 2 years.
Given all this, there is no earthly reason why headlines about comic books have to lead with "Biff! Bam! Pow!"
"Rowan & Martin's Laugh-In" ran far longer than "Batman," yet articles about comedy don't lead with "Sock It To Me!" You never see, "Watchoo talkin' 'bout? Madonna adopts African baby." And any writer who leads an article on animation with "Ay, Carumba" would be drummed out of the press corps.
Yet, when it comes to comics, a 42 year-old show is still king. It's become so prevalent that it wouldn't surprise me to one day see "Biff! Bam! Pow! Explosion at Comic-Con leaves hundreds dead, many injured" or "Biff! Bam! Pow! Comic creator arrested for sleeping with underage student" or "Biff! Bam! Pow! Stan Lee dead at age 280 from heart attack."
TV news has its own blindside when it comes to comics. Every year at Comic-Con, news vans are parked outside all day and camera crews roam the floor. There are many legends in the field available to interview, many stories to cover, a lot of normal people having a good time. Yet if you watch the coverage, all they show is the freak show side of the con. I have never seen anybody who was not in a costume being interviewed by the media. Mark Evanier could host a panel where he resurrects Jack Kirby to do sketches for everyone and the media would rush by the room to catch a heavyset guy stuffed into a spandex Green Lantern outfit.
Last year, one moronic TV reporter felt the only way she could report on the con was to dress up in costume and ignore any ignore any part of the convention that didn't revolve around costumes. Look, we understand that reporters are a superstitious and cowardly lot and that we strike fear into your hearts. But the nerd or geek is really not that much different from you. If you cut us, do we not bleed? If you punch us in the face, do we not cry "my glasses!"?
I'm not saying don't show the costumes, I'm just saying make it a part of the story not the entire thrust. Keep in mind that this is an event that draws over 125,000 people and pours an estimated $60 million dollars into the local economy. Even Glenn Beck could find a compelling story in all that.
I know doing actual reporting is hard, just like math. I know that the news media has lost its desire for serious reporting, opting for an endless stream of talking heads and offering no objective analysis themselves. But maybe if you start small by finding out why that guy is sitting at that table, it might give you an appetite for bigger and better things, like integrity and truth.
And one final thought, GDFE (Google Does F---ing Exist.) The guy who created Peanuts is Charles Schulz, not Schultz or Shults or Schuls. The two men who created Superman were Siegel and Shuster not Steven Seagal and Schuster or Rodgers and Hammerstein. Spider-Man is spelled with a Hyphen, Superman is not.
If the media can't be bothered to do the most basic of fact checking, why should I believe they can be trusted to report on the bigger issues of the day.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
In Which I Describe the Info Desk Trifecta.
If you're a retail employee, here's a very simple game you can play to make the day pass quicker. You can even create betting pools amongst the staff.
The object is to answer as many questions as you can without moving from your position. Now, at my store, this is a hard game to play, because we are required to take the customer to the section and put the book in their hand. But there is no obligation to lead them to the bathroom, cafe or first and second floors, you can simply point the way.
The basic unit is the Trifecta. In order to score any points, you must answer three questions in a row without moving. If you get two questions about the cafe and one that requires you to leave the desk, you start over. Conservation of words is just as important as conservation of movement. For example, if a customer asks where DVD's are and your reply is "the first floor," that counts. If you have to describe where on the 2nd floor a certain book or section is, that does not count.
A simple Trifecta is worth 5 points. A Trifecta is worth double the points if it consists of the same three questions, such as three questions in a row about the location of the bathroom.
You also get double the points if a customer is so stupid that, after you answer their question, they turn in the direction you pointed and ask you the same question again. If they ask a third time, you get 10 bonus frustration points.
20 bonus frustration points are awarded if, when you direct a customer to pay on the first floor, they either snottily point out that the sign at 3rd floor cashwrap says "Main Cashier" or gripe about having to pay on the same floor where the exit doors are. I guess some people want to pay upstairs and then take a zip line out the window.
If you get four questions in a row, you get triple points. Five questions is six times the points. Six questions in a row is statistically possible, but so unlikely that if it happens, you're the automatic winner for the day.
If a customer comes back to the desk and tells you that they could not find the first floor (true story) you are automatically awarded all points garnered by all players on that day.
If you're playing under Marquess of Queensberry rules, only questions about the cafe or the bathroom count in the Trifecta total. You can still earn frustration bonus points, but they are worth half the value.
The object is to answer as many questions as you can without moving from your position. Now, at my store, this is a hard game to play, because we are required to take the customer to the section and put the book in their hand. But there is no obligation to lead them to the bathroom, cafe or first and second floors, you can simply point the way.
The basic unit is the Trifecta. In order to score any points, you must answer three questions in a row without moving. If you get two questions about the cafe and one that requires you to leave the desk, you start over. Conservation of words is just as important as conservation of movement. For example, if a customer asks where DVD's are and your reply is "the first floor," that counts. If you have to describe where on the 2nd floor a certain book or section is, that does not count.
A simple Trifecta is worth 5 points. A Trifecta is worth double the points if it consists of the same three questions, such as three questions in a row about the location of the bathroom.
You also get double the points if a customer is so stupid that, after you answer their question, they turn in the direction you pointed and ask you the same question again. If they ask a third time, you get 10 bonus frustration points.
20 bonus frustration points are awarded if, when you direct a customer to pay on the first floor, they either snottily point out that the sign at 3rd floor cashwrap says "Main Cashier" or gripe about having to pay on the same floor where the exit doors are. I guess some people want to pay upstairs and then take a zip line out the window.
If you get four questions in a row, you get triple points. Five questions is six times the points. Six questions in a row is statistically possible, but so unlikely that if it happens, you're the automatic winner for the day.
If a customer comes back to the desk and tells you that they could not find the first floor (true story) you are automatically awarded all points garnered by all players on that day.
If you're playing under Marquess of Queensberry rules, only questions about the cafe or the bathroom count in the Trifecta total. You can still earn frustration bonus points, but they are worth half the value.
In Which I Describe My Dating Failures
Every day, people from all walks of life come up to me and say "hey, does this bookmark work on all books?" Their second question is, invariably, "hey, you're a good-looking, nice guy with a great sense of humor. How come you're not married yet?" Now, mind you, the person asking this is never a young, attractive, funny and nice girl who's looking to get lost in my eyes, but you can tell they mean well by their prying, overly-personal questions.
So to save time from answering these incessant questions, I will henceforth refer people to this post wherein I reveal how the universe has chosen to mock my desire to be in a committed, loving, monogamous relationship.
Let's start with true things that have happened to me.
Since turnabout is fair play, here are some dumb things I have done on dates.
Thus endeth the lesson.
So to save time from answering these incessant questions, I will henceforth refer people to this post wherein I reveal how the universe has chosen to mock my desire to be in a committed, loving, monogamous relationship.
Let's start with true things that have happened to me.
- At least 3 times in my life, I've had a great first date with someone and then within a week heard some variation of the following story. "I really had a great time the other day. However, there was a missed connection (someone I used to like but who wasn't available at the time) who recently popped up. I'd really like to see where this leads, so I'm sorry to say I can't see you again."
- After asking someone out, I received a Christmas card from them. In the handwritten note inside, she started with a very lovely greeting, then proceeded to tell me that she had just broken up with someone and was not interested in going out with me. Who sends a Dear John Christmas card?
- About 3 hours before a new year was to begin, I got a call from a young lady I had been pursuing. She was on her way home to Massachusetts and she wanted to tell me that she wasn't interested in going out with me. Really, you not only did this on New Years Eve, but waited until you were out of state?
- Coming back to a girl's apartment after the first date and finding a flower and a card on her stoop. Thinking that was a bad omen, I still allowed myself to fall for her. Cut to six weeks later when she tells me the flower was from a "missed connection" and that she was dumping me for him.
- Paraphrased actual phone conversation. "Hi, this is Dave. I was wondering if you'd like to go out sometime." "Oh, I'd love to. What did you have in mind?" "Do you have a favorite restaurant?" Pause. "Wait, is this Jeff's friend, Dave?" "Yes." "Oh, I thought it was my boyfriend Dave." Needless to say, I did not get a date.
- In my 30's being hit on by a woman in her 40's at a bakery in Maine, who hinted, very strongly, that she liked the Whoopie pie.
- In my 40's being propositioned by a Russian in her 40's who worked at a Michael's Crafts. She actually said, "we could go in the bathroom...just kidding." But, I could tell she was not kidding.
- After asking someone out in high school, getting a full-page letter from them explaining why they think I'm a great guy, but they are not looking to date anyone at the time because of blah, blah, blah going on in their life. Within a month, they were dating someone.
- Doing most of the talking on the second date. On the third date, wherein we just watched a movie, she dropped me because I didn't talk enough.
- I'm the only guy in history who has had 'friends-with-benefits' without benefits.
- After a 10 year stretch of no serious relationships, my sister asked me "are you gay, not that there's anything wrong with that."
Since turnabout is fair play, here are some dumb things I have done on dates.
- Sitting through one and a half DVDs before I got up the courage to kiss a date for the first time. Keep in mind, she was making it very obvious that she wanted a kiss by snuggling up close and holding my hand, yet it still took me forever to make the move. Being the suave guy that I am, I wound up playing it very smooth. I said "hey," she turned her head towards me and I kissed her. She never let me forget the "hey."
- Leaning in for a goodnight kiss, her turning her head and me ending up kissing her ear!
- Not realizing the difference between a "heavy flirter" and a "light flirter." A heavy flirter will make very sexually suggestive remarks but have no intention of seeing them through. They rev the engine but don't want to go for a drive. A light flirter is more subdued and coy, but much more open to taking a drive around the block. Never take a heavy flirter at their word, it'll just frustrate you.
- Dated a woman who was separated but not yet divorced. Always wait for the divorce to be final and ideally at least a year behind her. Trust me, you do not want the emotional baggage inherent with the end of a marriage.
- In college I was house sitting for my boss, who lived in a log cabin in the woods (true story.) One night I brought my girlfriend over for a dinner. A storm came up and knocked a power line across the only road out. We had to spend the night. Let's just say, I didn't take advantage of what could have been a very romantic evening.
- Wrote a note asking her to reconsider her decision to dump me.
- Dated women who had so much baggage, you needed a U-Haul to go to dinner.
- Not only did I look at another woman during a date, I made a comment about her outfit. In my defense, she was wearing overalls and nothing is sexier than a woman in overalls. But, still, it was an idiotic thing to do.
Thus endeth the lesson.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
In Which I Tell The duck story.
This is a story that has become a legend in my family. It is a tale that will be passed down from father to son through the ages.
Many, many moons ago, in the time of High School Reunions, I fell in love with a fair, young maiden. She was beautiful, funny, intelligent and had a kiss you would die for. But, like many relationships, we had our moments, especially when it came to sleeping arrangements. My fair maiden had the habit of stealing the covers as well as the majority of the bed. Of course, we would start out the evening with an equal share of bedspace, in accordance with God's plan (1 Thebidia 12:2-4), but during the night, I would awake shivering to find my blankets gone and my body about ready to fall off the edge of the bed.
(Note to my impressionable readers, no unseemly activities happened on that bed. We merely played rigorous games of "chess" or slept. After long days of building homes for Habitat for Humanity, feeding the poor at the Soup Kitchen and teaching adults how to read, we would come home exhausted and since my house only had three bedrooms we had no choice but to share the one bed.)
On one particular evening, I awoke cold and about to meet the floor up close. I turned to see my fair maiden sprawled across the bed and with my voice full of love, I hollered "you're hogging the bed."
She bellowed back, with a voice one uses to calm frightened children, "you have just as much room as I do."
At this, my heart was so overflowing with concern for my fair maiden's spatial awareness, that I lept from the bed. Now, at the time, I had a set of sheets that had vertical rows of ducks on them. How fortunate, in that I could demonstrate in clear, impartial terms just how much bed she had. "You have seven ducks, I have three ducks!" By this point, my voice was so poetic and loving that if my words were cartoons, they would be made of butterflies and flowers.
Having the facts pointed out in such a loving and kind manner, since nothing says "I love you" more than cold, hard science, my fair maiden relinquished her excess ducks and we spent the remainder of the night in loving repose.
Cut to a month or so later when I hosted Thanksgiving dinner at my home. Not only was this the first time I hosted Thanksgiving, it was the first chance my family had to meet my fair maiden. The evening was going fine, until halfway through dinner, when my fair maiden told the above tale. Followed immediately by the part of the Sprint commercial where the pin drops.
Now, it's not that my family were particularly uptight or conservative. It wasn't that it was such a shocking story. But, it's one thing for your parents to be philosophically aware that you're playing "chess," it's quite another to be confronted with the fact that their son is, indeed, playing "chess" and he's playing it with this woman in front of them. It's just the reverse of children thinking about their parents playing "chess." You know your mom and dad played "chess" but you don't really want to hear about all the moves that lead up to checkmate.
The rest of the evening went fine. My fair maiden and I eventually drifted apart, but remain good friends to this day. My parents and I never spoke of the duck story again, but it has become an ongoing joke between my brother and I. If families can have catchphrases, it would be a toss-up between "I have three ducks" and "what are you trying to do, get hollered at?" But the later is a story for another time.
Many, many moons ago, in the time of High School Reunions, I fell in love with a fair, young maiden. She was beautiful, funny, intelligent and had a kiss you would die for. But, like many relationships, we had our moments, especially when it came to sleeping arrangements. My fair maiden had the habit of stealing the covers as well as the majority of the bed. Of course, we would start out the evening with an equal share of bedspace, in accordance with God's plan (1 Thebidia 12:2-4), but during the night, I would awake shivering to find my blankets gone and my body about ready to fall off the edge of the bed.
(Note to my impressionable readers, no unseemly activities happened on that bed. We merely played rigorous games of "chess" or slept. After long days of building homes for Habitat for Humanity, feeding the poor at the Soup Kitchen and teaching adults how to read, we would come home exhausted and since my house only had three bedrooms we had no choice but to share the one bed.)
On one particular evening, I awoke cold and about to meet the floor up close. I turned to see my fair maiden sprawled across the bed and with my voice full of love, I hollered "you're hogging the bed."
She bellowed back, with a voice one uses to calm frightened children, "you have just as much room as I do."
At this, my heart was so overflowing with concern for my fair maiden's spatial awareness, that I lept from the bed. Now, at the time, I had a set of sheets that had vertical rows of ducks on them. How fortunate, in that I could demonstrate in clear, impartial terms just how much bed she had. "You have seven ducks, I have three ducks!" By this point, my voice was so poetic and loving that if my words were cartoons, they would be made of butterflies and flowers.
Having the facts pointed out in such a loving and kind manner, since nothing says "I love you" more than cold, hard science, my fair maiden relinquished her excess ducks and we spent the remainder of the night in loving repose.
Cut to a month or so later when I hosted Thanksgiving dinner at my home. Not only was this the first time I hosted Thanksgiving, it was the first chance my family had to meet my fair maiden. The evening was going fine, until halfway through dinner, when my fair maiden told the above tale. Followed immediately by the part of the Sprint commercial where the pin drops.
Now, it's not that my family were particularly uptight or conservative. It wasn't that it was such a shocking story. But, it's one thing for your parents to be philosophically aware that you're playing "chess," it's quite another to be confronted with the fact that their son is, indeed, playing "chess" and he's playing it with this woman in front of them. It's just the reverse of children thinking about their parents playing "chess." You know your mom and dad played "chess" but you don't really want to hear about all the moves that lead up to checkmate.
The rest of the evening went fine. My fair maiden and I eventually drifted apart, but remain good friends to this day. My parents and I never spoke of the duck story again, but it has become an ongoing joke between my brother and I. If families can have catchphrases, it would be a toss-up between "I have three ducks" and "what are you trying to do, get hollered at?" But the later is a story for another time.
Monday, March 15, 2010
This is the kind of stuff that only happens to me.
A few years ago, a director friend of mine was going to be doing "Of Mice and Men." He mentioned that he had the perfect part for me. My ears perked up at the thought of playing Lennie or George. He leans in and says, "do you remember the guy who kills the dog?" I immediately said, "that's what you think of when you think of me? The guy who kills the dog?"
Another story. A director calls me up to help fill a last minute replacement in her production of "Urinetown." She talks a few minutes about her vision of the play and how another director spoke so highly of me, that she'll cast me without an audition. Feeling flattered, I ask what part she has in mind. Her response, "a pee person."
A good friend says he has a script that I would be perfect for. I ask him to briefly describe it. I would be playing a has-been, alcoholic author.
I should end by saying that I am quite comfortable with the term "character actor." It's what I am and it's what I do. Often the character parts are far more interesting than the leads, even if they do involve less kissing of attractive women. But, like everyone on the planet, I do have an ego and it is amusing when your idea of yourself gets juxtaposed against your acting abilities. But one thing these experiences have taught me is that actors have to learn to view themselves from the outside. Your strengths as an actor are not the same as your strengths as a person.
In other words, don't be afraid to play the dog killer.
Another story. A director calls me up to help fill a last minute replacement in her production of "Urinetown." She talks a few minutes about her vision of the play and how another director spoke so highly of me, that she'll cast me without an audition. Feeling flattered, I ask what part she has in mind. Her response, "a pee person."
A good friend says he has a script that I would be perfect for. I ask him to briefly describe it. I would be playing a has-been, alcoholic author.
I should end by saying that I am quite comfortable with the term "character actor." It's what I am and it's what I do. Often the character parts are far more interesting than the leads, even if they do involve less kissing of attractive women. But, like everyone on the planet, I do have an ego and it is amusing when your idea of yourself gets juxtaposed against your acting abilities. But one thing these experiences have taught me is that actors have to learn to view themselves from the outside. Your strengths as an actor are not the same as your strengths as a person.
In other words, don't be afraid to play the dog killer.
In Which I Join the Blahgosphere
Can we all just agree that blogosphere is the worst word to describe a group or collection of items that has ever come down the internet pike? I can accept "blog" as an abbreviation of "web log" because, god knows, we need to remove as many letters as we can from words or else the terrorists will win. We're a busy people, we don't have time for excess syllables or letters. Thanks to texting, we will one day be communicating like the cavemen with just a series of grunts. (See Appendix A)
But then we come to "osphere" which takes us out of the world of text reduction and into corporate speak. We could have simply added an "s" onto blog to describe the collection of blogs that now scatter across the farthest reaches of the internet. But no, we had to make it sound fancy and more important than it really is. Corporate America is more than happy to take all those letters and words that texters throw away and use them to make small words longer. For example, most people have "skills" that they use to accomplish various tasks, but if you wear a suit and tie, you have a "skill set." There is no appreciable difference between the two, except that some consulting firm got paid a lot of money to advocate the later.
If we had to go fancy, why not do it animal style. A group of cows is a herd. A group of dogs is a pack. A swarm of bees. A quiver of cobras. A bundle of frogs. A stretch of giraffe. And my favorite, a congress of ravens. Of course, knowing human nature, we would probably go with "A world of blogs" which would get abbreviated to "woblog" and bring us back to the same number of leters we started with.
Appendix A
Sample texts of the future.
?
?!
LOL
But then we come to "osphere" which takes us out of the world of text reduction and into corporate speak. We could have simply added an "s" onto blog to describe the collection of blogs that now scatter across the farthest reaches of the internet. But no, we had to make it sound fancy and more important than it really is. Corporate America is more than happy to take all those letters and words that texters throw away and use them to make small words longer. For example, most people have "skills" that they use to accomplish various tasks, but if you wear a suit and tie, you have a "skill set." There is no appreciable difference between the two, except that some consulting firm got paid a lot of money to advocate the later.
If we had to go fancy, why not do it animal style. A group of cows is a herd. A group of dogs is a pack. A swarm of bees. A quiver of cobras. A bundle of frogs. A stretch of giraffe. And my favorite, a congress of ravens. Of course, knowing human nature, we would probably go with "A world of blogs" which would get abbreviated to "woblog" and bring us back to the same number of leters we started with.
Appendix A
Sample texts of the future.
?
?!
LOL
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