Roxie And Me On A Quiet Saturday

Roxie is still a puppy. She needs to run around even though she shouldn’t

roxie-in-her-collar.jpg

Stef is at the mall. Helaine is at the market. It is raining&#185. It’s just Roxie and me at home.

Since her surgery we’ve had to keep a close eye on Roxie. No jumping. No running. No biting around her sutures. Mostly that responsibility has fallen on Helaine and Stef. Today it’s my turn.

Roxie is still a puppy. She needs to run around even though she shouldn’t. Thankfully she stayed calm and rested first in the crook of my arm then in my lap as I worked on the computer.

richard-gere.jpgNow we’ve moved to the foyer where she’s playing with a few toys. She has one with strands of rope poking out of a golf ball sized sphere. Helaine and Stef think it looks like a famous actor and have taken to calling it Richard Gere. Sorry Richard. This isn’t your most flattering portrayal.

Roxie’s post-op ‘lampshade collar’ has been taken off. i feel awful when she needs it.

Last night at work Tracey (Tallulah’s mom) lent me an inflatable collar which serves the same purpose but in a much less invasive way. It’s at the ready should Roxie go after the stitches.

We’re planning on taking Roxie to the Juvenile Diabetes walk tomorrow. I think she’ll enjoy it. I know we’ll enjoy having her there.

&#185 – Since I said it would rain today, in fact made a big deal of it the past few days, I’m ecstatic it’s raining. Accuracy has become more important than personal comfort.

The Things You Learn While Driving

General Lafayette wintered in a hut at Valley Forge “though he could have easily afforded to wait for spring in a mansion the size of Newark,” while “Alexander Hamilton wrote him letters that read like mash notes.”

Gilbert_du_Motier_Marquis_de_Lafayette.jpgNo idea why, but recently Connecticut Public Radio has started running This American Life in the 11 O’clock hour–perfect for my drive home. As I turned on the radio tonight Sarah Vowell was beginning to tell the story of Revolutionary War hero Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de la Fayette, aka General Lafayette.

Sarah (I don’t know her, but I’ll be socially informal and use her first name) has a quirky voice that sounds like it’s been plucked from an unsuspecting young girl. Her writing quirkily matches her voice.

General Lafayette wintered in a hut at Valley Forge “though he could have easily afforded to wait for spring in a mansion the size of Newark,” while “Alexander Hamilton wrote him letters that read like mash notes.”

You don’t hear a lot about Lafayette any more. Jackie Kennedy christened a submarine in his name but that was around 45 years ago&#185. There was an ill fated electronics stores with his name too.

Maybe we just don’t feel warm and fuzzy toward the French–even those French who helped free us from British tyranny. It could also have to do with my tragic 7th grade French class debacle. Merci Mademoiselle Gobstein. Who can tell?

Back to Sarah.

It was a great seven minutes with more info on Lafayette than I’d heard before. This was a character profile more than a straight bio. If you get a chance, punch it up. The Lafayette story is around 3/4 into this podcast. Just listen for the quirky voice of a little girl.

&#185 – In my life as a radio actor I appeared on a show where another actor, playing Mrs. Kennedy, said, “I christen the Lafayette. Je d’baptiste Lafayette.” I remember that line being spoken as if it were yesterday.

My Multiple Writing Voices

I write this blog and a few web oriented things at the TV station. For the last few months I’ve also been writing for AppScout.com and Gearlog.com, both owned by Ziff Davis, the parent company of PC Magazine.

Unlike my other writing, those two websites have an editor. Someone is looking at my work and making sure it passes muster.

It only took a few entries to figure out most of what Carol Mangis (my editor) wanted. I changed my voice and the structure of my writing to fit their website–but I’ve only changed it there. I’ve tried to leave my voice on this site as it was. It’s the literary equivalent of an actor performing in dialect, right?

This site uses very short paragraphs.

Carol likes longer paragraphs, which is what she gets. Posts for her also, contain, fewer, commas. I’m too free with commas. My tone there is more snarky and openly opinionated.

I find it interesting my own blog is less opinionated than what I write for others.

I’m not complaining. It’s actually fun to write for an editor. If you’ve read this blog for any length of time, you know I’ve often wished I had one here.

I had no idea I could adapt my style to fit someone else’s expectations. As with writing in general, there’s satisfaction in that for me.

Very Cold January New York City Adventure

We left Connecticut late Thursday morning, driving the 90 or so miles with minimal interruption. Our destination was the Affinia Manhattan Hotel on 7th Avenue, across from Madison Square Garden and Penn Station.


Our story starts with Santa. The old guy knows if you’ve been naughty or nice, sure. He also knows when a deal’s a deal! That’s how Santa found, and placed in our collective stocking, this week’s trip to New York City.

He found a highly rated hotel at half price and show tickets to Legally Blonde The Musical, also half price.

No wonder he’s jolly.

What Santa didn’t care about, being a fulltime resident of the North Pole, was New York City is on sale this time of year because the temperature is also likely to be half off.

We left Connecticut late Thursday morning, driving the 90 or so miles with minimal interruption. Our destination was the Affinia Manhattan Hotel on 7th Avenue, across from Madison Square Garden and Penn Station.

I pulled up to the curb behind another car, barely clearing the intersection. There was no sign of help! We waited.

A few minutes later, Helaine got out, entered the hotel and found the doorman. Within a minute or two, we had traded our SUV for a perforated piece of paper and walked inside.

The Affinia Manhattan is older, though in very good shape. It seems from all outward appearances to be a hotel that caters to tourists, as opposed to businessmen.

As we checked in, we met our first Affinia employee. We would come to find, they are all “Vegas friendly.”

That’s a compliment. Las Vegas is built on a hospitality economy. Everyone who works there knows it, and buys into it. Friendly staff brings return guests (who tip well).

Like the hotel, our room had been in its current state of decoration for a while. It was the largest single hotel room I’ve ever had, with two full size beds, a kitchenette and postage stamp sized bathroom.

Our main view from the 11th floor was 7th Avenue – a blessing and a curse. 7th Avenue is cooking ’round the clock and noisy!

We (meaning Helaine) unpacked the clothes. I set up our ‘comms station’. Passing on the hotel’s $9.95/day Internet, I hooked up via my cellphone. The G3 connection was about T1 speed, meaning 1/6th what I get here at home, though probably faster than what the hotel provides.

Stef had come prepared with a list of places (meaning stores) she wanted to visit. We headed to the subway and Greenwich Village. It was a 10 minutes ride on the “A” train.

At Belvedere Castle in Central Park, the official Weather Service observation site, the high was in the low 30s with a light wind. In the canyons of the city, with Bernoulli’s principle ramping up the wind like water through a garden hose’s nozzle, it felt closer to zero.

We were looking for Marc Jacobs on Bleeker Street. In this lower part of Manhattan, where streets no longer run parallel and perpendicular, it was tough to find. Luckily, along the way I spied the Magnolia Bakery.

This was a place I knew nothing about until Saturday Night Live featured it in “Lazy Sunday” a digital short. Even then, it took Stef’s sense of ‘what’s hot’ to move it onto my radar.

I saw the sign and could only think one thing – cupcakes!

Good God, they’re amazing. I can’t imagine there’s anything healthy about them but you’ll die happy.

As Helaine and Stef looked in stores, I stayed outside, freezing and photographing.

The Village is a very nice, very citified residential neighborhood. People move here to live an affluent lifestyle without looking ostentatious. Sorry, your cover has been blown.

We moved farther south to Century 21, a major discount clothing store across the street from Ground Zero. If you’re wondering whether Lower Manhattan has changed since 9/11, the answer is yes, there’s a huge construction site where WTC towers once stood. Other than that, people move about their business as they always have.

This part of the city is busy because it’s particularly convenient (something lost on me as a kid growing up in Queens). You’re only a few minutes from Midtown, Brooklyn (via the subway) and New Jersey (via the PATH trains) and 25 minutes from Staten Island via the ferry.

Back at the hotel we all changed to more sensible shoes and headed uptown on foot toward the Theater District and Times Square.

Helaine, our organizational beacon, made reservations for dinner at Joe Allen, a well known theater hangout on Restaurant Row (aka 46th Street between 8th> and 9th Avenues). I’d actually been once before, doing an interview there while shooting on location as host of PM Magazine/Buffalo.

Stef and I shared a guacamole dip appetizer. It was smooth in texture with a spicy tang. For the main course, she ordered a warm chicken salad while Helaine and I had meatloaf and mashed potatoes. I was comforted.

When we arrived, the restaurant was empty. When we left, it was full. This is a place that does huge business, mostly timed to make an 8:00 PM curtain. We had other ideas before the show began.

Before heading to the theater, we headed into Times Square and the oversized Toys ‘R Us. It’s tough to explain how large this store is, except to point out it has a full sized, full motion, Jurassic Park dinosaur and a Ferris Wheel!

Some things in life don’t get questioned. Stef wanted to ride and she and Helaine had already decided the ride would be with me (the less height fearful of the parents).

As Ferris Wheels go, with wasn’t particularly high nor particularly scary. After all, it wasn’t put up in a parking lot by safety ambivalent Carny’s! It was, however, indoors. That was the attraction.

Ride finished, we found the door, turned right and walked another block or so to the Palace Theater, where we had tickets to see “Legally Blonde The Musical.”

As with most Broadway houses, it’s been here for a while. The Palace opened in 1913, and much of that old school feel is still in it, though the theater has obviously been refurbished.

It is an immense house with orchestra, mezzanine and balcony&#185.

Ours seats were upstairs in the first row of the mezzanine – an astounding view of both the stage and the orchestra pit. On this Thursday night in mid-January, only the first few rows of the mezzanine were full. I assume the balcony was mostly abandoned as well.

About 20 minutes into the show I said to myself, “This is going much too fast.”

There was too much story with too few details in too little time. It was the theatrical equivalent of fast food. And then, with the story established, Legally Blonde hit its stride.

This is not Shakespeare. It’s a very light, tightly choreographed musical, based on the Reese Witherspoon movie. It’s light and fluffy and… well, it’s blonde! It was a lot of fun.

Years ago, Broadway suffered because the players voices faded over the long distance to the upper deck seats. Not so anymore. Actors wear mics (which you sometimes see protruding from their foreheads).

I’m mention microphones because for this performance, I think there was too much amplification. Less would have been more. Voices could have carried without being overpowering.

Laura Bell Bundy, who we saw in Hairspray, is physically perfect for the lead role, sorority girl Elle Woods. She sings and dances well, but Helaine felt her voice ran out before the show ended, sometime in the second act. Toward the end, it became grating.

The real standouts in the cast were Orfeh, the déclassé hairdresser who explains life to Elle and Christian Borle, the ‘pulled up by his own bootstraps’ law student/love interest.

Orfeh’s voice is strong, brassy and vibrant. Her presence is strong on stage. And, as they read this, my family will find out, she’s working with her husband!

Orfeh is Paulette, the unlucky-in-love Bostonian hairdresser who becomes best friends to Elle Woods, and Karl is Kyle, the UPS man of her dreams. Needless to say, Orfeh is thrilled to get to bend-and-snap for her husband eight times a week on Broadway.

Christian Borle reminds me of Eric Bogosian. That is if Eric Bogosian could sing… and maybe he can – who knows? In one of those weird stage intangibles, he’s really likable, though I can’t give you bullet points why. That’s good, because this part demands likability. When he was on the stage, it was tough to look away.

Oh – there are two other cast members I wanted to mention – Chico and Chloe as Bruiser and Rufus respectively. Both pound dogs, they are incredibly well trained (though you do see food move from actor’s hand to dog’s mouth after each bit of acting) and integral parts of the show.

Stef asked me to go backstage and bring them home. A father hates to disappoint his child, but the show must go on. I resisted.

After a slow start, Legally Blonde finished strong for me. We left in a good mood and hoofed it back downtown to the hotel.

Manhattan was reasonably quiet until we got to the Garden, where the Rangers game was letting out. The crowd was in a good mood. The Rangers had won.

Checkout time at the Affinia is very late – noon. We were out earlier, leaving our bags with the bellman. Breakfast/lunch was at The Bread Factory Cafe on 7th Avenue.

As is so often the case, Helaine and Stef had walked by the day before, stared in the window and decided this particular would be worth our while. I don’t quite know how they do it. Good decision.

I stood at the pasta station as my linguine with rock shrimp and garlic pesto sauce was prepared. It was tasty, and enough carbs to get me going.

Stef and Helaine decided a neighborhood store (Macy*s in Herald Square) was the place to go. I begged off. Stores just don’t do it for me like they do for them.

I cut across 34th Street to 5th and into the Empire State Building. It was me, Clicky, three lenses and three batteries (each of which would fizzle prematurely).

As a native New Yorker, I can’t remember ever going to the Empire State as a kid. It’s a tourist thing, like the Statue of Liberty and the U.N. – something the locals don’t do.

My first trip up was on a Saturday night in the summer of 1967. A fellow student from Brooklyn Tech had gotten his FCC First Class Radiotelephone license and latched on as summer relief transmitter engineer for WABC-TV. It seems like a hell of a responsibility for a 17 year old, but he was working odd hours and making big money in a unionized position.

The observation deck is on the 86th floor. He worked somewhere in the 90s… with windows that opened and a ledge some of the more senior engineers claimed they walked out on. I remember a fresh breeze blowing in toward the rack of transmitters and the glow of the city below.

I wish I remembered his name. I’m not sure if I really liked him as much as I liked the idea of going to this very special techie place.

I went back to Empire (as the transmitter guys called it) a few years ago with Stef. This was in my pre-Clicky days. Did it count without Clicky?

Back then, we waited in line for a few hours before taking the two elevators up&#178. Today, there was no crowd and I breezed right through an abandoned rope line and up to the top.

Holy crap it was cold!

The Sun was shining and the sky blue as I stepped onto the deck. Groups of people clustered around the diamond shaped fencing, peering out, trying to figure where they were looking. The city below was familiar. I looked east, trying to find our old apartment complex in far off Queens.

This time of year, the Sun is never very high in the sky. Looking south was very different than looking north. To the north all the detail was distinct. Looking south was looking at buildings in silhouette.

I watched as people took snapshots with the city as the background. It’s tough to make that kind of shot work when all you’re doing is pointing and shooting. Cameras are designed to compensate and correct exactly what you want to show uncorrected!

One of the most fascinating parts of the observatory are the pigeons. “How did they get up here,” I heard someone ask?

Hello – they’re birds. They fly. There are numerous ledges. They don’t have to do it all at once.

I kept my mouth shut. I wanted to say it, but resisted.

These city pigeons, used to people and cognizant of the protective fence, stayed mere inches away. They were scoping us out as we returned the favor.

I came prepared, bringing all my gear. I didn’t bring enough battery power. I knew this might be a problem. New batteries were already on order (and arrived at home today) for these fading ones.

Don’t feel sorry for me. I still got plenty of shots. I just had to stop before I wanted to.

Oh – one more thing. By virtue of its incredible height, the Empire State Building is an awful place for cell service! I tried making a few calls. Mostly they failed before they could be completed. When I did get a connection, it didn’t last long.

When you’re on top of the Empire State, it’s very easy to appreciate the wisdom of having this once building tower over all the others. A city of ‘equi-heighted’ skyscrapers would look wrong and the effect of this observatory would be diminished.

I met the girls for our last stop before leaving. It was a snack at Pinkberry on 32nd> Street, a street of mainly Korean businesses and Asian faces.

This was a Stef call. Pinkberry is trendy. Stef likes trendy. The American Express ads touting Pinkberry’s “swirly goodness” only add to that aura.

It’s not ice cream. It’s not yogurt. And, I’m told, it’s not terribly caloric.

Pinkberry was the coldest dessert I’ve ever had… and on a day that was already cold! There’s no doubt, it was tasty and really pretty.

I’m hoping Pinkberry doesn’t come after me, as the store has a lovely ‘no photography’ decal on the glass.

So, here we are, home again. This adventure is over. It’s amazing what we were able to accomplish in about 24 hours.

This explains why I came home and crashed!

&#185 – Writing in the NY Times before the Palace opening of Beauty and the Beast, Alex Witchel wrote, “Even if the cost is $11.9 million, that’s still a lot of money by Broadway standards, if not Disney’s. Can jealous fellow producers at least hope it will take years to recoup the investment, especially given the Palace’s hard-to-sell second balcony?”

&#178 – The first elevator goes from the ground floor to the 80th. You change there for 86.

Mr. Wizard Dies

Helaine sent me a link a few minutes ago. Don Herbert, Mr. Wizard, has died.

Here’s what I wrote about him three years ago.

Don Herbert had a profound influence on my formative years. He was “American Idol” for many 1950’s nerds. He’ll be missed.

Continue reading “Mr. Wizard Dies”

MTV At 25

Today is MTV’s 25th birthday. It has not been mentioned on MTV! More on that in a second. VH-1 Classic, a digital subchannel with vastly inferior reach, carried the flag with flashbacks to 1981.

By the time MTV came on, I was already in Buffalo, hosting PM Magazine. I was envious, to say the least. Alas, even by then, I was probably too old for MTV.

Today’s MTV isn’t anything like the MTV of 25 years ago. There’s little music on Music Television. Much of the day is spent in MTV’s version of reality.

This was all presaged. I’m sure this wasn’t the first time it was uttered, but Bob Pittman is on the record five years ago, on CNN, saying:

We made a decision not to grow old with our audience. It’s the Peter Pan network.

So, to today’s audience, the MTV of 25 years ago doesn’t exist… or if it does, it’s too closely related to their (unhip) parents to be mentioned. A 25th anniversary of anything isn’t very important when you’re 16.

I remember sitting home with Helaine, in Buffalo, waiting for the premiere of Michael Jackson’s Thriller video. It was a simpler time.

Over the past few years I’ve become increasingly uneasy with the lifestyle portrayals on MTV’s reality shows. I’ve called it soft core porn for teens. Maybe that’s an exaggeration – though not much of one. Certainly I was uneasy when my daughter watched them through high school.

I’d say more, but I don’t want to sound like an old guy railing at youth.

There are no more VJs – no more Martha Quinn or Mark Goodman. I suspect MTV’s still a major incubator of talent. It always has been. It is amazing to look at who’s gone far after leaving MTV.

Meanwhile, if you’re wondering about the originals, here’s a quick rundown from NPR’s Talk of the Nation.

Martha Quinn

After leaving MTV in 1990, Quinn stayed in television, working as both actor and anchor. In 2005, she joined Sirius Satellite Radio, where she hosts a weekly show, Martha Quinn Presents: Gods of the Big ’80s.

J.J. Jackson

Jackson returned to radio in Los Angeles after his stint on MTV. He was host for a number of successful radio programs before he suffered a fatal heart attack in March 2004. He was 62.

Alan Hunter

Since his 1987 departure from MTV, Hunter formed a production company, Hunter Films, with his brother Hugh and co-founded the Sidewalk Moving Picture Festival in Birmingham. He is currently a host on Sirius Satellite Radio’s 80s music channel.

Nina Blackwood

Blackwood

From Now On The World Will Be Documented

Steffie and her roommate went to Manhattan today. They were on a mission. Paul Rudd, pictured above, is starring in a Broadway play with Julia Roberts. The roommate (I haven’t gotten permission to divulge her name) wanted Paul, an actor she favors, to sign a poster from a movie he had been in.

Here’s what I’ve heard from Stef. Julia Roberts: tiny, didn’t speak, only signed for those with ticket stubs from today’s performance (Can’t blame her. She’d be there all day).

Paul Rudd was very nice and schmoozed with the crowd for a while, which is good considering he was the ‘goal’ of the day.

Enough of this. It’s not why I’ve posted the entry.

Look at the photo again. Count the cameras!

Some are actual cameras that people have brought for their day in the city. Most are not. Most are cellphone cameras. That means they are carried whenever the owner is out.

This is a huge change, and we need to get used to it and get ready for its implications. From now on, virtually everything in public will be documented in one way or another.

We’re already seeing some of this with surveillance video (and I assume there are surveillance cameras outside this theater). Now we will see it in ‘pedestrian’ events that turn important.

It will be tougher to make claims or denials when whatever you do could be digitized, even if you don’t realize it at the time. I suppose, from now on, we’ve all got to act as if we’re always on camera.

Great. Like there wasn’t enough pressure already.

The Longest Yard 2005

Steffie was away today, doing her internship at KC-101. That left Helaine and me as empty nesters, so we decided to take in a movie. Neither of us wanted Star Wars, nor did Madagascar seem appealing.

We decided on The Longest Yard, the remake of Burt Reynolds’ 1974 movie about a prison football game between guards and prisoners. It was a simple movie with Burt Reynolds as a good old boy up against the good old boy establishment – beating them at every turn. Today the lead is Adam Sandler, with Reynolds in a supporting role as an older former player who becomes a coach for the prisoners’ team (a part not in the original).

We went to the movie thinking we’d see the 5:05 PM show, but arriving at 4:40 we were still there before the coming attractions were over for the show that was advertised to begin at 4:25 PM!

The International Movie Database‘s users (incredible reference site) gives the original 7.1 stars, this 5.7. I’m with them!

Helaine found the beginning of the movie, when the captain of the guards tries to ‘soften’ Paul Crewe (Adam Sandler today, Burt Reynolds then) by gratuitously beating him, a little tough to take. It was unexpected by her, though anticipated by me as (with a few exceptions, like the one previously mentioned) this remake runs pretty true to the original.

So why is the original so much more liked by the IMDB visitors? In both movies there has to be some suspension of belief to buy into prisoners and guards physically playing against each other and the prisoners having enough freedom to practice, as they do. I barely believed the first time, but so many additional over the top scenes and characters have been added that I just can’t believe now.

This is an Adam Sandler movie, not a Burt Reynolds movie (Sandler is one of the many executive producers). I mention that because you might be confused considering all the cameos! There are recognizable sportscasters, football players and at least one pro wrestler (maybe more – I don’t follow wrestling closely).

Some head-to-head comparison is called for.

Adam Sandler has been charming in everything I’ve seen him in recently, but he’s not Burt Reynolds – certainly not Burt Reynolds circa 1974. First, Sandler doesn’t look like a pro football quarterback. Second, he just doesn’t have Reynolds’ ‘eye winking’ charm.

I’m not sure Reynolds still has what he had thirty years ago – but who does?

Cloris Leachman plays the warden’s secretary – sexually drawn to Paul Crewe. The part was originally Bernadette Peters, who was sensational. Now, with the part re-cast as a spinster, I’m not as impressed. With all these people to get on screen there are lots of meatless parts.

Chris Rock plays Caretaker, originally played by James Hampton. I’m a big Chris Rock fan… and a moderately big James Hampton fan (in spite of “F Troop”). I’m not sure Chris Rock is actor enough to play anyone but himself. Nod to Hampton who just looks likeable.

The original warden was Eddie Albert (who died a few days ago at age 99). This time, the part was played by James Cromwell. For my money, Cromwell had the performance of a lifetime as the pathologically evil police captain in “LA Confidential” (one of the darkest, most intense movies I’ve ever seen). He was totally different, while still believable and enjoyable, in Babe. This role was too shallow for him to shine. I wasn’t impressed with Eddie Albert’s job either. Toss up.

The portrayal of effeminate gay prisoners (including former SNL alum Tracy Morgan) was meant to be funny, but struck me as homophobic. Maybe gay people will see the humor differently, though I doubt it.

I enjoy going to the movies. It is a totally different experience than watching a DVD or cable telecast. So, in that regard this was a good thing. But, when you’re spending as much for a movie as you do today, I think you deserve something a little better.

Dustin Hoffman

I am watching 60 Minutes profile of Dustin Hoffman as I type this. Somehow I would have never expected him to be featured here. As big as Dustin Hoffman is, he doesn’t seem big.

To me, he is America’s great actor. When I’ve said this to others, I’ve always couched it… he’s one of the best. No – I was wrong. He’s the best actor of my lifetime.

His body of work is astounding, though so far 60 Minutes hasn’t shown the movie I feel might be his finest, “Papillon.”. He has played every possible role from drama to comedy. That might be another reason he is bigger than he’s perceived. If he were a dramatic actor or comedian he’d be easier to categorize.

What has impressed me with this story so far is that Hoffman seems to be exactly who I expected him… no, I wanted him to be. He is the angry man, unwilling to compromise his art. It is an attitude few of us are afforded. Yet, in Dustin Hoffman’s case he has been richly rewarded in spite of it

My friend Howard says, never meet the stars you enjoy. They will always be a disappointment. Howard wasn’t thinking of Dustin Hoffman.

Steve Martin on the Radio

As I left the house today, I turned on Talk of the Nation on NPR. It’s a show I listen to most days.

There seem to be two types of public radio – classical and other ‘non-mainstream’ music and non-confrontational talk (which separates it from Rush Limbaugh, Sean Hannity, Bill O’Reilly and too many others to mention).

In this area, the ‘talking’ NPR is heard on two stations with very poor signals. One is on Long Island, far southeast of me. The other is very low powered though closer. I have buttons set for both and punch back and forth as the signals fade and distort.

On my way home from work I listen to BBC World Service news on these stations. Except for their Euro-centric sports coverage, I enjoy it and learn a lot about what’s going on in the world.

Back to this afternoon.

I turned on Talk of the Nation and heard a familiar voice speaking with the host, Neal Conan. I couldn’t place it. He was answering a question about how he describes himself and offered up his tax return (which he doesn’t personally prepare) probably says actor.

Who the heck was it?

The conversation continued and then I realized: Steve Martin. He was promoting the paperback release of his latest novella.

I find Steve Martin a very interesting person. His career has taken an unorthodox route to where it is now – yet at every point, I have found him incredibly entertaining. As he has gotten older (me too) I have found him to be intellectually interesting.

Today, on Talk of the Nation, Neal Conan played a few seconds of a cut from an earlier comedy album. I could feel Martin squirming in his seat – trying to get away from what was being played. It was the same when a caller asked when he would tour again. “Never.”

I understand how he feels. He is a different person from that “wild and crazy guy” He is not the banjo player who used to appear with an prank arrow through his head.

On the other hand, that is how we learned to like him. That is how we were originally attracted to his work. I know he’s changed. There’s no reason to run away from it.

A few years ago, in Las Vegas, we went to an exhibition of his art collection at the Bellagio Hotel. It didn’t take much to realize he’s well rounded and thoughtful.

I have seen a few of his movies. Helaine and I are both very big fans of “LA Story,” a movie which is to Los Angeles and Woody Allen’s Manhattan is to New York City. I guess after writing this, I should go out and get one of his novellas.

There’s one other part of Steve Martin that really impresses me, and I almost forgot to add it. Whenever he appears with Letterman, he prepares material. I’m not talking about re-hashing a stand-up routine, he writes absolutely fresh material. Sometimes it’s done live, sometimes it’s on tape, but it shows effort and a dedication to his craft. It’s always very funny – though that is secondary. I’m impressed with the effort, which shows a true respect for his audience and craft.

Today’s interview with Steve Martin is available on the Talk of the Nation website.

An Old, Forgotten Movie and I Was Transfixed

I have just finished sitting here, transfixed, watching Vince Edwards (billed as Vincent Edwards) on Encore/Mystery West in the 1958 Film Noir mystery, “Murder by Contract.”

There is nothing big time about this picture.

Everything was done on the cheap, in Los Angeles. Many of the ‘outdoor’ shots were staged, using rear projections. The musical accompaniment was hauntingly played by a single guitar. The cast was small, the script predictable.

Edwards, who was later the title star on ABC’s “Ben Casey,” was known as a stoic, reserved actor and stayed true to form.

I’m trying to figure out what about this movie held my interest?

I came in a few moments after the opening, but never really wanted to turn it off. I knew there would be a moral ending, as this was 1950’s Hollywood. No disappointment there. All the violence was implied or sanitized. A prostitute who came to Edwards’ hotel room was expecting dinner before sex!

Maybe it was my fascination with Herschel Bernardi that kept my interest. Certainly no pretty boy, Bernardi was particularly plain in this film. I remember him as “Arnie,” from the 1970 sitcom of the same name.

For much of his life, he made huge money doing voice over work. He had a beautifully timbered voice; very friendly and warm. Of course, he’s best known (or maybe his character is known – he was anonymous) as the voice of “Charlie the Tuna” from the Starkist commercials (I assume there’s another actor providing the voice now as Bernardi died in 1986).

Watching older movies is something I’m doing more of now that we’ve taken a digital cable package. There are at least a dozen movie (though they’re really pairs of channels, with each two showing the same lineup, offset by three hours)

channels available to me, mostly with older, smaller, less requested movies.

Seeing little gems like this, or the opportunity to catch great actors early in the careers, has made it all worthwhile.

I found this quote, attributed to Martin Scorcese, concerning this movie:

“This is the film that has influenced me most. I had a clip out of it in Mean Streets but had to take it out: it was too long, and a little too esoteric. And there’s a getting-in-shape sequence that’s very much like the one in Taxi Driver. The spirit of Murder By Contract has a lot to do with Taxi Driver. Lerner was an artist who knew how to do things in shorthand, like Bresson and Godard. The film puts us all to shame with its economy of style, especially in the barbershop murder at the beginning. Vince Edwards gives a marvellous performance as the killer who couldn’t murder a woman. Murder By Contract was a favorite of neighborhood guys who didn’t know anything about movies. They just liked the film because they recognized something unique about it.”

– Martin Scorsese

It is sad to note that it would be difficult to get my daughter or anyone of her age to watch black and white movies or TV shows. Simply put, the monochromatic look implies old… and old is bad.

New York City trip – The Producers

Ivy the dog is still in the hospital There was some improvement today, which I’ll get to later. Still, Helaine felt it was best for her to stay home… and she did.

Steffie and I took our three tickets to see The Producers, got in the car around 9:00AM, and headed into New York City. After Dunkin’ Donuts and gas (there’s a joke here somewhere), we hit the open road, convertible top down.

This was actually risky. The mostly cloudy sky turned overcast as we moved west from Bridgeport (In Connecticut, the east-west Connecticut Turnpike is labeled north-south. This makes a geographically challenged adult population even more confused). I expected to have to pull over, under an underpass, at any moment to get the top up. But, by the time we hit the Cross Bronx Expressway, the sun had returned and the air began to get steamy.

The trip to New York, though shared with lots of other cars, was never hampered by traffic.

We followed the CBE to the West Side Highway (following the Last Exit in New York signs) and headed south along the Hudson River. The view to New Jersey was a little hazy. The river itself was pretty empty.

I parked the car ($30, thank you) on West 44th Street, just west of 8th Avenue. I always put up the top when parking, even in attended parking, and that was a good thing, since it later rained.

It was near 11:00 AM and the show wasn’t until 2:00 PM, so we headed into the subway at the corner and went downtown to Canal Street.

For some unknown reason, I thought the IRT #1 train would be the closest (it wasn’t). I mention this, because the subway stairs at 8th and 44th bring you to the 8 Avenue Line IND station with connecting corridors to the IRT (mentioning IND and IRT only helps to show I’m getting older. These labels, a throwback to the era when some subways lines were privately owned, haven’t been used in decades.) It seemed like we were walking to Canal Street as the narrow, tiled, dingy, hot tubes led up and down, left and right, until we were on the downtown platform. We took the express a few stops and then walked across the platform to take the #1 to Canal.

New Yorkers leave the city in droves during the summer, and I’m sure that’s especially true for Labor Day weekend. At the same time tourists pour in. Canal Street was jammed.

Maybe I’ve mentioned this before, but I’m sure Kate Spade, Christian Dior or Louis Vuitton (is there really a Louis Vuitton?) would clutch their collective chests and fall to the ground in cardiac arrest if they ever saw Canal Street. Everything is a knock off… but a nearly perfect knock off.

When a bag says Prada on the outside, it also has Prada on the hardware and Prada “franked” on the leather inside. It’s a pretty thorough job.

Today, I actually stopped as I bought a bottle of Poland Springs water from a vendor, thinking maybe it too wasn’t the real thing. Hey, it’s Canal Street, who knows?

I continue to look, to no avail, for a Breitling combination analog/LCD watch. Obviously, Breitling has them, but that’s a little out of my price range for a watch… maybe not for a car, but for a watch.

Steffie went bag, wallet and shoe shopping. Is it an obsession? Sure. There should be some 12 step program to get her back on the right track. But, at least on Canal Street you can indulge your fantasy. She bought a few things, including some shoes she had been lusting after.

I found a few computer books. One was on Perl, a computer language (which will not make my spell checker happy) used on websites like this one, that I want to learn. The second had to do with Cascading Style Sheets. Again, it’s a concept used on this website and something I had heard about for years without understanding. Like Perl, if I’m going to administer this site, I need to learn at least a little bit about it. Books on Canal Street go for 1/2 retail price or a little less.

A few Canal Street observations. There is a street side display ad for Tag Heuer watches. These watches are sold on Canal Street… they’re just not real. It’s an odd place for an ad like this.

Canal Street is old and tired. There hasn’t been new construction here since the 1930’s or maybe earlier. Little shops are crammed into spaces no larger than a small closet. And, my guess is, this was never an upscale neighborhood, even back in the day. That’s why it was interesting to see beautiful detail work on some of the older industrial buildings.

Finally, even in the midst of urban congestion, people find comfort in things growing. I found this ‘city garden’ on a fire escape. There’s no doubt it’s against fire code, but it is nice to see.

With a 2:00 PM curtain, we headed back into the subway and north to the 42 Street stop on the E train. Up the stairs and, astoundingly enough, we were a half a block from the theater. But, there was a problem. We had Helaine’s ticket!

A try outside the theater yielded nothing. It didn’t seem like the right place to sell it. So, we headed to the TKTS booth in Duffy Square. This is where you’d likely find people looking for tickets, and Producers tickets were always tough to come by.

I walked parallel to the line at TKTS. “Single ticket to The Producers.” Once, twice, three times… and then as I was about to try one more time, Steffie turned me to a woman in line who was interested. She asked how much? I hadn’t thought about it, so asked her to make me an offer. She said half, and the deal was done.

As it turned out, she was Japanese, in New York by herself (though she said she had friends there) and had only come in earlier in the day. She was about to sit dead center in the 6th row, and I was subsidizing 50% of the cost.

The Producers was excellent. It is everything the movie was, though the story has been adapted and simplified for the stage. The current cast is considered “B” next to Matthew Broderick and Nathan Lane. Even then, like most New Yorkers, some of the biggest players were out-of-town, replaced by stand-ins. Lewis J. Stadlen, the lead, was replaced by John Treacy Egan, which meant Egan was also covered by an understudy.

I would very much like to see the show again, with Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick. As the originators of Bialystock and Bloom, and with the theatrical clout to be a little ‘over the top’, my guess is they bring the show up a few notches.

The dialog and sensibility of the show was pure Mel Brooks. You could hear his voice in nearly every line. And, in fact, his voice was heard (lip sync’ed by an actor) during Springtime for Hitler; “Don’t be stupid, be a Smarty – sign up with the Nazi Party!” I believe he did this line in the film as well.

Brad Musgrove as the astoundingly gay Carmen Ghia was a hoot. He got the biggest ovation of the non-principals.

After the play broke, we headed away from the car, and back toward Times Square. Steffie wanted a henna tattoo, which we never found.

We did see a few things in Times Square that you only see in Times Square. The most notable is the “Naked Cowboy.” It is, stripped to its essence, a man wearing a cowboy hat, boots and underwear. That’s it. He charges to pose for photos, and does a pretty brisk business.

For the cowboy challenged, there was also Spiderman, available for a price. In the spirit on New York, I doubt any of his take goes to the copyright owner.

What we did find was rain! What had been a sprinkle as we left the theater turned into a downpour. We were near 42nd Street by this point, so we headed to the ESPN Zone. With a 30 minute wait, we turned back up Broadway and ended up at Planet Hollywood.

When in Times Square, Steffie and I eat at Planet Hollywood more often than not. The food was fine, but more importantly, the restaurant was dry. We were soaked when we got in. Luckily, the camera, books, bags, shoes and the like were in plastic bags. Steffie’s purse had been outside, but tonight, it seemed none the worse for water.

We headed back to the car, only to run into the New York City Fire Department. Something was going on above West 44th Street. Four or five pieces of fire rolling stock and at least a dozen, firefighters (each wearing oxygen packs) stood around chatting as a ladder was extended from a truck and two firefighters climbed to the roof of the theater adjacent to the St. James (where The Producers plays).

If there was cause for alarm, it was well hidden. No one was breaknig a sweat. Steffie wanted to stay and watch, which we did for a few minutes. But, as time went on, it became clear that whatever was going on, was going on out of sight… and wasn’t all that dramatic.

By 6:00 we were in the car, turned north on 8th Avenue, and headed home… with the top down.

Best of New Haven Advocate

Ivy the dog is still in the hospital There was some improvement today, which I’ll get to later. Still, Helaine felt it was best for her to stay home… and she did.

Steffie and I took our three tickets to see The Producers, got in the car around 9:00AM, and headed into New York City. After Dunkin’ Donuts and gas (there’s a joke here somewhere), we hit the open road, convertible top down.

This was actually risky. The mostly cloudy sky turned overcast as we moved west from Bridgeport (In Connecticut, the east-west Connecticut Turnpike is labeled north-south. This makes a geographically challenged adult population even more confused). I expected to have to pull over, under an underpass, at any moment to get the top up. But, by the time we hit the Cross Bronx Expressway, the sun had returned and the air began to get steamy.

The trip to New York, though shared with lots of other cars, was never hampered by traffic.

We followed the CBE to the West Side Highway (following the Last Exit in New York signs) and headed south along the Hudson River. The view to New Jersey was a little hazy. The river itself was pretty empty.

I parked the car ($30, thank you) on West 44th Street, just west of 8th Avenue. I always put up the top when parking, even in attended parking, and that was a good thing, since it later rained.

It was near 11:00 AM and the show wasn’t until 2:00 PM, so we headed into the subway at the corner to head to Canal Street.

For some unknown reason, I thought the IRT #1 train would be the closest (it wasn’t). I mention this, because the subway stairs at 8th and 44th bring you to the 8 Avenue Line IND station with connecting corridors to the IRT (mentioning IND and IRT only helps to show I’m getting older. These labels, a throwback to the era when some subways lines were privately owned, haven’t been used in decades.) It seemed like we were walking to Canal Street as the narrow, tiled, dingy, hot tubes led up and down, left and right, until we were on the downtown platform. We took the express a few stops and then walked across the platform to take the #1 to Canal.

New Yorkers leave the city in droves during the summer, and I’m sure that’s especially true for Labor Day weekend. At the same time tourists pour in. Canal Street was jammed.

Maybe I’ve mentioned this before, but I’m sure Kate Spade, Christian Dior or Louis Vuitton (is there really a Louis Vuitton?) would clutch their collective chests and fall to the ground in cardiac arrest if they ever saw Canal Street. Everything is a knock off… but a nearly perfect knock off.

Today, I actually stopped as I bought a bottle of Poland Springs water from a vendor, thinking maybe it too wasn’t the real thing. Hey, it’s Canal Street, who knows?

I continue to look, to no avail, for a Breitling combination analog/LCD watch. Obviously, Breitling has them, but that’s a little out of my price range for a watch… maybe not for a car, but for a watch.

Steffie went bag, wallet and show shopping. Is it an obsession? Sure. There should be some 12 step program to get her back on the right track. But, at least on Canal Street you can indulge your fantasy. She bought a few things, including some shoes she had been lusting after.

I found a few computer books. One was on Perl, a computer language (which will not make my spell checker happy) used on websites like this one, that I want to learn. The second had to do with Cascading Style Sheets. Again, it’s a concept used on this website and something I had heard about for years without understanding. Like Perl, if I’m going to administer this site, I need to learn at least a little bit about it. Books on Canal Street go for 1/2 retail price or a little less.

A few Canal Street observations. There is a street side display ad for Tag Heuer watches. These watches are sold on Canal Street… they’re just not real. It’s an odd place for an ad like this.

Canal Street is old and tired. There hasn’t been new construction here since the 1930’s or maybe earlier. Little shops are crammed into spaces no larger than a small closet. And, my guess is, this was never an upscale neighborhood, even back in the day. That’s why it was interesting to see beautiful detail work on some of the older industrial buildings.

Finally, even in the midst of urban congestion, people find comfort in things growing. I found this ‘city garden’ on a fire escape. There’s no doubt it’s against fire code, but it is nice to see.

With a 2:00 PM curtain, we headed back into the subway and north to the 42 Street stop on the E train. Up the stairs and, astoundingly enough, we were a half a block from the theater. But, there was a problem. We had Helaine’s ticket!

A try outside the theater yielded nothing. It didn’t seem like the right place to sell it. So, we headed to the TKTS booth in Duffy Square. This is where you’d likely find people looking for tickets, and Producers tickets were always tough to come by.

I walked parallel to the line at TKTS. “Single ticket to The Producers.” Once, twice, three times… and then as I was about to try one more time, Steffie turned me to a woman in line who was interested. She asked how much? I hadn’t thought about it, so asked her to make me an offer. She said half, and the deal was done.

As it turned out, she was Japanese, in New York by herself (though she said she had friends there) and had only come in earlier in the day. She was about to sit dead center in the 6th row, and I was subsidizing 50% of the cost.

The Producers was excellent. It is everything the movie was, though the story has been adapted and simplified for the stage. The current cast is considered “B” next to Matthew Broderick and Nathan Lane. Even then, like most New Yorkers, some of the biggest players were out-of-town, replaced by stand-ins. Lewis J. Stadlen, the lead, was replaced by John Treacy Egan, which meant Egan was also covered by an understudy.

I would very much like to see the show again, with Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick. As the originators of Bialystock and Blum, and with the theatrical clout to be a little ‘over the top’, my guess is they bring the show up a few notches.

The dialog and sensibility of the show was pure Mel Brooks. You could hear his voice in nearly every line. And, in fact, his voice was heard (lip sync’ed by an actor) during Springtime for Hitler; “Don’t be stupid, be a Smarty – sign up with the Nazi Party!” I believe he did this line in the film as well.

Brad Musgrove as the astoundingly gay Carmen Ghia was a hoot. He got the biggest ovation of the non-principals.

After the play broke, we headed away from the car, and back toward Times Square. Steffie wanted a henna tattoo, which we never found.

We did see a few things in Times Square that you only see in Times Square. The most notable is the “naked cowboy.” It is, stripped to its essence, a man wearing a cowboy hat, boots and underwear. That’s it. He charges to pose for photos, and does a pretty brisk business.

For the cowboy challenged, there was also Spiderman, available for a price. In the spirit on New York, I doubt any of his take goes to the copyright owner.

What we did find was rain! What had been a sprinkle as we left the theater turned into a downpour. We were near 42nd Street by this point, so we headed to the ESPN Zone. With a 30 minute wait, we turned back up Broadway and ended up at Planet Hollywood.

When in Times Square, Steffie and I eat at Planet Hollywood more often than not. The food was fine, but more importantly, the restaurant was dry. We were soaked when we got in. Luckily, the camera, books, bags, shoes and the like were in plastic bags. Steffie’s purse had been outside, but tonight, it seemed none the worse for water.

We headed back to the car, only to run into the New York City Fire Department. Something was going on above West 44th Street. Four or five pieces of fire rolling stock and at least a dozen, firefighters (each wearing oxygen packs) stood around chatting as a ladder was extended from a truck and two firefighters climbed to the roof of the theater adjacent to the St. James (where The Producers plays).

If there was cause for alarm, it was well hidden. No one was breaknig a sweat. Steffie wanted to stay and watch, which we did for a few minutes. But, as time went on, it became clear that whatever was going on, was going on out of sight… and wasn’t all that dramatic.

By 6:00 we were in the car, turned north on 8th Avenue, and headed home… with the top down.