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What have you done, America?

I am anguished, I am heartbroken, I am afraid of what’s coming for people I love. I am shocked that my country just gave 247 years of Democracy away over one night. We live in a different country now, than we did when we woke up, yesterday. Exactly how violent and cruel and hateful this new country is has yet to be revealed, but it’s going to be pretty terrible.

I fought hard to prevent this. We all did. But I guess there was a fundamental hurdle we just could not overcome, and we have to be real about that hurdle: this country is full of people who are just drowning in hate and fear who want nothing more than to hurt as many people as they can.

I knew they were always here, but I always believed that there were more good, kind, compassionate people who chose light over darkness. I always believed that we were the good guys, the place people come to when they are fleeing what we became this morning.

it’s just … it’s a lot.

It’s going to take me a long time to process this, and find a way to not feel despair every moment of every day until he is dead and (maybe) America comes back from this open embrace of Fascist authoritarianism.

I mentioned to some folks earlier that I believe it’s important that we allow ourselves to feel all the feelings, to honor them without judgement. For a lot of us — millions upon millions — this is the greatest betrayal by our fellow Americans we have ever experienced, and that’s going to be a LOT. At the same time, we can’t really _do_ anything about that, other than support and love and show up for the people we love.

To that end, I’m going to retreat from public life for a bit, and be with my family.

Stay safe, everyone.

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The Wedding Crusher

Okay, so. I’m developing this Star Trek Lower Decks fan fiction I call The Wedding Crusher.

There’s a wedding on the Cerritos. Traveler Wesley shows up because he loves to crash Starfleet weddings. It’s kind of his thing.

When he gets there, he runs into Mariner. For the rest of the time he is on the ship, all he wants is for her to think he’s cool, because they went to academy together when he was decidedly NOT cool.

There’s a quick scene where Ransom runs into him, and is absolutely POSITIVE they know each other. Wesley says they’ve never met. Ransom says that they definitely know each other. Maybe from when they were kids?

Meanwhile, Boimler is just BESIDE himself that Wesley Freakin’ Crusher, who piloted the Enterprise, who knows and works with a lot of Boimler’s heroes, is on Boimler’s ship. So Boimler wants Wesley to think HE is cool, and we enjoy Wesley being both Boimler AND Mariner in these various interactions. But Boimler is being that delightfully exuberant dude we love, but he’s just trying too hard.

Right around the time Wesley is about to just lose it at him, Boimler nerds out REAL HARD at Wesley about some technobabble science thing, and it speaks so loudly to Wesley’s inner nerd, they end up on a major science project together that brings in Rutherford. When it’s done, they all sign it, and OF COURSE it ends up saving the Cerritos in the third act.

In the denouement, they are all in the ship’s bar, celebrating. Mariner is setting Wesley up for the thing he’s wanted so badly. She’s about to tell him how cool he is … and instead she pulls a switcheroo and just ROASTS him in the most hilarious way possible. I haven’t figured out what it is, yet.

Wesley is so severely burned, he sort of chokes on his drink, tries to do a comeback, fails, tries again, fails again, and then does this Traveler thing where he basically Men In Black’s them with an “I was never here” snap of his fingers. They have a beat together where they play most of the scene again, only this time it’s Boimler who did it with Rutherford’s help. Fade out.

CUT TO: Wesley sitting with the OG Traveler, who asks him how it went, and Wesley is like I DO NOT WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT. The Traveler gives him a slice of wedding cake to ease his pain, and Wesley gratefully devours it. “You really gotta come with me to one of these things,” he tells him while he eats.

The final shot is the Cerritos cruising away while we hear a voice over from Boimler and Rutherford wondering how Wesley Crusher’s signature got on this thing.

THE END.

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Write you fool: Congo Bongo

The same kid who talked me into trading him my Death Star for a landspeeder and five bucks also had ColecoVision. And not just ColecoVision, but ColecoVision with every game, and all the accessories. He had his own little TV, set up on a coffee table, just for his ColecoVision. It was on top of two phone books, so he could see it over the steering wheel for Turbo.

Weird sidebar real quick: holy shit this kid’s parents must have been fucking LOADED for him to have had all that stuff in 1980. I’ve told the trade story a million times, but I never remembered or realized that this kid was spoiled to death. His parents’ wealth also explains why my parents wanted to be friends with them, and probably why they disappeared from our lives around 1984.

But I do remember how envious I was of his personal ColecoVision setup. I could tell a great story about him being a dick about it, making me sing Buffalo Gals Won’t You Come Out Tonight or My Dingaling before he let me play, but I remember that he was actually really chill about it. He shared way better than Henry up the block who would make you watch him play all 20 minutes of Pitfall before you got one turn in Cosmic Ark.

Fucking Henry I swear to god. This is why we never want to come play games at your house, dude.

ANYWAY.

I can close my eyes and see my little hands at the end of my skinny arms, holding that steering wheel while I played Turbo. I can feel the little plastic accelerator beneath my bare foot, because we’ve just gotten out of the pool and are playing video games while his mom makes us grilled cheese for lunch. I remember this kid being legitimately impressed by how good I was at that game.

I was really good at Turbo, because I had been in a movie we shot in 1982 called The Buddy System, part of which was filmed in an arcade (Castle Fun Park on Sepulveda, shoutout to all my fellow 818ers!), the art department had two actual arcade machines on the stage: Kangaroo, and Turbo. I loved Turbo. It was Varsity to Monaco GP’s JV squad, a marathon to Pole Position’s 100 meter dash.. I got to play it for free, until I was bored, because that was the summer Dreyfuss flipped his car while blasted out of his mind on cocaine, right before he got sober; there were entire days I went to 20th Century Fox, got into makeup and wardrobe, and never worked, because he didn’t show up. I remember this scary tension everywhere that nobody would talk to me about (it was very familiar to what I experienced at home), and trying to get out of it by playing these two games as much as they’d let me (childhood by disassociation for the sad win). Kangaroo was inscrutable to me, but Turbo was familiar, so I basically mastered it as well as a little kid can.

But I am not here to write about Turbo or Kangaroo (though ColecoVision will come back later).

No, today I am here to write about Congo Bongo, a game I don’t remember playing, but remember watching the Landspeeder Hustler play an awful lot.

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frances farmer will have her revenge

Remember going to the record store, browsing for hours, listening to tons of recordings on headphones, soaking up the culture and that vibe we can all feel in our memories, but can’t describe with words?

Remember getting the tape, even though you really wanted the record (that you could make into a tape), because you could listen to the tape in the car, right away?

Remember getting home and listening to the whole album, both sides of it, for the very first time?

Remember buying a CD because the single was great, only to discover that you spent 18 dollars on a piece of shit, and you were stuck with it?

Remember discovering a record that did not have a single bad track on it, and how rare that was?

I don’t know how many of you share similar experiences, but I suspect it’s not zero.

This is where we all expect me to dump on streaming or something, right? That’s not what this is about.

I love the convenience of streaming. I love the access to basically the entire history of human recordings, so when I feel compelled to listen to The Andrews Sisters and Tones On Tail in the same day, it doesn’t involve a trip to the mall. I love massive playlists of music they don’t play on the radio, that I can shuffle into my own sonic time machine. I can do all of those things I remember (except for going to record stores; I’ll still do that whenever I can), with the added bonus of never being stuck with a shitty record, ever again.

But I’ve noticed that the playlists have taken over, and I haven’t actually listened to a full album in a really, really long time. Like, other than Pink Floyd records, which must be listened to in their entirety, always (I will not be taking questions at this time), it just hasn’t occurred to me to listen to, say, all of In Utero.

I reset the counter on DAYS SINCE I LISTENED TO AN ENTIRE ALBUM to 0 last night. I really wanted to hear Drain You (yes, I know it’s off Nevermind, and I was just talking about In Utero; settle down), I saw the cover for In Utero, just sitting right there like, “Remember me? Let’s have a cuddle.” And I was like, “this is the best idea anyone has ever had.” I pushed play, then sat there and listened to the whole thing for the first time in … I’m going to describe the amount of time as “an embarrassment”.

Wow, I forgot how much I loved this album when it came out, how I played it on repeat in the car, on the boombox CD player when we played street hockey, how it was such a revelation to young me. I’d forgotten a couple of the songs, too, so it was like discovering them for the first time all over again.

When it ended, I immediately listened to all of Bleach, followed by Nevermind.

I remembered those days, before Smells Like Teen Spirit was everywhere almost over night. I briefly thought about an entire generation that grew up hearing it as just another track on Now That’s What I Call Arena Rock While Missing The Point Of The Lyrics, Volume 5, and how the context for them and Gen X is so profoundly fucking different. Mostly, I remembered how much I loved all three of these records, how much I loved Unplugged, how I played them all as loud as I could stand, and how devastated I was when Kurt Cobain died. I remembered how angry I was at him, back when I didn’t know how to feel any other emotion if I was hurt or felt a loss.

ANYWAY. When the last note of Endless, Nameless faded, and I had fully experienced all of those memories, it occurred to me that I had listened to the entire Nirvana studio catalog — the band that will likely go down as my generation’s Beatles — and it was just over two hours long. Holy shit. They changed an entire generation in, like, 120 minutes (that sounds cooler if you imagine it in Kurt Loder’s voice) and I can’t even imagine what they would have done if Kurt hadn’t died, and they’d stayed together long enough to do their American Idiot. …right?

I then took a moment to be grateful, and to admire Dave Grohl, for having the strength and courage to carry on and form Foo Fighters, which is another band that means a lot to me. He’s talked about feeling intimidated around Kurt, not believing in himself as a writer, and doing whatever it took to power through it all because he had to. In my own way, I can relate to that. I think a lot of us can. And to carry on after Taylor Hawkins died, too? Jesus Christ, man. Dave Grohl doesn’t know I exist but I am so sorry for the loss he has experienced. May their memories be a blessing.

I still love grunge, even if it hurts my heart when a kid calls it Classic Rock. But I’m old and out of touch. Who is this generation’s Nirvana? I mean, it’s probably Nirvana, but who is speaking to kids the same way, now, as they did, then?

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rest in peace, bob newhart

When I worked on Big Bang Theory, each episode involved a few days of rehearsal before we did camera blocking and the actual taping in front of the audience. Most actors go to our dressing rooms during breaks to relax, learn lines, grab a nap, and so on. But when I worked there, if I wasn’t in a scene, I’d stay on the stage and watch the other actors work. It was like getting to sit in on an advanced acting class, without ever having to stand up in front of the other students. I learned so much from that, I am a more fully-equipped performer than I would otherwise be, certainly when it comes to comedy.

When I had the extraordinary privilege of working in the same episodes as Bob Newhart, I stayed on the stage the whole time, just to watch him work. I mean, how could I not? He made it all look so easy, and holy shit he was so funny, even more than you think.

One day, he and I ended up sitting next to each other during a break in production. In the industry, we call it “taking a five” or “a quick ten” or something like that. Just a little break for everyone to catch their breaths. A couple of the writers were there, I think, and maybe one or two other actors. And we all sat there, while Bob Newhart told stories about his life and career. It was amazing. This legend, just talking to us like it was no big deal, sharing these incredible experiences with us. I knew then that I would never forget it, that I would cherish that experience for the rest of my life.

I just read the news that Bob Newhart passed away at 94, and this memory has come back to me, like it was yesterday.

He didn’t need to be kind. He didn’t need to tell us these stories. He didn’t owe us any of his time. And yet he did, and he loved it. Because he chose to do all those things, I have a gift that Bob Newhart gave me. I haven’t opened it in a while, but I took it out today, and I was grateful.

Rest well, Bob.

May his memory be a blessing.