Archive - January 2004 Links-a-Plenty!

January 30th, 2004 You ever find that you have a tune stuck in your head, and no matter what you do, you just can't seem to shake it? Over and over and over it plays in your confused cranium, until its all that you concentrate on? Ever have that happen? Huh? Well, folks, it's happening to me right now, even as my oh-so-dexterous digits dance delightfully across the keyboard. The song? Best I can tell, it goes... something... like... THIS... "Happy Birthday to me, Happy Birthday to me, Happy Birthday dear Fred, Happy Birthday to me!!" And THAT folks is probably the most reprehensibly narcissistic thing that's EVER turned up at this site--and you regulars out there, you KNOW that's going some, don't you? Okay, okay--I beg your @#$%ing pardon! For all the good it gets me, I usually go for subtlety on January 30th each year--this time around I was even working up a convoluted gag revolving around Area 51 (I'm 51, get it? Ha ha, indeed...)--but, ultimately decided to just blow the ol' Hembeck Horn instead! So, like I said, sorry y'all. Just indulge me, okay? This IS the World Wide Fred we're talking about, after all... Now, if you'll all kindly excuse me. I have massive amounts of candles to extinguish, and not nearly enough cake to eat!... January 29th, 2004 Although I haven't written about it since the third season started, you might possibly recall me mentioning in entries past just how fond I am of Fox's exciting real-time melodrama, "24". I've kept mum on Jack Bauer's third exhausting day up until now because, well, I didn't really have any particular pertinent point to make. The show was going along well enough, and I suppose I didn't want to jinx things by piping up. But folks, it finally happened--admittedly, far later along than during the first two seasons, true--but the stupidity factor FINALLY kicked in! And I can be silent no longer!... You know the premise, right? Every episode equals one hour of a particularly noteworthy--AND busy--day in the life of Keifer Sutherland's super-duper CTU agent (that's Counter Terrorist Unit, neophytes, a fictional but eminently plausible government agency operating out of Los Angeles). The first time around, he managed to successfully prevent some East European war criminals from assassinating a U.S. Presidential candidate. The SECOND time, well, it was Muslim fundamentalists intent on dropping a nuclear bomb on LA. THIS year? South American drug lords trying to get their hands on a vial of a "kill-you-right-dead, fast-spreading, designer-drug-type" virus! Whew! Even considering these aren't three CONSECUTIVE days, Jack has been one busy, busy boy, lemme tell ya!... The trouble with the show is, no matter how great things seem to start out, the very nature of the gimmick throws virtually any credibility the storyline is able to muster right out the window about mid-way through the season, as one inordinately intense situation piles unbelievably on top of another. I've rarely been as captivated by a television program as I was by the first half dozen episodes of that first season of "24", but when it became painfully obvious that we were going to discover how things would end up only shortly after the show's writers did, well, that sorta let a little bit of the air out of the ol' balloon for me, y'know? Still, if you just approach it as an updated "Perils of Pauline", it can be immensely diverting--even with the stupidity factor. Which, basically translates to Jack's teenage daughter, Kim... It's not her fault, not really. For the first two season's, the writers seemed to feel a need to keep this blonde cutie front and center without actually being part of the main storyline. This led to her being kidnapped multiple times that first day, and being separated from her mom, who subsequently came down with a nasty case of temporary amnesia (don'tcha just HATE when that happens?...). The second season, well--THAT day saw clueless li'l Kim on the run from a crazed dad, a lonely survivalist, a crashing police car, and even a hungry mountain lion!! And for all of that, precious little of these dastardly dilemmas had ANYTHING to do with the main plot de jour. THAT'S why I think folks mock the Kimberly moments so--its as if they're piped in from another show entirely. Now, just by the nature of his office, Dennis Haysbert's President Palmer has to operate separately from Jack, and the Chief Executive usually has his own storm of political intrigue swirling about him, but he's also at the very core of the big picture, near as crucial to the doings as field agent Bauer is. Kim? She just looks adorable while being chased hither and yon by an interchangeable corps of psychos. Well, not this year, gang--THIS year, the producer's of "24" finally wised up. Or so I'd thought... It's a full three years after day two. In that time, our spunky little blonde apparently took herself some crash computer courses, meaning that she now she finds herself working right smack dab there in the CTU offices with all of the other good guys. Its a mighty tough place to get into trouble at, but give Kim credit--she DID manage. Y'see, towards the end of one early episode, she accidentally stumbled upon this season's mole, getting herself tied up and fearing for the worst! But wait! Before we viewers out in TV land could collectively groan too long and too loud, she was freed, turned in the traitor, and THEN learned--along with the rest of us--that this ever-so-guilty-seeming party was actually part of an elaborate sting operation that only two other characters were even aware of and, yup, was actually one of the white hats!! It was decidedly far-fetched, undeniably, but clever in its own convoluted way, and I was more than happy to go with it. Ever since, Kim's mostly been sitting behind her console, occasionally pouting, if only for old times sake. Until now. But let me tell you about Chloe first, okay?... Played terrifically by sitcom vet Mary Lynn Rajskub ("The Larry Sanders Show", "Veronica's Closet"), Chloe is a another desk jockey at CTU, and an especially prickly one. She clearly appears to have read and memorized a single self-help book on interpersonal dealings with others, and summarily quotes its tenants whenever interaction with her co-workers is called for. In other words, she's hopelessly geeky. All well and good, but the episode before last, seemingly out of nowhere, she receives a frantic phone call from her babysitter--her BABYSITTER!?!--who soon after just swings by this top-secret government agency to drop Chloe's heretofore unmentioned infant child off due to an undisclosed family emergency (the babysitters, not Chloe). Forget all that for a minute--who ever imagined Chloe could be a MOM, fer gosh sakes? It happens, sure, but I certainly didn't see it coming HERE!?! Anyway, when top dog Ryan Chappelle gets an earful of the tiny tyke's howls, he does a double take Danny Thomas would've been proud of! Good thing he wasn't drinking a glass of water at the time. Anyway, Chloe's ordered to ditch the kid, but as we parents all know, that's far easier said than done... That brings us to the latest episode. Things are beginning to really heat up. Nina Myers, the traitorous double agent who murdered Jack's hapless wife at the end of the first season, has only recently worked herself back into the scenario. On top of THAT, making her first appearance of this season (save for a teaser at the end of last week's hour, natch), the President has just enlisted the aid of his duplicitous, scheming--and need I add, fan-favorite--ex-wife, Sherry, to assist him in a down and dirty political tussle (this year's sidebar). We've also just witnessed not one but TWO unexpected deaths of a couple of fairly major characters--one near the conclusion last week, one at the end of this very episode--which can't help but kick up the emotional intensity level of these intertwining pulse-pounding situations a notch or twelve. And still, trying to predict just where this is all going with Jack, drug lord Ramon, and nasty ol' Nina--who's setting up a meet and buy with her client for the aforementioned plague while clearly under duress--is anybody's guess at this point. So, given all that, what EXACTLY is going on back at the office, hmm? Guess. When its discovered that, no, Chloe did NOT find adequate child care for her bouncing bundle of joy as she was instructed to do, Chappelle is all set to kick her out and suspend her. He probably even would've written her up in a strongly worded memo or somesuch. But wait--before he can sputter out most of his orders, site chief Tony points out that Chloe's the best they've got doing...something. I don't remember exactly WHAT, but it was technical and you can be sure it was important, and that ONLY Chloe can handle it properly--and of course, it has to be done NOW!! Well, what about her baby then? Big boss man thinks for a second, then barks out, "Let Kim watch her." Kim yelps with shocked disdain, obviously to no avail! And THAT, Fox-fans, is where we leave HER storyline midway through this otherwise very exciting day! Old nemesis's are turning up everywhere, pivotal protagonists are dropping like flies, and Kim? Why, she's back to her old baby-sitting gig, of course!?! But since THIS time its right in the middle of an especially uptight office during a true national emergency, well, that makes it all the WACKIER, wouldn't you say? Her dad's watching friend and foe alike bite the dirt, trying to keep his cool and his cover, and meanwhile back at the ranch, Kimberly and Chloe are auditioning for an updated cross between "Get Smart" and "Laverne and Shirley"?? Like I said, stupid. But not enough--NEVER enough--to make me stop watching. I just wonder, though: did Chloe even stop for a moment and consider just what she was doing when she turned her rug rat over to the young Ms. Bauer? After all, the LAST time we saw Kim on a baby-sitting gig, it wasn't long after that the mom in THAT particular equation turned up in the trunk of a car--and, ladies and gents, she WASN'T trying to sneak into a Drive-In movie for free, THAT I guarantee you!?!... January 28th, 2004 Just a bit over forty years ago, on the January 3rd, 1964 edition of Jack Paar's weekly late evening--but still prime-time--NBC program, the erstwhile "Tonight Show" host gave America a sneak peek into the future when he ran a film clip of a then-unknown British pop group with the odd sounding name of the Beatles singing something equally jarring called "She Loves You". Despite the historical precedent being set, this noteworthy event is treated as little more than a footnote in both the story of the Fab Four's ascension to world-wide musical dominance, and Paar's own substantially impressive video resume. Five weeks later, a far less talented television personality would have HIS name attached forevermore to the magical, mythical tale of Beatlemania when Ed Sullivan introduced the four Liverpool Lads on the stage of his really, REALLY big February 9th show. So be it, then. In all the many hours of footage I've waded through over the years focusing on John, Paul , George, and Ringo, I don't believe I've ever seen that elusive piece of inaugural film hosted by Paar. But then, I never did see all that much of the celebrated talk-show pioneer in any event... With the passing of Captain Kangaroo earlier in the week, and now Jack Paar, the world has lost two true television legends in eerily rapid succession. Inasmuch as they've both been around since my very earliest tubing days, I've long been well aware of each performer, but have, frankly, well, never had the opportunity to view either overmuch. It was, y'see, basically a matter of timing... Despite the fact that I've always loved the talk show format, I was far too young to stay up and watch Paar during his star-making "Tonight Show" stint. Even after he left those duties in 1962, the show that shortly thereafter managed to first sneak the Beatles onto to the air was past my bedtime as well. Most of what I know of the fellow comes from a limited amount of clips that survive from his heyday, the rare guest appearances, and his 1975 irregular late night series for ABC. The latter was nice enough, I suppose, but I must confess to having absolutely no memory of anything I may've seen on it. Clearly, I missed out on Paar at his peak, a fact that's only made him all the more intriguing to me over the years. His star was incandescent, but bright as it was, it also burned out just as swiftly. Not so Bob Keeshan, a/k/a Captain Kangaroo. They say he was on the tube for over three decades, most of them in his grandfatherly guise as the Captain. When he died last week, the Net was brimming over with a heartfelt outpouring of love and affection for the man, a whole lot of it coming from folks of my precise generation. You may've noticed that, um, I didn't join in on that particular rousing chorus of mournful gratitude. Well, its not like I had anything against the guy, understand, but, um, I, ah, just never actually WATCHED him!... Okay, okay--not "never" exactly, but if I tuned in more than a dozen times during my Wonder Years, I'd be very surprised. Again, it was all a matter of timing. The Captain was on in the morning, y'see, the early, EARLY morning. And I've never liked to get up in the morning--nope, uh uh, not ever--and even while growing up and going off to school, I cut things as close as possible, Monday through Friday, meaning there was just no time for Mr. Green Pants and all the rest. And as for Saturday, well come ON! Hey, I had my difficulties getting out of bed for "Lunch with Soupy" back in the early sixties, friends, and was tremendously relieved when the ol' Soupster began broadcasting an evening program several years later! Despite being a life-long pop-culture fancier, one area that I'm decidedly deficient in is Saturday morning cartoons, and now you know why. Hey, and on Sundays, we Hembecks were never ones to attend services at our local house of worship, dig, and so I figured, if I ain't crawling out of the sack for God Himself, I sure ain't throwing off the covers for a guy with baggy pockets and a bad bowl haircut !?!... And now both Jack and the Captain are gone, and I can't help feel as if I somehow missed being in on something irreplaceable. Both inspired intense affection from their ever-loyal audiences, and who knows? Had the circumstances been different, I may well've counted myself in that number. But no--sleep was apparently more important to me at the time... What's that old saying? "You snooze, you lose"? Guess we ALL lose this time around, folks, because these two gents were true giants of an earlier, long-gone video age. Or so I've heard... January 27th, 2004 The Oscar nominations were announced this morning. Will Ferrell was ROBBED!!... January 23rd, 2004 We have an answer! Yes, boys and girls, yesterday's musical query--did anyone ever actually BUY that Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention LP after seeing it advertised in several month's worth of 1968 Marvel Comics--has been answered by a Mr. Richard Onley (who also speaks on behalf of a childhood friend). Tell us all about it, Rich... I have that Marvel Comics Mothers of Invention ad framed on the wall of the room where I read my comics. It was something of an instigator of a turning point in my life. Imagine looking out your front window and finding the tree in your front yard has moved to the other side of the house. Imagine the sky being green. Imagine going to school and finding that all your classmates have dolphin heads . . . After all those comic book ads for speedometers, onion gum, and X-Ray Specs, suddenly, at the vulnerable age of 14, I open that month's Marvel comics and find this. I went around in something of a trance, asking "What is it? What is it?" My friend George Weeks (who, I think, had a more generous allowance than I did) bought We're Only in It for the Money on the strength of that ad, and liked it enough to get Freak Out! as well. I listened to them over at his house, and the weirdness of it all continued to mystify, delight, and actually frighten me. The lyrics were, for the day, blatantly pornographic in spots, and the songs covered all manner of ideas otherwise untouched by pop music. Somewhat more comforting was the Sgt. Pepper-parody sleeve, which naturally appealed to a long-time Mad fan. I found an opened copy in a bargain bin a few weeks later, and picked it up for myself. I had to keep it hidden, of course, because if my parents ever got a look at that libretto--YOW!! But Zappa's approach was just what was needed for a brainy kid raised in an anti-intellectual atmosphere, who was looking for answers without any very clear idea what a lot of the questions should be. A lot of Zappa's subsequent output began to pale for me. The locker-room humor started to seem infantile to me, and the cacophonic tone was something I needed to be in a particular--rare--mood to enjoy. And when he began to consort with presidents and kings, the good-natured rebelliousness of those early records seemed compromised. But I'll still always be grateful for someone who was not only a musical genius, but enough of a marketing genius to figure out that a huge segment of his future fan base could be found in a venue previously untapped by the music industry. Thanks for sharing that, Richard. I can easily understand how coming across that ad cold would be a somewhat stupefying experience. I seem to dimly recall that, in my own case, I was already familiar with Zappa and his whole motley crew before encountering them in my Marvel Comics--familiar enough to be SCARED of the entire bunch, lemme tell ya! This aggregation made the Rolling Stones look like choir boys, no easy task. So I DIDN'T grab me a copy until, oh, thirty some odd years later... I listened to the two Zappa compilations while I was working yesterday--"Strictly Commercial" and "Strictly Genteel"--and there's most assuredly some prime stuff to be found on both of them. The justly celebrated "Hot Rats" instrumental, "Peaches En Regalia", remains far and away my favorite Zappa cut. The likewise lyric-less classical pieces made for interesting listening as well, but I'd have to say Mr. O hit the nail right on the head when he identified two of the mustachioed musician's biggest failings as an increasingly lame locker-room sense of humor, and an overly pronounced fondness for cacophony. But like him or not, the guy was who he was, and there was absolutely no one else like him. And you've got to respect him for that. Besides, playing no favorites in the far-flung four-color field, you realize that he once wrote a song directed at DC Comic's ring-bearing hero, Green Lantern, don't you? Yup, it's true. He even sang it from the viewpoint of Hal Jordan's Eskimo pal, Pieface. You all KNOW which one I'm talking about, right? Uh huh. "Don't Eat The Yellow Snow". (G'night everybody! And remember, I'm only in it for the funny!...) January 22nd, 2004 When it comes to popular music of the sixties and seventies, I'm a fan of just about everybody from the Association to the Youngbloods, from the Allman Brothers to Yes... ...it was only Frank Zappa that I just couldn't quite find a way to connect with... They--the learned and the knowledgeable--say the man was a genius, and there's no denying his impressively prodigious output nor his undeniably iconic status. And y'know, there's even some of his music that I most definitely enjoy--a majority being of the instrumental variety. I guess there was just something about that deadpan voice and his often snidely smarmy lyrics that put me off, but hey, I don't profess to be any sort of expert. Out of curiosity, I DID pick up a couple of CD samplers in recent years--"Strictly Commercial", with all the hits, such as they are, and "Strictly Genteel", a collection of classical flavored cuts--as well as the long-celebrated third Mothers of Invention album, "We're Only In It For The Money". I can't honestly say I've spent a whole lot of time absorbing these works, but I think I'll give 'em another try, and soon. Y'see, I just read the cover feature commemorating the 10th anniversary of Zappa's untimely passing in this month's MOJO magazine (January 2004, number 122), and as in times past, that's about all it takes to reawaken a latent interest for li'l ol' suggestible me... Because, make no mistake, I've always found the guy fascinating, even if I didn't ever particularly warm up to what little I'd heard of his music (an admittedly minuscule fraction of his staggering 60 plus album output). Thus, I eagerly delved into Charles Shaar Murray's comprehensive feature, hoping to get a better understanding of what this widely regarded--but highly individualistic--musician was all about. So there I was, reading along with great interest as the author ticked off an extensive timeline of Zappa's earliest years, when suddenly, a thought popped into my head--there was something I know about Zappa, something you NEVER hear about. Back in 1968, he had the prescience of mind to prompt his record company to buy a full page ad in all Marvel Comics issued over a two-month period, pitching that aforementioned third Mothers set. Just as I was simultaneously perusing Murray's text and pondering what an unlikely--and bold--advertising approach that was way back then, I flipped over to the third page of the article, and THIS was the sentence that greeted me upon my arrival: "The Mothers were the first rock band to take out ads in Marvel comics." In the never-more-appropriate words of the very hippies Frank and company were openly mocking on said release, "Far out, man!!" Just as I'm thinking that I'd never stumbled across THAT little Zappa factoid mentioned anywhere in print before, when--BOOM!!--suddenly, there it is, the very next line on the page!! Okay, beyond this cosmic-like coincidence, which was probably a whole lot more of a transcendent experience for ME than it could ever be for any of you, the ad really was quite the oddity, so, without further ado, here it is...

Strange, huh? And folks, it seemed even stranger back in '68, situated right at each book's centerfold, opposite the likes of Kirby, Colan, Romita, and all the rest. I scanned it for you folks from my copy of FANTASTIC FOUR #73 (April 1968), but you can find it in all of that year's March and April cover-dated Marvel releases. That'd mean you could find sinister looking ol' Frank lurking in such memorable Marvel milestones as X-MEN #42 (Professor X dies! At least, for a while...), both parts of the Daredevil vs Dr. Doom tussle (DD#37 and 38), the final part of Steranko's Yellow Claw saga (STRANGE TALES #167), the one and only issue of IRON MAN AND SUB-MARINER, the last issues of TALES TO ASTONISH (101) and TALES OF SUSPENSE (99), and the first issues of CAPTAIN AMERICA and the HULK. There's more, but I'm sure you get the idea. Unknowingly, the head Mother chose a couple of especially classic months to take up temporary residence alongside Marvel's icons-to-be! Still, as big a rock--AND Marvel--fan as I was at the time, I wasn't anywhere close to being persuaded to send money away for the wholly unheard sounds offered in this defiantly peculiar ad--I truly wonder how many were? If there's anybody out there--ANYBODY!!--who purchased this double disc set directly from--or even merely due too--this advertisement, I'd be way curious to hear about it. And there was one OTHER thing I knew about Frank, something that DIDN'T find its way into the MOJO profile: he was a particularly lousy Saturday Night Live guest host. In Tom Shales and James Andrew Miller's SNL history, "Live From New York", Don Novello (Father Guido Sarducci) had this to say about Zappa's October 1978 gig... "The Frank Zappa show was like one of the worst ever. And I looked at that recently and I really liked seeing how awkward he was in that. Zappa's a genius, but he doesn't trust people, he does everything by himself. A lot of performers after dress are shaken; it doesn't go well and all of a sudden, "Oh God, in two hours I'm going on live." With Zappa what happened was we had a terrible dress and what was he going to do? What he did, not telling anybody, was he turned into Dean Martin. The approach he took was, he read the cards like he was reading the cards--he made a point of it. He was obviously reading the cards. That was his approach to the humor. No one else in the sketches knew it. It was real bad, because I always liked Zappa, I think everybody did, but it was just a terrible show. Lorne was really upset." I have only the vaguest memory of that episode, but with Lorne Michaels controlling the distribution of the reruns, I think more people are likely to get a gander at Zappa's old Marvel Comics ads than they are his attempted channeling of the immortal Dino!! Too bad. I'd sure love to see THAT again, y'know? Hey, y'think Novello might send me a tape?... January 21st, 2004

One of the most rewarding aspects of cobbling together these pithy little pieces is that, every so often, something like the following comes over the transom...

Fred, Thanks so much for the kind words and sentiments you expressed in your October 18, 2003 column regarding my father, Pete Morisi, PAM. I've been overwhelmed by the kind words of so many since his passing and have probably missed so many as well, but your thoughts really touched on some points that really ring home with me. Just browsing through his collection since his passing, it's clear what a unique style he brought to the table. As I flip through the pages of a book with several artist's work in it, even my 11 year old son can spot Grandpa's work.....it's crisp, clean, precise and charming "camera" like angles are a completely different look than the rest of the field. While he never considered himself a great artist and kept practically all of his work to himself, I think he downplayed himself a bit too much. His artistic vision really combined elements of film, radio and comics, all of which were his great influences, all into one medium. As far as that last Thunderbolt is concerned, I have the complete gem originals that DC never used. My father did it in 1987 and it's a 19 page beauty. Unfortunately, Dad scribbled on its envelope "not to be sold or given away, as per DC contract". I also have at least 4 two page "origin" shorts that were also not used by DC, although I'm not sure what their status is contractually speaking. It truly would be nice if this work could finally be published. I know my father always longed to do Thunderbolt again, and there's certainly a following that would embrace this work. Maybe you could start a ground swell or point me in the direction you think I might try. Any comments you might have would be greatly appreciated. Thanks again for the column.....it's right on and brings tears to my eyes each time I read it. Sincerely, Val Morisi mvp23@att.net I wrote back almost immediately to Val to thank him for his gracious comments, and to once again reiterate how much his father's work meant to me. I even told him that, obsessive fan that I was back in the seventies and eighties, I never could sit through a commercial for that vegetable oil spray known as Pam without thinking of, well, YOU know!! That's what readin' too many comics'll do to you, I suppose... I also secured his permission to post his letter here in its entirety, address included. I had absolutely no idea that there was an entire 19 page Thunderbolt story out there by P.A.M.! That's exciting news! Hey, how could I NOT want that to finally see the light of day, y'know? As I told Val, my clout isn't what it once was--and at its best, it hovered somewhere around "not much at all, pal"--but I'd be more than happy to get this information out there. Who knows--maybe the right people might get wind of this and it'll start them thinking of a way to exhume this hidden masterwork... Obviously, the most appealing method of getting this 19 pager into print--and the short origin sequences as well--would be in a lavishly produced THUNDERBOLT ARCHIVES, but I'm realistic enough to realize that that's a HIGHLY unlikely prospect. More reasonably, DC might more conservatively consider issuing a paperback compilation of the complete Peter Cannon saga. Still, that might also be asking a lot for such a cultish character, so I have yet ANOTHER suggestion (or two): a "Best of the Charlton Action Heroes" trade paperback! Just think of it! You could have yourself a Ditko Blue Beetle episode, and maybe a few of the Question shorts that served as BB's back-up. Throw in a Pat Boyette Peacemaker, a Frank McLaughlin Judomaster, a Dick Giordano Sarge Steel, Ditko again with Captain Atom, and represent Jim Aparo with a selection of shorts featuring Nightshade, Tiffany Sinn, and the one-and-only Prankster yarn, and you've got yourself a real nifty package, one that's pretty darn likely to sell at least enough to justify booking time at the printers! And of course, THE hook DC could use to lure in the, um, more mature customers (in years, if not temperament) would be the chance--AND privilege--to read these unpublished Morisi/Thunderbolt pages! (Alongside at least an issue's worth from the original run, natch...) Folks, if DC can sell the THUNDER Agents in hardcover, I'd like to imagine that they could move enough highlights from the most glorious era in Charlton's history to make it worth their while! Barring that, there's always the 80 page Giant format, I suppose, but really, I like the trade paperback concept--anybody else out there with me on this?... Nowadays, both the CD and DVD markets are being flooded with previously issued product, refurbished and expanded with a seemingly endless supply of unseen and unheard bonus material. The biggest of stars to the most marginal of cult faves have all successfully gone this route, and I say, why not comics, too? There's an awful LOT of perfectly good pages shuttered away in some closet or another that, for reasons both obvious and a obscure, never quite made it to the engravers. Why can't we faithful fans get a peek at some of it, I ask you? And why can't we start with this Thunderbolt story? There. I've said my piece. If anybody has any suggestions as to what to do next, by all means, contact Val or me--I know he'd love to have his dad get at least a tiny bit of the vastly overdue recognition he deserves, which'll no doubt come with the printing of this long-lost gem. Me? I can't plead such lofty motives. Nope--I'm selfish. I just wanna READ the doggone story, dig? (By the way, since this email came from the son of P.A.M., does that somehow make it S.P.A.M.? If so, its the best spam I'VE ever gotten!?!...) January 19th, 2004 I always think of “I Love Lucy” on this day... Y'see, the Ricardos and company have been part of my life for pretty much as long as I can remember. Back in those pre-VCR days, back when you had maybe—at best—six or seven different channels to choose from, “I Love Lucy” already stood out, as much for its classic comedic quality as for its relentlessly ingraitiating presence on the video landscape due to constant reruns. I probably started watching the amusing antics of Lucy and Ricky, Fred and Ethel, Little Ricky and Jerry the Manager, for serious roundabouts 1960. So you woulda thought that by 1966 I'd've seen 'em all, every last episode, and seen 'em all a dozen times over. That's sure what I woulda thought, too, but no... My new best buddy, Chris, moved to town that year, and with him—natch—came his brother, Alex. Well, it didn't take long for either of them to suss out my obsession with comics—I even got Chris to join me for awhile, but that's another story--so one day, Alex just casually mentions this episode of “I Love Lucy” that he'd seen, one that guest-starred George Reeves in his role as TV's first (and best?...) Superman. Huh? When I heard THIS little tid bit, well, to paraphrase a Catskills comedian--ANY Catskills comedian--I almost plotzed!! I had never even heard of--much less SEEN—this almost impossible to imagine episode! The very concept made my head want to explode with delight! Of course, my first instinct was to self-righteously accuse the younger brother of hassling his older sibling's pal with a ridiculous lie, just to drive him crazy. But no, after much assurance from Chris himself, I finally was willing to believe that the star of that OTHER program that was repeated endlessly—albeit on another channel--”The Adventures of Superman”, had indeed somehow magically crossed over to appear with the former Ms. MaGillicuddy. It's difficult to imagine now, but there was no easily available reference source around to check concerning this momentous pairing back in 1966. I had to take it on faith, and then, I had to wait until that elusive episode turned up once again in the rerun cycle. There was only one small problem: after years and years of being ensconced in both a morning slot as well as the 7 PM time period, the programming whiz's up at WNEW 5 in NYC one day up and cavalierly decided that maybe they needed to back off the saturation scheduling, and thus eliminated the evening broadcast!! Hello? I had school to go to, people. I couldn't very well stay home, hoping to luck into this mythical episode I had become—surprise--more and more obsessed with! Even when the TV Guide began running one-line descriptions for “I Love Lucy” (and I finally realized for certain I wasn't being played for a fool by my buddy and his bro), luck was always against me. Yes, there were summer vacations, but there were also a whole lot of episodes to wade through, and if the timing was off—and, yup, it always was—you could glide through the 12 weeks of summer without Little Ricky even being born, much less playing host to the Man of Steel at his birthday bash! Don't think I wasn't tempted to play sick and stay home on one of those rare days when this nigh-legendary episode was scheduled to be shown, but I guess I just wasn't pathetic enough to attempt such a silly bit of subterfuge. Exactly HOW pathetic I was will be revealed later... The years wore on, and always—ALWAYS!--I was denied. I HAD seen every other episode a dozen times over, but by early 1968, I still hadn't seen the Lucy/Supes team-up. You can't begin to IMAGINE the tremendous amount of frustration that had caused me. But one day, I opened the TV Guide and the news was good--”I Love Lucy” was going to be seen during the 7 o'clock hour again each night! Hallaluleah! This meant is was only a matter of time, only a matter of time. Sooner or later, I was FINALLY going to witness a true clash of the titans, and I couldn't have been happier. Which, of course, should've been a tip-off right there... The big night arrived in early spring of that year. My anticipation level was, needless to say, exceedingly high. My mom decided to join me, so we both took our seats, and turned on the TV. We watched as Ricky came rushing in with the news that he'd gotten Superman to agree to put in an appearance at Little Ricky's bithday party--the news of which, I always felt, cranky old Fred Mertz greeted perhaps a bit TOO excitedly. Curiously, the singer spoke of encountering him down at the studio, and never once referred to him by his thespian identity, the aforementioned George Reeves. But okay, I was willing to go with that—I was willing to go with ANYTHING! I just wanted to see the @#$%ing episode, dig? Well, you've all seen it by now. There isn't a whole lotta Superman in it. About midway through, out moonlighting hero comes vaulting through a pair of cabinet doors and into a room full of kids—to make it look like he was flying, I suppose—but by this deep into the episode, the storyline is far more concerned with a caped Lucy Ricardo, stuck out on a ledge in a wrong-headed attempt to fill-in for the unreasonably tardy costumed original. Just as it looked as if things couldn't get any worse, suddenly, they did—MUCH worse... The silly sitcom scenario was abruptly yanked from the screen, and the ever ominous Special Bulletin placard immediately appeared in its place. Within seconds, a grim faced newsman came on and delivered tragic news: only minutes earlier, the Reverand Martin Luther King Jr. had been killed, cut down by an unknown assassin's bullets. For a moment, we froze, shocked by this announcement. And then, well, remember that patheic part I hinted at earlier? To my everlasting embarrassment, here it is folks: MY very first thought at the time was, “Oh geez, now I'm NEVER gonna see how this thing ends!?!” But I did. And by the time I did, I'd come to fully realize how cluelessly self-centered my initial reaction to this horrendous act truly was, and I can't help but wince when I think back on it. My only defense was that I was still living in my own little world at the time. Even the shock of Robert F. Kennedy being gunned down a few months later wasn't enough to jar me from my self-imposed societal stupor, but by the time the nation had gone to the polls to elect Richard Nixon in the fall, following the bloody riots on the streets of Chicago at the Democratic National Convention the previous summer, I had FINALLY woken up. There was definitely bad mojo in the air, and if I wanted to survive it, I figured I'd better start paying attention. That naïve knucklehead who was more concerned with hearing George Reeves deliver his topper to Ricky regarding the Cuban entertainer's martial status to a chastened Lucy Ricardo--”And they call ME Superman”--than be alerted to the terrible history-altering act of violence that robbed the world of a truly great man, well, he may've never left entirely, but he sure knew a little bit more about proper priorities than he once did... And that's what crosses my mind every year when we celebrate Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. That, and the unfortunate fact that, only on TV and in the comics do the bullets bounce off of the good guys. In real life, as we've learned time and again, sadly, they don't. January 14th, 2004 Last night, I did one of the stupidest things that I've ever done in my entire life--and need I shamefacedly add, that's going some? I'm just happy to be here to tell you about it--geez, after what I did, I'm happy to be ANYWHERE!?!... It was a little after 9 o'clock, y'see. I'd just been driven back from an invigorating evening of volleyball by my pal and fellow player, Kevin, but now we'd arrived at the carpooling parking area where my car had resided the past several hours. I got out, thanked him as he prepared to zip off on his way and me on mine, and hastily opened up the door of my car and scurried in. It was old, extremely cold. I quickly fiddled with a CD, popped it in the machine, and then looked up to notice that Kevin hadn't left yet. "Gosh", I thought, ".. I guess he's waiting to make sure that my car starts up all right and I get out of here okay. Huh. Well, that's awful nice of him..." And sure enough, once my engine successfully turned over, off he sped. Hey, for all I know, maybe he was just primping in his rear view mirror or something, but still, I chose to marvel at this considerate act of his, WHATEVER the truth of the matter actually was. And I guess, folks, that was just too much thinking on my part... We both pulled up to the light at the lot's exit, Kevin heading straight ahead, with me turning to the left. Once it flashed green, I absentmindedly made my turn. Almost immediately, though, things looked somewhat askew to me--like, since when was there a guardrail on the passenger's side? And didn't this used to be a FOUR-lane highway? As a car passed me in the right lane, the truth was suddenly staring me straight in the face--specifically, the truth being represented by the headlights on the car that was speeding directly towards me in MY lane (which wasn't REALLY mine...)!! Yup, I'd lazily pulled out and into the right side of the pair of lanes that were designated for--uh huh--oncoming traffic! Gee, THAT'S why that guardrail was there--it actually separated the four lanes (including the two I, um, temporarily forgot about...)! Well, having correctly assessed my sorry situation, I at least knew what had to be done--I had to turn around, and quick!! This ain't England, after all, guv'nor! Okay, so I did just that, went up to the light, pulled into the parking lot, turned around, again approached the light, and, with my heart racing, THIS time managed to maneuver myself into the proper lane, driving home without further incident! The word "whew" comes immediately to mind... Please understand, I was never in any REAL danger. Nope. The traffic was so sparse last night that there was no one at all up at the light waiting to go forward when I initially made my goof. If there had been, gang, even my preoccupied mind would've realized--duh!--where I was and never would've done what I did. And it being a fairly long straight-away and all, all of the undoubtedly spooked drivers in those cars coming towards me had plenty of time to steer clear--if they'd needed to. I mean, imagine what THOSE poor saps must've been thinking! Here's a car coming directly at them on the wrong side of the road, and they had absolutely NO idea if I was drunk, high, criminally deranged, or just plain crazy!! (That would be a no, no, no, and, depends on how you look at it...) Luckily, I had plenty of time to rectify my situation--I didn't force anyone onto the shoulder, or worse--but I'm sure THEY had no idea what I was going to do next! When I came to my senses and attempted to turn around, they gave me a wide berth, most likely breathing a sigh of relief all the while. Hey, me too... I'm just glad there were no police officers around to witness my little, um, gaffe. I'm big on providing detailed and convincing explanations, but, y'know, this might've been too big a test even for ME! "But officer, I assure you I haven't been drinking. Sometimes I just do stupid things, is all..."--I'd've had a tough time making THAT fly, I fear... No harm done, happily. Driving into oncoming traffic is never--I repeat, NEVER--a recommended traveling procedure, as I've now learned from exasperating experience. And it's lucky for you that I didn't keep going in that wayward direction, either, or you'd never have gotten to enjoy the additional 30 plus Comics links I posted today!! (Yes, it's all about YOU!!...) Okay, so maybe "compulsive" IS another word to describe your truly. Beg yer pardon, but once I get started, well, it's tough to stop. I unearthed over 20 new (well, at least new to ME...) creator sites, including one devoted to the legendary Carl Barks. Plus, some more covers popped up, including a gruesome series (for so MANY reasons) found at a site dedicated to infamous schlockmeister, Myron Fass! Check THAT one out, campers! Additionally, Pogo's web-home just went online, AND the Grand Comic Book Database is back up--YAY! And I went back in and changed the middle name of the erstwhile Johnny Bacardi from the incorrect "Alan" to it's proper spelling of "Allen"--sorry, Mr. B. Geez, you'd think if I could get Ms. Gjovaag's name right, I could get a simple thing like "Allen" correct, wouldn't ya?.. But then, I seem to have a certain amount of trouble figuring out just WHICH side of the road to drive on, don't I? Guess that throws a whole new light on this whole Alan/Allen mix-up, doesn't it?... January 13th, 2004 While I may not be the world's biggest "Star Trek" fan--though, yeah, I watch the show. Still, that's a whole 'NOTHER rant!--but there's always been one particular noteworthy facet of its mythos that's fascinated me: the Transporter! Just think about it--you step into a specially designated area, and with but the flip of a switch, ZAP! You're beamed instantaneously off to anywhere in the whole wide world that your little heart might ever desire! I believe the proper term for this concept is, "Cool!"... And certainly it is, no doubt about it--but it's also fiction. Doesn't exist. Not at this time. Nope. But there IS a process, a process that, in it's own modest way, demonstrates a similar ability to take a person--in mind and spirit if not actual body--and send them off to all sort of remote locations on this ever-spinning globe of ours. One word. Links. Although we'd had one around the house for several years, I hadn't much bothered with the computer up until we'd signed on for a fast connection hook-up back in March of 2002. The difference from the way stuff had ever-so-sloooowly crawled up and onto the screen previously, and the way it now seemed to magically appear at the snap of a mouse was breathtaking, and I'll admit to being completely under it's spell for the first month or so that we had it. And what exactly was I doing? Why, amassing links, of course!... I'd think of a name or a subject, and I'd Google it--and incidentally, how can you not love a search-engine with a name like Google? It's like the first great new verb of the millennium--"I Googled you! Will you Google me? Geez, I'm Googled out for now! That is one Googlicious site!", and, well, you get the idea. I went to scores and scores of sites, and any that I may've had the LEAST bit of interest in, I bookmarked. And at every site that DID catch my fancy, however fleetingly, I checked out THEIR list of links for other appealing places to sample, bouncing from one destination to another with a free abandon that would've made even Spock giddy! Eventually, I began to divide them up into different categories, but before I could finish arranging them entirely, I ran out of steam for this now massive project, and began focusing on something REALLY worthwhile (...though I suppose that's debatable), this web-site. But I never really lost my love of links. My initial attempt at including a list here at Hembeck.com was well-intentioned in theory but wrong-headed in execution. My plan was to to hoist a dozen or so a week, from a variety of fields, and write a cute little intro for each site. Well, that lasted exactly two weeks, with the last batch posted just about a year ago. I knew I had to ditch that approach and instead give you just the cold listings, arranged, however, in as logical manner as I could possibly muster. Check the newly refurbished links section, and you'll see that the overhaul has finally begun... I say "begun" because I fully intend to compile three more hefty pages of site destinations for you, my loyal and beloved readers. Besides our Comics page, we'll soon have a Music page (from Bing to Beyonce', it'll all be covered!), a Video page (TV, movies, comedians, and yes, a vast array of celebrity home pages! Soon, thanks to moi, you'll always be just a click away from Ann-Margaret's personal schedule--and if THAT don't bring in the donations, I don't know what will!!...), and of course, the ever popular and all encompassing Misc. page! Coming soon! But first, a few words about our latest addition, the Comics links... There's over 400 of them. Okay, so I'm a bit on the compulsive side--so sue me! Once I got started, I wanted to be as thorough as possible (though this certainly doesn't preclude frequent updates--I already have two more sites in mind to add, so...), and well, maybe I just got a wee bit carried away? Which is not to say I linked to just ANY site, willy-nilly. Uh uh. I did my best to give everything at least a quick once over to see if it indeed deserved your attention, and as best I could discern, these pages mostly did. When it came to Official Sites of Comic Book People, I was a bit more lenient, figuring just the very notion of an authorized page was worth investigating for the true comics aficionado. Some are quite expansive in their scope; others, merely a single page, maintained mostly to provide contact information. I carefully chose some of the better fan-maintained sites of artists and writers who have yet to set up their own to supplement the official ones. Overall, I think you'll find a wide cross-section of folks in this category. Occasionally, boundaries WERE stretched--Dr. Seuss, Edgar Rice Burroughs, and Peter Max are questionable at best--but hey, take a look anyway--it's all FREE!!... Not everybody made the list. That's primarily because I'm no longer familiar with everyone that works in comics. I'm sure I passed over some worthy artists when I cobbled my roll call from other link listings, and my apologies, then, if you're not on the list. Nothing personal. Anybody wanna get added, let me know. And no, I don't necessarily love--or even like--the work of everyone on the list, either. Most, sure, but not everyone. But some folks you just can't leave out, dig? I DID leave out Dave Stevens, though. I'd been to his site in the past--the recent past, even--but for the last few days, every time I approached it--from three different browsers, no less--I was forbidden entry!?! Hmmpf. Some way to run a web-site! Stuart Immomen wouldn't let me in, either. Well, I'll keep checking, and if I can find a way to slip in between the proverbial cracks, I'll dutifully add them to the master list. But fellas, let's be friendly here, y'know?... Similarly, all of a sudden I find myself unable to access Blake Bell's Ditko site, or the Silver Age Marvel Cover Gallery, turned away at each and every turn! And the Grand Comics Database? Gone, it would seem. Hopefully, they'll all link back up with us here at Hembeck.com, and soon... Beyond that, I've spotlighted several local artists and friends that you might consider taking a look at. There's news, history, and worthy organizations to check out. Publishers a plenty. Character driven sites. Goofy sites, like ones focusing on those cheesy Hostess pages of yore. AND cheesecake, for those of you with an appetite for it! (It's all relatively innocent, I assure you. You'll have to find your OWN porno, gang...) Covers, covers, covers--proving that while you may not be able to judge a book by it's cover, you can certainly judge a web-site by theirs! And blogs... Blogs are a somewhat new phenomenon to me, and I've discovered a tight knit community of comics bloggers thanks primarily to Dirk Deppey at Journalista, as well as Bill Sherman, a noted blogger himself (...though I must admit I prefer the word Google to blogger by quite a margin...) Since you're obviously not getting any new comics reviews here, you may want to check out some of the fine writings of this intensely dedicated group of people. I haven't read every word each of them has written--would that I had the time--but what I have managed to glean has been intriguing. Note that I've listed them by their actual names and not by their site titles. But no sweat--you'll soon come to realize David Allen Jones is really the proprietor of The Johnny Bacardi Show, and so on, and you'll know exactly where to go for what! (And may I recommend the Bacardi Show as a good start for you newbies? After all, anybody who can get excited about spotting Klaus Voorman over in the corner during the unspooling of the video documenting the memorial Concert For George is all right with me! And congrats to you and Mrs. Bacardi on your 25th Anniversary yesterday, Johnny!) What's missing? Well, a section devoted to video versions of comics characters would seem a natural, but it didn't occur to me until after I'd already erected this overhauled page. Something to investigate. Web-comics deserve some space as well, and as soon as I have at least a rudimentary list, they'll be added. In the meantime, I'm always on the lookout for more great sites, particularly ones concentrating on covers! Since I no longer have very much time to read, looking at covers has become (...sigh...) the next best thing! We've installed a link over to the link page right here at the top of "Fred Sez", so that you'll have merely to click on it to get sent there immediately after soaking up my semi-daily blathering (thanks, Lynn!). She made ME learn how to do the links this time around, incidentally (...gee, I wonder WHY??...), and since, when it comes to technical matters, I learn only through repetition, I can honestly say, I've now learned how to install links!! Boy, HAVE I! And I want Hembeck.com to be YOUR nexus on the web (yup, we even have links to both Mike Baron AND Steve Rude's sites!...), your first stop on your daily journey throughout the not-quite-final frontier that is the Internet! Ere long, I want you ALL to be saying: "Beam me over, Hemby!!" (..."Hemby"??...) January 11th, 2004 "LOOK ALIVE!! LOOK ALIVE!!" A familiar command, a familiar funnyman--but a decidedly UNFAMILIAR character. Instead of Master Sergeant Ernie Bilko, the great Phil Silvers was playing his immediate predecessor, Jerry Biffle, in the film version of the Broadway show that catapulted him to fame, "Top Banana" (which is listed as either 1953 or 1954, depending on which source you consult) while barking out these immortal lines. As much as I'd always loved the Sgt. Bilko show--my pick for nothing less humble than merely the funniest sitcom of all time--I'd never had a chance to see the cinematic adaptation of the musical that ignited Silvers' career. And y'know, I still haven't. The thing Turner Classic Movies ran at 4:30 AM a few days back could hardly be called an "adaptation", but more truthfully, a "version". Because pretty much all the filmmakers did was point their cameras at the stage of New York's Winter Garden Theatre and let the cast do their stuff! Traditional theatrical painted scenery is utilized in lieu of realistic locations, and there's even a curtain call for the cast before an appreciative audience at the story's conclusion! I found this all very odd. Silvers plays the most popular comedian on television, a performer who came up through--and still relies heavily on--the ranks of burlesque. Rose Marie, Jack Albertson, Joey Faye, and Herbie Faye (Bilko's Fender, surely the oldest corporal in the history of the United States Army!...) provide comedic back-up, and there's a tepid love story between a couple of actors I was totally unfamiliar with (and totally disinterested in as well...). The music is by the legendary Johnny Mercer, but it's safe to say the success of the Broadway production rested more on the shoulders of its star rather than those of its tunesmith. There's no "Moon River" HERE, folks... Though second-billed, the future "Dick Van Dyke Show" vet, Rose Marie, has very little of consequence to do. Even when, as part of his TV broadcast, Biffle introduces her as the star of the next musical number, a large group of singers and dancers preceded her onto the stage, and when she finally does come out several minutes later to take her place in the center of this musical miasma, she doesn't even get to sing a SOLO!?! Nope, she harmonizes right along with the rest of the assembled warblers, amounting to her coming off as little more than just another member of this massive chorus! Just about any given DVD episode gave Sally Rogers more to do than the significantly billed--but insignificantly written--character she plays here!... The fast-talking persona Silvers later honed to perfection whilst clad in army khaki is very much in evidence here, and additionally, if anything, he danced and moved with even more graceful an animation than I ever would've thought possible. Biffle is a self-centered egomaniac just like his Camp Fremont counterpart, true enough, but if there is any one pertinent facet missing from the Bilko template here, its his inveterate scheming. Biffle undeniably trods all over his hapless underlings, but he doesn't attempt to constantly manipulate them. Silvers is the reason--probably the ONLY reason--to watch "Top Banana", but for me, that was reason enough. He's in prime form, and his big, brassy production numbers with the aforementioned Albertson, Faye, and Faye, truly shine. One can easily see why this show was a smash--and why mounting a successful production with someone other than Silvers would be virtually impossible. It's funny, but not hilarious; the songs are pleasant, but hardly memorable; and that love story, well, its bland and basically unmotivated. And did I mention that the movie itself just seemed...odd? It didn't help things that the print TCM broadcast appeared to be in worse condition than some of the silent classics from the teens and twenties they regularly beam out to an ever-shrinking but enthusiastically appreciative viewing audience. The color was washed out from beginning to end, though some sections seemed distinctly brighter than others. That may account for the fact that for all the world, this fifty year old movie showed all the earmarks of being patched together, reel by reel. Transitions from scene to scene were overly abrupt, like when small but noticeable sections are shaved off to accommodate commercials--only TCM doesn't run ads! Most noticeable, during the big final number, a dancer comes out for her brief turn in the spotlight, but mid-way into her number, the music abruptly changes and all of a sudden Phil is back on stage, surrounded by an entirely different gaggle of scantily clad hoofers!?! Huh? Was this the way "Top Banana" was released, or was a carelessly cobbled together copy the only one available to Ted and his happy gang of cinephiles?.. Like a lot of great comedians, Phil Silvers pretty much only played a single character, as "Top Banana" duly confirms, but like the true legend that he is, he played it far better than just about anyone had before or since--or likely will ever again. Bilko may've made the cover of this week's TV Guide--I was delighted to see that "You'll Never Get Rich" came in 4th on their survey of "21 Best Military Shows Ever", but when you consider that bringing up the rear of that wholly unscientific survey was the barely remembered "Ensign O'Toole", well, one suddenly realizes that the pickings truly WERE slim. What? Did the small screen version of "No Time For Sergeants" clock in in 22nd place, or something?--it's a crime against comedy that this seminal service sitcom isn't seen very many places, if ANYWHERE, these days! Ah, if only there were DVD collections of Sgt. Bilko! Now, THAT would certainly grab my attention, and get me out the door to my local Best Buy outlet, post haste, credit card eagerly at the ready! In short, it would force me to do ONE thing: LOOK ALIVE!! LOOK ALIVE!!... January 8th, 2004

Now, THERE'S a power trio for you!! Soupy, Elvis, and the erstwhile Ziggy, Mr. Bowie himself--just try and imagine the three of them harmonizing on a never-to-be-forgotten version of "The Mouse", the mid-sixties dance craze that was sparked by America's favorite kiddie-show host!! And as amazing as those ethereal sounds most surely would've been, stop again for a moment and struggle to picture the swivel-hipped Presley with his hands up by his ears, fingers flapping, his teeth jutting out over his trademark curled lip, doing the Mouse in a way it had never, ever been done before!! Ah, what a day THAT'D be!... And if there were to be any day when such a melodic congregation might seem plausible, even appropriate, today, friends, is that day! January 8th, you see, is the birthday of each one of those musical titans. Soupy hatched first, arriving way back in 1926. Happy 78th birthday, Milton! Elvis (and Aron) checked in in 1935, and the King checked out 42 years later, long after his unfortunate twin's ill-fated passing at birth. But just in case "The Enquirer's" right, Happy 69th, E! ("Thank you very much...") And young David here is getting on a bit as well--have a fine 57th, you nutty, nutty rock star, you! I love ya all! Actually, including the ol' Soupbone in this mix isn't quite as incongruous as you might think at first. After all, his sons--Hunt and Tony--comprised two-thirds of Mr. Bowie's late eighties/early nineties attempt at, well, I've never been entirely sure WHAT, but the band was called Tin Machine in any event, and they recorded at least three albums. Critics generally took a dim view of this somewhat puzzling portion of Bowie's long and storied career, but whatever Tin Machine's faults, it would be patently unfair to heap blame on the sons of Soupy for the razzing they regularly received from reviewers. Given the material the former Mr. Jones was churning out at the time, I think it's reasonable to assume the buzz couldn't have been much worse if he'd had White Fang and Black Tooth on back-up instead!?!... As for a connection between Soupy and Elvis, well... Uh... Wait! I've got it! Soupy was once a guest star on a long-forgotten 1962/63 sitcom about the wacky shenanigans at a military school entitled "McKeever & The Colonel", and Elvis, y'see. was MANAGED by the Colonel!! Okay, okay, so it was a DIFFERENT Colonel. Geez--these aren't ALL going to be golden, y'know... So, if you're like me (and heaven help you if you are!), you'll select several special discs from your CD collection--a couple of Elvis's, a few Bowie's, and yes, even a Soupy or two--and drop them reverently into your multi-disc CD player, carefully setting the changer to random!! What a fine, fine several hours of tunes that promises to be! And maybe, just maybe, fate will see to it that "Old Shep", "Diamond Dogs", and "Because of Black Tooth" play one after another in heart-rending sequence! Best salutations of the day to all three of you, you old dogs! January 6th, 2004 Tug McGraw died yesterday. For those of you who don't know, he was the free-spirited left handed relief pitcher renowned for throwing--and sometimes being--an impressive screwball. He pitched 19 years in the Majors, splitting that time almost equally between, first, the New York Mets, and then, the Philadelphia Phillies. He brought a rare exuberance to the increasingly stodgy game during the late sixties, and reporters knew he could always be counted on for a lively quote... When the trend towards erecting new baseball stadiums carpeted entirely with artificial greenery reached it's peak--or nadir, depending upon your viewpoint--early in the seventies, a sportswriter asked the pitcher which was that he preferred, Astroturf or grass?... Tug just smiled in that endearingly innocent way that he had, and replied, "I don't know. I've never smoked Astroturf..." When the Mets were languishing in last place during the middle of August of 1973, Donald Grant, the very proper--and stiff--executive in charge of the team ventured into the clubhouse, hoping to inspire the troops with a few well chosen words. They turned out to be well chosen, perhaps, but not by the banker-like Grant. Realizing that the bosses speech was having little effect save to inspire drowsiness, McGraw scrambled to his feet, pumped his arms in the air, and enthusiastically seized upon a phrase Grant had spoken--"You gotta believe!--and effectively turned it into a rallying cry that subsequently took the team all the way to the seventh game of the World Series (which they ultimately lost to the Oakland Athletics, but hey...) And word has it that he did even more amazing things for the Phillies during his tenure there, but obviously, it'll always be as a Met that I'll fondly recall Tug. Yesterday, he lost a nine month struggle with brain cancer at the age of 59. When he was diagnosed back in March, he was told by his doctors that he had, at best, three weeks to live. After defying all expectations and recovering sufficiently enough to make triumphant returns to both his former New York and Philadelphia homesteads, reporters asked him what he'd done to so defiantly outlive his original doctor's prognosis. "Well,", he grinned, "the first thing I did was change doctors." It was one of those feel-good stories that everybody who'd ever followed McGraw's career was rooting for to continue on indefinitely, but sadly, it didn't. The odds were against him from the start. It's a shame, because by all accounts, not only was Tug McGraw a fine baseball player, he was a decent and admirable man as well. He'll be missed. Which brings us to our OTHER baseball story: Pete Rose finally admitting, after vehemently denying for 14 years, that yes, boys and girls, he did indeed bet on baseball. He came clean not during one of the many interviews he's given over that extended period, but in a new book, one for which he was paid a rumored million dollar advance. He did this hoping to be reinstated back into baseball in time to get his name on the ballot, qualifying him for induction into the Baseball Hall of Fame sometime during what amounts to his final two years of standard eligibility. He bet on baseball, he lied about it, and now he's confessing because he figures that's what people want to hear. And hey, if he can make a few bucks off it, all the better. I never much liked Pete Rose. He was never a member of the Mets, but even if he had been, I doubt I would've ever warmed up to him. Respected him, sure. Liked him, uh uh. I'm not a big fan of arrogance, y'see, regardless of your particular walk of life, and this guy always reeked of it. And now, with his dubiously timed act of contrition, it seems more misplaced than ever. Let him into Cooperstown. Let's just get it over with. He has more hits than any other player in baseball history, and whatever his crimes may've been, he didn't kill anybody (...well, that we know of, anyway...). Give him his plaque. Then maybe we can all just ignore him and he'll go away. But I certainly don't think he ever deserves the chance to coach or manage a Major League team again. After all, if we were to see him going to the phone in the dugout, who's to say if he's calling down to the bullpen to get a pitcher up and warming--or calling in a bet to his bookie?!?.. McGraw and Rose played together on several of those pennant winning Phillies teams, proving, I suppose, that sometimes cliches have more than a nugget of truth to them. Sometimes, unfortunately, it really IS the good that die young... January 5th, 2004 Thanks to (of course) Mark Evanier, it came to my attention not so long ago that my old pal, Peter Sanderson, has a regular column called "Comics In Context" running regularly over at a film oriented website. Peter has a keen analytical sense when it comes to his chosen subject, and is somehow able to effortlessly communicate his conclusions in a manner that is both eloquent and crystal clear to his readers--amongst whose number, need I add, I most certainly count myself. Frankly, he makes my little essays look like barely passable Junior High term papers compared to the educational yet entertaining PhD-like treatises he's been churning out for what seems like forever now, but, hey, I love 'im all the same! But, folks, that's really not the point I'm attempting to make here today... You might recall me mentioning that I recently found some time to read that Stan Lee biography by Jordan Raphael and Tom Spurgeon, right? Well, I was aware that Peter wrote a lengthy, two-part examination of the book a few months back, but I refrained from reading it specifically until after I'd made it through the book by my lonesome, hopefully forming my own unique impressions and eschewing the very real possibility of being influenced by the learned Mr. Sanderson's insights. Today, however, I had myself a few minutes to spare, so I zipped on over to check out what Peter thought, and his well considered overview didn't let me down--I was particularly taken by how he cleverly used Daredevil's one-time faux secret identity, Mike Murdock (Matt's imaginary twin brother), to wind up his exhaustive treatise--and I'd wholeheartedly encourage those of you with ANY interest whatsoever in either Stan Lee or the book in question to read what he wrote. But again, gang, that's REALLY not what motivated me to cobble up this entry, post-haste! (...sorry, Peter...) On the third page of part one, y'see, there's this cute little Stan Lee cartoon caricature. But this isn't just any old caricature, oh no--this one MOVES!! Called the "Clickable Stan Lee", it's just that--take your mouse, and click it on various parts of Stan's body, and depending on the location touched, his arms move, his legs jut out, his head turns, his smile gives way to sweat beads, his expression changes, he instantly produces a page of artwork in one hand, and with over a dozen moves, he just basically becomes your puppet!! And at times, when both his arms flail straight out, our Stan resembles nothing so much as one of those cliched Russian dancers, sans the big furry hats, but equipped instead with a cool pair of American shades! Okay, okay--maybe I WAS a bit overly impressed by this little bit of computer trickery, but even then it turned out that the REAL fun was still to come!... I had to show Lynn. Had to. We'd just finished dinner, so I excitedly grabbed my laptop, dialed up the page in question, scrolled down, and showed her "Stan", still inert at that point. Then, like a master magician proudly demonstrating his greatest and most crowd-pleasing illusion, I swiftly made The Man move maniacally to my drumbeat! Long after she'd gotten the point, I continued on, apparently mesmerized by the activity I was controlling on my nigh-enchanted computer screen. Sensing my obvious overindulgence, I sheepishly made the comment, "I could do this all day!", to which my ever-understanding wife wearily replied, "I know, I know..." We both laughed. By this point, I was enthusiastically making little Stan dance feverishly to the music playing in the background. It just so happened to be that well-known sixties soft-rock classic from The Association, "Windy", and when the groovy group airily approached the lilting chorus, Lynn cleverly chimed in with her very own lyric, modified especially for the occasion: "Everyone knows it's Stan Lee!"... Well, okay, maybe you had to be there. But since you weren't, I thought I might generously provide you with a link enabling you your very own chance to make Stan dance for YOU, too! The choice of music, friends, is entirely yours! (But I have it on good authority that The Smilin' One DOESN'T Batusi...) January 4th, 2004 There's only ONE good Santa, and that sure AIN'T a "Bad Santa"!! Try telling that to my darlin' daughter, though. Back in early November, she dragged me off to see "Scary Movie 3", due almost exclusively to this preview that had been running incessantly featuring, as the butt of one of the gags, a faux Michael Jackson (...have I ever mentioned this mostly inexplicable obsession she has with the self-proclaimed King of Pop? Oh, I have...), and before that particular tepid yuck-fest hit the screen, we had to endure previews for another half-dozen upcoming low-brow "comedies", the offensively appearing "Bad Santa" chief amongst them. My first thought was, I don't care if Billy Bob Thornton HAS won an Oscar, I don't care that I enjoy Bernie Mac's Fox sitcom, I don't care that I love Lauren Graham in the "Gilmore Girls"--and while I DID care that poor John Ritter had passed away, there HAD to be a better way to honor his memory--there's no way I'm going to see THIS profanity-laden, one-joke movie! And of course, the first thing Julie said was, "I wanna see "Bad Santa"! Weeks later, after the film was released, not only was I surprised to see it garner mostly good reviews, but that it was actually the third time out for director Terry Zwigoff, well known to the comics cognoscenti for guiding the critically acclaimed documentary, "Crumb", and the equally praised Dan Clowes adaptation, "Ghost World", to the big screen. (The fact that "Bad Santa" was successful filling seats, sadly, DIDN'T surprise me...) Still, I had absolutely no desire to see the ol' fella in the red suit desecrated for a series of mean-spirited laughs in this R-rated production. No, the reason I wanted to head off to the multiplex was simple--I wanted to see "Elf"! We see very few movies outside the confines of our own home here at Hembeck.com., and even then we take in a very limited amount. For one thing, it's extremely difficult to align our three schedules, much less tastes. Okay, mostly it's Julie. She'd rather entertain her cozy little coterie of companions than let the glories of the Silver Screen entertain her misbegotten family. Additionally, I have a very difficult time enjoying myself at a movie due to the outrageous prices that are all too pervasive these days. When I took Julie to see a...ahem... BARGAIN matinee of "Scary Movie 3", it cost us six bucks apiece--and that's a whole heckuva LOT when you consider the fact that you can usually find more honest laughs on one of the better network sitcoms--like "Frasier" or the aforementioned "Bernie Mac Show"--being broadcast for absolutely nothing than in a film like that! Now, if you have the patience to not be Mr. First-Weekender and are willing to wait maybe a month or thereabouts for the not-quite-so-new release of your choice to find it's way over to the old, run down Mall next door to the big bright Poughkeepsie Galleria, and into their second-run Silver Cinemas, well then... I'd been repeating "Elf", "Elf", "Elf", over and over this entire holiday season, and with both Julie and Lynn home on vacation these past two weeks, it seemed like the odds that we'd actually make it out to the movies would be good. Wishful thinking on my part. However, with just two days left before Julie's school once again throws open their far-too-long-shuttered doors, and our kid off visiting her grandma, Lynn came forth with THIS intriguing nugget of information: "Elf" was now playing at the cheap theater! Should we go? Just the two of us? After all, if we waited til Julie arrived home on Sunday afternoon, we couldn't in good conscience zip off to attend a matinee showing, not with all the homework our perpetually procrastinating progeny had left herself, undone, for the very last minute! But Lynn knew I really, REALLY wanted to see this movie, and SHE really, really felt like getting out of the house on a rare occasion when dragging our teenaged terror along wasn't a necessity, so--WOOOSH!--off we went! Off to see ourselves a family film--with, ironically, ONLY the adult members of the family in attendance! My dear sweet wife isn't as up as I on such things as the latest movies--she keeps her noggin free to absorb and store more important information, mostly--so she wasn't as clued into this film as I was. That meant, primarily, while she wasn't exactly dubious of my enthusiasm, I don't think she fully expected what it was she was soon about to see (for the grand sum of, I should proudly add, a mere $5.50-- and that was for the BOTH of us!!..)--namely, one of the FUNNIEST movies ever!!! Okay, okay--you might argue that I'm indulging in a wild overstatement here, but then, you probably haven't seen "Elf" yet, now have you? Honestly, I can't recall the last time I laughed out loud so frequently and spontaneously during a single comedic concoction! And understand, I'm NOT a big guffawer by any means--if I smile throughout a film, maybe chuckle a bit, and actually laugh heartily once or twice, THAT'S generally merits a classic comedy commendation from me. "Elf", though, went right off the scale--and it wasn't just me, either. This WASN'T like the time when I was the only one--along with Julie--who was in stitches during a lightly attended showing of "Bean"! Oh no! Lynn was laughing herself silly just as much as I was, as were just about all the kids AND adults in the surprisingly populated theater. EVERYONE, you see, loved "Elf"! Why, they even applauded when the words "The End" played across the screen at the finale--and NOT sarcastically, I assure you.. You all know the premise by now, right? Will Ferrell plays a man who's raised by elves working in Santa's workshop up at the North Pole, and when he eventually realizes his true origins, sets off for New York City to meet his real dad, played by James Caan. It's sounds SO simple in the retelling--it's, after all, your basic fish-out-of-water plot, but is raised to sheer comic genius by the utter guilelessness of Ferrell's man-child performance as Buddy the elf. Totally committed to the sheer innocence of the character--and wringing every ounce of good-natured humor out of one hilarious situation after another--Ferrell creates an unforgettable portrayal as the human elf. Funny thing--as an inveterate "Saturday Night Live" viewer (through both the bad years and the good, I've probably missed no more than a dozen shows in the program's long, long history, if that many...), I was initially unimpressed with Ferrell when he debuted during one of SNL's periodic cast overhauls. He struck me as a Phil Hartman or Dan Ackroyd type--a normal seeming individual that the more outrageous Not-Ready-For-Prime-Time-Players could count on to anchor their more outre' antics. Plus, I didn't ever much care for the cheerleaders routine he did with Cheri Oteri, perhaps his earliest signature character. But as time went on, I slowly began to appreciate his hidden talents. Sure, he could do normal when called upon, but Ferrell also possessed an uncanny ability for playing against his guy-next-door looks, performing the most outrageously undignified stunts, always blithely and with seemingly no self-mocking self-awareness. I honestly don't think anyone else could've come anywhere near as close as he did to pulling off this role, certainly not with the same degree of sheer silly sweetness planted firmly at the heart of the portrayal! Hey, Academy voters--you always seem to enjoy foisting awards on thespians who play physically challenged roles, mentally challenged roles, ones with fake noses, fake accents,or even historical characters--why not an actor who utterly convinces the audience that, yes, he IS an elf, and he DOES know Santa Claus? Hey, you could do a lot worse (...and brother, you HAVE...) The entire cast was in fine form, from the appropriately crusty Caan, the lovely Zooey Deschanel as the sweetest of Buddy's sweets, and the always dependable Mary Steenbergen, Bob Newhart, and Ed Asner (a better Santa you're unlikely to find nowadays, I'd wager...). The title character may be goofy, yes, his entire situation preposterous, no denying it, but with an inherent cleverness provided by Daniel Berenbaum's inventive script and the adroit helming of director Jon Favreau (last seen in these parts as Foggy Nelson in the Daredevil flick, herein cameoing as the doctor who examines Buddy) keeps the level of the humor head and shoulders above that that's normally endured in the previews that play in the final minutes before something like "Scary Movie 3" unspools and robs you of 90 minutes of your life that you'll never, ever get back!... And, wonder of wonders, it was CLEAN! There wasn't a single major swear word (save a few now-commonplace "damns","hells",and...ulp... a couple of "friggins")! Aside from two burps and a minor potty-training gag, there were also, nearly as miraculously, no laughs derived from bodily functions. Sure, there's a romantic sub-plot, but it's all very chaste. No S-E-X (shh!) In other words, "Elf" proved to be far less offensive than what the whole family might glimpse while sitting around the ol' TV watching an-all-too-typical 8 o'clock network sitcom! Now please understand, I'm no prude. Not at all. Fact is, I happen to think the funniest thing the tube has to offer these days is the foul-mouthed, boundary-pushing antics of "Curb Your Enthusiasm". My gripe, y'see, is that all too frequently, comedy these days--whether on the small screen or the big--feels an ingrained need to rely on swearing and unseemly situations to provide the viewers with yocks, and when they don't have nearly the intelligence that Larry David's program possesses--and most clearly don't--this unpalatable approach generally lacks any sort of genuine humor and is thus rendered virtually unwatchable. "Elf" proves once and for all that you don't have to be dirty to be funny! Of course, conversely, there are certainly a passel of squeaky-clean family comedies that I'd challenge any of you to even break a smile at, but this at the very least proves that raunchiness isn't an intrinsic necessity for the Big Ha Ha nowadays. Content, as always when you get right down to it, is what counts. And "Elf"--clearly the anti-"Bad Santa"--has the goods.. Greatest movie ever starring a former "Saturday Night Live" cast-member? Well, I--mercifully--haven't seen them all, but it'd get my vote nonetheless. I smiled a few times during "Wayne's World", but what else? "Coneheads"? C'mon! And as for performances in a holiday themed film, I'd have to put Will Ferrell as Buddy the Elf right up there with Edmund Gwenn as Santa Claus in "Miracle On 34th Street", and Quincy Magoo as Ebenezer Scrooge in "Mr. Magoo's Christmas Carol". I'm real sorry Julie missed it, honest I am, but maybe she can scare up a friend to go see it with next weekend. Barring that, I'm sure we'll all gather around the TV set next December to take in what's destined to be an annual viewing tradition, watching Buddy journey's onto the ice flow, into the Land of Candy Canes, and right on up into and through the Lincoln Tunnel!... It was a memorable movie experience, an evening more glorious than grand, and it was made all the more pleasant by dining out on a fine Italian meal shortly after the credits to "Elf" ended and the houselights went up. There WAS that one uncomfortable moment that followed, though... I mean, by the way that waiter reacted, you'd have thought nobody'd EVER asked for a bottle of maple syrup for their spaghetti before!?!... January 3rd, 2004 Lynn's mom lives over in Woodstock, and whenever we make the 70 minute drive to visit her, we take basically the same exact route every time. That means we drive down Kingston's less-than-illustrious Broadway, the very town we lived in for over 13 years before moving to our current location. But because we were dropping off a friend of Julie's slightly out of our way when heading over the other day to Gma's, we wound up traveling down a thoroughfare that we hadn't been on for over the 7 years we'd been away, one we once traversed several time a week for over a decade, and brother, was it an eye-opening experience!... It's that one part of town where all the large stores are congregated, the fast-food restaurants, the grocery markets, and towards the end of the nearly one-mile stretch, The Mall. Only, everything seemed different--EVERYTHING!?! Oh sure, we'd seen all the various chains pop up over here in our new locale. but none of 'em had had a foothold in our old stomping grounds back when we'd left, so it still was a bit of a shock. When I finally spied something that looked familiar--the good ol' cheesy International House of Pancakes architecture--my misplaced nostalgia swiftly evaporated as we drove ever closer--the place was boarded up, and in desperate need of a new tenant, though none apparently appeared eager to take this shambles of a structure as their own. Maybe in another 7 years... We were back over my mom-in-law's last evening for dinner and--not coincidentally--to leave Julie overnight for a visit to her Grandma's. On the way home, our curiosity peaked by our earlier drive-by, Lynn and I impetuously decided to stop off at the Hudson Valley Mall. We wanted to see just how MUCH things had changed in the 7 years we've lived in Wappingers Falls. What we saw made enough of an impression on me that I absolutely felt compelled to get it down on paper (such as it is), despite the fact this may well be for most of you, in the words of "The Simpson's" Comic Book Guy, Least Interesting Entry Ever... I mean, we pulled up and parked outside of a Target store. Already we were on foreign ground. What was once a K-Mart department store had been subsequently expanded and split three ways, between the aforementioned enterprise and a Best Buy and a Dick's Sporting Goods emporium. I wandered in, disoriented, but when we finally spilled out into the Mall proper, I was happy to see a familiar signpost--the Ground Round restaurant we'd so often dined at on those delinquent nights when I just didn't quite get around to cooking. I took a good, long look--it was gonna be quite awhile before anything else looked even vaguely familiar... Oh sure, several of the Mall anchors were still there--Sears, J.C.Penney--but for me, a Mall derives it's character from it's smaller, more idiosyncratic venues, and the ones we encountered walking through the twisting aisles of this expanded-at-every-corner, over-flowing sales structure, were ones undreamt of back when toddler Julie and I would kill a few pleasant hours window shopping during her most agreeable years, blissfully looking at all the toys, clothes, pets, and whatnot. While I have no hard statistics to support my feelings, there seemed to have been an amazing almost one hundred per cent turn over in shops during the time we'd been gone... Eventually, I saw one other old destination that I gladly recognized--the shoddy little corner Walden bookstore, the one opposite the food court. I stepped inside for just a moment to pause and take in those elusive 1993 vibes, and then briskly headed for the metal mesh chairs and tables over in the chow-down area. Okay, you EXPECT the fast-food joints in that portion of the Mall to change periodically, but I was still dismayed to discover that the Pizzeria Uno anchor restaurant near the entrance was gone, replaced by something entirely new. Even more disconcerting, the small but significant array of quarter-swilling mechanical horses, spaceships, and race-cars that once gave my little girl and myself so much sheer if unsophisticated joy were nowhere to be seen. Gone. Vanished--and NOT off to the moon or out to stud, either, I'll wager. Instead, the ticket booth of a newly erected multiplex stood in their place. I ask you--IS NOTHING sacred?... We'd seen enough. Shopping wasn't the goal in any event--charting the dubious course of progress was, so we quickly turned tail and headed back to our car. Mild confusion as to finding the best way home via the newly built Mall access road led to a few wrongs turns, and the ultimate necessity of turning around at night in an unfamiliar construction yard. Not a big deal, except we almost got hit by a massive tractor trailer truck while attempting our maneuvering! Yipes! My head, you see, was still swimming!... I still can't quite get over it. Is 7 years really THAT long? Or do things just change faster than they used to? After all, consider this--when last I shopped at the venerable Hudson Valley Mall, I may've been out looking for some books, or maybe even some CDs. But DVDs? They hadn't even invaded my consciousness yet at that point--if they were even on the market! And NOW, well... Let this be a lesson to me. Everything changes--and nowadays, it seems, faster than ever. Take a good look, wherever you are--because tomorrow, it may be gone! So don't get too comfortable, folks--after all, the next thing you know, you may well be reading these ramblings on a TRI-CORDER!?!... January 1st, 2004

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