By Ken Levine

No, I played Thug #2

A trainer in my gym is also an actor. (I know – knock you over with a feather). He just finished working on the new Showtime series CALIFORNICATION. He played “Hollywood Asshole”. And knowing him, I bet he was good in it. Some of his previous roles included “Jerk at the Bar”, “Thug #2”, and to prove he has range – “Jogger”.

An actress I know has these impressive credits: “Vegas Showgirl” on CSI. Also “Bikini Girl”, “Sheik Girl”, “Cute Girl”, and “Homewrecker”.

Another actress friend boasts these credits on imdb: “Waitress”, “Saleswoman”, “Assistant Candidate #1”, and the part she’s best known for -- “Desperate Woman”.

And one of the most talented comic actors I know lists these on his resume: “Caterer”, “Waiter”, “Delivery Boy”, “Great Great Grandfather” (he was in his 30’s at the time), “Husband”, “Exterminator”, and my personal favorite – “Squid”.

Forget being a star, most actors in Hollywood would be thrilled for a role that actually had a name.

Usually these parts are one or two lines, usually day player roles. But not always. Remember the old guy who used to sit at the bar at CHEERS. His name was Al Rosen. He became a semi-regular. He had lines in probably thirty episodes. His name on the show was “Man Who Said Sinatra”.

“Sinatra” was the first line he was assigned, he got a good laugh, and a few weeks later the writers were looking to give a line to a bar patron and someone suggested, “What about the man who said Sinatra?” And thus a legend was born.

It’s not easy being an actor. And for every one who gets a part as “Punk #2” and “Guy in the Sewer” just remember – there are five others who auditioned for those parts and didn’t get them.

Yours truly,

Schmuck with blog

There have been so many comments about Al Rosen and the other CHEERS barflies that my next post will answer your questions and give more details about them. Stay tuned.

blog schmuck

I'd be more excited if it was bobble-head night

I’m heading off to Dodger Stadium where I could witness baseball history if Barry Bonds hits one (to tie) or two home runs to break Henry Aaron’s all-time record. I couldn’t be more ambivalent. On the one hand it’s great to say you were there for a milestone. On the other, it’s Barry Bonds.

Besides, I’ve already been on hand to see some of the great moments of major league baseball.

I was in Anaheim Stadium the day Seattle outfielder, Kevin Mitchell (pictured left) ate a chili dog during a game and threw up in the dugout so violently that he went on the disabled list for two weeks with strained ribs.

I was in the Kingdome when Mariner pitcher, Eric Gunderson, made an illegal move to first base and a balk was called. Except there was no runner on first. He was on second. So he was balked to third where he scored on a fly ball to win the game.

I was in Tiger Stadium when Omar Visquel bunted into a triple-play.

I was at the LA Coliseum when Leo Durocher kicked umpire Jocko Conlin in the shin.

I was at Dodger Stadium the night Cincinnati pitcher, Pedro Borbon got so mad that during a bench clearing brawl he started swinging at his own teammates.

I was in Olympic Stadium in Montreal the night their paid attendance was higher than 3,000.

I was at Dodger Stadium on “Casey Stengel Night” when a foul ball hit his wife.

And I was in Yankee Stadium the day a fan fell out of the upper deck.

So yeah, what the hell? I hope the Dodgers walk Bonds every time he comes up.

Oh…wait. I forgot. I was also at Dodger Stadium the night Kirk Gibson hit the game winning home run in the opener of the 1988 World Series. It’s not Kevin Mitchell upchucking on his teammates shoes but it was pretty cool.

Tom Snyder

I saw Tom Snyder the day he got the offer to host the TOMORROW SHOW on NBC. It was 1972, Tom had been a local news anchor on KNBC in Los Angeles (with his weatherman Pat Sajek) and the big brass at the network wanted to seal the deal over a power lunch. Tom selected the place.

And that’s where I saw him – standing in line with me at Cassell’s hamburgers in Koreatown. Now granted, they’re the best burgers in Los Angeles, but still, it ain’t the Palm or Spagos.

It was a riot seeing the top executives of the National Broadcasting Company, all in their expensive suits, holding trays, being chided by the counter guys for not yelling out their orders loud enough.

But that was Tom Snyder. Never taking himself or anything too seriously – even his “big break”.

In many ways, Tom was the Jack Paar of the boomer generation. An eccentric personality who wasn’t afraid to show his emotions on national television, he was a master of the conversational in-depth interview. And he did his homework. Unlike Larry King recently, he would never get his Beatles mixed-up.

You would tune into the TOMORROW SHOW one night and Julie Andrews would be his guest. The next night it was Charles Manson. And again, unlike Larry King, he didn’t ask them both the same questions.

There was a touch of Edward R. Murrow in Tom Snyder. He would sit back in a chair, cigarette dangling in one hand, and very formally inform the audience that his guest that night was “Mr. Johnny Rotten”.

Dan Ackroyd enhanced his popularity with a dead-on impression on SNL, exaggerating all of Tom’s quirks, his boisterous laugh, and comb-over that seemed to wrap around his head twice. Tom apparently loved it. Imagine if it were Bill O'Reilly.

In the mid 90’s Tom had a late night talk show on CBS as well as a syndicated radio program. I was his guest once on the radio show, pimping my book. To my amazement he had actually read it (thus making him one of five). The interview was relaxed and fun. No wonder Charles Manson felt so at ease. Off the air I reminded him of the Cassell’s incident and heard that loud boisterous laugh for real. He said he had all his best meetings there.

Tom Synder will be long remembered, especially in Los Angeles, where his back-up news anchor from the KNBC days, Paul Moyer, has been imitating him for thirty years.

Protecting our Kuntry from obscenity

WARNING: This post contains offensive letters of the alphabet! The FCC is so concerned about protecting the public from indecency that it doles out huge fines for swear words that accidentally go out over the air. And God forbid for one nanosecond America sees Janet Jackson’s breast. Our whole nation could collapse. If terrorists really want to bring down this country they should organize suicide streakers.

Meanwhile, for a yet-unbuilt low-power digital television station in Wailuka, Maui the FCC recently approved the call letters KUNT. This is not a joke! This is actually true! (I sure hope they don’t plan on being an affiliate for the Lifetime Network or Oxygen.) Yes, those call letters were deemed acceptable by the federal decency police. Here's the story.

The same station group applied for and received the call letters KWTF for a station in Arizona. Anyone who has ever typed an email knows what WTF means. You’re probably thinking it now just reading this post.

The President of KM communications, who requested and received those two call letters has since backed-off and will name his stations something more appropriate (KOCK? KLIT? KUM? Maybe KY-JL?)

The KM Prez insists it was a mistake and at the time he didn’t realize those call letters he applied for were offensive. KUNT doesn’t just sorta jump out at you? Was he pronouncing it Koont?

Outside of Aspen, Colorado there is KCUF, which is the F-word in reverse. They’ve been on the air since December. Thankfully no one with high moral standards is dyslexic. Otherwise, KCUF would be in deep TIHS.

They say their slogan is “Keeping Colorado Uniquely Free”. Sure. That’s why they had to have those particular call letters. Just like KUNT could stand for “Kall you next Tuesday.” Who TF are we kidding here?

I once worked for WDRQ in Detroit and used to call the station W-dreck. Dreck is Yiddish for shit. The three Jews who listened to that station were hysterical.

The Code of Federal Regulations allows applicants to request call letters of their choice as long as the letter combination is available. But here’s the kicker -- "objections to the assignment of requested call signs will not be entertained at the FCC."

No, but you can complain, and the station will probably be heavily fined if someone inadvertently utters “tit” on KUNT.

It’s also okay for only three or four major corporations to own all the radio and TV stations in the country. And if the Federal Communication Commission had its way, all internet radio stations – the only true voice of the individual – would pay such outrageous royalties that they would be forced out of existence.

No wonder no station is named K-FCC. Those three letters are the most offensive of all.

M*I*S*C M*A*S*H

By popular demand, more MASH stuff. (I never get this kind of reaction to my Palm Springs travelogues.) Here are some random questions and thoughts:

How did we get the medical jargon? We had a consultant on staff, Dr. Walter Dishell. When writing the script, David and I would just slug in medical nonsense.

HAWKEYE: I think his freebazzber is ruptured.

BJ: You might have to gumenford him and eeknonoogle his interior norgalflagle.

HAWKEYE: Nurse, zignuts. Stat!

Walt would send the script back replacing the zignuts. Eventually we became more proficient in operating procedures and by the end of our tenure we were taking a crack at the jargon ourselves, just calling him and running the scene by him. One of our proudest moments on the show was once writing an OR scene that required no changes. Of course the patient did die.

If you’re writing a spec script like a HOUSE that requires medical-speak, consult a doctor to get it right.

When breaking stories, we would often call Walt and say something like, “Here’s what we need -- a patient that comes in with a bad fever. He becomes delusional that night. The next day he’s better. But that night he dies.” An hour later Walt would call back with Hemorrhagic Fever or some other exotic disease.

At MASH we also had a nurse on stage who served as our technical advisor. That is why you never saw Hawkeye operate with a band saw.

A few people commented on the number of inconsistencies in the show. Yes, a show bible might have been nice. To me there were two BIG inconsistencies: Harry Morgan initially appeared as an insane general (maybe the funniest MASH episode EVER – “The General Flipped at Dawn”) and then later as Colonel Potter. And the other – we’re supposed to believe that eleven years of stories, main characters coming and going, actors aging over a decade, etc. all took place in less than two years.

The theme song, taken from the movie, “Suicide is Painless” was never sung on the series.

The show was shot at Twentieth Century Fox on Stage 9, and on location in Malibu canyon. A later brush fire destroyed most of the exterior sets. The sets from the stage are in the Smithsonian in Washington. I didn’t steal any of the props. I’m an idiot.

It took four days to shoot an episode. One day to read and rehearse, and three to film. One of the three shooting days would be out on location. But only until the end of Daylight Savings Time. After that the days were too short. The final six or seven episodes were always filmed exclusively on the stage, even the exterior scenes.

For my money the best episodes were written by Larry Gelbart and the team of Everett Greenbaum & Jim Frizzell.

I was there for the creation of Charles Emerson Winchester. The idea was to replace Frank Burns with a character that was very much his opposite. We all wanted Charles to be smarter and more gifted as a surgeon than Hawkeye or B.J. and, as opposed to Frank, a worthy adversary.

There were no auditions for the part of part. Producer Burt Metcalfe had seen David Ogden Stiers guesting on an episode of the MARY TYLER MOORE SHOW and thought he’d be perfect. It was only after David was hired that we learned he could do that slight Boston accent.

MASH tribute sites have trivia contests. I often can’t answer questions from episodes I wrote.

For you SIMPSONS fans

Never one to not jump on a craze, with THE SIMPSONS movie opening this weekend I thought I'd post some of "Dancin' Homer" -- one of the episodes my partner, David Isaacs and I wrote. I'm also the voice of the radio announcer. Hopefully this will hold you until you get to the theater.

Dear Mr. Clavin

The Television Critics convention just wrapped up in Los Angeles. It was rather tame this year. No Aaron Sorkin to accuse me of being a hack. The only flicker of controversy was when ABC President Steve McPherson balked at making the big LOST announcement (Harold Perinneau is returning next season. He left his keys on the island and had to go back to get them.). McPherson was saving the big bombshell (?) for the Comic-Con convention this weekend in San Diego. Needless to say, the ink stained wretches were in a tizzy.

Melanie McFarland, the consistently hilarious TV reporter for the Seattle P-I, summed it up like this:

The very idea that a room full of socially awkward types who get paid to obsess over people and worlds that do not exist would be passed over in favor of a convention center stuffed with socially awkward types who obsess over people and worlds that do not exist -- while wearing costumes! -- was simply unacceptable. We are the true nerd herd, the gatekeepers of stupid information!

And other than that, there was little news worth printing. Not that they really grilled those on the hot seat before them.

During the HBO sessions the big question that everyone was asked was, “What did you think of THE SOPRANOS ending?” They were asking producers of other HBO shows. They asked Larry David. If you were associated in any way with HBO you were asked that question. So I figured, why stop there? I recently emailed both of my senators and my congressman. I also emailed Telemundo figuring that’s where my mayor spent most of his time now. I emailed my Governator. And most presidential candidates. I asked them all the SOPRANOS question.

And not one responded. Nobody. Nada. Zip. Zilch. The big goose egg. I at least expected the standard form reply “Thank you for sharing your view and you can be sure the senator is equally concerned and working tirelessly to resolve this vital matter. “

Not even that.

Even if they wrote back and began the note with “Dear Mr. Clavin” I would have been satisfied. But no.

So I’m guessing it was a really stupid question. Meanwhile, I’m still waiting to hear what they think of the new BIONIC WOMAN now that it’s been re-tooled. Stay tuned. Those emails should be coming in any minute. Yep. Annnnnnyyyy minute.

Oceans Two

Just back from one exciting night in Vegas. My writing partner David and I are developing a project for Jon Lovitz & Rita Rudner so we popped into town to see Rita’s show.

Flew Jet Blue out of Long Beach because it was HALF of what Southwest Airlines charged out of LAX. “You are now free to overpay for worse service and unassigned seats.”

Happy to say there were no riots in Vegas…even though the NBA Summer League is in full swing.

The big news is that Pamela Anderson is the magician’s assistant to Hans Klok. I guess when Borat stuffed her in a sack her true talent was discovered.

Stayed at Harrah’s – a hotel in search of a theme. They must've thought all the good themes were taken but they were wrong. Someday I shall open the Woodstock Hotel. I’ll put up a big stage, get Richie Havens and Country Joe & the Fish impersonators and charge people $120 a night to lay down a blanket and sleep in a field. VIP accommodations nearest the outhouse.

The Harrah’s slogan is “Oh Yeah!” Rejected slogans were “Uh huh, Baby!”, “Don’t Stop, Ooooh!”, “More like that!”, and “Harder like you mean it!”

Where else can you look out your window, see the Eiffel Tower, the Great Pyramid, dancing fountains, a tropical beach, King Arthur’s castle, the Statue of Liberty, a pirate ship, and the Gateway Arch of St. Louis? Oh wait. That’s just a partial view of McDonalds.

There is a street bazaar of some sort outside Harrah’s, recreating the great garage sales of Milwaukee.

Rita’s show was hilarious. A lot funnier than this. Almost an hour-and-a-half of great “I wish I had thought of that” material. We hung with her backstage, were led to the best table. It was like being Ray Liotta in GOODFELLAS without having to kill Joe Pesci.

Most cities celebrate history with museums. Vegas pays tribute to our nation’s past with the only remaining Playboy Club.

And there’s now a Hooters Hotel. Call them and ask to speak to John Smith. They’ll ring up 450 rooms.

All you have to do is watch the people who waddle through any Vegas casino, cup of quarters in one hand and a churro in the other to see why THE WIRE didn’t get any Emmy nominations.

Stopped by the Imperial Palace, which quite frankly is neither. If T-Bag from PRISON BREAK wanted to gamble in style on the strip this is where he would go. But they’re no longer owned by that guy who proudly had Hitler’s car on display. And they’re the only hotel with Dealertainers -- celebrity impersonators (Elvis, Sinatra, Barbra Streisand, etc.) who also deal blackjack. Where’s Stevie Wonder’s table?

There is now always a World Series of Poker going on.

An old style Vegas perennial, the Frontier Hotel just closed a few weeks ago. But that’s not to say Wayne Newton isn’t still headlining there.

And good news for old Jews! A Fountainbleau Hotel is coming soon. In no time you’ll be banging your spoons to Mitzi McCall, Rich Little, Abby Lane, and Elliott Yamin.

Swung by the Venetian for some high end Vegas class. First stop was Madame Tussaud’s wax museum where you can “grab hold” of your favorite stars. Play poker with Ben Affleck, marry George Clooney. As the brochure says, “kiss, hug or mug with your favorite entertainers and sports heroes and take all the pictures you want to show everyone you hung with the stars while you were in Las Vegas.” No wonder the Venetian prides itself on its elegance and sophistication.

One of their other great features is the Grand Canal shops. Fake cobblestone walkways, a painted sky (giving the place a sense of nuclear winter), building facades, piped in music, and oh yes, a concrete canal. I don’t know -- being in a gondola in an indoor mall with fat tourists snapping cellphone photos and toting bags from the M & M store doesn’t really set the stage for romance. But maybe that’s just me.

The Celine Dion “Cheese-a-palooza” continues to assault and stupefy audiences at Caesar’s. Imagine the Orange Bowl Halftime show, the Olympics Opening Ceremony, the West Hollywood Gay Pride Parade, and Mt. Vesuvius erupting all rolled into one. And that’s just during the “turn off your cellphones” announcement.

Carrot Top is a Vegas headliner. Somewhere in the great beyond Bugsy Siegal is saying “If this is what I ultimately created I deserved to be shot.”

It is a town unique to the world. Come for the glitz, stay for Rita Rudner, and hang around till Saturday when Gerry & the Pacemakers headline at Cannery Row. Las Vegas truly is Chuck E. Cheese for adults.

Thanks!

A couple of attendees of the Sitcom Room wrote reports about it in their blogs. If you're interested, here they are. Christina's and Richard's. Otherwise, zip past this blatant self serving plug to my new post of the day.

Break a leg, Barry!

No. Really. In three places.

As Barry Bonds closes in on the great Hank Aaron’s all-time homer milestone I think I speak for all baseball fans (outside of the 415 area code) when I say, I hope he trips on a curb and falls into an open manhole.

I will grant you he’s a superb hitter and deserving of the Hall of Fame but so what? Auric Goldfinger was an excellent businessman. Lorena Bobbitt could qualify as a terrific mohel. And Benito Mussolini got the trains to run on time. Barry Bonds is a bad guy. He probably took steroids (or swallowed a Macy’s Parade balloon), will beat the rap, and will stand by guilt-free as others take the fall for him.

He knows we all hate him and he’s laughing. (He’s like the George Bush of baseball.)

I remember back in the 1962 when the Dodgers were in a tough pennant race with the Giants and Maury Wills was breaking Ty Cobb’s long standing stolen base record. The Dodgers went up to San Francisco for a series and the Giants had flooded the base paths so Wills couldn’t run. At the moment Bonds is playing at home but I was hoping that on the road every team would raise their outfield walls by 100 feet. But I also hope we find Osama Bin Laden.

A related issue is should Bud Selig be there to witness the (yawn) historic event? Of course he should!! He’s the God damn commissioner of baseball! And since Bonds has never officially been charged of any wrong doing there’s no legitimate reason not to go.

Besides, it’s a baseball game. Wouldn’t the commissioner of baseball WANT to go to a baseball game? This is not a state funeral. Other people want to go to baseball games so much they actually pay to see them. And they don’t sit in luxury suites or behind home plate. Selig has been showing up of late but it’s always begrudgingly. Come on, Bud. He didn’t kill any dogs.

The nation rejoiced when Cal Ripken became baseball’s iron man. We cheered Mark MacGwire breaking Roger Maris’ single season homer mark (what did we know at the time?). Baseball is all about history and records and reaching new heights. We have so few things to cheer about these days. Other than who will win PIRATE MASTER, what?? We’d like to be able to celebrate this… but we can’t. Not for a multi-millionaire who during the last baseball strike went to a judge and tried to get a break on his child support payments.

When Bonds hit his 715th blast last year in “Corporate Sponsor’s Name Here” Park in San Francisco, passing Babe Ruth for second place, his mother wasn’t there, nor was his wife and kids, the Giants’ team owner, the so-called “commissioner of baseball” (he was probably trying on new suits deciding which one would be the most comfortable to sleep in), or Willie Mays. He wasn’t mobbed by teammates at home plate. Only a handful of national reporters were there. And these guys go anywhere on their papers’ dime.

So when Bonds breaks the all-time record (unless we get lucky and Tanya Harding decides to go after him) it will be a huge NON EVENT. Just another reminder that in this day and age the villain often wins. Maybe he can have a drink and celebrate with O.J. Simpson.

Hip hip…whatever.