Rish Outcast 213: Still Chasing Pavements

Stuck under a tree, Rish talks about dreams, despair, and David Letterman.

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Logo by Gino "Chasing Depravement" Moretto.

P.S. Here's video of that puddle with an underground spring in it.

June Sweeps - Day 508

Before I left for the cabin today, my thirteen year old nephew told me, "Take pictures of what we caught in the traps."  On Saturday, before I took him fishing, he went out and re-set and re-baited the four metal traps we have around the cabin, and put one of them up on the deck where we'd been painting, sure to catch a varmint in it, even though there hasn't been any poop on there since we started sanding and varnishing there.

I came to the cabin again this afternoon, getting a bit sleepy on the drive, but only once actually closing my eyes, then jerking awake, which isn't like losing a job or getting kicked in the gonads, but is still one of my least-favorite things.  

Three of the four traps had been sprung, and two of them contained ground squirrels.  Unfortunately, the one up on the deck had a lively one in it, and a pile of dung and puddle of pee beneath it, which had stained the wood rather unpleasantly.  I filled up a bucket with water and dumped it on the deck, then swept it over the side, and it literally took the top layer of varnish off with it.  I'm not sure how something like that can happen, but it did.

Rodent 1

Rodent 2

Why didn't my brother tell my nephew not to put a trap on the deck?  And as long as we're talking, why didn't I remember that dead mouse last year (and the disgusting clean-up it entailed), and tell the boy to leave the traps on the ground where they belonged?

Well, it doesn't matter now.  The only thing is, what do I do with the squirrels?  Last week and the week before, I let the captured animals go up by the lake, but my brother told me not to do that anymore, saying that they'll just go burrow in someone else's yard and crap on someone else's deck.  "Best thing to do is shoot 'em," my brother said.  And as I typed those words, I couldn't help but glance up on the cupboard where, behind the paper towels, I know he's left a rifle.

I haven't shot an animal in decades.  The last time I did it, I felt bad enough about it that I never went hunting again (granted, this was the kind of hunting where you kill something, look at it, then find something else to kill, not the kind where you're seeking food or even a trophy, but hey, why split hares?).  That was an intentional pun there.

Sit-ups Today: 100
Sit-ups In June: 2493

One of the last books I checked out from the library was "David Letterman: The Last King of Late Night" by Jason Zinoman.  It was a retrospective of Letterman's life and career, and included interviews with everyone from Letterman's ex-girlfriend to Steve Martin, from Letterman himself to NBC executives, childhood and college buddies, to Dave's mother.  Now, I am a huge Letterman fan, probably introduced to the show (in the early Eighties) by my uncle, so this book really spoke to me, especially the bits about Dave in college (getting fired from broadcasting jobs because of his irreverent attitude, deciding to move to L.A. to try to do television) and the early experiments with "Late Night."

If you're not a fan of the show (or the man) then I can't recommend the book, but it made me laugh and made me cry, and brought back memories I didn't know that I had, and made me feel nostalgic for who I was in those days watching Dave from 11:30 to 12:30 on weeknights (in the market where I grew up, Carson was on at 10:30, instead of 11:30, as he was in the majority of places).  

I finished the book with sadness, because the end of Dave's career was landmarked with less-pleasant stuff like his open-heart surgery, September 11th, his infidelity-with-staffers scandal and attempted blackmail about it, and finally being replaced in relevancy by the younger generation in the years before he retired.  The book was fairly long and quite comprehensive, but I could've done with another hundred pages.

Out of curiosity, I went to Amazon.com to see what else the writer had written (he wrote a similar book about Dave Chappelle, and an overview of the Horror/Slasher boom of the Seventies and Eighties . . . right up my alley), and then scrolled down to see what readers had had to say.  There were the usual reviews that basically sum up the book in the way that a librarian would, with absolutely no personal bias, and then there were, to my surprise, the five star reviews that embraced the book and the one star reviews that rejected it.  

I use the word surprising because the reviewers had gotten completely different impressions from the book: some said that Zinoman made Letterman out to be a broadcasting genius and some kind of cultural prophet, and some said that Zinoman had done a hatchet job on Letterman and clearly didn't like him so they kept shining light on his flaws, in an effort to discredit him.*

I don't think you can do both.  But maybe you can.**

Now, none of this has anything to do with me.  I've never been to New York and I'm not a celebrity (or a success in any way).  But I kept finding parallels in my own life, however tenuous, and now I'm here at the cabin, with plenty of time to blog, and I thought, "I've blogged over five hundred days in a row, written the same number of days, and it's all about to end . . . kind of like when Letterman announced he was retiring."  More specifically, when he announced it was time for him to retire.

Not a lot of people read this blog.  And I can't blame them.  Who am I, really?  And what interesting stuff have I got to share, day to day?  Nobody and not a lot, respectively.

But every person is somebody, with fascinating stories . . . because PEOPLE are interesting, both in the way that they are different from ourselves, and in the way that they're just like us.

I think I'm going to go for a walk now.  After all, I have 140 words, and that's pretty good.  More than I usually do at this point on a cabin trip.

Push-ups Today: 188
Push-ups In June: 2798

When we left here on Saturday, my sister and my mom had gathered together a crazy amount of trash to be disposed of, while the men (and me) varnished the railing (no, that's not a euphemism, though I do have a little experience with "varnishing the railing" myself).  The problem was, the sheer volume of garbage was more than any of us could carry home in our three vehicles, so it was all piled up underneath the deck, and left here (I didn't know this because I had taken the three boys fishing by this point).

So, I was instructed to take my dad's old truck up here instead of my trusty little Toyota, and pack up all the garbage into the truck's bed.  I have to admit that, after an hour or so of driving, my foot no longer wanted to press down on the truck's gas, and I missed Cruise Control more than I ever have in my life.

I went for a walk a couple of hours before sunset, planning to record an Outcast episode, mostly about being a failure and wondering when I should pack it all in.  I got out of the truck, and the wind was blowing so hard, I knew I wouldn't be able to record a thing.

But I wanted to go on my walk regardless, especially since it had gotten so cloudy I didn't think I'd be able to see the sunset tonight, and before I'd even walked a quarter of a mile, it started to rain.  I didn't know if it would be a hard rain or a soft one, but it was cold, so I ducked under some pine trees a little ways from the shore.  I had brought my recorder, so I figured, "Why not record that episode anyway, just from here, standing still instead of on a walk?"

And I started there recorder going . . . and the whole thing shut off.  I don't know what was wrong with the battery, but it did it to me a second time.  Because I had brought my dad's truck, I didn't have any emergency batteries I could use (in my car, the Double-A batteries are in the little slot in the rear driver's side door where you can put a soda can, if you're ever in need of some), so I did the only thing I could think of to do: I recorded the episode using the Voice Memo function of my phone.

The sound quality will be pretty poor, but hey, have you ever listened to the Rish Outcast?  It falls below the quality of the podcast those on the International Space Station record every month.  However, it is better than Corey Doctorow's podcast quality**, so there's that.

Every single day I type "sit-ups today" and "words today" and it's gotten really old.  If I were smart, I'd just copy and paste those six lines in a template for every post.  Of course, I'd have to know how to do that.

Words Today: 564
Words In June: 18,664

*One review complained that the book went on and on about how what an angry and bitter person Letterman is (and except for NBC not giving him "The Tonight Show," I never saw that), and it reminded me of a book I always see at the thrift store, called "The Roots of Obama's Rage."  And I never really understand that.  Obama was the most laid-back, easy-going president of my lifetime.  I mean, he made Jimmy Carter looked like a fudgin' Dragonball-Z character.

**I keep writing these "Lara and the Witch" stories, and constantly vacillate between depicting Lara Demming as a flawed, average girl (with slightly below-average intelligence) and seeing her as a glorious, beautiful, thoroughly decent person who shines brightly in the darkness around her.  And I'm no expert, but I think maybe you can be both . . . just like, for the last twenty years, I have been both skinny and fat.

***From fifteen years ago, mind you.  Man, I got old real quick.

Abe Vigoda Is (Still) Dead

Yesterday, someone asked the Grim Reaper about actor Abe Vigoda.  Death replied, "Ah yes, I came for him a few years back, and . . ."  Then the Reaper realized his mistake.

Abe Vigoda is dead, for real this time.

The last few years, I have entertained myself (and no one else) by posting on Facebook "Just in case you were wondering, Abe Vigoda is still alive."  It amused me because of a Conan O'Brien sketch where he said he wanted to dedicate the last segment to the late Abe Vigoda.  Then the camera cut to Vigoda sitting in the audience, shouting, "I'm still alive, you jackass!"  Conan pretended to be embarrassed by this, and went on with the show.

Little did I know that this has been a recurring gag and/or problem in Hollywood circles.  You see, in the late Eighties, an article in People magazine reported that Vigoda had died, and it was picked up by all sorts of media, even being covered in "In Memorium" news reports.  Abe Vigoda had to actually issue a statement that he was still alive, and claimed that the erroneous reporting had harmed his career.

Still, time and time again, people would refer to him as "the late Abe Vigoda" or remark on him no longer being with us, to the point where he'd show up on television with the sole purpose of demonstrating he was still alive.  Such as this little moment from NBC's "Night with the Late David Letterman:"

In fact, there was a lil website created (www.abevigoda.com) that only had a photo of the man and the statement "As of (date), Abe Vigoda is still alive."  Shameful or not, endlessly entertaining to me.

So, when I heard that Vigoda actually died today (at age 94), I had to post this.*  I owe him that much.**

Here's a song I also like:

*Today, the website changed.  X's were Photoshopped over his eyes, which I hope someone will do for me someday soon.

**He was also an actor, who played Sal Tessio in THE GODFATHER, and Fish on "Barney Miller.  Who knew?

Goodbye, Unca Dave

Just like "Saturday Night Live," I first started watching David Letterman because of my Uncle John.  "You need to watch this guy," John told me a shockingly long time ago, "he has people on his show, and then he makes fun of them.  He's really, really mean!"

Unlike the first time I watched "SNL" on my own (it was the episode Michael Douglas hosted, with Tina Turner as musical guest), I have no idea when I first watched "Late Night with David Letterman," or who the first guest was.  But once NBC took "Friday Night Videos" out of Dave's slot,* I was able to see his show beyond just the summertime, and took pleasure in watching him mock himself and the show he did in a way that really, really attracted me.

Dave was awkward, he always seemed a little ill-at-ease in front of the famous and the beautiful, and he really let the audience know when a joke didn't work or he blew a punchline.  Dave was approachable, he seemed like a regular guy, he made fun of everybody, but mostly, he made fun of himself.  As I said in my recent essay "Comedy Is Hard," David Letterman is one of my heroes, one of the men I most aspire to be like when I'm doing my show(s), and someone I will miss now that he's gone.

For some stretch in the Eighties, he started to refer to himself as "your Unca Dave," and I've called him that ever since.  That's kind of creepy, really, since I really do have an Uncle David, but it's Letterman I think of when I hear those words.  I don't know if that says something about my own uncle, or just that shows that I have mental issues.

I watched the show on weekends, and all through the summers, but 1989 is the year I always associate with Dave, for some reason.  It was the Year of the Batman to us kids, and I stayed up every night to watch Letterman and I'd actually try to write down the Top Ten lists as Dave was reading them.

Before Jeff and I watch "Agents of SHIELD" each week, we have to suffer through a show that rips off one of Dave's old gags**, where there's a hidden camera and a dude who approaches strangers and does whatever the host tells them to do.  It sounds stupid when I say it now, or when I see it on ABC in 2015, but it was hilarious twenty years ago when Dave would do it. 

"Late Night" was a hallmark of my teenage-hood, and though I watched the show from time to time when it went to CBS (and became "The Late Show"), that show was more expensive, more polished, and more old person respectable, and it never grabbed me quite the same way.  I'd still tune in, from time to time, but it was an almost-religious tradition for me a quarter of a century ago, and that's the Dave I remember most fondly.

Well, "The Late Show" is ending this week, and though I would have liked to start up the tradition again and watched every one of his final shows (as I did with Johnny Carson back in 1992), I'm just too busy or undisciplined or loaded with projects that I ought to work on instead, so it wasn't until tonight that I turned on his show again.

Dave's guests were Oprah Winfrey and Norm MacDonald, and it was the same old Dave, making the same old joke about his terrible "hairpiece" that he made when I was beard-free and about a hundred pounds lighter.  I was enjoying the show, but then, at the end, Norm MacDonald actually got choked up, talking about first seeing Dave at age thirteen (doing stand-up) and what an impression that made on him, wanting to be a stand-up comedian, and cried at the end after telling Dave he loved him.  I too began to cry, and decided I ought to come in here and write a little something about the show.

In 1996, I got this picture taken.  I was too young and/or dumb to realize that if I stood in FRONT of the cardboard cutout of Dave, it might look like we were the same size, but hey, I was young and I was dumb, and I'm still one of those things.

So, since I typed this post, Dave's final show has aired.  It was jam-packed with tributes and clips, and there was never the quiet moment for reflection and tears I sort of expected.  Dave spent most of the show thanking people, including the staff, the band, and even the audience.  Not one for the maudlin, I suppose, the last shot of the night he actually had his back to the camera.

I wish I had been more of a dedicated viewer over the past ten years.  I've sadly only caught the show a handful of times since moving away from Los Angeles (which, in the grand scheme of things, has started to be a less and less significant chunk of my life), but I sure watched a lot of it this week.  YouTube may be a repository for the worthless, banal, wasteful, and unprofessional, but it's a heck of a place to find old clips and, amazingly, entire episodes of the NBC show.  Seeing tons of that stuff, both familiar and new to me, made me feel closer to Dave Letterman, and a bit of a more loyal fan.

 

Like his own hero, Johnny Carson, my guess is that Dave will disappear completely now from the limelight, enabling us to remember him as he was, young and goofy, or middle-aged and crotchety, or getting old but still vibrant.  It will be easy for me to remember him when he was at his best, because that's how I already remember him.  The man made me laugh, made me think, inspired me, and again, made me laugh.  I love you, Unca Dave.  You will be missed.

Rish Outfield

Okay, one more thing: for some weird reason, my favorite sketch on "Late Night" was a little bit where they showed what Dave and Paul (Shaffer) did after a typical episode.  They walk down the hall of 30 Rock, when they see an Amish man struggling with a handcart with a broken wheel.  Dave and Paul fix the wheel, sending the man on his way, but then realize that the son of a bitch took their wallets.  They run after, and shoot the Amish man, Eighties TV cop style.  If I can find that sketch on YouTube, I'll embed it here.

Whoa, it was there (from the end of a "Late Night" anniversary show, and one back-to-back with the beer commercial it was a parody of).  Love the internet.

*According to the internet, this was in 1987.

**That particular turd was entitled "Impractical Jokers."

The Letterman Show at 30

Dang, today marked the thirtieth anniversary of "Late Night" and "The Late Show with David Letterman." 

Unfortunately, I didn't realize it until a) the show was over, and b) two o'clock in the morning. I really would like to go on and on about how much Dave's show thrilled me as a boy, and how much Dave himself has inspired me throughout my life . . . but I'm kind of unprepared, and haven't thought of anything to say. 

Guess it'll have to wait till Letterman dies. Sorry.

Goodbye Larry Bud and Hello Buffy

March 21st, 2007

One brief thing, and one that might not be brief:

First, I heard this morning that Larry "Bud" Melman is no longer with us. He was not a real celebrity, I realize, but neither is Paris Hilton.

He was actually Calvert DeForest, and he used to appear on "Late Night with David Letterman" back in the days where watching Uncle Dave was the highpoint of my day.* 

He was a tiny, bespectacled New Yorker who would interview people (badly), appear as a correspondent, and crack Dave up literally every time he was on the show. He couldn't read cue cards and had a fake evil cackle they had him do that never got old.

I got my buddy Dennis a book ostensibly written by DeForest back in Christmas of '95. I could look up the title if it mattered at all. Melman/DeForest was an odd-looking and odd-voiced little man who never seemed to realise that Dave was making fun of him, and the fact that he was back, week after week, in more and more ridiculous capacities, made him lovable.

He was eighty-five. I was about to say, "And that's a pretty good life, kids." Then I read that he had no next of kin, no real family, and there would be no funeral.

And that's sad. I don't know anything about the man, really, but I could easily go out with much less fanfare.

AND SECOND...

Since "Studio 60" went off the air, and circumstances have put watching horror movies on hold lately, tyranist and I haven't really had an excuse to get together every week. But then, he came up with the twisted concept of "Buffy Wednesdays," in which I'd drive over to his house and watch a couple of episodes of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer."


I was never a fan of "Buffy," for some reason, though you'd have thought I'd eat it up, and had only seen one episode. But I love Joss Whedon's "Firefly" like Joanie loved Chachi, and that made me at least try the show. I rented the first disc of the first season, and never went back. But tyranist has the boxed sets, and we sat down to watch them one episode at a time.

DVD is definitely the best way to watch television, and there's something great about being able to just turn on another episode immediately if momentum or excitement strikes.

I feel the first season was pretty uneven, with a few memorable episodes, but none that made me stand up and cheer. But he kept up the weekly tradition, and we started on the second season.

To me, the quality was night and day from the first year. There's more depth, there's more emotion, there are more laughs, and the characters just keep getting better and better. The crazy thing is, we're more than halfway through the second year, and we haven't hit a bad episode yet. Jeez, even "Battlestar Galactica" had a couple of stinkers (as I am wont to repeat) in its second year.

I wonder if the fans or the critics noticed. Instead of just watching two episodes, we've been watching three, and sometimes four in a night.

I was tempted to talk about each of them, the way my friend blogs about each short story he reads. I could do that, I suppose, and I wish I had blogged about each and every episode we've watched. That would've been entertaining to me, at least. But at this point, I ought to just rave a bit about the four I saw last night. Then, if I find the energy, I can talk about every Buffy Wednesday.

Rish "The Braincell Slayer" Outfield

*As opposed to now, when I'm too busy to watch Dave and there is rarely a highpoint to my day.