Today, I am very grateful to be the featured blogger on SITS , which is a remarkable community of bloggers. The acronym says it all: the Secret is the Support.
Welcome to those who have come here through SITS, and welcome to those who have come here out of habit or just because. I hope you enjoy your visit.
Quite frequently, I read SITS features, and while I miss some on occasion, I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that I’ll be the first to quote Kate Jackson.
Remember her?
Back in the days of Charlie’s Angels on television, she was deemed “the smart one.”
I don’t know where she’s taken her brains in the ensuing decades, but I do recall an interview she had with Johnny Carson.
Remember him?
Back in the days of Charlie’s Angels on television, he was the host of The Tonight Show.
I cannot remember exactly the question that Johnny had posed to Kate, but the fact that her answer stays with me speaks volumes.
She was talking about a friend’s son and how that boy wanted to break into acting. Having listened to the child’s interest, she said to him, “Do you want to get into the business because you want to act or because you have to act?”
That’s it right there.
If there’s something you have to do, you’ll be hard-pressed not to do it. No matter how much other things – things you think you want to do – get in the way.
… When I was a kid, my family had a running joke. (We were the running-joke types, which – in my opinion – can be very entertaining.) And this was the routine: If my sister misbehaved, her punishment would be no television. If I misbehaved, my punishment would be no paper or pens.
Because, for some reason, even before I knew how, I had to write.
I remember taking a pen to a legal pad, and working my way across the lines in what appeared to be cursive verse. I’d dot this and cross that (because I knew that was part of the drill), but the lines were nothing but shapes, curves, and sweeps. There was no writing there because I had not yet learned to write the words one might know beyond kindergarten.
And I certainly didn’t know how to do anything cursive…
I was simply pretending.
I was pretending to write.
To this day, I get great relaxation from doodling. If I can just hold a pen in my hand and put it to paper, I am grounded. Even if I doodle the same word over and over again, there is peace in the process.
Even if I then sit back and look at that repeated word and wonder if it is a word…
Let me have my pens and my paper. I need them.
So yes, smart angel, I have to write.
… I hope new visitors from SITS will stop by the links that I shared with Kat (reiterated below).
I also hope you’ll stop by again. You’ll find a new post every Wednesday, an excerpt from my novel every Saturday, and a rerun every Monday.
I welcome your support, and I look forward, too, to seeing what you have to write!
For more, go to:
The Distance From Our Corners addresses issues so many in the sandwich generation are concerned about.
Approaching Los Angeles is a piece that shares my reflections upon overhearing an in-flight conversation and wanting to butt in.
Too Many Machines is my homage to Dr. Seuss. I wrote it back in 1987, when the fax machine was the newest invention… I stand by my prescience.
Showing posts with label Johnny Carson. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Johnny Carson. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Monday, January 17, 2011
Monday Reruns: Jimmy Fallon is a Happy Man
(original post-date: January 13, 2010)
While I am not a fan of late-night talk show politics (an especially hot issue these days), I’ve always been a fan of the programming. And my earliest experience on this score was watching The Dick Cavett Show. Now, I’ve got to admit, if I saw a tape of that program today, I would probably be a little put off by the relentlessly bookish tone of the dialogue. But, at the time of my appreciating it – I’m guessing I was ten or so – I loved the repartee between the host and his guests. I just loved it.
I should probably explain (in case it isn’t remarkably obvious) that my parents were always rather lenient regarding my bedtime -- particularly on Fridays and Saturdays. And why shouldn’t they have been? It’s not like I was outside stealing hubcaps or smoking crack. I was inside. I was downstairs. I was watching Dick Cavett, for God’s sake.
But in my junior high years, something changed in me, and that’s when my parents started worrying. That’s when I started watching Johnny Carson. I can’t remember the moment when I switched allegiances, but the lure was strong. Maybe it was the show-biz nature of his program. Maybe it was the lack of outright, intellectual sparring. Maybe it was Johnny’s sexy charm. Regardless of the reason, I had changed teams, and this made my parents curious. One night, my father parlayed that curiosity into joining me for the full ninety minutes of The Tonight Show.
I remember turning to Dad throughout the program, smiling and wondering if he would smile too.
But as he sat there, Dad didn’t emote.
When the show was over, though, he did offer one thought as he stood and walked away. He told me that he really loved Ed McMahon.
Right, Dad, I thought, rolling my eyes.
And just as I knew my father was kidding, I also knew that he was expressing a truth. He didn’t love Ed McMahon. He just envied him. He envied the man who could make such a bankroll simply by laughing at his boss night after night.
Over the years, I continued to watch Johnny (remaining indifferent to Ed). And for many of those years, Johnny was followed by Letterman, whom I also grew to love. Classics, both. Their sardonic, often deadpan approaches defined late-night television for me. The dry delivery, the laid-back take – that was what I had come to expect at the end of my day.
When Johnny left, Dave was still there, so the attitude-torch remained lit. From time to time, I’d check in with Conan or Craig, but I could never embrace their higher registers. I wanted a bass, not a tenor. For me, late-night talk had a formula that worked. Why mess with it?
Enter Jimmy Fallon.
When his show debuted last March, I was curious to see what this SNL alum would do with Conan’s old spot on NBC. So, after Letterman, I switched channels and watched.
During the first week or so, I sensed a discomfort, particularly during the opening monologue. He didn’t seem up to the routine of a typical late-night talk show host. But… I kept watching, and as the weeks and months unfolded, Jimmy Fallon established his own routine.
And now? I am beyond impressed. With less than a year under his talk-show belt, Jimmy Fallon has done something I would never have thought imaginable in all my years of following Dick, Johnny, and Dave. Jimmy Fallon has made late-night talk not just a comic place, but a genuinely happy place.
The minute he steps through those curtains, he is more than comfortable and competent. He is – or seems to be – filled with joy. And that joy then gets spread – to the band (Roots; joyful in their own right); to his announcer, Higgins (Lydia’s non-smoking half); to his studio audience; to his guests; and to folks like me, who are relaxing on couches or in beds across America.
Late-night happy.
A new concept.
I, for one, have never needed it more.
***
I cannot resist adding a little 2-part 2011 postscript to this rerun:
(1) The Rolling Stone had the good sense to publish a cover story about Jimmy Fallon this month. That article, "The Eternal Sunshine of Jimmy Fallon," indicates that my observations from a year ago are not unique.
(2) And this, from the menopause files: a few weeks ago, I had a dream -- Jimmy Fallon and I were in bed together. ...He was wearing his suit.
While I am not a fan of late-night talk show politics (an especially hot issue these days), I’ve always been a fan of the programming. And my earliest experience on this score was watching The Dick Cavett Show. Now, I’ve got to admit, if I saw a tape of that program today, I would probably be a little put off by the relentlessly bookish tone of the dialogue. But, at the time of my appreciating it – I’m guessing I was ten or so – I loved the repartee between the host and his guests. I just loved it.
I should probably explain (in case it isn’t remarkably obvious) that my parents were always rather lenient regarding my bedtime -- particularly on Fridays and Saturdays. And why shouldn’t they have been? It’s not like I was outside stealing hubcaps or smoking crack. I was inside. I was downstairs. I was watching Dick Cavett, for God’s sake.
But in my junior high years, something changed in me, and that’s when my parents started worrying. That’s when I started watching Johnny Carson. I can’t remember the moment when I switched allegiances, but the lure was strong. Maybe it was the show-biz nature of his program. Maybe it was the lack of outright, intellectual sparring. Maybe it was Johnny’s sexy charm. Regardless of the reason, I had changed teams, and this made my parents curious. One night, my father parlayed that curiosity into joining me for the full ninety minutes of The Tonight Show.
I remember turning to Dad throughout the program, smiling and wondering if he would smile too.
But as he sat there, Dad didn’t emote.
When the show was over, though, he did offer one thought as he stood and walked away. He told me that he really loved Ed McMahon.
Right, Dad, I thought, rolling my eyes.
And just as I knew my father was kidding, I also knew that he was expressing a truth. He didn’t love Ed McMahon. He just envied him. He envied the man who could make such a bankroll simply by laughing at his boss night after night.
Over the years, I continued to watch Johnny (remaining indifferent to Ed). And for many of those years, Johnny was followed by Letterman, whom I also grew to love. Classics, both. Their sardonic, often deadpan approaches defined late-night television for me. The dry delivery, the laid-back take – that was what I had come to expect at the end of my day.
When Johnny left, Dave was still there, so the attitude-torch remained lit. From time to time, I’d check in with Conan or Craig, but I could never embrace their higher registers. I wanted a bass, not a tenor. For me, late-night talk had a formula that worked. Why mess with it?
Enter Jimmy Fallon.
When his show debuted last March, I was curious to see what this SNL alum would do with Conan’s old spot on NBC. So, after Letterman, I switched channels and watched.
During the first week or so, I sensed a discomfort, particularly during the opening monologue. He didn’t seem up to the routine of a typical late-night talk show host. But… I kept watching, and as the weeks and months unfolded, Jimmy Fallon established his own routine.
And now? I am beyond impressed. With less than a year under his talk-show belt, Jimmy Fallon has done something I would never have thought imaginable in all my years of following Dick, Johnny, and Dave. Jimmy Fallon has made late-night talk not just a comic place, but a genuinely happy place.
The minute he steps through those curtains, he is more than comfortable and competent. He is – or seems to be – filled with joy. And that joy then gets spread – to the band (Roots; joyful in their own right); to his announcer, Higgins (Lydia’s non-smoking half); to his studio audience; to his guests; and to folks like me, who are relaxing on couches or in beds across America.
Late-night happy.
A new concept.
I, for one, have never needed it more.
***
I cannot resist adding a little 2-part 2011 postscript to this rerun:
(1) The Rolling Stone had the good sense to publish a cover story about Jimmy Fallon this month. That article, "The Eternal Sunshine of Jimmy Fallon," indicates that my observations from a year ago are not unique.
(2) And this, from the menopause files: a few weeks ago, I had a dream -- Jimmy Fallon and I were in bed together. ...He was wearing his suit.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Jimmy Fallon is a Happy Man
While I am not a fan of late-night talk show politics (an especially hot issue these days), I’ve always been a fan of the programming. And my earliest experience on this score was watching The Dick Cavett Show. Now, I’ve got to admit, if I saw a tape of that program today, I would probably be a little put off by the relentlessly bookish tone of the dialogue. But, at the time of my appreciating it – I’m guessing I was ten or so – I loved the repartee between the host and his guests. I just loved it.
I should probably explain (in case it isn’t remarkably obvious) that my parents were always rather lenient regarding my bedtime -- particularly on Fridays and Saturdays. And why shouldn’t they have been? It’s not like I was outside stealing hubcaps or smoking crack. I was inside. I was downstairs. I was watching Dick Cavett, for God’s sake.
But in my junior high years, something changed in me, and that’s when my parents started worrying. That’s when I started watching Johnny Carson. I can’t remember the moment when I switched allegiances, but the lure was strong. Maybe it was the show-biz nature of his program. Maybe it was the lack of outright, intellectual sparring. Maybe it was Johnny’s sexy charm. Regardless of the reason, I had changed teams, and this made my parents curious. One night, my father parlayed that curiosity into joining me for the full ninety minutes of The Tonight Show.
I remember turning to Dad throughout the program, smiling and wondering if he would smile too.
But as he sat there, Dad didn’t emote.
When the show was over, though, he did offer one thought as he stood and walked away. He told me that he really loved Ed McMahon.
Right, Dad, I thought, rolling my eyes.
And just as I knew my father was kidding, I also knew that he was expressing a truth. He didn’t love Ed McMahon. He just envied him. He envied the man who could make such a bankroll simply by laughing at his boss night after night.
Over the years, I continued to watch Johnny (remaining indifferent to Ed). And for many of those years, Johnny was followed by Letterman, whom I also grew to love. Classics, both. Their sardonic, often deadpan approaches defined late-night television for me. The dry delivery, the laid-back take – that was what I had come to expect at the end of my day.
When Johnny left, Dave was still there, so the attitude-torch remained lit. From time to time, I’d check in with Conan or Craig, but I could never embrace their higher registers. I wanted a bass, not a tenor. For me, late-night talk had a formula that worked. Why mess with it?
Enter Jimmy Fallon.
When his show debuted last March, I was curious to see what this SNL alum would do with Conan’s old spot on NBC. So, after Letterman, I switched channels and watched.
During the first week or so, I sensed a discomfort, particularly during the opening monologue. He didn’t seem up to the routine of a typical late-night talk show host. But… I kept watching, and as the weeks and months unfolded, Jimmy Fallon established his own routine.
And now? I am beyond impressed. With less than a year under his talk-show belt, Jimmy Fallon has done something I would never have thought imaginable in all my years of following Dick, Johnny, and Dave. Jimmy Fallon has made late-night talk not just a comic place, but a genuinely happy place.
The minute he steps through those curtains, he is more than comfortable and competent. He is – or seems to be – filled with joy. And that joy then gets spread – to the band (Roots; joyful in their own right); to his announcer, Higgins (Lydia’s non-smoking half); to his studio audience; to his guests; and to folks like me, who are relaxing on couches or in beds across America.
Late-night happy.
A new concept.
I, for one, have never needed it more.
I should probably explain (in case it isn’t remarkably obvious) that my parents were always rather lenient regarding my bedtime -- particularly on Fridays and Saturdays. And why shouldn’t they have been? It’s not like I was outside stealing hubcaps or smoking crack. I was inside. I was downstairs. I was watching Dick Cavett, for God’s sake.
But in my junior high years, something changed in me, and that’s when my parents started worrying. That’s when I started watching Johnny Carson. I can’t remember the moment when I switched allegiances, but the lure was strong. Maybe it was the show-biz nature of his program. Maybe it was the lack of outright, intellectual sparring. Maybe it was Johnny’s sexy charm. Regardless of the reason, I had changed teams, and this made my parents curious. One night, my father parlayed that curiosity into joining me for the full ninety minutes of The Tonight Show.
I remember turning to Dad throughout the program, smiling and wondering if he would smile too.
But as he sat there, Dad didn’t emote.
When the show was over, though, he did offer one thought as he stood and walked away. He told me that he really loved Ed McMahon.
Right, Dad, I thought, rolling my eyes.
And just as I knew my father was kidding, I also knew that he was expressing a truth. He didn’t love Ed McMahon. He just envied him. He envied the man who could make such a bankroll simply by laughing at his boss night after night.
Over the years, I continued to watch Johnny (remaining indifferent to Ed). And for many of those years, Johnny was followed by Letterman, whom I also grew to love. Classics, both. Their sardonic, often deadpan approaches defined late-night television for me. The dry delivery, the laid-back take – that was what I had come to expect at the end of my day.
When Johnny left, Dave was still there, so the attitude-torch remained lit. From time to time, I’d check in with Conan or Craig, but I could never embrace their higher registers. I wanted a bass, not a tenor. For me, late-night talk had a formula that worked. Why mess with it?
Enter Jimmy Fallon.
When his show debuted last March, I was curious to see what this SNL alum would do with Conan’s old spot on NBC. So, after Letterman, I switched channels and watched.
During the first week or so, I sensed a discomfort, particularly during the opening monologue. He didn’t seem up to the routine of a typical late-night talk show host. But… I kept watching, and as the weeks and months unfolded, Jimmy Fallon established his own routine.
And now? I am beyond impressed. With less than a year under his talk-show belt, Jimmy Fallon has done something I would never have thought imaginable in all my years of following Dick, Johnny, and Dave. Jimmy Fallon has made late-night talk not just a comic place, but a genuinely happy place.
The minute he steps through those curtains, he is more than comfortable and competent. He is – or seems to be – filled with joy. And that joy then gets spread – to the band (Roots; joyful in their own right); to his announcer, Higgins (Lydia’s non-smoking half); to his studio audience; to his guests; and to folks like me, who are relaxing on couches or in beds across America.
Late-night happy.
A new concept.
I, for one, have never needed it more.
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