Doll Play

Claim that any or all art forms have stopped evolving, or have simply died, and dozens of people will say you're full of shit -- which you may well be. I certainly don't discount that possibility in my case. There's plenty of creative expression that I've not seen or am completely ignorant of, and many of you, responding to my "Post-Meta-Feta" post, have been kind enough to school my aging ass on what you consider to be cutting, or at least interesting, musical and comedic efforts. I'm still wading through the stuff you Sonsters have forwarded (as more flows in), so it'll be a few more days before I write a follow-up to my original post. Until that glorious moment, allow me to step back a bit and give this topic a more personal context.

The other day, while scrolling about, I came across some 15-year-old kid's complaint that he has no contemporary musical influences to inspire him; that everything is by-the-numbers safe and ready for mass consumption. The kid wished that he was born in the '60s so that he could've experienced the original punk and new wave bands in real time, and not as someone else's nostalgia. While it may seem a dopey thing to wish for, I do feel for the kid (though his sentence structure is nearly non-existent, and no, not in a good, pomo way), for that was a great time, and it left an indelible mark on me, as I've written here before. One of the old bands that the kid enjoys is the New York Dolls, who were the precursors to, and in many ways the main influence on, punk itself. And while I was 13-14-years-old when the Dolls were at their hottest, I didn't know they existed until years later. Such was life in early-70s suburban Indianapolis. So, in a sense, I'm just like that kid, looking back to a sound and visual style that in its day was exciting, off-putting to stiffs, and most importantly, vital. Check out this clip of the Dolls in their prime:



For a kid like me who tried his best to dress like Ziggy Stardust, the Dolls would have been heaven. David Johannsen's Marilyn Monroe jacket combined with Johnny Thunders' hair would have made for compelling school attire, assuming I could approximate it and not be censured by the principal and faculty, as I sometimes was when wearing feather necklaces and sparkling eye liner (and don't think that studying karate at the same time didn't hurt when encountering confused, queer-phobic jocks and their minions). Had I been aware of the Dolls at that age, I would've gone apeshit for them. Musically, they weren't terribly innovative, but they had passion, verve, a theatrical flair, and a who-gives-a-fuck gender bending attitude. Bands like the Dolls were synonymous with freedom, simply because back then, there weren't that many open examples of men performing and dressing like them (Bowie excepted, of course). So I understand why that kid latches on to the Dolls, given what's on offer these days. I'd probably do the same were I him -- ah, hell, who am I kidding? I do latch on to the Dolls just as passionately as he. What's not to love?

As many of you know, a new New York Dolls is touring the world with an album of fresh material behind them. Here's Johannsen along with guitarist Sylvain Sylvain promoting "One Day It Will Please Us To Remember Even This" on a British talk show from last year. The song "Dance Like A Monkey," which appears at the end of the clip, isn't that bad, actually. I'll take an older David Johannsen over an older Mick Jagger any day. Sometimes, we aging fucks can still bring it, if only a step or two slower.

Blame Me!

You're an up-and-coming, young liberal blogger, looking to ply your talents for your favorite Democratic politician. You're filled with political energy and bursting with opinions, just waiting for that special candidate to bring you aboard the Victory Express. Problem is, you've left a trail of angry, critical attacks on your many political opponents, some of whom have media access and demented followers who can make your life a living hell. It's the last thing a Democrat running for office wants to be associated with, and so your dreams are shattered before they've even taken flight.

Sound familiar? Well, it no longer has to end this way, not when you can simply Blame Me!

Hi, I'm Dennis Perrin from Red State Son. You may know me from my many assaults on liberal bloggers and the Democratic Party as a whole. While I maintain that no serious, lasting change can come from voting for the lesser of two evils, I still like to help where I can, and the recent John Edwards/blogger controversy offers just such an opportunity.

Look -- there's no way in hell that a serious Democratic campaign is going to hire the likes of me. Not only is my contempt for this corrupt, archaic political system open for all to see, my public opinions have bordered on slander and oftentimes read like a lunatic's screams. When it comes to mainstream political discussion, I'm toxic, damaged goods. But that doesn't mean you have to suffer the same marginalization. So instead of quitting a campaign under pressure, why not Blame Me! for your previous outbursts!

For an affordable, privately-negotiated fee, I'll allow you to insert my name in your blog archives, making me the source of any or all hostile opinions you may have typed in the heat of the moment. When your political enemies are searching for something that can embarrass your candidate, instead of finding this:

"The crypto-fascist Christers are trying to shove their blood-stained crucifix up our collective ass."

They'll see this:

"'The crypto-fascist Christers are trying to shove their blood-stained crucifix up our collective ass,' said Dennis Perrin, discussing the GOP's 2008 campaign strategy."

It's just that simple! With a few clicks of the keyboard, I become the target of reactionary ire while you are merely "quoting" me! And there's no need to worry or feel guilty about any harsh response I might inspire -- I have years of experience dealing with rightwing maniacs and their tortured, projected psyches. Nothing they say about me bothers me in the least. They're fucking crazy! I even briefly tangled with Bill Donahue back in the day, and let me tell you, that guy is a sad, sorry motherfucker. Think what spending countless years defending a sick, twisted institution like the Catholic Church does to a person's mind, then multiply it by 20. That's where Bill Donahue's at. Mix in some Jew-phobia and an obsession with queers that practically kicks down the closet door, and you get a jabbering head-case who always seems to find a working camera or microphone. But that's no longer your concern!

"I wrote some pretty harsh things about Republicans and conservative Christians on my popular blog. Then one day, someone from Sen. Hillary Clinton's campaign offered me a job overseeing her online outreach. It was a dream come true, but I worried that my blog archives would come back to haunt me. Thanks to Dennis Perrin, all of my crude insults, casual libels, character defamations, and gutter-level slurs instantly became his! I never knew how powerful a few quotation marks could be! By blaming Dennis, I can focus all of my energy on Sen. Clinton's plan to tighten the corporate stranglehold on our country while finding new ways to wage war in the Middle East!"

Jill Smith (not her real name)

"I was all set to move to North Carolina to help John Edwards become the next President of the United States, when my archived attacks on 'pro-life' nutjobs and patriarchal fascists were spread all over the media, derailing my plans and filling my in-box with semi-literate screeds against my looks and sexuality. If only I could have blamed Dennis Perrin for my old opinions, I might very well still be in the thick of the '08 campaign. If there is a 'next time,' you can bet that I'll Blame Dennis!"

Amanda Marcotte

It may be too late for Amanda, but it's the right time for you. Campaign season is heating up, so don't take any chances -- Blame Me today!

Talking "Fridays" With Tom Kramer

As many of you know, I'm a big fan of the old ABC sketch comedy show "Fridays." I've posted several takes about the show and whatever clips I could find, but there's much more to be written and said about that now largely forgotten effort.

Recently, a friend in LA put me in touch with Tom Kramer, who directed the short films on "Fridays", as well as the filmed commercial and TV parodies. One of my favorite Tom Kramer filmed bits was "Assassin M.D.," about a sniper who shoots people, then rushes down to the street to medically treat them. It was written by Rod Ash and Mark Curtis, the latter of whom died of cancer in 2004. Tom shot an hour-long video about Mark Curtis' final months called "50 Things To Do Before I Die". In it, Tom and Mark go to a Neil Young concert, which they hate, travel to Vegas, meet up with some of Mark's closest high school friends (including former writing partner Rod Ash), go on a cruise, and at one point, reunite with several old "Fridays" writers, among them Larry David and Larry Charles, as well as Jack Burns, Bruce Kirschbaum, and Bruce Mahler.

Watching that assembled talent talking about their time on the show made me want to do a bigger project about "Fridays", either written or videotaped. Even though it used the same format as "Saturday Night Live", "Fridays" had its own flavor, and in many ways remains unique among the many sketch shows that have since come and gone. And of course it helped prepare the creative ground for "Seinfeld" and "Curb Your Enthusiasm". So I asked Tom if I could interview him about his time on the show, and he graciously made time to do so. Consider this the first step toward realizing that larger project.

DP: Could you tell us a bit about your background and upbringing? When did you decide to become a filmmaker?

Tom Kramer: I was a good Catholic kid from a dry cleaner family in St. Louis, MO. I started making films in grade school, first by editing home movies to music, then by making my own scripted films.

DP: Which came first for you -- film or comedy?

TK: Actually, I liked making dramatic films until I showed one before a large crowd at Loyola University in New Orleans, and everyone laughed. I then realized I had an accidental knack for comedy.

DP: Tell us about how you got involved with "Fridays". What did the producers John Moffitt and Bill Lee tell you about the project, and how did they know of your work?

TK: I was a freshman at Loyola when Dick Clark did a special in New Orleans and hired some of us students as runners. I took the next Fall off from college to work as a runner on an NBC series, "Dick Clark's Live Wednesday" in Burbank. It was a dream come true, but the show got cancelled. So I went back to college the next Spring and made a documentary film parody in film class. The summer after my sophomore year I made a drastic decision and dropped out of college. I drove back to Hollywood and gave a copy of my film to Bill Lee and John Moffitt, who I met doing the Dick Clark series. I didn't know that they were just putting together a pilot for ABC to be called "Fridays". I got a call two days later telling me that they wanted to use the film in the pilot. I was so excited, I couldn't sit down. That film, "Nauseating Spasms," aired on Episode 9 of "Fridays", I think.

DP: What was planning the show like?

TK: We'd meet on Sunday to pitch our sketches and get assignments for the week. Blocking and rehearsals would go on during the week with a dress rehearsal and air on Friday. I would write sketches as well, but mostly concentrated on films, which I would pitch on Sunday. Monday would be casting and location scouting, Tuesday or Wednesday shooting, Thursday editing, Friday sound mixing and then air on Friday evening. I would also direct anything else on the show that needed to be shot on location.

DP: Early in its run, "Fridays" was slammed by critics and other comics as a rip-off of "Saturday Night Live". Did any of this criticism bother you guys or make you write in a different way?

TK: We were so happy for the opportunity that we didn't care. Besides, it was a "rip-off" of "SNL" and we tried to acknowledge that and have fun with it.

DP: What were your initial impressions of the cast?

TK: I was most impressed with John Roarke, because of his impressions, and Mark Blankfield's incredible physical comedy.



DP: What were your initial impressions of the writers?

TK: Genius.

DP: What was it like being one of the youngest people on staff?

TK: I was very impressionable, but I think I was also allowed time to grow because of my age. They really made a big deal out of it when introducing my films.

DP: That's true. I recently watched the parody of "A Chorus Line" you did with Billy Crystal, and he praised you to the heavens. What was your favorite piece?

TK: "Cons On Ice" was my favorite, about a new convict in prison who has to prove himself on the prison ice rink.

DP: In the early stages of the show, comedy veteran Jack Burns served as supervising producer, head writer, and on-air announcer. He certainly brought a lot of experience to "Fridays", having worked at Second City in the 1960s, and in comedy teams with George Carlin and Avery Schreiber. Tell us how Jack Burns helped to pull the show together.

TK: Jack staged and blocked the sketches, and worked a lot with the cast. He also inspired the edginess of the show with what he always referred to as "that 'Fridays' edge."

DP: At a certain point in the show's run, he seemed to just disappear.

TK: Jack stepped aside to spend more time working with the cast in staging the sketches. He recognized the talents of the writers he helped hire and encouraged all of us to have more say in the show. He was a big "protector" of me as well, being the "young filmmaker," and to this day is a great friend and Hollywood "father figure" of mine. He did have some problems [with other staffers] but never with me. I remember when he left the show about two-thirds of the way in. I'm not exactly sure whose decision it was at the time. But things were pretty crazy back then. You can only imagine.

DP: One part of "that 'Fridays' edge" was of course the show's drug humor. It's no secret that various chemicals were ingested on "Fridays", but what was the comedic thinking behind some of the drug sketches like the "Rasta Gourmet," the pill-popping Pharmacist, and the dope smoking 3 Stooges?

TK: "Fridays" aired during possibly the last time in America that drugs were at all acceptable. It was the early-80s, and drugs were open and everywhere in Hollywood. Some of the writers were veterans of the 60s drug culture, so drug humor, like that of Cheech and Chong, was popular. I personally had very little experience with drugs at the time and didn't seem to get the humor like most others. I guess I was very naive. I resisted [using drugs] at first, but eventually got pulled in and struggled for years to get sober. By the way, not everyone [on the show] did drugs.



DP: "Fridays" was also known for being very political -- much more political than "SNL" ever dared to be. You guys bashed the religious right at a time when most shows and networks feared people like Jerry Falwell. You never let up on the Reagan administration, and perhaps boldest of all, the staff wrote and performed hard core material about US involvement in El Salvador, setting sketches in refugee camps, torture centers, and the like. What was the general political bent of the writers and cast? Where there any political arguments or disagreements?

TK: Most of the writers and cast were antiwar and liberal in their views, so I don't remember many arguments on that. Reagan being in office became great fodder for humor. John Roarke, in make-up, did a hilarious Reagan. Draft registration was just reinstated and I was turning 21, so I did several antiwar films. One I remember was the "Draft Lottery Sweepstakes," which was a parody of the Publisher's Clearinghouse commercials, only here the grand prize was a trip to Afghanistan.

DP: You were about a quarter century ahead of the geopolitical curve on that one, though back then, we were on Osama Bin Laden's side against the Soviets.

TK: As far as that anti-draft film goes, my main political point of view was pacifism. I was a member of "The Fellowship of Reconciliation." It wasn't practical, real world thinking. I was just against war and killing in general except maybe in active self defense. I think how war comes full circle and how America sometimes changes sides depending on who has the oil or whatever is typical of politics. I'm still antiwar but still not quite as knowledgeable or active as everyone was back during "Fridays".

DP: What were the audiences like during air? Any incidents?

TK: The audiences were great and enthusiastic, but the only problem, if you want to call it that, is that they were sometimes too loud so that the sketches couldn't be heard.

DP: Give us a sense of what it was like during the infamous Andy Kaufman week in early '81.

TK: Andy lived in character most of the time. The famous on-air fight was kept secret and I only found out about it a few minutes before it happened. It was arranged by Andy and Jack Burns. The following show [hosted by Billy Crystal], Andy came on to apologize and feigned a nervous breakdown. He hosted the first show of the next season as a born again Christian, and a lot of people believed him.



TK: Andy told some of the writers that his ultimate plan was to fake his death. A few years later [1984], I was almost killed in a car wreck in St. Louis. I was in traction in my bed, and I remember watching the news that Andy Kaufman was dead. Since I was seriously near death myself, I actually resented this and called the news station to tell them not to fall for the joke. They were going to send a news crew to my hospital bed to interview me; but then I talked to Mark Blankfield, who had the same manager as Andy, and he confirmed it. Andy had died.

DP: When did you guys get the sense that the show might be doomed?

TK: After the Iranian hostage crisis, Ted Koppel started "Nightline", which pushed us back a half hour, which hurt our ratings. That was the beginning of the end.

DP: We all know the names Larry David and Michael Richards. Who are some of the people, writers or cast, we should also remember?

TK: You should remember Mark Blankfield for sure, a reincarnation of Buster Keaton. Also, Larry Charles, who directed "Borat" and "Curb Your Enthusiasm", was on the writing staff. I'm just amazed that you remember the show at all!

DP: I loved "Fridays". Like I said, it's the "forgotten" sketch show from that pre-comedy boom period. It should be remembered.

TK: People ask me all the time what "Fridays" was like. It was the most intense experience I could imagine, my dream gig. I had the opportunity to enjoy the adrenaline of a live show with a live audience, but at the same time, have the creative freedom and control to write, produce and direct my own short films each week, starring people I idolized, including Oscar winners, all before I was legally old enough to drink. This was right before cable hit, so our audience was enormous.

DP: At one point, larger than "SNL's".

TK: I knew how lucky I was. I remember going off alone at times and crying in gratitude. But still, it spoiled me rotten and didn't prepare me at all for how Hollywood worked. It took many years of humbling experiences to rebuild a life and career. Between then and now I've fought with addictions, serious accidents and homelessness. I got sober and made a transition into making reality and hidden camera shows. When I got word that Larry David was offering me a chance to direct an episode of "Curb" [for the upcoming season], I screamed and then cried again. The first day on the set, I asked Larry if he remembered the first film I directed him in. He didn't hesitate: "Underwear Beach." He then listed several more of his favorite "Tom Kramer Films." That was an honor.

DP: Finally, how would you define the legacy of "Fridays"?

TK: A once in a lifetime opportunity, and totally exhausting!

A Sincere Farewell

A moment of silence for Molly Ivins, who died yesterday of cancer at 62.

I believe it was Gore Vidal who said, "Of the dead, speak only the truth." So I must admit that I was not the biggest Molly Ivins fan around -- not that I disagreed with her or found her work to be seriously lacking in any way. It just seemed to me that she was trying to reach the fence sitters and assorted wavering types, hoping to show them that being on the left was not a bad or frightening thing. Her natural, at times caustic, sense of humor definitely helped. But I never felt that she was writing for the likes of me. Which is fine. The struggle operates at all levels. I will say that I admired her warm and humane demeanor. She remembered what it's all supposedly about while grunts like me cursed humanity and threw garbage on the stage. Roses at her feet for that.

The other thing worth noting about Ivins is how she influenced and helped to wake up younger writers and activists. A lefty Texan of my acquaintance told me that Ivins seemed like a Marxist in that reddest of red states, and that her example was not only needed, it was cherished. Coming from a pretty rightwing state myself, I can definitely understand that (Hoosiers of my generation had Kurt Vonnegut, who, while not overtly political, was still a creative, humanist example to admire). That Ivins served as a nail in reactionary hides is to be remembered and celebrated. I only wish that her style of writing was more in evidence among libloggers. Most of them could use a generous injection of Ivins.

Farewell, Molly. You've been spared the madness and misery that is hurtling our way. The fight continues in our battered hands.

Sonshine Day!

The Son has been a sour lad of late, partly because of the usual political bullshit, and partly because I've spent the week fighting off some low-level virus, flu, exhaustion, whatever it was, plus performing blue collar labor on top of it.

Blarghhh.

But today, I feel so much better, thank you, and I don't want to waste this good feeling on harsh opinions. Instead, the Son is all about the love, the sharing, the smiling in the face of hatred, fear, and contempt, the daisy in life's rifle barrel.



The boy's been writing up a storm of late -- mysteries, historical essays, and most impressively, poems. Here's one he composed this week.

Haunted Mansion

The neighbors, a ghost in his mansion.
I know it!
The dogs are Zombies!
The cats are vampires!
The tv's a mummy!
The books are ghosts!
The statues are alive!
The birds are skeletons!
I must be brave!
So I can borrow a cup of coffee.

Of all of the boy's creative work of this period, the above is definitely a keeper.

Upon reading this, I was reminded of a Michael O'Donoghue poem that appeared in the Evergreen Review in 1965.

The Untimely Demise of Madame X
(or)
"Shot in Her Box at the Opera"
. . .to Benjamin Peret, 1928.

My airplane is burning.
My formal gardens cross their legs.
Negroes have eaten up my sister.

My mother have been revoked.
Gypsies stole my father,
Repainted him,
And sold him across the border.

My wife is a sailor.

My wolves are housebroken.
My cat is a dog.
The goldfish drowned.

Emery dust in my monorail.

My arsenal is doves.
My caprice is annotated.
The bathtub tried to bite me
And did.

Hunchbacks gave me money.

My screams are dead snowflakes
Falling on dead people
Making them feel all warm and loved.

While the boy (thankfully) lacks O'D's fascination with death, there are similarities in cadence and image. And the boy's only 10. O'D was in his mid-20s when he wrote the above. I like the kid's artistic chances.

The wife showed me the following clip this morning, which helped to sharpen my Sonny outlook:



But for me, few could top Bugaloo Caroline Ellis, who made many of my Saturday mornings most delightful.



Have a happy weekend, Sonsters! And remember: take only what you need, and know your dealer.

Plane As Day

On Tuesday afternoon, while throwing around the boy's metal and canvas gliding plane in the nearby park, an engine roar came out of the sky, and right above us was a large passenger jet no more than a few hundred feet in the air.

"That's not right," I said aloud.

"What's the matter Dad?"

"That plane's way too low. I wonder if it has mechanical problems. There's not an airport anywhere near here."

"Are there people on that plane"

"I suppose so."

"Well, I hope they're safe."

The jet lumbered on, staying at the same altitude, moving over a row of distant trees. Then, it was gone.

Another father with two young kids just entered the park. I asked him if he saw what we saw.

"Yeah," he said, still staring at the tree line where the plane had disappeared. "I hope it doesn't crash."

For a moment, we all stood there, silent, waiting to hear an awful noise, or see black billowing smoke rise in the bright blue. Nothing.

"Let's go home and check this out," I said to the boy, and we exited the park, leaving the other dad staring off in the distance as his children stared at him.

Within a few minutes, we were back in the house. I checked the local sports radio station, which is located down the road. All I heard was extensive moaning about Michigan's embarrassing performance in the Rose Bowl. Not a word about an errant plane. Checked the Web. Still nothing. Went in the front room and turned on CNN. No reports about any plane making an emergency landing in Ann Arbor. I left the TV on and looked out the window. All perfectly peaceful and calm. A jogger ran by. Two old ladies walked a yappy little dog. The boy was getting upset. He feared that all those people on that plane were in danger. His eyes welled up, and I told him not to worry, since we heard no noise or saw any smoke. I flipped through the cable news channels and caught an image of a plane landing at an airport.

"Hey, Dad," the boy said. "That looks like that plane!"

It was Air Force One arriving at Grand Rapids, the final stop for Gerald Ford.

"Yeah, it does look similar," I replied, "but there's no way that's the same plane. How could it get to Grand Rapids so fast?"

There's a reason why I don't pull a paycheck for making air speed estimations, for yes, Sonsters, you guessed it -- that was indeed the very same plane.

Seems that Air Force One made a pass over Michigan Stadium, where Ford played football, and which is five minutes from our house. The boy and I were witnesses to Ford's last visit to his old stomping grounds. And where Air Force One wants to go, it apparently goes, regardless of altitude. It was quite a sight, watching that big ass jet fly just over our heads. Had I only known beforehand. I would've waved to Betty Ford, one of the few remaining liberal Republican women, for her support of the ERA if nothing else. Beats the mass murder her husband bankrolled. A true "better half" in every way.

From DVDs to IEDs

The teen and I are doing our seasonal, consumerist duty at Best Buy, when to our right, in the DVD section, stand two tall Marines over a smaller teen boy. Back and forth, a well-rehearsed duo, the queries fly -- How old are you? What are your plans after high school? What do you want out of life? Do you want to be successful and respected?

The kid is pretty relaxed. Short, spiky jet black hair. Large silver earring in his right lobe. He keeps browsing the comedies as the Marines make their pitch: The USMC can pay for half of his college tuition; plus, if he enlists now, there may be a large signing bonus. The kid says that he doesn't want to go to Iraq. The Marines tell him that he probably won't go there. The kid smiles, shakes his head, and gently but adamantly says he's not interested. The Marines retreat, split up, and hunt for more possible fodder perusing CDs and cell phones.

"Couldn't help overhear," I say to the kid. "Nice job. You handled that well."

"Thanks." He pauses. "A buddy of mine joined the Marines. I thought about it, but I don't want to go to Iraq."

"And that's where you'd go. Those guys were lying. They want more troops over there."

"I know."

"Well, anyway. Take it easy. Have a nice Christmas."

"You too."

He checks out the teen in an approving way, then heads to the registers, DVDs in hand.

Later, at home, this little scene keeps bugging me. Did the Marines simply enter Best Buy and start hitting on teens without any clearance from the store? Or is Best Buy signed up for the war effort, offering its young customers to the military? I phone the store, and after pushing 28 numbers, finally get a human voice, a woman who works in the TV section.

"Hi. Got a question about in-store solicitation."

"Yes, sir?"

"I was in your store earlier, spending money, and I noticed two Marine recruiters trying to get your teen customers to enlist. What is Best Buy's policy on that?"

"I don't know if we have a policy on that."

"You mean, if I came into your store with a box full of bibles and started selling them to your customers, you wouldn't do anything?"

"Well, sir, we have a strict policy against outside solicitation."

"But aren't the Marines selling something?"

"I don't understand."

"Those Marines were selling the Iraq war."

"Were they?"

"They need bodies to send to the Middle East. Is it Best Buy's policy to provide these bodies?"

"I think, sir, that those Marines were selling service to our country."

"Which means sending kids to Iraq."

"I suppose it does."

"Let me get this straight. I cannot sell the purported word of God in your store, but the Marines, or any other branch, can sell war and not be thrown out. Is that about right?"

"Maybe you should talk to a senior manager."

"Great. I'd love to."

"I'll connect you."

After 20-plus minutes of listening to canned holiday music and the same pitch to buy plasma screens and PSPs, I get a dial tone. Cut off. So I try the national corporate office and am told that I must have been seeing things. When I insist that I saw Marine recruiters and that all I want is Best Buy's policy on this, if indeed there is one, the guy puts me on hold. More canned music and commercials. Then a recorded voice asking for my Visa, Discover or AmEx card number. I hit "0" in the naive, dated hope that this will swing me back to an operator, but all it does it make the recorded voice agitated, saying that it does not understand my request. I hang up and let the whole thing go.

The teen is perplexed by my digging.

"Recruiters are everywhere. Of course they're at Best Buy. They're at the fucking mall, for God's sake."

"I know. But doesn't it seem odd to you that a major outlet would serve up its customers to the military? It's bad enough that they try to get you to join all their 'savings' clubs. They're working for the Pentagon, too?"

"Get real. This is America."

So it is. And with every $100 purchase, Best Buy will throw in a free body bag. One size fits all.

Last May, I wrote of my son:

"All of this [cartoon] viewing has come in handy at his school's annual talent show, where the boy and I have performed brief physical skits to the delight of the assembled kids, but also to the consternation of a few parents who felt we were putting 'unsuitable' ideas in the heads of the children. Our biggest crime came two years ago, when the lad played a strange, abusive magician and I his hapless assistant/victim. The visual punchline came when he was to pull a rabbit out of his hat, but instead produced a pair of men's underwear. I then began to shimmy and shake, reached into my pants and yanked out the missing stuffed rabbit, which brought the house down. The kids loved it; the teachers seemed split; some parents smiled, but others glared at me when I came off stage. Within days I heard from some teachers that they received several complaints about how kids were pulling stuffed animals out of their pants at home while referring to our act. This cast a mild pall over our talent show appearances since, with teachers telling us 'no poop jokes, no references to butts, no hitting over the head, no kicking, and especially NO PULLING THINGS OUT OF YOUR PANTS.' We still do well (I mean, the kid has a ringer for a partner -- and a director, a duty the wife handles), our most recent bit being a recreation of a simple handshake, crammed with all kinds of visual absurdity, ending with me getting creamed with a large Cool Whip pie. That old gag still works, at least with elementary school kids."

Yesterday morning, the boy and I appeared before his class to give a brief lecture/demonstration of various comedic forms. His teacher assigned the class to talk about the traditions in their lives, and my son chose our talent show appearances. Originally, I wanted to go back and deconstruct the rabbit-out-of-the-pants gag, since kids still talk about it. However, the boy warned me that this was taboo and that we couldn't do it. I said that if it were in front of the entire school, that would be one thing. But this was to happen in front of a 5th grade class. Surely they could handle the rabbit bit. The boy still shook his head no. So I went to his teacher, who's really great and open to most things, and pitched the idea. She looked at me quizzically.

"Are you kidding?"

"No. It's just one class."

She, too, shook her head. "There is a ban on that kind of comedy here. Too many parents complained. You two made your mark on this school." She laughed.

"Wow. Really? Are those parents that constipated?"

"Come on."

"Can the boy hit me over the head with a big stuffed sock, then smash a whipped cream pie in my face? Is that allowed?"

"Yeah. I guess you can do that."

So that's what we did, explaining the logic of slapstick. The kids loved it, and laughed when I took the pie. As I walked out of the room, cream dripping down my face, a boy asked me about the rabbit.

"Maybe in middle school, son."

While we're on the topic of verboten comedy, I came across this old Howard Stern bit from his early-90s TV show. I hadn't seen this since it originally aired, and it's still incredibly funny, as well as disturbing, but this is Stern we're talking about. "The Homeless Howiewood Squares" shows Stern at his creative peak, and really can't be explained, just absorbed. There is, of course, Daniel Carver, The KKK Guy, whose racist language gets its own laughtrack. But there's also Susan Muldowney, The Underdog Lady, whose personal philosophy is based on that 1960s cartoon character, which she honors through interpretive dance. In the second part, she explains her world view in very passionate terms, and the look on "Match Game" host Gene Rayburn's face is priceless. High concepts crash against lowbrow jibes on a cheap Jersey set. No wonder this show beat "SNL" in the ratings.

I will have a special, holiday-themed post over the weekend. See you then. And if the below clips are yanked from YouTube, will someone please tell me? Thanks.