COMEDY – Page 20 – Mister Comedy

more lizard people, please

I’ve been a science-fiction fan since I was a teenager, and I believe there is only one cardinal rule of the genre, a ‘prime directive,’ if you will: Create No Boredom. Here’s the deal. In theory, it should be impossible to create boring science fiction. Laughably bad sci-fi, I’ll watch. Campy sci-fi? Why not. Even really-disappointing-so-thank-god-i-didn’t-pay-to-see-it-in-the-theater sci-fi. But boring science fiction is as oxymoronic as…a groundbreaking Bon Jovi album…or…a substantive Sarah Palin interview.

If you are combining science with fiction, how in hell do you end up with something dull? You have all of science to draw upon (which is most of mankind’s collected knowledge) and fiction to work with (an essentially infinite amount of possibilities here, because…you can make up anything you want!) So how do you end up with the TV equivalent of a Swanson Chicken Pot Pie, where everything in it just sort of tastes…gray? How, in the name of James Doohan, do you do that?

The answer is, you waste time on romantic and family relationships. There was a short-lived show called Flash Forward which had, as its premise, the idea that every human on Earth blacked out for two minutes and seventeen seconds and during said blackout saw glimpses of the future. Okay writers—run with it! Or, don’t, and spend minute after leaden minute showing us the collapsing marriage of the lead investigator. Wuh…huh?

Incidentally, it seems like every third drama on television—X-Files, Flash Forward, V, Fringe, which I enjoy–involves some secret branch of the FB freakin’ I…how many of these little boutique divisions does the FBI have, fer chrissake? is anyone still investigating bank robberies, or mail fraud?

Back to my point (in case you blacked out)–not counting commercials, the show has about forty-five minutes to deal with explaining a rip in the time-space continuum. This means we don’t have time to waste on some character’s personal demons. I don’t care if our hero has a drinking problem—he’s got shit to figure out! Get back to the weird stuff that’s never happened in the history of the planet!

Now V had some potential. It has extra-terrestrial life forms—AND they’re lizards! How cool is that? And for the first nine minutes of the pilot, man, does it ever deliver. Check that—the ninth minute delivers, because that’s when we get the money shot of the spaceship. After that, set phasers to ‘snooze.’ The skeptical commanding officer. The ambitious reporter. And. The. Relationships. The rebellious son. The naïve fiancée. C’mon–show us the lizard people!!!

Again, you’d think that, in an hour-long show, there would be scene after scene of lizard-people–eating humans, shorting out our brain waves, or at least—doing something other than talking! Stop talking!

It can’t be possible for a show to jump the shark in the third episode. But there it was, a scene in which the brooding teenager glances longingly at the lizard-person-who-looks–like-a-hottie—the almost palpable melancholy as he realizes he won’t be able to date the Lizard Hottie (see, they’re from two different worlds). Stop it! Then there’s a scene where Mom comes into moody kid’s bedroom to thank him for not getting involved with the Lizard People (because see, she knows they’re up to no good), after which he stares at the picture of Lizard Hottie on his cell phone. Cut to blah.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying science fiction should be just spaceships and aliens—sure, spend a little time making us care about the people fighting the mysterious visitors. Then get to the good stuff! I’m just sayin’ that there are very few classic science fiction stories that I can think of where I’ve thought afterwards, “Yeah, that was a compelling look at an alternate reality, but why didn’t they show us more about that guy’s relationships?”

Even something as iconic as Star Wars—if George Lucas had dropped the whole Han Solo/Princess Leia, Sam-and-Diane love/hate thing, I don’t think we would have missed it. Because every scene of people doing…people things means one less scene where aliens do…alien things, and that’s what I want from science fiction. If I want to spend an hour watching people deal with their relationships, I’ll watch Brothers and Sisters.

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rushing the season

Apparently, I was confused. I thought Christmas celebrated the birth of Jesus (which, from what I’ve read, was a one-day event), but last year my local Walgreens was under the impression that we’re celebrating Mary’s last trimester. That’s right; they had Christmas items on the shelf in October.

I’m a big ol’ Jew now, but I was raised in a Christian home, and I still have some fond memories of Christmas traditions. For me, the start of the holiday season was always marked by the ad with Santa riding a Norelco electric razor. Call me sentimental.

Of course, when I think of childhood, I mostly remember all the toys, beckoning from under the twinkling lights of a tree trimmed with strands of tinsel. And looking back, I can see that most of my toys sucked.

I got the short end of the gift stick through no fault of my parents. Even with just my mom’s social security and my stepdad’s veteran’s benefits, there was always something for me to open on Christmas morning.

The problem was, having been born in 1960, I was too old for toys by the time the cool toys came out. I still remember being envious of kids who had a Big Wheel, because the Big Wheel debuted in 1969, and what with me being nine, I was too old to ride one.

Another problem was that I was really smart, so Mom would always buy me smart kid toys, as opposed to toys that involved, say, going outside. Don’t get me wrong—I always asked for brainy toys, but it probably would have been a good idea, social-development-wise, for Mom to get me a ball, or a bat, or a glove, and suggest I leave my room. Instead, one year, she got me a globe.

Great. I’ll invite some friends over. We can…point to different countries.

One year for Christmas, I got what was called ‘The Visible Man,’ I guess the reasoning being, “He’s sure smart for a sixth-grader, which must mean he’ll become a doctor, so he’d better learn where the spleen is.” Of course, I could always invite friends over and point to it. Maybe the reason my generation is so fat and sedentary is that so many of our toys didn’t actually DO ANYTHING. Or, I got a lot of toys that did one thing, and that’s it. So, I’d gleefully open a package, do the one the toy was capable of, and think, “That’s all it does?”

Here are some examples of toys which…don’t do a whole lot.

(To my younger readers, none of these toys ‘plug in,’ so they would make perfect gifts for your Amish nephew.)

Behold, the Wheel-O. Through the magic of gyro-dynamic something-or-other, the wheel goes around the loop thingie, and back. Down. And up. Minutes of fun.

These were called Clackers. They bang together. Loud enough to annoy the entire family, yet dangerous enough to leave a bruise.

Our last entry in the Parade of Pointless Toys is the Wizzer. Despite what it says, it does not do ‘a zillion fantastic tricks.’ It spins if you roll the rubber tip on the ground. And then it stops spinning.

I never had a Slinky, but only because our house didn’t have stairs.

Though I’m not a car guy (somehow I missed that genetic marker), I had some toy cars. Hot Wheels cars were how I rolled, and the best thing about Hot Wheels was the track that came in pieces you could assemble in infinite combinations. Or, you could just do a straightaway, with a loop in the middle.

Anyway, I would push my car toward the loop, and the car would race to the top, and…plummet to the floor. The imaginary carnage was horrifying.

Then came the ne plus ultra of car toys for 1972, the SSP Racer. First of all, this commercial mentions that it comes with ‘sonic sound,’ and there’s no sound more thrilling to a young boy than sonic sound. So, I would insert the special T-stick, pull it out, put the car on the floor, and…then the car would be lost, or broken. But it really went fast that one time.

The two most frustrating toys from my youth were the Etch-A-Sketch and the Spirograph. Etch-A-Sketch was great for drawing steps (and what kid doesn’t enjoy that?), but then there was that special moment when you figured out you could draw a curved line by turning both wheels at the same time. And….then you were done with it.

Side note—if you fight with your cousin over an Etch-A-Sketch and it breaks, aluminum powder is a bitch to get out of the carpet.

The problem with Spirograph was that the box would tell you that you can make designs like the one on the right, when in fact, you can’t.

That, and the fact that if you lost either the pens or push pins that came in the box, no other pen or pin made by humans would fit in the little holes. And, the fact that it was impossible to use the long skinny pieces at all.

My childhood was a time when it was considered entertaining to look into plastic binoculars and see 3-D still pictures of the Grand Canyon. Presenting–the Viewmaster! Entire afternoons spent clicking and staring. You could even get discs for it with still pictures from movies and TV shows! Did I mention they were in 3-D? Now that I think of it, if they still made these, I could catch up on ‘Mad Men’ without having to pay for cable.

Every year, I gave my mom a Christmas list, and from the time I was seven or eight, I wanted an ant farm. It went on the list, and every year, no ant farm. Oh, I always got the new edition of the World Almanac and Book of Facts, but never the ant farm. Until, one Christmas, I couldn’t believe my eyes. I tore off the wrapping paper and there it was—UNCLE MILTON’S GIANT ANT FARM!

The thing is, I was seventeen when I finally got it. Really, Mom? I know the box says ‘ages seven and up,’ but, really? Only thing I can figure is that Mom kept all the old Christmas lists and, since I never told her I had stopped wanting an ant farm, she finally decided, “He’s ready for this now.” Oh well, it’s the thought that counts.

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animal instincts

Now that I live with The Girlfriend, I also live with two cats. Now, I’ve never been a ‘dog person,’ and before you all start typing your angry comments promoting your ‘pro-dog’ agenda, let me be clear. I have seen a dog be cute. A few times. But there are a few reasons I never wanted a dog as a pet:

They’re needy.
They slobber.
Occasionally, they shit on the floor.
Seriously, if a woman (or a man) had any of those traits, I wouldn’t want to DATE them, let alone feed them and have to paper-train then.

The only thing better about dogs than cats is that a dog will mind you. A cat will simply remind you how powerless you are…you can tell a cat not to do something, and if they don’t heed you, you can…tell them not to…again.That’s pretty much all ya have in your arsenal.

I have a friend who thinks I should get a fish. Give a man a fish, he eats for a day. Teach a man to fish, he eats for a lifetime. Own a pet fish and…what? See, it’s not even in the saying. The problem I have with fish as pets is, it seems like they can’t hold up their end of the owner (sorry, companion) – pet contract, which states:

1. I will feed you regularly.

2. You will love me unconditionally. (I realize this skews a little in my favor, but you signed the fucker.)

How the hell are you supposed to know if a fish loves you? A creepy side-wink when you change the water in his tank? Also, I’ve had a cat before, and I remember it being really cool if I were stressed out, to put the cat on my chest and just be lulled to sleep. You cannot do that with a fish. Well, you can, once. Then you have to get another fish.

I thought, “You know, I’m already pretty eccentric, why not get the weird pet, too.” (Now, if your reading this aloud, you should deliver the next line in the voice of Gabby Hayes.) So I went to the Google to look it up. (Drop Gabby Hayes voice here.) My search string was ‘unusual apartment pets,’ and lemme tell ya, some people are thinking WAY outside the litterbox.

Hermit crab? Nah…hard to pet. Ferret? I’ll pass on anything belonging to the mammalian group Rodentia, thank you very much. A pot-bellied pig! Oh sure, and while I’m at it why don’t I look for one with a limp, so it can look like my freakin’ porcine doppelganger!

I had to laugh when I read about the Madagascar hissing roach. Apparently, this particular roach is a popular pet. I suppose part of the appeal is that if you get bored with your pet roach, you can kill it with impugnity, ‘cuz…it’s a cockroach. I’m just imagining the roaches from my apartment in Chicago running into one of these pampered novelty acts in some dark cupboard—

“We hear you got mad skillz, yo! What do you do? You…hiss? For reals? Ah HELL no! Chicago roaches kick your thorax, beeyatch!”

One interesting pet possibility was the Australian Sugar Glider. Adorable fella, the glider; he’s a marsupial, but not as Hallmark-cutesie as a koala. Then I found out they cost a hundred and seventy-five dollars, and fifty bucks to neuter them, because if I don’t neuter the bastard, you know he’ll be makin’ time with all the other Australian Snow Gliders in the neighborhood! Oh, and there’s this from the same site—“ Sugar Gilders require so much attention that if left alone too much or if they feel neglected, they will stop eating and eventually die.” Great—it’s my college girlfriend with sharper teeth.

I knew a woman who once owned a hedgehog (true statement, but sadly it also sounds like a lost Zeppelin lyric). I found the definitive hedgehogs-as-pets website, and one paragraph struck me—allow me to parse it for you.

To handle a hedgehog (and this is me avoiding the sophomoric double-entendre), place your hand on each side of him and gently cup him in your hand (right, now it reads like gay porn).Use great caution not to place your fingers in the middle (this thing is suddenly not sounding so cuddly, but…okay).They can ball up quickly and your finger can get caught in the middle of a bunch of quills being squeezed together by very strong muscles (WTF!!!). If this happens, you will need to gently uncurl him to ease his anxiety (HIS anxiety? This Satanic mini-Ewok has decided to turn me into a pincushion, and I have to be gentle?).First, turn him over on his back to identify where the nose is located (What kind of carnival freak show am I in?). Gently rock forwards and backwards, and when the nose starts to show the front legs will also emerge. As the legs reach for the ground, gently put the hedgehog down (never to pick it up again).

So, I’m glad we have cats. Although if I were alone, I’d probably just have one, because I’m pretty sure that “multiple cats, lives alone, kind of a drifter, drinks a bit” is the character breakdown for ‘Crazy Cat Guy Serial Killer’ on an episode of Criminal Minds.

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