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Soup’s gone

October 22, 2009

So I come home tonight after a long day at the hospital with KJ, and the first thing I read on the news is that Soupy Sales died.

Go ahead, world… tear away another piece of my childhood.

Although I’m too young to have been around for his infamous kids’ shows from the 1950s and early 1960s — shame on you for thinking there’s nothing I’m too young to have been around for — Soupy was a big part of my nascent TV experience. Reruns of his mid-’60s variety show ran endlessly on Armed Forces Television, a staple of my military-brat youth.

More significantly, as a connoisseur of game shows, I watched Soupy on hundreds of episodes of programs like What’s My Line? (he was a regular panelist for seven seasons), Pyramid, To Tell the Truth, Match Game, and Hollywood Squares. In the ’70s, Soupy also hosted the juvenile version of the stunt game Almost Anything Goes, the forerunner of Nickelodeon’s Double Dare and its spinoffs.

Soupy’s legend in television was secured on New Year’s Day 1965, when as a gag he invited his young viewers to dig into their parents’ wallets and purses and mail him “those green pieces of paper with pictures of Presidents on them.” Contrary to popular belief, Sales wasn’t fired for this stunt — although he was suspended for a week — nor did his entreaty net a massive windfall. (Most of the mail submissions contained Monopoly money.) The incident, however, illustrates the unpredictable humor for which Soupy became famous, even when he was mostly known for entertaining kids.

Some years ago, TV comedy and comics writer Mark Evanier composed a detailed retrospective about Soupy’s career. In tonight’s blog post, Mark adds a few additional thoughts. Both articles are well worth a read.

Back when I was reviewing films for DVD Verdict, I penned a critique of a little-known “mockumentary” entitled …And God Spoke. It’s a pretty funny flick if you enjoy that Christopher Guest sort of thing, and one of its most hilarious bits is a cameo by Soupy Sales as himself, hired to portray Moses in a low-budget Biblical epic. Because if you couldn’t afford Charlton Heston, you’d definitely want the Soup Man.

Soupy Sales — whose birth name, incidentally, was Milton Supman — was 83. His two sons, Hunt and Tony Sales, are rock musicians who’ve worked as sidemen for such premier artists as David Bowie, Todd Rundgren, and Iggy Pop.

There. I didn’t mention pie once.

Categories: Celebritiana, Cinemania, Dead People Got No Reason to Live, Reminiscing, Ripped From the Headlines, Teleholics Anonymous

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It’s only news if somebody cares

October 15, 2009

This just in from the world of music…

Country star Garth Brooks is ending his retirement.

At the same time, the Norwegian pop trio a-ha — best known for the ’80s hit “Take On Me,” and its influential video — is announcing its retirement.

Here’s the unfortunate news for these artists.

No one knew that Garth Brooks had retired…

…or that a-ha hadn’t.

Categories: Aimless Riffing, Celebritiana, Ripped From the Headlines, Sexiest People Alive, Soundtrack of My Life

Comments: 1 Comment

The Not Having Been Discovered Yet List

October 12, 2009

I hope you’re enjoying your Columbus Day — or, as I prefer to call it, Not Having Been Discovered Yet Day (an homage to the late, great comic genius, Flip Wilson).

Sure, Christopher Columbus was directly responsible for the deaths of hundreds of thousands — some historians suggest millions — of indigenous North Americans. And yes, he introduced the slave trade to the New World. And despite what you may have heard, he wasn’t the first European to make landfall or establish a colony in the Western Hemisphere — hello, Leif Ericson — nor to prove that the Earth was round (the shape of the Earth was understood from ancient times; the Biblical book of Isaiah, written around 700 B.C., described “the circle of the Earth”).

But Crazy Chris had a terrific press agent: namely, storyteller Washington Irving. Irving’s 1828 fictionalized biography, The Life and Voyages of Christopher Columbus, popularized most of the commonly accepted legend about the explorer.

Which is the main reason there’s a Columbus Day.

Listing all of the various and sundry items named for the self-styled Admiral of the Ocean Sea would take us until… well… next Columbus Day. So instead, I’ve selected my seven absolute favorite Columbus name-checks.

7. Columbus Salame. One of the Bay Area’s finest producers of tasty meat products. I lunched on sandwiches made from Columbus deli ham just yesterday. Delicious.

6. The District of Columbia. This will come a shock to fans of filmmaker Alex Proyas, but the abbreviation at the end of Washington, D.C. does not stand for Dark City. I lived in our nation’s capital for several months when I was young — my father was stationed at nearby Andrews Air Force Base.

5. Columbus, Ohio. My wife used to work for Nationwide Insurance, which is based there. Thanks for all the paychecks.

4. The Columbia River. On a speaking trip to Eugene, Oregon some years back, I was treated to a lovely dinner in a restaurant overlooking the river. Roll, Columbia.

3. Motion picture director Chris Columbus. The only one of Columbus’s films that I truly enjoy is his first, Adventures in Babysitting, but that one is so choice that I’m willing to overlook abject junk like Home Alone and Mrs. Doubtfire. “Nobody leaves this place without singing the blues.”

2. The World’s Columbian Exposition of 1893, sometimes referred to as the Chicago World’s Fair. Author Erik Larson wrote an excellent nonfiction book, The Devil in the White City, about the development of the Exposition and the concurrent activities of serial killer H.H. Holmes. If you haven’t read Larson’s tome, I highly recommend it.

1. Lt. Columbo. I always wondered whether Peter Falk’s disheveled detective was a descendant of the Italian-born explorer (whose name in his native tongue would be pronounced Christoforo Columbo). “Ah, pardon me, ma’am… just one more thing… do you mind if I steal your continent?”

Categories: Aimless Riffing, Celebritiana, Dead People Got No Reason to Live, Hero of the Day, Listology, Random Acts of Patriotism, Ripped From the Headlines

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The UFL truth

October 8, 2009

Tonight, at AT&T Park — the home of your San Francisco Giants — the new United Football League (to be referred to hereafter as the UFL) kicks off its inaugural season.

Nobody cares.

This maiden contest pits the homestanding California Redwoods (whose uniforms, in stark contrast to the obvious hues suggested by the name, are a sickly lime green) against the visiting Las Vegas Locomotives.

Nobody cares.

All four of the UFL’s teams — the others are the New York Sentinels and the Florida Tuskers, the latter of which will play home games in the Tampa Bay area — are coached by NFL veterans. The Redwoods’ main clipboard holder is Dennis Green, former head coach of the Minnesota Vikings and Arizona Cardinals, who has local ties as a two-time assistant coach with the San Francisco 49ers and head coach at Stanford University.

And still nobody cares.

The last serious attempt to burrow into the National Football League’s stranglehold hegemony occurred back in the early 1980s, when the United States Football League (USFL) struggled along for three seasons. (I use the word “serious” because no one took seriously the short-lived XFL, concocted by by the same geniuses who brought you the WWE.)

The USFL played its games in the late spring and early summer, avoiding direct competition with the NFL. The moment that the USFL — in a fit of self-destructive bravado — decided to move its season to the fall, the NFL pulled in the reins. The upstart league died with barely a whimper.

I actually enjoyed the USFL for two reasons. For one, the local team, the Oakland Invaders (a certain similarly named NFL squad was slumming in Los Angeles at the time), played many of its home games on Saturday afternoons, making it possible for those of us with Sunday responsibilities to attend. For another, the Invaders’ tickets were relatively inexpensive and readily available, unlike those of the then-dynastic 49ers, so that even on my college student budget I could take in a few contests each year.

As most startup sports leagues do, the USFL went through near-constant franchise turmoil throughout its three-year run. Between the second and third seasons, the Invaders absorbed the former Detroit franchise, the Michigan Panthers, and the two teams’ rosters merged. This resulted in the Invaders, a mediocre club their first two seasons, suddenly becoming a powerhouse — thanks to the addition of several top players from the former USFL champion Panthers, including quarterback Bobby Hebert. The rejuvenated Invaders compiled a 13-4-1 record on their way to the league championship game, which Oakland lost in a 28-24 thriller to the Philadelphia Stars.

Then the USFL went away.

I anticipate the same dire fate for the UFL. Only, I doubt it’ll take three years.

Go Redwoods?

Nobody cares.

[UPDATE: I’m informed that the first UFL game between the Redwoods and the Locomotives is actually being played in Las Vegas, not in San Francisco. You know what? Nobody cares.]

Categories: I Love the Giants, My Home Town, Ripped From the Headlines, Sports Bar

Comments: 2 Comments

The Phoebe ring

October 7, 2009

Fascinated as I am by all things astronomical, today’s news of the discovery of a new ring of Saturn piqued my interest.

I know what you’re thinking: Saturn’s got a bunch of rings already. What’s the big deal?

The big deal is that the Phoebe ring, as the newly identified phenomenon is being called, is not another of the familiar rings that encircle the equator of the sixth planet from the sun like a series of enormous belts. For one thing, the Phoebe ring is beyond huge — its inner edge begins at about 128 times the radius of Saturn. The ring itself is about 20 times as thick as Saturn’s diameter. So it’s less like a belt than like a cosmic inner tube, with an antlike Saturn at its hub.

To put it another way, more than one billion Earths could fit inside the Phoebe ring.

Is that big enough for you?

Astronomers have been searching for something in the vicinity of the Phoebe ring since the 1970s, when Cornell University’s Joseph A. Burns first suggested the object as an explanation for the unusual properties of Saturn’s moon Iapetus. It’s taken this long to find the mystery ring because, although the Phoebe ring is ginormous, it’s nearly invisible. Scientists used NASA’s Spitzer Space Telescope — a orbiting satellite that “sees” in infrared (and apparently, no relation) — to pinpoint what Dr. Burns first postulated three decades ago.

The fun part of the news for me was hearing Andrew Fraknoi on the radio tonight, chatting with the anchors on KCBS about the discovery. Andy is the head astronomy professor at Foothill College, and for many years was the chairman of the Astronomical Society of the Pacific. Whenever there’s an astronomy event in the news, Andy’s usually the guy to whom the Bay Area media reaches out for an explanation. About 25 years ago, I took Andy’s introductory astronomy class at San Francisco State, to fulfill a natural science requirement. I don’t recall the grade I received, but I remember that it was an interesting course.

I’m still waiting, though, to learn why such a significant scientific discovery was named after Lisa Kudrow’s character on Friends.

Categories: Ripped From the Headlines, That's Cool!, Weird Science

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He may be no Angel

September 21, 2009

This might just be the most improbable event in an improbable season for the San Francisco Giants.

Angel Villalona, a 19-year-old slugging catcher-turned-first baseman considered the hottest prospect in the Giants’ minor league system as recently as six months ago, was charged today with murder in his native Dominican Republic.

Authorities in Santo Domingo allege that Villalona shot and killed 25-year-old Mario Felix de Jesus Velete in a bar last weekend. Villalona is pleading not guilty.

Villalona was the biggest bonus baby in Giants’ history when he signed with San Francisco in 2006. His $2.1 million signing bonanza outstripped the first-contract cash paid to such stellar talents as Tim Lincecum and Matt Cain, who currently form two-fifths of the Giants’ starting rotation.

After some initial success in the low minors (17 home runs, 64 runs batted in, and 29 doubles in the South Atlantic League last summer), Villalona’s progress slowed this year at Class-A San Jose, hitting an unremarkable .267 with nine home runs before a season-ending leg injury.

If convicted of murder in the D.R., Villalona faces a minimum sentence of 20 years. The Giants face a loss of $2.1 million and a bucketful of potential.

That’s baseball.

Categories: I Love the Giants, My Home Town, Ripped From the Headlines, Sports Bar

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A poem… by Henry Gibson

September 16, 2009

I doubt that it will attract the notice that the passing of Patrick Swayze garnered, but character actor Henry Gibson also died earlier this week.

Like most TV viewers, I first was introduced to the mousy, soft-spoken comic actor on Rowan and Martin’s Laugh-In. Gibson would appear, wearing a quaint suit and holding an enormous artificial flower, to recite a humorous, often ironic rhyme about some innocuous subject. His bits always began with Gibson’s quavering, deadpan monotone, “A poem… by Henry Gibson.” His presentations concluded with a bow and a self-effacing, “Thank you.”

Gibson turned up frequently on television in his post-Laugh-In career, usually playing the kind of nebbishy, passive-aggressive types for whom he became famous. Most notably, he was a regular on the ABC series Boston Legal, as the put-upon Judge Brown. He also appeared in numerous films, including the recent hit Wedding Crashers, and earned a Golden Globe nomination for his work in Robert Altman’s Nashville.

My favorite Gibson role was his voicing of Wilbur — the humble, radiant pig whose best friend is a talented spider — in the animated adaptation of E.B. White’s Charlotte’s Web. The casting was perfect, with Gibson bringing a delightful, plucky innocence to the role.

Until today, I did not know that Henry Gibson wasn’t really Henry Gibson. The actor, who was born James Bateman, took his familiar stage name as a pun on playwright Henrik Ibsen. I remember long ago noting the sonic similarity between the two names, but I’d always assumed that this was merely a coincidence.

I thought it appropriate that, in Gibson’s memory, we offer the following verse.

A poem… about Henry Gibson.
He always brought us laughter
When with blossom he’d appear;
His charming bits of doggerel
Made us grin from ear to ear.
As years passed, we discovered
He could also play things straight;
His talents as an actor
Proved nothing less than great.
We always will remember
This quirky little fellow;
His voice odd and distinctive…
His sunflower, bright yellow.

Thank you, Henry.

Categories: Celebritiana, Cinemania, Dead People Got No Reason to Live, Ripped From the Headlines

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Swayze goes Swayze

September 15, 2009

Even the legendary Dalton loses a fight once in a while.

The air grew a bit chill around me when I fired up the laptop last evening and read the news that Patrick Swayze had passed away at age 57. We all knew the moment was coming — we probably knew it more than a year and a half ago, when Swayze revealed that he had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer — but while not unexpected, it was nevertheless sad.

Swayze went down battling. In the midst of life circumstances that would have cause many of us to cocoon at home to await the inevitable, Swayze completed an entire season of a physically demanding TV series. He appeared in public when his health permitted. He gave interviews. He talked openly about his fight, and his determination to win.

You think Chuck Norris is tough? Patrick Swayze smacked Chuck Norris in the mouth and stole his lunch money every day for 20 months.

If Swayze had made only three films — Road House, Dirty Dancing, and Ghost — he would have had a career that ninety percent of Hollywood would have gladly sacrificed their own pancreases (pancreii?) for. Most actors would kill for a single role that defined them as pop-cultural icons. Swayze had three.

Road House may be the most frequently broadcast movie in the history of basic cable. (Is there a night during the week when you can’t find it somewhere on the dial?) Dirty Dancing garnered Swayze an enduring image, an endlessly repeated tagline — “Nobody puts Baby in a corner!” — and even a hit single… although the less said about “She’s Like the Wind,” the better. Ghost made Swayze’s name a hip-hop catchphrase. I doubt he collected a royalty every time some rapper said, “I’m Swayze,” but he should have.

Of course, Swayze made a ton of other films as well, in addition to his television work. But he’ll be remembered for this immortal trio.

Personally, I think Road House is one of cinema’s great disposable classics. It’s beyond ridiculous (come on… a heroic bouncer with a ludicrous hairdo? that only worked for Mr. T.), horrifically acted (from the expression-challenged Kelly Lynch to the scenery-gobbling Ben Gazzara to the host of bit players embodying every white trash stereotype known to man), and as predictable as tomorrow’s sunrise, but doggoned if it isn’t entertaining. How can a movie that features Jeff Healey’s incendiary blues guitar, a singing spotlight for the always delightful Kathleen Wilhoite, Sam Elliott being Sam Elliott, and a shirtless Swayze ripping out a man’s trachea with his bare hands not be entertaining?

I always liked the fact that Swayze — a serious and thoughtful man, by all accounts — maintained a sense of humor about himself. He famously poked fun at his own image in a Saturday Night Live sketch with Chris Farley, in which the unlikely duo played Chippendales wannabes. Swayze even popped up in an uncredited cameo in the dreadful Dirty Dancing sequel, Havana Nights.

Like the great Dalton, Patrick Swayze kept being nice until it was time to not be nice.

Unfortunately, the bad guys sometimes win.

Categories: Celebritiana, Cinemania, Dead People Got No Reason to Live, Hero of the Day, Ripped From the Headlines, Sexiest People Alive

Comments: 1 Comment

From the Get Over It Department, Supermodel Division

September 7, 2009

Here’s a little celebrity news item from the Sydney Daily Telegraph:

Supermodel Elle Macpherson has revealed she fears that she looks old compared to her young TV co-stars as she has not had plastic surgery.

The supermodel is anxious about appearing on the new CW show The Beautiful Life because she hasn’t had plastic surgery.

The 46-year-old added that she is shocked at how she looks compared to her younger co-stars, including Mischa Barton and Sara Paxton.

Macpherson said: “Sometimes I really see that I’m the one that hasn’t done anything because I think people must think, ‘Oh my God, she looks old’.”

Let me see if I understand this correctly…

Elle Macpherson is worried that she looks old compared to Mischa Barton and Sara Paxton.

Mischa Barton is 23 years old. Sara Paxton is 21. Elle Macpherson is 46 — twice Ms. Barton’s age.

Here’s a breakthrough thought, Elle: If you’re chronologically qualified to be someone’s mother, it’s okay if you look older than that person. For a 46-year-old woman — which you are — you look just fine. Quit worrying, already.

This illustrates the stupidity of Western culture’s perceptions of beauty. A 46-year-old woman should not think she should look like a 23-year-old. Or a 21-year-old. Or anything other than a 46-year-old. Because it should be okay for each of us to be what we are, and not what someone  half our age is, or what we ourselves used to be two decades ago.

This also illustrates one reason why plastic surgeons and pharmaceutical companies are rich, and half the people in Hollywood look like circus freaks.

Embrace the real, people.

When I’m Elle Macpherson’s age, I hope I look as good as she does.

Hmm? I’m what?

Never mind.

Categories: Aimless Riffing, Celebritiana, Ripped From the Headlines, Taking Umbrage, Teleholics Anonymous

Comments: 4 Comments

Sick thoughts

September 3, 2009

If you were on Facebook today, you probably had at least a few friends — and I’m using that word in the broad, accommodative way that Facebook does — who posted the following item on their home pages:

No one should die because they cannot afford health care, and no one should go broke because they get sick. If you agree, please post this as your status for the rest of the day.

I didn’t throw this up on my Facebook wall — mostly because, as you already know if you know me, I’m just not much of a follower.

I, however, do agree with the sentiment.

In fact, I’ll go a step further: If you don’t agree with both halves of that first sentence, there’s something seriously kapakahi with your thinking muscle.

We might debate how to accomplish these goals. We might differ on whose responsibility, and whose program, and whose nickel, and all that sort of folderol. But if you think either of these concepts is simply wrong, I don’t have any problem in telling you that there’s something wrong with you.

Because your Uncle Swan is just blunt like that.

Oh, and before you decide to pick an argument with me over this, you should know a couple of things.

One: My wife is permanently disabled with incurable, metastatic breast cancer.

Two: I worked in the healthcare industry for a dozen years, and in the seven years since, I’ve maintained several clients in that field for whom I work on a regular basis.

I know all of the arguments. From all sides. Up close. Personal.

Here’s the good news, though.

Even if you’re wrong…

…you can still be my friend.

At least on Facebook.

Categories: Aimless Riffing, Blogosphere, Breast Cancer Awareness, Ripped From the Headlines, SwanStuff, Taking Umbrage, That's Cool!

Comments: 3 Comments

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