Okay, Okay

Yes, I've been away for a while, and yes, I promised to keep this blog relatively free of political content. But as I wrote on my other blog, I'm desperately seeking younger independent voters to interview for my next book, We the Purple: Faith, Politics, and the Independent Voter. Contact me if you're interested.

"Relatively free of political content," by the way, means I get to ask this one question, prompted by last week's televised faith forum hosted by Jim Wallis: If I ever become so demented that I vote for a candidate based on his or her views on evolution, would someone out there please put me out of my misery?

The End of TV

For me, anyway. Someday soon. Because I cannot abide the promotional stuff that clutters the screen during shows, not just during commercial breaks. You know what I mean? You're watching something like, oh, I don't know, a can't-miss rerun of Law and Order when all of a sudden there's little ol' Brenda Leigh Johnson just a-sneakin' under that-there police tape like a felon slinkin' away from a parole officer. Now I agree, there really ain't no sunshine when she's gone, and she really is always gone too long, but please. I don't want to see a promo for The Closer during another show. I've been renting TV seasons from the library for some time now, and I'm thinking that's the only way to go from now on.

Am I the only one? Is anyone else sick of these promos that nearly every station is running during shows?

What's Not to Love?

About The Weather Channel, that is. I listed it as a TV favorite on MySpace, and you'd think I had listed Gilmore Girls for all the flak I've gotten. Ah, my poor unenlightened critics, trudging through their dreary lives, mistakenly believing TWC is only about forecasting, rolling their eyes at me, saying, "Geez, just look out the window!"

Well, I do that too, because weather is real and endlessly fascinating. But even if TWC didn't examine its fascinating aspects and provide a meteorological education at the same time, I'd still watch it. There's nothing like being in a hotel room in an unfamiliar city and tuning to TWC after an exhausting day at a trade show. It's like an old friend, comforting and familiar and reassuring: "Hey, look, there's Mike Seidel! You go, Mike! Don't let those Category 4 winds beat you down!" That's me, talking to myself, wishing the best for Mike, whose career I've followed since his heady days as chief meteorologist at a local station in Salisbury, MD.

Go ahead. Roll your eyes. Call me crazy. My fellow weather nerds get it. Reality shows come and go, but TWC will always be there for us.

Must go. I need to add Gilmore Girls to my list.

Jossin' The Office

Just found out from Robin Parrish's Infuze mag that Joss Whedon will direct a future episode of The Office. If you aren't familiar with Whedon, he's the creator of three late, great shows: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, and the short-lived, vastly underrated Firefly, which segued into the equally underrated Serenity film. No matter; committed Whedonites recognize his genius, even if the masses don't.

I used to be among those masses, figuring Buffy was just another lame, teeny-bopper show until one night years ago when my daughters were watching it and I stopped to look at the TV long enough to witness one of the funniest, best-written scenes ever. (Joss fans, you know the one—when Spike can't do his vampire thing to Willow.) That did it—I watched every episode after that and got caught up by watching videos of all the previous episodes. Sarah's such a huge fan that she even helped a bit with the research for Jana Riess's fabulous book, What Would Buffy Do? ("Oh, you need to know where that quote came from? It was episode 6, season 3, at about the 18-minute mark." She could do that off the top of her head, that daughter of mine.)

So I'll be checking The Office schedule for Joss's name. Wouldn't miss it for anything. The man is brilliant.

Aaron Sorkin for President!

...Featuring Tommy Schlamme as Vice President and John Wells as Chief of Staff, with the writing team for The West Wing filling the remaining senior staff positions. Could we possibly do any better than this? I think not.

I want these people in the White House. I want them scripting our executive branch. I even want them making critical decisions that affect our national security. As long as they enlist Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert as trusted outside advisers, that is. And as long as they run as Independents.

Mine was a West Wing Christmas, or rather pre-Christmas. Since I haven't figured out yet how to read and knit at the same time, I multitasked with President Bartlet et al in the background as I knit up all those fabulous gifts I gave. Watching the episodes in order, back-to-back, all the way through Season 4 reminded me why I wanted Aaron Sorkin to run for president in 2004.

If you're not a fan of the show, oh well. If you are, maybe we can get Aaron to give up his Studio 60 gig and serve his country.

We could do a whole lot worse—and have.

I Read the News Today, Oh Boy…*

The year: 1970.

The context of the year: The release of the powerful but deeply disturbing movie Joe, starring Peter Boyle Jr., who became Peter Boyle after Sr. went to a better place.

The place: Joe Allen's Pub on W. 46th Street in Manhattan.

The context of the place: One of my favorite hangouts when I was a junior and beyond at Monmouth College in West Long Branch, NJ, now Monmouth U.

The principal players: Peter Boyle Jr. and a friend whose name I forgot minutes after I heard it. My friend Priscilla and I.

So there we were, Priscilla and I, eating burgers or something at a table in this pub known for its clientele of Broadway actors. At the next table were Peter and friend.

Peter's eyes met mine as a smoky cloud wafted between us...

Okay, so maybe the bottom half of Peter's eyes met the bottom half of mine. He was in his cups, as they say, but not in the belligerent sense. Being in my own cups, likewise peacefully, it's somewhat surprising that I recognized him. But I did, and this otherwise nondescript guy at the next table went from being "Why would I ever even notice you?" to "Oh my God, it's Joe!" -- Joe from the movie Joe, that is, not Joe as in Joe Allen.

We talked. I didn't bring up the movie. After all, Joe the character was a hippie-hater, and I was a…a…counterculturalist (I did not like the word hippie, even then). I remember laughing a lot. I don't remember what we talked about. Priscilla and the other guy didn't say much at all. Then Peter invited us to a "party," which we were smart enough, and maybe even sober enough, to know probably meant "party of four."

We declined. Somehow, driving back to the Jersey Shore in our questionable condition seemed the wiser choice. Not a wise choice, just wiser.

Years later, I was especially glad I didn't mention the movie. Peter said in an interview once that the movie haunted him for years because he got so much mail praising Joe's anti-hippie rage. It is a haunting movie, or at least it was in the context of the time.

Today my kids think it's pretty cool that Frank Barone from Everybody Loves Raymond once tried to pick me up in a bar. I don't know. All I know is that for the half-hour** I spent in his presence, he really was a funny guy.

The memory of that night has popped up at random times over the years -- that is, until Raymond. Then it popped up pretty consistently. But never more clearly than today, when I read that Peter Boyle died last night.

It's a good memory, one that I don’t need therapy to recall. I like that kind.

* A bit of Peter Boyle trivia: John Lennon was a good friend and Peter's best man at his wedding, which took place a few years after the encounter at Joe Allen's. Honest.

** A half-hour? Like I have any idea how long I was in that place.