"I got off that boat with nothing but my dancers belt and a tube of CHAPSTICK." 
– Corky St. Clair.

Foreward
Back in 1977, I worked with a theatre director who was nothing like anyone I’d ever worked with before. He was more flamboyant than talented, possessed a heart of gold and a style that was uniquely his own. Ten years later, I was performing stand-up comedy in a Holiday Inn near where I first met this extraordinary man. After the show, an audience member discretely informed me that years before, the director had been found dead in the mountains with his throat slashed. But, hey, that’s a story for a different time. 
 
I only drudge up this story because Christopher Guest’s portrayal of Corky St. Clair in Waiting for Guffman channels this small-town impresario eerily. From tip of the beard, to top of toupee, to the total enthusiasm for all things theatre, Guest embodies my director, Cecil O. Johnson.  So, of in honor of Cecil, I present the wit and wisdom of Corky St. Clair.

​History:
 
“My first show was Barefoot in the Park, which was an absolute smash, but my production on the stage of Backdraft was what really got them excited. This whole idea of 'In Your Face' theatre really affected them. The conceptualization, the whole abstraction, the obtuseness of this production to me was what was interesting. I wanted the audience to feel the heat from the fire—the fear—because people don't like fire, poked, poked in their noses. You know, when you get a cinder from a barbeque right on the end of your nose, and you kind of make that face, you know? That's not a good thing. And I wanted them to have the sense memory of that. So during the show I had someone burn newspapers and send it through the vents in the theatre. And well, they freaked out, and 'course the fire marshall came over, and they shut us down for a couple of days.”
 
On budgeting and finance:
 
“So what I'm understanding here - correct me, if I'm wrong - is that you're not givin' me any money. So now I'm left basically with nothin'. I'm left with zero, in which, in which, what can I do with zero, you know? What can I - I can't do anythin' with it! I need to, this is my life here we're talking about! We're not just talkin' about, you know, somethin' else. We're talking about mylife, you know? And it's forcing me to do somethin' I don't wanna do. To leave. To, to go out and just leave and go home and say, make a clean cut here and say: 'No way, Corky, you're not puttin' up with these people!' And I'll tell you why I can't put up with you people - because you're bastard people! That's what you are! You're just bastard people! And I'm goin' home and I'm gonna, I'm gonna bite my pillow, is what I'm gonna do!”

On life, karma and his “wife” Bonnie:

I think that the elements, as Dr. Watson said to Sherlock, "are coming together, sir." I was shopping for my wife, Bonnie (I buy most of her clothes). And Mrs. Pearl was in the same shop, and it just was an accident. Y'know, we started talking... about pantyhose. She was saying—w-whatever, that's not the point of the story, but what the point is was that through this accidental meeting—it's like, y'know, it's like a Hitchcock movie, where, you know, you're thrown into a rubber bag and put in the trunk of a car. You find people; you find them. Something... It—is it karma? Maybe. But we found him; that's the important thing—and I got Bonnie a wonderful pantsuit.

"Who wants more drinkies?”
​Cecil Johnson

or
Comics for when you're  high.

​Back in the day, loaded on whatever smokable I could get my hands on, I perused such classics as Mr. Natural, The Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers, Trots, and Bonnie, gravitating in the eighties to the daring exploits of Reid Fleming: World’s Toughest Milkman. Giving my lungs and consciousness a much-needed respite, I moved away from these titles, settling on the more severe titles scribed by Alan Moore, Neil Gaiman, and Mark Verheiden. I was happy to remain here until…
 
One eventful Christmas, Pacia Marie Linde sent me the first two titles. I am reviewing both today. Both books have altered the delicate chemistry of my brain forever…most likely for the worst.  
 
I am lucky enough to know many very talented writers and artists in the comic book field.   They are intelligent, well-read, concerned with social issues, and would probably lynch me if they knew that I am a secret fan of the Batman ‘66 series of comics. Specifically, the mashups, teaming the television dynamic duo with whomever had a popular show around the same time. Specifically, I am talking about Batman ’66 meets The Man from U.N.C.L.E., and its Pulitzer Prize-winning companion opus Batman ’66 meets Steed and Mrs. Peel.  I was gifted these masterpieces by a daughter who truly knows the appreciation her father has for the literary giants.

​First review, Batman “66 Meets Steed and Mrs Peele. Remember the Cybernauts from Season 4, Episode 3?. Well, they are back and this time around they're teaming up with Lord Marmaduke Ffog as well as some other nefarious special guest villains. The writing is better than you'd expect with some of it actually sounding as if the writers had paid attention to the original BBC episodes. Then again, as advertised, I was a bit high. The art, is, eh, interesting to say the least. Some panels appear to have been rotoscoped using a process slightly reminiscent of someone who studied at Andy Warhol Community College, the characters actually resembling their television counterparts. In others, the art seems to be lifted out of a Dell comic book from the sixties.
 
Overall rating B-  (High Score  A)

​Batman 66 meets the Man from U.N.C.L.E. is definitely a mixed bag. Evil organization Thrush, under the evil guidance of Olga, Queen of the Cossacks, engineers a mass break out of Arkham Asylum.  Along the way we get a nice mix of villains, including The Penguin, Poison Ivy and even Egghead. The writing is not as crisp as in the previous book and, while the color pallet is just as loud as Steed and Peele, the bizarre Andy Warhol rotoscoping has been replaced in favor of an easy on the eyes coloring book feel. On the colorful, way too vibrant bright side, the estate of Robert Vaughn and David McCallum have nothing to sue over as the characters don’t even remotely resemble them. 

​Overall rating C- (High Score C-)
 
Now, that out of the way, I propose my own Batman ‘66 mashup:
 
Batman “66 meets Sheriff Andy Taylor and Deputy Barney Fife.
 
Here’s the logline:
 
The Joker’s car breaks down in Mayberry, the crown prince of crime swiping Fife’s only bullet while simultaneously toying with the affections of hillbilly socialite Charlene Darling and spinster telephone operator Sarah. 
 
Now all need to is find a coloring book.

See you all next week. Same Bat Time. Same Bat Channel.

​The late, great Thomas McComb had a favorite saying whenever one was faced with either a decision, setback or a prolonged period of pity partying:

“You’re either on the bus, or off.”

It was Tom’s special way of saying, “fuck you, you want in or not?”

We all go through the same periods of trial, tribulation, self-doubt or whether it is just time to throw in the towel and let life carry you down the current to the Falls of Rauros (Tom would have appreciated the LOTR reference).

I’m going to have to agree with Tommy on this one. Creativity is not a merely a gift, talent or a blessing. It is a calling. Do I need to repeat that. You have a talent and it is up to you to do something useful with it. You simply don’t retire, walk away or quit. In order to achieve maximum benefit, you must nurture and practice it. And, at all costs, you never ever give up.

I have been writing for almost fifty years. The total amount of money I made from “my calling” would not fill up one reusable bag from Trader Joe’s. Needless to say, I insist on being paid only in large untraceable bills, but the fact remains the same; I write because it is what I do. There is nothing else I would rather do. It brings me joy and on rare occasions provides a bit of entertainment to others.

I am by no means a great writer either. There are thousands more with more talent than I will ever hope to have. My daughter, Pacia Marie Linde, is one of these. If you don’t believe me, check out her blog.

​However I do know this as a fact, I am much better than I was 50 years ago. And, occasionally I get to bat and I hit a solid line drive that gets me all the way to second base. I am still hoping that I am young enough to hit a triple or maybe even a home run. We’ll see.
 
But, I can tell you this much:
 
I am definitely “on the bus.”

Two weeks ago, I reported of a reunion that promised to be a bit more, eh, out of the ordinary than your run of the mill convention. Well, Monday, May 17th (Tax Day), I attended the last day Zoom event and am happy to report that not only did I survive the ordeal but also had a pretty good time.
 
Godspell is 50 years old (350 in dog and cat years) and to celebrate, all of us involved in any sort of production, gathered virtually to celebrate. Stephen Schwartz, the original composer kicked it all off, warmly embracing more than 700 from all over the world. From here it could have easily gone all downhill. From ill prepared queues, missed video cues, skipped intros and questions, not to mention an ascot wearing, middle aged radio DJ emcee who seemed to be a bit displaced, it had the makings of a disaster. However, the three days were all dedicated to the little musical that could and all the people who in some small way brought it to life. So, somehow, in all the confusion, the light and magic of the musical based on the Gospel of Matthew managed to shine through. 
 
The highlight for me was the panel of original cast members, including Joanne Jonas who appeared in both the stage and film production. The stories of workshopping the production along with the relating of gaffes and bloopers was fun and the anecdotes of the celebrities coming to the shows, were well worth the free admission. There was also a conversation with original cast members from overseas productions as well and that was just as fun. I have to admit to enjoying the brief interlude of Godspell swag…including one of the original ventriloquist dummies from the show provided a much needed “oh yeah,” I forgot that was in the show moment.
 
Inspirationally interspersed along the way were the stories shared of how Godspell had changed lives. I was only in one production but most of the veterans had appeared in more than one and had even directed a production or two. It reminded me of the television Glee phenomenon and how it had successfully managed to assist more than one “Gleek” in finding confidence and maybe even a creative voice. Oh yeah, did I mention that I won a door prize?

​www.playbill.com/video/godspell-50th-anniversary

Here to comment on the ongoing situation at home and abroad is the celebrated fictional news commentator and father of Pamela, Alistar "Talky" Tudsbury.

Direct from the colonies, this is my report:

It is Spring in Sonoma County…or as the natives prefer to call it, “Extreme Fire Danger until Monday.” The official start of the season keeps being pushed forward due to what flat-earthers and Q Anon conspiracists refer to as high probability of Jewish Space Lasers along with a fifty percent chance of denial.
 
When most people are worried about whether they remembered to take their Claritin in the morning, Californians are packing and repacking our Go bags while walking around our homes documenting with cellphones purchases over a thousand dollars made in the last year. It’s a festive season, filled with dry, hot winds that closely resemble the dust storms in the film Interstellar. Meanwhile in Washington, the minority rep in Congress, a shithead by the name of Kevin McCarthy literally screws over a colleague while his beloved state gets ready to combust before all our eyes. That’s okay though, because he’s from Bakersfield will ever burn to the ground. Sorry, Bakersfield.
 
Record Tornados in the Midwest, floods in the South, it’s like living in a Roland Emmerich movie with the benefit of an entertaining Harvey Firestone cameo.

But at least Republicans in Arizona continue with their important work, checking ballots for Chinese Bamboo fragments and DNA from the Bob Crane dinner theatre murders. I swear to God, we all expect Yanks to be dumb but really? They are surpassing the fictional world of Idiocracy in leaps and bounds here. 

Cheerio.
 
This is Alistair Tudsberry signing off.

​

​I have a confession to make, I’m not really into reunions. I did attend my high school 20 year, but only to prove that I was in fact, despite all rumors to the contrary, still alive. That being said, there is one such reunion I do plan on attending.
 
Have I piqued your interest? Read on.
 
They have them for Star Trek, Stargate, Star Wars and even Dr. Who. The popularity of these fan based get togethers has grown into a phenomenon that generate millions of dollars in revenue and continued good will to the brand. Comic-Con takes over an entire Southern California city. And now, after 50 years, Stephen Schwartz’s musical, Godspell will be getting joining the ranks of such gatherings. And why not? This little musical chestnut has launched a rabid fan base of followers and ex cast members that have never forgotten their relationship with this memorable bit of theatre history. And now, after 50 years, we’re all getting together for a virtual shindig to celebrate our experiences with a show that has become indelible part of our collective memory. Godspell has launched careers, created friendships and in the spring of 1974, in one of the first productions on the west coast, I was lucky enough to join these hallowed ranks.

​One of the secrets to getting the most out of this show is the cast. If you don’t believe me, ask Paul Schaeffer, Martin Short, Gilda Radner, Victor Garber, Sylvester Stallone or any of the thousands of others who have been lucky enough to have this show on their resume (okay, I am lying about Sly, but wouldn’t that have been an interpretation worth seeing?). We had some of the best in my own show including Robert Allen, Alan Turner, Judy Jaroz, Jerry Wolfe, Tom Graff, Michelle Mariana, Julie Wiley, Audrey Smith, with musical direction by the great jazz arranger/composer Dave Barduhn and directed for the stage by Richard Melo. To all of us, it truly was lightning in a bottle and in all my ensuing years of theatre, the experience has never been duplicated.
 
So, when a digital flier, with my own Godspell publicity photo on the cover, showed up promising a reunion of like-minded enthusiasts, I signed up. And, despite what you might think,  it was not just because of my photo. Next week, I join the ranks of fellow cast members to talk, share and compare notes. I doubt any of our war stories will rival storming Normandy Beach but am quite sure that some may very well be worth relating. 
 
I am just disappointed that no one asked me to lead one of the many panel discussions.
 
I even have an idea for my subject:
 
It’s not Jesus Christ Superstar, damn it! That’s a whole other show.
 
Anyway, I will be there and if you happened to be in any of the casts to the happiest show on earth, consider joining us.

​For the uninitiated, the term Traegering sounds like some German sport involving beer, ice skates and an oversized catcher’s mitt. In point of fact, only one of these items qualifies as a required accessory. Hint. It’s the first. Celebrity Traegering kicks the concept up a notch (so very sorry for the Guy Fieri reference), and unlike Battle of the Network Stars, does not involve in any way, shape or form washed up television celebrities. 
 
Traegering is actually a term for a slow cooking and smoking process with a cooking device that resembles an oversized black barrel atop a matching sawhorse. When I refer to Celebrity Traegering, I am referring to me with my stellar IMDB STARmeter rating of 1,257.318 (up 6,718 from just last month). I know about this particular brand of smoker because I fell victim to its devilish cult a year ago and have since Traegered everything from a full Thanksgiving Day Turkey, a New Year’s Prime Rib to a St. Paddy’s Day Corn Beef. But this is black canister of flavor is not just for carnivores. We’ve done fish, veggies and even a pizza or two. And because of my vast experience, I felt it my duty to pass a long a few helpful hints and even a recipe to heighten your Traeger experience that will make you the envy of your neighborhood Ace Hardware Store, (which you will be forced to visit every couple of days to pick up more Traeger Signature Pellets).
 
For the record, Traeger smoking pellets come in the following flavors:
Hickory
Apple
Cherry
Pecan
Maple
Alder
And two new flavors:
Dr. Pepper (which for copyright reasons is called Mister Beevis)
And something called Orange Creamsicle Kush.
 
There also happens to be something called Signature blend, which my brother-in-law insists is just a combination of all the flavors swept up off the floor after a long day at the Traeger factory.
 
So, based on my recommendation, you have purchased a Traeger and are now ready to cook to your heart’s content (or disease, whichever comes first). There are literally billions of Traeger recipes online and for legal reasons, I suggest you stick to those. However, I have taken the liberty of sharing one of my favorite recipes that has been passed onto me by a fellow enthusiast.
Enjoy!
 
Ben’s Scotch and Soda with Smoked Ice Cubes 
 
What you will need:
Non-flammable container
Water
 
Set smoker at 225. Place tap or filtered water (completely at your discretion) in a container. Preheat smoker. Place container fat side up on the Traeger grill. (Hint: Somehow you always smoke everything, including water, fat side up). Smoke water. Take water off the grill before you lose all of it to evaporation. Place remaining H20 in ice cube holder. Freeze. Add Scotch.
 
There you have it. Simple, right? Until next time, happy Traegering!

​Next week: Air Fryers for Dummies

“All modern television comes from one show by Amy Sherman Palladino called Gilmore Girls.”  Ernest Hemingway  (1951)

​Each additional discovery of lost sections of Hemingway’s masterpiece A Movable Feast, brings fresh insights into the mind of one of our greatest American Authors. While rummaging through the author’s belongings in Ketchum Idaho, researchers stumbled onto a discovery that unfortunately left far more questions than answers. In 1950, How did the author come upon a 32-inch Sony flatscreen television, along with a functioning DVR and how did he happen to have recorded all seven seasons of the hit WB show, Gilmore Girls?
 
“Gilmore Girls is Must-See TV for a desperate crew aboard the Pilar, hunting Nazi subs in the Carribean. God, how I wish I had it during the great war.”
 
As baffled as these historians were, they were intrigued to find a list of references to the mother/daughter dramedy scattered amongst the author’s recollections of his early days in Paris, Spain and Switzerland. As a benefit to both fans of Hemingway, as well as the beloved show featuring Rory and Lorelai, here are a list of some of the more notable entries that did not make it into the author’s opus.
 
“I have looked into the pale faces of comrades both dead and dying and have come to the realization that nothing is as horrific as the prospect of a Friday night family dinner with Emily Gilmore.”
 
Wow. It is exactly this type of astute observation that breathes new life into all of the great author’s works.
 
“Sookie St. James is not only short but also nothing short of delightful.”
 
I find it quite remarkable that this great author discovered the potential of Melissa McCarthy a full decade before Bridesmaids. 
 
“Lorelai Gilmore reminds me of my third wife, Martha Gellhorn. What I’d give to show that television minx the color of my Cuba and to let her experience firsthand the true taste of pre revolution coffee.”
 
Always a connoisseur of beauty, brains and a decent cup of coffee, the comparison to Martha Ellis Gellhorn, noted writer and adventurer, is worth noting for future reference.
 
“I’d have bludgeoned Dean with a dull and rusty bayonet for what he did to my sweet little Rory.”  
 
Frankly, this notation leaves me quite puzzled as it was clearly “sweet, little Rory who dumped Dean on their third month anniversary. Perhaps the author is only projecting the hurt that one lonely child will experience on her journey to adulthood. Either that, or he just had something against Dean.
 
Unfortunately, the author’s last entry in regard to the Gilmore comments was as follows:
 
“What the hell is this Netflix and how do I get it?”
 
Although not mentioning Gilmore Girls by name, it is believed that this entry was regarding the announcement of a short-lived revival on the paid streamer. For the record, this, and not the author’s reported diabetic diagnosis, is believed to be tied to the author’s suicide in Ketchum Idaho in 1961. 

​Well, not be outdone by Zack Snyder, Francis Ford Coppola releases a new version of Godfather 3, titled Godfather Coda: The Death of Michael Corleone. And trimming 20 minutes from the original and restructuring the opening does wonders to what many consider to be a problematic entry into the series. 
 
First things first. Let’s get something out on the family dining table right away. Sophia is not that bad. She isn’t great and perhaps we were spoiled by other female performances in the previous films, but she is not that bad either. The success or failure of this film never rested on her shoulders. So, let’s give that a rest. Pick her up and drop her in another film, say Heathers, and she would have been outstanding. We have been unfair and owe her an apology.
 
Well, I’m waiting for your apology. Whenever you’re ready.
 
The biggest change I noted is the exposition offered by one George Hamilton. This made all the difference to me between the first and second version. In the first, the tanned one himself, does next to nothing, simply standing there grinning in all of his tanned glory. In the second, he gets dialogue, real dialogue, exposition even, that helps support the entire film. George without dialogue is off-putting and annoying. George with dialogue, especially exposition, is brilliant. As a cigar-smoking, leering uber businessman, calculating the takeover the world’s financial institutions, his presence becomes more than necessary. 

​Who'd have thunk it?
 

​All of the performances by the regulars remain stellar and the addition of Eli Wallach, Andy Garcia and Joe Mantegna all add new muted colors to the Copolla’s tapestry. But it’s in the little details where this movie shines. Take a look at Garcia’s mother. Does she look familiar? I thought she might. That is Sonny’s mistress, actress Lucy Mancini, from the infamous wedding scene from the original Godfather. These are the little things that I love about these movies. After all, this is fundamentally a film about family.

“I want all of you to enjoy your cake, so... enjoy.”
 
Everyone needs a hero. Someone to look up to. That special someone who grabbed life by the balls and made it his own. One such hero is entrepreneur, molasses runner, friend of Cuba before Castro, and my favorite character from Godfather Pt 2, Hyman Roth. 
 
Today we celebrate his genius.
 
Hyman Roth lived through a lot of changes in the modern world and these changes never seemed to affect him.
 
Well, almost never.
 
“I'd give four million just to be able to take a piss without it hurting.”
 
He was a businessman who truly knew the art of the deal.
 
“I'm going in to take a nap. When I wake, if the money's on the table, I'll know I have a partner. If it isn't, I'll know I don't.”
 
Because he always money for his partners.
 
“Hyman Roth always makes money for his partners. One by one, our old friends are gone. Death, natural or not, prison, deported. Hyman Roth is the only one left, because he always made money for his partners.”
 
He was a philosopher
 
“Good health is the most important thing. More than success, more than money, more than power.”
 
Baseball fan
 
“I loved baseball ever since Arnold Rothstien fixed the World Series in 1919.”
 
Loyal Friend
 
“There was this kid I grew up with; he was younger than me. Sorta looked up to me, you know. We did our first work together, worked our way out of the street. Things were good, we made the most of it. During Prohibition, we ran molasses into Canada... made a fortune, your father, too. As much as anyone, I loved him and trusted him. Later on he had an idea to build a city out of a desert stop-over for GI's on the way to the West Coast. That kid's name was Moe Greene, and the city he invented was Las Vegas. This was a great man, a man of vision and guts. And there isn't even a plaque, or a signpost or a statue of him in that town! Someone put a bullet through his eye. No one knows who gave the order. When I heard it, I wasn't angry; I knew Moe, I knew he was head-strong, talking loud, saying stupid things. So when he turned up dead, I let it go. And I said to myself, this is the business we've chosen; I didn't ask who gave the order, because it had nothing to do with business!”
 
And didn’t possess a prejudice bone in his body.
 
“I Don't Trust A Doctor Who Can Hardly Speak English.”
 
And most important, a dreamer!
 
“If I could only live to see it, to be there with you. What I wouldn't give for twenty more years! Here we are, protected, free to make our profits without Kefauver, the goddamn Justice Department and the F.B.I. ninety miles away, in partnership with a friendly government. Ninety miles! It's nothing! Just one small step, looking for a man who wants to be President of the United States, and having the cash to make it possible. Michael, we're bigger than U.S. Steel.”
 
It seems like only yesterday when this great American stood up to the fake media and made this final, dramatic statement.