Writer's Rooms

Never been in a writer's room. Well, not officially.
I did spend two weeks working with the great Mark Verheiden on a comedy spec titled Beer Run. Every morning, I would climb into my car, drive to Universal, and get a master's class in screenwriting from someone I consider one of the greats. Whether television or film, Mark knows how to break down a story. And he's one hell of a funny guy.
But there was one other time. Not exactly a writer's room, per se, but I was in a room with several other comedy writers for a few days. Does that count?

The revue was called Babes on Burnside and featured some of the most talented performers, singers, and dancers in Portland. Usually, the show was held at the Storefront Theatre, who had founded the revue, but this year was to be different. This summer, it would be performed at the Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall.
The show featured a very talented actor and comedian named Scott Parker. Scott and I had worked together in summer stock and, even before that, I knew him by his sterling comedic reputation. Any chance to work with Scott again would be worth it.

Even though, several summers before, he had tried to get me to laugh during my big scene in The Misanthrope.
If I was interested, I was told to submit some material. Pay was fifty dollars a sketch.
I wasn't doing it for the money. I had just finished taping Showtime Comedy Club Network, and my stand-up career was beginning to take off. What appealed to me was the chance to work with other comedy writers, so I jumped at the opportunity.

Lo and behold, either on the strength of my sample or because Scott had put in a good word, I got hired. I was told to report in two weeks later for a pitching session.

And we're off.

Two weeks later, I arrived with three sketches under my arm.
Scott had already seen two sketches from my one-man show Casually Insane, and those were accepted immediately.
The third? What can I say? It was classic J.P. Linde.

It was a Portland-specific parody about a troubled police department and their union representative, who seemed to spend most of his time keeping his corrupt friends out of trouble. It was a takeoff on television cop shows titled Stan Peters, Union Cop.It even had a theme song.

Stan Peters, Union Cop.
He's the man with the fake hair top.
Stan Peters.
Stan Peters.

The pitch went well. Scott, always a fan, was laughing. As I recall, others in the room were enjoying it too.
It took the producers all of one second to decide. There was no way in hell Stan Peters, Union Cop was making it into the show. Oh well. Two out of three ain't bad.

By the end of the summer, Babes on Burnside debuted at the swanky downtown concert hall. The place was packed as I took my seat with the rest of Portland society.
The lights dimmed. The curtain parted. And the show began. My first sketch, Humpback Whale Hits, a parody of those old K-Tel record commercials, brought down the house.
I was on a roll.
My second-act offering did just as well and featured Scott attempting to break into a booby-trapped car.
Another hit.

And then...
​
I guess the show had come up short on material because it closed with a sketch from The Carol Burnett Show. What? You passed on the genius of Stan Peters, Union Cop for this?
Somewhere, in an alternate universe, Stan Peters, Union Cop closed the show and brought the audience to its feet. And I have no doubt that in that universe, Stan's hair still looks magnificent.