Bret Calvert

An open letter to a Facebook friend that I don’t really know in real life.

 

Of course I should start by saying that I’ve enjoyed your political posts and stances for as long as I can remember being your Facebook friend. In fact, I think that’s why whatever mutual friend it was connected us in the first place. I have reposted your words several times and, on more than one occasion, thought to myself, “Wow. This guy put what I was thinking into words perfectly.” So, I think it’s fair to say that on a wide range of political issues, we are in total agreement.

 

Even more, your eloquence, passion, and intelligence shine in your posts. It is obvious how much time you have spent absorbing and processing the available information and coming to your own logical conclusions. It’s impressive. Sincerely.

 

And then yesterday, I was more than a bit surprised to see your caustic take on Sanders. I’ve been working hard on a new show for the last few months, so I haven’t digested posts in any regular fashion, so I must have missed several things you put up criticizing Bernie and your reasons why. The first I saw of your dislike for him was an article with a picture of those protesting outside of CNN last Sunday, to which you added the words “Idiot Children.” It just didn’t sound like you…at least not when referencing something other than the GOP…and even then very, very rarely.

 

Shortly after, I say you posted an article about Bernie’s interview with Daily News implying that it showed he was a hapless old coot that knew nothing (not to mention smugly dismissing a follow-up article someone posted with evidence he wasn’t as ill-informed as you thought and that the Daily News had actually made some mistakes.) Reviewing more of your page, I’ve seen you call him “grotesque” and a “petulant, reactive manbaby” and “morally bankrupt.”

 

When I pressed you on why you would dismiss Bernie out-of-hand and use such caustic language while doing so, you urged me to go back and read some of your old posts to see why you have such a vitriolic hatred for the guy. So…I did…and honestly, I can’t say I am any closer to understanding.

 

Let’s go through a couple:

Let’s start with the “Idiot Children” who were protesting in front of CNN about their bias for Hillary. First, even though a lot of your commenters replied with nothing more than “get a job” let’s be clear the protest was on a Sunday. I know because I was there. Not a part of the protest, but I saw it and it was totally a Sunday. In your critique of these “idiots” you say that their complaint is not provable, therefore they shouldn’t protest. I have soon many problems with this. Mostly, citizens of this country should protest whatever the hell drives them to protest. Free speech and all that. They should be able to make their voices heard without someone who disagrees with them resorting to name-calling. The funniest part is how you called them “children” while also calling them names…which is just about a childish as you can get. But beside all of that, their complain is very, very “provable.” The numbers in their coverage of each candidate are available for you to peruse at your leisure and the disproportionate coverage given to Clinton is irksome if not downright troubling. If you ever actually watch CNN you’ll notice a palpable bias in their tone, as well. It isn’t deniable. Those people who took the time to express themselves on that Sunday have a point. A clear, demonstrable one…wether you like it or not. But, even if they didn’t…who the hell are you to insult so many people for exercising their rights…regardless of if you agree with them. I’m used to you eloquently expressing your opposition to things. This sophomoric BS surprises me.

 

You recently posted an article with the headline “SANDERS: CLINTON SHOULD APOLOGIZE TO VICTIMS OF IRAQ WAR.” You added that it was “ghoulish.” However, when you read the article, he was responding to a loaded question about him apologizing to Sandy Hook families because he doesn’t think gun manufacturers should be held liable in shooting deaths. We can argue about the level of tastelessness of his response, but you cannot deny the point he was trying to make. Making the maker of a gun responsible for how their customers use it is ridiculous. We don’t sue Ford when someone drives drunk. The right to own guns exist. It’s the law of the land and these companies are making and selling a legal product. The responsibility for the current state of gun violence belongs at the feet of the NRA and the spineless politicians who can’t stand up to them. Yes, the manufacturers are a big part of the NRA…but drawing the direct line that a company is responsible when someone misuses their product is foolish. On the other hand, Hillary did have a part in making the Iraq war happen. Yes, it would be ridiculous for her to apologize…which is why Bernie said it…just as ridiculous as him apologizing for Sandy Hook. You can argue about how Bush mislead people with made-up evidence…but she still bought it and cast her vote. He shouldn’t have said it…but as with a lot of your posts, the scary headline overshadows the truth of what’s inside…which is dramatically less terrible than you seem to believe. More examples below.

 

Another article blames Sanders for postponing Obama getting into the race and supporting Hillary…in fact, you have several saying that Bernie should bow out for various reasons, mostly related to the notion that the longer he stays in the race, the harder it will be for Hillary to win. You post that the math doesn’t work out and he should just bow out and throw all of his political weight behind Hillary. This is probably the notion that makes me saddest of all…and we’re hearing it a lot. Those of us who support Bernie are being told it is hopeless and that, if we were smart, we’d give up on our candidate and get behind Hillary. In my humble opinion, this is purely un-American. To actually try to silence a candidate who is inspiring MILLIONS to get involved in the process, who has people believing that our government can actually be about them and not just the wealthy, who has young people actually excited to vote…well, it just makes me sick. That’s the kind of crap Trump would do. Bernie can run for as long as he wants…as long as droves of citizens are turning up to see him and are being inspired by his message…hell, as long as there is one citizen willing to sit and listen to what he has to say, he should stay in the race. It is his right. And dammit, he just might pull it off.

 

 

As far as him being responsible for Obama delaying his campaigning for Hillary…good. In the meantime, he’s been in DC being the opposite of a lame duck president and still getting things done. Even the article you posted on the subject says that Obama and his aides say that the delay “caused” by Sanders is an “unplanned benefit.”

 

 

Not to mention, if she is the nominee, Hillary is going to have her problems in the general regardless of what Bernie does. Big problems. I am firmly of the mindset that he has a better chance of winning against the Republican nominee than she does. He’s the only candidate with a positive favorability rating…on either side! Think about that for a second. There is so much distrust (in some cases well-placed, I’ll get to that later) and quite a bit of outright hate for Hillary out there, I think she’ll have a hard time hanging on when the GOP machine gears up and goes after her. They’ll have some ammo against Bernie, for sure…but he has been unapologetic and resolute, where she has been all over the map trying to cover her butt when pressed.

 

Another posts of yours shows a quote from Bernie which is admittedly a bit loopy and too revolutionary…but here’s the problem. It’s posted with a current picture of Bernie…even though the quote is 47 years old. I find it very disingenuous to take a sentence from a still developing political mind and present it as if it were said by a fully-formed political mind 5 decades later. That’s a parlor trick. That’s the kind of crap I have seen you rail against the GOP for. I read your comments where you tried to justify it by saying he hasn’t taken it back in the years since. I’m sorry, but I don’t think evolving means publicly listing everything you may have been misguided on. And your clear propaganda tactic is beneath you. You are better than that. I know…I’ve seen it.

 

Another post of yours about how Sanders’ campaign has taken a “Dark Turn” accompanied with an eerie silhouetted shot of Bernie. Open up the article and it accuses him of “attacking” Hillary by saying she accepted money from the oil and gas lobby, and super PACs, and that she voted for the Iraq war, and that she flip-flopped on trade….well, she actually did all of those things. I do not understand how pointing out things that ACTUALLY HAPPENED constitutes an attack. That’s called telling the truth. This whole line of thinking smells like Palin to me. Accusing someone of “attacking” for telling the truth. Now, you may argue that the “attack” is insinuating that she must be influenced by all of that money. Well, how could she not be? We know enough about the financial sector to know that they won’t dump millions of dollars into a campaign unless it will get them something. Trump knew it when he donated to Hillary and got her to come to his wedding even though she admits she hardly knew him. Money is influence in DC. Period. Saying so isn’t an attack…it’s just how it is. Bernie is funded by the people. He is beholden to no one but us. Hillary cannot say the same thing and pointing that out isn’t a “dark turn”…it’s telling the truth. He hasn’t gone after the e-mail nonsense, or the ridiculous Benghazi argument or mentioned FBI interviews. He’s not stooping to creating mud to sling out of thin air…he’s actually telling the truth. I am baffled that your seasoned political mid views that as an “attack”

 

It goes on and on…you criticize him for not saying he will whole-heartedly endorse Hillary unless she changes some of her policies. Even though I call that sticking to your guns and believing in your message. Forcing someone to give a full-throated endorsement of someone they happen to disagree with is sheepish and stupid. Besides, he has already said she will make a far better president than any GOP candidate. Bashing him for wanting her to rethink some policy is ridiculous. I don’t think any citizen should blindly support anyone. He made it clear that he prefers her to the other candidates…if you’re thinking he’s supposed to give her a blanket endorsement because of which side of the aisle they sit on…again, that’s GOP type of talk.

 

You bash him for not falling into lock-step with Obama about Garland for SCOTUS. I happen to think Garland is too conservative, too. I agree with you that there should be confirmation hearings as soon as possible…and Sanders has even said that he would vote to confirm him. But to say that he should not be allowed to raise concerns because he was selected by our beloved Democratic president is, again, not how things are supposed to work in America. If he has concerns, he should voice them. It goes beyond free speech, it’s his duty as an elected official. The fact that you think it is so awful that he doesn’t just support Obama without question troubles me. I adore Obama, but I would never demonize someone for thinking critically about his decisions.

 

You post quotes that are reportedly things Bernie said about Fidel Castro, saying it’s from a specific interview…yet the quote you posted doesn’t appear anywhere in the interview you indicated.

 

Now for the Ex-Im…you are very critical of Bernie for opposing it. I can understand your point on this one. His disapproval may be a knee-jerk reaction because, as you said, it helps big corporations more than anyone else. And you may have a good point about it also benefiting workers. I think it’s fair for you to be on a different side of this issue than Bernie. What isn’t fair is implying he’s some kind of asshole for not supporting it. He is allowed to maintain his stance about large corporations being our biggest danger. I agree with him. Again, his response to this may be reactive…but you can’t call him a flip-flopper. He has considered the evidence and stuck with his decision. The same cannot be said about Hillary Clinton. Not to say he has no room for compromise or growth…but opposing the Ex-Im doesn’t make him a monster…it falls in line with his priorities.

 

I’ll stop there. Again, I’m not trying to criticize you for having these opinions…support whichever candidate you prefer. I’m bothered at how you present them in such a divisive, caustic, demeaning, superior and dismissive fashion. Hell, you call a man who chained himself to African-American students to protest for civil rights “morally bankrupt.” You claimed to me that you have many great reasons for disliking Bernie, yet these and many more examples show you participating in propaganda and misdirection and exaggeration and sometimes just plain pig-headedness to support that position. The only reason it bothers me so much is because I’ve seen you do exactly the opposite. I’ve seen you do it the right way. With the name-calling and the putting-down of his supporters, you are dong the thing you accuse him of…dividing the party. One of your commenters said it best:

 

“What the word would be for the behavior of fervently and accusatorily bemoaning the lack of party unity while simultaneously doing everything you can think of to alienate the same people who would unify, I’m not sure.”

 

 

The thing that I think you want the most in this world is for the party to come together. You are doing the opposite of helping. We’ll be there in the end. If Hillary takes the nomination, we will all rally behind her. Watching you demonize this man for attacking your preferred candidate…saying how he’s going to hurt her in the general election…well, it sucks. Especially since it’s so obvious you are doing the exact thing you accuse him of. If by some long, wild chance he is our nominee, you will be (on a smaller scale) partly responsible for the divide it leaves. Or, at least, not doing anything to try and keep it together.

 

The tide is turning. Yes, he is still a longshot, but he has inspired millions of citizens to believe this government can actually be about THEM and not just about who has the money. Hillary is not in a position to convey that feeling…and it’s an important one. She is establishment through and through. Being such a negative force in trying to get him to stop running is not preserving democracy, as you would like to believe…it’s trying to shut it down. You occasionally throw jabs at Bernie for being a “socialist”…yet you want him to shut up so you can coronate your nominee. Think about that for a second.

 

As for why I prefer Bernie over Hillary…well, most of that has been covered above…but I will break it down to the simplest possible nutshell. It has nothing to do with scandal or e-mail or Benghazi or any of that nonsense. My problem is this…she claims to not be a natural politician but has behaved as nothing but. She stood on the debate stage and promised to overturn Citizens United while simultaneously taking money from a Super PAC. That is a total lack of conviction. If you are going to take advantage of the thing you claim to want to end…then it is a issue of principles for me. That’s just one example of why I see her as not much more than a professional politician.

 

 

Think what you please about these two candidates and please whole-heartedly and vocally support them to the absolute best of your ability. But don’t stoop to GOP tactics. Don’t bash the man for dividing the party with words and propaganda that drive the wedge deeper. I’m sure you can find enough actual factuality to support your position, these underhanded and misleading efforts are beneath you.

After hearing about the 43 college students massacred in Mexico, I’ve been thinking a lot about the air of contention around immigration. If you’re not aware of the incident I’m referring to, it is horrific. The students were traveling to a town in Mexico, perhaps for a protest of some sort. Allegedly, the mayor of the town was afraid they would disrupt an event his wife was throwing in the city, so he had the students apprehended by corrupt police officers and handed over to a drug cartel…who then massacred the students and burned their bodies. Unbelievably heinous stuff…yet not terribly surprising when you consider the constant atrocities that occur south of the border. Drug cartels and corrupt police have created an atmosphere of poverty and fear and death and misery. The corruption runs so deep throughout the government, it’s hard to imagine how the situation will even start to be resolved.

Which brings me to immigration. Please know ahead of time that I am not suggesting we simply open the borders and let everyone through. That’s ridiculous. More than the nuts and bolts of it…I’ve been thinking about the attitude with which the subject is usually addressed. Specifically…anger. As in, the minutemen and the incredulous tirades against the evil Mexicans who want to come here and take our jobs and soak up our tax money. I’m talking about the elitist, violent, fear-inducing, manufactured rhetoric that is draped over the issue. I’m talking about the people who sit on the border with rifles to “protect our freedom.” I’m talking about laws that allow certain states to stop any brown person at any time and demand to see their papers. I can’t for the life of me understand where all the deep seething anger comes from.

If you ask one of the angry people, they’ll tell you it’s about jobs. That’s bullshit. For all of the hundreds of times I have seen someone on Fox News or GOP fundraiser talk about how they are coming over here to take our jobs…I have never…I repeat NEVER…seen them produce one single person who actually said there was a job that they wanted but couldn’t get because an illegal immigrant took it. Not one. I have never heard anyone say…”I had a great job picking fruit, but then an illegal came and took it.”…or “I got fired from my dishwashing gig because someone came across the border and usurped me.”

Sure, it’s easy for someone trying to get elected to stand in front of the underemployed, point across the border and tell them that the blame for their plight lies over there. It’s a classic way to get elected…that doesn’t make it true.

I can understand how someone without a job can get riled up by that kind of nonsense. A desperate situation might incline them to accept that the reason it’s not going well for them is because of a sneaky, dirty foreigner who made a risky, midnight dash across the border in order to keep the jobless American down. But I am fairly certain that same angry American would turn his unemployed nose up if offered one of the jobs these people do. There is a massive disconnect in that argument and it’s a shame (and a sham) that more people don’t see it.

Meanwhile, the corporations that are funding the GOP mouthpieces who do most of the illegal blaming are also outsourcing their asses off. They are literally paying money to direct the national conversation about immigration towards the taking of our jobs…while simultaneously sending actual, non-propaganda jobs out of the country. Don’t believe me? Check out the owner of Dollar General, whom the voters in Georgia just cursed themselves with.

If you want absolute proof that they are lying to you about the immigrant situation…consider this. For all of the bloviated rhetoric out there that says that President Obama wants these illegals to come and stay…or that he’s soft on the borders…the plain fact is that he has deported more illegal immigrants than any President in history. Ever. Try to wrap your mind around that. The same guy that they are claiming is trying to ruin your life by letting these people easily come to your beloved country…is actually the guy who has overseen sending more of them back than any of his predecessors in the history of said beloved country. The lie/propaganda machine is up and running…and you’re letting it bring anger into your life…for no good reason. (Not that there is EVER a good reason to bring anger into your life. Yoda was pretty clear about that.)

So, the cause may be manufactured…but the anger is real. The people who feel the need to call themselves “real Americans” are so mad about the border. It is the hottest button of issues. Fists are shook, faces are reddened and epithets are hurled whenever it is brought up. We are told it’s something to fear…we are told it will bring the destruction of our very civilization…they will steal our way of life.

…and then, later in the news report, we hear the story about the college students…or a beheading…or a twelve-year-old with a machine gun working for the cartels…or a family disappearing…or any of the myriad of terrible atrocities that happen down there. And this is where I get confused. This is where I cannot reconcile the fact that so many who support the perpetuation of this synthesized anger…also profess to be Christian.

How does one balance that in their brain? How can you spend so much time talking about the healing love of Christ…and so much time believing we need to start gunning down people who are trying to escape such a horrific situation. These people aren’t coming here to try and take our jobs…they are coming here to try and survive! They are literally seeking refuge from one of the most currently dangerous and unimaginably horrible situations on Earth. Yet, there are many who feel the need to demonize them and call for their heads. For the life of me…I can’t think of anything LESS Christian.

Again, I’m not saying we should just open the doors. Rules need to be followed, steps need to be taken and civility must reign. We shouldn’t just let anyone who wants to run across the border free passage…but we should be able to at least try to understand what made them make that run. On a human level, we should be able to have empathy for these people. Put yourself in their shoes…if you lived in a place where it was not uncommon to see a beheaded corpse hanging from a bridge…you might make a run for it, too.

I feel the need to reiterate, I’m not saying we just let everyone come in…but at the very least we need to try and understand why they are trying to…and realize that it is NOT to come take your fucking job.

Christian love would seem to lean towards empathy…and even sympathy…for these people. I’ll never understand why some constantly claim to love The Lord…but hate these people trying to save their own lives. It’s just one in a long line of things about the GOP platform that I can’t understand how a Christian mind can reconcile supporting…this is just the one I’ve been thinking about today.

I suppose that before I entreat you to read my ramblings and nonsense that I should do my best to introduce myself.

I am a dynamic figure, often seen scaling walls and crushing ice…oh, wait…that was somebody else.

I was born in Houston, TX in 1977.

“Big deal!” you say. “So were a lot of people.”

I guess you have a point. I’ve never really thought about it that way. But of all the births that took place in Houston in 1977, mine was probably the most important to me.

I have very vague memories of our time in Houston. I remember we had a train that pretty much ran through our backyard. My older brother, Todd, and I would stick pennies to the rail with gum and then collect the flattened pennies after the train had passed. I know it’s not popular to talk about growing up in a family who could throw money around like that. But I take pride in the fact that my parents worked hard enough to give us that extra 6 or 7 cents of (literally) disposable income each week. It is a testament to Mom and Dad’s tireless work ethic that we never wanted for flat pennies.

I also remember one time stepping on a lamp cord that was apparently frayed because I shocked the ever-loving shit out of my 4 year-old self. It’s kind of a blur, but I remember a flash of light and then both of my parents frantically trying to wash my adorable little hands in the sink because my fingers had turned black. In most cases, this would have resulted in me having some sort of superpower where I could shoot lightning bolts from my hands or control generators with my mind…(kinda like Jamie Foxx in “That Outstanding Spider-Guy, Too!”)…but alas and alack, I remained a regular kid. Total bullshit!

We moved to Hunt, TX when I was almost five so my dad could run the local drug and alcohol rehabilitation center. The Hunt School was a one-building schoolhouse with a separate library/cafeteria built across the playground. Only Kindergarten got a room all to themselves, the other grades were paired up and shared a room and a teacher…1st and 2nd, 3rd and 4th, 5th and 6th.

I’ll have plenty of stories from my time at Hunt School coming up…but here is a fun little preview…My kindergarten teacher had once been a roadie for the Monkees who said the first curse word I ever heard when she spilled hot popcorn oil on her foot. My 3rd and 4th grade teacher was on the short list of candidates for the Challenger mission and is, to this day, the most influential and inspiring educator I’ve ever had. My 5th and 6th grade teacher was on national news several times for the innovative free-enterprise teaching system he developed, basically incorporating the class and teaching math, English and social studies as part of running the business…(this was during the Reagan years when free-enterprise was our national religion)…he also sometimes threw chalkboard erasers at us, had a collection of paddles to “motivate” us with the threat of a beating and occasionally used the N-word during his lessons! And once a Gideon came to give us bibles but he fell down and cracked his head on a desk and we had to call an ambulance…thus skewing my view of religion for the rest of my life. Make sure you stay tuned for all of that!

I went to Junior High and High School at Tom Moore in Ingram, the next town over. For the first few years, this part of my educational experience drifted into the arena of “typical.” The jocks ruled the school. I was awkward and uncool. Girls wanted nothing to do with me. I cracked too many jokes in class. I really only had one friend at a time. In Junior High it was a kid named Bullfrog (someday I’ll tell you about the time he was airlifted from a party) and then for the first couple years of High School there was a fella who would eventually be known as Doughboy. He was the best friend a guy could ever have. I will have plenty to say about him…God rest his chubby little soul.

I was big into debate, forensics and one-act-play as well as a couple of years in a sweaty costume as the school mascot at football games. Can you believe it…even with all of that, I couldn’t get small-town Texas high school girls to be interested in me? I’ll give you a minute to let the shock wear off.

…

I tried to play basketball one year but I was pretty terrible. One time, Coach Schaake and the coach from the other school decided to let all the benchwarmers play at halftime. We played 3 on 3…their losers against ours. I had four steals and ten points during that halftime. Schaake must have thought he misjudged me because he put me in the actual game once it resumed. I had one assist and then missed an 8 foot jumper. That was the extent of my organized basketball career. My disorganized basketball career on the park court down by Kerrville Dam is a whole ‘nuther story.

I also played baseball one year and was much, much worse at it than basketball…although I did hit a double once AND I set a district record for being hit by the most pitches! If you needed a guy to step in and take one to the ribs and then sit down while you send in a pinch runner…I’m your guy.

About midway through my Junior year, I became friends with 3 more guys. Along with doughboy, the 5 of us would become practically inseparable for the next two years. We even had t-shirts made. Those guys saved my life more than once. There is not enough time or distance to ever make me forget how much they mean to me.

I also had my own version of Betty and Veronica…although I was Jughead. But those two ladies (you know who you are) drove me constantly to be a better guy. Even though there was no romance between any of us during our time in Ingram, they developed the standard that would be set for every woman I met for the rest of my life. Most of the women out there in the world didn’t stand a chance.

After graduation, I moved to LA with giant dreams of being a movie star…and it took practically no time at all for the city to kick those dreams in the collective nuts and send me scurrying home with a badly bruised tail between my legs…but I did get to be on The Price is Right AND Singled Out! In fact, I had close, personal contact with both Bob Barker and Jenny McCarthy…that’s a lot of living packed into such a short time.

I headed back to Texas and went to college for a couple of years…it didn’t take…and during this time I fell into improv comedy. I performed with troupes in San Antonio and Austin, as well as starting a troupe on my college campus in San Marcos. It was through an improv festival that I landed the opportunity to fly back out to LA for a screen test…which just happened to be during the same week as finals. As you can guess, I didn’t get the gig, failed most of my classes and drove the final nail into the coffin that held my formal education. Don’t get me wrong, I learned plenty after that, I just never got a piece of paper to show for it…mostly just bruises.

The main thing I gained from my time in college was another incredible friend…Grant. I have never met anyone who enjoyed life as much as him (until he got married) and he taught me a lot about letting go and being comfortable with who I am. He’s been gone a little over a year and I hear his laugh every day.

I went to lick my wounds on Dickinson Bay for a summer and then, thanks to a performance at that same festival, I landed an audition to perform comedy on the Disney Magic. I drove to Minneapolis, sang a song that my brother wrote called “Lord, let there be a place to piss in Lamesa” and performed the monologue I had written on burger king napkins on my way up there. I came back the next day to do improv auditions, which included meeting a man named Bruce Green who would become one of my dearest friends and comic educators.

As you probably guessed, I got the job and spent the next two years on the high seas. Well, they weren’t really that high…except for one time…and that ended up with me being drug tested while using someone else’s pee. (See? There’s all kinds of wholesome stories to look forward to!)

I even managed to get my brother on board for my second contract…the first one having been one of the most excruciating working experiences of my life. I loved Bruce and 99% of the rest of the cast…but one lousy improviser with a shitty attitude kind of made the whole experience a living heck. (Q: Why would he use the word “shitty” but then back off from using hell? A: Who are you, Clarence Darrow?)

But that second contract with Todd, Mike, George, Nancy and Matt will always be held in my heart as one of the most enjoyable professional experiences of my life…mainly because we acted fairly unprofessional at most times. We were consistently the highest rated entertainment attraction on the ship and we loved each other fiercely. Somewhere during this time, George and I pulled off the greatest prank in the history of pranks…not because it was overwhelmingly elaborate or had an incredible payoff…but because I was so convincing in the set-up that Mike is still mad at me to this day for something I pretended happened. Not mad that I pretended…but mad that I didn’t act differently in the made-up scenario. It’s hard to explain…but then again, so is Mike. Regardless, I have no reservations that I gave the single greatest acting performance in the history of the world that day. Sir Laurence Olivier can kiss my turd-cutter. (I might be the first person in history to type that sentence)

After the boat, I moved to Dallas for a bit to fulfill my lifelong dream of waiting tables and not having a car. Todd went on to NYC and one day called me to tell me that the singer-songwriter responsible for our favorite album of all time, Willis Alan Ramsey, was going to be in New York giving his first concert in 30 years. The managers at the restaurant where I worked loved me, I was the first three employees of the month, so they paid for my ticket to fly to the concert. It kinda backfired on them, though, when I forgot to come back for four years.

This was in April of 2001. I got a job my second day there, waiting more tables at a horrible theme restaurant/tourist trap. As bizarre and awful as the work experience was, some of my dearest friends were made there. I could go on and on about all of the ridiculous/disgusting/heartwarming things that happened in that building…and I probably will…for now, let’s just say that I had to tell tourists that rats were “part of the show”, worked alongside topless lesbian vampires and once served a plate of absolute garbage to an honest-to-goodness Iron Chef.

I was just getting used to the city when the towers came down. It was awful, inspiring, hopeful, nerve-wracking, terrible and reaffirming. I’m not going to write much about that.

It was shortly after that I got my first PA gig with Comedy Central…which is what I was doing when the blackout hit and I had to drive a cube truck full of props and equipment across town for 8 hours with a stripper in the cab with me. (See how I just drop those little nuggets to convince you to come back later to hopefully read the whole story?)

I eventually left New York, hung out in Texas for a year and then followed my brother when he moved to LA. With his help, we finally convinced a great producer to give me a shot writing jokes…and that’s all I’ve done since. (Professionally, I mean…I’ve done lots of other stuff…drive, eat, poop, see a blimp.)

10 years later, I’m still here and still writing and producing TV shows for fun and profit…mostly fun. There have been countless stories from the world of television production…like the time I made Jeff Foxworthy laugh so hard that coffee came out of his nose or when I spilled red wine all over D.L. Hughley while my boyhood crush, Vivica, looked on. (If you haven’t yet realized the trend of me teasing stories and then not paying them off in an effort to keep you reading…you may be too dumb to read blogs. Try Highlights magazine. I hear Goofus is up to some crazy shit!)

During that ten years I got married, lost some friends (I mean they died…I didn’t misplace them), misplaced some friends, gathered three adorable pets, got put on Lorazepam, and had a midnight adventure with a possum and a pack of coyotes…among other things.

So, there you have it…the short and sweet version of my whole life. If you’ve read all this and feel like you just can’t wait to learn more…stay tuned…you’ll get your chance. If you’ve read all this and are trying to figure out a way to crumple up a blog and throw it in the trash or line the bottom of a birdcage with it…you are entitled to your mean, lousy opinion.

On Friday, I’ll have been on the Earth for 37 years…if you don’t subtract all the time I’ve spent in airplanes. I’m not saying I’m the most interesting guy…or the best writer…or super funny…or any of the other reasons one might want to read someone else’s blog. But I’m trying…and sharing this stuff makes me feel good. So, much like the people who are both here and queer, you’ll just have to get used to it!

What is the purpose of protest? I’ve always drawn the conclusion is that the purpose of protest is too draw attention and to apply pressure. I feel like that’s been accomplished. I’m not saying that the situation is over and that everything is hunky-dory in Missouri…but they have drawn the eyes of the nation, the media and the feds. The scrutiny over how this investigation unfolds will be unflinching. Millions of people now feel personally invested and affected by the situation.

I know the immediate goal for the citizens on the streets of Ferguson is to force the arrest of the police officer who fired those fatal shots…and the ultimate goal is to expose the systemic and pervasive racial bias found in local law enforcement. There are volumes of evidence confirming the unfair treatment of African-Americans by police forces in Ferguson and across the country. There is no doubt that the concern and anger coming from the citizens is very real and overwhelmingly justified…sadly, the same can’t be said of all of their actions.

The particulars of this case will be analyzed and debated for a long time to come. Some will say Brown was a thief who should have complied with cops. Some will say he was an innocent kid whose character is being attacked. Some will say he struggled against the officer…the autopsy seems to say different. Many say he died with his hands with the air…EVERYONE knows he died without a weapon. When you add in the information, which has been confirmed by the Ferguson PD, that the officer had no knowledge of the fact Michael Brown was a suspect in a robbery…the video of the robbery really has no bearing and the case against the officer remains strong. It will be hard for anyone to justify 6 shots into an unarmed teenager.

I understand why everyone on the streets are so angry. I get the frustration and the boiling tension from decades of unfair treatment. The strong-armed tactics of the Ferguson PD in dealing with the protests has been well documented. The use of tear gas, rubber bullets and “military” tactics has been broadcast across the globe. Their treatment of the citizens and, even more brazenly, the media has been exposed as not only overtly aggressive…but also embarrassingly ineffective.

That being said…there is no excuse for looting, throwing malatov cocktails or rocks and especially firing gunshots at police or other citizens. Not only is it obviously and inherently dangerous and not only does it draw the ire of a proven aggressive law enforcement unit…but, perhaps more importantly, it completely pulls attention and support away from the cause that brought everyone together in the first place. The righteous ground begins to shake when you are demanding that law be enforced in the Brown case while openly breaking laws in defiance. The gatherings are supposed to be making sure that the outcome in this investigation is what’s right…that’s impossible to accomplish by doing what’s wrong.

Please don’t misunderstand me…I am with the citizens of Ferguson. I think their outrage is justified and their situation drastically deserves radical change. The massive majority of the citizens have been lawfully using their rights to protest and have done so peacefully and in earnest. It’s those who have used it as an excuse for violence and looting who are doing the most damage to the Brown family and the case against the cops. It’s not the police themselves…all they are doing is driving home the reputation the citizens have given them. The more violent and outrageous their actions are…the stronger the sentiment against them…but when they have to respond to gunshots, looting and firebombs…you are adding reason to their actions…which hurts your whole point. I’m not saying that the police haven’t reacted poorly…it’s offensive and appalling the way they have behaved…but when you put the inciting of such actions on actual violent and dangerous actions by the crowd, the moral superiority the citizens have rightly held starts to dissolve.

The pictures and videos of citizens trying to stop other townspeople from looting and attacking police does my heart good…so does the Black Panthers call this morning for a 5-day moratorium on the protests. It’s good to see those who feel strongly about the Michael Brown case realize when their cause is being injured and acting with the best interest of the people and their message at heart. The old man trying to talk the young guy out of throwing a Molotov cocktail really resonated with me. The older gentleman’s pleas were filled with knowledge and reason…he knew that the firebomb wouldn’t just possibly injure a policeman…but that it would explode in the face of all they were there to accomplish. Heartbreaking. In fact…that’s the best word to describe the whole situation…just heartbreaking.

I hope the people keep hitting the streets. I hope they continue to make their voices heard. I hope they march every single day until the investigation is complete and Darren Wilson is, at the very least, not a cop anymore. I hope they stay in the streets until the complexion of the Ferguson PD changes to reflect the citizenship. I hope streets fill with people all across the country until the well-documented unbalanced treatment of African-Americans by law enforcement is earnestly addressed and corrected. I love our right to protest and my heart goes out to those in Ferguson who have exercised their rights righteously.

I cannot begin to comprehend the tension and seething anger that comes from living under such an oppressive system for so long. There is no doubting the fact that the law enforcement system, as a whole, is unfair and discriminatory. I hope that we can all keep in mind the fact that there are millions of honest, proper cops who sincerely want to serve and protect their communities. Just as the vast majority of the protesting crowd was peaceful…so too are the vast majority of police officers quality civil servants who are essential to the functioning of society. But as we have seen in both cases, it doesn’t take many abusing their place as police or protestor to throw the entire situation into dangerous chaos. I don’t understand the violent outbursts from either side…but I can see how they have transpired…I can fathom their cause.

As I said…the whole situation breaks my heart. My most sincere hope is that the family of Michael Brown receives some form of justice and peace. I wish safety and security for all of those who live in the area…and I hope for swift, legal retribution for those on both sides who are acting inappropriately. I hope those who did nothing wrong, whose businesses and property have been injured will rebuild and thrive. I hope Darren Wilson is dealt with. I hope the attention brought to this crucial subject stays strong until the dream of equality is realized. I hope the idiots who dismiss this situation as “playing the race card” wake up someday with souls and reasonable minds. I hope that all of this hectic confusion and dangerous street warfare someday amounts to something good. I hope there is a light at the end of the tunnel. I hope there is justice. I hope there is peace.

I had never before cried at the passing of a celebrity. Not even Carlin. Yesterday I wept. If you had asked me to guess a celebrity whose death would cause me to shed tears…I would never have thought to mention him. He’s never been my favorite actor, even though I still think that Michael Douglas’ Oscar for Wall Street remains one of the largest travesties in the history of that award…Morgan Freeman or Robin Williams should have walked out of there with the trophy that night…I’m still a little mad at the president of show-business about that. Regardless, I never would mention him in the list of my favorites…it just wouldn’t have occurred to me…but there I was…sitting at a desk in a temporary office with a person I’d known for 5 hours…trying to hold back genuine tears. I was surprised…not only at his death but at my reaction. I didn’t know I would care…until I suddenly knew it all too well.

To be perfectly honest, the manner of his death isn’t what moved me. Yes, I have been personally affected by suicide before and have spent many years trying to sort out my guilt, anger and sadness. It’s a very personal and sensitive issue with me…but that wasn’t what struck me.

I will not take the same approach as some others recalling Williams over the past day have taken…I will not pretend to know the suffering of an individual. I won’t try to comprehend his feelings or suggest in any way that I know what he should have done. I won’t be asinine enough to suggest it could have been as simple as Williams just making a different choice. (I’m looking at you, Matt Walsh, you f**king Ann-Coulter wanna-be. How can you rightfully admit that you can’t comprehend his state of mind…and then try to suggest what he should have done differently? Truths my ass, jerk. PS- this tirade is meant for Matt Walsh the blogger. I hold the good Matt Walsh, the guy on Veep, in very high esteem.)

I have not been depressed. Having known and loved a handful of people who fight with the disease in no way makes me an expert or anywhere close to worthy of handing out advice on the subject. I wouldn’t even say that I can offer any real helpful thoughts to other survivors who have lost someone they care about…my situation was unique…as I’m sure yours is. It’s such a devastating and personal experience that I think it would be arrogant of me to assume my conclusions about myself would apply to you. The armchair psychiatrists will be out in force in the next couple of days. Please know that they all mean well (except Walsh) and take their words for what they are…a viewpoint on a condition that is impossible to understand, even by those who live through it. Of all the things you will read from those trying to offer comfort and insight through discussions of depression…only one sentiment will be universal…only one piece of advice should be taken to heart by anyone who can read it…

If you need help or if you feel hopeless…talk to someone. Call the hotline number that’s been tweeted and posted a million times today. If you’re not up for that, talk to someone…anyone. If all else fails…call me. Sincerely. Reaching out is the only action suggested by anyone in discussion of this subject that I endorse 100%.

I knew immediately that the cause was not the trigger of my emotions…but I didn’t know immediately what was. The Fisher King has always been one of my two favorite movies (Raising Arizona) but just losing a guy who was in a movie I loved didn’t seem like enough to warrant this reaction. So, I started to think about Dead Poets…I could see Ethan Hawke’s face as he stood on his desk and called out to his Captain. Then I really lost it. I realized how many times I’d seen Good Morning Vietnam…how familiar I was with the dialogue. I thought about him talking to those soldiers on the truck…or trying desperately to be funny while his heart was breaking after the bombing at the Saigon bar. Role after role dawned on me…one by one. The legacy of his characters lined up before me and I was astounded at its sheer breadth.

Then I remembered listening to him do Elmer Fudd singing Bruce Springsteen on a Comic Relief cassette tape my brother had. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1vT-VaMXsAw) I remembered his Dr. Ruth impression…his voiceover of the Pecos Bill story on some old kid’s special. I remembered the Genie. I remembered the guy who ached to catch a pass from Kurt Russell…who just knew his whole life would have been different if he had just caught that damn ball. They just kept lining up.

I had no comprehension of the effect the man had on me…the number of lines and deliveries that I repeated almost daily…practically having forgotten where they came from…the way these notions had ingrained themselves into my psyche, to the point where they weren’t just funny things I remembered…but were a part of my personality. I suppose the word for that…is influence.

His comedy routines were the foundation script for my time as a class clown. His manic energy was the blueprint for my time as a professional improviser. His ability of his characters to make the unbearable funny…are still whispers in my ear when I write.

I’m not trying to say that I am his biggest fan…or retroactively call him my hero…or any other number of things that people tend to do when someone respected passes away. He has bigger fans…I have other heroes. I just find it fascinating how much he actually had to do with fashioning my sense of humor and my view of the world…and how readily I accepted his characters as fact…and took their thoughts to heart. There is more Robin Williams in me than I knew.

I also love the fact that every single person who ever worked with or met the man has some sort of warm story about the size of his heart…about how he engaged others he came in contact with…how much he truly cared. It’s pretty easy for a genius to be a dick…and by all accounts, he never was. I never had the pleasure of meeting Robin Williams…but it does my heart good to hear that the experience was constantly positive. More gifts for the world.

I’ve seen all the retrospectives today…everyone has a list of his best scenes or most memorable moments or things you may not have known or interesting quotes. I hope they are enjoyed and cherished by as many people as possible today. …but I’m not trying to get clicks. I have nothing to advertise. I’m just here to tell my little stories. So, here is a list of Robin Williams’ work that meant something to me. I’m not saying any are the best…or trying to start a fun debate…I’m just sharing. I’m sure your list will be different…lord knows we have a lot to choose from. Gifts.

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MORK AND MINDY

I was born the year that Mork met Fonzie…and only a year old when he moved to Boulder. I remember this show as something my brother really liked. If I’m not mistaken, he even went as Mork for one Halloween AND had a pair of those awesome rainbow suspenders. My memory is fuzzy, but I do recall knowing there was a silly alien man on TV that everyone loved. I knew the phrases “nanu nanu” and “shazbot” were funny…I just couldn’t tell you why.

POPEYE

I have said for years that this movie was just a stone’s throw away from being a classic. I honestly believe that if the songs were a little more lyrically mature and catchy, Popeye would be remembered entirely differently. My brother will still occasionally bust out into a refrain of “He’s Large” …now it’s funny because it was so awful…but again, I think the songs were the Achilles heel of an otherwise entertaining movie. I remember being impressed as a kid by the grand scope of the sets and the way the actors made the cartoons come to life. Having watched it many times since, I am no less impressed with Williams’ performance. He didn’t just do an impression of Popeye…he became him. I knew enough of Mork to know that the vast difference between the two characters was quite a feat for an actor…one he would repeat many times over. The highlight for me was his hushed, muttered asides…perfectly reminiscent of the cartoon character and the funniest parts of the film. This was the first time I was aware that characters could jump from one medium to another…it was ambitious, to say the least…and I’ve always thought they pulled it off…except for those terrible songs.

FAERIE TALE THEATER – THE FROG PRINCE

I was 5 at the time and Shelley Duvall’s Faerie Tale Theater was my favorite show. I still remember Jeff Bridges in Rapunzel and the absolutely horrifying Rumplestiltskin…who I’m pretty sure was Billy Barty…but it’s Williams’ turn as the frog prince that stayed with me. (Although, I totally had nightmares about the swordfight he had versus the scorpion. Kinda creepy) At this point, I was sure I was going to be an actor when I grew up…just ask my Kindergarten teacher. I was just starting to understand the concept of roles. I was blown away by how the same guy got to be an alien, Popeye, a frog and a prince. How could anyone ask for a better job than that???

MOSCOW ON THE HUDSON

I didn’t see this film until much later in my life…but I adore it. Such a subdued, calmly melancholy performance by Williams. He balances heartbreaking loneliness with a vehement optimism so wonderfully. Considering it was during the height of the cold war, his ability to make an American audience sympathize with a Russian was no small feat. Perhaps the fact that most of America was already in love with Williams helped…but is still a moving and nuanced performance that is too often overlooked.

GOOD MORNING VIETNAM

Of course. No list would be complete without this film. I was ten when it came out…so I didn’t really get it at first…but it was one of the first VHS tapes we owned and I must have watched it 3 dozen times before I turned 18. It was the first attempt that I recall to harness his free-flowing energy as a comedian into a movie role. Entire blocks were dedicated to his hyper-active stage persona…but it never took anything away from the character. We recognized Robin inside Adrian Cronauer…but never stopped buying it. I think this might have been our first glimpse of what it was like for him as a performer. When the microphone was on…he was fiercely dedicated to the art of having fun…but once the show was over, he was a whole person again…not just a caricature designed to entertain. He felt fear and loss and anger and defiance…all while maintaining his affability but not being the same clown as he was on the air. As I mentioned before, the two scenes that stand out are when he attempts to do his broadcast after the bar was bombed and when he is talking to the soldiers on the back of a truck. In both scenes, he is attempting to entertain while his heart is breaking and he utterly nails it. Stellar performances by Bruno Kirby and J.T. Walsh compliment him perfectly. Even though this was less of an actual retelling of the events of Cronauer’s life and more of a “Robin Williams Goes to War” it is paced and performed beautifully. The country becomes an integral character and Williams becomes a war hero without firing a single shot. This was the first of several Williams’ movie posters I would have in my room.

DEAD POETS SOCIETY

I remember the trip to the theater to see this film vividly…mainly because it became a point of contention in my family and remains so to this day. You see, during the incredibly dramatic scene when Robert Sean Leonard sneaks into his father’s office and reaches into one of the desk drawers…I turned to my brother and SILENTLY made my fingers into the shape of a gun…as if to say “oh shit…I think he’s getting a gun.” Please note that I highlighted the word “silently” because I did not make a sound. However, my play-cousin, Courtney, saw my gun fingers and cried out “bang” just at the moment he shot himself. You never hear the gunshot on screen…only from Courtney. My brother and my “Uncle” John gave me hell about it for years…how I ruined the most dramatic scene by making gunshot noises. I tried for years to explain that it wasn’t me…but they never believed me. I was in my 30s before Courtney confessed to me that it was her…but she has yet to clear my name with Todd or John. I think my obsessive need for everyone to be completely silent in the movie theater comes from the shame that was unjustly heaped on me for that moment. I am lovingly peeved about it to this day.

With that being said, this is another obvious movie for this list. Williams is sensational. The thing that struck me immediately was the character’s love for teaching. In too many funny-teacher-changed-my-life movies, the teacher in question would rather be an actor or a comic or a magician or whatever and just takes the teaching gig to make ends meet and discovers a love for it. Not so in this film. John Keating’s passion for education and poetry is palpable…and even when Williams’ own personality peeks through (his John Wayne and Marlon Brando impressions) we never lose sight of Keating and what he is trying to accomplish with those boys. It’s no wonder that we subconsciously attribute so many of the wonderful quotes from this film to Williams himself. In the wake of his death, we’ve seen post after post reminding us to seize the day, heed Whitman’s advice and look at the world differently. He reminded us all of someone who touched our lives in our youth and did it with such earnest love for his students that the line between actor and character was almost imperceptible. True, he pulled off this same feat in Good Morning, Vietnam…but there were no histrionics or aimless comedy bits…he wasn’t playing a comedian stuck in a war zone…he was playing a teacher. Every line had a purpose and every beat had a lesson.

AWAKENINGS

DeNiro was great…but this was Williams’ movie. Nowhere to be found are the antics or wildly comedic interludes that marked many of his other films. He is a man of science and quiet desperation. He is so deeply eager to help and achieve that we feel more sorry for him when DeNiro goes back into his vegetative state. Of course, we want DeNiro to live his life…but we want Williams to have the satisfaction of having truly helped someone even more. Despite his education and status as a doctor…he is vulnerable. He is as out of touch with the outside world as his patients. While they have had the world taken from them by disease, Williams’ character shut the world out to focus on his duty as a healer. This movie is as much about his own awakening as it is his patients’.

THE FISHER KING

The best. The absolute best. Last night, still reeling from the sudden loss…I had the immeasurable joy of introducing my wife to this incredible film. To me, it is practically flawless. A pitch-perfect script. Incredible performances from Williams, Jeff Bridges, Michael Jeter, Mercedes Ruehl and Amanda Plummer…plus Tom Waits in my absolute favorite cameo of all time. To be honest, I thought Bridges got hosed at Oscar time. I thought he should have been nominated alongside…or even instead of…Williams. But don’t let that take away from his incredible performance. Tragic, hilarious, fanciful, deep, wise and naïve…Perry is a character unlike any other. He never plays it like someone who lost their mind after a tragedy…he won’t let it be that simple. Again, the character gives him a chance to do some of his trademark riffing…but it is used so sparingly and perfectly. We know the whole time that there is a reasonable and intelligent person behind Parry’s madness…yet we accept his madness as a lovable character trait…not as a condition. Despite all that he lost to drive him to his life of insanity and homelessness…it is clear how much he has gained from the experience. We know that he will come out on the other side a better person…as if his wife was sacrificed for his own personal growth. We begin to believe in him…and root for him…and are overwhelmingly satisfied when he finds love and gets his grail.

Stunning visuals, powerhouse acting, AMAZING script featuring some of the best dialogue ever recorded (I had to stop myself from talking along with the film last night…too many perfect lines to count)…if you only remember this movie because of the dance in Grand Central or the laying naked in the park…do yourself a giant favor and watch it again. It is as resonant today as it ever was…and remains a towering achievement.

ALADDIN

The Genie is easily the role that captured his style as a comedian most completely. Someone on TV said it best…he is so fast and energetic, he made other actors look slow…not even a camera was fast enough to capture him at full-tilt. It took the magic of animation to keep up with him…and it worked perfectly. By all accounts, he improvised 80% of his dialogue…they just gave him a ballpark and let him run around in it…and it worked to perfection. Never before had there been a visual to match his frantic pace and myriad of characters. Much credit should be given to the incredible song writing as his transitions from monologues to singing were absolutely seamless…and he delivered each song with a comic bravado no one else could have achieved. If you want pure Robin Williams…this is as close as you’ll ever get in a movie.

Along with The Little Mermaid, this movie set the stage for Disney’s triumphant return to being a movie powerhouse…and it rivals Good Morning, Vietnam as the Williams’ film I have seen most often. My step-nieces came to live with us for a while when I was 16. They were 2 and 3 years old and this was their favorite movie. I literally watched at least part of Aladdin every day for 8 months. It remains my favorite Disney film and if you like, call me up sometime and I’ll sing you all the songs.

MRS. DOUBTFIRE

I didn’t fully appreciate this movie until 6 or 7 years after it came out. When I was working on the Disney Magic cruise ship, it played on the closed-circuit onboard movie channel at least twice a day. When it came out, I had dismissed it as too uncool for a teenage boy to want to see…but I was wrong. It is not just a cross-dressing gag reel. The love of his children and the desperation of being a single father play well throughout. He completely loses himself in the Doubtfire character when it’s appropriate…but we also see the struggle of maintaining the illusion and how much it means to him to be near his kids. It’s easy to file it under “Wacky guy does something wacky but learns a lesson” along with dozens of lesser films…but this performance was much more than what was advertised and definitely is worth repeat viewings…maybe just not every damn day. Much like Tootsie, the guy in drag bits serve as a backdrop for a character study of the man behind the makeup. But unlike Dustin Hoffman’s great performance, Mrs. Doubtfire never comes off as a manly woman. We never have that moment of “Oh, come on! How can they not know?” We buy her completely…in fact, even though we know better we forget is is Williams under there…it takes a special talent to pull that off.

THE BIRDCAGE

Originally offered the much juicier role that eventually went to Nathan Lane, it was Williams who lobbied for the part of the straight man…well, not straight man…but straight man…you know what I mean. It is not often that we see him contented to not be the most over-the-top character in the room. He has his moments of silliness (Twyla, twyla, twyla)…but he is actually the anchor of reason in this film. The kids are defiant, Hackman and Weiss are conservative caricatures, Lane is sopping wet and Hank Azaria nearly steals the show…but it’s Williams’ character that makes us believe it’s all real. He grounds the film…which is not something we as an audience and fans of his expected. Just like Bud Abbott and Tom Smothers, it takes a comic genius to set everyone else up for laughs so well.

 

GOOD WILL HUNTING

There aren’t enough good things to say about this understated performance. He was a smoldering ember the entire film and hid it perfectly. His passive wisdom belied how eager he was to help. A brilliant performance in a top-to-bottom great film. I couldn’t help but feel his role as mentor to Damon’s character transcended into real life. A master at his craft holding court with up and comers. You could tell his character was in pain…but had learned to deal with it…and when he finally convinces Will of the one thing he absolutely needed to know…the scene is nothing short of iconic.

I can’t explain the relief I felt when he finally won his Oscar. After loving Fisher King so much…and knowing he was more deserving than Michael Douglass in ’87…it was like finally exhaling to see him holding a statue. His acceptance speech as everything an acceptance speech should be…short, funny, grateful and emotional. The hug he and Crystal shared spoke volumes…and I think most of us were as happy for him as Billy was.

 

ONE HOUR PHOTO AND INSOMNIA

I put these two together only because I’ve only seen them each once and I can’t say they “influenced” me…but I can say that it was incredible to see a man who was most often a fountain of joy…or who usually plays a sad clown…become something sinister. Creepy is not a word I would ever use to describe the man (unless he’s sword fighting a scorpion)…but these performances prove it was something he could portray. I remember being struck by both roles and marveling at Williams’ ability. I wouldn’t go so far as to say these parts were “against type” because he had already shown us that he had an incredible range…I mean, he’s obviously not a uni-character like Vince Vaughn…yet we still expected a certain something from all of his performances. A spark that reminds us who we are watching…these roles had none of that. He transformed into something else entirely and did it completely convincingly. Even though we knew he could play all types of different characters…he still found a way to surprise and impress us.

THE CRAZY ONES

I may be in the minority…but I really liked this show. Kat and I didn’t miss an episode. A very capable supporting cast was part of the reason…but mainly the appeal was Williams. Playing someone who made a living being creative and was learning how to do so without the use of alcohol and drugs. It was clear that some of his recollections of his substance abusing days hit close to home. He was open about them and found a way to make them funny. Something he did brilliantly in his later stand-up. I think this character revealed more about him than almost any other. He seemed to be living it rather than acting in it. The highlight of each episode was the blooper reel that would play at the end. It was so obvious that Williams and the entire cast were having a ball. It seems that it would have been easy for him to act as a mentor or wise old comedic patriarch to the rest of the cast…but it never came across that way. He seemed like just one of the gang and it appeared that he was loving it.

As I write this…so many more are occurring to me…Survivors, Best of Times, Dead Again, Jumanji, Baron von Munchausen, Happy Feet, World’s Greatest Dad…not to mention the incredible stand-up specials and the brilliance of his many talk-show appearances. I’m humbled that it took his passing for me to stop and realize how much his career meant to me over the years.

I had no idea that I would miss the man…but it is painfully obvious to me now that I will. I think there is a similar feeling in the hearts of many across the world today. I think the outpouring of grief isn’t from simply losing one of our great talents…but from the sudden, reflective awareness of how much he had given us…whether we realized it or not.

After the 2007 CMT Music Awards, my fellow writer, Justin Cooper, and I were waiting in the Nashville airport for our flights back home. You could see the exhaustion that follows any live production on our faces. Hell, you probably could have seen it from across the terminal. Writing a live show is a difficult, pride-swallowing, thankless endeavor and we were both ready to get to our respective homes and sleep for a few days.

I had about 20 minutes to kill before my flight, so I dragged myself into one of the smoking lounges. One of those disgusting glass boxes thick with stench and cinder. I’ve been smoking for 20 years (I’m not proud) and even I find these little rooms repugnant. Yet, there is not a smell or a cloud of filth on this earth that could disturb me nearly as much as the conversation I overheard in that awful room. I swear to you this is true…

“Do you get to see him often?”

 

“At least once a week. I make his mama bring him over so I can wash his hair. I mean, he has some of the most beautiful hair you’ve ever seen on a kid. Gorgeous, long blonde hair…but she doesn’t take care of it. It’s all over the place and frizzy and just looks bad. So, I told her ‘you bring that boy over here at least once a week because I’m going to take care of that beautiful hair myself.”

 

“You’re a good grandma.”

 

“He doesn’t think so. He gets all fussy. But he’ll thank me someday. Every time he steps foot in my house I tell him. ‘Go get your clothes off and get in that tub. Grammy’s gonna wash your hair.’ I go the full nine, too. I use conditioners and all that. It takes about 20 minutes but guess what?”

 

“It looks great, right?”

 

“Amazing. You’ve never seen a kid with such a beautiful head of hair. He’ll thank me someday when he starts being interested in girls.”

 

“Yeah. Someday. How old is he?”

 

“He’ll be a senior in the fall.”

 

 

I’m nowhere near a good enough writer to describe all of the things that happened inside me at that moment…but they culminated with a bizarre sound and my cigarette flying out of my mouth. I picked it up, crushed it out in the ashtray and left as expeditiously as possible. I must have been wearing the trauma of the experience on my face because when I got back to where Justin was sitting he took one look at me and asked, “What the hell happened in there?”

Can you imagine the horror this poor kid faces on a weekly basis? Just sobbing in a cold tub with his grandma chain smoking while she conditions his beautiful hair. I have no idea what else was going on in this kid’s life…but this had to be his deepest, darkest secret. He’s probably 25 or 26 now and paying some sort of professional to listen to his grandma’s bath story. There’s no way to tell if it’s a psychiatrist or an extreme fetishist prostitute. There’s also no way to tell how many people he has serial-killed by now…but I’m guessing it’s a lot.

Her words still haunt me…probably always will.

As many times as I have thought about it and reviewed the conversation in my head, there is only one thing I can say about it with absolute certainty.

 

He is NOT going to thank her someday.

 

 

 

 

He sat and stared at the blank page on his computer screen for longer than he cared to actually calculate. The vertical, blinking line seemed to be mocking him with every blip. He attempted to fill the space with words several times, but would ultimately highlight and delete his lame passages with about forty times the speed at which he had created them. He stopped to ponder the profundity of that action. Removing something you created from existence always takes much less time and effort than the actual creating. Maybe not for people who work in nuclear plants or Styrofoam factories, but for the rest of us…it’s certainly true.

 

The task at hand seemed like a simple one: Create a document that detailed his love for writing, his abilities in television production and described his other assets…something that a potential employer would read and instantly become possessed by an overwhelming desire to hire him. He was fairly accomplished and was proud of the work that he had done. He considered himself a capable employee and had created strong bonds with almost everyone he had worked for. He wasn’t enough of an egotist to claim his writing was great, but he knew that, having existed for years as a TV writer, solely by word of mouth, he probably wasn’t too bad.

 

He knew all of these things about himself, but was having trouble putting them on paper without sounding like a raging douchebag. Self-promotion was never one of his stronger suits. He enjoyed compliments, but couldn’t muster the part of his brain that was able to give them to himself. Patting his own back on paper for a stranger to read was even harder.

 

All things considered, he had done pretty well for himself. As it seemed everyone in the country was running in tight circles, screaming “recession” at the top of their lungs, he had remained comfortable. Not jet-set, by any means…but comfortable. He knew that probably meant that he was at least somewhat of a commodity. He just felt uneasy saying as much. It was probably his biggest handicap in the entertainment business. Where “sharks” are rewarded and an ego is considered a valuable weapon. There was just too much small-town country boy in him to get caught up in it. He lived with the sharks and could hold his own when there was blood in the water…but he didn’t go looking for plump swimmers.

 

He thought for a few moments about how much he had butchered that analogy. He felt lucky that he wasn’t applying for the job of chief analogist.

 

He then considered writing something funny. Comedy had always been his bread and butter. He wanted to somehow convey on paper the pride he felt that, on separate occasions, he had made Cedric the Entertainer, Jeff Foxworthy and Stone Cold Steve Austin laugh so hard that a beverage came out of their nose. Or somehow morph into words the experience he had in uncountable writer’s rooms where he had stood out as the one who could always make the other comedy-minded artisans laugh. He never considered himself a “comedian”…but his efforts produced laughter and that was all he had ever wanted from his working life. Actually, that’s all he wanted from life in general. Laughter was his drug. It was his great white whale. On the other hand, he didn’t want to appear goofy. He didn’t want the phantom employer to think he was silly or didn’t take the job prospect seriously. The time to prove he was funny would come later, he thought…but not if he couldn’t finish this damn cover letter.

 

After an eternity of continuing to stare at his computer, he finally decided to pretend he was writing about someone else. He could compliment and congratulate…he could brag and convince…he could evaluate and describe. As long as he didn’t feel he was talking about himself. He wasn’t sure if it would come off as idiotic, cheesy or creative. He didn’t know if it would be perceived as endearing, insightful or just plain stupid. He didn’t know if it would work at all.

 

But he decided to give it a shot…

 

 

It was one of the proudest faces I had ever seen on my Dad. I had just got a call that I got the job and he was simply thrilled for me. He looked at me being hired to do improv comedy on a cruise ship as a victory. He saw it as me making a living with words and laughter…and that’s all he ever wanted for me because he knew it was all I wanted for myself.

 

The call had come. Driving to Minneapolis in my Dad’s car, buying a pawn shop guitar to audition with and writing my monologue on a truck-stop napkin had paid off. With what seemed like everyone who had ever zip-zap-zopped auditioning, I had still got the job. I was going to be a professional comedian…at least for the next 6 months.

 

What’s more…I could move out of my Dad and stepmother’s house and turn in my shellfish-scrap-encrusted apron to the fine folks at Joe’s Crab Shack.

 

Dad beamed. Ann cried. I beamed and cried.

 

It was time to celebrate. Dad suggested we try that fancy place off the highway we had always been curious about but were way too broke to actually try. This was a special occasion and we were going to do it in style.

 

We walked in and were immediately swallowed up by ambiance. We were shown to our tables, served our plantain chips and given our menus. I saw the light in Dad’s face go out when he opened his.

 

It was just too much. No matter what we were celebrating, this meal was going to put him in a hole. They were scraping by as it was and this celebration was going to hurt.

 

“Dad, we don’t need to do this. The prices are outrageous.”

 

“It’ll be OK. We don’t have anything like this to celebrate very often…I can make it work.”

 

“But…I wont be able to enjoy it if you have to spend this much.”

 

“Just relax and enjoy it. It’ll be fine. I wouldn’t tell you it’s OK if it wasn’t OK.”

 

“Sorry, Pop. I don’t want this.”

 

“(Sigh) Are you sure?”

 

“Yes”

 

“Thank God. Let’s get out of here.”

 

We left our plantain chips untouched, left a couple bucks for the waitress who had poured the water and left.

 

I felt terrible. The pride on Dad’s face had turned to shame. He wanted to do this for me and it broke his heart that he couldn’t.

 

“Excuse me, sir. Is everything OK?”

 

It was the manager. He had seen our hasty exit and had followed us out. Dad kept his face turned so the manager wouldn’t see the look in his eyes. He walked faster towards the car and called back over his shoulder.

 

“Yes. Everything’s fine. We just have to go.”

 

I’ll never understand why the manager didn’t just let it go…but he didn’t. He began walking after us.

 

“If you didn’t like what’s on the menu, we can have the chef make you something special.”

 

“No. Thank you.”

 

“Are you sure, he does a whitefish that is pretty incredible. Anything you want we can…”

 

Dad turned on his heels.

 

“WE DON’T HAVE ENOUGH MONEY, OK?”

 

It was loud but not angry. Dad was pleading with the man not to let the moment drag on any longer.

 

The man shrank. I mean he literally, physically shrank.

 

“I’m sorry…I didn’t…sorry…have a good night.”

 

I could see him pleading with his legs not to run as he turned and stumbled inside.

 

Dad just stood and drew breath for several long moments…and we silently got in the car.

 

I had seen that look on Dad’s face a few times since he put everything he had into the bakery. I saw it when he tried to reason with the bill collectors from the restaurant supply stores. I saw it when the doors closed for the final time. I saw it when he tirelessly delivered papers or sold meat door-to-door or cataloged pallets for an auction company or any of the other things he did to get by in his post-bankruptcy life.

 

I had been there when he rolled the dice and failed.

 

I never blamed him for rolling them.

 

I hope he knows that I wasn’t even a little disappointed that we didn’t get to have the fancy meal…I was proud of him for letting me talk him out of it.

 

One of my favorite things about my father is that he is a proud man…but never lets his pride get in his way. I mean, the man has TWO Master’s Degrees. He ran one of the most successful hospices in the country…he even co-wrote a Texas law that governs the use of Medicare funds for terminally ill patients that is still on the books to this day. And when he decided to follow his dream, that decision laid waste to his finances…some would say his future. But…and here’s the beautiful part…he didn’t swallow his pride to sell shoes…he just shifted it. He took pride in his knowledge of shoes and decided to be the best damn shoe salesman he could. Selling meat, delivering papers, teaching 5^th grade math, stocking shelves…whatever…he decided that he would take pride in it all.

 

I try like hell every day to inherit that trait.

 

---

 

“Well…we have to eat somewhere.” Ann said.

 

“Hell yeah, we do. We got a professional comedian here.” Dad said as he looked out the window. “Tell you what, Bret…if you become a famous funny man and make lots of money…let’s still never eat here.”

  

“That’s a deal.”

 

“So…where to now?”

 

I just pointed to the lighted sign of another restaurant across the highway in a mall parking lot.

  

I wouldn’t trade anything I’ve ever owned, seen, heard, felt or experienced for the smile my father gave me…or for any part of the meal that followed.

  

We went to the sign, sat down and ordered our meals. We laughed about the poor manager at that other joint and how bad he must feel. Dad asked me to tell all the stories about my audition again. He told all the tables around us about the cruise ship. We were having such a good time that they couldn’t help but join in the celebration. When Dad toasted my success, a dozen glasses went up. People asked for my autograph, just in case.

 

The manager even came over and chatted with our impromptu group for most of the meal…securing his landslide victory as our favorite restaurant manager of the evening.

 

Dad resumed beaming and Ann resumed crying.

 

It was a magical night.

 

It had been the three of us in that bakery every day. We had shared the extra gravity that pulls on you when you live near the edge and we had held each other up when we fell off. In a weird way, they were my best friends.

 

It was the perfect celebration for the three of us. We dropped the weight of the changes that had brought us there and gave in to the joy of the changes that were coming…and it was my favorite meal of all-time. Hands down.

 

And the food was delicious…

 

At Denny’s.

 

 

 

I grew up in a tiny little town called Hunt, TX. (I’ve always imagined that it was called “Hunt” because there were only four things to do there and no one wanted to live in a town called “Drink”, “Fish” or “Screw.”)

 At the intersection created by one of the two stop signs in Hunt is a country store called “The Store.” It’s an adequate name as there are no other stores of any sort nearby to get it confused with. It is a emphatically brown building that wears its woodiness like a badge of honor.

It is the center of all things Hunt. There is a café, a place to pitch washers out back and on Thursday nights the entire town turns out for Steak Night.

…and I literally mean “the entire town”

…and I mean “literally” literally. (So sad that we have to explain that these days)

 

The café’s specialty was a dish called the Hunt Taco. Basically, a cheeseburger served in a tortilla instead of on a bun.

Now, I don’t claim to know many truths about the universe…but I do know this…to eat a Hunt Taco and drink an IBC root beer on a Sunday afternoon is to touch the face of God.

 

---

 

 

Another constant feature of The Store is a couple of good-old boys sitting on the bench out front drinking beer. It’s not always the same two good-old boys, but there are always two of them there. Commenting on the world as it passes like a tipsy Statler and Waldorf of the Texas Hill Country.

 One of the only four songs I have ever written was about one of those men in front of the store. Not an actual one, mind you…I took the name of the guy who owned The Store at the time and made up a completely fictional story about one of the old buzzards from the front bench. 

Now that I’m here and trying to make an effort to share some of my writings, I’m gonna offer up these old lyrics, as well. It’s pretty obvious I’m no Shel Silverstein and I’m crapping my pants at the thought of sharing this with you…But I guess that’s the only way to progress as a writer…just keep your pants filled with metaphorical crap…or something like that. 

 

Anyway, here’s the song…

 

 

THE BALLAD OF OWEN GILBERT

 

At a little place just called The Store

On any given day

You can find an old man sittin’ out front

With nothing much to say

 

Owen Gilbert, his guitar

And their best friend Lone Star beer

Spend all day picking out the saddest tune

You would ever hope to hear

 

(chorus)

And he’ll drink all day

Until the sun dips below the trees

Then he’ll up and drive a-way

With three sheets in the breeze.

 

 

He’s been there nearly twenty years

Since they buried his poor Sue

He took to drinking and playing that song

‘Cause he didn’t know what else to do

 

Everyone’s offered to ride him around

And they tried to take his keys

But he’d ignore ‘em and keep on driving

With three sheets in the breeze

 

(chorus)

And he’ll drink all day

Until he’s seeing things in threes

Then he’ll up and drive a-way

With three sheets in the breeze

 

 

One day I went up and I asked him

Why he’s so reckless with his life

He said “It seems the Good Lord’s mad at me

And won’t let me see my wife.”

 

“The Book says that I can’t kill myself

And I guess I reckon why

If you want to sit at the Big Man’s table

You gotta let him pick how you die”

 

“And I know my Sue’s up in heaven

So I gotta play it straight

But ain’t nothing in that Book that says

I gotta sit around and wait”

 

“I once read that the biggest killers

Are drunk driving and heart disease

So I don’t eat nothing but bacon

And I drive around with three sheets in the breeze”

 

 

(Chorus)

And he’ll drink all day

Until he’s drunk as Cooter Brown’s dog’s fleas

Then he’ll up and drive a-way

With three sheets in the breeze

 

 

He’s still there to this very day

And as far as I can tell

The Lord still doesn’t want him

And he’s been to good for Hell

 

I know some day he won’t be at the Store

Picking that sad song

‘Cause even Jesus Christ can hold a grudge

For only just so long

 

(Chorus)

Until then he’ll spend every night

Just praying on his knees

“Lord forgive me for driving Sue around

With three sheets in the breeze.”