Do you know why I love July?

“Why?”

Because it’s not December.

“Whoa. Are you saying that you don’t like the holidays?”

How dare you, disembodied voice in my head! I’m not saying any such thing. I’m just pointing out that in December, EVERY columnist is doing a year-end summary or a top ten list. But in July, I pretty much have that territory all to myself. AND I LOVE TOP TEN LISTS.

“Good for you.”

So, let’s do one. Let’s list the top three sitcoms of all time!

“Um, I thought you were going to do a top TEN list.”

Yeah, well, good writing requires twists and turns. Besides, I’ve always felt that round numbers like 10 and 100 suggest manufacturing and overreaching (if not out and out deceit) on the part of the list compiler. I may not be everybody’s idea of a good writer (though I try), but I can be everybody’s idea of an honest list compiler. And the truth is, as far as I’m concerned, there are only three sitcoms that have separated themselves sufficiently to have attained my highest rating of “all-time great” (and for those of you movie fans who are looking for a conversion scale, that’s like, oh I dunno, eight thumbs up).

By having to name only a top three, there will be no hemming and hawing (not that I know what hawing is. Actually, I don’t know what hemming is either. How do you like that? I don’t know what hemming or hawing is, yet I’m perfectly comfortable using the phrase “hemming AND hawing”. Ain’t language fun?).

Anywho, let’s get to that list!

Number 3 – The Larry Sanders Show. For the record, if we were doing a bottom up list, Larry would be the greatest of all time. The Larry Sanders Show was the most consistent “all-time great” sitcom ever to air. There was never a sub-par episode (unlike numbers 2 and three on my list).

My favorite line of all time belonged to Hank Kingsley, when he bragged that he had managed to snare the caterer from one of the Godfather movies. “Which one,” someone queried.

“Godfather 3,” answered Hank, “you know, the good one.”

Number 2 — The Simpsons. If you are arguing that The Simpsons doesn’t count because it’s animated. I pity you. Not in the way Mr. T does, where he pities the fool, but in… no, wait… actually, I do pity you the way Mr. T does. I pity the fool!

My favorite all-time line from the Simpsons came when Homer was shopping for a computer. “Buy this baby and you’ll be surfing the internet in no time,” said the salesman.

“Oh,” exclaimed Homer, “they have internet on computer now?”

Number 1 – Please ignore the finale. Seinfeld was the greatest sitcom of all time. You just gotta ignore the finale!

My favorite line from Seinfeld came from Kramer.

“Darren,” said Kramer, “if you’d have told me ten years ago that we’d be standing here right now, about to solve the world’s energy problems, I’d have said you were crazy. Now, let’s push this giant ball of oil out the window.”

Well, there they are, people: the three greatest sitcoms of all time. I’ve laboriously laid out an airtight, inarguable case for each of my choices, so don’t bother disagreeing with me. Just make my favorites your favorites and we’ll get along just fine.

In the remote circumstance that you still have different favorites, please feel free to name them in the comment section below (but really, all you’ll be doing is setting yourself up for justified ridicule from anyone who reads your silly words).

Until next week, this is the Eric Somers wishing you good night and good news (no, the Mary Tyler Moore Show did not JUST BARELY miss the list, but I did like The Mary Tyler Moore Show).

When does fearlessness become recklessness? When does honesty become irresponsibility and meanness? When does Eric Somers stop asking questions and get to the meat of his column?

Another Heavy Hitters columnist that I respect a lot (I won’t give his name but it rhymes with Mason Mature) recently turned me on to something really, really good. And that something good is comedian Doug Stanhope’s website (dougstanhope.com). In particular, Mason’s sound-a- like insisted that I would love Doug Stanhope’s journal.

Well, oh my God. I’ve read only one entry but I’m already hopelessly hooked. Doug’s July 12th entry, which talks about the evil nature of comedy classes, is one of the funniest, most stinging blogs I’ve ever read. Unlike me, he names names – big names, and he calls out all of the wannabe emperors, not just for having no clothes, but for shamelessly profiting on their bogus flowing robes. Doug Stanhope doesn’t make any friends with this blog, but if you liked Joe Rogan vs. Carlos Mencia, you’re gonna love this. You’re gonna love, love, LOVE it.

Consider this is my gift to you, faithful reader. It was generously passed along to me and now I’m paying it forward. You can thank me later.

Now, on to the unpleasantness. Despite my overall review of “read it,” I feel compelled to add the following little disclaimer to my recommendation of Doug Stanhope’s journal: IT’S NOT ALL GOOD. You see, I’ve got a problem with Doug Stanhope. I say, I say, I say boy (in my best Foghorn Leghorn attention-commanding voice), “I’ve got a problem with Doug Stanhope. I’m not kidding. I’m not kidding even a little bit.”

As much as I respect Stanhope for taking on the profiteers of the comedy world, I think he takes his act way too far when he names the names of civilians. It is one thing to call out a powerful, well known wrong doer. That takes balls. But it is something else altogether to tell a humiliating story about a private citizen who is not in the limelight, does not seek the limelight, and did nothing worse than choose between the lesser of two evils.

“But, Eric,” you might object, “I read that journal entry and I don’t remember anything about a humiliated private citizen.”

Scroll down, young Skywalker. I beg of you, scroll… down.

Just beneath Stanhope’s brilliant “Comedy Death Camp” blog is a comment section where some woman berates Stanhope for using the story of their relationship as a bit in his stand up act. More specifically, she berates him for revealing the embarrassing details of their first sexual encounter.

At first glance, you might think that this woman (and I) might be overreacting. After all, comics talk about their sex lives everyday. But a closer look reveals something sinister. In fact, a closer look reveals something sinister on two levels.

First of all, it is almost always wrong to brag about any sexual conquest (because bragging suggests that you weren’t deserving of the implicit trust that a person places in you when they have sex with you in the first place), but to record a comedy album where you give the first name, last name, and hometown of that partner, a girl that you haven’t even seen in fifteen years, is beyond insensitive. It’s reprehensible. In Stanhope’s defense, the story is terrifically entertaining, but it would have been just as entertaining if the girl’s name hadn’t been revealed. The girl’s name has nothing to do with the greatness of this story.

Second (and this is the sinister aspect that provoked me into writing this column), it is sinister for Stanhope to deflect and be intellectually dishonest when discussing this situation. When this woman complained that Stanhope’s story was an embarrassment to her in front of her friends, her church, and her current husband, Stanhope tried to make himself out to be the victim. This is wrong. This is just plain wrong.

Despite Stanhope’s protestations that this girl misunderstood the point of his story, that she was too dim to understand that he was calling her a beauty that could be compared to a mountain peak or a sunset, and that, by the way, this might not have been the first time she had engaged in an encounter such as the one they shared… I say, “Come on.”

Seriously. “COME ON!”

For a guy who so vigorously takes up the cause of the little guy in his hopeless fight against the big bad world, I say, “come on.”

You know better, Mr. Stanhope. You are too bright not to know that every part of your story is embarrassing to this woman. Yeah, she shot off her mouth, and yeah, it led to her giving you sex (that she may or may not have really wanted to have with you), but as ungentlemanly as you portrayed yourself within the story, it doesn’t compare to how mean and ungentlemanly you have shown yourself to be afterwards. You should never have recorded this girl’s full name and address on a comedy album, and I think you know it. Don’t make it worse by shrugging and throwing up your hands. If this girl hurt you in some way and you wanted to get even, then man up and say so. But please don’t play dumb. It’s unbelievable and insulting to your audience.

Just own it, apologize, and get back to attacking Carlos Mencia. Believe me, you’ll never catch me writing a column defending him.

So, that’s it for this week. I’m spent. I’ve just discovered, and then crucified, someone I suspect is 99% good guy… and I’m feeling a little frustrated. I’m gonna go have a stiff drink and take a long nap. I’ll see you next Tuesday.

Oh, do I have your attention now?

Because I’ve added a little something to this week’s column. As you know, the body of this column is an exercise in irrefutable analysis. The headline, however, is something different. The headline, this week, is a piece of poppycock.

“Louis C. K. is a jerk,” is a blatantly false, attention grabbing publicity stunt. It exists only to raise your ire and provoke you into reading this column. Does that make me the jerk? Maybe. But what it definitely does is invite the following question:

Why do comics love Louis C.K.?

The general public hardly knows who he is, but comics just love him. WE LOVE HIM.

I contend that we love him because his comedy contains the three things we admire most in any stand up — truth, honesty, and vulnerability.

“Wait a minute, Eric, those are only two things. Truth and honesty are synonyms.”

Yes and no. Rest assured that I’ll clarify the difference. Don’t forget that I promised you irrefutable analysis.

“Oh yeah. I forgot about the I. A.. Sorry.”

No apology necessary.

What I mean by truth is reality. Louis talks about the true world. He talks about his car and his kids and the airport. His comedy, while personal, is relatable because he doesn’t warp or exaggerate his surroundings for the sake of some silly punch line. When I say that Louis C.K. gives us truth, I’m saying that he finds the funny in the real world.

When I talk about honesty, I’m talking about his reactions to this real world. Many comics address issues in the true world, but then make us laugh by pretending to take wild and utterly unbelievable actions. Not Louis. When Louis talks about paying a huge premium for a Cinnabun at the airport, the comedy comes from his admission that he has just landed. He isn’t forced to pay a huge price because he is stuck waiting for a plane. He’s just an addicted fat fuck. There’s no dishonesty in that humor.

Compare that with George Wallace’s classic bit about being charged $18 for room service raisin toast. “I told the waiter to go back downstairs and scrape off $15 worth of raisins… then I handed him three raisins and said, ‘here’s a little something for yourself.’”

Funny… but bullshit. It never happened. You diggin’ my smoke?

(And for you die hard George Wallace fans, please don’t send me cards and letters. Believe me, I’m a bigger George Wallace fan than you are. I love George Wallace. It’s just that George Wallace takes liberties that Louis C.K. doesn’t. I’m just making a point about styles of comedy.)

Finally, I’d like to address Louis C.K.’s vulnerability. It’s frickin’ key.

You see…I know that Louis C. K. is smarter than me and funnier than me, but somehow he comes off as more humble than me. That’s awesome. How can you dislike a guy who is GENUINELY pointing out his own flaws on a regular basis? The reality is that he has earned the right to be arrogant some of the time, but he never seems to be. That’s also awesome.

My readers know that I love Craig Kilborn and Dennis Miller, but I don’t think anyone would have raised a fist in anger if I’d run a headline calling either one of those guys a jerk, mainly because a lot of people think smug guys are jerks. Nobody has ever accused Louis C.K. of being smug.

As for his new TV show, LOUIS, I’ve only seen the first two episodes. But I loved them both and I think they capture the comedy of Louis C.K. in the same way that Curb Your Enthusiasm captures the brilliance of Larry David. Maybe I’ll give the show a full review at the end of the season.

As for Louis C.K., the comic, I say this: You are an awkward sage, Mr. C.K. (and most decidedly NOT a jerk).

If you stink at comedy, nobody is going to tell you to your face. Nobody wants you to hate them, and nobody wants to be responsible for killing your dream. For some reason, good friends and family think it’s kinder to let you waste several years of your life discovering horrible truths for yourself.

I, however, ain’t your friend, so here’s my list of comics who I think should quit immediately.

Just kidding. Did you really think I was going to name names? C’mon. I’ll tell you what I will do, though. I will help you break the code that the people in your life use when they are subtly trying to tell you to quit.

The following is a list of “compliments” that you never want to hear.

1. “You really owned the stage.” This means that you are obnoxious instead of funny. Even though the audience couldn’t take their eyes off you as you danced around like a Banshee (or Dane Cook), you have absolutely no talent for storytelling or joke construction.

2. “You have great stage presence.” Not to be confused with number one, this one means that you acted and sounded like a professional, but your jokes were terrible.

3. “You are a great writer.” This means that you have no stage presence.

4. “Have you ever considered a career in comedy writing?” This means that you have no stage presence AND it’s pretty clear you never will.

5. “How long have you been doing comedy?” This means that you are funny, but only in the way that your drunk uncle is funny at Thanksgiving (hey, the kids told him he could be a comedian).

6. “You seemed really comfortable up there.” This means that, not only are you not funny, you’re giving the impression that you are also very unsuccessful in the rest of your life as well. It’s like… you’re totally at ease with failure. How else could you have stayed so calm when you were bombing so badly?

7. “Have you ever considered acting?” This “compliment” is a combination of “you seemed really comfortable up there,” and “you really owned the stage.” This person is saying that since you’re clearly living in your own world anyway, you may as well create a false reality as a profession.

8. “You were the best one.” This means that everyone else in the show stunk too.

9. “Have you ever considered using props?” This means, “Oh my god, there’s absolutely nothing funny about your act. Anything, and I mean anything, would be an improvement.”

10. “You sort of remind me of George Carlin.” This means, “I’d rather watch a corpse do comedy than ever watch you again.”

Here’s the thing. If you are a good comic, people will laugh. That is the best and only way to measure your success. If people genuinely think you’re funny and they say anything afterward, it will simply be that you are funny. That’s it. They will not pick out some obscure aspect of your set and praise that. They will not say, “I loved your last joke,” because unless they think that you’re an idiot, they’ll know that you’ll know that what they’re really saying is, “I hated everything except your last joke.”

So, that’s the code, my fellow stinkers. The truth is — we only hear what we want to hear anyway, and on the off chance that we really do stink, it’s only because the audience doesn’t get us. Right? Am I right? Who’s with me?

Craig Kilborn

Do you like snarky? I like snarky. I like snarky a lot. I think that when you find a person who’s snarky without being the least bit mean spirited, you’ve found a gem.

Shakespeare was snarky. Oscar Wilde was snarky. J D Salinger was snarky.

Oh man, I’m excited about this one. Let’s do this.

I am a Craig Kilborn fan.

I make that statement up front because a lot of people are going to dislike his new show, and since I’m going to be defending it until the day it’s canceled (hopefully a long, long time from now), I want to be clear from the get go that I understand why people are going to disparage it, but that doesn’t change my fan status one iota.

In fact, I want to direct this column to those people (who you calling “those” people) who initially dislike the show. Though I fear I might be barking at the moon, I’d like to acknowledge the show’s so-called flaws so that I can encourage its knee-jerk detractors to take a second look.

At first encounter, many viewers will dismiss The Kilborn File as silly. They will cite sight gags such as “the Situation in the gulf” and “What’s Happening in Washington” as proof that The Kilborn File is juvenile.

I say, “Look closer.”

The Kilborn File is not juvenile. The Kilborn File is clever and brave: clever in that it can deliver all types of jokes, from the savviest of political barbs (even though Kilborn claims to distance himself from political humor) to the silliest of “obscure reference” sight gags (see above) and brave in that it isn’t afraid to combine those types of humor.

Many of the same people who dismiss The Simpsons and Family Guy as silly cartoons will be quick to write off this show. To those folks I say, “Stick with Kilborn (and rethink your blanket dismissal of animation while you’re at it).”

Here’s my case for Craig:

A good joke requires at least some misdirection between set up and punch. Kilborn’s wide range of acceptable of comedy allows him to be funny in a multitude of unpredictable ways. To put it another way, Kilborn’s brand of comedy is the opposite of Two and a Half Men’s brand of comedy (where every character has a narrow, unflinching point of view and where every, sigh, joke is a predictable reflection of that tired viewpoint).

When Kilborn starts talking, I don’t know where he’s going. That’s a good thing, people. That’s a very good thing! Unpredictability is essential for comedy that keeps you on your toes (which is not to be confused with the unpredictable, yet utterly unsatisfying, blathering of a character like Tracy Morgan’s on 30 Rock. I contend that unpredictability only gets credit when the joke makes sense. Unpredictability can not be a substitute for making sense. Silly or sophisticated, a joke still has to make sense)!

Much like David Letterman and Johnny Carson, Craig Kilborn isn’t afraid of goofy. The intrusive wipes between jokes (which are reminiscent of Fred Armisen’s Saturday Night Live character Fericito’s, “I’m just kidding,” between jokes) are practically camp. The hacky segues serve as a joke about hacky segues.

Just like Carson wasn’t afraid to don a turban and become Carnac, just like Letterman wasn’t too dignified to don a Velcro suit and trampoline onto a Velcro wall, Kilborn isn’t above engaging his sidekick (who is billed in the closing credits as “sidekick”) in a staring contest. That’s not happening on most shows.

Maybe you could have predicted that Jeff Foxworthy would crowbar portions of his act into his “conversation” with Kilborn (making us groan in the process), but we shouldn’t hold that against Craig. Instead, we should focus on the utterly unpredictable delights of the show, like that faux staring contest that he had with his sidekick where they faux accused each other of having plastic surgery. I know it reads silly (as I see now that I’m reading it back), but trust me, it played funny and original.

By the way, I’d like to offer a quick tip to Jeff Foxworthy and all other comedians who do talk shows: IF YOU WANT TO DO YOUR ACT, DO IT BEFORE YOU SIT DOWN. Do it honestly as stand up before you sit down for your “conversation” with the host. I’m not saying you can’t do prepared material while on the couch. I’m saying that you should prepare additional material that feels natural and organic in a conversation with another person, not jokes that you (attempt to) warp from your stand up monologue. I suggest telling a funny story (but please don’t feel compelled to give me credit for this suggestion. I’m totally stealing it from Bill Cosby (who also stole it, I suspect, from Mark Twain)).

Onward and upward.

Kilborn’s round table of comic minds (where Craig’s guest panelists speak out on an assortment of topics ranging from current events to memories associated with dessert) has potential written all over it. In fact, the premiere’s sharpest barb occurred during this segment when Seth MacFarlane, oh so justifiably, called out Jerry Seinfeld for his hypocrisy in the Lady Gaga incident.

My only real objection to this show is Craig’s resurrection of his famous “5 questions.” I don’t get it. In truth, I never got it. Why are you asking celebrities general trivia questions? Are you mocking the ending of Inside the Actor’s Studio? Are you trying to scare away guests? What the hell are you up to?

In any case, you had me at (however the hell your show began). Funny and smart is funny and smart, and I welcome you back to the airwaves. My prayer is that The Kilborn File is programmed in a timeslot opposite a rerun of Two and a Half Men, because I love it when people have a choice between good and evil.

It is the best of times, it is the worst of times… so with apologies to Charles Dickens (and to a lesser extent, the rock band Styx), I’m co-opting that whole “best/worst” characterization and applying it to 2010 TV.

The good news is – I’m bringing you with me! In fact, I’m deputizing you as a junior law man (crap elimination division) so by the time you’ve finished reading this column, you’ll be ready to identify crap TV for yourself.

“But Eric,” you might protest, “being a critic seems like hard work… and I’m a lazy American.”

Fear not, fellow patriot. By simply maintaining your current television viewing habits, you will have fulfilled 90% of your new assignment (the additional 10% is to scream at the top of your lungs whenever you watch something that you hate).

“You want me to become a loudmouth?”

Exactly (but not in a bad way, in a good way, for the benefit of society).

“I don’t know. As a critic, will I have to make up a bunch of top ten lists? Because I don’t want to be spending all kinds of time writing things down.”

Man, you really are lazy. But that’s okay! Though many critics do feel a need to rank everything, to create a pecking order, to divide and subdivide ad nauseum, my philosophy is simply to draw a line. Good or bad. Thumbs up or thumbs down. I tell you yes or no. And I also make you comfortable doing the same thing for other people.

“But if I become a critic, won’t people hate me and think I’m a snob?”

The only people who will hate you are the producers of crap, and even some of them will secretly like you, because deep down, they’re hoping their crap will get called out and canceled so they can move on to produce something good.

As for your concerns about being perceived as a snob, well, I’m a critic, and I contend that I’m no more of a snob than anybody else. In fact, I think I’m less of one. I love music from all genres (even, gulp, some country). I think certain horror movies are as excellent as the best dramas. I think certain fast food is as recommendable as Ruth’s Chris. And, Lord help me and my cosmopolitan ambitions, I like camping and fishing as much as I like five star hotels.

On the other hand, I do desire excellence in all of those areas. Is that snobby? I can’t deny that the few country songs I like have melodies that could have been written by the Beatles. The horror movies I tout have plots that rival those in the best thrillers and mysteries. My fast food choices usually boast high quality ingredients that are only “fast food” because they are assembled in quick-to-prepare dishes. And when I go camping, I go out of my way to camp next to creeks and waterfalls that are so beautiful, they make me forget that five star hotels even exist.

But here’s the thing, when I tell you that I enjoy a fish taco as much as a filet mignon, I’m not trying to portray myself as an everyman, I’m trying to make the point that excellence and quality can be found everywhere.

If you like game shows and reality TV, you don’t have to worry about exposing yourself as an idiot. You’re not an idiot. And what you’re going to say about these shows is going to help remove the “idiot” stigma that is usually attached to the people who watch them.

Because you’re going to identify the EXCELLENT game shows and reality shows.

“But Eric, how am I going to do that?”

You’re going to do that by applying the only criteria that matters when it comes to judging a TV show. After you’ve watched anything, you need ask yourself only one question. If the answer to that question is yes, bingo, you’ve found an excellent show.

“What’s the question?”

I’m glad you asked. The question is: Was I enjoying this show while I was watching it?

“That’s it?”

That’s it. If a show ends, and you realize that you enjoyed it, then it’s an excellent show. You can feel free to recommend it.

“What if I only enjoyed parts of it?”

Then it’s probably a turd. Many turds have a few corns (which are non-turd) but we don’t let those hiccups of goodness obscure the fact that the show as a whole is a turd.

Whenever you read reviews that say a certain actor was good, or joke x or scene y was well executed, you’re reading a review by a critic who picks out the corns. It’s okay to do that, but when a show ends, and you say, “Well, Alec Baldwin was good, but the rest of the show made no sense,” you have just watched a turd.

Whenever you like a show for the first 15 minutes, but then get bored, it’s a turd.

Whenever you get up to go to the bathroom without recording what you missed, it’s a turd.

Whenever you start flipping, it’s a turd.

It’s very, very simple.

You don’t need to worry about identifying riveting storylines, transcribing engaging dialogue, or detecting relatable characters – if you kept watching, and you were enjoying yourself, then you can just assume that the show had these elements. That’s why you kept watching.

I never watched an episode of Seinfeld, and thought to myself, “I really loved the way Elaine related to Kramer in the second scene,” I just got lost in the show.

I never said, “I was moved by the arc of Ari’s character in season 2 of Entourage.” I just really liked the character of Ari on Entourage.

I never thought to myself, “The casting was just perfect on The Sopranos.” I just liked The Sopranos.

Being a critic doesn’t mean acknowledging and analyzing every detail. It simply means honestly conveying an overall opinion. Let’s face it, nobody wants to know that the cinematography is breathtaking if the show as a whole is unwatchable. And if the story and acting are good, we’re not going to be upset because the cinematography isn’t majestic.

Did you ever hear anyone say, “I thought The Godfather was excellent, except I couldn’t get past the fact that the restaurant where Michael shot the cop seemed like a dive. The décor of that restaurant ruined the movie!”

To quote Carlin, no one ever heard it, ‘cause no on ever said it.

All anybody ever said was, “Man, you gotta see The Godfather.” And, if you think about it, that’s all anybody ever really needs to say.

And I know you can do THAT.

Try it with me, “You gotta read The State of Television, because even if you don’t like the writing, you’ll love the font!”

Being a critic is fun and easy. You get to call things turds, and you get to praise things that are not turds.

Won’t you be my neighbor?

Okay, so… we’re two episodes into Last Comic Standing. Here are my thoughts.

Who is that woman sitting between Andy Kindler and Greg Giraldo? Seriously. I watch a lot of comedy. Who is she?

Didn’t this show used to be hosted by a comedian? I’m almost certain Jay Mohr used to have something to do with this show. Then the guy from Yes Dear hosted and then Bill Belamy… exactly who is Craig Robinson playing straight man for? Is he not ALLOWED to be funny? I think he should be allowed to be funny.

I think Andy Kindler and Greg Giraldo are being relatively nice and situationally funny, but who is that obnoxious woman sitting between them? Seriously.

Enough with support staff, let’s talk about the contestants.

Really? Those are the best you could find? Okay.

I really liked about three of them. I guess that’s something. I liked David Feldman. Tommy Jonagin is funny. Is that three?

I think that chick judge is named Natasha. They should let her judge the first round and then be a contestant for the rest of the show. It doesn’t appear she would have an edge over any of the other wannabes. I dunno. When I saw her dancing behind Craig Robinson, I thought she was doing the Elaine from Seinfeld.

Gary Gullman and Chris Porter were really funny several seasons ago. Can they come back?

I think the idea of having really funny comics do really funny material is terrific. When will that part of the show start?

I think the naked guy and the guy in the bear costume on stilts should have made it into the semis and then into the comic house, with the stipulation that they had to wear their “costumes” for the duration of the show. The show isn’t about the stand-up anyway, and watching those two compete in daily tasks would have been hilarious. And what about their serious moments around the house? I know I wasn’t gonna miss the episode where the naked guy and the bear on stilts have their first “heart to heart.” Then would come the inevitable betrayal – “I know I’m funnier than a bear on stilts.” Followed by, “That’s funny, ‘cause I know I’m funnier than a naked guy.”

Carrot Top thinks this show lacks substance.

Gallagher thinks this show is gimmicky.

I like the way they profile some of the comics at their homes before they audition. It creates a lot of suspense because the profiled comics have only moved onto the next round 100% of the time.

Spoiler alerts think this show lacks suspense.

I guess, what I’m sayin’ is – I’m a fan! I really would love to be on season 8. Thank God nobody from that show reads comedy websites. I mean, they can’t possibly be aware of what people are saying, right? I mean, clearly, they’re not worried about critics, right? I’ll be fine. No way I’m getting blackballed.

On an unrelated note, do you know if they take comics with fake names?

Are you a fan of excellence?

“Great question, Eric, but the answer is no. Like most people, I prefer mediocrity and lousiness. When I’m at a restaurant, I want the food to be overcooked and served by a hostile waitress. At the movies, I want predictable storylines and stilted dialogue. And when I’m bowling, I want the rental shoes to be torn and smelly.”

Oh, I get it. You’re mocking me. You’re saying it’s a dumb question because, obviously, everyone is a fan of excellence.

“Duh.”

Okay, my bad. I wasn’t clear. Do you think I could start again?

“It’s your column.”

Great! Let’s start over. Ahem. Good morning, readers. I hope you had a great weekend.

“It’s Tuesday.”

So it is. As we all know, everyone is a fan of RECEIVING excellence. What I want to know is — are you a fan of PROVIDING excellence?

“Oh no, here we go again. This is another one of your unprovoked attacks. You’re about to tell me that I don’t work hard enough… again. You’re about to lecture me on being excellent… again. How fresh. Okay, Mr. One-Note columnist, hit me!”

Settle down, Mr./Ms. Sensitivity. As always, in the back of my mind I am concerned with making you better, funnier, and more crowd friendly than ever before, but today it isn’t about you. In fact, it’s about everyone but you.

“Oh. Okay. Good. I’m, uh, tired of talking about myself. Let’s talk about other people for a change.”

Okay.

“I mean, you can talk about me a little, if you need to. I mean, I do SORT OF like it when you include me, but I’m not an egomaniac or anything. I mean, we all like a little attention, right? That doesn’t make me a bad person.”

No, that doesn’t make you a bad person, but something important happened this weekend, and I want to talk about it.

“Oh, something good happened? That’s nice. Let’s hear about that.”

John Wooden died.

“John Wooden died? How is that good? What the hell is wrong you?”

I never said something GOOD happened. I said something IMPORTANT happened. You put words in my mouth.

“I put words in YOUR mouth? Um, ok.”

And the reason it’s important is that when a great man, a truly great man, passes, people stop and reflect on GREATNESS. They honor greatness. They honor excellence. And I like that.

“Oh. Now I’m on board. You want to honor John Wooden.”

No, I want to honor greatness. But, first things first, let’s talk about your (purportedly obvious) fandom of excellence. Let’s see if it applies UNSELFISHLY.

“Unselfishly? Why is that important?”

It’s important because excellence does not exist in a vacuum. Excellence is not just for you and your family. It’s for all of us, and the truth is, you and your family benefit most when you honor other people’s excellence.

“How so?”

Well, when you need an operation, you wouldn’t want it performed by a surgeon who got his job just because his Mom went to college the hospital’s CEO, would you? You’d want the best surgeon, regardless of who he was friends with.

“So, what’s your point?”

My point is that we need to start acknowledging excellence, encouraging excellence, and rewarding excellence… regardless of our relationship to the person who is providing the excellence.

“I don’t follow!”

Let me ask you a question. Who are your favorite comics of all time?

“Chris Rock, George Carlin, and Richard Pryor.”

Great. Now, did you (or do you) personally know any of them?

“No.”

Then how come you liked them?

“I liked them because they were great comics. They made me laugh. They were smart.”

Yes. Yes. Yes. You didn’t care if they were your buddies. You didn’t care if they made you money. You weren’t jealous of them. You just loved their excellent comedy.

“What is your point, Eric?”

How do you feel when you’re waiting for your turn onstage at an open mic or at a bringer?

“Honestly?”

What the heck. Why not?

“I usually feel impatient.”

Why?

“Because if the comic onstage is horrible, I’m afraid he’s going to walk the crowd before I get my turn, or turn them off so much that they don’t even want to laugh by the time I perform.”

And if he’s good?

“If he’s good, I’m afraid he’s going to make me look bad.”

So, really, you can’t win?

“Sure I can win. I can win if I get up there and crush.”

So… it’s all about you.

“No, I’m just sayin’ I feel like I win if I crush.”

But when the other comics are performing, you worry about how their performances are going to affect you?

“Yes.”

When you reflect back on your favorite performances by Carlin and Pryor and Rock, did you ever get the sense that they were in competition with other comics?

“No.”

Did you ever get the sense that they cared how the comic before or after them performed?

“They just did their acts, man. It didn’t seem like their focus was anywhere but on their acts.”

But they really were in a competition, right? I mean, there were only so many slots on The Tonight Show, right?

“I guess.”

Let me get to my point.

“Please.”

Is it better for you if the other comics stink?

“Yes.”

No.

“No?”

No. It’s better for everyone if the comics are good. Better comics means the comics push themselves to become even better. We rehearse more. We write more. We think more. Audiences return again and again if the product is good. Bad comics make us all look bad.

“So, what do you want me to do about it?”

Start pubbing good comics. Instead of booking your friend, book a comic whose set you admire. Start rewarding excellence. Start rooting for excellence to be rewarded. With any luck, er, I mean hard work, one day you’ll be the excellent comic who is rewarded – not as a manipulated prize winner, but as a hard won prize earner.

Stop wishing ill for other comics. Start being positive. A rising tide lifts all boats. So, help each other. Otherwise, the bad guys and manipulators will win. They will keep booking unwatchable shows. Unwatchable comics won’t get any better because they’ll have no incentive. The vicious cycle will continue. Let’s stop the cycle.

Seriously, let’s stop the cycle. You can start by genuinely complimenting the next comic you’ve never met whose set blows you away.

Next week: my opinion of Last Comic Standing. I’ll see you then.

By a round of applause, how many of you remember the “tenth column tradition” here at The State of Television? Really? That many? Oh, I’m blushing. A standing ovation? That’s too much. Really!

Okay, Jason and Mike, you can sit down. You’re embarrassing the other readers.

As for the rest of you forgetful freddies, I’ll loop you in one last time. Every tenth column, for the better part of a year now, I’ve evacuated my bowels. I’ve pooped from my mouth. I’ve aimed my excrement at as many irritants as I could think of, and I didn’t even try to provide a coherent (let alone memorable) message. I’ve just spewed, people. I’ve just spewed.

Today, that wonderful tradition continues.

First up, the LOST finale:
The LOST finale sucked! If you disagree, you are a moron. This is not debatable. Here’s why. A comedy must include jokes. A love story must include love. And a mystery must REVEAL the mystery. You can’t bill yourself as a mystery and then not address 90% of the questions you raised.
A church full of cast members sitting around grinning like mental patients is not a conclusion, it’s an ad for Xanax.

Next victim, The Dog Whisperer:

Hey, am I the only person who thinks that The Dog Whisperer is creepy? Admittedly, I’ve only seen about five minutes of his show, but I’m pretty sure he’s channeling the spirit of Mister Rogers (if he had facial hair). It’s the whole “soft spoken authority” thing that he’s got going. What is that? Stop doing that. You’re making Cojo from Entertainment Tonight seem like a regular guy.

Now, let’s talk about American Idol. More specifically, let’s talk about the finale.

Um, truthfully, I thought it was pretty good. I liked having the contestants sing and then immediately be joined on stage by real recording artists who could show them up. That was fun.

As for the Janet Jackson appearance at the end of the show – WHHHAAAATTTT WAAAASSSS THHHAAATTT???

Was she lip synching over a Michael Jackson recording? Did she forget to put on her wig? Did she have a butt implant sewn into her dress?

You’ve done the unthinkable, Janet. You’ve out-crazied yourself. You’ve made the Superbowl boob incident seem dignified.

More Idol observations:

The way those magnificent bastards at Idol stretched a 10 second result into a two hour extravaganza (that still somehow managed to go over by four minutes) was a work of witchcraft that had viewers in Salem bowing down.

Seriously, if you had told me that including William Hung in a “Pants on the Ground” extended remix would have been compelling television, I would have said you were smoking the crack, but you’d have been prophetic. I, for one, found it impossible to look away.

Then, having Paula Abdul return to the Idol stage with a monologue that was so uncomfortable, David Cook refused to be a part of it, well, that was also pretty darned good television.

But spending the last 20 minutes on Janet “the train wreck” Jackson was undeniably genius. I mean, every viewer in America sat there thinking, “Hey, if SHE could be a superstar, why the hell couldn’t Lee DeWyze or Crystal Bowersox? This thing is for real!”

Finally, I have a message for the TV show Glee. Please stop advertising. I love music. I think Jane Lynch is hilarious. But I don’t even want to watch LADY GAGA dressed up as Lady Gaga.

Why the hell would I want to watch a stage full of teenage boys dressed up as Lady Gaga?

And you know what? That image isn’t going to just erase ITSELF from my memory. I’m going to have to have therapy… or at least the administering of some street drugs.

And I don’t even KNOW the guy who hooked up the cast of LOST. Zing. Snap. And on that note, I’m outie.

Some people say it was a bad week for Wanda Sykes. Some people say it’s a shame that she had two shows canceled in two days. Some people are just plain stupid.

Hallelujah, the networks set Wanda Sykes free!

Thank you, Fox. Bigger thank you, CBS. Now that The Wanda Sykes Show and The Tired Adventures of Old Christine have been canceled, Wanda is free to do what she does best – edgy stand up and edgy co-starring on Curb Your Enthusiasm.

Wanda, you were a 10 starring on a five and a zero (wait, can I make Christine less than zero? Would anybody mind that? No? Ok, Wanda, you were a ten starring on a five and a negative infinity).

Quick shout out to Julia Louis-Dreyfus. You are also a 10. Why don’t you make that idiot husband of yours write you a better show? If he could write for Frasier, he could write for you.

Back to Wanda. Wanda, now that you have some time on your hands, I’d like to encourage you to do some public service. First, I’d like you to march over to CBS, thank them for liberating you, and then plead with them to liberate Jay Mohr from Gary Unmarried. Could you do that? Could you please, please, please do that for the people?

Then, if you know anybody over at NBC, could you ask them to let Alec Baldwin out of his contract? Watching him on 30 Rock is like watching Anthony Hopkins in a scene with Flavor Flav. Sing it with me, “One of these things is not like the other.” Bobcat Goldthwaite thinks Tracy Morgan needs to ratchet it down a couple notches.

Next, you’ll be off to the homes of Aaron Sorkin and David E. Kelley. Your message to them will be: if they’re writin’, you’re actin’. Other than House and Breaking Bad, there is not a brilliant drama on the air (please don’t send me hate mail, fans of Mad Men, Lie to Me, and Friday Night Lights – you’re good, but not brilliant. Deal with it). We need another West Wing and Ally McBeal.

Lastly, you’ll be paying a visit to your good buddy, Jerome Seinfeld. “Jerry,” you’ll say, “nice game show you got going, now write me a sitcom.”

Please accept your mission, Wanda. And in parting, let me be the first to say congratulations on your recent good fortune. Seriously, congratulations.

Should you give up comedy?

If you are an unsuccessful comic, is it mostly because you haven’t gotten your big break, because you haven’t given yourself enough opportunities to succeed, or because you weren’t lucky enough to be born into a showbiz family?

Or… is it because you simply aren’t good enough and are therefore destined to fail?

I’m not sure, but my gut tells me that most failed comics spend a long, long time believing in column A before, either in a final fit of rage or a last gasp of exhaustion, they succumb to column B (which leads to an even more painful realization: that you’re about to slink away from the bright lights of the Sunset Strip to the dark and dreamless streets of your hometown (almost always Toledo or Poughkeepsie)).

Well, I think that whether you’re untalented or unlucky, focusing on either almost always insures that you’ll never make it into column C.

“What’s column C?”

Column C? Why, column C is the holy land. Column C is where you want to be. Column C is where you’re saying, “Thank God I stuck with comedy, it’s given me the life I always dreamed of living.”

Woody Allen, Lisa Lampanelli, and Larry the Cable Guy are all card carrying members of column C.

“But how do I get there, Eric?”

That’s the real question, isn’t it? How do I get there? Well, I’d say that the way you get there is …

Wait! Who cares what I’d say? I say a lot of things. Let’s glean a little wisdom from a real comic first.

“Now you’re talking.”

Um, no, actually, I’m not talking, I’m writing, and it’s not very nice how you agreed with me so enthusiastically. I mean, I’ve got feelings too, you know. In fact, wait, I’m digressing again, aren’t I? Ok, let’s move on to that other opinion.

Renowned comic and fellow Heavy Hitters columnist Jason Lacour recently encouraged his audience to sit down and write. He said we needn’t worry about a subject. He said we should simply start writing and that we would be happily surprised by the wildly exciting stories that would appear on the page.

I think Jason Lacour gives his audience WAY too much credit.

No offense, Jason, but the average guy on the street can’t tell a five sentence joke without tipping the punch line or interrupting himself with laughter. Why should I believe that, all of a sudden, he can write even a READABLE story, let alone an INTERESTING one? I mean, for crying out loud, Joseph Six-pack can’t even REPEAT a good story!

Storytelling (not unlike stand up comedy) is a craft that takes years, nay, decades to master. Regardless of what Jason Lacour says, it is not easy.

But, here’s the thing. The formula for interesting writing does indeed come easily for Jason Lacour — because he has been listening to stories and analyzing stories and CRAFTING stories his whole life! Before doing comedy, Jason was making a living in sales. And what is sales except storytelling where the payoff, instead of laughter, is getting them to sign on the dotted line?

I think Jason thinks storytelling is easy because it’s easy for him. And I think it’s easy for him because he put in the necessary work to become extremely good at it before he ever started telling stories on the page or on the stage. He’s like that Kenyan runner who ran 10 miles back and forth to school everyday from age 6 to age 16, then got interviewed after winning a track meet at age 17 and said, “Oh, running is easy.”

Being a good storyteller means learning how to start your story provocatively (to gain interest), to present events which are both logical yet unobvious, and to finish with a conclusion that is unpredictable yet makes sense.

Yes, Jason can write a random sentence on a page and then use it as a springboard for a wildly entertaining story. That’s because his mastery of storytelling guides him through all the heavy lifting.

Do you want to hear my favorite Jason Lacour story?

No? Too bad, I’m telling you anyway. Snap. Zing. No, he di-ent.

My favorite Jason Lacour story is the one about how he got into comedy. As he tells it, he was simply being himself during a sales meeting when one of his sales people said he would be a natural on stage. Flash forward three months, and Jason is doing a set at the Comedy Store with the pacing, stage presence, and material of a seasoned veteran (my description, not Jason’s, but you can Youtube it if you don’t believe me). Sales guy was right. Jason was excellent from the start.

But — does that mean he was a natural?

Hmm.

Well, that was three years ago, and Jason still doesn’t have his own late night show, or even representation, but he’s making progress on the L.A. club circuit the way countless other successful comedians have before him. It’s really just a matter of time. Sales guy says it’s because he is a natural.

I say it’s because he honed his comedy chops for a decade and a half before he ever stepped on a stage. I say it’s because he spent 15 years intermingling wit and charm and truth to get people to give him their money for his product..

So, getting back to you, aspiring yet fledgling comic, I ask you again, why are you not successful?

No break, no connections? Just not good enough?

Jason Lacour suggests that putting together a comedy routine is as simple as writing down what comes out of your head. Jason, of course, is absolutely right. If you’re a comic, you simply need to combine your talent with WORK.

Do the heavy lifting! That means writing. If you have a voice, trust that voice. Use what you’ve learned about what works on stage to make fun of everything. That was Jason’s point, you know. If any random sentence can be the start of a fascinating story, then any random sentence can be the start of a hilarious bit.

If you’re really a comic, with vision and skills, you’ll always find the funny. You’ll edit ‘til it’s funny. You’ll tweak it onstage until it’s funny. You’ll do an impression of Jim Carrey talking out of his butt cheeks if that’s the only way to make it funny, but somehow, you’ll make it funny.

There are no naturals, people. There are only craftsman, risk takers, and tireless workers. If you’re not successful, work harder until you are. Not getting enough laughs? Keep honing your act until you do. Getting laughs but not getting discovered? Get in front of more industry.

Oh, and in the unlikely event that it turns out you ARE completely untalented, congratulations. You have just punched your ticket for a limitless career on reality TV. Yes, I’m talking to you Pumpkin, New York, and Bill Rancic.

Um, excuse me, but did you just say what I think you said?

“What?”

I could be mistaken, and please forgive me if I am, but did you just say that you were rushing home to watch The New Adventures of Old Christine?

“Yeah, what about it?”

What about it? What ABOUT it??? I’ll tell you what about it. You’re the guy.

“I’m what guy?”

You’re the guy who makes the world go ‘round. In my whole life, I never thought I’d meet you, but here you are. You’re the guy who makes an appointment to watch The New Adventures of Old Christine.

“Oh, thanks.”

Do you also watch Gary Unmarried?

“Yes.”

And Two and a Half Men?

“Of course. Listen Buddy, I’m not sure I like your tone. Are you saying that I have bad taste or something?”

Not at all. Now, getting back to Old Christine, how come you’re rushing home to watch it? Is your DVR broken, or are you just one of those old-schoolers who doesn’t cotton to all this new-fangled technology?

“My DVR is fine. I just like to watch it live with my son, before he goes to bed.”

Oh my God, so you’re training your son to watch Old Christine?

“I’m not training him to do anything. We watch the show together as a bonding thing.”

And how old is your son?

“Eight.”

Now we’re getting somewhere. So you’re saying that Old Christine appeals to eight-year-olds?

“Right.”

And you watch it because you like to spend time with your son?

“Naturally. You didn’t think I was watching because I thought the show was funny, did you?”

Well…

“Listen, nobody over the age of 12 thinks CBS comedies are funny. We just watch ‘em with our kids the same way we watch Hannah Montana and iCarly.”

Oh my gosh, it is such a relief to hear you say that.

“The truth is, I haven’t heard a single joke on any of those shows where I didn’t guess the punchline before I turned on the TV, but my idiot kids, God love ‘em, they think it’s genius.”

So, you’re saying CBS comedies aren’t even for regular children, they’re for “idiot” kids?

“I think so. I can’t picture smart eight-year-olds buying Gary Unmarried. I mean, no offense to my offspring, but I did meet their mother in a crack den, and she was using right up through the time she squirted ‘em into the toilet.”

You see, this is all making sense for me now. So, tell me, do your kids prefer Leno or Letterman?

“Actually, they prefer Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert. Even though they don’t get all of the political references, they love that it’s basically the same joke over and over. For the first six months they watched, they didn’t even know Glenn Beck was a person, they thought he was just an all-purpose punchline.”

Terrific. And what kind of shows do you watch when the kids aren’t around?

“60 minutes, Breaking Bad, and House.”

Anything else?

“Well, I do find myself watching a lot of music videos with the sound turned down.”

Let me guess. It’s when the wife has the clicker?

“Bingo. Crack addicts do love a meaningless montage of fast moving images.”

And you watch with the sound off because…

“Hey, just because she uses crack, that doesn’t mean her hearing is impaired. I don’t know of any drug strong enough to make you like the SOUND of Coldplay.”

Fair enough. But just to be clear, you do realize that as a Nielsen family, you have the power to get some of these awful shows off the air by not watching.

“Riiiiiiiiight. And then who, exactly, would babysit my crackhead wife and idiot kids?”

Good point.

So, faithful readers, that’s my conversation with the man on the street. Was it enlightening? Depressing? The story of your life? These are questions that only you can answer.

As for me, well, I’m on way over to CBS. I’ve got a new slogan for them that’s going to blow the doors off NBC’s “must see” campaign. How’s this grab you? “CBS, we’ll babysit your crackhead wife and idiot kids.” It’s clever, it’s catchy, and God help us, it’s true, true, true.

“What shows do you look forward to?”

I was asked that question the other day, and you’d think I’d have a list ready. I mean, I am sort of a TV critic. It shouldn’t have been a difficult question… and it wasn’t.

“House,” I answered immediately.

Then I got sad. I got sad, because I had just been blindsided by a seemingly innocent question. And while most people wouldn’t have been affected at all, I felt like I had been hit by a ton of bricks. For several minutes, I was, honest to goodness, devastated.

Does anyone see my problem?

If not, consider that my only goal in life is to write for television. I’ve written spec Seinfelds and Frasiers and Simpsons and several others. I’ve written a pilot that I know will be the next (pick any of those three shows I just mentioned). I love television. So how come I’m not loving more shows?

In retrospect, I realized that I could have added Kitchen Nightmares, Hung, Entourage, and Curb Your Enthusiasm, but I didn’t. And the reason I didn’t is because it didn’t occur to me until hours later that there was even a second show on the air that I really look forward to watching, let alone five (probably because those latter programs are on hiatus).

I should also add that I watch every episode of Family Guy, The Simpsons, The Cleveland Show, and Saturday Night Live, but I can’t honestly say that I eagerly look forward to them. They’re great shows, but with exception of The Cleveland Show, they’re old, and I enjoy their company like I do an old friend, comfortably but without any overwhelming sense of excitement.

What I’d like to know is if I’m the exception or the rule. Do you look forward to shows, or do you mostly just watch what’s on?

Is TV even important to you?

The numbers say that most of us watch hours of television everyday. I wonder if it’s because we enjoy it so much that we keep watching or if we keep watching in the hopes that the next program will be better than the last.

My hunch is that most people pretty much enjoy everything. No matter what’s on, most people will find something to like about it. I think people are very undemanding when it comes to TV programming, and that’s why there are so few hits.

Whaaaaat?

You heard me right. When people watch everything, there’s no incentive for the networks to provide excellence in programming, because they know that as long as they’re as unobjectionable as the next guy, they’ll get an audience (HBO is the exception because their viewers, not advertisers, pay the freight. When viewers don’t watch, they cancel HBO, and there is a hard dollar cost).

When everything is “sort of watchable,” the wheels keep turning and every little piece of show finds a little piece of audience.

It used to be that networks were always seeking the breakout hit, but with so many pilots following the formulas of mediocre shows that garner only mediocre ratings, it often seems that quantity is a higher priority than quality.

“We’ve got timeslots to fill, kid. So gimme three Law and Order’s, four CSI’s, and at least one award show every week.”

You want any Datelines with that?

“Yeah, throw in a couple Datelines. Gimme a half dozen sitcoms, you can divide ‘em up between Chuck Lorre, Steve Levitan, and Lorne Michaels. Let me have three medical dramas, three vampire dramas, two supernatural ghost shows, oh, and I almost forgot, give me 17 reality shows, you know — singing, dancing, dating, racing amazingly, and a bunch of wannabe actors, I mean regular people, living in a house.”

You want to see any scripts first?

“Why?”

I’m just supposed to ask. I heard that, sometimes, certain shows that are better than others.

“Poppycock. I didn’t get where I am by trying to reinvent the wheel. Let’s just give ‘em what they’ve been getting and nobody gets hurt.”

Are you sure you don’t want to try something new?

“Something new? I don’t even want to tinker with something old.”

Why not?

“Why not?!? Because once upon a time everybody watched Leno, then all of a sudden nobody watched Leno, just because he was on an hour earlier. You really think I’m gonna take a chance on something new?”

Ok then, I’ll just fill your order.

“Thanks, kid. And thanks for understanding.”

No problem. So, um, I guess I’ll see you at the Emmy’s?

“Don’t get smart.”

Aaaaaaand, scene!

I’m not sure that’s exactly how it happened. I just like portraying the most powerful people in Hollywood as numbskulls. I mean, I’ve done it for the last 35 weeks. Why, oh why, would I ever want to write something new?

What up, dawgs?

E to the R to the I to the C here, coming at you with a take that’s as fresh and fly as a white guy tryin’ to sound urban. Awww yeah. I got nothin’ to say… but if I say it in a voice with enough krunk, I know my boyz at HH (what up Mike C) are gonna front the man and put me up for a Peabody. Holla!

I’m talkin’ ‘bout awards, son. I’m talkin’ ‘bout writing awards for spittin’ the truth.

Or… maybe not.

Before I apologize for the preceding copy, I’d just like to say that it was probably more embarrassing for me to write than for you to read, but I did it for a reason.

The reason?

I did it because I could.

“That’s not much of a reason.”

No, it’s not. But don’t all artists adopt what they consider an entertaining persona, simply because they can?

Is Jay Z really a gangster? Was Britney ever the squeaky clean teen role model that she seemed to be when she made her first millions? Was Rock Hudson ever really a ladies’ man?

You get the point. Successful performers pretend. They lie. And it’s a good thing.

“It’s a good thing to lie?!?”

Yes. For artists, it’s practically a duty. Don’t forget that art is short for artifice. A good artist needs to twist and warp and flat out manufacture. He needs to do whatever is necessary to make his point in an entertaining fashion.

“Keeping it real” is never art. “Keeping it real” is a lecture, and usually a boring and predictable one at that.

“Why are you telling us this, E to the R to the etc.?”

Because I want to challenge a prevailing school of thought that is hindering a lot of creative minds. I want to remind artists that just because The Comedy Store says you have to reveal your true self onstage in order to find out what makes you funny, you actually don’t.

Based on their stand up, do you really think you know what Jerry Seinfeld, Larry the Cable Guy, or Jim Gaffigan is really like?

Did Brian Regan ever regale his audiences with endless bitch sessions about how broke he was as a struggling comic?

Do you?

Did Leno or Carson or George Carlin ever drone on about his lousy love life?

Do you?

“But I’m keeping it real, Eric.”

Yeah, I know you are — Real depressing. Joking about how you were molested as a child doesn’t make the audience any less depressed about child molestation. It just reminds them of something unpleasant… and it brings them down.

“But I’m talking ‘bout my life, Eric.”

Who cares? I’m at a comedy club. Just let me laugh without making yourself out to be the strongest survivor since Anne Frank (if she would have survived). Gaffigan does forty minutes on bacon and Hot Pockets.”

“That’s trivial.”

Maybe, but his jokes about bacon and Hot Pockets contain as much truth as your Cub Scout fellatio bit and nobody has to feel uncomfortable. Gary Gullman does a hilarious 20 minutes on grapefruit.

“But I can’t think of 20 minutes worth of material on grapefruit.”

You can’t or you won’t?

“Both.”

I see. And what does that tell you?

“I’m not a fruit guy?”

Maybe, but if we’re keeping it real, isn’t it indicating that you are either stupid or lazy? Maybe you rely on the truth because you won’t make the effort to create real art? Maybe you’re really more interested in the attention you get on stage than in making the audience happy?

J D Salinger once gave writers the following advice (and it was recently echoed outside the Pig ‘n Whistle by one of my favorite comics, Daryl Wright): imagine a story that you would want to read, then write it. It’s not complicated.

TV producers, imagine a show that you would want to watch, then produce it.

Comics, imagine a set that you would like to watch, then perform it.

Too many of us are following conventional wisdom and copying the successful formulas of others, and we’re missing out on the greatness we can bring to the table if we really apply ourselves. It’s a shame, because right now, right this very minute, we really can be anything we want to be.

“Really? Anything?”

For shizzle, my peeps. Ain’t nobody keepin’ a brother down but gravity. Take it from Urban E!

Did ya’ll watch Taylor Swift belt out that number on the country music awards this weekend? Did you watch Ke$ha perform as the musical guest on Saturday Night Live? Did you use your On Demand service to watch an old Milli Vanilli video?

If you answered yes to any of these, I couldn’t care less. I don’t care how you get your music. I don’t care if you wear an ipod to the gym or if you groove to a salsa music station on your way to work, if you watch Glee on Hulu or if you DVR American Idol.

The only thing I care about is that somehow, someway, in some form or fashion, you get some music into your life.

I don’t care if your cell phone ring tone is a P Diddy song or if you still play vinyl recordings of Boz Scaggs out in your garage. I don’t care if you play your own music on a trumpet or if you set your clock radio to wake you up whenever Ryan Seacreast plays an Adam Lambert song. I don’t care if your kids won’t eat their Froot Loops until you put on a Wiggles dvd or if your wife won’t touch YOUR wiggle until you put on a Marvin Gaye cd.

The only thing I care about is that, somehow, you get your groove on.

I don’t care if you go to musicals on Broadway or watch rap battles in the streets of Detroit. I don’t care if your weird uncle listens to nothing but jazz and your “normal” uncle still has a walkman that plays cassettes. I don’t care if you skip school to go to a three day music festival in the desert or if you skip work to watch street musicians bang on buckets in the park.

The only thing I care about is that you have music feeding your soul, brother.

I don’t care if you buy soundtracks to movies or if you sing in the shower. I don’t care if you turn on the easy listening channel in your cubicle or if you are unable to enjoy a day at the beach without blasting Jay Z on your boom box. I don’t even care if you spend seven hours a day watching unknown amateurs cover their favorite songs on Youtube.

The only thing I care about is that you got the music in you.

I don’t care if your little brother belches the Star Spangled Banner at the dinner table or if your neighbor plays opera music too loud while you’re trying to take a nap. I don’t care if you have lousy seats at a Counting Crows concert or if you ride the carousel on the boardwalk just to hear the carousel song.

The only thing I care about is that you have access to music. We all love music. We all need music. Luckily, music is all around us. Music is omnipresent and ubiquitous. Music is virtually inescapable.

But you know what else is inescapable? Hacky %$*&@* comics that make the following unfunny observation, “Why do they call it MTV? They never play music anymore. They should call it No-M TV.” Heh, heh, heh.

Music is everywhere, douche. MTV still plays several hours of music videos every morning, and there are about a thousand other places for you to look if you really need to find videos. So quit picking on MTV. Without their non-music programming, we comics would lose priceless resources. I mean, I love Weird Al as much as the next guy, but do you really think “Eat It” or “Like A Surgeon” were really as funny as Jersey Shore or 16 and Pregnant? Of course not.

Music is for everyone. Music television is for comedians. Music television is for unintentional hilarity. Music television is for reality freak shows. Music television is just like all other television — lots of music but lots more excrement. I mean, you’re a comedian, but I’ll bet you spend 23 hours a day not being funny (24 if you’re an open mic comic). Nobody’s asking you to tell more jokes, are they?

So please just accept MTV for the godsend it’s become and stop requesting more music videos. You can feed your #$*&@ soul on VH1.

Hello, legions of loyal readers, my minions, my lovers of the printed word. Welcome back to your sanctuary from hype and hyperbole, to the one place in Hollywood where you can always count on getting the unvarnished truth.

Last week in this space, we figured out how to save the television sitcom (you’re welcome, network fat cats). Shall we go ahead this week and try to save stand up comedy?

“Wait a minute. YOU saved the television sitcom? Didn’t you just say this column was supposed to be a sanctuary from hyperbole?”

Quit living in the past, faithful reader. Ain’t you never heard that you gotta move forward to get anywhere?

“But…”

Back to the topic of the day, saving stand up comedy, I went to a funeral on Sunday, so I know exactly what we need to do.

“Ahem! Sorry to interrupt again, but what in tarnation does going to a funeral have to do with saving stand up comedy? Also, please excuse me for saying so, but you’re not really that good of a stand up comedian. If you really know how to fix stand up, shouldn’t you fix your own act first?”

Excellent questions, disembodied voice in my head. Let me address them in reverse order. First of all, while I might be a writer first and a stand up fifth, that doesn’t preclude me from making valid observations about the craft. Just because I can’t sing doesn’t mean I can’t understand that maintaining pitch and staying in tune are keys to good singing. One needn’t master an art before appreciating it. Second, a good memorial service requires some of the same elements of a good stand up comedy show, so it’s not at all strange that I gleaned pertinent information about the latter by attending the former.

But before I connect all the dots, I’d like to provide just a little more necessary background information:

1. I despise excuses. I simply want to retch when a comic tells me that he bombed because the audience was no good. Once, I went to The Laugh Factory and the show began with 12, count ‘em, TWELVE comics bombing. I’m no poet, but the room – was a tomb. Then Chris Porter got up and crushed for 15 straight minutes. From that point forward, I vowed to never blame the room.

2. That was a year and a half ago, flash forward to two weeks ago. For the first time in my short stand up career, I decided to use my upcoming out of town vacation as an opportunity to test my act on the road. Through comics I knew in L.A., I booked a slot in a well attended San Francisco show. I prepped for a week, practiced my SF set twice in front of live audiences, and after doing very well both times, I took the stage in SF with a supreme sense of confidence. To say that I took a crap on stage would be a disservice to the sometimes pleasurable act of taking a crap. They hated me. I opened with my “A” material,” I proceeded to my “never fail A+” material, and closed with a joke that has worked 50 consecutive times. Hooray, the last joke triumphed, but I fear they may have laughed only because they knew I was leaving.

On the drive home, I beat myself up mercilessly. I didn’t have the option to blame the audience. And I didn’t want to blame them anyway because they had laughed at everything for the first hour and a half of the show. I was perplexed. But I am no longer perplexed. My findings, ladies and gents, in a minute.

First, the funeral:

As I mentioned before, I attended a memorial service yesterday. The service was for my brother-in-law’s father, a man I’d known for about eight years but with whom I’d shared only a handful of conversations. What I did know about him from our few encounters was that he was a very good listener. He found areas of common interest for our discussions and related his experiences in a way that was genuinely complementary to me. Granted, the guy had made a living as a salesman – but he was never trying to sell me anything, so I have to chalk up his conversational sensitivity to his actually being sensitive.

Due to this man’s likeability, I was not surprised to see 150 close friends and family at the service, which was as much a roast as it was a series of eulogies. The guy had possessed a great sense of humor, and his friends were going to be damned if they were going to let his passing stop the laughter.

So, one after the next, family and friends got up and told heartfelt and amusing stories. It was what memorials should be, a celebration of life. After about 45 minutes, everyone in the room felt warm and wonderful about the life of this man. It had truly been a treat and a privilege to have attended his farewell. It all just felt right.

Then… more people wanted to talk. Um, ok, I guess a couple more stories couldn’t hurt.

Um, yeah, we have heard that he was competitive, but you want to tell us that you thought so too? Okay. What’s that? Another guy wants to tell a story about how he was competitive? Um, alright.

Oh, you say that he took time to listen to you too. That’s great.

What’s that? He was competitive? Yes. That seems to be the consensus. Thank you.

The first 45 minutes, touching. The next 45 minutes – sort of made me feel like a bad person. I mean, who was I to be attending a funeral and then get frustrated with people who felt a need to participate? My God, that’s what memorials are for. People need closure. Truth be told, I felt very ashamed of myself, but I also couldn’t help wanting this to be over. Did you catch that last part? I said, “I COULDN’T help myself.” I felt how I felt.

And how did I feel?

I was flat-out warn-out. Eulogies are emotional and draining. And as it turns out, like most folks, I am only programmed to receive them for a certain amount of time. After that time is exhausted, I’M exhausted and I’m not receiving properly. After that time is up, I need to be excused.

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ok, stop! As they’ve been saying in math class for years now, it’s time to put two and two together.

Remember my comedy debut in San Francisco?

The same material that had delighted fresh audiences in Los Angeles, somehow walked half the crowd in San Francisco. Could it have had anything to do with the fact that I was the 17th comic to go up that night? I never blame the audience, but they had been listening to comedy since 9:00 — and I went up at 11:00. Had I really become terrible in just three days? It didn’t add up. The host actually bumped me from 16th to 17th because he wanted a particular drop-in (who always gets the energy up) to rejuvenate the crowd. The drop-in then got an early light because he wasn’t connecting. Hmmm.

I don’t know. Maybe it was “all me.” Maybe all of the 13 comics who opened the show were talented, and the last seven of us were all hacks. Or maybe — comedy shows should only run an hour and a half. Maybe after an hour and a half, the crowd is eyeballing the exit, regardless of the quality of the comedy.

I mean, I love a nice piece of chocolate cake. And I really love a BIG piece of chocolate cake. But I don’t think I’d enjoy eating a fourth piece of cake, or a fifth piece of cake. Let’s face it, I can only enjoy so much cake!

Hey bookers, let’s think about the audience. Let’s limit the chocolate cake to an hour and a half. Who knows, you might just save stand up comedy.

You’ll certainly make my drive back to L.A. more enjoyable.

Gene Hackman

In their recent columns, my Heavy Hitter brethren Jason LaCour and Mike Fellows have joined me in my relentless attack against the horrible state of television. They have taken vicious shots at reality programming in particular, and they have implied that the viewers ought to unionize, go on strike, and boycott all schlock until it is replaced with better programming.

To my comrades in arms, I say the following:

We can do better.

Hope.

Change.

Read my lips (or font, whatever).

We’re here — free beer — we don’t want anymore whore (whore meaning bad reality TV. I know “whore” doesn’t actually mean bad reality TV, but it just feels right, doesn’t it? You feelin’ me, Boo?).

The question is… what will our mechanism for change be? In other words, how are we going to do it?

Should we march on NBC?

Should we hire a medium to channel the spirit of Brandon Tartikoff? Surely the spirit of the man who created must see Thursday will help us save television.

Should we submit scripts to the Warner Bros. Writers program (I think I have a spec Sister Sister around here somewhere)?

No, no, and no.

The answer, I fear, isn’t any of the above. If normal channels worked, we wouldn’t be in this mess. The answer is obvious. We have to create a webisode. If Shakespeare was alive today, or if Jerry Seinfeld hadn’t lost his mind and gone game show, they would be making webisodes.

Think about it. We’ll have total creative control, no worries about network approval, and if we’re a hit, ABC will pick us up and force Jimmy Kimmel to interview our actors.

Now, what should we title our webisode? How about “The Eric Somers Project?” You good with that, Jason? Mike? No? Okay, that was just a first thought. Let’s put the name on the back burner.

Let’s talk about content. What should our show be about? Our theme is obvious. The show should espouse whatever is the opposite of Ryan Seacrest plus Tool Academy. Our show has to be a scripted comedy with professional actors, with stories and dialogue that make sense (something like 30 Rock… but with stories and dialogue that make sense).

ZING.

Now, a lot of people are going to tell us to cast a bunch of hot chicks, but I want Gene Hackman. I mean, I don’t want Gene Hackman. I want Gene Hackman to star in the webisode. You know what I mean. I want a quality actor to do our quality show.

Obviously, Gene will play a janitor/handyman at an apartment complex in Eugene, Oregon. We’ll get Judd Nelson to play the cocky complex owner (he inherited it when his parents were abducted by aliens (not outer space aliens, illegal aliens (Bolivian kidnappers who executed Judd’s parents when the ransom was delivered in Peruvian currency))).

Anywho, with Ann B. Davis and Wanda Sykes playing Gene’s rotating live-in girlfriends, the scripts will practically write themselves. Our biggest problem will be finding a production office with enough mantle space to hold all our Emmys.

The critics will hail us as the saviors of the medium. The masses will hold parades and name their babies after us. The women who find out that we’re married will undergo female circumcision. I know Mike isn’t married, but having a girlfriend in the inland empire is practically common law marriage. I’m pretty sure I read that on a bus stop bench ad in Riverside, so it’s gotta be true.

Think about it, fellas. We can be like Ozzie Nelson. We can NOT be like Ozzy Osbourne. We can reclaim the airwaves via the internet!

Agreed? Good.

We’ll have the first table read next Tuesday in the parking lot next to The Improv right before the open mic. Bring your own folding chair. In the interim, I’ll practice my Gene Hackman impression.

Margaret Cho

As my faithful readers know, I’m nothing if not positive. I’m a positive dude, with a positive vibe, and I make people happy just by walking into a room.

But, just this once, I’d like to step out of character and lodge a complaint. In fact, it’s more than a complaint, it’s an impossible wish. I’d like to lodge an impossible wish. I’d like to find a real-life hot tub time machine, go back in time, and stop a bad thing from happening.

“What would you like to stop, Eric?”

I’d like to stop Margaret Cho.

“Huh?”

You heard me.

“I don’t get it. Are you saying you want to kill Margaret Cho?”

No! I don’t want to kill Margaret Cho. I like Margaret Cho. I like her stand up. I liked her short lived sitcom, All-American Girl. I’m a Margaret Cho fan. I think she’s smart. I think she’s real. I think she’s funny.

“Then why do you want to go back in time and stop her?”

Because she told a joke in the early 90’s that people are still telling today, and I’m so sick of it, I’m actually fantasizing about building a time machine in order to stop it — and I don’t even believe in the possibility of time travel!

“What’s the joke?”

That’s just it. It’s not really a joke. It’s just the insertion of a particular word into a sentence, and I’m not even sure Margaret Cho was the first comic to do it. She’s just the first one I can remember doing it.

“A particular word, huh? What’s the word?”

The.

“The?”

Yeah, the.

“Let me get this straight. You want to go back in time and stop Margaret Cho from the being first comic to use the word the?”

Yeah.

“Are you high?”

That’s irrelevant (but no, I don’t even use drugs).

“Eric, you’re starting to frustrate us. There’s no way that Margaret Cho was the first comic to say the word “the.” You know it, we know it, and we know that you know it. So would you please stop jerking us around and make some sense?”

Gladly.

Back in the day when Margaret Cho was making a name for herself, she did a hilarious routine about her immigrant parents and their relationship with the English language. When referring to homosexuals, Margaret’s parents always said, “THE gay.”

“Can you give us a for instance?”

I can give you an example.

“That’ll work.”

Margaret, how come your friend David wears lipstick? Is he the gay? Margaret, don’t look at that nasty book, people will think you’re the gay. Margaret, why did you buy a motorcycle? Are you the gay?

Get it. Her parents said “the gay” when they meant “gay.” It might not read very funny, but it played very funny. VERY FUNNY. Maybe too funny, because amateur comics and countless radio personalities are still doing it today.

“Can you give us an example?”

I can give you a for instance.

“That’ll work.”

For instance, I heard the following on a radio talk show:

Hey Bob, George Clooney has a new movie out. Are you a fan of the George Clooney? Heh, heh, heh.

I heard this next one on a political TV show:

Sarah Palin is a polarizing figure. How do you feel about the Sarah Palin?

And I know that soon, I’ll hear this next one (probably behind my back):

Eric Somers is a strange guy. Do you read the Eric Somers?

On and on it goes. Less funny every time you hear it. Usually perpetrated by the same guy who, when asked what he likes to be called, says call him anything but don’t call him late for dinner. Hilarious. But I say, don’t worry fella, you don’t need to worry about being called late for dinner because we’re not inviting you to dinner. I mean, how could we enjoy a meal when, at any moment, your rapier wit might cause us to spit milk through our noses? If you want dinner, I suggest you go to someone else’s house. Maybe you should go visit the Margaret Cho.

Brian Dunkleman

Welcome to column number 30, Heavy Hitters. It’s time to take out the trash.

We have a tradition at The State of Television. Every tenth column, we do something painful but necessary – we watch an episode of 30 Rock and try to find a line of Tracy Morgan’s dialogue that could still be considered funny even if it hadn’t been belted out in a silly, exaggerated voice. Now, we haven’t found any such dialogue yet, but in Tracy’s defense, the show’s only been on for four or five seasons. So I say, “Give him some time.”

No, that’s not really the tradition. The tradition is to use every tenth column to parcel out insults to a variety of recipients whose transgressions do not warrant full columns. I call this activity “Taking out the Trash,” but that’s only because I stink at coming up with clever titles (i.e. my column about the state of television being super-creatively titled “The State of Television”).

Anyway, let’s boogie.

As a guy who considers Seinfeld to be the greatest sitcom of all time, this first one hurts me more than you can know, but I gots to keep it real, so here goes.

Watching The Marriage Ref is like watching your company’s most hilarious account manager give a 30 minute speech at the Christmas party: funny for the first five minutes, tolerable for the next five, and making you wish you could get fired so you wouldn’t have to listen to the last 20.

This is the last time I’m gonna say this (in this column): Please, Jerry, make another sitcom!

Hey, here’s a fresh take: any guy who watches Dancing with the Stars has questionable taste.

The way I see it, Dance fans are the same guys who watch figure skating during the Olympics, and I’m proud to say that I HATE watching dancing and figure skating. I contend that I would be reluctant to watch them even if my wife, sister, or daughter was competing. It even hurts me when OTHER people watch dancing. The fact that one of my idols, Howard Stern, is a Dance fan actually makes me like him a little less.

So… how come I’m addicted to American Idol? I tell myself it’s because I love music, but did you hear what some of those scum bums did to the songs of The Rolling Stones? Keith Richards should have been rolling around in his grave that he should have been in by now (note to Keith, it’s awesome that your music is immortal but rather freaky and unnerving that you are).

I like American Idol so much, I actually worried that losing Paula Abdul would be a bad thing. Was I high? Ellen is awesome. The show is awesome. I hope Paula Abdul and Brian Dunkleman get married (for those of you who don’t remember, Brian Dunkleman co-hosted American Idol with Ryan Seacrest for the first season, then left because he didn’t respect the show and didn’t want it to taint his comic integrity. Brian Dunkleman was not heard from again until his stint on Celebrity Fit Club. Brian Dunkleman is a cautionary tale. I respect Brian Dunkleman, but I do not envy Brian Dunkleman).

Even Jackie Martling feels sorry for Brian Dunkleman (for those you who don’t know, Jackie Martling was a highly compensated head writer and comedic performer on the Howard Stern Show for 20 years before he held out for more money and was replaced by Artie Lange. Jackie Martling was not heard from again until years later when Stern gave him a once-a-week, two hour radio show for exactly no money. Jackie Martling is a cautionary tale… etc.).

And now, for something completely different…

Does anyone besides me like that Dentyne Ice Gum commercial where the guys are embarrassed to buy Dentyne Ice Gum? The premise is that anyone who chews Dentyne Ice Gum is doing so because he is about to make out with a hot chick, and should therefore be embarrassed to buy Dentyne Ice Gum the way guys are normally embarrassed to buy condoms? I think it’s pretty funny. I wish Dentyne Ice Gum commercials would replace 30 Rock.

Does anyone besides me hate 30 Rock?

Does anyone besides me love every tenth column of The State of Television?

Does anyone besides me think there’s not enough stand up comedy on TV? Remember when Evening at the Improv, the MTV comedy ½ Hour, HBO comedy specials, and a bunch of other stand up shows littered the airwaves? Aren’t we ready for another heyday?

I want to live in a world where there are only four new reality shows every year and 20 new sitcoms, instead of the other way around. I want Aaron Sorkin to produce more shows and Ryan Seacrest to produce less.

Or maybe… I could be like my good friend and colleague, Jason Lacour. Maybe I could play Devil’s Advocate.

Attention Hollywood, I want to write scripts for 30 Rock, Gary Unmarried, and Two and a Half Men. I want to be the ultimate sell out. I want to be the anti-Brian Dunkleman (for those of you who don’t know, I have been accused of showing a lack of respect for the aforementioned sitcoms. I have been painted as a critic who thinks these programs are turds and embarrassments to the medium of television. But please note, this is mostly based on rumor, hearsay, and irrefutable facts).

Sorry Heavy Hitters, I gotta go. I’ve got the producers of For the Love of Ray J on the other line and we’re trying to negotiate a writing contract for me that doesn’t include the selling of my soul. Needless to add, I’m not very optimistic.

Bill Paxton

Oh, the grief I’ve taken!

Apparently, not all of you loved Hamlet 2 as much as I did, and as a consequence, several of you want to punch me in the throat.

Well, guess what? I didn’t MAKE you rent it! I just gave you my honest opinion — that it was a brilliant and hilarious film. Nobody put a gun to your head. Sheesh.

So, not only am I NOT backing away from my glowing review, I’m going to use this column to drive more nails into my coffin. I’m going to recommend even more movies (my three favorite comedies “that nobody ever saw”).

Take that, people who question my taste!

I give you now, the three films that I love that came and went so fast, it feels like no one but me had a chance to see them.

“Are they better than Hamlet 2?”

Yes, and no. The first two are very different from Hamlet 2, and are probably more satisfying to most viewers. For better or worse, one is just like Hamlet 2 (unapologetically broad and populated with so many naïve idealists, it makes you want to puke). Anyway, I loved all three, so let’s get to it.

FLIRTING WITH DISASTER

Before David O. Russell melted down on the set of I Heart Huckabees (a movie I loathed), he gave us a masterpiece. Flirting with Disaster is an absolute must see for anyone who liked the great Woody Allen comedies Hannah and her Sisters and Deconstructing Harry (no, that wasn’t a joke. Just because Deconstructing Harry came out on the heels of the Woody/ Soon-yi scandal, that doesn’t mean the critics had a right to ignore it. Art is art. Just like Mel Gibson’s Apocalypto, it is a fantastic movie that I believe was ignored because the director picked a bad time to act like a reprehensible tool).

ZERO EFFECT

I know it’s a cliché to dismiss any film starring Bill Pullman or Bill Paxton as a waste of ten dollars. Heck, I do it all the time and it always feels great. But in this rare case, Pullman/Paxton is interesting from start to finish. The movie… moves. Pullman/Paxton is super interesting. What more do you want?

This movie is not hilarious or even jokey, but it’s really, really engaging. If you’re not hooked into the story and the characters after fifteen minutes, I don’t know who you are.

THE LONELY GUY

Um, Roger Ebert gave this movie a ½ star. He said that the only reason he went into the theater was to get out of the rain, and that in retrospect, he probably would have been happier if he’d spent the hour and a half just walking the streets in the downpour.

I totally disagree. Yet, at the same time, I see his point. This movie is chock-full of silly gags. I contend they’re “smart silly,” so I loved ‘em. Roger, I guess, thought they were only silly silly, which is a valid reason to hate anything. The film stars Steve Martin, but it also stars Charles Grodin. And you’re either gonna love ‘em both or wish you were walking in the rain.

All I can say is, I’ve seen this movie at least a dozen times, and it always makes me laugh the way Airplane does.

Anywho, please note that I’ve recommended three movies without giving anything away about them (five, if you count Deconstructing Harry and Apocalypto). I didn’t tease you with fake “spoiler alerts” or blurt out anything that would detract from your enjoyment of these films. For that alone, I deserve forgiveness for once again not writing anything about TV in a column titled “The State of Television.”

Next week I’ll be hitting TV hard. So brace yourselves for a pummeling.

Last Comic Standing

I’m not whining.

In fact, I’m applauding the deception. Nobody wants to watch hacky comics do bad sets, and no unproven comic deserves to win a career on a game show. That being said, let me add this:

Shame on you, Last Comic Standing. Shaaaaaaaaaaaame on you!

As became clear in the last season of Last Comic Standing, the producers of the show are not interested in foisting unknown, unproven amateurs upon their audience. What they want are talented veterans who will deliver strong material week in and week out. I have no qualms with that.

In season one, they gave us Dat Phan, a lovable newbie who had ten fantastic minutes of material. After those ten minutes were used up, as Rich Vos so eloquently put it, “he’s not funny.”

Hilarious!

The format of Last Comic Standing Season One had Jay Mohr shaking his head on a weekly basis as Dat Phan used his tiny set of perfectly crafted jokes to pick off much more talented and prolific comics.

“Never again,” I can hear those producers whispering. “Never again.”

In subsequent seasons, you saw guys with more than ten years of experience under their belts. I saw Todd Glass headlining shows at the Hollywood Improv three years before his stint on Last Comic Standing.

But here’s the problem, Last Comic Standing wants to be the American Idol of comedy. They want to pretend that if you’re funny enough, they will pluck you out of obscurity and make you a star.

Oh, they’ll pluck you, alright.

They plucked me all night long.

Attention comics, there was no open casting call for Last Comic Standing. Did you hear that? There was NO OPEN CALL for Last Comic Standing.

Viable candidates for the TV show “Last Comic Standing” had separate auditions set up for them by their agents and managers. The show will be cast from this stable of talent, and America will get a terrific television program because of it.

“But Eric, I was at the L.A. audition and I saw a hundred wannabes get auditioned.”

I know you did. And those auditioners will not be picked to be in the Last Comic Standing house. A few of the absolute worst auditions will be shown on television to illustrate how bad open mic comedy can be, but that’s the extent of it.

The problem is…

It rained like a bastard at the open audition. No tarps or tents or umbrellas were provided for comics in line. The camera crew made the people in line jump around like trained seals from 8:00 in the morning until 3:30 in the afternoon.

Then, at 3:30 PM … the crew announced that only 100 of the 300 hundred comics in line would get to audition.

Aspiring (yet unsigned) comics had traveled from all over the country to Los Angeles for a two minute audition.

Sorry.

Comics who had camped out since early Friday night… were told to beat it. They weren’t needed.

No kidding.

Let me ask you a question? If a show was really interested in discovering talent, do you think they’d hold only two auditions in the whole country? Do you think they’d limit themselves to 100 possibilities?

There are 300 million people in this country.

Of course producers weren’t interested in casting anyone from the casting call. They just wanted to create the illusion that they are to comedy what American Idol is to music.

My problem is… one of the guys who didn’t get to audition was a guy in a wheelchair who’d spent the night on the sidewalk and the day in the rain.

My problem is… I met two girls who had driven almost all the way from Phoenix to L.A. before their car broke down in Rancho Cucamonga (they took a cab they couldn’t afford the rest of the way).

My problem is that Last Comic Standing host Craig Robinson did an on-camera interview with a guy AT THE END OF THE LINE (about what the guy was going to say in his audition) at 3:28. This was exactly two minutes before they told this guy and the 199 people in front of him that it was time to go home.

My problem is that Last Comic Standing abused the trust of aspiring comedians. Say what you will about the quality of the singing on American Idol, at least the auditioners get to sing for somebody, and the ones who make it come from the casting calls.

That being said, I’m looking forward to watching season 7 of Last Comic Standing. It will be populated with really good professional comedians. And I hope that by this time next year, I have an agent or manager who can get me a real audition.

Christopher Guest

Do you guys have heroes?

I do. I have lots of them. My heroes are the people who make me laugh with consistently smart, satisfying comedy. They deliver punch lines that I don’t see coming. On screen, they portray characters that I recognize from real life. They flat out inspire me.

Do you have any heroes like that?

If so, would your opinion of them change if you saw them appearing in the hackiest, shlockiest, and most mundane television shows on the air?

Would your opinion of Bruce Springsteen change if he started regularly appearing on The Wiggles show?

Would you lose a tad of respect for Conan if he used his (new found) free time to start doing the Home Shopping thing like Joan Rivers?

Would you want to blow your brains out if Chris Rock gave up his stand up career in order to host a gardening show on PBS?

Well, I am experiencing such a sadness these days, and I blame Christopher Guest!

Hey Christopher, it’s time to get the “band” back together and make another movie.

Here’s the deal. Christopher Guest is the driving force behind several of the funniest movies ever made. He is responsible for Waiting for Guffman, Best in Show, A Mighty Wind, and For Your Consideration. In all four films, he used the same stable of brilliant improv actors and none of these actors has ever done better work.

Sadly, for some reason, Guest hasn’t made a movie in a few years and his actors are appearing all over, gulp, the ABC Family network. Aaaaacccckkk.

Now, listen, I have nothing against the ABC Family network. There is clearly a market for wholesome, sweet, unforgivably boring television, and ABC Family does what it can to fill that need. However, when I see some of the edgiest comic geniuses in show business settling for roles in these hokey, mindless shows, I just go berserk.

The trouble is, I don’t know where to place my anger. I can’t blame ABC Family for poaching good talent, and I have trouble blaming the talent for wanting a paycheck (even geniuses gotta eat).

So, I’m choosing to blame Christopher Guest.

Let’s go Christopher. It’s time to put pen to paper again and rescue your brethren from themselves. I’m not asking for much, just one new movie per year. Just enough to keep Larry Miller off channel 64.

Larry Miller belongs on the big screen, Mr. Guest. You know that. Or maybe he could be on HBO. I could live with that. But channel 64? That’s not right. Don’t let your friends be on channel 64. After all, he’s not just your friend. He’s also somebody’s hero.

iPhone

Are you like me?

Do you think technology has come too far?

Do you think the so called “scientists” have gotten too big for their britches?

If so, skip ahead to the next paragraph. If not, please look in your pockets. More likely than not, you’ll find some evidence that I’m right (no, I’m not talking about your boner, I’m talking about your cell phone).

Sorry, AT&T and Verizon, but you’ve overreached. Nobody needs a TV on their phone.

Now, don’t mistake me for a fuddy duddy. I hate purists as much as the next guy. Back when cinephiles were screaming at Ted Turner for colorizing Gone with the Wind, I just smiled. I couldn’t understand the outrage (over a “supposed” violation of the director’s vision) when the stilted dialogue of the movie was much more off putting than anything Ted Turner could do to the graphics.

But I digress. I’m not here to bash the most dated, overrated, and unwatchable film in the history of the medium. I’m here to defend its defenders. I’m here to declare that format does indeed need to be protected.

I’m here to say that it’s wrong to watch television on a two inch screen! It’s simply not fair to the TV shows. Sure, watching Jay Leno is acceptable (because a two inch screen is perfect for making his chin look normal) but he’s the exception to the rule.

In fact, now that I think about it, I don’t even want to watch a normal chinned Leno on a two inch screen (just like I wouldn’t want to watch Letterman on a screen that fills in the gap between his teeth).

And if I can’t figure out what the hell’s going on on Lost while I’m watching it on a 32” screen, what chance am I going to have if I’m watching it on my cell phone?

And what about shows that go out of their way to give me majestic scenery? They may as well be filming Survivor on Gilligan’s Island if I’m watching it on my cell phone.

And what about those poor sons of bitches who try to watch The Wizard of Oz or Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory on a cell phone? The Munchkins and Oompa Loompas would practically disappear!

“Who’s Willy talking to? Is Dorothy nuts? How come my TV keeps ringing? Oh, right, hello? Hey Dave, thanks for calling. What was I doing? Nothing much, just watching The Wizard of Oz. Speaking of which, do you know why they’re following a yellow line in the dirt or why Dorothy brought her hamster, Toto, with her?”

I believe that if you can’t be troubled enough to find a screen that’s bigger than a bread box, you don’t deserve to watch television.

I remember the good old days before we had cell phones, back when technology was my answering machine. I remember the excitement of getting home at the end of the night and checking to see who called. And I remember the crippling depression that set in when I had no messages!

Now, thanks to technology, I’m getting that depression 15 times a day, every time I log on to my empty email account. Thanks, technology!

You know what else I hate? Reality dating shows. I mean, I get it that people need to put on an act in order make their lives interesting enough for TV, but when phoniness is delivered with all that fake sincerity, like when Brett Michaels or Ray J acts hurt when one of their skanks appears to be in it for something besides their love, I just find that soooo depressing. It sort of diminishes the whole idea of people genuinely caring about anything. I wish God would be merciful and make Ray J and Brett Michaels fall in love with each other.

So, in conclusion, cell phone televisions suck, I am not popular (on the phone or on the email), and Ray J and Brett Michaels need to tenderly smash each other with their respective rosy thorns.

Have a great week, Heavy Hitters. Have a super duper pooper scooper week!

Steve Coogan

Every now and again, it happens… and I find myself smiling for a week.

Good morning, Heavy Hitters! I’m in the rarest of moods. I’m HAPPY!!! Yay!

No, you’re not dreaming. The guy who hates everything is actually grinning ear to ear, because TV made him happy.

And I’m not just any happy, I’m surprised happy (and that’s the best kind). I’m the kind of happy that you never see coming — so it makes you extra happy because it feels like bonus happy.

“Okay, Mr. Happy, right now you’re making your readers a little UNhappy. How’s about you get to the point and tell us what you’re grinning about.”

In a minute, Buster. This is rare for me and I want to set the stage properly.

“Whatever.”

Okay, so before I tell you the name of the gem I stumbled onto, I want you to bear in mind that I never get to stumble onto anything. When you’re in the industry (even on the fringe), you’re always aware of what’s good before you ever get to experience it. I read about the movie Sideways long before I saw it. Trailers for Napoleon Dynamite had me licking my lips for months before I got to enjoy that masterpiece.

So, as I flipped through the onscreen guide for HBO the other night, I had zero expectation of finding something I’d barely heard of that would become my favorite comedy since Forgetting Sarah Marshall.

Enter Hamlet 2.

All I can I say is, “I was laughing for an hour and a half.” Hamlet 2 is an unpolished gem that I believe will appeal to anyone who loved Napoleon Dynamite. It is simultaneously as silly as Dumb and Dumber and as smart as Being John Malkovich.

The story is so ludicrous, that its execution had to be flawless. No need for a spoiler alert, as I’m only going to lay out the premise in the broadest of strokes.

Hamlet 2 is the story of a ridiculously principled/deluded high school theater director who writes, directs, and stars in a play in which Jesus Christ and Shakespeare’s Hamlet use a time machine to go back in time and save lives.

“Say what?”

I know. Normally, I’d have been ashamed to write that last sentence, but, like I said, it’s all in the execution. Steve Coogan as drama teacher Dana Marschz is one of the most likeable and entertaining characters I’ve ever seen on screen. Catherine Keener and Elizabeth Shue are beyond charming, and David Arquette does the most amazing job of doing nothing that I can’t believe he even took the role. I’m not kidding when I say that I can’t think of a braver, more self-sacrificing performance than David Arquette in Hamlet 2.

And if you liked Amy Poehler on Saturday Night Live, you’re going to like her here. She hasn’t shined like this since she was “rockin’ one leg” as a contestant on SNL’s Rock of Love parody.

Co-writers Pam Brady and Andrew Fleming (who also directed) are my new Jared and Jerusha Hess.

That’s it, Heavy Hitters. I’m cutting it short this week because I don’t want to dilute my message (not because I’m lazy or still suffering from Valentine’s Day chocolate overdose).

Conan

That’s nasty, baby.

“What’s nasty?”

That – what you’re watching on TV.

“How do you know what I’m watching on TV?”

I work for the cable company, baby. I know everything. I know what movies you watch on “On Demand.” I know what you watch when your wife goes to bed. I know…

“Wait a minute. I only clicked on this column because I was curious about Eric Somers’s thoughts on television. I didn’t want to make this about me.”

Simmer down, baby. You ARE learning what Eric Somers thinks about television. This week he’s thinking that advertisers know exactly what he’s watching — and that this fact is somehow preventing him from getting better shows.

“Why isn’t he telling me this himself?”

Oh, am I making you uncomfortable, baby? You don’t like having the hidden powers that be reveal themselves? I thought you’d appreciate a little unvarnished truth but, okay, I’ll step back behind the curtain and we can both pretend I’m not here. Take it away, Mr. Somers.

#^$)*@#^^@#^&@^^#&$

Hello, Heavy Hitters. Sorry I’m late. Who were you talking to?

“Um, we’re not sure. We think it was some lady from the cable company.”

Well, I wouldn’t worry about it. I’ll bet it was nothing. After all, my columns never begin with some clumsy device that attempts to illustrate a point. Let’s just move on.

So, did everyone enjoy the Superbowl? I know I WAS enjoying it, until I thought about all the money that those companies were paying for those commercials. You see, I use a lot of those products, so I know that somehow, I paid for those ads, and I was thinking that I probably would have rather just kept the money.

Then I thought, lighten up. The cost of those commercials is diffused by so many millions of consumers that they’re hardly adding anything to the cost of the products.

Then I thought, I like the Superbowl, and with the ad revenue it generates, I’m pretty sure it’s not going to get canceled.

And then I thought, oh no.

OH NO.

Um, I have a confession to make. I like what I like.

“How’s that a confession, Eric?”

It’s a confession because I’m always giving people a hard time for liking the things that they like that I don’t like.

“Huh?”

Most of my readers know the long list of sitcoms that I can’t stand, shows that I’ve privately and publicly wished would get canceled. Furthermore, they know the one sitcom that was recently canceled that I do like (Everybody Hates Chris).

My “oh no” comes from a sudden realization that meaningful, crafted entertainment is as vulnerable as it is rare, and that it can be eliminated at any time.

Worse than that, my realization has made me feel guilty!

“But Eric, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Didn’t I? What about my disinterest in The Tonight Show controversy? Didn’t my ambivalence cause some people pain?

“Dude, what are you talking about?”

I’m talking about… I wasn’t a Conan guy, but many of my friends were, and since Conan got roughly double the ratings that my favorite canceled sitcom got, there are probably twice as many viewers out there who are frustrated that he’s gone.

“But how is that your fault, Eric?”

It’s my fault because I didn’t begrudge NBC for going with Jay. In fact, considering Leno’s Tonight Show got better ratings than Conan’s, I didn’t see how any rational person could legitimately question NBC. I thought Conan should have acknowledged the numbers and gracefully accepted a midnight timeslot or quietly gone away. But this column isn’t about choosing one guy over the other guy. That’s always going to happen. This column is about the other guy.

My “oh no” comes from the realization that millions of people can like a particular show, but that doesn’t mean it won’t be taken away, even in this time when there are more channels than ever that need programming.

The fact is that TV shows compete for viewers and viewers are notoriously slow to discover shows. This is a dangerous combination – if you consider television shows to be works of art.

I’ll say that again, as this whole meandering column depends on it. Ratings are dangerous when they are given the power to eliminate art.

What if Vincent Van Gogh had had his paint brushes taken away from him after his first six paintings? After all, they didn’t sell. In fact, Van Gogh sold almost nothing during his entire lifetime. Does that mean he shouldn’t have been allowed to paint?

Heaven knows, most new TV shows are yanked from the air if they don’t produce ratings after six episodes.

Does that mean that the world today is quite probably depriving itself of its greatest television artists?

I’ll tell you one thing, it scares me that Aaron Sorkin, due to lack of ratings, could not keep Sports Night or Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip on the air. It seemed to me that those were pretty brilliant shows.

I’ll bet if Vincent Van Gogh’s paintings were a TV show, he would not have been allowed to continue to paint.

“But Eric, maybe PBS would have sponsored Van Gogh? They do a lot of television that wouldn’t make it commercially.”

Maybe, but did PBS pick up The Tonight Show with Conan O’Brien? Did they pick up Everybody Hates Chris?

“Come on, Eric. It costs a lot of money to produce television shows. It’s not fair to compare them to Van Gogh’s paint brushes.”

But, in a way, aren’t television shows today what paint brushes were in 1880?

“This is nutty, Eric. Almost every show that’s ever been on the air has had some loyal viewers. Are you going to argue that every show is entitled to air forever? Isn’t it possible that some shows only had viewers because some people were too lazy to turn the channel, or because they watched it, not because they liked it, but because it was not as bad as the other shows that were on at the same time?”

What I’m saying…

Wait. Let me start again. What I’m saying…

You know what? I don’t know what I’m saying. I think, this week, I’m just acknowledging that there’s a danger in just going by the numbers. Sometimes the masses get it wrong. And I believe that sometimes the masses aren’t even given a chance to get it right. You can build the perfect mouse trap, but if nobody knows about it, if the guy who sells crappy mouse traps controls the means of distribution, if nobody cares enough to seek out the perfect mouse trap…

You know what?

Everybody watches the Superbowl, so the Superbowl won’t be getting canceled any time soon. I guess, for the time being, I’ll just be happy about that.

Jerrry Seinfeld

Ahem.

I’m sorry, let me begin again.

AHEM.

There. Do I have your attention now?

Because I’m here to talk about what, sitcoms? No. I’m here to talk about one specific non-sitcom. I’m here to talk about The Marriage Ref, a new reality show starring comedian Tom Papa and executive produced by Jerry Seinfeld.

Look, I like Tom Papa as much as the next guy. In fact, I’m a fan, and I’m happy as hell for the guy that he’s getting a network television show. But what in tarnation is Jerry Seinfeld doing producing it?

“It’s not a reality show,” claim Papa and Seinfeld, “it’s a comedy panel show.”

Okay, it’s a comedy panel show. Fantastic. Even though I don’t know what a comedy panel show is, I’m betting that if Jerry Seinfeld is involved, it’ll be the best comedy panel show of all time.

On the other hand, here is what I know for sure. The New Adventures of Old Christine, Parks and Recreation, and just about every other sitcom on the air make me want to barf.

Don’t you think that maybe, just maybe, Jerry’s talents might be better utilized if he was exercising them in the creation of a watchable sitcom?

Come on, Jerry, I need another Seinfeld. Gimme another Seinfeld!

The truth is… he might be on his way already.

Let’s be honest here, doesn’t The Marriage Ref have the feel of an unused Kramer storyline? Have you seen the visual of Tom Papa in a referee’s shirt standing between a husband and a wife? That’s not normal. That’s Kramer.

Level with me, Jerry. Is The Marriage Ref really just another “coffee table” coffee table book? Or maybe it’s a pizza place where people make their own pies (“you canna notta put a cucumbers on a pizza. That’sa notta pizza.”)

I really don’t understand any of this.

When Seinfeld co-creator Larry David wanted to get back into television, he didn’t produce a series of “dogs in the wild” documentaries for Nat Geo, he created a brilliant new sitcom.

Hey Larry, do you still have Jerry’s phone number (yeah, I know, Larry is going to be a guest panelist on The Marriage Ref. I was trying to make a point).

What’s next?

Mark Burnett quitting Survivor to produce soap operas for Telemundo?

Brett Favre retiring from football so he can go up against Leno and Letterman (it didn’t work for Magic Johnson)?

Elvis coming back from the dead to sing lead voice over in the next Alvin and The Chipmunks movie?

This is crazy!!!

I get that Jerry likes to change venues. He did stand-up, he did a sitcom, he did an animated movie. But if you’re going to bring your sensibilities back to TV, produce another sitcom.

For the love of God, Jerry, produce another sitcom.

You and Larry David crafted the greatest, most intricate sitcom in the history of television. Every episode gave us four wildly entertaining stories that intersected with the precision of a surgeon’s knife. Now you’re going to stand behind the scenes while some comedian makes fun of married people? How challenging. You’re probably going to have to put in 15 minute days.

Good news, everybody. The world is following Jerry’s lead.

Conan O’Brien’s got a new gig as the warm-up guy at Funnies in Toledo. Bill Cosby is coming back to TV as the producer of that burning log show that appears on your TV every Christmas morning. Craig Kilborn will star as the log.

I’ve had it, people.

Having Jerry Seinfeld produce a reality show is as big a waste of talent as having Dave Chappelle appear exclusively at the Pig ‘n’ Whistle open mic. Stop teasing us, universe. Stop teasing us this very instant and make our greatest artists produce great art!

That being said, SIGH, I am very much looking forward to the premiere of The Marriage Ref. I just wish it was following the premiere of Jerry’s new sitcom.

Cleveland

My, oh my, that didn’t take long. If only every spin-off could surpass its parent show so quickly.

Attention viewing audience, I have come not to bury The Cleveland Show, but to praise it. I know it took most of the world half a decade to appreciate the genius of Family Guy, but what do you expect when a population is force fed a steady diet of mediocrity (shows like Gary Unwatchable, The Unwatchable Adventures of Old Christine, and My Unwatchable Name is Earl)? Excellence became a foreign taste which took some time to reacquire.

However, now that our palates have been corrected by season after season of Seth MacFarlane’s starter cuisine, I think we should all be ready to enjoy The Cleveland Show without the need for a warming up period.

If you haven’t seen The Cleveland Show, I almost envy you. You still have the pleasure of its discovery in front of you. Waste not a minute, my friends. Stop reading this column right now and make sure your flash player is in good working order. Hulu.com was invented so you could watch this show.

If you like shows with heart, truth, and wit, then The Cleveland Show is the show for you! If you like those other shows listed above in the parentheses… well, what can I say? You’re probably not even reading this column because it is located on a website, not in a coloring book.

As for why I think The Cleveland Show is better than Family Guy, let me just admit that it’s probably because I’m a little soft. For me, The Cleveland Show has all of the biting wit of Family Guy but with softer edges and more likable and sympathetic characters. I root for every character on The Cleveland Show – and that’s a remarkable achievement.

Don’t get me wrong, I think both shows are excellent, but I’ve always preferred The Godfather: Part II to the original The Godfather – and they both won best picture. You just can’t go wrong with a Godfather (unless you liked The Godfather: Part III, then you’re troubled, you’re just, flat out, troubled).

THE LATE NIGHT WARS

Okay, so I’m acting in this space as your Heavy Hitters TV columnist, but like all of the other columnists on this site, I am also an aspiring comedian. Right now, I want to switch hats and become Eric Somers, comedian.

Here’s the dealio:

I had a moment at an open mic last week that was so comical to me, I feel compelled to share it with you now. Ironically, this moment involved a discussion about the current NBC late night fiasco, and could easily be addressed by Eric Somers, TV columnist. But this moment didn’t occur to Eric Somers, TV columnist, it occurred to Eric Somers, comedian… so that’s who’s writing. Got it? Good.

Okay, so I was standing on the balcony of The Pig ‘n’ Whistle open mic with fellow comic/Heavy Hitters columnist Jason Lacour and another comic (who shall remain nameless because I don’t remember his name). We were all just hanging around, shooting the bull, waiting for our spots (it should be noted that this other comic was much younger than Jason or me).

Anywho, somebody brought up the topic of the current mess at The Tonight Show and Jason and I both expressed the opinion that neither Leno nor Conan was as good as Carson. I suppose some Leno or Conan diehards might find this debatable, but this third comic looked at us like we were nuts. He literally rolled his eyes at us.

Now, I don’t mind a difference of opinion, but this third guy acted like the whole discussion was a no-brainer and that Jason and I were the ones with no brains.

So, in my nicest voice, I said, “What, you didn’t like Johnny Carson?”

And he said, “Who?”

“Johnny Carson,” Jason repeated.

And the guy said, “I’m only 21. I never watched Johnny Carson. I thought you guys were saying Carson Daly was better than Conan or Leno.”

Now it was time for Jason and me to roll our eyes.

“You just said Carson,” repeated the nameless comic, “You never said Johnny.”

So I said, “Buddy, if you really thought we were saying Carson Daly was better than Conan and Leno, I want to thank you for ONLY rolling your eyes. You were entitled to spit on us.”

Have a great week, Heavy Hitters. Have an awesome, awesome week.

Sully

Hello, television fans. Did you manage to catch the feel good story of the week?

I’m sure you did. You couldn’t turn on a news program without getting smacked in the face with it. I’m referring, of course, to the one year anniversary of Sully Sullenberger crashing his plane into a river. Hooray!

I guess it wasn’t enough that we threw him a dozen parades when it happened, now it looks like we’re going to have to celebrate it every January for the rest of our lives.

Look, don’t get me wrong. I get it. The guy crashed a plane into a river and nobody died. I’m glad about that. In fact, I’ll go as far as conceding that he’s the greatest pilot ever when it comes to crashing planes into rivers. But on the flip side, he’s probably the worst pilot ever when it comes to avoiding flocks of birds that are so gigantic, they knock out both engines. That never happened before! Every other pilot who’s ever flown a plane is better than him at THAT.

So, my question is… where’s their parade?

Come to think of it, where’s my parade? I mean, I’m not a pilot, but I once ran over my neighbor’s turtle as I was crashing into his pool. Did I get a parade? No, all I got was a DUI and a lecture. Zing!

But seriously, all this Sully worship is making me uncomfortable.

I know times are tough, but are we really so desperate for a hero that we need to honor a guy because he successfully crash landed a plane. How can I call a guy a hero when I don’t even know if he’s brave?

“What do you mean you don’t know if he’s brave?”

I mean — I don’t know if he’s brave! When a guy is walking down the street, minding his own business, and he decides to risk his life by running into a burning building to save 150 people, I know THAT guy is brave.

However, when a different guy is plummeting to earth in his airplane, and he decides that it’s safer to crash into water than into ground, I know he’s smart, but I don’t know he’s brave. Practicing self preservation is not bravery, it’s… self preservation!

Did 150 passengers benefit from Sully’s smarts? Yes. Did Sully take even one extra iota of risk to his own safety in order to save those people? No. Hells no!

Go back and watch the interviews he gave right after the crash. He said he was surprised by all of the attention and that he didn’t consider himself a hero.

I’m right there with you, buddy. I am so, so, so right there with you.

When Captain Joseph Hazelwood crashed his boat, the Exxon Valdez, into an iceberg, they crucified him – and he wasn’t even driving the boat! I think Joseph Hazelwood’s biggest mistake was not having a cute nickname. I mean, if everybody knew him as Joey Joe Joe Hazel Eyes, I’ll bet he would have gotten a parade too.

So, in conclusion, how come some people say they have an “ear hair problem?” That’s redundant. Just say you have ear hair. Ain’t nobody gonna need you to add that it’s a problem.

Hugh Laurie

It’s that time again, Heavy Hitters. It’s time to raise your glasses to me. I’ve reached the magical milestone of 20 columns, and like any American worker, I’m celebrating by taking the week off and phoning it in.

Instead of the thoughtful, meticulously fitted together argument that you usually find in this space, today you’ll be getting a hodgepodge of unrelated thoughts, sloppily worded, and free of concern for your enjoyment!

I warned you ten weeks ago that I’d be doing this every tenth column, so please just pay the price for the nine gems in the middle and listen to me prattle on until I don’t feel like typing anymore.

First up, kudos to the People’s Choice Awards.

No, I’m not being sarcastic, you cynical sons of biscuits. The “People,” or at least the ones who did the choosing, did something remarkable last week. They achieved something that the out of touch Academy of Television Arts has been unable to achieve. They recognized House and its star, Hugh Laurie, as the most compelling show and actor on the air. Suck on that, fans of Mad Men (actually, I kind of like Mad Men, but I absolutely love House, and I was seriously considering going “Kanye West” at the podium if he didn’t eventually receive some kind of overdue acclaim).

Next up (come on, you can guess this. I’m not even trying to be unpredictable), JEERS to the People’s Choice Awards.

Oh snap! Did you see what I just did there? I gaaaaaave — and then immediately took away (kudos then jeers). Talk about balanced journalism, where do I go to receive my Edward R. Murrow award? Wait, what was I talking about? Oh yeah, the “People” blew it. They gave a best comedy award to a Chuck Lorre show.

Look, even though The Big Bang Theory is the least sophomoric Chuck Lorre sitcom to air since his last good one, Grace Under Fire, it still isn’t as good or as funny as any of the following shows that should have beaten it for best comedy: The Simpsons, Family Guy, The Cleveland Show, Entourage, Curb Your Enthusiasm, Hung, and House (yeah, House is that good). Just because a show is about scientists, that doesn’t make it smart. The people got it wrong, wrong, wrong when they named The Big Bang Theory best comedy. On the other hand, at least the people did not name 30 Rock best comedy, and for that I am so grateful, I retract 30% of my jeer.

Moving on…

Andre Braugher is so good on Men of a Certain Age, it makes me want to donkey punch any movie producer in Hollywood who would even consider making a movie that didn’t include a part for him. Scott Bakula is also fantastic on that show, and Ray Romano would be getting similar accolades if his character wasn’t so needy and whiny. Men of a Certain Age is so well-written, I can’t stop watching it even though every episode is as joyless as an episode of Felicity. I’m begging you, Ray. Please let these characters be happy some of the time. Your credits indicate that once upon a time you TRIED to make people smile.

And changing gears again…

Nobody could find Everybody Hates Chris when it was in production. It got canceled, went into syndication, and now it’s on 14 times a day. Hey America, now do you see what you were missing? For the love of God, would some network please capitalize on this situation and put this great sitcom back into production? I hear NBC is about to open up five hours a week of prime time real estate. Hmmm.

And now, for something completely different.

When comedian Richard Jeni killed himself, I couldn’t get over my anger. Now that Artie Lange has attempted suicide, I can’t get past my sadness and frustration. Why can’t smart, funny guys realize that everyone gets depressed, but that the work they do is like Prozac for the rest of us? I don’t care if you take drugs, sleep with hookers, and weigh 500 pounds, you have to get over your guilt and accept yourselves as whatever you are. Consider your shortcomings as the price you pay for your genius. Let’s face it, folks, as any viewer of most of today’s “comedies” will attest, the ability to genuinely make people laugh is too rare and too precious to just extinguish. It needs to be preserved at all costs. In other words, stop depriving me of my Prozac!

Attention Jay and Conan, I think I have a solution. Give Jay his 11:30 timeslot back and give Conan a prime time show. Conan was at his best when he wrote on The Simpsons. Maybe he could write himself a great sitcom. God knows we could use one.

That’s it for this week, Heavy Hitters. How did it feel to read a column that took longer to read than to write? I know, it felt exactly like watching an episode of Gary Unmarried.

Toodles.

Charlie Sheen

Do you guys ever want to punch your parents in the face?

I mean, I love my dad, but every once in a while, he makes me so mad, I just want to shit in a bag and throw it at his car.

But… perhaps I’m getting ahead of myself.

Let me start by acknowledging something. When you’re an open mic comic, your family has a right to ask you why you’re throwing your life away. I get it. No money, no security, and long odds against making it.

But the one thing I do have is my integrity. I believe in comedy. And the comedy I believe in the most is the television sitcom. I love the sitcom. Watching Seinfeld or Frasier or Entourage is the most enjoyable half hour of my day. These shows are smart and funny, they engage me in their stories, and they make me feel like their characters are my most interesting friends.

Furthermore, watching these shows reminds me that there is a place for me in the world of sitcoms. When god-awful shows like Two and a Half Men, 30 Rock, and Gary Unmarried are coming back season after season, I know that there’s a need for writers who understand the difference between turds and shows like Seinfeld, Taxi, and The Simpsons.

So I pay the price at open mics trying to make connections in the comedy world and hoping I’ll meet the agent, comic, or assistant to a showrunner who can get my specs in front of people who can hire me. I believe my goal is noble and, to some degree, selfless. I believe this world will be a better place when I can give it the next Seinfeld or The Larry Sanders Show (or Roseanne or M*A*S*H* or Curb Your Enthusiasm).

What I don’t need to hear from my father is that I should stop putting down shows like Two and a Half Men and Gary Unmarried because, “After all, a lot of people watch them, so they must be doing something right.”

Really?

REALLY?

Is that what it’s come to? My parents would rather I produce a mountain of shit that gets airtime than try to produce something good?

“They’ve got to be doing SOMETHING right,” insisted my dad.

And I snapped.

“You’re right, Dad,” I said. “They must be doing something right, even though they’ve never given us a character with an IQ over 80, a joke that wasn’t so predictable that you couldn’t see it coming from before you turned on your TV, and stories so ludicrous that no viewer has ever uttered the phrase, “Yeah, that’s just what I would have done.””

They’re clearly doing something right.

If being on the air and making money means you must be doing something right, then they must be doing something right. Is that your argument, Dad?

Yes?

Then I guess we better acknowledge some other people who “must have been doing SOMETHING right.”

Hitler. He stayed in power for a long time. I guess you’d have to say he was doing something right.

Slave owners. They had a real productive run. I guess there must be something right about slavery.

Teenage prostitution. Drug abuse. The Detroit Lions. They all must be doing something right.

Right?

They’re all making money.

Look, I’m not saying that Chuck Lorre sitcoms are as bad as Hitler or the Detroit Lions, but I am saying that they are shitty, shitty sitcoms. And the fact that people watch them does not mean that he’s doing something right. It simply means that he has enough elements to sustain an audience.

For crying out loud, For the Love of Ray Jay sustains an audience. Does that mean he’s doing something right?

Mere existence is not an argument for proliferation. Those of us who are trying to do quality work don’t need your encouragement to sell out. There’s plenty of that already (I mean, come on, do you really think Jay Mohr thinks Gary Unmarried is funny? It’s heresy).

Clearly, I don’t yet know how to get MY sitcom made, but that doesn’t mean it should stop me from calling out turds.

After all, I’m pretty sure that long before we got rid of Hitler and slave owners, somebody somewhere was brave enough to say out loud that those folks were bad guys. And THAT somebody, I believe, “had to be saying SOMETHING right.” Right?

Right!

Chili Cheeseburger

Why do we make New Year’s Resolutions?

Are we really trying to achieve meaningful personal growth? Or are we actually a race of masochists – pathetic malcontents who enjoy nothing more than setting ourselves up for failure on an annual basis?

I contend that we make New Year’s Resolutions because we are biologically programmed to be unsatisfied. We always want more, we always want better, we always want to be moving forward.

And what’s the perfect tonic for disdain of complacency? Changing personal behavior! It’s an act that not only busies us, but provides us with an illusion of control (in a world that, everyday, seems to be more and more at the mercy of chaos).

Well I say, face reality!

Arbitrarily choosing the first of January to make a major behavioral change is an unspoken, unprovoked indictment against the people we’ve taken a lifetime to become. Why should we forsake our genuine personalities for contrived personas that are concocted merely because the calendar is changing? The answer is: we shouldn’t. So I say, no more New Year’s Resolutions!

On the other hand, I’d probably feel a whole lot healthier if I stopped eating chili cheeseburgers for breakfast, so, what the hell, let’s go ahead and say that my New Year’s Resolution is to stop eating chili cheeseburgers for breakfast. You got that? No more stopping at Tommy’s before noon.

But wait! What if everybody did that? Sure, we’d all be a little healthier, but what about the employees at Tommy’s who work the morning shift? They’d lose their jobs. I don’t think I could live with myself if I helped to contribute to any more joblessness in this economy.

So, to clarify, my New Year’s Resolution is to continue eating chili cheeseburgers for breakfast. Maybe I won’t feel any healthier, but maybe my good health is a necessary sacrifice for a robust economy.

I mean, how are doctors and hospitals going to make any money if I’m not coming in for bypass surgery? Who do I think I am that I can just, willy nilly, decide to stop eating chili cheeseburgers? Do I really want to topple our healthcare system?

And what about the good people at the napkin factory? Have you ever seen me eat a chili cheeseburger? I probably burn through half a redwood’s worth of napkins. And now you’re asking me to put loggers out of work?

Damn it. I’m really torn here. A part of me still thinks it might be wrong to abuse my body by starting each day with a chili cheeseburger, fries, and a large Mountain Dew, but another part of me knows that economic disaster looms if I change.

Hmmm. Two solid arguments. I just don’t know what to do.

“Hey, Eric”

Yeah?

“Um, your column is titled The State of Television.”

Yeah, so?

“So… why are you talking about chili cheeseburgers?”

Oh, I’m sorry. Are you suggesting that it’s wrong to advertise one thing and deliver something completely different?

“Yeah.”

That’s funny, because it seems to me that Hollywood has a habit of rewarding people who go off on nonsensical tangents. Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t there a buttocks load of TV shows that are coming back in 2010 that have yet to deliver on what they promised in 2009?

“Huh?”

Just pipe down. You need to have a little faith that I’m eventually going to make a point about television. Haven’t I always meandered my way to some sort of pay dirt?

“If you say so.”

So here it is. Here’s my real New Year’s Resolution, and you better believe it’s related to the state of television.

In 2010, I resolve:

To call out the producers of TV shows who fail to deliver what they advertise.

Take heed, showrunners!

If you produce situation comedies that offer us neither situations (that could possibly occur) nor comedy (that is more intelligent than a knock knock joke), I’ll be there (yes, I’m talking to you, Parks and Recreation, Better Off Ted, and Two and a Half Men).

If you attempt to foist dramas upon us that are really just overblown melodramas, I’ll be there (maybe, I mean, let’s be honest here, I do try to focus on comedies, but you never know, I might branch out and lambaste a couple of dramas next year, I watch dramas).

If you give us a bad reality show… okay, now you got me. It’s highly unlikely that I’m going to write about reality TV, but I brought it up because I really like the rule of three, therefore, comedy, drama, reality… you see what I was trying to do.

So, to sum up, my point is this: I’ll be there! Make bad TV in 2010 — and I’ll be there. And regardless of any shortcomings that I might have exposed in today’s column (especially in the areas of coherency and focus), a lot of the time in 2010, I might just make some sense. In fact, I resolve it!

Roseanne

Hello, Heavy Hitters. Are you ready to be inspired?

Are you ready to grab 2010 by the cocoa pebbles? Are you ready to tackle the world with all the zest and enthusiasm you had before your string of failures and disappointments sucked the life out of you?

Do you even remember the “old you” that I’m talking about? Or do you need a photo album just to conjure up an image of that hopeful guy or girl that you were before you became a bitter, hollowed out shell of your former self?

Or, if you’re not unsuccessful, are you ready to move on from being a successful failure?

“A successful failure? What the hell is a successful failure?”

A successful failure is an artist who has failed to achieve ANY artistic greatness, but has nevertheless experienced inexplicable popularity and financial success. It may seem ridiculous to feel sorry for celebrities who wallow in self pity while driving a BMW or riding in the back of a limo, but I sense their pain.

I mean, do you really think that the members of The Wiggles really enjoy their riches the way Paul McCartney does? Do you think Melanie Griffith is as content as Meryl Streep? Do you think it’s even remotely possible that Pauly Shore doesn’t want to slit his wrists any time someone mentions Jury Duty?

Well, I say: Don’t do it, Pauly! You know what you did wrong. For God’s sake, you were raised at The Comedy Store. You were bred to know the difference between lifetime open mikers and Richard Pryor. What you need to do is go out there and make a movie that would make Sam Kinison proud (or his ghost, if you want to get technical). And if you can’t manage that, for the love of God, at least make something that’ll measure up to your own highest standards.

In fact, Heavy Hitters, it’s time that we all challenge ourselves to do our best.

“But Eric, people don’t like my best. They only watch crap. They only respond to dick jokes and set up, punch, set up, punch, set up, punch.”

Ahem. I hate to interrupt your whining, but have you ever heard of Vincent Van Gogh?

“Doesn’t he co-host a poker show or something?”

No, that’s Vince Van Patten. I’m talking about the artist, Vincent Van Gogh, a painter who practically reinvented the art of painting and whose work is now as valuable as any art on the planet.

“What about him?”

What about him? What about him? I’ll tell you what about him. Vincent Van Gogh invented a style of art that he believed in. He painted in a style that moved him. He painted in a style that spoke to him. And even though he sold only one painting in his entire life, suffered the indignity of living off his brother, and died a pauper, he never wavered in his art. He never bastardized his art by doing the oil based equivalent of set up, punch.

So I ask you, Heavy Hitters, are you ready to stick to your guns? Are you ready to rediscover the laughter? The REAL laughter? The laughter that really makes you laugh?

You can do it, my peeps. I have the recipe. And the best part is… all you have to do to find some inspiration is watch a little TV (and I know you lazy bastards can handle that).

Don’t forget that you have a chance to make a difference. You have a chance to make a unique contribution to your art form. And, as an unexpected bonus, you’ll even get to keep/save your soul.

“Impossible,” you say, “One can’t have success AND a soul.”

Way possible, I counter. It’s totally way possible.

The biggest sell-out among us has just received an opportunity to redeem himself, to set himself right, to return to his roots and make amends to America. That man… is Chuck Lorre.

“Chuck Lorre? Isn’t that the douche who created Two and a Half Men and Dharma and Greg?”

Yes it is.

“Maybe The Big Bang Theory isn’t the worst show on the air, but for the most part, that guy is ruining TV.”

I quite agree, but it has come to my attention that the King of Silly, the Master of Mediocrity, the Dharma of Dharma and Greg has just gotten the go ahead from CBS to do a new show called Mike and Molly.

Now, I don’t know anything about Mike and Molly, but if it’s like Two and a Half Men, The Big Bang Theory, and Dharma and Greg, I genuinely hope it gets canceled before it airs. I just can’t stomach the silliness of any more of these kinds of shows.

These kinds of shows are simply too sophomoric in tone and ridiculous in substance to merit the production of another one. The stories are as predictable as they are repetitive and the characters are, for the most part, narrow and dimwitted. Even the most charismatic actors (and Lorre does have an unbelievably talented stable of cast members) cannot redeem writing which is so intent on squeezing in a predictable lame joke every eight seconds that it sacrifices any semblance of reality.

Yes, The Big Bang Theory has likable characters, but I want you to acknowledge that as likable as they may be, they are thinly drawn stereotypes. The four scientists on the show draw us in because they are sympathetic characters (in that they are trying to do the right thing, especially for each other) but sooner or later, their social retardation will become too much to bear. It’s boring to watch a clown slip and fall on a banana peel over and over and over again. Eventually, we want to see the clown walk around the goddam banana peel and move on to a different adventure. Unfortunately, all the characters on the above mentioned shows are so rigidly and superficially drawn that they never get to move on. They just keep slipping on the same damn banana peel until it’s the viewers who are forced to move on.

“Wait a minute, Eric. I thought you said this column was meant to inspire us. All you’ve done is bad mouth Chuck Lorre.”

I’m glad you were paying attention, Heavy Hitters. Here’s my technique: before I build up, I tear down (a technique I learned either while I was in boot camp, or from some movie about boot camp). In any case, when I tear down, I tear down mercilessly and with extreme prejudice because I want to leave no doubt that there is a problem that needs to be fixed.

Now, here’s the twist.

Brace yourself, it’s going to feel like this is coming out of left field.

Are you ready? Here goes.

I’m a Chuck Lorre fan.

“Whaaaaaaaaat?”

You heard me right. I am a Chuck Lorre fan. Believe it or slurp it, two shows that he wrote for (one of which he created) are on my list of all time greats. Now I’m asking for Chuck Lorre to return to his former greatness and stop sacrificing real human characters for characters who are nothing more than gross exaggerations.

Yes, it’s easier to write for a gross exaggeration like Big Bang’s Sheldon or Two and Half Men’s Charlie than it is for a character who reasons like a person, but I’m asking you to stop taking the easy way out and challenge yourself… again.

I’m not asking you to reinvent yourself. I’m only asking that you do something you’ve done numerous times before (with spectacular success might I add).

I know you can do better, because once upon a time you wrote for Roseanne. ROSE freaking ANNE. You remember! The sitcom that was once the number one show in America. There was a reason so many people connected to that show. It was funny AND it felt real. And then you created Grace Under Fire! You had the recipe, brother. What the hell happened after that?

Now more than ever, I crave characters who face problems that real people face. I crave dialogue that is witty instead of dimwitty. I crave stories that on the surface might seem mundane but that are made poignant because they are told by characters who intuit that any situation is bearable if you react to it with a joke and a smile.

I’m not going cite examples from these shows, but rather challenge you, my precious readership, to watch a couple of episodes of Roseanne (from any but the final season when she hit the lottery and whole show devolved into a fantasy/fantastic mess) and then watch two episodes of Two and a Half Men or The Big Bang Theory.

Then try and tell me the writers on the latter shows haven’t abandoned any responsibility they should have feel to offer us characters who act like people. The characters and situations on Lorre’s current shows are as artificial as the laugh track they use to fool us into thinking they’re amusing.

We deserve better, Chuck Lorre. We deserve better. My question is whether or not you still possess the integrity, fortitude, and work ethic to give it to us. Do you, punk? Well, do you?

I know you do. Now how’s about you prove it to me.

As for the rest of you Heavy Hitters, I want you to think of your legacy when you’re doing your artistic thing next year. Unless you’re sitting on death row, you’re already leading a more comfortable life than Vincent Van Gogh. Now how’s about you go out there and earn it?

The Game

Are you a sports fan?

If you answered “no,” feel free to check out now. You don’t even have to stand in line at the front desk. Just use the express check-out on the TV in your room, leave your key on the table, and stroll down to the front exit where our courtesy shuttle is waiting to take you to the airport.

If, however, you claim that you ARE a sports fan, I’d like to invite you to settle into a comfortable chair, grab a cup of coffee, and make sure you’ve taken your blood pressure medication. I have something disturbing to tell you. Are you ready? Here goes.

I think you might be a liar.

“What? How dare you? I’ve never been so insulted in my life. Also… what the hell are you talking about?”

Calm down. I’m not accusing you of some heinous crime. I’m not even accusing you of intentionally misleading your fellow man. But if you’ve been walking around telling people that you’re a sports fan, I think it’s quite possible that you’ve been lying to, gulp, yourself.

“Riiiiiiight. I’ve been lying to myself about being a sports fan. Riiiiiight. Because I have so much to gain.”

Exactly! You DO have so much to gain! Methinks the reason you protest so much is that you’re afraid I might be onto something.

“On something, maybe. Onto something, I doubt it.”

Fair enough. The truth is, it’s possible that you are a genuine sports fan. And if you are, you shouldn’t feel threatened if we take a few minutes to expose the pretenders.

That’s right. I said, “we.” For the record, I contend that I am a genuine sports fan. How do I know? I know… because I know. I know, because when I watch a game, I get lost in it — intellectually and emotionally – the same way I do in a movie or a book.

But I’m jumping the gun. I’m tipping you off. I’m helping you to keep lying to yourself if you are, in fact, one of those people who is already lying to himself.

Enough with the build up, let’s go ahead and find out if you’re a pretender or a genuine sports fan.

Please answer the following questions:

1. Would you rather watch the Superbowl on a big screen at a sports bar or from end zone seats at the stadium (yes, going to the game means you get to have the tailgate experience if you want it)?

2. Would you rather watch an NBA playoff game from mid-court seats (seven rows up from the floor) or on that big screen at a sports bar?

3. Would you rather watch a World Series game from the bleachers in center field or on the big screen at the sports bar?

Do you have your answers? Are you ready to find out if you’re a sports fan? Here we go.

A true sports fan would prefer to watch the NBA game at the arena and the Superbowl and the World Series AT A SPORTS BAR. And it’s a no-brainer. Only pretenders always opt for the stadium experience.

If you really want to WATCH the game, only the good seats at the basketball game allow you to really follow the action. The ball is big enough and the court is small enough for a fan at the game to stay on top what’s happening.

Even the best seats in a football stadium or at a baseball park are only tolerable for actually watching the game. Having bad seats means you get to see practically nothing.

“But Eric, we like the atmosphere at the game. We like the excitement that only comes from cheering with thousands of other fans who share our passion. We like to tailgate.”

That’s right. You’re a fan of atmosphere, not sports. You need to stop lying to yourself about being a sports fan. You don’t care about the game, you care about the experience. You might be an adrenaline junkie, but you’re not a literal fan of the game.

A real fan of the game enjoys the drama. He enjoys the build up. He enjoys the intricacies of pitch placement and the juke that the wide receiver puts on the safety. Bad seats mean you see none of that. You need a television for that!

“But I’ll get to say I was there.”

My point exactly.

Remember those old baseball newsreels from the 30’s with the static shot of the game from the left field corner of the stadium? That’s what you get when you go to a game and have bad seats. You can’t tell balls from strikes. You can’t tell where a player’s knee went down in relation to the first down marker. And you certainly don’t get to see multiple instant replays of any calls that go against the home team.

For those of us who really like to watch the game, there is no substitute for television. And if you’re at a sports bar, you get the crowd vibe too!

In conclusion, I want to encourage all you pretenders to enjoy your end zone seats and getting hammered with your buds in the parking lot. You can find me at the ESPN zone in Downtown Disney or at my neighborhood El Torito.

You see, I’m a sports fan.

Alec Baldwin

I’ve got to tell you something, people. I don’t know if I can take it anymore.

I mean, it’s bad enough that we’re at war, that everyone I know is either unemployed or underemployed, and that the owners of the Dodgers are suffering a minor marital hiccup, but now you tell me that Alec Baldwin is giving up acting?!?

Hello, camel’s back, this is the straw calling…

This makes no sense. Why would Alec Baldwin abandon us?

According to an interview he gave to The Men’s Journal, it’s because Alec Baldwin is unsatisfied with his body of work.

Say what? We must have a bad connection. The Men’s Journal must have meant to say that Billy, Stephen, or Daniel Baldwin is unsatisfied with his body of work (though Danny had the potential to be the next Jeff Conaway if he had just kept doing those fat-guy reality shows. Those were hilarious).

Nope. You heard it right. ALEC Baldwin declared that he is giving up acting after 30 Rock ends because he can’t stand to watch himself in anything he’s ever done.

Come on.

Alec Baldwin is one of the few actors that IS always worth watching. 30 Rock is undoubtedly the silliest show to ever win an emmy for best comedy, but if it wasn’t for Alec Baldwin, it wouldn’t even be on the air.

Alec Baldwin’s “Schwetty Balls” sketch is the funniest sketch in the history of Saturday Night Live (and that’s no small achievement considering they’ve done about 10,000 sketches).

Alec Baldwin’s Glengarry Glen Ross speech is the most quoted five minutes in film history… and that frickin’ movie alone starred Jack Lemmon, Al Pacino, Ed Harris, Alan Arkin, Jonathan Pryce, and Kevin frickin’ Spacey.

Did you see The Edge? Alec Baldwin held his own with Anthony Hopkins.

Did you see Alec opposite Sean Connery in The Hunt for Red October? He launched a franchise.

Now he’s telling us he hasn’t done good work? Bull crap! Quit whining, pick better scripts, and… quit whining! Just because the horrible sitcom you’re on right now is sucking the life out of you, that doesn’t mean you should just quit.

Hey Alec, do you remember a couple of weeks before 30 Rock debuted, and you made that commercial where you joked that the only reason you’d joined the cast was because you thought you were signing on to work with Aaron Sorkin? Well, guess what? I knew you weren’t 100% joking.

Not only isn’t 30 Rock in the same league as Sports Night or The West Wing, it’s not even in the same art form. How can you compare shows populated with rational human beings to a show which prides itself on offering up only two-dimensional stereotypes? Of course you want to quit show business! It’s a shock, not to mention a shame, that you didn’t quit the minute they gave you that first horrible script (and don’t pretend you didn’t consider it).

So, go find Aaron Sorkin. Get him to write a show for you where your character isn’t a dimwitted a-hole surrounded by dozens of other dimwitted a-holes. You’ll find your passion again, Baby. You’ll find your chi! Don’t let the garbage you’re doing now drive you out of the business the way it is driving viewers away from NBC. Go find Aaron Sorkin!

Sigh. Shrug. Another sigh.

I’m in a bad mood, heavy hitters, so here’s a story I wrote to cheer myself up! It doesn’t have anything to do with Alec Baldwin or his crappy TV show – that’s probably why I like it!

A Comic Experiences a Cliché-Free Day

I’m having a weird day, people. I’m having a cliché-free day. Here’s what happened.

I woke up this morning and went outside to get the paper. On the sidewalk, I met a jogger who was full of vim but had no vigor.

What?

I said that the jogger was full of vim. Just vim. He had vim… to the brim… but no vigor. I said, “Buddy, where’s your vigor? ”

He said, “You think I’m bad. You should meet my girlfriend. She’s a damsel… in a perfectly good situation.”

“What,” I asked.

He said, “She’s a damsel… in no distress. She’s a damsel-in-no-distress.”

I said, “Buddy, you have vim but no vigor. Your girlfriend is a damsel in no distress. This feels like you’re playing a trick on me.”

“Yes,” he said. “You’ve been hoisted by somebody else’s petard.”

“Somebody else’s petard?”

“Exactly,” he said, “Today is “no cliché” day. Every word has its own meaning. Every word is independent, regardless of how it is usually attached to certain other words.”

“Can you show me more,” I asked.

“Certainly,” he said. “Come with me to the beach. There’s been a shipwreck.”

When we got to the beach, there was flotsam everywhere, but no jetsam.

“I see the flotsam,” I said, “where’s the jetsam?”

“There’s no jetsam, just flotsam,” he said. “Come on, there’s even more to see. Lift up that candle holder.”

So I lifted up the candle holder, and a genie popped out. It was a “genie in a candle holder.”

“Let me guess,” I said to the genie, “you’re going to grant me two wishes?”

“Nope, four wishes,” said the genie.

“Fine,” I said, “I know just what I want. I want you to give this guy some vigor to go with his vim. Add some jetsam to all this flotsam, and upgrade your living quarters from a candle holder to a lamp.”

“Very good,” said the Genie. “Do you want me to put that guy’s damsel in some distress?”

“No, I’m not a monster,” I answered, “I just prefer that most clichés be true so I don’t have to think about what I say.”

“One wish left,” he said.

“Yeah, I can count,” I replied in a snarky tone, “and I want you to get out of here right after you give me a million dollars.”

“You know, a million dollars is kind of an unoriginal amount to ask for,” said the genie.

“Yeah, I’m an open mic comic,” I retorted. “’Hacky, unoriginal, and reliant on stereotypes’ is kind of my thing. Now’s how’s about you give me my money and hit the road.”

“I’d love to,” said the genie, “but you used up your fourth wish before you asked for the money.”

“Say what?”

“Sorry,” said the genie, “but in your haste to put everything back in familiar order, you asked me to leave before you asked for the money. Go back and read the transcript if you don’t believe me. It’s conveniently located just five paragraphs above this one.”

Then the genie disappeared.

“Do you realize what just happened,” asked the guy with vim and new found vigor.

“Yes,” I said, as I held my head in my hands. “I was hoisted by my own petard.”

Author’s note to the readership: It’s been brought to my attention that many of you are unfamiliar with the expression, “hoisted by my own petard,” and that the inclusion of this expression has detracted from your enjoyment of this piece. Well, that’s a shame, but since I only write my column in the hopes that one day Dennis Miller will stumble upon it, I’m not changing anything. He’d get the reference if I typed it upside down in Swahili. I suggest you google “hoisted by my own petard” and then reread the column. That way we both win! Um, yeah, that’ll happen.

Say goodnight, Eric. Goodnight Eric.

Seth MacFarlane

For those of you who complain that I’m too negative, I say, “Buckle up for a wild ride!” Today is opposite day, and I’ve just become “bizarro” Jerry, the columnist who gushes with giddy delight. Trouble is, my sycophantic praise is only slightly less annoying than my default whininess, but, what can you do? Rome wasn’t built in a day, you’ve got to walk before you run, yada yada, you get the gist.

Anyway, on to the good!

Have you ever stumbled upon something outstanding? In particular, have you ever experienced a piece of art (a song, a book, a TV show, a movie) that was so pleasurable, it made you angry at other, lesser, pieces of art?

Like, if you’re a fan of Pearl Jam, and some guy says, “Oh yeah, I like music too. I like The Wiggles.” You just want to punch him. Yeah, technically they’re both music groups, but there’s a reason we hate anything that qualifies on a “technicality.” Truth is, most people can’t even say the word “technicality” without frowning. Don’t believe me? Try it in a mirror. Not now, after you finish this article.

Aaaannnnnyyyywwwhhhhooooo…

A perfect example for me would be J. D. Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye. When I finished reading Catcher in the Rye, I was angry at the whole school system – not because Catcher exposes the phoniness of authority figures and institutions – but because the book was so moving and truthful and fun that I was angry that the schools had withheld it from me up ‘til then.

No offense to Shakespeare, but when I was 14, Romeo and Juliet was not exactly the most accessible or relevant story that a kid could read. I mean, if the purpose of language is to communicate, maybe the best use of that language is not to choose words that nobody uses anymore to deliver a message that everybody already knows. Guess what, curriculum czars, kids today learn that prejudice and discrimination are wrong from Sesame Street. They don’t need Bill Shakespeare harping on it in iambic pentameter.

“Um, hold on a second. Did Somers just diss William Shakespeare?”

Slow down, I’m not saying Billy S. couldn’t spin a nice yarn. I mean, I was an English major at UCLA for crying out loud, I worship Shakespeare. But the truth is, given the antiquity of the language and the sophistication of the stories, Shakespeare should probably be relegated to college, or at least appear in high school after Salinger and Stephen King. Maybe the reason nobody reads anymore is because they get turned off as freshmen in high school. And maybe the reason they get turned off is they get force fed the literary equivalent of calculus before they’ve been allowed to master their times tables.

Catcher in the Rye entertained me to the point where I realized I loved reading. And it wasn’t just that I related to the material, it was also that the material was presented palatably, with believable, familiar, and conversational dialogue. The story was articulated with empathy and humor. It wasn’t boring or silly. It wasn’t filled with stereotypes who spoke as if they didn’t have a brain in their heads. It had stories that didn’t feel contrived. Let’s face it, if Catcher in the Rye was a TV show, it would be the opposite of 30 Rock.

Wait, what did I say earlier? Oh yeah, no negativity. I was headed somewhere good. Let’s keep moving.

Comedian Mitch Hedberg once made one of the most insightful observations I’ve ever heard, and I’ll paraphrase him to the best of my ability. What he said was: when he got to Hollywood, network executives were very impressed with his stand up act. So, naturally, they tried to move him out of stand up comedy and into something else (hilarious if it wasn’t so tragic and so common).

“They said, ‘Mitch, you’re a good comedian. Can you act? Can you write?’ They wanted me to do things associated with comedy but not comedy. That’s not fair. That’s like telling a chef, ‘you’re a great cook, can you farm?’”

Oh my God.

Hello!!!!

In the form of an anecdote, Mitch Hedberg just explained EXACTLY what’s wrong with Hollywood.

Funny isn’t necessarily funny! Just because you’re funny at one type of comedy, doesn’t mean you possess the skills to be funny at another.

Doubt me? Then how do you explain the following?

“Hey, Tina Fey — You’re terrific at sarcastically delivering fake news and writing three minute sketches in which all of the characters are thinly drawn exaggerations. Do you want to run a sitcom?”

“Hey, Chris Rock, you’re a hilarious comedian. Any chance you’d like to overact in every sketch you ever do on Saturday Night Live?”

“Hey, Richard Jeni and Howard Stern, you are two of the funniest and most intelligent men who’ve ever done comedy. How’d you like to take a stab at acting so we can also think of you as stiff and uncomfortable?”

You get my point. If the Peter Principle states that you rise to a position just above your level of competency (converting you from a productive employee into a drain on the company), then The Hollywood Principle is that if you are competent at anything, they’ll let you ruin everything.

“Ok, bizarro Jerry, you’re making some fine points, but what does this have to do with the picture of Seth MacFarlane that’s sitting next to your column?”

Aw, man. I was just getting to that. So I’d appreciate it if you didn’t accuse me of bait and switch. I mean, who do you think I am? Your front row tickets to a Van Halen concert (tonight featuring lead singer Gary Cherone)?

Do I digress or what?

Ok, so… Seth MacFarlane… let’s talk about him. He’s the creator of Family Guy, which is a TV show that a lot of people love and a lot of other people hate (‘cause it’s edgy and occasionally raunchy and a lot of people can’t handle that). Though I am firmly entrenched in the “I love Family Guy” camp, that is not why Mr. MacFarlane has his picture next to my column. For my purposes, all you need to know about Family Guy is that it is an animated sitcom where the actors record their dialogue in a recording booth.

The reason Seth MacFarlane has his picture next to my column is because of his appearance on Inside The Actors Studio – where he uttered my most favorite-est sentence I’ve heard in years. It was my Catcher in the Rye of sentences. It was true and it was important and it was something that decision makers in Hollywood don’t seem to grasp. Here’s a clue. I didn’t bring up Mitch Hedberg for no good reason.

But, before I get to the sentence, I’d like to take a moment to say: God bless James Lipton. Wouldn’t you know it, that Mr. Lipton, the butt of so many skits and sketches on so many shows, would finally have an important question asked on his show, and he wouldn’t even be the one to ask it? Alas, it occurred at the end of the program, when the inquisitor opened up the floor to the students. It was then that a young lady took the mike and asked the following:

“How much of the dialogue on Family Guy is improvised in the booth?”

Now, before we get to the answer, I’d like to note that if you don’t appreciate how dumb this question is, you are, almost certainly, either already a network executive or well on your way to becoming one.

Anyway, before Seth MacFarlane could utter “the sentence,” fellow panelists Seth Green and Alex Borstein instantaneously jumped in to defend this assault on the writing staff. “Almost all of it is on the page,” they said, with flabbergasted looks on their faces.

Of course it is. Of Course It Is. OF COURSE IT IS!!!

A good sitcom is a 22 minute STORY. It has a beginning, a middle, and an end. Yes, the dialogue is peppered with jokes, and yes, jokes can occasionally be improvised, but just because something is funny, that doesn’t mean it can be included in the show. The jokes in the show help to tell the story. The jokes not only have to move the story along, but they have to be appropriate to the highly defined characters that tell them. It’s a god damn science, people… and a well written script leaves almost no room for improvising.

“But wait, Eric. Curb Your Enthusiasm and all of those Waiting for Guffman/A Mighty Wind movies are terrifically funny and highly intelligent and they’re filled with improv.”

Grrrr. Yeah, I know. Did you really have to bring those up?

The truth is that I love Curb and those Christopher Guest movies, but they are just as deliberate as scripted shows. It’s just that they are a different discipline and… wait, don’t suck me into this now! We’ll have to address this in another column. Let’s just suffice it to say that there is a fundamental difference between Curb Your Enthusiasm and a meticulously scripted show, and any perceptive viewer should be able to tell the difference.

So, after Green and Borstein answered the question. Mr. MacFarlane dropped his pearl.

“Generally,” said MacFarlane, ”what MAKES IMPROV FUNNY is that you know it was made up right there on the spot. 99% of IMPROV WOULDN’T WORK on a show.”

Did you hear that?

99% of improv – are you hearing me, you network big wigs who love to give shows to people from the Groundlings or UCB or Second City or Acme – 99% of improv is not good enough. It’s like the guy at the sales meeting who opens with a joke about the boss, funny in context, but probably not funny enough to build a set around for a Comedy Central Presents.

Sitcoms are about storytelling, parodies and satire, roller coaster rides of heightening and subsiding suspense with payoffs that make perfect, yet not predictable, sense. They are about characters you like, who like each other, with whom the viewer builds a relationship that he tunes in week after week to continue. That takes crafting, my friend, not off-the-cuff wisecracks.

Do any of you really think that Seinfeld was a show about nothing, where characters simply did wacky things and spoke funny dialogue?

“Duh, yeah. I was wondering, how much of the dialogue was ad-libbed by Jason Alexander and Michael Richards?”

None of it, Jackass. Have you seen Michael Richards ad-lib?

Seinfeld was the most complicated sitcom ever. Forget an A story and a B story. Seinfeld had four, count ‘em, four, intersecting storylines every episode. Go back and watch. “A” story for Jerry. “B” story for George. “C” story for Elaine. “D” story for Kramer. And none of it ever felt contrived or crowbarred in. And there was still room for dozens of ancillary characters. Laughs sprung organically from consistent characters who reframed every life event from their unique points of view. It was as mathematical as it was artistic, and there wasn’t any room for improv!

Sigh. Deep breath. Attempt to regain composure.

Well, I guess this column devolved into another one of my rants. Bizarro Jerry gave way to Whiny Eric. But… you have to admit, I was happy for a moment there. In fact, I was practically ecstatic… all because Seth MacFarlane acknowledged that there’s a difference between storytelling and a guy who can pretend he’s working at a 7-11… um, in the middle of the night, that’s good, where is he, did I hear Toledo, he’s in Toledo, and what’s the weather like, a hurricane, fantastic, he’s in a hurricane – now go! Go to hell.

Kardashian

Last week, the sub-headline for an LA Times article read, “IT’S EASIER THAN EVER TO KEEP UP WITH THE KARDASHIANS.” Really?

Like most Americans, I had been under the impression that the Kardashians were a shy family, shunning the spotlight, and always on the lookout for ways to increase their privacy. But the Times says no. Thanks, L.A. Times.

Before this article, I thought that staying in the loop with the Kardashians meant relying on the paltry 28 Kardashian commercials that the E Network runs every hour, but now you’re informing me that the Kardashians are Twittering. Fantastic. You truly are groundbreaking journalists. I have no idea why the newspaper industry is in decline.

Still, as enamored as I am with your take-no-prisoners gonzo newspapering, it occurs to me that an even more newsworthy story would be “SOME DUDE FIGURES OUT HOW TO WATCH TV WITHOUT KEEPING UP WITH THE KARDASHIANS.” Sadly, you crack professionals at the Times have a policy against publishing fiction.

Now, here’s the surprising thing: I’m cool with you, L. A. Times!

Here’s why. You see, when I read a ridiculous headline in the newspaper, I can be offended at the waste of space, curse you for ever being born, and snicker ‘til I’m tired of snickering, but I’m not forced to actually read the article before moving on to something that doesn’t suck. Are you seeing where I’m going with this?

Here’s where I’m going with this: TV isn’t a newspaper, and since I can’t Tivo everything, sometimes I have little choice but to swallow your tripe. So what I’m asking for is better tripe.

When I’m channel surfing, if I am lucky enough to stumble upon something good, I’d like to be able to watch that program without having to sit through 17 commercials for shows that I don’t want to watch. This has become an impossibility. I don’t know if advertising is simply too expensive for product-producing companies or if those companies just don’t want to be associated with most shows. What I do know is that I’d rather watch whatever commercials they’ve got for tampons and soft dick pills than sit through 16 ads for The Real Housewives of New Jersey (not to mention Atlanta, Orange County, and whoever’s next).

Besides, who do they think they are advertising TO anyway? Certainly not the audience of the show that is currently playing.

Guess what, Bravo Network, those of us who watch The West Wing do so because we love scripted dramas with inspired writing and superb acting. We love clever dialogue and intelligent storylines of national importance. Do you really think that 27 ads for The Real Housewives of Sleazeville are going to make us watch that garbage? I mean, we just saw the President of the United States send two civilian engineers to their deaths at a nuclear power plant. Do you really think you’re going to entice us with clips of illiterate skanks arguing over who is having an affair with pool boy? All you’re doing is readying us to change the channel the second our program ends.

Here’s another thing that irks me: commercials for future episodes of the show that I am currently watching. Hello, I’m already a viewer. This is the equivalent of placing placards on the subway advertising… the subway. Guess what, subway, we’re already buying what you’re selling. You might want to consider increasing your ad revenue by advertising a product we’re not already purchasing.

This practice is at its most hilarious when the commercial for the show you’re watching actually ruins the show you are watching. You know what I mean. Like whenever you’re watching an elimination show like Hell’s Kitchen or The World Series of Poker and they show us clips of next week’s episode (featuring all the contestants who are not going to be eliminated tonight). Way to kill the suspense, ad whizzes! I seriously believe that any person who is responsible for airing one of these commercials should be fired on the spot. And I’m not being mean. If I WAS being mean, I’d say they should be fired AT on the spot.

This is a chronic problem during awards telecasts on the west coast when the imbeciles from the local news can’t resist showing us clips of the winners holding up trophies in categories that have not yet been televised.. Nice work, KABC. I have no idea how local news ratings could be slipping considering all the geniuses you’ve got working there.

Finally, a quick word about the nonstop pop-ups in the bottom left corner of the screen for every program on your network. Don’t worry that some of your viewers (my guess is the number is hovering around 100%) might find this distracting. Why limit ads to commercials when nobody has proven conclusively that there is a God who will make you burn in hell for doing this? After all, you work in television. There’s not much chance you were getting into heaven anyway.

My absolute favorite experience with these pop-ups happened last week when I was watching Kill Bill Volume II on some basic cable channel. During that great ten minute sequence where Pai Mai is speaking Chinese as he trains Beatrix in martial arts, the pop-ups blocked out 70% of the subtitled dialogue. What a delight. My only consolation was that even though I didn’t know what was happening in the movie I was watching, I was able to find out every other thing that was going to happen on that network between now and Christmas.

You rock, basic cable! Keep up the good work.

Diane Sawyer

Here’s a question that nobody should ever have to ask: who is worse, a guy who punches you in the face… or a woman who PRETENDS TO CARE (just so you will tell her all about it on her TV show)? Before we answer, let’s analyze this nightmare.

It all started when Chris Brown punched out Rihanna. No, it’s not a happy story, but it’s not a mind blowing one either. After all, Ike and Tina Turner were playing this same tune back in the ‘60s, so I don’t think anyone can say that this was an especially surprising or unusual occurrence. Anyway, what happened next was Rihanna initially decided to stay with her abuser (a response so common that it should have shocked absolutely nobody) but eventually came to her senses and left Chris Brown for good. That’s the end of the story.

“Wait. THAT’S the end of the story?”

Oh, I’m sorry. What I meant to say was: that’s the end of what happened between Rihanna and Chris Brown. There’s no way that could be the end of “the story.” Not when gossip-TV has 500 hours of air time to fill every week.

“So what happened next?”

I’m glad you asked. What happened next is the thing that actually was extraordinary… sort of. You see, there was supposed to be a run of the mill “tell-all” interview, but this interview ended up yielding an unexpected byproduct. And aint it always the case that the unexpected revelation ends up being the most interesting? But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s stay chronological.

Despite her tender age of 20, Rihanna was somehow wise and/or savvy enough to figure out that until she answered all of our prurient questions, the story would not go away. So she decided to bite the bullet, answer our questions, and put the past in the past.

Many people would argue, right or wrong, that this is the price of being a celebrity. Sadly, I tend to agree. If Entertainment Tonight is going to hype even the most mundane aspects of your blossoming romance, you can rest assured that they’re going to hype every detail of its violent collapse. The best you can hope for is a modicum of truth and sensitivity. And good luck with that.

Enter 20/20’s Diane Sawyer. I almost feel sorry for her.

“Feel sorry for her?!? What the hell are you talking about?”

I’m talking about having a little compassion for the damned after Rihanna exposed Diane Sawyer as a pandering, opportunistic, and condescending phony. I’m talking about empathizing with someone who suddenly discovered the true meaning of the expression “the camera doesn’t lie.” I’m talking about comforting the loser of a real life game of honesty and integrity. I’m talking about consoling a person who clearly had no idea that nothing exposes “phony” quite like “genuine” sitting right next to it.

Rihanna is my new hero, and Diane Sawyer, I’m certain, never saw it coming.

Now, we take a left turn. Don’t worry, I’ll circle back at the end of the next paragraph, and I’m sure you’ll find this little side trip well worth the extra mileage. Here we go.

Have you ever thought about why used car salesmen get such a bad rap? It’s not because they are trying to make a profit on every car they sell. They are salesmen working on commission. We get it. They’re not in it for their health. They need to make a living. Used car salesmen get a bad rap (justified or not) because they are famous for LYING and MANIPULATING in order to make the sale. It’s the disingenuousness that makes us cringe, not the capitalism.

So, getting back to Diane Sawyer, I’ve connected the dots. Diane Sawyer is indeed a used car salesman. Here’s how I found out:

CUT AWAYS!

Oh news division, did you learn nothing from that classic ‘80’s film Broadcast News? Apparently not (the lesson James L. Brooks was trying to teach was “if you’re going to con someone, don’t show yourself doing it!” You’re a (gulp) newsperson, not an actress. You’re not going to fool anyone. But show it they did, Diane. Show it they did).

Let’s be clear. Diane’s mistake wasn’t THAT she was asking personal and invasive questions, it was HOW she was asking them. It was stomach turning. Fake concern. Fake understanding. Fake sincerity! Watch the tapes. It felt like she was talking to a three-year-old.

Now watch Rihanna. When she’s uncomfortable, she stiffens. When she’s sad, her eyes well up. And on that rare occasion when she bullshits, she gets all erudite and verbose like she’s selling something (sorry Rihanna, but I couldn’t let you off the hook scot-free. Your explanation about altruistically dumping Chris Brown for the sake of your female fans who might be in the same position was classic bullshit. To your credit, it was a blip in your interview that only made you appear more human, and you followed this self-serving piece of rationalization with an almost immediate shift back to the cold hard truth).

Ah, the truth. Brutal honesty. Why do we ever try to get away with anything less? In this case, when the truth came out, Rihanna stated, as matter-of-factly as possible, that the real reason she ended her relationship with Chris Brown was because the sight of him made her sick to her stomach. Exactly – love had turned to disgust — and there’s nothing wrong with that. When a man beats a woman, when his eyes turn cold – the woman can never un-remember that. That man has revealed himself to be an animal. No matter how sorry he claims to be, he will not be believed. Sorrow is a human emotion that the animal can no longer be credited with having. She can NEVER un-remember (yeah, I know “un-remember” is not a word, but “forget” is just not a powerful enough term for this story).

That last five minutes of the interview were riveting. Somehow, Diane Sawyer finagled Rihanna into revealing the truth: “beat your woman just once, and it’s over.” It may not be physically over. God knows that most women stay with the abuser long after the initial incident, but the way they look at the abuser and the way they feel about the abuser is forever changed. They turn cold. They turn matter-of-fact. In the end, it felt like Rihanna was doing Chris Brown a favor by leaving him. Her speech, body language, and most importantly her eyes told us that he wasn’t even a person to her anymore.

That shit was powerful.

But the viewer wasn’t left with only that great feeling that Rihanna had made a painful but honest decision. The viewer was also left with a really unsettling feeling that Diane Sawyer was a condescending douche.

You see, it’s one thing to be a puppet master when you are delighting an audience with the masterful pulling of puppet strings. When your puppet dances all the right moves, people will cheer and declare that you are a superior showman. But when the puppet turns out to be a person — a real live, three dimensional, fully functioning, strong minded, moral person – that same puppet master is not cheered. That same puppet master is viewed as callous, manipulative, deceptive, and, in a way, subhuman.

Presto. The interviewer has revealed as much about herself as she did the interviewee. How’s that for hoisted by your own petard (speaking of which, I’d love, just once, to hear of someone hoisted by someone else’s petard)?

Now, to answer that question that I raised in the opening paragraph about who is worse, the rapist or the pornographer who profits from the rape. It is the guy who punched you in the face that is much, much worse than the used car salesman who got you to talk about it on camera. That used car salesman, manipulative or not, got you to tell the truth. That used car salesman got you to a mental place where you could reveal what really happens in a woman’s mind after a man beats her. That used car salesman flat out did her job!

I only lament that that used car salesman felt like she had to act like a used car salesman in order to get the truth. I mean, it was voluntary interview. Next time, just ask the questions!

Parks & Recreation

Are you like me? Do you have a revenge fantasy? I’m sure you know what I mean – like when partners of cheating spouses fantasize about chopping off their mate’s genitals? Or when Bernie Madoff’s clients imagine him buried up to his neck in sand, with honey slathered on his face, and fed to a colony of fire ants?

I have a fantasy too, and it plays out like this:

It starts with me sitting in my easy chair, slack jawed and bewildered as to what the hell just happened to the last half hour of my life. For the sake of this example, we’ll say that I have just finished watching an episode of Parks and Recreation (though it could just as easily have been The New Adventures of Old Christine, Saved by the Bell, Gary Unmarried, or any of those super-sophisticated Chuck Lorre shows).

In any case, the show was so bad – how bad was it? – it was so bad, that at the end of it, instead of rolling credits, they rolled blame.

Ha ha ha ha ha ha.

You get it, they rolled blame – because nobody deserved any credit – because it was such a hacky show – (what do you mean “not entirely unlike this column?”)

Anyway, after the rolling of blame, my fantasy shifts into high gear as a commercial comes on featuring one of those ultra professional lawyers like Larry H. Parker or Jacoby and/or Meyers. In any case, the lawyer tells us that he’s filing a class action lawsuit against the producers of Parks and Recreation in an attempt to retrieve the lost half hours of our lives.

Naturally, I race down to the lawyer’s office and somehow convince Mr. Parker/Jacoby to name me as lead plaintiff in his lawsuit so I can be in his office when he makes the following phone call.

“Hello, NBC? I’m the attorney for Eric Somers and a couple hundred other citizens who accidentally stumbled upon an episode of Parks and Recreation. What’s that? You say I’m not the first lawyer to call? You’ve already set up a hotline?”

“Oh, you’ve been telling people to call a suicide hotline. That makes sense. Anyway, my clients are requesting that you immediately cease and desist with the airing of said program as it is an unprovoked perpetration against the American public.”

“What’s that? You agree with us that it’s a horrible show, but you don’t want to risk offending its producers because they also produce The Office?”

“Well, that reminds me of the second lawsuit I’m considering (ba dum bum – rimshot).

(Ok, that was a cheap shot, but you have to admit that The Office is not as good as the original British version – and I’m a Steve Carell fan.)

“But that’s neither here nor there, NBC. My point is that Mr. Somers and his ilk are not going to simply sit by while you abuse the public airwaves with this mindless drivel. What’s that? Yes, we are aware that nobody held a gun to our heads and forced us to watch, but at the same time, your program contained no warning that the material in the show was unsuitable for people with IQs over 50. Furthermore, your commercials for this show featured Amy Poehler, who was regularly smart and funny on Saturday Night Live. This is clearly a case of bait and switch.”

“What’s that? Do we have anything better to put on in its place? The fact of the matter is that you could test the emergency broadcast system for half an hour and annoy fewer people.”

BBBBBBBEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPPPPP.

“See what I mean?”

“What? No, I don’t know what Jay Leno would charge to expand his show to three hours a night, but I’m not sure you’re getting the point. What you need to do is replace the dumb shows with smart ones. Hello? Hello? They hung up.”

Ah, what a dreamer I am. The truth is that I have another fantasy involving Amy Poehler, but I’ll save that for a future column.

Actually, knowing your gutter minds, I better spell it out right now. My fantasy is that one day Amy Poehler will get a sitcom worthy of her talent. Yeah, it’s a lame fantasy, but this column is titled “The State of Television,” not “The State of the Libido.” Can’t you perverts be on the internet for more than five minutes without thinking about porn?

Always end with an insult to the audience. That’s how Andy Rooney did it. That’s how Erma Bombeck did it. Who am I to reinvent the wheel?

John and Steve

Hello, Heavy Hitters.  Today we begin a brand new tradition.  Are you as excited as I am?
 
“Why the hell would we be excited, Eric?  You haven’t told us what you’re going to do yet.”
 
Valid point, Mr. Hitters, valid point indeed.  I guess I was sort of hoping that, by now, you’d be excited just to hear from me.  I thought maybe we had a relationship or something.
 
“A relationship?  Are you kidding?  You’ve written, like, nine columns.  The closest thing we have to a relationship is that you’re starting to remind me of that stalker chick I went out with who tried to move in after our third date.”
 
Ouch.
 
“No shit, ouch!  Now get to your commentary before I give up and go reread Jason Lacour’s column from last week.”
 
You got it, Heavy.  Let’s start the music. 
 
Ahem, a new tradition, here we go.  This… is my tenth column, and since each of my preceding nine pieces featured a detailed look at a solitary subject, I thought it was time that I graced you with a little wisdom on a few television topics that don’t quite merit entire articles.  Furthermore, I thought it would fun if we did this every tenth column.  Sort of like a housecleaning!
 
“Sounds terrific, Eric.  Nothing is more fun than cleaning my house.”
 
Now now. give it a chance.  It might help if you think of it as a rapid fire snipe fest.
 
First up, High Definition TV.
 
Let’s begin by acknowledging a few things about HD.  HD is awesome for sports, excellent for movies, pretty good for single camera TV shows, and beyond frightening for reality TV. 
 
I recently caught an episode of Hell’s Kitchen in HD.  Where do I begin? Let’s start with the cast. Um, you know how a lot of movie actors are really good looking and have nice skin? Well, it turns out that a lot of wannabe chefs who don’t mind having their 12 week job interviews televised aren’t nearly as attractive. Who woulda thunk it?        
 
I’ll tell you who wouldn’t have thunk it – people with HD TV.  Here’s the thing.  I know that kitchens are sometimes hot.  I also know that kitchens are staffed mostly with people instead of robots.  Lastly, I know that “hot” plus “people” can lead to “sweat”.  What I didn’t want to know is that HD TV allows me to count the drops of sweat that fall off the chin of some guy who looks like Sasquatch directly into my risotto.  Yeah, it’s entertaining, but unless you’re watching the show with an air sickness bag conveniently located in the seatback in front of you, it’s wrong! It’s really, really wrong.  And since I find the program too much fun to criticize, I’ll blame technology (though I do think the producers of the show should at least warn viewers that watching the show on anything other than a 9” black and white set could make them gag).
 
Next up, The Daily Show and The Colbert Report.
 
First of all, if you can tell the difference between these two shows, you’re more perceptive than me.  Second of all, don’t Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert ever get tired of being the two most mean spirited and condescending human beings on the face of the Earth?  We get it, you think Republicans are evil and stupid.  Hilarious.
 
I’ll tell you what I thought was hilarious: the year Jon Stewart did a taped bit for the Emmys in which he cursed out George Bush for his handling of Hurricane Katrina (insinuating that Bush hated black people).  Then later in that same telecast, The Daily Show won the award for best comedy writing and like, 30 white dudes went on stage to accept the award. Nice going, Mr. Diversity. 
 
Third up, Major League Baseball on television.
 
Here’s the deal, MLB, I’m a huge fan.  I love going to games.  I love watching them on TV.  However, imagine watching an episode of Matlock in which Matlock spends the whole trial convincing a jury that his client is innocent of murder, even though we saw his client commit the murder in the very first scene of the show?  How would we feel when his client was acquitted?  That’s right, we’d be pissed.
 
So, MLB, how do you think we feel when we watch baseball team X celebrate their championship in the clubhouse even though the instant replay clearly shows that the ump blew the call at the plate and that baseball team Y should have won?  That’s right, we’re pissed –needlessly. 
 
Yeah, you’re the grand old game.  Stay pure if you want and don’t help your umpires out with any technology.  But at the same time, you should stop televising games and accepting television money if you’re going to remain too pig headed to accept television’s help in making the game better.  It’s simply too maddening for the viewers. OR you could consider this: football has instant replay and hockey has instant replay.  Maybe you should quit being such a tool and get instant replay!
 
Finally, I’d like to end this piece with a few words about diarrhea.  I really miss that commercial from the eighties where that dude WHISPERED that he’d, “like to say a few words about diarrhea.”  If you remember that commercial, I’m sure you feel the same way.  If you don’t remember that commercial, let me inform you that there was a time when even advertisers felt a little embarrassed about certain topics… as opposed to now when every other ad is either some guy shouting that his dick doesn’t work or Jamie Lee Curtis shamelessly bragging that she found a yogurt that makes her shit.  Have a little dignity, Jamie Lee.  Who woulda thunk that your topless hooker scene in Trading Places would one day be referred to as “back when Jamie Lee had a little class.” 
 
So now we’ve cleaned house, Heavy Hitters, and you know my motto: always end with potty humor.  That’s how Cronkite did it.  That’s how Murrow did it.  Who am I to reinvent the wheel?

What's Your Favorite Show?

I have a pet peeve.  I hate it when people refuse to take a stand.  They either can’t make up their minds, or they don’t want to tell the truth for fear of offending someone.  I can’t do anything for the latter group (except call them cowards), but I have good news for those of you in the former; by the end of this column, you’re going to be able to name your favorite television show of all time.  I guarantee it.
 
“That’s crazy, Eric.  How can I even compare The Sopranos with Seinfeld, let alone rank them?  There’s no way you’re going to make me put All in the Family ahead of (or behind) The Cosby Show.  And I don’t have a clue how I would determine whether L.A. Law was better or worse than Frasier.”
 
Relax.  I never said I was going to help you determine the greatest show of all time.  I said I was going to help you to pinpoint your favorite, and I will, at the end of this article. 
 
But first, I want to talk about why it’s important that we choose favorites.
 
It’s because, right now, even though there is more original television programming than ever before, most shows are virtually unwatchable.  They are filled with silly or painfully predictable storylines, sophomoric dialogue, and melodrama that should embarrass even fans of the Lifetime network.
 
When we reflect on our favorite shows, we unconsciously compile a list of requirements for great television.  When we recall with fondness the characters we tuned in to watch on a weekly basis, we remember why we bought televisions in the first place.
 
During the heyday of network sitcoms and dramas, Brandon Tartikoff programmed NBC with just one directive: every show on the air had to be somebody’s favorite.  That philosophy led to a plethora of unique yet consistently satisfying shows.  “Smart” and “heartfelt” were adjectives that applied just as easily to The Cosby Show as they did to Hill Street Blues, Cheers, Seinfeld, and Family Ties.  If Alf and The A Team were not everybody’s cup of tea, they were certainly filled with enough quality characters and stories to be somebody’s.
 
Could any network executive who watched Parks and Recreation have honestly envisioned it being anyone’s favorite show, or did it get a timeslot because it “came from some people who worked on The Office.”
 
I want television to be great again, and frankly, when one Matrix movie can be the most enjoyable cinema experience of a lifetime while the other two are as painful as watching your great-grandmother try on lingerie, I’m not going to watch ‘Til Death just because it stars some guy who used to be on Everybody Loves Raymond.  Did the networks learn nothing from Back To You (Back To You starred Kelsey Grammer AND Patricia Heaton AND it still didn’t matter).    
 
I contend that when we start discussing our favorites, we raise the bar and help define what’s universally considered superior.  If the powers that be in Hollywood started producing and airing only shows that they themselves loved, we would all be better served.
 
Ask any group of comics who the greatest comics of all-time are and you’ll hear Carlin and Pryor, Pryor and Carlin, and then the lists deviate and tempers flare.  How can you say Eddie Murphy is funnier than Chris Rock?  Seinfeld over Dane Cook?  Dane Cook over anyone? What about Cosby?  What about (fill in the blank)?  Blah, blah, blah… I’m almost sorry I brought it up.  But I’m not sorry I brought it up, because I’ve learned that we ALL bow down to Carlin and Pryor, and if most comics recognize (and desire to reach) that bar, then stand-up has the possibility of a bright future.
 
I want television showrunners to acknowledge the superiority of the best TV shows, and then strive to reach that bar.  I’m not saying to copy the formula.  I’m saying to pay attention to how the formula made you feel, and strive for creating that feeling in the viewers of your shows.  If a show you loved had intelligent characters, don’t think you can substitute dimwitted characters.  If a show you loved had characters justifying their actions with clever and well expressed dialogue, don’t think you can get away with swiss cheese reasoning that you hope is compensated for by your special brand of “trademark sass.”  It’s not good enough.
 
Frankly, I’m sick and tired of new shows that are dead on arrival.  I’m sick to death of the lazy producers who offer them up to the networks, and I’m sick to death of the spineless programmers who put them on the air.   
 
I want shows like The Simpsons, Taxi, The Larry Sanders Show, The Sopranos, Ally McBeal, Seinfeld, L.A. Law, Entourage, The West Wing, and Sportsnight. I want shows that are my favorites!
 
Now, let’s have some fun.  Let’s find out what your all-time favorite television show is.
 
Used to be, I would tell you that all of the shows that I listed above were my favorites.  Then I played the game that separated the wheat from the sweet, sweet chaff.
 
I want you to mentally list your favorite shows of all time.  I don’t care if there are five or fifteen.  In a few minutes, there will be only one.  Do you have them?  Do you have your list? You do?  Good, then we can move forward.
 
I have some startling news for you: you haven’t seen every episode of those shows on your list.  For each show, there is one episode that never aired (and it wasn’t because the episode was scandalous or lacked quality).  The only reason those episodes never aired was that they got preempted by a news story about a girl down a well. 
 
In any case, you’ve just arrived at a multiplex that is showing the lost episodes of every one of the shows on your list.  Sadly, each show will be shown only once, and they all start in five minutes.  You can only watch one.  Which one will you watch? 
 
Don’t tell me you can’t choose.  In this situation, as contrived as it might be, you would choose.  Feel the excitement my friend, you are about to watch a new episode of one of your all-time favorite shows!  Four minutes now, what’ll it be?
 
It’s a tough choice, but a real treat nonetheless.  Imagine, one last round of hijinx with Hawkeye and BJ, or one last journey with Kirk and Spock, or one last closing argument from Matlock.  You wish you could see them all, but you can’t.
 
Three minutes.  Do you ache for one last “Hey now” from Larry Sanders’s sidekick Hank, or one last inspirational speech from The West Wing’s Jed Bartlett?
 
Two minutes.  Can you really pass on the chance to watch Homer and Bart in their prime (I’m positioning their lost episode in season seven) or miss the opportunity to see Carrie, Miranda, Samantha, and Charlotte at their best?
 
One minute.  I’ve grabbed my popcorn and soda.  With apologies to Tony and Carmela, Ally and the Biscuit, and the irrepressible Mary Richards, I am heading into the theater.  I’ve chosen to experience one last half hour with Jerry, George, Kramer, and Elaine.  I hope Neuman’s in this episode, but I’ll settle for George’s parents.  In any case, I haven’t been this excited since I sat down to watch the season finale of House two years ago (you must remember the two parter about the bus accident).  Will I see you inside, or do you have a different favorite?
 
“Hey Eric, just because I chose (fill in the blank), that doesn’t mean I like it better than (fill in the other blank).”
 
Yes, it does.  You could have just as easily chosen (the other blank), but you chose (blank).  That means you like it MORE.
 
“I was under duress. Time ran out. I hate you.”
 
And I hate that Parks and Recreation is still in production for a major network while Everybody Hates Chris has been relegated to reruns in syndication.  We all hate something… and it turns out we’re just as passionate about the stuff we love.
 
I’d love for you to post your favorite show in the comments section – ‘cause I’m working on a sitcom pilot of my own, and I want to make sure that I’m not the only one who can’t wait for a new show with all of the sensibilities and ubiquitous brilliance of Saved By The Bell.
 

Okay, Heavy Hitters, I am in a CRAZY mood this week, so I’m going to talk about some edgy shit… literally.

“Wait a minute. Are you saying you’re gonna write about feces?”

Yes I am!

“Oh, you must mean you’re gonna call a bunch of TV shows that you hate “pieces of shit.” I get it.”

No, you don’t. When I said I was “literally” going to talk about shit, I meant I was going to talk about shit, literally. But don’t blame yourself for not understanding. So many people misuse the word “literally” that I don’t blame you for being “figuratively” brain dead when it comes to knowing its meaning.

“Um, thanks for the compliment. Could you just get on with your column?”

You bet. But, as usual, I’ll be getting there in a roundabout way.

“Whatever.”

Thanks for your enthusiasm. Here we go.

By a round of applause, who prefers dogs to cats?

Okay, now who likes cats better?

Alright, and finally, who hates comedians that make you clap all the time?

OK, that’s not relevant. What is relevant is that I am a cat person. My whole life I’ve had cats. Why? Because I don’t care if my pet likes me or not. I admit it; cats are not the most loving animals in the world. They don’t wag their tales, and they don’t lick my face… but something else they don’t do is make me take them on walks twice a day where everyone I know can watch me pick up their shit. Do you dog people have any idea what you look like?

“Good job Rufus, did you make a present for Daddy? Let me just wrap that up and carry it home.”

My cat uses a box! That’s right, she poops in a box, and then she covers it up with a sand dune… so I don’t even have to smell it. All I have to do is use a slotted spoon to remove a ball of sand turd. It’s almost a pleasure.

At least, it was almost a pleasure, until my cat developed epilepsy. Now my cat is on so much sedative that she doesn’t even remember that she creates poop, let alone how to cover it up. Pooping is now an every other day event that appears to be a total surprise to her. This might not be a big deal, if it wasn’t for the fact that she’s still eating three times a day. So, when she does eventually poop (in/near the litter box), the volume would flatter a mountain lion.

The only thing scarier than watching my cat squeeze out a miniature Bandini mountain is watching her try to cover it. She looks like a drunken tap dancer at the beach. She kicks sand over half the living room and doesn’t get a grain on the poop. It’s like the poop is kryptonite to the litter. Whatever, at least she’s trying.

Besides, the poop is a day at Disneyland compared to the pee. Have you ever smelled cat pee? Cat pee, on the stink scale, ranks somewhere between vomit and “what the fuck is that smell? Did somebody bring a rotting armadillo into the house?” But that’s just regular cat pee.

My cat pees once every four or five days. Do you see what I’m driving at? Once every four or five days my cat pisses a small pond of AGED cat pee. Sure, she follows that up by flinging sand all over the living room, but it doesn’t help. The kitty litter crystals, which are designed to overpower the smell of regular cat pee, start to cry. I’ve seen them waving little white flags before they pass out. Last week, a skunk walked past my cat’s pee pond and started cursing me out. He’s like, “are you fucking kidding me? Some of us are trying to breathe around here. Don’t you own a gun or something?”

But what am I going do? She’s part of the family. And I’ll bet she doesn’t care all that much for my bathroom odors either. She just has too much class to say anything.

By the way, if you’re wondering how I can write about my cat in a column titled, “The State of Television,” I actually have a pretty good answer.

My cat used to love to sit on my television, and I would always yell to my wife, “The cat’s on TV!”

My wife never laughed at that either, not even once, literally.

Jon+8+The Devil

For years now, like most of you, I’ve loved watching Jon and Kate + 8.  Eight adorable kids, a loving and nurturing dad, and a blonde, female Hitler… what’s not to love?  I’m not taking sides, mind you, but for those of you who haven’t seen the show, it might help you to understand its appeal if you grasp the fact that up until this year, most of us in the audience thought we were watching a filmed experiment about how much abuse a man can take before he snaps and goes Jack Nicholson on his whole family.
 
Doubt me?  Consider this: Kate Gosselin is such a bitch that when her husband walked out on her and their eight kids, all anybody who had ever watched the show could say was, “Man, it’s about time.  That guy deserves a medal for hanging in there as long as he did.”
 
Kate Gosselin is such a bitch that female dogs all over the country learned to talk, just so they could say, “Hey, don’t lump her in with us.  She’s a cunt.”
 
Now, cunts are learning to talk.
 
But, seriously…
 
I know that the ratings skyrocketed after the separation was announced, but you newbies need to do yourselves a favor and go back and watch the tapes.  The real drama occurred in early years. 
 
Just imagine that you’re a dude with eight goddam kids, and the only time that you get to leave the house on a particular day is to take some trash to the dump.  That seems like kind of a bleak day if you ask me.  Did I mention that you don’t get to get away from the kids during this 40 minute excursion?  You have one with you in the back seat.  And let’s say that as you are on your way home to your wife and your seven other kids, you stop at a doughnut shop drive-thru and get the kid a doughnut and yourself a small black coffee.  Would you think you’d done anything wrong?  Would you think that your wife would see the doughnut shop coffee cup and just about lose her mind, calling you a fat pig, and chastising you in front of the cameras, all for you being, maybe, ten pounds overweight?  And just for kicks, let’s add that as your wife was trying to humiliate you, she had a gleeful smile on her face.  Do you think that would make good television?
 
That made great television!  And it happened every episode.
 
It only took three episodes for most of us to realize that Jon was only sticking around because he couldn’t stand the thought of leaving his poor defenseless kids alone with their monster, I mean, mother.  It was really just a waiting game from day one.  How long could a person stay married to a shrew?  Did anyone really think this interspecies couple would last?  Please.
 
Anyhow, don’t take my word for it, go back and watch the tapes.  Then go watch the tapes from this year.  Kate never ever expresses any concern for Jon’s happiness.  She only cries over their separation because she doesn’t want to be alone.  Do you notice that Jon isn’t worried about being alone?  Newsflash, it’s not ‘cause he’s a sleaze; it’s because he’s a genuinely nice guy who people have always liked being around, and he has no reason to think that will change.  The fact is, he’s such a nice guy, he tolerated Kate for a decade.  Having seen the tapes, I don’t think she’ll get quite so lucky again.

It's Not T.V.

Hello, haters.  I address you as such, because I’m giving you credit for having a brain in your head, and having a brain in your head means that you hate stuff that “don’t make no sense (yeah, I know that’s a double negative, but since haters are twice as negative as the next guy, we’re allowed to use them).”
 
As a hater, I spend an inordinate amount of time ranting and going off on wild harangues against the stupid and nonsensical, but just because I’m not a fan of 30 Rock or Gary Unmarried, does that mean I’m impossible to please?  That’s a negative, Johansen. That’s a great big negative.
 
The truth is I’m a hater and a lover, and it’s about time I proved it by handing out some kudos.
 
First up, Geico caveman commercials:  I think they’re funnier than 90% of the sitcoms on the air.  I’ve got a comedian friend who wants to kill me for liking those cavemen ads, because he insists it’s the same joke over and over.  I say, “Who cares?”  Watching a caveman get his feelings hurt is always funny.  Why?   Because a caveman is supposed to represent the epitome of machismo!  And if you need me to explain why it’s funny to picture Lou Ferrigno vacuuming while wearing a housecoat, it isn’t worth the trouble. 
 
A great horse trainer once said that he never gives jockeys detailed instructions on how to ride his horses, because “the good ones don’t need ‘em, and the bad ones don’t know how to use ‘em.”  I think the same applies to comedy connoisseurship (yeah, I also know that connoisseurship isn’t a word.  Get off my back already).  Either you get the joke or you don’t.  When it comes to the cavemen, I know I’m not alone. Those commercials are so funny that ABC tried to make a sitcom out of them.  Sadly, the producers of that series either ignored or couldn’t grasp what made the commercials funny in the first place, and they ended up producing a show which seemed wholly unrelated to its inspiration (God, I would have loved to have been showrunner for that series). 
 
Okay, Eric, so you like a few ads.  Nobody’s turning on the tv to watch ads.  Aren’t there any shows that don’t suck?  I’m glad you asked.
 
Entourage is fantastic.  It is so fantastic, in fact, that I don’t know where to begin my praise.  But I think I’ll start with the characters. Those characters are… how do I put this so as to emphasize the staggering difference between them and their counterparts on 30 Rock and Gary Unwatchable, oh, I know.  The characters on Entourage remind me of people.  They remind me of actual people.  They all have agendas and understandable points of view.  The funny in the show comes not from them making absurd statements, but from them making statements that are true and different from our own only in ways that illustrate what makes the characters interesting.  Example? Gladly. 
 
How would you console a friend who was trying to get over a disastrous career move?   I might say, “There’s nothing you can do about it now, so just try to forget it.”  Ari Gold, on the other hand, said, “Treat it like a piece of bad pussy and pretend you never smelled it.”  Same idea, genius (and funny) execution. Let’s go again.  Let’s see if actions can be as funny as words.
 
What would you do if you used to star on a comic book tv show but you hadn’t worked in ten years, then you met a hot young groupie who was willing to have marathon sex with you on the beach in front of throngs of onlookers?  Would you a. go back to America with a story to tell or b. go back to America with a new long distance girlfriend whom you considered your soul mate?  If you said a, you don’t understand the sentimentality of Johnny Drama, a man who judges his simpatico with a girl based on how well she connects with the characters he portrays.  He’s sweet and twisted, not crazy.  Did you hear that, Tracy Morgan Jordan?!?  Characters who are not geniuses don’t have to act like they’re from another planet, they just need to act less genius.  Average doesn’t have to mean dull, and if you utilize average correctly, it can help us appreciate Ari Gold. 
 
Entourage: it’s what a half hour comedy ought to be.
 
Just so you won’t think I had to stretch or exaggerate to find examples of what’s good on tv , here’s a partial list of the many currently airing shows that I could have used to illustrate my points: House, The Simpsons, Family Guy, Hell’s Kitchen (yes, there’s good reality tv too), Hung, Curb Your Enthusiasm, and Breaking Bad.  I love ‘em all.  But then again, what don’t I love?    
 
 

Emmy Darlings

Hey everybody, welcome to the column where I commit career suicide!

But before I do that, let it be known that I don’t really want to become a martyr. I’m just afraid that I might be heading down that road if I end up hurting the feelings of the wrong industry big wigs. Some, nay, most people would argue that it takes more self-sabotage than courage for an aspiring sitcom writer to go “real life Jerry McGuire” and chastise the people in Hollywood who could hire him. To those people I have only this to say, “Um, yeah, you’re probably right. Maybe I should rethink this…hmm.”

But then I stand up and shout, “No. Don’t quash the truth. Have the courage to speak up. After all, anybody who really loved Seinfeld, The Larry Sanders Show, Frasier, and Taxi will understand how upset a person can get when 30 Rock wins multiple Emmy awards for best comedy series (especially when all-time greats like Entourage, The Simpsons, and Family Guy repeatedly go home empty handed). Somebody needs to speak up when the emperor wears hacky, nonsensical clothes, and if I’m lucky, Cuba Gooding Jr. will appreciate my honesty and allow me to continue representing him.”

Then I say, “Enough with build up already, just get on with it.”

So, let’s get on with it. Let’s talk about why 30 Rock is a turd.

But before I do that, I have one last “before I do that.” Before I do that, I just want to say that I am not a Tina Fey basher. I thought Tina did a fine job when she acted in a very good movie, Baby Mama. I also thought she was consistently good on Weekend Update. Most importantly, I thought Mean Girls, which Fey wrote and acted in, was extraordinarily funny and engaging from beginning to end. In fact, it was Tina’s excellent job with Mean Girls that makes me so disappointed in her turd, 30 Rock. I know she has the potential to do better.

C’mon, Eric. Enough with calling 30 Rock a turd. It’s a two time winner for best comedy and you’re only making yourself look ignorant and unintelligent when you use such an insulting and vulgar term.

Sorry, invasive voice in my head, but I have to call 30 Rock a turd… primarily because it’s won those two Emmys. You see, the general public can only give voice to their disapproval by not watching a show. With 30 Rock, they’ve voiced such an opinion… in droves. The people, you could say, have enthusiastically not watched 30 Rock. But when the industry counters with, “Hey, this is the best we can do,” the industry runs the risk of driving the public away from sitcoms altogether. I mean, who could blame them if they got so fed up that they just said, “Screw you, unlistening industry. We’re turning off our TVs and watching cats play piano on the internet.”

Do you see my point? The public needs people like me to give them hope. They need people like me to stand up to the Lorne Michaels’s and Chuck Lorre’s of the world and say, “Stop it (I throw Chuck Lorre under the bus here because even though I sort of like The Big Bang Theory, Two and a Half Men makes me want to “set up, punch” myself in the stomach).”

In short, the people need me to call a turd a turd, so they know that somebody who is trying to fix a huge problem actually understands how huge the problem is.

Okay, take a breath, let’s get to my reasoning… finally.

Johnny Carson once said, “If they don’t buy the premise, they won’t buy the bit.” That sounds right to me. I firmly believe that there needs to be a minimum level of believability in any comedy that allows a viewer to relate. Enjoyable wackiness must spring from some semblance of solid ground. What Carson should have added was, “If they don’t buy the characters, they won’t buy the bit.” Do you see what I’m driving at?

If everyone on a show is either dumb or a cliché, the audience won’t connect, won’t care, and won’t watch.

Yes, Friends tormented us with the idiotic ramblings of Phoebe and Joey, but Friends didn’t become a hit because of Phoebe and Joey. It became a hit in spite of Phoebe and Joey. It became a hit because people loved the intelligent sarcasm of Chandler and Monica and the pathos and vulnerability of Rachel and (sigh) Ross. Without those characters, you had the Friends spin-off, Joey. And we all remember what audiences thought of Joey. People watched Joey for free and still wanted their money back (note to readers: I didn’t want to use footnotes in this column but I also didn’t want to give this next thought it’s own paragraph, so I’m sticking it inside this ridiculously long parenthetical, which ironically is being made longer by this mostly unnecessary explanation. Anyway, here’s the thought. In defense of Joey and Phoebe, not to mention Homer Simpson, Peter Griffin, and Johnny Drama, at least they offset their lack of intelligence with a heartfelt humanity that allows us to embrace them. The idiot characters on 30 Rock aren’t even likable).

Now comes the medicine. I apologize for this next part in advance.

Hi everybody, welcome to 30 Rock. I’m Tracy Morgan Jordan. I’m so crazy that the writers never have to justify what I say or do. Remember how on Seinfeld, Kramer always had a good reason for his offbeat shenanigans? Well, I don’t have to live up to that kind of standard. I’m crazy. Hi, I’m Liz Lemon. I’m snarky. I’m in charge around here and I’m the so-called voice of reason on this show, but for some unexplained reason, I’ve surrounded myself with crazy. Hi, I’m Jack McBrayer. I’m naïve and I speak with a southern accent. Hilarious. Hi, I’m Alec Baldwin. My character is that of a boss with no discernible talent. The audience just needs to believe that self-centered imbeciles are magically installed to run giant corporations. Thank God that I, Alec Baldwin, am such an incredibly gifted comic actor that I am the sole thing worth tuning in for, though the truth is I had better defined characters in most of the three minute sketches I did on Saturday Night Live. Hi, I’m Jane Krakowski, the ditsy diva – and I’m just curious if, for the love of God, somebody could call David Kelley and get him to bring back Ally McBeal. I haven’t uttered a believable line of dialogue since that show went off the air.

Wow, that was painful. Not as painful as trying to sit through an episode, but still, it hurt… both of us.

Anywhoooo, before I wrap this up, I’d like to acknowledge that I’ve been accused of being a little negative in this column. The hell you say. What ignoramus slash buffoon is misunderstanding your message of hope? No, it’s alright, sort of the price you pay when you’re doing God’s work. But, to appease the masses, I’ve decided that next week I’m going to discuss some of the things on television that I love. In fact, I’m going to start being positive right now by finishing this column with congratulations to 30 Rock on an unlikely achievement. Big ups to you, 30 Rock. You’ve somehow managed to give us characters with less heart than the vampires on True Blood. Think about that. That’s amazing!

The Big Carl

Attention Jerry Seinfeld: we need you. In case you are unaware, there is a new ad campaign that so defies logic, it practically demands that you find your way back to a bully pulpit so you can point out its lunacy. Unfortunately, you haven’t yet volunteered to write a column for Heavy Hitters, so, just this once, I will shoulder your responsibility and address your signature issue with your signature line. Are you ready? Here goes.

“Who are the ad wizards who came up with this one?”

What am I talking about? I’m talking about the most consistently overreaching marketing machine that’s ever bombarded us with mindless ads. I’m talking about the franchise that has almost no regard for the integrity of its own product, let alone the consumers that it’s attempting to hoodwink. I’m talking about the envelope pusher that fills its envelopes with a poison worse than anthrax. I’m talking about Carl’s Jr.!

Oh Carl, did you have to go all the way? Where once you were merely laughable, you have become an insufferable joke. And the sad thing is that I really used to find you amusing. Every six months I could count on the lovable buffoons at Carl’s Jr. to introduce a hamburger topped with stuff that doesn’t belong on a hamburger. Remember the guacamole burger? Or what about that burger with fruit? Hilarious. You always made me smile. Of course, I never tried any of those culinary abortions. Nobody did. But at least you gave us something to giggle at while we scanned the menu for a western bacon cheeseburger.

Then, late this summer, as temperatures waned and autumn attempted to make its graceful and uneventful entrance, you, Mr. Jr., shook us to our cores and rocked the foundation of our society. Carl’s Jr., you son of a bitch, you flooded our airwaves with the apocryphal announcement that you were going to make Big Macs. Whaaaaat? You heard me right. Carl’s Jr. is making Big Macs. Blasphemy.

Let me ask you, Carl’s Jr., what do you think would happen if El Pollo Loco, all of a sudden, decided to turn off the grill and make fried chicken… you know, with 11 secret Mexican herbs and spices? I’ll tell you what would happen, disaster. El Pollo Loco doesn’t even have 11 herbs and spices. They’re getting by with cilantro, jalapeño, and lime juice, and I don’t know about you, but I’ve never even seen anyone, not even Richard Jeni, bite into a piece of fried chicken and say, “my God, this needs lime juice.” That’s why El Pollo Loco doesn’t make fried chicken. That’s why, unlike you, El Pollo Loco is perfectly sane.

What if Jack in the Box suddenly decided to abandon its signature flavor and stopped using horse meat? Where would we be then? Okay, I’ve crossed a line. I know that Jack in the Box doesn’t use horse meat. I don’t even know how that rumor got started. But don’t tell me that Jack isn’t at least partially to blame. I mean, what do you expect people to think when your everyday price for two “beef” tacos is 99 cents? For crying out loud, a single can of beef dog food costs 99 cents, and you’re somehow slinging two tacos for the same price? Whatever.

Anyway, back to our culprit du jour, Carl’s Jr.. Call me crazy, but I think it’s a little presumptuous for Carl’s Jr. to start making Big Macs when Carl’s Jr. doesn’t even understand Big Macs! Let’s start with the name: the Big Carl.

The Big Carl? Are you kidding me? Say it out loud: the Big Carl. I know, it’s simple. It’s easy to remember. The burger you’re ripping off is the Big Mac, so you’re calling yours the Big Carl. The problem: nobody wants to order a Big Carl. A Big Carl does not sound like something that anyone would willingly put in his mouth. Let’s face it, a Big Carl sounds more like a prison sex act than a food. Disagree? Be honest. Which of the following sentences sounds more natural?

“God I’m hungry. I can’t wait to get my mouth around a Big Carl.”

Or:

“We’re gonna corner the new guy in the shower and Bubba’s gonna give him a Big Carl.”

Yeah, you chose option b. We all did.

Sadly, the name is only the second most disgusting part of this burger. The most disgusting part of this burger… is this burger! And that’s its selling point! Carl’s Jr. emphasizes the fact that the Big Carl has twice as much meat as the Big Mac. Congratulations, Jr., you’ve managed to misunderstand the main selling point of a fast food hamburger. Nobody wants to taste the meat. That’s why there are 37 other ingredients on a Big Mac. The sole reason that the pickles, sauce, and onions are present is to delicioufy the cardboard meat. They even wrote a song about it! And don’t act like this is a McDonald’s meat problem. It’s not like you’re producing a two dollar burger made from filet mignon either. Why do you think your best selling burger has enough barbecue sauce on it to drown a cow? It’s because Carl Karcher had a brain in his head, and now that he’s dead, you ad wizards are trying to put his franchise six feet under as well.

To sum up, I don’t know who thought up this campaign, but someone ought to corner him in the shower and give him a Big Carl.

Jay Mohr Stand-Up

What the bejesus has happened to television sitcoms? Attention: network executives, it’s not that complicated. Seinfeld and Frasier reruns are on every six minutes – so grab a pen and take some notes. All you do is take intelligent characters and give us a story that makes sense to the characters who live them. Pepper the story with jokes that fit their personalities, give them goals, and sprinkle in obstacles – and don’t write dialogue comprised of shifitzle that nobody with a brain in their head would ever say!

Last year’s crop of crap has accomplished the impossible – it’s made Jay Mohr unfunny. How is that even possible? I’ll tell you how it’s possible… it’s the writing! When Jay Mohr does his brilliant stand-up act, he takes real life situations and emphasizes the hilarious details. It was a unique observation he made a few years back that swimming with the dolphins can lead to inadvertently arousing them, and subsequently lead that swimmer to becoming one of the few people on earth who know the sensation of being assaulted by a dolphin cock. Outrageous? Yes. But smart and believable! As opposed to Gary Unmarried which wants us to believe that an overweight twelve-year old boy (not named Jack Osbourne) is getting laid by telling girls that he likes their hair. Please – save that sensibility for Hannah Montana and Zack and Cody and keep it off prime time. If you want funny, put Jay Mohr on stage for ten minutes let him give us his real opinion of Gary Unmarried.

“But wait,” you might say, “maybe it’s not the writing. Maybe Jay Mohr just isn’t delivering. After all, the late great stand-ups Richard Jeni and George Carlin (not to mention Chris Rock) have been understandably accused of flunking out of the actors studio.” No way, I answer back. Jay’s turns in Jerry McGuire and Go put to rest any rumors that he is anything less than charismatic and believable when armed with decent material.

Yes, Entourage, Family Guy and The Simpsons consistently give us the intelligent farce we crave… but how do you explain Do Not Disturb – on the heels of Carpool? I say the networks just aren’t trying! Either that, or when Jerry O’Connell sold his soul to the devil to wrest Rebecca Romaine away from John Stamos, he thought the devil could give him a sitcom career as well.

No Deal

I hate evil. I hate evil so much, that I think it’s time to stop chasing Osama Bin Laden and go after our real enemy, Howie Mandel. Let’s be honest, it was bad enough when Howie used to put a rubber glove on his head and call it stand up comedy, but now he’s destroying the fabric of our society. I mean, how are we gonna get our kids to go to school, finds jobs, and become productive members of society, when this jackass is on tv every ten minutes handing out briefcases full of money? “Screw you, Mom and Dad, I’m not mowing the lawn or going to college. I’m going on Deal or No Deal.”

Gee, Eric, why are you picking on Deal or No Deal? You can win a lot of money on Jeopardy too.

Yeah, I know, you can win a lot of money on Jeopardy too. But at least on Jeopardy, you have to know something. In fact, you have to know EVERYTHING. You have to know every element on the periodic table – plus the names of both actors who played Darren on Bewitched. To win on Jeopardy, you pretty much have to memorize the encyclopedia. How do you prepare for success on Deal or No Deal? By practicing the correct pronunciation of the numbers one through twenty-six? Newsflash: that’s not prize worthy.

Objection number two: those models are sexy.

Those models are sexy? How is that an objection?

I’ll tell you how. Because not only do I have to feel guilty for wasting an hour of my life watching people open briefcases, I also have to feel like a perv, because those case are opened by scantily clad models who position those cases chest high. Accident? I think not. And before you accuse me of twisting the facts, please acknowledge that it’s Howie, and not me, who precedes each revelation with the instruction, “Anya, show me what’s in your box.”

It’s wrong, I tell ya. It’s just wrong.

My final objection to this abomination against the human spirit is its most offensive transgression. Howie’s not funny. Why hire a comedian to be the host of your show if he’s not going to be funny? All Howie does is lumber around the stage with that creepy plastered-on fake smile for an hour making hackneyed quips about you and your hometown that are so obvious that it embarrasses everyone. Sometimes I tune in just to watch an entire studio audience “courtesy laugh” in unison.

If it sounds like I’m nothing but a bitter and jealous hater, I probably am. I’d love to think I could turn down Howie’s gig if they offered it to me, but I’m not sure I could. But I can tell you something of which I am certain: I would love to see the tables turned, and just once, see Howie Mandel come onstage carrying a briefcase and wearing nothing but a Speedo. I wonder if that Joker-like grin would crack when one of the models said, “Howie, show us what’s in your package.”

On second thought, I never want to see that. Ever.

Survival vs. Entertainment

I have a favorite game show. Maybe you’ve seen it. It’s called: Man vs. Wild. I know it’s not technically a game show, but I have trouble calling anything a nature show when it makes you never want to visit nature again. So, I call it a game show, and here’s how it works. Remember when you were a kid, and you would spin a globe and stop it with your finger, and say, “wherever my finger stops, that’s where I’m going?” But you had an IQ over 12 so you didn’t actually go there. Well, the guy who hosts this show is not burdened with any such intellect. In fact, not only does this stupid son of a bitch go wherever his finger stops, he flies there in a two-seater death plane… that doesn’t land. He parachutes into the wilderness.

Once this mensa bounces to a stop, that’s when dangerous part begins. Now he gets to hike through a hundred miles of jungle to try and find civilization. If he finds it, he gets to live. That’s the prize.

So, okay, whatever, the hike begins, and then the most hilarious part of the show is revealed. This guy thinks he’s making a “how-to” video. He’s constantly saying stuff like, “after you’ve repelled down the cliff” or “once you’ve wrestled the boa constrictor to the ground.” Hey, here’s a newsflash: we’re watching this show to see how you get killed! So just die already… I’m missing American Idol for this.

Anyway, the hike continues until he gets to a bush. Then he says something like, “you’re gonna need energy for your death hike, so you’re gonna want to eat plenty of these gonzu plants.” Then he starts wolfing down branches. Fine, I guess, but then he motions to another plant eight inches away that looks exactly like the first plant and says, ”but don’t confuse the gonzu bush with the honzu bush, because after three bites of the honzu bush you’ll bleed from your left eye and both armpits until you die.” So, translation: this show is pointless, you’re gonna die if you’re ever out here.

So, I start to lose interest, but then he gets to the funniest part of the show. He hikes down to a pool of water and says, “Great, I’ve found a pool of water, and if I’m lucky, I can wade in and find some piranha.” Then he wades in and finds some piranha… and the show goes to commercial.

Now, you can accuse this guy of having a twisted sense of fun when it comes to vacation plans, but you cannot doubt his marketing savvy… because at this point, I would’ve sat through 37 consecutive tampon commercials before I would’ve changed the channel. Screw American Idol. So, he comes back from commercial, and he’s wading in the water, hunting piranha with a stick, and he’s telling us how they can deflesh a man in 15 seconds.

I don’t want to say I was excited, but I’m pretty sure I came.

So, in goes the stick, and he comes up with a piranha, then he holds it up, pulls back its upper lip, and shows us its razor sharp teeth. And I feel like I’m watching the Twilight Zone, except Rod Serling never wrote anything this scary. So now the guy is grinning, the fish looks like he’s grinning, and you know I’m grinning… all three of us for different reasons. The guy is grinning because he caught, and did not become, dinner, the fish is grinning because his killer is pulling his lips back, and I’m grinning because I know that you don’t have to cheat death every six seconds in order to have a hit tv show… not in a country where 10 million people tune in every week to watch Howie Mandel open a freaking briefcase.

Hike on, you magnificent bastard!