The War Room

Unless you’re one of Hollywood’s best, most humorously twisted comedy writers, you know it as a conference room.

Otherwise, the “war room” is the office battleground for writers developing sitcoms and hammering out humor.

I Laugh; Ego I Am

Rod (Parts IV & V) had an intuitive sense of storytelling and an extremely talented staff of comedy writers, but before heading into the war room every morning, there was a protocol to be met.

Rod expected everyone (himself included) to check their egos at the door.

Grabbing jousting pencils and the show’s latest draft, the writers bid a bittersweet goodbye to their egos and donned their armors’ of passion.

Matching bravados all day long and into most nights, the arsenal of ideas was as bottomless as the endless hours they dedicated to writing and telling stories with humorous twists.

Brainstorming

Pitching stories, developing them, breaking them down, building them up, strengthening their structures, giving arcs to their acts and character to their voices, the writers turned funny into form with tension, relief and a perfectly balanced “button.”  (Part V)

Working to reveal humor’s hide-and-seek spots with word rhythms and perfect comic timing is astonishingly difficult, which is probably why I’m funnier in my own head and notoriously terrible in my delivery.

Like anything well delivered, it’s harder than it looks.

Nothin’ worse than flat-lining a punch-line and hearing a chorus of crickets strike up a band.

But judgment was frowned upon in the war room.  It was neutral territory for brainstorming ideas freely and loudly.

Laughing at the craziest, zaniest, wackiest, most outrageous ideas that a brain could conceive was the norm.

Unless an ego was improperly sized, no one was immune to being vulnerable.

Play Nice, or Go Home

Despite the civilized setting, voices rose, tempers and nostrils flared, egos grinned and pencils tapped out every beat of tension.

Rising and falling to the tune of intuition, knowledge and experience usually separated the men from the boys, but boys will always be boys and conflict is a reality.

It took a lot to ruffle Rod.

He had more experience than anyone in the room, so choosing your battles with him was, well, wise.

And if jumping into the middle of a fire storm was your best “wise,” you needed a heck-of-a-lotta chutzpah because fire-storm-conflicts made funny look like fantasy at times.

Sitting as still as a statue in the cross hairs of those conflicts, I’d watch and listen as civility was shot to hell.

In a fantasy of my own, I pretended as though it wasn’t happening and it was just coincidence that my knees were nervously knocking beneath the table.

Nice thing about boys, they don’t waste time on petty grudges.

They just duke it out and it’s over.

Unless they’re in Hollywood, then they call someone in to do it for them – “punch things up,” as they say.

Where’s a “Punch Up” Writer When You Need Him

At another show, usually.

If you’re a “Punch-Up” writer, a show gets you whenever it gets you because you’re brilliant, clever, hilarious and highly in demand.

There were only four or five in town and most in demand was ours: Bob Ellison.

Creative Consultant, Script Doctor, Punch-Up Writer, King, and, like the Dodgers who always called in Manny Moto to pinch hit when they were in trouble, every show in town called Bob: The “Manny Moto of Comedy.”

Not to Toot My Own Horn, but Toot Toot

A trained musician, Bob was a Big Band trumpeter and has written on nearly every television sitcom ever made beginning with “The Mary Tyler Moore Show.”

Popping into my office once a week, he’d tell me: “Let Rod know I’m here to punch things up – scripts, doors, people, pillows – whatever needs punching.  I’ll be in my office… playing my trumpet.”

Bob didn’t just punch up a script’s story; he lifted everyone’s spirits, especially at three in the morning.

When most writers were willing to agree to a vasectomy by then, Bob came in with perfect timing and a fresh take.

Like a conductor with a baton, Bob waved his pencil through the air to the beat of every word and line of dialogue.

Then, like Manny Moto, Bob turned the show’s one-liners into lyrical couplets, triplets and home run, prime time hits.

His contributions could mean the difference in the studio and/or network spending millions of dollars on a show; considering its long term on-air potential and its possibilities for syndication.

The Creative Process

In the midst of combat, comedy’s fate sometimes teetered on a tightrope of tragedy, but Rod respected the creative process; trusted it implicitly.

When heads seemed to be losing themselves, his remained calm; cool in knowing the calm was always, just before the storm.

5 Minutes to Funny

Having weathered many storms, Rod believed that brainstorming was a necessary storm.

“Brainstorms pass; that’s when humor’s best is revealed.”

“Stick around for the funny, Mo.  It’s usually out five minutes after a storm passes.  Then make sure to write it down, so you don’t forget that life is funny.”

Sticking Around for Funny

Five minutes to funny has been more like twenty years for me, but Rod was right.

Storms pass.

Skies clear.

Humorously twisted comedy writers get funny down on paper.

And funny finds time to heal all wounds.

From the battles in that war room, the writers emerged as warriors, their words reigned supreme, and comedy had another victory to show for it.

To Be Continued: Sticking Around for Hal

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Photo Credit

The Spin-Off

After the highly successful television spin-off “Maude” came to an end, Rod Parker and Hal Cooper (Part IV) did some spinning off on their own.

Forming a partnership that would last for decades, they continued to push the boundaries of social conscience with tact, integrity and humor.

And humor – the greatest weapon against all absurdities – was their lifelong ace in the hole, which could partially explain their initial reasons for hiring me.

It was a long shot and completely absurd.

Cue Entrance: Prissy

I was working at Paramount Pictures on the corporate side of entertainment, but dreamed of getting into production.

Considered the “other side” of the lot, that’s where the magic happened.

But I needed the magic of miracles, as production jobs were highly coveted even for people highly qualified in production.

Like watching from the inside of a looking glass, I’d press my nose to an icy cold, hermetically sealed office window to catch glimpses of stars and fully costumed characters walking to and from the “other side:”

Klingons and Vulcans, 007′s Sean Connery and Alec Baldwin headed to “The Hunt for Red October,” Eddie Murphy driving his “Rolls Royce” of golf carts, and larger-than-life movie sets being transported to and from sound stages.

Getting into production seemed as likely as a trip to the other side of a rainbow.

And so did marrying Michael J. Fox, the star of “Family Ties.”

He had fallen in love with his on screen girlfriend (Tracy Pollan) in real life, and the long running series was coming to an end.

Time was truly of the essence.

Just because they rode a bicycle-built-for-two around the lot, didn’t mean he would actually marry her in real life too.

I was wrong.  It wasn’t the first time.

But it didn’t make me love him any less, nor did it deter me from wanting to get to the other side of the rainbow.

The Other Side

Skies cleared one day and in my best swag:

Pink-and-white-pinned-striped skirt, white Peter-Pan collared blouse, strand of pearls and matching ballet slippers, I took my tidy hair bun and went for a walk on the “wild” side to my first interview in television production with…

…Just some guys I had never heard of.

And then, something magical happened.

A Golden Landing

A gentle giant, Rod was as funny as he was charming and tried to ease my nervousness with social niceties.

Hal, cut-to-the-chase (He is a director, after all) and was equally as funny and charming.

Needless to say, Michael J. Fox was history.  He could bicycle ride for ten on a unicycle for all I cared, this dream was coming true.

But before convincing these television legends I was worth the risks of their legendary reputations, I would have to interview separately with Rod, the Head Writer, who I’d be working with more closely.

“I’m Ready for my Close-Up, Mr. DeMille”

I must love pink because I returned for my next interview with Rod in my very conservative, but very hot-pink dress with extremely large, as I recall, decorative gold buttons engraved with anchors.

(There may have been shoulder pads involved too!)

Rod told me he needed someone organized, who knew how to get around on the computer, was kind and able to laugh.

I fibbed – about the computer part.  I knew how to get around it – I avoided it, but I always managed to stay five steps ahead of him.

Whatever I may have lacked, I made up for in long hours of hard work and efficiency.

A short time into the job, Rod told me I was too efficient for my own good and that someday I would drive a husband crazy: “No sooner than he’s up to make a middle-of-the-night run to the ‘can’, you’ll have the bed made before he returns.”

I do drive my husband crazy, but Rod was wiser than I knew.

The Show Must Go On

Working day in and day out with Rod, I learned to pick up on cues.

The cast would be returning soon and begin shooting the season’s weekly episodes.

That meant the network’s order for a full season of shows had to be filled, which meant stories and scripts had to be in decent shape and stockpiled.

One day, mid-conversation in Rod’s office, I noticed his head tipping downward ever so slightly.  Not a good sign for either one of us for obvious reasons, but I quickly realized it was a sign of his suddenly being struck by comedic inspiration.

He had to write.

With his specially ordered, grey-wing-tipped-number 2-perfectly-sharpened-pencil-with eraser, Rod magically stroked jokes with his wing-tipped-wand onto stacks of legal-sized steno pads – another rewrite of Paramount Picture’s/NBC’s top-rated sitcom at the time.

“The one in Thursday night’s line-up right after Cheers,” he called it.

Finding the Perfect Button

Always referring to the perfect punch-line as the “button” on a joke, he’d say: “There’s the button I was looking for.”

So I had someone install under his desk, an actual button that triggered his office door to close without him having to stop writing, get out of his chair and walk over to close it – magic.

I’m not sure which he loved more: the automated closing of his door, or my vanishing act from his office with the push of a button.

As I was leaping over furniture and somersaulting out the door, he never missed a quick-witted beat, hollering: “And check on that trap-door I ordered!”

The best I could do was use a Paramount Pictures purchase order to write something bogus about the trap-door being on “indefinite back-order,” to which he wrote back: “Cancel trap-door and get me additional button.  Be sure it ejects.”

But one day I got him good.

I took his finely sharpened pencils that were all pointing up and turned them all points down, erasers up!  Haha.

“That’s the button,” he said matter-of-factly; “Nothing mean-spirited about it.”

Writing was his heart; sharp pencils the key to it, so I set my sights on becoming the best human pencil sharpener in town.

And without Michael J. Fox’s knowledge (he never noticed me ) I rode my new bicycle right alongside him and laughed to the end of an incredible ride on the other side of the rainbow.

To Be Continued: More with Rod and Hal and “War Room” Magic

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Photo Credit - Microsoft Clip Art by Mara Hawks

Gifted with the opportunity to work for some incredible writers and storytellers in my early Hollywood career, two come to mind as having the greatest impact on my appreciation for telling stories with humor:

Rod Parker (Writer/Producer) and Hal Cooper (Director/Producer).

Alongside iconic television creator, Norman Lear, (who innovated the situational comedy format we know as the sitcom) they were both Emmy nominated for their respective works (Hal, an Emmy winner).

At a time when artists were still feeling the residual effects of being blacklisted in Hollywood, it was no surprise that life’s absurdities were sprouting up in every direction.

East coast to west coast, uptown to downtown, from the Burroughs to the “Burbs,” America’s moral standards were running amok to swamps of murkiness.

Worse, our minds’ abilities for making good choices were swimming laps in the muddy waters.

But before the sands of time ran out, life guards of change were storming the beaches, racing to administer our funny bones with tanks full of laughing gas.

The Intersection of Art and Time

Visual and verbal mediums met and merged.

Writers, producers, actors and directors began swapping stories; brainstorming about the infinite possibilities of answers to the question of “what if?”

Holding up hand-held mirrors to society’s behaviors’ (socially and politically) they resuscitated our hearts with humor and life-changing stories.

And good stories can change people, even if they’re watched on TV for thirty minutes a week.

The Infinite Possibilities of “What If”

Week to week, we waited with excitement and anticipation for the arrival of our favorite house guests.

Families gathered and dad’s tipped back in their “reclimbing” chairs.

With the simple turn of a little plastic knob, the “vertizontal” hold of television’s gaze gave everyone a little time to escape.

Living rooms lit up as we danced at the Copacabana with hot-blooded bandleader, Ricky Ricardo and fell down laughing at Lucy’s masterful physical comedy (who can forget her inebriated Vitametavegamin audition).

Falling in love with a Master and his Jeannie, men fantasized about different kinds of wives, and wives dreamed of polishing off liquor bottles and refilling them with lush, plush velvet cushions tiny enough to slide down the throat of a bottle’s neck.

We all wanted to escape.

To an island with seven castaways who had more than enough clothes to go around, sip sweet elixirs from bamboo straws in scooped out coconut shells and swim in a lagoon.

While Meathead married Gloria, we watched black Americans movin’ up, white Americans movin’ out and felt relief laughing at the antics of rude, bald bosses.

And then there was Maude.

And Archie Bunker, a “good natured bigot” who told us that America was going down the “terlet;” passing right out our lower “intestubes,” and for the first time on television we heard a “terlet” flush,  just for affect.

I Know You Are, but What am I?

Once a week for thirty minutes, no one was better than.

Nor were they so good, they didn’t know how it felt to tongue-twist truth.

Even if we’re only escaping from bellyaches with some after dinner bellyache laughing, a getaway is getaway.

Perversely palatable, if we’re laughing at exaggerated stereotypes and minimizing minorities at the same time.

Rules Aren’t Made to be Broken?

As Archie, one of television’s greatest written for characters chastised us to wake up from our “fiestas,” cameras focused and pencils poised to rewrite the rules, and history.

But writing and directing sitcoms about sex, drugs, war, political activism, religion, homosexuality, alcoholism, mental illness, domestic abuse, etc. was met by strict legal standards and enforced by studio and network executives – “The Suits,” we called them.

And Washington politicians (We had names for them too).

“Bureaucraps.”

Even showing the marriage bed of a married woman like Laura Petrie on “The Dick Van Dyke Show,” or Barbara Eden’s exposed navel on “I Dream of Jeannie” was fair game for the teeth of a cutting room’s floor.

Comedy Relief

Rod once told me: “You get ten writers in a room, you’ll get eleven opinions.  Twelve, if you count Hal.”

Perhaps, these special comedic minds-of-the-times missed being born with more normal defects.

Maybe they were tied with “umbiblical” cords, their senses of humor “warfed” so deftly; disability’s defects had to be forgiven.

In light of Rod and Hal’s incredible senses of humor, that’s the best I’ve got for how they were able to view life, and embrace all of its absurdities with the lenses of laughter that they did.

Meanwhile, Back at the Office

Rod picked up the working draft of his script and with all the courage I could “mustard,” I asked him naively: “How did you know that line was the funniest and the one to keep?”  (He had so much patience.)

With his curled-up-script in one hand, carry-cup of favorite pencils swirling in the other, he stopped short of my desk.

As if letting me in on his greatest secret, he thumped that script to his heart and said:

“Listen to your heart.  Whatever makes you laugh in here is the one you keep.”

Then he headed down the hallway towards a room known as the comedy writer’s battle ground, the “War Room,” when an afterthought turned him around to add:

“And I run the show.”

“Ahhh, the eleventh opinion,” I smiled as he crossed battle’s threshold and disappeared.

I didn’t know it at the time, but that was one of my first real-life lessons in a Master Class on comedy writing – with a master.

Laughing Revival

Do you have any favorite sitcom memories, or just wish laughing gas was legal?

I would love to laugh at your recollections, so write the first things that make you laugh and hit send.

To laughing at memories, laughing gas being legal, and finding humor today…

…Cheers.

To Be Continued: Finding the Perfect Button

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Photo Credit-Microsoft Clipart

An Old Christmas Classic

Just in time for the holidays, I’m posting a link/image - a clickable “gift” – of an old Christmas classic that you won’t want to miss.

This original rendition of “Donde Esta Santa Claus?” is a delightful “south-of-the-border” melody, co-written and composed by Rod Parker, a writer and friend that I worked for in Los Angeles.

Originally sung by twelve-year-old Augie Rios, it was released by Metro Records in 1958 and became an instant hit.

Every year during the holidays, Rod would have it playing in our offices and was always happy to perform it – on demand.

And by perform, I mean – keep reading.

Holiday Revue

Proudly, he kept his seasonal holiday debut a secret.

He may have been able to fool some people and I’m sure he did, but I was his “Gal Friday,” and I had a calendar, so despite LA’s warm weather and bright lights, I knew this “spectacular” would happen no earlier than the day after Thanksgiving, and, no later than the day we would shut down the production offices to leave for the holiday.

Nothin’ got past me.

And, I checked the calendar!

At some point, when Rod knew I was sitting at my office desk, which was directly across from his office door, he’d attempt a dramatic entrance by trying to “throw” his door open over carpeting that was more like a door stopper with show stopping aspirations.

But the show must go on.

With his stereo remote control in one hand, a pair of castanets in the other, and a Christmas cap on his head, he excitedly announced:

“No reason for anyone to be blue about Christmas now!”

Then, in a “self-directive” tone, say:

“Cue Song.”

Without turning around, he pointed the remote behind his head, cued the song, and started singing and dancing to the clicks of castanets.

On my laugh (He was a comedy writer, so he had to wait for it) he’d add his heels to the “click-mix” and continue his song and dance routine.

And by song and dance, I mean – he would click and hop on his heels in short staccato steps to the quick, syncopated rhythms of “Donde Esta Santa Claus?” shouting: “Oh-Pancho-Oh-Vixen-Oh-Pedro-Oh-Blitzen-Ole-Ole-Ole!”

The Finale

Rod sang, hopped and clicked, until the music pulsed to its final rest.

Like any good artist, he knew how to – wait-for-it.

Then, graciously, he took his bow.

And clicked.

Twice – heels first, castanets second!

Whispering and whistling in the mocked tones of his would be adoring fans; I cupped my hands and cheered: “Muy Bien, Muy Bien!”

When Does the Spirit of Christmas Arrive?

You know.

That’s part of the magic.

When you least expect it – it’s there inside of you suddenly – just the way you wished it would be.

You feel it.

How Do You Know When Santa Has Arrived?

You don’t.  Duh.

That’s part of the magic too.

Now, if you’ll exscoooze-a-may, I have a sign to put up – on my rooftop.

Cue Goat:

Christmas Eve Night – Interior and Exterior Home – Twilight

The neighborhood is quiet.

Organic carob cookies and carrots have been left on a kitchen counter with a glass of goat’s milk for Santa.  (Note to self: Make that enough goat milk for all the reindeer – Rudolph, too.  And make sure goat milks itself.  Don’t let some other goat do it.  Darn goat unions.)

Goat: (Exhaaaaausted, she sets her “Mothers milk” on the kitchen table.) “Baaaaaaaaaaa Humbug.” (It’s a mean hungry goat - its outta milk.)

Parents are nestling and snuggling their little angels to sleep in their beds.

In hushed, lullaby-like tones, they read aloud… and in unison – no, make that every other page they alternate reading out loud…

…”Twas the Night before Christmas, when the neighbor’s cat – no, scratch the cat… not a creature was stirring and all the stockings are already hung… yeah – much better…

…And a soft, white blanket of snow softly falls over a nondescript neighborhood house known in the “hood” as the “Humor Me at This House, Please.”

As the camera closes in on the “House in need of Humor,” we see a strange-shaped object on the roof.

Closing in on a close-up of a close-up – if that’s even possible – the strange object is identified.

“It” is a “she” and she is the “Mommy of the house” in need of some humor. (Clearly, Mommy needs her stocking stuffed with laughs.)

As the camera pulls back, she has just finished putting up an unlit, neon sign.

Cue Neon Lights:

Still on the rooftop, “Mommy,” takes her kerchief off her head, wipes her brow and takes a step back to admire her handy work and with no apparent electricity, her sign magically lights up.

And blinks:

“Hey Fatso, why don’t you park the reindeer first, then get outta your sleigh this year?!”

Pleased with herself, she dusts the snow from her “mittened” hands and smirks with satisfaction.

Cue Snow Blizzard.

And To All A Good Night

Keep your nuts roasting, your halls decked, your Yule logs burning, and, for goodness sake, don’t forget to hang some mistletoe in front of your own mirror this week…

…Remember to snap magical “memory” pictures of those moments that only your heart can see.

And I hope you get your stockings stuffed.

With lots of laughs.

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanzaa, Feliz Navidad, Ommmmmmmm, Thank You, Mary, and Thank You, Baby Jesus!

To hear “Donde Esta Santa Claus?” click image below:

Donde Esta Santa Claus? (click image to play)

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Photo Credit

Click here for more info about “Donde Esta Santa Claus?/Augie Rios/Metro Records or Rod Parker/Sheet Music: “Donde Esta Santa Claus?”

The Joy of Storytelling

Can you remember the last time you were twenty pages into reading a book when you had to physically resist the urge to read the last page,  roll your finger over your nook to it, or, you felt a rush of adrenaline as you anticipated the outcome of a movie?

It was so good, but you had to - wait-for-it.

I only have enough will power to resist the urge in the time it takes to flutter through to the last page of a book, ask myself: ”Do I really want to know how it ends?” and answer: “Heck, yeah!”

It all happens so fast.  My eyes are squinting and scanning.  I guess because I’m hoping to fool the story’s surprise ending into believing it has successfully concealed itself, until my arrival, the old-fashioned way.

I am my own spoiler alert, but when the story sucks me in from the get-go with an interesting plot and intriguing characters, it’s fun, as a writer, to read the words on the page and observe how the writer has carefully crafted the story in a way that’s so compelling, it keeps me up at night.

It sounds totally lame-mo, but knowing what happens on the last page of a “page-turner,” makes me appreciate the way the entire story unfolds to reveal a seamless ending; as if it has no other choice.

The Puzzling Arts: Connecting Dots, Juggling and Bouncing Balls

Observing the process of someone whose work I respect, helps me to visualize my work creatively, as a giant jigsaw puzzle.

It gives me a little more patience with my own process.

Like the little bouncing ball that bounces over the lyrics on a karaoke screen, observing helps me connect the dots: reading, writing, listening, playing with phrases, and rearranging the rhythm of words – weaving and threading straight lines that bend, twist and turn – making some sort of sense out of symbols that march together in a single file, shaping word-pictures and story tales.

Magic Words

In the Legend of King Arthur, “Merlyn,” used his magic to set a sword in stone.

Written in stone, were the words: “Whoso pulleth out this sword of this stone is the rightwise born King of all England.”

When Sir Ector asked Arthur how he came to have the sword, Arthur responded, matter-of-factly: “I thought of the sword in the stone and pulled it out.”

Is the Pen Mightier Than the Sword?

Words are magical, but the real magic lies beneath their surface – void of trickery and deceit.

Having the patience to wait-for-them - just the right ones – is magical too.

But the real essence in the magic of the written word is using them toward a greater, common good.

Then putting pen to paper.

To Be Continued: Television Legends with “Pens”

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Photo credit

Synchronicity

Recently, the word “legacy” has been jumping out at me; whether I’m reading, collaborating, contemplating about all of the self-perceived wisdom I must pass on to my children, or listening to the news…

…Synchronicity is happening – always.  Whether or not we see or hear it and connect the dots is another matter.

Just this morning, another newscaster reported on today’s-front-page-news-soon-to-be-tomorrow’s-back-page-news: the fall of another legendary sports figure.

That tiny voice in my head thought again about the idea of legacies.  I was irritated by the distraction.  “I have enough distractions to keep myself busy for a lifetime,” I thought.

A couple months ago, it happened again – another “distraction,” so to speak.

The Distraction

I bumped into my friend, Patrik, who I hadn’t seen in a long time; a year maybe.

Another year prior to this, I had seen his wife, Chrissy’s art project and he suggested I might take a look at her accompanying narrative, which was ready for editing.

I’m not an art aficionado, but after living in Los Angeles and working in film, television, theatre and screenplay/manuscript development for a long time, I was fortunate to have worked with, personally and professionally, across all mediums, (except for maybe paper-cutting) the best of the best in the world of entertainment and multi-media.

Collaborating with amazing artists is an exciting and fulfilling experience, but there couldn’t have been any way to prepare for how I would feel when Chrissy opened up the door to her studio – her heart – and I walked in.

Inside, I remember thinking: “Hello.  And I’m ‘Alice in Wonderland.”

It felt magical.  I was mesmerized and inspired by the sight of every nook and cranny in her studio.

The Girl with a Gift

Displayed in Chrissy’s studio were shadowboxes, each one measuring 2’x1’ in size.

Each separate shadowbox represented one page of her artwork and soon to be book.

Eventually, they would all be photographed, the appropriate text inputted into the computer and once merged the result would be her book.

It was exquisitely illustrated – in three dimensions.

Inspired by her own story of struggle, Chrissy created this project by “using vintage and discarded books and journals about God and love; stories that embodied the ideas of journey and longing, hope and trust.”

For more than two years, she purposefully and meticulously hand-cut, hand-painted, and, with her feet, no, no, I’m kidding about the feet.  She used her hands too, to place every single, tiny, piece of cut paper into a specially chosen shadowbox.

Little did I know, she had literally been gluing her life back together using wood-recycled, hand-made shadowboxes as the perfect “home” for protecting her heart-work.

They housed her healing one piece of paper at a time until colors, shapes and meanings emerged and the gift of her inner-art matched up with her outer vision.

Her dream she said, was “To bring together the many words and voices spoken from inside these forgotten pages.”

“Darnit,” I thought.  “I could have ‘paper-cized’ my dreams!  Why didn’t I think of that?” (See, it’s all about Moi.)  But as Rudy’s dad said in the movie “Rudy”: “Dreams are what make life tolerable.”

It was “an exercise in the transformative power of art [and healing]” she continued; “the surrender to our own [inner] voice and the many ways every story carries with it a different version of itself.”

I can think of plenty of other ways to exercise without getting a single paper cut, and, as exciting as creative collaboration can be, it can also be challenging where egos are involved.

To Be Continued: The Business of a Mommy’s Legacy and the Joy of Storytelling

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Photo credit - Christina Vegenius

Fig-Leaf Fiasco

Have you ever felt entirely alone in a room full of people?

I walked into a party once feeling that way.  Not because I went solo and didn’t know a single soul except the host.  That didn’t help, but it turned out, I had inadvertently tucked my skirt into my tights at my last “pit” stop before arriving at the party and didn’t realize that my backside (save the tights) was completely exposed when I walked in.

I was mortified, of course.  Who wouldn’t be; mingling, sashaying, and eating all night long.  All the while I was looking like a stuffed fig leaf and thinking to myself: “Wow, I am really funny.  I’m really making people laugh tonight.  I’m not even using my best material, so if I’m this funny now, I might never go home.”

That night was a lesson in humility and fashionable tardiness, or tartness.  Take your pick.

But it could have been a lot worse.

I could have walked into the party backwards or doing a handstand.  Fortunately, since I stopped drinkin’ the hooch, I walk up-right and face-forward – mostly.

Tall Tales

It’s not often that I gather my children around my knees to tell them the tall tales of my past.

If they’re gathered around my knees, it’s probably because I’m on the floor teaching them again how to pick up and put away their gosh darn things!

Me: “I’m here to teach you, not to serve you!” I scream, in a decibel reserved by moi. (A reward to myself, if you will, for asking something nicely fifty times in a row!) “Geez-oh-Pete,” I huff and puff to the bitter end of a very dramatic, exhausted and exasperated breath of deaf vears – ears, I meant ears there.

Then:

Mark: “It’s Mark, mom.”
Me: “What?” I snap. “What are you talking about?”
Mark: “My name. It’s Mark. You said Pete. Geez-oh-Pete. It’s Mark. And Danny.”
Me: “Sorry, Mark,” I say, hoping really to receive their forgiveness for my outburst.
Mark: “It’s okay. Sometimes people get us confused. Mostly at school though. Like on the playground, someone might say, ‘Hi, Dan’ (he reenacts by waving his hand) and really it’s me – Mark.”
Me: “Whatta you do when that happens?”
Mark: “I just laugh and tell ‘em my name’s Mark.  Then we just play.”
Dan: “Mark, we don’t even look alike.”

If there’s any tall-tale-story-telling-time, it’s more shoulder to shoulder these days, as both boys are catching me in height. (Which is really inconsequential at this age.  If they’re twenty and I’m saying that, it’s an entirely different scenario.)

And my story-tales are more of the cautionary kind because 1) the older they get, the more worried I am for their safety, and the preservation of my sanity, and 2) I don’t have to exaggerate when it comes to all the ways I’ve truly embarrassed myself in life because the truth is funnier than anything I could try to imagine.

If there’s any sprinkling of hyperbole, it’s in telling you that I reward myself by screaming after repeating things nicely, fifty times in a row.  Forget that.  Three times in a row – max, and maybe I’m nice.  And maybe I have a dish of ice cream.

The only other hyperbolic sprinkling is my use of something I have termed, “Hindsight Wisdom.”  (I’m trying to keep it PG. Obviously, it can be called many things; have fun with it and make it something easy to remember.)

The basic premise of “Hindsight Wisdom,” uses any knowledge and wisdom I’ve ratified, personally, to teach my kids what self-acceptance and self-esteem feel like; that what they do or what they have in their lives will mean zippo compared to who they are and what they give back.

I should probably take this opportunity to say that our “kids” now includes our spiritually “adopted” daughter (22) who has lived with us for two years.  It’s nice having another girl in a house full of testosterone (who isn’t our dog) for soooo many reasons.

Although I think my self-proclaimed “Fig-Leaf” fiasco is killer funny now, thanks to irony and absurdity, my kids probably don’t need to know (yet) that after peeing, mommy jumped up and down in a bathroom stall to be triple-extra sure that her tights were pulled all the way up and that she proceeded, unknowingly to walk around a party all night with her skirt shoved inside of her tights, because they’re not allowed to go to parties unchaperoned, until they’re at least thirty-five.

And if my kids can’t laugh at my Fig-Leaf fiasco, whose kids are they really?

I’m not saying I would disown them for not laughing, but it could be a valid argument for a parent’s emancipation (mine), especially if I wait ’till they’re thirty-five to drop them off at their first unchaperoned party.

OMG – what if that really happens?  What if they’re thirty-five and still living in our house?

What if I keep creating scenarios in my head that will probably never happen?

But what if they are living in our house then?

Geez-o-Pete, if that’s the case, forget any “olive branch” extension, I’ll file for emancipation under, “Article Fig Leaf” of the “Parental-Emancipation-Extrication from a Child” Act.

(Mental Note: Remind kids that laughing of any kind is good for their health – even the conciliatory kind, but write a first draft of Article Fig anyway and petition Washington to pass an Act of Congress for parents who need their children, of a certain age, to move out!)

To Be Continued: The Business of a Mommy’s Legacy and Synchronicity

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“To laugh often and much; To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; To appreciate beauty; to find the best in others; To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition; To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded..”                 ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

Following is this week’s humor round-up:

1. No matter whose point of view, pedestrian or driver, you can never be too safe:   http://bit.ly/lYmwoZ

2. Except for the personally unfortunate circumstances that would have me dialing 911, I would love this guy to be my dispatcher.  (I really hope he didn’t lose his job over this):  http://bit.ly/qnfMd8

3. Nothing worse than finally being able to fall asleep in the car, only to be woken up abruptly by your buddies:   http://bit.ly/dVlle9

4. Man’s best friend does not discriminate:   http://bit.ly/fu3Vnt

5. Who’s walkin’ who?   http://bit.ly/fwCMCq

6. Not only can Oscar, Emmy, Tony, and Grammy Award Winner, Mel Brooks (Blazing Saddles, Young Frankenstein, ) make the most absurd things funny, he can make the absurdly atrocious Adolph Hitler comical, as well – and then sing about it.

In February, 2001, I had the honor of sitting in Brooks’ House Seats at the Chicago Preview of his Broadway musical: The Producers, which is based on Brooks’ original 1968 movie of the same name.  The Broadway production, starring Matthew Broderick and Nathan Lane, went on to win a record-breaking twelve Tony wins.  After the Chicago preview, I spent time with Brooks backstage and before he left to do cast notes, he asked me if I could recommend a good dinner spot for him and his wife, Anne Bancroft (aka Mrs. Robinson in The Graduate).  Of all the incredible eateries in Chicago, I nervously, but proudly suggested my favorite spot for ribs!  In Brooks’ gracious and inimitable style he turned my “offering pig to a good Jew,” faux pas into a great laugh and said,  “That’s what I get for asking the shiksa.”  In my best Yiddish, all I could stutter in response was, “Whatta ya expect from a good goy!”

That’s my legacy - suggesting pig to Mel Brooks and Mrs. Robinson!  From one of his many legacies, here is a clip of the muscial number, Springtime for Hitler, being performed in the orginal movie that was later adapted for Brooks’ Broadway sensation: http://bit.ly/15tXMq

7-9. The Carol Burnett Show is one of the greatest and longest running variety shows of all time.  One of the best memories of its run was the spontaneous laughter of the cast desperately trying to contain themselves on show night when comedian, Tim Conway, improvised for the first time as it was being taped in front of a live audience: http://bit.ly/9JE0zf , http://bit.ly/owqaIq , http://bit.ly/9lc9yZ

10. As he attempts simple algebra, this clip gives me one more reason to love CNN’s, Anderson Cooper: “If X=Tongue and Y=Cheek, what does X+Y equal?”  http://bit.ly/mmhM2P

Monthly Contest

If you’ve seen, heard or read any side-splitting, show-stopping, absurdly humorous bits, or, as Anderson Cooper would say, “satirical – whatever that means,” pieces of humor, don’t be greedy.  Be tasteful and share the link(s) on Facebook, on Twitter or using the comment box below and we’ll put it to a vote at the end of every month.

Until next time…

Take a hearty dose of laughter once a day and send me your links ASAP.

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Are you the one person in the world who doesn’t mind not getting your way?

I didn’t think so.

I love getting my way too and it’s not impossible if you invoke Mark Twain’s famous quote: “Get your facts first, and then you can distort them as you please.”

Distortion is a great weapon for all things absurd; denial too, but neither are great for the statistical possibility or reality of getting your way.

The odds of getting your way are much better if you apply the 80-20 principle, or the “law of the vital few.”  Of everything you try to accomplish in a day, this rule gets you your way 80% of the time by doing roughly 20% of the things that really matter to you.

Can you imagine what your life might be like with those odds?  If not, here are 7 secrets that will help you get your way, more often than not.

1. Shad-up and Listen: It’s amazing how much I get what I want since learning to keep my mouth shut and my ears open.  Learning to “bite” my tongue was no small fete.  I was quick with the quips, but the more I practice staying quiet, the more I listen – actively.  It doesn’t count if I’m forming a response in my brain while the other person is talking.  When I catch myself responding this way internally that is code for being defensive; a nerve has been struck, which is precisely why I should be paying attention.

2. Be Honest, Direct and Willing to Apologize: The more I tell the truth, the more I get my way.  I will never please everyone.  Efforts to do so are futile.  No one ends up pleased, least of all me.  But telling the truth earns me trust and respect.  This is especially helpful when dealing with someone I don’t like.  Sometimes I have to deal with them anyway.  Being honest, direct and willing to apologize is not mutually exclusive.  Treating others the way I would like to be treated, gets me my way more often than not.

3. Figure Out What’s Important: I have to use common sense and critical assessment skills to determine my priorities.  What do I want most and what will the repercussions be of getting what I want?  I love an “all you can eat buffet,” but do I have to eat everything in the joint?  I love eating so much that I used to be a “regular” at “Sizzler” – $2.99 All You Can Eat Buffet – can’t beat a couple of juicy steaks and a hearty salad bar for breakfast, lunch and dinner.  Now, I’d rather wait to eat than eat something that doesn’t taste amazing.

4. Do I Want to Be Happy or Right?:  This is tricky.  There can be a subtle twist of irony in distinguishing happy from right.  I am more than happy to take the last verbal jab at my husband before he leaves for work, but is it right?  Well, no.  My “happy” stats have proven that kind of happiness to be as fleeting as the time it takes for him to open and close the door on his way out.  Biting my tongue is a great repellent for getting what I want.  Doing what’s right is my better choice.  It gets me what I want more often than not – prolonged moments of “happy.”

5. Don’t Throw a Temper Tantrum: There is nothing worse than a poor sport – except, a full grown adult being a poor sport and having a temper tantrum.  It’s silliness.  In the final match at Wimbledon in 1981, John McEnroe made history for his “You cannot be serious” outburst.   The umpire “awarded” a point against McEnroe.  I decided to start throwing my tennis racquet after that.  “It’s cool,” I thought.  “If the number one seed in the world can do it, so can I.”  That worked – until my racquet (wood back then) cracked in half after doing it the first time.  Not only did I look like an idiot, I got disqualified for poor sportsmanship!  I “awarded” myself by discarding all of my “McEnroe-like, terry-cloth, head sweatbands” after that!

6. Consider Timing: Timing is everything.  Just because I have information, doesn’t mean I need to disclose it.  It doesn’t mean I shouldn’t disclose it, either.  Getting my way means being patient and using information wisely – that is, does it serve a good purpose and does it have to be said now and by me?  Will it help my friend if I tell her what I know, or is it fodder for gossip?  If I have to hurt someone to get what I want, I don’t deserve to get it.  What I want and what I need are two entirely different matters.

7. Have a Sense of Humor: Like a balloon releasing air, humor has been and still is the greatest antidote for diffusing and disarming defensive situations.

Homework:

Huh?

Try out one of these tips for yourself this week.  If you need a good place to start, try #6: Consider Timing – “Does disclosing this information serve a good purpose, does it have to be said by me and does it have to be said now?  Let me know how it goes.

In the meantime, if any of these tips were helpful, let me know in the comment section below and/or share this article with friends through e-mail, Twitter or Facebook.

Until next time, here’s to peace, metta and the humorously absurd.

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My decision making process can be summed up simply.

I don’t have to decide anything right this second.

Most likely, I don’t even have to decide today.

What I need to do is determine what’s important and by important, I mean I have to take my ego out of the equation so I can be as objective as possible.

Without exception, making a decision under pressure has always resulted in regret.  If it’s “now or never,” I’ll take never any day.  Never can be negotiated.

If I have until the “cows come home,” my decision will still boil down to two choices, always (or variations of the same theme): right or wrong, good or better, love or fear, etc.

After gathering information and eliminating the worst case scenario first, my final decision rests unequivocally on this: What is the most loving, kind, and/or practical choice I can make despite the bruising of my big, fat ego.

Regardless of outcomes (that I never have control over) which choice will serve the greater good?  Which choice will allow me to maintain my truth and integrity and cause the least amount of harm to myself and others?

What would my best friend do; my husband, my sister, someone I admire?  I use to pretend to be Oprah.  Then Ellen.

“Would Ellen say this?”  Not if it’s mean.

“Would Oprah?”  Yes, if it were true.

There are obvious differences between Ellen and Oprah.  One is super funny; the other one, not so much.  (Sorry, Ellen.)  But even if the truth hurts they tell it like it is; what needs to be said versus what someone wants to hear.

Now I just try to be who I AM; my best me.  It’s not a perfect science, but my 7-Easy-to-Follow-Rules for making healthy decisions quickly and without regret have provided me symptoms of inner peace over and over again.

1. Gather Information: Knowledge is power.  Gather as much of it as you can so you’re empowered to make a well-informed decision.  Don’t be afraid of differing opinions.  Listen, be flexible.  Be creative and think outside the “box.”  Don’t shrink in fear.
2. Weigh your options: Play out every scenario.  Start with the worst case first and work backwards.  After processing and eliminating, you’ll be prepared to look at the biggest risk, but a carefully calculated one.  Forget your ego, forget the outcomes.  Be unafraid.
3. Trust your gut: It’s that nagging little voice that, like a “Whack-A-Mole,” keeps popping up no matter how many times you whack it down.  That “voice” is a variation of the same theme: God, the Holy Spirit, conscience, intuition, instinct, your mother.  (Listen to your mother.)   Regardless of what you call “it,” it’s a red flag.  The one you flew from the get-go that is now at half-mast and banner sized, flapping you across the face with the words: “I’m an idiot!  What if…”   Stop.  Surrender.  Throw up the white flag.  Avoid regret by knowing what you can change and knowing what you can’t.  In the space of those dualities is the courage needed to set healthy boundaries.  Healthy boundaries will introduce you to wisdom and give you a moment’s peace.
4. Play nice or go home: Really, do you have to be mean?  Think of someone you admire.  What would he/she do?  Or, write a letter that you don’t send, or, call a trusted friend who won’t mistake your venting for gossip, but don’t mistake a “frenemy” for a friend.  “Frenemies” want you to get ahead in life – as long as you stay behind them.  A friend finds joy in your personal success.  We are meant to cooperate.  There’s no competition when it comes to being who you are, is there?  Choose kindness and compassion.
5. Take action: Indecision is deciding to do nothing.  That’s the worst decision of all.  Life is short.  Have the conviction to act on the thing that scares you most.  Accepting who I AM is all I have.  It’s my heart’s imprint.  Stamp your action with heart and have the conviction to be the “I Am” in you.  You don’t have to apologize for who you are.  
6. Laugh: Have a sense of humor – even in the face of fear.  Fear hates that.  You did the best you could with the information you had.  The more you practice these steps, the more you’ll trust the process.  The more you trust the process, the more skilled you become in your discernment.  The better your discernment, the quicker you decide.  The quicker you decide, the more efficient you are.  The more efficient you are, the more sleep you get.  The more sleep you get, the more rested you are to make healthy decisions without regret.  I love sleeping.
7. Reflection and self-examination: I spent years making decisions out of fear; taking no responsibility for my actions.  Blaming everyone and everything was easier, but the consequences always caught up to me.  If only I knew then, what I know now.

As Mark Twain said, “Life would be infinitely happier if we could only be born at the age of eighty and gradually approach eighteen.”

I’m sure all my readers would love to hear other tips on how you make healthy decisions without regret.  Please share them in the comment box and if you need some help because you’re stuck between choices, let us know that too. 

The decision to act is always yours. 

To peace, metta and the humorously absurd.

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