Back-to-back Tonys

I’ve often said my wife has a criminal mind. She’s demonstrated that many, many times in the course of our long, solid, loving, wonderful marriage (Ding! Ding! Ding! Marriage points!).

In the traditions we’ve come to cherish as a couple, one we always look forward to every couple of years is our binge of The Sopranos. Romantic, amIrite?

We recently finished this year’s viewing, but here’s where things took a turn. The minute we saw the very last scene in the final, controversial episode, she turned to me and said, “Meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me, and being married to you makes me the luckiest girl in the world!”

Nah, I’m just funnin’ ya. She said let’s watch it again. The wife wanted to watch The Sopranos start to finish again after we’d just watched it start to finish.

What’reyougonnado?

So back to the beginning we went. This time, she took a deep dive, listening to the Talking Sopranos podcast with Michael Imperioli, who played Christopher Moltesanti, and Steven Schirripa who played Bobby Baccalieri.

This allowed her to give me the play-by-play and behind-the-scenes inside story to each episode we rewatched, while we were watching it.

And who doesn't love someone telling a story and talking over the tv when you're trying to watch one of your favorite shows.

Now, as you may know if you’ve followed this blog for any amount of time — and if you have, you might want to reconsider your priorities in life — I’ve binged Breaking Bad a crazy number of times (16). But Breaking Bad is a solo binge for me, because the wife finds that show too dark.

However, she has no problem at all with the plethora of inventive murders, strangulations, cursing, dismembering, horse-burning (we still miss you Pie-O-My), car crashes, strippers, raw sex, nudity and drug addiction portrayed on The Sopranos.

Now that I think about it, that either makes me the luckiest guy in the world, or someone who needs to sleep with one eye open.

What did I miss

Did you miss me? Just kidding. It's a rhetorical question. I know the answer.

I missed you too. What I didn’t miss was any of the social media I’ve been on a cleanse from for the last three weeks.

Alright, maybe I missed it a little.

But you'll be glad to hear I went against all my only child instincts, the ones that scream I can do what I want because the world revolves around me, and stayed strong. I didn’t cave to temptation. I kept my scrolling thumbs otherwise engaged with chores like typing, turning pages on actual books (I’ll never use an e-reader, don’t get me started) and of course the remote since I used some of my reclaimed time to binge The Sopranos, start The Rehearsal and finish the latest season of For All Mankind.

Now that I've tried this little experiment, I’ve learned I can live quite well without Facebook, Twitter and Instagram. Having said that, there are events in the world I do want to comment on in real time. Like the can't-happen-fast-enough inevitable indictment of Cadet Bone Spurs.

So I’m moving on to what I like to call the second phase of my cleanse. Behavior modification.

While moderation and I have never made good roommates—Breaking Bad sixteen times, Springsteen over 70 times, The Godfather a gazillion times, the craps tables at the Venetian more times than I remember, Disney's Tower of Terror fourteen times in a row—I’m going to give it another go.

My new regimen, like brushing my teeth and walking the dogs, will be twice a day. Once in the morning, and again in the early evening, a few hours before bedtime to make sure I'm still not seeing the iPhone screen on the inside of my eyelids when I close my eyes to hitch a ride to dreamland (another thing I can use my thumbs for).

I’ll also be challenging myself to limit my two daily scrolls to fifteen minutes each, which to my new way of thinking gives me more than enough time to read through new posts, wish everyone happy birthday and anniversary, reply to all with the clever snark, razor-sharp wit, keen insight and borrowed memes you’ve come to expect from me. Then I'll sign off.

That’s right. To make it just a little less appealing, I'll be logging in and out each and every time I go online. No point in leaving the apps open and tempting temptation.

And if I'm bored during the hours in between—say waiting in a doctor's office, standing in line or wondering why curbside service is taking so damn long to bring my burger out to the car—I'll just find something else to occupy my time.

So it's official. Starting today, I’m back baby. Go ahead, hit the smiley emoji, read the hashtags and AMA.

Rediscovering Raymond

Here’s how our sitcom rotation goes (I like using the word “rotation” for obvious reasons).

It started with nightly mini-binges of Seinfeld. Every night from 10 to 11pm, channel 13 runs back-to-back episodes, and the wife and I would watch them while we were struggling to arrange the five-thousand pillows on the bed before falling asleep (don’t get me started).

The problem is in that particular syndication package, there are only a limited number of episodes, which means they keep running the same ones over and over. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. It’s just that they're not as funny when you see it for the tenth time within three weeks.

So we made the move from the corner restaurant to Central Perk. Nick At Nite fills their evening lineup with episode after episode of Friends from about 8pm to midnight every night. Could it be more entertaining?

But while NAN runs more Friends episodes, if you watch them long enough you wind up with the same issue. So we decided to pivot and take a break from Friends.

While we were using the clicker to run down the channels to see what else we could binge, we discovered every evening at 8pm TV Land runs a whole bunch of Everybody Loves Raymond. It was like striking comedy gold. We’d forgotten how out-and-out hilarious, relatable and pitch perfect Raymond is. It ran for 9 years, and though it's not often mentioned in the same breath as those other two sitcoms, it's one of the best and funniest that ever was.

One of the ways you can tell how brilliant it is on every level is the fact many of the most hilarious scenes take place with the five main characters—Ray (Ray Romano), Debra (Patricia Heaton), Frank (Peter Boyle), Marie (Doris Roberts) and Robert (Brad Garrett)—just sitting on the couch or at the kitchen table just talking. Not walking around, not gesturing wildly, not being contrived. Just talking.

It’s testimony to the brilliant writing and talent of this finely tuned cast.

I know Seinfeld is a staple for a lot of people, and what with the reunion, the sad, not so funny reunion, it’s been the year of Friends again. But if you're looking for some genuine laughs you didn't even know you had, I can’t recommend enough that you drop in on the Barone family.

As Frank would say, "Holy crap is that a funny show!"

Podcast news

If you’re anything like me—and if you are you really need to set your sights higher—you’re always on the lookout for new ways to entertain yourself. I was like that before the covid, and my search has only intensified since.

Since the lockdown or stay at home or isolating ourselves or whatever this Twilight Zone time we’re living in began, like everyone else I’ve done more than my share of Netflix, Hulu, Amazon Prime Video, Disney+ and AppleTV viewing.

In fact, I’ve been streaming so much my urologist has me on speed dial! BAM! Thanks so much, I’ll be here all week. Tip your waitress. You’ve been a great crowd.

Anyway, having blown through The Crown, The Morning Show, The Queen's Gambit, Jeffrey Epstein Filthy Rich, Servant, The Hunters, Broadchurch, Dead To Me, Ted Lasso, For All Mankind, The Vow, The Last Dance, Defending Jacob, The Rookie, several Dave Chappelle specials, Jim Gaffigan specials, John Mulaney specials, Bruce Springsteen’s Letter To You (surprise!), Breaking Bad (binge 14 if you’re keeping count), American Murder, The Great British Baking Show and several others I can’t even remember, I decided it was time to look for other forms of amusement since covid doesn’t look like it’s wrapping anytime soon.

There was a joke going around last year that if you didn’t start a podcast in 2020 you were never going to start one. I was thinking about that, and thought I’d look and see how I could expand my podcast repertoire.

I sampled a lot of them, and listen to two of them regularly.

First is Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me (WWDTM), the NPR game show that has three different panelists each week, usually comedians or comedy writers, answering questions about current events and playing the game with callers. It’s extremely funny, timely and always enjoyable.

The other one is The Al Franken Podcast. Former comedian and senator, Franken has guests from both the worlds of entertainment and politics, and reminds me every Sunday what a brilliant mind and champion for justice the senate lost.

If you want proof, just listen to the episode of the questions he would’ve asked Amy Coney Barrett had he been at the confirmation hearings.

But my latest podcast binge—because apparently that’s the only way I know how to listen or watch anything—is Smartless.

Here’s the drill: each week, Jason Bateman, Sean Hayes and Will Arnett get together and insult each other. Also, one of them brings along a guest the other two don’t know about, and hilarity ensues. It is a seriously funny, laugh out loud, good time.

So far I’ve listened to the episodes with Bryan Cranston, Martin Short, Sarah Silverman, James Corden, Conan O’Brien, Ron Howard, Kamala Harris, Reese Witherspoon and Ricky Gervais. I’m about to start the one with Stacy Abrams.

I cannot recommend this podcast enough. Give it a listen, thank me later.

If I’m being honest, and of course no one’s under oath here, I was also thinking about starting a podcast of my own. I wouldn’t want to do it by myself though, especially since Smartless has shown me the many benefits and humorous possibilities of having partners to play off of.

Maybe I’ll see if can cajole my pal Rich Siegel over at Round Seventeen to do one with me.

Instead of Smartless, we could call it Smartass.

Getting the hang of Parenthood

Like many shows that've become favorites over the years, I got my first glimpse of Parenthood thanks to my wife. I'd caught a little bit of one episode she was watching, and I decided to binge the entire series with her (I know, so out of character for me).

It's an exceptional series.

If you've been following this blog for any amount of time, I think it's safe to say we know one thing about me: I'm a sap. So the idea of a show that leaves me in a reduced state of blubbering like a baby and searching for the Kleenex every week is right up my alley.

What the show gets so right is everything about what being a parent means - wanting the best for your kids, sharing their frustrations, soaring at their successes, the day-to-day frustrations that come with the job of being a parent. It also speaks to the unending ties of family, which, being an only child, I related to less but found myself wishing I'd had three siblings. That doesn't happen often. Ok, never.

The show's produced by Ron Howard and Brian Grazer, and is based on the Howard's movie of the same name. The cast, writing and direction would be exceptional for a cable network like HBO or Showtime, but they're extraordinary for network television.

Craig T. Nelson, or as I like to call him, Mr. Incredible, is the patriarch of the Braverman family. And he is magnificent. Bonnie Bedalia, or Holly McClane from Die Hard, is his wife. Peter Krause, Lauren Graham, Dax Shepard and Erika Christensen play their adult children. The show's pedigree is remarkable, and the chemistry between all of them is genuine.

Because I'm late to the party on a lot of shows, Netflix is a beautiful thing. Especially when you can find six seasons of a show the caliber Parenthood just waiting to be discovered. Of course, the problem with bingeing six seasons in a row is once it's over, you're hungry to find the next series to commit to.

But like I said, I'm late to a lot of parties. Hello Arrested Development.

Exit strategy

This is the good part of freelance. And the bad part.

This week, I wrap up four months at the agency I was booked at for five. Whole other post.

Anyway, what it means is it's time to start planning my exit strategy, something I've done many times before. It's never the same routine, but it does involve many of the same components.

I'll begin by sending out a few emails. Then I'll graduate to a little dialing for dollars, you know, the personal touch. And of course, a little social network networking is always a good thing. This is what it looks like to me as Friday rapidly approaches.

Once Friday is past, I know from experience my priorities will shift, and my first week off will begin to look a little different.

First order of business will be a long overdue lunch with my great friend Carrie. Then, as long as everyone's working and I'm not, perhaps a matinee or two are in order, just to stay current. Of course, we all know Breaking Bad isn't going to binge itself again, so I'll have to - yes, have to - devote a few hours to that. If there's nothing else to do, I may read Siegel's book again. Then there's always all those things I was going to do over the Christmas break that still need tending to.

The way it usually goes is when I'm finally ready to tackle those odd jobs that've been piling up around the house, I'll get booked for a gig and have to put them on the back burner. Again.

Here's the thing: I'm not one of those people who goes crazy when they're not working. I can not work with the best of them. I put the call out to the universe, and so far it's always answered with fun, lucrative, challenging gigs and a vast selection...er...large number...um....wide variety....ok, a few great people to work with at each agency.

Of course, once the call to the universe is out, I hope I don't have to answer it at least until I'm done with Season 5.

It's getting wheel

Every once in a while it occurs to me how out of shape I am. I try not to dwell on it too much, because then I feel bad about downing a pint of Americone Dream while bingeing Breaking Bad for the sixth time.

And who wants to feel bad.

Besides, digging that spoon into the frozen ice cream is a workout. Technically.

Anyway, what brought all this on was the fact my friend Kurt and his wife are going on a ride this weekend. A bike ride. Around Lake Tahoe. A hundred miles around Lake Tahoe.

When he first told me about it, I thought it'd be the perfect way to get back in shape. When I lived in Santa Monica, I used to ride my bike on the bike path every weekend on a thirty-mile round trip to Redondo Beach.

I like riding a bike. I'd be back into it in a heartbeat.

The plan was to train with them for eighteen weeks, make the ride, then feel this enormous sense of accomplishment and well-being.

But eighteen Saturdays of training were just something I couldn't commit to, what with kids' schedules, college tours, school concerts and unopened Cherry Garcia to take care of.

So here we are at the weekend of the ride. While in years past the weather's been beautiful for the ride, this weekend it's all thunderstorms and heavy rain at the lake.

Or as I like to call it, perfect weather to stay home and binge on a show about drug kingpins and the destruction of their family.

I hope Kurt and his wife are careful out there, and have a great ride.

Even though I'm not with them in person, I'm there in spirit. And if it's any consolation, they've inspired me to map out a course for getting on my own road back into shape.

Right after I finish Season 4. Again.

Throw the book at 'em

Now that most television shows have aired their season finales, the question is what do I do with all the extra time I'll have on my hands.

There are always the go-to programs like a 6th binge of Breaking Bad, or a 2nd binge of House Of Cards. There are shows I never made time for like Treme and Shameless.

But I was thinking maybe it's time to tackle a more intellectual pursuit. Reading. Schopenhauer once said, "We buy books because we believe we're buying the time to read them." If that's true, I've bought myself a lot of time.

On the nightstand next to my side of the bed, which with a wife and two dogs is getting increasingly smaller by the minute, is no less than 27 unread books. I bought every one of them with the intention of cracking it open when I got home from Barnes & Noble.

And yes, I still buy books and I still go to bookstores. Never read a book on an e-reader, never will.

Here's the thing: I go on book jags. I don't read one for a while, then I plow through six or seven in a row. Even when I'm short on time, when I'm on one of the jags I make a point of reading a chapter when I wake up and one before I go to sleep.

Admittedly it requires discipline. Which explains the giant stack of unread books by the bed.

But I've been at a place for a while where not only do I know how Walt and Jessie wind up, I also know every event, character and line of dialogue that gets them there. So it's time to read.

Maybe I'll start with Walt Whitman's Leaves Of Grass, the collection of poems Hank was reading in Gliding Over All, the eighth episode of the fifth season of Breaking Bad. The one where he's on the toilet when he discovers Walt is actually Heisenberg.

Alright, maybe one more binge and then I'll get started on the books.