I am not impressed

I've never been a morning person. For as long as I can remember, the night has been my friend. I like late dinners, late movies, late concerts. I stay up late, go to bed late and whenever possible—usually not by choice—sleep late.

One thing I don't like late at night: email.

Here's the thing. Whenever I get one, I know that somewhere, some account person I work with is up way past their bedtime and pay grade, relaying what they believe to be an essential piece of information on something that barely matters to me at 10am, much less 2am.

By the way, I use "account person" as the example because like aliens, unicorns and the holy grail, I've never seen a late night email from a creative person. At that time of night, we're busy, you know, creating.

It's like when I watch a high speed chase on the news, I always ask the same question about the drivers: "What do they think is going to happen?" People who send work emails in the middle of the night are those drivers. And I ask the same question every time I get one.

I don't know if the 3am time stamp on emails is supposed to let me know that they're a conscientious worker, an insomniac, someone with a serious lack of priorities or maybe a little of each.

When someone says "Can I ask you a question?" I tell them, "Sure, you can ask. But it doesn't mean you'll get an answer."

That's especially true if you're asking at 3 in the morning.

Glass slipper

While it's not a picture of my foot, it may as well be. Here's what happened.

About nine days ago, I woke up in the middle of the night with a craving for cold, clear, healthy water from the dispenser in our refrigerator. I'm absolutely sure it had nothing to do with the leftover cheesecake that was also in there. No one's under oath here. Anyway, somewhere on the well worn path between the bedroom and kitchen, I stepped on a small piece of glass. Funny how that'll wake you right up.

I reached down, pulled it out of my foot, threw it away and continued on to the cheesecake. Excuse me, water.

Fast forward to last night. I came home from having lunch with my great friend Carrie (Petros in Manhattan Beach - chicken souvlaki is the hot tip), got out of the car, set my foot down and could barely walk. I managed to make it into the house, fell into one of our living room chairs (the one without the dog on it), and stayed there most of the night.

Since the glass stepping happened a week and half ago, and I'd been fine since, I didn't give it a second thought. Instead, I figured it was the new orthotics I'd gotten about five days ago and was still getting used to.

Whatever it was, it hurt like hell. And the bad news is that I was supposed to leave with young Mr. Spielberg for Comic Con this morning.

However, it was not the pain-free foot morning I'd hoped for. I was going to tough it out and just go - always a good idea with four days of walking and standing in lines ahead - but the wife put her foot down (SWIDT?), insisting I call my podiatrist and get it seen.

So my son drove down to Comic Con with his friend Austin at 7 this morning, and I saw my doctor at 10.

My foot was clearly swollen, with a redness emanating out in a circle from one spot on my foot. He pressed the center of the spot, and I believe there may still be a hole in his ceiling where I went through.

So he decided to scrape my foot, which is exactly what it sounds like.

Scraping skin off the bottom of my foot, he wasn't having any luck finding anything. Then, he stopped for a moment and said, "Ah, there it is - don't move." I didn't move, and he got a tweezer-looking thing and pulled out a small chunk of the glass I'd stepped on nine days ago.

I couldn't believe it. He said if I'd come down here to the Con with it, I probably would've wound up in the ER with a fever and nasty infection. Instead, he got it out, gave me an antibiotic to take if it didn't feel better by the end of today (which it does) and suggested I soak it in hot water with epsom salt (just finished my second soaking).

Fortunately tonight was Preview Night at Comic Con, so I didn't miss much except walking the exhibition hall, which I couldn't have done anyway.

My son and his friend scored tickets to the world premiere of Star Trek: Beyond, so that's where they are tonight. My excellent friend Dale is here, so he met me at the Fox Sports Grill in the hotel and we had dinner (it didn't involve walking, just an elevator ride).

With my foot feeling considerably better, the Con will start for real for me tomorrow.

I still don't know what broke in our house or where that piece of glass came from.

But I think the lesson is don't have cheesecake leftovers, and I won't have to walk to the kitchen.

Dave

There's this friend of mine who's a writer and also writes a blog. Well, sometimes he writes a blog. A lot of the time he just captions pictures. But he's putting it out there and often the captions are quite funny. It all counts - at least he's making the effort.

Which, if you read this blog on a regular basis, know that's something I rarely do.

Anyway, like many other blogs including this one, he posted about David Letterman today. Here's one of the things he said about Dave when he left Late Night at NBC: "But then the real Dave moved to CBS, and the middle of the road with his humor and he lost a step. And he lost me."

I'd agree with him, except then we'd both be wrong.

I don't believe he lost a step. I think it's clear he found his footing. I'm sorry he lost you pal, because that means you missed some of the best, most subversive and defiant comedy ever put on network television.

Dave's master plan was always to bring his brand of innovation, lunacy and comedy to a wider audience. That audience's address was 11:30. After he was wrongfully denied the Tonight Show (and by the way, if you're calling anyone's humor middle-of-the-road you might want to start with Jay Leno), executive Howard Stringer at CBS gave Dave the platform and freedom to do his show his way.

A lot of it meant bringing over staples from the NBC show (Top Ten List, Stupid Pet Tricks, Stupid Human Tricks, Jack Hanna). But since NBC claimed the intellectual property rights and threatened to sue - which turned out to be an empty threat - Dave was forced to do something he would've done anyway: continually stretch the boundaries of what a talk show could be.

I'd argue he did more innovations to the format and pushed the boundaries - sometimes to the breaking point - more in the CBS years than ever before that.

The beauty of it was that unlike the boot-licking, let's not offend anyone host Leno became, Dave was always Dave. If he didn't like a guest, we knew it. And if he loved a guest (I'm looking at you Julia Roberts), we knew that too.

On a personal note, when Paris Hilton appeared on the show just after her release from prison, Dave made a point of repeatedly asking about her ordeal. I don't think she'd been that uncomfortable since someone accidentally called her smart in the fifth grade. It's some of the finest eight minutes ever aired. You can see it here.

Yes, Dave went from sports coats and sneakers to suits and leather shoes (still with white socks though). If you're going to live at 11:30 you have to dress for the occasion. It wasn't just college kids and stoners watching anymore. It was the world.

Jay Leno built a career out of copying bits, routines and ideas Letterman had years before. Maybe that's why there is no Jay Leno legacy, aside from mediocre political jokes. There were no tributes. There was no emotional investment in Jay Leno. He didn't influence a generation of performers in the way Dave did. Once he was gone, he was forgotten.

Something no one will ever be able to say about Dave.