Skin Deep with John Ritter

The all-knowing "they" say it's wrong to speak ill of the dead, but what about simply speaking the truth? If the truth (which is often stranger than fiction) happens to reveal illicit and unflattering information, should it be suppressed simply because the offender is deceased? 

It is in that spirit I recount the following sordid encounter with John Ritter, not for its salacious aspects, but as a seeker and speaker of truth. I relay these facts with no disrespect intended, based solely on my recollection and perspective.

Prior to marrying Amy Yasbeck, when John was married to Nancy Morgan (his first wife), it was well-known in certain circles that this beloved family man was a womanizing lech. This statement is not based on rumor, but through personal experience. Hey, why do you think his performance in "Skin Deep" was so good?

It was the mid-1990s, and I was out for a drink at Stanley's (a now defunct bar in Sherman Oaks). John had brought his brother Tom in for an impromptu mini-bachelor party, since Tom was getting married that weekend. John started to flirt with me and invited me to sit at their table. At one point, he leaned in as if to whisper something in my ear. I leaned in to hear what he had to say... and the creep stuck his tongue in my ear and started licking. 

I was disgusted and mortified, I didn't know how to handle that moment. I mean, what do you do? Slap John Ritter? Throw a drink on him? I just pulled away uncomfortably and pretended it didn't happen. As the night wore on, he became more drunk, and more lecherous... groping me. Believe me, I was not flattered. It shattered my illusion that he was the "nice guy" as painted in the media. Here was this married man, father of three kids, who was drunk in a bar sticking his tongue in a young woman's ear.

The party wore down. We all went outside and said goodnight. I drove home to my apartment. About 10 minutes later, my buzzer rang and it was John! He had followed me home. How awkward... I told him that, while I was flattered, I would never compromise my morals to be with a married man, famous or not. He was impressed that I turned him down, and we sat and talked until he sobered up enough to drive. John  scribbled his name and phone number for "Hearts Afire" on a memo pad, and offered to get me a job on the show. (I never did take him up on that.)

As he was leaving, I mentioned that Tom had invited me to the weekend's dinner at the Bombay Bicycle Club in Burbank, and said that if John felt awkward, I wouldn't attend. He insisted that I should go, and I did. It was rather brazen of me at the time to sit with a group of people that included John and his wife Nancy. Three was definitely a crowd that evening.

Ah well, I can add the experience to the list of strange celebrity encounters I've had through the years while living in Los Angeles. Yes, there were others, and perhaps I'll get around to writing a book or blogging about them as well. Should I have shtupped John Ritter? Nah.

Mel Gibson: Copping to it or copping out?

It's not exactly clear just how far Mel Gibson's anti-Semitism goes. One source says that he had turned down the Michael Douglas role in "Jewel of the Nile" because "Jew" was in the title. He is also quoted as saying that he thought Hebrew was something a guy does to make coffee. Gibson also thought that Juddhaism was a worship of all things Judy Garland, because he is anti-gay.

Baconizing Craig Ferguson on the Strip

No, "baconizing Craig Ferguson" is not a sexual act. Last week I celebrated my birthday by going to Vegas with a friend to see Craig Ferguson at the deteriorating Tropicana. I have thoughts about that show which I'll share at another time, although I will mention that Ferguson spent quite a bit of his act talking about his rather large penis. Hey, I wouldn't know. I'm just telling you what he talked about, over and over and over, kind of like a floundering Vegas comedian who needs to rely on cheap jokes to get laughs from an audience that's been drinking cheap wine in the casino. I think he took performing "on the strip" just a little too literally with the penis jokes.

Anyway, as my friend and I were walking past some slot machines towards the show room, I was observing how my brain had just gone through several steps over dinner getting from point A to completely unrelated point E, and how magnificant the human mind is when it comes to connecting seemingly dissimilar dots.

At that moment, I invented a new word for our lexicon. BACONIZE. A verb. The act of connecting nonsequiturs, seemingly unrelated thought processes, people, events, ideas, situations or items, through a series of six or less shared connections, as in the six degrees of Kevin Bacon. [Also see Baconization - the act or result of baconizing.]

In describing to my friend how I came up with an idea, I took him through the preceding nonsequiturs that brought my brain to that particular thought, and commented that I had "Baconized" the steps. Most people associate baconization with linking actor names together, but really the method works for just about anything.

So what does this have to do with Craig Ferguson? Well as it turns out, I am connected to him by only two degrees of separation. While at the aforementioned Vegas show, my friend and I sat across from two ladies who work at the same emergency animal hospital where I had taken my dog one evening, and they had saved his life. In conversing with the one lady, I mentioned that I would love to meet Ferguson. She then revealed to me that she took care of his dogs and knew his ex-wife Sascha! I couldn't believe my good luck, until... she told me about Ferguson's much younger girlfriend who wasn't particularly bright. I expressed surprise that CF wouldn't want an intelligent woman such as myself.

The veterinarian responded that CF's ego was so big that he'd be threatened by a smart, funny woman. You could hear the thud as my jaw hit the floor. Needless to say, I saw him with a totally new perspective as I watched his act that evening, straining my neck up and twisted sideways from my front row center table seat. As CF rambled on about his fat porker, all I could think of was...

Katie Holmes Held Hostage!

It's true. The whole TomKat thing is a sham. The whole Oprah couch thing was a ruse. In love? Puh-leez. From day one, this was clearly a marketing machine and more of Scientology's attempts to brainwash the public. Poor Katie, someone found out that as a child she said, "I'm going to marry Tom Cruise when I grow up," and they took advantage of that young girl's fantasy." Let's have a raising of hands? How many of you actually believe that Tom and Katie are for real? Look at Katie's expression in the photo. It's as if she's saying - Please rescue me from this brainwashing mind-controlling cult. She's always a few steps behind him. He's always gripping her hand tightly, pulling her along.

Tom is threatening to sue US magazine for allegedly fabricating this whole "it's over" rumor. Come on, Tom. How are we supposed to take you seriously? It wasn't that long ago that you and the other Cruz were pretending to be head over heels.

And how does Katie explain the baby? She was very vocal in interviews, claiming to be a virgin, and saying she wouldn't have sex until she was married. Now she's given birth to Tom Cruise's baby, and they're not married? What's up with that? They have this baby (named Suri) in the privacy of a house, not in a hospital, with only Scientologists attending.  As Alice would say, "Curiouser and curiouser."

Girth Brooks' Body Language Said "I Don't"

Trisha Yearwood and Garth Brooks did their first TV appearance as a married couple on Oprah the other day. It's his second marriage, and her third.

During the interview, Brooks revealed that he and his daughters have a bedtime confessional ritual called "The Honesty Club." They turn out all the lights, light a candle, and make a vow that "whatever's said in the club, stays in the club.'' I guess it's Nashville's answer to Vegas. Oh wait, that's Branson.

For now, he's allegedly retired from the music business until his youngest reaches the age of 18. Of course, Celine, Cher, Barbra and others have manipulated the gullible public by staging supposed farewell concerts, only to enjoy the hype of comebacks a few years later. So I'm sure Garth is not permanently out to pasture.

Speaking of cows, although I shouldn't criticize out-of-shape people since menopause temporarily supersized me, it does seem that Garth's girth has expanded since being with his zaftig new spouse. Hey Kirstie Alley, when you're done losing those last pounds, give Jenny's number to Garth and Trisha. Maybe they can get a 2-for-1 discount.

Anyway, as an analyst of human behavior, dissector of subtextual between-the-lines interpretation and all things unsaid, I'll tell you what struck me more than anything in this televised celebration of love and marriage on Oprah ... body language.

Garth was far from laid-back, or should I say he was far from Trisha, sitting on the edge of the couch in an awkward sideways position. At one point, Trisha slid her hand towards him on the couch, and instead of taking it, he pulled his further away. The gesture was unmistakable. Whether it was subconscious or not, it spoke volumes.

The entire interview seemed strained. Forced. Awkward. Unnatural. Uncomfortable. Not unlike this paragraph. As if they had something to prove (or disprove). Trisha rarely smiled. Garth kept his distance. For all their efforts to appear as a happy couple, their bodies spoke another language. I'm guessing that when he and Trisha got home from Oprah, there was some honesty goin' on in the club that night.

Garth's apparent lack of enthusiasm about his recent nuptials was quite the antithesis to Tom Cruise's historic couch incident. Oprah wisely asked Garth if his love for Trisha somehow invalidated his marriage to Sandy. She used Tom Cruise as the example, because Tom was once head over heels for Nicole Kidman. And then it was Penelope Cruz (who is now with Matthew McConaughey). And now he's marrying Katie Holmes out of wedlock.

Or you could use the example of Brad Pitt who cheated on gentle Jennifer Aniston for Mia Farrow wannabe Angelina Jolie who once loved her alleged wife-beating husband Billy Bob Thornton so much that she had his name tattooed on a body part.

Or Julia Roberts who cancelled her wedding (three days before it) to Kiefer Sutherland, temporarily ran off to England with Jason Patric, then married Lyle Lovett (huh?), and now has had twins with hubby cameraman Danny Moder.

Or Renee Zellweger who was married for about two seconds to Kenny Chesney, after supposedly being madly in love with Jim Carrey, who had been devastated by his divorce from Lauren Holly.

Here's a strange one. How about Jeff Goldblum and Geena Davis swapping partners with couple Renny Harlin and Laura Dern? Jeff next dated Laura, and I believe Geena married Renny for a few years.

Dizzy yet?

Certainly it seems that movie stars and music icons switch partners every year, having their own penguin-like march. When Garth kidded that in two years he might be back on the show eating his words, one wondered if he was only half-joking.

For all the fuss and spin about their "I do's," Garth's body language seemed to say "I don't know." But that's okay. What is love in show business anyway, but a match made in P.R. heaven?

Hey Craig, What's Your Sign?

Message for the Craigster... read my lips! Sometimes you need to think before you speak. You've been a bit loopy lately.

You know that habit you have of leaning in at every commercial break and pretending to whisper something in the guest's ear? Well sweetums, it just didn't feel genuine tonight. Why, you ask? Well I'll tell you, since you asked. Had you noticed that guy sitting behind you? That sign language interpreter named Jack Jason (whom you called Jack Jordan)?

What exactly did you whisper into the ear of guest Marlee Matlin?

Trial and Error on Boston Legal

Note to ABC's "Boston Legal," and yes, that means you, David E. Kelley: You are being charged with failure to write plausible storylines and do your due diligence regarding legal procedure.

On the February 14 episode, a teenage rape victim came to the law firm of Crane, Poole & Schmidt, seeking representation. She wanted to sue a Catholic-based hospital for refusing to give her the "morning after" pill in order to prevent her from getting pregnant from the rape.

All reason went out the window when they went to trial within days! That just doesn't happen in the court system. I don't care if you're Denny Crane. You don't get a trial that quickly. First you file a Complaint. Then the defendants have 30 days to file an Answer. Then there are Interrogatories and Pre-Trial Hearings. Then there's the selection of the jury. All of this must occur before a trial commences. The process takes months, or even years. If the defendant is a hospital, trust me, they'll drag out the process for as long as possible.

I'll always cut you some slack simply for giving me my weekly fix of the magnificent and intense James Spader. But as much as I agree with your politics, David, i.e. your liberal agenda on every show, I'd like you to pay a little more attention to details once in a while.

For that matter, while I'm on my soapbox, please stop breaking that fourth wall and being so self-referential. A few weeks ago, Denny Crane (Shatner's comeback character) joined Alan Shore (Spader's role of a lifetime) on the balcony for the tag which has become an enjoyable staple and signature scene. However, I objected to Crane's comment, "I've hardly seen you this episode." That dialogue should've been stricken from the record.

Tell you what, let me get my hands on Spader and his appealing briefs, and I'll settle this in a court of love. I rest my case.

In the Wake of the Wake

Proving once again to be a class act, Craig Ferguson, host of The Late, Late Show (the Craigster to you'n'me) thanked his fans for their overwhelming support after he devoted an entire show to his father's passing, as a wake for those still awake.

Robert Ferguson, a retired postal worker for the UK's Royal Mail (and a whistler like my dad), recently succumbed to the ravages of cancer. The family asks that, in lieu of flowers, donations be made in his name to Dr. A.G. Robertson, Beatson Oncology Centre, Western Infirmary, Dumbarton Road, Glasgow G11 6NT, Scotland. You can also click here for the centre's direct donation page.

And yes, that's a younger picture of my future ex-husband. What a hottie, huh?

Would Woods Get a Woody?

James Woods, accomplished actor, one time aspiring surgeon and yes, MIT dropout (he was steps away from a degree in Political Science when he changed course for acting), appeared on Craig Ferguson's The Late, Late Show, last night. It was a homophobic fest to the point that, if Woods made one more anti-gay comment, I'd swear he's closeted. Really, the man doth protest too much. Why would Woods feel the need to bash gay-themed films? What is he afraid of, getting a woody?

At one point, Craig asked Jimmy if he's a particularly angry man. Although he denied it, I've been to enough industry events to say that he does, in fact, appear to be an unhappy, angry, bitter man. Extremely intelligent and supposedly "well-hung," he is known as a big dick in every sense of the word. (Rumor has it that the combined footage of James Woods, Milton Berle and appropriately named Woody Harrelson would be hard to beat. It's also not surprising that Woods likes the game of poke-her.)

I have seen how condescending and offensive he can be, especially to women. His abusiveness allegedly extends behind closed doors and into the bedroom. While I don't have personal knowledge of his proclivities, a friend of mine had a good friend who was in an intimate relationship with him for awhile, and the stories were as brutal as he allegedly was (is?). Of course, as a disclaimer - my comments are all cloaked as hearsay, unproven rumor, and salacious innuendo.

The kicker to the show was after they showed a lesbian clip from "Imagine Me and You," for the next guest, Piper Perabo. In the clip, Perabo and another actress leaned in for a kiss. Cut to Craig excitedly exclaiming, "Hallo!" Good thing he was behind a desk at that moment. His comment brings me back to the double standard (which I've mentioned in numerous articles already) that grows so tiresome. Craig and Jimmy made countless homophobic cracks regarding gay male storylines, but as a lesbian-themed scene, it was acceptable. What's with that?

Years ago I had a crush on James Woods. I was attracted to his acting talent and tremendous... brain. But after seeing enough of his interviews and his in-person behavior at Hollywood parties, the attraction waned. During tonight's interview, his absence of awareness showed its face when he commented that all gays live in San Francisco, Los Angeles and New York. Woods is living proof that you can be highly intellectual, brilliant, articulate and a wealth of information, and yet still be ignorant.

Sure, movies like Star Wars and Austin Powers made more money than Capote, Brokeback Mountain and TransAmerica. So the fuck what? Just because studios make films that appeal to the lowest common denominator and enable the dumbing down of America, doesn't make it right. If Woods doesn't like the system, then he should go back to MIT, finish his PoliSci degree, and get out of the movie business. Tom Hanks did quite well with Philadelphia. Somehow I don't think Woods needs to worry about anyone offering him a gay role. He lacks the necessary sensitivity to be convincing.

Perhaps the gracious talk show host was trying to be professional and non-confrontational when Woods made his offensive remarks. But when Jimmy gave Craig shit about his lack of poker knowledge and suggested that he was stupid, Craig should've retorted that at least he's secure in his masculinity.

I saw The Big Tease, the gay hairdresser movie that Craig co-wrote, and in which he starred. (Whadda ya know... gay people also live in Scotland.) Could Woods have pulled off that role? No way, girlfriend.

The Late, Late Ferguson (Papa Can You Hear Me?)

First, I would like to offer my deepest condolences to Craig Ferguson, whose father just passed on. The timing couldn't be more ironic for me, or for him...

I also want to apologize for an email I sent to Craig and The Late, Late Show last week, in which I complained about the repeat of shows which recently aired. The last minute repeats were probably covering Craig's unanticipated absence as he flew back to Scotland to be with his dad during his last hours. It proves that one should have all the facts before reaching conclusions... and even then, things are not always as they seem.

On the January 30 show, Craig's poignant monologue was devoted to honoring his father. (Click here to see CBS' online clip.) Watching it has made me love Craig even more. His honest vulnerability and willingness to share his pain reinforced what an outstanding human being he is - and how my first impression of him was more accurate than what I experienced at a taping a few weeks ago.

I missed the homage live, and came to the show just as Amy Yasbeck was welcomed to the stage. Wouldn't you know, this is one show I hope they do repeat. Amy and Craig had a heartfelt discussion of life, death, religion and the afterlife. It was somber and sincere. Amy talked about owning the private grief for the loss of her husband, John Ritter. (I have my own memories of John, fodder for a Shelley Winters-like memoir at some point.)

Anyway, Amy was commenting that Craig's son, Milo, will learn about the grieving process by observing how Craig deals with this loss. The entire segment was a tremendous departure from the typical late night talk show celebrity interview and it renewed my belief in the magic of Craig Ferguson. The segment was also a poignant cap to a 48-hour "message from the universe" which I'm still trying to decipher.

The message began three nights ago when I smelled someone smoking a cigarette right next to me at 2am. I was sitting at my computer and the odor was unmistakable. I had a fleeting thought that perhaps my Dad (who died in 1992) was paying me a visit, but I dismissed the notion quickly, as I have never had any sign of him, despite my desire and search for one.

Sunday night, I was chatting with a client, and we were sharing our sordid dysfunctional childhood memories. The client told me about her mother who just died in December. She recounted a story that led us to "pretend cast" which actors would be good for a movie about her teenage years. I mentioned Debra Winger as a possibility for portraying her mother.

The conversation continued, and I confessed that I wished my Dad would let me know if he was hanging around me. A few minutes later I turned on ABC to catch the last 10 minutes of Desperate Housewives. As fate would have it, the scene was of Eva Longoria's character releasing a balloon, symbolic of the release of her dead baby's spirit. Why was this relevant to me?

Back in 1992, my mother had flown to Los Angeles with my father's ashes, to scatter them on Catalina Island. A friend accompanied me for this event, as I could not be left alone with my mother to protect my sanity (and my mother's life). My mother revealed to me her intention to release a balloon in honor of my father. When I pointed out to her that it needed to be a helium-filled balloon, she dismissed my comment, because she believed I was never right about anything. I insisted again that the balloon would not rise with merely her hot air. She ignored my protestations.

My mother made a little speech, released the balloon... and we all watched as it... abruptly dropped to the ground, bounced a bit and went over the edge into a ravine. I was mortified, but more importantly, a few steps from pushing my mother over that same cliff.

In retrospect, the humor of the moment was something Dad would have appreciated. He was not an emotional man, but he had a tremendous sense of humor and brilliant mind. The last time I spoke to him, three days before he died, was the only time I ever heard Dad cry - and it was the tears of a concerned father, wanting to make sure his only daughter was safe and happy - wanting to tell her that he loved her and was proud of her. I remember releasing Dad in that conversation, letting him know it was okay for him to let go, to die. I lied through my teeth, telling him that my life was wonderful, just so he wouldn't worry about me anymore.

So back to the present - here was this scene of a balloon ceremony. A message from Dad? The next show was Grey's Anatomy, and the storyline centered around the loneliness of Meredith's crazy mother. Another sign? A few hours later the late night movie came on - and it was - Urban Cowboy with Debra Winger! I couldn't believe it. That movie hasn't been on TV in years and there it was, on the same evening where I had just mentioned Winger's name.

What is the universe trying to tell me? Cigarette smoke. A balloon ceremony. A crazy mother. Debra Winger. All validations that somehow I am "tuned in" to something... but what?

And then the kicker. Discovering that Robert Ferguson (Craig's father) has just died. My Dad was also a Robert. Same first name. Even the same last initial.

Perhaps there's more message to come. While I wait, I hope the two Roberts hook up and have a good time - wherever they are. To Craig Ferguson, my soul hugs yours. In time, may your laughter and joie de vivre lessen the pain for you and your family.

Craig Ferguson in Space

Well, my cheeky little monkeys, I took the plunge - literally, with a low neckline and trusty Wonderbra - and attended a taping at CBS Studios of The Late, Late Show with Craig Ferguson. Yes, I've heard the rumors that he's dating Sharon Stone but, honestly, I think it's more of a fetal attraction because they both have kids. While she was once a card-carrying member of Mensa, I think she's now too high maintenance for him. She is, after all, an actress - and an inside source tells me she's a bit neurotic and controlling. I don't care how great she is in bed, Craig has more self-respect than that. Or at least I hope he does. However, after going to the taping and seeing how little he even interacts with the audience, I could be all wrong about him. Ah well, I'll give him a chance to redeem himself if he ever sees this blog and wants to talk about it.

Before they corralled us up two flights in an industrial stairwell to the frigid studio, the Warmup Guy singled me out with the token free mug just for supposedly checking him out. Now while I was flattered by how thoughtful the gesture was... I mean, who doesn't need another coffee mug? I wanted to trade it in for what was behind door number three: a one-on-one with The Craigster. Ok, I don't know if anyone has called him The Craigster, but it just slipped out as I was typing.

Anyway, I scored a seat that was front row center, sure that I'd catch The Craigster's eye at least a few times, you know, gesture to him with a sideways hang ten symbol next to my ear indicating that he should call me. So Warmup Guy did his warmup bit, but I was already hot... or as The Craigster admitted to his first guest, in heat. But I'll get to that in a moment.

As I was saying, Warmup Guy (what was his name?) made a point of telling us that the success of the show depended on us... that the viewers at home are the real audience, and that we, in the studio, were there to elevate the experience with boisterous laughter (when appropriate). We were encouraged to show The Craigster that we "had his back." Well, honey, I had his front, if you know what I mean.

They got us up on our feet for his grand entrance. I didn't need any prompting to be enthusiastic - I was almost up close and not quite personal with him as he found his monologue mark. He looked fantastic in an olive green suit with black shirt. His perfect features are just as perfect in person. Those eyes are blue and twinkle with mischief. Ok, so I was getting damp. I admit it. He launched into the monologue and it was funnier than usual. Better material, better writing, better delivery, better energy. There was a lot of physical humor interspersed with the jokes. His timing is improving every week, and he knows how to take that "beat," much the way Carson did. In fact, I've always felt that CF is the only late night talk show host who can fill Carson's shoes.

The audience was particularly rowdy, largely composed of Texans celebrating their Rose Bowl victory against USC the night before. Craig called USC the "University of Spoiled Children." Seems I've heard that joke, but he pulled it off. Ok, I'm going on a limb here with this next confession and it will probably piss off a few people, but as Michael Caine would say, then piss off. The Michael Caine, Sean Connery and Prince Charles segments are a bit weary and even the sound effect gimmick has worn out his welcome. I understand that The Craigster is developing skits to become his trademark, but he and the writers need to try something else.

So back to where I was sitting. Wouldn't you know that during the monologue, I was directly behind the monologue camera and was lucky if I could even see Craig's right ear? It turns out they placed an oversized disabled man next to me. The man really needed two seats for himself. I was squashed to the right, teetering with one cheek on my chair and body twisted for the whole taping. I should see a chiropractor, get a massage, and send the show the bill. Or better yet have The Craigster give me the massage himself.

Sigh. There was no chance to even make eye contact with my future ex-husband during the opening monologue. Whenever they transitioned, i.e. stopped taping to simulate commercial breaks and prepare Craig for the next segment, giving him a chance to review questions, they put on blaring disco or Michael Jackson music (what was that about?) to keep the audience's energy up. Warmup Guy... WTF was his name?... had us clap with the beat. I'm sure it was to prevent us from hearing all the technical talk.

Even though it is clear I am a shrinking violet and afraid to express my opinion, I will now venture even further on that aforementioned proverbial limb to say this - I was tremendously disappointed in The Craigster. He kept himself insulated from the audience and did not shake hands or anything. Not a hug or kiss. No, nary any tongue. Years ago I attended a taping of the sitcom, "The Golden Girls." In between scenes, Betty White came out and joked with the audience, making herself available for questions, hugs, kisses, and probably even a little tongue (knowing Betty White). I've gone to other shows and had similar experiences where the cast came out, shook hands, signed autographs, etc. When Janis Ian performed at The Knitting Factory a few years back, she had a receiving table where she shook hands, signed CDs, and posed for photos. Considering the fact that Janis is a music icon with Grammy awards, hit songs, and a long career, she could afford to have an attitude but didn't. The Craigster, on the other hand, came off like a diva by being so standoffish.

Interestingly, there were two gals from Texas sitting to my right, a mother and daughter, both very attractive and seemingly good friends for being a mother and daughter. When I asked the mom if she likes Craig's show, she admitted she had never watched it, and more importantly, didn't even know who he was! I then inquired why they were at the taping. The mom said it was the only thing they could get tickets for, and they wanted to see a TV show taped. I, of course, still enamored with Craig (since it was pre-taping), raved about how great he is - and assured her she'd enjoy the show. Afterwards, she shared my surprise that Craig hadn't interacted with the audience during the breaks or at the end.

You know, the more I think about it, it was hypocritical for Warmup Guy to emphasize how our presence was integral to the success of the show... and then The Craigster didn't show us a similar courtesy. The studio audience only seats 100 bodies. Shaking hands with 100 people wouldn't take him more than 20 minutes. And that's assuming all 100 would want to meet him. What if a fan had flowers or a gift or panties or a teddy bear or wore a teddy or...

Okay, monologue done. The first guest comes out, and it's the legendary Don Rickles - the King of Insults. Rickles is now an old man who seems to find it necessary to announce his Jewishness in as many jokes as possible. Hey, I come from a Jewish background. I can rag on that. His schtick hasn't changed much over the years, but he did have a few moments of spontaneous brilliance. Of course, I was sitting behind the stage manager's control board, and could see the bullet-point list of jokes that Rickles was supposed to hit - thus shattering the illusion of the supposed improvisational element to the show.

There was one moment when Rickles said something clever and off-the-cuff during a break. The Craigster was caught by surprise and laughed. As he glanced at the audience almost self-consciously, it seemed he and I made fleeting eye contact as I burst into laughter as well. I think that he and I were the only ones tuned into Rickles' aside. Most of the audience (being Texans) probably didn't get the humor.

Unlike Conan, Leno and Letterman, who are compelled to show how clever they are, and spend more time interrupting the guest, Craig actually listens. What a concept. In fact, he has this way of lowering his head and bringing it slightly forward, and then fixing an intent gaze on the guest, truly interested in what they have to say. He appears to be more genuine than the others. I also find that he spends more time talking with the guests about who they are, rather than having them hawk their latest movie or book.

After Rickles, the next guest was pseudo-actress Ivana Milicevic. She lost points when she commented that The Craigster's English was very good, considering he hadn't been in our country for his entire life. What language did she think they spoke in Scotland? Sheesh. Actresses. (She was almost as dim as Daryl Hannah, and practically as boring as Mimi Rogers, two other guests in past weeks. Sometimes I think The Craigster wants eye candy and isn't interested in substance. Of course, Don Rickles puts that theory to bed, eh?)

The musical guest was Aimee Mann. I knew the name but had never heard the music. I usually switch channels when the musical guest comes on, because it's rarely anyone with substantive talent. They're usually alternative bands whose lead singers have a minimal grasp of pitch, lyric writing and compelling melodies. With Aimee Mann - this time was no different. Unfortunately, held captive in the studio audience, I couldn't very well change the channel. But at least I could tune out as she droned on with her emotion-less vocal range, barely an octave. The song was something Suzanne Vega could've written with one hand. But sweet, frail, anorexic stringy-haired makeover candidate Aimee did get through in one take - thank goodness - I don't know if I could've tolerated a second run through of the song.

Aimee was done, and so was I. They escorted her and the band out of the studio. Craig gave us a cursory wave and disappeared into the wings, somewhere in the direction of the off-camera cue cards, most likely. You know what I'm talking about... those cue cards that he doesn't really use because everything is extemporaneous? The audience handlers made sure that the group was ushered out en masse like cattle, to prevent an eager calf from straying down the wrong hall and possibly finding the green room. It was all a very calculated, structured taping. Very little warmth or friendliness. Not much appreciation for our contributions to making the show a hit, according to Warmup Guy.

That evening I watched the episode, because we had been promised that we'd be "on camera" several times. I barely caught a glimpse of myself behind the obese disabled man and the multi-camera setup. Not that I was there for onscreen time, but what the heck, we all want our 15 minutes, and I'd say I got 15 milliseconds. Would I attend another taping? Only as a featured guest or as the musical act.

How do I feel about The Craigster now? Well certainly the spell has been broken, and although I still get a wee bit wet when I hear his breezy brogue, I'd rather watch "Just Shoot Me" reruns at 12:30am. Of course, listening to Wendie Malick's sultry voice makes me want to shop at Marshall's the next day. So maybe I should still watch The Craigster once in a while. It will keep me from spending too much money at Marshall's. Yeah, despite everything, I still wouldn't mind having Craig Ferguson in my space.

Fool's Gold at the Globes

I need to express my disgust, dismay and disbelief at Dennis Quaid's homophobic and ignorant (is that redundant?) interjaculation as a presenter on the 2005 Golden Globes awards show.

Introducing "Brokeback Mountain," clearly a forerunner in the Oscar race and one of the most powerfully poignant movies ever made, Quaid demonstrated his backwoods brain when he said:

“Our last nominated drama tells the story of two young cowboys who met in the summer if 1963 and forge an unexpected, lifelong connection that proves the endurance and power of love. It’s a controversial film. It’s…let’s just say it rhymes with ‘chick flick.’”

Wait. Let me get a cotton swab and clean my ears. Did he just say what I think he said? The camera panned to a panicked and dumbfounded audience. I say dumbfounded, because they found that Quaid was the inspiration for the movie "Dumb and Dumber."

Rather than enlightening viewers, Quaid's tacky comment promoted and perpetuated intolerance. Why is there the need to label this film anyway? I am so tired of the "gay cowboy" moniker rather than just acknowledging it as a film about forbidden love. Certainly it is not the first of its kind, not by a long shot. Many films and TV shows have come before with homosexuality present in the storyline and even main characters.

• Philadelphia - Tom Hanks, gay man dying of AIDS
• The Children's Hour - Shirley MacLaine & Audrey Hepburn, teachers who suppress desire/attraction for each other
• Bound - Jennifer Tilly & Gina Gershon, hot lesbian sex scene
• Dog Day Afternoon - Al Pacino, gay man robs bank to pay for lover's sex change
• The Crying Game - Stephen Rea falls for Jaye Davidson, transvestite... even Forest Whitaker's character is gay
• TransAmerica - Felicity Huffman, transgender man to woman
• D'Lovely - Kevin Kline as bisexual Cole Porter
• Capote - Philip Seymour Hoffman as openly gay Truman Capote
• Breakfast on Pluto - Cillian Murphy as gay transvestite
• Soap - Billy Crystal as gay man
• Will & Grace - entire sitcom centered around gay characters
• In & Out - Kevin Kline & Tom Selleck as gay men who kiss (gasp!)
• The Hours - Ed Harris, Meryl Streep, Nicole Kidman, Julianne Moore, Allison Janney - all gay characters!
• The Birdcage - Robin Williams & Nathan Lane as gay partners
• Making Love - Harry Hamlin & Michael Ontkean get it on (1982!)

Hidden/Forbidden Love based on inter-racial or class differences:

• West Side Story - White boy and Puerto Rican girl
• Guess Who's Coming to Dinner - Sidney Poitier courts Katherine Houghton
• Far From Heaven - Julianne Moore loves Dennis Haysbert
• Jungle Fever - Wesley Snipes has affair w/Annabella Sciorra

Why is our society more accepting of two women being intimate than two men? Is it because the heterosexual male has fantasies of being with two women? Do straight men fear that they might get aroused watching two men embrace or simulate copulation?

Was Quaid's comment his own, or a script blunder on the teleprompter? Based on the crowd's uncomfortable silence and squirming, methinks it was the former, not the latter. Clearly Quaid's masculinity was threatened by "Brokeback Mountain."

He needs to cop to this and issue a formal on-camera apology. Quaid's agent, manager, attorney and publicist should strongly advise him to do some image repair and damage control. I, for one, will consider boycotting any movie in which he appears, until he removes his foot from his mouth and does a major mea culpa.

Doesn't Quaid realize that people might think he's gay since he seems quite comfortable with his head up his ass?

The Hump that Broke the Mountain's Back

Heath Ledger, you have established yourself as one of the most diverse and gifted actors of your generation! That's not to diminish the talent of up-and-comer co-star Jake Gyllenhaal (son of director Stephen Gyllenhaal and screenwriter Naomi Foner of "Bee Season" and "Running on Empty" fame, and younger brother of Maggie)...

Beginning with the anachronistic but clever "A Knight's Tale" (with the equally brilliant Paul Bettany), Heath stole this woman's heart. Recently he's been riding at the top of his game with "Brokeback Mountain" and "Casanova," proving he can pursue forbidden love with a poignant dramatic turn as a clenched jaw cowboy, or in an amorous farce as a shameless lover of women who discovers by the climax that the love of one outweighs the orgasmic needs of the many.

Interestingly enough, there appears to be a common thread in all three above-mentioned roles. In each film, Heath has played a man pretending to be something other than who he is... each character possessing a deep, dark secret to which the audience is privy. Heath has demonstrated remarkable range in portraying emotional nuances of these men who struggle with an identity crisis, ever in denial about their true nature. But I digress.

What prompted this examination of "Brokeback Mountain" was a recent discussion with a potential suitor... a man who professed to be a screenwriter, aspiring toward a career in show business, and also seeking my interest. When he declared that he had no intention of seeing this movie because of its subject matter (and thus revealed his homophobic narrow-minded limitations -- what was that about?), not only was I immediately saved from a Starbucks first date... but I found myself wanting to champion this movie beyond the discussion with this idiot who called himself a writer but refused to see "chick flicks" and hadn't even heard of "Sullivan's Travels"! Who lets these guys onto the planet, never mind into the entertainment industry? Watch... he'll write "Beneath the Planet of Porky's" and retire!

Why are so many heterosexual men reluctant to see "Brokeback Mountain"? How sad is it that our society, in the year 2006, still needs to label this as a "gay cowboy movie," rather than the universal love story that is really is? If it had been forbidden love between a man and woman of different colors, set in a time period where interracial dating was discouraged (see "Far From Heaven" with Julianne Moore and Dennis Haysbert), audiences would cluck their tongues and shake their heads that such a chasm ever existed. But with love between two men, mainstream America recoils in fear and disgust.

Remember "Bound" with Jennifer Tilly and Gina Gershon? That had a steamy lesbian love scene. Where was the uproar over that? Is it because men fantasize about two women, but are so insecure about their own sexuality that they'd be afraid to see two men together on the off chance that they'd get aroused... and then, oh my, how would they ever be able to look in a mirror again? What would that say about them? There we are again with that damned double standard - two women, fantasy; two men, forbidden?

How hypocritical that we applaud Elton John's recent marriage to his same-sex partner, as long as we don't have to "watch" their intimacy? Isn't it sad that England has legalized this, and here stands the United States, a paralyzed paradigm of paranoia, a country supposedly built on forging progress, but actually built on a forgery of freedom... especially with a counterfeit President who thinks that wire-tapping citizens is acceptable and a necessary evil? Goodness, are we returning to another McCarthy era? (By the way, bravo to George Clooney for "Good Night and Good Luck.")

Why are so many threatened by the concept of same-sex unions and same-sex love and same-sex parenting and same-sex rights and same-sex sex? I don't know about you, but I find watching gratuitous sex uncomfortable, even when it's male-female. You can't tell me that you enjoy watching Mickey Rourke or Woody Allen and... anyone?

For that matter, watching violent sex or rape onscreen is extremely unpleasant, such as in "The Accused" with Jodie Foster. And don't get me going on what's in her closet (talk about a missed opportunity to be a role model).

Why are we willing to accept two men kissing under comedic circumstances? For instance, Tom Selleck planted one on Kevin Kline in "In & Out." As a talk show guest, Drew Carey gave lip service to Craig Ferguson on "The Late, Late Show." That smooch fulfilled half of a fantasy... fodder for my next column about that cheeky monkey.

So why can't our so-so society handle two male actors simulating intercourse in a realistic way? I mean, come on, we don't see actual nudity and penetration going on. They're fucking actors! For the uninitiated and those too uptight to see "Brokeback Mountain," let me tell you that there are very few lovemaking scenes of a sexual nature. Most of the dynamic between the two men is innuendo, friendship and desire. The handful of scenes that show the expression of their love in a physical way are done with grace and beauty. It's not as if they climb every mountain.

I admit that "Brokeback Mountain" is horseplay of a different nature and not for the sheepish, but not because of its bareback scenes. This heartbreaking love story has a spirit that can't be broken, and I believe it is a ride worth taking. So Mr. Pasteurized Screenwriter, you'd better see a man about a horse - 'cause you ain't ridin' this filly!

To Mr. Ledger, whose career has found its balance: I predict an Oscar nomination and possibly a statue. But win or lose, I promise you this, Heath Ledger (how apropos that your name has heat and edge) . . .
I will never quit you!

A Paper Life

I watched Tatum O'Neal on Oprah today and felt a profound sadness for the child who seemed to have everything but truly had nothing that mattered. She's promoting her autobiography titled "A Paper Life," which reveals the abuse she suffered from neglectful parents, a drug-crazed Hollywood, and irresponsible adults. With no role models teaching her how to grow into a healthy adult, Tatum made one wrong choice after another in her desperate search for the simplest things - to be loved, nurtured, adored and cherished for who she was.

Of course, I remember when the news hit of her marriage to John McEnroe. Even I, someone on the sidelines, could've told her that she was walking into an abusive marriage. McEnroe was notorious for his bad temper, bad manners, bad sportsmanship, bad attitude, and all-around spoiled personality along with an incurable case of control freakitis to top it all off.

I don't care how good a tennis player he was in his heyday. McEnroe was a bad boy who gave Americans and tennis an even worse name. Sure, Jimmy Connors had a devilish rep, but the tantrums displayed by the histrionic McEnroe are historic. Yet I digress... I can only imagine what poor Tatum had to endure behind closed doors.

McEnroe is a textbook verbal abuser. And from what Tatum talked about on Oprah, it appears that John-Boy stripped away whatever self-esteem still lingered with his wife. I do not doubt for one minute that Tatum's account of her childhood and marriage is honest and accurate. It seemed as though Oprah was implying that Tatum wrote this book to be vindictive or made it up for attention. I did not get that impression at all. I wanted to reach through the television and give Tatum a big hug and say, "It's okay. You're okay."

What was especially annoying was Oprah's insistence that Tatum somehow "make peace" with her father. It seemed to be Oprah's agenda that Tatum should "forgive" her father. Yet I seem to recall Oprah, on one of her shows about child abuse, mentioning that to this day she will not be in the same room with her abusers.

I, as someone who was abused as a child (verbally, emotionally and physically - but thankfully, not sexually - as far as my memory goes), happily divorced my abusive mother four years ago and have no desire for reconciliation, and see no need for "forgiveness." I completely understand Tatum's need to protect herself and stay away from people who have been hurtful toward her and continue to this day to minimize her hurt.

It was amusing when queried about Farrah Fawcett... Tatum tried to be tactful and really didn't want to be pushed into an answer. She tried sidestepping the question and gave an unfinished sentence as an answer, trailing off with an ellipsis, letting the viewer finish the thought. But you know Oprah. Gotta get that sound bite. Finally Tatum leaned in and whispered to Oprah (intending for it to be off mic). Rather than respecting Tatum's uncomfortableness, Oprah decided to say Tatum's response out loud, in full voice!

"Oh, you don't know what planet Farrah is on." This elicited laughter from the audience, and you could see Tatum maintaining her dignity.

What is it with the country's deification of Oprah? Don't they see that each show is one big commercial? Her "gift giving" is really sponsored by large corporations spending huge advertising dollars for their products to be mentioned on the air. She gets tens of millions of dollars every time she endorses a company or product on her show. Ah, but that's fodder for another blog on another day.

Anyway, Tatum - wherever you are... if word gets back to you about this blog... I want you to know that I embrace your bravery and would be proud to call you my friend. If you ever want to get together with a "normal" person who is not impressed with Hollywood hype, do get in touch with me, and let's have some iced tea and a salad...

Bravo for speaking the truth in your book! Maybe now that you've opened the wounds to let the dis-ease drain, you are finally free to live your life. The pen truly is mightier than the sword. Think of the rest of your life as a new chapter yet to be written.