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...

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.