Monthly Archives: December 2017

Note to self: If you go out for dinner on any future Christmas Day in the future, don't go late. Amber and I journeyed to one of our favorite restaurants last night for an 8:45 reservation. The gentleman who led us to our table informed us that service was running slow because "One of our chefs walked out on us" — he did not explain why — and whatever entree we ordered might take as long as an hour to get to us.

I felt sorry for our server who then had to apologize over and over for things that were not his fault…mostly the fact that they were out of so many items including bread. I have never before been in a restaurant that ran out of bread. I was on my cell phone at one point when he came by our table and I told him, "I'm having a pizza delivered." He said, "Good idea. Could you save me a slice?"

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A nice part of Christmas being over is that we don't have to hear any more nonsense about a "War on Christmas," though Trump will probably be congratulating himself on winning it until half past April Fool's Day. I do understand people who are deeply religious and who think the holiday should be written out as CHRISTmas but I think they're misdirecting their ire when they bitch about salespeople saying "Happy Holidays!" They should be complaining about the outfits that employ those salespeople doing everything possible to commercialize and profit off You-Know-Who's birthday.

As you may know, I was raised in a family that was half-Jewish and half-Catholic. We celebrated Christmas, we celebrated Hanukkah in all its many spellings…and we would have celebrated Kwanzaa if it had been around back then. Any reason to exchange presents. We even exchanged presents sometimes when there was no holiday in play.

No one attached any devious meaning to "Merry Christmas" or "Seasons Greetings" or "Happy Holidays" or any phrase meant as benevolent and things worked out fine. The best way to deal with religious differences is simply to ignore them. But some people won't because there's no money to be made by doing that.

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Todd VanDerWerff doesn't think the political humor on Saturday Night Live is particularly pungent. Neither do I. There's a difference between saying something of substance about a political figure and just portraying him or her as a clown. There have been exceptions but too often, all we get out of SNL is the latter. I agree that The President Show on Comedy Central does a much better job of going after D.T. than S.N.L. So does Seth Meyers…and so does Jordan Klepper's show.

As my Christmas present to myself, I'm going to skip blogging today and finish a script that's been sitting on this computer half-finished while I went to Christmas parties and discussed with people whether "Baby, It's Cold Outside" is a song about date rape. Also, we talked a lot about how Donald Trump has won The War Against Christmas, proving he's the guy to lead us in all wars that exist only in the imagination. That's so comforting.

You might remember how last year on 12/26/16, I described how I spent the evening before…

Last night around 7 PM, I found myself in a restaurant ordering a "to go" order to take to a sick friend. The restaurant was packed and if I'd asked for a table, I might be getting seated right about now. It was so crowded in there that when the hostess said my order would take at least 30 minutes, I told her I'd be back in twenty and was going for a walk.

This was not in the nicest part of town but I felt safe. There were people on the street who looked like they'd be a lot easier and more lucrative to mug than me. One of them approached me and asked if I could spare a buck or two for food. As I fished around in my pocket for some cash, the gentleman said "I hope next year is better," which of course everyone hopes. I said, "It can't help but be," which of course is not true but you say it anyway. I was just handing the guy a few singles when suddenly, one firework exploded in the sky.

Only one. You've all seen those big displays where they fire off dozens and dozens, one right after another, the pace quickening until at last they start overlapping. Well, from some location a mile or so away, someone set off just one of those, followed by no others.

We waited about a minute to see if more would follow and when none did, I said to him, "Guess we'll have to settle for that." He said, "Don't worry. There'll be more fireworks in 2017." I said something about how we could count on that, one way or the other and —

I was interrupted in mid-post so I never finished that story. The "sick friend," of course, was my beloved Carolyn who was in that Assisted Living facility, experiencing what I knew and she sort-of knew would be her last Christmas. They served a nice dinner spread in that place that evening but it did not correspond with what she thought she should be eating. With the aid of Yelp!, I located a Thai restaurant in a crummy part of Hollywood and went over to get her some chow.

As I wrote last year, the place was mobbed and though they told me the order would take 30 minutes to prepare, it was more like 50. As we pick up our story, I'm waiting outside, about to hand some cash to a homeless guy when we see one (and only one) big, glorious, full-color firework explosion in the sky a mile or three from us. We waited and waited for more but there was only the one.

The man and I exchanged pleasantries…and it was pleasant. He told me nothing about how he'd wound up there but he definitely seemed to need the money I was giving him and he was not of bad spirit. He didn't say this but the thought struck me that he was probably satisfied with the one burst of fireworks — maybe I should say firework (single) — because when you're that bad off, one firework is still better than none.

As I gave the fellow all the small bills I had on me, I was aware there were others around who could surely have used some dollars, especially that evening. I wondered if they would then hit me up and I'd have to tell them I was tapped-out…but no. They all seemed to respect the concept that that one of them was getting all the spare cash I could spare and that, well, maybe it would be their turn if/when someone else came by.

The guy thanked me, then went into the Thai restaurant to get something to eat. Ten minutes later, he came out with his "to go" order and I had to wait another half-hour or so for mine. That might not seem fair but I think he just got Pad Thai, whereas Carolyn wanted something more complicated. Soon, it was ready and on my way back to the Assisted Living facility with it, I drove through a Tommy's and got a burger and fries so Carolyn and I could eat together. My food allergies make Thai food way too dangerous for me.

Food service at the Assisted Living Home was over so I got Carolyn into a wheelchair and rolled her down to the little dining room there, which we had all to ourselves…at first. A few other patients soon straggled in, just to be with someone. And the someone they wanted to be with was the same someone I wanted to be with: Carolyn, who even in a place like that and with her health failing, still had most of the same sense of inner joy she'd always had.

A few months later, it would not be so warm and reassuring to be with her. It would just be sad. But that night — the evening of Christmas Day, 2016 — she still had that wonderful, wonderful smile and I miss it. It was like a single explosion of fireworks against the night sky.

Here's our favorite Christmas video on this site. I'll see you all back here tomorrow…

As Kevin Drum points out…

Under the new Republican tax law, big corporations will get a permanent tax cut of 14 percentage points. You will get a tax cut of about 1 percentage point — until it expires, that is, at which point your taxes will be higher than they are today.

Merry Christmas.

I assume you've read my Mel Tormé story. If not, go do it and then come back here. I'll wait.

Okay then. Last year around this time, I dined with a friend of mine at the Lawry's on "Restaurant Row" (i.e., La Cienega Blvd.) here in Los Angeles. Along with the usual unmatched Prime Rib, they had Christmas decorations to the max and a strolling quartet of young people in Victorian dress, wandering about and singing holiday tunes, a cappella. They went table to table taking requests.

Before we requested a carol, my dining companion requested that I tell them the Mel Tormé tale. I did and then we asked for and enjoyed their rendition of "The Christmas Song," the tune that was the focus of my oft-linked anecdote. They sang it very well, we tipped and off they went.

Last Tuesday evening, a different friend and I were in the same Lawry's in what I think may have been the same booth. That night, they had two teams of minstrels working the room. The one that strolled to our table consisted of two men and two women with the women each carrying a four-inch thick three-ring binder crammed full of lyric sheets. Their leader asked what we'd like to hear and I asked him, "What's the silliest song in your repertoire?"

They had a brief discussion and he told us, "There are two. One is 'Dominick the Italian Christmas Donkey' and the other is 'I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas.'" I chose the latter and he said, "Okay, but they ask us to sing it quickly and get it over with." The two ladies quickly thumbed to the appropriate page in their binders and then the four of them performed a brilliantly-arranged version of that tune. Absolutely wonderful.

I have been unable to find an online version of anyone singing that same arrangement but here's Gayla Peevey who was ten years old when she recorded this hit record in 1953. She lip-syncs it here for some TV show of the day and then that's followed by a video of her singing it live last year at the age of 73…

Neat, huh? Yes, but I still wish I could show you what those four singers did with it last Tuesday evening at Lawry's.

Everyone around us applauded mightily. I thanked them and tipped them and then they moved to the next table where the folks there said, "We'd like to hear that Italian Donkey song!" The quartet obligingly launched into that and it was pretty good, too. I can't link to anything like their version but here's Lou Monte, who used to record funny songs with an Italian flavor, with his semi-hit version of "Dominick the Italian Christmas Donkey." Not as good as the hippo tune but still appropriate for the season. And by the way, the Prime Rib at Lawry's was great. It always is.

In October, Amber and I flew to and from New York on JetBlue and I was impressed enough to write here, "This trip was the first time I've flown on JetBlue. It is not the last time I will fly on JetBlue. I am considering never flying to any city in the future if I cannot fly there on JetBlue." Well, maybe not.

According to Tim Wu, JetBlue decided in November "…that it would follow United, Delta, and the other major carriers by cramming more seats into economy, shrinking leg room, and charging a range of new fees for things like bags and WiFi."

That's quite distressing, especially to a guy like me who's 6'3" and needs to stretch out and be able to flex the knee he had replaced a few years ago. In November, I flew to Miami where, alas, JetBlue does not venture. I flew American and had to pay $80 extra each way to get enough leg room for my leg. My publisher is reimbursing me for expenses but that won't be the case with every flight I take in the future. (And if I take Amber and we want to sit together, I'll have to pay the extra dough for her so she can sit in the same section even though she doesn't need the extra inches of leg space.)

As Mr. Wu points out, the airlines are making bazillions by charging for extra legroom, early boarding and other "extras" to make flying less of a miserable experience. Thus, they have every incentive to make flying a miserable experience. You won't pay for extras if you can be happy without them.

The day's going to come when you'll have to pay an additional fee to sit in the section where the flight attendants don't come by, slap you silly, pour the hot coffee in your lap and make snide remarks about your appearance. They may even start charging for those seat cushions which in the case of a water landing can be used as flotation devices and at some point, your ticket seller may ask you, "Now, would you like to upgrade to a plane with two wings and a trained pilot?"

UPDATE: It has since been pointed out to me that the Tim Wu article to which I linked above is from 2014…so JetBlue hasn't started doing all those bad things yet. But they might. It certainly is the way other airlines operate.

I awoke this morning with a burning need to know more about Vic Lockman so I did a little detective work and tracked down a phone number for his son, David. David was delighted to hear that I had written a blog post about his dad and is going to work with me to build a complete history of his father's career. This will include stuff I didn't know about like Vic's work with Hank Ketcham on the Dennis the Menace comic books and his work on commercial comic books. We won't be doing this right away but we will be doing it.

I'll also try to pick up info on Vic's father. David informed me that his grandfather was the great magician Earl Lockman, a contemporary and cohort of Harry Houdini. I probably should have made the connection. Look at Vic's logo above and compare it to Earl Lockman's calling card…

When I get the time (ha!) I'll hit up the library at the Magic Castle and learn what I can about Grandpa Earl but I already know he invented many tricks that others later performed. I also recall that he was a technical advisor and supplier-of-magic-props for the 1953 movie Houdini which starred Tony Curtis…and I believe he was an artist himself.

David says that orders are being filled for the Christian books on www.viclockman.com so you can order from them with confidence. And watch this space for more information on the greatest comic book writer that you probably didn't hear about until this morning, Vic Lockman. Just don't start watching immediately for it. Might be a few months before we can do the man justice.

I am informed that cartoonist and comic book writer Vic Lockman died last June 1 at the age of 90. This may be the first obit published on the 'net of the man who just might have been the most prolific comic book writer of all time and the least well-known. A great many folks who consider themselves expert comic book historians who will read this and say, "Who the heck was that?" I'm afraid I can't tell you much about the man other than what little follows.

He wrote thousands of comic book stories for Western Publishing Company beginning around 1950. These were for their Dell and Gold Key comics. For an explanation of the relationship between Dell Comics and Western Publishing, click here.

Mr. Lockman was also an artist who occasionally penciled what he wrote, usually puzzle pages or one-page gags. More often, he would letter and/or ink a story that someone else had penciled. Most often, he just wrote.

For which comics did he write? Lockman stories ran among scripts by others in all the Disney comics, all the Warner Brothers comics, all the Walter Lantz comics, all the Hanna-Barbera comics and any other "funny" comics produced out of Western's Los Angeles office. He was the main guy behind a seventies comic called The Wacky Adventures of Cracky and he has been credited with creating the Disney character, Moby Duck. For years, a division of the Walt Disney company in Burbank was also producing comic book material for European publishers who needed more pages than they got by translating all the Gold Key books. Lockman also did hundreds of scripts for them.

After Western shut down its comic book division in 1984, he wrote a few scripts for later American publishers of Disney comics but he seems to have redirected most of his efforts to his other endeavor — comics for the Christian marketplace. More on them in a moment. First, let's discuss how many stories Lockman might have done for non-religious comics…

I can't give you a precise total but I'm sure it was a staggering number. In a self-promotional piece Mr. Lockman issued in the mid-seventies, he claimed he wrote one script a day, Monday through Friday, for a total at that point of around 7000. We don't have a clear idea of what time period he was basing that on but if you figure five scripts a week and 52 weeks per year, that's 260 scripts annually. As noted, he started around 1950 so if he'd adhered to that schedule, he would have written 7000 scripts by 1977 — and he was actively producing scripts for Western and the Disney foreign comics program in 1977. At that rate, he might have hit 8000 by the time he stopped writing.

I'm skeptical anyone could keep up that pace but it's not impossible. He was probably counting the Christian comics and also scripts that his editors at Western and Disney didn't accept. When I was writing for Western, they rejected about 15% of what I wrote and my editor there, Chase Craig, used to tell me, "Don't feel bad. You should see how many of Vic Lockman's scripts I turn down." Lockman might have sold some of his rejected Disney scripts for Western to the Disney foreign comic program (or his rejects from them to Chase) but some of them probably went unpublished. And since he had no other place to sell his rejected non-Disney scripts for Western, they were presumably never published. Those all would be impossible to count.

Further complicating that count is that in the fifties and sixties, so much of what Lockman did for Western was one-page puzzle and gag features. He did hundreds upon hundreds of them. Was he counting each of those as a "story?" Probably.

That's important to consider if we weigh his output against that of Paul S. Newman, who was recognized by The Guinness Book of World Records as the most prolific comic book writer of all time. They credit Paul with more than 4,100 published stories totaling approximately 36,000 pages. If each of Lockman's one-pagers is to be considered a story than he might have topped Newman in total stories but lost to him in total page count. It's kind of an Electoral College situation.

Newman was able to present sufficient documentation to get the Guinness people to accept his claim. I doubt that kind of proof could be assembled for Vic Lockman — or for that matter, for two other contenders for the title: Charlton Comics writer Joe Gill or Archie writer Frank Doyle. I would not doubt for a second though that Lockman was one of the five most prolific comic book writers of all time, probably one of the three most prolific…and possibly Numero Uno.

And I could not begin to estimate his productivity for the Christian marketplace. His vast catalogue of books, many of which he published himself, included titles such as Biblical Economics in Comics, a multi-volume series called Catechism For Young Children With Cartoons, God's Law for Modern Man, How Shall We Worship God?, Psalm Singing for Kids, The Big Book of Cartooning (In Christian Perspective) and hundreds of self-published tracts. I have — shall we say? — problems with some of his lessons but it's obvious Mr. Lockman was a very sincere and talented cartoonist.

He sold many of these through his website and you can still see them there, though I have no idea if anyone is still filling orders. In some of them, he argues, a la Judge Roy Moore, that his interpretation of God's word is the only true one and that it outranks any law made by Man. In my brief contacts with Mr. Lockman — two phone calls almost 30 years apart, nothing in person — he was cordial to me until he began to proselytize and I declined to convert on the spot.

The second of these conversations was a few years ago when I called to sound him out as a potential recipient of the Bill Finger Award for Excellence in Comic Book Writing, which I administer and which goes to writers who have not received sufficient recognition and/or reward. Since Lockman certainly qualifies for lack of recognition, I wanted to see if he'd consider accepting it should the judging committee select him some year. I am not sure I completely understood his response but it was unmistakably negative about the award and the whole concept of celebrating comic books that do not celebrate God's covenants.

Each year, the Finger Award goes to one recipient who is alive and to one posthumously. I decided not to propose Mr. Lockman for the "alive" one until such time as a few nominators did. Since we started the award, we've received over a thousand nominations for around 250 different writers. We have received one or less for Vic Lockman…which kind of proves he has not received the attention he deserves. Maybe we can do something about that with the posthumous award one of these years. A career like he had is absolutely deserving of attention.

Two of the actual puppets used in the 1964 TV Christmas special, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. And this of course is the perfect time of year to be selling Santa Claus.

Asking price? Ten million dollars…which is probably like fifteen times what the original special cost to produce. Or make an offer.

A bunch of talented folks are raising the dough to produce a pilot/presentation for an animated version of the popular web-comic Goblins. They're almost there but they have less than 24 hours to raise the last few bucks via IndieGoGo. Take a look at what they have to say and then go to this page to get behind the effort!

Todd VanDerWerff writes about why A Charlie Brown Christmas continues to be one of the most popular TV specials ever done. He says it's because it quotes the Bible without being preachy. I think that's part of it. Affection for the characters in the Peanuts strip is another part. The music is yet another, and some of it is pretty funny.

Also, the show is refreshing and maybe a little closer to our own personal realities in that it's one of the few Christmas specials that isn't about a grouchy, Christmas-hating person who learns the meaning of Christmas and stops being grouchy. People — in this case, children — just start being more considerate of others…and it doesn't take visitations by three ghosts to make it happen. I like that.

Much is being written about the new tax law. And it would appear there's a whole lotta lyin' going on.

The fine journalist and human being Heidi MacDonald investigates a quote attributed to Jack Kirby: "Kid…Comics will break your heart." Apparently, some folks think its origin was in an encounter Jack had with artist James Romberger at a convention in New York in the 80's. Others wonder if he said it at all and also note others who supposedly said it, including Charles Schulz.

I kinda doubt Schulz said it. Every time I was with him, he seemed absolutely delighted with what drawing comic strips had done for his life but I have no hard evidence that he did or didn't say the line in some context. I can however solve the Kirby question real easily: Yeah, he said it. He said it many times and he said it long before he said it to James Romberger.

I heard him say it, though not directly to me. When I met Jack, I had no expectation of working in comics or working in comics as much as I eventually did. What he said to me was more in the nature of encouragement to keep thinking of comics as something to do for a while before moving on to other things. But I heard him say the line or variations of it to others — mostly kids who approached him at San Diego Cons. I can't give you any of their names because I think they all took his advice.

Well, some of them did. Around 1971, a young artist named Wendy Fletcher visited him and showed him her drawings. I don't think he said the "break your heart" line to her but he told her not to get into comics, urged her to pursue other illustration work and gallery showings (as he did to Romberger) and told her, "If I catch you working in comics, I'll spank you."

Wendy did later work in comics. After she married Richard Pini and became Wendy Pini, they created and she drew Elfquest and other wonderful things. Jack did not spank her. I think he may have congratulated her for doing such fine work and retaining ownership of it. There were many variations of his advice. He especially urged folks he thought were talented to not see drawing someone else's creations for DC or Marvel as a real career.

I should also point out that Jack's advice fluctuated. There were times he was happier in the field than he was at other times. When he did say things like that it came from a frustration not with the form of comics, which he loved, but with the working conditions, bad compensation and loss of control of one's work he encountered. He probably said it much less (if at all) in the last years of his life when he could see creators sometimes holding onto copyrights and making real good money in comics.

And I doubt he was ever as dour as the above drawing (by New Zealand cartoonist Dylan Horrocks) made him out to be. He usually said such things with a feisty, defiant manner. Jack was a pretty feisty, defiant guy.

This is the most popular thing I've ever posted on this weblog. In fact, it's so popular that proprietors of other sites have thought nothing of just copying the whole thing and posting it on their pages, often with no mention of me and with the implication that they are the "I" in this tale. Please don't do that — to me or anyone. By all means, post a link to it but don't just appropriate it and especially don't let people think it's your work. This is the season for giving, not taking.

Yes, it's true…and I was very happy to learn from two of Mel Tormé's kids that their father had happily told them of the incident. Hearing that was my present…

I want to tell you a story…

The scene is Farmers Market — the famed tourist mecca of Los Angeles. It's located but yards from the facility they call, "CBS Television City in Hollywood"…which, of course, is not in Hollywood but at least is very close.

Farmers Market is a quaint collection of bungalow stores, produce stalls and little stands where one can buy darn near anything edible one wishes to devour. You buy your pizza slice or sandwich or Chinese food or whatever at one of umpteen counters, then carry it on a tray to an open-air table for consumption.

During the Summer or on weekends, the place is full of families and tourists and Japanese tour groups. But this was a winter weekday, not long before Christmas, and the crowd was mostly older folks, dawdling over coffee and danish. For most of them, it's a good place to get a donut or a taco, to sit and read the paper.

For me, it's a good place to get out of the house and grab something to eat. I arrived, headed for my favorite barbecue stand and, en route, noticed that Mel Tormé was seated at one of the tables.

Mel Tormé. My favorite singer. Just sitting there, sipping a cup of coffee, munching on an English Muffin, reading The New York Times. Mel Tormé.

I had never met Mel Tormé. Alas, I still haven't and now I never will. He looked like he was engrossed in the paper that day so I didn't stop and say, "Excuse me, I just wanted to tell you how much I've enjoyed all your records." I wish I had.

Instead, I continued over to the BBQ place, got myself a chicken sandwich and settled down at a table to consume it. I was about halfway through when four Christmas carolers strolled by, singing "Let It Snow," a cappella.

They were young adults with strong, fine voices and they were all clad in splendid Victorian garb. The Market had hired them (I assume) to stroll about and sing for the diners — a little touch of the holidays.

"Let It Snow" concluded not far from me to polite applause from all within earshot. I waved the leader of the chorale over and directed his attention to Mr. Tormé, seated about twenty yards from me.

"That's Mel Tormé down there. Do you know who he is?"

The singer was about 25 so it didn't horrify me that he said, "No."

I asked, "Do you know 'The Christmas Song?'"

Again, a "No."

I said, "That's the one that starts, 'Chestnuts roasting on an open fire…'"

"Oh, yes," the caroler chirped. "Is that what it's called? 'The Christmas Song?'"

"That's the name," I explained. "And that man wrote it." The singer thanked me, returned to his group for a brief huddle…and then they strolled down towards Mel Tormé. I ditched the rest of my sandwich and followed, a few steps behind. As they reached their quarry, they began singing, "Chestnuts roasting on an open fire…" directly to him.

A big smile formed on Mel Tormé's face — and it wasn't the only one around. Most of those sitting at nearby tables knew who he was and many seemed aware of the significance of singing that song to him. For those who didn't, there was a sudden flurry of whispers: "That's Mel Tormé…he wrote that…"

As the choir reached the last chorus or two of the song, Mel got to his feet and made a little gesture that meant, "Let me sing one chorus solo." The carolers — all still apparently unaware they were in the presence of one of the world's great singers — looked a bit uncomfortable. I'd bet at least a couple were thinking, "Oh, no…the little fat guy wants to sing."

But they stopped and the little fat guy started to sing…and, of course, out came this beautiful, melodic, perfectly-on-pitch voice. The look on the face of the singer I'd briefed was amazed at first…then properly impressed.

On Mr. Tormé's signal, they all joined in on the final lines: "Although it's been said, many times, many ways…Merry Christmas to you…" Big smiles all around.

And not just from them. I looked and at all the tables surrounding the impromptu performance, I saw huge grins of delight…which segued, as the song ended, into a huge burst of applause. The whole tune only lasted about two minutes but I doubt anyone who was there will ever forget it.

I have witnessed a number of thrilling "show business" moments — those incidents, far and few between, where all the little hairs on your epidermis snap to attention and tingle with joy. Usually, these occur on a screen or stage. I hadn't expected to experience one next to a falafel stand — but I did.

Tormé thanked the harmonizers for the serenade and one of the women said, "You really wrote that?"

He nodded. "A wonderful songwriter named Bob Wells and I wrote that…and, get this — we did it on the hottest day of the year in July. It was a way to cool down."

Then the gent I'd briefed said, "You know, you're not a bad singer." He actually said that to Mel Tormé.

Mel chuckled. He realized that these four young folks hadn't the velvet-foggiest notion who he was, above and beyond the fact that he'd worked on that classic carol. "Well," he said. "I've actually made a few records in my day…"

"Really?" the other man asked. "How many?"

Tormé smiled and said, "Ninety."

I probably own about half of them on vinyl and/or CD. For some reason, they sound better on vinyl. (My favorite was the album he made with Buddy Rich. Go ahead. Find me a better parlay of singer and drummer. I'll wait.)

Today, as I'm reading obits, I'm reminded of that moment. And I'm impressed to remember that Mel Tormé was also an accomplished author and actor. Mostly though, I'm recalling that pre-Christmas afternoon.

I love people who do something so well that you can't conceive of it being done better. Doesn't even have to be something important: Singing, dancing, plate-spinning, mooning your neighbor's cat, whatever. There is a certain beauty to doing almost anything to perfection.

No recording exists of that chorus that Mel Tormé sang for the other diners at Farmers Market but if you never believe another word I write, trust me on this. It was perfect. Absolutely perfect.

This video takes me back to the days when I used to play a lot of Blackjack in Las Vegas. I was card-counting, not so much for the money but more as a personal challenge to see if I could do it. It turned out I could but it often took me an awful long time to get more than a few bucks ahead and it eventually stopped being fun, especially after it would take me four hours to get $250 ahead. That was when I'd think, "I could have made more money going up to my room and writing a script on my laptop."

Also, this was back when casinos allowed smoking and even when you could find a no-smoking area, it reeked of Marlboros. I really, really don't do well around cigarette smoke…or any kind of smoke.

And another unpleasantness was that when I was winning, it upped my fear that some casino employee would suddenly give me a tap on the shoulder and ask to speak to me somewhere else. Ejecting a player is called "backing-off" and it was tough to focus on the card counts when I was afraid I was about to be backed-off. You need to act nonchalant as you glance at what the other players at the table are getting and act even more nonchalant when you drastically raise or lower what you're wagering.

I was finally "backed-off" — once — in a downtown dive called The Las Vegas Club and maddeningly, it was because of a "win" that didn't even involve counting. The dealer just happened to deal Blackjacks to everyone at the table and the Pit Boss (or Casino Host as they preferred to be called) decided something was amiss and it had something to do with the watch I was wearing. It was a big Casio thing that we then thought was the scientific marvel of the century because it could store 99 phone numbers. The "count" wasn't even particularly good when all those Blackjacks happened but the P.B. didn't care. He shut down the table to all and while the other players were free to move to other tables and continue playing, I was told I was barred "for life" from the Las Vegas Club.

Please note: I am still in this world and The Las Vegas Club is not. It took a while but they're tearing it down now and that's all my doing. Let this be Fair Warning to all who would mess with me.

As much out of boredom as anything else, I gave up gambling not long after my banishment from that place. When I took Amber to Vegas back in June, she wanted to learn how Video Poker worked and I lost ten bucks teaching her. That was the first time I'd gambled in close to forty years. Despite going there a lot, I am still "ahead"…and how many people can say that?

This video is allegedly of a Blackjack player in an unidentified casino somewhere getting backed-off for card-counting, as allegedly shot by a hidden camera. This is pretty much how it works for real but there's still something about the video that feels phony. Maybe it's just that the player seems to have almost been trying to get stopped so they could get this footage for some kind of documentary. But it also might have all been staged for the camera. The Pit Boss certainly looks the part. About half of all male Pit Bosses look as he does, like Chris Christie.

You might think it's fake that the player tries to talk the Pit Boss into either reversing his decision or refunding his lost money. After all, a guy who's smart enough to count cards oughta be smart enough to know that that has never, in the history of mankind, worked. It didn't work for Albert Brooks in Lost in America and it's never worked for anyone. Among the many reasons is that the Pit Boss does not have the power to completely rewrite the rules of his employer and profession. Still, most card-counters mostly think they can outsmart The House — and some do. This guy, as you'll see, does not…