The Real Bob Barker

Okay, this has been sitting on my hard drive for a week. I'm posting. Damn the torpedoes, I'm posting.
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They make you use the name on your birth certificate on The Price is Right for legal reasons. I can't remember the last time someone outside of my family called me "Jeremiah" with a straight face.

First off, I'll save everyone the suspense: while we did attend a taping of The Price is Right, neither Carey nor myself were asked to "come on down." Still, it was fun.

So let's see.

Tickets-wise, TPIR is a more laborious affair than The Tonight Show. Tickets must be ordered many months in advance and even if you DO get them, you're not guaranteed a seat. Since people literally travel across the country to see the Real Bob Barker and have a Real Shot at some Real Prizes, you have to show up at around 5:00 in the morning with your pre-ordered ticket to have a chance at wearing one of those price tag stickers with your name on it.

So, the four of us (Me, Carey, Steve, and Shushan [a chef at Carey's work who got us the tickets in the first place]) trudged up to CBS studios in Hollywood in the wee hours. By the time we arrived, the line was a city block long and getting longer by the second. Some folks had even slept on the sidewalk to guarantee a good place in line. Everybody wants to be a big winner.

This crowd... hoy. Half of them were straight out of the Jerry Springer audience: cliche-spouting, unemployed, overweight, trailer-park townies who had probably done the math and realized that their odds on TPIR are far better than the lottery tickets they purchase each morning. Every person we talked to had journeyed from someplace outside of California, many of them coming from thousands of miles away. Oh, and ever see those specialty t-shirts that contestants are sometimes wearing to increase their chances of being called on down? "I LUV BOB, PICK ME"? Well, as it turns out, somewhere in the vicinity of 4/5ths of the folks had this same brilliant idea. Everybody... EVERYBODY had a custom-costume. After seeing this truly heartbreaking display, Carey and I agreed: maybe it would be best if we weren't asked to be contestants. After all, what did we sacrifice to get here? A day off and a half-hour drive?

Everyone had visions of new cars and dinette sets dancing in their brains. Manipulative prick that I am, I took great joy in walking up to random people in line and pointing at them and yelling, "you! I can see it! You're gonna be a big winner! Big, baby! It's going to be you!"

"Me?!!!"

"Oh, yeah! What's your name? Quick!"

"D-denise...!"

"Denise, you'd better prepare yourself, because today's going to be A BIG DAY!!!"

"WOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!"

And then everyone would erupt into applause and yelping. Big fun. We met a lot of people.

Anyhow, since we were foolish enough to show up as late as 5:15 AM, we were put on the "standby" list. Ours were numbers 13-16, which was fortunate, as they ended up having room for standbys up through #35 or so. There were a total of 350 seats, give or take. So, we were okay. Barely.

When the time came for us to file into the studio, they interviewed the crowds in groups at break-neck pace. My interview consisted of, "I'm an illustrator from Long Beach." Apparently, they can tell what sort of contestant you'd make by the question "what do you do and where are you from?" Carey said, "I'm a country club manager in Long Beach and it's my birthday." Steve said, "I, uh, I don't really have a job."

Interviewer: "You don't?"

"No, well, yeah, okay, I'm a golf pro. There. Don't pick me."

(with a frown) "Don't worry. We won't."

I'm always amazed by how small these television sets are. TPIR is pretty tiny. Everything was decked out for Christmas, as this show will air on Dec. 16th. Some guy who wasn't Rod Roddy came out and did a literal song and dance. Soon, the cameras rolled, four people "came on down" and there was Bob.

Can I say it? Bob is one of the all-time greats. We all know the on-camera Bob, but off-camera, the guy's a stitch. During commercial breaks, he would rap with the audience:
"Yup, I'll be 80 in December and I owe every year of it to booze."
"Of course I'll sign your t-shirt for you, miss. Just take it off and send it up here."
"Okay, Angela, we're going to try that again, and this time let's see some enthusiasm. This is the biggest moment of your life - you're about to win a coffee maker, for God's sake."

There were flubs, which Bob assured us were abnormal. Someone had screwed up the labels on one of the showcases. Bob caught it and told them to stop tape and correct it. Also, one of the contestants mistakenly thought she had won a pricing game and bounded up onto the stage. Bob corrected her, sat her back down, and proceeded to give her a good-natured tongue lashing for the next minute or two, to the delight of the studio audience. In the end, that woman won the Showcase Showdown, so I don't think she had much to complain about.

Also, we happened to catch one of those ultra-rare Price is Right moments: a woman spun the wheel and landed on $1.00. She spun it again and landed on $1.00. That's an immediate ten grand, for those who don't know. The audience went ape.

In the end, it was a fun day and I think the folks that simply come to enjoy the show are the ones that have the best time.

Oh, and look for us on Dec. 16th. We're the two tiny dots near the middle-back of the audience.

"Rod, tell us about the next item up for bid..."

The wife says it's time to update the blogger, as I've exceeded my blog-pause limit. Here, then.
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Speaking of Carey, she's getting excited about being a contestant on The Price is Right next Monday. Granted, no one is assured of being a contestant, but she seems to feel that the perfect outfit combined with the fact that it's her birthday will make her a shoo-in.

"Hon, let's not try to be contestants. Let's just go and have a good time."

"No, Jer, I need the Showcase Showdown. I can win it. I know it."

"But, we won't have a good time if you're worried about whether you're going to get called the whole time."

"That's why you go to the Price is Right!"

"But, Hon."

"But, Jer!"
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Yeah, it's true, Arnie's our governor now. Hoofah, I've never heard so much whining in my life over anything! If Californians hate him so much, how did he get elected? It's almost comical how the media has spun the "unfairness" of the election out of control. 'It was rigged! It was discriminatory! He's practically a rapist! He's a Republican, for God's sake! The horror!'

I didn't vote, I simply didn't have time. I probably would have gone with the Terminator, though. It's just as well, though, because Carey didn't vote either and she made it clear that she'd have gone Green, so we'd have cancelled each other out anyhow.
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Oh, and the movies on this page have had me laughing all week. You kind of have to be a G.I. Joe fan to get it, though.
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Should be getting my insurance money any day now.

Uh.
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The Nazarene director mailed me a check and an apology. I don't know, now I feel bad about moaning so much about the cash thing. Whatever, I can't accept it. As bad as I feel about the script, I feel even worse being paid for it. I think I'm sending him the money back.

This whole thing seems sour. Bluegh.
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Recently read this letter/article on Bookslut.com, which genuinely gave me pause, because the reviewer's absolutely right: book reviewers that love the comic/graphic novel form (even lame ones like myself) are constantly crying out for mainstream acceptance for intelligent, literate comic works. Until we stop crying about it, though, it won't happen. No one takes seriously the man begging to be taken seriously.

I've been guilty of this on my own Recommended Reading list... well, no more. I'll continue to review graphic novels, but enough trying to convince the world that it's a viable form of literature. The world has begun to understand. Bad comics are bad and great comics are great. It's time to move on and assume that everyone gets it.
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So, I made a very strange snap-decision on Friday and I shaved my chest.

It's really really really weird, man, seeing the chest I looked at every day in the mirror as a 14-year-old. I've been so furry for so long that I'd almost forgotten what it was like. It's mondo strange being able to feel my clothes again. A little painful, almost.

Carey doesn't think much of it. When I tried to explain to her that ultra-buff guys shave their chests, she just gave me The Look. I know, Care, I know. No need to spell it out.

I guess I'll grow it back. Anyway, I've never seen anything so white in my life, so it is pretty embarrassing.
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Saw Intolerable Cruelty last night. Very funny movie, the Coen Bros.' latest. And, yeah, this is the very movie that I was able to snag the script and storyboards to a little over a year ago from a friend who was working on the set. It's rare that I'll read a screenplay before seeing the theatrical release. The movie was far different... smaller, in a way... in my head than it was on the big screen. It seemed like a pretty big budget piece with major stars and expensive sets... on the printed page, it looked like a short, funny, inexpensive little ditty.

Worth the cash, though. Not the best Coen flick I've seen, but they never disappoint. I even skipped Tarantino's latest opus to attend. Now that's love.