Month: January 2004

…goes to Mary-Louise Parker who, on an awards show last night, thanked her newborn child for affording her the lactating breasts that enabled her to fill out her dress so impressively.

Talk about your Golden Globes.

PAD

Julie Schwartz is back in the hospital after taking a fall at home last week. Cousin Harlan reports:

---

HARLAN ELLISON

– Wednesday, January 21 2004 18:48:56

Julie is, as I reported, back in Winthrop Hospital. As bad as the last interlude was, this one may be worse. He fell, early (very early) Thursday morning, MedicAlert called Andrea (grand-daughter) and reported they were getting no response from him. He was ambulanced to the hospital, and was in emergency till Saturday. He’s now in a private room and Andrea told me he is “very confused.” She sounded properly worried. He’s seriously disoriented, woozy, at a loss for where he is, etcetera. His sodium level was very low, and the doctors think that may account for it; but that’s a prelim evaluation.

This will get worse before it gets better, but one thing is now for sure, and it’s the eventuality most of us have long been dreading. He cannot live alone, on his own, any more. I’ll keep you informed — I haven’t called him in his “fuzzy” condition, he likely wouldn’t be able to respond — but my fear is great. Since the death of his wife, Julie has lived self-sufficiently. He values his independence mightily.

The days ahead will be taxing.

---

Paul Kupperberg updates via email on Thursday:

“I’m happy to say that I just spoke to him (1:45 PM-ish) and he sounded like his usual cantankerous old self, if not sick and tired of being sick and tired. (Part of the reason for reported the fuzziness and confusion MAY have been due to the fact that he had, for reasons not known, experienced an 85% hearing loss yesterday; as of today, he’s back up to 85% of his hearing.) He says his docs think he’ll be able to go home (that is, to his grandson’s home) in the next few days.

“Julie’s always held a special place in the hearts of those of us who have worked with and known him. He’s not only a living legend but a force of nature… although I guess at 88, even a force of nature sometimes needs our prayers and good thoughts.”

Mark Evanier has put up an email address at schwartz@newsfromme.com to collect notes from well-wishers. One assumes, if you are a pretty girl, that pictures of smiles will also be appreciated.

I was fresh out of college, looking to get a gig in journalism of some sort. I had been sent to the offices of CBS News, where I was to interview for what was, quite frankly, a pretty crappy job: I would be transcribing tapes of evening broadcasts. Sounds riveting, doesn’t it. I thought that perhaps it might be a foot in the door at CBS News. In retrospect, it probably wouldn’t have led to a dámņëd thing, and it’s probably better that I didn’t get the job.

In any event, I was sitting in the main lobby, waiting for the assistant to the assistant to the assistant to come down and fetch me out of there. It was late in the day. I was reading a newspaper and suddenly I heard the receptionist say, “Good night, Mr. Keeshan,” and a voice I had known since practically infancy replied, “Good night.”

I looked up and there was Bob Keeshan, not more than three feet away from me, heading out the front door.

I wanted to say something and my throat completely closed up. Not a syllable could I get out. I have no idea what I would have said–probably something stupid, or something he’d heard a million times from similar awestruck adults reduced to children in his presence. And there’s not a shred of doubt in my mind that he would have been very nice and very pleasant and very understanding because of all the times it must have happened to him.

But I said nothing, and then he was gone and out the door.

I sagged back in my chair and told myself that, if I got the job, I’d have plenty of chances to run into him once more. Except I didn’t, and more than twenty years later I never had another chance encounter with him or an opportunity to tell him face to face how much I enjoyed his show in my childhood.

Ðámņ.

I hope they drop ping pong balls at his funeral. I bet he’d love that.

PAD

For the last several months, as Caroline has gazed lovingly at Kathleen and said, “Ma ma! Ma ma!” or clutched her bottle and said, “Ba ba,” I’ve tried to get her to say “Da da” with absolutely no luck.

So yesterday I’m sitting with her in my lap, and she suddenly slams her head back into the right side of my face, smack into the side of my nose. I literally saw stars. My hands went limp and Caroline started to tumble off my lap before Kathleen caught her.

Immediately that side of my face began to swell up. “I think she broke your nose,” Kathleen opined. I sat there, my face throbbing, glared at Caroline who was in Kath’s lap.

And Caroline smiles at me and chirps happily, “Da da!”

I suppose it’s marginally better than being hit in the head with a skillet while she says “Not the mama!”, but only marginally.

PAD

I’ve never taken the initiative to watch this series; somehow I get hauled into it by one of my kids. This go-around it’s Ariel who wanted to watch it and I’m keeping her company.

I’m telling you, I don’t understand the bad rap Simon gets. All the guy is is honest. He obviously lives by the philosophy of Miss Cordelia Chase: “Tact is just not saying true stuff.” In the segments I’ve seen thus far, I have yet to see him dismiss anyone of indisputable quality, and when someone good wanders in, he seems *happy* about it. My understanding is that he’s said this is his last year. If that’s true, maybe they want to replace him with the woman from “Weakest Link.” “You *are* the weakest singer. Good-bye.”

But, man, some jerk in Houston snapped and threw a cup of water on him? I think Simon is getting out at the right time; what’s to stop some loon from sneaking a gun in and blowing a hole in him? (Unless they make them go through metal detectors.) What I don’t comprehend is, ostensibly there’s a screening process. Some of these people, the moment they open their mouth, it’s clear they don’t know an E flat from a Salt Flat. Why then in God’s name would the producers send them up the line? Only one answer comes to mind: Knowing these people are horrendous, they send them before the three judges and the TV camera specifically so they can humiliate themselves on national TV. I’m not sure why I never realized that before, but that has to be the case. ‘Wow, this guy is so awful, we’ve got to share him with America.” Seems kind of–oh, what’s the word–cruel.

Granted, you’d think the would-be singers should know better, but it’s pretty evident by now that they don’t. I know they’re signing themselves up to be exploited, but boy, it just all comes across as pretty mean insofar as the producers are obviously setting them up to be seen as schmucks. Kind of a waste of one’s fifteen minutes.

PAD

No, it’s not what you think. I’ve gotten e-mails recently asking me why I “hate” Todd McFarlane or “hate” John Byrne or “hate” Marvel Comics.

Can we, y’know, retire that word except when and where it’s relevant?

I’m reminded of the exchange between Pete Lorre and Bogie in “Casblanca,” in which Lorre’s character says, “You despise me, don’t you, Rick.” To which Rick replies, “I don’t know. I suppose I would if I gave you any thought.”

Do you guys have ANY idea how much effort it is to hate someone? Really hate them?

No, I don’t hate Todd, no, I don’t hate John, no, I don’t hate anyone at Marvel. I can think of two, maybe three people in my life I’ve encountered personally that I truly hate. The thing is, if I really hate someone…I never talk about them. Because just bringing them up gets me so worked up that I can’t stand it.

Hatred’s a lot of work. I try to reserve my energies for other things.

PAD