From the Green Room: Back From 'Vacation'

Today, we all return to our respective locations after a relaxing hiatus. All of us, that is, except for the I-Man, as his particular deal with the Devil precludes his ever taking a vacation.  As he often reminds us (although not with the same frequency as the updates about his battle against prostate cancer), he never gets time off. Every moment spent away from radio and television is spent with “the little knotheads” at the Imus Ranch for Kids With Cancer, dedication that, I’m sure, is noticed by the children.  As in, “Does that old guy in the cowboy hat have to follow us EVERYWHERE?”

This morning, Imus returns to the Ranch Dance Hall down the road from which he broadcasts, while a depressed Warner, Lou and Bernie will all slink back into their studio at ABC, Chuck will take his place on set at Fox, and Tony and I will return here, to the Green Room, where we can network with (read: suck up to) one of the many in-studio Show Business guests, hoping they might, in a weak moment, throw us a bone and give us a guest shot in their feature film or television series. Like Larry Miller, an old friend of mine from the old Comic Strip / Catch A Rising Star Days of standup comedy in the 80’s, who, after I finally reconnected with him after nearly 30 years, still hasn’t returned my calls. 

not dysfunctional at allAfter being away, you forget what a logistical nightmare it is to broadcast a nationally syndicated radio program and its cable television simulcast when there are so many different locations from which it originates. We cover two time zones, sometimes even more when there’s an on-camera guest from a remote position.  At any given time on the television side, there could be up to nine different mini screens with various participants, making the proceedings look like the title sequence to a new dysfunctional version of  “The Brady Bunch.” 

Jonathan Alter and Bo Dietl were both in-studio guests. Lovely gentlemen, both, although basically ignored by Tony and myself, as neither can do anything for us other than get us a break on a Newsweek subscription or put us on a waiting list for a table at Rao’s. 

Imus is touting a new book about the Comanche Tribe of Native Americans, and is enamored with one of the nice namefigures in the book, a brave by the name of “Buffalo Hump.”  Which is not surprising, seeing as it’s coming from a man who enjoys substituting the word ‘erection’ for ‘election’, ‘selection’ and ‘protection’, and takes special glee in announcing Congressman Anthony Weiner as a guest. 

But with headlines facing us this morning like Mel Gibson’s faux pas; Mike “The Situation” endorsing a new pre-workout vitamin supplement; and Tar Balls reaching the beaches in Texas, we all begin the week with the number 9 looming in all of our minds.

For it is the number of shows left until our next vacation.
And the number of times Imus will mention to us every hour how he doesn’t get one.

Let the games begin.

From the Green Room: The SUCK UP

Hey! It’s Vince with the SUCK UP. I brought you the ShamWow, I brought you the Slap Chop, now I got the perfect solution for the oil spill in the Gulf.  The SUCK UP.  You’re cryin’ about the damage to the ecosystem?   Suck it up!

Looka this: Patented pump action, vacuum technology. You stick the SUCK UP in the water, and one…two…three. Looka that. Now you got a half a cup o’ crude trapped inside the compartment. Oil floats to the top, open the bottom, water dumps back into the Gulf.  See what I’m tellin’ ya?  It’s easier than punching a hooker in the face. It’s made by Germany and, you know, they make good stuff. 

You got a million barrels of oil in the water?  Just place the SUCK UP right on the surface, one…two…three.  Boom!  See that?  That’s six to eight ounces that’s not gonna wind up on your shrimp cocktail now. You seen the pelicans and the seagulls and the penguins all covered in that slimy crap?  I’m not gonna eat that, you gonna eat that? No. Now you don’t have to, with the SUCK UP. 

It’s so easy.  One…two…three. Done. Now check this out: Opens up like a butterfly, pop it right in the dishwasher, forty minutes later, you’re good to go again.  So simple.  It’s like peeing in the pool.  Even kids can do it.  GET one for Mom, Dad, Billy, Sally, Gramma and Grampa…make it a family outing, have fun while you teach your kids to care about the environment.

Only 19.95… but if you order now, for the next twenty minutes, cos’ we can’t do this all day, I’m gonna give you another one, absolutely free.  And if you order now, I’ll also include the BLAME THROWER. You made a mistake?  Don’t wanna own up to it?  Just point and shoot!  “Not my fault.  Your fault.”

Crude…Rude…Screwed…DUDE! 

Stop whinin’ about the spill in the Gulf, suck it up with the SUCK UP.  Order now.  Waddya waitin’ for? 


From the Green Room: Larry King's Telethon

likes telethonsOne thing about Hollywood phonies is that you can always count on them when disaster strikes. Haiti hadn’t even stopped shaking, and George Clooney was already on Twitter lining up celebrities to help. There’s no catastrophe too small to force J-Lo, Bono or Leonardo DiCaprio in America's pockets.

But for some reason, their response to the Gulf oil spill has been relatively sluggish. Hundreds of thousands of families in the region will be economically affected by the damage, and the ecosystem is pretty much effed for at least the next ten years. Yet it took a full two months for celebrities to band together to raise relief funds for the people, wildlife and coastline being destroyed by oil. And just in case the people on the Gulf Coast don’t have enough problems, it was Larry King, and not Mr. Clooney, who came to the rescue. The guest list wasn’t exactly the A-list.

wasn't availableDon’t get me wrong: everybody who came out should be commended for doing their part. I am contributing by not buying gas at BP stations; unless, of course, I’m really empty and there’s one right off the highway, and the Sunoco across the street is two cents more per gallon. I just wish there were some higher profile guests on the bill to help poor ol’ Larry’s efforts.  Ryan Seacrest is a nice enough guy and Alyssa Milano is a sweet young lady, but it wasn’t like the Martin and Lewis reunion for Jerry’s kids all those years ago. I guess Tony Danza must’ve turned Larry down.  

nice hairCameron Diaz was there, but she’s not exactly what you could call a “get,” since she’s been out promoting her new movie with Tom Cruise so hard that the only place she hasn’t been on is a milk carton. Hurricane Katrina, the 2004 Tsunami, and the Earthquake in Haitia all got the big names, but a couple of oyster beds get fouled, and all Larry’s left with is Ted Danson.  Who, by the way, has an environmental disaster of his own…on top of his head. That thing must have a half-life. I guarantee it’s made out of some kind of petroleum product, which, of course, is what is causing the problem in the first place.

Bono, incredibly, was not in attendance, which is highly unusual, as he’s championed more causes than The United Way.  Apparently he’s out having back surgery, and hopefully it’s not because he patted himself on it too hard.  Sting, can't get workhowever, was there to pick up the slack, but to be honest with you, I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that he was the one who started the oil leak in the first place.

Because it seems like the only time he gets work these days is on telethons.

From the Green Room: Amanda Bynes Retires

The oil continues to flow into the Gulf, the world economy is hanging on by a thread, and just when you thought things couldn’t possibly get worse, comes the most tragic news of all: Amanda Bynes has ‘tweeted’ that she has retired from acting.

Which, depending upon your definition of the word “acting,” is either a huge loss to the motion picture industry, or a Mother Theresa-like act of compassion and humanity.  

Some would say her performance in “Sydney White,” a modern-day retelling of the Snow White fairytale, was a pleasant diversion, even if only as a showcase for her “cherubic face, expressive eyes and comic timing.” Others would liken the witnessing of this event tantamount to rubbing their naked bodies with a wire brush dipped in alcohol and kerosene. Her turn in “She’s the Man,” a modern day version of Shakespeare’s “Twelfth Night,” in which she passes herself off as her twin brother in order to play on the boy’s soccer team, can be perceived as either a tour de force rivaling that of John Gielgud’s triumph as Malvolio, or as a sensory experience that would inspire you to jam red-hot fireplace pokers into your eyes and ears.  Many find great poignancy in Ms. Bynes’s portrayal of Daphne Reynolds in “What a Girl Wants.” as a teen who seemingly “has it all,” but yearns to find the father she never knew.  Many more find that role to be a viable subsitute for syrup of Ipecac. And few young actresses today could match the emotional range Amanda displayed in “Charlotte’s Web 2: Wilbur’s Great Adventure,” a direct to video animated feature in which she provided the voice of “Nellie.”  She took what was essentially a two-dimensional character, and made it, very nearly, two and a half dimensions. Of course, the 3D glasses didn’t hurt.

One wonders who can possibly fill the void left by Bynes’ absence; after all, Meryl Streep can’t be in two places at once. But before the hundreds of dozens of Amanda’s staunchest fans succumb to despair, take heart:

Miley Cyrus is waiting in the wings.  

And if that doesn’t do it for you, Lindsay Lohan is set to star in the Linda Lovelace biopic. Apparently, they’re not going to aim the camera below the shin so as to avoid getting the Anti-Alcohol ‘Scram’ ankle bracelet in the shot. Of course, most of the action in that film will be from the neck up, so that seems like a moot point.  

From the Green Room: Feets Subs for Rob

While the Imus in the Morning Program is on hiatus, legendary blues singer Maurice Mordecai Dupris, better known as Blind Mississippi White Boy Pig Feets Dupris, or “Feets,” will fill in for Rob. In the wake of the passing of Jimmy Dean, the venerable country and movie star and sausage impresario, we offer the following excerpt from Feets’s unauthorized autobiography, “Smells Like The Blues.”

Jimmy Dean. For real.I first met Mr. Jimmy Deans at a roadhouse outside of Memphis called the Swine Time.  It was one of those joints where there was chicken wire covering the bandstand so as to protect the musicians from the flying beer bottles and rib bones that would often be thrown by unruly, unhappy, and very, very drunk patrons.  I was sitting in with a bunch of guys I had fell in with after I got out of the joint on trumped up charges for statutory rape.  See, on my European tour I got a mite tipsy on some Beaujolais, broke into the Louvre and tried to have my way with the Venus DeMilo. I eventually got the charges reduced to armed robbery, and did a nickel in a French prison, where I met a young man by the name of Papillon, who helped me escape in a cart by removing some old brie from the mess hall. I sat hidden underneath twelve overripe runny wheels in the hot sun for about seventeen hours. I still can’t eat cheese to this day. 

Anyway, there I was one night, playing harp with Gallic Glib Tongue Gilbert and the Cunning Linguists who had a hit with “Nobody Eats Parsley” when in walked none other than “Big Bad John” hisself: a big man, with a million-dollar-watt smile and a handshake that could crush walnuts.  I had just seen him play one of the bad guys in the James Bond movie where Sean McConnerys wore that awful hairpiece.  We finished a set, toweled off from the beer shower we endured, and this sweet little waitress by the name of Livinia told us John wanted us to sit with him at his table.  He complimented us, I told him I was a fan of his work, and he told me he was getting tired of the business and wanted to find another way to make a living. 

Now, The Swine Time was known for their snout sausage sandwiches, cos’ you could eat ‘em with just two fingers.  I was hungry and was woofing that bad boy down when I bit down on some nastiness, and pulled some bristle hairs out my mouth.  Nothing worse than poorly shaved snout.  I complained that there just wasn’t no place you could get a decent pork product any more; that what America needed was a quality sausage product that they could trust.  They deserved to have links, patties and tubes of the best smoked pig meats money could buy, at a price they could afford, and Jimmy’s eyes lit up!  He told me that was it! He thanked me for the inspiration, and told me that whatever he wound up making on the venture, he would make sure I was taken care of.

This is kind of grossIt became a multi-million dollar industry. And I never saw a penny.

But he did send me a basket of products every Christmas time.  After having to get my arteries rotor-rootered for the third time, I finally had to send him a note asking him to stop sending them.

The hell with the damn sausage, I thought. Send me some damn money.