My favorite quote, in which he talks about dealing with difficult guests and people:

Occasionally a publicist might get aggressive. I’ll leave the names out because we have to work with these people, but once I remember a publicist threatening to pull a guest because he/she/it didn’t like the way we had formatted the show. Specifically, the order of the guests. I politely told he/she/it that they couldn’t tell us how to format our show, much as I would never tell he/she/it how to producer their movie/album/book.

The publicist turned to his/her/its assistant publicist and said, “Call Jay and see if he has an opening.” At which point I turned to our talent booker and said, “Call Tom Brokaw and see if he’s available for tonight.”

Reddit: I am Rob Burnett, Executive Producer of the Late Show with David Letterman, and a writer/director/producer of television and movies.

Back in the sixth grade, at the end of a school day, I tried to get a cheap laugh from the rest of the class by pulling away a friend’s chair while he tried to sit down. I wasn’t trying to be mean, but yeah, it was really mean, and dumb. It’s not like I’d cleared it with him before I did it. And is it ever possible to look cool after you’ve just fallen on your butt? I feel a serious twinge of guilt every time I remember that event.

There! That wasn’t difficult, was it? And I should point out that the preceding paragraph was a DIY job written by someone without the benefit of highly-paid staff. Why, then, is the Romney campaign having so much trouble dealing with an ancient story about high school bullying?

I find the process of a national campaign fascinating. Most candidates keep plugging away until they find themselves (though circumstance or careful management) with a specific opportunity to break away from the pack and make America stop thinking of him or her only as a candidate for a party nomination. If you want to win, at some point you have to do something to make people think of you as someone who could be a President. Obama had That Moment when a ranty video surfaced of his pastor giving a screechy and angry sermon. Out of context, the video played to some people like a call for racial violence.

The video went viral and it became a major distraction. The campaign could have ignored it or parried it off. Instead, they recognized it as opportunity for Obama to stand behind a podium, say some important basic things about who he is and what he believes, and in doing so, demonstrate the world that he was fully qualified and prepared to occupy the Oval Office.

If you haven’t the time to watch the speech, then download it to your phone or read/Instapaper the transcript. It’s gripping stuff; I listened to it several times over the course of that week. In 45 minutes, he convinced America that he was one of those rare people who are intellectually and emotionally capable of leading the world’s dominant nation.

I want every credible candidate from any party to have That Moment. I want to feel as though no matter what happens, my next President isn’t going to be the political equivalent of an “American Idol” winner. I want to know that this is a serious person who’s committed to a life of public service, and that they’re seeking this office because they have an earnest plan to improve the condition of all Americans. I won’t waste my time and attention on a candidate who seems to be in the race because they saw someone on TV in a spotlight surrounded by fireworks and confetti cannons and madly-cheering people and thought “That could be ME up there!”

This week, as the result of either Circumstance or “Careful Management” on the part of Romney’s opponents, the campaign is dealing with its own distraction: stories of the cruel bullying or dumb pranks (pick one) that he instigated when he was in high school. And yeah, the fact that people are dredging up something from his teen years and claiming it has relevance on how a President will fight our wars and fix our economy is pretty damned silly. What I’m actually paying attention to is how Romney reacts. For now, Romney seems to be content to parry it all off with an “acknowledgment apology” (ie, “I acknowledge that some people feel as though an apology is called for, and therefore, to those people who do feel that way, I apologize”) accompanied by the sort of chuckle that seems to represent nostalgic reverie as much as any actual regret for the stupid actions of one’s youth.

I imagine that a national political campaign is disorienting for anyone who’s spent his or her entire adult life as a successful CEO. It can be the first time in decades that he or she is actually being held personally accountable for their actions. An oil-industry CEO directs and enacts a plan to cut costs wherever possible or impossible, reasonable or unreasonable. The capos under his command are told to ignore a law if costs of compliance are greater than the cost of fines and litigation. The CEO funnels gargantuan amounts of lobbying money towards the elimination of any governmental oversight at all.

And then, after 4.9 billion gallons of oil spill into the Gulf of Mexico, who gets the blame? The tip of the spear. Never the hand that threw it.

After decades in such a low-gravity world, is it any wonder that a guy like Mitt has trouble finding his footing? Under the circumstances, I’m not terribly surprised that he doesn’t clearly remember this incident and doesn’t see the need to show personal accountability. I’m not even surprised that he doesn’t see this bullying brouhaha as an opportunity to define himself as a candidate.

What surprises me is the fact that with national election just six months away, the presumptive nominee of the opposition party is still getting such awful advice from his campaign managers. I mean, at some point, a campaign acquires enough momentum, support, and money that there’s someone there at the candidate’s elbow to tell him or her “When we get to the county fair, do not, do not, do not allow yourself to be photographed eating a corn dog, or indeed inserting any sort of shaftlike object into your eager, wide-open mouth.”

When a candidate passes that simple test, it fills me with some small bit of extra confidence about his or her abilities. “Thanks, but no. Oh, boy, my spouse will never let me hear the end of it if I get mustard all over my one clean jacket” isn’t up there with Obama’s 45-minute speech on race in America, but isn’t it an impressive display of common sense and mental agility? It indicates that this person can connect an immediate choice with a future undesirable outcome. Or, in the absence of the candidate’s own common sense, doesn’t it indicate that he acknowledges his own failings and is at least smart enough to hire smart advisors?

Yes, I’m thinking specifically of “That Photo” of Michele Bachmann:

I never thought she was clever enough to be President (for the record: neither am I). And after seeing that photo, I wasn’t even sure that she was clever enough to operate one of those restroom sinks that turns the water on when you wave your hands near a sensor (for the record: I usually get it on the first or second try).

So this is how Romney responds to allegations that he bullied a long-haired kid in high school. He says he doesn’t remember the incident, even though it definitely happened. He’s not talking about it, and that absence of data from a candidate leaves a big void that a voter backfills with Worry. I worry that maybe he’s lying about his recollection. Why lie about something that he did more than 40 years ago, when “I did a lot of stupid things when I was a kid that I’ll regret for the rest of my life” is one of those common touchstones that all humans can relate to, and would readily forgive? I worry that maybe he genuinely categorizes that incident as just Jolly Hijinks. Something that merits a laugh over a gin-and-tonic during a high school reunion. Even though it seems like it was a terrifying incident that might have haunted the victim for the rest of his life.

And I worry that maybe he genuinely doesn’t care about how the incident and his reactions to it appear to the rest of the country. I worry that he knows that his supporters are his supporters, that the other members of the party will support him as soon as he officially wins the nomination, and that once he’s elected, the opinions of the people who didn’t vote for him don’t matter at all. This was a massive opportunity for Romney to show the country that he connects to people, that he has a sense of empathy, and that he believes that our country is beset by social problems that at times appear to be just as troubling as our economic ones. But the campaign let that pitch buzz right past him.

When Obama gave his “More Perfect Union” speech, it became important to me that he become the next President. There’s another kind of Moment in a candidacy. When John McCain nominated Sarah Palin as his running mate, and it became clear how unprepared she was for the campaign, let alone the office of the President, I stopped thinking of him as the guy I wasn’t going to vote for and I started thinking him as the guy I wanted to vote against. I honestly think that McCain, plucked from the right phase of his political career, could have been quite a successful President. And while I’m no fan of Sarah Palin, I will eagerly defend her against those idiots who refuse to acknowledge her as a human being worthy of a certain non-negotiable amount of dignity and respect.

That said: if we had elected the McCain/Palin ticket, the British would have declared us a society in a state of chaos, incapable of self-rule. Parliament would have annexed us back into the Empire and appointed a colonial governor. “Thank God. And God save the Queen!” I would have cheered, as I watched the Royal Marines curtly re-raising the Union Jack over the Old State House after their little 237-year setback.

I feel as though I’m experiencing that same sort of transition regarding my perception of Mitt Romney. I might vote for someone despite the fact that he or she was kind of a **** in high school. I might vote against someone who doesn’t care how much of a **** he was, or who doesn’t care about the people he hurt.

And Marty, if you’re reading this: I’m sorry about the thing with the chair. Let me buy you a drink sometime.

[Updated to note: Be civil in the comments, please. I don't have the time to police the comment thread and if things turn ugly, I'm just going to delete all comments and disable the dialogue forever. Agree with me, disagree with me, agree with what other people say, disagree with what other people say. It's all good...until "I don't have time to police the comment thread" becomes "I'm ashamed by the tone of the comments."]

Usually it’s, you know…Cow Things. But it can’t hurt to look, provided it’s just a second and I don’t veer into oncoming traffic.

Today, most of the herd was on the other side of the road.

This is unprecedented in my experience.

The concept continued to distract me long afterward. Did the farmer move the herd over there to graze on virgin grass? Traffic is infrequent, so that’s certainly within the realm of possibility. But how do you move a herd across a road? Do you have a little Crossing Guard sign and white gloves, like the ladies in front of the middle schools?

Or did the alpha cow address the herd and say “Ladies and gentlemen — you too, Goat — we are most definitely in a Rut. Every day it’s ‘the grass near the pond’ and then ‘the other pasture on the other side of the dairy building’ and back again. And where does it get us, I ask you? Yes: back to the grass near the pond again. Well, let me be the very first cow who says ‘Neighh’.”

(I imagine that he’s been preparing this little speech for days. He thought he needed a joke in there somewhere.)

“So I’m going for that long, cool, lush grass on the other side of the road. Who’s with me?”

The fact that some of the herd remained behind suggests a philosophical schism among the herd. Like Martin Luther before him, Alpha Cow nailed his own 95 Theses to the crossbeam of the gate to the pasture, and led a major Reformation of the status quo.

(Thesis 1: “There’s lots of tasty grasses over there.” Thesis 2: “We should definitely go over there and eat some.” Thesis 3: “The farmer’s dog thinks he’s ‘keeping us in line’ with all of his running and barking, but we all know he’s just being a colossal prick.” Then it kind of trails off into a list of his favorite TV shows.)

Another theory: this is a test case to see how the farmer reacts. If there’s no reprisals, then the herd continues the pretense of “grazing the next meadow over” day after day until they finally make it to the airport. And then: Cabo!

Greetings from the Conference on World Affairs at the University of Colorado in Boulder. Thanks to the 5624-foot altitude, EVERY night is two-for-one drinks night to anybody visiting from sea level, at least in terms of the effects of the alcohol.

I don’t know for sure how many years I’ve been speaking here. I think my first was in 1997, and I’ve missed only one of them since. That’s 14 years. Which is absolutely absurd, so I dismiss this as just another agenda-driven fiction of the Liberal-controlled basic math.

Actually, the scary thing is my realization that (oh, for the love of God) I’m now part of the Old Guard here. During my first years as a speaker, I was impressed by those people who seemed like they’d been coming here forever. They’d show up at the first party of the week and they’d continue conversations that have been going on for ten years, picking them up right from where they’d left off at the previous Conference, it seemed. There I was on Monday evening, sitting on the steps of a patio with a plate of buffet food on my lap, talking with the same group of friends I’d been chatting with at the same party in the same place last year.

It’s great to feel so at ease, don’t get me wrong. The situation just makes it very difficult to maintain my self-image as The Dangerous Young Upstart Whose Radical Ideas Will Ensure His Early Ouster. It was hard enough when I was still in my Twenties.

(Jeez, I am old. I find myself walking through the U of C campus and thinking “in MY day, we didn’t need longboards. We rode skateboards, like normal people!” Please note that I road a board for exactly one year of my life and I would have traded my twitchy thirdhand deck for a longboard in a heartbeat.)

Speakers at the Conference on World Affairs contribute to seven to ten panels that cover a wide range of topics. Tuesday was fairly typical for me. In the morning, I talked about alternative definitions of journalism and in the afternoon I was on a panel about interstellar space travel. I write about space and I’m keenly interested in those subjects. But I know I’m just a dabbler. Two others on the panel were an astronomer and a physicist. After my ten minute contribution (which leaned heavily on my knowledge of history) I was smart enough to just be quiet and let those guys handle the audience Q&A.

During my solo ten minutes, I stumbled on the term “manned exploration.”

I asked my pal Seth Shostak (fab astronomer and educator) “Is there a gender-nonspecific way to express the concept of sending people, as opposed to probes, into space?”

“Crewed space exploration,” he replied.

“Crude? Who are we sending up there? Ricky Gervais and Seth Macfarlane?”

This got a laugh from the crowd. Which made me happy.

When a session ends, people often come up to the stage to start up conversations with the speakers while we’re packing up our pens, papers, and iPads. A group massed around Seth and the other Guy With Credentials, asking questions about dark energy and solar sails and space elevators and the imperatives of human exploration. A woman skipped past them and made a beeline for me.

“Every time I try to email my friend,” she said, thrusting an iPad forward, “It tries to FaceTime her instead. What’s wrong?”

I happily fixed her iPad. We’re all just here to serve.

I had a new responsibility this year. The organizers gave me a plenary session…one of only a handful of slots in which a speaker has the stage all to him or herself for the whole time. Panels are casual by design; the conference explicitly tells speakers that we’re meant to speak as extemporaneously as possible. Usually, all I do is prepare a rough, five-item outline of the major points I want to cover.

But this was a different thing. The audience was going to be stuck with me and only me for the whole 50 minutes. So I went ahead and wrote a whole new show for the event. I prepared for this just as I do when someone pays me to fly out and give a keynote.

The title of the plenary was “Steve Jobs and Apple.” I built the talk over a course of about a month. First I just kept jotting down thoughts and topics that seemed relevant. Then, I shaped those notes into a rough outline with some sort of beginning, middle and end trimming out anything that seemed irrelevant. Finally, I turned the outline into slides and started thinking about the best way to communicate all of this stuff.

I spent a lot of time reflecting on Steve’s philosophies. Item after item in my OmniOutliner file contained quotes about his design ideals. Each of them said “Simplify, simply, simplify.” One item was my observation the iMac’s power button is hidden away on the back, so that nothing superfluous can mar the face of the screen. I had Apple’s PR photo of the original iPod: it’s a stark whiteout.

I created another new slide, and pasted in a good quote from Antoine de Saint-Exupéry that I wanted to use:

“A designer knows he has achieved perfection not when there is nothing left to add, but nothing left to take away.”

This was the first presentation in which I’d used so many direct quotes. I changed my custom template and created a new master slide, basing “Quotation” on an existing master that I call “Statement.”

I looked at the new slide.

The font for the quote was Comicrazy, which is probably my single favorite Comicraft font. It was yellow. The attribution was in the same font, in white. At some point in life I’d come across a list of presentation design tips that suggested putting your identity on every slide, to encourage people to connect with you later. So my name and my Twitter handle were at the bottom of the slide, in a different font, on top of a dark box.

I re-read the “nothing left to take away” line.

Then I flipped back and forth, clicking through all of Steve’s quotes about the importance of saying “no” and simplifying things. I clicked through the slide which represented my cue to talk about Steve’s single-window design for iDVD’s user interface. My presentation contained image after image of Apple products, each with their clean, serene lines.

Well, goddamn it. Steve had shamed me from beyond the grave.

So in the days before my plenary, I built a whole new presenation template. It uses only one font (Futura) and there’s only ever one color on the screen, red. And I only use it for hairlines, to call the audience’s attention to a note). If there’s ever more than one thing on a slide, there has to be a very good reason. I try to use Magic Movies to redirect the audience’s attention instead of just slapping up a thick pile of stuff and hoping that I can steer through it.

I like the new template a lot. My next talk after Boulder is in Dublin, Ireland for Úll and I bet I’ll tweak this a little more. I’ll probably switch Futura for something just a little more interesting.

But, yes. From now on, every time I build a presentation I’ll look at each slide and ask myself “Does this screen look clean enough to contain a quote from Steve Jobs about his design ideas, or a photo of an Apple product, without making me look like a clueless idiot?”

Even when a slide contains neither of those things, it’s a good question to ask.

Hi! I’m Andy! I’m a professional writer! Many people trust me for advice on how to make technical things work!

OK. So here’s what I was getting at.

We all get frustrated about our writing projects. Don’t let it set you back.

Frustration is the villain with a thousand faces. I’m bored. Or I lose focus. Or I lose faith in this idea; I think there’s something else I ought to be doing with my time. I remember a workday when the writing felt like I was just reaching down into a wishing well and pulling up fistful after fistful of quarters and today is nothing like that.

I usually get myself out of this sort of mood by reminding myself that the words aren’t supposed to flow easily every time I sit down at the keyboard. This stuff is work. Why is this specific writing problem any different from the time a switch broke on my washing machine, and I couldn’t immediately figure out how to put it back together so that the thingy would stay engaged with the whatchamacallit? A problem can only be solved if you keep working on a solution, as the Tide-fresh Alien Skin Software tee shirt I’m wearing today attests.

Also oh-so-correct: this question that Neil Gaiman recently answered on his Tumblr:

“You being lazy and unmotivated and not writing allows another writer, who does sit down and write, to get published in your place. Magazines and publishers only have so many pages, so many annual publishing spots. You’re letting someone else who wants to do the work get published. Surely that’s a good thing…?”

Similar: that scene from “Tootsie” in which Dustin Hoffman is Teri Garr’s acting coach. She’s struggling with an audition piece. “I’m no good with confrontational characters,” she lamely apologizes. “Well, that’s too bad,” Hoffman snaps back. “Because you’re competing with hundreds of actresses who have no problem with confrontational characters. And that’s why one of them is going to get this part instead of you!”

(The takeaway from the scene and the Tumblr: it’s hard for everybody. Some people will work through it and some won’t.)

To these motivational tools I now add the tale of the hardworking screenwriter of “Death Bed: The Bed That Eats.” Via Patton Oswalt’s “Werewolves and Lollipops” (NSFW language):

Oswalt is absolutely right. George Barry (the filmmaker) can definitely call himself a writer. The English professor who’s had an incomplete novel moldering in his or her desk forever can’t. The novel is bold and original and ambitious. The professor believes it’ll inspire the peoples of the world to coalesce into a single, higher being. “Death Bed” is schlocky drive-in tripe. George Barry only believed that a sufficiently lurid low-budget horror movie couldn’t fail to make money.

Aha! But George Barry finished his screenplay.

Becoming a writer isn’t like becoming a doctor or a civil engineer, or a luncheonette that serves “the best coffee in town.” You don’t have to go through a seven-year accreditation process. If you want to call yourself a writer, all you need to do is finish writing something.

Oh, and: writing about writing almost doesn’t count as writing. I suppose I should get back to work. Just remember that as a writer, you’re not a passive receptacle for some mysterious Muse. You’re a worker. The good news is that when you’ve finished something, you’ve earned something.

A Christmas Carol

Patrick Stewart

A Christmas Carol

Genre: Audiobook

Patrick Stewart’s one-man dramatic reading defines “A Christmas Carol” for me. It’s the media adaptation that gets straight to the heart of the original: his version makes it crystal clear that we’re meant to cheer Scrooge on. Yes, indeed, we are. Or we’re meant to, anyway, as the story progresses.

Could we even go so far as to describe Scrooge as the hero of “A Christmas Carol”? Hmm. It depends on whether or not you think it’s heroic to rescue yourself, as opposed to saving Lois Lane, Marion Ravenwood, or Christmas.

I say “yes.” Scrooge examines his own behavior and ultimately he decides to move away from a position of safety and comfort and into something more dangerous and uncertain. That might not be exactly heroic, but at the very least it’s brave. And that’s why, when this story is adapted and performed as well as it’s done by Patrick Stewart, we like Scrooge and want him to succeed.

“Rubbish!” you say. “Scrooge is no different at the end of the story than he was at the beginning! Marley showed Scrooge that he was ultimately going to be damned to wander the earth bound by iron chains! And the Ghost of Christmas Future showed him that he’s going to die next Christmas Day if he doesn’t change! Scrooge is just trying to save his own skin!”

“Hogwash,” I reply.

(Though I credit both of us for not going for the cheap laugh and saying “Humbug.” It shows a lot of restraint and class.)

Marley’s visitation scene makes Dickens’ intentions clear. Marley’s true burden isn’t the hundreds of pounds of chains and steel cashboxes he has to drag around everywhere: it’s his unrelenting remorse. Only after his death has Marley become keenly aware of the depth of the suffering experienced by the city’s disadvantaged. He’s eager to aid…but as a spirit, he’s powerless to interfere. All Marley can do is watch, and remember all the times during his life when he walked straight past the same kinds of people without paying them the slightest notice…and think about how he could have lifted them out of their desperate situations by applying the slightest effort. That’s a tidy vision of hell.

“Oh! captive, bound, and double-ironed,” cried the phantom, “not to know, that ages of incessant labour, by immortal creatures, for this earth must pass into eternity before the good of which it is susceptible is all developed. Not to know that any Christian spirit working kindly in its little sphere, whatever it may be, will find its mortal life too short for its vast means of usefulness. Not to know that no space of regret can make amends for one life’s opportunity misused! Yet such was I! Oh! Such was I!”

As if to firmly dot that particular “i”, Dickens ends the scene with the view of the street from Scrooge’s window. The streets are filled with spirits, many of them known to Scrooge during their lives as fellow members of the 1%:

The air was filled with phantoms, wandering hither and thither in restless haste, and moaning as they went. Every one of them wore chains like Marley’s Ghost; some few (they might be guilty governments) were linked together; none were free. Many had been personally known to Scrooge in their lives. He had been quite familiar with one old ghost, in a white waistcoat, with a monstrous iron safe attached to its ankle, who cried piteously at being unable to assist a wretched woman with an infant, whom it saw below, upon a door-step. The misery with them all was, clearly, that they sought to interfere, for good, in human matters, and had lost the power for ever.

We come to learn that Ebenezer Scrooge isn’t a baddie. He just grew more cynical and suspicious of other people as the years passed, and then of Humanity in general. Ultimately, he distanced himself so completely that he withdrew from the whole system. Time and time again, he angrily demands to be left alone. He doesn’t even attempt to interfere with the good works of others, and (to my recollection) doesn’t even act in a meanspirited way. A thoughtless one, yes, but is he ever actively hostile? He wants the men collecting for the poor to go away. He doesn’t want to be roped in to his nephew’s Christmas party. He wishes that the carolers would just leave him the hell alone.

In doing so, he failed to understand that you’re part of the human race whether you want to be or not. Therefore, the only choice any of us have in the matter is whether to play a positive role in human society or a selfish one. By the time Scrooge meets the Ghost of Christmas Future, he’s already realized the mistakes he’s made and the damage he’s done to himself and the people around him. When he sees his name on the tombstone, he doesn’t plead with the Ghost because he’s desperate to save his skin. I think it’s clear that he was eager to finally use his resources (his money and his time on Earth) to become a positive part of society, and thought that the cup was being dashed from his lips. He was like Marley in that moment: wanting to alleviate human suffering, but denied the ability.

So there. I could move on to a long debate about whether or not a desire to help others is, in fact, a selfish desire. But I’ve just checked carefully and it turns out that this here is a blog post and not a page of dialogue for Dr. House.

Patrick Stewart’s reading preserves Dickens’ perspective on Scrooge. Which is why it remains at the very top of the heap of “Christmas Carol” re-interpretations, topping the Alastair Sim version and the Season Three Christmas episode of “WKRP In Cincinnati.”

It also hits a more minor, but still important, point: it doesn’t shortchange us on the Christmas Day scenes. It wouldn’t be very satisfying if Scrooge woke up, undocked his iPhone from the nightstand charger, confirmed the date, PayPalled a bunch of money to some good causes, and then went back to sleep. Patrick Stewart doesn’t hold anything back. There’s a smile on Scrooge’s face and a gleam in his eye that comes through even in audiobook form. And yet, he doesn’t go overboard and destroy the effect of all the hard work that preceded that scene. The word to describe Scrooge’s emotions would be “grateful” rather than “manic.” We should be grateful that we have the time and the means to do something positive.

This is a scene from the 1999 Hallmark made-for-TV movie. It’s a good’n; so good that it…no, no, surely not.

…

What the hell…it’s Christmas: it’s so good that I can even completely forgive Hallmark for bankrolling “Riding The Bus With My Sister.”

No matter how good Stewart’s movie is, though, I can’t prefer it to the audiobook. Stewart has been regularly performing his abridged “Christmas Carol” as a one-man show since 1991. He does every voice. I invite you to wonder, as I do, how he compresses his rich, impressive King Lear-esque baritone into a charming Tiny Tim. I can assure you that he does. And when he plays female parts, it’s about as far away from a Monty Python pepperpot lady as one can get without leaving this planet.

Oh, how I love this audiobook. I can’t possibly exaggerate how I feel about it. I first bought it on cassette at a salvage store. Since then, I’ve bought it on CD and on Audible. There’s no set date during the holiday season when I move it from my iTunes library and onto my iPhone. But it’s early. The Indianapolis 500 starts with a voice on a loudspeaker calling “Gentlemen, start your engines.” For me, the holiday season begins with Patrick Stewart intoning “Jacob Marley was dead…”

And when I hear those words, I feel pinpricks at the back of my neck and I am very, very happy. There have been years when I simply never got around to setting up the tree. Holiday cards? Those only happen when I think of an idea early enough to have the cards made, and get the cards made early enough to address and mail them.

But there is never, ever a year when I don’t listen to Patrick Stewart’s dramatic adaptation of “A Christmas Carol” at least twice. In a career seemingly filled with indispensable work, I would quickly choose “A Christmas Carol” the least-dispensable thing Patrick Stewart’s ever done.

So you should definitely get yourself a copy of this. It’s available for instant download via Audible. If your holiday weekend plans involve driving all over creation making merry, you can choose no better car audio than this.

Me, I bought and ripped the CD. That’s the highest tribute I can pay to any commercial audio. If an album’s good, I’ll buy a track or three. If it’s very good, I’ll buy the whole thing.

If it’s as good as “A Christmas Carol,” though, I want the CD. I want the recording at its highest, uncompressed quality. I want it in an unlocked format that I can rip and then install on any playback device I own now or will ever own in the future.

Buy “A Christmas Carol” from Amazon. As usual, my Amazon Associates ID is embedded in that link and any purchases you make on Amazon after clicking it results in my receiving a small kickback in the form of Amazon store credits…which I will spend on delightful foolishness.

Er…I mean, food for hungry orphans.

Hard To Handle

The Ukulele Orchestra Of Great Britain

The Secret Of Life

Genre: Pop

I have a very low tolerance for precious novelty interpretations of pop hits. I don’t really understand the concept.

Let’s take “Achy-Breaky Heart” as a case study. My problems with this song are as follows: repetitive melody; not particularly catchy melody; uninspired lyrics; Billy Ray Cyrus’ mullet.

None of these shortcomings are in any way corrected by an Alvin And The Chipmunks version of that song. So why, then, would I like that version, either? If anything, the song’s last problem is compounded when the song is being sung by vole-like creatures. At least Cyrus’ hairstyle ended at his neck. The Chipmunks sport full-body mullets…and there are three of them.

So a band doesn’t automatically get a free pass when they do a cover version of a hit song using alternative instruments or an unconventional musical arrangement. Wendy Carlos’ “Switched-On Bach” remains a classic for her thoughtful electronic re-interpretation of classical music. Through her synthesizers, she reveals new truths and beauty in the Brandenburg Concertos. You can’t, you know, duplicate that highly-satisfying result by dragging a MIDI file into a Casio keyboard. Not even if you go all-out and use Tone #062, aka “Space Meow.”

“Hard To Handle” was originally written and recorded by Otis Redding and I swear to God I knew that before I happened to Google for the name of the band that made it into a big hit in the 90′s, which I already knew was The Black Crowes but I thought it’d be good form just to double-check that.

(cough)

I consider The Ukulele Orchestra Of Great Britain to be among the best five all-ukulele orchestras in the European Union and I’m willing to fight any man or woman who challenges me on that point. I happened to be in London while they were performing at the Barbican Centre, and happened to buy the very last seat available just a few hours before the show. I was very pleased to be the specific person responsible for that moment when the group’s manager leaned his head into the dressing room, pulled the cigar out of his mouth, and congratulating the UOoGB on having sold out the venue.

The tune’s a cover magnet. The melody and the lyrics are impeccably high-quality raw ingredients for a band and a singer to work with. It seems like there’s only one possible mistake to be made, and it’s an understandable one: the band and the singer can’t each be working so hard to sell the song that they wind up fighting each other. For sure, you can’t have a scenario in which they’re fighting and one side is clearly winning. I think that’s why the Crowes’ version isn’t my favorite, even though I like it lots.

The Ukulele Orchestra doesn’t make their whole playlist out of ukulele arrangements of hit songs, though they do great things with that line. I first heard about them via their version of “Psycho Killer”:

I love the fact that there’s a distinctly inverse relationship between how seriously they take themselves and how seriously they take their music. Admittedly such an inverse relationship is by no means unique among musicians but the Ukes have chosen put the bigger number on the “how good do they sound?” side of the equation. As demonstrated by this, their version of “The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly”:

Their cover of “Hard To Handle” is true to the song’s origins. It manages to inject the right amount of aggression, soul, and glee that belongs in any proper version of this tune. This track’s been a mainstay of my playlists for so long that whenever I think “Hard To Handle” I instinctively hear the Ukes’ version and not one of the more blockbuster-ey ones.

Yup, I’m a fan. The Ukulele Orchestra Of Great Britain isn’t a comedy act and it isn’t a novelty act. It’s a musical act. I hope they make their way to New England some time. Their live show was tops and I’d love to see them again.

Try or buy “Hard To Handle” on the Amazon MP3 Store. As usual, that link is embedded with my Amazon associates code and anything you buy there after clicking the link results in my getting a few store credits…which, I promise you, I shall spend on foolish and wonderful things.

It’s (oh, right) Christmastime, so let’s close this one off with the Ukes’ version of “Blue Christmas.”

A real treasure arrived in Friday’s mail. Observe, Volume 1 of the collected edition Karl Kerschl’s magnificent webcomic, “The Abominable Charles Christopher.

It’s probably a good idea, as a general rule, to try to avoid declaring superlative absolutes, such as “this is the greatest webcomic.” But can I get away with saying “When I think ‘greatest webcomic’ this is the strip that pops into my head before I remind myself about the problem with superlative absolutes?” All right, then. There are three things I want from any ongoing webcomic series: terrific art, terrific storytelling, and a regular, reliable publication schedule. Normally I’m happy to get two out of three. “Abominable Charles Christopher” nails the trifecta.

Karl was lovely enough to include a sketch in my copy:

That’s the level of the artwork in this strip, week in and week out. I’ve never bought a print of any of his strips. Why? Because for God’s sake…which one would I choose?

I’ve been a fan of “Abominable” for a year or two. When I stood in my kitchen and unwrapped the book, it was the very first time I’d seen Karl’s strip in printed form, as opposed to on a laptop or iPad screen. I must say, this book shows off the limitations of electronic publishing. Karl’s artwork leaps up to an even higher level. It’s obvious that Karl has in no way “dumbed down” his art to the limitations of a 128 pixel-per-inch laptop screen or a 1000-pixel-wide image area. Seeing these strips in print reminds me of just how much I’ve been missing.

And mind you: I was already blown away by the art. “Abominable” in print is joy, doubled. I’m glad to have this book and I’m eager to recommend that you snag a copy for yourself.

I’m also grateful for the chance to update the “Kind Of Truthful But Not Really” version of my cv.

You have one of these, don’t you? It’s that second, slightly more-impressive cv that you’d never hand to a potential employer, and for an excellent reason: every item on it is technically true but wouldn’t survive a series of careful followup questions.

For instance, my legit cv lists “Wrote an ebook about artificial habitats that was licensed by NASA as student educational material.” True. That happened. If the interviewer asks for details, I would happily and confidently tell them about the 60-page book I wrote about building aquariums and about the relationship between goldfish, gravel, water, air, and vegetation. I got an inquiry from NASA after I published it. After I signed and returned a bunch of forms, they gave it out (for a time) as part of a kit for schoolkids which explained the problems of building colonies in space.

The Kind Of True But Not Really version of my cv, by comparison, includes “Ren and Stimpy” among my writing credits. “Ren and Stimpy”? Really? Yyyyyesss, that’s….tttttrrrrue, I suppose. But its truthiness falls apart with the right two followup questions:

“You wrote for the ‘Ren and Stimpy’ cartoon?”

“No…but I have a writing credit in the Marvel Comics licensed comic.”

“Oh. So you wrote a story for the comic?”

“Er…no. Here’s what happened: I once went out to dinner with a couple of comics writers and I made some sort of joke and one of the guys asked if he could use it. I said sure, and then I forgot about it. Months later, people started emailing me about how they bought this month’s issue of ‘Ren And Stimpy Comics And Stories’ and one of the stories says ‘Thanks to Andy Ihnatko for letting us steal one of his jokes’ on the title page.”

With that in mind, I point you to the back cover of the “Abominable” anthology. Karl knew that I’m a big fan of the strip and he asked me for a cover blurb.

I was only too happy to provide one:

And so, the freshly-updated Kind Of Truthful But Not Really version of my CV now contains the following item:

“Collaborated, with Jeff Lemire and Neil Gaiman, on written material for a comic book.”

Before there’s any misunderstandings, dear reader, I quickly and emphatically reiterate that the Kind Of Truthful But Not Really cv is only a whimsical mental list and that I would never, ever, ever use it in a live-fire exercise, so to speak.

Still! Although the statement “I collaborated with Jeff Lemire and Neil Gaiman on a book” has only the wispiest, slightest, most insignificant and monomolecular thread of truth to it, there are thousands of practitioners of homeopathic medicine who will be incredibly impressed. Or at least that’s how their belief system compels them to react. They only have two options: either tell people that I collaborated with Jeff Lemire and Neil Gaiman, or admit that the whole idea that the efficacy of something is magnified a thousandfold by diluting it down to near-undetectability is, in fact, all a giant scam. I like my chances.

And if either Mr. Lemire or Mr. Gaiman is reading this, I just want to take the opportunity to say that it was a pleasure working…er…adjacent to you.

Lucky Penny

John Doe

Keeper

Genre: Alternative

This is just a goddamn beautiful song. Why bury the lede?

It’s a pure, simple love song, with an uncluttered melody and uncomplicated arrangement that bespeaks a certain confidence. And the instrumental part has just enough rattle and edge to it.

Last week’s post about Billy Joel’s “Big Man On Mulberry Street” got me thinking about songwriters and how that particular part of a performer’s talent portfolio has taken one step into the background. It’s not as though star musicians aren’t writing their own stuff any more, of course. It’s just that Paul Simon was almost always identified as a “Singer-songwriter,” and songwriting was such an integral part of Elton John’s public identity that everybody knew the name of his lyricist.

Maybe today’s state of affairs has to do with how we now perceive a track. If Paul Simon or Art Garfunkel are reading this, please don’t take the following as any kind of a slight against your wonderful original recording but: when I picture “Bridge Over Troubled Waters” in my head I hear Elvis’ version, not yours. The song and the performers click together like a couple of Lego bricks. It’s easy to unclick them and click another artist to the song.

Maybe today we tend regard the song and the performance as a complete package. The other day I searched for a recording of Jonathan Coulton’s “Want You Gone.” Yes, I see you nodding your head knowingly: Coulton wrote “Still Alive” as the end-credits music for the first “Portal” game and “Want You Gone” is the one he wrote for Portal 2.

I love this tune:

I obtained a…er…paralegal copy of this track, which was copied from the game DVD. It’s been in constant play ever since I got it and I’m was eager to buy “Want You Gone” for real as soon as it’s released. Alas, it’s still unavailable. “Want You Gone” does indeed appear on Coulton’s latest album, “Artificial Heart,” but…no.

Wrong.

Not The One.

My brain rejects this recording utterly. It’s like a dude in a Wonder Woman costume. The song has to be sung by GlaDOS’ synthetically-processed voice and the musical arrangement has to be electronic, as though the song only exists inside a box of electronics.

When it’s performed in the real world, and by a man — even an obviously talented performer like Coulton — no, it’s just not That Song any more. Not to me, anyway. I can’t unlink the song from the performance.

John Doe, (like Warren Zevon or Leonard Cohen or Nick Lowe), writes the kind of songs that seem like new pages in the world songbook. “Lucky Penny” has the sort of melody, and the sort of potent lyrics, that so many other performers can spin into personal interpretations and brand-new magic.

Put me in your pocket
Hold me there for keeps
Squeeze me like I’m your last dime
Hold on to me
Because I’ll be good
For a long, long time

Isn’t that an amazing lyric? And so perfectly-balanced by the tune. It’s the sort of thing you say to the person you love when you’re enjoying a lazy Sunday together on the sofa. You’re a little surprised that you’ve gone and said something so nakedly sentimental, and the person you’re with is a little surprised that the words affected them so deeply. The words would become cloying if they were pressed just a little bit harder. “Lucky Penny” would have been just another dopey love song that people laugh at and then forget about completely.

Whereas, I suspect that a significantly nonzero number of you have made a mental note to include this in a future “I Love You” mix tape, perhaps for a woman or a man to be named later.

Try or buy “Lucky Penny” on the Amazon MP3 Store. The link is embedded with my Amazon Associates code and any purchases you make on Amazon after clicking it results in my getting a small kickback in the form of Amazon store credits.

Handlebars

Flobots

Fight With Tools

Genre: Rap & Hip-Hop

I have an idea for a new feature for a car stereo. It would be a conventional head in almost every respect, but it’d be tied into GPS (or perhaps just a motion sensor) and it would always be aware of your current speed. It could then adjust your playlists and tracks to make sure it’s always taking your current driving situation into account.

The idea of automatically switching from fast, thrashy hyper-beats to something slower and mellower every time you’re entering a school zone on a weekday is the obvious application of this technology. It’s also damned useful for songs like this one.

“Handlebars” was meant to make people look like idiots at stop lights.

As the song progresses and unfolds, you go from a gentle nodding to a full rhythmic head-bob. The bobbing spreads down your neck until it takes up your entire spine. It is only through enormous self-control that you stop it before you succomb completely; it does compel you to slide open the sunroof so you can raise an arm and extend the wave another couple of feet.

Which is all well and good when you’re whooshing along a two-lane state highway at sixty miles an hour. But then you get to the exit for your house. Muscle memory takes over and safely moves you off the highway and then stops you at the first traffic light. And that’s when you discover that for the past twenty seconds, you’ve been doing that in plain view of a carload of smarmy teens.

“Thank God they’re not laughing,” you think. They’re only restraining themselves because two of them are shooting video and they don’t want to wreck the audio.

I would pay money for this feature. Yes, I would.

Alas, we live in a shabby world and there’s a shocking lack of passion for innovation. My only choices are to risk looking foolish at stoplights, or delete “Handlebars” from any device I’m likely to use inside the car.

I’m content with my choice. That said, those girls in Braintree three weeks ago were just needlessly mean. Perhaps I’m not getting at the root of the problem. My magical peril-sensitive car stereo shouldn’t have a sensor for the motion of the car…just the presence of Mean Girls.

Try or buy “Handlebars” on the Amazon MP3 Store. Anything you buy during that session will result in my getting a small kickback in the form of Amazon credits, which I will then spend on fun and foolish things.