From Bill Hader on last night's SNL...

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Personalize funny videos and birthday eCards at JibJab!

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“Trick or Treating with Zaccheaus” – Luke 19:1-10

Pentecost XXIII - Proper 26C – October 31, 2010 

All Saint’s, Rehoboth Beach, DE

(the Rev’d Dr.) Elizabeth Kaeton, Priest in Residence

Tonight we celebrate Halloween and before you know it we’ll be inundated with wee costumed ghosts and goblins and ghoulies and angels and superheroes, all come begging at our door for treats while threatening harmless tricks.

Perhaps that’s why I found that this gospel reminded me of a game I used to play with the kids who were preparing for Confirmation in the congregations I was called to serve. We called it “Angels and Devils”.

I’ll tell you more about that game in a minute, but first I want us to spend some time with this gospel story of Zacchaeus and Jesus, because it has a “trick” and a “treat” built inside the story.

Whether you are aware of it or not, the gospel lesson for today brings us near the end of Luke’s long section detailing the journey of Jesus from Galilee into Jerusalem where, within the span of a few short days, he will be greeted as King and then crucified as a common thief.

Jesus still has a few things to teach us about our expectations and assumptions about him as well as our expectations and assumptions about others and ourselves.

He and his disciples have just entered Jericho – a city near the West Bank of Jerusalem, known as “The City of Palms”. It was the place of the Israelites return from bondage in Egypt, led by Joshua, the successor of Moses. The city functioned not only as an agricultural center and as a crossroad, but also as a winter resort for Jerusalem's aristocracy.

As he approached Jericho, Jesus healed a blind man who then followed him, loudly glorifying God. All the people who had witnessed the miracle joined them as together they praised God. One can only imagine the sight and commotion caused by this little parade of joyful, noisy people who were following Jesus as he entered Jericho.

A tax collector, a rich man named Zacchaeus, was trying to see this man who was causing such a ruckus, but because the crowd was so large and he was a man short in stature he could not. So, he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore tree so he could have a look at this Jesus – the Miracle Man who gave sight to the blind – as he passed by.

Now, Zacchaeus is an abbreviation of Zechariah, meaning "the righteous one" – a pretty big name to live up to. Perhaps his parents hoped this child would succeed in life by being good. Zacchaeus became a wealthy man, but – we are led to believe – not necessarily by doing good.

The name “the righteous one” seems incongruous for Zacchaeus, since he is the chief tax collector in Jericho and tax collectors were notorious for cheating the general public to fatten their pockets. They would assess a tax, and if the person refused to pay or called it unfair, Herod's soldiers would threaten him. Whatever he collected over the amount required was his to keep.

As chief tax collector, Zacchaeus was probably responsible for collecting tolls on goods coming into Judea from Perea, a main trade route. This business has, no doubt, made him rich. There was also no doubt that all this made him hated by the people.

So, in sum, what we know about Zacchaeus is that he is short, rich, hated and curious.

However, I imagine that even he was surprised beyond belief when Jesus spotted him in the tree and called to him. I imagine he was even more thunderstruck when Jesus invited himself to his home.

Imagine how the crowd must have felt when they heard it. Remember, this is Jericho – the winter resort of Jewish aristocracy. This is Zacchaeus, the hated chief tax collector who may have sent more than a few of Herod’s soldiers to collect more than a few unfairly assessed taxes on more than a few who were present in that crowd.

Was Jesus betraying them – the poor and the outcast whom he called “his beloved”? Why would he have invited himself into the home of Zacchaeus? Was he trying to win favor with the chief tax collector? Was he blind to the truth about Zacchaeus? Might he be looking for a large donation to tide them over while in Jerusalem during the High Holy Days? Or, was it a matter of pragmatics: were he and his disciples that hungry right now?

I suspect that Jesus was neither trying to impress anyone nor dealing with his own hunger or that of his disciples. Neither was he blind to the truth about Zacchaeus.

Instead, I imagine that when Jesus looked up into that sycamore tree and saw Zacchaeus, he saw the longing and desire in his heart. Jesus can see by the way Zacchaeus dresses that the man is rich. But Jesus, as always, looks beyond the mere external. He looks deeper and sees the poverty and hunger in this man’s soul. He can see the dejection and rejection and judgment this man has endured – along with the sadness that must have been in his heart.

I believe that’s where Jesus begins with each of us – looking beyond the externals and judgments of others and looking, instead, deep into our souls. And, in the process, we are healed of the spiritual blindness – in ourselves and about others.

Which brings me back to the story of “Angels and Devils”

Tim, my Youth Missioner and I, used to gather the Confirmands in the church where we would ask everyone to take off their socks and shoes and go barefoot. Then we’d cover their eyes with blindfolds and lead them from the church into the parish hall. Once we arrived, we would silently remove the blindfolds of some of the kids, some of whom became the angels and the others of whom became the devils. Their job was to lead the blindfolded kids through an obstacle course of sorts, which we called “The Trust Walk.”

We had set out things like a pillow or a warm blanket, but we also had set out some ice cubes, chocolate pudding, soggy bread, Jell-O, cold spaghetti, and so forth. Each barefooted, blindfolded kid was assigned an angel and a devil and they had to decide which one to listen to and take direction from as they made their way through The Trust Walk – the devil who would lead them through something yucky and gross or the angel who would put them on the path to comfort and goodness.

Now, all of the kids knew each other. They either lived in the same town or went to school together and played sports together, so it didn’t take long for them to recognize the person by the sound of his or her voice.

It was interesting to pair up a kid with an angel who was not liked by the blindfolded kid and a devil who was that kid’s friend. Nine times out of ten, the blindfolded kid did not follow the voice of the kid who was an angel because s/he automatically assumed the kid would lead her to step into something gross. Eventually, s/he learned to trust the voice of the angel, even though s/he hadn’t ever thought of this kid as his friend.

Amazingly for some, it did take a while for that trust to develop – all because of the expectations and assumptions that had been made which then became “the truth” about that person. I can tell you that there were lots of cold, soggy, icky toes and feet in that group – and lots of changed hearts and relationships.

We make assumptions about people all the time, don’t we? We base it on the way they dress, the way they talk, where they grew up, where they went to school, what kind of employment they have, where they live, what car they drive. We put people in categories and classifications and then either embrace or dismiss them – trust them or ignore them – all based on superficial assumptions.

Which brings me back to this morning’s “trick or treat” gospel.

The interesting thing about Zacchaeus is that our translation this morning has him saying, “Half of my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much.” 

That’s fine, but when you dig a bit deeper and check the translation more thoroughly, you will note that the verbs used are not in the future tense. No, they are in the present tense.*

We’ve been tricked!

Turns out Zacchaeus is not a cheat, nor does he hoard his wealth. That’s just a costume we’ve put him in over the years to trick ourselves into believing something about Jesus.

Zacchaeus says, "I give half of my wealth to the poor, and if I find I have defrauded anyone, I pay back four times as much."

Present – not future tense. 

These are things he is already doing, even before meeting Jesus. This chief tax collector, who receives only disdain from his neighbors, is actually far more generous and intentional about doing justice than just about everyone else in Jericho! I suspect Jesus knew that all along and THAT's why he called to him up in that sycamore tree.

The funny thing is that this translation tricks us into committing the very sin that the story condemns. It presents Zacchaeus not as a righteous and generous man who is wrongly scorned by his prejudiced neighbors, but as the story of a penitent sinner.

Turns out, Zacchaeus does live up to his name. He is, in fact, “the righteous one”.

Turns out, Jesus knew that all along!

Trick or treat!

Jesus is once again turning our world upside down, confronting us with our assumptions about who is good and who is evil and demonstrating for us the tricks we play in our minds before we treat one another – one way or another.

Zacchaeus and the people of Jericho are not costumed characters come to scare or trick us into being good for Jesus. Like the crowd murmuring about Zacchaeus, it is easy to be blinded by our prejudice of “those people” and find ourselves accusing the very person or people we should be emulating.

Indeed, we may discover that the very things we find disgusting or fearful about others – or resent in others – are the very things that we find disgusting and fear most about ourselves.

Tonight, on this All Hallow’s Eve, we’ll have witches and ghoulies and all sort and manner of beasties come knocking on our door, chanting, “Trick or Treat.” Little angels will come dressed as dangerous monsters and some of those little neighborhood devils will come dressed as superheroes come to save us from all Evil.

On Tuesday, we’ll have another sort of horror show – or, actually, an end to one as the political campaign comes to an end and we’ll be asked to vote. This has been one of the ugliest, angriest negative political midterm elections in my memory, at least. I’m betting some of the candidates don’t even recognize themselves in their own ads – and if they do, they wouldn’t vote for that person. Talk about angels and devils!

The real trick will be to see past the costumes and the campaign slogans and rhetoric and recognize each of them as children of God – part of God’s delight, a treat to the very heart of God – no matter how they dress or behave or live. No matter how we are expected to vote.

The ancient Rabbis used to teach that before every human being go 100,000 angels all shouting, “Make way! Make way! Make way for the Image of God.”

The real treat will be if we can act that way every day – not just on Halloween. Amen.

* I am grateful to my Sister in Christ, Sarah Dylan Breuer, for this understanding of the translation.

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I must admit I never got into those slasher movies. Seems to me they’re all the same story. The popular kids who were too good to ever go out with you in high school all frolic off to a cabin for some holiday and some disfigured skeesix in a goalie’s mask terrorizes and one-by-one graphically slices them up. Yes, it’s grizzly and horrible but isn’t that sorta what they deserve? Would it kill them to agree to dance with us just once??

Then there’s a sequel where the ones that survived go BACK to the cabin. You’d think maybe they’d hit the MTV beach house the next winter break instead?

And there’s always the backstory explaining how the psychopath became a killer…such as he was a bed wetter or flunked out of Benhinana Chef school.

I have what I believe is a great idea for a slasher movie. I’m sharing it because I’ve had it registered (in other words, you can’t steal it!!!). But it seems to me the key to this genre is creating a truly terrifying slasher. My idea is to hire Gordon from SESAME STREET as the psychopath. Can you imagine how disturbing THAT would be to anyone who grew up with that show?

“You didn’t eat your vegetables!” “AAAAAAAA!!!” Slice! Hack!

“Can you spell ‘help’?” “H-E-L-AAAAAAAAAAA!!” Stab! Slit!

“One of these limbs is not like the others!” Chop!

“Today I’m brought to you by the letters D.O.A.!!”

I can hear the screams now. Freddie and Jason and Chucky, eat (or cut) your hearts out. Plus, I’ve got the sequel all storyboarded. Only this time it’s Maria.

Happy Halloween, kids.

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Here's an episode of the MARY series that David Isaacs and I created for Mary Tyler Moore in 1985.  Thanks to reader Benson for posting it on YouTube.    This is the episode that features Katey Sagal singing.   We knew she was a terrific singer (she was one of Bette Midler's Harlettes) but the character she played in the show was a real curmudgeon, not the kind of person who would just break into song. 

So we constructed a story to justify it.  The episode was directed by Ellen Falcon, written by me and David, and Richard Gilliland was the guest-star. 

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Finally, some actual PROOF of the Book of Genesis, compliments of esteemed theologian, Merrill Markoe.

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My Canadian Colleague Malcolm+ has a wonderful blog he calls Simple Massing Priest, which is, in fact, quite brilliant.

This morning, he has posted one of Aesop's fable's - "The Frogs Desired a King" - as a cautionary tale about the proposed Anglican Covenant.

I thought it so keenly brilliant that I've posted it below, with thanks to Malcolm+. If you are of a mind, it might be good to pass this one 'round to your British Anglican friends first.

The Church of England's General Synod will be meeting 22-24 November to vote on the Anglican Covenant.

Then, start passing it 'round to your friends and diocesan deputies who may be studying the Covenant in preparation for General Convention.

As Ben Franklin would say, "An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure."

The Frogs Desired a King

The Frogs were living as happy as could be in a marshy swamp that just suited them; they went splashing about caring for nobody and nobody troubling with them. But some of them thought that this was not right, that they should have a king and a proper constitution, so they determined to send up a petition to Jove to give them what they wanted.

"Mighty Jove," they cried, "send unto us a king that will rule over us and keep us in order."

Jove laughed at their croaking, and threw down into the swamp a huge Log, which came down - splash - to the swamp.

The Frogs were frightened out of their lives by the commotion made in their midst, and all rushed to the bank to look at the horrible monster; but after a time, seeing that it did not move, one or two of the boldest of them ventured out towards the Log, and even dared to touch it; still it did not move.

Then the greatest hero of the Frogs jumped upon the Log and commenced dancing up and down upon it, thereupon all the Frogs came and did the same; and for some time the Frogs went about their business every day without taking the slightest notice of their new King Log lying in their midst.

But this did not suit them, so they sent another petition to Jove, and said to him, "We want a real king; one that will really rule over us." Now this made Jove angry, so he sent among them a big Stork that soon set to work gobbling them all up. Then the Frogs repented when too late.

Sir, I should like to cast my vote for Archbishop Log, please.

And, I shall pass on the Anglican Covenant. No, no, no, thank you. I know it says "Anglican" and "Covenant" but really, don't you think it looks and smells more like it should be labeled "Roman" and "Contract"?

Truly. Even a dollop of the stuff, I fear, shall, soon enough, become King Stork.

What was it Aesop said about this fable?

Ah yes: "Better no rule than cruel rule."

So, there it is, then: God save Archbishop Stork! Long live Archbishop Log!

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As the World Series continues, I'm always looking for baseball posts for people who don't give a crap about baseball. Here's one for anyone just curious or that entrepreneur looking to start his own sweat shop. How a baseball is made. This is from the Discovery Channel and it's pretty fascinating. Before you can "play ball" you gotta "make ball".

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I'm working on a project today that is consuming a bit more of my time than I intended. I hope to post it later today or tomorrow.

In the meantime, please take five minutes and fifty-two seconds to watch this clip of some LGBT elders in Boston who can attest, with great authority, that "it gets better."

A few of them talk honestly about surviving their suicide attempts. One of them is Sheri Barden, one of my "Mama's," the other being her partner/spouse/wife - formerly, as we used to say, "significant other" - of forty-six years, Lois Johnson.

"Listen to me," says Barden, "don't do it. Don't do it. You know what helps? A sense of humor. Have a sense of humor. Laugh about things."

She's right, of course. She most often is, but, sheesh, don't say that too loudly in her presence. She'll be impossible to live with for DAYS! (Love you, Mama!)

I can honestly say that when I discovered that I was a lesbian, I never entertained a thought of suicide. Ever. But, that's because I first discovered love in Ms. Conroy's eyes. The love I saw there was miraculous. With her love for me, I discovered I could learn to love myself.

When I discovered that there was a word for that love, I was horrified. I only knew about the word "lesbian" from the medical and nursing books that were available at the time. I knew, somewhere deep in my soul, that "lesbian" as the books described it at the time, was a lie.

"All love is of God." I learned that in scripture. That's what I chose to believe instead of the medical books.

Actually, the only time I ever considered suicide was when I knew my marriage was a lie and I didn't know how to get out of it. I didn't know, then, why it was a lie. I didn't know that I was a lesbian until a few years later. I just knew that I had not fallen in love with the man I married. I had fallen in love with love and the idea of marriage - not this man. And that lie was killing me and him.

I was desperate and despondent and felt trapped. The only way out - out of marriage, out of the judgment and condemnation of my parents and my religion which told me divorce was not an option - seemed to be suicide.

Somehow, I found the strength to choose divorce anyway.

That's not to say that there weren't times after I came out that I didn't feel desperate and despondent and trapped. But, having found myself, knowing that I was loved, knowing that God loved me, knowing that "all love is of God", made me feel more alive than I had ever felt in my whole life.

Discovering myself in the fullness of my being - and not wanting to hide that or live a lie anymore - gave me a reason to live.

One of those dark moments came shortly after a telephone conversation with my father. He built his case very carefully. Poor man. He built it on the only thing he knew which was ignorance and fear.

"Elizabeth," he began, "I used to smoke. Then one day, the doctor told me I had a touch of emphysema. That, if I didn't quit, I would die. On the way home from the doctor's office, I threw that pack of cigarettes out the window and never smoked again."

Raising his voice to make his point, he said, "Why can't you throw that woman out of your life? For good?"

"Dad," I said, "this is not an addiction. It's not like smoking cigarettes. I know you don't understand this, but this is love."

Undaunted, he continued, "Elizabeth, when I was in the army, I was once on detail in the Philippines. There were a few men who were discovered to be homosexuals. They were put in the brig - which was a hut surrounded by barbed wire. My orders were that if any of them tried to escape, I was to shoot to kill."

Again, he raised his voice and said, "This will kill you! People will want to kill you for this! I'm your father. My job is to protect you! Do you want to die?"

"Dad," I said, trying to keep my voice calm, "This is not a war. I am not committing a crime. This is love."

He sighed disgustedly and continued what would be his final attempt to talk some sense into his dissident, wayward daughter. "Elizabeth, when I was on the farm as a young boy, sometimes a female cow would jump another female cow. I would ask my father, 'Pa, why do they do that?' My father said, "They're just overheated."

His voice was near hysterical, "Love? This isn't love! You're behaving like an overheated cow!"

I apologized to my father for not being able to continue the conversation. Told him I loved him. Told him I was sorry I had disappointed him. Told him maybe one day he would understand.

After I hung up, I was hysterical. Crying. Sobbing. I was inconsolable.

I called Sheri and repeated the entire conversation, punctuated by hysterical sobs and blowing my nose. She knew the dark path I was on and, having been there once herself, she knew where it could lead.

She tried gently and calmly to explain that my father was just a man of his time. That he really didn't know any better. That he may not ever change his mind, but that, over time, as I got stronger, it would get better.

When I got to the part about the cows, Sheri did the only reasonable thing. She started to laugh. "Overheated cows!" she said, incredulous. "Lois, Lois, listen to this! He said lesbians are overheated cows."

"Moooooo," she said, laughing hysterically, "Mooooooooo!" I could hear Lois laughing in the background. So did Ms. Conroy, who was listening in.

And, wonder of wonder and miracle of miracles, I started laughing. As I did, I could feel the weight of judgment slip off my shoulders. With each laugh, my body felt lighter and lighter and I could feel my soul settling back into the place of wholeness and holiness I had just recently discovered.

The next time we went to Boston to see Sheri and Lois, we rang the bell on the intercom outside her door. "Sheri, we're here," I said.

And, over the intercom came, "Moooooooooooo!"

There we were, on the street in South Boston. Right there, in front of God and people who were passing by who could hear the "Moooooooooooo!" followed by hysterical laughter.

Ms. Conroy and I just looked at each other and them and shrugged our shoulders, trying to ignore it. But, the moment was too wonderful to be ignored. And, we laughed and laughed and laughed until Sheri came down and let us in, and we fell into each others arms, laughing and laughing and laughing.

Later, when we were in their home, Barden presented us with a lovely picture she had framed herself (She's a professional museum-quality picture framer). It was a lovely, pastoral scene - of cows cooling themselves by a stream.

I have kept that picture all these many years later. It has always hung somewhere in our home. It hangs here, now, in Llangollen. Whenever I'm feeling the need to be inspired to "keep on keepin' on", I take a look at it. And, I laugh.

It really is the best medicine.

Now, Sheri will hate it that I've told you this story about her. She'll try to tell you that I've exaggerated one point or didn't get something exactly right.

It's what mothers do, you know? But, I tell you - hand to Jesus - that this is not only a true story, but that this is one of the stories that has kept me alive.

Not from committing suicide because I'm a lesbian. Rather, the story of the overheated cows and Sheri and Lois' love and laughter act as a shield against harsh judgment and cruel words that, if taken in, can kill the soul.

It does get better - with age. And Sheri is right - it helps to have a sense of humor. Learn to develop a sense of humor as your first line of defense against ignorance and hatred and bigotry.

What I learned in the midst of the AIDS crisis - what those brave, brilliant young gay men taught me in the early 80s - is this:

"Laughter is the greatest statement of faith."

If you can laugh in the face of death, then you know that there is a loving God.

So, laugh. Yes, laugh, children. Guess that's why they call us "gay".

And, when you find it hard to do - because, I won't lie to you, sometimes it is - just think of the story of Sheri and the Overheated Cows as my gift to you and say, right out loud, in front of God and anyone who happens to be passing by at the moment:

"Moooooooooo!"

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Working through these Friday questions as fast as I can. Here are a bunch more.

Ajjjj asks:

What show do you recommend to spec? You’ve mentioned 30 Rock, but since it's in its fifth season, is it maybe getting long in the tooth?


Is it wiser to write for a young show with promise (Raising Hope, Modern Family) or to write for a show that might be too stale in a year or so (Always Sunny, 30 Rock?)


Thanks, and I'll take my answer off the air.

If possible, write specs for shows that are hot or on the way up. The problem with writing a spec 30 ROCK now is that there are already a gazillion of them out there.  Producers are tired of reading them.

That said, the most important factor is what show do you feel would best show off your talents?  That's the show you should target. If you really don’t get MODERN FAMILY or like MODERN FAMILY then don’t spec one. On the other hand, if you are Barney, then HOW I MET YOUR MOTHER is your "quid pro bro".

Among the preferred specs to write these days – and I’m just guessing here but I’d say MODERN FAMILY, PARKS & RECREATION, COMMUNITY, BIG BANG THEORY, maybe BORED TO DEATH.

I’d give the freshmen comedies a few more weeks before tackling one of them.  I wouldn't put too much time into plotting out a spec RUNNING WILDE.

And if you have a great GARY UNMARRIED, sorry but junk it.

Here’s one from Richard Carpenter (I assume not the one who was Karen’s brother since he’s from Milwaukee):

Do writers for a series have a list of special talents of the actors, or do they ask around when they need something special for a scene?


There was an episode of Modern Family that centered around Cameron playing drums, an episode for which the actor really had to know how to play, and not just fake his way through it. I can't imagine even starting such a script before you knew it was possible to pull off.


Were there any cases in your shows where you used such a special talent, and if so how did that come to be?

Not a list per se but usually on actors’ resumes they will list their “skills”. I always check that because I am forever amused at what they consider to be “talents”. Bicycling, suitcase packing, stenciling, old lady impersonation, can throw a spiral, cook tacos, look good in shorts.

Normally you don’t have to ask actors what their special skills are. They’re happy to volunteer that info. And sometimes we’ll try to work those skills into shows. Eric Stonestreet really was a clown in his past life.  MODERN FAMILY parlayed that knowledge into Emmys.    On that Mary Tyler Moore show David and I did where we gave Katey Sagal her first job, we knew she could sing (she was once one of Bette Midler’s Harletts) and found a way to have her sing in an episode.

And then there’s Jane Leeves.

In the first year of FRASIER there was an episode where they needed her to play pool. Jane had never played pool so a tutor was enlisted to hastily teach her the fundamentals. After two days she was making trick shots. The tutor said he had never met anybody who picked it up faster and was as naturally talented at pool as Jane. He said she could be a professional after three days. Sometimes these people are just brimming with gifts. (I also understand that Jane is good at stenciling.)

Jim Miller wonders:

Why don't TV writers ever use the wisdom of the crowds by publishing and taking comments on a script before the script was shot? Fans could even vote on which jokes worked.

Jim, that’s an honest question but I can tell you there is NOTHING in the world, the universe that would piss off a comedy writer more than people voting on his jokes.


My post yesterday dealt with this to a certain extent. Audiences vote with their laughter.

And finally, from Eduardo Jencarelli:

Regarding those Simpsons episodes you wrote, did you and David get paid extra for creating the Capital City Goofball on Dancin' Homer and Ronnie Beck on Saturdays of Thunder?

No. Maybe we could have made an issue of it but we didn’t. The thing about the Capital City Goofball that I’m most proud about is that I also designed the character. I’m an amateur cartoonist and offered sketches of what I thought the Goof could look like. Much to my delight, they were accepted. I still have my original sketches. And just the fact that a character I designed was used on THE SIMPSONS is worth waaay more than a few dollars residuals. Of course David might not feel that way.

What’s your question?

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Photo of The Poconos, Shawnee-on-Delaware, PA, Elizabeth Kaeton

I've just returned from the annual clergy retreat in the Poconos in Pennsylvania which was led by "Jesus Freak" Sara Miles, who is also Director of the St. Gregory of Nissa Food Pantry in San Francisco.

The focus of our time with her, however, was her latest book, Take This Bread.

Just so you'll know what we were dealing with, here's a brief except from Chapter Four:

One evening in St. Gregory's kitchen, after everyone else had left, I heard a confession from a pantry volunteer, who'd brought me what she said was a 'secret' in a shopping bag. She had a cast on her leg, and kept looking over her shoulder anxiously, and she made me close the kitchen door. Her boyfriend, who beat her up regularly, had been threatening to kill her, she said, swallowing hard.

"I thought, this is a church, it'll be safe here," she said, unwrapping a dirty dishtowel from around a huge .357 Magnum revolver. "I took out the firing pin."

That's what church was for, I realized: a place to bring the ugly, frightening secret you couldn't tell anyone else about. I checked that the gun was disarmed, and stuck it in a cookie tin in a locked closet beneath the pantry shelves. I didn't mention it to anyone from the Sunday congregation. The woman moved away, to stay with a sister in Sacramento. A month later I did tell Steve.

"You must be kidding," he said.

"Isn't this what church is for?" I said.

"Uh, yeah," said Steve. He looked scared, and like he wanted to laugh at the same time. "Whoa, that's a really big gun." We drove down to the local police station, and I walked up to the officer on duty. I was wearing a crucifix and a fairly respectable sweater. "Excuse me, I found this in our churchyard," I lied. "Can you please take it?"

There's nothing like being a middle-aged white lady, I told Steve as we drove back. The cops had gathered around the officer who unwrapped the package. "Holy shit," said of them. "Excuse me, ma'am." They passed it around, gingerly, and let me leave after I insisted I didn't want to make a report or get a receipt. "Can you imagine if we'd been two black teenage guys walking in with that?"

"You just made the high point of my career as a parish administrator," said Steve. "I never imagined I'd show a cop something that could make him say 'holy shit.' "

"Yeah, well," I said. "I guess this is what you call the Christian life.

Alrighty, then. Don't say I didn't warn you.

And, you need to know that I absolutely agree with her. About "the Christian life."

Which is not to say that she didn't make me squirm from time to time.

Like?

Like her unabashed commitment to "Open Communion" - the idea that communion should be open to everyone - baptized and unbaptized. Christian and Jew and Buddhist and Muslim or Atheist - as well as those who are rich and poor, old and young, clean and unclean, literate and illiterate.

She ties this thought with the impeccable theological position that the passion of Jesus was - is - about loving God and ourselves and our neighbor so much that our passion becomes welcoming the stranger (who is our neighbor in Christ) and feeding the people of God.

You know - doing justice, loving mercy and walking humbly with God. 

Not that I don't agree about Open Communion. I do. With my whole heart and mind and soul and body. It's what I believe.

It's just that there's this little matter of the Canon Law of The Episcopal Church.

We don't allow it.

According to the laws that have governed the church catholic church for centuries, we're only supposed to give communion to those "baptized in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit."

Presumably, this means that those who were baptized in the name of the "Creator, Redeemer and Spirit" would also be excluded. I know, right?

Oh, but wait! There's more.

We celebrated Eucharist together in an absolutely glorious chanted version in which everyone participated. The words of the Eucharistic prayer were based solidly on scripture and the harmony was profoundly mysterious and positively delicious.

I felt fed on so many levels, I got dizzy.  Oh, maybe that's because we also danced and sang our way to the altar and away from the altar.

The Eucharistic experience was simultaneously ancient and modern. Indeed, it moved me to a place beyond the constraints of time and place and person - which, as I understand the Eucharist, is precisely what it is meant to do.

However, you should know that they use this prayer often at St. Gregory's church. With clergy and laity fully participating in the words and music while the priest(s) preside.

Which is also against the canons of the church.

Oops! Yet another aspect of "Open Communion" with profound implications.

One of the things our experience in this retreat led us as clergy to discuss with our bishop is the fact that while we may, as individual clergy, support "Open Communion" in both aspects of participation, and our bishop may fully support us as individual clergy and congregations, we need to be very clear that we are not in compliance with the canons of the church.

What's the big deal? Well, for one, the revisions to Title IV (Ecclesiastical Discipline) of The Episcopal Church make it clear that clergy are subject to Ecclesiastical Court Trial for such infractions, which may well lead to being disciplined. It could also lead to suspension of license to function as a clergy person and/or being "defrocked".

Which someone may want to push to court trial action - and not necessarily for pernicious purposes.

This is precisely what happened when eleven women and three bishops pushed for a change in our canon law by participating in an "irregular" ordination at the Church of the Advocate in Philadelphia on July 29, 1974.

If we're going to be practicing Open Communion "locally" and we consider ourselves part of the "one, holy, catholic and apostolic church" well, perhaps we need to change our canons. An act of "canonical disobedience" resulting in an Ecclesiastical Court trial might be one way to accomplish that canonical change.

Indeed, it might be the most efficient way, rather than waiting around for years and years before the church finally comes to an understanding. And then, a few centuries for the "church catholic" to come to an agreement - which, oh, by the way, it still hasn't in terms of the ordination of women.

Meanwhile, some people will disobey the canons while bishops look the other way. Others will change the canons. And others will continue to go hungry.

We've got a great deal of theological water to cross before we get to the point of a 'catholic' Open Communion. Meanwhile, it's happening any way. Meanwhile, clergy and bishops are not doing anyone any favors by practicing an ecclesiastical version of "Don't ask, don't tell."

That's as dishonest in the sanctuary as it is in the military.

It's an inconvenient dilemma, isn't it, this business of truth telling and honesty and integrity? It would be so easy to dismiss it as not important - especially right now, during Stewardship Season.

I was astounded by some of my clergy colleagues who felt "judged" by Sara's presentation. Some felt that she was offering her thoughts on the theology of liturgy and mission at St. Gregory's as "the way". She did not. She repeatedly pushed us to think through why we do what we do and what we may need to change to have integrity with the Gospel.

The resistance to that was palpable, unintentionally supported by the fact that, when we gathered for communal prayer we used straight-up liturgy from the Book of Common Prayer.  Indeed, we were even asked to bring our own BCPs.

Some said they were "greatly relieved" by this, relishing in the comfort of the familiar and the illusion of the perfected, seemingly unconcerned about the fact that some of us feel excluded by the language and inhibited by the structure.

I could only shake my head, as I imagined Jesus must have done when the rich man came to him, asking what he else he might do, besides following the law to the letter, in order to gain eternal life.  "Take everything you have and give it to the poor," he said.  And, the man walked away.

Which had me thinking a great deal about this idea of "raising the dead". I haven't been blogging much because I've been doing a great deal of "walking meditation" on this very notion - in myself and what I see happening in the church and in the world.

At first I thought Sara Miles was making the connection about feeding people who are being starved to death by poverty - financial and spiritual - and the deep mystery of the Holy Communion we know in the Eucharistic moment where we join our voices with "angels and archangels and all the company of heaven" to praise God and serve the people of God.

And, she does mean just that. I recognize and understand that very point. Indeed, when I was a seminarian at St. John's, Bowdoin Street, Boston, my senior project was a slide show which made that very connection.

I used Neil Diamond's "Holly, Holy" as the soundtrack and interspersed pictures I took of the Thursday Night Supper and the Doorbell Ministry with pictures of our Sunday Eucharist. I must say, it was very powerful. Alas, the slides are long gone along with the ancient slide show/sound projector I used to display it, but the memory of those images is still very much present in my heart and in my mind.

But her larger point is that when we do that - when we make the connection between what one of our Eucharistic prayers asks to "deliver us from the presumption of coming to this Table for solace only, and not for strength; for pardon only, and not for renewal" and actively engage in the Mission of Jesus - we awaken that which has died in our selves - our souls and bodies and our whole lives - to become more alive in Christ Jesus.

I'm coming to see that Open Communion is precisely what Jesus intended - indeed, what the ancient church practiced in the first few centuries of its life, before those who followed Jesus were not called Christians but "People of The Way."

And, I'm coming to understand what our Presiding Bishop provocatively challenged the Episcopal Church's Executive Council, meeting in Salt Lake City, Utah, on Oct. 24, to avoid "committing suicide by governance."

Jefferts Schori said that the council and the church face a "life-or-death decision," describing life as "a renewed and continually renewing focus on mission" and death as "an appeal to old ways and to internal focus" which devotes ever-greater resources to the institution and its internal conflicts.

"We need some structural change across the Episcopal Church," she said. "Almost everywhere I go I hear dioceses wrestling with this; dioceses addressing what they often think of as their own governance handcuffs, the structures that are preventing them from moving more flexibly into a more open future."

Later in her remarks, Jefferts Schori said "we need a system that is more nimble, that is more able to respond to change," calling for "a more responsive and adaptable and less rigid set of systems."

"Suicide by governance" is an unfortunate term in the aftermath of the spotlight being on LGBT suicide. Our Presiding Bishop has a way of being quite provocative in her imagery. "Conjoined twins" and "standing in a crucified place" come immediately to mind.

Nevertheless, I think she's absolutely right. We've become so institutionally top heavy that we can scarcely get out of our own way to do the work of the Gospel. She's right: as a church and a denomination and as a people, we will die if we don't become "more nimble".

It's not "teh gays". It's not "women." It's not "the liberal left" or the "right wingnuts."  It's not "the leadership". It's not "sheep who attack" in dysfunctional congregations, resistant to change.

We're killing ourselves.

The ENS article also reported that

House of Deputies President Bonnie Anderson, council vice chair, said during her opening remarks that Executive Council has the responsibility to address important big-picture issues.

"Fortunately God has called us to this ministry and has given us the gifts to do what needs to be done," she said. "It is all of us, together -- bishops, laity, clergy -- who govern the Episcopal Church. Make no mistake about it: our form of governance enables our mission."

Anderson suggested that "a choice between governance and mission is a false choice," adding that the choice is a both-and, not either-or.

I've been thinking and praying and meditating about all of this for the past few days and, here's my take about all of this: we are in the midst of a Great Reformation which God is bringing about in our very midst. 

It's been hard to find the words to express what's in my heart and in my mind. I've been writing furiously in my journal and having long, late-night conversations with my Spiritual Director. I regret this piece doesn't quite do it - and indeed may make me sound like I've gone right 'round the bend - but it's the best I can do to express what's in my heart at this moment:

I think the heart of the church, the Body of Christ, is longing - desiring, pleading - to return to a radical  (meaning "at the root"), and less orthodox (meaning, "customary or conventional, as a means or method; established") church.

As an Anglican, committed to the "via media" or middle way, I'm wondering how we can avoid a "false choice" of choosing between "government and mission" and do both: reform the structures we have in place which invite the full participation of all four orders of the baptized to better enable us to do the mission of the church.

I'm convinced of it: Reformation is here. It's in process. I don't think there's any doubt about it. We need a Martin Luther to rise among us to name it and claim it and lead us past our ideas of "post modern relevance" resulting in a "consumer religion" and into a more "radical" faith.

The dead are being raised to new life.

Like the trees on the hills of the Poconos that surrounded me for three days, the church is looking rather like it has past its Golden Age and we are in the Autumn of our Ecclesiastical Life.

Some of us are holding on for dear life to each dry, brittle branch and fighting against letting go of every dry leaf that is blown off by the chill of the wind that blows from the Northeast or ravaged by the cold, sobering rain.

All many of us can think about is the difficult Winter ahead and how the lands will soon be barren when not covered by a thick blanket of snow.

We forget that Spring will follow, with the promise of new life. New hope.New meaning. Changing the landscape in an Annual Divine House Cleaning Event.

The Resurrection of the Earth.

It is God's way as revealed in Christ Jesus and magnified in God's Creation and Creatures.

At a moment in our lives when Right-wing American Christianity is on the rise, when all of the major world religions seem to be following an arc bent on fundamentalism and exclusionary - even violent - practices, I believe we are in the midst of an unexpected and terribly inconvenient Christian conversion to be even more radically inclusive. More radically loving. More radically giving.

Yes, more "nimble" in our hearts and souls and in our structures of governance - in the church as well as the state.

Embracing the stranger - feeding him - loving her enough to partake freely in the banquet and participate fully in the sacramental life that is ours in the world and in the church.

To be as lovingly wasteful. As God is with us in Creation.  As Jesus was for us. As the Holy Spirit is in our lives.

Letting the leaves fall where they may, knowing that even they have a divine purpose: they will be used to nourish and feed the earth to bring forth new life.

I can feel this knowledge burning a fire in my bones, like the Autumn ritual of the burning of the leaves, its incense rising as a prayer of glory to God.

Like the mist of an Autumn morning on the hills of the Poconos, it hovers and dances over the baptismal waters of my faith.

From the smoke and mist and ashes, God is raising the dead to new life.  Do you not see it?

In the midst of it all - the dying and resurrection, the reformation and renewal - we are being asked to sing the ancient, radical mystery of our faith which is at the very center of the cosmos:

"All of us go down to the dust; yet even at the grave our song is "Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!"

I only know this much to be true: Raising the dead is a radical, mysterious, joyful part of a Sacramental Life in Jesus.

Me? I'm planing to sing along. Full-throat. Dancing the whole way.

 Photo Credit:The Rev'd Lauren Killbourn

Photo Credit of Sara Miles: Internet 

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Early in my directing career I did a couple of episodes of ASK HARRIET for FOX. It actually was not a bad show and I worked with some wonderful actors like Willie Garson, Ed Asner, and Julie Benz. But one of the producers was maybe the worst writer I’ve ever encountered in the business. And he really stuck out because the rest of the staff was terrific.

For purposes of this piece let’s call him Shecky because he pretty much embodied the lowest of the borscht belt comics. Loud, lascivious, dyed his hair and eyebrows with shoe polish, always hustling and creeping-out the extras. He was the uncle your parents always kept you away from when you were little.

Shecky only cared about jokes. Usually old, usually off color. Supposedly when he was on staff of an earlier series whenever it was time to break a story he fell asleep.

One week we had an act break joke that was just a vile gratuitous slam on gays. I called and said the cast and I were all extremely uncomfortable with the line. He said he wanted to see it at runthrough. Okay. Fair enough.

I rehearsed the scene and told the cast not to purposely tank the line. They didn’t need to first of all, and secondly, we didn’t want to give Skecky any ammunition for keeping the line.

So the writers all came down, we did the scene, and predictably the joke bombed… except for Shecky laughing hysterically. And this was the conversation that followed, almost verbatim, between me and the Sheckster.

Me: Well, it didn’t work. We could really use something else here.


Shecky: What are you talking about? It worked great!


Me: Huh?   It did? No one laughed.


Shecky: I laughed.


Me: Yes, but not one of your other writers.


Shecky: Well, of course they didn’t laugh. They’re comedy writers.


Me: Excuse me??


Shecky: They’re comedy writers. But real people will laugh at that.   Writers are jaundiced.

Me: Wait a minute. Isn’t the fact that they’re professional comedy writers mean they’re watching the material to determine whether an audience of real people will find it funny? Their job is not to be entertained themselves. Their job is to best determine what others will like. Otherwise, what’s the point of even having a runthrough?


Shecky: To support the actors. Look, the joke stays.

I was just the freelance director. I walked away in utter disbelief. They did the joke on show night and not only did it not get a laugh, it got gasps from the audience.

Later that night Shecky said he was putting in a new line in the scene we were about to shoot. It was an office party scene and one character was trying to impress a co-worker he had eyes on. So another character suggests Xeroxing his ass. Why this would charm a woman I do not know. But there was some lame line of justification. Shecky wanted to change it. When the one character was reluctant to Xerox his ass the other was now to say, “Look, everyone knows the way to a girl’s heart is through the butt.”

Me: No, really.


Shecky: That’s the line.


Me: You’re not serious, are you? I mean, you’re not actually proposing that line, right?


Shecky: Why not? What’s wrong with it?


Me: What's wrong with it?   Really?  Uh… well, for starters -- it’s tasteless and offense and not remotely funny.


Shecky: Well, fuck you! That’s the line.


I refused to give that line to the cast. If he wanted it in he would have to do it. He cursed me out again and stormed onto the stage. Two minutes later he returned.


Shecky: (begrudgingly) Alright, we’ll do the original line.


Me: Let me guess, the actor refused to say it?


Shecky: FUCK YOU!!

By mutual consent, that was the last ASK HARRIET I directed.

But the big question is this: How do you know when something’s funny? Especially since humor is so subjective. The standard answer is “it’s funny if it’s funny to you”. I disagree. And I use Shecky as an example. If you’re attempting to become a professional comedy writer you need to gage what strangers will find funny.

This requires a knack, based on observation, experience, and your own sense of humor. Paying attention to what works. The only true determination is if the audience laughs. So how are the jokes constructed? How dependent is the material on performance? Or reactions?  What about tone?  Timing? Do you have the right target audience? What and exactly when are they laughing?  And then of course, there’s common sense. I’d be surprised if a single one of you thought, “the way to a girl’s heart is through the butt” was funny and appropriate. Earl Pomerantz, by the way, had an excellent piece in his blog on this subject too.

Can this knack be developed? Absolutely. My first staff job was on THE TONY RANDALL SHOW. I went down to my first runthrough, sat on a director chair with the rest of the writers and enjoyed the runthrough immensely. Meanwhile, I’m looking over at everyone else and they’re madly scribbling. I’m thinking “What are they seeing?” But then we’d get back to the writers room and they’d start discussing the script and their concerns. The next day’s runthrough would be dramatically better. By paying attention I began to see what they saw.

So what if you don't have the luxury of being on staff? 

When you go to comedy movies make note of what works and try to figure out why. Same with plays. Sitcoms are harder unless they’re multi-camera and you’re in the audience. Because through editing, sweetening, and retakes they can make shows appear better than they played. But train yourself to study comedy. And when you feel you finally have a real handle on it then learn this cardinal rule:

No one is always right.

I hate to say it and wish it weren’t so but no matter how long you’ve been doing it, how many Oscars or Emmys or Tonys you have, you still may be wrong. That’s why we have runthroughs. That’s why Neil Simon, after all his smash hits, rewrites constantly while his plays are still in tryout. That’s why movies are previewed.

So we never know for sure. But start thinking professionally.  If you do your due diligence, if you begin to trust that you’re right most of the time you’ll have a much greater shot at breaking in. And more importantly you’ll help weed out fucking idiots like Shecky.  Please do it.  For me.

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Random this and thats…

So Charlie Sheen was found naked and drunk and trashed a hotel room in the Plaza in New York. The naked hooker he was with was screaming from inside a closet. And what was the spin this time? Why it was merely an allergic reaction to medication. I dunno. On all those drug commercials when they list the possible dangerous side effects I’ve never heard them say “may cause patient to get naked, drink heavily, throw furniture, and terrorize prostitutes.”

Debra Winger is such a good actress that after watching her for ten minutes on IN TREATMENT I stopped saying “Boy, she’s had work done” and got wrapped up in her character.

Bristol Palin is the Sanjaya of DANCING WITH THE STARS.

Most people think Jay Ward created Rocky & Bullwinkle and Dudley Do-Right but it was really Alex Anderson Jr. He also created Crusader Rabbit. Alexander passed away recently at age 90. Crusader Rabbit was the first cartoon produced expressly for television. Anderson approached Ward for financing and the two formed an early partnership. Crusader Rabbit was my favorite TV cartoon as a kid, primarily because the stories were so clever. Ironically, the writer of those stories, Lloyd Turner, is the same writer who twenty years later gave me and David our first break (an assignment on THE JEFFERSONS).

I still haven’t heard back from Matt Damon. I know Charlie Sheen is flying back to New York around Thanksgiving but what if I want to use the restroom and the hooker is in there screaming? And I’m ducking those floatation devices. Not worth it. I’ll just wait to hear from Matt.

Considering how many new shows are getting full season pick-ups despite dismal ratings, Jimmy Smits and Maura Tierney must be saying, “Hey, what the fuck did we do?!”

KEEPING UP WITH THE KARDASHIANS has double the adult ratings of BOARDWALK EMPIRE. But B.E. still beats SWAMP PEOPLE and ICE ROAD TRUCKERS: DEADLIEST ROADS … by .l. The power of Scorsese!

Speaking of ratings: Analysts are predicting this World Series (which starts tonight) could be the lowest watched in history. Maybe there would be more interest in the Texas Rangers if before tonight in their 39-year history they were on primetime network television just once.

And even though there’s a great Game One match-up between the Giants’ Tim Lincecum & the Rangers’ Cliff Lee, more people will be watching the kidnapped guy in Mexico naming names at gunpoint on YouTube.

What are you going as this Halloween?

The Jehovah's Witnesses do not believe in Halloween.  So the one night of the year when people would actually open their doors to them they stay home.

In Evanston, Illinois it is illegal to Trick-or-Treat.  It's also illegal to skip.

Is it just me or is the new Nook eReader not a great name? No one at Barnes & Noble Inc. bothered to say it out loud? “I’d like to buy one of those new Nooky Readers.”

George Bush is making the talk show rounds plugging his new book. I wonder who wrote it for him.

The trailer for the new TRON looks very cool. This is one I think I'll see on the big screen and not my phone.

And finally -- Allen Iverson has agreed to play pro basketball in Turkey. Please take Charlie Sheen with you.

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One would have to be incredibly naive to believe that the “casting couch” does not exist in Hollywood (or more correctly -- East Hollywood). Gwyneth Paltrow, in a recent edition of ELLE magazine (I never miss an issue) said that early in her career, despite her parents’ stature in the industry, she was propositioned during a casting session. She quickly bolted but said she could see how someone who didn't know better might worry that, “'My career will be ruined if I don't give this guy a blow job!'"

These tend to be non union situations. As a producer and director I’ve been involved in many casting sessions for pilots and TV series. In every one there’s a casting director, a committee of producers, the director, and sometimes network or studio executives. Within that group there is almost always one woman, usually more. The actors have agents and managers.  Everything is handled on a professional basis. Actresses can take comfort in knowing they were rejected not because they refused to give oral sex but because they were too tall, too short, too ethnic, not pretty enough, too pretty, too old, too skinny, too pale, too dark, not funny, not likable, not related.

And young actresses, if a TV producer propositions you on the side and promises you a part on that big NBC show he says he runs, here’s a news flash: He CAN’T. All network casting has to be approved by the network. It’s gotten so ridiculous with the networks these days that even one and two-line parts now have to be approved by the network. So the best you’re going to do is sleeping with a producer to become an extra. And won’t you feel stupid when the extra right next to you got there by bidding $25 at her school’s silent auction?

Projects that resort to the casting couch are probably not projects that you would want to be in anyway.  Trust me -- YOU DO NOT HAVE TO COMPROMISE YOURSELF TO GET INTO THE BUSINESS.  And chances are if you do you still won't get in, or you will but realize it wasn't worth it. 

But how do you know going in to a casting situation that it's shady? Good question.  Rarely is "must sleep with me" on the breakdown sheets.   So here are some warning signs.  Yes, they are facetious but also true.

You may find yourself in a casting couch situation…

… when the casting session is held in an apartment in Pacoima.

… when there’s no script.

… when the producer’s first question is “Will you sign this document verifying you’re 18?”

… when the project is the MOTHER TERESA STORY and you’re told nudity is involved.

… when you Google the producer and it takes you to SmokingGun.com.

… when he’d prefer not dealing with your agent because he’s an artist not a businessman.

… when he looks like Fredo from THE GODFATHER or Bob from BECKER or Steve Buscemi from anything.

… when there’s no one else in the room.

… when you learned about the casting session from a handwritten note on the bulletin board at Safeway.

… when there are bars on the windows of his office.

… when he has seven video cameras in his office and one is built into the floor.

... when he wears an ankle monitor. 

… when you’re the only one there to audition.

… when you recognize him from BIG BROTHER.

… when the script is CHINATOWN by Robert Towneger.

… when it’s a student film but the director is 60.

… when you feel the least bit suspicious for ANY REASON.

I hope you never find yourself in one of these situations.   Best of luck. And I look forward to seeing you one day in a real casting session, where you have a drive-on to the lot and everything!

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Usually I don’t respond to comments. It’s your forum and I’m the hockey referee. I just drop the puck, get out of the way, and let you guys go at it. But my Sunday post on airline treatment has sparked such a heated and bizarre debate that I just had to chime in.

So to some of my dear commenters, and I say this with the greatest respect, are you fucking nuts?! You’re DEFENDING the airlines? Really?

And with such vitriol! Wow! You’d think I said nice things about Patty Heaton again. I once got a death threat for doing that. When the personal attacks start coming then I know I’m really on to something.

Usually they’re the standard “I’m a fucking idiot”, “I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about”, “I’m not funny”, “I’m a hundred years old”, “I’m a Democrat”, “I can’t spell”. But then when they want to bring out the big guns – really get to me – they go to this card:

I’m a rich pampered entitled Hollywood writer.

One particularly pissed commenter, Huggy said “catch a ride with Matt Damon or one of your Hollywood pals.” Um, how do I arrange that? Because that would be really cool! Does anybody have Matt’s number or know if he’s planning to go to New York the week of Thanksgiving? And does he have room for seven?

No, I’m afraid I fly commercial just like the rest of you little people.

In fairness, I did receive a number of thoughtful and informed arguments from former or current airline employees offering their side. And it’s no picnic believe me. One pilot said they even lost his luggage. Another vigorously supported the on-time record of his airline. But later admitted he was stuck in Dallas because of some delay.

A number of commenters contend that this shoddy service we’re receiving is a trade-off for the lower fares we’re willing to pay. First of all, the fares vary wildly. Yes, there are times you can fly from LA to New York for $200. Other times it’s $700. Try to book on a website. Prices will vary from literally minute-to-minute. And those lower fares are usually for the worst seats. An upgrade now means the first 40 rows.

And why should the amount we pay determine whether it’s okay to lie to us or over-charge us for other things? The cashiers at Costco are all nice to me. Maybe the airlines should issue “Platinum” cards for those customers who pay more for their seats. Gate employees can take them aside and discreetly say, “Look, I’m telling everyone else the new departure time is 3:50 but we really just reassigned that plane to Matt Damon who’s taking a TV writer he’s never met and his family to New York so until we can find another plane – and again, I’ll be honest – there are no other planes. We keep failing safety tests and have to take them off line. But until we find another one I’m going to just keep moving the departure time back. You might want to get on another flight. And again, this is just between us.”

Here’s the only thing about the comments that concern me. Why should the airlines not treat us like shit when there are lemmings that accept and even defend their bad behavior? It’s hard to demand respect when the passenger next to you is the “Gimp” from PULP FICTION.

Okay, so let the debate continue. And for the record, I don’t turn a hundred until next February.

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Yesterday I was introduced to the Red Zone channel. For those unaware, this is the NFL on crack. RED ZONE cuts from game to game to game while an offstage announcer (impressively) sets up what you’re about to see. But it’s impossible to follow anything because you blink and you’re on to another one. There are not as many quick cuts in the BIG BANG THEORY opening titles. At one point a receiver barreled over someone on the sidelines. The poor guy fell to the ground obviously hurt. Just as concerned people gathered around him, BLAM! We were off to Carolina to see a three-yard run. I never did find out if that guy was okay. I can’t even tell you what game it was. The whole thing was a blur.   But I did see it all. Every game in only a fraction of the time.


And it got me thinking: what if there was a channel like that for primetime? You wouldn’t have to channel surf! Holding the remote, pointing it. Ugh! That’s such a pain. And then there’s that clicking and clicking. Who has time for that shit?


So what if there was a channel that did the work for you? Live look-ins at all your favorite shows so you don’t miss a minute. Let me give it a try.

Announcer: We get it started with Dexter. He’s about to kill his first victim.

A man strapped to a table opens his eyes as Dexter stands over him with a knife.

Dexter: How’d you do it?

Victim: AAAAA!!!!

Dexter: It was ingenious the way you made those girls just disappear, even when they were on surveillance cameras. How’d you do it?

Announcer: Susan’s in trouble on DESPERATE HOUSEWIVES.

Maxine and Susan.

Susan: He was never going to buy a Va-Va-Voom Broom anyway.

Maxine: You don’t know that!

Susan: Oh really? Well, here’s what I do know and it's going to knock you on your ass…

Announcer: Off we go to WEEDS where Nancy is having gratuitous sex.

Nancy and a man are doing it on the kitchen table.

Nancy: Oh God! Oh…

Announcer: Back to that later but Joy Behar is in a rage.

Joy: Obama this! Obama that! You want to fix the economy? You want to jump-start the job market? You don’t blame Obama. You…

Announcer: Now to BOARDWALK EMPIRE where Nucky is conducting business.

Nucky, in bed with a prostitute, is on the phone.

Nucky: I’m not anti-Semitic! Can’t I order you to kill Arnold Rothstein without you making a racial issue out of this?

Prostitute: I notice you're not circumcised. 

Nucky:  Shut up!

Prostitute:  It wouldn't be so apparent if you got an erection once in awhile.

Announcer: Let’s stay in the past and visit MAD MEN.

Betty on the couch with Creepy Glenn.

Creepy Glenn: Don’t deny it, Mrs. Draper. You liked it when I touched your…

Announcer: Quickly. Gotta get you back to DEXTER.

A chef stabs a chicken.

Announcer: Oh, wait. Sorry. That was IRON CHEF. Now to DEXTER.


Susan stabs Maxine.

Announcer: That was DESPERATE HOUSEWIVES. But over at DEXTER.


Nucky stabs the prostitute.

Announcer: Hold it.  This is coming too fast.

Dexter stabs another victim.

Betty stabs Creepy Glenn


Nancy stabs the guy she had sex with.

Maxine stabs Susan back.

Creepy Glenn stabs himself. 

Dexter stabs Joy Behar.

Okay, it needs work.  What can I tell ya?.  Let me fool with it some more.   And in the meantime, if you gotta watch just one show at a time, I dunno, let’s get you out to Green Bay and NBC Sunday Night Football.

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RANT WARNING:  Sometimes I really go off.  This is one of them.

Here's just the latest example.  I'm up in the Bay Area this weekend.  On Friday I tried to check in on line on Southwest Airlines.  Pre-check-in site was down, but it said if this continues to call and they provided a number.  So after three hours of trying I called the number.  Had to wait fifteen minutes.  When I finally got someone she said the system is down and there's nothing she could do.  I said, "So why did it say to call this number?"  She said, "So we can tell you the system is down."  I said, "I know that.  It's obvious.  You're making people wait fifteen minutes to tell them something they already know."   "Yes sir", she said proudly.  


And this is one of the GOOD airlines. 

An article came out Friday saying that three major airlines made a big profit the last quarter.  First time since 2007.   How'd they do it?  By reducing flights and cutting back on passenger services. 

They don't give you blankets but they do continue to spend billion of dollars annually on splashy ad campaigns trying to get our business. “Friendly Skies”, “Doing what we do best”, blah blah blah. . And no one’s buying it. In fact, WE ALL HATE YOU. 

Traveling is now an ordeal and you’re a big part of it. Security lines are unpleasant but that’s fifteen minutes. The rest of the six hour wisdom tooth extraction is all you. If airlines really want our patronage and loyalty, save the ad budget. There are better uses for that money. Just adopt the following simple policies.

TALK TO US – Even if it’s five announcements in five minutes. We hate to be left in the dark. Don’t worry that the news will upset us. What we’re conjuring up is far worse.

Pilots are real chatty on the PA when they’re pointing out the sites of Lubbock, Texas on your left, but when we’re just stuck at the gate, and we see maintenance men and guys with clipboards coming in and out of the cockpit, tell us what the fuck is going on. When we’re stuck on the tarmac for a half hour let us know why. It’s not like you’re busy. You’re just sitting there in idle like the rest of us.

When our flight is delayed and a hundred frustrated people are milling around the gate, would it kill you to give us an update? You say you do but trust me, YOU DON’T. Instead we have to go up to the counter so you can blow us off individually.

We’re not just doing this to annoy you. Many of us have connections to make.

TELL US THE TRUTH – Not every flight is delayed due to weather at O’Hare. There has to be a different reason the Sydney to Tokyo flight is cancelled. And get your stories straight. Ask two airline officials why a certain flight is delayed and invariably you’ll hear weather problems from one and maintenance problems from the other. (And the truth of course is neither)

Also, you KNOW when a flight gets in late that is supposed to turn right around it’s going to be late taking off again. First you assure us it’ll still get off as scheduled and then you systematically push back the departure time every fifteen minutes. It’s going to take off an hour late. You know this. Tell us.

Arrival times are now padded to make it appear more flights are on time. Don’t crow about your sparkling on-time record. We know it’s bullshit.

One airline justified its charging extra for heavier luggage because they were concerned for their baggage handlers, worried that the additional strain would result in back problems. But that extra fee we pay, does it go directly to the baggage handlers? Does ANY of it go to them, even indirectly? No. Of course not. Just who do you think you’re kidding?

Passengers are tired of being lied to. You must either hold us in contempt or think we’re all really stupid. Either way you have let the credibility gap widen to the length of a cross-country flight.

PRETEND THAT YOU CARE – Okay, we get it that you don’t. That’s very clear. And you’re in a quandary. If you do pretend you give even the slightest rat’s ass about us then you’re not telling the truth again. We’ll give you a pass on this one. I can’t say just act pleasant, that might not compute. So just act like you would if you wanted something from someone.

Now of course I understand that not all airline employees are like this. Some are lovely compassionate people who genuinely want to help. Have them wear badges so the others can see whom to emulate.

Look real busy and active so you give the impression you care that the flight gets off on time. Recently I was on a delayed flight and of course told the reason was weather at O’Hare (I was flying to Hawaii). Then I overheard the counter agents say the pilot was late. He hadn’t shown up yet. Fifteen minutes later this guy strolls in with a Starbucks coffee he must’ve waited in line ten minutes for. Two hundred people arrive late, half of them miss their connecting flights because the woman ahead of the pilot had to ask which muffins were diet.

IF YOU’RE GOING TO CHARGE EXTRA FOR A PIECE OF LUGGAGE THERE SHOULD BE A BIG PENALTY IF IT DOESN’T ARRIVE -- And I don’t mean within the month. I mean on THAT flight. It’s bad enough you lose our bags but now we have to pay you for the privilege?

IF THE FLIGHT IS DELAYED GIVE US THE FUCKING SNACK PACKS FOR FREE. Half the passengers won’t take them anyway because they’re disgusting at any price, even free but it’s a nice gesture.

HAVE ENOUGH BLANKETS AND PILLOWS. You had ‘em before.
GIVE US THE AMENITIES WE WANT. For instance -- snacks
with our drinks. A little bag of peanuts. Those stale pretzel sticks. Is that too much to ask? You say you’re trying to save money? Shit can the goddamn Sky Mall magazine.

And finally….please PLEASE….

STOP APOLOGIZING – It’s so disingenuous and patronizing. You’re not sorry. Not in the least. If you were you’d adopt the above guidelines. And everyone knows you won’t.

That's all. You're now free to go about screwing the public.

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