The Best Blankin' Game Show Ever

There are an infinite number of reasons why I enjoy working from home, but at the top of the list is the fact that I get to schedule my day around one of my new favorite television shows.

Well, it isn't exactly new.

Actually...it's older than I am.

Here. I'll give you a clue:

_____ Game

If you filled in the blank with 'Match,' then a little bell has just sounded, indicating that you've given the correct answer, and one of us is going to end up kissing Richard Dawson on the mouth. That's how things work on Match Game.

Now, there have been several incarnations of Match Game. The original version began airing in 1962 as a live, black and white broadcast from New York City. It went off the air in '69 but was revived in a bright (and I mean bright) full-color format in 1973, recorded "live on tape" in Hollywood. The '70s run of the show is typically the era that most people remember when they think of Match Game. The show experienced brief resurrections in 1990 and 1998, but those versions never quite off the ground.

But Match Game's glory days couldn't be beat. Gene Rayburn was the show's original host in the 1960s, and he returned with the show in '73. Rayburn had a goofy lovability, and though he sometimes went over the top, he never stole the comic thunder from the panelists, who were the real stars of the show. Every episode opened with Gene--typically wearing a business suit with ginormous lapels (ah, the '70s!)--walking across the orange set to retrieve his microphone, which was the size of a yard stick.

Let's explore that set for a minute. Covering the floor and stairs of Match Game's stage was bright orange shag carpeting. And, as if that wasn't enough orange for America, the walls were also orange. But the best part was the giant spinning disc on which the two contestants came whirling around at the opening of every show. When a game was over, the winner would join Gene at the Super Match board--which was manually operated (by, I assume, a dwarf)--and the losing contestant would whirl backstage on the giant spinning disc, waving gaily at the panelists and audience, proclaiming what a wonderful time they've had. Of course, before the Spin of Shame, Gene always assured the loser they would receive a wonderful parting gift, which, in those days, was probably a year's supply of Rice-A-Roni or a gross of Ogilvie Home Perm solution. Who wouldn't be gleeful after learning of gifts like these?

But be warned. If your eyes are even remotely sensitive to light, you may want to wear protective lenses before viewing Match Game. All that bright orange is enough to make your retinas detach.

Just disregard the whole set because, if--like me--thinly-veiled dirty jokes, dry humor, and endless double entendres are your thing, then Match Game is a good match for you.

The panelists were the highlight of every show. Each week featured different stars, but there were always a few that remained consistent. The regulars were Richard Dawson, he of Family Feud fame, who would smoke cigarettes, kiss on anything with a vagina, and flirt so openly and hungrily that you have to wonder if he didn't have a Fleshlight under that desk. But I give Richard a lot of credit; he ruled at Match Game! That guy could match practically any contestant, no matter how odd an answer may be (and there were some doozies).

Another regular panelist was Charles Nelson Reilly. Today, Reilly is mostly known from his appearances on Match Game, but in actuality, he was really quite an accomplished actor, having an extensive theater resume and a Tony Award. There's no denying, however, that pipe-smoking Reilly's greatest role may have been portraying himself on Match Game. Campy and unapologetically flamboyant, he was one of the first out gay men on television. To be fair, he never said it outright on the show, but it was constantly hinted at and lovingly joked about; it was something he did not hide. I, of course, respect him for that, but I also respect the fact that the guy was friggin' hilarious. The funniest Charles moments came when he would reply to a question in his butch persona, named Chuck--whose voice was much deeper than Reilly's natural voice--and talk about "pickin' up chicks." Comedy gold, I tell ya.

The other regular was my personal favorite, the amazing Brett Somers. Now, to be fair, Match Game was pretty much Brett's claim to fame. She occasionally acted but was mostly known for being the wife of Jack The Odd Couple Klugman. They separated in 1974 but remained married until Somers's death in 2007; Klugman was the butt of many of Brett's jokes on the show. Despite the fact few probably considered her a star, Brett was fantastic. She seemed to have a different wig for every taping, she often wore dark, oversized glasses, and there were constant jokes about her being an alcoholic. She had a razor-sharp wit and a deadpan delivery, and the show's funniest moments were the hilarious sparring matches between she and Charles.

Over the years, there were many guest stars and several semi-regular panelists. Among the semi-regulars were Bert Convy, Nipsey Russell, Kaye Stevens, the hysterically funny Marcia Wallace, the dingy Joyce Bulifant, and the undisputed queen of game shows, Betty White. But my semi-regular of choice was the wonderful Fannie Flagg. Flagg was an actress and singer, but her biggest success came after Match Game, when she became an accomplished novelist. She wrote Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe (and the script for the movie) and was nominated for a Pulitzer Prize for the novel and an Oscar for the film. She's written several more novels, and I've read all her work. Her books are laugh-out-loud funny and incredibly poignant, offering truly authentic slice-of-life, small town stories with humor and heart.

Flagg gave what is, in my opinion, the best--and funniest--response in Match Game history. Here's the fill-in-the-blank: "Frank said, 'I grew up in a really rough neighborhood. It was so rough that instead of dribbling a basketball, we dribbled a ________.'" The other panelists gave their answers, and then they got to Fannie, whose answer was: "Nun." I still laugh about that answer. I love you, Fannie--and not just for that amazing fried-egg sweatshirt!

So if you're ever finding yourself in front of the television around 11:30 a.m. EST, I highly recommend tuning into the Game Show Network for two back-to-back episodes of Match Game. They are just a lot of fun to watch and harken back to a bygone era in American television. An era when you could smoke and drink cocktails on TV, when you couldn't say dirty words outright but could say everything but, when a collection of now almost-forgotten stars had the opportunity to shine brightly.

But never as brightly as the orange shag carpet.

My Idol Journey: A Skeptic Gives "American Idol" a Chance

Before this year, I prided myself on the fact that I'd never watched a single episode of American Idol. I just didn't think it was my kind of show. From what I had heard (and had seen through umpteen YouTube clips), it seemed to be just a bunch of kids singing in a decidedly pop style in a heated competition for a dubious title. Pop music and competitions are among my Most Hated Things, so of course I steered clear of this show.

And Simon Cowell--oy vey. Talk about my Most Hated Things. Try as I might, even after having given in and watched the ninth season of Idol, I still can't find much good to say about this guy. I just hope he sleeps well at night, on top of the millions of dollars he's made from crushing the dreams of young people.

But while my feelings for Mr. Cowell are unchanged, my feelings for American Idol have changed considerably. After moving to a remote stretch of Vermont late last year, I learned pretty quickly that television was going to become my new best friend. So when Idol rolled around in January, I bit the bullet and decided to watch.

And I was pleasantly surprised.

Now, from what people have told me, this season of the show was its weakest yet. But being that I had no barometer on which to judge this season versus previous ones, I found myself enthralled from the first week of auditions to this week's finale.

And this is what I learned....

It's really hard not to become emotionally invested in American Idol. The whole premise of the show is set up in such a way that your emotions are constantly being played into. Whether laughing (the obviously way-past-the-Idol-age-limit General Larry Platt performing his masterpiece "Pants on the Ground"), crying (Katie Stevens doing the show for her Alzheimer's-stricken grandmother; the accident that nearly cost Casey James his ability to play guitar; the birth of Michael "Big Mike" Lynche's baby during Hollywood Week), or warming the cockles of the heart (endearing Southern girl Vanessa--my early-on favorite--with the sweet, pristine, Emmylou Harris-like soprano, who was excited to go to Hollywood because she was going to get to ride on an "air-o-plane"), this show pulls out all the stops in its efforts to maneuver its way into your heart. And for me, at least, it worked.

Ellen DeGeneres makes everything better. I know she got mixed reviews for her inaugural season in the judge's chair, but in my mind, Ellen can do no wrong. Sure, she's not a music industry professional. And yeah, maybe she could have been more critical (constructively critical, that is, not Simon Cowell Critical). But Ellen is just good, real people, in my humble opinion. Her voice on the panel was an important one: the voice of a fan. I thought she did a bang-up job.

Ryan Seacrest is kinda creepy. It may be because he works, like, a gazillion jobs, but Ryan struck me as really out of touch and sometimes his behavior or choice of words really baffled me. Remember him dancing around like a goon during Tim Urban's "Can't Help Falling in Love"? Or asking Lee DeWyze who among his fellow contestants should be sent packing? Really, dude, not professional. At all. Is this what passes for a TV host nowadays?

The "expert" judges have no fucking idea what they're talking about. I don't lump Ellen into the category of "expert judge," for the simple reason that she's not one (and I think she'd probably agree). Randy Jackson, Kara DioGuardi, and Simon Cowell are the resident "experts." And those three don't know shit. I found myself liking Randy the best out of the trio, mainly because his booing of Simon during Cowell's introduction at the opening of every episode made me laugh hysterically. I knew it was coming, but I laughed every damn time. That's some good shit right there, Randy (or do you prefer "Dawg"?).

Anyway, despite my warm fuzzies for Mr. Jackson, those judges have no clue how to critique music. (Let's not forget: Simon's biggest pre-Idol claim to fame, at least stateside, was as a music producer for the fucking Teletubbies.)

During every single episode, the three would give wildly varied criticism and would often do something truly infuriating. They would chastise a performer for "playing it safe" or "not taking any risks." So, the next week, said performer would do something different, stepping out of his/her comfort zone. And how did the judges reply? Mostly something along the lines of: "Why are you doing something risky?" or "That was awful! You should stick to what you know!" (Sidebar: I do agree with their opinions on Tim Urban's truly bizarre, reggae-soaked version of "Under My Thumb." That wasn't just outside Urban's comfort zone. That was outside of humanity's comfort zone. I, for one, just wanted Tim to stop singing and take his shirt off. Am I alone on this one? Anyone? Anyone?)

But let's remember that the judges' opinions are just that: opinions. (And these, of course, are mine). For instance, they didn't much like Casey James's rendition of "Mrs. Robinson," calling it "lazy" and lacking in substance. While many probably agreed with this summation, I couldn't have disagreed more. When I look back on my first-season Idol experience, one of the few performances I will remember will be Casey sitting on the edge of the stage, strumming a mandolin, and singing a sweet, simple, sensual, and sensitive version of "Mrs. Robinson." Then again, I thought Casey was hands-down the most talented male of the season. Not only is he hotter than a Baptist preacher's wife at an all-you-can-eat pancake breakfast (that's a line from The Golden Girls), but his smoky, bluesy voice has the power to give me instant wood. 'Nuff said.



The judges also seemed to have a select few they liked to pick on. One was Tim, and I definitely see why they singled him out: he was decent enough, but he really didn't deserve to be there. However, they also picked on some truly amazing performers, like Siobhan Magnus and Didi Benami, two contestants that I adored. Going into the semi-finals, Crystal Bowersox (whose "If It Makes You Happy" during Hollywood Week made me a lifelong fan), Casey, Siobhan, and Didi were my favorites. But as the competition progressed, the judges really nitpicked at Siobhan and Didi in particular, and the voters took their cues from the judges. Didi finished in 10th place, Siobhan in sixth--certainly not bad, but they both deserved to go much further in the competition. I mean, Didi's "Play with Fire" and Siobhan's "Paint It Black," both during Rolling Stones week, were nothing short of phenomenal.

Final point on this matter: the judges can't be trusted to be a harbinger of what all of America likes or dislikes.

The most talented contestant doesn't always win. Now let me just say that I have nothing against Lee DeWyze. He's very talented and, among all the contestants, certainly showed the most growth. And, as the judges pointed out ad nauseum, "That's what 'dis show is all abouuuuuuut!"

But did Lee deserve to win over Crystal (who hit it out of the park night after night, leaving her competition in the dust)? Not in my book. Which leads me to the final--and perhaps most telling--thing I learned while watching American Idol:

Texting-savvy, prepubescent girls dominate the Idol fanbase. And this is why, I think, Lee took the crown. 12-year-old girls the world over swooned for his cute looks, rock star voice, and sincere, aw-shucks demeanor.

While I can't argue that Lee is certainly a good, solid singer, I do take umbrage with the judges' assertions that Lee "feels the music" and is "emotionally available." I only saw him truly feel a song twice: during his performance of "The Boxer" during his trip home and in his stunning, chill-inducing rendition of "Hallelujah."



Other than these two performances, I never got the impression Lee was feeling much of anything. He more often than not looked like a deer in headlights up there, stiff as a board and utterly expressionless. To me, the sign of a truly good performer is one who feels the words he/she is singing. Lee often came across as someone who could sing--but not necessarily FEEL. And I think the two go hand-in-hand.

Which is why MamaSox should have won. Crystal never gave a bad performance; she was on top of her game in every single episode. Granted, she's more my kind of singer than Lee is. She's got that whole dreadlocked, gap-toothed, curvy-figured, my-heart-and-soul-are-in-my-pipes, hippie-chick thing that I have a soft spot for. But she also knows just who she is. Crystal is not a young artist "searching for her identity." She is comfortable in her own skin, and her awe-inspiring ability to consistently bring down the house (my house, at least) was proof of that.

It is for these precise reasons she did not win. I mean, a 12-year-old girl may not necessarily feel comfortable watching a strong, assured, unconventionally beautiful young woman who knows her own power as she sings her heart out with unharnessed passion. I would even venture to say that a lot of girls probably felt threatened by Crystal because, let's face it, in adolescence none of us knows who we are. Hence MamaSox's runner-up finish. That's the only logic I can put to Lee's win (Lee, incidentally, bombed during all three of his songs on the night of the final vote; Crystal, on the other hand, hit home run after home run. Her "Up to the Mountain" had me face-down on the sofa, weeping.)



Everyone over the age of 30 that I either talked to or heard discussing Idol was convinced Crystal was the best of the season. But most of us 30+ folks probably don't have the mad texting skills (or the free time) of the preteen set, who can text in their votes at rapid-fire pace.

Oh, and for the record, I did vote. Every single time.

And they were all for you, Crystal. You'll always be my first American Idol.

The Monkey Returns

It's been a long time--a little over a year since I've written a post. A lot has changed, the biggest change being that I finally moved to rural Vermont, leaving behind the City of a Million Headaches (a.k.a. Boston). Serenity has once again seeped into my life, and I've got my fingers poised on the keyboard. I'm ready to bang some blog posts--figuratively speaking.

For what it's worth, it's good to be back in the blogosphere.

Thanks for reading.