Kvelling

My niece Kristina Valada-Viars just opened in her first play at the Steppenwolf Theatre in Chicago. Reviews were posted last night in the Chicago Tribune, the Chicago Sun-Times, and elsewhere, and I am just so proud of her. The play is Time Stands Still and it runs until mid-May. She's wearing the blue scarf in the photo below. Yes, that's her natural hair (just like her mother's.)

Kristina was an understudy for Steppenwolf's New York production of August: Osage County, which won the Pulitzer Prize and the Tony Award for best new play and garnered a bunch of other Tony Awards. She made her Broadway debut in that show, performing at various times in the three different roles she understudied.

She worked with Austin Pendleton, her director in Time Stands Still, in an off-Broadway play by Romulus Linney called Punch Drunk Love at the end of her run in August: Osage County. In the photograph above, you can see why reviewers call her "leggy" or, sometimes, coltish. She's got legs that go from here to there and back again.

The photographs are publicity stills I pulled down from the Internet. If I knew who took them, I'd be happy to give credit. If the lower one was shot by Joan Marcus, "Hi, Joanie. Do you still have that picture of me with Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. in your files?"

HE Himself

I first photographed Harlan Ellison about 10 years before we were actually introduced. It was at the World Science Fiction Convention in Boston in 1980. I had started shooting for the Washington Post only a few months earlier and I ran into the illustrious Michael Dirda who was planning an article for the Sunday book supplement. We hooked up and the WP ran several of my photographs, including one I got of Harlan talking to a small group of people after his full-house performance.

I've seen Harlan in action many times since then, usually from a much better vantage point because we've been close friends ever since I photographed him in 1989 and the photograph rather knocked his socks off.  You can find it--illegally and in poor resolution--on the Internet when you do a Google Pictures search under his name. It is usually among the first that come up. He's sitting on the back of a chair in strong directional lighting. Somebody scanned it from the back of the Harlan Ellison Hornbook. I had a dispute with the LA Times when they illegally used it one day, proving the value of an actual copyright registration when you want a quick resolution to copyright infringement.

Harlan hasn't been doing too many appearances lately, but he recently did two evenings at the Cinefamily/Silent Movie Theatre in Los Angeles for an SRO crowd. One was in November, the other was last week. Screenwriter Josh Olson (see, Josh, I spelled it right this time) "interviewed" him, which means Josh occasionally got to say something so Harlan could go off on a tangent. In theory, both nights were about Harlan's work as a television writer, and a very fast research in the projection booth managed to get things up on the screen to illuminate the "discussion." Another theme of the more recent evening was the publication of a spectacular reprint of "The Glass Teat" and "The Other Glass Teat," two collections of television (and, frankly, political) commentary articles Harlan wrote for the Free Press many years ago. Read it. The issues haven't changed.

A bit more than halfway through the evening, there was a commotion as this guy came up to the stage muttering and using his cell phone to record things. For a moment I thought it was a fan with a lack of manners, and then I realized it was Patton Oswalt doing a great turn as a fan with no manners. Patton took over "interviewing" duties from Josh for a bit, and for whatever reason, I can't seem to upload the four minutes I caught on video. Trust me, it was hysterical.

Proud Kiva Plug

I've reached a point where I have no idea how long it has been since I've posted a blog. This has gotten so bad that I didn't even check to see that I had comments awaiting action. So I apologize to Mike Garrett, who wanted advice about appearing on Jeopardy! I hope he had a great run on the show. According to the J-Archive, his episode(s) (which shot in mid-December), has (have) not yet run, so I can at least look forward to watching him compete.

And congratulations are in order for Amy Stephenson,  a fellow member of the Friends of Bob Harris lending group on Kiva, who had a three-day run on Jeopardy! earlier this month. She'll be contributing some of her earnings to our worth efforts when her check shows up late this spring. Thus far, our group has loaned over $1.5 million and Bob himself has loaned over $100,000.

Bob Harris himself is on the down-hill side of finishing his book about micro-loans called The First International Bank of Bob. I highly recommend his previous books Prisoner of Trebekistan and Who Hates Whom.  While I sometimes feel I've known Bob forever, we met only about four years ago. Before that I "knew" him from his many appearances on Jeopardy! as a regular contestant, a Tournament of Champions contestant and a contestant on two different special Jeopardy! championship series and from the radio commentaries he used to do for KNX radio that may have been syndicated around the country. Bob and I also both have degrees from Case Western Reserve University (his is an undergrad degree and mine is from the law school) but we were there about 10 years apart. Should he ever appear in your area to do a talk or a book signing, go.  He's very, very funny.

Because of Bob, I joined Kiva and talked about it when I appeared on the Jeopardy! Tournament of Champions in 2010. I've made 80 loans so far, all of them to women who are trying to improve their lives and the lives of their families in something in excess of 30 countries. It's a great way to remind myself that I am helping to improve the world $25 at a time with money that can then be re-loaned upon repayment.  Feel free to join me.

S'mother

I met Adam Chester because he's an amazing pianist who provided the accompaniment for What's My Line Live on Stage (for which I became the production photographer.)  Adam's accompanied Elton John's band in rehearsals and sung with him in concert.  A few years ago, Adam set up a website where he posted some of the  1300 letters he's received from his over-protective mother over the years.

I understand over-protective mothers.  When I went off to college, mine handed me a 1 pound bag of sugar packets, so people wouldn't spike my breakfast cereal sugar with marijuana.  I am not kidding.

Adam found a publisher (or a publisher found him) and, just in time for Mother's Day, a selection of the letters appeared in book form as S'mother.  Last night, Adam and his mother Joan appeared on The George Lopez  Show.

I don't give my cell phone number to my mother either.

Reruns

I wasn't home last night to see it myself, but Harlan Ellison called me to tell me I was on Jeopardy! reruns. If your local station does Jeopardy! reruns on the weekend, check next week.  I have no idea if they are running all five of my days of regular play or not, but if they are, I'll be on for the next four weekends.  I was disappointed when I seemed to be skipped over between the runs of two other people who were on the Tournament of Champions with me, but I wasn't the only one who got skipped.  I'm hoping that we'll see Col. Dave after my run.  And I'm also hoping that last year's Tournament of Champions gets its two week run during the weekday Jeopardy! reruns this summer.  Original episodes generally end this week or next.

The reason why we weren't home is that we decided to catch Green Lantern last night. Len had seen it already and I decided to give it a try despite the critical hashing because I liked what we saw up in San Diego.  Also, I wanted a chance to see one of Len's characters up on the screen, which he did not see when he went to the 3-D screening.  Sometimes, it just takes two sets of eyes, because Len did not see Walt Simonson in the Valhalla scene of Thor on his own either.

First of all, the movie is getting a bum rap.  It's quite entertaining and Ryan Reynolds is charming. It's not X-men: First Class, but few superhero films are.

We saw Galius Zed in one of the early GL Corps scenes peeking out from behind Hal Jordon, so you can pick up your GL Galius Zed action figure and help pay for Casa Wein-Valada. 

Musings

If you want to be noticed, let Neil Gaiman post a link to your blog on Twitter or on his blog. I got 6000 hits within hours of Neil directing people to the photos I did at his appearance in L.A. last week. Then there was another bump of about 1000 hits after he reposted the link in his blog a couple of days ago.

Thank you, Neil, my friend. It's one posting that I know had an audience.

I realized today that I need to start gathering up paperwork for Comic-con.  In two weeks, we'll be on the drive down to San Diego, for five days of business and a bit of fun.  Invitations for evening parties and dinners have started to come in and I find myself wondering what all I will do during the days when the hall floors are just too crowded to contemplate. I tend not to get to many of the larger programs unless we've been given the special wrist bands that bypass lines that are (literally) hours long. Sometimes even those don't work. If Peter Jackson brings anything to the convention  (and he promoted the hell out of Lord of the Rings before it openned), I'd like to see that (but I probably won't get in.) I'd like to see the panel for A Game of Thrones, but that's only likely to happen if George R.R. Martin can get me a guest pass.  Ditto with The Big Bang Theory, where I've only been able to get in the room the year Bill Prady got me a guest pass.  Last year, my girlfriend stood on line for 3 hours and couldn't get into the room. (The nice thing about TBBT is that I can always catch a taping and hang out back stage afterwards here in L.A.)

For outside entertainment, I bemoan the loss of antique shops within walking distance of the hotels. Most of them disappeared when the baseball stadium and new hotels were built.  It is still possible to drive to Ocean Beach or Solano Beach for their antique malls, but the antique-store lined streets in most other areas have been lost to the power of e-Bay.  I miss the thrill of the hunt and immediacy of the kill that e-Bay lacks.

The week could be a good one for meals, if we weren't always constrained by time and crowds. We were in San Diego last month to see "August: Osage County" at the Old Globe Theatre and had a terrific meal at a nearby restaurant, and it was only one of several suggested to us in that area.  While I might be able to go to Balboa Park during the day, an evening trip will not fit into a schedule that includes publishers' parties and other business gatherings.

How I Spent Tuesday Night

It is great to be a grownup.  Really.  I wouldn't want to be fourteen again unless I could have a good look at what my future would be, because fourteen was just the worst year ever. But it got better. And sometimes I do wish I could let that geeky fourteen year old know just how much better it would get to be. A while ago, I either tweeted or posted to Facebook that if my fifteen-year-old self could know what my present day life was like, she'd say "way cool" (and, probably, "worth the wait.") The first person who expressed agreement with what I was saying, because he felt the same way about his own life, was my friend Neil Gaiman.

I first met and photographed Neil before he was the super-star author he has become. It was at the 1990 World Fantasy Convention in Chicago. I was in law school, but I was still actively adding photographs to the growing exhibit of professionals in the field of science fiction, fantasy and horror that's traveled farther than I have.  So I took the weekend to fly to Chicago to have some time with Len Wein and to add to the photographic collection.

Len introduced me to Neil, who was building a nice career with the Sandman comic books he was writing for DC Comics.  Len had been midwife to the influx of British writers at DC, starting with bringing Alan Moore in to write Swamp Thing and following that as Alan's editor on Watchmen.  Neil came along a few years after, a fan of Len's from reading his run on Phantom Stranger, and one of the first stars of DC's Vertigo imprint.

In the first portrait of I made of Neil (below, in 1990), he reminded me of a young John Lennon.  

Maybe it was just the accent. Love that accent.

The following year, Neil won the World Fantasy Award for Best Short Story with the Sandman story "A Midsummer's Night Dream." The rules for the Awards were immediately changed so that a comic book could never win again.

Over the years, we'd meet up at various conventions or signings, and keep in touch by e-mail or social media.  Neil morphed into a rock god, requiring body guards and the use of aliases to stay at hotels. Around 1999, I got him to agree to be my master of ceremonies at the 2001 Nebula Awards I produced in Los Angeles, which, by coincidence, was the first one at which he was nominated for a Nebula Award. A year or two later, he won the Nebula Award for best novel for American Gods.

Which brings me to Tuesday night.  Neil was in town for an appearance on the 10th Anniversary Tour for American Gods. I ordered four tickets as soon as I heard about it, which got us second row seats.  I invited one of the girls from the barn, who had recently gushed about Neil's episode of Dr. Who, "The Doctor's Wife," and who had asked me to pass on to Neil how much she liked it ("best episode of Dr. Who ever!") I figured it would give me the same kind of kick I got from introducing my girlfriend's granddaughter to Stan Lee last year at Comic-con to introduce Jenni to Neil. (It did.)

For reasons unknown, the local organizers of the appearance chose to make all tickets will-call (though, thankfully, they did assign seats so it wasn't festival seating.) This is not the best arrangement when there are some 1800 seats in the theatre, and, as you can see from the photo below, most of them were filled.  Ticket distribution started at 5:30, there were people buying tickets at the door, and the show started an hour late.

Besides Len, my son Michael, and Jenni, we picked up Susan Ellison, wife of Harlan, to take to the show.  She and I stood in line while the others went off to get some dinner, which turned out to be a good arrangement. I saw Neil's limo pull into the parking lot just as Susan got her tickets, so we walked around the theatre and found him.  He looked at us and asked "did you get your back-stage passes?" Uh, no. "They were supposed to be with your tickets." Oh. Fortunately, Neil's assistant for the evening got them for us while we stood around talking to Neil and waiting for Len, Michael, and Jenni to get back.  We had a nice chat with Neil, actor/comedian Patton Oswalt, and Zelda Williams (Robin's daughter) back stage and then headed in to our seats for the show.

And we waited. And waited.  Susan, who bought her ticket separately from ours, was way in the back of the orchestra.  Eventually, Len went back and brought her up to our row where there were a number of empty seats.

 And we waited some more.  The 8 P.M. start time kicked off at about 9 P.M. The audience was grateful.

 Neil and Patton chatted for a while. Neil talked about the inspiration for American Gods and alluded to things that might be in American Gods 2.

 Then Zelda Williams came out.

 The three of them did a dramatic reading of an early passage of the book.  It was unforgettable.

 Patton Oswalt and Zelda Williams reading from American Gods.

After the show, we all went back stage again.  I wanted to make sure I got a photograph of Jenni with Neil (below.) Jenni told me that it was the best night of her life and that Ace would be the most spoiled horse ever because of it. Gratitude is lovely.

Wil Wheaton showed up back stage with his wife, whom I had not met previously. Wil looked at us and exclaimed "I should have known you'd be here!" He's not at all like the "Evil Wil Wheaton" from The Big Bang Theory, which is why that character is such a hoot. Wil had also been back stage at the Craig Ferguson show that Neil had taped before heading over to the Saban Theatre. I didn't think it was possible to do both shows, but that was before the time between them increased by an hour!

We got home in time to tape the segment--too late for us to actually watch that night--but here it is for you to enjoy. Ferguson is quick and amazingly well versed in things literary. He must be one of us because he knew what Cthulu was and who wrote it. The awkward pause at the end of the set is priceless.

 I realize that Neil has helped build his audience by careful use of blogging and Twitter, but the evening made me think that this must have been like it was for Americans to attend an evening with Charles Dickens or Oscar Wilde. It was really quite thrilling to realize that writers still can still have an avid following and Neil has really earned it.

[American Gods is about to start production as a television series for HBO from Tom Hank's Play-tone production company. Neil's books Stardust and Coraline have already appeared on the big screen, but they make excellent reading. His Graveyard Book has won many awards and is a lovely read. Maybe, someday, the script that Ted Elliott and Terry Rossio wrote for Sandman will make it to the big screen,]

As I mentioned in an earlier post, the high point of my niece Kristina's recent visit was a series of riding lessons at Total Equestrian Experience. As you can see from this photograph, she's got the kind of body we'd all like to have for riding. This was the only day she spent in the western saddle--other lessons were in a proper dressage saddle--but it got her quickly to the sitting trot and to the experience of a horse who decides that it is time to take off in a canter.  I was busy helping someone with a camera, so I missed that little event, but she rode right through it.  The horse is named Wizard and he's a nice quarterhorse.

Buck the Movie

I finished reading The Faraway Horses a few weeks ago and was deeply moved by Buck Brannaman's life story. He overcame an abusive father to become one of the premier practitioners of natural horsemanship, learning from the Dorrance brothers and Ray Hunt.

Buck did clinics at Pierce College before I started learning to ride here, and, unfortunately, has not been back since I bought my boy (there haven't been any clinics here at the sinfully underutilized, taxpayer-built facility for about five years--ever since the school kicked out the boarders.) 

I feel fortunate that I was able to attend or watch a number of clinics here with the amazing Harry Whitney, but I would like to attend a clinic with Buck.

The next best thing is to see the wonderful documentary Buck, which opens in Los Angeles and New York tomorrow, and opens wider next week.  The film won the viewers' choice award at Sundance and when you watch it, you will understand just why.  It's not just about a relationship with horses, it is about all kinds of relationships.

I was lucky enough to attend a screening of the film on Tuesday night which had a Q & A with Buck after the film was over.  I was very surprised that I did not recognize a single face in the audience, but it was a benefit for Homeboy Industries, so the tickets cost a bit more than your typical night at the cinema--but not all that much more for a date these days.  My friend (and superior horsewoman) Melinda Snodgrass had come into town that afternoon and my newly horse-addicted niece Kristina was staying with us, so they got to come along with me.

I arranged to have Kristina take riding lessons while she was visiting.  She went to Ireland a few years ago and took a few there, and I got her to the barn last year when she came to see me compete on Jeopardy!.  This year, she was in California for three weeks and managed to get a lesson most of the days she was here.  Being tall (around 5'8"), weighing slightly more than the average feather (perfect for the working actress she is), and, as described in a recent review, "leggy", she has a much more perfect body for riding than her doting aunt (who thinks it is a good skill for Kristina to add to her acting resume.) 

Kristina immediately applied concepts from the film to her new skill.  She was able to describe how the two horses she was riding in lessons mirrored or responded to what she was doing in the saddle and on the ground with them.  I was very pleased.  I'm sorry she probably won't be able to take any more lessons until the next time she comes out to visit, but now she knows she can mount from the ground (oh those legs), post and sit a trot, and control a horse who decides it is time to take off (even though she hasn't actually learned the canter yet.)  She'd look spectacular in a dressage arena, but the one lesson in a western horse had her declare "I could sit this trot all day long."  That's how I feel about Ace's trot.


Melinda decided that her Lusitano stallion Vento would really enjoy the cow work that Buck does in his clinics with more advanced riders.  I'd love to watch that clinic.  If I were an advanced rider, I'd put Ace into one.  He has no fear, and an appropriate amount of curiosity, about cows, both from his early days in New Mexico with Melinda (who bred him) and when he was boarded at the college (which does still have an agriculture program, though most days it looks like it is being dismantled.)

In response to the Q&A, Buck said he's doing a clinic out here next year.  I'm staying alert to find out when that will be, because I'd love to attend it.

If you happen to live in Los Angeles, Buck Brannaman will be in attendance at the 7: 30 P.M. showing of the film on Friday, June 17, at the Landmark Theatre in the Westside Pavillion on Pico Boulevard and at both the 7:00 P.M. and 9:30 P.M. shows on Saturday, June 18 at the Arclight Theatre in Hollywood (which has reserved seating.)

If you don't live in L.A., you can check out this link for other places the film is playing.  Do not miss it.

A Pet Peeve

I think I have become an old fogie.  Over the past couple of days, I've become increasingly irritated with much younger individuals, for whom I am a customer, calling me by my first name or by faux endearments like "sweetie" or "honey."  I'm more pissed off than I was when Kurt Stoutenberg decided to call me "Toots" one day in high school.  (Tootsie was an archaic phrase even then.)

My contemporary friends, like Audrey Price or Gloria Benson, and I do call each other things like that.  They are real endearments between old friends.  And I sometimes use the term when talking to much younger people who are part of my life. 

But the stranger behind the cash register who is younger than my son and the girl delivering food to my table at Daphne's today don't know me from a dish towel.  The problem with saying anything to them directly is they've got control over my food.  And I've heard stories...

As for the other problem, it is compounded when the person on the other end of the line is clearly outsourced.  I refuse to believe that it is impossible to find minimum wage workers in the U.S. to take care of customer service lines.  I've got a kid in the spare bedroom who'd be good at it and he speaks English without a thick accent from an unidentified place in the Far East.  Keep those jobs, and the tax revenue here.  At least if you could hire illegal aliens to do it in the U.S., it would improve our tax base.

The other night I took on PayPal who has decided I need to be "verified" after using their services for probably over 10 years and almost $10,000 worth of purchases.  If I don't get "verified" before I spend another $500, I will no longer be able to use my PayPal account.  Getting "verified" means I give them a bank account number and they deposit money into the account to make sure I am real.  Right.

As if I want to give anyone that kind of access to my checking or savings accounts when every week some bank seems to have had their accounts compromised.  Several years ago, someone got access to my checking account information, had checks printed, wrote a check to cash, and then wiped out my account.  The money was returned (although one credit card company refused to reverse the fee for the check that bounced when my account was closed because they did an electronic transfer rather than cash the effin' check I had sent them and told my bank was still outstanding) by the bank almost immediately, but it was not fun for me.  And I couldn't get the police to do anything and the bank refused to give me information about whose account "my" check had been deposited to to go after those people.

So back to the other night.  The first person I talked to took my information and punctuated every sentence with my first name.  We had a lousy connection, which was echoing back to me, and that made it even more difficult to parse the conversation through the young man's accent.  But it was quite clear that he had no explanation as to why someone whose account has never presented a problem should have to give up other account information.  My alternative was to open a PayPal credit account.  I do not need another credit card.

I finally had enough and demanded to speak to his supervisor, but not before telling him that I was not satisfied with his performance and I particularly did not like being called by my first name by a stranger who was half a world away.  He informed me, Christine, that such was the policy of his company, Christine.  In other words, I guess, his script required him to refer to me repeatedly by my first name.  No exceptions.

His supervisor, when he finally got around to picking up the line, was no better except that he did refer to me as "Ms. Valada," when I informed him that I was not happy about him calling me by my first name.  He could not offer a viable work around on the PayPal verification issue.  I finally said that I needed PayPal less than they needed me as a customer, so I would simply stop using PayPal when I hit that $10,000 purchasing limit.  Bye-bye.

I am still not comfortable calling the parents of friends by their first names, even if the parents might be closer to my age.  I'm rather uncomfortable--and always have been--when my contemporaries or older tell my son to call them by their first names.  I think there is still room for a little bit of formality and deference in the world.  And I have earned it.