The Morning After

The end of shooting involved a lot of hugging and picture taking. A lot of writing down of phone numbers and e-mail addresses. A lot of promises to "keep in touch," something that usually turns out to be a lot of lies.

I don't know how it'll be in this case, because you always think people will stay in touch, even if you know they probably won't. I know I'll e-mail everybody and tell them again how great they were and they may or may not e-mail back or they'll change their e-mail addresses to avoid me.

Out of all the people I worked with on Saturday the 14th Strikes Back, I keep in touch with one of them, Rhonda Aldrich, my "co-star" in the same sense that we weren't stars but let's not get into that again.

In fact, Rhonda was almost in this movie--if Karen hadn't taken the part, Rhonda would have had it. So I still e-mail her and get an Xmas card and we keep in touch.

The reason we keep in touch, besides the fact that we liked each other, is that neither of us have become successful in the entertainment biz. Rhonda did a lot more than I did--including a recurring part on Star Trek the Next Generation in a holodeck sequence as a Chandler-esque, film noir, gum-chewing secretary. She was very good and this reminds me of Gene Roddenberry, so you can expect a very long aside very shortly.

But it's not like either of us ended up on Friends or Frasier, so we, like most out of work people in the "entertainment biz" keep in touch, just in case.

My most memorable example of this is the year Gene Roddenberry, creator of Star Trek, came to my Christmas party. I met Gene through a man I was working and sometimes ghost-writing for. Gene needed a computer consultant (of all things, I mean, doesn't it seem like he invented computers? I have a Palm Treo computer that looks almost exactly like a "communicator" from the original Star Trek, it even snaps open the same way and then becomes a cell phone, it's like a sci-fi prop).

So I went over to Gene's house to help him learn how to use his new KayPro computer, one of the first "portable" computers that weighed a mere 35 pounds. That's right, it was super-portable because it weighed only slightly more than a sewing machine and was in a magnesium case only slightly smaller than a small-block Chevy V8 and didn't have batteries so it had to be plugged in to work. What made it portable was the fact that it had a handle. They didn't mention it could also be used for weight-training.

I actually took mine everywhere, at the time it was the most amazing machine I'd ever seen. It had a big keyboard that snapped over a little green screen and two big slots for floppy diskettes (as they were called at the time) that were 1) really floppy, and 2) able to hold the astounding total of 160K. Not megabytes, but K. The digital photos you take with your cell phone probably wouldn't fit on one of these disks, which was bigger than your cell phone.

But at the time, it was a big step up from the dedicated word processor Gene was using, and he needed someone to teach him how to use WordStar (convenient that it had the word "Star" in it), and I jumped at the chance.

I went to Gene's house on the other side of Beverly Hills (the valley side) and was greeted by Majel, his wife, also known as Nurse Chapel, the voice of the computer, and later Lawaxana, or something like that (the mother of the one on the Next Generation who was supposed to be psychic but only managed to look constipated).

So there she is, welcoming me into her home, which looked a little like a left over set from the original TV show, all 1960's interior design, all avocado green and burnt orange (at least that's how I remember it). She offered me a drink and the glass was one they used on the TV show. It was pretty cool.

This is more detail than I intended to write or that you probably care about, but I'm a roll and he's famous so you might be interested and if not, I can't imagine you'd have read this far so just keep reading and all your questions will be answered eventually.

Gene was a very nice man. I enjoyed helping him learn this new contraption and he picked it up quickly. He was even kind enough to read a screenplay I'd written which was a parody of Star Trek called "Spaced Out" which I still think is a funny script if anyone's looking for something funny set in space. And he was nice enough to send me a letter, which I have somewhere with the script, saying how much he enjoyed it. I thought maybe he was just being nice, but it was thoughtful and I appreciated it even if I didn't have enough sense to try to get some writing work out of him.

Of course, his recommendation at the time didn't count for much. The first Star Trek movie hadn't yet come out, so even though he was a cult hero around the world, movie studios not only didn't return his phone calls, if they thought he was calling they didn't even pick up the phone.

See, this is what happens. When you're hot, you're hot. When you're not, you might as well be dead, in fact, you could probably get more work dead, because at least then they had a chance of licensing your likeness for use on novelty items.

So, the reason I mention all this other than to drop a big name and say "Hey, I knew Gene Roddenberry and went to this house and drank from Star Trek Glasses and he gave me an 16mm "outtake reel" which I still have with this business card on it and it must be worth of fortune on eBay," is that I invited Gene to our annual Christmas party.

Now, our party was famous in LA, at least among people who knew us. It took us two weeks of preparation--a week of which was housecleaning--and a week of cooking--and then it lasted from around 6pm until 4am, and then it took two days to clean up after and six months to recover from and while it was great fun we finally reached the point where we couldn't force ourselves to do it again so all our friends presumably went hungry for the holidays.

So I invited Gene. I never expected him to come, but I thought he might like some of our justifiably famous fondue bread, ham slaw, and other delicacies.

So the night of the party comes, and many friends have arrived early, as they often did to ensure they got the food before others had eaten the best bits, and the doorbells rings and there's Gene, and his lovely wife, Majel, both dressed like they were going to the Opera, both in black, her with a large feather boa (the feather boa part may or may not be true, but that's how I remember it).

Of course we ask them to come in (I mean, I invited them after all) and all my friends are pulling me into the kitchen (which is the hotbed of activity anyway because food could be had there even before it made it out to the living room), and they're saying, "Why didn't you tell me Gene Roddenberry was coming?" like 1) I knew, and 2) they would have dressed better if they they'd known?

Gene and Majel were both as charming as humanly possible, talked to everyone like the real people they were, weren't afraid to eat the food and even commented on the ham slaw (of course, everybody did, including one woman who said she was a vegan 364 days a year but let that slide on the day of our party because of the ham slaw and would we please give her the recipe, to which we said "no, because we don't want you to fall off the wagon," and she thanked us for it and then I think she went on to win some big BBQ competition with her recipe for baby back ribs).

Gene and Majel stayed at the part for several hours, then there was a phone call from their son, Rod (that's right, Rod Roddenberry). Did I mention that I was also teaching Rod how to use his computer? He was a very nice kid, maybe 12 or 13 and that was in the 80s when an adult didn't have to worry about being along with a 12 year old in his bedroom, though this reminds me of another story, so please excuse this aside within an aside, we will return to our normally scheduled programming shortly.

After I invited Gene and Majel to my party, Rod invited me to his 13th birthday party. I thought was that was very. So I arrive and the party's going in the back yard by the pool and I look around and notice I'm the only adult invited to the party. That's OK, I can talk with kids, I'm childish. So I'm talking to the kids, and I notice there are other adults, all inside. All watching me. One of them signals for me to come inside, and I do, thinking maybe they want to offer me a part in a sitcom or something (I never said I was realistic).

So this guy asks me, "Are you apparent?" And I think, "No one has ever asked me this before. I think I am apparent, I mean, I'm visible, you can see me, I'm rather wide for my height so it's not like I become invisible if I turn sideways, what on earth are you talking about" but I just say what I always say when I'm not sure what someone said, "Yes."

I see there's a better grade of food inside for the adults and this keeps me inside (I've never been a fan of cupcakes with sprinkles and inside there's something that looks like chocolate cake and I try to make my way towards it).

One by one people stop me and ask, "Are you apparent," and now I'm getting a little freaked out. Maybe, just maybe, I'm not apparent. Maybe Gene hasn't been writing sci-fi all these years, but, in fact, lives in some kind of black hole where some people simply aren't apparent and I've been revealed to be one of those people. I am not sure what this means for my future, but I can imagine there must be some kind of opportunities to be had in being imperceptible. I'm thinking this would make me a very good spy, when yet another adult manages to see me, despite my unapparent nature, and asks the same question to which I once again answer "Yes."

Then they ask me, "Which one is yours?"

OK, now I'm really thrown for a loop because I can't answer, "Yes," and hope to make any sense at all. They look at me, then look outside and I look at them and look outside. Then I look at the chocolate cake and wonder if I can make a run for it, and suddenly it hits me!

"Are you apparent," has actually meant, "Are you a parent?" They've all been asking if I was a parent of one of those kids outside.

And it dawns on me that I have two choices--I can either be "a parent" or I can be an adult male who's somehow crashed a 13 year old boy's birthday party clearly for some nefarious purpose. I mean, why else would a grown man be at a boy's birthday party, other than the fact that he was a parent or a pervert.

I felt really embarrassed that people could even imagine that I was a pervert, so I pointed randomly at one of the kids and said the only word that would come out of my mouth, the ever-popular, "Yes," as if I had been a hippie and thought naming my child "Yes" would have some positive karmic effect.

I left the party shortly thereafter, after 9 more concerned adults asked me, "Are you a parent?" and looked at me as if they were really saying, "Are you a pervert?"

OK, so back to my Christmas party with Gene Roddenberry in attendance. The same kid who invited me to his birthday party was now calling from Hollywood (about two miles away)--collect!

I accepted the charge and put his dad (who was both "a parent" and "apparent") on the phone and they tell me they have to leave to go pick him up, which seems like the "good parent" thing to do, though really, I would think he could have gotten home somehow, I mean, a 13 year old boy in Hollywood, you do the math).

So they leave, and everyone's mad at us for not telling them Gene was coming and I'm like, "Here's some more ham slaw," and they all shut up about it and the party goes on until 4am by which time it was so foggy the fog was literally coming into the windows like something from a sci-fi movie (which once again makes me wonder about my place in the universe or at least my sanity) and some people had to sleep in the living room since they went downstairs but couldn't see their feet and decided it would be wise not to drive.

Again, I have managed to skip merrily around the point of Gene and my Christmas party, but the point is, when you're down in the entertainment biz, anyone can be your friend. And Gene was down, and I was his friend. Temporarily.

While I was helping him he was working on the "bible" (a detailed concept) for a new show called "Star Trek, the Next Generation." He gave me a copy. I read it.

I felt sorry for him. He had characters with stupid names like Jean Luc Picard. How could a captain be French? How could he have a name like a Parisian waiter? The bible talked about how the lead character was split in two, with Picard being the elder statesmen, the brains. And then there was Lt. Riker (another bad name) who was the brawny one who could take off his shirt and fall in love with alien women who would then be doomed to die right before the end of the episode so he could continue to "seek out new life and new civilizations."

I thought all the character names were embarrassingly bad. Jordie La Forge? A blind French guy? Oh please. Dr. Crusher. Are you shitting me? And then the psychic one who could never quite figure out anything (the fact that she looked constipated wasn't stipulated in the script, it must have been something the actress brought to the part).

I never told Gene I thought his new series sounded pathetically bad, because he was excited about it, and I was at least smart enough to keep my mouth shut. So the show was bought, and I didn't even think of asking if I could write for it because, like I said, it was clearly so stupid it would never run, though still, I could have written one episode, but I was never good at making use of my connections which is why my Hollywood career went nowhere. If I'd been really smart I would have slept with him.

OK, so Star Trek the Next Generation is a huge international hit and next year, guess what, Gene doesn't come to my Christmas party. I don't blame him, now he's really busy, and I am nobody, but I hope the busy part was the reason he couldn't come, even though I suspect it was a combination of the two.

So my point, if you are still reading and there's really no reason why you should be, is that, oh who am I fooling, I don't even remember where I was going with all this. Let me stop for a moment and read back before all this Gene name dropping and see what I was trying to say...

Hold on...

Still reading...

Oh, yes, staying in touch with people you worked with. So if the people you work with don't hit the big times, they may very well stay in touch with you. Then again, they may not, as some of my previous co-stars didn't, either because they didn't like me or they changed phone numbers and forgot to tell me, because they didn't like me, or they were just forgetful. I think Patty McCormack, famous for being "The Bad Seed" was just forgetful because she seemed to like me and we had fun together.

The two biggest names in my first film foray were Ray Walston (famous for "My Favorite Martian" and "Damn Yankees") never stayed in touch, probably because I never got him to give me his phone number. And Avery Shreiber (famous for "Car 54 where are you" and the first "Doritos" commercials) also never kept in touch, because he died, which I had nothing to do with, and also means he wasn't just trying to avoid me, or, if he was, that was an awfully long way to go.

So--I've e-mailed people I worked with on this movie and so far one of them has e-mailed back, Rita, who was so nice I expected her to, though I don't know if I ever will again, because it's possible she doesn't like me, either, but then I just kind of assume that about people, which doesn't say much for my self esteem.

I guess that makes me an egotist with low self-esteem. I wonder if that's a new category or yet another clichéd aspect of my personality.

Oh, Rita just e-mailed again. That's good. But it's late, and I'm not happy with this blog entry. I don't come out of it sounding very good. Tomorrow I'll write something more positive. I think I'm just tired because of allergies and that always makes my energy and self-esteem drop. Tomorrow I will realize that when people die I can't possibly expect them to return my calls or take it personally when they don't.

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