match game 2007

Charles Nelson Reilly. Brett Somers, Betty White. Marcia Wallace. Richard Dawson. Sone of the best comic actors of the 1970's propelled the Match Game to its iconic status.

Thought for the day- if you were the creator of Match Game 2007, who would you choose for the six panelists?

more brett

I'm still very saddened by the loss of Brett Somers, a lady I never actually ever met. I've been watching her Match Game clips since Saturday, before I was even aware of her passing.

When I was a teenager, I used to rush home from school to watch Match Game Seventy-Whatever. Brett and Charles were omnipresent, Betty White and Richard Dawson nearly as much. These people were my electronic babysitters. I loved their banter and repartee. I think I learned about gay men and their fashion accessory gal pals from watching. In many ways, it was a road map to my future. I guess that's why I'm so saddened. To me and the young men of my generation who were trying to understand who they were, Charles and Brett were a godsend. Drinking, bitchy, irreverent, fabulous, crazy role models. I had the opportunity to thank Charles in person in 1996. He kind of brushed it off, but that was his way, I wish I had gotten the opportunity to thank Brett as well.

The Game Show Network will be airing a Match Game Marathon in honor of Brett this Saturday beginning at 9 am. I'll be glued to the set, the world's oldest 13 year old.

Here's Brett and Charles from 1976:

on the pebbly beach

We went back to the pebbly beach. Four days after our near air disaster, we went back. This time, things went much better. We arranged a different aircraft (big comfy Hawker 700 with an excellent safety record) from a different Air Charter service and even used a different airport. Our cast changed slightly, Ron was freaked out by our prior adventure and decided to stay home and projectile vomit. Tami brought her boyfriend Steve. Myself, Nick, and Ken were the veterans, having just attempted this a few days beforehand.

The new pilot, Joe, was terrific. Ex-military, ex-airline, and ex-cellent. Flew his own plane. With confidence. When I described what had happened, he scoffed. "That wasn't an emergency", he explained. "That was an impaired landing". He strongly implied that we had been terrorized for little reason. We boarded his Hawker 700, a big comfortable plane that Joe owned himself. No lease-back excuses. This guy knew his stuff. "Let's Go Flyin!" he said. And flyin we did go.

Forty five minutes later we were on the ground at the Monterey Jet Center. We were picked up by Kathy, a soccer mom nee chauffeur who earned extra money with the family 'burban in between frequent calls from her son Darryl. Except for being a bit less adept at running roadblocks than our usual driver, she did a great job and we had a lot of fun with her. "This is no time to be frail", Ken admonished as he directed her around sawhorses and past security into Pebble Beach via our secret way. We all shouted "Hello" to Darryl as he phoned in, and made jokes about our other brother Darryl. A few minutes later, and with the aid of last years permits (Tami never throws these things away), we were at the lodge.

It was a beautiful morning at the Pebble Beach Concours. We were overlooking the ocean, the lush green lawn, and the most beautiful cars in the world. It was one year since we were all here showing the Duesenberg on behalf of our departed friend. That was a very emotional day, this year it was much more relaxed. We actually looked at the cars on the field. Ken and I studied Ferraris and Aston Martins.

Tami rushed the Mercedes tent. We would have had access to credentials if we had done a bit more planning, but we didn't need that- we had Tami. She located a VIP pass or five and we spent the afternoon hanging out at Mercedes. We picked up these three nice PR girls in overly slinky dresses (NOT hookers, Michael- that's more your speed than ours) and genuinely had fun hanging out and chatting. People eavesdropped our table, so we invited them to join us. We were even mostly sober. Oh, and we did bump into this Madam we knew from Malibu, but again, she was not a hooker herself.

After the Best of Show was presented, we headed over to Gooding for the auction. Ken had been mentally toying with the idea of a Ferrari to replace the one lost in the Estate battle, and there were four extremely nice and rare ones at the sale. We checked out the cars while the rest of our crew got settled. The PR girls wandered over and sat with us. We got quite a bit of notice, in no small part due to our Harem.

We were on a time limit. Our jet had to be "wheels-up" by 10 pm. Our soccer mom was meeting us at 9:15. There was a highly desired Ferrari late in the sale. We were cutting things close. To cut to the chase, we bid on the car (against my straight ex-boyfriend who was manning the phone bank. Thanks, Garth), won the bid, looked at the car for two minutes, ran out the door and into the 'burban, raced to the airport and were wheels-up at 10:02 pm after a wonderful day where we all enjoyed each other immensely.

That's when we realized that Ken hadn't signed for the car. On a seven figure bid. Oops. We'll take care of that tomorrow. We had a grand time on the pebbly beach.

can o' whoop ass

It was a kinder, gentler time. A time when we naively thought that our president was merely a stumbling illiterate alcoholic. This was before we realized he was Darth Vader and we were trapped in the Evil Empire. I think it was June.

I posted a hilarious Laura Bush parody video by Mandy Steckelberg called "Liberal's Just Another Word for Gay", which ends with the line "Don't make me open a can of Whoop Ass on ya". It became a catch phrase for my friend William. Like the Mommie Dearest screaming matches Ron and I used to have in front of the Drake Hotel, but without the full length fur coat. After all, it's summer.

Anyway, so Will returns from a vacation trip to see family in Florida and presents me with...a can of Whoop Ass. Don't make me open it up, now.

Adieu Brett

Saturday night I spent nursing my youtube addiction. I started out by compiling station identifications, then stumbled onto Match Game clips and spent a couple hours watching every one I could find. I watched this show religiously in the 70's and it is just as hilarious and crazy now.

Then Monday I learned that Brett Somers passed away on Saturday. Rest in peace, Brett- you made so many people laugh.

Here she is with Charles Nelson Reilly and country singer Bill Anderson in a hilarious goodbye from 1976.

wine in the house

She was expected to perform on video. But instead, she showed up and knocked 'em dead. Superb and sparkling, here's La Winehouse live and fabulous at the Mercury Awards. The song, "Love is a Losing Game" could be my personal mantra. Enjoy...

happy birthday ed

It's wearying for me to be an American in the fall of 2007. For some reason, the destruction of democracy and our decent into fascism upsets me from time to time. Oh, and that illegal war thingy. Sometimes I need to take a break from the republican congressional sex scandals of the day and think back to a kinder, gentler time.

Ah, the fifties- those tailfinned, poodle skirted fifties. How innocent they were.

Fifty years ago today, September 4, 1957, the Russians announced that they had an Intercontinental Ballistic Missile that could reach the world. They could attack us in our beds. Sleep well, kids. Did you say your prayers?

Fifty years ago today, in Little Rock, Arkansas, nine teen aged black girls were turned away from going to high school- by the National Guard. These fifteen and sixteen year old girls were caught between armed Guardsmen and an angry mob of racists. It started a crisis that resulted in the cancellation of the entire 1958 school year for three Little Rock High Schools and would not be resolved until the fall of 1959 when the schools reopened, integrated.

And last but not least, fifty years ago today, Ford Motor Company introduced its latest line of automobiles. It was the first introduction of a new medium priced American make since the Mercury of 1939, It offered two and four door sedans and hardtops, two and four door wagons, and two convertible models. It was called the Edsel.

At least two of the three turned out okay.

Happy Birthday, Ed.

Um, can I go back to 2007 now?