I have very little to add to the news of Clarence Clemons passing away. But I did remember that in my YouTube archives, I have an artifact: The Big Man appearing in a 1988 ad for AFS, which was (is?) the foreign exchange student program. Basically, Clarence stands on what appears to be the Brooklyn Bridge Promenade and plays “America the Beautiful.” The ad also has a curious length: 20 seconds, making it longer than a regular spot but slightly longer than a “half ad.” The only explanation I have is that it aired during an episode of Steampipe Alley, a show not bound by the surly bonds of common sense.
All posts by Matthew Callan
Studio 60 on Roosevelt Avenue: Episode 4
STUDIO 60 ON ROOSEVELT AVENUE
EPISODE 4
WRITTEN COMPLETELY BY AARON SORKIN TOTALLY ALONE AND UNDER GREAT DURESS
RELIVE THE EXCITING INAUGURAL SEASON!
PILOT | EPISODE 2 | EPISODE 3
LOGLINE: Once the nation’s best and most respected baseball GM, Sandy Alderson has been reduced to trying to revive a moribund franchise is the depths of deepest, darkest Queens. Along with his sharp-witted and adoring protégés, he fights off the seemingly endless series of controversies and crises that beset him while trying to run a sports team in the country’s most bustling metropolis, and still look fantastic while doing it. Can the pressures of such an important job crush this singularly talented and gifted individual genius?
ACT I
The front office. PAUL DEPODESTA and J.P. RICCIARDI sit in cubicles, their backs to one another, hunched over computers.
DEPODESTA: Have you seen this video…
RICCIARDI: Yes.
DEPODESTA: I didn’t even describe it to you.
RICCIARDI: Whatever it is, I’ve seen it.
DEPODESTA: What does it feel like to know everything?
RICCIARDI: Surprisingly good.
MACKENZIE CARLIN rushes over to their cubes, looking perturbed.
CARLIN: Do you guys know what’s up with Sandy? He seems out of sorts, not himself.
RICCIARDI: Maybe it’s because our second baseman publicly declared he’s a Wiccan?
DEPODESTA: Please. He handled that without a sweat, just like when our closer converted to Druidism. This about Billy.
RICCIARDI: Of course!
CARLIN: Who’s Billy?
DEPODESTA: Billy Beane. Used to be Sandy’s most trusted protégé. They were as thick as thieves. Then he took the Oakland front office out right from under him. Billy won’t admit it and neither will Sandy, but it’s the worst kept secret in baseball. To make matters worse, there’s this new movie coming out, all about Billy. Word is, this film takes all the innovations Sandy came up with and tries to pitch them as Billy’s. Now the A’s are coming here tomorrow and even Sandy can’t pretend this isn’t a big deal.
CARLIN: Oh, I thought he was upset because someone told Einhorn about him meeting with Grant Linwood.
RICCIARDI: Yeah, I heard someone did that. I figured it was someone kind of close to Einhorn. Like, someone who Einhorn just hired two weeks ago.
CARLIN: Funny, I figured it was someone who knew where Sandy was at the time, someone who’s worked with him for years, someone who was standing right next to him when he said where he planned to go.
RICCIARDI: Funny how someone who wasn’t there when it happened knows exactly what everyone else was doing.
DEPODESTA: Can you guys provide me a map so I can follow along with all these pronouns?
ALDERSON wanders over, scowling.
ALDERSON: Any reason you three are standing around gabbing when we start the biggest series of the year tomorrow?
DEPODESTA: Since when is Oakland the biggest series of the year?
ALDERSON: Since it’s the next one we play.
CARLIN: These two think you’re on edge because Billy Beane is coming to town.
ALDERSON: Nonsense. It’ll be great to see Billy. Like getting the old band back together.
RICCIARDI: Really? I always thought he got on your nerves.
ALDERSON: Only when he tells that damn story about finding an all-star shortstop at a Panera Bread for the 8 millionth time. Even I have my limits. Hey, why are we worrying about someone from another team? How about you guys worry about your own jobs for a minute?
ALDERSON storms off, leaving his assistants to stare quizzically at one another. Camera follows ALDERSON into his dimly lit office, where he pulls a large decanter of scotch and a tumbler from an oaken liquor cabinet. He pours himself a belt, drinks it in one gulp, pours another, and collapses into his desk chair, grasping his aching head.
The Bottomless Buddhist Box of Cheez-Its
As Father’s Day approaches, I’ve been thinking a lot about my grampa’s house. I went there virtually every Father’s Day, as our extended family would gather there and some serious snacking and sitting while my grandfather grilled hamburgers. But I also think about just going there period, how often I did, without any real thought given to the possibility that one day, I might not be able to.
If you went to my grandfather’s house on any given weekend, chances are he was watching golf, snacking from a large box of Cheez-Its while doing so. He was not really a sedentary person. He was outside more often than not, gardening or mowing his lawn or golfing himself. But when he did relax, this was his favorite way of doing so.
I grew up next door to him, and so I’d go visit often, although “visiting” is probably the wrong word for it. It was not so much a friendly visit as me taking full, brutal advantage of his home and hospitality. As I know I’ve mentioned many times, he had a VCR years before I did, and so I’d beg him to tape things I wanted saved for posterity–animated specials mostly, usually holiday related, with the occasional movie thrown in. He did this for me every time without fail, even though he wasn’t quite sure how to tape something on one channel and watch something else, which meant the poor guy was stuck watching Peanuts and Garfield specials all night whenever I placed an order.
If I felt like watching one of these tapes, I’d just show up announced, and he’d let me put on whatever old tape I wanted to, even if it was the middle of the summer and I felt like watching It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown, and even if he was in the middle of watching Arnold Palmer at the Masters.
To top it off, he’d let me eat as many of his Cheez-Its as I wanted, even if “as many as I wanted” usually equaled “all of them.” I would never be told I couldn’t have more. I would never be asked to leave. I could stay there all day, all week if I wanted to.
When I got older, Grampa had cable before I did, and he allowed me to program his VCR so I could tape and watch shows like Mystery Science Theater 3000 and 120 Minutes. I was permitted to do this no questions asked, despite the fact that he didn’t quite get the former and knew nothing of the latter. I’d come over, make enough small talk so I wouldn’t feel bad, and retrieved a tape so I could go home and watch “Manos: The Hands of Fate” or Dave Kendall get berated by The Pixies. I might even grab a handful of Cheez-Its for the road.