Lost and Found: My lunch with Brady Quinn

What a week for Cleveland sports, huh? Ohio State. The Indians. The Cleveland Browns (THUD). And don't even get me started on LeBron James (again). It looks like more of the same from the Buckeye state, don't it?

Well, not exactly: ONE thing has changed this time around in Cleveland. I no longer "live and die" with my Cleveland sports teams. More like: Live and let die.

At the very least: MY prospects look better than the Indians.

I mean, yes, I still love 'em (the bastards). But I'm done with this ridiculous roller coaster ride for the time being. Cheering for Cleveland sports teams is like a one-way ticket to Crazy Town, it seems, and "that's all I can standz ...I can't standz no more!" And Blue Moon Belgian Ale has now become my supportive can of spinach...

I've got just two parting words for the Cleveland Browns: Bill Cowher.

I've actually met the guys that run these teams: Mark Shapiro and Phil Savage. And, no, they're not bad guys. I have honestly supported both of them for the last several years ...but my patience is now wearing thin in the meantime. It is what it is.

I was lucky enough to throw out the opening pitch for a Tribe game a few years back - and it was a dream come true! Looking back, I guess, if I played my cards right, I probably would be opening their mail (or some crazy shit like that) or "mopping up" after Michael Phelps in the corporate loge ...if I towed the company line like any good droid would do in that situation.

But, in the end, like Braylon Edwards ...I dropped the ball.

I can live with it. I have never been a good "yes man" at heart. In fact, my major flaw is that I always wear my heart on my sleeve. I can live with that, too.

I sense the major turning point in my travels was the "leadership luncheon" I attended last spring which was hosted by Phil Savage (coincidentally, a "no show") and Brady Quinn in downtown Cleveland. But, here's the twist: I made an appearance at this Gotham City function not as Batman ...but, rather, Bruce Wayne (wink, wink).

Yes, I was dressed for success in my stunning business suit all ready to schmooze with the Big Boys in town. Like a lamb to the slaughter, I was ready to be "enlightened" by the brightest minds in Cleveland sports. And so it goes...

At least I passed on the "Romeo Crennel Success in Leadership" conference, later that month. I mean, what was Romeo Crennel going to teach me: The fastest way to extract a Hostess Ding-Dong from it's wrapper? Hey, Nell Carter: Give me a break!

Anyway, I was all but ready to sashay on up to the bar and order a Blue Moon Belgian Ale: "Shaken, not stirred." But, unfortunately, I soon found out that this was more of a meeting of the minds ...where the minds were waiting to slip on their religious robes and purple Nikes ...and sip the sanctimonious Kool-Aid (McEditor's Note: Ah, yes. The old bait-and-switch. Growing up in a Catholic household, I'm rather familiar with that parlor trick. In fact, it's the oldest trick in The Book. Hey, faith and freedom of religious expression are fine with me ...just not on my dime).

It reminded me of the time when I was a young lad who wrote to L. Ron Hubbard seeking more information about Scientology and his book ("Dianetics") because I thought it was some ..."cool science fiction thing" and it turned out to be ...um, something else. Yeah, kind of like that.

But the chicken was good, though. Moist!

Regardless, I was seated at the back of the room, where I was constantly "monitored" by the single security guard on duty (Just ONE security guard? Quite frankly, I'm a little insulted!). But, at the very least, it gave me a good chance to reflect and redefine myself as Brady Quinn blathered on and on (not so much about the Browns) regarding his religious convictions (as we all anxiously awaited for The Mother Ship to arrive - sponsored by AFLAC).

So what's the moral of this fractured fable, Mr. Peabody? Here it is: I need to spend less time listening to these so-called "profound" pundits for profit ...and more time focusing on my own brand of shameless self-professed bullshit (for better or for worse).

Anyway, when I first entered the dining room of the hotel, I stopped to ask a couple of businessmen if they knew where my table I was sitting at was located. They did not. But they did offer this one piece of advice:

BUSINESSMAN 1: "You're table number says zero. I don't think there is a zero table. I guess that means you're sitting at the head table next to Brady Quinn..."

BUSINESSMAN 2 (in a joking fashion): "Yeah, you must be hosting this event, huh? You better be ready to hop up on stage and say something! I hope you've got something prepared ...you're on in five minutes! Are you ready to go...?"

ME: "You now what? I think I am."

And so it goes...

******

And now a word from our sponsors (Lost):

JACK SHEPHARD: "Well, I'll tell you what. You stay here in your little greenhouse ...the rest of us are going home."

JOHN LOCKE: "But you're not supposed to go home."

JACK SHEPHARD: "WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO-? What was it that you said on the way out to the hatch? Oh, I think I remember: That ...crashing here was our destiny."

JOHN LOCKE: "You know, Jack. You KNOW that you're here for a reason. YOU KNOW IT. And if you leave ...this place. That knowledge is going to eat you alive ...from the inside out. Until you decide to come back..."

JACK SHEPHARD: "Goodbye, John."

JOHN LOCKE: "Jack, you're going to have to lie. About everything that happened since we crashed here. You need to lie, in order to protect the island."

JACK SHEPHARD: "It's an island, John. It doesn't need protecting."

JOHN LOCKE: "It's not an island. It's a place where miracles happen. And, Jack, if you can't see that. Well, you just wait and see what I'm about to do..."

Season 5 of Lost (Episode 5.1: "Because You Left") premieres January 2009 on ABC.

******

Stand and Deliver: An Evening at The Cleveland Improv (Or ...How McFella Got His Groove Back)

So, yes, I realize I have been neglecting my blog for the last few weeks to be sure. But there is a reason for that: I've been in training. And now I'm back from Dagobah after a fun, intense, few weeks of studying with "the Master Yoda of comedy."

Regardless, I'm back in Gotham City now to turn my training into action. So, you see, I should probably explain that when I mentioned before that I was going "back to the drawing board" - that (once again) I meant an entirely brand new drawing board.

"Do or do not. There is no try."

So, yes, we did manage to "move the island" ...in a sense. And now that "island" is securely located (complete with a solitary microphone) in the center square ...at The Cleveland Improv (as part of an entire graduating class of comedians). "Gotta support the team!"

I have always (for the most part) been a "sort of" writer. But, for many years, I have wanted to attempt stand-up comedy. And, until now, I have been putting off the process of actually doing it. Sad to say, but I just wasn't ready before this point in the time and space continuum (mostly out of fear, I guess).

Regardless, I am not making any "grand declarations" here by any stretch of the imagination. Stand-up comedy is a tough business and it takes years of practice to perfect (as most established comedians will be glad to inform you ...and you are correct, sir). It's a spectacular skill that cannot be mastered in a few weeks, no doubt.

It may have taken "Ricky Roma" chasing me around the offices of "Consolidated Resorts and Properties" with a set of 3rd place steak knives. But, hey, like my "good friend" Tanya Roberts: I'll be there!

Nonetheless, I am going to attempt to translate my scattered words into something cohesive now. But, ultimately, I'll let the audience be the judge in the end. And, hopefully, I don't end up like Kenny Bania just because I think "anything that dissolves in milk is funny."

Jerry Seinfeld: "Why do they call it Ovaltine? The mug is round. The jar is round. They should call it Roundtine!"

Kenny Bania: "That's gold, Jerry! Gold!"

But like my professor in Communications back at Cleveland State always used to tell me: "Johnny Carson was terrified of going up on stage - he hated it. But, ultimately, he did it ...because he loved the world of comedy. And he wanted to be a part of it."

Well, obviously, I'm no Johnny Carson. Not even close, believe me. And my influences growing up were David Letterman and Steve Martin: I idolized those guys! But spending a scary amount of time lately studying some local comics in the Cleveland area, I realize that I have my work cut out for me to even come close to THAT (if I choose to pursue this on the next level ...and time will tell, I guess).

So, check out the local comedy scene in Cleveland to see what I'm talking about. You will not be disappointed!

In the meantime, I will be performing on Tuesday night (June 17th, 7:30 p.m.) at The legendary Cleveland Improv with a lot of other great guys and gals for our graduation show with Dave Schwensen. Tickets are $5.00, or mention my name at the ticket window for big, big savings. It should be a lot of fun!

Hecklers, drunkards throwing tomatoes, and serial killers are all welcome! Hey, we need to put asses in the seats, okay?

I look forward to seeing you there.

Marc Jaffe (who won an Emmy Award for his writing on "Seinfeld") will be hosting our event. I never got a chance to meet Marc Jaffe (unfortunately) when I was working with him at The Free Times.

But ...I guess ...like my favorite quote from the show Lost: "The universe has a way of course-correcting."

And, sometimes, it just needs a little ...PUSH.

And then I am on vacation: Follow the map from Indiana Jones to Bowling Green (the "mecca" of Pop Culture) to South Bend, Indiana (the Notre Dame "mecca" of drunken Catholic Irish men) to Chicago (The Second City of comedy) ...to destinations unknown.

So, it seems, I (sort of) have come a long way from putting on foul-mouthed puppet shows with our stuffed Muppets in the basement of my best friend growing up in Ohio. So much more to do!

"Goodnight, Mrs. B. ...wherever you are."

R.I.P. Tim Russert (1950 - 2008): The one guy who could actually tear me away from ESPN for politics!

We lost a great "voice" in the media today: Tim Russert.

Believe it or not, as shallow as I am at times, I always flipped away from sports on Any Given Sunday to watch this guy in action on "Meet The Press." He was one of the few men on the planet who could turn my head away from pop culture - for a moment - to focus on politics. And I want to truly thank him for that.

No, this time, Jon Stewart doesn't count. Tim Russert was "old school" and we loved him for that. In this "new" age of media where most of it's members are smug, insincere, self-serving asshats (Bill O'Reilly, Sean Hannity, Nancy Grace anyone?) more focused on American Idol than the actual events in the world, Tim Russert was a breath of fresh air (And, yes, people - I realize I am handcuffed to my own pop culture bullshit, as well - but there is so much more to life than that!).

In an era when (most of) the media falsely buckled to the Bush Administration, this was the one guy who was never afraid to speak his mind - and, more importantly, ask the tough questions that ultimately needed to be asked in a world gone mad. Never a mean man, yet - at the same time - he never faltered. Tim was truly a tough guy, with a teddy bear disposition, in the end.

But, as brilliant as Tim Russert was at times, he never forgot that he was a man of the people - he loved his sports teams to no end, and that's what always made this guy so damn accessible to almost every person on the planet.

Tim Russert was a hometown guy we could all believe in, to be sure.

So, yes, I am a sap. I admit, I got choked up today when I heard that he passed on to the next level of existence. But, for what it's worth, I honestly believe that this guy will sorely be missed here - now more than ever. Thanks for everything, Tim Russert.

The Unbearable Lightness of Being Me

Well, I know this news might send some of you into cardiac arrest, but here it goes anyway: I have become a "gym rat." Yes, you heard me correctly. I am addicted to working out at the gym now - have been for the past several weeks.

In fact, I actually beat the gym manager to the front doors this morning before he had a chance to unlock them - go figure! The early bird gets the burn. I know, I know: I probably should have gotten a photograph to publish on the cover of Weekly World News or something for authenticity.

Regardless of your suspended disbelief, I've come to the conclusion that I'm probably going to need a "superhero body" if I'm going to start kicking ass and taking names (so to speak). Let's face it: We live in a visual society and people seem to like some eye candy to go along with their sidedish of laughs - so I might as well give the masses what the want out in the public forum!

Actually, that's a truckload of Kentucky Derby crap. I'm doing this for me. You see, when I told you all that I was going "back to the drawing board" - I probably should have clarified that the same old drawing board was actually located in a new School of Rock.

Sure, I could always make excuses about becoming some disgusting blob ...but talk is cheap, right? Well, I've LOST 22 lbs. - and counting!

So even though I always seem to be two steps behind "my esteemed colleagues," I usually seem to get there (someway) in the end, don't I?

And, no, don't worry: They haven't killed "Fun Chris." Believe me, "Fun Chris" still exists on many levels. Let's just say, we're making a few much-needed "modifications" to the original model...

"It's not the years, honey, it's the mileage."

Whatever the case, I've always (as you are well aware) loved to eat, drink and be merry. And at 6 feet 4 inches tall, I seemed to be able to get away with packing on the pounds here and there at times, from Cleveland State to The Second City, through thick and thin. It's just those damn "commitment issues" of mine that always kept me from signing up at the gym before now.

Well, that - and the fact that signing a contract with a gym is worse than buying a used car these days (and you need to bring along a high-priced team of lawyers to avoid getting fleeced by the Fitness Mafia, it seems). Hey, Hans and Franz, I just want to pay the fee and go!

But, of course, that would be just a little too easy, right? Instead, I get the wind-up and the "sales pitch" before I can sign on the line which is dotted. More years, more money, first month, last month, membeship fee, registration fee, etc., ad nauseam.

"So," the salesperson says innocently, "I see by the (Cleveland) Indians shirt you're wearing that you're a Tribe fan, huh?" Points to the poster of their certain #48 half-donkey, half-prospect spokesperson on the wall. "It's the ninth inning. Game is tied. There are two outs and the bases are loaded and Travis is up to bat. So, what do you think Pronk would do in this situation? What would YOU do...?"

"Oh, well I know the answer to that one!" I reply in a rather assured fashion. "As someone who drafted Pronk in the 3rd round of my fantasy baseball draft, I can absolutely, definitely, positively TELL YOU what Pronk would DO in this situation... you see, as manager of my fantasy baseball team ("The Blue Moon Blobs") which is, COINCIDENTALLY, currently two spots out of the proverbial basement in my league, thanks partly to Pronk and that piece of driftwood he swings called a bat... I KNOW what Pronk would do! I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT PRONK WOULD DO IN THIS SITUATION ...I have my freaking Ph.D. in Pronk! I'm a DH hitting .213, HEAR ME ROAR!!!"

Well, needless to say, I buckled like a belt and signed the contract. I probably need to address my "anger issues" next, but one baby step at a time, right? So, sure, nobody is going to figure it all out in one day. True dat. And slumps don't last forever...

Like a classic episode of Lost, this is "The Shape of Things To Come."

"Someday I'll fly ...Someday I'll soar ...Someday I'll be something much more. Cause I'm bigger than my body gives me credit for..."

"I...AM...IRON MAN!" (and other flights of fancy)

"There has been some speculation out there that I am some kind of super hero. Well, let me assure you that I am not the super hero-type. Clearly."
-- Robert Downey, Jr. as "Tony Stark" (a.k.a. The "Invincible" Iron Man)

I have to admit I get totally geeked over the summer movie season. In fact, the only thing wrong with the summer movie season is that it's ...in the summer.

I mean, the hype is usually just that: hype. And the story actually takes a backseat to the special effects, these days, which is kind of sad in a throwaway, Hackey Sack sort of way. Besides, who wants to sit in a dark, air-conditioned cave on a warm, breezy day?

But, other than that, I love the summer movie season!

Regardless of the supposedly mindless blockbuster banter you hear exploding from your neighborhood multiplex, I think some summer movies have turned the proverbial corner harkening back to a better day when writers and directors actually cared about their craft.

Look no further to Batman Begins and Casino Royale, two excellent examples of "formula movies" that were nothing short of spectacular - on every possible story-telling level (revamping and re-energizing their respective franchises in the process. Correct, Mr. Bond?).

That is why (at least from the previews) I am expecting Iron Man to most likely win "Best Movie" for this 2008 summer season. First of all, it sounds like director Jon Favreau (Swingers) has stayed faithful to the actual story without selling-out to the mind-bending F/X.

And last (but not least), casting Robert Downey, Jr. as the billionaire-alcoholic-playboy "Tony Stark" was nothing short of cinematic genius (and Downey was robbed of an Oscar for his work in Chaplin, BTW, but we here at the Iddy's will give him an honorary one for his work in Back To School anyway).

Robert Downey, Jr. - it seems - has finally gotten his act together and has stated that he his "tired of working my butt off doing films nobody sees." (Amen to that, brother!)

Some heroes are flawed. Many heroes make mistakes. But that's not science fiction ...that's just reality. And it's how you rebound in the end, that matters most. Robert Downey, Jr. has a great power, and he needs to use it, right?

At least that's what we've always been told...

And with a summer movie season that features Speed Racer (um, that one looks a little shaky to me, folks), Batman: The Dark Knight, Indiana Jones and The Kingdom of The Crystal Skull and The X-Files: I Want To Believe ...it looks like there is finally something OUT THERE to drag me away from the black tie, tuxedo and martini bar crowd!

Well, that ...and a few other things. This summer, Hollyweird is calling! Are you listening, Bloggywood? Carry on my wayward son...

Derek Anderson was abducted by space aliens! Brady Quinn is the bride of Bigfoot! And other Weakly Weird News on the 2008 NFL Draft...

"Oh, don't act so surprised, Your Highness. You weren't on any mercy mission, THIS TIME!" -- Lord Darth Vader to those oh-so-wacky upstarts with the so-called Rebel Alliance.

Okay, so I guess I should take a break from babbling on and on about comic book movies and start talking about sports for a spot - You know, in case I ever want to have sex again.

The NFL Draft is this Saturday and it is truly one of the highlights of my primitive social calendar. To be clear, it's much less of a televised sports spectacle for my close group of friends - and more of a "networking event for smartasses."

I mean, after the drama is gone from the selection of the No. 1 pick, the only thing left to do is eat, drink, and be merry - until, of course, some team makes THE inevitable draft day mistake that is so galactically stupid that we have no choice but to pounce on it like the comedy pumas that we are! You know, like the Miami Dolphins selecting a PUNT RETURNER with their first round draft pick over Brady Quinn (a punt returner, he says!) last year.

Be that as it may, I am not immune to the onslaught of taunts and catcalls from my friends on Draft Day by any means! Last year, my fellow Irish kinfolk and I were put in the corner of the living room and unfairly labeled "Brady's Ladies" - simply because we bravely chose to wear our Notre Dame gear in support of a certain quarterback now riding the bench for the Cleveland Browns.

But, hey, no one is going to compare me to Rosa Parks, are they?

So, whatever the case, I choose to take the high road and view the world like Isiah Thomas for my 2008 NFL Draft party: With complete ignorance and utter bliss! And while the Cleveland Browns are (allegedly) out of the first-round running in regards to actual draft picks, I have no vested interest in anything other than the Blazing Hot buffalo wings on the snack tray this year.

Now, that being said, let it also be noted that I can finally rest in freaking peace and enjoy this year's NFL Draft without the constant clamoring of Phil Savage and his "antics."

Let me be clear in case you are lost: Phil Savage is obviously the general manager of the Cleveland Browns - and he has done a great job of turning this franchise around, no doubt. BUT - if I have to listen to him screaming from the Cleveland rooftops ...just one more time ...about Derek Anderson's "status" with the Brownies ...well, frankly, I don't know what!

WE GET IT, PHIL: You are not trading Derek Anderson (or so he says!) on Draft Day under any circumstances (Wink, wink). Okay, yes - WE GET IT! Derek Anderson is the second-coming of Joe Montana and Johnny Unitas all rolled into one! Again, we get it. How dare almost everyone on the entire freaking planet we call "Earth" question your judgement just because you massively overpaid for Derek Anderson! (And you did!)

WHO is responsible for all these wild conspiracy theories anyway? The media, maybe? I mean, trade Derek Anderson on Draft Day? If this a joke ...well, I'm not laughing, mister! Where DOES the dreaded media get their "misinformation" regarding an overpaid Derek Anderson and a possible trade anyway?

The right side of their cerebral cortex, perhaps?

Honestly, I just don't understand this paranoia on NFL Draft Day ("What was that noise? Is somebody there? Is that you, Mr. Peepers? Maybe it's just all in my head...").

Yes, Phil Savage, we now completely understand that you are absolutely, positively, under no circumstances whatsoever, going to trade Derek Anderson for any offer out there on Draft Day. Yes, Brady Quinn may bomb. Yes, two quarterbacks are better than one in Browns Town (even if you did massively overpay for one of them!) - and any NFL team around the league, short of New England, would love to be in our situation right about now. We get it!

Holy Moses, can I puh-leeze enjoy my ice cold Belgian ale right about now without another round of roaring applause from the chorus of circus seals on the "will they or won't they?" Derek Anderson debate?

"Okay, Mr. (Savage), I understand ...We all have to play our little games." But in regards to rumors about the Browns trading up into the first round: Won't you at least pay the fee for my fishing license?

Like an ACME mallet to the head, we finally get it: YOU ARE NOT TRADING DEREK ANDERSON. PERIOD. END OF NON-STORY.

Are you...? Is it...?

Unless, of course, according to my shadowy sources, the Atlanta Falcons come-a-calling with their first round pick (No. 3 overall) and we can get running back Darren McFadden in return for Derek Anderson and his multiple bags of dollar signs, right?

Other than that I like everything else the Browns are doing (maybe). Now somebody toss me a sardine and a rubber ball to balance on my nose ("Arrh! Arrh! Arrh!") ...because I think I overpaid for this blog!

Happy Draft Day everybody!

Wahoo! A Superman Museum in Cleveland, Edward R. Murrow sleeps with the fishes (Or How To Succeed in Journalism Without Really Trying)

Well, first off, I have returned from some far out adventures. Big whoop, right?

And no, to answer a few of your inquiries, I haven't been writing pithy sports columns for the local paper under the psuedonym, "George Bernard Shaw." (cough)

The last time I chatted you up, I mentioned my conversation(s) with the producer of the documentary, The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters after he read my review on Blogcritics.com. As it turns out, he contacted me directly via email a scant few hours after my posting. When I first noticed it in my inbox, I thought it was naturally going to be a scathing tongue-lashing - but it was just the opposite. In fact, it was great! And we ended up chatting it up more, a bit about the movie business and some of my misadventures in comedy.

Regardless, it was a great exchange, I learned a lot (about myself), and ...yada, yada, yada ...I now have an official contact in Hollywood! But that's a whole other deal altogether.

Good Night and Good Luck?

However, now, like Danny Ferry flying coach on a plane trip to L.A., I'm just a little confused about a few things... As far I know, I am the "mysterious stranger" who was supposed to bring a Superman museum to Cleveland - at least I've been trying for the last 2 years!

"What? Didn't YOU get the memo?"

Guess I shoulda-woulda-coulda tried harder, huh? Sure talk IS cheap - but, unfortunately, trying to get a Superman Museum built on the shores of Lake Erie IS NOT (Especially the original idea I had which called for a Superman museum or "Pop Hall" that would be the kissing cousin to the Rock Hall on the shores of Lake Erie). Too bad, how sad. I couldn't get it done at the time (and my excuses are my own).

What I DID manage to do was track down a close associate of the Siegel family (Yes, that Siegel family, of Siegel and Shuster fame) who stays in contact with the current family members - about some possible help (of whatever kind) for getting a Superman Museum built in Cleveland. He promised me last week he would pass along my message and contact information to them regarding this matter (but also informed me that they are quite busy with their litigation with DC Comics, so it might be awhile). Not bad for a "mild-mannered" blogger without press credentials, huh? (But, Great Caesar's Ghost, not as good as a "cub reporter" with a book deal either!)

Whatever the case, IF and WHEN I hear from the Siegel family (if, of course, no one has contacted them already), I will absolutely, positively, pass any-and-all information along to "the Powers that be" in Cleveland. Anything I can do to help the city in this matter works for me. Otherwise, I'm a day late and a dollar short, I guess. Either way, onward and upward, C-Town!

Maybe I'm much more suited watching from up on the ledge, huh?

And now, on to my troublesome Tribe, the Cleveland Indians. No, I'm not going to rag on them about their woeful record like I have in the past. First of all, I have come to love this team and I truly think Mark Shapiro is a damn good general manager (despite David Dellucci). And the ownership group of the Indians has made good on their promise to sign most of it's young talent to long-term deals (Grady Sizemore, Pronk, Fausto Carmona, etc.) so I can no longer fault them for that. And folks, let's get real, there is no way that the Tribe can afford to sign C.C. Sabathia unless he gives us a home town discount - that's just reality (Besides that, I think Fausto's the better pitcher).

But just because the Indians got close last year - is a guarantee of nothing this year. The fact that the national media has jumped on the Tribe bandwagon, in fact, makes me all the more squeamish.

Regardless, like the group of friends I was with Saturday night, this baseball team has brought us hours of summertime enjoyment over the years - and, if nothing else, it gives us a chance to get together, drink some Belgian brews (I'm like a Blue Moon pusher - and all my friends are now addicts!) and laugh it up while we watch the Tribe on glorious HD (The picture's so crystal clear, it's amazing - like you're standing on the flipping field right next to the players!).

And, if nothing else, you get a cheap laugh and spit-takes from your friends and associates when someone proclaims: "And, um, did Ryan Garko just flash us on HDTV???" Same Bat-time, same Bat-channel. Ain't that right, Alfred?

Anyway, just thought I'd take a time-out from other projects I'm working on to say "What up, Boo?" to anyone out there in CyberTown who might care... Other than that, I guess all that's left to do now is ask Ari Gold if he can get me the plum lead role in "Aquaman 2" that I previously turned down because of "creative conflicts," huh? ("C'mon, Ari ...you know you love my smile!"). Well, maybe not.

And, now, like Wile E. Coyote ...back to the ACME drawing board.