A rose by any other name still ain't your damn rose!

When I was in the sixth grade, my school district didn't have the money to bus students, so my friends and I walked the mile to school and back every day. Northern California was often mild weather-wise, so it wasn't really that big of a deal, and we enjoyed the daily adventure besides. The neighborhoods we passed through varied from Post-War rundown to white trash spectacular... and there were some very nice little homes that we passed along the way, homes that captured my imagination. These were very well maintained, with gardens and birdbaths and shutters on the windows, making me believe I was strolling by gingerbread homes in an enchanted forest. One house in particular had the most amazing array of rose bushes - trees, really, since they were taller than us - all along the perimeter of the property. I don't really remember the house but I remember those roses, at once beautiful and fragrant and SO tempting. What I also remember, however, is the chain-link fence that protected those roses from, well, us.
Of my friends, I was the tallest, so I must have had the longest reach. On fine Spring afternoons, there were often buds just on the other side of that fence, and if I angled my wrist just right I could sometimes snag one. If I was lucky, it would snap off along the branch just a few inches from the flower itself, and we'd have our prize. If the stars didn't align, the rose would explode in a rain of petals to the ground below....and we'd high-tail it out of there.
On one afternoon that still hums along in my memory, I somehow found myself walking home alone....and I landed directly in front of that floral prison camp. Not a foot from me bloomed the most gorgeous deep pink roses. I scanned the street for witnesses....quiet in all directions. Carefully, I shifted my book bag to one hip and I snaked my arm in through that fence, trying to come up right below the prettiest of the blossoms. I was just brushing my fingers against the soft silk of the petals when a woman stepped around the rose bush and scared the living crap out of me. She was very severe looking - hair pulled back in a tight, rigid bun. Big cats-eye glasses. A dirt-dusted apron and heavy work gloves, and in one had she held a pair of pinking shears. For just a moment I wondered if she was going to try to take off my fingers. I wanted to run but I stood there, caught in her glare.
"I really wish you kids would stop destroying my roses," she stated flatly with just a touch of irritation in her voice. "You see this here?" She was gesturing to an empty spot where a branch had obviously been snapped off. Perhaps by me. "This is ruined now, a bloom won't come back here anymore. In order to keep the roses blooming, I have to tend to these bushes, and trim them properly. The blooms need to be snipped like so...." and she used the sheers to cleanly take one of the flowers off of the bush. "And then the flower can come back." All the while she was talking I was stricken dumb, wondering why she was taking the time to explain all of this instead of just yelling at me. I was even more flabbergasted when she held the rose through the fence, offering it to me. "All you and your friends have to do is ask, and I'll be happy to share my roses. Just let me use the right tools so the bush isn't harmed."
I don't remember if that twelve-year-old me said anything to that woman as I took the rose and walked away. I would like to think that I apologized for hurting her rose bush, and thanked her for the beautiful gift. Being an awkward adolescent I may have just wandered away wordlessly. I do remember that tears of embarrassment and shame burned at my eyes as I walked home, and I cradled that rose like it was made of delicate glass.
I told you all of that so I can tell you this: What I learned that day was that sometimes, in an effort to carelessly procure something we want, we end up ruining it in the process. But if we are patient and kind, we can have the item we treasure AND make sure it is still intact for someone else to appreciate later on. I really and truly wish that Jay Leno had lived in my neighborhood, and had a run-in with my scary yet wonderful gardener-lady. Maybe she could have taught him that having what you want isn't worth it if you cause irreparable damage while you are getting it. And maybe she could have shown him that kindness and honesty works so much better than treachery and deceit. And if none of those things happened to come about....maybe she could have cut off his damn fingers with those pinking sheers! Not that it would have accomplished anything positive, but somehow I think I'd feel better....

You take the high road, I'm going this way, with the flames...

In every family, there usually comes a time when philosophies diverge and moral compasses do not point to the same magnetic North. Be it religion, politics, or general principal, one set of ideals never really stands identical to any other. In our large "I'm With Coco" family, we have almost a million people sharing one love (Conan, natch) but as would be expected, there are also almost a million ways of seeing this great world of ours. And just like in any other family, we sometimes can't help but express ourselves in ways that cannot possibly keep the whole family happy. It is disfunction on the scale of the entire population of San Jose, CA.
I think the distinct divisor in our family dynamic, if I had to name one, is that while we all agree on our love for our "hero," he came with a built-in nemesis, an antagonist in our little tale. Imagine a big-chinned meanie tying damsels to train tracks whilst Conan sweeps in to save the lovely ladies - all without mussing one hair on his head! Where we the Coco-Nuts differ is just how to handle our relationship with the "bad guy." Many, those with a strong sense of decency and maturity, have declared this person to be a non-entity, not worth their time to acknowledge or disclaim. I envy this strength and integrity. I would love to be able to take the high road, and keep all that mud off my boots. That viewpoint reflects the stuff that makes up a good person - the kind who help the elderly across the street and don't cheat on their taxes. I am sure these folks are going to heaven. I hope they send me a postcard so I can see what it is like.
Because you see, I belong to the part of the family who just can't leave well enough alone. We try to be good, we really do, but MAN - the opportunities for satisfying self-expression are just too plentiful. WHY does it feel so good to pursue the villain? WHY oh why is it gratifying to skewer his carcass and roast it slowly over the embers of spite?? The jokes come easy, the sarcasm drips deliciously over tongue and page. Oh curse you, dear Universe, for making this particular yard dog so easy to kick, for leaving this tasty fruit so low and easy to pick....(Another rhyme, blame Dr. Seuss and his birthday week) I am not on the high road. I am no where near the high road. I missed the turnoff about six weeks ago and now I am up to my ass in mud, donkey crap, and sticks and stones. I have no one to blame but myself.... I could be good, I could be kind, I could ignore the slow dog and the low fruit and turn my head toward the heavens and announce "I am better than this! I have those attributes from which fine people are made...." Instead, I spend way too much time on Google, looking for synonyms for "idiot." There are a lot. I intend to use them all. Now, if you will just steer me toward the nearest rack of asbestos underwear, I need to start preparing for eternity and stuff.....

Living the Tweet life....

The I'm With Coco Facebook board went absolutely nuts just a few short hours ago, and I happened to log on right in the middle of it. News was sweeping through the posts like a hot knife through Cocobutter....Conan had just Tweetered....er, Twitted.....you know, he posted something on Twitter! He had sent a short but hilarious message about the state of things at O'Brien central. Actual words had come down from our deposed hero! The excitement was electric, there was hypothetical dancing in the imaginary streets.... There was so much for us to say and do and process....What did this mean?? What significance did this have to the core of our collective being? I imagine this is what happens in Vatican City when the Pope sends out his annual "Tweet to the Masses.... "
But before I could even get my feet back under me, it was made quite clear by my fellow celebrators that in order for me to truly feel the depth and breadth of this great historical moment, I would need to do something that was at once terrifying and yet somehow horrifying.....I needed to start a Twitter account. Now, you have to understand that I had once balked at the idea of ever setting one cyber-toe in the world that is Facebook. Friends hounded me for years (months? How the hell long has it been around?) to join, and I always laughed. "Ha ha ha," I would say "I am too mature, busy, and important in my own mind for such an endeavor." Of course, I buckled, and was ever so overjoyed to have such instantaneous information at my fingertips - People I work with are eating dinner! Folks I went to school with all those years ago have found lonely cows on their cyber Farms! Somebody I kind of know through my husband wants me to join the Mafia (I hope this is a game of some sort....?) My world had never been so full.....Then, of course, the Tonight Show atrocity happened, and I found a whole new facet to "social networking" - my Coco page, filled with kindred spirits and not one lonely cow anywhere on the horizon!
But Twitter.....that always seemed way too trendy for my taste. Young Hollywood people with chihuahuas in their handbags were doing it. Not really my scene.... Well, that, and the fact I am technologically inept. Tweetering (?) seemed to involve knowledge across a wide range of media - internet, texting, abbreviating.....things I have a passing relationship with, but not a comfortable one. I can talk socially on the 'net but I am always afraid of hitting the wrong button and inadvertently marrying someone in prison or buying a toaster oven. And I can "text" but it takes me about ten times as long as it would to just call the damn person, and 99% of the responses I receive are in a cryptic code I can't decipher -LOL! BRB, TTFN, UR#Iy7XPickle.... No, in my world, Twitter has been a lot like skinny jeans - I am well aware they exist, and I know they are popular, but I have no business taking my ass anywhere near them.
And yet, there I was, faced with another opportunity to show my loyalty to Conan, and to show the world that I am not too old to figure out new things. 40 minutes later, and with a lot of support from my younger online friends (That's good Val, now push "send".....no, SEND. S-E-N....) I was face-to-face with my very own Twitter account. I even learned, with some coaching, how to write (Twit?) a message to Conan himself. I told him not to talk to squirrels as some have rabies. In hindsight, I wonder if technology is a good thing in my hands. I may not be ready for the awesome power that it yields.....On the bright side, I seem to have a new toaster oven coming my way soon. So, it seems everything works out in the end!

The Revenge of the Hackneyed Cliche'

A few weeks ago, in the depths of the "say it ain't so" late night fiasco, my husband and I happened upon some "Best of Carson" reruns on cable. I settled in to watch, comforted by the familiar comedy of my childhood, happy that if I couldn't have Conan O'Brien I could at least enjoy his comedic forefather. Carson didn't disappoint. I laughed fully at his gags and jokes, and at the impatient- yet-loving chiding he gave sidekick Ed McMahon. It wasn't until the last skit they showed, a late-in-the-series "Carnac the Magnificent" that my focus shifted. Carnac had always been my favorite of Carson's bits, so I waited for comedy gold. Again, Carson delivered. But, as I was giggling and chortling, I also began to notice something... While Johnny was always the consummate professional, and never missed a joke, there was a tiredness in his eyes as he delivered the punch lines. And I also noted that when the segment was over, he couldn't get the Carnac turban off fast enough. It occurred to me, in a flashing "Vegas neon" moment, that this same bit had been done by him for years upon years. It was always funny, always a crowd pleaser....but was it a Carson pleaser? Had he become trapped in the success of his own show? Was he a prisoner of Carnac??
And suddenly, the reality of the situation became so very clear to my television-addled mind....to host the Tonight Show is both a blessing a curse, and maybe what happened to Conan was more wonderful than terrible. Sure, it is epic and historical television, but is it really a good place for comedians to grow? I mean, look at Jay Leno (But don't look directly at him, think of the children!!) He has been doing the same tired and warmed-over "comedy" for the better part of two decades. And while the crowds eat it up, his creativity (such as it is) has shriveled. He will be Jay Walking until he needs a Jay Walker to do so. He'll be reading Headlines until his cataracts prevent it. That will be his punishment for his multitude of sins, and that is a bit of cold comfort.
In the meantime, NBC has decided to be the petulant child. When Conan left their play date, he was made to leave behind all of his toys. His "intellectual property" is no longer his own. All of the hilarious recurring gags, characters, and bits now belong to the Peacock. That will show him! Let's see Conan O'Brien try to be funny NOW....(Insert rolling eyes) In this move, the gauntlet has been thrown down. Conan now has to reinvent himself and his comedy. A whole new world of opportunities has been lain as his feet! At the age when past Tonight Show hosts began to whither into predictable molds - even incomparable talents like Johnny Carson couldn't shake this fate - Conan is just getting started. Who knows what the next decade (or two) will bring? My funny bone is tingling just thinking about it!!
And so, while I have spent the last month spitting venom at NBC and wishing bad, biblical-type plagues upon them and theirs, I now want to officially say "Thank you!" Thanks for not taking one of the funniest minds of our time and wringing it free of originality and edge until it is considered palatable by every bridge club in Milwaukee. Thanks for not beating this priceless sense of humor into a homogenized blob, chalky and white as warm milk. Thank you for presenting this man, this insanely funny man, with a challenge he will not only rise to meet, but beat the snot out of and eat for dinner!
In short, thank you NBC for trotting out the tired cliche' of how when a door closes a window opens, and actually making it WORK. This may be the most significant contribution your network has made to humanity since the era of the Very Special "Facts of Life" episodes.

Please take off your sneakers, Mr. O'Brien....

It is bright, sunny day....Spring seems to have sprung early, the flowers are blooming and spirits are high. The Coco Universe is also in a seemingly giddy mood today, perhaps because after almost an entire month without our fallen hero, our numbers are STILL growing. There is also still so much creative energy flowing - art, songs, videos, and poems abound. Perhaps one day this point in time will be looked back on historically as the "Coco Renaissance Period." It is an amazing thing how this body of people has taken the mantle of "fan" and elevated it to a whole different level. Conan O'Brien fans aren't happy to just sit and admire the man.....instead he has launched a movement, and inspired active participation that has taken on a life all its own. It would be kinda scary if it wasn't so damn fun!

This unabashed revelry has caused me to take pause, and review just what kind of animal the Coco Fan really is. Some have been criticized for being too vocal, too aggressive, too angry. I say that these particular Coco-Nuts are undoubtedly young and idealistic, still believing that words can change the world. To them I say "good for you!" I am inspired by such passion and conviction of purpose. Maybe their words will change the world, or at least set it on notice that there is a new attitude in town - one where the good guy prevails like he is supposed to. So there!

The rest of us might be a bit quieter, but are no less enthusiastic. We also believe in Conan, in his talent and his character. I often wonder if those on the "outside" of the Coco Nation perceive us as a little.....obsessed. I just have to clarify that as far as I can tell, Conan Admiration is very healthy and is an overall positive experience. I have yet to come across anyone who is over-the-top. No one has spoken of wanting to break into his house to sniff his dirty socks or anything like that. There is even mixed emotion over the various paparazzi photos that have popped up lately. We are very happy to see Conan and his family, but at the same time we wish they could have some privacy. I never said it was easy to be With Coco, one is always walking a fine line between respectful sensibility and crazy-ass love!!

In reading back over what I just typed, I have no idea if I have come close to doing the Coco fans justice. I could spend days describing all the aspects of being a part of this crew, but even then I doubt the picture would be complete. There is simply an intangible element in certain people, a sparkle that is at once inviting, attractive, welcoming.... Conan has that special *something,* and in an amazing act of transference, his fans seem to have it,too . Maybe it is the light of kindness that shines through, maybe it is finding the pure joy in even the smallest of things. I don't know, and probably don't want to know. The spell is cast and I don't want to break it! I am just grateful to be a part of it, and am enjoying the ride.

And I can honestly say, without a hint of reservation, that if the opportunity ever arose....I would NOT want to sniff Conan's dirty socks. That is proof that I am normal, right? Right....?

Apologies to Samuel Beckett

In deciding on a title for my musings, I remembered a wonderful play I read in college entitled "Waiting for Godot," by Samuel Beckett. It was a complex character study, full of beautiful language and subtle imagery which is still debated by folks today. That said, the only comparison that can be made between my pedestrian drivel and the Beckett play is the title. Basically, the characters in his play were waiting for someone, and so am I. But my someone is not a shadowy, mysterious literary creation. My someone is a tall, funny talk show host.
I first became a fan of Conan O'Brien way back when his original Late Night show premiered. I was young, in college, and used to the talk show hosts my parents had watched. I grew up watching Johnny Carson and figured there would never be another like him. The surprising decision to give an unknown writer a chance to do late night talk was something I just had to see for myself. Conan was an irreverent and unpolished breath of fresh air, and I was instantly hooked.
Over the years my life grew and altered as lives often do....I left college and joined the working world, got married, started a family. And yet somehow Conan always stayed a constant in my life. Babies tend to bring many late nights, and since we ended up with three kids, sleep was often a just nasty rumor to me. Conan kept me company while I changed wet diapers and soothed croupy coughs, calmed nightmares and laundered sheets. Later, my husband began a job working swing shift, which meant he arrived home a little after midnight every night. It became a ritual of ours for him to come wake me, and we'd spend some much needed quality time having snacks and laughing at "Late Night."
We had evolved into having a more human schedule when Conan finally took his long-awaited spot as host of the Tonight Show. We watched and laughed and marveled at this funny man and his crazy ways. It seemed like we were just settling into a routine with him when the most astounding thing happened. Through a series of really bad business decisions, he was forced to leave his show. Not just any show, The Tonight Show, the biggest of all the BIG shows. It was crazy! It was unfair!! Yet, it happened. I had experienced the loss of other well loved TV figures before - as a child of television, I can probably recite chapter-and-verse the plot-lines and characters of most 70's and 80's sitcoms, all the while struggling to remember my cousins' names....(Just kidding, Marcia and Greg!).... But this felt different. Somehow, this "show business as usual" struck a chord in me that resonated far past disappointment or even anger... This move, this one network mess-up was a slap in the face to all the underdogs of the world, all the hard-working and earnest folk who do a good job and still get screwed over. This was more than a change of programing, this was an insult to the idea of fair play and good sportsmanship. What this became, in my ever churning and burning mind, was an example of all the times that the bad guys got to win. I seethed! Not this time!! This time, I wanted vindication, I wanted revenge....and I wanted Conan O'Brien back!
But was I the only one who felt this way? Would I be standing alone in my puddle of righteous indignation? Happily, as I was discover, I was FAR from being the only one.... Instead of being a lonely foot soldier, I found myself marching in a vast army! One full of soldiers just as mad and as hopeful as myself.....One that made me believe in the power of being kind. But that story will have to be told tomorrow. As I am learning, a lot of good can come from waiting.....