Mark Evanier's Blog

Here's Weird Al Yankovic with the definitive cover version of one of Paul Simon's best songs…

Here's the latest installment of this series. Hard to believe the guys who've been assembling these for so long and putting in such effort and passion are just now almost at the halfway mark…

A loyal follower of this blog made a hefty (and much appreciated) donation last night and asked that in return, I rerun this story. Okay, fine. We all have things we're willing to do for money…which, come to think of it, is kind of the theme of this story.

It took place years ago when I was in Las Vegas — a town I no longer visit. Much has changed in that town including the fact that the hotel which was then called Bally's has now been renamed The Horseshoe. Also, everything around costs eleven times as much. Here's the requested tale…

Wednesday night of last week, my plane got in around 9:15.  By the time I was checked into the hotel, unpacked and done with e-mails I had to send, it was 11:15 PM and I decided I needed some dinner.  I went online to the website of Giordano's, a Chicago-based chain that makes terrific deep dish pizzas and — lucky me! — has an outlet in Vegas, right in front of Bally's Hotel and Casino. I ordered an individual-size pie which, their website told me, would be ready at Midnight.

At 11:30, I left my hotel and began the hike over to pick up my order.  On the way, I passed a lot of those folks in colorful costumes who line the streets in touristy areas, hoping you'll tip them for posing with you for a photo. There was a homemade Mickey Mouse and a homemade Minnie.  There were shirtless body builders.  There were almost-shirtless showgirls.  There was a guy made up as Dr. Evil from the Austin Powers movies.  Characters like that.

There were also guys trying to corral tourists — mostly male but some boy/girl couples — into agreeing to be whisked off to some strip club.  I heard one of the salesguys say, "While you're there, every third drink is free."  I don't drink but if I did, that offer would make me decide, "My, the drinks there must be very overpriced." And if two drinks are your limit, the club is now trapping you into a third which, among its other impacts on you, might cause you to spend a lot more money on the ladies than you intend.

One notch down the food chain from the strip club barkers, you had a couple of hustlers offering to fix single guys like me up on a "date." Having once been a teenage boy, I kinda understand the willingness to pay money for sex. I've never done it but I understand the feeling of necessity. What I don't get is committing to it without seeing the person you're going to be having sex with.  What if Ernest Borgnine has a surviving twin sister who's turned to prostitution?  Think about that but not for too long.

When I passed one of those fellows without showing interest, he yelled after me, "Don't like girls, huh?  Then how about some pot?  Everybody likes pot!"  Always nice to see an entrepreneur who knows how to diversify his business.

And then there were the dates themselves who had cut out the middle-men: Women who couldn't have looked more like hookers if they were holding "Will hump for money" signs. A couple of them struck me as ladies who could only make that sale to men who hadn't seen them. But a couple of them looked like if you were in the market for that service, you couldn't have done much better.

I navigated past all of these individuals and thoughts to get to the intersection of W. Flamingo Rd. and Las Vegas Boulevard.  There are elevated pedestrian walkways connecting these corners.  You do not cross on street level.  You take an escalator, elevator or stairs up to the walkway, cross up there, then take an escalator, elevator or stairs back down to street level. A trek like that would take me to my pizza.

The escalators were all outta commission and so was my knee which didn't like the whole concept of stairs just then, causing me to head for the elevator. The elevators don't get a lot of usage because they're out of the way and many people don't know they're there or that they don't double as urinals.  This one seemed clean so I got in, pressed "2" and just before the doors closed, another man slipped in with me.  He was ragged with zombie eyes…probably homeless, possibly crazy.

As we rode up, he was talking to someone — maybe even me — about killing someone — maybe even me. I wasn't particularly worried about him doing that between the first floor and the second but you don't want to engage with a being like that.

I got out on 2, relatively unkilled and walked across the pedestrian bridge to the elevator that would take me down. When it came, I noticed my unsavory elevator mate coming towards it so I stepped back and let him get in by himself. I figured I'd take the next ride down or maybe the one after.

Just then, a short black lady — obviously marketing her body that evening — started to board the elevator. I stopped her with a whispered "Don't get in."

She didn't get in but asked me, "Why not?"

I nodded at the guy and just then, as the elevator doors closed, he pointed at her and yelled, "I'm gonna fuckin' kill you, bitch!" And then the doors shut tight.

She thanked me and said, "You saved my life!" I said I didn't think so but maybe we both oughta wait a few minutes before the ride down. "Let's give him time to wander back to his penthouse suite," I said. So that's how I wound up talking to a Vegas streetwalker for about five minutes. It was an interesting five minutes.

She was very young and quite attractive and it was all I could do to not say, "What the hell are you doing in this profession?" She asked me where I was from — I suspect they all ask that — and when I said Los Angeles, she said, "We have something in common! I'm from San Diego!"

That's right: We had something in common! We were both from Southern California! Just us and 23.8 million other people.

I told her I was going to San Diego next weekend and, well aware she was leading up to offering the rental of any or all of her body parts, I decided to preempt that by saying, "We can't talk long. My girl friend's back in the room starving and I need to get back there with a pizza before she eats the little soaps in the bathroom."

It was a lie — Amber was back home in L.A. — but the lady bought it and the trajectory of the conversation changed. "Are you going there for Comic-Con?" she asked. I told her no; Comic-Con's not 'til July. "Though I have been to Comic-Con a lot." She asked me how many of them I'd been to and I said, "All of them." That was not a lie…and boy, does it impress the ladies.

(Fun Fact: She told me her age and the year she was born, the Guests of Honor at Comic-Con included Ramona Fradon, Neil Gaiman, Gil Kane, Stan Lee, Irv Novick, Harvey Pekar, Stan Sakai, Joe Sinnott and Jeff Smith.)

She told me she loved San Diego but she couldn't find work there that paid decently so a year ago, she moved to Vegas where she also couldn't find a job that paid well enough…until she turned to her current occupation. I asked, "Do you like it?" She said, "Most of the time. Some guys are psycho but so were some guys I waited on when I worked at Sunglass Hut."

I thought but did not say, "Yeah, but I have a hunch there was a lower rate of disease transmission at Sunglass Hut."

About then, it occurred to me that anyone passing us, as lots of people were, would assume she and I were negotiating prices. One time late at night in New York, I got into a conversation with a lady of the same vocation at the corner of W. 56th Street and 7th. Some friends of mine were coming from the Carnegie Deli and they spotted me there and probably still think I was — you should excuse this choice of word — dickering.

That's when I fibbed again to this lady in Vegas whose name I never got. I said, "Listen, I have to really save a woman's life — a woman in dire need of pizza." We took the elevator down and since there was no sign of you-know-who, said our goodbyes. She went her way and I went to Giordano's and got my order.

On my way back with it, I took the walkway again and spotted her back up there, talking with a fellow I guess was a potential customer — or maybe he was on his way to pick up a pizza. She saw me and she waved and yelled, "Thanks again!" I yelled back, "Any time!" And a lot of folks heard that and I knew just what they were thinking.

Happy Anniversary of the day of his birth to Sergio Aragonés Domenech, otherwise known as Sergio Aragonés without the Domenech, otherwise known aa That Guy Who Draws Tiny Cartoons In The Margins Of MAD Magazine, otherwise known as the creator of Groo the Wanderer, otherwise known as My Best Friend (male division) for 50+ Years!

I was trying to think of a really fancy, expensive present to buy him but then I realized that Sergio is the kind of guy who would much prefer to just be mentioned on my blog.

We like just about everything about Audra McDonald…

We like just about everything about Audra McDonald…

The next few days, you’re not gonna see a ton o’ posts here as I deal with a couple o’ matters that wouldn’t interest any of you in the slightest. There’ll be some content but not much and as usual, I’ll make up for slacking off by slacking on. If "slacking on" isn’t an acceptable term, it should be.

For now, I’d like to thank all of you who’ve contributed to our little blogathon. We’re more than halfway to our goal, our goal being to see that I don’t lose money this year posting all this stuff for your websurfing pleasure. Your contributions are most appreciated.

The previous post here — my advice delivered a long, long time ago to a new writer in the comic book world having numerous deadline problems — brought this message from my pal Tom Galloway…

So what happened with him? Did he manage to overcome those first impressions of lateness or did he have to give up and do something else?

The update is, sad to say, not "He got his act together and now has a thriving career in comics." It's that he's now supporting himself with a second (or maybe third, fourth or even ninth) choice career. I think he's making an okay living but not primarily in comics.

In the interest of sheer honesty, that's probably not wholly because of his rep as a guy who couldn't meet deadlines. There were other factors, some beyond his control. Companies downsize or shut down…new talent can edge out someone who's been in the game a little longer…that editor who loves your work is no longer an editor…

There are many reasons why careers cool and some of them have very little to do with the quality of your work or your reliability. That's why I've never put all my proverbial eggs into that one proverbial basket.

In this case, the writer we're talking about is still in the game — but that's what it is for him now: A game. It's what he does for the occasional extra money, not to pay his monthly mortgage. Fortunately, he seems to be getting it paid.

I’ve rerun this before but it’s been ten years since the last time so it’s overdue. …

For a few months now, I've been in private correspondence with a gent who's fairly new to the art 'n' craft of writing comic books. He's sold a number of things and seen them published…and he'd hoped that by this time, his career would have picked up some momentum and he wouldn't still be scrounging for assignments like an absolute beginner. That has not happened. His old credits have not led to new ones and his dream — to give up his non-writing day job and become a full-time professional author — appears more remote than ever.

Many e-mails have been exchanged and we got to talk for a bit at San Diego. He suggested I quote here, so all could read them, some things I wrote to him in recent messages. I edited hunks of a few messages together and made a few changes so it makes more sense yanked out of the context of our back-and-forth…and here 'tis, for whatever it may be worth to someone. This is me writing advice to a friend who's having career trouble…

Your problem, pure and simple, is that you were late with your work. It is all well and good to rationalize, "Well, it's more important that I deliver a good script than that I deliver it according to some editor's schedule"…and yes, there are times when a deadline is utterly arbitrary and they tell you they need it in June when they aren't going to do a damn thing with it until August. But not all deadlines are like that and to let a real one go by unattended is a luxury that we rarely have in the writing game, especially when in a new relationship. There are times even then when they can give you an extra two weeks. There are also times when they can't…or when to give you that two weeks means taking it away from your collaborators; i.e., the artist is going to have to draw the comic in three weeks instead of the five he expected to have.

You may also have harmed his income. He expected to have that script next Tuesday. He planned his life and maybe turned down other work so he could start drawing your script then, plus he counted on being paid for it by the time his next mortgage payment is due. But because of you, he has nothing to draw next week and no way to make money on the days he cleared to draw your script…and he may have to turn down the assignment he was going to do after he finished your script because he's now not going to be done with it when he expected to be. Ask anyone who's worked in comics for a few years and they'll gladly unload a tirade of anecdotes about how someone else's lateness screwed up their lives and maybe even prevented them from doing their best work.

There is nothing noble about being late, nothing that suggests your work is better because you fussed longer with it and did that extra draft. Creative folks can meet deadlines and still be creative. Laurence Olivier somehow managed to be on stage when the curtain went up at 8 PM. He didn't tell them to have the audience come back at 9:30 because he needed more prep time to give the best possible performance. You can do good work and get it in when it's supposed to be in…or reasonably close to it. (When I write here of being late, I'm not talking about being a day or so late or even of skirting phantom deadlines. I'm talking about being late on a real deadline such that it causes problems.)

In San Diego, you went on and on about how [name of his editor on a recent project] had screwed you up by not answering questions or getting you certain reference materials you needed or…well, I'm sorry but my brain tuned-out after a certain amount of that. But let's say you're right. Let's say he is a bloody incompetent who couldn't handle his end of things. That does not give you special dispensation to be late. It's not like "He did these things wrong so I'm allowed to do some things wrong." If his actions made it impossible for you to meet the agreed-upon deadline then you should have told him that at the time and worked out a new, realistic deadline. (One thing I've learned to do: If someone hires me to write something that I can't start until they send me a piece of reference, I don't agree to deliver by a specific date. I agree to deliver X days after I receive the reference material. The clock starts ticking when I can start, not when they hire me to start. It minimizes the problem you had.)

If you don't renegotiate the deadline, you should still meet it. Why? Because it's professional and because it gives you standing. I'm going to tell you something I've learned in more than four decades of professional writing for a pretty wide array of media and editors and producers: On any project, you should never expect to win an argument about anything unless your work is more-or-less on-time. If you're late to the point of creating production problems, you lose some or all of your rights even if it's someone else's fault. If the work is on time, you have standing to complain about what others do to your script, you can debate changes that the boss wants to make, etc. If the work is late, you lose a large chunk of the moral authority to say, "This needs to be fixed."

Two other things about being on time. When you're late, it's the easiest thing in the world to have a good reason why it isn't your fault. I know writers who are often tardy and they always have a good reason. Always. There's a power failure or a sick mother or a dental emergency — and they aren't fibbing. I used to say of one writer I worked with, "His greatest skill is in having disasters occur when a deadline is looming."

Eventually, I thought of a clearer way to look at it. Disasters can and do happen to everyone — I've certainly had them interfere with my writing — but some folks make those situations more destructive to the schedule than necessary. I'm talking about the kind of person who, deep down, is always looking for reasons not to work. So if Mom gets sick or the computer's on the fritz, they immediately let that stop them. It doesn't always have to. There's a famous story they used to tell around the Marvel offices about the great New York blackout of 1965 when power was off everywhere for about twelve hours one evening. Most everyone showed up at the Marvel office the next morning without their homework, figuring they couldn't be expected to write or draw by candlelight. Stan Lee, however, came in with all his pages done, having labored by candlelight. And the point of the story was that Stan was amazed that everyone else hadn't done that. It had simply not occurred to him not to write even though he had a perfect excuse. Which is one of the reasons he's Stan Lee and you and I are not.

Disasters are also more likely to stop you if you're the kind of writer who puts things off 'til the last minute. If you have all of November to write a script and you don't start 'til the day after Thanksgiving, you're gambling. That guy I said was really good at having disasters occur when a deadline was looming…I think that was his problem. He wasn't to blame when that car hit him two days before the script was due. But he was to blame for not starting on the script until three days before it was due.

The other thing I need to say is this: Don't get mad at other people because you're late. Don't get mad at people who may have contributed to your being late and especially don't get mad at people who didn't. I did this a lot when I was starting out. Secretly, I was angry at myself for screwing up but I couldn't cope with that so I found ways to direct that anger at others — at my editor, at my collaborators, at innocent bystanders even. Far better to be mad at them than mad at me. But I learned…and while I still occasionally still make that mistake, I don't make it for very long. Ultimately, it's a much easier problem to correct if you're clear on who's responsible for it.

You made a bad mistake being late with your first few jobs. I tell beginning writers, "Never get a reputation for unreliability. You will never lose it," which is an exaggeration but only a slight one. What you need to do now is cultivate the opposite rep and maybe, just maybe, the new one will trump the old one. If not…well, you just may have to look for another career. I'd check into jobs at United Airlines. Based on my last few flights with them, I'd venture you can make a good living there if you're always late.

I think I've said here somewhere that Mary Tyler Moore was my first TV crush. On reflection, she wasn't. An extraordinary lady named Shari Lewis was. I was heavy into puppets and ventriloquism in my youth and there on my TV was Shari — an adorable female who could do both. For a time, she had a very clever show for kids on the NBC Saturday morning schedule and I was heartbroken when it went off.

Like anyone who's worked in TV, I've had a number of projects that came close to getting on the air but fell just short. One that I really regret didn't make it was an idea that Shari Lewis had for a new CBS Saturday AM series. CBS optioned it and paired me with her to develop it and write the pilot. It should have gone. It was a good idea and working with her on it was a joy. She was a very smart lady and, once again in this silly life of mine, I found myself working with someone whose work I'd loved when I was a kid. There's a new documentary coming out about her and I'm pissed that my pal Ken Levine got to be in it to tell the world about her and I didn't…