A Kinder Gentler Game Show

I seem to have a problem with coffee. You know that line in "A League of Their Own" where Geena Davis is talking about her sister's affinity for high fastballs and says, "She can't hit 'em - can't lay off 'em?" That's kind of me with coffee. Can't handle it - can't lay off it.

I know I need to just purchase a can of decaf and keep at Mr M's, but if I do that, I won't have all these tales of insomnia to regale you with.

Last night I got to Mr M's before the man himself did. I was cold, and I walked immediately to the kitchen and started up the coffee. I was enjoying my first cup when Mr M arrived home. I was starting to get warm and relatively happy.

Since nothing was on TV save a very Civil War-happy PBS Pledge Drive, he suggested maybe a few duets were in order. And feeling happy-go-lucky as I was, I took him up on his offer. And before I sat down to play, I made that fatal mistake. I poured that second cup of coffee. ("That's funny; Jim never has a second cup of coffee at home.")

So we played, and I drank. And the evening tapered off and I knew it was time to start back home to B'field and the Poderosa. And approximately the time I ascended the first mountain (of the two that lead you out of B'burg), I started to feel the caffeine kicking in.

Of course it's fun at first. You're energetic, you're driving, you're pulling out tapes and listening to CDs and singing along with the music. You're dancing and not worrying about falling asleep at the wheel. You're just alert, man. Sometimes you're so alert you're actually out there ahead of the car.

And then, as you must, I guess, you arrive back home. And I did, last night. It was exactly 1:00 am. Now, by 1:00 am I should be tucked into bed counting sheep, or in my case, ways in which I hate George Bush. But I was still a hopped-up bundle of shakes.

I toyed with the new Christmas wreath I bought for my door. I didn't go as far as tearing around the house for an extension cord (it has lights!), but I did get a hanging thread on it and got it up on the front door. (Helloooo, Picture Sunday.) Then I washed up and went to bed, though I had no intention of going to sleep; well, my body didn't, anyway. It was almost 1:30am.

I got in bed, armed with my little note pad and a handful of markers. See, ever since I saw this bitchin' documentary about artist Ray Johnson, I've been thinking about how much I miss fooling around with art. (Although I don't know if Art particularly misses it.) The movie (and a few discussions with Mr M) inspired me to take Ray's approach which was "do what you want, do it for yourself, and fuck everyone else." And since then I've seemed to be a little less, well, creatively constipated, as it were. By the by, Johnson offed himself in the end, which may or may not mean anything.

So I was sitting in bed last night, under my little lamp, scribbling madly in my note pad. I reminded myself exactly of that girl in the wonderful anti-drug ad "Meth" from a few years ago. The girl sitting in her bathroom floor scrubbing her tiles with a toothbrush. ("That's funny; Jim never scrubs the bathroom floor with a toothbrush at home.")

It was coming up on 3:00am, and though I wasn't in the least sleepy, I knew I had to try to chill out a little. So I put down the pens and pad, turned off the light, and turned on the TV. It was time for the Game Show Network's hour of black-and-white game shows from the 50s. Now, this a gem of an hour of programming, one I don't get to see nearly often enough. Only on the occasional Friday, or if I'm of a tossing-and-turning nature.

In fact, it'd been so long since I'd seen the black-and-white programming (which if I'm not mistaken used to be two hours) that I didn't realize they'd slipped a new old show in on me. It's called "The Name's The Same." I've now seen about three episodes of this little nugget, and I truly think I'm falling in love.

Here is the story of "The Name's The Same." We have a panel of guests, "The Bright Young Comedian" Carl Reiner, "Star of Stage and Screen" Joan Alexander, and Some Other Person. A couple of times I've seen it this person was a guy named Bill Stern, and the other, it was actually - get this - Meredith Willson, of "Music Man" fame! And we also have a host who goes by the name of Roger Q Lewis, though I'm absolutely positive that "Q" stands for nothing whatsoever.

So we have The Person come out, always a very common-looking soul, a man in an ill-fitting suit, or a woman in a hat and corsage, and they sit down with Roger Q. And then they show the studio audience - and us - The Person's name. And they have the name of a famous person. Like Robin Hood, or Mona Lisa, or Winston Churchill, or Nelson Eddy. Or - and, oh, this is where it gets so exciting - they have the name of something else! Like Dill Pickle, or A. Brain, or A. Buggy, or Merry Christmas.

And now the panel each get ten questions, asked in a "yes or no" manner, to discern the name of The Person. It's riveting, I'm telling you.

The funny thing, and when I say "funny," of course I mean "totally fucking annoying," is that Roger Q will never let the poor people answer the questions asked them. He always finds that they're answering no when they should say yes, even though 90% of the time he's wrong and The Person's right. Then in explaining why he's overruling the answer of The Person, he always goes on to tell the panelists way more information than he should, stuff they'd never get in a "yes or no" question, and the information goes way beyond "helpful hinting." I'm convinced Roger Q is the kind of person who could never keep from telling the end of a movie to someone who hasn't seen it. I'm sure no one's present was a surprise in the Roger Q household at Christmas.

And so inevitably they guess The Person's name. Except for that time that Roger Q decided they they were just all too off the mark to ever get it, even though each panelist had about 4 questions left. And once The Person's name is discerned, there's laughter all around, and the person goes over to the panel to personally shake their hands and collect a check for $25 from the two panelists (and in that one case, three) who didn't guess their names.

Now, as a special added bonus, there's also a round where a famous person comes out and the panelists have to guess, by the same methods, who that famous person would like to be. Who would have ever imagined Peter Lawford always wanted to be Peter Rabbit....

After "The Name's The Same," we get to see "What's My Line." Now, we all know about "What's My Line," with the glorious Dorothy Kilgallen and Steve Allen, the learned Bennet Cerf (who I always remember as a Muppet on "Sesame Street") and the dour Arlene Francis, who always guessed the Mystery Guest because she peeked out from under her blindfold.

However, these old episodes of "What's My Line" have a wrinkle I'd never seen before. After Their Person signs in and is introduced, they have to walk over the panel, so the panel can "look at them." I'm serious - that's what the host, John Daly, says - "Go over to the panel and let them have a look at you." And This Person does that, walks by all the panelists, and inevitably one will want to see This Person's hands, which they dutifully hold out like the Handwashing Police are inspecting them.

The best part of "What's My Line," though, is the very beginning, so even if the show puts you to sleep, you'll still have seen its apex. "What's My Line" is sponsored by Stopette Deodorant. Not anti-perspirant, good old clean American, no-frills deodorant. Stopette's (I mean, is that not the best name in the world for a deodorant, Stopette?) advertising slogan is "Poof! There goes perspiration!" I wish they still made Stopette Deodorant. I'd buy it and use it religiously, 10 poofs under each arm every morning.

Now we live in a world where a game show means walking on a wire 20 stories above the ground, eating a live bug, and being slammed into a brick wall. Or earning money with your teammate then deciding if you're going to screw him out of his share before he screws you out of yours. Or trying to answer rapid-fire trivia questions whilst being abused by the show's host.

I want more "The Name's The Same." I want it resurrected. I want to be the new Roger Q Lewis. And I want Stopette to come back in business to sponsor it.

Betland's Olympic Update:
* "Why look at you, don't you look beautiful! And you smell so nice!" "Oh, well, that's my Stopette Deodorant. I just use it and 'Poof! There goes perspiration!'"