The main challenge in making a good movie about Captain America has to be suit.

Case in point, from the 1970’s TV movie that so agitated me as a kid:

Think you hate looking at it? Imagine how that guy feels wearing it. I doubt it struck fear into the heart of the Red Skull, unless he was terrified of rejects from auditions for the Village People.

Here’s the archetypal costume, courtesy of Jack Kirby:

No matter whom you cast or how you sew it, that’s not a costume that will translate well into a live-action movie.

So how does the director plan to get around it?

By putting Cap in the USO.

That’s right:  It’s a costume fit for show tunes.

Today I attended a friend’s funeral, it poured rain, and then I went to a political event. The only thing missing was a root canal.

That’s a semi-joke I put on my Facebook page.

The viewing and funeral were obviously no fun — although I did meet a very interesting man with one fascinating story after another from his family history. Each one of them makes for a strange combination of a Dickens novel and “Jonah Hex” comics, complete with orphans, shootouts, Indians, Mexicans, poverty, conniving small-town Mayors, and family reunions decades later.  I was glad to hear them because they kept me distracted, and by this point in the viewing I was cried out anyway. Even seeing my friend in the casket didn’t convince me he was dead. I still feel unconvinced.

After the viewing I went to the Mass and sat down next to a dear, longtime friend I was glad to see there. I told her that I assumed when the Mass started I would leave. As a Lutheran (lapsed), I have no idea how  Catholic Masses work, so I thought my absence would be required. It wasn’t. I just followed along — getting up, and sitting down, and getting up, and sitting down, on command — leaving out the religiously obedient parts. I was struck by how similar it was to a Lutheran service — and then realized, of course, given the origins of Lutheranism, that what I was raised in was the Catholic Mass without the showy bits. The Lutheran service is like that breakfast cereal made out of tree bark. The Catholic Mass has Crunch Berries.

After that, and the waving of some incense and the scattering of holy water from what looked like the little plastic bottles that Holiday Inns put shampoo into, we went outside for the funeral. This was when it started to pour. My friend, who was Air Force reserve, got a military service with folding of the flag and salute. The flag was presented to his husband, who was his partner of 21 years and is now his widower because for a brief window here in California it was legal for all consenting adults to get married, irrespective of long-held bigotry and prejudice. Then it was all over and we headed for our cars, making our way carefully on the slick stone.

I intended to go home to see my kids, because they’d been entertaining themselves all day while I was out grieving and my wife was sleeping. (She works nights.) But I called first and my wife was already up and had gotten hoodwinked yet again into taking our daughter to the art supply store for supplies allowing the creation of more art. So instead I went to my office and then I went to a house party for a political candidate. I had said I was going, so I went.

For the second time that day, I found myself in a small gathering meeting new people and hearing interesting new stories. Early in the event, another guest sat on and broke a Civil War-era hardback rocker. The guest was mortified, and the hostess said, “Oh, don’t worry. It’s old. It’s from 1865!” I said, “I don’t think you’re making her feel better.” The candidate came on and made his remarks and the very first note he struck resonated with me, just as my private dinner with him had three months ago, so I wrote him a check and signed the endorsement form.

When I got home after missing dinner, my son proudly recounted all his adventures in “Oblivion,” which we’re each playing on the Xbox, and I realized the worst had come to pass. “You’ve joined the Thieves Guild!” I said. He had, and he was excited about it. They had given him a secret ring that made him invisible and now he could go anywhere with aplomb. Moreover, he now has a redoubt stocked with mystic weapons, and I will never be able to find it because it’s hidden somewhere in the code of the game in a place that only members of the Thieves Guild can go. I looked at his glee and listened to how easily they’d lured him into their dark embrace and I thought, This is how it starts. And I told him that if my character ever ran into him in the game, I would bring him to justice.

Then I cooked a steak for myself and poured a glass of wine and got an orange and a Choco Liebniz and watched a movie on HBO because I just didn’t feel that I had any feelings to feel or judgments to make left for the day.

I just noticed that the iCal icon on my dock automatically updates to show the month and date. So today’s icon reads “Feb 4” because it’s February 4. (The one on the left reads “Jul 4” not because you’ve lost track of time. It’s because that’s the image I could find on the internet.)

It’s understandable why I never noticed this before. I’ve only been running this program since 2002.

Here’s the LA Times obit for my friend Lars Hansen (showing him in a way I’d never seen him — with a beard and some hair).

I’m still working on my own remembrance for this site. Part of me just doesn’t want to write it because that means he’s truly gone. I just assumed we’d reconnect.

The talking sex robot.

I was astonished this morning to see a new section in my Los Angeles Times. The paper has been killing sections left and right the past five years or so (including the “Outdoors” section, which featured superb writing and great features). But there it is:  The LATextra section, devoted to “late-breaking” news that comes in after the rest of the paper has been put to bed. That’s what it says, anyway, although I couldn’t quite figure out when I glanced at it how this would work:  the rest of the paper carries news in the relevant sections, and then this new section just adds up to… miscellaneous?

But actually, none of that matters. The section wasn’t launched to cover newer news. Turns out it’s another cost-cutting measure.

I just learned that my friend and mentor Lars Hansen died yesterday. Which was precisely the day I found him on Facebook and sent him a Friend request. It had been almost six years since I’d seen Lars — I wish I’d sent that Friend request (or an email, or made a phone call), far sooner.

Here’s the obit. I’m going to put more up here today or tomorrow. Lars is someone who was very kind and generous to me, and who really shaped my life and career.

Tonight we’re holding readings from my playwrights’ workshop. Please join us for the readings and a small catered reception afterward. The event is free — and so is the parking, making this a truly special occasion in Los Angeles.

Where: [Inside] the Ford. (That would be inside the Ford Amphitheatre.) The address is 2580 Cahuenga East, Los Angeles, 90068.

When: Tonight at 8 p.m.

What: Readings of

Tattoos (Act 1) by William Young, directed by Joe Gill

Old Dog Blue by Bill Berry, directed by Libby Letlow

Singular of Dice by Ross Tedford Kendall, directed by Vesna Hocevar

Hope you can join us.

It’s almost 1 a.m. and my 11-year-old daughter just came downstairs and interrupted my watching a terrible Kevin Spacey movie about Bobby Darin. The way she charged into the room and then just stood there, I could tell she was sleepwalking.

“I just wanted to tell you something,” she said. “There are these two pieces of driftwood on my bed.”

“Okay,” I said, gratefully switching off the movie. “C’mon.” She went into the kitchen and I called after her while I gathered up the remnants of a late snack I’d had of an orange, some filet, and a glass of shiraz: “Wait for me. Just wait there.” I didn’t want her roaming around the house. I came into the kitchen and set the plate and glass on the counter and got myself some water for my bedside. She waited in the dining area. “Okay,” I said, “You can show me that driftwood.”

We got upstairs and she turned on her bedside lamp and slipped into bed, running her hand over the coverlet to her right. “I don’t know what happened,” she said, feeling where the driftwood had been. I knew from experience that just minutes before, she had seen and felt that driftwood right there. “It was right here.”

“I know,” I said. I turned off her light and kissed her good night. “I’ve had it my whole life.”

Slate recounts how John Edwards kept his affair hidden for more than two years while maintaining his high-profile job hunt. (Ultimately, we hired someone else. Thankfully.) Anyone this devious would’ve been wasted in the White House. Note to spy agencies domestic and foreign:  He’s available.