I’m not the only one seeing more people in restaurants. In another good economic portent, even the restaurants in Indiana are showing signs of life.

 As a fan of the original series, which spoke so directly to my rebellious teenage self, I was looking forward to the remake of “The Prisoner” running on AMC this week. Sadly, it’s unbearably bad. Really, truly, tediously, awful. I would go on about why, but this fellow has already enumerated all the reasons, with one exception:  There’s nothing at stake. No stakes = no conflict = no story. In its place:  dolorous music accompanying logy acting. If there are terrorists in the village, I’m rooting for them.

The New Oxford American Dictionary’s Word of the Year is, fittingly, “unfriend.”

I used to have this very close friend. He was a big part of my circle for years. He and another friend and I smoked cigars together and went to Mexico together and did theatre together and did all sorts of things together. Great times.

Then he fell into a deep conversation with an actress at one of my parties and soon after they moved in together and then he drifted away. Which happens. I understood it then and I understand it now.

I did try to maintain the friendship, though. I mean, I have other friends who suddenly have love interests who remain my friends. And shouldn’t that be what you want for your friends? If not, maybe you’re not such a friend.

So I would call him and he’d sure-sure me, but then not call me back or not show up. The final straw was in 2004 when I was at the launch party thrown by Nike for the Rockstar energy drink. They took over the Music Box (aka The Henry Fonda, home of that recent Devo concert) and threw open the taps and bottles and generously dispensed appetizers. The rooftop speakeasy provided a great venue to smoke cigars and take in the night time buzz of Hollywood. So I got on my cellphone and invited my friend because I knew I could get him in and because I knew he lived close by — in Hollywood, mere blocks away. He said great, thanks for the invite, he’d be right over. An hour later I called him back and he answered his phone at home and then I knew it was the last time I’d be talking to him.

Me: “You’re still there.”

Him: “Uh… yeah. Sorry.”

Me: “I called you an hour ago and invited you and you said yes and now I call you and you’re still home. So you’re not coming.”

Him:  “Yeah. Sorry.”

Me: “No. It’s okay. I get it. I got it.”

Him:  “No. It’s not like that.”

Me: “Yeah. I think it is.”

Five years went by.

Two Fridays ago I got a call on my cellphone. It was him. “Hey, it’s [name here]. Uh… I’m going to call you at your home number too.”  Five seconds later, my home phone rang and he left a message there too. Asking me to call him.

So here’s what I’ve done:  Nothing.

Oh, I’ve been tempted to text him and say I’m going to call him right away, and then do nothing. But that seems petty.

As soon as I told our third friend that our former friend had called, he said, “He wants something.”

When I told my playwriting group this story, a friend in the group immediately said, “He wants something.”

Wants something as in, wants something that will benefit him. And that’s my thought too.

I deleted both messages and forgot about it until five minutes ago when I thought I’d post it here for posterity. And, who knows — maybe he reads this blog.

Earlier this week, my friend-since-college Paul alerted me that he’d shipped a gift from the wilds of New Jersey I once haunted. All week long, via emails and text messages, we’ve played a guessing game that went just like this:

Me: “Animal, vegetable, or mineral?”

Him: “No hints. You’ll have to wait until Friday.”

Me (not known for my patience, and channeling Peggy Cass): “Is it bigger than a bread box?”

Him: “Yes, it is bigger than a bread box.” (So much for “No hints.”)

Me: “Is it heavier than a chicken?”

Him: “No more hints, it will ruin the surprise. You’ll just have to curb your curiosity for a few days. (If that’s possible.)”

Me: “Is it perishable?”

Him (unable again to keep to his pledge of “no hints”): “It could last several years.”

Me: “Is it cremains of Joe’s old clients?” (We have a mutual friend who went out of the funeral business. We sometimes speculate about, um, lasting obligations.)

Him (still, you’ll note, giving hints): “No. You might be able to guess one item in the box but not the other. I’m going to sleep now, so more info tonight.”  (I think he meant no more info tonight, but that didn’t daunt me.)

Me (emailing back immediately): “Is it something one might use in the home?”

Him:  “It could be used in or outside the house.”

Me: “Is it a chainsaw, or a pound of twenty dollar bills?” (Both of which I could use inside or outside the house, the latter to bribe small children. The former, according to many low-budget films produced since the 1970’s, to dispense with small children.)

I received no reply to that one.  I started to think:  Maybe I guessed right. Maybe it is a pound of twenties. Which would be useful. (I already have a chainsaw.)

Then, on Friday, I got this email:  “So did the package I sent arrive?”

And here was my reply:  “Dunno. I’m out of town on biz ’til Monday.”

The smoke I smelled while driving down to Palm Springs was coming out of Paul’s ears.

The new “Bad Lieutenant” movie by Werner Herzog — starring Nicolas Cage (of all people). I was already eager to see it, but this piece in the LA Times further tantalizes me. Some choice excerpts:

• “…Roger Ebert  [observed]: ‘Cage is as good as anyone since Klaus Kinski at portraying a man whose head is exploding.’ “
• “Almost impossible to classify, the film is a glorious mess: part ‘CSI’-style police procedural, part over-the-top B-movie and part surrealist character study in flamboyant dissolution.”
•  “Still, for all its sleazy, loony brilliance, doubts about the film’s ability to connect with a mainstream audience linger.”

Let’s see… Herzog, Kinski, messy, surreal, sleazy, loony, brilliant, and possibly uncommercial. I can’t imagine missing this.

Thursday night I was in Burbank.

Friday night I was in Palm Springs.

Tonight I’m in San Diego.

Here’s what I haven’t seen in any of those cities:  signs of a recession, at least with restaurants. In fact, the restaurants are packed. In Palm Springs I dined at a Fleming’s Prime Steakhouse and stayed at a Waldorf Astoria. Both were busy. Tonight I met friends for drinks at the Gossip Grill in Hillcrest, then two of us ate at The Fish Market on Harbor Drive. Both of them buzzing. (The Fish Market must have been busy, because my waiter forgot first the extra horse radish I wanted for my oysters, and then the second drink I wanted. My dinner companion nicknamed him “Goober.”) Then we went to a dessert place and it was so mobbed we couldn’t get in. Instead, we went to a gelato shop; they just opened a second cafe and are looking to launch a third.

So I do think the economy is improving. Unfortunately, it’s a jobless recovery. We need more people employed. But in the meantime, I’m glad to see so many restaurants thriving.

In honor of Veteran’s Day, we should all take a minute or two to watch videos of dogs welcoming soldiers home. My dog is so glad to see me every day, I can only imagine her reaction if I were off in some godforsaken desert for a year or two.

I owe an enormous debt to Stan Lee, and I know it. The Marvel comics line was hugely important to me growing up and is perhaps only slightly less important now because I’ve got things like dependents and employees. Even with that, there are moments that I get completely caught up in Reed Richards’ quest to solve everything. But Stan’s latest profile, in Inc. magazine, is puzzling to me.

Firstly, Inc. is a magazine aimed at entrepreneurs, i.e., people who start their own companies. That isn’t really Stan Lee. He was an employee at Marvel, and even at his own companies (Stan Lee Media and Pow!) I believe he was a  figurehead for other people. He’s a gifted storyteller of a certain sort, and God knows he’s a marketing genius, but an entrepreneur he isn’t.

Secondly,  I’m disturbed by this quote in the profile:

All of the characters at Marvel were my ideas, but the ideas meant nothing unless I had somebody who could illustrate it. For Spider-Man, I called Jack Kirby, and he did a few pages that weren’t right. Jack drew everything so heroically, and I wanted Peter Parker to look more like an average, schlumpy kid. So I got Steve Ditko to do it. Whenever I would discuss the strip, I would say that Steve Ditko and I created Spider-Man. I certainly don’t own the Marvel characters. I’ve never owned them. If I did, I’d be too wealthy to be talking to you.

“All of the characters at Marvel were my ideas”…? I guess it depends upon the definitions of the words “all” and “ideas.” The pre-eminent Marvel way of scripting was thus:  a plotting session between writer and artist; the penciller  would render the pages; the writer would then script in balloons and captions. The first time Stan Lee thought of the Silver Surfer, for example, was after seeing him drawn into a Fantastic Four storyline about Galactus. Stan asked Jack Kirby who that was, and Kirby said he figured that someone as important as Galactus would have a herald — and that was the herald. Stan has agreed in interviews that this was the origin of the character. Here’s the relevant snippet from Wikipedia:

The Silver Surfer debuted as an unplanned addition to the superhero-team comic Fantastic Four #48 (March 1966). The comic’s writer-editor, Stan Lee, and its penciller and co-plotter, Jack Kirby, had by the mid-1960s developed using a three-collaborative technique known as the “Marvel Method“: the two would discuss story ideas, Kirby would work from a brief synopsis to draw the individual scenes and plot details, and Lee would finally add the dialog and captions. When Kirby turned in his pencil art for the story, he included a new character he and Lee had not discussed.^[5] As Lee recalled in 1995, “There, in the middle of the story we had so carefully worked out, was a nut on some sort of flying surfboard”.^[6] He later expanded on this, recalling, “I thought, ‘Jack, this time you’ve gone too far'”.^[7] Kirby explained that the story’s agreed-upon antagonist, a god-like cosmic predator of planets named Galactus should have some sort of herald, and that he created the surfboard “because I’m tired of drawing spaceships!”^[8] Taken by the noble features of the new character, who turned on his master to help defend Earth, Lee overcame his initial skepticism and began adding characterization. The Silver Surfer soon became a key part of the unfolding story.^[5]

The Silver Surfer, therefore, was not solely the idea of Stan Lee. Taking Stan’s definition of “idea” as I believe he’s using it, the Surfer wasn’t his idea at all. So clearly, by this one example alone, “all” isn’t accurate.

I’m not an intellectual property attorney, but doesn’t the “idea” of Spider-Man expand to include the character as conceived? Stan Lee partially got the “idea” for Spider-Man by watching a spider crawl up the wall, but our understanding of Spider-Man redounds largely from the costume as well, which was designed and drawn by Steve Ditko. In Stan’s version, Ditko is an “illustrator” whom he also recognizes as a “creator.” Fair enough. But can you “create” if you’re not part of generating the “idea”? I do a lot of collaboration in all sorts of arenas, especially in the theatre, and part of that is the exchange of ideas. You want people to bring their ideas. (Unless you’re Bertolt Brecht. But that’s another story.)

Throughout the years, Stan Lee has been attacked for taking too much credit. I’m not interested in joining in on that and I’m not trying to. Reading this interview in Inc., though, I see again the sort of interview he gives that lends the impression that he’s edging others out of the spotlight, or minimizing their contribution.  I also like to think that since he’s 86 years old we should pray for his continued good health and look the other way when something he says comes out the wrong way.

And once again, all of this would feel better if Marvel and its various corporate entities over the years had done more to acknowledge the genius of Jack Kirby with tribute, and with money. He was co-creator of a multi-billion-dollar universe of characters and he couldn’t even get his art returned to him.