Plenipotentiary

Youngest Son is in the other room, practicing on my guitar. I’m torn by this.

I’m happy he’s getting music lessons, as I can see that music will be a large part of his life, as it has been for generations of his family before him. His uncle is a producer. His mother and grandmother are known for their singing. His great-grandmother and great-great-grandfather were respected pianists. His great-great-uncle was the Tin Man in the original Wizard of Oz. (No, really.)

But he’s playing my guitar.

See, this guitar is a Tacoma hard body, folk size, and I spent a summer working for minimum wage many years ago to buy this baby. Mother of pearl inlays. Acacia solid top. Gorgeous. I tremble when I think of the damage my seven year old can do to her.

Middle Son is playing drums. There’s not much more to say about that. Other than, perhaps, “Eeep.”

Oldest Son has decided to play sports (soccer) and chess. And join the drama club. He’s so cool.

I have to admit, I am terribly excited by this time in my sons’ lives. They’re learning passion. Music, art, sports, drama – a whole world is opening up for my boys, and I adore being the one allowed to watch.

Michael Israel in NYC.

Hubby and I had a rare (and appreciated!) moment of ease, and as we both like stand-up comedy, we searched the channels. The only thing available was this no-name show which appeared to be full of Bill Clinton jokes. As we are both still feeling the sting (I know, we should get over it, already) of our Democratic leader losing the White House in shame, we didn’t think we’d like this show. We ignored it.

Two weeks later, and it was still there, double-dog-daring us. We avoided it again, successfully tuning to reruns of Ninja Warrior or Burn Notice.

But the damned thing wouldn’t go away. So we decided to face the demon.

I haven’t laughed that hard in years.

It was not what I expected.

Here’s this complete goombah, Rick Cleveland, who through chance and association with Aaron Sorkin, was in the right place at the right time, while Buddy was “piddling” on the rug in the Oval Office. Next come tennis balls, walks on the beach, double-dates with the angry Clintons, a jam session at Billy-Bob’s house, and an unscheduled hop to Amsterdam (with Christopher Walkin).

Whether this is considered stand-up comedy (and it shouldn’t be – dude’s a writer, but not a performer), or as I’m thinking on par with Hal Holbrook doing Mark Twain, it made me laugh out loud. And think a little better of our past President. And his Wife.

Rick always looked approriately stunned that he was speaking to the President.

The moment where he made ‘drummer face #5′ while jamming to Queen’s “Under Pressure” with Roger, Bill, and Billy Bob is priceless.

This is not stand-up comedy. This is history.