Archive for the ‘TV’ Category

My Jeopardy! Adventure, Part 3: Wha’ hoppen?

October 16, 2019

(c) 2019, By Fran Fried

Note: This is the third and final part of my tale of my wild Jeopardy! trip, coming on the second anniversary of my appearance’s air date (Oct. 20, 2017). If I wrote a screenplay about this, it would’ve been turned down because no one would believe it. I still don’t, either, and I lived it. But with the exception of 10 minutes of exquisite torture, it was a good experience. And it’s a good way to finish my book, whenever that will be. For Part 1, go here. For Part 2, click here.

Thursday morning, August 3rd, 2017

Yeah, things turned kinda upside down (snap) like that.

A text from Paola, my bestie, back in Connecticut, on my phone as I awoke. I had talked to her the night before and I told her about my musical earworms that morning. So she wanted to send me some inspirational music to absorb. It was Iz Kamakawiwo’ole’s wonderful ukulele version of “Over the Rainbow.” That was a Big Sweetie thing for her to do. Then again, she’s always been a Big Sweetie. I was ready. Mentally, at least, I was ready. And the knee that caused me great pain the morning before wasn’t bothering me as I walked to the shower. And I wore the fancy top she bought me at Macy’s, so she was coming along for the ride.

Adan, the waiter in the hotel lobby restaurant, was ready for the nervous visitor from the East Coast with coffee, and this time I didn’t miss the coffeepot. I was a little more relaxed than the day before as I ate my omelet, though still a little anxious. Not in a nervous way, but in a stored-up-energy way. Anyway, the day started inauspiciously for one young woman in a wheelchair, who couldn’t make it aboard the bus; she had broken her foot badly days before and was in a walking cast, but couldn’t put any pressure on it, and after a couple of futile attempts to climb the three steps into the van, she and her husband hailed a cab to follow us.

The second day, this was old hat. Manny Abell, Emily Wilson and I sat on the couch, small-talking and waiting our turns for makeup, as all the newbies sat at the table and went through the paperwork and the spiels from the contestant crew and all the jitters we experienced the day before. It was like one of those war movies where the grizzled, weary veterans arrive in camp and watch an eager new batch of recruits fall in. Minus the actual battle and blood and guts, of course. But yeah, I did relax a bit more. For the moment.

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My Jeopardy! Adventure, Part 3: Wha’ hoppen?

October 16, 2019

(c) 2019, By Fran Fried

Note: This is the third and final part of my tale of my wild Jeopardy! trip, coming on the second anniversary of my appearance’s air date (Oct. 20, 2017). If I wrote a screenplay about this, it would’ve been turned down because no one would believe it. I still don’t, either, and I lived it. But with the exception of 10 minutes of exquisite torture, it was a good experience. And it’s a good way to finish my book, whenever that will be. For Part 1, go here. For Part 2, click here.

Thursday morning, August 3rd, 2017

Yeah, things turned kinda upside down (snap) like that.

A text from Paola, my bestie, back in Connecticut, on my phone as I awoke. I had talked to her the night before and I told her about my musical earworms that morning. So she wanted to send me some inspirational music to absorb. It was Iz Kamakawiwo’ole’s wonderful ukulele version of “Over the Rainbow.” That was a Big Sweetie thing for her to do. Then again, she’s always been a Big Sweetie. I was ready. Mentally, at least, I was ready. And the knee that caused me great pain the morning before wasn’t bothering me as I walked to the shower. And I wore the fancy top she bought me at Macy’s, so she was coming along for the ride.

Adan, the waiter in the hotel lobby restaurant, was ready for the nervous visitor from the East Coast with coffee, and this time I didn’t miss the coffeepot. I was a little more relaxed than the day before as I ate my omelet, though still a little anxious. Not in a nervous way, but in a stored-up-energy way. Anyway, the day started inauspiciously for one young woman in a wheelchair, who couldn’t make it aboard the bus; she had broken her foot badly days before and was in a walking cast, but couldn’t put any pressure on it, and after a couple of futile attempts to climb the three steps into the van, she and her husband hailed a cab to follow us.

The second day, this was old hat. Manny Abell, Emily Wilson and I sat on the couch, small-talking and waiting our turns for makeup, as all the newbies sat at the table and went through the paperwork and the spiels from the contestant crew and all the jitters we experienced the day before. It was like one of those war movies where the grizzled, weary veterans arrive in camp and watch an eager new batch of recruits fall in. Minus the actual battle and blood and guts, of course. But yeah, I did relax a bit more. For the moment.

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My Jeopardy! Adventure, Part 2: Finally here, and two forces of nature

October 14, 2019

(c) 2019, By Fran Fried

NOTE: Coming up on the second anniversary of the airing of my wild Jeopardy! trip (Oct. 17), it’s time to let this loose – the second of a three-part tale about the adventure of a lifetime. At some point, some of this will be incorporated into my albatross of a book. For Part 1, go here.

From the Jeopardy! home page the week my show aired. All dressed up on Day 1 but not called.


July 31st, 2017.

A bit of luck wouldn’t hurt. Being deliberately vague, I put up a post on the Book of Faces on this day before takeoff for Los Angeles and my Jeopardy! trip:

Hi kids. Pardon the cryptic nature of this. (This will all be revealed in time! Honest!) But I think I could use a little insurance mojo right now.

I’m gonna be laying low the rest of the week. Heading off to one of those adventure-of-a lifetime things. At the very least, it’ll be something fun to tell someone else’s grandkids one day. At the most, it’ll be a life-changer.

Paola [my bestie] and other friends keep saying “You’ve got this.” And I remember all those times over the years that Miss Cheryl [a very cool and beautiful friend from New York who has shown me much kindness at my low points] wrote me, at my lowest, “You’ve got this.” But more importantly, I’ve been telling myself “You’ve got this.” I’ve been relearning all the things I learned about myself through the transition.

Anyway, thanks for all your kindnesses. You’re all coming with me. I’ll hopefully be able to tell you about it this fall. I’ve got this.

And the good mojo poured in from all corners: over 300 likes and nearly as many comments of encouragement. It never hurts. Some figured it out and asked me on the down-low if it was Jeopardy! Even if I felt a little extra pressure to do better – to win at least a couple of games. As I said, I brought my friends and family and transpeople in general along for the ride, not to mention, I guess, my hometown. I also brought along my father in spirit; I wish he could’ve seen this. Maybe he did, except he was probably on the light years-long waiting list at the moment to get time on the course with Arnie Palmer, and in the meantime, playing a nice, leisurely round of 18,000 with my Uncle Gene and their golfing buddies …

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My Jeopardy! Adventure, Part 1: Well, how did I get here?

October 12, 2019
Shot August 3rd, 2017; aired Oct. 17th.

(c) 2019,

By Fran Fried

Note: I thought I’d have written this a long time ago. But a lot of things – not the least of which was a long-lost mojo – conspired to keep me from this. However, as the second anniversary of my airdate is upon me, it’s time. Maybe some of this will be part of the book I’m slowly writing. Actually, it will.

August 3rd, 2017

Am I really standing here in this spot, in this place? It certainly feels like an out-of-body experience.

I’m standing on a hydraulic-powered riser in Studio 10 of the Sony Pictures Studios in Culver City. It’s every bit as vast in real life as it appears on the small screen. A ceiling out of the line of my sight; you could probably fit the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree inside. A game board across the studio floor that, if it’s not 20 feet high, it’s awfully close. The lighting is warmer in tone, dimmer than I would’ve imagined; LED has done away with excess heat and glare.

I’m standing in position 3, at the podium on the far right. Next to me: Carlos Nobleza Posas, an actor from Salt Lake City. On the opposite end, our returning champion, Manny Abell, a Navy lieutenant living in Lacey, Washington, blindingly resplendent in his dress whites. This is the second show that they’ll shoot this Thursday; the show is shot every other Wednesday and Thursday, five episodes daily – a week’s worth of games. The stage manager has finished with our run-throughs – getting the lighting right, doing sound checks on each of the contestants – and we’ve been offered water, in mini duckpin-like plastic bottles, numbers marked on masking tape to correspond to our stage positions.

I take a deep breath and feel this strange mixture of anticipation, adrenaline, anxiety … and calm. It’s the calm-before-the-storm variety – the instant between reaching the top of the rollercoaster and plummeting down the track; the pin-drop silence right before teams leave the locker rooms and run out to the roar of the crowd.

The heavy lifting has been done. The osmosis of a lifetime of learning; years of studying and taking tests; the 13 years of going to auditions; the nearly 10 years since I came to a humongous epiphany one January night while sitting on a bed in Fresno; the eight years of unemployment and underemployment, of layoffs and diminished paychecks and hundreds of résumés sent out without the decency and courtesy of even a “You suck” in return … and I’m finally here in spite of it all, or maybe because of it all.

My friends in California and Connecticut, the ones who had my back and welcomed my 2.0 self during and after my transition with open arms when I took the bold leap to come out in 2008-2009 … my family – especially Mom, back home in the house where I grew up and where I wound up after my second layoff out West, my father watching from wherever they watch it in the afterlife … every transgender person who had longed to appear on the platinum standard of game shows, or who had longed to even just publicly express who they really are … I was representing a lot of people up on that stage … And I was gonna bring them all with me when I won.

The stage manager broke up the tranquility: “Okay, places, everyone! 10 … 9 … 8 … ”      

Well, strap in …

The familiar theme music swells up, much louder and bolder than on a living-room TV. The fancy new 3D graphics of images, white like classic statues, swirling around the screen amidst a background of orange, pink and purple … and the bold, clear voice of the nonagenarian announcer, Johnny Gilbert …

“THIS! isssssssss … Jeopardy!

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‘That’s that Jackie Gleason thing, huh?’ (Joe Franklin, 1926-2015)

January 25, 2015

A stupendous! Colossal! Life. Big! Big big big!

A Stupendous! Colossal! Life. Big! Big big big!

Last night (Saturday, Jan. 24), when I shared the New York Times and New York Daily News obituaries of the great Joe Franklin on the Book of Faces, some of the comments I got included the standard “I didn’t know he was still alive!” variety. Well, the man was a month and a half shy of 89, and, let’s face it, he was born old. And he gave up The Joe Franklin Show, his record-length talk show of 42 years, two decades ago already. Yes, that long ago. So excuse those who didn’t realize he’d been whistling past the graveyard all these years. And now he’s another great New York institution that’s disappeared.

If you didn’t grow up in the Tri-State Area, or see Billy Crystal’s impersonations during his lone year on Saturday Night Live, Joe was the King of Television, the King of the Talk Show, the King of Late-Night and King of Nostalgia. He pretty much gave us the talk-show format as we know it when he started on the tube in 1951 — sitting behind a desk and chatting with a couch full of guests. He also gave us the concept of nostalgia as we came to know it — regaling viewers and guests with stories of performers such as Sophie Tucker and Eddie Cantor and Al Jolson on his many travels down Memory Lane.

And along the way, he interviewed an estimated 300,000 people. A handful were bona fide legends, such as Debbie Reynolds, Tony Curtis, Joe Louis and his idol, Bing Crosby; some others were up-and-comers who caught a huge break early on from Joe and his show, such as Barbra Streisand, Woody Allen, Bill Cosby and Bette Midler; some were regular guests who could be called upon in a pinch, such as Joe’s longtime producer and trivia quizmaster, Richie Orenstein, or Morris Katz, the world’s fastest painter, who created works in a minute or less using a palette knife and toilet paper. As a rock and pop music fan, there were other great names along the way, such as Tiny Tim (another quasi-regular), The J. Geils Band (who made a paint-splashed mess of his studio one Friday night my senior year of college) and The Ramones.

But most of his guests were everyday people who would fall into the categories of never-weres, never-gonna-bes and wannabes. And from time to time, they shared the couch with the greats. Thus, the show sometimes ran toward the mundane, or even the surreal. But the democracy of the panel of guests was one of the most endearing qualities of Joe’s show. For even a few minutes, anyone could be a star. And Joe was perhaps the most accessible TV host of all time — his number was in the Manhattan White Pages.

And that leads to my personal experience with Joe Franklin, and how he could launch something Big! Big! Big! with the exposure from his show.

Let’s just say that without Joe, fans of The Honeymooners would never have seen the “Lost Episodes.” read on …

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Channeling Mike Douglas’ ghost (what I really want to do for a career)

December 13, 2012

I wouldn't wear a suit or sing "The Men in My Little Girl's Life," but I think I could cover most of the rest of the bases,

I wouldn’t wear a suit or sing “The Men in My Little Girl’s Life,” but I think I could cover most of the rest of the bases,

Time to cast myself out to the universe at large again. Maybe this time, finally, I won’t be shot down.

As I write this, It’s been nearly four months since I moved home to Connecticut. And, as was the case in California, I have absolutely no job prospects. I’ve just been told for the 350somethingth time, after dangling in the wind for two months (and for the second time this fall), that I’m not worth hiring and I don’t deserve to make a living, don’t deserve to be here. And being jobless and worthless at Christmas — and told by my family not to worry about buying gifts for them — absolutely, unequivocally sucks. And, after three and a half years of this humiliation, it’s beyond embarrassing.

So, not knowing what’s gonna happen — and feeling more and more useless and worthless and desperate as the days stretch on — what’s left of the positive side of me sits here, trying to plot out what the hell to do with my life.

And there’s been one thing that’s been kicking around for a while that seems to make more sense than most. From the outside, it seems outlandish. But I’m just the woman to pull it off.

I’m talking about a talk show. Yes, this TG is serious about taking her talents to TV.

But not just any talk show. I’m talking about the type of talk show I used to watch in my Wonder Years. A show the likes of which hasn’t been seen on the small screen since 1980 — when, in one of the biggest bonehead moves in the history of television, the host was unceremoniously dumped from the show in favor of … drumroll, please … John Davidson.

I’m talking a show inspired by Mike Douglas.

And again, l’m just the one to do it. And if you know someone who works in television and knows how to make this work, well, step right up!

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Yabba-dabba-gee-I-must-be-getting-old! (‘The Flintstones’ turn 50)

September 30, 2010

You know, I don’t feel old …

But I just ran across Google’s home page, and instead of the usual logo, I got the above. And it hit me — could today be the 50th anniversary of “The Flintstones”?

And of course, being such a slave to logic, I clicked on the cartoon.

Yep — it was a half-century ago tonight that ABC aired the first episode of TV’s first prime-time cartoon comedy.

And now you know what the reaction’s gonna be, on a grander scale, in January 2040, when “Simpsons” fans say the same thing … (And can you imagine “The Simpsons” intro — at least before network TV chopped openings to pieces — without the classic “Flintstones” intro? Or even “Family Guy”?)

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Betty White made me do it!

May 10, 2010

Betty White with Amy Poehler, Maya Rudolph and Tina Fey -- an all-star cast, a "Saturday Night Live" for the ages.

I had a date with an 88 1/2-year-old woman Saturday night. And I loved it.

Actually, it was a group date, it was a blind date (obviously — she couldn’t see me, thank God), it was totally unplanned, and the woman took me to a place I haven’t been in a long time (ooooooh, captain!).

It wasn’t part of my plans, but for the first time in the 31 years since I’ve been out of high school, I watched an entire episode of “Saturday Night Live.” And enjoyed the hell out of it. And I have Betty White to blame.

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