Television's Top Ten Christmas Specials

Will Bing and David make the list?

Do you even care?

We'll see. I feel fairly qualified to build this compilation since I've been watching this stuff for fifty years now (Yeah, still freaking out quite a bit about that number.).

This roster is heavily back loaded with shows from the Sixties and Seventies. It seems like they were more popular back then since we had access to a mere fraction of today's channels and we were afforded one chance to see each show—no VCRs, no DVRs, no TEVO, no Tebow.

I'm not positive about which program I watched first, but I'm thinking it was shown on a Jetsons-type black and white console. My dad, always a proponent of sweet audio/video setups, had perched it in the southwest corner of the living room. I vaguely recall sitting cross-legged on the braided rug, my chubby proboscis glowing in the Zenith's mutating rays.

But anyway, enough about me, let's talk about my list.

Here's how I ranked the top ten Christmas specials, including made-for-TV movies. As always, my opinions are just that—facts, so feel free to reply with your own memories or ego-maiming criticism of this list.

10) The Andy Williams Christmas Specials—not a huge production, just a guy and his family crooning holiday hits in a cozy domestic setting. Fire up the cocoa and put on your dicky.

9) The Bob Hope Christmas Specials—Loved them for one reason: each member of the College Football All-American team would walk individually onto the stage in full uniform, at which time Hope would make a wisecrack. He'd say something like, "Joe here weighs two-hundred-and-seventy pounds. The last time I saw a guy his size wearing tight pants, it turned out to be my mother-in-law in some hip huggers!"

Too bad his mother-in-law would have been about a hundred and sixteen.

8) Santa Claus is Coming to Town—Mickey Rooney provided the voice of Santa. This drama-infused nugget gave us an early glimpse of a young, ginger-haired Kris Kringle and his fiery courtship with Miss Jessica, the future Mrs. Santa Claus. They were crazy about each other from the getgo and as much as we don't like to think about it, I don't think they "waited."

7) Frosty the Snowman—this show made the top ten due solely to the brutal revenge exacted upon evil Professor Hinkle. Delicious.

6) The Bing Crosby Christmas Special—of course this made the list. By the way, this was Crosby's last television appearance, and he had actually died before it aired.

5) A Matter of Principle—I know you've never heard of this Hallmark Hall of Fame movie, but do yourself a favor and check it out. Set in snowy, rural Virginia, it stars Alan Arkin as Flag Purdy, an obstinate and semi-abusive patriarch of a large family who seeks redemption. A young Virginia Madsen plays his independent-minded daughter.

4) Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer—come on, admit it—Clarice was hot. Kind of like Betty Rubble is hot in a cartoon human way, Clarice is hot in a cartoon deer way.

3) A Charlie Brown Christmas—I loved all the Charlie Brown specials because kids were the only characters, they faced adult-type problems and solved them without adult assistance.

2) A Christmas Story—Darren McGavin is simply brilliant as the bumbling and cursing, yet warm, father. My family and I quote lines from this movie throughout the year, and by the way, I never thought the meatloaf and mashed potatoes looked all that nasty.

1) How the Grinch Stole Christmas—not the Jim Carrey hack job, but the 1966 animated masterpiece. Dr. Seuss' writing coupled with Chuck Jones' directing was like Joe Montana to Jerry Rice. Genius.

I just realized that since it was made in 1985, A Christmas Story is the most recently produced show on the list. Apparently I'm an old dog, since fresher specials like Fruitcake Boss or Sixteen, Pregnant and Christmas Shopping came along after my holiday soft spot had closed.

Nonetheless, enjoy.

Hey, NBC! Some Suggestions for Fixing the Olympics.

How cool are the Olympic Games? I'll go ahead and answer that, but in terms my kids would use.

They're wicked hella filthy sick.

Which means really cool.

For ninety-nine percent of the participants, it's the one opportunity every one-thousand-four-hundred-and-sixty days to step from the shadows of obscurity and bask in the fuzzy warmth of a life's goal realized.

Most of these competitions aren't even televised during non-Olympic years, other than maybe sandwiched between Corn Confidential and How to Paint Your Fence the Same Color as That Thing Was Before on Wichita Public Access Television.

Yet before we're allowed to sink our incisors into some piping hot amateur boxing or beach volleyball, we're obligated to endure a five-hour Super Bowl halftime show to kick-off the fortnight.

I try, I really do. I want to like the opening ceremonies, and it is fun to watch nations like Cape Verde and Comoros and Lesotho prance down the track on equal footing with the superpowers.

But by and large, the Olympic opening ceremonies bore me to distraction. Remember that show with the purple dinosaur—Barney? Yeah, unfortunately, the lip-syncing and dancing and Manson family-esque facial expressions remind me of turning on Barney and ten thousand of his closest pals. It's a small world, after all.

Once the sports get going, though, nothing beats settling into the old barcalounger after a nice evening repast, firing up the black and white Zenith and tuning into events which transpired ten hours previously.

Seriously, I'm not bothered by the delay as much as some people. It's not like I'm going to get up at four in the morning or miss work during the day to catch the live feed. The networks have experienced this issue since Al Gore screwed the final tubes into his internet machine.

I am, however, here to offer some unsolicited advice to the National Broadcasting Corporation. These folks have taken a lot of heat over inadvertent spoilers, sappy cameos, and provincial slant to their coverage. If they could simply initiate a few informal chats with the International Olympic Committee to tweak a few of the events, I think the Olympics could gain unprecedented popularity and a television ratings windfall. Tape delay be damned.

Here are my suggestions, NBC:

1) Add a new event called team javelin—one thrower, one catcher.

2) Eliminate the shot put from the decathlon. In its place between the high jump and pole vault, each contestant must eat four sausage calzones.

3) Team diving will be modified slightly. The divers must exchange swimsuits before resurfacing.

4) Sorry, but China just isn't evil enough. The Games will hold one "Retro Day," where the Soviet Union and East Germany will return to compete. Performance enhancing drugs will be not only be allowed, they'll be encouraged. Due to the newfound hormonal equality, men's and women's swimming will be merged into "swimming."

5) Each men's 4 x 100 meter relay team must include one fifty-year-old male who's at least thirty pounds overweight. These men will run the anchor leg.

NBC will also alter a bit of its production. Bob Costas can never again refer to John McEnroe as "Johnny Mac," because no one has ever called him that and it's freaking stupid. Also, when a reporter asks a still-dripping swimmer who just finished fourth, "What were you trying to accomplish out there?" the reporter is entitled to an exclusive and immediate swim in the Olympic pool.

Oh, yeah, one more thing.

Seacrest? Out.

The best TV dads since the beginning of time

I know, I know—another list. And this one is highly subjective, so please feel free to add to, subtract from, or destroy this list entirely.

Since we're approaching the Father's Day exit from this interstate freeway called life, I've decided to compile my top ten television dads. After closely examining each of these characters, I've discovered traits which I consciously or subconsciously acquired from these guys, for better or worse. Here goes.

10) George Bluth—The patriarch of the highly dysfunctional family of Arrested Development, the man is dishonest and self-centered, yet endearing nonetheless. Hmm, didn't I just say I've managed to acquire his traits? Got to rethink that one.

9) Herman Munster—Why is it that most TV dads are bumbling yet lovable? Herman definitely fits both categories. He means well, but always manages to screw up somehow. That one definitely hits home.
I've got a theory that John Kerry's striking resemblance to him may have cost Kerry the 2004 election.

8) Frank Constanza—Serenity now!

7) Ozzy Osbourne—He taught me that mumbling can get you through some tough spots. Embrace your hidden mumbler.

6) Howard Cunningham—He steadily held a firm grip on his composure, even during the later years of Happy Days, when Chachi sported a mullet during what was supposed to be the early 1960s.

5) Cliff Huxtable—I've always aspired to parent like Cliff. He could impose punishments on his kids in such a humorous way that they'd be wiping tears from their eyes as they began cleaning the oven.

4) Fred Flintstone—I'm hoping some day we'll see an adult version of this cartoon, where Fred and Betty Rubble get a little prehistoric in the parking lot of the Water Buffalo Lodge.

3) Mike Brady—If he were a baseball player, he'd have batted 1.000. Mike was the anti-Herman Munster, since he didn't screw up...ever. I'm not sure what the point of this photo is, but there's some definite long, waxy chemistry between those two.

2) Ward Cleaver—Also nearly flawless, Ward rarely got ruffled. He never appeared hungover or in need of a shave, and whenever June was concerned about the Beaver, he was up to the task.

1) Homer Simpson—As much as we dads may hate to admit it, we've all got some Homer in us. Who hasn't, after gazing at the ad for that mouth-watering new sandwich by KFC, muttered, "Mmmm...Double Down."





Happy Father's Day to all the dads out there. Yabba Dabba Doo!

The Bachelor gets my vote for worst show ever

Yesterday afternoon, as I sat next to my nine-year-old daughter,  I looked over and asked her, "Lauryn, who do you look up to?"

"I don't know. Why are you asking me that?"
"I'm just curious as to who kids look up to these days."
"Umm, well, you, I guess." That was nice to hear, if not completely heartfelt.
"Thanks, Laur. But I'm just wondering, of the people you see on TV or read about, whom do you admire?"
"I like Beyoncé. And Miley Cyrus."
"Would you say those are your heroes?" I tried to ask this without betraying any irony in my voice.
"Not really," she replied. "They're more like idols...oh! I know. The rescuers who pulled the people in Haiti out of the rubble and helped them. Those are heroes."

That was a refreshing statement to hear from my daughter. At least she can discern between true courage and true celebrity.

It seems harder and harder for our kids to make these distinctions. My older daughter has grown up witnessing a new class of American pseudo-icons—the reality television stars. One of her favorite shows is The Bachelor, where a large gaggle of Barbie look-alikes vie for the affections of one Ken look-alike. The premise is for him to find his soul mate within a few episodes, sponsored by Pepsi. The guy is portrayed as the man every parent wants his or her daughter to marry—handsome, smart, sensitive and, above all, wealthy. Call me old and cynical, but this is one of the worst television shows, let alone reality shows, I've ever laid eyes upon. The bachelor is forced to eliminate one candidate every show in "the rose ceremony," thereby sending her packing in tears with just a memory of what might have been.

The remaining contestants survive another week. I guess we have to assume that they're all equally in love with Joe All-American; this is prime time "love light," not "let's-start-out-as-friends-then-date-for-a-while-then-see-where-things-go-over-the-next-couple-of-years" love.

I doubt that either party to this faux-courtship series would qualify as a hero to my other daughter, the fourteen-year-old, but just the fact that she enjoys the show is a little disturbing to me. If I might climb into my Ward Cleaver "When I Was A Boy" Wayback Machine, my heroes were usually athletes or astronauts. In fact, I knew the name of each Apollo explorer, as well as the mission at hand, whether it was orbiting Earth, the moon or the big one—landing on the lunar surface. Neil Armstrong was the king of cool, and I would have easily chosen him over Joe Namath or David Cassidy to show up as a surprise guest to my ninth birthday party.

I'm thinking about instituting a moratorium on reality shows in our house. Either that, or for every reality show my daughters watch, they have to read an article about someone who has actually contributed to society, rather than someone who simply indulges the viewing public's 21st century voyeurism.

I was a game show junkie.

I've been spending a lot of time with my kids lately, as many of us have over this winter break. The more opportunities I'm given to observe their behaviors, the more I compare their culture to my kid world of thirty-five years ago.

They don't wake up on Saturday mornings and watch Aquaman or Roadrunner or Johnny Quest. They don't arrive home from school to flip on J.P. Patches, or Brakeman Bill, two local Seattle kids' shows back in the day. And for the sake of all that is good and pure, they don't watch game shows anymore.

I was a game show junkie, a fact which was displayed to all the world through my copious circumference. Thank God for Sears Toughskins in boys' size husky (30" waist, 27" inseam). During summers and school breaks, I would schedule out the entire day's game show viewings. Just as an example, let's say it's 1971, and I've got all day ahead of me to watch Joe or Joanne Average American try to win cash and prizes, and hopefully not parting gifts, like cases of Turtle Wax.

I'd start around 11:00, with The Joker's Wild starring Jack Berry, followed by Hollywood Squares with Peter Marshall. Hollywood Squares made its name as a vehicle for celebrity promotion, rather than a straight-up game show. Paul Lynde repeatedly brought the house down with his snarky one-liners, which were surely fed to him in the green room prior to the show. Usually, after Paul rattled off a zinger, the camera would pan over to some other celebrity, maybe Sally Struthers, absolutely convulsing in throes of spasmic laughter. I usually didn't understand the joke.

The noon hour called for ABC's Let's Make a Deal, hosted by Monty Hall. Contestants dressed up in outlandish costumes to vie for Monty's attention, hoping to be singled out to try their luck on a deal. In today's age of shock television, I can only imagine how this show would play out if it were to make a current-day comeback. Monty might be shown a Full Monty or two.

Time to switch from ABC to CBS for Match Game, with Gene Rayburn. This program placed all of its eggs in the double entendre basket, and my pre-adolescent brain loved it. First of all, the host, Mr. Rayburn, held the largest microphone in the game show universe. This thing was about two feet long and he held it down by his belt line. The premise of the show was to listen to a sentence with one word missing, and each member of the celebrity panel would fill in the blank. The contestant received points for each matching answer. For example, Gene might say, "Ella was very upset when she got her 'blanks' caught in the grocer's freezer." The audience would guffaw uproariously, because they knew that Charles Nelson Reilly had something very naughty in mind.

Usually at this point, my mom or dad would make me go outside and ride my sting ray.

Oh sure, they're were so many other shows, like The Price Is Right, The Newlywed Game, The Dating Game, Tattletales, Wizard of Odds, $10,000 Pyramid, Password and Concentration. And, there were other hosts, like Chuck Barris and Chuck Woolery and Bob Ewbanks and Wink Martindale and Burt Convy.

But my informed opinion allows me to draw only one four-word conclusion as to the talent I've witnessed:

Bob Barker is king.

How the cable Grinch stole Christmas

I like the word "special." I like it even more when it's used as a noun, as in "Christmas Special." And since we're now fully absorbed into the 2009 holiday free-for-all, I've been doing a little reflecting about how the seasonal television specials have evolved over the years.

Like most of us in our forties and beyond, I was raised watching TV on the floor. It wasn't because our family room lacked furniture; on the contrary, the couch often sat unoccupied. No, the reason I flopped down onto the shag carpet was to position myself as closely as possible to the television dial. No remote, you see. So, back during TV's golden age (the 1970s), immediately after Thanksgiving, every night witnessed an encampment in front of the idiot box, with the main fare offered up by the big three networks: NBC, ABC and CBS.

I classified the holiday shows into three tiers:
Tier 1: Rudolph the Rednosed Reindeer, A Charlie Brown Christmas and How the Grinch Stole Christmas. These programs required rescheduling of any other events which may have caused conflicts.
Tier 2: Frosty the Snowman and Santa Claus is Coming to Town. This pair is also very solid, but if you had a dessert potluck to attend, you may choose to opt out.
Tier 3: All of the variety shows offered up by celebrities of yesteryear, such as Bing Crosby, Bob Hope, Andy Williams, John Denver or the Osmonds. These usually had more cheese than the log with the crackers on the kitchen counter, and I only watched them in a pinch.

Since my kids really don't observe my old TV traditions, I decided to research what the networks currently broadcast, and there is so much more goodness to be had. TV is just wonderful these days, and these gems only prove the point. Keep in mind, these are actual shows:
-Victoria's Secret Holiday Fashion Show—hmm, seems like it's too cold right now, but, whatever.
-Rudolph and Frosty's Christmas in July—two words: no way.
-A Boyfriend for Christmas—no comment.
-Holiday in Handcuffs—believe it or not, this is on the Disney Family Channel. Hopefully, it's not based on some kind of Manson family reunion.
-Comfort and Joy—sounds more like an adult diaper ad than a feature-length special.

I guess that's a representative sample. Please...enjoy.