I Heart Roger Clark

From a Golf Course Ambassador to the NYC Taxi and Limousine Commissioner, this has been a banner week for Roger and the men who make this city great. Today's Roger Report featured Rog, looking sporty in late fall attire, chatting up the TLC Commissioner who looked like he might have fallen head first into a tube of hair gel this morning. Between that and the suit and tie pin, the guy was straddling a fine line between The Sopranos and Wall Street: The Movie. TLC Man gave Roger kudos for remembering the details of the recent fare hike which is kind of like saying thanks for reminding me that I will be kicking you in the a**. The thing is, I agree with the fare increase. Drivers need to earn a living wage and perhaps with a little more money coming in from individual rides, there won't be the same need to play chicken on the road to pick up a fare. As much as I appreciate a cab screeching through five lanes of traffic because I'm waving my hand in the air or repeatedly stomping on the brake at a red light in anticipation of dumping me on the corner and zipping off to find someone too drunk to drive themselves back to Connecticut, I've always sensed there was a better way.

P.S. Was that an L.L. Bean flannel-lined, barn jacket? LOVE it.

Roger does not play golf. This is according to The Man himself who was out on a course in Van Cortlandt park this misty, moisty morning. Things got off to a bumpy start when Rog accidentally bumped his mic cube and said "What am I doing here?" (presumably in reference to his handling of the mic and not his presence on the golf course) and then exchanged some awkward convo with Pat K. when Pat asked him about his game. Roger, in no uncertain terms, said that he doesn't play and then giggled (I love that giggle! I miss that giggle.). Roger's on-site interview with a "Golf Course Ambassador" was weird for a number of reasons. First, this is the kind of stuff that makes me feel like I'm on drugs in the morning. Golf Course Ambassador? Ambassador is kind of a lofty title for the dude who keeps people from loitering on the course. Where I'm from, this is known as Security. I guess they couldn't call him the "Golf Course Bouncer." Anyway, the Ambassador didn't have a whole lot to say and so Pat and Rog were left to their own devices which usually is about as comfortable as riding over gravel in a high speed wheelbarrow. Pat told Rog he should take up golf. Roger said maybe the boss would like him more if he did. Pat said Rog's career might skyrocket if he started playing. Rog said this must be why the boss doesn't speak to him. The End. I don't know who this "boss" is, but he/she better have a darn good reason for giving our guy the cold shoulder. This is the man who barfed at a hot dog eating contest because he was trying to be down with the people; the man who almost drowned for the sake of a million Thanksgiving balloons and endured mindless chatter about Garfield with a hoard of young children. NY1 would be lost without him. And golf is a boring game anyway.

The subject line of this post - with it's implications of Le Clark in a prison porn flick - doesn't even begin to capture the bizarro nature of yesterday's Roger Report which I'm only writing about now because a) today's report featured The Man himself in a coat and tie talking about something universally boring and b) it took me a full 24 hours to process how weird yesterday's report was. Leave it to Roger to find himself a story only a few blocks from his home, and strategically located near the local bakery. Apparently, the Riker family owned a home in Rog's fave borough back in the ye olde 17th century. After changing hands and falling into disrepair it was purchased in the 1960s and restored to its original glory in the 1980s by The Smiths, a couple who look not unlike Morticia Addams and The Skipper from Gilligan's Island if he happened to dip into Mr. Howell's closet for the day. I've got to admit, the house is quite a jewel especially considering the fact that its closest neighbors are the prison and LaGuardia Airport. Roger, looking ruddy and relaxed (undoubtedly from his quick commute and quite possibly a pastry on the way over), really turned it on for these folks who returned the favor. Even while talking about how her husband courted her back in the 70s by showing her his "graveyard" in the backyard (There is actually a graveyard and showing that kind of thing on a first date was apparently quite a turn-on back in the Me Decade) , Mrs. Smith flashed Rog some heavily botoxed bedroom eyes. Roger seemed impressed, if only by the house, and Mr. Smith - wearing a stunning ascot for that hour of the morning - was none the wiser. Spot on, Clark.

Poor Roger. His first appearance in primetime and he's reporting on the "Great Thanksgiving Balloon Inflation" in the dark and the rain wearing nothing but a NY1 windbreaker to protect him from the elements and the gaggle of small, chubby children who gathered around him as if recreating the final moments of Mr. Sebastian Veneable in "Suddenly Last Summer." Rog was a trooper and tried to chat up the kids on all things Thanksgiving. But like good little jaded X-Box playing rugrats, they all said they had no plan to show up at the parade and that, oddly enough, their favorite balloon was Garfield. One kid, who looked like a mini Roger and actually copped to being from Staten Island, explained that there was no point to watching the parade in person when you can watch it on TV. Duh. Not surprisingly, this kid towed the party line and claimed to like the Garfield balloon too, which triggered the Clark dinner theater humor parachute (a tactic reserved for desperate on-camera emergencies) and Roger responded that he himself didn't like the Garfield balloon that much because he's allergic to cats. Ba-dum-dum-ching! Little Staten Island looked confused and Rog moved on.

At this point, the rain started getting a little heavier and I started wondering at what point Rog's microphone or earpiece was going to electrocute him in front of the kids for whom this would suddenly become "The Great Thanksgiving Balloon Inflation" to remember. Roger, sensing that the NY1 windbreaker couldn't take much more of the wet stuff, tried to pick up the pace and jazz up the questions, probably to alert the director in his/her nice warm truck that it was time to throw to Weather on the Ones and get him the hell out of there. A little girl named Molly looked up at Roger with big smiling eyes, eager to be asked the same beleaguered balloon question only to have Roger hunch down at her and shout "What the heck are you doing here? It's raining!" Molly must have figured she'd ponder the philosophical implications of this statement later and shared that her favorite balloon was Elmo. And Clark, so damp and cold that his lie-to-the-kids instinct went to sleep, said "Elmo isn't going to be here this year." Nice one. I was waiting for "There's no such thing as Santa Claus" and "The Easter Bunny is a drunk" but thankfully the slaughter of childhood dreams was over.

Rog buddy, sorry I didn't come stalk you this evening, but the pull of a nice cup of cocoa and the fear of a restraining order kept me indoors and out of the fray. Nice job. Hopefully the kids didn't eat you alive.

Roger was at the Food Bank in the Bronx chatting with a spokesperson who looked like "the evil" version of the lead singer of The Cranberries with her shaved head, hooded black cape coat and thick Irish accent. From the way she was eyeing Clark, I thought she was trying to cast a spell on him...or maybe get her flirt on a little bit. Rog got flustered and said something like "what is it about the holidays that reminds people that other people need to eat?" Bad Cranberry cocked an eyebrow as though this was the Sphinx's make or break question. Honestly, it took me a whole cup of coffee and a quick finger count to figure it out and I'm not telling.

Though I'm impressed by Roger's up-with-people attitude in recent reports, I do long for the occasional goofy fluff piece. Which is why when I saw the clown makeup report by the blond chick (whose name always escapes me because it's not cool like Milanee, Shazia or Kefi) a few segments later, I couldn't help wondering what genius Rog could have contributed. Apparently, there's a whole clown float at the Thanksgiving Day parade (who knew?) and folks have to practice their clown makeup skills ahead of time. There are three types of clown each of which has a name that I only sort of remember so we'll just call them: White Face, Racoon Eyes and Hobo. I would have paid good money to see The Clark sportin' a Hobo, especially at the parade but it's not to be. I think I have to face up to the fact that Rog has become the Angelina of local news. I have seen the groundhog's shadow. There will be no laughter here.

Rog is taking Friday off because he went to the Cheap Trick concert last night. How do I get this guy's job? More importantly, how did I miss the fact that Cheap Trick was playing? First Joan Jett and now this. I've got to get on this guys concert list. Of course, Joan and I did share a moment in a bar once so, on second thought, maybe I'm The Man.

I debated even writing anything about today's Report which focussed on a house fire in the Gravesend area of Brooklyn where a mother and her five children were rescued by firefighters and locals. Not exactly comedy gold. Good to know that everyone's safe, though my sensibilities are pretty bruised from almost a full week of Roger in a tie reporting in "serious dad" voice.

Roger, if you're listening, remember what Crosby, Stills and Nash said: "There is a time for laughter and a time for tears. A time to leave the tie at home and find a nice competitive eating contest to attend."

We miss you Roger.

Circuit City is giving away 100 Playstation 3s on Friday and Roger was on the scene chatting up the folks who've lined up outside the store (some since Sunday!) waiting for the chance to score one. As per the Clark Way, Rog's assortment of interviewees definitely kept things rolling: the guy who wants to sell the thing on Ebay, the kid who thinks the graphics are going to be good, and the Southern guy who just likes games. Kudos to Rog for getting the Red State vote on this important issue, but for a moment I felt like we had slipped into a Tennessee Williams play. In a moment of gravity, Clark compared the long lines to his salad days when he waited in line for David Lee Roth/Poison tickets in the freezing cold of the North Country (Syracuse). I guess there's no such thing as the kindness of strangers when it's 20 degrees out.

P.S. Clark is looking good these days! The two mile treadmill walks are paying off. I can see the remains of the Vendy Awards just melting away.

Roger was back at Shea Stadium for the 5,694th time this year to report on the fact that the Mets will be getting a new stadium, paid for in full by Citigroup. The name of the new ballpark? Citi Field. Which isn't bad when you consider the alternative. That Candlestick Park became 3Com Park is horrifying and could easily have paved the way for other companies with no business being involved in baseball naming stadiums after themselves. Imagine Roger reporting from the site of the new Tampax Field. No doubt, Clark would have been the guy on that beat.

Looking, dare I say, trim and healthy, Roger seemed mortified by the fact that he was back at Shea where he essentially set up residence for the better part of the summer. At one point, he leaned into the camera and said something like "I don't belong here" in reference to it being November and baseball season starts in April. It was like an episode of the Twilight Zone: a reporter who loves baseball emerges from a bomb shelter to discover that he is forced to spend every day of the year in his favorite team's stadium parking lot. On days like today, I feel like the producers blindfold the poor guy, drive him around in a van for awhile and surprise him with a location and a story idea on a Post-It note.

Roger went back to Joe's Deli for a man-on-the-street take on the new ballpark and interviewed an assortment of morning deli workers and customers, my favorite of whom was the dude with the black eye. Serling would have loved this one.

Is it me or was Roger MIA this morning? I sat through In the Papers, Weather on the Ones, and Gary Anthony Ramsey three times - not to mention a totally bizarre report from the hirsute nebbish George Whipple who attended a L'Oreal cancer fundraiser seemingly for the sole purpose of telling Diane Keaton a hundred times that she's "a legend" - before calling it quits after Roger failed to appear. Sadly, I've got the entire loop memorized. Clark's absence did give me the opportunity to really give careful consideration to my favorite low-budget commercials on NY1 and here are my thoughts:

1. Select Dental: Featuring the slim, soft-spoken guy in the tuxedo shirt and lip gloss who fears the rising cost of dental care for he and his "wife." Makes you wonder who the woman sitting next to him is supposed to be.

2. Dial 7 car service: Formerly known as Tel Aviv before someone realized that naming anything after a terrorist target was a bad idea. This ad is remarkable purely for how brazenly offensive it is. A white family is being driven around by a Middle Eastern guy - straight out of central casting - who giggles to himself and points to something on the NYC horizon all while fake airplanes are flying around in the background. You haven't seen stereotyping until you've seen this ad.

3. Arris Lofts: This classic features exotic animals showering (I'm serious. The elephant really seems to love the fog-proof glass) in big, boxy lofts in the heart of Long Island City is like water torture, especially since it's on every fifteen seconds. If I have to hear "spacious, gracious living" and "expansive, not expensive" one more time I'm going hunting.

4. Intimacy: Apparently, this is a bra shop featuring "bra fittings." I know this because of the commercial's ingenious use of two ladies chatting about it over a meal. One lady says to the other in all seriousness: "I know. It gives me a lot more lift. I feel slimmer, taller." When will advertising agencies learn that absolutely no woman chats about her feminine hygiene produts, let alone how much her bra is cutting off her circulation because she's short and fat, over lunch. We save that type of convo for dinner parties.

Here's hoping Roger's back tomorrow.

This is war. Apparently, the "other" Roger Clark blog is getting some press and IHRC - due to its creator's lack of tech savvy and failure to get this puppy onto Google, etc. - is not. So, if you're reading this (and Mom, you know who you are) pass it along to all your friends and tell them just how rip-roaringly hilarious, informative, colorful, did I mention hilarious? IHRC is. And if you need a slogan (because who doesn't need a slogan?), here's one: "I Heart Roger Clark: We're Just Better."

Now, on to the Roger Reports. Yesterday saw Clark in Harlem chatting with the locals about the recent election and the changing of the guard. There was a whole lot of rain and everyone looked kind of depressed, but happy at the same time. Kind of like when you finish off a bottle of liquor on your own. Roger, ever the optimist, brought his blue sky with him under his MoMa umbrella which actually has a blue sky sown into the interior. (Note: IHRC notices these kinds of details).

And then there was today's Report brought to you by Roger's hand. I say this because that's really the only part of Roger we saw throughout the entire segment. Lucky for him he was wearing his wedding ring this time. Clark was on the scene at a City Harvest fundraising event which involves making structures out of canned food. A very cool event for an extremely awesome cause. But it wouldn't be a Roger Report without a Roger v. Pat K. moment. This one featured Pat asking Roger about what he was going to do with his cans. Roger went quiet for a second. Maybe he thought Pat was asking him what he was going to do with his "can." Now, it isn't every day that one gets asked such a personal and probing question so Roger's visible confusion is kind of understandable. I guess. But Roger saved the day with a little trip down memory lane when he waxed sentimental for Pat about his days in college when he'd stack cans outside of dorm rooms. I'm assuming the idea here was to get the folks on the other side of the doors to a) believe they were trapped on a grocery store shelf with no way out b) get hit with falling cans when he/she emerged suddenly from the door c) remember they were rooming next to Roger Clark. All of the above had the same result, apparently, which was to get Roger punched in the face. At one point, he even had to miss the Penn State game because of his antics. Naughty Roger! Pat, as usual seemed less than impressed, Roger shut his can (Note: IHRC makes great puns) and....Curtain.

I don't know how Roger does it, but he always manages to find the most interesting (read: bizarro) slice of New York to talk to when he's out on the street doing his thang. Take today for instance. It's Election Day and Rog is in Forest Hills, Queens looking for the man-on-the-street opinion on Alan Hevesi, the Comptroller (a word that drives me insane) embroiled in controversy for failing to re-imburse the city for the tax-payer funded limo trips his mentally ill wife took. I'm just going to jump in here and say that, while Hevesi clearly screwed up by not paying for the trips himself, I can understand why he wanted his depressive/suicidal wife to be driven to and fro in a car service that could potentially offer her some kind of protection. Not that there's anything wrong with Dial 7, but we're talking about a woman who sounds like she's apt to throw herself into traffic, not some tramp who wants a free ride to Bloomingdale's. And when Option #2 for the elected position is Creepy Callaghan - a guy who wears a green bowtie without an ounce of irony - I think Hevesi's expense report issue is the least of our worries. But I digress.

So Clark is chatting up potential voters and his selection includes: a middle-aged white guy in a camo cap and one of those necklaces newly minted frat guys wear who doesn't care about Hevesi because he "always vote(s) Republican" (BIG surprise); a man who had no idea who Hevesi was and, undoubtedly, what the heck a Comptroller is (maybe he too is just irritated by the word); and a gentleman wearing a striking amount of lip gloss who is "not for political corruption." Oh good. This is the kind of random sample to which one should probably add more than a few plus or minus percentage points. But this is why we love The Clark: he's a magnet for the oddly loveable wallflower; the ones who didn't get scratched into the Statue of Liberty's book. He's our goofy beacon of light and I can raise my hand to this because I'm sure.

Roger kept his report PG this morning while interviewing folks at a local diner on tomorrow's elections. One older gentleman, whose name was either Eddie, Woody or Frank depending on who you ask, seemed a little perturbed at having his regular buttered roll and coffee interrupted by the likes of Rog and his pesky mic. Perhaps in protest, Eddie/Woody/Frank - who mentioned more than once that he'd been coming to this particular diner for forty years for breakfast - didn't stop chewing while stating pretty matter-of-factly that the Democrats would take it all. Can't remember exactly how Roger came to use the sanitized expression "chance in heck" when referring to the Democrats. Certainly, Eddie/Woody/Frank didn't seem like the type of guy who would have balked at the use of a little profanity. I sense that E/W/F probably tosses around the h-e-double hockey sticks word a lot, especially when it comes to politics or reporters interrupting his breakfast. Regardless, Rog kept it clean and E/W/F kept on chewing. No one was any the wiser and the censors breathed a sigh of relief.

Next, Rog chatted up a waitress who remarked that she doesn't vote in much the same way that many jaded diner personnel respond to a request for tofu instead of bacon in their BLT. Clark, ever the investigative reporter, probed her on her no-voting stance. "Because there's no one worth voting for" she answered (translation: Do you want cream or cream with that?). This uncomfortable exchange made Eddie/Woody/Frank's breakfast interlude seem positively sweet. And when Rog topped it off with a question about the most popular food on the menu, the spitfire in an apron could barely contain herself: "Gyros, or anything you like." This further degenerated into Roger saying something about the Greeks and the waitress commenting that the Greeks invented diners, blah blah blah. Poor Rog. Tough crowd this Monday morning. I say, fiddlesticks on them.

Roger reported from the NYC Marathon finish line today which would be really tremendous if the Marathon wasn't two days from now. A safe distance from the possibility of strenuous exercise, Rog chatted about what we can expect from this weekend's race: 26.2 miles and a whole lot of runners. To say that Clark seemed bored by the details - provided in living color by a race representative - would be an understatement. I was busy wallowing in self-pity over not being able to run this year so I tuned out until Clark shared with us that he "power-walked two miles" last night (burning off yesterday's blintiki, no doubt). Rog buddy, save me a seat on the couch.

Roger wore a RED tie to go to the RUSSIAN Tea Room this morning. Coincidence? I think not. And what about the "blinktiki" of which Clark partook. He claimed he had no idea what it was and that he didn't like mushrooms to boot. But did this keep him from scarfing down the dish like he was back in the motherland? Nyet. In fact, Rog was so busy eating and chewing into the microphone, he forgot that he was actually supposed to be interviewing someone. Hence, we heard very little from the chef - who was actually trying to explain what was on the plate before it all disappeared - and a whole lot of fork being inserted into mouth (Roger's). This may have been intentional, lest the chef accidentally spew some controversial rhetoric on lingonberries. Roger knows that he is what he eats and today he is Comrade Clark, czar of the new blintz republic.

All I know about today's Roger Report is that 1) Rog was on Staten Island and 2) he was wearing a stripey green sweater. And all I know about stripey green sweaters - especially when the stripeys are horizontal - is that it takes two-ton balls to wear one, especially on tv. Oh Clark, even if I had the slightest idea what you and the Staten Island broad were talking about, I wouldn't have been able to take my eyes off your jolly green giant look. For a moment I wondered if you were packing canned vegetables under there. That said, kudos for shaking up a Wednesday, losing the blazer, and sporting some color. And though most things in life are better lying down, keep your clothing vertical.