DEAD OR CANADIAN?

Well, dead, unfortunately and far, far too soon.
KEN OBER was found dead in his Santa Monica home this past Sunday.

Who is Ken Ober? If you're asking that question, it's likely you're in your teens or twenties and cannot recall a time when MTV played music videos, a practice whose demise began when MTV introduced the irreverent game show REMOTE CONTROL to their schedule in 1987. Technically, it was the first non-music related programming on the network though the subject matter of REMOTE CONTROL made knowledge of pop music and pop culture at large, past and (at the time) present, an absolute prerequisite for winning.

KEN OBER was the program's host and the genius behind the sarcastic, quirky (and sometimes dark) humor. With the backstory of a child who grew up obsessed with pop-culture (true in real life) who worshipped TV game show hosts (also true in real life,) the one-time stand-up comedian's 'Kenny' character hosted his own game show in the basement of his mother's home at 72 Whooping Cough Lane. The Johnny Olsen to Ober's Bob Barker was a Brooklyn-born, scratchy-voiced, mildly-acerbic stand-up named Colin Quinn. Along with a rotating line-up of tarty female side kicks du jour (starting with Kari Wuhrer and at some point featured Alicia Coppola,) Ober and his co-horts oversaw a five year reign of silliness that made them stars for the MTV Generation.

Here's the 411 on the show's format. Three contestants, all college students each sat (with seatbelts fastened) in LazyBoy recliners amidst kitschy mid-70's, post-modern decor. Contestants chose questions from nine categories, each more ridiculous than the next. "The Bon Jovi Network" offered three questions about the Jersey rock band worth increasing amounts of points. "Brady Physics" posed math and science questions based on the blended family. "Dead or Canadian?" demanded contestants to identify a celebrity as either a Canuck or a corpse. (See, the title of this post does make sense now.)

Some of the categories involved what can loosely be referred to as 'performance art.' A very young, very thin, and very unknown Adam Sandler would appear silk robe and Speedo as 'Stud Boy,' daring contestants to guess the celebrity he claimed to have nailed. Another comic newbee, Denis Leary, came out in a leopard print toga, with a whip and hamster cage claiming to be Gunther the Animal Trainer or, at other times, came out as Colin's brother. There was really no point to that character other watching the two Irishmen pretend to beat the crap out of each other.


And of course, there was "Sing Along with Colin," the most popular channel. It was a tribute (that might be a stretch) to "Sing Along with Mitch," the 1960's Mitch Miller program which marked the birth of karaoke. If you chose "Sing Along with Colin," you were asked to finish the lyrics to a poorly performed version of whatever song Colin had begun in his tonedeaf chainsmoker's baritone.

Eventually, the disembodied, nasal whine of Kenny's mother making an absurd announcement would mark the end of the first round and the time for a SNACK BREAK. Contestants would have food poured onto them from above as the program headed into a commercial break.

The second round continued much like the first but at the end, the contestant with the fewest points would be eliminated. Now, depending on which LazyBoy recliner he/she was seated in, they might be pulled backwards through a wall, or, if you were in the flip-back recliner, go head over heels backwards through the wall (see, those seatbelts make sense now) while audience members tauntingly sang "Hit The Road, Jack" or "Nah Nah Hey Hey Goodbye."

A lightning round determined which contestant went to the Grand Prize round where the finalist would be strapped (they really liked their bondage) into a CraftMatic Adjustable Bed facing nine oddly-stacked videoscreens, each playing a different music video. After a nano-second peak, the :30 second clock began and all nine videos began to play. Amidst the cacophony, contestants had to identify the artist in each video. If they ID'd all nine within the thirty seconds, they won a stash of prizes and were showered with confetti and streamers.

That's it, really. Simple. Endearingly quaint in a world that is used to Fear Factor and WipeOut.
And sure, some elements of the show changed from season to season (and once it went into its failed non-MTV syndication) but I will always maintain a special warm place in my heart for the show because (here comes the true confession) I WAS A TEENAGE REMOTE CONTROL CONTESTANT.

It's true. So while everything I've written thus far is accurate, everything that follows is my personal experience in the bizarro landscape that was MTV's REMOTE CONTROL in 1989.

My brain has always been overstocked with inane trivia. Sure, I do well on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire? and can hold my own shouting answers at the TV screen during Jeopardy but there is a disproportionate chunk of my frontal lobe devoted to storing useless music and movie and TV trivia. What does one do with that information? My friends mocked me but joked I'd one day I'd be on Remote Control.

Fast forward: Spring 1989 at the University of Albany in upstate New York. The ASP (the Albany Student Press) announced that Remote Control would be doing a talent search on the SUNY Albany campus. I was a delusional girl on a mission. So, on the designated Saturday, I arrived outside the designated lecture center and joined hundreds of other students eager to test their pop-culture I.Q. Passersby had no idea what to make of the huge group of students sprawled across the floor -- was it some sort of protest? a camp-out for early class registration? They grew truly confused when the entire group broke song, encouraged to sing themes from Gilligan's Island and The Brady Bunch.

Finally, we were ushered into the large lecture center and given a sheet of paper with twenty trivia questions. No multiple choice here people. This was fill-in-the-blank. This was hardcore. I recall only two of the questions. I knew Cher's bagel boy was Rob Camilletti. I totally blanked on who the original drummer for The Beatles was (unthinkable, I know.) And I remembered the name (Pete Best, of course) as soon as I handed my quiz to the person collecting them in the center aisle. Turns out, that was the only answer I missed. And, it turns out, most of the other applicants missed a whole lot more. Just like that, I'd made it to Round Two. (I remember running to the pay phone to call my parents at home -- how pre-cellphone-era cute is that?!)

Now, they never really told us what the full format of the audition process would be otherwise it's completely possible I would have chickened out and never turned up at all. You wanna pick pick my nonsensical trivia-filled brain in Round One? Go for it. I dare ya. Wait... what do you mean Round Two involves me talking about myself in front of hundreds of fellow students??!! My own personal idea of hell. Each of the thirty or so students who had made it to this round were asked to speak to the talent scouts and students who, despite blowing the first round, stayed on to watch the auditions. We were to talk about ourselves - who we were, where we were from and offer a story, preferably a funny anecdote about a celebrity encounter.

Let me back up here a moment and offer this background info. I was a Supreme Dork. Growing up on Long Island, I was a frizzy-haired, bespectacled, amoeba-shaped nerd. Very uncool. Very content immersing myself into the world of rock music. When I moved up to Albany, I did everything I would never have had the nerve to do back at in my high school. My hair permed and heavily frosted blonde (this was never a good look for me; I know this now.) I wore spandex leggings, suede Peter Pan boots, Lip Service skull & crossbone t-shirts and a bleached, shredded, studded, pin-covered, fringed denim jacket featuring a huge Superman logo in metallic black, gold and red paint across the back. I made it myself during Spring Break senior year. Yes, I looked like an absolute schmuck but there was such freedom in the anonymity of morphing into someone else entirely amidst 15,000 students who didn't know me prior. (I assure you, two semesters and forty pounds later this heinous phase ended and I happily blended into the masses with their bland GAP sweaters and docksiders.)

Needless to say, that was ensemble I wore day of the Remote Control tryouts. So when it was my turn to speak, I admitted to the crowd that they might not know me by name but that I was 'that girl' with the Superman jacket on campus. I rambled on about a school trip to Toronto where my best friend and I trekked to the MuchMusic TV studios (Canada's MTV) to spend the day with the members of Bon Jovi live and in person. (A bird crapped on me on national TV -- well, national if my hometown was Calgary, I suppose.) I spoke far too fast in a voice much higher than my natural tone. I was crazy nervous but for some reason (possibly the idea of the fashion trainwreck that was me on camera,) the talent team greenlit me to move forward. (Insert spittake here.)

Those of us who survived the public speaking/personality challenge broke into groups of three, handed small service bells and peppered with trivia questions. We slammed our bells and blurted out answers, our rapid response time being judged. Then, my destiny was in the hands of the show's casting staff. I waited. I bit my cuticles. I played with the gold tassles on my denim jacket. I chatted with some of the other finalists. And then it happened. My name was announced and I was one of twelve CONTESTANTS chosen from Albany. Holy crap.

Auditions were in early April. My freshman year would end with final exams mid-May. My REMOTE CONTROL taping was schedule for 11:00 AM the morning after my last exam. So really, I wasn't thinking about my TV game show debut at all (note*: NOT my TV debut however -- that was made when I five, as a friend of regulars on Romper Room! According to Schreibman Family Legend, I picked my nose live on morning television. Awesome.) I was focused on getting As in Communication and Linguistics courses. I took my final final mid-morning on a Wednesday and rushed back to my dorm where my father and cousin were waiting to move me out. We emptied my suite, loaded up the car and hit the southbound NY Thruway, getting me home in time for a family dinner. I then planted myself in front of the television and watched hours of MTV for the first time in months,. (SUNY Albany had been constructed entirely of concrete, asbestos and misery thus, no one would wire the dorms for cable.) I'm not sure the intense viewing did much good, but I crammed for my game show debut with all the same zealousness applied to cramming for my Statistics final.

When friends picked me up early the next morning, I was decked out in my finest attire. Bright electric blue spandex leggings, a long red Champion t-shirt and the aforementioned, one-woman dorkapalooza that was my Superman jacket. I was all puffy about the face in those years and sported thick, gold-rimmed glasses. My hair was in desperate need of fixing -- an inch and a half of growth gave me near-black roots atop with horrifically bleached, highlighted streaks below. I was a freakin' mess.

The show was taped in studios at Park Avenue and 106th (which are now BET.) I was given half a dozen tickets, which I distributed to my brother and friends; they sat in the audience on wooden bleachers. A handful of other friends secured tickets on their own knowing I would be competing that day. I was ushered upstairs to a holding lounge to join my fellow contestants filling out paperwork, being lectured on rules and regulations, and being encouraged to be as relentlessly enthusiastic (deranged even) as possible.


Six shows taped that day and I was in the second batch. We all received new L.A. Gear sneakers we were required to wear. Once our astonishingly white high-tops were laced, we were escorted down to the soundstage. My memory is good, if not perfect, and the experience was surreal. Friends who witnessed it live, and those who watched it on MTV, assure me I was a force of nature.

I was strapped into the LazyBoy recliner closest to the crowd, furthest from the game show cast, slated to flip over backwards if i were to be eliminated. That, I was determined, would not happen. The intros were done, the preliminary banter complete and the game begun. It took me a few questions before I found my mojo, got into a flow. I held my own during the first round. Kenny's mom's voice announced that his package from Frederick's of Hollywood had arrived, signaling the end of the first round and snacktime. I placed a plastic bowl over my head to catch the falling vittles. Our 'snack' was S'MORES - stagehands pelted us from above with whole graham crackers, large marshmallows and Hershey Miniatures (they leave a mark.) During the commercial break we were reminded to overact and be animated when the camera was on us. Viewing the footage now, I look like I suffered from seizures that made me flip my hair and pump my fist repeated, interrupted only by Tourette's-like outbursts which turned me into a Whoo! Girl. So not my finest moment.

But the irrefutable, undeniable fact was that, without question, pathetic dork or not, completely and totally dominated the second round. I blew through categories, nailed questions, stole the game. (Ken Ober even commented on it... noting I was running away with the game and suggesting my fellow contestants might want to get a program.) I remembered that John Ritter starred in Hooperman, a TV series about a San Francisco P.I. I knew that Richard Chamberlain starred in The Thorn Birds. And I was positive Chuck Barris hosted The Gong Show (not Chuck Berry, as answered by one of my rivals.)

I was seriously bummed that StudBoy did not make an appearance. No Denis Leary either. But I did get to "Sing Along With Colin" twice. (The first song was Elvis Costello's "(What's So Funny 'Bout) Peace, Love and Understanding" and the second, the groundbreaking classic, "The Right Stuff," by NKOTB.) By the time the second round ended, I was in the lead by leaps and bounds. Tom, the Deadhead in the tie-dyed t-shirt and bandana, was pulled back through the wall; I competed against Weezy, a dental hygienist Ober suggested was sniffing the nitrous oxide, in the lightning round. As Ober pointed out, the lightning round would determine the game only if 'Ilene dropped dead of a heart attack.' Really, Tom and Weezy never stood a chance and for that, I'm sorry. Just a little bit.

Weezy was tossed from the show and that left me, tightly strapped into the chair, trying to exude excitement at my ascent into the Grand Prize round. By the time the voiceovers and promos were done and we were heading into a commercial break, the camera was focused on me, now strapped into the animal-print CraftMatic Adjustable bed. (Really, what was with all the restraints?) What viewers saw was Ken Ober talking to me about the excessive number of pins featuring long-haired pop stars on the front of my denim jacket. He was funny and sweet with a baby face. He wished me luck but said he was pretty impressed at how I'd done so I probably didn't need much.

Coming back from commercial, they announced what the Grand Prize would be. While most of the TV screen was filled with pictures of the prize, a small square showed my 'reaction' and 'excitement' as I too was learning of my potential prize. This presented two problems. For starters, the most annoying of all the talent staff was just off camera jumping around like a chimp hepped up on goofballs, trying to get me to be more animated, so I look like an idiot in a box. Second, the big kahuna prize was four nights, five days at Caesar's Resort in Lake Tahoe. What the FUCK? Hold up. The day before my taping, grand prize winners got Mitsubishi Eclipses. CARS?! And every show I'd ever watched, the big vacation prize was a week in the Bahamas. Who the hell wanted to go to Tahoe? It was SO incredibly unfair.

It was all up to me now. I focused. I tuned everything else out. I had tunnel vision.

The countdown clock started and the nine TV screens blared video and music at me. I identified the artists. U2, The Bangles, Bobby Brown, Bryan Adams, Beastie Boys, Whitney Houston, I'm forgetting one, then XTC (how incredibly obscure) and .38 Special (how random.)

I WON. IN RECORD TIME. Like fourteen seconds. Confetti poured. Streamers streamed. The crowd cheered. Ken Ober and Colin Quinn climbed atop the bed with me and bound my hands together with streamers while credits rolled. And then, it was all over. they cleared us off the stage and brought in the next batch of contestants.

What did I win, you ask? I won the trip to Lake Tahoe, a two-person SunSnark sailboat (donated to a summer camp for sick children,) a Surround Sound system (donated to a college boyfriend,) binoculars (I still have them,) a stereo (my first-ever CD player,) a synthesizer (I have no idea what happened to it,) an 11" television (which followed me to my dorm sophomore year,) the aforementioned sneakers and a load of CDs. I did more paperwork, grabbed my old sneakers and joined my friends waiting for me on the street outside the studios. Not a bad day's work in Spanish Harlem!

It was whirlwind. My friends couldn't believe what they witnessed. I obliterated the competition. It didn't seem real. I just sort of floated in a world of my own the rest of the day. My brother and friends returned to Long Island to share stories of my Remote Control triumph. I stayed in New York City, going for lunch with my best friend Jenny (who one year later went with me to Lake Tahoe) and we went over the details of what I had pulled off over and over and over again. What could possibly make that day any better? Jenny gave me an early birthday gift. She handed me shoebox; inside was a stuffed Elmo doll holding tickets to the Skid Row concert at the New Ritz!!! (I was SO gonna have to get those roots done in time!)

The actual airing of my episode wasn't until end of the summer, Labor Day weekend. We hosted a viewing party in my parents' basement and had half a dozen family friends taping the show on VHS machines across Long Island. SO many people saw the show. It gave me a tiny bit of quasi-pseudo-not-quite-celebrity-status in my hometown for all of about a week. Only one or two copies of the VHS tapes exist still today. I usually tell people the networks original show tapes were lost to the MTV office fire in the early 90's. But those who are lucky enough, deemed worthy to enter my inner circle, are granted viewing of my total domination and permitted to mock my appearance, lovingly.

That was just over twenty years ago. Time flew by so quickly. I still have a handful of confetti, picked from my hair and the pockets of that Superman jacket, stored in the etched wineglass from my Senior Prom. The Superman jacket is likely collecting dust in the attic at my parents' home. The spandex (thank god) is gone. The blonde hair (thank god) is no more. I treasure my trip to Lake Tahoe, even though when I went I was not yet old enough to gamble, to drink or to rent a car. Horseback riding high up in the Sierra Nevadas more than made up for that.

Just a couple of years ago I hung out with Colin Quinn in New York. Some I'd become friends with as an adult counted Colin among her ex-boyfriends with whom she stayed in touch. We all talked, laughed, and hung out on the bed with the dog and watched TV together. At some point, I mentioned aloud that I'd only Colin twice in twenty years yet both times involved beds. Weird.

Over the past two decades, Ken Ober went on to be a writer and producer on shows like "Mind of Mencia" and "The New Adventures of New Christine," making a name for himself far behind the scenes. Once the sad news broke yesterday that he had passed, his friends and colleagues offered statements remembering him as one of the wittiest funniest and nicest people in the industry. Friends and colleagues of MINE felt compelled to email and text and call and instant-message me because their memories of Ken Ober were tied to their memory of my minor moment in the spotlight.

I met Ken Ober just once but shared an experienced I will remember for a lifetime and therefore, he'll forever be a part of that memory.
Rest in Peace.