The Fred Rogers Center, Brian Linder & Me

Just shy of a year ago, Chris and I drove through Latrobe, Pennsylvania, looking for a sign of Mister Rogers in his hometown. We couldn't find a statue or school, didn't know his childhood adress, and didn't think visiting his grave was in keeping with the film.

We drove to the highest spot we could find, looked out over the valley, spotted Saint Vincent College shining in the distance. There, just below the twin-steepled, red-brick basilica, we could scarcely discern a muddy patch of construction where the Fred Rogers Center For Early Learning & Children's Media sat half-built.

Truth is, we'd done little more than a drive-by less than an hour prior. At the time, while we had Mrs. Rogers' blessing, we still weren't sure whether we had his Family Comminications'. We didn't want to jeopardize it by setting up a tripod and camera outside the center, so we slowed down, shot out the window, and kept going.

Fast-forward a year, and the Fred Rogers Center has officially opened its doors.

The center's mission is to advance the state of early learning and children's media by acting as a catalyst for communication, collaboration and creative change across both fields.

Moreover, the center has a new director who appears to understand just how radically the media landscape has shifted in the five years since Mister Rogers passing.

"The distinction between a child being a user and consumer [of media] has been obliterated," said Maxwell King, who became director of the center last month. "We want to provide guidance and standards" for children, parents and educators.

In a stroke of synchronicity, "Save Mister Rogers" advocate Brian Linder called yesterday.

Seems Brian -- who's frustration with PBS' decision to cease daily delivery of the show to its affiliates inspired his movement -- is finding himself drawn to the storytelling around The Neighborhood too. Specifically, he's connecting with former cast members like Neighbor Aber (Chuck Aber), Lady Aberlin (Betty Aberlin), and Handy Man Negri (Joe Negri), all of whom have terrific stories to tell.

I told him that if I had unlimited resources and time, I'd quit The MTV today, and we'd go interview all of 'em together. Brian (who works for IGN, is married and the father of twin daughters) laughed and agreed; unfortunately, resources and time are limited.

Instead, we hatched a plan to meet at the Center -- with or without cameras -- sometime soon.

"It's written into the films' epilogue anyway," I told him. "I'll send you the script."

I hope we can pull it off.

Mister Rogers, Divorce & Me

"Mister Rogers Talks To Parents About Divorce" premiered on Sunday February 15, 1981, just as my parents' marriage was falling apart.

Unfortunately, it took twenty-five years to learn of the show's existence, and until this afternoon to see it myself for the very first time.

All I knew of Susan Stamberg's relationship to Fred Rogers when I walked into NPR's Washington, DC, studios way back in November, 2006, was that the two had taped some television specials together in the '80s. Imagine my surprise, then, when I discovered the topic of the specials was divorce, something my family had endured, and about which Mister Rogers and I had conversed.

When our copy of the show was finally shipped from FCI last week, my sense of serendipity was heightened still when Chris told me the original air date.

The hour-long special is nothing if not deep and simple. Susan hosts, fielding questions from the WQED studio audience, while Fred and author and bereavement counselor, Rabbi Earl Grollman, respond. Periodically, Fred tosses to brief interview segments with young children.

The set, graphics, and wardrobe are antiquated to be sure. Still, the premise, pacing and patience is so Fred Rogers: deep and simple through and through.

At one point, Susan asks him why the Neighborhood had recently taken its viewers on a tour of the inside of a plane.

There are a lot of children who have to fly alone back and forth between their mothers and their fathers. And I've talked to stewardesses who say that sometimes they're scared, and sometimes they cry.

For any of you who know anything about my recording career (and for those of you who don't, my 2001 song, "Crash Site," was a metaphor for my parent's divorce, and the airplane trips shuttling between them), it was a section I had to watch twice.

As Susan wrapped up the show, and Fred said his final words -- warm and sage as always -- I found myself standing there in front of the television with a big smile on my face, and even bigger crocodile tears in my eyes.

"Remember," he said, "How persistent the feelings of childhood are all through our lives."

Saving Mister Rogers

I'm blessed and lucky for my brief but meaningful time with Mister Rogers, and the wheels those few moments set in motion.

When I need a dose of calm, or insight on managing my anger, sadness, or fear in the face of this crazy, crazy world, I don't have to go anywhere or do anything. I just pause, and I hear him in my head.

What's more, he's rarely out of eyeshot. At my office, a photo of us in the living room of his Crooked House rests on a shelf above my desk, and a postcard reading, "It's such a good feeling to know that we're friends" is tacked to my bulletin board. At home, I've framed the very first photo he sent me, one that reads, "For my real ACK neighbor!" Another postcard (this one reading "You make each day a special day by just your being you!") is on the refrigerator.

When the news broke a few weeks ago that PBS told member stations it would send them just one weekly episode of "Mister Rogers' Neighborhood" instead of one daily, I'll be honest: I was sad, but not terribly surprised.

He is a permanent part of my life, as influential as many of my friends and family. What's more, by the time I have children old enough to watch, best as I can tell from my conversations with FCI, Fred will be available either on DVD or on-demand, or both.

As media executive, I wasn't terribly shocked. Throughout the making of "Mister Rogers & Me," Chris and I have seen tiny examples of Fred's on-air presence diminishing on the local level. At one point, I launched a small letter writing campaign.

In general, though, while Chris and I discussed addressing it in the film, and even advocating on the show's behalf, it felt like more than I could chew given the context of my day job, the film, the music, etc. Plus, it felt like a different story than the one we were trying to tell. And, honestly, I was exhausted from hitting our IFP deadline.

Television is a rapidly-shifting landscape. When "Mister Rogers' Neighborhood" premiered, PBS was the fourth of four networks. Fred insisted that "We have to remember to whom the airwaves belong, and we must put as great an emphasis on the nurturing of the human personality as we can."

I believe that those of us who are the producers and purveyors of television -- or video games or newspapers or any mass media -- I believe that we are the servants of this nation.

But the market place has exploded. There are hundreds of channels, thousand if you consider online video -- all of which are radically fragmented and commodified.

To be just a little jaded for one second, I witness corporate media machinations every day. And while, in my experience, intentions are generally the best, the bottom line always prevails -- even with strong advocacy. With Fred gone, the power of that advocacy is too.

Now, I'm not entirely sure that's what's at play here. As I've witnessed at work and as I understand it (and as I witnessed first-hand when I toured Iowa Public Television last month), broadcasters are increasingly digital.

The aegis will be on local stations to manage their own "Neighborhood" libraries, no easy task as you know from keeping all your files straight on your computer. It also means that there will no longer be a shared experience; what airs in Columbia, SC, will be different than what airs in New York City.

That said, it's the subtext of the once-weekly vs. daily transmission that's disconcerting. It suggests, however implicitly, that "Mister Rogers' Neighborhood" lacks daily urgency or import.

In these days of global unrest, economic insecurity, school shootings, and a news media more interested in Lynn Spears than Lynn Cheney, Mister Rogers' soothing, patient and sage insights are

Which is why South Carolina journalist and parent Brian Linder did not rest so easily when he heard the news. As the Pittsburgh-Post Gazette put it, "he didn't have to be told twice what to do with the mad that he felt, to paraphrase one of Fred Rogers' songs."

And so, Save Mister Rogers was born.

Brian's premise is simple, his intentions the absolute best:

We’re asking PBS to please reconsider their decision, and allow Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood, with its timeless expressions of care for children, to remain a part of their syndicated Monday through Friday schedule.

Brian and I spoke real quickly yesterday. He's doing his best to helm this increasingly-visible project while retaining his day job (ours are remarkably similar: he's a freelance writer for IGN Movies) and parenting his newborn twins, Grace and Zoe. He sounds sweet, smart, and passionate. I appreciate his efforts, and look forward to speaking with him further and helping however I can.

I have every confidence that the "Neighborhood" will remain available, though, to Brian's point, it may be increasingly difficult and expensive to find and thereby increasingly limited in its reach.

The key, as always, is to remember that the airwaves belong to the public. And so the public must remain vigilant with its local PBS station in demanding that deep, simple, and essential programming like "Mister Rogers Neighborhood" remain free and unfettered on all media platforms.

For me, then, the best part of Brian's efforts, the show's future discoverability notwithstanding, is the reminder that, in this increasingly fragmented, emotionally disconnected world, we are all neighbors.

Ixnay On The Independent Film Week Debut

Rare is the day that I don't ask myself, 'What would Mister Rogers say?'

In fact, just now, I was staring out the window at the sunset doing just that. And as always, I heard his voice in my head.

"It's fine," he said. "Just keep trying."

The question?

What would Mister Rogers say when I told him our documentary, 'Mister Rogers & Me,' was not accepted to Independent Film Week?"

That's right. "Mister Rogers & Me" was not accepted to Independent Film Week. I got the email as I was walking through the turnstile at work. "Dear Benjamin," it started.

Thank you for your submission to the Documentary Work-in-Progress section of the 2008 Independent Film Week’ Project Forum. We regret to inform you that your project, “Mister Rogers & Me“, was not selected. We are only able to accommodate a maximum of 75 projects in this most competitive documentary section, which had approximately 500 submissions and numerous strong projects not selected this year.

Please be assured that all submitted projects were carefully reviewed by the Selection Committee. Final decisions were based on a range of criteria, including compliance with all application requirements, amount of financing in place or needed, available rights, artistic merit, and quality. That said, many projects "passed" these criteria, yet still could not be included due to space limitations.

I think I said, "Damn," before stepping into Times Square and cranking Billy Joel's "A Matter Of Trust" (of all things).

My first thought? 'Next!'

My second thought? Many.

First, I thought about early this afternoon. I was sitting in my office scheduling out the next few weeks: San Diego for ComicCon, Indianapolis for Brickyard 400, Meadowlands for Springsteen, Nantucket, Seattle, Nevis and on and on and on.

'I'm pretty blessed,' I thought then.

'Maybe this is some sort of message,' I thought now.

Second, I thought about how difficult the home stretch towards the Independent Film Week deadline was for Chris and me.
'Maybe this is some sort of message,' I thought.

Finally, I thought about how many times I said that, if all else failed, we'd load the movie into a van and drive it to every church basement and rec center that'd have us. Which still stands.

And then I thought, 'Back to work.'

We just have to keep trying.

Mister Rogers On The Penny?

My friend Jen Snow over at 826NYC sent me this link.



Kinda' hilarious, huh? I'm not sure I ever thought of it, or noticed it, but it sure made me laugh this morning.

Tim Russert, Mister Rogers & Me

The New York Times just confirmed some sad news: Tim Russert has died of a heart attack.

You'll recall that Chris and I visited Tim in his NBC offices in November, 2006 to interview him for our documentary.

We scored the interview courtesy of my uncle, with whom Tim had worked for years, after I read Tim's wife, Maureen's, remembrance of Mister Rogers in The Nantucket Inquirer-Mirror some months earlier.

It was a cold, drizzly Monday morning as we pulled into NBC's Washington, DC, bureau. Despite a fair dose of preparation, I felt exceedingly nervous. Here I was -- some kid from Iowa -- interviewing on of journalism's foremost interviewers. Worse, it was only Chris and my third shoot, and one that had to take place under challenging circumstances; we had just fifteen minutes to get what we needed.

We were ushered through the lobby by his assistant, Lisa, past the "Meet The Press" set, to a large, off-white, windowless conference room dominated by a huge, oak table. Chris and I quickly conferred on our set up, and tossed up our two lights -- one of which, we discovered, was missing its bulb. Moments before one of the biggest interviews of my life, I dashed through the rain to our car for a replacement.

I was pacing the conference room when Tim finally walked in. I'd asked Chris to roll on our handshake, which he did. He asked about our uncle, asked about the film, made a quick sports reference of some sort (which I probably feigned to understand), then sat down and began mic'ing up like an pro.

I remember noticing some makeup in the corner of his eyes, presumably left over from a previous TV appearance. I led with a question about Nantucket, which threw him a bit. "Is the film about Nantucket? Or FredRogers?" I explained, and we were off.

We talked a while longer than fifteen minutes, moving from his first trip to Nantucket as a college student to meeting Mister and Mrs. Rogers when his son, Luke, was five-years-old. Then I asked about his parents.

Benjamin Wagner: Reading your book, it struck me that your parents and Mister Rogers were somehow on the same page.

Tim Russert: I remember my mom would wake me up every morning she would stand at the foot of the steps and say,"Tim, Tim, Tim." Very soft, sweet voice. But she had a direct frequency to my heart. And it taught me so many lessons which I use every Sunday morning.

You don’t have to be loud for people to pay attention to you. And I think that's something that Mister Rogers taught too. You can walk into a room and be respectful, and be civil, and have very strong views but learn how to disagree agreeably.

And the thing that baffles me about Washington as we sit here and talk is that we all learn these same lessons but somehow people come here and forget them. And I think that the world would be a lot better off and I know that the relations between Congress and the White House would be a lot better of if they remembered and listened to Big Russ and Mister Rogers.

As we wrapped our our interview, I drew a parallel between the two shows, "Meet The Press" and "Mister Rogers' Neighborhood."

BW: "Meet The Press" is the nation's longest running network television program. And "Mister Rogers' Neighborhood" is public television’s longest running program. I wonder if you can draw some meaning or connection from that fact.

TR: Well, they’re both national treasures. I happen to be a temporary custodian. And I think Fred would see himself as a temporary custodian in allowing more and more people to see it as it's replayed and replayed even after his death. And the essence of those programs was to get people of good intentions and open hearts to sit down and talk with one another, and learn from one another.

I've always believed as my mom and dad taught me and as Fred Rogers taught millions of Americans that true quality, true wholesomeness does rise and is embraced and respected.

His warmth, substance, intelligence and humor really shone through in our interview. You can see it in our trailer: his is the first testimonial at roughly 1:10 in.

Just like with Mister Rogers, it seemed like there was a segment of culture that wanted to tear Tim down in some way, whether for being too partisan, or not too partisan enough, or playing some role in the Valerie Plame case, or whatever. I don't really where the truth is on any of that and, to be honest, I don't really care to.

All I know is that this immensely well-connected and busy gentlemen took a half an hour out of his day to talk with a couple of young guys making an independent documentary about something as esoteric as the need for depth and simplicity in modern culture. In addition to contributing a few terrific stories and some great insight to "Mister Rogers & Me," Tim's participation lent an air of legitimacy to the rest of our production.

As I've said before, eulogies are usually hurried and artless. This is surely both.

But it is also well intentioned, full of love, and full of gratitude. I'm so grateful Chris and I met Tim Russert, and spent a little bit of time talking about some pretty important stuff: soft voices, good intentions, and open hearts.

"Mister Rogers & Me" Applies To Independent Film Week!

I don't know much about gambling, or numbers, but I like to think that submitting our Independent Film Week online application at precisely 7:11 is somehow fortuitous; these two seem pretty good together.

In addition to two DVD screeners, and a $60 entree fee, the application called for a 25 word logline, 60 word synopsis, 500 word summary, and 500 word artistic statement. Here's what I came up with.

LOGLINE: American's Favorite Neighbor, PBS icon, Fred Rogers, sends a young MTV producer on a quest for depth and simplicity amidst a shallow and complex world.

SYNOPSIS: An MTV producer's life is transformed when he meets the recently retired host of "Mister Rogers' Neighborhood," Fred Rogers. Friendship with the PBS icon sets the young producer on a hero's quest to find depth and simplicity amidst a shallow and complex world through conversations with Susan Stamberg (NPR), Tim Russert ("Meet The Press"), Marc Brown ("Arthur") and more.

SUMMARY: I first met Mister Rogers at his summer home on Nantucket, Massachusetts, in September 2001. My mother rented the cottage next door. Mister Rogers really was my neighbor.

On the afternoon of our first meeting, he asked me about my job as an MTV producer. Though I’m absolutely certain he didn’t intend it, the inquiry felt like an indictment coming from one of PBS’ founding fathers. Here he was an icon of substantive television. Me? Not so much. At the end of our conversation, he said, "I feel so strongly that deep and simple is far more essential than complex."

The following summer, I told him how I’d thought all year about what he said.

"Spread the message, Benjamin," He said. "Spread the message."

It was only after his death in February 2003, that it dawned on me how. Armed with an HDV camera, my brother and I set out to meet some of Mister Rogers’ neighbors to find out more about the man himself, what he meant by “deep and simple,” and where in our junk food culture that ethos still survives.

Our travels led us to Durham, North Carolina, where Mister Rogers' friend, mystic, author and activist, Bo Lozoff, runs The Kindness Foundation. There we learned the three core tenants of a deeper life: contribute to community, reflect daily, and be wary of material.

In Virginia we met “The Simple Faith of Mister Rogers” author Amy Hollingsworth, with whom we discussed how this ordained minister’s faith manifested in his work on television.

In Washington, DC, we visited Mister Rogers’ iconic red sweater at The Smithsonian. Across town, Meet The Press” host Tim Russert shared his tale of meeting Mister Rogers on Nantucket, and spoke to how deep and simple values hold up in our nation’s capital. Later, we interviewed NPR’s Susan Stamberg, with whom Mister Rogers shot numerous television specials in the ‘80s.

Back in New York, “Arthur” author Marc Brown told us how Mister Rogers inspired his entrée into children’s programming. Later, “Nick News” host, Linda Ellerbee, amplified the challenges facing the modern media programmer. And “I'm Proud of You” author Tim Madigan shared the lesson he learned from his relationship with Mister Rogers: that friendship comes from the least expected sources.

In Nantucket, photographer Beverly Hall shared her memories of being Mister Rogers' actual neighbor: surprise visits, tiny gestures, and quiet moments.

Our path then led to Mister Rogers’ adoptive hometown of Pittsburgh, where "This American Life" contributor Davy Rothbart told us how his two encounters with America’s Favorite Neighbor continue to inspire his appreciation of reflective moments (even as they elude him).

Finally, we arrived in Latrobe, Pennsylvania, where groundbreaking for The Fred Rogers Center For Early Learning & Children's Media has begun on the hill above Fred Rogers' hometown.

In the end, we came to know more than just the man and his luminous legacy. In the end, we uncovered the forces acting against depth and simplicity, and developed tactics to advocate for and make for us deeper, simpler lives.

ARTISTIC STATEMENT: In making "Mister Rogers & Me," I am making good on an assignment given to me by Fred Rogers himself one dark and stormy night in Nantucket, Massachusetts. There, in the firelight of my family's rented cottage, America's favorite Neighbor -- our actual neighbor -- quietly told me to "spread the message."

That message, that "deep and simple is far more essential than shallow and complex," is more than a cultural tension. It is a personal one. When I was offered an opportunity to launch MTV News Online's daily news operation in 1996, I worried that -- as much as I loved the channel growing up -- it wouldn't make for a meaningful, substantive career. Worse, I was concerned it would detract from my real passion: writing, recording and performing my own music. Still, I took the job.

When I met PBS icon (and fellow musician) Mister Rogers five years later, he asked about my music, and my career. I stammered something that felt like half-justification, half-truth. Music had been an important refuge for me growing up, I said. And music journalism like Rolling Stone and MTV News had revealed to me that my idols wrestled with the same things I did: familial strife, self esteem, and addiction.

"You know, Benjamin," he said staring out to sea, "I feel so strongly that deep and simple is far more essential than shallow and complex."

It's difficult to characterize how radically that meeting, that conversation, and the assignment Mister Rogers handed me has affected me. I talk about the man, his message, and our friendship every day. I try to make good on his values in everything I do. And I have spent the last four years putting this documentary together with my brother in our own time and on our own dime.

Creatively, I've endeavored to tell this story in the best, most-engaging way that I know how: the first person. In doing so, my investment and curiosity is palpable as I act as proxy for the audience, asking and answering questions on their behalf.

I've often described the story as a hero's quest. In it, I leave my community (New York City), seek wise elders (Bo Lozoff, Susan Stamberg), discover deeper meaning to probing questions (How do we create deeper lives amidst an increasingly shallow culture?), before returning home to share the good news.

Visually and aurally, my brother and I endeavored to contrast our frenetic, often shallow and always complex modern lives in New York City with our tranquil, deep and simple moments on the corner of Nantucket Island known as Madaket.

Philosophically, our goal is simple: to afford the viewer the opportunity to reflect not just on a great man, but also on the values he espoused and embodied every day: compassion, kindness, and reflection.

Once IFP confirms receipt of our DVDs, entry #898 is official. By July 23d, Chris and I will know if "Mister Rogers & Me" has in audience come September.

Stay tuned!

On The Road With Mister Rogers

Our 26:20 "Mister Rogers & Me" Independent Film Week submission is comprised of four parts (three of which will make the final edit):

1) An introduction (in which I introduce myself and tell the backstory of Mister Rogers and me)

2) A biography section (in which I give the briefest sketch of Mister Rogers life)

3) A visit with Bo Lozoff at The Human Kindness Foundation (in which we learn the three core tenants of a deeper life)

4) An outro intended to demonstrate what will come next in the film.

That outro is four soundbites (Tim Russert, Susan Stamberg, Marc Brown, and Linda Ellerbee) set to music (The Poem Adpts "Bear & Racoon," as previously reported) sewn together by voice over ("The Human Kindness Foundation was only the beginning...") and driving footage.

Which is what Chris is cutting now.

In fact, he just cut down three hours of travel footage (mostly me gripping the steering wheel and staring out the window stoically) shot over the course of some 48+ total hours.

"All that driving," he said, "And we got four and a half minutes of useable footage."

Meanwhile, I'm in the back row chipping away at our summary (just a few words to go!) and artistic statement (only one graph done). After a Goodburger (works, heavy mustard), fries and a Foster's, I'm onto Coke and Snickers.

The deadline for submission is Friday. It's Tuesday night (for another 58 minutes, at least) right now. It's gonna' be down to the wire, but we'll get there...

"Mister Rogers & Me" In 25 Words Or Less?

I've been drafting our Independent Film Week application as Chris fine tunes our submission.

We've made some elegant revisions tonight, including the addition of a cute piece of footage of Ethan and me, some evocative driving b-roll, and a song by Davy Rothbart's brother's band, The Poem Adept, "Bear & Raccoon" (though we haven't officially asked Peter's permission yet).

Thing about non-linear editing is that there's no track record of what was, only what is. The project evolves before our eyes. That is, when my eyes aren't on this blog.

Anyway, other than the usual information (age, rank, seriel number), the application -- which is due in roughly 72 hours -- calls for five major items: logline (25 words), synopsis (60), summary (500), artistic statement (500), and bios (100 each). Right now, I'm 3/5 through.

The summary's not ready for prime time, though -- being that it's approaching midnight and I've been moving since 7am -- so here's what I have for now:

Logline: American's Favorite Neighbor, PBS icon Fred Rogers, sends an MTV producer on a quest for depth and simplicity amidst a shallow and complex world.

Synopsis: An MTV producer's life is transformed when he meets the recently-retired host of "Mister Rogers' Neighborhood," Fred Rogers. Friendship with the PBS icon sets the young producer on a hero's quest to find depth and simplicity amidst a shallow and complex world through conversations with Susan Stamberg (NPR), Tim Russert ("Meet The Press"), Marc Brown ("Arthur") and more.

The other pending issue is that the application calls for us to commit to either being a work-in-progress, or a rough cut some September. A work-in-progress puts us in a position to seek finishing funds. A rough cut enables us to keep our momentum, and seek distribution (and spend all summer editing after work).

Two guesses which one I'm lobbying for.

Tune in tomorrow for the answer, and the exciting conclusion to our IFP edit and application (and my immediate fall into a deep, dream-filled slumber).

Mister Rogers, Quiznos & Me

Years ago, when I was recording the first of two albums ("Almost Home" and "Love & Other Indoor Games") at my pal Kevin Anthony's Control One Studios, I began most sessions with a delicious, toasty Turkey Ranch Sub from Quiznos.

Tonight, Chris and I are editing just a few blocks from there, so I reprised the ritual... with extra pickles, as always.

The neighborhood feels a little different. Madison Square Park (where I recorded the city sounds you hear throughout my cover of John Denver's "Leaving on a Jet Plane"), for example, use to be dark and sketchy. Now, there's a trendy little outdoor dining venue (Shake Shack) beneath a canopy of bright-white lightbulbs.

Tonight, the Flatiron building was dark, but the Empire State Building was cast in a warm, purple glow. The trees were in nearly-full bloom. The city was bustling with spring energy.

Here in the edit, Chris is assembling the bio portion of the film. In this section, we give a brief overview of Mister Rogers' life through major milestones such as his premiere airing in 1968, Senate hearing in 1969, and NATAS Lifetime Achievement Award in 1997.

It isn't a complete portrait of his life by any means. It isn't meant to be. PBS' own, "Mister Rogers: America's Favorite Neighbor" is the definitive work to that end, as are the oral histories Family Communications has begun assembling.

Instead, it's our objective to give the casual viewer enough to go on. Deeper details are revealed throughout the film. This section -- roughly nine minutes into the film -- sets the stage.

Chris just cut the famous Senate hearing in which Mister Rogers gently pursuaded Senator John Pastore (D, RI) to fund PBS from seven minutes to one. The process isn't much to watch from this vantage point, but the end result sure looks cool.

Meanwhile, I just dashed off an email my Tim Russert's people asking for, amongst other things, pictures of Mister Rogers with his son, Luke.

And harkening back to those Quiznos-fueled recording sessions, I even spent a few minutes corresponding with The Nadas' bassist and Sonic Factory Studios recording engineer, Jon Locker, about my next album, "The Invention of Everything Else."

Everything comes around, after all.