So, of late I have been spending a lot of my time finishing my recovery from the illness of earlier this year. More time than I thought, (I was sure I'd be 100% by now), but way less than the docs thought, (they're pleased).

With all the hue and cry about this “Health Care Bill” that’s, hopefully, being passed this weekend, we’ve all heard a lot of stories about the “system” and just how bad it really is. Stories of people getting bounced for getting sick; getting jerked around on policies they’ve paid into for years; of 46,000 people who’ll die this year for lack of affordable insurance; and on and on. A bill that’s meant to rectify the situation for the “victims” of the Health Care system.

 

I don’t particularly like the word, (or concept), “victim”. Until now. I guess that now applies to me, and for me, that’s unusual. It’s taken me 5 days sitting alone, in mostly silence, to get my thoughts together enough to write this out. That’s even more unusual for me.

 

On January 1, after having spent the day with my great friend Jan, I felt fine and went to bed healthy (?), and happy… really looking forward to the New Year. New business partner in the management company, 3 projects about to pop, the handyman business going great guns… things seemed really great and on a serious rebound.

 

On January 2, I woke up to loud screaming. It was me. I was drenched in sweat and barely breathing. Worst pain I've ever felt, in my lower abdomen.

I was rushed to St. John’s in Santa Monica, the closest hospital to my home (and where 8 years ago my son, Cole, was born). I sat in the ER waiting room for an hour while they did I-don’t-know-what. Finally, at about an hour and a half, they moved me back into the ER and put me on a gurney in a common area. Two excruciating hours in, they finally gave me a painkiller and told me a doctor would see me soon. The painkiller not working at all, at 3 ½ hours in, they finally took me for an X-ray, then a scan. Still no doctor, and no one could tell me what was wrong.

 

At 6 hours, a Physician’s Assistant came in to tell me it appeared I had Diverticulitis. She could barely explain to me what that was, how I got it, or ANYTHING, and I asked to see a doctor. She was offended, and rather snidely said, “I’ve met with the doctor and was told what to tell you”. I asked for the doctor to come in and was told he’d be in to see me shortly after I was admitted and moved into a room. I asked for another pain shot and was told that would come in the room also.

 

At least the pain shot showed up when I got in the room, because no doctor did. Gratefully, at least the nurse was able to detail what Diverticulitis is, and said the doctor would be in shortly. Long story short, no doctor ever showed up that first day, Saturday. In fact, the designated physician, Dr. Ghodsian, didn’t show until about noon on Sunday, (30 hours after I arrived), and was as curt, uncaring, and hardly present as a doctor could possibly be. Hippocratic oath, anyone? He spent, literally, less than 5 minutes examining me, telling me what was wrong, and bidding me adieu promising to be back the following morning at 8, likely to release me. I asked him to be more specific and he told me “It’s Sunday, I don’t have much time, so I will be in first thing tomorrow morning to give you all the time and answers you need”. Even the nurse thought this was rude because she chased him out into the hallway and, loud enough for everyone to hear, told him what an ass he was.

 

Dr. Ghodsian showed at 7:10pm Monday night, with a release order and prescriptions in hand. He still hadn’t really told me what was wrong, how bad it was, what recovery would entail… pretty much bupkis. Just, “I looked at your chart; your blood work was fine, the scan normal, so you can go home. Fill and take these 2 antibiotics and the painkiller, as needed, stay on a mild diet for a few days, and you’ll be just fine”. I knew this wasn’t right as I was still at an insane level of pain, and asked, “Are you sure I shouldn’t stay overnight to make sure this doesn’t flare again?”, to which he responded, “I’m the doctor, you’ll be fine”. Again, even the nurse thought this was bullshit, but this one didn’t speak up.

 

I checked out, and stopped at the pharmacy to fill the scrips. They couldn’t be filled because Dr. Compassionate had written them on the wrong pad. They called the pager number on the scrip and it was disconnected. Frustrated, and still really wasted from the pain shot I’d gotten right before leaving the hospital, I went out to the car to get ALL the papers in hopes of finding the proper number. I did, we called, and got it somewhat straightened out. They wouldn’t have one drug until the next day, but the doctor said I’d already had all the meds I’d needed for that day and could start these meds the next. I had some pain pills at home (from back troubles last year) so figured I’d be okay. I went home, took a couple of Vicodin and went to bed.

 

Well… I awoke 7:15 Tuesday morning in worse pain than Saturday, (but at least had a few Vicodin which I took immediately), and headed back to St. John’s. When I walked in the ER doors, the admitting nurse said “See, Mr. Hassman, that’s what you get for sneaking out to party!”. I wished it’d been funny enough to laugh. I was not only freaking from the pain at this point, but fuming that Dr. Ghodsian had released me. I said, “I was released by Ghodsian last night at 7” to which he replied “No way. The only reason I even remember you is because we discussed your case Sunday, it was so severe”. Nice. Just what I wanted to hear.

 

This time, after a few minutes of forms I was led quickly to a private room off the ER, and made comfortable (can you say "fear of medical malpractice"?). Jan arrived to sit with me. And within a few minutes, lo and behold, the warm, compassionate, speedy Dr. Ghodsian appeared, feigning shock that I was back, and backpedalling like a pro. “Your charts were fine…”. “My ass”, I said as politely as I could, “I asked you not to release me…”. (I later had it confirmed to me, he probably never even looked, because the original Saturday admission chart showed a sky-high white count and the Saturday scan showed leakage, meaning perforation).

 

Then, the lead attending, Dr. Srikureja, walked in, introduced himself and asked Ghodsian what he was doing there. Ghodsian asked him into the hallway. Jan and I agreed Ghodsian was telling Srikureja he fucked up and asking him to cover. After a few minutes Dr. Srikureja came back in, alone, with a crooked smile on his face. “Let me guess”, I said, “he was trying to get you to cover for him”. “yes he was”, said Dr. S, “and I told him what I’ll tell you; I cover for no one. If he screwed up, he’ll pay for it, as there’s no place at my hospital for doctors like that”. A friendship was born (and yes, I will be using him as my GP from now on). While hmmm-ing over my chart, he immediately ordered an IV with Dilaudid and an antibiotic, and called for Dr. Foshag, the hospital’s main surgeon, for a consult. Within minutes Dr. Foshag’s main associate, Dr.Moran, was there explaining to me what was wrong, how it [likely] happened, courses of treatment…for a geek like me it was information heaven, and what I should’ve gotten that first day. I felt better just knowing this stuff.     

 

About a half hour later, Dr. Foshag showed up. Turns out, as good a surgeon as his reputation would indicate, he’s an even better human. No God complex here at all, just a really good guy. After a brief exam of me and my chart, he ordered me admitted again. When he completed his exam, he carefully laid out my options, though he had already decided on one.

 

He had decided I was too young and vital for a colostomy so they would treat me with intense antibiotics, and 2cc Dilaudid every 2 hours for pain. It might take weeks, but it would eliminate the colostomy bag and the lengthy healing that would mean before I could have the “resection” - the surgery to completely repair the problem. They started immediately. Turned out it would take 28 days in the hospital.

 

The first 9 days I was extremely critical, then 9 days critical, 5 days serious, last 5 days in hospital in good condition. They felt they had it healed enough to avoid colostomy, so they sent me home, and I’ll be on heavy antibiotics at home until the surgery.The tissue is badly impacted from the inflammation so it could be up to 2 months.

In the month and a half I've been home it's been really tough going. The tissue was so inflamed and damaged, healing is almost as incredibly painful as the original illness was. I’m living primarily on BOOST and ENSURE (as I still can't eat much "solid" food), scrambled eggs, WHITE toast, rice krispies, etc...a low-residue diet. I'm down to 168 from 195. Oddly enough, though, I feel amazing this thin, though I have only about a fifth the energy I’m used to. Can’t ride my bike, run, swim, or even walk more than a block without needing to rest.

 

Have I mentioned yet I have no health insurance? It’s about to become relevant to the story… (When the economy, and therefore both businesses, tanked 2 ½ years ago, the $1k/month became impossible, so I dropped it and got into an Industry based group at the Venice Clinic. But it all seemed moot because I’d never really been too sick).

 

2 weeks ago, Dr. Foshag decided I was ready for the surgery and called St. John’s to schedule it. My white count went up so we tried rescheduling a few days later. A date was set. Then, early last week I got a call from Dr. F’s office saying I needed to call St John’s immediately. I called the Financial Assistance office, as instructed, only to be told they couldn’t find my paperwork. I was stunned, as I’d already been scheduled once for surgery, and told when I originally submitted the papers in mid-February, I qualified. I re-sent everything and called 3 days later to check my status. They still couldn’t find the paperwork, so I faxed AND emailed the app again.

 

On Thursday, March 11, I received a very brief call from a Natasha at St. John’s Financial Office telling me I was refused assistance because I am not a resident of Santa Monica! “I was told weeks ago I was approved and scheduled for surgery” said I, feeling the beginnings of the explosion that was going to take place in my head any second. “Sir, I was asked to process your application only 2 days ago for the first time, so I don’t know how that could’ve been possible, but you would qualify if you lived in Santa Monica”.

 

“Ma’am, this is the third time I’ve had to send in my app, and the first one was obviously approved, then lost. How is this possible? I was treated at, and my surgeon practices at, your hospital. It is the only place I can get this done, and without it, I will likely not survive”. “I’m sorry sir, you just don’t meet all the qualifications”. “How do I appeal?”. “I’m not sure you can, but if so it would be through the Assistance Manager, Samantha”. I’ve now left Samantha 5 messages since that conversation and not received a return call.

 

This morning, Brandi from the main billing office called to ask when I was going to pay the bill from January. I explained the entire situation to her, she was compassionate and appalled, and she promised to get an intra-office memo to Samantha to have her either call me or send me the appeal papers. I won’t be holding my breath, I’ve got enough health problems…

 

This has been quite the ordeal, and, honestly, I'm really only scratching the surface. This is long, and sad, enough. You already know about the original malpractice, but there’s the day a nurse gave me the wrong meds (I coded) and the nurse who decided my doctor was giving me too much pain meds and tried to change my “protocol”, not give me the Dilaudid or let me walk around, which the docs were insisting I do (she was reprimanded).

  
Eventually, I will be better, as the resection will repair all the damage I didn't even know I had, (never had bad stomach/GI issues, this came completely out of the blue). That is if I can get the appeal passed and have the surgery before I have another attack. The doc says I won’t survive that…

And the really hairy part, (as if this isn’t all bad enough), is all the meds and scans I’ve been paying for, (which were to be reimbursed under the Financial Assistance Agreement), are now MY out of pocket expenses. More than $15k since I’ve been out of the hospital, with no end in sight if I don’t have the surgery. And I cannot work a full schedule.

 

The entertainment stuff is constant phone calls and interactions, which are exhausting, and the handyman stuff mostly too physically exhausting. I’m 2 months behind in my rent and bills....ahhh, but that's another story.....

 I awoke this morning in a great mood. Went out with a great lady last night and had fun. Things with Brian, my new associate, are going well. Everyone’s healthy….

 

Then I looked at the computer and uncontrollable tears ran down my cheeks, and I felt like I’d crashed and was in flames. Soupy Sales died yesterday.

 

Soupy was my first real idol. When I was a “tween” I had lunch with Soupy, Whitefang, Blacktooth, Pookie, Marilyn, The Unseen Neighbour, and the rest of the lunatics nearly every day. Little of the food made it to my stomach, as it’s impossible to swallow, and keep from “spraying”, when you’re guffawing. Yes, guffawing, because you didn’t simply laugh with Soupy, you howled.

 

Thanks to my liberal parents, by the age of 12 I was already forming my political ideology, but I knew little about true Anarchy. Soupy taught me, and the lessons I learned from him, albeit unintentionally, have shaped my entire life. He taught me there’s nothing so serious you can’t look at it - hell, dissect it - with humor. And the humor made the lesson stick. Genius.

 

Yes, Soupy was a genius. One need only look at the New Years Day, 1965 “incident” to get that. Television was a teenager, and still in its formative stages then, and Nielsen’s ratings system only beginning, when Soupy got suspended for telling his audience of kids to “sneak quietly in daddy and mommy’s room, (they’re sleeping off last night), and go in their purses and wallets, and grab all those green-paper pictures of old men in beards and send them to me here at WNEW…”.

 

Reports are he got $80,000 dollars (which was all returned)!!!! He also got suspended, with Metromedia’s aim being to cancel him for totally fucking with FCC regulations. Within 5 days, though, the station had received 50,000+ calls and letters and he was back on the air with an unrepentant vengeance. He started the first show back with the entire troupe dancing to the strains of “Happy Days Are Here Again”, the glint in his eye brighter than ever. He’d clearly proven the power of the medium, something that no other entertainment show had ever done. Genius.

 

At the height of the Beatles popularity, Soupy had a number one hit with “The Mouse”, another stroke of genius. If you’ve never seen or heard it, do a YouTube search for it. You won’t regret it, and you will learn something about the man who changed children’s television forever. Soupy knew what worked.

 

He was the king of the “what can we get away with?” double entendre. My favorite was, “I took my girlfriend to a baseball game. I kissed her on the strikes, she kissed me on the balls”. It got past the censors. I was watching that day, and at 14, understood it on the grown-up level. I nearly died gasping for breath. His references to Banana Cream Pie were legendary.

 

His cast of characters, in front of and behind the cameras, were phenomenal, and always, somehow, in on the joke. He broke the “fourth wall” before that term entered the general lexicon, and he did it daily. And his guests…oh, his guests…from Dizzy Gillespie to Sammy Davis Jr, educated an entire generation in the ways of Jazz, the music AND the lifestyle. In later life interviews he said he always looked at doing the show as a “jazz gig”; loose as a goose but completely connected. He was spot on. And his musical legacy was clear in his sons, Tony and Hunt, who have played with everyone from David Bowie to Iggy Pop.

 

But the moment that he says (and I’d agree) brought him that elusive adult audience he’d always played to anyway was this: One day his booker received a call from Frank Sinatra, who in the ‘60s was at his pinnacle. Evidently, daughter Nancy had turned Frank onto the show and Frank BEGGED to be on, with only one condition; he had to get a pie in the face, by then Soupy’s trademark. Not only was it one of Soupy’s finest, funniest moments, but it opened the floodgates to huge performers of the day also begging to be on, and being hit in the face with shaving cream pies.

 

It was a defining moment for children’s television that everything from "Pee-Wee’s Playhouse" to Seth Green’s “Robot Chicken” owe a huge debt of gratitude to, as they wouldn’t exist without Soupy Sales having broken that ground.

 

Rest In Peace, Soupy. And I hope you brought at least one big pie with you, because God’s been waiting his turn for a loooong time.

from David Sedaris, author and humorist, on undecided voters: (With thanks to John M for forwarding it to me)

"I look at these people and can't quite believe that they exist. Are they professional actors? I wonder. Or are they simply laymen who want a lot of attention? To put them in perspective, I think of being on an airplane. The flight attendant comes down the aisle with her food cart and, eventually, parks it beside my seat. 'Can I interest you in the chicken?' she asks. 'Or would you prefer the platter of shit with bits of broken glass in it?' To be undecided in this election is to pause for a moment and then ask how the chicken is cooked." (end quote)


Indeed.

I decided early. My thought processes were simple: we're a country that's more than half "minorities", (though they can't be if they're more than half...no?). However, with very few exceptions, we've always been represented by pasty white guys. It's one of the reasons so much of the world hates us.

We now have our very first chance to elect a brilliant, thoughtful, eloquent, populist, even-tempered man. A man whose climb has been fast but whose intelligence and pace are steady. And a man who, being mixed race, represents the true colors of our country.

I believe this fact alone will change, for the better, our image abroad and within our own borders.

Undecided voters....are you fucking kidding me?  

    I've said it (and you've read it) many times before, I am a political animal. More often than not in the last 15 years I have looked to a voice that is now sadly, suddenly silenced to form, or confirm, my opinions.

    My kids, mates, friends all knew we didn't go to breakfast on Sunday before MEET THE PRESS was over. Between 8 and 9 on Sunday morning you didn't call me, and if you did, I didn't answer. Even more than the network [NBC] who's Washington Bureau he guided (some say built), these last few years his imprint on MSNBC has made it my constant background, in office and home.

    To have the combination of insight and brass balls to build a network that counted among it's personalities a range from Pat Buchanan to Keith Olbermann was simply genius. And all to a Springsteen soundtrack. Imagine...
 
    The last 18 hours or so, I have been as tearfully transfixed by his co-worker's coverage [flipping between NBC and MSNBC], as I always was, gleefully, by his contributions to both channels. Again, I am a political animal, and the word of Tim Russert was my manna.

 

    But to really understand the love and absolute respect he engendered, one need only look at the interview Matt Lauer did this morning with VP Cheney. For the last 8 years he's been in the public eye, Mr. Cheney has [quite rightfully] always been seen as the leader of the evil empire; Darth Vader incarnate. Yet he's never seemed more human, more touched by anything, than he obviously was by Tim's passing.

 

    I don't know how we, as a country, will get through this election cycle without his wit and wisdom. I am not especially religious, but it's said God takes the good ones early to help him. Tim is at his side.

    It seems that the massive ego that drove Bubba into the White House wasn't his alone. His wife surely has it also, and that's not necessarily a negative criticism. 

    On Wednesday I asked Hillary to go away. I may have been a bit hasty. Her very unflattering non-concession speech of Tuesday night infuriated me, and many, many others. It was the epitome of sorelosership; quintessential nyah nyah nyah, led off by Terry McAuliff's ridiculously antagonistic introduction of "the next President of the United States".

    But I've just watched as Mrs. Clinton delivered a very strong, clear endorsement of our true next president, Barack Obama. The speech was really a few speeches, and therefore all over the map. Yes, it was overly self-congratualtory. Yes, it had an awful lot of "me" in it. And yes, she even found a way to laud Bubba's reign in it. But she somehow found a way of using that inimitably ego-centric view (so unique to politicians named Clinton) to clearly, emphatically, and convincingly lead her followers to Mr. Obama. 

    When she used his campaign slogan "Yes We Can" she did so in a way that left no doubt she believed it. When she beseeched her followers to pray for his success, she clearly included herself in that congregation. 

    So, okay, don't go away just yet, Mrs. Clinton. In fact, if you (and, hopefully, Bubba) can maintain this attitude and be this supportive and work this hard to secure Barack's eventual win, don't go away at all. Take your rightful place as a leader of our party, and our country, with pride. 

    In fact, take your place as his running mate. If, again, you can show us that the attitude of this speech was REALLY your attitude, you've earned, and deserve, it and I, for one, will support it.

(A slight P.S. - If not the Veep, Mrs. C, I pray I see you in a robe on the bench of The Supreme Court. I cannot think of anyone more able, and suited, for it, and almost hope to see you there more than as second banana. It's a much longer, much, much more impressive tenure. You deserve it).

Mrs. Clinton,
 
Ok, now go away.

At the beginning I couldn't have been a more avid supporter. With 2 daughters (and a son) I was practically drooling at the thought of such a groundbreaking run for, and win of, the presidency by someone I believed to be the most competent, able person on the scene. That you're a woman was just gravy...

BUT Mrs. Clinton, you blew it so many times in so many ways I can no longer even support you for VP, and I truly believe that you achieved the exact opposite of what you thought you were setting out to do. I believe you've now singlehandedly set the Women's Movement back a millenium, no mean feat.

You've proven yourself to be a truth-stretcher (if not an outright liar), and you and your husband (who until now has been my political idol) have proven to be just another pair of disgusting, filthy-fighting DC insiders who will stop at NOTHING to win what is not yours. Under fire in Bosnia? More people voted for you than anyone in primary history? It took the comic Sinbad (for God's sake) to blow the first lie, and your run in Michigan, in spite of an agreement NOT to run there, to validate the second. And those are just 2 of the myriad disgusting things you both have done, worst of which is the gender AND race baiting.  Jeeeezzzz.

The absolute final straw was what I consider to be the single most UNgracious, UNflattering, NONconcession speech you delivered last night. In the face of Mr. Obama's CLEAR win, you had one final chance to step up, and you clearly blew it.

GET SOME CLASS, MRS. CLINTON. Go back to carpetbagging in NY, and stay out of National politics. The country will be better served by your disappearance from the scene, and we will all enjoy the fruits of Mr. Obama's presidency far more without you being the big ugly worm in the apple.

A former supporter,

The Spielster

So, GoDaddy, the web provider for this blog, has "eaten" 3 entries since my May 11 posting that I was "back". And fool that I am I don't have back up copies of them. I didn't even discover this until I asked a friend today what she thought of the flurry of activity (the 3 new posts)!! I should have known because one was really provocative (Better Li(o)ving Thru Chemistry...NOT) yet I got no emails about it!!

They were really good (if I do say so myself) so I will try and reconstruct them over the next few days. BUT, if anyone knows a good Blog Provider, pretty please hit the link and send me an email about it.

I'm outta here as soon as I find a great new home. I'll keep you posted....if GoDaddy can handle that.... 

So, did you miss me? I missed me enough for us all, so don't worry if you didn't. After the publicity fiasco, which (don't get me wrong) had it's upside, life got weird. Being recognised is NOT what I got in this for, and I was. A lot. It made me very uncomfortable in a creepy, why-do-you-watch-those-shows kind of way. And people ask the strangest, boldest questions, especially those folks who don't know me, or him. I guess they figure they've got nothing to lose...they'll never encounter me again and this is their shot. "Did he really do it?", "How does it feel to lie publicly for someone else?", and even (a lot) "Why didn't he just plug the bastard and be done with him?". That last one always made me laugh. It said more about the questioner than anything else. It was his son, for God's sake.

But during my hiatus from me, from reality, a lot has happened in the world-at-large that I want to address. And I will, here. I've got about 12 posts almost ready and will begin putting them up this weekend. As you can imagine, a great many of them have to do with Bozo The Prez. He just continues to amaze me. And would amuse me too if he wasn't inflicting so much pain with his lunacy. But there's other stuff, too, including the impending writer's strike, my split from what's-her-name, the incredible permeation of psych-meds into our society, the state of the entertainment biz, network news, the success and failure of Spiderman 3, and much more.

So stay tuned, kids. I'm building to some incredible rants, and a couple of raves. (It is, after all, so much more fun to rant). They'll be here. Soon. Check in. 

There’s a certain comfort in anonymity; an easy grace in operating from behind a curtain. I’ve spent my 25+ years as manager for some pretty well known, amazingly talented folks, representing them from behind that shield. That came to a screeching halt this past week.

 

One of my really famous clients, who’s also a friend, got in a very highly publicized altercation involving two of his sons and himself. There was a surreal frenzy surrounding the incident, and since I really like this man, I figured the right thing to do was, for the first time in my career, come out of my comfort zone to defend him against the ridiculous allegations being leveled against him, not only by the sometimes-scummy press, but his elder son, who is a real piece of work.

 

So first, Sunday around noon I issued a statement on his behalf. And we actually thought that might slake the thirst for inside info on celebrities lives, and things would die down and go away. Silly us. Between last Sunday morning and yesterday, when very sadly another (in)famous celebrity died and took the glare off us, I fielded well over a thousand calls and emails, was quoted and misquoted ad nauseum in more media outlets than I can count, and actually went on camera for the first time in my career. And it was freaky.

 

Did you know about editing? It seems no matter what you tell them, they’ll make you say what they want. Even the good ones do it. First I did an interview for the LA Times, a relatively prestigious publication. I gave my comments on the record, but wound up being reduced to “a source close to the situation”. HEY. I have a name, damn it. And missed Prince’s halftime show to give you that statement, fucker. Then the very famous, and famously tawdry, “Page 6” from the NY Post. But, oddly, they were very nice to my client, used my name, and even spelled it right! The rest of Sunday was spent fielding 292 emails and numerous calls from news outlets ranging from the Associated Press to The Shanghai News to (I swear) The PCH Press to Good Morning America, The Today Show, and countless local LA stations. (I didn’t know there were so many….). Hell, I even got an email from Dr. Phil, who offered to have all involved parties on his show to settle the mess and heal the wounds. Big man, bigger ego. I lost count of how many statements/”interviews” I gave. I headed to my girlfriend’s house to try for some normalcy (hahaha), forgetting momentarily that my cell phone was in my pocket, and I had email access at her house, too. 

 

Then, literally at daybreak Monday, things really picked up steam. (The phone calls alone Monday passed the 350 mark). The most tenacious among them were TMZ.Com, (a site I’ve grown to love because Harvey Levin, a lawyer and former legal reporter I’ve always admired, runs it, along with a terrific woman, Gillian Sheldon, and they “vet” information better than anyone, and are accurate to the point of gospel), and Good Morning America. I gave statements and confirmed info for TMZ numerous times Monday, and they always got, and printed, it right. Can’t say that for all the other outlets I spoke to, and there were a lot, but with that renewed belief TMZ gave me that the press could get it right, and my beautiful Leah’s urging, I agreed to an on camera interview with GMA. On one condition: they didn’t show up until after we’d watched “24”!! (Gotta have some sanity in my life, even if it is only straining to hear Jack Bauer’s whispered words…..) Sure as shit, they agreed and showed up at her house at 10:30 pm to tape the piece for Tuesday morning. The crew was really nice and unobtrusive, and I know (‘cause my honey told me so) for my very first on-camera interview, I did my client, and myself, proud.

 

But you’ll never see it, or know how they cut me up, because Tuesday morning I awoke at 5 am to find another ridiculous amount of emails and phone messages, among them one from GMA telling me we’d been bumped by the breaking astronaut-in-a-diaper-love-triangle story!! So much for my first shot at this. But Leah convinced me, since my “cherry” was already popped, to pick a few others and get as much of the truth out there as I could. She’s a good one, and smart as hell, so of course I took her advice.

 

Next on Tuesday morning, I agreed to do “Entertainment Tonight”, only, as it turns out, ET is really only half of an hour block of “infotainment”, (a word I’ve quickly grown to hate), and I wound up on The Insider, too. These pieces were overseen by an amazing woman named Bonnie Tiegel. How she took 45 minutes of taped Q and A, cut them down to about 3 seconds on each show, and maintained the gist of what I said quite accurately is beyond me, but she did. And I was grateful, and pumped enough to keep talking….that is until a very famous media-whore-attorney held a press conference mid-morning to say absolutely nothing on behalf of the idiot son and his girlfriend. Followed in short order by my client’s attorney, Mark Werksman’s news conference at which he stated a lot, and refuted the insinuations made at the earlier dog-and-pony show. The rest of Tuesday and Wednesday we closed ranks and kept quiet.

 

Thursday was Jerry Penicoli on Extra. He was very nice and did a really good piece, coordinated by his assignment editor, also a really nice guy, Christopher Liss, who pursued me relentlessly. I’m glad I gave in to him. Then came the absolute nicest among the lot, Jim Moret, the lawyer/entertainment reporter for Inside Edition. Jim dug deep for truth, but did it incredibly warmly, and respectfully. Not at all what I expected. His piece got bumped Thursday night by the celebrity death story, but it’ll run on their “Weekend Edition” show this weekend. I’m a bit anxious, but looking forward to it nonetheless. My client deserves what I hope will be, from me anyway, this last shot at getting the real story out.  

 

I won’t bore you (or myself) with too many more details, but I will tell you this: I have a newfound respect and admiration for those PR folks who specialize in “damage control”. It’s a thankless, tedious job with huge risks. Most of the rest of the press I did, on camera and off, was edited to suit the particular outlet’s style. Some of the other papers, radio and TV outlets weren’t so nice so I won’t even dignify them by printing their names. But I guess that’s what their audiences demand, and they sure pile it on for them. So be it.

 

Finally, personally, I reconfirmed something I already knew. For 5 days, my gf, Leah, propped me up, urged me on, fed me, comforted and supported me, and kept me going when I thought I couldn’t. But mostly she put up with what can only be described as MY utterly insane week. And did it selflessly with the kind of wit, grace, and love I don’t think I could have. Lucky for my client….luckier for me.

   It's interesting to live at least part of your life in plain sight. When I've written I've been pretty straightforward, warts and all. I have no internal auditing system and quite like that about myself. I've let you know me. But I've been hiding...

   The last few months, I've been so wrapped up in getting the jagged pieces of my life to fit smoothly together again, I haven't even thought about sharing any part of myself. The severely broken heart last summer, the grueling custody battle and subsequent exhiliarating win, the ups and downs of my business, the (very personal) failure of our criminal system, the disappointment in the outright breakdown, no, total corruption, of our political system, and on and on. It's been exhausting enough dealing with this life's vagueries internally, no less externally. But of late, I'm seeing life very differently, and really liking what I see. So I'm back, and, again, you're stuck with me.

   I try to smile before I open my eyes every day. I struggle, most days successfully, to ignore the bruises from all the kicks I've taken while down. I've never thought of myself as an optimist, per se, but realise I am in the purest sense of the word. Because, though things may not always go well, or even just okay, I seem to constantly strive for, and continue to hope that, they will. And that's no mean feat.

   My son, who's now four-and-a-half, has a lot to do with it. In March, when I first won my custody fight and began having him live with me almost half the time, it was tough on us both. After learning so little about each other in the first few years of his life, we began feeling our way through the strange minefield of father-son interaction surprisingly easily. The evolution of our relationship has been incredibly rapid, and we've achieved the gleeful dynamics of actually knowing each other. It's been emotionally freeing, and life affirming, for me. We laugh a lot, his laugh being perhaps the greatest drug I've ever had. And my two beautiful, wonderful daughters have each really come into their own, and become really whole people, and that just makes me kvell, (a Yiddish word, which very loosely translated, means "swell, or burst, with pride"). In these respects I am a very wealthy man.

   As a freestanding individual, though, I've long known there was something missing, something I had a brief glimpse of last year for the first time in my life, which only made it that much harder to recover when it so quickly vanished. Yet even in the face of that loss, I remained grateful for the experience, and have stayed friendly with, and cherished the friendship of, the wonderful person who gave it to me. I now realise that, too, makes me an optimist. And optimism evidently has it's rewards.

   I'm reaping those rewards now. By not having allowed that part of myself to shut down, I've recently been incredibly fortunate enough to have reconnected with a very old friend, someone I'd long admired for more valid reasons than I could even begin to list. It turns out the intervening years have put us in this amazing place where it seems to take no effort for us to be great now, and no limit to how great we will become. An absolutely unexpected blessing of the highest order.

   So this is optimism? I could really get used to this.....

   Back on March 27, 2006 I wrote a RAVE about a local production of Arthur Miller's timeless classic, DEATH OF A SALESMAN. I noticed in this morning's paper it's re-opening, in the larger venue at Pacific Resident Theatre complex, 703 Venice Blvd, Venice, CA. It'll run through July 23rd. If you have even a passing interest in the classics - in fact, especially if you don't - don't miss this production. All the same actors and director are involved. It's simply stunning, and brilliant. Here's a reprint of my review:

"  My beautiful dear friend, Lesley, (an awesome playwright herself), took me Saturday night to see the Venice-based Pacific Resident Theatre's equity-waiver production of Arthur Miller's enduring "Death Of A Salesman". For those who don't know, equity waiver means under 99 seats, and verrrry small spaces. Spaces so small the actors use the aisles to come and go, change scenery as they're delivering lines, and basically perform so close to the audience you can see and feel and hear every flaw. Fortunately, this production had almost none. Intelligently and ably directed by Elina de Santos, even the smallest of characters were performed incredibly by this talented troupe, proving again there are no small roles, only small actors. The four leads - Richard Fancy as patriarch, lifelong-struggling bullshitter Willie Loman, Sharron Shayne as long, almost-silently suffering matriarch Linda, and David Clayberg and Greg Vignolle as wildly different but strangely similar sons Hap and Biff, respectively - were perfectly cast and performed in what must have been Miller's vision of these people. (Unlike, in my opinion, Dustin Hoffman, who drew raves for this role, in heavy age-makeup, but was way too young for it when he did it a few years ago with not enough life under his belt). What really struck me about this performance, and it's very much to de Santos's credit this was so apparent, was the undiminishing effects of Miller's ideas. Miller could be Shakespearian in his writing and this play is the perfect example of material that should, and will, be read or at least seen, in perpetuity. A morality play with a timeless message. My only regret is the run has ended so you can't go see this production. Read it. " [Again, this review is from March...it's re-opened now until 7/23]

   I gave up on reading my horoscope last year after it kept telling me the relationship I was in was going to last a lifetime and be happy and fruitful...hahahahahahahahaha. But I can't seem to avoid it, as it's right next to the crossword, which I do daily, (in ink).

   In light of yesterday's post here, today's horrorscope is particularly funny/ironic: "You're in the mood to shop, not only for "stuff", but also for people who have the potential to add something to your life. Get the right price. Love doesn't have to cost your heart so much".

   Well, then, what's the point?  

I met my old lover
On the street last night
She seemed so glad to see me
I just smiled......
Still crazy after all these years

   I did. I was with the boy, and we'd just finished getting tanked up on warm cocoa and lewd triple chocolate cake at the Bean. We'd walked the half mile from my place into town, (no small feat for a 4 year old), to test our new "Crocs", those great, light, soft flexible clogs. His are bright orange, his favorite color. Mine are beige, simply because I didn't have the balls, no matter how much he implored me, to get mine to match. Me. In plastic orange clogs. The mental image alone makes me laugh. And incredible negotiator that he is, he made me promise that the next ones we get, he'll get beige and I orange. So we'll have two matching pairs. Hope his memory's not as good as his bargaining skills....

   But I digress. So, we ran into her. The one I still have massive feelings for after nearly a year. What a rush of mixed emotions. I do nothing half-assed anymore, that's for damned sure. Since I never really knew how to fall in love before her, I certainly can't figure how to fall out. Strange and bizarre. It's great and horrible seeing her, at once. Her smile, the thing that hooked me and "did it" for me from the beginning, still does, and she always wears the biggest one when she sees me. Go figure. I can't. But I get to the point pretty often where I think I'm moving forward, and wham. Not exactly a setback, but a sidetracking. And the woman I'm seeing, who I like a lot and clearly think warmly of a good deal of the time, vanishes from the braincells. What is the matter with me? Don't answer, I know.......

   Still crazy......

                                              *********************************************

   We saw the brilliant "CARS" Friday, and that adjective couldn't be more appropos. In sound, color, script, execution, production, voicing, every aspect of this movie was just that - brilliant. His mom and I are getting along pretty well, as separate parents go, so we took him together, and it's a real tossup who enjoyed it more; Cole, mom or me. 

   If you'd heard Paul Newman, Owen Wilson, Bonnie Hunt, Cheech Marin, Tony Shaloub, Michael Keaton, Bob Costas, hell, even Larry "The Cable Guy", were doing a film together, you'd go, right? Well, GO!! You don't need a kid for this animated film, either, it's that good. And it's no cartoon. It is a film in every sense of the word. The voicing is fantastic, the tale an old fashioned finding-yourself-and-finding-love story. But the real star is the animation. I have simply never seen rendering so pure and real that I lost all sense of the unreality of it so early into it. Just stunning. This will easily be Pixar/Disney's highest grosser long range. I couldn't recommend it more highly!! (And the added treat of a phenomenal musical short before the main feature, digitally rendered and mastered so purely you have to see it in a new theater that has the 16-track surround sound, was a terrific bonus. So go early).
 
                                    ********************************************   

   After CARS on Friday, Saturday night I floundered for something for the boy and I to watch. We've run through my large personal collection (most more than twice) already so we made the short jaunt to Blockbuster, a trip which wasn't pretty. He wanted The Incredibles yet again, which is great, but after 12 viewings I just couldn't bring myself to watch, even for him. Which produced a major meltdown. He ranted, yelled, and finally cried, and everyone else there must've thought me the worst Dad ever. But there, next to what he wanted, was a film my other 2 kids just adored. And ranks in my top ten of all time. So I proceeded to try and talk him into it, which made the meltdown worse. I am dad, though, and I prevailed, rented it, and carried the boy, kicking and screaming, to the car for the short drive home.

   He calmed down enough to go into Whole Foods for treats to have while watching the movie, and the turnaround began. I ran into a few friends and asked each to tell him what they thought of a movie that has candy at it's core. And each told him it was their favorite and he'd love it, and gave him different, but perfect, reasons. By the time we bought our own Reese's Pieces, and left the store, he was happy, and truly anxious.

   Of course, by now you know it's ET:The ExtraTerrestrial. I rented the 20th Anniversary Edition, which is digitally remastered beautifully, and included about 12 minutes of added scenes. I don't know how the original did without them, but this version is an even better film than I remembered. And he was awed, and sublimely happy. And that's the best recommendation you can get, 'cause this kid's a movie freak. So whether you have young kids to share it with or not, I highly recommend you see this film again. Because it has everything a film should, and then some, and is simply one of the finest stories ever told. And really holds up.

   Family is everything. It's why we live, breathe, eat, exist....... And nothing's better than discovering someone in yours has real, true talent.

   My 19 y/o daughter is an amazing kid: sweet, pretty, smart, savvy, but she's struggled her whole life to really find herself. I've raised her completely alone from infancy, and she's had no relations with her mother, at all, since she was 8. So the struggle was understandable. She had me as her father and no mother. Imagine...

   She's always had a "nose" for knowing what's coming years before it arrives. Music, fashion, trends...even at 10 she was ahead of the curve, and has a great eye for the visual. To that end, she's recently taken up photography as an outlet, going so far as majoring in it at college. And, man, has she hit her stride and found her life's calling. It is a remarkable thing to see. She's now got a lab in her apartment and the entire process seems to really fit her perfectly as the latest crop of pics, shot for her "final" this semester, are truly spectacular. I was so filled with wonderment, pride and glee when I saw them I was speechless. Me...

   For me, it really put a cool new spin on watching Chelsea develop.....and I couldn't be happier. 

   

   I'm not a big fan of traditional pop music...never have been, even when I earned a living playing it. I like alternative rock, r&b, soul, classic rock, acoustic/emo (does anyone call it "folk" anymore?), world music, reggae, ska, jazz, even classical....you get the idea. My tastes are wide and varied so I've always felt anything liked by so many millions of people would include enough tasteless folks that I couldn't abide it. 

   But I heard a real gem on the radio the other day, which moved me to goosebumps, (am I a girliemon?!?!?!?), so I came home and downloaded, (LOVE my pod, and iTunes),  UNWRITTEN by Natasha Bedingfield. Now it is pop, so I should've just downloaded the one song, (which if you're not a pop fan, is what you should do). The album is pretty okay, even by my standards, and if you like light, airy, meaningless and danceable you will definitely like the entire CD. I am not wild about it. But the replay button on my iPod has sure been getting a workout for the title track.

   Words, production values, music, execution....this song kicks ass and I imagine, (as I'm a latecomer - this was released in August 2005), this song is already on a bazillion-plus alarm/clock radios for that inspirational wake up buzz. Because you just can't help being elated by it. It is truly uplifting.

   And there's a two line passage right in the middle that is catch-your-breath stunning. It's sung by what sounds like a thousand voice choir reminiscent of the Edwin Hawkins Singers, (am I dating myself?), that the late, great Luther Vandross, and so many other brilliant producers/artists, used almost to excess a few years back. I hope Ms. Bedingfield goes forward with more of this style and less of the easier stuff, because, for a pretty, slight, white British girl, she will definitely make a name for herself in true soul/inspirational music. 

   I defy you to not be moved.

   Quick RANT - GODADDY SUCKS. Do not be fooled or taken in by their come-ons. Get your services elsewhere. Nothing works the way they promise, except of course for their billing department. I apologise for the lost posts and failed subscriber notifications, BUT IT'S NOT MY FAULT. GODADDY SUCKS.

                                      ***************************

   When business is bad, life can suck. Men especially, (not to be sexist, I swear), seem to measure themselves by their success at it. And while I've never been a real subscriber to that theory, even though my reasons for suffering professionally couldn't have been more legitimate, (my custody fight was sucking me dry physically, emotionally and financially), I still felt stung.

   When business is good, so can life be. I have almost always worked for myself, and worked hard at intertwining my family and work. It has truly been a fun ride for us all, and that's great. Well, business is good, again, and unfortunately time has gotten tight. And you, dear readers, have paid the most by my lack of posts. (No ego, I swear. I've gotten a lot of "where are you?" emails). But I should be entrenched in my new offices in the next 2 weeks, with assistants, (something I've never had before, but it's that busy....gonna have to learn to delegate responsibility - yikes), and that will free me to do at least twice-a-week posts again. I'll be back out at screenings, shows and events, hearing facts and rumors, (both of which I'll gleefully spread), and having fun again in an industry with which I have always had a love/hate/but-mostly-love relationship. And I will share ALL of that with you. In Rants and Raves. (And personally, I like the Rants a whole lot more, they're much more fun to write....). So a little more patience will definitely be worth your while. Swear.  

                                     ********************************

   Every year I truly enjoy something I will share with you today (and thanks, Rachael B. for getting them to me early).... Drumroll, please....

   This year's Darwin Awards - the annual honor given to the person who improved the "gene pool" the most by killing themselves in the most extraordinarily stupid way. As always, competition this year has been keen. And the candidates this year are ....

   In Detroit, a 41-year-old man got stuck and drowned in two feet of water after squeezing head first through an 18-inch-wide sewer grate to retrieve his car keys.

   A 49-year-old San Francisco stockbroker, who "totally zoned when he ran," accidentally jogged off a 100-foot-high cliff on his daily run. 

   Buxton, NC: A man died on a beach when an 8-foot-deep hole he had dug into the sand caved in as he sat inside it. Beach-goers said Daniel Jones, 21, dug the hole for fun, or protection from the wind, and had been sitting in a beach chair at the bottom Thursday afternoon when it collapsed, burying him beneath 5 feet of sand. People on the beach on the outer banks, used their hands and shovels, trying to claw their way to Jones, a resident of Woodbridge, VA, but could not reach him. It took rescue workers using heavy equipment almost an hour to free him while about 200 people looked on. Jones was pronounced dead at a hospital.

   Santiago Alvarado, 24, was killed in Lompoc, CA, as he fell face-first through the ceiling of a bicycle shop he was burglarizing. Death was caused when the long flashlight he had placed in his mouth, to keep his hands free, rammed into the base of his skull as he hit the floor. 

   Sylvester Briddell, Jr., 26, was killed in Selbyville, Del, as he won a bet with friends who said he would not put a revolver loaded with four bullets into his mouth and pull the trigger.

   HONORABLE MENTION: Paul Stiller, 47, was hospitalized in Andover township, NJ, and his wife Bonnie was also injured, when a quarter-stick of dynamite blew up in their car. While driving around 2 AM, the bored couple lit the dynamite and tried to toss it out the window to see what would happen, but apparently failed to notice the window was closed.

   RUNNER UP: Kerry Bingham, of Tacoma, WA, had been drinking with several friends when one of them said they knew a person who had bungee-jumped from the Tacoma Narrows Bridge in the middle of traffic. The conversation grew more heated and at least 10 men trooped along the walkway of the bridge at 4:30 AM. Upon arrival at the midpoint of the bridge they discovered that no one had brought a bungee rope. Bingham, who had continued drinking, volunteered and pointed out that a coil of lineman's cable lay nearby. One end of the cable was secured around Bingham's leg and the other end was tied to the bridge. His fall lasted 40 feet before the cable tightened and tore his foot off at the ankle. He miraculously survived his fall into the icy river water and was rescued by two nearby fishermen. "All I can say " said Bingham, "is that God was watching out for me on that night. There's just no other explanation for it." Bingham's foot was never located. 

   AND THE WINNER: Overzealous zookeeper Friedrich Riesfeldt (Paderborn, Germany) fed his constipated elephant Stefan 22 doses of animal laxative and more than a bushel of berries, figs and prunes before the plugged-up pachyderm finally let it fly, and suffocated the keeper under 200 pounds of poop! investigators say ill-fated Friedrich, 46, was attempting to give the ailing elephant an olive oil enema when the relieved beast unloaded on him. "The sheer force of the elephant's unexpected defecation knocked Mr. Riesfeldt to the ground, where he struck his head on a rock and lay unconscious as the elephant continued to evacuate his bowels on top of him" said flabbergasted Paderborn police detective Erik Dern. With no one there to help him, he lay under all that dung for at least an hour before a watchman came along, and during that time he suffocated. It seems to be just one of those freak accidents that proves that "Shit does in fact happen!"



Hope you laughed....next post will not be so funny....I actually PAID to see "M:I:III"....what the fuck is wrong with me? (now, be nice....)

   So, this morning I wake up to quite a situation. In the last two months I've met with 4 investment groups and two "angels" in the quest to ramp up my business. All agreed the business plan is a great one, and includes 3 web-based, and 2 "realtime", concerns. Independent consultants have projected profit within 1 year. And by today's standards I'm looking for a pittance. Seriously.

   But, even after getting "firm" commitments from 2 of the groups and 1 of the angels, not one damn thing has happened. And because of those assurances I've continued to spend what I can hardly afford to keep the effort going, leaving me pretty much out in the cold. And as I look around and speak to friends and family, this seems really par for the course of life in 2006. When did this happen?

   For most of my life, giving one's word, commitment, assurance, etc., meant something. To me, as I learned early and well from my father, my word has always been my bond. I never say I will if I only might, (with the exception being when I make a promise evidently foolishly based on someone else's promise to me). So why is that so hard for everyone? Is life so iffy for people these days that an assurance really isn't?

   Our president and government do it, (think WMDs, Iraq, gas prices) as do our corporate leaders, (think Enron and Adelphia). And when they push that first domino down, the rest can't help but fall. Lives are affected, and ultimately, ruined by these acts, sometimes on a really grand scale. Thousands of lives have been lost in a lie-based war. Families left grieving by a government that gave it's word. Thousands of lives were turned upside down by the Enron failure alone. People's pensions, homes, cars all lost. The trickle down from those directly affected, to their families, stunning. Clothing, food, basic neccesities, tuitons....all wiped out. Lifetimes of hopes and dreams dashed by a very few men's greed, and need to pretend to be a standing domino while in reality  in mid-fall. I try and think of these people, the victims, when my situation looks bleakest, but it doesn't help much. We're all tied together by human frailties these days, it seems. Commonality making the vast majority suffer while the few hem and haw. I'm just one small domino near the bottom. If it affects me this way, what happens to those higher, and lower, on the chain? I'm beyond perplexed as to why we all can't just find a way to be who we say we are or will be, and do what we say we will. I'm really dismayed.

   Anybody want to invest in a great business? Seems my success historically, and the belief in myself and what I'm trying to accomplish, should be worth something. If not with, (or for), me, at least say what you'll do and then do it for someone. It'll make us all better. 

   Wow, I took some serious heat for the last post. Male and female friends alike all weighed in, and not necessarily nicely. Oh well, I've warned you many times - I write what I feel and think, and more often than not, throw caution (and tact) to the wind. IyamwhatIyam. Akakakakak.

                                     ********************************************

   David Kelley has got to be the most prolific television writer ever. He's not always great, but he sure puts out. (And if I was married to Michele Feiffer.........). Ally McBeal and Boston Public were formerly my 2 favorite Kelley shows, but, damn, BOSTON LEGAL is amazing. The scripts are incredible, relevant, current, smart, and always funny, laced with irony. But the real coup here is the casting. William Shatner, Candace Bergen, Renee Aubergenois, James Spader.....all with the roles of their lives. Seriously. Tom Selleck recently did a fantastic arc, as Bergen's ex. Adam Arkin as a DA, too. And the supporting cast is beyond supportive. Mostly, though, every scene between Shatner and Spader is like watching an actor's exercise in perfection. I can't recall ever seeing two actors so perfectly matched. BIG RAVE.

                                   ************************************************

   MSNBC's "Countdown with Keith Olberman" still ranks as my favorite reason for owning a TV. If you haven't paid attention to my previous raves about this show, start now. With all the scandals going on, and the ludicrous state of politics, and American life in general, this guy's point of view is remarkable. And I can't stress how seamlessly he glides between the uber-intelligencia and the under-achievers. He's ridiculously smart in a very relating-to-the-common-man way. And he's funny as hell. HUGE RAVE.

                                    ************************************************

   Ok. I admit, for the last few weeks I've been lost in LOST. For a show that started out last year so smart and so non-linear, I've been disappointed that the writer/producers started to take themselves and their press way too seriously. Last night brought home why this show's so good, though. The meat of the show was terrific, and the end a total shock. Good to see a show pullback so successfully before the shark got jumped. BIG RAVE.

                                  **************************************************

   Is there a more creative half hour on TV than THE SIMPSONS? The show's just been renewed for 2 more years and there's a movie in the works for release next summer. I know there's a few of you reading this thinking, what a stupid show. Doh! You couldn't be more wrong, and if you view it as a cartoon, you've missed the point entirely. They're more human than you or I could ever hope to be. BIG RAVE. 

                                  **************************************************

   Ok. So more people watch American Idol every time it airs than have died in all wars in modern history combined. And the analogy was intentional. What the hell is it about this juggernaut? Sorry, I don't get it. I can't name one former Idol loser, and aside from last year's Kelly Clarkson, the only winners are those three "judges" and the munchkin who hosts the show. I have watched a few times the last few weeks because I was going to write a piece on it, but I just can't muster the inanity to watch even one more minute. So this is the piece. BIG RAZZ.



More to come............

   

   

   I'll preface this by saying while it seems like I'm "lumping" all men and all women into camps, I do not believe that's always the case. But it is enough of the time for me to vent this way. And it did happen to me this way, twice, so it's my perspective. Although, from the emails and calls I've gotten already, I do seem to personally know a lot of women who played it, if not completely honest, as straight as they could. A dear friend's lawyer called her son's beating the "unfortunate misunderstanding" and her beating "one unfortuntate ugly incident". So it does go both ways, just not as often as it should. 


                                                                     
   When I posted my intent to write a piece about what Alec Baldwin, Charlie Sheen, Me, and thousands of other men had in common, the most beautiful event planner in LA, my friend Barbara, guessed the topic, and emailed me to be cautious: "you never know what goes on in private". So I will be. But I can say with absolute honesty, clarity and certainty what I personally experienced. And my guess is for those two celebs, and many more celebs and civilians of the male persuasion, it's not a whole lot different.

   I've written before about the insanity, and risks, of living and loving so publicly, (scroll down to "Britney to Justin to Cameron..."). I'll give ya that the ridiculousness of it does occasionally border on the sublime. But just as, (if not more), often, the subhuman. To wit: imagine how frustrated you'd be, after being promised things would stay friendly and "clean",  to see details of the most nasty, misleading, exaggerated and/or false filings on every "entertainment" show on the air; then hearing the frustrated voicemails you left, after being falsely (or at least exaggeratedly) accused of these horrible acts, on the morning news...(and don't you think she let that stuff out to lessen the impact of those pics of her on the balcony with Richie? It worked didn't it?)...at least I didn't have to go through that. But believe me, not having them aired publicly doesn't lessen their impact.

   Whether it's the women involved, or their lawyers, (so ultimately, again, the women, as lawyers work for them not vice versa), the majority of the distaff half of these court equations, be said battles custody, divorce, or both, seem to think they have a pass to invent stories that fit the needs of their cases; and not just a pass, but usually the encouragement of these s.o.b.s with JDs. Now, heeding Barbara's advice will be easy. Because while I know that publicly Kim is accusing Alec, and Denise Charlie, of heinous acts to which I was not witness, I personally suffered a similar unjust fate and can tell you that first person.

   The courts will accept whatever is filed. That's their job. Then it's the mediator/evaluator/commissioner's job to sift through the animus and figure out what's real and what's not. In three years of my custody fight I sat through a lot of other cases while waiting for mine to be called, and I can tell you there wasn't one single case that had the husband/father making the initial accusations. And it never ceased to amaze me what gets said in these papers. Even guys like me, who were the ones who filed, (the plaintiffs), to a man, took the high road, at least in their first filings. Then, if your lawyer convinces you of the need to "compete" you, too, get nasty. I was lucky that my lawyer, (the amazing Rita Kahlenberg, Esq.), stood with me in truth and never once encouraged me to, or insisted I, make false or exaggerated claims for the benefit of my case. As she loved to point out, I didn't have to. My son's mother's claims were so unfounded, outrageous, and plain out fabricated, that the truth did eventually win, although at the cost of my involvement in the first four years of his life. I was awarded joint legal custody, and a really reasonable physical custody schedule. So I'm making up for lost time now, and I have the power to say no to his mom's crazy demands and whims, finally.

   I doubt that'll be the case with Alec or Charlie, though, because they're being played. And rather than let their (somewhat) good names be dragged through the mud, I can almost guarantee you they'll quietly settle for some shitty custody plan. Their careers are at stake, in an industry that will penalise them for being less than the men they claim to be. Even if their claims are just. And they likely are, moreso than Kim and Denise are portraying. But Kim and Denise are playing the victims and victims are far more sympathetic. Forget that Kim's accusations are being discredited by almost everyone close to her, even some of her own family. And credit Alec for staying relatively strong and silent and not levelling false claims, or even the true ones, against her publicly. (I know someone involved in his case and he, like me, insisted his lawyers stick to the high road). Forget that Denise, while making her terrible claims, is very publicly flaunting her own fooling around with her former best friend's very recent ex-husband. And credit Charlie for keeping his mouth shut about the entire case, but mostly that part of it. Because he certainly could accuse her of being a lowlife, and not just for being a liar/exaggerator but a homewrecker. It would seem an easy jump to say she'd been fooling around with him all along, or was the reason he and Heather broke up. Ya just never know, but it would surely be believed by some. And broadcast, because true, half-true, or false makes no difference to Access Hollywood. It's the story that counts.

   My son's mother pulled a lot of similar, horrible crap, made a lot of false claims, was inflexible in letting me spend time with my son, pitted some of my own family against me, and generally drove me into emotional, (and financial), bankruptcy. She had a boyfriend, they had a "Grand Plan" and were convinced I'd walk away, and they'd live happily-ever-after on the east coast. They couldn't have been more determined to make that happen at any cost. And all the while did what she pleased, travelled at will, made unilateral decisions in our son's interest, and made sure our son had little regard for me. But after three years of postponements and maneuvering, mostly by her scumbag attorneys, we finally had a trial because I wouldn't back down from what was right, just and truthful. And when she finally had the chance to rule, the commissioner ruled almost 100% in my favor. And all his mother could say was "I was just doing what I truly believed was best for our son". Which even the commissioner clearly knew was bullshit, and said as much in her filing. But the real benefit for me wasn't a lawyer who made me stick to my guns, which were loaded with truth, but the lack of having to defend myself against public airing of the sordidness of it all. And thus the undue influence of public opinion. So pity those involved in Alec v. Kim and Charlie v. Denise. But mostly pity the kids, because ultimately it's about them, and they'll suffer the most.

   I feel for these guys. And the millions like them who have to go through this whether they're famous, infamous, or just regular guys. I can because I've been one of them. Twice. The courts, especially in custody disputes, are horrifically biased towards mothers, and in this day and age, that's just plain wrong. Men make great parents and every man I know who wants to be involved with his children does as good a job, or better, than his wife or ex. Even in families that are together, men have stepped up and parent with the best of them. Change diapers, feed kids, clothe them, drive carpools, coach sports, hold hands, fix booboos, play with dolls with their daughters as well as they play baseball with their sons, and yet that bias, at the end, still exists.

   But men rarely get to play victims as well as women, if at all. And that's the worst injustice in the system, because when all is said and done, the supposed victims are more often than not the victimizers. Good luck Alec and Charlie. Stick to your guns. Sometimes, it works out.     
     

   Having never really thought of myself as a writer, per se, considering myself to be suffering from writer's block is almost too weird. Even for me. I have started at least one, and sometimes two or three, entries every day since my last post and I just can't finish them. Blogus interruptus. So I've been self-evaluating, (stop laughing......), and decided to write about just that...

   I've gone deep. Plunged into my very being, (which some would say is akin to a wading pool, but don't you believe them). It's dark down there, very dark. And a bit creepy. But kind of a fun place, too. Over there...that time in senior year Kathy K's mother walked her dog past my van, (and peeked in), while KK was doing the Lewinsky thing, (which, back then, was still called a blow job, even though there's no blowing involved if done properly)... Boy, that one was covered in cobwebs and hiding behind that trunk filled with those pictures of my mother being carried in the house by my dad after she'd gotten drunk and puked all over the dress she'd taken 2 months to make, and then passed out, on the New Year's Eve that was my 13th birthday... Over there, the large shrine to the women who've given birth, (the nastiest, toughest, ugliest, yet most beautiful of all possible acts), to my children, which abuts the even larger shrine to my beautiful kids themselves...there, look, mental notes from seeing "Apocalypse Now" and "Deer Hunter" for the first time and being SO affected....and there, getting the call my father had died while I was on vacation with my 13 y/o brother Rich and having to tell him...and there, buried under everything but poking out just a bit, that organ I thought was ripped out last summer, my heart...and it's beating!!!

 Yes, self appraisal can be entertaining. I keep finding out things about myself that are at least, amusing, and at best, downright hysterical. In case you haven't noticed, my view of life is a bit, shall we say, skewed. I'm a bit twisted. But, see, I think my viewpoint should be the norm. Doesn't everyone think that way? I wonder.....

*************************************************************************

A giant pat on the back to that refusing-to-go-extinct dinosaur, Neil Young. Who, but someone that embedded in our culture, could put a song about impeaching the president on his new album and garner good press about why? He was waiting for a "young turk" to write, record, and release one, and when none did, he had to. He's an icon. He's also smart, supremely talented, interesting, and enduring. This week's Brass Balls Award.

*************************************************************************

A giant kick in the ass to that we-wish-he-would-go extinct reptile, President Dubyah. Who, but someone embedded in such daily corruption, would have the gall to hire Tony Snow as his new press secretary? At least Snow's now officially on the payroll, as opposed to the rest of FOX's "reporters" (and I use that word with great trepidation) who have been unofficially on the payroll for six years now. For someone supposedly closer-to-god-than- thee, he sure has no moral compass, does he? This week's No Balls Award.

*************************************************************************

Coachella is this weekend. For those not in the know, it's the premiere outdoor music festival the last few years running. Even without being there and suffering from sunstroke and dehydration, I'm confused. It's roots are very clearly in alternative music at it's finest. So Madonna headlining? This week's Huh? Award.

*************************************************************************

Ok, I think I'm past the block. Got a few full posts waiting, I just don't wanna deluge you. But up next - What do Alec Baldwin, Charlie Sheen, Me and thousands of other men have in common? Tune in.....this rant's a good one...... (It's just about done and will be up by Saturday)     

   While in Whole Foods this morning I heard a cellphone ring. Not at all unusual, you may think......

   It was not all that long ago you were fortunate if your phone had a 20 foot cord, which you could pull out to 25 feet if you really tried. You could pace the room while engaged in that intense long distance conversation, amazing enough in that it was with someone 2 continents away. And you could hear it ring from anywhere in the house and always know where it was, (but not who...). But in this day and age, when people walk about seemingly talking to themselves on bluetooth headsets (hidden by their hair), or drive around alone apparently speaking to themselves, (but really) on in-car phone systems, or talking in clubs, gyms, parks, anywhere....or just being rude to tellers in banks and cashiers in supermarkets, you'd be right.

   The unusual part...it was the old "Nokia" ring. You know - dededoodoodededoodoodededoodoodooooo. Not Snoop Dogg, U2, Sting, Coldplay, Brad Paisley, Madonna, Pink, hell, even Mel Torme. Nokia. It stopped me cold, and I didn't even realise why until I was out of the market and well on my way home. How positively passe !!!!

   Yes, Ringtones have hit the charts. Radio and Records, Billboard, Music Express, etc, all now have Ringtone charts. It's not just your cool phone anymore but the cool ringtones you've got on it. You can download them from thousands of dedicated sites. And all the artists listed above, and almost all artists, period, have jumped on the bandwagon. You can find absolutely anything in a 15 to 30 second soundbyte to represent your phone sensibilities these days. Anything. You can even assign certain tones to certain incoming callers. (I had Ren and Stimpy's "Happyhappyhappy, Joyjoyjoy" assigned to someone who made me feel that way. Unfortunately, I've retired it....) They've become THE new i.d. factor for the cellphone generation. I gotta admit, they're almost as annoying as they are cool. And, they're generating dollars. BIG dollars.

   I'm a techie, and have had cellphones that've used custom tones for years. Going back to the monotonal. Now they're full out "wav" files. Polyphonic to the point of symphonic. Even still, I was hardly aware of this as a legitimate phenomenon. Who knew? So I talked to a good friend, Griffen Goldbergg, a really nice guy and incredibly talented aspiring hip-hop artist, (www.yessur.com/griffen.htm), and was stunned by what I learned. While he's struggling hard to get that big label deal, (his stuff is on an indie label now), put a tour together, write and produce other artists, and just generally make it, he is making a moderate living composing and supplying Ringtones to one of the larger international suppliers. And, oddly, making quite a name for himself in the world of thirty second i.d. gratification.

   This is a great thing for Griff, and lots of artists like him, because it not only gets his name and music out there, but lets the record companies hear short bursts of his creativity, (and we all know short bursts are all most "creative" execs can handle), and lets those companies know just how viable a product his material is. Not only by the charts in the major trades, but all the websites that provide 'em, track 'em. So there are actual statistics available for guys like Griffen to show the companies. And help them prove they're dealworthy. And that's pretty great.

   So the next time you're in that bastion of earthy cool, Whole Foods, (or anywhere for that matter), and you hear a "standard" ring on someone's phone, nudge that person and make them listen to that byte of "Yellow" you've got as your main ring. Even if they don't thank you, everyone around them will.

   Had I waited one more day to post "Politics As Entertainment", I might've had to rethink and rewrite a bit. While I'm glad I didn't, I have to bring someone to your attention whose words and deeds will change even the most ardent Bushbaby supporter's opinion.

   This morning on Meet The Press I had the great fortune to see and hear the unwaivering, unvarnished, uber-informed "testimony" of General Tony Zinni, and for me, a new hero was born. This man is/was pure Hawk, a lifer in the military. He ended his insider years as Bushbaby's envoy in the Middle East. And still continues as a "consultant" on "intelligence". He unequivocally avers that while this administration may be putting on a great show, (as I've maintained), it is a work of fiction. At best. He stated very clearly that he read the same intel as the administration and never once saw proof of WMDs. He went on to say he firmly advised the administration against the war they were intent on starting, and was very public about it. The day before one of Cheneyburton's most fervent warmongereing efforts, in front of a Veteran's group no less, Zinni told them they were making a grave mistake, and that their info was just plain wrong.

   I've just bought his book, "The Battle for Peace: A Frontline Vision of America's Power and Purpose" on Amazon and cannot wait to read it. At this point, against the backdrop of this corrupt administration, he really seems like a true visionary. When in reality all he is is an honest footsoldier in the struggle for a real, and lasting peace.

   And that makes him not only my hero, but the type of "Politics As Entertainment" figure we need to see way more of. One with Brass Stars AND brass balls.

(This starts a bit dry. And semi-factual. And you might start thinking, "God, he's lost his edge". NOT. This'll be a long one, and you may want to break it into parts, but I just can't, so give yourself some time. And be patient with me, dear reader, because when I get to our current circus performer, The Amazing Dubyah, you'll either hate me or love me, but you won't doubt this boy can rant). 

   As was beautifully, intelligently and incredibly accurately portrayed in that "out of touch Hollywood lefty pinko subversive" George Clooney's amazing film, Good Night and Good Luck, Edward R Murrow galvanised the nation in front of their television sets in 1953-1955 with the McCarthy Senate Subcommittee hearings and his response. While it showed the value of this relatively new medium in getting an important message to the masses, it wasn't until a few years later that politics really began to cross the line into pure entertainment.

   In September and October of 1960, a young, upstart senator from Massachusetts, war hero and eldest sibling of the closest thing to royalty we had in America, John Fitzgerald Kennedy, had the temerity to challenge presidential candidate and sitting Vice President of the United States, Richard Milhous Nixon, to a series of televised debates. That first debate, on Sept. 26, 1960, drew 70 million viewers and established, once and for all, the power of seeing things as they appeared to happen. The modern information age was born that night, as was it's frater dementis, public opinion as fact. (I've tried hard to find out how many sets actually existed at that time and couldn't, but know that even in this day and age of 2.5-sets-per-home average, 70 million viewers is an extraordinarily high number).

   In substance the men were almost perfectly matched, and both incredibly informed, smart and politically and intellectually astute. But Kennedy looked like the hero we so desperately longed for as a nation recovering from a century of bad wars and worse politics, while Nixon simply looked awful. He had been injured and hospitalised the month before, was pallid and underweight, and refused makeup. Kennedy, on the other hand, had spent his summer campaigning in California, was tan and fit, and didn't need any. The term "the female vote" was firmly embedded in the lexicon after those debates, and polls and history showed that while both sexes listening on radio proclaimed Nixon the winner by a decent margin, those watching on tv gave Kennedy the overwhelming edge. And clearly catapulted him into the Oval Office.

   By 1981, we succumbed, as a nation, to the "method politics" of a man who really did start out as an actor, Ronald Reagan. From second banana to a chimp to head of SAG to Governor of California to President of the United States, this man utilised all his camera skills, and then some, to woo, and win, the nation's heart. Not necessarily it's head, though. And in spite of some brief, shining moments during his tenure, he made a lot of us realize that we were now doomed to style-over-substance politics. And the crossover was near completion.
 
   Jump cut to June of 1992. Trailing badly in the polls to then current President George Bush, (Bushdaddy), Arkansas Governor William Jefferson Clinton, shows up on The Arsenio Hall Show, in cool shades and playing, (badly, and I should know - I'm a bad sax player), a shiny tenor sax, turns his campaign completely around and goes on to trounce Bushdaddy into a one term presidency and seize the office. And seals the deal for ever and always, proving you gotta be entertaining to be successful in politics.

   So what the hell happened in 2000 you may be asking yourself, as I still am? We had any number of candidates who could work the camera, and thus the public. So what was the problem? Amongst the braying Donkeys (jackasses?) we had: Al Gore, then Vice President and extremely savvy in the ways of mass communications, reining himself in when he should've been letting his natural skills, and, yes, charm and humor, run wild; Howard Dean, smart as a whip, figuring out that the internet was to 2000 politics what television was to 1960's, but letting his enthusiasm spin out of control with that now infamous yelp, that in essence tanked his political ambitions forever, in spite of the fact that it was a pluperfect TV moment; John Edwards, telegenically handsome, rural but slick corporate attorney-politico, ineffectually trying to please everyone; and John Kerry, another Massachusetts-war-hero-turned-politician with the golden opportunity to return us to our glory days but the terrible lack of comfort on-camera, rendering him inept at getting his smart, hopeful views across. And in spite of this discomfort, and with enough smarts to choose Edwards as his running mate, Kerry led the Donkey slate. 

   On the other side, there was only one Elephant in the room. And no one wanted to talk about him, but everyone did. Legacy Yalie, first ever two-consecutive-term Governor of Texas, and now legacy presidential candidate George W. Bush. Only problem was, (and it wouldn't take very long to discover it), the legacy he, and his handpicked-by-Bushdaddy's-cronies co-conspirator, Halliburton Dick Cheney, would leave the country. 

   Nor would it take long for his handlers to discover the right notes to hit to make enough of the country sit up and listen. And since he was, in essence, seemingly brainless and malleable, they propped him up and had him play the most divisive possible song, based on blatant lies, (remember the Swift Boat Veterans for Truth?), and we should've known what we were in store for. Because lies are like potato chips. You can't have just one. With the ultimate art-of-war winning principle, divide and conquer, he won the war for the presidency. Sort of. Because while the populist vote went to Kerry/Edwards, in a not-so-surprising decision, the Supreme(ly stupid) Court rendered that moot and awarded the electoral college to Bushbaby/Cheneyburton. And a presidency of greed, deception and manipulation, like none we'd ever seen before, was launched. Now That's Entertainment!!

   Now, we'd had untruthful leaders before. History clearly shows us that you have to spin some yarn to get that warm and fuzzy government sweater to fit the whole country. It's really no big deal when it's in our collective best interest, so we've been told. In modern times alone, Truman, Roosevelt, Eisenhower, Kennedy all had minor scandals. Nixon surreptitiously taped his way out of office, and Clinton tried to keep a blow-job from his wife, and then the country, which almost got him booted...

   But NOTHING compares to the outright lies we've suffered at the hands of the current administration, and they're foisting them on us by putting on a well-produced, slicker-than-slick SHOW. Using the media in ways no one could have foreseen to stun us silly so we don't notice that off-camera they're screwing us royally.

   We thought we had a chance, when after the disastrous events of September 11, 2001, we saw our president don a hard-hat and get in the rubble with the crews and act strong, outraged, resolved....hell, presidential. We quickly forgot that the morning of the attacks he sat reading to a group of second graders for 20-some-odd minutes while the Towers burned, because that was a TV moment. He just couldn't pass up that photo op, despite the fact that the worst attack on American soil and citizens was clearly under way. Now That's Entertainment!!

   We thought, again, we had a chance when his commissioned lackies came up with justification for starting a war against an "evil empire" that possessed Weapons Of Mass Destruction, ("affectionately" labelled WMDs - probably because the full term was too hard for him to remember or pronounce). No matter some of his own people decried the results of that investigation. No matter there really was NO solid proof of WMDs existence. No matter those people who publicly doubted would be maligned by the administration so badly, even covert operatives were outed in retribution and their families libelled and slandered by his immediate circle of sycophants. No matter, because the administration now had reason to go on TV regularly and declare us "winning the war on terrorism" to the point that a few short months in, Bushbaby had the colossal gall to "suit up", in spite of the fact he never actually earned the right to wear that suit, and on a US aircraft carrier declare the war WON. No matter. Because spin is everything and here 4 years and well over 2,000 American deaths later, we still really haven't even gained traction, no less momentum. Or even come close. Resulting in, among numerous other things, a cynical, tongue-in-cheek nightly signoff on MSNBC's brilliant "Countdown With Keith Olbermann" declaring the ever escalating count of days since that declaration of victory. Now That's Entertainment!!

   I could go on for weeks with this, as any even-not-so-keen observer of current events could. But I won't for everyone's sake. As I contemplated, then wrote, this piece I felt my blood pressure skyrocket constantly, and I'm in decent shape. (So how do all those "fat-cat" friends of his cope?) The listening in of our conversations; usurping the constitution as he sees fit; awarding huge contracts without a bidding process; interfering in right-to-die cases; changing the tone of The Court, (thus altering, or making, history for at least 30 more years); finally admitting the next president will have to deal with getting us out of the mideast after all those declarations of a "plan"; missing the boat on Hurricane Katrina essentially letting an African-American-yet-purely-American city drown; Bushmommy donating to the Katrina Relief fund with the codicil that an organisation led by another Bush progeny benefit exclusively from that donation; invoking religion, faith and GOD as justification for it all; and on and on and on and on ad nauseum. 

   So I will end the rant with what I feel was the lowest, most insidious, self-serving PR play Bushbaby's ever made. And that's a helluva statement if you read the last paragraph alone. Early last week he graced us with a rare press conference. (They're always entertaining if for no other reason than to see what Letterman will do with them. His staff does a brilliant job editing them into pieces that are even more entertaining than the press conferences themselves. And, gratefully, shorter). At said event, the prestigious, long-serving White House correspondent, the venerable Helen Thomas, was finally, after two years, allowed to ask a question. And, as it turns out, was "set up" by the Pres to be his fall-guy for lambasting the "media" as the ones perpetrating only the "bad news" of HIS war. The Media. Now That's Entertainment?

   My friend, the woman with the most beautiful smile in the universe, Kate, tells me she'll no longer buy stamps with the Statue of Liberty and the American Flag on them. She's appalled and embarassed. I feel her sadness, pain, contempt, and amazement at our current state deeply. I was so completely and totally enraged by this slight to Ms. Thomas, and the total lack of ethics and morality it indicated by the way Bushbaby used her, that I can't even rant about it. Let's just say on this ploy alone, (not including the countless others I've listed, and those I've chosen not to), Bushbaby deserves the hell to which he will eventually go.

   And that's really Entertainment.

(And now I'm gonna rest, and build a fortress to insulate me from some of the responses I just know I'm going to get. Next up......I'm not really sure....let's see what moves me....if I haven't been seized by Homeland Security.....)

   (I'm really struggling with the "Politics As Entertainment" entry. So much new stuff every day.... I will try my hardest to get it posted tonight. Meantime, I saw two things this past weekend I'll share with you to keep you occupied).

   My beautiful dear friend, Lesley, (an awesome playwright herself), took me Saturday night to see the Venice-based Pacific Resident Theatre's equity-waiver production of Arthur Miller's enduring "Death Of A Salesman". For those who don't know, equity waiver means under 99 seats, and verrrry small spaces. Spaces so small the actors use the aisles to come and go, change scenery as they're delivering lines, and basically perform so close to the audience you can see and feel and hear every flaw. Fortunately, this production had almost none. Intelligently and ably directed by Elina de Santos, even the smallest of characters were performed incredibly by this talented troupe, proving again there are no small roles, only small actors. The four leads - Richard Fancy as patriarch, lifelong-struggling bullshitter Willie Loman, Sharron Shayne as long, almost-silently suffering matriarch Linda, and David Clayberg and Greg Vignolle as wildly different but strangely similar sons Hap and Biff, respectively - were perfectly cast and performed in what must have been Miller's vision of these people. (Unlike, in my opinion, Dustin Hoffman, who drew raves for this role, in heavy age-makeup, but was way too young for it when he did it a few years ago with not enough life under his belt). What really struck me about this performance, and it's very much to de Santos's credit this was so apparent, was the undiminishing effects of Miller's ideas. Miller could be Shakespearian in his writing and this play is the perfect example of material that should, and will, be read or at least seen, in perpetuity. A morality play with a timeless message. My only regret is the run has ended so you can't go see this production. Read it.

   And speaking of morality plays, Sunday afternoon I took myself, (I love going to movies alone), to see the smart, warm "Thank You For Smoking". I just love when a "small" film, that's been so over-hyped, actually exceeds expectations. What a treat! I hadn't read the script, or heard much more than what an out-of-left-field plotline this had, so I was really pleasantly surprised. No one-joke wonder here. Director/writer Jason Reitman, (Ivan's son and heir-apparent), beautifully conducts an orchestra of performers who hit every last note with pitch perfection. The fabulous cast, including highly underrated, wonderful Aaron Eckhart, in a career jumpstarting performance; Cameron Bright, easily the best child actor working; Robert Duval, arguably the best adult actor working; and yes, even Katie Holmes, take what starts as a satire, and without losing one iota of it's edge turn it into a tremendously engaging, funny, smart, warm morality play of a man's rehabilitative efforts to connect with, and live, his life in the face of ridiculous hurdles. Whichever side of the smoking argument you're on is irrelevant here, and that's all the more reason to see, and enjoy, it. This is an absolutely fabulous film that deserves a wider release and huge audiences. So go see it.

   (And I'll try my damndest to post "Politics As Entertainment" tonight...as long as the Dubyah Crew don't do anything else foolish today...it'll be a long one, so go pee, get refreshments, and Buckle Up.....) 
 
    

   So, evidently in trying to repair the subscriber notification feature of this humble forum, GoDaddy blew out the existing subscriber list. Go daddy.....!!!! PLEASE re-subscribe if you were on it, and PRETTY PLEASE subscribe if you weren't. Sending out over 1,000 emails every time I post makes me feel like a spammer, and don't get me started on that rant.... I'm looking for a new, reliable host and will let you know when I find one.

   Thanks....now read on.... 

   I found out something important about myself this past week and it startled me. Really shook me up, in a good way. I thought I was getting too long of tooth, or grey of beard, for these types of revelations.

   I have always been a really intense person. So much so, that for most I'm an aquired taste. And you have to be able to stand me long enough to acquire it. My kind of passionate expression, good or bad, love or hate, is almost impossible to take, close in, for any length of time. Little gray area, lots of black, more white. That's one of the reasons blogging works so well as an outlet. You get me in 5 minute clips, dear reader, and that's pretty manageable. But if you had to, say, live with me....yikes. I don't know that I could, no less expect you to. I've always maintained that I am basically a really optimistic person, so while I might not expect you to "get me", I always hope you will. 

   The last few years I've gone 12 bruised and bloody rounds with frustration. Business, family and relationship problems, a great many of my own creation, or at least contribution, have seemed like the proverbial brick wall you sometimes find your head against while trying to run forward. No matter how fast I step, it's running in place. But this past week, March 10, 2006 to be exact, a veil of anger lifted, and I'm not sure how to deal with it, no less rant or rave about it. But I can say for absolute certain, I started moving forward, fast. The left-foot-right-foot-repeat started working. What a trip!

   I will break my vow (again) not to make this personal and share some insight because I think it will affect my future writing. And then I'll tuck it away and RANT again. Promise. 

   One of the reasons I so love what I do for an [almost] living, personal management, is it's exactly like being a parent, except to grown ups.  Not of my loins. Actors, writers, musicians, performers of all ilk, are childlike and wondrous. They have to be, or the creativity gets staunched. But my love of my career ties directly to my greatest love in real life, being a dad. I have three amazing, different, fantastic, talented, terrific kids. Life with each has been a struggle, but more than well worthwhile. As corny as it sounds, they really are everything I breathe for. My oldest daughter is a former actress turned respected TV editor, my middle child, also a daughter, is easily the most naturally talented photographer I've ever seen, and working towards her degree in it. And then there's my 4 year old son.

   I was in a relationship with, but not married to, his mom. (For lots of good reasons). The chances of her getting pregnant at her age, and with certain health issues, were very slim. But she did, and we tried to make a go of it for our [future] son's sake, but couldn't. In what had to be one of the strangest days of my life, we sat in Cedar's getting the great news that we were having a boy who was healthy, and watching him for the first time on a little ultrasound TV screen, on September 11, 2001. At the same time the TV screens in the waiting room and all over the hospital were showing the Trade Towers coming down. Omen? In retrospect, hell yes.
 
   Her and my relationship was doomed from the get-go, but foolishly I never thought my son would be raised any way other than our sharing the responsibility and joy. CO-parenting, like so many other families these days. With all the other shit, that was the optimist in me. She, however, didn't see it that way and through some pretty reprehensible maneuvering, tried her damndest to take him away. Not only from my oversight, but to the east coast. She and her lawyers presented a case for the last 3 1/2 years that almost had ME convinced it was the right thing, and I believe in me. (And while I found her methods indefensible, I'm sure she had herself convinced she was doing the right thing, which I'll never, ever fault her for). But after an actual trial, and a seven week wait while the judge contemplated her ruling, (and I seriously contemplated life without him), on March 10, just 11 days short of his fourth birthday, the ruling came down, mom's request to move away was denied and I was granted joint custody of my son. 

   My wonderful lawyer, who kept me sane throughout, called me into her office and as we read the ruling I felt all the anger and frustration and hate and fear and loss just leave my body like the devil during an excorcism. It was stunning. And during the last week, I've had overnights with him for the first time in his life and it's been easier, smoother, and far more gratifying than I'd imagined or fantasized it would be. We've had a blast, and I find myself so filled with love, not just for him, but all mankind, I'm ill-prepared to handle it!!! This should be the worst problem I ever encounter, huh?

   So now you know why the rants have stopped for a bit. Tonight, though, after I took him back to mom's following a full weekend together of talking, playing, eating, showering, shopping, sleeping, being together, and laughing like lunatics, (or, to be more precise, like four year olds), I picked up the newspapers and trades from the last week I'd ignored, and watched all the news and entertainment shows I'd tivoed. And guess what? I figured out that this newly acquired love of humanity made me more pissed off at what goes on around me/us. I rediscovered the rant inside me in a new, exciting way, and it'll be even more profound, because I really want him to know that bullshit is bullshit and should be railed against, in the entertainment world and the world at large. And now I get a chance to teach him that. So, I'm baaaaack....and better. Does the name Don Quixote spin a windmill for you? Buckle up........ 

Next up - Politics as entertainment - more rant than rave, more cry than laugh. What Nixon v Kennedy wrought...

   Every day I start this post, W and his Merry Band Of Thieves does something new and ridiculous!! It's never ending. So I've made Thursday, March16 my cut off and I'll finish it then. Swear. (Yeah, yeah....heard that before....buck up, it'll be worth it).

   (Again I find myself apologising for how long this took to get posted. GoDaddy's site wouldn't let me edit.......and yes, I do edit regardless of what you think. I guess you get what you pay for, and this is free!! Anyone know a better blogsite?) 

   This all started while having a phone conversation with my good friend, the lovely, talented playwright Lesley B, as we watched "The L Word" separately together. The first year of this show, (now in it's third season), was brilliant, and a real revelation. Fully developed female characters, gay or straight, who hit the ground running, are real rarities on the tube, and every episode that first year was full of them. Their story arcs were totally credible, their friendships, their jobs, their houses, their hangouts, their clothes.....all top notch. Which goes to the writing, directing, producing, et al.....again, all top notch. Hell, they even made Vancouver, (in Canada, ya know, eh?), look like a sparkling L.A. And I won't deny that as a straight male, there was also the titillation factor, (childish semi-pun intended), which even my honest heterosexual female friends admitted to. But as the episode progressed I said, "Oh, god, this is totally ridiculous. They just jumped the shark", [note - I'll end this post defining the moment]. And she went, "Huh?"

   She'd never heard the expression, which I found especially odd considering she used to do what I do, personal management, before finding her true calling as an amazing wordsmith. And heaven (hell?) knows, I've had clients on jump-the-shark shows, and I always knew the precise moment, so I assumed she had, too. To be watching a once terrific show as the shark is being jumped is a real treat and a painful experience all in one. It's usually the beginning of some funny-because-they're-so-terrible, groan-outloud moments, and continue until someone saves the show by reinventing it, (very rare), or mercifully pulls the plug, (very common). And hopefully "The L Word" will be the former, because it's potential for a long run of being really entertaining and making a difference all at once is tremendous, but clearly now in jeopardy.

   So not to inform you, dear reader, with fact, because as I've said before that ain't my yob, man, here's where it comes from and why it's so appropos. From 1974 to 1984 a really fun, very Americana-nostalgic show called "Happy Days" ran on ABC. This  show gave us (the grown up) Ron Howard and Henry Winkler, among many others, who've gone on to great(er) things. For most of it's run it was on Tuesdays at 8, and was appointment television, in the best sense of the term, for the whole family to watch together. Ahhhhh, those were the days, (and considering The L Word was the jumping off, and will be the closing, point for this entry, just think about how far we've come.....). Kids and parents, greasers, innocents and hippies, all had their own favorites to relate to, and root for. And we all laughed together, either from absurdity, or real humor, both of which it's creator, Garry Marshall, still excels at. But about six years in it wearied, as all shows do. There was the vanishing older brother, the smartass little sister, the smartass little sister's budding breasts, the pimples disappearing, voices dropping, facial hair growing, the smartass little sister with now ample breasts having Chachi-sex....you get the point. But there was a defining moment in the slide. They take a trip to California, and The Fonz, that leather jacketed pantheon of everything cool goes waterskiing, (of course, in said jacket). Woh. AND JUMPS A DAMN SHARK!!!  Even casual observers knew that was the beginning of the end. And so it was.

   It was some 13 odd years later, in the late 90's, the expression took hold, and a lot of folks, pundits and civilians, have taken credit for it. Best research I've found, though, attributes it to one Sean J. Connolly, "The Colonel", who coined it in college in Ann Arbor, Michigan back in 1985. (There's even a terrific website dedicated to this topic, www.jumptheshark.com, which is lots of laughs...you should check it out). And about a month ago, as I recall, my absolute favorite entertainment reporter/critic, Sam Rubin, (who's on the morning goofy news, on KTLA-5 here in L.A.), expounded on it. I forgot the relevance, but I love Sam's innocence after all his years in the biz, never miss his shows even if I have to tape/tivo him, and I remember him referring to this expression.

   So, as Lesley and I both watched L Word, we kvetched about just how many jump-the-shark moments had occured since halfway through last season. Too many to even list here, but I'll tell you, this particular episode alone, had so many I lost count. In this ONE episode we had a silent yoga retreat for the glibbest character, (who sneaks out to cell-call her adopted mixed-race child), a "prom" to raise money for the beginning of a character's transgenderformation from butch femme to studly male named Max, Max's testosterone fueled jealous rage at his sometimes lesbian girlfriend's flirtatious dancing with another transformer, Max's whiny apology to said part-time lesbian, another lesbian's slamming-against-the-door straight sex, (after a horrible exchange where the man puts his hand down her pants and she says, "that's not what I want" - yikes), Alice's (another lesbian main character who keeps a connection chart) finally going on a date with the lesbian kissing-booth girl from the "prom" while Dana the lesbian tennis pro goes into shock from her breast cancer treatment... God I'm exhausted...and there was even more...in one fucking (bad term maybe?) episode. Talk about shark-jumping!!

   This really was a great show, and still has it's shining moments. Ossie Davis, as Bette's (Jennifer Beale's main character) father dying on the show literally one week before he did in real life. Kit's, (the amazing, luminous Pam Grier as Bette's half-sister) struggling through alcohol/drug recovery while running the show's "club". And, last week, they took Dana, the tennis pro with breast cancer, to her favorite team's game, where the cheering throng brought her out of her cancer-treatment's wallowing sadness. It was really beautiful. So, hopefully, this show can be salvaged by some deft recovery of it's own, before the shark gets jumped one time too many. But more importantly, Lesley, and you, now know from where this expression supposedly stems. And it's relevance. 

   I just hope next week we don't have lesbian water skiing.


   Up next - Politics as entertainment. Definitely a rant. Be prepared......     

   Well, Golden Boy has now come and gone, (except for this after-party drivel now droning on across the room...), and I have some thoughts. Which is amazing considering how stultifying the show itself was. With a few exceptions, which I'll focus on, because I'm just too bored to work up the energy to rant. Or maybe it's just that the show was so mediocre there's little to rant or even rave about. And that's too bad, because it started with so much promise and such high expectations.

   The opening clips were hilarious, and silly hopeful me, I thought the tone they set would hold up. Billy Crystal and Chris Rock in the tent knocked me down laughing. Jon Stewart's monolog was actually smart and funny. The "return to glamour" crack was quintessential Stewart, and worked perfectly. George Clooney's win thrilled me. And while I thought Paul Giammatti was going to win, I'm still glad. And Clooney is really proving himself to be the classiest guy in the business now. His acceptance speech was genuine and smart. And the "glad to be out of touch" comment was brilliant, and true. And will give Bill O'Reilly fuel for weeks, which is the highest compliment George could've wished for.

   Ben Stiller rocked, then put the hood on, and rocked harder. And Jon's "guess now we know for sure he's Jewish" comment, capped it off perfectly. Then the slide began. When, after 15 minutes of dull thuds the Wilson Brothers came out, for a brief second hope returned. But again, silly hopeful me. The real snowball-roll, though, began with the "biopic montage". ZZZzzzzzzzzz......oh, sorry. Will Farell and Steve Carell gave their all to a lame make-up joke and might've salvaged things but then, Lauren Bacall. Painful. A few more slightly less painful award moments, then Sam Jackson (sans hat - amazing in itself!) introed a smart, timely Tolerance piece. But Sid Gannon, in pure Jack Valente style, drove the next-to-last nail. It was nearly buried when Lily Tomlin and Meryl Streep gave very funny, albeit brief, respite and brought out the force of nature that is Robert Altman. But as he walked off the show walked off with him. And not even a bunch of pimps could save it.

   I agreed with many of the final, major awards, and was elated that the best among them went to "Crash", my favorite movie of '05. Paul Haggis is a brillant director, and evidently a keen observer, too, as shown in his speech. And then...(I know I'll take a lot of heat for this), Reese, next time (?), try to NOT look like you must have while rehearsing those countless times in front of your mirror. Overpracticed spontaneity shows, girl.

   But for me, the real highlight of the evening was the "M & M Red Carpet Tips" commercial that ran near the end. Sad commentary...


Next up: Jumping The Shark. Oh, Fonzie, what'd you do.....?

   I hope you sucked it up, (because you'd have had to), and took my advice and caught The Independent Spirit Awards. It really was a wondrous, fun, joyously self-effacing affair. Add that it's held in a circus tent in a parking lot in Santa Monica, and this year hosted by the oft-hilarious, always edgy Sarah Silverman and we have a winner!!! Maybe it's the lack of inane red carpet interviewers asking inaner (?) red carpet questions, (and no Isaac Mizrahi fondling anyone). Or maybe it's the unpretentious dress, and attitude, code. Or maybe, just maybe, it's the realness of the whole damn thing, but this was exactly what an entertainment awards show should be. ENTERTAINING. It even had funny musical numbers. And the Olsen twins, (fortunately for just a second), too!!

   Tremendous kudos to the Independent Film Channel for putting it on the tube live and uncensored. It's not that the nature of the language (lots of cursing) made the show, (and I'm a firm believer that words don't hurt, people do), it's simply that most of these folks got to speak without the worry, and therefore stuttering self-censorship, attached to the networks "standards and practices" folks, and that seven second delay button. And it made them that much more expressive, and in turn, that much more honest. Sincere. Warm. Humorous. Serious. And every damn emotion in between. And creative people should always be allowed to create untethered, and in this case, it showed beautifully.

   My one caveat, and really only one and it's admittedly a personal taste caveat, is I just don't get the hype behind "Brokeback Mountain". I just didn't like this movie nearly as much as I've been told I should have. It was a really good, but for me far from as deserving as a lot of others, film. But if the industry that made it lauded it, who am I to quibble? So I won't. And this was about the awards show itself, anyway....(I drift sometimes, don't I?).

   So if you're reading this early enough, IFC will be re-running the show UNcut at 9 p.m. tonight, and AMC, (probably cut to shreds) at 10. If not, my guess is it'll run on both stations throughout, at least, the next week. You'll be so taken you'll be anxious for next year's edition. I am. And you'll be comparing it to Golden Boy while you watch [the other side of the coin] tomorrow night. Enjoy!!

   Here's a link to the winners, so you can compare them, too:   http://www.variety.com/VR1117939264.html

   See you Monday with what I'm sure will not be as enthusiastic a post. I'm a cynical raver, posts like this not withstanding. Remember?      

   The Independent Spirit Awards will air live on IFC tomorrow, Saturday, March 4, at 2:00pm. They'll be hosted by Sarah Silverman, who's as far off center as she is brilliant. It'll also re-run at 9:00pm UNcut on IFC, and 10:00pm, probably cut to shreds, on AMC. I've had the great pleasure of attending a few times, (it's been held in a tent in a parking lot in Santa Monica!!), and the show is always a hoot.  Silverman should make it that much better. The films they honor are always the best, and usually hardest to find (though getting easier), of what's out there.  

   Ok, now read the Oscar post.....

   Hollywood's Golden Boy? Brad? George? Phillip? Terrence? Heath? Joaquin? David? Matt? Paul? Jake? William?(and that's just this year's...). Nope. OSCAR!!!!

   Since he was first handed to Emil Jannings for TWO performances in 1929, (and that's the end of the hard facts, folks), Oscar has been coveted like the Golden Fleece it turns out he is. While not all careers take a giant upturn on winning and possessing him, he sure does make a difference. And he doesn't even write, coach, direct, produce, act, or pout like a divo/diva. The careers that DO take a guaranteed upturn, however, are the ad sellers at the Reporter, Variety and local L.A. newspapers. Talk about influence....ok, I will, albeit briefly.

   Don't get me wrong. To my thinking, there are only three real awards shows - Oscars, Emmys, and Grammys. (Ok, maybe five - The Indys and SAG Awards - smaller by a lot but catching on). These are actual industry awards. Given by peers. The bretheren, (and sisteren), sometimes specifically in only a given category, (actors for actors, etc). There's nothing more accurate, if you ask me. Minus a small bump for the popularity contest angle, of course. These few are truly achievement awards. So, while the ads do influence a lot of the more general categories, they really only serve to remind the participants of what's been out the preceeding year.  A great friend, and fellow blogger, Rick Siegel, points out the insane rush of year end films and how the studios that release them count on that proximity to voting, sometimes in lieu of box office results. So the ads really only help films like "Crash", which was released earlier in the year, and actually shown the previous year on the festival circuit. And a film that good, and provocative, hardly needs the help.

   But this isn't about the ads, it's about the awards. So, without further adieu, my picks, (not to be confused with who may actually win),  pans, and comments:

   Best Actor: Phillip Seymour Hoffman. Does the word transformation mean anything to you? How a guy his size and mild demeanor became so much smaller physically and so much bigger and more flamboyant in character far surpasses what any of the other men did. Stunning. (And my honorable mention goes to the brilliant Joaquin, who also transformed himself, but with far less physicality involved. David was amazing, also, and deserved the nod, but Terrence, who was terrific, in "Hustle...", and Heath, ho-hum, in "...Molehill" paled by comparison).

   Best Actress: Felicity Huffman. For the exact same reason as PSH. This is a truly feminine woman who became a man waiting to become a woman unbelievably convincingly. Enough said. (Honorable mention to Reese, again for the same reason as Joaquin, and Keira, who I absolutely did not expect this superb level of performance from. Judi was Judi - and she's always great - and Charlize was, well, not quite Sally Field in Norma Rae, but taller).

   Best Supporting Actor: Paul Giamatti. This was an underrated, underseen film, that also came out way too early in the year, in which this guy's just the bomb. Besides the aforementioned PSH, is there another man working who's this talented, and more of a chameleon? He chewed up every scene he was in, and made both Russell (who's also terrific in this film) and Renee (who's not so great, to me, in anything) look even better by pulling them up and allowing them to be half as good as he was. (H. M. to George in "Syriana", another transformation performance. Matt - as Matt - mumbled really well, William was good but not there enough, and Jake just added to the "...Molehill" uberhype).

   Best Supporting Actress: Rachel Weisz. Why this wasn't a lead actress nod is completely beyond me. Her multi-hued, affecting performance made "Constant Gardner", (which I really loved), for me. She has become a real tour de force, carry-the-film performer and this pic showed that unequivocally. (H. M. to Catherine Keener, who unselfishly helped PSH to greatness. Amy was great in a virtually unseen movie, Frances was wasted, and Michelle was a real treat but I couldn't get behind - pun intended - this movie).

   Best Director: Paul Haggis. This movie was pitch perfect. Everything a director is responsible for, he did. But mainly he made us think. Very, very impressive. (But, I admit, I am really torn on this one, and that's not like me. I want to give it to George, who had a tremendous year, and in a way, also really deserves this for the same reason as Paul, Stephen who hasn't done a movie this thoughtful and powerful in ages, and Bennett who caught an era photgraphically, a yeoman feat, especially for a first timer). 

   Best Picture: Crash. All the films in this category were easily the best group of films in this category in years. And I saw them all at least twice, "Crash" three times, (the third at a screening where Haggis and Moresco spoke afterwards). For the simple reasons that this film has stuck with me the longest, affected me the deepest, and provoked more spirited conversations, it gets my nod.


   And now, I'm almost done. There are other categories and if/when I get over my gilt, (another intentional one, kids), for having taken so long to get this much up, I'll add 'em. But I do have one thing left. I really think George Clooney proved his value to the industry as a whole this past year, and I think it will reward his efforts with Best Screenplay. And it will be deserving, too. Just maybe not by me. It was almost perfect, but there were a couple of others that were closer. And my conflict comes from the fact that I truly want him to get recognition beyond just the tabloid crap. Man about the world George. Because as devil-may-care an image as he may put out there, I think he really does care, no devil, about an industry that's been great to, and for, him. And he, this year at least, for it.

   Good Night, and Good Luck........  

So many - too many - apologies!! Very unlike me...ask anyone who knows me... I've written 2 different posts for the Oscars, and unfortunately, neither sounded like my voice. I'm not a teacher, I'm a ranter, and if you learn something from me, that's just a semi-fortunate side-effect. I don't specialize in facts, but opinions. Waaaay out there opinions. You want facts...there've been enough educated articles about this subject in the last 2 weeks to choke a crazed, highly opinionated blogger. I know...I still haven't stopped gagging. So later today I'll have my Oscar piece posted. It'll be a "picks and pans" type piece with some rants, some raves, and a bit of rambling, but NOT the historically based piece I'd foolishly intended. I have absolutely no business being correct. 

I am sorry the Oscar post is taking so long. Between research, and clients actually busy, I'm swamped. (Anyone wanna "intern" to a crazy man?). I promise it within two days.
 
And I know I've said it before, but if you're actually waiting for it, you really do need to get a life........


A BRIEF, HUGE RAVE - Goosecross Winery - I don't know about you, but for me a good Cabernet is as good as entertainment gets. I was very lovingly gifted a bottle of AEROS Cabernet from Goosecross, and it was spectacular. Seriously. As good as I've ever had. Better, actually. They have a great website so you can check them out - www.goosecross.com - and I would if I were you. But, lucky you, I'm not. I'll write a bit more about them after Oscar visits, and no, they didn't pay me, I just really loved it, so I'm sharing.....

So here's your topic - The Oscars - ok, now, tawk amongst yawselves.....

Be well.....

As you must know by now, I have opinions. I'm not always qualified, but I have 'em, and I'm not shy about it. I got a mouth on me. So to keep you occupied and [hopefully] amused whilst I research my Oscar post, (yes, research - it's gonna have some actual facts in it, kids!), here are some random rants and raves, in no particular fashion:

RAVE - "The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada" -  Tommy Lee Jones, he of the relief map face and the cold diesel engine with a twang voice, has almost never disappointed as an actor. Even in a total shit movie, (can you say "Volcano"?), he shines. But as a director (and producer) he's even better! The real trick here is he directs not only himself, in a role he was seemingly born to, but an odd, quirky, deep cast, including Dwight Yoakam and Levon Helm (of The Band), and all are really great. With a truly off-center, original storyline that is beautifully written, stunningly shot, (mostly on his own South Texas ranch), and perfectly paced, this film is just a real, unexpected treat. Do not miss it.

RANT - NBC's Coverage of The Winter Olympics - I'm not much of a sports fan, but I do love a good, televised spectacle. I think it's that train wreck thing. And that's just what watching this is like. Bob Costas, usually a pretty smart sportscaster, had run through Roget's by the third night and has been floundering since. The production's terrible, the reporting and commentary worse. (Did you know Dick Button was still alive?) And all the "filler", those little lifestyle/location pieces, are insipid as are the reporters doing them. I'm certain this is not what the ancient Greeks had in mind. Did they have luges?

RAVE - Countdown with Keith Olberman - Who remembers Keith as a CBS sportscaster? Who remembers he got fired for being way too smart for the room? I do, so it was with glee that a while ago I discovered this iconoclast's MSNBC news-and-newsmakers of the day show. His dry sarcastic wit is given full reign here, but don't let that put you off. He's smart. Real smart. His interviews are thoughtful and highly informative for the viewers and interviewees alike, his questions never run-of-the-mill. His "Oddball" segment rivals anything Bill Maher does, without the goofy smirk. You'll enjoy yourself and learn something. Who knew? (And see if you recognise his "sign off").

RANT - The Tonight Show with Jay Leno - Can someone please explain this show's popularity to me. Better yet, can you please explain how he keeps his lips from chapping kissing so much celebrity ass. Does the word shill have any negative connotation anymore?

RAVE - iPod - I'm a techno junkie. I inherited it from my father, who sadly died before the computer age really hit. But he had every gadget of his day, and then some. He was not so much fascinated by them, but fascinated watching other people be fascinated by them. His office was always chock full of stuff to keep his clients distracted from the business at hand. It inevitably worked. I actually like them for myself, and how they all enrich my life. Besides my Smartphone, my iPod is my favorite. The fact that I can carry my very extensive CD collection in my pocket and listen to whatever I want whenever and wherever I choose is astounding. I was late in getting one, and haven't bumped up to the video version yet, but in a very short time, I can no more imagine life without my iPod than I can, say, touch tone phones, color TV, and microwave ovens. "Nuff said. 

RAVE - AirAmerica Radio - Yes, I've just completely identified myself as a lefty-pinko-liberal ,W-disliker, (what's to like?), but I gotta tell you, when it comes to getting the unvarnished truth out, this is the place. Yes, they're all liberals, (though Ed Shultz is a former conservative Republican who became too disenchanted), and yes, they may be slanted in their content choices. Oh, and a big yes, Al Franken's a bit pedantic for my taste, albeit still quite funny. But the times I'm usually in the car, there's the aforementioned Ed Shultz and the former Air Forcewoman, Randi Rhodes. Ed is one of the smartest, fairest broadcasters I've ever heard. No matter how hard the Bushies try to get his goat, he stays fair and balanced, (see FOX, there's a way to actually be that). And Randi is just an America loving, bullshit-in-government hating ball of ranting energy. You think I rant....? (here in L.A. it's on KTLK-AM, 1150) You gotta listen to this.


Now, see, there were more Raves than Rants. Who says I'm negative?

Next up - Oscar.... out of the garbage can on Sesame Street, onto Phillip Hoffman's mantle...Get settled...   

   "I'm Neil, and I'm a loveaholic". (Everyone together now -) "Hi Neil" !!!

   Okay, so from that "tease" at the end of my last post, you thought this was going to be about ME and my lovelife. Sorry, but there's not much entertaining about that, and this is, after all, an entertainment blog. Awwwww, ok. Don't be disappointed, because....

   I will tell you that in late July 2005 I fell in elevated-blood-pressure, heart-thumping-out-of-my-chest, couldn't-wipe-the-stupid-grin-off-my-face-even-in-my-sleep love. For the first time in my life. It was like a new universe was formed and together, for too brief a time, we were the sun, the moon, the stars, and all the planets. But as it turns out, it was just a gaping black hole sucking the essence out of not only itself, but all the other solar systems around it. And, in spite of the existence of this gargantuan swirling vortex where my heart muscle used to reside, it pains me to say I still might be - because she's not. I'm not easy and try as I did, I guess I didn't fool her.

   I only bring this up because it really drives home to me the utter absurdity of our national obsession with, no, addiction to, Celebrity Love. Personal, individual love is a strange thing at absolute best. So why, knowing what most of us know about it, would we encourage the stars we admire to play theirs out in such a public way? And why, (and this is the real, tough question), would they go along with it? It's beautiful, it's ugly, it's pure bliss, it's pure hell, but, for sure, at it's best it's never graceful. And we're not graceful executing it.

   Yes, executing....no mistaken choice of words there. I chose that word carefully, for it's duality. Operating it and killing it. If it was on a more mass scale, it would warrant being the lead story on the news as often as it is. And I admit I watch those stories with more fascination now that I've experienced it's ugly side than I ever did before. Just waiting for the wreck. I slow down for wrecks. The majority of us do.

   This all really hit home a few weeks ago when a big story about another massive W blunder was the second item on the news that entire day and night. For the life of me, I can't remember which fuck up it was, (the "animal hybrid" comment, I think),  but I haven't forgotten that the Chad Lowe Hilary Swank split was the lead item. I swear. Of course, she's got TWO oscars, and he's virtually unknown except for some award he won for a show with a handicapped, excuse me, challenged, lead actor some 20 odd years ago, so we all expected it, didn't we? They weren't equals, and that never works. The newscaster was so serious I could've sworn our national security was at stake. Maybe it was.

   My favorite future train wreck, though, has got to be Angelina and Brad. Really just Angelina, but, hey, Brad signed on consciously, I'd imagine. She's the one who got tattooed and wore a vial of her former husband Billy Bob's blood around her neck, remember? Now that was true love. The kind that lasts forever. Or at least until the blood clots. (Not sure what happened to the tat). She's also a UN Ambassador, of sorts, a Video Game queen, and the owner of "the most luscious lips on the planet", (according to that esteemed informational, People Magazine). Wow. And he's the one....well, I'm not really sure, (can you say Chad?). He's great looking, even from a male perspective, he was the "sexiest man alive" at least once, I think, and he was formerly married to one of America's sweethearts. They made a movie together playing married secret agents who each didn't know the other was. The entire time they were filming, and for a while afterwards, they denied, very publicly, there was anything going on between them while they made a game of hiding from the press and paparazzi. 

   Then, all of a sudden one day, they stopped hiding. They seem to have given in to the urge to see themselves, on covers and newscasts, on beaches in Tahiti and in villages in Botswana, with and without her, (their - didn't he legally give them his last name? I forget), evergrowing brood. Always doing good, and feeding on their own images. AND POSING, or at least letting their pictures get taken. Maybe they realized her growing belly was a sure sign they couldn't hide anymore. Whatever the reason, they started enjoying the openness of it all, and the need to share it with the rest of us for whatever brief time it lasts. Or the need to hardsell it so they don't vanish completely from our view before we can pull the bodies from the twisted remains.

   Or maybe they just discovered they, too, were loveaholics. 

   Next up - The Oscars. Why name an award for a garbage can residing grouch?

   
   
   

(To the surprising number of you who actually called and emailed asking where's Part Deux already, two things - thank you sooo very much for reading and caring, and.... get a life!!)

   It occurs to me that few people, in or out of "the biz", really know the real effects of Reality TV on the real tv/entertainment industry, (did I say "real" enough?). Real actors, those poor, hard-working schmucks (affectionately said) who've chosen a life path of playing out someone else's words and deeds for the enjoyment of the rest of us, have easily taken the biggest hit. But that's just the tiniest tip of the iceberg. Writers, producers, directors, editors, casting, assistants, script supervisors, camera operators, hair, makeup, wardrobe, set decorators, craft services, grips, best boys (what the ...?), music supervisors, graphic artists, agents, managers (oh, god, me!).....and, holy shit, I'm just warming up!! 

   Factor in the guy at the supermarket who no longer gets that carrying-out-the-bags tip from the third lead actress on even the lowest rated sitcom, (on UPN?), because she's been replaced by fucking Joe Rogan and his merry band of buffalo-testicle-eating fifteen-minutes-of-fame-seeking hanging-by-your-left-nut-from-a-helicoptor-while-plucking-a-flag-from-a-tower morons from Intercourse, PA and you start to get the idea. Not that I have anything against Joe Rogan. He's actually a pretty nice guy. But he was a mediocre stand-up comic struggling to be an ACTOR, scrambling for auditions, and now he's got a job that basically puts other actors out of work. C'mon. Where's the goddamn justice?

   Common sense, and basic math, will tell you that for every half hour of this mindless dreck on air there are approximately 12 actors NOT acting. That's 24 per hour per week times about 60 hours of Reality programming per week. That's 1,440 actor-hours per week going unfulfilled!! And, again, all that "below the line" talent it takes to keep (or try to keep) the actors acting. And believe me, this is a conservative estimate.  

   The Screen Actor's Guild, Aftra, Actra, etc, when pressed, will tell you that only about 5 - 10% of their membership makes a living wage plying their craft. Those "trade unions" are supposed to be protecting their members, yet seem to be looking the other way while all this happens. And at the same time they're greedily taking their dues and deductions. And renegotiating deals with the conglomerates and the networks and giving away "back end money" (DVD and Internet-broadcast residuals, for instance) like it was theirs to give away. While real working actors become an endangered species. And go hungry, taking all the affiliated workers with them. 

   But, (thank the gods who've been Lost on Wysteria Lane), I see the trend swinging back. So far this year, more pilots for shows based on the written word, requiring actors who act and support people who support them, have been commissioned and shot than in, at least, five years. And some of them may actually see life as series. And some of those may actually succeed. (Ooooh, I just got a chill).

   I'd like to say it was because the suits saw the error of their ways and wanted to right their wrongs. That they tuned in to those mindless abominations and were shocked to see what came out of that weekend in that bunker in South Dakota. I'd like to, but I can't. Because it's really about the almighty dollar. You see, Reality TV may be cheap to produce and create windfall profits accordingly, but it's a short-term windfall, and networks can't survive on only tomorrow night's returns. How many times will you watch Bambi Bachelorette ride off into the sunset with Gary Goodyear? Not many, they're finding out, considering that before the first year cycle's been re-aired, Bambi and Gary broke up. There's no rerun return on reality programming. They've started to realize that Jerry, Elaine, George and Cosmo will bring in Billions, and will be watched for years and years and years, (think Lucy, Desi, Ethel and Fred).

   And that's the Reality of it.

   Next up - "I'm Neil, and I'm a loveaholic". (Everyone together now -) "Hi Neil" !!!

   

   I have a theory, (just a fancy word for an informed opinion, and I'm full of those, ain't I?).

   During the days and weeks following September 11, 2001 we sat, as a nation, transfixed to our boob tubes. Only, then, there was nothing boobish about those tubes. I personally watched brave, smart Ashleigh Banfield on MSNBC, but there was certainly no shortage of heroic men and women willing to stand in front of cameras way too close to "Ground Zero" so that we might experience, as close to first hand as possible, the sheer annihilation of our comfortable lives. Like watching the proverbial train wreck, we couldn't look away. Though we knew we should.

   So we watched, day and night. Afraid of what we'd see; afraid of what we'd miss. In fear something more would happen; in fear it wouldn't. We're humans. We're wired that way. A fact that didn't escape the collective consciousness of the suits that run the entertainment conglomerates that had become, only temporarily, our information conduits.

   As the months crawled by we gradually became enured to the endlessly looped images of people-filled planes becoming huge fireballs as they exploded into steel and glass monoliths causing them to crumble and disintegrate; to the vision of bodies free-falling and the dull, sickening thud of those bodies hitting awnings and pavement; to the churning steam shovels and bulldozers clearing the mountains of steel, concrete, paper, bone-and-flesh fragments; to the tears and agony of loved ones vigilantly posting flyers begging for whatever shards of information they could glean. And that emotional hardening became an increasing indifference to those images being blasted at us and we began drifting away from our sets. Tuning out. Another fact that did not escape those suits.

   In our growing sense of relief, we ventured out into an ever-brightening reality. The feeling that we were no longer safe in our own homes, cities, country faded and we began to resume the very public pursuits that defined our lifestyle. Restaurants, theaters, parks, museums, shops, all experienced happy upswings. We were back to our lavish routine. This, too, did not escape the suits. But this one meant we were actually not even close enough to our television sets to turn them on, and this was more than those suits could handle.

   Under cover of darkness, in stretch limos of course, they retreated to an extravagantly outfitted bunker, (suits can never be too insulated), 80 stories beneath a mountain in South Dakota, to plot their own return. To figure out how to get all those male, female, young, old, fat, thin, black, white, yellow, brown consumers back in front of their sets.

   One suggested they secretly urge the government to start a war in some far off, barren land where they could "embed" reporters with the troops and feed us live shots of this manufactured conflict. Lord knows, he opined, our president is nothing if not impressionable and aware of what a fabulous p.r. opportunity a successful incursion would be.

   But the others scoffed, as only suits can. They went around the table, one by one, pitching increasingly worse ideas, (like televising a coup, an assassination, or democratic elections in a former dictatorship), until they came to the head of TON, The Oxymoron Network, (the sixth network), who could barely contain himself. "What was it that kept them glued to the tube?", he asked, "What made them not turn away?". And they all agreed it was the live-as-it-happened not-knowing-what-might-be-next feeling we all got from watching post 9-11. So he said, "Let's invent a new reality!!", (an oxymoronic statement if ever there was one - god, he was good), and they breathed a collective sigh.

   "We should give them some kind of competition where the participants would have to engage in all kinds of ridiculous activity that could hurt or even kill them; in which they might have to eat, or do, things they'd never otherwise do; after which the last ones still alive and at least semi-healthy would win a large cash prize, a spouse, or some other such valuable incentive!". And they all cried tears of joy, for they knew they were saved!! And "Fear Factor" and "The Bachelor" were born, and registered electronically with the WGAw, right there and then from the bunker!!

   Next up - Part Deux - "The Reality of Reality TV" and why it has actually killed off so many actors, writers, and crew members, and how they can be resuscitated.   

 

   Last week, while watching the Grammys, I made a discovery, (I thought). There, amongst the overtired Madonna, wide-awake McCartney, colorful Green Day, nuclear MaryJ/U2, invisible Sly Stone, surprising Clarkson, and countless others, was the absolutely unbelievable John Legend. Am I the last person to "Get Lifted" by this remarkable talent? I hope so, because while I might be late getting on board, I'm enjoying the ride immensely.

   First thing next day I downloaded the "Get Lifted" record from iTunes, and my iPod hasn't let me play anything else since. This is easily the best first effort I've ever heard. Bar none. I'll usually give a complete breakdown of what works and what doesn't in anything I review, but this one's almost too easy...there's not a single misstep on this entire disc. 

   It's practically otherwordly. And I know it's not just me. I made a copy for my beautiful friend Marsha, (a music industry super-pro), and watched her as she listened. It definitely worked on Venus...

   Next up: Reality TV and what it's done to the Biz. (It's not good...) Definitely a rant. Don't get comfortable...