It began with the 1991 Backyard Brawl

Vacations way up in the north country during my youth were enforced that it was to relax, to be in nature, and that TV was not needed.  Even at that age I knew that to be false for a myriad of reasons.  I was impressionable enough to realize Duluth TV stations cleared all network programming, which meant game shows the Donahues consumed in the Twin Farms.   But what else was out there?  Anybody get any Canadian stations?

My requests were met with the usual parental dismissing that all starts to feel the same.  Whatever quaint feeling there might have been was always nudged a bit when we'd go through a brief walk in the woods and come to the next cabin to the southwest.  There, at the edge of the rocks on Superior, stood an earth station.  Oh, to know what wonder existed.  Even on my usual visits, the TV wasn't on, I was told to not ask about it; just be a good kid and not talk at all.

Over Labor Day weekend '91, however, a drive up there was supported by the radio call of the old "Kickoff Classic" game, figuring this was the last we'd know of sports until return.  Our arrival was met with more than the usual multi-hour cocktail party vibe: said neighboring cabin had visitors from western PA.  This could mean good or bad news, not sure.

On that Saturday, with boredom setting in, I wandered over.  There it was: the remote in hand, the box all lit up.  "Hey, we're trying to find the Backyard Brawl!"  I don't know what you're talking about, but I'll tell you what I'm seeing: a football game on something called the Sunshine Network.  Channels changed, and the dish moved.  Wait, that...is that a station in Oklahoma?  Don't change the channel.  Slow down here, that TBS ad said "Superstation 17."  

Eventually, ESPN was found, and there was the game.  To me, the outcome was of no consequence.  The important thing was what I had suspected: there are games out there.  Games I can't reach, but if I only had a conduit to the sky.

At halftime I raced back to our cabin (read: house).  I unleashed a stream of knowledge to my father of these wonders in the atmosphere, signals from across the land that brought football goodness and that we were just scratching the surface.  He looked at me with his usual combination of "What the fuck are you talking about" and "I don't care."  I simply moved on, hurrying to return for the 2nd half.

Fast forward a little over a decade later and with dish / earth station technology improved, here I am again, finding a few things.  Hmmm...that gives me an idea.  This idea was met.  It was then perfected.  By the mid-late 00s, I could brave getting up earlier on a Saturday morning in the fall.  I'd start the 9AM window with 13 games simultaneously.  The volume would ebb and flow, and depending on if Hawaii was at home, it could go all night.  Sure, it was the viewing, and gambling, and just the ability.  But I wanted weirdo finds.  Someone in LA shouldn't be able to watch Houston Baptist home games, let alone do so from the comfort of a TV set.  Open that Madria Sangria and don't stop and wonder why the Colorado School of Mines game is on Live TV.  So there are maybe, players included, 1000 people there.  In November, look at it snowing for Hofstra's breakfast game as you plan your day.  Marvel at the SD perfection of Las Cruses' "AggieVision."

But time marched on.  More and more conferences started their own networks, making the reach easier and a little less fun.  Then, one year, out of fiscal responsibility, I didn't order extra channels.  And I was OK with it.  And then I'd read of more and more games online, so I'd have those going on in the background.  It made sense by going online...it made for an even cheaper look, but it also took less people to do, which in turn meant more games (even if they looked like a high school game from, well, back in 1991).

And here we are now, without a real season, more of a controlled experiment.  I lamented this when I was buying my traditional sangria for said viewing, and though the mask I did my best to enunciate that I usually bought this for college football.  Now...oh well.  "Don't worry, dude.  No, there will be college football."  The cashier seemed near adamant.  He knew why.  It was the same reason they were getting paid more during the Spring - though it was hazard pay.  It's the almighty dollar, one that will separate the haves from the have-nots in the future of college football.  

My love came from the volume of games at the blend of said 2.  It was the blend that will return one day.  Big schools, small schools, the dollars flowing.  I'll be there, watching somehow, feeling like an old buddy has returned to town and it's like he never left.  Until then, we drink and reflect on how much has changed.  Better?  Worse?  Maybe...both?

Searching for a place, weary-eyed

Long ago, when considering a career (believe it or not), in my search for jobs that seemed like fun I thought I wanted to be a teacher.  Specifically a gym teacher.  Every time I went into gym, you passed their "office" where 3 teacher desks were crammed in with storage closets with all kinds of equipment and rock n roll blasting all hours of the day.  A rotating crew of people would be in there, all constantly laughing about inside jokes (so they seemed, I always seemed to walk by as punchlines like "he should have that bronzed!" lead to gales of laughter).  Shit, that looks like a good time.  So, one day in a moment of frivolity I asked my 8th grade gym teacher (a world-worn man who let everything slide and also wore one of those gardening hats with flowers on it whenever we went outside, regardless of weather) if it was fun being a gym teacher.  His look went quizzical.  "Why?"  'Just wondering.'  He then seemed to adjust to a pleading stance and said "Get back out there."  Was he attempting to give advice?

When I'd meet with my friend who is a high school math teacher, before talk went to either the Dawgs or NBC's 1979 daytime lineup, I'd ask how work was going.  The kids all seemed to be able to be handled.  Same with the parents, and of course the subject.  It was all the OTHER bullshit.  

And now, in addition to my current job, I get to simultaneously be an elementary school teacher!  I know, its an audience of 1, and I'm in tandem with a real teacher, but the onus is on me and me alone.  The first day of school had none of the fanfare but twice the pressure, as the jolly drop off was replaced by a stream of "Wait...ok, can you see me?" 

With structure as strong as Jell-o, I'm left to take someone's word for it that the work was done, that it was right, that there are no questions.  And maybe that is true.  Of course, this person has no discernible taste when it comes to many, MANY topics, so can they be trusted?  Do I have the time not to?

'Wait, you have a couple on this page you have to fix.'

"UGHHHHHHHH"

'Do you need me to go over any of this?  Does-'

"I KNOW.  JUST...can I play on my tablet?"

"Aw, Trip, you didn't do the dishes!"

---

Imagine if you told a teacher that, due to some sort of mix up, they were going to see the same student at school in the next hotel room while on vacation.  They'd immediately change their plans, or even just stay home.  Instead I get this continued joy, no separation.  

The day it returns to "normal" which is likely years away, optimistic as I may be, there will be the drop off.  (Hell, if I'm allowed: I may be told off blocks away)  But in that moment I will look inward and feel the shit monkey off my back...a giant exhale.  No, while I may have some sort of knowledge to share in my life, I'm no teacher.  And honestly...they were right.

Replace All Speakers Before Leaving

Having just written about arriving in Dealville and looking for Hollywood swank, at the time I continued to be remained wowed by societal happenings from decades gone by, and could you blame me?  It hadn't even been 20 years since Daffy Dust was at its peak everywhere...the punk growth of skateboarding, and what relics remained...and-wait, there were how many drive-ins out here?

Hard to believe in a land of such real estate grabs that huge swaths could be devoted just to screening movies, mainstream and otherwise.  But it's true.  Then, and especially now, there are few remnants of their existence.  I could look up old movie listings and find addresses, only to drive up and see a supermarket or apartments and just stop and look around: there was a drive-in here?

Of course, enough research can lead to finding episodes of TV shows with a shot or scene here and there.  The Pickwick drive-in (now a Pavilions and a gym) in Burbank was in a chase during an episode of The Rockford Files: when the cars turn into the drive in, the whole area of Alameda Ave. looks positively quaint.  And maybe it was...

But in 2001, while on the road visiting relatives a couple hours north, I turned on a road and damn near brought the Saturn to a halt.

In much the same way an archeologist nearly falls down when he sweeps away a crocodile tooth in the Wyoming hills, I was stunned at what was facing me.  If the Valley Drive-In had closed and then been just left there for who knows how long...well, wouldn't it look like this?

"Wait a minute.  I...wow.  WOW!"  I took the disposable camera out and stood in awe, staring at this relic.  Oh, if it could talk.

What's on the marque tonight?  Is there a weekend day swap meet?  Mainstream fare, your "Other Side of Midnight," your "Rollercoaster," even your "Back to the Future?"  Or are we talking "Gas Pump Girls?"  We're not that far from an Air Force base, are they ready to cut loose?

Subsequent visits north would require, annoying all, a check-in to see if it's still there.  It was.  And as I type this, it is.  It's a "Drive-In Recycling Sorting Center" and while (reportedly) there was an effort about 5 years ago to turn it into a Drive-In again, it never happened.  Yet it sits, impervious to time, stoic in its nature.

As I write this, Drive-Ins are receiving their due again as those who want to get out and see movies are finding it's the safest way to do so.  It's another moment in the sun before dusk settles in and our program begins.  Maybe, land out here is worth just too damn much to devote it to such a glorious ideal.  But maybe, just maybe, this is the second coming of gold.

No baseball? Look to the skies

(Editor's Note: The last time there was no baseball in mid-June was 1981, when the player's strike interrupted the season.  Writing for the L.A. Reader, Trip Darvez wrote an article on that topic.  He found a copy of the article while cleaning out his garage.  "Here, see if this moves the (expletive) needle."  When asked about what that time was like, he told an anecdote of how his radio station was giving away sneak preview passes to The Great Muppet Caper, and how he left the theater under the cover of darkness to watch Raiders of the Lost Ark instead.)

(The Subhead of the article was "The Dodgers and Angels might be on strike, but in the [literal] world of satellites, everyone has a pitch")

Ronald Howrey thought he had a problem.  As a Dodger fan, he mulled over ordering ONTV to get the dozen or so home games carried.  The games on KTTV weren't enough.  Despite being the only fan in his family, he had convinced them that this was the strongest, wisest move.  Some agreed.  Some wanted Z Channel, but relented.  The decision was made at the start of Spring.  But then Ronald, an insurance agent, saw a satellite programming magazine while flying home from a business trip.  Purchasing a copy, he'd convinced himself by the time the plane landed.  The family, surprised, needed little suggesting.  It was settled.  Giddiness won over budget.  They haven't looked back.  The Earth Station was a "go."

"To be honest, I should have done it sooner.  It would've been great for the holidays, you know?  We all watch a movie or something."  That is the past, a time when the Howrey family was sans-satellite.  You could almost label it B.S. - before satellite.  To be honest, I wasn't ready for his infectious enthusiasm, and was beginning to tire of it was we looked at the dish from his neighbor's yard for comparison.  "I worried about how it'd look, but if I put it near the palm tree, maybe he wouldn't notice it as much."  Myself, I was in "yeah, I got it" mode when Ronald brought me back inside, giving me the controls and map.

"Here, pick a satellite, let's see what's going on."  And so I did: my first scans got much the same that neighborhoods wired for cable can receive.  With adjustments I found Home Box Office, The Movie Channel, Home Theater Network.  We watched a bit of a newly created channel called Spotlight.  He rattle off the pluses "Movie Channel is 24 Hours a Day" (which made me wonder how much the family took in at 4AM) and minuses (seeing a lot of repeats on one).

But we kept digging...and saw programs in Spanish from...somewhere?  Jessica Savitch talking to her director and reading the news...and then getting up and leaving?  Local TV from Chicago.  Now this...I don't know what this is, but it's all in the air and the moment I suspect we're getting somewhere, I find out I'm alone.  "Well, that's what's on there.  Do you have enough for your story?"

From the driveway, I began to remind him of the whole reason again: no Dodgers, now what?  "I don't know.  But I'm set!"

Only set, temporarily, are the schedules for the local stations.  Check your TV Guide and see this cryptic 1-liner: "At press time, there was a possibility that a  baseball strike would cancel scheduled games."  Stations that carry games at first considered shifting around programming but then thought better of that and left schedule regular programming and specials in their advertised time slot.  If people wanted to watch "The Cannonball Crazies" on Channel 5, it better be on then, yeah?

All of the station programmers I spoke with, usually desiring on-the-record quotes, insisted this time to be off the record.  You'd think as a result they'd give me direct answers to questions such as "Why does Wina Sturgeon on Channel 9 always look surprised?"  Perhaps it was the situation, more tenuous by the week, it would seem, that made for tight lips.

One station's scheduler, in-person, folded out what at first looked like a teacher's grade book but was in actuality the station's schedule for the summer.  Leafing through he said "The best laid plans...but you don't know when it'll end.  Sales department would rather that happen pronto.  Until then, we wait."  And, when baseball returns, the viewers return?  "Yes, I figure as much.  Course, the longer it goes..."  He trailed off and didn't say anything for a few minutes.

Just how many Ronalds, though, are out there: in their own way finding something to pass the time?  Will the fandom wane?  If the Dodgers remain in first place, will it matter?     

Two Decades: Hollywood Hangover

(Decades are handy benchmarks, but much has changed in my two decades in Dealville.  For this installment, theater real estate changes and evolution)

All the build up to the move out here was a very real thing.  Old video procured, swanky apartments found, gold-era clothing purchased.  Don't believe me?  The summer before I was working at WGBH in Boston.  A fellow co-worker twice my age had previously lived in southern California, and sometimes we would get out the Rand McNally road atlas and turn to the map of LA and Orange County and just look.  We'd look at it and marvel, like some sort of treasure map.  There's gold in them hills.  GOLD!  "What's this town like?  How is it living over here?"

I'd been in town post-graduation a few months or so and shared some 70s and 80s photos with longtime residents, and they commented "You know what you should do?  You should take pictures now."  Why?  Who cares?  "Because someday, THAT'S going to be your 'old neighborhood.'"

They were right.  In this era I am in a real mood to get rid of shit: scan, digitize, etc.  With that spirit in mind I got out a photo album I received as a gift from a girl who was polite but also very keyed into playing cat and mouse...and looked at all the photos.  Well, things certainly do not look like THAT anymore.  Those folks who said that 20 years ago were right.

Sunset & Vine

Upon arrival the northwest corner had a rather nondescript mini mall.  One of the shops was a photo  shop, a place where I later learned had some great anecdotes to share...in another blog.  Anyhow, to the north of that sat the TAV Celebrity Theater.  Back in the day, that's where things like Merv Griffin and all of his owned shows taped in front of a live studio audience.

Once Merv ended the talk show and sold the game shows, it sat largely unused, save for the occasional taping of something else.  It's vacancy lead to squatters...which lead to a fire.  In the mid-90s.  This was NOT the mid-90s.  So, for half a decade, it sat looking like this:

The back area, which would house parking and then the mini mall, was not in good looking times.  But it was at this moment something important was happening north west of here: Hollywood and Highland.  In the gleeful need to create a tourist trap to end all tourist traps, developers and dipshit city councilman Tom LaBonge said why does that intersection get all the fun?  So, the mini mall was VERY quickly shut down and razzed...and so was the TAV theater.  What was going to spring up?  Oh, shops and condos, not unlike any other section of the neighborhood.

When finished it wasn't anything special..and, well, now, it's even less than...

This is looking at the same vantage point as the TAV.  What this DOESN'T show you is a 75% vacancy rate, homeless hotel directly in that pathway, and an overall grime.  It's the same hellhole I wrote about in September.  Swankness of a whole different sort.  In the end, is it really any different from a bombed out theater?

Vine Theatre

In QT's love letter to this town, Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, you saw a well done effect of Hollywood Boulevard at night.  The Vine Theatre was one of them shown...

Twenty years ago and today - pretty much the same.

The marquee is blank, but that's only because it's about to be set up for the shot in that film...it's back to the usual now, showing random current and relatively current films.  It still fights on.  Maybe it's meant to live forever.

Pacific Theater

At the start of this blog nearly 15 years ago (!) I wrote about sneaking in to the Pacific...and just like the Vine...

Again, minimal differences in the marquee from QT's movie, and that's about all.  It still stands, empty.  It's there, people officially go in and look at it, they try to "figure something out" - do you get the building attached to the theater, so on.  Thankfully, it's here and we can only hope one day for good use.

Ritz Theater

Oh, what it once was...

I just want to confirm: in the basement of the Pussycat Theater (well, the one on Hollywood, not the one on Western) was LA's original punk club.  So, if you're looking for, well, a book to be written, have at it.

Once the Pussycat chain went down, like many things of that ilk, it attempted to go legit.

It got a new name (or back to its old name?) and was likely cleaned many, many times.  But even that ended...by the time I moved in, it was a church!  May the circle be unbroken.

That area under the Ritz sign on the marque later became the legendary, late and lamented Skooby's hot dogs.  Oh the tales of that place.  But the church left, so did Skoob's...and now it's...

I honestly have no idea what the fuck this is...but it's a giant sign that says smoking lounge.  So, not all bad I guess.

Vogue Theater

Because it's, well...ok, you know me well enough to not be surprised that just this morning I heard a radio commercial for the film Hardbodies and at the end the announcer said it's playing at the Vogue Theater.  Nice.  And 20 years ago, the mainstream films had left but there was always some kind of action there...over the past 20 years people have tried keeping it a theater, a "supper club" or something, halving it, and, fuck if I know.

Again, I have no idea what the hell this is or was or supposed to or will be, but it sure doesn't look open.  Someone should do something with it - a tourist friendly restaurant right next door...you'd think that would be enough.

You'd also think, after many false starts, someone would get a "big idea" and razz the place.  But as we've seen in the last 2 decades, unless you are the victim of arson, your shell will sit...and as so many of these did 20 years ago, I could walk deserted streets, listening to FEAR on the discman and look at the dark marquees left to wonder and hope.  Now, the reality is as clear as day, and it's harder to go back.

The Lava's

Just in case you weren't sure about how my brain works, I want to give you an example:

After working in the backyard for a while and doing the kind of tasks that only beer can compliment, I knew it was time to wash up before snack time.  "If I had Lava soap, this would be gone in no time.  You know, this reminds me of a commercial from my youth.  I wonder if it's on YouTube."

It is, thanks to a fellow angel.  It was nearly as a I remembered it...but what I didn't realize then was that this could have easily made for a theme song for a sitcom.  The Lava's, new on ABC, Fridays at 9, 8 Central.  From Miller/Boyett productions.

We have a goofy dad, a hard-working wife, approximately 3...no, 4 kids.  (2 of each gender)  We even have the stuffy Grandma to come over and act as a foil for one of this family's wacky adventures.  Each episode is set on Saturday; that seems to be the day when the Lava family is up to it's usual very long list of tasks...and none of them go right!

It seems like it's going to be a nice day, so the Lava family decide to take out some of those things surrounding the Oldsmobile.  Gotta clean the grill if we're going to grill tonight and...who would have thought?  Old charcoal!  The "extreme" son, with the nickname "Spike" is going to spray paint his bike neon green (as you did in 1990) but here's what he gets for laughing at Dad's misfortune: spray paint right on the skin!  Feels like fun!

Grandma Lava comes by, uninvited, to give her opinions (also uninvited) on just what is going on here...looks like Scamps the dog wants to say hi!  And no, Grandma, those muddy paws won't just wipe off!

Have you ever cleaned the log holder in the fireplace?  Have you ever wanted to?  Have you ever needed to?  Mrs. Lava is finding out the hard way this was not a wise idea in the first place!

Debbie Lava, their oldest child, is not immune from tasks this Saturday.  Yes, the exposed wood door frame can stay that way no more!  She seems to think she can talk to her friend Staci AND paint at the same time...watch out for that paint dipping from the brush!  (laugh track)

The little Lava, Junior, gets a lot of "AWWWWWs" from the laugh track, but Debbie is in no mood for his B.S., especially when she's on the phone.  Look out, Junior!

Dad has already proven his difficulty with the grill...hell, he's been in the driveway all day.  He's lined the inside with aluminum foil (to prevent his wife from wanting to clean it, I guess) but has a little trouble with the charcoal!  Dad, you open it that way, you get...well, you get that!

This young Lava girl is just making a mess for mess' sake, and...well, the scuttlebutt is that they might write this character out for season 2.  They're having trouble finding storylines for her.

Well, another episode, the Lava's have learned some lessons and forgotten others, and let the credits roll.  Stay tuned for Just the Ten of Us!

Whadda ya want? Wicker?!

I'll tell you this - if I have to fucking stay up late to goof off, then it really isn't goofing off, is it?  If I have to fight just to have time during the day to actually do my shit and play 48, how can I balance it all out?  I can't.

Talk.  It's constant talk.  Worse than any office I've been in, and I've been in some awful situations...but in some I could close the door.  In others, when it was bad, I could simply stop working and start fucking around because if they valued my job, they wouldn't put me in a bus terminal, would they?

"Trip?"
What?
(pause)  "Um...-"
Good pacing.  Come back and try to think of something to say in 5 minutes.

I relayed, in pure dismay, that I had just been forced to spend the last hour as a science teacher (a role that does not suit me in any way unless we're talking "consumer chemistry") and then back on the old saw horse.  My colleague simply said "I have no idea what you're talking about!  Lol"  Never more have I wanted to smack a genuine friend in the back of the head than that moment.

What's this?  It's semi-retired relatives who find current societal norms not that bad..."we're taking more naps, reading, catching up on stuff around the house."  As opposed to...what, your normal schedule?

"You have to make the time" is a mantra often used...but how does it fit now?  Toss in guilt and annoyance in addition with your current and newfound responsibility...and there truly isn't any more time.  The day is booked solid and I'm rarely leaving the house.  This is how it is, and if you want to keep a check coming in, the shit keeps a shoveling.

But who do you tell besides fellow citizens in this exact predicament?  They and they alone are the only ones who are sharing this experience.  You lock eyes (from a distance, of course) and don't even get to shake your head.  You're both mentally exhausted.  Not a word is exchanged.  We both know this to be true.  It will be remembered forever.  For the rest of our days.

Super Boomers, without prompting or being asked, offer up suggestions because they have too much time on their hands.  They can only watch so much news, try to understand their phone, or bemoan shopping hours without offering unsolicited advice.  "I have an idea.  You know what you could do?"

"I know what you CAN do"

What's on the shelf

I have been writing on here for coming up 15 years and while the purpose of this site was never any kind of historical document, something this old becomes such a thing…so while this isn’t necessarily funny or a unique topic, this exists to look back on 6 months from now, if not longer (I hope).

It’s hard not to be selfish when you’re inconvenienced.  As in: “why is this tougher for me to have what I want?”  (Especially when you think about how, 1 month ago, you were in a crowded restaurant with friends) Looking back, that is simply an anecdote, something that doesn’t mean shit anymore. 

The first weekend wasn't so abnormal as much as it was the slow realization of those not understanding in your neighborhood that this was no hoax and you'd better get ready to hunker down, and sadly this time we're not talking about the beloved Dawgs.  (Social distancing: the national championship and Georgia football!  Oof)

I was at home with the pup anyway so I didn't look out much...it just worked out that way.  When I braved the neighborhood market (which could be described as the lyrics to Ted Nugent's "Free For All") I saw a person leave the store holding nothing more than 5 9-packs of toilet paper saying to no one in particular "THEY GOT IT!  THEY GOT IT!"  My feeling was more than the shopping experience; it was that these people who barely fit in with society, the adults who have to be told 4 times to write their name on the form and have a seat, these people now have to follow rules to stay in place and try not to get everyone else sick?  "Oh shit."  I believe I didn't think that, I likely said it aloud in a store.  No one corrected me.

Smiley, who can’t stop reading about this (and works in a hospital, no less) asked me “Do you think this will be a short-time thing or will it last forever?”  I told her it was both: until the curve goes down, it’ll be like this.  Everything.  And afterward, whenever that is, it will be real tough to “forget” about this and politely ignore the overfed honk next to you who mouth-breaths for his/her existence.  As I’ve already seen walking the dog and in stores, remember: there will ALWAYS be idiots.  The pandemic will not eliminate them…in fact, afterwards it might feel like there are more, because somehow these lunkheads survived.  That’s just a reminder from me to you.

Side note: In my professional life, which as documented has been 20 years, I would have never believed you that a sitting president would have given a flying shit about TV ratings, let alone when the public might be looking to the federal government for assistance.  It's my first pandemic, so I'm still sorting things out. 

It will end, and when it does, when it's looked back on or the Big Scoop herself has to write a paper on it in high school, what will first come to mind won't be an illness, it will be everything else:  All the noise, all the distractions, all the lunkheads in the way.  They carry on conversations in public and online to no one in particular, and now they're roaming free.  In charge of themselves, already a hefty task, and in your space.  Yet another reason to stay home.

Fart Lauderdale

I've waited to write not out of laziness (though isn't that always the case?) but to see if what occurred last week was abnormal in any other way than the usual ups and downs of life. 

All right, so, had to make another coast to coast trip, some meetings and surprise recognition, and even though you miss everyone, you gotta do it.  By the time I arrived, having awoken at Dick O'Clock, even though my body said mid-afternoon, I could use a meal.  The suggestion is to "have a good meal, go to a steakhouse or something like that."  OK, well, off I go in search of such a place.  Ended up at one and even though I was hungry and didn't need to be appetized, I said YES, bring me your largest gulf shrimp.  I was delivered 3.  I laughed.  Bring it on. 

Haven't I already established that I don't need such gluttony? 

The menu's description simply described flavors and ideals...what arrived was nearly 2 racks of ribs.  And this wasn't Big Earl's BBQ and Oil Change Emporium.  This is, what attempts to be, "upscale dining."  What the fuck? 

That wasn't me, that was my stomach.  I mean, I knew I wasn't going to finish this, it would finish me, so I kind of just sampled stuff and started to lean over.  The main goal was Key Lime pie and why is this crew trying to bring me down?  Trying to eat $50 worth of ribs: what kind of decision is that?

The following morning I turned down breakfast because my body remained a "whoa horsey!" +++  By lunch, I thought I could use something.  Having arrived to the ballroom, I entered in to see a rather large spread of fresh sandwiches, salads, and drinks.  They sat there.  Is this...can I?  Excuse me do you...?

I waited maybe 20 minutes until an older woman began to serve herself.  Well, the gateway is open.  Still only needing a modest amount of food, I take a half turkey sando and salad.  I sat alone (as it tends to be on work events, or maybe it's my winning personality...or rustic good looks, take your pick).  On this table of 4, 1 chair was removed.  Then another.  Then a 3rd.  Well, I need to wrap up this meal and thank goodness I'm not that hungry because of that entire hog that was delivered to--

"Are you in International?"

Uh no, I don't--

"Then you can't sit here."

This dippy old lady pulled my chair back with all the force she could muster, and from either the ceiling or behind (like a surprise attack in pro wrestling) a resort employee took my plate and silverware from my paws. 

Why can't I just eat a god damn meal and not either be given and entire buffet or allowed the acceptance to sit in this fucking chair and look at the tropical scenery and get my bearings?

The final evening I was going to get even.  Against what, beyond my consciousness, I'm not sure.  I took a drink in a giant coconut simply because it matched my wardrobe and never had a sip, leaving it inside a potted plant.  I had 3 servings of Grouper because I was in Florida and would have done that anyway.  I kept the rum cakes delivered to the table on an ongoing basis, and ordered the fanciest scotch they had.  I don't even know that I drank that, but it was to prove a point only to myself.  And off I went.

The end was an interesting summary of my life as, outside in the tropical night, I ate a slice of za and considered my fortune.  Dining in this town shouldn't have been abnormal, and yet...

Two Decades: The Biznazz

(Decades are handy benchmarks, but much has changed in my two decades in Dealville.  First off, what goes on in the Company Town)

For the first 5 years, it was the same as it was the past 10...maybe a bit longer.  "How'd it do last night?"  You're looking for that big rerun deal.  Talk shows?  5 days a week.  We're talking big bucks up front.  $1000 steaks in Las Vegas, stars there to shake the hands of TV station owners...memories made, deals made right afterward.  5 years in, we could find out demographic data in big cities the next day.  And DVR audience was included.  The future!

It all seems so quaint now.  Maybe it was?  It's kind of hard to say when you're in the moment.  But shit, think of how in 2010 VOD was a big moneymaker.  You might find an episode of TV you missed online - good luck with that.  Now?  Well, you know now.  You're living it.  Who isn't?

Some retired.  Some were forced retired.  Some, rightly or wrongly, were bumped out.  Buzzwords tossed around.  They disappear.  Those that dined on the $1000 steak (while you ate Ralphs beef-a-reno at home) haven't been on the payroll in many, many years. But what does that really say?  

A little over a year ago I had my first boss who was (not by much, but still) younger than me.  After a while, you have to accept that the lanes all go at different speeds, and you can change lanes, but there is only 1 thing important: are you moving forward?  Because if you aren't, or your car is on the side of the road, you'd better get back quick.  Doesn't matter how or where...but get back.  It's going too fast now.

I said, in a deal-making lunch around 2003, "I'd say in 10 years, maybe 3 networks will really matter.  Maybe a dozen cable channels.  The rest...not a factor."  True, but I said that as if that was ALL there would be, and how hard is it to predict something that doesn't exist?  Flash forward to 2018.  In a prominent high rise.  Direct to consumer.  It's internally controlled.  I heard someone "higher up" than me say "We'll see what happens."  I then spoke up breaking the silence with "Us in the room...here right now...aren't WE helping make that decision?  Don't WE deliver the information to the powers that be?"  Not only was I correct, I saw what happened when the 'powers that be' sold off a major component of the company...a component that I happened to work on...and off I went again.

Keep swimming, latch on, back again.  Learning, expanding, making deals.  In a business that has become a chameleon, your personal evolution isn't immediate, either.

A man who I met at the start, one that was involved in a handful of shows going back to the 80's and well into the last decade, met with me a few weeks ago.  I toasted those 20 years...and received back the kind of anti-Semitic and frightened old white guy speech you can hear in different parts of the country.  He was forced retired and cashed that check.  He also didn't have to hold back anymore.  I walked back to the car afterward, surprised at his "expanding," and then called the restaurant to apologize if anyone overheard his hokum.  I've seen old executives at Crate & Barrel...behind the register.  Many others consult or say they're available.  And then there's those, like a guy I thought I knew, who let it pass him by.

The college kid coming out now has little in common with me now in terms the biznazz...her/his whole life has been in some form or another watching what you want when you want and you didn't need to own physical media (necessarily) to do so.  It's their ideas that can inform.  Helping each other not only makes work better, it leads to more opportunities.

And, most importantly, you can do it with awful hair, brown shades, and shirts that will never be tucked in.  (Even an occasional Hawaiian shirt while we're at it...that reminds me of another story)  20 years ago?  It was some sort of bullshit labeled "business casual" and a fucking TIE.  Now, it's making decisions, accepting rules, meeting the future...and we're all on the same page.