"Whoa! Look at this!"

Wow...this is a great view!  You know, I'm not really sure.  I think that's a movie studio.  Do you have the map?  Let me see.  It says Universal...but I guess there's another one, too.  Yeah...let's see if we can get over this guard rail.

Careful.  Do you want the camera?  (sighs) I wonder what's on the other side.  Is the Star Map still in the glove compartment?  Eh, I'll get it later.

Do you ever think of...

What?  Oh, no, I was just thinking what it would be like to live here.  (laughs)  Yeah, crazy.  I think there's more lookouts if we go up to Mulholland.  I think the Star Map shows that, too.  OK, you ready to go?

I could do lunch somewhere, if you see somewhere you like when we're out.  Wait - before we go, let me get a picture of you.

Super.  You go up there first.

Someone (temporarily) saved my life

All my life, it was "it's not what you know, it's who you know."  And, even in the most minor scenarios, I found that was true.  It was always true.

And then, it wasn't...and it made me think, or realize, that it was all sow shit.  But it took an even longer amount of time realize that no phrase is absolute.  Maybe, just maybe, it was the "who" in the phrase that was the problem.  By knowing them, it didn't make a difference, it seems.  The very people I'd worked with before and would again...weomp?!  Hmm.

So, after more rejection, it took someone I know to end the suffering, albeit temporarily.  In the realm of possibilities, nothing is given.  What's wanted vs. what's expected, but honesty?  Respect?  They'll have none for you...until they want if FROM you.  And that's how things roll, I guess.  You saw them on your way up, you'll see them on their way down.

And when they hand you the receipt from buying new dish towels, tell them you, too, think of the "old days," that we should meet up for lunch, and keep to yourself that you may forgive, but you don't forget.

Half Full

The events of the day, and their resulting wear and tear, left me slouching on the couch in a way that only I can.  I'd even use the phrase "world-weary" if I'd seen the world, which I certainly have not. 

Then, she came up to me, all smiles.  "Let's go to the kitchen and get an ice cream sandwich!"

I shouldn't be buying those for a myriad of reasons, and I rarely go into the supermarket for 2-3 things.  But it's Memorial Day weekend, and the hot dog buns were moldy.  Damn it, I want my money back.  And...well, I do have a coupon, and they are M&M cookie ice cream sandwiches, and it's just about "summer" and...

"OK," I said, and just getting up seemed to keep the machine in motion.

"The first thing you do is open the freezer and get them."  She was "helping," and this was all part of the plan.  I cut it in half, which seemed to confuse and disappoint her.  I told her she was getting the bigger half, which wasn't true at all, but I was managing sugar in the late hours.

Sitting down, she suspected a ruse: "Can I have a bite of yours, too?"  No.  This way we both have some, right?  "Yes.  I got the biggest piece!" 

Well, this worked out perfectly.  Eating, both of us all smiles, she looked at me and said "I'm so lucky!"  No, sweetie.  I'm lucky.  Despite the large lack of good luck in my life, I'm lucky.  Right here and now, there's no doubt I'm lucky.

"Yeah!"

I've got living to do

Stacy, are you ready for cheer practice?

YES, mom.  God, why can't we get a Betamax?

A what?

A Betamax.  I'm missing this new show I like.  OH - LOOK! 

Ugh.  Stupid Mrs. Conover moving it to the night.  If it was after school--

Stacy, watch your language.  

Fine, I'm going.

(One week later)
  
Stacy, isn't your show on now?

Oh my god!  OK, Linda, I'll call you after.  Bye. (pause)  Mom, if you're gonna be in here, you have to be quiet.

(sigh)  Fine, I'll fold the laundry in the kitchen.

WHAT?!  Crap!  Why are they doing this?

Stacy!  Your language!

I'm calling channel 2.  Oh - sorry, Dad.  Let me know when you're off the phone. 

What happened to your show?

It's not on.  Some cartoon thing on instead.

Oh, well...you can help me fold the sheets.

Why do they have to ruin all the good shows?

I don't know, honey.  I don't know.

 

Going Under

Days go fast, in the "blink or you'll miss it" mode.  Weeks, next thing you know, are over.  People excite themselves over the weekend.  Myself?  It's just another day.

The "process" (such as it is) to land somewhere else is not a swift one, so each day only yields so much news.  It might be also described as a "trickle" and all the applying in the world to jobs that actually fit whatever one might call a skill set...you wait.

One of those currently in play is, believe it or not, a job with the city's library department.  My background fit much of what they are looking for, and I was pleased to hear I've made what I thought was "the cut."

This "cut" occurred at, of all places, a fire department training center.  I reiterated that I was not trying to be a fire fighter, but go I went...and before I knew it, I was in a cattle call.  Some were dressed to the 9's, some in what we call "The Summer of George."  But once inside, I sat down and took what can best be described as an "adult SAT test."  Just before I began, I was told that the large group I was in were all there for that job.

40 people can do this job?  The guy in line who said he used to work for LA Metro trains and now "works for his dad, outside" - he can do it?  The lady who said "I just go for everything now" - her too?  Was there any cut at all?

I left more confused than ever, and wondered...just what is the threshold?  Damned if I ever know.  HR departments are no help: it all "went great" and "we'll be in touch."  I hang up the phone, I reply with another thank you and...well, how do you tell someone you can only waste away the day watching old After School Specials until the bills are due?

No more "stuff"

Maybe the cue card guy wasn't there.  Maybe Chuck couldn't see it.  Maybe he couldn't remember.  But he looked in the camera and said "We'll be back with...more STUFF...right after these messages."

Chuck Barris' production career might have been labeled as such now, but then, when the shows were on?  Oh, he heard it all...almost all negative.  He soldered on: the shows (by and large) were hits.  When it all got to be too much (some of which his own doing, he'd later admit) he retired to south France, just as he promised himself he would.

Two books came from that time, one about "himself" and another about himself.  When he returned from France to write even more, he often did the rounds on book tours.  For the book The Big Question (a fiction goof that, in my opinion, was a bit of a letdown) he spoke at Book Soup in an event that turned out-of-control by the end with surprise visits from Milton DeLugg and Rip Taylor.  Answering his own questions at the start, he again pleaded that he did not do drugs during The Gong Show.  He also wanted to be remembered as a great writer, but resigned himself that he'll probably be remembered as the wacky host who finally got gonged.

(And, in an interview 6 years before The Big Question, he said to himself: "My epitaph in real life would be ‘The Man Who Thought of The Gong Show .’ What a horrible thing! But when I was in the hospital, what bothered me was that I had to do something, that the years left in me were going to be a big zero …. I mean, what’s going to happen? Do you take a slow American Flyer ride out? That seems boring as shit!”")

So, Chuck, while your memory is being celebrated as this:

 I'll indulge you, and instead present this:

I do this not as a fan, but out of respect.  Respect for an innovative producer, a fine writer, and giver of advice to me.

Back in my early college days, I searched for career advice low and high, high and low.  I found what was reported to be Chuck's address, so I went for it.  I told him I was toiling away in general classes, waiting to take the fun stuff.  I purposely peppered my letter with phrases from "The Game Show King" such as "star-fucker" and "hero worshiper" while blending the advice demand with a heavy helping of praise.

To my amazement, less than a month later, I received a letter in return.  It was my own, with a small gem of advice from the "King" himself:

A true original, Chuckie Baby.  You were a true original.  This is me saying bye-bye.

Ol Bess hits 100 (thousand)

I had just left the house when a momentous occasion occurred.  I had sensed it coming, and was hoping I wouldn't be stuck in traffic or doing something mundane.  But there it was:

 17 years with ol Bess...and it finally makes the milestone.  I said it early in its life as a goal, later as an excuse, and now as a necessary part of getting by in a perilous time.

In the early days, I remember it being new enough (hell, just from this century) that it occasionally impressed, if for nothing beyond its "new-ness."  I was happy, more so because I didn't have a bad commute.

The first oddity was a unique sound when it idled after the gas was pushed for a while.  It confounded mechanics all over town, changing belts (that didn't do it), changing fluids (a rip-off), or inspecting and leaving confused.  I put up with it, but it wasn't much fun to have a car where everyone can say "here comes Trip" 100 feet away.  That followed with a front mount which seemed to be ever-so-slightly disconnecting, leading to a low-level "hummmmmm" as the car moved along.  Again, I put up with it. 

What I couldn't have possibly known or foreseen was that I'd keep the car in the same condition with same, well, everything, for its first 10 years.  There were a lot of "I should have" moments toward the latter part of last decade, and using my stash for a new car was one of the ideas.  But...what?  And why?  So, I didn't...and Bess didn't meet the "cash for clunkers" threshold, either.  So, we were doing fine, surviving...

Until a morning in the winter of 2010 when, simultaneously, as I was driving, the following happened:
1. The right front tire split
2. The right back tire split
3. The engine frame then got multiple holes in it from...what?  Old age?  Who the fuck knows.

I've never ridden a live bull, so I can't say the comparison is completely accurate, nor have I flown a private plane in a thunderstorm, but it's close.  By the grace of god, I make it to a nearby service station, and it's one of those moments where everyone stops what they're doing to take a look.  All other mechanics pitch in because, well, this is an all-hands-on-deck moment.  I appreciate their technique, but can't help thinking...for this car?!

It's 2nd decade saw trips to the bay area (even sitting in a median while I quickly scanned my phone to figure out what freeway took me into The City, and which one was a direct shot to Mill Valley) and Las Vegas.  The Vegas trip was noted particularly for the shock so many in my family had seeing it.  "Wow, it still works?"

For the next few years, there were large/larger repairs that made me question keeping this going, furthered by the make itself no longer around.  But then, glory be: I get a job 1 mile from home!  Those 2 years bought me more than time, giving Ol Bess plenty of time to rest and store its energy.

Moving over the hill has, for the most part, kept a close commute (back when there was one), but a repair of a giant coolant leak gave me a serious lesson: that's the last time, Bess.  That's the last time I'm forking out that kind of dough to keep you going.  It's too much.  Sorry, but it's true.  When mechanics tell you to just rent a car for the weekend instead of push it to Las Vegas, and you know they're being honest, we have to start to have "that conversation."

But just as that began, I checked the odometer to see 95...then an oil change last October told the truth: the next one will be 100k plus.  Now, it's just a matter of time.  And here we are...

Ol Bess...I don't know how much longer we have, but I hope it's all good.  We hit cruise control, roll down the window forever tainted by apartment building sprinklers, and let you do your thing.  You know these roads as good as I do...where to now?

Face Value

I'm more than willing to admit that I lost interest in the NBA over the past decade.  I'm also willing to admit that, as such, I shouldn't be the one to give advice to a pro team.

All the same, I've seen that they're in the bottom of the Western Conference barrel.  How should they turn it around?

Well, for starters, how about finding players that LOOK like that?

Style cures all in the pros.

More to Come, Part II (The 1960's)

If the analytics on this blog are to be trusted (and it's Google, right?) the most popular individual post here on Pacific Gold is More to Come from April, 2012.  In it, I admired the swank nature of the moved-to LA version of The Tonight Show.  At the time, I only put up 1 bumper card from the New York days.  And, while that era of New York was swank in its own right, what I had as an example doesn't do it any favors.  So why shouldn't that era get its due?

Well, it should...though the further back we go, the harder episodes are to find.  Thankfully, another friendly collector got them from somewhere (who knows if he can't say, won't say, whatever) and I figured this could give another view of the show.

1965.  Middle of the decade, early in John's run, and while not all the famous pieces are in place, it's close.  The show also seems to be an established hit, so the principals are loose as well.  Maybe that's how they were all the time.  Hard to say unless you were there, and I wasn't (as far as I know).

I included this not because it's anything special, but more as a "typical" example for the era.  It didn't have to be anything more than what it said, right?

That's pretty much true, though the show wasn't (or didn't feel) tied to the "more to come" phrase.  View the creativity below:

What's considered the 1960's aesthetic in fashion/design/home furnishing was viable here as well.  Not much art could be done with Johnny or his pictures (especially if he didn't pose for any other photos) but NBC's art department was trying to figure out how to think outside the norm.

Not that the bar was especially high.  See the photo above, which looks like it's already well-worn.  For all we know, this could have been used for Jack Paar, too.  NBC had a vested interest in color programming with RCA as an owner.   CBS and ABC were getting around to broadcasting more shows in color (why, in a round-about way, promote the competition?).

If you had a black and white set, that's how it looks.

With a swing band in the studio and 1 hour and 45 minutes to fill each night, music took up more of the program than usual.  The show also wanted you to stay tuned in case the current guest bored you:

While the bottom photo might seem the kind of art in a jazz club or saloon, the above...how to describe it?  Is it the kind of art that was later in Trivial Pursuit?  Almost early-Trader Joe's?

As we know, the move to Hollywood brought it to another level.  (David Letterman's morning show and then Late Night took it to another, more humorous level)  But in the beginning, the "more to come" cards were as slick and hip as the mid-60s were for Don Draper...and Johnny Carson himself.

Survival of the Smoothest

You know what the problem is with "making it look easy?"  It's that people who don't do it, or know how to for that matter, think it IS easy.

What's going on, Joan?

Look, I've been making bacon all week, it's New Year's.  How bout we let off some steam?  Goof around?  You and me.  Ready?

Fighting On

There are no excuses in deal-making, particularly if you do want to make one.  (Wait, is that even a sentence?)  So, in times that are good for seemingly everyone but myself, it lead me back to Hollywood and a discussion of current standings and plans.

I wish I was speaking of Conference USA football bets, but sadly, I am not.  More pressing matters exist.

As a result, I've been looking in unexpected areas...some rarely searched territory.  On other fronts, the "usual" - though not so much to me.  Calls, bribes, so on.  But we're looking for gold, and if cardinal comes with it, I'm not arguing with the decision.  We're also aiming for the future of the biznazz, which was the main topic of the meal.

Sydney kept sending suggestions, I concurred, and they were correct.  The night kept moving, we kept agreeing, and happiness continued for all.  You can tell when effort is made, and while it kept coming, it was a motivator.  We wanted more.

We ambled out up Fairfax stuffed and pleased, but only one of us was satisfied for the future.  It wasn't me, and while I have these plates spinning and things are looking up, the shit monkey remains on my back.

   

When days grow short

Sands slip through...feelings began to meander...thoughts became an unpaved road that end without ending...

I'm at arm's length, but I can't help but be filled with wonder: what's going through this mind?  Not what he'll tell me, but what actually is going on in there.  We're in the airport taking what could very well be his last flight.  He's in "fine spirits" for someone who ripped open a tea bag all over the table (for reasons we can't quite place) and later spit up a portion of his lunch.  He then offered up one of his tacos (from the same plate) because he "hadn't touched it."  I politely declined, appetite long gone.

All senses are go in a location like this, but I'm getting nothing in return.  I offer comforting small talk.  Half-smiles, even a look my way.  Minutes later, I'm asked if I just spoke about...well, what I spoke about.  I agree.  He nods.

Once landed, it's an avalanche for him:  He says little, letting the squawking wash over him.  Moving, already complicated, is met with disagreement or a dismissive wave of the hand.  Dinner is a mild complication, as it is these days, but once it's served, ends are met.  I decide to give him space, something he isn't getting much of today.  A few attempts to make conversation don't work.  It's shrugged off.

You learn a lot in situations like this, it's true.  Not only about how to deal in and with such situations, but about yourself.  It seems far off, but I've been writing on this screed for 11 years.  That means I'm over a decade older and you start to see halftime, if you will.  What's your endgame plan?  How do you plan on running out the clock in certain victory?  How much will you let your assistant coaches do at the time?  I've seen bad clock management in life.  I don't wish it on anyone. 

We'll meet again, in a week or so, and if I see happiness, that's a win.  If it looks like stoicism, I'll hope that's what it is; when you can't keep up, how do you respond?

"When's Breakfast?"

Normally, when you drive past the train tracks and see a man struggle with an overflowing, ripped grocery bag of food, you just keep on driving.  Any other time, I would.  But this time it was Potsy, and he was in Dealville. 

The arrival came with two (2) gallon tubs of Brandy Slush.  What other kind of signifier would anyone else need on what the future would entail?  It was meant as a pleasant surprise, and it was...and my freezer was already packed with items I myself also did not purchase.  So, it went in the fridge, while a half-dozen boxes of Kraft Mac n Cheese (because it might not be sold in Los Angeles) lined the counter.  It took me some time to begin to adjust my surroundings, so off he went to bar hop and visit an all-night haunt, Doughnut Hut.

Having downed a drink and a doughnut (or donut), we were then off for a Campfire Feast.  When you dine with Potsy, you pay extra for the Wagon Wheel Sampler.  His steak arrives "smothered."  The side dishes contain vegetables in definition only, and the meal is capped with something called "Big Mountain Fudge Cake."  Despite the revelry and good taste, my body tried to sort out just what I was trying to accomplish.  Potsy?  He wandered up to the Holiday Inn and said to the front desk the quote above.

The whole visit, though, was for a marathon day of college football.  It did not disappoint.  We screamed in joy for Central Michigan's victory, we ate taco chips.  We grilled tri tip, we didn't burn down the neighbor's home.  We drank sangria, and we watched over (and over) a punt return from the Texas Southern / Houston Baptist game.  Dining outside, we all enjoyed the day's good fortune.

And, just like that, he was back toward the tracks.  Off to make more slush, off to find more classic car shows with taco trucks.  Myself?  Well, by Sunday I had a lot of walking-off to do.  My body was put through an extra endurance run, this time without the Las Vegas adrenaline to keep me going.  The settings may be different, the elements may vary, but the outcome is always gold.  This is what we do in the fall.

Everyone gets a turn

If any of our drive-by readers have spent time in a monitoring cell, if even for brief stays, you are more aware of current society's scourge more than most.  It's a modern phenomenon, and the surprising annoyance comes from all angles.  It's a button that's shaped differently from here to there...but the result is the same.

Look at that thing.  Sure, YOU'VE seen it...everyone has seen it, millions have used it (maybe even someone you know).  But the abuse of this button is something that, in this century, has caused a greater waste of time than daydreams, day-drinking, and...wait, drinking isn't a waste of time.

Anyway, the abuse in commerce and employment hits you in many different ways.  "I guess I need to take a look at this."  Sometimes, it's helpful.  Many more times, it's not.  Personal messages sent to everyone involved.  Dozens of e mails with "sounds good," "works for me," and "THANKS!" clouding the day.

All right, so you have more stuff to delete.  It's annoying, but that's work.

Oh, but if it was only work.

The "funny forward" continues to this day, and the confused have mastered smartphones just enough to do that and install the Papa John's app.  There you are on forward #11 of "Vacation Pics!" or "These Rodney Dangerfield jokes are so funny!"  OK, thanks...but wait!  What does everyone think of this?

"lol"  "Hi Carl"  "THANKS!"

Long ago, former Pacific Gold writer Drew Boatman said it was "the talk" that sent he and his lady to the far reaches of the Earth.  That whatever was said just HAD to be said...and then commented on (necessary or, more likely, otherwise) by all.  I'm not planning such a trip...yet.  This nonsense is what social media is BUILT ON, so even an avoidance of that doesn't mean you're free.  What to do?

Didn't I say something about drinking?

Wouldn't You Know It?

Yeah, I'm real glad things are going good for you, Clark.  Mmm hmm.  No, I got laid off, uh, when they closed that asbestos factory.  And now, wouldn't you know it?  The Army cuts my disability pension, cause they said the plate in my head wasn't big enough.

Eddie, Clark and Ellen don't want to hear about our troubles.

Oh no, it's very interesting.

Why don't you just ASK him for the money, Eddie?  He sure as hell can't take a hint!

Well, I didn't want to ask you Clark, but...could ya spare a little, you know, extra cash?

Sure, Eddie!  How much you need?

About $52,000.

Best Intentions

Despite the malaise that kept my professional life in a constant state of indigestion, it appeared that, in the heart of Spring, that I had won the war of attrition.  Business was changing, and it all appeared that the future was bright.  Hugs were given all around.

Even if it wasn't bright, I strive for little more than normal in life...and, through that point, that's what I received.

But then, one day, I'm told that hey, it's just business.  Not personal.  (Not personal to anyone but me, of course)  So...now what?

I tell my work contacts...frankly anyone who could help.  Try not to get depressed.  Try not to drink...well, not to drink more than usual.  Try to look at the bottom line.  Try to keep saying that "the best is yet to come."  Try to sit and nod politely while people say it's a "great time to get a new job" and "you'll get something soon."

If we only knew what we didn't, right?

Had I not taken this plunge, the one my body sent me warning signs about (and then it turned out to be correct immediately) I'd be short of some of the great things I now have in my life.  I'd likely be happy in work but struggling in other items.  All wants...but this is different.  It's a need.

The song goes:
I know it's too late now
But, I wish I could go back in time
And start all over somehow
And get it right from the start

I look forward to writing that this new fear is over.  Looking forward...

Good Morning, Dave: Vindication Hardware

It's been a while since The David Letterman Show ended.  Dave has since guest-hosted The Tonight Show multiple times and created an HBO special titled "Looking for Fun."  (It's a doozy)  But, the Daytime Emmys are also this time of year, and the show has already won a writing award in the non-televised program.  Up next is the hosting award, and we turn (as we did for every important entertainment extravaganza back then) to Dick Clark.

Yes, he introduces Hasselhoff.

As you'll see in the clip:
1. Even in a "serious" setting, Dave wryly sends-up the task of award-show thanks.  Then turning serious, he finishes with another joke.  I can't help but thinking it's said with just a touch of "all these months later...seriously, what am I going to do now?"

2. Deidre Hall applauds him off with a warm smile.  Can't place the guy next to her...guessing he was on Days of Our Lives as well.  Dick Clark smiles and applauds as he takes the stage, but then he did that with everyone, on every show, because he was a god damn pro.

3. Following the award, it goes to outstanding variety series.  I'll leave it up to you which is the better show between Dave and Merv.  Ricky Schroder steals the Merv clip.  Is it let-down applause?  Merv's producer is polite, though.

4. Seeing the ads, the early 80's were THE time for soap operas.

So it goes.  A year ago (in May of 1980), Dave was promoting this show ahead of time on The Tonight Show, and seemed slightly nervous at the daunting challenge ahead of him.  By the time he'd ironed out the kinks, it didn't last much longer.

A year after this (by May 1982), however, he'd be doing the same kind of show, and never looked back.  (Seriously, even at the end of the Late Show, the clips weren't exactly overflowing, particularly from the morning show days)  But there he is, an Emmy winning host, unknowingly biding his time.

"Was it good for you? Was I what you wanted me to be?"

I already had plans that night with my girlfriend, and for whatever reason we were looking forward it.  I can't remember why, or what we were going to do besides the usual, when I get a call from a fellow Minnesotan, also a girl, and member of the Prince fan club.  She has procured 2 tickets in the 5th row for that night's concert at Staples Center.  Knowing that I couldn't make the tour rehearsal show in Reno, could I go tonight?

The girlfriend was disappointed.  I reasoned that this was life-changing.  SHE went to the Reno show.  It's only fair.  Honestly, it didn't matter what she said.

The opening act is Morris Day & The Time because, apparently, I have taken a time machine to 1984.  I am singing along to The Walk, dancing like a moron, yelling out requests for Gigolos Get Lonely Too.  They played it when I saw them the summer before at Hollywood Park.  Even just with that set, I'd have been happy.  (No Chili Sauce, but we can't win them all)

But then the main event.  The music, from the beginning, washes over me.  The funk, the horns (Candy Dulfer was on our side of the stage for most of the night).  No tiny pieces of a medley here and there.  It was full on from the new album, and the past.  He pulls out a back to back Shelia E cover just because.

It appears to be intermission...but then through the center of a stage, up comes Prince, sitting in a chair, playing a guitar.  See, there will be no intermission tonight.  He'll do an acoustic mini-concert, in-between songs shooting the shit with the audience.  He defends Kevin Garnett to the L.A. crowd, who just knocked the Wolves out of the playoffs.  

Act 2 begins, and we still don't have our breath.  He covers Sam & Dave because he's fucking Prince.  He does a Zeppelin song because why stop there?  At this rate I remember wanting him to get even weirder, and just pull off a Beatles song.  Or Johnny Cash.  Go for it.  Of course, we knew the end really wasn't the end.  The crowd went bananas just in case...and the band returned.

The Beautiful Ones.  We're right back at First Avenue, singing right to Apollonia, Morris stewing by her side.  Nothing compares 2 U was after, but we know why we're there.

Purple Rain begins, and he's putting everything into it.  I start, in what little brain I have available at the moment, thinking of the bootlegs of him opening for the Rolling Stones at the Coliseum here in 1981.  All the burned out old rockers aren't having him, ignoring his guitar ability, and the audience pelts him with garbage.  Both shows.  And while he returned to southern California in the Controversy tour to an appreciative audience, here he was all those years later.  Sold out arena, everyone screaming.

The song crescendos, and the band holds the note.  He waves and bows to each side of the stage, and turns to mine.  I look and he's crying, blowing kisses to the crowd.  I'm crying.  I'm crying?  I'm cheering, and yes, crying.  Having his music around your life, growing up as he grew popular, always a figure, always reminding everyone of his enormous talent.  Moments of your life, the soundtrack, and how the two intertwine, how else could I be if not emotional after a concert like that, seeing a performer like that?

That's what music does to you.  And that is what a musical genius can do.

Laughing all the way FROM the bank

In-between the madness of Stephen F. Austin State University doing what they do on the basketball court and the pile of tall cans in the backyard as evidence of a "typical" St. Patrick's Day, Cactus League baseball is stretching and straining in Arizona.  For the National League team at Cameltoe Ranch, the Dodgers are getting into mid-season injury form.  Currently, the Dodgers are playing an exhibition against Seattle.  In theory, this game should be on the Dodgers-owned cable channel, SportsnetLA.  But instead, they are replaying Sunday's split-squad defeat to San Diego.

Just to summarize: A channel only Time Warner and Charter subscribers can see, one devoted entirely to the Dodgers and nothing else, can't even air the team's spring training games live because...

And don't think this is an isolated incident.  It's happened again and again this Spring.  "[I]t's a reaction based on viewership of weekday games." said a channel rep.  The channel cut their game coverage in half.  You'll wan't this channel now, right, fans?

The dynamics of sports on television these days shows its value in a multi-platform world.  This, in theory, is a bargaining tool for the owners.  The Dodgers are the owners, Time Warner the facilitators, and it's should be an easy deal, correct?   A "Home Run" for Southern California viewers.

Well, maybe, except for one fatal flaw: The Lakers did it first, and no one cared.

In the Spring of 2011, when the Lakers announced they would forgo Fox Sports West and KCAL, it was met locally with sadness.  "It's the future" was the refrain, and that fans would be getting more content than ever before.  A future where they wouldn't make the conference finals, Phil leaves for the first time for the last time, and "a new era begins."

After the strike (and while Mike Brown slowly brought the team down) the Lakers have been worse than the previous year ever since the channel started.  You can imagine the demand for said channel as each year went by.  And when cable and satellite companies decided to pass along TWC Sportsnet's fee directly to consumers, the complaints were loud.  Louder than the fandom for this can't-miss opportunity to give the Lakers a dedicated home.

The Dodgers didn't give a fuck about what happened to the Lakers interest when they made their own channel.  There would be twice as many games on THEIR channel, and just as the Lakers broke the back of all the cable and satellite companies in "demand," the declines wouldn't happen to the Dodgers.

But those cable and satellite companies had been burned once.  Southern California viewers had been burned once.  Time Warner was only warm, and they needed the cash.  The Dodgers got theirs...8 BILLION.  They don't give a fuck.

"Hey - can't see the games?  Don't look at us.  We own it, but you know, we're a baseball team.  What do we know about dealing with a cable company besides getting bags of cash?  Would you expect us to negotiate a good deal?  How about our deal trading Dee Gordon?  I thought so.  Call your operator and demand it now!"

And there it is.  In 2014, for the first time since the 1940's, there was no local or cable TV for all Dodgers fans.  That's progress.  So what if it's their lowest season ratings on record, and the ratings for Angels' games grew +49% year to year.

2014, and 2015...and, again 2016.  Nothing has changed, the team doesn't care, so...should you?  As a fan, should you go out of your way to spend even MORE?  Will you be satisfied?  Or, like the LA Rams move, will the team just be a memory?

Perhaps...of course, the team is still here.

"It's Easy - Watch Me"

As I type this, I am eating plain pasta.  Rice pasta, specifically bought because it helps the stomach recover from the flu.  But, I don't have the flu.  I'm feeling fine if just a small percentage anxious.  Like most, I prefer pasta with some kind of sauce, but I'm eating it plain for no other reason than to show that it's no big deal...totally fine...in fact, quite good.

Just over 20 yeas ago I did this with a group of novice drinkers.  They had smuggled in a bottle of vodka and had no plans beyond that.  It would have to be done straight or on the rocks (from a motel ice machine).  I got the feeling peer pressure would set in, so as the others hemmed and hawed, I quickly replaced the contents with water.  "Let's go" I said as I downed the drink to the excitement of the bunch.  I later learned a lesson: no on remembers the guy who held his liquor with ease.

Saltines with unsalted tops, juice with vegetables blended in, these are the more pedestrian things, and yet even nuttier moments are done...quickly pushed out of my mind, if possible.  Forcing people to do what they should do is no one's specialty.

But you get a smile, a giggle, an uproarious laugh just at the sight, and it's worth it.  Or something.