If ever there was an example of the weakness, greed, corruption, and just plain stupidity in our government, the lengthly debate over health care reform was certainly it. I say "was" because the Senate finally, finally, came to agreement (at least the Democratic majority) to pass a bill, but of course this will now go to the next step, which is getting both the House and Senate to agree on the final terms.
The fact that nobody is pleased with the result is, unfortunately, to be expected with the bunch of selfish crooks we have running our country. But, and this is the most important part, is that, in the words of Diane Feinstein, healthcare has gone from a privilege to a right. That's huge. Huge.
That one idea, now accepted and soon to be signed into law, will change how our children will live, and their children, and all the children for the rest of American history. Thank God.
Friday, December 25, 2009
Merry Christmas. Now What?
So another year grinds to a close. Thank God. This hasn't been a good year for Redlands or our country, but we're still here, keeping on.
Let's see what happened this year around Redlands.
Gottshalks went bankrupt in January and closed their store in the mall.
The owner of the mall went bankrupt, too, and there's still no talk of what's to become of it. Back when it was built, a local engineer friend of ours had said there was no way it would ever make money, and it appears he was right.
The furniture store across the street from the mall folded their tent after many decades, and the plan to redevelop the property into a drive-thru pharmacy were nixed by the city council. The building remains vacant.
The car wash across from WalMart went bankrupt, too.
The Redlands Daily Facts totters on, supported in part by volumes of legal advertising required when property is repossessed by the banks.
Speaking of banks, Washington Mutual was taken over by the FDIC and sold to Chase.
On the plus side, business out in the "donut hole" where Target, JC Penney, and other mega stores reside is booming. Unfortunately, Redlands doesn't get tax dollars from them.
Redlands' patron saints used to be the Smiley brothers. These days, Jack Dangermond fits the role. His company, ESRI, is singlehandedly redeveloping the town, block by block. Their new glass-enclosed building opened this year, and is lushly landscaped. Jack apparently never met a tree he didn't like.
The city has found itself a couple of million dollars short, and has cut back services to help stem the bleeding. They're eating into the city reserve fund, which will run dry in about a year by my guess.
The schools are in a real mess. I believe they're underfunded by something like $11 million, with no clear path out of that jam, thanks to the state being billions upon billions short on revenue.
Our cops even had to face budget cuts, but thanks to grants, they're placing surveilance cameras on damn near every street corner. Don't you feel so much safer now? Be sure to try and "maintain" when you stagger out of one of State Street's trendy bars... the cops are watching you.
At least none of the half-dozen earthquakes that rolled through town this year did any damage.
So: on to the second decade of the 21st Century. Good luck with that.
Let's see what happened this year around Redlands.
Gottshalks went bankrupt in January and closed their store in the mall.
The owner of the mall went bankrupt, too, and there's still no talk of what's to become of it. Back when it was built, a local engineer friend of ours had said there was no way it would ever make money, and it appears he was right.
The furniture store across the street from the mall folded their tent after many decades, and the plan to redevelop the property into a drive-thru pharmacy were nixed by the city council. The building remains vacant.
The car wash across from WalMart went bankrupt, too.
The Redlands Daily Facts totters on, supported in part by volumes of legal advertising required when property is repossessed by the banks.
Speaking of banks, Washington Mutual was taken over by the FDIC and sold to Chase.
On the plus side, business out in the "donut hole" where Target, JC Penney, and other mega stores reside is booming. Unfortunately, Redlands doesn't get tax dollars from them.
Redlands' patron saints used to be the Smiley brothers. These days, Jack Dangermond fits the role. His company, ESRI, is singlehandedly redeveloping the town, block by block. Their new glass-enclosed building opened this year, and is lushly landscaped. Jack apparently never met a tree he didn't like.
The city has found itself a couple of million dollars short, and has cut back services to help stem the bleeding. They're eating into the city reserve fund, which will run dry in about a year by my guess.
The schools are in a real mess. I believe they're underfunded by something like $11 million, with no clear path out of that jam, thanks to the state being billions upon billions short on revenue.
Our cops even had to face budget cuts, but thanks to grants, they're placing surveilance cameras on damn near every street corner. Don't you feel so much safer now? Be sure to try and "maintain" when you stagger out of one of State Street's trendy bars... the cops are watching you.
At least none of the half-dozen earthquakes that rolled through town this year did any damage.
So: on to the second decade of the 21st Century. Good luck with that.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Geely: No, Not That Bad Movie...
If my old Mustang represents the past of American motoring, perhaps it's time to look to the future: enter Geely.
What's Geely? What it is not is more important. It is not some hi-tech niche market company trying to sell electric cars that look a lot like a Lotus Elise. (That would be somebody else.) It's not innovative, nor cutting edge, and certainly not top-of-mind. Scratch all that off your list.
What is is, is Chinese. Geely makes very boring sedans that look a helluva lot like somebody entered the dimensions of the Toyota Corolla, Honda Civic, Ford Focus, Mazda 3, and a bunch of other cars and spit them out for the Chinese middle class to gobble up. Which, it seems, they are. They build the same type of cars that most of the world, including us, buy by the boatload while we dream at night of owning a Porsche.
So why do I say this is our automotive future?
Twenty years ago, a Korean company called Hyundai started selling cars in the USA. They were gawd-awful. Just mentioning that somebody was driving a Hyundai was cause for giggles and the rolling of eyes.
And then we had Daihatsu, and Kia. Innocent people were buying small Fords, only to find out they were really Korean. Daihatsu disappeared after a couple of years. I had a dealer tell me they were glad to give up the franchise, because they couldn't make any money in the service department on them. They didn't break, unlike their other brand, Dodge...
Kia went bankrupt, and Hyundai bought them up. Today, they sell well. And guess what? People don't roll their eyes when somebody buys a Hyundai, because they have a killer warranty and last a long time.
The cognoscienti will tell you that Ford uses Hyundai as a quality standard to measure their car interiors against.
My, have times changed.
Korea is a small country. Geely's is going to dominate the world soon. And we owe China billions and billions and billions of dollars. Think we'll keep them out of our market? Not likely. (Crap, I'll bet WalMart will sell them.) Look for a Geely in your neighbor's garage in the next few years.
Oh, they'll have to change a few things. Like, perhaps, product names? People would split their pants laughing if you said you just bought a new Geely KINGKONG.
Oh, and did I mention Geely just purchased Volvo? That gives them an instant dealership network in North America and Europe....
What's Geely? What it is not is more important. It is not some hi-tech niche market company trying to sell electric cars that look a lot like a Lotus Elise. (That would be somebody else.) It's not innovative, nor cutting edge, and certainly not top-of-mind. Scratch all that off your list.
What is is, is Chinese. Geely makes very boring sedans that look a helluva lot like somebody entered the dimensions of the Toyota Corolla, Honda Civic, Ford Focus, Mazda 3, and a bunch of other cars and spit them out for the Chinese middle class to gobble up. Which, it seems, they are. They build the same type of cars that most of the world, including us, buy by the boatload while we dream at night of owning a Porsche.
So why do I say this is our automotive future?
Twenty years ago, a Korean company called Hyundai started selling cars in the USA. They were gawd-awful. Just mentioning that somebody was driving a Hyundai was cause for giggles and the rolling of eyes.
And then we had Daihatsu, and Kia. Innocent people were buying small Fords, only to find out they were really Korean. Daihatsu disappeared after a couple of years. I had a dealer tell me they were glad to give up the franchise, because they couldn't make any money in the service department on them. They didn't break, unlike their other brand, Dodge...
Kia went bankrupt, and Hyundai bought them up. Today, they sell well. And guess what? People don't roll their eyes when somebody buys a Hyundai, because they have a killer warranty and last a long time.
The cognoscienti will tell you that Ford uses Hyundai as a quality standard to measure their car interiors against.
My, have times changed.
Korea is a small country. Geely's is going to dominate the world soon. And we owe China billions and billions and billions of dollars. Think we'll keep them out of our market? Not likely. (Crap, I'll bet WalMart will sell them.) Look for a Geely in your neighbor's garage in the next few years.
Oh, they'll have to change a few things. Like, perhaps, product names? People would split their pants laughing if you said you just bought a new Geely KINGKONG.
Oh, and did I mention Geely just purchased Volvo? That gives them an instant dealership network in North America and Europe....
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
The '65 Is 45.
Forty-five years ago, today, my dad and I picked up the 1965 Mustang he'd had on order from the Towne Ford in Redwood City. I was ten years old, but I remember it like it was yesterday.
My first sight of what was to be the seminal car in my automotive history was not a pretty one. The hood was up, the dashboard was a maze of wiring, and a mechanic in overalls was upside down on the floor, cursing.
"Who the hell would order a car without a radio, and then decide to have one put in!" he groaned.
My dad, that's who. He'd had nothing but trouble with the radio in the old Chevy, so he'd decided to do without... only to decide later that the radio, being literally the centerpiece of the dash in the Mustang, would have looked awkward had it been missing... so he asked that it be put in when it arrived.
This was only the latest in a series of problems that had plagued the purchase. Dad had ordered it in plenty of time for it to arrive before our planned trip to celebrate Christmas with relatives. Unfortunately, the United Auto Workers had other plans that year, and went out on strike. Fortunately, Ford and the UAW came to terms in short order, but demand for new Mustangs being huge, the already long waiting time grew by several weeks. Dad grew increasingly anxious, but finally the call came only two days before Christmas.
The Mustang was to have had a saddle tan interior to complement the dark metallic green exterior, but arrived with light green seats instead. Somewhere in the middle of the model changeover and the strike, tan was discontinued and nobody bothered to tell either the dealer or my dad. My mother had made a tan pillow (alpaca fur!) which no longer matched, but it stayed in the car for many years.
Sitting in the back seat for the first time, I remember thinking that as cool as the new Mustang was, nobody was ever going to be able to restore these things, like people restored Model A's and other old cars. All that plastic! What I didn't know was that all that plastic was easier to reproduce than the stuff Model A's were built out of. Here we are, 45 years on, and that car will probably outlive me.
No time for a gentle break-in -- we left almost immediately for SoCal, at night, in a steady rain. The fresh plastic and vinyl dashboard offgassed enough goo onto the inside of the windshield to nesessitate repeated cleanings on the way. I didn't care; we had the coolest car on the highway.
A few years later, the car was mine. I drove it in high school and college, street raced it, drove it on my first job far away from home, took it on dates with many a girl, rebuilt the engine myself, and drove it with my first daughter in the back seat.
I also drove it to my dad's funeral. I sold it not long after.
Today, the car rests not far from here in the good care of an old friend. I see it occasionally and know without hesitation how every switch and knob and doorlatch should feel, how the windows sound as they are wound up; the ka-lunk of the hood and thump of the trunk as they are shut.
I know it's VIN, (5R07C166312) it's old license plate, (MKW454) that it takes a Fram PH8A oil filter, and that you set the point gap at 30 thousanths. It took Autolite BF 45 plugs. (BF 35's when racing.) I could not tell you any of those things for any car I've owned since. (Especially since "points" are a thing of the past. Electronic ignitions, you know.)
To tell you the truth, I never want to be that emotionally invested in a car again. But like an old friend you don't see any more, history is history. They don't make Mustangs the way they used to, and life has grown more complicated, too. I'll celebrate this little bit of nostalgia at a respectful distance.
My first sight of what was to be the seminal car in my automotive history was not a pretty one. The hood was up, the dashboard was a maze of wiring, and a mechanic in overalls was upside down on the floor, cursing.
"Who the hell would order a car without a radio, and then decide to have one put in!" he groaned.
My dad, that's who. He'd had nothing but trouble with the radio in the old Chevy, so he'd decided to do without... only to decide later that the radio, being literally the centerpiece of the dash in the Mustang, would have looked awkward had it been missing... so he asked that it be put in when it arrived.
This was only the latest in a series of problems that had plagued the purchase. Dad had ordered it in plenty of time for it to arrive before our planned trip to celebrate Christmas with relatives. Unfortunately, the United Auto Workers had other plans that year, and went out on strike. Fortunately, Ford and the UAW came to terms in short order, but demand for new Mustangs being huge, the already long waiting time grew by several weeks. Dad grew increasingly anxious, but finally the call came only two days before Christmas.
The Mustang was to have had a saddle tan interior to complement the dark metallic green exterior, but arrived with light green seats instead. Somewhere in the middle of the model changeover and the strike, tan was discontinued and nobody bothered to tell either the dealer or my dad. My mother had made a tan pillow (alpaca fur!) which no longer matched, but it stayed in the car for many years.
Sitting in the back seat for the first time, I remember thinking that as cool as the new Mustang was, nobody was ever going to be able to restore these things, like people restored Model A's and other old cars. All that plastic! What I didn't know was that all that plastic was easier to reproduce than the stuff Model A's were built out of. Here we are, 45 years on, and that car will probably outlive me.
No time for a gentle break-in -- we left almost immediately for SoCal, at night, in a steady rain. The fresh plastic and vinyl dashboard offgassed enough goo onto the inside of the windshield to nesessitate repeated cleanings on the way. I didn't care; we had the coolest car on the highway.
A few years later, the car was mine. I drove it in high school and college, street raced it, drove it on my first job far away from home, took it on dates with many a girl, rebuilt the engine myself, and drove it with my first daughter in the back seat.
I also drove it to my dad's funeral. I sold it not long after.
Today, the car rests not far from here in the good care of an old friend. I see it occasionally and know without hesitation how every switch and knob and doorlatch should feel, how the windows sound as they are wound up; the ka-lunk of the hood and thump of the trunk as they are shut.
I know it's VIN, (5R07C166312) it's old license plate, (MKW454) that it takes a Fram PH8A oil filter, and that you set the point gap at 30 thousanths. It took Autolite BF 45 plugs. (BF 35's when racing.) I could not tell you any of those things for any car I've owned since. (Especially since "points" are a thing of the past. Electronic ignitions, you know.)
To tell you the truth, I never want to be that emotionally invested in a car again. But like an old friend you don't see any more, history is history. They don't make Mustangs the way they used to, and life has grown more complicated, too. I'll celebrate this little bit of nostalgia at a respectful distance.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Don't Thank Sam Walton.
Most of America probably gives the founder of Walmart, Sam Walton, credit for the invention of the membership-only super center, where one can buy everything from toothpaste to tires.
The fact, as long-time Californians know, is that the credit rightfully goes to Sol Price, who died this week at age 93. Yes, Price created Price Club, which later merged with Costco. But even before that, back in 1954, he created the original super store in San Diego -- FedMart.
According to his obituary in the New York Times, Mr. Price opened his first store near Lindberg Field, limiting membership to federal employees. The first year, he lost $750,000. After offering membership to the public, the company took off and made Mr. Price a very wealthy man.
Those of us who grew up in Redlands remember FedMart very well. It was located in a former A&P supermarket on Orange Street, the site now occupied by Starbuck's Coffee and several other fast food chains.
I remember being taken there by my grandfather to buy salmon eggs before a fishing trip in the mountains. I bought model cars, spray paint (49 cents!), and a ton of other stuff there for the better part of ten years.
I miss FedMart. Thanks, Sol.
The fact, as long-time Californians know, is that the credit rightfully goes to Sol Price, who died this week at age 93. Yes, Price created Price Club, which later merged with Costco. But even before that, back in 1954, he created the original super store in San Diego -- FedMart.
According to his obituary in the New York Times, Mr. Price opened his first store near Lindberg Field, limiting membership to federal employees. The first year, he lost $750,000. After offering membership to the public, the company took off and made Mr. Price a very wealthy man.
Those of us who grew up in Redlands remember FedMart very well. It was located in a former A&P supermarket on Orange Street, the site now occupied by Starbuck's Coffee and several other fast food chains.
I remember being taken there by my grandfather to buy salmon eggs before a fishing trip in the mountains. I bought model cars, spray paint (49 cents!), and a ton of other stuff there for the better part of ten years.
I miss FedMart. Thanks, Sol.
The Big Two Hundred.
I've reached a milestone of sorts with Another Day in Redlands CA. -- my Blogger homepage tells me that this will be my 200th entry. To quote those great sages of long ago, Bartells and James: Thank you for your support.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
No News Is Bad News
Thursdays's announcement that newspaper trade publication Editor and Publisher will shut down immediately comes as quite a blow to all the ink-stained wretches out there who toil(ed) in the trade.
What better indicator that the newspaper industry is suffering serious wounds? To think that E&P is dead is just inconceivable to me. A long, long time ago, when I was working in my first serious job out of college, living on a diet consisting largely of Swanson's TV dinners, I still found the money to buy a subscription to Editor and Publisher. It kept me in touch with the rest of the business; made me feel that though I was in a crappy job, in a crappy company, in a crappy town, in a crappy state, I was part of something bigger and more important.
I suppose that there are other forums now for people in the business; back then there was no Internet, and all that personal technology has brought us -- the same technology which is killing print as we speak. But, just as there is something to be said for the tangibility of the newspaper, there is something very good indeed about a magazine that makes one feel like a professional in a world that very much wants you to be just another worker bee.
What better indicator that the newspaper industry is suffering serious wounds? To think that E&P is dead is just inconceivable to me. A long, long time ago, when I was working in my first serious job out of college, living on a diet consisting largely of Swanson's TV dinners, I still found the money to buy a subscription to Editor and Publisher. It kept me in touch with the rest of the business; made me feel that though I was in a crappy job, in a crappy company, in a crappy town, in a crappy state, I was part of something bigger and more important.
I suppose that there are other forums now for people in the business; back then there was no Internet, and all that personal technology has brought us -- the same technology which is killing print as we speak. But, just as there is something to be said for the tangibility of the newspaper, there is something very good indeed about a magazine that makes one feel like a professional in a world that very much wants you to be just another worker bee.
Worst Use Of A Rock Song In A Commercial...
We boomers have endured years of classic rock music rehashed as themes for TV commercials. Even the Beatles and Led Zep turn up in ads these days; probably the most creative use of Rock as Advertising was Zeppelin's "Rock and Roll " to reposition Cadillac in the marketplace.
What I don't understand is Pachanga Casino's use of "More Than A Feeling" by one of my favorite bands of all time, Boston. Yeah, I know, I know... baby boomers (supposedly) have money to burn at the gaming tables. Some genius says, "let's use a classic rock song nobody else has used to lure them in" and voila, we're hearing Brad Delp (RIP) implying that playing slots owned by the Indians is some sort of transcendental experience.
Right.
No, it's not right. It's wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. It's jarring. The images don't fit the soundtrack. There's no audio or video subtext to explain the use of the music. Gag.
Boston should have held out for the 2011 Mustang, or some energy drink, or something else that takes the spirit of their music and uses it to better effect.
Oh well, I hope they got a good paycheck.
What I don't understand is Pachanga Casino's use of "More Than A Feeling" by one of my favorite bands of all time, Boston. Yeah, I know, I know... baby boomers (supposedly) have money to burn at the gaming tables. Some genius says, "let's use a classic rock song nobody else has used to lure them in" and voila, we're hearing Brad Delp (RIP) implying that playing slots owned by the Indians is some sort of transcendental experience.
Right.
No, it's not right. It's wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. It's jarring. The images don't fit the soundtrack. There's no audio or video subtext to explain the use of the music. Gag.
Boston should have held out for the 2011 Mustang, or some energy drink, or something else that takes the spirit of their music and uses it to better effect.
Oh well, I hope they got a good paycheck.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Add This To Your Bookmarks, America
Think of all the crap the late, belated Weekly World News wanted you to believe was true. Now think of a web site that had real, serious stuff that the world would prefer you not know. Let me introduce you to Wikileaks. Nothing frivolous here -- just stuff that's out there, floating under the radar that you won't find Katie Couric purring about on the CBS Evening News.
Linky:
http://www.wikileaks.org/wiki/Wikileaks
Linky:
http://www.wikileaks.org/wiki/Wikileaks
Speaking of Hanukkah...
In my last post, I wondered about why no Christians write Hanukkah songs, as so many Jews write (very good) music about Christmas.
As it turns out, someone has.
It's quite a catchy tune. What makes it really interesting is the source.
Would you believe the song's author is the senior Senator from Utah, Orrin Hatch? I kid you not. And Hatch is a Mormon. Go figure.
I can't figure out how to create a link to the song, but you'll find it at NPR's web site. Enjoy.
As it turns out, someone has.
It's quite a catchy tune. What makes it really interesting is the source.
Would you believe the song's author is the senior Senator from Utah, Orrin Hatch? I kid you not. And Hatch is a Mormon. Go figure.
I can't figure out how to create a link to the song, but you'll find it at NPR's web site. Enjoy.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Random Thoughts; Not Well Thought Through.
Don't, as I found myself in a dream last night, find yourself in a circa 1970 Vietnamese village with only five rounds remaining in your M16 rifle. Especially if the village looks like Redlands. (Warning: the VC are forming up at the donut shop on the boulevard.)
Meredith Baxter is a lesbian? Damn! I've had a crush on her for 35 years. I couldn't be more surprised if Rosie O'Donnell came out and said she was straight.
Turkey isn't just for Thanksgiving anymore. Turkey purchased at a cut-rate price after Thanksgiving tastes even better, and the leftovers can stretch on for nearly a week. Yummy.
If so many Jews have had huge success recording Christmas albums (Neil Diamond? OMG...) why isn't there a market for Christians singing songs for Hanukkah? Is there a message there someplace? And, by the way, when is Michael Jackson's lost Kuanzaa album due out?
I've obviously lived a sheltered life. Apparently everybody but me knows that Ambien is a sexual stimulant. This has come to light thanks to Tiger Woods' short drive into a tree. Maybe they ought to rebrand it as "Escalade" in honor of Tiger's damaged Cadillac. Seems like a great name for a product of that nature.
Sophia Loren is 75. Seventy-five years old? No freaking way.
Meredith Baxter is a lesbian? Damn! I've had a crush on her for 35 years. I couldn't be more surprised if Rosie O'Donnell came out and said she was straight.
Turkey isn't just for Thanksgiving anymore. Turkey purchased at a cut-rate price after Thanksgiving tastes even better, and the leftovers can stretch on for nearly a week. Yummy.
If so many Jews have had huge success recording Christmas albums (Neil Diamond? OMG...) why isn't there a market for Christians singing songs for Hanukkah? Is there a message there someplace? And, by the way, when is Michael Jackson's lost Kuanzaa album due out?
I've obviously lived a sheltered life. Apparently everybody but me knows that Ambien is a sexual stimulant. This has come to light thanks to Tiger Woods' short drive into a tree. Maybe they ought to rebrand it as "Escalade" in honor of Tiger's damaged Cadillac. Seems like a great name for a product of that nature.
Sophia Loren is 75. Seventy-five years old? No freaking way.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Bond. James Bond.
In my book, there's only one Bond. Sean Connery. He was the first James Bond I ever saw, and the best. Mr. Connery has been in poor health lately and hasn't been on film in several years, but it is good to know he's doing voice work for an animated short, the second in a series, which takes place in his beloved Scotland.
Connery's Bond defeated a lot of bad guys over the years, and it's interesting to note that he's outlasted all the actors who played the bad guys as well.
Last month, Julius Wiseman, who played Dr. No, passed away. Donald Pleasence (Blofeld in You Only Live Twice) died in 1995, Gert Frobe (Goldfinger) in 1988, and Adolfo Celi, Largo in Thunderball, back in 1986. I'll ignore the unofficial Never Say Never Again that Connery appeared in -- Max Von Sydow (Blofeld) is still quite alive.
Connery has also outlived all of the guys who played his CIA counterpart, Felix Leiter. Cec Linder (Goldfinger) passed in 1992, Rik Van Nutter of Thunderball in 2005, and, most recognizable of the American spooks, Jack Lord, who died in 1998.
Time has also not been kind to Bond's MI6 brethren. Bernard Lee (M) died in 1981, Desmond LLewelyn (Q) in 1999, and sadly, the lovely Lois Maxwell, Miss Moneypenny, in 2007.
Bond girls may not have great screen careers following their appearance in the series, though the fabulous Pussy Galore of Goldfinger, Honor Blackman, continues to work at the age of 82. As far as I can tell, all the other lesser Bond girls are still alive and kicking.
So let's all raise our glasses (shaken, not stirred) to Connery Bond, and the fun we had at the movies.
Connery's Bond defeated a lot of bad guys over the years, and it's interesting to note that he's outlasted all the actors who played the bad guys as well.
Last month, Julius Wiseman, who played Dr. No, passed away. Donald Pleasence (Blofeld in You Only Live Twice) died in 1995, Gert Frobe (Goldfinger) in 1988, and Adolfo Celi, Largo in Thunderball, back in 1986. I'll ignore the unofficial Never Say Never Again that Connery appeared in -- Max Von Sydow (Blofeld) is still quite alive.
Connery has also outlived all of the guys who played his CIA counterpart, Felix Leiter. Cec Linder (Goldfinger) passed in 1992, Rik Van Nutter of Thunderball in 2005, and, most recognizable of the American spooks, Jack Lord, who died in 1998.
Time has also not been kind to Bond's MI6 brethren. Bernard Lee (M) died in 1981, Desmond LLewelyn (Q) in 1999, and sadly, the lovely Lois Maxwell, Miss Moneypenny, in 2007.
Bond girls may not have great screen careers following their appearance in the series, though the fabulous Pussy Galore of Goldfinger, Honor Blackman, continues to work at the age of 82. As far as I can tell, all the other lesser Bond girls are still alive and kicking.
So let's all raise our glasses (shaken, not stirred) to Connery Bond, and the fun we had at the movies.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Short Description = Short Attention Span.
Somewhere, in some cubicle, in Hollywood, or New York, or Cleveland, or Bombay, for all I know, there's some guy tasked with boiling down the plot lines of movies into fifteen word summaries. These little summaries end up as the TV listings on my cable guide.
They suck.
Just the first few words turn me off. They tell me "Forget it, Dave, you're going to hate it. This movie is crap. It's trite. It's tasteless. It's a waste of time."
Those words have exactly the opposite effect that the networks want to create -- they drive me away from watching the movies. Most of the time, I don't get through the description before I've moved on to the next listing, only to find myself again reading no further than the first few words and moving on, yet again.
Let me give you some examples. I won't tell you the names of the movies that the description is meant to illustrate. Just read, and decide if you would continue to read the rest of the synopsis, much less watch the flick. Perhaps you will agree with me. Perhaps not. After all, somebody bought tickets to these gems.
A simple Missouri farmer...
A liberal adaptation of the life of Jesus...
In medieval Korea...
In ancient Rome...
After causing St. Nick to have a fatal accident...
A career-minded architect...
Rebel forces gather...
A martial arts teacher...
A small town is brought together...
A single mom becomes pregnant...
When a man is mugged...
A tyrannical Roman leader...
A brilliant scientist is horribly disfigured...
A reporter awakens...
In the 1980's, a former rock star...
A family gets a police dog...
A soldier is released from prison...
After serving in WWII...
An enthusiastic computer programmer and his girlfriend...
Two brothers find a downed spacecraft...
An updated telling of the classic tale...
An IRS agent with a mysterious secret...
Two weed-smoking friends...
A former US soldier...
An aging transsexual...
NASA discovers an enormous asteroid
Two brash fighter pilots...
Two brothers with a history of conflict...
A martial arts expert enters a tournament...
A model and a car dealer team up...
Scientists train genetically altered sharks...
A reclusive and awkward man...
A famous rapper is denied membership...
An unemployed single mother resorts to...
A disgraced former FBI agent working as...
A cantankerous female FBI agent...
A struggling young artist receives inspiration...
After a detective's wife is murdered...
A girl returns from a mental hospital...
When a submarine goes missing...
A young pregnant woman discovers...
A depressed man is urged to enroll...
Psychotic killer returns...
A high school student dreams...
Un mercenario que transporta mercanicia ilegal
(just thought I'd throw that one in...)
Maybe some night I'll drink a lot of beer and combine all of these into the ultimate bad movie.
It will be about tyrannical, depressed, weed-smoking pregnant Roman soldiers who find a craft from outer space after being released from prison while psychotic aging transexual Korean rebel forces gather to train genetically engineered sharks that once worked for the FBI. All will die however when the asteroid hits in a liberal interpretation of the life of Jesus.
I'm summarizing here to save the guy in the cubicle some work.
It will probably make millions.
They suck.
Just the first few words turn me off. They tell me "Forget it, Dave, you're going to hate it. This movie is crap. It's trite. It's tasteless. It's a waste of time."
Those words have exactly the opposite effect that the networks want to create -- they drive me away from watching the movies. Most of the time, I don't get through the description before I've moved on to the next listing, only to find myself again reading no further than the first few words and moving on, yet again.
Let me give you some examples. I won't tell you the names of the movies that the description is meant to illustrate. Just read, and decide if you would continue to read the rest of the synopsis, much less watch the flick. Perhaps you will agree with me. Perhaps not. After all, somebody bought tickets to these gems.
A simple Missouri farmer...
A liberal adaptation of the life of Jesus...
In medieval Korea...
In ancient Rome...
After causing St. Nick to have a fatal accident...
A career-minded architect...
Rebel forces gather...
A martial arts teacher...
A small town is brought together...
A single mom becomes pregnant...
When a man is mugged...
A tyrannical Roman leader...
A brilliant scientist is horribly disfigured...
A reporter awakens...
In the 1980's, a former rock star...
A family gets a police dog...
A soldier is released from prison...
After serving in WWII...
An enthusiastic computer programmer and his girlfriend...
Two brothers find a downed spacecraft...
An updated telling of the classic tale...
An IRS agent with a mysterious secret...
Two weed-smoking friends...
A former US soldier...
An aging transsexual...
NASA discovers an enormous asteroid
Two brash fighter pilots...
Two brothers with a history of conflict...
A martial arts expert enters a tournament...
A model and a car dealer team up...
Scientists train genetically altered sharks...
A reclusive and awkward man...
A famous rapper is denied membership...
An unemployed single mother resorts to...
A disgraced former FBI agent working as...
A cantankerous female FBI agent...
A struggling young artist receives inspiration...
After a detective's wife is murdered...
A girl returns from a mental hospital...
When a submarine goes missing...
A young pregnant woman discovers...
A depressed man is urged to enroll...
Psychotic killer returns...
A high school student dreams...
Un mercenario que transporta mercanicia ilegal
(just thought I'd throw that one in...)
Maybe some night I'll drink a lot of beer and combine all of these into the ultimate bad movie.
It will be about tyrannical, depressed, weed-smoking pregnant Roman soldiers who find a craft from outer space after being released from prison while psychotic aging transexual Korean rebel forces gather to train genetically engineered sharks that once worked for the FBI. All will die however when the asteroid hits in a liberal interpretation of the life of Jesus.
I'm summarizing here to save the guy in the cubicle some work.
It will probably make millions.
Let's Get Animated For A Minute...
Knowing that lots of people will be stuck around the house on the long Thanksgiving weekend, the TV networks pulled out some of their grade "A" stuff to watch. (Not enough, but enough.)
Having just rented Disney's Up the other day, and remembering how terrific it was to see a genuinely creative story told, I was delighted to see three other animated films on TV. The Incredibles remains one of the best movies released in the past decade, and loses nothing in multiple viewings. Cars, another one of Pixar's hits, is sheer genius, especially to anyone who has loved anything automotive or who has traveled Route 66 / Interstate 40 multiple times, as I have. Finally, I got to see a recent release that didn't get as much attention as the others, but none the less is a fine film in its own right -- Bolt.
All of these films combine outstanding animation with (pardon the pun) three dimensional characters, a well thought out story, and great voice acting from some of the best people in Hollywood... and I just don't mean the "stars" whose names we all recognize. There are some incredibly talented people roaming around Hollywood whose faces you will never see, but who's voices you have heard perhaps hundreds of times on film and television. To them, I tip my hat.
Lately, all we seem to get on the big screen are cheap comedies and big CGI films lifting characters from comic books. Maybe the studios ought to turn the creators of the above films loose on live action movies. Then again, maybe not. I want to see more great animated films in the future.
Having just rented Disney's Up the other day, and remembering how terrific it was to see a genuinely creative story told, I was delighted to see three other animated films on TV. The Incredibles remains one of the best movies released in the past decade, and loses nothing in multiple viewings. Cars, another one of Pixar's hits, is sheer genius, especially to anyone who has loved anything automotive or who has traveled Route 66 / Interstate 40 multiple times, as I have. Finally, I got to see a recent release that didn't get as much attention as the others, but none the less is a fine film in its own right -- Bolt.
All of these films combine outstanding animation with (pardon the pun) three dimensional characters, a well thought out story, and great voice acting from some of the best people in Hollywood... and I just don't mean the "stars" whose names we all recognize. There are some incredibly talented people roaming around Hollywood whose faces you will never see, but who's voices you have heard perhaps hundreds of times on film and television. To them, I tip my hat.
Lately, all we seem to get on the big screen are cheap comedies and big CGI films lifting characters from comic books. Maybe the studios ought to turn the creators of the above films loose on live action movies. Then again, maybe not. I want to see more great animated films in the future.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Happy Thanksgiving.
Today is the day we should all remember our ancestors who shared their blessings with the natives.
As such, the wife and I will be dining at home on Fajitas and drinking Mexican Coca-Cola.
It was either that, or going to the Indian casino and playing the slots.
As such, the wife and I will be dining at home on Fajitas and drinking Mexican Coca-Cola.
It was either that, or going to the Indian casino and playing the slots.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
I'd Laugh, But It Ain't Funny.
The New York Times reported today that many newspapers around the country, including the San Bernardino Sun and the Riverside Press Enterprise, will boost the price of their Thanksgiving (or in case of the PE, day after) newspapers to the Sunday rate.
Traditionally, the Thanksgiving day newspaper is physically one of the largest, if not the largest issues of the year due to the enormous amount of Christmas advertising. Street sales of the paper from vending machines also spike as people want to know what's going to be on sale the following day.
How sad it is that newspapers can't draw readers based on their news content any longer, and at last are admitting that people are buying the paper just for the ads. That being said, ad revenue continues to decline because of the generally piss-poor economy and more so because newspapers fail to provide reasons for people to subscribe. Typical of the brain-dead publishers and owners who run these businesses, they're taking the tactic of punishing their buyers (both readers and advertisers) on the one day they want the paper most.
Imagine if retailers operated this way... Walmart, Target, Best Buy, Sears, et al all raised their prices the day after Thanksgiving,.. ridiculous, huh? You'd tell them to shove it, and find somebody else to buy from. Maybe somebody online. Maybe somebody who mailed you a catalog.... Gee, let me think, who are newspapers competing with these days? Online news compilers (and their ads) and direct mail.
Idiots. Idiots. Idiots.
Oh, and in other news, the Washington Post is closing all its US bureaus. Goodbye New York, Chicago,and Los Angeles Post writers.
Traditionally, the Thanksgiving day newspaper is physically one of the largest, if not the largest issues of the year due to the enormous amount of Christmas advertising. Street sales of the paper from vending machines also spike as people want to know what's going to be on sale the following day.
How sad it is that newspapers can't draw readers based on their news content any longer, and at last are admitting that people are buying the paper just for the ads. That being said, ad revenue continues to decline because of the generally piss-poor economy and more so because newspapers fail to provide reasons for people to subscribe. Typical of the brain-dead publishers and owners who run these businesses, they're taking the tactic of punishing their buyers (both readers and advertisers) on the one day they want the paper most.
Imagine if retailers operated this way... Walmart, Target, Best Buy, Sears, et al all raised their prices the day after Thanksgiving,.. ridiculous, huh? You'd tell them to shove it, and find somebody else to buy from. Maybe somebody online. Maybe somebody who mailed you a catalog.... Gee, let me think, who are newspapers competing with these days? Online news compilers (and their ads) and direct mail.
Idiots. Idiots. Idiots.
Oh, and in other news, the Washington Post is closing all its US bureaus. Goodbye New York, Chicago,and Los Angeles Post writers.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
When The Dead Refuse To Die.
Go figure.....
Item 1) New Moon, the sequel to Twilight, has set a record for an opening day box office -- $72.7 million. While I haven't seen it, longtime movie critic Roger Ebert, whom I trust, reports the movie seriously sucks. Apparently people don't care that it sucks, as even here in Redlands, people camped out days before the movie opened to insure they'd be the first to see a sucky sequel to a sucky pop-culture phenomenon. Lines stretched all the way from the theater to Redlands Blvd. and on down the block.
Item 2) Going Rogue, Sarah Palin's autobiography, has sold 300,000 copies on its day of release, and the initial print order of 1.5 million copies has been upped by an additional million. The one-day sale exceeds Hillary Clinton's book by fifty percent.
Is there something I'm not getting here? A vampire drama swamps the theaters -- and the vampire is a vegetarian? That Sarah Palin is still in the news, despite often looking like an idiot during her vice-presidential run, and subsequently quitting the governorship of Alaska?
Is it that a vampire and a folksy politician are both too cute to lay down and die, metaphorically? One movie, and one election, are one too many for both.
An Apple A Day...
...sends the dentist my way.
Friday, a nice crisp apple separated one of my front teeth from its home of half a century.
Shit...
I've never liked my teeth. My teeth have never liked me. I'd rather go into battle in Afghanistan, armed with nothing more than a BB gun, than visit a dentist. The only way I'll go is if a) the dentist hands over a double dose of Ativan, a tiny little pill which knocks me cleanly on my ass for 18 hours, and b) provides me a heavy mixture of Nitrous, which I will huff like a twelve year old trying to get high on airplane glue.
Once sedated, I will resist the temptation to kick and scream like a little girl, and instead surrender to the mind-expanding power of the chemicals swirling about in my brain. Hours pass quickly, and I will find myself outside trying to remember the brilliant insights I'd had under the spell of the drugs. I do suspect, however, the last dentist I visited has not yet been able to remove the claw marks from the arms of his chair while I waited for the good stuff to kick in.
Once home, I will sleep like the dead for a solid 12 hours, and remember nothing at all from the experience, or the entire previous day, for that matter. This can be something of a problem at work if you're required to, say, know what you did before you headed for the exam.
Perhaps I'll just look for work in Hollywood as a character actor. It is, after all, about time for a remake of Deliverance, and what with my missing tooth, I can play hillbilly #3. Cue the banjos, please....
Friday, a nice crisp apple separated one of my front teeth from its home of half a century.
Shit...
I've never liked my teeth. My teeth have never liked me. I'd rather go into battle in Afghanistan, armed with nothing more than a BB gun, than visit a dentist. The only way I'll go is if a) the dentist hands over a double dose of Ativan, a tiny little pill which knocks me cleanly on my ass for 18 hours, and b) provides me a heavy mixture of Nitrous, which I will huff like a twelve year old trying to get high on airplane glue.
Once sedated, I will resist the temptation to kick and scream like a little girl, and instead surrender to the mind-expanding power of the chemicals swirling about in my brain. Hours pass quickly, and I will find myself outside trying to remember the brilliant insights I'd had under the spell of the drugs. I do suspect, however, the last dentist I visited has not yet been able to remove the claw marks from the arms of his chair while I waited for the good stuff to kick in.
Once home, I will sleep like the dead for a solid 12 hours, and remember nothing at all from the experience, or the entire previous day, for that matter. This can be something of a problem at work if you're required to, say, know what you did before you headed for the exam.
Perhaps I'll just look for work in Hollywood as a character actor. It is, after all, about time for a remake of Deliverance, and what with my missing tooth, I can play hillbilly #3. Cue the banjos, please....
Monday, November 16, 2009
Dave vs. Dobbs -- My Ongoing War With The Redlands Daily Facts
My wife cringes when I sit down each evening to read The Facts, our little community newspaper here in Redlands.
She cringes because she knows that on any given night, I will find something that will turn me into a raging, vein-popping, bug-eyed, up-close-and-personal local version of Lewis Black.
It's not that there's no news in The Facts. I'm accustomed to that; I resigned myself to the new realities of community journalism a long time ago. What stirs me up like a turbocharged Oster blender set on warp drive are the typos, pagination errors, style absurdities, and just plain amateurism I find on a routine basis.
When it really gets to me, I grab the paper and head for the computer. My wife will go "uh-oh" and ask to see what I write to Facts editor Jennifer Dobbs. I suspect she wants to know if she should be dialing the phone for a defense attorney.
I felt compelled to fire off one of my famous Nastygrams again just a few hours ago. It seems that they have hired a reporter who, I suspect, never finished middle school, much less journalism school. I have never seen an article printed in any newspaper (even The Facts!) with such poor sentence structure, misspelled words, or bad grammar. I'd give you examples, but I'm trying hard to keep my blood pressure below flash point.
I practically demanded that editor Dobbs email a reply, and she did. Here's what it said:
I looked at the piece after receiving your e-mail and agree it should not have run and it wasn't scheduled to run. I need to talk to staff and find out why that happened.
Thank you for bringing it to my attention.
I'm glad that the article should not have run, but it begs the question: Why was Ms. Dobbs not aware of the story until I alerted her to it?
I just don't have it in me to ask.
Small steps, David. Small steps...
Now I Know Where The Term "Finish Line" Comes From
This is amazing video. These Finns make anybody, in any American motorsport, look like a bunch of pansies. And did I mention the spectators? I can almost see them holding scorecards, ala Dancing With The Stars, each time a car crashes in a ditch, flips three times, mows down a telephone pole and half a dozen pine trees: "8!" "9!" "8!" Golf claps all around, please.
Now, mind you, these cars all look like stockers with roll bars added. Look at the bottoms of the cars, and you'll see no shiny race bits, just stock exhausts with mufflers and skinny tires. So, in all probability, these cars have seen a decade's worth of road use (and road salt, this being Finland) so they're probably rusty as all get out. Perfect for bending around Aspens.
While this is a compilation of lots of races, there's at least one sequence where not two, not three or four, but at least 10 cars crash at the same spot in the same race. Remind me never to get in a bar fight with a Finnish rally driver -- these guys are tough.
Click the link!
If you think that's fun, check 'em out in the snow...
There's dozens more rally videos on You Tube from all over Europe, but I think the Finns have the market cornered on Crazy. Enjoy!
Obama and the Afghanistan Decision.
The President has been taking a lot of time making up his mind about what to do about the level of troop deployment in Afghanistan. His leading general tells him he needs 40,000 more people to make progress, and by progress he means securing the villages from attack, not wiping out the opposition. Others close to the President, so the leaks/rumors have it, are telling him to send 20,000 guys and just blow the hell out of anything that moves.
The recent elections were a farce and it revealed the true face of the current Afghan leadership, which is to say their isn't any, at least in the democratic sense. Karzai looks like he tried to steal the election, and it's been well publicized that Karzai's own brother is a crook, and apparently on the take from the CIA as well. Not a really good endorsement of our efforts so far, wouldn't you say?
So, here's my two bits on the topic. I think Obama is stalling because he wants to see if Karzai can get his shit together. If he can't, Obama is going to pull the plug on the whole mess and walk away, saying "we did what we could", to the extent that the coalition will let him/us get away with it. I think that would just be fine, though Hillary would cough up a hairball.
Not a bad solution, since Al Qaeda and Bin Laden are well holed up in Pakistan, not Afghanistan anymore, and the Pakis have their own problems that ultimately are more far reaching than their own region -- I'm talking about their stockpile of nukes, which a whole bunch of terrorists would love to get their hands on.
I hope the CIA has done their homework on that one. Oh, and did I mention the mess in Iran?
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Figuring Out Flickr
I've recently discovered Flickr, the photo hosting site. I've known about it for a long time but I never gave it a full look-through.
A few years ago, I seem to remember Life magazine doing a special edition where photographers documented a single day of the entire world. With Flickr, you can click on an icon showing you a sample of the five to six thousand photos uploaded every minute to their site. It's worth looking at to see just what people find interesting enough in their lives to a) document with a camera, and b) upload for the whole world to see.
It's an odd mix. I was surprised to find fewer wedding and travel photos, or even ones of new babies,than I expected, though they do appear in large numbers. Then there's the photos by "serious" photographers who have not only spent a great deal of time on composition and exposure, but on tweaking the image in Photoshop or some other image-altering program to create brilliant, if slightly unreal, if not surreal, pictures.
Party photos, particularly right now at Halloween, are big, though they usually consist of overexposed, slightly out of focus shots taken at odd angles -- probably representative of the physical and mental condition of both the photographer and subjects. I think Flickr censors out some photos to keep the "girls gone wild" element to a minimum.
Then there's the fashionistas/wannabe models, who shoot hundreds of pictures of themselves, taken at every conceivable angle, wearing their latest outfits, hairstyles, and makeup. These women scare the hell out of me for some reason.
Remember when little girls played with dolls? Now big girls play with dolls and document their designer efforts on Flickr. This phenomenon seems to be an Asian thing, not too far removed from Anime. I don't get it. But then, I don't really get Anime, either.
On very rare occasion, you'll find photos that were taken decades ago. The best stream I've found so far were several dozen photos taken on the streets of DC during the 1972 Presidential inauguration parade. If you think the world is fucked up now, look at these: Midwestern marching bands and floats right out of the 1950's; Nixon with his famous phony smile waving to the crowd; a large and haggard bunch of radical college students protesting the war. All images I've never seen, and worthy of a national archive.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
U2 Much.
There was a day not long ago when a major music performer would show up for a concert in his car, pull his guitar out of the back seat, and hit the stage and spotlight.
Things change.
It's not enough to be an accomplished musician or talented band anymore; no, it's as much about the presentation as it is to sing, and dance, and play for the crowd. For evidence, I offer you this little fact:
Rolling Stone magazine reports that it takes one hundred twenty trucks to move U2's current show from venue to venue. Think about that. Ever sit at a train crossing and count the cars go by? Minute after minute, 60, 70, 80? Now think about one hundred and twenty 48-foot semi's rolling past, all for one freaking rock and roll show.
I've never been much of a concert goer, but doesn't all that engineering get in the way of the music? Or, are people saying, "Well, their music is OK, but I hear the stage is really cool."
Sure, I'm an old fart, but I don't recall anybody going to Woodstock to admire the truss setup.
No wonder tickets cost so damn much these days.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Redlands' Biggest Rock Hero...
...where there's some interesting comments from former members of The Runaways. And you always thought Redlands' biggest musical connection was folkie Joan Baez...
Monday, October 12, 2009
The Walmart War
There's been an ongoing war over the proposed construction of a "Super Walmart" here in little 'ol Redlands. Those opposed point to Walmart's lousy employee pay and anti competitive pricing, and the proponents shout the glories of Walmart's low prices.
Here's my take.
I've always hated Walmart. The company has a particular blandness only a company founded and managed from Arkansas could create. Yes, its prices are cheap, because the products are cheap. Remember when Walmart touted its products as American made? Not any more. Years ago, Walmart destroyed many a middle American town by undercutting locally owned businesses who couldn't compete on price. So how goes it now?
What will a Super Walmart mean for Redlands? Other than a very large vacant box where the current store is located, not much. Here's why.
If Wallyworld disappeared from the planet in some sort of retail rapture, where would people turn for the things they used to buy there?
Foodstuffs -- big grocery chains like Albertsons and Vons
Electronics -- big electronic chain stores like Best Buy
Auto Parts and Repair -- big auto parts stores like Pep Boys and Auto Zone
Sporting Goods -- big sporting goods chains like Big 5 and Sport Chalet
Clothing -- big clothing chains, Target, Kmart, and Penney's
Health and Beauty -- big pharmacy chains, like CVS and Walgreens
Garden -- big box home improvement stores like Lowes and Home Depot
So... the common denominator here is the word "big"... Walmart competes in this market with other big chains, because there is no small business Walmart wants or needs to compete with any more. They're all long dead and gone.
Yes, we have our boutique stores serving select segments of the overall market in most (but not all) of these categories. But the real dollars these days go to the big nationwide shops. And of the list, only a few of them (grocery stores) pay a living wage, thanks by and large to unionization.
The war is over. Walmart and all the other big boxes have won. Independent business was wiped out years ago. The end.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Going To The Hospital...
Today I visited the mother of an old friend at Redlands Community Hospital. (She's doing fine.)
I was struck, though, about how visiting a hospital is good for us. It reminds us that life is a fragile thing; that we should cherish our good health. I walked out of there with a fresh appreciation of the cool fall weather, the distant mountain vistas, and the music on the radio.
Even if we're in not-s0-good shape, not being in the hospital should give us joy, for that means we are free to be out and about, and not trapped in a bed surrounded by machines and charts and bedpans.
Don't shirk your duty visiting the infirm; it's good for you.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Raiders of the Lost Film Trailer
Dear Steven and George:
I'm shocked, shocked to see that Raiders of the Lost Ark was, in fact, a remake of an earlier Charlton Heston film. Despite your heretofore successful efforts to suppress its existence, a diligent film historian has rescued one of the last remaining copies of the film's trailer that you hadn't had destroyed. See for yourself -- here's the link:
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Things I'll Never Need In Ireland.
Sun screen.
Shorts.
A mister system.
High fructose corn syrup. (Everything is real sugar, there.)
Air conditioning.
A 4 speed, dual quad, posi-traction 409.
Ebonics-to-English translation book.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Another Good Reason To Not Watch TV
I don't want to know who was responsible for writing garbage like this, but their names ought to be passed around Hollywood as people who have no comedic sense whatsoever. I've never seen so many jokes fall flat in the name of "edgy" humor.
Get a clue, guys. There's better jokes in a three year old copy of Reader's Digest. I'm sure you all think Jay Leno is out of style -- but at least he can make people laugh. Neil Patrick Harris may be funny on his sitcom, but he's the poster boy for award show hosts who are so full of themselves. And, as Wifey pointed out, he's no Hugh Jackman when it comes to song and dance, either.
I guess it's back to the Discovery Channel for me...
Saturday, September 19, 2009
I Want It. I Want It Bad.
Follow the link below to the cottage of my dreams. Nine minutes of heaven.
So You Thought Insider Trading Was Illegal? Guess Again.
This little bit of news pissed me off.
If you work on Wall Street, and use information not available to the public for your own profit, you can go to jail. It's a serious crime. But guess who can use insider information freely, make all the money they want, and do it perfectly legally?
Your Congressman.
That's right, folks. The people who regulate Wall Street and write the laws that determine how your tax dollars are spent, are free to use information that the public doesn't yet know about to make money for themselves.
And use it they do. A recent study shows that our reps are making about 12 percent annually on their investments, in good markets and bad. Bernie Madoff should have had it so good.
There ought to be a law. Yeah, like they're going to pass a law like that.
Great Hollywood Mistakes.
We're not going to dwell on so-called movie "bloopers" as there's a ton of websites out there that can point out even the smallest continuity screw up. No, I'm talking mistakes that have derailed, even ruined the careers.
Image, for example, is everything. Letting the whole world know you're an irresponsible drunk not only drives away your audience, it drives away investors who might finance your next film.
Look no further than Mickey Rourke, who only last year was able to crawl out of his self-created black hole and find a role that was able to capitalize on the actor's past. What comes next is up to him.
It's worse if you're a woman in Hollywood. All but a few have a relatively short shelf life in film, and this isn't the forum to argue about the cruelty of that fact. Add irratic behavior and the public perception swings from "oh, isn't she cute" to "look at that crazy bitch". Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Lindsay Lohan...
Lohan didn't help herself by becoming attracted to a lesbian disc jockey and proclaiming she was gay to everyone who would listen. While Hollywood is certainly one of the most gay-friendly industries around, a certain amount of modesty in the matter makes a great deal of difference to the ticket-buying public. Good job: Jodie Foster. Bad job: Anne Heche.
Dis-figure this: Actors have long relied on cosmetic surgery to prolong their careers, but sometimes the change can make them unrecognizable. The recent death of Patrick Swayze reminded me of his co-star in two movies, Jennifer Grey. Her nose job was probably the most costly in history, though she continues to get work, according to IMDB.
Which brings us to tonight's winner. Once so huggable you'd believe she could both shit kittens and piss glitter, Meg Ryan suffered not one but two tumultuous marriages to Miami Vice star Don Johnson (where'd he go, by the way?) and the fatal blow of getting her lips injected with collagen. She went from looking like America's sweetheart (see Sleepless in Seattle) to just another sultry looking woman in a cosmetics ad. We've got plenty of sultry women in Hollywood, but not enough sweethearts. Sorry, Meg.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Mary Travers, Dead at 72
Maybe it's a 60's thing, but I always thought that Mary Travers left a trail of good Karma where ever she went. If you believe in auras, Mary's was always radiating a swirling kaleidoscope of bright greens and blues and yellows, sort of a translucent version of a tie-dyed T-shirt.
What a voice; powerful yet lyric. Was there any song that wasn't improved by the addition of her vocal touch?
And so it goes.
Monday, August 31, 2009
WWWD? What Would Walt Do? The Disney/Marvel Deal.
If you really, really care about all things Disney, then the announcement that Disney is going to acquire Marvel Comics for $4 billion is cause for concern.
Disney is more than a company; it's a 70-plus year old belief system that every kid worldwide seems to adopt at an early age. For some people, the fairy dust dissipates at puberty; for others, it is as ingrained in their personal psyches as much at age 50 as at age 5.
How that feeling can linger much longer, I don't know. Buying up Marvel can't help. We've seen the original Disney characters pushed aside in the past at Disneyland (Toontown, or California Adventure, for example) but I can't bear to see the X Men take over Tomorrowland, or see Spiderman swinging down Main Street USA. I'm sure thousands of people would, but not me. I'm sure it's just not what Walt would have wanted.
Uncle Walt's been dead now (can you believe it?) 43 years, and the stewardship of the Magic Kingdom has strayed from Walt Disney's visage considerably during that time. I like to blame Michael Eisner, the long-time head of the company, but Eisner's been gone now for several years, so who's to say?
Perhaps it's the people that Eisner hired, and still work there; perhaps it's the people who concern themselves with watching the money and the stock price, rather than pretending they work alongside the seven dwarfs or Cinderella.
No matter. I personally now see Disney as just another entertainment empire. Perhaps it was always so, but I think Walt truly wanted us to believe that there was a safe, interesting world of history, science, and nature, and a bright future for all. Bringing Marvel into the Disney fold adds nothing to that vision.
Tom Dowd and the Language of Music
Last night I watched an absolutely fascinating documentary on Tom Dowd. I'd never heard of him before, yet he did so much in his lifetime that I'm familiar with. It's one of those stories that, if somebody made it up, one would say "that's preposterous -- nobody did that" and yet Tom Dowd really did.
Imagine a 16 year old Physics whiz, studying at Columbia University. It's 1941. At night, he haunts the jazz clubs, meeting legendary acts that we still revere today. Through a twist of fate, he ends up engineering recordings. This is back in the day of direct-to-acetate discs, mind you.
Soon, he's drafted into the Army, where he's sent right back to Columbia to work on something called the "Manhattan Project". Yeah, that Manhattan project -- the kid is helping design the first atomic bomb.
His night job is getting him lots of attention, though, in the music world. The war ends, and he's sent off to Bikini Island to study A-bomb tests. Mind you, he still hasn't completed school!
After the tests, he returns to Columbia to find they want him to study 1939-era Physics, when the Physics world has totally been changed by the advent of the Bomb -- which he helped create. Dowd drops out to concentrate on his music career.
And what a career. Dowd engineered recordings for the likes of John Coltrane, Dizzy Gillespie, Thelonious Monk, Ray Charles, Aretha Franklin, Otis Redding, Cream, Lynyrd Skinner, the Allman Brothers, and many many more.
Oh, and while he's doing all this, he pretty much invents the use of multiple track recording techniques and the equipment to make it possible. Just freakin' amazing.
Toward the end of the show, Dowd sits at a console and demonstrates just how he mixed "Layla" for Eric Clapton's Derek and the Dominoes. I was totally blown away.
If you're the least bit interested in music, history, or even Physics (!) you've got to see this film.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Practice Your Portuguese While Peeing In The Shower. Really.
Looks as though I'm on the cutting edge of something...
First I open my Redlands Daily Facts tonight, and I find a lengthy column on the benefits of taking a leak in the shower. Apparently, you can not only save a gallon of water, but it's good for what ails your feet.
Not an hour later, I run across this You tube video from Portugal. It's a for-real public service announcement, and it's pretty damn funny for a PSA. I hope you enjoy it.
It Slices, It Dices -- the New "Bushomatic".
You've got to try this! I won't spoil the surprise by describing the "Bushomatic" but it can be a hell of a lot of fun. I thank movie critic and all-round great guy Roger Ebert for the link. Just click the headline of this entry, or enter the following:
Justice Scalia and the Letter of the Law.
Common sense is the basis for common law. Common sense, however, seems to get lost in today's legal system. Here's a prime example this week from Justice Scalia:
"(The Supreme Court) has never held that the Constitution forbids the execution of a convicted defendant who has had a full and fair trial but is later able to convince a court that he is 'actually' innocent."
In other words, if a man sitting on death row, about to be executed, is somehow found to be innocent, but has received a fair trial finding him guilty, there's nothing a federal court, even the Supreme Court, can do to intervene.
Why? It's because the Supreme Court hasn't ever ruled on the topic. So... sorry dude -- you're gonna fry or get gassed or injected because of the arcane nature of our legal system. The best the Supreme Court can do right now is send flowers to the funeral.
Maybe it's true, but it sure is freaking scary, isn't it? Common sense would lead you to believe that the highest court in the land could stop an innocent man from being executed. But --- nooooo!
Watch Your Mouth.
I am so screwed.
Look who's going to kick my ass, should anyone ever discover "Another Day": General Motors; Shell Oil; Jamie Lynn Spears; Southern California Edison; the Michael Jackson estate; The Redlands Facts, and about a hundred others.
I hereby apologise to everyone I have so egregiously offended. Shame, shame on me for having an opinion. Really.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
The "New" GM Lies, Just Like The Old GM
What's the old joke -- statistics don't lie, only liars with statistics?
First, yes, the Volt can get 230 MPG. On one very big condition. You drive no more, no less than 51 miles to calculate your MPG! We're talking big time misleading here, folks. I suppose they could also claim that if you drove the car less than 40 miles on the electric motor every day, forever, and used but one gallon of gas during the life of the car, it would have received 200,000 miles per gallon, but the public might actually question a number like that.
My Honda gets at least 150 MPG going downhill but I don't claim that as my actual average. I suppose if I peel off the Honda nameplate and glue on a Chevy "bowtie" I can do so with impunity.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
This Week In History...
The Woodstock music festival in Bethel, New York became both a focal point for the nation, and an everlasting symbol of a generation. Damn, I wish I'd been there. I once met a woman who'd been there. She hadn't even intended on going, and ended up there for four days. Some people have all the luck.
Also 40 years ago this week...
The Beatles didn't make it to Woodstock, because they were busy crossing a street in London. That street was Abby Road, and the resulting photograph/album cover became one of the Woodstock generation's iconic images. (Paul, it is noted, is still alive, despite being shown barefoot.) If you don't understand that comment, ask your parents.
Plus, 40 years ago this week...
Charlie Manson sent his followers on a murderous rampage, something we'd like to forget, but can't.
35 years ago this week...
Richard Nixon quit the Presidency. Despite what he said at the time, he was a crook. And, as someone who was on Nixon's enemies list notes, nobody has trusted a President since.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Random Notes.
Radio Shack is changing its name to just "The Shack", an image makeover attempt to get away from its perception that they're just a place to shop for arcane electronic items like diodes and capacitors. Good luck with that.
Do They Really Have To Do That?
Dealers who take in cars under the "Cash For Clunkers" program must destroy the engines by filling them with a nasty solution and running them until they seize. Somehow, that's akin to a vet shooting the dog you've brought in to be "put to sleep" because he's too old to walk. What ever happened to recycling? (other than crushing the car and sending it to a Chinese smelter?)
Hey Marine: Stop Tweeting and Start Shooting.
No more social networking for the Marine Corps, at least for the coming months. Seems they're worried it's dangerous -- The Enemy might get hold of Pvt. Pyle's 140 character Twitter messages and find out our battlefield strategy, or some such. (I suggest Bin Laden just tune into CNN for that info.) The Army, on the other hand, is actively promoting the use of social network sites, and even has Generals tweeting on the front lines. My take: the Army has grown soft. You want a terrorist killed, hire a Marine. If Pvt. Pyle needed a Facebook page, the Marines would have issued him one. Hooya.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Stimulating Thoughts.
What with half the country running around celebrating the success of Obama's Cash For Clunkers program (a government program that works! What a concept!) perhaps it's time to try Blogger Dave's stimulus idea. Drum roll, please...
Cash For Computer Clunkers.
Having just replaced our cranky old PC with a new Mac, I'm thrilled. Lightning-fast page loads! Intuitive software! The old HP was chugging along like one of those clunkers the administration urged us all to trade in.
So, says I, let's have a program to benefit America's tech industry. Trash the old PC and get an instant rebate from Uncle Sam... say, $300. Who'd benefit? Microsoft, Intel, Del, Apple, big box electronic retailers... you name it.
Great idea, huh? It's too late for me, but call your congressman (or woman) and pitch the idea.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
So Cal Edison's War On Trees.
The Edison Company, despite community complaints, continues to murder Redlands' palm trees. Any palm frond within a few yards of one of their lines warrants, it seems, amputation of it and all neighboring fronds, leading to the death of trees that are fifty to seventy five years old.
Redlands is now scattered with dead and dying trees, thanks to the butchers Edison employs to "trim" the offending palms. Odd, but I don't recall Edison doing this in the distant past, or we'd have many more vacancies along our palm lined streets. On some avenues, the trees have safely managed to grow up past the power lines, and every one of the trees is still intact.
Somebody at Edison, once upon a time, must have actually given a shit. But not now, not these days.
Redlands is now scattered with dead and dying trees, thanks to the butchers Edison employs to "trim" the offending palms. Odd, but I don't recall Edison doing this in the distant past, or we'd have many more vacancies along our palm lined streets. On some avenues, the trees have safely managed to grow up past the power lines, and every one of the trees is still intact.
Somebody at Edison, once upon a time, must have actually given a shit. But not now, not these days.
Back To Mac.
I give up.
I'm going back to an Apple computer after a seven year ordeal with my Hewlett Packard PC. Tomorrow we rip out the tower, the mouse, the keyboard, the cords et al and hopefully have our new Mini Mac up and running. The Mini Mac is, well, mini. It's about half the size of a box of Kleenex(R) and yet is more powerful and more reliable (we're told) than the virus-laden machine we've fought with for so long.
Goodbye, blue screen of death. Goodbye, Internet Explorer. Goodbye virus software.
I feel so... hip.
I'm going back to an Apple computer after a seven year ordeal with my Hewlett Packard PC. Tomorrow we rip out the tower, the mouse, the keyboard, the cords et al and hopefully have our new Mini Mac up and running. The Mini Mac is, well, mini. It's about half the size of a box of Kleenex(R) and yet is more powerful and more reliable (we're told) than the virus-laden machine we've fought with for so long.
Goodbye, blue screen of death. Goodbye, Internet Explorer. Goodbye virus software.
I feel so... hip.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
A Toast To The Last Man
A passing of note: the last man to serve in the trenches for Britain in World War I has died. Harry Patch was 111 years old. Of all the tens of thousands who served, of all the tens of thousands who died, Mr. Patch was the last of the last.
Tom Brokaw and others labeled the vets of WWII 'the greatest generation' but the men who fought in that first war suffered the most; it was a ghastly crusade. There are few of any age who can comprehend what horror those men faced. Our nation agonizes over every death in Iraq or Afghanistan. Can you imagine a country the size of England losing thousands every day?
Victoria was still Queen when he was born. I'm sure that I don't want to outlast everyone in my generation. 111 years is a long, long time to live.
Tom Brokaw and others labeled the vets of WWII 'the greatest generation' but the men who fought in that first war suffered the most; it was a ghastly crusade. There are few of any age who can comprehend what horror those men faced. Our nation agonizes over every death in Iraq or Afghanistan. Can you imagine a country the size of England losing thousands every day?
Victoria was still Queen when he was born. I'm sure that I don't want to outlast everyone in my generation. 111 years is a long, long time to live.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
$20 A Gallon????
There's a new book out I want to read.
"$20 A Gallon: How the Inevitable Rise in the Price of Gasoline Will Change our Lives for the Better" tells us what we already know but don't want to face. The world's production of oil is pretty much maxed out, but in a few years, growth in demand (e.g. China) will far outstrip supply. How much growth? Get this: in a very near future, the additional demand for gas in China will be the equivalent to adding another USA to the planet.
Here's one intriguing idea postulated in the book: The age of Wal-Mart will be over. Done. Kaput. Eighty percent of Wal-Mart's "stuff" comes from China. It comes off the boat, then gets loaded into something like 7,000 trucks and hauled to Wal-Mart's thousands of stores. Their whole business model is based on the need for cheap oil. No cheap oil -- no Wallyworld.
I'm liking this already.
People are going to move back into downtowns, where they can walk rather than drive. We won't need so many freeways, so we can recycle their right-of-ways for rapid transit.
The author, Christopher Steiner, doesn't see $20 for a gallon gas until about 30 years from now, at which time I will be a vegetable if I'm alive at all. But Steiner breaks the chapters into price points, and speculates on what effect gas at, say $7, $12, $15 bucks a gallon has on the economy and our lifestyle.
All I can say is it makes this house I keep looking at on the west coast of Ireland more inviting and a great investment. It's in a very nice, but not large, town... A block from lots of independently owned shops.... A block from several really good pubs.... Just the kind of place to watch the rest of the world turn itself inside out.
"$20 A Gallon: How the Inevitable Rise in the Price of Gasoline Will Change our Lives for the Better" tells us what we already know but don't want to face. The world's production of oil is pretty much maxed out, but in a few years, growth in demand (e.g. China) will far outstrip supply. How much growth? Get this: in a very near future, the additional demand for gas in China will be the equivalent to adding another USA to the planet.
Here's one intriguing idea postulated in the book: The age of Wal-Mart will be over. Done. Kaput. Eighty percent of Wal-Mart's "stuff" comes from China. It comes off the boat, then gets loaded into something like 7,000 trucks and hauled to Wal-Mart's thousands of stores. Their whole business model is based on the need for cheap oil. No cheap oil -- no Wallyworld.
I'm liking this already.
People are going to move back into downtowns, where they can walk rather than drive. We won't need so many freeways, so we can recycle their right-of-ways for rapid transit.
The author, Christopher Steiner, doesn't see $20 for a gallon gas until about 30 years from now, at which time I will be a vegetable if I'm alive at all. But Steiner breaks the chapters into price points, and speculates on what effect gas at, say $7, $12, $15 bucks a gallon has on the economy and our lifestyle.
All I can say is it makes this house I keep looking at on the west coast of Ireland more inviting and a great investment. It's in a very nice, but not large, town... A block from lots of independently owned shops.... A block from several really good pubs.... Just the kind of place to watch the rest of the world turn itself inside out.
First Michael, Now This...
We've had a rash of celebrity deaths lately, but none so disturbing as the announcement today that the Taco Bell dog has passed away, victim of a massive stroke. Just 15 years old! Too young to die!
I mean, Gidget was a real cultural icon. No dog since Spuds McKenzie (remember him?) received so much attention. Having your own Taco Bell dog in your handbag became a status symbol -- just ask that pillar of good taste, Paris Hilton.
Only now do we learn that despite the heavily-accented Latino voice, the pup was really a bitch. There's something creepily ironic there, but I haven't yet figured it out.
I wonder if the survivors, and their lawyers, are fighting over her fortune. Who will take care of the children? Is it true there is tape of the pooch's comeback commercial? Let the bidding begin...
I mean, Gidget was a real cultural icon. No dog since Spuds McKenzie (remember him?) received so much attention. Having your own Taco Bell dog in your handbag became a status symbol -- just ask that pillar of good taste, Paris Hilton.
Only now do we learn that despite the heavily-accented Latino voice, the pup was really a bitch. There's something creepily ironic there, but I haven't yet figured it out.
I wonder if the survivors, and their lawyers, are fighting over her fortune. Who will take care of the children? Is it true there is tape of the pooch's comeback commercial? Let the bidding begin...
Monday, July 20, 2009
Man On The Moon - Plus 40 Years
How odd to sit in my den and watch Neil and Buzz walk on the moon again. Some cable channel is rerunning all the old CBS footage. I'm sitting in the same room I watched them the first time, 4o years ago. I couldn't imagine then what the next 40 years would bring; I can't imagine what the next 40 will, either. It was a grand time, though; think of the contrasts, and the parallels to today. Next up on the nostalgia front: Woodstock.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
...And That's The Way It Was.
I'm glad to see the attention paid to Walter Cronkite's passing. In this day of 24 hour news cycles and incredibly short attention spans, it's good that so many people recall Cronkite's contributions, even though he's been off the air for a generation.
Cronkite told it like it was. He knew how to edit; how to keep personal opinions and hype out of the story and stick to the five W's -- who, what, where, when, and why.
As towering an influence in media as he was, it's sad that once he was gone, the floodgates that held back news-as-entertainment opened and flooded us with crap like Fox News. Younger Americans avoid the evening news like the plague, and the Internet, not the networks, shape our perception of what's important and what we should care about.
All we have left of quality journalism can be found in a handful of sources. The New York Times; The Washington Post; National Public Radio, and PBS. Even 60 Minutes isn't what it once was. That's about it for consistently good reporting. At least we had Uncle Walter -- he was the man for the age. We won't be seeing his like again.
Cronkite told it like it was. He knew how to edit; how to keep personal opinions and hype out of the story and stick to the five W's -- who, what, where, when, and why.
As towering an influence in media as he was, it's sad that once he was gone, the floodgates that held back news-as-entertainment opened and flooded us with crap like Fox News. Younger Americans avoid the evening news like the plague, and the Internet, not the networks, shape our perception of what's important and what we should care about.
All we have left of quality journalism can be found in a handful of sources. The New York Times; The Washington Post; National Public Radio, and PBS. Even 60 Minutes isn't what it once was. That's about it for consistently good reporting. At least we had Uncle Walter -- he was the man for the age. We won't be seeing his like again.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Coors: Mentally Out In The Cold?
Why, oh why, do we need a "cold activated can"?
Coors apparently thinks their new can, parts of which turn blue when the can is chilled, is really, really important enough that it deserves a mammoth advertising campaign.
Are people who prefer Coors so frequently and totally inebriated that their hands (or brains) no longer can tell the difference between warm and cold?
Is there a larger than previously known segment of the beer drinking public that have nerve damage to all their fingers, and deserve a beer they can call their own?
Perhaps the new can is to aid alcoholics who buy their beer, immediately put it on ice, and, salivating like Pavlov's dogs, repeatedly grab the cans every ten seconds, hoping by some miracle their suds have suddenly gone cold?
Or those who, so absolutely bored with life, find this technological advancement fascinating to watch? ("Lookie here, Helen! Watch...here it goes! Whooee! What they gonna think of next!")
This marketing gimmick makes anything ever pitched by the late, but not lamented, Billy Mays look as revolutionary as the electric light. Gimme a break.
(Thanks to the wife for pointing out this bit of lunacy.)
Coors apparently thinks their new can, parts of which turn blue when the can is chilled, is really, really important enough that it deserves a mammoth advertising campaign.
Are people who prefer Coors so frequently and totally inebriated that their hands (or brains) no longer can tell the difference between warm and cold?
Is there a larger than previously known segment of the beer drinking public that have nerve damage to all their fingers, and deserve a beer they can call their own?
Perhaps the new can is to aid alcoholics who buy their beer, immediately put it on ice, and, salivating like Pavlov's dogs, repeatedly grab the cans every ten seconds, hoping by some miracle their suds have suddenly gone cold?
Or those who, so absolutely bored with life, find this technological advancement fascinating to watch? ("Lookie here, Helen! Watch...here it goes! Whooee! What they gonna think of next!")
This marketing gimmick makes anything ever pitched by the late, but not lamented, Billy Mays look as revolutionary as the electric light. Gimme a break.
(Thanks to the wife for pointing out this bit of lunacy.)
Sunday, July 12, 2009
What's Next For Government Motors
So, GM came out of bankruptcy this week, ridden of debt, a few brands, hundreds of dealers, and solidly in ownership of the taxpayers of the United States and Canada.
Well, who-ray.
None of this solves the true problems of General Motors.
The suits have kept telling us it is because they were burdened with the so-called "legacy costs" of union retirees -- pension and health care. They said they couldn't compete with Toyota, Honda, et al because it cost them too much money to build cars.
Bullshit.
People will pay more if you give them more, and GM continued to offer us less for the same money. Why would anyone buy a car from a company that creates ugly, unreliable machines, even if (wave the flag!) they're made in America.
So here's my fix for GM:
Fire everyone in the design departments of Chevrolet and Buick, with the exception of Corvette. Not a single vehicle coming out of those brands has had an iota of great design.
Go hire a bunch of recent design school grads, all of whom probably have never driven a GM vehicle. Give them a fleet of European and Asian cars to drive for the next year and tell them they are their benchmarks.
Make every Suit in GM go undercover and try and negotiate a car purchase with their dealers. Then have them go to a Honda store and do the same thing. Same goes for the service department. Tell them they have 90 days to fix their dealers, or find themselves unemployed.
Make an honest effort to change public opinion about the new GM, once these changes are made. Cut up a Toyota and a new GM car on TV, little by little, every night, and compare side by side how GM's welds are better than their welds; how your widgets are better than their widgets. If they're not better, fix them.
No magic, no razzle-dazzle, just facts. Over and over and over and over and over. Put a fleet of cars and trucks on the road 24/7, with web cams attached, and let the public see just how many miles these cars can go before something serious goes wrong. Let's see if you can get a Chevy Cobalt to go an average 35 miles an hour, every hour, for a year... that's 306,600 miles, by the way. Let the public wager on how many miles it'll go; winner gets a new GM car or truck of their choice.
End the rebate madness, too. It's not good for GM, it's not good for the consumer, who still ends up paying taxes on the rebate.
Well, who-ray.
None of this solves the true problems of General Motors.
The suits have kept telling us it is because they were burdened with the so-called "legacy costs" of union retirees -- pension and health care. They said they couldn't compete with Toyota, Honda, et al because it cost them too much money to build cars.
Bullshit.
People will pay more if you give them more, and GM continued to offer us less for the same money. Why would anyone buy a car from a company that creates ugly, unreliable machines, even if (wave the flag!) they're made in America.
So here's my fix for GM:
Fire everyone in the design departments of Chevrolet and Buick, with the exception of Corvette. Not a single vehicle coming out of those brands has had an iota of great design.
Go hire a bunch of recent design school grads, all of whom probably have never driven a GM vehicle. Give them a fleet of European and Asian cars to drive for the next year and tell them they are their benchmarks.
Make every Suit in GM go undercover and try and negotiate a car purchase with their dealers. Then have them go to a Honda store and do the same thing. Same goes for the service department. Tell them they have 90 days to fix their dealers, or find themselves unemployed.
Make an honest effort to change public opinion about the new GM, once these changes are made. Cut up a Toyota and a new GM car on TV, little by little, every night, and compare side by side how GM's welds are better than their welds; how your widgets are better than their widgets. If they're not better, fix them.
No magic, no razzle-dazzle, just facts. Over and over and over and over and over. Put a fleet of cars and trucks on the road 24/7, with web cams attached, and let the public see just how many miles these cars can go before something serious goes wrong. Let's see if you can get a Chevy Cobalt to go an average 35 miles an hour, every hour, for a year... that's 306,600 miles, by the way. Let the public wager on how many miles it'll go; winner gets a new GM car or truck of their choice.
End the rebate madness, too. It's not good for GM, it's not good for the consumer, who still ends up paying taxes on the rebate.
Out With The Old...
We went to Carlson Hardware last night, and all I got was a pizza.
The new Ramano's restaurant occupies the old Carlson's building, and it's quite the showpiece for little old Redlands. A great deal of thought and expense went into converting the place into an upscale bar and restaurant, and the food and atmosphere are very good.
Still, I miss my old hardware store. It was a place where you could always find the odd bolt or fitting or gadget that the big chains just didn't have, probably because there was no profit in it. Carlson's filled that niche, but their business model just doesn't make sense any more in today's world. You can't make a living selling wood screws for nine cents a piece.
Alas, you can get a lot of people to fork out fifty bucks for pizza and beer. Which is why Ramano's exists and not Carlson Hardware.
The same goes for the building next door. Some (!) of you will remember when it was occupied by Harry's Stereo. It was rendered obsolete by the big chain electronics stores, which now are themselves faltering. Harry's shop is now the home of a very trendy eatery as well. One of Harry's nicest stereo receivers probably cost less than a dinner for two with wine and an appetizer.
Go figure.
The new Ramano's restaurant occupies the old Carlson's building, and it's quite the showpiece for little old Redlands. A great deal of thought and expense went into converting the place into an upscale bar and restaurant, and the food and atmosphere are very good.
Still, I miss my old hardware store. It was a place where you could always find the odd bolt or fitting or gadget that the big chains just didn't have, probably because there was no profit in it. Carlson's filled that niche, but their business model just doesn't make sense any more in today's world. You can't make a living selling wood screws for nine cents a piece.
Alas, you can get a lot of people to fork out fifty bucks for pizza and beer. Which is why Ramano's exists and not Carlson Hardware.
The same goes for the building next door. Some (!) of you will remember when it was occupied by Harry's Stereo. It was rendered obsolete by the big chain electronics stores, which now are themselves faltering. Harry's shop is now the home of a very trendy eatery as well. One of Harry's nicest stereo receivers probably cost less than a dinner for two with wine and an appetizer.
Go figure.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Fresh Look, Same Old Crap
I thought I'd tweek the design elements of Another Day, and this is what you got. Hope you like it. Check out the stuff at the bottom of the page, too.
Another Independence Day
There are certain things common to all wars, for all of history. Besides death, injury, and the hardship of battle, there has always been, and always will be, the silent fear of the loved one left behind at home.
This Independence Day, I can sense this first hand. My youngest daughter's boyfriend is a Marine, engaged in battle for the first time. He and 4,000 comrades swarmed into Helmand Province in southern Afghanistan a few days ago to fight the Taliban. The Taliban control this area, as it provides a huge source of money for their operations. This is where the poppies grow. Poppies that excrete juice for making heroin.
My daughter knows all this; she knows why we as a country fight; why her boyfriend must fight. And she must live with the fear that her man might be killed or injured; that he might never come back the same guy she fell in love with.
For most of history, loved ones never knew on what day their soldier faced danger. There was no TV, no satellite telephone, no Internet to provide real time information. Now the mothers and fathers and wives and lovers of the warrior can see and know everything the media and the military will allow, almost as it happens.
It must be hard to be a soldier in a distant place to think "today is the fourth of July" and not remember other fourths of July when they and their friends went to the beach, ate hot dogs, and watched fireworks and parades. They may even contemplate our own war for freedom over 230 years ago. But the thoughts must quickly pass, as there are more immediate things to be concerned with, deep within war's arena.
Not so for the loved one left behind. They have the time to think, long and often, about such things, and to mourn that life is not as it was a few short months ago. They wonder if the next Independence Day will be a celebration, or a reminder of tragedy -- just as others have silently wondered from decade upon decade, war after war.
This Independence Day, I can sense this first hand. My youngest daughter's boyfriend is a Marine, engaged in battle for the first time. He and 4,000 comrades swarmed into Helmand Province in southern Afghanistan a few days ago to fight the Taliban. The Taliban control this area, as it provides a huge source of money for their operations. This is where the poppies grow. Poppies that excrete juice for making heroin.
My daughter knows all this; she knows why we as a country fight; why her boyfriend must fight. And she must live with the fear that her man might be killed or injured; that he might never come back the same guy she fell in love with.
For most of history, loved ones never knew on what day their soldier faced danger. There was no TV, no satellite telephone, no Internet to provide real time information. Now the mothers and fathers and wives and lovers of the warrior can see and know everything the media and the military will allow, almost as it happens.
It must be hard to be a soldier in a distant place to think "today is the fourth of July" and not remember other fourths of July when they and their friends went to the beach, ate hot dogs, and watched fireworks and parades. They may even contemplate our own war for freedom over 230 years ago. But the thoughts must quickly pass, as there are more immediate things to be concerned with, deep within war's arena.
Not so for the loved one left behind. They have the time to think, long and often, about such things, and to mourn that life is not as it was a few short months ago. They wonder if the next Independence Day will be a celebration, or a reminder of tragedy -- just as others have silently wondered from decade upon decade, war after war.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Congressional Comedians.
At last, Minnesota has a new Senator, and his name is Al Franken.
It took eight months to determine, but Franken was declared the winner of last November's election by taking a commanding 300-some-odd vote lead over his incumbent Republican rival.
Franken first came to national attention many years ago, thanks to his contributions on Saturday Night Live. Now, the leap from comedy to Congress isn't that far a jump as it once was. After all, we've had an actor as President of the United States, and two as Governor of California.
It's my theory that comedians, especially those with careers in stand-up comedy, are perfectly suited for moving on to, let's say, the Senate. They have polished their writing skills so they can come directly to the point -- perfect for the media's need for sound bites. They can stand before an unruly audience and turn every insult hurled their way into a laugh at the originator's expense. They are unflappable at the unexpected, and quick with the quip.
Here are some nominees for certain states to consider:
New York: Jon Stewart -- brilliant, actually knowledgeable about politics, and... Jewish!
Also for New York: Lewis Black -- outraged at damn near everything, and...Jewish!
California: Paula Poundstone -- sharp, family oriented, and... gay!
Texas: Ron White -- rotund, alcohol loving, and... white!
Alaska: Tom Bodett -- keeping the light on for us
Michigan: Michael Moore, defender of the little guy.
Connecticut: P.J. O'Rourke -- our lone neocon in a sea of liberalism.
Florida: Jimmy Buffet -- not a comedian per se, but a very funny guy never the less.
I'm sure you can name many more.
Let's go all the way here, and come up with an appropriate Leader Of The Free World.
Somebody everybody can get behind. Somebody who believes in family values. Someone who believes we all can pull ourselves up by our boot straps. One who holds a Doctorate. He's even black! Beloved by millions for two generations... ladies and gentlemen, I give you the next President of the United States:
Bill Cosby.
It took eight months to determine, but Franken was declared the winner of last November's election by taking a commanding 300-some-odd vote lead over his incumbent Republican rival.
Franken first came to national attention many years ago, thanks to his contributions on Saturday Night Live. Now, the leap from comedy to Congress isn't that far a jump as it once was. After all, we've had an actor as President of the United States, and two as Governor of California.
It's my theory that comedians, especially those with careers in stand-up comedy, are perfectly suited for moving on to, let's say, the Senate. They have polished their writing skills so they can come directly to the point -- perfect for the media's need for sound bites. They can stand before an unruly audience and turn every insult hurled their way into a laugh at the originator's expense. They are unflappable at the unexpected, and quick with the quip.
Here are some nominees for certain states to consider:
New York: Jon Stewart -- brilliant, actually knowledgeable about politics, and... Jewish!
Also for New York: Lewis Black -- outraged at damn near everything, and...Jewish!
California: Paula Poundstone -- sharp, family oriented, and... gay!
Texas: Ron White -- rotund, alcohol loving, and... white!
Alaska: Tom Bodett -- keeping the light on for us
Michigan: Michael Moore, defender of the little guy.
Connecticut: P.J. O'Rourke -- our lone neocon in a sea of liberalism.
Florida: Jimmy Buffet -- not a comedian per se, but a very funny guy never the less.
I'm sure you can name many more.
Let's go all the way here, and come up with an appropriate Leader Of The Free World.
Somebody everybody can get behind. Somebody who believes in family values. Someone who believes we all can pull ourselves up by our boot straps. One who holds a Doctorate. He's even black! Beloved by millions for two generations... ladies and gentlemen, I give you the next President of the United States:
Bill Cosby.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Donny Osmond And The Road Not Taken.
Just imagine if Donny Osmond had taken Michael Jackson's career path.
Both Osmond and Jackson were bubble-gum pop heroes with their respective family groups in the early 1970's. The Osmonds were far more familiar faces on TV then, having made a name for themselves even before Donny was born, singing barbershop music. Their super-straight, clean-cut image worked against them in certain quarters -- they were just too uncool to many of the Woodstock generation, including myself. Just how cool could anyone be as a regular on the Andy Williams Show?
The Jackson 5, though, wore their Afros with pride and reflected the gritty urbanity of their Gary, Indiana hometown. Their outfits looked like a cross between your average Motown group and big-city pimpwear.
Oddly, the music both groups made around the time Donny was starting to get media attention sounded a lot alike. Listen to "One Bad Apple" by the Osmonds and it would be easy to think of it as a Jackson 5 tune. (Late edit: "One Bad Apple" actually was written for the Jacksons, but MJ's first number one record was "Ben" a year earlier -- written for Donny Osmond.)
But soon the spotlight was on Donny and Michael's solo careers.
Donny chose a TV show with sister Marie ("A little bit country, a little bit rock and roll") and still managed a few more popular records.
Michael, a few years behind Osmond, hooked up with Quincy Jones, a hugely-talented producer just as MTV was gaining a wide audience. John Landis produced some extremely creative videos, and there was no looking back. Michael Jackson was the hottest pop star on the planet.
Then Jackson got weird on us. Very, very weird on us.
The face lifts. The makeup to look white. Hanging with Liz Taylor. The crazy Sargent Pepper-in-Harlem outfits. Marrying the daughter of Elvis Presley -- for about a week. Sperm donor children. The accusation's of child molestation. Creating the Neverland amusement park for himself and his little friends. More accusations of child molestation. Wild shopping sprees for the most gawd-awful stuff man ever made. Dangling a kid over a hotel railing. Fleeing to Dubai, of all places.
It took a You-tube video of people dancing to "Thriller," at a wedding reception, of all places, to simultaneously make the sheer mention of Michael Jackson both a punchline of a joke, and yet, strangely cool again.
And now we have an early death, bags of prescription drugs, and a media frenzy all on what was to have been the eve of Jackson's farewell tour.
Donny, Donny, Donny. What opportunities you missed by being relatively normal. Think of it, Donny. Had you dyed your skin black, fondled a few kids, talked like Marilyn Monroe, and OD'd on something stronger than that permitted by the Mormon Church, you could have been the King of Pop.
Both Osmond and Jackson were bubble-gum pop heroes with their respective family groups in the early 1970's. The Osmonds were far more familiar faces on TV then, having made a name for themselves even before Donny was born, singing barbershop music. Their super-straight, clean-cut image worked against them in certain quarters -- they were just too uncool to many of the Woodstock generation, including myself. Just how cool could anyone be as a regular on the Andy Williams Show?
The Jackson 5, though, wore their Afros with pride and reflected the gritty urbanity of their Gary, Indiana hometown. Their outfits looked like a cross between your average Motown group and big-city pimpwear.
Oddly, the music both groups made around the time Donny was starting to get media attention sounded a lot alike. Listen to "One Bad Apple" by the Osmonds and it would be easy to think of it as a Jackson 5 tune. (Late edit: "One Bad Apple" actually was written for the Jacksons, but MJ's first number one record was "Ben" a year earlier -- written for Donny Osmond.)
But soon the spotlight was on Donny and Michael's solo careers.
Donny chose a TV show with sister Marie ("A little bit country, a little bit rock and roll") and still managed a few more popular records.
Michael, a few years behind Osmond, hooked up with Quincy Jones, a hugely-talented producer just as MTV was gaining a wide audience. John Landis produced some extremely creative videos, and there was no looking back. Michael Jackson was the hottest pop star on the planet.
Then Jackson got weird on us. Very, very weird on us.
The face lifts. The makeup to look white. Hanging with Liz Taylor. The crazy Sargent Pepper-in-Harlem outfits. Marrying the daughter of Elvis Presley -- for about a week. Sperm donor children. The accusation's of child molestation. Creating the Neverland amusement park for himself and his little friends. More accusations of child molestation. Wild shopping sprees for the most gawd-awful stuff man ever made. Dangling a kid over a hotel railing. Fleeing to Dubai, of all places.
It took a You-tube video of people dancing to "Thriller," at a wedding reception, of all places, to simultaneously make the sheer mention of Michael Jackson both a punchline of a joke, and yet, strangely cool again.
And now we have an early death, bags of prescription drugs, and a media frenzy all on what was to have been the eve of Jackson's farewell tour.
Donny, Donny, Donny. What opportunities you missed by being relatively normal. Think of it, Donny. Had you dyed your skin black, fondled a few kids, talked like Marilyn Monroe, and OD'd on something stronger than that permitted by the Mormon Church, you could have been the King of Pop.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Pyrric Victory.
The other night, out of boredom, I decided to look at the web sites of the newspapers I once worked for.
I couldn't find the web site for the Eastside and South County Journals outside of Seattle, where I worked, and suffered mightily, back in 1997 and 1998. The place damn near killed me.
A little digging turned up the news from two years ago that, after losing money for more than a decade, the owner pawned it off to a newspaper chain from Canada. They promptly shut the joint down, keeping the profitable commercial printing division.
Ha, ha.
While I hate to see a newspaper close, I find the news gratifying. Working there broke my spirit.
I've compared it before to the hot-shot test pilot who takes on a new ride, only to find that everything that worked for him in the past no longer holds true, and he's in an unrecoverable flat spin. Everybody back at the base is going to blame him for losing control and crashing the plane. Oh, and did I mention that the ejection seat's broken?
Well, in my case, I was able to bail out in time, though suffering severe burns of a sort. The scars are still visible if you know where to look.
So, to my departed comrades who built that vehicle of terror, I say:
You got what you deserved. Fill in your favorite string of expletives here on my behalf.
I couldn't find the web site for the Eastside and South County Journals outside of Seattle, where I worked, and suffered mightily, back in 1997 and 1998. The place damn near killed me.
A little digging turned up the news from two years ago that, after losing money for more than a decade, the owner pawned it off to a newspaper chain from Canada. They promptly shut the joint down, keeping the profitable commercial printing division.
Ha, ha.
While I hate to see a newspaper close, I find the news gratifying. Working there broke my spirit.
I've compared it before to the hot-shot test pilot who takes on a new ride, only to find that everything that worked for him in the past no longer holds true, and he's in an unrecoverable flat spin. Everybody back at the base is going to blame him for losing control and crashing the plane. Oh, and did I mention that the ejection seat's broken?
Well, in my case, I was able to bail out in time, though suffering severe burns of a sort. The scars are still visible if you know where to look.
So, to my departed comrades who built that vehicle of terror, I say:
You got what you deserved. Fill in your favorite string of expletives here on my behalf.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Social Networking.
Before the advent of social networking, there were message boards.
Then My Space stormed high schools coast to coast.
Then there was Facebook, and everyone from 8 to 80 joined in.
Now the cyber-world is all-a-twitter about Twitter.
I don't use any of these services, as I receive sufficient self-flagellation from writing my blog, which currently has an audience of two people.
You see, to effectively use a social networking site, one has to have "friends" or at least people interested in your daily doings. I don't.
Now, I suppose I could be receiving "tweets" from D-list celebrities and bored members of Congress on their latest doings, but I doubt they have anything important to say to me. Especially in 140 characters or less.
I do, however, feel a certain empathy for the folks in that old Beatles song; you know the one -- hum along if you choose...
Eleanor Rigby (Lennon/McCartney)
Aah, look at all the lonely people
Aah, look at all the lonely people
Eleanor Rigby picks up the rice in the church where a wedding has been
Lives in a dream
Waits at the window, wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door
Who is it for?
All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?
Father McKenzie writing the words of a sermon that no one will hear
No one comes near.
Look at him working.
Darning his socks in the night when there's nobody there
What does he care?
All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?
If this sounds like a plea for more attention, forget it. I've been a loner for most all of my life. So were my parents. Being an only child, I learned a long time ago how to keep myself entertained. I also have a wife who dotes on my every word... don't you, honey?
Maybe I should invent a social network for the Eleanor Rigbys of the world who never learned how to cope.
Oh. Never mind. Someone did.
I think it's called Match.com.
Then My Space stormed high schools coast to coast.
Then there was Facebook, and everyone from 8 to 80 joined in.
Now the cyber-world is all-a-twitter about Twitter.
I don't use any of these services, as I receive sufficient self-flagellation from writing my blog, which currently has an audience of two people.
You see, to effectively use a social networking site, one has to have "friends" or at least people interested in your daily doings. I don't.
Now, I suppose I could be receiving "tweets" from D-list celebrities and bored members of Congress on their latest doings, but I doubt they have anything important to say to me. Especially in 140 characters or less.
I do, however, feel a certain empathy for the folks in that old Beatles song; you know the one -- hum along if you choose...
Eleanor Rigby (Lennon/McCartney)
Aah, look at all the lonely people
Aah, look at all the lonely people
Eleanor Rigby picks up the rice in the church where a wedding has been
Lives in a dream
Waits at the window, wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door
Who is it for?
All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?
Father McKenzie writing the words of a sermon that no one will hear
No one comes near.
Look at him working.
Darning his socks in the night when there's nobody there
What does he care?
All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?
If this sounds like a plea for more attention, forget it. I've been a loner for most all of my life. So were my parents. Being an only child, I learned a long time ago how to keep myself entertained. I also have a wife who dotes on my every word... don't you, honey?
Maybe I should invent a social network for the Eleanor Rigbys of the world who never learned how to cope.
Oh. Never mind. Someone did.
I think it's called Match.com.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
I No Longer Have A Teenager...
My youngest daughter turned 20 years old yesterday. My little girl, twenty?
Not just twenty; twenty with a full load in college, a full time job, and a Marine boyfriend who's just landed in Afghanistan. She has a very full plate for someone so young.
Earlier in the week, she saved a life, too.
An elderly woman comes into the store; picks up her prescriptions, and wanders off to do some shopping. A few minutes later, she's on the floor -- no breathing, no heartbeat.
My little girl administers CPR; orders others in the store to call 911; keeps working on the woman until the ambulance arrives.
The woman is alive today because of my little girl. And to top it off, this isn't the first time she's saved a life. All before the age of twenty.
She's accomplished more important things in her short life than I have in my 55 years. I'm awfully proud of that.
Not just twenty; twenty with a full load in college, a full time job, and a Marine boyfriend who's just landed in Afghanistan. She has a very full plate for someone so young.
Earlier in the week, she saved a life, too.
An elderly woman comes into the store; picks up her prescriptions, and wanders off to do some shopping. A few minutes later, she's on the floor -- no breathing, no heartbeat.
My little girl administers CPR; orders others in the store to call 911; keeps working on the woman until the ambulance arrives.
The woman is alive today because of my little girl. And to top it off, this isn't the first time she's saved a life. All before the age of twenty.
She's accomplished more important things in her short life than I have in my 55 years. I'm awfully proud of that.
Sidekicks.
Lost among all the frenzy about the death of Michael Jackson was the passing earlier this week of Ed McMahon. Ed lived a bunch of his professional life sitting on a couch, laughing at Johnny Carson's jokes. He wasn't the co host of the Tonight Show; his job was that of being a sidekick.
Sidekicks never get the accolades that their leader receives. They don't receive top billing or the rewards, monetary or otherwise. But there they are, right along side the big guy, loyal to a tee.
Some sidekicks do draw their own attention of sorts. Where would Don Quixote be without Sancho Panza? Sancho plays the everyman, lacking both the knowledge or the madness of his boss, but provides help in keeping him out of trouble.
The Lone Ranger had Tonto. Tonto never played dumb, though a lot of native Americans found his pidgin English annoying. Tonto, too, got the Ranger out of a lot of jams, as well as providing the Ranger somebody to talk to, a literary trick to provide information to the audience.
Lassie had Timmie. Captain Kangaroo had Mr. Green Jeans. Maxwell Smart had Agent 99. Our first President Bush had Dan Quayle. Quayle's job was to make his boss look smart by comparison.
I always thought of myself as a sidekick kind of guy. Not the brightest bulb in the lamp, but providing what illumination I could to the situation. My demeanor doesn't lend itself to leadership, I've found. I'm not the hero, but I've tried to be a good right hand man to a number of people.
The trick is finding the right person to be a sidekick for, though. Some of those Alpha Dog types have sidekicks that end up getting kicked in the side, or worse. Rule: Never be a sidekick to a megalomaniac who wants to take over the world. James Bond will kill you in the third reel.
Sidekicks never get the accolades that their leader receives. They don't receive top billing or the rewards, monetary or otherwise. But there they are, right along side the big guy, loyal to a tee.
Some sidekicks do draw their own attention of sorts. Where would Don Quixote be without Sancho Panza? Sancho plays the everyman, lacking both the knowledge or the madness of his boss, but provides help in keeping him out of trouble.
The Lone Ranger had Tonto. Tonto never played dumb, though a lot of native Americans found his pidgin English annoying. Tonto, too, got the Ranger out of a lot of jams, as well as providing the Ranger somebody to talk to, a literary trick to provide information to the audience.
Lassie had Timmie. Captain Kangaroo had Mr. Green Jeans. Maxwell Smart had Agent 99. Our first President Bush had Dan Quayle. Quayle's job was to make his boss look smart by comparison.
I always thought of myself as a sidekick kind of guy. Not the brightest bulb in the lamp, but providing what illumination I could to the situation. My demeanor doesn't lend itself to leadership, I've found. I'm not the hero, but I've tried to be a good right hand man to a number of people.
The trick is finding the right person to be a sidekick for, though. Some of those Alpha Dog types have sidekicks that end up getting kicked in the side, or worse. Rule: Never be a sidekick to a megalomaniac who wants to take over the world. James Bond will kill you in the third reel.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Michael Has Left The Building
If you wanted to pattern your death after someone, Elvis isn't exactly the best example I could think of. Yet, here we are, want to or not, hovering over every word of the L.A. coroner, analysing every detail of Michael Jackson's death, and the comparisons are uncanny. I suppose MJ wouldn't have had it any other way, had he had a choice in the matter.
We've gotten good at public sentiment when it comes to the early death of a celebrity. It's too bad I missed the hubbub over James Dean. The first I can remember (vaguely) was Marilyn Monroe. I was in, what, second grade at the time, and even I recall the media frenzy. Passing over the political deaths of the 1960's we all know so well, we had Otis and Janis and Jimi and then that great leap forward in public insanity surrounding Elvis in 1976.
I never understood that one. I always thought of Elvis as some sort of joke perpetrated on America by the redneck south. I mean, really... a semi-literate singer from nowhere who shook his hips, had a "jungle room," spent his money lavishly, shot his TV, and died on the toilet from too many drugs... a folk hero? Worthy of a postage stamp? Why should everyone get all shook up (pardon the pun) about the death of a celebrity so uncool the mere mention of his name incited laughter for more than a decade?
But suddenly, in death, Elvis was king once again. The women wailed at the gates to Graceland. The press swarmed. Priscilla, though divorced from the dork, became the low-rent version of Jackie Kennedy.
All that pales in comparison to what's going on now. The pop culture world has learned a lot about how to grieve. Thank Lady Diana for that one. Let's all troop down to MJ's star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, or his rental house, or the hospital, or the family estate -- or all four -- and leave heaps of flowers and teddy bears. (Teddy bears? WTF.) Then, let's all sing songs like we did outside the Dakota where John Lennon was shot. Let's all cry for the TV camera, and tell the world what an inspiration Michael was. To pedophiles, I assume. And black men who want to be white. And wish to look like Elizabeth Taylor.
I'm even waiting for Elton John to rewrite "Candle in the Wind" again.
Was Michael Jackson talented? Sure. He was a good dancer, and singer. I think his "genius" should be really attributed to producers Barry Gordy and Quincy Jones, and the engineers and musicians who worked in the shadows while Jackson received all the credit. A good engineer could probably make even me sound good, when my recorded voice normally is akin to Kermit the Frog.
In a couple of weeks, once all of Jackson's employees are off payroll and the rent is due, we'll start seeing the exposes in the tabloids, on Entertainment Tonight, and in a few quickie books that are even now being prepared for the publisher, their authors burning the midnight oil this weekend, one eye cocked at the TV to capture the latest "news".
But, hey, it's the American way. In death, Michael is again King of Pop. He'd love the attention; you know he would.
We've gotten good at public sentiment when it comes to the early death of a celebrity. It's too bad I missed the hubbub over James Dean. The first I can remember (vaguely) was Marilyn Monroe. I was in, what, second grade at the time, and even I recall the media frenzy. Passing over the political deaths of the 1960's we all know so well, we had Otis and Janis and Jimi and then that great leap forward in public insanity surrounding Elvis in 1976.
I never understood that one. I always thought of Elvis as some sort of joke perpetrated on America by the redneck south. I mean, really... a semi-literate singer from nowhere who shook his hips, had a "jungle room," spent his money lavishly, shot his TV, and died on the toilet from too many drugs... a folk hero? Worthy of a postage stamp? Why should everyone get all shook up (pardon the pun) about the death of a celebrity so uncool the mere mention of his name incited laughter for more than a decade?
But suddenly, in death, Elvis was king once again. The women wailed at the gates to Graceland. The press swarmed. Priscilla, though divorced from the dork, became the low-rent version of Jackie Kennedy.
All that pales in comparison to what's going on now. The pop culture world has learned a lot about how to grieve. Thank Lady Diana for that one. Let's all troop down to MJ's star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, or his rental house, or the hospital, or the family estate -- or all four -- and leave heaps of flowers and teddy bears. (Teddy bears? WTF.) Then, let's all sing songs like we did outside the Dakota where John Lennon was shot. Let's all cry for the TV camera, and tell the world what an inspiration Michael was. To pedophiles, I assume. And black men who want to be white. And wish to look like Elizabeth Taylor.
I'm even waiting for Elton John to rewrite "Candle in the Wind" again.
Was Michael Jackson talented? Sure. He was a good dancer, and singer. I think his "genius" should be really attributed to producers Barry Gordy and Quincy Jones, and the engineers and musicians who worked in the shadows while Jackson received all the credit. A good engineer could probably make even me sound good, when my recorded voice normally is akin to Kermit the Frog.
In a couple of weeks, once all of Jackson's employees are off payroll and the rent is due, we'll start seeing the exposes in the tabloids, on Entertainment Tonight, and in a few quickie books that are even now being prepared for the publisher, their authors burning the midnight oil this weekend, one eye cocked at the TV to capture the latest "news".
But, hey, it's the American way. In death, Michael is again King of Pop. He'd love the attention; you know he would.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Beep, Beep...It Ain't The Roadrunner...
Beep.
Beep...
Our attention this afternoon was directed to an unusual beeping sound coming from the den. Two beeps, then silence... for fifteen minutes. Then: Beep, beep.
After about an hour, we traced it to our Verizon FIOS box buried in a cabinet behind the couch.
Apparently, there's a backup battery in the box in case the power fails. Warning light indicated the battery was low on juice. Fish out screwdriver, pry case loose, and holy cow! What a battery! I was expecting your usual little 9 volt transistor radio job, or a flashlight battery. This one is about half the size of the one in the Honda Fit. Twelve volts, 7.2 amps -- I bet I could start a car with it.
And whoopee...Verizon may own the system, but it's up to us to replace it. I'm going to go put it on my car's battery charger and see if I can put some life back into the thing.
Technology sucks. All this isn't worth it. Sorry.
Beep...
Our attention this afternoon was directed to an unusual beeping sound coming from the den. Two beeps, then silence... for fifteen minutes. Then: Beep, beep.
After about an hour, we traced it to our Verizon FIOS box buried in a cabinet behind the couch.
Apparently, there's a backup battery in the box in case the power fails. Warning light indicated the battery was low on juice. Fish out screwdriver, pry case loose, and holy cow! What a battery! I was expecting your usual little 9 volt transistor radio job, or a flashlight battery. This one is about half the size of the one in the Honda Fit. Twelve volts, 7.2 amps -- I bet I could start a car with it.
And whoopee...Verizon may own the system, but it's up to us to replace it. I'm going to go put it on my car's battery charger and see if I can put some life back into the thing.
Technology sucks. All this isn't worth it. Sorry.
More Proof I Can't Work On Cars Anymore
So my little Honda Fit ran over a staple.
I didn't know it until the Tire Pressure Monitoring System (TPMS) warning light lit up on the dashboard.
Thanks, Honda... you probably saved me from changing a tire on the I-10 at 4 in the morning.
While the tire shop had the casing off to repair the puncture, I happened to look at the inside of the rim.
WTF? Here's this plastic chunk on the far side of the stem, about half the size of a cell phone.
I had no idea what it was.
Turns out, it's the TPMS sensor that radios the car's on board diagnostic system. How? I don't know. I hope to hell there's no battery in them. How do you balance a wheel with that thing in there, I have no clue. And what if the gas station you go to for air has a crummy compressor and pumps moist air into the tire? Will it rust?
I suppose they'll want to install new ones every time you buy a new tire. And they certainly will if you have a blowout, because it will become part of the road debris in the ensuing carnage.
Reading up on the things, it takes all sorts of special tools to diagnose and fit one, get it to talk to the computer, and, of course, there's almost a different sensor for every different Honda. Gag. Good luck fitting custom wheels to one of these cars. Oh, and don't use a copper stem core, or even an unplated cap -- this can cause the sensor to fail. Great. Just great.
Good thing I quit working on cars, because I'd be tempted, in about another fifty thousand miles,of ripping the whole damn system out when I start paying for all these parts and diagnosis. Just give me a damn valve stem, OK, Mr. Tire Man? Make mine copper, too.
Reminds me of that scene in "2001 A Space Odyssey":
"Open the Pod Bay doors, HAL."
"I'm sorry, I can't do that, Dave."
"HAL, open the Pod Bay doors."
"I can't do that, Dave."
....and later Dave has to pull HAL's plug, circuit by circuit.
I didn't know it until the Tire Pressure Monitoring System (TPMS) warning light lit up on the dashboard.
Thanks, Honda... you probably saved me from changing a tire on the I-10 at 4 in the morning.
While the tire shop had the casing off to repair the puncture, I happened to look at the inside of the rim.
WTF? Here's this plastic chunk on the far side of the stem, about half the size of a cell phone.
I had no idea what it was.
Turns out, it's the TPMS sensor that radios the car's on board diagnostic system. How? I don't know. I hope to hell there's no battery in them. How do you balance a wheel with that thing in there, I have no clue. And what if the gas station you go to for air has a crummy compressor and pumps moist air into the tire? Will it rust?
I suppose they'll want to install new ones every time you buy a new tire. And they certainly will if you have a blowout, because it will become part of the road debris in the ensuing carnage.
Reading up on the things, it takes all sorts of special tools to diagnose and fit one, get it to talk to the computer, and, of course, there's almost a different sensor for every different Honda. Gag. Good luck fitting custom wheels to one of these cars. Oh, and don't use a copper stem core, or even an unplated cap -- this can cause the sensor to fail. Great. Just great.
Good thing I quit working on cars, because I'd be tempted, in about another fifty thousand miles,of ripping the whole damn system out when I start paying for all these parts and diagnosis. Just give me a damn valve stem, OK, Mr. Tire Man? Make mine copper, too.
Reminds me of that scene in "2001 A Space Odyssey":
"Open the Pod Bay doors, HAL."
"I'm sorry, I can't do that, Dave."
"HAL, open the Pod Bay doors."
"I can't do that, Dave."
....and later Dave has to pull HAL's plug, circuit by circuit.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Shell Oil Company Gives Me Gas
Shell is touting their new gasoline as being "nitrogen enriched". Supposedly, this new formula results in a cleaner burning engine.
Uh huh.
Now, your average car engine mixes roughly 15 parts of air with one part gasoline.
And air already consists of roughly 78 percent nitrogen.
so... just how much more nitrogen can Shell possibly stuff into that one part of gas to make any difference?
ah... not much.
Just thought you'd like to know.
Uh huh.
Now, your average car engine mixes roughly 15 parts of air with one part gasoline.
And air already consists of roughly 78 percent nitrogen.
so... just how much more nitrogen can Shell possibly stuff into that one part of gas to make any difference?
ah... not much.
Just thought you'd like to know.
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