Earthquakes

“If they'd lower the taxes and get rid of the smog and clean up the traffic mess, I really believe I'd settle here until the next earthquake”
Groucho Marx (1895–1977), U.S. comic actor


I hate earthquakes!!! The one this morning was 4.5, but it was enough to wake me up and hope that it would not build into a long damaging quake. This one just swung back and forth. I didn't hear anything fall. They scare me half to death.

While the seismograph spikes my heart flat lines.

White-Haired Guy Gets Mad

Read George Will's Newsweek column from this week's issue. Excerpt:

Contrary to the Constitution's mandate that the president "shall take care that the laws be faithfully executed," the current president, much more than any other, has issued "signing statements"—essentially, line-item vetoes, which are unconstitutional—to tell the executive branch that some provisions of bills he signs into law need not be enforced for constitutional or policy reasons. As [Charlie Savage of The Boston Globe] writes, "If a president has the power to instruct the government not to enforce laws that he alone has declared to be unconstitutional, then he could free himself from the need to obey laws that restrict his own actions."

Who Would have Guessed? Keith Really did Inhale

They shoulda called me Little Cocaine, I was sniffing so much of the stuff! My nose got big enough to back a diesel truck in, unload it, and drive it right out again.
Little Richard, rock’n’roll musician

I have to take a moment to gloat, no not about all my correct posts about Bush and Cheney, but the fact that I know my Rolling Stones. Keith Richards and Dad; Keith Richards admitted that he did indeed inhale his dad’s ashes, just not with cocaine.

He admitted it because he is generating publicity for his memoirs. According to someplace on the internet where I found it, he said:

“I pulled the lid off (my father’s urn) and out comes a bit of dad on the dining room table. I’m going, ‘I can’t use the brush and dustpan for this’.

“What I found out is that ingesting your ancestors is a very respectable way of … y’know, he went down a treat.”

The autobiographical book is due in the fall of 2010, I suspect that will be about the time the Stones retire as a touring band.

Back to Work

Policemen so cherish their status as keepers of the peace and protectors of the public that they have occasionally been known to beat to death those citizens or groups who question that status.
David Mamet, playwright

To welcome me back to work the LAPD set a speed trap that I fell right into. What better way end the rest and relaxation of a vacation, but to have a our over taxed police force set speed trips for the corporate folks going to work. Then in the afternoon, they wait outside the building writing jaywalking tickets. I love our men and women in blue. Gang problems be damned.

***

My favorite new television is "Saving Grace" with Holly Hunter. It is just a smart fun show. "The Closer" that follows is less so for me, but wife loves it. Now I can get back to my book.

What would John Lennon Say?

My role in society, or any artist or poet’s role, is to try and express what we all feel. Not to tell people how to feel. Not as a preacher, not as a leader, but as a reflection of us all.
John Lennon (1940–80), rock musician

The Wall Street Journal had a story the other day about the piano on which John Lennon composed "Imagine." George Michael and his longtime partner, Kenny Goss, a Dallas gallery owner purchased the instrument from a private collector at a Sotheby auction for $2.1 million in 2000.

Now there are sending to places that need healing and hope.

The piano was displayed on the campus of Virginia Tech in Blacksburg, Va., where 32 students were massacred by a lone gunman in April. People drove from as far away as Washington, D.C., on Memorial Day weekend to see it. Some wanted the chance to play "Imagine" or other songs on it. Others simply ran their fingers over the cigarette burns Mr. Lennon had left on it.

The piano hasn't always been welcomed. Administrators at Columbine High School outside Denver, still suffering from publicity fatigue eight years after two students killed 13 people there in 1999, refused to allow the piano on the school campus. And officials at Ford's Theater in Washington, where President Lincoln was assassinated, ignored requests that they play host to it. When it showed up anyway one morning on the sidewalk in front of the theater, actors rushed out to see it.

It has also been to the Memphis motel -- now a museum -- where Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated in 1968 to a Texas prison on the eve of an execution. It showed up at a ceremony commemorating the lives lost during the Oklahoma City bombing in 1995, then 12 hours later was unveiled in Waco, Texas, at a service for the 80 members of a religious sect known as the Branch Davidians who died in a 1993 blaze after a 51-day standoff with federal officials.

Personally, I think it is a bit overdone. I think Lennon would tell Michael to get real, it is just a piano. It could have been any piano that he had ordered. If it helps people what the heck. Give Peace a Chance!

The Shadow of the Wind

Books are the bees which carry the quickening pollen from one to another mind.
James Russell Lowell (1819–91), poet

I interrupt the regularly scheduled post to share with you the most enjoyable book I have read in some time. Wife’s friend, and mine too, is in a book club and told me about a book that anyone who reads it loves it.

The book, “The Shadow of the Wind” by Carlos Ruiz Zafón, is a bibliophile mystery that is so rich in story and characters that I am delighted that I read slowly and can savor every page of this almost 500-page novel. I am not a sophisticated literary reader. I read about 15 to 20 books a year, while B2 reads that in a month, On The Mark a few less than that, but nonetheless I love reading.

I started this book knowing very little about it. I read a brief synopsis of it on Amazon before I ordered it in hard cover. I started “The Road” by Cormac McCarthy while waiting for the book to arrive and was thrilled that it was not any longer than its 241 pages because that was a dismal world I certainly hope none of us ever see.

I opened the first page of "The Shadow of the Wind" and the first line hooked me: “I still remember the day my father took me to the Cemetery of Forgotten Books for the first time.” I have underlined a few lines that I will use in quotes before posts as I did in Friday’s “Credit Card Crooks.” Here are a few since blogging most likely will go back it irregular postings as vacation ends when the alarm goes off tomorrow at 5 a.m.:

“In this world the only opinion that holds court is prejudice.”

“…man is a social animal, characterized by cronyism, nepotism, corruption, and gossip.” (you know I will use this for a post on the corrupt Bush administration)

“Army, Marriage, the Church, and Banking: the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.”

“Darwin was a dreamer, I can assure you. No evolution of anything of the sort. For every one who can reason, I have to battle with nine orangutans.”

“There are few reasons for telling the truth, but in lying the number is infinite.”

The New York Times blurb on the back jacket, which I just now read, sums it up perfectly: “Gabriel Garcia Marquéz meets Umberto Eco meets Jorge Luis Borges for a sprawling magic show, exasperatingly tricky and mostly wonderful…Ruiz Zafón gives us a panoply of alluring and savage personages and stories. His novel eddies in currents of passion, revenge and mysteries whose layers peel away onion-like, yet persist in growing back…We are taken on a wild ride that executes is hairpin bends with breathtaking lurches.”

Another reason my wife can feel good

Because she hasn't spent 10.5 years being pregnant.

Credit Card Crooks

…you want to learn how to rob a bank, or how to set one up, which is much the same thing…
*A line from “The Shadow of the Wind” by Carlos Ruiz Zafón

The above line finally got me out of my reading chair to once again point how insidious and predatory the banks and credit cards remind.

From a New York Times editorial:
…the credit card industry has stealthily adopted methods designed to maximize burdensome penalties and fees, while ratcheting up interest rates as high as 30 percent. Companies bombard unwary consumers with teaser packages that promise very low interest rates to start, while reserving for themselves the right to raise rates whenever they choose. The details are buried in deliberately arcane contracts that run 30 pages long and that even lawyers have trouble understanding.

Still more
… Under a provision known as “universal default,” a cardholder who pays a credit card company faithfully can still be hit with a high penalty interest rate for missing payments with another creditor. In another despicable tactic known as “double cycle billing,” a cardholder who pays $450 of a $500 balance is charged interest on the entire amount as opposed to the unpaid balance.

State usury laws would once have precluded many of these practices, but those have been preempted by federal regulations that are increasingly designed to make banks and credit card companies happy — rather than protect consumers.

Our elected representatives are about to go on a month’s summer vacation at our expanse, so nothing will be done until September, and still while the Republicans have enough power to block anything to protect the consumer, nothing will be done, so be wary and limit your credit card use (this has been a public service announcement).

*the book I'm currently reading

Relief at Dodger Stadium

Baseball, it is said, is only a game. True. And the Grand Canyon is only a hole in Arizona. Not all holes, or games, are created equal.
George F. Will, political columnist

Barry Bonds versus the Dodgers is over. Tuesday through Thursday night I tuned into the Dodger game to see if Barry Bonds would hit his controversial, historical-tying home run at Dodger Stadium. I am pleased to write that he did not. The only good from Bonds hitting a home run at Dodger Stadium would have been Vin Scully making the call, if you happened to have cable. I suppose the justice in that is that Vin Scully was one of the announcers who made the call for Hank Aaron’s record-breaking home run. As Scully said during the game, the circus moves on to San Diego.

Despite the steroid allegations surrounding him, I am not so sure that any of the modern day records should be compared to the early part of the last century since the dimensions of the ball parks have changed (Dodger Stadium used to be 410 to centerfield when I was a kid, today I believe it is 395). The pitcher mounds used to be higher and the strike zones have changed in ways that I don’t recall immediately. So comparisons are not really accurate, all of the records should have asterisks.

Bridge Disaster

One of the extraordinary things about human events is that the unthinkable becomes thinkable.
Salman Rushdie, author

Our heart goes out to those involved in this disaster. Photos are from CNN, New York Times, and Breitbart.com. This will be unfolding throughout the day. This could just as easily happen in California to our freeways when the next big earthquake hits. We most likely not fall into the water, but flatten cars below, similar to what happened in Oakland in 1989.

What All Irresponsible Pet Owners Deserve

Extraordinary creature! So close a friend, and yet so remote.
Thomas Mann (1875–1955), author

I borrowed this cartoon from Diary of a Hope Fiend. It's a great cartoon.

Conspiracy Theory -- Believe It or Not!

Civilization is a conspiracy. … Modern life is the silent compact of comfortable folk to keep up pretences.
John Buchan (1875–1940), author

There is an interesting two-page advertisement in the New York Times. I can’t find it online, just in the actual paper. It’s a letter from Paul Kuntzler, president, Court Reporters Transcribers, asking for his materials back from the Washington Post, specifically a video titled “The Men Who Killed Kennedy, the Final Chapter, Volumes 1 and 2.” According to the letter/advertisement the Post has been very slow in returning his materials and it still has not returned Volume 1.

He goes on through the two pages to detail the conspiracy to kill President John F. Kennedy. He says that Lyndon Johnson was involved, Richard Nixon was involved, George H. W. Bush, who then headed the CIA, was involved; Gerald Ford, who headed the Warren Commission, was involved, and Arlen Specter, who was a lawyer on the Warren Commission, was involved.

It is quite an interesting advertisement and makes one think twice about the entire conspiracy theory. What makes me think there may be more credibility to it than I had ever assumed is the recent political events that have led to George W. Bush’s election and many of the surrounding events.

The 2000 election snafu where the Supreme Court jumped in too soon, the 2004 Ohio voting snafu, President George W. Bush’s blatant high-handedness in doling out favors and political appointments to unqualified friends, the entire unnecessary war in Iraq, and the fact that Bush is just a front for Dick Cheney’s agenda.

I am not so ready to dismiss the conspiracy theory as I once was.

Tom Snyder RIP

Misers are no fun to live with but they make great ancestors.
Tom Snyder, (May 1936 - July 29, 2007) journalist, talk show host

In case you don’t recall, Tom Snyder worked in Los Angeles as the local news anchor here (los Angeles) on KNBC, channel 4 in the 1970s is my earliest memory. It was the bantering between Snyder and Ross Porter that started the downward spiral of happy talk on the evening news. If you watch the video below, David Letterman says happy talk started in New York, so who knows.

I don’t recall who left first whether Porter left to join the Dodgers or Snyder moved on to New York. However, I believe it was Dan Ackroyd’s parody that probably further helped Snyder’s career.

Singing with Emotion

Alas! all music jars when the soul’s out of tune.
Miguel de Cervantes (1547–1616), writer

I borrowed the idea of listing singers who move you from Janet at The Art of Getting By. Here is my list. No list attempting to name favorite singers who come across as believable in song and lyrics can start without Billie Holiday heading the list. She originated and perfected the art of singing with emotion. Without her we might still be listening to a bunch of Bing Cosby and Pat Boone type of songs and no saloon songs or rock and roll for that matter. The rest of the list is in no particular order of emotions:

Billie Holiday – Strange Fruit: This song was written especially for Holiday and the pain and prejudice come through loud and clear. Frank Sinatra said many times that he learned to sing with emotion from watching and listening to Holiday. You can pick so many of her songs, when she sings that she is going to love you “Come Rain or Shine,” you believe her. When she sings “God Bless the Child” whose got his own, you know that child has something.

John Lennon – Cold Turkey: The temperature is rising, fever is high, can’t see no future…Cold turkey has got him on the run and we feel as though we now know what heroin withdrawal is like without having to experience it first hand.

Ani DiFranco – Untouchable Face: You feel as though she stopped crying long enough to get this song out. The venom of the chorus stings and you want to almost feel sorry for the guy/girl. She is one note away from being Glenn Close in “Fatal Attraction.”

Ann Sofie von Otter and Elvis Costello – Broken Bicycles/Junk: Costello combined Tom Waits’ song Broken Bicycles and Paul McCartney’s Junk, this is sung with poetic beauty and the lyrics are great.

Paul McCartney -- Yesterday: comes across as someone who has suffered through life and is now in the bars boring people with stories of yesteryear. Considering McCartney was in his mid-20s is truly exceptional. A plus for lyrics and A plus for singing with feeling to make this either the number one recorded song by other artists or second only to White Christmas.

Bob Dylan – Positively 4th Street: “You gotta a lot of nerve to say you are my friend.” I am not sure there was a more biting first line that not only captures many relationships, but easily translates to the corporate world.

Eric Clapton – Tears in Heaven: Because this story is true the song is so much more potent. In case you don’t know, Clapton wrote this about his young child who fell out of the window of his Manhattan penthouse.

Frank Sinatra – In the Wee Small Hours: who among us has not wished that your boy- or girl-friend would call late at night apologizing. The stings and Sinatra’s voice in this song are very moving. What make this song all the more powerful is you know Sinatra had been there too.

James McMurtry – We can’t Make it here Anymore: To me this song says what is causing America’s slide into a second rate power while China takes all our and the world’s manufacturing. Hear the song and see the video on my July 4th post.

Miles Davis – Blue in Green: If this song doesn’t send you to the bottle when you are feeling down nothing will. The loneliness and desolation start at the first note.

The Kinks – 20th Century Man: This song just so perfectly sums up the issues of dealing with a modern society.


Neil Young – Needle and the Damage Done: for all those who didn’t go through cold turkey.



Lucinda Williams – Those Three Days: We all feel as though we were used.


Nina Simone – Sugar in My Bowl: combine this with Holiday, Sinatra, and Davis and you’ll either be singing Lennon’s “Cold Turkey” or Young will be singing about you.


Aerosmith – Going Down/Love in an Elevator: Living it up while I am going down for a chorus to be illustrates the rock and roll life. From various interviews Steven Tyler said the song came out of true-life experiences; the elevator even opened up on them in the lobby as they were going to town.

This is by no means a complete list, please add your favorites.

Miracles of Nanotechnology

All cruel people describe themselves as paragons of frankness!
Tennessee Williams (1914–83), dramatist

I just finished reading the front section of the Los Angeles Times and read the story about Vice President Dick Cheney’s heart surgery. The doctors replaced an implanted device that monitors his heartbeat.

Isn’t it amazing that through nanotechnology surgeons can find Cheney’s heart?

Notes From Vacation

Every man who possibly can should force himself to a holiday of a full month in a year, whether he feels like taking it or not.
William James (1842–1910), psychologist

The time is flying by. I still have another week, but it seems as though it will be here just as I settle into a routine. Finished two books (I’m a slow reader) “Out Stealing Horses” by Per Petterson and “Bangkok Haunt” by John Burdett, both were enjoyable.

Saw Bob Dylan in concert. Visited brother, sister-in-law and nephew in Tucson, enjoyed the summer storms. However, I have been out misanthroped by my nephew. He is beyond misanthropic. A misanthrope at least has some passion, even if it is a dislike of people. My nephew is so cool that his personality is frozen, but over time he thaws out to the lovable tot I once knew. Before I left, I gave him a number of burned CDs; I’ll have to ask his father if he liked them.

We picked up Nephew on the way to the concert, he came down the stairs from his new apartment and I sat in the back sit waving to him I finally get a slight head nod. I gave him grief about that for two days. At the concert, he and I were saving a table, when a mother and daughter were sharing their excitement about the upcoming concert. They turned to nephew and asked what his favorite Dylan songs were. “I don’t know,” he said, conversation over.

I asked him after they left if he had any Dylan CDs. “Oh yeah,” he told me, “I’ve down loaded all of them.”

“Do you have a favorite?”

“I like ‘It’s alright, Ma’ (I’m Only Bleeding.)’”

“Why didn’t you tell the mom and daughter that?”

“I don’t like chitchat.”

During the concert, I was bopping around in my sit to the music (daughter and I would have been up dancing), nephew sat there not even tapping his foot. The next day, a very nice couple came over for an evening barbeque and the man said about my nephew, he has cold water running through his veins.

“It’s more like embalming fluid,” I said.

He is a good kid. He recently turned 21, has his business degree, and is working in accounting.

A few days later, I golfed at a private club in Camarillo with On The Mark. What a luxury to play a fabulous course with no one behind us, no keeping score except to track birds, bogeys, and double bogeys. On The Mark, sunk at least a 40-foot putt for a bird, a very nice shot.

Vacation is wonderful!!

Feline as Grim Reaper

Against you I will fling myself, unvanquished and unyielding, O Death!
Virginia Woolf (1882–1941), novelist

Oscar the cat seems to have an uncanny knack for predicting when nursing home patients are going to die, by curling up next to them during their final hours. His accuracy, observed in 25 cases, has led the staff to call family members once he has chosen someone. It usually means they have less than four hours to live.
If that cat walked into my room he’d be joining me in the after life.

"He doesn't make too many mistakes. He seems to understand when patients are about to die," said Dr. David Dosa in an interview. He describes the phenomenon in a poignant essay in Thursday's issue of the New England Journal of Medicine.

Doesn’t make too many mistakes. Who the hell cares? With that kind of reputation he’d kill people once he entered the room.

After about six months, the staff noticed Oscar would make his own rounds, just like the doctors and nurses. He'd sniff and observe patients, then sit beside people who would wind up dying in a few hours.

That is probably because they are allergic to the damn cat of death. Scat, get the hell out of here!

Mick Jagger turns 64

At 20 a man is a peacock, at 30 a lion, at 40 a camel, at 50 a serpent, at 60 a dog, at 70 an ape, and at 80 nothing.
Baltasar Gracián (1601–58), writer

The energetic rocker turns 64 today. Wow!

Keith on the other hand will turn 164 toward the end of the year, well at least he looks like he will.

No place like home

A comfortable house is a great source of happiness. It ranks immediately after health and a good conscience.
Sydney Smith (1771–1845), writer

I am a homebody. I am perfectly content to stay home, read, hang out, and relax. Traveling to downtown everyday fighting traffic both ways is wearing, so when I get the opportunity to stay put I take it with zeal.

Seeing Bob Dylan was a big deal and it gave me an opportunity to see brother and sister-in-law’s house, which is very nice. The photo is just a portion of the view from their backyard, which allows them to survey much of Tucson proper. While I was there, I saw part of a summer monsoon coming through with the lightening and thunder.

I started my drive to Tucson on Tuesday morning and I got a late start so I ran into all the rush hour traffic, but I am on vacation and not in a hurry, so I ignored most of it. Eighteen-wheelers passing each other like glaciers moving nowhere fast were my only frustration on the way there. I enjoyed the rainstorm driving through the desert.

I left last night at 8 and pulled into the driveway at 3 a.m. I sang duets with Dylan all the way home for seven hours to help me stay awake, which was easier than driving out there.

Misanthrope on the RoadBob Dylan in Concert

Democracy don't rule the world, You'd better get that in your head; This world is ruled by violence, But I guess that's better left unsaid.
Bob Dylan, singer/songwriter

TUCSON, AZ – Bob Dylan played the Del Sol Casino here last night and it was incredible. It’s easy to say the show surpassed all my expectations because I had none. I had heard Dylan can be on or off it’s just a crap shoot. The concert review in the New York Times a few weeks ago said good things, but then that is New York, if you bomb there everyone will know.

If you bomb in Tucson who cares? Dylan apparently because I felt as though I saw a historic show. He opened with Leopard-Skin Pill-Box Hat, followed with Lay, Lady, Lay. He played guitar on both songs, he than moved to the organ where he played standing behind it the rest of the show.

To say that his voice is rough or course is not completely accurate; if it were possible, it’s more like he gargled with whiskey and rusty thumbtacks. The melody of many of the older songs were changed to the style of the new CDs and you had to sometimes wait until the chorus to figure out what song he was singing, but once you did, oddly the lyrics were clearer than on the CDs. To give you a close idea of how Dylan sang here are the words as I heard them

TheysattogetherintheparkAstheeveningskygrewdark
Shelookedathimandhefeltasparktingletohisbones
Itwasthenhefeltaloneandwishedthathe'dgonestraight
Andwatchedoutfor
a
simple
twist
of
fate.

Theywalkedalonebytheold canalAlittleconfusedIrememberwell
Andstoppedintoastrangehotelwithaneonburningbright
HefelttheheatofthenighthithimlikeafreighttrainMovingwitha
simple
twist
of
fate

after moving to the organ, he played the songs in roughly this order:
Watching the River Flow, Workingman’s Blues #2, Rollin’ and Tumblin’, Simple Twist of Fate, Stuck Inside of Mobile with the Memphis Blues Again, Million Miles, When the Deal Goes Down, Watching the River Flow, Señor (Tales of Yankee Power), Most Likely You Go Your Way (And I'll Go Mine), Summer Days, Masters of War, and Highway 61.

The memorable songs to me were Workingman’s Blues #2 because it is a recent favorite. Masters of War is just as powerful and apropos, sadly, as it was when he first recorded it. He played it with a heavy organ sound. The rocker of the night was Highway 61, which was simply great rock and roll. My nephew who sat next me had to even nod his head a bit to that song, more on my nephew on a later post.

Dylan played for 90 minutes and never spoke a word to the audience, other than to introduce his band. During Highway 61 Dylan turned toward the audience and cracked a sly sardonic grin.

Brother Can You Spare $3.60

One more cup of coffee for the road,
One more cup of coffee 'fore I go
To the valley below.
Bob Dylan, “One More Cup of Coffee,” singer/songwriter

I did Starbucks for about a year, three days a week; it was my breakfast on the run. I have since stopped once I started adding it all up. Now I am very happy or should I say Grande happy.

Starbucks is raising U.S. prices on coffee, lattes and other drinks by an average of 9 cents a cup next week to help offset soaring costs for milk and other commodities, a spokesman said on Monday. What the spokesperson should have said was prices are rising to help meet profit projections for shareholders.

This will Starbucks' second price increase in less than a year. Try not going to the ubiquitous coffee shop and watch what will happen to prices. But, the smart money people know that we’ll do nothing.

"There will probably be some grumblings initially, but at the end of the day I think people aren't going to change their pattern of buying," said Morningstar Inc restaurant analyst John Owens.

Tombstone Blues

Mostly You Go Your Way, I’ll Go Mine
Bob Dylan, singer/songwriter

I am on the road to Tucson to see brother, sister-in-law, nephew and Bob Dylan. Brother called a few weeks ago and said that he could get better seats if he purchased four tickets instead of three, so I agreed to go.

Attempting to use a Southwest refundable ticket proved futile. The expiration goes by the time you purchased the ticket, not based on the date you were scheduled to fly. So, they deduct $50 and send the next ticket to you via U.S. Mail, not online because they want you to buy another ticket.

So, rather than hassle the security nonsense, the luggage ordeal, I determined it was easier to drive. I have my CDs and my iPod player, which says I can drive for 7.6 days without hearing the same song.

Not as Stupid as We Appear

The question now is: Can we understand our stupidity? This is a test of intellect, not of character.
John King Fairbank (1907–91), historian

Americans aren’t as ignorant as portrayed in the host of polls showing many of us failing tests of general knowledge and history, according to an article in the National Journal, run in today’s Wall Street Journal.

The polls I thought they were talking about were any that still showed support for George W. Bush and his disastrous presidency, but no, it’s the ones that show a majority of the people surveyed can name two of Snow White’s dwarfs but not two Supreme Court justices.

They point out that the questions are often poorly designed, misleadingly tricky and contain errors. The respondents couldn’t name the author of Pride and Prejudice because the questionnaire had Jane Austen’s name misspelled. This is my theory: when Grumpy and Dopey were listed people thought they were answering two questions Antonin Scalia as Grumpy and Clarence Thomas as Dopey.

We’re not so dumb after all.


But then again…

The story in Friday’s Los Angeles Times about Caesars Palace royal expansion explains the hotel’s renovations include a new 665-room Octavius Tower, but the icing on the cake is that the existing Forum Tower will be remodeled. All rooms will have flat panel televisions, iPod docks and doorbells. Doorbells!? We need another survey.

Don’t do it George W. Bush, don’t do it.

How many of our daydreams would darken into nightmares, were there a danger of their coming true!
Logan Pearsall Smith (1865–1946), essayist

At some point today the prince of darkness, no not knuckle head columnist Robert Novak, but the real thing, Dick Cheney is going to assume the powers of the President of the United States! President Bush will have a colonoscopy Saturday and temporarily hand presidential powers to Cheney.

The doctors are going to do to Bush with their medical instruments, what he has been doing the American people and the world with his policies.

With Cheney at the controls, I wonder if he will completely pardon Libby Lewis. If he does, I am sure we’ll be the last to know.

A Trip to Dodger StadiumTwo Hot Dogs, Peanuts and a Second Mortgage, Please

Inflation is as violent as a mugger, as frightening as an armed robber and as deadly as a hit man.
Ronald Reagan (1911 -- 2004), U.S. President

At the risk of sounding like an old codger, going to a Dodger game is not what it once was. The declivity begins immediately with $15 parking and enduring the slow winding parade past a natural parking lot entrance to the backside of the same lot while being directed by an army of parking attendants. I’d rather find my spot myself; it used to be so much quicker.

There was a story in the travel section last weekend about U.S. travelers to Europe experiencing price shock because the dollar is so weak against the Euro. Let me tell you, you don’t have to go to Europe to experience the devaluation of the dollar, just go to Dodger Stadium. If Fed Chairman Ben S. Bernanke attended a game, he’d see inflation on par with oil prices. Oh that’s right, food and oil don’t count in the inflation statistics. One hot dog, $5.50; one scaled down medium soda, $4.50; one regular bottled water, $5.50; one bag of peanuts $5. 50 (actually, I don’t recall the price of the peanuts; I might be off by fifty cents. The price of the ticket, well, let’s say I could pay my gas bill in the winter and have money left over for a movie.

In between innings, regular commercials played on the giant scoreboard. Every piece of real estate is for sale at the stadium. Employee uniforms have manufacturer labels; advertising is blasted with flashing, blinking lights that would make Las Vegas take notice.

Don’t take me out to the ballpark, just open up a certificate of deposit in my name please and we’ll call it even.

Missed Explosion

Some people go to priests; others to poetry; I to my friends.
Virginia Woolf (1882–1941), novelist

I hadn’t heard the news. I am on vacation for a couple of weeks. I was sitting in the backyard starting a new book, “Out Stealing Horses” by Per Petterson, when Johnna from Blindsquirrel called and said she was okay and just missed New York’s latest explosion. You can read her more detailed story at her site.

Thank goodness you’re okay. I turned on the local news and there was nothing on, so I knew it couldn’t be a major disaster, so I turned to CNN and they were reporting it and I discovered a steam pipe burst from under the street. Working late sometimes does have its benefits. Immediately following the explosion she and other workers were told to leave, as in get out of the building now.

Johnna moved to the big apple to further her playwriting career, but she misses Los Angeles, but she is doing well and doing more than holding her own. She is fifty pages into her trilogy of plays and attends a writing class that workshops her scenes with real actors.

What happens is that when I don’t write for the blog I also don’t read other blogs as a general rule, because I usually get to the blogs through Tonermishap. Johnna’s dedication to writing has served as an inspiration for the past couple of years we worked together.

I guess it’s time to poke my head back into the world of blogs.

Hide and Seek in the Forest of ChouChou:Gary Baseman at Billy Shire

My wife celebrated her birthday on Bastille Day (as usual) and allowed me the pleasure of taking her to the Gary Baseman opening at the Billy Shire gallery last night in Culver City -- awesome evening!

Baseman is known for his pervasive art (I'm pretty sure he coined the phrase, and plies his trade alongside fellow artists such as Tim Biskup). He is everywhere, not just with fine art but also vinyl toys, textiles, prints, books, soda cans... he blurs the line between low and high art, between fine art and commercial product. Not the first to do so, but certainly one of the more successful, and so quickly! I love his style and his various mythologies, many of which are very character-centered.

The "ChouChou" exhibit is an example of such, and we were able to chat with him at the opening and hear from the artist himself some of the ideas that went into it over the year he spent developing the concept. It was incredible to hear him describe the parts he had worked out and the parts that he still hadn't quite figured out, though he's already painting them...

Baseman is a guy I've been enjoying for a while, especially given our similar backgrounds: we both grew up in LA, both went to kindergarten at Laurel Elementary, both attended UCLA and had the same job there (years apart), both friends with my mentor Arvli Ward... and he has the type of success I'd like for myself.

Revenge Pooping:The Worst Kind of Pooping

So my family and I were on vacation for a little while... sans poodles; they were being boarded chez in-laws, and so for ten days they probably sat staring out the window-in-law wondering if we'd abandoned them forever.

So we got back to town, picked them up, and brought them back to the B2 homestead... and we are still experiencing the horror of revenge pooping.

As you can no doubt guess, revenge pooping is when your pets, in an effort to get back at you for a perceived slight or injustice, take to ignoring all training and expensive dog doors (if available) and intentionally poop IN THE HOUSE.

Frequently.

Repeatedly.

For days on end.

Revenge pooping: the worst kind of pooping.

Happy July 4th

Freedom is not an ideal, it is not even a protection, if it means nothing more than freedom to stagnate, to live without dreams, to have no greater aim than a second car and another television set.
Adlai Stevenson (1900–1965),politician

The Best Five-Second Video on the Internet

[Thanks, BoingBoing, for telling us about it!]

Men Bullying Women, Part II

The first duty of a lecturer—to hand you after an hour’s discourse a nugget of pure truth to wrap up between the pages of your notebooks and keep on the mantelpiece for ever.
Virginia Woolf (1882–1941), novelist

Daughter’s in the Master’s program, her professor started berating the class of eight students, five of whom did not read the assignment because of a miscommunication between what was on the syllabus and what was on the board.

The adjunct professor is 6’4” and in his mid-forties. He started yelling at the students calling them pathetic several times, looking at Daughter and another girl (both are A students and known for their work ethic). After class, Daughter went up to the instructor and apologized for missing the assignment and accepted responsibility, but told him she didn’t think it was right to publicly humiliate them.

Then he increased his level of yelling and said, I have a specific problem with you! If you want to drop the class, I won’t stop you, and lucky for you I grade blindly, so this won’t affect your grade.

Daughter replied, Regardless, I don’t think it’s your place to embarrass us.

I think it is, shouted the instructor.

I respectfully disagree, said Daughter as she calmly walked out of the class.

The next morning, The university’s program director received four e-mails and one voicemail reporting the instructor’s outburst.

Drop or not to drop? The program director has encouraged Daughter to stay in the class and he will review her appeal, if one is necessary.

Olympic Logo or Pornography?

Art attracts us only by what it reveals of our most secret self.
Jean-Luc Godard, filmmaker




I found this on Diary of a Hope Fiend. I copied her entire post:

So, for those of you not in England, this is the new 2012 London Olympics logo, on which judgment has been passed by the British People.

That being, it looks like Lisa Simpson giving a BJ.

Mission Accomplished

Has Bush ruined the phrase "mission accomplished"? I heard it used the other day in a radio commercial -- some guy referring to his do-it-yourself carpentry project or something like that -- and my first thought was, "are they intentionally referencing Bush? Was this written by liberals? Is 'mission accomplished' now used only sarcastically?"

Your thoughts? Have we lost the ability to use this phrase now?

Assholes take advantage of Women

Sexism is the foundation on which all tyranny is built. Every social form of hierarchy and abuse is modeled on male-over-female domination.
Andrea Dworkin, critic

I am furious about the way women are treated by asshole men in power. Two examples that have me steaming and I promise you letters will fly shortly.

Wife’s air conditioner in her Honda CRV went out. I knew it was going to be expensive, but I told her just to take it in and I would take her to work. She called and they couldn’t give her an estimate until they looked at it. They called wife Monday morning and told her the unit was shot and that it would cost $2,101. She was shocked and felt bad as if the air conditioner going out was her fault when she told me the cost. I stayed calm and I called another mechanic, who unfortunately didn’t handle air conditioners, but referred me to another place. I called back the Honda dealer at First Honda in Simi Valley to get the details about what he told wife. Trevor told me it was going to be $2,101 and I told Trevor not to touch the car and I would pick it up tonight.

Paraphrasing here: Well just second, Mr. Misanthrope, you have been a customer here for a long time, let me see what I can do. I will call you back in an hour or so.

He called back: Mr. Misanthrope, I called my parts’ representative and we can do the whole job for $1,071. He is going to give us the parts because you have been a long time customer. It might be two days before you get your car back.

Only wife has been a good customer. I have always hated the First group of car dealers because I felt they were less than ethical when dealing with me years ago, and I had issues with the Nissan service charging $10 more for an oil change than the Thousand Oaks Nissan service, but wife continued to go to Honda because it was close. Despite the fact that when we purchased the car, I was quoted one loan percentage figure, but when wife went to sign the papers, they had increased it by a couple of points and she made them lower it.

We went to the dealer to get wife’s keys and Trevor pointed to where the keys were. I stopped off at Trevor’s desk and in a stern voice and said we’ll get the car tomorrow night, correct (not in a questioning tone). He replied, “Yes, we have all the parts here.”

Caught in his own lie not even realizing that he told me he didn’t have the parts. I plan to write to the owner, who probably doesn’t care what is going on, thinking that there is a sucker born every minute. I plan to write a letter to the local Rotary chapter because I know the owner belongs to that group. I may even write to the city council members just to let them know, since a few are women.

Tomorrow, I’ll write my frustrations with Best Buy regarding Daughter and Daughter’s fight with her adjunct professor in the Master’s program, who yelled at her in class because she questioned his authority.

Where's Michael Moore?

We hand folks over to God’s mercy, and show none ourselves.
George Eliot (1819–80), novelist

Once again the work ethic and compassion of the employees of Martin Luther King Jr. –Harbor Hospital came through loud and clear as they let Edith Isabel Rodriguez, 43, die in the emergency room. Others waiting in the ER watching in horror called 911, but to no avail as the operators at 911 couldn’t comprehend that no one was helping them in the ER.

The janitor mopped up the blood Rodriquez had vomited, but he too did nothing. Her death, according to the story in Saturday’s Los Angeles Times, said she might have been saved had she received treatment for her perforated bowel.

The blame was placed on the nightshift nurse Linda Ruttlen, the janitor and four others who ignored pleads for help. The punishment thus far has been a letter of reprimand and referred to the state nursing board for investigation. I wonder if Ruttlen or the others will even get the amount of jail time that Paris Hilton received?

Happy Father’s Day

In peace the sons bury their fathers, but in war the fathers bury their sons.
Croesus (560 BC), Lydian king

Leon Russell Live

To look backward for a while is to refresh the eye, to restore it, and to render it the more fit for its prime function of looking forward.
Margaret Fairless Barber (1869–1901), English author

I just returned from watching Leon Russell with On The Mark at the Canyon Club in Agoura. We were always big fans of Russell from his days with the Joe Cocker tour Mad Dogs and Englishmen. I didn’t see the concert, much too young, but I did see the movie and buy the album. On The Mark and me further solidified our friendship when I traded him the above-mentioned LP for the Rolling Stones “More Hot Rocks: Big Hits & Fazed Cookies.” I had written in the Cocker LP under Russell’s name something like the greatest or some such high schooler stuff.

Anyway, back to the show, Russell made it to the stage with the help of a cane. He gained a few pounds, but who hasn’t, it started out a bit stiff because Russell’s voice was not warmed up, I figured out he was singing “Delta Lady.” His other songs last night included “Prince of Peace,” “Wild Horses,” “Out in the Woods,” “Hummingbird,” “It Takes a Lot to Laugh, It Takes a Train to Cry,” “A Hard Rain’s Gonna Fall,” “Stranger in a Strange Land,” “Jumping Jack Flash,” and a few others. I came so close to not going. The concert I really wanted to see, but I didn’t have my driver’s license yet and no one who had their license was allowed to drive all the way down to Long Beach. Of course that show turned out to be his live LP “Leon Live.”

All in all, it was a nice show and if you’re a Leon Russell fan, I would recommend seeing him if he is in your town.

I almost forgot to mention how I discovered Russell in the first place. When I was in junior high school, a cousin's girlfriend who worked for Rolling Stone, sent me his LP "Leon Russell and the Shelter People," Cat Steven's "Tea for the Tillerman," and the current issue of Rolling Stone that had the first chapters of Hunter Thompson's "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas." Quite an eye opener for someone who was a Monkees fan only a couple of years earlier.

Leon Russell Live

To look backward for a while is to refresh the eye, to restore it, and to render it the more fit for its prime function of looking forward.
Margaret Fairless Barber (1869–1901), English author

I just returned from watching Leon Russell with On The Mark at the Canyon Club in Agoura. We were always big fans of Russell from his days with the Joe Cocker tour Mad Dogs and Englishmen. I didn’t see the concert, much too young, but I did see the movie and buy the album. On The Mark and me further solidified our friendship when I traded him the above-mentioned LP for the Rolling Stones “More Hot Rocks: Big Hits & Fazed Cookies.” I had written in the Cocker LP under Russell’s name something like the greatest or some such high schooler stuff.

Anyway, back to the show, Russell made it to the stage with the help of a cane. He gained a few pounds, but who hasn’t, it started out a bit stiff because Russell’s voice was not warmed up, I figured out he was singing “Delta Lady.” His other songs last night included “Prince of Peace,” “Wild Horses,” “Out in the Woods,” “Hummingbird,” Prince of Peace,” “It Takes a Lot to Laugh, It Takes a Train to Cry,” “A Hard Rain’s Gonna Fall,” “Stranger in a Strange Land,” “Jumping Jack Flash,” and a few others. I came so close to not going. The concert I really wanted to see, but I didn’t have my driver’s license yet and no one who had their license was allowed to drive all the way down to Long Beach. Of course that show turned out to be his live LP “Leon Live.”

All in all, it was a nice show and if you’re a Leon Russell fan, I would recommend seeing him if he is in your town.

On The Mark -- Pit Bulls

It was a beautiful Monday morning. The sun was shining, the air was clear, and I was taking a break from work with my daily three-mile walk with my lab dogs, Miles (after Miles Davis) and Cady (after Elizabeth Cady Stanton). Cady, blind as bat from diabetes, was probably enjoying the walk more than Miles because her senses were at full-strength to make up for her lack of sight. Even though we hadn’t completed mile 1 yet, I was already looking forward to the enthusiastic thank you kisses I would be receiving once we arrived back home. Then everything changed in a flash.

I saw them first, across the street from the elementary school we were walking in front of. Three pit bulls on the loose and hyped up like they were on crack. Miles then saw them and Cady “felt” something wasn’t right. For a few seconds we stood silent hoping they would continue on and not see us. But a few seconds later I was flat on my back having been knocked down by one of the pit bulls, its teeth grinding into my calf, meeting bone and (as I would later learn) severing a major nerve in my leg. Miles was being attacked by the other two pit bulls. Heroically, he stopped defending himself against those two dogs and attacked the pit bull attacking me, leaving himself completely open to devastating injuries.

Once I got back on my feet, Miles was once again fighting off all three of them. One was ripping at his back legs. Another had an ear in its teeth trying to rip it off. Another had Miles by the neck. I was kicking and slugging them as hard as I could, to the point of a near heart attack, but I might as well have been hitting a cement wall, the effect it had.

Then one of the pit bulls turned its teeth on me again, knocking me down and attacking my other calf. But the calf wasn’t enough this time and it lunged for my neck as I lay prone. I was able to fend it off for a second with my left hand, but that was long enough for Miles to lunge at this piranha out of water and stop him cold. The beast had no choice but to stop its attack on me and defend itself against Miles, who was once again being viciously attacked on his back legs by the other two pit bulls.

Blood was flying everywhere. People were helplessly crowding around, calling the police. A plumber got out of his truck and came halfway across the street with a pole, then stopped in his tracks and said, “no way I’m getting them mad at me.” I screamed, begging him to throw me the pole, but he climbed in his truck and drove away. Forever a coward.

I then went down for the third time, blood pouring down my legs and from my hands, Miles squealing now with pain, his chest ripped open and hanging to the ground, blood pouring from his neck, ears, eyes, stomach and legs. He was tired, but not beaten. As I tried to get back to my feet Miles attacked again with ferocity that I didn’t even know he possessed. He pinned to the ground the pit that had knocked me down, forcing it onto his back. It was an unbelievable sight. Super powers unleashed. Maybe it was the new energy in the air or exhaustion, I don’t know, but the other two pits gave up and walked off to the side as spectators.

Then I made a mistake that will haunt me for the rest of my life. At this point, I thought the other dog, beaten and exhausted, would take off, too, so I told Miles to let go, which he did. In a split second the other dog got back on its feet and viciously attacked my poor, sweet, exhausted and life-threateningly injured Miles. It was then I realized this dog was trained to kill or be killed. My continued kicks and slugs had absolutely no impact.

Finally, a brave woman found a long tree branch and chased the remaining pit away. The police finally arrived and witnesses stated that the attack lasted at least 10 minutes, maybe 15. It seemed like an hour to me. People then starting streaming out of houses and the elementary school. A neighbor helped me rush Miles to an emergency vet hospital where he underwent more than 4 hours of surgery.

Miles survived. He spent weeks sitting in a single position, even when sleeping. For 5 days I slept near him feeling helpless as I listened to him cry and groan through the night. Cady, miraculously, didn’t get involved and stayed behind me the entire time. She’s a fighter, and strong as hell, but I’m sure felt helpless not knowing where or what to attack. My neurologist tells me that my left leg may be numb for the rest of my life.

Each day I pet Miles on the head and tell him he’s my hero. And thank him for saving my life.

I walk Miles and Cady with an electric cattle prod in hand now. Maybe once a week. And even that is difficult as I fight the feeling that I’m walking into a war zone, pit bulls behind every bush, ready to attack and maim. A horrible feeling.

Posted by On The Mark

On The Mark -- Pit Bulls

It was a beautiful Monday morning. The sun was shining, the air was clear, and I was taking a break from work with my usual three-mile walk with my lab dogs, Miles (after Miles Davis) and Cady (after Elizabeth Cady Stanton). Cady, blind as bat from diabetes, was probably enjoying the walk more than Miles because her senses were at full-strength to make up for her lack of sight. Even though we hadn’t completed mile 1 yet, I was already looking forward to the enthusiastic thank you kisses I would be receiving once we arrived back home. Then everything changed in a flash.

I saw them first, across the street from the elementary school we were walking in front of. Three pit bulls on the loose and hyped up like they were on crack. Miles then saw them and Cady “felt” something wasn’t right. For a few seconds we stood silent hoping they would continue on and not see us. But a few seconds later I was flat on my back having been knocked down by one of the pit bulls, it’s teeth grinding into my calf, meeting bone and (as I would later learn) severing a major nerve in my leg. Miles was being attacked by the other two pit bulls. Heroically, he stopped defending himself against those two dogs and attacked the pit bull attacking me, leaving himself completely open to devastating injuries.

Once I got back on my feet, Miles was once again fighting off all three of them. One was ripping at his back legs. Another had an ear in its teeth trying to rip it off. Another had Miles by the neck. I was kicking and slugging them as hard as I could, to the point of a near heart attack, but I might as well have been hitting a cement wall, the effect it had.

Then one of the pit bulls turned its teeth on me again, knocking me down and attacking my other calf. But the calf wasn’t enough this time and it lunged for my neck as I lay prone. I was able to fend it off for a second with my left hand, but that was long enough for Miles to lunge at this piranha out of water and stop him cold. The beast had no choice but to stop its attack on me and defend itself against Miles, who was once again being viciously attacked on his back legs by the other two pit bulls.

Blood was flying everywhere. People were helplessly crowding around, calling the police. A plumber got out of his truck and came halfway across the street with a pole, then stopped in his tracks and said, “no way I’m getting them mad at me.” I screamed, begging him to throw me the pole, but he climbed in his truck and drove away. Forever a coward.

I then went down for the third time, blood pouring down my legs and from my hands, Miles squealing now with pain, his chest ripped open and hanging to the ground, blood pouring from his neck, ears, eyes, stomach and legs. He was tired, but not beaten. As I tried to get back to my feet Miles attacked again with ferocity that I didn’t even know he possessed. He pinned to the ground the pit that had knocked me down, forcing it onto his back. It was an unbelievable sight. Super powers unleashed. Maybe it was the new energy in the air or exhaustion, I don’t know, but the other two pits gave up and walked off to the side as spectators.

Then I made a mistake that will haunt me for the rest of my life. At this point, I thought the other dog, beaten and exhausted, would take off, too, so I told Miles to let go, which he did. In a split second the other dog got back on its feet and viciously attacked my poor, sweet, exhausted and life-threateningly injured Miles. It was then I realized this dog was trained to kill or be killed. My continued kicks and slugs had absolutely no impact.

Finally, a brave woman found a long tree branch and chased the remaining pit away. The police finally arrived and witnesses stated that the attack lasted at least 10 minutes, maybe 15. It seemed like an hour to me. People then starting streaming out of houses and the elementary school. A neighbor helped me rush Miles to an emergency vet hospital where he underwent more than 4 hours of surgery.

Miles survived. He spent weeks sitting in a single position, even when sleeping. For 5 days I slept near him feeling helpless as I listened to him cry and groan through the night. Cady, miraculously, didn’t get involved and stayed behind me the entire time. She’s a fighter, and strong as hell, but I’m sure felt helpless not knowing where or what to attack. My neurologist tells me that my left leg may be numb for the rest of my life.

Each day I pet Miles on the head and tell him he’s my hero. And thank him for saving my life.

I walk Miles and Cady with an electric cattle prod in hand now. Maybe once a week. And even that is difficult as I fight the feeling that I’m walking into a war zone, pit bulls behind every bush, ready to attack and maim. A horrible feeling.

Sopranos Ending

True creativity often starts where language ends.
Arthur Koestler (1905–83), novelist, essayist

There seems to be two camps regarding the abrupt ending of the Sopranos. Damn few of us out there were okay with the ending. Maureen Dowd in her column yesterday wrote about David Chase that he “…gave us a gimmicky and unsatisfying film-school-style blackout for an end to his mob saga, a stunt one notch above “It was all a dream.” It was the TV equivalent of one of those design-your-own-mug places.”

We are a cynical bunch and rightly so, we can’t trust our government, CEOs, oil companies, stockbrokers, so why should we believe Chase when he says he does not intend to make a movie? I believe him. What else could he do except completely ruin the entire Sopranos franchise with a movie that bombs.

The cut to black had me reaching for the remote control thinking that the cable had go out. A friend who didn’t like the ending also thought there was a power interruption or the Chinese shot down another satellite, which had that been the case, probably would have truly been an act of war as opposed to the now you see them, now you don’t WMDs.

We shared Tony’s continual anxiety and distrust those last few minutes as he waited for his family to arrive for dinner, it was our last supper with them. As with most short stories, the ending just arrives to denote that life goes on. Tony won. If he had died, my guess is the ending would have been white. And, that little chat on the boat with his bud about how the end will arrive, was for us not Tony. He’ll rebuild the family, bed good looking women who are enthralled with his power, and collect his envelops of cash, makes one what to be a “made guy.”

Does the white hood come with matching shoes?

My wife was reading about Paris Hilton -- not me. But she passed along a link to the article on Yahoo! because of a quote from "media image consultant" Michael Sands, who opined that Paris Hilton would be forgiven for her transgressions:

"She will become a real Hollywood star from this experience," he said. "If she handles it like a famous person and goes to a military base, visits Walter Reed, then Hollywood will embrace her. It's very forgiving. It's not like she insulted the Jews."

Time for a reader poll: is Sands anti-Semitic? He may be uneducated and sleazy, if his website is any indication.

Read the whole story, if you want to.

I love Joe Isuzu

Isuzu used to have some darn fine commercials.