...and every day...we lose a little more style

The popular AMC’s Television series Mad Men effectively depicts both the good and the bad of the 1950s and early 60s era. However the show’s dapper lead character Don Draper, has at least contributed to a romanticizing of period’s style and fashion. Thin ties, elegant dresses, felt hats, tailored suits, Lucy Strikes and Martini shakers dominate each episode, and you can’t help but watch the show without noticing you don’t see any more in the real world  what you see each week on the show. This past weekend was a perfectly good example.

Last Friday,  (Good Friday), my wife and I were sitting at the bar of nice restaurant here in town when three kids that looked like they could have just as well been wearing Pampers walked in sporting swaddling clothes and flip-flops and took the remaining open stools to our immediate right. The bartender checked their respective IDs, and I heard him say “1991…yep…you’re good.” Apparently if you were born sometime last week before April 13^th, 1991, it’s OK to drink alcohol. I wasn’t really listening when the kids ordered, but the cocktails prepared by the bartender (who also looked to be about 12), were some sort of fluorescent colored concoctions that looked better suited for the crowd at Chuck e Cheese. The toddlers finished their Shirley Temples in about two minutes…and slithered out the door to continue their adolescent adventure…no doubt three Red Bulls with a shot of Hawaiian Punch and a splash of lime-flavored rum (with cinnamon on the rim).

My wife asked what they had ordered, and the bartender named each drink (none of which we’d ever heard of) and described the largely sweet contents of each cocktail. Two of them were rimmed with sugar and cinnamon. The bartender went to explain that the drinks were actually pretty popular with young people, and I can’t help but think Mad Men’s Don Draper would have walked out simply on principle.

After this experience I got up on Saturday feeling old and limped down to the couch and begin the day. I really should have brushed my teeth, but my back hurt and I was tired, so I just grabbed a Maple Leaf cookie instead. I flipped open the laptop and googled the top 10 drinks, and quickly found out there are a hundred such lists containing many concoctions I’ve never heard of…including a Caribbean Breeze, Ruby Relaxer and a Fruit Tingle. I then searched for the top ten songs…and that list was even worse. I’m not making this up…I was zero for ten. It’s not like they even sounded vaguely familiar either. They are the top ten songs…and I don’t know one of them…and only recognize about two of the so-called “artists.”

1.     Some like you – Adele (Heard the name…but couldn’t pick her out of a lineup. I can guarantee I’ve never heard the song)

2.     Call me maybe – Carly Ray Jepsen (Call me stupid, but I don’t have a clue about the song of Carly Ray)

3.     Part of me – Katy Perry (Nope…no part of me has ever heard of the song or the singer)

4.     Rolling in the deep – Adele (How could two of the top 4 be from someone I don’t recognize?)

5.     Set Fire to the rain – Adele (This can’t be happening)

6.     Somebody that I used to know – Gotye (Nobody I ever knew or know now. Never heard of her/him/it…NEVER)

7.     Boyfriend – Justin Bieber (Finally…I have heard of her)

8.     What makes you beautiful – One Direction (Presuming it’s a group…but I don’t know…don’t recognize the song of the singer/group)

9.     We are young – Fun (I am not young…and I don’t know the song or the group. Really now…could Fun honestly be their name?)

10.  Take Care – Drake (Unless it’s the hotel in Chicago…I’m drawing a blank here. Don’t know the song…and have no idea is a him or a her)

I then searched for the top 10 movies. This wasn’t quite as bad…but still…most of the top flicks were news to me.

1.     Hunger Games (A couple of teenage colleagues mentioned this recently…but until then, I’d never heard of it)

2.     Wrath of the Titans (“Remember the Titans” maybe…but unless this is the sequel, this means nothing)

3.     Mirror Mirror (No clue No Clue)

4.     21 Jump Street (Old TV show maybe…but a movie?)

5.     Dr. Seuss’ The Lorax (Cat in a Hat yes…Lorax…no)

6.     John Carter (Again…Jimmy or Billy yes…John no)

7.     Salmon Fishing in Yemen (Never heard of it…but honestly, just by the title…you’re thinking what I’m thinking…Zzzzz)

8.     Act of Valor (Vaguely familiar…is this the SEAL flick?)

9.     A Thousand Words (I’m drawing two thousand blanks…NEVER heard of it)

10.  Journey 2: The Mysterious Island (Presuming it’s not the music group…never, ever heard of this movie or even Journey 1)

Thankfully, on Easter morning, I was back in more comfortable territory. Early on Sundays, AMC shows reruns of  Mad Men,  and on this episode, Don Draper and his wife (Betty) were at a classic old-school restaurant when the waiter came over and took their order. She asked for a vodka gimlet, and he ordered a Manhattan…straight up. Betty then proceeded to ask for “the filet of sole,” and Don followed by requesting “the lobster.” This caught my ear, for several reasons. First and foremost, the two drinks, the gimlet and Manhattan, were the exact two cocktails my mother and Dad often ordered. The classic way the Draper’s  were dressed also brought back memories, as both my father and my mother would never think of going out without their Sunday best. All this got me lamenting once again about the demise of style…and how the things I grew up loving are all fading away. There is this sense that the game is passing me by, and I can’t help but linger a bit each time I pass the Sunrise Assisted Living facility on Connecticut Ave.

A little later on Easter morning, the otherwise glorious day and my now seemingly trivial thoughts were instantly transformed by the shocking news of a colleague, mentor and friend’s untimely passing. Some of you that read this regularly will know who it is, but at least for this public venue, the identity of the person for those that do not strikes me as neither useful or particularly  appropriate. He did however epitomize style, and when he walked into any room, he carried with him a cache of class that would make Don Draper feel like first-year cub apprentice. The best part of him to me though was the way he treated people like me…and I can only hope to emulate his mastery of that skill in some very small way.  His passing was yet another reminder of the fragility of life, and how the most special of people can be zapped from this earth in a literal instant, in ways that at least to me, will never be explainable or fair. Never.

Anyone that knew him well will miss him for a long time…but like most of these teachable wake up calls, the glaring lessons of such loss will stick with me for way too short of time. For a few weeks, I’ll probably remember to greet folks with a warm hello and to treat them a little better too. For about a week or so, the importance of family, friends, balance and life outside of work will be in the forefront of my mind. There will even be a couple of days, where I fantasize about what else I could or should be doing, but that will fade quickly…and it won’t be long before I’ve flipped the priority pyramid back upside down.

Have a great weekend…and if you can…try to take a few moments to do the things that matter most. Live, laugh, love and dance like nobody is watching. With just one bad phone call, text message, or diagnosis, much of the stuff we too often stress about will become instantly unimportant.

A few months back, a couple of us were at one of the nicer old-school restaurants in town  when my friend asked the owner if I could play the piano the next time the regular guy took a break. I wrote about here shortly after it happened, and at least to me, it was magical. One of the songs I played was this one…and when I finished and walked back to the bar…he smiled and said “Autumn Leaves…now that’s one of my favorites.”

For style...

...well...it's actually Thursday but..

…tomorrow is Good Friday*

Though my early years were spent attending Hollywood Presbyterian church in Hollywood, California, we later moved to the First United Methodist Church in Santa Monica. Donald Shelby was the pastor for most of my time in that flock, and man could he deliver a sermon. We’d get printed copies of his messages the following week, and I often would go home and try to recite the sermons...just like pastor Shelby. He actually thought I might be a good candidate for the seminary. So while he could mesmerize the flock with his homilies, he was not too good at identifying future men of the cloth. Like those before him, he also had a profound influence on my early life…especially as a teenager. In addition to my parents, I suspect he as much as anyone was largely responsible for keeping on the straight-and-narrow when many of my peers seemed to be struggling.

For much of the time while attending that church, I served in the acolyte/crucifer corps. We didn’t have anything like that at the Hollywood church, and was neat to be involved in the services in what I thought at the time was such an important way. The duty was always interesting and fun, and as the son of a proud WWII and Korean War Vet, my no-nonsense father always ensured I squared off my turns and performed the assigned tasks with the utmost of decorum and reverence. The Maunday Thursday service is a big deal for any acolyte, but for the Crucifer, the role is truly center stage. While serving as an acolyte I’d always hoped I’d get the opportunity to be a crucifer at that important service on the eve of Good Friday, and the second year I became a crucifer, I got the nod.

At the special evening service, the crucifer was to carry the Christ candle. It would be placed on a table in the middle of the chancel, and remain lit for the entire service. About halfway through the service, the crucifer would also coordinate the Communion. He (it was later opened to young women too) would stand there in the center of the chancel, decked out in the red and white robe, ensuring that the trays were good and ready each time the serving clergy returned for another supply. Later in the service, the all lights in the sanctuary would be dimmed down to total darkness, and the only remaining light would be from 12 candles (six on each side of the chancel) representing the disciples and their denials, and the one Christ candle carried in by the crucifer. As Pastor Shelby would read the Easter story, one of the twelve candles would be extinguished after each denial of Christ. Near the end of the story, there would be only two candles remaining. Then…in almost total darkness, Shelby would read the following:

"Truly I say to you that this very night, before a cock crows, you shall deny Me three times . . .Then he began to curse and swear, "I do not know the man!" And immediately a cock crowed. And Peter remembered the word which Jesus had said, "Before a cock crows, you will deny Me three times." And he went out and wept bitterly."

With that, the last of the 12 candles was extinguished.

After a couple of versus…Shelby concluded the story with this these words “He rolled the stone against the door of the tomb.” That was the crucifer’s cue. He would slowly get up in hushed silence and near total darkness, and walk over and carefully raise the candle. Ever so slowly…in light provided only by that one candle…the crucifer would walk down the center aisle of the church. Ushers would be waiting and hold-open the narthex door. At the point, the congregation would be left sitting there, in complete darkness, and the organ bell would toll 33 times. At that point, the crucifer would re-enter the sanctuary carrying the still lit candle and proceed down the center aisle and then return the candle to the table on the chancel. Again, after a dramatic delay, the lights would SLOWY come up to half-bright…and the congregants would respectfully and quietly file out of the sanctuary.

But that’s not how it went down the first year they gave me the ball. When Shelby clicked off his pen light shortly before reciting “He rolled the stone against the door of the tomb,” I just sat there. I wasn’t frozen, I just reasoned it would be a bit more dramatic to wait a while. I’m not sure how long I waited, but Shelby was whispering to me to get going, and I just sat there (probably no more than thirty seconds). Then I pretty much performed the duty at described above…expect on the return. After the organ bell tolled 33 times, I waited a bit longer again (probably another 30 seconds)…and walked back into the sanctuary carrying the candle ever so slowly. When I got about two-thirds of the way down the aisle, I unexplainably stopped and just stood there. Again, after about 30 seconds, I lifted the candle fully above my head…and walked as slow as one can up the chancel steps to return the lighted Christ candle to its proper place.

In my mind, it was a flawless performance. However telling me I’d done well, Shelby approached me after the service and asked what was up with the script change. He wanted to know if my nerves had caused the initial delay, and if that was responsible for the delay before reentering the sanctuary. I told him no, and that while I was indeed nervous, I had done it that was because I just thought it would be kind of cool…and a little more dramatic. Shelby smiled, and then told me to do it that way every time. He also said the Maunday Thursday crucifer duty would be mine as long as I wanted it, and I continued to serve for the next six or so years. For the last couple of years, even during my freshman year at UCLA and after moving on to the church’s usher corps, I continued to do the Maunday service. Until moving to a ski resort in Northern California,  I continued to do it believing that somehow it was mine.  

Other than weddings, Bar or Bat Mitzvahs, funerals, concerts, or a few occasional Christmas services to make my visiting mom happy…I really don’t get into many places of worship much anymore. As a matter-of-fact, after growing up rather devote and NEVER missing a Sunday, other than playing old hymns on the piano or guitar, I’ve pretty much trended away from the whole thing. I can’t help noticing though that I’m a far worse person than when I regularly attended. Back then, I didn’t drink, I didn’t cuss, I didn’t smoke, I didn’t lie (OK…there was the whole geometry test thing…and telling my parents I’d studied…and shoplifting the candy bar from Pico Drug…and knocking off the Bank of America…just kidding), and things that would make me literally make me sick to my stomach…I now tolerate with a casual shrug of the shoulders. It’s actually worse than that really…as I suspect there are an increasing number of times when evil doesn’t even register as wrong. Not sure why that is really…but there is no question it’s true. I want to think it has something to do with becoming wiser with age (or actually recognizing that I know less than I thought), or maybe about becoming more tolerant as one evolves…but I fear it’s really something far less flattering.

So, whether you’ve left a seat open for Elijah or you’re looking forward to a Sunday holiday ham…or maybe even if you’re destine to shovel coal for eternity like me, make it a truly nice, long, restful, and well-deserved holiday weekend.

A couple of Sundays ago, my wife and I were watching Showtime’s gritty (and often vulgar) show “Shameless” (I would not have tolerated the contents of this show when I was younger), which centers around the dysfunctional family of alcoholic/drug addict Frank Gallagher…a single father of six children living in a rough area of Chicago. While he spends his days drunk and usually behaving in some unbelievably depraved manner which sets new weekly lows, his kids resist the odds and struggle to take care of themselves. At the end of a particularly tough show, the song below played out over the credits. I had never heard of the group or the tune, but for some reason, the melody and the lyrics just grabbed me. Perhaps it might do the same for you. Besides, it’s only about four and a half minutes out of your morning…and it’s not a bad way to start a Friday…or even a Maunday Thursday.   

Get on the road...

*A slightly different version of this was originally sent as an It’s Friday email (before the blog) on Thursday, April 21^th, 2011

Sorry too for the typos, misspelligns and grammar bad

...and I'm not the only one here

On Thursday morning my wife and I were boarding a 7am U.S. Airways flight from Fort Lauderdale to Reagan National in Washington, DC. As we waited in the gate area, I was once again struck by the bad behavior demonstrated by so many air travelers. The price-based economy airline culture has created a race-to-the-bottom Walmartization of the airline industry that’s essentially bred a generation of travelers who are willing to pay $5 dollars for a latte but seem content to be herded like cattle when boarding an airplane. This deteriorating environment seems to has fostered a condition where an increasing number of folks essentially ignore all instruction, and behave as though they were the only people on the face of the planet.

If you listen to the pre-boarding announcement, the airline is pretty clear about how the process should work. However regardless of the repeated instruction, folks seem determined to disregard the directions and scurry like sheep to toward the gate regardless of their boarding zone. Additionally, though warned repeatedly throughout the airport and several times during the pre-board announcement that FAA rules restrict travelers to one carryon and one personal item, legions of flyers brazenly overlook the instruction as though they’re somehow entitled to board like the Beverly Hillbillies.

Due to our allegiance to U.S. Airways, we were privileged to board early and were thus treated to witness the lunacy of the entire boarding fisaco. As people piled on the plane toting multiple pieces of luggage, oversized duffel bags, dirty pillows, Himalayan backpacks, totes, shopping bags, garment bags, and roller boards the size of a 67 Chrysler, folks stood in frustration as periodic passengers would spend about five minutes stuffing crap into the overhead, seemingly oblivious to the fact that they were blocking the path to literally dozens of fellow passengers. Essentially, their message was, “this flight is for me and screw you if you’re behind me.” As the chaos continued, the clearly frustrated flight crew made repeated announcements about the need to be on time, and implored folks to board quickly, because many fellow passengers had tight connections in DC. At the tail-end of the announcement, the flight attendant repeatedly pleaded…“please be mindful of others.” There was an almost condescending tone in her voice, as though she was speaking to a room of poorly behaving kindergartners. Given what was going on though…it seemed perfectly appropriate.

If you’ve wasted your precious time reading any of this weekly drivel before, you already know I’m increasingly disgusted by the decline of general civility and often discouraged by what seems like an irreversible focus on one’s self at the expense of any consideration for their fellow human beings. While unpolished and far from an Emily Post aficionado myself, for some reason this societal de-evolution strikes me particularly when traveling by air, perhaps because I don’t like the increasingly poor behavior I see in myself. However it must also be that the travel dynamic (the airline industry’s own baggage fee policies have not helped) is so conducive to self-focus that it provides the perfect environment for bad behavior. It stands to reason though that this regrettable descent is really not restricted to air travel, and that the refusal of increasing numbers of individuals to recognize their obligation to their fellow brethren manifests itself in any number of growing venues. It probably happens everywhere, and when I think about the struggles I have in my own life, I can’t help but wonder how much grief could be avoided if I simply remembered to “be mindful of others.”

As I grow older, there are often few things in life that seem like absolute truths. However one that seems to stand the test of time for me is the proverbial golden rule.  Studying up on the concept, it appears that every major religion, and even atheism, have some tenet that stresses the importance of treating others the way you yourself would prefer to be treated. Sadly, there is no question that I apply this decree less now at fifty than I did when I was twenty. Not sure why that is really…but there is no question it’s true.  However, when I look back on my own life, regardless of the circumstance, it’s vividly clear my best days occur when I recognize there are other people around that are affected by my actions. 

Whether I’m boarding a plane, changing lanes on the beltway, getting in line at the grocery store, failing to communicate with a colleague or about to send a snarky email, it’s easy to rationalize such behavior by focusing on my immediate wants and needs. However, the increasingly fewer times when I devote just a few seconds thinking about what I’m about to do and whether or not I’d want it done to me, I thankfully make a different choice. Now, sometimes I actually do the total opposite. Every once in a while I really do go off on somebody…and I’d be lying if I said that didn’t feel good too. But the satisfaction is usually quite temporary, and I’m usually reminded in short order why it’s not usually the best approach. It really is a pretty simple time-tested principle, and our homes, our workplace, and our world would all be a whole lot better if we were all just a little more mindful of others.

If you see me today, don’t hesitate to remind me to keep that in mind.

There’s a Target TV commercial where a bunch fluorescent clad maniacs are running around like crack addicts on crystal meth. The tune that plays during the ad is a jazzy version of a French children’s song that should make you smile. It’s Friday, so have a great day and wonderful well-deserved weekend.

This should make you smile

...and I really have to get out more

It was an epic day in Southern California heading east on the 126 from Ventura County over to Santa Clarita and the Golden State Freeway (The 5). It had rained several days before and the mountains to the north and east were still sporting a fresh coat of snow. To add to the scene, a burgeoning high-pressure system forced a gentle eastern Santa Ana breeze to blow through the canyon giving the air a crystal-clear look and feel. The sky was cloudless and bright blue…and the glistening palm trees swayed in the warming offshore wind.

As I made my way through towns like Fillmore, Piru and by passed fruit stands and the location for the old Baa, Baa Black sheep TV series (Indian Dunes Airport),  I was stuck at how pretty this part of California can be…especially on a perfect day. Willie’s Roadhouse blared on the Avis Impala’s Bose stero system, and as I cruised through orange groves, lemon orchards and Avocado trees, songs like Buck Owens’ “The keys in the mailbox come on in” and Bobby Bare’s “Tequila Shelia” serenaded me from channel 56 of the car’s XM radio.

It had been a good visit as these California trips go. The previous days were spent doing chores around my mom’s house (repairing sprinklers, cleaning rain gutters, fixing a rotted gate and cleaning up the back yard) and for some reason, I didn’t let the little things ( like the fact that we had to leave for dinner at 4:30 each afternoon) aggravate me the way they often do. I suppose it could have been the afternoon exercise…or the cigar breaks I’d take while sitting in the sun when returning from the six-mile orchard runs, but for some reason, I was just more relaxed and actually enjoyed the time. Even eating dinner in the later afternoon didn’t bother me…and I actually found myself enjoying the early meals (suppose it could have been the bottles of Pinot I was mainlining).

We ate at several of the town’s gems including the Mupu Grill and Logden’s (the café at the Santa Paula Airport). At each location we were joined by other senior friends of my mother, and they all seemed to enjoy chatting about various subjects including the evils of big government, the Keystone pipeline (no kidding…it was raised by others at every meal) and the rising cost of gasoline. Though this is hardly a deep and extensive sampling, most of the older folks I visited with also appeared to harbor a general discontent with the way things are done (or more not done) in Washington. Several of the people we dined with encouraged me to do what I could to get the leadership in the nation’s capital to wake up (boy…has my mom been lying about my position and influence). It was classic small town Americana…and though it was only miles from the Pacific Ocean, it seemed representative of the way many places in this country look…and the way at least some of its people think.

On the flight back to Philly from LAX, I gazed out the window thinking about the last couple of days in the citrus farming town of Santa Paula. We took off over Playa Del Rey…but made a big left turn over Catalina before heading over the glistening Pacific toward Long Beach and the eastern suburbs of Los Angeles. Before long we were north of the snowcapped San Gabriel and San Bernardino Mountains and the high desert town of Victorville. Soon it was Barstow, Baker, Las Vegas, the Grand Canyon, Colorado Springs, the flatlands of western Nebraska and on and on (it got pretty cloudy so I pulled down the shade and got out my laptop).

Gazing out at all the vastness reminded me of the days I used to drive from Los Angeles to North Dakota. As I’d head north on Interstate 15 and then across Wyoming on 80, the landscape was littered with small towns and charming eateries like the ones described above…all full of local folks that would sit around in overalls and baseball caps and solve the world’s problems. It’s a scene just like the one I’d experienced the last few days…but it is completely antithetical to the country’s glitzier major metropolitan cities. However when you make a cross-country flight (or better yet…if you make the actual drive)…you notice there’s a lot more of places that look like rural Santa Paula then there are cities that resemble New York or San Francisco.  

For the most part, the hardworking people that live in these flyover areas see things pretty simply. They’re certainly not always right… but they also don’t unnecessarily confuse straightforward decision making with the perpetual analysis and endless circular discussion that conspire to cause me to deliberate for weeks over an issue a bus driver, teacher, fire fighter, farmer or plumber would figure out in about 10 seconds. As always happens on these now too few occurrences, this trip outside the Beltway and the real-world time spent chatting at the main street coffee klatches was a reminder of my better days…long before the arrogance of affluent DC ivory-tower elitism clouded my North Dakota rooted better judgment. It reminded me I have to talk less and listen more. It also revealed I need to get out more…back to the people…and away from the snobbery that fools me into thinking I know what’s better for folks than they do.

While jamming south on the 405 toward LAX, this song came on courtesy of XM radio. Given my train of thought…it couldn’t have been more apropos (see…before I lived in DC…I would have just used and word like fitting). Have a wonderful weekend…and if you can, try to spend some time with the people that matter. At the end of the day…that is what will count. Most of the other hogwash that takes up our time would vaporize in a nanosecond in the face of a bad diagnosis or the realization that we had a very limited amount of time. Do the stuff that matters…do the stuff that counts…do something you enjoy with the people (and pets) that you love.

A message from the people...

As always...sorry for the bad grammar...typos...and poor spelling

...and I wish I was more like my dad

A couple of weeks ago, there was a story posted here about getting jacked for my brand new Ross 3-speed bike at knife-point when I was just a young slug. It was a traumatic experience for a kid that grew up in the “Father Knows Best” setting of West Los Angeles. Aside from the harrowing episode of having my prized wheels ripped off, I recall being cognizant of the economic impact of the crime on our middle class family.

My father, who was a union electrician and sole income-earner of our “Leave it to Beaver” household, made good money thanks to the benefits of collective bargaining…but a new bicycle with all the bells and whistles was still a stretch for my depression era father...and my recollection was that it had cost my parents something in the neighborhood of $80.00. That was big money in the late 60s…and though he was happy I wasn’t hurt in the incident…I know it couldn’t have been easy for him to see that purchase just disappear.

Several weeks later…sometime in January, I returned home to find a brand new forest green Schwinn 10-speed. This bike was even nicer that the one that had been stolen, and I couldn’t believe the generosity of my parents who once again sacrificed on my behalf. This new sled was a beauty…and it wasn’t long before my stolen 3-speed was a distant memory in my handle-bar mounted mirror.

Shortly after getting that bike, I got a paper route delivering the Los Angeles Harold Examine at the two 28-story Century Towers adjacent to the Hillcrest Country Club (where Milton Berle and George Burns played cards daily). I also had to ride up the center of the Hello Dolly set each day at Twentieth Century FOX studios, where I delivered five copies of the paper to the guard stand every day.

The coveted route was an afternoon gig Monday through Saturday, but on Sundays I would have to ride up Pico boulevard in the pitch dark to deliver the morning paper. I received a couple of tickets for riding without a light from a couple of LA motorcycle cops who were quintessential a-holes, so my father decided to install and generator light on the rear of my bike (the rotating tire in the back cause the light to glow).

I remember coming into the garage one weekend afternoon, and my dad had an odd expression on his face. He also looked a bit bruised up…and he went on to explain what had just happened. You see, shortly after installing the light, my dad took the Schwinn out for a test drive on our Ester Ave street. He rode up-and-down the pavement a few times looking back periodically to make sure the generator was working properly. As he attempted to head up our driveway…he inadvertently missed the mark and hit the curb instead. He proceeded to fly over the handlebars and land on the green parkway…but the bike hit the concrete so hard that the frame actually broke.

This was unbelievable… another brand new bike and appeared to be ruined. We took the bike up to Rancho Park Schwinn on Pico…and the crew-cutted store manager Russ (weird how you remember stuff like that)…said he’d try to weld the broken frame. I could tell my dad felt terrible…so I tried to act as though it was no big deal. A couple of days later we went to pick up the bike, and though they had done a pretty good job, you could certainly tell it had a pretty bad blemish. Again…I knew I was fortunate to have the bike (this one cost over $100)…so I tried to act as though everything was fine.

Well…a couple of days later, I returned home after school to find a brand new (Silver…tried to change the luck I guess) Schwinn 10 speed. The damaged bike was still in the garage…and my dad went on to explain Russ had made him a good deal on the second replacement Schwinn. When I asked him why he’d purchased yet another one…he responded  by saying that he could tell by the expression on my face that I was disappointed when I saw the repair on the broken frame.

Well, I kept that silver bike for the next 10 years…and literally rode it into the ground. The damaged green rig became my father’s bicycle…and some forty years later…it’s still hanging in the garage of their Santa Paula, California home. He rode it well into his 80s before passing away a few days shy of his 90th birthday.

What’s the point of all this? Well, if you think I know…I'll make you a great deal on a vintage 10-speed bike with two rotted flat tires and a damaged frame. I guess it’s just that I miss my dad…and that I wished I’d been nicer to him during certain formidable years of my life.

Whatever you’re doing this weekend...try to have some fun. If it works…spend some time with the people you love. If you can…you may even want to visit…or at least call your dad.

Have a great weekend. BTW…there was NO time to check misspellings and typos today (I don’t catch ‘em even when I do), so I do apologize.

Keep your eye on the road

...and you don't need to waste money on Insanity

Well normally I wouldn’t return to a subject like this so quickly, but I was flipping through the channels early yesterday when I spotted evangelist Dr. Todd Coontz on BET.  This time he was in a talk show setting, and he was encouraging folks to build their faith by sowing a $273 (seemed like an odd amount) “recovery seed” and then he quoted several books of the bible including Deuteronomy and Mathew. It was pretty dramatic, and God even asked Todd (I couldn’t hear God but Todd could) to stop the program and “pray over seven.” He wasn’t sure why, but I suspect when God asks you to stop the TV show and pray…you do it. He noted that God was about to bestow “favor” on 1,000 callers as long as they were willing to obey God’s (via Todd) seed sowing instructions. I know a lot of people would have been skeptical, but Todd is so good he appears on several programs including Inspiration Camp Ministries and Rockwealth.org. You see, the seed you sow determines your eventual windfall harvest…so even if you can’t be one of the “breakthrough” 1,000 initial callers, call the prayer center when you can and “come into a covenant” with god. You get three things if you do this…recovery, restoration…and he was talking so fast I didn’t catch the third. I was a little cynical, but then Todd quoted Oral Roberts. Not sure about you, but when the guy that spotted (and spoke to) the 900 foot Jesus signs on…I start dialing (Oral raps with the very big Jesus). You can call about your seed planting at 1-866-304-30304 or charge it on the web at www.YourBreakthroughHour.com.  Sow your $273 see and expect a miracle in your health, your family and your Finances.

On WDCAHD, Joyce Meyer was talking about prosperity through faith too.  You can reach her at 1-800-727-9673 or via  www.joycemeyer.org  too.  You can get a CD on enjoying relationships for “$25 or more.” If you’ve sowing any breakthrough seeds…you may as well live large and pay Joyce more than the $50 for the CD (I suspect she needs the money too…most not know about $273 seeds). She’s also selling a book called “Love Out Loud.”  I didn’t catch how much the book cost…but if you’ve been doing enough planting…do you honestly think it matters?

On another channel Bishop Harry Jackson was offering a Hope Connection that was the equivalent of a spiritual renovation. Bishop Harry had is wife of 35 years on the show and they were talking about “red flags” for relationships that are in trouble. Apparently, if you have a lot of disagreements with no resolution…you shouldn’t get married. And they claim you can’t learn anything from infomercials…I soooo didn’t know that.  You see, relationships are like a “four-legged chair.” You need to be able to 1) communicate,  2) have financial stability 3) feel sexual attraction 4) have a shared philosophy on parenting and 5) have a strong faith. You have to have at least three of those four legs to survive. Thankfully, the ability to count doesn’t seem to be a requirement to marital bliss, as both pastor Harry and his wife Michele seemed unsure about just how many ingredients you need to be successful.   You can catch Harry at the Hope Christian Church in Beltsville or on the web at www.thehopeconnection.com.

Up a couple of channels Dr. Todd Coontz was on another program called Financial Solutions with Dr. Todd Coontz. Once again, Dr. Coontz was making the connection between your ability to follow instructions to send money to him, and inevitable prosperity. Essentially, you have the choice to live a life of fear or a life of faith. Miraculously, Todd was again stopped by God to pray over “7” who were watching the program. Don’t know about you, but this is the second time this morning that Todd has talked about the number 7. Not sure what you need for a sign, but I’m dialing 1-888-400-7625 right now. You can plant a $273 seed (see above) at this phone number too. If you don’t believe me, you can read about why you do this in the book of Deuteronomy chapter 27 verse 3. Uh…anybody else notice the miraculous connection here…$273 dollars and it’s validated in the King James Bible in Chapter 27 verse 3? 1-888-400-7625. If you do this, three things will happen. One, all losses will stop. Two, Satan (Boo…I hate her) will return everything he has taken from you. And three, you will experience full restoration (that was the third).

If you’ve been so busy praying and farming for your financial health that you’ve ignored all the blemishes on your face, you can pick up the Proactiv Solution Skin Care on QVC for 2 easy paymens of $25.92. There were two people on the show (one was a doctor) and they were using really big words to convey how Proactive could get rid of the bacteria that causes acne. This was an actual 3-prong system (a little less than the five-legged chair…but nonetheless impressive), and it was markedly more scientific than my “squeeze and apply tea tree oil” approach. As  I watched, I noticed you actually receive four things (including a refining mask) so if you’re sporting a crop of zits this morning, call 1-800-345-1515. You have to use code A-223051 and you get “auto-delivery.” You may also be able to pick it up on www.QVC.com.

You can save time and money one channel up by learning about products available on www.Who.KnewBooks.com or by calling 800-589-4019. There are two books available for $29.95 where the author shows you literally millions of things you didn’t know. If you don’t want pets to jump on the furniture, you can cover it with tin foil and it will repel the animal (This was a bit bogus, because it took me literally two hours to get my cat wrapped in the aluminum foil). You can keep your razors from rusting by storing them in olive oil (BTW…this has another remarkable unintended payoff…remind me to invite you over for pasta). You can keep your red wine by storing in plastic bottles (or just finish the bottle when you open it like I do), and you can get gum off the carpet with beer.  If you put syrup on cardboard, you can get rid of wasps. Amonia gets rid of itching and pain if you get stung by bugs. If you put a fabric softener sheet in the air filter in your central AC system, it will make your entire home smell like Bounce.

At www.Ninja1100.com (or 1-800-420-1978) you can get a turbo-charged 1100 watt Ninja Kitchen System. It’s a combo blender, juicer, ice-cream maker, and food processor. No other appliance applies the three features of 1100 watt power, a technological sensing system and their patented five-blade blending system.  The Ninja actually has a side benefit, in that it makes entertaining easy. As you might imagine,  you could pay over $1500 for the four machines it would take to do what the 1100 NKS can do. If you’re among the first 500 callers, you get a free cookbook and free shipping. They’ll also double the warranty to two years, and you’re guaranteed to be satisfied for 60 days.  Perhaps most amazingly, you get all this for 5…no make it 4…easy payments of $39.95. If you sowed a $273 break-through seed, forty bucks is literally the equivalent of a pre-seed nickel.

Automotive expert Chris Jacobs, the star of the Learning channel’s hit automotive show (you’ve heard of it…you just don’t remember), is doing an infomercial for Car MD. This is an amazing system that will literally save you thousands. If you’ve ever been ripped off by a mechanic, the 16-pin device can be plugged into your vehicle’s onboard computer, and it will immediately diagnose what is wrong with your ailing sled. You run the diagnostic (even using the word diagnostic makes me feel better) on your car and then plug it into any computer and it immediately prints out what is wrong with your car! In essence, you will never be ripped off again. According to Chris, it’s like you have thousands of the country’s best mechanics at your disposal telling you instantly what is wrong with your car. Admittedly I was a bit skeptical, but this show was packed with teary-eyed testimonials from incredibly sincere people that have saved thousands. You can get this amazing product at www.carMD.com or by calling 1-800-320-4116. Call now…it’s like a personal doctor for your car that easily connects to any car on the road (made after 1996). You’ll never have to worry about getting stuck with a lemon again. They didn’t really explain this, but I’m guessing you can use it on the car lot and it will spit out some code that equates to lemon. It’s a “world class, awarding winning device.” You get over $150 in free accessories if you order now… for three easy payments of $39.95. It’s like getting it for free…and here you were laughing at my $273 restoration seeds.

If you’ve ever wasted any time exercising, you can order the amazing Flex Belt at www.flexbelt.com. This may sound like a scam, but you can use the flex belt to give you washboard-like abs while you sit if your office. There was an actress named Lisa that used to be on Melrose Place. They never really showed her abs, but she certainly could have been a credible spokesperson for botox as she looked as though she’s used the belt on her lips. The belt provides 150 flex contractions in each ½ hour session. This will take your strength and toning program to a whole new level. It also comes with some new gel pads (not sure what they do). If you use the product for 60 days and are unpleased, you can return it risk-free and receive every penny of your money back. Once again, I was a bit skeptical that I could get a surfer’s stomach while eating M&Ms and watching infomercials…but thanks to my break through seeds, I have a windfall coming so what the hell. By the way…not that you needed additional reasons to call…but the flex belt is the first product of its kind ever approved by the FDA. It comes with an on-board computer that provides 10 ab programs.

If you’d rather sweat and piss away time doing old-school exercises, Chuck Norris and Christy Brinkley are pitching the total gym for $14.95. Unless you’re feeling flush from your looming  $273 faith seed windfall, I’m not sure why you’d waste money on a gym when you could just wear the flex belt. But if you’re interested…you can pick it up at www.totalgym.com.

If you’re really a glutton for punishment and resistant to flex belt cutting-edge technology, you can literally kill yourself with Inanity’s 60-day program. The program’s host Shaun T must have a flex belt because he is ripped. If you think about it though, there’s no sense wearing the belt and eating bon bons  when you can order these CDs for 10 times the price and workout 45-minutes a day using “max-interval-training.” This is a workout where you are “drenched with sweat” and all the people on the show talked a lot about perspiration. If you order Insanity…you are going to see insane results. Shaun T will take you from good to great. There’s also a huge side benefit…because once you’ve done Insanity…every other workout will seem easy…even the flex belt workout. Take the Insanity challenge at www.beachbody.com.

You can get four training tools from the Brazilian Butt Lift that will also fix your ab problem. Like the others, it will also transform your butt in 60 days for four easy payments of $19.95. If you call in the next 20 minutes, you get $20 off. This product seemed to be somewhere between the Flex belt and Insanity. For one thing, the folks didn’t seem to be working near as hard as Shaun T’s crowd…they more or less danced a lot. More importantly…I just like saying Brazilian Butt Lift. There were a bunch of supermodels that were touting the benefits of the butt lift. I was thinking it was a sham, but then they had testimonials from folks with sagging butts…and the before-and-after pictures clearly showed lifted, perkier butts. You can work out with the show’s guru “Leandro” by calling 1-800-672-0723. Why wait…start your total booty transformation now. You’ll lose 6 pounds and 6 inches in six days. Won’t work for me though…they didn’t claim they could do anything for guys with no butts.

Now…here’s the deal. If you’re really thinking this through, you really don’t need to waste your time or money on any on this stuff because God has used Peter Popoff throughout his entire life (Peter’s…not Gods) to rid people of problems and propel them into prosperity. Peter started his show with his “precious” wife Elizabeth by noting they have traveled the world anointing “hundreds of thousands” of people. Within two seconds, Peter was pitching his miracle spring water (MSW). Peter explained that God has anointed him to heal the blind. The audience was filled with people holding their hands over their heads…many of them were crying. When Peter would say “amen,” the crowd would respond with an enthusiastic “amen.”  Peter announced that the “shackles would come off and the chains would be broken.” This was going to be the year of “supernatural divine debt cancellation.” Peter had emotional tesimonials from people cured of cocaine addiciton, paralysis, pain from five car accidents, stiffness and swelling (Peter even tossed one lady’s cane up on the stage…and the once cane-dependent woman started to dance). Several folks testified to experiences where miracle spring water was used to bring people back to life. Then, peter interviewed a woman that used miricale spring water to erase $96,000 in IRS debt.

Now…let’s just stop there. To some of you skeptics…this is going to sound stupid. I mean seriously, I suspect we can all see using the miracle spring water to heal blindness (use it like eye drops), to cure paralysis, and to bring people back to life, but the IRS?. To be honest, I don’t doubt that a couple of slugs of water cure your addition to alcohol or even bring you back from the dead. But seriously…the IRS?

Well, I don’t know what to tell you…but the stuff works. I sprinkled a little MSW on my 1040 long form, and my accountant still hasn’t called. I poured a little on the MasterCard bill I received for the $1,000 faith seeds I purchased from Todd Coontz several months ago…and yep…I still haven’t paid him (Mastercard still seems confused but my debt to Todd was divinely canceled). I poured a little MSW on my 1988 Hamilton Beach Blender and you guessed it, I now have a the equivalent of a Ninja 1100. I put a dab on each of my 10 Insanity CDs, and they turned into a flex belt. Because this is a family blog, I won’t even tell you what happened when I doused my butt in MSW…but just call me J-Lo.

I know what you’re thinking...so here it is…1-800-925-7785 or  www.peterpopoff.org.

Have a great week.  

Come and get it... 

...so don't let the sand get in your shoes

"It's not the work that kills men; it's worry." "It's not the revolution that destroys machinery, it's the friction."

At first, I wasn't entirely sure about the connection of the quotes to the free electronic iBook entitled The Art of Public Speaking I was reading during a return trip from Florida. Initially, the link between the lines and the chapter topic emphasizing naturalness (cadence, pitch, etc…) when speaking didn’t seem obvious. Essentially, the authors of the1915 book (Joseph Berg Esenwein and Dale Carnegie) were making the case against monotony, and arguing that mundane repetition is the enemy of genuineness. While it seemed like an odd reference, the more I thought about the quotes the more they resonated...and I found myself thinking about my own work life and the root of most causes of most of my job-related frustration.

You see, though I often find myself lamenting the actual work, it's really not the job that usually gets old; it's the unnecessary headwind. The ominous nature of most daily tasks are formidable enough to tempt a smarter person to throw in the towel, but like most people, I'm actually excited by the toughest of challenges. It is however the little things...the unending resistance, the annoying pushback, the aversion to even the smallest change...the friction, that too often has me perusing the Internet for retirement properties in south Florida. 

While thinking about this, I was reminded of an old story I'd read some time ago from a textbook on Public Administration. It was entitled something like "The Sand in My Shoes," and it was about an old man that walked across the United States from coast-to- coast. As you might imagine the long trek took him forever, and when he arrived on the west coast looking haggard and tired, he was asked by waiting reporters if he was ever tempted to give up when faced with crossing vast deserts and climbing over tall mountains. The old man surprised the reporters by noting that he viewed those formidable obstacles as challenges, and that he really had little problem mustering the needed will to conquer the monumental roadblocks.

"So," the reporter followed up, "you never thought about quitting?" "Oh yes" the old man replied, "I thought about it every day." "But you just stated you were motivated by the toughest of challenges...if you could cross deserts and mountains, why ever did you think of calling it quits?" "It was the sand" the old man said..."it was the sand in my shoes. After a while...it got very, very annoying."

Like the man, most of us are wired in such a way that we're happy...maybe even eager to do the toughest work. For us, it's not the size of the challenge or the frenzied pace of the work that destroys us....it's the friction. It's not the work that kills us, it's the worry. It's not the mountains or the deserts that tempt us to throw in the towel… it's the annoying sand in our shoes.

“Be master of your petty annoyances and conserve your energies for the big, worthwhile things. It isn't the mountain ahead that wears you out - it's the grain of sand in your shoe.” - Robert Service

If it weren’t for my family, friends, red wine, books (picture books), pushups, red wine, trash TV, cigars, jumping rope, my speed bag, bourbon, copious amounts of red wine and an occasional cigarette, I wouldn’t be able to cope with the self-imposed frustrations at work. My best days, are those where I focus on the things I can control, and brush aside the annoying little grain of sand while keeping an eye on the big things that matter most. Too often, I fear that my focus on minutia at work is the grain of sand in some valued colleague's shoe. I sure hope that isn't the case, because the job is hard enough without the perpetual friction that can bring folks down.

This week, another baby boomer passed away way too early. I wasn’t really a big fan, but every time I hear this music I find myself smiling. I also heard the episode of the Brady Bunch where he appeared (took Marcia to the prom) was the most rerun show of all time. Don’t know if it’s true…but it was reported on CNBC’s Squawk Box, so there must be some fire behind the smoke.

Have a great weekend and try not to worry. Whether it’s family, friends, a chilled straight up Manhattan, hiking, pets, a relaxing dinner, books, exercise or wine (try running with a bota bag...and burn one when you're done), do something that brings some genuine chill to your life.

Now matter how they tossed the dice...it had to be

The Album (Just click “Play All”)