Change from the Penny for My Thoughts

For those of you that have perused my son’s blog, last week he addressed the issue of looking out for ol’ number one. With that in mind, allow me to bear my soul. My friend Cynn (still getting used to that) Chadwick, the novelist/professor, told me that your mood most definitely affects what the storyteller tells. So today my mood is good, but what weighs heavily on mind is similar to the weather outside, cloudy and raining. Be forewarned, what follows is not the usual acid-tongued lambasting of some faction of big business, or some wordy diatribe aimed at the political process and those that work in the confines thereof. Or, a candid look at something on the sports landscape, there’ll be no poking fun at some level of incompetency somewhere rearing its ugly head. No, today I wallow. It’s my blog, and I’m allowed. So don’t read any further if this isn’t what you’re up for.
I was encouraged to start this blog by a friend of my son’s, Jesse Moskowitz. I got to spend some time with him while doing research at the Jimmy Carter library in Atlanta. Jesse was a student at Emory University, and he decided to take me to friend’s apartment where other fellow students were gathering. Immediately upon my arrival I felt comfortable in the company of a room full of strangers half my age. The conversation varied, and I had an opinion on each and every topic. Though I was completely sincere in my passion, my dialogue was colorful and irreverent. There’s something to be said for having a few years experience under you belt, all the while maintaining relevancy. It was then Jesse suggested starting a blog. I was suspect. Who’d want to read what I have to say? He said he would, several of his friends agreed. That was how this weekly exercise in word play began, albeit two years after the fact. Alas, as you can tell by this blogs home page, other than Jesse, none of the other Emory faithful have signed on as “followers.” Initially, I was distressed at the poor showing for those who’ve signed on as such, now I just hope one day everyone I’ve begged, pleaded with, cajoled, threatened, will get the idea how important this is to me.
My pitch went something like this.
“Could you do me a favor please?” “I’m starting this blog, and if I can get enough people to sign on as “followers,” perhaps one day I can sell ad space. I think I’ll need at least fifty, that’s what I heard. You don’t have to read my tripe, just sign up. It doesn’t cost anything, and it would help me out a lot.”
I was assured by one and all, that yes, sure, they’d be delighted to sign on. My son sent not one, but two mass e-mails to his friends exhorting them to sign up, and no, they didn’t have to read it. Weeks passed and very few of the hoards of “supporters” bothered to take the few minutes to sign up. Almost weekly, until I realized how annoying I was becoming; I approached each and every person I knew to once again, please help me out by becoming a “follower.” Did I tell you this small act was free? Did I tell you that these individuals never had to read one fucking word? Still, I wallow in obscurity. Christ! no wonder why I struggled so selling cars here in SoFla, I can’t even get people to do something for me that’s free. How the hell could I expect to get money out of people? It’s a good thing I write in the hopes of entertaining or enlightening. Though, I wouldn’t mind earning some sort of pauperish living off my work.
In an effort to increase exposure for this blog, my son Cory suggested back in December, that I sign up for Facebook, and put the link to my blog there. So every week I post the link in the “What’s on my mind” space on my Facebook homepage. This has resulted in exactly one; let me repeat that, one, new follower. Now, ten months later, I have thirty-nine followers. My son started a blog three weeks ago, he has 110 followers. He taunted me when he launched his blog that he would get fifty followers before I would. I laughed, but it stung. Now, it stings even more.
I also write my blog in the hope that maybe someone, somewhere, will stumble across it, think it’s cleaver, or well written, and offer me some freelance work. Or, someone post it on their web page, and I will gain more exposure that way; a new fangled way of getting one’s foot in the door, if you will. All that I’ve gotten, aside from the psychic remuneration generated from the writing itself, is a foot up my ass. At least that’s how I feel.
I have been in the job market for nearly two years, yielding little results, but I don’t despair. I understand that I’m looked at as being too old for entry level work, though I’d be happy to do it, AND as handicapped, I'm a tax write-off if I'm hired. I understand that I may be over-qualified for many of the positions I’ve sought. I understand that I don't have all the qualifications for some of the positions I've sought. But what I don’t understand is the utter lack of courtesy by those to whom I’ve inquired or solicited. However, the most important thing I do understand is it’s not what you know, but who you blow. I've kissed so much ass these last twenty months, my lips are chapped. Sadly, I guess I just don’t know the right people who’ve tried to open doors for me. The Chancellor of the Florida State University system, and ex-lieutenant governor, Frank Brogan has written a letter of recommendation on my behalf. So has legendary football coach Howard Schnellenberger. There is a letter from a fellow student half my age. There’s another from a former student whom I tutored for several classes. There are many letters from former professors. There’s also a letter from Jesse Moskowitz. Still, there is little work for me.
I thought teaching high school students would be a wonderful way to pass on the knowledge I’ve acquired; not just academic knowledge, but life skills knowledge. But, I can’t pass the Florida State background check because of something I did thirty years ago. Everyone that speaks to me for any period of time has insisted I should write a book. So I have. It has garnered little interest thus far. When I do get odd jobs that I feel I’m well-suited, everyone of my clients beats me up over price. So much so, that a friend recently said I’m whoring myself. Hey, any port in the storm right?
I thought I’ve been a good soldier, and doing, before our President even asked, what he feels will be for the betterment of society, and that is return to school. I did. For six years. And by the way things are going, gainful employment is not the result for which our President is hoping. Is that because so many incompetent people already have positions of such authority, that if someone of advanced education were to be allowed a position within their company, it would jeopardize their job status?
I’ve been told I have a story to tell. Hell, in even in the query for my book I say imagine Pursuit of Happyness on steroids for a frame of reference. So I tell whatever story I can conjure up on a week to week basis for a handful of individual’s kind enough to support me. No one said things were going to come easy just because I got a couple of degrees. I didn’t expect them to. I knew there would be a lot of hard work, toil, and rejection. I was prepared for that, just not nearly two years worth. You know things could always be worse, but I’d prefer not to find out how much worse. At least I’m not selling cars anymore. There, now I feel much better. And no, I don’t want any cheese.

In My Hometown…

…there exists, according to a State Farm survey done focusing on motor vehicle accidents, the most dangerous intersection in America. I am quite confident you find this piece of information very comforting, knowing that the most dangerous intersection in America is not in your hometown. Part of the reason there are so many accidents at this intersection is the heavy volume of traffic that passes through it each day. Many of the various drivers of these vehicles seem to view traffic signals as decoration intended to spruce up the community, completely unaware that they serve a purpose other than aesthetic enhancement. A scene in the movie Starman, depicts Jeff Bridges character intently absorbing the driving methods of Karen Allen’s character. When it is Bridges turn to drive, he blatantly runs a red light, much to the irate dismay of Allen. As she reprimands him, he explains “Red light stop, green light go, yellow light go faster.” A similar principle is often instituted here In My Hometown…
…to combat this rampant problem, cameras were installed at strategic intersections throughout the city. When a scofflaw enters the intersection after the light has turned red, a picture is taken of the automobile’s license plate, and the driver is to be issued a ticket for the offense. I don’t know at what cost to the cities taxpayers these little technological monitoring marvels went for, but it must be racking up a ton of revenue if what I have witnessed lately is any indication. You see In My Hometown…
…there are so many folks on the city payroll with many important duties, that there is no one available to answer my questions over the phone. I need to make a formal request in writing via the Pembroke Pines website, detailing the exact information I require. I am told depending on the questions, “they” may get back to me within seventy-two hours, maybe longer. Boy! “they” sure are busy In My Hometown…
…it wasn’t always that way. When I moved here in 1993, there were only about fifty-five thousand residents. The year before, there were even less. But in August of 1992, Hurricane Andrew swept through Miami-Dade County, destroying pretty much everything in its path, inciting a mass exodus to Broward County to the north, where Pembroke Pines is located. For three consecutive years, Pembroke Pines was listed in the World Almanac as one of the three fasting growing cities in the United States, Las Vegas and Jacksonville being the other two. Since then, Broward County has seen its share of hurricanes since these people moved here, now both Broward and Miami-Dade Counties are starting to see their populations dwindle, you couldn’t tell by the traffic In My Hometown…
…public streets are laid out in a grid with the east and west sides divided by Interstate 75. Gated communities are pretty much the order of the day, except where I live. There four square blocks resemble a real neighborhood. Single family homes are interspersed with several townhome developments. There are a couple of unobtrusive strip malls, two elementary schools, and a high school just one block removed. An expansive youth baseball facility, where there were once fifteen hundred kids (my son was one) signed up to play per season, rests at the northwest corner. Taft Street is a haven for speed traps. Once, traffic was so light that there was no need for such covert sentinels to fill the town coffers. You leisurely traveled from place to place without the thought of hold long it would take to get there. Then the surrounding housing boon hit, more traffic lights were added, teenage drivers leaving themselves approximately six minutes to get to school, funneled onto our formerly sedate little roadway at speeds nearing the speed limit on most major highways. Speed traps became the order of the day. At night, the bordering thoroughfares occasionally serve as DUI checkpoints. I know this because besides seeing them for myself, In My Hometown…
…this information is often published in the “Local” section of The Miami Herald, the newspaper to which my wife and I subscribe. Call us old-fashioned, but there’s something about having a physical newspaper delivered in the morning. Having your laptop while amid the morning sabbatical can be rather cumbersome, especially when stage one is complete, and its time to move on to stage two. However, a newspaper in the bather in the morning is downright American. Putting your feet up on the couch to read what you may have missed before you headed out for work, certainly has it over on sitting down the computer and staring at the screen. I’ve rarely heard of someone taking a nap in their computer chair while reading the news. Alas, the newspaper industry is on the outs. The paper that’s delivered every morning isn’t as wide as it once was, it’s thinner as well. It’s dropped off earlier, so often many items contained inside are literally yesterday’s news. Oh, and the way that it’s written!
Just last week, an item concerning the proliferation of Burmese pythons in the Everglades contained the following: “…the python that was captured during the hunt, was first euthanized, then killed.” This sentence got past the already thinned staff of proof-readers. It then got by the editor, and the typesetter, who probably doesn’t pay attention to that sort of thing. This example serves as a microcosm for what is happening in the newspaper industry around the country. Not only does this feed into my theory concerning the acceptance of mediocrity by today’s society, but also, the best writers have headed to the internet, and the decent ones that have stayed on are oblivious to their predicament.
Case in point, in this morning’s paper, there was an article about the propagation of videos fans are taking of sports celebrities. The writer, in his opinion, voiced his concern over this “new” wave of fishbowl living. Isn’t he aware that he contributed to this mess long ago? There are multiple sports radio stations, multiple sports television stations, multiple written sports forums, all vying to out-scoop the other. In doing so sports media probed, and then revealed the most obscure, “relevant” information. Now this writer is complaining that fans are doing the same. As far as I can tell, the sporting press opened up this can of worms. So starved for original content, one sportswriter resorted to plagiarizing my letter to the editor that the paper, in an effort to stay connected to its readership, never even acknowledged with a form letter response. Odd, how excerpts of what I wrote to the paper magically appeared in a column several weeks later almost verbatim. Nothing would make me happier than to write for The Miami Herald in the hope that what I contributed could somehow help stave off extinction, but they are running scared, and are doing so with the limited “talent” they have. At least I know that euthanize and killed are the same thing. Maybe they don’t know any better? They gave a huge amount of valuable op-ed space for a reprint of a Sarah Palin article, which it was obvious she didn’t write. Talk about grasping at straws to increase circulation…but maybe the Herald, once vibrant, is mirroring My Hometown…
…I betcha Bruce Springsteen never had to worry about crap like this in his hometown. Now, it seems as though in pursuit of efficiency, my hometown has become obsolete. The town has become a city with conflicting priorities and agendas. The city legislators are sitting on a track of land for which there were once great aspirations. Now it’s an albatross, a barren, soulless blight right in the center of its suburban sprawl. I don’t know how much longer I can, or want, to stay In My Hometown.

It All-Star-ted in Chicago

Back in 1933, Arch Ward, the sports editor of the Chicago Tribune, convinced the reluctant Major League Baseball team owners to stage a game between the National League and American League All-Stars. This event would coincide with Chicago’s Century of Progress Exposition. The country was mired in a horrendous economic downturn. Fans were staying away from the ballparks. Baseball needed a shot in the arm to reignite fan interest. The Major League All-Star game was it. Stoked in the tradition of “America’s Game,” baseball’s long standing identification with everything patriotic, appealed to the sensibilities of citizens of every socio-economic class. This year’s All-Star game struck the very same chords under similar circumstances.
Owners, as always, have witnessed a decline in attendance figures due to the economic downturn. In many of the owner’s eyes, and that of baseball executives, the institution of baseball has been tarnished by player’s use of performance enhancing drugs. They have to put up a united front whether or not they believe this to be true. The 2009 Major League All-Star game was going to begin the healing process, for fans, for America, for the game itself. Somewhere someone is playing the Battle Hymn of the Republic at this very moment. What better place for this to happen than St. Louis, the Crossroads of America.
The sports fans in St. Louis are some of the finest to be found anywhere, particularly when it comes to baseball. This was quite apparent during player introductions prior to last night’s game. St. Louis is a National League town, even though the perennial American League doormats, the St. Louis Browns played there many years back before finally realizing St. Louis was Cardinal territory, and the franchise moved on to Baltimore. When each AL substitute was introduced, they received applause that qualified as more than cordial. The look of wonderment on Nelson Cruz’ face as he soaked in the moment, told you everything you needed to know about how gracious the fans are. And these same fans turned it up a notch for those who had a St. Louis connection. Homegrown Ryan Howard of the Philadelphia Phillies got a resounding round of applause. The fans cheered loudly for former Cardinal Jason Marquis, who now pitches for the Colorado Rockies. Even Prince Fielder got a nice ovation, even though he plays for St. Louis’ closest competitor, the Milwaukee Brewers. Perhaps the cheers were leftover recognition from the previous evenings Home Run Derby victory. Only the Chicago Cubs Ted Lilly was booed due to the intense rivalry between the Cards and the Cubs. The same response occurred when the starting lineups were introduced.
The boo-birds could be heard when Jason Bay, of the Boston Red Sox was introduced. Before going to the BoSox, Bay was a stalwart for the Pittsburgh Pirates. Maybe St. Louis’ alliance to the National League runs deeper than we’re aware of. Josh Hamilton received quite an ovation. Out of respect for all he has endured maybe? The fans really roared when AL starting pitcher Roy Halladay was introduced. Cardinal fans appreciate an old school throwback bulldog kinda guy. All applause that greeted each ALer paled to what these fans bestowed on most National Leaguers.
Granted, unlike Fielder’s surprising acknowledgement, Brewer Ryan Braun got jeers instead of cheers. The fans saved all their energies for hometown heroes Albert Pujols, who received a rather lengthy standing ovation, and Yadier Molina, the Cardinal catcher. Fox announcer Joe Buck, obviously so used to fan apathy, did not need to resort to the prompt “Here you go St. Louis,” prior to Pujols introduction. No prompt was necessary. The din rose the moment the number two hitter, Chase Utley, took his place along the first base line. Now that sufficient interest for the game had been generated, Major League Baseball went about the task of repairing its image.
In conjunction with the All-Star theme, the “Go Beyond” program was recognized. The program was outlined by President of the United States, Barack Obama. Following him were the four living Presidents, each profiling an “All-Star” among us. These laudable individuals were community service workers on steroids if you will, irony intended. George Bush, Bill Clinton, George H.W. Bush, and Jimmy (why not James or Jim, oh that’s right, Jimmy is more folksy, has that “common man” appeal) Carter, all spoke of the wonderful volunteer efforts of four, of the group of about twelve people, who joined the ballplayers on the field. Once the touching pre-recorded message completely aired, with everyone already applauding madly, again feels the need for a prompt. Buck implores the crowd that is already on their feet, to stand and show their appreciation for these great folks. It cheapened a really stirring moment if you ask me. Particularly when at the precise instant Buck is urging the fans to rise, the camera is zoomed in on a father, who is wiping away a tear while his arm is around his son. He should have remembered what his father taught him, to not say anything, and let the moment speak for itself. However, it was nice Joe Buck was the announcer in the city where he grew up, and his father, Jack Buck, earned his prowess as a great broadcaster. Game on.
Sheryl Crow sang the Star-Spangled Banner. I’ve always wanted to kiss her where she pees, but now, while still hot, she’s stands for so many causes, I don’t find her as appealing as I once did. Got to give her props though, My-T-Fine at age forty-seven. Joe Buck then introduces “the President of the United States of America,” Barack Obama. Just the way Buck said it makes you feel all kinds of patriotic. Talk about reverence, sheesh!I thought a live military band was going to start playing Hail to the Chief; then the camera would pan to the crowd to see all members of Congress standing and applauding. Amid a smattering of boos quickly overwhelmed by cheers, Obama walks out to the mound, not in front of the mound, onto the mound, to throw out the ceremonial first pitch. He wore a Chicago White Sox warm up jacket, jeans, and sneakers. Very cool. Unlike past Presidents who tried too hard to convince us they were one of us; Obama really comes off like he is. A little weak armed, Obama at least got the ball to Albert Pujols on the fly. Obama’s small fist pump gesture, confirmed he had not totally embarrassed himself, an expression of relief rather than reaffirmation of aptitude.
In the top of the first, San Francisco Giant Tim Lincecome, was the National League starting pitcher. Lincecome immediately tried to do his best impersonation of former Giant Atlee Hammaker. For those of you who don’t recall Hammaker’s ignominious lone All-Star appearance in 1983; he yielded seven earned runs in two-thirds of an inning, four of those on the only grand slam home run,(by Fred Lynn) in All-Star game history. Lincecome’s teammates on defense also did their best imitations, looking remarkably like Charlie Brown’s all-stars. Before you knew it, the National League was in familiar territory, down by two runs. They’d eventually pull ahead, but then reality set in. American League pitchers combined to set down eighteen straight, six innings worth of NL All-Star hitters.
Unlike the NBA All-Star game, the NHL All-Star game, and the NFL Pro Bowl, officiating is taken seriously. There is no relaxing of the rules in order to increase scoring or prevent injury. The other major sports tend to eliminate the term “defense” altogether, all in the name of fan entertainment. Players get away with things they normally wouldn’t, or shouldn’t during regular season contests. Not so in the baseball All-Star game. Just ask Roy Fosse, or Ted Williams, or Pete Reiser, all injured while participating in the Midsummer Classic. Plate umpires call balls and strikes just the way do every game. Last night, several pitchers dealt with the incredible shrinking strike zone. And if you don’t think the players are into it, you should have seen both squads up against their respective dugout fences while Phillie, Ryan Howard, battled the Twins, Joe Nathan, with two men on for the NLers. Alas, Nathan won that confrontation much to the dismay of the National League stars.
The Players attending last night’s contest were selected by the fans and managers, just like they were seventy-six years ago. The fans, and the game of baseball were uplifted by the contest last evening, just like seventy-six years ago. Hope was instilled in America, if just for a little while, just like it was seventy-six years ago. The game and the nation began to heal, just like it did seventy-six years ago. And the National League lost again last night, just like they did seventy-six years ago. Shit.

It's My Party, and I'll Cry if I Want To

For those of you who have never read, or are sporadic readers of my weekly blog, let me say again, I am a registered member of the Republican Party. I was once a member of the Young Republicans of Morris County, New Jersey. I attended fund raisers with Rodney Frelinghuysen and then Governor Tom Kean. My first presidential ballot was cast for Gerald Ford; a decent, upstanding man, and a loyal public servant, who inherited such a shitstorm from Richard Nixon, it’s no wonder he couldn’t accomplish anything during his abbreviated term. He wouldn’t have got elected on his own even if he’d have been able to walk on water. The voting public was so blinded by the nefarious behavior of Nixon and his cronies, that we would have elected the devil himself had he been the Democratic nominee. Instead, we got stuck with Jimmy Carter for four years. By the way, for all you naysayers, history has proven that Ford’s pardon of Nixon WAS the first step toward healing our country. History will not be so kind to Jimmy Carter.
I voted for Ronald Reagan once I served out my probation. I voted for the Bush’s, Dad and his impaired son. I watched as my party has gone from keeper of the flame of capitalism, foreign policy mavens, with a reputation for steadfast resolve; to a party that can best described as disorganized, antiquated, conservatism, with a hint of the absurd. I have not, as Arlen Specter bravely did, switch parties, as yet; though I do believe the Republican Party in its current state, no longer resembles the one I formerly embraced. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, there is talk that Sarah Palin may make a run for the nation’s highest office in 2012. Are you fucking shitting me?!!!!!!!
For those of you who have never had the pleasure of listening to her acute oration skills, her finely honed ability to reason, her well articulated turning of a phrase, well, let me clue you in. She is an idiot, a dope, an imbecile, a moron, a dolt, a dullard, an inane drone, a pinhead, a ying-yang, devoid of any productive cranial activity, and until recently, held the highest public office in the state of Alaska. Why is she no long governor? Because she quit. At least that’s what I got out of the sometimes rambling, sometimes unclear, sometimes disjointed, resignation/self-praise speech. Even the moral charlatan Rush Limbaugh, that bastion of self-righteous, ultra-conservative, so far to the right wing politics that he’s on the other side of the Greenwich meantime line, was at a loss for words when asked what to make of Palin’s resignation, and what it might mean. The only time Limbaugh is without comment is when he’s eating. Limbaugh’s partner in crime, Bill O’Reilly, who’d just returned from vacation, sidestepped the Palin resignation, choosing instead to weigh in on the hoopla surrounding Michael Jackson. When was the last time you heard of Bill O’Reilly avoiding to opine about anything that had to do with the well being of the Republican Party. Other notable Republicans were as perplexed as these right wing pundits, yet they dared to comment.
Iowa Republican Senator Chuck Grassley, called Palin’s resignation “astounding.” Karl Rove, former political adviser to George W. Bush, said that he and other GOP strategists are “perplexed” by Palin’s “bombshell” as USA Today called it. Meghan Stapleton, Palin’s communications director, said “she expects Palin to remain active as a speaker and campaigner. Oh be still my palpitating heart, I hope I can get a ticket to her next speaking engagement, that ought to be enthralling with the tremendous grasp of Palin has on the English language. Stapleton also added that Palin is “working to complete her memoirs due out next spring.” I wonder if it’s more than one page. Do they let people write memoirs in crayon? There must be a ghost writer even if it’s a pop-up book. If you think I’m being too harsh, let me sight some examples from her resignation speech and you can draw your own conclusions.
She opened with a short history lesson most middle-schoolers learn about William Seward and his role in the purchase of Alaska. She then cites Alaska as strategic due to it being “the air crossroads of the world,” whatever the hell that means. Call me crazy, but when was the last time you flew over Alaska when you went anywhere in the world? Palin states she is “determined to take the right path for Alaska even though it is unconventional and not so comfortable.” From what I understand, quitting something is about the most comfortable out you can take. Palin used the phrase “no more politics as usual” no less than five times by my count. A copy of the speech as written was obtained from the governor’s office. In the text there are innumerable words typed in capital letters. I’m assuming this was done so Palin knew where to put emphasis. However, this seems almost to have been done on an arbitrary basis at completely unnecessary times. See for yourself at www.huffingtonpost.com, who, by the way, weren’t the only media source to offer their observations.
Ruth Marcus from the Washington Post had this to say. “It’s fair to say I’ve been no fan of Palin’s since John McCain picked her (if she thinks John McCain did the picking, she’s mistaken, approved her is a better term) as his running-mate, and my estimation of her has only gone downhill from there. I think my hostility has to do with our shared gender: I’m eager to see women succeed in the political arena, as elsewhere, and I think McCain’s cynical choice of Palin and her faltering performance since has served to set back that cause.” So there. And if you’re one of those folks who’s sitting there saying, “Oh, that’s just the liberal media talking,” think again. Who owns the “liberal media,” and to whose party are they affiliated?
Marcus is as confused as I am over what Palin cites as her reason for quitting. On her follow up Facebook posting Palin said that she was being held to a higher standard than others who left their jobs for a “higher calling.” The media failed to understand “it’s about country,” but a sentence later she suggested it was about family. Marcus wonders if Palin is “planning to stay in the spotlight or get out of it?” The Anchorage News speculated that Palin might have resigned in order to “elevate her profile” for a possible run at the 2012 Republican Presidential nomination. But the paper goes on to hypothesize about what caused this abrupt turn of events. The paper cited that perhaps she found the “ethics inquiries paralyzing.” Marcus concurs with Palin’s home state press stating Palin’s “unconvincing explanation [for resigning] combined with refrigerator-magnet wisdom – “Don’t explain: Your friends don’t need it and your enemies won’t believe you anyway” – underscores the image of a woman unable to withstand the heat of political pressure.” How about her bizarre basketball analogy? I know her she had coaches everywhere cringing. Then she moves to a football analogy that was empty and vague about calling an audible. The only audible Palin called was not telling anyone was moving from basketball to football with a reference to football. Confusing isn’t it. Don’t worry you’re not alone.
Mary Matalin referred to Palin’s strategy as “brilliant,” Bill Kristol said Palin was “crazy like a fox.” These two observations only served to tarnish the legitimacy of both analysts, and erode their credibility. If they are trying to convince me in any way shape or form that Sarah Palin is the future of the Republican Party based on this recent move, well then let me paraphrase Palin’s last “hey look! I know some more history” quote from Gen Douglas MacArthur, I am not retreating [from the Republican Party], I am advancing in another direction,” until it can get its shit together.

Till Death Do Us Never Part

The saying goes that “the first condition of immortality is death.” In this era of Pop Culture idolatry, it is not surprising that the featured story of every newscast last week, both local and national, focused on the passing of those who attained varying degrees of demigod status. Each individual occupied their unique niche on the landscape of the American psyche. Of the four, all but one underwent at least one metamorphosis before ending up in a quite different form than the one that captured public attention. For all their noteworthiness, they still wound up the same as the rest of us will one day end up, albeit with much more fanfare.
The lives of Farrah Fawcett, Ed McMahon, and Michael Jackson, have had their lives, and in the case of Farrah Fawcett, their death, played out in glorious technicolor across every form of media. Not a week went by when a picture of any of the three could be seen adorning the covers of gossip magazines located at the supermarket checkout. A headline often accompanied the photo, claiming some cataclysmic event had befallen them. This was done is such a fashion that you would feel guilty without knowing all of the grisly, and occasionally fabricated details, making it a “must read” for those who want to be “in the know.” I didn’t, nor did I care if I wasn’t.
If you didn’t get your fill via the written word, or if you fell into “just barely able to read” category these publications consider their target audience; all major networks, and several cable stations, offer tabloid “entertainment television” programs that air each and every night, chronicling each burp, fart, and bowel movement of your favorite celebrities. What a full life one must lead that in order to complete their tapestry of cultural fulfillment a daily dose of celebrity gossip puts a finishing touch to such a rewarding canvas. And then one of the cultural icons dies…and those, whose lives are so dull, get the opportunity to delve even further via the magic of television. So long have they peered into the fishbowl, they feel connected, though the closest they’d ever been, or got, to having a relationship, was strictly vicarious. Take note all you stalkers.
Billy Mays was different. Billy Mays was a salesman for many years prior to him becoming a TV pitchman, or salesman if you will. Billy Mays didn’t morph into anything; he stayed the same, but with a larger clientele. It’s been speculated that Billy Mays died of a heart attack. As of this writing, that has been neither confirmed nor denied. However, if you ever watched or listened to Billy Mays try to convince you to buy something, a heart attack is a very reasonable assumption. There was no assuming necessary when it came to Farrah Fawcett’s cause of death.
Right from her first diagnosis, revealed in print and on television, cancer killed her. You heard about her courageous and epic struggle against the dreaded “Big C.” A made-for TV movie chronicled the last few weeks of her life until she became too weak, or too withered; where following her battle would border on the macabre.
Over the years we watched Farrah go from eye candy on a sex-ploitation television series, to pin-up queen (I tossed a couple of salads to that poster), to serious actress. We sighed a collective “Awww” when she married Six Million Dollar Man, Lee Majors. Not me, but there were those who, for whatever reason, gave a crap. From the comfort of living rooms across the country, these same camp followers felt sadness when the happy couple stopped being happy. The euphoria returned when Farrah and Ryan O’Neal wed, only to exit again when they too, divorced. But, as so duly reported, their romantic spark was rekindled, her adorning fans rejoiced. And then she had the bad luck to die the same day as Michael Jackson, who would steal every grandiose sympathetic headline.
Nothing hogs the spotlight like sudden early death to spoil someone else’s. I use the word sudden, because if you had been a faithful follower of Michael Jackson, you shouldn’t have been too surprised given his track record. “Unexpected” is not a word I would use in association with the announcement of his death. Plagued by years of prescription drug use, tormented, subjugated, overflowing with idiosyncrasies and insecurities, it’s no wonder he made it this long. Still, the death of Michael Jackson, the self-proclaimed “King of Pop,” is cause for all of us to at least say “whoa!”
A newsperson rhetorically asked the general viewership what exactly Jacko’s legacy would be. Would Michael Jackson be noted for the wonderful music he created, the dancer extraordinaire, the amazing showmanship; or would he be noted for his bizarre behavior, his suspected pedophilia, and his truly wacky attempts at altering his physical appearance? I am of the opinion it will closely resemble that of the “King of Rock and Roll.” The eccentric, overweight, drug abusing, womanizer, has left a body of work, and an ever-longing fan base, that has been passed down to the next generation. Children not yet born will know of, and perhaps grow to adore the music of Michael Jackson, much in the same way as current followers of the music of Elvis, and Jim Morrison and the Doors.
Michael Jackson was once the lovable front-kid for the famous singing Jackson Five brothers. He struck out on his own to become the man-child mega-star, who made music videos an art form. His sisters, though talented, owe Michael their careers. Had they been siblings of anyone else, they may have been forever doomed to a life of obscurity. Perhaps they would have been better off. Or do people like that; though they’ll firmly deny it, crave the paparazzi’s attention. A life in the limelight is better than no life at all. I say be careful what you wish for. Even in death, there will be numerous forays into the saga of Michael Jackson. The media will leave no stone unturned. The never-ending coverage will easily surpass that of Anna Nicole Smith. Why couldn’t they have died on the same day? That would have spared us all that Anna Nicole bullshit.
There will be books and movies about Michael Jackson’s life; some authorized, some not. One thing is for sure, like Elvis, Michael Jackson became a parody of himself, and will be immortalized in some films depicting him as such. Personally, I think Elvis, if he were alive, would think the portrayals of the fat, bloated, buffoon, humorous. But, I can’t really picture Michael Jackson ever laughing at what others consider to be his foibles. Too bad, he gave people so much material to work with.
It is only fitting I save for last, the one who died first. Ed McMahon always walked in someone else’s shadow. He will never be known first and foremost, as the host of StarSearch. McMahon only got that gig because he parlayed “Here’s Johnny” into a career. The longtime sidekick on The Tonight Show, became one of the most recognizable faces in America by playing straight man for Johnny Carson. McMahon met with limited success in films, struck gold as the spokesperson for Publishers Clearing House and some fly-by-night life insurance company. All these engagements paid phenomenally well, yet McMahon spent it all. His home was facing foreclosure. How does that happen after thirty years on The Tonight Show followed by umpteen years as host as one of the most successful programs on the new Fox television network? American Idol owes Ed McMahon and StarSearch a debt of gratitude. Ed McMahon died as he lived; in the shadow of others. I wonder if he was jealous, hoping just once to not have to share the spotlight. Once a second banana, always a second banana.
As this is being written, actor Karl (nice nose, not) Malden and former champion boxer and cokehead Alexis Arguello, have died. More fodder for the tabloids and the respective television counterparts. If it’s any consolation for any of these recently deceased is, with the help of the media, they, like those in this piece, will not have to "go gentle into that good night.”