Hey, a Kid Can Dream...

The Yankees ruined my childhood.  No, really they did.  I was a die hard Detroit Tiger fan in the 1950's and early '60s just like all my grade school pals in southern Michigan. Everyday players such as  Frank Bolling, Al Kaline, Harvey Kuenn, Charlie "Paw Paw" Maxwell, Coot Veal and pitchers like Jim Bunning and Frank Larry were my guys.  I had all of their ball cards and followed them via the radio broadcasts of George Kell and Ernie Harwell on WJR.  

EACH year was going to be "the year" that the always underestimated Tigers were going to go all the way.  Heck, there weren't that many teams to beat in those days.  But always there was the hated YANKEES.  The New York Yankees--the guys in pinstripes, big city boys with their big city ways, who always seemed to own first place in the American League by Memorial Day.  The Tigers, more often than not, possessed the deed to the cellar 

before May made an appearance.  It made for a long Summer but we Tiger fans were always certain that a blockbuster trade or similar miracle was moments away and our dedication and love would be reciprocated.  Wouldn't it??

Well, maybe today the tide turns.  This afternoon the Tigers are visiting Yankee Stadium for the first game of the American League divisional playoffs.  (Divisions??  We didn't need no stinking divisions in my day!)  Maybe today the Tigers finally begin to dispatch the hated Bronx Bombers.  Maybe in three straight?  Okay, perhaps in four?  WELL, I just hope that in the end justice will prevail.  Certainly God is a Tiger fan.  

Sure the Yankees have more bats and a better bullpen but...well, the TIGERS ARE DUE!

I wonder if "Yankee Killer" Frank Larry is still alive and available for a start?  And, now that I think about it, to help with some relief work it would be nice to resurrect the lefty-righty combination of Don Mossi and Ray Narleski.  That would be perfect.  Those guys always looked like a couple of small town undertakers which, truth be known, is probably what the Tigers are going to need.

Here's hoping...

TIGERS SI!   YANKEES NO!

Reflections on a rainy afternoon...

Lots of construction underway at the World Trade Center site

The rain persisted as the afternoon wore on but it seemed appropriate for the occasion.  This was my first trip to the World Trade Center site in at least two years.  Since 9/11 I have visited ground zero many times and found it more than a little aggravating that so little has been accomplished to both preserve and renew this meridian where pure evil came to call ten years ago this month.  

"Reflecting Absence"

Finally we have a memorial dedicated to the thousands of innocent Americans who perished so violently at the hand of hate filled zealots who worship at the altar of a vile, insane and nonsensical "religion" that values death more than life.  I am relieved and happy that the new memorial is beautiful, respectful and thought provoking.  It is exactly what it should be.

I had wondered what my feelings would be.  A piece in the Wall Street Journal by Eric Gibson had been critical of the water that is a huge part of "Reflecting Absence".  Mr. Gibson said, "water isn't a grace note; It's a blunt instrument.  The water cascading 30 feet creates a thunderous roar reminiscent of Niagara Falls.  The noise is so distracting that your impulse is to retreat to the relative quiet of the trees rather than linger and try to ponder the names on the parapets."   I completely disagree.  The cascading water and its roar recall the cacophony of confusion and destruction visited on this center of world trade.  In addition,  there is a real sense of dispare and hopelessness, at least for me, as  ropes of foam fall into a dark foreboding void.  This,  in combination with the names of thousands of innocent victims chiseled on the parapets, comes together as an emotional experience not to be forgotten.

You should see it.  It is about a country that is great and good--one that is far better than those who hate us.

When you go, make it early.   Reservations are available on-line.  There is no charge, but  donations are always appreciated.  There is extra security--thank-you terrorist a-holes everywhere.  Expect to go through airport type screening, (metal detectors, empty pockets and perhaps a frisking).  It's all worth it.

Thank you Michael Arad for designing what I'm sure will be considered one of the best memorials ever conceived.

The falling water adds to the experience

As I left the site I noticed a lone wreath placed near the edge of one of the waterfalls.  It was from the Prime Minister of Israel.  When it counts, it's good to know who your friends are.

New spires will soon surround the memorial

Foxy Foxhole

San Francisco has always been a city where pretty much anything goes.  When I worked there in the 1980's something I looked forward to every Friday as I wrapped up my morning radio show was watching the marquee change at the Kearney Cinema in North Beach.  The station's studios were located in a building on the corner of Washington and Montgomery streets and had a birds eye view of entertainment icons like the Condor Club, the Purple Onion, and the aforementioned Kearney.  The movie house was strictly x-rated in a neighborhood that embraced that sort of thing.  Some of the classic flix advertised back then included:  "Rights of Uranus", "My Bare Lady", "Bar Whores", and the classic twin bill of "Spank Me to Heaven" and "Rodeo Girls in Bondage".  Rumor had it that there was also a raincoat concession in the lobby.  Leaky roof??

I don't know if the Kearney is still around but there is no doubt that the "adult film" industry is still goin' and uh.....never mind.  The reason I know this is because of a recent news story direct from L.A.'s San Fernando Valley. ( A place so notorious for porn production that radio legend Sweet Dick Whittington  dubbed it the "SIN Fernando" Valley.)  In a prepared news release,  the spokesman for a company called Pink Visual said that they have begun construction on what it calls a "post-apocalyptic" underground bunker in anticipation of a global catastrophe rumored to take place in late 2012.

"Our goal is nothing less than to survive the apocalypse to come in comfort and luxury," said Pink Visuals Quentin Boyer, " whether that catastrophe takes the form of fireballs flung earthward by an all-seeing deity, extended torrential rainfall, Biblical rapture, an earthquake-driven mega-tsunami, radioactive flesh-eating zombies, or some combination of the above."

Hmm...sounds like they have  the bases covered.  Mr Boyer refused to give the exact location of the bunker because of "security concerns".  (Word has it that there will be a well stocked bar.  Who can  blame him?)  Plans for maintaining a production studio and the company's website are, of course, key parts of the project.  (I imagine the costume department won't demand too much space.  What do they need?  Pizza delivery man uniform?  French maid costume?  ed)

Underground layout:  Where's the bar?

Although no set number of Pink Visual performers and other employees would be allowed to take refuge in the bunker, L.A. Weekly reported that the facility would accommodate 1200 to 1500 people.  The mind reels with regard to how priority for admittance will be determined.  

So, there you have it.  The world ends in late 2012, but plans are afoot for porn to survive.  It's probably all for the best that most of us will be in the wind.  Porn, cockroaches (of course), and no doubt, the I.R.S., Barney Frank and Nancy Pelosi  all survive.  

If that turns out to be the plan, I'll simply say, "Thanks for all the money and the cocktails, I'll see you on the other side."

Room for me?

Juiceless, But Dealing...

No lights, big city

"This will be fun," I offer when my wife declares that this power outage looks to be a long one.  The electricity in most all of San Diego and parts of Orange county wilted and died around 3:45PM yesterday and as the sun slipped into the Pacific we knew there was little hope of a resurrection anytime soon.

The snow and ice storms of the 1960's had provided at least two or three extended powerless adventures during my family's time in northwest Iowa.  This, I decided, had seasoned me for survival in a power void.  As I recall, the only heat we had for those occasions  came from the gas oven in the kitchen and a small fireplace in the living room.  Because of the storms there was no school, however my brother and I were forced to do our homework under the rightfully jaundiced eye of dad.  Because of this, we both longed for a warm classroom and the chance to hang with our guttersnipe pals in the back row just out of the teacher's range. (They could smack you around in those days. ) A cold house, homework and periodic trips outside to "stay ahead of our shoveling" were all part of the great parental plan to make us solid citizens.  (The Calvinist ethic was writ large at our house.  Too bad it didn't work.)

Shovel ready snow

Linda brought no power outage skills to the situation.  She assured me that, outside of minor gaps lasting only a few minutes of her idyllic childhood, Black Hills Power & Light had kept her family electrified to the max.  I could tell this was going to be a steep learning curve.

In San Diego the ocean breezes make air conditioning a sometime thing.  We seldom need it for more than one or two weeks during the late Summer.  Ours had kicked on just the day before yesterday when the thermometer registered a sizzling 91 on the patio.  With a straight face Linda said, "We'll just turn on the ceiling fans and button up the house and that'll be just fine."  As soon as she said it she recognized the flaw in her logic.  No electricity--no fans.  Oops.  While that sunk in I was mentally running through a list of ways to pass a power free evening and coming up short.  TV? NO!  Shoot Pool?  Well, it would be easier to cheat in the dark.  That had possibilities.  After those two I was left with only the option of reading, something we both like to do.  For that one all we needed was some light.

I began to round up all the flashlights and candles in the house and fetched a long forgotten kerosene lamp from a dusty shelf.  Surely the power would be back on before nightfall.  Wouldn't it?
It wouldn't.

As darkness crept up the hill and surrounded us we realized that this was not going to be over soon.  It was amazing to look out on the neighborhood and see only the dim flicker of candles, flashlights and a few fire rings.  We were lucky to be at home.  Folks leaving work had to deal with no traffic signals, gas stations that couldn't pump fuel and streets that looked very different with no lights.  A simple mistake at a power plant had turned back the clock by more than a hundred years and all of us had to deal with it.  I couldn't help but reflect on the very real fact that all four of my grandparents, and Linda's too, had grown to adulthood without benefit of electricity and how very different their world had been.  In many important respects that world may have been better.  Certainly it was quieter and more leisurely.  The outdoor plumbing experience they can keep.

The power returned to our neck of the woods sometime after 3 this morning and we are slowly getting clocks re-set, computers re-booted and coffee made.  We have surveyed the freezer and refrigerator and have recorded only a half filled carton of strawberry ice cream in the casualty column.  Not bad; it could have been much worse.  I consider this as we roll into a weekend of 9/11 remembrance.  Thoughts and prayers go out to other Americans who will never be the same because of what they lost just ten years ago this Sunday.  Maybe minor inconveniences like a power outage are just what we need for perspective.  How else to grasp a loss so great or a wound so deep?  We must never again look and fail to see or call by name an evil so vile and depraved.

We begin by not forgetting.

Time Tripping

"Transience was my pigmentation; my roots would never go deep enough anywhere to make me a home or make secure with love."--Graham Green

My brother and I would cringe and roll our eyes every time we felt the heat of the light bar.  It invariably meant that mom or dad had been inspired to haul out the old Kodak 8mm movie camera to record some dopey birthday or holiday scene starring their sons and assorted pets and pals.  We were mortified by this intrusion into our good times and usually acted like mental patients whenever the camera was pointed our way.  This behavior often invited a swat from dad accompanied by an admonishment to "stop showing off".  Little did he know that both of us would pretty much spend the rest of our lives collecting a check for showing off.  

"I'm lovin' those socks Aunt Shirley gave me!"

As it has been with most everything our parents tried to pound into our heads, this whole business of pictures and home movies has proved to be correct.

Since mom's death I have been sorting through the many things we unearthed in her condo storage space and the nooks of boxes long forgotten on closet shelves.  The 8mm film she 

 was certain no longer existed, was there.    It was tucked away in a cardboard box deep in the stacks of other junk in storage;  the miracle is that it was still intact and usable.  

Costco, the Copper family "go to" headquarters for damn near everything from food to flicks,  is promoting a deal on slide and movie DVD conversion and it is magical.  I now have ALL of the footage shot by mom and dad condensed on four discs and am watching them in amazement.  Memories almost sixty years old are hauled onto my twenty-first century computer screen and many of them take my breath away.  Here is my brother as a baby and me already torturing him.  Our long dead grandparents, beloved dogs, childhood friends and now classic cars come back to life through the mists of time thanks to this now digitized 8mm film.  I am transfixed.  The memories whack me in the gut and often leave me laughing or, conversely, slightly wet of eye.

Many thanks mom and dad for ignoring the protests of your idiot sons and continuing to roll film on all of those occasions.  You knew what you were doing!  Two grateful sons apologize for thinking your obsession with preserving memories was stupid.  As usual, you were right.  I wish it hadn't taken me sixty years to draw that conclusion.

Young parents please note.  It has never been easier to preserve memories that will provide roses in December for you and your kids.

Lights!  Camera!  Action!