Time Flies...Dictators Dance

Like it or not, time flies...



It has been one of those weeks.
Most of my effort was devoted to staying off a jury. I was relieved when the judge eliminated me from consideration for a panel that will hear a case that promises to be especially ugly. I'm no longer young and willing to give most people the benefit of the doubt. My philosophy leans more toward, "dirtbag at 21...dirtbag for life." If the guy is sitting at the defendant's table and the cops thought he did it; I'm inclined to agree. That's common sense where I come from.

All the time at the courthouse gave me an opportunity to do a lot of reading and observing...

Maybe you saw the picture of that little Lee Greenwood look-a-like who is the president of Iran embracing the fat pantload dictator of Venezuela while they were both in New York wasting our time at the UN. Is it just me, or does it seem as if they are dancing at their wedding and are seconds away from picking out the furniture?






"There are no people like us in Iran; so we'll have to build our love nest in your country my chubby love pumpkin."




Also, I don't know if I'm the only one to catch this, have you noticed how much TBS sportscaster Dick Stockton is starting to resemble the late actor Jerry Orbach from TVs Law & Order? If I were Stockton, there would be lots of questions for mom.



"Who's your daddy?"





Is it Jerry...or Memorex?



This week brought some sad news. My old friend, Country Al Watterson, left us on September 28. If you have been reading this blog for awhile you may recall that last March I wrote about radio adventures with Al when we broadcast primarily to prairie dogs , cattle and buffalo on the South Dakota plains in the 1960's. Al was an original who always knew how to have fun. I regret that I never made it to New England to see him in his Vermont retirement haven. The clock just ran out. Good night old pal...Save a show for me on the BIG station. (I'm sure Clear Channel doesn't own it.)

"You remember Susie...Right?"

I'm stuck at the courthouse.
I'm trying to look more unhinged than usual so that I don't get picked for a jury.
It amazes me that I get called to perform this civic duty anyway since I have in years past served on juries that convicted both a drug dealing scum bag and perhaps the dumbest man ever to be charged with murder. (He emptied a 45 into a guy in front of thirty witnesses some years back.) My theory is: Two major pieces of human debris put in cold storage equals a free lifetime pass from jury duty! I've done my DUTY! Leave me alone!
However, this is California where finding humans possessing an IQ somewhere north of yeast is a challenge for the legal system. (See O.J., Robert Blake, Phil Spector etc.)

So...here I am.

I have discovered yet another subject where people fall into one of two camps. One group consists of humans who make statements like this:

"Sally, Marie and Bob are going to Susie and Ed's for the holidays...I'm not sure what Rob and Shirley will do but, you can bet it will make Ella mad."

People who make these kind of statements containing first names only with no exposition or set-up whatsoever are called...WOMEN.

The other group is, of course, male. Men, left to fend for themselves, resort to the only recourse available to them when confronted with information so completely full of holes...They say things like: "Really" or "That's nice, honey", or that old stand-by..."um hum".

Why do women do this?! They just seem to assume that everybody they know is familiar with everybody else they know and also have access to the same set of references and expectations. It's maddening!

Guys, on the other hand, are always more than willing to provide way more information than you'll ever want or need. For example:

"Honey, do you remember my friend Bill Burpman?" "He is the guy married to the red-head with the big rack. Not that I noticed or anything, but remember how cold it was that night?" Anyway, I think he borrowed my shotgun last September 28...the day it was raining...Oh, wait...there it is. Honey?? What are you doing? Put that down! It's not good to point one of those at someone even in fun..."

"Honey?"
"Hon?"

Come for the hotdogs...Stay for the casket

"That'll be $3.23, please."

Just another day of fine dining with my wife at one of our favorite spots for lunch.
The parking lot of our nearest Costco offers TWO delicious tube steaks and unlimited soft drinks for the two of us for a total of: $3.23. In fact, if they offered music and dancing, I'd be willing to duke them a whole $4 for the experience. (Not that I would actually dance, but it would make me appear to be a real "sport".) Just the look of respect and the prospect of romance in Linda's eyes would inspire me to lay out the four large.

I guess most everybody has one of these warehouse emporiums near them. Costco is our wholesale orgy of convenience; I know that Sam's Club and a couple of others provide basically the same experience. You buy a membership for a small annual fee and are given the privilege of toting out tons of BARGAINS in quantities roughly suitable to provision the Army's First Infantry Division. It's fun, but don't kid yourself...You'll NEVER use all that crap you're hauling out of there every week.

Costco has offered me the chance to put more than a lifetime supply of WD-40 on one of the groaning shelves in our garage. Hey...You never know when stuff is going to get squeaky! WD-40 is also good for putting on fishing lures, (fish can't resist it I'm told), buffing dings out of your car's paint job, and other stuff they haven't thought up yet. If you need any, I'm your guy.

How about Halloween candy? I'm set through 2010.
Batteries? I can run the whole house on my Costco supply!

If you insist on limiting yourself to food, may I recommend the jumbo package of pork? Why not slap both Porky and Petunia in your basket. You may last until next year's Pork Appreciation Day!

Toilet paper?? No problem. Whole forests have been harvested to keep you in tall cotton for the rest of your life.

They have it ALL at Costco. Why not join the rest of us spending thousands to save hundreds? It' the American Way! Our motto..."Nothing exceeds like excess!"

How about a casket? They have those at Costco too! (Eating all those hotdogs may earn you and early check-in to the Mahogany Hilton.)




If you need some WD-40 for those squeaky hinges in your new "box", just give me a call. I've got plenty.

Time Travel

The grave of "Wild Bill" Hickok

I can't take the pine trees.
Don't get me wrong. I love the smell of a pine forest but, for some unknown reason, lately my nose slips into mucus overdrive when I'm frolicking in the evergreens. Maybe it's age. It never bothered me when I was nineteen and working in the Black Hills.

That's where I've been, in case you missed me. Linda had some family business to attend to in her home town of Rapid City; so a couple of days in nearby Deadwood, South Dakota communing with the ghosts of "Wild Bill" and "Calamity Jane" seemed like a fine Autumn outing for the two of us. I love Deadwood. It is a wonderfully beautiful little burg that has so much history crammed into its city limits that you can spend days wandering the in the mists of Old West and Indian lore. To the Indians the Black Hills is sacred ground that was violated by the white man as he scavenged for gold during the rush in the 1800's. You can spend days soaking up the history of both Indians and whites, not to mention the Chinese, if you have the time.

We climbed Boot Hill to visit the graves of "Wild Bill", who was gunned down by the coward Jack McCall on August 2,1876 while playing poker at the Number 10 saloon, and "Calamity Jane" Canary who is often referred to as the Queen of the Wild West. The view was spectacular. The Aspen are turning to gold and the air was crisp and clear. The shadows left no doubt that Fall had begun and that frost was soon to be making a regular appearance in the forecast.

I hadn't been to Boot Hill in over forty years and the sense of deja vu was overpowering. There aren't many places left anywhere that show little or no sign of change in a stretch of that duration. I couldn't help wondering how much of the view remained unchanged from the 1800's.

Pete Dexter's book, Deadwood, does a wonderful job of capturing this area and the times of "Wild Bill". If you get the chance, read it. You'll want to make the same trek to the Hills. HBO used Pete's book as the basis for their mini-series of the same name and it was pretty good. The only thing they got wrong was the language. I'm no prude, but the words used in the television series were not the common vernacular of the old West. In the 1800's folks were more inclined to cuss utilizing the music of the scatological...not the sexual. That came later...mostly post World War II.

I like to think that I could one day live in Deadwood. But, I'm reasonably sure that it's just another pipe dream that the clock is running out on. I'm also fairly certain that I've spent too many years in cities and would miss the amenities they provide.

No, I'll just file away my memories of the view from Boot Hill and hope that "Wild Bill", "Calamity" and the other denizens of this garden of stone are resting peacefully and also enjoying the view.





Deadwood, South Dakota...looking down from Boot Hill 2007

Is it raining????

It's official.
I live in the dumbass capital of the world.




(Phil...he sure looks innocent to me...Spector)




Only in Southern California can you find a jury incapable of determining whether it's raining or if someone is peeing on their shoes. How anyone could question the guilt of this hopeless mental patient is beyond comprehension! In fact, according to my sources in the music industry, it was practically a miracle that the court was able to impanel a jury that didn't include at least a couple of people Phil had pulled a gun on.





(Is it Phil...or Elizabeth Taylor after a bad night?)







This guy is the stuff you scrape off the bottom of your shoe...A complete waste of air! Somebody should have backed the car over him long ago! According to a friend of mine at Court TV, even his own sons were hoping for a guilty verdict and a righteous police tasering of the Philster when he went ballistic over the jury's decision. It appears that there is no such luck.
NO JUSTICE!
Just another murdering bastard getting a walk from a SoCal jury too dumb to come in out of the yellow rain.

On the road again...

Portland, Oregon



Been traveling...
It's one of those months. Out again for a few days and then October should be a month to hang around San Diego. Both of us had wanted to get to New England sometime this Fall, but it won't be happening this year. I really miss Autumn. Growing up in Michigan, I remember it as the best time of the year. The kaleidoscope of color in the trees; the smoke from burning leaves, and the delicious taste of fresh pressed apple cider from the the orchards that were everywhere live on inside me when pumpkins begin appearing in the grocery store.
Maybe next year.

I don't know about you, but every city I visit prompts me to consider living there for a few years. It has only occurred to me recently that the clock is running out on the opportunity for that to happen. Portland seems like a good city. Lots of bars, but that doesn't matter any more. Last year we were treated to blue skies and comfy temperatures. This time Portland reverted to form and offered a steel gray ceiling and a light mist. I was reminded of the year I worked in Seattle and why I vowed never to live there again. The Coppers require solar stimulation. Rain makes us crazy. Okay...crazier.

The reason for the Portland jaunt was to see an exciting new play that opens at New York's SoHo Rep this December. The show opened in Philadelphia; then segued to the West coast and has now begun its European tour. It is brilliantly funny and extremely profound. I can't wait to see it again in New York. If you get the chance, it's called "No Dice" and is the product of the writing and directing duo of Kelly Copper and her husband, Pavol Liska. They are the founders of one of the most heralded new theater companies in New York, the Nature Theater of Oklahoma.




"NO DICE"



You may have noticed that Ms. Copper shares my last name and concluded that perhaps there is a connection.
There is. She is my oldest daughter. And, after roughly fourteen years of struggle, she and her husband Pavol have become an "overnight success".

I couldn't be more proud.

Radio Reprobate Reunion

(l-r John Emm, and local blogger. Check out Emm's new caps!)

"You look good," we both said in unison.
By the way, when does that start? The "you look good" thing, instead of "hi", seems to kick in sometime north of your fortieth birthday. Like it's some big accomplishment that you are still on the right side of the sod and capable of chewing your own food. (Come to think of it, maybe it is.)
It was my old pal John Emm, with his new wife Arlene, standing at my door. He did look great. The last time we had seen each other we were both fairly well tanked and had probably looked it. Now we were sober and both of our wives looked happy about that. With Arlene, John finally appears to have gotten the hang of marriage and Linda has always been the best thing that ever happened to me. (Did I get that right dear? It's sort of hard to read your writing.)

We spent this past Sunday afternoon comparing the condition of our hairlines, (he still has one), the size and condition of our prostates, (his like a bowling ball and mine roughly equal to the oil pan from a '53 Buick), and how hard it is to suck-in your gut these days. Also, the deterioration of the major league baseball strike zone and the lack of any good popular music in the last thirty years came in for considerable discussion. It was an afternoon to remember.

John reminded me of a few adventures that had been erased from my frontal lobe including the one involving us setting up a Mint Julep stand in front of Ginsberg's Dublin Pub during Kentucky Derby Day 1981. It involved the two of us mixing juleps and selling them for charity for $1.01. This promotion had sailed by radio station management because we were promoting the station's frequency. Can you imagine trying to pull this one today? Though neither of us could recall, we decided that the whole stunt got out of hand before the race even started. We also remembered that the cops were involved.

It was an afternoon that seemed far too brief. We had about seventy-five diet Dr. Peppers and it was just like old times. Even without booze. God, what a relief. I had hoped that we would still be good pals...and we were. Unlike some people, with John Emm it's not necessary to stir in alcohol to drink him interesting. He's a radio legend...and my friend.