Lizzie

My daughter, Elizabeth, passed away on Friday. Passed away......that makes it sound so kind and nice and easy.
She died. She was ravaged by terrible disease called Cystic Fibrosis which grabbed hold of her when she was born, almost took her when she was 5, and claimed her just 4 days after her 13 birthday.
To say that my daughter fought a valiant fight her entire life would be a understatement. While she never let the disease get her down, she lived her life in SPITE of, not measured by, her killer.
Okay, Liz touched a lot of people, yes. She was an "angel on earth", fine. She was her daddy's little girl, of course. But she was a fighter who never gave up.
Until about a week ago.
One week before Liz died she sat in her wheelchair, her body slowly deteriorating, and said, mostly to herself, "I'm giving up, I'm giving up." This wasn't a cry for help or a plea, it was a statement. Almost under her breath.
We wouldn't let her give up. I got in her face and made her continue to fight the fight. What father wouldn't? But Liz and I had the kind of relationship where I could get right in her face and tell her that "we are all fighting this battle with you and you have to lead us. If you give up, how are we going to fight? Are you listening to me????"
She said, softly and under her breath, "Yes, Father."
Elizabeth never called me "father" before. Or, if she did, I certainly don't remember it. Not even in jest do I remember her saying it.
I really wanted Elizabeth to turn 13. I don't know how much I wanted her to become a "teenager" for her as much as for me. I was obsessed with her future. I was absolutely certain that she would have that fight that teenagers do and tell her mother to fuck off, I'm gonna live with my dad, etc. And then I would get the good years. The car driving, boy crazy, beer drinking, rock concert years.
Also, because she lived with her mother, I never got Lizzie on her birthday. We would always celebrate it either before or after on a weekend, and it was good, but, being the sentimental schmo that I am, I wanted to celebrate her birthday ON her birthday and this hospital stay afforded me that.
We had such a nice party for her, I dressed in a suit, I kissed my beautiful daughter on her 13th birthday the next day and she started her decline. By the fourth day of her 13th year she was all but gone and went the next.
And Liz never knew how big the mountains were that I was moving for her.
All I ever wanted to do was step in front of that bullet for Lizzie. Every father wants to do that. Every father wants to step in front of the moving train, but when a disease like this enters it's final movement there are no more bullets to stand in front of.
But, last Saturday, the day before Lizzie's 13th party, I was given one more chance to stand in front of that bullet.
The day before we had been informed that we would probably be sent to Children's Hospital Los Angeles with Liz in transport to be evaluated for a lung transplant. I know that Liz was scared of that proposition from the very beginning that she heard those words. She couldn't fathom why a person would give a lung, much less any organ to someone they know or even don't know.
She was scared of what that procedure meant. And she really wanted to make sure that, if she went to CHLA for the "eval" that she would come back to Long Beach Memorial where she had a litany of friends; nurses, doctors, specialist, therapists.....
On Saturday morning I told my brother who lives in Chicago that our options were slim. If CHLA didn't take us, San Diego wouldn't either because their cut off age was 16. And Stanford had a policy that the patient has to be able to walk in under their own steam, which Liz was absolutely unable to do.
Then, as the gun was cocking and the bullet was being placed into the chamber, an amazing thing happened.
My brother's wife is a cousin of a Trustee of Stanford University, one of the hospitals that performs lung transplant operations. This Trustee just happened to be having dinner with my brother and his wife THAT NIGHT.
During this dinner the topic of Liz came up. Very quickly this man started to make some phone calls. The next day he went to Stanford, this 85 year old who cared and thought that, perhaps there was something he could do, even though he had no other business on the campus. He went to talk to the Chief Cardio-Thoracic Surgeon, and ask him to maybe do a little favor for Liz. This Doctor, let's call him Dr. R, spoke with my brother. I am flummoxed how Jon had that conversation. Dr. R isn't just any other doctor. He's a TRANSPLANT SURGEON. These men are gods that walk the earth. They take pieces of one body and put them in another and make those people whole again. And this Zeus of Lung Surgery called his colleague, Dr. S, now the chief lung surgeon at USC and CHLA and asked him to do a favor for the family member of a VIP. In R's words to my brother, "If S gets focused, things will start to happen".
That call from Dr. R to Dr. S happened on Tuesday. On Wednesday we were told that a bed would be ready for us at CHLA in the Pediatric ICU on 5 west. Lizzie's nurse was, in a word, in shock. Nobody gets that room, that bed, she said. She had worked there. She made it seem like that was Shangri-La for a person in Liz's situation. "Someone had to pull some strings to get that bed", the nurse had told me.
Mountains were rumbling.
Jonathan waited a day to keep Dr. R informed, there was no real new information, except that Liz's carbon dioxide levels were climbing and, as they did, she would begin to go to sleep, get numb, disoriented and eventually, we would have to intubate her and she could die.
On Thursday night we slept in the hospital lobby, my brother and me. He had come in that day. My mother was in a family room and periodically checked on Liz. At 6AM he called Dr. R and called every 10 minutes until 6:45 when he left a message, sure that Dr. R was in surgery at that point.
The message was all the latest vitals that Jon and I had ascertained from doctors the night before.
Within 2 hours Lizzie's doctor received a call from the transplant team that a bed was being made ready for her at PICU in CHLA that day instead of the following day.
She would be moved at 3.
Lizzie, her heart beating at the end at 184 beats a minute, her mother caressing her leg, her daddy talking to her and telling her to think about the place in our front yard that she used to lay down, under the Ficus tree, on the freshly cut grass, her Golden Retreiver Huck dancing around her, the ice cream trucks that run up and down the street, went into cardiac arrest.
Within 10 minutes she was dead.
She was going to be moved to the transplant team in one hour.
She didn't really want to go.
She had given up a week before already.
She was a teenager because her daddy wanted her to be a teenager.
She was with her Mommy and Daddy at her last minute the way she was the first minutes she breathed air into those lungs that would, one day, give themselves to a terrible disease.
I like to think that the Trustee, Dr. R, my brother, Dr. S all had something to do with getting her ready to go to CHLA.
I like to think that they gave me one last chance to step in front of the bullet.
And when that bullet was shot out of that gun......Lizzie pushed me aside and took the hit.
I miss my daughter every second of every moment of every day. And I know that, in time, I will be able to think of the times when she was alive and not these last few TV Movie weeks that she spent in the hospital.
But I got one more chance to step in front of that bullet, to stop that train, to fly around the Earth at superhuman speed and turn back time, it's just that Lizzie didn't want me to.
And my daughter, daddy's little girl, that princess in pink......when she made up her mind to do something, goddammit, she was going to do it.
So, she may have lost her fight with CF, because CF always wins, but, in the end, she won, because she did things the way she wanted to.
I will always love you, Elizabeth. You were my hero. My inspiration. My baby.

Amended May 31st.

I don't know if I will ever post to this blog again. I kind of want Elizabeth's final week to remain at the top.
But, I felt it important that I mention The Elizabeth Lulu Scholarship Foundation. At this time we are a non-profit corporation awaiting our Tax Exempt Status. Just about everybody we know has stepped up to help in some way and we are grateful. For more information on how you can be a part of this endeavor or to find out just why it is so important to me please email elizabethluluscholarship@gmail.com and go to www.lizzielulu.org.

Allen

"cough, cough, yeah, I'll hold"

"Hi, yes, I was supposed to call? Yes. I am interested in getting a lung transplant. Yes? Cystic Fibrosis. No, I've never smoked. No, we just want to take a looksee at all of our options and--yes? I am 12. Well,I will be 13 in a week. A hard decision for a just turned teenager? Well, duh. So, okay, just let the team know that I called and, well, I am interested. A little scared, but I think I can handle it. Okie doke. Oh, wait, can we keep the lungs after they are taken out? Well, as pets. Okay. Never mind. Bad idea. Alrighty. Talk to you later. Or you can call me. I'll be here. In the hospital. Not going anywhere. Just havin a birthday on the 2nd floor. Bye."

You wanna cut what open and take what out?????

Crikey, it's been a long time since I posted. Well, there's a reason.
We are all trying to get my daughter on a list to have a surgical procedure done to take out her gunky, CF lungs, drop them on a plate and put brand new ones in. So, we've been kind of busy.

Liz has been in the hospital for almost 2 months and she is gonna spend her 13th birthday there. One of her favorite television stars, Drake Bell, is a friend of a friend and he is coming to visit her, so that's a nice b'day present, but, it kinda sucks to have spend your transitional, teen birthday in a hospital bed on oxygen with the world swarming around you asking you what you need every 5 seconds. I think it's only a matter of time before she takes a breath and shouts, "leave me the fuck alone!". Since it's my daughter I imagine that will happen soon. Since it's my daughter I also imagine she will say it to me. But she has always had the safety to say whatever she wants to me, so the "f-bomb" should be no different than anything else.

It's been an emotional roller coaster, to say the least but there have been some amazing people that have turned up in our lives. What am I saying? They have been there all along, but the way that people step up during a crisis is astounding. We have had enough food for three weeks thanks to Kristen, Vinny, Iden & Jen. Dave and Julie have offered to clean our house, do our laundry, it's been incredible.

I even managed to get to a couple of auditons during the whole thing and got to make Robert "Freddie Krueger" laugh, so that was a treat. He was directing a movie that I was up for. My guess is I didn't get the part but I did get to run into a comic who used to date my wife and I freaked him out when I intro'd myself as Beth Kirkpatrick's husband....

So, looking for normalcy in a world turned upside down is a challenge. Like talking aardvarks, health crises are a unique magnifier of people. You learn a lot about the very nature of people.

Off to the hospital.

What the @%#^@! is a Liberal Pt. II

1976

My social studies class held a mock election. It was a week or so before the real election of 76 and, I guess, Mr. Aiello wanted to see where we all stood.
In retrospect, this is just a way of gauging what our parent’s thought, because, seriously, what 10 year old knows shit about politics? But it was 76. Watergate was just 2 years old. Nixon’s resignation, still an open sore.
There were 24 kids in that class. 22 of them voted for Ford. 2 voted for Carter.
I grew up in a very conservative town. I was mocked for voting for Carter. I was vindicated a few weeks later when he won, but I guess they got the last laugh.


So, when did it become such a bad thing to be “liberal”?
I just did a quick thesaurus search on my laptop as the pilot has announced that we are just over El Paso. (I’m STILL over Texas but my new riding companion makes more sense. He’s from Los Angeles and believes that the reason middle America voted for Bush wasn’t because they believe in him, but, rather, that they believe that they might, too, one day, be president. It’s an interesting theory. What was it Aaron Sorkin had Martin Sheen say in The West Wing? The problem with the American Dream is that everyone is preparing for the day they will one day be rich. Something like that.
Let’s get back to my favorite curse word. Here are the options that Microsoft Word has given me for “liberal”:

Open-minded (adj)
Open minded
Broadminded
Moderate
Noninterventionist
Free thinking
Tolerant
Laissez-faire
Narrow-minded—WHAT? Oh, wait, it reads:
Narrow-minded (Antonym) whew.

It goes on:

Generous (adj)
Generous
Copius
Abundant
Profuse
Substantial
Large.

And these are bad things to be?? How did this happen? When did this happen? Why did this happen? Why is it perfectly acceptable to attact the “liberal” media and say that things have a “liberal bias”??

By definition the media that gets attacked daily by the Hannitys, the O’Reillys and the Breadons (my in-laws in Ohio) should read like this:

Open minded media
Broadminded media
Moderate media
Noninterventionist media
Free thinking media
Tolerant media
Laissez-faire media

Once again. A very bad thing. Apparently.

Just for fun, let’s see what the thesaurus says about the word “conservative”. (I’m doing this for the first time, right now. I promise I will report EXACTLY what Word says and I am in now way biasing this. This is the great experiment. Here we go:

Conservative:
Traditional (adj)
Traditional
Conventional
Conformist
Unadventurous
Old-fashioned
traditionalist
Old School
Avant-Garde (antonym)

Moderate (adj)
Moderate
Careful
Cautious
Speculative (antonym)

Traditionalist (n.)
Traditionalist
Conformist
Activist (antonym)

There. We’re done.

Okay, it’s not like it’s an insult to call someone a Conservative and I really don’t think how you could spin it that way.
I like tradition, we celebrate Passover and Christmas every year. I wouldn’t want to be a conformist, they make good soldiers, I suppose but I can see how conforming could make someone feel like they are wearing a comfortable wool sweater. It feels good to fit in.
Unadventurous isn’t also something I (or anyone of the pioneers of the nation) would want to be called, but it’s not an insult.
I like Od fashioned Ice Cream.
Old School was a funny movie.
Careful is good. If you’re not careful you might cross the street against the light and then you would get hit by a car, like Batman and Robin said we would back in the day.
Cautious. I have Norton Antivirus.

So, these aren’t really insults, per se. But, seriously, how can the other things be bad? Why is calling me a liberal like calling a black man a Nigger, or tossing pennies at a Jew? (They used to throw pennies at me in the high school cafeteria, I never understood why it as insulting, I just laughed. Hey, if they wanna throw away money……)
And I can see how one wouldn’t want to be “open minded”, broadminded”, et al. But why do WE liberals allow them to insult us this way? I mean, it’s a word.
It’s a good word!
But we allowed it to be taken, twisted and turned into an insult.
Liberals kills babies, rape mothers, take your money, fuck young girls in the white house……okay, that one isn’t so bad, I mean, who knew Jewish girls gave head?
I have to know. I want to know.
What is a “liberal”?
What do we look like?
My sister in law plays a game with her kids……she thinks it’s harmless fun. I think Nazi-esque.
I’ll report, you decide.

Just what the *#&&@^ is a Liberal, anyways? Part 1

Plane trips always remind me of that scene in Fight Club. Not the one where Edward Norton imagines the plane’s wall ripped off and passengers dissapering into the sky, attached to their seats and screaming because they never paid attention to the flight attendant and, after over 200 air trips still have no idea how the oxygen mask works or where their floatation device is. (Although, I can absolutely relate, sicne I have no idea how either of those things work.)
The scene that always strikes me most about that movie (and, incidentally, I take that film with me on every plane trip, I secretly hope that the person sitting next to me will be freaked out when the crash scene comes on or, at least, embarrassed by Helena Bonham Carter’s sex scene, ah……Helen, best looking monkey in Planet of the Apes) is the description of the single serving friend. And while the film is post modern enough to comment on the “cleverness” of this concept, that doesn’t mean that it’s wrong.
And I’ve tried to transform my single serving friends to more, I really have.
There was that guy who was gonna kill himself unless he found God or, at least, a cure for whatever his ailment was (It wasn’t cancer but it was something bad). I gave him my email and he promised to write me with an update…..maybe he died.
Or the owner of that toy company who was supposed to have steaks with me in a Minneapolis Morton’s but, instead, came to visit me in the hospital when the ride I gave him turned out to be the first stop of the night for me, last stop, Hennepin County Medical Center’s Emergency Room. Funny how much attention you get when you are 31 and having a heart attack.
Or the Flight Attendent who asked me for my phone number after some casual flirting by the first class bathroom. The oversized, trenchcoat wearing thumb that cornered my in the gangway and introduced himself as her fiancé might have been the reason she never called, though.
So, I never expect anything more than “single serving” friends when I travel.
But I also don’t expect to be called “evil” and “stupid” by seemingly kindly 80-somethings who start out the conversation talking about the joys of grandfatherhood.
“You’re a liberal. I could tell as soon as you said you lived in Los Angeles.”
This is true. I do live in Los Angeles. When Methuselah (I never asked his name. Although later I wiould overhear him refer to himself as “John” I chose not to even go beyond nameless autonomies, after all, being called “evil” doesn’t call for pleasantries, I believe) asked me where I lived, I told him. Why should I lie? I’m proud of my home. I love Los Angeles. I hate the drivers, but I’m from New Jersey, I’ve been hating drivers since I was a tot.
And, although I am a “liberal” I never said I was. So, what led to Methuselah’s indignant putdown?
Seems our friend is proud to talk about how he has known George W. Bush for many years. Although I believe that he doesn’t really “Know” him but has met him on a number of occasions and, maybe, shaken his hand. The more I listen to John and the more time I have had to reflect on our conversation, the more I belive that he may have shaken W’s hand at some rally and, thereby, thinks he “knows” him.
But, he isn’t too happy with the way things have been going of late. At this writing, (I began the first draft of this post in early March) the Bush administration has just announced that they are going to allow operation of a number of US ports by a company based in the United Arab Emirates.
John isn’t angry about this. He is angry that the administration has handled its PR so poorly.
It is at this point that I realize that John is a dinosaur.
Now, I don’t mean this in any metaphorical term. I mean that his hands caress his Ginger Ale and I am struck by, first, the size. These are mammoth hands he has, but age has done something to John’s mitts. The skin has withdrawn and pulled itself back on to the bone. Veins have risen to the surface thick and blue. And the fingers come to a very precise point. The nails, manicured, are dense and sharp and it is from all this, including the way the thumbs have moved downward so they are even more parallel to the rest of his had and set back further than normal that they almost seem like they are no longer opposable, that I momentarily am reminded of the velociraptors in Jurassic Park.
It could also be that John has just called me a “Liberal” in that way that people from Texas have of doing so that almost always make you wonder if they are insulting you with their shit eating grin. That smile that all at once says, “you are pathetic, but I will tolerate your ignorance because I am sitting next to you and I can’t wait to say what I have to say because I am so much smarter than you and I have been taught precisely how to answer your evil accusations but I will because I am patient and the longer you talk the deeper the hole you are digging is getting……”.
“I mean, “ John continues, at this point I forget that he is a dinosaur and I am drawn back into the conversation, “at least he seems like a President, though. I mean it’s been a long time since we have had someone in that office that, at least, seems presidential.”
“Oh, I don’t know…” I start, and that is the last moment that John and I spent as friends.
“Who? Clinton? You like Clinton? I could tell you would like Clinton. I could tell you were a liberal the minute you said you were from Los Angeles.”
I have no idea when I became evil. I wondered for a moment if it was when John discovered that I was from that Coast-of-iniquity but it really felt like it cemented with the Clinton comment. And I had yet to even invoke the terrible “C” word. (Not the word you are thinking of, but somehow the “L” word is just as bad)
“Well, I don’t know I liked some of the things he did….”
Tread carefully, young Jedi, you are still over Texas airspace…..
“Like what? Like soiling the Oval Office? Is that the kind of message you want to send children? That that kind of behaviour with that Lewinsky girl is “presidential”?”
Now, I wish I could say that I didn’t immediately go into a tirade about how the small government loving GOP has more employees that any other government in our history, or that our deficit is higher than it ever was or that Gore Vidal called a war on terror akin to a “war on dandruff”, but all that stuff came out.
But, hey, isn’t that the best part of politics? Two sides, raising the ire of the other?
“You’re a liberal.”
The words hung there like I had just been called a Nigger. A Kike. A Wop. A Spic. A Cunt. A Fag. And the one hurling the epithet had gotten away with it because he was somehow protected by a veil of acceptability. “Liberal” is the curse word you can get away with nowadays. And it sucks.
I don’t care about words. I, personally, believe that the power of the word is dependent on those who hear it, not the one tossing it. It’s not “like a punch in the stomach”. A punch in the stomach is like a punch in the stomach. A verbal putdown is just words in the ether. You care about them or you don’t but the one who has the power behind the word is not the thrower. It’s the catcher.
So, what do I care that some Octogenarian whose best days are behind him and is on his way to Seattle (boy, talk about a liberal town, good luck, man) to live with his son’s family and be a grandpa, calls me the “L” word?
Because of the very next thing I asked him:
“What does that mean? Why is a “liberal” a bad thing? What is the definition of a “Liberal”?
Remember at this point I have owned up to absolutely nothing except that I live in Los Angeles. It is later that I rant.
“You know. You people don’t see the big picture. You focus on the small thing.”
You People……..
“But you still haven’t answered my question. What does the word Liberal mean?”
“What does it mean to you?”
And this is the best part. When they answer my question with a question as though that’s really an answer. It isn’t. It’s just a way to feel smug about one’s self without being the least bit culpable or responsible for the answer. It’s the way dumb people feel smart. And let’s not forget, the most dangerous person in the world is a dumb person who thinks he or she is smart. Don’t agree? Marry one. I’d rather have cancer.
“I always thought that being a “liberal” meant that one is accepting of one’s differences and that one is open minded and that as long as what you do isn’t against the law and doesn’t hurt anybody than it’s okie doke.”
And, that’s sort of how I feel. I realize that that is probably more libertarian than liberal but, isn’t it kind of the truth?
And the six million year old man just stares at the wall in front of us and smiles. But he doesn’t answer.
“So, what is a liberal?”
I could bore you with all the details of what he said in response to this but I won’t. A, because it would bore me more than it would you and, trust me, I really don’t mind boring you. And B, because he never once answered the question. There was a lot of stuff about being in a war. About protecting our interests. And more stuff about jewish girl’s vaginas and cigars. But he never answered the question.
“You still haven’t answered my question.”
“What is your question?”
“What is a liberal? Also, why is such a bad thing to be?”
“I answered you. We will just have to agree to disagree and I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”
And that was that.
The velociraptor closed his eyes, sipped his ginger ale and never said another word to me…….

The Questionable Taste Volume 3!

The good people at D'Ark Ives International Musical Dissemination & Inert Media Studies have been hard at work in their erstwhile attempts at bringing you the best in contemporary tunes.
Glitches and snags mostly out of the way, the third installment of "Questionable Taste" is now available for download.
The first and second have been augmented and are now preferable to the original versions.
Okay, enjoy.

More fear, more loathing.

A posthumous interview with Hunter Thompson turned up in the College Crier.

Here's my favorite excerpt:

"The first time I saw George Bush, he came into my hotel room in Houston, and passed out in the bathtub. How’s that for a story. He was drunk. He was not invited, he came into the room with some friend of his who was invited and he disappeared, and the next time I saw him he was passed out in the bathtub, he had vomited on his seersucker suit- that’s a good image. I’ve done worse things under a variety of substances, including drink. But to me that’s the most interesting thing he’s done as a human being- wait a minute, did I say that out loud?"

Oh, George. You slay me. So presidential. Such a nice glass house you live in.

Read it. It might be the last thing you ever read by the guy who, pretty much, created this whole bloggy shit.

Is all hell about to break loose?

Memo states Prez was gonna invade Iraq WMD or not.
Blair agrees that there will probably be no religious uprising.
Bush and Blair acknowledge that no unconventional weapons have been uncovered.
Can you smell the legacy?

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/4849744.stm

Kevin Smith explains the world, and it's really all about farts.

I have been a big fan of Kevin Smith for years. How could I not? Smarter than the room fat guy from New Jersey? Come on!
But I have only recently subscribed to his blog. (The lecture at Wizard Con sort of reminded me to do that) And twice in the last week he has nailed my feelings on pop culture. It always amazes me that people who peddle pop culture are, often, the ones who have the most incisive insight. But, it isn't like he will stop peddling his wares and making goody movies.
Seems that Kevin told a story about Jason Mewes getting off heroin and having "relations" with Nicole Ritchie. Of course, after thesuperficial.com reported this story, the Daily News decided to cover it.
I was just pleased by what he wrote at the end:

"Sadly, it’s not news that Jay - with nearly both feet in the grave at the lowest point in his life - was able single-handedly pull himself out of the self-made Hell of drug addiction and work his way back to the land of the living, clean and sober; what’s news is that he had sex in a bathroom stall with one half of the “Simple Life” dorks."

And therein lies the problem. Everything we have been talking about in "Objectification vs Empowerment" and the like.
We're not interested in a story about personal achievement, we want the dirt and that's it. And that sucks.

It sucks the same way that Instant Films sucked last night. For more info on Instant Films and why it can be a good, nay, great thing, go here. As she always does, Beth was in an Instant Film and shot til 2 in the morning and the film was....well it wasn't the best but she was amazing.

Okay. Platitudes for my wife out of the way.

There were 2 films that, I think, explain what's wrong with pop culture and why it won't change.
The first is Smash. A "parody" of the film "Crash". I use the term "parody" very loosely. Because Smash was a poorly shot, terribly edited, abysmally acted movie about....gas. Faltulence. One character spent the better part of the 7 minute movie rolling around on the floor in pain, while sounds of unbelieveable flatulence filled the theater. ha ha. And he kept passing wind to his customers (he was an insurance salesman). These people were offended (hence the parody....I guess they were racist against chronic farters). Another actor sat at the restaurant table passing wind and explaining the virtues of gas passing...ugh, I am spending way too much time explaining this piece of crap. (It should be noted that the female characters did NOT fart in the film and I don't know what that says). This film sucked.
This.
Film.
Sucked.
And the audience loved it. Hooted and howled.

Now, film 2 was called "Tough Guy and flowers". It was directed by a woman named Aine who is quite accomplished. Her site is www.aineandmremery.com. The film was about a couple who have grown distant, distaff. The wife has an affair with a man we believed to be the uber-male voice in the husband's head.
It was dark. Dank. Diffcult. The empty spaces between the sparse dialogue would have been envied by a young David Lynch.
The pounding sounds of the wife's barefeet scaling their carpeted steps was resonating.
This was a film that took a mediocre script, one which, in lesser hands, would have been just another Instant Film jokey joke movie, pulled it out of the box, deconstructed it and made it something that, well, I would be happy to watch again.
So moved was I by this singular piece of visionary film making that I went to the director afterwards, introduced myself, went on and on about what she had done and gave her a card and said, "Anything you are ever doing, if you need an actor, I will be there".
I have never done this before.

What is my point?

At the end of the night everybody votes for the films. We take printed slips of paper and put them in the bins of the films we are voting for. A slip for best cast. A slip for best editing. Best cinematographer. Best Picture. The Instant Films version of the Oscars.

Which film do you THINK won best picture and which won nothing at all?

We are more interested in corpulent flatulence, people's sex lives, whose dating who.....than we care about raising ourselves up and trying, just trying to climb the bar. No, wait, Kevin Smith said there is no bar anymore now that Paris Hilton is famous for being born and having sex on camera, so, we need to go out, get a bar, and install it and then maybe, just maybe we can raise it.

The Short Films of David Lynch...............alas

Last weekend I picked up a copy of The Short Films of David Lynch for about 10 bucks.
Is it the weirdest thing in my DVD collection? It's in the top 4. I actually think The Residents' Icky Flix is weirder and more interesting.
I used to love David Lynch.
Let me refrain.
I used to LOVE David Lynch.
I saw Eraserhead in 1984 at the 8th St. Playhouse at midnight at least 3 times that year. ANd I was a fan of it years before I had ever seen it. I miss midnight movies. I miss the Thalia, uptown. I miss smoking in that theater. I saw My Breakfast with Blassie there. Also, The Elephant Man along with The Grandmother, a short film by David Lynch. (Fred Blassie was in the theater when we saw Breakfast. I think we might have skipped class to see it.)
The Grandmother is on this DVD collection. It is, by far, the most interesting thing on it. Maybe the piece from Lumiere is as interesting. Grandmother is a disturbing 1/2 hour short. Lumiere is a 55 second piece shot in celebration of the 100th anniversary of the Lumiere camera. Shot on that camera. It's disturbing and I WISH it was longer.
I cried in the theater in 1980 when I saw The Elephant Man for the 1st time.
I waited with baited breath for Dune. Ah....sublime disappointment of youth. (Side note, I was reading a Dune fanzine in the hall of an NYU building when a student, who shall remain nameless, mocked me and made me feel infinitessimal for owning it. This same student would end becoming an arch enemy of mine when were both members of the Sacred Fools Theater Company in Los Angeles, nearly 16 years later......bookends of life, man)
Blue Velvet was a vindication for all those years of being a fan.
Twin Peaks was the prize for "knowing Lynch first"!
One the Air I never watched.
Then it was all downhill. Wild at Heart felt like a mockery and a parody of Lynch's own style. Lost Highway was a snoozefest. Fire Walk with Me felt like a contractual Obligation. Mulholland Falls (?) I missed entirely. And The Straight Story felt like a Hallmark TV movie.
Lynch seems to have disappeared into the Internet and his subscription based website.
I miss him. But I think I really miss something else entirely.
There is something honest about the first few films on this DVD. I mean, the stuff is decidedly self conscious, pretentious, in a word, Lynchian. But, it is also brutal. Never once in the early films especially, does he take for granted the form he is working in. It isn't disposable. It isn't crafted to get a film deal. (One wonders, though, just how did that happen??????)
Lynch was responsible for my obsessive attempts at film "shock" back in film school. But I never took for granted the form I was working in. I also never for one moment, in retrospect, belonged there.
But I wonder if a David Lynch can exist today. Amidst all the "noise" of popular culture is there any room for any artist to but through? And do any of them want to? Could film "artists" cut through or do they just get swallowed up by Lucasfilm and Pixar?
Lynch's Eraserhead took 5 years to make.
Larry Bridges' "12" took 10.
With "You Tube" and "Ifilm" and "Instant Films" and "Atom Film", is there any chance for the medium?
Am I just rambling on, an old person missing his youth?
Nah, I was just disappointed by a DVD that I thought was helping me reclaim my salad days.
The same day I got the collected Star Trek: The Animated Series. I never imagined it would be any good, not even in retrospect. But, with cynical shows like "TV Funhouse" and "Wonder Showzen" (Which perpetuates my theory that MTV hates children, not that it's totally a bad thing, mind you), I can no longer look at those old cartoons without laughing. The bad jokes. The static animation......Funhouse, Showzen and Robot Chicken have so successfully skewered those cartoons in parody that they are impossible to watch now.

But, go see "Thank You For Smoking". Excellent parody. Highly cynical. Jason Reitman proves a better scenerist than his father. B+ (The ending is a letdown)

Music, baby!

The Questionable Taste has just added a second volume of music from the D'Ark Ives collection. It's pretty good. No commentary this time, so it sounds like less of a podcast, but that may be a good thing since D'Ark Ives never really has much of anything interesting to say.

Objectification as empowerment

John Mitchell, old college roommate and reporter for a number of Massachusettes papers has been responding to the post about Debra Lefave. Pithy, erudite and smartly written, I direct you to those comments in that post.
I ws going to respond to him there but realized that I wanted to give the arguement a front a center position.
Here it is.

I remember being a teenager and, in trying to prove how smart I was, I made 2 arguments. One that when the characters on a Star Trek episode aged too quickly they were removed fromtheir respective posts and two, that Romeo & Juilet were 13 year olds and that's they way things were done "back in the day".
The Star Trek argument was to prove that Reagan was too old to be in the white house. That didn't go over too well in conservative New Jersey and the Romeo stance was to prove, with puffed out chest, that, hey, we're old enough to know what we can and cannot do. Of course, we weren't. And, of course, I was a horny teenager wanting permission.
And therein lies the rub. A person of sexual maturity doesn't require an adult's permission. So, you are absolutely correct in your assesments.
This is a "capital based country". The dollar rules all. All decisions. All motivations are determined by the power of "have's" and who wants to be a "have not"? This is the primary reason I believe that rap has emerged as the dominant music form. It is disposable, has no ability to last so you always need the new cd to remain current., there is no allegiance to artists because it is disposable, the form itself worships material things and demeans women.
What did we learn in 1997 about Titanic? 14 year old girls went, over and over, to see it. Boys who wanted to "get with" these girls took them to see it, over and over. Who bought the posters? (who always buys the posters, screams and cries at the bands?) Who bought the books on Leo D.?
14 year old girls.
So, the entertainment industry reacted in kind. Hence the youth explosion of 2000. Everything suddenly skewed so young. The WB. Britney. Christina. You couldn't get away from it.
But, the E industry failed to recognize a very basic tenet of that formula, which I have learned and will share with you now.
14 year old girls are sexual in image only. They have no concept of what it means to be sexual in any way, shape or form.
Then they 'blossom". And their choices ALWAYS change from the Ken doll (read: pretty but non-threatening, read: gay) to th dirty rocker.
The 17-18 year old doesn't want Aaron Carter, or Rick Astley, or the Bay City Rollers or Pat Boone. They want Elvis, Robert Plant, Tommy Lee and the dudes from "Jet". This is the manifestation of their true sexual awakening.
Okay, but there will always be 14 year old girls, you say.
Sure, but who wants to like the same things their older sibling likes? Forget that, they're gonna find their own objets de desire. So, catering to the teenage girl market is to constantly be chasing butterflies up a hill.
It took a few years for the market to figure this out and they didn't really do it on purpose. It just happened. Did TV suddenly get smarter? It looks like it, but it really hasn't. Lost, Desperate Housewives, 24 were all under the radar until the Dawson's Creek crowd finally ran their course.
So, I would submit to you that, while much of TV is crappy, weed through the pablum and you have some great crap out there. I am sure that a 21 year old John Mitchell would have been a Lost fan.
And, why do the girls want to dress like Paris? Or in Daisy Dukes? Is it self esteem? Well, yes. I think we are living in a weird era of definition. Take the fashion industry. My wife watches America's Next Top Model. And Project Runway. and I caught Isaac Mizrahi on Jon Favreu's version of Fernando's Hideaway, "Dinner for Five" and the brilliant Sacha Baron Cohen as the gay, german., fashionista tv personality.
What I have gleaned, in a nutshell, is that this is one catty, shallow, self serving, untrustowrthy bunch of cretins. They will say anything to get you to like them or to get on tv.
But, this cult of cannibalistic gossipmongering appeals to, well, the very people who live and die every day in a world of gossip. Teenage girls.
Without any prompting my 12 year old daughter told me about a party she went to where her "enemy" was. How does she suddenly have an enemy? WTF?
Could it be that Liz is about to become a teenager and getting a little dramatic the way, it seems, girls do? I would rather believe that than believe it is all the product of to too much television. (Although, I am constantly amazed at the number of shows on Disney and Nickelodeon that take place, at least 50% in school, but NEVER NEVER NEVER show the kids in a classroom or doing homework.)
So, it's a vicious cycle. We want our girls to develop self esteem but we also want and need cash. We aren't going to get their money through a science fair and they aren't gonna drop 100 bucks at a comic convention (which, while geeky, at least promotes reading and imagination) so, how do we get little girls' cash? We sell them things they need for their self esteem. To be popular. They NEED perfume, bracelets, clothes. Boys will wear the same jeans for a week in a row. (I have and I'm none too proud of it) But, girls, well, not only have we convinced them that they need more and more, but to compete with other girls in school they believe they need more and more and those girls they are competing with are watching more and more television which is telling them what they need to look and feel good about themselves and then they go buy that product and the cycle continues.
It is the rare girl who doesn't think of herself as more than an object nowadays because girls are victims of a consumer based society that objectifies them, but, more importantly, makes their own self-objectification appear to be self-empowerment. Which, as we know, is the exact opposite. But, Howard Stern spent years talking to porn stars as objects and as humans and now we have more girls taking their clothes off, objectifying themselves, dancing naked on the internet, directing orgy action they are participating in, then ever before. Is it empowering or is it a farce?
I have often said it was amazing that men were able to convince women that mini-skirts were sexy and empowering and that men got them to accept and wear them. 20 years later it was the form fitting spandex mini-dress. Nowadays its.....whatever you see everywhere.
It's kind of insidious, really. Genius, actually. The best way to get people to conform to your whims is to make them believe that it is their idea and that they are empowered by it.
Look at the Domination/submission world. And entire lifestyle based on men who want to take aggression out on women (I'm exaggerating, but I have had enough experience with people in that world to feel that I am 80-85% correct) and women who believe they are "empowered" by being subjugated.
It would be brilliant were it not so sad.
So, the capitalism train moves on. Since the oldest profession is prostitution it only makes sense that the "women as object" industry would lead the charge.
Now, look at eastern Europe. We brought capitalism. Now the porn industry and sex slave industry is booming.
What lies ahead for Iraq?

A loaf of Bread, a Jug of Wine and an Oscar.

My wife and I travel north to Wine Country every Thanksgiving. She has family in Sonoma, so we drive up (last year we did so in our requisite-California tree-hugging, environ-friendly Prius) and not only to we get to enjoy that great part of the country, but we also get a healthy dose of Nana Kirkpatrick's Broccoli casserole and a rousing game of Pictionary. This is the part of the trip that I SAY that I hate when, in fact, I know pretty much just enjoy the fact that everyone thinks I hate it. Fun for me!
And while we are up there we take it upon ourselves to venture out to some wineries, taste a l'il vino, pretend we know what we are talking about ("2003 was a vintage year for California Cabs, y'know") and buy wine that, to be honest, we could get at Trader Joe's.
But, last fall was a real treat. We had shipped my daughter off to Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire with her cousin, Alissa. It was Liz's first time ever going to a movie without an adult sitting right next to her and she was extremely reluctant at first but wound up having a great time.
Beth and I used that time to head off to a winery that I had been wanting to go to ever since our forays up north began. The Niebaum-Coppola Winery.
Our GPS in the Prius decided the best route was through some treacherous winding road into the mountains. Into an area that I am absolutely sure is either inhabited by grey-bearded, shotgun-toting recluses and their off-the-grid families or the wealthiest of the wealthy who have created their own mystery reclusion.
While we got lost hunting for the estate we ended up at Dean and Deluca, got some brandy flavored vanilla extract, some sandwiches and some sundries that ya just can't get at the Piggly Wiggly.
And then it was off to the Disneyland of Wineries, The Coppola Winery.
Yes, we got some wine. Yes we walked around. Yes, it was crowded. Yes, it was overpriced. And yes, we went upstairs to the Movie Room.
There in the center, taking up a 3rd of the room was a Tucker from the movie of the same name. That was cool. Never saw one in person. Wondered how they got it up there.
There was the red, medieval costume Gary Oldman wore in Dracula.
And there was the cabinet of major awards......

In the mid-80's I was a film student at NYU.
NYU has, sort of, become the farm club for 21st century talent.
Just to name drop a few....
Adam Sandler was a year behind me.
Maura Tierney was in my class.
Richard Shepard (writer/director of The Matador, starring Pierce Brosnan) was my roommate.
Philip Seymour Hoffman was a year or so behind me.
Felicity Huffman was a, I think, a year ahead of me.
Bennett Miller (director of Capote) was a year behind me.
and the list goes on.....including
Roman Coppola.
I have nothing intriguing, scandalous, or even gossip worthy to say about Roman. Except to say that it was a joy to be counted among his friends (or acquaintances) in the era of day-glo. Truth be told, I think Richard was his friend and, since I was a hanger on of Richard's, I got to hang out with some of the more interesting people. Roman was one of the nicest people I have ever met whose family was more famous than I would ever hope to be.
One day, I think it was around 1986, Richard, myself and a few others were hanging around at Roman's apartment in the Sherry-Netherland hotel.
I remember looking up at the bookshelf and just being in awe.
Award after award lined the shelves.
If it was a film shot, imagine a single shot of me, dollying in as my eyes take in the sheer awesomeness of what was before me and imagine that intercut with a panning shot of all these statues and placques.
Oscar. Oscar. Palm D'or.....brilliant.
"Want to hold one?" Roman asked. I guess my tongue was hanging out nearly touching the carpet.
Richard, to his credit, refused, claiming that the only time he would ever want to hold an Oscar would be when he won one. And, if this past year is any indication, this would seem closer to likely than impossible.
However, I make no bones that I didn't think there was much chance of me winning an Oscar (and, so far, my track record is dead on) and, therefore, not much of a chance of clutching one in my sweaty, meaty little hands.
So, Roman reached up to the shelf and handed me the Academy Award for Godfather II.
Heavy. Weighty. Thick. Strong. And a little shaky, but I think this was one of the Oscars that Francis tossed out the window out of frustration during the making of Apocalypse (documented in his wife's book, "Notes".)
I never forgot that moment. It has remained anecdotal fodder for 20 years. How many people get to hold an Oscar? Especially people who have little or no chance of ever holding one in their meaty, sweaty.....you get it.

In the cabinet of awards at the Coppola Winery, behind a thin sheet of glass stood the Academy Award for Godfather II. I could almost touch it, this hunk of metal I had once held in my sweaty.......
I like to imagine that it has never been cleaned, wiped, polished, that it was taken from the Sherry-Netherland Hotel, plopped in a cardboard box and put in this cabinet. That my fingerprints are still somewhere to be found on it.
Whether that's true or not it took 20 years and 3000 miles to see that hunk o'metal again.

We took a picture.

And bought some wine.

And drank it with some bread from Dean and Deluca's.

Then we played Pictionary.

Teacher gives her A

So, I am really in a quandry. Perhaps it's age. Perhaps its wisdom. I think that a few years ago I might have sided with this Lafave chick. In reality, I would have been one of those idiots spewing some shit like, "Where was she when I was 14??" (I think I actually said that last night on the phone to my brother. Tried to get a laugh. None was forthcoming)
But, truth be told. I want to ask what the F is going on here, but then I am reminded of my friend, Eric, from when I was 13.
Eric lived in Bar Harbor, and had been in about 5 different foster homes. There was a moment when my parents wanted to take him in and I didn't know whether that would be a good idea or not. So, I asked them not to do it. At the time was afraid that Eric would have been more popular than I was (read: not at all) and I would be jealous, etc. The weird thing is, I haven't spoken to or seen Eric since 1984, but had we taken him in, I would be talking to him every day. Crazy.
But, the thing about Eric, and volumes could be written about him, is he was blessed with, even though just 5 foot, the physique of an adult male. And his "maleness" was something that would have a made a grown man cry out of jealousy.
Now, you might think, great, abused foster kid with a Dirk Diggler, so what?
Well, I thought the same thing at the time, til I caught Eric making out with a 19 year old nurse. And it wasn't the last time I would be witness to stuff like this. Eric was.....the unluckiest kid in 9000 ways and lucky in the way that all 14 year olds (or 19, or 28, or 35 year olds) wish they could be.
So, I wish I could be surprised about Debra Lafave. But I'm not.
But, I want to know why it is so easy for our society to accept a grown woman falling "in love" with an underage boy. Or blames it on being "bi-polar" and we just go, no problem, got it.
Because if you turn this story around and upside down, and it's some 20-something MALE teacher who was banging a 14 year old girl, we would never see nor hear from this guy again, except when he was offed in prison.
And, I just don't get it.
UNLESS, it's because society already thinks women are helpless victims. Why else? I mean, a man should be a MAN and control his urges, despite the fact that 15 year old girls dress more provacatively now than they ever have. They are, as teens, beginning to discover and exert their sexual power over boys. (And I am NOT condoning men engaging in statutory rape, I just want to be clear) But, why are we not as harsh with women when they rape young boys? Why aren't we locking them up and tossing the key?
Because women can't help themselves? They are still considered second class citizens? Is that it?
Look, when we watch "The Biggest Loser" (And, in our house, unfortunately we TiVo this kind of shit) we are constantly forced to see overweight men parade topless on their weigh-ins but the women have to cover up. Why? Because we sexualize their breasts. Even though the men's breasts are, oftentimes, bigger than the women's. Mine are bigger than many women I ahve dated. So, a female booby is something to be hidden. Because MEN will salivate upon looking at it. If a woman salivates at looking at chiseled, topless man, that's okay, I guess. I really don't understand why.
So, a female teacher bones her underage student, declares bi-polar disorder and gets off.
Flip the situation and the guy goes to jail for life......

In a related story, a woman who engaged in a videotaped orgy went to court to file rape charges. When the tape of the event was shown in court it revealed that she was a willing participant. She directed the action and encouraged it. Without that tape the men go to jail for the rest of their lives. With the tape they get off scott free. In a world of "her word vs their word" the woman is the victim. How could she have POSSIBLY been a willing participant? After all, she's a woman, she must have been coerced, forced, raped.
But, she wasn't.
Isn't it time we started to treat women as equals? That we stop victimizing them and, in doing so, victimizing those who get involved with them? It only prepetuates a disservice to women and their quest to be taken as equals. In short, I am advocating equal sentencing for statutory rape (either be more lenient on the men or more harsh with the women) and a more casual atitude toward women's boobies.

Debra Lafave. Poster girl for the "Women are Victims" society of America. And a teacher.

The Wunderbar.

First off, I apologize that I don't have a better picture to share of this, but, being at the hospital and on dial-up, it's like using a hand-crank run computer..so, deal with it. I should just have a picture of one of my own, I have eaten enough of these that you would think that I could just take a picture of one, but they don't last long enough in our house. And the wrappers seem to just disappear...

Years ago my brother told me a story. About a friend of his whose name (I believe) was Adam. It may have been Aaron, but none of that matters to this story, so for the sake of this story, his name is Adam.
Adam and my brother were pretty good friends about 10 years ago in Chicago where my brother lives now with his wife and their son and dog. And, way in the distant confines of my (very poor) recollective memory lay a story about Adam and his sojourns across the border to Canada. Seemed Adam would take off for a journey every few months or so to The Great White North to get, what he, at the time, called, "Splooey Bars". (Yay for commas, by the way)
What, prey tell, is a "Splooey Bar"? Put simply, it was a candy bar that Adam had to go to Canada to get and, upon eating, could very well make the eater spontaneously...splooge.
He would hoard these candy bars and never share them with anyone. It seems that his sploogeing was meant just for himself and no one else. Self-splooing.

And that was the story.

Cut to 7 years later or so. I'm in Vancouver, Canada, shooting the first of the A&W commercials. And I'm staying and some kinda dumpy hotel by the library. (I since get to stay at the Metropolitan, which is much nicer.) It's no Sutton Place, but, since I've never been there I don't know what I am missing and the staff at the Metropolitan are very nice to me and Beth.)
Now, this is Canada, man. Cuban cigars are sold at just about every convenience store and, dammit, I'm gonna have one.
So, I go down to the newsstand on the corner of the hotel and I'm looking for something else to enjoy with my cigar and, lo and behold, something catches my eye.
There, in it's yellowy; Butterfinger-esque wrapper with the purple font was a Cadbury "Wunderbar". Something in my mind sort of clicked. Or snapped.
THIS was the splooey bar. I don't know how I remembered that. Or why. But, dammit, this was it.
Like Charlie in the original Chocolate Factory movie, I grabbed one from the display and added it to my purchase of cigar, diet coke and gum.
Up in my room, I pulled this confection from the bag. I had a choice. Save it for later and light up a nice Pancho Villa..? Nah. I had to try it. I mean, this was the spontaneous sploogebar.
How to describe it? Well, I could just go on about what it tastes like. The standard chocolate coating, beyond which lies the perfect blend of peanut butter and toffee..Let me put it this way: If Butterfinger and Three Musketeers had a baby, it would be a Wunderbar. But it's really so much better than that.
I told this story to Beth when I got back from Canada and she rolled her eyes, as she is want to do with practically everything I say. And then I gave her the bar.
Her eyes widened. Her jaw dropped. It was almost orgasmic.
And everyone else had the same reaction. Or sort of. Sometimes it wasn't so sensual, generally if the person wasn't a huge peanut butter fan, but, to a person, each and everyone would stop what they were saying, doing, talking about and just stare at this bar of chocolate as if to say, "Where the hell have you been????"
Where, indeed? How is it possible the Wunderbar has not crept across the border? Is there some deal Cadbury has with the makers of other bars? "You don't sell X bar in Canada and we won't take over the entire peanut butter/chocolate market with the Wunderbar?" It has to be. Doesn't it?
Oh, right. You've probably never had a Wunderbar.
Well, if you get one you might do just what Beth and I did after we finished the 7 I brought back from the Canucks: You might order a box of your own from some distributor.
And you might gain 8 pounds in one month eating all 30.
And you might cry when you put it in the fridge only to discover that, as great as a Wunderbar is (and it is is is great) it is that awful when it is cold. This. Is. Not. A. Snickers Bar.
The Wunderbar.
Proof that god exists in the (chocolate) details.

Awwwww! Geek Out!

So, yesterday was the first Wizard Con in LA in a long time. It had been 10 years since I had been to what passes for a real comic con and I went for the exact same reason I went a decade ago: to complete my Cerebus collection. I had all copies save one (a later issue, like 292) but we had some workers in the office late last year and they accidentally tossed out a pile of comics. I think the total number lost was 10 and they are mid issues, 72-81 or something like that, so I'm not all that concerned, I figure they would be easy to replace. turns out, not at a comic con. NOBODY stocks this book anymore, I'm going to have to use ebay or something. So, when I heard that there was going to be a con up here, I figured I might as well attend. I had nothing else to do and it had been years since I really, truly GEEKED out. And, since it's 10 minutes away from our house, the motorcycle ride was swift. AND I don't have to pay for parking when I take the bike. Bonus. I got there about 12:30, paid my ridiculous entry fee (as I said, had I not been searching for something in particular I doubt I would have gone). As luck would have it it turned out to be a very interesting day indeed.

First off, Brian Michael Bendis, author of the only comic I actually read now, Powers, was there, signing, so I grabbed an issue I needed and stood on line.

I am 40.

I stood on line for 70 minutes to get an autograph from a short, fat, bald comic writer.

And it was totally worth it. "Hey, Brian, I just want to thank you for publishing a letter I wrote." "Ha ha, no problem", he laughed as he took my issue. "Yeah, except that since it was an anniversary present for my wife, she took it and put it in a scrapbook." This is true. I wrote a letter, basically TO my wife, to Brian in the hopes that it would get published and that it would get into the issue that would coincide with our anniversary. It got in one month later, but since the anniversary was our first and was paper, it was totally apropos. This exchange got a great chuckle. And I got my replacement issue signed. Then I dropped a couple names. See, I have an agenda. First I told him about Throttle Back Sparky's CD and how Amanda Connor and Jimmy Palmiotti gave us the rights to "The Pro" for use on the cover. This impressed him, hopefully enough that he will listen to it and give it some review in the back of Powers. To add just a touch of credibility I mentioned that I was friends with the creators of "Very Vicky". It took a moment, but then the memory of that book washed over him like a sea of recognition mixed with joy. "Oh, yeah! The young girl, martinis, the rat pack....He was married to...." "Jana", I replied. "They're still together, they have a pair of twins." "Great, yeah, I remember them. Nice guy. Tell them I said hi." So, job done. Gave him the CD, dropped three names. Shook my hand 4 times furing the exchange.
What I won't do for a review.

Next stop: Artists Alley.
So, my search for Cerebus being a bust and time running out til Kevin Smith(!!!) I headed over to Amanda Connor's table. Dropped the CD in front of her. "Wow, I've never signed one of these before....Oh, wait, are you????" She was all too happy to sign them. One for me and a special one for Iden, whose birthday it was that night. But I kept missing Jimmy. Oh, well. Off to Kevin. .









The hall holds 1500. 1300 showed up. And Kevin came out. Basically, it's the same as you see on the DVD, An Evening with Kevin Smith. It's all Q&A and there's a ton of T&A, ATM, BJ, etc,humor. Now, I had a question and I raised my hand but the problem with a format like this is you can't really pay attention to the answer Kevin is giving because you are preoccupied with figuring out just when the right time would be to raise your hand and maybe just maybe get called on. Of course, he spent the first 5 questions answering from one side of the auditorium.
Why, "of course"? Because he would look at the person who asked the last question while he was asking and, when he was done, just move on to the next hand he saw. Until, he finally saw me. And he pointed to me.
And then some other guy stood up.
I lost my chance. And my question was so smart and pithy....

"What do you think of the new Superman movie?" This is a question????? Duh. Um.....okay. But Kevin, genius speaker that he is, managed to turn a boring question into sublime story. It twisted and turned and traveled down a road that ended with Brian Singer being a great director and the X-Men films were great and the reason they were great was because they were ABOUT something. About fitting in, not fitting in..... My favorite moment was when Smith said you can exchange the word "Mutant" with "Gay" and it totally works. Now that I think about it, the X-Men WAS the gayest superhero movie ever made (next to The 1994 Fantastic Four which just seemed to star actors acting gay and which i just got at the con) and for that reason alone Superman should be terrific. Note: I think you can replace the word "Grinch" in the Jim Carrey Movie with the word "Jew" and get a great result. After all, those perfect nosed little aryan children are perfect foils for the soon-to-be-rehabilitated jew, The Grinch. Try it. It's fun at parties. Make it a drinking game. Then it was my turn. Actually I accidentally stole another person's turn but who cared? It was quid pro quo! And my question woul spark interesting debate! "So, in an Evening with Kevin Smith you spoke about the meeting with Jon Peters and how Peters said for his new Superman, 'No suit, the suit is gay' and no flying. I was wondering if you would care to comment on 'Smallville'." Awesome. Here it was. The funniest story in Evening is the story about Jon Peters and his criteria about Superman. No 'gay' suit. No flying. And we all laughed. And then Smallville comes around and he doesn't wear a suit. He didn't fly for 6 years. Okay. Brace yourself. Here comes the answer. "I have never seen 'Smallville'. Mewes keeps trying to get me to watch it because 'Dude, Clark and Lex are FRIENDS!', but I haven't gotten around to it. Alas. I am not so pithy. It did spark an interesting story about how Mewes was obsessed with "Murder She Wrote" for a while, but that's about it. After another story about what a jerk Timothy Olyphant is (and he seems like a jerk, so it's great to have the validation) I left. I had about 30 minutes left and i needed to get Palmiotti's autograph. So, I did. We chatted about rock music and how hard it is. And I got my autographed copy for Iden's birthday. Yippee. But, no Cerebus. I have to get them online. All told. Nice geek out day. Coming soon......The World's Greatest Candy Bar

Huckleberry is smarter than you.

But that's just because he can read and write. Otherwise? Just another dog.

Definition: Democrats and Republicans.

Ugh, not another political post........
Yeah, I know, everyone does it and they all stink.
I just wanted to toss this in while I'm thinking about it.
What defines a Democrat and a Republican? Well, I mentioned this to a friend's father who used to work in the Johnson Administration, and is now a Republican. When asked what I thought the Dems needed to do to win, this was my reply.

Republicans say this:
"I will respond to your question in a second but first let's understand one thing. You are an ASSHOLE. Got it? Okay. As long as we are on the same page. You're a dick. Now we can talk. Just as long as you realize what a consummate dick you are."

The Democrat version:
"I will respond to your question in a second but first let's understand one thing. You are an ASSHOLE. But, hey. I can be an asshole too. I understand. I know what it's like. We can all be dicks once in a while. So, I UNDERSTAND your pain. Let's talk like adults. And you should jsut relax knowing that I am completely on the same page as you. I, too, have moments when I am a dick. So, let's work together."

Morons.

Oh, yeah, the Johnson guy's reaction? I was dead on.

Nice. So, that makes 2. But I still can't find my keys on a daily basis and if I lose another Bluetooth headset I lose Bluetooth privileges. So, I still suck.

Josh Kelley's Crazy Little Thing called Roy Thomas Baker

While we're on the subject of Queen (and since I promised that there will be no more Queen after I finish with the Concert for Life bs) I wanted to take a second to talk about Josh Kelley's version of the Queen hit, "Crazy Little Thing Called Love". It's featured on all-too-mediocre "Killer Queen" tribute album. (I've already gone on record about how I feel about Tribute albums, the first of which I ever purchased was The Royal Philharmonic plays the Queen collection which I bought on cassette at a little record store on Main St in Bar Harbor, ME, in the early 80's.)
I don't know if Josh did this on purpose, but I am seriously hoping that he did, but his recording of Crazy little thing sounds like it was done by The Cars. Complete with herky-jerky Ocasek-like vocals. It's spectacular. By that, I mean, it totally holds up on its own as a cover but the real treat for someone like me (by that I mean, minutiae oriented, hidden meaning seeking loon) is that Queen's biggest albums were produced by uber-producer Roy Thomas Baker in the 70's. He is famously flamboyant, with his all glass piano that Motley Crue wrote about in their tell all autobiography, The Dirt. Baker also was the early producer on the Cars' first few albums. Now, their biggest hits were produced by Robert "Mutt" Lange, notably responsible for some of the biggest hits in the 80's including Def Leppard (he was played by Anthony Michael Hall in the VH1 TV movie about them and he is married to Shania Twain) but the early sounds of The Cars, that over produced minimalism was created by Baker.
Kelley's version, ergo, sounds like it was how Crazy Little Thing would have sounded if The Cars, produced by RTB, recorded it. Fantastic. It's also interesting to note that Queen's version was produced by the band and Mack and would have sounded infintely better had they worked with RTB.
So, Kudos to Josh Kelley.
If you get a chance and/or you are a Queen fan, this track is a must.

Just got an email response from Josh and he confirmed what I thought. So, there ya go. Eventually you gotta be right at least once. This makes 1 out of 1000.

This here was the greatest dog in the world. We miss Snickers. There will never be another dog like her. 

We had a "cookie party" a few weeks ago at the house. Sort of my mother's legacy. (No, she's not dead.) She was always doing some artsy craftsy things with us growing up. It was the early 70's.
So, here is Liz and a neighbor friend, Emma Sullivan, prepping cookies for baking. The Stephanos can be seen in the background and Huck is guarding the door.

The Concert for Life Chapters 15 - 18

The meat of the show.

Chapter 15
Annie Lennox & David Bowie
Under Pressure

Finally. The concert becomes the festival we knew it would and could be. But, not before we realize that not even Annie Lennox can imitate Freddie without sounding pretentious and, kind of ridiculous.
But, Bowie is an old stage hand. He knows what to do with this crowd. This is his milieu. This is his history as well. After all, it's well known that he co-wrote this song in Switzerland with Queen in a jam they had one cold, blustery winter afternoon (it might not have been cold, it may not have even been winter, but we can all dream).
Annie is so beautiful DESPITE the bjorklike metallic top and raccoon eye makeup. And this song is an anthem. Really the last breath for Queen. So important that they had to put it on "Hot Space" because that album was so bad it couldn't have sold 10 copies to non queen fans without it.
And remember that video? Just clips? That crazy girl behind the chain link fence in the halter top wriggling to the (completely different) beat? Where is she now? Do you think she pulls out that video and shows it to her children or friends? I hope so.
There is something about Bowie in this concert. He completely usurps the stage for the better part of a half hour. But, it's all with an air of respect. He is the only one who knows how to ride the fine line of sentimentality and pomposity. And the director knows how to shoot him from just the waist up while Dave's doing that ridiculous finger snap dance we all remember from the "Dancing in the Streets" video with Mick Jagger.
Everything was amateur hour until this. NOW it's a tribute concert.

Chapter 16
David Bowie/Mick Ronson/Queen & Ian Hunter
All the Young Dudes

"This is where the fun stops!", Bowie exclaims, putting on his saxophone (Which we can never hear in the mix and I'm not sure that's a bad thing.) I have tried to use that line over and over on stage and to be sure, it only sounds like I am, not self deprecating, but, rather, lacking in self esteem and humor. But, Bowie pulls it off.
"At the end of the 60's we were left with the legacy of quite wonderful bands like Zeppelin, The Beatles, Rolling Stones. And then came the 70's with it's new, unstoppable crop; T-Rex, Roxy Music, Queen, Spiders from Mars (nice plug, Dave) and the Rolling Stones. We all used to play the same dance halls, theaters, play the same clubs, try not to wear the same clothes. We slept with a lot of the same people, I think. But, uh, one of the major rockingest bands of that time was called Mott the Hoople."
And with that, Bowie encapsulated the entire history of glam rock.
See, Bowie wrote All The Young Dudes for Mott; their supporting tour of Mott was Queen's first foray into arena rock and big tours, it was all very incestuous and it seemed to have it's ignition with that band.
I've never cared for Mott the Hoople. I enjoyed that Queen name dropped them in their song "Now I'm Here" ("down in the city just Hoople and me").I never listened to their albums all the way through. I probably should have. I think I would like them.
But this is a momentous moment the history of was probably lost on the MTV "intelligentsia".
When Ian Hunter comes out to sing and play (with Mick Ronson, apparently patching up whatever bad vibes he and Bowie had up to that time), it's a weird piece of rock and roll history. I doubt anyone programming any other concert would have booked this act. They wouldn't know about it. It was so underground. "All the Young Dudes" doesn't get a lot of airplay, who plays Mott the Hoople? If you mention their name now (or 14 years ago) you're still met with a quizzical stare from most people.
And this song....well, today's programmers would definitely cut away from this. It's not well known enough.
This is an All-Star jam of misfits and they bring it. Even Joe Elliot and Phil Collen on backups add the perfect amount of respect to a bunch of guys who were responsible for so much and went down anonymously in history's record books.

Chapter 17
David Bowie
Heroes

So, with some brief words that seem to be a short hand of some language, an e-bow and a good time party feel, it's time for "Heroes".
"Heroes" is the perfect anthem for this show. The concert is about Aids. It's about gays (even though that word is NEVER mentioned). This is a show paying tribute to a hero of the Glam Rock era and this is one of the best glam songs of all time.
And, somehow, somehow, Bowie manages to do one of his own songs, and never make the show about him.
Does it matter that the e-bow playing kind of sucks? That the backups are mediocre? No. Because it's about more than the musicianship here. No one is selling records. They have something to say.
This is also the last time the three remaining members of Queen will ever play together on a stage like this and you know what? They know it. And they are playing like they know it.
It's a grand song.

Chapter 18
David Bowie
The Lord's Prayer

Not letting "Heroes" resolve, Bowie reminds us just why we are watching this concert. Without reprimanding us, without scaring us, he offers us the best he can come up with. He gets on one knee. The stadium gets quiet. And he recites the Lord's Prayer. And I get chills EVERY. FUCKING. TIME. I. SEE. IT.
Amen.
"God Bless Queen. God Bless You."
Well done, Dave.

The Concert for Life Chapters 10 - 14

It has come to my attention that this blog has been a little Queen heavy. I agree. Once this review of The Concert For Life is over you shan't be reading much about Queen for a long while.
Let's continue.

Chapter 10
James Hetfield
Stone Cold Crazy

In the early 90's Elektra records put out a compilation CD called "Rabaiyat", featuring contemporary Elektra artists covering songs by "classic" Elektra artists. I was not much for tribute albums (except for the occasional String Quartet tribute, which is just ridiculous and fun, but mostly ridiculous), so I never got it.
But I had heard Metallica's version of "Stone Cold Crazy", a song which first appeared on Queen's "Sheer Heart Attack" album in 1974. Interestingly, it is one of the first (if not THE first) and few songs credited to the entire band. What does this mean? Absolutely nothing except that future songs that were written by the entire band like, "One Vision" and "Under Pressure" (with David Bowie) pale in comparison.
"Stone Cold" is a tight, taut, predecessor to speed metal, recorded at breakneck speed, it was a perfect match for Metallica. I always found it weird that Hetfield would sing it with the band without Kirk Hammet since Hammet was the self described Queen fan in that band. But, Hetfield is fantastic and the band, while almost not able to keep up with each other, rises to the challenge.
Instead of Freddie-esque "yeahs" and such we are treated to intermittent Hetfield growls and his voice sounds like the rapists in the movie "Boys Don't Cry" act. A perfect match. And he gets away with a couple "fuck"s in the song.
Awesome.

Chapter 11
Robert Plant
Innuendo

Okay. I've never been a Led Zeppelin fan. In the battle between Queen and Zep it was ALWAYS cooler to be a Zep fan, I know that. And Chuck Klosterman accurately depicts why Zeppelin will always be an important band for any young man in his book "Killing Yourself to Live", I recommend that book highly. And you would think that Plant would be the perfect match for "Innuendo" which marked Queen's return to medieval-quasi rock. But, he just isn't up to the task. It's interesting to note that Zep were one of the few bands to withhold their performance from the "Live Aid" release last year. He just can't power rock like he wants to.
But, then there's the breakdown. The band gets quiet and he can suddenly sing. And the lead solo (which was recorded by, I believe Steve Howe for the recording) is just shredded by Brian. And when the band comes back to that plodding melody, Plant has suddenly returned to form.
Visually, it is still important for me to remind you all that the director isn't just cutting away every 2 seconds. We linger. On vocalists. Lead guitarists. Even the bassist gets a few seconds of air time. Dammit, I'm not just pining for something from the past with a "Oh, it was better in my day" bullshit. It really was.
Queen was also about giving the people what they want. And what they wanted, but probably didn't know it, and weren't expecting it, was a taste of Zeppelin. It might be Kashmir, I don't know. I don't care, I really am not a Zep fan.....But, it's really nice when they blast into...

Chapter 12
Robert Plant
Crazy Little Thing Called Love

Oh, poor Plant. Robert. Robert! The Honeydrippers were fun, but it wasn't really any good and you are not Elvis! So, why? WHY?? Why is Plant given the task of singing one of Queen's biggest, most popular, singalongs?
Oh, I'm not gonna fight it. You really can't kill this song. Dwight Yoakum couldn't kill it. Michel Buble couldn't kill it. Brian Setzer couldn't kill it. It's a testament not to Queen, but to the power and longevity of the three chord song. It's a classic 1-4-5, by a band that were so earnest in their desire to please. When they had written this, Queen hadn't totally figured out how to sell out. Yet.
And what this performance shows is just how great a drummer Roger Taylor really is, was...whatever.

Chapter 13
Seal
Who Wants to Live Forever?

Queen used to point out on their early records that there were "no synthesizers" used on their albums. Throttle Back Sparky paid homage to them on our CD (check out the back cover).
But, this song was always kind of weird for me. First off, it's 75% synthesizer and it didn't need to be. Feels like a cop out. Secondly, Queen did the music for "Flash Gordon". Hawkman would dive into battle shouting "Who wants to live forever!?!?". So, is THAT where Brian got the inspiration for the song? And the song was recorded for the album "A Kind of Magic" which was SUPPOSED to be the soundtrack album for the movie "Highlander". I can't recall if this song was used in that movie but it fits, obviously. So, it might be the first time a song recorded by a band for one movie was inspired by a line of dialogue in another movie the same band did the soundtrack for.
Whew.
It also fits as a tribute to Freddie's memory. So, it's fine.
Oh, yeah, Seal sings it here. I think the words, "Pitchy", "Sharp", "Got away from you" are the words we would use for that today.
But, it's a fine intro to the mid-point high-points of the show.
But first, a ditty....

Chapter 14
Lisa Stansfield
I Want to Break Free

Remember Lisa Stansfield? Yeah, me neither. I mean, she had a hit, right? In England I think she's a superstar, but to me she's just another resident of the "Where are they now?" file.
But, she comes out, in discowear, her hair in curlers, pushing a vacuum, which is great because this is the song that killed Queen in the States.
This is the one where they appeared as characters in a British TV show, but they were all women. (And then Freddie slid around like a serpent for no reason at all). Remember? John was dowdy and old? Brian looked like your ugly, older sister? Freddie was....well.....Freddie. I think it Roger Taylor that caused all the furor. From behind Roger was hot. When he turned around, all trailer trashy, I think American guys got confused and couldn't hack the fact that they were turned on by a dude.
The song was okay. A big hit that no one really cares about, a ditty, a throwaway. Lisa did fine.

The Concert for Life Chapters 5 - 9 The continuing review of The Freddie Mercury Tribute Concert

Recently I transferred old VHS tapes of this concert to DVD. Thought I would watch and blog at the same time. The review continues......

Chapter 5
Spinal Tap
The Majesty of Rock

A rolling red carpet. A sense of import. Who's that? Why, it's Bob Geldof. Looking all Geldof-y, with his flower print jacket and his sunglasses. Is he a "sir" yet? I can't remember.

Nigel Tufnel is wearing some sort of weird green Spiderman spandex jumpsuit. Why?I don't know. Is it funny? I guess. By '92 I feel like Tap had worn out the joke. A brilliant joke, but, ten years old.
This is really the first time the show shows signs that it could suck. Spinal Tap is fabulously appropriate inasmuch as Freddie and Queen never really took themselves too seriously. Emo was not on this band's hit parade. They wrote songs that were fun to sing, theatrical and pompous to the point of ridicule. And "The Majesty of Rock" is a great tune for Tap to do at this venue, but, they aren’t a real band, they're a joke. The drummer comes in at the wrong time, the musicianship is mediocre for much of it. But it’s a joke. Okay. I get it. Ha ha ha ha. A laugh. It’s the Majesty of Rock.

When I was in college I read, it must have been in The Village Voice, that Spinal Tap was going to play CBGB’s. My dorm was about 6 blocks or so away. And I went. Alone. I don't know why. I had a tendency to do that. Movies are fun that way as well. Alone on a Wednesday afternoon.....good times. (Actually, as John notes, I wasn't alone. I went with my roommate. With a memory like mine, I'm not sure how much of this blog should really be trusted........he he he) In a crowded CBGB, packed about halfway to the front, like lemmings, I remember that we chanted “Tap Tap Tap!” Now, this could be true or it could be fabricated memory. And then they came out, played for about 20 minutes and it was over. And I think not a few of us complained. Had it not been SPINAL TAP I would have probably forgotten that I had ever seen them. Unmemorable. Save for the novelty. But I do get to say I saw Spinal Tap live and people seem impressed.

Chapter 6
Queen & Joe Elliot & Slash

Tie Your Mother Down

Brian actually starts singing this one. Why not, he wrote it. And he gets to use the opportunity to prove why he wasn’t the lead singer of this rock band. His thin, almost reedy voice sounds like Lindsay Buckingham without confidence. But he did compose “Tie Your Mother Down” (which the band made sure we knew was “sheer bloody poetry” according to the Times as written in the liners for "A Day at the Races") so, it’s fitting that he should sing at some point.

This is the part of the show where they started flip flopping between Queen and the opening acts. Fucking MTV.

Ffor the second verse Joe Elliot comes out, joined by Slash and they really rip it up. If Joe Elliot and Leppard went to school on Queen and arena rock, the students had definitely become masters.
And Slash. Good old Slashy. Ex-punk rocker, hair in the face, Shirtless, with a body that suggests that he works out, but that he drinks just enough to start getting pudgy, ciggy dangling from his mouth, he is the epitome of rock star. I miss G nR.

Chapter 7
Roger Daltrey
I Want it All

Okay, so when did Tommy Iommi show up? Suddenly he's there. Looking bored. Looking like some session guy who showed up to complement Brian's guitar playing. Like a biker in a gay bar showed up, popped some barbituates and startedplaying.

And why do this song? The great thing about Queen was the way they were so seasoned by playing so many concerts. But this song was from “The Miracle”. And the band pretty much thought Freddie was gonna die by the time this came out. They didn't tour this number.

Okay, I digress. It’s not my favorite song but The Miracle was a big hit in England in 1988-89. I think it sold 8 copies here. Side note about The Miracle: Even though it sold so incredibly poorly here, it had some 5 or so top 5 hits in England. It was a monster of sorts. But that doesn't mean you should ever listen to it, let alone buy it. Cause it kinda sucks. A lot.

Okay back to the show.
By 1992 Roger Daltrey was a shadow of the singer he might have been with The Who. By 1992 The Who had ceased to matter, not just because the drummer drank himself to a vomitous death. But, because, really, after Tommy, did The Who matter? Who can remember "Quadrophenia"? Anyone? Bueller? What we DO remember about Quadrophenia is that Sting was in the movie. And that's about it. And Pete Townshend's solo album "All the Best Cowboys have Chinese Eyes" had 2 good songs, tops. I always thought Daltrey was more attitude and pomp than voice. Here is a guy with no rhythm, no real tone to his voice, and when he tries to belt………oy……Randy Jackson would have been all “it wasn’t even a’ight for me.” Hell, I don’t think Paula Abdul could have found something nice to say about Daltrey’s voice. But he can swing a mike. And, as a singer, lemme tell ya, that tape is there for a reason.

And is that? Why yes, it is…..Samantha Fox in the background singing backups.

But this is a track you are just happy when it’s over. Even Tommy looks bored.

Chapter 8
Def Leppard
Now I’m Here

Oh, yeah, okay, MTV, got it, it’s the afternoon again.

Hey, Joe Elliot, how do you sing and chew gum at the same time? All while wearing ripped up jeans and sporting some wildly teased bleached blond tresses. That's a star.

And this is a classic Queen song. From “Sheer Heart Attack”, this is a song you could have only known if you were a Queen fan.
Here’s what Leppard knew that Extreme didn’t: To do a Queen song you have to, HAVE TO, do a song that sounds like it could be dropped into your own set. Leppard could have covered “Now I’m Here” and it would have been a radio hit. And they did with a one armed drummer. Genius.
Side note: I saw Ozzy Osbourne at the Bangor State Fair in 1980 (or 81) for his Blizzard of Ozz tour. Peter Daher and I got there about 7 hours early and we ended up 1 person from the front of the stage. This was my first real concert.
Def Leppard opened for Ozzy and they were fantastic. I had no idea who they were, and I never bought a Leppard album, but they were great.
And here they were, 10 years later, one of the biggest bands in the world, playing an epic anthem with Brian May to one of the biggest audiences in the world and rocking the house like they do it every day.

Chapter 9
Queen + Gary Cherone
Hammer to Fall

The lucky boy who got invited to the dance. Tapping his saddle shoes, crouching every chance he can, wiggling his ass in those zoot suit slacks, and growling out the Queen Classic from “The Works”, Cherone is like a stripper who gets invited to the prom. She doesn’t mean to ruin the night, but she only knows how to dance one way.
But, he can move. How did he not end up in “FX”?

The Works was a sad album. It is only mildly better than the follow up, "A Kind of Magic", which sucked. "The Works" sounded like what I imagine it was: leftover songs from the Queen catalog.
Hey, I loved Queen. I could listen to them every day. Last year I programmed my iPod to play every single Queen album from beginning to end, in order, and I would do it again. And, yes, even “Made in Heaven”.
But, The Works just felt like crap. It contained Roger Taylor’s first big hit and right there it was obvious what Queen was all about, selling, baby. So, he wrote “Radio Ca Ca”, in his inimitably cynical style. (Have you ever heard “Fun in Space”, the first Roger Taylor solo albums? It’s quirky, snarky and great. Completely unlike his follow up, “Strange Frontiers”, which was all but unlistenable) And he changed the name of the song and the entire concept from an anti radio blast to “Radio Ga Ga”. Like Radio is still in it’s infancy. Ha! Couldn’t have been more wrong. (I do like Electric Six’s cover of the song on their new release, “Senor Smoke”)
Then there’s that song, “Keep Passing the Open Windows”, which is a phrase out of John Irving’s novel, “The Hotel New Hampshire”. Was Queen originally hired to write songs for that movie? Yes. Were they rejected? Apparently. Did some of them end up on “The Works? Obviously. Does it suck? Hard.
And there’s, “Man on the Prowl” with Freddie obviously thinking, “Well, rockabilly worked once, let’s try it again”, but with Fred Mandel on piano and the song being just, well, tired, it feels like everything else on The Works.
But, that’s what made Queen cool in a way. They signed a new deal switching from Elektra to Capitol. They tossed in a bunch of leftovers. Called it “The Works”, slapped a new wave-y picture on the cover, got paid and never had another hit in the states. A 'new" hit, that is.
Leaving fans like myself up for ridicule, we wouldn’t be vindicated until “Wayne’s World” put Bohemian Rhapsody back on the charts and the Olympics in Spain used Freddie’s Operatic Anthem, “Barcelona” as the title song.
And, with that, suddenly everyone was a Queen fan.
It’s weird to be in the mainstream. Maybe everyone is an Adam Ant fan too now.

Headshot circa 2006
14 years later.
I think I look better now.

Headshot circa 1992
The Year of Concert for Life

The Concert for Life chapters 1-4

In 1991, Freddie Mercury died of Aids. My brother and I spent a long time on the phone discussing the hidden meanings in songs on their last album, "Innuendo". Songs like "Innuendo" and "The Hitman" seemed to say, guess what?" I have Aids.
At the time I remember thinking, wow, Queen totally fucked Disney. The mouse had paid a boatload of cash for the back catalog and future records and then, blam, no future records. (Except for live albums, and although they were one of the greatest live acts of the rock era, they kinda sucked live on CD)
For me the Mouse fucking brings up a question: John Deacon was, legend has it, the accountant for the band. Did he construct this deal? Was he really the evil, corporate masterming behind the Queen Machine??
In 1992, Brian May, Roger Taylor and Mr. Deacon put on a huge concert with proceeds going to Aids research to celebrate the life and music of Farookh Bulsara. The concert was held at Wembley Stadium. And broadcast on a Saturday afternoon. I spent the day at home caring for pigs (another story) and recording the concert on a pair of VHS tapes. Fox ran a truncated version of it a few nights later, but MTV ran pretty much the whole thing.
It was recently released on DVD, but rather than buy it, I spent the better part of last night transferring it from VHS to DVD on my new recorder. (DVD recorders are a whole nother story. Which discs are better? DVD +R? DVD -R? DVD +RW? DVD -RW? ugh.......)
I figured now might be a good time to play the show, in it's entirety, watch it and simultaneously review it here.

Time gives great perspective. Beth and I watched a broadcast of Green Day's new live concert DVD on Fuse recently and it gave us a headache. So did Live 8. It was almost impossible to watch. Unless you get off on sweeping shots of the audience, because 21st century live concert directors seem to think that's what the audience wants to see. When the singer is singing, for some reason directors are generally cutting away furiously.
It's kind of crazy. I imagine the director in the booth just shouting out, willy nilly, "1! 4! 3! 2! 1!" without even watching. Maybe they are on speed. Maybe they think we are on speed.
Nevertheless, it is very hard to watch concerts on TV. And forget Saturday Night Live. Beth McCarthy should be arrested for what she does to musicians on that show. The mix is always bad. The lead vocals sound like they are blasting through the one good PA and the rest of the band is just hoping to be heard. Add to that that these bands have little or no experience playing to live audiences, or they have no stage presence or no sense of HOW to put on a show, that they have become almost unwatchable.
It's possible that the Concert For Life was the last time music on television was entertaining.
Before we begin I also need to say that the biggest obstacle that I had in editing this was trying to eliminate as much of John Norris as humanly possible. We used to call him "Poodle Boy". Just how and why is he still on MTV after all these years?

Let's begin.

Chapter 1.

Brian, Roger and John intro the festivities.

It really looks like everyone was having a great time. Brian seems to really want to put on a show for his dead good friend. So does Roger. And then they even let John Deacon speak. Now, not only is it the first time I have ever heard John Deacon speak onstage, but thankfully it is the last. But, see, this is something that Queen understood. Not just the drama of it, but the sheer irony and brilliance. We KNOW that John doesn't speak. So, of COURSE give him the first intro of the day. Bloody brilliant. For the rest of the concert, Brian would be a star, mingling with the Slashes, Elliots, Iommis and Ronsons like the "Guv'nor" Jeff Beck once referred to him as. Roger would be seen smashing his drums, with the enthusiasm of a teenager and the season of a professional. But for all we know, Deacon might be out buying donuts; he is virtually invisible. But they knew that. Smart guys.

Chapter 2.

Metallica - Enter Sandman

This was one of the, if not THE, biggest albums of that year. Remember the Black Album? And this was one of the biggest songs. It's STILL the theme song to the Tom Leykis Show and it still sounds fresh. Remember when Metallica was huge? I was never a Metallica fan. But I had that album. I loved it for a lot of reasons but mainly cause there was a lead guitar pass of a Leonard Bernstein riff from West Side Story on a track deep into the album.

What a great way to get they crowd pumped.

Metallica was a logical heir to the Stadium Rock throne. Even though they mined that "We are evil, listen to my growly voice" idiom extremely well, they knew how to put on a show. Ulrich is just punishing the drums and Hammet is flying all over the stage playing those tasty licks.

But, how is it possible that I am looking at James Hetfield sing with no cutaway for at least 28 seconds? Oh, that's right, it's the Bruce Lee school of filmmaking. For those of you who don't know, Bruce always made sure he was shown in full body shots. Like Fred Astaire before him. He knew the power of showing the performance. Show the performance, not the closeup.

Metallica rocked that show and it still holds up.

Chapter 3.

Extreme - Queen Medley

Gary Cherone. Oy. Is he a rocker or a auditioning for the chorus of Guys and Dolls? Tight wife beater black t-shirt, billowy zoot suit slacks and saddle shoes. Saddle shoes???

Kudos for opening with "Mustapaha", though, that way they could open the show by saying, "yeah, we're real Queen fans." What better way than to open than with the obscure opening track from 1979's "Jazz", a song which is sung in Arabic? (The only song in another language to which I know all the words.)

I look over and watch Gary sing for a while. The camera follows him and we get to see the bassist for more than 2 seconds. When the camera pans the audience, it's obvious they have a crane, but it's for flavor, it doesn't determine the choice of shots.

"Keep Yourself Alive" into "I want to Break Free". Queen's first hit and the track whose video knocked them out of American TV forever. Four guys dress up as female characters in a British TV Show, Amercians don't get the joke, assume it's a tranny theme, raise their pre-brokeback anti-gay hackles and turn their back on the band forever. They use the break in the song to go into beautiful 4 part harmony of "Fat Bottomed Girls" then right into a verse from "Bicycle Race". Watching this it's apparent. Gary Cherone could have been the heir to Freddie's throne. He learned (copped) everything from him, obviously, but, he just doesn't have the voice. He can't really sing. There is some growling but he doesn't have a voice that fits into any rock genre AND he can't hold a note. Into "Another One Bites the Dust". Gary shouts a few "alrights" and "Do it!"s which are right out of the Mercury-live-performance catalog.

I never listened to all of "Pornograffiti", but I remember 2 things; 1. "More than Words" was huge. And 2. That song sunk the band since that was anomolous to everything else they ever did.

The drummer, would go on to manage bands like Staind.......

A lead riff I recognize but can't place. It's a showcase for Nuno Bettencourt. Nuno is a good looking man. What happened here? This band should have been huger.

"Stone Cold Crazy". Gary's thunder would be stolen later when Hetfield did with Brian and the boys. Then just a "Hey Yo!" section. I actually tried this in concert once. It's hard. Not the notes. It's just hard to get the audience to sing back to you and not sound like an idiot. Freddie was a genius at this. Gary does adequate justice to Fred's memory. It reminds everyone why we were there in the first place. Into "Radio Gaga." I am struck by how few songs of Freddie's they are actually busting out. They're not just doing hits. They must be trying to spread the joy.

As good as they are, it's a weird and indulgent thing to come out second and spew an 9+ minute Queen Medley. But, the boys seem to love being there and most importantly they are having a ton of fun. Playing to a crowd of 100,000 can't be easy and they are doing it like pros. Nice to end it with the Coda from BoRhap.

Chapter 4

Gary Cherone/Nuno Bettencourt

Love of my Life/More than Words

The girl I was dating at the time of this wanted to put Nuno on her "list". It's hard for me to watch it for that reason.

Of course, Extreme had to do their hit. "More than Words" was a monster in '91. And what a nice tribute to incorporate it into a Queen song and make it a suite.

This is also the first time we see the Freddie Lookalike in the audience, who will pop up over and over. Because he's way up front AND he is sitting on someone's shoulders.

My question is....HOW???? He is always in the air. It seems like the whole show.

I put my 60 pound daughter on my shoulders and I want to pass out after 5 minutes.

So, what do we learn from this? Gary Cherone, besides having a face like a horse, a huge forehead and is wearing Saddle shoes really isn't that great a singer, but could play that crowd and Nuno was as great a guitarist as he was hot.

And he was hot.

Dammit.