Me And MeTV

I have satellite TV, and with the endless channels that are promised me, very little of interest to me comes flying out of my set. Oh, I have something like 150 channels!!! I can go all over the world directly from my DIRECTV. I can see pool tournaments from England, a game that defies logic from Australia, tens of thousands of childrens channels with cartoons that really benefit a guy like me without children. And, the reality shows. ''Reality'', my ass. Some backwoods people who have never seen a shower---- or, a dentist--- playing the fool for the camera. Pawn brokers, bikers [ well, people pretending to be bikers. I have biker friends and these dudes on TV are NOT bikers], endless specials about the Third Reich, and bad movies and bad sitcoms are the highlights of being a DIRECTV customer. A car ride through the entertainment field. It gets me carsick....... So, at the end of going around the channels and checking the guide about which rerun of some forgettable show that is playing, I end up ''going home'', as it were. To the comfort and familiar land of ''MeTV''....... I was talking to a good friend of mine, the Lovely Laureen, the other night. She, too, is afflicted with cable and the dead-ends that are for your choosing. Finally, we concluded, that the best in entertainment on cold, miserable winter nights is the retreat into the programs we loved as children. For a certain age group, we remember the glory days of pre-cable, pre-recorded, and pre-Internet life. The days of just the Big Three Networks, CBS, NBC, and ABC. Well, PBS also, but that was just for kids programs like ''Sesame Street''. The days when all of the country was watching basically the same programs at the same time and talked about what you have seen at school the next day. We had the shows like on ABC: ''Happy Days'', ''Three's Company'', ''Soap'' [ remember, when Burt thought he was invisible?], ''Barney Miller'', ''The ABC Sunday Night Movie''. The golden night of Saturday night when CBS had the best shows on TV in order: ''All In The Family'', ''M*A*S*H*'', ''The Mary Tyler Moore Show'', ''The Bob Newhart Show'', and ''The Carol Burnett Show''. NBC had the original ''Saturday Night Live'' and shows like ''Quincy'', ''The Rockford Files'', ''Diff'rent Strokes'', and ''The Dean Martin Show''. The mini-series like, ''Rich Man, Poor Man'', and ''Roots.'' All of these shows, which, I grant you, ran the scale of quality from very strong to very weak, just seemed to feel right. You watched these shows with your family, around one TV [ usually, the only color TV in the home]. My parents would be each taking one of the small couches that we had in the TV room. My sister, Lisa,  would be sharing the couch, usually with my Dad. Brother Tommy would be sprawled out next to Mom, while I was lying on the floor holding our dogs. The weather would be cold out but the atmosphere in the room would be warm with family love. We were with each other during this special period, a short and wonderful time. And, the TV shows we watched would become a part of our shared memories....... That is what is missing most from today's world of viewing. That shared sense of comfort of viewing as a family. Check out a family watching TV nowadays. Chances are everyone in the room--- if, you can gather everyone in one room--- wants to watch what they want. And, if they can't watch it here, they will go to the Internet or their phone. And, the whole idea of a family sitting down to watch something as a Family Unit is lost. Everyone has created their own world and the world of family enjoyment is crumbling......... Somehow, MeTV brings a little spirit of those long-ago times to life for me. I remember episodes of my favorite shows like the back of my hand [ Ralph and Norton learning golf--- ''Hello, ball!'' Rob and Laura dancing and singing in the living room. Archie and the Meathead arguing politics, etc]. I remember lines of dialogue and the jokes that will be there. And, it doesn't get old to me, quite the opposite. Seeing those old shows is like listening to a favorite song that you have heard thousands of times but still sing along to. These shows are as comforting as putting on a pair of comfy shoes. I take these shows as personal satisfaction, reviving long-ago times, like a good photo album. In my minds eye, I am the age of the shows when they were first broadcast......... I believe that is why I never have embraced modern TV shows. They don't seem to be of interest to me. It all seems sterile and lifeless, as if they are going through the motions just so they can sell the show to syndication. Watching a comedy show now can be a very depressing experience to me. Not only do I not find the shows funny but I have noticed a strange trend of ''comedy'' shows not to have an audience to get reaction from. It is all deadpan, shaky camera acting. You need an audience to add to the laughter. Check out the audience laughter on ''The Dick Van Dyke Show''. There were strong, hearty laughs coming over the audience bleachers directly into the viewing home. Those laughs weren't ''sweetened'' like a lot of subsequent shows [ think, ''Seinfeld'' and ''Friends'' ]. The performers would wait until the laughs subsided before continuing the scene. Instead of ''sweetening'' the laughs, these classic shows would have to edit the long laughs down so it could fit into twenty two minutes. The best example of this was the famous episode of ''All In The Family'' when Sammy Davis Jr. kissed Archie. That particular laugh lasted ten minutes. It had to be cut down to less than thirty seconds to fit into the program. Compare that with the deadness of a show like ''Modern Family''. I know many people who like this show but it has a ''look-how-hip-and-cool-we-are'' self-consciousness to it. It may get laughs from its viewers but I'm betting those laughs are mere titters when put up against something Ted Knight did on Mary's show......... I realize comparing the past with the present can be exercise in futility. We live in different times, harsher times, than what came before. The family unit, what there is of it, is scattered about. The times of snuggling next to your parents are in the misty rear view mirror in life. But, they can be revisited in a small way. It is just for a short-time and it requires the willing participation of your mind. The channel is there to take you back a little, when all of life seemed simpler and uncomplicated. MeTV exists for those watching in the present to take a trip back into the past. Enjoy the nostalgia...... Come and knock on their door. They've been waiting for you........

Closing In On Cosby

The accusations keep coming fast and furious. And, with each one comes a little bit more reality, an acceptance that he may be guilty. Bill Cosby is in trouble...... That an entertainer is unfaithful is as old as the beard on Moses's face. And, a public person, who bases his whole persona on being wholesome is also not new [ think Kevin Costner, Cal Ripkin Jr., Garth Brooks]. So, why do we care? Well, for the simple fact that his alleged womanizing---- which has dogged him for his whole career--- now is about unconsented sex. According to many of the victims, Cosby regularly had the M.O. of drugging a pretty woman's drink with some kind of sleep inducing pill, undressing her, and while she was in a state less than coherent, he would have his way with her. For Cosby, it seemed to be a fairly regular procedure. Sex with a weak woman. We have a name for this. It is called rape....... What really happened, who did what to whom, is only known between the two parties. More and more women are coming forward as the days go on. Now, some might be lying. It is not unusual for some sick individuals to jump on the bandwagon of someone's suffering [ think Ferguson, Missouri] and try to scam a couple of bucks off the charges. So, some can and will be discounted. But, what about the rest? There are some of these women who are firm in the position: he drugged and raped them........ For now, that is all we have on this story. As of this writing, no official charges have been filed. I'm sure Cosby's lawyers are pressuring to have some of these women go away, either through money transactions, or good, old strong-armed tactics. Whatever will happen, Bill Cosby will never be clean again...... Which, in a way, is good. I have always believed that a public person, especially, a celebrity in the unreal world of Hollywood, should never be thought of as a role model. That position of influence should be for parents, teachers, successful family people, the famous who have changed history for the better. Not some goof who opens a film at $200 million at the box office, or, someone who can hit a basket at fifty feet. Admire and be inspired by the everyday person who goes to work and slugs it out with the often cruel world and achieves a noble dignity. Not someone who sells jello pudding....... But, there is a bit of heavy heart in the seedy fall of Bill Cosby. He was a comfortable presence in our lives for many years. A gentle commentator of our times. He spoke of the family unit and the foibles that greet us in our everyday lives. His early comedy records were pure genius, mixing comedy routines with human observations. He had a string of successful TV series, with his ultimate achievement being ''The Cosby Show'', which was required viewing every Thursday night. He has the imp smile of a cuddly father, the loyalty of a personal friend, and the persona of a good guy. And, in recent years, he has taken a courageous stand speaking of the problems and dangers in the black community. Bill Cosby has faced heavy criticism from the community for being out of touch and a sell-out for daring to speak the truth of the collapse of the home life for black people and for not advancing as much in the world as they should be. These words, which are the truth, branded him a traitor, someone who was bitter and an ''Uncle Tom''. Of course, his critics did not hear the real words, as most critics do not. Between his often harsh words of criticism was the painful feeling of someone who took pride in being black and working damn hard to achieve that success in life. Success was not handed to Bill Cosby, he went after it, true ambition. Cosby preached the talk of family union and surviving the obstacles to advance in life. For this, he was shamed......... And, now, we have the charges that are growing louder. First and foremost, let us hope that they are false. Not necessary for Cosby but lets hope that no women were ever raped. But, if they are true, he should be prosecuted, despite his position in life and powerful lawyers who find the easy plea bargain. However, we should hear the full story without the all-too-familiar human deficiency of judging someone as guilty before they have been proven to be guilty. Much more of this case must be viewed. I will leave this blog entry incomplete until we hear this evidence.........

Somewhere, In Ferguson, Missouri......

Somewhere, in Ferguson, Missouri...... There is a little child looking at the ruins of her home. It might not have been the nicest of homes, certainly, no palace, but it had all of the hallmarks of being called a home. It had love and safety, in a world not always filled with love and safety. But, for some reason that the child did not comprehend, it has all been taken away in less than a few hours. Some strangers came around the neighborhood and torched the carefully kept home. Now, it was no more for the child. All of the toys and instruments for a successful childhood were wiped away in a way the child would never understand. With Thanksgiving approaching, a time of celebration of the people you love, the child was out in the cold. One more victim...... Somewhere, in Ferguson, Missouri...... The store owner could only stare. He had been a child of the streets, when real poverty was a constant and unwelcome companion. There were nights when he would go to sleep without eating, a nagging, hurtful pain dug into his stomach. But, he had survived the mean streets and slowly pulled himself up. He went to school and got an education. He came back sort of a conquering hero, the local boy made good. And, he was determined to reward his upbringing. He would be there for the neighborhood. He opened his store years ago. A small grocery store, nothing major, and, certainly, nothing to compete with the big titans. No, the store owner was for the little man stuck down, way down, in life. His prices were reasonable. He hired the local youth to give them something to hold their heads high about.  And, for years he made good. The neighborhood needed him and he needed them. Then, the riot started and in mere minutes it was all gone. His beloved store. The neighborhood he had caressed with his feelings turned against him and burned it down. Everything, his whole life, gone up in flames. The man sat by the ruins. His head was in his hands. Another victim....... Somewhere, in Ferguson, Missouri...... The police officer watched it all through fear. She knew that the police should always show strength and courage. And, she did. She was proud of being a police officer. The fact that she served a community that, at times, did not appreciate her putting her life on the line everyday made her sad, but, also made her determined. She had the dream of turning the resentment into acceptance. She picked the heavily crime ridden area of Ferguson. She saw the faces of those that considered her an intruder, the real enemy. However, she shrugged it off. She had fond feelings for the residents, most just wanted to live in peace and quiet. They were fed up with crime. That was the True Enemy. The residents grew to grudgingly accept her presence in the area. She felt that she had made real progress and helped save lives. Maybe, on her most hopeful of days, the tide of racial misunderstanding and stereotypes were finally receding. Then, she saw the rioting. The burning police cars. The store owner pleading for his store to not get torched. The little child in the streets watching with big eyes as her home was torched. And, the police officer saw the faces of those around her, the people who she had sworn to protect. She saw hate in some eyes but mostly, the look of those who were weary of the racial battle. She bowed her head and wept her grief. Another victim........ Somewhere, in Ferguson, Missouri..... The rioter saw another target. It was a TV store. He wanted as much as he could possibly get because it was open season right now. Many hundreds, perhaps, thousands, were all around him playing the riot game. Self-interest and violent feelings disguised as ''making a statement''. He did not know Michael Brown, could not have cared a shit what happened to him. But, a few self-exploiting extortionist preachers had told him that violence and intimidation was allowed to express the rage in the community. Use your anger, they said in so many words, to punish the real Devil in life. The rioter, too stupid to use the common sense that God gave a goose, let free his murderous soul and went out looking to hurt. He never realized that he was the true racist as bad as his evil opposite. He was judging skin color instead of content of character. But, even in his most ''rationale'' of moments he would not understand. He was a walking blood machine. And, women and children were not even spared. He had torched the home of the little child, he had torched the store owner. He torched the police car. All done with a gleeful spirit that Hitler would have admired. Hate drove him and he did not know why. And, when he out running in the streets, he saw his fellow citizens spew their hate. Never would he see the light, never would he realize that by doing what he was doing, he was dividing the races even more. His true intention was chaos. He held his head high. Making victims....... Somewhere, in Ferguson, Missouri...... There is the fading spirit of hope. Hope for a better world. Hope for children to live safe and adults to live in harmony. Hope for understanding. Hope for a saner society from everyone. These feelings echo around the world. The circle of destruction just closed in again on the world. The circle of madness and hate is getting stronger and stronger...... And, we are all victims.......

Childhoods Never Die

Strange, how you sit and watch one of your generation being eulogized. Sure, you feel the obvious sadness of losing someone forever that you held fondness for. But, the old nagging adage about how ''we are too young to go to funerals'' does apply to everyone at some point....... I just came back from a memorial service for a kid I once knew when I was a child. His name was John Roper and he and I are linked by that special town known as Des Plaines, Illinois. Now, I did not have any contact with John since high school, so, I cannot say we were close friends or even friends for thirty years. But, I do remember him with a smile from when we were kids. Because I practice the forgotten art of privacy, I will not disclose what happened to him. He was the same age as me, 48 years old. My memories of him are very warm. I remember a blond haired boy who loved cars and having fun. We kids used to all know each other in the old neighborhood, play ball with each other, and generally goof around a lot in class. He was a good kid, never mean or threatening to anyone. As an adult, I will say this, he encountered problems. And, those problems seemed to increase, by what I have heard. Hindsight is 20/20. Now, I wish I had stayed in contact with him. We have mutual friends. But, it was not to be. I wish him eternal peace in his new home........As I was listening to the service for him, my mind wondered. I thought of our childhoods. Some old neighborhood kids were at the service, including my brothers-in arms-, Rob Lindquist and Rob Steetz. These guys I proudly call my brothers. I would jump in front of a runaway train for these guys [ and, as anyone who grew up in Des Plaines knows, we have plenty of trains rolling through town ]. But, as I said, I also saw friendly faces that I haven't seen for years. My friends from childhood. Albert Einstein Elementary School and Friendship Junior High. We all went through the trenches of school together, we all played ding-dong-ditch and flashtag together. I have made many friends throughout the years as an adult--- and hope to make more--- but, there is something special about the kids you grew up with. There is the neighborhood bond, the cherished memories of when we were all young and the world was open to discovery and dreams. Anything was possible. We were gonna take over the world and remake it for the better. Of course, it did not happen. Reality hits all of us in the face and you deal with the shattered pieces of your dreams and hopes as best as you can. But, whenever I am around these people, I get a little special feeling, a touch back into the magical youth. Maybe, that is why I have never been too excited about high school reunions. While high school was a good time, by and large, it was too big, not like the intimacies that my previous schools had. High school was the first awakening to being a adult. Grammer school and junior high were still the childhood years, the last innocent time. A high school reunion would be ok, but a reunion of kids from my childhood would be ideal. I would run right away to that. I do not believe in living in the past, but, I do like to visit that past at times. And, these people are my time machine......... My concept of Heaven has many images. Naturally, we all will be reunited with our loved ones, forever in eternity. Yes, we will meet God and have all of our answers to life's questions answered. And, there will be the chance to meet all of the people that you always wanted to meet down here but couldn't. I will see Babe Ruth hit a homer. Abraham Lincoln will be giving the Gettysburg Address. Sinatra and the Rat Pack will be holding court at Heaven's Bar, where you can eat and drink as much as you can without having to worry about hangovers and gaining weight. There will be endless parties and good feelings of love......... And, I also believe that Heaven gives you the ability to relive your golden moments that you had on Earth. The joyous Christmas you had when you were ten. The first time you fell in love. Your parents holding you close. Great vacations and the special moments that are gone physically now but are swimming around in your soul. I like to think that those moments will be there for us again when we reach Heaven......... I also like to think that those old neighborhood friends of mine--- most still here but some are gone---- will be there. We will reawaken those old times. A time of not worrying about anything in life except being a kid. Laughing and smiling and no one hurting each other. The purity of a child's heart and their expressions of innocent life. That part of Heaven must exist........ I like to think my old neighborhood friend, John Roper, is in that world now. Someday, we will be joining you, John. Get the flashlights ready for tag.........

Little John

It seemed like such a strange day for the little boy. Something was not right in that big world of adults. Normally, the boy thought, they were all playful with him. There was his mother who watched his manners and taught him his first words to say properly. There was his Uncle Bobby, whom every child in the family always adored and climbed all over when given the chance. There were his father's friends, tall men who wore those funny uniforms of the army. As the little boy looked around, they all looked like they had been crying. And, this wasn't a day for crying, Little John knew. It was a day of celebration, particularly, for him. It was his third birthday and a big party was coming up later. There would be cake, ice cream, and all the toys that he wanted. Little John was partial to airplanes. Oh, how loved to pretend that he was piloting a plane--- zoom!!!---he would sweep his toy in the air, imitating the real plane he someday wanted to fly. So, the little boy felt the anxious feelings of the Big People all around him. Something was up, his mind repeated to himself. And, one last question: where was his Daddy???......... He hadn't seen his Daddy in days. For a small person, time is out of order. What seems like a short time , in reality, may be several days. Little John was used to his Daddy being away. Sometimes, the father would tell the son, he would go to magical lands, where people of all races and mixtures all greeted his Daddy like a King. One day, his Daddy promised him, he would take Little John [ whom everyone in the family called, never John-John, like some thought ] with him on these trips. They would see the fine sights in the world, with all of its glorious colors and shapes, with its big mountains and pyramids and bridges and buildings. Little John would love it all, his proud father told him. Especially, the airports. That is where the planes were held....... Father and son had a special bond. While Little John's older sister, Caroline, was the apple of his father's eye, John held a special place in his Daddy's heart. He was a son and his namesake. The little boy was a smart youngster, pointed out his proud father. A chip off the old block. Little John would have all of the advantages he could in life, his father declared, but, he would never be spoiled. The true raising of Little John and Caroline would be their mother's responsibility. The mother was guided by the love that all mothers and fathers are led: their children are everything to them. Little John's father was coming to this way of emotional healing. He had his politics and his life away from the family. But, having children changed him. Little John's father was raised by a cold and strict mother. And, his father, while loving towards his kids, was a thief as big as the world. In time, when he grew older, Little John would discover that his father was raised with very little love. Therefore, his Daddy spent most of his life in careless trysts, not feeling real love until he became a father...... They did all of the things that fathers and sons do. They tossed a ball. They played with his toys. The father loved the sea and took Little John in the water with him, teaching him how to swim and how to sail. As it so often happens, his Daddy became the center of Little John's life, his first true hero. The first thing that the boy would ask for when he awoke in the morning was where was his Daddy? And, as Little John soon discovered, his Daddy had a great playroom for an office. A lot of the Big People came to that office to see his father, so, the boy knew that his Daddy was an important man that everyone wanted to see. But, when it was just the two of them in that office, Little John was in Heaven. He would run around the joint like a kid in a candy shop. He would bounce on the furniture---- except his Daddy's rocker--- and he would play hide and seek under his big brown desk. But, what mattered most to the boy was spending time with his Daddy. And, his Daddy glowed in his son's presence. All it took was Little John to walk into a room, and the thousand mile smile of Big John would show its approval of love. There were special times in that room, just the two of them. And, lately, Daddy had taught Little John how to salute like the military people. Well, it wasn't much of a salute. He was not quite three yet. His mother said Little John had a ''droopy'' salute. But, the boy never stopped trying to get the perfect salute. Not for him but for his Daddy......... The last time Little John saw his Daddy was before his Mommy and Daddy took off on some big trip. A helicoptor had landed on the lawn of their big, white house. Little John would ride in that helicoptor with his parents to the airport. The boy was in tears on this day. He did not want them to go. Or, better yet, he wanted to go with them. The father gently explained to the son that they just could not take him today. It was a Big People trip. But, his Daddy promised, his parents would be home by Sunday. And, the next day, boy, there would be a big celebration for Little John because it was his birthday!!! Little John calmed down. His parents left him in the helicoptor with his adult friend who was guarding him and Little John watched his parents get into the Big Plane. Soon, he would hear the sound of his Daddy's airplane fly overhead. Whenever he heard that sound, the boy would smile. He always loved the sound of that plane. Daddy's plane........The following day, a Friday, is when Little John began to hear and see things that confused him. The Big People, normally so happy, looked like they were crying. And, everybody was hovering around him---- his nanny, the men who guarded his family, his Daddy's friends. However, being so small, his attentions soon wondered to other pursuits. He played with his toys. He played with his sister. And, he was very pleased when his Mommy came home early from her trip. He saw her on the Saturday morning and ran into her arms. But, Little John also noticed that his Mommy had the same red eyed look that the other Big People did. Like she had been crying. After he hugged her, he naturally asked where Daddy was. Mommy said he was away for now. Little John accepted this and went on with his day........ By Saturday afternoon, Little John was gathered with his sister, Caroline, and his Mommy. Mommy had a serious and painful look on her face. And, then she spoke words that Little John heard but did not understand: His Daddy had been shot by a bad man in Texas and had died. He was now in Heaven with God. Caroline immediately started crying. Little John remained blank faced. Death had no meaning to him. If Daddy was in Heaven, that was ok. It was just another trip. He would be home soon........ Monday morning. It was very cold that day. Mommy told Little John that they were going to a special parade for his Daddy. Immediately, Little John was excited. He would see his Daddy!!! No, his Mommy stated, Daddy was in Heaven with God. Again, Little John did not grasp that meaning. But, he dressed up in his little outfit that Mommy had picked out for him and went with Caroline outside to see the parade. He didn't wear his gloves in the bitter cold because his Uncle Bobby said that boys don't wear gloves........ Little John watched the big box being carried by the Big People. Those military people with the funny uniforms. Mommy had told him that his Daddy was sleeping in that box. Little John wanted to see but he was told it wasn't possible. So, disappointed, the boy watched the big box go up and down the stairs and wheeled across the streets. And, Little John noticed a very strange sight: there were thousands of people on both sides of the street and down the street all watching that same box with his Daddy in it. How odd, he thought. When the box came close to where he was standing with his sister and Mother, his Mommy leaned down and said, ''John, why don't you salute Daddy and say goodbye.'' Immediately, John Fitzgerald Kennedy Jr. raised his little right hand to his forehead........ The salute was perfect. It went up quickly and cleanly, just like the military people do. Hours and hours of practice with his Daddy had paid off. But, with this salute came realization for the boy. For the first time since being told that his Daddy was gone, the full meaning of the day and what happened seemed to register on the boy's face. Sadness crept into his eyes and little mouth. He seemed like he would cry. Somewhere, in his small child's mind, it finally struck him that his Daddy was no more and that he would not see him again. There would be no more playing under his desk. They would be no more swims in the ocean. And, they would not play with airplanes anymore. The boy grew older that day, at that moment. It was a moment forever seared into the boy. And, the world........ Around him, as he saluted, pain swept among the Big People. His Uncle Bobby, standing behind him, had his face twist in pain. The crowd watching the family directly across the street seemed to stagger, as if physically struck by the force of the salute. And, the viewing public around the world cried. No other image from that sad weekend when we lost our President has ever resonated more that Little John's salute. To see a little boy, who idolized his Daddy, have such a traumatic moment, was beyond human grief. Anyone who has ever witnessed this moment will never forget it......... That evening, Little John had his birthday party. He was himself again, tearing open all of his gifts, enjoying his new toys. The other young children were his playmates, screaming and whooping it up like little kids should. And, the adults, despite their private pain, made the supreme effort to have fun. The party was a success, by most accounts. But, there was one chair that was empty. The most important chair........

Drunken Randon Thoughts: November 2014

Oh, I'm hammered!!!! Delightfully so!!!! A cold, dark afternoon, where I was planning to spend at church, suddenly, swerved off into the nearest taproom. I called a gal pal friend of mine and soon we were floating in steady streams of vodka. Now, many hours later, after appreciating each other in the physical sense, she is blissfully snoring away here in the middle of the night. And, myself? Well, I passed out for a few hours into a restless drunken slumber. You know those drunk sleeps, right? You toss and turn, and the sweat from the body toxins finds its way to the surface. After peeing AGAIN, I decided to try a little experiment with myself. Normally, most experiments with myself involve, well, never you mind, missy!!! But, I thought I would write a blog in the throes of a downward slide from a drunken night and I would see what would come of it. The following will be thoughts from a sodden mind, uncensored, for the viewing public....... Boy, this broad can snore!!! It is more breathing from the mouth---- which gives the pillow she is using a nice bath--- but it is noise. Because she is a friend I will not embarrass her with revealing her name. Discretion is my code [ It took many years but I finally have a code!! ]. She is a blonde princess lying there. All peaceful, joyful innocence. You wouldn't believe in the quiet of this room a few hours ago that we were swearing at each other with complete abandon during out mattress exercise. Christ, I think we invented new sexual phrases for the masses to use!!!! Oh, well. A splendid time was had, despite my raw genitals....... Before I started this blog entry I took a spin around this Internet thing. I came across a story about the JFK assassination. It is November, and it is written in the media gospel that we must bring up Kennedy and Dallas and who killed him. Yeah, I am interested in who did do it. I wrote a blog about it last year. It is the ultimate mystery for our times. But, enough with the speculative programs. Just tell me who did it so we can close the chapter. Or, better yet, here is your killer. I DID IT!!!! I flew down to Dallas, fucked Jackie Kennedy seven ways from Sunday, JFK walked in wearing Marilyn Monroe's panties, and yelled at me that I would be deported or be forced to sleep with one of his ugly sisters if I wasn't careful. In a rage, I vowed revenge and called my buddies, Lee Harvey Oswald, Jack Ruby, and Paul Lynde to come help me take the rich boy out. We shot him from the back and front ---- Lynde was for the rear entry---- and escaped into the night. Ok? Satisfied? You now have the answer!!! Now, no more stories about JFK and the assassination.......... The snoring is getting louder......... I just went outside to get a clear breath of arctic air in me. It is cold out there. Not as cold as Joan Rivers, but cold. And, let me focus in on this thought. I hated this bitch. I am glad she is dead. Yeah, too bad for her family---- I think the only family she had left was the inbred looking daughter, Melissa. But, so what? I give her about as much sympathy as she did when she was skewering the famous for their sad misfortune. Now, I like a lot of naughty humor myself and I am always in the mood for a joke about a dead person, so, that is not the point. The point is that she made a name for herself taking these cheap shots at famous people so she could be noticed. That is fine. She is not the only person in show business history that has done this. So, it is highly appropriate that what is good for the goose is good for the gander. You play with fire, you are gonna get burned. Therefore, I feel it is very much needed to take cheap shots at her and her death. She did it when she was alive and had no remorse. I return the compliment back to her. A little bit of God showing Karma, Joanie. After all, to quote a great sage, ''God don't like ugly!''.......... When do you, once you are in a real relationship, break the ultimate barrier and start farting in front of each other? This has been a problem that has confounded the great minds from Alexander The Great to Socrates to Jerry Lewis. The beginning of any relationship is walking on pins and needles. You only want to see the good in a person, not the bad. So, once you are going strong, you let things about the real you slide out. And, nothing slides out more forcefully than the wind from your ass. At first, when you smell that familiar but comforting odor, you think, ''Jeez, that can't be from her, it must be the dog''. Then, you realize she doesn't have a dog. Maybe, while driving, it could be the engine? No, she let one rip. And, it is one bad motherfucker, too. ''Well, honey, if that is how you feel, then let me bring something to the party, then!'' I guess it is up to the couple when they share this with each other. Everybody has different time periods. One buddy of mine broke the seal when he was meeting his future in-laws. ''Welcome to the family!'' And, I have heard, probably it is bullshit, that one friend of a friend let it sail from the altar at his wedding. Oh, well, true love........ My Blondie friend is not having this problem now. But, the snoring had receded. This is good........ I do not like Michelle Obama. I think she is a wolf in sheep's clothing. The other day, perhaps, you heard the comment, she stated that she wanted all the black people out there to vote for whatever Democrat is running. Never mind the arrogance of her demanding that just because they share the same color as she, therefore, they would do whatever she says, she went horribly further by issuing the line that black people, after the voting for the Democrats, should celebrate by eating friend chicken. You see, Ms Nutrition was granting absolution to anyone that wanted to eat unhealthy, just this once. Forget her healthy eating public service [ which, like all First Ladies, gives them something positive to be in the public eye ] let me focus in on the fried chicken reference. How she gets away with saying this very stereotypical line is amazing. We all know that if a white or Hispanic person said the same thing, they would be hung out to dry. But, the media, in the pockets of the liberal media and, more crucially, afraid to challenge any statement by a black public figure for fear of the racism charge being lobbed at them, let it go. And, this is not the first time that Ms. Obama has spoken racially charged lines and gotten away with it. It goes back to 2008 and her stating that for the first time in her life she is proud of this country after her husband was nominated. Read between the lines in her statement and you know what she was really saying. There are other statements out there to show a pattern of what she is really thinking. There is a name for someone who thinks like you, Michelle. And, the word does not mention race, either. Good God, imagine her gas with that fat ass!!! It could power our nuclear missiles........  I am no Cub apologist. As a life-long fan, I fully admit that this team is an embarrassment to organized sports. However, my Mom was a good Cubs fan growing up and she passed that love down to us kids. Whenever I am in that beautiful shrine known as Wrigley Field, I look for the echoes of my Mom's smile at watching her favorite team try to win. And, I know her ghost is roaming the grounds, walking hand and hand with other Cubs fans who have gone to Heaven. I write this because I am getting a little excited with the rumblings I am hearing and seeing coming from the North Side. The long rebuilding program with their minor league system seems to be finally starting to click. And, the hiring of Joe Madden as manager is an exciting move. He is a world class baseball manager who might finally guide these misfits into a championship team. As I have said, I am no explainer of what this organization has done and no blindly following whatever they do fan. However, there are exciting vibrations coming from our Chicago Cubs and I am jacked about it........I am starting to fade a little now. The keyboard letters are blurring, along with the start of fatigue. The Sandman is tapping me on the shoulder, beckoning me to bed. I wish I could curl up to Blondie but she has sprawled out across the bed. What the hell, it is her bed. I will curl up on the couch. Thanks for sharing my late night drunken thoughts. I'm sure we will do this again soon........ Now, the only question remaining is who will go for the McDonald's breakfast, her or me? This is the best hangover breakfast, I believe......... Sweet dreams, my darling loves out there.........

Old Loves And Phone Calls

It is nice to be missed. The other night, out of the blue, I received a phone call from an old girlfriend. This call, totally unexpected, kinda threw me for a loop. Not because I did not want to hear from her. Quite the contrary. I like hearing from old flames of whom I still hold so much affection for. I am an old softie beneath my verbal bravado. I am urgently romantic and believe in romance. So, when this call came I gratefully took a step back in history in my mind and shared our memories of our time together,,,,,,, But, I have done this many times before. Several months ago, the same thing happened. A phone call from a long-ago love. And, there have been previous attempts to reach me from old galpals. My point is that I am happy to hear from them and am glad that they are happy [ most seem to be, a few not so much]. I still love the women who have been in my life, always will. For I don't fall out of love. Rather, I transfer that love to another part of my soul. The part that loves those who are no longer in my life but are forever in my heart........ I tell you this because I am a lucky man. I have never broken up bitterly with a woman. Sadly, yes. Regretfully, of course. You don't know what you've got until you lose it. However, there are smiles mixed in with the tears of parting. And, this makes me feel good. I don't ever want hate to spoil the wonder of my love for another human being....... I am no easy ride as a mate. I can be moody, difficult, and a pain in the ass if I am not happy with a circumstance. And, I try not to take it out on the woman I am with. But, I sincerely try not to let my mood dictate a relationship. The understanding girlfriends give me my space and let me be in a bad mood. They know my good side will come out soon enough........ I hear the horror stories of love gone bad. Of the once ideal love that will last forever shattering into little pieces in a divorce court or a police station. I know of one guy who found out that his wife was cheating on him with the neighbor. She walked out on the husband [ and, the neighbor ] disowned her small children, and high tailed it out of town, but, not before fleecing the husband of half of his money [ California= half communal property] and forcing the poor schmuck to file for bankruptcy........ I don't have these stories. The women I part with have no hate in them for me. Disappointment? I am sure. Not living up to their expectations of me? Yes. But, never cruelty or malice. Perhaps, because there really has been no money involved when I break up with someone, there is not that darkness to go for the jugular. I treat women fairly well, I must say. I am faithful. I am caring. And, unlike many men I have known, I don't secretly hate women. I admire them and am glad to learn from them........ I have never understood the battle of the sexes between men and women. One side is always trying to get the upperhand of the other. Why? Is one side better or smarter than the other? Not really. If one side feels superior to the other, than there is a problem with ego and temperament. The plain fact is that both men and women do things equally good and bad. And, the secret to any relationship is that you both learn from each other and help one another [''Yes, honey, I leave it up to you in this case because you are stronger in this area of expertise than me.''] That is not putting yourself down or putting your partner up, but, it is covering the cracks that always threaten a relationship. If all sides are manned by both parties, you may have a great thing going........ When a call comes from the past, there is always the stirring of sadness of what might have been had fate chosen circumstances differently. In these conversations I can hear between the words of the memories spoken. The feeling of lost dreams of a love affair that was not going to end. No heart ever recovers from a broken heart. You carry that feeling until the day you die. But, underneath that broken heart there is a sweetness. And, that sweetness is tied into the feeling of knowing that another person made you feel alive, gave you a passion that you never knew was there. It is the feeling we hear about in songs and dream about with our fondest wishes. Love has no equal, even love that is not long-lasting......... And, these thoughts come to my mind when I hear the voice on the phone. Like many people, I have broken up with someone, and down the line, tried to rekindle a spark of the old affection. Or, if the rules are defined, a reigniting of a sexual equal....... One short term-love I had invited me over for a little fun while her husband was out of town. I enjoyed an egotistical male moment when I put on one of the condoms from his unused pack and it was too small on me!!!!.......Another woman I loved deeply--- my greatest love, so far---- texted me out of the blue a few years back. She has moved on with married life and is very happy but still thinks of me with fondness. Also, Jimmy here, proudly points out, during moments of sexual fantasy. I laughed mightily during this exchange. I thought, ''Her hubby may have her in many areas of infatuation but she thinks of me in the nitty gritty!!!'' That is called getting even, folks!!!!........ But, these last two stories are ego moments. The greater whole is that I feel good when I hear how much they miss me and talk about me to the people in their lives [ Boy, that must make their husbands and boyfriends real happy!] It shows me that I did well, or, as well as I could, when they were in my life. Before they close their eyes the last time prior to death, I hope, as they look back on what love gave them, that I gave them a smile and a good feeling. If you cannot be with them physically, be with them fondly emotionally. I have that feeling about them........ And, it is a nice feeling........

The Murricane

His eyes tell the tale. They speak of a tired man, someone who has been disappointed in the world and people not living up to his expectations. They are world-weary eyes, too sad to even have any faith in human beings. It is an admirable look to have in an dramatic actor. The late, great James Gandolfini had those same eyes. A sad beagle drooping its sadness. But, in a comedian, the sad eyes look is not something that is the norm. You must have joy in the eyes of the comedian. The face must be of a jolly mask, even when the clown is truly hurting inside. A comedian must never be handsome, either. It is ok to be All-American attractive, like Johnny Carson was. But, never must he or she be a looker. Comedians must be inferior in appearance to their audience, because sympathy and protectiveness for the underdog is also vital for the comedian. And, Bill Murray has the scars on his face. Pock-marked, as if, as Chevy Chase once stated, it looked like ''Neil Armstrong landed on it''........ Bill Murray is someone I have admired ever since he came on the national scene in 1977. He came through the ranks of ''The Second City'' in Chicago in the early 1970's, honing his craft and finding his gift facing the toughest of all audiences: the drunk and hostile midnight crowds. To be on a stage without a net is, depending on how you look at it, a brave and audacious feat, or, someone who is a dumbfuck masochist. But, Murray faced the music in these long-ago nights, earning his stripes as a comic performer. He was only at ''Second City'' for a year before he was called to New York by his old friend and mentor, John Belushi, and asked to be a part of the ''National Lampoon Radio Hour'' and road show, ''Lemmings''. Having learned the tricks of the trade at ''Second City'', Bill Murray shined in his new environment. A comic genius was flowering. The underground scene of comedy noticed, and, when Lorne Michaels was putting together a new late-nught show, he asked the best and brightest young comic minds in the comedy scene to audition. Bill Murray did not make the cut. There were three comics that were up for the last two spots on the new show. Lorne wanted Dan Aykroyd for one of those spots. The second was a close contest between Belushi and Murray. Lorne was leaning towards hiring Murray because Belushi, he knew, was gonna be a handful to handle. But, Lorne was talked into hiring Belushi by everyone on his staff, especially, Chevy Chase. Thus, Bill Murray missed out on the inaugural season of ''Saturday Night Live'' by a hair....... His time would come in the second season of the show, 1976-77. Chevy was leaving for Hollywood and Bill was hired from a strong recommendation by John Belushi. His first show, in January, 1977, was a home run for him. He played in just two sketches but he garnered huge laughs. In one sketch, he hilariously played a director filming an execution of a prison inmate. After that show, Lorne Michaels told him that he was now a ''Not Ready For Prime Time Player''. But, he then went south on the show. Because he was the new guy, the writers did not trust him right away with the big scenes. The stars of the show, Belushi and Gilda Radner, were the meat and potatoes of most sketches. Soon, Bill Murray found himself playing second cop roles or having one line in a sketch appearances. His frustration at being shoved aside by the cast and writers showed on-air, as he muffled several times the jokes in the sketches he was in. His position on the show was shaky until the very last show of the season when he came up with his own idea for a sketch. He would play a simple working class Joe showering in the morning before starting his day. But, he put on a little variety show in the shower. The laughs that greeted this skit saved him from being fired off the program. And, in this three minute performance, his ''Shower Mike'' skit, he started to employ his comic persona--- the anti-comic....... The next three years on ''SNL'' Bill Murray rose in the ranks and became a huge star. Soon, Hollywood was calling for him and he made a small, innocent movie called ''Meatballs'' about summer camp hijinks. It wasn't much of a plot but Murray showed he had real screen presence. And, in some scenes, where he befriended a lonely misfit kid, Bill showed genuine acting ability. Yes, his smart-ass persona from the show was onscreen but, also, a touching compassion. With this little movie---which was a huge hit at the box office--- Bill Murray became a movie star to watch........ After leaving ''SNL'' in 1980, Bill made a succession of successful movies---- ''Caddyshack'', ''Stripes'', and a small but superb cameo in ''Tootsie''. He was coasting from one giant hit to another. And, in the summer of 1984, he and his old pals, Aykroyd and Harold Ramis, made the gigantic hit ''Ghostbusters''. With this movie, Bill Murray became an icon, a show business institution......... But, behind every comedian lurks a serious actor wanting desperately to come out and play. His committment to work in ''Ghostbusters'' came with a demand. He wanted to play a serious role in a remake of a classic drama. It was ''The Razor's Edge''. Bill wanted to show his dramatic side. And, he did, with mixed results. While the movie was deeply flawed, he was good in the role of a lost ex-soldier seeking the meaning of life. Not many of his fans remember this movie because it came just a few months after the enormous success of his movie where he was just slimed. ''The Razor's Edge'' sank without a trace. But, it was a noble failure. It showed the public---- and, us fans---that there was more to this comic genius than making an audience laugh.......... Then, in the mid-80's, Bill Murray did an extraordinary career move: he disappeared. While at the height of his box office prowess, he made no movies for four years [ except for a brief appearance in ''Little Shop Of Horrors'']. The public was seeing for the first time what many who knew Murray throughout the years had already known: this man did not play the Hollywood game. He would not dance to the tune the studios wanted him to. Bill Murray has always been an individual who plays by his own rules. That is why he is a star, a wonderful outsider who will join the party when he is damn ready to. The anti-comic.......... He came back in 1988 with ''Scrooged''. It was a disappointment to Murray fans. Gone was the wise-ass who lit up the screen with his absurdist observations of the world --- aligning himself always with his fans, the underdogs---- and, in ''Scrooged'' came a most unlikable man. The movie has its moments but is unpleasant to watch---a fatal flaw for a comedy. He seemed bitter in the role, as if screaming his part would make up for its faults. The following year would come the long-awaited follow-up to his ghost film. And, ''Ghostbusters 2'' was a horrible movie [ except, for the courtroom scene involving the ''Scoleri Brothers'' ghosts]. Bill Murray looked flat-out bored and unhappy in this film, as if he was going through the motions. And, if he was, then, there was something wrong because this man has based his whole career on being true to himself and his comedy. Phoniness, especially, from the Hollywood end, has always been a huge target for his comedy. Like Groucho Marx, Bill Murray--- the modern day Groucho---- sticks comic barbs at pomposity and arrogance found in the world. With the second ''Ghostbusters'' Bill Murray entered this world of selling out. He would not make the same mistake again......... The 1990's would start with two minor hits, ''Quick Change'', which he co-directed, and ''What About Bob'', where he went over the top in annoying Richard Dreyfuss [ not a bad thing, really]. Then, like a king returning to his throne, came in 1993 ''Groundhog Day''. This movie, directed by his old pal, Harold Ramis, finally was his crown jewel. The role of a cynical, self-obsessed weatherman forced to relive the same day over and over again, was the point in his career where the actor and the comic met at the same intersection equally. By turns funny and bitter, sad and painfully honest, his Phil, the weatherman, showed how truly gifted this man is. It was his finest performance up to this point in his career. More impressive work would come that same year with ''Mad Dog And Glory'' with Robert De Niro. Murray played a mob boss who desperately wanted to be a stand-up comic. The only problem was that the goomba was not funny. In this role, Bill showed his patented irony at looking at the world but, also, a genuine menace. In a few scenes, he is downright scary. And, interesting. It may be hard for those that haven't seen this movie to believe but Bill Murray blows De Niro off the screen with his acting......... As the 90's progressed, he hit another rough patch onscreen. He transported an elephant across country in ''Larger Than Life'', played in a movie I have never seen ''The Man Who Wasn't There''. But, he also got some mileage from juicy supporting roles in ''Kingpin'' and ''Wild Things''. And, in 1998, he made a wonderful movie called ''Rushmore'', where he played an older man competing with a teenager for the affections of a girl. This was another movie where comedy and drama met for him in a role. and, finally, the critics took note. He was nominated for several awards for his performance......... Came 2003. A movie called ''Lost In Translation'', directed by Sofia Coppola. It is a small movie, intimate in its subject matter and quiet in its execution. Bill plays a quietly bitter man, stubbornly facing middle-age. His character has a marriage that is in the toilet and he is in Japan doing a commercial he doesn't want to do because he needs the money. There, he meets a young American girl, played by Scarlett Johanson, who is running away from her own failed marriage. The heart and power of this movie is tied into loneliness. These two characters are far away from home and are lost in their lives. Life has let them down and they are sad. Here, Bill Murray, with those sad and world-weary eyes, shows his character's depth by just being in the moment. When he speaks, it is from a wounded man that wants to cry out at fate. But, no one will listen to him. Until, that is, this girl in Japan. Both performances are excellent by the actors. Award season rewarded Bill Murray royally. He won every major award that year, except the big prize, the Oscar. It is a shame because he deserved it [ Sean Penn won for the overwrought and contrived ''Mystic River'']. And, it is also a shame because the Academy Awards missed out on a potentially memorable acceptance speech by Bill Murray. His time will come....... And, that may be this year with ''St. Vincent''. It has Oscar nomination written all over it. I haven't seen the movie yet but I am planning on it soon........ In private, Bill Murray reportedly is as compelling, and a hard to pin down person, as his characters. He is notorious for his moods [ Dan Aykroyd calls him fondly ''The Murricane''] because they take him to a dark place. He has a somewhat difficult reputation as being hard to work with, but, those that claim this also are quick to point out that it is not ego that gives off this behavior but rather frustration at the job not being done correctly. Bill is a perfectionist, mostly with himself. Those that have shared the same working environment with him say he is a great guy. Just don't fuck with him....... I have always enjoyed watching him. He is part ticking time bomb, part hero at large. A friend of the audience, who has the charisma of a world class star. But, Bill Murray doesn't play the star game, a refreshing change of Hollywood behavior. He doesn't have an agent or manager. He has a 800 number that people can call to get in contact with him if they have a project he might be interested in. If Bill has the interest he will call the person back. Or, his lawyer will. This is so far out in left field that Hollywood looks at him in awe. He plays by his own rules, like his onscreen representations, never to be boxed in. Bill Murray is an enigma rapped in a riddle. We, the world, don't know what to expect from him at any time. He likes it that way....... And, so do we........

Great Movie: ''Midnight Run''

It can be said that the worst thing that happened to Robert De Niro was finding out he was good at comedy. Suddenly, master thespian, serious actor, became a broad parody of his greatness at drama. It was if the comic De Niro pulled a fast one on the serious De Niro, wiping out all of his hallmark moments in cinema. A sad shadow of himself, Bob has become. But, it wasn't always like this, for he started his comic roles with a brilliant bang. And, that bang was ''Midnight Run''....... The movie came out in 1988. After an extraordinary decade of high drama, Robert De Niro decided to go for the belly laugh. He picked a great first project. The story of ''Midnight Run'' is simple and not new. De Niro plays a bounty hunter, Jack Walsh,  alone in the field, hunting one scumbag after another who has skipped bail. When the bail bondsman needs to have his wayward prey captured, then the bounty hunter comes in. It turns out the guy De Niro is after is a somewhat famous money launderer for a Chicago mobster, Jimmy Serrano. The accountant has stolen millions from Serrano. De Niro makes a deal with his bail bondman--- played wonderfully by the great Joe Pantoliano---- for a big score if he captures the elusive accountant, Jonathan ''The Duke'' Mardukas. De Niro is tired of chasing the bad guys. He is getting too old to have his life threatened. As a retired Chicago policeman, he has spent his whole adult life seeing the badness in the world. He is world weary and fed-up. De Niro's Jack character, we learn, carries a heavy heart. He still loves his ex-wife [ who has since remarried ] and hasn't seen his teenage daughter in ages. In total, Jack Walsh just wants a simple life. He will capture ''The Duke'' and with his earnings, open a coffee shop. That is Jack's dream. A simple life after living a much harder one....... But, he is not alone in wanting to capture the dreaded ''Duke''. Soon, after taking the job, he is accosted on the street by the FBI. They hustle him into a car and thru their always tinted shades, they inform De Niro that they have been after ''The Duke'' for a long time. It seems the accountant knows a lot about the mobster Serrano's organization, enough to bring it crashing down, and the Feds are creaming to catch ''The Duke''. The head agent is Alonzo Moseley, played by Yaphet Kotto, with all of the warmth that we expect from a G-Man. After telling Jack Walsh to mind his own business, they throw him out of the car. But, Jack Walsh has a little parting gift in his pocket. He palmed Moseley's FBI badge and ID. It might come in handy, perhaps....... De Niro's Jack travels from LA to New York, where he has surprisingly tracked down ''The Duke''. De Niro finds the house that ''The Duke'' is hiding, busts in, has to deal with an attack dog, and finally, arrests ''The Duke''. Jack has five days to bring ''The Duke'' back to LA. He naps him the first night. All he has to do is get him back to California and collect his money........ Jonathan ''The Duke'' Mardukas is played by Charles Grodin. De Niro takes him from the home and drives him to the airport to catch the red-eye smoking West. It is in this car that the first interplay between the actors and characters happens. It is obvious that they are gonna be an odd couple, very much on each others nerves and wanting desperately to get away from each other. But, ''The Duke'' can't. He has some new jewelry in the form of the handcuffs that Jack has slapped on him. ''The Duke'' immediately tests the patience of his captor by attempting to bribe him. Jack Walsh doesn't take bribes, that is why he is no longer a Chicago cop. In a brilliantly written and acted scene, both De Niro and Grodin establish that there is gonna be much tension between the two of them. And, much comedy....... Jack Walsh calls the bail bondsman from the airport. He has ''The Duke!'' Eddie, the bondsman, is ecstatic. So is his partner, who immediately offers to go out and get some doughnuts to celebrate. The partner, instead, calls his contact in the Serrano mob and says that ''The Duke'' is coming to LA. You see, they want the accountant just as bad, or, maybe even more, than the FBI. Jimmy Serrano hears this and immediately calls for the plane to be met at the airport. Now, we have a couple of interested parties wanting''The Duke''. And, as the movie progresses, more people join the fun, including a dim-witted fellow bounty hunter, Marvin, played with terrific comic flair by John Ashton. ''The Duke'' is a very wanted man......... I will stop there. I have set up the premise and that is all. The movie has many surprises, some comic, some quite poignant, and they must be enjoyed with fresh eyes to the new viewer. To the watcher that has seen the movie before, then the plotlines I have spoken of will bring a smile of expectation to them. Part of the charm of this movie is the new spin on the old cliches. Yes, there is the odd couple who do not like each other. But, we know that their relationship will thaw and some genuine caring and warmth will shine through. And, we know there will be a serious of mix-ups and near hits that will keep the action going. It is nothing new what this film has to offer. Except, the performances...... Here, the movie soars. Robert De Niro shows wonderful comic chops here. Like the best of comedy acting, the procedure is to play a situation completely straight and then let the comedy come from the absurd twists the story gives you. Comedy is reality seen through a warped eye. A hat can be funny but it what the character does with the funny hat that makes it funnier. De Niro wisely never pushes his comic portrayal. He never telegraphs that he is acting to be funny [ unlike so many other roles he would play in the future ]. He lets it happen in the confines of his character. And, in a few scenes towards the end, he shows the audience how vulnerable his Jack Walsh is. Jack, behind his bellicose manner, is deeply wounded. He wants peace amid the turmoil his life is. It is one of Robert De Niro's best performance........ Opposite him, going toe to toe, is Charles Grodin. It is a genius performance by Grodin. After years of playing sniveling, sarcastic whiners, Grodin kicks out the jams in this movie. There is the sarcasm and self-pity in some of his scenes but they add texture to his portrayal of ''The Duke''. Grodin is ingratiating, first with the audience and then with De Niro. Through his cunningness, we, the audience, spot the good man, who we discover, has a damn good reason why he stole the money from Serrano. By turns charming and deadly serious, Charles Grodin gives a deeply compelling and winning performance....... The supporting cast also deserves to take deep bows. The late Dennis Farina is perfect casting for Jimmy Serrano. He has played mobsters before this but never with the humor exhibited here. All of his comic lines walk hand in hand with deep threats. And, in a key scene towards the end in a limo, Farina does away with the humor and goes for the frightening jugular. To hear his words coming out make your skin crawl. Farina walks that fine tightrope of foolishness and danger with great aplomb. After seeing him in this again I am reminded that I miss him........ Joe Pantoliano is equally strong as the bail bondman, Eddie. By turns smug and frazzled, ''Joey Pants'', you can see now, was warming up for his legendary portrayal of ''Ralphie'' in ''The Sopranos'' But, Eddie is a comic fool, not a killer. And, Pantoliano takes him out on wonderfully fun spin of the character wheel. His best moment is a telephone call with a far away De Niro. His screaming of curse words, along with his frustration, make this scene one of the highlights of the movie........ The best scene, I believe, is a quiet one. It is deep in the movie and it involves De Niro and Grodin in a railroad car. Much has happened to them both. At this moment in the film, De Niro is very angry with Grodin. His silence speaks volumes. And, Grodin's ''The Duke'', tries to break through. The scene starts off funny but quickly turns to sad and reflective. That it is late at night adds to the mood, for late night talks always bring forth confessions and affairs of the heart. What makes this scene my favorite is not so much what is being said as what is not being said. The silence is intriguing because Robert De Niro and Charles Grodin have set up the characters so well in the audiences mind that we know what they are thinking. They like each other and we want them to tell each other that. And, they do, in a surprising touching way........ This movie has action. This movie has comedy. This movie has pathos. It is all handled in a superior way by the actors, the director, Martin Brest, and, almost forgotten, by the writer, George Gallo. These men all converged in 1988 to tell an old story in a new way. This movie was a hit with the public and was very popular on video and cable but it seems to have fallen through the cracks as the years have gone on. But, I hear the lines out there in the public vernacular. When I come across someone who says, ''I've got two words for you: SHUT THE FUCK UP!'', I know that this is someone who is special...... Enjoy the movie, everyone.......

Small Groups

The little girl was shaking uncontrollably. It wasn't cold by any means, it was a humid day. The chills wracked her body as the soldier approached. He was sweaty and grimy, as befitting a soldier who just finished a battle. He got closer to the young girl--- who had to be about three or four--- and gingerly held out a cup for her to drink from. The girl just looked back at him, terrified. The shaking increased. Finally, she calmed down a little and took a sip. Whatever was in the cup, most likely water, seemed to do the trick. The shaking decreased. But, the look of outright terror still remained, firmly fixed on what should have been a doll's face. As the camera pulled back, the viewer saw the rest of the horror. Carnage beyond anyone's dark dreams. There were fires all around her, almost like Dante himself came up from the pits to inflame Earth. There was rubble, far as one could see, the remnants of what was once life blooming. The girl looked around wide-eyed, perhaps, she was searching for her mother or father or someone she loved. But, there was no one for her. The soldier, with permission from his commander, scooped the girl up. She would be sent somewhere where orphans always gathered after a battle. Wherever she would land, the scars of war would never go away........ He always loved to dance. Men dancing well can be a rarity, so, when he would get out on the dance floor and shake, shake, shake his booty, the women would gather around. Or, they would grab him, spinning him around. He went most willingly. After all, when you have the draw of being a good dancer, you, then, have the inside track to pursue something further and, possibly, get something going with the fairer sex. But, his love was the dance floor. Dancing takes you into the world of self-expression, a release of both the freedom of letting your guard down, and, a little bit of a show-off. He loved that. He knew that when he went into the Army, his dancing days would be limited. Not much shaking your tailfeather when bombs are blowing off all around you and people are pleading for their lives. Soon, out of nowhere, he would be one of these people. The explosive came out of the ground, a treacherous landmine waiting for the unfortunate to step on. He was the unfortunate one. It blew up and the next thing he knew he was waking up in a hospital--- really, a makeshift horror show--- with the screaming and pleading prayers to God coming from all around him. Through the haze of pain, the doctor informed him that his legs could not be saved. Despite his pleas that he did not want to live if he lost his legs, soon, he would be waking up half the man physically he once was. The rest of his life would be artificial limbs and wheelchairs. And, no more dance floors....... The old man lived a full life after seeing his battle. He came home from the war physically well, but, mentally the scars would never heal. He had seen too much, lost too much. Friends would die all around him---- one in his arms--- and they would be denied the continuation of life that he would get. The old guy took this with him every day. He fathered several children and ran a good business. By all accounts, he was a good man who lived a good life. And, he was. He developed a love of gardens and flowers in his later years. He always told people that he had seen so much of life destroyed when he was younger that he wanted to see life bloom. But, there were the nights, those late nights, when sad thoughts and bad dreams run together, that he went back in time. And, that time saw his friends in the war that missed out on life. He heard their voices, alarmingly clear at times, whispering in his mind, that he did not deserve to live while they were dead. The ghosts of the past ate at him. The mind plays tricks with us all. We believe the good in ourselves but the bad parts sometimes speak the loudest, playing to our fears and insecurities. This is what happened to the old man. Despite what he had done in life---- and, it was considerable--- he never lost the voices coming to him nightly, wondering why he was there when he shouldn't be. One night, the voices took control of him fully and he slashed his wrists in the bathtub......... These are the faces of true war. It isn't John Wayne on a battlefield, it isn't CNN and other outlets spinning the coverage so that it looks like a fast paced TV show. No, war is the nameless. It is the orphans, and the men and women with dreams, and the old man who lives a good life but cannot shake the past. It has been extraordinary to me that throughout history, a small group of people dictate how and where we fight for them. This small group manipulates the larger group. And, we, the larger group, go along with it. From the dawn of mankind until now, think about it, this small group recruits us to fight their battles so they can keep their power and riches. How is this? Yes, some wars are necessary to fight. But, this small group has allowed that particular problem to escalate to where war is the only option. Hitler needed to be brought down but why was Hitler allowed to flower for many years until he became uncontrollable and needed to be fought? The same for our current problems with the Middle East and terrorism. The people in that region were never a problem to us until the late 20th Century. How is it that thousands of years of not really having any real need to deal with each other is now the ultimate danger of this new 21st Century? The answer is the small groups of men, on both sides, who now manipulate the public and suddenly have their side of millions of people against our side of millions of people. Throw in the always handy religious angle [ God wants America to win. Allah blesses the Muslims] and now the powder keg is ignited. But, it is only the small group that made that powder keg. The majority did not. When I was growing up I had no knowledge that they were bad people. My parents never called the Middle East the Satan part of the world [ Oh, I forgot. America is the Great Satan]. A child does not grow up to be hater. He or she is taught that. But, as an adult, I am being told that these people in the Middle East, who never did anything to me or anyone I know, are to be feared and eliminated [Hitler did this with the Jews]. And, they are being told the same thing on their side about us. Why do we continue to have our destinies bastardized by these small groups of powerful men and women? We repeat the same pattern generation after generation. The smart thing, the elephant in the room, is for the majority to band together and refuse to follow the whims and desires of this small group of madmen. But, this utopian dream will never happen, of course. It is very unrealistic to think this would ever happen, I know this. But, I am pretty sick and tired to be told to hate when all I want to do is live my life peacefully........

Its A Quarter To Three.....

The young guy bellied up to the bar and immediately ordered a straight shot of scotch. Now, scotch and me have never been friends. And, being the experienced drinker that I am all of these years, when a young guy---he had to be around 25--- orders such a shot before he gets some beer in him first, the juicers at the bar watch him closely. Clearly, this was someone who was drinking away some personal demon that was haunting him at this moment. The youngster took the shot [without chasing it with a beer, a cardinal sin, and, a sign of inexperience] threw his head back, closed his eyes [another red flag, there] and moped onto the bar stool....... The wise men at the bar let him sit there without paying much attention. So did the gal pal I was with. But, me, being me, sometimes does not know when to leave well enough alone. I asked him what his trouble was. He looked over at me with pained eyes, fairly red [not do to the shot but crying] and stated that he had just broken up with his girlfriend and he did not know if he wanted to go on living......Well, now, we had the standard, stereotypical bar patron. The guy that has been done wrong by love. It is in every bar in the world and has been glorified by the big silver screen in Hollywood. Love gone bad. And, alcohol to soothe the hurt of the broken hearted. Bogart famously sat at his gin joint in ''Casablanca'', wondering how of all the places to imbibe in the world, his lost love found her way back into his world and his heart. It is an unanswerable question--- maybe, in Hollywood they know--- but, in the real world we are stumped. Millions of people throughout history have swung open the doors to the nearest saloon and demanded a drink to be their tonic. I have done it. Perhaps, you have also...... Sometimes, it is good to be with a friend or group of friends when your heart is hanging low. They will listen to your story, and, if they are good enough friends, they will try to cheer you up. But, what they must never do is take sides in the quarrel!!! This is, as the Italians say, an ''infamita'', or, forbidden. Because, what if the desolate, after berating his or her love, decides to leave the bar and make up with the other person? You, as the alcohol sounding board who agreed with every point your lovesick friend made, now has egg on your face. You never take sides in a fight, even when you know which is the right side to take. Your words can be thrown back in your face. Demon booze can always loosen the tongue for a liquid confession, but, it can also say the harsh truth. And, most people do not want to hear the harsh truth. They want their truth spun to their convenience. Be supportive of your friend. However, watch out for the landmine that may be in front of you......Or, you can go to a bar by yourself, as the young man above did. This does not sound as pathetic as it does. A bar is one of the few places where you can walk in alone and not feel uncomfortable. Because you are alone with your own thoughts, taking stock of your relationship. If you are honest with yourself, then you admit things privately that you would never share publicly...... Two things go hand and hand when you find yourself feeling low. They are the booze, of course, and music. Lets start with the music. It must fit your mood. You are feeling the worst, self-pity mixed with your faults and insecurity So, therefore, the music must be your companion on the trip of sadness. Do not play a loud, happy song!!! What the fuck is wrong with you if you do that?!!!! A happy song will put you in a happy mood. You must never fall for this speedtrap!!! You are morose, let the tunes be morose also. The one and only King Of The Saloon Song, Francis Albert Sinatra, is the man you must instantly play. Frank made a career out of love found or lost. He battled the forces of love throughout his roller coaster of a life. You will need no other guide. He is the Padrone. He will cry out your pain for you. Play his music into the wee small hours of the morning. With each selection, Frank will get more intimate. Let this famously strong, virile man weep with you. And, always listen to the advice he is giving you....... With the music comes the booze. This is the tricky part of the evening. Why? Well, you have to walk that tightrope between drinking to feel good and drinking to stay in your cups. If you are doing the former, pay your tab and leave. You are taking up valuable space for a real sad-sack with a crippling love life. You are posing!!! Get the fuck out of my bar!!!........ But, if you choose the latter, to drink to elongate the sadness, then the booze choice is so crucial. Stay away from sweet drinks [a real bar and bartender doesn't like to serve sweet drinks. It is a pain in the ass to make those fruity drinks. Bartenders only make them because they are more expensive and it increases your tab and their tip. Or, they may make them because you have nice tits.  Drink what is in the bottles in front of you or in the keg]. Also, don't drink from the keg. A draft beer? Please!!! Grab a bottle of the suds so you can peel the label off the bottle while your are mumbling to yourself. Then, and only then, do you order a shot. And, it must be a real shot. Not something that sounds like a sexual act. Can you imagine Sinatra strolling in a bar at a quarter to three and ordering ''Sex On The Beach?'' Or, a Jello shot? No, you order something strong and bitter tasting. You are punishing yourself in one way, so, go for the jugular. Have the scotch, or the bourbon, or the brandy, or the whiskey. Cognac is acceptable, but, it must be in a snifter. Also, do not immediately overdrink and get drunk quickly. This is for losers. Drinking is a serious thing, not be be disrespected by some pussy chugging everything in sight and then ralphing it up at the bar. I have been at bars when guys cough it up. I don't wanna see that. Especially, since I will have my own bile to shoot out in a few hours...... The hours will disappear soon enough. You have your booze and you have your music. You could order food--- it would be the smart thing to soak up the alcohol--- but, food may make you happy. If you order food, don't order what you like. Order something that you know sounds revolting, like Blood Pudding or Calf's Liver. And, if those two items are on the menu at a bar, get out of that bar!!!What kind of place serves that shit?....... As your inhibitions melt with the soothing feel of real alcohol surging through your system, you might want to put your toe in the water and talk to someone around you. But, don't spill everything out. You will scare the person next to you and scaring drunks in a bar is a one way ticket to destruction. If the person next to you is a friendly sort, start rapping. Bar friends come easy. However, be prepared to hear THEIR sob story when you pause and take a sip of your drink. Then, you will feel even worse because you really don't care what is eating at them. You have your own problems!!!...... It goes without saying that when the place looks like it is going to close soon, say, in twenty minutes, you pay up and leave. There is no worse feeling to be sitting in a bar when the lights come up. Christ, you think, I'm still here!!! And, now you have to get home!!! Of course, you do not drive. Either walk or call a cab. [ One bar guy I used to know would call the police to drive him home, like he was Otis on the ''Andy Griffith Show''] Hopefully, when you leave, you will feel it was worth it being there....... The next morning, when you wake up feeling like death warmed over, make sure you have your work number by your bed. And, you are sick. You have all of the symptoms of the ''flu''...... These are just some of the things you may do when love kicks you in the ass. Or, you might just stay home and cry and then call the person to try to work it out...... When the 25 year old guy finished telling me his story, which, if you change the names, is the story we all have, I just asked him a few things. I asked him if she loves him? He said, yes, she does. Then, I asked the most important question: does he love her? Tears came into his eyes again, and, he answered that he could not imagine living life without her by his side. ''There'', I said, ''You have your problem solved. When real love is involved, there is no other answer. Go find her and work it out.'' He looked up at me and smiled. ''I will'', he replied....... I bought him one last shot and he was out the door......

19 Years

19 years. It still stuns me that it has been this long. Time does march on. There was a time, right after he died, that I thought the horror of gloom would never go away....... My brother, Tommy, died on September 22, 1995. The official cause of death was a suicide. That is what the police said to me on that long-ago phone call in the middle of the night. He jumped from a twenty-eight story building. It was his girlfriend's condo. Weeks after the event, my Dad talked to the girlfriend on the phone. She confirmed that he willingly jumped to his death. But, a few days after this conversation, the family received the police report. From what it said, Tommy accidently fell from the balcony when the police made a quick lunge towards him in an effort to pull him into the condo. So, we had two stories on how it ended. But, the outcome was the same. My brother was gone....... Out of respect to my family I will not tell what happened. Some things will stay internal. The people closest to me know the whole story. Obviously, it is not an easy story for me to repeat. Not because of shame. The story of his demise I keep at a distance, because, it is so close...... Thomas Forrest Scoleri would be 52 years old right now. His death at 33 forever locks him in time as someone young. When I look back on his life, there were signs to him that he was not to have old bones. He lived for the moment, as spontaneously as a person could. Both my brother and myself share the title of ''free spirits''. That generally means we cannot [and, will not] be put into any kind of pigeon hole of description. If one must be assigned to us, it is that we float with the currents of independence and inspiration. We live for the current idea or mood, not really concerned about what will be ahead. We say what is on our minds and damn the consequences. All ''free spirits'' are not bound by normal behavior of the brain, but, rather, the streams of feelings from the heart and soul. I have it. And, Tommy had it. In a macabre way, his death, while tragic, was appropriate for his life. He lived life with a big bang. And, his death was just as loud........ Tommy filled a room. He was over six foot tall, unusual for an Italian male. He was good-looking. My Mom always said that he looked like the actor Robert Urich. True. Tommy was classically handsome in a movie-star way. Beautiful hair and glowing teeth. He had an Roman emperor look that turned many a ladies head. And, he indulged his gift with many women. Tommy could work a room, whether he was seeking a female or to entertain with his charm. He also had a great natural ability to play any sport well. This was his true love in life, especially, baseball. Tommy was a damn fine player, with the sweetest swing imaginable. This was his life's dream, to play ball in the majors. He once was scouted by the California Angels baseball team. I remember he came home that night so excited that here was his dream coming true. Sadly, he never heard further from them. Or, anyone else. He would go through his short life always hoping for that phone call to come. It never did....... I have written before in other blogs about the difficult relationship I had with him. And, it was difficult. Painfully so. I never did find out what the source of his animosity towards me was. It went beyond sibling rivalry into a frosty dislike of each other. He had it out for me as long as I can remember. There were times growing up when I was genuinely afraid of him. We fought--- well, him being stronger and bigger and older, made it not much of a fight---- every once in a while. When we were kids, he sure as hell never wanted me around. I was a punching bag to him, both verbally and physically. As I got older and was able to hold my own with him, the fights stopped, but, the tension was always there. Occasionally, we would share a laugh or a good moment. But, the truce would be short-lived. The war would start up again very quickly........ Looking back at those times with the brilliance of hindsight, I see where the cracks were in my brother. He was quite hot-tempered, which led to errors of judgment. Him, on that balcony at the end, was a hot-tempered moment. Hand and hand with that temper came the internal self-hatred at not being a professional baseball player. Tommy was one of those guys that was the star in high school, but, once he left school and the cheers for him stopped--- when he went into the cold world that doesn't give a damn about a high school hero---resentment and depression seeped into his soul and poisoned his character. He became darker in spirit. Not just with me but the whole family, except our Mom. Mom and Tommy always had that special relationship. She was his anchor, his protector and defender against his actions. But, however much love Tommy was given at home, it never soothed his troubled soul. Because we were never close, I did not have the opportunity to share his confidences and his moods. Well, I did experience the moods, but, they were always dark towards me. I can only speculate this, but, I am fairly strong in my conviction that his depression at not achieving in life grew more pronounced as the years went by...... To fixate on his depression and darkness does not do complete justice to the man. Make no mistake about him: he was a damn fun guy to be around!!! He had miles of friends and many admirers. He lived life at full-throttle, never pausing to slow down. Live fast and leave a good looking corpse. You wanted him at your parties. And, you wanted him to be there for you in desperate times when no one else would. He would be there for you. That was a hallmark trait my sister, Lisa, Tommy, and I got from our parents: BE THERE FOR THE PEOPLE YOU LOVE. Tommy was. You could call him in the middle of the night to bail you out, and, he would be there. You also wanted him on your side if a fight was near. Strong son of a bitch, he was!!! For those reading this that did not know him, trust me, you would have liked him........ And, I did like him. And, I did love him. Although we had our moments, I never stopped looking up to the guy. He was my older brother, someone, I knew who would always have my back. I suppose I always thought, as us kids got older and more mature, that things would settle down between us. There would be a truce. I looked forward to growing old with my brother by my side, almost like, two war buddies who fought battles with each other and found a peace pipe to smoke. I imagined us sitting around watching sports and eating and drinking and looking at the pretty women. We were so alike in so many ways. He had the strong sense of family that Lisa and I do. He would be the family ''Don'' and I would be his able ''Consigliori''. I know it would have happened. I had the dream of it happening. That dream died with a phone that September night........ So, now, he is eternally young. Frozen in time. In my minds eye, I see the handsome young brother that I once knew. He is smiling that beautiful smile as he is strolling to the plate of a baseball game in Heaven. It is a big moment in the game, naturally, because my brother was all about big moments. I see my parents off to the left in the stands, cheering him on, along with other family and friends who are also now eternal. Tommy spikes his cleats in the dirt and chokes up on the bat. A couple of practice swings and he is ready for the pitch. Here it comes!!! Fast ball, right down the middle. But, the ball will not reach the catcher's glove because Tommy swings and connects. The ball rises swiftly, almost effortlessly, towards the outfield. The left fielder races towards the wall. But, the fielder will run out of space. The ball, superbly hit, goes past the wall and keeps rising. It rises and rises and takes off into the distance, zigzagging across the sky. Tommy rounds the bases. When he reaches home plate, he tips his hat to the crowd. The crowd applauds him. And, Tommy, forever the free spirit, smiles back.......'' Dear Tommy. I love you, brother!!!! When I get up there, we will have our quick talk and smoke that peace pipe. And, then, MY BROTHER, I expect you to show me the fun sights in Heaven!!! We will rock it hard!!!...... Love, Jimmy''.........

Not A Man

So, now, the NFL is contrite about domestic violence. In the wake of the not-so-shocking revelations that some professional athletes have abused the women in their lives, now the media, the beloved media that swoops in like vultures smelling blood, is crying holy hell about this very real and dangerous issue. Apparently, the years of sweeping the evidence under the carpet about these so called ''men'' and their abuse because it made bad copy to report, is now front and center. And, the mega-powerful NFL, which also has its hands dirty in covering this up, now feels it must bow its head and do the public penance...... Ray Rice beat up his fiancée, at the time, in an elevator. This abuse happened last February. Which means, the NFL was aware of it last February. Nothing a professional athlete does in any sport is not unknown by the league the player is in. There are spies among the team that report to that team's owner and also to the honchos in charge. The media follows these most public of figures very closely. And, the fact we live in an age of instant contact thru the Internet and cell phone pictures, makes an athlete even more open to disclosure. The footage from that elevator scene is shocking. Rice beat up his fiancée, plain and simple. Now, right away, since it happened in a hotel elevator, the hotel knew instantly. She was battered in plain sight. There is the constant security monitoring of all spaces in a hotel, save the privacy of a room [which, there are stories about]........ Rice and his fiancée seem to make up very quickly from this exchange. In fact, the couple decides to forget the whole thing and get hitched soon after. No doubt this is because of finding ones ultimate love in life and forgiving the fact that your lover beat the shit out of you. My guess is the fiancée also remembered the large paycheck that is deposited every once in a while into the bank account. So, while rumors swirled for a few months, Ray Rice continued to live carefree of his actions...... Now, you have greed involved in the next part. Not a belief in punishing the abuser, but, plain old human greed. Someone, probably from the hotel, leaked the footage to TMZ, the vile entertainment watchdog. Harvey Levin, who runs this operation with all of the ethics of the Catholic Church, knows a juicy story when he slithers around in its muck. And, Rice, while not superstar level in terms of fame and ability, does play for America's favorite Sunday afternoon TV show, the NFL. Levin shows the video and outrage comes of it. Suddenly, this ''minor'' incident blows up in the face of the National Football League. Roger Goodall, the commissioner for the league, at first, denied any knowledge of the league hearing of the video. He was as shocked as everybody else, you see. Had he known earlier he would have taken appropriate action against Rice. But, the evidence of him knowing soon leaked out. The spies in the NFL knew. The lawyer for Rice also had a copy of the tape. For the NFL not to be aware of this footage, while TMZ was, is not believable. Clearly, they knew. But, they decided to take a page from Penn State and their horrible scandal a few years ago, and, sweep it under the rug...... No sooner than this sordid tale unspun then came another, equally shocking case of abuse. Adrian Peterson, one of the best players in the league, was suspended for child abuse. In Texas!!! At first, this ''man'' said he was giving his little boy a good old-fashioned spanking. With a small tree branch. Like the Rice case, the real story soon came out. He beat the little boy so severely that there was blood on the boy. Open wounds. And, today, a new revelation has come forward about Peterson saying he may have abused another child of his--- from a different mother---- by banging his head against a car. Peterson was suspended for a game and now is unsuspended, as I write this. My guess is he will get more suspensions, or, possibly, be thrown out of the league as the case moves forward......... Athletes beating up women is nothing new. And, we should not be shocked that higher authorities feign ignorance and cover it up when it is necessary for their own selfish interests. Politicians and actors do it. Alec Baldwin is famous for using his fists on women, including ex-wife, Kim Basinger. And, Baldwin is also famous for the audio a few years ago of his yelling profanities at his daughter on her cell phone. Verbal abuse. And, what is the result of his actions? Why he is allowed to ply his trade in show business. In fact, Alec Baldwin has never been in more demand for his services. A hit TV show, countless appearances on ''Saturday Night Live'', and movies all came after he started to abuse women years ago. When his producers and agents are asked about how they can employ such a brute, they call on the time-honored feeling of forgiveness and absolution. Everybody makes a mistake and must be forgiven....... Well, not in my book. I believe many people do deserve a second chance and repent for their sins. But, not all people. There are some crimes that never must be forgiven or forgotten. Abuse of women and children is front and center as examples. ''Men'' who hit the weaker opponent are the true bullies in life. My God, little kids are afraid of thunder and lightening, or, of monsters under the bed, or, of being left alone in the dark. They are the most vulnerable in the world. They trust and belief. They love unconditionally and they fear the unknown unconditionally. And, for someone like Adrian Peterson to take the anger issues he has out on a child is beyond repulsive. Abuse comes in different forms, physical and mental. The child's wounds will heal physically, but, will they fully heal mentally?........ I have known several women who have been abused, again, both physically and mentally. The scars recede rather quickly on the body, but, not in the mind and soul. The mind spins many dark thoughts to the victim. Many women and children come to believe that they deserved this abuse, in some way. Their mind tells them that it is all their fault. Or, it is the price they must pay for staying with the ''man''. In the mind of the abused is the very real voice of guilt: ''I must be a terrible person and deserve this'' is the unforgiving and cruel thought of some from their unconsciousness. It all has to do with low self-esteem, which the abuser is a master at driving home. Of course, the abuser, the ''man'', is really taking out their own self-hatred on someone else because they cannot stomach the fact that the real problem is them. So, the women and children become--- and  I don't say this to be glib--- the ''punching bag''. They beat and humiliate their victims. And, all the while, a sad seed is planted in the mind of the poor victim: ''It is my fault'...... Another major problem of domestic abuse is the seemingly automatic solution by many to seek ''counseling''. They get some charlatan, hiding behind a diploma, to tell them their problems and what a solution must be. Family therapy........ PEOPLE, IN ADDITION TO KNOWING MANY ABUSED WOMEN AND CHILDREN, I HAVE ALSO KNOWN THOSE PEOPLE THAT DEAL WITH THIS PROBLEM. THEY ARE THE DOMESTIC ABUSE EXPERTS WHO ARE THERE FOR THE VICTIMS. AND, THEY ARE OF THE UNIVERSAL, FIRM BELIEF THAT THE VERY LAST THING A FAMILY OR COUPLE SHOULD DO IS GO TO COUNSELING!!! THEY ADVISE IMMEDIATE WITHDRAWAL FROM THE ABUSIVE PARTY!!! GET AWAY!!!..... Sometimes, though, you cannot. A young child cannot run away. It is up to some adult to rescue the victim, either by taking away the child or reporting this son of a bitch to the proper authorities. And, the woman must be strong enough, despite her fear of the unknown, to walk away. This applies to all women, be they famously rich or barely scrapping by. The abuser only gets stronger by constant contact with the victims....... I write this, not only because of Rice and Peterson, but also, remembering a woman I knew years ago. She was a friend of a friend and lived with an alcoholic husband. He regularly beat her, sometimes when he had been drinking, sometimes, because he was stone sober and felt like it. A true monster this ''man''. Despite repeated efforts by those around her, the wife stayed with her husband, hoping to change him. But, the true story was that she was afraid to be by herself. It is understandable. She relied on him, regardless on how he so abused her. The beatings got more frequent. The police were called on occasion but they were powerless to do anything because she refused to press any charges. So she stayed......... One night, high on coke and booze, the husband beat her to death with his bare hands. No other way to term it. He killed her with his own two hands. Then, he put the end of a shotgun in his mouth and blew away the side of his head. When the police found the couple a few days later, they found a note from the husband. Hastily scribbled after he murdered his wife. The note said he could not take his life any more. It was a complete horror show. This, he blamed on his wife........