Three Timeless Christmas Tales

If you really think about it, George Bailey was kinda of a selfish jagoff. Here he is, on Christmas Eve, getting shitfaced at the local bar [The fool did not order cheeseballs], crying in his beer because Uncle Billy lost the money and the Savings and Loan will soon go under and he will go to jail [Had George waited forty years, the Reagan Administration would have bailed his ass out]. He should have been home with his family instead of feeling sorry for himself. No, Georgie was in his cups and praying to God for salvation----- a not-new idea in any bar. The next thing we know, he is on a bridge wanting to end it all. More selfish behavior. He has a family at home, with little kids, and he wants to leave his kids without a father because he can't deal with his problems? So, out of nowhere comes Clarence the Angel. Clarence will never be confused with being a Hells Angel, that is for sure. He seems gay. But, he has a sweet heart and takes pity on George [Plus, God made him do this task and how are you gonna say no to God?]. Back at the saloon---- George seems to have a hidden drinking problem--- they sit at the bar [Again, no cheeseballs!] George brings his wrath down on Clarence, telling him to ''Shut Up''. You don't pick on Clarence, Buster Brown!!! He is only doing his job!!! And, you are picking on him??? This from a guy who never did Violet Bick!!! Well, we all know what happens next: the familiar trek through the life that George Bailey never had. The ''Pottersville'' scenes. I have always maintained that ''Pottersville'' looks like a fun time!!! Lots of gambling. Plenty of gin mills. Loose women walking the streets. George should be looking at this and saying , ''Damn!!! This town is like a Roman orgy!!! Look at that Violet Bick tag-teaming Bert and Ernie!'' But, George sees the town through decency eyes instead of the much more fun indecency look. He sees all of the lives he touched and, Blah, Blah, Blah, he finds that he has plenty to live for after all. He cries on that bridge again and changes God's mind. How did he do that???? That is a Miracle in my book!!! To get what you want from God!!!! At the end of the flick, people from all over town bring George money. Jesus, I can't even get people to respond to my texts!!! With all of that power from just simple whining [Well, his loyal wife, Mary helped raise the money. Makes you wonder what she did to earn that money] , George sees the goodness around him, hears the bells on the tree ring signifying that an Angel just got his wings [The tree could have also moved because Uncle Billy farted], and all is well in Georgeland as the story ends. But, is it over, really? How do we not know that George, the next day, doesn't take the money and go to Vegas? After all, he got a taste of the wild life the night before. Why not try the real thing? Who was to know? He can change God's mind, so he doesn't have to worry about Karma. What George Bailey does in Vegas stays in Vegas......... Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer sure took a lot of shit from the other reindeer. He was a victim of bullying. They picked on him from Day One, so the story goes. Rudolph, fresh from the ''Reindeer School For Wayward Reindeers'', shows up and wants to impress this Santa Claus guy. But, nooooo!!! Santa doesn't give him the time of day [Santa Claus has always been a lazy, fat ass to me, he should work for the Chicago Park District] and just ignores him. Well, bosses are like that, you have to prove your mettle. The behavior of the other reindeer, however, is disquieting. They give this new guy, Rudolph, a great deal of shit. Normally, on the first day of any job, a person is nervous and someone takes pity on the poor soul. Not these assholes. They shunned Rudolph as soon as he left the Human Relations Department. The fact that Santa's reindeers were all union probably pissed off Dancer and Company. The new guy making equal wages. Also, there were rumors that Rudolph was very well-endowed and looked good in the Reindeer sauna. So, these pencil-dicks took umbrage on poor Rudy, making him eat alone, sleep in the upper bunkbed with the failed, drunken, forgotten Reindeer, Shecky, below snoring.  Soon, they pulled cruel pranks on him, like putting his paw in lukewarm water when he was sleeping, so he would piss the bed. And, they famously set him up on a ''date'' with a statuesque model who turned out to be a transvestite. Ashamed, broken, Rudolph was thinking about quitting the Reindeer business. His looks guaranteed that he could find a job as a female library worker in Anytown, USA. But, he was a people person and thought he might strike out on his own running a whorehouse. Better to wait until after Christmas [A terrible time to look for work, during the holidays] and find his niche. Then, of course, it snowed on Christmas Eve and the other Reindeers were too pussy to face the long journey. Santa Clause, fresh from banging two Eskimo groupies, had sobered up enough [He just got his pilot's license back after getting a DUI] and needed someone to pilot the craft. Because he shared the same trait with Rudolph, a red nose [Santa's was red because of excessive drinking at the Sands casino], Mr. Claus thought he would shame Rudolph into doing it. After all Rudolph had been through from the other guys, I would have told Santa to go fuck himself. ''After all I have been through, now you come to me because of my disability?'' If Santa wanted Rudolph to do it so much, I would have held Santa's feet to the fire and demanded more money. And, a shot at nailing Mrs. Claus [Once you go Reindeer.....]. But, Rudolph was a decent physical freak, not a sexual freak, and he led the famous party around the world on that snowy night using his red nose as a GPS. Santa Claus went from residence to residence, getting into the homes of strangers without detection [His previous job working for the CIA helped him go incognito]. After it was over, there was no reward for Rudolph. No raise. No women. No crack. Nothing!!! Just another example of the working classes being exploited......... Why did Grandma get run over by a Reindeer? Was it Dasher pissed off by Rudolph going down in history [And, on Mrs. Dasher, if you read the Enquirer]? What kind of mindless violence is this? Does Grandma live on the West Side? And, why was Grandma walking home alone on Christmas Eve? Is she such a bitch to her family that they let her leave and walk home in the cold and snow? Maybe, Grandma was working the street that night, looking to give a lonely, old sailor a gumjob, and things got ugly. If she was really lonely, all she had to do was find the local bridge in town. She could have met George Bailey. And, they would have had a sweet time in Pottersville!!!.......

Self Portrait: Me At 50

I must say, I find it very difficult to believe I am about to turn 50 years old. Its no great sin, I know, to ponder a certain age. Everyone has that one year where you are stunned that you and the number are as one. And, there are people out there reading this who will surrender there older age to just say they are 50. So, I am not searching for a solemn solace of sympathy. But, I am pondering how this person writing this blog made it to the promised land of half of a century........ My earliest memory is of a funeral procession. It was Robert Kennedy's day of rest, June 1968. I was all of two and a half years of age and wide-eyed at the spectacle playing out in front of me. Well, one of my eyes was open wide. My left eye. My right eye was born with the problem of ''lazy eye'', which means, it crossed. Not badly, but, noticeably. The eye was corrected through surgery. However, the vision was forever lost. My equilibrium has always been a problem with me, along with some nerve issues. Occasionally, I will get small tremors in my hands, which doctors have told me is because of my vision impairment. There is such little vision in my right eye, that if, God Forbid, I ever lost my left eye, I would be classified as blind........ But, the eyes saw a lot in my childhood and most of it was pleasant. I loved my family, and, was loved back, with the glaring exception of my brother, Tommy. I have written in other blog missives of the problems we had with each other. Still, those problems were a minor blemish on what was a nice time to be a kid. I was lucky, as were Tommy and my sister, Lisa. We had parents who loved us and sacrificed their lives for our lives. As I have gotten older, I realize what a gift I was given by them: the gift of love and caring. My neighborhood in the 1970's  represented the last bastion of two-parent households. There was very little divorce. Everyone came from the same background. Now, whether there was the same amount of love in the homes in my area I would not know. Probably, many went through motions of family love because they just wanted to keep up with the Joneses. Again, I was lucky. Ours was unconditional love of family. We weren't rich. My hometown, that sprawling metropolis known as Des Plaines, Illinois, was very rock-solid blue-collar. There was no talk of lake houses and new cars every year. There weren't guys and gals with very hip, WASP names. No, we were the meat-and-potatoes crowd, in-your face middle-class who watched out for each other. We played with the kids in the neighborhood well after dark without any fear of any pervert roaming the area looking for prey. You knew your neighbors by name. Streetlights would be blasting light as us kids played flashlight tag and Ding-Dong-Ditch. There was no sexual tension, no talk of drugs. No terrorism existed. You were allowed to be a kid, which is how it should be. Maybe, far back in our minds, we knew that the Big World Of Adults would be claiming us in their ranks as we got older. But, you are young, and with youth, comes a blissful and welcome innocence of spirit and actions. Arms were thrown cavalierly over shoulders when you posed for pictures [the trusty Kodak camera, folks!]. Youth and the joy of being young went breathing through our souls. Yes, a nice childhood indeed........ School, well, I guess I did OK at. I had a quick mind and I got pretty good grades. But, mostly, school was for fun with friends. I was a bit of a class cut-up. Never disrespectful. I was what the British called ''Cheeky'', which means I was a wise-ass with a charming smile to sooth over the class interruptions. The classroom wasn't my forum to entertain, I know now. The teachers ran the arena of the classroom. But, I couldn't help it when I saw a chance to put some spin of reality on whatever subject was being addressed. Looking back, these moments were my first stirrings of wanting to be an actor. I went for the attention of my peers and found it somewhat easily to gain. I would get a frown of disapproval from my teachers but, I also could not miss a turn of their heads a little. They gave a small smile of, I hope, appreciation for my efforts. I'm sure most of them are either very old now [teachers seemed to be older when I went to school] or, maybe, some have passed on. Wherever they are at now, I hope I was not a burden to them. I don't think I was. I wish I could thank them for putting up with me......... A strange thing happened to me when I was around 5 or 6. I began to feel a funny feeling around girls. It was a feeling I did not understand. But, it was a nice feeling. I wanted to be around them. Of course, I had no idea why. I just liked looking at them and being in their company. Now, with the brilliance of hindsight, I know I was already a horny little fuck..........The years of childhood blended nicely with the teenage years. Schools changed, the world changed even more. But, my family and friends were there, along with new people I would meet. Around 14, I had my first kiss. It came from a neighborhood girl named Kathy [who is now, sadly, long-dead]. It was a quick kiss on the lips, more to say that I had my first kiss than anything else. I recall her lips as soft and gentle. As was the moment. God Bless You, Kathy.......... High school ended and young adulthood came. In my early twenties, I decided to go with my dream of being an actor. As far back as I can recall, I always admired the ability of a performer, any performer. That is why I am a good, enthusiastic audience member. My sweat is with the performer onstage. I knew that I wasn't gonna be a Nicholson or Pacino. I never wanted the star life. Instead, I had hopes on being a steady, working actor, hopefully, doing good, solid work. I took the classes and pounded the pavement. I gave myself until I was thirty to crack the profession. If I did not, I would walk away from it with the knowledge that I tried. And, I did. While I did some shows, it hit that wall for me at thirty. I never considered it as failing because I TRIED. To me, to have a DREAM and not pursue it was a sort of failure. I never wanted to be old and look back on my life and ruefully mutter, ''I should have given acting a spin when I had the chance.'' Well, I had the chance and I would not trade those times and experiences for the world. I had a ball!!!! When you are onstage, there is no better high [no better word applies] that you cannot describe to those who have not tasted the potion of creativity. You feel your brain working at maximum potential, all of the juices of brainpower pumping your body, making you feel so alive. Sure, you bomb a lot of the time. And, when you do, you learn a valuable lesson. You do not die from public embarrassment. That is the ultimate human fear, besides disease, right? To fall on your face in front of strangers. Well, I have done it. And, you know what? I'm still standing, babe........ In my twenties, I hit the bars. That is a right of passage for a young, unattached male. You are finally let off the leash and you hit the ground running. Actually, I hit the nightlife so hard I'm not sure I ever let my feet touch the ground. Long nights and early sunrises greeted many a year in my twenties. Occasionally, there would be a relationship with a lovely lass [for their benefit, I will omit names]. Fun, wild times that gave me great joy and made me grow as a person. In the hustle and bustle of my Roaring Twenties, I would have a calm moment of reflection. I knew I was burning the candle at both ends. But, I was young and wild and free. I knew it would have to end sooner than later. It did when my thirties came calling. Along with cruel fate......... Tragedy does not play fair. It slinks into your life very quickly, the Unwelcome Intruder. I thought I knew about how cruel the world could be but I was as innocent as a baby when it did rear its ugly head. Cancer came to my Dad. Suicide to my brother. Dementia to my Grandmother. And, heart disease and kidney failure to my Mom. One by one, these lovely, kind, gentle people lined up in front of the firing squad of life's Fickle Finger Of Fate. I stood by helpless, as disease and death sucked the life out of those I held so dear. I cried to the Heavens, not so much for my own survival, but for theirs. But, the Heavens did not come to our family in white hero clothes. They came in the undertaker black of death. Sure, I knew I would lose my loved ones some time. However, I never thought it would be so swift and so cruelly. I grew into an adult in those years. The look in my eyes saw images and pain that will forever be seared into my soul. There is an old theory that after you look at death you are never the person again that you were before. This is true. I still find joy and fun in life. But, I look at the sunset differently now. I have a hardened edge to my life that I will carry with me until I die. During my thirties, the child died. Long may the adult live........ After I left acting, I had a bit of a problem. What the hell do I do with my life? I did sales for many years. My heart wasn't in it, though. You have to have a killer aggression to go after the money, which I did not possess. While I made a decent living, I never was the tiger. Nor did I want to be. I saw what it did to other people and I vowed to never corrupt my soul with the all-mighty dollar. Maybe, that was what was at the heart of me hating sales: I have never been driven by the dollar. Money has never meant much to me. If I pay my bills and I have some left over for fun, I consider myself a rich man. Don't get me wrong!!! I'm also not a lunkhead!!! If money does fall into my lap, I will gladly use it to have even more fun. Probably, with you, my dear reader!!!!!.......... Also in my thirties and in my forties, I found love a few times. As I have stated above, I will not use names. I am old-fashioned and believe in discretion in the affairs of the heart. The relationships with the women [ by the way, I have NEVER been unfaithful and I wear this badge of honor with pride!] ran the gamut of short-term and long-term. They all were with special women whom I know had to put up with my moods and personality quirks. I am forever grateful to ANY woman who is with me, for I am a man with faults. I have never claimed to be perfect, far from it. I have treated women well, though. Again, not perfect because we humans are not perfect and make errors. Hopefully, the errors I have made have not been costly. In time, for various reasons, the women moved on. They left me. But, I am not a man who has cruelty in his heart. Some relationships are only temporary. I will forever be fond of these women, these Angels who put up with the Devilish Jimmy........ In my forties, my body started to show its age. High blood pressure pills became my morning ritual, along with an alarming frequency of middle of the night trips to urinate. My stomach muscles exploded and there were genuine frightening times when I could barely see my genitals in the shower. Gray hair replaced the brown. Like everyone who advances in years, when I look in the mirror, I am shocked by my appearance. In my mind's eye, I still look 21. But, the cruel Mirror/Mirror on the wall kicks me in the teeth with a visual reality. Somewhere along the line, a second chin glued itself to my first. Hair sprouted in my ears [and, it is gray]. My legs ache a lot and I have lost my anal virginity with yearly prostate check-ups. So far, with the exception of the blood pressure, I am healthy. I just wish a lot of the energy I used to have would come back to me. It is somewhere out there in the universe. I just am too lazy to go find it......... In an example of the topsy-turvy way of life, I now work in a high school. I never would have conceived of this in my past years. To my complete surprise and delight, I enjoy it!!! Like any job, there are bad days. The good days top them, fortunately. I do not know how long it will last. I am enjoying the ride......... So, I am closing in on my fifties. Am I wiser? I hope so. Am I a different person than I was ten, twenty years ago? I hope so. I know I have mellowed a great deal. I think when you mellow that is another sign of learning life's lessons. I have more patience for things and people now than I had before. When I was younger, I was a young man in a hurry. Now, I do stop and smell the roses. And, I value all that I have gathered and lost. I have gathered a great deal of love around me from the family I have and the friends I know. They reward my life and fill me after all of these years with possibilities. I value those I have lost, more so, as the years roll on. They may be gone physically from me but they will always be in my heart. When I close my eyes I see them clearly, so close, I feel I can touch them. I remember faces, all of them fondly. I know they are waiting for me somewhere, just waiting to be reunited when it is time......... So, I end this blog and go forward to start playing the ''back nine'' of my life. I thank you all for being in my life, for taking this tour of life with me. All of you have gotten on this tour at various stops, enriching my life. I cannot thank you enough.......... Permit an old softie to express his heart: I LOVE YOU ALL!!!!!

Again

As I am writing this, there is fresh blood on the streets of Paris. ISIS apparently has struck again. The act of murder, which authorities are calling an act of terrorism, has reared its ugly face. At least, 100 people are dead. The toll will rise as bodies are found and victims will lose the fight for life. The images are appalling....... Gunmen standing up in a concert hall turning it into a death hall, randomly shooting innocent civilians out for a night on the town. There are reports that the gunfire went on for twenty minutes, as the bullets and the blood mingled in carnage. Some victims staggered to the ground only to be shot again in cold blood......... Across town, the horror continued. A soccer match became a bloodbath, with bombs blasting and victims screaming for life......More attackers spraying gunfire...... More blood....... More agony........ More madness......... The news is stating that there were several locations that were targets. A well-planned mass murder by the animals of ISIS. In the following days and weeks, more information will be coming forth, the story will become clearer and questions will be answered. I am writing this fresh, as it is happening. But, it has become an old story. We have seen this scenario played out before. Only the names and places have changed. The result is death........ Blissfully unaware of the endless danger we are all in everyday, we walk in our daily lives, only wanting to survive and not hurt ourselves or anyone else. We believe, or were taught to believe, that no human beings are completely evil, that there is goodness somewhere in our fellow human beings. There can't be bloodthirsty animals out there, right? There cannot be such Devils amongst us........ There are such Devils....... And, they seem to be growing in numbers as the years go on. They sprout freely, so it seems, almost effortlessly demanding to bring harm to us all because----, well, who really knows why? If we knew, we would be THEM, the scum that murder freely, rape children, and destroy human life without a second thought......... What we learned from 9/11 is that we will forever be in an endless war with irrational people. They are no longer OUT THERE, but are at OUR FRONT DOORS. We can hide and pray that this will never find us in our daily existence. But, that was the thinking today and tonight in Paris, as innocent people went out for a fun night on the town. They were, I'm thinking, mostly good people who fell to death. Tragedy always plays unfairly with life. Like a battle, some of the bravest die, some of the biggest bastards live on. But, the majority of the people who are in body bags now were good people, I will attest. They knew love. They knew fear. They had dreams that came true and had dreams still in the making. Their only crime was to think they could go out into the world and have a nice evening of fun. They found out that they could not......... That is the victory that terrorists can now claim for decades. The slowly eroding of public and private safety. No longer can we go forward with that innocence. It is gone forever, like the victims of today's madness. The dark cloud of death is a constant companion to us all. And, it is a most unwelcome one......... What can we do? Well, as history as shown us, violence and murder go hat-and-hand with human behavior. Fortunately, it still is a minority. But, it is a strong, loud minority. Hate drives the insane. Sadly, we can never eradicate pure evil....... But, we can, and should, fight it. We have in history, and it has been successful. As the World Wars of the 20th Century have demonstrated, countries around the world can band together to wipe out a Hitler. Today's version of Hitler is not one man but a whole ideology. It is based in the religious zealousness of Islam, a religion I have been told my whole life is peaceful. But, it has been my observation that it is not. I have never been a fan for organized religion, which I consider a cult of fury. I believe you can have a strong faith in whatever Almighty you choose to follow, as long as it does not do disservice to common sense and free thinking and open minds for those that do not agree with you. I believe in God. Do I have proof? No, it is an internal feeling of assuredness that there is something bigger than myself. However, I do not criticize those who feel the opposite of me. Free choice to believe what you want to believe. As long as it does not hurt someone else....... Islam hurts. Other organized religions do also, through brain-washing and religious bullying. I can never get around in my mind correctly the feeling of killing for God [or, Allah] in the name of salvation. But, the decades long terrorism problem is rooted in this and , it must be understood, Islam is its chief SOURCE.... I am a peaceful man. I always believe that going to battle should always be a last resort after all other peaceful options have been exhausted. Wars are usually fought by the young for the old to somehow benefit. This War On Terror [yes, Mr. Obama, it is, and should be, called this] is universal. The United States cannot fight this fight alone. Other countries must become our real Allies again, like we were when we fought Hitler, and try to contain [we will, lets face it, never wipe away] our enemies. We need a global agreement to band together to take care of each other. It is in our best interests to work side by side, hip to haunch, and go after the bad guys. Yes, there will be blood and mayhem, a lot of it. I'm not for killing for killing's sake---- that would make me a terrorist. But, a solution of unilateral force, however ugly it is to fathom, is our only option now...... If we don't, then expect more Paris tragedies to happen unchecked........ And, more body bags....... With people you know........

Random Thoughts November 2015

Three news stories recently have captured the headlines. All of them tragic in their own ways........ The strange and shocking disclosures of fallen Fox Lake police officer Lt. Joe Gliniewicz that has rocked the public. We all know that he died on duty. But, how was always foremost in everyone's mind. The rumors of it being a suicide started almost immediately, along with rumors of dirty pool in the activities of Gliniewicz. Now, we know the stories were true. Here was someone, at least on the surface, who appeared to be a heroic cop, someone the police force takes pride in. That he was no such person is a stunner. With each passing day comes new revelations---- threats to kill, extortion, sexual harassment, stealing---- all are making headlines. It can be safely said that this guy was no hero. He was a scumbag, someone who tarnished the good name of police officers everywhere. He is best forgotten from public view, a sad, black eye in law enforcement. However, what must be remembered about this story, is that in no way should his actions be attributed to the dealings of most police officers. For the past few years, the media, and several self-interest groups, have targeted police everywhere and are trying to paint cops as evil. Sensible people realize this is not true. But, there are many people living in the world who are not sensible people. They believe what the media, and some race hustlers like Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton, tell them to believe. All cops are bad, so the haters say, so, there should be open warfare against them. The fact that police officers deal with the underbelly of human behavior is of no concern to those who have preconceived notions. And, so, police officers everywhere--- those heroes that walk in everyday life in danger so that we live a little more safer---- are under the microscope and on the defensive. Here is what I would say to the misguided who protest against law enforcement: all of you gather in a safe place. Then, we will all go down to the heart of the West Side of Chicago on a Friday or Saturday night around midnight. I will drop the protesters off at a unfamiliar corner. Now, you are on your own to survive. No police will come bail you out, because, you preach, they are the true enemy here. Try to survive. Try to get along without any law protection. And, hopefully, some sense will seep into their closed, hateful minds, and realize what the police--- and the behavior they put up with daily from some animals who dare to call themselves human beings---- really are about......... Which leads into the second story. It is the tale of Tyshawn Lee, the 9 year old boy who was lulled into a alley and shot in cold blood. By the accounts that have developed, it seems the little boy's father is a gang member, and so, it appears, that the boy was shot by a rival gang. This is beyond horrible. A little boy lying in blood. The father refuses to cooperate with the police [they are the enemy, remember] because that is the code of the street. The mother, who seems like a piece of shit herself, has taken the donations from a generous public and bought herself a new car because that was ''what Tyshawn would have wanted.'' Her justification is that the little boy would want his Mother to be safe and not ride public transportation. The fact that she bought the car only a few days after her son's death speaks to the type of woman she is---- uncaring, selfish, easily swayed from her ''grief'' by the largesse of green currency. Meanwhile, there will most likely be more bloodshed, if the ''code'' of the street among gang members will be exercised. Retribution will fall, along with more human bodies. The circle of muder goes round and round......... And, finally, Patrick Kane walks away from another incident unscathed. The District Attorney has decided to drop the investigation into the allegation of rape by a woman Kane picked up in a bar. The woman claims that she does not have the heart to go forward and press charges. Did she make the story up? Perhaps. There are the gold diggers out there that run after famous, rich people. She could be that type of woman and the D.A. saw this and declined any further involvement. Could the rape have happened? Perhaps. Kane has a history of violent behavior. Rumors of his rough treatment of women have become quite common conversation in these parts. The woman could have been raped but, because of pressure from his attorney--- and the Hawks organization--- she did not want to face the public backlash that, incredibly, rape victims incure from our faulty legal system and an unforgiving public that does not want their heroes tarnished. What happened that night is only known between those two. Kane denies it. The woman says it happened. What follows now should be an interesting telltale conclusion to this. If she was not raped [and, we hope she wasn't because no woman should have to go through the horrible trauma of sexual abuse] will the woman be prosecuted by the District Attorney's office for false charges and the money spent investigating her allegation? If she made this up, she should be prosecuted and rape support groups should call her out for her actions. And, if there is some compensation from Kane to her----basically, shutting her up by buying her promise not to prosecute him---- will Kane's worshipful public turn against him? After all, if one is innocent, you would scream to the heavens proclaiming it in the public court of opinion......... Donald Trump hosted ''SNL'' this past weekend. To say it was a trainwreck would be an insult to trainwrecks. I am not in the corner of Donald Trump, never have been. A recent blog by me explains why. But, entertainment shows are part of how we elect Presidents these days [imagine Lincoln, if he were alive, on ''Dancing With The Stars?'']. Trump was his usual gas bag self, a shameless and egotistical self-promoter who can be dangerous in some quarters. Even the most insane people occasionally spout common sense rhetoric. And, Trump, to give the Devil his due, knows how to sell the sizzle and not the steak. That is why his appearnce on ''SNL'' was much ballyhooed. But, it is not that he was bad--- he played himself, love him or hate him---- but, once again, how badly ''SNL'' has fallen from grace. Throughout the years, the show has gone up and down with quality, both from the performers and writers. Past casts would have made the Trump show work. They would have let Trump be himself, but, the show would have both applauded him and condemned him in one big swoop. Satire, the combination of reality mixed with a mean twist of humor, was what was needed. The current cast could not pull it off. Trump is a walking joke, so, there was no need to play up his public persona. Instead, what they should have done, was gone the other way and make him more bearable. It is like if everyone is waiting for a certain type of joke and you don't give it to them because that is the easy laugh. Instead, you feign left and go right, as they say in football, and go classy and highbrow. Why not a sketch where Trump is trying to cross the border with illegal Mexicans? Why not a song and dance number where Trump declares his love for Rosie O'Donnell? Why not a sketch where Trump is not really rich and has to work a second job at Wendy's as a night manager? There were many opportunities for the show to feign left and go right. But, they dropped the ball in the end zone....... I miss the Cubs. I haven't said that for years, since I was a teen. Yes, it was fun watching and cheering for them this past year. The fact that this team is good, very good, is why I am so high on them. Sure, they lost in the playoffs but who expected them to go that far? It wasn't luck that got them there but good, old-fashioned talent. And, this team is loaded with talent, perhaps, more than any other Cubs team in my lifetime. They will only get better. Now, the free agents out there see what they could be a part of if they come here to play next year. The selling tool for the Cubs is simple: come play with us and be a part of history. Unless the baseball experts are very wrong, this Cubs team, ably managed by the great Joe Madden, will be in the World Series soon, possibly, next year. The Cubs organization has the job of saying to whomever, ''the entire world will be watching. Not only will you be famous in baseball history but in history itself!'' The entire world will be rooting for the Cubs when they reach the Series. It will happen. Even the most die-hard White Sox fan must concede this to be true. But, in the meantime, I must wait, along with my fellow Cubs fans, a little longer. Its like waiting for a great meal that is being made. You smell the aromas, the taste is in your mouth. All that remains is the waiting for it to come out of the oven. Ah, the taste of victory will be so sweet........

Love Was All Around

I saw a documentary on Mary Tyler Moore recently. It was culled from a larger special done on TV history and showed clips of Mary and her famous co-stars, like Dick Van Dyke and Betty White. The special was crisp in its presentation and showed no new ground being broken on its subject. But, it did stir in me the warm memory of our ongoing love affair with the Girl Next Door....... Mary Tyler Moore came on to the national consciousness in the Year Of 1961. JFK was newly installed in the White House and a sense of youth and the possibilities that youth send out was in the air. Of course, we all know that Mary played Laura Petrie on ''The Dick Van Dyke Show'', itself, a pioneering program about a comedy writer. What made the show pioneering for its time was the home front relationship between Van Dyke and Moore. Most sitcoms from a previous era had the housewife as a wacky sidekick, someone that was almost non-sexual and non-intelligent [Audrey Meadows ''Alice Kramden'' being the exception]. Mary Tyler Moore, with the crucial aid of show creator, Carl Reiner and show star, Dick Van Dyke, blossomed in the role of young Laura. She was the strong counterpart of her comedy writer husband, one of TV's first feminist, independent women. Mary was plucky in spirit, with a superb comedy talent unknown to even her when she got the part. As the series progressed, it became very clear that here was a force to reckon with, the Little Girl who ably played with the Big Boys. Mary showed ''great comic chops'', along with a vulnerability mixed with an sexual heat--- not an easy trick to portray. For five glorious seasons, Mary Tyler Moore was the MVP on the Van Dyke Show, a heartbeat which fueled the engine of a television classic....... Her career stalled after ''The Dick Van Dyke Show'' went off the air in 1966. She made a series of bad movie choices--- including a movie with Elvis where she, as a nun, fell for the King. It wasn't until a reunion special with Dick Van Dyke, where she showed off again her charms that so endeared her to audiences, that CBS came calling with an offer to do her own show about a young woman moving to Minneapolis to work in a newsroom. The show, of course, was the legendary ''The Mary Tyler Moore Show'', perhaps, the finest written, directed and acted comedy series in television history. Mary was smart. She learned from her Van Dyke years to surround herself with the best talent available. This sounds like no-brainer advice but many performers want vehicles in which only they shine, not the supporting cast around them. Mary, with her second husband, Grant Tinker, knew better. They hired class from the get go through their mutual production company, ''MTM Productions'' [I know you are seeing the little kitten meowing in your minds]. Tinker, a television genius and visionary himself, hired stellar people to bring the series to life. Edward Asner, Valerie Harper, Gavin Macleod, Georgia Engel were just some unknown names they hired. But, the real finds, the real boon to the success of the supporting cast, was journey actors Ted Knight and Betty White. Betty had been around a while but had never been used to her highest potential. Her role as man-hungry Sue Ann Nivens changed that. And, Ted Knight, as buffoonish anchorman Ted Baxter, royally brought forth comic gold. Mary was the center, the glue that held the show together. In addition to keeping the combination of vulnerability and sexiness that she had with Laura Petrie, Mary also brought forth a strong role model for single, career minded women to emulate. She became a hero for women everywhere. The show itself showed quality and originality and audacity [who can forget ''Chuckles The Clown'' dying?] throughout its seven year run. When the show ended in 1977------ still, to this day, the finest ending episode of any series---- Mary Tyler Moore was forever a National Icon, firmly cemented in our hearts........ Mary Tyler Moore segued again back into movies after her series. This time, though, she scored a triumph. It was 1980's ''Ordinary People'', directed by Robert Redford. This role of Beth was groundbreaking for Mary, in that, she played a cold, bitter woman who had lost a son to death and had another son who attempted suicide. It was all serious drama from Mary, not a shred of lovable behavior anywhere near this character. Mary excelled in this role, surprising the show business industry and her adoring public. She was nominated for an Oscar but lost to Sissy Spacek in ''Coal Miner's Daughter''. But, Mary, once again, showcased her versatility as an actress. An extraordinary performance........... Unlike her television roles, real life for Mary has been filled with heartbreak and tragedies. She came from an abusive home---- by certain accounts, Mary was abused by her father---- and got pregnant at a young age [17] and had a son, Richie, with her first husband, The marriage did not last long and Mary found herself a single mother of a baby before the Van Dyke Show and marrying Grant Tinker saved her.  But, in her late twenties, she developed diabetes, a severe case where she needed daily doses of insulin to stay alive. In her mid-thirties, her sister overdosed and died, and, soon after that, her marriage to Tinker ended. Finally, in the most tragic event of her already tragedy filled life, her only son, Richie, accidently shot and killed himself with a rifle......... Such horrors would test the stamina of anyone but Mary trudged on, a smile on her face, with a deep, heavy heart. Her career in the 80's and 90's ebbed and flowed, with both successes and failures. She still maintained the enormous affection of the public. She found love again with her third and final husband, Richard Levine, a heart doctor many years her junior. And, she became a elder stateswoman of comedy, a vast influence to the many that followed in her trailblazing wake. After many years, where a fickle public goes in and out with the latest fashion and celebrity, she was still there for us. Our Mary......... I write this because I know she has been in ill health for sometime now. Perhaps, at death's door. The diabetes she battled for years has ravaged her, dwindling her to a shockingly thin state. By most accounts----including, her own---- she is losing her eyesight and can barely stand. At 78, she is a sad shell of herself. She is dying......... I find this very sad for several reasons. That she is suffering is the main one. But, I also have a personal sadness at her state. Mary Tyler Moore was my ''first love'' when I was a little boy. I had to be around 5 or 6 but I remember I liked looking at her. Of course, I was too young to know what that feeling meant. I just knew she made me feel good to watch her, all tight Capri slacks and all. Like millions of men, I fell for her. She was the wholesome ''All-American'' girl that you wanted to marry and settle down with. Contrast her with the other big female of the period in show business, Marilyn Monroe. Marilyn, as we know, was the big ''Sex Symbol'' of the time, a stalking animal of sexual heat. Now, every male likes that too. That is the short, torrid affair men fantasize about. However, as Marilyn Monroe sadly found out, there is no love in the heat of a sexually passionate moment, just lust. After all is done, you want the ''America's Sweetheart'' as your lifetime companion. Sex symbols come and go, as swift as a summer's light. But, the sweetheart goes on, an endless light of love.......... I wish Mary Tyler Moore, now approaching the end of her journey, a painless and easy passing. And, I want to thank her for brightening my life---- and, all of our lives. Mary will always be a welcome presence in our daily existence, long after she has passed on....... And, deep in my heart, dear Mary, you will always be my ''first love''........

A Non-Starry Night At Wrigley Field

In the jubilant aftermath of this Cubs team run for the pennant, we are seeing all sorts of glorious sights. Out on the streets around Wrigley Field, and, in the streets locally, there are banners waving, fans wearing the Cubs shirts, and endless optimism about this team and its chances. But, like any good thing, there is the backside. The dark cloud that hangs over the joy of winning. Yes, Cubs fans , we have a Jim Belushi and John Cusack sighting in the house....... Yes, now is the time for C-Level celebrities to claim their Cubs allegiance, now that they are winning. Strange, how I never saw them at the games when the Cubs were stinking up the National League these past seasons. But, when the winning starts, so, does the star fucking. I suppose this is the famous version of ''jumping on the bandwagon.'' To be fair, who wants to follow a losing team when you can be making bad movies in Tinselton? And, also being fair, Jim Belushi is a Cubs fan. As is Eddie Vetter. So, I will throw them a bone and say that they paid their dues. John Cusack has not. Many of us recall him famously switching sides in 2005 when the White Sox won it all. There he was, front and center, wearing his Sox garb and proclaiming to all that would listen that he was REALLY a Sox fan and dislikes the North Siders. I remember sports radio was alive with comments from both sides of town calling on Cusack's loyalty. How he was trying to jump start his stalled career [which is still stalled] by grabbing some free publicity of a team in the limelight. It was laughable, which mirrored his attempts at acting, to see him sputter himself into telling his yarns. In the years between 2005 and now, Cusack was MIA at the ballparks in town. But, he was spotted wearing Dodgers and Yankees shirts and hats. Well, they were good these last years. He must have not had a chance to buy Red Sox attire...... We get short-changed in this town with celebrities. In Los Angeles, they have the cream of the crop. Nicholson haunts the sidelines of Lakers games, grinning behind his shades, most likely stoned on ingredients both legal and illegal. Denzel is also there, along with the increasingly Vulcan looking Dyan Cannon. In New York, well, you get the rich and famous like Spike Lee and Billy Crystal. Don't ever attempt to top Crystal with Yankees information. The man, along with Bob Costas, is not afraid to whip out the Mickey Mantle stories at the drop of a hat. I believe that if you tell a story about the Yankees, you must pay a royalty to both Crystal and Costas, for they hold the rights to Yankees memories......... In Chicago, we get Ronnie ''Woo Woo'', some inbred, afterbirth streetperson, who walks around saying ''Cubs! Woo! Cubs! Woo!'' And, some nobody from a radio station or far suburban school who sings the 7th Inning stretch. Who are these people? You might as well have the cadaver of Ernie Banks up there or the guy who served me my breakfast from McDonalds today [''Number 12'' Egg bagel with cheese and bacon with a hash brown and coffee! Very tasty!].........We do hold an ace, though, here in Cub land. His name is Bill Murray. Bill is, from head-to-toe, a die-hard Cubs supporter. It goes back to when he grew up in Wilmette. Bill has been at Wrigley for ages, haunting the Friendly Confines in a charming manner. At times, he will mosey up to the broadcast booth and comic genius will come roaring out. But, for the most part, he stays quiet, never calling attention to himself. Bill seems to know his place, which is out of the way of the players. He doesn't go about looking for the cameras and he doesn't play Cub groupie. He goes to games and does what we all do: sitting quietly, having some hot dogs and suds to drink, and shouting his lungs out when things go good. When he is in the mood, he will go along with the Cubs organization's constant request to be ''Bill Murray'' for them. but, on his terms. You gotta admire Bill. He is secure in his fame and, most importantly, his self-confidence, to not seek public approval like a Cusack and Jim Belushi........ We do have other famous folk who are Cub fans: Jimmy Buffet, Lee Trevino, Dennis Franz and William Peterson and Gary Sinise [all three did the play about the Cubs, ''Bleacher Bums'' back when they were unknowns] Billy Corgan, Vince Vaughn.........The real stars, apart from the ballplayers, has to be the fans. No other organization in sports history has tested the patience of their fans like the Chicago Cubs. and, the club has been rewarded with a fan base that is unrivaled anyway. Instead of some half-assed celebrity singing the 7th Inning stretch, I would like to see one of the faithful, one of ''us'', who has been mired in the trenches with this team, year after year, decade after decade, lifetime after lifetime. I'm not saying we would have the golden vocal tones to bring about a perfect rendition. But, we would have the right feeling, the feeling of passion for our Boys Of Summer. The passion and the loyalty in our real fans far outshines a Hollywood yokel celebrity trying to grab some personal gratification....... Unless, Bill Murray wants to sing. He can take my place at the microphone........

My Kinda Of Pope

I really dig Pope Francis. He seems like the kind of guy that you would want running that travesty called The Vatican. Francis---- or, Frankie, to us friends------ is progressive in his modern thinking. Well, almost. He still believes that priests cannot be married and enjoy a normal life of a loveless marriage with two people stuck together. And, he still preaches the fallacy that any Pope has God's ear. But, on the whole, he is modern. He sees the world and its issues with a clear, concise head....... Which is refreshing because he is stuck in an institution known as the Catholic Church. The teachings of the Church, as I know so well because I was raised a Catholic, is founded on the simple concept of fear and guilt as an emotional tag team. We must fear God, fear the Church, fear your parents, fear basically everything they can say. And, if you don't feel the fear, then, guilt is your sin. Say, for example, you have the impure thought of sexual congress with another human being. That is wrong, you see, because sex is only to be used for procreation. Or, if a altar boy is handy. But, you must have guilt also if things are going well for you. The Church preaches that for all that is going right for you, it is unworthy because there is too much suffering in the world and it is partly your fault. I know. I'm sorry for my selfishness for enjoying all of the riches that were laid upon me. I really should give away my millions and go live with the lepers in their colonies. I feel guilt for my sins of living my life the way it was handed to me. And, I certainly fear retribution from God!!!!........ My hope is that Pope Francis is such a realist that he will bring the Church out of the Dark Ages of thinking. It is a tall order. The first thing he needs is to be completely revolutionary and state the hilarious false lunacy that the Bible is. It always astounds me that normal thinking people still buy all of the fiction that comes from this book. I'm not talking about the messages of human unity and love that are stated. No, I'm talking about the incredible tales of sorcery and downright lies that are taken as the gospel. My favorite parts of the Bible are the stories of the stories of Moses and Noah. Take Noah: we all know about him and his Ark. How, at the tender age of 600, with the help of his 100 year old sons, [ who needs Viagra!] Noah Jr, Skitch, and Fredo, he assembled three million animals on Earth---- conveniently in a five mile region of his undertaking----- and slid them all nice and tidy inside the Ark. The Ark,----- the first Man Cave----- boasted enough room to house two of every kind of animal to save them from, I guess, extinction. However, the Ark did also boast a fine sound system for Noah to blast some tunes. Although it isn't stated as such, I hear Noah loved the Supremes and had the hots for Diana Ross. A bumper pool table and DirecTV completed the layout, along with many DVD'S of Marilyn Chambers.........Moses was even more of a man. Hey, you think he ain't great shakes, do ya? Well, you try walking in the desert for 40 years without bottles of Evian water!!! I have a hard enough time getting up to take a piss at 3am!!!! Yes, Moses walked the desert and then, at some point, he sat upon a mountain and God spoke to him. God, played by the voice of Morgan Freeman, gave Mo Ten Rules to which a human must live by. A few were no brainers, like not killing and honoring thy parents and not stealing [unless, it was free cable]. Some were harder to swallow, like, blasphemy and coveting thy neighbors wife. Actually, this last one is not so difficult for me because my neighbor's wife looks like Moses in a babushka. But, my favorite part in the Moses story is his parting of the Red Sea. Now, this is some trick!!! All without CGI!!! Moses parted the Red Sea, let his friends cross under it [imagine the mud on the sandals!] and when they were safely over to the other side, let the water settle back, trapping the Egyptians---- led by Yul Brynner---- and murdering thousands of people. And, lets not forget later on the killing of the eldest males by God in support of Moses. I guess the ends justified the means in this mass murder......... But, I do not mean to turn this into a bashing of the Bible. I won't mention Jonah living in the whale for three days or, God turning Lott's wife into a pillar of salt. Pope Francis did not invent these fictions. However, he does abide by the law of the Bible and blindly proclaims the gospel inside of it. I have a problem with this. Besides the fantasy involved, the Bible also has endless amounts of violence---- horrible, sadistic violence inflicted by ''Higher Powers''---- in the ongoing crusade of every organized religion to prove that ''MY GOD IS BETTER THAN YOUR GOD!!!'' If Pope Francis throws out most of the teachings of the Bible and only retains the message of love and healing and accepting of all of our fellow humans----- no matter what they look like----- that is invoked in the tone of the narrative, then, I will fully believe that here is a man of action, a man who is plowing the ground of humanity and all of its faults and casting aside the deep prejudices and barriers that make up the book itself. Since most people are lemmings that will drift to the sea if you do not stop them, the Pope has a potentially strong opportunity to correct the ills of the past.......... He must allow more diversity and understanding. He must believe that his beliefs that he was raised on are no longer the beliefs of the world today. He must sweep away the horror of his Church and all of its underhanded dealings, starting with the horrendous pedophilia scandals that we know existed [and, sadly, still do exist]. He must hold those bastards accountable for their actions and crimes. And, those monsters must be punished in this life [God will take care of them in the next life, I'm certain] without the sordid protection that has been the Catholic Church MO for years. The past of the Old World must be buried forever. And, a New World Order must be embraced. The Pope must open the Church to a more modern role for women. The Catholic Church in the past has viewed women as little more than the street mutt, to blindly follow the man. The Church must concede what we have all known: that men and women are equal and must be treated as such. And, the Pope must embrace the gay lifestyle, for they too are the children of God. The Pope must address this long-held prejudice against gay people, explaining that the next time the haters are scrawling through the cherished Bible, pay strict and close attention to the parts of compassion and loving your fellow man [and women]. If we are God's love, then we are ALL God's love......... I am realistic enough to know that many of these changes I am addressing will never see the light of day. It would be nice, but, I am not fooling myself. Still, I do have the optimism that Pope Francis will do good things. He has made the first steps correctly, bringing up climate change, for example. I want this Pope to do well, since, millions still do blindly follow him instead of finding the inner strength and wisdom to lead their lives on their own free will. Maybe, his message of modern life will rub off on them and people will not need the dogma of religion to guide them and instead, find that they already know the answers on what to do to lead a successful life: Peace of Earth. Good will towards Man [ And, woman. See, I told you that they still view women negatively]........

Great Movie: ''As Good As It Gets''

Melvin Udall is not a nice man. We gather this from his first moments of introduction to us. He grabs a small, adorable dog and throws it down the garbage shute, while uttering a few choice words of meanness. With that one horrible act against Dogkind everywhere, we start a comedy........ ''As Good As It Gets'' walks the fine line of hard comedy and genuine pathos. There are times in this movie where it almost dares you to like and embrace it. The screenplay, by James L. Brooks and Mark Andros, has sharp observations about human behavior and the universal need to be loved, no matter how nasty and difficult the person is. Jim Brooks mines this territory with confidence, because, he is experienced in dealing with his movies the discomfort that sometimes comes with being a living, breathing human being. He co-created the legendary shows, ''The Mary Tyler Moore Show'', ''Rhoda'', ''Lou Grant'', and ''Taxi', while writing, directing, and producing ''Terms Of Endearment''---- another movie with tangled relationships mixed with tangled emotions. On ''As Good As It Gets'', he also does double duty as director. Which is good, because with his having such a beast as the main character, it takes the deft hand of the author to pilot the direction of the plot. Without him living the characters and their fears and triumphs personally, the whole intention of the movie could be lost in translation....... The plot is simple: three lonely human beings, as diverse in life as can be, find the common ground of love. The main plot involves Melvin Udall, a racist, homophobic, anti-women, anti-world, OCD, successful author. His routine in life is to be a professional nasty person. The public Melvin is hiding the private Melvin, who is a man easily hurt and looking for someone to understand him and to love him. Clearly, as the movie progresses, there is a good man lurking underneath all of the hostility, a man desperately in need. And, he finds that need in the second major character, Carol the waitress. She works in the coffee shop that Melvin goes to everyday. Carol is a worn-out victim of the world. She has a son who is always sick, although, the doctors she takes the kid to are of no help. She is single, lonely, in her desperate need to be loved and cared for. The third major character in the story is Simon, the gay artist who has the misfortune to live right across the hall from Melvin. Simon and his lifestyle are ripe targets for Melvin [it is also Simon who has the dog that Melvin discards to the trash bin] and Melvin is never shy of saying what is on his mind. Simon also is a victim, but of a prejudiced world that does not accept homosexuals. His parents disown him, for the most part. But, he finds his love in the world of art, not in a person. Soon, however, he is taken by a street hustler he has paid to pose for a new portrait he is painting. Simon is beaten up and loses the desire to work.......... James L. Brooks has set up the movie nicely. Separate stories that freely mingle with the central theme. There are much laughs up to this point. And, in a remarkable example of Brooks and his genius, touching moments involving human behavior settle in, along with the rollercoaster story of three lonely people. Naturally, this is a tricky area, a virtual landmine of possible miss-steps. It takes talented actors to steer the course for the rest of the movie. And, James L. Brooks has cast his actors well....... Greg Kinnear was just from the TV show ''Talk Soup'' when he signed on to play Simon. He had another movie under his belt, the poorly received remake of the Humphrey Bogart/ Audrey Hepburn/William Holden movie, ''Sabrina''. The updated version starred Harrison Ford and Julia Ormand. It was a forgettable retreat of the classic original. But, it did boast the presence of Kinnear. That movie showed he had real acting chops. Greg Kinnear brought depth and understanding to his role of Simon. When homosexuals are portrayed in movies, there is a real temptation for the actor to play the stereotype, all swishing and prancing. But, Kinnear [aided by a smart script] does not fall into predictable behavior. Along with the depth of the role, Greg Kinnear brings an enormous likability, which seems innate to him. You care about Simon and want him to find someone to love because he deserves to be loved. A strong supporting performance by Greg Kinnear that rightfully garnered him an Oscar nomination. [He lost to Robin Williams in ''Good Will Hunting'']......... Helen Hunt plays the waitress, Carol. Helen Hunt just has a few speeds to her talent, not much versatility. Which is fine for certain roles. And, her portrayal of Carol strikes all of the right notes. She is sassy, brassy, able to take charge. But, Hunt is also vulnerable, sad, emotionally stunted in the part. All of these ingredients add up to a tasty stew of acting choices that shine. I should also add that she does show a sexy side in the part, albeit, kinda covered in drabness. But, the resilience of Carol is the strongest impression that she makes. Her best moment happens early on, in the restaurant in which she works. Melvin has carelessly made a comment about her sick son. All of the action stops and a range of emotions flashes across Hunt's face. She is hurt, angry, indignant, and proud in these few seconds onscreen. And, then, she lets Melvin have it, full-barred. It is a marvelous moment later cited by critics as the moment she earned her Best Actress Oscar that year. For the rest of the film, Helen Hunt treats her Carol with weary optimism and curiosity, as she opens up her heart to Simon and the impossible-to- tolerant, Melvin......... And, now we come to Jack. Big Jack. He is such a beloved movie star that he only needs the one name, we all know when someone mentions ''Jack'' in a film. Nicholson plays Melvin Udall with his wonderful and unrivaled sense of dastardly behavior and warm moments of caring. Udall suffers from an intense desire to piss off the public and every opportunity. He does not care whom he offends, the man has no people filter. Except, Carol the waitress. We infer from the early parts of the story that Melvin deeply cares for Carol. Perhaps, he sees in the waitress the same wounded soul that he is. They are fellow travelers of the same emotional landscape----the walking and sad population. Melvin needs love, maybe, even more than he realizes. Beneath his venom is a man who wants to be understood and cared for. These feelings are at odds with the dominant Melvin, a man who takes on all comers and delights in the nasty, appalling front he puts out. It is a testament to the brilliance of Nicholson that he can make this character so appealing. We, almost against ourselves, root for him to find salvation, to find the better angels of his nature. Through great comic delivery and poignant moments, Jack Nicholson rightfully earned his Oscar for Best Actor......... The middle section of the movie involves a trip of the three principals. Carol and Simon get to know and care for each other as both of them try to break through the Melvin hard shell. Simon has medical bills that are choking him and he needs the emotional support of his new friends to confront his parents. But, his parents do not want to see him. At first, this deeply hurts Simon. Reaching into his hurt, Simon pulls out his independence, and the spirit of the artist is reawakened. Carol sees this and gains momentum and confidence in herself. She has recently had a big-time doctor [ wonderfully played by Harold Ramis] give her son the needed medical care he was deprived of---- and is shocked that the medical bills will be paid by Melvin. The obvious care in which Melvin goes about arranging the sick kid's welfare touches Carol and she begins to see Melvin in a new way beneath his anger and belligerence. And, in the film's very best scene, Melvin and Carol find themselves on a date in a fancy restaurant. The dialogue in this scene is quite sharp and crackling. The dinner conversation starts off in typical Melvin-form as he unkindly makes fun of Carol's dress. She instantly rises to leave as her Irish is up. But, Melvin talks her in to staying by promising a compliment to her. It is obvious by now in the film that Melvin and Carol should be together, if only he can shut up the Old Melvin and bring forth the New Melvin. And, in this fine moment, it does come forward in a wonderful confession. Melvin tells Carol his doctor prescribed pills for him--- basically, to control his moods and level out his hard-edged personality. But, Melvin explains that he doesn't like to take pills. He states that the day after a night she came to his apartment, he started taking the pills. Carol does not understand what this has to do with her. He replies, with deep feeling, ''You make me want be a better man.'' This stops Carol in her tracks. She is shocked and honored by his statement. Why this is a great scene is not just what Melvin said, but, the aftereffects of his declaration. He seems uncomfortable with what he said and reverts back to his Melvin self. Soon, she storms out, vowing never to talk with him again. The scene rings very true for the characters and their life. One minute, they are One. The next, they are back to battling.......... The final act of the movie involves the resolution of the characters and finding love. It all works superbly. The final scene earns its smile from the audience. But, there is also the question: will Melvin and Carol last, long-term?...........''As Good As It Gets'' is a comedy and a drama, a real human being picture. There are flaws and imperfections in the main characters. Just like in life. But, there are also quite touching moments to treasure. We know, in the back of our minds, where this movie may go by the end. Still, there is some doubt as to whether they will make the finish line. The message is of tolerance and understanding of those who may different from us........ Not a bad message to live by.

9/11 World

With the solemn anniversary of 9/11 approaching, I was scratching my head on what to say about something that really does not need to be stated. We all remember where we were. It will forever be seared in our brains. You remember who was around you, what room the news came to you in. You also will remember it was a fine weather day---- both here and out East where the horror happened. And, you will never forget your feelings. It came in this order: Shock......Disbelief........Anger.........And, mostly, Grief........ How could you not feel otherwise? You are human, and, we decent human beings feel the pain and sadness of fellow decent people. In your mind's eye, you planted yourself in those final moments of the victims. How you thought you would react, the actions you would take. Of course, I will never know this for sure, but, I'm thinking, in those final moments for those people, they were walking in the same numbness we had. But, theirs was a much more horrible numbness. The numbness of impending doom about to descend on them....... I also like to think the numbness they felt gave them some kind of peace amongst the madness happening around them. Of course, fear was a constant, unwelcome companion that day. That would never cease. But, let us hope, if they didn't die fast, that the fear was not the dominant emotion. Let us hope that they experienced a graceful love of the life they lived. And, a sense that they were about to go home to God......... Those images haunt us all. The planes going into the towers. The massive explosion of fire and the endless parade of smoke. And, the realization that people were dying in front of our eyes. The planes passengers were gone quickly, as were the initial victims that felt the impact of those planes. But, we also saw the remnants of this holocaust. We knew that there were people trapped in the buildings and that they were doomed to die. Along with this realization came the nervous system jarring feeling that those people in the buildings also KNEW that they were going to die. Imagine, the terror. Imagine, the chaos. And, imagine, that they were, hopefully, in that tranquil state I talked about above.......... In Washington, D.C., the terror continued. A plane flew right into the Pentagon, our center for all things defensive, and exploded. That is when we knew that we were being attacked by an unseen enemy. We thought so after the New York attacks but this sunk it in. We were at War. With whom, that would soon come........ And, over Pennsylvania, there was a struggle raging on a plane.  Flight 93 was up in arms over whom was going to win, the cowards who were hijacking it, or, the heroes who were fighting back. The heroes won the battle but lost their lives in the war......... This is all familiar territory I am covering. You know the facts and the story as well as me. You know the emotional toll it took on all of us. It is as if, a black cloud descended over us, never to depart. 9/11 is the dividing line between the Old World we used to live in and this New World. Certain times in history there are benchmarks that change the landscape of the world. Pearl Harbor was one, the Kennedy Assassination was another. 9/11 joins that group to form an Unholy Triumvirate. Never again will we be innocent. Never again will we look at the world the same way. You cannot look at what happened on 9/11 and not be changed. For the worse....... If there was one good thing that day---- and there wasn't, but I keep looking for that elusive silver lining---- it is that we showed that under the madness and horror, we can gather as a people and unite. Everyday life separates people---- by gender, race, religion, economic status. On 9/11, that was erased, if only for a small amount of time. Nothing else mattered to you than to know that your loved ones were safe. That was the universal feeling at that moment. To hug your loves. I remember in the days following the tragedy, there was a suspension of the usual public feelings, like what used to bother us about our fellow human beings was not important anymore in the wake of the disaster. People seemed a little gentler out there. An interesting thing I noticed was in the driving habits of the public. There was no competition to get somewhere fast, like normal days. No, there was an ease, if someone cut you off, so be it. That was not important anymore. I noticed in stores there was a quiet respect going on, a feeling that expressed itself in the soft way people talked. The day before we all hollered and wept our grief.  On 9/12, there was a passiveness and weary acceptance that it wasn't a bad dream after all, that humanity had suffered a jolt and we were staggering. Maybe, you were kinder that day to a stranger. Maybe, you were lost in your own thoughts. But, the overwhelming feeling was that a national tragedy had befallen us. It was time to heal the soul......... We have not recovered from that September day on 2001, nor will we ever. It is forever with us. I would like to say that the feelings in the days after the tragedy stayed, that we humans grew to become more tolerate of each other, more loving. Of course, that did not happen. We went back to our regular selves, content on just caring for our little world and the people we love. We just hoped that the outside world out there would leave us alone and let us live in peace. But, the world of craziness and madness never goes away. It seems to get closer to us, whether it is a car bombing in Beirut or a school shooting in this country. The outlaw nature of human beings seems to be getting stronger, the circle of madness tightening around us closer and closer...........

Go Cubs Go

There is just something about Wrigley Field that invokes warm memories. Maybe, it is because it is legendary in baseball as being one of the last of the old relics, a field in tribute to bygone days. Babe Ruth allegedly called his famous home run shot there in 1932 [although, that is open to debate], and the boys named Tinker, Evers and Chance plowed down runners who were foolish enough to try to get on base. Sure, there were also many World Series played there from the early to mid-20th Century, for the Cubs were the dominant National League team of that glorious era of baseball. But, there is also something else that is special about that ballpark: for us Cubs fans, it is our Second Home........ More than any other professional sport, baseball rightfully claims the spot in your heart that is also reserved for where you were born. Childhood and baseball---- for millions--- are interchangeable, they go together like hot dogs and mustard. There is a simplicity about baseball. It is easy to learn and to play. The rules are fairly easy to learn. And, the equipment you use is just as simple: a bat and a ball and a glove. We all know how to hit a ball, we all know how to catch. Whether you are good at it is another matter. But, baseball, unlike other sports, is leisurely. Some call it boring but I call it easy listening music for the sports fan. Football is more monstrous, the heavy metal music that pounds at you from all sides. Basketball is rap music, a gangland style of watch your back or you will get hurt. Hockey is a hodgepodge, a musical sports amalgam of the crazy and the talented. Baseball is the calm oasis in sports, the kind of activity that everyone can play. It cries out for the average person, the working class Joe and Jane, to suit up and play between the golden lines. You want to take it easy and not drive your system to the brink of exhaustion? Baseball is it......... I don't think it is a coincidence that baseball is played during the summertime. Yeah, it starts in the spring and goes to the fall, but, it is a summer sport, played in the best weather of the entire year. Sunshine and blue skies overhead compliment that poetic beauty being played below. Inside the baseball diamond, the young play. You start out playing baseball as children, young innocents who are fresh-faced enough to embrace the game fiercely, without conflict or prejudice. There are no jealousies and no rivalries. Just youngsters playing to have fun---- the rock cradle of any sport. The smell of the glove is forever sealed in your memory, along with the freshness of holding the bat for the first time. Grabbing a baseball and fixing your fingers in the shape of a certain pitch [the best: the two-fingered curve] and pretending to throw with all your might. And, there is also the joy of throwing the ball back and forth to someone else. It is the baseball bond of brothers who love the game. You can whip the ball hard to the other person, but, the best throws are gingerly, just extending the arm and letting the baseball loft in the air. The leisurely way.......... Somewhere in childhood, the innocence of the game is lost and competition rears its ugly head. Competition: the feeling that will follow you in life, whether in sports or in the real world. Its strange how your feelings change as you get older. When I was younger, I wanted to win like everyone else and I cheered for my team to beat the tar out of the opposing team. Never during those times that I won, or, my team I was rooting for won, did I ever think of the losing side. Yes, it is thrilling when my team cracks the winning home run and we, as fans, go crazy. But, now, as a mature man, I find part of me feeling bad for the loser, the guy who gave up the home run. I see sadness and heartbreak now as an adult fan that I bypassed as a kid. Maybe, it is only natural because of the pain and sadness we all acquire as the years pass........ But, the thrill of baseball never gets old. Oh, there were many years when its importance was never on my life radar, for, as the Smart Beatle sang in one of his last songs: ''Life is what happens to you when you are busy making other plans.'' Everyday life takes your thoughts and interest away from a leisurely sport. But, baseball has always been in the background for me. It was always there when I was ready to embrace it again. A loyal friend who would wait for me. And, it has. The Cubs were my first love as a kid and you never get over your first love. I lived and breathed the Cubs. I knew all of the players and what their numbers were. I had the Cubs hat and shirts. The Cubs were important to me, certainly, more than school. The only thing about school I liked were my friends there [and, a growing interest in girls that I can track from, I think, birth on]. The Cubs have broken my heart more times than any woman. And, like a woman, I have been angry at them, frustrated, and willing to walk away. But, I will never leave the Cubs, flaws and all. And, I will never leave Wrigley Field......... Part of my attraction to Wrigley Field in my Mom. She grew up in that area in the 30's and 40's and was a rabid Cubs fan. She knew all of the players and had her favorites. Later on, when us kids came along, Mom gave us the love of the North Siders for us to keep forever. She saw them go to the World Series several times in her youth. But, they never won. Til her dying day, she remained a Cub fans and hoped to see them win it all......... I write this because this Cubs team now is proving to be something special. They have come out of nowhere and surprised us [and, I believe, themselves] on how good they are. Very good. Possibly, great. We Cubs fans know it is not wise to put the cart before the horse because this organization is notorious from snatching defeat from the jaws of victory. But, there is something in this team. Dare I say it, but, this team reminds me of the ''69 Mets''. The team that literally came out of nowhere and won it all. It could be another miracle!!!........ Or, not. If not this year, maybe, next. Unlike previous Cubs teams that have gone to the post-season, this Cubs squad looks like they have a huge future of victories and championships ahead of them. Recent winning Cubs teams---- 1984, 89, 98, 2003---- were teams for the moment. With those teams, it was a case of ''we have to win this now because we will be bad next year, most likely.'' Not this current crop. These young guys are GOOD!! They kick ass and take no prisoners!!! And, what is even more exciting is that there are more players in the farm system just itching to come to the Big Show. The rebuilding process we were promised that would bring results HAS BROUGHT RESULTS!!! AND, THEY ARE STUNNING!!! This team could be the future dynasty that baseball has been crying for. And Major League Baseball would love it. Just think of all of the publicity that the Cubs being in the World Series would bring to the National Pastime!!! All around the world, the Cubs would be the hot ticket. Grandmothers in Peru would be talking about the Cubs. Even in the darkest caves of Afghanistan, the ISIS monsters would be exclaiming : ''The fuckin imperialistic Cubs are in the World Series! Lets wait on our next Jihad and see how they do.''....... And, if that glorious day comes [it will] and the Chicago Cubs are in the World Series, it will be played at Wrigley Field. 1060 W. Addison. The original ''Field Of Dreams.'' There will be thousands there cheering. Those cheers will be mixed with the ghosts of Cubs fans of the past, also cheering. And, in the midst of that cheering, one voice will stand out for me. A little girl who grew up in that area and became a beautiful woman, both inside and out. Her voice will rise above all of the others for me and my sister, Lisa, to hear. And, we will cheer with her........ GO CUBS!!!!!

To Paraphrase William Blake: ''When Thou Hearest An Eagle, Thou Hearest A Portion Of Genius''.......

Glenn Frey had to go to the bathroom. But, it wasn't as convenient as you may think, because he was in the middle of the desert in predawn hours. Now, Glenn might want to sleep with you in this desert, with the stars all around, but, the peaceful, easy feeling he wanted demanded privacy. So, he slid away from his companions--- who were on another planet under the influence of tequila and peyote--- and found a bush to ''go drop the kids off at''. Without going into gory details, Glenn seemed at peace here, going to the bathroom out in the open, like a desperado. Suddenly, over his head, a bird came towards him in a menacing way. Glenn, caught with his pants down, was kinda vulnerable on his exit strategy. The bird came closer, it might look like it was gonna attack. As Glenn started to panic, the bird seemed to regard him as harmless. As if on cue, the bird eyed him, and then, flew away into the great sky above, towards another destination. As Glenn Frey composed himself, he had a sudden vision. He and his bandmates were looking for a name for his new band, something original. Here, in the desert, at the famous Joshua Tree hippie commune, Frey christened in his mind what the band should be called. As the tequila sunrise greeted him, Frey and his partner, Don Henley, would named their band ''Eagles''........ Simple as that; ''Eagles''. In time, the whole world would get the name mixed up and call the band ''The Eagles''. However, this was not the correct name...... Glenn Frey was a Detroit boy. Like millions of other young people his age, Glen caught the bug of rock and roll. He recalls going to see his favorite band in concert, The Beatles. The cute girl in front of him literally fainted in his arms during the show, so in love with the ''Cute Beatle''. Glenn immediately flashed on the idea to form a band. Music surged through him. Plus, there was the bonus of girls!!!! Glenn originally had taken piano lessons as a kid but he switched to guitar as a teenager. Soon, he was playing with local bands at small gigs around Detroit. In this new world, he became friends with another local boy from Detroit, a fast-rising, gusto singer named Bob Seger. Seger, a young man barely in his twenties, mentored Glenn Frey. He encouraged Frey to start writing his own songs, along with playing music. Bob Seger would throw some money gigs Frey's way. When it came time to record the song ''Ramblin Man'', Seger hired Frey to sing background on the chorus of the song. In time, after his 18th birthday, Glenn Frey went west to Los Angeles, where the music business was thriving in the late 60's/ early 70's. Self-confidence, never a stranger, was his ally, his boon companion. Glenn might not be flashy on the guitar, but, he put his personality in his playing, forging a joy of being alive that translated to an audience. Glenn was funny onstage, a natural performer and entertainer.  He knew he would make it sometime. When he showed up on the West Coast, Glenn was penniless, like thousands of other hopefuls.......... Another aspiring musician roaming L.A., equally penniless, was a soft-spoken drummer from Texas named Don Henley. Henley played an average set of drums, no great shakes as a player. But, Don Henley possessed a voice that was his greatest asset. The voice was a mixture of wordly and raw, unusual for someone just above high school age. It sounded like sandpaper, but, in a appealing, poignant way. The voice cried out to those who were the blue-collar, the people who manned trucks late at night, stopping off at a greasy spoon. His voice was the voice of the endless road to heartbreak, a rock and roll version of Sinatra. It was a voice ringing with experience and hard times. Don grew up, not poor, but, without. Texas is all dirt and mean talking men. Don Henley was not of this ilk. He was not the type of boy who dug ditches. Rather, he sung about those who dug ditches. Like Glenn Frey, Don caught the clarion call of The Beatles. Henley dreamed the dreams of the boy who had music running through his soul. He gravitated towards the drums. And, he hooked up with local bands in Texas and other states around him. His singing brought him the attention he craved. He, too, was never short of self-confidence. However, he was still shy. When he did speak his mind, he spoke with conviction bordering on arrogance. He saw his future in California, namely L.A. Soon, he was running towards the Coast, a refugee orphan looking for the Music Home....... Somewhere, in this vast crowd of street musicians in Los Angeles, Glenn Frey and Don Henley met. It was at the famous ''Troubadour'' nightclub. A large bar more than anything else, the ''Troubadour'' enjoyed the reputation as the place to be in the early 1970's. Up and coming stars, either from the stage or movies, mingled freely with the audience. Like many clubs, Monday night was ''Amateur Night'', when you go up on the stage and show your goods as a comic or musician. Henley and Frey played that stage, but, not together. There were so many musicians plying their trade that everyone seemed to know everyone. Glenn and Don became friends in the local scene. Linda Ronstadt was another friend in this crowd. She had made a name for herself fronting the ''Stone Ponies'' a few years earlier. Ronstadt was hot, both professionally and personally. She knew the ropes and when she was looking for a backup band for herself to go out on the road, she picked Henley and Frey. They went eagerly to back Linda up, a big first step towards their ultimate goal. While on the road, Frey and Henley struck up a friendship. They both had similar tastes in music and the world. Both were not afraid to speak up, and this would cause some friction between them. But, for the most part, Glenn and Don got along. They soon left Linda Ronstadt and decided to form a band. Encouraged by their friend, Jackson Browne, they also began writing original songs together. At first, it was hard going. They both leaned towards the rock and roll they loved, but, they also had a fondness for country music. They seemed torn which way the band would go. And, the players they picked to be in their band seemed to add to the confusion. Bernie Leadon was picked to play lead guitar [along with banjo] and Randy Meisner was selected to play bass. Both Leadon and Meisner shared different tastes, with Leadon more into country and Meisner more into ballads. Finally, it was decided by the leaders of the band, Glenn and Don, to just play whatever they wanted and see which way the band drifted. The only thing missing was a name. So, they went to Joshua Tree to think things out......... Back in town, with a new name to call themselves, the ''Eagles'' went looking for gigs and a manager. They clicked immediately with audiences and were soon on the forefront of what later became known as the ''California Sound'' of the 70's. Meaning, soft, easy listening rock and country. Playing one night, they came across a little man who would become their manager, Irving Azoff. Azoff, no marshmellow he, became the band's most valuable weapon to use when fighting the octopuses in the music industry. Azoff had the ''little man'' complex, that is, he compensated for his short height by becoming a tough ballbuster. He brashly got a band a record deal with David Geffen, a mean son of a bitch himself. Soon, there would be epic industry battles between Azoff and Geffen over royalties and the marketing of the band. Still, for how brutal he could be in battle, Azoff was the right manager for the band because he possessed the right combination of drive and guts to elevate the new band to stardom. You need a powertripper to lead you to success. Irving Azoff was it. Don Henley would affectionately refer to him as ''Our Satan''......... The band would record their first album, ''Eagles'' in 1972. It was a damn strong first album, with the hits ''Take It Easy'', ''Witchy Woman''. and ''Peaceful Easy Feeling'' jumping into the charts and making them all stars. The critical response was mixed, with some reviewers applauding the fresh California sounds and others disdaining it. But for the band, it was the fulfillment of a life's dream. They were stars in music. With the fame came the money. And, the women. Like most bands that suit up onstage, the ''Eagles'' romped backstage with the drugs and the women. Orgies were commonplace. The, ahem, drill was simple: the roadies would canvass the crowd looking for attractive women. These women, knowing full well what would happen, would be invited backstage for a party with the band. And, the party was not the type of party you told your parents about. Sex and drugs and rock and roll was the call of the day  and the boys in the band indulged.......... With stardom came ego. Glenn Frey and Don Henley, never accused of modesty, had their egos inflated by stardom TNT. The fights backstage became more pronounced. This is not unusual, for all bands have these spats. But, stardom plays tricks, not all of them good. Cracks had already appeared in the band, with Bernie Leadon becoming increasingly more unhappy with the band's more rock sound. Leadon wanted the band straight country. He was overruled, though, by Glenn and Don, the group leaders and principal songwriters. By the time of the ''Eagles'' second album, the bizarre, ''Desperado''. Leadon was quite the unhappy guitarist. The album, somewhat of a concept album, took the theme of the Old West and ran songs around this theme. While they did score with the songs, ''Tequila Sunrise'', and the title track, the album failed to resonant with the public. By no means a failure, it was a sharp disappointment, the legendary sophomore jinx album. Internally, it divided the band. Frey and Henley were at odds over who's fault it was. And, Leadon blamed them both. Bernie was still pushing for the band to go full country. On the band's third album, ''On The Border'', the harder rock sound remained. With this third album, which spanned the hits, ''Already Gone'' and ''Best Of My Love'', came new blood in the form of guitarist Don Felder. Felder, much more accomplished at playing lead than Leadon, was the go-to guy for a hot solo. He blistered the guitar with his playing. The album rejuvenated the ''Eagles'' popularity. However, Bernie Leadon had seen enough. He knew the band was not going into the direction he wanted it to go, so, he quietly resigned the group......... And, then there were four ''Eagles''. Henley and Frey knew that they needed new blood in the group, someone to shake off the cobwebs that had gathered. An old friend was approached, a rock and roll fellow traveler who had a wild spin on life. His nickname was ''The Bomber'', for he liked smoking his green. Every night was a party for guitar great, Joe Walsh. And, he brought that party to the ''Eagles''......... Joe Walsh lived life in the fast lane. He drank and drugged to excessiveness. He always said that his three best friends in life were, Vodka, ''The Who's'' Keith Moon, and John Belushi. All three, in their own ways, were the stimulants that drove Joe Walsh. He lined up a very impressive reputation as one of the wild men of rock. Hotel rooms did not stand a chance against him, as TV's and furniture came crashing down. But, Walsh was a genuinely nice man and one of the most respected guitarists in the rock and roll game. His invite into the band surprised his many friends and followers. Neil Young, upon hearing that Joe was gonna be an ''Eagle'' said, ''Why do you want to join all of those assholes?'' Joe knew why. His solo career, while attaining cult status, never reached the superstardom heights of his many friends. Joe wanted to grab the brass ring, and the call from Henley and Frey put that ring on his finger, asking for a rock and roll union of hard rock and the ''Eagles'' sound. In 1976, Joe married in the ''Eagles''......... The first album of the new ''Eagles'' band would be their seminal masterpiece ''Hotel California''. This album, wildly popular to this day, made the ''Eagles'' into music legends. The combination of their old sound---- that glorious description of Southern California country and western mixed with pop---- became a sidekick to the raw electric power of Joe Walsh and his rock and roll influence. The songs were harder edged, more in-your-face, take charge, impatient in its demands for satisfaction. There still was a peaceful feeling to them but there was also a darker side, as if the band---- and its audience----- were growing up and growing darker in nature. This sneer-on -the-lip mentality was ripe for the times, for the 70's had turned more cynical, with Flower Power and the whole ''Hippie'' movement now dead and buried and crass commercialism rearing its head. All great music reflects its times and ''Hotel California'' certainly captured the mood of the times......... The overwhelming success of ''Hotel California'' was a double-edged sword for the band. The money rolled in by the truckloads, along with the groupies and the drugs. But, it also spelled the start of the end for the band. Egotistical behavior, never a stranger for this band, soared along with its record sales. Suddenly, everyone was a genius. Or, so they thought. No one said ''No'' to them, even when they needed to hear it. The members drifted in the rare atmosphere of untouchable stardom. The air was rare in this world and only fellow geniuses were invited in their orbit. But, when you drift in this world, you drift away from reality. When the cocoon is too thick to penetrate, the enemies in human nature start swirling, just awaiting the first hole to penetrate......... That hole came with their follow-up album, ''The Long Run.'' This album, released in 1979, had a slightly new lineup. Gone was original bass player, Randy Meisner. He had grown tired of the by-now constant arguing among Henley and Frey and Felder. Sides were always taken with no one yielding their ground or their ego. Meisner beat a hasty retreat from the group and he was replaced by Timothy B. Schmidt, a good bass player with a wonderful high falsetto voice that mingled nicely with their already famous harmonies. If there was a bright spot around the band during this time, it was Schmidt because the rest of the members were at dagger points with each other. The album took forever to do because the band could not stomach being around each other much. when they did perform, there were constant fights going, with no one giving any ground. The friendship of the band, so important during the previous years, was gone. All that was left was going through their paces, like a job. The album that arose from this nadir was good but not classic ''Eagles''. It showed, in their songs, the inertia that they were slogging through. It was world-weary, bitter, joyless, with no heart. Some good songs came from it but the good times were over. The band was on life-support, just waiting for the plug to be pulled........ That plug was finally pulled on July 31, 1980 onstage. It was a typical night's concert for the band just going through their paces. For some reason, an onstage row began between Glenn Frey and Don Felder. The bad feelings had been growing for years between these two [and Henley] but it came to the surface on this night. Nobody knows exactly why but there were threats going back and forth of violence, with Frey saying he was going to beat Felder's ass after the show. This exchange was caught on film and recorded. After the show, there was a fistfight but it was broken up fairly quickly. Don Felder, in the following days, had said he had enough of them all. He quit. Don Henley and Glenn Frey also had enough of each other. By the end of the year, the ''Eagles'' formally announced they were disbanding. Not with rock and roll bang of noise, but, with a wistful whimper in the desert tonight.......... Throughout the 1980's, the band would reject offers to regroup. Partly, it was because the wounds were still too raw. And, also partly, the solo careers of Don Henley and Glenn Frey were going strong. Frey had a few hits and began an acting career. Henley achieved stardom of his own with several best-selling albums. As solo artists, however, Joe Walsh, Don Felder, and Timothy B. Schmidt all floundered. They each found extensive work as studio musicians to top names. Relations between the members still were strained, though. It wasn't until 1994 that the time---- and the money offers---- seemed comfortable for all of them to reunite. Apparently, whatever differences they all shared was put aside and the ''Hell Freezes Over'' tour was born. It was a raging success, with huge crowds and huge record sales greeting them again. The boys seemed to be getting on well, with past arguments remaining in the past. They could even laugh at themselves and their reputation for all of the in-fighting they did way back when. They seemed to be good friends again, which pleased their fans. Throughout the 90's, the band seemed more mellow, more at ease with each other. Don Henley and Glenn Frey still wrote the songs and fought and laughed with each other. Don Felder forged a truce with the two leaders. Timothy B. Schmidt stayed silently in the back with his bass, letting the others take the heat. And, Joe Walsh, thankfully, licked his substance abuse problems and came back to the land of the living. But, do not be alarmed. He is still the same wild rascal he has always been........... But, again, they love to fight and have their squabbles. In the early part of the new century, Don Felder was fired by Henley and Frey. Why? Well, it seems old animosities were still raging among the three musicians. And, guess who won the argument? Felder was gone and now there were four. The more things change, the more they stay the same......... I just watched the band's official documentary called ''History Of The Eagles''. It is quite compelling for a fan of the band, warts and all. Some of the stories I knew, some were quite surprising. All of the band members were interviewed. Some come off quite well, like Joe Walsh and Bernie Leadon. Some come off poorly, like Glenn Frey and Don Felder. Don Henley kinda comes along in the middle, somewhere. But, it does not matter, because, ultimately, with any artist, it is the work that matters and will be remembered, not ''whom fought with whom''. The band, the ''Eagles'', will always be welcome music to listen to, whether in your comfy bed, or on a corner of Winslow, Arizona.......

They Come Into America Part 1

Ellis Island, in the early part of the 20th Century, was a world unto itself. Rather, it was a New World for those arriving. The washing off of an old life, mixed with the cleansing of a new one. There was the promise of America, that far away magic land that Europeans had heard about and relished going to. These people were seekers, wanting to make the new land they were arriving at a success. Many who came over were carrying a new life inside of them. Their babies would be born in this country, a fine omen for them....... If a woman went into labor upon arriving on this shore, there was immediate medical help available. But, it wasn't much help. There might be some middle-aged doctor, a little past his prime, to administer to the sick or pregnant, but, the doctor might not be competent enough to save lives. Mostly, the doctors tending the immigrants would be young medical students, some newly graduated from college, and, some still attending school. The immigrants never knew this. All they wanted was someone to help with their suffering. Especially, the pregnant women. If a woman was ready to give birth, the mother and unborn child would be hustled into a small, airless room. The doctors, hopefully, would be able to deliver the child healthy and alive. But, this could be a tall order because of the long passage across the Atlantic Ocean and all of the shipboard diseases that would be swirling around the young mother. Typhoid was the prime killer. It must be remembered that any seaward trip was loaded with danger. Many ships, leaky in steerage and structure, simply went under the waves, becoming the honored dead of the ocean. To be pregnant on a ship was to have the odds stacked against you. The Ellis Island doctors were aware of this and knew that they had to fight time, lest a child, or mother, or both, perish......... It would be hard births. Certainly, childbirth is no walk in the park in modern times with the finest medical equipment and staff standing ready. For an immigrant in these early times, it was horrific. The best instrument a doctor could use would be a pair of hastily made forceps. The instrument, boiled in, hopefully, clean hot water would be used to control the fetus in the birth canal. Many babies were positioned correctly to be born. That was the luck of the draw, as most medical people knew. And, yet, many immigrant mothers seemed to have the baby backwards, with the behind first. The forceps would prove to be the only hope a woman would have that the child would not die in the womb or be disfigured. There was no decent anesthetic, only the handy bottle of ether administered through an inhaler. That was it in terms of the instruments. A woman, no doubt terrified and delirious with pain, would put her welfare into the hands of a stranger to give life.......... If the patient had some allergic reaction to ether, then the oldest means for dealing with the enormous pain would be used: biting on a piece of wood. The Ellis Island doctors had many pieces of lumber lying around, with big teeth indentations to show for its constant use. The poor woman, delirious with pain, would bite when told to. Naturally, there was the added problem of the language barrier. The doctors spoke English, the mothers spoke anything but. Still, somehow, these miracle men would convey the innate decency and compassion to the mother. Next to medical expertise, this has always been the most valuable gift a doctor can have. The woman would follow the doctors instructions. A trust would develop between them. And, hopefully, a child would arrive in the world, born healthy and alive. Picture a woman, after living through the trauma of natural childbirth, holding on to her newborn. The baby is crying. The new mother is crying. And, the doctor is, also. They are crying for the miracle of life, the continuation of the human lineage of life. And, the mother, enjoying life's greatest experience, gazes out of a window. The child was born in this new country, the land of life's greatest possibilities and dreams fulfilled. They baby is an American.......... Various ethnic groups came to the land of milk and honey during the early years of this country. Almost every nationality fought in the wars that this country raged, be it against a foreign land or internally. Many brave men and women shared a history of achievement and successes. They also shared heartbreaking failure and crushing defeat. To say that one ethnic or religious group suffered more than another is liking keeping score of life's unfairness. Every group suffered. But, they also shined and prospered.......... THE ITALIANS:..... The largest arrival of immigrants around the Ellis Island years came from Italy. Mostly, southern Italy. They were mostly farmers and unskilled laborers, seeking a brand new start. They were escaping a life of poverty and prejudice in their own country. Some were wanted by the law, some were men coming over who would send for their family later on. But, most arrivals were Italian men and women who desperately wanted a new start in life. To go from the poverty of their home country to the poverty of a new country did not deter them. Of all of the ethnic groups that came to America, the Italians were the most dedicated to changing their lives, and, more importantly, the lives of their children. The biggest problems facing these people were that they were unskilled, which made it difficult to market themselves in the workplace. Therefore, they took the most menial jobs offered. Men dug ditches, paving roads, and building projects. Some of those projects later developed into permanent landmarks. The Brooklyn Bridge, Grand Central Terminal, among them in New York. And, the next time you ride a subway, think that the Italians built them. But, most Italians stayed working in their neighborhoods, the famous Mulberry Street. There were street vendors hawking the latest products, grocers selling you tasty food from the Old Country, barbers to make you look fashionable. Small businesses flourished and enriched the local economy. Women even got into the action, for Italian women traditionally ran the household but were not afraid to get out and make an honest dollar. They worked in the garment districts. They were mid-wife's. They taught school. All of these achievements while running a successful home. And, this was no small feat. Because the Italians lived in squalor on Mulberry Street. They were living in the notorious district known as The Bend area. This area, a huge ghetto, forced many people in very small tenements to live like animals. While hard working and industrious with their work habits, the Italians were still at the mercy of poverty. Diseases and death were the norm. A good third of the children born during these years did not survive. Famine was the main reason, poor medical care a close second. And, rat bites. Children often fought off the rats as they slept. Naturally, horrible living conditions bring out the exploiters of human suffering. Around this time came what became known as the ''Black Hand''. This was the early version of the local Mafia. These scum would bleed their people, literally, out of whatever honest wages that were earned. Faced with the choice of staying honest and hard working but still poor, or, going along with the ''Black Hand'', many Italian men chose the latter. Gangs developed, along with a crime wave. You could not go to the police because of the centuries practiced ''omerta'', or code of silence. One did not rat, even if rats were crawling on your children. Italians on Mulberry Street also embraced their long history of religion, the Catholic Church. Denied by prejudice the right to pray in the American churches, the Italians built their own houses of worship. They also built clubs for their love of culture--- particularly, opera and fine works of art. Many street festivals celebrating life and food [food is next to God and family for Italians] rang out into the streets. People sat on steps in front of their tenements, drinking wine, breaking bread, and laughing and arguing to great success. Singing,, dancing, and dreams of a better life filled these pastimes. Through hard work and ambition, the Italians promised themselves that their children would have a better life in America. They would grow up to be doctors and lawyers and big businessmen and politicians and athletes. They impressed upon the children the importance of education and responsibility. The world of the Italian adult of today was planned on the Italian children for tomorrow. And, it was a roaring success, as children left The Bend and went on with their lives, creating dynasties of their own. Some left by getting their hands dirty but most left with clean hands, bringing forward the proud Italian heritage........ THE IRISH:......After the Italians, Mulberry Street boasted the Irish as the second most populated ethnic group. Irish immigrants had the same rough start as all nationalities that come to this country. They were poor. Dirt poor. Almost immediately upon arrival on American soil, way back in time with their British counterparts, the Irish had prejudice thrown against them by the natives. Other than blacks, no other group was so maligned with hate then the Irish. Partly, because of their strong Catholic heritage. The Irish were solidly on the side of the Church. The mass migration came in the middle 1800's with the famous Potato Famine in Ireland. In a nutshell, the Famine was just another name for poverty and starvation, wrapped up in a cute nickname. Upon arrival in the United States, the Irish were entrapped in the horribly violent area of town known as the ''Five Points.'' This area, plain and simple, was the Old West moved East. The street gangs and their crimes defied all logic. Although they were a minority, the gangs polluted the surrounding areas with such gleeful vengeance that honest, hard working Irish people were terrified. Cut throats, burned property, killings in cold blood became a way of life. Everywhere there seemed to be dirt and filth. They also were the victims of overcrowding in tenements, and, like the Italians, saw a tremendous amount of infant deaths. The poor lived in basements lacking natural light and ventilation. Diseases ran the spectrum from cholera to tuberculosis to pneumonia to mental illness. Also, with this crushing way of life came alcohol abuse, in very large numbers. The Irish workers were mostly unskilled, as most foreigners are. And, being so, made them fodder for greedy exploiters who made the work for them. The wages, what there were of them, were very low. But, they had the famous ''Irish Spirit'', the ability to plow through any obstacles that life threw at them. They sent their kids to schools, for like their rival Italian neighbors, they also wanted better for their children. They taught tolerance against prejudice, to ignore the signs of ''No Irish Need Apply'', that was so prevalent in homes and businesses. The men became factory workers, worked on roads, built buildings, blacksmiths, stonemasons, did the shit work that no one else would do. The women became maids in prominent homes, where they were treated with contempt and abused---- some were sexually abused because of the power of their employers to get away with a crime. They kept their plucky spirit and impishness for life alive with music, dancing, tall tales of the homeland of Ireland, and watching out for each other. Eventually, through hard work and pluckiness of an internal spirit, they would overcome their lots in life and the children would grow up to be policemen, politicians, movers and shakers in the business world, teachers, etc. But, they never lost who they were and where they came from. The Irish of today are the salt of the Earth. And, that salt came from those brave who came before them. If there is some other saying to go with the Irish----- and they lead the world in sayings!--- it is ''You Will Never Break Us, Whatever You May Give Us!''........ The Germans that arrived here from the Fatherland possessed a hardiness that eclipsed other cultures. They were people of the land, the heartiest of hearty souls. Germans have been rightfully celebrated for their firm dedication of using their enormous persuasive charms to do an honest days pay. Like most immigrants, they were dirt poor, the slaves of the entitled rich aristocracy that governed them. They specialized in farming, the early morning heroes who fed a nation. German people are of strong backbone and character. And, physical specimens, for, who could plow the land, milk the cows, and still contribute to the burgeoning industrial revolution better than they? Germans led by example, a trait running as deep in their bloods as their love for family. They knew poverty here, for poverty does not discriminate. They knew religious persecution. Most German immigrants settled in already established German communities. But, there were skirmishes among the new and the old German people. The ''New'' German were outspoken, impatient in their turn in line to get ahead. They often clashed with the ''Old'' German people, the ones who lived quiet lives and did not make waves. Internal fighting erupted among the groups, with the young triumphing over their elders. Germans were among the first ethnic groups to publicly support the abolishment of slavery and proudly fought on the Union side in the Civil War. In fact, 1/4 of the Union fighting troops were of German heritage. After the war ended, German immigration far exceeded any other ethnic group in coming to America. And, as the years went on, Germans helped grow an America that appreciated their blood, sweat, and tears. That is, until the World Wars showed its ugly face in the 20th Century. These tragedies in human folly tested the mighty reserve of the German people, with prejudice inflicted on daily life on a regular basis. Some Germans would have to change their last names because of the abuse from others. But, even though they had evil incarnate with Hitler, the German people never lost whom they really were and the metal that they were cut from. German culture can viewed in everyday life, their riches enlivening daily pleasures. They boast the big companies, be they ''Bayer'', ''Heinz'', ''Chrysler'', ''Budweiser''. The next time you devour a hot dog or a pretzel, think German............