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Monday, January 28, 2013

California Car Chase


Live-on-Television car chases in Los Angeles can be riveting nail biting spectacles to watch. 

Remember OJ Simpson and his failed attempt to escape the country in the white SUV?  

A couple of weeks ago I was watching the evening news and suddenly the newscaster cut to “Breaking News.” A car chase was happening that very moment. My eyes were glued to the television. Simultaneously my neighborhood lit up with helicopters and flood lights. It was happening in my very own neighborhood. I raced to the window and peered out like a child anticipating the arrival of Santa Claus. Unfortunately the chase did not speed by my window. 

When I go to the gym I like to get on the elliptical machine for my cardio just as “The Wendy Williams Show” starts.  If you don’t know Wendy Williams just know that she’s great television and the perfect diversion when your legs are going full throttle. Her opening monologue and Hot Topics keep me totally entertained and my cardio time passes quickly. 

On Friday I was immersed in Wendy when I noticed the other mini-TVs around me were tuned in to a car chase. My heart pumped with adrenaline... Wendy Williams versus a California Car Chase... What should I do?... I could always catch Wendy in reruns but the car chase was real time never to be shown again...  so in a split second decision I betrayed my Wendy loyalty and switched channels. 

The chase went on and on and not wanting to miss the ending, the capture, I stayed on that elliptical machine way past my usual end time. The excitement was pumping as I anticipated a grand finale of car and cop confrontation like something out of the movies. A big bang boom crash bullet kind of ending. 

This one disappointed. After a few near captures the driver surrendered. 

Damn, it was all foreplay and no climax, a California Car Chase without a grand finale.  

Sure I get comfort in knowing that I’m 165 calories lighter because of it, but on a scale of one to ten the chase was a mediocre three at best. 

I should’ve stayed with Wendy. 



Saturday, January 26, 2013

Star Spangled Lip-Synch


The media frenzy over whether or not Beyonce’s performance of "The Star Spangled Banner" was lip-synched is absolutely ridiculous. 

Political pundits took sides and the heated debates I saw were downright laughable. Maybe that was the whole point, to entertain people with lip-synch-gate to steer people away from the real issues like gun control, the stupid NRA, chemically altered food, climate change, nuclear weapons, and if Ben Affleck deserved an Oscar nomination. 

Beyonce is not Milli Vanilli. 

Milli Vanilli lip-synched to unattractive men’s voices. They were only hired because they had “the right look.”  I thought they looked like two silly jesters with ugly hair and embarrassing dance moves. I would’ve preferred seeing the unattractive bodies behind the real voices. 

Beyonce lip-synched to her own voice. She can sing, and she sings extremely well, and has proven herself with numerous live performances. 

So what’s the big friggin’ deal?  It was a star spangled lip-synch.

Some are saying it’s unpatriotic that she would lip-synch. Really? 

I am not a huge Beyonce fan. I don’t own any of her CDs but I am defending her decision to lip-synch. It was a cold temperature, it was outdoors, the acoustics were certainly not ideal, and the national anthem is an extremely difficult song to sing. 

If she sang live and messed it up everyone would be criticizing her for ruining the inauguration. 

Remember when Christina Aguilera botched the words, and Roseanne screeched her way through the song like a rusty engine? I’m sure they both wish they lip-synched, and I’m pretty sure Roseanne wished she did a Milli Vanilli and lip-synched to someone else’s voice. 

When I saw that large microphone covering Beyonce’s mouth I assumed she was lip-synching, and I didn’t care. What I cared about was the inauguration of President Obama.

Let’s give Beyonce a break. She performed it beautifully, and for a brief moment everyone was united when she sang, “O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.”

It sent chills down my patriotic spine. 


Thursday, January 24, 2013

Geographically Inept


I’ve been living in Los Angeles for a couple of decades and still I get befuddled when I need to go some place. I try to visualize my destination, the street, the cross street and the general area but it all becomes a blur. 

I’m geographically inept. After two decades I should know more than I do. 

When I bike to the gym I zig-zag the side streets to avoid traffic and being run over by a careless driver who’s too busy texting to pay attention to the road. When a friend recently asked what streets I take to get there all I said was, “It’s right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, and then left.” 

I have been living for seven years on the corner of Wayne Avenue (or is it Wayne Street?) and Los Feliz Boulevard. After seven years I cannot tell you the name of the street at the top of the hill (one short block north) or the street that’s one block west of me. I haven’t a clue.  

This past Sunday I was riding my bike along the LA river and as I veered away from the river and towards Griffith Park another bicyclist stopped me for directions. He was looking for Riverside Drive.  We were on Riverside Drive and all I had to tell him was which way to go on Riverside Drive. Instead I sent him along another road in the opposite direction. 

I realized my geographical error moments later but he was already power-pedaling away and too far for me to catch up. I felt bad. Real bad. 

That night I had a nightmare I was lost and I asked another bicyclist for directions.  The friendly bicyclist confidently told me which way to go. 

I pedaled and pedaled and pedaled until my legs were sore and my ass cheeks aching from the horrible bike seat... and I continued pedaling and pedaling and pedaling.... and the sky suddenly turned dark and scary... still I pedaled and pedaled... and pedaled off a cliff... screaming.... and as I was desperately pedaling to avoid falling to my death I awoke in a pool of sweat. 

I hope and pray the Sunday bicyclist isn’t still out there pedaling aimlessly, dehydrated and lost. 

From now on whenever anyone asks me for directions I am going to feign a foreign accent, shake my head and shrug, and tell them I’m a tourist. 

Monday, January 14, 2013

A Fond Flu Memory


It’s that flu-season-time-of-the-year when we fear coughing, congestion, runny noses, aches, chills, bombastic explosions from both ends, and not having any ginger ale in the refrigerator when we need it most.

The last time I had the flu coincided with an important job interview. The interview was set up by a friend and I didn’t want to jeopardize getting the job, so the morning of the interview I crawled out of bed determined to go.

Vomited. Showered. Got dressed. Vomited. Changed clothes. Drove semi-consciously to interview.

By the time I got there my black tee-shirt and black sweater were soaked with sweat.  With determination overpowering my lack of common sense I wobbled the long outdoor corridor from the parking lot to the interview building. 

The interview began well enough with the woman interviewer showing me around the work area. I was alert, friendly, and eager to impress.  I carefully followed her doing my best to not stagger, not vomit, and to conceal the vast amounts of sweat that seemed to be dripping from head to toe. 

I convinced myself I was nailing the interview. 

Then we went back to her office. She sat behind her desk and I sat on the couch. Suddenly things took a turn and I felt quite dizzy.  She kept going in and out of focus. I couldn’t understand a word she was saying. I squinted. I forced a smile. I wiped the sweat from my forehead. I clenched my ass cheeks.

The next thing I knew I slid to the side and fell into the couch. I quickly caught myself and pretended I was adjusting my sitting position. I joked about losing my balance. She didn’t laugh. She eyed me suspiciously. 

When the interview was over I stumbled outside. Too weak to walk the outdoor corridor to my car I kept stopping at the various benches to regain strength. I don’t remember driving home, but I know I did. 

A few days later when I regained coherency I emailed her to let her know I was sick and I apologized if I appeared somewhat strange. I never heard back from her. 

Needless to say I never got the job.

In retrospect it’s a fond flu memory; one I can now laugh about, but never want to experience again.

Saturday, January 05, 2013

A Kim and Kanye Miracle


It’s with a swollen heart of joy that I can shout out that the time is just nine months away from the birth of a savior, a Media Child, a child whose conception near the Vatican can only be a sign that we as a human race are about to be saved!

I’m talking about the child that’s growing in the womb of Kim Kardashian. 

Who cares about gun control, world peace, or the fiscal cliff when Kanye’s sperm successfully swam into the vagina of Kim and attached itself to her egg? It’s a miracle, a media miracle, a reality show in the making kind of miracle. 

We can be certain there will be lots and lots and lots of attention grabbing headlines. 

Kim Craves Pickles and Breadsticks

Kanye Raps Nightly to His Unborn Child via Kim’s Womb

Kim Sells Her Sonogram for Millions

Kate and William Jealous of Kim and Kanye

A Beverly Hills Manger is Being Prepped for the Big Day

Kayne Prays Baby Doesn’t Have His Chin

Kim Prays Baby Doesn’t Have Her Big Ass

My initial reaction - before the swollen heart of joy - was does Kanye need a DNA test? But then I realized that maybe I was being a tad mean. Sure Kim has had many men, but she’s older and wiser now (and still legally married to the b-ball player) and knows that carrying Kanye’s child is a media bonanza worth millions (bigger than her fake marriage). 

In a press release the ego-obsessed couple say they’re feeling “blessed” over the news.  

(What were we expecting them to say? The condom broke and damn we’re pregnant?)

Congratulations Kim and Kanye.

I feel your joy.