R Blog

Blow Out

Sometimes it’s difficult to admit to one’s guilty pleasures. Bravo’s  Blow Out, now in its second season, is harder to fess up to than most. Because, really, can a show about doing hair be that interesting? As it turns out—yes it can. Why? Because the characters, especially, the prima donna of hair world, Jonathan Antin, is such a sketch. Jonathan owns two fabulous hair designs studios in Beverly Hills and West Hollywood. Last season’s story arc had Jonathan opening the new shop in Beverly Hills. Opening a new business is often fraught with obstacles. Good managers step up and solve problems, but to a world class drama queen like Jonathan, each obstacle was another opportunity to emote, shout, wave his arms, throw his cell phone, slam a door, insult an employee and generally make an ass of himself. For, you see, Jonathan Antin is the worst manager in history. If his people skills were a haircut the head would be gouged, uneven and bloody. Contrast his missing management skills with his obvious artistry in cutting hair and Bravo has enough tension to make each hour show into a stunning little pageant of bruised egos, hurt feelings, managerial incompetence and great hair. Did I mention this was reality TV?
Oh yeah. Jonathan and his crew of often stunningly beautiful and in-demand hair dressers are real people who actually work in the two shops charging up to $500 per haircut (more, if coloring or extensions are involved. On last night’s show, Kimberly Caldwell of American Idol semi-fame had extensions done and walked out with a bill for two or three thousand dollars—Jonathan was vague on the total). It’s reality TV but one gets the feeling that the producers are capable of the old “misdirect.” For example: is Jonathan gay? Several of his staff members, even most of the guys, are openly and comfortably gay. My gaydar has never worked properly, but Jonathan seems gay to me. He’s awfully good-looking for one thing. And his name is Jonathan. And, he sort of talks gay. Maybe it’s just a  Hollywood thing and maybe I’m falling for the old stereotype of the gay hairdresser and it doesn’t matter anyway except for this: the producers and Jonathan go out of their way to make him appear to be a heterosexual. And, what they do isn’t convincing. He has this “gal” who’s name is Ceci, I think, and who appears to be about twenty-two years old and who sort of phones it in when she’s with Jonathan. She seems to have no interest in him at all. There is no obvious love connection. Early this season Jonathan visited Ceci at her shop located in a basement somewhere to give her a haircut, her first Jonathan haircut. Leaving, he walked up the staircase to the street level, stopped, as if on a balcony, and said, “This is just like Romeo and Juliet.” And Ceci said, “Bye Juliet.”
Jonathan is always making comments about playing golf as in, I’ve been playing a little golf.” I’m not buying it. (Maybe he plays miniature golf). And, finally, last night he got choked up about his wonderful  new line of Jonathan hair products. Straight guys don’t get choked up about hair products.
Another misdirect to add to the drama is Jonathan’s relationship with the designer his hair products vice presidents have hired to create bottles for the new goo. This guy acts like an ass and Jonathan tops him at every turn in a business relationship that in the real world would last about five minutes, not several episodes.
The fun thing about Jonathan is his complete and total self-delusion. He believes that he is caring and supportive. Instead, he is a bully. He believes that he is a great manager when, in fact, he has no idea how to handle people. He plays favorites and is inconsistent. He believes he is always right when he is usually wrong, except in one important area. He is a brilliant hair stylist, a wonderful artist and technician who, as a business owner/manager, has risen to his level of incompetence. He is a train wreck waiting to happen and that’s always fun to watch.

News Junkie Heaven

How great is the internet? Go to this web site http://www.newseum.org/todaysfrontpages/flash/ and look at the front page of newspapers from across the country and around the world. As the front page loads up there is also a link to that newspaper’s site if you want to persue it. Amazing!

Duke Cunningham, Real Estate Ace

As long as I’m on the subject of fighter pilots let me direct your attention to Republican Congressman Randy ‘Duke’ Cunningham, the first ace of the Vietnam War. He parlayed his acedom into a seat in Congress where lately he has been doing two things: pushing hard for a flag burning ammendment and defending himself against charges that he is a corrupt politico.  Talking Points Memo is all over this story. Briefly, a defense contractor and contributor to the Duke’s campaign made it possible for 1) the Duke to sell (in round numbers) his $750,000 house for $1,500,000, 2) Buy a $5,000,000+ house for $2,500,000 (photos here ). Would you think you could buy this in SoCal for $2.5? and 3) live on a yacht (owned by the defense contractor) in Washington for dock fees only. If the House still had an ethics committee he’d be gone already. Instead, citizens of his district will probably have to rely on the drumbeat of the  local press and a federal investigation.
How far do the mighty fall? One day in 1972 he shot down 3 Migs to become and ace, then was shot down himself and rescued in the South China Sea. He got the Navy Cross and became a Top Gun instructor. Oh yeah, there were those rumors of his involvement in the Tailhook Scandal. But that blew over and he was elected as a conservative member of Congress dedicated to assisting the defense establishment move forward and protecting the flag against whatever. (His special contractor/helper has supposedly tripled his defense contracts with the Duke’s help).
Human’s have an infinite capacity to rationalize their behavior (okay, I’m going to confess the pruning job I wrote about was pretty awful) and the Duke is busy explaining away his good fortune.
Back in 1972 as his F 4C Phantom spun towards the ocean, as his chute deployed and as he dropped toward possible captivity I doubt that he was thinking, “I’m going to get some payback for this.” But as time passed perhaps his sacrifice began to create an itch. Perhaps he believed he was owed something. Or, perhaps having been treated as a hero since 1972 eroded the lines of concience that might have once existed. If one is special, shouldn’t one get special rewards? Now, as he sits in his palatial estate enjoying his view of his other rich neighbors, I’m pretty certain that he will not believe that he’s a crook. He’s still an ace in his own imagination, lighting up that afterburner and taking out those Commie bastards who want to tread on our flag, shooting down real estate deals right and left. But, like on May 10, 1972   he’s going to crash and burn. This time there may be no rescue.

Internet Movie Data Base

If you haven’t used it, IMDB  (http://www.imdb.com) is a very good source of information about films. IMDB always lists the cast with links to each cast member’s career. It’s very thorough. How thorough? Type in “Linda Humble” (now Linda Smith) and you will find that she had an uncredited role in It Happened at the World’s Fair. One little movie part and IMDB picked it up.
Last evening we watched The Bridges at Toko Ri with William Holden, Frederick March, Mickey Rooney and Grace Kelly. I had lots of questions and skimming the readers' comments in IMDB answered most of them. The first question was answered in IMDB’s cast list. That was Dennis Weaver playing the small part of the Air Intelligence Officer early in his career. Since I played the role of Air Intelligence Officer circa ‘64-’68, his briefing style caught my eye. Fighter pilots were always a tough audience.
In 1955 the military gave the producers of Bridges full cooperation. Lots of great scenes of takeoffs and landings and other carrier ops. In the comments, DrHypersonic pointed out that the Korean War represented the last days of the straight deck carrier with hydraulic catapults and paddle waving deck officer. After Korea carriers were built with angled decks, steam catapults and Fresnel lens mirror landing systems. He also identified the fighter bomber used in the film as  a Grumman Panther, and added the little tidbit that future astronaut Alan Shepherd was one of the pilots flying the planes. Mackjay wrote in the comments that Bridges was one of five films Grace Kelley made in that year. She squeezed this one in between Country Girl and To Catch a Thief. Mackjay astutely notes that it doesn’t appear that Kelley was present on location for a lot of the production. Rear projection is obvious in her exterior scenes. She obviously didn’t make it to Japan with the rest of the crew. Fbzab reported that his dad was on the carrier used in the filming. In close ups of the cockpits the sailors would blow CO2 by the aircraft to simulate clouds but they had problems with seagulls passing jets supposedly going 400mph. Estebanhernandez reminds us that Holden made another Korean War movie that year—Love is a Many Splendored Thing. Glentom1 hated Mickey Rooney as the rescue helicopter pilot and didn’t believe that the Navy would entrust a helicopter to an enlisted man. But a quick Google search for “navy enlisted pilot” shows that they existed through the Vietnam War.
Several commenters made note that The Bridges at Toko Ri is an effective anti-war statement. Holden as Lt. Brubaker is called back to active duty ahead of some active duty reserve units and he is unhappy, believing his requirement to give up home, family and law practice is unfair. His fear is palpable after flying a recce mission over the bridges and he comes close to grounding himself. Of course, he ends up getting shot down, crash lands, hides in a ditch with Rooney who comes to rescue him but is also shot down. And, unheroically, they both are killed by the faceless enemies of freedom. At the end of the movie, the Admiral, played by Frederick March sits on the bridge and asks the question, “Where do we get such men?” Skimming the comments of IMBD, I couldn’t find an answer to that one.
During my second SEA tour in 1967 we lost at least one aircrew a week for the nine months I was there. You’d have breakfast or lunch with a guy and he wasn’t there the next day. It gets pretty edgy having meals with guys who are pretty sure they are going to die that night or some night soon. You get to know what fear looks like written on someone’s face. So, my comment, were I to add one on IMDB, would be that William Holden did a great job portraying that fear of going back to the bridges, at least what it looks like. I’ve seen it, been close to it, but since I didn’t have to fly really can’t comprehend how they dealt with it, stuffed it down deep and managed to fly through the night. I know this: it’s an awful lot to ask of someone.

Born to Prune

I've always said that if I got a tattoo it would say, BORN TO PRUNE.
But there’s something in the DNA of my roommate that detests a good pruning. Oh, I know I sometimes go a bit too far. But we’re talking ivy here. Sure the pruned area is in the most visible spot at our house (the entry to our walkway). But, really. It will grow back. Did I mention that we’re talking ivy?  According to the experts on English Ivy, that is—the English,“If you do wish to have ivy growing in your surroundings then at the very least you should be looking to perform maintenance on it bi-annually to prevent it getting out of control.”
The particular patch in question hasn’t been touched since we bought this house fifteen years ago. It was a thick mat of dead vines which grew up, then draped down from an out-of- control pyracantha. The vine mat had trapped three garbage cans full of dead leaves from the birch tree above. Ivy had grown from the property line to the street in one giant cascade of plant stuff. That’s six feet.
I decided major surgery was in order. We discussed it. Roommate said, and I quote, “Do what you want.” This was, to be fair, after I had done some serious thinning to expose the end of the rock wall and discovered a couple rocks missing. She didn’t like that. Looked like missing teeth. So, I hustled around to find some spare rocks that I could set in the gaps. The first rock I picked up barehanded was home to a very large black widow spider. If that spider hadn’t been sound asleep, almost snoring, we’d be blogging something different and wouldn’t be concerned with some bare looking spots in front of the house. We’d be sorry that we made such a fuss about that old ivy. But, I digress.
I didn’t count on the ugly block wall that no one has seen since 1972 that appeared at the edge of the neighbor’s property line and loomed above our lovely river rock wall. Well, it was too late by then. “Don’t come out yet,” I said. But, of course, she came out. “You’ve killed it,” she told me.
According to the English, “If you do wish to permanently kill ivy then you have a lot of work ahead of you! It is very difficult to kill the entire ivy plant, and can only be done with a lot of hard work and persistence. Generally it is very difficult to kill an entire ivy plant (even) by use herbicides...”
“I didn’t kill it,” I replied. “It will grow back.”
“It looks terrible. I’m going to call a landscaper. I don’t want to look at this all summer.”
“You’ll be surprised,” I told her, “at how fast it grows back.”
“It won’t grow that fast.”
Of course, the landscaper can’t come until late this summer. By then we’ll be somewhere else. Let’s face it. The person who will have to look at it is our neighbor across the street and she hasn’t done us any favors lately anyway. Plus, the landscaper can’t make ivy grow.
Boys, I know you stand with me on this. Sometimes a severe pruning is called for. It will not be pretty. You must be strong and resolute and take the abuse you know will follow. Courage.
I must not waver for I was Born to Prune.

Operation Yellow Elephant

General J. C. Christian,   a self-professed proud, heterosexual, Christian conservative is concerned, as we all should be, about the US military’s inability to recruit new soldiers, marines and airmen. For the last several months recruiting has fallen dramatically. The General is worried that even though the Iraq insurgency is in its “last throes” we will not have the resources available to bring democracy to Iraq and the rest of the world. Bold strategic thinker that he is, General Christian analyzed the problem and has found a solution. He looked for a group that demanded and supported the war and concluded that College Republicans and Young Republicans would provide excellent fodder for our military machine. According to information on the General’s blog,  “The objective of OPERATION YELLOW ELEPHANT is to recruit College Republicans and Young Republicans to serve as infantry. They demanded this war and now viciously support it. It's only right that they also experience it.” Great generals take action and Gen. Christian has devised a series of operations focusing on the  College Republican National Convention (June 24-26) and the Young Republican National Convention (July 6-10).
Other freedom loving web sites have picked up the flag and are working the problem. Radical Russ states it succinctly: “These kids believe in the role models of George W. Bush, Dick Cheney, Karl Rove, Rush Limbaugh, Sean Hannity, Paul Wolfowitz, Bill O'Reilly, Joe Scarborough, John Bolton, Richard Perle, Jeb Bush, Tom DeLay, and Dennis Hastert and so many others who did not serve and avoided military conflict at all costs. The College Republicans, like those they admire, are content to be the cheerleaders of war, too busy with their other priorities, sitting on their pilodinal cysts and kneeling on their bad knees, offering jingoism with a side of bloodlust while all the brown people take all the good slots in the military.” Radical Russ is no doubt overstating the case, being a bit too sarcastic. I for one, speaking as a veteran, believe that the young Republicans, once they realize their country needs them, will sign up in droves. Fortunately, young Republicans will have enough money to buy their body armor, camelbacks and other equipment necessary for survival in Iraq as detailed in this Arizona Republic story. Unfortunately, Operation Yellow Elephant is off to a poor start. Colonel Crooks and Liars attempted to buy an ad in the official program of the Young Republican National Convention and was turned down. I’m certain there was a good reason.

Golf Commentators

Golf fans have their favorite commentators. Most value Johnny Miller for his astuteness and honesty. Nick Faldo and Paul Azinger are quickly gaining fans for their crossfire and Faldo’s dry English wit. (Last week Nick even sang, quite nicely I thought, a bit of an old Monty Python song: “Look on the bright side of life.”)
My focus today is on the commentators we should get rid of. For years golf fans have had to sit through the ponderous verbal essays of Jack Whitaker, wearing his jaunty tweed cap and droning on about some shot or performance his writers believed to be mythic. I’m not going to use up a pink slip on Jack because he’s pretty well seen the course. But his takes on golf, though lauded by the Golf Broadcasters Hall of Fame, remind one of Ancient Greeks and murals on chapel ceilings. TV golf writers are terrible. They’ll try to make the Hartford Open into something legendary. When they get to some event like the Masters or US Open, they froth excessively. This weekend we are forced to review the short, happy life of the late Payne Stewart, ad nauseum, led by NBC’s new lead essayist and longtime irritating interviewer Jimmy Roberts. Wikipedia notes that, “His writing is regarded as some of the best in all of broadcast journalism.” This is faint praise when one is talking about TV golf essays. Roberts has the look of a weasel, or of a hungry lowlife journalist looking for a scoop or at least a sound bite. Jimmy Roberts specializes in the puff piece. Today, in addition to Payne Stewart, his beautiful, chaste widow, his teenage son’s relationship with Lee Janzen, we will be getting Jason Gore overload. Jason Gore is a big, pleasant guy who is in the final group. He’s such and unknown that NBC has got to be crapping their corporate pants worrying about ratings. To compensate for their fears they will Jimmy Roberts Jason Gore for all they are worth. Puff. Puff.
Playing golf last Friday Ed had one of his best ideas. Granted it was theoretical and kind of philosophical. It was this: what if, at age 50, everyone had the right to pull the trigger on one other individual? That is, make them disappear permanently. Wouldn’t it make a nicer world? Wouldn’t behavior be modified significantly? If just one person who you might have pissed off could, at age 50, eliminate you my guess is you’d change your ways, try harder to be nice and kind. If you were a golf commentator and a viewer could make you disappear you might try and be more interesting and less of a prick.
The trouble is that Ed’s ideas are just too ahead of their time. Instead of elimination one must resort to carping. So, if I were running NBC I’d get rid of Jimmy Roberts. And, if I were running CBS, I’d pull the trigger on Bobby Clampett whose bitterness at not being on tour himself spills into his tone and commentary.

The Old Negro Space Program

As an amateur historian I am always on the lookout for untold and unusual stories. Many important events in our history have been suppressed. Now, a new web site has broken the seal on one of the most interesting tales of the late 1950’s. (Actually 1957 or 1958). I hope you will take the opportunity to go to http://www.negrospaceprogram.com/# and click “PLAY THE MOVIE”  and view the shocking-but-false-story of America’s Blackstronauts. You will not be disappointed and I am certain you will want to share the experience with everyone you know. You will see a film that will enlighten, that is to say—elucidate; and, if you are of open mind, elicit chortles, guffawing, cackling and sniggering. You may even wish to thank me for the tip. As Eric Alterman suggests on his fine blog Altercation, this is clearly another case of media bias.

The US Open, Ping G-2, and David Duval

We now come to the second leg of the annual grand slam of golf—the US Open. Golf magazines and The Golf Channel have been hyping it for better than two weeks. We have been treated to documentaries on past winners,  paeans to the course—Pinehurst #2 (granted, this not a great name. Knowledgeable golf folks, however, realize that #2 is Number 1), and endless speculation on who will win. 83 players made the cut. David Duval missed the cut but everyone says he’s “happy”. He’s kind of fat again. Are fat people really ever happy? Phil Mickelson had an unexpected melt down, won’t win, but is still on the course. Senior player Peter Jacobsen is playing great. Tiger is in the hunt as always. Vijay too, and Retief Goosen will probably win again. The course is tough, requiring precision iron shots due to greens that are like inverted bowls. Many solid players have been humiliated. And this is as it should be for golf is a game of little humiliations, a game where one never gets it quite right, hits it straight enough or long enough. In a recent Golf Digest interview Jacobsen said that golf is a game of managing your failures.
My golfing partner Ed and I spend a lot of time massaging the various metaphors for golf while we thrash around our favorite course (Stoneridge, named for some old sheep fences that border a couple of fairways). Golf is a metaphor for life and/or its sub-topics like marriage, sex and politics. Ed likes to focus on the sex metaphor and I will spare you the details. He has come up with dozens of book ideas using golf as the metaphor, usually one book idea per round and his stream of consciousness monologues add extra ambiance to the wildflowers, birds, deer and scenic views that flavor a round at The Ridge.
Back to David Duval, once number one player in the world and now ranked something like 600th, forced every day to manage his failures while collecting a huge pile of money from Nike who signed him when he was on top. In golf, it’s possible to completely lose your game. It happened to  David, to Chip Beck, to Ian Baker-Finch and it happened to me. For the last two years I have been lost. Never a really good player, I was consistent, always shooting between 80-85 on a familiar course. But something happened; something which cannot be explained. Nothing felt right. There was no confidence, no rhythm, no coordination. It was ugly. Even my metaphors were weak. Ed started to beat me! I began a search for my lost swing thought. No luck. Humiliations piled up like a freeway wreck. All the problems started with my drives which began to bend violently to the left and rarely got 20’ off the ground. This is called the “snap hook,” and even though I knew what caused it I was powerless to do anything about it. I was in a fog. But then another friend let me use his huge high tech driver. This club had a head as big as a shoe box. I hit a couple good drives and decided to buy my game. To make a long story shorter, a golf pro helped me select a Ping G-2 and I now again believe in magic. Oh, I could still hit the snap hook with the G-2. But every so often there would be that “ping” sound and the ball would fly straight and very long. Soon everything else fell into place. Rhythm returned. I had some idea of where the ball might go. I am now launching tee shots into formerly unknown territory. Short irons to the green. Wheee!
All golfers want to hit the big tee shot. It sets up the entire game. A 250+ drive takes pressure off the rest of your game. Long drives put Tiger, Phil, Ernie and Vijay on top. Annika and Michelle now regularly hit the 300 yard drive just like the boys do.
It’s Sunday morning. The leaders in the Open Championship haven’t yet teed off. My G-2 is resting in the basement, ready to go again next Friday when Ed and I take to The Ridge to manage our failures and explore our metaphors. I'm back, baby!
Come on David. I’m rooting for you.

The Singing Life of Birds

Scientists don’t know much yet about birdsong. But they are trying to shed some light on its mysteries. Donald Kroodsma, an ornithologist, has written a new book (brief review here on Bookends)

which sheds some light. Professor Kroodsma believes the key to hearing birdsong is seeing it and after recording songs he converts them to sonograms for study. The sonogram is like a musical score for the bird and enables one to visualize the notes. Audubon Magazine has a neat summary on sonograms with song samples  here.
Kroodsma’s book comes with a CD full of birdsong which is now loaded on my iPod. I can follow the sonograms in the book and bring them to life with the recordings. Or, just play the birdsongs like any other album. There are lots of sites on the web where you can listen to birdsong and view sonograms. This is  a good one.
Birdsong, when you stop to listen, has amazing variety and this new book will tune your ear to listen. It’s quite a chorus.