Richard Lucas

2011-10-18T10:53:00.000-07:00

I'm in a show on Wednesday night that's going to be lots of fun!

SHOTGUN STORY WORTHY - 1 minute stories! -- Performers spin the "Story Worthy Wheel of Truth" and tell a 1-minute true story on the topic they land.

Stitcher Radio Presents: Shotgun Story Worthy- Live Podcast!

Wednesday, October 19th - 8:00

at El Cid

4212 Sunset Blvd

Silverlake, CA 90029

Click for TICKETS HERE --> $6

STORY WORTHY is Christine Blackburn and Hannes Phinney's fun podcast on which I was a guest in August. I spoke about my neighbor's barking dogs. You can listen to that podcast here >>>> LISTEN NOW <<<<.

I hope you can make it to the show!

Check Out My Barking Dogs Story at The Story Worthy Podcast!

2011-08-29T12:23:00.000-07:00

I had a great time doing the Story Worthy Podcast with Christine Blackburn and Hannes Phinney. Story Worthy is one of the Top Ten Comedy Podcasts on itunes! I told an update to my Barking Dog Log nightmare - because it continues and continues! You won't believe all that's gone on since the live Dog Log show! Check out my story and sign up for more Story Worthy podcasts today!

Me with Hannes Phinney and Christine Blackburn, hosts of Story Worthy

**CLICK HERE to listen to my story at The Story Worthy Podcast**
with Christine Balckburn and Hannes Phinney!

Procrast i nation

2011-08-24T11:28:00.000-07:00

Started on Tumblr today as way of distracting myself from working on the second draft manuscript of my book, “Buried in Sophie’s Tomb, My Barking Dog Log to the West Hollywood Sheriff’s Dept.” I actually thought to myself, If I start a blog about writing the book, it’ll make me write the book. Yet, here I am writing about writing the book, or about not writing the book, and as yet still am not writing the book.

I’m suffering from all the writing clichés: fear, doubt, self-loathing, disorganization. Mostly though, it’s time - just not making the time. How can I rationalize writing a book when there are bills to pay? Writing drafts doesn’t pay money. It only increases one’s fear about not earning money on yet another self-driven project.

I’ve even spent months thinking that I need to by a Dragon or some other speak-to-type software because it’s not my writing that’s the issue, but my typing. I spend way more time clicking the mouse back within sentences, deleting and re-typing than I do typing forward. It’s like walking Nelson (one of the dogs in the book). We never get to where I think we should go because he doesn’t just stop at every potential sniffing spot and at every mark his nose seeks out as possible snackage, but he has a white fetish as well. Anything white, he has to get to it and check it out. He’s like OJ simpson at a TGI Friday’s happy hour. Maybe I’ll use that line in the book. Likely not. People would find some way to whine about it. And can I find a more hackneyed, out of date reference? I definitely need to learn more about current pop culture. Maybe I should hit Facebook for several hours or all day today. Might as well not even bother working on draft two today. Thanks, Tumblr.

The Girl Who'd Lost Her Violin

2011-07-28T15:27:00.000-07:00

This is a transcript of the set/story I did on Monday night at Linda Bailey Walsh's FACEBOOK'ed Show at M Bar. It was a really fun show. All stories based on Facebook. Everyone was great! You should have been there!!

The first half was a rant. The second half is the story of the violin.

A brief history of Mankind:

Cavemen - Grunting - Painting - Hieroglyphics - Talking - Language - Writing - Printing - Telegraph - Telephone - Radio - TV - Computers - Internet - AOL - Chat - Friendster - Myspace - Facebook..

Facebook - which brings us back to the beginning with character-count-limited, electronic grunting: "...uuurr LIKE!" "...uuurrr FRRRIIIEND.." Will you come to my show on Friday night? "uuuuurrr - MAAAAAYBEEEE..." We've evolved to sharing videos of cats playing patty-cake, which, undoubtedly, cavemen also enjoyed watching, albeit live only.

Facebook - so simple that even super-religious people can use it. It makes me miss the days when the internet was the devil's playground and not to be touched by wholesome hands. Now, the uber-religious feel comfortable and free to proselytize, evangelize, and save the world through commenting on my status updates.

Facebook - the great equalizer. Everyone's layout is the same. When the web was invented and growing, the opportunity arose for individuality to blossom. Everyone could have their own site or blog. Myspace was filled with beautiful sparkles and squiggly ribbons! But we've ended up here: all of us in the same generic, bland, milquetoast web-clothing, like a city of workers portrayed in a painting entitled "Salute to Stalin," our Facebook uniform here of white pants, white shirt, blue belt and blue cap, just a face to show ourselves, a profile pict we can swap out once in a while as we type out an occasional emoticon just to show people that we're still alive.

How many people here drive a car that is silver or gray-tone? .... --- SHEEP!!

Facebook is our Egalitarian comfort zone. All things equal. So I'm an Anti-Egalitarian. Not that I don't believe that all people are created equal and deserve equal opportunity and justice - of course! But I also believe that a great many of us fuck up a great many things along the way - my very own life a fine example of a decades-long string of unfortunate decisions - making us eventually extremely unequal. This is why high school reunions are so damned uncomfortable!

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But Facebook can be used for good as well as life-wasting time suckage...

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The Girl Who'd Lost Her Violin

One evening a few weeks ago, I was driving to a party - turning left off of Fairfax, onto Melrose Avenue. I saw the cars in front of me swerving and braking to avoid an object in the street. It was something pretty large. I thought it was a piece of a car fender or something. So, having many sins for which to amend, I pulled over, figuring that clearing the street would make me feel better as a human being, and that I could go to the party telling people that I had, presumably, saved countless lives on my way there.

It was at the corner of Genesee and Melrose in front of the American Apparel store. I stepped out of the car, the scene gently lit by the soft reflections of fluorescent light that bounced off of the plastic, scantily clad, post-pubescent, morally questionable mannequins in the window. What I found was not a car fender or "debris" of any kind. It was a violin case - a nice one, and relatively unharmed. Then, a few feet away, I saw the bow, and several yards from that the violin itself.

My mother was a violin teacher, a public school music teacher who taught private lessons in our house. She was a tough lady - a combination of Hillary Clinton and Pope Gregory IX. Above the door to the bedroom which my brother Chris and I shared, she'd hung a wrought iron sign which read "Homework is Freedom." She was a perfectionist and a persecutor. If I ever said, "Hey, Mom, guess what I got on my spelling test today?" She'd inevitably come back with, "100?", to which I'd have to sullenly reply, "No ..a 98." And then, ..here it comes, "Oh, Richard, you always manage to get one wrong." This is why I have both a fear of success and a deep hatred of even mildly successful people.

At home when her private students were there, it was a lifetime of the inescapable cat-screams of beginners learning to play. Early-stage violin playing is like listening to Kathy Griffin talk about sex. My mother had one young Vietnamese student named Peter. She taught all three of that recent-immigrant-family's children. They were named Peter, Paul and Mary. Paul and Mary were amazing students. To relax before his lesson, Paul used to take apart our calculator and put it back together again. But Peter could never quite get it right. "No, Peter! No! Nooo!!" my Mom would yell. Yes, she had patience sometimes, but Peter had pushed her beyond it right from the beginning. "Nooooooo!!!"... I can still hear that screaming! Today, my neighbor, Irene, futilely yells at her Yorkie, Lauren, to stop barking, and it's, "LAUUUUREN, NOOOOOO!! NoooooOOO!!" just like my Mom with Peter. My shower head has been leaking for weeks, and I hear it again! - I wake up at night screaming, "Shower, NOOOOO! NoooOO, shower!!" My stomach started growling at a film screening the other day, and I knee-jerked, "Stomach! Noo!! Noooooooo, STOMACH!!"

I stood in the street and held this ownerless violin in my hands. Was this a sign from my mother? Whose violin could this be? And how does one lose a violin? You don't just wander aimlessly away from it like Steve Carell from "The Office." It doesn't just float away like Donald Trump's grasp on reality. It's not disposable like Jennifer Aniston's filmography.

There was a name in the case, as well as "Violin 1." So this girl was a talented violinist on some level. I was right near Fairfax High. So that Monday I took the violin there, but the principal said they had no student by the name on the card, and the music teacher couldn't identify the violin or case. I turned to FB because earlier in the year I'd found a wallet while I was running, and I was able to return it to the owner via a FB search. My reward for that return was a giant chocolate-chip cookie. I sat on my sofa eating it with a big glass of milk, and it felt so good. I thought, "This must be what Kim Kardashian feels like.." It was nice. Inspired by myself, I typed the name into the FB search, but no results returned. It was a very unusual last name, so I searched just it instead. After pursuing many profiles, I messaged a woman in Santa Monica who might have been old enough to have a teenage daughter. She called me right away. She said that her daughter had been crying for days. I asked what her daughter had said about the violin? She told me that her daughter had told her that the violin was taken by a nanny named "Zenaida Fernandez-Gonzalez," and that she'd been trying to recover it on her own, but that was very stupid... Okay, she didn't actually say that. (That was for my #CaseyAnthony case people.) She said her daughter had been crying for days, and she didn't know why.

The next day they appreciatively picked up the violin. The daughter seemed very, very bright. She reminded me of some of my mom's best students. She and her mother were adorable together - and so relieved. I'm a musician. A person gets very attached to his personal instrument. It's a relationship, and I could see that she was glad that her violin would not have to be replaced. They gave me a $25 Starbucks gift certificate. I wished I still had my giant cookie; the two would have gone so well together.

This was a sign from my mom, but it wasn't to help me. - She was calling out to me to help the girl who'd lost her violin.

Facebook'ed - Monday night at M Bar, Hollywood!

2011-07-20T11:48:00.000-07:00

Facebook'ed - Monday, July 25th at M Bar, Hollywood

Dear Friends,

I'll be doing a show on Monday night at The M Bar in Hollywood called FACEBOOK'ED with Linda Bailey Walsh and a great lineup of comic storytellers. We'll all be sharing shocking, terrifying, horrifying stories of those car-crash moments that we've all encountered when our favorite social network morphed into a complicated web of half-truths, inadvertent, drunken missives, and un-undoable photographic nightmares, blended with the reappearance of the now inescapable, undying ghosts of our past lives, our present fantasies, and our future hopes.

If you've ever been emailed, questioned, or virulently criticized after un-friending someone, then you must attend this show. If you haven't permitted your Chat option to go online for over two years because of one person, then you must attend this show. If the first person to comment on your status updates is inevitably someone from any of three generations of your family who thinks that humor is something that cancer surgeons remove, then you must must attend this show!

Ray Barnhart, Jeff Hopkins, Margee Magee, Melanie Reno, Traci Swartz and Christopher T. Wood, very, very funny storytellers all.

Show's at 8:00. No cover. $10 food min. Reservations preferred and appreciated: 323-856-0036. M Bar - 1253 Vine St. (at Fountain).

I'll be the Special Guest on The Story Worthy Podcast on Sunday! - Barking Dogs!

2011-07-15T13:06:00.000-07:00

This Sunday afternoon, I'll be taping an episode of the most excellent Story Worthy Podcast with Christine Blackburn and Hannes Phinney. Christine and Hannes are accomplished actors and storytellers in their own right and have created a very funny, extremely pleasant and professional podcast that features one guest storyteller on one theme each week. The Story Worthy Podcast is in the Top 10 Comedy Podcasts at itunes!

I'll be talking about the spirit-crushing, desperate and dire living situation in which destiny has imprisoned me: having a neighbor with a relentlessly barking, obnoxious Yorkshire Terrier. It's a story of Man vs. Beast, of Neighbor's Inhumanity to Neighbor.

As many of you know, I did a live, one-person show about my neighbor, Irene, and her dog, Sophie, entitled "Buried in Sophie's Tomb - My Barking Dog Log to the West Hollywood Sheriff's Dept." (more info > here) which enjoyed an extended run at The Fake, played at The Actors Art Theater, and was an LA Weekly Recommended Event at The Comedy Central Stage. ...But since that show has ended, and the giggling, wine-sipping, everything-in-life-is-wonderful theater audiences have gone their way, everything with my neighbor and her dog has only gotten worse. - WORSE! - Life just keeps pounding me with its misery hammer...

And so the story continues at The Story Worthy Podcast. It will air at their site and on itunes very soon (not sure of the date), unless, of course, Christine and Hannes find it just too soul-destroying, too sad, too pathetic - too frighteningly close to the truth and pain of the human condition to air at this time to the masses. - I'll keep you informed!

RL

Copenhagen at The Attic Theater

2011-07-08T16:30:00.000-07:00

A big thank you to everyone who was able to come see COPENHAGEN at The Attic Theater this year!! It was an incredible experience for me - fun, challenging, and intense. It was a blast to go into such heavy drama in the midst of these years of comedy. Playing Werner Heisenberg was like nothing I'd ever anticipated, after all, none of my acting experiences or even acting classes had ever cast me as anything like an early 20th century nobel prize winning atomic physicist. But I knew it was for me after I'd met director, Lew Hauser. His vision and mine were on track from the very beginning. We wanted Heisenberg to be powerful, dignified, respectful, and, above all, controlled. He was a man under constant surveillance by his own countrymen in the Gestapo, but even more so, under constant scrutiny from his colleagues around the world, and conflicted deeply within himself. In the end, he chose country and perhaps ambition over morality, and many say, in real life, he paid for it until the end of his days.

Joanna Churgin and Jack Winnick were wonderful to work with and amazing performers. Since the run ended, several people have asked if it's going to get produced again at a larger venue. I know I'd love to do it!

Here are some of the reviews we received:

From LA SPALSH MAGAZINE:

"Lucas is masterful as the now powerful yet conflicted mastermind Heisenberg.."

- ..."Engaging, interesting and intense—what more could you ask for two hours of theatre? I’ve never been to Copenhagen, but I’m glad I’ve seen Copenhagen. I’d like to see it again."

From THE TOLUCA TIMES:

"Lucas brings likability to the competitive and arrogant Heisenberg.."

- "...Thought provoking and intelligent, Copenhagen is biting entertainment."

From LAist.com:

"While generally known for his comedic ventures, Lucas proves that he is capable of handling a dramatic stage work while rendering key moments full of animated intensity as Werner Heisenberg."

A few snippets from reviews on Goldstar Events (4.3/5 stars):

"Well done. I saw the original version on Broadway with Phillip Bosco and Blair Brown and this version was equally moving. Well acted by all involved. The Attic Theater production resonated even more from a large Broadway stage to a small theater. All the issues dominating the ethics and decisions in our world today are embedded in the story. It is a timeless testament to man's ability to justify scientific advancement at any cost."

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"Drama in its purest form with a fascinating account of history, stupendous performances and powerful direction! I strongly recommend seeing this before it closes!!"

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"Brave and totally involving."

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"Terrific cast and wonderfully directed. Complex material handled with ease. Joanna Churgin, Richard Lucas and Jack Winnick are amazing. I saw the original Broadway version - This is stronger."

Man Watches Episode of Project Runway, Still Attracted to Women

2008-10-09T13:36:00.000-07:00

New York, NY
In an announcement that has stunned the television, fashion and scientific worlds alike, Carl L. Delaney of McKeesport, Pennsylvania is reported to have watched last night's episode of Bravo's Project Runway and claims that he still remains "attracted to women."

"I watched Project Runway last night, and today I still am not gay," Delaney said at a hastily called press conference on the common lawn in front of his apartment building. "I still am horny for women. Women are where it's at for me," he emphasized.

"This account is simply not to be believed," countered Robert Fullbright, Professor of Anthropology and Science and Technology Studies at Brown University, "The Delaney heterosexuality announcement would appear to reverse a sociological principle as immutable as gravity," adding, "He might as well have told us that he could stop time by doing JELL-O shots. 'Project' is firmly entrenched in the genetic code of modern living as the most powerful homociser on television," he explained.

Acclaimed Sociologist, Dr. Alexander Solkowski, author of the book Who Do you Think You Are? - You Are Who I Tell You You Are, agrees, "It presents one of mankind's most mind boggling conundrums: If you watch an episode of Project Runway and you are not gay, then you're still gay because you watched an episode of Project Runway."

Solkowski adds, "What Delaney is claiming - to have watched the show this Wednesday and not to have ended up gay - is beyond plausibility, frankly. 'Runway' bases itself on the premise of adulation of the fashion industry and builds with scenes of frantic designers shopping for fabric, contestants verbally bitch-slapping one another while sewing hems on garish "avant-garde" evening gowns based on pictures of flowers, and even shows female models in underwear with no sexual connotation whatsoever. If Delaney truthfully watched it last night," Solkowski says emphatically, "Then I conclude that he is gay."

The creators of Project Runway released the following statement: "We live in and are proud to be part of an open and tolerant society. If Mr. Delaney wants to say that he is straight even after watching our show, then we must take him at his word, and we are happy to welcome him as a viewer. We only hope that he is being completely honest with his loved ones, his friends, his family and himself."

Yet Delaney says that he discussed last evening's episode on a date with a woman later on and insists that the two shared stages of physical intimacy afterward. "We talked about the show, yes. I had just found Kenley's voice to be so irritating that I had to bring it up. That throaty screech of Kenley's constant defensive whining was stuck in my head like the sirens of the fire engines when my family's house burned down when I was 6. And her designs, let's face it, she's just stuck in the 50's. Time to get with something fresh. My date agreed with me, though she said that she did like Kenley's updated spin on hip hop that she'd designed for Leanne a couple of weeks ago. I hadn't seen that episode, so I was able to brush it off and make my move to second base."

There were, however, a few shaky moments. "I will admit that I was a little nervous at first, especially when Heidi Klum strutted on stage to threaten the designers," Delaney said, "I used to think she was really hot, but now she's kind of harsh, kind of mannish."

"This is exactly how the conversion always begins," explains Professor Fullbright, "Heterosexual men question their attraction to Heidi Klum. Then the winning and losing models from the previous week come out, but they are in unflattering black mini-dresses, have no make up on, and there is a noticeable absence of flesh on their bones. So within the first five minutes, the straight male viewer has been introduced to the drama of the episode, which may initially intrigue him, but has also slowly been waned from finding women attractive. Then Tim Gunn comes in. He is smart and dapper, friendly, yet stern and principled, all wrapped up in a fine looking, well dressed gentlemen with sympathy and a sense of humor. You can imagine having a beer with him, albeit a very expensive, imported one probably with a lemon wedge and a sprinkle of cinnamon which he wouldn't finish, but you can imagine it. And alcohol, even in imagined scenarios, leads to loosened inhibitions."

"Once a heterosexual male is through that door, there's no turning back. The presentation of the 'challenge' and the petty consternation between the contestants fire a male veiwer's internal 'Sports Response' in that his subconscious mind immediately choses a favorite, and then he'll endure nearly anything to see it through to the end - even the fanciful sketching, the discussions about 'Did someone steal my tool fabric?', the whining about other designers' whining, arguments over mirror space at the apartment or 'Who rethreaded my sewing machine?!!?'. It's extraordinary. But without fail, after 44 minutes, that male veiwer is gay. By the time he is agreeing with Michael Kors that Jerrel Scott's designs are too gaudily ornamented and that his hemlines are just not finished-looking enough for Bryant Park, the transformation is undoubtedly complete. Any sexual encounters with a female at that point would be for 'bearding' purposes only."

Yet Delaney continues to insist that he is not gay. "I like Leanne Marshall. I find her little buck tooth smile and sort of muppet faced innocence adorable, and her designs are first rate. When her eyes tear up from the stress, the exhaustion, the fear and the insatiable desire to be the best, I just want to hug her all night long. Plus, she really has a way with constructing pleats with a whole new, fresh perspective that could set the fashion world on fire. You girl, Leanne!"

Fannie Mae Pregnant. Freddie Mac Denies Relationship.

2008-10-03T12:18:00.000-07:00

Washington, D.C.
No longer able to deny the conspicuous "baby bump" which has caused swirling speculation throughout the banking community, a visibly perturbed Nancy Pelosi, Speaker of the House of Representatives, announced this morning that Fannie Mae is indeed "expecting," and is due to give birth in early 2009.

"We were, of course, stunned when Fannie told us this news," Pelosi said, "We've spent so much time recently, late nights and weekends, at the office negotiating for her Bailout/Rescue Plan that we lost sight of what Fannie was doing with her personal time," adding, "We thought she was in her room working on her term paper on Zelda Fitzgerald."

"This is not what we would have wanted for her right now with her $800 billion of assets on the brink of evaporating," Press Secretary Dana Perino stated during this morning's daily briefing at the White House. "President Bush has spoken with her, and though he is a little disappointed in her personal behavior, he supports her decision and is moving forward."

There is tremendous speculation within beltway circles that Fannie Mae has fallen victim to parental neglect as the extended fighting and public bickering of the past two years between Pelosi and Bush has led them to distraction. "They shouldn't be airing their dirty laundry in public every day the way they do," said University of Maryland Clinical Psychologist, Belinda Swanson, "Clearly Fannie's behavior has been affected."

Commenting while on the campaign trail at Jefferson High School in Herndon Virginia, Vice Presidential candidate, Joe Biden, told the crowd, "President Bush taught Fannie Mae that 'A' was for abstinence. He should have also taught her what 'B' was for."

GOP presidential candidate, John McCain, responded quickly: "We don't know what was taught in those private moments to Fannie Mae or to Freddie Mac. It is their business and should be left at that along with their ethically questionable predatory lending practices. And by the way, Senator Biden never clarified what 'B' is for. And furthermore, Senator, what is 'C' for? And 'D'? And why would Senator Obama want teach those things to a financial institution in our public schools at ages as young as pre-school?"

Asked if Fannie Mae will still be able to provide liquidity to mortgage originators with the added responsibilities of motherhood, Perino said, "We're hoping that she has help with that at home."

Conspicuously unavailable for comment were representatives of government sponsored mortagage-backed securities seller, Freddie Mac. "Freddie Mac never touched that stuff," representatives said in a released statement. Mac, who recently pledged the Sigma Alpha Epsilon fraternity at George Washington University though his reported SAT score of 840 falls well below admissions requirements, had apparently fled the comfort of his suburban Washington condo and was said to be in Southern California mastering tracks on his first hip hop album "Bailout Failout, Bitches", they said, "It's the Freddie Mac Yack Attack droppin' in time for Xmas stocking stuffa's, y'all."

Mae and Mac have been known to date off and on over the past several years. The two seemed happy when photographed together at Treasury Secretary Henry Paulson's surprise birthday party at Shakey's Pizza in Old Downtown last year, though at times the pair have also been seen at the Georgetown Starbucks arguing over whether they should order Caffé Vanilla Frappuccinos or Cinnamon Dulce.

"I saw them making out under the bleachers at our opening game," said Christina Newmont, a junior and fellow cheerleader with Mae at The Sidwell Friends School. "It was really so rude because we lost to Landon, and it was like they didn't even care. It was gross."

As a result of the recently passed Senate rescue bill, Fannie Mae was scheduled to appear before the House Financial Services Committee later this week, but it has been announced that all upcoming public appearances have been cancelled.

When asked if he, as chairman of that committee, bore any responsibility for oversight of Fannie Mae's behavior, Massachusetts Congressman Barney Frank stated, "No, and it's none of my business nor yours. Even though you, the taxpayers, are being told to write a check for $750,000,000,000 to buy up the bad mortgages and fragile assets of both Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac, we ask at this time that you respect their privacy and let everyone move on with their private lives."

Historic Bipartisan Effort Gives U.S. Economy Much Needed Crushing Blow

2008-10-01T11:53:00.000-07:00

Washington, D.C.
The U.S. House of Representatives this week pulled together to complete days of unprecedented emergency sessions to achieve the once unattainable goal of absolutely no result whatsoever.

"Just when all of America needed us to come together and find common ground, we did it - and under tremendous pressure I might add - within the context of our own hatred for one another's basic political beliefs and associations," said chairman of the House Financial Services Committee, Barney Frank (D-MA). "That's the progress of the 21st Century that the voters sent us here to achieve."

As the world watched and Wall Street had is biggest single-day numerical drop in history putting the financial markets on the brink of a Depression-Era style disaster, the political animus of Washington hit its zenith over a bill which some representatives referred to as a "Rescue Plan." "Rescue, sure..." commented Rep. John Boehner (R-OH), "I haven't gotten this kind of press since we had Bill Clinton's nuts in a vice. This has been our greatest chance to let the country fall into ruin and blame the other side since we dreamed up the term "Stagfaltion" in the 70's."

"I am tremendously proud of the inaction that we've taken this week." said Rep. John Tierney (D-MA), "They call it a 'Bailout,' so I call it a 'Loan.' If they'd called it a 'Loan,' I would have stood up for the American people and denounced it as a 'Bailout for the Fat Cats.' I always add in 'Fat Cats.' You see, people just don't like fat cats, not even the actual overweight cats on YouTube."

"The important thing is that this week nothing got done," said House Republican Whip Roy Blunt (R-MO). "We clearly assured our own political existence through unadulterated intolerance of one another's core convictions. This latest economic strife was a great opportunity for both sides to ignore the other's recommendations at a time when the voting public could finally see us not listening to one another. We don't help them. They don't help us. We're all in this thing together."

"I didn't even read the bill," explained Rep. Jeff Flake (R-AZ), "I just waited to see what the Democrats wanted to do, then I stepped 'across the aisle' to despise it. That's what I was elected to do."

Polls show the voting public to be wholeheartedly satisfied with the work not being done. "Progress makes me suspicious. If politicians agree on something, then someone's not doing their homework," said California voter Constance Kindall.

Minnesotan, Joel Donnelly, says that he finds comfort in the clarity of total polarization, "How am I supposed to know who not to vote for if I don't know who to hate?"

Marking the unanimity that such failure to act has brought to Washington, House Democratic Leader, Nancy Pelosi, recommended the minting of a commemorative 2¢ "The Greater Depression" coin emblazoned with 2008 GOP presidential candidate John McCain's slogan: "We'll just have to agree to disagree." "We're hoping that the homeless of this newer, fresher depression era will pick up on it and sing "Buddy, Can You Spare Five Two-Pennies?" she stated, adding, "That would be so cute."

"Even though it will never exist, a coin like this can go a long way to help pretend that something actually happened here, something which led to nothing. I think we can all agree on that," Pelosi concluded.

Ushering in a vote that would kill a bill attempting to solve the emergent banking crisis, Pelosi stated that "For too long this government, for eight years, has followed a right wing ideology of anything goes, no supervision, no discipline, no regulation," motivating just the right kind of bitterness that could strangle the cooperative nature of a Peace Corps volunteer.

In an inspired example of unified rancor, Rep. Eric Cantor, (R-VA) took the political layup: "Right here is the reason I believe why this vote failed, and this is Speaker Pelosi's speech that, frankly, struck the tone of bi-partisan mutual destruction that, frankly, enabled me to vote against her on the bill and use her words to whine about it at a press conference afterwards. Then the Democrats complained about us some more, and so on and so forth. Everybody gets reelected. Everybody's happy."

Commenting on the dynamic lack of progress on the financial market disaster, Senator Chris Dodd, chairman of the Senate Banking Committee, added, "I suppose this economic crisis could end up righting itself on Wall St. on its own, but back in Washington, we'd still have Iraq. Thank goodness for that."

Thanks for coming to "The Dog Log" !!

2008-09-27T13:52:00.000-07:00

THANKS FOR COMING!!! to the 'Selected Readings' of "Buried in Sophie's Tomb: My Barking Dog Log to the West Hollywood Sheriff's Dept." at The Fake Gallery on Thursday!!

I had lots of fun! You were a great audience, and your questions during the Q&A were amazing and very funny (and uncomfortably personal).

Special thanks to Paul Kozlowski at The Fake Gallery! And thanks to Tim Coyne and Sheila Dolan for being brilliant and such complete professionals.

Tell your friends because the show may go up again real soon!!

Project Runway: With Remnants of Nonsense

2008-07-25T14:37:00.000-07:00

Hopeful Project Runway contestant, Jerell Scott, stopped the rotation of the Earth and smashed all physical matter together to reverse the evolution of all life forms on Wednesday when he was shown on the program's second episode of Season Five commenting about what material his chosen model might bring back from uncut urban cloth house-of-worship, Mood. Always ready to shock their perpetually astounded contestants, the trim and dapper Tim Gunn announced that "For the first time in history" the models would be shopping for and choosing the materials for the upcoming project.

Needless to say the designers, now rendered as helpless as airline pilots with no pre-flight drinks, bemoaned the decision in a momentous storm of self-doubt and negative projection as if Jesus asking, "How am I supposed to make wine from this stuff?"

Naturally the last thing a presumably human model could be capable of doing would be shopping, right? How could the producers come up with such a nefarious limitation? How could professional models possibly know anything about shopping or fashion or materials or clothing (which is going to be designed especially for them on their instruction)? This would surely be as impossible as putting men on the moon and them playing golf really well.

Then in his crisis moment, designer Jerell Scott shook the world when he offered this frightfully insightful quip: "My biggest fear is that she's going to come back with remnants of nonsense."

That's when time stood still and all polarities reversed. It was when reality became fantasy and fantasy became reality, and my own deeply personal moment of crisis began. "Remnants of nonsense??", I asked to the dead air of my lightless living space. "What am I doing here?... Remnants of nonsense?... What is this show but remnants of nonsense? Any of these shows? And most of anything on Bravo or almost all of TV for that matter?"

Almost any current television producer in town (barring those from "Rock of Love") at any given moment could be saying of his/her editors, "My biggest fear is that they are going to come back with remnants of nonsense!" But they will! They will! Have you seen Big Brother? ...Tori and Dean/Home Sweet Hollywood? ...Adam Sandberg...

The question is: do we continue the embrace?

I don't know what nonsense is any more because I've given creed to it lo these years, and I have indeed forced it into making sense in my lonely world. But Scott, tonight, is calling me out. He has invited me to an awakening. He is speaking to me through the TV and challenging me. Remnants of nonsense?... Will I continue to be part of this cycle? Nonsense within nonsense? Do I need these remnants of nonsense in my life? Or at least this many? Should I be putting time into nonsense and or its remnants at all?

How much of my life am I giving away to them? And for Pete's sake already, how am I supposed to make wine out of this stuff? I think it's water here.

Kelly Ripa Officially Reclassified as Exoskeleton Arthropod

2008-07-19T15:25:00.000-07:00

Highlighting a significant leap in the timeline of evolution, U.S. Department of Health and Human Services Secretary Mike Leavitt announced today that TV host, actress and former piece-of-ass, Kelly Ripa has been officially reclassified as an Exoskeleton Arthropod. "Frankly, we're amazed at not just her ability to metamorphose from one species to another, but at the incredible speed with which she was able to do it. Kafka would be proud."

Above, Ripa impersonates a horizontal stripe.

Ripa, insiders say, became disenchanted with her work-a-day Homo Sapien status shortly after having her third child. "She'd reached the top of the human food chain, you know? Wife, mother, TV star, commercial spokesperson with the wealth of kings and more popularity than a video of a kitten playing a banjo. Why not shake things up a bit?"

And shake things up she did. Shifting to a diet primarily consisting of teasing Regis Philbin's dusty dice every day for breakfast, Ripa showed the uncanny ability to reduce her body fat percentage to .004%, malnourishing her skin to the point of translucency and then finally ultimate defeat. "Everyone knew she hated having the baby weight," says Ripa's Personal Assistant's former Personal Assistant, "But her big obsession became having skin at all. 'Just layer upon layer of it,' she'd say, 'All the upkeep and the spray tanning. Who needs it?'"

This change in species hasn't affected her status as spokesperson with Ryka Footwear, even though her feet no longer need exterior protection. "She doesn't mind at all wearing the shoes during the photo shoots for the website, and we're very appreciative," said a beaming Linda Forsythe, artistic director for Ryka. "And she makes the shoes look very sturdy under those wonderfully frail tibia and tarsus bones." Rumors have circulated that Ripa may soon be designing a line of fitness clothing for Ryka, as well. "We cannot confirm or deny that at this time," says Forsythe, "But if a line of negative-sized fitness wear does comes out, I can assure you that Ryka's will be the first and the tiniest."

Kelly Ripa holds the contents of her latest meal.

Electrolux Kitchen Appliances have no plans to bury their newly-minted, prized skeleton either. "Why should we? Our agreement is to never show food and Ms. Ripa in the same frame," explains Milton Frostberger, Electrolux Director of Merchandising, "And certainly we'd never ask her to touch anything edible. It's not a difficult workaround. Besides, our ovens are so prohibitively expensive that most people who purchase them haven't cooked for themselves for 20 years, and they're not about to start any time soon."

Not everyone is so excited about Ripa's transformation. Some "Live with Regis and Kelly" audience members were less than impressed. "If I was her, I'd have made myself into a sloth," said Carl Wallace of East Brunswick. "She's a fake with all that perky bullshit!" added Shiela Mars, an admitted Kathy Lee Gifford fanatic, "I have roaches on my shower floor that are happier than her."

Still, hubby-hunk Mark Consuelos sees no downside to his wife's boney countenance. "I couldn't be more proud of Kelly. I call her look 'insectious,' and we laugh... And we're very careful that the word 'chubby' only refers to one thing in our household, if you know what I mean," adding confidently, "I think that proves that I'm heterosexual, don't you?"

Two undernourished legs can add up to the size of one healthy one, so what's the diff?

In her favorite parlor trick, Ripa disappears as a spine amongst books she hasn't read.

What does the future hold for society's newest segmented invertebrate? "Well, if she needs to molt, they'd need to be sure to time it just right between projects," explains celebrity stylist Rex Masculio, "But she's simply an unstoppable force of popularity no matter what the form. Who knows? You wants 'firsts,' America? I wouldn't be surprised if Barack Obama considers her for V.P. - a gorgeous African-American and a gorgeous Exoskeleton Arthropod. That ticket would be amazing."

Richard Lucas, reporting for the hell of it.

The Dark Knight.... Al Franken anybody?

2008-07-16T10:49:00.000-07:00

Yes - I'm special, and here's why: "The Dark Knight" is opening tomorrow, and I saw it already. That's right! I'm a lot more special than any of you ever imagined.

How special am I? I was at a "special screening" of "The Dark Knight" two weeks ago. Yes, that makes me very special. It was only the second screening of the film anywhere in the world, and I was there. Why was I there? Pretty lame, in truth.... The Screen Actors Guild randomly selected me as a nominating member for the SAG Awards committee. I think there are actually hundreds of people in the "committee" which never seems to meet or even "lunch." None of my committee colleagues ever calls. We don't bowl together or play softball. We don't sit at a giant semi-circular table in large, cushy leather chairs and discuss anything. Nothing. In fact, considering the paltry number of auditions that I get per year (I call it A.D.D. - "Audition Deficit Disorder"), my SAG membership itself thus far has amounted to little more than a very, very expensive magazine subscription.

Certainly now, however, my acting career is all working as I get to see a handful of movies this season for free. What more could I possibly want?

But I digress - after all this is about the film "The Dark Knight," not Richard Lucas - The Dark Knight.

Many of you good friends will soon see the movie. Heath Ledger, you will see, put up a great performance as The Joker. But I couldn't help but be distracted by the exaggerated voice he uses. It sounds like a spot-on impersonation of Al Franken. Exact same deep, deep resonance but high nasally projection. And the timing, too. Basically it's an Al Franken in real bad need of a glass of water - a brilliant choice. It's a great voice. But sadly, I'll never get to find out if this is what Ledger was doing, nor how he came up with that choice.

After the screening, there was a Q&A. Christopher Nolan was there, Gary Oldman, Aaron Eckhart and Maggie Gyllenhaal as well. My friend, Reuben, who accompanied me there (see, if you were nicer to me, it might have been you) asked a great question about the special effects, and yet, all I could do during the Q&A was try to figure out a way that I could ask any member of the panel if Heath Ledger was doing an Al Franken voice without sounding like a wise-ass. (As a side note, I haven't figured out a way to do very much without sounding like a wise-ass.) Unfortunately because of this tormented self-consciousness, I never quite formulated the question reasonably in my mind, nor did I hear most of the Q's and few of the A's, so I am as in-the-dark now as I was before.

When I brought Al Franken's voice up later, Reuben thought I was crazy. Some friend... Silently, so as not to cause use a big ruckus about it, I assured myself: "Reuben obviously doesn't know who Al Franken is, and he's got a tin ear for inflection - that's for damn sure." Surely now he will say that he does know Franken, but I assure you my friends, he doesn't because if he did, he would have been hearing just what I was hearing. It's his sanity or mine.

My question is - is anyone with me on the voice thing? All you brilliant actors out there? Radio listeners / Fans of Franken? Minnesotans? Classic SNL fans?

Just one bit of agreement in this world and I'd be forever satisfied.

Thank You!!

2008-05-03T10:42:00.000-07:00

Thank You!!!!!

Thank you!!! --- To everyone who came out for the Comedy Central Stage show!

It was a fantastic night, and tons of fun for me because the audience was so awesome.

For those who couldn't make it, I did a 50 minute set of stories --- sort of a stories/stand-up hybrid format that I love.

There will be audio and video soon with possible DVD and/or CD's for sale.

Hopefully, we'll do another live night soon, too!

Sincerely,
Richard

p.s. -- We did it without an Evite. It can be done!!

Words Cannot Describe It

2007-08-31T13:43:00.001-07:00

"Words can't describe how I'm feeling." Really? Well if you're not Pablo Picasso, you'd better find some words or we'll never know what the hell is going on. How did we get to the point where when the largest events happen, great or tragic, we react with such appreciative amazement when someone says, "Words can't describe what I saw"? No words at all for it, eh? Wow, that must have been something else... We shouldn't appreciate that, we should be infuriated.

This empty, canned, meaningless phrase has suddenly become our paramount superlative. When seemingly nothing is left, people default to "can't describe it." Is it that we can't or that we won't? It's either pathetic lack of vocabulary, i.e. complete idiocy, or sheer laziness. "Why should I think of what to say? You figure it out."

People even use it in romantic terms. "Words cannot express what I'm feeling." But words just expressed that you're a verbally impotent, slack moron.

I'm going to apply for a job at Hallmark, and on my first day on the job I'm going to blow everyone's minds by creating the quintessential, universal, unstoppable predator of greeting cards, and then I'll leave them to ponder my greatness. Upon opening my card, it will read: "Words cannot describe what I'm feeling." Done. I'm out.

Mine will be the greatest selling greeting card of all time because the people who are shopping for greeting cards already have no ability to think/say/speak/write for themselves or are too lazy to even give it a shot, and they are so enamored with the "beyond words" poetic illusion which rationalizes their ineptitude that they'll scoop up my card to perpetuate the circle-of-ignorance that is strangling our country.

The typical receiver of such hogwash will close the card, hold it up against his/her chest as a tear falls away from under eye and think to themselves, "I have no real idea what that means. But at least he/she spent $2 and licked an envelope."

(Yes, I anticipate receiving no birthday cards this year now.)

With an anniversary of 9/11 coming up, I know once again I'm going to be watching important, reverent documentaries full of videotaped on-the-street interviews with people, eyewitnesses to history, who will be giving the ol' "words can't describe it" to the historic record. I would rather hear someone say, "Thing go boom," or, "I'll get back to you on that" than, "Words couldn't describe it."

Many of you know that I was a high school English teacher for several years. For some of those years I taught English as a Second Language. I realize now that after teaching some of the initial basics, "yes, no, stop, go, please, thank you, my name is..." I should have taught "Words can't describe it." It's called assimilation.

Beyond that, I spent four years of evenings teaching the Verbal half of SAT prep classes in the South Bay. Why was I wasting my time when the key to brilliance and depth would soon become "Word cannot describe what I'm thinking"?

I've hit the wall. Words cannot describe my frustration.

They Call Me Steely McBeam

2007-08-09T11:24:00.000-07:00

If I told you that my nickname in college was "Steely McBeam," then you'd assume that I had a pretty interesting and fulfilling dating life. If I told you that my SAG professional screen name was "Steely McBeam," you'd think that I was doing fairly well in my porn career, and you'd do a Google image search as soon as you got to a computer in private.

Though I do now plan to slyly incorporate the name Steely McBeam into my most intimate conversations with the opposite sex, I will not be able to claim sole ownership of it. The Pittsburgh Steelers have introduced a new mascot, a yellow skinned, five o'clock shadowed, hard hat and flannel shirt wearing steel worker recently named by a contest winner as Steely McBeam.

The idea of a mascot has been the subject of controversy amongst Steelers fans for their entire 75 year history, as divisive there as the concept of "Reagan Democrats." Before McBeam, the Steelers had set themselves apart as a team of stark simplicity, a simple two color uniform scheme with the iconic U.S. Steel Corp. logo placed on only one side of the helmets, the other side staying fully black. Who needs all the decorations? (See the Buffalo Bills who add another stripe or stroke somewhere on the uni every year to no avail.) Helmets are for hitting the other guy in the head. There were never cheerleaders, and the previous attempt at mascotting the club in the 80's was run out of town on a barge down the Ohio. Rumor has it it's calling bingo games at a retirement home outside Louisville.

This year, to highlight the organization's 75th anniversary, they brought the mascot idea back. Kids may respond to it, as they do Barney and Weird Al Yankovich, but we adult fans are very uncomfortable with the change. Steeler football has always been about football, no playful distractions beyond Bill Cowher's domineering chinbone or spit shower of fury. Steeler Nation is the largest nationwide fan base in the NFL, often enough to make away games feel like home games. Kids love the Steelers because they dominate. They win. They play hard and look tough. They are among the few things in pop culture that have not gone cartoony or given into the infantilization of the modern era in which everything has to bring us back "to our childhoods" as if American adults are afraid to ever feel more than arm's length away from the security blankets of our toddler years or the musical mobile above our cribs.

The defenders say, "Kids like it." But I say kids need to learn to admire things that are purely for grown ups on a grown up level. They go to church and they have to sit there and shut up. No giant, stuffed smiling Jesus needed to appease them. They learn respect. They have to go to school and shut up and learn. Teachers don't put on hand puppets and squeak like Pee Wee Herman to hold their attention. (The ones that do should be shot.) They don't need to have professional football angled towards them like a Kool Aid commercial. The game is awesome enough, spectacle enough. The players are amazing enough. Look at them, those mighty Steelers, and learn to emulate their relentless, dominating, enemy crushing ways.

My fear is that kids will be asking for a Steel McBeam doll for Christmas when they should be asking for helmets and cleats. When I was a boy, every year I begged my parents to buy me a Pittsburgh Steelers uniform for Christmas. I used to play one-on-one football with a kid down the street named Tim. Much to my horror one year on the day after Christmas, he showed up to play wearing an entire Miami Dolphins uniform, the home whites in kids size, head to toe, helmet and all. He couldn't have been more pleased with himself. His father was the neighborhood dentist. All of us kids' crooked teeth had paid for that uni. And there I was, in my many layers of sweatshirts, thermal underwear and dungarees, unsafe with no head gear at all but for my red and blue hand-me-down stocking cap. But I won that day, cleverly taking advantage of the way his slightly large helmet limited his peripheral vision. I won with speed and cunning and flat out muscle. I won the Steelers way, pretty boy. And Timmy's uniform got filthy, and he got in trouble.

The following Christmas, I got a set of Steelers pajamas, gold pants and a white pullover with a Steelers helmet on the chest. Believe me, I seriously considered wearing it a top my layers of sweatshirts and pants the next day. But fate helped me make the better decision not to so as to avoid the lifetime of derision that surely would have followed that choice.

Forget the mascot, Steely McBeam, and his jaundiced skin and bibbed overalls. Why is he wearing ski pants? And Steelers fans, please stop referring to him as a coal miner. That would make no sense whatsoever. Plus, he has no lamp on his helmet and still has a glimmer of hope in his eyes as if life has not yet completely destroyed him, so he can't be a coal miner (or a lonely writer of blogs).

Well, it could be worse. We could have what the Baltimore Ravens have: > See Ravens Pride.

Cashcall, Gary Coleman and the Tiny Print

2007-07-28T12:42:00.000-07:00

Look, the last thing I want to do is give Gary Coleman a hard time. He's been handed enough of that on his own with the kidneys and the hormones, the money with the parents thing and the not so great job placement stint as a security officer on the edge. I was a big fan as a child. I emulated him in every way on Diff'rent Strokes. I even tested out my own catch phrase for a while: "I don't know. Why don't you tell me?" My Mom hated it. Turns out that precociousness is much less precious when you're not pulling in $80,000 per episode. I voted for him for Governor of California. I cried when his blind date went bad at the end of Star Dates. I even pulled for him to win The Surreal Life Fame Game until I realized that it was Emmanuel Lewis and that his heart wasn't really into winning, he was a compromiser, and his attempted manipulations were obvious and weak. Then the SR Fame Game for me became all about Andrea Lowell for diff'rent strokes altogether.

But all kidneys aside, Gary Coleman is best known for being the victim of birth circumstance with the apparent parental squandering of his fortune. He'd earned over $7 million while starring on the show and made over $17 million from all his work during that period (1978-1986). Yet somehow, some way, every penny of that got recirculated into society, and Gary never got to enjoy it for the years beyond when he was enjoying it at least a little bit.

So his story became one of the former child star seeking out his rebound, still loved and adored in his adult years, but not paid back for the joy that he gives. He's taken seemingly every job that has come along: music videos, cameos in TV movies and low rent TV commercials. In walks Cashcall.

Actually, it was the other way around. Gary walked into the Cashcall offices. As the story goes, when he went to their offices to close the loan he had taken out with them, he was introduced to the company's boss who encouraged Gary to pay off his loan by appearing in Cashcall ads.

What he should have said was, "What'chu talkin' 'bout, Cashcall?" But instead he took the deal, and now in the spots he proudly proclaims, "Cashcall helped me. They can help you too... Pay your bills on time and everyone will love you." Alas, it's all about being loved, especially by Cashcall.

One of the best things about DVR technology is that you can pause the TV screen at any time. I started doing this during shows like the FBI Files and Forensic Files. Whenever they show someone's suicide note, hand written or signed confession on screen with just some parts highlighted, I pause it and read the entire thing for myself. It's great for the History channel, too, civil war letters, Stalinist propoganda articles, secret Nazi documents and such. Then I started doing it with commercials, things like car leases that seem too good to be true. You pause it, and you can read how high the initial down payments are supposed to be. (Plymouth has gone one step ahead of me. They have an extremely suspicious lease offer of $99/month on their PT Cruiser. Not that I'd ever lease one because I'm not 20 years old, a woman, and a big fan of Trading Spaces reruns. But I paused it, and it says, "See our website for details." Hmmm. That should be against the law - a sales two-stepper.)

And so to the DVR pause on the Coleman Cashcall ads. I'd never seen a screen so filled with such tiny print. Nothing good ever needs to written on such nanoscale.

Here's what Cashcall and Coleman are offering via tiny text: "The APR for a typical loan of $2,600 is 99.25% with 42 monthly payments of $216.55..." Those payments add up $9,095.10 to pay back a loan of $2,600. Over three and a half years, that's paying back three and a half times the amount you borrowed. 99.25%!!!!! These rates are even brazenly published right on their website. > See for yourself.

I have damned many a bank that offers credit cards at a mere 22.9% APR. Now I recognize their magnanimous generosity and good will.

I know the story. Anyone who ends up at the Cashcall window is not just simply trying to pay off their one, single, small debt. They are people who've been overwhelmed with debt, cannot get assistance from any reputable banking institution anymore, and are just trying to get the worst of the creditors (like the IRS) off of their backs. So they borrow from Bealzebob to pay Paul. Still have that twinge of sympathy for the adorable Gary Coleman? It's sympathy for the devil's pudgy cheeked surrogate.

If you've ever been majorly in debt, as I have, then you know how difficult it is. You start to juggle the creditors with a Worst-First List. You look for the quick fix wherever you can get it. The difficult but appropriate thing to do is to make a long term plan and face the facts that a lot will have to be sacrificed until you can climb all the way out. A lot. I suffered through four years of the worst M-F job (M-F not necessarily meaning Monday thru Friday) of my life to get myself out debt a few years back. Many of you know, I had to resist quitting several times a day, every single day. It was a harrowing, dark period of my life which scarred me with bitterness and lack of pity. But I got out of debt. The hardest thing about it is that to make the large payments on a realistic payoff plan, you have to pre-calculate, plan it out and then pay over almost every penny that you earn all the way until you are through, which means no spending money ever, and certainly no savings or safety.

Then I got back to zero and an all new struggle against the great costs of living began. But it's better than signing any paper that has a 99.25% APR. Those people and their spokespersons are not out there to help you. In fact, the reality is, no one is - especially not people on TV. I just wish you hadn't done it, Gary.

p.s. Don't call me for help, people. I have no money.

Joseph Finder Discovers his Genius

2007-07-24T14:36:00.000-07:00

"The funniest smart guy in Hollywood... Really, really funny: I'm a huge fan." - Joseph Finder, New York Times best selling author
---------------------
Many of you know that my favorite book last year was, hands down, Joseph Finder's "Company Man." I've passed it around amongst some friends all of whom loved it and left me with a paperback as torn and tattered as the last 18 months of the Bush presidency. His books are fiction, action thrillers. Recently they've been set in the corporate world. His protagonists always have a great sense of humor, wry and real, about themselves and the people around them. Feeling so moved, I'd penned similar words of admiration on my MySpace page and, apparently, Mr. Finder spends as much time Googling himself as the rest of us do, and he found it, and lo and behold, one day I had a Friend Request from the respected Mr. Joseph Finder himself.

Upon receipt, I found myself skeptical (though you know of my deep distrust of skeptics). Is Joseph Finder really on MySpace, or is this a "fan page?" Is this some sort of hidden porn spam trying to branch out their final frontier - the fiction reading, quasi-intelligentsia set? I took a chance and wrote him saying that, if it is really him, I think he's brilliant, and I've enjoyed his books immensely, and if it is not him, then you really have a lot of time on your hands as a fan.

In response to that, Mr. Finder checked out my comedy website and wrote me a very wonderful email about my stand-up work. He is now, in his words, "a fan." And by extension, you, by being here, are in the same club with that Yale/Harvard educated, world traveled best-selling author. Doesn't that make you feel better about yourself?

Plus, he's allowing me to use some of his kind words for my publicity. I offered him the same in return, but how much can I help him?: "Finder's novels are real good." - Richard Lucas, petulant nobody. I don't think so. He is a gentleman and a scholar. And on top of that, he said that he's send me an autographed hard copy of "Company Man" to replace my worn out paperback.

I received the book in just a few days, as you see in the above photo. It goes right up on the shelf of treasured signed books which now numbers two, the other being Adam West's "Back to the Batcave." Adam West's book is tainted though because he hit on my date while he signed it. That's what you get for buying an Adam West book at a comic book store and then standing in line for an autograph - even he resents you as a pasty faced dork. My date was a graphic artist in package design. West, boldly (in my judgement impolitely) ignoring me, asked her what she did for a living, and she giddily replied, "Oh me? I'm a package designer..." Without skipping a beat, an actor's breath already drawn for retort, West came back in an instant through his warm, smooth smile saying, "Well, you're quite a package yourself." Quite a package yourself. Brilliant... and humiliating. Sexy... and emasculating.

And On top of it, his book wasn't very good. Who really cares about the back story of the Batman TV show? Well, ok it's interesting. Did you know that Adam West thought that the hood of the Batman costume was making his hair thin out? True. Fascinating... But believe me, you'd care less if he hit on your date. I do. Did. Do.

More to the point. Joseph Finder is great. He knows brilliance when he hears it - as do you, my good friends. If it's been a while, go to my website and check out the audio clips. Lots of fun there. And for Joseph Finder, get his books. Read 'em. I just finished "Killer Instinct," and it's a blast.

Kool-Aid Drinkers Unite!

2007-07-21T12:43:00.001-07:00

This week the maker of Kool-Aid announced that it would stop advertising its product to children during children's television programming, effectively banishing itself to the Island of Elba to while away with the likes of Marlboro, Jack Daniel's and Girls Gone Wild dvd's. They say that this is to encourage better nutrition. A curious, tacit admission of guilt in aiding the current child obesity and diabetes crisis for a product that has been on the market for over 80 years, long before the childhood obesity was cool. The product comes unsweetened. It's just a powdered soft drink concentrate. It's the consumer that adds the sugar. Sugar substitutes and have been around since 1879, and the ones that don't cause cancer since 1979. Is it the children who are doing themselves harm?

Kool-Aid is not going to make itself disappear. What I'm not sure about is where Kool-Aid will advertise now? With the state of television today, what programming is not aimed at kids? Maybe The NewsHour with Jim Lehrer?: "Major funding for this program has been provided by The Arthur Vining Davis Foundations, Kool-Aid, and viewers like you." Maybe there could be some smart product placement in Showtime's "Weeds." That adult market would certainly loves a nice sip of Kool-Aid along with a good snack. This era's prolonged presidential election cycle offers a good opportunity, too because kids under 18 can't even vote. They certainly won't be watching all the debates. And Kool-Aid would be a perfect political sponsor since "Drinking the Kool-Aid" has become the political cliché of the millennium. People who voted for Bill Clinton's re-election in the face of all the scandals were called "Clinton Kool-Aid Drinkers" because they were willing to sacrifice themselves (their votes) for the greater cause. Today, Bush-ies are considered "Kool-Aid Drinkers" because they will believe anything that the the administration coughs out about the War on Terror. Actually, anyone who believes in anything strongly is considered a "Kool-Aid Drinker" by the opposition.

"Kool-Aid drinkers" a bad thing? But it's sweet, fun and refreshing? It's all Jim Jones's fault. Now, cause of him, it's synonymous with poison. You gonna advertise that to kids? If Jones had just left well enough alone, kept his Peoples Temple cult in the Bay Area and not moved them to Guyana and talked them into group suicide by drinking cyanide laced Koo-Aid with his pscychological manipulation, his mesmerizing speeches and his slick sunglasses, everything would be fine. He not only ruined Kool-Aid, but now no one trusts a preacher who wears gradient sunglasses at the pulpit anymore either. (I'll address the loss of gradient sunglasses in an upcoming blog.)

Who here believes that Kool-Aid is going to stop advertising to kids? But more importantly, why should they? Kool-Aid is a powdered mix that has to be purchased, then mixed in a 2 quart pitcher with one or two cups of sugar, water added and chilled. Is that what kids are doing with their money and their time? Kids are getting fatter, younger, but it's not from stirring Kool-Aid. We had it as kids. We loved it. It gave us instant heartburn and brain punch of adrenaline, it took too long to chill, and we loved it. I was a grape man. I was also in charge of sugar, and I was known to be quite generous. It could even be eaten straight from the packet. On the swim team, kids would bring several packs and eat the powder as an "energy boost" right before a race as if any 8 year old needs that - a precursor of steroid abuse, I suppose, but few of us ended up obese or in rehab. Of course, we were all swimming, which is exercise, which is the basic difference between kids of then and kids of now.

In general Kool-Aid has about 21 grams of sugar per serving. A lot, yes, but no more than most soft drinks, chocolate milk, even orange juice. We didn't have nearly the soft drink options that kids have today. We just had a bit more body motion involvement in our daily lives. Everything in moderation, except good parenting.

As if we didn't know that Kool-Aid wasn't "good for us." Look at the original Kool-Aid man. He's not exactly slim. He's so fat that he couldn't get through a normal doorway, he had to smash through the walls, menacing unsuspecting children with his elephant walk, his sweaty bodice and the tragi-clown permanent smile, all the while yelling, "Oh yeah!!" One wonders if some day Dateline's Chris Hanson won't step out from the pantry saying, "I'd like you to take a seat, oc-koolio-aid69. May I ask you what you're doing here, sir?" I don't trust people who smile all the time. Just once I want to see the Kool-Aid man sitting on a park bench, elbow on his knee, chin resting on a hand, pondering life's limitations.
The new image is a bit slimmed down with slightly longer, thinner legs. The only signs of excess might be the triple chin. And thank goodness he's finally wearing clothes/pants to cover up what now must be supposed as genitalia (though the Hawaiian shirt is pushing the good times a little hard for me). Are we really looking to the Kool-Aid cartoon guy as a role model for body image? The walking, talking, pouring pitcher on TV for a few seconds every Saturday morning? If he has that much influence, then the Jim Jones of the future is going to have a much easier time getting a lot more than 900 people to join his cult.

What you may not know is that Kool-Aid has other uses as well. That may be their new angle. According to fans, you can dye clothes with it, dye yard for knitting, dye your hair - especially blondes. You can tint wooden frames, remove rust and chlorine stains, even remove hard water stains and gunk by running it through your dishwasher. Bad for kids? Unless you love having hard water stains and plain looking wooden frames around your pictures it is.

Below: dwb, a rabid Kool-Aid fan, a "Kool-Aid Kool-Aid Drinker" if you will, offers Kool-Aid keyboard art that looks like an old fashioned telephone. Also, a passionate girl with something to say that no one understands:

I don't know why I opened your Kool-Aid, and I don't know how I possibly couldn't have known the flava unless I was blind, olfactory-challenged and my taste buds had been fried from years of licking the spoon.

Squirrels' Nuts Sacked

2007-03-31T16:07:00.000-07:00

I guess there is no War on Terror, no healthcare crisis, no homeless problems, no traffic problems, and no impending planetary death sauna because, according to the L.A. Times, the City of Santa Monica is now giving out free birth control - to squirrels. What's that? To humans who choose hormonal prudence over unwanted pregnancy? No, to squirrels who don't.

There's a squirrel overpopulation issue in beautiful, beach front Palisades Park. Note: there's also a homeless overpopulation problem there, but no mention of that in the article. In fact, the squirrel housing issue has been an official one since 1998, and the city has been fined for it 5 times. What happens to you or me when we're fined by the state FIVE times? We're thrown in jail and forced to watch TWINS repeatedly until we pay our dues. But for the City of Santa Monica, it has only opened the window to a near decade-long, expensive social engineering experiment on squirrels. And squirrels are rodents. Officially they are. They may be cuter than rats and some mice, but if 1,000 of them were running at you after you finished shopping at Urban Outfitters on the Promenade, you'd want them dead. So... What to do... What to do... Hmmm... Too many squirrels living in the park. Hard to figure this one out, huh? Well, the minds-in-power that be have finally decided to capture each squirrel and inject them with an immuno-contraceptive vaccine, then set them free - back in Palisades Park - to enjoy their non-reproductive, free wheeling lifestyles. Eventually - eventually - the public will see the benefits when the new non-birth rate kicks in with fewer baby squirrels. What happens when the rest of the Southern California squirrel population finds out that it's a veritable Caligula at Palisades Park? I don't know. My guess is more horny squirrels moving in. Heck, if it's that much fun, I just might move in.

The city says it only costs $10-$20 per injection. But of course that doesn't account for all the time coming up with the plan, the dudes who will be out there catching the squirrels, transporting them in limos, housing them in suites at Shutters/Santa Monica and then monitoring the results, plus the cost of losing what good, productive things might have been debated and decided over that time.

Were there alternatives to the birth control plan? They did try other things. Oh, how they tried. They handed out free condoms. Tiny squirrel condoms, but they were summarily rejected for lack of sensation. Then the city went dark hearted. Santa Monica tried to euthanize the squirrels Soilent-Green-style. But waiting for the squirrels to show the classic signs of old age such as sitting at an intersection when the light turns green, watching Matlock reruns on KDOC or purchasing buttermilk at Ralph's took too long. And the squirrels were savvy. They started a Palisades Park-wide diet and fitness plan to stave off the ravages of old age. Then the city actually tried gassing them, but they had a really hard time getting them on those tiny little trains. Well, they got them on the trains easily enough, but when they told them they could leave their bags behind, all the squirrels bolted. Plus, the squirrels had actual human protesters defending their rights to live and screw and generally be a nuisance on their public patch of some of the most expensive real estate in the nation. They have had ongoing squirrel educational seminars teaching the values of abstinence, but the emboldened squirrels were actually screwing DURING the classes. Hey, when an animal by instinct carries nuts in its mouth, then you know it's gonna screw whenever it wants.

The birth control vaccination plan, the city says, should be about 66% effective. I guess those are winning enough odds for Vegas, so it should be satisfying enough for taxpayers. And, of course, we will have absolutely no way to ever find out if that ends up to be correct. Relocating the squirrels and then setting up some sort of repellant around the park, apparently, is out of the question. What squirrel could possibly live happily ever after having to slum it after being so accustomed to the views, the lifestyle and all the advantages of beautiful Palisades Park? So I propose a can't-miss solution: legalize squirrel marriage. The ceremony and paperwork could be free of charge. Make it legal once and for all because once they're married, the sex is definitely over.

Outlawing Idiocy

2007-03-06T12:39:00.000-08:00

Recently some halfwit stepped in front of a bus somewhere in New York City and got creamed like Britney Spears' career when she shaved her head. (Article) I don't care where in New York, or when, or why. With all due respect to most dead, I don't even care who. What matters is that some bonehead, nanny legislator in the NY State Senate has overreacted and wants to outlaw the wearing of headphones while crossing the street. He calls it "iPod Oblivion." This was the CSI conclusion? They found headphones near the ears of the victim, probably still playing some Phil Collins solo effort, and deduced that the mild distraction of rhythmic sounds created such a sense of mind numb oblivion that it overpowered the use of all other senses - LIKE SIGHT - that all the mechanics necessary for personal safety were rendered useless... useless - even though these headphones allow ambient sound to come through, sounds like that of a roaring bus engine or even people shouting, "HEY, DON'T STEP IN FRONT OF THAT BUS, ASSHOLE!"

Now getting flattened by a bus can be serious business. I remember seeing a pigeon get run over by a bus wheel when I was a in the sixth grade. The bus was rolling away slowly from a stop at Public Square in Wilkes-Barre, and the pigeon didn't move out of the way because there were breadcrumbs still before him. It could have been a set up. Nonetheless, it made a popping sound like a cork from a champagne bottle, but it wasn't very cheery. I knew then that I really never wanted to get run over by anything, let alone a city bus.

As for people, I suppose no one wants to spend more city money cleaning blood and bone off of the windshields of the city's mass transit fleet. And without a doubt, killing pedestrians throws the riders' schedules way off. In olden times, they attached cow catchers onto the fronts of locomotives so that the engineers wouldn't have to be bothered with the carcasses of clueless cows. But today, rather than understanding that some people are simply idiots bound to meet the face of oncoming traffic because crossing demands the basic skills set of a 6 year old, the state senator chooses to punish everyone.

Idiocy case-in-point: You've often heard me refer to my old boss, well he always use to leave us with last minute instructions whenever he left the building, and he'd preface his to-do list with the phrase, "In case I get hit by a bus..." He was an idiot, but he was at least charmingly self-aware enough to understand that his chances of stepping in front of the slow moving metro were higher than the rest of ours. (At first we'd say, "How would he get hit by a bus?" But after getting to know him over the years, we saw it as an evolutionary inevitability.) And now no one in the iPod generation can wear headphones while crossing the street. Walk a block listening to Phil Collins, then headphones off your head for crossing the street. Walk the next block listening to Genesis, then headphones off while crossing the street. Not just volume down, but off of your head so that the Police can easily identify you as a law-abider rather than a dirty law-breaker / destroyer of social structure.

I'm a runner. I vowed years ago never to pay for a gym membership, and to this day I never have. I don't like the idea of sitting in someone else's ass sweat on the lat pulldown machine, but there are other reasons, too, like the ridiculously high fees, but I digress. When I run, I listen to music. It gives me a sense of freedom and pleasure which counteracts the merciless destruction of my dreams that is daily life. My running years go back to the original Sony Walkman. I won one the very first year that they came out by getting the most pledges in a swim-a-thon. (How I long for those days when I gave a crap...) It was a cassette player with buttons for Play, Stop, Forward and Reverse. In those days, we listened to whatever song was next, and we liked it. On a longer run, I would just flip the tape over and over. I've carried every incarnation of the Walkman in my left hand on every run ever since. Now, finally, I'm enjoying my first hands free year with the new iPod shuffle/clip.

On my run the other night I wondered what it would be like to be forced by law to take off my headphones at every intersection in honor of the idiots of this world and to spend the rest of my life fearing the police at every crosswalk. I wasn't real pleased with it. For one thing, many of you know that my deepest personal fear is being wrongly accused of something and then thrown in jail an innocent man. No one believes anything I say in the real world, let alone my pleas of injustice with the shadows of prison bars fallen across my face. Worse might be tallying up too many headphone ticket fines and getting thrown in jail. I don't think I'd earn much "respect" from other inmates "on the inside" for that. I'd then have to earn their friendship the hard way, and that's why it's my worst fear.

This, I realize, could be my Nathan Hale moment. They can't outlaw idiocy and make the rest of us live lives in total "safety" devoid of pleasure. Yes, I'm referring to many, many laws here. Adults should be able to enjoy most anything they want in privacy and in public if it doesn't lead to immediate and necessary danger to others and or their children. Incredibly restrictive drug laws are one reason why our prison system is so terribly overcrowded. Politically, I know that no candidate will ever run on an "Increased Personal Pleasure" platform, so it's up to us to draw the nanny-line ourselves. Metaphorically, as long as buses run, people will step in front of them with or without headphones. In Pittsburgh, the bus lanes on Fifth Avenue run against traffic. When I lived there in college, every year a knucklehead or two would step right into the bus lane and be vaporized courtesy of their own cluelessness and a Port Authority bus. Just leaves an open seat for someone else heading to Shadyside.

I learned how to cross the street when I was in the first grade. My Dad used to hold my hand leading me to the school bus stop at the corner of Main and Beaumont Streets. One day, he changed to guiding me with his hand gently on my shoulder blade, then eventually no hand at all, and soon I went on my own. Since then, I've borne the responsibility of not getting hit by oncoming traffic all by myself. So far, so good. But if I did get hit by a bus and lived to hear about it, my old man would have been the first one at my bedside calling me a "Damned Idiot." Whenever any of us did something stupid like getting our bike stolen or falling off the roof of the shed, Dad would call us Damned Idiots and then mutter the same word over and over all afternoon, "Carelessness.... Carelessness..." It was never pleasant, nor very sympathetic, but about that aspect of our behaviour he was never wrong.

We as a society have to understand and accept that some people will get hit by buses. Do we really want these people around anyhow? If the bus doesn't get them then they're more likely to step in front of your car causing you a larger headache than listening to Rachel Ray scream about cooking tomatoes. This really is a favor to society, not a problem. And it may be the best use of city buses since, at least here in Los Angeles, they are more of a traffic problem than a solution. (I'll be tackling that concept later.)

• John Cougar Sellencamp

2007-02-10T19:06:00.000-08:00

Response to a friend's indignation over John Cougar Sellencamp's "This Is Our Country" use in Chevy commercials:

The corporations have captured the arts and the rest if us as well. When Andy Warhol immortalized the Campbell's Soup can (one of the most basic food stocks in the market), he inititated an elevation of the simple everyday object as something iconic (today we have Paris Hilton), and we bought it. Maybe out of familiarity, recognition or comfort. Maybe because artistically it offered no challenge at all and therefore became palatable to a lazy culture. Maybe we revere Campbell's' decades of dominance over every other soup company that has tried to market a tomato soup. We just like success. It reflected us in the most simple of ways and was aesthetically as easy to love as condensed soup is to heat up in the microwave. Either that, or Warhol recognized that this was already happening to our declining art culture, and he simply and with genius expressed it through lithography.

And now all art is a Campbell's soup can. It had better be, or it won't get seen or heard or published. What on earth is The Surreal Life or American Idol or The Apprentice or Rob & Amber: Against the Odds or any of the hyper-edited reality tv shows? It's about money, marketing to a mass, finding a lowest common denominator. What we have to decide, as artists, is: what money is good and what money is bad, or does it matter all? Is Clay Akin's money from 2005 any better or worse than Bob Dylan's from 1968? Is an idea of "artistic integrity" something to be admired or something to be scoffed at as the prattling nonsense of bitter, dying poor people who used it as an excuse for why they never made money selling their songs or paintings or poetry. If we can put integrity out to pasture, then absolutely every aspect of life will get easier to accept. Maybe one can take "bad money" and make it "good?" Can one earn "good money" for themselves while being part of a campaign that helps a conglomerate earn "bad money?"

I read an article in Rolling Stone featuring the rationalizations of bands that sell their music for commercials and campaigns. Led Zeppelin (Cadillac) said it was the "only way to get thier music heard by a new generation." Is Led Zeppelin music really hard to find? Does attaching 8 seconds of "Rock and Roll" to a Cadillac commercial make a younger generation interested? It might make them interested in buying Cadillacs. I guess being played every other song on 95.5 and 93.1 in L.A. doesn't give Led Zeppelin enough chance to get heard. I have satellite radio. You can't scroll through the ROCK menu without seeing that Led Zeppelin is being played somewhere at any given time. And by the way, their songs were recorded 30 years ago. Is it at all possible that perhaps the money train would slow down a bit on those songs? Is it absolutely necessary that they continue making fresh money decade after decade after decade? If so, then why? Because money is good. But is all money good? Does it matter to differentiate?

Younger bands use the same logic as if there is no other way possible to get people to hear their music than to let some giant corporation use it to push their product whatever that may be. An Oasis song, "All Around the World," is the jingle for AT&T. I own that album, and I sweat with shame every time it comes around on shuffle. You can't get a much larger monopoly than AT&T. Here in Los Angeles, AT&T just bought out Cingular after Cingular had swallowed up SBC which had only recently taken over PacBell, and the first thing that AT&T sent me in the mail was a notice that basic rates were going up. Of course. And Oasis wears AT&T on their sleeve because AT&T is keeping a nine year old - long since dead! - song alive and thriving. Can you image if someone actually saw an AT&T ad and then said to themselves, "Wow, that jingle, "All Around the World," is really awesome. I wonder who that is?" and then ran out to buy the cd? "I love that AT&T song!!" My brain just punched my skull.

All irony aside, The Postal Service sold their song "Such Great Heights" to UPS. Too bad they didn't just name their band United Parcel Service in the first place.

I even caught myself suckered by it the other day. I was shopping, and I heard "Remind Me" by Röyksopp. That's the song used in the Geico caveman commercial in which the caveman is on the moving walkway at the airport. I love the caveman ads, but I had no idea what that song was. (I ignorantly thought it was a soundtrack written for the ad.) I found myself smiling and thinking - not "I love this song" - but, "I love those Geico caveman ads. Dey funny. Silly metro-caveman. Maybe I'll switch to Geico." Could I now buy the Röyksopp album and listen to that song in all seriousness with any appreciation of it's original intention? Could I play it at a party (were I ever to actually throw one) without the guests thinking, "Dude's playin' the Geico song at his lame-ass party. He's a lame-ass. Why are we here? Oh, he always has lots of J.D., that's right."

SIDENOTE: a quote from a blog about the Geico commercial actors: "They remind me of Vincent D’Onofrio (Law & Order: Criminal Intent) and Val Kilmer. They were in The Salton Sea together." Ok...

There's even a web site called whatsthatcalled.com from which you can search via a pulldown menu a list of major companies and corporations to get the details about the artist's soul which they'd purchased and which exact song they'd pillaged.

Some mark the musical culture downshift at 1985 when Burger King used the original recording of Aretha Franklin's "Freeway of Love" or two years later when Nike used The Beatles' "Revolution" for a sneaker.

Today, when new artists write songs, they are also dreaming of hitting a commercial jingle jackpot. And when they do, there is no cultural consequence for the sell out. Well, the culture pays indeed. What I mean to say that the artists suffer no criticism for the sell off.

If Chevy makes some environmentally unsound cars, isn't that "bad?" Making one or two cars that are environmentally okay (barely) doesn't counterbalance the damage that the other vehicles do, does it? You can't abuse one child, but consider yourself "good" person because you were very nice to the other kids, right? Is O.J. an okay guy because he managed not to kill all but just two of the people he'd met in his entire life. That's not a bad record when you think about it. (I just can't let the O.J. thing go.)

As an actor, what will I do if I get a major commercial booking from a Chevy pick-up truck ad? Would I consider not taking it - even for a second? Not a chance! If I get a role in a tv show, do I check out the environmental records of all advertisers that sponsor the show, the network that owns the show, the charitable records of the producers who put out the show and pay my check? Of course not. I need to work! I want the work! I kiss the ring of all involved. Worst of all - what if my first commercial is for my most hated enemy - Time/Warner Cable??? I guess we say to ourselves, "Well, I've got to make money some how, some way before I can do the "right thing." Isn't that the exact same rational that John Cougar Sellencamp uses when he decides that he needs Chevy to sponsor his tour or else he can't travel in the luxurious tour bus and be shuttled in private jets and limousines from arena to arena? That no one will hear his pedantic, oversimplified, crappy, cliché-ridden, nursery rhymes unless one gets featured in a TV commercial? Well... then he contributes some time to charitable organizations and sings some songs for free for some farmers and everything's right again. Will he perform at Al Gore's Global Warming concert? Will he sing his Chevrolet/USA song? Will the throngs cheer?

I guess I'm just upset because I haven't had the chance to sell out big time yet. I want to sell out real bad. I'd sell this lousy blog for $5 (exaggerated offer not legally binding). And as far as Chevy, I say, "Go Chevy!! I love you, Chevrolet. I really do."

In fact, I'm going to work something out that Chevy might like into my next set. Here goes:
"Hey, how's everybody doing tonight?... Anybody here, like, drive a car?" Audience reacts with enthusiastic "Yeah, I do! I drive!!" and such. I've found something with which they relate.
"Yeah, I drive a car, too. And I'm a good driver... because I'm not Asian." Peels of laughter at the dead-horse racial slur.
"But seriously... when I drive, I'm on a mission, Baby. Stay the hell out of my way." Audience laughs like school children watching monkeys screw at the Zoo.
"I drive a Chevy truck because I like to guzzle gas like Rosie O'Donnell suckin' on a Shamrock shake!" Audience members punch each other in the ear drum to stop from laughing so hard at my simplistic fat-person-jab.
"Chevy Trucks rock! Go USA!" Audience goes back to ticket counter to insist on paying double for the show that is so damned awesome - and American.

Later, Chevy calls to bottle my magic.

Opinions are like assholes, but at least assholes have a function™. There's a very big difference between criticism and action. But hypocrisy is a human element. I just want the opportunity to be hypocritical. After I count the money, I'll get back to you.

• Why Can't We Hire Keira Knightley?

2007-02-07T21:25:00.000-08:00

21 year old actress Keira Knightley (all three “Pirates of the Caribbean“’s) has announced that she’s taking time off to “get her life back.” Her life, I figure, must be something other than “working” while being tremendously wealthy and famous. It has always been her instinct, she says, to take every single acting role that came along for fear that there never would be another to follow. Very true to life for anyone in Hollywood. But I do wonder in what period of her life she has experienced such fearful downtime to substantiate that restless work ethic? She is phenomenally beautiful, a genetic masterpiece at a cross between Winona Ryder and Natalie Portman, and has worked consistently since she was 8 years old. If she is insecure about work, then how the hell am I supposed to feel about my virtual non-existence, my almost science-fiction-worthy lack of opportunity in Hollywood against which I have to beg and fight and scratch in every creative (and sometimes shameful) way possible? Even stooping to the level of writing a blog…

Keira says that if by taking this time off she ends up “at the back of the line,” then so be it. Keira Knightley is not in any “line” except for the Can-we-get-Keira-Knightley? line. As if controlling the wrinkle in time - even if she’s at the back of that line, she’s still at the front of that line.

I don’t begrudge anyone in Hollywood taking time off. But when you have gotten to the level of success that you can choose the time off rather than have those painful stretches of non-employment choosing you (or being socially forced into Rehab), then I resent your PR manager feeding the story to the networks and magazines as if you may be sacrificing something. For most of the world, “time off” is one or two weeks annual vacation approved resentfully by upper management with piles of work waiting for you the second that you return from your stealing-time-from-the-company-week (and we’d appreciate if you’d check your email twice daily). That’s during a career which is usually spiced up with at least a couple of stinging layoffs.

At 21 - rich, famous, and beautiful with a lifetime of almost incalculable residuals to come, Keira can safely “get her life back” for the next 70 years or so and never have to furrow her her wonderfully symmetric, lusciously think eyebrows with worry. Yes, I like thick-ish, bold eyebrows. I don’t know why Pam Anderson and the like shave theirs down to the thinness of a strand of DNA when strong eyebrows like Keira’s add so much contrast and interest to the facial structure. But I digress and reveal personal weakness. She got me. She’s in my mind’s eye even when she’s taking time off to get her life back. Darn it. I want my life back, but I just can’t get the time off.

• The Sun Also Rises... No It Doesn't

2007-01-20T21:28:00.000-08:00

I don’t get philosophical when I’m in pain. I get pissed and then depressed. I’ve learned that I am neither a lover nor a fighter. I just bitch and moan until those around me can’t stand it anymore, and then I bitch and moan to myself. This year’s season for the Pittsburgh Steelers (8-8) has left me in a most wretched state of helpless confusion mixed with the kind of blind fury which I fear can only be ended by driving my motorcycle straight into the front end of an oncoming Chrysler New Yorker. If only I were dumb enough to ride a motorcycle. This isn’t just about loss in the sports/lack-of-victories sense. It’s about abandonment. Last summer, when Ben got in his accident just months after winning the Superbowl, I thought that everything that I knew and loved had been taken away. We Steeler fans had to love through several weeks of “Thank God he’s alive” all the while facing the realization that we may need to take giant steps backwards in the Quarterback arena. And backwards is a scary thing for Steeler fans. After Terry Bradsaw, we had suffered through decades of sub-par QB’ who couldn’t close the deal even when they were witting on top of some of the best defenses in the NFL. Hello - Kordell Stewart anybody? Tommy Maddox? Tommy’s the guy who said, “The football is funny - it’s round, but it’s pointy too.” Is that Steeler talk? (Actually he never said that. I only say that every time I see his face on TV because his high pitched voice, his lack of chin structure and his propensity to throw interceptions turned me into an angry, bitter man.) After Ben’s accident. I wondered why I ever had faith in anything. All is fleeting. No one stays. No love lasts. Like George in “Of Mice and Men,” everything that I adore just dies in my hands or shoots me in the back of the head while telling me that The Steelers can win Superbowls - “They can?” “Yes, Richard… They can…” Bam!! Bam!! (For those who think I should be happy that The Steelers at least won in 2006 - you’re nuts! Let’s see how much you want to see your team lose just because they may have won a previous championship. You want your team to win every game, always, and all other teams in the league to lose every game, every week. I don’t see any Patri-rots fans apologizing because they’re in the AFC championship game AGAIN.)

But I was talking about abandonment and how it bookended this season for Pittsburgh. First Ben, then Bill Cowher. In this age of professional sports, teams trading players too much and too quickly has killed the spirits of the fans. Fans now drown in cynicism looking for trades or replacements as soon as a ball is dropped or a pass is underthrown. There’s no such thing as loyalty anymore. Nowhere but in Pittsburgh. Pittsburgh still prides itself on building from the draft, not from trades, and we have enjoyed just two coaches for the last 38 years. A few years ago, when the Steelers were in a 6-8 season, The Rooneys announced that Bill Cowher would have the position there for life is he wanted it. That’s uncanny loyalty, and it paid off with a great record and an eventual Superbowl victory. Chuck Noll and Bill Cowher have been all that I’ve know for my life as a Steeler fan. And loyalty has been rewarded. We’ve not had to endure the coaching controversies, the merry-go-round of the Bill Parcells and the Tom Coughlins and all the other coaches who can’t maintain any working relationship with anybody for more than three seasons. Nick Saban, of course, has now made it even worse. No one trusts anybody and no one’s word is worth anything. Well, Coach Cowher did put the team on notice when he didn’t sign an extension before the season. And then we all saw it in his eyes during the year. Everything that we loved about Coach Cowher (and that detractors hated) his fire, his frustration, his chin - they were all gone. Somehow, someone had gotten into his head and gotten him to change - to quit on the game. Then he left the Steelers. Watching him in his press conference (with his needing to “spend more time with his family” crap) in that mutli-colred sweater made it even harder to see him go. Horrible fashion like that is part of the Pittsburgh tradition. He’s not going to get away with sweaters like that anywhere else. But the family stuff? None of us buy it. Not that he doesn’t miss his family and have regrets about how much time football has taken from his family life thus far - but come next year when he’s being offered $8 million plus to coach somewhere else, he’ll be able to buy family time at a great rate and put it in a tidy little IRA somewhere.

Those of us working dogs will never fully understand. None of us will have the opportunity to consider retiring at 49 years old. To pass up a multi-million dollar job in an organization (and fan-base) that loves him. In the end, I hope it is worth it for Coach Cowher because the NFL he’s going to re-enter in 2008 is a very different generation which wields a mighty sword and doesn’t tolerate losing. “Building a team” is given one year, not three or four, and quarterback controversies are a common as Eli Manning’s sad face.

And now this weekend, I have to watch The Colts against The Patri-rots in the AFC a self-congratulatroy malaise after wining his first Superbowl. Now he could be looking at number 4 in 6 years because of it. It leaves me with nothing but burning pain in my chest and tears if stinging black and gold on my cheek.

I suppose tat this illustrates the transitory nature of life events and situations - even in Pittsburgh

The Buddha himself said once: -
When faced with all the ups and downs of life,
Still the mind remains unshaken,
Not lamenting, not generating defilements, always feeling secure,
This is the greatest happiness.

Buddha didn’t have the Sunday ticket.

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• Keith Urban is a Drowning Man

2007-01-10T21:33:00.000-08:00

Keith Bourbon won a CMA for Male Vocalist of the Year the other night, but he wasn’t there to accept it because he was in rehab. Lucky him. The show was more boring than watching Kelly Ripa’s spray on tan dry. Okay, I’m lying there. I’d give my left arm to watch that. How about more mind numbing than listening to Kelly Ripa speak. The CMA’s, okay - I didn’t watch it. But I know it was terrible based on the assumption that 1) all awards shows fill me with that embarrassed self-loathing reminder that I gave any of these people any of my time or money throughout the year, and that now they have misinterpreted that into thinking they are better than me and/or the rest of us hard working schlubs - so much so that they think that we want to watch them award one and other and self-congratulate like a sex-addict in a dressing room at the Hustler Store, and 2) modern country music has become the most predictable, repetitive, oversimplified and commercialized bastardization of an art form put out by soulless pretty people since Ramona the Elephant’s zookeeper started selling the abstract art she’d painted with her trunk.

But the focus the day after this year’s CMA’s was all about Keith Bourban. **(I must digress to acknowledge that some attention went to Faith Hill for her caught-on-camera angry howl upon losing one award (she has won 3 CMA’s and 3 Grammy’s already by the way) was clipped and posted on YouTube, but I actually saw that as the one honest and non-hypocritically plastic moments of live TV that anyone has seen in a long time. I’m sure her personal assistant sees that howling, angry face much more often than the one that graces her dozen or so magazine covers each year. She should be upset for having been nominated for something and not having won. What would we do without Faith Hill? How on earth will she make it now?)** But Keith Bourbon wasn’t able to attend the show and accept his second Male Vocalist of the Year CMA because he was in rehab. A rehab so vital and urgent that it sadly had to be timed exactly with the voting period preceding the CMA’s. In a statement in an article given to Best Life magazine just before entering rehab, Bourbon said that he felt like he was “lost at sea… like a drowning man.” Drowning? Drowning in what? - Success? Recognition? Money? Gold Records? CMA’s? Clichés?… I don’t care what his childhood may have been like or what demons tickle his attention bone. Simply put, he should be finding happiness in his money, his houses, his personal staff, his cars and his clothes. You want to be depressed? First, try to sense what’s it like not getting everything what you want out of life and then having to turn to the Pittsburgh Steelers to squeeze any joy out of a miserable and painfully disappointing existence. And then they go 2-6 on you!!

Even without any CMA’s, Keith Bourbon is probably the second best looking man in America - first when Brad Pitt is out-of-country carrying orphans through airports. And he’s married to Nicole Kidman. That on one hand may be among the highest accomplishments achievable by a dude - or more likely… perhaps he should openly admit that he drinks and does line after line of cocaine to escape the crushing misery of having married a neurotic, animatronic, narcissistic, crazy-eyed, ghost-like, frigid, ice queen, still-obsessed-with-Tom-Cruise woman who has probably put the clamp on his having any good times at all. Why would I automatically blame the woman? I’ve seen it too many times, my friends, good times deemed ‘dangerous.’ A guy being happy deemed a threat. This is not misogyny, it’s women misunderstanding guys. It’s marriage.

Or maybe if he didn’t say on his website about his latest album, “Of Love, Pain & the Whole Crazy Thing”: “It’s just an accurate reflection of where I am now. I think it’s the sound of being happy with my life and passionate about the music that I’m making… When the title came to me, it was obvious – it seemed to fit.” (Was that before he got married?) He’s not in rehab for happiness and passion, is he? Yet in the Best Life article, he’s trying to give us plebeians some good advice: “start communicating with the people around you.” I say start hiding things from them, Keith.

Or maybe I’d have more sympathy for Bourbon if he didn’t refer to himself on his website as “a global musical force.” Next step: inter-galactic musical act-of-God.

He also adds about his new (undoubtedly just one of his) house(s), “I found this house in Nashville that had a great room in the front of it, with windows all around and amazing views, here I could set up my studio. It was supposed to be the dining room, but I sacrificed that for the music.” Can you imagine having sacrificed his dining room for his music studio? Can you imagine sacrificing your own dining room for anything but dining? Why does God bless only such geniuses with that kind of vision and leave the rest of us wallowing? But then, where on earth can he and Nicole possibly entertain guests then? It’s mind-boggling. Of all the mistakes I’ve made in my life, now I look at the dining room that I don’t have in the house I can’t afford and I realize that I never hypothetically converted it to a studio or anything useful. I’m drowning.

That’s it. I’m starting a new club in Hollywood, and I’m going to call it REHAB. Then I’ll get headlines too every time Keith Urban or Lindsay Lohan comes in and gets drunk at REHAB. Maybe I can get in on this eternal and never failing PR machine (see ‘Sucker Free Countdown’).

• Sucker Free Countdown

2006-11-29T21:35:00.000-08:00

I was watching the Sucker Free Countdown on MTV yesterday, and I thought, “Man, I’m so glad that this countdown is free of suckers, finally.”

Because you know there is one born every freakin’ minute. They’re everywhere. And they’re always falling for something: Hey, friend, there’s some mustard on your shirt - and boom - I got the guy on the nose. All too easy. And he didn’t even have mustard at lunch. Always being so gullible. The “Sauna Belt” will help you lose weight without exercise. Of course it will. No one gets electrocuted without losing some sort of unwanted flab. The “Auto Cool” will keep your automobile so cool and comfortable out in the sun, you’ll be able to lock your baby in the car for hours while you shop at Ross. Why not? The world is flat. If you go too far, you’ll fall off. If you question it, God will strike you down.

It’s kind of cute, I guess - BUT, these suckers are way too easy to take advantage of, and I was sick and tired of having them watch the countdown. I sold a pair of used flip flops to one just last summer at a yard sale. You could actually still see the worn imprint of the previous feet eerily ghosted into the top of the flip flops, and yet - SALE. One sucker = one dollar. George W. Bush orchestrated 9/11? Sure, he’s a genius - buy my dvd, and I’ll show you how he did it. Bill Clinton had people murdered in his Machiavellian climb to power? Sure, he’s a serial killer - buy my book and read all about it. I’m glad to have my afternoon video countdown without these people around, sucking.

But when the countdown was over (the saddest thing about countdowns is that as they countdown, you become overwhelmed with the impending sense of loss), I kind of felt bad because it seemed so exclusionary. Rude even. I mean, I hate it when people leave me out of stuff, keeping their secrets. You find out two days after the fact that all your “friends” were at The Frolic Room having drinks and laughs, sharing honest moments of kinship, swapping wives and stuff, giving each other recipes and candy and cash and invites to parties and unsolicited encouragement just for the hell of it. Who am I to decide that suckers don’t get to see these videos? How do I even know if they’re watching the countdown anyhow? I’m no Nielsen. And the Nielsen Ratings people don’t ask you if you’re a sucker ahead of time, do they? I say the Nielsen Ratings are for suckers. Look at the shows that reach the top! Two and a Half Men? Jon Cryer is in that show, you know. Meanwhile, Arrested Development can’t stay on the air? I say go ahead and watch the Sucker Free Countdown, suckers. Do it. You’re really the ones who need to see these videos so that you can get some experience in life and learn no to be such suckers, always falling for something like the Flowbee System for $59.95 or the War on Terror for a few billion. See, I got you. Now you think you’re welcome to the countdown, but you’re not.

• The Land of the Lost

2006-10-24T21:37:00.000-07:00

I was in Las Vegas this weekend. This is no place to watch football, Las Vegas. There is no professional football team here, only professional gamblers who watch the games for their own person gain. It is a soulless city completely without loyalty to anything but the almighty coin. The hearts here pump nothing but cold blood between hot cigarettes and exhausting walks to the cashier window. What do they care about the The Steelers? If they picked the 'over' - they won. If they picked The Falcons and the spread, they won. If they bet that The Steelers would have more turnovers than a bakery, they won. They smile, and they giggle to themselves, and they eat gigantic meals at the casino buffet, and they move on. And there I sat post game in my #7 jersey wondering how the Steelers could ever recover from this game - a game I'd called a "must win " - and this ugly 2-4 start. Why did Coach Cowher leave time-outs on the field when we had the ball with a half a minute left in the first half? Why does Santonio Holmes seem to resent actually having to hold onto the football while he's running? Why did Willie Parker run backwards and the hand the ball so politely to a Falcon?

And what about Big Ben? As Ben lay on the ground unconscious, I found myself angrily responding to the peanut gallery. "I guess Ben shouldn't be riding without a helmet," one said. Well, I guess your Dad shouldn't have had sex without a condom. "Oh, this figures, Ben almost killed himself on his motorcycle." Yeah, well good thing he had his Super Bowl ring on to take the brunt of the blow. It saved his life! ...I'm not proud of myself. I was like a possum by the garbage cans with a flashlight in my face.

It certainly was scary as Ben was flat on his back, motionless, and they were flashing three fingers in front of his face saying, "Ben, how many fumbles have we lost so far?" And he quietly mumbled, "Three, I think, unless we also fumbled on this play, then it would be four, I think." "No," the team doctors said, "we didn't fumble. Hines dropped the pass." "Oh!!!" Ben yelped and fell back into his dreamy sleep where The Steelers never lose. I too found myself fallen on the floor in semi-consciousness at the end of OT - my friends waving four fingers in my face saying, "Richard, come back, look at my hand. How many losses do The Steelers have this season?" And I quietly mumbled, "Too many... truly an insurmountable mountain of losses so high that God couldn't get to the other side with a team of Sherpas and a case of Monster Energy Drink." "That's right," my friends answered in relief. "I think he's going to be okay."

As winter approaches, The Steelers certainly need to turn it around. They're this close to becoming The Donner Party of the NFL.

Reports are that Ben isn't as injured at it looked after the double helmet-to-helmet non-penalty-call hit that knocked him out for 5 minutes. He may not play this Sunday against The Haters, and he probably shouldn't, but CB will do fine. The rest of the team, who knows - they need discipline. In fact, this reminds me of a time in high school when my swim coach threatened to bench every guy on the team except one for the next meet. It may be time for Coach Cowher to throw some spit. Bench every damned player except Charlie Batch (24 of 39, 5TD's, 0 INT's). It may be a bit rough on Charlie during defense, but Cowher needs to make a statement.

I would consider heading up to the game since it is in California, but as a matter of personal safety, I make it a habit never to set foot in Oakland.

Until next Sunday as we ride on the river of Black and Gold sadness.

• Big Ben's Color Scheme

2006-10-18T21:38:00.000-07:00

Apparently the Steelers coaching staff forgot to help Ben with some of the basics during his early recovery from all of his hospital time. Obviously there were some cobwebs upstairs. After the Steelers crushing victory over the KC Cheats, Roethlisberger said, "I tried throwing to the guys in the black shirts rather than the guys in the white shirts." Certainly, he's found the key. Last week in SD, he was throwing to the guys in the powder blue shirts. Unfortunately next week we are away at Hatlanta (thanks for that one, Tommy Gun) and we'll be back in our white jerseys. So can Ben reverse the strategy in time?? If I were the coach in Atmanta, I'd dress the team in their black uni's just in case. All's fair... Go Ben! Throw to the white jerseys this Sunday! (If a ball hits a ref, we know there's a serious problem.)

On the Troy Polamalu hair pulling incident, I'm surprised it hadn't happened sooner. I personally think that a player's hair shouldn't cover his name or number as part of the uni regulations unless that jersey number is #8 and the name on the jersey is "Maddox" and you're trying not to depress your teammates' will to live. (I would also pass a fan resolution for all of you who have not replaced the "Stewart" nameplate with "Holmes." Please... ) The MNF announcers pointed out last night that even Edrin James of the Cardinals cut his long hair to keep it from making it easier to tackle him. But Troy is a defensive player, so getting tackled isn't really the issue unless he starts to tear it up with interceptions which, now that his shoulder is healing, he no doubt will. I think he should go all the way and wear a cape. Troy's answer about his hair being a target: "I just need to use stronger conditioner," Polamalu said. Is that why he has such split ends? That could also be from over zealous washing. Who knows... He'd better not end up in some stupid Pantene commercial unless it's after a Super Bowl repeat. I say if you want to have the long hair and not get tackled, maybe just run faster.

• Terrell Ownes has 25 Million Reasons to Live

2006-10-05T21:40:00.000-07:00

T.O.'s publicist leech, Kim Etheredge, last week explained that the idea that he'd commit suicide was nuts saying that "Terrell has 25 million reasons why he should be alive." Well, let's hope he doesn't get laid off, or the Cowboys don't have to ask their workers to accept a "pay freeze" because of a sudden economic downturn in Texas, or he may find himself mixing supplements again. Has she never seen "It's a Wondeful Life?" (Though, George Bailey really does get bailed out when his friends show up at the end of the movie with enough reasons to live to cover his debts. Plus, he's married to Donna Reed which clouds the whole argument anyhow.)

Now, I'm not one to say that athletes make too much money. I think that professional sports offers a perfect micro study of capitalism, it's successes and its problems. In baseball, the Yankees have the highest paid team in sports and also have the highest revenue take. They own 25% of the championships and spend very little time doing laundry in the basement of their division. In this case it seems the players compete, and the best get paid the most and end up on the best team as much as its roster can accommodate. But sports fans also hate the Yankees for all those reasons. They are "The Evil Empire." Basketball and football have a salary cap agreement which is intended to offer more competitive parody across teams, but roster-wise the reality is that the more talented players still demand very high salaries and the lesser known on the roster get paid as close to the league minimum as possible. So there is a giant chasm between the highest paid athletes and the rest. But the highest paid usually perform far and above the others - as does T.O. - generally carrying the team. That's why they are called the "franchise players" and such. Here in Los Angeles, I don't know what I would do without my sweet, sweet Kobe Show. And athletes will get paid very well as long as tickets are sold. I don't know anyone who can afford them, but they sell out.

In business last year, CEO pay increases averaged over 16% while the regular employee enjoyed an average 1.1% increase. That, to work with Kim Etheredge's logic, gives CEO's 16% more of an already huge bank of reasons to live, and workers - well 1.1% more reasons to hang on. A 1.1% increase to a $50k salary = $550. A 16% increase to $500k is $80,000. (I won't calculate in the millions because my head would explode like the pyrotechnics at a KISS concert.)

All I really know is that for me, I just paid my bills, so I have about 165 reasons to live right now. And if I go out tonight, I'll be coming home with about 140 - that is if I can avoid any of the other not-so-subtle hints that usually come my way suggesting even fewer reasons to live such as that the valet took my parking meter quarters once again, or the restroom at the M Bar has no soap in the dispenser, or some dude keeps elbowing me every time he turns to order something from the bartender.

I'm a typical sports fan, probably like most people to whom Ms. Etheredge is "publicizing" T.O.. What I hope most for Kim Etheredge's sake is that T.O. doesn't get injured (or injure himself) this year because then she'd be out her biggest take on her own reasons to live.

And by the way, this week my money's on the Cowboys. They're favored by 1.5 over the Eagles, and T.O. should be starting. C'mon reasons to live!