What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?

Greatest version of the song that is the title of this post is by Mary Margaret O'Hare [She is the sister of the comedic genius Catherine O'Hara of Second City fame.] She sounds like a character out of a Dorothy Parker short story. For a sample, click here.

So, it's the end of the year. Big deal. But, hell, let's review.

Let's not.

Gerry Ford and James Brown die in the same week and I can think of no other connection than the original cast of SNL? [Chevy Chase impersonating GF, and JB being in the original Blues Brothers movie.] Surely there is some better connection than that.

Maybe there isn't.

The Airing of the Grievances

My gf, Ms Red Stapler, always has great success in her blog when she posts her gripes. So, in a shameless attempt at "spicing things up around here", I will do the same:

[a] Multi-millionaire musicians who refuse to license their work for commercials, and then TELL THE WORLD AT EVERY SINGLE OPPORTUNITY they have done so. If I have to hear Eddie Vedder or Tom Petty publicly thank themselves one more time for being morally superior to artist X who licenses his/her work, then I will pull a Hendrix and choke on my own puke. [There is a YouTube clip of Eddie V. singing Pete Townshend's awful song "Blue, Red and Grey" wherein he chastises Jewel, of all people, for releasing a song as a commercial first. This is 2006 folks, license your shit. Or not. But don't criticize others for doing it. If it is as wrong as you say/think it is, the marketplace will let us know, believe me.]

[b] The Catholic Church. I went to the funeral mass for my old colleague [old? He was 40 when he died!] Brett Broderick [see below for brief tribute] yesterday. By Jove, it was a long, impersonal and weird service. If Father O'Blarney referred to "the great mystery of life" one more time, I was going to have him in a hammerlock. It was just a miserable experience. And the new songs that they've introduced into the hymnal ... a little too Dan Fogelberg for me, folks. Was that one of the reforms introduced by the Vatican II?

[c] Those weird giant inflatable Christmas decorations that people have on their lawns. Don't like 'em. Don't trust 'em.

That's it for now. Thoughts?

One Kick-Ass Dog

You may think you have a kick-ass dog. And you may. But I can say plainly: I have a dog who kicks ass.

I say this despite the fact that she is a medium-sized dog. No intimidator, she. Only 42 pounds [and a little sparkplug of a pup, quick to paw, lick, jump and then run away and lay in the corner and ... watch you with her observant dog-eye.]

So, first, she sent Goldie [about 20 pounds of muscle her superior] to the Dog Emergency room, when G. picked a fight. Goldie wears that scar with pride, I tell you, but it was a BRUTAL BEATING that my dog laid dog. Little K. did not back off. Her colors [black, brown, beige and white] do not run. The headlock she had Goldie in will be studied in Dog Smackdown 101 classes from here on. It was the stuff that legends are made of. I nearly had a coronary after that fight. But it was clear that one dog emerged victorious and it was Little K.

Then, yesterday, Little K. [aka "Little Sack o' Dog Bones", "Poops", "Kellerina" and "Miss Bitey-Bitey"] and I were returning from a walk around the quiet and usually very boring neighborhood. It's dusk, nearly dark. We are right in front of my house, standing on the street, about to go up on the front lawn. I see from the corner of my eye a big Golden running towards us, barking and growling. I stand and yell "STOP!" at the oncoming 100 lbs. of dog, to no avail. Ferocious dog-on-dog battling ensues. Growling, biting, fighting and foaming, they roll around for a minute or so. Kelly wriggles out of her collar, so I have no control at this point, except to yell "STOP!" which I know is an exercise in futility.

The enraged beasts fight for a couple of minutes. Kelly flips the bigger dog over, bites him/her hard and the bigger aggressor dog ... low-tails it home! And the Little K., still barking, makes three circle-backs to the aggressor's house, and barks a stern warning: DO NOT F*** WITH ME. And then she marches straight home to the door, and waits for me to open it.

Seriously, whose dog does that?

So I gave her a snack, and thanked her for protecting me, and she slept a deep doggy sleep. Which in my mind was well-deserved.

What has your dog done lately?

Simple Twist of Fate

Got a call yesterday afternoon from a guy I met at the State Bar Convention in October in Monterey, an attorney named Mark. Out of the blue, as it were. We had met only briefly over beers at a hotel bar one evening, I was trying to watch the baseball playoffs and we struck up a conversation.

We talked about the usual things, sports and the bar convention. We started talking about career, and it turned out we knew someone in common, a guy I worked with for some 3 odd years and, as it turned out, someone he had subsequently hired. The commonality was Brett Broderick.

We talked for a few minutes, and shared a few Brett stories. We were both big fans, and we agreed that when we returned to LA, we'd have lunch with Brett and catch up.

So when the phone rang yesterday, once I realized who was calling, I anticipated that we'd be discussing lunch with Brett. Instead, it was "the call."

Brett had been on a busy sidewalk in LA, coming back from lunch when a collision happened right in the intersection before him, and one of the cars continued onto the sidewalk, where it hit and killed Brett.

Even as I write this, I can't believe it. He's gone. Liked and respected by so many. Husband and father to two young children. Only 40 years old.

He was hired by Homestore around September of 2000 as one of many in house counsel. I still remember going into his office the first time, and trying to describe a deal to him. He was still trying to organize his desk and get his computer working, you know, the usual "get situated" stuff. He must have thought I was crazy, or he was crazy to take the job. Which he was. But there I was, trying to get him to listen to my requests, which I am certain were unreasonable. And he did it all during the next few years with great patience, poise, intelligence and respect.

But he was always just such a great guy to work with, to talk to, to joke around with. Fantastic dry sense of humor. And a peculiar sense of innocence about him.

I know he was an avid outdoorsman who loved fishing, particularly fly fishing. Today, the fish are a little happier, and I am a lot sadder.

The Cars

What was your favorite car? Your least favorite? Cars with stories is our topic.

Here is the complete list of all my cars:

1. 1966 VW Beetle. Had it from 1979 through 1980 or 1981. Bought for $150 from my friends' Dad. Mike M. and I disassembled it one summer night in 1980, and it never got reassembled ... so I sold it for what I paid for it when a friend's brother's car got stolen.
2. 1969 VW Type III Fastback. Had it from 1981 through late 1985. My first real car. I never drove that Beetle. Boy was this car a royal headache. Lousy engineering.
3. 1963 VW Beetle. Had it in 1985 briefly. A piece of crap I wound up selling to my girlfriend. It blew up. Some years later, she dumped me. Coincidence? I think not.
4. 1978 Toyota Corolla. I "borrowed" this car from my dad from 1985 through 1987, when I bought my truck. Great car. Probably still running.
5. 1986 Toyota Truck. I had this car all the way from 1987 through the end of law school and beyond, and sold it to my Dad in 1994. I know it is still running. Biege, vinyl bench seat. No airbags, no problem!
6. 1985 Toyota Camry. 1994 through 1996. I essentially traded my truck to my Dad for his car, this Camry. What a piece of crap. It kept stalling due to some defect with the valves. This car could have killed me, and it leaked oil and was underpowered. Thanks, Dad!
7. 1993 Mazda Miata. 1996 through 2001(?). This car went everywhere and did everything. I drove from Seattle to San Francisco, non-stop. Got stuck in the snow. Loaned it out to my girlfriend, and then my business partner. The car kept on going and going. Loads of fun. I got too fat for it, though. Yikes!
8. 1994 Honda Accord EX. I had this car from 2001 through late 2004, and again, I bought it from my Dad. Will I never learn? Good car, but I still remember spending about $1,300 replacing the ABS System. That really hurt.
9. 2001 Saab 9-3. Got this one in early 2005, and it has served me well, knock on wood. I love the hatchback, as I can store things or my dog in it. And it has turbo so it is peppy. But I would like to have AWD, not that I need it in sunny CA.

So 9 cars over 26 years ... not too bad. What cars have you had, and which one was your favorite? I think my fave was the Honda, overall. But the Miata was close, despite that my friends dubbed it a "gay car." That hurt, I tell you.

Time For Joy and Cheer

So far, I've gotten one christmas card. That's pathetic. I used to send out 90 or so, and get back some 60-ish. This year I am sending out 20 cards. Why 20? Because I bought two boxes of cards last year, and that's all I have. The hell I'm going to buy any additional cards, bub.

Just picked up "Jubilee" by Grant Lee Buffalo [it's about 8 yrs old now, so whoopee.] But it does have the one great song that G-L performed at the Aimee Mann show, "Truly, Truly." Oh, yeah, the lyrics are puerile. The chords are simple. The singing and performance are undistinguished. But the song is JUST SO DAMN INFECTIOUS! See for yourself: "Truly, Truly"

Good song, no?

I have a little dog, who is just this mischevious bundle of cuteness and rebellion. Here is a photo of her:

She likes to chew empty water bottles. And socks. And she loves to be chased. And she jumps on people when they visit. She is a pound pooch and is a little over 2 years old. Her name is Kelly. What do you think?

Texture

When we write we lose control of these internal ideas we have by first committing them to words, and then by circulating them.

Much of what I write is to show others the texture of my life. What baggage does the person next to you in line at the Post Office, the store, Starbucks, what story they have. These are a few of my stories. And most of the stuff happened so long ago it is more or less a movie I saw involving some characters I no longer know.

I just saw the Aimee Mann Christmas Concert in Solano Beach [Belly Up] on Thursday night. What a messed-up debacle that was! Aimee, God bless her, has this high concept idea for a holiday show [so far, so good.] But the overall tone of the show was pretty bleak. Depressing. I mean, ask not what Christmas can do for you, ask what you can do for Christmas!

The Aimee songs were well performed, she did:

Band -- Nutcracker
Calling on Mary (Aimee)
------------------------------
Paul F. Tompkins - Comedy Set
------------------------------
Little Drummer Boy ( Grant-Lee Phillips/Paul F Duet)
Raise the Spirit (Grant-Lee)
Fountain of Youth (Grant-Lee)
Truly, Truly (Grant-Lee)
-------------------------------
The Grinch (duet with John C. Reilly)
-------------------------------
Little Bombs
I’ve Had It
You Do
God Rest Ye... (merry gentlemen)
I'll be Home for Xmas

Hanukkah Fairy (Morgan)
Dreidel, Dreidel / Burning Ring of Fire
------------------------------------
Letter to Santa (John C. Reilly)
Peanuts (John C. Reilly w/ Band)
Christmastime (duet with John C. Reilly)
Save Me
Humpty Dumpty
Clean up for Christmas
Way Back When
------------------------------------
Wise Up
Baby Please Come Home (All)


Grant Lee did three excellent songs, two solo and one from his days as the leader of Grant Lee Buffalo.

But the show really bogged down during the comedy bits performed by Paul F. Tompkins, the spoken word piece by John C. Reilly or the really lame Hannukah Fairy bit. I'm making a mental note to avoid Aimee Mann shows until she gives up on the mixed-media format. The music-only shows with her and her crack band in the early nineties were SO GOOD that it really hurts to see her deprive the audience of (a) the flow that develops when musicians are allowed to stretch a little, which really only happens after a few songs played back to back, and (b) the ability to hear her play more tunes.

I Had My Antennae Removed!

Which is true.

I used to go to parties when I was in my early twenties and talk about my out-of-the-ordinary upbringing [suicidal alcoholic mother, abusive and very hostile father] and I'd drink. And I'd say things that would shock people. "The third time my mom had her stomach pumped ... I think I was 12 ... we helped carry her to the car ..." Things like that. And people would just look at me like I was crazy. And I guess I wanted that reaction, sort of enjoyed it, using my mom's primary suffering, and my secondary suffering as some sort of currency. And cheap currency it was [for me. I wasn't getting my stomach pumped]. And now, looking back, I am mostly ashamed of having trotted out those stories. To people who had their own problems, struggles and so forth, to be sure.

I mainly just wanted to drink, talk and play guitar with people. Be social. I hated being home at that time, in the emotional vacuum that was my family's home. No one read, no one talked, no one had anything to say. I hated being home when I was living at home [until I turned 26 and went off to law school.]

Now I have my own home, and I love having my own space. If I could stay at home and have everything brought to me that would be sort of perfect.

I've digressed. I wanted to apologize for the last post, which was too much like the cheap currency I used to trade in. I don't have any intention that anyone should care about the emotions behind my experiences. What I actually set out to do was to write about Christmas circa 1980, driving around Orange County in a Pinto station wagon. And I was totally at a loss for trying to describe what the interior of a Pinto wagon smelled like, felt like, looked like in December of 1980. The plastic smell of the vinyl. How forboding touching the knobs on the console was in the cold weather. The absolute ineffectiveness of the defroster against the cold. Writing is such a bitter business.

So I set out to try to describe being 17 and driving around Orange County in 1980 in a Pinto wagon, and I fell off the proverbial bicycle. Completely like me, if you know me.

Saw the Charles Phoenix Retro Holiday Slide Show tonight in Ventura. Completely wonderful experience, he is the coolest. Check him out.

Night, all.