The Phillies won last night. The Mets lost. There is joy in the Fox household. For the first time all season, the Phils have a piece of first place.
There’s nothing inherently wrong with the Mets, except they stand in the Phillies way. That’s pretty simple. They might be working on a cancer cure in the clubhouse. I still don’t want them to take Philadelphia’s spot in the post season.
Par For The Dollar
Back in 1980 I was working in Buffalo. My Philadelphia friend, Lucy, invited me to join her for a weekend at a family owned compound in what is referred to as “Cottage Country,” north of Toronto.
On a frigid, crystal clear lake, reachable only by their classic mahogany power boat, it was pretty close to heaven. For that weekend I was part of her family, joining them for every activity. I even went to church with them (and throughly enjoyed that experience too).
While driving up, I got hungry and stopped along the road for some food. I bought a sandwich and a Coke, handed the clerk a US $20 bill and got $22 Canadian change… plus my food!
What a country!
Actually, all that meant was, the US dollar was worth a lot more than its Canadian equivalent. As of today, they’re of nearly equal value. I think the proper term is, they’re at par.
I’m not an economist, but I’m pretty sure the value of a nations currency is directly tied to the strength of its economy. Our dollar is weak.
Over times, things tend to even out. A weaker US dollar makes our exports more reasonably priced overseas… at least it does with those things we still make here. Conversely, imports continue to cost more. That’s an incentive to buy American, here and abroad.
Still, having the US and Canadian dollars at par troubles me on an emotional level. Our dollar being more valuable has always been a given. It’s the first time in my life it’s not.
I don’t personally see signs of a weak economy, but obviously, others do. Our cheaper dollar is screaming that to anyone who will listen.
Friday’s Movie – No Reservations
I know I’ve promised to write about our trip to Philadelphia… and I will. Not yet. I sense, truly or falsely, it will be a long entry, which I don’t feel like facing at the moment.
My folks have been visiting since Tuesday. It is our sworn duty to keep them entertained. OK – maybe not, but that’s what we want to do.
Today, Stef had plans to head to Long Island, Helaine needed to catch up around the house and I… well, I’m a lazy, shiftless bum with nothing to do. I asked my folks if they wanted to go to the movies.
My first choice was “The Simpsons Movie.” Helaine and Stef would like to see that. My parents, not so much. I can wait, I suppose.
I took my parents to see “No Reservations,” the new Catherine Zeta-Jones movie. It was an afternoon well spent.
The movie is a remake of a German film, “Mostly Martha.” As it turns out, my parents had already seen that. They liked “No Reservations” better.
Kate (Catherine Zeta-Jones) is a successful, driven, chronically single chef in New York’s Greenwich Village. As artfully revealed by her therapist (Bob Balaban), she was scared to commit. I’ve always thought about that (from personal experience) as a guy thing. Kate’s real love interest was cooking.
I loved the ‘inside baseball’ scenes as Kate commanded her team in the kitchen. It’s a view I don’t often get and seemed realistic.
When Kate’s sister is killed in a car accident, she becomes guardian for Zoe (Abigail Breslin). It’s another commitment she is ill prepared for.
Things are going very poorly between Kate and Zoe until Nick (Aaron Eckhart) enters the picture. He’s a sous chef, though obviously underachieving in his career, hired to work in Kate’s kitchen.
There is instant conflict. Then, there is instant sexual tension.
From this point forward, there is no part of this movie that isn’t predictable. I’m not saying that as a knock, because I had no problem accepting the picture as entertainment and not an intellectual challenge.
The triumph of romance over all obstacles is the mother’s milk of chick flicks – a genre I’m particularly enamored with. This is the poster child for chick flicks.
Catherine Zeta-Jones continues to be remarkably beautiful. Aaron Eckhart is more attractive than beautiful (attractive being a much more valuable trait). The real standout is Abigail Breslin, an accomplished actor at age 11.
I first saw Abigail in “Little Miss Sunshine.” Sometimes kids get lucky with their first film. “No Reservations” proves there’s more than luck at work here. She played an emotional role with great range. She acted! I believed.
What were you doing at age 11?
The last 11 or 12 year I saw, who could act, was Lindsay Lohan (1998 – “The Parent Trap”). Uh oh.
Abigail… keep your head on straight. Don’t grow up too fast. Don’t listen to the sycophants who will surely be drawn to you as flies are drawn to shit. If your parents are loopy, trade them in now!
One final note. As my parents walked into the theater to find a seat, I returned to the cashier and got a set of headphones for my dad. There is little publicity for these, but just about every theater has them available for free. For anyone with a hearing problem, these can make all the difference in the world in enjoying a movie.
Back From Philadelphia
Yes, I want to write about Philadelphia – but not tonight. We did a lot. We had a fun time. I am bushed… much of that due to the six hour drive home!
We spent a few minutes home before going out for my birthday dinner. The destination was Guilford and “The Place.” I’m sure I’ve written about “The Place” before, but just in case you missed it, a brief synopsis:
“The Place” is a roofless restaurant. You eat under a string of bare bulbs atop of ‘floor’ of crushed clam shells. It is only open during the warm weather.
The menu is quite limited: clams, lobster, corn, steak, chicken – that’s about all. Most folks bring a little something from home to help round out their meal.
Most importantly, at “The Place” you sit on a tree stump out in the open and watch as your food is cooked over an open flame. The grills burn long slabs of oak.
Here are a few photos from dinner tonight. It was another excuse to try out the new 10-20mm lens.
Vacation
Last Friday as I was leaving for work Helaine said, “One more day and you’re on summer vacation.”
Summer vacation! That’s not a phrase adults use too often. Anyway, here I am – summer vacationing.
Not only is it vacation time, it’s also birthday time. My parents are in a plane right now, heading up the coast. Tomorrow the five of us (with Stef) head to Philadelphia to see the Phillies play the Washington Nationals on Cole Hamels Bobble Head Night!
I drove into New Haven late this morning. I needed to deliver my photos for “Off The Wall.”
Did I ever screw up yesterday!
I read the “Off The Wall” instructions and then did something totally different. The matte was supposed to be 11×14″. I printed my photos at 11×14″ and then matted them. They were much too large.
Bad for me. Good for Mike Ross, who ended up printing two sets for me.
Back to New Haven. The Arts Council is located on New Haven’s ‘artsiest’ block, Audubon Street. The street itself is flanked with ‘city trees’ as it curves around a stone plaza. On one end of the street are shops. Closer to Orange Street is the New Haven Foundation Building, where my pictures now sit.
I figured it would be sacreligious to head to Audubon Street with the photos, but without my camera. Here’s a quick feel for that block on this beautiful July day.
Oldies But Goodies Return
CBS seems to have seen the error of its ways. The rumor is, sometime next week oldies will ring out again from 101.1 FM in New York.
I’ve been in TV over 25 years, yet my heart is still in radio. I loved being a jock. It was what I wanted to be when I grew up!
Back then, I thought I was pretty good… though I cringe today when hearing some airchecks. I got as far as doing mornings in Philadelphia. That’s not so awful.
A few years ago, CBS decided to change the format of WCBS-FM. For decades it had been a New York City fixture as ‘the’ oldies station. Though not the top station in the city, it had a very salable audience.
It was, alas, expensive to run. I would guess WCBS-FM had the most expensive jock staff in New York City, some of whom still needed board ops.
One day CBS just pulled the plug. Oldies gave way to ‘Jack,’ an automated format with a wide mix of music. Lots of people were upset.
As it turns out, New York City voted with its feet! Ratings slid and revenues dropped (much more than costs dropped).
Now CBS seems to have seen the error of its ways. The rumor is, sometime next week oldies will ring out again from 101.1 FM in New York.
I’m happy about the change. I’m happy the bean counters were wrong. I’m happy live jocks will return. I’m happy fun entertainment on the radio is valued.
“You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone” – Joni Mitchell.
Hey, CBS-FM. If you’re looking for a fill-in weekend jock, I have a set of headphones ready to go.
Jury Duty Calls
I opened the envelope and stared at my “SUMMONS FOR PETIT JUROR.”
Hey! Who are you calling ‘petit’?
I assume this just differentiates my service from that of a grand juror. Considering the number of times I’ve heard it said, “a prosecutor could get a grand jury to indict a ham sandwich,” I’ll stick with this.
I have been summoned to Superior Court in New Haven. To quote the State of Connecticut, Judicial Branch website: “The Superior Court hears civil, criminal, family and juvenile matters.”
It is to the court system as Wal*Mart is to retail – a little of everything.
There’s a checklist of all those ineligible to serve. Too old – no service. No English – no service. Not a resident – no service. Felony conviction – no service. If a judge found that “I exhibit a quality which will impair my ability to serve – no service.
There’s even a discrete checkbox for the governor and other top state officials to disqualify themselves. You don’t want that crew making difficult decisions!
Jury duty appearance time is 8:00 AM. Even worse, it’s 8:00 AM EDT (Hawaiian time would have been fine and should be an option)! What are they thinking? If I’m going to be a juror who is somebody’s peer, shouldn’t that somebody be nocturnal?
Truth is, I’d love to serve on a jury. I like seeing how the sausage is made. No one will deny I’m judgmental. I’m just not sure how attorneys will view me.
Luckily, the court is pretty flexible as far as rescheduling is concerned. I say that because jury duty is set for my birthday! We’ll be in Philadelphia, seeing the Phillies play the night before. There’s no reasonable way to get back to New Haven in time.
Nobody wants a cranky juror.
Poker Night With The Boys
With Helaine gone, and me alone, it was the perfect night to have some friends over to play poker. They were scheduled to arrive at 7:00pm. I had six here by 6:45pm.
First, it’s nice to entertain. When I lived in Philadelphia as a bachelor, I did everything humanly possible to keep friends from my place. I’m a little more prepared now. Helaine may be away, but her influence is here.
This was an eclectic group of ten. There were Jeff, Matt and Erik from work, Tim and Steve who went to high school with Erik, Woody, Rick, Dennis and Ashley who drove in from Boston.
Ashley actually writes about poker for a few magazines. In a good and just world, he won’t write about my bad play… or bad hosting. If there are points to be made from what he experienced, he’ll make them gently.
There was beer and soda and snacks and lots of good conversation. At its essence, poker at home is really about conversation. Card playing is secondary.
Radio Days
Bad news travels fast. A friend of mine, from my radio days, has been fired from a job he’s held a dozen years. That is, unfortunately, the way of radio (TV too). Few jobs have permanence. Everyone is expendable.
It’s a shame because he’s a great guy – as nice as they come. And, from the articles I’ve read, he’s taken the high road. I’m not so sure I’d be that nice.
All this got me thinking back to this special radio station where we met. It was one of the last stations to try and make a go of music on AM. We were not successful.
I started at WPEN in 1975. We were on Walnut Street between 22nd and 23rd in Center City Philadelphia. It was an old building, full of history and a few mice.
The studios were nondescript, but I do remember the fire escape. It was ostensibly used to catch a smoke and some fresh air. That it overlooked the girl’s dorm for an art college was incidental.
We played oldies. So did another station, on FM. They were the station most oldies fans listened to. It had little to do with the quality of programming and everything to do with the very real difference between AM and FM.
The reason this station holds such as soft spot in my heart is because of how well defined it was. We made no bones about it. There was nothing hip about this place. We were a rock ‘n roll oldies station – very stylized.
The most original part of our sound wasn’t our music or jocks, but our news department. Yes, we presented the news, but with verve!
Each newsman had three names on-the-air – whether they did in real life or not. Brandon Barrett Brooks, Bruce Erik Smallwood, Rod Allen Fritz and William Wellington Cole¹ (among others) graced our air.
There was a joke that Walter Cronkite had applied for a job, but was turned down. No middle name!
Smallwood was the leader of the band. When he said “Thunderstorms,” your radio shook. He is best known for what he said when Philadelphia Electric was going to raise its rates.
I loved that station. It helped define my radio career. It was a fun place to work. Those days are not coming back anytime soon.
¹ – William Wellington Cole was actually Mumia Abu Jamal. He is my only close encounter with someone who became a convicted murderer.
Twenty Three Years Of Love
Twenty three years ago today (I can take off my ring and double check the date if you want) Helaine and I were married, just north of Philadelphia. Twenty three years seems like a long time to do anything, but it has come so easily.
We had a wonderful wedding – a great party. Everyone who was there agreed. The only downside was, Helaine and I spent so little time with each other, as we spent our time schmoozing with the guests.
When the night was over, we hopped in a limo and headed to a hotel at the airport. I still remember walking into the room and seeing the last few minutes of “An Officer and a Gentleman.” A few hours later we were on a plane to Mexico City and then another to Acapulco.
I’m not sure how many times I’ve told Helaine I love her in the 23 years since then. Thousands… maybe tens of thousands of times? Can you really express that emotion in words?
The funny things is, how much could I have known about her, or she about me, when we were married? So much of ‘love’ at that stage must be taken on faith. It’s only with time that real love can be realized.
We spent today quietly, with each other. Football was on the TV. Helaine called the Giants loss, “My Superbowl.” I brought home sandwiches from a local bar.
I can’t begin to tell you how good our day was.
Rich Little Is Responsible For My Marriage
When I came downstairs this morning, Helaine mentioned she had read my last blog entry. “Rich Little is why we’re married,” she said.
I stopped for a second to ponder that line. Then it hit me. She’s right.
I’m going to try and tell this story, but there is a problem. A really good friend, someone heavily involved in this story, doesn’t want to be mentioned here. So be it.
This friend is a real show biz guy. For decades now, he’s been working with celebrities. If I were to mention the names, you’d recognize nearly all of them.
Back in the early 80s, my friend was producing for a Dick Clark series called “Inside America.” He followed Rich Little to Philadelphia on a promo tour. Rich was promoting an audio cassette – a comedy record. My friend was in charge of a crew taping Rich. They ended up at the radio station where Helaine worked.
Helaine was promotion director at WIOQ in Philadelphia, involved in coordinating Little’s on-air appearance.
Memories are a little hazy now, but somehow Helaine and my friend struck up a conversation and my name came up. I had worked in Philadelphia radio, meeting Helaine just a few weeks before I left.
By the way – Rich Little’s involvement in this story ended a few paragraphs back.
That evening, I spoke with my friend. He told me about this girl in Philadelphia, Helaine, who still remembered me – and he said I should call her.
So that’s how Rich Little put me back in tou… Yeah, OK. I’m leaving something out.
My friend told me to call, and I did. But I called four months later! Maybe four months is charitable. I didn’t call for a long time… a really long time.
Like a typical, foolish guy, I thought there was something suspect about any girl who might like me. I was an idiot. I nearly let her slip away.
In a few weeks we celebrate our 23rd anniversary. Maybe we need to send something to Rich Little and my unnamed friend.
T.O To Go
A few minutes ago, Helaine yelled to me upstairs. “Are you going to write about the Eagles in the blog?”
That was her way of saying, “Write about the Eagles in your blog.” OK – who am I to resist, especially after such an emotional victory.
If you’re not a football fan, let me get you caught up in about ten seconds.
The Eagles are Philadelphia’s football team. They used to have a player… a star player, named Terrell Owens. Though he was a pain in the ass, he was our pain in the ass. At least he was until he became such a pain he threatened to create dissension within the team.
T.O. was let go.
A guy’s got to earn a living, so Terrell to his number 81 and went to the Dallas Cowboys. In Philadelphia, the Cowboys are tied with the Taliban, Al Qaeda and Kim Il Jung at the bottom of the popularity polls.
To make things a little juicier, T.O. was involved in some sort of incident with the Dallas police. Whether he attempted to commit suicide or just had an accident – who knows? The next day he was practicing on the field and smiling. It was weird.
Today the Cowboys came to play the Eagles for the first time since Terrell left. Fox saw fit to make it their marquee game, shown nationwide at 4:15 PM EDT. Anyone even peripherally connected with sports was talking about it. There was no end to the hype.
Quickly, the Eagles went to a 10-0 lead. Helaine and I pinched ourselves. Then we remembered, this is football the king of non-linear games. Ten points in the first quarter means nothing.
We were so right.
The game seesawed back and forth. Donovan McNabb, Eagles quarterback had a pretty good game. T.O. was ineffective. Still, the game was close.
Late in the fourth quarter, the Eagles were up by seven, when a missed tackle, long pass and offensive pass interference penalty (all on the same play) moved the Cowboys eighteen feet from tying the game.
We had seen this before. So close – yet so far. When the Giants tied the Eagles in week two, they went on to win. Would the same fate befall the Eagles again?
Simply – no.
With the Cowboys charging, Drew Bledsoe threw to the end zone. The pass was caught, but by the Eagles Lito Sheppard who scampered 102 yards for an Eagles touchdown. Case closed.
Here’s the one awful part of this game. We were on an emotional roller coaster, as if it were meaningful in our lives. It’s only a game, but we allow the football season in general and the Eagles in particular to stake a claim on our lives.
Already, in the Eagles loss to the Giants, we took an emotional hit that lasted a few days. We were depressed as if something really awful had gone on.
Even though I can intellectualize the real meaning of football, that’s not strong enough to overcome my emotional attachment. It’s just as bad for Helaine, maybe worse.
The Eagles were picked to finish last in the NFC East. Now they’re leading the way. The emotion has just begun.
How Do They Know It’s Us?
Helaine is out-of-town for a few days. She left from Hartford this morning.
Yesterday afternoon we spent about twenty minutes, including a call to Southwest, trying to ascertain if food was as explosive (and restricted by the TSA) as mouthwash or toothpaste.
It is not.
She left Bradley and flew to BWI Airport outside Baltimore. Terminal B arrival. Terminal A departure.
Southwest flies to Houston’s Hobby Airport’s (I wish it were professional as opposed to a hobby¹), and this particular flight went to Gate 50. Yes, there are gate numbers higher, but none more remote.
How do they always know we’re coming to make it as far as is humanly possible? They do, you know.
A few years ago, when it was a United hub, we changed planes in Denver. We literally walked the walk between their two farthest gates. It was like taking the tour of DEN!
Another night, changing at Detroit’s Wayne County Airport (DTW if you’re checking your baggage tags) we were so far away, with so little time, I slipped some money to a person driving one of those long motorized carts and got chauffeured.
The terminal was so crowded, I’m still not sure we ran someone down. I closed my eyes except when I was staring down my watch. We got to the gate in the nick of time… well, it would have been if the flight hadn’t been delayed.
Back in my SciFi Channel days I changed planes in Minneapolis. I was talking on the cell phone walking slowly to my gate – 15. As I walked, I passed 19, 18, 17, 16, 31, 30, 29!
You’ve got to be kidding. They were out of order! I almost missed that plane.
Of course this is one reason I enjoy flying from Tweed New Haven Airport so much. There’s only one gate currently in use. Unfortunately, you can only fly to Philadelphia.
Actually, if more airlines would come in to New Haven, I’d promise not to kvetch about the walk.
¹ – I know, Hobby was a Texas governor – Governor William Pettus Hobby. I just can’t resist cheap humor.
The Man Who Met Norman Chad
Have I mentioned I enjoy playing poker? I continue playing online almost every night and my deposit of three years ago is still there.
For poker players, our ‘world series’ is the World Series of Poker. Conveniently named, isn’t it?
The WSOP is the biggest tournament in the world. Actually, it’s a series of tournaments, culminating in the ‘Main Event.’
Anyone can enter. All you need is a $10,000 ticket. This year, a $10,000 ticket turned into $12,000,000 for Jamie Gold of California.
I’ve never been to the World Series. C’mon – $10,000 is a lot of money and you’re playing against all the best (and some of the luckiest) players around.
My friend Rick played this year. He won his $10,000 entry playing in a satellite tournament. It cost him $1!
Though Rick had a great time, he came home with little more than memories and some tchotchkes for me. One of them is pictured on the left. It’s an autograph from Norman Chad.
OK – it’s on a piece of paper ripped out of a spiral notepad. Can’t it still be a cherished memento?
Chad is a newspaper columnist. He’s also written books and for TV, including a pretty funny episode of Arli$$. Mostly, I know him as the color commentator on the World Series broadcasts.
Rick has had the autograph for months. Tonight was finally time to pick it up.
I don’t have many friends I can visit at midnight besides Rick. He is a professional announcer and sets his own schedule. His business is primarily carried on from a studio in his basement.
If you’re in Connecticut, you’ve heard Rick say “99-1, WPLR” or voice commercials for Bob’s Stores (the clothing, not the furniture stores). If you’re elsewhere, you’ve heard him too, on commercials and promos too numerous count.
He has one of those voices that is just too darned deep. It is accented by gravely side tones which make it mellifluous and friendly.
My voice is so lacking in bass, a program director I worked for in Philadelphia considered using a ‘Harmonizer’ to electronically lower the pitch! I will be eternally envious of Rick’s pipes.
There was actually more waiting for me than the autograph (though that will be my most cherished piece of swag). Rick also gave me a deck of WSOP playing cards, a WSOP chip, PokerStars.net t-shirt, and the ‘souvenir’ room key from his Vegas hotel.
We were down in his studio talking when I noticed the full wall of record albums. These were real 33 1/3 rpm vinyl disks. They’re the kind that scratched, popped and hissed when you played them. Looking at the collection was like going back in time.
I started pulling albums off the wall and, on two vintage Technics turntables, Rick began playing cuts. There was early Hendrix and Janis Joplin. I read the technical notes on the cover of the Beach Boys seminal Holland LP. There were more obscure groups like The Buoys¹ and The Easybeats.
Some cuts, like Bob Dylan’s 115th Dream, I hadn’t heard in 40 years or so! I remembered conversations with friends in the 60s, trying to figure out why Dylan starting the song acoustically, stopped to laugh, and then began again, this time with electric guitar and electrified accompaniment.
Our musical tastes are very different. Rick has a more eclectic, more discerning ear for artistry. I gravitate to pop and ‘the hits.’ Still, there was a lot to share and, as former disk jockeys, stories to tell.
I got home around 3:00 AM, carrying my loot with me.
Forget my WSOP take. I can’t begin to tell you how much fun I had just schmoozing and listening to those old songs.
¹ – The Buoys hit “Timothy” is probably the best top-40 song about cannibalism ever!
Invincible – The Movie
Invincible, the story of Vince Papale, opened this weekend. There was no chance I wasn’t going to see it. As the former owner of Section 614, Row 11, Seats 19 and 20 at The Vet, how could I not see a movie about a former Philadelphia Eagles player.
And, of course, there was Helaine. It was pretty much decided she’d see this movie when it went into pre-production. She too is an Eagles fan, plus at one time she knew Papale¹.
Surprisingly, a lot of other people felt the same way. We went to the 3:00 PM show at Showcase Cinema in North Haven and found the theater nearly half full. That’s pretty good for a summer’s day – even one with mainly cloudy skies.
Are there that many Eagles fans? We watched a few groups of girls come in. Probably Mark Wahlberg fans.
Invincible is the story of Vince Papale, a 30 years old South Philly bartender with no college football experience who walks into a Philadelphia Eagles open tryout and makes the team. Imagine Rocky as non-fiction.
Though the movie claims to star Mark Wahlberg, it really stars Philadelphia. The city is portrayed as gritty and downtrodden. Papale’s South Philadelphia neighborhood is cramped with narrow streets and smaller homes. The Eagles are the one salvation to men who see no salvation or future in their own lives.
Wahlberg did a nice job, though I suspect the real Vince Papale was a lot more ebullient. The Papale seen on the screen was a self doubting moper.
Coach Dick Vermeil, played by Greg Kinnear, also seemed to lack the incredible enthusiasm… maybe naive enthusiasm… I saw in him as a Philadelphia resident.
It’s seldom you see a movie with a nearly wall-to-wall soundtrack of mid-70s music. This one did, and I loved each and every one.
Some of what’s portrayed, specifically Papale’s failure during his first pro game and his amazing turnaround in game two (calling a special teams audible which enabled him to make a tackle, creating a fumble, which he carried to the end zone, setting up an Eagles win against the Giants) seemed too contrived to be real. I checked, but the detailed game-by-game stats you find today just aren’t available online.
Papale is credited with one takeaway fumble in ’76 – so maybe.
It was nice to see names on uniforms and know they were really there. Harold Carmichael and Bill Bergey – these guys were big deals in Philadelphia. My bet is, back in 1976, backup quarterback Mike Boryla never thought his jersey would be featured in a movie, but it’s there too.
There was little suspense. You know he makes the team and how the movie will end.
What was there was lots of passion. That’s what made it worthwhile in the theater and what made it acceptable to be a fan in that 4-10 season.
¹ – I was thinking Jessica Alba or possible Hillary Swank as Helaine, but somehow she must have been written out. Damn Hollywood!