Don't Pull My Chain Dr.Cary Nelson!

     I've been getting a number of "pitches" from Dr. Nelson and the Health Institute Sciences. They all start out with a command to "turn on your computer sound." Then begins the rant to save my life, especially if I'm older than 55 years of age. And if I don't prevail for the next ten or fifteen minutes of legal garble, along with rapid fire line drawings and the uttered words printed on my computer screen, I could suddenly die without saying goodbye to my loved ones.
     Here's a sample of the verbal garbage:  "I can tell you now there are four foods you should never ever eat again! (photo of a hamburger) and I will name them. But first I want to insist you hear me out in full. Don't delete this life-saving message that will allow you to throw away those pills, stop eating killer food and begin a new life all over again. Are you listening to me and reading what I am saying as well? I hope so. Sit back and relax. Forget the greedy drug companies. They only want your money and you could die as well. Or become so infirmed that you are on your back in a retirement home. Your house is sold to pay the bills as you suffer in that home, filled with lepers and sick octogenarians destined to die. But there is hope with my message and the information that can jump start your life so you can laugh, smile, run and eat healthy food to sustain your living to 100 years or more! Take your hand off that DELETE key. Listen to me. If you can't hear read my words on the screen. It's O.K. for you to record what I am about to tell you. Use your cell phone recording device. Or have a nurse do it for you. But do it now! Let's not fool around anymore with your life. It's too precious! I can save you like nobody else can. We'll get to the bad foods, questionable drugs and other killer ideas that you have been sick over. Let it be over. Listen to me. Read my lips! I hope you are ready to change your life once and forever. I have answers and solutions for you. But before I go on there are a few  subjects I want to discuss and this might take a half-hour. Do you want me to continue?  Of course you do. And I will reveal my secrets soon, but first................."
     I won't bore you any longer, loyal followers. Just hit that DELETE icon and go on with your own life, whether it be miserable or wonderful!

Merry Christmas 2015., Maybe.

     It was the week before Christmas several years ago. I remember it well because I had completed my shopping and was about to cross 42nd Street into Grand Central Station. Then I noticed the elderly man ahead was trudging across in Jim Conway fashion, i.e. like a 101 year old man. It was snowing and the street surface was all ice. He was beginning to slip and slide when an impatient taxi driver blasted his horn and began nudging the old guy who had two loaded shopping bags, one in each hand. He slipped down, bags and all, with wrapped presents spilled around.
     Other pedestrians stood on my side of the street, some shouting encouragement, while the taxi mashed a few presents and the driver kept honking and shouting obscentities out his open window. I could see that this outrageous taxi driver had long dirty blonde hair and clutched a cigar in his dirty mouth (in both senses of the word).
    The pitiful old guy was attempting to salvage his gifts strewn around and was on his hands and knees in the ice and snow. Several male passengers anxious to make their train schedule shouted to help him, but he waved them away. All this time the taxi driver continued his harrassment, while a worried passenger in the back seat decided to get out and run. He did without paying the fare.
     Now the irate driver, his cab only inches from the old man, with traffic backed up and honking galore....it was rush home time....was pushing the man with his foot and still screaming epithets. Talk about a deranged guy, that driver took the cake!
     Several dozen of us were now watching this sad saga and two well constructed men talked about going over and punching the taxi driver for his outrageous behavior. If I were 20 years younger I would have joined them. Then, suddenly, the man on the ice got up, flashed wallet and revealed a gold New York Police Department shield. He was a retired detective, armed (yes, he had a revolver at the ready) and he placed the taxi driver under arrest.
     Simultaneously, two police cars came to a stop, the officers had their guns out and they took the taxi driver away. Those of us on the sidewalk broke into cheers and applause. The driver had dropped his cigar and had a catatonic expression on his face. He might lose his license and even go to jail (it's against the law in New York State to assault a senior citizen).
     A good samaratin helped the detective gather his packages, one of the police officers drove the taxi to the side of the street and traffic flowed by again. We all went our separate ways, knowing that the long hand of the law can often arrive in the Saint Nick of the time!

Let's Apply For A Quicken Loan or Reverse Mortgage

     I called the toll free number and it was answered by a sour sounding telemarketer working in a boiler room environment. There were a dozen voices chatting away in the background and the man representing Quicken sounded like he had flunked the training course to work for this company.
     The Quicken salesman was really low class. I tried to beg off but he hung on with constant banal chatter. I hung up. He called me right back. I asked for the free DVD, plus two of the free miniature magnifying glasses offered on ads. I was assured these materials would arrive soon.
     Three months later I still haven't received the DVD's or magnifying glasses. During that time I did receive a few phone calls from the same salesman. One call came at 8 am while sleeping; another at dinner time and again the following early morning. Too much gibberish to understand!
     But one thing certain; I do not intend to do any business whatsoever with Quicken Loans. They will survive without me!
    

How About A Met-Life Death Insurance Policy?

     According to the television ads by MET-LIFE anyone can buy a DEATH POLICY without having to undergo a medical exam or even reveal you might be totally confined to your bedroom with bone cancer. But there is a catch for this $20,000 bounty when you die. You have to be under the age of 75.
     Who are these acturaries kidding? Go to any doctor's office and you will see patients in their 80's and 90's waiting for appointments. Why should these hardy old-timers be denied DEATH INSURANCE? Yes, let's call it what it is, MET-LIFE, it's DEATH INSURANCE.
     Obviously, the insurance company doesn't want to risk anyone living to 100 with a paid up DEATH INSURANCE POLICY.  The payouts to these feeble people waiting for Heaven would be enormous when they all start falling and suffer broken bones with a cardiac arrest to boot.
     On the other hand, if you are under the age of 75, would like to be cremated and have your ashes scattered on the lawn of a nearby House of Worship, then I would suggest going for the twenty grand policy before you pass the age of 75.  This would avoid enormous funeral expenses that could cost thousands of dollars. And the party afterwards, including musicians and good food, is always a five figure sum.
     So why not plan to die cheap? I have made my plans. No fuss, no heroic efforts to save my life, no public funeral. Just call a taxi, give the driver $500 and a shovel, a small metal container with my ashes, along with the modest wooden headstone that reads "I HAD FUN," and tell him to drive to a wooded area nearby.
     This way, friends, relatives and fans can visit that site (a $10 fee will send them a map) and they can cry their eyes out, curse me out or say prayers. I just won't care anymore.

What Are Your Chances of Winning the Connecticut Lottery? Probably None!

     The odds against winning a scratch-off card $3,000,000 bonanza are too great to contemplate. There are hundreds of outlets selling scratch-off cards and millions of wrong numbers that don't match the tantalizing lottery ads on television. So why buy a card? Because we are all dreamers! And the super rich Connecticut Lottery controls the printing of scratch-off cards.
     Each card proclaims "15 chances to win" or "30 chances to win" and never ever do you read "15 chances to lose" or "30 chances to lose." Something like the wallet left on the sidewalk packed with newspaper strips, and a barely visible string to pull it away from the sucker trying to grab the money.
     I've been purchasing scratch-off cards for the past twenty years. I've won $100 a few times on a $5 card and invested in the Connecticut Lottery coffers. The profits are supposed to provide additional money for the state's educational institutions. Nevertheless,  school custodians make more than teachers. Nor has anyone viewed a Connecticut Lottery financial statement. Hmmmmmm.
     So forget your dreams for quick riches from scratch-off cards. Just play their game as I do and enjoy the scratching. You might get lucky. Probably not. It's still fun to try, and that's what I'm doing!

Does Liberty Mutual Save You Money? Hell No!!!

     We have had auto and home insurance for the past three years with Liberty Mutual. At the beginning the monthly cost for both policies was $75. Then that total has risen surreptitiously to $145 a month! So we haven't saved. We've been bilked!
     At first, regular calls to the Liberty Mutual agent were never returned. Then a few postcards to the President of the Company brought a response. It was mostly double talk to explain the company's overhead in applying new charges. And, guess what? That information was in the contract's small print that took a magnifying glass to read, and still not understand.
     Meantime, we're paying the piper, albeit there are a dozen insurance companies waiting in the wings to service us. But, unfortunately, queries and requests for a quote result in the same, if not higher, than we are presently paying. So we're stuck with being stiffed by a "reputable" insurance that advertises extensively to save customers money.
     Perhaps that is why so many millions are climbing aboard Donald Trump's bandwagon to "MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! But we're not climbing aboard that "fast boat" because he still owes me $900 from a default judgment I obtained in Small Claims Court in 1998. The "Donald" laughs all the way to his banks at such a debt. And he has gone to court to re-open my judgment that is good for twenty years.
     So I have three more years of life in my judgment and I plan to visit Atlantic City, NJ, pay the sheriff $50 and hold an auction for his Taj Mahal Hotel and Casino. I'll keep the first $900 and give him the next 55 million. Just stay tuned to QUESTIONBLE COMMENTARIES for a final solution.

Donald Trump for President; Dennis Rodman for Vice-President; Sara Palin for Secretary of State.

     Now that's a slate worth watching as the 2016 campaigns accelerate their rheteric on treadmills to oblivion and "Putney Swope" rears its satirical legacy. (Where are Robert Downey,Sr. and Michael Moore when we need them?)
     Donald Trump's balls are as big as ballast balloons.  He wears them on his chest. Dennis Rodman is a loose cannon who can also charm snakes. Sara Palin, as Secretary of State, would prove truly magical as she breast feeds another baby, holds court with her staff and watches Russia through a telescope on her Alaska property. So, folks, watch this team MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!
     Once Trump wins the Presidencial election in 2016 he will behave like a combination of Atila the Hun, Franklin D. Roosevelt and Jimmy Stewart. There will be invasions, fueled by a one year mandatory draft of all eligible men and women between the ages of 18 and 36. They will be trained and then sent on their way to serve or suffer a dishonorable discharge. So it's do or die for millions of young people.
     During this year of 2015 we are all living in real time history. Unbelievable? Absolutely! But there is excitement, humor and disbelief in the air. Otherwise we would be experiencing a lackluster barrage of political verbage that bores everyone to death.
     Personally, I'm pleased to see Donald Trump running for office. Granted, he didn't work his way up through the political system. So what? He has his own money to spend, his red, white and blue airplane and a beautiful family. Let's all stay tuned and enjoy the antics of these three baffoons!

Why Does Jerry Seinfeld Have Horse Teeth?

     I've often wondered why Jerry Seinfeld has kept his horse teeth. They often distract from his otherwise wonderful monologues on talk shows. He can certainly afford to have his teeth fixed to look better. Ditto for country singer Jewel who has maintained those jagged teeth of hers throughout a long career of hit recordings.  I wonder how many men she has soul kissed who had to get lip stitches at a hospital emergency room?  Doesn't seem to matter. Fans still love her for who she is.
     I already wrote a blog about David Letterman's space teeth. He finally got that "hole in the wall" covered, and looked better for the improvement. But his personality remained the same. Don't ask. Just read my blog about that venerable clown in sheep's clothing.
     Another spaced out person is Michael Strahan, former New York Giant's linebacker, now hosting the Morning Show on NBC-TV with two middle-aged ladies. Strahan has a very large space between his upper two front teeth. Very distracting and I suspect makes it difficult for him to enunciate words. I was going to send him a dollar to start a fund called, LET'S FILL MICHAEL'S SPACE! But he would probably just spend the money raised.
     Remember the southern redneck who won Powerball's jackpot? I think it was around 450 millionj. He took the cash, bought a lot of stuff, left $400,000 in his pickup truck that was stolen and never, ever repaired his teeth. They always looked rotten from smoking cigars and chewing tobacco. He eventually gave most of his winnings away. Then went broke. Nor did he ever have dentures. Too bad.
     But let's get back to Jerry Seinfeld's horse teeth. If he ever calls me to have coffee in one of his antique cars and tell some funny stories, I 'll return his envelope filled with cash with a reminder, "Jerry, here's some money to fix your horse teeth. It's my gift to you."

WE THE PEOPLE ARE GOING TO THE DOGS!

                      

     With over thirty million people unemployed in America, and no positive sign that the recession (depression?) will end soon, we are obviously “going to the dogs!” Therefore, WE THE PEOPLE intends to honor our millions of four-legged friends with a dramatic CANINE CONCERT on the Washington Mall during the summer of 2016.

     This musical extravaganza will feature a concert by professional musicians playing on a very high frequency that only dogs can hear. Of course their human handlers are welcome to attend, providing they promise to behave. A web site will be available the first of the new year for dog owners to sign up with their pet’s name, breed and age. There will be a limit of four dogs for each owner who plans to attend this historic CANINE CONCERT on the date to be announced.

     WE THE PEOPLE anticipate a million mutts and 500,000 handlers attending. There will be a live one hour telecast and internet streaming worldwide. It will definitely be a dog day to be remembered! And “man’s best friend,” dogs of all breeds and sizes, will have an opportunity to express their feelings about America in our nation’s Capitol. 

     According to the late psychiatrist, Dr. Joyce Brothers, "dog owners are anthropomorphic, that is, they see their pets as human beings by loving them, feeding them, walking them and sleeping with them.  The animals reciprocate by displaying unbridled affection. Their friendship is eternal."

    Therefore, WE THE PEOPLE will demonstrate our commitment to all dogs that we love them and will always treat them kindly.

                                                

WELCOME TO MENU'S, ROBOTS AND SPANISH!

     Cyberspace and the Internet (thanks to Al Gore?) are mostly wonderful. In mini-seconds an ingoramus can cough up a million answers to any question imaginable. For example, "What are Andy Warhol's measurements? or "Name the brand of Cuban cigar that John F. Kennedy smoked."
Y'all know what I'm talking about! Quite frankly, we're all stupid when it comes to computers. That is, when they haven't crashed or freeze on a page.
     Then there are the menu's we all have to endure. They have caused me to bite my nails and scratch my behind again. (Don't laugh. Nadel lost at Wimbledon to a lowly rated wannabe, whom I won't dignify by mentioning his name, and he was always scratching his butt between serves). The proliferation of options on a menu can drive any sane person to Prozac or other addictive drugs.
     How about all those robots talking to you? Don't interrupt or you'll be chastised and disconnected; or worse, transferred to another menu! This endless destruction of our psyches has got to end somehow. Just blame your modem and keep going. You'll succeed eventually, with a liberal amount of profanity upstaging the music you have playing to soothe your indignation.
     If you don't speak English, you certainly understand Spanish. The latter is an option on just about every menu on the computer. I grew up speaking English, along with typing that uses hyphens, dashes, quotation marks and paragrahs indented . My tenure in cyberspace is at peril. Big Brother is watching me and I expect to be tied up and tortured in the future. So be it.
     If a robot suggests Spanish as an option, where are Dutch, German, French, Farsi, Italian and a dozen other languages?  The Mensa Midgets who scanned the millions of pages and inserted them into computers laid a big egg by ignoring other languages. Shame on them!
     Nevertheless, I am pleased to feel comfortable with my iMac for word processing (a/k/a typing) and to send Emails at no cost. My support of the US Post Office has been diminished 99$%. Boo-hoo. Let them keep raising the cost of stamps by half-a-cent for more confusion. Hardly anyone knows how to add or substract numbers anyhow. But I can!
     So, on these sour notes I leave you for reading the NEW YORK TIMES. Not on Kindle, but in old-fashioned news print. I still can't give up turning those large pages and then putting them aside to wrap garbage for the big round can outside our garage door. What fun! And more rants later.
    

Yes, the Side Effects Might Kill you!

     Step right up folks and choose your poison.  How about some Januvia for your Diabetes II?  Or Stelara for clear skin? Come one come all. But user beware because there are horrible side effects that can cripple and even kill you! Also, if you are allergic to these drugs you must get permission from your doctor. Tell him all the medicine you are presently taking. Do not drive or operate heavy machinery.
      No drinking of hard liquor whatsoever, even wine would do you harm. Always call your doctor first, especially if you experience a dry throat, low blood pressure, high blood pressure, extreme perspiration, loud coughing, swollen legs, growling stomach, incontinence, internal or external bleeding, double vision, shortness of breath and sore feet.
     Should any of these side effects appear, do not hesitate to call 911,  or quickly have someone drive you to the nearest hospital for ER treatment. That could save your life. Yes, you might die from an overdose of any of the powerful drugs being advertised on radio, television and in newspapers and magazines.
     Then too, folks, your doctor can offer you free samples. Things like Anore, Namenda, Invokana, Brintallix, Victoza, Lyrica, Harvori, etc. He has drawers filled with the tiny pills from drug company salesmen. Just remember, "if you don't ask, you don't get."  And drug companies "have what it takes to take what you've got." The latter can be reduced to one word:  MONEY. 
     You will never see a drug company's front lawn looking like Tobacco Road, with used auto  tires, broken glass, rusty wheel barrels and auto parts strewn around. No, their lawns are beautifully kept manicured to look like church property. Don't even think of throwing an empty soda can or Starbuck coffe cup on the lawn. Security cameras will have recorded your foul behavior and you will be evicted and possibly beaten up by mean security guards.
     Finally, I suggest you stop using any drugs at all. Live a healthy life by eating moderately, exercising and laughing out loud at all the indignities of life that threaten you. Remember, laughter is the only tranquilizer without side effects. Laughing releases endorphins within your body that protect your immune system. Forget about calling your doctor. He's much too busy either playing golf or on the phone with his stock broker.
     I hope you will feel some solace from this Blog, because that's its purpose. We are surrounded by so many "cure all" drugs that do nothing but empty your wallet. Don't fall into a sucker trap that addicts you to pills that pretend to perform. Nor should you interrupt your doctor's golf game or his purchase of stock. He needs to pay his malpractice insurance, in the event you have to sue.

Please Don't Follow Me and I Won't Follow You!

     The last time I tweeted on Twitter was several years ago when I laid down for a nap. Unlike Rip Van Winkle I don't plan to awaken for another year or two. Why?  Because I just followed Bob, Miles and Manny. Actually I scrolled down their never ending weekend of boring activities and was almost ready to throw this computer out of my office window. Right through the glass! That's how disgusted I was to get trapped into follow these three lizards slithering through life with nothing to do. Yuck!
     Let's get started. I'm going to bore you to death. It might be difficult because you might already be dead. How many characters do I have to use for a tweet? Is it 127?  137?  I'm not sure. WTF. I don't pay attention to rules. Here goes. Start reading. If you can last through the whole Blog I'll send you a crushed banana that I purposely stepped on for the Grand Prize. Otherwise you get nothing!
     I woke up this morning and yawned. Then I took off my blanket and guess what? I had a sheet under the blanket. I said sheet, not "shit."  Actually I had to sit on the can and sent a nice cigar shaped turd into the Hudson River.
     Here's another Tweet. I turned on the TV news. Two prisoners have escaped from the MAXIMUM ESCAPE PRISON IN DANAMORA, NEW YORK. That "joint" is only 20 miles from the Canadian border. Both guys are killers; so if they kill again it won't matter. How many life sentences without parole do you need to be incarcerated forever? Answer: only one.
     The best part of this prison escape is the $100,000 for a "snitch" to call in and tell where they are. They have to be somewhere, don't they? And who can resist earning a hundred grand with only one phone call on an ipad? Very tempting. If I see those killers I'm calling the FBI, CIA, HSA and Anderson Cooper. He will be taking the Red Eye to where they are and collect the reward money.
     Radio Station CHUM in Toronto broadcast an exclusive interview with the two killers (Called A and B to protect their families who are now in the Witness Protection Program for their safety).
A:  We decided to break out a year ago when the food menu dropped to a new low.
B:  Yeah. Baloney for breakfast, baloney for lunch and baloney for suppeer. That's a lot of baloney!
A:  It wasn't only the cuisine. There were lumps in my mattress and rats living with me.
B.  I thought you made good rat meat loaf for my birthday.
A.  That was a special occasion, shithead. Don't expect any cake next year without a urine flavor.
B.  Ummmm. I can taste it already. Will I get to lick your can?
A.  Maybe. If you promise to suck my toes.
B.  Certainly. Now let's plan to break out of jail and see if we can stay out for at least 72 hours.
A. Good idea. We'll separate and I'll meet you at McDonald's for dinner tomorrow night.
B. O.K. wear the Burka and pretend you have tits. Nobody will know you're one of the escapees.
A.  I'm ready. It fits like I'm going to walk on the Red Carpet. I'll have a D Cup size.........
B.  Oh shut up and get ready to drill. Here's a chain saw and a map of the tunnel we'll be crawling through for the outside world. Just keep drilling and don't make any noise.
A.  I'll be careful. Especially with the silencer on my drill. Nice touch to our escape plan.
B.  If we get caught. Be ready for Plan B...
A.  I didn't get Plan B. What is it?
B.  How should I know pisshead!  You were supposed to leave it under my door...
A.  You don't have a door. You're in the hole, asshole.
B.  Be careful how you insult me pinhead. I might have to kill you.
A.  Ha ha.  GFY dummy. Let's end this and get to work on the tunnel.
     I'm back to napping. Don't wake me if those two guys get caught. I'll read the whole story in the NEW YORK TIMES.  Thanks for reading, folks. I'll do better next time.

How To Have A Great Summer Party!

     It was the summer of 1978. Lou Wolfson's horse Affirmed had won the Triple Crown (thanks to profits he had made from financing our satirical movie on sex, "Is There Sex After Death?" featuring Buck Henry  ("The Graduate"), Robert Downey, Sr. ("Putney Swope") and other known performers. My wife, Jeanne, and I lived in Westport,CT with daughter Jennifer, then six years old, and we had an antique Duluth, Winnepeg & Pacific Railroad Caboose in the back yard.
     We decided to have one grand party in our spacious back yard, headlining the caboose, and give all our guests a month's notice. We sent out thirty  invitations and kept fingers crossed for a nice summer day with no rain. Within a week, the phone began ringing. Those invited wanted to bring parents, children, relatives and even neighbors from New York, New Jersey and Connecticut.
     A week before the event we had 150 adult guests arriving with 30 kids to entertain. We obviously would require a production as follows:
1. A printed program along with a list of the guests, their ages, marital status, profession, hobbies and take home pay. Also address and phone.
2.  A string quartet to play on top of the caboose and an eight member jazz band to alternate 20 minute sets. The latter would be on the nearby basketball court.
3. A dancing horse and its rider from the Apple Circus who was a friend of ours.
4. A magician to entertain the children near one of three ponds.
5. 200 kazoos for everyone to play "Bridge on the River Kwai" (Colonel Bogey March) and parade down the street at the conclusion of the party that would last from 2 pm until 6 pm.
6. Three ceremonial trumpets would play a brief fanfare for each arrival. I would announce their presence over the bull horn, as one of our production staff handled the tray of food each person was asked to bring.
7. A local policeman would be hired to direct traffic and point out parking areas for cars.
8. Professor Richard Brown, from The New School, offered to film the day's event for his movie class.
     Everything worked out perfectly. The weather was beautiful, there was plenty of delicious food on the buffet tables, the music had people listening and dancing, only one three year old fell in the pond and was quickly rescued, there was every profession imaginable attending......from Al Goldstein, publisher of Screw Magazine, to Dick Wittingham, Editor-in-Chief of LIFE Magazine.
     So, folks, if you are going to throw a very special party to be remembered forever, follow our script as displayed. No charge for being a copycat.

What Will Bruce Jenner Do With His Extra Body Part?

     He could give it to someone. Perhaps hold an auction on eBay, if they would allow "something questionable." Probably not.  Or gift the body part to a relative. Another possible is to display it, on the mantlepiece, in a jar filled with pickle juice. That might seem too gross for a newly made woman. On the other hand a DESPERATE HOUSEWIFE wouldn't hesitate for a moment to display her hubby's hose.
     I would love to question Lorena Bobbitt's ex husband, John, about this situation. The last I heard, he was an entertainer in Las Vegas, allowing tourists to throw plastic rings, from a distance, on to his sewn on and extended pee-pee. As a lady from New Bern,NC said on the "Jenny Jones Show,"  "Too bad Lorena told authorities where she threw his joint."
     Now, you readers are all wondering why I haven't just flat out said "penis" so far. Well, out of deference to Bruce Jenner, albeit his cover photo on VANITY FAIR MAGAZINE will sell at least 15 million copies, he/she deserves a little bit of modesty and privacy. Hmmmmmm. Not a very good excuse!
     But I am a media provocateur somewhat sad today. Why? Because the NEWSEUM in Washington,DC, a depository of news memorabilia, has rejected my offer to sell them my memorabilia over the past fifty years. I have thousands of letters, tapes and photos that could provide incredible source material among their other collections. Oh well, BROWN UNIVERSITY also decided not to buy my stuff. I believe i lost by one vote.
     So let's get back to Bruce Jenner. Probably the happiest person in the world (for awhile at least)  is Bill Cosby. All his attention on the top of the news has vanished, even though drugged woman number forty has claimed she was violated. Wait! Is it possible that Cosby and Jenner might become a twosome?  Never mind.
     There are so many negatives going through my mind today, ranging from the despicable orange haired killer in Colorado and his sobbing parents in the courtroom, to the fact that the late Paul Newman (may he RIP) who took his own popcorn to movie theaters. Yes, there is quite a distance between those two observations. And I will end today's blog on that because it's time for me to sulk.

Cuddle and Caress Me but no Kissing!

     Yes, folks, just like ordering anybody or anything from Craig's and Angie's Lists, you can pay a website to connect you with a male, female or gay person to cuddle and caress. BUT NO KISSING! And certainly no sex, God forbid. This website doesn't have hermaphrodites either. For shame.
     In this day and age of instant gratification (one touch on the computer will reveal 234,000,000  possibles in .05 seconds), we are all overwhelmed by the enormity of digital electronics and fiber optics. Then there are the "menus" when you call a company. After wearing you down with extension numbers to reach, there is a beep for leaving a message. The robot signs off by saying, "Have a nice day. Call back again during our business hours. Thank you."
     Frustration sets in. You want to talk to a human being. Maybe open the window and shout out to strangers below, I'M MAD AS HELL AND I'M NOT GOING TO TAKE IT ANY LONGER! Where is Paddy Whatshisname when we need him? More than ever now. Just pass the Prozac. Smoke a weed and have a drink. We're all trapped into this web of gobbledygook. And there's no escape!
     Here are some of the questions asked of people seeking someone to cuddle:

1. What is your real name?
2.  Where do you live?
3  How do you live?
4.  Why do you live?
5.  Describe your last meal if you are to be executed in the morning.
6.  Your favorite puppy is dangling from a very high cliff in your right hand; your BFF in the left.   Which one would you save from dropping?
7.  Have you ever been arrested?   Why?
8.  What is the dumbest thing you ever did?
9.  If you had your life to live over again, whom would you be?
10.  Name your favorite drink.
ll.  What sort of job do you have?
12.  Have you ever been fired?     Why?
13.  If your boss called you an idiot, what would you say?
14.  How do you like these questions so far?
15.  What is your present salary?
16.  How little do you declare on your Income Tax Return?
17.  Do you stutter, whimper or belch easily?
18.  True or False.  Castration is a form of government in Cuba.

 NOTE:  YOU HAVE PROBABLY FAILED THIS TEST.  TRY AGAIN IN SIX MONTHS.
    

What's wrong with French, Italian or German?

     Why do we only hear Spanish when calling a company office? I mean, English is obviously more wide spread. BTW I'm sick and tired hearing a voice say "Hi, I'm Chester, can I help you?" But Chester sounds Spanish and is probably an outsourcer in Manila. You're right. He is! And I soon learn his real name is Pedro. But he went to school for a week and learned some English and received a new name. Thanks a lot A.T.& T., IBM and a few other thousand companies!
     I am not a racist (I once closed down a restaurant in Columbus,OH when they refused to serve an African American customer because he had a black skin and, as the manager said, "our other white customers would be offended." Four days of picketing and they went out of business). Then I began receiving hate calls and threats on my life. All cowards and scumbags. They wouldn't know how to strangle a snake as it wound around and around their necks.
     But back to this language thing. Why don't USA companies trying to save money by hiring foreigners to stay in their own country and pretend to be American citizens utilize Italy, France and Germany? As our population continues to explode, they will call on those folks overseas in a hundred countries willing to work for $6 an hour. Disney does not have a monopoly on this strategy!
     Another bummer on the phone is trying to attract a human being. Every company has a robot to answer the phone, and you have a choice of only two languages: English or Spanish. What about adding German, Italian, French, Greek, Farsi, Creole, Dutch, Swedish, Danish and even Polish?
     I'm not too keen about Dutch. The last time I was in Amsterdam with my good friend, Paul Hiatt, everyone seemed to be riding bicycles. In fact, I almost got toppled by one that rushed by me at 30 mpr. When I sat on one, only one of my cheeks would fit on the seat (no pun intended) and after an hour I had a sore butt. Obviously, the manufacturers of bicycle seats must be in collusion with the makers of Preparation H.
     One final beef. FedEx is over extended with their robots. They answer telephones only in English or Spanish (shame on them!). They must have someone who speaks Hebrew. And when the idiot robot asks you a question, you have to give one of his answers that are repeated as though you are a four-year-old kid. If you change one word of your own, the robot whips you over to an insipid menu. More frustration. FedEx can take a long walk on a short pier. I'm sticking with USPS!

Did Walter Cronkite ever broadcast fiction as fact?

     Oh yes he did during the early 60's on his nightly network CBS-TV news show. The subject matter was "clothing naked animals for the sake of decency, namely all horses, cows, dogs, cats and any animal standing taller than 4 inches or longer than 6 inches."  And that was my mantra 1955-63!
     Walter Cronkite sat stoically silent along side G. Clifford Prout, President of SINA, the Society for Indecency to Naked Animals (a/k/a Buck Henry "The Graduate") spewed out the material I had written: "......those cows and bulls are not grazing. They are hanging their heads in shame because they are naked. That's why SINA has declared the New Jersey Turnpike a moral disaster area!"
     Prout/Buck then reached down and picked up his ukelele, playing and singing the SINA Marching Song: "Wings of Decency"

     High on the wings of SINA
     We fight for the future now
     Let's clothe every pet and animal
     Whether dog, cat, horse or cow.

     G. Cliford Prout our President
     He works for you and me
     So clothe all your pets and
     Join the march for world wide decency.

    S-I-N-A that's our call
     All for one and one for all
     Hoist our flag for all to see
     Waving for morality.

     Onward we stride together
     Stronger in everyway
     All mankind and his animal friends
     For SINA, S-I-N-A.

     When Prout completed this seven minutes of satire, the switchboard lit up like a Christmas tree. All the callers recognized Buck Henry immediately from "Saturday Night Live" and knew he was playing a superb prank on the venerable Walter Kronkite. At that time, Buck was actually a writer for the popular CBS-TV daytime Garry Moore Show. But Kronkite didn't have a clue about that!
     However, thereafter he occasionally kicked the furniture around in his office, disgusted at being so taken in by an employee of his very own network. And to his dying day, Walter Cronkite told friends he remained angry. He wasn't mad at Hitler, Mussolini, Khadafy, Castro or Hussain. Only two clowns named Buck Henry and Alan Abel.
    

Is David Letterman a Schmuck?

     Well, it all depends. I've been on an elevator with him and, although he knew me, Letterman refused to talk. In fact he just plain ignored me. That's a schmuck! I remember the time Buck Henry was with his close buddy, George Manos, and Buck met Michael Fuchs at a TV function. Fuchs, then the CEO of HBO,  refused to accept Manos' extended hand, ignored him, had a brief conversation with Buck and departed. Fuchs is also a schmuck!
     A few years ago, when I had two tickets to Letterman's TV show at the Ed Sullivan Theater, I sent two actor friends, Shel and Sara. Letterman's guest for the entire program was tennis pro Andre Agassi. Shel and Sara sat in the front row very close to the stage. He was a very talented guy who spoke Farsi, Greek and English of course. Sara would just oh and ah, because they were going to pretend to have sex!
     As David and Andre conversed, my amorous couple assumed the 69 position. She was on top of him in his seat groaning with pleasure. Suddenly, people in the audience were standing to watch in disbelief. Letterman got up, walked to the edge of the stage, shaded his eyes from the overhead lights and wondered what was happening. He couldn't quite make it out, but continued his conversation going back to his throne.
     Meantime, as the audience members whispered and talked about the action in the first row, ushers and security guards were in a huddle. Four of them rushed down to Shel and Sara. She had her dress up around her breasts and revealed pink panties. They were steaming and I mean steaming! The staff tried to grab Sara but she held on tight to her lover and they continued simulating intercourse. The theater was experiencing total mayhem.
     Shel spoke in Farsi: "please leave us alone. We're having sex." One of the ushers from Israel understood Farsi and replied, "sir, you must stop this immediately! You two are disrupting the show!"
As Sara became more aggressive in her movements, Shel spoke next in Greek: "I can't stop. I am about to have an orgasm!" None of the staff understood what he said. That didn't matter. Letterman was beginning to fumble with his questions to Agassi. The taping went to a commercial. And the audience cheered, laughed, applauded and stomped their feet. What a happening for them!
     More staff members appeared down front and physically carried both Shel and Sara up the aisle to the Exit Doors. Then the two lovers were deposited outside the theater on the sidewalk. I greeted them at my suite in the Milford-Plaza Hotel where dinner was waiting for the three of us. They were so hyped and excited over their successful prank they couldn't stop laughing. Tears flowed as I joined in this celebration of sorts.
     When the show aired that night there was some editing, but not much. Letterman still wore his white socks and pretended that nothing unusual had happened during his show. Hmmmm. I still think he is a schmuck.
    

How could David Goldberg die so young at 49?

     I was stunned to read that this entrepreneur worth two billion had fallen on a treadmill and lay unconscious while bleeding to certain death at a five star resort hotel in the South Pacific. It was only 4 pm in the afternoon when he began treading. Where were other treaders? Nobody else around to revive him? Where were hotel or his personal security guards? NOBODY WAS AROUND!!!
     There has to be an explanation. Goldberg had donated substantial funds to President Obama's campaign and visited the White House with his wife. Even former President Clinton had Secret Service agents within hailing distance when he was testing Monica Lewinsky's body parts with a cigar. I was shockedwhen Mark Zuckerberg said on "60 Minutes" that he walked to his office from his apartment. Every terrorist in the world could track him and arrange for a kidnapping/ransom scenario.
     So perhaps David Goldberg had let his guard down and was the victim of a kidnapping-for-ransom plot that failed.  He may have fought back and ended up falling on his head off the treadmill. Or worse, the kidnappers banged him around, panicked, left him bleeding and ran off to their hovels. All that sounds plausable. But will we ever know? Was there a medical exam before the speedy burial? No news is bad news to me!
     I find it difficult to believe that the sudden death of David Goldberg was the result of him losing his balance on a treadmill in the afternoon at a fancy upscale resort hotel all alone. Even Warren Buffet or Bill Gates would have some sort of electronic device to summon help.
     Well, maybe the body will be exhumed and an examination reveal torture bruises and open up a kind of scenario I described. Let's hope so!

WILL YOU BE MY BABY DADDY?

.                                                            Will You Be My Baby Daddy?

                                                   (A TV Reality Show  © 2015 Bruce Spencer)

                                                                    spencerprods@yahoo.com

                                                                      (212) 714-8298

                                                                                                              

                                                                                                                                                                                                     

                                                                   SYNOPSIS

     This weekly hour reality show displays the charisma of 12 handsome men, aged 25-45, who are auditioning and competing for the honor of supplying their sperm to an attractive lady who wishes to become pregnant. But without the formality of a relationship that leads to marriage. The show is offering $100,000 for a lucky finalist willing to impregnate her, because this woman desires a baby with no strings attached.  And millions of viewers can help choose the winner!

    The setting will be a luxury hotel resort where an entire cast lives and communicates with one another.  During the taping, over a one-month period, various mind games are played, along with sports, the candidates describe themselves, discuss the moral and legal issues, and each man spends one-on-one time with the woman who asks: WILL YOU BE MY BABY DADDY?.

     Every week one contestant is eliminated, announced by a hostess, who performs with her BFF seeking a charismatic, talented and intelligent sperm donor.  The remaining men continue on WILL YOU BE MY BABY DADDY? until ten are dismissed. Then, the final two appear on the last show, with voting by viewers, to determine which one wins the right to offer his sperm and receive $100,000.

       Auditions for WILL YOU BE MY BABY DADDY?, in New York City, are bound to attract  hundreds of men anxious to become the singular sperm donor. This event is newsworthy and guarantees high ratings for a controversial new reality television program.   Selected men will have an initial audition on video tape.  All others file their resumes and photos.   A final audition determines the 12 lucky ones.

      WILL YOU BE MY BABY DADDY?  Is going to be discussed and debated on the Internet and around every office water cooler in America.  Why?   Because of the moral, legal and financial ramifications. Religious leaders and morality groups will lead the parade of consenters and dissenters over the moral implications. Columnists, and even cartoonists, will have a field day commenting on the monetary aspects leading to recordings, books, films and stage plays. Thus, enormous word-of-mouth interest in viewing this program.

NOTE: We are presently seeking a producer with funds to finance a one-hour pilot.   Are you he or she?

                                                                                   

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  

But How Will Hillery Clinton Salute the Troops?

     I can’t remember the last time I saw a woman salute. Yes, I can. It was First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt after she broke a bottle of champagne over a newly launched submarine. The officers were standing on the conning tower and she gave them a salute. It was embarrassing!

     And so Hillery take heed. Husband Bill can teach you. Your hand and forearm must be rigid, respectiful and commanding. None of  this limp stuff. You can’t seem like a pussy cat. You must display the strength of PM Margaret Thatcher and the wisdom of Mother Teresa. No small feat.

     Remember, Hillery, you will be Commander-in-Chief of the United States Army, Marines, Air Force, Coast Guard and Navy. Millions of men and women waiting your command, whatever. So you can’t be a whimp when you salute. Start practicing NOW, just in case you win the election.

     Let’s take President Obama’s salute. No, you take it. His salute is like a mouse peering out of a hole in the wall to see if the cat is around. There is no personality in his salute. It’s too swift and uncertain. All over in 1.2 seconds. Nevertheless, he still gets proper respect from the military. Even if a bit shakey.

     If President Obama is reading this blog, I suggest he research the salutes of Generals Swartzkoph and Powell. Also Eisenhower, Patton and Rommel. They had strong starch in their shorts! No mistaking their leadership!

     But for a woman it’s different. She doesn’t have the bones or brawn to play linebacker or hit a home run with the bases loaded. That’s nature’s way of saying “stay home, cook, clean and have babies.” Of course that was originally quoted by Simple Simon in 1646. Our society has changed dramatically since then.

     We still have to ask: how will Hillery Clinton salute the troops?

Let's All Kiss the Ground We Love!

     When was the last time you thanked your Deity for living in America? Rather than Kenya, Yemen, Syria, Pakistan, North Korea, Lybia, Lebanon, Uganda, Iraq, Afghanastan or Palistine? Probably never. I know I haven't. But I'm thinking about it now. Especially after the massacre in Kenya, the suicidal airplane pilot and the ravaging of Syria and Iraq by ISIS that never ends.
      So how come we Americans have abdicated our precious freedoms and concentrated instead on police brutality, racism, stuffing our stomachs with calories and intensive road rage. BTW did the cops ever find the low life in Texas who shot a woman through the glass window, after she honked her horn at him for being an asshole? All he needed was a dirty license plate to escape his punishment. And, apparently he has.
     In general I despair the indifference most people show towards their inherited freedoms. The other day I stayed in the car at WAL-MART's, while my wife shopped for a light weight wheel barrell. That hour in the passenger's seat was an eye opener for me. People of all sizes, shapes, colors and dress. Here is what I noticed:

     1.  A 300+ plus pound man struggled with his overloaded basket-on-wheels to reach his car. I give him a year to live.
     2. A swarthy-looking mother with four kids struggled to herd them into car seats with restraints. They wiggled in and out, finally leaving the car, much to her dismay. I guessed that 2 of the 4 boys willl be incarcerated someday.
     3. A little old lady in her 90's behind the wheel had taken up two spaces to park her Lexus. She slowly backed up, nearly squashing another oldie behind his loaded cart, then scared the crap out of him with a blast on her horn. Yes, he left a small feces on the ground. Forget about kissing anywhere around that old fart!
     4.  A gay man came out of WAL-MART's holding a very tiny plastic bag. I figured he must have bought a couple of screws. (No pun intended. And shut up gay rights activists. They all do have such tiny asses. Perfect for riding bicycles in Denmark with those little seats. The bike manufacturers must be in collusion with the makers of PREPARATION-H.
     Well, in the spirit of Fareed Zakarea, my favorite telecaster with the best sense and delivery, this is my take for the day. And I will kiss the ground everyday!
    

Oh dear what can the matter be Hugh Hefner?

     When my wife, Jeanne, and I completed the satirical movie, "Is There Sex After Death?" featuring Buck Henry ("The Graduate," "Get Smart," "Saturday Night Live"), we opened at the Playboy Theater on 57th Street in New York City.  This was Sunday October 24, 1971 and there were 600 people inside for a full house to witness this world premiere.
     One reason for the sellout at 6 pm was a line around the block at 4 pm. They were all "shills" I had hired to stand in line for an hour, and that sight attracted real patrons willing to pay admission for this satire on sex. Our staff, including associate producer Michael Rothschild, were overjoyed. We spent a year creating this independent feature for only $80,000.There was very little left for advertising.
     Also, it was a big gamble. Besides Buck Henry we had Robert Downey, Sr. ("Putney Swope") and Andy Worhol's favorite "honey bun," Holly Woodlawn. Then there were the PR stunts: the Sexmobile, an RV decorated appropriately, touring Manhattan streets, and stenciling sidewalk crossings with IS THERE SEX AFTER DEATH? PLAYBOY THEATER 10/24/71. The latter activity would get you arrested nowadays!
     So, Jeanne and I are sitting in the balcony with our attorney Bob Schwartz. The lights dim and the 88 year old projectionist throws a switch on the Hortson Projector (a French invention that enlarged our only 16 mm print to 35 mm on the screen). Unfortunately, the old man in the booth couldn't see too well and threaded the film around the wrong knobs. The film jammed, caught fire and that's what the audience saw on the screen. They hooted and stomped their feet with impatience.
     As Jeanne sprang over to the projection booth (she had directed and edited the movie), I ran down the stairs and up the aisle to the stage. Then I spoke to the audience, offering free vasectomy operations to the first 100 men at the conclusion of the film and discussed the sex life of the dinosaur. Also a little known fact that cave men would tie a string at the base of their penis to remember something. They remembered it was very painful.
     After ten minutes of my blather Jeanne had cleaned out the film gate and threaded the film properly. The lights dimmed and the movie played to the end for a standing ovation. I had returned to my seat in the balcony and quietly inquired of attorney Schwartz what the penalty was in New York state for murdering a projectionist. He said to forget it.
     That night, across the street in our hotel suite, production assistant Margery Horne came running down the hall with the early editions of the New York Times, Daily News and New York Post. We had received rave reviews, along with both radio and television news that evening. Jeanne and I did not sleep a wink. We even forgave the projectionist.
     Next day around noon I went down to the theater for the first showing at l pm. There was another line around the block! And they weren't shills. These were paying customers waiting to crowd the theater. Wow. Talk about being high. I could have done a Gene Kelly "Dancing In the Rain."
     Later that afternoon I received a phone call from Vincent Canby, the senior movie critic for the NEW YORK TIMES. He had been in the audience when we almost lost control of the premiere, and enjoyed my monologue on stage to keep the audience from leaving. "Just like the Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland movies when they put their shows on in the barn."
    Canby interviewed me over the phone and said he would write a feature article that would appear in the Sunday NEW YORK TIMES in about two weeks in the Arts and Leisure section. His article was a full page tribute to "Is There Sex After Death?" and every screening sold out with continual lines around the block.
    When Hugh Hefner read this Canby feature aboard his private jet, he had a bowel movement. So I heard from his associate, Benny Dunn. Why? Because Hef had booked Roman Polanski's "Macbeth" into the Playboy Theater within the next month. There was big trouble ahead. That will be discussed in another blog. So stay tuned!

I quit my day job to become a musician

      It was during the 60’s and I was working for the AAA in NYC. My job, along with ten others, was to sit around a long table at the headquarters on East 79^th St. in a lovely old Town House. It was 9 to 5 with an hour off for lunch and ten minutes on the hour to stand, stretch, visit the bathroom, etc. Very rigid and boring.

     A few minutes after 9 am the bags of mail would arrive from people all over the USA who belonged to the AAA, and a request to send a map with a green line we would make on the best route(s) to go from one city to another. The large mail bags would be dumped on the table and each of us had several hundred to complete that day. Or else. A drill sargeant would enter the room many times to see if we were not goofing off. He was a silver haired employee in his 50’s who had been in the Marines during World War II. An officer, but no gentleman. “Keep going you grunts,” he would shout. “ No screwing around on company time.”

      I was in a waiting period of six months in order to obtain my New York Local 802 Musician’s Union card. Then I could perform as a percussionist. I had my eye on the Radio City Music Hall Orchestra, 55 fine musicians playing four shows a day.

     After 4 months on the job with the AAA I was freaking out from that treadmill to oblivion. I would hyperventilate at the end of each day as I bolted for the door at 5 pm. I had to get out of this job somehow and not lose unemployment insurance, by being let go, rather than fired.

     I got my chance when one letter from a woman in Great Neck Estates, written on expensive paper with her name in gold letters, asked for a scenic route from her home to Asbury Park, NJ. Well, it’s a kind of direct route over the George Washington Bridge, or through the Holland or Lincoln Tunnels.

    But Mrs. Rubenstein underlined “scenic route.” So I drew my green line on the Grand Central Parkway west to the Hudson River Parkway, then North to Montreal, Canada along the Hudson River most of the way. Then west to the Palisades Parkway and South all the way on the other side of the Hudson River down to Asbury Park, NJ. This would be an overnight trip and I had suggested a nice Bed and Breakfast Inn near Montreal. This will certainly be my ticket to freedom.

     Sure enough, several days later, I was summoned into the AAA director’s office. There sat Mrs. Rubenstein, along with her chauffer.  She was in her 70’s and if eyes could kill, she had them right on me. (I had to sign all my map trips). The director, Homer Hotchkiss, recited the circumstances:  “Mr. Abel you sent this lady on a long journey overnight that would normally have taken two or three hours. How could you do this?”

     “Well sir,” I responded.  “I could see from her letter that she lived in an expensive area of Long Island and wanted to travel to her destination in New Jersey via a scenic route. So I prescribed one, in the spirit of the AAA policy for being properly responsive.”

     Mr. Hotchkiss looked at me with no sympathy; Mrs. Rubenstein just glared and tapped her gold handled cane on the floor. She said angrily, “We drove four hours North until I realized we were going out of our way. Wasted time, gas and money.”

     I apologized and was interrupted by Mr. Hotchkiss. “Clean out your locker, turn in your green marker and pick up two weeks severance pay. We’re laying you off now.”

PS I had a nice two week vacation and then went to work at Radio City Music Hall.

    

How To Go Broke Quickly!

     The PBS stations pitch products  with abandon. You're asked to adopt a kid in Africa, support a dog with a monthly contribution, take care of a serviceman with near morter wouds (for only $18 a month, deducted directly from your credit or debit card) or help the lepers in Basosutoland with a modest amount every month.
     These fund raisers are relentless with their pitches. If you subscribed to them you would be broke in six months! Would you pay $1,1800 for a pair of tickets to Andrea Borchelli's concert in New York City?  Some people would. Others are contented to watch his hour special on PBS=TV ("Portofino") for free. You can't beat that!
     QVC has made millions pitching everything from can openers to faux diamond studded dresses. Everything they sell on the air is overpriced and something you don't need. But viewers become compulsive buyers and eagerly buy the stuff. One little old maid was found in her one-room cottage deceased, surrounded by unopened boxes of irreistable goodies from QVC.
     By the time anyone has sent money to help out the homeless and the hapless, they will soon find that their bank account is being milked monthly. Small amounts at first. Then more later. Little by little. For example I had a very reasonable insurance for our auto and house, combined for a total of $90 a month from Liberty Mutual. A year later the monthly rate had climbed to $145.00!
     I am now shopping around for another insurance company, although Liberty Mutual has pleaded for another week to offer lower insurance premiums for the car and house, without any loss in the coverage. We shall see.
     Sorry to report all this bad news. But I did receive some good news in the mail today from my savings account with Bank of America. They rewarded me with $0.1 interest. Hooray!

I have nothing to say today....

     Yes. That's it. I have nothing to say today. Please try another Blog. Thanks for your compassion!

The award-winning documentary"Abel Raises Cain"

    The prestigious Aarhus Film Festival in Denmark (April 26-30, 2007) attracted filmmakers from around the world. “Abel Raises Cain,” produced, written, directed and edited by Jenny Abel and Jeff Hockett was entered in competition as a Danish Premiere.            
     At the April 30th Award Ceremony, the judges issued this unanimous statement:  “Abel Raises Cain” is a film you fall in love with right from the beginning.  It is a personal portrait of a rebel with a cause. Alan Abel’s daughter, Jenny, presents her father from an amused and compassionate perspective, with his pointed commentary on society. We have decided to give the prize for Best Documentary to the delightful film, “Abel Raises Cain.”
     Alan Abel, along with fellow prankster Paul Hiatt, represented the filmmakers and accepted a magnificently sculptured solid glass trophy by artist Mats Jonasson.  An overflow crowd of 400 responded with a standing ovation as Abel thanked everyone on the festival staff, including a cleaning lady who happened by.
     He then added: “Quite frankly I am disappointed in receiving only a glass trophy. Oprah Winfrey gives away cars to strangers!  You open a bank account and receive a TV or toaster. What is the value of this glass object? Is there an appraiser out there? How about a pawn shop in Copenhagen? Will this prize make a good doorstop? What is its purpose, besides sitting on the mantle?  I’m really flabbergasted. But delighted too for Jenny and Jeff. The documentary is a magnificent embarrassment to me.  Maybe I’ll do one called ‘Daughter Dearest.’  Meantime, I’ll leave you with one final complaint. The manufacturers of small bicycle seats in Denmark must be in collusion with the makers of Preparation H.”
     The audience stood up and applauded again for media prankster Alan Abel. He concluded this appearance with an additional hour of Q. and A. in the theatre courtyard.

I recently lost my BFF

TO: THE BEATTY FAMILY

FROM: Alan Abel

RE: Memories of the late and great Norman Beatty

     Norm Beatty and I grew up in Coshocton,OH, a small town with 12,000 people and the population never changed over the years.  The Mayor always explained this phenomenon: “Because every time a baby is born somebody leaves town.”

     Norm’s dad, Giovanni Baietti, gave music lessons from his house, Mrs. Baietti played standup bass, daughter Velma the cello and son Albert, the oboe and bass drum in the concert band. Norm was an outstanding trumpet player. He and I both banded and bonded throughout our school years. 

     We played together in his father’s summer concerts on the court square bandstand. After each concert we received either an ice cream bar or a bottle of “pop.” Mr. Baietti also formed the Coshocton Symphony Orchestra. His entire family were members, other musicians were recruited from the Columbus and Cleveland orchestras. There were four concerts a year on the stage of the 6^th Street Theater.

     The concerts were always sold out (400 people) and the 55 member orchestra played the standard classics. After the “1812 Overture”ended, the sheriff kept firing his blank pistol shots into the barrel….for cannon shot sounds….although I was waving him to stop. But he kept reloading and firing. Later we learned he had a glass eye and was hard of hearing.

     During high school Norm was always the lead trumpet player in all the musical ensembles in town. We had a dance band together….The Alan Paul Orchestra…..and played stock arrangements for school proms, dances at the Masonic Temple and at Lake Park Pavillon for summer dances. We had 3 trumpets, two trombones, 5 saxes and three rhythm.

    I always played drums and both Norm and I occasionally joined Pop Farver’s Hill Billy Band from Spring Mountain. We played square dances at Camp Gay Time, a CW dance hall about 2 miles from town. Pop had a family band: bass, accordian, violin, alto sax and clarinet.  Also Virge Lose on banjo who also drove the Owl Car from town to Camp Gay Time for young lovers. It was a beat up Ford with shades on the windows.

     Norm’s mother and father operated an Italian Restaurant, the Arcade, that was very popular for its great home cooked dishes. We ate there many times before a concert or dance with our band.

     Giovanni Baietti maintained his name, later changing to Jack Beatty. He could never obtain the high school band leader’s job because he lacked a college degree in music. But that didn’t ever stop him from teaching privately and leading the summer concert band and the symphony orchestra. Later in his life he did manage to obtain the band leader’s job at Cambridge High School.

     Every August, during summers in high school, Norm and I would spend that month in Columbus with the 300 member All Ohio State Fair Band. His father was one of eight assistant directors. Norm was brilliant as soloist playing “Carnival of Venice.” Dr. Louis E. Pete from Ashland conducted.

     During the month before graduation from C.H.S., May 1942, the school band was scheduled to play a concert for parents and others in the H.S. auditorium. Harold LeFever, the conductor, was a mild mannered person with limited talents conducting. He always had his head buried in the scores and seemed to get lost.

     A day before the final concert I learned that Tommy Dorsey’s Band would be playing a one night stand at Meyers Ballroom in Canton, about an hour away, the same night as our concert. They were featuring Ziggy Elman on trumpet and Buddy Rich on drums.

     I suggested to Norm and Frank Grandle, our lead alto sax and stellar clarinetist with the Alan Paul Band, that we skip the concert and go hear the Tommy Dorsey’Band. At first they were reluctant to  play hookey but finally agreed. We didn’t tell anyone, not even our parents. Next day I drove to Canton and we stood by the bandstand in the packed ballroom for three solid hours of great big band sounds.

     Meantime, at CHS there was a full house for the 8 pm concert. But no lead trumpet, no solo clarinet  and no solo drummer (for the stirring medley of Armed Service Marches with drum cadences and roll offs in between). Conductor LeFever was tearing out his few strands of hair on a nearly bald head. Lewis Bucklew, the other snare drummer, was heaving in the men’s room, realizing he had to play the solo parts.

     Our respective parents were worried at first; but some “whistle blower” told them where we were, and wouldn’t be playing the concert. They were all shocked of course, but sat through the concert that went on without us and seemed to play most of the wrong notes, so we heard the next day.

     Then we three traitors were called into the Principal’s office. Mr. Povenmirer sat there stone faced and was soon joined by Supt. Of Schools A.C. Pence and band leader Harold LeFever. They were  all furious and lambasted us royally. We were punished by being denied a listing in the National Honor Society.

     Norm’s parents were not terribly annoyed because they were ostracized by the school anyhow. My parents and Frank’s just expressed their dismay over attending the concert and we weren’t there to play.

But our euphoria over the experience close up in front of the Tommy Dorsey Band for three solid hours was the envy of many from the CHS band.

     Shortly after graduation from CHS Norm joined the Russ Carlyle Band from Cleveland,OH and went on tour through New England. The war draft was in full effect then and most of our CHS graduates enlisted so they  could choose their branch of service. In July 1942 I received a phone call from Norm in Fall River, MA. Their drummer was being drafted in a few days and he persuaded Russ Carlyle to hire me.

     I was on the train with my drums the next day for Fall River and fit right in the 14 piece band. Norm and I roomed together and spent the next six months on the road from the East Coast to the West Coast doing one nighters. We traveled in three cars and a panel truck with instruments, driven by the band manager.

     Between engagements we had rest stops at diners and gas stations. At least once a month we would be driving along and suddenly the lead car would stop. “Where is Norman?” He had been left behind, busy doing his toilet duty and then combing his hair. One car would back track to pick him up, always standing forlornly on the side of the road.

     At the end of the six month tour I resigned to return home and enter Ohio State University, as I promised my parents I would. Norm stayed on with the band until he was drafted a few months later. I was tapped for service in April 1943 and sent to Atlantic City for basic training, then joined the Glenn Miller Band there, followed by the Sgt. David Rose Orchestra playing for Moss Hart’s “Winged Victory” AAF Show on Broadway.

     Norm and I kept in touch by mail as he joined an army band and I tried unsuccessfully to get him transferred to the Winged Victory Orchestra. But conductor Rose said that such a transfer from army to air force was  complicated and a political situation. It just wasn’t going to happen.

     When Winged Victory completed its run in NYC and a tour of major cities, I ended up with a small band of musicians on Okinawa in September of 1945. Much to my surprise I learned that Norm was stationed on the island with an army band near Naha, the capital.

     Since I had access to a Jeep, I planned to drive down to his band and surprise him with a case of beer(24 bottles). I had managed to have a friend in Los Angeles send them to me.  A friend at the Officers’ Club gave me a special code number for flying the case over, but it had to be labeled: CHRISTMAS MUSIC FOR THE BAND. RUSH DELIVERY>

     I received a phone call from the nearby postal office advising me that the box arrived. When I told the postal clerk I would pick it up soon, he said, “You better hurry. It’s leaking.”  Sure enough one of the bottles had broken and an extra bottle was the clerk’s reward for not reporting me.

     When I showed up with the beer Norm and his fellow musicians were ecstatic. There were 20 guys drinking their first beer in months and  Norm and I were dancing around like kids.   

      Subsequently, over the years, including 1978 when I returned to the Radio City Music Hall Orchestra, Norm never forgot that magic day on Okinawa as I delivered the beer to him and his buddies. He claimed it was one of the best days in his life, along with marrying Claire and having three talented children.

     So this will not conclude my memories of Norman Beatty. I will always remember them and my love for the guy. Through all the one nighters on the road as roommates and playing at RCMH, we never had a cross word between us. Rest in peace, Norm.