Most people don't understand what is going on within Syria. The reason is basically because journalists are not allowed in this country. They could file bad tidings reports that would frighten the citizens under the yoke of President-for-life Bashir al-Assad. Bashir's late father was a barbaric ruler of Syria and handed over the country to his son, who is determined to be more beastly than his old man.
As forty nations drop deadly bombs on Syria, determined to obliterate ISIS, millions of Syrians flee to the borders and take refuge in Turkey, Jordan and Iraq. The refugee camps are overwhelmed by families with 10-14 children who are dirty, diseased, illiterate, angry and hungry. They are also freezing in the winter weather. Their indifferent hosts want to get rid of them somehow.
Then there are the religious factions among these millions of desperate families. The Shiites hate the Sunnis who control Syria. The Houthi Rebels have undertaken a coup d'etat in Yemen and, backed by Iran, have seized the Presidential Palace, successfully holding hostage President Abed Rabbo Mansoul Hedi who is a member of al-Qaeda. There remains a standoff as to whether or not the hostage President will remain in power.
While all this power struggle remains in limbo, the ISIS war mongers continue to kill all prisoners (they are too costly and burdensome to protect) and try to defeat the advancing army of Kurds. The sorry sight of hundreds of barefoot people fleeing war zones is indescribable. They carry belongings in shopping bags and loaves of bread in baskets on their heads. They also rob others of shoes and belongings. The United Nations remains impotent.
As all this turmoil swirls around the Middle East, CNN continues to present the news from all over the world. Before and after commercials for insurance, erectile dysfunction, dry vaginas and red eyes, bridge music from CNN's coverage of the Gulf War in 1990 is heard. It's reassuring to know that one cable television station from the 200 offered by Charter Communications is blasting our eyes and ears with the present War of the Worlds. (Orson Welles, eat your heart out!)
So, folks, our only relief from the turmoil of war, murders in Paris (and finding an English copy of Charlie Hebdo) is to worry about skinny footballs and whether or not somebody deflated the New England Patriots' balls. Hmmmmmm. Any of you women care to examine Tom Brady before the Super Bowl Game?
Saturday, January 24, 2015
Friday, January 9, 2015
Why I can't fall in love with Taylor Swift
I watched Taylor Swift on "Ellen" singing and shouting "Out of the Woods" and the audience of her fans shrieking and jumping for joy. She was in her black underwear and hardly ever smiled. Ms. Swift has won every award possible and sells millions of recordings. That's quite an achievement for a six-foot female in her twenties!
Taylor Swift's fame and fortune is something I don't understand. But then I've been just as mystified by Justin Bieber's success too. Or Miley Cyrus. Her father, Billy Ray, only had one hit song in his life, "My Achy Breaky Heart," and would have ended up in the poorhouse if it weren't for his daughter's success. Especially the TV show they did together.
Then there are all these singers who appear on the TV no talent shows. They all sing songs hardly anyone has ever heard of and belt out the high notes to great applause. The judges award the "winners" with what seems to be an enlarged bus ticket to the next city. There, they will audition again and perhaps leap frog to another city for another audition. What a great way to keep a crop of young wannabees under your wing.
What I am leading up to is resurrecting more singing by the youngsters teaming up with the oldsters. A perfect example was the combination of Lady Gaga and Tony Bennett in duets. She is 28 and he is 88. They sang the hit songs of the 40's with 45 musicians backing them. The sound of melody with harmony and orchestra accompaniment was intoxicating. Their performances were superb.
Presently, there is an attractive lady singing on German Television every week, "Die Helene Fischer Show" Ms. Fischer has a beautiful voice, she looks fantastic and her cast of musicians, singers and dancers are flawless. There are 5,000 people in her audience, mostly in their 40's, 50's and 60's. They love Helene Fischer. And she often teams up with the incomparable Andrea Bochelli for duets.
I wish we could return to the era of Radio City Music Hall with four stage shows a day, five during December. There was a large orchestra in the pit, the Rockettes on stage, a vocal chorus and ballet dancers to fill the bill. A major motion picture film was shown between each hour stage show. We really do need this kind of live entertainment to satisfy our mental pleasure. But I'm not holding my breathe!
Taylor Swift's fame and fortune is something I don't understand. But then I've been just as mystified by Justin Bieber's success too. Or Miley Cyrus. Her father, Billy Ray, only had one hit song in his life, "My Achy Breaky Heart," and would have ended up in the poorhouse if it weren't for his daughter's success. Especially the TV show they did together.
Then there are all these singers who appear on the TV no talent shows. They all sing songs hardly anyone has ever heard of and belt out the high notes to great applause. The judges award the "winners" with what seems to be an enlarged bus ticket to the next city. There, they will audition again and perhaps leap frog to another city for another audition. What a great way to keep a crop of young wannabees under your wing.
What I am leading up to is resurrecting more singing by the youngsters teaming up with the oldsters. A perfect example was the combination of Lady Gaga and Tony Bennett in duets. She is 28 and he is 88. They sang the hit songs of the 40's with 45 musicians backing them. The sound of melody with harmony and orchestra accompaniment was intoxicating. Their performances were superb.
Presently, there is an attractive lady singing on German Television every week, "Die Helene Fischer Show" Ms. Fischer has a beautiful voice, she looks fantastic and her cast of musicians, singers and dancers are flawless. There are 5,000 people in her audience, mostly in their 40's, 50's and 60's. They love Helene Fischer. And she often teams up with the incomparable Andrea Bochelli for duets.
I wish we could return to the era of Radio City Music Hall with four stage shows a day, five during December. There was a large orchestra in the pit, the Rockettes on stage, a vocal chorus and ballet dancers to fill the bill. A major motion picture film was shown between each hour stage show. We really do need this kind of live entertainment to satisfy our mental pleasure. But I'm not holding my breathe!
Monday, January 5, 2015
Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus and also free lunches.
Although I came to New York City in the early 50's to perform as an actor, and played opposite Grace Kelly in NBC's "Circle Armstrong Cheater's Lover's Leap," I often hung out at Walgreen's Soda Fountain with other starving actors. We sipped a root beer soda or chocolate milk shake for hours while trading woeful tales about failed auditions.
We also learned how to survive in the Big Apple. For example, I found out that my friend, Milt Kamen, a standup comic and French Horn musician was eating well everyday. For free. He told me to wear and suit and tie and meet him in front of the Astor Hotel, on 42nd Street and Broadway, the next day at noon. I was there and Milt led me inside, we took the elevator to the ballroom floor and got off to join people in line at this huge buffet table. It was laden with shrimp cocktail, slices of filet mignon and trays of delicious meatballs. We both pigged out.
Apparently, all the major hotels in midtown Manhattan had corporate meetings with buffet luncheons. Anybody could join their chow lines at noon and eat your heart out. I mean that in both senses of the word! You just had to be dressed properly and if challenged, mention that you were a friend of the company CEO.
So, Milt and I generally had lunch together at a different hotel every day of the week. It was a wonderful way to feel well fed, especially if you requested a "doggy bag" from one of the waiters. Then you had dinner at home. That's what survival in New York City is all about. At first I had a guilty feeling about living off the fat of the land. But it was only food and I was always hungry. Also, the way most corporations scam the public I was allow the company to help me survive.
One night, at open mike at Birdland, where jazz pianist Art Tatum was appearing, I did my standup comedy act with "the history of the snare drum and its effect on civilization." It went over well and a muscular chap in his twenties with a scowling face congratulated me. Bob Yeager was a drummer from Youngstown, OH and had just gotten off the bus that day. Did I have a room he could rent for a few weeks?
I had an extra room in my apartment and now I had a roommate. Bob and I got along very well and he was delighted to join Milt Kamen and I for a daily luncheon at one of the hotels. He was waiting to join the musicians' union and they required a six month period of residence before a membership was allowed. Bob did some non-union drumming, ate well at noon and followed me around as I auditioned at various clubs with my act.
After six months, Bob Yeager had his union card and decided he was going west to Los Angeles and work at the Hollywood Drum Shop. After six years he owned the shop and catered to all the top-notch drummers of that era, namely Buddy Rich, Gene Krupa, Louie Bellson and many others.
He expressed his appreciation for my helping him in New York be sending me a complete drum kit. A very nice gesture!
We also learned how to survive in the Big Apple. For example, I found out that my friend, Milt Kamen, a standup comic and French Horn musician was eating well everyday. For free. He told me to wear and suit and tie and meet him in front of the Astor Hotel, on 42nd Street and Broadway, the next day at noon. I was there and Milt led me inside, we took the elevator to the ballroom floor and got off to join people in line at this huge buffet table. It was laden with shrimp cocktail, slices of filet mignon and trays of delicious meatballs. We both pigged out.
Apparently, all the major hotels in midtown Manhattan had corporate meetings with buffet luncheons. Anybody could join their chow lines at noon and eat your heart out. I mean that in both senses of the word! You just had to be dressed properly and if challenged, mention that you were a friend of the company CEO.
So, Milt and I generally had lunch together at a different hotel every day of the week. It was a wonderful way to feel well fed, especially if you requested a "doggy bag" from one of the waiters. Then you had dinner at home. That's what survival in New York City is all about. At first I had a guilty feeling about living off the fat of the land. But it was only food and I was always hungry. Also, the way most corporations scam the public I was allow the company to help me survive.
One night, at open mike at Birdland, where jazz pianist Art Tatum was appearing, I did my standup comedy act with "the history of the snare drum and its effect on civilization." It went over well and a muscular chap in his twenties with a scowling face congratulated me. Bob Yeager was a drummer from Youngstown, OH and had just gotten off the bus that day. Did I have a room he could rent for a few weeks?
I had an extra room in my apartment and now I had a roommate. Bob and I got along very well and he was delighted to join Milt Kamen and I for a daily luncheon at one of the hotels. He was waiting to join the musicians' union and they required a six month period of residence before a membership was allowed. Bob did some non-union drumming, ate well at noon and followed me around as I auditioned at various clubs with my act.
After six months, Bob Yeager had his union card and decided he was going west to Los Angeles and work at the Hollywood Drum Shop. After six years he owned the shop and catered to all the top-notch drummers of that era, namely Buddy Rich, Gene Krupa, Louie Bellson and many others.
He expressed his appreciation for my helping him in New York be sending me a complete drum kit. A very nice gesture!
THE VETERANS' WAITING GAME!
Q. How long can a wounded GI Veteran wait for his compensation to begin?
A. Until he dies from attrition on the government treadmill to oblivion.
That's the waiting game, folks. Veterans Administration Secretary Robert McDonald, former CEO of Proctor & Gamble, has promised to "clean house of the goldbrickers who create fake waiting lists and allow loved ones to expire." Well, Secretary Bob, as he asked to be called, I would ask a rhetorical question: "Does Donald Trump have skidmarks?" Of course he has them! Don't we all?
Now that you have stopped laughing, let's get serious for a moment. Time up. As one wounded warrior said, "Nobody is doing nothing for us soldiers who fought, got injured and wait months and even years for some restitution." Hmmmmm. Are you listening Secretary Bob? I hope so.
As a veteran of WWII, with service on Okinawa, I too have been waiting many months for my appeal to receive increased compensation. Fortunately, Senator Richard Blumenthal has an assistant in his Hartford,CT office, Heather Handler, to handle veterans complaints. She herself is a ten-year veteran of the Navy aboard an aircraft carrier. And she happens to be a very compassionate and feisty woman.
Nevertheless, the Veterans Administration is overloaded and overwhelmed by the the inefficiency
of too many employees goldbricking and featherbedding, concentrating solely on their own retirement and pension plans. So, Secretary Bob, start slashing the enormous staff that is slowly but sinking your "Ship of State."
One other complaint I have. My appeal file of documentation has to go through six stages of processing, prior to a final judgment. That sixth phase is represented by a VA attorney who uses legal terms like "Plaintiff, Appellant and Defendant." But we're not in a courtroom, no judge, no bail hearing, witnesses, cross examinations or other Rules of Evidence. It's really playtime. Or Three Card Montee. Maybe the Lottery because you can't win.
But you can appeal a decision. When I first filed for increased compensation for my service-connected injury two years ago, it took months before I received additional compensation. But my wife was not included, although I filed three applications that mentioned I supported a spouse. But she had fallen in the cracks.
Periodically over the months, I received notices in the mail from the VA in Newington, CT and New York, NY that said the processing was proceeding. Aftera year of impatient waiting I received 55 pages to read and file new documents. That procedure took me over 100 hours. Page 55 advised me to send my completed paperwork to a P.O. Box in Newnan,GA. What a great place to stall the processing process!
It is now the beginning of the year 2015. I remain optimistic that I'll receive a determination on my appeal soon, hopefully before the end of this election campaign year. Stay tuned. But don't hold your breathe!
A. Until he dies from attrition on the government treadmill to oblivion.
That's the waiting game, folks. Veterans Administration Secretary Robert McDonald, former CEO of Proctor & Gamble, has promised to "clean house of the goldbrickers who create fake waiting lists and allow loved ones to expire." Well, Secretary Bob, as he asked to be called, I would ask a rhetorical question: "Does Donald Trump have skidmarks?" Of course he has them! Don't we all?
Now that you have stopped laughing, let's get serious for a moment. Time up. As one wounded warrior said, "Nobody is doing nothing for us soldiers who fought, got injured and wait months and even years for some restitution." Hmmmmm. Are you listening Secretary Bob? I hope so.
As a veteran of WWII, with service on Okinawa, I too have been waiting many months for my appeal to receive increased compensation. Fortunately, Senator Richard Blumenthal has an assistant in his Hartford,CT office, Heather Handler, to handle veterans complaints. She herself is a ten-year veteran of the Navy aboard an aircraft carrier. And she happens to be a very compassionate and feisty woman.
Nevertheless, the Veterans Administration is overloaded and overwhelmed by the the inefficiency
of too many employees goldbricking and featherbedding, concentrating solely on their own retirement and pension plans. So, Secretary Bob, start slashing the enormous staff that is slowly but sinking your "Ship of State."
One other complaint I have. My appeal file of documentation has to go through six stages of processing, prior to a final judgment. That sixth phase is represented by a VA attorney who uses legal terms like "Plaintiff, Appellant and Defendant." But we're not in a courtroom, no judge, no bail hearing, witnesses, cross examinations or other Rules of Evidence. It's really playtime. Or Three Card Montee. Maybe the Lottery because you can't win.
But you can appeal a decision. When I first filed for increased compensation for my service-connected injury two years ago, it took months before I received additional compensation. But my wife was not included, although I filed three applications that mentioned I supported a spouse. But she had fallen in the cracks.
Periodically over the months, I received notices in the mail from the VA in Newington, CT and New York, NY that said the processing was proceeding. Aftera year of impatient waiting I received 55 pages to read and file new documents. That procedure took me over 100 hours. Page 55 advised me to send my completed paperwork to a P.O. Box in Newnan,GA. What a great place to stall the processing process!
It is now the beginning of the year 2015. I remain optimistic that I'll receive a determination on my appeal soon, hopefully before the end of this election campaign year. Stay tuned. But don't hold your breathe!
Sunday, January 4, 2015
Oh, not one more Rose Bowl Parade!
Yes, it's another parade of floats, bands, commercials and incessant babble by Hoda Kopt and Al Rocker. The floats are gargantuan monsters with smiling people aboard who wished they had called in sick. Then there are the bands, ranging in size from 100 to 400 members. If any one band receives more than 30 seconds of airtime, it's a miracle. And to think these young and eager musicans have spent the past year washing cars, baby sitting and selling lemonade to raise the money for their trip to Pasadena.
Finally, there are Hoda and Al. They have to fill the three-hour void, between commercials, with something to say about each float and band. They do have poop sheets for relevant information. But being TV personalities, they must compete with other network stars covering the same parade. Let's supply a sample dialogue, culminated from all those talking, but on different channels:
HE: Here comes the 150 member bandsmen from Sugar Creek, Ohio. Don't they look beautiful in their blue and gray uniforms, Al? And what is the name of that music they are playing?
SHE: They are playing "row, row, row your boat," or perhaps it's "I Love a Parade," I'm not sure. Oh, wait, the sound man just held up a sign that says YOU ARE BOTH WRONG. IT'S "DIXIE."
The major companies that sponsor floats in THE ROSE BOWL PARADE spend hundreds of thousands of dollars, and all year to build their respective floats. There is stiff competition for becoming the prize winner of THE BEST FLOAT. I suspect that the Queen of the Rose Bowl Parade, along with her court of beauties, has the best chance to win. But seeing her smile for three hours must create a terrible case of lockjaw afterwards.
I wouldn't stay up all night just to find standing space the next day to watch the Rose Bowl Parade. But I did watch on TV, and especially during the football game on January 1, 1958 when the Ohio State Marching Band played "Serenade to a Sand Dune" at halftime. That's because I wrote that sucker that gave TBDBIT their greatest ovation ever, according to Director Jack Evans.
Finally, there are Hoda and Al. They have to fill the three-hour void, between commercials, with something to say about each float and band. They do have poop sheets for relevant information. But being TV personalities, they must compete with other network stars covering the same parade. Let's supply a sample dialogue, culminated from all those talking, but on different channels:
HE: Here comes the 150 member bandsmen from Sugar Creek, Ohio. Don't they look beautiful in their blue and gray uniforms, Al? And what is the name of that music they are playing?
SHE: They are playing "row, row, row your boat," or perhaps it's "I Love a Parade," I'm not sure. Oh, wait, the sound man just held up a sign that says YOU ARE BOTH WRONG. IT'S "DIXIE."
The major companies that sponsor floats in THE ROSE BOWL PARADE spend hundreds of thousands of dollars, and all year to build their respective floats. There is stiff competition for becoming the prize winner of THE BEST FLOAT. I suspect that the Queen of the Rose Bowl Parade, along with her court of beauties, has the best chance to win. But seeing her smile for three hours must create a terrible case of lockjaw afterwards.
I wouldn't stay up all night just to find standing space the next day to watch the Rose Bowl Parade. But I did watch on TV, and especially during the football game on January 1, 1958 when the Ohio State Marching Band played "Serenade to a Sand Dune" at halftime. That's because I wrote that sucker that gave TBDBIT their greatest ovation ever, according to Director Jack Evans.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)