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!