July 2007 Archives

Ingmar Bergman died. FIlm buffs everywhere are in mourning. I wasn't a big Ingmar Bergman fan.

The newly restored vintage Max Fleischer Popeye cartoons came out on DVD today. The cartoon afcionados are wetting themselves. I wasn't a Popeye fan.

It's not them, it's me.

There are a lot of things that are supposed to be great, the best, works of genius that just don't do it for me. It's not that I think they suck, but it's like this: I know they're supposed to be great, I know they're special, I know that smart people with refined taste think they belong in the pantheon, but I... just... can't... get... into it. Bergman movies are, I suppose, best appreciated when you're in college and you take film- not movies, mind you, but film- very, very seriously. I tried. I watched "The Seventh Seal." I tried to sit through "Fanny and Alexander." They were fine pieces of work but I kept thinking, well, would I rather see this or "Animal House"? And "Animal House" won. (Lest you throw me in the philistine pile, I wouldn't say that about the true classics like "Citizen Kane," or "The Godfather," or "Caddyshack") I'm not saying that Bergman wasn't great, but that it was a greatness I'd rather concede and not have to consume. I'm just not that into it.

Same with "Popeye," the animated cartoon and the Segar comic strip, both of which are spoken of by fanboys with hushed reverence. The Segar strip was brilliant, groundbreaking, amazing, they say, and the Fleischer cartoons were unique and groundbreaking and incredible. They couldn't wait for today's DVD release. But I see the same shorts and strips they do and think... weird. And not in a good way. Popeye and Olive are deformed and unpleasant, Popeye is a simple brute with a drug-like addiction, the plot was the same in each cartoon (unlike the strip, in which the plots were more complicated with a larger cast, but still, meh), and the animation- I'm talking about the Fleischer shorts, not the awful Famous Studios stuff- was dated. Looking back, I can appreciate what the Fleischers were doing- the Koko/Betty Boop/Cab Calloway "Snow White" including the rotoscoped sequence for "St. James Infirmary Blues" is pretty cool, and available on the Internets. Also here. But overall, Popeye was no Bugs, no Daffy, not even Fred Flintstone.

But that's just me. I'm willing to defer to every movie critic in the world on Bergman and every cartoon expert on Popeye. I won't say they're wrong. But I'm not wrong, either, just... different. Can't we all just get along?

I have absolutely no time tonight- work ran way late and inspiration was in short supply all day. So in honor of today's big NBA distraction from the gambling scand... er, trade, here's the guy who got KG for the Celtics, in a somewhat different mode:

This was a 1981 Fleer card. '81 was his third and last season with the Blue Jays, and considering he hit a resounding .187, his decision to go to the NBA was pretty easy. And while he was not a bad basketball player (whiny, annoying, but not bad), he was the butt of one of the greatest lines in "Married With Children"'s history, at least during the McGinley years:

"Ladies and Gentlemen, your NBA All Stars and Danny Ainge!"

Oh, come on, you gotta laugh at that. Even if you're Danny Ainge.

A RAT, A CAT, I SAT

Oh, yeah, what did I think of "Ratatouille"? Terrific. Another Brad Bird triumph. Not really for kids, more of an adult story (despite the lead character being a talking rat- but in this movie, humans can't understand the rat, who speaks to other rats (and the audience) in Patton Oswalt's voice and to humans in the movie in panicked squeaks). Smart, funny, touching, and it made us hungry. Not for braised rat, though.

And that was pretty much my weekend- lots of work, a couple of movies, and a fresh bag of Science Diet for Ella the Worlds Most Flatu... er, Famous Cat, who will not let me sleep in on weekends or on any other day. Back to normal postings tomorrow.

MOVIES ARE COOL

It's a movie day today, an animated movie day, to be precise, because it's too damn hot for much of anything else. This heat means that the primary qualification for entertainment is whether it's air conditioned or not. That meant the Angels-Tigers was out, both at the sun-baked Big A and at home on TV.

So it was off to the AMC down in Torrance for an early show of "The Simpsons Movie," and the air conditioning was fine despite a decent-sized crowd. The movie wasn't bad, either- think an extended-length episode, with mercifully few celebrity guests (Tom Hanks, who is funny, and Green Day, which isn't) and an only mildly annoying and heavy-handed environmental theme. Highlight: Bart's "doodle." If I still thought the TV version was consistently funny, I'd have probably been disappointed, but I don't and I'm not.

We're actually in the AMC at the Block at Orange right now enjoying more air conditioning while waiting for "Ratatouille." Yes, it is taking a risk to see a late afternoon showing of a Pixar cartoon, what with the likelihood of screaming kids and all, but most of the kids have, we hope, already seen it. I hope. Ten minutes to go before showtime- we'll see.

CAT FARTS: AN AMERICAN SCANDAL

I would like to write something interesting and profound this evening, but all I have is cat farts.

This morning, well before sunrise, I was writing when, as she often does, Ella the World's Most Famous Cat wandered in, crawled beneath my chair, and settled in by my feet, enjoying the warmth of the subwoofer under my desk. And it was there, contentedly napping beneath my monitor, that Ella began to silently emit methane in enough volume that I couldn't continue writing. It was hard to chase her out of there, but she was snoozing so adorably that I couldn't do it. I tried gently waking her from her sleep- no dice. I tried moving the keyboard- nothing. So I got up and talked towards the door- nothing. I went into the kitchen, waited a minute, returned- still there, still farting. Finally, movement- she crawled out, went behind my chair, and curled up there, still farting. Suddenly, about ten agonizing minutes later, she jumped, startled out of her sleep- by what, I don't know, because I hadn't moved in several minutes- and bolted for the door, stopping there to turn around and shoot me an accusing glare.

That was the highlight of my day. Welcome to my life.

As they say, more information on cat farts is available on the Internet. Like here. And here. And here.

THIS WEEK'S "THE LETTER": VOX POPULI

This week's All Access newsletter hasn't been sent out yet, and I don't know why, but, lucky you, you get it first right here, some blather about grilling candidates or something like that:

There was a lot of discussion on the radio and the Net about that presidential candidates' debate the other day, the "YouTube debate." It was heralded as revolutionary -- regular people, people like you and me, asking the kind of questions the regular reporters won't dare ask. It was a case of the people being able to go directly to the newsmakers, interacting with them like never before.

Except for the last several decades of talk radio, that is.

Yes, you've been at the leading edge of a media revolution and didn't even know it. Talk shows have allowed newsmakers and callers to interact since someone figured out how to put callers on the air. Okay, the idea of people making goofy little videos with questions for the candidates is kinda cool, but you've been able to do it even better -- direct one-on-one confrontations, follow-up questions, true interactivity -- for years, and nobody's calling you ahead of your time. No Internet, no video, no glamour.

I'll admit right here a general bias against guests and interviews. I get bored with a lot of interviews -- the polite ones are a little dull, and the shouting matches are fun but end up as pointless as pro wrestling. That being said, if a presidential candidate is available, of course you're going to want to take that opportunity. But most of the interviews I hear on talk radio with the candidates miss the mark because they're exactly that: interviews. The host asks a question, the candidate answers (sort of), the host asks another question, the candidate dodges it, and that's pretty much all you get. When you do that, you're forgetting to use your secret weapon, the most potent thing you have in your arsenal to make those interviews work for you and to get you ratings... your audience. Callers. Let THEM ask the questions. Besides making your job easier, they're quite likely to ask questions you might be too polite or nervous to ask. That was what the YouTube debate was supposed to be, a chance for the public to ask the tough questions. You can make that happen any time you want, whenever you get a candidate or public official on the air.

So that's my request for any of you who happen to be able to book a candidate on your show this campaign season. If the candidate won't take calls from listeners, just say no -- that's the sign of a candidate who's so tightly controlled and spinning that you won't get an honest answer to a real question anyway. If you can get a candidate to take calls, that's exactly what you should do, and make sure the screener knows to find the tough questions, not just the "oh, I just LOVE you and I'll be voting for you" calls. That's more entertaining, you'll learn more about the candidate from how those tough questions are handled, and, who knows? You might actually make some news that way.

And if one of your callers DOES press a candidate on an issue and the candidate DOES say something newsworthy, it might just end up as one of the many provocative topic starters you'll find at All Access News-Talk-Sports and the cleverly-named Talk Topics column that's chock full of, um, talk topics like the reason a woman got herself banned from Wal-Mart, a text-messaging bus driver, some very candid mountain rescuers, my agony over Chase Utley's broken hand, why a popular series of children's books- no, not that one, another one- is being shunned by some parents, the weird feeling when a co-worker is, as we say in Net News, "exiting," a flying car, some airport evacuations, an anesthesiologist you don't want working on you, why alcohol and parking gates don't mix, the genetics of itching, poop in the pool, Death Cat 2007, why not to feed the coyotes, why not to get pulled over by cops on the road between Tijuana and the beach, a guy a judge has ruled is too fat to adopt a child, the Attack of the Giant Squid, an all-you-can-eat sushi buffet that turned out to be not really all one guy could eat, how your friends might make you fat, dog cosmetics, Tom Cruise at the movies, and why Disney won't be making "The Jim Leyland Story" anytime soon. And you get a provocative "10 Questions With..." Air America Radio "Young Turks" co-host and Jersey guy Cenk Uygur and the rest of All Access with news and columns and message boards and music and Mediabase and the Industry Directory and you know all about that, and that it's all free, right? Okay, then.

What, then, have we learned this week? 1) Let listeners grill your guests. 2) YouTube debates are an interesting concept, but talk radio's been there and done that. 3) YouTube is okay for political material but far better for videos of people getting hit in the nuts with baseballs, or for that guy who sings "Chocolate Rain." 4) It is exasperating to be a Phillies fan. 5) I am deeply, totally exhausted. More lessons next week. Class dismissed.

Time for "Little Did He Know..."

Little did he know...

...that his name would be synonymous with a medical procedure. And that it meant he'd have to have that particular procedure.

Little did he know...

...that his reward for enduring Phil Rizzuto would be to run the American League.

Little did he know...

...that no matter that he was a star on what might be the last undefeated, untied NFL team, some people, like myself, will never forget that Joe Pisarcik was trying to hand the ball off to him when fate and Herman Edwards intervened.

Little did he know...

...that all things considered, walking into the TV booth after being on the golf course with Bill Murray all day would turn out to be a bad idea.

And little did he know...

...he would end up as a regular on "My Two Dads."

I'm warning you now, this feature will appear again.

COME ON DOWN

Congratulations to Drew Carey on the "Price is Right" thing. He'll do fine. At least, I assume so, since he's a nice guy and the show is, as the cliche goes, what it is. It's hardly brain surgery. It's not "Meet the Press," not that he'd have a hard time outdoing smarmy Mr. Russert.

What makes a good game show host, anyway? I think that there are two categories: the classic guys and the modern, self-aware guys. The greats were guys like Bill Cullen and Gene Rayburn who did all the stuff they had to do- all the card reading, all the essentials- and also interjected their own personalities and sense of humor in there. Allen Ludden was best when he was annoyed- occasionally, he dropped the genial curtain just a hair when a contestant screwed up so royally that he couldn't resist ("no, dear, look at the card again. The card. Take a good look... there, see?"). Dick Clark was okay but a little too bland. Alex Trebek is great when he's annoyed, as was Bob Barker. Guys like Art James and Tom Kennedy and Wink Martindale were too bland, Jack Barry was too oddly stern. John Charles Daly was professorial but it worked for "What's My Line." And Groucho was great, but it wasn't really much of a game, was it?

Today's guys? Regis was a great combination of self-aware and clueless. I kinda like the guy on "Cash Cab," especially since he has to do both the questioning and the driving. The guy on "World Series of Pop Culture" is good because he's deadpan- he looks like he wants to burst out laughing but never does. But Howie Mandel? Bob Saget? The British guy from "Extreme Makeover: Home Edition" who yells a lot on "National Bingo Night"? Standards have dropped.

So the bar's been lowered as the old style game shows have withered away. Drew? Sure, why not? Now, if they'd only bring back "Concentration," "Match Game," and, especially, "Password," the world would be a better place. We can only pray.

(No, I never did make it to that "Pyramid" taping. I don't remember why- maybe it was the weather. But I still have the tickets)

I'm one of those people who watch the public wailing and gnashing when a celebrity dies and wonders why everyone gets so emotional about someone they don't even know. I mean, it WAS sad when Princess Di died, but, well, it wasn't really anything connected to my life. That doesn't minimize her stature in the world or the tragedy of her death; it's just that it's not like losing family, something with which I have way too much experience.

But then there's when a ballplayer or sports figure dies young. I'm not just talking about stars like Roberto Clemente dying on a noble, tragic mission, although that certainly affected my young mind. The story about Mike Coolbaugh, the new hitting and first base coach for the double A Tulsa Drillers and a former career minor leaguer (except for some brief stints with the Brewers and Cardinals), getting killed by a line drive reminded me of some other deaths back when I was a kid.

Mickey Fuentes was dead when this card came out. He was killed, I believe, in a bar fight in his native Puerto Rico after the 1969 season. I remember getting this card- I got several of them- and feeling weirdly sad. Dude was dead already. He never got to see his own baseball card.

Thurman Munson, you know all about. I hated the Yankees, and when he was alive, Thurman Munson was the enemy. But his death taught me a valuable lesson: don't go up in those little planes. Ever.

Bob Moose threw a no-hitter at the Mets in 1969. He was heading to his birthday party on October 9, 1976 when he was killed in a car crash. 29 years old that day.



Don Wilson also died at 29, a month short of his 30th birthday. He was a solid pitcher for the Astros for years; like Moose, he threw a no-hitter in 1969, his second. On January 5, 1975, he was found dead in his garage, the engine running; his son, in the house, died of carbon monoxide poisoning as well. Some sources call it suicide, some call it an accident. What's weird is how he was one of the best pitchers in baseball at the time of his death, the Astros' ace, and his name almost never comes up now other than if someone like me is thinking about ballplayers who died during their careers.

Danny Thompson was an infielder with leukemia. You don't get much more gutsy in sports than to play with leukemia. He did, for two years, before he died after the 1976 season. Don't remember him? That's okay- enough people do to make his life and passing special. The 31st annual Danny Thompson Memorial Golf Tournament is coming up at Sun Valley, Idaho August 22-25.

There were more- Dan Frisella, Lyman Bostock, Steve Olin and Tim Crews, for a few- but those stories always got to me a little. They had nothing to do with me, nor I with them. I don't know why I cared. But I still have their cards, and I still remember those guys.

YOU BET YOUR SWEET BIPPY

NBA scandal? NBA scandal? That's no NBA scandal.

You want NBA scandal? THIS was an NBA scandal: these guys...

...for this guy:

Okay, a ref working for gamblers is a scandal, but, still, Darrall Imhoff? That stank even at the time, no hindsight needed. (Yes, I remember, Wilt demanded a trade and wanted to go to L.A.- I'm in no position to criticize that move- but that was still awful, and, worse, history repeated itself with Barkley for Hornacek-Perry-Lang. It is not easy being a fan of this team)

Seriously, though, if you think the Tim Donaghy situation poses a grave threat to the league's credibility, you'd have to assume that the league has credibility in the first place. Last season- the Spurs-Suns fiasco (with Donaghy on the court for game 3!), the meaningless regular season- made it hard for even the diehards to care. And the officiating is so uniformly crappy- forget Knick Bavetta, what about Bennett Salvatore and Violet Palmer? What other league would even consider allowing officials like that to work big games?- that I'm sure Donaghy hoped nobody would notice if he made some questionable calls down the stretch. How would that be different from any other ref?

While I wouldn't be averse to the whole league collapsing- it would give me one less sport to waste my time watching, and I already dumped League Pass last season- I doubt it'll change as much as some of the "experts" think. The league's already been reduced to a core audience of fans who already think the games might be fixed. One more scandal won't hurt. What it'll hurt is the chances that the league might get the fringe fans back. Those guys will move on to other, more honest sports, like, say, pro wrestling. Or roller derby.

Me, I won't really be back until the Sixers have a realistic chance to win the championship. In other words, not in my lifetime. Hey, maybe a crooked ref wil help the Sixers WIN some games. Might be their best shot.

NOTHING DOING

The goal on a Saturday is to do as little work as possible, which is to say a couple of hours, then turn the damn computer off. Which is what I did today, followed by a whole lot of sitting around doing nothing, until now, when it dawned on me that I hadn't written anything for here. Should I turn the PC back on, or do I just post some half-assed thing on the cell phone and take the lazy way out?

The results speak for themselves.

FAR BETTER THAN DOMESTIC GONAD

The latest in spam is, apparently, randomly demented subject lines. This is similar to the randomly demented sender names that the e-mails used to carry. In the interest of providing you with ideas for your next band name, here are some actual e-mail subject lines from just a few hours' worth of spam in my work e-mail spam filter:

raspy movie theater
proverbial grain of sand
hairy demon
foreign gonad
alleged football team
Eurasian espadrille
sheepish looking glass
fried paper napkin
purple recliner
wrinkled guardian angel
mean-spirited spider
nearest blood clot
familiar globule
stoic briar patch
snooty line dancer
cosmopolitan stalactite

Don't ever say I don't do anything for you.

Okay, so earlier this week I said I wasn't going to go to see the Phillies visiting Dodger Stadium this week, and I was true to my word.

I didn't say I wouldn't go to any game, period. And I'm fairly incapable of turning down a free ticket, so we'll be at the Mets-Dodgers game tonight. The first major league game I ever attended in person was a Mets game at Shea, and I just looked it up: August 17, 1968, Houston 1, Mets 0. 17,529 were in attendance, two of them being my dad and myself. I remember that Jim McAndrew was pitching against Don Wilson and that the only run of the game was a home run by Jimmy Wynn, "The Toy Cannon." 1968 sucked for baseball- no offense. That game was a perfect example. How I remained a baseball fan after that tedium, I don't know, but I did. But I didn't stick with the Mets for too much longer, defecting a few years after the '69 win. That was probably a bad move, I know, but I'm sticking with it to the bitter (and it is bitter indeed) end.

And I'll be rooting against the Mets tonight, because they're the Mets, and few things are worse than that, except, of course, the Yankees. On that, we can all agree.

This week's All Access newsletter deals with how you gotta put your best foot forward at all times, lest someone catch you when you suck:

As a wise dandruff shampoo commercial once advised, you never get a second chance to make a first impression.

A conversation I heard on a podcast last week reminded me of that axiom- it was between a late-night TV host and one of his former writers, and they agreed that the first months of the show were not very good and that it was a period of trial and error before the show finally hit its stride. And that conversation struck me as an interesting admission: they admit that they put out sub-par material for months before they got it right. That means they were very, very lucky, because the network left them on anyway (lacking, as it turns out, a "plan B" in case of failure). And they were very, very lucky, because they managed to find enough forgiving people out there to keep the show above the ratings Mendoza Line.

Most of us don't have that luxury, and I don't mean the part about having an employer who leaves you on even if the show isn't very good. I'm talking here about the audience, and the best way to illustrate what I mean is for you to think about your own use of the radio when you're, say, in the car. You punch around the dial and you land on an unfamiliar talk show. How long do you give the show before you decide whether to stick with it or look for something more entertaining? Not very long, right? And if you tune into a show and the first thing you hear is boring or confusing or just not your cup of tea, are you going to give that show another shot later, or tomorrow, or ever? Probably not. So what makes you think you can get away with an unfocused, rambling, lazy segment once in a while?

If you're trying to snare listeners, you have to be on your game all the time. I know, that's hard, but, sorry, that's how this business works. You don't have all day to get it right- you have more like 30 seconds to a minute to convince someone to stay with you. I listen to a lot of talk radio and I hear hosts do stuff that ultimately drives away potential listeners, such as:

1. Rambling on and on so much that someone who hasn't been listening from the very beginning will have no idea whatsoever what the topic is. That's the easiest way to drive away a listener- make it impossible for people tuning in during the show to quickly find out what the topic is.

2. Too many topics at once. "We're talking about the election, and we're also taking your calls about whether Michael Vick should be suspended." What? Don't confuse people.

3. Tangents. There are some hosts- I will not name names, unless you pay me a lot of money to do so- who cannot stick to one train of thought. They'll start talking about, say, illegal immigration, and within the space of two minutes they'll be talking about Paris Hilton, Ace bandages, "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre," and the salad they had for lunch. Apparently, they think that this is "cute" and "entertaining." Unfortunately, this is "Attention Deficit Disorder," it's "confusing," and it causes listeners to "tune out" and "never come back."

4. Interviews. Please, if you only come away from this thing with one memory, make it this: tell people who you're interviewing, not just at the beginning and end of the interview but DURING the interview. Nothing will make a listener go away faster than if you're in the middle of an interview and there's no way to tell who you're interviewing. It's so easy to fix this- just slip in something like "we're talking to the President and Recording Secretary of the Slow Talkers of America" or "toy manufacturer Irwin Mainway is on the line" before you ask the next question. Do not make listeners try to guess who your subject is. Just tell them as often as you can.

So the pressure's on. You have to be as good as you can be at all times. If you think of something as a "throwaway segment," you're throwing away potential listeners and fans. You're better than that.

(And don't forget that this applies double for airchecks you send out to get a job- you have maybe 30 seconds to convince a PD to listen to the rest of your tape. If there's a lot of production and intros and rambling setup in the beginning, you'll lose the PD. Hit them with your best stuff right out of the chute)

Now, the above principle also applies to All Access News-Talk-Sports and the Talk Topics show prep column, which has to be at the top of its game every single day or... well, okay, that's not exactly true, but I like to think that I'm always on top of my game. (I also believe in the Tooth Fairy, the Loch Ness Monster, and the Eagles' run defense. Okay, not the last one) Why, just check out this week's heap of items, like David Beckham in Hollywood, how Fritos and tubing don't mix, Harry Potter, a heartfelt Get Well wish to Merv Griffin, a teacher who probably shouldn't have a MySpace page, how to get run over by your own car, why I wouldn't want to have to breathe in midtown Manhattan right now, the Michael Vick saga (brought to you by Milk-Bone), the home run that may have saved a life, a newspaper offering the world's most up-to-the-minute breast coverage, why owning a Hummer in a liberal neighborhood won't end well, more anti-plastic grocery bag activity, the saga of a bleeding guy, a prostitute, a car, and a bridge, what chess can do for your love life, a story that'll make you think twice before going into that public pool, a guy with fly larvae in his head, what the well-dressed Hollywood DUI convict is wearing this year, and why you don't taunt the hippos and you don't try to light another man's barbecue (separate stories), plus a great "10 Questions With..." Newsday columnist, WOR/New York and syndicated talk host, and cartoon voice Ellis Henican, the Talent Toolkit with some great newspaper indexes and a link to a random local yokel newspaper finder, and the rest of All Access with news first, fastest, and most accurate, ratings, jobs, message boards, Mediabase charts, an amazing searchable Industry Directory (not just links, but everything you need about everyone you need), and much more, all free. And that's close to a record for sentence length, isn't it?

I don't have a snappy closing this week- I'm already violating the "top of my game at all times" credo- so I'll just indulge myself in a plug for pmsimon.com, which you can check for mostly non-radio stuff like baseball cards, bad frozen yogurt, and the banal doings in my life, and we'll call it a week. Go do something fun and we'll talk in seven days or so.

DRAINED

We just got back from a special town meeting about a project they're doing behind our house. The news was a) necessary and b) not great- they'll be putting in a badly needed new storm drain system, but the project, once approved, will create an unholy racket within a few feet from the back property line every day, 7 am to at least 4 pm, for several months. This is wonderful news insofar as I work at home and will be greeted every morning at 7 am with the sound of heavy equipment. As we learned last year with my neighbor's surprise home renovation work outside my window, loud incessant construction noises are very conducive to productivity when you're a writer. There's nothing better for the creative juices than being unable to hear yourself think.

And this doesn't exactly have to be. The plans sent out with the meeting notice labeled the work "TRENCHLESS," which, well, I don't know about anyone else, but "TRENCHLESS" to me would tend to mean "without digging trenches." At the meeting, the engineer disabused us of that notion, cheerily informing us that since it's cheaper to dig a ten foot trench, a ten foot trench it'll be. You don't dig a ten foot trench without a lot of noise and a lot of dust and a lot of vibration.

But, as I noted, it's ultimately a necessary project, considering that the old drainage system managed one fine morning a few years ago to send the entire hillside from across the main road cascading in the form of mud down our street, into our yard and pool, and eventually through the front door of one unfortunate homeowner's abode and over the cliff, nearly taking the family dog down to the rocks and ocean below. A few months of incomprehensible noise is preferable to that. But I'm already trying to plan for it- maybe I'll buy a better notebook computer, a MacBook or a Vaio, and decamp to Panera Bread or Pavilions all day to glom off the free Wi-Fi until someone asks if I'm ever going to buy any food or coffee or something. It's not ideal- I have my routine, I prefer writing on a desktop computer with a big monitor and a drawing tablet, and I like being home where my stuff and my kitchen and my bathroom and, not incidentally, my wife are located- but I don't think I can handle another extended noisefest around here. My sensibilities are delicate.

We also found out that the folks in the expensive condos behind our house are talking about undergrounding our power and phone and cable utilities, which is great except that it's going to cost a fortune. We're tied into that line, and if they vote to underground the lines- and they can outvote those of us who don't care as much- we'll have to pay. But it WOULD probably improve the quality of our power and cable, which presently suck. Cable signal strengths are, to put it charitably, variable, especially when (no joke) the squirrels are gnawing on the lines. And power goes out every once in a while, like this afternoon, when it was gone for two hours, and I sat in the dark fretting over whether I'd saved all the work I'd done up to that point. (Turns out that buying a good battery backup was one of the best purchases I've made in years- the APC system automatically put the computer into standby, and when power came back, my desktop popped up exactly the way I'd left it. Everything else in the house needed resetting, but at least that worked)

Not that I'm complaining much, mind you. (Okay, I am) But that's what you get when you buy a house. There's no landlord to fix things and pay for them. The tax bill and the user fees and the assessments are mine. I have nobody to complain to but myself. And, of course, you. Thanks for letting me vent.

In honor of Loss Number 10,001 (see? I told you it wouldn't be worth the drive), here's another of My Phillies Memories:

I remember Fred Wenz. I saw him pitch. But here's the sum total of what I remember about Fred Wenz: He was born in Bound Brook, New Jersey.

That's it. Back when I was a kid, he pitched one season in Philly after two cups of coffee with the Red Sox and some lasting legend status there as "Fireball Fred Wenz," who could throw 100 mph but without control. By the time this card came out- 1971- he was out of the majors for good. But I remember sitting in the stands in Connie Mack Stadium, browsing through the Phillies 1970 Yearbook- I still have it, although it's been beaten up a little- and noting that Fred Wenz was born in Bound Brook. Why this caught my eye, I don't know- I didn't grow up in Bound Brook, and I was only vaguely aware of where Bound Brook was at the time. But it just lodged in my brain, so one of my most vivid memories of the 1970 Phillies, right up there with the ballpark and Lowell Palmer's sunglasses- is "Fred Wenz from Bound Brook, New Jersey."

It's amazing what will stick in your memory. It's mildly insane, too.

I went looking for Fred Wenz on the Net. Not much. Nothing about the decade he spent in the minors before making it to the majors for that brief, shining moment. And then I found this: a story in the Johns Hopkins Bayview Medical Center magazine about the death of Drs. James and Lidia Wenz, the subsequent opening of an orthopedic unit dedicated to their memory, and how the first patient for the new unit would be Fred Wenz, the father of James. The picture looks like it could be THE Fred Wenz. But I'm not sure.

And there was this amusing anecdote on a baseball card forum:

There was what may have been an urban legend about the 1971 Topps Fred Wenz card. Supposedly some guy in the Philly area got upset at Wenz, who knew all about his only card; and vowed to make sure Wenz never got any of them.

Well, then, tell you what. I assume he eventually got plenty of copies, but in case you're out there, Fred, you can have one of mine.

The Phillies are in town for their only visit of the season. I am not there.

Reasons?

1. I'm tired.
2. I'm cheap.
3. I don't relish the thought of driving 45 minutes in heavy traffic to get there.
4. They are going to break my heart. Again.

The last one's the killer. I'm tired, sure, and cheap- I don't have credentials this season, and I don't feel like paying, but I COULD, and have in the past. And the haul up the Harbor Freeway isn't appealing to me, nor is getting home after my bedtime- I gotta be up at 3:45 tomorrow morning as usual. No, it's mostly the nagging suspicion that none of this matters. It's preordained. They're going to be a few games over .500, they're going to miss out on the wild card, they're not good enough to get over the hump. Yes, they'll make a run at some point, but they don't have the pitching, the offense is inconsistent, and they have nothing to trade that would get them help. Not good enough to win it- unless the Mets and Braves continue to flail away for the rest of the season and somehow let the Phillies in. Not bad enough to throw in the towel, not with Rollins-Victorino-Chutley-Howard-Rowand. Not likely to make the playoffs.

Look up "mediocre." There they are.

And I'm supposed to go out of my way to see that?

It's been several years since I completely missed out on seeing the Phillies in person. I've seen them at Dodger Stadium pretty much every year, I've seen them in Anaheim the year they played the Angels in an interleague series, I made it to Citizens Bank Park one year. Not this year. This year, I save the time, save the money, stay home. Tonight's game is on in HD, so I can watch that. But I'm not going out of my way for mediocrity.

Oh, yeah, one other thing. I've been a jinx. They lose when I show up. So I'll stay home. Maybe they'll sweep. That would be nice.

DRAWING A BLANK

Got myself a new Wacom drawing tablet today. Naturally, I plunged right into drawing, because it's been a long time since I've had a functioning digitizing tablet and I've been itching to do some cartooning again. I was once a cartoonist, y'see, a long time ago, but the intervening years saw me having less and less time to sit down and draw. 16 hour work days and no off days will do that to you. So I was excited to get the new gear working, and it does work well. But there's one thing the tablet can't do.

That thing I mentioned about having no time? The tablet can't do anything about that.

So I did some drawing, and some more, and then took a few minutes to watch "Entourage," then came back and soon I realized I was running out of time and wasn't remotely finished. Worse, I wasn't crazy about the content of what I was drawing- the art was fine, but the content, not so much. So I had to quit, write this thing, and put it off for another day.

I get a lot of people telling me how great I have it, and they're right- I work from home, I basically write stupid wiseass stuff all day and get paid for it, it's pretty remarkable, actually. And I appreciate it. The one drawback is that I have too much to do for a 24 hour day and a 7 day week. The things I enjoy doing, like reading and drawing and sleeping, are getting harder to cram into the schedule. But my dreams persist, so the tablet now sits by my keyboard, and the difficulty of hooking up my old, balky tablet is no longer an excuse for me not to get back to drawing. The sketch pad is here, the brush pens are here, the scanner is here, Photoshop's here, and now the tablet's here. I have everything I need.

Except time. And a better idea for a cartoon. When I've worked those out, you'll see the results right here. Those of you who remember my stuff from the days of yore (actually, 1978 through about 1986), prepare to be, um, not terribly surprised at all, actually.

Found this in a shoebox full of baseball cards:

April 12, 1986, Mets vs. Phillies? Which game was that?

Ah, but we live in a wondrous age, an age where one can simply go to the Internet, click a few links, and voila: the boxscore, it is here. And, despite the fact that I went to roughly hundreds of Phillies games over the years I lived in the area, the boxscore instantly brought back a few memories of that particular game, namely:

1. I took my dad to the game.
2. It was freakin' cold when the sun dipped behind the first base stands.
3. Steve Jeltz- STEVE JELTZ?!?- hit a triple to the warning track in left-center.
4. Steve Jeltz- STEVE JELTZ?!?- drove in the winning run in the 14th inning.

The Phillies' lineup was also a memory, but not a good one- while they finished in second place, they were 21 1/2 games behind the Mets, with good reason. This was not the 1980 World Champions lineup, or the 1983 NL champs, or the 1993 champs. This was the in-between period- Dykstra was there, but leading off for the Mets. The starting lineup included Gary Redus, Milt Thompson, Juan "Disappointment" Samuel, Glenn Wilson, John Russell, Rick Schu, and the aforementioned Jeltz. Oh, and Mike Schmidt, too, who went 4 for 7. But Jeltz, not Schmidt or starter Steve Carlton, was the star of the game- 3 for 6 plus two walks and a stolen base, three RBI, game-winning hit. It was probably the highlight of Steve Jeltz' career, and life. The game took five hours to complete. By the end, we had icicles hanging from our chins- it felt that cold upstairs behind the plate.

The tickets: six bucks each. Parking: something like four bucks. A yearbook, program, hot dog, soda: maybe ten or eleven bucks. All those memories from a stupid ticket stub for an ultimately meaningless game: priceless.

RADIO: COVERED IN GLORY AGAIN

From All Access' Net News today:

K-Rock/Cleveland Morning Co-Host Injured In Stunt

DOMINIC DIETER, part of the morning show on CBS Alternative WKRI (92.3 K-ROCK)/CLEVELAND, was treated and released from METROHEALTH MEDICAL CENTER after being injured during a radio stunt FRIDAY morning.

NEWSCHANNEL5 reported DIETER was dared to roll down a steep hill near East 49th Street and Marginal Road in an 85-gallon drum. The lid reportedly popped off, and DIETER was injured. The station said he laid on the ground for 20 minutes, saying he could not feel his feet.

ROVER, the show's co-host, said the "Dare DIETER" segment is over.

Get it? He was, like, rolling down a hill! In a barrel! That's GREAT radio!

Um, no, actually, it isn't. Not at all.

And that's the fault of whoever is supposed to be overseeing that show. There's probably nobody in the building to say, you know, guys, that a) is way too dangerous, b) is entirely visual and therefore lousy for an audio medium, and c) isn't remotely funny, not in context, not for any reason. I can't blame the talent- he's just trying to do something interesting and different. I blame whoever is supposed to be guiding the show. And if there's nobody in that role, I blame management for thinking that you can just let the show do whatever it wants. You'd think that after the "Wee for a Wii" disaster in Sacramento, this kind of thing wouldn't happen. You'd be wrong.

Radio? Me? Um, no, I don't work in radio. I work in a more respectable industry. Excuse me, now, my boss Mr. Barnum is paging me.

This week's All Access newsletter, which may go out in minutes or may go out tomorrow- I never know- involves being careful not to get caught short:

When you live in a natural-disaster-prone area, you learn the importance of preparedness. You'd also learn that in the Boy Scouts, but I was never a Boy Scout. (Okay, I was a Cub Scout one year, and I vaguely remember the word "Webelo" being involved, but I didn't ever get to the part where they tell you to Be Prepared. We just, like, made towel racks and ran around in stupid little blue uniforms and got bored and quit at some point) Anyway, because we here in Southern California get to experience the Grand Slam of natural disasters -- earthquakes, wildfires, mudslides, and Paris Hilton -- they stuff a big foldout Emergency Preparedness Guide into the local daily paper every other month or so. And it tells you to make sure you're prepared with your Emergency Kit (flashlights, batteries, bottled water, canned food, gizmo to shut off the gas valve, Twizzlers) and know what to do when the ground starts shaking (scream, run around in circles).

There's a lesson in this for radio, believe it or not, and it ties into some of the stories we've been running lately in Net News, like the star talk host who's trying to jump to a rival station, or the four-months-and-counting saga of finding someone to fill the slot of that long-time syndicated morning guy who said the wrong thing at the wrong time. Let's break this into two parts: first, for program directors, you have to have a Plan B in place at all times, a pool of hosts you can immediately plug into any spot that unexpectedly opens up. That means developing your weekenders, your fill-in hosts, your network of talent. It means taking the time to scout hosts in other markets, hosts languishing in lousy time slots at the competition, people in your town who might make good radio personalities with a little time and coaching. You need to start collecting these folks now, before you need it. Do you have a ratings book or two to throw overboard because you need all that time to decide who to hire to replace your star? No, you don't. So you need to have some idea of who can, at worst, hold down the fort and, at best, take over on a permanent basis, and you need to do it well before it's necessary. It's like they say about looking for a job: the time to get your resume in order and start looking is when you've just started a new job. And the time to get your replacements ready is when you don't think you'll need one for a while.

The second part is for the General Managers, and it addresses what I know PDs are saying about the first part. GMs: This is gonna cost you a few dollars, but let your PDs develop talent. Let them use the weekends and overnights for local hosts instead of infomercials. Loosen the purse strings just a little and call it an investment in your future, so you don't get stuck spending months and months scraping to find a fill-in because your morning guy woke up one day and decided he wasn't interested in bourgeois Western values like work anymore, or your afternoon team just told you they've been offered three times what you're paying them to go to a bigger market and they can't give you a whole two weeks' notice. If you like the way a strong local show makes you money and gets you ratings and gives the entire station a better position in the marketplace, make sure you have insurance. If small market radio is no longer providing a farm system for talent, you're just going to have to make one yourself, and that means a few hours less of the Miracle Weight Loss And Enhancement Show.

And let's throw in a third part, for the station owners: running smaller market stations on the cheap has its advantages, but you need that farm system. Look, you need to start reconnecting those stations to the community anyway (it's what satellite and iPods can't do all that well), so it makes some business sense to get new talent in there and involved with the local community. I know you're focused on what you're going to tell analysts this quarter, but someone has to start thinking about the future. And something has to happen to keep talented people in the business. Just sayin'.

Now, before the mere mention of "farm system" gets me off on a tangent about the Phillies and pitching and 10,000 losses, let's go right to the plug for All Access News-Talk-Sports and the Talk Topics column, back after a week's hiatus with more of the show prep goodness you need, like items about the emergence of "Wizard Music" (by "Harry and the Potters"!), the scary numbers about real estate foreclosures, a pretty impressive penny slot payoff, Miss New Jersey's picture problems, the joy of sitting on a commuter jet while a baby chants "bye bye plane!" over and over and over and over and over, the predictable first selection for Barack's Book Club, the Waffle House Museum, another couple of politicians caught in embarrassing personal situations, the "fat tax" proposal, the whereabouts of Michael Richards, why Boomers can't hear, why iPods and lightning don't mix, why Jim Morrison's death is suddenly back in the news, the (expensive) search for Bigfoot, the latest in toilet paper dispensing technology, the Crazy Eddie movie, why you really should check the date on that wedding invitation, and the horror of the pending Barry Manilow-Rosie O'Donnell collaboration, plus much more. And there's "10 Questions With..." WOR/New York and syndicated talker Steve Malzberg as well as the rest of All Access with Net News, the undisputed leading source for radio and music industry news, plus columns, message boards, Mediabase charts, the Industry Directory, Arbitron ratings, job listings, and everything else you need, all in one place, all free.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go check on a few things, like what "Webelo" means and whether we have sufficient Twizzler reserves for any emergency. More genius next week.

STINKBERRY

I decided, after dinner, to treat myself to an ice cream cone. I try to limit my ice cream consumption, although I did have ice cream cake last week for my birthday, but it's been a stressful time and I just felt like having a scoop of chocolate chip on a sugar cone. Baskin-Robbins was empty- no customers but me. So I got the cone, and as I walked away, I heard a lot of chatter coming from another store in the shopping center.

Pinkberry. Pinkberry had a queue. Pinkberry had about a dozen chattering young folks lined up for frozen yogurt.

They were lining up for stuff that tastes like sweat. Like the sweat of a yak whose diet consists of garlic and cheese. The good-tasting stuff had no takers but me. The sour, grainy stuff- that's what's selling.

I do get it, though. I understand. There's the trendiness, of which I've written before. But there's also the word "yogurt," which makes people feel like it's healthier, and with the odd, not sweet taste, you might get the impression that, like castor oil, it MUST be good for you. But the only way to make the stuff palatable at all- and even the fans will admit this- is to dump Fruity Pebbles or Cap'n Crunch all over it, which negates the caloric and carb advantage.

So you might as well go for the ice cream. Last I checked, Baskin-Robbins doesn't have a sweat-flavored ice cream, but, then again, you won't need to dump sugary cereal all over it, either.

=====================

And via L.A. Observed, here's a 1972 BBC documentary, "Reyner Banham Loves Los Angeles," featuring the late British architectural scholar. It's long but it has amazing lost footage of L.A. circa 1972, including LAX as a one-level complex with the old Chevron at the exit, mariachis on Olvera Street, and, yes, Palos Verdes' cliffs "and the suburbia above it" (gee, thanks, dude). There's "Century Booolevard," Watts (look for an Enco station at the Harbor Freeway), "high-speed freeway driving" (with wide-open traffic on all roads- man, has THAT changed!), the old Mattel building off the 405, Griffith Observatory, people living within walking distance from work (!), smog, Red Car tracks... The middle drags with a look at architectural styles, and then he hits the gates at Rolling Hills (where we used to live), Venice, some shots of the destroyed Pacific Ocean Park, a stop at Tiny Naylor's with Ed Ruscha... it's an amazing time capsule. If you have some time to kill, here it is:

Oh, yeah, there's some topless dancing to "L.A. Woman." Enjoy.

In honor of tonight's game, here's some nostalgia from when people still cared about the baseball All-Star Game:

The 1969 All-Star cards- they were really stars back then. Willie McCovey, apart from the arm braces, still looked like Willie McCovey at last night's Home Run Derby- bigger, older, but unmistakably McCovey. Look at Bob Gibson's expression- you didn't want to see that on the mound if you were at bat. Santo belongs in the Hall of Fame, Campaneris is obviously contemplating flinging his bat at Lerrin LaGrow, and Pete Rose is, um, waiting to get away to call his bookie, I guess.

The All-Star game these days leaves me cold. In fact, I think it's on right now, and I haven't turned it on yet. Chase Utley's batting eighth, anyway, so there's time. It seemed more like the players of 1969 WANTED to play in the game, and the players today look for any injury excuse to get a three day mid-season break. But they probably didn't care back then, either. And if they don't care, I shouldn't, right?

Aah, maybe I'll watch a few innings. Just for professional reasons. Excuse me.

I have a splitting sinus headache this evening and the Benadryl is slowly robbing me of consciousness, so I'll leave you with a gem from the record "collection," folk singer/environmental activist Bob Killian and his hit 1987 single "I Like the Jersey Shore":

Earnest, yes, but don't let that stop you from flipping the sleeve over and enjoying the lyrics:

No, I haven't ever listened to this one. But the A-side name-checks Belmar and Sandy Hook and Long Branch. And the B-side has a heartfelt communique from father to child, with a very special anti-capitalism message. And the back-up vocals include the stylings of "Fifi." How can it be bad?

Killian's environmental activities have overshadowed his towering success in music- well, okay, it's not hard. Here's what he's up to. He appears to be down in Sarasota now, so he liked the Jersey Shore, but not THAT much.

ALEC BALDWIN SAVES THE WORLD

The review of Live Earth: it sucked.

Tasteful Starbucksian music for Birkenstock wearers and people who think going to a concert is all the environmental consciousness they need. Rich celebrities flying on private jets hectoring lesser humans to conserve energy. Dire warnings of environmental disaster RIGHT NOW unless American business shuts down and everyone stops driving cars and people do the right thing and commit ecologically safe suicide, because, of course, we're the problem. Horribly earnest steaming piles of "music" from people like John Mayer, accompanied by campaigning for Al Gore at regular intervals- I thought that Melissa Etheridge was going to crawl right up Gore's ample ass by the way she was gushing (she insisted he got into politics to tell the truth, which raises the question of whether he was telling the truth when he was anti-abortion or when he suddenly turned pro-choice).

And then there were these guys:

Memo to Sting: I never thought I'd say this, but, dude, stick to the lute. You can't hit the high notes anymore, and based on the way you choked on some syllables, you don't care about hitting too many of the other notes as well. And as for the "Message in a Bottle" finale featuring the overrated Kanye West and unnecessary guitar licks from the aforementioned John Mayer, well, yecch. Terrible all around.

(Hey, check out the record sleeve above: $1.17 at Two Guys! And you got two songs for that price, although the second one- the B side- usually sucked)

High point: shockingly enough, Linkin Park in Tokyo, who were the only act to get some real Rawk Concert energy going with a vast crowd of Japanese kids pogoing along with the beat. The music sucked, but it was the only time the show resembled a real rock event rather than a lame Democratic Party fundraiser.

Low point: too many to narrow to one single horrific moment. Was it Yellow Magic Orchestra at Kyoto, which my sister correctly described as sounding like the kind of prerecorded music they play behind magic acts in Vegas? Was it Cat Stevens- Yusuf Islam- in Hamburg? Madonna exhorting the London crowd, "If you wanna save the planet, jump up and down!"? The Celebrity Drum Circle? Alicia Keys unaccountably injecting a repeated "New York! New York!" into "For The Love of Money," an exemplary song from the Philly Soul songbook being performed in, um, New Jersey? The snoozers from Corinne Bailey Rae or Mayer? Roger Waters with an ill-rehearsed kid's choir croaking "Another Brick in the Wall"? Actually, it may be the repeated glimpses of Alec Baldwin wearing a lei- a lei?- in the VIP area in front of the stage at Giants Stadium.

Yes, that's the one. The lasting impression left by Live Earth- the one image I'll carry with me forever- is Alec Baldwin grooving to music, standing alone in the VIP area, a lei around his neck, one eye on the camera watching him. Yeah, that made Live Earth worth the trouble.

YOU GOTTA BE IN IT TO LOSE IT

It's a busy weekend. All I have time for today is proof that my losing tradition goes back almost as far as the Phillies'. Okay, not THAT far. Just 1971:

All you need is a dollar, a dream, and the understanding that you will be one dollar poorer when the dream is crushed to bits.

With apologies to Paul Lukas, upon whose domain this will infringe:

This never looked good.

Best baseball player born on my birthday, July 5? Easy. This guy:

Gossage was lights-out before they started using the term.

But this guy, also born on July 5, hits a little closer to home:

Gary "Sarge" Matthews, the worst TV baseball color analyst right now, bar none. It IS his first season, so we could and maybe should give him a break, but all he does- ALL he does- is restate the obvious. "That was a hard-hit ball, Harry." "That ball was in the dirt." Nails on a blackboard, he is.

And we share a birthday. How... fitting.

What're YOU lookin' at?

I SAID, what're you lookin' at?

I'm tellin' you one more time...

Are you havin' a larf?

Hey, Ton'- we got a joker here, a real comedian!

Um, no, no, I wasn't laughing at you, sir. Please don't hurt me.

Well, all right. Just... watch it.

One of the best things about the old Topps baseball cards were the cartoons on the back. Usually, they were of the "Bob threw three shutouts in 1963" illustrated with a cartoon of a generic pitcher throwing three "O"s. But then there were the weird ones, like this:

Journeyman pitcher George Culver liked to wear "mod" clothes? THIS guy?

Given his many years as a minor league pitching coach and manager in the Phillies and Dodgers systems, I'm guessing he doesn't dress in Qiana and bell bottoms anymore. There's a little article about what George has been doing more recently here.

Another interesting thing you won't see or hear anymore is what players are up to in the off season. Tom Hilgendorf worked construction:

And Cal Koonce was a stockbroker:

The Phillies announcers used to make a big deal about how Richie Hebner used to dig graves in the offseason, too. It wasn't until even the scrubs were making six figures a season and the off-season became a conditioning thing rather than time to make some real money. Baseball was, for the non-stars, something you did for the glory and fun, and teaching or construction work were what you did to support your family. In an era where even, say, Yoel Hernandez probably makes more in a season than most of the rest of us, that's, um, quaint.

GONE FISSION

In the immortal words of Dante Hicks, I'm not even supposed to be here today.

Please direct all business calls and mail to our Rowland office.

For years, the baseball card traders would tell you that the most valuable of cards, short of Honus Wagner, is the rookie card for a superstar. I can tell you, having several of those and having made some attempts to sell some, that this is not true in practical application, since the hobby long ago moved from collecting superstars of the past (Mickey Mantle notwithstanding) to buying futures, snapping up loads of the next superstar's early cards, which, of course, means a) there will be no shortage of those cards, depressing their value, and b) by the time they "mature," the collectors will be off chasing the next big thing and you'll be stuck with a box full of cards nobody wants.

But, again, the romantic notion is of your superstar rookie cards. The reality was more like this:

This one got both guy's names a little off. Chuck Brinkman played parts of six seasons in the majors with little effect; his athletic peak was in college at Ohio State, where he ended up in the school's Hall of Fame. His brother Ed was a much more successful major leaguer, a great-field-no-hit shortstop. Meanwhile, Richie Moloney pitched one game for the Sox in 1970 and that was it- one inning pitched, two hits, no runs, one strikeout, that's it. The end.

Now, it's hard to recall just how dire the early 70's Yankees were, but this might help:

Al Closter? Roger Hambright? Rusty Torres ended up with a nine-season career; couldn't hit, but holds an amazing distinction of being present at three- THREE_ forfeits: he was with the Yankees at the last Washington Senators game, which ended when the angry fans stormed the field and forced a forfeit in the ninth, he was with the Indians at 10 Cent Beer Night, and he was with the White Sox starting in right field on Disco Demolition Night. He now heads up a program to prepare athletes for life after sports and teaches baseball to little kids. Closter and Hambright did very little in the majors. Those were the Yankees I remember, the Yankees of Celerino Sanchez, the Yankees who lost a lot and whose fans remained arrogant throughout, reminding everyone that, well, they won more World Series than anyone else and they had BABE RUTH, so there. Why, yes, I still hate the Yankees- why do you ask?

March 2012

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Who?

    Perry Michael Simon. Talk radio guy. Editor of the News-Talk-Sports section at AllAccess.com. Editor and writer at Chris Hardwick's Nerdist.com. Former Program Director, Operations Manager, host, and general nuisance at KLSX/Los Angeles, Y-107/Los Angeles, New Jersey 101.5. Freelance writer on media, sports, pop culture, based somewhere in the Los Angeles area. Contact him here. Copyright 2003-2012 Perry Michael Simon. Yeah.

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