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That is the LAST time I try that blood pressure monitor at the Ralphs pharmacy department.

You stick your arm in and press the green button, and the sleeve tightens, and tightens, and tightens, and tightens, and tightens, and tightens, and tightens, and tightens, and tightens, and tightens, and tightens, and tightens, and tightens, and tightens, and tightens, and tightens, and OH LORD MAKE IT STOP and tightens, and tightens, and tightens, and tightens, and tightens, and tightens, and tightens, and tightens, and tightens, and you start to pass out, preventing you from hitting the red button to be mercifully released, and finally it beeps and lets you go and shows that, surprise, your blood pressure's on the high side and you really should have it checked, you know.

I'm going to go rest up now. Mustn't allow my blood pressure to get too high.

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Tired.

Trying to keep my blood pressure down.

Did I say tired?

Tomorrow.

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If you grew up within range of Mets radio broadcasts in the 60's and 70's, Lindsey Nelson was the comical, clownish father, with a unique, honkingly nasal voice and sports jackets that appeared to be sewn together from scraps of fabric from dozens of sportcoats past. Ralph Kiner was the slightly befuddled cousin, the ex-jock with lots of stories about his playing days, few all that interesting but still appreciated.

And then there was Bob Murphy, the Murph, the avuncular uncle, no-nonsense but with a deceptive wit and a wealth of knowledge. He seemed to gargle with whiskey and tobacco, and had the kind of red complexion that made him appear to be about to explode, but above all, he sounded like baseball, sounded like the voice you wanted to hear on a summer evening with the windows of the Rambler rolled down on the way to the Old Barn Milk Bar for ice cream. He wasn't Vin Scully, not quite Harry Kalas either, and he was without apology a homer for the Mets, but he was good, and when the Mets won and he told you to stay tuned for the "happy recap," well, you did.

In later years, the voice became raspy, weaker, the comments somewhat more pointed, the attitude more crochety, but that was OK, because he was the Murph, and he earned it. You were grateful that amidst the blandness of the rest of the Mets broadcast crew, you still had some Murph to tide you over. And then, after last season, he retired, and now, he's gone, amidst what I expect will be a ton of tributes employing the "happy recap" line. Corny, yes, but if you can't be corny when an old friend dies...

Some voices disappear after the speaker is gone. Some you never forget, whether or not you have any tape of them. My mom and dad's voices are lodged in my mind (and, sometimes, when I'm really tired, I'll sometimes slip and say something in an accent like my mom's, substituting a "t" or even an "s" for a "th"). Bob Murphy's voice changed in the last few years of his life, but in my mind, it's still 1969 and Lindsey, Ralph, and Bob are still on scratchy, weak WJRZ calling the action and it's summer. Murph and Lindsey are gone now, but somewhere, it's always summer, the Rambler's pulling out on Greenrale Avenue and we're going for ice cream. Happy recap indeed.

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There was an article in the L.A. Times yesterday about the difficulty of artists in getting their war and political protest songs on the radio. The article talked about their reasons for being anti-war/anti-Bush (for Tom Waits: "the trigger was a need to address the war in Iraq in intensely human terms." I get that need, too, sometimes, but then I pop a Rolaids and it goes away) and the difficulty of getting airplay in such repressive times:

"At first it surprised me when I heard somebody ask, 'Where's all the protest music?' " says Meg Griffin, programmer and host of two shows for Sirius Satellite Radio. "I'm seeing a lot of it, but I realized why they'd say that, because where would they hear those songs?"

Anything that might polarize listeners is considered anathema in commercial radio.

No, anything by artists who are generally unpopular is anathema in commercial radio. Look at the artists cited as having new anti-war anthems that aren't being heard (except, ostensibly, on Meg's show): Tom Waits. Steve Earle. Loudon Wainwright III. John Fogerty, Keb' Mo'. Not one of them gets played on the radio in general, not because they're bad or good or that they wrote and performed political songs but for one simple reason- they make noncommercial music that the general top 40 or rock or pop or country audience just hasn't ever really taken to, no matter what the lyrics. (Fogerty's an exception, but when was the last time you heard a NEW John Fogerty song on the radio? And then there was Loudon Wainwright's one hit, but his new one can't be a patch on "Dead Skunk," although I haven't heard it yet) What, Tom Waits can't get his anti-war music on the radio? Tom Waits has NEVER gotten his music on the radio. (Public radio doesn't count)

Moreover, the idea that commercial radio won't play songs (or artists) critical of the President is plain wrong- Jadakiss, mentioned in passing in the article, actually suggested Bush staged the 9/11 attacks in a song and it got played right to the top of the charts, with some stations bleeping the line but many others playing it intact. The mass radio boycott of the Dixie Chicks was a myth- only Cumulus, one company, briefly removed the group from their playlists, and Clear Channel never did ban them.

Here's an idea- how about if a CURRENTLY POPULAR recording artist writes a catchy, hit tune and puts pointedly political lyrics to it? What would happen then? A hit, probably. Instead, you get Loudon Wainwright III recording some folky thing and saying:

"I must say I was really happy when I wrote 'President's Day'... (b)ut the thought did occur to me that maybe I should be careful about singing it. That's not a good sign when you start worrying about a visit from one of John Ashcroft's people because of a song you wrote."

Because there have been so many raids on political dissidents by the Attorney General's office. And I'm fairly certain Loudon Wainwright III is right up there on the top of the list. He's so dangerous.

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In the portfolio of Radio Stars enjoying a baseball game at Dodger Stadium, here are two entries from this season, for your entertainment and my space-filling purposes:

Mr. Larry Wachs, formerly of Atlanta's "The Regular Guys," April 2004. Mr. Wachs was granted an extended period of time to enjoy such pursuits by his employers at the "Clear Channel" radio emporium after an unfortunate incident which shall remain a mystery to the world.

Mr. Ken Chiampou and Mr. John Kobylt, "John and Ken" at KFI/Los Angeles, taking in the August 5, 2004 game while contemplating the overthrow of a California Congressperson. Mr. Kobylt is indicating with his gesture the recent trajectory of the show's ratings.

Coming soon: Dr. Laura Schlessinger pinch-hits for Jeff Weaver... and draws a walk.

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All I needed to do was to get to the barbell and lift a little weight- a few reps from the incline bench, a few from the flat bench- and I could get out of there and go home. Unfortunately, Fridays at the gym have of late been plagued by the appearance of the Underemployed Thick-Necked Recent High School Graduate, several of them, with shaven heads and the tendency to hog the free weight area admiring themselves in the mirror and having conversations like this:

Neckless #1: You workin' today?

Neckless #2: Nah, slow.

Neckless #1: Mmm. (thinks) Uh, you... what...

Neckless #2: (as if he understood the question) I'm thinkin' about goin' to Bryman. (Ed. Note: Bryman is a "college" that advertises on Channel 56 during "21 Jump Street" reruns. I believe it's in the U.S. News and World Report college rankings under "Not Selective")

Neckless #1: Mmm.

Neckless #2: Or somethin'.

Neckless #1: Mmm.

And meanwhile, they have their stuff- towels, CD players, gloves- strewn on all the benches. And here's the pattern they use- 10 reps, then about 5 minutes of puttering around or using some other machine while leaving their stuff by the weights, then back for another 10 reps. Want to use the weights? Too bad- they're "using" them. I finally just said "I'm gonna use this while you're over there talking," took his weights off, put mine (a lot less) on, and did a reduced number of sets just to get out of there.

My point: life would be a lot easier if other people were not involved.

Oh, I'll make exceptions. Fran is one, of course, and I'm pleased that there are people who deliver my mail and perform in little comedic playlets on the television contraption for my amusement, and the way some people take flour and water and tomatoes and curdled dairy products and convert them into a wondrous comestible they call a "pizza," well, that, I like. But I don't want to have to DEAL with those people. The ones on the TV are somewhere far, far away- like in Studio City or something- and need no interaction. The postal carriers come and go and never make any physical contact- that works. Pizza? I'll slip the money under the door, you leave it on the doorstep, I'll pull it in when you're gone.

Alas, even living here in remote Rancho Relaxo, I still have to deal with people. People who operate banking and financial institutions to make me jump through hoops to handle my father's estate. People who come and unclog our drains and lecture me on what not to flush despite the fact that I never flushed what they claim we did (sorry, sir, but we haven't even SEEN "Handi-Wipes" in several decades, let alone flush them down the toilet). People who want donations, who drive like maniacs, who jam the weight room at the gym and make me wait around for an eternity just do do my routine.

I understand the appeal of home gyms. I understand the appeal of hermitry. I understand the appeal of Greta Garbo.

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