PMSimon.com

My initial reaction to the news that Maggie Gyllenhaal said in an interview that, basically, America deserved what it got on 9/11 because we've done some "reprehensible" things and therefore was "responsible in some way," was to be outraged. Why, how dare a Hollywood star be...

,,,Hollywood star?

Wait a minute.

I know who Maggie Gyllenhaal is. Sister of Jake. But what the hell has she done to be enough of a star to be quoted about 9/11? I remember she was one of the many cast members in the execrable "Mona Lisa Smile," and she was in "Secretary," which nobody saw, and... and... what HAS she done?

I looked it up. She was in "Donnie Darko," which nobody saw but a lot of people like to mention it as a "cult film," whish means that nobody saw it but some people have heard of it. She was in "Confessions of a Dangerous Mind," which I saw, but for the life of me I can't remember her in it at all. Same for "Adaptation." And that's it. There are other movies listed, but you haven't seen them.

Hollywood star? We've devalued the meaning of that term.

That's not to say that one needs to be a Hollywood star to make a stupid, self-hating anti-American comment. But it means I really can't hate her for it, because, really, she shouldn't have microphones stuck in her face, not unless it's one of those "Man on the Street" things the Onion parodies every week. It really doesn't matter what Maggie Gyllenhaal thinks about anything. It's not like she has any influence on anybody. Okay, maybe on Jake, but, for God's sake, he was "Bubble Boy"- how can anyone take HIM seriously, either? He was the star of a movie co-starring Beetlejuice from Howard Stern's show.

How about this rule?: If you're a celebrity, people have to have HEARD of you before you get to make stupid political pronouncements.

Or you just go get a blog. Like me. Although I'm certainly no Gyllenhaal.

 Share

My dad would have been 74 today.

This is the first April 25th in my life without my father, and for weeks, I've found myself thinking about what to get him, followed by that sinking realization that the USPS and FedEx don't deliver wherever he may be. (The USPS has a difficult-enough time delivering where he used to be in Florida) Last year, I got him a Barnes and Noble gift card, because he loved books, the B&N was closer to his house than the Borders, and I figured he could also use it online if he couldn't get out of the house- we knew his time was limited, and his condition had been rapidly deteriorating. He did get to use the card- he drove to the store and picked up some books, and it was apparently his last solo driving trip anywhere. About a month later, he was gone.

I take comfort in the fact that he had 73 good years- actually, more like 71 good years, one and a half anxiety-filled years, and six months you wouldn't wish on anyone. On Saturday evening, I lit two Yahrzeit candles, for my mom and my dad, and I cried and I talked to them and I mourned as if they were only gone a week instead of eleven years and one year. It still hurts, and it always will, but it especially hurts on occasions like birthdays, when I realize I can no longer celebrate with them.

But I can still celebrate. I think I'll go buy some books today, because that's what Dad would have done. Somebody's gotta keep the faith.

Happy birthday, Dad.

 Share

You make an appointment and you get delayed, you call and you tell the other party that you're running late and you'll be calling as soon as possible. And then you do that. Right?

I had a call set up with someone for this afternoon. His office called to tell me he was stuck with a client but was wrapping it up and would call in "fifteen to twenty minutes."

Forty-five minutes later, no call. So I called and the assistant said he was escorting the appointment out of the office and would call in minutes.

That was forty-five minutes ago.

You cancel other appointments, you clear out your schedule, you make sure you're sitting there in the office ready for the call, and they don't call. And you end up sitting there for a few hours like you're waiting for the cable guy. Meanwhile, the clock keeps ticking, you realize you're already after hours where the guy's office is, and they haven't had the courtesy to call you.

I never know what to do in this case. It's supremely aggravating and it's really inexcusable, and this was going to be my first contact with him, too, so I don't necessarily want to go off on him before we even start, but if I'm going to go out of my way to be available for a call, I expect the call. Five, ten minutes either way, I can understand; this, I can't.

And this is how things are in business: customer be damned, client be damned, relationships be damned.

Pleased? No.

OK, I'm done venting. And if you're eager to point out the times I've stood people up, please don't. I'm in no mood to be labeled a hypocrite, even if I AM a hypocrite.

 Share

My spontaneous Line of the Night, blurted during a discussion of Mitch Albom's little problem at the Detroit Free Press, when someone mentioned "Tuesdays With Morrie":

"Actually, Morrie wasn't there on Tuesdays. Mitch wrote it in advance."

(rimshot)

Hey, it's late and I took some Benadryl. This is what you get.

 Share

Got me a shredder.

Oh, I can't wait. I'm gonna shred everything. Gonna shred those Capital One and MBNA credit card blandishments. Gonna shred junk mail, random scraps of paper, magazines. Gonna shred all day, shred all night, shred for five minutes at a time and then not shred while the shredder recovers (that's how these things work- you shred too much, you burn 'em out). I Ihaven't been this excited about adding a new piece of technology since we bought our first color TV in 1971, just in time for the World Series.

Got me this shredder.

Shreds like the dickens, shreds into confetti. I can shred and shred, then take the results and throw 'em in the air like the Yankees are parading down Lower Broadway after winning the Series. All those useless stacks of paper in the office? Gonna shred 'em.

(Is it Friday yet? No? Damn. I am SO burned crispy. Can you tell?)

 Share

The curse continues. I opened a bottle of Pepsi Cherry in the car and it exploded all over me. A large portion of tree crashed onto our deck at 4 am. My sinuses felt like sulfuric acid was coursing through them all day. And worst, by far...

...that's right. I punched up Jack-FM on my Walkman and they were playing Phil Collins.

Again.

Jack-FM, where you're never more than 20 minutes away from the bald guy.

I'm going to go burn my radio now.

 Share

You think I'm making this up.

10:14 am, fiddling with the Walkman, hit 100.7, it flicks from KHAY in Ventura over to San Diego's Jack-FM, and who immediately pops on?

The Bald Satan.

"Take Me Home." His lament that being an insanely rich pop star on tour staying at the finest hotels, being served the finest food, and being transported in limos and first-class plane seats is like a twenty year stretch in Abu Ghraib.

Maybe this Jack-FM thing is indeed Phil Collins' plot to take over the world one failing radio station at a time, but I refuse to surrender.

And you wonder why I haven't written much lately?

 Share

We looked at cars. We looked at Lexuses (Lexi?), Toyotas, Volvos. We drove a Prius. (Really) We looked, we thought, we're still confused. Bought none.

We looked at plasma TVs. We looked at the Panasonic, the Pioneer, an LG. We looked at LCD TVs, too. We kinda know what we want, but picking the right time to buy's a little troublesome. Bought none.

We looked at wine. Which one? Dunno, but there were a million people in the Beverages and More store in Torrance, the Grand Opening. Lotta alkies around here. Great beer selection, beer from all over the world, some surprising stuff and difficult-to-find imports and regional craft brews. I bought Newcastle Brown Ale, as always. No time for experimentation.

Total haul: beer. And some candy, a bottle of chianti, some mustard, some cookies. Two puzzle magazines, Entertainment Weekly, a car book. Cheap headphones and underwear.

Another successful Saturday in America.

 Share