exercise your franchise

I don't care who you vote for...I really don't...but I hope that you will make your voice heard on Tuesday and vote. It's your country...your state...your city...your community...and one of the most fundamental ways to have your say is to vote. Win, lose, or draw...however you choices fare, your contribution matters.

As I said, I don't care who...or what...your vote for...voting is an expression of individual choice and it is not up to me or anybody else to tell you how to do it. I have my choices...which I've already made on a ballot I've already submitted...and you have yours and that's as it should be. Whoever wins wins...but it is, in my opinion, that much more valid if a large percentage of those eligible to cast votes actually take the time to do so.

The only way your one vote doesn't matter is if you opt out of casting it.

May the Great Pumpkin bless and keep you :-)

standard time

Nah, I'm not talking about that thing we have to with the clocks tonight (though you should remember to "fall back" or you'll be out of synch with the rest of us all day tomorrow)...instead I'm talking about the so-called standards from the "great American songbook". The undeniably great songs written in the early to mid 20th Century by astonishingly gifted songwriters like George and Ira Gershwin, Duke Ellington and Billy Strayhorn, Hoagy Carmichael, Johnny Mercer, and Cole Porter. The songs given life eternal by those blessed with the ability to channel the music of the heavens and deliver it to us mere mortals...Billie Holiday, Sinatra, Nat "King" Cole, Tony Bennett.

The songs a current, lingering trend in pop music revisits over and over. The "songbook" has become a refuge for pop stars whom the charts and the radio wave have passed by...a safe haven for aging "boomers" (yours truly included) who find solace in a familiar melody or a clever turn of phrase that brings a smile of recognition each and every time they hear it.

Rod Stewart has croaked his way back to platinum success with his trio of CDs filled with these songs and others have (Bette Midler, Aaron Neville, Crystal Gayle, Cyndi Lauper, Suzy Bogguss, and many others) have taken their own heartfelt shots at reinterpreting the classics (to varying degrees of success commercially and artistically.

The gold standard is...and probably always will be...the amazing series of "Songbook" discs recorded by the incomparable Ella Fitzgerald in the 50's and 60's. Pop stars ahead of the current trend, made their own contributions to the canon...Willie Nelson in the 70's with his sublime "Stardust" collection, Carly Simon in early 80's with her heartfelt disc of "Torch" songs, and Linda Ronstadt's glorious trilogy of standards created in collaboration with the great Nelson Riddle.

There may be whiffs of desperation and opportunism wafting around the current flight back to "standard time" but, frankly (pun intended), I don't care...glorious songs sung by heaven-sent voices will always find a safe and appreciative refuge in my cynical old heart.

* * * * *

recommended listening:

Ella Fitzgerald Sings the George & Ira Gershwin Songbook (1959)
(3 hours of magical musical joy arranged and conducted by Nelson Riddle...all of her "Songbooks" are wondrous but this one is favorite)

In the Wee Small Hours Frank Sinatra (1955)
(still devastatingly moving after all these years...songs for the broken-hearted never sounded so wonderful)

Stardust Willie Nelson (1978)
(Ol' Willie putting his inimitable stamp on beloved musical chestnuts like "Moonlight in Vermont", "Someone to Watch Over Me", and, of course, "Georgia on my Mind")

'Round Midnight Linda Ronstadt with Nelson Riddle & his Orchestra (1986)
(Ronstadt's glorious pipes, Riddle's shimmering arrangements, and a collection of immortal songs make for an amazing combination on this set which collects all 3 of the albums they did together in 1983-1984.)

Red Hot + Blue (1990)
(an eclectic collection of Cole Porter songs reinterpreted for the 90's for this AIDS benefit CD...from the delicate version of "Everytime We Say Goodbye" by Annie Lennox to the soulful take on "Down in the Depths" by Lisa Stansfield to U2's driving rock & roll version of "Night and Day", Porter's songs show themselves strong enough to fit into different molds and still shine as stongly as ever.)

The Glory of Gershwin (1994)
(George Martin gathers a collection of pop stars...Elton John, Sting, Cher, Elvis Costello, Peter Gabriel, Meat Loaf, Kate Bush, Jon Bon Jovi, Oleta Adams, Sinead O'Connor, the late Robert Palmer...and they shine on this sterling collection of Gershwin classics)

Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil (1997)
(a criminally under-appreciated soundtrack featuring Johnny Mercer songs done by singers of different generations...Cassandra Wilson, Rosemary Clooney, Diana Krall, Joe Williams, Alison Krauss, Tony Bennett, Paula Cole...along with cute turns by two of the stars from the movie...Kevin Spacey and Alison Eastwood...and even the director himself, Mr. Clint Eastwood. K.D. Lang's majestic "Skylark" is almost worth the price of the CD by itself.)

The Dana Owens Album Queen Latifah (2004)
(The Queen showed her singing chops with 3 magnificent performances on the soundtrack to a movie you probably didn't see..."Living Out Loud"...and a couple more on the soundtrack to one you are more likely to have heard of..."Chicago". This, her first full album of singing (as opposed to rapping), showcases songs from the 40's to the 70's to wonderful effect. Her version of Billy Strayhorn's "Lush Life"...no easy song to sing...is so sublime it brings to tears to your eyes.)

building skyscrapers in the living room

She smiled at me and said, “Come on, Papa, let’s go.”

It was her favorite phrase when I was around and I was again reminded that three year old little girls are by nature casually bossy (but never in a mean spirited way, of course, they’re just impatient when the world…and especially the old people in the world…are unable to match the seemingly boundless source of energy and enthusiasm that they almost always have their beck and call.)

“Where are we going, baby?” I asked as if the answer really had any bearing on whether or not I was going to go.

She sighed as patiently as she could and held out her tiny hand. “We’re going to build houses,” she said in a tone that let me know in no uncertain terms that I was quite silly for not already knowing something that was so very apparent.

“Come on,” she said, just a bit more insistently. I was again reminded that three year old little girls did not suffer fools, procrastinating grandfathers, or any other slowpokes graciously.

I smiled to myself and rose from the sofa. I took her hand and we were off.

We stepped out of the living room and into bountiful fields of her bright imagination…building skyscrapers out of dominoes and Scrabble tiles and then gleefully leveling those same constructs…she being as delighted by the destruction as she was by the construction…only to rebuild them taller and more ornate and repeat the whole process again.

And so it went until the time to build skyscrapers passed and, just like that, the time to hunt for treasure was at hand.

“Come on, Papa,” she said, her eyes twinkling softly, “let’s go.”

And we were off…

yet another Presidential poll

According to Reuters, a poll of British TV viewers has revealed their choices for the American television character they think would make the best President of the U.S.

The most obvious choice...Martin Sheen's ever-witty and erudite Josiah Barlet from The West Wing...was in fact only the runner-up in the poll.

The winner? America's most lovable lunkhead, Homer Simpson.

As an American, I should probably be insulted but I choose instead to be amused. Heck, the Simpson Administration would certainly be a down-to-Earth affair and Homer is certainly as accomplished as any candidate (among other things, he's a former astronaut and a Grammy-winning singer.) We could do worse (and we often have.)

Others receiving votes in the poll include: the pompous Dr. Fraiser Crane, the vigilant Gil Grissom (from CSI), Phil Silvers' immortal Sgt. Bilko, the intrepid if sleepless Jack Bauer (from 24), America's favorite Dad, Dr. Cliff Huxtable (from the Cosby Show), Phoebe Buffay (the spacey but lovable ditz from Friends), and, perhaps most intriguingly, our favorite manic depressive Mafia thug, Tony Soprano (who would probably be able to have Osama bin Laden tracked down in no time flat and save the government the bother and expense of a long trial in the process.)

If I was a more cynical person I would believe that our British friends were not taking our Presidential election very seriously :-)

an open letter

Dear Candidates and advocates of propositions on the November ballot,

You can stop now.

You can stop calling my number with pleas that go unheard because I have the ability to screen my calls and I use it liberally and unabashedly during election time.

You can stop filling with mailbox with glossy, rabble-rousing, muck-raking advertisements that go directly into the recycling bin without ever having been read beyond the fraction of a second it takes me to realize what they are.

You can stop filling my TV screen with mind numbing and often insulting campaign ads that just cause me to roll my eyes and mentally tune out for the duration of their broadcasts.

You can just stop.

Like California in the Presidential race, I'm no longer in play. My ballot is cast, my choices are made, the good folks of the United States Postal Service have taken my votes and are in the process of delivering them to the designated election officials. I have discharged my duty as a citizen and there's nothing you can say to me that can change anything because my ballot is already off to be counted and I couldn't change it even if I wanted to.

So thank you for your kind attention...and, especially, for your zealous efforts to make sure I vote the "correct" way...but you can stop now. (But hey, let's do this again next election cycle, okay? Okay! It's a date!)

Sincerely, your pal,
Michael

take me out to the ballgame

I will admit to being only a casual baseball fan. I've enjoyed the sunny, lazy, convivial atmosphere of being in the ballpark (mostly Dodger Stadium years ago in my gone but mostly unforgotten youth)but the game never struck a chord in me the way that football did (this probably says something about me but we shall continue not to overthink the psychological implications and just go with the flow :-)

That said, I do start to pay some attention once they get into the playoffs...once the seemingly-endless slog through a 162-game spring, summer, and early fall has shaken out the pretenders and left us with a scant handful of teams ready to do battle for the World Series crown. (An aside: the term "world" series seems more than a little vainglorious even for us egocentric Americans...granted the game as we know it was created here but there is quality baseball being played around the entire world...Cuba, Japan, etc...and so it seems that calling the championship the "world series" when only American...and a couple of token Canadian...teams can be involved would seem to have evolved into a pompous misnomer.)

So I watched some of the playoff games with some...yes, causal...interest. And I watched the first game of the World Series between the Boston Red Sox...they of the so-called "Curse of the Bambino" (having not won the Series since they sold Babe Ruth to the dreaded Yankees)...and the equally storied St. Louis Cardinals. The "fall classic" (as baseball announcers like to call the Series) was off. And between them they gave up 20 runs, 24 hits, and made 5 errors...the playoffs were supposed to shake down to the two best teams and that's the best they could do. It's an auspicious start...but we'll have faith that things can only get better.

And, one last thing, I'm as patriotic as the next person (well presuming the next person isn't a candidate for high public office since those folks seem to be the most patriotic...and piously churchgoing...people who ever lived) but I don't get this business of having someone sing "God Bless America"...instead of the much more appropriate "Take Me Out to the Ballgame"...during the 7th inning stretch. I know that after 9/11 the President asked Major League Baseball to do it when they came back but it seems pandering and jingoistic to still be doing it in every game. But maybe that's just me.

Play ball!

Leave a tender moment alone... 

over the line?

The current sorry state of American political discourse at its finest:

Vice-President Dick Cheney told Republican supporters at a town hall meeting in Des Moines that they needed to make "the right choice" in the November 2 election.

"If we make the wrong choice, then the danger is that we'll get hit again -- that we'll be hit in a way that will be devastating from the standpoint of the United States," Cheney said.

Wow. I understand that partisan hyperbole is part and parcel of any political campaign but the Vice-President is taking the concept to new...and increasingly absurd...level.

That he can say things like this with a dour, self-righteous, and straight face is scary enough but the notion that he actually believes that electing John Kerry as President will very probably result in another 9/11-level attack on this country is downright frightening. It's one thing to engage in venomous attacks on your opponents...civility is dead and buried in American political discourse...but another to believe in your heart that the nonsense you're throwing as red meat to the ravenous party faithful is REALLY the truth.

It is so very comforting to have someone with Cheney's rampantly sour, curmudgeonly disposition and deeply-ingrained paranoia literally one heartbeat away from the most powerful political job in the world.

baby, the rain must fall...

There is a gauge secured somewhere at Lindberg Field (San Diego's relatively small but functional airport) that performs as the official rainfall measurement thingee for "America's finest city". For 182 consecutive days no measurable precipitation was recorded by said gauge...a new record (breaking a record set just last year.)

(Not many people live in the general area of the airport, of course, so the gauge doesn't do that good a job of measuring rainfall where people really live, work, play, and vegetate...but that's where they chose to put it and thus that is where the city's official rainfall is recorded.)

And on the 183rd day, the heavens opened and the rain began to fall...in showers, in sheets, in cleansing, healing, dancing downpours scrubbing the streets and skies and souls of the good folk of the city.

And more rain...the TV weathermen with their computers and their calculations...is supposedly on the way in the form of another, more powerful and blustery, storm ambling down from the north. And the grasses and flowers and trees say "bring it on". And the dusty hills and parched highways and byways say "bring it on".

And the people...fond of their clear,warm, azure skies but not unwelcoming of the sparkling, rejuvenating cleansing that rainstorms leave in their wake...listen to the rhythm of the falling rain and smile and say "bring it on".

justice for all?

There is, it should come as no surprise, an imbalance in our justice system that is so glaring sometimes that it is hard to fathom how it can stand.

For example, the much-beloved "style maven" Ms. Martha Stewart is doing hard time in the big house (well okay, it's soft time in a minimum security camp that she could walk away from anytime she took a notion to...but that's not the point...) for a "silly misunderstanding" about a few thousand dollars while the Wayans Brothers are allowed to get off without any punishment at all after inflicting the mind-numbingly stupid and witless horror of "White Chicks" on the American public. How in the hell is that fair???

And Mike Myers is running around free as a bird even after the felonious assault he willfully indulged in by turning Dr. Suess's witty and classic book "The Cat in the Hat" into a relentlessly garish and decidedly awful movie.

(I guess that Continental Airlines should also be in line for some rehabilitation as well since they chose to present these two dubious pieces of "entertainment" to the captive audience...including yours truly, of course...jammed into their planes flying from my hometown to the great city of Houston.)

When it comes to celebrity justice we really need to rethink our priorities here, people! :-)

what I did on my autumn vacation...

I helped erect a long wooden fence (after having helped lug the 8-foot sections from the Home Depot to my daughter's house), I trimmed trees and cleared brush and luxuriated in a steaming hot tub afterwards.

I visited my granddaughter's pre-school and toured the properties my son-in-law manages.

I spent a day at an amusement park with both of my grandchildren having a wonderful time riding charming kid-friendly rides nestled amongst majestic trees (while the older "kids" got whatever thrill one gets from rollercoasters going to insane heights at insane speeds.)

I cooked an early Thanksgiving meal for 15 people (after shopping for same at the local Super Wal-Mart.)

I went to one movie and a half-dozen or so several restaurants. I ate too much ice cream and just enough pizza.

I got down on the floor nearly every day to experience the world through the eyes of the cutest 3-year-old girl in the entire world.

I slept at hours that perplexed my internal clock and I was almost always the last one in the house to get out of bed.

I pleaded with the mosquitoes not to find me so tasty, endured the majestic roar of navy jets screaming towards the nearby airfield, and silently contemplated the rain that danced down during the last couple of days of my stay.

And tomorrow I take wing back west...back to the land of sunshine and prime time football games that start at a decent hour.

All in all, it was a grand couple of weeks.

a Superman for all seasons

For some it was Kirk Alyn. For others it was George Reeves. But for those of us of a certain age...we baby boomers with active imaginations who looked for heroes where we could find them....Christopher Reeve was Superman.

Christopher Reeve just inhabited the part of the Man of Steel...square-jawed and square-shouldered with the right mixture of nobility, humility, and a modicum of sly, subtle irony.

In the pre-CGI days when Superman: The Motion Picture came out Christopher Reeve made us believe that a man could fly...that a man could sacrifice it all for the woman he loved...that a man could embody the notion of "truth, justice, and the American Way" in a way that burst from the four-color pages of the comic books and brightly and powerfully into the technicolor expanse of the big screen.

When Reeve fell from his horse and lost the ability to move below his neck, he held on to his nobility...his resolve...his desire to want to soar. He was adamant that he would walk again and, all evidence to the contrary, we believed him. He was Superman...if he could fly he certainly could walk again.

And now, I choose to believe, he is indeed walking again. And flying again. And standing tall in the hallowed halls of eternity, a man among men...a hero among heroes...a Superman.

missed the party

I missed the second Presidential debate. I'm not feeling guilty about it or anything though (maybe I'm a bad American voter after all...I can live with that if I am since I was probably miss the third one as well.) I've heard about as much as I need to from the President and the Senator between now and Election Day (unless, and this is an extremely long shot, they actually have something interesting, enlightening, and new to add to the ongoing campaign.)

I suspect that I'm not alone in feeling this way.

I was, to be perfectly honest, close to a TV not long after the "debate" began but I chose to leave it off. I was more interested in recovering from a day-long adventure to Busch Gardens...an amusement park for those of you who might not have heard of it. We were on the go for better than 12 hours and by the time I got my shoes off and my feet up the last thing I wanted to deal with was the two candidates for the Presidency rattling off their rote responses and carefully crafted "zingers"...having not watched it I'm willing to guess that I am no less informed than I would have been had I invested 90 minutes of my life in doing so.

I suspect that I'm not alone in feeling this way.

a good day

I'm sore tonight...the result of having helped build a fence this morning and afternoon...and it's rounding towards midnight (eastern time)as I write this and I need to get to bed because tomorrow is a long day with an early start. But it's been a good day.

I got to talk to my friend Jim today...he's recovering from transplant surgery and I haven't had a chance to talk with him...to make sure he was doing well...since it happened. But I called his number this afternoon and he answered sounding stronger than I could have expected and it was indeed all good.

I'm tired and achy and on the verge of an activity-packed weekend. But today...today was a very good day.

Dickie and Johnny sitting in a tree...

Okay, I lied. I thought for sure that I was going to ignore the other debates but, for whatever reason, I found myself watching Vice President Cheney and Senator Edwards go toe to toe during the Vice Presidential Debate.

It was, to be fair, more of a debate...an exchange of ideas...sometimes informative, sometimes self-serving, sometimes testy...than the first Presidential debate was.

The candidates mostly ignored moderator Gwen Ifill's questions in favor of long-winded grandstanding...often on a question or a reaction since passed...and pointed and personal barbs.

It was petty and hard-hitting and more than a bit nasty...not a lot of real substance but, let's be frank, it was darn entertaining television. It was actually interesting to see a little real life in the campaign. (I'd rather imagine that the President and Senator Kerry were taking notes and will perform in kind at their next meeting.)

playing catch on a rainy day

There might be more entertaining things than playing catch on a gray rainy day with a rambunctious three-year-old little girl...but today I can't think of one.

"Come on, Papa," are the three words that lead me on into another grand adventure...and grand adventures are to ever to be had even on days when the clouds are crying and we're stuck inside the house looking for things to do.

So we search for treasure and we talk with the stuffed cats and cows that share a little girl's bed and we play catch with a colorful soft rubber ball that bounces off walls and fish tanks and ceilings without breaking anything.

There might be more entertaining things than playing catch on gray rainy day...more delightful than the unabashed laughter of a three-year-old little girl enjoying the day...but today I certainly can't think of one.

flying

Airline travel is boring. There are flashes of wonder...the view of California spreading out majestically from 30,000 feet, the lush greenery of the greater Houston area that overwhelms you as you land, the thrilling spectacle of seeing lightning flash in clouds at the same level that you're flying at...but mostly it's boring.

This occurred to me more than once as I flew on the first leg of my journey...San Diego to Houston...with a good book (T.C. Boyle's The Inner Circle), a bad movie (Mike Myers shamelessly mugging his way through an insufferable adaptation of Dr. Suess' classic "The Cat in the Hat"), and so-so food to pass the time. I read some, cringed at the movie some, and dozed some. An hour in the expansive Houston airport (the one named after George Bush I) and then on to the second leg of the trip...on a smaller plane with, thankfully, no movie at all...read a lot, dozed a bit, had some more so-so food, and another bit of wonder...landing in Norfolk, VA at night (all cities look breathtaking when sparkling in the dark)...and it was finally done.

In a couple of weeks, I'll retrace my steps and head back to "America's finest city". And, undoubtedly, it will be boring too.

leaving on a jet plane

In a couple of hours I will be boarding a plane at San Diego's Lindberg Field and winging across the country to scenic Virginia Beach, VA (actually the plane will be touching down in kinda scenic Norfolk, VA...but there's no need to put too fine a point on it.)

I'm not a big fan of traveling. I don't mind being other places but the process of getting there can be mind-numbingly boring (to get to Virginia, for example, I'm going to have spend over an hour cooling my heels in Houston waiting for a connecting flight.) But what're you gonna do?

Spending two weeks on the East Coast (Monday Night Football not starting until 9 PM is, I know from previous experience, going to be a drag :-)...dispatches from the Old Dominion State will be posted here on a sporadic basis.

Namaste, y'all.