November 27, 2010
LIFE EXPLAINED, PART 755
Whether it is fair or not, people tend to hold that stalking conviction against you for years and years after your release from prison.
RULES FOR GENTLEMEN
My cousin Joe got a good book for Christmas called "How To Be A Gentleman." It is a handy little tome we had a lot of fun with at our holiday gathering. It's an updated version that covers things like text-messaging while crossing busy streets and gym etiquette as far as not hogging the exercise machines or grunting excessively. The proper etiquette for handling annoying tele-marketers is discussed. There's even tips about how to be a gentleman while shopping. There's all sorts of useful tidbits of information to help modern man behave like a gentleman and thus contribute to a more considerate, responsible and kind world. There were, however, some surprises. For example:
A gentleman always takes the wet spot.
A gentleman is always circumspect when stalking, and carefully maintains the hundred-yard distance from the lady in question that is recommended in the restraining order.
In the event of his getting arrested, a gentleman doesn't waste his one phone call dialing a sex line.
When crossing the street to avoid a particularly annoying acquaintance, a gentleman does so with subtlety and grace.
When someone starts a war with you, a gentlemen never invades the wrong country in response. Instead, he attacks those who attack him, no matter how much oil other countries may have.
When playing cards, it is permissible for a gentleman to cheat only when the money at stake is substantial.
When employing the services of a prostitute, a gentleman never charges the bill to his company's expense account. He pays in cash from his own funds and tips generously.
When faced with the choice between an admission of guilt and evading responsibility for criminal conduct, a gentleman always lies with a straight face and a calm demeanor.
When escorting a lady out on the town a gentleman never frequents the same clubs and restaurants he patronizes with is wife.
While it is an accepted maxim of the true gentleman to never steal anything small, a gentleman never steals 50 billion dollars from those who trust him with their life savings and charity endowments.
When seeking a fresh boutonniere for one's tuxedo after business hours, one's neighbor's rose garden may provide a gentleman with a satisfactory alternative to the florist.
A southern gentleman never wears a white sheet after Labor Day.
When the subjects of religion and politics arise in social settings, a true gentleman limits his derogatory remarks to those not present.
A gentleman does not kiss and tell. Receiving oral sex, however, is a whole different story, and other gentleman may be regaled with such tales to one's social advantage, but only when no ladies are present.
A gentleman does not cut the line at an open bar, unless of course he perceives that the bourbon is running low. In that instance only is it permissible to exert one's gentlemanly prerogatives, perhaps with some deft footwork and a subtly placed left hook.
A gentleman never shoots his friends in the face with a shotgun, especially when a small-caliber pistol is handy. One shot to the knee will deliver the same message without the inconvenient blood spatter. Always exhibit consideration for those who launder your wardrobe.
When refusing to give up his subway seat to an elderly lady, a gentleman always affects a limp when he gets up to exit the train.
A gentleman always takes the wet spot.
A gentleman is always circumspect when stalking, and carefully maintains the hundred-yard distance from the lady in question that is recommended in the restraining order.
In the event of his getting arrested, a gentleman doesn't waste his one phone call dialing a sex line.
When crossing the street to avoid a particularly annoying acquaintance, a gentleman does so with subtlety and grace.
When someone starts a war with you, a gentlemen never invades the wrong country in response. Instead, he attacks those who attack him, no matter how much oil other countries may have.
When playing cards, it is permissible for a gentleman to cheat only when the money at stake is substantial.
When employing the services of a prostitute, a gentleman never charges the bill to his company's expense account. He pays in cash from his own funds and tips generously.
When faced with the choice between an admission of guilt and evading responsibility for criminal conduct, a gentleman always lies with a straight face and a calm demeanor.
When escorting a lady out on the town a gentleman never frequents the same clubs and restaurants he patronizes with is wife.
While it is an accepted maxim of the true gentleman to never steal anything small, a gentleman never steals 50 billion dollars from those who trust him with their life savings and charity endowments.
When seeking a fresh boutonniere for one's tuxedo after business hours, one's neighbor's rose garden may provide a gentleman with a satisfactory alternative to the florist.
A southern gentleman never wears a white sheet after Labor Day.
When the subjects of religion and politics arise in social settings, a true gentleman limits his derogatory remarks to those not present.
A gentleman does not kiss and tell. Receiving oral sex, however, is a whole different story, and other gentleman may be regaled with such tales to one's social advantage, but only when no ladies are present.
A gentleman does not cut the line at an open bar, unless of course he perceives that the bourbon is running low. In that instance only is it permissible to exert one's gentlemanly prerogatives, perhaps with some deft footwork and a subtly placed left hook.
A gentleman never shoots his friends in the face with a shotgun, especially when a small-caliber pistol is handy. One shot to the knee will deliver the same message without the inconvenient blood spatter. Always exhibit consideration for those who launder your wardrobe.
When refusing to give up his subway seat to an elderly lady, a gentleman always affects a limp when he gets up to exit the train.
November 24, 2010
A THANKSGIVING PRAYER
Well it's Thanksgiving again, the time to get together with our families and reflect on all our blessings. This is a uniquely American holiday, one shared by no other nation but Canada, who celebrates it on a different day. Leave it to Canada to to be almost exactly like the United States, but not quite. You could say Canada is just like the USA, but without all that distracting excitement and vitality.
Their talented people certainly recognize where the action isn't and come south to get famous. Canada, get a lifestyle! Sorry once again, Canadians, but if you really want to be something other than America Lite, do something different other than refusing to pronounce the word "about" properly. That's the lamest claim to national identity ever.
But I digress, and I am being unkind to our esteemed neighbor to the north, our plodding and stoic provider of cold fronts, maple syrup and toothless ice skaters, but I'm working on it. This is about giving thanks, not my human failings. Let us review the many things we have for which to be humbly grateful and join together in prayer of thanks to our Creator.
We'll start with the menu:
Oh Lord, we are your humble servants and thankful we only have to eateth this ponderous provender but once a year. If there is a drier, more tasteless bird in all Your vast Creation, oh Lord, we thank Thee for revealing it not to the Pilgrims. And Lord forgive us for stuffing this mound of meat with more meat, inventing sweet potato and marshmallow concoctions, mince pies and fruit cakes. We solemnly vow to consumeth these nominally edible dishes but once a year. Grant us the wisdom to remain faithful to these abstentions on all the days saveth Thanksgiving.
Now we thank the Lord for our precious family:
Let us prostrate ourselves before thee in humble thanks that Aunt Greta finally had that sizable goiter removed from her neck so there will be no squabbling over who must sit opposite her at the table and lose their appetite for Thy wondrous bounty. And we beseech thee, oh Lord, for all our sakes that Cousin Roger's latest stay at rehab takes, and he consumeth not half his weight in beer and tequila before collapsing into his plate of food.
And Lord, in your infinite wisdom, provide Grandpa with a decent battery for his hearing aid so that he belloweth not at his progeny. And we beseech thee oh Lord to allow Uncle Milton to recall a different topic of conversation than his many surgeries or failing bodily functions.
And Lord we beg thee not to let cousin Belinda stray too close to the kitchen lest the refrigerator magnets cling to her many facial piercings again, and allow little Billy to see the light when it comes to fiddling around with electric outlets and butter knives, thus sparing us another holiday visit from Thy blessed ambulance technicians. And may Mama and Papa call a truce to their decades-long feud over who else they should have married. At least for this one day, oh Lord, that our ears be spared this vitriol.
And we beg thee oh Lord to convince Aunt Lorraine that the days of mini skirts and exposed cleavage are long behind her and while you are at it, oh Mighty One, perhaps you could persuade Uncle Jack to lose the combover and ponytail, the skull and crossbones earring and the leather pants into which he fitteth not anymore, as thy generous bounty has increased his girth immeasurably over the years.
And since Thanksgiving is our own invention, it is only right and proper that we give thanks for our wonderful country:
And now Lord, we thank thee for this wonderful nation unto to which our ancestors arrived and wrested from the Godless savages who sustained us in our first vulnerable winters. We complement thee, oh Lord, for giving these Godless savages many gambling casinos as compensation for having given us their land, upon which they had not the wisdom to build a single strip mall or drive-through fast food emporium.
And let us thank thee for providing us our black brethren, who gave us their cheerful assistance in dominating this land with their free labor and servitude for 400 years. Let us pray for all our brethren whose skin is a slightly different shade than our own, that they do not wisheth to reside in our neighborhood.
Oh Lord we thank thee for our national institutions like Congress, the Supreme Court, Reality TV and the many fine Law and Order programs. We thank thee for our wise leaders and thank thee further for term limits. Lord, we pray that half as many of us vote in our next election than for an episode of American Idol.
And Lord, we beseech thee to open the eyes of the blind who worship not at the altar of Thee, the One True God, and alloweth us the serenity to smite them not unto dust.
And let none of us assail the caretakers with whom You, in your infinite wisdom, have entrusted almost all of our nation's bounty, thy worthy wealthy servants. Let not our hearts turn bitter when those servants giveth our jobs to nations that need them more than we do, drain our treasury and sendeth our children to wars for reasons we cannot hope to understand. Alloweth not the sheep to question the shepherds.
Maketh us not envious of the many fine homes owned by our shepherds while so many of our own brethren are losing their modest shelter to banks. Let us instead rejoice over being relieved of our heavy labors and our burdensome mortgages, and be thankful that our clothing is now sewn by industrious Chinese children and the cars that are now our homes are so sturdily assembled in Mexico.
Let us not wax melancholy that our dear nephew Ralph cannot find any gainful employment with his expensive college business degree save that of a busboy in one of the many fine corporate executive dining rooms, and allow us not to indulge in petty irony. Alloweth Ralph to accept his station in life. And Lord help sister Jane and her many unruly children hang on to their little house, lest they moveth in with us.
And one more thing, Oh Lord: Please make this year's football game an exciting one and not a lopsided stinker that's pretty much over at half time and alloweth Thy windy sports commentators much leeway to blather on and on about many strange and wondrous things having nothing to do with anything. We remain your humble and grateful servants. Amen.
Their talented people certainly recognize where the action isn't and come south to get famous. Canada, get a lifestyle! Sorry once again, Canadians, but if you really want to be something other than America Lite, do something different other than refusing to pronounce the word "about" properly. That's the lamest claim to national identity ever.
But I digress, and I am being unkind to our esteemed neighbor to the north, our plodding and stoic provider of cold fronts, maple syrup and toothless ice skaters, but I'm working on it. This is about giving thanks, not my human failings. Let us review the many things we have for which to be humbly grateful and join together in prayer of thanks to our Creator.
We'll start with the menu:
Oh Lord, we are your humble servants and thankful we only have to eateth this ponderous provender but once a year. If there is a drier, more tasteless bird in all Your vast Creation, oh Lord, we thank Thee for revealing it not to the Pilgrims. And Lord forgive us for stuffing this mound of meat with more meat, inventing sweet potato and marshmallow concoctions, mince pies and fruit cakes. We solemnly vow to consumeth these nominally edible dishes but once a year. Grant us the wisdom to remain faithful to these abstentions on all the days saveth Thanksgiving.
Now we thank the Lord for our precious family:
Let us prostrate ourselves before thee in humble thanks that Aunt Greta finally had that sizable goiter removed from her neck so there will be no squabbling over who must sit opposite her at the table and lose their appetite for Thy wondrous bounty. And we beseech thee, oh Lord, for all our sakes that Cousin Roger's latest stay at rehab takes, and he consumeth not half his weight in beer and tequila before collapsing into his plate of food.
And Lord, in your infinite wisdom, provide Grandpa with a decent battery for his hearing aid so that he belloweth not at his progeny. And we beseech thee oh Lord to allow Uncle Milton to recall a different topic of conversation than his many surgeries or failing bodily functions.
And Lord we beg thee not to let cousin Belinda stray too close to the kitchen lest the refrigerator magnets cling to her many facial piercings again, and allow little Billy to see the light when it comes to fiddling around with electric outlets and butter knives, thus sparing us another holiday visit from Thy blessed ambulance technicians. And may Mama and Papa call a truce to their decades-long feud over who else they should have married. At least for this one day, oh Lord, that our ears be spared this vitriol.
And we beg thee oh Lord to convince Aunt Lorraine that the days of mini skirts and exposed cleavage are long behind her and while you are at it, oh Mighty One, perhaps you could persuade Uncle Jack to lose the combover and ponytail, the skull and crossbones earring and the leather pants into which he fitteth not anymore, as thy generous bounty has increased his girth immeasurably over the years.
And since Thanksgiving is our own invention, it is only right and proper that we give thanks for our wonderful country:
And now Lord, we thank thee for this wonderful nation unto to which our ancestors arrived and wrested from the Godless savages who sustained us in our first vulnerable winters. We complement thee, oh Lord, for giving these Godless savages many gambling casinos as compensation for having given us their land, upon which they had not the wisdom to build a single strip mall or drive-through fast food emporium.
And let us thank thee for providing us our black brethren, who gave us their cheerful assistance in dominating this land with their free labor and servitude for 400 years. Let us pray for all our brethren whose skin is a slightly different shade than our own, that they do not wisheth to reside in our neighborhood.
Oh Lord we thank thee for our national institutions like Congress, the Supreme Court, Reality TV and the many fine Law and Order programs. We thank thee for our wise leaders and thank thee further for term limits. Lord, we pray that half as many of us vote in our next election than for an episode of American Idol.
And Lord, we beseech thee to open the eyes of the blind who worship not at the altar of Thee, the One True God, and alloweth us the serenity to smite them not unto dust.
And let none of us assail the caretakers with whom You, in your infinite wisdom, have entrusted almost all of our nation's bounty, thy worthy wealthy servants. Let not our hearts turn bitter when those servants giveth our jobs to nations that need them more than we do, drain our treasury and sendeth our children to wars for reasons we cannot hope to understand. Alloweth not the sheep to question the shepherds.
Maketh us not envious of the many fine homes owned by our shepherds while so many of our own brethren are losing their modest shelter to banks. Let us instead rejoice over being relieved of our heavy labors and our burdensome mortgages, and be thankful that our clothing is now sewn by industrious Chinese children and the cars that are now our homes are so sturdily assembled in Mexico.
Let us not wax melancholy that our dear nephew Ralph cannot find any gainful employment with his expensive college business degree save that of a busboy in one of the many fine corporate executive dining rooms, and allow us not to indulge in petty irony. Alloweth Ralph to accept his station in life. And Lord help sister Jane and her many unruly children hang on to their little house, lest they moveth in with us.
And one more thing, Oh Lord: Please make this year's football game an exciting one and not a lopsided stinker that's pretty much over at half time and alloweth Thy windy sports commentators much leeway to blather on and on about many strange and wondrous things having nothing to do with anything. We remain your humble and grateful servants. Amen.
November 23, 2010
THE IMPERFECT THANKSGIVING
Sometimes things happen around the Holidays, odd things. Nothing to be done about it either. Can't fight City Hall or outrageous fate. You can tear out your hair over it, rend your garments, get busy with the wailing and gnashing of teeth routine, or you can roll with the punches. And when it's life that's doing the punching, there's no one to blame, no one to defend yourself against or from whom to seek retribution. It's just life, and that's the way it goes sometimes. Nothing personal, just your turn in the barrel. It's random. We might wail "Why me?" The answer might be; "Why not you?" Sometimes things just happen, things like this:
You have a Thanksgiving gathering in your home, first time you get to host the big event for the entire extended family. It seems your parents have gone on a second honeymoon this year, and the honors are yours. The pressure is enormous, the comparisons to other family members' memorable feasts are many. You prepare for weeks, you and the lovely wife, polishing every stick of furniture, even painting the place like you've been meaning to do for the past decade.
Then you shop for enough food to feed a regiment. You don't want to get too creative and mess with the traditional Thanksgiving menu, so you go the turkey, yams and cranberry sauce route, plus about a dozen other things in huge amounts, more than everyone you've ever met could eat in one day.
And you pull it off somehow, first time out of the gate! The house looks great, the food is perfect and when the table is set it looks like that Norman Rockwell painting. Only trouble is, that it's not the Norman Rockwell family sitting down to the feast, it's your family. By the time you serve dinner, Uncle Charlie is roaring drunk and telling dirty jokes, Aunt Rose is kicking him under the table and your 22 year-old nephew Joey, your big brother's kid with the dozens of face piercings and death-motif tattoos announces he's a strict carnivore and will eat only meat, preferably raw beef.
His teenage brothers and sisters, two sets of boy-girl twins, have been smoking pot in your garage and can't stop giggling. Your 92 year-old grandfather decides to lead the family in saying grace and forgets the words halfway through. Four times. Granny, who's nearly deaf, shouts to all that she hopes Gramps doesn't soil himself like he did at the 4th of July barbecue.
The meal finally starts and your 5 foot, 2-inch tall, 300-pound Aunt Millie starts critiquing each dish, usually in a negative way, and just to be absolutely certain she doesn't like anything you cooked, fills her plate several times. Uncle Charlie slips your 9 year-old kid a 5 spot to keep the ice cubes and bourbon coming, and teaches him what the words "douche bag" mean.
Your thirty-something, thrice-divorced sister-in-law Mildred who gets very tense around the holidays has solved that little problem by taking a handful of tranquilizers and is now hanging all over Cousin Joey as he chews on a raw steak he thawed out in the microwave, telling him she doesn't care one bit if everybody thinks he's a maladjusted little shit, she thinks he's one sexy freak show of a man. Joey grunts between bloody mouthfuls and slips a hand up her dress.
Your 15 year-old daughter is sitting next to them, rolling her eyes and texting a blow-by-blow account of the dinner to her friends. Your brother Rick, the know-it-all blowhard who married a woman who's father created a lucrative do-nothing job for him at his import-export business, is drinking egg nog and brandy concoctions and repeating the political theories of Rush Limbaugh louder and louder as if he made them up himself until his wife tells him to shut the hell up a dozen or more times.
Your 5 year-old son announces that Uncle Ricky is douche bag and Uncle Charlie tells another dirty joke while Cousin Joey and Mildred disappear into your son's bedroom. Your daughter abruptly announces that she hates you all and wishes she were dead and disappears into her own room in a huff while Joey's siblings go back to the garage to smoke more pot.
Your son calls his pothead cousins a bunch of douche bags too while he fetches more ice cubes and bourbon for Uncle Charlie while you and the lovely wife clean up dinner and prepare for dessert. It turns out that the pot smoking teens have already devoured the lemon meringue and coconut custard pies with their bare hands and are wiping their hands on the curtains. Luckily you have about six other things for dessert.
Your wife is crying silently as you shoo the teenagers back to the garage and put on the coffee. Your daughter emerges from her room and drags your son into the kitchen to help, then starts hugging your wife and crying along with her in the kitchen, telling her that Joey and Mildred are making a racket in your son's room, at which point the kid makes a beeline to his bedroom and flings the door wide open and snaps on the light before you can catch up to him, with everyone from the dining room table right behind him.
You hear your son yell; "Whoa, cooool!" while your Uncle Charlie tells Joey to give her a good one for him, Aunt Rose kicks him in the shins again, RIck tells no one in particular that this is President Obama's fault for tearing society apart and Gramps starts singing the national anthem when he hears the word "President." You shut the light and the door and herd everyone back to the table for dessert. Now Grandma's in the kitchen with your wife and daughter crying with them and you drag them to the table too. It's time for coffee and dessert, and there's still pies, some peach cobbler, candies and brownies.
The marijuana crew load their plates with sweets, as does Aunt Millie, while Gramps falls asleep in his plate of pumpkin pie. Joey and Mildred emerge from your son's room, grab their coats and announce they are off to Vegas to elope while your son screams at them that they made his bed all gooey and they're a couple of douche bags. Uncle Charlie drinks a toast to the young lovers and gets yet another kick in the shins from Aunt Rose.
Your wife and daughter are silently weeping into their coffee and dessert and the stoners are sucking the laughing gas from the whipped cream canisters, and then they go to your computer, change all your settings and download a bunch of creepy video games. Your brother Rick's wife is telling him to shut the hell up and go watch some football or something and all of a sudden Gramps wakes up and makes a dash for the bathroom, not quite making it in time, earning a "stinky old douche bag" from your son. Your parents' sudden decision to go on a second honeymoon on Thanksgiving weekend doesn't seem so surprising anymore.
The double sets of stoned twins raid the fridge for leftovers while Uncle Charlie and Aunt Rose argue over the car keys. Aunt Millie packs a giant doggy bag as Rick and his wife collect their teenagers and say goodnight. Grandma announces loud enough to be heard in the next state that this was the best Thanksgiving ever, and that you should be the permanent family host for Thanksgiving every year from now on. You reach for Uncle Charlie's bourbon and wonder just how hard it is to fake your own death. Happy Thanksgiving!
You have a Thanksgiving gathering in your home, first time you get to host the big event for the entire extended family. It seems your parents have gone on a second honeymoon this year, and the honors are yours. The pressure is enormous, the comparisons to other family members' memorable feasts are many. You prepare for weeks, you and the lovely wife, polishing every stick of furniture, even painting the place like you've been meaning to do for the past decade.
Then you shop for enough food to feed a regiment. You don't want to get too creative and mess with the traditional Thanksgiving menu, so you go the turkey, yams and cranberry sauce route, plus about a dozen other things in huge amounts, more than everyone you've ever met could eat in one day.
And you pull it off somehow, first time out of the gate! The house looks great, the food is perfect and when the table is set it looks like that Norman Rockwell painting. Only trouble is, that it's not the Norman Rockwell family sitting down to the feast, it's your family. By the time you serve dinner, Uncle Charlie is roaring drunk and telling dirty jokes, Aunt Rose is kicking him under the table and your 22 year-old nephew Joey, your big brother's kid with the dozens of face piercings and death-motif tattoos announces he's a strict carnivore and will eat only meat, preferably raw beef.
His teenage brothers and sisters, two sets of boy-girl twins, have been smoking pot in your garage and can't stop giggling. Your 92 year-old grandfather decides to lead the family in saying grace and forgets the words halfway through. Four times. Granny, who's nearly deaf, shouts to all that she hopes Gramps doesn't soil himself like he did at the 4th of July barbecue.
The meal finally starts and your 5 foot, 2-inch tall, 300-pound Aunt Millie starts critiquing each dish, usually in a negative way, and just to be absolutely certain she doesn't like anything you cooked, fills her plate several times. Uncle Charlie slips your 9 year-old kid a 5 spot to keep the ice cubes and bourbon coming, and teaches him what the words "douche bag" mean.
Your thirty-something, thrice-divorced sister-in-law Mildred who gets very tense around the holidays has solved that little problem by taking a handful of tranquilizers and is now hanging all over Cousin Joey as he chews on a raw steak he thawed out in the microwave, telling him she doesn't care one bit if everybody thinks he's a maladjusted little shit, she thinks he's one sexy freak show of a man. Joey grunts between bloody mouthfuls and slips a hand up her dress.
Your 15 year-old daughter is sitting next to them, rolling her eyes and texting a blow-by-blow account of the dinner to her friends. Your brother Rick, the know-it-all blowhard who married a woman who's father created a lucrative do-nothing job for him at his import-export business, is drinking egg nog and brandy concoctions and repeating the political theories of Rush Limbaugh louder and louder as if he made them up himself until his wife tells him to shut the hell up a dozen or more times.
Your 5 year-old son announces that Uncle Ricky is douche bag and Uncle Charlie tells another dirty joke while Cousin Joey and Mildred disappear into your son's bedroom. Your daughter abruptly announces that she hates you all and wishes she were dead and disappears into her own room in a huff while Joey's siblings go back to the garage to smoke more pot.
Your son calls his pothead cousins a bunch of douche bags too while he fetches more ice cubes and bourbon for Uncle Charlie while you and the lovely wife clean up dinner and prepare for dessert. It turns out that the pot smoking teens have already devoured the lemon meringue and coconut custard pies with their bare hands and are wiping their hands on the curtains. Luckily you have about six other things for dessert.
Your wife is crying silently as you shoo the teenagers back to the garage and put on the coffee. Your daughter emerges from her room and drags your son into the kitchen to help, then starts hugging your wife and crying along with her in the kitchen, telling her that Joey and Mildred are making a racket in your son's room, at which point the kid makes a beeline to his bedroom and flings the door wide open and snaps on the light before you can catch up to him, with everyone from the dining room table right behind him.
You hear your son yell; "Whoa, cooool!" while your Uncle Charlie tells Joey to give her a good one for him, Aunt Rose kicks him in the shins again, RIck tells no one in particular that this is President Obama's fault for tearing society apart and Gramps starts singing the national anthem when he hears the word "President." You shut the light and the door and herd everyone back to the table for dessert. Now Grandma's in the kitchen with your wife and daughter crying with them and you drag them to the table too. It's time for coffee and dessert, and there's still pies, some peach cobbler, candies and brownies.
The marijuana crew load their plates with sweets, as does Aunt Millie, while Gramps falls asleep in his plate of pumpkin pie. Joey and Mildred emerge from your son's room, grab their coats and announce they are off to Vegas to elope while your son screams at them that they made his bed all gooey and they're a couple of douche bags. Uncle Charlie drinks a toast to the young lovers and gets yet another kick in the shins from Aunt Rose.
Your wife and daughter are silently weeping into their coffee and dessert and the stoners are sucking the laughing gas from the whipped cream canisters, and then they go to your computer, change all your settings and download a bunch of creepy video games. Your brother Rick's wife is telling him to shut the hell up and go watch some football or something and all of a sudden Gramps wakes up and makes a dash for the bathroom, not quite making it in time, earning a "stinky old douche bag" from your son. Your parents' sudden decision to go on a second honeymoon on Thanksgiving weekend doesn't seem so surprising anymore.
The double sets of stoned twins raid the fridge for leftovers while Uncle Charlie and Aunt Rose argue over the car keys. Aunt Millie packs a giant doggy bag as Rick and his wife collect their teenagers and say goodnight. Grandma announces loud enough to be heard in the next state that this was the best Thanksgiving ever, and that you should be the permanent family host for Thanksgiving every year from now on. You reach for Uncle Charlie's bourbon and wonder just how hard it is to fake your own death. Happy Thanksgiving!
November 17, 2010
INTERVIEW WITH ELMER FUDD
An early interview in the history of bobcrespo.com:
Looks like I've found my niche in this blog business, folks. Interviews! It's real hard to find new stuff to say every day so I figured I'd try my hand at interviewing, you know, let somebody else do all the work, just ask them some questions and sit back and let their words fill up the old blank pages for a change. My first one, with Mick Jagger of all people, didn't exactly go off without a hitch but I've learned from my mistakes. Turns out you've got do some actual work to prepare for these things, somewhat of a disappointment but I guess there's no free lunch in this business, unlike my other trade which is catering where there's more free food than you can possibly eat, but that's another story
Today's interview is with a bona fide American icon, a star of screens large and small and one of the most recognizable names in show business. Don't ask me how I landed this extraordinary coup, just let me say that at the end of a lot of very delicate negotiations with his representatives I am privileged to give my readers a real treat, an interview with the great Elmer Fudd himself! You all know Mr. Fudd as the star of countless cartoons as the comic foil for Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, Tweety Bird and too many other mega-stars of cartoonery to count. His portrayal of "The Intwepid Hunter" is a classic of Bunyanesque proportions, rivaled only by Chaplin's loveable Everyman "The Tramp" in motion picture annals. Elmer Fudd could do it all, comedy-wise. He could be as good a straight man as Bud Abbot when playing off Bugs Bunny or as zany as Jerry Lewis if the situation required zaniness. He also was a deft hand at pathos, able to produce the tears at the dwop of a hat.
Now retired from performing, Elmer Fudd has moved behind the camera to the director's chair, helming such latter-day classics as "Saving Pwivate Wyan," "Piwates of The Cawibbean" and "When Hawwy Met Sawwy." Not limiting himself to directing, Mr. Fudd has also been busy writing squwipts, I means scripts for top television shows like "Waw and Owder", "Thirty Wock" and "Without A Twace," and also directing many episodes of "Ugwy Betty."
Mr. Fudd arived at the offices of bobcrespo.com alone, with no entourage or limousine, explaining that he "Wuv's to supwise peopew by woawing up my Hawwey Davidson." Indeed it was a shock to see him pulling up to bobcrespo.com on his bike, and more surprising still to see he has grown a beard and let his hair grow in, wearing it long like a true biker. Elmer also sports many tattoos, not surprisingly likenesses of many of his former costars, most prominently a large Tweety Bird with Sylvester the Cat on one forearm and Bugs Bunny munching a carrot on the other. He's also in surprisingly good shape, exhibiting none of the round tubbiness you associated with his film roles. "I'm a widdiw bit of a gym wat," he explained. Indeed, his firm handshake is a dead giveaway that he's been pumping a lot of iron.
Mr. Fudd made himself right at home in my office, accepting a glass of iced tea and lighting up a cigar, which I half expected to explode in his face. A relaxed man at home in his own skin, he was the one who broke the ice:
EF: "Nice pwace you've got here."
BC: "Thank you Mr. Fudd. Welcome to bobcrespo.com.
EF: "My pweasure. And cawl me Ewma"
BC: "So, Ewma, let's get right into to it. I suppose your classic line from that Bugs Bunny cartoon 'My name is Ewma Fudd. I am a miwwionaire, I own a mansion and a yacht' has more than come true for these days."
EF: "You can say that again, my fwend! See, Bugs and I got together years ago and bought all the wights fwum Wawner Bwothers to ouw cawtoons and now we're wowwing in dough as they say."
BC: "Smart business move, sir. Very forward thinking."
EF: "Weww, the studio boys figuwed cawtoons wewe onwy siwwy stuff, not weawy cwassic archive matewial wike other movies, but me and Bugs knew better and we made them an offer and they gwabbed it. Now what they got is dated bwack and white mewodwamas whiwe me and Bugs got timewess cwassics that never get old. There's always a new cwop of kids who wuv our work."
BC: "It sounds like you and Bugs are great friends. Watching your cartoons you'd think you two would always be mortal enemies."
EF: "Sounds like somebody took the cawtoons a widdew too sewiouswy, Bob. We wewe acting! I guess we were pwetty good at it, huh?"
BC: "Had me fooled."
EF: "Oh-kaaay... Anyway, me and Bugs are gweat buddies. We go golfing, work on squwipts together, devewop new shows, do a wot of pwoduction. One of our gweatest cowabowations was "Evwybody Wuv's Waymond."
BC: "That was you guys?"
EF: "Wike I said, me and Bugs. 'Wiww and Gwace' was ours too, both in syndication now, money in the bank for our gwandkids."
BC: "You have a big family?
EF: "Me, I have a weguwar sized famiwy, I guess. Two kids with my first wife and thwee gwandkids and coupew of wittew ones now with my second wife, too young to be mawwied yet."
BC: "Your second wife or your kids? Just kidding. And what about Bugs Bunny?
EF: "Him? I've wost twack by now. He is a wabbit, you know. Must have a couple of hundred gwandkids by now, especiawwy if his kids took after him, if you know what I mean."
BC: "A real ladies man, eh?
EF: "No. Wike I said, he's a wabbit. Wabbits repwoduce a wot, you know."
BC: "A kwazy wabbit?"
EF: "Didn't I just teww you he's a good fwiend and my copwoducer? Nothing Kwazy about him. Shwewd as they come."
BC: "But in your cartoons..."
EF: "There weawy is something wong with you, isn't there? "
BC: Well, to tell you the truth I'm a little disappointed that you're such a ...how can say this... a regular guy."
EF: "When you meet Wobert DeNiwo, would you expect him to be some inarticulate thug with a gun in his pocket?
BC: "Of course..."
EF: "What don't you get about show business, Bob, the show or the business? It's all make-beweave! Can't you sepawate Ewmer Fudd, the actor and cartoon chawactew fwom Ewmer Fudd the man?"
BC: "I never realized there'd be a difference."
EF: "I think this is a kwy for hewp on your part, Bob."
BC: "But you're Elmer friggin' Fudd, dammit! I should be able to hit you on the head with a hammer and make a bunch of little bumps on your head, blow off a shotgun in your face and get it all black, stuff you into a mailbox and all that stuff...."
EF: "I'm getting vewy uncomfortable here, Bob. I think I'll be on my way...."
BC: Can't I just fling you out the door with a giant sling shot? I thought we'd get to have some madcap, zany action here today..."
EF: "This is not a Woad Wunner episode, Bob, this is weaw wife. Didn't you ever hear of speciaw effects?"
BC: "Real life? You're Elmer Fudd, you can fall off the roof onto your head if you wanted to! Get hit a bunch of times with a giant mallet and shake it off! C'mon, Elmer, I've got a bunch of stuff prepared. Check out this stick of TNT!"
EF: "Bob, wet me warn you, I'm a bwack bewt in Kawate! Don't come any cwoser!"
BC: "Now you're talking, Fudd, let's do some cartoon stuff!."
EF: "Don't say I didn't wawn you!" (END OF INTERVIEW.)
Boy, that Elmer Fudd sure packs a mean karate chop for a cartoon character. He flipped me like a burger and stormed out my house, or rather, my office, hopped on his Harley and roared away, saying some very un-Elmer Fuddian things to me as he left. Looks like I'll have to tweak my interview techniques a bit more. You know you're an amateur when you alienate a retired cartoon character. Now what am I going to do with that giant mallet, the shotgun, the bear trap and that stick of dynamite, to say nothing of that giant sling shot I built with pieces of the china closet and our drapes?
The lovely wife insists I get rid of them and replace the drapes before I write another blog. She never did appreciate cartoons all that much and now she's questioning how I run my interview business! She doesn't seem to understand learning curves either, I suppose. Oh well, as they say in cartoons, back to the drawing board! Next time I'll nail it. Maybe O.J. Simpson's got some spare time on his hands. Should I take a stab at it? Let me just whip out my celebrity phone book here... okay, under S, let's see... Simon- Carly, Simon- Neil, Simon- Paul, Simon-Simple, hmmm, no shortage of famous Simons... Bingo there it is! Simpson, O.J., football Hall of Famer, B-actor and acquitted killer, let me just dial him up...
BC: "Hello? Mr. Simpson? Bob Crespo here, of bobcrespo.com. It's a website, sir. I was wondering if you would grant me an interview.... How much? Cash only, you say?... Or Krugerrands? Gee, that's an awful lot of gold, sir... No, I'm not making fun of you.. What? ... No, I don't think I'd like you to come over here and do that at all... Oh, you do know where I live?... O.J., I don't think that's necessary at all... all I wanted was... I mean... what do you mean or else?... couldn't we just forget all ab... What?... Mr. Simpson, you're blowing this all out of proportion... No, sir, I'm not calling you a liar, no need to do that..."
Like I said, this interview business isn't as easy as I thought. Now I have to move. I have a sinking feeling the lovely wife isn't going to understand that one one at all.
Looks like I've found my niche in this blog business, folks. Interviews! It's real hard to find new stuff to say every day so I figured I'd try my hand at interviewing, you know, let somebody else do all the work, just ask them some questions and sit back and let their words fill up the old blank pages for a change. My first one, with Mick Jagger of all people, didn't exactly go off without a hitch but I've learned from my mistakes. Turns out you've got do some actual work to prepare for these things, somewhat of a disappointment but I guess there's no free lunch in this business, unlike my other trade which is catering where there's more free food than you can possibly eat, but that's another story
Today's interview is with a bona fide American icon, a star of screens large and small and one of the most recognizable names in show business. Don't ask me how I landed this extraordinary coup, just let me say that at the end of a lot of very delicate negotiations with his representatives I am privileged to give my readers a real treat, an interview with the great Elmer Fudd himself! You all know Mr. Fudd as the star of countless cartoons as the comic foil for Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, Tweety Bird and too many other mega-stars of cartoonery to count. His portrayal of "The Intwepid Hunter" is a classic of Bunyanesque proportions, rivaled only by Chaplin's loveable Everyman "The Tramp" in motion picture annals. Elmer Fudd could do it all, comedy-wise. He could be as good a straight man as Bud Abbot when playing off Bugs Bunny or as zany as Jerry Lewis if the situation required zaniness. He also was a deft hand at pathos, able to produce the tears at the dwop of a hat.
Now retired from performing, Elmer Fudd has moved behind the camera to the director's chair, helming such latter-day classics as "Saving Pwivate Wyan," "Piwates of The Cawibbean" and "When Hawwy Met Sawwy." Not limiting himself to directing, Mr. Fudd has also been busy writing squwipts, I means scripts for top television shows like "Waw and Owder", "Thirty Wock" and "Without A Twace," and also directing many episodes of "Ugwy Betty."
Mr. Fudd arived at the offices of bobcrespo.com alone, with no entourage or limousine, explaining that he "Wuv's to supwise peopew by woawing up my Hawwey Davidson." Indeed it was a shock to see him pulling up to bobcrespo.com on his bike, and more surprising still to see he has grown a beard and let his hair grow in, wearing it long like a true biker. Elmer also sports many tattoos, not surprisingly likenesses of many of his former costars, most prominently a large Tweety Bird with Sylvester the Cat on one forearm and Bugs Bunny munching a carrot on the other. He's also in surprisingly good shape, exhibiting none of the round tubbiness you associated with his film roles. "I'm a widdiw bit of a gym wat," he explained. Indeed, his firm handshake is a dead giveaway that he's been pumping a lot of iron.
Mr. Fudd made himself right at home in my office, accepting a glass of iced tea and lighting up a cigar, which I half expected to explode in his face. A relaxed man at home in his own skin, he was the one who broke the ice:
EF: "Nice pwace you've got here."
BC: "Thank you Mr. Fudd. Welcome to bobcrespo.com.
EF: "My pweasure. And cawl me Ewma"
BC: "So, Ewma, let's get right into to it. I suppose your classic line from that Bugs Bunny cartoon 'My name is Ewma Fudd. I am a miwwionaire, I own a mansion and a yacht' has more than come true for these days."
EF: "You can say that again, my fwend! See, Bugs and I got together years ago and bought all the wights fwum Wawner Bwothers to ouw cawtoons and now we're wowwing in dough as they say."
BC: "Smart business move, sir. Very forward thinking."
EF: "Weww, the studio boys figuwed cawtoons wewe onwy siwwy stuff, not weawy cwassic archive matewial wike other movies, but me and Bugs knew better and we made them an offer and they gwabbed it. Now what they got is dated bwack and white mewodwamas whiwe me and Bugs got timewess cwassics that never get old. There's always a new cwop of kids who wuv our work."
BC: "It sounds like you and Bugs are great friends. Watching your cartoons you'd think you two would always be mortal enemies."
EF: "Sounds like somebody took the cawtoons a widdew too sewiouswy, Bob. We wewe acting! I guess we were pwetty good at it, huh?"
BC: "Had me fooled."
EF: "Oh-kaaay... Anyway, me and Bugs are gweat buddies. We go golfing, work on squwipts together, devewop new shows, do a wot of pwoduction. One of our gweatest cowabowations was "Evwybody Wuv's Waymond."
BC: "That was you guys?"
EF: "Wike I said, me and Bugs. 'Wiww and Gwace' was ours too, both in syndication now, money in the bank for our gwandkids."
BC: "You have a big family?
EF: "Me, I have a weguwar sized famiwy, I guess. Two kids with my first wife and thwee gwandkids and coupew of wittew ones now with my second wife, too young to be mawwied yet."
BC: "Your second wife or your kids? Just kidding. And what about Bugs Bunny?
EF: "Him? I've wost twack by now. He is a wabbit, you know. Must have a couple of hundred gwandkids by now, especiawwy if his kids took after him, if you know what I mean."
BC: "A real ladies man, eh?
EF: "No. Wike I said, he's a wabbit. Wabbits repwoduce a wot, you know."
BC: "A kwazy wabbit?"
EF: "Didn't I just teww you he's a good fwiend and my copwoducer? Nothing Kwazy about him. Shwewd as they come."
BC: "But in your cartoons..."
EF: "There weawy is something wong with you, isn't there? "
BC: Well, to tell you the truth I'm a little disappointed that you're such a ...how can say this... a regular guy."
EF: "When you meet Wobert DeNiwo, would you expect him to be some inarticulate thug with a gun in his pocket?
BC: "Of course..."
EF: "What don't you get about show business, Bob, the show or the business? It's all make-beweave! Can't you sepawate Ewmer Fudd, the actor and cartoon chawactew fwom Ewmer Fudd the man?"
BC: "I never realized there'd be a difference."
EF: "I think this is a kwy for hewp on your part, Bob."
BC: "But you're Elmer friggin' Fudd, dammit! I should be able to hit you on the head with a hammer and make a bunch of little bumps on your head, blow off a shotgun in your face and get it all black, stuff you into a mailbox and all that stuff...."
EF: "I'm getting vewy uncomfortable here, Bob. I think I'll be on my way...."
BC: Can't I just fling you out the door with a giant sling shot? I thought we'd get to have some madcap, zany action here today..."
EF: "This is not a Woad Wunner episode, Bob, this is weaw wife. Didn't you ever hear of speciaw effects?"
BC: "Real life? You're Elmer Fudd, you can fall off the roof onto your head if you wanted to! Get hit a bunch of times with a giant mallet and shake it off! C'mon, Elmer, I've got a bunch of stuff prepared. Check out this stick of TNT!"
EF: "Bob, wet me warn you, I'm a bwack bewt in Kawate! Don't come any cwoser!"
BC: "Now you're talking, Fudd, let's do some cartoon stuff!."
EF: "Don't say I didn't wawn you!" (END OF INTERVIEW.)
Boy, that Elmer Fudd sure packs a mean karate chop for a cartoon character. He flipped me like a burger and stormed out my house, or rather, my office, hopped on his Harley and roared away, saying some very un-Elmer Fuddian things to me as he left. Looks like I'll have to tweak my interview techniques a bit more. You know you're an amateur when you alienate a retired cartoon character. Now what am I going to do with that giant mallet, the shotgun, the bear trap and that stick of dynamite, to say nothing of that giant sling shot I built with pieces of the china closet and our drapes?
The lovely wife insists I get rid of them and replace the drapes before I write another blog. She never did appreciate cartoons all that much and now she's questioning how I run my interview business! She doesn't seem to understand learning curves either, I suppose. Oh well, as they say in cartoons, back to the drawing board! Next time I'll nail it. Maybe O.J. Simpson's got some spare time on his hands. Should I take a stab at it? Let me just whip out my celebrity phone book here... okay, under S, let's see... Simon- Carly, Simon- Neil, Simon- Paul, Simon-Simple, hmmm, no shortage of famous Simons... Bingo there it is! Simpson, O.J., football Hall of Famer, B-actor and acquitted killer, let me just dial him up...
BC: "Hello? Mr. Simpson? Bob Crespo here, of bobcrespo.com. It's a website, sir. I was wondering if you would grant me an interview.... How much? Cash only, you say?... Or Krugerrands? Gee, that's an awful lot of gold, sir... No, I'm not making fun of you.. What? ... No, I don't think I'd like you to come over here and do that at all... Oh, you do know where I live?... O.J., I don't think that's necessary at all... all I wanted was... I mean... what do you mean or else?... couldn't we just forget all ab... What?... Mr. Simpson, you're blowing this all out of proportion... No, sir, I'm not calling you a liar, no need to do that..."
Like I said, this interview business isn't as easy as I thought. Now I have to move. I have a sinking feeling the lovely wife isn't going to understand that one one at all.
November 13, 2010
LIFE EXPLAINED, PART 751
When asked to be specific, be specific. If you cannot, don't make things worse by lying, just shut the hell up. Either you know what you're talking about or you don't.
MY INTERVIEW WITH MICK JAGGER
Editor's note: In honor of Keith Richards' new autobiography, this is a reprint of an interview with Keith's musical partner in the Rolling Stones, MIck Jagger:
That living legend, Mick jagger, lead singer of The Rolling Stones and one half of the legendary song writing team Jagger/Richards has agreed to sit down with bobcrespo.com for an interview. Mick has taken time out of his busy touring and recording schedule to grant this interview and for that I'm grateful. Along with his band mates Keith Richards, Charlie Watts and Ron Wood, Mick and the Stones have recently set a world record for the highest grossing tour by a rock and roll band ever. This an an amazing feat considering that The Rolling Stones have been on the scene since the early 1960's, somehow managing to do what no other band has done before; stay relevant and popular and continue to fill arenas all over the world for over forty years.
These guys have been around so long that their bass player Bill Wyman actually retired a few years ago, cashing in on the generous severance package provided by the most successful Rock & Roll band ever. Mr. Wyman, being several years older than the other band members, opted to take the pension and enjoy life, figuring he's pushing 70 and if something's going to kill him he'd rather it be trying to keep up with his teenaged wife than the rigors of touring. He'd already witnessed one of their original members Brian Jones die a young death and his replacement, guitarist Mick Taylor, leaving the band for fear of sharing Mr. Jones' fate. Having beaten the long odds, Wyman cashed in rather than crapping out.
Still the Stones soldier on, making great music and defying the odds by not only staying alive but getting better and better as a live act. Keith Richards is a marvel of good genetics and astounding luck, the only possible explanations for his continued survival after a lifetime of hard, wild living. He even survived falling out of a palm tree onto his head recently and rejoined the tour to play some of his most electrifying shows in a decade. Bill Watts, perhaps one of the two or three greatest Rock & Roll drummers ever, is starting to resemble somebody's Granny but he's still out there laying down the muscular beat that has always driven Rolling Stones songs. Ron Wood, their other guitarist who has been with them for more than twenty years now seems to be in a constant duel onstage with Keith Richards, not only with their guitars but with which of them is the uglier man. This fan calls that one a toss-up.
Mick Jagger keeps himself in great shape and is a still the epitome of a Rock & Roll lead singer, a dancing, whirling dervish and a consummate entertainer. He's all over the stage, dancing and interacting with the band and the audience and is still in fine voice. He arrived by limo at the offices of bobcrespo.com looking every inch the rock star, fit and tanned and dressed in a fire-engine red blazer, dungarees, sandals and a black t-shirt. He had a small entourage, a personal assistant who is the most beautiful woman I've ever met, and also a hairdresser and a make-up artist for the photographs they figured I'd be shooting, the second and third most beautiful women I've ever met. Damn! I knew I forgot something besides the refreshments. The batteries in my wife's digital camera are dead and I forgot to recharge them. The beautiful assistants seemed awfully disappointed. Well, nothing to be done about that now, so I'll just plow ahead with the interview.
BC: "Mr. Jagger, thank you for giving bobcrespo.com this interview. This should really put me on the map, er, I mean it's an honor and a pleasure, sir."
MJ: "Call me Mick, mate."
BC: "Thanks, Mick, you can call me Mr. Crespo. I've been a fan of yours since your first records and TV appearances in the early 60's..."
MJ: "Showing your age, Mr. Crespo."
BC: "Can I finish my intro here, pal? This is my first interview and I'm a little nervous..."
MJ: "You're first interview?"
BCDC: "Yep, now can you do me a huge and keep your trap shut? I have this whole big intro written out."
MJ: "Well, excyooose me!"
BC: "No problem, Mick. Well, here goes: In his first ever interview with a major website, Mick Jagger of the Rolling Stones has come to the offices of bobcrespo.com for an exclusive one-on-one with Bob Crespo. Mick and the Stones have just completed a record-breaking world tour and are currently reviewing tapes of their shows for a possible live album to be released in time for Christmas. Word has it that the Stones are so musically rejuvenated from their tour that Mick and Keith are collaborating on a new batch of songs that could land them in the studio for another album of originals in the very near future...."
MJ: "Who told you that rot? We're bloody exhausted after that tour. I've been lying around the Caribbean not doing much of any..."
BC: "Whoa, caviar-breath! I thought I asked you not to interrupt!
MJ: "But that's all nonsense, mate. You're making all this up!"
BC: "Hey, Mick, I've gotta tell my viewers something! It's not like your big shot Rolling Stones Incorporated Office provided me with a fact sheet or anything..."
MJ: "What viewers? I thought this a web site and you write a blog?
BC: "Well, I'm taping this for a possible pod-cast. It's not everyday that a Mick Jagger sits down and..."
MJ: "But there's no camera here!"
BC: "Guess again, pal. See this computer? It's an I-Mac and it has a video camera built right in. That's why you're sitting in that chair. Check it out!"
MJ: "But that mostly shows you!"
BC: "What, you haven't had enough publicity on your lifetime Mister Look-at-me-look-at-me-I'm-a-rock-star? Can't a guy get a break here?"
MJ: "This wasn't part of the deal, Bob! No broadcasts, or pod-casts or whatever it is that dinky James Bond spy camera does! You arranged for an interview and that's all! No one prepared me for a telly broadcast! Now get on with your questions, will you, and forget your barmy introduction or I walk out right now!"
BC: Okay, okay, no need to get so testy over here, Senor Sensitive. Alright then, here's my question: Mick Jagger, let me get this straight, you say it's only Rock & Roll but you like it?"
MJ: "What? That's it? That's your question?"
BC: "Should I repeat the question?"
MJ: "The answer's yes, you bloody idiot, it's only Rock & Roll but I like it! Next."
BC: "Next what?"
MJ: "Next question, of course."
BC: "But I don't have any."
MJ: "But that first one wasn't even a proper question!"
BC: "Too personal?"
MJ: "You mean to tell me you don't have any other questions you'd like to ask me? Nothing?
BC: "Well, Mick, now that you mention it I probably should have prepared a few more. I figured you're this big shot rock star with the exciting life and you'll just pull out some fascinating anecdotes and stuff...."
MJ: "That's not how interviews work, you bloody wanker! You ask me questions and I answer them. Got it?"
BC: "Hmmmm... Okay, here's a good one: Mick Jagger, did you ever manage to get any Satisfaction?"
MJ: "Okay that does, it, I'm out of here! Come on, people, this was one royal waste of an afternoon."
BC: "Hey, it's my first interview, give me a break here..."
MJ: "Take your dot com and stick it, you jackass!"
BC: "This is Bob Crespo, live at bobcrespo.com, thanking Mick Jagger for visiting our offices for his first ever internet interview, an exclusive for bob crespo dot co......"
"MJ: "This will not be broadcast or you'll be hearing from my attorneys, and shut that stupid thing off! And what bloody offices are you talking about? This is your bloody living room! Who arranged this interview? Whoever it is is fired! Out on their arse! Out, you hear me..."
That went well. I suppose Mick is right in suggesting that I need to tighten up my interviewing techniques a drop, maybe even do a little preparation next time. Well, live and learn, eh? But not bad for my first interview ever. It's not every day one gets visited by a superstar and his three beautiful assistants. I even have a photo of Mick and myself together that I managed to snap with the i-photo feature in the computer. Maybe I can do a little photo-shop retouching so he doesn't look so pissed off at me, maybe make that fist he's shaking at me look like a high-five. If not, no biggie. I still have many special memories to cherish for my whole life of the time I interviewed Mick Jagger of The Rolling Stones in my very own home, I mean rather, that is... the offices of bobcrespo.com.
That living legend, Mick jagger, lead singer of The Rolling Stones and one half of the legendary song writing team Jagger/Richards has agreed to sit down with bobcrespo.com for an interview. Mick has taken time out of his busy touring and recording schedule to grant this interview and for that I'm grateful. Along with his band mates Keith Richards, Charlie Watts and Ron Wood, Mick and the Stones have recently set a world record for the highest grossing tour by a rock and roll band ever. This an an amazing feat considering that The Rolling Stones have been on the scene since the early 1960's, somehow managing to do what no other band has done before; stay relevant and popular and continue to fill arenas all over the world for over forty years.
These guys have been around so long that their bass player Bill Wyman actually retired a few years ago, cashing in on the generous severance package provided by the most successful Rock & Roll band ever. Mr. Wyman, being several years older than the other band members, opted to take the pension and enjoy life, figuring he's pushing 70 and if something's going to kill him he'd rather it be trying to keep up with his teenaged wife than the rigors of touring. He'd already witnessed one of their original members Brian Jones die a young death and his replacement, guitarist Mick Taylor, leaving the band for fear of sharing Mr. Jones' fate. Having beaten the long odds, Wyman cashed in rather than crapping out.
Still the Stones soldier on, making great music and defying the odds by not only staying alive but getting better and better as a live act. Keith Richards is a marvel of good genetics and astounding luck, the only possible explanations for his continued survival after a lifetime of hard, wild living. He even survived falling out of a palm tree onto his head recently and rejoined the tour to play some of his most electrifying shows in a decade. Bill Watts, perhaps one of the two or three greatest Rock & Roll drummers ever, is starting to resemble somebody's Granny but he's still out there laying down the muscular beat that has always driven Rolling Stones songs. Ron Wood, their other guitarist who has been with them for more than twenty years now seems to be in a constant duel onstage with Keith Richards, not only with their guitars but with which of them is the uglier man. This fan calls that one a toss-up.
Mick Jagger keeps himself in great shape and is a still the epitome of a Rock & Roll lead singer, a dancing, whirling dervish and a consummate entertainer. He's all over the stage, dancing and interacting with the band and the audience and is still in fine voice. He arrived by limo at the offices of bobcrespo.com looking every inch the rock star, fit and tanned and dressed in a fire-engine red blazer, dungarees, sandals and a black t-shirt. He had a small entourage, a personal assistant who is the most beautiful woman I've ever met, and also a hairdresser and a make-up artist for the photographs they figured I'd be shooting, the second and third most beautiful women I've ever met. Damn! I knew I forgot something besides the refreshments. The batteries in my wife's digital camera are dead and I forgot to recharge them. The beautiful assistants seemed awfully disappointed. Well, nothing to be done about that now, so I'll just plow ahead with the interview.
BC: "Mr. Jagger, thank you for giving bobcrespo.com this interview. This should really put me on the map, er, I mean it's an honor and a pleasure, sir."
MJ: "Call me Mick, mate."
BC: "Thanks, Mick, you can call me Mr. Crespo. I've been a fan of yours since your first records and TV appearances in the early 60's..."
MJ: "Showing your age, Mr. Crespo."
BC: "Can I finish my intro here, pal? This is my first interview and I'm a little nervous..."
MJ: "You're first interview?"
BCDC: "Yep, now can you do me a huge and keep your trap shut? I have this whole big intro written out."
MJ: "Well, excyooose me!"
BC: "No problem, Mick. Well, here goes: In his first ever interview with a major website, Mick Jagger of the Rolling Stones has come to the offices of bobcrespo.com for an exclusive one-on-one with Bob Crespo. Mick and the Stones have just completed a record-breaking world tour and are currently reviewing tapes of their shows for a possible live album to be released in time for Christmas. Word has it that the Stones are so musically rejuvenated from their tour that Mick and Keith are collaborating on a new batch of songs that could land them in the studio for another album of originals in the very near future...."
MJ: "Who told you that rot? We're bloody exhausted after that tour. I've been lying around the Caribbean not doing much of any..."
BC: "Whoa, caviar-breath! I thought I asked you not to interrupt!
MJ: "But that's all nonsense, mate. You're making all this up!"
BC: "Hey, Mick, I've gotta tell my viewers something! It's not like your big shot Rolling Stones Incorporated Office provided me with a fact sheet or anything..."
MJ: "What viewers? I thought this a web site and you write a blog?
BC: "Well, I'm taping this for a possible pod-cast. It's not everyday that a Mick Jagger sits down and..."
MJ: "But there's no camera here!"
BC: "Guess again, pal. See this computer? It's an I-Mac and it has a video camera built right in. That's why you're sitting in that chair. Check it out!"
MJ: "But that mostly shows you!"
BC: "What, you haven't had enough publicity on your lifetime Mister Look-at-me-look-at-me-I'm-a-rock-star? Can't a guy get a break here?"
MJ: "This wasn't part of the deal, Bob! No broadcasts, or pod-casts or whatever it is that dinky James Bond spy camera does! You arranged for an interview and that's all! No one prepared me for a telly broadcast! Now get on with your questions, will you, and forget your barmy introduction or I walk out right now!"
BC: Okay, okay, no need to get so testy over here, Senor Sensitive. Alright then, here's my question: Mick Jagger, let me get this straight, you say it's only Rock & Roll but you like it?"
MJ: "What? That's it? That's your question?"
BC: "Should I repeat the question?"
MJ: "The answer's yes, you bloody idiot, it's only Rock & Roll but I like it! Next."
BC: "Next what?"
MJ: "Next question, of course."
BC: "But I don't have any."
MJ: "But that first one wasn't even a proper question!"
BC: "Too personal?"
MJ: "You mean to tell me you don't have any other questions you'd like to ask me? Nothing?
BC: "Well, Mick, now that you mention it I probably should have prepared a few more. I figured you're this big shot rock star with the exciting life and you'll just pull out some fascinating anecdotes and stuff...."
MJ: "That's not how interviews work, you bloody wanker! You ask me questions and I answer them. Got it?"
BC: "Hmmmm... Okay, here's a good one: Mick Jagger, did you ever manage to get any Satisfaction?"
MJ: "Okay that does, it, I'm out of here! Come on, people, this was one royal waste of an afternoon."
BC: "Hey, it's my first interview, give me a break here..."
MJ: "Take your dot com and stick it, you jackass!"
BC: "This is Bob Crespo, live at bobcrespo.com, thanking Mick Jagger for visiting our offices for his first ever internet interview, an exclusive for bob crespo dot co......"
"MJ: "This will not be broadcast or you'll be hearing from my attorneys, and shut that stupid thing off! And what bloody offices are you talking about? This is your bloody living room! Who arranged this interview? Whoever it is is fired! Out on their arse! Out, you hear me..."
That went well. I suppose Mick is right in suggesting that I need to tighten up my interviewing techniques a drop, maybe even do a little preparation next time. Well, live and learn, eh? But not bad for my first interview ever. It's not every day one gets visited by a superstar and his three beautiful assistants. I even have a photo of Mick and myself together that I managed to snap with the i-photo feature in the computer. Maybe I can do a little photo-shop retouching so he doesn't look so pissed off at me, maybe make that fist he's shaking at me look like a high-five. If not, no biggie. I still have many special memories to cherish for my whole life of the time I interviewed Mick Jagger of The Rolling Stones in my very own home, I mean rather, that is... the offices of bobcrespo.com.
November 8, 2010
LIFE EXPLAINED, PART 750
Whether or not a dream ever comes true is beside the point, isn't it? It is, after all, a dream.
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