The Republican Weak in Review

Not a very good week for conservative tv and radio personalities. First a former Marine counsels Rush Limbaugh on the true meaning of being an American and gets the blame for the Republican party's failures, then the "tea-baggin'" antics of a few wealthy folks sort of vaporizes like steam and now this from, of all people, a pulitzer-prize winning film critic...


Thoughts on Bill O'Reilly and Squeaky the Chicago Mouse


By Roger Ebert / April 7, 2009

To: Bill O'Reilly
From: Roger Ebert

Dear Bill: Thanks for including the Chicago Sun-Times on your exclusive list of newspapers on your "Hall of Shame." To be in an O'Reilly Hall of Fame would be a cruel blow to any newspaper. It would place us in the favor of a man who turns red and starts screaming when anyone disagrees with him. My grade-school teacher, wise Sister Nathan, would have called in your parents and recommended counseling with Father Hogben.

Yes, the Sun-Times is liberal, having recently endorsed our first Democrat for President since LBJ. We were founded by Marshall Field one week before Pearl Harbor to provide a liberal voice in Chicago to counter the Tribune, which opposed an American war against Hitler. I'm sure you would have sided with the Trib at the time.

I understand you believe one of the Sun-Times misdemeanors was dropping your syndicated column. My editor informs me that "very few" readers complained about the disappearance of your column, adding, "many more complained about Nancy." I know I did. That was the famous Ernie Bushmiller comic strip in which Sluggo explained that "wow" was "mom" spelled upside-down.

Your column ran in our paper while it was owned by the right-wing polemicists Conrad Black (Baron Black of Coldharbour) and David Radler. We dropped it to save a little money after they looted the paper of millions. Now you call for an advertising boycott. It is unusual to observe a journalist cheering for a newspaper to fail. At present the Sun-Times has no bank debt, but labors under the weight of millions of dollars in tax penalties incurred by Lord Black, who is serving an eight-year stretch for mail fraud and obstruction of justice. We also had to pay for his legal expenses.

There is a major difference between Conrad Black and you: Lord Black is a much better writer and thinker, and authored a respected biography about Roosevelt, who we were founded to defend. That newspapers continue to run your column is a mystery to me, since it is composed of knee-jerk frothings and ravings. If I were an editor searching for a conservative, I wouldn't choose a mad dog. My recommendation: The admirable Charles Krauthammer.

Bill, I am concerned that you have been losing touch with reality recently. Did you really say you are more powerful than any politician?

That reminds me of the famous story about Squeaky the Chicago Mouse. It seems that Squeaky was floating on his back along the Chicago River one day. Approaching the Michigan Avenue lift bridge, he called out: Raise the bridge! I have an erection!

It's time for the Republicans to regroup and focus their opposition on the issues. Please. I'm tired of watching Glenn Beck cry.

Good at Cars, Lousy at Decoration

(I Swear I'll Fix These Cars, One Day)I went to get a smog check today so I went to an auto mechanic strip mall near my home. It's a C-shaped building with garages galore, but I couldn't escape the sight of many automobile "work-in-progress" on display taking up all of the parking spaces. Do the shop owners not realize that the customer can see them? I mean it's disconcerting to pull into the driveway and see something out of Mad Max. It's like owning a butcher shop and leaving cow, pig and dog carcasses on the floor just before the cash register.

When I slowly approached the Smog Test Area I tried hard not to acknowledge the graveyard of crippled cars with missing engines, naked front ends where the bumpers usually covered, or sans windshield glass. I swear I heard a Chevy Nova say "don't look at me! I'm hideous!"

But I like these small, "mom & pop" places. The mechanic who performed the test was thorough. And the good news is I passed. But how about a little decorative renovation on the outside? And would it hurt to get a tv in the waiting room?

Little League Comeback Part III

First game. Dominic scattered 45 hits enroute to a 26 to 2 loss against the Angels. I didn't play so I sulked in the dugout. However I did accomplish 2 things. One I found a group of private investors who have agreed, tentatively depending on the success of the team, to sponsor us. AlpInvest Partners N.V., The Blackstone Group L.P., The Carlyle Group, Hellman & Friedman LLC, Kohlberg Kravis Roberts & Co. L.P. and Thomas H. Lee Partners, L.P will send over a rep to troubleshoot any "talent fat" and trim it by downsizing the current roster, and there's even talk that the Investors will not only outsource the coaching staff to India, but also change the name to THE INVESTORS. The second accomplishment was getting Dominic's mom to be the "team mother." Thanks to her recent divorce from "ass face," she treated the entire team to pizza, soda and some wine coolers for her, the coach and the benchwarmer, me. One negative note, I noticed Coach Ramos' clumsy attempt at a pass at Dominic's mom. He better not mess with the bull or he'll get the horns. Tune in and find out what happens next week.

MTV: Reality Killed The Music Stars

There was a time when MTV original shows like The Real World was innovative. 5 strangers from different, sometimes conflicting, backgrounds share living quarters with cameras rolling and mikes attached 24/7. The sociological ramifications of this televised experiment could have revolutionized television as a healing, educational medium while at the same time providing entertainment for people of all ages. The Youth could relate. The Old could understand the Youth. Success could have spawned copycat cable and network shows that held a mirror to the viewing public and addressed issues that usually went ignored. Think of the recent elections and the spark of dialogue stemming from the vote to overturn the ban on gay marriage, or the first African-American President and its affect on race relations? Sadly it seemed MTV was strong on the idea, but weak on the execution. The Real World, which is in its 21st season, has grown stale and the lame attempts to generate more viewers, though ratings for the show did go up 18% from previous season’s first episode, seemed to finish rather sluggishly, even with a cast that featured a trans-gender young woman and an Iraq War Veteran. Even the latest installment of the uber-adrenaline The Inferno II, Real World/Road Rules Challenge follows the same pattern of focusing on the same petty squabbles instead of the overall scope of competing on foreign soil and learning. It seems the group of familiar “reality stars,” some of whom are approaching 40 now, just don’t get it in terms of life’s lessons. Either that or producers of these shows believe that the audience loves drama and will artificially create one for ratings. Perhaps the producers are right. But after so many years, the formula becomes unbearably repetitive. Yes, C.J. is an asshole, and he has problems which leads him into fights and getting kicked out of the show. Here’s a question, why continually invite him back? Because people love train wrecks. It’s not his fault. The Producers of these types of shows love to exploit the insecurities and problems of their cast. There is nothing juicier than a Narcissist with a drinking problem or a tragic past. That’s great TV. But it’s also a step backwards from the educational aspect of what the Real World was supposed to be about. Think of Pedro Zamora from the San Francisco Cast from 1994.

Here’s an idea. The “M” in “MTV” stands for Music. How about playing music videos from fresh, unsigned artists? That’s pretty innovative. Layoff the faux-reality shows like “The Hills” and “The City” with its ridiculous disclaimer at the start of every episode proclaiming that what was captured so pristinely on video was indeed real. Not even the most ardent follower of these shows believes in its authenticity. Really, like they totally don’t, OMG!

My Return to Little League Baseball- Part II

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The Big Giant- Day 1 of my return to Little League Baseball

Michael Jordan did it. So did Roger Clemens and recently Brett Favre. Now I join the ranks of athletes who come out of retirement and rekindle their passion for the love of the game. In my case I am returning to the site of my greatest glory, little league baseball.

My first step was to contact the league reps at Grant Rea Park in Montebello, my hometown where I had played for 6 years. I set up a meeting with a Luis Castillo who heads up the Pony League. I drove out to the park and met with Mr. Castillo, a youthful-looking man in a long-sleeved Jersey and Dodgers baseball cap. We sat on the bleachers that overlooked the baseball diamond. Sprinklers watered the outfield and infield and a gardener snipped the rim around the pitcher’s mound.

“Where’s your son?” Mr. Castillo asked looking around for a glimpse of the phantom boy.

“I don’t have one,” I said.

Luis blinked in rapid succession out of confusion and smiled.

“So who is the person interested in joining our league?”

“Me,” I said confidently.

“You? Is this a joke? I don’t get it.”

“It’s really simple, Mister Castillo. I’m coming out of retirement to play in the Pony League.”

“Mister Gonzalez, you can’t be serious. I mean with all due respect you’re…how old are you?”

“Thirty eight and a half. But don’t worry I’m getting in shape in time for the season.”

“It’s not that,” he said. “It’s just that this is a league for boys or girls thirteen and fourteen years of age.”

“Yeah. I know. I figured this was the most challenging league. All the lower leagues seem too easy.”

Luis stroked the beard of his goatee in frustration. Deep in the stubborn wiring of my brain I knew the naysayers would try to talk me out of my dream but I was determined to not let anyone spoil my goal.

“Look, Mister Gonzalez, I don’t think you understand what I’m trying to get at. The Pony League is only open to kids who are thirteen and fourteen. You can’t play here because you’re too old.”

Aha! I thought. Checkmate. I was prepared for this response. I recoiled my words and they sprang out like a skinny French dude from Cirque du Soleil.

“Sir, that’s ageism. Just so you know I had contacted a lawyer prior to our meeting and I have secured his services in case you pulled that age crap on me. And I can assure you my lawyer knows Gloria Allred.”

“Fine! I don’t want any problems. We’ll put your name in the drawing and a coach will contact you Saturday morning. Alright?”

Success! Not even the disgusted expression on Castillo’s face could dampen my victorious spirit. I drove back home after the meeting with a feeling of euphoria, similar to the restless anticipation I felt as a kid when Winter finally ended and the sun heralded the coming of the new baseball season.

Saturday morning arrived and at nine forty seven as I stuffed the last of my egg, cheese, sausage and ham burrito into my mouth the phone rang. I leapt seemingly from the kitchen to the living room and lifted the receiver before the second ring.

“Hello,” I mumbled. I quickly swallowed the burrito. I knew I would pay for that later with nighttime heartburn.

“Can I speak to Jaime?”

“I’m Jaime. What’s up?”

The voice on the other end of the line paused.

“Jaime Gonzalez?”

“Yup, that’s me. Who is this?”

“This is Coach Ramos. Wait, you’re not one of those kids that develops really early are you? I mean you sound like an adult.”

“I am an adult.”

Another long pause followed.

“Oh, are you interested in being a coach or something?” Ramos asked.

“No. I’m a player. Ask Luis Castillo.”

“Ah, you’re that guy. Weird. Anyway, I’m Coach Ramos. You’re on the Giants now. Appropriately enough. Report to the La Merced Intermediate School’s baseball field next Saturday at nine o’ clock for our first practice. Alright, champ?”

“Sure thing, Coach Ramos. I’ll be there bright and early.”

“Man, this is weird,” he said in a sigh before he hung up.

Wow, I thought, my first baseball team in 24 years. I was ready. I had started the prep work months prior by hitting the batting cages almost daily, lifting weights and walking half mile. I was pumped. That night I placed my Nike spiked shoes on the floor by my gray practice baseball pants and Jersey which hung on the bedroom doorknob. The rest of the week went by slowly and I tossed and turned every night waiting for Saturday morning and it finally arrived.

(NEXT WEEK: The first practice and team meeting)

The Rabbit Situation

"Who would give me up?"

I found a rabbit in my garage. I had no idea how he got in there or where he came from, that was the least of my concern. What do I do with him? My wife and daughter and I own a parakeet. That’s expensive enough, especially with the unavailability of parakeet seeds (see previous blog) and the cost of keeping it alive in general is too much. But a rabbit living with us? Forget about it. It’d be like a relative with expensive taste moving in permanently. Instead of meat and potatoes they’d want shrimp cocktails and crunchy peanut butter instead of the creamy kind. NO WAY!

I asked a neighbor if the cute bunny was hers. I was cognizant of throwing in words like “cute” and “cuddly” and “adorable” to describe the filthy beast in hopes that my neighbor would take it. She said it wasn’t hers nor was she interested in keeping it as a pet. “Fascist” I spat as I took the fluffy bunny back into my garage.

”Why don’t you take him over the lake?” She said, momentarily forgiving my outburst for the bunny’s sake. She informed me that there was a lake a few blocks from our gated community by a school where a colony of unwanted rabbits thrived without human interference. My mind immediately went into panic mode. What if these creatures decide to band together and attack humans for neglecting them? Eh, I can’t picture rabbits possessing any bitter feelings. I looked into the pink eyes of Mr. Buggles, by this point I named the homeless thing, and stroked the white fur. “Well,” I thought. “At least he’ll be with his own kind.”

So off I jettisoned to the lake. I parked the car and took Mr. Buggles, whom I placed in a box, out and looked for the entrance around the high wire fence. The lake looked unkept and probably contaminated with a medley of pesticides and chemicals. I didn’t see any bunny colony with bunny homes and a thriving bunny community with their own laws. Instead I saw patches of crap floating in dark waters. I finally found the opening, right under a sign that read “NO DUMPING OF ANIMALS. ESPECIALLY RABBITS"

Great. Now what do I do? I can’t let Mr. Buggles out in the school yard, the children will eat him alive. Salvation came in the form of the Fire Station across the street. So I dodged traffic and approached the front door to the small, quaint building. I rang the doorbell and within seconds two Firefighters stood before me. They looked at the box and dread overcame their face. “Hey guys, I’ve got a situation here…” The older one, I’m assuming he was the captain, looked at me and shook his head. “We don’t do bunnies. Maybe around Easter time. Why don’t you throw him into the lake? I heard there’s a thriving colony of bunnies in there?” He closed the door. Not even a sorry. I wish someone had photos or video footage of this thriving colony because I don’t see it.

So now what do I do? The choice became clear. I should have done this from the start. I drove over to the animal shelter. On the way I looked at the reflection of Mr. Buggles' box in my rearview mirror. It was still. “It’ll be fine Mr. Buggles. You’ll find a home real soon, I promise. You’re really cute, and well behaved. This is the best thing for both of us, really.” I parked the car and carried him to this older gentlemen stationed inside a room with the top half of the door opened and the lower half closed. He asked a few questions and later took the box and placed it on a shelf like a piece of unwanted furniture. I said a silent goodbye to Mr. Buggles and fondly recalled our adventure together. Such a waste, I thought. Maybe the economy tanking is a good thing. Maybe people need to start appreciating what they already have instead of wasting on things they can’t afford. I’m pretty certain Mr. Buggles did find a nice home where they don’t eat rabbits. I hope.