Three of my good friends lost battles to cancer in 2013.
Pam Meehan, 64, on February 13, 2013. Pam and I became friends when she hired on as the receptionist at Brompton Productions, Lord Tim Hudson's rock'n roll management firm. Remember, this was in the heat of rock'n roll and our "visitors" were about as bizarre as they came without actually being confined to, uh, "secure quarters" (read: Camarillo State Hospital for the Criminally Insane.) Enter Pam of the big doe eyes and soft voice. She had a rocky go of it until she learned to assert herself and then it was Katy bar the door! She left an ex-husband with whom she was best friends, three daughters and a grandson when she died after a four year battle with breast cancer.
Sue Braden-Thorssen, 72, on April 9, 2013. We had known each other since kindergarten. Despite being separated by half of the country, marriages, child raising and life itself, we stayed friends for more than 68 years. She and her second husband Sig loved to travel and often took driving vacations "on the blue line roads" rather than freeways. They were here and we had a memorable lunch at Ports O Call. When Sig died, Sue sent me a Tupperware bowl of his ashes and directed that they be portioned out between the rose garden, Santa Monica; the deck of the Queen Mary (we settled for a curbside bed of flowers) and launched from the patio at Ports. We never go there without stepping up to the railing and paying our respects. She fought lung cancer for nearly 10 yeas, having beaten breast cancer nine years earlier.
Dale Cox, Jr. died June 25, 2013 of multiple myeloma a very short time after having been disguised with it. Dale was a longtime member of the South Bay Writers Workshop and had recently published two books "Tango Trajectory" about a female test pilot and "Top Secret Flight" about a photo recon job over Japan during WW2. Dale was 92 and left his wife Patricia after a 67 year marriage.
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Monday, December 30, 2013
Riddle: How Is Richie Like JFK?
If you said, "A good head of hair!" Wrong. If you said, "Both Irish Catholics" Wrong.
Both are/were married to international beauties whose wit was celebrated world-wide, well, you'd be closer.. But it's a very simple thing.
Both are/were clothes horses in their own ways. Jack Kennedy changed clothes from the skin out four to six times a day. He got up, bathed, dressed and went to the office. He had a pre-lunch swim then showered and dressed again. He had a 45-minute nap. He then had an afternoon swim; same routine. If he was going to or hosting a social event, showered and dressed in evening wear.
While no less ambitious, Richie's articles of clothing are on a decidedly lower scale...When he gets up, he pulls on sweat pants and a t-shirt, brings in the papers and has breakfast. he then changes into his gym shorts and yesterday's t-shirt. Post gym, he showers and it's back to sweatpants and a new t-shirt.
If we then go out to run errands, he changes the sweat pants for jeans and when we get home, off with the jeans and back into the sweats.
I have spent a good portion of daylight time telling him to just get dressed after your shower and stay dressed, but to no avail.
The book is a good read and full of telling details of daily life for the famous couple. Mrs. Kennedy had a grilled cheese sandwich and he had a medium-rare hamburger for lunch most days. He also ate two soft-boiled eggs, bacon, toast and coffee every morning. I'm surprised high cholesterol didn't get him before Lee Harvey Oswald did.
"These Few Precious Days - the Final Year of Jack with Jackie" by Christopher Andersen Gallery Books 324 pages $27
Both are/were married to international beauties whose wit was celebrated world-wide, well, you'd be closer.. But it's a very simple thing.
Both are/were clothes horses in their own ways. Jack Kennedy changed clothes from the skin out four to six times a day. He got up, bathed, dressed and went to the office. He had a pre-lunch swim then showered and dressed again. He had a 45-minute nap. He then had an afternoon swim; same routine. If he was going to or hosting a social event, showered and dressed in evening wear.
While no less ambitious, Richie's articles of clothing are on a decidedly lower scale...When he gets up, he pulls on sweat pants and a t-shirt, brings in the papers and has breakfast. he then changes into his gym shorts and yesterday's t-shirt. Post gym, he showers and it's back to sweatpants and a new t-shirt.
If we then go out to run errands, he changes the sweat pants for jeans and when we get home, off with the jeans and back into the sweats.
I have spent a good portion of daylight time telling him to just get dressed after your shower and stay dressed, but to no avail.
The book is a good read and full of telling details of daily life for the famous couple. Mrs. Kennedy had a grilled cheese sandwich and he had a medium-rare hamburger for lunch most days. He also ate two soft-boiled eggs, bacon, toast and coffee every morning. I'm surprised high cholesterol didn't get him before Lee Harvey Oswald did.
"These Few Precious Days - the Final Year of Jack with Jackie" by Christopher Andersen Gallery Books 324 pages $27
Saturday, December 28, 2013
To Vow or Not To Vow - New Year's Resolutions
I wondered when this pernicious annual vow became a part of the holiday season so I looked it up. The Babylonians promised their gods to return borrowed items and to pay off their debts and they did this in March. The Romans came along and moved the rite to honor the god Janus thus our New Years. After Christmas, in medieval times, the knights all re-vowed to pursue chivalry.
Now I don't know about your neighborhood, but Babylonians, Romans and knights are sparse on the ground in ours.
It's interesting that a consistent vow - basically just to be nicer - has lasted this long. It has, of course, become modified to include such personal desires such as losing weight, getting more exercise, giving up sweets. Wanting to improve yourself is admirable. Even recognizing that you may have a problem is admirable.
The trouble with noble resolve is that very few of us have the continuing drive to see any vow through to the end. We may go to the gym every day for a week and then three times a week and then ... not at all.
And when realization of failure sets in, the person who made the vow is more depressed than when they rashly promised themselves wonderful things.
I say it's better to avoid the inevitable disappointment down the road and simply think to your Personal Deity, "Work with me here on being a better person" and let it go at that. It's better to give up without trying all that hard than it is to make yourself crazy - and fail anyhow. Guard your mental health! Vow NOT to vow!
Now I don't know about your neighborhood, but Babylonians, Romans and knights are sparse on the ground in ours.
It's interesting that a consistent vow - basically just to be nicer - has lasted this long. It has, of course, become modified to include such personal desires such as losing weight, getting more exercise, giving up sweets. Wanting to improve yourself is admirable. Even recognizing that you may have a problem is admirable.
The trouble with noble resolve is that very few of us have the continuing drive to see any vow through to the end. We may go to the gym every day for a week and then three times a week and then ... not at all.
And when realization of failure sets in, the person who made the vow is more depressed than when they rashly promised themselves wonderful things.
I say it's better to avoid the inevitable disappointment down the road and simply think to your Personal Deity, "Work with me here on being a better person" and let it go at that. It's better to give up without trying all that hard than it is to make yourself crazy - and fail anyhow. Guard your mental health! Vow NOT to vow!
Friday, December 27, 2013
Luxury Lunacy - Craziness on a Grand Scale
Though not by any means wealthy, I had a crazy moment this morning. I'd written three columns so that I could take off mentally for a couple of days. And this morning I couldn't find them. And I knew they were here. But they weren't
We'd had guests over yesterday afternoon/evening and in the surge to tidy I stashed them ... somewhere. I finally found them, face down on top of the dishwasher. I'd grabbed a sheet of paper to write down the three appetizers and their relative heats and times in the oven! So, Ladies and Gentlemen, with no further ado ...
The front page of the LA Times for 12/23/13, had this headline "Move-in-ready Homes Pop Up in Luxury Market."
The article starts by stating the obvious - that when a celebrity sells an abode and throws in the designer furniture and personal knickknacks, the sale will quickly follow. Elton John used to have a pair of condos in LA and he sold them replete with his personal stuff. Including his snakeskin-covered bed frame! Given the fact that "snake-o-phobia"(?) runs rampant with me the very thought that something like that even exists gave me a severe case of the fantods.
Here's an example of the "Can't be bothered - I'll take it fully furnished; here's my check" type of thinking. A $36 million house in Beverly Hills comes with a putting green with a lavish view of Los Angeles -- and a $300 putter.
We are talking detailed when all you have to bring is your own clothing. Toothbrush? Try these new Philips Sonicares. Dinnerware? Villeroy & Boch plus $1.3 million in furniture.
Real estate gossips report that when Ellen DeGeneres and Portia di Rossi sold their 26-acre ranch in Thousand Oaks, they deliberately left behind the pots, skillets, potato peeler! Other houses have fully-stocked pantries along with cleaning supplies, toilet paper and paper towels.
My question is: who among us has so little interest in their surroundings as to be able to buy and live with other people's leftovers? No aesthetic sense at all chills me. Are the buyers just rich robots?
The article did say this type of purchase is handy for people who want a second home and no bother or film or corporate executives transferred here for some time.
If they've got the money and this is what they want? Soul-less living courtesy of the guy ahead of them? Go ahead on, Philistines!
We'd had guests over yesterday afternoon/evening and in the surge to tidy I stashed them ... somewhere. I finally found them, face down on top of the dishwasher. I'd grabbed a sheet of paper to write down the three appetizers and their relative heats and times in the oven! So, Ladies and Gentlemen, with no further ado ...
The front page of the LA Times for 12/23/13, had this headline "Move-in-ready Homes Pop Up in Luxury Market."
The article starts by stating the obvious - that when a celebrity sells an abode and throws in the designer furniture and personal knickknacks, the sale will quickly follow. Elton John used to have a pair of condos in LA and he sold them replete with his personal stuff. Including his snakeskin-covered bed frame! Given the fact that "snake-o-phobia"(?) runs rampant with me the very thought that something like that even exists gave me a severe case of the fantods.
Here's an example of the "Can't be bothered - I'll take it fully furnished; here's my check" type of thinking. A $36 million house in Beverly Hills comes with a putting green with a lavish view of Los Angeles -- and a $300 putter.
We are talking detailed when all you have to bring is your own clothing. Toothbrush? Try these new Philips Sonicares. Dinnerware? Villeroy & Boch plus $1.3 million in furniture.
Real estate gossips report that when Ellen DeGeneres and Portia di Rossi sold their 26-acre ranch in Thousand Oaks, they deliberately left behind the pots, skillets, potato peeler! Other houses have fully-stocked pantries along with cleaning supplies, toilet paper and paper towels.
My question is: who among us has so little interest in their surroundings as to be able to buy and live with other people's leftovers? No aesthetic sense at all chills me. Are the buyers just rich robots?
The article did say this type of purchase is handy for people who want a second home and no bother or film or corporate executives transferred here for some time.
If they've got the money and this is what they want? Soul-less living courtesy of the guy ahead of them? Go ahead on, Philistines!
Thursday, December 26, 2013
Giving Annie Chun A Facelift
Annie Chun is the label for a variety of boxed Asian products - soups include miso, spicy Szechuan, Chinese chicken or garlic-scallion. Oh! and I'm still a writer, not a plastic surgeon but what the hey! It's almost the New Year - new beginnings!
I bought a box of her miso soup some time and didn't really like it for aesthetic and flavor reasons. I thought it could have had a deeper, fuller flavor and, oh, by the way, leave out those green stringies when the soup is cooked.
Pressed (as we all were) by the holidays and wanting something "Asian" to eat, I forgot the previous experience and bought a box of miso. This time though I fluffed Annie Chung up so much as to unrecognizable. Here's how I did it - Ignore the label instructions on how to prepare it.
Get a small pot, dump in 1 cup of water and put in the noodles. Let that begin to heat up and then add the spice mixes that come with it. Keep heating ... but now add a generous swath of cayenne pepper across the top and a T of sesame oil. Perks it right on up.
And remember, Annie (if I may be so bold): Powder (cayenne) and paint (sesame oil) make you what you ain't!
I bought a box of her miso soup some time and didn't really like it for aesthetic and flavor reasons. I thought it could have had a deeper, fuller flavor and, oh, by the way, leave out those green stringies when the soup is cooked.
Pressed (as we all were) by the holidays and wanting something "Asian" to eat, I forgot the previous experience and bought a box of miso. This time though I fluffed Annie Chung up so much as to unrecognizable. Here's how I did it - Ignore the label instructions on how to prepare it.
Get a small pot, dump in 1 cup of water and put in the noodles. Let that begin to heat up and then add the spice mixes that come with it. Keep heating ... but now add a generous swath of cayenne pepper across the top and a T of sesame oil. Perks it right on up.
And remember, Annie (if I may be so bold): Powder (cayenne) and paint (sesame oil) make you what you ain't!
Wednesday, December 25, 2013
Specialized Santas
I never thought that I'd be delivering a lecture on Christmas Day, but when I read in the Drudge Report on Christmas Eve Day that Macy's, NY, gets customers from all five boroughs because they offer black customers a black Santa, I became incensed. But, the article warns, you have to know about Black Santa and special order him.
My first thought was, "No wonder, racism is rampant in this country! Can you start any earlier teaching kids to discriminate? The '60s Q and A would go like this: "Mommie, why is Santa not white?" "Oh, he's for the coloreds, dear."
My second thought was, "A black Santa is historically incorrect." Santa in the Western hemisphere has been white since the 1823 poem "A Visit From St. Nicolas" and cartoonist Thomas Nash's drawings which illustrate it.
And in the full spirit of fairness, if history is going to be corrupted by have a non-Caucasian Santa, then there should be Mexican and Asian Santas as well.
I add my chorus to Rodney King's "Can't we all just get along?"
My first thought was, "No wonder, racism is rampant in this country! Can you start any earlier teaching kids to discriminate? The '60s Q and A would go like this: "Mommie, why is Santa not white?" "Oh, he's for the coloreds, dear."
My second thought was, "A black Santa is historically incorrect." Santa in the Western hemisphere has been white since the 1823 poem "A Visit From St. Nicolas" and cartoonist Thomas Nash's drawings which illustrate it.
And in the full spirit of fairness, if history is going to be corrupted by have a non-Caucasian Santa, then there should be Mexican and Asian Santas as well.
I add my chorus to Rodney King's "Can't we all just get along?"
Monday, December 23, 2013
Dear Santa: Please Bring Me Some Liniment!
Dear Santa,
I realize that I am a great deal older than your usual customers, but necessity must respond to an honest request. In case you don't remember me from previous years (quite some time ago) I was the one of who lived at 6316 Chestnut Avenue from 1945 to, probably 1955. Obviously I am a great deal older than I was. (I'm 73, actually.)
Nevertheless, you're known world-wide for a generous disposition and I need that liniment!
If you must know (and I suppose you do) Richie taped the Rolling Stones Summer in the Sun concert in Hyde Park, London. He taped it because it was going to run at 9 p.m. and that's my bed time.
So, after "Jeopardy" the other night (ends 7:30 p.m. here) he ran the tape. Having had a few adult beverages (for digestion purposes only, of course) I went wild!
First of all I have loved (collectively, not individually) the Stones from their very beginning. I've always considered the Beatles as rather ... effeminate at best. They were very cute, to be sure, but the Stones were the bad boys of rock'n roll.
So I'm getting into it (the concert) and "Brown Sugar" comes on and I can't just Sit There! So I began prancing like Jagger all around the living room, arm gestures and all.
I could see myself in the reflection from the balcony door and I was SMOKIN' Santa. Real word about that.
Living up there at the North Pole, you may not think that anyone could dance like a maniac in a pair of Ugg boots. Here to tell you - doable. But the next morning I discovered that prancing will render your front, upper thighs virtually unusable. You better be ready to support your own weight when sitting down or standing up. Furthermore the day after that you will discover muscles you never knew you had in your upper arms.
Therefore the request for liniment. Frankly, neither one of us is as young as we used to be so don't Bogart the liniment okay?
Thanking you in advance for what I'm sure will be a positive response,
Best regards,
Aged Rocker
Richie's cousin Ruth Ellen wrote, "I was told that I wouldn't go to Heaven if I marked my body with a tattoo -- or was a Rolling Stones fan!" And I wrote back, "Well worth excommunication!"
I realize that I am a great deal older than your usual customers, but necessity must respond to an honest request. In case you don't remember me from previous years (quite some time ago) I was the one of who lived at 6316 Chestnut Avenue from 1945 to, probably 1955. Obviously I am a great deal older than I was. (I'm 73, actually.)
Nevertheless, you're known world-wide for a generous disposition and I need that liniment!
If you must know (and I suppose you do) Richie taped the Rolling Stones Summer in the Sun concert in Hyde Park, London. He taped it because it was going to run at 9 p.m. and that's my bed time.
So, after "Jeopardy" the other night (ends 7:30 p.m. here) he ran the tape. Having had a few adult beverages (for digestion purposes only, of course) I went wild!
First of all I have loved (collectively, not individually) the Stones from their very beginning. I've always considered the Beatles as rather ... effeminate at best. They were very cute, to be sure, but the Stones were the bad boys of rock'n roll.
So I'm getting into it (the concert) and "Brown Sugar" comes on and I can't just Sit There! So I began prancing like Jagger all around the living room, arm gestures and all.
I could see myself in the reflection from the balcony door and I was SMOKIN' Santa. Real word about that.
Living up there at the North Pole, you may not think that anyone could dance like a maniac in a pair of Ugg boots. Here to tell you - doable. But the next morning I discovered that prancing will render your front, upper thighs virtually unusable. You better be ready to support your own weight when sitting down or standing up. Furthermore the day after that you will discover muscles you never knew you had in your upper arms.
Therefore the request for liniment. Frankly, neither one of us is as young as we used to be so don't Bogart the liniment okay?
Thanking you in advance for what I'm sure will be a positive response,
Best regards,
Aged Rocker
Richie's cousin Ruth Ellen wrote, "I was told that I wouldn't go to Heaven if I marked my body with a tattoo -- or was a Rolling Stones fan!" And I wrote back, "Well worth excommunication!"
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