Just Talkin' Bout Hayes

I have a very vivid memory of the first time I saw Isaac Hayes. I had spent a good many months ahead of that event listening to him, but when he took the stage at the 1972 Academy Awards in his trademark chain-mail vest and shades to perform what would be the Oscar-winning "Theme From 'Shaft'," I was in awe. He brought the funk. This was a bad mother-
I know, shut your mouth. But this was no one-hit wonder. Along with songwriting partner David Porter, created the sound of Stax records, including "You Don't Know Like I Know", "Soul Man", "When Something Is Wrong with My Baby", and "Hold On I'm Comin" for Sam and Dave. As a solo artist, he put his own spin on a number of Burt Bacharach tunes, including "Walk On By" and "The Look of Love."
As he moved through the seventies, he dabbled in disco, and began to move from cameo roles in films to take on larger parts. I remember turning on "The Rockford Files" and saying, "Hey, isn't that Isaac Hayes?" It was indeed. And then there was his much-celebrated turn as the voice of benevolent, sexy reason on "South Park"" Chef.
But none of these are my fondest memory of Isaac Hayes. For that we have to travel back to 1981 and a little film called "Escape From New York." Mister Hot Buttered Soul played The Duke of New York, and his pimped-out ride included chandeliers on the hood above the headlights. All that was missing was that chain-mail vest. He wrote hit songs, he won Grammys and an Oscar, but to me he will always be "The Duke - he's A Number One."

Bizarre Love Triangles

"Out there with these natives it must be a temptation to be god." - General Corman in to Captain Willard in "Apocalypse Now"
So there he was, out there in the wilds of the campaign trail, and John Edwards fell prey to that temptation. The native in question, Rielle Hunter, was impressed enough to comingle with the once and future candidate to the tune of an extra-marital affair back in 2006. The Democratic Knight in Shining Armor turns out to have a morality challenge.
Certainly, the suggestion or spin that could be made is that the former Senator from North Carolina is merely holding up a grand Democratic tradition of "lusty, zesty men, seething with vital hormonal secretions." There was Bill Clinton most recently, and John F. Kennedy before him. And let's not forget the presidential infidelities of Franklin Delano Roosevelt. Of course, with FDR and Elanor, can you really blame a guy for cheating on his cousin?
What is it about Democrats that inspire such salaciousness? Jimmy Carter, noted Baptist and former President of the United states said, "I tell you that anyone who looks on a woman with lust has in his heart already committed adultery. I've looked on a lot of women with lust. I've committed adultery in my heart many times." By that measure, I'm guessing even Harry Truman was guilty of that sin.
What about those Republicans? The very idea of Richard Nixon coupling with another human being is creepy on the order of the idea that your parents once had to - well - you know. And Ronald Reagan divorced his first wife to be with that saucy little vixen, Nancy. Then there's John and Cindy McCain. John is also on his second marriage, after a string of extra-marital affairs, for which he has dutifully accepted the blame. But here's where this story comes full circle: Serving as groomsman at John and Cindy's wedding, none other than Playboy Senator from Colorado, Gary Hart.
And so, as the sun sets on John Edward's public life, we remember that we are all human, after all and subject to the frailties of that particular condition. Better still to remember the words I am certain that Lillian Carter must have passed on to her son so many years ago: "It doesn't matter where you get your appetite, as long as you eat at home."

Guess Where I'm Calling From?

It used to be that if you wanted to reach out and touch someone, there was a certain amount of strategizing. Making a phone call used to be more of a challenge before we started carrying telephones around in our pockets, purses, or wedged into our ears. Not that I'm not impressed by all of this portable technology. I really am. It just takes all the adventure away.
When I was a lad, phones were attached to walls by "cords." You couldn't just walk around wherever you wanted while you talked. With the exception of those fifty foot long umbilicals made popular by Marlo Thomas in "That Girl," if you answered the phone in the bedroom, that's where you had your conversation. Or maybe you were lucky enough to have more than one extension, in which case it would be a matter of yelling across the house: "Can you hang up in there? I'm trying to use the phone!" Of course, finding the phone was a lot easier back then. You just followed the cord.
Then there was the omnipresent pay phone. There used to be banks of pay phones in airports, shopping centers, and street corners across this great land of ours. I had a friend in high school who saw it as his personal mission to make a call from most any of these conveniently located devices, and before he finished, he would always give the receiver one really good whack against the counter or the wall, and then before he hung up, he'd let me know, "Nope, still works just fine." He was a one-man quality control service.
Nowadays it's more difficult than it's ever been. Back in December 2007, AT&T got out of the payphone business for good. Over the past ten years, the number of public telephones in the United States has dropped from two million to one million. Up the street from me is a pay phone that doesn't look like anyone has used it for months - probably because the handset has been snapped into three distinct pieces, the wired inside hold the bits tenuously together. I thought I should grab my cell phone and give my friend a call to see if this was his handiwork, but I had left my phone at home.

The Rules

For the past eleven years I have been running through the park with my dog. She has been my companion through wind and rain and sun and fog. On a number of occasions, I have met my the rest of my family near the playstructure and my dog has enjoyed doing her many circus tricks. She loves to go down the slide. She gets very impatient with us if we don't let her go down at least a couple of times.
Now that fun has to stop. I'll still go on runs with her. She'll still look longingly at the slide for a chance to show off her amazing talent, but we won't be running through the park anymore. You see, there are no dogs allowed in the park. This is not a new rule. I actually noticed it, right there at the top of the sign that says, "Park Rules." It's number one. But I confess that I continued to run past and around those signs on my way through the park, confident in the knowledge that I have a very well-behaved dog and a spare bag in my left hand in case of any "comfort stops."
This week, I've been running a little earlier in the afternoon, and I have encountered the kids playing at their summer day camp. My dog has never been anything but patient with kids, and so it never occurred to me that I would be bothering anyone. Quite to the contrary: I have stopped to let curious short people pet and stroke her while I catch my breath. So imagine my surprise when a little girl came running up behind me the other day, "Sir?"
I pulled one of my earphones out, expecting he usual request to pet my dog.
"My camp counselor says that you can't bring your dog into the park."
"Excuse me?"
"My camp counselor says," and before she could finish, her camp counselor came up behind her and told me that I couldn't bring my dog into the park.
"It's against the rules," he asserted.
"But I've been doing this same run for eleven years," I huffed.
"I'm sorry. Those are the rules," and he took his little charge with him back to the four square game.
Yesterday I avoided the situation by going on a different route, but today I found myself heading back to the park. And instead of running through the park, I ran around it. It's about the same distance, and my dog didn't seem to be too sad about missing the playstructure. I decided to change my route. Why? Because that's the rule. When I got a ticket for running a stop sign while riding my bike, I paid it. I could have protested the ticket and complained about how there must be something else that a policeman in Oakland could be doing rather than giving out tickets to bicyclists on their way to teach at an elementary school, but I didn't. It's the rule.
And the rule says "No Dogs." The good news is, there are lots of places where my dog is more than welcome. That's where we'll be going from now on. And we won't be breaking any rules.

A Thin Line

"Thank you very much, I'll be here all week. Please, tip your waitresses." These were the words I left my colleagues with this afternoon as I left Ballroom Number One at the Airport Hilton. I've spent the past few days in the cozy confines of the Reading First Seminar hosted by the Governor's Reading Initiative. There are twenty-some of us teachers sitting patiently at round tables beneath questionable lighting and plenty of air-conditioning. And I'm doing my very best at behaving.
I wouldn't have thought that distinction necessary, but interestingly enough, it was pointed out first by a friend of mine the day before the training began. After listening to me complain briefly about being held hostage for five days, he suggested that I was secretly looking forward to it. It would be a chance to interact with my fellow teachers and maybe even entertain a bit. "Yeah, sure," I shrugged.
Then, on the first morning, I ran into one of my instructors from a previous year who asked me point blank: "Are you going to behave this week?" Apparently my reputation precedes me. I was the kid who was asked to leave my Elementary Functions class in high school because, in the words of my teacher back then, "You're an instigator."
I've never considered myself to be "class clown." I am happy to leave that distinction to other more manic personalities. It is true that I enjoy sharing my sense of humor with most any willing or captive audience, and I find that classrooms afford me just that.
I have gone to some great pains to make sure that I don't ignore or offend my instructor. On the contrary. I have been a very enthusiastic and involved participant. I sit at the front table and I am on task and ready to go. The challenge comes when things don't go. That's where I fill in with my witty bon mot. I have been careful not to overdo it, and I am grateful to have a set of fresh faces to apply my charm. I use the following statement as my measure: "I wish there was somebody like you on our staff."
Am I just there to amuse? No. I have learned a few things, and I have, as predicted, enjoyed the company of my fellow teachers. I have one more day to make an impression. I just hope they don't remember me as "an instigator."

I Was Told There Would Be No Math

Peabody here: Kids, let's set the Way-Back Machine for minus ten years and head back just one decade shall we? Ready, Sherman?
The president said lawmakers must resist the temptation to "squander" that money. "In this election year, some now want to raid the surplus for initiatives instead of preserving every penny of the surplus until we strengthen Social Security. Let me clear: I will oppose any budget that fails to set aside the surpluses until we have strengthened Social Security for the 21st century." New White House budget figures that project a surplus of thirty nine billion dollars for fiscal year 1998, and a one hundred fifty billion dollar surplus over the next five years.
For those of you who are a little hazy about life before Pinhead, the president way back then was the husband of that cute little gal who was running for the office this year, remember? His name was Clinton, too.
And so now, because we have yet to convert the Way-Back Machine to a hybrid, we have to come back to the present, where falling government revenues amid a slowing economy, coupled with increased federal spending, will result in a U.S. budget deficit this year of around four hundred billion dollars. Just a reminder, that "billion" is the one with nine zeros. Maybe we haven't all gone out and spent our economic stimulus checks yet. Maybe the housing bubble is about to burst. Maybe the cost of fertilizer for all our flowering democracies in the Middle East is turning out to be more expensive than we had anticipated.
Before you get all excited and decide to pack your bags and head back to the past for good, remember that any fluctuation in the time-space continuum could result in disastrous effects. Sure, you might be able to go back to a time when gas was a dollar-something a gallon, and the president lied about sex, but the slightest fluctuation could change history forever. What if the fabric of time was ripped, and there was no "King of Queens?" Is that really worth four hundred billion dollars?
I thought so.

A Piece Of Work

I got this great phone call last night from my wife. She was calling from the other side of the country to share with me the news of the stage debut of her musical, "The Souls Of Her Feet." This wasn't a full-on production, but rather a staged reading, in which the actors had a chance to say the lines and sing the songs that have been in her head for so many years now. It was her coming out party. After weeks of preparation, there was a day of rehearsal and then two shows. All of that potential show business became a reality right there in New York City.
I shouldn't have been surprised that she called me so late, since she's hanging out in the City That Never Sleeps. Of course, for the past few weeks that's pretty much been our house as well as she fussed and fretted over the final details and created a cast from one coast to appear on the other. My wish for her was one night of most excellent rest.
Because I know what happens now: rewrites. This is the thing that crushed my own dreams of becoming a screenwriter. I run out of patience with a story or an idea much too quickly to hold something like that together. Once I've told a story, I have a hard time going back and picking at it. I admire anyone with the patience and tenacity to dig in and make a good idea great. There is a great tendency to put something in a drawer and be satisfied that it got that far. The challenge is to keep it out of the drawer and on the desk where it can breathe. Now that it is alive, it's her job to keep it that way. It won't be easy, but I have faith in her. So let's let her have a little rest and a victory lap around the country, then back to work.