Pretty woman. OK handwriting.

Here's how it happened.

There was a point in time, when I was younger and she was younger, that I had a little crush on Julia Roberts. This of course was during the Mystic Pizza, Pretty Woman, Steel Magnolias and Sleeping With The Enemy era. It was kind of rekindled during the Notting Hill days, but one too many close-ups and articles about her bitching out her Malibu neighbors and I was done.

Anyway, during the early days, my friend, best man and a fine actor in his own right Scott Thomson was working on The Player with her. He found himself at the craft services table, and, knowing how much I liked her at the time, said "I know this is very uncool. But a friend of mine's a big fan of yours and he's home with the flu. I was wondering if there's any way you could give him an autograph?"

I felt fine.

To almost everyone's surprise, she did - the one you see here. The Player was twenty-one years ago, and I didn't even know I still had this. I just found it cleaning out a drawer.

But it does make me smile, and reminds me of a time when a movie star caught my attention and kept it onscreen and off. Color me old-fashioned, but I'm just a little starstruck and romantic that way.

I wonder what I can get for it on eBay.

Maids' day off

The living room is a little out of control. So is the bedroom, the hallway and the garage.

It's not for lack of good intentions, and it's no one's fault. It's just that there's life in progress. In fact, there are four of them in progress. And sometimes, in the ebb and flow of volleyball games, client meetings, board meetings, jazz concerts, getting some writing done and walking the dog, cleaning up a bit as you go gets bounced to the bottom of the To Do list.

Of course, like everyone, we do have a threshold. We measure it with those sticks they use in the south every time a river overflows its banks. When it gets to three feet, we stop every thing and clear the battlefield.

Like some people, we have a housekeeper that helps us stay on top of it. Well, she tries. Honestly, she's not very good. On days she's here, we come home to dirty dishes in the sink, unfolded laundry on the couch and cleaning rags on the washer as opposed to in it. Instead of cleaning for the maid, we have to clean after the maid.

Suffice it to say she's not here for the long haul.

I recognize it's a first-world problem, and that families all over the world are struggling with far more serious and pressing issues than a clean house. I see stories about it all the time on the TV.

That is, I would. If I could see the TV.

R.I.P. Lou Reed 1942 - 2013

Breaking news

The radio said breaking news.
The announcer called it another tragedy.
Parents were told to stay clear of the area.
As if that was possible.

Ambulances on both sides of the freeway.
No traffic mid-day, yet not moving at all.
Chaos and yelling.
All those red lights.

The playground is closed.
Yellow tape makes that clear.
I see other kids running.
I see bodies under blankets.

Did he wear those shoes this morning?
Shit, they all wear those shoes.

Some teachers have taught another lesson.
About the unpredictably of life.
The meaning of sacrifice.

Gurney wheels rattling. Children screaming and crying.
They can't get to sleep. They can't stay awake.
Just like when they were babies.
Remember life before them? Of course not.

Others have been through it.
Forced smiles, empty eyes and broken hearts
Say you learn to live with it.

The truth is life will go on.
The real truth is it won't.

Guilty pleasures Part 4: Carrie

I know we're all thinking it, so I'm just going to man up and come right out and say it.

Few things are more fun than watching a girl covered in pigs blood take out after the mean girl and give her what she deserves. See, it's better when you talk about it.

Number four in my Guilty Pleasures series is the remake of the 1976 film Carrie. The original starred, and made a star of, Sissy Spacek. This new one stars Chloe Grace Moretz as the prom queen not to be messed with.

A quick recap: Carrie is the daughter of a religious fanatic who sees sin everywhere and in everything. As a result, she shelters Carrie from the world around her, which apparently includes telling her that her Aunt Flo will be arriving when she hits a certain age.

When that time of the month finally arrives for Carrie, it comes in the girls shower room at the school gym. And it terrifies her.

Apparently the only kind of girls that attend her high school are mean girls, because they throw tampons and pads at her then videotape her on the shower floor in her bloody towel and post it online.

Thus begins the theme of blood that courses throughout the film.

The leader of the mean girl pack is a girl named Chris, and if you know anything about Carrie's powers of telekinesis, you know it's not going to end well for Chris.

Julianne Moore as her mom doesn't pack the authentic craziness of Piper Laurie in the original, but she's fine and manages to color all the fanatic numbers.

But because we know what's coming at the end, basically the film is ninety minutes of waiting for the pigs blood to be poured on Carrie and her date at the prom, and Carrie to exact her revenge on everyone who did it. And laughed at her. And tried to be nice to her (say goodbye to the sympathetic swim coach).

Special effects are considerably better as you'd expect, and Moretz gives a good creepy-eyed performance as she's crushing bad boys in the accordion bleachers and causing cars to stop, throwing bad girl Chris' face through the windshield in slow motion.

I know I'm not supposed to like it, but that's why it's a guilty pleasure. Like I said in part 1 of the series, which was about the Final Destination films, there's nothing more entertaining than watching snotty, teenage stereotypes behave badly and then get what's coming to them.

In fact, in this movie, it was bloody good fun.

Springsteen & I. Almost.

I swear to God, sometimes I don't need to have anyone else working against me. I can do a fine job of it myself.

Ridley Scott made a documentary about this up and coming singer named Bruce Springsteen. You may have noticed I've mentioned him a time or two on here. Anyway, it's called Springsteen & I, and it's a series of concert footage (already worth the price of admission) and video from fans talking about what Bruce means to them.

It should come as no surprise I knew about the filming and call for videos long before the general public. I have my ways. When the website went up and the call went out, I was one of the first people there.

Bruce stories? I'm lousy with 'em.

Unfortunately, one of the first things I read on the site, word for word, was the release I'd have to sign in order to submit my video to Ridley Scott's production company. And things like using my likeness in any media, existing now or in the future, in perpetuity just didn't sit well with me.

Fast forward. The documentary had a brief theatrical run, and is now about to premiere on Showtime. I just saw this trailer for it on Showtime, and the only thought I had is one that, sadly, is not unfamiliar to me.

What the hell was I thinking?

It reminds me of the time my wife-to-be and I were fighting in the middle of Bullock's in Westwood about the pattern on our wedding china. I was dug in, and I was not going to budge. Right up until I had a revelation: I didn't care what the pattern was. It was important to my bride, but I wasn't quite sure just why or what I ground I was trying to take. So I just let it go.

That's what I thought when I saw the trailer - I should have just let all my concerns about the release go. I deeply regret not having just signed it and submitting a video of myself (the camera loves me) telling one of my many, many Bruce stories.

This is a lesson I seem to have to keep learning over and over again. The one about getting over myself, and being a little less stressed out about the things that really don't matter in the long run. Maybe one of these times it'll sink in.

So when it airs, and all my friends who know how I feel about Bruce ask if I submitted a video, or why I wasn't in it, I'll have the self-inflicted pleasure of looking them right in the eye and telling them the truth.

Because I'm an idiot, that's why.

Parents, prepare for takeoff

Like her brother before her, tomorrow morning my daughter will be going with her eighth-grade class to New York, D.C. and a few other stops on the eastern seaboard.

The wife and I will be getting up at 3a.m. to take her to the school, where she'll board the bus to the airport with her friends as she gives us a cursory wave goodbye and heads off on her Big Apple adventure.

Of course we're happy for the time she's going to have, the things she's going to learn and close friends she'll be even closer to by trip's end. What we're not happy about is the fact she'll be away from us for a week. Three-thousand miles away from us.

It's every parent's dilemma: how to let them go without worrying about them the second they're out of your sight. The answer of course, as any parent can tell you, is you can't.

In a book about her daughter, author Joan Didion said, "Once you have children, you're never unafraid again." As a parent there is the continuous loop of white noise, playing at a very low level in the back of your brain always wondering if your kids are alright.

I know my daughter will be fine back east and have the time of her life.

I also know I won't be fine until she's back home.

UPDATE: This was originally written in June. My daughter went on the trip, had a great time and returned safely to me. When she came down the escalator at the airport, she ran into my arms and held me so tight I thought she'd never let go. For my money, best way for both of us to end her trip.

Two heads are better than one

Heart and lung transplants? So yesterday. Hand and feet transplants? Child's play. Post-chimpanzee attack face transplants? You're getting warmer. In fact, according to an Italian neuroscientist it's almost here.

Head transplants.

I'm not going to go into too much detail. What with spine-severing, blood-draining and tissue-fusing it gets a little...squishy. Feel free to read about it here.

When you're done reading, think about the obvious potential health applications. For example, taking someone's head off their cancer-ridden body and putting it on a healthy one.

But while that may be the most obvious and intended one, I'm thinking there are also other possibilities that could be even more lucrative. I mean, sure it'll benefit society once the cost for the procedure comes down, but I see uses for it that will turn it into a case study volume business.

Like that losing weight New Year's resolution I've had every January since I was 11 years old? Screw that work. I'll just have my head put on the 6'2", ripped body like the one I'll never have if I exercise from now until doomsday. Or maybe I'll try out for the Kings. I can't ice skate, but now I don't have to because my new body will.

I think this transplant technology is just the beginning. There are other applications I can think of to improve the quality of my life. But this is, after all, a family blog.

Discuss amongst yourselves.

Don't ask: Sharing my food

Here's how it's supposed to work.

I go to a restaurant with friends or family. We each look at the menu, and everyone orders something they're in the mood for and that will, in a delicious and pleasing way, satisfy their hunger.

What's not supposed to happen is for one or more people at the table to decide they should've ordered what I did, and ask me, before they've even had the first bite of their meal, "Do you mind if I have a bite of that?"

Before you ask, the answer is no.

Nothing is more annoying, rude or meal-joy sapping than having someone ask for a bite of my meal. You see that plate full of food you ordered and they brought to you? Here's a thought: eat that.

If I decide at some point to offer you a bite of my food, then that's another story. But this "Oh that looks good. Can I have a bite?" crap has got to stop.

I want to enjoy my entire meal. That includes the bite you're sacrificing your pride and self-esteem to beg for. Grow up, make up your mind, order what you want and be satisfied with it. And even if you aren't, act like you are. You can always order what I'm having next time.

Besides, if I give you one bite of my meal, what's to stop you from wanting another?

That's a rhetorical question. I'm not giving you one bite.

Breaking Dad

This is a picture of Bryan Cranston as Walter White. It's also pretty much the same position I've been in for the last ten days, minus the stacks of cash and plastic storage containers full of 99.1% pure blue meth. For the record, I also had an open laptop in front of me.

The reason is that after several conversations with extremely insistent friends who wouldn't take no for an answer, and a Twitter feed that was on fire as the series finale approached, I finally jumped on the Breaking Bad train. And it was every bit the wild ride everyone promised it would be.

I'd heard of the show of course, but frankly - what with Homeland, Dexter, Person of Interest, Modern Family (which one of these is not like the other?) - I felt I already had enough tv show commitments.

Besides - FIRST WORLD PROBLEM ALERT! - recording everything in HD only leaves so much room on the DVR.

But once I saw the opening scene from the first episode, I was - pun intended - hooked.

Fortunately I wasn't working the last couple weeks so I had the time to devote to it. I sat in my chair, streaming seasons 1 through 5 on Netflix. Season 5 has 16 episodes, broken into two parts. Netflix has the first 8, and I had to pay to download the rest from iTunes. Money extremely well spent.

I would watch in the day, the night, late at night, middle of the night and early in the morning. My daughter said it should be called Breaking Dad because I was neglecting pretty much everything and everyone to get through this extraordinary show.

A little OCD sometimes? Perhaps. And check again to make sure that door's locked on your way out.

The beauty of it was no commercials, so instead of a full hour each episode was around 45 minutes give or take. I went through all 62 of them, many of them twice because I couldn't believe how great they were.

As far as series endings go, it was genius. Every loose end was tied up, every question answered. And it all made perfect sense and felt right. It was brilliant.

The downside is now, unsurprisingly, I'm experiencing severe withdrawal. Going through all 5 seasons in less than 10 days didn't give me nearly the fix I need. But thanks to iTunes, season 5 is on my laptop and I can revisit it whenever I want.

You should know you can't immerse yourself in the meth world for such a concentrated period of time without lingering after effects. For example, I now recognize every RV on the road as a mobile meth lab. I use the phrases "Tread lightly" "I am the danger" and "Say my name" almost daily. I'm suspicious of fried chicken restaurants.

And worst of all, I like a Badfinger song.

You shouldn't have

First, I'd like to send my sincere thanks to everyone for all your emails and notes asking why Rotation and Balance has been taking weeks between posts lately. All of us here at RNB International Headquarters have been deeply touched by your demonstration of enthusiasm for our blog, and your genuine concern why we haven't been posting more often.

Nah, I'm just funnin' ya. No one cared.

The truth is I could never put up another post, and the impact on your life would be zip. Zilch. Zero. And some other "Z" word.

Don't feel bad, as apparently you don't. I'm used to it. I work in advertising.

You wouldn't think it at first glance, but the product is essentially the same between this blog and advertising. When it's there, and it's clever or engaging on an emotional, humorous or intellectual level, you like seeing it.

But when it's not there you don't miss it at all.

It's a lot like my high school girlfriend that way.

At any rate, we've been undergoing an "organizational restructuring" here at the main office. Our editorial and contributing writer staff has been streamlined for better efficiency, more frequent postings and articles that you can relate to and that will help you find happiness in being your true self.

Oh, wait, that was the staff over at O. Disregard that.

What we've done here at RNB is fired all the planners wearing knit caps (for a good laugh, see what my pal and Round Seventeen auteur Rich Siegel thinks of knit caps). So the work should be more frequent and a lot better, even without their unique insights.

Here's hoping you'll (continue to?) enjoy the renewed, reinvigorated, recharged, re-tooled and some other "R" word Rotation and Balance.