Hoskins in Hollywoodland

A great, great actor died yesterday. Bob Hoskins was 71, and he leaves us one remarkable performance after another. It's hard to know where to start - Roger Rabbit, The Long Good Friday, Brazil, Nixon - when you talk about his films.

To me, like Phillip Seymour Hoffman, Hoskins was similar to Gene Hackman in the sense that he was brilliant no matter how good or bad the film. His was the performance you looked forward to.

One that sadly not a lot of people saw was in a small film called Hollywoodland (originally called Truth, Justice and the American Way). It was about the suicide and alleged murder of George Reeves (Ben Affleck) who played Superman on the television series. Hoskins played Eddie Mannix, a studio executive whose wife (Diane Lane) had a years-long affair with Reeves. It is by turns a frightening, tender, poignant and powerful performance.

And never anything less than riveting.

I'm really going to miss Bob Hoskins. I wish there were some way I could thank him for the honor of watching him work, and the joy he's brought me over the years.

Maybe the best way is to keep watching his movies and enjoying them.

Wrapper wisdom

As many of you know, and as I've written about here, I've been battling the cough from hell for about three weeks now. In that time, I've consumed my fair share of Chestal homeopathic (not that there's anything wrong with that) cough syrup, prescription hydrocodone cough syrup, hot tea, cups of lemon and honey, and bags and bags of Hall's Cough Drops.

Now, the cough drops are supposed to sooth the cough. But upon closer examination, they actually do so much more.

While I've been hacking up a lung, I've had time to read the inspirational messages found on each Hall's wrapper. They're so proud of the good these messages are doing, they've printed "A PEP TALK IN EVERY DROP™" right there on the wrapper. And yes, they trademarked the line.

Now, if you happened to catch this post, you know I've always been one who believes that inspiration is where you find it. But after reading the lines on the Hall's wrapper, I may have to re-evaluate that opinion.

In addition to the lines shown here, additional lines like "Turn 'can do' into can did!'", "Hi-five yourself.", and the ever popular, "Don't wait to get started." are also waiting to inspire the sick and hacking masses.

Somewhere a fortune cookie company is laughing and saying things like, "Damn, we're a lot better than I thought!"

The truly scary thing to me about these lines is that I know a copywriter wrote them. Either a $25 an hr. junior writer they found on Creative Circle, or, even sadder, a $25 an hr. ex-group creative director who couldn't get hired at McCann an is willing to write cough drop wrappers. It's a cautionary tale either way.

I think I've probably seen all the lines I need to see from Hall's.

It's time to stop being so inspired, and start thinking deeper thoughts.

It's a great idea after all

Have you had the unshakable feeling that today wasn't just an ordinary day? It was different wasn't it. And if you live in Southern California or Orlando, the suspicion was even more intense. The idea kept running through your head, like an annoying song you just couldn't shake no matter how hard you tried, that today was unlike every other day.

Here's the reason. Today is the 50th anniversary of It's A Small World at Disneyland.

The ride was introduced in 1964, and, to quote Wikipedia, "The ride features over 300 brightly costumed audio-animatronic dolls in the style of children of the world, frolicking in a spirit of international unity and singing the attraction's title song, which has a theme of global peace."

Sure, whatever.

The point I'm making is that after half a century, I think it's time to update this iconic Disney attraction, with its unforgettable yet masterfully irritating theme song into something adults can enjoy just as much as the kids. And I know exactly how to do it.

Shotgun Small World. Here's how it works.

Every adult who gets on the boat gets handed a pair of noise-cancelling headphones and a sawed-off 12-gauge when they board. Of course, these aren't real weapons. They will have been made by Disney Imagineering, which means they'll look and feel real, but they'll have a Disney logo on them and replicas will be available in the gift shop.

Then, as the riders cruise through, they get points for each one of the dolls they take out (extra points if you can waste them before the start of the second verse).

Now, I know this sounds shocking at first. But at second, it sounds fun doesn't it?

Besides, it's Disneyland. The dolls will just reanimate in time for the next boatload of tired parents with really good aim.

I'm just spitballing here, but if Imagineering's too busy creating the next ride, like Frozen Mountain or whatever, maybe they can borrow the guns from Frontierland.

You want this to be the happiest place on earth for parents as well? C'mon Imagineers. Get on it.

The other hack

I’m not a good patient. Never have been. And the fact that right now I’m on my sixth day of being down with some virus obviously hatched in a deep, dark part of the Brazilian rain forest, Amazon adjacent, isn’t doing anything to make me a better one.

I’m not sure exactly what it is, but this unpleasant little bug has been making me cough my lungs up the entire time. A dry, hacking, rib-breaking cough which can be described, without getting too clinical, as “non-productive.”

This unrelenting cough of course means I’ve had absolutely no sleep to speak of for the last six nights. I have however caught up on some fine 3 a.m. cable offerings, like the original American Werewolf In London, Marathon Man and Godfather 3 (well, two out of three ain’t bad).

This all started with a sore throat last Thursday, went to chills, then to feeling a little warm – it all felt a bit flu-ey. But the main symptom is this incessant coughing that just won’t stop.

This morning I finally went to my doctor, who said they’ve been seeing a lot of this. It’s just a virus going around, and I have no real choice but to ride it out. Here’s the punchline: when I asked how long, he said it’s been running about three weeks.

Now Monday I start a new gig. And as I wrote about here, sick days aren’t one of the benefits a freelancer gets, at least not without watching the bank balance remain in an upright and locked position.

So I’ll just keep resting, drinking fluids and hope that the Vicodin cough syrup that was prescribed knocks me out enough to finally get some sleep tonight.

I’ve had this for six days, and I have six more to get over it before I start work. Not to sound completely mercenary, but all I’m thinking is what any freelancer in my position would be thinking.

With any luck, I’ll get past the cough in time for them to cough up the cash.

Act fast, and you'll always have Paris

UPDATE: As a rule I don't usually repost pieces here. But today is different than every other day, because today PARIS LETTERS has been selected as a Kindle Daily Deal. It will be featured on the Kindle deal homepage for $2.99 under biographies/memoirs, as well as on Kindle store on all devices. And you can get your copy today just by going here. So (re)read the post, then get the book. You're welcome.

One time I said to my great friend (more on that in a second) Janice MacLeod, "I'm a giver." To which she replied, "Giver? You hardly know her!"

This of course is one of the many reasons I love Janice.

I met Janice when we worked together at the advertising agency Y&R in Orange County. I remember us both complaining about the commute one day, and we came up with a solution. Every morning, she’d have her coffee, then make the slow, excruciating drive from her apartment in Santa Monica to my house in Long Beach. Then we'd hop in my car and fly in the carpool lane from my place to the agency.

And we'd talk about everything.

The problem was we always seemed to have way more things to talk about than time to talk about them. And while I don’t remember each and every subject we covered, I do recall there was a lot of laughing in the car. It was the best part of the work day for me. I’ll assume it was for her. What the hell, she’s not here to say otherwise.

What with all the talking, confiding, gossiping, joking, planning, singing, eye-rolling in meetings and saying the same thing at the same time, Janice quickly became my “office wife.”

It’s a tribute to Janice and the person she is that my real-life wife approved (which is also a tribute to my real-life wife).

There are so many things to admire about Janice it’s hard to know where to start, so I’ll start here – Not only did she think about leaving her job in advertising, a job that was making her profoundly unhappy, to pursue the life she wanted, she actually did it. That new life included traveling the world, unburdened by time or possessions, and leaving herself open to whatever experiences she chose to have along the way. She planned it, figured out how much money she’d need and saved for it.

Dare I say it’s a dream shared by, what’s the word I’m looking for…oh yeah, everyone.

I had dinner with Janice at Joe’s in Venice the night before she left for France. It was a great dinner, one of those “why don’t we do this more often” dinners. Here's one thing I remember from that meal: I don’t want to spill any state secrets, but let's just say her fall from a full vegan diet may have started a little before she fell in love with and married a butcher.

Another thing to admire is she wrote a book about the experience. Paris Letters is the third book Janice has written in the warm, humorous, observational, razor-sharp, inclusive style that is her voice.

She is what I like to call a real writer.

As opposed to myself, who’s still waiting to be found out by the word police.

The book journals her decision, her travels, meeting and falling in love with her now real-life husband Krzystzof, who is a butcher by trade and apparently has invested heavily in the consonant market.

In Paris Letters, there is a Thank You page, and the very first person Janice thanks is me. Shortly after that, she thanks Bruce Springsteen for writing Thunder Road.

Coincidence? I think not.

I haven’t read the entire book yet, but so far the Thank You page is my favorite part.

But if I’m going to be honest with myself – and if you know anything about me you know how rarely that happens – it is I who should be thanking her.

She was the one who encouraged me to start this blog when I told her I have nothing to write about (something that after 472 posts, many people would still agree with). She always says that venom is my best medium, but that’s mostly about the snarkier posts. She is equally supportive of the vast majority of them that are not written in that tone. She is living proof that there is nothing getting in the way of your dreams but yourself - always a good lesson to keep in mind. And she comments on my posts, which of course all bloggers love.

At that dinner the night before she left to travel the world, I told her that if it didn't work out to just say the word and I'd fly over and bring her back. That offer still stands.

Although I'm beyond happy for her knowing that with her new life, the life she's made for herself, the life she wanted, she won't be taking me up on it.

The real Rosalita

Sometimes you think you know everything about something, and then you find out you don't. Thanks to my great friend Cameron Day, come to find out that's the case with Bruce Springsteen.

I'd never given much thought to the song Rosalita, other than the fact it's always been one of my favorite songs. That, and the one time when I was in the front row at a Bruce concert and sang the line "I'm coming to liberate you, confiscate you, I want to be your man..." face-to-face with Bruce when he was at the foot of the stage. Still trying to hunt down that video.

What never occurred to me is there actually was a Rosalita. That is, until Cameron told me he'd met her.

Here's the story.

Cameron was working with an art director named David Jenkins. As guys will do, the conversation turned to the wives and the story of how they met. David told Cameron that when he met his wife Diana, he fell and fell hard for her. He said to himself, "She's the one." (See what I did there?)

But he was scared. He didn't know a lot about her past, and was fearful there might be deep, dark secret hidden in it that would crush him, or that he wouldn't be able to cope with. His heart would be broken beyond repair. So of course, in a manner so honest and straightforward I can only dream about, he took her to dinner and asked her.

They ordered, and then a little way into the meal he popped the question - the one about her past. Diane hesitated before answering, and David could see his whole future happiness about to Fade Away (did it again).

She paused, looked him in the eye, took a breath and said, as if it were a bad thing, "I dated Bruce Springsteen for three years. I'm the one he wrote Rosalita about."

Diane Lozito met Bruce in 1971 way before he hit it big, and they started dating. In the course of their relationship, naturally there came the inevitable point in time when Diane brought Bruce home to meet the parents. There's a line in Rosalita that goes, "and I know your daddy don't dig me but he never did understand..." The truth of the matter is Diane's dad was a classically trained musician, and hated the fact his daughter was dating a rocker.

That's how that went.

After they were married, Springsteen brought the tour to Dallas. Diane and David went to the show. Afterwards backstage, Bruce came over to talk to them, but spent most of the time talking to David. He put his arm around his shoulder and said, "Let's you and me go have a little talk." And they disappeared for about 45 minutes. When they finally reappeared, Bruce went over to Diane and said, "He's a good guy. Congratulations."

Boss blessings.

I also didn't know there was an actual Rikki (Don't lose that number), but I did know there was a real (My) Sharona because I sat with the lead singer of the Knack, Doug Fieger, one night when I was seeing a friend perform at a comedy club and he was talking about her.

But I digress.

I love the fact that even at this late stage of the game, I still have things to learn about Bruce. Thanks Cameron for giving me the first hand, inside story of Rosalita. Knowing she's around and happy will only give the song that much more meaning the next time I hear Bruce do it in concert.

And please relay to your friend David how glad I am he gets to live happily ever after with his stone desire.