Rain on his parade

It's hard to get out of bed every day, knowing there's not a chance you'll escape the ginormous amount of monumental stupidity and ineptness being inflicted daily on our once great nation from the shithole president. Here's the latest: he wants a military parade.

Apparently Toys R Us didn't have life-size toy soldiers, so the fake president has decided to play with the real ones. Allegedly, his reason is so the American people can have the opportunity to show their appreciation for our men and women in the armed services. But back on earth, Mr. Liar Liar Pants On Fire isn't fooling anyone. We all know the real reason is so the military can show him their appreciation, salute Cadet Bone Spurs, and demonstrate their allegiance.

Maybe if just one Democrat had clapped at his state of the union address, even by mistake, we wouldn't be talking about this.

It's hard to imagine another reality-show-star-turned-politician whose ego is so big, and dick is so small, that he feels the only way to make himself feel better is by having tanks and missiles parading down Pennsylvania Avenue.

Of course, knowing what the liar-in-chief's definition of "very fine people" is, I'm sure he feels like he'd be in "good company" if he gets his way and squanders millions of taxpayer (which doesn't include him) dollars and resources on his parade. After all, it's not like that money could be used for anything else like, say, helping homeless veterans get off the streets.

His portrait, once color corrected for his skin tone which is not found in nature, would be perfectly at home in a rogues gallery of leaders who've had military parades. Besides the Charlie Chaplin impersonator at the top, look who else insisted (and in one case still insists) on having them:

In the unfortunate event this exercise in ego inflation comes to pass, which like all sane Americans I'm hoping it doesn't, I'm sure the real warriors, the brave men and women of our armed services, will approach it as professionally and effectively as they approach every mission. Which means as they march past the presidential viewing stand, they'll raise their right hands and salute the orange carpetbagger using all five fingers.

Though my guess is they'll be wanting to use just one.

Danny

I don’t know if other industries are like this, but the ad community is a small one. Especially in L.A. Because of that, you wind up seeing a lot of the same faces at different agencies around town. Sometimes a good thing, sometimes not.

In the case of Danny Alegria, it was more than a good thing: it was a blessing.

Danny either worked in the studio or was the studio manager at three agencies I had the good fortune to work with him at: DBC, DDB and Y&R.

Ad agencies just love their initials don’t they?

Danny was always a bright light in what could be a dark environment. Being in the studio, he was ground zero for stressed out account and creative people throwing fits when it came to getting something they usually needed yesterday out the door to a client, or materials for a big presentation or new business pitches.

Regardless of the pressure and tantrums that came his way, he had a good word for everyone (something extremely difficult to do at agencies). And there was never a question about him getting what you needed done.

Even though I’d known him for years, I’d never really sat down and talked to him until one very slow day at Y&R about nine or ten years ago. We wound up sitting down and literally talking for over three hours. He told me about his time in the Navy, his background as a singer, his years as a jockey, exactly how horseracing worked (not the way you’d think or hope), his family and more.

I couldn’t believe this fascinating person had been steps away from me for years, and yet only now was I just discovering who he was and learning about him.

I had always loved horseracing. In fact, when I was in college I loved it a little too much, to the tune of rent money on occasion. Danny and I made an agreement we’d take a trip out to Santa Anita, and he’d give me the lowdown on the horses and be my betting Yoda.

Sadly, we never got to make that trip.

Danny was diagnosed with cancer. But like everything else in my experience with him, he handled it with grace, honesty and dignity.

He would post unflinchingly on Facebook about how he was doing - the progress of both the treatment and the disease.

As to be expected with cancer as widespread as his had become, there were good days and bad days. But even on the bad days, the really bad ones, there would be a thread of optimism.

On one of his good days, he invited me to come see him give what he knew would be his last singing performance. I wouldn't have missed it. Not only did I get to see Danny perform, I got to see a lot of long, lost friends from agencies past we'd worked with over the years, who were also out in force to show support for him, and his talent that we didn't get to see nearly enough.

Danny was in great form that day, but it tired him out. It was easy to see the toll his cancer was taking.

I would text back and forth with him. I told him I'd come out to where he lived in Riverside and take him to lunch, or if he wasn't up to going out, bring it to him and we'd eat at his place and talk about the race track. I believe he was confined to his bed at that point, but even so he just told me he wasn't feeling well, but as soon as he rallied we'd do it.

Shortly after that conversation, on July 10, 2012, Danny died at the age of 60.

For me, it's certainly a personal loss, as I know it is for his family. But it's bigger than that: it's a global one. The world simply can't afford to lose people as decent, caring and loving as Danny always was to not just his family and friends, but everyone he encountered.

His Facebook page is still active, and every now and then I find myself re-reading some of the posts he put up as he was going through his ordeal. They are honest, inspiring, funny, heartbreaking and hopeful. I'm also friends with his daughter on there, and though I've never met her in person I feel as though we have a strong connection.

She is funny, bright and optimistic. Just like her old man.

Not a day goes by that I don't think about Danny and the meal together I was so looking forward to.

It's comforting knowing he's finally resting in well-deserved peace.

And that he's making heaven a much more rockin' place.

The commissioner

It's one thing to hear about naval ships, and quite another to actually see them up close.

Last Saturday morning, my son's school orchestra and band were invited to play on the U.S.S. Midway in San Diego. He rode down there on the school bus with them at 6:45 a.m. But because he had to be back up in L.A. later in the day to work at the Hero Complex Film Festival, I had to drive to San Diego in the morning to be ready to whisk him back immediately after his, if I may say, stellar performance.

Normally this is the part where I'd bitch and moan about having to wake up early on a Saturday morning and drive a couple hundred miles. But I'm not going to. Instead I'm going to tell you how glad and grateful I am that I did.

Not only did I get to see my son play crazy trumpet, which is a treat I never get enough of, I also got to see something I've never seen before: a naval ship being commissioned.

Christening and commissioning a ship are two different things. The first is where they crack a bottle of really good champagne over the hull and launch the ship into the water. Commissioning a ship is where the shipbuilder officially hands it over to the Navy, then the sailors and Marines board the ship and bring it to life (more on that in a minute).

The U.S.S. San Diego, the ship pictured here, was in the berth next to the Midway so I had a bird's eye - make that crow's nest - view of the proceedings.

It's all very ceremonial. There are lots of speeches and proclamations about what the ship means to the people who built it, the men and women who'll sail on it and to the defense and protection of the country. It's all very patriotic and extremely emotional.

And it all feels very right.

After the ship is handed over to the Navy, the command is given: man the ship. At that, the band strikes up Anchor's Aweigh and the sailors board it. Then the Halls Of Montezuma is played, and it's the Marines turn. Once aboard, they literally bring the ship to life. The radar dishes start turning. The flags are raised. The horn sounds.

It is very, very stirring.

The U.S.S. San Diego is a Naval transport ship for soldiers and equipment. You can see by the hard angles of it's design that it's meant to be a somewhat stealthier craft than older transports. As I watched these young men and women board the ship, I couldn't help but wonder what lay ahead for them, and sadly, how many of them wouldn't be coming back.

When I see their enthusiasm, sense of service and professionalism, I can't help but be overcome with an unfamiliar feeling that's been in short supply for far too long. It took a minute, but then I recognized it.

Pride in my country.