Encore post: Bowled over

I'm sure you've heard by now this year's season at the Hollywood Bowl has been cancelled due to COVID-19. Not the band, the virus.

Four years ago I wrote this piece about the bowl. Having grown up in Los Angeles, it holds a special place in my heart for a few of the reasons you'll read about here. It makes me sad I won't be going there until at least next year.

But they made the right decision. Because when I go, the only thing I want to worry about is how good the seats are, not how fast the ambulance can get up the hill.

Anyway, I suggest you read this out on your porch or backyard patio, under the night sky just to set the mood.

Shhhh! The lights are going down, and the post is about to start. Please to enjoy.

I've played the Hollywood Bowl.

Ok, not exactly played. I've walked across the stage in front of an audience. My high school graduation was held at the Hollywood Bowl, and it might've been the most awesome part of high school except for the time I talked my Consumer Law and Economics teacher Mr. Blackman into thinking he'd lost my final term paper (if my kids are reading this, don't even think about it). He gave me an A, but I still feel bad about it.

Having grown up an L.A. kid, I've seen plenty of concerts at the Bowl, so many I can't remember them all.

I saw The Eagles take it easy. If you could read my mind you'd know I also saw Gordon Lightfoot. When school was out for summer I saw Alice Cooper.

I've seen Bruce Springsteen and Jackson Browne perform together (I know, I'm as shocked as you are) for Survival Sunday 4, an anti-nuke benefit concert.

It's getting to the point I remember Crosby Stills and Nash belting out Suite: Judy Blue Eyes. I can absolutely confirm the Go-Go's got the beat. I saw Laurie Andersen do whatever the hell it was she was doing. I've seen Steve Martin getting wild and crazy with Edie Brickell while fireworks were going off in the sky.

There have been many, many more, but you get my drift.

Not all my memories are happy ones. There was the night my pal David Weitz and I were driving in my 1965 Plymouth Fury. Highland Avenue was jammed because of the show at the Bowl, so we turned up into the surrounding hills to see if we could find a shortcut around it. Out of nowhere, a police car appeared behind us, lights flashing. The officers told us through the speakers to get out of the car slowly with our hands up. We were young, but we weren't stupid. We knew this was serious.

Once we were out of the car, hands up, they got out of their car with guns drawn and pointed right at us. They told me to open the trunk, which I did slowly and with my hands in sight at all times. They didn't find whatever they were looking for, and after checking our I.D.'s, they let us go. Apparently we fit the description of two guys who'd been robbing the hillside homes recently. I figured the description was brutally handsome and incredibly funny.

Anyway, the reason my mind's on the Bowl is because a week from tonight, I'll be there again, not on stage, but watching the first J.J. Abrams' Star Trek with the Los Angeles Philharmonic playing the score alongside the movie. It should be a great night.

If you've never been there, or it's been awhile, you owe it to yourself to go. It truly is one of the greatest venues, in one of the most beautiful settings, you'll ever see a show at.

Even if you don't get a diploma at the end of it.

Cleared for takeoff

I've scribbled here before about fundraising auctions at my kids' high school. In fact, because they were so impressively written and made such an indelible impression, you probably recall those posts about the south central L.A.P.D. ride-a-longs I won in previous auctions.

If for some odd reason your memory fails you, now might be a good time to refresh it by reading this post. Or this one. Maybe this one. Who could forget this one? Some think this one was the best. I think this one was one of my finest. And of course, this one is a classic.

I think that's enough self-promoting for one post. Let's get on with it

Last night was this year's auction for the school. Since my kid's are in college and I don't have a horse in the race anymore, I find myself not having to go to their former high school events much. But my wife does work at the school, and she likes to show me off for the trophy husband I am. Plus the auction is an event I've always liked. So we went.

There are two parts to the evening. One is after dinner, where bidders raise their assigned I.D. numbers to bid on items the auctioneer is calling. But before that is the silent auction, where you add your bid to a list for a particular item. When that auction closes, the highest bid wins.

I see it. I guess the highest bid wins in every auction.

Sadly, there were no police ride-a-longs to win this year. However, there was a 90-minute experience in a 737 flight simulator which I wanted. And when I want something bad enough, I usually figure out a way to get it. I'm like the MacGyver of school auctions.

Anyway, the way I did it this time, and every time before, was by sniping. Since it was a silent auction item, I hovered around the list of bids until about thirty seconds before the auction closed. Then, at the last second, right before pens down, I wrote my number and bid on the list—$20 higher than the last bid.

BAM! Auction closed, and I'm on my way to pretend flying a 737 somewhere in Anaheim.

It's part of my Fly But Don't Get My License tour. Years ago, I took helicopter lessons. I have about 30 hours of airtime, but never completed getting my pilot's license. It's a long story. You can read about it here.

Ok, I snuck in one more self-promoting link. So sue me.

I'll be scheduling my 737 flight later in the week. I even get to take a couple people with me. Play your cards right, and maybe you'll be one of the lucky ones to join Captain Jeff on my flight to nowhere.

I can't guarantee it'll be a smooth one, but I can promise even though it's simulated it'll still be a lot better than United.

Burden of proofing

Let's start hear: the word "proofreading" is pretty odd looking isn't itt? In fact if yew didn't know better, you mite say it was misspelled.

One of the occupashunal hazards of posting on a daley blog is that okayshunally a word will be spelled incorrektly.

In the passed two posts I've done, fortunately some of my friends, who I've known since hi skool, have bin kind enough to point this out. And I appreshyate it. After all, who wouldn't like there misteaks annownced on soshall media for the entire wurld too sea?

I know what yoar thinking: with all the detale and akurasee, thiese posts read as if hours of intricate planning and metikulouse reeserch go into them. Well, this might surprize you, but their actually slapped together quite fast most of the tyme. And when I'm wurking that fast to get something posted, even though I do read them seferal times, there'z bound to be an error or two.

I'll keep trying to do my best. What can I say? I'm not purfeckt. But I'm wurking on it.

Pomp you up

Tonight was my son's high school graduation. And I don't mind telling you, I took it just fine. I was a pillar of strength, unmoved by hearing Pomp & Circumstance as all these fine young adults marched down the aisles, reaching the end of their four-year journey and celebrating what they've accomplished these last few busy years of their lives.

Who're we kidding. From the minute I sat down you could've wiped the floor with me.

There's something so poignant and wonderful about seeing all these kids - many whom I've known since they were in first grade - getting ready to go out in to the world to make their marks, take their chances, learn their lessons and celebrate their successes.

The secret they don't know, can't know, is that this is the best part. Right now, when it's all ahead of them.

His graduating class is about a hundred and twenty. The entire high school is around six hundred. They all know each other. They've built relationships that will last a lifetime. It's easy to see this class is close and intends to stay that way.

I envy them. My high school memories aren't nearly the caliber theirs will be. I'm in touch with friends I want to be in touch with from that time, but it's nowhere near a hundred twenty people. As I think about it, that's probably a good thing.

My graduating class alone was the size of his entire high school. That's what I get for going to a primarily Jewish public school in the Fairfax district instead of a private Christian school in Cerritos. Not to put too fine a point on it, but Jesus was one of our boys - amIright?

Anyway, besides bursting with tears I was bursting with pride for my boy. I love him something fierce, and I can only dream of one day becoming the quality human being he already is. He's compassionate, intelligent, funny, inventive, resourceful, determined, imaginative, brutally handsome. And now, he's on his way to his next important stage in life..

One of the pastors who spoke tonight said tomorrow they're freshmen all over when they start college. Then they're freshman again when they get married. And freshman yet again when they have kids of their own. I know exactly what he meant.

I'm a freshman when it comes to letting my boy go.

The last picture show

Next to where the original Farmer’s Market was, where The Grove stands now, used to be an icon of a cinematic, automatic, hydro-matic time gone by. The Gilmore Drive-In.

When I was in high school, some friends and I would ride our bikes over to the back of the drive-in, and watch the movies from behind the chain-link fence (which could be easily hopped) for free on the ginormous screen. I’m not saying they were R-rated, but I’m not saying they weren’t. Besides, what was the point of rating anything if the entire city could see it on a 7-story screen.

I always got the feeling that on the list of things the Gilmore Drive-In was about, movies were somewhere beneath community. Socializing was the point, and there were just as many people in their cars as out walking around talking to friends.

I suppose it was foolish to think property that valuable wouldn’t get developed. And the slow death rattle of drive-in’s having the life choked out of them by actual theaters made it all but inevitable the Gilmore would one day be a faded Technicolor memory.

Still, I remember being with friends, watching Clint Eastwood’s violent directorial debut Play Misty For Me.

Even on bikes, even without sound, even though it was cold. It was still magic.

Picture this

Last night was the high school graduation party for young Mr. Spielberg before he goes off to one of the top ten film schools in the country, and his good friend Trevor, who is graduating with him. It was a fun-filled evening, with many of his friends he’s literally grown up with and known all his life.

I’ve also known most of the kids there since they were in kindergarten. Which was great, because I never get enough reminders of how fast time is going by. Wasn’t it just yesterday they were asking me for 5’s instead of 20’s?

Anyway, besides the portable pizza oven catering the party, candy table, impromptu stage where my son (did I mention he plays five instruments?) sang with Trevor, was a wall with items representing who both boys were, their interests, where they’ve been and where they’re going. My boy was on the left. Trevor was on the right.

Each of our families had room for nineteen pictures. So late Saturday, we went online and had a ton of pictures printed out at Fromex. And they came out spectacularly.

The other thing they did was remind me how much I hate digital pictures. Not digital photography, just digital pictures.

Once you have the pictures in your hand, spending as much time as you want with them, they become time machines. They have the ability to take you right back to the moment they’re showing you.

I think too often we get caught up in the technology of seeing pictures on screen, and lose the meaning of the pictures themselves. I was reminded last night of something I've known but had forgotten - I'd much rather pass hard copies of pictures around than watch a digital slideshow any day of the week.

My beautiful son moves to Texas in August. But thanks to these pictures, and the many more I’ll be printing out, I’ll still be able to hold on to him.

Hat's off

Where does the time go? One minute it's baby bottles and diapers, the next it's Starbuck's cards and Trunk Club subscriptions.

My boy is graduating high school next month. Of course, he's not the first kid to do it, and he won't be the last.

I did it - one of the very few items on the short list of things I've actually finished. But I didn't have nearly the celebration he's going to have this weekend.

There's a reason for that. High school now isn't anything like what it was back then.

I never had the hours and hours of homework he's had to navigate through. All while participating in and student directing school plays, playing in the school jazz band and orchestra and being president of the student council. Not to mention the guy who brings four dozen donuts to the rehearsals at 7 a.m. (I drive him to those morning rehearsals. Where's my donut?).

It's a whirlwind just writing about it. Back in the day we had homework, but it wasn't a second career. It was just, you know, homework. Then time for TV.

Anyway, just a quick post tonight to say I'm so proud of my guy. I love him like crazy.

And while he's off to one of the country's top film schools at a major university in the next few months, I hope he'll remember and take to heart the one thing I've tried to drill into him over the years while he's been so consumed accomplishing so much.

"When you direct your first Marvel movie, daddy wants a big house."

My pal Jayne

I know what you're thinking. Italian movie star? International fashionista? VP of Marketing for Ray-Ban? None of the above.

This is my beautiful friend Jayne.

I've known Jayne ever since junior high school, but we've only been friends for the last two or three years. I know what you're saying: how could you have possibly known her that long and yet only been friends for such a short time?

Easy. I thought she hated me.

Jayne and I ran around in different groups in high school. But high school being what it is, there was some cross-pollination of the people in those groups and we knew of each other. In fact sometimes I'd actually be right there in a group with her, but we never spoke.

I thought she hated me.

Fast forward to one of our high school reunions. I don't remember who spoke to who first, but we wound up talking a little bit. Then we became Facebook friends. Jayne would often make funny, sarcastic and intelligent comments on things I posted. And as you may or may not know, I'm a sucker for attention, and a pushover for funny, sarcastic and intelligent people I think hate me.

So Jayne and I wound up having lunch and catching up. Here's the first thing I said to her: "I always thought you hated me."

Much to my relief it wasn't the case. Come to find out Jayne was painfully shy, and had a tough time talking to new people, even though technically I was a long way from new.

Anyway, we talked about our lives, our spouses, our jobs, the fact neither of us had aged a day (true fact) and a certain friend who always posts in all caps (seriously, you just have to press one key).

I'm happy to say we really are friends now. We speak often, mostly online. Her wit, wisdom and sarcasm are on serious par with mine (I know what you're thinking - what wisdom?). If I ever write a book (I'll wait until the laughter dies down), I'm pretty sure Jayne will be my go to editor to read it, be brutally honest, ask me what the hell I was thinking and then make it better.

But since I won't have a book finished anytime soon, I hope we manage to speak in person before the next reunion. When we do, I know there's at least one question I won't have to ask.