Many happy returns

Where does the time go?

Seems like only yesterday I was asking my accountant to take enough deductions on my tax returns to walk me right up to the jailhouse door, but not actually take me inside.

Every year I promise myself I'll be better at keeping records, receipts and my story straight when it comes to tax deductions. And every year, I just throw everything in an extremely well organized file, then pull it all together about a week before I go see my tax guy.

I suppose by that measure I'm ahead of the game, since I'm already thinking about it and I'm not having my taxes done until the end of March.

Lots of well-meaning friends (aren't they all?) have told me to use Quicken or Excel to keep track of my expenses. Then when this time of year rears its ugly head, I could just press a key and print out everything all neatly categorized. The problem is to do that would require the discipline of inputting all the information on a daily, weekly or monthly basis.

That's just crazy talk.

Why do that when I can have a perfectly good time procrastinating until the last minute.

It's both a blessing and a curse that because I'm on the creative side in advertising, I can write off a great many things the average taxpayer can't. It just makes record-keeping that much more complex.

And by complex I mean work for me.

It's a good thing this blog doesn't make any money or I'd have to write it off.

Something I think a lot of people are doing already.

"Sometimes life is gonna hit you in the head with a brick. Don't lose faith."

It just seemed like a good time to repost this.

Money down the drain. (Or what a glass hole).

Garbage disposals are great for grinding up leftover food off dirty dishes, eggshells, broccoli the kids don't eat, orange peels, things like that.

Glass? Not so much.

Two nights ago, while hand-washing a large, expensive, Pyrex glass storage dish in soapy water, my wife lost her grip on it and it shattered into a bazillion pieces in the sink.

I was in the next room when I heard it shatter, and immediately went running into the kitchen screaming the one question any concerned husband would ask, "Did the dog get hurt?"

Unfortunately, it broke over the side of the sink with the disposal, and a ton of glass went in.

I know what you're thinking: hand-washing? Downright primitive, right? What's next? Pounding laundry on rocks? You're preaching to the choir.

Next thing you know we'll get rid of our microwave and start cooking hot dogs in a toaster oven.

Oh, wait, we did that. Crap, I thought I dreamt it.

Anyway, after I cleaned all the shards of glass out of the sink, I decided reaching into a disposal full of broken glass to get the pieces out might not be the best idea. I also thought grinding it up and washing the glass down the drain probably wasn't much better.

But with Plan B I got to keep my fingers. So I turned on the disposal.

Besides Gilbert Gottfried and Fergie there aren't a lot of things that sound like glass being ground up by a garbage disposal. It jammed up almost instantly, and I knew we'd have to get a new one.

So today, Raphael the plumber was here to install the new Insinkerator. I would've done it myself, but as I've said before the only tool I know how to use is the Yellow Pages.

Raphael has been here before. When the faucet on our bathtub sounded like we were going to need a crucifix and Father Karras to fix it, Raphael did his magic - not with an entire new pipe and stem like we thought, but with a 99 cent washer.

An honest plumber. A man of integrity. There's a lot of love for Raphael in our house.

Our new glass-free Insinkerator is awesome. More compact than its predecessor, we now have room to lose old sponges and store more almost-empty cans of Comet under the sink. It's also considerably quieter, and not just because it's not grinding glass.

So, what can we take away from all this?

Don't hand wash the dishes. Nothing good comes from it. Ever.

There are honest plumbers in the world. Well, at least one.

And finally, don't ever trade in the microwave on a toaster oven. Making hot dogs is okay, but you won't have popcorn nearly as often as you used to.

Borders line sadness

This isn't the Borders bookstore near me. But it may as well be.

The company has filed bankruptcy, and as part of the restructuring is closing 200 of 659 stores nationwide. Including all the ones in my beachside city.

Now I'm the first to admit I'm completely old school about things like books and newspapers. And by old school, I mean I still enjoy reading them. That's the reason this makes me very sad.

I went in to my Borders today, the first day of its going out of business sale, and the line of about 150 people snaked throughout the store. The place was jammed in a way that ironically it never was when it was doing fine.

People were crashing into each other, grabbing everything they could just to save 20 to 50% off books they probably wouldn't have read if the store were not in this situation. They'll be back when the mark downs go to 50 to 75%, then 75 to 90% once inventory dwindles to nothing in the coming days.

I know many people think this is payback for them - along with Barnes & Noble - for putting so many mom and pop bookstores out of business. And it's easy to understand that sentiment. But somewhere along the way, the same public supporting that theory decided to stop supporting mom and pop, and instead shop where they'd get 20 to 40% off everyday hardcover prices. So the argument rings a bit hollow.

Besides, Costco and Target have discounted books almost from the beginning. And before Borders and Barnes & Noble there was Crown Books ("If you paid full price, you didn't buy it at Crown!"). Book discounting isn't new.

But there's a larger sadness for me, and it didn't just start with Borders closing. It started with eReaders.

I can't imagine giving up the tangible, visceral experience of holding a book in my hands while reading it. The texture of the binding, the smell of the print, the sound of the spine cracking when it's first opened. To me it's a deeper, richer and more satisfying experience than reading on a Kindle or iPad (as bitchin' as the iPad is). And since I've read books one at a time my whole life, I've never seen the need to carry a thousand of them with me wherever I go.

Even though sometimes I read the L.A. Times online, for the most part I'm also set in my ways with newspapers.

In one of my versions of heaven - not the one where Halle Berry stops pretending she doesn't know I'm alive, the other one - there's a coffee shop and the Sunday paper fresh off the presses waiting for me. I know some news has happened since the paper was delivered, but not enough to make it not worth spending time with.

If I want up to the minute, I know where to find it.

It'd be an ironic twist that as these giant bookstores begin disappearing, and people like me still want published, physical books, a resurgence of mom and pop stores suddenly start springing up to carry them.

Hopefully it won't be an either/or situation, and there'll be room for brick and mortar as well as digital bookstores to coexist.

We'll see what the next chapter holds.

Beverly Hillbilly

That high-pitched whining sound you hear is coming from the direction of Hollywood is Billy Ray Cyrus.

Seems he’s finally been able to pinpoint the reason his marriage is in shambles and his family life has imploded.

And that reason? Hannah Montana. That darned show. Gosh, Billy just wishes he’d never let Miley do it.

If it weren’t for that Disney show that ran for years, Miley wouldn’t be as reckless and uncontrollable as she’s become.

If only he could go back in time to before the show ever happened he would. Back to being a washed up singer. Back to having the most reviled song in country music history.

Here’s the thing: going back wouldn’t help. He didn’t do anything when he was there the first time.

Billy Ray knows what it’s like to have an insane amount of success at an early age (did I mention the most reviled song ever?). So when Disney wanted to cast Miley in a show, as someone who’d been in the spotlight – and as her father – he knew what was in store for her.

Now, I’ll concede he probably didn’t anticipate exactly how huge the show and his daughter would become. You never can. But they were entering into the Disney marketing machine. He had to know they’re all in when it comes to promoting shows and spinning out stars.

Hey, Billy Ray, news flash: it isn’t the shows fault. Or Disney’s. Or Miley’s. It’s yours.

By your own admission, you acted like more of a friend to Miley than a father. I imagine that you imagine by making that statement, you think we’re supposed to feel sorry for you. That somehow, in your negligent, lacking, selfish child-raising ways, it just happened.

Since you obviously haven’t read the manual, one of the things a parent is supposed to do is protect their children by setting boundaries. Something they’re not supposed to do is treat their kid like their best friend, then use them as an ATM so they can buy mansions, cars, pre-torn faded blue jeans, tatoos and anything else they want. It’s hard enough to ground Hollywood kids in a world where grown ups say yes to everything they want to do and have.

It’s also mighty convenient, after the series has ended, you’re not on a hit show anymore and you’ve cashed all the checks to start talking about the toll it takes being a multi-millionaire country boy and having a multi-multi-millionaire daughter/wild child.

Miley is over 18 now, so we can only hope she makes smart(er) decisions in the future, and listens to guidance from people who have been where she is and know the pitfalls.

At least she's already learned one valuable lesson.

She knows where not to turn for advice.

No parking

We can't park in their spots. Why do they get to park in ours?

First of all, I get that it's a free country. People can park where they want when they want.

But really, do motorcycles have to park in car spaces? At the mall? On a hot, busy Saturday?

I'm starting to feel a little like Charlie Brown each time Lucy yanks the football away. I come around a corner, and see what I believe to be a free spot. Instantly filled with a sense of optimism and accomplishment, I pull up to it and begin turning in, only to see a motorcycle parked there.

At that moment, I'm filled with something considerably less positive.

I always thought one of the reasons you ride a motorcycle - besides the fun of it, the mileage, the low maintenance costs and the cool factor - is so you can just park it in all the places a car can't get into. You just ride up, park it on that sliver of asphalt right next to the shop, or restaurant, or bar, or where ever, then hop off with the smugness of knowing you aren't circling the parking lot for hours looking for a spot.

To engage in car-like behavior just seems self-defeating.

It'd be like sitting in traffic on the freeway at rush hour, and crawling along at 3 mph along with the rest of us instead of zipping between cars, narrowly missing our mirrors and inspiring jealousy and hatred.

Some malls already have designated motorcycle parking spots. Maybe they all need to.

Until they do, try to take advantage of what you've got and don't park in our spaces. After all, we may be on the freeway but our doors still open.

Just sayin'.

Justin time

Here's how it happened.

We were sitting around having dinner one night, and my son was making fun of my daughter for liking Justin Bieber. Now, I'll admit I've been guilty of this many times my own self.

Every time a song of his would come on, I'd turn to my daughter and say, "Man, that girl can really sing."

She didn't think it was nearly as funny as I did. Especially after the 50th time.

Anyway, not liking to see her brother making fun of her, I promised to take her to see the Justin Bieber film "Never Say Never." When she asked if I'd take her to the midnight show, her brother laughed and said, "Dad will never go to a midnight show of that."

So I looked right at my daughter and said, "Absolutely." Besides, midnight show, months away, on a school night. Really, what were the odds of that ever happening?

That's what I was thinking as I sat at the AMC Theaters in Downtown Disney one minute after midnight Friday morning watching the movie with my daughter and her friend and a theater full of Justin Bieber fans.

Midnight. Seventh circle of hell.

I took this picture of the marquee as I walked in, and was going to post it to my Facebook account with this caption. But a funny thing happened.

I liked the movie.

Not going to go so far as saying I caught Bieber fever, but I will say my perception of who he was going in was changed by the time I walked out.

The first thing that struck me peculiar was the audience. I'd expected a theater full of screaming 11, 12 and 13 year-old girls with their parents snoring loudly in the seat next to them. Not the case at all. The audience was a cross section of tweens, teens, and surprisingly many, many adult Beiber fans.

I understand that you always have to keep in mind the filmmakers are showing you exactly what they want you to see. However, as the film - a combination of documentary and concert footage, home movies and interviews unfolds, what I realized is even though I don't like most of his music, Justin Bieber is a crazy talented kid.

It would appear he is surrounded by people who genuinely care about him, as opposed to someone like Michael Jackson who was surrounded by people who only knew how to say yes to anything he wanted. The dangers of surrounding yourself with people like that are tragically obvious.

No adult in this movie - in particular the tough-as-nails vocal coach who travels on tour with him - has a problem saying no to Justin. He's not the Golden Goose to them. He's a kid, and they're trying to protect as much of that as they can given the extraordinary circumstances he finds himself in. (Yes, I know they're all out of jobs if something happens to him, but that doesn't seem to be their main motivation).

Before I said I don't like most of his music. I've only been exposed to the songs my daughter plays over and over. But in the film there are other songs, many of which I liked.

Owen Gleiberman has an interesting take on it in a piece he wrote for Entertainment Weekly. He makes a lot of good points, but this is the part I think I agree with most:

A lot of people, in other words, hate Justin Bieber because they’re scared of him. Scared of the power that teen pop now wields in our world. But I’m here to tell you that they’ve got it backwards. Justin Bieber isn’t just a product; he’s a genuine, talented, true-blue appealing star. They have pinned their fear and loathing on the wrong phenomenon.

I know I'm going to get a lot of comments and razzing for liking the movie. It's okay, I can take it. And I'll answer them all.

Right after I get back from seeing the movie again with my daughter. And her brother.