Piercing observation

Picking up a prescription at CVS the other day, this woman was ahead of me in line. And, like you, I couldn't help noticing her neck piercing. In fact I was so focused on it, I almost overlooked the one in the cartilage of her left ear.

My first thought was how much it must've hurt getting it. The two reddish dots on each side of the piercing didn't look like the daily alcohol swabbings were going particularly well.

My second thought was why her neck?

As a rule, I don't have any problem with piercings. In fact I wear two earrings in my left ear (it used to be three, but the third hole never healed - let's leave it at that). I got them years ago while I was working at Tracy Locke, and I asked this cute girl I worked with if she liked guys with earrings.

After she said yes, I broke a land speed record getting to a store on Melrose called Maya and had my ear pierced by yet another cute young girl.

Just for the record, that was the last thing I did that either of them liked.

To me, the secret of a great piercing is like buying a house: location, location, location. Why squander a perfectly good one in a location no one is going to see it? Or at least not enough people to make it worth the effort.

But I suppose that's better than going completely overboard like Pinhead over here with so many that absolutely everyone can't help but noticing.

Moderation, so I'm told, is the trick.

The issue occasionally comes up with my own kids. When my daughter was 9, we were on a trip to San Francisco and walking through the Emporium Mall on Market Street. She asked me if she could get her ears pierced while we were there. And, you know, thinking I actually had a say in the matter, I told her sure. She was ecstatic, right up until she saw the horrified look on my wife's face. The one that says to her "You're too young for earrings." And says to me "Maybe you should've discussed this with me before you just blurted out she could have them."

I get that a lot.

The deal we struck was that when we got home she could get them pierced. The plane hadn't even touched down before we were at a Claire's in some mall getting her ears pierced. I would've bet her allowance she was going to cry. She didn't. That was her mother.

My 15-year old son has started rumblings about getting his ear pierced. And I'm well aware that I don't have a lot of ground - as far as setting examples go - when I tell him no.

But he's mighty involved in acting, and nothing looks worse than a piercing hole in a close up shot. So far that's keeping the discussion at bay.

That and the fact I keep telling him if he gets me a potato, an ice cube and a pin I'll do it for him.

Al Franken called it

It was true then and it's true now.

I've always been a fan of Al Franken. Beginning when he was half of a comedy team called Franken & Davis, through the years he was head writer for Saturday Night Live (to me, it'll always be the Al Franken decade) and today as Senator from Minnesota.

Sorry about the ad in front of the clip. Curse you Hulu!

Hysterically funny, wildly entertaining and, the part I like best, vicious in the way it exposes not just the glaring hypocrisy and inaccuracies of almost everything Limbaugh says, the book also calls out the entire conservative party for the lies they shamelessly continue to peddle.

An easy example of the hypocrisy: Newt Gingrich and Rush Limbaugh both taking a righteous stand about family values as they're on their third and fourth wives respectively.

The amazing thing is the book's title - which Franken gave it because he knew it would be controversial and get noticed - has proven even more true in the last week than it was when it came out.

I think it's only fitting that we take a moment and enjoy some of Limbaugh's more entertaining and insightful quotes:

''Have you ever noticed how all composite pictures of wanted criminals resemble Jesse Jackson?"

''She comes to me when she wants to be fed. And after I feed her -- guess what -- she's off to wherever she wants to be in the house, until the next time she gets hungry. She's smart enough to know she can't feed herself. She's actually a very smart cat. She gets loved. She gets adoration. She gets petted. She gets fed. And she doesn't have to do anything for it, which is why I say this cat's taught me more about women, than anything my whole life."

You're forgiven if you thought that one was from Rick Santorum.

And of course, it wouldn't be complete without this past week's words of wisdom:

''A Georgetown coed told Nancy Pelosi's hearing that the women in her law school program are having so much sex they're going broke, so you and I should have to pay for their birth control. So what would you call that? I called it what it is. So, I'm offering a compromise today: I will buy all of the women at Georgetown University as much aspirin to put between their knees as they want. ... So Miss Fluke and the rest of you feminazis, here's the deal. If we are going to pay for your contraceptives and thus pay for you to have sex, we want something. We want you to post the videos online so we can all watch."

I hope Al Franken is working on a Rush Limbaugh Is A Big Fat Idiot 2.

God knows there's enough material to work with.

No sir Sirhan

If you've had even the most remedial course in recent history, you know the initials RFK are shorthand for Robert Francis Kennedy.

Of course after reading Sirhan Sirhan's latest attempt at a get-out-of-jail free card, no one could blame you for thinking they stand for R u F#@%ing Kidding me?

After 44 years, his attorney's are pushing their "second gunman" theory. Again.

Let me know how that works out for you.

As I've posted about before, I'm not much of a conspiracy theorist. But even if I was going to subscribe to this one, it wouldn't be easy what with the smoking gun - literally smoking gun - in his hand as a crowd of onlookers watched him kill Robert Kennedy.

Here are a few of the more - oh, let's call them convincing facts - we know about Sirhan Sirhan.

On January 31 1968 his diary entry was "RFK must die."

He decided to elaborate on that on May 16, 1968 with "My determination to eliminate RFK is becoming more of an unshakable obsession."

Then on June 1, 1968 he decided he needed to pick up a few things, so he went shopping for two boxes of .22 hollow point ammunition.

And of course, on June 4, 1968, Sirhan waited for Robert Kennedy in the kitchen at the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles. When Kennedy was leaving through the kitchen after his California primary victory speech, Sirhan repeatedly fired his gun at the Senator, fatally injuring him.

He died the next day.

Apparently though killing one Kennedy wasn't enough to satisfy his "unshakable obsession." In 1977 he offered a fellow prisoner a million dollars and a car to kill Edward Kennedy.

I'm not easily offended, but reading the article about his lawyer's new strategy - and how unjustly his client has been imprisoned - comes pretty close.

Sirhan has been denied parole 14 times since shooting Kennedy. Some guys just can't take a hint. The truth is he's never getting out no matter what theories his media-whore attorneys decide to bring forward.

Unfortunately California ruled the death penalty unconstitutional at the time he was convicted, so Sirhan will get to spend the rest of his life behind bars, at taxpayer expense, where I imagine he'll die of old age.

Which if there were any real justice, is the way Robert Kennedy would have gone.

Siren song

My friend Rich at Round Seventeen has a series of posts called Things Jews Don't Do. I'm pretty sure this would qualify.

Nevertheless, the mean streets of south central Los Angeles are calling to me. Again. And just like last year, I'm answering. At least for one night.

Remember when I posted about winning an LAPD ride-along at my kid's school fundraiser auction? Well, this year's auction was last night, and I did it again.

Because it was such an andrenaline-rushing, eye-opening, amazing experience the first time, I've been waiting a year to get back on the streets.

And last night was my chance.

I'm sure I was very inconspicuous hovering over the silent auction table with the ride-along bid sheet. But the truth of the matter is I wasn't going to let this opportunity get away (see what I did there?). I was prepared to take down parents, grandparents, students or whoever else I had to to have my chance riding shotgun in the cruiser again.

Last year it was a domestic violence call, a guy waving a gun around and an AIDS patient threatening to commit suicide. I have no idea what it'll be this year, but I'm sure it'll be just as memorable.

So I'll set a date, sign the release, and I'll be ready to go.

I texted the officer giving the ride-along, and who I was with last year, and let him know I won it again.

His text back was, "Great! Looking forward to rocking and rolling."

My sentiments exactly.

Remembering the best actor in the world

As I was intermittently paying attention to this year's Academy Awards (Billy, the Borscht Belt called - they want their jokes back), I did happen to catch the segment of the show they do each year honoring people in the business, mostly actors, who've passed away.

I call it the Cavalcade Of Dead Stars. The Academy calls it In Memoriam.

Watching the familiar names and faces go by, I was waiting for one actor's name in particular who died last year: Pete Postlethwaite. Come to find out since he passed away on January 2, 2011, he was actually honored in last year's on-air cavalcade.

Postlethwaite was one of my favorite actors of all time. Apparently I was in good company - Spielberg called him "the best actor in the world."

His craggy face and nose that'd been broken several times in bar brawls all but insured he was never going to compete with more classically good looking actors for lead roles.

But as he proved time after time, role after role, you don't have to be the lead to be unforgettable.

Most people remember him from his Oscar-winning performance along with Daniel Day Lewis In The Name Of The Father.

Hard to believe it was his only Oscar.

He lent an air of credibility and realism to popcorn fare like The Lost World. And he riveted my attention with his unshakable confidence mixed with just a hint of threat as conduit to Keyser Soze in The Usual Suspects.

My favorite performance though was one of his last - Irish mobster, and florist, Fergie Colm in the Ben Affleck directed film The Town. Menacing, fearless, understated and terrifying, the scene where he's pruning roses while he tells Affleck how he got his mother hooked on drugs before she killed herself is a master class in acting.

I'm glad the Academy didn't inadvertently leave him out of the cavalcade this year. It would've been almost as criminal as nominating him for just one Oscar after a lifetime of Oscar-worthy performances.

School's out

So remember my post about getting a speeding ticket? In it, I said it was my comeuppance for all the times I was speeding and didn't get caught. I was going to pay the fine and go traffic school and that would be it.

That was before I got a letter from the court saying the fine was $360 - before the additional traffic school fees. For those of you keeping count, that's $22.50 for every mile over (you do the math).

There's paying the ticket then there's surrendering to state-sponsored extortion in the form of outrageously exorbitant traffic fines for only 16mph over the speed limit (there, I did the math for you).

After getting the letter, I immediately went online to see how I could fight the ticket. What I found was no shortage of websites specializing in helping beat the ticket. These sites, like the dog-walking companies I've posted about, have names that try a little too hard to convey exactly what it is they do.

The problem with almost all of them is that they charge more than the fine to make the ticket go away. And there's no actual guarantee they'll be able to do it.

But after a little further research, I found what I was looking for. And I found it, of all places, in a forum on the Southern California Subaru Impreza Club site.

Buried deep in the small print on the back of the citation is something called Request For Trial by Written Declaration. Basically I go to the courthouse, post the fine as bail, then get a form to fill out and make my case. Then I send it back into the court. When I request a TWD, that means the officer who wrote me up now has to write up his side of the story and submit it to the court as well. Neither of us have to appear.

There are two great things about that. First, when an officer comes to court to testify against you, he gets paid between $200-$300 extra. When he has to respond to a TWD request, he doesn't get paid anything extra. And since the last thing any officer wants is more paperwork, a high percentage of times they just blow it off entirely.

Second, it's writing. And not to sound like it's gonna sound, I'm pretty good at it.

If the judge decides in my favor, the case is dismissed and my fine/bail is refunded with 60 days.

Here's the great part: if it doesn't go my way, within 20 days of receiving the decision I can request a courtroom trial where I can plead not guilty, or request traffic school. If I don't like his decision, I can have another go at it to make it come out the way I want.

It's the very definition of a win-win.

So yesterday, I went downtown, posted the bail and got the form. I waited in a long, long, long line for the traffic court window. I couldn't help but feel out of place due my obvious lack of tattoos and passable grasp of the English language (on both sides of the counter).

On the Subaru site are examples of successfully written TWD's. I'll use one of those, edit them with the facts of my case, clean up the writing a bit and send it on in.

And I'll do it the only way I know how. Fast.

No strings attached

When I think of a Stradivarius, like most people, the first musical instrument that comes to mind isn't a trumpet. It's a tuba. No, it's not a tuba.

I've posted before about my son, the jazz trumpeter and, objectively of course, how incredibly, awesomely talented he is. And while I have no doubt the talent is all his, I also believe what helps bring it out to its full measure is the instrument he plays.

His Stradivarius.

Truthfully, it's a little misleading. It's actually a Bach trumpet, and Stradivarius happens to be the name of the model.

He didn't always play a Stradivarius. When he first began, we rented him a Yamaha trumpet from a local music store (I don't care how much disinfectant they spray on the mouthpiece. It's like renting bowling shoes - I was still nervous about it). We wanted to make sure he was going to stick with it before we made the investment for a trumpet of his own.

It didn't take long to see he was serious about it (as opposed to, say, cleaning his room or doing laundry), so it was time to shop for a quality horn he'd have and use for years to come.

Fortunately that was the easy part. Because the question was never where to get it. It was what time do they open.

The Horn Guys was the only place we ever considered buying from. Sure, we could've applied the rental fee towards purchase of the Yamaha from the music store, but, again, all that disinfectant.

Not being able to carry a tune in a suitcase, I'm always impressed and happy in stores like this. Bright and shiny things everywhere - right up my ally.

After learning about the many trumpets available from the incredibly knowledgable musician owners of the store, and having my son try out several of them (with his own new mouthpiece), we decided on the Bach Stradivarius Bb Model 37.

I didn't know much - and when I say much I mean anything - about Bach Trumpets. Come to find out it's one of the most respected names in brass.

It's easy to understand why one respected name in music would want to appropriate another. To say something is the Stradivarius of its category means it's unquestionably the best.

Which explains why you don't see many claims like "the Salieri of Flugelhorns!"