The other fugitive

Before Harrison Ford brought his own brand of "I am not Han Solo" to the role of Dr. Richard Kimble in The Fugitive, it had been a long-running, successful television series ("A Quinn Martin production") starring David Janssen.

I was a big fan of Janssen. He was a throwback to a time of leading men and movie stars. Very Humphrey Bogart in his approach, Janssen was the strong, silent, man of few words.

While it's not fair to compare, which I'm going to do, I always felt he was a more believable Richard Kimble than Ford was. What helped was that unlike the movie, the series wasn't burdened by a subplot involving faked samples for a new pharmaceutical drug - a distraction I never felt Kimble would be going after when his life was on the line. Janssen's portrayal was a pure story of a man on the run, trying to find his wife's real killer, and the adventures and experiences he had in the process.

At the time, the final two-part episode was the highest watched television show in history. I like to think part of the reason was because the building that stood in for the courthouse in the final episode was my junior high school auditorium (see the clip).

A few years after The Fugitive, Janssen starred in another successful show, Harry O, playing a private investigator working in San Diego. He brought many of the same character qualities to that part, and even though it didn't have the longevity or mythology of The Fugitive, I enjoyed it too.

Janssen was only 48 when he died of a heart attack in 1980. I'll miss seeing the performances he would've given.

Can we talk?

It's easy to take cheap shots at Joan Rivers. What with all the plastic surgeries that've gone both right and wrong, the raspy voice, the machine gun delivery of her material and the tacky red carpet shows, she practically invites it.

Plus she's been known to take a few cheap shots of her own (if you don't believe me, Google "Elizabeth Taylor fat jokes Joan Rivers"). All of that makes it easy to forget what Joan Rivers really is.

A pioneer woman.

Without her, there's no Sarah Silverman, Roseanne, Kathy Griffin or dozens of other female comics. Women like her, along with Phyllis Diller, broke through a comedy barrier by doing three things. Having great material, persistence and ignoring the fact there was a barrier at all.

There's no doubt that she's a polarizing figure. Her jokes seem to have gotten more pointed as she's gotten older. Or maybe she just continues to prove what a genuinely unfrightened comedian she really is.

And if she goes off the rails or crosses the line occasionally, she's earned the right to be forgiven for it.

Yesterday, during a routine procedure on her vocal chords, she stopped breathing and was rushed to an ER a mile away. On the way she went into full cardiac arrest, but the EMT's were able to bring her back. As of this writing, she's in serious but stable condition, and in a medically induced coma.

Love her or hate her, Joan Rivers legacy is every comedian who came after her, every woman (and man) she inspired to stand up at a mic and make people laugh.

She's also, like Don Rickles, the last of a breed of comedian from the golden age.

The night before her surgery scare, she joked to an audience, "I'm 81. I could go at any minute."

Let's hope not.

Get back

© Universal Pictures

I overheard a conversation, well, okay, I was eavesdropping on this conversation between a couple of businessmen-at-lunch-wearing-yellow-power-ties today. I feel sorry for anyone who has to wear a starched shirt and a tie on a 93 degree day.

But then I remembered that this is America damn it, and we all can make our own choices. Then I didn't feel sorry anymore. I just felt sad for their poor weather-related fashion choices.

Anyway, the part of their chat that caught my ear was when one of them said, "If I could go back twenty years I wouldn't do it. I wouldn't want to live through those years again."

It struck me as strange, because if you tell me I can go back twenty years, I'm saying, "What time do we leave?"

Of course the one caveat I have is that whole "If I knew then what I know now..." thing. I'd have to be able to take back everything I've learned in the back twenty.

For starters, Apple stock at 1994 prices. And lots of it.

Same for homes. And lots of 'em.

I'd lock up long-term CD bank accounts for as many years as I could.

I'd eat better and exercise more (well, it sounds good).

I'd buy up that run down warehouse district, and develop it. If you gentrify it they will come.

Finally, I'd be nicer to the people I knew I was going to lose. I'd make a point of spending more time with them. I'd make their lives easier in any way I could, knowing full well what the road ahead held for them. I'd be less cynical around them, despite how often it's required - they don't need the negativity. I'd steer them towards the personal habits and medical studies that might help prolong their lives, if only for a short while.

And I'd write down all my memories of them. The little turns of phrase, or crooked smiles or knowing looks exchanged. It would be a detailed journal that would keep them vividly alive for me, even after they'd departed twenty years on.

I'd also love them more. I'd be demonstrative and free with it. I'd let them know as often as I could. And when they looked at me with that "Who the hell are you?" expression, and asked why the love fest, I'd tell them the one bit of wisdom that I brought back with me from the future.

Life's too short.

The best offense

There's a line of thought in advertising that creative work isn't really effective unless it makes someone mad. By that standard, I'm living a very effective life.

The problem with writing a blog, posting snarky little quips on Facebook and Twitter, and just generally mouthing off without a filter is that you're bound to offend someone. Still, that's no reason to quit doing it. In fact, just the opposite.

It's always teenage fun seeing how far you can push things. And getting a rise out of people, well, that's just icing on the cake. It's more than that - it's encouraging and enabling.

I try at all times to delineate between being a jerk and being funny, although I'm sure there's a long line of people who will vouch that I wouldn't know the difference if it hit me in the head.

Also something there's a long line for.

Anyway, let me apologize in advance for any future posts, comments, off-the-cuff remarks or unfiltered punchlines I blurt out.

Know that going forward, I'll try to be more considerate, and restrain from saying or doing things that offend your delicate sensibilities.

Whiner.

Here come da judge

I don't expect nor would I want everyone to agree with me on everything. But it does strike me odd when people disagree with me over nothing.

Here's the thing about social media: You have to be willing to suffer the slings and arrows of people who don't like what you're saying, posting or advocating.

Everyone has an opinion. And we know what opinions are like.

Nevertheless, I understand having a forum where everyone sees what you post is the price of admission for being able to post it. I get it.

I've never been thin skinned. After all, I'm in advertising. I have a superhuman tolerance for rejection of things I think are funny.

Plus I'm all over the interwebs with my little musings, things that strike me funny just because they do. Once in awhile they mean something more than face value. But most of the time they don't.

Yet for some reason, some people who should know better (was that a judgement? Sorry, you know how I hate that) make the decision to run their blood pressure up forty points, start calling me names and get all medieval on my ass for posting meaningless things.

Meaningless to me anyway.

The thing about it is, there's no hidden agenda to postings that just strike my funny bone. No political statement being made. Not even a lot to get angry about (another judgement, sorry about that).

But like ghosts, UFOs and truth on FOX News, sometimes people see things that aren't there. They start frothing at the mouth, hurling judgments about me, my work, my humor or my political leanings (BTW, I'm for whichever party likes bacon) based on something I just thought was funny.

They attach meaning where there is none.

Whatever. If you believe you're the arbiter of my taste, capabilities and standards, and if you see some deeper message in the crystals and think you're fighting the good fight by judging my talent, intellect, sensibilities and unloading on me with lots of exclamation points, have at it.

Or even better, be a little discerning, realize it's not worth the effort, say "There he goes again" to yourself, roll your eyes and move on.

It's not that I don't stand by what I post. I do. I stand by it and laugh.

Blade runner

It's not easy being devastatingly handsome. Oh, I know, I make it look easy - and thanks for noticing. But really, it isn't.

The sly smile, the deep, inviting brown eyes you can get lost in. The imperfect nose, that used to be perfect until Eddie Petroff broke it in junior high (whole other post). The distinguished, full and luxurious silver mane. The proudly displayed crow's feet around those knowing brown eyes that say, "Yes, I've lived a life, I know things you don't and I'm ready for more."

When you take all that into consideration, the question really becomes why would I ever want to hide a face like that? The answer would be so I don't have to shave it.

A long time ago, in a life far, far away, I sported a full beard. It was a popular look at the time, and while I thought it made me look serious and intense like Al Pacino in Serpico, or compassionate and magnetic like Jesus, the truth is it was probably closer to Hagrid or Carlos the Jackal.

Still, it served the purpose. I didn't have to drag a razor across my sensitive skin every morning, or afternoon or whenever the hell I woke up. I'm freelance. Sometimes it's all a blur.

Over the years I tried various versions of the beard: A goatee. A mustache. A soul patch. The full Amish. But the problem with all of them was that I had to do some degree of shaving. And not just shaving, precision shaving to keep the lines straight.

I finally settled on a goatee for a number of years.

Fast forward to one of our annual trips to the Hotel Del Coronado. I was out by the pool, and between the Bloody Mary's and banana smoothies (I never was much of a swimmer), I had an epiphany.

An epiphany is three parts tequila and one part pineapple juice.

Then, I had a realization. I couldn't deny the world this face any longer. That, and I didn't want the weird sunburn lines I was getting. So with my rusty seventy-nine cent plastic Bic blade, scalding water and a lot of effort, I was off to the races.

When I got back from the races, I shaved the goatee.

Even though I didn't like the process, I did like what I saw. So for a few years now I've endured the unpleasantness of shaving every morning. Nothing good comes easy.

Then, Father's Day rolled around. And instead of another ten black t-shirts, gift certificates to AMC Theaters and dinner at Walt's Wharf, my son got me one of the best gifts ever: a membership in the Dollar Shave Club.

The initial kit comes with a tube of Dr. Carver's easy Shave Butter, Dr. Carver's magnanimous Post Shave Daily All-In-One Moisturizer and one of three mighty razors - in my case, The Executive, with six stubble-hating stainless steel blades of fury. I get four cartridges a month, so the blades never have the chance to get, how you say, unusable.

For a guy who was used to speed shaving with a Bic in the shower while racing to get to work, taking a little extra time to do it right took some getting used to. But well worth it.

The feeling is extraordinary. It's a closer shave than I ever thought possible, and once you've experienced the silky smoothness of Shave Butter you'll never go back to foam (or hot water) again. I can see my skin glow, and not just from my years at the nuclear plant. I now look forward to shaving every day.

It also doesn't hurt that the DSC website is one of the funniest, best written sites on the interwebs. Here's just a little sample of what you'll find when you click:

I don't usually endorse products or services on this blog. After all, I want to maintain what little integrity I have left. I try to stay impartial. I feel I owe that to my ten readers.

Nonetheless, I'd strongly recommend you give DSC a try. If not for the best shave of your life, then at least for the comic relief.

By the way, DSC also has a product called One Wipe Charlies. I'm still working my way up, er, down to those.

Goodbye Robin

O Captain! My Captain!BY WALT WHITMAN

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer,his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.