Missing Murray

He was the mayor in Jaws who wanted to keep the Amity beaches open, even though a great white shark was enjoying swimmers for appetizers.

He was Mr. Robinson in The Graduate, who couldn't bring himself to "shake hands" with Dustin Hoffman.

He was Murray Hamilton, one of the best character actors there ever was.

I know it seems like a random person to be writing a blogpost about. But, as the slogan at the top of the page reminds us all, random is the name of the game here at Rotation and Balance. Besides, I've always had great respect for character actors - this isn't the first time I've sung their praises here.

I can't remember the first time I ever saw Murray Hamilton, though I suspect it was on one of the original Twilight Zone episodes where he played Mr. Death. Of course, like most people, I know him best from Jaws and The Graduate.

Hamilton did all the classic television shows in his long career, which is why he pops up on reruns all the time. Inevitably people recognize him by face, if not by name.

I'm always in awe of people who do great work that stands the test of time, unlike, say, the disposable work no one wants or gives a second thought about in certain professions which will go unnamed.

Anyway, I saw him in some old movie today as I was flipping channels, and was reminded again how much I always enjoyed watching him.

Here's to you Murray Hamilton.

Going postal

I went into the post office the other day to send some books to people. I put the books in the car, went and got the various sized envelopes and mailers, and then stood in line and patiently waited my turn.

When I got up to the counter, as I've done many other times, I asked the counterperson - Phil - if I could borrow some tape to seal the envelopes and tape the labels.

Phil replied, "You know we're not a packaging store." To which I replied, "Oh I know. You're barely a mail delivery service."

Phil begrudgingly handed me a roll of three-inch thick packing tape and no scissors. I walked out, went to the Rite Aid next door, bought some scotch tape, sealed everything and got back in line. Fortunately, I didn't get Phil again, and the counterperson I did have was just as nice as could be.

I went online and wrote a complaint to the Postal Service about my experience with Phil. But I really don't expect much to happen. Maybe they'll send him an email. But as far as his attitude changing, confidence is not high.

While I was proud of myself for having the presence of mind to think of the comeback I had, in retrospect I should've handled it differently. I should've smiled and told Phil I appreciated the tape and could he give me a scissors. I could've said that yes, I understand it's not a packing store but in the past they've been more than happy to accommodate me in that way. And at the end of the transaction, I could've smiled and thanked him for all his help.

But he was a jerk and I let myself turn into one because of it. I'm going to work on that.

I file it under the heading of Lessons I Have To Keep Learning. I cannot let other people's behavior dictate mine. I think it's a more mature way to conduct oneself, and a way of being in the world that will serve me well in the future.

But seriously, this guy was a dick.

That's the ticket

Much to the dismay of both my kids, we weren't the parents that ran out and bought them cars when they got their license. They've had to make do with sharing our cars when they're available - which we do our best to see that they are.

But a few weeks ago, that changed. The wife had been driving a sixteen-year old Land Cruiser, and was next in line for a new car. So she got one.

Not new new. A certified pre-owned, 2012 model with considerably less mileage (19,400) than her current wheels (245,000). We hang onto cars for a long time.

So now, instead of moving two cars in and out of our driveway, we have three to juggle. Which requires considerably more planning than two. It's like one point higher on the Richter scale is a thousand times more powerful quake.

Alright, we know analogies aren't my strong point, but you see where I'm going.

The daily ritual now is who's leaving first, who's coming back with a car at what time and who drives which car. The only thing we know for sure is no one but the wife drives the wife's new car, although recently there's even been some leniency with that rule.

The problem is there are three cars and four drivers. But that'll change in August when young Mr. Spielberg goes off to film school in the blue dot on the great red state of Texas. Needless to say, his sister is quite excited thinking she'll have a car any old time she wants one after he leaves. We won't spoil her little fantasy just yet.

Besides driveway parking, the other situation exponentially worse with the addition of a third car is insurance. We were already paying an arm and a leg to insure everyone. Now the premium has increased to a small fortune. And if one of the teenagers happen to get a ticket, we've been told it gets jacked up to a king's ransom.

Anyway, we'll continue to plan accordingly when it comes to jockeying the cars in the driveway, even if we have to invest in new equipment to do it.

I don't mind. I look pretty good in those little red jackets.

I bought myself some Time

Today I did something I love to do, and don't do nearly enough (pausing for a minute while you get that thought out of your sick little head). I bought the latest issue of Time magazine.

My dad worked at a newsstand for years, so I think I come by my love of magazines honestly. Right up there with Springsteen concerts, Breaking Bad and eating sushi, buying magazines hot of the presses brings me great joy.

When I fly, I get to the airport early to peruse the magazines at the gift shop. It's especially rewarding because they're always the first to get the latest issues. I give careful consideration to them, but I always walk out with the same ones: usually an Esquire, GQ, People, Fortune and Entertainment Weekly. Occasionally one of the car rags, but because I get enough of those at work they're not always on the top of my list.

I talked here about how I'll never use e-readers and why I prefer the experience of real books and magazines. I still feel that way, even though I admit I find myself doing more reading online on news sites about topics I would've picked up a magazine for in the past.

The reason I picked up this weeks' copy of Time was because it's the Answers issue. Ironically it didn't have the answers I was looking for.

Anyway, this isn't going to be the start of a new magazine subscription frenzy. My family got Newsweek for over forty years, and I continued the tradition right up until they stopped publication. That was the longest magazine subscription I ever had or will have. I even managed to save a few of the more important issues (like the Springsteen cover) and have them locked away in storage ("Hello, eBay?").

Right now I have subscriptions to Fortune, FastTimes, Los Angeles Magazine and Entertainment Weekly.

But unless my bathroom or my coffee table get bigger, I don't see getting more anytime soon.

Over and out

Another year, another four and a half days of insanity come to an end. Comic Con 2015 is over.

It's hard to know which I enjoy more: the studio panels in gigantic Hall H where they bring out tremendous movie star power and show exclusive footage just for the Comic Con crowd, or watching socially and emotionally arrested nerds come out of their basements once a year and try to interact with actual people.

That's the film they should show in Hall H.

This year had special meaning for me. It was the last Comic Con with my son before he heads off to college in Texas. And even though he'll be back every summer, and we'll be at Comic Con every year he's back, I cherished the time with him much more than in past Cons.

I also made a promise to myself I wasn't going to harsh his buzz by complaining about everything from the massive lines, incredibly unorganized wristband handouts, pizza in Hall H that's actually just cardboard with ketchup (although cardboard and ketchup would be a step up), horrendous traffic getting there and back, and the fact the girl in the skimpy Spartan outfit kept pretending she didn't notice me.

I'm happy to report I kept my promise. As much for myself as for him.

Comic Con really is like seeing The Rolling Stones or going to Paris. It's something everyone should do once. It's a wonder to watch a hundred and thirty thousand people congregate in the same place, with the freedom and joy to dress up, geek out and be who they are without being judged harshly for it.

I imagine for a lot of them, it's not a feeling they get to enjoy often in their real lives.

I'm still trying to catch up on sleep I lost camping out for the more popular panels at the Con. It's good to go, but it's good to be home - relaxing without having to worry when to get in the next line for Hall H.

At least until July 21, 2016.

Packing for the Con

Tomorrow is the day it all starts. Well, the night actually.

Even though Comic Con doesn't officially begin until Thursday, tomorrow night is Preview Night. The costumed crowds get admitted to the Convention Center in the early evening to get a jump on the weekend crowds walking the floor and picking up some merchandise.

Of course I'll be there.

So that means tonight I have to pack. It's something I've never quite learned to do right. You'd think being in advertising and with all the boondoggles...er...business trips I've taken I'd be better at it. I'm not unskilled in the sense I don't know how to organize a suitcase. It's my approach to the job.

I pack on the Just In Case theory. You know, just in case there's a hurricane or blizzard in San Diego. Just in case we're hit by a tornado. Just in case we're invaded by aliens, which at Comic Con is a definite possibility.

Here's what's happened every year I've gone: I drag my overstuffed suitcase to the hotel, and proceed to wear the same pair of shorts for four days. All I really need is four t-shirts (yes Rich, black ones), four pairs of underwear, four pairs of socks, a sweatshirt and sneakers. Maybe a clean pair of jeans, a nice pair of shoes and a collared shirt if I want to go eat somewhere nice.

But when you're in restaurants during Comic Con, and finally seated after a two and a half hour wait, it's not unusual at all to find yourself sitting next to Spartans, Batman, those guys from Game Of Thrones and Loki. Dressing nice becomes a relative term.

So I'll give it another shot this year, with the hope I can be a little more economical in how much I take with me.

Frankly, I think the bigger challenge will be closing the suitcase with this in it.

The Con is on. Again.

Except for this past week, I don't usually repost pieces on here. And I've never reposted a repost. But it's the Comic Con time of year again, and I was going to write a post about going. Again. But then I reread this little gem and realized it said exactly what I wanted to say. Again. We don't have to re-invent the wheel each time out people. Let's just take tonight's post at face value, and enjoy the writing for what it is - an excuse not to think of something new to write. Wait? Did I say that out loud?

Don't say you haven't been warned. For four and a half days this week, my son and I will be living amongst 'em (well, actually we'll be living at the Hilton and walking amongst 'em, but no one's under oath here): the Stormtroopers, Wolverines, Lara Crofts, Jokers, Iron Men, Darth Vaders, Zombies, Batmen, Supermen and other assorted, costumed inhabitants of Comic Con.

As you can see here and here, this isn't the first time I've written about the Con. And it won't be the last.

Don't get the wrong idea. I'm not saying it's the only subject I'll post about for the next few days. But if you happen to notice my writing in the Wednesday through Sunday posts have a nerdist, geekesque, maybe-I-ought-to-get-a-life, gee-he-sounds-REALLY-tired quality to them, then I've done my job and you'll know we're having a fine time.

For those who've never been - and really, like the Rolling Stones or Rick Perry trying to complete a sentence, it's something you need to see at least once in your life - please to enjoy this little taste of my next few days.

Welcome to my world.