A slight dust up

I've talked about it a bit on here, but back at the ponderosa we're doing a little remodeling. Hopefully by the end of April, our kitchen, living room and bathroom will have been turned into showcase rooms ready to be featured on Houzz, pinned all over Pinterest and cover-ready for Dwell.

In the process I'm also remodeling my bank account about $20,000 at a time. Don't get me started.

Anyway, when I mentioned to colleagues and friends we were going to do this, they were more than happy to share all sorts of warnings and red flags about what it was going to be like. Since I've never remodeled anything—hard to imagine I know, what with me being so handy and all in that way all Jewish boys who have hands that look like they've never done a day's work in their life are—I had no idea what to expect. Fortunately, with all the best intentions, there was no shortage of people willing to let me know.

Contractors are the worst to deal with.
Having this one proven false has been a great blessing as well as a relief. Our contractors are awesome. We've known about them well before they started the job. They've worked on many of our friends homes, so we had reliable testimonials as to the quality of their work (spectacular). They're honest, hard-working perfectionists with sick senses of humor. And they wield a mean nail gun. What's not to like?

Plan to spend at least a third more than your budget.
First of all, what budget? Second, all the costs we were given up front have pretty much stayed where they were. The exceptions have been the changes we've made in window size, cabinet size, number of outlets, additional features, the nice countertops, etc. Now that I reread that, I might think about stopping with the self-inflicted increases (see bank account remodeling above).

You'll have to move out while the job is being done.
Here's the good news. The way our house is laid out, all the work—with the exception of the bathroom—is on the opposite side from the bedrooms.

So instead of incurring the additional cost of having to live in a hotel for four months, we get to incur the additional inconvenience of living in less than two-thirds of our normal living room space.

It's cozy to say the least.

There is however a big, plastic sheet dividing our cramped living space from areas where the work is being done. It makes a great backdrop for photos, what with all that diffused light. It also comes in handy for my Dexter role-play. Enough said.

There'll be dust everywhere.
I'm sorry to say, on this one they were right. There is dust everywhere. On both sides of the plastic curtain. Inside closed cabinets and drawers. All along picture frames. On the books. The floors. The shelves. Ev-er-y-where. Trying to keep up with cleaning it is the impossible dream. One minute you think you've gotten it all, the next you're writing words with your finger in the thick layer you just noticed on the mantle (the words I wrote were "Someone should really clean this thing").

It's the housekeeping equivalent of spending a day at the beach, then realizing you have sand in places you didn't know you had places.

It's like the guys who take a year painting the Golden Gate bridge, then have to start back in the opposite direction once they get to the other side.

It's like Disneyland when it comes to cleaning it up: it'll never be finished.

You can relax. The box of metaphors is empty.

I have to keep reminding myself all this dust is temporary, but the beautiful home we'll have when it's all done is permanent.

Just like the inhaler and the Claritin.

Banjo boy

At just the right angle, the adult Billy Redden looks a bit like the late, great Robin Williams.

Whom, you might ask, is Billy Redden? He happens to be an actor who was in one of the most iconic scenes in motion picture history, playing the banjo boy in Deliverance. In a stunning moment, he winds up playing a musical duet, the now famous Dueling Banjos, with Ronnie Cox as Jon Voight, Ned Beatty (who has his own iconic moment in the film for an entirely different reason) and Burt Reynolds look on. Truth be told, it was a little Hollywood magic: it wasn't actually Billy playing. But that ain't no never mind.

As anyone who's in the industry knows, show biz can be a cruel tease. And the years and opportunities haven't been particularly kind to Billy. Few and far between, he has had other parts. He was in Tim Burton's Big Fish, and had a small part on Blue Collar as—wait for it—an inbred car mechanic who plays the banjo.

Currently, Billy is working in maintenance at WalMart, picking up trash among other things.

Like Andy Robinson, who did go on to a moderately successful career after playing the Zodiac-esque killer Scorpio in Dirty Harry, Billy was typecast fairly quickly at a young age. He reminds me of Ron Wayne, the third founder of Apple who sold his shares after nine days for $900. If he'd held on to them, they'd be worth $32 billion today. And while it's a fact Billy never flirted with that kind of fortune, I can't help think they're similar in that "what might've been" way. Given the right management, a little more training and a few lucky breaks, would he have been a household name, with a brilliant debut as a child actor?

In the few interviews I've read, it's clear I'm more bothered by it than he is.

The truth is he has a scene that any actor would kill for, one that will now and forever be an enduring part of film history. Every once in a while, I find myself in the mood to watch it. And it always brings me great joy when I do.

If he watches it, I hope Billy feels the same way.

Goodbye Bill Paxton

Here's how I met Bill Paxton.

One of my best friends and my best man Scott Thomson was filming Twister in Ponca City, Oklahoma. Coincidentally, Scott was going to have a rather significant birthday while he was shooting. So the wife and I decided to fly out there and throw him a surprise party to celebrate the occasion. We also thought it might be a hoot to take in the sites Ponca City had to offer—one of which was the WalMart on a Saturday night. Whole other post.

Anyway, with Apollo 13 taking off (no pun intended), in order not to be bothered Bill didn't use his own name when he checked into hotels. In one of the conversations we had while he was filming, Scott happened to drop the name Bill did use. I made note of it, then called the luxurious Holiday Inn the cast was staying at, got hold of Bill and we proceeded to plan Scott's party.

Unfortunately, on the weekend we were going to have it, Bill was going to be in Houston doing PR for Apollo 13. But we set it up, and since we were flying in on Friday would have a chance to speak with him before he took off for his home state of Texas.

Bill was one of Scott's best friends, and we'd heard a lot about him over the years. We were excited to meet him.

Scott introduced us, and with a firm handshake and smile as wide as Texas—with a drawl to go along with it—Bill said hi to us. He was gracious, funny, energetic and didn't let on at all we'd been talking and planning Scott's party.

I don't remember exactly what my wife said to him, but the answer Bill gave in his Texas drawl, with a little Elvis thrown in, is a line we use to this day, and deliver in Bill's voice: "That's right baby.""

The next time I met Bill was at an Academy screening of a film he directed called Frailty. He was in a whirlwind that night, but he took time to speak with me and we reminisced a bit about the time we spent on set with him watching them film Twister.

My other memory of the party by the way is being in the basement of the Ponca City VFW, playing Barrel Of Monkeys with Helen Hunt, which I wrote about briefly here. She won, but I don't hold it against her.

You hear the term "underrated" a lot when people write or speak about Bill Paxton. But it doesn't quite jive with the place he held in the industry. Well respected and well liked by his peers, he was money in the bank. A guaranteed great performance given with everything he had, regardless of the medium, the material or the location.

Just this week I watched Bill in A Simple Plan, one of my favorite films. I know from Scott he had a less than fun time filming the movie, but testimony to his exceptional talent, it's one of the best performances he's ever given. There are dozens of reviews to back me up on that.

I'm going to miss Bill. He was always a bright light for me whenever I saw him on screen. Rare as an actor, even rarer as a person, Bill was one of those personalities deeply liked by everyone he encountered.

There was so much more of his talent to be revealed. But for now, all I can do is be grateful for having met him, and the work he leaves behind.

That's right baby. Rest in peace.

FAQ this

It's become as much of an accepted acronym as LOL, OMG, WTF, SMH, IMHO, SWIDT (my personal favorite) and TBT. I'm speaking of FAQ.

It stands for Frequently Asked Questions, and you'll find a link to it on virtually every company website you visit. There you'll find the same questions every other person in your situation asks over and over, along with many no one asks. It's supposed to be a convenient way to get answers when you need them.

The operative word is supposed.

From personal experience, I think a more appropriate name for these sections would be FUQ - Frequently Unanswered Questions. More times than not, they don't even come close to addressing the issue at hand.

In those instances, I'm made to go to the contact section, where I then have to spend time tracking down a phone number to reach a voicemail thread to find an extension to leave a message for the assistant of the person who might be able to answer my question. Right after they route my call through the customer service rep in Kuala Lumpur.

Or I could just let it go. But if you know anything about me, and really, if you've been following this blog for any amount of time you should know everything about me, you know letting things go just isn't in my wheelhouse.

Usually what winds up happening is I don't get an adequate answer—meaning the one I'm looking for—and then I sit my ever expanding derriere down at the laptop and fire off a Jeff Letter to the CEO of whatever company I'm having the dispute with.

To help you get your questions answered, and because I'm a giver, here's my FAQ section regarding Jeff Letters.

Should I send my letter email?

I don't usually send an email. When I have an issue I want the top dog to take seriously, in my experience a letter on my personal stationary, sent snail mail, with a Harry Potter postage stamp seems to have more heft and impact. Emails are easily ignored. CEOs like clean desktops, they don't want hard copy letters lying around. If you're out of Harry Potter stamps, use the Star Trek ones.

How do I know they'll give me the answer I want?

I always ask for the order. I don't leave it up to them how to resolve the situation. With full bluntness and tone that lets them know I mean business but isn't overly aggressive, I ask for what I want. That way they know what I'm expecting. Most of the time it works, and many times they'll even go above and beyond to make sure they keep your business.

What do I do after they've gotten back to me?

Once they've replied in a positive manner, and taken the action I've asked for, I make a point of sending a follow up letter thanking them. They get complaint letters all the time. Complimentary ones are a breath of fresh air for them, and will help get you remembered should you have to contact them again. Besides, in letters, as in life, manners count for a lot.

Does your personal website have an FAQ section?

As a matter of fact it doesn't. I use this blog to answer most of the questions I get.

What if I can't be bothered to follow your blog?

You don't really want to hear my answer to that.

Flying Solo

Very often people confuse Hollywood movie stars with the characters they play.

For example, I'm fairly sure Christian Bale isn't Batman. James McAvoy doesn't have twenty-three different personalities. Tom Hanks doesn't sit on park benches eating chocolates. And apparently Harrison Ford isn't quite the pilot Han Solo is.

In his second publicized airplane event, Ford mistakenly landed on the taxiway instead of the runway at John Wayne Airport in Orange County, California. In the process, he flew dangerously close over an American Airlines 737 that was on the taxiway waiting for clearance to take off.

Contrary to popular belief, after airport officials questioned him, his first question was not, "You mean this isn't Alderaan?"

Landing a role isn't like landing a plane. And unlike his Star Wars aircraft, there was no chance his old biplane was going to make the Kessel Run in twelve parsecs.

Instead, it just sputtered to a bad landing, which may cost Ford suspension or even revocation of his pilot's license.

This incident comes on the heels of bringing his plane down for a hard landing on a golf course in Santa Monica a couple years ago, and being seriously injured in the process.

Commercial pilots have a mandatory retirement age of 65. Ford is 74. And even though there's no such age limit for recreational pilots, and while he's an experienced, respected one, there does come a time when reflexes, vision, concentration, memory and alertness just aren't what they used to be.

For me that time is in status meetings.

Anyway, in the same way I believe drivers of a certain age should be required to regularly prove their abilities before they get behind the wheel, pilots should also have to be tested to see if they're airworthy.

My guess is that Ford will just get a temporary suspension of his license, and then be back in the air. It's one of the perks of being one of the biggest movie stars in the world. And naturally, however long that suspension is, at the end of it he'll be even older than he is now.

Or as Han would say, "Here's where the real fun starts."

What looks good?

As someone who's binged Breaking Bad ten times, seen every single show—not tour, show—that Bruce Springsteen's done in Los Angeles since '78, stays standing at the craps tables long after my legs and budget have given out, and drinks Coca-Cola with the same joy and frequency as Eric Northman necking (see what I did there?) on True Blood, there's a slim to none chance of anyone ever accusing me of doing things in moderation.

But even with my compulsion to over-enjoy things I like, there are places I firmly believe a little moderation is in order. Menus for example (Menus? In order? Thanks, I'll be here all week).

I think the number of items listed on a menu should be like the food itself: not too little, not too much. Just enough to satisfy. When I'm hungry, I don't want to sit down with a spiral-bound menu the size of the yellow pages and read through it. I want to see sections I like, find the item, get the order in and start scarfing.

Of course what makes a monster menu easier to navigate is the same thing that makes shopping on Amazon quicker: knowing what you want going in. If the menu's that big, they'll either have whatever I'm in the mood for or probably be able to whip it up.

At the restaurant, not Amazon.

For my dining dollar, the best menu in town is In-N-Out.

Simple, friendly, easy to navigate in a hurry, it's essentially the same as it was the day they opened in 1948.

They're a little sly about the fact they have more items than they list, but with the tiniest bit of detective work you'll find the additional dishes on their not-so-secret hidden menu.

What's great about the hidden menu is when I ask for something no one around me sees on the displayed menu, I feel like a real insider, a person in the know. It makes me feel special.

Okay, it's just a hamburger place, but I'll take my self-esteem where I can find it.

Where was I? Oh right. To the everyday diner, the regular In-N-Out menu is a quick glance and an easy decision, which is exactly the way menus should be at every restaurant. To be fair, I suppose there's a certain mood-setting that happens when you have to ponder the menu for a while. But if I'm at a restaurant, my mood is already set on hungry.

I'm not gonna lie, after all this talk of menus and food I'm starving. It's probably time to drag myself out and get something to eat.

Right after I finish Season 4, Episode 7 of Breaking Bad. Again.

Comedy tonight

I don't know about you, but with all that's going on in the world I could use a few laughs. So I decided to go find some. I have three two-man routines that usually bring a smile to my face and take me away from thinking about the nightmare in Washington D.C. for a few minutes.

The Peter Cook/Dudley Moore sketch from the Secret Policemen's Ball never ceases to amuse. Most people remember Dudley Moore from the movies Arthur and 10. But long before, him and Peter Cooke were part of a comedy revue called Beyond The Fringe. And in this reunion piece, it's clear they haven't skipped a beat.

Watching Abbott and Costello perform their classic Who's On First always leaves me in awe. Not just because of their flawless timing, but also the brilliant intricacy of the writing and total commitment to the performance.

Finally, the Smothers Brothers. They've always held a special place for me, even more so after I wound up years ago having breakfast with Tommy Smothers.

Anyway, if you're anything like me - and seriously, if you are you need to set your role model goals higher - these three sketches will bring a smile to your face as well.

Settle in, and enjoy.