Suit up

I have a very extensive wardrobe. One pair of blue jeans. Two pairs of black jeans. And twenty-five hundred black t-shirts.

Crap, I need to lose weight.

Anyway, what I haven't had in my collection for a long time is a suit that I've been happy with. And by happy with I mean that fits.

Every man should have a good-looking, well-fitting suit in his wardrobe. You never know when a wedding, funeral, bar mitzvah or job interview for casino pit boss will present itself.

While I was perusing the "suit" websites, I came across this one. It's not unfamiliar to me - I hear their exceptionally bad radio spots all the time: "Get two wool suits, two dress shirts, two ties, two pairs of dress shoes, two belts, two cufflinks, two pocket scarves, two parking spaces, two soft drinks and two hot dogs for just $199!"

I thought, "What the hell." Their suits can't possibly be as bad as their radio.

I decided I'd pick one of the three days and pay a visit to their store nearest me. While I was looking to see where it was, I learned this little tidbit about 3 Day Suit Brokers:

See the irony?

Now, I've never really been much of a math wiz (although I can add up day rates like a bandit). Apparently whoever named the store wasn't either.

But I will admit it does make it a lot more convenient, especially when that $199 is burning a hole in my worsted wool pocket.

Everyone needs a hero

He's mine. Everyday, but especially today. Here's why..

If you're not following Hero Complex you should be. You'll find it here herocomplex.latimes.com and here @LATherocomplex.

Tip worthy

I'm not sure when it happened, but once it did it spread like wildfire. I'm talking about the ever present "tip jar."

In the film Reservoir Dogs, the character Mr. Pink goes on a rant against tipping (I haven't included a link because it is, after all, a family blog). I have to say I agree with some of his rant, particularly the part about being obliged to tip when the service doesn't merit it.

The jars assume everyone and every job is tip worthy. It just ain't so.

I will say however that whoever thinks of the "tip jar humor" may be deserving of a tip.

You make the call: here are a few examples:

Rotor-y club

Being the underachiever I am, I have a long list of things I've started and never finished, most of them involving musical instruments (guitar, violin, piano, accordion - you heard me) and screenplays.

But the one I most wish I'd seen all the way through was getting my helicopter pilot's license.

A long, long time ago, I had a bad fear of flying (freelancing and commuting from Santa Monica to San Francisco for nine months put that to bed). So if you'd have told me back then I'd be piloting helicopters, I would've thought you were crazy. I may still think you're crazy. Frankly, it's a separate issue.

Anyway, years ago my future wife and I had to go to a friend's wedding on Catalina. We took the boat over, but because she had an early meeting the following Monday, we decided to take the helicopter back.

From the minute we lifted off, I saw the light and heard the angels sing (which as you know is not always figurative on flights to and from Catalina). Everything I disliked about flying in an airplane I loved about the helicopter.

Instead of a long running start, the helicopter lifted off effortlessly. Because I was sitting in the co-pilot's seat up front, I could see everything he was doing and ask questions about what it all meant. I could also see everything around and under us through the bubble. Fifteen minutes later, we were gently touching down on the pad on the mainland.

I decided then and there I was going to learn to fly a helicopter.

To everyone's surprise, I started taking lessons. My first helicopter was a Robinson R22. Small, squirrelly and more fun than anything, the basic idea was if I could master it then anything I flew after would be easier.

I took lessons out of Burbank airport as well as Long Beach occasionally. It was all fun and games until we got to the part about autorotation.

Basically autorotation is when the power goes out, and the blades rotate by the air coming up through them as the chopper descends. It's an essential part of helicopter instruction, and everyone has to do it. Here's what it looks like:

The part you can't see in the video is the pilot crapping his pants. You really don't know what a good time is until you're at 1500 ft. and the instructor shuts off the engine. I did it exactly twice. Once where he showed me how to do it, and then once setting it down myself.

One great thing about helicopters is the ability to hover. My friend George Roux used to call it cartoon physics. It's awesome. I've hovered over downtown, over Dodger Stadium and over the 5 freeway at night during rush hour, looking at the bumper-to-bumper headlights that go for literally as far as you can see, and laughing hysterically at why anyone would put themselves through that day in and day out.

For my birthday one year, my instructor who was a pilot for the Glendale PD let me rent a Bell Jet Ranger like this one at cost for an hour (cost was $450). It was like going from a Volkswagen to a Ferrari. I took two friends with me. Once we were in the air, my instructor handed me the stick (figuratively) and we were off.

It was so fast and easy compared to the R22, and at that point all I wanted to do was fly them for a living. Towards the end of that flight, my instructor took control and flew us low through Verdugo Hills, riding up and down and fast just a few feet over the ridges. It was like a combat film and it was the very definition of exhilarating.

During the period I was taking lessons, my wife had a business convention in Kauai. Needless to say, one of the things I wanted to do there was take a helicopter tour. So I researched it more thoroughly than I've researched anything before or since, and found out that the man who actually started helicopter tours on Kauai - Jack Harter - was still doing them.

As opposed to the more touristy-feeling tours the other sixteen helicopter companies on the island were offering - flying by waterfalls with Vivaldi blasting in the headphones - Jack Harter took more of an environmental approach to his. It made for more time in the air and a much more interesting and educational tour.

The chopper seated six or seven people, and I managed to snag the co-pilot's seat. As we were flying over a 5,000 ft. ridge in Kauai, it occurred to me that if Jack Harter keeled over, I could get us back safely. Not that I wanted to test that.

I have to be honest and say I still have the itch whenever I see a chopper fly by, or when I drive by Los Angeles Helicopters, ironically located at Long Beach airport. But even though the 28 or 30 hours I logged are still valid, I've forgotten almost everything I learned during them. So it really would be starting over.

Which is okay. Except, as we all know, for me starting something isn't the hard part.

Hot tuna

Good news for people who love tuna melts.

Radioactive bluefin tuna from Japan's nuclear disaster have made their way to the west coast. Think of them as 10 feet long, 1,000 pound mini-nuclear subs that have invaded the western waters of the United States.

I bet you can't guess what the officials are saying. Well, maybe you can.

They're saying that despite the fact the levels of cesium-134 and cesium-137 are ten times higher than in previously tested fish, the public shouldn't worry: the radioactive tuna is safe to eat. Of course it is.

The tuna fishing lobby says so.

Apparently the only thing actually in danger is the bottom line for sushi restaurant owners.

That's because now the spicy tuna rolls are really spicy. And the regular tuna rolls can't help cooking themselves.

Let's do lunch

Like most parents, I want my kids to realize all of their dreams and have all the things I never did. I want them to have a really good life, one that brings them as much happiness as humanly possible.

I also want them to be better people than I am. From the looks of it so far, that's going to be a cakewalk for them.

The other morning was my turn to drive the kids to school. They go to school seven and a half miles from our house, which for those of you keeping score is a fifteen mile round trip. Don't get me started. Anyway, at the freeway offramp we use to get there, there's always a homeless person sitting there. It's not always the same one. They, along with the standard-issue sad-eyed dog and cardboard sign, usually work the ramp a few days in a row before the shift change.

I call it Homeless Depot.

This particular morning my son had to bring a dozen Krispy Kreme donuts to school. We bought two dozen, because we wanted to have a few for ourselves on the way up (we love donut mornings around here). By the time we reached the red light at the top of the offramp, we had half a dozen extra donuts left.

My daughter said, "Dad, give him the donuts."

It took me a minute to realize who "him" was, but then I handed the donut box out the window to the homeless man who gratefully blessed our day and took them.

The next day before she left for school, my daughter put together a lunch for our homeless friend. A real lunch - sandwich, plenty of snacks, several water bottles. My wife took her to school so I didn't actually get to see her give him the lunch, but I heard all about it. He was visibly touched. My daughter and him exchanged God-bless-you's at the same time.

One of my daughter's many strengths is her kind and caring heart (definitely from her mother's side). It's hard to conceive how so much love can fit in one little girl.

But it does. And it only goes to prove what I've known since she arrived.

That she's as beautiful inside as she is outside.

The commissioner

It's one thing to hear about naval ships, and quite another to actually see them up close.

Last Saturday morning, my son's school orchestra and band were invited to play on the U.S.S. Midway in San Diego. He rode down there on the school bus with them at 6:45 a.m. But because he had to be back up in L.A. later in the day to work at the Hero Complex Film Festival, I had to drive to San Diego in the morning to be ready to whisk him back immediately after his, if I may say, stellar performance.

Normally this is the part where I'd bitch and moan about having to wake up early on a Saturday morning and drive a couple hundred miles. But I'm not going to. Instead I'm going to tell you how glad and grateful I am that I did.

Not only did I get to see my son play crazy trumpet, which is a treat I never get enough of, I also got to see something I've never seen before: a naval ship being commissioned.

Christening and commissioning a ship are two different things. The first is where they crack a bottle of really good champagne over the hull and launch the ship into the water. Commissioning a ship is where the shipbuilder officially hands it over to the Navy, then the sailors and Marines board the ship and bring it to life (more on that in a minute).

The U.S.S. San Diego, the ship pictured here, was in the berth next to the Midway so I had a bird's eye - make that crow's nest - view of the proceedings.

It's all very ceremonial. There are lots of speeches and proclamations about what the ship means to the people who built it, the men and women who'll sail on it and to the defense and protection of the country. It's all very patriotic and extremely emotional.

And it all feels very right.

After the ship is handed over to the Navy, the command is given: man the ship. At that, the band strikes up Anchor's Aweigh and the sailors board it. Then the Halls Of Montezuma is played, and it's the Marines turn. Once aboard, they literally bring the ship to life. The radar dishes start turning. The flags are raised. The horn sounds.

It is very, very stirring.

The U.S.S. San Diego is a Naval transport ship for soldiers and equipment. You can see by the hard angles of it's design that it's meant to be a somewhat stealthier craft than older transports. As I watched these young men and women board the ship, I couldn't help but wonder what lay ahead for them, and sadly, how many of them wouldn't be coming back.

When I see their enthusiasm, sense of service and professionalism, I can't help but be overcome with an unfamiliar feeling that's been in short supply for far too long. It took a minute, but then I recognized it.

Pride in my country.