Monday, October 31, 2005

Why, When I Was Your Age...

WARNING: What follows are the bitter musings of a bald, semi-toothless, miserable old poop. They will no doubt sour your entire day, as well as leave you yearning for a future when forced euthanasia of such crabapples is the law. Too bad for you, if you choose to read this.


When I was a kid, Halloween was much better.

There, I said it. I am now officially one of those wretched old bastards who complains about how things are and how much better they were. So shoot me. You'll be doing me a favor.

Have you seen It's The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown? That was how Halloween was when I was a kid. Beagles would climb up on top of their doghouses and fly off to shoot down German aircraft. It was great!

Well, wait a minute. Maybe that didn't happen. But the rest of the stuff did. Except for the part about sitting in a field all night waiting for The Great Pumpkin to show up. I didn't start doing that until after my first experience with angel dust. The sonovabitch didn't bring me any presents, either. All I remember is him saying, "Security? I've got a nutjob in produce. He's naked, squatting in the gourd bin, and I think he's trying to talk to a squash."

However, that's neither here nor there. What we're discussing is Halloween, circa 1967. The thing about Halloween, at that time, was that it was a night we kids got to dress up in costume, go out on our own, and try to amass huge quantities of candy. You waited for it to get really dark, so that it would be scarier. You stayed out later than you normally did, so that you could get to every possible source of candy within walking distance. And the only kids who had their parents with them were those not old enough to go to school yet.

First, you generally made up your own costume. It was a point of pride. If you had to buy a mask, it sure had to be one hell of a good one to pass muster. As a result, there were great multitudes of hobos, pirates, and clowns, since nobody usually had the props for anything more ambitious. You could be a ghost, of course, but you were risking your life. This was because our moms would have killed us if we cut up a good sheet.

Occasionally, one of the boys would make the mistake of dressing in drag, commandeering make-up, a wig and high-heels from his mother or sister. While it may have seemed like a good idea at the time you thought it up, and would get great laughs from the adults, it usually resulted in unmerciful teasing from your buddies. Unless you were an extremely macho kid, you didn't try to pull that one off. Of course, drag probably isn't an option now. It would be seen as transvestite-bashing or cross-gender-bashing or something that somebody somewhere might take offense to, God help you. You don't want the ACLU on your kid's ass.

There are much better choices for store-bought costumes than there used to be, of course. If I was a kid and I had the chance to really look like The Thing for a night, I'd probably jump at it. And it's extremely un-PC to dress like a homeless person, so not too many tramps make the rounds now.

Next, any one of my friends would have been mortified to have a parent making the rounds with him. Part of the deal about Halloween - not said, but implied in our pre-adolescent minds - was that if you were able to walk to school by yourself, you were old enough to go out trick-or-treating by yourself. It was a rite of passage, at least in my neighborhood. How many kids go out on their own now? Any?

Yeah, I know. It's a different world out there. There are child rapists and kidnappers lurking behind every bush. Hell, the people you would have most readily and unhesitatingly trusted to keep your kids safe in those days (priests, teachers) are the ones making headlines for lewd behavior now. Sheesh.

We went as late as possible and stayed out as late as possible. Now, even with parents accompanying most of the kids, it begins earlier and ends earlier. Part of the thrill, for us, was being out on the streets after a certain hour, with the implied permission to do so. That was slightly scary in and of itself.

We went as far as six or seven blocks away - as far as our own inner sense of security would let us go - whereas during a regular day of the year we never strayed more than three blocks from home. This is because kids have a sense of territory, just like dogs or cats, and you didn't venture too far beyond your own neighborhood because you knew that you might be invading someone else's turf. If you did, and you got beat up, you knew you had no real right to complain. But, on Halloween, if the disguises were good enough, you went further. Who knew who was under that mask? That was part of the daringness and fun of the night. Now, even with parents (maybe especially with parents) you only go to places you know.

In my day (in the before-time!) we'd gather as much booty as we could. And some of it might be unwrapped, or homemade, or otherwise not absolutely secure and safe. We always heard the stories about razor blades in apples, so if we got an apple we cut it up before we ate it. Other than that, we didn't give a damn. If it was candy, it went in our mouths. Now, unless it's a recognized brand-name securely-hyper-wrapped candy bar, it probably goes in the trash when the bag is emptied at home.

Need I go into the fact that we got full-size candy bars, while now people give out barely bite-sized treats? No, I didn't think so.

Some parents won't even let their kids go trick-or-treating. So, maybe they send the kid to a party. Or maybe not. I can't really imagine today's parents letting kids do the things they used to let us do at parties. Bobbing for apples? Why, little Johnny might get some water up his nose! That's a lawsuit, for sure. It might affect his psyche and take years of analysis to overcome. Nevermind the possibility of damaging his teeth on a hard apple, or maybe catching pneumonia from that wet hair. And you're going to tell the kids ghost stories? No, we can't have that. You might traumatize them.


OK, enough. With that short sidetrip into general-societal-rant territory, I'll stop. I told you what was coming, but you didn't listen, did you?

Old poop out.

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

A Halloween Story














Except: We need gas.

























Tuesday, October 25, 2005

100 Things - The Finale

About time, too.

Tomorrow (or the next day) I'll have a dandy little Halloween reminiscence for you. Now, though, let's finish up this exploration in ego.

76 - I once sprayed shaving cream on the back of a man's suit jacket while he was wearing it. The poor sonovabitch - I don't know when he found out about it, but I hope he wasn't going to a job interview or something.

Y'see, I was about 9 years old. My father had sent me to the store to get him some shaving cream. While I was standing in the check-out line, behind the man in the suit jacket, I was just daydreaming and I inadvertently pressed down on the nozzle. A huge spray of shaving cream shot out of the can, directly onto the back of his nice blue suit.

I was absolutely mortified! I didn't know what to do. I knew I should probably tell him, but I didn't know him, so maybe he'd hit me or something. I took a couple of steps backward, hoping nobody else had seen what I did. It appeared that nobody had, so I turned and went back to the shaving cream aisle, where I replaced the canister. I then tried to walk very calmly out the door, while checking to see if he was looking for whoever did it. He was still standing in line, totally unaware that there was this huge blob of foamy soap on his back.

I've said more than one prayer for him over the years, in hopes of making up whatever catastrophe my accident might have caused him. Did the cashier tell him? Did he find out when he sat down in his car, hearing a squishy sound when he leaned back? Was the suit ruined? I assume so. What if he had just been released from jail that day, and that was the suit they gave him to start his new life? Did he go berserk and end up back in the can? More than likely, he just spent the rest of his days wondering what the hell happened. Well, if by some odd chance you're reading this, I'm what happened. Sorry!

I went to another store and got the shaving cream for my dad. And nobody was any the wiser, until now.

77 - I took logic as an elective in high school. You wouldn't know it from the crap I put out here.

78 - My favorite candy bar is the Zero bar. I don't think they make it anymore, as I never see it anywhere. If it is gone forever, I'll take a Sky Bar, thanks.

79 - I've had a broken thumb on my left hand (from a swipe tag at first base where the runner bent back my glove), a broken index finger on my right hand (from a grounder I was too anxious to get out of the pocket of my glove, so it never actually reached the pocket of my glove, but hit my finger straight on), and had arthroscopy performed on my right knee (for torn cartilage, which was probably the result of many stresses, but happened during batting practice before the first game of one season many moons ago.) Other than that, I've been amazingly injury-free in over 40 years of playing baseball and softball. Not bad.

80 - If I had to pick a favorite vegetable (which so far I have not had to do) it would probably be green beans.

81 - My favorite band is Deep Purple. Every one of those guys can actually play. They are the one heavy metal band I would unhesitatingly put up as evidence that there are some excellent musicians who prefer to play metal.

82 - I have had one "blackout" experience in my life; a time period about which I cannot for the life of me recall what I did. Interestingly, it had no connection to drugs or drinking. All of those experiences are perfectly clear to me. No, it happened when I was playing basketball.

I was working for Prudential Insurance at the time. They had a company team, so I decided to try out for it. The tryouts were at a gym in East Boston near Maverick Square. I changed into my gear in the locker room and went out on the floor to warm up. Two teams were made up for a scrimmage. I remember being on the court and the other scrimmage team coming toward us with the ball. The coach called out a zone defense.

The next thing I remember, some two hours later, is sitting on a bench in the locker room, sweaty and toweling off. It dawned on me that I had no idea how I got there. I didn't have a bump on my head or anything else to indicate that I had been knocked unconscious. There didn't seem to be anyone concerned about my health; everyone was just going about the usual business of a locker room. Nobody was giving me the stinkeye or otherwise showing me any sign that anything had been out of the ordinary. I dressed in a haze and left. A couple of guys said goodbye to me as though I was perfectly normal.

I have no idea what I did on the court that night. I must not have played very well, because the coach was supposed to call those he was inviting back and he never called me. I never asked anyone who was there what had happened, because they didn't work in the same building as I did and I was sort of embarrassed to explain to anyone that I had no idea what happened that night.

Did I try to take a bite out of the ball, hold it aloft like a severed head and scream obscenities at everyone? Maybe I stripped naked, climbed up onto the backboard and imitated King Kong? Who knows? However, I was never arrested, and nobody took a swing at me in the locker room, so I guess I didn't do anything too horrible.

Just a total blackout. Why? I have no idea. It remains a mystery to me.

83 - My favorite dessert is either an Eclair or a piece of Boston Cream Pie. Make that two Eclairs or a really big piece of Boston Cream Pie.

84 - I may or may not have a third nipple. I have this birthmark on my chest, see? And I think it's just a birthmark. It's about four inches below my right nipple. MY WIFE says it's a vestigial third nipple. I say it's a birthmark.

(84a - Did I mention how hard it is to come up with 100 interesting things?)

85 - I'm not a good poker player. This is because I blush very easily. I know the odds inside out, so if I could wear a full mask while playing, I'd be pretty damned good. I know when to bluff, but everybody else knows when I am. So far as I know, though, there aren't any games where folks wearing masks are especially welcomed, so I won't be playing in the World Series Of Poker any time soon.

86 - I don't use shaving cream when I shave. Haven't for at least 20 years. Just hot water and a razor. No, it isn't because I'm emotionally scarred from the shaving cream incident I mentioned earlier. It's just that the soap irritates my skin more than the way I do it. So, no soap for me.

87 - I have been told that I look like Chris Elliot. MY WIFE disagrees, but I saw him on a talk show the other day and I think I do bear at least a slight resemblance to him, in profile.

88 - My biggest phobia is heights. More specifically, I guess it would be open heights - bridges, rooftops, fire escapes - that sort of thing. I'm fine in airplanes. Once I'm actually on a high floor of a tall building, it doesn't bother me much. Going up in the elevator, though - that weirds me out.

89 - I like my coffee with cream and 1/2 a sugar.

90 - I'm a "morning" person. As a matter of fact, it's 6:42 AM as I write this.

91 - I was born in Quincy Hospital, located in (naturally enough) Quincy, Massachusetts.

92 - The first rock concert I ever saw was Crosby, Stills, Nash, & Young. My Uncle Jim, who had some really good connections, got me and my friends second row seats. The opening act was Livingston Taylor. In those days, it wasn't all that unusual to smoke pot openly at concerts. As a matter of fact, it was expected. So the highlight of the show for us was when we were passing a pipe around, with a couple of Boston Police doing security in front of the stage, and David Crosby looked down at us, saw what we were doing, and gave us a "thumbs up" sign. We lived on that for weeks.

93 - I always print. I know how to write cursive, but my writing has always been bad. My printing, however, is excellent.

94 - The first time I ever came up the ramp at Fenway Park and saw the field, at age 7, I thought it was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen. I still get a little thrill every time I go there and see the field for the first time.

95 - I use nose spray daily. It says on the label not to use it more than three days in a row. I'm about 5,000 days over that limit.

96 - I've never met a subway I didn't like. I prefer older ones, as they have more character. My favorite is The Underground in London. If I had to choose my least favorite, I suppose it would be The Metro in Washington, DC. It's tremendously efficient, but every station looks identical.

97 - I was probably the youngest professional blackjack dealer ever. I started at the age of 14. Around that time, my dad was a craps dealer/stickman for a local outfit that ran Monte Carlo/Las Vegas nights. These were mostly events run for charity, but the money was real and the action pretty heavy at times. Anyway, one night they came up short a dealer. My dad knew I could handle a deck of cards fairly well and he knew that I knew the way a BJ table operated (the odds, payoffs, etiquette, etc.) so he recommended me to the operator. I did the job well and continued doing it until I was in my early 20's.

It came to an end for both of us when, one night while we were working separate functions, he was arrested. His gig that night wasn't one of the charity deals, which were strictly legal. There was the occasional straight up gambling gig, where we would hire out to go to sea and just be a floating casino for the night, with an invited crowd. That's where he was working that night. Meanwhile, I was working a function for a charitable organization in New Hampshire.

I got home and he wasn't there, which was unusual since his job ended earlier than mine and I had been out of state. I knew that sometimes the crew went for a late dinner, though, so I wasn't tremendously worried. I went to bed.

In the morning, he was home and he told me what had happened. They had been boarded by The Coast Guard, who had been tipped off about some ship in Boston Harbor. As it later turned out, it seems that they boarded the wrong ship. There was a much higher profile operation out that night that they had meant to get. Anyway, the story was in the papers, though there were no photos good enough to give anyone's identity away. Thank God for that, because this was strictly a second job for most of them. Like my dad, they mostly had regular legal jobs. If their employers had found out, it would probably have meant firings. In the end, everyone got off with warnings and a sealed record, after pleading guilty and paying court costs.

My dad weighed the advantages and disadvantages of taking another chance and we both decided to stop dealing. Decent money for no heavy lifting while it lasted, though.

98 - Aside from my own output of songs (I've written maybe 75 or 80 of them) MY WIFE and I have collaborated on a few "specialty" tunes. These were mostly written to celebrate holidays (Everybody Mardi Gras! and Yahahahooey, It's Christmas! are two examples) but our all-time favorite is probably The Antarctican National Anthem, which follows. Since this is written, you won't have the music to listen to. However, it is similar to For Boston, the Boston College fight song, so if you know that, you can hum along.

Antarctica, Antarctica!
We sing of thee!
Our Native dish is penguin fricasee!
Antarctica, Antarctica!
Land of snow and ice!
Antarctica, Antarctica!
It sure is nice!

99 - In high school, I flunked Spanish three times, Latin twice, and French once. I am a language specialist. I speak English exclusively.

100 - I'm glad this is finished. So are you, in all likelihood.

Thanks for indulging me. This was an interesting exercise. I found myself considering all sorts of trivial facts about myself for inclusion here, and it forced me to dig deep into my own psyche at points. I may have actually learned something, though I wouldn't put any money on it if I were you.

See you soon with more semi-interesting stuff!

Monday, October 24, 2005

100 Things - Part Three

And now, the continuing saga of me.

51 - I was born on a Saturday. According to the poem, "... Saturday's child works hard for a living..." More so lately than before, but that's probably because I've been wasting so much time writing this shit.

52 - I once pitched a no-hitter. I was 12. It was a game of doubles, a variation of baseball played when you only have enough for 5 or 6 players to a side. You have to get at least a double, and you can't hit to the opposite field. Second base becomes first base; a force-out, no tag needed. By the end of the game, as my guys realized what was happening, they made a couple of intentional errors on plays that would have been close, just to save it for me. Still, it was a no-hitter, and it was my no-hitter, so I'm as proud as you can be about something that raggy.

53 - I have a 44" chest. However, I wear an A cup, so it's not as impressive as you might think at first.

54 - Technically, I'm a professional bowler. I entered and won a couple of minor local tournaments when I was younger. Won a couple of hundred dollars. Couldn't win one now to save my life. I never knew what I was doing to be so good; I was just a natural. One day, I lost it. Since I had no idea what I was doing in the first place, everything I tried to get it back didn't work.

55 - My favorite meal of the whole year is Christmas dinner at my Grandmother's.

56 - Among the weird things I like to eat? Turnip sandwiches, cold macaroni and cheese, and tapioca with pretzels. But not all at once.

57 - My favorite piece of classical music is Prokofiev's 2nd Symphony.

58 - Aside from the bass guitar, I'm proficient on drums, keyboards, and 6-string.

59 - I once had second-degree burns over 90% of my body. It's not as bad as it might sound. It was an extremely bad sunburn. I was severely uncomfortable for a week or so. Everything that touched me hurt. I've never had a serious sunburn since then. I've never worn shorts since then, and I always slather my face and arms with sunblock when I play ball.

60 - I'm an only child. Yes, that explains it.

61 - I've never seen Gone With The Wind or an entire James Bond movie.

62 - I have, however, seen every Marx Brothers film. I'll take it, thanks.

63 - My favorite non-domesticated animal is the bobcat. MY WIFE was nice enough to "buy" me a couple of them one time. For my birthday, she bought a sponsorship of the bobcats at a wildlife sanctuary in New Hampshire, in my name.

64 - My IQ is either 132 or 136. I forget which, so let's say 79.

65 - I take very long, very hot showers. If both MY WIFE and I wish to shower, I have to let her go first. Otherwise, I'm liable to use all of the hot water.

66 - I have green eyes.

67 - My mom threw away my baseball cards. But it's OK. She has heard about it from me for far too long now. All is forgiven, Mom! I love you more than a box of baseball cards.

68 - My shoe size is 10 1/2 D.

69 - It is taking all of my willpower not to make a sophomoric sex joke here.

70 - I'm a hideous golfer. My best round ever was a 98.

71 - My favorite air freshener scent is lavender.

72 - I prefer pullover sweaters, as opposed to button down or zippered.

73 - I ran cross country in high school. Now I get winded running across the street.

74 - I think the theory of relativity is basically a load of crap. Actually, I don't believe in time, per se. It is a useful human invention to chart the course of our lives, but it doesn't actually exist. We are here, now, and that's all there is. The past is gone and the future hasn't happened yet. There is no possibility of time travel. If I find out otherwise, I'll let you know.

75 - I hate mushrooms. I try not to eat fungus if I can help it.

I'm finding it's a lot harder to come up with 100 semi-interesting things about myself than I would have thought. See you tomorrow when we scrape the bottom of the barrel.

Go to The End

100 Things - Part Two





















45 - I've had 8 cats.


47 - My favorite color is green.

48 - My lucky number is 29.




Go to Part Three

Thursday, October 20, 2005

100 Things About Me - Part One


Yeah, right.





























Go to Part Two

Monday, October 17, 2005

How NOT To Write A Cover Letter






Person In Whose Hands I Am Placing My Life
Same Address As On The Envelope

Dear Form Letter Recipient:








Have a nice day!

Jim Sullivan





Person In Whose Hands I Had Placed My Life
Same Address As Before

Hello From Beyond The Grave!






Well, that about wraps it up from here. You know, I'm not really sure where "here" is. There are plenty of free cigarettes and loose women, but it's a bit too warm for my taste. However, I digress.


Yours In Perpetuity,

Jim Sullivan (The Former)



Again, nothing. I had a third letter, though.


To: The Person I May Have Confused
From: Jim Sullivan

Dear Programming Director:








Yours Somehow,

Jim Sullivan


You know the result by now. Nada. Nothing. Zilch. Zero. Which is why I am where I am, writing this for you. Which is an absolute joy, of course. I wouldn't trade it for the world. Or at least anything less than five bucks an hour.

Soon, with more better stuff.

Thursday, October 13, 2005

I, Criticus

This is my lazy way of posting something without actually writing something new. It's a collection of reviews I posted on during the past four years or so. Four books, one movie, and a record. There are others, but I'm saving those for another time when I need a quick filler.

I've expanded the reviews where I felt I didn't do a good enough job the first time around but, since you probably never read them the first time, I could have skipped saying this and just let you think I was brilliant all along.

My brother-in-law, who reads this blog, and who is twice the writer I am (a conservative estimate) was actually a paid critic for a major Boston newspaper. He now works in sales, which I can understand as that actually pays. When he reads this, he'll no doubt be tremendously jealous of the fact that my reviews are being read by such a wide audience (all 3 of you) while his work, printed on (heh-heh) paper, is just getting moldy somewhere.

(Even moldy, his reviews probably still smell better than mine...)

Anyway, if you find that you are so overwhelmed by my prose that you feel you must get any of these things NOW, all of them should still be available through Amazon, either new or used.

See you Monday.

All Souls : A Family Story from Southie by Michael Patrick MacDonald

I grew up in Dorchester, which borders South Boston. I drove cab there for a year, out of the stand by the Broadway T stop. For four more years, I worked on D Street in a warehouse. During most of my time in that warehouse, I did way too much cocaine. As a result, I had occasion to be in amongst the types of folks MacDonald talks about. I'm also white, have Irish heritage, and have played ball in Southie for many years. In other words, while I'm not from Southie, I know the territory. I'm about as close to native as you can get without it being so. The folks I know there accept me as one of their own.

Having said that, I am not a native. I've never lived there. So, if someone who does live there wishes to take exception to this book or to what I have to say about it, I'm willing to listen. To my ear, though, the book rings true.

This is the history of one family, told by a survivor. The people could all be people I hung out with, and many of the events described are things I've done, or seen done, in Southie. I never lived in Old Colony, but I was there a lot and had friends who resided there. I sometimes went there to score the coke. The author describes the general overall tone and feeling of that housing project perfectly, IMHO.

Some reviewers have complained that this book doesn't take a strong enough moral stand concerning some actions of the main characters. Could MacDonald have gotten up on his soapbox and spouted off about how wrong some of the things being done were, i.e., selling stolen goods, his Mom not being quite as strict as she should have been, useless macho fights, etc.? Sure, but I think he gives the reader credit for already knowing that. This book isn't about morality - it's a memoir of a troubled family in troubled times, and of how the author came out of it in the end. If you don't already bring a moral sense to the book - the knowledge that some of the incidents and actions of the characters are severely wrong - then his telling you won't help.

It is an overwhelming book emotionally. The tragedies mount until you begin to understand how someone who lived through it could become inured to such hideous things. It is also a very interesting sociologic study. It minutely details white inner-city poverty. As such, it should put to rest the misconception that such poverty, and the attendant crime-ridden lifestyle, is solely the province of minorities. Also, the section concerning the forced busing of students is the only history of the era that I've read which explains that not all of Southie resented the busing just because of thick-headed racism (although it doesn't shy away from that part of the equation, either.)

Neon Nuptials: The Complete Guide to Las Vegas Weddings by Ken Van Vechten

This is a great guide to getting spliced in Lost Wages. Van Vechten has a nice style - he's very informative, but keeps things light and humorous. Even if you're not planning on getting married anytime soon, it's a fun read and a good addition to your Vegas library.

A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole

One of the funniest, and most original, books ever written.

The author, unfortunately, committed suicide after failing to sell this book. Once you've read it, you will certainly understand why he might have done so. If you had written this grand work and been unable to sell it, you might have offed yourself, too.

After Toole's death, the book was sold by his mother to a somewhat small university press. It ended up becoming a bestseller and won a Pulitzer. Since that time, a couple of Toole's shorter works have been unearthed and published, but that's all there is. No more will be forthcoming because of his death. That's sad stuff.

The book, however, is riotously funny. It is populated with characters and situations that will have you laughing aloud, many times over, if you possess any sense of humor at all. The main character, Ignatius, will at turns amaze, delight, and disgust you. He is one of the great original characters of modern literature - a combination of Falstaff, a degenerate Oliver Hardy, and a volcanic eruption.

I'm not going to describe any plot details or any more of the characters. Better that you get to know them on your own. Just know this, though: I envy you, if you have not yet read this book but are about to do so. You are about to discover a tremendous joy.

The Rape of the A*P*E* by Allan Sherman


While Allan Sherman's musical offerings are witty and fun, this book is one of the most amazing documents ever published. Like most of the other [Amazon reviewers], I first read it when I was young (16) and have bought and lost (as loaners) several copies. I found a hardcover in a used bookstore about ten years ago and I will never let it leave my house now, as replacement copies are amazingly expensive and hard to come by.

Sherman takes on the herculean task of recording the rise and fall of morality - more specifically, sexual morality - from Adam & Eve up to the then-present day of the 1970's. He does it with panache, humor, and obvious glee at the failure of prudery to win out.

I consider it the funniest book ever written. This comes from someone who absolutely adores Twain, so take that as extremely high praise.

Tuff Darts! ~ Tuff Darts

Great Lost Band.

Saw them live at a club in Boston in the 70's, bought the album the next day. I expected them to break big time, but it never happened. EVERY cut is catchy, great hooks, swell lead guitar from Jeff Salen, there is NOTHING not to like here. Buy it and be amazed by how they slipped through the cracks!

Jesus Christ Superstar (Widescreen Edition) VHS ~ Norman Jewison

Good Singing, Bad Acting.

The singing, with one glaring exception, is magnificent. However, as good as the singing is, the acting is just as bad.

Ted Nealy (Christ) has a magnificent voice, and his rendering of "Gethsemane" is as good a piece of rock singing as there is recorded. However, his acting is almost non-existent. His facial expressions are wooden, even during the gut-wrenching moments vocally.

Carl Anderson (Judas) is a strong vocalist. He's a bit better actor than Nealy, but that's not saying much. Likewise, Yvonne Elliman (Mary Magdelene) is also possessed of a good set of pipes, but little range as an actress.

The best actor of the crew is probably Barry Dennen (Pilate) who also has the strongest single moment vocally, at the end of "The Trial" piece. His screeching at that point is quite superb, though purists may argue that it isn't "singing". I won't quibble about it, as this is a rock opera and such histrionics are perfectly acceptable (if not preferable) in this sort of thing.

The only exception to the overall strength of the vocal performances is Josh Mostel (Herod) who possesses neither voice or acting skills. He is just plain embarrassing in what should be a highlight of the film.

Interesting touches throughout - Roman soldiers in modern military garb, tanks in the 1st century desert, etc. - keep this visually compelling, if a bit self-conscious.

Again, the music is mostly superb, and the acting mostly sub-par. See it once, for reference, then get the CD and enjoy the music over and over again.

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

Chrome Dome

I'’m bald. A skinhead. Follicly challenged, like the proverbial billiard ball.

I'm not quite as gung-ho about it as the folks who belong to the organization whose logo is pictured above (it really exists) but I am resigned to it. I used to wear hats all the time to hide it, but now if I wear a hat, I don't do it to kid anybody into thinking I have more hair than I do. I do it because I want to keep the sun off of my head, or because I don'’t feel like combing what hair I have left.

One of the biggest shocks of my life was when I found out that I was bald. I was 25 at the time. I knew that my hairline was slowly receding in front, but that'’s all I knew. So, I was standing in line at a convenience store, waiting to check out, and there was a black-and-white closed-circuit television monitor hanging from the ceiling. On it was an overhead shot, from behind me. Nothing better to do, so I'’m looking at it and thinking, "“Fat guy, black guy, bald guy, nice-looking woman, couple of kids...… Hey, wait a minute… Where am I? Fat guy, black guy... bald guy. Oh, shit! I'’m the bald guy!" I honestly had no idea, until that very moment, that I had a gigantic bald spot on the back of my head. I wanted to die. I'’m better now.

For a while, I considered hair replacements of various sorts: toupees, weaves, Hair Club For Men. One thing that kept me from trying them is the cost. It'’s damned expensive to get a good rug. And it'’s just plain silly to get a cheap one. A cheap rug just lets people know how desperate you are. Do these people think nobody knows? Listen, my bald brother, let me do you a favor and tell you that EVERYBODY KNOWS.
The folks who have really good rugs are the folks you don'’t know about. That'’s why it's a good rug. But the bad ones? You might as well wear a big sign that says I'M VAIN, INSECURE, I PROBABLY HAVE A TINY WEE-WEE, AND I'M SO WORRIED ABOUT IT THAT I'M WILLING TO PUT THIS DEAD BADGER ON MY HEAD.

One time, and one time only, I sent away for a combination shampoo/nutrient/voodoo kit that was supposed to cure baldness. It came with a 60-day money-back guarantee. I figured what the hell -– what if it really works and I don'’t try it? So, it came in the mail about a week later and I started using the shampoo, and rubbing snake oil into my scalp every night, and taking handfuls of pills. I had never heard of vitamin L before, but I was willing to give it a shot. After about three weeks, I started inspecting my scalp very closely for signs of new hair. And I thought that I really might have a bit of new peach fuzz. I was cautiously elated”.

After a few days of seeing this same amount of fuzz, and not really being able to recall if it had been there before I started looking so closely for it, I asked MY WIFE if she noticed anything. Basically, without being unkind, she said that she noticed I was a lot more concerned about being bald than I had ever been before and if this made me feel better, OK, but it didn't matter to her one way or the other if I had a lot of hair. Right answer! I'd like to be able to say that I kissed her and threw the crap in the barrel right then and there, but while I lost my hair, my brains didn't go with it. I sent for my money back, first. Got it, too - after my fourth letter, which explained that I sent copies of my first three letters to the Attorney General's office.

I considered Rogaine, but have you ever read the warnings on the label? It appeared to me that I had a choice between hair with a heart attack or being bald. I took bald, thanks.

The most expensive option for a bald guy, and probably the best one if you really want to have natural-looking hair, is a transplant. I'’ve seen the before and after photos and the results in some cases are stunning. They take hair from some other part of your body and put it on your head. However, I'’ve always wondered: where do they take the hair from? Is it your armpits? Do you have to comb your hair with a deodorant stick? What if they take it from your crotch? Ever since I thought about this, I'’ve been a little wary of getting too close to any guy with a full head of short curly hair.

Some guys just opt to give up and shave their heads completely. These guys have more guts than I do. I've considered it, but what if I end up looking worse than I do now? What then? I'd have to wear a hat I could pull down over my ears. Anyway, I don't think I've seen more than a handful of white guys who look good with a shaved head. Black guys - now they can get away with it. Michael Jordan is sexier bald. Who's the bald white guy that comes to mind immediately? Curly.

Of course, there are those men (and odd women, like Sinead O'Connor) who shave their heads even though they have full heads of hair. Well, OK... but I look at them the same way I would someone who has all of their teeth, but who chooses to black them out. I suppose I should thank them for making baldness more socially acceptable, but if I had a choice, I'd keep the hair.

Funny thing is, I hated my hair when I was a kid. It was bright orange and I was teased continually because of it. And I couldn't get away with anything, because among a crowd of kids running away, they could always identify the one with the orange hair. However, when I became a musician, and grew it out long, I finally found a use for it. Long, bright orange hair had a freak value of sorts, especially useful in heavy metal. So, I really got into my hair. I had it styled, and used three different conditioners, and a hot comb, and all that. I got to enjoy it for about a year. Almost as soon as I began liking my hair, it started falling out. Hey, thanks, God!

Most guys like me have male pattern baldness. It'’s just something that you inherit a tendency towards. Who you inherit it from is the subject of much conjecture. For years, it was taken for granted that male baldness came from the maternal grandfather'’s line. More recently, studies have indicated that it'’s probably a combination of factors, some hereditary and others environmental. That seems to make a lot more sense. My father was bald, but he had two brothers with full heads of hair. If the gene came from their grandfather, wouldn'’t they all have been bald? My grandmother was a little thin on top, though. I also have a cousin -– a woman -– who has some thin spots. Her mother'’s father -– my grandfather -– had pretty much a full head of hair until the day he died. Of course, my other grandfather, on my mother'’s side, was very bald. But my male cousins on that side of the family all have plenty of hair. So, what does this prove? It proves that you have tremendous reading skills if you'’ve been able to follow my family tree through this entire paragraph.

There are myths about bald guys. One concerns testosterone. Bald guys are supposed to produce more testosterone or something like that. Well, I have a very healthy sex drive, so that fits the pattern, but I don'’t go into rages or anything, except when I haul off and punch a wall every couple of weeks. Another myth is that bald guys are sexually well endowed. Not true. I have thirteen inches and five testicles, just like every other guy.

The only thing about being bald which I still sometimes have a hard time with is the jokes. I can take a joke, especially if it's from someone I like and it's something clever. I'll make jokes about being bald, myself. And I've certainly laughed at the Mel Cooleys of the world. What I've never understood, however, is plain cruelness.

It has never been in my nature to make fun of something that's part of a person's genetics. That is, if someone has a physical feature that they might not be proud of, I don'’t automatically consider it a source of humor. I'’m not going to go for a cheap laugh at the expense of someone's feelings. For instance, I'’ve never made jokes about flat-chested women. It seems to me that to make jokes about something like that is just not worth the hurt you might cause. I'’d ask men who do such things to consider how they'’d feel if they had a tiny dick and had that fact out front for everyone to see. And then folks made jokes about it, too. Not very happy, I'd guess.

However, when it comes to baldness, I guess it'’s just engrained in our culture to automatically see it as a funny thing. And I'’m not going to get all snippy about it and say it isn'’t ever funny. Sometimes it's hilarious; it depends upon the circumstances. But sometimes it'’s just painful.

I had been going to broadcasting school for about two months, and I wore a hat in class every day. I was much more self-conscious then. While in the middle of a crowd of my fellow students, a female classmate snatched my hat off of my head, and said, "I knew it! I knew you were hiding something!"” Obviously, I lived to tell about it, but I wonder how that woman would have felt if she had some part of her body that she wasn't comfortable with and then someone came up to her, pulled off some clothing, pointed, and tried to get other folks to laugh about it? To her credit as a human being, she sincerely apologized when she saw my discomfort, but it made me even more self-conscious and embarrassed for weeks afterward. Now I wasn't only uncomfortable being bald, I was uncomfortable wearing a hat, too. Now everyone knew I wasn't wearing it just to be stylish (it was a nice black greek fisherman's cap.) I decided the best thing to do was get rid of the hat and face up to it, so she probably did me a favor in the long run, but still...

Enough whining, but I'll ask a favor of you, if you don't mind. The next time you see a bald guy, if you're a woman and you want to make him feel all sexy and special? Kiss him on top of his bald head. That's one thing we have over hairy guys. It's kind of sensual to get a smooch up there. MY WIFE does it every so often when I'm not expecting it. Every time she does it, it makes me realize all over again how deeply I love her, and being bald doesn't bother me even one tiny little bit.

The Answers

OK, before we get into anything else, let’s hear it for the once and future champions, the Boston Red Sox. It was a nice ride while it lasted, wasn’t it?

If you’re depressed about them losing, you should be ashamed of yourself. If you can’t still smile about it, you just aren’t looking at life in the right way. Last year, you saw something that some people lived their entire lives without seeing. If you get all pissy and start whining about this year, it would be like spitting on their graves.

Aw, hell. Bases loaded, nobody out, and they can’t score? All they had to do was stand there and they would have had at least one run (something I’ve tried to drill into my softball team for about 10 years, but they don’t get it, either.) Use your head. Unless you’re Manny or Ortiz, a walk is as good as a hit in that situation.

It’s about four months until spring training. I’ll shut up until then.


All right. On Friday, I offered you the opportunity to win a tremendous, fabulous, one-of-a-kind prize – a used book. In order to win this tremendous, fabulous, one-of-a-kind used book, you had to answer twenty questions. Or, at least, you had to answer more of the twenty questions correctly than any of my other readers. If you didn’t read me on Friday – and what the hell could you possibly have been doing that was more important – and you’d like to take the quiz, just for funsies, you will find a link on the left. The title is So, You Think You Know Boston Sports? Why don’t you go there now and see how many you can answer? The rest of us will wait for you…

(sound of three people whistling tunelessly)

You’re back? Great! That didn’t take too long. And now, the moment we’ve all been waiting for! The winner is…

No, let’s keep the suspense going just a little bit longer. First, the answers.

1 – Who holds the major league record for most doubles in a season? How many?

That would Earl Webb, who hit an amazing 67 doubles for the Red Sox in 1931.

Satan’s granny on a pogo stick! Are you humpin’ me? SIXTY-SEVEN DOUBLES?!? That sounds like one of my weekend bar tabs from 1988!

(*rim shot*)

Thank you. Thank you. I’ll be here all week. Try the veal.

2 – 13,909. What significance does this number hold for an older Boston sports fan?

That was the number of lines I did on that same weekend! Hey, hey! Don’t forget to tip your waitress.

All right, don’t get your shorts in a knot. I’m not going to let this deteriorate into a bunch of cheap drug jokes. That’s because there was nothing cheap about those drugs, let me tell you! Barump-bump!

(Uggh. Enough.)

For many years, 13,909 was a sell-out for Celtic basketball at the Boston Garden. Johnny Most would proudly announce that number on the radio whenever there was one - which there wasn’t always, as odd as that might seem today when a championship anything (soccer match, box lacrosse game, international cat-neutering competition) brings out the scalpers in packs. There were times, during the Bill Russell championship years, when you could walk up to the Garden box office and buy a playoff ticket an hour before the game began. In winter, this has always been a hockey town.

3 - .406

Do I really have to explain this? OK, maybe someone doesn’t know. Maybe I have a reader in Kuala Lumpur who doesn’t realize that this was Ted Williams’ batting average in 1941, and that it was the last time that anyone hit over .400 for a season, and that this is why the legend of Teddy Ballgame just gets bigger and bigger as each year passes.

Since that year, only four batters have hit .380 or better, and one of those was Williams himself, in 1957.

4 - .301

A real, true, hard-core Red Sox fan would know that this was Carl Yastrzemski’s batting average in 1968. He won the American League batting title with that average. He was the only man to hit over .300 in the entire league. Some might argue that this statistical anomaly has a better chance of surviving than Williams being the last man to hit .400.

5 – 46 to 10. Why does this suck?

Because that’s the score the Chicago Bears beat the New England Patriots by in Super Bowl XX. If life were fair, Steve Grogan would be the hero whose tale was recounted once a year by the national media, while Jim McMahon would be remembered only for being the boorish jerk that he was. Life, alas, is not fair.

6 – Complete the following progression: 46 – 67 – 75 - ?

How about if I put it this way: ’46 – ’67 – ’75 - ???? Yeah, ’86. The less said the better.

7 – 9 straight, and 11 out of 13. Name the team.

I screwed up. I meant to say 8 straight. Everybody gets partial credit. But, if you really knew your stuff, the 11 out of 13 would have been enough.

If you said The Boston Celtics, you get full credit. 8 straight world championships, and 11 world championships in 13 years. The most successful run of any professional team in any sport, ever.

8 – 20, vs. Seattle. What? By Whom?

Strikeouts, by Roger Clemens. In 1986, for goodness’ sakes, and he’s still blowing batters away. Amazing. He’s an utter churl, but he sure can throw a ball.

9 – “This is Johnny Most, coming to you from…” Where?

“High above courtside.” In the old days of The Garden, the broadcasters did not sit on the sidelines as they do now. Johnny worked from a perch just below the second balcony. From there, he would weave his tales of The Lord (Oscar Robertson), McFilthy and McNasty (Laimbeer and Mahorn), Little Lord Fauntleroy (Isiah Thomas), and every other villain (anybody not wearing green and white) in the NBA. He would do this while smoking a couple of packs of unfiltered cigarettes a game and he sure sounded like it. Nobody outside of Boston could stand him, but I dearly loved that homer with the train wreck for a voice. Every game was a passion play to Johnny, and I was a true believer.

Listening to Most describe a game, and letting your imagination loose to play with him, was great. The next best thing was to watch the game on television with the TV announcers turned down and Johnny doing his thing on the radio. While he’d be describing an axe murder that just took place at the free throw line, and how the opposing player was walking around the court holding up the bloody head of Larry Siegfried for the crowd to gasp at, what you saw was Siegfried’s thigh getting brushed by Al Attles’ hand, and the ref deciding it wasn’t much more of a discomfort than, well, a hand accidentally brushing against your thigh. A minute later John would have Siegfried’s head back on his shoulders, but Wilt Chamberlain would be barbecuing Frank Ramsey at center court. And the refs aren’t calling it! They’re just standing there while Chamberlain pours K.C. Masterpiece all over poor Frank Ramsey! He’s turning him on a spit! But Wilt Chamberlain has never committed a foul in his entire career in the NBA, so the refs aren’t going to call this one!

God bless you, Johnny! The Celtics have never been the same since you left us.

10 – What did Havlicek do?


Probably the most famous call by an announcer in basketball history, by Johnny Most.

I was lucky enough to have Johnny as an instructor during my time in broadcasting school. See, the thing about Most - despite his exaggerations - was that the man knew basketball inside and out. When he had to report what was really happening, he did it as well as anybody ever has or ever will. If he hadn’t had that ability, he would have just been a clown. He’s in the Hall Of Fame. He wasn’t a clown.

11 – What did Pesky (supposedly) do?

Whereas Havlicek stole the ball, Johnny Pesky held the ball. His teammates from the 1946 Red Sox, to a man, say that he did no such thing. Unfortunately, there aren’t 6 different camera angles and a split-screen shot to prove either his culpability or his innocence. So, while there is conjecture, it has become a permanent part of Boston folklore that Johnny Pesky hesitated with the relay from the outfield, just long enough to make it possible for Enos Slaughter to score all the way from first base on a single, thus ruining the seventh game of the 1946 World Series for Bostonians.

To Pesky’s eternal credit, he has always been a man about it. He’s never complained about receiving a bum break. And that’s why, these days, Pesky is a living breathing baseball GOD in these parts. No matter what you may have done in New England, if you don’t whine about it people will love you someday. And rightly so.

12 – Fill in the blank: Russell is to __________ as Bird is to Magic.

Chamberlain, of course.

Wilt Chamberlain was the ultimate villain. Red Sox fans know that the Yankees suck, but once somebody on the Yankees goes to another team, he’s not necessarily hated anymore. For Celtics fans, it didn’t matter what team Wilt was on. Whichever one it was, that was the team to hate. When Wilt was in Philadelphia, then Philadelphia was the biggest rival. When he was in San Francisco, the hatred migrated there. When he came back to Philly, the Sixers were number one again. And when he moved to the Lakers, they were it – and Philadelphia dropped to the wayside again. And the great thing about it was that Boston beat him every year, except one - at least while Bill Russell was around. Never has such a tremendous player (and Wilt was arguably the best ever) been so defeated by one team. A modern comparison might be Peyton Manning and the Patriots, but give it another 6 or 7 years to see if it holds up.

13 – Who is the only lifetime Patriot to be elected to the Pro Football Hall Of Fame?

That would be the great John Hannah, possibly the best offensive lineman ever. There should probably be one or two others (Gino Cappelletti comes immediately to mind) but, for now, Hannah is it.

14 – Tell me the significance of these numbers: 1, 2, 3, 6, 10, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 31, 32, 33, 35, 00. Extra credit for explaining why 18 is doubly important.

Those are the numbers retired by the Boston Celtics.

Think about it: the Celtics have retired more than 20% of their available jersey numbers. If they keep it up, in the year 2053 they’ll have players wearing “#%*!” and other comic strip swears.

Anyway, if you’ve ever looked up into the rafters at those green numbers on white background, you’ve seen a square of white with “LOSCY” written on it. “LOSCY” was “Jungle Jim” Loscutoff, a player for the Celtics during the 1950’s. When he retired, he asked that his number 18 still be used by a future player, rather than taken out of circulation. When Dave Cowens (number 18 after Loscutoff) retired, the number 18 finally went into the rafters. And that’s why LOSCY is the only Celtic to have his name retired.

15 – 315
This number used to be important, but now it no longer exists. What was it?

The left-field foul line at Fenway Park used to be 315 feet. Now it is 310 feet. This was accomplished without the foul line actually physically changing in length. All that happened was that the Sox management painted over the obviously exaggerated 315 and painted in the slightly less exaggerated 310. In reality, it’s probably closer to 302.

16 – Name the Athlete: #4

There’s only one #4 in Boston. That would be Bobby Orr. Ask anyone who actually saw him play and they’ll agree. What made him the best? I could write some words, but I couldn’t adequately describe it. Nobody can. You had to be there. You can watch some old game films and get an idea, but, really, you had to be there. If you weren’t, you have to take it on faith. For Bruins fans, Orr was the savior.

17 – “25 guys, 25 cabs.” What does this refer to?

The Red Sox of today are lovable idiots. The clubhouse is a fun place and pretty much everybody likes everyone else. Some of these guys are good friends and do stuff with each other besides play baseball. They laugh! They make faces! They do intricate and joyous handshakes!

Enough of that happy horse hockey! Step into the wayback machine, Sherman, and set the dial for 1968.

In the late 1960’s and early 1970’s, the Red Sox had a reputation as the most selfish group of players in the history of ball. It was “I got mine, Jack” and a player who was called upon to lay down a sacrifice bunt would pout about it for the rest of the season. While the Bruins of that era were a loose, fun-loving bunch that went everywhere together, it was said of the Red Sox that when they left the clubhouse, it was “25 guys, 25 cabs”.

18 - The Bruins were the first in their league, while the Red Sox were the last in theirs? To do what?

To have a black player.

Willie O’Ree broke the color line in hockey in a Boston Bruins jersey. The Red Sox were the last team in major league baseball to have a black player on their roster. Jackie Robinson was retired for three years by the time the Sox had Pumpsie Green. It could be argued that, even then, the Red Sox still didn’t have a black player, because while Pumpsie was certainly black, his qualifications as a player were somewhat lacking.

As an interesting aside, another Boston team - the Celtics - was the first in American professional sports history to begin a game with an all-black starting line-up.

19 – The Teamen. The Lobsters. The Breakers. What the hell were they?

Well, the Teamen were Boston’s professional soccer team, way back before the Revolution became somewhat popular. The Lobsters were Boston’s entry in World Team Tennis, a spectacularly flawed concept if there ever was one. And the Breakers were Boston’s USFL (United States Football League) team. Hell, at that time the Patriots could barely keep their heads above water. The Breakers had about as much chance of surviving as I do of winning a Pulitzer.

20 – Local way of telling someone you don’t like them: F*** you, and…?

As I said before, it’s not the horse you rode in on, though that’s certainly a popular enough way of putting it. No, in my day it was, “F*** you, and the Boston Red Sox!” Of course, the Red Sox are much better liked now, right? Right? Hey, what did I say in the first paragraph? You apologize right now or I won’t tell you who the winner is.

(Sound of two people whistling tunelessly, as one person bailed since the first time I used this joke today.)

That’s better. The winner is Tara. She correctly answered 10 of the questions. For her efforts, she will receive a copy of “The Glory Of Their Times”, by Lawrence Ritter.

To everybody who sent in an entry, thanks for playing! If sports aren’t really your thing, I’ll have another quiz, with another fantastic prize, on a totally different subject, someday soon. Come back then and take your shot. Who knows what tremendous, fabulous one-of-a-kind used book you might win?