Marty Barrett: The Flight of the Mavervorl

The End Times Are At Hand

2010-01-20T12:30:00.000-08:00

I will be dismantling and rebooting MartyBarrett.com in the next few weeks. What does that mean to you?

Having maintained a personal site for more than ten years (as well as operating several others), it's clear that the blog format has become obsolete (or, at least, insufficient for my purposes, which include falconry, dismemberment, cheese velocity studies, my Rails to Rails population control/aversion therapy program, by which I sprinkle cocaine on train tracks, antiquarian arts such as card-sharpery and racetrack hucksterism, non-contiguous moustaches twirling and shaping, Druid-baiting, and the outsider-occultist practices of contacting the spirit world for half-price airfare), and must be reconsidered to strengthen our relationship via various methods that will come to characterize the early teens decade of the 21st century.

If Twitter and Facebook and their logical successors have made microblogging an accessible pastime for the hoi polloi, social networks have also made macroblogging not only a retronym but less lucrative for someone like me. But I won't be curmudgeonly about it; I'll just reinvent this site to reflect the coming me-defined Zeitgeist revolution.

Q. But Marty Barrett, how can I help?
A. Part of the site will include my updated Blurbotron (I've seen instances of this word since, but there is evidence to suggest I invented it), which will include quotes from famous, semi-famous, reluctantly famous, infamous, decidedly unfamous, below the radar, Type B personalized, shy people like you about me, such as

"Marty Barrett is a conduit of ridiculous shit" - Jamye Waxman, M. Ed, Los Angeles
"Senor Barrett es El Rey de la Oscuridad" - Alejandra Villareal, Event Planner, Miami
"Marty Barrett is a national treasure" - Stephen Johnson, pundit, 1991

Such quotes become more real simply because L. Ron Hubbard didn't say them.

So if you have a quote for the Blurbotron, send them to me via mfb at martybarrett.com. Include your name, occupation, and city.

I look forward to seeing you in my new SEO-friendly, platform-agnostic, video-enabled, PHP-driven, RSS-fed incarnation shortly.

Fogelfoot at Fais Do Do

2009-11-16T11:47:00.000-08:00

For my upcoming extra large birthday party at Los Angeles' Club Fais Do Do on Sunday, November 22, I have enlisted the services of Fogelfoot, the only band listed on the Periodic Table of the Elements and the only band to fully utilize the potential of the Baritone Horn in a rock setting.

The event is free, but my handlers need to know you are coming so a genetic check can be performed (one of the door prizes is a liver).

Party info can be found here.

See also: Fogelfoot

O Captain Trips, My Captain Trips

2009-11-03T13:57:00.000-08:00

Standing in line with a thousand other people this morning for my Swine Flu (It's Not Just for Pigs Anymore^TM) shot, I was struck by how, if only the public health system had been as advanced during the time of "The Stand," Las Vegas would not have been destroyed by the Trashcan Man's atom bomb, Nick Andros wouldn't have been beat up by those Shilo hillbillies, and our dreams wouldn't to this day be dominated by black women and darker men.

Ultimately I chose to leave the line lest it consume my day (which it would have), and I trust that the H1N1 Virus will pass me over, as my blood is 98 percent alcohol at this point.

Side note: the late artist Richard Brautigam created the paperback cover of Stephen King's "The Stand," which I bought for $1.95 in 1980. What's odd is that I remain 19 years old.

I'm only happy when it rains

2009-10-14T22:31:00.000-07:00

Los Angeles can be so ungrateful. Just weeks after the the city nearly burned down, the rain that usually waits until, at the earliest, Halloween arrived in amounts that anywhere else would seem innocuous.

And people were angry about it.

"How about THIS RAIN?" someone at the PTA meeting said last night. "I wonder if school will be cancelled?"

"Yes," I said. "I might have to jump in the L.A. River just to dry off."

There is some concern that mudslides off denuded hillsides will do to homes what the fires couldn't.

Still, my morning commute was often interrupted, even as my windshield wipers were on their lowest frequency, by people stopping in intersections and having no idea what to do about the rain. It's Los Angeles; can't people think of the rain as more-wet bullets?

At the gas station a team from a local NBC affiliate was getting reactions about the storm that was "battering" Southern California.

"In Massachusetts it's not considered battery until your own teeth are in your stool," I should have said, but didn't.

We need the rain. The cracked streets of the city are like Abel's blood crying from the ground. And I'm like "Well what did you expect, Abel?"

One after 9/09

2009-09-09T10:57:00.001-07:00

Today the surviving Beatles and the estates of John Lennon and George Harrison, as well as the financial and marketing entities that represent the interests of the former Fab Four, have reissued the Beatles catalog in remastered mono and stereo and have released a version of the videogame "Rockband" featuring the group's music.

This means that, four decades after the seminal group of the 1960s broke up, The Beatles are still raking in cash from a perpetually reimagined catalog.

Not only that, but a campaign to package the constantly evolving Liverpool lads that began when each was alive and that capitalized on their own whims - mop tops, impishness, psychedelia, Indian music, peace - has also updated the group for contemporary consumption, and created myths only vaguely connected to the source material.

Maybe because they were so iconoclastic in life, and perhaps even more so because they're dead, John Lennon and George Harrison have been the major beneficiaries of mythmaking marketing. On the new Beatles website (http://www.beatles.com), a group of travelers is seen trekking across Abbey Road, interacting with a Lennon who is beatific and Christlike.

Anyone who has watched the great anti-date movie "Let It Be," a film that documents the Beatles' unraveling, knows that Lennon at the time was more into the crucifixion downside of being bigger than Jesus. His joyful wonderment at "Rockband"'s release seems out of character.

It was Harrison's experimentation with Eastern religion in general and Indian music in particular that proved such a Godheadsend in the 60's, as the Beatles' marketing machine finally knew what to do with him. To Paul (cute), John (sarcastic), Ringo (pathetic but lovable), could now be added George (mysterious).

So in an animated "Come Together" video released in 2000, we see a cheerful, Jerry Garcia-like John, an eight-armed George, and an along-for-the-ride Paul and Ringo, waiting only for their deaths before they could be reinvented as The Walrus and Snuffleupagus, respectively.

The Beatles have been a financial sacred cash cow in each of the decades since they disbanded. In the past 15 years alone they have released their B-sides "Anthology" containing group versions of two John Lennon songs ("Free As A Bird" and "Real Love," with a posthumous Lennon lead vocal, were the "Unforgettable" of the late 90s), the Beatles' BBC sessions, a rerelease of their Number One hits that itself reached Number One, and Cirque du Soleil's "Love" soundtrack, an elegant Beatles mashup produced by Sir George Martin and his son, Giles.

Clearly there is something equally elegant about the choice of 9/09/09 for this major product launch (adding the numbers together, we get 27, and 2 + 7 is also 9; four numbers greater than the sum of their parts, much like the four individual Beatles' solo careers - it is unlikely that Ringo will issue a major retrospective on 12/12/12) but, to quote an early Lennon/McCartney song released on "Let It Be," what can we expect "after 909"?

Following resolution of Apple Corps' copyright infringement suit against Apple Computer, Beatles-branded MacBooks
Phil Spector's jailhouse remixes of "Yellow Submarine" and "Sgt. Pepper" (with Billy Preston)
Wings and Plastic Ono Band reunion on a charity cover version of "Valotte"
McCartney successfully sues for partial credit on "Pet Sounds" and "At Her Satanic Majesty's Request." Mono and stereo versions re-released
George Harrison lyrics shoehorned into "Quadrophenia." Mono and stereo versions re-released
NASA resuscitates Space Shuttle program, somehow involving payments to Yoko
Celebrity cover band versions of Beatles catalogue includes The Police ("Revolver"), "Rubber Soul Coughing," "Yo La Tengo Submarine," and "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Dave Matthews Band" (with J. Geils)
Monkees start a rumor that Peter Tork is dead to boost sales, but Peter Tork actually dies
U2 and Van Halen collaborate on "Let It BU2." Bono and stereo versions released
Corporate naming rights sold for selected properties, such as "Being for the Benefit of Bank of America," "Across the Universal Studios," and "I Want to Hold Your Spam"
And, as usual, the Kinks get nothing

It is said that the Beatles will make more money this month than they did in the year 1965. Credit counselors suggest that completists have got to hide their wallets away.

See also: The Beatles

What Disney's acquisition of Marvel Comics means to you

2009-08-31T10:32:00.000-07:00

Today the Walt Disney Company announced it had agreed to purchase Marvel Comics for $4 billion in cash and stock. Marvel's board is likely to agree, making the bold acquisition the largest media buyout since last year's economic collapse.

But fans of both cultural institutions are concerned with the purity of iconic characters and storylines. The following is a list of things that could happen should the buyout be approved.

1. Spiderman and Cinderella to marry

"With great power comes great responsibility," says Spiderman. "Yes," replies Cinderella. "Your relatives are laying their goddamn eggs all over the castle."

2. Epcot Center to feature exhibit on future world in which mutants and humans coexist.

Disney vacationers will get to see Wolverine and Sabretooth sampling produce from around the world, and Magneto preventing rollercoaster deaths

3. Pluto to become Hulk's faithful sidekick

No stupider than the Silver Surfer, really

4. Stan Lee to live above Disneyland Fire Station

The creator of "Fantastic Four" will also make cameo appearances, along with Lou Ferrigno, in every new Disney movie

5. Howard the Duck and Donald Duck to peck each other to death in bloody Main Street showdown

One can only hope

6. Muppet Babies to inhabit It's A Small World

As well as Iron Man, by mistake

7. Captain America revived to battle Somali-transplant Pirates of the Caribbean

Fixed in a single point in time following an assassination attempt, Steve Rogers battles voodoo zombies and Captain Jack Sparrow on Tony Stark's drilling platform north of Haiti. Thor stops time and eliminates all Fast Passes at California Adventure while this happens. The X-Men fend off an attack by lesser-regarded 2006 acquisition Pixar characters, resulting in death of Mater

In other news, DC Comics' Batman and Superman join forces in a new movie directed by Christopher Nolan in which the cities of Orlando and Anaheim are ceded to Lex Luthor and destroyed

See also: Disney buys Marvel, The Walt Disney Company, Marvel Comics

Jackson estate: "Don't treat us like Butkus"

2009-08-27T14:58:00.000-07:00

Providers of Funeral and Ossuary services, collectively known as the Cadaverous Arts, face challenges other merchants don't: How to advertise a product for which someone has to die in order to use?

The bulletin at St. Margaret's Church featured (and probably still does) a back page of ads from local businesses, several of which were funeral homes, under the heading "Please Patronize Our Advertisers."

As a child I remember thinking:

1. You want me to talk down to your advertisers, or
2. You are actively encouraging me to die? I'm ten.

That is why C.A. establishments tend to market their wares in tones as muted as a sedate Episcopalian wake.

Except for the Forest Lawn Memorial Parks franchise.

Forest Lawn Glendale has just scored Michael Jackson's remains in a literally bloodless coup. The King of Pop will be laid to rest on a hill overlooking the Jewel City on September 3, along with several servants and Bubbles the Chimp, who will be buried alive in perpetual attendance.

Why not the better-known Hollywood Forever Cemetery, the International Space Station, or Google's trans-Pacific datapipe? Because Forest Lawn's advertising makes being dead cool, and cool people have a lot to worry about.

The current Forest Lawn ad campaign introduces and then addresses specific fears of the cool departed:

I am famous on my own merits. I don't want to be confused with Dick Butkus (who happened to star with Jackson crony Emmanuel Lewis in "Webster")

I have been to my share of funerals and solemnly overturned many 40s on the graves of fallen homies. "Mourn ya 'til I join ya," I will say. But I have never arrived at a memorial service, sat through half the eulogy, and thought, "Whoa. Wrong funeral."

I have also been spared the pain of visiting a mass grave, where the decedents' anonymity underlines a greater tragedy. But I still doubt that, were I to visit one, the funeral oration would be for a whole different group of people and that everyone involved in planning the service somehow mixed up his index cards.

That is why the Forest Lawn campaign is brilliant; it suggests that, at other cemeteries, your mourners will weep at someone else's grave.

So I am happy that Michael Jackson's plot won't be confused with anyone else's, like Ricardo Montalban's or Ernest P. Worrell's, but I do wonder if, at some less reputable cemetery somewhere, a family's dearly departed ex plumber dad is being eulogized for his moonwalking skills, or a grieving parent, upon visiting a grave inscribed with foreign characters and the wrong dates, says "The kid is not my son."

Previously: Thoughtful perspectives on selecting your upscale grave
See also: Forest Lawn, Glendale Police Dept. Estimates Cost of Security for Micahel Jackson Burial

Life Cycles, pt. II: Human kickstand

2009-08-25T16:54:00.000-07:00

When I was 9 I found my kickstand rotting off; it seemed to have crept under my bicycle. I asked my brother John to fix it.

"There's two types of people in the world, Mart," he said, using an abbreviation of my name that means shop or store. "People who need kickstands and people who don't."

I didn't know what he meant, but he fixed my kickstand anyway. I rode away wondering which group Judas Priest belonged to, not knowing at the time that Judas Priest was already a group.

John is no longer around for me to ask, but it occurred to me at the time that he might have thought less of the people who needed kickstands, and therefore me.

Over the years I have determined that the world isn't so easily divided and, while it might be polite to not argue when someone says Democrat or Republican, fried or flame-broiled, Rob Halford or Ronnie James Dio, sometimes the only thing you can drink while listening to "Mob Rules" is a Pepsi, not a Coke.

"But there aren't just two kinds of people in the world, John," I might say.

"Really?" he'd reply. "You're alive and I'm not. You use a kickstand and I don't. Q.E.motherscratching D."

"But you're dead. You don't need a kickstand."

"Exactly."

Three weeks ago, the kickstand on my 11-year-old bicycle fell off in the middle of Wilshire Blvd. For a moment I experienced a feeling of otherworldliness, as if I were passing from this realm to another.

"You won't need that kickstand anymore, Marty Barrett," Our Lord Jesus Christ said.

I thought of the inspirational poster Footprints, in which a man's life was represented by two sets of footprints on the sand, one his, and one Our Lord's. In the difficult times, the man noticed that there was only one set of footprints.

"What's up with that?" the man said to The Lord.

Thinking fast, The Lord said, "It's because I was carrying you."

Because of the Inspirational Poster Spatial Limitation Act of 1977, it is not widely known that the man didn't believe The Lord's answer for a second, noting that the footprints were clearly left by the man's shoes, not The Lord's sandals, and that the man weighed at least 220 lbs. during the time of his diabetic coma, and had Our Lord been carrying him, the footprints would have been indented farther into the sand.

"Fine," The Lord said. "I abandoned you for someone who ate right. You going to go be Jewish now?"

I thought briefly that my brother might have meant that losing one's kickstand means that one is not truly alive. If this is true, I have been traveling through the realm of the undead since July.

In the first summer I had my bicycle I traveled to Martha's Vineyard with my friend Todd. We stayed at a hostel run by a nice Bavarian couple.

"The showers are open until 1 a.m.," the wife said, handing us towels, "and the kitchen is open at 5. We just had the showers redone so the water pressure is better than a hotel."

"I don't like it when German people tell me how good the showers are," Todd, who happened to be Jewish, said.

Come to think of it, I, who happen to be Irish, have never ordered potato latkes from a British deli. Why should I pay for what thieving absentee landlords stole from my ancestors?

What I'm saying is that to make choices is to be alive.

The upside of being no longer alive and riding a bike is that my calves are huge. The two types of people in this world are people who get calf implants, and people who don't.

Life Cycles, pt. I

2009-06-16T23:32:00.000-07:00

Several times a month I ride my bike to work across seven miles of city streets. It takes me 45 minutes, depending on traffic. I rarely stop, even when I should.

The Atwater Bridge stands less than halfway through my journey, but it is the hardest part. It is the one place I must stop, in order to leave the street and get on the bridge, I hoist the bike onto the curbed sidewalk; I lose my momentum.

As I make my way across, I first pedal up a deceptively difficult incline into Los Angeles with both the 5 freeway and the L.A. River beneath me. By the end I am out of breath. I never look at the river, or the gentle hills of Griffith Park to my right.

This morning there was a bedraggled man who preceded me on the bridge. He was riding a rickety bike, very slowly. There was no room for me to pass him, so I was forced to slow down.

And that's when things changed. Pedaling casually, I saw a nest of birds in the rushes of the river. I saw the sun rising to my left. The bike moved easily, my legs weren't strained. I thought, "Why is it so difficult every other day?"

Because every other day I race over the bridge, competing with no one but myself, taking no time for enjoyment of the scenery or my own comfort, spoiling a joyful moment, making what should be a great ride into something with a flaw.

"Who is pushing you, Marty Barrett?" I said.

There is a rest area in the middle of the bridge, and the bedraggled man pulled to the side. Without thinking, I sped up and zipped past, soon aware of how much my legs hurt again, how I was out of breath, and how I was racing for nothing. I stopped and turned around.

The bedraggled man had resumed riding and was making his way slowly across. I got a good look at him. He was very likely homeless.

"He seems to have all the time in the world," I thought. "He's not straining himself. He's probably having the time of his life."

I thought for a moment, and decided to light the homeless man on fire. The smoke met the sunrise, and his ashes blew northwest against the line of the river. I went southwest, because the southeast is for assholes.

Return to "Crack Street"

2009-06-11T03:13:00.001-07:00

There have been a lot of changes to Lowell, Massachusetts, my birthplace, since I left; the city has embraced native son Jack Kerouac, it has a Single A baseball team, and it has finally gone ahead and christened a thoroughfare Crack Street.

"High on Crack Street: Lost Lives in Lowell" is a 1995 HBO documentary that follows three likeable and engaging crackheads through a year of half-hearted detoxes, breakups, reconciliations, and the daily drama of their lives.

Co-directed by Richard Farrell, an ex addict and Lowell native, "High on Crack Street" shows a side of Lowell's culture that doesn't jibe with its boosters' plans for urban renewal.

As a former National Park Ranger in Lowell, I was happy to see my former co-worker, Warne P. Nelson, in a featured role, standing by a canal and delighting tourists with stories of the city's industrial past. It was also a pleasure to see the late, lamented Eat A Donut, where my family would get a dozen excellent doughnuts every Sunday after church.

More than anything, though, "High on Crack Street" contains the best examples of the Merrimack Valley accent. Massachusetts natives know that people from Maine, New Hampshire, and Vermont talk differently than each other, and people from South Boston speak differently than people from Cambridge. Very few people pahk theya cah in Hahvid Yahd, and if ya did yid get a fuckin' ticket, ya retahd.

The Lowell/Lawrence accent is distinct from any in New England. I hope it never goes away. And even Brenda the pregnant crackhead has moments in which her North of Boston accent makes her sound genteel.

Thanks to Youtube, you can watch the whole thing.

Update: Brenda went missing after the documentary and there are reports that she has died. Gary "Boo Boo" Giuffrida is still around. Dickie Eklund was released from prison and is now the subject of David O. Russell's "The Fighter," a film in pre-production starring (as of this writing) Christian Bale as Eklund and Mark Wahlberg as his half-brother, "Irish" Micky Ward. Melissa Leo plays their mother.

Here is Dickie Eklund fighting Sugar Ray Leonard in 1978.

Here's Eklund's younger half-brother, Micky Ward, in his first, legendary fight against Arturo Gatti. You can see Eklund as his cornerman. This fight is considered by many one of the greatest televised fights ever. It was the first of three. Ward won this fight and narrowly lost the next two, retiring after the final fight in 2003. He and Gatti remain good friends.

And while we're at it, here's the Dropkick Murphys' ode to Micky Ward, "The Warrior's Code":

In all, "High on Crack Street" reminded me of "Grey Gardens" without the landscaping.

On the trail of the Kogi truck: Coming to terms with Twitter

2009-05-26T08:30:00.000-07:00

Like thinking people everywhere, I see little use for the social networking site Twitter. My life is complicated; can it really be summed up in 150 characters or less? Do the people who depend on me for guidance and moral leadership deserve to only know part of my brain? Furthermore, what can they glean from

Mavervorl Killing our fish and ducks. less than 20 seconds ago from web

But I've found the one use of Twitter that is neither narcissistic nor extraneous: Tracking the Kogi trucks as they make their lonely journey across Los Angeles.

Deployed exactly six months ago, the two Kogi trucks, which serve a blend of Korean food in traditional Mexican enclosures - like kimchi tacos - "tweet" their locations for their nightly stops, which regularly draw hundreds of people.

Taco trucks, or loncheros, are a cultural institution in Los Angeles. But last year the L.A. County Board of Supervisors passed a law that would make it a misdemeanor to park for more than one hour in one location. And this law has teeth: supported by stationary restaurateurs who claimed the loncheros were unfair competition, it levies fines of up to $1000 for any truck overstaying its limit.

Since the Kogi trucks cannot say for sure where they will be or when (the website gives approximate times and locations), the "Roja" and "Verde" trucks will tweet their coordinates only when their destinations are certain. Then crowds gather.

Thus the clientele at a recent Kogi stop in Eagle Rock all seemed to have smartphones. Scheduled to arrive at 10 p.m., the truck rolled in around 10:15 to a crowd of about 110 and applause. I might have been the oldest person in line. I texted a few people (I AM AT THE KGI TSUCK) but the lack of a QWERTY keyboard and an Internet connection made me feel like an imposter.

Because of my age, I became their leader. Tiny UCLA and USC students sat at my feet and listened, rapt, to my stories of a time when mixing Korean food with Mexican food was known as a Mistake.

But the line was long. From my arrival to the time the food arrived ($5 burritos, sliders, and quesadillas, $2 tacos) was almost two hours. My suggestion? Drink.

The Kogi truck staff is friendly and, by the time we drew closer to the truck, there was a festive atmosphere. But by now we had gone beyond curious and were now hungry, so we needed the eventual food to be exceptional.

And it was. I ordered the sliders, some tacos, and the quesadilla. The sliders were unlike anything I'd ever tasted. I can see becoming addicted to this food. The quesadillas were too concentrated, the tacos too dissipated, but the sliders were a perfect combination of spicy exotic and tastes more to my limited understanding.

So I'll be back, and I suppose Twitter has won this round.

See also: Kogi BBQ

Esta es mi enfermedad terminal

2009-05-01T19:45:00.000-07:00

Manny Ramirez has a new billboard in Los Angeles, but former teammate Jonathan Papelbon would probably approve of my redesign.

Previously: Sixth inning and the Dodgers are winning; Nomah
See also: Jonathan Papelbon grinds his teeth (Esquire)

Thoughtful perspectives on selecting your upscale grave

2009-05-01T15:54:00.000-07:00

Large, freestanding, and often rectangular outside advertisements are known as billboards. Here in Los Angeles there are a number of them, alerting potential consumers to available goods and services.

The Forest Lawn Memorial Parks, a franchise of high-quality, well-maintained, tourist-friendly ossuaries and crematoria, advertise their trendy boneyards via billboard campaigns that speak to our gentle acceptance of the mortality of our loved ones and ourselves.

Below are several of my own attempts to hit the right note with Forest Lawn's target audience, but I didn't get the gig.

Previously: Wish you were here (and dead); L.A. is burning
See also: Forest Lawn Memorial Parks

With a girl as fine as she was then: The Psychopathological narrative in "Raspberry Beret"

2009-04-25T22:08:00.000-07:00

Nearly a quarter century after she "walked in through the out door (out door)," the woman wearing the title garment of Prince's 1985 song "Raspberry Beret" continues to puzzle and intrigue scholars.

But it is the narrator who has emerged as a dangerous and unstable sociopath.

"I was working part-time in a five-and-dime ," the narrator begins, telling us that his employer, a Mr. McGee, had to repeatedly tell him that the narrator's "leisurely" attitude toward work engendered feelings of dislike in his employer for not only the narrator but also the narrator's social, ethnic, racial, political, or religious group, i.e. "kind."

People with developmental disorders often need to be told several times to complete tasks such as those required in the type of retail establishments where the learning-disabled may find work.

We introduce the notion of the narrator's own mental impairment as the basis for his attraction to the beret-wearing girl. While there is anecdotal evidence to suggest that "opposites attract," it is more often the case that interpersonal relationships are founded on shared values and interests.

If the narrator is autistic, however, he is high-functioning, as demonstrated by his ability to vary his menial tasks in order to hold his own interest:

"It seems that I was busy doing something close to nothing," he says, "but different than the day before."

It is then that he sees the subject of the song, as "she walked in through the out door." Consistent with Persistent Developmental Disorder (Not Otherwise Specified), he repeats "out door."

"She wore a raspberry beret," he tells us, "The kind you’d find in a second hand store."

Researchers disagree on whether the narrator's choice to speculate where the girl might have found her beret is Asperger's Syndrome-style "Information Bombardment" or a genuine attempt to connect with the listener.

In any case, and appearing to validate PDD-NOS theorists, he compulsively, almost fetishistically repeats her headwear throughout the song, adding that, were the temperature appropriate, the probable group home resident might not "wear much more."

Up to this point in the interview, students and professionals have been inclined to agree that the narrator, whether a stroke or head trauma victim or otherwise mentally compromised, was basically an amiable and harmless person, even if he might have proven a minor management problem to his employer.

But alarm bells sound in the next set of lyrics.

The narrator, based on the girl's inappropriate entrance to the five-and-dime as well as her hat (and his opinions about whether or not she would wear nothing but the hat should the weather become "warm"), makes a compulsive and staggering logical leap:

"I think I love her," he says.

While condemnation of the narrator's premature profession of love is unanimous in university and medical circles, the following lines divide scholars:

"Built like she was, she had the nerve to ask me if I planned to do her any harm," he says.

Does this mean she was attractive to the narrator and, knowing this, that she would flout a reasonable person's fear of being harmed by him?

Or was she unattractive to the narrator ("Built like she was, she had the nerve to ask me...") and therefore unworthy of questioning his malicious intent?

Either way, it is clear that she recognized the danger; when does it come up unless someone is in danger the question of whether they are to be harmed?

The American Psychiatric Association recommends a simple Appropriateness Test, which it calls the Cocktail Metric:

"Go to a cocktail party and approach a friendly-seeming stranger with the statement in question," its literature suggests. Would you approach an amiable stranger and ask him/her if he/she planned to do you any harm?

It gets worse:

"So look here, " the narrator challenges us, "I put her on the back of my bike and we went riding down by Old Man Johnson's farm."

Not "she got on the bike willingly and of her own volition" but "I put her on the back of my bike" like a wounded or trophy animal.

Perhaps due to abuse, trauma, or the schizoid belief that he is a being that draws power from celestial bodies, the narrator then observes that his ability to perform sexually is influenced by the visibility of the sun or the moon.

"Overcast days never turned me on," he says, and then for the first time openly derides the girl by comparing her to noxious smog:

"But something about the clouds and her mixed."

The narrator then savagely beats the girl with his feet, attempting to make the listener believe that she was not only the aggressor but also that she wanted him to beat her with his feet.

"She wasn't too bright, but I could tell when she kissed me," he says, " - she knew how to get her kicks."

Having dragged her into some kind of stable, silo, or manger, the narrator feels an almost lycanthropic connection to nature.

"Rain sounds so cool when it hits the barn roof," he says, and researchers concede that he's right: Rain does sound cool that way. But we shouldn't let the sociopath charm us with his studied behaviors of normal human interaction.

Because then, as if denying his own humanity (and the responsibility of his crime) by attributing human characteristics to animals, he attempts to divert listeners' attention to his temporary stablemates.

"...And the horses wonder who you are."

As if shaking his fist at a universe only half-complicit in his offenses, the narrator goes on to accuses Nature that "thunder drowns out what the lightning sees (and) you feel like a movie star," (possibly Hannibal Lecter, the Son of Sam, Leatherface from "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre," or even Satan, as depicted in several films).

The narrator invokes this pandemonium of murderers as "They": "They say the first time ain't the greatest," he says.

Boldly addressing us again and bragging of his lack of remorse: "But I'll tell you, if I had the chance to do it all again, I wouldn't change a stroke."

The narrator's megalomania at its zenith, he taunts listeners by referring to them collectively as an infant, hinting that the girl is no longer alive:

"Baby, I'm the most," he says, "with a girl as fine as she was then."

Despite acknowledgment by Prince that the song was about ex-girlfriend Susan Moonsie and documentation that her intelligence is within normal limits, and that Prince himself is not criminally insane, I'm still hoping to use this abstract to get my license to practice Psychiatry in the State of California. Wish me luck!

Previously: Bob Dylan's kelping hand; Tearing that hotel down, contextually

Lawry's of Beverly Hills: An Airstream Full of Meat

2009-03-27T19:34:00.000-07:00

The Valet took my car and parked it 30 feet away. Later, his coworker would charge me $6 to get my keys back. But I know how this scam works and I'm getting too old to fight it.

It used to be that if I could see where valets were parking my car, I would find parking somewhere else and walk. Why hire someone to finish the final 30 feet of what I've already spent 15 miles doing?

But I've eased up, especially when dinners are free.

I'd be dining at Lawry's The Prime Rib on La Cienega Blvd. in Beverly Hills. It was like the 1999 pilgrimage I'd made to the A&W Restaurant in Rancho Cucamonga.

"Root beer built this place," I told my unborn offspring.

And because I was familiar with Lawry's line of salad dressing and seasoned salts, visiting the mother ship would be like finding a baby Clydesdale in your Budweiser bottle and riding her all the way back to Belgium.

Upon entering Lawry's, the visitor is greeted by uniformed staff in what appear to be Russian nurses uniforms of the 40s if Stalin was running the United States instead. Our server took us to a private room where she began to perform a service with a spinning bowl that I'd first seen when I snuck away from the tour group in Mazatlan. But this turned out to be different.

Grasping a large silver salad bowl with her left hand, our server began to spin the bowl while pouring salad dressing into its center with her right. As her right hand was stretched high above her head, the server showed great skill in getting the dressing into the bowl at all. But she could have poured the dressing in like everyone else does and not worried us so.

I assumed it was a party trick.

But the greatest conversation piece was a a trolley that looked like an Airstream trailer filled with prime rib. Our carver, Jose, was wearing some kind of medallion like something one might be given by the Wizard of Oz. From the back the meatwagon looked like a car in a carnival ride. It was the type of contraption that one wouldn't expect to be filled with meat but with whole families migrating from the Oklahoma Dust Bowl searching for a better future in California.

But instead of Joads what I got was a load of meat, a gravy crater in a mountain range of mashed potatoes, and a dollop of creamed spinach that continued to leave butter deposits in my car on the way home.

I couldn't help but think that the meal I had connected me to people I'd seen in black and white photos, the women's lips so black that you knew their lipstick must have been very red. I felt jowly and I had an urge to go to the track, guard the border, and elect McCain simultaneously.

Dessert was an excellent hot fudge sundae and a thin but potent glass of Tawny Port.

As I left Lawry's my car was already rolling toward me. I had to back up, just to be polite to a valet who'd probably feel bad that I walked farther across the parking lot than he'd driven.

But at that point I felt the need to give back a little.

See also: Lawry's

To kill an antichrist

2009-03-18T18:27:00.000-07:00

Matches come in a box, tobacco in a pouch, milk in a carton or bottle. Perhaps the scariest part of "The Omen" is that knives were transported in a towel.

"State law requires I ask you a couple of questions," the guy said.

Recently I went to have knives sharpened. While hacking at a carcass with heavy, dull blades provides a satisfaction of its own, time is tight and my family needs its food cut with efficiency and precision. And we can't afford lasers.

So there I was, with a cleaver and several other knives wrapped in a dishrag, and the sharpenist was quizzing me.

"Do you now, or have you ever belonged to a religion that demands blood sacrifice?" he said.

"Yes, but only symbolically," I said.

"Do you believe you or a loved one is harboring the AntiChrist?" he said.

"Harboring is a strong word," I said. "But I'm driving by and he's waiting for the bus in the rain, I'm gonna pick him up."

"Do you intend to use these knives for any activity other than meal preparation?" he said.

"No."

"Not even opening boxes?"

"No."

"I had to ask," he said. "The End Times are coming."

So I was not surprised to see my knives returned with instructions.

As you know, Ambassador Robert Thorne, who had the misfortune of being the earthly caregiver to the AntiChrist, received the Daggers of Megiddo in similar inappropriate packaging. It's like carrying your golf clubs in an omelette.

"You want me to kill Damien with these?" he asks Bugenhagen. "Preventing the reign of Satan's son is surely worth a Coach bag."

"We give you a coupon later," Bugenhagen says.

Thorne, played by Gregory Peck, also killed Audrey Hepburn by this method in "Roman Holiday."

For centuries, the blade has been the preferred method of slaughter for sons on either side of the theological fence. Commanded by God, Abraham was to sacrifice his son, Isaac, with an axe.

"Sorry it didn't work out," Abraham tells Isaac.

Leonard Cohen uses "The Story of Isaac" as an allegorical war protest. Why "sacrifice these children" when [governments] "never have been tempted by a demon or a god"?

When my son learns to talk, he will doubtless ask me if I would ever run him through with a consecrated kitchen or garden implement on orders from the almighty.

"Jem," I'll say, tousling his hair while checking for Beast-related birthmarks, "My father once told me that I could stab all the AntiChrists I wanted, but it was a sin to kill a mockingbird."

"I love you Dad."

"Pigs must have been here."

2009-03-11T22:59:00.000-07:00

Steve Martin's "The Absent-Minded Waiter" (directed by Carl Gottlieb, who wrote the screenplay for "Jaws") is a wholesome, good-natured sketch that would not have worked had anyone else played the waiter.

Everyone delivers such an assured performance that it seems the joke is simpler than it is, even though there are so many subversive bits of business that would have seemed forced had the acting been more over the top.

Don't say this didn't occur to you

2009-03-08T16:09:00.000-07:00

Someone has been killing off Sweathogs - could it be L. Ron Hubbard? Only Arnold Rorschach is crazy enough to believe it.

What Stephen King taught me about child abuse

2009-03-04T17:44:00.000-08:00

"He knows what scares you," said my friend Brad Moore of Stephen King when we were both in fifth grade. Brad was a precocious reader who read for fun, and he suggested I read "The Shining."

And some of the images in that book, snow falling from an advancing hedge animal, a glimpse of a suffocated child in the playground, flashes of ancient bloodshed in the Overlook Hotel, left an impression from when I was 11 years old that I only appreciate more each time I read it.

But some things, like sex scenes, discussions of politics in academia, and concerns about money did not resonate the first time(s) I read the book. What struck me from the beginning, though, was Jack Torrance's alcoholic rage at his son when the latter spilled Jack's beer.

Jack wasn't on the wagon yet, and he was either grading papers or making notes on a novel, and 3-year-old Danny accidentally spilled beer on Jack's work. Discovering this, Jack yanked Danny away from the work, dislocating the boy's shoulder in his anger.

I remember cringing when I read this, and saying that I would never get so angry that I would hurt someone.

"The Shining" was Stephen King's third novel and one of my favorites of his; it really is a claustrophobic masterpiece. And there aren't so many characters that the reader becomes aware of how much they all sound alike, which is a complaint I have about King's ensemble pieces. Also, for some reason characters throughout King's body of work are overly fond of throwing back their heads and laughing. I always think this is an affectation when I see it firsthand. No one is that funny.

But I also love "'Salem's Lot," King's second novel. It reminds me of "Spoon River Anthology" as written by Dracula or "Our Town" if Emily Webb Gibbs came back and sucked Grover's Corners dry.

I am re-reading "'Salem's Lot" because of Paul Newman. Newman and Joanne Woodward produced an excellent version of "Our Town" in 2003 at the Westport Country Playhouse (with Newman as the Stage Manager) that was filmed for Showtime. When Newman died I rewatched "Our Town" and was reminded that the fictional town of Grover's Corner's was just one thin state away from the fictional town of Jerusalem's Lot.

Furthermore, "'Salem's Lot" tells us the town was named for a pig, and we already know Grover's Corners was named for a Muppet.

There's a scene in "'Salem's Lot" in which a young yokel mom throws a milk bottle at her wailing infant. I reread the book this week, as a father, and the scene had much more impact and reminded me of Jack Torrance's method of handling his anger.

I was drinking from a thermos of coffee at the time I thought this, and my 18-month-old son jumped up on the couch to hang out with me. In so doing, he bumped my thermos and knocked steaming coffee all over my lap and book, which happens to be a first edition hardcover.

What would Jack Torrance do? I thought.

"Whoops," I said. "Hot."

And my son threw back his head and laughed.

Breaking: The Los Angeles River with water in it

2009-02-09T16:57:00.000-08:00

Many people believe the Los Angeles River to be a V-shaped storage area filled with the homeless, shopping carts, and film crews. But on one special day each year, the L.A. River has water in it.

After several days of intermittent rain, the normally bone-dry riverbed is filled with water, having been granted a permit by the L.A. Film Commission.

This photo was taken in Atwater Village (known as Atbonedrystoragearea Village the rest of the year) with Griffith Park, The Hollywood sign, Grauman's Chinese Theatre, the Golden Gate Bridge, and Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger in the background.

On most days the L.A. River looks like this, with an elegant "landing strip" of water flown in in post-production.

But in 1938, prior to its banks being fortified with concrete, a flood took out a bridge at the foot of Colfax Avenue at Ventura Blvd. in Studio City.

Here is that area recently.

The highest the L.A. River has been in recent years was in 2005. This picture was taken just below the bridge pictured above.

Conspiracy theorists will doubtless say, "It's wet, it's dry, it's wet again. Don't you see the pattern?" but I, like the Tibetan Book of the Dead, think that it's a bunch of stuff that happened.

Previously: No greased lighnin'

California City Adopts Pictorial Motto

2009-01-25T10:09:00.000-08:00

"EYEBROW $10" BECOMES COUNTRY'S FIRST OFFICIAL CIVIC ICON

GLENDALE, Calif. -- Glendale, a city of 200,000 on the eastern border of Los Angeles, today became the first American municipality to adopt a picture as a motto.

"This just says who we are better than 'Vox et lex populi' or whatever it was," said Mayor Thomas F. Gilchrist (Glendale actually had no motto before today - ED). "And there aren't too many American cities - maybe New York with the Brooklyn Bridge or Los Angeles with the Hollywood sign - that could whip out a single image and say all it needed to say about the whole town like 'Eyebrow $10' says about us."

The striking motto/logo will now adorn all civic mailings and be emblazoned on city property at a cost to taxpayers of approximately $3.2 million. It was described by artist Belle Geddes-Irving as a "thought collage."

Geddes-Irving said that the inspiration for "Eyebrow $10" came to her in a dream. She tentatively approached the City about using the image as a mural but was surprised when it was immediately adopted as the City Seal.

"It's both groundbreaking and a sign of the times," said resident Ray McBride. "It suggests social networking avatars and it's really representative of the area."

Indeed, as recent studies chart the decline of the use and knowledge of Latin across the country, everyone from schoolchildren to city employees cannot read their own civic seals.

Cultural observer Martin Barrett points out that, even when translated, ancient mottos might no longer describe the place for which they were written.

"...and in that regard, Glendale, chartered in 1921, was forward-thinking because it used no motto," he said. "But I believe 'Eyebrow $10' says 'Glendale' better than any string of words in a dead language could."

Gilchrist and Geddes-Irving unveiled the new Seal today at City Hall, after which it was paraded down Brand Blvd. by a fleet of leased Lexuses fueled entirely by Drakkar-Noir.

Lesser-known Inaugural Traditions

2009-01-20T13:07:00.000-08:00

Barack Obama took the oath of office today as the 44th President of the United States, continuing an unbroken succession of leaders dating back two centuries.

George Washington started many traditions in the inaugural inaugural in 1789, including using a Bible. It is worth noting that "So help me God" is not part of the official oath, and is one of the many traditions adopted by Washington's successors.

Some other Inauguration Day traditions were not as well-publicized, however, and I include them below.

Thomas Jefferson (1801). Dubious of Christ's divinity but also of residual leanings toward the monarchy in the young country, took oath of office on a deck of cards with the four kings removed. When Chief Justice John Marshall, an ally of defeated president John Adams, asked about the jokers, Jefferson replied "Well, I do speak of the pompatus of love, sir."

William Henry Harrison (1841). In place of "So help me God" said, "Unless I die of pneumonia in 30 days and am of no use to you, sir."

James K. Polk (1845). Instituted practice of having someone else pay for pre-inaugural brunch, but would cover tip.

Abraham Lincoln (1865). The 16th president's more relaxed second inaugural included a Rose Garden game of Catch Mary Todd with a Butterfly Net, Because She's Crazy. Mary Todd would continue this tradition until James Garfield's inauguration in 1881, at which point Vice President Chester Arthur caught and subdued the former First Lady, but good.

Grover Cleveland (1885). When Chief Justice Morrison Waite administered the oath of office, said "Grover. Really. Your name is Grover." Presidents until Calvin Coolidge (1923) would ceremonially offer a coin to the Chief Justice just before the oath and declare "Verily I say unto thee my name be not Grover."

Benjamin Harrison (1889). Like his relative William Henry, showed a gift for prophecy when he quipped "Feels like a Grover sandwich up in here" in his inaugural address. Having narrowly defeated predecessor Cleveland in the election of 1888, was succeeded by Cleveland in 1893.

Warren Harding (1921). As the new president's entourage headed to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Harding suddenly withdrew a pistol and shot a donkey between the eyes, but only wounded the animal. The "Wandering Donkey" would be wheeled out and shot at by presidents until Roosevelt's fourth inaugural (1945), at which point a cranky, ailing FDR simply rolled over the beast with his wheelchair.

Lyndon Johnson (1965). Roped a secretary from the typing pool, dragged her length of a regulation longhorn pen (325 feet). Tradition continued until Gerald Ford (1974) confused the practice with Harding's and shot Secretary of the Interior Rogers Morton between the eyes.

Bill Clinton (1993). Took a bite out of inauguration poet Maya Angelou, thinking "she was a lifesize cake." Echoed apocryphal story that John F. Kennedy (1961) did the same to poet Robert Frost. Some evidence of this exists, as Frost delivered a speech two weeks later at the University of New Hampshire with a sizable bite taken out of him.

George W. Bush (2001). In keeping with manner of acquiring the presidency, stole bath towels, tablecloths, and warming trays from each hotel his family stayed in between the election and assumption of office. Also added "Says You" to each line of oath.

Barack Obama (2009). Heard to mutter "What do we pay you for?" to mush-mouthed Chief Justice John Roberts, continuing occasional under-the-breath barbs to Chief Justice traditions of John Quincy Adams/John Marshall (1825), Rutherford Hayes/Morrison Waite (1877), and William Howard Taft/Melville Fuller (1909), who said "Dullard," "You're fat," and "Fuller my boot in your ass" respectively.

Living presidents in the news

2009-01-19T22:17:00.001-08:00

Barack Obama's recent photo opportunity with the current (for 12 more hours) and three former presidents is part of a journalistic tradition that delights in getting like things in the same place, like squishing puppies together.

Throughout U.S. history there have never been more than four former presidents in the same room with the current one, and that was during the term of the first George Bush, when Ronald Reagan, Jimmy Carter, Gerald Ford, and Richard Nixon all picked up their dry cleaning on the same historic day.

That said, in 2000 and 1994 there were five living former presidents along with the sitting one, just not in the same room.

Mostly, though, presidents haven't lived long enough to collect more than a few at a time. Here is a picture of Theodore Roosevelt (left) with William Howard Taft, his successor. Note that Taft, our heaviest president, looks more like Teddy than Teddy does. The guy in the window also showed up in "Three Men And A Baby," as part of the just-as-revered presidential tradition of homage to the undead.

Presidential wives tend to outlast their husbands, but even though Lady Bird Johnson and Betty Ford were alive when this photo was taken, widows don't get to come to the photo opps.

Funerals are also good for getting presidents together, as in the case of Richard Nixon's in 1994.

Inaugurations, not so much, as many immediately-former presidents tend to high-tail it out of town. Still, at John F. Kennedy's inauguration in 1963, both Kennedy's Republican predecessor, Dwight D. Eisenhower, and Ike's Democratic precursor, Harry Truman, were on hand.

Truman, who lived to be 92, returned to the White House during the administrations of Kennedy and Lyndon Johnson.

Here's Franklin Roosevelt and the tremendously unpopular (at the time) man he replaced, Herbert Hoover. The Roosevelt/Hoover connection is most often compared to Obama/Bush, as Obama, like Roosevelt, is inheriting a financial catastrophe from his predecessor. Whoever thought to put these two in the same car was an idiot, but it was the Depression, and maybe they needed to carpool?

William Henry Harrison, who took office in 1841, gave a rousing two-hour speech in the cold without his overcoat, and died of pneumonia 30 days later (although he did not fall ill for three weeks after the inauguration). His was the shortest term of any U.S. president. He wasn't around long enough to get his picture taken with anybody.

Mean streets of Primm

2009-01-05T18:04:00.000-08:00

Growing up on the hardscrabble streets of Primm can be gritty, and mean, and grim, not to mention hardscrabble. It is not lost on local residents that "grim" even rhymes with the name of their town.

"Not lost on me at all," said Whiskey Pete's croupier Vera Morgan. "In fact, before I got into Sudoku I would randomly rhyme words together, and 'grim' was the first word I landed on after I said 'Primm.' Sometimes I even forgot to go for the obvious one, 'prim,' because it just didn't seem appropriate."

I will be hosting an 18-part series on the history of this Nevada border town that is more roller coaster than town. In fact, I will even launch a website called Grim Primm. I see it's available. In fact, I see the rest of my life neatly laid out before me. You would be envious of the certainty I possess.

One gets so full of ideas after a long drive and a stop for coffee in Hesperia and nowhere to relieve oneself, doesn't one?

Bumble, Saruman decide on Hesperia

2009-01-05T16:07:00.000-08:00

The leader of the Istari says, "It reminds me of the foothills of cruel Caradhras, under which dwells the Balrog of Moria. Hesperia is a town of shadow and flame" while the scourge of Yukon Cornelius calls the San Bernardino County hotspot "the Glendale of the high desert."

See also: The City of Hesperia