Care We Not For Our Daughters?

Sick of the Roman Polanski affair yet? Me too, but probably not for the same reason as you. By now you've all heard that in the 1970's Polanski loaded up a 13 year girl with quaaludes and booze and then raped her. He got caught and charged. He allegedly cut a deal with the judge whereby pleading guilty to a lesser charge of sex with a minor he'd serve 42 days under psych assessment and be done with it. At some point he caught wind that the judge was going to rescind the deal, so Polanski fled. That's the rough, long and short of it.

Now here's what sticks in my craw. A group of pathetic friends and colleagues have come to his defense. And their defenses are abysmal. One of the first people I saw to charge in on her steed actress Debra Winger. Years ago Rosanna Arquette made a little film begging Winger to return to the silver screen. The film was about sexism and ageism in Hollywood, which is why Debra left the screen for a time. Let me get this straight. Sexism is bad but child rape is o.k. if done by a good director. And isn't the rape of a child at least 20 times worse than giving a movie role to a man instead of a woman simply because she's a woman? Since then Winger has done precious little...of note anyway. To remain more or less silent all of these years only to choose this incident to make a public statement for a once celebrated movie director and guilty child rapist is disgusting. It reminds me of why I generally loathe celebrities. The basis of her defense was little different from the usual celebrity line, "Oh but you must look at the contribution..." Yo, Deb, how about you stay retired and stay away from the soap box, and let people with actual causes for, and about people, who actually contribute to society do the talking huh? You are an idiot! And this coming from a WOMAN! Enough about Winger.

Another tasty argument put forth by the morons of society who would defend Roman 'the prick' Polanski is this: The victim, Samantha Geimer, has forgiven Polanski and has even stated that she doesn't want him arrested. Since when in our society do we have the victim set the punishment? That ain't how society works baby. We have laws. We have courts. And even though, many innocent are wrongly convicted and many guilty go free. It's the best we've got at the moment. And when these laws are executed correctly they send a message to other would-be child rapists that if you do it; you'll get caught and punished. Not; If you do it and the girl says she's cool then by all means have a cocktail on us. These laws also let other victims know that the majority of society are on their side and that they didn't deserve what happened to them. I fault Samantha Geimer in no way. She has forgiven Roman so that SHE could move forward and have a life. She picked up the fragments of her life and managed to maintain a degree of dignity, so that Polanski could not take everything from her. Had she carried anger, or guilt or severe depression with her she'd carry it every day that the cowardly bastard cowered out his last 30 years on the lamb. And what kind of life would that be?

Yet another gem put forth by the aforementioned dimwits who would defend the overrated director/ child rapist is this: Roman is a holocaust survivor and therefor distrusts authority and simply got scared of the MAN, and was forced to run. Oh, this one is rich! Let us go back to a few years before Roman's party night to the 1960's. Anybody remember a time when Blacks in America were beaten, hosed, hanged, attacked by police dogs, and were locked up for skin color? To follow the logic of the above defense of Polanski don't all Blacks who were around at that time deserve to 'distrust authority' and therefor be allowed to flee from any and all charges? Jails all over the world are full of prisoners who don't trust authority, it doesn't mean that they get out of jail free. The accused must face the music. Something Polanski was and is too cowardly to do.

Polanski defenders have a whole host of other defenses none of which add up to a wooden nickle. The point is this ladies and gentlemen: There is no defense for Polanski. A 13 year old girl was drugged and fed alcohol by a grown man. A man who had many admirers and could have enjoyed sex with many women his age. But he chose a child. And he was not looking for sex. He was looking for RAPE and SODOMY! Imagine a little girl out of her mind but conscious enough to know that what is being done to her is wrong. She had to feel his weight on her-smell his breath. She is over powered by him. She was forced to feel his touch-endure his sweat. She's powerless. She must take it, for she has no other choice. Only Roman had a choice. The man with all of the power. And after raping and sodomizing her he runs away to freedom in another country. But it is o.k. with Harvey Weinstein, a powerful producer and it is o.k. with Woody Allen because he's a director and a pedophile as well, who married what was once his adopted child. And it is o.k. with Debra Winger because even though she's a woman she's a washed up actor. But oooh wasn't she great in Officer and a Gentleman!

Everybody has a mother. Some of you reading this blog are women, some of you have sisters and some have daughters. Would you volunteer your mother/sister/self/daughter for THAT evening with Polanski because he directed Chinatown? If your answer is yes, then you have serious problems and I recommend help. Roman Polanski is a man who stands behind a camera and yells, "Action!" in a world of make believe. He is nothing more and he is so much less!!!

Henry Louis Gates...still Black, still America

Mr. Gates, a Harvard man 58 years old with 50 honorary degrees arrested in his own home for? Well, it's tough to say really. Imagine you come home to find your front door jammed. You and your driver attempt to enter to no avail. Next, you go around to your back door and use your key to enter your home. The police arrive on a tip that your house is being burgled. You merely explain that this is your home and that all is well here officer. The cop doesn't buy it and wants to haul you in. What do you do? You say 'hell no'. You show your I.D. You remind the officer that this is not Nazi Germany and they are not the Gestopo. And remember you are 58 years old with graying hair. Not fair is it? This is not your america, you have rights. Add this; you are a distinguished Harvard proffesor. This is madness. Alright, now add that you are black.

This changes everything. It shouldn't but it does. The president is black, so what! Police racial profile, always have and we're dealing with it. The sad part is that the cop who dealt with Dr. Gates did his job until a certain point. Once I.D. was presented and home ownership was established the cop became stupid. Stupid and then let his inner racism show.

The Breakdown

Black man seen breaking into home. Profile: black. Once on the scene said black man is older. Black man is well dressed. Black man is well spoken although upset, understandably. Why didn't the cop find something wrong with the profile? Is he not well trained? Is he racist? Does he lacked the ability to think outside the box? (although this incident is well within the box). Perhaps a combination of all three.

The Media

Henry Louis Gates was ultimately charge with disorderly conduct. Every one us would have reacted the same way when an officer is in your home ordering you to leave your home when no REAL charges are brought and your I.D. (both driver's license and Harvard faculty I.D.) is not to be believed. Many newspapers said that Gates became angry, agitated, beligerent and so on. And then they let these phrases hang so that we might feel that in some way Gates had it coming. Or that we could understand the cop's perspective. This thing has racism all over it and shame on the media. The cop is in possession of a small brain and large ego. I don't fault people for lack of education but when they carry a gun and a badge and make game time decisions as fucking stupid and racist as the choices this officer made I do fault the man, and the system and the media.

I am so glad the incident did not happen to me because once I have identifiend myself in my own home and proven ownership of my home which I pay a mortgage on and you don't believe me, then I begin to question the legitimacy of your badge and your identification. And at this point I would have defended myself and my home by any means necessary! Incidentally, Gates asked the cop for his I.D. and it was not given.

The Wrap Up

Many american are tired of hearing the gripes of black people. They don't want to hear about Katrina anymore. They don't like affirmative action and they have had it up to here with talk of racial profiling. Just remember that if a man as decorated, celebrated and accomplished as Dr. Henry Louis Gates can be dragged from his own home, try and comprehend what happens on a daily basis to the average black man and woman in this country.

Celebrities N' Me

The story that follows is true. It was 1994. Five or Six other musicians, dudes, crammed into my bachelor suite for beers on a Friday night. We were broke music school students with nary an interested chick in any one of us. To summarize; we were losers. It was 1:45 in the morning and we had six beers remaining in the ice box. Two blocks away 7-11 sold beer until 2 am. I was going on a beer run. The knucklheads tried to convince me that each would only have one more beer each. Morons! As if anybody can truly stick to such a ridiculous proclamation during the heat of rockin'. I was going with or without em'. They all accompanied.

In the 7-11 parking lot I spied a girl who looked incredibly familiar. She glared at me as if I was staring. Fair enough, I thought, for I was staring. But when she cast her scornful look it was then that I knew her to be Drew Barrymore. I was and still am of fan of Drew. A young dude was in the car with her, and their conversation looked intense. Being three sheets to the wind, half cut and semi pie eyed I approached the car gracelessly and began calling...o.k. shouting, "Drew, baby, Drew, o.k. here's the deal, I'm gonna buy some beers and we're all going back to my place. You're in, ya gotta be. Come on Drew its you and me baby!"

She told me to go away but she laughed when she did it. Not a good move to a hammered fan such as yours truly. That laugh was a green light for this A-hole. I upped the anti and threw more pathetic pleading dialog. In a panic I noted the time and ran inside to purchase my 18 pack of beer. The other guys were on their own as far as hooch. I handed my stash to my buddy Brian and went back to Drew's ride.

She and the lad were back at the heavy dialog, which clearly needed interruption. I informed Drew that I had the beer, now all I needed was her. She wasn't bitin'-duh! By this time the dude in the passenger seat was giving me his best tough guy stare, so naturally I reached up to the roof of the car and began shaking it back and forth and shouting, "Come on Drew, its you and me doll!" Drew began frantically trying to put her key in the ignition while yelling ,"Stop!" But, and this is huge, she could not stop laughing. In fact, she was almost in tears as she kept missing the ignition. Meanwhile the cat kept eye balling me while attempting not to shake. I finally stopped and Drew fired up the car. She was still laughing as she said, "My god you are crazy! Bye!"

By this time a crowd had gathered and were laughing too. The security guards knew me from, ahem, most weekend nights and did nothing but call me loco! One month later Drew married some guy. The marriage lasted no more than a month. The guy in the car that night was not the husband. What I think we witnessed was Drew dumping the guy for the new husband.

Two months later I'm having coffee on Melsose avenue, sitting outside. Up walks Drew Barrymore and starts talking to a girl at the table beside me. I kid you not. She looks over at me three times before scrunching up her brow and says, "hi." to me.
I say, "Hiya Drew." She looks at me as if she's trying to place my face. I offer nothing as I am now sober in broad daylight. She smiled again and went back to her conversation.

I enjoyed my time with Drew as I'm sure she enjoyed her time with me. Or not. And I may not have rocked her world but I definitely rocked her car.

Torture Is In...Was It Ever Out?

Where are we at America? Do we or do we not torture? While on the campaign trail Barak spoke out not only against going into Iraq but he fired at the Bush administration's use of torture, specifically water boarding. Once in the big chair he closed Guantanamo Bay. However, he did not take rendition off the table. This is the practice of scooping up suspected terrorists, and whisking them away to a more torture tolerant land for "interrogation." This is odd because he spoke loud and clear about Habeus Corpus.

When he first walked into the Oval office he declared that he would not go after Bush, Cheney and his band of torture brigands. But then a few days later he released/declassified Bush's torture memos for all to see. Is Obama playing both sides? Nah, I think he's being slick. He's saying here's what went down America, now it's up to you or the Attorney General, or a partisan committee or congress or Joe the idiot plumber to pick this fight...and then I'll back you up. And yesterday at his 100 day speech he definitively called water boarding; torture. Slick and Shrewd.

I'm not with the President on rendition, nor am I into his declaration that the prison (name escapes me) in Afghanistan is outside of the rules of the Geneva convention. Deja Vu all over again. Didn't Bush declare that about Abu Grahib? (And everywhere else for that matter) So that's two areas where Obama and I part. Oh yeah, and you right wing wackos that believe we need to torture because the enemy televises be-headings and so on, Back up. If we sink to their level than we're no different from them. And at that point it is different to claim supremacy. Remember, that two wrongs don't make a right.

But let's be real. The CIA has been torturing since their inception. We've always denied it but kept on keepin' on. What I don't understand is that if we can put men on the moon, can watch movies through our telephones and can build weapons that can blow up a mosquito without destroying its brain, ( I made that up) then how come the smartest guys in the room can't come up with iron clad interrogation techniques that even Greenpeace could get behind? Could it be that the interrogators are of limited intellect? Or is this merely punishment and information be dammed? Me thinks both. When Japanese prisoners were captured back in the day one interrogator did some research, what a concept, and found that the prisoners Achilles heal was home sickness. So he, talked of family, the homeland, and threatened that they'd be forever be cut off from their loved ones etc. Lo and behold the prisoners sang like canaries. Know your enemies dummies.

It's time to start using your heads 'smart guys' and stop using thugs to do your bidding because they cannot handle the blood lust that creeps into their souls and into the end of the lash. Research the enemy, learn the language, study the Koran, hell, just get them drunk for shit-sake, you'd be surprised how honest a little tequila makes some fellas.

Here is what must be done. The top guys of the Bush administration, Cheney, Rummy, judges, lawyers etc. have got to fall. All of them. Then we need to get back to the rules of Geneva, the Constitution, Habeus Corpus and all of the other neat propaganda we claim to own. Or, we need to simply announce to the world that we as Americans torture if and when we see fit...End of story. But this dancing on the fence bullshit holy-er than thou double talk has got to end.

Ashley Madison and the Accusatory Pebble

Ho there folks. I've been layin' low for awhile but I'm back in da saddle. Have you heard of this Ashley Madison sh**? No? It is a service that advertises secret relationships outside of the one you have supposedly committed to. I kid you not. They pepper the airwaves with sexy catch phrases like: are you looking for more in your relationship and not getting it? Do you want to stay in your marriage but want a little fun outside of it? Shame? ah...they have none. You don't hear comedians sending this stuff up. The useless local news, famous for relaying non-news hasn't touched Ashley Madison and the often too-late-to-the party sitcoms haven't over played the potential zingers.
Anyone remember the days of shame? The shame days had a good run I suppose but they've danced into back pages of history. It makes one wonder how gay people feel about all of this. The divorce rate is through the roof. And now we heteros that claim marriage is sacred and for us only (man and woman); are supporting a match.com for cheaters. But hold on! Don't move. We can't possibly let the gays in on this sacred rite of ours, they're not worthy of marriage, they say.
Can't anyone see what's going on here? We are neck deep in a self indulgent entitlement society. 'I'm bored and I want to bang someone other than my spouse...and I deserve it'. Bullshit! Step up and honor your commitment, or present the idea of an open marriage or lastly, have the stones to walk away and be with that other somebody. You cheaters are pathetic beings without character. And all the while you'd play the sanctity card?
The sanctity of marriage card is played out people. And wrapping oneself in the pages of the bible ain't holding up either, because 99% of those who try and play the God card are sinning so heavy in other areas that they not only have no right to cast the first stone, they shouldn't even be allowed to pick up an accusatory pebble. Perhaps my fellow heteros don't want gays to marry because they'd kick our ass in the lesser divorce rate statistic as well as the decent conduct category. And FYI; any idiot who chooses to cheat through an agency is an idiot...or did I say that already.

Must We Love Dogs?

The world has gone dog gone crazy. Driving home today I saw a billboard for a movie called Hotel for Dogs, or something like that. A moment later I saw a bench ad with a puppy on it for a movie called Marley and me. And in the theaters right now is an animated movie with a Travolta voice over called, Bolt. Don't get me wrong, I dig dogs but enough already. It is understandable that Hollywood would make these films as, Los Angeles is the dog obsessed capital of the U.S. When doggie psychiatry, doggie therapy and doggie psychics came on the scene they were spawned from L.A.'s doggie loving seed. And believe me, Paris Hilton is not the first nor is she the only empty headed broad to spoil an obnoxious k-9 rat dog. Take a walk down Rodeo drive and every third supposed, high class, dame is toting an over privileged k-9 weasel dog. And most card carrying radical Peta members hang their hats...and dog collars in this city. So one can see why Hollywood writers clutch their laptops and high tail it to the nearest Starbucks to pen the next great American doggie adventure. If I could call upon a more powerful word than nauseating, I would. But don't get me wrong, I dig dogs...to a point.

A recent study at the university of...blah, blah, blah discovered that dogs possess a sense of fairness. Holy breakthrough Batman! They set it up so dogs would do tricks and then they'd be rewarded with a treat. But when the clever scientists withheld the treats from some of the dogs, those dogs said, "fuck this" in dog speak, and would not participate anymore. This was how the sci-geniuses or is it geniuii?, came to their findings. This, I'm afraid, is where the scientists erred. The fact of the matter is that dogs in this instance merely recognized when a member of the top of the food chain (scientist) possessed the asshole gene. If I were the Dean of this college it would go something like this:

"So what does this tell us science boy?"
"Well, um, er, I don't know Mr.Dean sir."
"Your funding just got yanked science boy. Now get over there with the others and find me a cure for cancer, chop, chop."

Oh but I miss the 1970's when as a young, hip lad, dogs were dogs who knew their place and people weren't maniacal morons about k-9s. Tough guys had German shepherds, families had Labrador Retrievers, and Little big men had Doberman Pincers. There were no small dogs, no Brussels Griffins, no Chihuahuas nothing other than blue haired grandma's poodle. And if there were small dogs they were mistaken for rodents or cats. But now dogs are on prozak and they can even go to a spa and get a massage! And now countless varieties of small dogs are running the show. It's time to come back to the sane side of the doggie park America before we become an even bigger embarrassment!

Some Things Just Hold Up!

It doesn't rain much in SoCal but when it does the rain meets the oil and gas on the road turning the street into a sweet skating rink. It may not be sweet for everybody but for a guy raised in rainy climbs who digs puttin' the pedal to the medal to spin them tires and kick out that back end, its like a slice of mom's apple pie. The rain fell for sixty minutes before my first episode. I was pulling into a strip mall. I was to be first at my stop of a three way stop. My plan was to make a left. The road to the left looked clear enough, meaning no cars and minimal pedestrian action. If a cop were nearby I'd have been popped for rolling through the intersection. A tough fine on the pocket book. I accelerate briefly and then 'boom' I gun it. The tires scream in an attempt to gain purchase. This is no smoke show as the blacktop is too slick. Fine by me. My truck with rear wheel drive is heavy up front in the business end and lighter out back in the party end. The box kicks out like a loose bronco. She's outta here. My tires talk to each other excited by the quick revolutions. If I ease off the gas and turn into the skid I can right the ship. But righting the ship is not in my plans. Not yet. I do turn into the skid slightly but instead of powering down I give her a little more gas. I'm now traveling sideways down the center of the lot. Pedestrian heads turn in fear at the sound. Their countenances full of shock at the sight. Some even read sympathy for the cat who's lost control of his truck. That is, until they hear the music blaring and the maniacal roaring laughter of yours truly over the heavy metal din. I haven't done this move in at least six months. My heart races, slightly gripped in fear. Not real terror mind you, its more like the fear one feels on a roller coaster: its scary but you know it'll work out alright.
The truck's caboose is now getting away from me. A full 360 degree turn, or 'doughnut' is next if I don't take control. My laughter turns to a curse word. If I doughnut and one of the parked cars decides to back out of its space I'm screwed. And I guarantee I won't find a single witness to side with me in this crowd if there's an accident. I ease off the gas slightly and fight the wheel from doing her own thing. The truck growls one more time before coming under control. I slow, pull into a parking spot and shut her down. A dozen witnesses eyes filled with hatred bore through me. They appear even more shocked as they spy my salt and pepper hair. Their questioning eyes ask, 'aren't you a bit old for peeling out?'
And to them and the masses who are reading this blog I say this. Fair enough, peelin' out, burnin' rubber or layin' a patch is generally a younger man's game. A game that men, okay boys, usually discover at around age 16. Without giving too much away, somewhere between age 15 and 17 I got with a girl and we 'did the do'. It was both our first time. And do you know what? After all of these years, gettin' down with a dame is still fun! Some activities just hold up people. So go ahead and do the peel out math brothers and sisters. And if you see my truck comin' at you sideways with music blastin' and tires a-screamin'-don't hate. Instead, roll that window down and give me a fist pump or flash me the rock and roll sign. Because life is short. So, GIVE 'ER!