James Rising

Radio DaZe:

I am on vacation-so here is an older, radio oriented piece. Our thrilling radio saga continues next week.

My boss told me long ago that people in pain make the loudest noise. We were talking about the complaints after we had changed format on a radio station but it really does apply to almost any situation in life. Recently we made several changes on one of the radio stations that I am nominally in charge of. I notice I am less in charge when things are going right and more in charge when people have a problem. Right now it feels like I have a bull’s-eye painted on my back but it’s part of my job description I guess. The part where it says I will be a punching bag.

For the purpose of this narrative the changes are not important. The reaction of the people in pain is what I want to focus on. Sitting at my desk I can almost tell by the way the phone rings that it’s another angry listener. I have tired of trying to reason with these folks. In spite of the fact that they say they want to know the reason for the change, they really don’t care. What they want to do is vent their spleen on me and anything I have to say is totally superfluous.

So I have taken to listening without making any comment until they run down and ask if I am still there. I answer them with all the politeness I have left and they start in again. I draw the line at personal attacks. First of all although I agree with the change it wasn’t my idea. In fact the order for the upheaval came from the very highest level of management in the company so I had to laugh when one of the callers asked for the CEO’s name and phone number. I wonder how that conversation went?

In my career in radio I have made many changes to the radio stations I have been entrusted with. Personalities have been hired and fired, music formats have been changed and all along the way I have had to deal with the vocal minority that doesn’t like the change.

It seems that the rally cry is something along the lines of “it’s new and different. We don’t like it”. I love the we. Always the person complaining claims to be speaking for a great multitude of others who are like minded. I am tempted when I hear the we to ask if they have a frog in their pocket but I did that once and the angry caller took offense. So now I just sit and listen and wait until they run out of steam and then put the phone down and wait for the next one. It’s a great job, being the one with target on your back.

The Rant D’Jour is about oil.

Even with the price of gas slowly drifting back to a level where it’s just an arm and a leg…more

Even with the price of gas slowly drifting back to a level where it’s just an arm and a leg to fill your tank its cold comfort to know that Brunei might be running out of oil.

The next time you stop by Sheets you are putting money on the table of a small country on the island of Borneo called Brunei. About the size of Delaware with a population of 370 thousand and one very rich Sultan. How rich? Their home, which has 1800 rooms and 250 toilets, is considered to be the largest residence in the world. Stashed inside this palace is a forearm and hand made of solid gold that the Sultan can use as a chin rest when he is thinking about the tiny nation’s dwindling oil supplies.

The subjects of the Sultan live pretty high off the hog too. Even though they many not be living in huge palaces they pay no personal income tax, enjoy practically free health care (a recent visit to the dentist and a root canal cost one loyal subject 1.49.)

And the young go to the world’s finest universities all on the Sultan’s tab.

But it seems like its all going to come to a crashing halt pretty soon. Its not that Brunei is going to run out of oil, but when. This is a closely guarded state secret in the little country.

It’s kind of hard to feel sorry for the Sultan. But can you imagine the riots in streets the day that the last oil well makes a giant sucking sound and gives up its final drop of crude?

That’s the day I think you better check E-bay for a golden arm on sale.

WEEKENDER Column:

What I’ve learned:

I hate everybody. With a few exceptions. You. Me. I’m not so sure about me. I love everybody. At arm’s length. Three categories of people will smell need and make you wait. Bankers. Women. Drug dealers. Anything electronic or mechanical will fail. At the worst possible moment.

A meal you have cooked yourself never tastes as good as one cooked by someone else.Nothing in life is as good as ice cream. Maybe sex is as good as ice cream. But you can have ice cream anytime and with anyone.

Religion is unnecessary. Until you need something to believe in. Usually in a hospital. Graveyards serve no purpose. They waste land that could be golf courses. The cemetery is full of indispensable people. Golf is a stupid game unless it is an excuse to drink.

Daughters always call. Anybody who says they are not prejudiced probably is. Judge a person by their looks. You will always be wrong. Anticipation trumps realization every time. Maintenance is hard. I’d rather be hot than cold. No one ever sweats to death. It’s called work for a reason. Anytime they pay you for doing it, it’s automatically work.

Overheard conversations are interesting. It’s great to see things from other perspectives. I am a voyeur. I love seeing people in the act of being themselves, unaware. Spelling correctly is a rare gift. Signs in public often betray this.

The stages of grief and the stages of love are identical. The order is shuffled but they are the same.
If you are really hungry, order soup. It comes quickly. No matter what line you choose it will be the slowest one. Count your change. Add up the restaurant bill. Don’t trust spellcheck. According to this program spellcheck is misspelled.

The belief that the pilot wants to live as much as you do is erroneous. Tip generously.

If you were to explain the sex act to an alien race they would think you were kidding. Negotiations begin with no. The better it tastes the worse it is for you. Light bulbs burn out in three’s.

The more you like the tie the more lunch you will get on it. Truth will out. Alcohol speeds this process. Alcohol doesn’t make liars. It makes fools. Being on time is a virtue. Most people are not virtuous. Dead is too late. Love now. Often. Tell them so.

-30-

I have never really had a run in with the police.

I have had my share of what the troopers call moving violations.

On one memorable occasion I was stopped for speeding on the interstate in town whose name ends in Kill in another state. Even though I was being passed by someone when the trooper turned on his flashing lights. I stopped and when the man with the hat approached I asked in what I thought was a calm voice about it. He replied something like there was only me.

I called the Trooper a bad word followed by the word liar.

I am still not sure why he didn’t arrest me, or at least shoot me.

But I can’t hold a candle to the guy they found walking around Luzerne a while ago. About midnight in the night in question this fellow was walking with what officers said was unsteady balance.

And when they asked him for identification they detected a strong odor of alcohol.

It was at this point he began to growl like a dog and tried biting the officers.

Like I say. I can’t even begin to imagine the thought process involved here. The police are bothering me. I am drunk as a skunk. How about I pretend I am rin tin tin.

The guy in question clocked in at point three percent. The legal limit for driving in Pa is .08. I don’t know what it is for walking or growling. By the way if you’re curious our man turned fido must have had at least 18 beers to get that high a reading. Oh and he is in the jail house on $5000 bail.

That’s $277 per beer.

Tuesday Review:

Prodigal Sons
2008 NR 86 minutes

Directed by and features Kimberly Reed who is a transgendered female. In some ways this film is like a reality TV show and in others it is Cinéma vérité, which according to the definition is “truthful cinema.”

The basic story being told is Reed’s first visit back to her home town as a woman. The camera follows her as she attends her high school reunion and reconnects with her family. Situations and background are filled in by Reed, sometimes face to face with the camera, sometimes in voiceovers.

At first the issues being examined are what you would expect. What Reed is feeling. How the people in her hometown of Helena, Montana feel about her. Why the football hero chose to change gender. In flashbacks and photos her former life is revealed and we are shown the pain and why her soul searching led her to become the person she is now.

As the film progresses another story emerges, that of her brain-damaged adopted brother, who discovers he is a blood relative of some very famous people. The conflicts between Reed and the brother are what make the film feel most like reality TV, but unlike Survivor or Big Brother this is not scripted and the outcome is far from expected.

The film examines sexuality, male and female roles and gay issues with a non-salacious touch. Where it could easily have been sleazy and titillating it is instead just honest. Prodigal Sons looks hard at a hugely dysfunctional family and the consequences of that dysfunction. At times it is so intense it is difficult to watch.

Reed, who worked in print journalism, covers her story with unflinching honesty and a reporter’s eye. Even when the conflict between her and the very volatile brother turns brutal you get the facts and not a lot of emotional spin.
I once hired a film crew to cover a contest where the winner would win $9,800 for performing the strangest feat. The victor was a young man who calmly and methodically bit the heads off 98 fish. The film crew didn’t want lunch after the event. More to the point we all got sick again later that week in the editing suite, watching the blood, fish heads and gore-smeared face of the winner.

I have to wonder what the scene was like as Reed and her film crew watched and edited her brother’s descent into insanity. That really is what Prodigal Sons turns out to be about. And that scene in the editing room is the only thing left out.

http://www.prodigalsonsfilm.com/

The Rant D’Jour is about a brilliant idea of mine, and will soon sweep the county. Maybe not.

I think every place in Northeastern Pennsylvania needs…Rant D’Jour

I think every place in Northeastern Pennsylvania needs a mascot.

I read an article the other day about how Hollywood boulevard is being overrun with superheroes and characters from movies. Well, not the real ones, you understand, but guys dressed up in costumes that roam the streets of Hollywood looking for tips.

The idea is someone dressed like, say Garfield or Batman will go up to a tourist. Tourist gets out the camera and the character poses for a snapshot then puts out his hand (or his paw) for a tip. At last count there were just under 100 of these characters roaming the streets of tinsel town. I guess it’s called Hollyweird for a reason.

But it got me to thinking. Why shouldn’t we have mascots for every part of Northeastern Pennsylvania? It could provide jobs for hundreds. Oh I know we already have the grump for the Red Barons (R.I.P. child molesting friend) and Tux for the penguins. Local radio stations have a tookie bird and a giant frog but what about Old Forge? Shouldn’t there be a giant pizza slice walking up and down the street waving pepperonis at passers by to entice them into Brutico’s and Arcaro and Gennel’s?

I didn’t go to Pittston’s tomato festival this year but if they didn’t have a guy in a tomato costume roaming around, why not? Both Scranton and Wilkes Barre now have huge restaurant rows, with all the chains there like Olive Garden, Outback steakhouse and Cracker Barrel. Why not flag down passing motorists with 6 foot tall knifes, forks and spoons. Or walking talking menus?

Public Square in Wikes-Barre is noted for them so why not have guys in pigeon suits waddling around? It would serve two purposes. The pigeons might get scared and leave and it would provide a job of sorts for the bums.

Why stop there? Dress jobless folks up as huge paper forms and have them work the parking lots of the big companies around Montage. Underemployed? Get a giant diploma costume and wander around The U in Scranton or Kings in Wilkes Barre and pose for tips.

You could even have enormous crack pipes and 15 foot tall hookers working the streets of Wilkes-Barre. Or maybe not.

I think the idea has some merit.

Look close: It actually IS the White River Junction location

I am working on a slow as a turtle connection from the White River Junction Hampton Inn.

It’s been an interesting stay here.

So far on two successive nights we have had to go back down to the desk (we are on the third floor) and get them to re-program our keys. The first night the girl behind the counter, in a thick Russian accent, chastised me for keeping the cards in with my cell phone.

“Is to make them work not,” she informed me.

That was a new one on me. Stayed in hotels all my life, always had a cell phone never got told that before. But I dutifully kept the two apart yesterday. And dog tired after family picnic last night the God Damn key didn’t work.

I hate leaving the long-suffering wife in the hallway while I traipse down to the lobby to fix this yet again. I was tired, hot, sweaty, stinky and in no mood.

“Maybe I should just stop by every night before we go to the room to get these to work,” I snarled at the non-Russian girl. She was very, very sorry. Could not understand how this could have happened. Blah, Blah, Blah.

It’s an OK hotel. Big room. Reasonable in the context of a Vt. summer rate. Pretty sweet breakfast deal which featured pre-made omelets (made when?) in perfect little shapes. Very reminiscent of airline food but actually pretty tasty.

Mystery Omelets in red circle.

Question: My toaster at home, far from a industrial commercial grade, makes burned beyond recognition black relics of bread in less than 2 minutes. Eight minutes in a hotel breakfast bar toaster delivers warmed English muffins. Not even warm enough to melt the concrete butter in the little foil pack. Why?

First problem on arrival: No mini fridge in the room. This is a problem for me as I have meds that need cool. Pretty much a deal breaker. I called down to the desk (35 rings – I counted. I am an impatient asshole, sometimes. Most times.) and delivered my thoughts. Oh they could get me one. $10 a night. I made loud, unhappy noises. The fridge became free. Score one for the asshole.

Last night they shoved the bill under the door. It’s too bad I don’t have a scanner. It’s such a complete work of fiction as to rival a Stephen King Novel.

It was made to: Rising, Jim – Bellevue Wa 98004.

I’ve never been to Wa.

The total was for $0. (pre-paid, via Hotels.com) Good, but.

Upon check-in I said “Rising” to the girl behind the desk (non-Russian.) I rarely get asked “First name?” because there are not so many Rising’s in this world. Turns out younger son had made a reservation. So being the Dad I am, I paid it. So now I have to go down and make sure this was done. And that they know where I am from.

My brother calls travel “Dancing lessons from God.”

On to Maine and the Viewpoint for the next four nights. Can’t wait. I’ll post some more about that place in a later entry.

Good news Kid’s. Apple jacks don’t taste remotely like apples.

In fact if you scan the ingredients on a box of the sugary salty breakfast concoction you will discover apples way down on the list. The Kellogg Company (k e double l good to you each morning) is even running an ad campaign that sort of pokes fun at the idea of apples. If you watch any TV show aimed at the pre-teen crowd you may have seen the little drama. Bad apple is in a race with happy cinnamon stick to be the first to get into a bowl of Apple jacks. Even though the sour, grouchy, meddling, scheming Bad Apple tries to cheat, the laid back, happy cinnamon stick (emphasis on MON, as in Rasta speak…hmmmm) wins. The tag line in the spot says: “Apple Jacks don’t taste like Apples because the taste of sweet cinnamon is the winner, Mon.”

Kids nowadays just naturally stay away from fruits and vegetables. Studies show that almost half of the kids on an average day consume no fruit at all.

A spokeswoman for Kellogg Company (the best to you each day from Battle Creek Michigan) said that the ads for apple jacks are “not intended to disparage apples or discourage kids from eating apples. The ads are a lighthearted and fun way to communicate the cinnamon great taste of the cereal.”

So why couldn’t the laid back cinnamon stick be buddies with Mr. Apple? Maybe Mr. Stick could turn Mr. Apple on, so to speak, to the sweet taste of cinnamon and they both could be laid back and happy.

Or maybe I am reading too much into this.

When I was a kid cereal had to have two things going for it to be my fave. First and most important is it had to have a cool prize. I loved the little baking soda submarine. Oh yeah..and it had to make the milk at the bottom of the bowl taste sweet on its own. The sweeter the better because Mom would guard the sugar bowl.

As George Carlin once said: “What wine goes with Fruit Loops?”