Just for gullible viewers.

I don't understand commercials like this Just for Men spot. It has no relation to reality at all, so what is the point? I mean we know that this man's gymnastics (if they didn't kill him) would have to take a half-an-hour minimum. We know this attractive girl would have to be a fool to wait at the door while he leaps from the balcony, rides on a truck, and purchases Just for Men and milk. Of course they never tell us how he got back to his third-floor apartment during those five minutes, yet we're supposed to believe that once he did, he went into his bathroom and performed whatever procedures are necessary to color his hair then went to the door to greet this incredibly patient blonde, his hair dried and combed. And—forgetting all the other absurdities—are we also encouraged to assume that because his hair is no longer grey, this gorgeous neighbor would fall in love with a lying loser whose refrigerator contains only chinese take-out and a beer? There are so many commercials like this that have absolutely no logic to them at all and are only designed to be like mobiles over a baby's crib—designed to catch your attention and ignore your intelligence. Other absurdities: I doubt many women would object to a man this attractive having grey hair. It's another spot that shows an insecure guy who cannot behave in a manly, adult fashion with an attractive woman. And, finally, I have tried Just for Men. You have to wait 24 hours to find out if you're allergic to its chemicals. It's a really messy procedure. And when you're done, it doesn't always cover the grey. At least it didn't for me. And, of course, the ultimate idiocy is that cosmetic-phobic men require hair coloring that suggests it's just for the male beast. Hair is hair and it isn't like Just for Men is lower-priced. After all, they have to pay for commercials like this.

Note: Today's copywriters and art directors are very lucky. Because it would appear that advertisers and consumers make no special demands on them as far as the believability factor goes.

Just For Men Commercial

To cleanse your palate: A truly great dance team: Marge and Gower Champion.

One small example.

Welk: A bum rap for music lovers.

There seems to be a belief that if you don't like rock music and you do like the old standards and revere such giants as Cole Porter, Irving Berlin, the Gershwins, Rodgers and Hammerstein and all the other great lyricists and composers of the past century, you're square. And, being square, you must also like The Lawrence Welk Show. Wrong! As much as I don't like rock or rap or heavy metal, these are all preferable to the sickening treacle of The Lawrence Welk Show. Every now and then, out of sheer fascination, I turn on the PBS reruns of this stultifyingly awful show and am stunned by the level of blandness evinced by this long-running nightmare. There isn't a classic standard this army of mediocrities cannot ruin with their insipid orchestral arrangements, or turn into an unintentional satire with their overly made up and pouffed singers always comically dressed in matching, wrinkle-free polyester suits, floor-length chiffon gowns or such evocative theme outfits as lederhosen and dirndl skirts. Altogether it is a ghastly collection of evangelical church soloists elevated to TV stardom by a native American with a thick something accent. Stardom? Bobby and Cissy are the least-talented dance team that ever saccharined their way through a peppy routine. Watching this twosome is made even more horrifying by Bobby's need to always face the camera with his maniacal 62-tooth grin. Equally pathetic is the show's token, and untalented, black: that buck-and-wing wonder, Arthur Duncan, who only knows one arm-swinging tap dancing number which he thinks will seem different if changes his hat. I know there are millions of people who watched this horrid show religiously (religiously being the operative word) and I am sure millions of mid-Americans still do. But I can't imagine what they get out of it, because every episode is a not a tribute to, but a mockery of, American music. Each show is a pageant in celebration of Aqua-Net, Maybelline, and pancake makeup; a glorification of the accordion; a paen to the polka and an absolute bore. So don't think that The Lawrence Welk Show is the opposite of contemporary music. It's the opposite of good music of any era.

"Would you mind NOT repeating that?"

While I don't like rock music, any rock music, I do accept that there must be something to it or it wouldn't have pushed aside all the other genres which I do like. To me most contemporary music is just noise. Many of today's leading singers—mostly female vocalists—seem to be screaming rather than singing the lyrics. I say lyrics sarcastically since most of the words today seem to be either non-sensical, sexual, vulgar, or—worst of all—maudlin. It also seems to me that almost every song today has the de rigeur word "baby" in it. Another popular cliche lyric is "set me free" or something similar. But as similar as every song sounds to me, I accept that there must be a marked difference between all these vocalists, rock bands and so-called rap artists, though I am sure I could never identify the differences. I can accept that most of these songs speak to someone, millions of someones. What I cannot comprehend are the number of songs that repeat a single lyric line endlessly. Why doesn't that irritate the average person as much as it maddens me? I would give you a list of such songs, but I have blessedly forgotten most of them. Today, I did hear a new one at Publix. While this song, by a group with the self-conscious name Crowded House, may have had other lyrics, it seemed to drone one meaningless (or pretentiously meaningful) line sung infinitum: "Everywhere you go always take the weather with you." I have no idea what that means and hearing it repeated endlessly did not provide any clarity. I wish more people would respond to this blog because I would really appreciate an explanation as to why such songs are recorded, much less popular. I don't get it. I don't get it. I don't get it. I don't get it. I don't get it. I don't get it. I don't get it. I don't get it. I don't get it. I don't get it. I don't get it. I don't get it. I don't get it. I don't get it. I don't get it.

Note: Speaking of cliches. The photo shown here of Crowded House with the quartet trying to look cool and serious has been done about a million times for every duo, trio, and quartet since rock music began. I would think just once a group would feel that fame and fortune was enough of a reward to merit a smile.

Four evenings of bliss.

I have several friends watching the 4-part Masterpiece Theatre series Downton Abbey. They seem to be as avid about seeing each new episode as I am. What I don't understand is why so few people watch superb productions like this or even know it's on. Most people seem to be into Survivor, American Idol, The Biggest Loser, one of the 106 CSI series, and any number of sitcoms and reality shows about people redecorating their homes or being buried in trash. Each of these popular shows has a zillion commercials and offers you nothing of real value. Downton Abbey, on the other hand, has brilliant writing, great actors, wonderful characters, can't-wait-for-the-next-episode plots, magnificent settings, gorgeous costumes and absolutely no commercials. What's not to like? True, some of the plot lines are reminiscent of such films as Mrs. Miniver and, I am told, Little Women, but who would know that and who cares? This is sophisticated, provocative television that deserves to be seen by far more viewers. And, happily it does have many more viewers than other past Masterpiece offerings. (Possibly due in part to the enormous success of The King's Speech.) Unfortunately I don't personally know enough of those viewers. When I asked acquaintances if they are watching Downton Abbey, I get a blank stare as if they think it's a new hour-long drama about undercover nuns. When I get this vapid look I feel an intense sense of snobbery and want to shout, "How can you watch crappy commercial-heavy American TV when you could be watching Downton Abbey?" Oh, well,their bloody loss.

The moron from Minnesota.

What is happening to this country? Why do we quote and listen to people who are raging idiots, like Sarah Palin and Michelle Bachmann? Ms. Bachmann is now being—and rightly so—skewered for suggesting, no stating, that our founding fathers (she cites John Quincy Adams) worked hard to get rid of slavery. She seems to believe that slavery was abolished somewhere around 1777. Apparently this grade-school dropout has never heard of The Civil War, Uncle Tom's Cabin, or read any reputable (non-Texas) history book. To make it even easier she could have seen the film 1776 and it all would have been laid out for her with musical accompaniment. Yet, she—abysmally ignorant as she is—is giving a response to the president's speech tonight. A woman who doesn't have a clue about our nation's history has been chosen by the Tea Party to give a rebuttal to the president's speech! If that doesn't horrify you, it should. All right, I'm a raging liberal. But any sane Republican who cares about the future of America should be as furious about this kind of insanity as I am. Because we are right in the middle of the dumbing of America. We are replacing once-sagacious politicians and pundits with telegenic dimwits who are promoted and glorified by media that have become increasingly careless and lazy. What kind of future does our country have if we allow so much credibility to be given to ignorant liars who have no idea of our past?

"No criticisms, please."

Everyone has a story (or ten) they wish they could forget, one that makes them cringe or blush every time they recall it. Here's one of mine. In 1993, when I was living in L.A. and looking for a collaborator for one of my musicals (I write the book and lyrics) I was contacted by an seasoned composer who had once had a semi-successful musical on Broadway. When I sent him the script which was about an early American president, he said rather bluntly he had no interest in writing music for my play and added, "Who would want to see this?" Despite that he and I kept up a correspondence for about a year. His letters, while self-centered, and deservedly so, were very interesting. And at times he sent me parts of other musicals he was working on. When I told him I was coming to New York, he insisted that I come by for breakfast, which I did. He lived with his girlfriend (both in their late 60s) in a rent-subsidized building near the Battery with a spectacular view of the harbor and The Statue of Liberty. While the breakfast was rather a peculiar concoction, the conversation was pleasant and it was great to hear theater stories from someone who was part of the Broadway world. At one point he reiterated that my musical would never get produced because nobody would be interested in such a boring theme. Though his comments were rather rude and blunt, I was not especially offended and even granted that he might be right. When we discussed his one Broadway success, which I had seen years before and had not enjoyed, I mentioned that I was surprised, having seen the play that it was based on, that he hadn't created a song on a special scene in the original play that I regarded as a powerful moment begging for musical expression. Once I said this, all amiability disappeared. He stood up and left the room. His girlfriend followed. Returning, she told me that he was tired and it was best for me to leave. Later, when I called, she made it very clear I was to have no further contact with this talented, but obviously over-sensitive, composer. Anyway, I hate this story and wish I could erase the memory. I am sure everyone has such experiences. For a while I wondered if I had been especially harsh in my criticism. If I should not have felt as free to comment on his play as he had on mine. Did I deliberately wound him? The answer is no. It is just another one of those unfortunate situations in life where a person feels he or she can make completely undiplomatic comments but are suddenly shattered when someone criticizes them. In this man's case it is especially sad because I suspect he would have been a more successful Broadway composer if he were not so sensitive.

Note: Once I moved back to Miami, I did find a very talented composer, John Dusenberry (in L.A. , where else?) to collaborate with me on the musical The Accidental President. We managed to have a very well-received production in Manhattan Beach, California. No one in the audience seems to have found the theme boring and, in fact, there were quite a few wet eyes during the moving last scenes.

Just watch.

This two-minute commercial was directed to me from a good friend in Boston. It's an amazing production for something that holds no interest for me: beer. I don't think I've ever seen a more spectacular commercial for any product. I have no more comments. If you haven't seen it already, prepare to be amazed.

Sapporo Beer Commercial - Legendary Biru

Shut up! Stop it! Go away!

I happen to be particularly sensitive to people screaming at me. This is a problem since so many commercials seem to favor singers who screech rather than sing. In this vein, this Jello commercial is my most hated music-wise. Not only because I detest the song but because this is one of those commercials that is considerably louder than any surrounding message. I am sure many readers will say, "I don't understand that. I like this song." Well enjoy. To me is just an irritating whine that makes me want to avoid purchasing any Jello product for the rest of my life.

Jello Mousse Temptations Commercial

It's still going on.

It has been 13 days since the Tuscon shootings, yet it is still the lead story on the national news. But should it be? I maintain that the country is not that obsessed with every detail of Ms. Giffords' welcome recovery or first-person accounts of the tragic day. It is just another example of the deterioration of broadcast news, especially from the major networks. I have no objections to being kept up to date on the encouraging news of each victim's recovery, but his has become absurdly over-reported to the exclusion of in-depth coverage on more relevant stories. If you think I am being petty about this, please express your feelings about it. I think this story will become the Moby Dick of news reporting.

Making stars take a back seat.

A friend asked me today what I think of this commercial. The answer is I don't like. Why? For the following reasons. I know it's profitable for the heirs of these great talents to make money, but it's still prostituting the art. One could argue that at least it keeps once-famous performers in the spotlight. But at what price? Pushing Jetta automobiles? I also detest this strident song. With all the great music these two guys were associated with the agency might have found something more in keeping with their style ("Moses Supposes"). 60 Minutes just had a feature on the ghoulish companies that make a fortune on dead celebrities. Sometimes deceased stars are used elegantly (costly perfume) most other times in a shabby, degrading manner: e.g. as wastebasket art. If you could have asked Gene and Donald while they were alive, "How would you feel about being used to demonstrate the roominess of a car's back seat after you're dead?" do you think they would have answered, "Great!"? I don't. But then I don't think Marilyn Monroe would have wanted to be featured on coffee mugs or salt and pepper shakers.

Backseat Dancer

The case of the empty mailbox or "You don't have e-mail."

I have written letters all my life. Letters of complaint, which were almost always answered and often include a coupon for a free sample of the product you complained about. And letters of praise which are usually acknowledged and generally do not include a coupon for the product you complimented. But lately I receive very few replies when I write to a company and no reply when writing to a specific person. Most websites seem to have everything you need to know except a contact mechanism. Some companies seem to do everything possible to avoid correspondence with their customers, which it a mistake since they will never learn what's good or bad about their products. Reaching celebrities is even more difficult, which is why there are so many sites by those who charge to allegedly give out secret addresses. Again this seems odd to me since actors, for instance, have always gauged their popularity by fan mail and could do so much more easily in the age of e-mail. Today I wanted to send Will Shortz—the leading crossword puzzle maven—an idea but could find no way to reach him. I sent it care of The New York Times and feel pretty sure it will never reach him. People just don't respond to mail like they used to. Even mail they requested. As a playwright, I am especially annoyed by the number of theaters who advertise for plays in publications like The Writer's Market but never acknowledge receipt or provide the follow-through they promised in their request for submissions. This is extremely rude since the author often has to print out a copy of a script, write a cover letter, mail the manuscript, include a SASE, and stand in line at the post office. A great waste of time and money. Even more infuriating are Miami playhouses who never seem to read or respond to any scripts that are sent to them. I recently sent 10 short plays to City Theater, the company that does Summer Shorts. No acknowledgement. Nothing. Nada. I should have known better since I have sent other submissions in past years. The Actors' Playhouse has also ignored submissions as has GablesStage, The New Theatre, and every other local theater. I find this shameful since Miami theaters should encourage local writers (other than their pals) since much of the grant money they receive is given for that purpose. If you call, they act as if they never received the play. But that excuse has become very tired. Even if my plays sucked, which they don't, a quick "your plays sucks" postcard or e-mail would be better than nothing. Well that's my cranky complaint of the day. So if you're planning to write to a someone other than a friend or relative, don't expect an answer.

Note: I just wanted to complain to Miami Police about a knife sharpening truck that comes through The Roads in the early morning blasting a song and sales message in Spanish. But the Miami Police Department has no e-mail for such comments. There is only a non-emergency phone number which is never answered quickly. Wouldn't you think they could have someone at a desk reading and sorting complaints and compiling those that are frequent?

Did Boston have Mad Men, too?

A friend recently asked me to give my impressions of Mad Men since I was in the advertising business for so long. I can't recall if I already wrote something similar, but if I did I can't find it, so here goes. For starters I got into advertising in 1966, a bit later than Mad Men. I also worked in Boston, which wasn't as glamorous as being on New York's Madison Avenue. Overall, I think the show rings very true, though I don't recall that much in-office drinking, nor any exec with a visible bar. Mostly it was a celebratory open the liquor cabinet event. Almost everybody smoked, of course, even though we never had a tobacco account like Sterling-Cooper. In the agencies I worked for, notably Ingall's, there was no one brilliant guru like Don Draper, but many talented copywriters and art directors. Each would have his or her down periods and moments of glory. (Mine, oddly enough, was a textbook concept for Zayre.) While Mad Men shows the glamor of coming up with a new campaign or slogan, they don't show the day-to-day drudgery of endless radio spots, retail ads, and tiresome brochures. I didn't find my male co-workers quite as juvenile and sex-starved as those on Mad Men, or perhaps I didn't notice. There were several Peter Campbell's that were very hard to read and as many Roger Sterlings who hit the bars right after work. (One arrogant and alcoholic AE sadly went from managing a major account to being a bag boy at a supermarket only blocks from the agency.) The best thing about being a creative in an advertising agency was that there was no strict dress code and lunch hours were wide open. (Ah, to have the money I spent at Lananas, Top of the Hub, Jimmy's Harborside, Pier 4, and Joseph's.) Back then we writers wrote more from the heart and our own observations than from some dictated demographic profile, which is why ads were better then. Was there a lot of professional jealousy? Probably. But not as much as I see on Mad Men. I would guess that every agency I worked for had, at some point, a Joan Harris: the voluptuous, unusually competent, secretary or office manager every straight man wanted to have sex with. One thing that intrigues me was that I was given more respect and regard when I was new to the field than decades later in Miami when I was a seasoned pro. (By that time many witless account executives fancied they were creative, which resulted in the complete downfall of my last agency.) But anyway, back to Mad Men. I think the show captures perfectly the many moods of an ad agency: the camaraderie of an office party, the exhilaration of getting a new account, the desolation of working late, the panic of coming up with a new idea, the joy of having your concept accepted, and the annoyance of dealing with clients who don't recognize what's best for them. For the most part I find the characters and situations very real and similar to many I've known. However, I found the Salvatore Romano character's angst unbelievable because I never knew of anyone who openly objected to having a gay man or woman on staff. There would have been no need to remain in the closet (a term that didn't exist then). Plus our straight office romances weren't nearly as gossip-worthy since they often involved the recently divorced rather than the tentatively married. Mad Men also realistically captures a feeling for the culture of the time: the death of Kennedy, the popular books like The Fountainhead and The Best of Everything. (The set for Mad Men was certainly based on the movie set of The Best of Everything). Another oddity is that, unlike today, most of the staff went home by 5:30. I know I did. While many of the staff lived in Boston's posh and not so posh suburbs, most of us lived in the Back Bay or nearby community. So we weren't like Don Draper and other ad men catching the train to Ossining or Scarsdale. Creatives who were more ambitious or more enamored with advertising (not I) dreamed of working in New York and often did. Later you would see their names in such revered publications as The One Show book. One such multi-award winner was a kid who had worked in the mailroom at Ingalls. So how realistic is Mad Men? Very realistic. And to people like me, very nostalgic. Overall I think that being in advertising in the 60s was an incredible privilege. It was being part of the Golden Age of advertising: a time of classic campaigns for clients like VW ("How does the man who drives the snow plow get to the snow plow?") and memorable commercials like Noxzema's "Take if off. Take it all off." I hadn't as yet written for national accounts, but a close friend worked on the Kennedy election campaign and American Tourister luggage with such spokespersons as Bob Hope and Shirley Jones. Sadly I have not been in touch with many colleagues from that great period, other than a brilliant art director who still lives in Boston and a talented (and gorgeous) writer who has her own business in Toronto. But then I doubt—if they were real—that Peggy Olson, Peter Campbell, Ken Cosgrove and others would be friends today.

Shockingly stupid.

This commercial for Butterfingers is the kind of concept I don't get at all—for many reasons. First of all, given that you have two such attractive actresses and such a lavish set, you would expect something more creative than this standard cliche. (The same basic premise is used for any number of other products.) Secondly what is this trend towards commercials that portray selfish, mean-spirited people? Is that really what passes for humor these days? Also, I think that even absurd situations should have some logic. This has none. Why did she put out the Butterfingers if she didn't want her guest to have one? Why does she have a costly electronic zapper to shock any guest that attempts to take a treat that's probably worth about 8 cents. The whole spot is absurd. And if you followed through on the logic, the belle eating the Butterfingers would have to be a deranged, sadistic nutcase. Is that the target customer for Butterfingers? I declare.

Butterfinger Snackerz Commercial: Southern Comfort Be Danged, A Lady Has...

The devil's own invention.

If I had to select the most annoying aspect of modern society, I would have hundreds from which to choose: people who talk loudly on their cell phones; far too many commercials on television, including those that are flashed on while you are watching a show; the idea that anything that brings in profit must be quality; the sad truth that just about everything is made in China; and anything that Republicans do. But there is one thing that annoys me on a regular basis more than any of these other lesser vexations: leafblowers. There is no present-day, so-called useful invention as diabolical as the gas-powered leafblower. These two-cylinder machines from hell have engines that are primitive, cheap and harmful to the environment. Each one releases 100% of its emissions into the environment and in one hour emits as many hydrocarbons and other pollutants as a car driving at 55 mph for 110 miles. And while it poisons the air, it emits high frequency sounds with decibel levels that exceed acceptable, yet unregulated, standards: The incessant drone of a single leaf blower can be heard blocks away. And why do we even have these useless tormentors? So that lawn care and maintenance workers can blow the leaves from a customer's yard or office complex into the street or onto to property of someone else. Basically leafblowers don't actually do anything except make noise; strip topsoil; destroy roots; fill the air with contaminants, mold, fungal spores, insect eggs, pollen and whatever toxic chemicals have been sprayed on the lawns; create ill will among neighbors; and make life easier for lawn care companies whose employees are too damned lazy to pick up a rake or broom. Happily for some lucky Americans, gasoline-driven leafblowers have been banned in many counties across the U.S. and Canada and in such major cities as Los Angeles. (Why couldn't that have been the case when I lived there?) Unfortunately no such intelligent ban has been issued in Miami, so I have to hear the maddening drone of these damned machines on a daily basis. I do have one consolation in regard to leafblowers. I noticed that most of those using these machines do not wear earphones, ear plugs, or face masks, so I get some satisfaction out of knowing that my torturers will all be deaf within a few years and breathing on a hospital respirator. I hope it's noisy.

Note: While most of the crankiness of this post is mine, many of the facts for this were gleaned from an article written by Winifred Rosen, Guest Commentator in DrWeil.com News

A great series from...err...umm...Allstate.

I love this commercial. When I saw the first one in this series (he was a falling branch) I didn't appreciate what a great concept this is. Now I look forward to each new disaster. In the latest he is heavy snow on the roof of a garage. Of course the fact that they have cast the perfect actor makes all the difference. Who is this guy playing Mayhem? Dean Winters, who has frightened in similar roles on series like Rescue Me, Oz, an 30 Rock, none of which I have ever seen. I would have included these spots before but I couldn't find them because I have always confused All State and State Farm. Duh.

Allstate TV Ad: Pink SUV Mayhem

Breaking the unwritten law.

There is a kind of unwritten law among civilized people. One is not supposed to wish bad things upon those you despise. You can think them all you like, but you are not to voice them. Because of this we say absurd things like, "I don't like him, but I hope he recovers from his cancer." Or really stupid things to an atheist like me, comments such as, "He'll get his punishment from God." No. he or she won't. If they don't get their retribution now then it's all over. Then there are those who superstitiously believe that if you wish bad things on someone, you will suffer the same of similar fate. Where did that come from? Anyway with this said, I can tell you I wish nothing but agonizing pain for Dick Cheney, the kind of death so many have suffered because of him. I would like to know he was trapped in a car alone on a cold rainy night and that rushing rainwater was falling suffocatingly on his face like the prisoners he had waterboarded. I could wish he had to have several limbs removed before dying, so that he would have some idea of how the amputees feel who lost their arms and legs because of his arrogance. This is a man whose ego has resulted in the deaths of thousands of American men and women, of countless men, women and children in Iraq. He is a liar, a cheat, a fraud and a coward. He is a bitter old man who was just as bitter when he was young. He is an amoral unemotional bully who has no regrets for the soldiers who are dead or maimed or blind or mentally incompetent. He is a man given every opportunity for good who chose instead to vent his endless anger on a country who did him no harm. He is a greedy egotist who, in addition to unleashing war on a country, turned his vendetta into a chance to enrich his corrupt cronies with no-bid contracts and mega-inflated costs. No, this is not a man who deserves to die in bed. Yet, since there is no god, no retribution, no karma, he probably will.

The Stigma of Musical Comedy

On one of the many occasions when George Bush, Jr. fell off his mountain bike, his spin doctors—eager to make sure this klutz didn't appear weak or effeminate—pointed out that, "He wasn't whistling show tunes." This is the same basic homophobic belief used in commercials and TV sitcoms: Manly men do not listen to show tunes. I find this whole premise offensive since it fosters a false stereotype that only men who are gay or effeminate are fans of Broadway show music.

Those who subscribe to this cliche must also believe that through the decades the Broadway musical stage has been supported by women and gay men and that those same fans must be the ones to whom millions of original cast albums were sold. That would also mean that the only heterosexual men to see stage or movie musicals are those unfortunate enough to be dragged to the theaters by their wives or girlfriends. It's a ridiculous premise that continues to be promulgated.

When the seminal musical Oklahoma opened in March or 1943, it was an enormous smash. Since the country was at war, its all-American setting and sentiments were especially popular with servicemen about to go overseas. Once they did, it was not unusual to hear soldiers, sailors, and marines unashamedly singing, "The Farmer and the Cowman Should be Friends" or even, "I'm Just a Girl Who Can't Say No." And those were just two of the songs from that show constantly playing on the radio. They were great songs and guess what? both Rodgers and Hammerstein were straight. So were such other musical creators as George M. Cohan, Irving Berlin, Harold Rome, Frank Loesser, and both Lerner and Loewe. One famous lyricist, a close friend of Frank Sinatra was so straight that he out-womanized Old Blue Eyes.

It's also true, of course, that many composers and lyricists were gay, including Cole Porter, Noel Coward, Lorenz Hart and Jerry Herman. But what does that prove? Americans didn't ask who the creators of musicals were sleeping with; they just wanted to hear those great songs. For decades the top 40 charts included such Broadway hits as "You're Just in Love" from Call Me Madam, "If I Loved You" from Carousel, and "Standing on the Corner" from The Most Happy Fella by the late 60s Rock and Roll took over the recording and broadcast industry and show music was confined to the stage, TV specials, original cast recordings and badly directed films like 1967's leaden Camelot.

With musicals less accessible, fans had to seek them out and soon anyone who did so was branded by the lovers of contemporary music as not only uncool but unmanly. It's an odd example of Group Think because today's young gay doesn't like or know show music any more than his straight contemporary. I doubt that most leading rock stars have any interest in The Great White Way, though famously heterosexual superstar Billy Joel was thrilled to turn his music into a Broadway show. Saying you have to be gay to to love Broadway musicals is like saying you have to be Indian to appreciate the sitar. It's a matter of musical taste not an indicator of sexual proclivity or repressed desires.

So, President Bush shouldn't have been afraid to whistle "Oh, What a Beautiful Morning" as he biked clumsily along a mountain trail. And the muscled mechanic with six kids, covered with grease, shouldn't worry about getting caught singing, "Send in the Clowns." Liking or disliking musical comedy is not a litmus test for masculinity. It's musical comedy. It's a strong, proud, ever-evolving art form that was invented in New York City with the premiere of The Black Crook at Niblo's Garden on September 12, 1866. And for almost 150 years nobody has done it better than Americans, gay or straight.

Another week in Miami.

All right, I admit it. The following is a recycled piece I wrote years ago. I only include it because it seems just as true today. Its title: Things that happen every week in Miami.

A private plane will land on a highway, golf course, or suburban street and two or more people will be killed while one passenger, usually the pilot, will survive.

A young husband or boyfriend will murder his wife or girlfriend then turn the gun on himself. The neighbors will say they were a lovely couple.

A teenager, who didn't even know she was pregnant, will leave her newborn at the door of a church or in a dumpster.

Somebody's father, uncle, cousin or grandfather suffering from Alzheimers will go missing

A body, in one piece or dismembered will turn up in a canal. Not far away will be a sunken car which is completely unrelated.

A tractor-trailer will jackknife during rush hour causing its toxic cargo to spill, requiring the evacuation of an entire town.

A child will bring a gun, knife, torpedo, rocket launcher, or other weapon to school and be expelled.

A mysterious suitcase will be left at the airport, creating a bomb scare, before it is discovered that the contents are harmless.

A local politician or school board member will be caught embezzling money, taking graft, performing obscene acts or using taxpayers' money to finance a family vacation in Bali.

A pit bull will attack a woman, child, cat, poodle or blind man in a wheelchair. The owner will show amazement since Killer never showed aggression before.

An infant, tot, or toddler will fall from a third story window or balcony and be completely unharmed.

Residents of a rundown apartment building will be left homeless because of a fire caused by an elderly person smoking in bed.

During an episode or road rage a perfectly lovely housewife will take out her nail file and stab another angry driver to death.

A travel company will mysteriously close its doors and run off with the deposits of hundreds of consumers who planned on taking a Caribbean cruise.

German, Swedish, Italian or Candian tourists will tearfully explain how their vacation is ruined because they were robbed leaving the airport.

The local news stations will report all these incidents as if they never happened before.

Role reversal.

This Sprint spot is one of those interesting commercials which, as presented, are considered funny, but if reversed would be less so. Imagine the very same commercial with the man breaking up with the girl. Suddenly he seems cold-hearted and brutish, though it is exactly the same human interchange. As I have written before, if you reverse the sexes on many commercials their impact is completely changed. It seems it is acceptable for women to belittle and abuse men in commercials, but not the other way around. Think I'm wrong? Pay close attention to any commercial featuring a couple.

Sprint Break Up Commercial

Ah, yes, I remember them well.

I have seen hundreds of plays and musicals; both amateur and professional; on Broadway, in regional theaters and high school auditoriums. I have seen such greats as Mary Martin, Bert Lahr, Eli Wallach, Maggie Smith, and—at Boston's Symphony Hall—Charles Laughton giving thundering readings from the Bible and later Bette Davis and Gary Merrill in their two-person show The World of Carl Sandburg. What was the most exciting play I ever saw? Easy. Eileen Heckart in The Effect of Gamma Rays on Man-in-the-Moon Marigolds. The play by Paul Zindel was so powerful, so riveting, so disturbing, and Ms. Heckart's performance so intensely perfect, that at intermission nobody applauded and, for a few moments, nobody moved. The entire production was perfection and I'll never forget it. Thinking about it today made me realize and oddity of the American Theater. When I was younger, many plays came to Boston and other American cities that were "must sees." Everybody went. And, often these shows were so popular they returned again and again. Among them were Moonchildren, The World of Suzie Wong, No Time for Sergeants, Equus, and The Boys in the Band. All wildly popular in their time. Yet oddly enough none of them is especially significant today. Most were made into forgettable movies, the saddest being The Effect of Gamma Rays on Man-in-the-Moon Marigolds because director Paul Newman and his star Joanne Woodward failed to capture any of the play's magic. Others are rarely seen on TV. And another seems to have completely disappeared: Moonchildren by Michael Weller, which had critics raving at the time. So what's the point of this post? I guess just to reflect on how the fate of stage plays can be so different from movies. And to wonder if the same situation occurs today. Are there any contemporary dramas that go from "You've got to see this play" to "Yeah, I kind of remember that." I would say yes, and my candidates would be Wit, Proof, Sideman and possibly a play I saw in New York two years ago and, for the first time paid $125.00 for a ticket" August, Osage County.

It continues.

As I said last week, I think the event in Tucson is truly a tragedy. The deaths are heartbreaking and we are all wishing the best for Gabrielle Giffords. But again I think the media is going way overboard on coverage. It has now been a week and it is still the top news story. Not the floods and deaths in Brazil, 631 victims to date. Not the floods in Australia and the, as yet, unknown damage. No, we are interviewing schoolchildren on a baseball field in Tucson to see what they think about the future of their city. We are told, happily, that another child was saved because of organ donations from Cristina Taylor Green. What's happening to the cholera-ridden children in Haiti? Giffords's husband has a TV special on Tuesday night. Will there ever be a special featuring a scientist discussing global warming? Maybe people aren't interested in serious news. But that's not the issue. The issue is that the news media, notably broadcast news, are determining what we should and should not know. The Tuscon story is easy for them: remotes, sad stories, recaps, interviews, follow-ups, doctors' reports, anchors with sad facial expressions. But most of it is manipulative and unnecessary coverage. The world is increasingly complex, ergo: dangerous. Yet we are mired in minutuae and kept from understanding the world situation. We know more about Justin Bieber than we do about North Korea or China. We know animals have been dropping dead throughout the world. We don't know why? If America, as many believe, is becoming more violent does that mean that we'll have wall-to-wall coverage on every new shooting event and never learn another thing about the rest of the world?

This week I have been eager to post, but have found nothing to write about, at least nothing that pleased or irritated me so much that I wanted to comment. The Tuscon event was horrible, of course, but, as I wrote, the news covered that endlessly. Although in the English department, I found it annoying that a highly paid national news person, after reporting that the Ms. Giffords' breathing tube had been removed, added that "another victim was also released from the hospital." Since Giffords was not released, this is a truly stupid blunder. Oh, well. There are many commercials I hate, but I can't find them on YouTube to show you why. The music on the Jell-o commercials drives me mad. I think all car commercials are alike in that they are far too dramatic, suggest the car will change your life and make you younger and more exciting. Plus they always show it going faster than you can ever legally drive. I love the insurance commercial with the guy who is a hurricane and a 16-year-old-girl among other threats to life and limb. But I can't recall the company. Last night, while waiting for another show to start I watched a little bit of last night's Miss America Pageant, which seem to have been designed for men with a foot fetish since the commercials were mostly for DSW (WSD? SWD?) and one of the shamelessly commercial questions was, "What are you favorite shoes?" I am always surprised that most of these mannequins actually have talent and was especially impressed by the ventriloquist who had two singing dummy's and never moved her glossy lips. The show I was waiting for was yet another murder program. These fascinate me because I am amazed at the number of people who have perfectly wonderful lives, but want more, more, more. To get it they commit a crime—murder—and end up in jail with nothing, nothing, nothing. One aspect of these shows that intrigues me as the number of victims' parents who are very Christian, yet are hell bent on the most draconic revenge for the killer, even when the killer is still a teen. I guess the concept of forgiveness doesn't apply in such cases. Speaking of murder, I happen to believe that Amanda Knox is innocent and hope the new forensic team clears her. I am bothered that so many people I admire are convinced of her guilt. If I'm wrong, I will be very disappointed. I just picked up litter from the front yard. Who are these strange creatures who drive by and toss bottles and candy wrappers in front of somebody's home? Is it thoughtless or hostile? See what I mean? I have no clear direction for a posting. Hopefully I'll see something today that's really annoying.

The feeling that you're being followed.

El Dorado Furniture does some very nice commercials and, in general, their furniture is high-quality and well-designed at least compared to most stores today. But I would never shop at El Dorado again. Why? Because as soon as you enter the store someone is assigned to follow you. Perhaps stalk would be a better word. It's very unnerving to search for that right chair or bed and constantly see this hands-folded salesperson out of the corner of your eye. As soon as you move, they move. Now in any other store you could say to the salesperson, "I'm sorry. I don't need any help. I'll let you know if I do." But that doesn't work at El Dorado. When I tried it the salesperson informed me that salespersons are required to stay with the customer. When I told him I would never make a purchase while being tracked, he arrogantly indicated that perhaps El Dorado was not the store for me. He was right.

El Dorado Furniture Chico White Bedroom Set Commercial

Tragedy in Tuscon brings world to a stop.

There is no question that today's shooting in Tuscon of Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords and the wounding and deaths of several bystanders is a hideous tragedy. It is certainly a newsworthy event. But once again the lazy news media have turned it into meaningless non-stop coverage. While it should be reported, analyzed and returned to with any new information, that is not the case. It is reported to the exclusion of any other news on several networks. It is a cause for speculation, anecdotes, theories, and endless repetitions of the obvious.( Naturally since Giffords was one of the persons targeted in Palin's infamous crosshair map, Sarah was asked for a comment. True to form, this vengeful hypocrite expressed shock, sadness and—most shameful of all—innocence.) This sad event is to the news media what snow days are to school children, a chance to avoid having to do their jobs and being able to skip homework for at least another day because, of course, nothing else happened in the world. Each repeater of every iterated item must wear the mournful look of someone who was closely related to the victims. Each must act as if the meaningless bit of trivia being offered up is somehow significant. I repeat, this incident is terrible. And our hearts go out to the families of those who were killed. But we are living in a complex and varied world. We need serious news sources, not media, notably broadcast media, that collapse at the first sign of a big story and abandon all other world news.

Note: Especially offensive today was the CBS Evening News, which interviewed— in the studio— a member of Gifford's medical team still wearing his white lab coat to add a touch of show business to this tragedy.

Note: It is now three days later and this story still takes up most of the broadcast news coverage. Did nothing else happen in the world? Did the tragedy in Australia miraculously disappear? Is there no longer malaria in Haiti?

Note: We might also ask ourselves if we're do disturbed by tragedies like this or plane crashes or tornados, then why do so many of us eagerly watch the endless coverage to learn even more horrendous details?

Michael Steele Says Favorite Book "War & Peace," Quotes Wrong Book

Those Republicans is so well read.

Nothing has aroused me enough to write a post this week, but I don't like to go too long without adding something new. So I will include this hilarious moment of Republican lying. During a debate with the candidates for the chairmanship of the Republican National Committee, one of the questions asked was, "What is your favorite book?" Former Chairman Reince Priebus (yes, a real name) a true s***-eating sycophant, replied, The Reagan Diaries. (Do people still say, "Gag me with a spoon?") Missouri's Ann Wagner, not to be out-toadied, gave this obsequious reply, "I like George W. Bush's new book, how about that?" With that reply she gave proof positive that she's a complete illiterate and liar. Deputy Chairman Maria Cino, to her credit, said, To Kill a Mockingbird. I'm sure the Republicans will punish her for that intelligent and liberal answer. But the comic highspot of these replies was when complete dodo, Michael Steele, in an attempt to convince us that he is a well-read person replied—are you ready?—War and Peace. Before one could even drop their jaw at such an absurd and unbelievable reply, he proved it was both absurd and unbelievable by adding, "It was the best of times. It was the worst of times."As anyone who reads this blog knows that is the opening of Dicken's A Tale of Two Cities." On hearing this gaffe, even Tucker Carlson was amused and stunned, as you can see by watching the video.

Jerry Hadley - Maria - Leonard Bernstein

A great Gatsby and a hundred other roles.

A learned friend of mine from Argentina often teased me about not knowing persons whom he regarded, quite rightly, as world famous. He often said, "You Americans don't know anything about the world." What he meant was that we were not aware of luminaries who were not famous in America. Recently I realized that we are often unaware of world-renowned people in our own country. Case in point: Jerry Hadley. Now this name may not mean anything to most people. I meant nothing to me a year ago, though I had probably seen Mr. Hadley perform on several occasions. Jerry Hadley was an opera singer who also made a huge success in musical comedy. Hadley, who was born in Princeton, Illinois, on June 16, 1952, originally wanted to be a conductor. At his friends' urging, he became a singer and, at 27, made his New York Opera debut as Arturo in Lucia de Lammermoor. Fame quickly followed as he played leading roles in opera houses throughout the world, starred in many albums and was regarded as America's leading tenor. He has also chosen by Leonard Bernstein to sing the title role of the 1989 concert production of Candide. Fortunately it was recorded on video and is available on DVD so you can appreciate his great talent in this production and, of course, on a wide choice of YouTube videos. His final Metropolitan Opera appearance was in the title role of John Harbison's Great Gatsby.What's the point of this post? Probably nothing except to pay a small belated tribute to a great American talent who died July 18, 2007, after eight days of being on life-support from a self-inflicted gunshot wound. What a loss to the world of music.