Watering Your Hard To Reach Plants (Open Letter #1)

OPEN LETTER TO THE INFOMERCIAL VOICE OVER GUY.


I have been watching television for a long time: nearly my entire life and professionally for nearly twenty years now. In all that time one thing, well, many things have been consistant, but the one I am talking about now is the voice of the guy who reads the phone number at the end of an infomercial. It has been the same voice for as long as I can remember. Who is this guy? How has he cornered the market on infomercial voice over for, Christ, more years than I can imagine. At least thirty-five or forty. I have a few ideas about this.

The first is the obvious: the guy has a great voice, he is very good at what he does and everyone wants to use him for their commercials. If he started in his twenties he would only be sixty or so now and that is not that old. It all makes perfect sense and is completely possible. Boring!

Maybe, the guy is the mastermind behind all infomercial products. He pre-recorded all those bits for the end of the infomercials years ago, making up product names on the spot, and has actually been dead for years. You see the script for the end of those things is always the same. “Call 1-800-###-#### now to order your (insert product) for only $19.99. Act now and receive a second (product name) just pay separate shipping and handling. Have your credit card ready and call 1-800-###-#####. That’s 1-800-###-#####.” Or some variation of that. I think the guy recorded hundreds of these things and then years later someone had to invent a product to fit the name he made up. And then they got the phone company to assign the phone number the dude made up as well. My only proof of this particular scenario is the fact that the voice in question is only ever reading the bit at the end of the commercial. The actual infomercial uses a different voice.

And why is everything $19.99.

Still, who is this guy? I had a theory for a while that it was a man named Danny Breen. He is an actor and comedian that was on Not Necessarily the News, a sketch comedy show on HBO in the 80’s. He has the voice for sure and I haven’t seen him on TV since that show. He could be recording these things in his home, collecting a check and living it up. NNTN was an Americanized version of a BBC show called Not the Nine O’clock News. It had Rowan Atkinson on it. It was very funny but only ran a few years. Two things the American series was not.

I’m sure the first of my theories is the right one. And if you want some really good comments about infomercials, look up the Mitch Hedberg bit about four easy payments. Classic. Take care my Tender Lumplings.

Open Letter letter opener (aka a butter knife)

Well my Tender Lumplings it seems 2013 is well on it's way.  January passed without incident and February is upon us.  Big things are afoot already for this year, big plans and a couple of little trips already booked.  It would seem this is going to be a musical year, at least the first bit of it.  Tickets have been bought for concerts and I have already been to one bar to see a couple of bands play.  I do so love live music.  I would really like to play live myself again sometime and I may.  Someday.

I am also in the mood to write again.  Not just here for you my dearies, but other things.  Maybe I'll attempt it again.  I gave it up for a while, figuring nothing would come of it.  And nothing did so I guess I was right.  But now I may try again.  What has me in the mood you ask?  Well, I'll tell you.  I've been reading a book or two about one of my heroes, one Mr. Kurt Vonnegut.  Seems that though he was a great writer he was also a very bad writer.  I'll explain.

He spent nearly twenty-five years without a successful career as a writer.  From the time he came home from the war, until he published Slaughterhouse Five in 1969, he struggled to support himself and his family with writing.  He didn't support them actually.  He sold a couple of books that were not big hits.  He sold a lot of short stories but they didn't pay very well.  He had to take all sorts of other jobs.  He even  opened a Saab dealership.  Not that is desperation if I ever heard it.  And he was bad for taking forever to finish stories.  So, even though what he wrote was genius, he was not very good at the actual writing part.

And neither am I.  I am terrible at making myself write.  Even when I want to I find some reason not too.  The main reason being I know that when I do make myself write, it sure as heck isn't going to turn out to be a work of genius when it is done.  At least Mr. Vonnegut had that to look forward to when his stories were finished (though he probably wouldn't have said his work was genius either, but it was).

One of the books I've been reading is a collection of letters Vonnegut wrote during his life to friends, family and other people.  Even some to companies and newspapers.  This has gotten me to thinking about this blog and how I can use it.

Now the blog is, in it's own way, a sort of open letter.  Anyone can read it and it is usually a way for someone to set forth their ideas and opinions.  That is just what I've been doing.  And most of my entries have had some sort of theme or topic to each one.  But I have never really formally addressed them to anyone.  That is about to change.  The next few (or maybe several, we'll see how this goes) posts will be address, openly, to someone or something and then I will go about letting everyone know what I think.  I may not always be critical of the topic, I may be very supportive.  Or I may rip them a new one.  Again, we shall see.

So, stay tuned my dear Lumplings for my next post.  And if you know anyone in the Hawaiian Pineapple Growers Association, let them know they are in for it.  Until then...

A Dark And Stormy Night: The Bookshop

It was at the end of a seldom used side street.  Just an alley really.  Cars rarely drove the street and there was never any foot traffic.  But the bookshop was there and had always been there.  Always available to those that needed it.  Accessible to the ones that sought it out.  Open to the public twenty four hours a day.

There was no welcome sign on the door, nor was there a lock.  The little bell that rang when the door opened had no clapper.  It only made a noise because it knew it was supposed to.  And no matter how much dust was shaken off when it rang it never became less dusty than it already was.  Besides, the yellowed glass of the door wouldn't allow enough light through to illuminate the dust as if fell.  There was no shaft of sunlight for the particles to dance and float and play within like in some melancholy poem.

Just inside the door was a coat rack with an old canvas duster hanging on the one unbroken hook.  Beside it was a ancient brass planter pressed into service as an umbrella stand.  It was empty accept for a few chewing gum wrappers throw into the bottom.  From there on, all the way to the back of the shop some hundred odd feet away were books.  The two walls were lined floor to ceiling with shelves and the fifteen feet of floor space that separated them was split down the middle by a makeshift wall of volumes.   It averaged about four feet high and was broken only in two places to allow a person to cross from one side to the other.

Then, in the very back of the shop was a small table.  It held only four items: a cash box, locked even though it was empty; a magnifying glass with an ivory handle; a small desk lamp with a Tiffany shade; and a pocket watch with no chain.  The old office chair behind the table was upholstered in green Naugahyde which had been patched repeatedly with duct tape.  And in the chair sat Maxwell, quite dead.

Fuck the Mayans

Well, my Tender Lumplings, it seems another year is nearly gone and while I did much better and posted a lot more this year than in the past, it did tend to slow down in the second half of the calendar.  Why is this?  I don't know. Maybe on some level I actually believed the Mayans were onto something.  It could be that I was under some spell and it wore off.  But that isn't it either.  Mostly, I prefer to blame congress.  There were many times I wanted to write something about whatever was going on at the time like the election or some tragic event or the like.  But I didn't for whatever reason.  Sometimes it was because I couldn't organize my thoughts on the subject.  Sometimes it was because I knew I would piss off a lot of you and I don't want to do that.  Mostly, I was just lazy and didn't do it.  

So am I going to promise you that I will keep up my posting in the new year?  Promise to post at least once a week and twice on Sunday?  No, I'm not.  You wouldn't believe me anyway.  I will try my best to do as good as I have this year.  

I don't make new years resolutions.  I try hard not to make any promises about what I'm going to do or try to do in the new year.  This isn't to say I don't make plans.  Sure, we all do, but I'm no better at acting on those plans than anyone.  And if I make it a formal resolution, that is just like admitting I won't do it.  So, having said that, here are some of my ideas of things I might like to try and maybe do in the new year.

I want to catch up on all the TV shows I haven't been watching.  I have several seasons of certain series both on DVD and my DVR that I need to watch.  And I also want to watch a bunch of movies I haven't seen.  I would like to try to watch all the Hitchcock movies.  

As always there are the usual unfinished projects to tackle.  

I will continue my study of Hinduism.

I want to practice musical stuff and get better.  I'm terribly out of practice.  And for someone who is wanting to write and record his epic concept album, well, you need to be at your best.  

Let's see, what else.  Oh yeah, eat better, lose weight, whatever.  

So, dearies, I probably won't see you again until after the first of the year.  I wish you all peace of mind and peaceful lives.  Just keep saying this over and over:

Om Gam Ganapataye Namaha.  

Until next time...

A Dark And Stormy Night: The Death of Johnny Bristol

As he lay there, gasping, expecting each ragged breath to be his last, he couldn't help reflecting on what had brought him to this situation. He knew the guy had been standing behind him.  He knew the fucker was armed.  Of course he was.  But he went ahead and threatened the Monarch anyway.  You don't do that.  Especially when one of his men is standing behind you with a gun.  Idiot.  Now he was dead, well, dying.  It wasn't true, he knew now, what they say about never hearing the shot that kills you.  He heard it.  A loud crack, like a violent period punctuating the sentence he should never have spoken. 

He could hear the Monarch screaming at his guy.  He couldn't move, he could barely breathe now, but his ears were still working perfectly. The fucker was really getting his ass chewed.  The Monarch was not happy that Fucker had shot him.  Not happy at all.  There was a loud bang and then a dull thud.  He tried to force his dying eyes to focus.  There, lying in front of him, no more than a foot from his own face was that of Fucker, one eye staring straight at him.  The other eye gone, blown away by the bullet.  The Monarch was really not happy. 

Then the Monarch's deep voice echoed in his now faltering ear, "Good night, Johnny.  We almost had something beautiful."

He shut his eyes, all sound faded, his breathing stopped and for a second there was silence and peace and then there was nothing. 

If I Had A Hammer...

Something has been bothering me of late, my Tender Lumplings, and I don’t know if writing about it will help or not but it seems that is what I’m going to do. I do believe that these times we have spent together here have done me good and I hope you have enjoyed them as well. There have been moments of mirth and mayhem and boredom to be sure but overall I think this is a good thing, this so called blog. Even if it soon is over, if the Mayans are to be believed, then I hope it was time well spent. (Although I have to confess I think we are in for another false alarm. The Mayans are going to pull a major “Camping” on us.) In the meantime let us get on with today’s business.


I was working on a rather large project the other day and had a sort of revelation. The project was a fence I have been building around my backyard for some time now. A project that has been going on far too long but that is another blog in itself. While working, I realized something: I have no idea how to build a fence. I have had no training, no instruction what so ever. I was just putting up boards and screwing them together. This sort of seat-of-the-pants work model reminded me of something.

Years ago there was a TV show called M*A*S*H, you may have heard of it. It was about a bunch of doctors at an army hospital near the front lines during wartime. They always said what they did was “meatball surgery”, it wasn’t pretty, but it was effective. They did what they had to in order to save the person’s life. So I decided what I had been doing there in the backyard was “meatball carpentry”. It isn’t pretty but it works. It’s still standing and it blocks the perimeter of the property.

Then I thought about this further and I think I may have been living my whole life that way. I’ve never really done anything right, I have half-assed everything. I slept-walked through high school and college, getting by with the minimum effort required. My work career has been spent playing it safe most of the time. I start projects and make plans that are rarely ever finished or fulfilled. So for the past forty some odd years I have been living a “meatball life”. Making it up as I go and getting by with just a slapdash and improvised system to keep it all rolling. I don’t think things through. I don’t consider what it will take to complete the task I have set for myself. Basically, I’m a hack.

So now I’m supposed to give the big speech: “From this day on I will finish what I start. I will dedicate myself 110% to my plans and projects and not rest until they are complete. I will…blah blah blah.” No I won’t. I won’t do any of that. I can’t change now, not this far into the show. Why lie to myself and everyone else? Better to be honest and say I won’t really change.

However I will make one statement, not a promise, just a statement: I’ll try to do better. That is all I can say, I’ll try to do better. I am going to focus on the four projects I currently have going that have already taken too much of my time and money to abandon. I have long since given up on a lot of things. I will never write that book. I admit I’m not a good enough artist to ever paint that masterpiece. I will never write and direct a great film. But I will try to finish up these four projects and then we will see what happens.

I’m just a guy trying to get through this. I’m not perfect, not even close. But I’m trying, Dearies, and maybe, sometime, I’ll get something right.

I Hold These Truths...

I was reminded of something this morning while walking my dog. We were standing there in the yard, neither of us fully awake yet, and I was waiting on her while she was looking for just the right spot. That, my Tender Lumplings, is when two things became evident to me: yawns are contagious and everyone has to pee when they first get up in the morning. These two truths are part of what I call the Great Equalizers, a group of things that are true of everyone. Whether you are rich or poor, black, white, green, whatever, these few things bind us all together as animals on earth. From the Pope, to a supermodel, to your garbage man (waste re-location engineer), we all, everyone, eat, sleep, and make #1 and #2. If you don't do these things then you are either dead or about to be. Some other equalizers include the yawning thing, which crosses species, and the morning pee thing and a few others. The thing is, not that we all do these things, but what it means that we all do these things.


Without getting to graphic, think about this: everyone goes to the bathroom every day. Everyone. Whether it is you or some celebrity or politician or whoever, when you are sitting there you are just like everyone else and no one is any better than anyone else. And that is true. Some may try and argue about that but when you think about it, it is true. End of story. Every animal on the planet knows this. Krishna, Buddha, and Jesus, when they walked the surface of this spinning mud ball as real, living men, they had to do the same things we all do do. There are other common threads that bind us together of course. We all need oxygen and water, stuff like that, but if you are looking for the most basic, lowest common denominator, we know what it really is. Just like the bumper sticker says, "Shit Happens".

What I'm really getting at is this: when you get right down to it we are all the same. We may be different colors and speak different languages and believe different things but we are all the same. We have this one Earth to live on (for now) and we should stop all the bickering and complaining and just realize that. Quit trying to kill each other over stupid things. Unless everything goes pop in December, it is going to be 2013 in a few months. When I was a kid I could barely even imagine living in the 2000's. But when I did I didn't think we would still be such a petty, stupid species.

Until we meet again my Dearies...