Paulie sez: Newtley May Remarry

In this pre-SuperTuesday Editorial MOBPAC spokesman Paul E. Almonds warns a depressed Newt Gingrich is not a happy camper. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TNigIhFJGgI&feature=youtu.be

Old Coot's Crackin' Christmas Collection

Old Coot Hat & Camera

The Old Coot with a  Camera presents his Top Five Great Christmas Presents to give to friends and loved ones. Here's a hint: Number Two is "booze." He also unveils a hitherto undisclosed talent--music. Accompanying himself on his Mighty Organ, OC-WAC presents bold interpretations of Holiday Classics. Look for an album soon.

Our Maine Hurrication (with videos)—Summer, 2011

Where we Went: Kennebunkport, ME.

Why we went there: Because we so admire George H.W. Bush, who Summers there.

Real reason we went there: Relatives, lobstuhs, and the ceaseless need to observe Yuppies in their natural habitat.

Our Habitat: Rented home near water—too near water at times.

Uninvited Guest: Hurricane Irene  

Method of Transport to Site: Aircraft, Car, Gossamer Wings.

Favorite Meal on Plane: Animal Crackers.

Favorite Marx Brothers Movie: Ditto. 

Least Popular Sound on Plane: Unhappy infant wailing I pagliacci vesti la giubba as performed by a herniated Luciano Pavarotti with tacks in his eyes and while being water-boarded.

Question Angrilly Asked of me in the terminal: “Was that your baby?”

What I said: “No.”

What I wish I’d said: “Yes, that’s why we left him on the plane.”

What I felt: Sorry for the kid, sorrier for the parents.

Aviation note: Virgin America charges $25 a bag for checked luggage.

Advice: Wear all your clothing when you fly Virgin America.

Was the Weather Good? Ayup. Except for the Hurricane.

Lobstuhs & Hurricanes: Shortly after Irene blew by, a Lobstuhman friend of my wife’s cousin, Tracey, hauled in 798 pounds of Lobstuh in a single day, a personal best.

Footnote:  He had pulled up half his traps before the storm and set the others deep.

Anecdotal Conclusion: Hurricanes are good for Lobstuh fishing.                                                                                                         

Good News about Lobstuhman: Generous soul. Gave said cousin free Lobstuhs.

Good News about Cousin: She shares.

Karmic Payback: Later, we took Tracey to the airport for her flight home--leaving the same time as ours. Well into the drive, she realized she’d forgotten her wallet.

Something You May Not Know about Me: I never get mad at someone who regifts Lobstuhs to me.

Long Story Too Long Already: We retrieved the wallet and made both flights with mere hours to spare.  

Who I saw in Maine I hadn’t seen in years: Legendary Boston Golden Throat, raconteur, and erstwhile Junket Best Buddy, Dana Hersey.

Where: At a saloon in Portland.

Why Portland? Dana has a pied a terre on an island in nearby Casco Bay.

How he looked: Tanned, rested and not the least bit dissipated.

How I looked: None of the above.

What I watched waiting for Dana’s ferry to arrive: A Dude with a silver-wrapped box on his head playing guitar while a woman played a musical saw. 

You’re making that up, right? I’m not. Never accuse me of deception until you know if I have video evidence.

Video Evidence: It’s for moments like these I always carry my Flip Camera.

Who we did not see in New England: A good high school friend and wife, who Summer in New Hampshire.

Why not: Rain, wind, floods, destruction, locusts, fire ants, rabid Sea Lions.

You’re making that up, right? Yes. Video too hard to fake.

Side Note: My friend, a successful and award-winning vintner, had to leave for his vintner place to harvest his Topo Gigio grapes. Excuse me, his Pinot Grigio grapes.

What You May Conclude: All I know about wine is this--The quality of the box a wine comes in does not relate directly to the quality of the wine contained therein.

Guests who visited and stayed with us: My Cousin and her boyfriend, plus one of my wife’s best friends and her husband.

And: They arrived bearing wine and food.

Furthermore: Neither was served from a box.

Further Furthermore: My cousin bought me a belated birthday present, a “Wayfarer Inn: Cape Porpoise” ball cap. I now wear it on the Left Coast to make Republicans jealous.

MVP: Salaan, Hostess/relative. Salaan is a Dotty Cousin, in her seventies, and had open-heart bypass surgery two months prior to family gathering. She drove up from Virginia, cooked, washed, shopped and cleaned everything in sight.

Runner-Up: Barbara, her 82-year-old sister, and a tweeting maniac.

Second Runner-up: William, One-plus year old toddler who is learning to walk and likes Peek-a-boo.

Third Runner-up: William’s exhausted Mom & Dad, Tricia & Fabrice.

Biggest effect of Hurricane Irene on us: 24-hours without power.

Unexpected Feeling: I felt sorry for President Obama.

Why? Powerlessness sucks.

My Ailment on Trip: What I thought was a pimple on my back was actually a festering, puss-filled, grotesque, infected thingy needing medical attention.

How I found out: It burst and left a dark stain on my old KCAL News T-shirt.

Status of shirt: I still wear it. If people ask, I tell them stain is where the knife went in.

Status of You: Went to great Urgent Care place. Got urgent pills. Took pills urgently. Wife and cousin cleaned and dressed wound. Grimaced for sympathy.

Prognosis: I’ll be ready for the playoffs.

What did I learn? Pimples sometimes aren’t.

Summer Summary

Upside of Vacation: Saw remnants of Hurricane. Had Lobstuh. Avoided 105 heat in Calabasas. Chatted up relatives. Ate good food. Drank good wine. Met good people.

Downside of Vacation: Not creative for two weeks. Gained too much weight. Car battery died while gone.  Missed seeing some people I wanted to see. Too many tourists.

Miscellaneous Knowledge Gained:  The Red Sox won’t be in the World Series. Weathercasters in New England know their stuff. If your Barista is talking to her boyfriend, come back later, or accept that your latte will be all but undrinkable. Maine brewed Frye’s Leap IPA is superb. Maine has bugs, including No-see-ums and EEE-carrying mosquitoes. You can get tired of Vanilla ice cream w/blueberries. And Lobstuhs.  Add meat to vegetarian lasagna, and it is delicious. Tofu should be re-categorized as Industrial Waste. In a pinch, a decent Cab works as a breakfast wine. Bring mud shoes to Maine. On, the last full day we were there, the weather was glorious. We will return. Why? Let's go to the video...

    

You Must Be THIS Tall to Fly

I hate to fly. I love flying mind you, but in this day and age, the physical act of taking an airliner from point A to Point B is nerve-wracking, expensive, frustrating, and if you don’t keep a handle on your emotions, may introduce you to the American Penal Code, Felony division. One such passenger on our flight from Boston to LAX did so yesterday.

You must understand Flight Attendants now hold power somewhere between a Fire Marshall a,d a County High Sheriff. There is no court of appeal—except to the Captain—if he‘s back from the bar by then. (We kid the Captain). Recently Green Day’s Billie Joe Armstrong gave new meaning to the term “front man.” He was invited off a Southwest jet for allegedly wearing his pants too low. Apparently, it’s above the pee-pee or out the door on SW. He got on the next flight, with an apology—his pants flew coach.

I feel Dude’s pain. Try walking thru security with your wallet, your must-start computer, your book, your sammich and your boarding passes in hand while tying to hold up your beltless pants with only a prayer and your expanded gut.

Not that I’m complaining. Next week is the tenth Anniversary of 9/11—TSA is necessary. A radiated Wazoo is the price we pay for freedom. We doff our footgear because some moron in tennis shoes tried to blow us up. We pay for baggage and get only free animal crackers on a 6-hour flight because airlines are greedy. Airlines have adapted the philosophy of those airport parking structures that doubled fees after 9/11 claimning terrorists are too cheap to pay extra.

                                                              Stooges, Stooges, Everywhere

 I like to joke, but I know the boundaries. When a TSA agent bantered something mildly insulting, I replied in best Stooge fashion “Oh, wise guy, eh?” Had I hit the wrong inflection, I’d have gotten a prostate exam by Floyd “Clawhammer” Zbswekski, Cavity Search and Rescue Specialist, TSA.  Instead I got a “Nyuk, Nyuk, Nyuk” in return.

As I bolted for freedom, another  TSA agent blocked my path. “Welcoming committee?” I asked. He smiled and said “I’d love to have a peek at that watch of yours.”  Say what? Guys walk in with Rolexes the size of a canned ham and he wants to look at my ancient and honorable Casio Telememo?  Easily dealt with—I just go into salesman mode.

“This is an old-fashioned Casio multifunction beauty,” I reply laying the watch across my wrist. “It has local time and time in LA.” “Got phone numbers here, got a stop-watch, an alarm, and a gizmo that connects my computer directly to Al Qaeda.” (Made that up).

By then, my pants were on the floor and my new TSA buddy was ready to order his own Casio.    

                                                               Got No Reason to Live

Once onboard, the plane was ready to push back when a miniature woman slowed us down. Here is the Microfiche Missy’s story:

Okay, she may have had a valid argument, but Karma may have helped her earn a criminal record. She was so nasty, I think Randy Newman was writing about her. Lady had reserved a seat in the front row. Before she boarded, the woman adjacent asked a flight attendant if her daughter could move next to her, and have Short Stuff sit in the “same seat” but across the aisle. The sympathetic male agent—who sported a double looped ponytail--said yes.     

Enter the midget. Shorty Temper-Tantrum was about 4’1” in pumps. She was displeased. She told Blond FA and the rest in no uncertain terms she wanted her reserved seat. She bellowed at the poor daughter “This is my seat! You know that!” The FAs advised her to stand up and move--”oh sorry, you are standing.”

Ms. Agita lady continued to bellow her case and used her finger for emphasis.  The overhead bin was opened, and dudette and her duds were shown the door. There she was greeted by marshals, TSA cops, and veteran character actor M. Emmett Walsh. She pointed again, making contact with a Marshall. The next sound was her making contact with the jetway. She was cuffed with Joe Friday Action Figure Handcuffs.

At this point, she might get off with a warning. But: “Want, some more, Ms. Munchkin?" 

“Sure.  I’ll take spit on an air marshal for $600, Alex.” Buh-bye airport, hello Riker’s Island.

All this excitement so tuckered the flight attendants, they decided to sit out most of the flight. Fortunately, D and I were able to wrest away our mid-flight meals --a Coke and free Animal Crackers for me, and Madam will have the bottled water and chocolate chip cookies.”  The Coke was moist, the crackers slightly dry and overdone. Dotty fell back into her coma before I could get her review.

I told her the ejection story when we were home, and again this morning.  She takes enough preflight Xanax to fell a Musk Ox, so I may get to tell the story several more times.

In Aviation, There Isn’t Always a Plan B

While they investigate and speculate what brought down Air France Airbus, flight 447 over the Atlantic Ocean, the leading candidate remains violent weather.

You’ve no doubt read about thunder cells towering to 60,000 feet in the vicinity of the accident.  Some media have argued these storms can bring down an airliner. Aviation experts say it is unlikely. In truth the incredible strength and redundant systems of the modern day airliner assure that all but the absolutely most violent weather cannot harm it.

Some odd things can. Canadian Geese, as readers of Sully’s Saga ending in the Hudson River have seen.  These are huge animals which, when sucked into vital parts of an airplane, can bring it to ground. (The geese didn’t fare so well either.)

Which brings us to Flight 447 and an incident that happened to an airliner shortly before the Air France catastrophe. An SAS Norway 737 airliner suffered a mid-air collision with a living entity and was forced to make an emergency landing to prevent possible disaster.

When you read below what the entity was, you may laugh. But the same website that reported the SAS incident--Aviation Herald--recounted one historical precedent. A related incident caused the crash of a 757 airliner en route from the Dominican Republic to Frankfurt, Germany, with the death of all 189 passengers and crew on board.

What brought down the Frankfurt-borne jet, and caused the emergency landing of the SAS airliner?

Insects. That's right, insects.

A number of insects brought down the 757, a single Bumblebee caused the 737’s emergency landing.

You may now pause to speculate how this happene, and no, the insects weren’t inside the aircraft distracting the pilots.

Are you ready?  

In the 737 incident May 30, the Bumblebee was ingested in one of the aircraft’s pitot tubes. A pitot tube is a small, straw-like device that gives the aircraft’s speed. When the two pitot tubes disagreed on actual airspeed, the Captain chose to declare an emergency and land, which he did safely.

In the other incident, the aircraft had been on the ground for 25 days, and one or more insects got into the pitot tubes. One device apparently indicated the plane was flying too slow and about to stall, the other that it was unsafely over speeding. The crew could not resolve the issue and it crashed. For details, see Aviation Herald

 

 

 

 

Anchor “Retires” with Platinum Parachute

N.B. For years Pesky Gadabout wrote critical and humorous letters about TV news, almost exclusively to a website that served its practitioners, ShopTalk. Some 75 of those letter essays were gathered in the book “A Few Marbles Left,” (Bonus Books, 2001) which is available from used booksellers through Amazon.com. The Pesky Gadabout Blog, on the other hand, has mostly been dedicated to all kinds of humor and satire. This piece, while an essay, is not satire, and despite Pesky’s best efforts, actually contains real news.

Pesky Gadabout has it from a hitherto reliable but as yet unconfirmed source that “retiring” NBC anchor Paul Moyer will not be suffering financially for the foreseeable future, and will be paid the remainder of his lucrative contract. Moyer, who has worked in the LA Market for an extraordinary 37 consecutive years, had been the market’s top paid anchor for some time now. Ratings at KNBC, along with owner NBC, have slipped lately, however. The local KNBC news has been largely mired in third place.

In articles about Moyer’s leaving, the LA Times reported neither the station nor Moyer would confirm the nature of his retirement—voluntary or don’t let the door hit you in the rear.

News reports indicated Moyer had been earning $3 million a year at KNBC. Dumping that salary would undoubtedly allow the station to put those financial resources elsewhere, one would be led to believe. Not so fast there, bottom line breath. Moyer will receive his guaranteed salary for the remainder of his contract—which has four years remaining—according to the source.

While it may appear this $12 million payoff went for helping lead his station’s news from first to third and hence reeks of AIG-like bonuses, such is not the case. In TV news world it means a big “Huzzah” for Paul. Few former members of that once-esteemed profession have been able to take their employers to the hoop as well as Moyer has, if the source is accurate.

Pesky has long held that the big money on-air people in TV have received over the years seems inordinately high for the work required, But the real reason for their high pay is the job insecurity, and the fact you can be canned because your boss screwed up or just doesn’t like the cut of your jib. That is anecdotal evidence Pesky learned the hard way.

So TV people should earn as much as your agent could get you, while you could. (In today’s economy, that is no longer necessarily so….) When you are let go, most of us get our AFTRA guaranteed farewell check and an armed escort to the door. Often a new job means uprooting the family and leaving town. So it Moyer has indeed relieved NBC of some of the wealth it had earmarked to squander elsewhere, good on him.

Pesky worked with Moyer more than twenty years ago, and when he himself was dismissed from his gig and told Paul the news, the latter’s reaction was “I can’t believe it! If that’s true, I’m marching right into the news director’s office and quitting, too!”

It was the kindest thing he could have said, even if we both knew it was a “show business” lie, i.e. a statement not to be taken at face value. But amazingly enough, several years later, Moyer did exactly that. He then signed on at another station with a nice bump in salary and prestige.

I like Moyer, even though I’ve only seen him once since that day. He was one of those anchors who didn’t lord it over the rest of the troops when I knew him, a decent and good guy to hang with. He brought what integrity and dignity he could to a business that has become sorely lacking in the industry. He fronted investigations, did interviews, and lent an air of authority to the anchor desk where ever he worked.

Like his long time rival, the late Jerry Dunphy, Moyer became one of the most recognizable faces of the city he called home. Like another well-known face of LA, the late Hal Fishman, he became a pilot—another reason to like the guy. And it should be noted; unlike those two contemporaries he did not die on the job. Both Dunphy and Fishman were still anchoring when their hearts gave out.

No date has been announced for Moyer’s final farewell at channel 4. But if you take a gander at his face—even in Hi def--you’ll realize he’s much too young to retire for good. For whatever he ends up doing, Pesky wishes him the best of luck.

Copyright 2009
John H. Corcoran, Jr.

This article may be reprinted or forwarded in part or in full, provided acknowledgement of the source is made. Oh Hell, it’s the internet, do what you do, but consider your Karma.

Old Fart Futility Update #1

Old Fart Futility Updates (OFFU) will be issued occasionally in an attempt to ease the pain of the author’s declining mental acuity. Writing humorously about the forgetting and the fumbling and the foggery may inspire other Old Farts to learn to live with their declining faculties. Also, instead of throwing phones and cussing, I may think “Oh goodie, another entry for OFFU.” And maybe lipsticked pigs will whistle ‘Stardust’ as they fly to the Moon.

ITEM 1 “ET THROWN PHONE”: We have new cell phones. They are as basic as one can buy unless you unearth the one the Gordon Gecko used in the 1987 movie Wall Street. (It’s roughly the size of a canned ham, and all it did was make phone calls.) The problem today is all those New Phone Update Nazis who keep adding unnecessary features—like Frogger 3-D or Sasquatch Alert or downloads of Lawrence of Arabia for my 1-inch screen.

One new feature is particularly galling: My new phone “locks” itself after each use for no apparent reason. To use the phone again, you must “unlock” it and poke “OK.” To add to the fun, there are no buttons on the phone marked “Unlock” or “OK.” None of the buttons on my New Phone have words, just Post-Modernist hieroglyphics. One button has a squiggle. Another has an arrow. A third has a tiny picture of Mamie Eisenhower.

Recently, before I could dig it out from all the crap in my Man-Purse (you got a problem with that, Scooter?), my Phone from Hell sent the caller to voice mail, and greeted me with a taunting “Missed call. Do you wish to retrieve it?” message.

I pushed a button, pretty much at random. (No matter which button I push, nothing good ever happens.) Nothing happened. So I pushed two buttons. The screen ordered me to “Press Unlock, then OK.” I pushed two more buttons. Nothing happened. I changed the order of button pushes planning on the “Infinite Number of Monkeys” algorithm to bail me out. Nope. After about thirty more tries, the screen displayed the word “Unlock” and suggested I push a button directly below it, and then one beneath the word “OK.” I did. The screen then said “”Press Unlock, then OK,” adding “Suckuh!!!” I typed in a message telling the phone what it could do with all its buttons. It ignored me.

That’s when I threw my phone. I took care not to pull a Russell Crowe and cleared the room of hotel clerks before I aiming at a pile of clothes. I missed and hit the wall, earning me the nickname “Matt Leinart.” When I retrieved the phone the screen said “Ouch.”

ITEM 2. “COFFEE DESTATICIFICATION TRICK” One of the disadvantages of the plastic bins that come with Burr Grinders is the coffee gets an electric charge while being ground. Stick a plug in the newly ground coffee and your can toast an English Muffin to a golden brown deliciousness.

If you don’t want a muffin, however, getting the coffee out of the plastic bin involves a lot of slamming and banging. The first bang occurs with the lid still on, and is designed dislodge the coffee on said lid. Unfortunately, this causes said coffee to spew out the entry aperture of the bin. That causes a mess and is a waste of good coffee. So today, I solved the problem—I thought.

After I grind, I mix and match two sets of coffee beans in a small cereal bowl. With the first batch already in the bowl, I ground the second batch. My plan was to bang the bin right next to the cereal bowl, causing the spewed coffee to lands in the bowl. Problem solved, Old Fart style.

Interesting factoid: When you misjudge the distance just the teensiest bit and slam the bin full force on to the rim of the cereal bowl instead of the counter, you can launch the coffee already in the bowl throughout the entire kitchen.