Dee Savoy » media

grasping at straws

writerds — Thu, 31 Jul 2008 02:16:08 +0000

I haven’t made it any secret that I want Obama to win in November. At first I was for Hilary until she and Bill got on my nerves, but she’s out of the race so watcha gonna do? Now I’m thinking McCain should do now what Hilary should have done before she was forced out and Jesse Jackson should have done before his unfortunate, sour grapes comments–get the hell out of Obama’s way.

Now McCain is likening Obama to such political luminaries as Britney Spears and Paris Hilton, calling Obama the biggest celebrity in the world. Is that all you’ve got McCain? Obama isn’t qualified to run the country because . . . people like him? Whoa! Ride him out of town on a rail for that.

I’m sure you can find video of that commercial all over the web. Here’s another bit of video that is just plain sad. I also admit most of it is taken out of context, but it’s still pitiful.

McCain is reminding me more and more of some old curmudgeon crabby because his lap rug is out of place. So my message to McCain–quit grousing grandpa. Go on and take your nap now. You’ll feel better later.

Bye, George

writerds — Mon, 23 Jun 2008 16:10:19 +0000

I’m always relieved when someone is delivering a eulogy and I realize I’m listening to it.

–George Carlin

The first thing I heard when I woke up this morning and turned on the TV for the news was that George Carlin had died. While his dead is not as shocking as Tim Russert’s, I was surprised. Carlin struck me as too cantankerous to die–at least anytime soon. He was still performing in Vegas as late as last weekend, for chrissake. Complaining of chest pains, the 71-year-old Carlin was brought to the Santa Monica Hospital where he died of a heart attack.

Carlin started out as a suit-and-tie comedian, performing on such exalted shows as Ed Sullivan, Jack Paar and The Tonight Show. He shed his variety show persona in the ’70s when he dropped out, grew a beard and started doing drugs. His “7 Words You Can’t Say on TV.”

When Carlin wasn’t busy being profane, he was often profound, or both at the same time–and almost always funny. I don’t know how fitting a tribute this is, but I’d been reading his book Brain Droppings as a throne room selection. As I writer, I particularly appreciate his take on the mangling of the English language by folks who know nothing about it.

Carlin was scheduled to win the 2008 Mark Twain prize for American Humor to be handed out in November by the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts.

I’m not going to mourn Carlin. I can imagine what he’d say about wakes and funerals and the like. Mourning is bullshit. There’s even a bit on his website about the passing of celebrities. So I won’t contribute to the hoopla. But I will miss his wit and his insight.

To read more about Carlin, go here.

Action? Affirmative.

writerds — Sat, 21 Jun 2008 00:53:31 +0000

The release of Jeffrey Deaver’s latest tome has got me thinking why, in principal, I like Alex Cross a lot more than Lincoln Rhyme. Let me start by saying that I’ve never read a Rhyme book. Deaver’s quadriplegic hero came across my radar when Denzel Washinton played him in The Bone Collector, opposite Angelina Jolie. Now we’re not going to get into what I think of the (not-so fair) Angelina, but you’d think any character played by the inimitable Denzel would win my favor. What killed the drool factor was Rhyme’s confinement to bed, and not in a good way. It struck me as too close a metaphor for what often happens to black men in American society–mentally competent but handicapped by a populace afraid of their physical prowess. And it really, really doesn’t help that the woman he’s forever denied, on a sexual level, at least, is white.

Although Deaver won an award for the creation of this creating this character and presenting a great role model for handicapped folks, proving they can be productive members of society. I’d guess, though, that there is a more pressing need in society for black men to be seen as cerebral, competent, active and sensual–without cutting the legs out from under them in either a literal or figurative way.

By contrast, Alex Cross is an active man who gets the girl he wants (who just happens to be black), a school teacher (or is it principal–either way she’s an educator, so I’m biased), has a family he takes care of, and is in general an honorable man. Aside from the near-tragic casting of Morgan Freeman as his movie persona, he’s pretty terrific. Or he was. I haven’t kept up with Cross as much as I would have liked to.

Truthfully, I’m all for breaking down barriers, for portraying us humans in all our infinite variety. Just sometimes there seems to be a certain awareness of what these images might imply. This isn’t limited to the way black men are portrayed, though that issue is on my mind at the moment. Don’t get me started with the pairings of old, half-dead geezers with sweet young things everywhere, as if women drop off the face of the earth once they hit thirty-five.

In my own work, I’ve written about men and women, blacks and whites, whoever–and I know what it’s like to be careful not to make the villains or the heroes too stereotypical. Frankly I applaud folks for creating characters, especially heroes, out of people unlike themselves. How about, give it a bit of thought before you create a character outside your comfort zone. That’s all I ask. And a damn good story, of course.

A waist is a terrible thing to mind

writerds — Fri, 20 Jun 2008 05:03:04 +0000

One of the aftereffects of Tim Russert’s sudden death is the intense focus on cardiac health across the country. Waist size has emerged as a leading indicator of heart attack risk. Men should keep their waists 40″ or less. For women it’s 35″ or less. Since I quit smoking my waist, as well as the rest of me, has ballooned a bit. So contemplating getting out that tape measure is an exercise in stress induction, which makes your belly fatter, which presses on your other organs which puts strain on your heart. You see the problem here, don’t you.

On top of that, your waist should be no wider around than half your height. Now, I’m five foot nothing. Not even another half inch to play with. That means my waist should be no more than thirty inches across. Damn! These two skinny minis they interviewed on TV had twenty-nine inch waists, so I have no shot whatsoever.

Luckily I stopped smoking long enough ago that I feel ready to diet off those extra pounds.

And speaking of Tim Russert, it is said that after Bruce Springsteen’s ukelele strumming version of Somewhere Over the Rainbow was played at his funeral, mourners walked out to see . . . a rainbow.

Here’s a tribute to Tim . . .

Tim Russert, 58, is dead

writerds — Sat, 14 Jun 2008 19:39:56 +0000

I have to admit I was annoyed at NBC last week for canceling my favorite Sunday program, Meet the Press, in favor of some sporting event I couldn’t care less about. Clinton had just conceded defeat to Obama and I was dying to know what Tim Russert’s commentary on that event would be. I guess the world will never know, since Russert died yesterday of what is said to be a massive heart attack.

I was not only shocked by Russert’s sudden death, but profoundly saddened. There are few things in this life one can count on, but Russert’s hard-hitting, penetrating reportage was one of them. My favorite tactic of his was to let guests blather on about what they said or what they did, then in rebuttal he’d pull out clips from earlier shows to refute whatever the guest just said.

Yet for all his professional success, Russert was still a regular Joe and a family man. He’d just returned from a family trip to Italy to celebrate his son Luke’s graduation from Boston College to prepare for this Sunday’s program when his heart gave out.

I could list a host of Russet’s career accomplishments, if I were so inclined, or post a list of luminaries with kind words to say at Russert’s passing. But I think the most relevant thing I can say is that in my house, as well as millions of others, if it’s Sunday, Tim Russert will be missed.