BLOG Means Always Having To Say...

Humane Holiday Gift Giving

2009-11-18T12:10:00.005-05:00

As the holidays approach I'm reminded of my days marching in New York on Fur Free Friday. Proudly walking behind one of the animal community's best friends, Mr. Bob Barker, I was sometimes horrified at what some of my fellow marchers shouted at fur wearing passersby. I felt as though our presence should be a reminder or wake-up call to shoppers who may be persuaded to make better, more humane gift giving purchases. Even if someone isn't an advocate for animal protection, everyone these days is concerned about finances. Isn't it a more prudent gift choice to purchase & give something that might actually appreciate in value instead of depreciate? I know of no fur coat that's worth more decades after being purchased, no matter how carefully pampered & stored it may have been. However exquisite jewelry-- if only for its gold content-- is certain to appreciate in value. Money aside, wouldn't it be a more spiritually gratifying & rewarding to know a beloved heir will be ecstatic that you made such a fabulous choice to have passed on, say, a lovely Van Cleef & Arpels bracelet than to open a moldy old box to find a decomposing fur coat??? Please read on to the letter I recently sent an organization I previously patronized. Happy Holidays!!!

"As a long-time supporter and patron of The Brookfield Craft Center (BCC), I was saddened last week when I entered your gift gallery to begin my annual holiday shopping. Always beginning at BCC because of the abundance of wonderful hand-crafted items that I love to gift to people. However this year as I began my pursuit of gifts I was shocked-- so much so I felt as though someone hit me in the face. The assortment of hats that have been assembled from vintage coats were a not-so-subtle reminder of the abuse of animals that I have found disturbing since I was a child. Recycling is wonderful-- my family has been doing it since the late 1960's-- however it is not wonderful when it is done with the remains of dead animals. Not that one animal is more important than another in my book-- I'm a 25+ year vegetarian as well as anti-leather apparel consumer-- but one of the hats in-particular is comprised of the "vintage" skins of seals. I'm not sure that those items are even legal for sale, without appropriate documentation, since seals are protected under the Marine Mammal Protection Act of 1972. When I mentioned my concern to one of your personnel-- who did respond respectfully & with courtesy-- her positive spin, however, failed to placate me. Although these animals were long-dead, as she pointed out, the fact that the remains of these animals-- the seals in particular, who were more than likely very violently clubbed to death in front of their loved ones-- are still being exploited is almost more disturbing to me than their original abuse decades ago. Although I'm sure I could have sold the very valuable vintage apparel that was designed by my mother's aunt-- a famous hat designer & milliner from the 20's through the 60's, I can share with you that it was my pleasure to finally let those animals rest in peace. Back to my unpleasant BCC experience-- as much as I tried to continue shopping by circling each floor of the craft center several times, I could not bring myself to focus on purchasing anything that day. Bad energy is bad energy, no matter how long ago the original atrocity was committed. I've decided that I no longer can support your organization as long as you continue to display items made from the remains of dead animals. Although I am a vehement supporter of the arts and whatever they express, I must draw the line at animal abuse, which is never, ever acceptable to me in any form whatsoever. I will also be posting this letter on FaceBook to inform my local friends of my concerns regarding the sale of animal remains in your establishment."

Once again, please make humane gift giving choices...all year long. Ever consider a philonthropic gift to a local animal shelter or protection organization in the name of a loved one who probably has every material item they need??? Or honoring the spirit of a loved one-- animal or humane-- by giving a gift in their memory??? Happy Holidays!

UPDATE: The Brookfield Craft Center promptly responded to my letter and removed the offensive merchandise and returned it to the artisan.

Obama and the Fly

2009-06-18T12:23:00.001-04:00

Dear PETA,
As a longtime supporter of all your good work, I must share with you my extreme disappointment regarding your press release about the president killing the fly. There are several levels of disappointment, as a matter of fact. First, your opinion that a fly is an animal in need of protection from cruelty is an insult, to say the least, to all the animals that need protection from cruelty. Secondly, it's an insult to me personally and all of the wonderful dogs and cats that I count as family, and all of the dogs, cats, gerbils and fish that I've cherished in my 47 years on this Earth. However, as an organization that I believe does in fact do good work, I'm disappointed that your media folks obviously did not think this through. You as an organization, more often than not, come off as wacky extremists on the world stage, which I support (most of the time) in order to bring notice for the purpose of helping animals. However, in this case, you just gave fodder to the world to laugh at what I think of as the most important movement in the world, that of Animal Protection. Honestly, I couldn't believe my ears when I heard this on The View. What in the world were you thinking, folks? Really-- as I learn more about The Amish and their constant mistreatment and abuse of all animals in their care, I would think that you have so many, many wars to wage and battles to win! You've given me pause as to what your organization is really all about. I must be honest and tell you that your future support by me (and probably thousands of others) has the lifespan of a common house fly. Or should I say White house fly.

Most sincerely,
Sean Bagley & Mr. Tug (pictured above)

Rourke Rocks

2009-01-12T06:25:00.010-05:00

Mickey Rourke had me at Barfly, Rourke's 1987 film in which he co-starred with Faye Dunaway as two co-dependent alcoholics. I've long considered this one of Rourke's best films as well as one of the most underrated in Hollywood cinema. A renegade tough guy, he's been a gym rat/boxer and his pre-Hollywood bad habits did not bode him well after he achieved fame and fortune. Rourke began turning down more roles than accepting, in films on which he should not have passed. Labeled difficult early on, Rourke eventually passed the point at which producers and directors finally decide an actor just isn't worth the trouble to work with. Although "El Marielito", his boxing nickname, worked consistently in film throughout his career and briefly turned to professional boxing in the early 90's. The films, however, were less than exemplary and Rourke seemed to sink deeper and deeper into cinema obscurity, known more for his scrapes with the law than his contribution to acting. The tide began to turn for Rourke a few years ago with a role in Sin City and came to a mid-career surge last night at The Beverly Hilton when he accepted the Best Actor award at the Hollywood Foreign Press Golden Globe awards for his role in The Wrestler. In his acceptance speech, this tough, scrapping, mongrel kinda-dude of a guy, punctuated his thank-yous by recognizing some folks near and dear to his rough-and-tumble heart: "...I'd like to thank all my dogs, the ones who are here-- the ones that aren't here anymore. Because sometimes when a man's alone, that's all you got is your dog and they meant the world to me...". As I sit here typing, uncharacteristically early on a very cold Connecticut morning with a Boston Terrier named Tug curled up on my lap, I couldn't agree more with Mr. Mickey Rourke. Nor could I feel more akin with another human being whom I have never met. Congratulations, Mr. Rourke-- from all my dogs, to you and yours.

Beverly Garland Dies in Her Hollywood Hills Home

2008-12-06T23:00:00.022-05:00

It's with sadness that I report the death of one of Hollywood's most prolific-- as well as one of my favorite-- actresses, Miss Beverly Garland. Although extremely youthful and active until very recently, Miss Garland succumbed to an undisclosed illness last evening (Friday, Dec. 5) at her elegant Hollywood Hills contemporary, in a tony enclave of the Mullholland Drive area of Los Angeles. Perhaps best known for her 1960's television role as Fred MacMurray's wife on My Three Son's, Garland's acting career began in the 1950's in "B" horror movies. In these films Garland was valued as much for her screaming skills as she was for her sophisticated good-looks. Garland's career also encompassed big-budget feature films including 1968's Pretty Poison co-starring Tuesday Weld and Anthony Perkins and the 1970's disaster genre film, Airport, '75 . Television proved to be Garland's most rewarding stage as she effortlessly glided through innumerable guest starring roles as well as co-starring as a regular on television series such as The Scarecrow and Mrs. King and Remington Steele. Here's a link to an insider's remembrance of Beverly, where the writer shares linking a new Diagnosis Murder episode in which she was appearing with a 25 year old Mannix episode in which she also appeared: http://leegoldberg.typepad.com/a_writers_life/2008/12/beverly-garland-rip.html A personal favorite guest starring role of mine was on The Mary Tyler Moore Show, as Lou Grant's long-lost love interest. Grant finally realizes the gall of Garland's character and dumps an ice cream sundae on her head as he exits their last scene together. Decoy, the late 50's television drama in which she appeared as the character Casey Jones, an undercover female police officer. This was a break-through role for Garland and female actors, as the character she portrayed was the first female police officer on television in the starring role. Garland was a dedicated performer in Peggy Webber McClory's repertory in the California Artists Radio Theatre stable of stars, which often performs in the Beverly Garland Little Theatre on the grounds of her famous Beverly Garland Holiday Inn in North Hollywood. In addition to her acting career Garland was a dedicated member of Actors and Others for Animals, generously using her celebrity on behalf of the animals she loved.

A lavish memorial service and reception was held at the beloved property bearing her name on December 12 and attended by hundreds of family and friends.

Simon Says...

2008-11-26T12:27:00.010-05:00

I wish every unwanted dog or cat could be as fortunate as Simon, the little deaf puppy whose story I'm about to share. Sadly the majority of precious creatures do not end up on Doris Day's doorstep, or even in the most modest loving home. Simon's journey to paradise began with the name "Spike". Purchased from a breeder as a pure-bred Boston Terrier by his first owners-- serial puppy buyers-- who eventually discovered that he was deaf and dumped him on their kindly country veterinarian. Kind hearted, well intentioned and known for giving homes to many unwanted animals, the young ladies of the office each wanted to keep little Spike and gave him the opportunity to become a member of their homes. However it is more challenging to train a deaf dog and their full-time jobs made it difficult to devote the countless hours it takes to assist a little guy like Simon to acclimate to a household with other animals. One of the challenges Simon faces is that warning growls and snarls of other dogs are not heard when his puppy exuberance and playfulness surpasses their limit. Unfortunately Spike was not a good fit in the homes of the veterinary technician's and his board in the office proved to be unfair to this puppy with so much energy. Wanting to see him in a good "forever home" one of the veterinary technicians sought the assistance of a fabulous one-women rescue society, Flora's Pet Project. Flora is a woman whose devotion to homeless animals makes me ashamed for not participating to a fraction of the degree that Flora does in her tireless quest to help all animals lucky enough to find their way to her doorstep. Please have a look for yourself if you're interested in adoption and share her link liberally with anyone you may know who has a suitable home for animals: flora@floraspetproject.org . Spike was reluctantly handed over to Flora, hoping that he would soon land in a good home with his forever family. This is where I come in to Spike's life-- for a brief moment. After overhearing an office mate talk about this deaf puppy on the phone, my friend Bill mentioned that he had a friend-- me-- who was a dog lover and had a Boston Terrier puppy. Not only did I have a Boston Terrier, I had the good fortune of having several dance through my life. After Bill called to inform me about the puppy needing a home, I contacted Flora to arrange a meeting. Tug-- our Boston Terrier in residence for the past three years-- did not have the reaction I had hoped for. However we took Spike home for a trial period hoping that eventually the two boys would become loving brothers. That didn't happen and "Spike" was on the move yet again-- to his permanent forever home at my brother Kevin's house. Kevin and his partner Manny had met Spike the day of our initial meeting and fell in love with him immediately. Perhaps secretly hoping that he would somehow end-up under their roof? Now named Simon, he has successfully acclimated to his wonderful new home on six bucolic fenced acres in pristine Bridgewater, Connecticut. After a brief period of adjustment with his new brothers & sisters, Simon is often found asleep curled up with Gidget-- a crazy Pomeranian and longtime favorite doggie of a famous neighbor, actor Richard Widmark, Whoopie-- a domineering, in-charge but lovable dachshund-and-something mix, Miguel, a wonderfully kind-hearted and patient Portuguese breed fellow and last but not least, my favorite cat of all-time, Abner Kravetz, the largest orange cat I've ever seen. Manny and Kevin are completely and thoroughly devoted to their animal children and have the assistance of a wonderful housekeeper who is on scene when their busy schedules keep them from home. The final twist to Simon's long journey to his forever home? The kindly vet's office from where Simon originated his trip happens to be my family's long-time, trusted and beloved veterinarian Gerry Schect in Hopewell Junction, New York. A recent visit there with Tug and a brief mention of my brother's new deaf puppy became an almost unbelievable coincidence to myself and the clinic staff, with tearful acknowledgements that Simon indeed not only arrived in his forever home, but the perfect forever home.

So Long For Now, Mr. Paul Newman

2008-09-27T12:22:00.009-04:00

Westport-- and the world-- has lost another star the likes we will never, ever see again. Mr. Paul Newman-- prolific actor, race car enthusiast and philanthropist-- passed away from his North Avenue home surrounded by family and friends. Not since Danny Thomas has anyone in the entertainment industry used their celebrity so generously, selflessly and completely to help those less fortunate. Newman's Hole In The Wall and Painted Turtle camps are retreats for children struggling with illness and disease. His line of Newman's Own and Newman's Organic products are not only delicious and of the highest quality, their revenue fuels the myriad of charities Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward have embraced throughout the years. As a Connecticut native, I've always been fascinated by the famous folks who choose to call our state their home. People who could live anywhere in the world want to live here-- not one of the easiest places to be-- with our windy, bumpy roads, icy walks and cold winter nights. We're so lucky that The Newman's chose our neck of the woods to call their home. Good neighbors, famous or not, are a blessing and we certainly were blessed to have the famous Paul Newman as well as the Connecticut, every-day-guy Paul Newman as a neighbor for almost 50 years. This unpretentious man who loved cars and racing purchased many-a-VW at Westport's former Small Car Company as his preferred transportation. Although he may not have been a native resident, Paul Newman was most definitely a Connecticut Yankee of the highest order.

Photos: Upper left, Joanne, Lucky Puppy Dog & Paul, circa 1958. Upper right, Newman residence today, Westport, Connecticut.

Links to other great articles:

http://ap.google.com/article/ALeqM5is1kDEOb3AaGXGDcJfWgdwGgBUvwD93F6QPG2

http://www.westportnow.com/index.php?/v2/comments/paul_newman_dead_at_83/

Carefree or Very Bel Air?

2008-08-31T02:11:00.012-04:00

Wherever you are, slip into a pool with a highball and make the day yours-- and yours alone. Float along and envelop yourself in an elegant turquoise world of warm chlorination as these songs waft over you. Say so-long to summer and add the final coat of bronze to that shimmering you. Here are my essential end-of-summer songs to evoke fabulous places like Bel Air, Carefree, Carmel or the exquisite destination of your very own choosing--circa 1969:

Girl Talk: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z5rtPWnETBE

That's All: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OsHMOlU9YaU

The Good Life: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uPSPQbob9lY&feature=related

Can't Get Used To Losing You: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hUeaqHHq2II

Come Saturday Morning: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R3SIQvaXWBs

The Look of Love: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xBn3ZUZlqaQ&feature=related

Desifinado: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_eYg2k0n0tI

L-O-V-E: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JErVP6xLZwg

Call Me: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M8CQcar9nwY

For Once In My Life: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qg59oRcqNW4&feature=related

A Man And A Women: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NPYTTvi6SbA

What Are You Doing The Rest Of Your Life: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CcsoF1G3yAQ

The Shadow Of Your Smile: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KVDnOldK5_Q

My Favorite Manequin: Miss Anne Francis

2008-07-29T00:44:00.010-04:00

Beginning a tribute to such a prolific contributor to the entertainment industry by referencing my favorite episode of The Twilight Zone is, believe me, nothing less than the ultimate testimonial by an adoring fan. Anne Francis is without a doubt one of the hardest working, most talented and stunningly gorgeous actresses to have graced the silver screen as well as the television set. My favorite guest star in my favorite Twilight Zone was-- of course-- Anne Francis as the escaped department store mannequin turned live human being for a day. Refusing to return to her post for another stiff stretch as a stationery model, Anne evoked emotions of sadness for her character, wishing she could escape and live among us forever!

Starring in her own television series Honey West, Anne played a private detective in the title role of the same name for two seasons in 1965 and 1966. Her co-star was a pet ocelot named Bruce-- how avant garde! Science fiction fans cherish Anne's performance in the 1956 cult classic, Forbidden Planet. However, her stellar talent, chic appearance and years of experience were no match when it came to the editing of 1968's Funny Girl with Barbra Streisand. Along with several other co-stars, Francis was robbed of her top-flight performance when most of her scenes ended up on the cutting room floor. Streisand's narcissistic influence reduced Francis' role to practically nothing in order to increase focus on her own. Very poor form in the business by Streisand and the director did nothing to really endear Barbra to the public as one might imagine an entertainer of her caliber would dictate. Popular? Of course. Much loved and adored like a Doris Day or Ella Fitzgerald, no way. Streisand set the diva tone from the start with her poor behavior by pulling the Helen Lawson act during and after Funny Girl. Considered a slap in the face to the more seasoned performers in the film-- who would probably not have accepted a role had they known it would be so diminished in the end product. Although Funny Girl turned out to be a disappointing speed bump, the experience did nothing to impede Francis from continuing her flawless work in Hollywood for decades. Mostly in top-billed television guest starring roles, from westerns to sophisticated and glamorous characters, her gorgeous image was a popular fixture on the top prime-time programs through the 1960's, 70's, 80's 90's until her latest IMDB entry in 2004.

One of the most generous stars of her stature, Francis maintains a beautiful website for fans: http://www.annefrancis.net/ Anne writes a monthly newsletter in which she shares current events in her life, spiritual observations and even some of the difficult details of her recent bout with a pretty scary health issue. However, Anne is doing fabulously and appears to have triumphed over daunting odds and is looking forward to moving on and perhaps working on a project in the future. Her extremely youthful appearance-- she really hasn't changed at all-- must be a testament to her shining inner energy and generous spirit. Miss Francis is, above all her Hollywood accomplishments, a survivor. Take a moment to visit Anne's site and wish her good luck in her continued journey to health. After all, wouldn't it be wonderful to see that signature beauty mark once again grace any screen in a new, wonderful T.V. or movie project? You bet your ocelot!

Nuts & Guns, Guns & Nuts! Bang! Bang! You're Crazy!

2008-07-28T13:50:00.008-04:00

Please forgive my insensitivity towards those lacking average mental health, however I've long disagreed with the ACLU folks. Individuals who cannot take care of themselves and are a threat to others SHOULD NOT be allowed to circulate among the general population. Psychotropic miracle cures only work if they're taken regularly and apparently do not work all that well because most patients experience unpleasant side effects even when well regulated in their systems. There was a reason a little state like Connecticut maintained several huge sanitariums-- now no longer in use-- when the population was a fraction of what it is now. Where are these poor folks now??? Many wandering the streets, a threat to themselves and the unsuspecting public who more than occasionally is on the receiving end of a brick, rock or gun. Which leads me to the "Guns" element of the title of today's entry. When are we going to learn, as a country, we actually do not have the right to bear arms when we aren't sane or responsible enough to ensure the safety of those who do not wish to participate in the violent, negative energy of being in the presence of killing machines? At the very least, all guns-- that's ALL guns-- shotguns as well as handguns-- should be strictly regulated via regular psychologically testing. A national database should be designed to monitor and cross reference police records so that if someone is caught driving under the influence or arrested for some other type of infraction, their gun permit-- and weapon-- will be immediately confiscated. This situation is not going to improve without serious new laws and regulations. Churchgoers shot and killed in Tennessee. School children shot and killed in Amish country. Mentally deficient teens taking rifles to school and shooting at anything that moves. What should be our goal to improve our increasingly violent and mentally ill society? Unfortunately it's going to have to mean more rules to protect the greater good. However it will result in fewer and fewer guns for the gangs, the mentally ill and anyone in between who feels the need to arm themselves just for the hell of it. Let's all pray to Charlton Heston. He more than anyone surely knows by now the extreme disservice he did to humanity as the longtime president of the NRA. He's now face-to-face with the thousands of souls for which he was directly responsible for their early departure from this earth. Mr Heston undoubtedly now knows the tragic errors of his ways. Help us, Mr. Heston. We pray to you-- please help us.

Tea for 200

2008-07-27T23:02:00.010-04:00

One of the most anticipated Litchfield County events of the summer is the fabulous fundraiser, Tea for 200. Benefiting the Susan B. Anthony foundation and the Northwest Connecticut Aids Project, it's been held since its inception at the beautiful garden property of Gael Hammer and Gary Goodwin in Washington Depot. This year's honorary chair was the lovely, talented & fellow Litchfield County resident, Miss Laura Linney. Pictured with me are my pals Gino Damasco (L) and Alan Boardman (Center). Laura Linney is pictured with Gael Hammer (R) and Gary Goodwin (L). Photo credit: Jamison C. Bazinet, The Waterbury American newspaper.

The House In My Head

2008-06-27T00:31:00.022-04:00

I was fascinated with Architecture since I could hold a pencil, so the only logical subject for a book report in the 5th grade would have to be about houses. Modern houses. As my fingers walked through the card catalogue of my school's library, the selection on the subject of Architecture was almost non-existent and not very encouraging. Until I read the card with the title The House In My Head. Locating the large book on its shelf wasn't difficult-- it's almost coffee table size. Drawing the book near I was immediately entranced by the cover photo. The view at dusk of the most beautiful home I had ever seen, from across the swimming pool. Floor-to-ceiling glass doors hid little from view. The interior was expertly decorated with lots of reds-- in the upholstery, carpets, etc. with the walls a cool white, perfectly framing the entire setting. Important art on the walls-- little sculpture-- French antiques eclectically co-mingled with new modern pieces here and there. This house was a gallery as well with every decor element thoughtfully and perfectly selected and placed on the stage that was this most stunning home.

As I devoured every word, every stunning Ezra Stoller photo, it became apparent to me that Dorothy Rodgers was many things. Obviously a person of means she was also a person of tremendous taste, organization and standards. Mrs. Rodgers shared the very personal-- for her-- reasons for arriving at the conclusion to leave her cherished home of many years. Rockmeadow had become a charming but needy and temperamental old friend. An estate that was impossible to run without a substantial staff-- a luxury that was becoming increasingly difficult even for the very rich to recruit and retain in the 1960's. Guest quarters were on the third floor-- luggage had to be trudged up several flights of stairs for every overnight visitor. The vast gravel drive required regular raking. The rambling colonial home lacked many modern comforts such as central air conditioning. The opening chapter takes the reader through the intimate, difficult decision process that lead Mrs. Rogers to the bitter-sweet conclusion. Although she would fulfill a lifelong dream of designing and building her own home, it would not be accomplished without sacrificing their dear old family friend, Rockmeadow. Dorothy described the catastrophe, or the straw that broke the camel's back as the dour possibility of not having a couple on the premises for the summer. To those of us who do our own laundry, make our own beds and skim our own swimming pools, this seems like the fear of a thoroughly spoiled individual. She undoubtedly and unabashedly was-- but to Dorothy Rodgers this was tantamount to hauling your laundry to a river and beating it against rocks or lugging barrels of water from a well a few miles back to your house. I must confess to you at this time I had no earthly idea exactly who Mrs. Rodgers or her husband "Dick" were. I was delighted to learn within the first few words of the book that this elegant and sprawling contemporary home wasn't in far-a-way California, but in my own backyard of Fairfield County, Connecticut. However, exactly who the Rodgers' were wasn't of any immediate importance or of any particular interest to me-- but every brushed chrome door knob, every built-in warming tray, every pebble dredged from an Asian river, absolutely everything else was.

After touring countless parcels of property-- ruling out one for its too-steep driveway approach-- many others were eschewed until the ten or so acres of high meadow in the exclusive Greenfield Hill section of Fairfield, Connecticut was selected as the ideal building site for Mrs. Rodgers future perfect home. The new home was to be a weekend and summer place, like all the Rodgers' Connecticut homes had been since the 1930's or 40's. A home for escaping their elegant New York City apartment, a home for their family and I believe most importantly, a home for entertaining the legions of their sophisticated, entertainment industry friends. In case you haven't already figured out what still hadn't dawned on my ten year old mind-- until my mother told me-- the Rodgers were in fact, Mr. and Mrs. Richard Rodgers, as in OKLAHOMA!, Carousel, The King and I, etc., etc. I've since referred to this house as the house The Sound of Music built. Notes detailing decades of ideas were shared in the book. Dorothy-- as I respectfully refer to her-- didn't leave a process out of the equation of design. Maybe an ice maker in the living room, if it doesn't clunk too loudly. A place for card table rounds for dinner parties. Why have a separate library? A wall of books in the living room could suffice. Perhaps a little house at the edge of the croquette lawn for storing equipment. These are not direct quotes but merely remembrances of a book read many, many times. Other ideas to implement included a fabulous pantry with a double-sided serving buffet that could be closed off from view while help set out food, then opened for service. Then closed off again while silent servants whisked away-- out-of-sight--the dirty dishes, platters & tureens to the various dishwashers in the pantry & kitchen. Built-in warming trays to keep all hot dishes the perfect temperature for the perfect buffet service. A greenhouse for cutting flowers in the winter. A place to let fresh cut things "harden". Some sort of beautiful stones to place along the perimeter of the foundation where nothing ever wanted to grow. Perhaps a dishwasher in the pantry as well as the main kitchen? This women was light years ahead of her time. I'm sure if she were still alive she would have definitely participated in the interior decoration education of the masses-- perhaps with her own HGTV program.

To describe the house is a bit of a challenge, however I'll give it my best. Sprawling at over 10,000 square feet on a single level, the appearance was that of an H-shaped layout with a pool in the rear between the bedroom wing and service area of the house. Flat-roofed except for many Mansard-style, slate roof projections which correlated to the size of each room for which it was a "hat". Carefully scaled, by the way, to the point that large pieces of plywood were held up during construction for Mrs. Rodgers and her architect to judge the appropriate ceiling height for each room. The look has been described as Contemporary Regency style, which is certainly accurate-- one might throw in Regency/International. The largest room(s) in the house where the Living Room/Dining Room/Library which also had a screened dining "porch" and defined library area flanking the "thrust" part of the living room. The plan brilliantly utilizes space and the overall effort is one of the first and best examples of multi-use areas in residential architecture. Sunny with an abundance of glass walls and skylights, the Living Room-- although of cavernous proportions-- was warm and intimate. A fireplace surrounded by raised panels that hid a television that could be pulled out and swiveled on its turntable. A carefully planned service wing with state-of-the-art kitchen was restaurant-size for its time, although now probably average compared to today's McMansions. Thermador warming drawers could keep an entire dinner for several guests the perfect temperature until a late train arrived from New York. Servants quarters were accessed through this part of the house as was the greenhouse. The basement is home to New York skyscraper or battleship size mechanical systems. Plumbed with large cast iron pipes painted color-coded so that their functions were instantly apparent to whomever may be servicing an emergency day or night. Schematics were framed behind glass for an electrician's future benefit should he need them. Gauges labeled with engraved plates that noted "Mrs. Rodgers' Bedroom" and "Mr. Rodgers' Bedroom" adorned the equipment. Multiple diesel stand-by generators were always at the ready in case Connecticut Light and Power failed to provide the necessary electricity for even a moment. Station wagon size air conditioning units were unobtrusively placed away from the house behind a rustic stockade fence. The year this building was built-- 1965-- was decades before the small central units were invented that are common now. These "behind-the-scenes" details were not shared in Mrs. Rodgers' book-- visits by me to the house post-Rodgers ownership were like religious pilgrimages that enlightened me to the areas of the house never mentioned or photographed.

To say that I was obsessed with this house & book would be an understatement. I decided the ideal punctuation for my book report would be to have a direct quote from its author. How to obtain her phone number? Place one of the photos in the book with a shot of a phone under a microscope, of course. Although the entire phone number is not legible, fear not-- Richard Rodgers telephone number was not unpublished, but appeared in the local phone book along with everyone else. After several attempts to reach Mrs. Rodgers were unsuccessful, her friendly husband (to whom I had spoken every time) told me to call back on Friday when she would certainly be back "from town". Finally that fateful Friday evening, a maid summoned the elusive Mrs. Dorothy Rodgers to the phone. I identified myself as a 5th grade student who had just completed reading her beautiful book about her beautiful house and was readying to write a thorough book report. After a very brief pause, Mrs. Rodgers told me that everything she had to say about the house was in the book. She then asked scornfully, "How did you call our phone number?" I explained my slightly unorthodox method and, perhaps concerned about a 10 year old stalker, she told me not to call again. Not until my mother received that month's phone bill was I informed who the Rodgers' were. The people I phoned a few towns away via Southern New England Telephone local long distance was the great American composer of many wonderful musicals very familiar to me-- Richard and his wife Dorothy. Since I spoke to Mr. Rodgers several times I comforted myself with the notion that although Mrs. Rodgers was not at all pleased with one of her youngest fans, her husband couldn't have been more pleasant and accommodating. I'm grateful for his patience and kindness. Although it was Dorothy's astute attention to design detail that made this house the showplace it was, it was Mr. Rodgers' financial contribution that made the house possible at all. It was The House In Her Head, but also the house The Sound of Music built.

Al Beadle, Great American Architect

2008-06-25T11:43:00.018-04:00

Frank Lloyd Wright wasn't the only great American architect to discover and embrace the Sonoran Desert surrounding Phoenix, Arizona. Alfred Newman Beadle was an architect who brought the International Style of architecture to the desert. His elegant, sophisticated designs were beautifully suited to the desert landscape-- steel and glass sculptures like precious jewels scattered in the desert. I discovered Mr. Beadle's extraordinary work just before his death in 1998 on one of my frequent visits to Phoenix. As I snapped away at a house I discovered somewhere in the Biltmore corridor of Phoenix, a neighbor approached me. We chatted and he shared the name of the designer of the house I was photographing. A studio that Beadle built on a large parcel for he and his family, it was eventually subdivided and became a single family home on its own parcel. The friendly neighbor told me that Beadle had moved North with his wife to the quiet enclave of Carefree. As I had hoped to someday build my own small, flat roof, contemporary home, I was excited at the prospect of having someone like Mr. Beadle design a home for me in Connecticut. I located his phone number through information and placed a call from my hotel. Mrs. Beadle answered, explaining that she would give Mr. Beadle my message when he returned home. I should explain that although I was very interested in Mr. Beadle's work from the one house I had viewed, I had no idea whatsoever of his highly respected position in the Phoenix architecture community, nor of his prolific contributions to the art form. Beadle's structures were true works of art with a complete and thorough understanding of materials, construction & engineering concepts as well as purely perfect design. I would learn that the man behind the drafting table was as intense as the energy he transformed to blueprints. Later that evening the phone in my hotel room rang-- I answered "Hello" to which I heard, "BAGLEY?". I responded "Yes", to which the caller responded "BEADLE!". Gruff wouldn't nearly cover Mr. Beadle's conversational style-- I was on high alert with this larger-than-life character. I explained my situation, that I was in the process of buying a small piece of property from a family friend. I asked if I could drive by more of his residential work and perhaps discuss the possibility of engaging him in the design of my place in Connecticut. He seemed slightly intrigued-- perhaps he was thinking of one of his designs at home in the lush Connecticut countryside instead of the Arizona desert. As Mr. Beadle began giving me directions, "From Scottsdale Road, go West on Cheney..." was the route to his latest private residence perched on a cliff in exclusive Paradise Valley, I interrupted him to explain that I was from the East Coast and I had no idea of North, South, East, West directions without the aide a compass. He paused, then blurted: "If you get your lazy ass outta bed in the morning, you would see that the sun rises in the East and sets in the West". I was immediately, completely and thoroughly enamoured with this person. I laughed out loud, and so did Mr. Beadle. He then continued to give me directions, in his Western-culture style of North, South, East and West vernacular. I decided to buy a compass for the car in the morning. I thanked him and told him I would be in touch after my self guided tour. The next day was more than a single extraordinary discovery, it was startling discovery after discovery. I fell more in love with Beadle's work with every house, every angle, every fabulously stylized, signature stainless steel street number. Leaving for home the next day, I could only see a few homes on the long list Mr. Beadle so thoughtfully provided to me. Over the next few months back in Connecticut, my property purchase did not go as planned and my dream of a flat roof house designed by the fabulous Al Beadle temporally died. The following winter I picked-up once again where my tour of Beadle's residential work left off. Stalking a late 50's Beadle in North Phoenix just off Lincoln Drive, I parked the car and began snapping away. Unaware that the owners of the home were a mere few feet away on their patio, partially screened by a curving, corrugated steel wall and enjoying a glass of wine on that early Friday evening. Noticing me snapping away, they cordially asked if they could help me. I lied, saying I "thought" this looked like it could be a Beadle house. They confirmed that it in fact was, and invited me to their patio for a glass of wine. After a few moments I confessed that I knew their beautiful home was a Beadle house, because Al Beadle told me the location himself. I shared my discovery story of Al Beadle as they listened silently. I finished my story, saying that I looked forward to meeting him on this trip-- I hadn't called him yet but I hoped to set up an appointment with him. They both looked at each other as tears welled up in their eyes, then told me the very sad news. Alfred Newman Beadle had died suddenly only a month before. I joined them, crying for a man whom I had never met. Or had I? Yes I only spoke with him-- I had not seen his imposing frame clad in signature black clothing, but his larger-than-life spirit was heard loud and clear over the telephone through his commanding voice. Although I never physically met Al Beadle, I feel as though I knew him very well. Through his distinctive body of work that I instantly connected with-- his passionate art that made my heart race and goose bumps appear. Although Beadle will never design a home specifically for me, that's O.K. because everything he designed was for me-- and for everyone who is a sucker for a flat roof house and design that exemplifies the evolution of fine modern architecture in the purest International Style.

For more on the architecture of Alfred Beadle-- from his early residences to his later steel and glass work as well as his commercial and multi-family homes and the fabulous Safari Resort:

A thoughtfully written Wikipedia piece: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Al_Beadle

An interesting YouTube CAD video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8XHSpKr2fDc

A truly fine video biography was produced by Gnosis, LTD and is available on their website: http://www.gnosisltd.org/main/pg/10/

For information on everything Mid-Century Modern in the Phoenix area, including but not limited to Al Beadle, visit a site that's near and dear to my heart-- Modern Phoenix: http://www.modernphoenix.net/index.htm

So Close to the Microphone, So Sexy-- Miss Julie London!

2008-06-08T22:57:00.010-04:00

As the carousel of music history goes round and round, it's always appropriate to revisit artists who made their mark long ago. Before computerised sweetening was ever present in recording industry vernacular, there were vocalists like Julie London. Accompanied only by a bass and lips practically brushing the mic, Julie could seduce the listener into a foggy field of enchantment with her smokey, hushed but crystal clear melodic poems. Her 1957 recording of Cry Me A River still sends me to a place I can't even articulate. Miss London didn't begin her career as a singer but as an actress. Appearing in a number of 1940's feature films, Julie enjoyed a respectable degree of success in a series of "B" pictures. It wasn't until the mid-fifties that she embarked on a recording career that encompassed nearly thirty albums, all with ultra-fabulous titles, i.e., Whatever Julie Wants, The Wonderful World of Julie London, In Person at the Americana and my personal fave, Nice Girls Don't Stay for Breakfast. If some of these titles sound a touch narcissistic, that's quite apropos in my opinion. If I could sing like Julie London one of my albums might have been titled, Welcome To My Universe. Also known to TV Land fans as Nurse Dixie McCall on the 1970's TV hit, EMERGENCY!, Julie's rich career spanned four decades. Do yourself a favor and if you don't already own any of Julie's albums, get one. Wait for a rainy day and curl up with a good dog and a hi-ball next to your hi-fi. Get real close and tell Julie all your problems-- she'll understand completely and sing them away. I'll never forget living in Los Angeles and hearing on the radio that just a few miles away in the valley, Julie died in her Encino home. That day I naturally thought of my favorite Julie London recording. Although I didn't cry her a river, I did shed a very sympathetic tear-- and thanked her for her magic.

POLYGAMY MAKEOVER!

2008-06-08T22:26:00.012-04:00

For the dozens of top-level TV execs who leap out of bed each morning & race to your computers to log on to my blog, here's my new show pitch idea of the week: Polygamy Makeover! I'll un-earth the "Man From Glad" white helicopter and after I take an accelerated class on helicopter flying, I'll smoothly (hopefully) descend upon my first polygamist compound to liberate the women of whatever bizarre Mormon-esque sect from their unfortunate anti-fashion/anti-grooming prison. Think Paul Lynde armed with hot curlers, a Clairol True-To-Light mirror and an entourage of fag minions to help with the actual demo and rebuilding of these aesthetic train wrecks. These poor gals wouldn't have made it as extras on Little House on the Prairie. I'm not talking about transforming them into Nicollette Sheridan from Desperate Housewives. I'll take them to places like Talbots and Lily Pulitzer and ease them into a suburban/country club chic look. Maybe a retro Catalina casuals vibe for the younger chicks. After providing them with several new all occasion outfits, they'll be rushed-- presidential motorcade style via Secret Service-like blacked-out Chevrolet Suburbans-- to a low key salon that's used to overhauling rich-but-way-let-go housewives just released from exclusive rehab facilities. More of a triage center than salon, they'll be given an initial going-over with adapted for personal grooming use power garden tools by Black and Decker to take care of their various and numerous de-landscaped issues: overgrown crotch bushes, gorilla combat hairy legs/pits and Howard Hughes/Guinness Book mani-pedi situations. It's probably a good idea to have a few registered nurses on hand to introduce them to the necessary feminine hygiene products. Seafoam green vans of Clinique ladies will deploy to spray, smooth, creme, dust, buff, varnish, sand & paint the newest over-the-counter make-up & beauty remedies. They'll transform into stunning women Tova Borgnine would be proud to know & lavishly entertain at her sprawling Beverly Hills manse. A battalion of Vietnamese women with shining chrome implements will perform a ballet-like choreographed maneuver to a Euro-disco beat, ala "Handsome Pretty Beauty Ninjas". If you think this is a drastic approach then you don't know what's going on underneath those maxi-dresses trimmed in rick-rack. It's the reason their husbands are pedophiles for chrissake-- they can't get through the matted pubic hair so they're forced to becoming chicken hawks. As you know, practically every serious world crisis or psycho-social matter can be easily resolved with just a little grooming. We'll get rid of those Aunt Bea buns and turn them into sassy page boys, some with bangs, others reminiscent of Lee Grant's/Miriam Polar's up-swept do. With sun-glitzed streaks in their hair and fresh spray-on tans, let me tell you those husbands won't ever look at another 11 year old again. Their snatches, expertly groomed into heart-shaped goatees and smelling Jean Nate' fresh, will be ready for private unveiling like they're fine, priceless sculptures. These newly empowered women will emerge with a spring in their strut as they return to the commune, sounding like a platoon of flamenco dancers as the clickity-clack of stilettos scream: Momma's home-- get ready for some eye candy! Clipped, waxed, painted, fumigated, plucked, massaged, sea weed wrapped, dressed and sassed, singing their new anthem in unison. Linda Lavin's signature song-- Alice's "There's a New Girl in Town and She's Looking GOOD! There's a Fresh Smiling Face in the Neighborhood! Those pervert daddies will drop their underage wives off their laps and welcome Mommy back with a Costco Size Mormon Boner the ladies haven't seen since they got first period. I smell a ratings bonanza! Revolving special guest co-stars will include Ruta Lee and actress/beauty expert, Miss Polly Bergen. Just think of all the hair we'll donate after only the first episode to those people who make wigs for cancer patients. It's a win-win, fellas!

We've All Done It-- And It Needs To Stop

2008-05-24T01:47:00.000-04:00

Tonight I viewed the repeat broadcast of Oprah's program that featured the most horrific real life experiences. The first was a story about a Long Island family-- The Flynn's-- returning from a joyous wedding. It's honestly the most heart wrenching story I've ever heard. The limousine in which the parents, grandparents and two children were passengers as well as the chauffeur was hit head-on by a drunk driver speeding on the freeway-- in the wrong direction. The limousine looked as though it was bombed-- just destroyed. The driver-- Stanley Rabinowitz-- was killed instantly-- the loving father of 2 grown boys. The Flynn's were thrown violently, smashing into one another. Their beautiful daughter Katie was asleep in a seat, secured by a seat belt. However the belt, meant to keep her safe, (this is so difficult, so painful to write) severed her head. Her mother who survived the crash and was conscious, picked up her 7 year old daughter Katie's head. Mrs. Flynn left the twisted, crushed passenger compartment and sat at the side of the road, holding her daughter, cradling her head. As she shared on Oprah, "they" watched-- both she and Katie as emergency vehicles arrived and the chaos of the accident was unraveled by the police. Mrs. Flynn sat there for nearly an hour. The strength of this women and the love for her daughter -- to hold what she could-- the only remnants of Katie's physical being that remained, protecting her daughter even in death. The admiration I have for this mother, a person I've never met, is so powerful I wish her the spiritual power to continue living for her family that is still on this earth. This story is about the most powerful love I've ever witnessed. The horror, heartbreak, numbness--- there just are not words that can even begin to convey the look on this women's face as she answered questions not yet 2 years after this family's personal 9-11 occurred. A mother obviously still in shock. Their lives forever held hostage by that moment in time when someone drank 14 cocktails, got into his car and murdered two people. Katie's family now only goes through the motions of life because-- how on earth can someone even begin to pick up the pieces?

I haven't cried this much in a long time. I just wanted to reach out and embrace these people and somehow take their pain away. An impossible task-- their pain will last the rest of their lives. What I could do however, is share this story with those of you who may not have seen it. And urge you never to drink and drive-- even after only one drink-- EVER again. Many of us have driven when we shouldn't have. Sure, most people don't become reckless and irresponsible after a drink or two. God knows I become more paranoid than usual and drive at the speed limit and watch the center line to make sure I don't swerve. But guess what? Who knows how alcohol can effect us from time to time? Even if you're as careful as I've been, what if we just pass out? Not driving recklessly, speeding in the wrong direction, but simply fall asleep because perhaps we didn't remember that we took a cold tablet and the interaction caused us to drift off to sleep-- and drift off into the other lane? As innocent as that sounds, I would be just as negligent, irresponsible and murderous as the drunk driving the wrong way. It's a simple solution for me. I just won't ever drive again even after one drink. I can't. Not after seeing the pictures of that beautiful little girl hours earlier at the wedding in which she was the flower girl. The beautiful, smiling, joyous face. Only hours later, her mother cradled her daughter's beautiful head in her arms. Only her head. Because someone did not think the consequences through. Someone didn't take responsibility for themselves.

The drunk driver was convicted and sentenced to 18 years in prison. A sentence that he's now appealing. Can you imagine? Appealing. How can he think of living after what he's done??? THINK, dear friends-- THINK the next time you attend a function where you may have a drink. Just don't do it. Don't do it for little Katie as well as Stanley. And say a prayer for these families-- so somehow, someway, they set themselves free for Katie who is trying to help them from heaven. Trying to tell them that she is alright and helping God-- and they will all be reunited someday. That day all their pain will vanish and joy will once again fill their hearts.

Just a few years ago I lost a friend to a drunk driver. Dorothy and her sister were on their way to the airport to embark on their annual vacation to Hawaii. Much like the Flynn's and Mr. Ribinowitz's crash, they were hit head on my a drunk driver, killing my friend Dorothy, permanently injuring her sister, now confined to a rehabilitation facility for the rest of her life and killing their chauffeur as well. There are only a precious few left in our society who have not been touched by drunk driving tragedy. At this rate it's only a matter of time.

The sheriff of Maricopa County Arizona should be appointed Sheriff of the United States as far as I'm concerned. Sheriff Joe Arpaio has designed and implemented the toughest drunk driving laws in the country. When you're caught driving drunk-- even if it's the first offense-- you're the recipient of: a mandatory 10 day jail sentence, mandatory installation of the device in your vehicle that requires you to blow into it to start the car and several other penalties that cost both a lot of time and money. That's for a first offense and for blood alcohol levels not considered to be extreme. Subsequent offenses and recklessly high blood alcohol levels mean more prison time-- much more-- as well as license suspension, etc., etc. I say let's get Sheriff Joe on a tour bus so he can implement his life saving laws nationwide.

Things that REALLY matter: Animals

2008-05-22T10:26:00.000-04:00

I need to dedicate more time & space to non-humans. That would be animals-- primarily dogs & cats, but including any creature that we've accepted into our homes or backyards-- all creatures, great and small. These beings that we humans both love and abuse. Nurture and nourish, torture and murder. I've done relatively nothing in my entire life to help these magical angels compared to people I've known. An extraordinary lady by the name of Mildred Lucas here in Connecticut has dedicated her entire life to the protection of animals. Spending decades and practically every waking moment establishing a non-profit organization, educating and funding projects to spay and neuter animals and countless hours of community outreach. Spending untold thousands of dollars of her own money on things like purchasing food for feral cats. She learned how to write & legislate-- lobbying on behalf of animal rights and pass legislation that has made a tremendous difference in the lives of animals. Then of course there are the wonderful famous people, from Doris Day and Betty White to Bernadette Peters and Mary Tyler Moore who have used their hard earned fame to reach out to the public to engage we everyday folks into caring about the atrocities that occur regarding practically everything about every kind of animal. June Havoc, a long time Connecticut resident and lover of all animals has been caregiver to every kind of animal from roosters to burros. The many un-sung heroes who staff animal shelters around our country and care for the homeless animals, the sad, sad cases of abuse and neglect that are so painful for me to even know about it makes me sob. The homeless man in Los Angeles that I would see regularly at the intersection of Laurel Canyon & Sunset. So dirty himself but his Chihuahua & Golden Retriever glistened and sparkled in the sun, they were so beautifully cared for. They would watch over him as though he was their king when he would leave them momentarily to come to my car to retrieve a donation. Lastly but certainly not the least, my parents Ann & Barney who made sure that our house was not only full of animals, but full of love, devotion and respect for every hair on their bodies. Who taught me all aspects of proper care from engaging the best veterinary care for our babies to the best nutrition. My parents in their struggling, young family years would spend money they didn't have to care for their own animals and donate to help the plight of others. I have many friends not nearly as lucky as me who grew up in animal-less houses. I write houses instead of homes because as far as I'm concerned a house is not a home without a pet.

It's these people-- from the famous to the unknown-- I believe will be greeted in heaven by the legions of animals they've helped and heralded as the kings and queens of the universe for their selfless dedication to helping those without voices. It's them who make me ashamed for not doing more. Yes, I've marched in New York on Fur Free Friday hoping that a rich husband would buy jewelry at Van Kleef and Arpels instead of a fur at Fred The Furrier. Yes, I've given money to all humane societies and continue to do so, during good and not-so-good financial times. Yes, I slam on the brakes for every squirrel, raccoon, fox, deer, dog, cat, opossum, bear, coyote & javelina that dashes in front of my station wagon. Yes, I've adopted strays and picked up canine hitchhikers and driven them around neighborhoods in search of the home from which they escaped. Yes, it's been a dream of mine to build the "St. Jude's" hospital & shelter for animals somewhere in the middle of this huge country where every animal without a family could come and live a Disney-like existence. But as my father would say, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. I haven't done nearly enough to help the only creatures in life who have given me a moment of genuine joy. Let's all try and do something for an animal TODAY. The best scenario? Adopt an unwanted pet from your local shelter. The recent foreclosure crisis has flooded shelters across the country with cherished pets abandoned by folks evicted from their homes and forced to move into rentals that don't accept pets. I would like to think I would live in a refrigerator box with my dog if forced to, rather than abandon them. However I don't have a family to worry about, I'm still healthy and not elderly, so I cannot pass judgement on these people who have had their lives turned upside down and more than likely are at the end of their financial rope. If you can't adopt an animal, send a couple of dollars to any one of the humane societies that I'll link to below. Become involved if you can, volunteer to walk dogs at your local shelter. Perhaps help an elderly friend or neighbor with their cherished dog and walk them for them. Good exercise for you AND the dog! Do something!!! Just caring for those animals we already have isn't enough anymore.

I somehow joked after the greatest loss in my life-- after the devastating illness took my favorite angel of all time. If a parent of multiple children says they have no favorite child, they're a charming liar. That favorite was Trixie Brewster Bagley, our 7 year old Boston Terrier. We lost Trixie to an inoperable brain tumor 4 years ago this coming June 4. Through the profusion of endless tears, I told someone that Trixie was the new hostess in heaven, greeting all the new arrivals. Some animals greatly loved & cared for like she, but most not. All animals, those tortured and killed for food, most just neglected. I joked that Trixie sits at the right hand of God-- just as mischievous as when she was here on earth-- and says under her breath to each new arrival: "You know, it's too bad for you that your life on earth wasn't really groovy because they treated me like a movie star"! She danced through our lives way too briefly, but boy oh boy am I glad she graced us with her presence.

Most animals aren't treated with nearly the degree of love & respect that we give to our canine or feline children at home. Dogs raised to fight-- small dogs stolen to throw in the pen with fighters to shred to pieces to train to kill. Monsters who look like normal people who torture and kill out of thrill or rage. Shall I mention what animals in the food industry endure to get to the dinner table? Baby calves raised motionless to be slaughtered for veal so tender & juicy! Ducks force fed to make their livers fat & flavorful for fois gras. Think of the source of food, PLEASE the next time you make a meal choice. Why not consider eating every-other meal meatless and perhaps eventually leading a meat-free life? Even if it's for selfish healthy reasons. The animal food processing industry suppresses negative data about the ill-effects of consuming animals. It's so much easier to be a vegetarian today than when I became one over 25 years ago. You can even get veggie burgers at Burger King now! Not-Dog hot dogs taste like the real thing after you pile on the mustard, relish & sauerkraut! Imitation ground beef for chili and hamburger recipes. If anyone wants my de-lish "Park & Orchard" Mushroom Stroganoff, just ask! Really folks, eating animals is so disturbingly grotesque. Remember the recent "downer cow" scandal where an obviously ill animal was slaughtered for food? Forget downer cows-- do you think the thousands of "healthy" cows processed daily are run through the "Oprah Scan" by top flight veterinarians to ensure they're cancer free before they're sent through the grinder? PLEASE! Animals-- like humans--can "appear' to be healthy on the outside but can be riddled with disease on the inside. Think of that the next time you're at the Outback Steakhouse or tossing burgers on the grill. Who knows? Maybe that's exactly how we acquire cancer-- by eating it. Something the National Beef Council would rather you not ponder. I'm getting a bit "preach-y, eh? YOU BET!!!

Today I'm going to write a check to my local shelter in honor of all my babies I've loved and lost-- Princess, Ranger, Fritzy, Jiggsy, Orphan Annie, Star-- dear, dear Maggie Millerton Bagley and of course Trixie. Can you do something to help, too???

Founded by Bernadette Peters and Mary Tyler Moore, Broadway Barks is dedicated to helping animals in New York City. You may not think that NYC needs a group like this, but think again. Gulianni was very unconcerned about the plight of unwanted animals in NY and their shelter system is one of the most horrific in the country. http://www.broadwaybarks.com/

North Shore Animal League: The largest no-kill shelter in America, these folks are dedicated to finding good homes for their temporary residents. For those of us concerned about what might happen to our loved ones after we check-out, North Shore has taken the fear out of that equation. If you bequeath a portion of your estate to their organization, North Shore will either find a suitable home for your pet, or take care of it for the rest of its life for you. Truly an awesome organization. http://www.nsalamerica.org/

Actors and Others for Animals was founded by several actors when they discovered the atrocities and a nearby Burbank shelter. They are actors in their finest roles. Did you know that over 30,000 unwanted animals are euthanized in Los Angeles County annually??? It's a holocaust, every day of the year. http://www.actorsandothers.com/

Another great organization in Los Angeles is PAWS LA. Dedicated to all aspects of the protection of animals, with an emphasis on assisting those stricken with terminal illness keep and care for their animals. www.pawsla.org/

Founded by Doris Day, I don't have to tell you what this women has dome on behalf of animals for decades. http://www.ddaf.org/

The American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, their name says it all. http://www.aspca.org/site/PageServer

My "local" animal shelters, in New Milford, Connecticut and Scottsdale, Arizona. Local people completely & thoroughly committed to the front lines of the battle. Folks who feed, bathe, treat and love these creatures until they find a suitable human match. And love them forever if they cannot find that perfect home. New Milford Animal Welfare: http://animalwelfaresociety.homestead.com/
Scottsdale Strays:
www.scottsdalestrays.com/

Where the HELL have you BEEN Kathie Lee???

2008-05-20T10:39:00.000-04:00

Whoever orchestrated the return of Kathie Lee to morning television should receive a daytime Emmy award, a substantial bonus, a luxury automobile of his choice and a wonderful massage with a happy ending! This women has more joie de vivre, sense of humor, entertainment knowledge and overall knowledge of current events & pop culture than just about anybody I can think of. Her current stylist chooses absolutely perfect threads and her look is vastly improved over her LIVE With the Cranky Old Man days. Although the hair could be shorter-- please see my piece on Age Appropriate-- it's acceptable. Perhaps we'll never know if Kathie Lee's absence from TV was self-imposed or more like being blacklisted, but this is Kathie Lee's time to shine. She's youthful, bright & funny, funny, FUNNY! Hoda & Kathie Lee genuinely seem to be girlfriends and compliment one another beautifully. Here's wishing her a long-run-- as long as she wants-- because I don't even tune into TODAY until 10AM to see Kathie Lee & Hoda. Kathie Lee-- a Connecticut girl makes good!!!

The Summer of Love: The Sandra Bernhard Experience

2008-05-12T20:38:00.000-04:00

Every summer since has been a dismal TV entertainment experience in comparison to the summer of 2001. Come along with me as I revisit a tantalizing television treat. My dear friend Joss begins many a charming story by saying: "I was sitting at home minding my own business when suddenly"... the hairs on my forearms tingled as though I was about to be struck by lightning. Zipping through the channels of the cable TV universe with the space commander remote control when, like a super nova, I came upon A & E's contribution to the sophistication starved masses, The Sandra Bernhard Experience.

Without meaning to be, or imitating in any way, the show seemed to have almost a Tom Syder Tomorrow-esque vibe, sans the profuse cigarette smoke and Tom's forced cackle. That's a complement, by the way, because I think Tom was decades ahead of his time and one of the coolest cats with a comb-over that ever graced the tube. That's another story for another time. On this late-night program Sandra seemed to somehow manifest herself in your darkened living room with a pianist and enchant us with her incomparable song stylings and eccentric celebrity interviews. Her hip and edgy interview style and eclectic, to say the least, array of special guest stars made this program live up to it's name because it was an experience extraordinaire.

Although highly and un-justifyingly panned-- really, really panned that is, my personal one and only criticism of the show was the second banana, side-kick who was incongruous to Sandra and the format. I honestly think that's what threw most viewers off. Her presence-- as pleasant as she seemed-- just didn't make any sense whatsoever. The gal was so unmemorable I needed to reference the IMDB to figure out who she was, then Google around to see if I could find more data. Apparently this person-- Sara Switzer-- has been the longtime, live-in love of Ms. Bernhard's. It goes to show you just because you love someone doesn't mean the world will. Not an anomaly in the entertainment business, we all can probably rattle off a list of actors and actresses-- as wonderful as they may have been in many other roles-- who were unfortunately miscast in any number of vehicles. Since most gems have some sort of flaw, let's accept Sara. Embrace her as a lovely flaw, forgive and move on. Sandra's uber-hip sophistication was as refreshing as tabbouleh and a mint julep on a hot summer afternoon. As I sat back with a pack of smokes and a highball, I hunkered down for what was to be a much-to-brief affair with a sexy, provocative, gorgeous, intelligent temptress that made this gay guy fall in love with a women who has more balls than most men. I've always adored Bernhard, but this show made her seem as though she was a mysterious neighbor who might knock at your door at midnight asking to borrow some vermouth, then slip back into the summer fog leaving you to think, oh-- please don't go. I'll buy you all the vermouth you need...no use, she's gone. Until-- hopefully-- the next time she needs an ingredient for her lover's cocktail.

The Experience, unfortunately, was a very limited edition series. I believe it consisted of perhaps only a half dozen episodes, give or take. The last of which guest starred the talent-oozing-from-every-pore, my favorite Knot's Landing resident, Miss Michelle Lee. The ladies performed a duet that, as far as I'm concerned, was one of the most electrifying musical experiences of my life. They sang The Look of Love to each other. Their performance left me tantalizingly, thoroughly and perfectly limp, as one feels after feral, grunting, grinding, sweaty & slippery man sex. All I could do was light a cigarette and smile, sending a cosmic thank you to the ladies of the evening who visited me that night and sang me into their lair. The seductive, velvety, secret club for the admirers of the imitable Ms. Sandra Bernhard.

2001 was perhaps the genesis of the reality show juggernaut. Like Mr. Syder, I believe Bernhard was way ahead of her time and now should consider venturing into the unreal world of reality TV. Although I personally would love to see Bernhard return to the late-night interview/chanteuse format in which I think she shines blindingly, perhaps she needs to reinvent herself. Convince the reality show gods that she should have the opportunity to show the world that Sandra Bernhard can not only hold her own in today's currently favored program format, but own it, rule it and spank it-- like no one but an Amazing-Amazon-Jewess named Sandra Bernhard can!

My Friend Avril: A Memorial Tribute

2008-05-08T23:25:00.000-04:00

Sean and Avril-- Thanksgiving Day

Los Angeles, 1999

Today is a sad day-- I lost the physical presence of my dear friend Avril Rose. She passed at her home in Corona del Mar, California after a valiantly fought cancer battle lasting nearly eight years.

Avril and I bonded from the moment we met in the mid 90's-- it seems like a lifetime ago. I was in the human resources group of a large corporation in Danbury, Connecticut and Avril was hired as the executive assistant to our CEO. She arrived on the day of her interview driving a new Miatta convertible, looking like a movie star or, on a more exotic scale, a mysterious spy-- ala Cinnamon Carter on Mission Impossible. Gorgeously dressed, warm and friendly, I knew she would be offered the job. We shared a deep mutual love for animals and our dogs names were quickly familiar to one another. Settling into a busy life in Fairfield County, Avril purchased a beautiful townhouse in a park-like condominium complex in Brookfield and furnished it with a decorator's flair-- a tastefully appointed, elegant home. Brookfield proved to be the perfect choice for Avril to live as she made many wonderful friends at St. Joseph's church. These dear folks-- Alice & Hugh, Steven & Andrew, Bill & Pat, Nancy & Ted, Madeline (God Rest Her Soul) & Fred-- were her St. Joe's family and they remained in touch over the years since Avril relocated to Southern California. They have sent beautiful, supportive and encouraging cards, all of which were read to Avril by her daughter Randi many times over the last several days. They also kept Avril in their prayers through their wonderful prayer circle at St. Joe's. Truly a group of the loveliest, kindest folks. Avril thought so highly of each and every one of them and always kept them close to her heart.

Friends met at work include Mercene, Sandi, Kate, Nancy, myself and many, many others too numerous for me to remember. Bill and Pat-- Avril's boss and lovely wife-- were more like a dear aunt and uncle to her, always there for her. Ever concerned, supportive and generous-- they treated her like family.

My dear friend was wonderful to me in many ways. I decided to leave our company and move to Los Angeles for a career change. It was then that I realized Avril was even a better friend than I could ever imagine. Avril not only helped to calm and soothe nerves during a difficult time for me, but physically helped as well when I needed to move from a temporary apartment to my permanent place. I remember laughing to myself as we navigated through Los Angeles, Avril with her Subaru station wagon-- still with Connecticut licence plates-- and me in my VW also still with my Connecticut plates-- the Connecticut Caravan through LA. My first Thanksgiving away from Connecticut and my family was not something I was looking forward to. Avril knew this and invited me to dinner with she & John. We enjoyed a lovely time at Mimi's, as pictured above. We had fun while I was in LA too-- one day sneaking into Doris Day's house in Beverly Hills where we were given a tour by Doris' son Terry. We felt like Lucy and Ethel in an old I Love Lucy episode. We enjoyed a serene and almost spiritual lunch one other day, at The Inn of the Seventh Ray in Topanga Canyon. These are cherished memories I've always remembered as wonderful moments with a wonderful friend. Thinking of Avril as I have so much during these last many days, I've been continually reminded of her kindness to me. Selfless gifts from her that helped me immeasurably-- that helped me survive very tenuous, scary times alone in my life. Avril's generosity was limitless-- she was a true friend on whom I could depend for anything. Although in my heart of hearts I know she's now where she should be, it's difficult to let go of someone so wonderful, so kind, so funny and so young. Thank you Avril, thank you so much for being my friend.

Avril's former husband John-- a friend since childhood-- proved to be a friend to the end, taking care of life's details that are impossible tasks for the fragile and ill.

Now Avril is with all the people she loved and lost, and all her doggies, too. Pepper has already met her at Rainbow Bridge. Her young Miniature Schnauzer Baron, her companion, sentry and friend who was at her side throughout her illness, survives her. Shortly he'll be on his way to live with Avril's niece in Nevada. I'm sure he knows Avril didn't leave him because she wanted to-- she had little choice in the end and loves him dearly and forever.

God Bless you, Avril. So long for now. Until we meet again, dear heart. Until we meet again.

Contributions in memory of Avril can be made to The Humane Society of the United States by clicking on the following link: http://www.hsus.org/

or you may contribute to the animal welfare organization of your choice.

Beautiful Thoughts

Please read on . . . Contributions Shared By Friends of Avril

Dear Avril,

May you always walk in sunshine. May God's love around you flow for the happiness you gave us no one will ever know.
It broke our hearts to loose you, but you did not go alone for part of us went with you the day God called you home.
A million times we needed you, a million times we cried, if love could only have saved you, you never would have died.

Fondly,
Bill and Pat Font
Brookfield, CT

Must See Vintage Cinema: Valley of the Dolls

2008-05-07T12:50:00.000-04:00

As I discover new blogs, they sometimes serve to inspire me to write entries of my own. Today's discovery-- The Tomb of the Unknown Fangirl-- was compelled to give a brief review of her recent read, Valley of the Dolls. Allow me to to elaborate on Miss Susann's ultra-fab-novel by explaining my love for the film version of the best-selling book. To say that Jacqueline Susann's Valley of the Dolls isn't the quintessential, much beloved, original meaning of FABULOUS, over-the-top 1960's novel & film, would be sacrilege to the legions of gay fans who have have made it their #1 all-time favorite in the unofficial Gay Cinema Hall of Fame. Everything from the wardrobe, make-up & hair to the countless back stories that involved practically everyone in Hollywood, including the queen of gay Hollywood icons, Miss Judy Garland is wrought with high drama. It's a pop-culture cinematic work of art that should be played on a continuous loop in The Smithsonian. It's been immortalized via stage plays in which the dialogue was recited virtually word-for-word from the original film script in a turn-up-the-camp-dial-style that has only served to further endear Ms. Susann and her writing in the heart of any red-blooded gay dude with a love & devotion to glamor, glamor & more glamor.

The beautiful girl factor-- which must be a psychological conundrum for any straight psychotherapist when analyzing interests of homosexual men-- is an element of the film which cannot go unnoticed. Patty Duke, here-to-fore the lovable & pretty girl(s) from her very own successful TV program, The Patty Duke Show, was transformed into a snarling beauty with a few dozen different hair falls, gallons of liquid eye liner, yards of false lashes and fabulous costumes by Travilla. Barbara Parkins, fresh from the 20th Century Fox back lot where she starred on the highly successful TV serial of the Grace Metallious novel and film of the same name, Peyton Place. Her dark, sophisticated vibe lent itself beautifully to a Wellesley-girl of the 1960's look. Patty's line as Neely O'Hara about Barbara's Anne Welle's "classy good looks" rang completely true. Perkins elegantly and effortlessy glided through the film like a debutant at a country club cotillion after a few Dubonette-on-the-rocks. Last but certainly not the least gorgeous, there's Miss Sharon Tate. Without a doubt one of the top 10 most gorgeous creatures that ever lived, Sharon's Jennifer North not only captured the text book 1960's look, she also evoked the future with her fashion-forward hair, make-up & costumes & realistic life perspective. Jennifer was the gal who knew the necessity of reinvention as a means of survival. Tragically, we all know how Sharon's real-life story ended. I refuse to go into much detail and further romanticize the maniacs that not only took her life, also that of her unborn child as well as several others and shook Hollywood's sense of personal safety forever.

The film begins with a still photo montage of Anne Welles' pre-doll, New England existance. A scrapbook of the life and events that compelled her to get out of Dodge. These sequences, filmed on location in Fairfield County, Connecticut and Westchester County, New York perfectly set the tone for the second portion of one of the best opening film sequences ever. Barbara Parkins as Anne Welles riding the train into New York City from her hometown of Lawrenceville as none-other than Dione Warwick sings the title song of the movie's soundtrack, known as the theme from Valley of the Dolls. Words and lyrics by Andre and Dory Previn, it's the anthem of the 60's as it schizophrenically asks as well as tells the audience what needs to happen in life:

"Gotta get off, gonna get have to get off from this ride-- Gotta get hold, gonna get need to get hold of my pride-- When did I get, where did I how was I caught in this game? When will I know, where will I, how will I think of my name? When did I stop feeling sure, feeling safe and start wondering why, wondering why? Is this a dream, am I here, where are you what's in back of the sky, why do we cry? Gotta get off, gonna get off of this merry-go-round-- Gotta get off, gonna get need to get on where I'm bound. When did I get, where did I why am I lost as a lamb? When will I know, where will I be, how will I learn who I am? Is this a dream, am I here, where are you? Tell me-- when will I know, how will I know when will I know why???"

The song not only embodies the 1960's confused psychedelic culture, but also its quickly emerging narcissistic tendencies of how the presumptuous world interrupted its most important and beautiful lives filled with free love, experimental drugs and for some, lots of Pucci clothes.

Arriving in New York, Anne checks into The Martha Washington Hotel for Women-- an actual place where men were only allowed to visit the lobby-- probably only during chaperoned hours. The dated and now bizarre concept must not even register in the minds of today's women under 30. Quickly landing a job in a top entertainment attorney's office, Anne was immediately assigned the task of taking contracts to battle ax client, Helen Lawson. One of Broadway's most beloved stars, Miss Lawson (played by the fabulous Susan Hayward) barks and smokes as she tears up the delivered contracts in protest of the younger and more energetically talented Neely O'Hara's existence in the show. Helen insists that Neely's songs be cut because, "The only hit that comes out of a Helen Lawson show is Helen Lawson, and that's ME, baby, remember?" The innumerable factoids and notable quotes from this film are actually listed in the International Movie Database and should be studied, memorized and used liberally in your every day speech. One of the many back stories involves both the casting and the apparent inspiration of certain roles. Judy Garland was originally cast in the Helen Lawson role which was allegedly inspired by Ethel Merman. Ms. Susann allegedly enjoyed a real-life, tumultuous lesbian affair with Merman and seized the opportunity to cast a less than positive light on the blatantly obvious (at least to Merman) ode to Ethel. Garland was canned early on in the production due to her typically less than professional behavior that she increasingly exhibited as she grew closer to the end of her life. Apparently the only film footage that exists of Garland on the Valley of the Dolls set is that of her extensive wardrobe tests. This must have been where Garland fell in love with the stunning Travilla threads worth thousands of dollars, as she kept them all when she left the back lot. Barbara Parkins has publicly lamented the firing of Judy Garland, saying that Miss Hayward was a pale imitation of what Garland could have made of the role. Sorry, Barbara-- as much as I adore Judy, Hayward is the only Helen Lawson I know. Unless it's a stage version with a female impersonator playing Susan-playing-Helen, she's the only Helen I want to know. The role of Neely O'Hara was apparently inspired by Miss Garland's life and her infamous pill-popping behavior that somehow did not diminish the performer's larger-than-life talent, but in the end, did diminish her short life.

The film progresses through the discovery of Anne's beauty which leads her to a lucrative career as the Gillian Girl. The celebrity representative of glamorous Gillian Cosmetics balanced her busy work schedule with her on-again, off-again love affair with Lyon Burke (her former employers' handsome playboy nephew) and an affair with the president of the cosmetics company. Whew-- she was a busy gal. Of course, the abuse of prescription drugs is the most common thread throughout the film. Perhaps this was Miss Susann's visionary warning decades ahead of her time and the emergence of life wrecking pills like OxyContin? Even staid & waspy Anne takes a spin on the Gelatin Capsule Carousel at the Psychotropic Carnival, but Neely is by far the top abuser. She utilizes pills prescribed by the studio doctor to calm her down, pep her up, go to sleep, wake up and spirit her through busy shooting days at the studio because she's told she must "Sparkle, Neely, SPARKLE"! Jennifer North (Sharon's character) parlays her show-girl good looks into a shadowy European art film career that helps fund her husband's expensive private convalescence. Tony Polar's mysterious, probably neurologicaly-related disorder halted his successful singing career and short-lived stint as a leading man in feature films. Tony's career was carefully micro-managed by his humorless sister Miriam, played by the previously blacklisted & beautiful Lee Grant. It wasn't until his illness reared its ugly head that Miriam was compelled to share the family secret with Jennifer as well as admitting his inevitable illness was her reason for her years of frugality-- to pay for Tony's future hospitalization. Unbelievably enough, not a single oxygen tent was used in the making of this film! Equally unbelievably, the simultaneously institutionalized Neely discovered that she and Tony were being warehoused in the very same sanitarium. Hospitalized for substance abuse-- not for a mystery illness like Tony-- their surprise meeting led to a bizarre, way-off-key duet in the patient lounge as they slurred a few bars of one of Tony's smash hits, Come Live With Me and Be My Love. If it seemed as though things couldn't get worse for poor, beautiful Jennifer with her now increasingly vegetative husband under lock & key, the discovery of a lump in her breast lead her to the conclusion that life wasn't worth living without both breasts. More than likely the decision was a result of her mother's negative comments, which often included her opinion that her daughter's breasts were really the only thing Jennifer had going for her. Again, heavy reliance on the doll factor was how Jennifer decided to permanently check-out of the Bel-Air Hotel. We're then treated to a stellar cameo performance by Miss Susann as one of the several reporters there to cover the tragic Hollywood suicide. Neely trashes her promising career--again and again, via prescription drug abuse and a vulgar disregard for the people and close friends who supported her on the way up the career ladder as well as on the way down. Anne leaves Malibu and her brief but successful career for the safety of Lawrenceville and vintage colonial home from which she emerged as the innocent, wool coat wearing good-girl from New England. The movie's ending sequence takes us down a snowy, country road in Connecticut as the (GASP!) fur wearing Anne picks up a tree branch and walks away to the film's fabulous theme song. To live in the quiet countryside, apparently, forever.

Valley of the Dolls was premiered on a yacht in the Mediterranean and oddly enough, panned by the book's author as a piece of shit. However that's where I disagree with one of my favorite authors. I've always thought the film was the ultimate tribute to the ultimate novel, which is still listed in The Guinness Book of World Records as one of the top ten best sellers of all time. You've got to climb Mt. Everest to reach The Valley of the Dolls! Here's to you, dear Jackie-- we all still adore you!

If you somehow haven't ever seen Valley, check out the trailer on Direct2Drive: http://www.direct2drive.com/138/3814/product/Buy-Valley-Of-The-Dolls-Download
The entire film can be purchased and viewed on Direct2Drive, as well as on DVD from 20th Century Fox:
http://www.foxclassics.com/synopsis.php?id=valleyofthedolls

Cannes-- It's That Time of Year

2008-05-07T01:11:00.000-04:00

Thanks to my dear friend Jocelyn, a little over 20 years ago I was treated to an experience that has yet to be surpassed as the groovy party extraordinaire. A group of Joss's friends, which included myself, accompanied her to the Cannes Film Festival for the purpose of publicizing her recent independent film. Cannes (pronounced can-- like a can-of-soup, NEVER "Cahn" or the worst "CANS") which is much more fabulous than our Academy Awards and lasts about 10 days, is without a doubt the most intense schmoozing experience of my life. Although Spring in the South of France would be a fabulous experience even without the festival, Cannes is the grand-daddy of all film fests-- hands down-- and the combination of place & activities is thoroughly intoxicating. A mere 20-something and fresh from the express register at Waldbaum's where I saved the money for airfare, this was more than even I expected. From cocktails on the terrace of the Carlton to parties where I got close enough to jet-set-glitterati like Marissa Berenson just long enough to have a pal snap our picture that looks like we're actually talking, I think I still get a high this time of year whenever I think back to our incredible trip. A friend grabbed Sting's rear-end as I unknowingly stood alongside him in line. He turned to me and gave me the squint thinking it was I who helped myself to a handful of rock star glute-- I wish I had! A perennial starlet-- the gorgeous Eydie Williams, topless and humping a fountain as the European photogs chanted "EEEDEEE! EEEDEEE! OVER HERE! LET ME SEE YOUR GORGEOUS BREASTS! EEEDEEE!

Our most anticipated events of the festival were the evening screenings which are actually like every-night premieres. Entering and exiting via the red carpeted stairs of the Palais du Festival, these events were blinding. The paparazzi snapped pictures of anyone who looked like even the remotest celebrity. The photos sometimes showed up in the daily magazine published by one of the sponsoring film commissions, but all photos were sold along La Croisette by the photographers to tourists seeking shots of their favorite celebs. Of course my favorite past time was scanning every photo for even the slightest glimmer of my image. Any "Sean shot" was snapped up by myself as though it was the most valuable souvenir in the world.

It was the year The Color Purple made its debut and I purposely waited months to see it at Cannes. In my opinion it was one of the best books-adapted-to-film I've ever seen. It was a patriotic thrill to see a film from the US so well received by the European film community-- the standing ovation lasted minutes and brought tears to my eyes.

For anyone who has the opportunity to go to the festival, GO! It's the best people watching you'll ever experience even if you can't get into the screenings as a tourist. We obtained tickets for the screenings we desired because of Jocelyn's affiliation with a production company, which provided the necessary press passes that got us places the general public wasn't permitted to go. If you're not lucky enough to have a groovy friend like Joss & would like to go and see the never-ending show yourself, you can watch from the other side of the red velvet ropes and still have a great time. If you go, imagine how thrilled I was to abandon my cash register at Waldbaum's one day and pretend to be a movie star the next. I still have that photo pass...

Sean Bagley, Child Star! His Prolifc (Albeit Ficticious) Career

2008-05-03T01:54:00.003-04:00

It seems it's confession week, folks and today's is that I've always wanted to be a has-been. Someone whose Hollywood career has long past its prime and jobs are now limited to commercials for ambulance chasing lawyers on the low end, to any incontinence related product on the higher end-- and that's the best case scenario. You know the type of celebrity-- not necessarily an A list star to begin with-- an actor or actress who may be immediately recognizable but the name completely escapes you. Like the time I saw the Figurines Lady at the Elizabeth Montgomery estate sale in Patterson, New York. You remember that 70's ad campaign for the Figurines diet bar. This gorgeous brunette-- now I know her name, Carla Borelli-- danced to the tune of Tangerine in a halter-top red dress. Oh to be one of the lucky people who rode the 1970's Special Guest Star wave as long as the surf would hold them up!

If I could turn back the clock to be one of those prolific guest stars on any one of the legendary, pop-culture-iconic TV shows-- Love American Style, The Love Boat, Hawaii 5-0, Mannix, or, dare I dream, the imitable Barnaby Jones-- I'd do it in a blink. To be chased by the TV psycho killer du jour through a dusty canyon in my very own-- at least for that episode-- top-of-the-line, (special credit: Provided by The Ford Motor Company) brand new Country Squire station wagon. That burnished copper color with of course the imitation wood grain panelling. The episode plot would be something like: an obsessed fan (played by a perannial, excellent at playing wild-eyed crazy-- like actress Christine Belford) saw me at the Laurel Canyon market one morning in my tight bell bottoms as I grabbed a coffee & pack of smokes on my way to the studio in the valley. Where I was the star of my very own detective show-- the play-within-the-play concept. Barnaby Jones was immediately summoned after the very first weird written note (the cut-out-letters-from-the-newspaper kind) was received, because, of course, Barnaby was hired as a creative consultant on my fictitious prime time detective show, The Topanga Canyon Murders. The notes from that crazy Christine Belford just got weirder & weirder-- much scarier than anything on Play Misty For Me. Things like (in that scary, Helter-Skelter, newspaper-letter-pasted format, don't forget) "Love Me, Kill You!" and "Marry Me, My Cat's Talking About Us" and perhaps the scariest of all which compelled me to run to my next door neighbor (played by Very Special Guest Star, Miss Beverly Garland) "You're So Handsome I Want To Wear your Face Like A Mask"! This episode was wrought with car chases, an elegant party that was a surprise presentation of some very important humanitarian award to me-- crashed by that crazy Christine Belford, Christine Belford ransacking my pristine & impeccably decorated Mediterranean style home-- which was really the Brady bunch set being used while the Brady's were on hiatus and finally, an obvious rip-off of a 1972 Columbo starring none other than Miss Anne Baxter. That crazy Christine Belford pours gasoline around my carport to kill me in a blaze because I've thwarted her advances just too long & she's going to kill me so no one else can ever have me. But my long-time, beloved housekeeper (played by my dear personal friend, the fabulous Miss Esther Role) is returning in my station wagon from the grocery store and that crazy Christine Belford thinks it's me, but kills Esther's character instead. This throws me over the prime-time-1970's-show psychological edge in a very emotional scene. Requiring Barnaby's assistant-- played of course by former Miss America, the ever lovely Miss Lee Merriwether-- to help me to my luxurious white velvet sectional sofa and pour me a drink from the chrome and glass tea cart that I cleverly use as a portable bar. My realistic performance was the talk of the town and I was nominated for a Special Guest Star Emmy Award.

The phone wouldn't stop ringing. I finally had to borrow my gal-pal Ruta Lee's personal assistant to help answer my multi-line office phone with light-up buttons and red hold button. Ruta never completely forgave me after I not only stole the very handsome, swarthy & well endowed Carlos (rumored to have been Alejandro Rey's illegitimate son) and hired him as my much needed assistant, we were secretly married in a Mexican ceremony. Television's beloved Rose Marie was our flower girl and Hope Lange our maid of honor at Jack Cassidy's sprawling seaside Baja California compound. Hedda Hopper called it the most fabulous union she'd ever witnessed, although she had to change Carlos' name to Carlotta in her gossip column-- it was only the early 70's, you know. Jack sang most of the songs with the Mariachi band, the first being an odd rendition of Girl Talk. However I lost the Special Guest Star Emmy to-- you guessed it-- that crazy Christine Belford and all the hoopla quickly cooled. As did my brief (9 day) marriage to Carlos Alejandro Rey, when he left me for (I'm still not completely over the shock) Jack Cassidy and our brief, illegal union ended with a quickie divorce in Juarez. The fortunate outcome that occurred post-divorce was that Ruta and I buried the hatchet. She confessed that she knew of Carlos' bi-sexuality and she always feared losing him to any one of television's secretly gay, dashing leading men like myself the moment her back was turned. More than stealing Carlos away and marrying him, apparently Ruta was extremely hurt that I picked Rose Marie as the flower girl over herself. I made up for this years later when I had a momentary laps of homosexuality and married the lovely Vicki Carr in a Reno chapel ceremony where Ruta was finally not only flower girl but maid of honor as well. Vicki sang It Must be Him to me, however the justice of the peace was extremely handsome and blatantly flirting with me which contributed to my even shorter marriage (4 days) to Miss Carr. Unfortunately, that non-existent Barnaby Jones episode doesn't appear on my IMDB profile because, of course, it never happened.

There are, however, a couple of obscure entries that may or may not qualify me to appear at one of those Hollywood collector & autograph conventions, but more than likely, not. If I was an extra on Star Trek, that would DEFINITELY qualify me to appear at one of those shows because those Trekkie weirdos not only know exactly who was on what episode, they could tell you when Shattner sneaked out a fart while the cameras were rolling. There is a place where I must explore the level of my possible has-been-dom someday-- Japan. Several years ago I played 2 roles in different episodes of ASTONISHING NEWS! One as a physician and the other as a car-jack victim. The premise of the show is that items from US newspapers are poorly re-enacted and Japanese celebrities watch in a split screen format. The celebrities overly exaggerate their reactions to what they're watching in that Godzilla-esque, bad Japanese acting style and their fans at home are thrilled that their favorite celebrities are watching the same thing they're watching too. That could be why I may be a larger-than-life TV star in Japan and not know it. I'm pretty sure that my acting-- although my dialouge was dubbed over in Japanese-- is fairly bad, but complimantary to the Godzilla-inspired style the Japanese so warmly embrace. As you watch the celebrities watch the re-enactment, you can easily identify their US counterparts that they're obviously emulating. The Japanese Donna Mills is particularly disturbing. She must have purchased Donna's very successful do-it-yourself 1992 eye make-up video, The Eyes Have It. However the technique does not translate very well to Asian eyes and she looked like an Asian Donna Mills with Downs Syndrome. Her bleached blond hair didn't help matters either. I know it's a current trend for Asians to want to look Western, but I'm afraid I may have to utilize my (possible) Japanese celebrity to help them achieve their beauty goals without looking like the scary animatronic Disney figures in It's A Small World After All. For all I know I could be huge in Japan and THAT'S the place I must go to experience the thrill of the life of the has-been. To enter restaurants and do what I've coined as "The See-Me-Scan". That's when a celebrity-- no matter how famous or how obscure-- enters a public place and because of their years in the public eye they immediately scan the room with a vacuous smile, all the while making small chatter with their entourage, to see if anyone has noticed their arrival. That's it, next stop Tokyo because if that's where I have to be to experience the thrill that Sally Field's character enjoyed in Soap Dish, that's where I'm going. I just need to learn to say "where's the mall" in Japanese & I'm there.

Doris Day Confession

2008-05-01T22:31:00.005-04:00

Friends, it's time I came clean with you. There's someone I've envied, adored, idolized and loved since I was a little boy-- Doris Day! I have always envied everything Doris Day. From her limitless, underrated talent to, most importantly perhaps, her love & devotion to animals. As a singer she's finally being recognized as not only one of the most prolific recording artists of all time, but also one of the best. As an actress her broad range of top flight ability was at home from trademark comedic roles to heavy duty drama. Whether it was as Jimmy Stewart's wife in The Man Who Knew Too Much-- which of course provided Doris with the song that became the soundtrack of her life, Que Sera, Sera-- to her gal-in-charge role of Julie, the stewardess being stalked by her very own psycho husband played by Louis Jordan. Doris Day made it look so damn easy and that was the problem. Her critics didn't get it, until recently. The fact that she made it look effortless and easy was the magic core of her talented soul. Looks-- check. Voice-- check. Charm-- triple check. What more did a gal need than a little glimmer of the intangible magic of our most precious girl next door, Miss Doris Day? As a young boy when Doris' television show premiered, I had no idea that the smiling, singing, sunny movie star driving the Barracuda convertible over the Golden Gate Bridge, wearing a yellow rain slicker & matching hood, was more or less forced to do a TV show she never wanted to do. Unfortunately for Doris, she put all her eggs in one basket & trusted her beloved husband Marty Melcher to invest the tens of millions of dollars she earned cranking out film after film and song after song for decades. Not only as a number one recording artist, but as the number one box office draw in Hollywood as well. He lost practically everything and the bad investment trail led directly to her long time attorney. Although Doris triumphed in suing the crooked lawyer that squandered her life earnings, the award was only a fraction of the money she amassed in her lifetime. The Doris Day Show was one of the last projects her agent-manager-producer husband signed her to shortly before his death in 1968. When Doris' son Terry began to unravel the financial mess, it was he who had to break the bad news to Doris. Resistant to the television project at first, Doris quickly realized that a commitment was a commitment as well as perhaps her financial lifeboat. She put her best foot forward and the professional attitude that propelled her to the top of the Hollywood food chain made the show such a smashing success that CBS begged her to continue season after season. The television show, as well as a 1975 autobiography, enabled her to once again achieve financial independence. She left Los Angeles forever to live in self-imposed exile in gorgeous Carmel, California. Over the years in Carmel, dozens of cherished, pampered & spoiled dogs have undoubtedly performed thousands of canine ballets on the Mexican saltillio tiles of her rambling, yet unpretentious ranch home. Until recently Doris still owned the Beverly Hills house she purchased after the sale of her Toluca Lake home in 1955. In the years since her move to Northern California that property was more or less merely a source of business revenue, as its rental rate (as of 2001) was nearly $30,000 a month. It takes a lot of dough to buy a lot of kibble! Most recently home to her son Terry until his death in 2004, Doris' long-time Beverly Hills home was sold. I must admit that, along with my dear friend Avril, we were given a personal tour of the North Crescent Drive house by none other than her son Terry, under what could perhaps be called less than truthful circumstances! That's another story, but the genuine, one-of-a-kind Doris Day story is still being performed. Although Doris' life has been saddened by the recent loss of her son Terry as well as several beloved doggies, her commitment to her animal foundation compels her to carry on. Now over 80 in chronological years, Doris is forever youthful, forever smiling, forever the young women descending the spiral staircase in the opening sequence of her television show. Forever Doris Day!