After 72 hours away from computers, fax machines, newspapers, and even telephones (for most of the time), I have returned to cyberspace with the latest news from Manzanita and Cannon Beach, Oregon:
Absolutely nothing new is going on down there. It's the same old sleepy, goofy little northern Oregon coast.
And that's the beauty of it.
I have long been in the camp that believes Bruce Springsteen can do no wrong, but his continuing to turn the ticket sales for his tours over to business as usual at Ticketmaster is a real disappointment. Bruce used to find ways to make sure his fans got to see him without having to pay a scalper. For a while he even insisted on a mail order option, and fans who knew about it could sometimes get a first or second row seat just by mailing in a money order.
With Ticketmaster, even standing in line at the arena box office gets you nowhere. If you're further back in the line than about third, you wind up with tickets on the roof.
The reason, of course, is that thousands of scalpers, amateur and professional, are bombarding the Ticketmaster server from all over the country the very nanosecond that tickets go on sale. Even a fan with a high-speed internet connection and three or four browsers going at once doesn't get to see a seat for the first 20 minutes, and by then all that's left are decidedly bad locations. The scalpers with the fancy computer programs have cleaned the place out.
What's really disgusting is that not a half hour later, there are the choice seats on eBay for $300 apiece or more. The seller's location could be 3,000 miles away from the site of the show. So the ripping-off continues, on an unprecedented scale. It's become a national pro-am event.
I suppose that Springsteen's decision to make the floor of the arena a mosh pit is his new way of avoiding the phenomenon of the scalpers charging $1500 for a front row ticket for his show. But Bruce, if that's your reasoning, just click over on eBay and you'll see that you've risked audience comfort to no avail.
Bands have tried to break the Ticketmaster stranglehold in the past, and failed. But if anyone could force a change in the way that monopoly operates, it's stars like Springsteen and Jimmy Buffett. For the sake of their fans, they ought to think outside the box on tickets, and force Ticketmaster to do the same. There has got to be more that could be done to remedy the current sorry state of affairs. Meanwhile, the fans' options are: (a) shell out $500, (b) get some really good binoculars, or (c) stay home and hope you see it on HBO.
We went to the Cirque du Soleil travelling show Dralion tonight and came away disappointed. Here is a corporation taking a successful formula and watering it down past the point at which it has lost its flavor.
We loved Mystére when we saw it in Vegas, and we found Saltimbocca enjoyable when it visited Portland a couple of years ago. But Dralion is a mere shadow of either of the prior two shows, and it will probably be our last Cirque experience unless we get in to see O in Vegas.
Long-time Cirque fans can't help but be critical. What has traditionally made this troupe so great? First and foremost, raw athletic talent. This show had less than either of the previous versions. Most of the talent this time around is a large group of agile, young acrobats from Asia, probably China. Although they dutifully marched through their paces, they were obviously tired, and sometimes just plain scared. "Safety" wires did a lot of the heavy lifting, and there was no joy in the ring, absolutely none.
Next, music and choreography that is great in its own right and complements the action under the big top. This time around, the music was interesting, but it didn't fit the performers or the show. Here are these great Asian tumblers flying through hoops, while some gal in a Hollywood jungle costume is jumping around doing African dances like that lady in the stands at a Blazer game. And those Chinese girls just are not enthusiastic about trying to mimic the arm movements of a Russian ballerina.
Next, comedy that borders on the obnoxious but always redeems itself with cleverness. In Dralion, the clowns are just annoying timekillers, period. Next to them the San Diego Chicken would have seemed hysterical.
The atmosphere wasn't helped much by the fact that someone ripped off five figures' worth of choice costumes out of the Cirque tent early on in the Portland engagement. Some of the replacement costumes looked to be hurriedly stitched together with Christmas tinsel.
But even the best regalia in the world would not have brought this performance up to the $70 per ticket level that a Cirque show demands. These kids would do a great job at a walk-in pavilion at Epcot Center, but they ought to to fold the tent up before this organization mars its name any further.
The Goodyear Blimp flew over Portland today, for the first time in a long time. My initial surprise at seeing it was about to lead to the usual deductive reasoning about what could have brought it here, when suddenly I realized what a warm feeling I was getting just looking at it.
In the several hours since, I have tried to lay my finger on a reason for this dirigible-induced euphoria. Maybe it's the shape of the blimp, reminiscent of a friendly cartoon whale.
Maybe it's nostalgia, for the days when seeing the blimp meant that it was a holiday, or that a special sporting event was taking place, or a big civic event. That something was going on nearby that was so big, so cool, that they brought the huge zeppelin in to be part of it. Of course, nowadays promotional blimps are a dime a dozen, but the one today had that old-time logo on it that brought back the days when there was only one commercial blimp in operation.
When I first gazed up at the blimp in my childhood, I could go to sporting events and civic events without thinking about how athletes are all spoiled, money-grubbing steroid-poppers and gangster wannabes, or how politicians of all parties are crooks, dummies, or both. Back then, I could look at a corporate logo like the Goodyear winged foot (I think that's what it is, isn't it?) without brooding about the evils of the military industrial complex, and the stealing that goes on in broad daylight, much less the cheating that goes on behind the corporate curtains.
Maybe I was just dehydrated in a hot car. But I loved seeing the blimp. Now I'm humming the old jingle, "Go, go, go, go, Goodyear! Da-da-dah-da-da-dah..."
Voice No. 1: Good afternoon, al Qaeda, death to America, my name is Muhammad, may I help you?
Voice No. 2: This is Colin Powell calling, for Osama bin Laden, please?
Voice No. 1: Sure, one moment.
OBL: Bin Laden here, death to America!
CP: Osama, this is Colin Powell, I...
OBL: Hallo? Hallo? I can't hear you. Hallo?
CP: Can you hear me now? I'm on Verizon.
OBL: Just barely. You are breaking up.
CP: Hey, look, Mr. bin Laden, this is Colin Powell. I'm calling to tell you that we know where you are, and we are coming to get you. Right now you are surrounded by 10,000 heavily armed troops, and there are several dozen fighter jets above you ready to back them up. Don Rumsfeld has his helmet on, and he's instructed the troops to kick ass and take names. It's over.
OBL: I will never surrender. You will have to kill me. Death to Dan Rather. Death to Connie Chung. Death to...
CP: Actually, sir, I'm calling to offer you a deal.
OBL: Deal?
CP: Yes. We don't want to kill you. We don't even need to break up al Qaeda. Actually, we just want to help you move to a new location.
DBL: And that location, what would it be?
CP: We need you to move to Bagdad.
Don't look now, but I think the average guy and gal will soon start to look past the current occupant of the White House to their next President. What is W. doing for us? It's 10 months after 9/11, and all we've done is round up some Taliban creeps and take them -- I am not making this up -- to Cuba! Oh, and we've locked up a couple of hundred people on our own soil, in total secret, with no lawyers allowed. Quite a few innocent lives have been lost, and lately we hear that the former frat president, now our President, is going to spend the next year spending billions to continue the family vendetta against that good old Satan Saddam.
The missiles will start flying in Iraq just in time (Bush thinks) to trigger a popularity spike that will get him re-elected. Fat chance!
The President's little mealy speech on corporate corruption did nothing to stop the stock market from tanking over the shenanigans of suits like Bush, Cheney, their Enron buddies, Arthur Andersen, WorldCom, and all the slimy executives who belong to the same creepy club. (It will be a long, long list before it's finished.) Beating up on some podunk potentate and periodically warning everybody in America to get ready for smallpox ain't exactly going to win people over while they're watching their 401(k)s drop like a rock.
Unless the Democratic Party does something really stupid, like a ticket with Hillary on it, it's looking like 4 and out for Junior, just like for Poppy.
10. All new magnifying glasses and steno pads for the SEC compliance unit
9. Bring back "cuss cups" at corporate board meetings
8. Shorten grace period for correcting misleading financial statements -- 24 hours after getting caught
7. CEO salaries capped at $1 billion per year, effective in 2010
6. From now on, all insider trading must be done on your own time
5. Hold corporate America to same high ethical standards adhered to by the White House over the past decade
4. All document shredding must be done manually
3. New sentence for securities fraud: 10 jillion years
2. Have public schoolchildren pray that Bush appointees to SEC and courts will suddenly start enforcing the laws that are already on the books
And the No. 1 George W. Bush Strategy to Improve Corporate Ethics:
1. Kill Saddam Hussein
Now that I am attached to cyberworld via a high-speed hookup, I am having a blast looking at webcams. Two of my favorites du jour are streaming videocams aimed at the beaches at my old college summer haunt of Belmar N.J.; and a nice minute-by-minute stillcam of an intersection in the East Village in New York City. The City of Portland and surroundings don't look bad, either. Many more await exploration! Any hot tips out there will receive recognition here.
On the other hand, I was a bit taken aback when I stumbled across aerial photos of my home on a City of Portland site. You just enter an address, click on "Explorer," find "Aerial photos" in the little drop-down menu, then zoom in tight to see if anything was left out on the lawn that day. If this is the stuff that the city puts on the web for free, imagine what more can be seen if you are willing to pay for it.
Then you go down to the 7-Eleven to buy a beer, and the clerk (young enough to be your daughter) demands to see your driver's license, whose bar code she dutifully swipes before ringing up your cold one. Who knows who's looking over those records. Sheesh.
The proposal to run an aerial tram from Oregon Health Sciences University to an as-yet undeveloped tract being caled "North Macadam" is drawing lots of opposition, and for good reason. It will be ugly. It will pass over a once-treasured scenic corridor and further deface an already battered historic neighborhood. There are already too many cars in the area, and it will only attract more. And the public benefit is highly speculative at best. Supposedly OHSU will pack up for Hillsboro if its doctors are forced to ride a 10-minute shuttle bus between locations rather than a 3-minute tram. Hogwash.
To some observers, this is just another example of the real City Council of Portland -- namely, the five or so big real estate owners in town -- buying a toy and letting the neighborhoods and taxpayers pay for it. The city has already built a trolley so that the real mayor of Portland, Homer Williams, and his buddies can make even more money with their cash cows in the Pearl District. Why not a grossly out-of-place gondola so that they can do the same thing on the other end of downtown?
The current response to the outraged neighbors exhibits particular arrogance. If you're nice, maybe the city will buy your home for current market value (already badly depressed, of course, with the invasive construction that's about to begin). As if it is o.k. to run people out of their homes provided they get a check. And oh yes, we might get around to turning Front Avenue back into a street rather than a no-access freeway that divides your neighborhood. There is an empty promise that has been echoing around City Hall for well past a decade. The neighborhood deserves that one, and freedom from the tram to boot.
The real tragedy for the public arising from this tale is that, like all public transit, the tram will lose money and be a burden to taxpayers. The question no one seems to be raising is, Who will run the tram? Why, Tri-Met, of course. The same Tri-Met that already runs huge deficits and adds to the tax burdens of businesses throughout the region. Every rich doctor who rides up and down over the good people of Gibbs Street will be a few quarters out of the pocket of the average Joes trying to make a living down below. Even the biggest fans of light rail will have a hard time justifying this particular financial boondoggle.
Assuming for argument's sake that a tram is the right idea, the right people should be paying the bill for it. If OHSU and Mayor Williams need a tram that badly, they ought to have to build it and run it themselves.
The Portland Waterfront Blues Festival was graced with a joyous performance tonight by Howard Tate. Tate's appearance in Portland was part of his re-emergence from nearly three decades of obscurity after a series of stunning rhythm-and-blues recording sessions in the late 1960's with songwriter-producer Jerry Ragovoy. The story of Tate's recent rediscovery, preaching in a small church, has been told repeatedly over the past year or so. Click over onto eBay, and if you can find it at all, you can pay upwards of $100 for the long-out-of-print CD of Tate's legendary sessions. (And it's worth every penny.)
This is simply to report that Howard Tate is in fine spirits, good form, and great voice.
Resplendent in a turquoise-green suit with white shirt and tie, and backed by the Uptown Horns, Tate worked his way through about a dozen of his strongest numbers -- opening with "Stop," and adding "Ain't Nobody Home," "Part-Time Love," "How Blue Can You Get," "How Come My Bulldog Don't Bark," "I Learned it All the Hard Way," "Look at Granny Run Run," and the show-stopper, "Get it While You Can." Before "Get it," Tate paid tribute to Janis Joplin, who popularized the song after Tate's earlier recording. Then the crowd of festival-goers heard, most of them for the first time, the version that convinced Joplin that the song was definitely worth recording. (It is probably not coincidental that Joplin also covered "Cry Baby," first recorded by Tate's early singing partner, Garnett Mimms.)
Tate punctuated his singing with a falsetto that was amazingly supple for any singer, much less one in his 60s. Not a flashy performer, he nonetheless enjoyed the groove being laid down by the Uptowns, who proved a highly capable backup band in the tradition of the Mar-Keys, the MGs, and more recently the CBS Orchestra.
"This is my first time in Portland, and I'm having a great time here," Tate told the enthusiastic audience. Responding to a question shouted out from the lawn, he added, "I don't know; it's a miracle."
The question wasn't audible to most of the crowd. But the fact that Tate was alive, on stage in the Pacific Northwest sunset, and doing such a great job with these tunes that had once been given up for dead, truly is nothing short of miraculous.
Rosemary Clooney and Ted Williams, both gone in the same week. Here were two of the very best at what they did. As a kid in the late '50s and early '60s, I caught them as they were just past their primes, but they were formidable figures that we knew and appreciated, along with Sinatra, Garland, Mays, and Mantle.
More recently, I admired their toughness as age took its toll. Williams, the old coot, still had that winning smile that masked his stubbornness. Clooney made records right up to the end, with a voice gone husky in a lovable grandma kind of way. With Ted passes so much knowledge about the art of baseball, particularly how to hit one coming at you at 90 miles an hour; with Rosemary, so much knowledge about the history of popular music, and a wealth of experience in making the song do what its writer intended it to do -- sometimes more.
I can hear them now coming over a staticky radio in a '59 Oldsmobile cruising down the Garden State Parkway headed for Seaside Heights. We kids are jumping around in the back seat, the big folks up front, windows rolled down, maybe a cigar going.
So long, friends. We will miss you.
