Tune for the road link to this story »
This one goes out to Dubyahoo and if you see Dick Cheney and happen to chain him to that wheelchair before shoving him into the Potomac, please know I'd be happy to pay your thirty cent fine. We are, after all, all in this together.
I remain busy finishing a large piece of writing but shall soon return to this space to share smaller efforts. Until then, I wish you all better days.
Barry Crimmins
Bob Lazarus link to this story »
My dear friend and comedic comrade Bob Lazarus passed away last night after losing a monumental struggle with leukemia. Always the easy sort, Laz left us only one date to remember him by: January 4. In 1956 it marked his debut on the planet and exactly 53 years later, it became the day of his departure. After enduring two failed bone marrow transplants and chemotherapy so intense that at times it wasn't clear whether they were trying to cure him or get him to confess to something, his death came as something of a mercy. This makes his passing no less heartbreaking or premature.
If the doctors did finally break Bob, the only thing that he would or could confess to was an abiding love for life. There was no one more universally loved by the Boston comedy scene than Bob Lazarus. Ever. Period.
If you took the average of Laz and me, you'd have a guy who smiles exactly half the time. His enthusiasm was both humbling and motivating. He wasn't naive, he didn't find the positive where it didn't exist, but he was forever finding angles of appreciation that others might miss. If he wrote material that then clicked on stage, he happily reported the details and did so in such a charming manner, you felt happy to hear them. Small facets of his everyday life became causes for celebration. He was absolutely ebullient when he got a broadband connection and was thrilled with the newfound freedom brought by digitized music. He would enthuse about doing yard work or finally getting a problem solved at the home he so loved -- mostly because it was where he lived with his beloved wife Kathi and their darling daughter Carly.
Laz never let his ego get in the way of opportunity. One of the most draining jobs in show biz is work as an extra in a film. The days are long, the money is (relatively) short and extras are treated like scenery. I never once heard Laz do anything but express gratitude for any of his work looming around in the background of countless films and TV shows shot around Boston. When he took center stage as a standup, the same humility that helped him work in the background shone through to the audience... Laz wasn't just funny, he was one of us and he was funny.
As wonderful and positive as Laz was (and again, this didn't preclude a very sharp and hilarious sense of humor, irony and sarcasm) his good spiritedness grew even greater upon the arrival of his beautiful daughter, Carly, 13 years ago. In an age when parents overindulge themselves by boring the hell out of everyone by talking about their kids, Laz's approach to parenthood was different. He didn't brag about Carly's accomplishments at the contrived activities and events that fill up the grids upon which modern children are forced to waste their childhoods. Instead he spoke with genuine gratitude for the time he spent with his daughter. When he talked of playing with her, helping her learn about the world and generally showing her a good time, he sounded as if he were describing lucking into luxury box seats for Game 7 of the World Series. He would enthuse about shooting baskets with Carly or watching The Honeymooners with her or just going to their favorite Chinese restaurant for lunch. He would speak appreciatively of how much Kathi indulged the two of them by letting them spend so much time frolicking. Someday, when time has served its analgesic purpose, Carly will understand that although she had her Daddy for a much shorter period of time than most daughters, she was incredibly blessed to have had a father who knew how to make every minute matter -- especially when it came to playing a vital role in his daughter's life.
I was extremely fortunate to have Bob Lazarus as a friend for thirty years. Like Kathi and Carly and so many others, he has left me the gift of memories of a man who had an unerring eye for the good in life, an unswerving desire for the joy of living and an unmitigated love for his family and friends.
To take a page from Laz's book and find something good in all this, I must say that, ever the comic, his timing of his swan song was impeccable. On Monday morning the new year and all of its challenges were about to land squarely upon us. Thanks to Laz we will now spend a few more days of quiet reflection before we move forward in the world he so brightened.
I will miss you greatly, my friend. Thanks for everything. -- Barry Crimmins
Field and Bloodstream link to this story »
Sincere thanks to James Wolcott for his recent link to my 2008 salute to sportsmen.
Further thanks to all the folks who have responded with advice about my arthritis. My hands were screwed up playing ball as a kid. 35 years later when I do stuff like split and stack firewood in cold weather, a serious price must be paid.
XXXX
Dept of buried leads... I'm finishing up a screenplay that you will only hear about again if and when there is reason for you to hear about it again. All I will say for now is that it is being written at the request of a hipster indy director who gets stuff made and who is no stranger to critical acclaim. Until it's done, most of the typing I can manage to tap out must be in the service of this project so in the near future, posts here will be rather infrequent. OK, OK, one more hint-- it's semi-alibiographical. Now that's enough!
XXXX
Two political remarks-- if you bought a gas guzzler in the last 15 years you have no excuse f to oppose a bailout for Detroit. None. You enabled Big Three greedhead management to step on the gas despite the fast approaching cliff. This isn't the union workers' fault, workers report to work and manufacture what they tell you to manufacture. And the UAW has already made too many concessions new hires don't make a living wage and their benefits are shit. UAW retirees helped the Big Three turn big profits while they spent their lives on assembly lines. These workers completed an endless task and have earned and should get every dime in pensions and every bit of benefits they have coming. AIG gets six times what the auto industry has asked for. And CEO's travel by private jets. If these three clowns get fired for it, fine by me. The private jet travel is annoying but cracker legislators using it as an excuse to crush a predominantly Democratic part of the country look just a tad vindictive at the moment. And I swear if they don't stop repeating praise for the non-union auto plants down south they'll soon be driving through the same carpal tunnel that is ruining the poor unorganized workers in those mutilating manufacturing facilities.
OK that was a long first one. Now something more pithy.
Second: I don't care that Lieberman is still chairman of the Homeland Security Committee. I care that we still have the KGB-in-drag as the Department of Homeland Security at all. There is no security in our homes, just government eavesdroppers and Fourth Amendment-ignoring cops. It's time to can this scam.
XXXX
Thanks to some steady snow and temps in the teens, the manly men (and women!) who help eradicate the deer menace are either huddling in their cabins or have beat it back to friendlier climes. There are still some hearty hunters looming about but most of those remaining seem to be following the rules. There are exceptions such as the outdoorsperson who fired off a round within a few hundred feet our home well after sundown last night, breaking at least two laws with one shot. The weekend looms and so we the second wave could be arriving any minute now.
To illustrate why these roaming merchants of death bother me, let's take a quick look at the always entertaining world of guns and ammo. It has it all, parents watching kids blow their heads off, brothers killing brothers; deaths by crossbow, bullet, drowning and a whole lot of people dying in and around deer stands. Also some nice head wounds and a couple of lovely amputations. It wouldn't be autumn without 'em!
Let's start with a story many of you already know about...
Father of child killed by uzi at gun fair says the family has "No regrets." Fortunately he's also doctor who runs a for-profit hospital so he used to making obscene rationalizations in public.
More on the uzi gun club. The cop who organized the event where the kid was killed.
Hunting safety tips or Never use a loaded shotgun to probe an open wound!
And now, from the pages of Outdoor Death Magazine let's get right to a compendium of recent murder, massacre and maiming by the dim bulbs in the bright orange caps.
www.fox44.net/Global/story.asp?S=9361496
post-journal.com/page/content.detail/id/517001.html?nav=5018
www.dptribune.biz/content/view/119682/1/
www.wzzm13.com/news/news_story.aspx?storyid=101814&catid=14
www.poconorecord.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20081120/NEWS/811200339
www.wivb.com/dpp/news/deer_car_collisions_20081114
www.burlingtonfreepress.com/article/20081119/NEWS02/81119006/1001/NEWS
tristatehomepage.com/content/fulltext/?cid=39851
blog.mlive.com/bctimes/2008/11/man_dies_in_apparent_hunting_a.html
www.kxmb.com/News/299054.asp
www.woi-tv.com/Global/story.asp?S=9358941&nav=1LFX
www.columbusdispatch.com/live/content/local_news/stories/2008/11/18/crossbow.html?sid=101
www.9news.com/news/local/article.aspx?storyid=103991&catid=346
www.oleantimesherald.com/articles/2008/11/17/news/doc4921f0b60c712044909320.txt
www.myfoxkc.com/myfox/pages/News/Detail?contentId=7873594&version=2&locale=EN-US&layoutCode=TSTY&pageId=3.2.1
www.inrich.com/cva/ric/news.apx.-content-articles-RTD-2008-11-14-0180.html
www.argusleader.com/article/20081114/NEWS/811140310/1001
www.mix97.com/news/2008/11/hunting-accident-claims-life/
www.gainesville.com/article/20081111/NEWS/811110932/-1/SPORTS?Title=Palatka_man_critically_injured_in_second_area_hunting_season_accident
www.wdbj7.com/Global/story.asp?S=9338218&nav=S6aK
www.gatorsports.com/article/20081111/NEWS/811111008
www.madison.com/wsj/topstories/315298
www.pineandlakes.com/stories/111208/news_20081112004.shtml
www.fortmilltimes.com/124/story/355460.html
www.wsaz.com/news/headlines/34387679.html
www.wsaz.com/news/headlines/34387679.html
www.fox44.net/Global/story.asp?S=9345331
www.thehartwellsun.com/articles/2008/11/12/news/news02.txt
www.wkyt.com/wymtnews/headlines/34068424.html
www.semissourian.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20081105/NEWS01/711055093
www.kxmb.com/News/295294.asp
www.buffalonews.com/437/story/480729.html
www.wspa.com/spa/news/local/article/easley_man_dies_in_hunting_accident/10647/
To the person lurking in darkness link to this story »
You may be fretting over which obscenely wealthy person Barack Obama will name to represent us to a world full of paupers but I have other people to worry about.
They're everywhere, including and especially at the borders of the private property upon which our modest home stands. Even though there are thousands of acres of state land around here where autumnal war games are encouraged, certain miscreants are attracted to this property by the world's greatest shithead magnets -- signs that say "NO TRESPASSING OR HUNTING." This insults and challenges these folks-- who have no choice but to take to the field to put meat on the table because they blew the next several years' of grocery money on ATV's, trailers, weapons, ordnance and more camouflage than General Patton and the troops he commanded utilized as they battled from North Africa to Germany.
Rather than consider that 'posted' signs as necessities for the safety of those who choose to live on this land even when it isn't doubling as a killing floor, the turfy interlopers behave like children mocking orders to remain in their own yard by sticking a toe or two onto a neighbor's lawn. These people (and yes, I know there are also 'good' hunters) don't give a wit (or even half of one) for anyone else's peace of mind. The only safety that matters to them is represented by a one-color rainbow of hunter's orange attire.
Taking advantage of a loophole for non-murderous activities created by the un-American, anti-sportsmen lobby that criminalized the discharge of high-powered rifles from sundown to sunup, Lettie, Lu and I were on a Saturday predawn ramble when the girls detected something creepy, lurking just at the edge of our property. Even before the sun had risen on the first day of "gun season" for deer in New York's southern zone for hunting, blunderbuss-toting nincompoops were already surrounding the remote outpost we call home. The dogs stayed on our side of the line as they barked loud reports of the incursion.
From the darkness, a human woodchuck yipped back at me and my good girls. "Ya better do sumpin' about dem dawgs!"
Over L&L's now greatly amplified woofing, I responded, "Don't worry, I will. They deserve a reward for alerting me to the presence of intruders at the edge of this property. It's a job they do every day. Most of the time they just drive off deer, which is why you will never find what you're looking for here."
Without warning, I opened fire with a weapon of my own, a million watt flashlight. I panned it back and forth across the forest. This device routs the moronic marauder on several fronts. First, it announces the presence of humans to local wildlife. Next, it makes the hunter feel like the game and the hunter hates that. Finally, it attracts game wardens because the presence of such a bright light is a sure indication of poaching. If a ranger is nearby, he or she will demand that anyone with a gun in close proximity of such illumination furnish proof that they are licensed and law-abiding hunters. This is often not the case in these here parts. Either way, none of them like contact with the woodland authority any more than the rest us enjoy routine traffic stops.
Although bright enough to announce the opening of a major motion picture, my light missed its mark but nevertheless did its job. As I heard the hybrid Hatfield/Fudd stagger away through the darkness, I offered a brief prayer.
"Please great and lucky superstition upon which we, the sorely beset, have no choice but to turn to in our helplessness, let the goober's safety on his gun be off so that he might become a small story on the wire services tomorrow."
This particular petition was neglected by the up-yonder role-caller. When the girls and I got back to the house, I plugged my weapon back into its charger, right next to its bigger 1.5 million watt comrade that is also at-the-ready at all times during these dangerous days. Then I took a moment to smile about the encounter and the terrible rainy weather outside.
It kept up all day, coming down in such torrents that not even state of the art camo rain gear could best it in the open field. So the hunters were drenched to the bone yesterday before the weather changed last night and the temperatures fell to freezing. I was happy about this until about 9 pm Saturday when I drove down to town to pick up some supplies to see us through the siege. About halfway down the hill my headlights illuminated what looked to be a large dog. I slowed down and crept forward until I identified a fawn, and a pretty young one at that. It stood and looked back at me, lost and scared. This fresh orphan, facing hills full of coyotes and a first-ever long, cold night without a mother's warmth, would have been better off had I just sped up and ended its misery. I couldn't do that any more than I could shoot the poor thing or eat the flesh of an animal. I haven't the heart. (And I do understand that he herd needs to be culled but do you understand that the deer herd is enlarged by state wildlife agencies that do everything possible to make the countryside ideal for the animals that generate the most income from hunting licenses and for private, very influential businesses? They promote deer overpopulation to justify an annual onslaught of armed, beer-swilling mutants in my neighborhood. And it sucks.)
As I looked at the helpless babe at woods' edge, I felt as if the universe collapsed on my soul. It could only understand it felt confusion, grief and fear. I, on the other hand, knew exactly how awful things were for this little one. I was again left to the remedy of the sorely beset. This time I chose my deity more carefully since the prayer about to be offered was serious and for another. So I asked the great pacifist and lover of animals, St. Francis of Assisi, for mercy for the foundling fawn, who scooted away after looking me in the eye with eyes that sought explanations for the inexplicable.
If the poor deer made it through the night, perhaps thanks to the protection of a surrogate mother, what peace it found is now over. The goatfuckers are again afoot, ready, willing and able to massacre any creature old enough to provide safety and guidance to the young and terrified fawn because, after all, these people have kids to feed.
UPDATE: I went out to get some photos for this and was reminded that laws mean nothing to many of these people. They park illegally, they camp illegally and when some do act legally, they do so only to aggressively exclude other hunters from their turf. I guess they know better than to be out there with people like themselves.
Idiots who only have permission to hunt on an adjacent property have now added the threat that they are 'patrolling' it to some of their 'posted' signs. How very paramilitary! So an out of town landowner who is kind enough to allow these lower-case McVeighs to hunt on his property now has militia-type meatheads putting up signage that will undoubtedly irritate other armed morons. Will this lead to firefights and king hell lawsuits? Stay tuned and I'll let you know because this is right across the street from my home. Makes me wanna holla and I do. In fact I just came in from screaming at a moron who was carrying a gun on the edge of my property well past sundown. It's DARK, you idiot, GO AWAY!
The rest of the day was spent watching a parade of vehicles creep past our home so nitwits could check to see if their were any deer to shoot on our front lawn or maybe to see if there are any gutted carcasses hanging in front of our home. Since they have no manners, I don't bother to tell these clowns that it's impolite to stare. Instead, I simply wave at them with a portion of my hand.
NOTE: Speaking of hands, I am battling some serious arthritis and so typing is tough. I will resume posting more frequently when my digits become a bit less gnarled.
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