Rocky Petralia and the American Dream

Rocky in a Nutshell

Rocky Petralia — Mon, 14 Jul 2008 10:58:18 GMT

The summer so far--in a nutshell:

- When a small hole opened up in my schedule, I was able to submit to LifeTwo, the internet's number one site dedicated to midlife issues. Check out my article on the Top Ten Midlife Crisis Movies.

- I found myself in Sears recently. What a waste of linoleum. They're getting crushed by Target and Wal-Mart because they don't have carts or checkout lines. At Sears you clutch what you can, like some wildfire evacuee, and go off in search of a sales clerk - and those weasels hide behind clearance racks when they see you coming. Carts and checkout lines, that's my free advice to Messrs. Sears and Roebuck. That's how Best Buy crushed Circuit City.

- HelloRocky.com was once again rated highest in initial quality by J.D. Powers and Associates. Actually, while Mr. Powers likes the site, his "associates," a bunch of MBAs, dismissed the whole concept of HelloRocky.com, calling it "overwritten and under-edited." Screw them! If they were top-tier MBAs they would have gone to work for Goldman Sachs or Nabisco.

- Our ObamaFest site is still rocking the political world. We earned Barry the Democratic nomination and we're ramping up our staff for the general election.

Epiphany - I'm the most wonderful man in the world. Look how I spend my time: helping baby boomers transition to their golden years; advising struggling corporations; answering questions from a befuddled public; and changing the course of world history by propelling Senator Obama over a man who napalmed Vietnamese children. I'm not saying I'm ready for sainthood, but I'm feeling venerable.

Summer Shoes

Rocky Petralia — Mon, 14 Jul 2008 10:55:27 GMT

The office is now on "summer hours." I tell the crew, "If you feel like a popsicle, have a popsicle." Or a Fresca. Or some melon.

I don't have a summer trip lined up. No plane tickets. No car reservations. If I travel it will be in the fall. That's when the smart money hits the road.

What I do have are these:

New sneakers. It's been awhile. I've been kicking around town in running shoes, but I've never liked that look -- too middle-aged, too Larry David.

These Nike court shoes rock. They're vibrant. Not everybody has the strong personality necessary to pull off orange-trimmed footwear. But they look good on me.

They pair well with denim:

If I'm headed to P.F. Chang's - or a gated community - I can mate these shoes with some khakis:

I discovered these shoes at Marshall's. The merchandise there is usually out-of-season, or discontinued, or factory seconds. But once in a while you get lucky and find something top-shelf. This was one of those times and I take it as a good omen for the summer ahead.

Epiphany - This was the only pair of shoes like this at Marshall's. They're a size 13. Not everybody is a size 13. I'm not even a size 13 and that almost kept me away. Then I realized that this is going to be the summer of expanding possibilities, expanding consciousness, possibly even expanding feet. These shoes will be my reminders, for the next three months, that what I was in the past does not dictate what I will be in the future. The old Nike motto "Just Do It" is played out. It did the job, got people off the couch, created a cosmic inertia. But now that kinetic energy needs to be channeled to a higher purpose. The mantra for this epochal summer of 2008, "Just Do It Bigger and Better."

Memorial Day - Honor the Fallen

Rocky Petralia — Tue, 27 May 2008 21:57:31 GMT

It's Memorial Day. I skipped the mattress sales and went to the cemetery.

A bunch of folks showed up to honor America's fallen soldiers.

The VFW guys pulled color guard duty. The two gentlemen in back are Pearl Harbor survivors. I'll do the math for you - Pearl Harbor was in 1941 - sixty seven years ago. These veterans have earned the right to wear those Hawaiian shirts under their white windbreakers.

Memorial Day boilerplate followed: The Invocation, Pledge of Allegiance, and National Anthem - sung by the Saddleback Master Chorale with a slow, haunting lilt that evoked somber images of post-battle Gettysburg.

Richard Pignone of VFW Post 2660 read "The Story of the Poppy," a simple little poem. If you or I had read this tale of a "fair-haired soldier" who didn't make it home it would have sounded hokey. But in his reading, told to an inquisitive child from the soldier's mother's point of view, the words caught in Mr. Pignone's throat. They meant something to him. Something powerful. In the audience it was hanky time.

Then the Chorale sang "Shenandoah," a gray, overcast tune - probably the original B-side to "When Johnny Comes Marching Home."

The day peaked when Cpl. USMC Ehren Terbeek gave the Memorial Day Address:

This kid is class. He's finishing up at Saddleback College and entering Chapman University in the fall. And, by the way, he did multiple tours in Iraq, participating in the original battle for Baghdad and the bloody fight for Fallujah. Like the great soldiers before him he doesn't share the gory details. He doesn't explain how he got his Purple Heart or why he's had several back surgeries. Rather, he talks about his friends who went down those dangerous streets with him and didn't come back. He talks about their courage, their personalities, their families, and about the voids left in the wake of their deaths. And he says not a day goes by without him thinking of reenlisting and returning to his place on the line.

Epiphany - The bugler wrapped things up with "Taps," the last song on every military man's set list. The sun sets on each day and eventually, each life. Jesus, is that today's lesson? I wanted something more upbeat, but surrounded by witnesses to seven decades of war I wasn't sure I would find it. These men had seen humanity in its ugliest guises. But had they not also seen the best side of our natures? The most heroic? I finally found the punctuation mark that this day deserved, a bright red exclamation point sitting in the parking lot:

I know, it's just a Mini Cooper. But check out the license plate, jerkies:

That's how this Pearl Harbor survivor rolls. Sixty seven years ago he was minding his own business, sleeping off an umbrella drink hangover in his bunk in the Schofield Barracks, when the Japanese Navy tried to blow him up. He could be taking life easy now, rolling down the boulevard in the hushed comfort of a Buick La Sabre. But this guy still wants to feel the world beneath him. He doesn't see the curves that life throws our way as bad things - to him they are reasons to accelerate. That's the lesson of this Memorial Day. Every day ends with "Taps" but every morning brings a fresh blast of "Reveille."

Springsteen - Anaheim

Rocky Petralia — Mon, 14 Apr 2008 15:29:44 GMT

Life has a way of coming full circle. March Madness is over yet I found myself back in Anaheim, at the Honda Center, where the basketball tourney began four weeks ago.

Only this time I came to rock:

At the intersection of Katella and E Street.

I took my nephew Logan to see his first Springsteen show. It was time for him to learn that the poor man wants to be rich while the rich man wants to be king yet, oddly enough, the king aint satisfied 'til he rules everything. The Boss ladles up these life lessons, seasoning with epiphanies like "it aint no sin to be glad you're alive."

Before the show Logan asked about the big chair/throne on the left side of the stage. I explained to him that The Big Man, Clarence Clemons, was getting on in years (he's 66). When he's not playing the sax he needs to take a load off of his large frame. He used to get by with a stool, but the chair/throne is more appropriate for one of the Three Most Important People in the World.

Logan enjoyed the show. His favorite part was when Rage Against the Machine's Tom Morello sat in. He joined the gang for a long, jam band, doobie-worthy version of "The Ghost of Tom Joad." It was powerful. Of course, it's already up on YouTube. Check it out. If you don't have time to watch the whole nine minute jam at least fast forward to the 7:00 mark when Tom's guitar solo enters Marty McFly country. I wanted him to say, "I guess you're not ready for that yet. But trust me, your kids are going to love it."

Epiphany - Most people talk too much. Pick your spots and folks will pay attention to what you have to say. I was reminded of this while watching Clarence. For 90% of the show he sits on his throne, maybe shaking a tambourine, maybe not. He's not one to waste energy, so when he gets up and grabs a sax you know he has something important to say and you pay attention. And when he has something completely transcendent to say, like in Jungleland, you hang on every note. You might even weep, but you're a tough guy and you don't want your nephew to see you weep.

The Championship Game - Memphis vs. Kansas

Rocky Petralia — Fri, 11 Apr 2008 15:31:12 GMT

It was time to put an end to the 2007-2008 college basketball season.

Monday broke warm and humid. We cruised over to Austin's Magnolia Cafe (the one on S. Congress) for a late breakfast. Then we lolligagged around the UT campus before heading back home to nap. Tip-off in San Antonio was scheduled for 8:15. We were pacing ourselves.

We rolled out of Austin around 4:30 and by 6 we were parking in a scrapyard near the Alamodome. We strolled over to the Riverwalk area to grab a meal, settling on the local steakhouse Steers and Beers. They serve big portions of low grade beef at modest prices - kind of like the South Texas version of Boston's Hungry Heifer. I had a t-bone steak, medium rare. Craig had a burger.

Outside the air was still sticky. The Riverwalk crowd had thinned out as people made their way to the Alamodome. I got a shot of Craig with some of the stragglers in the background.

Then we circled around to where the ESPN guys were making their last minute prognostications. For three weeks Dick and Digger have been sucking up to Bobby Knight and in return he has been cranky and condescending. He lords over the set like he's Tony Soprano. This shot is typical: Knight pontificating while his co-hosts eagerly wait to jump in and curry his favor.   Dickie V. and Digger might as well start showing up in skirts since they've been so publicly and totally emasculated.

It was finally time to hoof it over to the 'Dome. When we got to our seats we saw, as expected, a lot of new faces. Many of the UCLA faithful chose not to return for the final game. A couple of Latino tough guys had replaced the elderly Bruin fans who sat next to Craig on Thursday. The young men work at a local hotel and were given the tickets by the oldsters. They weren't big hoops fans, but they were jacked up to be there. They asked Craig who to root for and he said Kansas. Why not? They were suddenly passionate Kansas fans, greeting every Jayhawk dunk with, "That's what I'm fucking talking about!"

You saw the game: Kansas lead most of the way. Late in the second half Memphis took over and with two minutes left were up by nine. Kansas rallied and tied the game on a Mario Chalmers three-point shot with 2.1 seconds to go, sending it into overtime where they easily dispatched Memphis.

Here's what you didn't see: There were more UCLA fans in our section than I realized. During one of the long timeouts in the second half, somebody started a Bruin 8-clap.   People all around perked up and joined in, then as quickly as it started it was over. But it did the trick, sorta like the arena version of a group hug.

Unfortunately, many of these same people yielded to their L.A. instincts and bolted during that timeout with 2:09 to go. Holy shit. I know things looked grim, but if there's a miracle comeback where do you want to be - in here watching it or out in the desert cactus looking for your rented Taurus?

Craig and I stayed, though neither of us expected Kansas to rally. I realized I hadn't taken an action shot all weekend so I pulled out my Canon. I figured I would get a shot of Memphis celebrating as the final buzzer sounded. But events outran my plan and suddenly Kansas was coming down the court with a chance to tie. I took a shot of Chalmers desperation three-pointer and with all of the luck of Abe Zapruder I captured one of the most memorable shots in college basketball history:

Note that:
1) The ball is still in mid-air and yet Chalmers has already taken three steps back. He knows it's going in and he's getting ready to play defense.
2) Kansas coach Bill Self has fallen to his knees behind the ref on the right. He is ready to tip into a crying fetal position if the shot misses - as is his point guard across the court.
3) Memphis coach John Calipari is covering his genitals like a soccer player defending a free kick. He senses - correctly - that he is about to get kicked in the nuts.
4) Three rows up from Calipari some lady in a blue sweater is standing in the aisle with her back to the action. She appears to be talking to some guy who no doubt punched her after the shot went in.

And the rest is history.

March Madness. It was a wild ride from that lazy Thursday afternoon in Anaheim to Monday night's drama in San Antonio. All of your major emotions were represented: elation, sadness, fear, lust, bewilderment, smugness and grief. And now that it's all over ennui is creeping in. But that's all part of the game - life doesn't let you feast on the good without taking at least a few spoonfuls of the bad. In the end it's all worth it.

Epiphany - Thinking about those poor slobs who left early I realized that you have to change your behavior patterns as you change your environment. I'm an L.A. guy and my shoes too got a little twitchy with two minutes to go. But Christ, it's not like I had another NCAA Final Game to get to. This wasn't Dodger Stadium in May, this was the crowning of a National Champion. So much in life comes to those who merely stick it out.

Memphis vs. Kansas: The Interlude

Rocky Petralia — Fri, 11 Apr 2008 21:21:41 GMT

UCLA did not, in fact, call. They didn't raise, either. They folded.

Back to the NCAA Men's Basketball Final Four in San Antonio:

Between Saturday's semifinals and Monday night's championship game, a lot went on. The first issue was tickets - many UCLA and North Carolina fans couldn't stomach sticking around. Many Kansas and Memphis fans who were shut out of the semis took a shot at seeing the final game. The buying, selling and trading of seats turned San Antonio into the ticket world equivalent of Hong Kong.

Despite UCLA's loss in the semis, the thought of not showing up for the finals was never an issue for my associate Craig and I. March Madness is America at its most gonzo. In the words of Hunter Thompson, "We'd be fools not to ride this strange torpedo to the end."

Sunday we recharged in Austin. In the afternoon we did some light shopping then joined our hosts at a youth soccer game. When we asked young Max if being on the wrong end of a 9-0 thumping provided any epiphanies, he offered, "Don't go into battle tired and shorthanded." That kind of anti-Rumsfeldian insight will serve him well in life.

Nothing "Friendly" about 9-0.

Sunday night meant a visit to the Saxon Pub, where The Resentments were playing. I opened up to the eclectic music and eclectic crowd by drinking an eclectic brew, the Live Oak Pale Ale. It had a beautiful copper color topped with a thick rich head - much like Rocky Petralia in the summer of '81.

The Saxon pays homage to Def Leppard's drummer.

Epiphany - If you need to get over the sting of traveling 1500 miles to see your favorite team lose a basketball game, try this recipe: Warm friends, cold beer and good music. The world will feel right again.

Final Four in San Antonio

Rocky Petralia — Tue, 08 Apr 2008 15:27:48 GMT

"...like Gods watching from on high on Mt. Olympus."

From our perch high in the Alamodome rafters we watched UCLA get bounced from the NCAA tournament, their three week ride to glory abruptly derailed in the South Texas desert.

Rocky and UCLA get knocked off track in San Antonio.

Epiphany - Life goes on. Just minutes after UCLA and Memphis cleared the court, Kansas and North Carolina jogged on to rousing cheers. The Bruin faithful were sad, but the rest of the world had already forgotten UCLA. They were just another log on a 62 team bonfire, no more or less memorable than the all the other losers and might-have-beens.

And we found comfort in this. Wake up. The Grim Reaper has all of us in his sights, and before our obituary hits the recycle bin the world will have moved on. The only answer is to grab Life while we we are able. It's why we are in San Antonio in the first place. The only scoreboard that matters is the one that tallies our Moments.

Next Stop: Texas

Rocky Petralia — Thu, 03 Apr 2008 13:55:10 GMT

The Alamodome - San Antonio, Texas

I can't stop now - I'm in too deep. Tomorrow I fly to Texas to see The Final Four.

Two weeks ago this tournament started with 64 teams. I witnessed eight of them, including UCLA, slug it out at Anaheim's Honda Center.

Sixteen teams entered play last weekend and I monitored the games from Las Vegas.

Now just four teams remain and I need to see how this whole kerfuffle plays out - in person. My associate Craig has secured tickets for Saturday's semi-finals and Monday night's championship game in San Antonio. I've secured lodging for us in nearby Austin. It's a bunk bed. I've already dibbed (dibsed?) bottom.

The Alamo - San Antonio, Texas

Epiphany - William Travis said* at the Alamo, "One crowded hour of glorious life is worth an age without a name." Travis was hip to the sad math that rules our lives: 99% Boilerplate plus 1% Moments - "Moments" being those tiny nuggets of time that give our existence its texture, its soul. We're following this tournament to its conclusion because of the abundance of Moments it has already served up, and because of the riches that still await.

*Actually, the actor (Patrick Wilson) who played Travis in the 2004 movie said this. In real life, who knows? In real life all the white guys were killed. But our point still stands.

Fear and Lodging in Las Vegas

Rocky Petralia — Tue, 01 Apr 2008 15:23:15 GMT

The UCLA Bruins spent Weekend #2 of March Madness in Phoenix. Since Phoenix is Las Vegas without the casinos, and since I like casinos, I followed the Bruins' games from a penthouse suite at the Venetian Hotel. The suite belonged to Craig, an associate who made his accommodations a gathering place for hoops fans in general and Bruin faithful in particular.

My lodging was in the adjacent Casino Royale Hotel and Casino. We're not sure why this little motel keeps taking up valuable real estate, but here it sits like a dingleberry in a box of truffles:

Note that it has a Denny's and an Outback on-site. I'm a big fan of both establishments, and at the CR you can wake up to a Grand Slam and nod into deep slumber as the scent of Bloomin' Onions wafts through the building.

The rooms are cute. Check out the plantation shutters:

Pretty sweet. And the view is post-modern industrial chic - a little greenery, some pavement, a chain link fence and my fellow lodger's vehicles. All very convenient. Here's the view looking in:

I felt secure behind that big mound of sand. It made me think I was in the Vegas equivalent of the Baghdad Green Zone, where the only thing that could ruin my weekend would be a well-placed mortar round.

I had to wait until midday to get the above picture because the Casino Royale spends all morning in the shadows cast by the Venetian Industrial Complex:

Big, honking luxurious hotel. So what? Who needs fancy digs when you can save more than a few bucks at a respectable inn like the CR? Besides, if you're doing Vegas the right way, you should be exhausted enough by the end of the night to sleep well in a dumpster.

The most important thing is that everybody had a good time and nobody got hurt. The Bruins won two more games and continue on to San Antonio. I've got half a mind (and a full wallet) to follow them. Stay tuned.

Epiphany - Question: What's the first thing we ask somebody who's headed to Vegas? Answer: Where are you staying? I realize now what a vacuous question that is. We should really ask: Why? Why are you going to Las Vegas? To gamble? To reconnect with friends? Because your wife has been riding your ass and needs to be trotted out? Are you going to see the Blue Man Group? When somebody answers honestly to "Why" they are going to Vegas, they expose their very core to you and give you a glimpse of a void in their life. Ask your people "why" they are going to Vegas and be a good enough friend to listen closely to their answers.

Trombone Madness

Rocky Petralia — Mon, 31 Mar 2008 21:12:49 GMT

You're not really a superhero until you prove you can dodge a bullet, which is what UCLA did tonight against Texas A&M.

I found myself back at the Honda Center in Anaheim for Round 2 of March Madness. I was in my usual spot, Row EE, seat #7, just five rows back from the band. I wore black, instead of Bruin blue and gold, because I didn't want to be accosted again by the cheerleaders. You can see how they were trying to search me out, but when I set my mind to it, I'm like a shadow:

I found out why the UCLA band ended up facing us in the second half of Thursday night's game. The L.A. Times missed the story, but Steve Dilbeck reported in the Daily Breeze that UCLA coach Ben Howland complained to the tournament officials, saying that his team couldn't hear him talk during the timeouts. Turns out putting your band and your players on adjacent corners of the court can be problematic. In any case, it made me feel good to find this out. It means that the headaches and tinnitus that have plagued me since that game can be chalked up as my taking one for the team. I've done my part to get the Bruins to San Antonio for the Final Four.

After our long weekend together, I feel a closeness with the UCLA band and they seem to have grown fond of me. My black outfit today give me a hip, musician's vibe that they really responded to. My buddy Jason, in fact, handed me his trombone for a moment, and he didn't seem at all surprised when I shredded through the first stanza of "Sons of Westwood" (clarinet version here and ukulele version here).

Epiphany - Sure, basketball careers are brought to sudden halts during March Madness, but who stops to think about what this all means to the band? What the hell do you do with a trombone after graduation? How tough is it to walk away when you've played that thing under the sacred banners of Pauley Pavillion and marched with it across the hallowed turf of the Rose Bowl? As I stewed over these questions I realized that we all develop skills and passions that we can't carry with us into the real world. Whether it's hacky-sack, like my friend Wes loved, or mushroom trips like my buddy Craig was wont to take, we all have to walk away from something. It's a shame that, when you get a job, you can't horse around for twelve weeks and then tell your boss not to worry because you know how to pull an all-nighter. But life forces us to jettison old talents and master new ones. The great unspoken truism of this basketball tournament, where every game ends with senior players lying face down on the floor, crying like colicky infants, is that it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. This holds true for basketball players, band members and beer-bongers.

The Road to San Antonio

Rocky Petralia — Fri, 21 Mar 2008 07:49:13 GMT

For UCLA, this year's road to The Final Four began on Katella Avenue. The Honda Center in Anaheim hosted the opening round of March Madness and I was there to soak up one of the great rites of spring.

The Bruin cheerleaders liked my UCLA themed shirt so much that they asked for a photo. I obliged.

Two of the girls are interested in a summer internship with HelloRocky.com, although the front runner for that gig continues to be the mascot.

Thanks to Wes we had great seats just a few rows up from the floor. We were right behind the robust UCLA band. They only stood up during timeouts and for most of their songs they faced the floor. The few times they played towards us it was painfully loud. Jeff surmised that the big culprits were the french horns.

Pat arrived late, but since he's Pat he was still in a good mood.

UCLA won the game, defeating an outmanned Mississippi Valley State by a cajillion points. Next up for UCLA is a Saturday tussle with Texas A&M, who defeated BYU in the game that preceded UCLA's.

Epiphany - Any baboon with a remote control can watch the tournament on TV, but only by being there in person can you appreciate all the different story lines. On the lower level there is segregation going on, with four rough quadrants containing UCLA fans, A&M fans, BYU fans and MVS fans (although there were very few MVS fans - Craig surmised that many of them have never flown, while Wes is convinced few have even ridden elevators). UCLA had the most fans, as is befitting a top seed playing close to home. Yet despite the varied rooting interests there was love in the air, a coming together of friends, fans and families all celebrating basketball, to be sure, but beyond that we were celebrating youth, that transient mistress who makes you believe all is possible while she holds you, but whose embrace is short lived. Most of these players are not NBA bound. For many these are the last few moments of their lives when they will be on stage, cheered on and adored by people they have never met. Outside of the Honda Center they will get on buses that will carry them to The Rest of Their Lives. Everybody in the arena is aware of this, so while we cheer our respective teams, there is no booing, there is no hatred for the opposition. Just let the boys play. Let the boys play.

March 2008 - Springing Forward

Rocky Petralia — Thu, 20 Mar 2008 10:49:58 GMT

Who's up for some bullet points?:

Add to the list of notable Petralias - Sam Petralia, who at age 14 completed the L.A. Marathon on March 2. When asked for an epiphany he measured his words carefully, "I trained with the idea that my adversary was the twenty six mile course. At mile twenty, however, I realized that my real opponent was the nagging voice in my head that wanted me to quit. The voice is in all of our heads, and it throws words at us like "no" and "can't" and "impossible." The only way to deal with it is to beat upon it with the fisticuffs of achievement, and, when I crossed the finish line, I opened upon that voice a can of whoop-ass."
March Madness Vegas style is a go. My colleagues and I will be there the weekend of 3/27 - 3/30. When it comes to lodging, small is the new big, and rather than stumbling around the luxurious and massive Venetian Hotel, I'll be highly mobile as I operate out of the nearby Casino Royale where, in the words of James Bond, I expect to be shaken, not stirred, by the condition of my room. I am still looking for a diversion to rival last year's experience with Don Rickles.
I'm not doing movie reviews for Rhino this year. Like Sam Petralia in a marathon, the gag of doing phony movie reviews ran its course. The final posting was the much talked about Beowulf review. The widely read review paid tribute to the once popular Dittos jeans and has had the effect of reviving interest in those fetching pants. If this leads to a full comeback for the snug, pocketless jeans then I will finally know for what purpose God put me here.
My live-blogging of the South Carolina debate for ObamaFest continues to receive a ton of page views. There's a chance I will be asked back. There's a chance I won't. As Vin Scully pointed out, we are all day-to-day.
HelloRocky.com continues to thrive even as Ask.com endures layoffs and a rethinking of their internet strategy.

Jesus Christ Superstar

Rocky Petralia — Mon, 14 Jan 2008 09:53:45 GMT

This morning I was snuggled in bed thinking about the day ahead. I had an appointment to give blood. They tell you to have a big meal beforehand so I decided pancakes were in order. As I started to stretch with happiness, my left calf went medieval on me. After several long silent screams, I felt the muscle untie itself.   This could have been a bad omen for the day ahead, but I don't believe in omens.

I went ahead with the pancakes. I go back and forth between the full Bisquick recipe and the just-add-water pancake mix.   Traditionalists may disagree, but the Bisquick cakes, with the eggs and milk added, go down heavy. Too heavy, sometimes. Today I made the Krusteaz instant cakes and they were light and fluffy and just what I deserved.

The Red Cross folks were happy to see me.   My blood is quite the elixir. I'm O-Positve ("the universal donor") and CMV negative (I don't have a herpes-type virus that is present in 50% to 80% of the adult population - and you didn't believe me when I said I was only in Amsterdam for the giggle weed). They can give my blood to babies and pregnant chicks, no problem. Whoever gets it, I feel like the more my blood gets out there, the more love there is in the world.

I had my phone in my pants pocket while I was giving blood. It rang. People at the snack table heard it. They all start looking around and I hear, "Somebody's phone is ringing." So what? It's not yours. Go back to your cookies!

In my car afterwards I checked the message. It was Pinkus, driving South on the 405 towards Costa Mesa. I felt no sense of urgency to return the call. As far as I can recall, nothing good ever happened in Costa Mesa.

They say to have a big meal afterwards, so when I got home I made a fried egg sandwich. Just as the two eggs where sliding out of the pan onto the lightly toasted sheepherder's bread, the phone rang. Pinkus again. I pick up. He's in Long Beach now, still on the 405. He wants me to meet him in Costa Mesa to see Jesus Christ Superstar. Show starts at 2:00. It's now 1:20. After five minutes of arguing that I don't have time, I agree to go. I take one bite of the sandwich and slide the rest into the trash (you can't save a fried egg sandwich for later - it's a time sensitive entree). I don a clean shirt and jump in the car.

At 1:55 I jog up to the front of the Segerstrom Theater and meet Pinkus. This is big, he says. He has seen the play over twenty times, but today Ted Neeley is playing Jesus. Neeley played Jesus in the '73 movie and countless times on stage before retiring from the role - he even did a farewell tour. No hardcore fan would miss what was in effect a career resurrection (the day was full of biblical wit, the most frequently heard was that, at his age, Neeley should think about playing Moses).

So I saw the play for the first time and it was terrific - I see what all the fuss is about. Pinkus says every show he's seen is different. He pointed out at least two things he'd never seen before. One was a Last Supper scene where Jesus and the twelve apostles freeze for about thirty seconds positioned as in Da Vinci's famous painting (a tip of the hat, perhaps, to the nearby Laguna Beach Pageant of the Masters).

The other was at the end. There's a death scene that takes place (Spoiler Alert!) on a cross. After five minutes of huffing and puffing and forgiving, Jesus dies. There's thunder and lightning and then HE ASCENDS off of the cross and into Heaven (or the rafters).   It was visually impressive, inspired perhaps by the work Franco Dragone is doing in Vegas, in particular what he achieved with Celine Dion's New Day. I suspect cables were involved, but Jesus was shirtless, so I'm guessing he wore some type of prosthetic torso. Anyway, it was a first for Pinkus and I'm glad I witnessed it too.

Epiphany - Half the fun of special events it the time you spend looking forward to them. Pinned on the wall in front of me is an envelope that reads, "THE BOSS 4/8/08." There's plenty of psychic income that comes from knowing I've got good seats for Springsteen in Anaheim, and I'll be cashing those paychecks every day for three months. But that doesn't mean that I shouldn't stay open to life's last minute opportunities. As I watched Jesus and his posse enjoy their Last Supper, I realized that for the first half of the day I was thinking only about the body and blood of Rocky. But before the sun would set I would be reminded that there's something out there much bigger than me and my worldly concerns. There's Broadway, baby.

Crappy Holidays

Rocky Petralia — Wed, 06 Feb 2008 17:33:18 GMT

Last night's windstorm toppled the super-electric Costco snowman. Too bad stronger gusts didn't carry it to another street.

The whole contraption is so 2004. It's been supplanted, first by electric deer, then electric deer doing the head bob, then spiraling neon cones, and the latest: giant inflatable Santas.

Twenty miles away, at San Onofre, they've got two nuclear reactors glowing twenty four hours a day. For what? This meshugeh? Holy infant so tender and mild.

Snowmen should be made of snow, Santa Claus should be a fat dude with real whiskers, and if you slap a Nativity scene in your yard you deserve to have your baby Jesus stolen.

Maybe your God digs all this stuff, but my God says to save the bright lights for Las Vegas.

Epiphany - My Jewish friends have got it right - light a candle or two or eight (or nine, if you count the shamash, which I of course do). A candle is warm and quiet and lends itself to contemplation. Next year there will be no electric snowman - just me, my people, our candles, some booze and a little chocolate gelt for noshing.

Field of Dreams

Rocky Petralia — Fri, 23 Nov 2007 21:18:01 GMT

Some people don't get the mystical beauty and cinematic perfection of "Field of Dreams." These people lack soul. They cross party lines - Guiliani and Clinton sycophants dismiss the movie as "hokey" (while Huckabee and Obama supporters weep over the closing credits). And those people don't read Petralia.com because they don't believe in the search for epiphanies - they think they already know it all.

But on an October drive from Cleveland to L.A. I was determined to visit the little farm where the movie was shot. I fled 'The Cleve' in the a.m., hustled across northern Ohio (skirting Sandusky and Toledo) then Indiana (through South Bend and Gary) and into Illinois, where my Magellan GPS navigated me through Chicago and my momentum went all to crap in thick traffic. It was nightfall by the time I crawled across the river into Dubuque, Iowa, a city that bills itself as " The Masterpiece on the Mississippi." I checked into a brand new Hampton Inn and enjoyed their patented "Cloud Nine" sleeping experience.

The next morning, under icy gray skies, I drove the final 27 miles to Dyersville. I popped in the Grateful Dead's '71 self-titled CD for the drive. It fit my mood and struck me as something Ray Kinsella must have enjoyed in his days at Cal. "Me & Bobby McGee" was playing as I made that last left turn onto the driveway and down to the field ("nothin' aint worth nothin' but it's free").

Having seen the movie enough times, I was prepared to hand over twenty dollars without even thinking about it, for it is money that I have and peace that I lack. But there is no charge to look around.

The field is hauntingly familiar and I had it to myself. I strolled out and peered into the center field corn. I walked the basepaths then stepped into the batter's box and winked towards the pitcher's mound ("make the pitcher think I know something he doesn't"). I went behind the first base bleachers but found no trace of the hot dog weenie that little Karin choked on.

The souvenir stand down the left field line had some tattered "Going out of Business" signs tacked up. But it was boarded closed and appeared to have already gone out of business. I hustled into the first base souvenir stand, happy to get out of the cold wind. A middle-aged Japanese man was there with his elderly parents. He had been to the field once before and now brought his folks all the way from Japan. He was translating for his father, who had a lot of questions for the clerk about the various t-shirts. Most of his concerns were about percentage of cotton and possible shrinkage. It intrigued me because I couldn't imagine the crafty veteran ever actually wearing one of the goofy t-shirts - unless it was as a pajama top.

After they finished I got my own memorabilia. The clerk was really chatty and she had me sign the guest book. I wrote down Rocky Petralia then added, as an afterthought, HelloRocky.com. Let's see how that drives traffic. She said they get about 50,000 visitors a year, even though today's total was four.

Back outside I found the Japanese goofing around on the field. The son was on the mound throwing an imaginary ball to his father behind the plate. Mom stood off to the side, looking a little too self-conscious to play the umpire. How about that, I thought, a boy "having a catch" with his dad. I almost teared up but I caught myself. The biting wind made it just too cold to bother.

They departed and again I was alone on the Field of Dreams. I took these pictures of myself to pacify the skeptics who suspect I invent these journeys into the belly of the American Dream:

Epiphany: Conventional wisdom would say that a baseball movie set in The Corn Belt might fare well domestically but not overseas. Conventional wisdom is a boob. The heart of a good movie is relationships and relationships are universal. "Field of Dreams" is so perfectly constructed that it inspired a Japanese man to bring his parents to a tiny patch of Iowa in search of a moment.   Dyersville is hard to get to. Once you reach the Field of Dreams you're surprised that you made it and surprised that you're welcome there, which, at the risk of sounding hokey, sounds a lot like Heaven.

You're Too Tall to Trick-or-Treat

Rocky Petralia — Sat, 03 Nov 2007 07:50:38 GMT

Halloween ranks up there with New Year's Eve as one of the dopiest nights of the year - and one of the most depressing. Every year you see a few kids who are too big to be trick-or-treating desperately clinging to a childhood that is slipping through their fingers like a half-melted gummy bear.

So if you need cheering up check out my new reviews at Rhino.com, where I dissect 30 Days of Night and Good Luck Chuck.

You should also check out HelloRocky.com, where I helped a reader get a handle on possible Halloween costumes.

Lost in Johansson

Rocky Petralia — Sat, 03 Nov 2007 07:57:08 GMT

I turned in my review of The Nanny Diaries to Rhino three weeks ago. I just checked in to see why it was never posted. It turns out Scarlett Johansson has recorded an album that Rhino wants to release next spring. The suits don't want to upset S.Jo and the legal team told me that they are holding my review in abeyance (page 2 of the dictionary if you need to look it up -- I did).

Unlike music snobs, I have no problem with actors recording albums. Anybody who has a song in their heart should sing, by God, with verve and with gusto. Marlo Thomas taught us that we are free to be you and me, all of us, even a Rubenesque thespian whose beauty evokes a world of art-deco penthouses, Shalimar perfume and black velvet off-the-shoulder evening dresses.

Ms. Johansson strikes me as being self-actualized enough to tolerate a whimsical review of her latest potboiler. As an artist she can't take pleasure when another artist's work is squashed under the jackbooted heel of censorship.

But the organization has made its decision. Despite this setback, I will continue to listen to the lilted voice of my inner muse and go wherever she beckons.

In the meantime, my Nanny Diaries review can be found at HelloRocky.com. It borrows heavily from my groundbreaking Slate magazine poem "The Dingo Come Sniffing," as both include the words umlaut, tilde and marsupial.

Yone Minagawa Dead - The Rocky Cup Returns to America

Rocky Petralia — Mon, 13 Aug 2007 09:52:24 GMT

Today The Rocky Cup, the imaginary perpetual trophy that goes to the world's oldest human, was pried from the rigormortis grip of Yone Minagawa. Yone served The Cup well during her 183 day reign and restored some of the luster that was lost when her predecessor, Emma Faust Tillman, died after holding the title for a scant four days.

Yankee pride is in full bloom as the Rocky Cup is now in transit to Shelbyville, Indiana, where Edna Parker rests up in preparation for the robust party scene that accompanies The Cup. She also plans to update her MySpace page, beginning with the sad job of dropping Yone from her friends list.

The Rocky Cup was designed to remind us that every day is a gift, every friend is a blessing, and every oldster is a valuable source of insight and wisdom. As Edna Parker might put it, if you can't learn something from somebody born in 1893, you can't learn period.

The Prosaic Days of Summer

Rocky Petralia — Fri, 10 Aug 2007 09:16:27 GMT

The reason I never used the word "prosaic" is because I didn't know what it meant.

But yesterday the cable went out. After staring out the window for twenty minutes or so I decided to finally look the word up so that I could move on with my life. I was surprised. I assumed that "prosaic" was a positive word. To my tin ears it comes off as magisterial and high-fallutin'. But the definition is sobering:

prosaic adj. 1 like prose, lacking poetic beauty. 2 unromantic; dull; commonplace (took a prosaic view of life). prosaically adv. prosaicness n.

Jesus, I feel like a fish that just learned the definition of water. Welcome to my world. Welcome to America in the Prosaic Year of our Lord 2007. Welcome to Republican and Democratic candidates who beat the life out of the English language the way Canadians club baby harp seals. Welcome to a third of our population using the word "like" as if it's part of the breathing process.

Prosaic. With apologies to my dog, that word is my new best friend. I'll be dropping p-bombs the way T-Mobile drops calls. I'm going to abuse it until I realize that my overuse of a single word is in itself prosaic. Then I'll move on.

In the meantime, my review of the absurdly prosaic movie "I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry" is now up at Rhino.com. With the exception of "Punch-Drunk Love," Adam Sandler's whole career has been prosaic.

Traffic continues to be heavy at HelloRocky.com. The post on terrorist chatter seems to have struck a nerve with intelligence agencies and Rosie O'Donnell fans. And the post suggesting a baby name for one of my readers is exceptionally un-prosaic.

Cosmic Tumblers

Rocky Petralia — Mon, 18 Jun 2007 09:00:36 GMT

Terrence Mann once wrote: "There comes a time when all the cosmic tumblers have clicked into place and the universe opens itself up for a few seconds to show you what's possible."

This is not one of those times.

But my review of Ocean's 13 is now up at Rhino.com. And HelloRocky.com has been getting a lot of traffic thanks to good Google positioning for two articles:

1. The Dutch John Wayne: Jaap Van Ballegooijen
2. Gotta Sing, Gotta Dance: The Soprano's Final Episode

Also, on a recent business trip to the Central Coast town of Cambria I took time out to hang with this guy:

His life seems to be all about lounging around between meals. Still, I felt a connection.

I suppose what binds us is that we both know that there are sharks out there. The seal knows that he could be enjoying a plump cod and, like Tony Soprano sucking on an onion ring, his screen could go black. This creature and I know that every day is a gift, and as we looked into each other's eyes we silently told each other, "don't stop believing."