Washington is exhausting.

Everyone here has an opinion. A strong opinion. And they want to talk and talk and talk about “serious issues” ALL THE TIME. Really? Hasn’t anyone been to a movie or read a trashy novel lately? Why does a cute story about trick-or-treaters lead to a discussion of child labor laws? Why can’t we enjoy our amazing twice-grilled burritos without arguing over immigration policy. You people need to chill the heck out!

Now – caveat here – these people are my friends. I like them. We don’t agree on everything; in fact we disagree quite a bit. I enjoy talking to them because we can actually debate without the posturing and screaming you see on cable news talk shows. We can share opinions and try to see each other’s points of view. Often we end up very close to the same place. For instance, no one wants little kids working and no one wants illegal aliens bringing drugs and crime into our country. It’s how those problems are solved that leads to differences. But I always feel if someone told my conservative pals and my liberal pals to work it out, we could because the goal is the same for all of us. (Of course, we don’t need to win an election…)

Which leads me to this past Saturday. The night Jon Stewart announced he was holding a “Rally to Restore Sanity” in Washington DC, I called United and booked a ticket. It represented everything I felt was possible if we got away from the shouters. I wanted to be with people who were just like my friends. Intelligent, ordinary folks trying to get something – anything – done.

Oh, but I’m a rally rookie and failed to follow some simple rules for successful Mall sitting. I didn’t get there four hours (or more) before show time. I didn’t bring a buddy to help carry stuff and spot openings in the nonstop flow of people. Mainly, I didn’t understand the impenetrable wall of humanity that forms in the middle of that Mall. Once formed there’s no way in or out. So my rainbow and unicorn filled plan of mingling with people who were involved in the process went up in fairy smoke.

Now I understand why newscasts are always filled with interviews standing near the port-a-potties. They’re simply the only people an interviewer can get to. I was very lucky in that some of the “fringers” were terrific people who aren’t really sideline-sitters on a regular basis. They were just people who couldn’t get into the parking lots or on the bus or into the Metro… just like me.

The Empire Gives Back...

Blurry, but I was there, by golly! It's Billy Dee Williams,
Harrison Ford, and Peter Mayhew at the Arclight in LA!

One of the best things about having your birthday in May is you grow up thinking all those summer blockbuster movies are opening just so you can have a super cool birthday party. During my childhood, almost all those movies were made by the tinseltown twosome of Spielberg and Lucas. Jaws, ET, Indiana Jones, and, of course, the original Star Wars trilogy are all films that have become cultural benchmarks for most of us and, to say the very least, quite lucrative for their creators.

So, George Lucas is spreadin’ it around. For the rest of 2010, in celebration of the 30th anniversary of the greatest (don’t start with me!) of the Star Wars oeuvre. Lucas is providing a GORGEOUS digitally restored copy of The Empire Strikes Back for screenings around the country to benefit various charities.

Last night the very worthy and appreciative beneficiary was the amazing St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital in Memphis. For those in the audience who were unfamiliar with their amazing work, they brought along a family who have benefited greatly from the Hospital’s $1.5 million a day spent on research costs. Daughter Elizabeth was sent home to die just after she was born, but her parents found a doctor at St. Jude’s willing to take on her case. They not only saved her life but now, 11 years later, doctors are about to perform a new type of gene therapy that could effectively cure Elizabeth. The Empire screening last night was generously sponsored by Junk Food, so 100% of the money went to the cause. $75-$175 ticket prices raised about $40,000 – nearly two minutes of research time at St. Jude’s. I like to think it will be two minutes when someone looks up from a microscope and smiles.

Elizabeth was definitely the star of the event, even though a few others were present. Like Ewan McGregor (Obi-Wan Kenobi)… and Billy Dee Williams (Lando Calrissian) and… Peter Mayhew (Chewbacca) and… wait for it… Harrison Ford!

After the screening, Los Angeles Times columnist Geoff Boucher hosted a Q&A with the reclusive Mr. Ford. Ford rarely attends such gatherings, but sat for a full half hour and answered questions from Boucher and the audience. In his hesitant, quiet, rumbley voice he told old stories (how he got the role while working as a carpenter for Francis Ford Coppola) and new (his kids weren’t that impressed by having Han Solo OR Indiana Jones as a dad). My favorite exchange came courtesy of a fan asking Ford when it was revealed to him that Darth Vadar was Luke’s father. “Well,” Ford stammered, “I read the whole script.” I guess BI (before Internet) keeping secrets in Hollywood didn’t require the same security it does today. Ford also made a point of saying how proud he was that George was using the film to support so many worthy causes.

It was, to say the least, a great night for this hard core Star Wars geek. There was even a goody bag! I scored cookie cutters shaped like Yoda’s head and an R2D2 toy. Happy birthday to me!

A Fine Romance

Before joining the WhatGives!? rodeo, I worked for many years in the television industry. One of the most appealing aspects of that work was the formation of a production team every time a new show began. Long hours working towards one creative goal brings people together like nothing else. For those weeks or months, you are family; sometimes dysfunctional, but a family nonetheless. And sometimes, your family needs some help. That’s where the Motion Picture & Television Fund steps in.

Ninety years ago Charlie Chaplin, Mary Pickford, Douglas Fairbanks, and D.W. Griffith established the Motion Picture Relief Fund to assist those in the entertainment industry who had fallen on hard times. At first they just put out donation tins to collect change – a simple method that provided rent money or paid hospital bills when work was scarce. Eventually there were charity balls, movie premieres, radio shows, even benefit polo matches adding money to the Fund.

In the 1940s the vision expanded to include a retirement home and hospital for folks who had given their lives to the business of show. Since then, the MPTF has flourished and now includes six outpatient health centers throughout the greater Los Angeles area; a children's center; a retirement community, health plans and much, much more. Their mission is as straightforward as their slogan: Taking Care of Our Own.

So, they serve 60,000 people a year, helping with everything from grocery shopping to major medical bills. You can imagine the millions of dollars needed to keep this great organization running and expanding programs. But the MPTF have two aces up their sleeves. One is the tireless dedication of entertainment industry professionals who give of their time and money to support the Fund. The other is the tireless dedication of those who give of their astounding talents.

Hugh Jackman hosts "A Fine Romance" featuring performers such as Patti LuPone and James Marsden.

One night a year those two groups come together to raise a boatload of cash for their friends and co-workers. This year? Over a million dollars. As I have been for the past five years, I was part of the team that produced this year’s “A Fine Romance”. Other nonprofits might look on with envy at the star-studded roster of performers and the well-heeled audience. But the reason it all works and is so successful is due to the personal relationships that have built the MPTF. Plus, there is an undeniably personal connection between givers and receivers – to the point that those roles have been known to reverse through the course of a career. There is always the distinct feeling that “it could happen to me” – unemployment, failing health, injuries. No donor is more committed than one who recognizes himself in the face of someone being helped.

So, yeah, it helps if Hugh Jackman is your host, but it helps even more you have found a way to strengthen the connection between your cause, your mission, and your donors. If you’ve made it personal, all you need is a fun event that allows all those connected, passionate supporters to hang out together and talk shop. If you’ve made it personal, you will succeed.

So dreeeeeamy...

On the Edge...

You’ve heard about them all your life. You’ve seen them in the backs of magazines. The third season of every sitcom has a storyline about them. But you always think people are exaggerating; making more of them than is actual reality. Then, you see one in the wild. A man’s hairpiece. Not a full-on wig or a little spray-on hair in the back. It’s that half-head thing. The front is bushy and full, with a little wave, a little sass. Then there’s hair that stretches about halfway back so the wearer can comb it in with his own hair so it looks “natural”. Oh me oh, oh my oh, oh Cleveland, Ohio. Standing perfectly still in front of your bathroom mirror, I’m sure it blends and disappears beautifully. Standing in the aisle of an airplane near that whooshy stream of air vent air, however, the truth is revealed. The line of demarcation between store bought and home grown: the dreaded edge of hair.

I won’t insult balding men by asking why they go to such lengths to cover a receding hairline. It is naïve to think that people aren’t judged by their looks and “penalized” (especially by other men) for a lack of a full head of hair. Additionally, there are, of course, people with medical conditions or birthmarks or scars or whatever that they prefer to keep to themselves. My observations are not directed solely at the wig wearers. They are also to shake a finger at the wig makers. Surely, if we can put a souped-up off-road vehicle on Mars, we can create a head covering for men that doesn’t leave them open for all those squirrel-pelt-on-your-head jokes comedians are always tossing out while the strippers change g-strings.

Certainly women have wonderful hair options. Women who wear wigs for religious reasons, cancer patients, and actresses who love period films have forced wig makers to step up their game. I also believe women simply insist on a higher standard of fake hair. Unlike men who probably never paid attention to their hair until they started losing it, women often base their beauty self-perception on the state of their hair. Women would never tolerate the edge of hair.

Another basic mistake made by men is they insist on growing hair everywhere to make up for the lack on their head. My fellow traveler had a beard and a moustache and an enthusiastic pair of eyebrows. In and of itself, I suppose that’s not a tragedy. But, again, the devil is in the details. His beard was an attractive salt and pepper grey and black, nicely trimmed. The moustache was, hmmm, kind of reddish brown. His eyebrows were dark brown. His wig and back of the head hair were darrrrk brown. So somewhere in that mix, hair dye must have been involved. Even at first glance, from his neck up, every follicle on the man’s head was screaming “I AM LOSING MY HAIR AND I PANICKED AND THE LADY IN THE BEAUTY SUPPLY STORE SALON SOLD ME A PACKAGE DEAL!”

The gentleman on the airplane caught me staring at him. I smiled, he smiled, and I shifted my gaze to the video monitor nearby, hopefully pulling off the “oh, I wasn’t staring at the thing on your head, I was watching television” ruse. Once he sat, I found I continued to glance up occasionally to check out the top of his head from behind. Like Waldo in those big picture books, once the edge of hair has been located, it’s all you can see. It’s harmless, though, and like our red and white stocking-capped pal, kind of sweet and silly. Like most men. Bless their hearts…

(back to hohoshobiz.com)

Flying in Circles...

I started this post on Friday morning when I was at LAX waiting for my flight to Tulsa. I was in a high-and-mighty mood, complaining about how airline terminals were basically bus stations now, and that we had become a nation of traveling hobos. In our “eclectic” outfits of random t-shirts (Gumby? Fake tuxedo shirt? “Got F__k?” Reeeeeeally, people?), combined with sock monkey pajama pants and flip flops, we are dressed as if we hit the church rummage sale on the way to the airport. And the roly carry-on bag with various items bungeed onto it is apparently the shopping cart of the 21^st century. We are a bum. The bum is us.

Yes, indeed, I was on a holier-than-thou roll. Discovering that I had a whole row to myself on the plane only served to confirm my superior status. I settled in for the ride as United 3168 took off on time, made that wide turn over the ocean, and headed east.

I had a book and a diet coke and the two and a half hours passed quickly. I was actually surprised when I felt the plane begin to angle down, beginning our descent into very cold, snowy Tulsa. And then it angled back up. Apparently, in the course of about 20 minutes, Tulsa went from snowy to closed. As in, nobody landing or taking off; as in, until tomorrow. There was no circling the airport or waiting to see about snowplows or any other such nonsense. "Ladies and Gentlemen, we are diverting to Kansas City.”

Well, all righty then. I was sure it was all about fuel and such, so no worries, let’s get this baby on the ground. Besides, I had to pee. Really. So, put the pedal to the medal, Captain Mike, let’s go.

Twenty-five minutes later we were on the ground at MCI, waiting for a customer service person to come and explain our options. Twenty minutes later I pushed my way through folks standing in the aisle back to the bathroom. Hey, a tiny, slightly overused toilet is better than none, if you know what I mean.

Finally, we were let into the gate lounge area – but not allowed to leave it due to security issues. Have I mentioned that there was no food on the flight? I climbed into the SuperShuttle at 9:15am after a hearty breakfast of coffee and toast. Flight left at 11:45; landed in Kansas City around 3:30p; deplaned around 4p. I was really hungry. Oh, right, so was everyone else. The poor man at the one little food kiosk within our “secure” area was caught up in a stampede of people willing to trade sexual favors for a pre-packaged “Caesar-style” salad. (What does that mean? “Style”? Is that like “ish”? Must remember to research that…) I grabbed the last Cinnabon on the shelf. The look in that 7-year-old’s eyes will haunt me for the rest of my life, but hey, kid, life is hard. Learn to deal.

We were offered the choice to stay the night in KC and hope for better flying conditions the next morning, or to fly back to LA. Hmmmm. Let’s think. Snow and freezing rain and an airport hotel room I had to pay for, or a trip back to sunshine and my own bed. Sorry, Mom. Love you, mean it, but gotta go! I’ll be back when the pass is open.

So, five of us flew back. Yeah, I know, right? Five! That meant one flight attendant for every 2.5 passengers. We even got the “premium” snack mix – pretzels AND almonds. Livin’ the life, baby, livin’ the life.

Back in LA at 8:25; luggage at 9p. Yes, even with FIVE bags, it took a half hour for them to get to baggage claim. What EVER. Cab home. Pizza ordered on the way; delivered 10 minutes after I walked in the door. I am, if nothing else, organized.

All in all, it was a very strange lost day in the airspace over the western US. But, hey, we got vouchers. I can reschedule my trip to Tulsa at no charge, plus I got enough vouchers for another trip. Not a bad day’s work.

Round and Round...

Just saw the trailer for the new film “2012” that opens this weekend. Apparently, the Mayan Calendar signals the end of the world as we know it. Yeah, yeah, I’ve read the more sensible explanations as to what that December 21, 2012 date really signifies – how it’s all cyclical and the world’s not ending so much as it’s beginning again. Blah, blah, blah. Roland Emmerich can’t make a kick-ass disaster movie out of all that spiritual circle of life gobble-de-gook. He needs the world. to. end.

Oddly it reminded me of scene in the middle of “Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs”, another disaster flick that’s been bringing in big audiences. As giant food falls from the sky a reporter notes that all the major capitals seem to be getting hit by the storm first before it spreads across the globe. So in “2012” we see the White House and St. Paul’s Cathedral crushing and being crushed, and then random other places are engulfed by the destruction. Thank goodness for the Eiffel Tower and Big Ben and the Great Wall of China. No one wants to see a meteorite hit a cornfield in Nebraska. And a lot of people are actually hoping for the destruction of the crappy little towns they left behind after high school. So you gotta go for the big stuff. If the government can’t save the Golden Gate Bridge then we all are surely doomed.

It’s all about symbols, old and new. We give them power as surely as the gods themselves. The Hollywood sign signifies a town, an industry, a dream, while the lost knowledge of an ancient civilization equals mysticism and magic. Since humans first wandered the planet we have identified symbols and then gathered them around us to protect our friends and families and to wreak havoc on our enemies. Once we gazed into a fire and imagined our futures. Now we bask in the glow of a movie screen. If we are to believe the movie industry’s interpretation of that ancient calendar, we’ll soon be gazing into campfires again. We are as cyclical as the Mayans predicted...

Changing My Luck...

I just got back from Las Vegas and the BlogWorld Expo ’09. If you’ve been following along on my little blog, this might come as a distinct surprise. What’s an old-school TV production slave doing at a high-tech blogger convention? Adapting, that’s what. Apparently, there’s this thing called the internet and lots of folks are now gathering around this new campfire to get their info and entertainment. Shocking! And it turns out that underneath all the fancy lingo, it’s basically radio and television and newspaper all rolled up into one shiny “new and improved” package. (Yeah, the advertising biz is in there, up to its old tricks as well.)

So, the fact that I have too short of an attention span to specialize in one area of production is finally paying off. I can write and I can produce and I can yell at editors and I can calm divas and I can build a convention booth and I can make buttons with one of those hand press badge makers. Oh, yeah, baby, I can do it ALL! Which, it seems, is the secret to success in cyberspace.

Now I’m multi-tasking across the media spectrum. I’m still shooting interviews for various outlets like the BBC, I’m still writing for the John Tesh Radio show, and I’m still doing what I can for the Motion Picture & Television Fund. But as of today I am officially taking off on another adventure – I’m the new Managing Editor of WhatGives.com. (balloons fall from ceiling; confetti cannons erupt)

It’s all very exciting and I hope it’s a journey that leads to a more focused life. I have been working for others my entire life. Helping others bring their ideas and dreams to fruition. I’m ready to be a little more selfish and try to make more visible what I care about. So you’ll be hearing about non-profits and giving back. And you’ll be hearing about history and new science. HEY, WAKE UP. This is great stuff, people…