Sunday Sceneggiata

Subterranean/Hill Street Blues

Associated Press – Fri Aug 14,2009

Bob Dylan was treated like a complete unknown by police in a New Jersey shore community when a resident called to report “an eccentric looking old man” walking around the neighborhood.

A 24-year-old police officer apparently was unaware of who Dylan is and asked him for identification. The singer of such classics as "Like a Rolling Stone" and "Blowin' in the Wind" said that he didn't have any ID with him, that he was just walking around looking at houses to pass some time before that night's show.

A second officer, also in his 20s, responded to assist the first officer. He, too, apparently was unfamiliar with Dylan.

-------------------

Good morning, officers. Settle down, rooks settle down. Guiliano brought the BIG box Dunkin coffee and bear claws.. plenty to go around.

By now its become clear that the unfortunate incident of August the 14th was not this Precinct’s “finest hour.” You may say “Hey, Sarge - cops make mistakes.” Don’t I know it. And have the alimony to prove it. I get that. But this thing was all easily avoided. And here’s the thing about this thing – we detained a legend.

Ipso Facto – you book the wrong Hahvad professor, Spike Lee crawls up your anus.
Arrest Robert Zimmerman – well, let’s just say that none of us needs Senator Lautenberg riding shotgun on his retirement package. Dayenu!

So as in the interest of making sure that such an “error” in judgment never, EVER happens again, I present to you -- LIGHTS PLEASE -- a brief power point presentation in..

HOW TO IDENTIFY A ROCK ICON

You say “Sarge – whattathis all mean? We gotta go pussy footin’ around every Tom Jones, Dick, and Harry that comes to town?” No.. Plenty of long-haired faggedy dressed rock types you can shake down. Snoop Dogg. Haul his ass in. Amy Winehouse – the Mrs. don’t like her looks. Me? I’d personally like to kick Coldplay’s ass for ripping off U2’s sound.

But I don’t.

Question in back – Who’s Tom Jones? LOOK IT UP, fuckface. The Wikipedia.

Slide please.

This here is Bob Dylan. Aka Robert Allen Zimmerman. Aka Lucky Wilbury. Jack Fate. Willow Scarlet. Sometimes known as Hymie the Kid. Recorded in 1963 as Blind Boy Grunt. Checks into hotels as Justin Case. I see a hand up - What was that? No.. NOT with my wife..

Here’s a current photo. Looks like the guy who panhandles outside the Passaic diner, I know. Makes Tom Waits look like Brad Pitt. Yes, man’s got jowls like my sister-in-law’s basset hound. But there are ways of knowing. What our friends at the FBI -- and my daughter at Brown University – call “signifiers.” You dig?

Slide –

The rock icons often hide behind the urban camouflage of “the cap.” Example – the Spanish gaucho hat – as worn by Dylan on his “Never Ending Tour” or favored by Jack White of the eponymous White Stripes on his most recent concert appearances. Yet even even if Dylan is sporting said chapeau, I’m tossing out two words for you –

JEW. FRO.

Slide.

Hoodie. Right. Suspect was wearing a hoodie so you couldn’t see the Jew Fro. Feeling you. I do. Read the police blotter. Nine outta ten assailants in the commission of a crime are dressed in hoodies. Forget prohibiting the sale of spray paint, BAN THE HOODIE, watch the crime rate drop like a ten dollar hooker.

Next slide..

I got this from a Gap ad. You riff-raff still shop at the Gap? What’s the GAP? F-U, what’s the Gap! It’s the space between your sister’s legs is the GAP!

‘kay.. simmer down. Look at the jeans. You/me. Relaxed fit. Boot cut. Mom Jeans. Rock types go for the SKINNY CUT. Pipe Cleaner legs. Case in point – DAVID BOWIE. Inseam cuts right up to his scrotum. How else does he hit the high notes in “Young Americans.”

Slide..

Talk to the man. And I quote the Rolling Stone Encyclopedia Of Rock, “By performing his allusive, poetic songs in his nasal, spontaneous cadence, Dylan enlarged pop’s range and vocabulary while creating a widely imitated sound.”

Checklist: Does he mumble? UH-HUH! Does he sound like my Grandpa Frank after a pitcher of Pabst and a boilermaker chaser? THEN HE’S BOB FREEKIN’ DYLAN!

Let’s test what you’ve learned.

Slide puh-leeze..

Western-style hat, unshaven, reeks of weed.

No.. Not my mother..

ANSWER: Dylan. Or tourmate Willie Nelson..

P.S. Funnyman - You are now a CROSSING GUARD.

Officers we’ve got 30 seconds here – questions?

Dylan’s best album? Me, I’m a “Blood on the Tracks” man, but there is nothing wrong with the evangelical overtones of “Slow Train Coming” – We’ve all got to serve somebody, capeche?

Germaine question?

No, I do not watch Flight of the Conchords. Wife won’t let me get the HBO.

Anyone else?

Uh-huh, uh-huh..

I’ll repeat it so everyone can hear – Down at the park, you seen a large African American fella.. Played leftie.. Incendiary chord progressions? Good call – that was the GHOST OF JIMI HENDRIX, let the man be..

That’s our designated time for today officers, in summary – the ghost of Hendrix walks amongst us, Dylan’s the man, but Springsteen RULES! Do not fuck with Bruuuuuuuceee..

I see a hand up in back?

Yes. You can still arrest a black guy breaking into his house.

Sheez..

Let’s be careful out there.

Sunday Sceneggiata

Super/bad

TO: (NFL/CFL/UFC/Pro Wrestling) GENERAL MANAGER
FROM: WORLDWIDE FOOTBALL MGMT, INC.
SUBJECT: MICHAEL VICK IS BACK

Dear Friend:

Hey-hey.. Don’t throw this away as SPAM. This is the real thing. This is NOT from the Amalgamated Bank of Nigeria and I am NOT seeking to regain my fortune with the help of American friends..

Ok. I am. Sort of.

As you may have heard, my client Michael Vick was recently released after 18 months in Federal prison, and roughly 60 days in home confinement -- minus Dish TV. Which is a blessing considering that those ankle bracelets wreak havoc on your satellite reception.

As the legally licensed and State (by State) approved (NY, GA, and District of Columbia pending) representative of Michael Vick, I ask you:

Is there room on your roster for a man who once gave his all (and regrettably, his middle finger) to the good people of Atlanta?

You’re probably asking yourself:

Why should I invite Michael Vick to my training camp?

I’m glad you asked.

MICHAEL VICK CARES

How much does Michael Vick care?
So much so that it hurts..

As much as a Rottweiler with a Pit Bull’s foaming jaws around his neck?

Probably not.

But A LOT.

You need more?

MICHAEL VICK IS SUPERBAD

Not like those kids in the “Superbad” movie.
Well.. if you can call them kids. They’re like 30.

And not that Michael Vick would say no to those kind of movie bucks. Hey! Apatow! How ‘bout a movie about Michael Vick and a knocked up virgin? Hahahahaha!

No, Michael Vick is BAD ASS.

How bad ass?

You won’t catch him dating Jessica Simpson.
(Contractually guaranteed.)

MICHAEL VICK IS AN EDUCATOR

No less an authority than James Brown.. no not THAT ONE.. the CBS sports guy, said that Michael was:

“..Very committed and passionate about his efforts to continue educating youngsters, particularly youngsters in urban areas.” (aka major market football cities.)

Would I leave Michael Vick alone with my natural (or adopted) kids, from either of my marriages? Sure.. for a short period of time.

And incidentally, the other James Brown would have LOVED Michael Vick. Can you imagine the SHENANIGANS those two would have stirred up? SAY IT LOUD – I’m Michael Vick and I’m PROUD!

MICHAEL VICK HAS AFFORDABLE HEALTH INSURANCE

Can you say the same?

MICHAEL VICK IS REMORSEFUL

Michael Vick learned in prison. And not just how to pump iron and or make a shiv out of a spring-loaded toilet paper roller. (remember – you don’t fuck with Michael Vick – see: SUPERBAD above.)

MICHAEL VICK HAS GOLDEN REFERENCES

And I quote Super Bowl winning coach and all-around Christian good guy Tony Dungy, who has offered to mentor, and if necessary, car pool with Michael Vick should.. natch.. when he returns to the NFL:

“Hey.. if I wanted to sign this guy, I would want to sign this guy, I would want to look in his eyes and find out if anything’s different – give me that feel.”

But I warn you, take care looking into Michael Vick’s deep, soulful brown eyes because…

MICHAEL VICK IS HYPNOTIC

Look deeper into his eyes.. I dare you..

You can try to pull away from his gaze, but it will not be easy since..

MICHAEL VICK HAS A FIRM HANDSHAKE

Good luck breaking free. He’s got you in his VICE-LIKE grip. Blood drips from your fingers while Michael Vick applies the power of suggestion mastered via Neuro-linguistic programming (learned in prison.. Michael Vick eschewed “Sports Illustrated” and was always the first to grab “Wired” off the magazine cart.)

With a grip like that, can you imagine what he’d do to a football? To the choke collar around a Rottweiler’s throat?

MICHAEL VICK IS ON YOUR FANTASY FOOTBALL TEAM

‘Nuff said.

And on 60 MINUTES!

Suck on that Andy Rooney!

SCOREBOARD, baby! BOO-yah!

MICHAEL VICK IN 2012

America needs Michael Vick. Bite one for the Gipper!

WOOF-WOOF-WOOF!

And as if you need more reasons..

JESUS FORGIVES MICHAEL VICK

Won’t you?

Sunday Sceneggiata

De/briefed

(Hold Muzak.. Joni Mitchell’s “A Case of You..”)

(clik)

President Clinton… Secretary Clinton will be with you shortly..

“Hummmm.. I.. could drink.. a case of..”

“William??”

(inhale/EXHALE)

“Willlllliammmm?…”

(heavy breathing)

“What are you wearing?”

“A smile. Now tell me about the trip. I need to know everything.”

(sigh)

“As a husband, or as an ‘unofficial’ diplomatic envoy of the United States government?”

“This is State Department Business. This call may be recorded.”

(sigh)

“What plays in Pyongyang/stays in Pyongyang.”

“From the top please. How was your flight?

“From here to ETERNITY! Private charter, NO ESPN. BBC the only station that came in clear. Had to watch Gordon G-ddamn Ramsey making casserole the whole dang way. Next time I use those flier miles on Singapore Air.”

“Next time?”

(hahaHAHA-cackle-snort)

“Don’t mock me Hilary Rodham. I’m not in the mood. You played me like a Nintendo Wii.”

“Moi?”

“First off, those two Asian gals – neither of ‘em was the gal from ‘The View.’”

“I never said..”

“And neither of them was PAMELA ANDERSON.”

“I never said Pam Anderson was a prisoner of the North Korean government.”

“Your aide did!”

“Perhaps ‘implied..’”

“Liar/Liar/Pantsuit on Fire!”

“Tell me about Kim Jong Il..”

“Little fella, kinda kooky but sweet. Ain’t gonna be prom king..”

“What did you talk about?”

“Nothing much at first. Kids. Sports. A tacit understanding of American nuclear imperialism on the Korean peninsula as a stumbling block to bilateral disarmament talks. The usual “Dr. Strangelove” missile-straddling-whose-gamecock-is-bigger BS.”

(silence)

“Did he mention me?”

“In what context?”

(cold silence)

“What happened next?”

“Lunch. Spicy but not too spicy. Hot towels.”

“After lunch. Were you alone?”

“We’re all alone, Hils.”

“With Kim?”

“Gimme a break, Madame Secretary! I mention ‘hot towels’ and you get visions of me getting a tug job from Miss Saigon next to the strong man of the North.”

“It wasn’t like that?..”

“I wish!”


“I need specifics, William. On-the-record..”

“We played Scrabble.”



“Scrabble?”

“Dude is a FIEND. One of those guys who sits on the can with the ‘Scrabble Players Dictionary’ and memorizes all the little three letter words. Words that start with Q. Maybe that’s why he’s so svelte.”

“What’s your secret?”

(chuckle-chuckle)

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

(garbled male voice)

“Who was that?”

(giggles)

“No one.. A friend..”

“We don’t have friends in Washington, sister.”

“..only people whom owe us favors, I know-I know. So what else did you learn about Kim? A feeling? A vibe?”

“Crosswords. We both do the Crossword. Only there, it’s in Korean and not even SUPERbama could solve that.”

“The President’s a very bright man.”

“Yeah-yeah-yeah. And when I’m on the Supreme Court, I’m gonna wear pants under the robe.”

“Anything else?”

“Suduko. Hershey’s Miniatures. Kim Jong Il breaks out a copy of Obama’s Kenyan birth certificate. Some Jello shots. Then he hands over the girls like the keys to the rental car.”

“Did you take that car out for a spin?”

“They are married. BOTH of ‘em. Kept to themselves and ate a bowl of Starbursts. Al Gore’s got a better chance of winning the Nobel Prize than I do scorin’ with those gals..”

“Al won the Nobel Prize.”

(static/pffft/hoarse laughter)

“What was that? You’re breakin’ up Hils..”

“I said.. ‘Don’t unpack your bags..”

“’Scuse me?”

“I’m sending you to Tehran, next.”

“Uh-uh”

“Uh-huh”

(sigh)

“I want an official jet this time. With fondue. And a badge. (beat) And a Kindle.“

“I’ll make some calls.”

“Can I ask whyyyyy Tehran?”

“Umm.. They’ve taken Megan Fox hostage.”

“Don’t fuck with me, Hilary – I read 'Us Magazine..' online.. everyday.”

“Mr. Kindle reads ‘Us?’”

“Yeah, it’s like ‘People’ with bigger tits.”

(gnashing teeth)

“Madame Secretary – any message you wish to deliver?”

“For President Ahmadinejad?”

(heavy breathing)

“For me..”

(giggle)

“I love you, Mr. President.”

(moan)

“I love you, too Dragon-First-Lady.”

(air-kiss)
(air-kiss)

Re/count

(I DEMAND A)
RECOUNT
Diary of an Impartial Election Observer

Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Chicago, Illinois, U.S.A.

Imagine how flattered was I when a guy who knows a guy who knows Rahm’s brother Ezekiel, calls me up and says, “Hey!” we need an impartial, “independent type voting official” to verify the election results over by there in Iran.

I mean I been an election official for going on 18 years now, since I was 14 and old enough to both drive and vote in municipal elections within the City of Chicago, County of Cook. And we got ourselves a motto over here – The City That Works, which doesn’t mean we all have jobs. Albeit, my brother-in-law Stu and I do in fact, in the interest of disclosure, operate a citywide contract for park district concession stands and aluminum siding (and asbestos removal) far be it for me to refuse the call of duty, ask not what the Iranian government can do for me, etc., et al.

Wednesday, June 23, 2009
O’Hare International Airport,
Terminal One - Auntie Anne’s Pretzels

Refuse offer of private jet transportation from Iranian Government. Hey, do the words “im/partial” meaning anything to you guys?

Take a wild guess how many frequent flier miles you need to get to Tehran. Take another guess.. HIGHER.. Let’s just say that you could fly to Vegas, then back, then back again, about ten thousand times and Southwest still couldn’t get you any closer than Raleigh-Durham. Fortunately, my wife knows a guy who knows a friend of his sister’s who works at United and I’m flying NON-STOP to Tehran. With a stop-over in London and Frankfurt.

Wednesday, June 23/Thursday June 24, 2009
Somewhere Over the Atlantic Ocean

11:20pm - In-flight movie - “He’s Just Not That Into You”. Right. Here’s a new title: “FIGURE IT OUT, BROADS!” I mean it’s obvious. Cute broads though. The HOT young broad from “Big Love,” and the little girl from “E.T.,” all grown up. I’d watch it again but “Marley & Me” is up next. HOT Broad from the “Friends” and the Wilson brother whose nose looks like a penis.

1:15am - Sobbing. “MARLEY DIES” would have been a better title. SPOILER ALERT: Marley dies. Why didn’t anybody tell me?

Thursday June 24, 2009
Imam Khomeini International Airport, 3:09pm (IRST)

No one to pick me up at the airport. No little sign w/my name in Sharpie. Only available rental a canary yellow Humvee and I refuse “upgrade from compact” scam. Just like New York, all the cabbies over here are middle eastern types. For cry-yi..

My cab driver, Achmood (pronounced “Ach-mood”) turns out to be a stand-up guy. He too is unawares of the ending of “Marley and Me” and is consequently moved by said denouement. He is so moved as to offer me a discount rate off his normally low low rate of 112000 Rials to the Hilton. Anyone got change for a 200,000 Rial note?

Thursday June 24, 2009
Shahid Khoddami St., 3:39pm

Sig Alert! Streets cock-blocked all the way to the Hilton, now know as the Hotel Esteghial. I’d kill for a Red Roof Inn and a cinnamon bun breakfast buffet about now. Achmood can’t move forward/can’t move back. I have a good mind to lace up my Rockports and hoof it the remainder of the way to the Presidential palace.

Thursday June 24, 2009
Presidential Palace Blockades, 3:51pm

Hoofin’ it, sweating like Frank Langella in “Frost/Nixon.” Here’s a tidbit they left out of the Lonely Planet Guide to Iran (1975 ed.) Do NOT flash your American Passport, or Illinois Driver’s License at the gate of the Presidential Palace and ask for “someone who speaks English.” Not even if you’re expected.

Thursday June 24, 2009
Presidential Palace “Visitors Center,” 4:11pm

Miscommunication with Revolutionary Guard sorted out. BIG misunderstanding. They can’t believe my father voted for Jimmy Carter (twice.) HAhahaha. Assured I could contact American Embassy for return of my passport and clothing.

Thursday June 24, 2009
Presidential Palace, Undisclosed Location, 6:09pm

Ensconced with a pile of election receipts thicker than Oprah’s wallet. Refuse use of “official” government computers and abacus. Do these guys think I just fell off the falafel truck? Pull out my trusty Tandy 10-key ($14.99 at Radioshack.com) and go to work. Air conditioning good, but not great; can’t open window with safety bars.

Friday June 25, 2009
Presidential Palace, Burning the Midnight Oil

Hmm.. I’m not sayin’ that these books are cooked, necessarily, but according to my preliminary calculations, the Iranian city of Karaj (pop. 1,398,060) cast 17 million votes. Making it larger than the cities of Chicago, and Tehran. COMBINED. Who knew?

Friday June 25, 2009
Presidential Palace, The Wee Hrs.

M’bad. Clerical error. Of the 17 million votes cast in Karaj, only 15 million cast for President -- and still champion – Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, approximately 1 million for challenger -- the honorable Mir-Hossein Mousavi -- and the remaining mil and change for Pat Buchanan. Who knew?

Friday June 25, 2009
Islamic Call to Prayer - Dawn

Yawwwn. Awakened by traditional Adhan, or “Iranian Alarm Clock.” No breakfast burrito/no problem. This Muezzin fellow (rhymes with “Sue Ezzin”) has some serious pipes. How do we get this guy to sing the Star Spangled at Wrigley? Probably not. “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” during the 7th inning stretch? Couldn’t be any worse than Ditka.

I think I’m on to something: 12 million of 17 million “questionable” votes in Karaj correspond with death certificates of population in said municipality. Puh-leeze, this trick was older than Robert Byrd. In the city of Chicago, we have F.O.A.s (Friends of Abe) Lincoln voting in the last election. Allegedly.

Friday June 25, 2009
Islamic Call to Prayer – Round Two - Noon

Say what you want about Ahmadinejad. Crazy talk about our Jewish friends. More stubble than Don Johnson.. And I’ve seen better suits on an undertaker. But from where I’m sitting, in a windowless room with a humidifier and a gift basket CHOCKFUL of pistachios from the man himself, he’s all-right with me. These are BIG pistachios mind you, easily split. No staining of your fingernails like the cheap stuff at the Trader Joes. You look at these things and they open. Pinch me, I’m in PISTACHIO HEAVEN!

Friday June 25, 2009
The Deep Dark Truthful Mirror of My Soul

Hang on. According to my interpretation of Iranian election codes, - and this is sketchy now, since my English/Farsi dictionary is missing several hundred pages, “any citizen living or deceased, is allowed to vote in Presidential elections.. as many times as is permissible by the Supreme Council.” Hmmm.. Somewhere in the big polling place in the sky, Mayor Daley (Sr.) is pulling a lever (2x) and river-dancing like the Lucky Charms leprechaun.

Does this change things? Yes, and no. Yes, depending on your religious beliefs --does reincarnation count as one vote, or many? And no, since the numbers don’t lie, unless you’re Bernie Madoff.

Saturday June 26, 2009
The Streets of Tehran –Homeward bound

I think I catch a glimpse of Supreme Leader on the way back to the airport, but considering smoke and flame, can’t be too sure. Everyone’s got a ZZ Top/Steve Earle thing going. Achmood agrees to round-trip discount and vows to stay in touch via Twitter. Maybe it’s the air quality, maybe what the French call a “piquant ennui,” but my eyes water as I watch him scrape “Mousavi Nowie!” bumper sticker off cab.

I wouldn’t run a national election this way. Hell, I wouldn’t run my fantasy football league this way (tip: Bears Defense/Patriots Offense.) But it is what it is, and as in Dade 2000, the results speak for themselves. And in my humble opinion, Pat Buchanan has a legit beef as the legitimately elected President of Iran.