Sabtu, 16 Januari 2010

Howzit from Slightly Lower Kane'ohe.

As you might have heard me or other loudmouths say, "IF I had a square asshole I could shit bricks." I spent a bit of serious time trying to track down the source of that gem, but only came across others who have used it in the Blogoshpere.

Which has nothing to do with this first post from my new digs, down the road from the old place, the one I was burned out of. It's even more quiet here than up on the hill (and if you happened to be there you know that is very silent).

While recovering from recent events, my mind found refuge thinking about pro football, which is reaching its crescendo In Miami, where instead of here at Aloha Stadium, the Pro Bowl has been moved to Miami, with the Super Bowl also there in the same Florida city the following week.

Hawai’i voted for Obama because he was supposed to take care of such ripoffs of his home state,

So I been thinkin' IF I had bet $1000 against the Rams in Week One, and let it ride, I would have made like $64K up until Week Seven, at which point they win, I lose it all. But ... they never won another game, finishing last place of all 32 NFL teams with a record of 1-15.

But IF I had started over the next week with one grand I would have won $256,0900 by letting it ride through the end of the Rams horrific season.

Alas, all my bets are in my head but one, which I won. Mitch Fisher lost ten dollars to me once, which he paid to the Rabbi's General Fund, Temple Emanu-el, Nu'uanu, O'ahu, Hawai'i.

But here are my virtual bets going into tomorrow, which always might be the greatest pro football weekend of the year.

I have no idea what the spreads are and have paid little attention to who is favored since I am still in post-traumatic stress over the past months. Not to mention the fugazee Rams, who are going backwards. Straight up:

Cardinals 37, Saints 30

Baltimore 27, Indy 24

Dallas 35, Vikings 16

Chargers 34, Jets 21

Hmmm. Only one home team, San Diego. But what the heck.

Always the best thing for us islanders is that NFL games this time of year start FIVE HOURS EARLIER than East Coast kickoffs. First game at eight o'clock, no waiting, mmmm, delicious.

Kickoff of what I hope to be The Kurt Warner Show is in about 60 minutes. And I am on record. This will look so cool if I come anywhere close. And if I bust, well, one thing about a blog: It can vanish with one key stroke.


Sabtu, 02 Januari 2010

OBAMA & LIMBAUGH ON THE ROCK



A slightly slimmer Big Fat Rush Limbaugh is here. He arrived at the Queen's Medical Center in time to thrill the staff and draw satellite TV trucks to the hospital. I was born there in 1937, my daughter in 1977.


The Queen's Hospital, now called The Queen's Medical Center, was founded in 1859 by Queen Emma and King Kamehameha IV. In his initial speech to the legislature in 1854, the King voiced his desire to create a hospital for the people of Hawaii. At that time, the continued existence of the Hawaiian race was seriously threatened by the influx of disease brought to the islands by foreign visitors.


Queen Emma enthusiastically supported the dream of a hospital, and the royal couple campaigned tirelessly to make it a reality. They personally went door-to-door soliciting the necessary funding. The royal couple exceeded their goal in just over a month, raising $13,530. In turn, the Legislature appropriated $6,000. Through six generations, The Queen's Medical Center has become a major provider of health care to the people of our State and a part of the cultural fabric of Hawaii.


So Limbaugh was rushed -- there, I said it! -- from what was the world class resort hotel here on Oahu -- back in the 1960s and 70s. The once opulent "World Famous Kahala Hilton." Little exists of what made the place Beverly Hills West, complete with dolphin pools, mai tais on the beach and a staff that personified The Aloha Spirit.


Meanwhile, Barack Obama, who is also on the island, is being sucked back to DC by GOP screaming for him to be more of an alarmist. Like how Bush 2 would boot-swagger to the gate of his made-for-TV "ranch" in Crawford, TX. With hay bales and a pickup for background. Flanked by fellow war-mongers Cheney, Condo Lisa, Rumsfeld--everyone but Colin Powell (whenever he could avoid the President's working-on-vacation photo ops.)


For these never spontaneous events, Bush wore Texa

s Dude Ranch jeans and slowly droned about: Some nearby waffle house, Iraq or Iran (whichever he remembered at the moment), yellow cake, hot chili, Noo Orleens, Sadam Hussein, God, MLB, CIA, FBI, WMD, ETC.


Alas, it is January 2, 2010. Time for Obama's annual vacation in his true homeland. And with much, much more security now that he is POTUS, not just Prez-elect, like in 2008. The stay was supposed to last into the middle of next week. I think I read January 9. But the visit even began on delay. Truncated from in front. Because GOP senators jerked off until they had barely enough time to get home for Christmas Eve. So Obama sat in DC until Air Force One headed for Hickam Air Force Base, Oahu, Hawaii, to land in time for some Mele Kalikimaka happening at his Kailua compound, across the canal from Kaneohe Marine Base Hawaii. It is the largest Marine base outside of North America. I can see its beacon flashing through my window, behind the iMac.


So we have Barry Obama back home here. He is relaxing at breakneck speed (compared with mere mortals, especially those with no crack United States Secret Service detail.) I mean this whole island is Obama's hood. Or, as I wrote about it in 2008 for my book, released on Innauguration Day: OBAMALAND: WHO IS BARACK OBAMA?


The President knows just where it's at, the nooks and crannies of the aina (land), like any "local" guy. The book also show his Official Birth Certificate from the State of Hawaii and his birth announcement as posted in The Honolulu Advertiser. Most Obama fans love its 155 full-color pages. Check reviews on Amazon. Price is lower, plus there are images from the book, including exclusive family photos and Obama's 1979 Punahou Oahuan yearbook notation about "choomin'" pakalalo. Or in English: Smoking marijuana.


When Barry's in town the entire island is his to enjoy, going point-to-point with the full escort accorded the Commander In Chief comprising federal, state and city agencies. The Honolulu Police Department practiced the run from Hickam to Kailua a week before He arrived. Coming down Kalaheo to the compound, motorists waited up to four hours for the motorcade to pass. The HPD bikes rolled down the road in some kind of Arrow Formation. Or like well-disciplined Shriners in a parade.


Obama onlinepress coverage is literally by the minute. The White House Press Corps always has one pool reporter covering what little they can see. Amazingly, 99% of this year's itenerary is covered in OBAMALAND, including maps, photos, a Christmas section, His favorite shave ice place, scenic sites visited, etc., all same as last year.


This year's movie was AVATAR in 3-D. (Last year was whatever the Batman movie was, DARK KNIGHT?).) Two days ago He was in the Windward Mall, in a reserved theater, while I shopped across the street at Safeway Kaneohe. Everyone has an "I SAW HIM" or I-was-in-the-nearby-vicinity story. The only new place is where the Obama party dined was Lucy's Grill & Bar, near Kailua Library and MacDonald's.


Can you believe that The Man with the Ultra-Platinum, Recession Proof, VIP Mother of All Credit cards, who needs no valet, was driven to the door of this joint just about four hours ago?


Save Review

MinusKailua
1 contribution
Kailua
Nov 25, 2009

We used to go all the time. We don't even bother now. Food has gone down hill. The wait staff can care less. The tiki torches are turned off, tables and chairs are in terrible condition. Don't bother going into the men's bathroom, it's dirty smells and run down. The salads have limp lettuce, shrimps are not cooked and smell... more


By now Rush is back at the Kahala, being treated like a king. But, as most haole (Caucasian) malihini (newcomers) and very not akamai (hip) tourists, Rush has no idea of what is happening in his mega-suite complete with with bidet, valet, filet, fung shui, and CDs by Ke$ha. (Thank you, Real Don Steele for those fabulous Fractious Friday signoffs!)


Limbaugh, of course, has no clue about what happens outside his luxury hotel (or hospital room.). Hey, Rush, did you know that a disgusting amount of Oahu's opala (garbage) is shipped by barge to the Mainland. Mini-mountains of the stuff pile up, are compacted and taken to the Honolulu piers, where the trash towers wait to sail the Pacific, bringing The Refuse of Paradise to San Pedro, or San Francisco, or better yet, the House of Limbaugh.


How cool would this be? Rush doing a floating remote, sitting atop this pile of kukai (shit) slowly bouncing across the Pacific, talking to the gazillions of listeners who take him seriously. Please, however you do it, Bubble Lip: GET YOUR OKOLE (ASS) OFF OUR ISLAND!

Jumat, 01 Januari 2010

OBAMA & LIMBAUGH HERE NEW YEAR'S DAY


I stole the above graphic from Google. Today, January 1, 2010. I hope they sue me. Man, I wish! The bigger the arrest, litigation and/or trial should really get me more listings and hits on Google. For sure.

And, most of all, I'm
down ... this is posted on the First Day of the New Decade.

More to come about the last years' events and, in my own world, dealing with the post-traumatic stress of being burned out of this Anoi Road house and then drowning in the World of Moving!

We'll get into those thing and other subjects, uh, soon.

Howsoever ... this is officially, certified posted on the First Day of the New Decade. Enough already with the last one. It was 20 months after Y2K when the second Day of Infamy happened: 9/11 -- and the subsequent shit -- changed how humans will live hereafter. Not only did the shit hit the fan, the New Media played to the
fans who crave stuff from the sewer's bottom: WMDs. Octomoms, Shoe Bombers, Gay Crooked, Adultering Politicians and so on.

So Hauoli Makahiki Hou (Happy New Year) from Kaneohe, looking out at Kailua (where Barack Obama is spending another night at his oceanside compound) and Rush Limbaugh is "recovering" at Queen's Medical Center, downtown Honolulu. I might stand in front of that place with I sign: RUSH -- I WAS BORN IN THIS HOSPITAL ... PLEASE DON'T DIE HERE!

Some of my thoughts about Limbaugh and the putrid music jocks on Sirius XM Satellite "radio" are in the essay below.

Rabu, 16 Desember 2009

GET SERIOUS (KARMAZIN KARMA?)


I was in my office at KHJ when Colonel Tom Parker called. It was 1968. I first met Colonel and his client, Elvis Presley, in 1957. That was at then-new KHVH, which was located at the top of the tallest building in Hawaii, the Hawaiian Village Hotel. When Presley arrived, Tom Moffatt and I pulled a stunt -- "The First Elvis Impersonator" -- that cracked up Colonel and Elvis. Moffatt and I emceed EP's concerts the next day. And we remained close friends with Colonel for the rest of his life.

So I wasn't surprised when Colonel called me. What did blow my mind was that Elvis was about to do a NBC-TV special, the one now known as "The 1968 Comeback Special." And two talented guys were involved: Steve Binder, hot young director, and Bones Howe, record producer with a string of hits.

That show, inside a drab Burbank studio, was as great as any live Elvis performances I'd seen. I sat with my wife in the second row, but on replays of that show the only crowd shown is the teenage girls who were there, 30 feet from Elvis, watching everything and screaming and freaking out appropriately. It was a Great Hollywood Memory, one I knew would have a lasting impact.

Now, 41 years later, the black leather-clad Elvis has reappeared in what has to be one of the best examples of why Sirius Radio has never caught on: A serious lack of creative imagination while focusing on the technical (satellite radio -- wow!) and ignoring the BASICS of radio, regardless of the means of transmission.

It is bad enough when one's favorite NFL team has won but one game this year. I am a deranged fan of the St. Louis Rams. That's a vestigial remnant of the comp tickets that came with my job at KHJ. In fact, I've never missed watching a Rams game in the decades since I first saw them play in the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum. I've seen the team play in Super Bowls, winning one and losing two in frustrating fashion. And, as any hard core NFL fan knows, losing SUCKS.

So the last thing I need during football timeouts is the preposterous Sirius commercial that seems to pop up with a much greater frequency than, say, touchdowns scored by the Rams this season. They are the lowest scoring team in the league this year.

The first time I was aware of the "Change The Way You Listen" Sirius commercial was during a Rams game last month. Well, I only heard it, since I was in the kitchen, reloading up on chips and dip. Cool, I thought. Elvis during time out, nice. But, why not the original version of "All Shook Up"? I must have spun that record hundreds of times when it came out in early 1957, instantly hitting #1 on all the charts. After that I played the record many, many more times on other stations as a jock, and later as Program Director.

The next time the pretentious Sirius spot came on I actually saw it. WTF? How weird that a radio service -- a medium that provides SOUND -- has no audio on the TV spot? Somewhere there must be an Advertising 101 dictum that television spots have some supporting spoken words, or at least a jingle, stating the sponsor's name -- and, of course, the message.

The PR for this spot, released on November 15, 2009, stated: "Sirius XM Radio Inc. has unveiled their latest TV ad, which CEO Mel Karmazin labels as the "most aggressive brand marketing campaign" in the company's history."

Well! As asked in the title of the Les McCann and Roberta Flack hit. "Compared To What"? It is easy, I guess, to present "the most aggressive brand marketing" in a company's history when there has been little notable, effective advertising by that company since inception. In fact, the most I'd ever seen or heard about Sirius was on automobile ads for cars that included a satellite radio.

But, what else to expect from Mel Karmazin? He is one of the many broadcasting "executives" to make a name in the biz as a wheeler-dealer, Money Man, the type who never leave a "creative legacy." (Sure, there were influential giants in pop radio history, from Gordon McLendon's breakthrough showmanship in the 1950s through the wonderful commercial work in later decades done by Stan Freberg. PS: "If you can't get Freberg, hire Chuck Blore." Yeah, my hero, Blore, had more oomph, oompah and out-loud laughs in one of his KFWB promotions than anything to air on "satellite" radio).

Karmazin's claim to programming smarts seems to be his groupie-like admiration for Howard Stern. And the result of that? Stern moved from terrestrial radio to "satellite" and lost much of his audience, those not inclined to PAY to hear something that had been FREE all their lives.

More pompous are the claims made in the half-minute waste of time that is that current Sirius TV spot. Elvis, in leather, opens with the over-produced version of "All Shook Up," which plays for the duration. Then, action shots of Michael Jordan, photos of Richard Pryor and a final picture of, guess who? Howard Stern. These people are there, the commercial claims, because they "changed," respectively, "Music, Sports, Comedy and Radio."

Let's not get into the first three. No serious student of pop music can deny the influence of Presley. Jordan was a great basketball star -- but how much was he influenced by Dr. J, Julius Irving? Understand, I totally respect Michael Jordan and Richard Pryor. But Pryor's comedic approach didn't emerge in a vacuum. There were folks like Red Foxx, Lennie Bruce, George Carlin and so on whose ingredients contributed to the strange, wonderful antics of Pryor.

Which brings us to Howard Stern. What did he change, other than his daily underwear? Many others, from Todd Storz to Don Imus to Rush Limbaugh to Bill Drake really CHANGED radio, moving its evolution onward and upward from where it was before them. I am not suggesting that one judge these people for any other reason than their impact on radio programming, which was profound.

Imagine radio today, without the work and influence of Imus, Limbaugh, Drake and the dozens of other true innovators who left their mark on the profession. Compare that with a landscape without Stern. Take away the pee-pee kaka, tits'n'ass raves to a studio full of nebbish sycophants and what is there? But then again, maybe it is cool because it is heard on "satellite."

To put this One Schtick Pony in the company of Presley, Jordan and Pryor is an insult to whatever intelligence is possessed by the viewer. Karmazin told the press, "With so much media coverage on our merger and past liquidity, it's time for consumers to hear about our content." CONTENT?

I have only heard Sirius when I stumble past its many channels on Direct TV. It is like a supermarket: Endless variety of product, specializing in nothing. Announcers on pre-recorded voice tracks. Other than Stern, not one recognizable personality on the entire lineup. I could go on for paragraphs itemizing the ELEMENTS that make for compelling radio, which are totally absent on this mishmash of musical genres and drab, anonymous deejays.

If you are a radio pro, or a listener who lived and died by a local station, it is hard to make a "serious" case for Sirius being innovative in ANY way. While Karmazin and crew crow about "branding," the fact is that Sirius has little or no image, no vibrant theme, no singular identity. They have a gimmick, satellite transmission, which is so commonplace in today's media, that it means nothing to the public.

It is no more complicated than this: Would you rather watch a mediocre movie in Hi Def than an all-time classic on "regular" TV? That is the fraudulent premise of Sirius and Karmazin: Technology, according to them, seems more important than content. At least that's my observation.

Listen to an aircheck of the great Jean Shepherd, presenting "talk" radio in wondrous ways. Or check out B. Mitchell Reed doing any of the music formats he mastered. Hey, a random hour of The Real Don Steele or Robert W. Morgan on KHJ has more happening than all the stuff spewed out by Sirius. (I know, there's a huge bias on my part, but I am still waiting for a legit contradiction of the Boss Radio comparison).

As for making an impact on public consciousness (since Sirius is otherwise a financial and ratings flop), I always go by what I hear on the STREET. And as of today I have yet to hear one person mention Sirius, ever.

Of course, it is a huge handicap to "brand" a company with a word that sounds exactly like "SERIOUS." That word is the antithesis of what good radio was, and should be: Fun, live, entertaining, human. inviting participation … you know, what we old-timers call THE BASICS. They are present in all forms of show business. But not on Sirius.

And certainly not in the TV spot that proclaims Karmazin's baby will, "Change the way you listen." Last time I checked, people listen with their EARS ... and react ... with their heart.

Kamis, 26 November 2009

THANKS. GIVING.

Monday, November 24, 2009 was, for me, the best day in months.


I was at Farrington High School in the Kalihi section of Honolulu, there to discuss my book OBAMALAND: WHO IS BARACK OBAMA? It was released on Inauguration Day, back in January. The book is the #2 non-fiction best-seller in Hawaii for 2009. A nice way to begin the year.


But, things started sliding in August, when I did something, a definite no-no: Shooting baskets with an 11-year-old boy. That resulted in two broken ribs -- and my being pretty much immobile for three weeks.


The day before Halloween I awoke at 6:30 in the morning to discover that the house next door (eight feet away) was ablaze. So was part of the house that I have been renting since 1997. It was a nightmare. The fire inspectors said that I would have died of smoke inhalation in another four minutes if I remained asleep. The adjacent house was destroyed, leaving a family of four homeless. Way too close for comfort.


And the back end of all that has been a continuous hassle since October 30.


But Monday I crawled through traffic to reach the school. The staff and students were wonderful. The older folks remembered specific things from listening to KPOI-AM … from 50 years ago, 1959. The kids were quiet at the start. By the time I was finished I was getting laughs from usually taciturn teenagers, most of whom are one-fifth my age.


A successful encounter with young people is always a good trip. Best way I know to keep up with their reality, not the Facebook, MySpace, Twitter, etc. digital, distant and disposable means of "communication" used by many "kids these days."


Thanks, Farrington Governors, for giving me a much-needed reality check.


Better than Turkey Day. Mahalo.

Rabu, 12 Agustus 2009

Too Hip for Woodstock


Too Hip for Woodstock
By Ron Jacobs

... who is too lazy to post a slide show
and ain't into flashy FTP upload software
bells and whistles
for anyone to see.

Besides,
this is a friendly interruption of the usual
PREDICTABLE BULLSHIT EMAILS
No ... just a little trip with a cool song
and some pictures of paradise.
The real deal, from da inside,
my bras and seestas.

I dig doing it like this,
mostly for the way~back~folks
who can dig the first blitzed stoned sessions
laid back chilled out fractured sodden tightly cackling
acid soaked lady horning potheads of Laurel Canyon.

1965.
Doing it in the hills on weekends
with some fine shooters
like Allen Daviau
and Henry Diltz
and Tom Rounds
with hot mid-60s SLRSs,

Armpits hung with hundred-frame 35mm rollers
for "friendly" communal showings at
Me & Lenore's pad
hooked to the the mountainside
big hangover lanai lookin' over the San Fernando Valley.

Later ...
None cooler, right at the top.
Greenvalley summers of love.
Music lifting up through and above
the green pine trees of Mullholland.

Samurai slide/stoned/showings
MMA-vicious, shuffling, focused and hustling
(no one would admit it)
just to impress others, mainly the wahine.

Sixties USDA chicks were the
youngest, loosest, goofiest, hippest, hottest
sweeties of the day, you know?
Sucked into Hollywood primo kind head there.

Being on top makes it Kosher
Yeah any chick that powdered my dick
did it because I was the cool
Jewaiian dude from Waikiki, yeah sure.

Barracked in the Melrose
Boss Boiler Room of Rock and Roll
"Where History Was Played and Made"
Off duty, up from the studios

Coupe DeVilling into winding eucalyptus hills.
Authentic hippies we were,
going nuts with ideas flashed
over bongs and bottles of pure discovery.

On shiny silver screen from Sears
erected on an extractable tripod
supporting vision-triggered flickers
brain-strobing cinematic frames.

Cool. No fucking microchip detritus
ADD in da DNA.
Toxic electron inhalations
Lordy, these kids today.

Remember
when things were better,
we, America,
finer?

It was Old School,
in your facelook
myspace is your space
twitter your clitter.

Lookin' at the mighty blue Pacific
past Kamehameha Highway
Kaneohe Bay, Mokapu, The Marines,
and East, beyond the horizon ...
choomin' for the season to kickoff.

Aloha note me and my mac.

Inspiration: These Are The Days by Van Morrison

For Allen Ginsberg & 1959

Renais "Ratte" Faryar & Ron Jacobs
Photo by Henry Diltz
$25,000 OBO

© 2009 Ron Jacobs
Kane'ohe, O'ahu, Hawai'i
Obama Administration, Day 200
"Cool Head, Main Thing"

THE ONLY PERSON AUTHORIZED TO RECORD THIS WITHOUT PERMISSION IS
MICHAEL C. GWYNNE, Mt. Kisco, NY

Sabtu, 27 Juni 2009

THE MICHAEL JACKSONS

I first heard Michael Jackson on the radio in the early 60s in San Francisco and later in Los Angeles. He was erudite, sophisticated and verbally skilled. Not unusual for one born in the United Kingdom. But what made this Brit unusual was that he was a first generation "talk radio" host.

Jackson began broadcasting when Rush Limbaugh was barely out of diapers (if indeed the man has ever stopped wearing them). In 1972 the fat and fatuous Limbaugh was a Top 40 deejay hiding behind the air name of "Jeff Christie." That same year Jackson was riding high on top-rated KABC, Los Angeles. This lead to national syndication and critical accolades.

It took 15 years of kicking around--in and out of radio--for jumpin' "Jeff" to become raucous, rowdy Rush. Meanwhile mellow Michael Jackson's philosophy of, "You do not have to be rude to be successful," was validated by rising ratings and revenue.

My career intersected with Michael Jackson's in early 1965. Since then much has been said and written about KHJ's "Boss Radio" format, which we launched in the spring of '65.

Few facts remain of what was on-air, kicked off by our new crew of Boss Jocks. Dig it: The Real Don Steele replaced Michael Jackson. Robert W. Morgan took over mornings, displacing a breakfast show broadcast live from Mr. and Mrs. Steve Allen's breakfast nook in Beverly Hills.

Those days radio comprised a large, lexical, living landscape. There was space enough for all ... and the bigger and better things yet ahead for Jackson, Steele, Morgan, and the Allens. All of them would be honored with "stars" on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. Michael Jackson's cement tribute is at 1541 Vine Street between Selma and Sunset.

There are some who would say that Rush Limbaugh deserves to be walked, or even spit, on. To those who oppose his views, saliva is insufficient street scum to suit his sensibilities.

In candor, Morgan and Steele were not saints. They could be kicked around for some of their stunts--the behind the scenes kind. Alas, there is no Limbaugh to stomp on along these Show Biz Boulevards. You see, one must be judged big enough in Hollywood to be awarded a piece of such prestigious pavement.

Of the 2400-plus such honorees, Rush would be listed between Liberace and Linkletter. But Limbaugh appears to have fallen between the cracks (which is not to equate rock cocaine with Oxycontin for those keeping, uh, score).

If one reads the tabloids, watches Entertainment Tonight or is a TMZ blogee, there is no lack of connection between some stars embedded in the sidewalk and those indicted for walking on the wild side of the law. To have one's fame celebrated on a slab fronting a bar is one thing. Spending life behind bars in not nearly as glamorous.

This brings us to that other Michael Jackson. You know, the singer/dancer from the Neverlands. He died Thursday ... along with Farrah Fawcett (of the Angels) and Sky Saxon (of the Seeds).

Fitting. There were things both angelic and seedy about the late, lamented Michael Jackson. He of the white glove and reconfigured face earned not one but two Hollywood stars. Being a member of the Jackson Five qualified him for this double dip. Sorry, but being Elvis Presley's son-in-law didn't earn him a third.

The Walk of Fame star saluting the Michael Jackson who has hijacked all media news for days is located in the pedestrian path fronting "World Famous" Grauman's Chinese Theater, which was prepping for a flashy opening on Friday night, June 26, 2007.

The flick, "Bruno," had a scene in which the lead character conducts a mock interview with Michael Jackson's sister, La Toya. An attempt to obtain Mr. Jackson's cell phone number brought things to a halt when an upset Ms. Jackson up and walked off the set. By late Thursday these events were deemed not fitting. The offensive section was cut out. The splashy opening was delayed. So all day the moon walking Michael's star was covered by scaffolding placed there for the premier.

Thus, a throng of stunned, shocked, grieving fans were left to beat it about Hollywood looking for a spot to place their flowers, cards, candles and other mementos of mourning. I wasn't there. But it must have been a thriller: Tearful fans, held hands on Vine Street, looked to heaven and sang "We Are The World." Only problem is that it was the right song ... for the wrong Mike.

Mega-ditto that!

Michael Jackson, two years older than I, is alive ... alive!

Hoo-ray for Hollywood!