David Harris has zero flair as a writer but his new book is a solid collection of information.
(Then it sneaks up on you and will leave you in tears.)
From 1985-1987, I covered Bill Walsh and the San Francisco 49ers for radio stations KAHI/KHYL.
The 49ers trained at my school — Sierra Community College in Rocklin.
Walsh treated everyone with respect, a trait I’ve never tried to emulate.
I remember him coming to the microphone after a tough loss to the New Orleans Saints at Candlestick in early October 1985 left his team at 2-2.
"It’s good to be among friends," he said, cracking up the press corp.
The news media were allowed to go down on to the field for the last few minutes of the game and then follow the players into the lockerroom.
As we ran behind the Saints after the final whistle, I heard one of them yell out, "Some kind of genius!"
I then asked Walsh in the press conference a klanger of a question. After repeating the quote, I asked if the pressure of being on top was getting to his team.
He replied: "I’d be happy to match our record with anyone’s."
I’ve been cornered downstairs in the gold lamé disco basement at Brett Ratner’s house and he’s hitting on me.
His insistence suggests he’s accustomed to getting his way with this, and I’m trying not to think about the surroundings — a wealthy bachelor’s lavish playpen, which quite conspicuously insinuates sex.
"Can we go on a date?" Ratner asks, drawing closer. "My mom loves you."
He doesn’t seem to care that I’m a journalist on assignment or that when he offered to give me a tour of his Benedict Canyon manse, I was thrilled to explore the architecture: a Tudor-style estate designed by Hoover Dam architect Gordon Kaufman.
I push him away and tell him I’m seeing someone, but he insists that shouldn’t matter since I’m not yet married.
"I really want to pursue you," he says in his soft, almost effeminate voice. "When are we going out? I like you. Are you gonna make me wait? Don’t make me wait."
Of course he doesn’t care that she’s a journalist. Nobody cares that Danielle is a journalist. Nobody seeks her journalistic insights. Nobody cares about her opinions on architecture. All we care about is what it is like to be wso gorgeous.
What is it like to be Danielle? What is it like to kiss Danielle? What is it like to be young and beautiful and tall and blonde with legs that stretch the length of Pico Blvd? How does she handle the men who want to sleep with her? How does she handle the mothers wanting to match her up with their sons? How does she handle frustration? Does she cry at night? Over what? At what age will her beauty melt away? When will she hit the wall? How will she handle that? What will she have to offer after that dark day? Does she ever wonder where she’d be in life if she wasn’t gorgeous?
I read to the end of Ratner’s profile to see if he beds her.
Apparently not:
"Where’s my journalist?" Ratner shouts after our house tour. I’m enjoying a moment’s reprieve in the bar adjacent to the living room, wondering why someone who doesn’t drink has enough alcohol to supply a West Hollywood nightclub — for six months. Ratner’s filmmaker-friend, Jeff Vespa, who recently screened his short film, "Nosebleed," at the Cannes Film Festival, has come to show it tonight for Ratner’s feedback. The director insists I sit next to him for the screening, which a group of 10 watches on his state-of-the-art home-theater projection system. Ratner drapes his arm around me and tries to hold my hand. Usually, I can confidently extricate myself from unpleasant situations, but here, admittedly, I failed.
Compelled to entertain while he has a captive audience, Ratner decides he is going to play one of my favorite films, Albert Lamorisse’s "The Red Balloon," and I’m tempted to stay. But his advances are increasing, and although flattering, I’m sensing the interview is over — and if I don’t want my shoes winding up in the "ex-girlfriend" section of his mahogany walk-in closet (beneath the high-couture gowns), it’s time to go.
His assistant summons him to the bedroom, where she is packing his suitcase for an early morning departure to Paris. Seizing an exit opportunity, I leave the red balloon swirling through the streets of Paris and collect my belongings. Because, while Ratner is many things, he is not someone you can say "no" to easily. I didn’t say no to Ratner. I told him, "Thank you" and "goodbye."
Then, I put this story to rest for a while.
My elation turns to horror, however, when I realize that Danielle is going to ruin her best article yet by trying to sum up the meaning of it all.
She writes:
Months later, contemplating Ratner is still mystifying for me. After spending time with him, clearly he’s earned his reputation as a Hollywood lothario, but it also seems somehow calculated — as if Ratner (like his friend Paris Hilton) has created an image to project that he believes the public wants — an image that sells. And he’s a hero to Jewish boys everywhere who, relying on talent and smarts, realize they don’t have to look like Brad Pitt to be a king in Hollywood. In truth, Ratner is more than his sum reputation, and trying to figure him out means accepting all the contradictory facets of his personality.
Doesn’t Danielle have editors? Do they hate her? Do they want to see her embarrass herself with these "Danielle Searches For Meaning" endings?
My theory is that Jewish Journal managing editor Susan Freudenheim resents Danielle’s youth and beauty and keeps her worst writing in the paper for revenge.
Monica discusses her happiness level. What are the essential ingredients for happiness? Finding our place in the community. Finding our importance. Complete discussion video here.
No. The Torah forbids me and they are both taken. My interest in them is purely intellectual. You secular people will never understand such wholesome friendship.
From a Torah perspective, sex is holy. One does not nail one’s wife, nor does one pork her, nor bang her, nor give her the ol in-out. Nor is there any of that "bang boom" so callously glorified in that movie "You Don’t Mess With The Zohan."
Joe: "Did you fulfill the mitzvah of peru u’revu from this parsha?"
No. Oy. I’ve failed again.
On the positive side, I’m auditioning for ZZ Top.
PicoRob: Luke, did you know that Bill Maher is Jewish?
PicoRob: He has a Jewish mother, and thus is forever welcome in all the temples that you have been kicked out of.
guest11: But he was raised Catholic
PicoRob: True, but according to Jewish ritual law, he is Jewish.
PicoRob: Besides, his family left Catholicism years ago.
PicoRob: (All this from his film "Religulous")
guest11: I saw the movie, it sucked, like he does
PicoRob: It had its moments.
PicoRob: But then he picked a soft target
PicoRob: Especially here….it is safer and easier to ridicule the religious than to challenge the Obamite
Monica, a professor of Jewish studies, says these opening chapters of Genesis are her favorite parts of the Bible. She’s taught the Bible as literature. She could study first two chapters for months. Complete discussion video here.
RussianDragon: hi leader
RussianDragon: what is your moral advice for me today
RussianDragon: I’d like to meet Helen and Monica
RussianDragon: is that bad?
RussianDragon: I want to discuss the Torah with them
YourMoralLeader: keep the faith
RussianDragon: Helen and Monica are hot
RussianDragon: and nerdy like I like them
RussianDragon: juicy and nerdy
RussianDragon: they’re the best
RussianDragon: isn’t that a good title for a movie
RussianDragon: juicy and nerdy
RussianDragon: first half a hour of Torah discussion
RussianDragon: real brainy and intellectual
RussianDragon: and after that down and dirty
RussianDragon: afterwards, you discuss the repercussions of your acts
But this Los Angeles chapter meeting of the Online News Association was organized by two sheilas, including Janine Warner.
I left Pico-Robertson at 6 p.m. By 6:30, I was driving north through downtown. I take a right on First Street and park on the side of the road just before I hit Spring Street.
Spring Street is famous. Cathy Seipp used to write about it all the times. It is the home of the Los Angeles Times, California’s most powerful media institution.
I get out of my car and look around. There’s a huge gothic building beside me. At the top of the entrance, it says "Los Angeles Times" in that fancy script.
I’m sure the door will be locked. No way did I find parking right outside the LA Times.
The door is open.
There’s on security guard.
I’m sure he won’t know who I am. I’m probably not on the list. I’ll have to wait. I’ll get hassle. Bloggers get no respect.
I start mumbling to the guard and who says, "You want to go to the fifth floor."
The Harry Chandler auditorium is my destination.
I take the elevator up, walk in, and look at my watch. It’s 6:37 p.m.
The event is scheduled to begin at 7 p.m.
I see some chicks and they don’t look interested in me.
Must be the beard.
I’m nervous. I need a prop.
I go for the drinks. That lemon iced tea looks great. Pick it up and study the label. Can’t find a hechser (kosher certification). I reluctantly put it down and start guzzling water.
Tony Pierce walks in. "You’ve been here before?" he says.
"Never."
He gives me a tour.
We enter the newsroom and walk past Russ Stanton. The place is quiet. People are listening to stuff through headphones.
I love newsrooms. I belong here! Where did I go wrong? Oh, the shame, the shame. Oy, I’m just a blogger. I wanted to be a big shot. Oh, the things I could do if I ran this place!
We end up in sports and Tony ends up in an endless conversation about training journalists to use photos and videos on the LAT’s websites. The conversation meanders from who belongs in a beginners blogging class vs. an intermediate blogging class (taught by Tony) and different types of photo and video editing software and how one particular video editing software is so amazing that you can meld two videos together.
"This is all very interesting," I say, "but I think I have to go."
Back to the fifth floor. So many hot chicks. Not too many fatties.
I wrote out my speech. Big mistake. I’ll seem pompous. Should just summarize my main points. But I want to meet people. But I don’t want to seem needy.
I’ll just wait for them to come to me.
Nobody’s coming.
Oy, the shame!
I’ll push myself into a conversation. It’s all guys. I won’t seem glompy. If I screw this up, it won’t matter much.
Oy, this boring talk.
Let’s move around the room. I want to find a table. Sit down. Work on my speech. Seem cool, calm and collected. Let the game come to me!
Whoa, there’s a table with my name on it! "LUKE FORD of Lukeford.net."
Oh man, how much longer will I see such signs? By the time the rabbis are done with me, I’ll be just another Orthodox Jew writing about which lunchtime special represents the best value at Pico-Robertson’s kosher restaurants.
HaShem save! Bring success now! Let my life be filled with Torah, good deeds and hot chix!
When I stroke my beard, does it make me look wise or does it make you want to hurl? I’m glad I put conditioner on my beard this morning, any woman in her right mind would love to run her fingers through my beard right now. It’s soft and silky.
Boy, I could do with a massage right now. Help me relax.
Must take it easy on the water. Three bottles is enough. I’ve got to speak soon. And then I’m driving to Venice. I’m gonna be late. Oy, I’m such a bad friend.
Must stop thinking about sex. Instead, contemplate my mother’s pure love for me.
Ahh, that’s better.
Meeting starts late. They’re going in reverse alphabetical order.
Everybody is so nice and collegial. How will I ever fit in?
I go up front and take the microphone from Janine.
Oy, she’s so beautiful, I could just stare at her all day (with her husband’s permission).
I wish Kate Coe, Sandra Tsingh Loh and Amy Alkon were here. They’d keep me in line. Stop me from invoking "HaShem" every other sentence.
I hope I haven’t lost my ability to communicate with the goyim. They can be so inscrutable.
I wonder how personal I should get. Should I discuss my latest shul ejection? Would that make people hate Jews? What if I start to talk about it and then I start crying? Ahmadinajad will read about that and then he’ll conclude he can get away with nuking Israel.
Must be strong for Israel.
Start by noting that it was nine years ago that I was named "Asshole of the Month" by Hustler magazine’s Christmas issue.
Go downhill from there.
Not much laughter. That was my best joke. Best wrap things up fast.
Speech over. It is time for questions. Nobody has any questions. Oy, the shame! I’ve bored them. I’ve made HaShem look bad in front of the goyim. Must tuck my tzitzit in and flee.
Here’s my speech. I must’ve left the lens cap on. There’s only audio.
Janine pleads for questions.
I take three and sit down.
When it’s all over, I need another bottle of water.
A grand total of one person comes over to talk to me.
I must flee and treasure my remaining friend.
It’s ten pm.
Venice.
"You’re whole demeanor has changed," he says. "You’re more calm and centered."
"It’s Alexander Technique," I say. "I’m two inches taller. I feel better than I have in years. I do Alexander Technique classes twice a week, get acupuncture twice a week, and take these supplements from FRS.com. I don’t know which of these is most responsible, but for the first time in 20 years, I have energy.
"In the rest of my life, I’m struggling. I’ve retreated within. Can’t take any more rejection."
What happens when you put a bunch of bloggers in a room, feed them pizza and moderate a discussion on their craft? You end up with two real-time conversations: One in the physical room and the other in the Twitterverse.
I know that’s no surprise to those who populate this corner of cyberspace, but as a newbie here — and, until recently, an admitted Twitter skeptic — I have to say it was pretty fun to watch a virtual dialogue unfold alongside the real-world one, as it did last Thursday night at the Los Angeles Times.
I got to briefly meet Luke Ford via an introduction by Tony Pierce before the event started. I’d known his name for a long time, but hadn’t really followed him. He’s been making his living off blogging for more than 10 years, beginning by writing about the porn industry. In order to keep his place at his synagogue, he had to give that up, refocusing on Judaism. He also broke the story about mayor Antonio Villaraigosa’s marriage ending.
Mr. Ford got up to speak about the morality of anonymous blogging. He briefly shared an anecdote about outing an anonymous 18-year old Jewish blogger whose work was hurting others. He was suspended from his synagogue. When he told his rabbi that writing required truth, the rabbi countered that being Jewish required kindness.
That’s where it gets interesting. Luke’s position was, “Kindness to whom? Isn’t it being kind to the person who would have suffered from the next attack?” He distilled the moral question down to a simple answer. Blogging using your name forces you to be responsible for your work. I love the idea for its elegance.
Blogging as pure personal commentary may soon be a thing of the past as more mainstream journalism ventures dominate the practice and new entrepreneurial outlets take a more magazine-style approach to the medium, panelists and attendees at an Online News Association event agreed.
The discussion held last night at the Los Angeles Times’ Chandler Auditorium centered on the transformation of blogging into big business and showcased a diversity of formats and philosophies.
In her introductory remarks, LATimes.com executive editor Meredith Artley noted that often when posting news such as the recent Southern California wildfires, staffers are pressed with deciding what is the best medium to share up-to-the-minute information; oftentimes blog posts can be more valuable than a traditional article format and the lines are blurring as more blogs turn to real-time reporting.
Two of Artley’s staffers — Peter Viles, who writes about real estate on the Times’ L.A. Land blog, and Andrew Malcolm, who co-writes the Times’ election focused blog Top of the Ticket — served as mainstream media’s blogosphere reps.
A friend emails me:
Sigh. I wish. If I were 20 years younger, which means stronger of resolve & demographically appealing to our youth-obsessed entertainment industry, I might have a shot … I spend far too much downtime musing about all the "nearlys" & "not-quites" that I experienced before settling for porn … directing gigs are few & far between, as the brave new porn world is even more stripped down & stupid than what you used to cover … all backwards-baseball cap wearing, faux-hawked "content producers" nowadays; the few old-school gigs are being death-gripped by the ever-aging usual suspects … on a melancholy note, attended Ron Sullivan’s wake a few weeks back; he finally succumbed to his cancer. It was a weird gathering of the Old Tribe, with people I barely knew but who recognized me as a fellow dinosaur greeting me warmly.
Excuse me, I must get back to practicing my karoake version of Paul Robeson singing "Old Man River" …
"This guy knows all the gossip, the ins and outs, the lashon hara of the Orthodox world. He’s an [expert] in... all the inner workings of the Orthodox world." (Rabbi Aaron Rakeffet-Rothkoff)
Does Rashi Challenge The Text?
Or is he just another in a chain of commentators who we can’t challenge? Complete discussion video here.