'Boys Town' Was Truly Ahead Of Its Time

Happened upon the classic black-and-white movie “Boys Town” at the library and enjoyed watching it. Spencer Tracy did an excellent job portraying  the real-life Father Edward J. Flanagan, who made it his life’s mission to rescue troubled youths, going so far as to building a city-within-a-city  for them in Omaha, Nebraska.  Mickey Rooney turned in a comical performance as a hard-to-reach teen who, of course, comes around by the end.

The DVD also had the sequel, “Men of Boys Town,” on the flip side. Like a lot of sequels, this one tried a little too hard to capture the magic of the original. For example, the scene with a little boy going in Father Flanagan’s office to hunt for candy was cute in the original but became a bit of a tired gag by the second movie.

Father Flanagan’s trademark philosophy that “there is no bad boy” was truly ahead of its time.

'Royal Pains' Is Enjoyable

Caught a couple of episodes of the USA Network show Royal Pains, about a medical practice in the ritzy Hamptons. I had never heard of the show and was pleasantly surprised by the series, which is well-written, well-cast and well-acted.

It's always a plus to see diversity on television, and Indian actress Reshma Shetty helps check this box as a beautiful, competent physician's assistant.

Rather than focusing on the obscene wealth of the patients that the doctors serve, Royal Pains features relatable storylines about people mistaking certain symptoms for serious illnesses. In one episode, for example, veteran Broadway actress Christine Ebersole plays a woman who swears that she's dying because of back pain that feels like heat shooting up her spine. After the doctors examine her, it turns out that the problem is she was unknowingly driving around with her seat warmers on!

The show balances comedy and drama but has a mostly lighthearted tone. One of the things I like most about Royal Pains is that it's a show for grownups, but it doesn't have a lot of vulgar language and gratuitous sex, which a lot of shows on cable feel they need to resort to in order to attract viewers. I don't consider myself a prude, but it was nice to watch a show while I was visiting good friends and not have to feel embarrassed when their kids came in the room.

My diagnosis for Royal Pains is that it's worth checking out and will hopefully enjoy longevity.

A Must-Have For Writers Who Want To Publish

The Indie Author's Guide to the Universe is a must-have for writers in all genres who are interested in publishing their work. Author Jeff Bennington provides sound, practical advice, helpful hints and trade secrets on everything from the importance of professional editing to cover design to marketing and generating buzz once your beloved masterpiece is finally in print.

The Indie Author's Guide is part how-to book and part self-help book that provides much-needed information and a big morale boost to not only help writers successfully get their work into print, but also to realize their full potential.

Much like the classic How to Get Happily Published by Judith Applebaum, The Indie Author’s Guide is something that every author – especially those who are new and/or independently published – should have as a constant companion as they stake their claim in the cold and often lonely terrain of writing and publishing in the Digital Age.

My Nightmare Experience With Slash, Rob Zombie and Marilyn Manson

As the classic song by the O’Jays goes, “I like music, any old kind of music.” I have universal musical tastes and don’t discriminate, being a fan of everything from smooth jazz to hard rock.

This spring and summer has been an “Ol’ Skool Headbanger’s Ball” of sorts for me – unintentionally. By coincidence, I ended up attending two big rock shows in the past couple months – Rock on the Range at the Crew Stadium in Columbus in May and the “Rock of Ages” tour with Lita Ford, Poison and Def Leppard at the Riverbend amphitheater in Cincy on July 2.

The “Rock of Ages” show was okay, overall. The only person I really wanted to see was Lita Ford, but missed most of her set because the show started right at 7 on the nose and her set ended around 7:30 – which I found odd. Most shows give audience members a 10- or 15-minute grace period to find their seats and get settled before the action starts!

Trying to find my seat, I heard the last strains of “Close Your Eyes Forever” and at least got to see Lita perform “Kiss Me Deadly,” but her set was way too short. At first, I was thinking maybe they gave my girl short shrift because of sexism in the music industry. But if that were the case, they wouldn’t have even had her on the bill in the first place. Still, she’s was definitely under-utilized. It would have been interesting to see her come out and join Brett Michaels and Poison for an acoustic power ballad set of “Close My Eyes Forever” and “Every Rose Has Its Thorn” (which Poison inexplicably didn’t even perform).  

To avoid getting caught in a traffic snarl, I left before headliner Def Leppard performed any of their songs that are familiar to me: “Photograph,” “Hysteria” and “Pour Some Sugar on Me” (although I did see them do "Animal"). 

Despite the somewhat disappointing show, I found Riverbend to be a neat little concert venue surrounded by an amusement park. I’d like to go back and take the kids in my family some time.

This year was my first time attending the Rock on the Range festival, which featured bands old and new, from Slash and Megadeth to Five Finger Death Punch and Incubus. Veteran hip-hop act Cypress Hill even took the stage.

Being in the audience at Rock on the Range was like stepping back into the '70s or '80s, with scores of hardcore rock fans banging their heads and pumping their fists in unison. The festival was very well-organized, with acts taking the stage on time and the large crowd remaining under control (at least when I was there).

The main reason I attended Rock on the Range was to see Slash, former Guns ‘n’ Roses guitarist and now a solo artist with his own band. Earlier this year, I happened upon his autobiography at the library and became absorbed in the juicy page-turner. Among other things, I learned that like me, Slash grew up in an interracial family, with a black mother and a white father (my parents are black, my stepparents are white and I have biracial siblings).

Slash put on a good show, did stuff from his new album Apocalyptic Love and other solo material as well as at least one GNR classic. The crowd sang along with vocalist Myles Kennedy to "Sweet Child o' Mine," very nostalgic.

I also enjoyed seeing Rob Zombie. He's a true showman who uses stage makeup, costumes, sets, video screens and lighting to full effect, like a younger version of Alice Cooper. Before Rob Zombie took the stage, I came in on the last part of Marilyn Manson's set. During the show, a guy came up to me and offered me a free wrist band so that I could get closer to the stage. “Thanks but no thanks,” I told him. Get closer to Marilyn Manson? Not my idea of a good time. He scares me. If I met him, it would be like encountering some kind of creature from a horror movie like Frankenstein - which is probably the image he wants to project.

I enjoyed Rock on the Range, but a nightmare unfolded after the show ended. Concert goers such as myself who chose not to pay $15 to park in the Crew Stadium’s lot took our chances on parking in the lots of the businesses that surround the venue. After the show, I came back to Aldi’s parking lot to find that my car was gone.

It's the worst feeling in the world not to be able to find your car, whether forgetting where you parked in a mall parking lot or, heaven forbid, realizing that your car has been towed or stolen. A car is like an extension of yourself, like a portable version of your house, where far too many of us spend way too much time caught in traffic.

I understand that a private business has the right to tow away cars even after hours, but the towing enforcement at Rock on the Range seemed to be selective. Other cars that parked in the lot where I did, including a monster pickup truck that wasn't exactly inconspicuous, were left untouched.

After I snapped out of denial and finally came to grips with the fact that my car had been towed or stolen, I schlepped all the way back to the stadium and related my plight to a security person and two state highway patrol officers, who all told me that there was nothing they could do to help me. They said since the incident happened off the stadium's property, I was on my own.

When it comes to the highway patrol, how far does this "not my turf" approach to law enforcement - or lack thereof - go? If I had told them that I saw someone taking a trash can and breaking out the store’s window and looting or witnessed a drug deal with hundreds of grams of cocaine going down in Aldi’s lot, would they have shrugged and told me it was none of their business?

Eventually, I called Columbus police on my cell and was able to find out that my car had been towed to a lot way down on the other side of town off Greenlawn Avenue. After what seemed like an eternity trying to flag down a cab that takes credit cards (Yellow Cab is apparently the only company in Columbus that does), I finally made it to the impound lot - only to discover that the impound lot doesn’t take credit cards! Go figure! The nice guy at the lot, a young black man, drove me to a nearby gas station where I was able to withdraw money at the ATM and finally spring my beloved vehicle from bondage.

I believe in personal responsibility and I learned a lot from this experience. Number one, I'll use better judgment in where I park from now on. As the saying goes, the cheap comes out expensive. I saved money by not paying to park, but cutting corners ultimately cost me a hell of a whole lot more! I'll also make sure to always carry cash in the event that I get stranded or some other kind of emergency arises.

But I also believe that venues like the Crew Stadium that depend on people patronizing their establishments would do well to have some kind of plan in place to accommodate patrons who run into emergencies. If someone loses their keys and doesn't have a cell phone - or misplaced their phone or the battery went dead or any number of other scenarios - it would be nice if they had a courtesy phone that could be used to call for assistance. At the very least, they should be able to call the police if you tell them that your car has been stolen or you’ve been the victim of some other crime.

What if I had been a reporter for Spin, Rolling Stone or USA Today who was working on a story about the summer music festival circuit and flew in to Columbus to write a story about Rock on the Range? Or, I could have been a reporter for Vibe, XXL or another national hip-hop magazine who flew in to do an interview with Cypress Hill. If I was an out-of-town journalist from a big city like New York or L.A., I don't think my impression of Columbus and Ohio, in general, would have been very positive. My impression would have been that the city and state are inhospitable and the “authorities” aren’t very helpful to people in distress.

The whole experience was like that movie “Judgment Night” where one wrong turn ends up turning what should be an enjoyable experience into a disaster. Although it actually only took me a couple of hours to get my car back (the show let out around 11 p.m. and I got home around 1 in the morning), it was an ordeal – the night that would never end!

A Very 'Funky' Theatrical Experience

When I recently saw  "Memphis the Musical," I went by myself, which I don't mind doing. Ever since I was a kid, I've known how to enjoy my own company.

When I first arrived at the Ohio Theatre, the seat next to me was empty. But shortly after the show began, two nice-looking women came and sat next to me. One of the women, a pretty, petite blond was trailed by a cloud of funk - and I ain't talkin' about the soulful melodies going down onstage.

I almost didn't share this story because I thought it might be impolite for a man to describe a woman with bad breath, but after telling several female friends, they laughed about it and gave me the go-ahead.

Well, this woman didn't just have bad breath, she smelled as though she had swallowed  a whole clove of garlic at dinner and it was emanating from her pores. Every time she would laugh or open her mouth in any way, an overpowering stench of garlic would waft over to me. I tried to discreetly cover my nose and shift in the other direction in my seat, but the smell still overwhelmed me.

Eventually, I got up and moved to a different row at intermission. I hope I didn't hurt the lady's feelings by moving. But it was so bad that I went home and washed up because I felt like I had a garlic film all over me. I took it as a "teachable moment": to be careful about eating spicy, odorous food when you're going to be in close quarters with people.

Maybe the lady had just finished watching one of theTwilight movies or HBO's True Blood before she came to the theater - because she ingested so much garlic it was like she was trying to ward off vampires!

'Memphis the Musical' Hits The Right Notes

The following is my review of "Memphis the Musical" from the June 6 edition of the Call and Post Newspaper:

“Memphis the Musical,” which played the Ohio Theatre in Columbus May 29-June 3, delivers a foot-tapping good time while exploring racial issues and measuring how far the nation has come since the civil rights movement.

Set in Memphis in the segregated 1950s, “Memphis the Musical” tells the story of Felicia (played by Felicia Boswell), a talented African-American singer who performs in a local nightclub and has hopes of scoring a recording contract and becoming a star. Huey (Bryan Fenkart), a White music fan, turns up one night at the all-Black nightclub where Felicia performs because of his love of soul music. There is an immediate attraction between Felicia and Huey, but they both know that interracial relationships are forbidden. 

Felicia and the nightclub patrons are wary of Huey breaking the city’s long-held segregation laws by venturing to the Black side of town, but they soon come to see that he’s genuine in his desire to support R&B music. Huey channels his passion for so-called “race records” into a deejay job at a Memphis radio station. With his irreverent, flamboyant personality, Huey quickly becomes the most popular local deejay on the airwaves.

As Huey’s star rises, he is determined to help Felicia realize her dreams. Despite the dangers of race mixing, Felicia and Huey begin a secret affair. Huey wants to bring their relationship out in the open, but Felicia tries to make him understand how they could literally be risking their lives by expressing affection in public.

The plot thickens when Huey makes the leap from radio to television, starting a Memphis version of “American Bandstand.” But unlike “Bandstand,” Huey’s show features only R&B artists and African-American background dancers. Just as Huey’s star is rising, Felicia’s career starts to take off and she gets an offer from a big recording company in New York.

Felicia and Huey find themselves at a crossroads. A national television network expresses interest in picking up Huey’s show, but the catch is that he would be required to replace the African-American dancers with White ones in order to appease conservative advertisers and appeal to a “mainstream” audience. Huey flat-out refuses to segregate his show, but Felicia tries to persuade him that he might want to reconsider the offer so that they can get out of Memphis.

Felicia tries in vain to convince Huey that the only way they can truly be together, bring their relationship out in the open, get married and start a family is to move North. Felicia is eager to start over in New York City, where the record company that offered her a contract is based. Huey insists that the only place he belongs is his beloved hometown, which the cast conveys in the moving number “Memphis Lives in Me.”

Determined not to be held back by Jim Crow, Felicia makes a tough choice to leave Huey behind and set off for New York. A few years later, she returns to Memphis as a star and brings her concert tour to a local theater. Huey has not been as fortunate, having been relegated to a small radio station that hardly anyone listens to. Felicia and Huey reunite, not romantically, but become friends when he joins her onstage at her concert to announce her triumphant return.

“Memphis” doesn’t exactly have a happy ending, but a satisfying one nonetheless. Boswell and Fenkart have chemistry and are convincing as lovers. Boswell, Fenkart and the other cast members are top-notch singers and dancers, and the show’s music, sets and costumes capture the feel of the 1950s.

“Memphis” sheds light on the complexity of race and issues that are still relevant today. When Huey criticizes Felicia for being timid about challenging society’s close-minded attitudes about their interracial relationship, she tells him that he’s speaking from a place of White privilege: “You have choices. You get to be White whenever you choose.” 

“Memphis” also portrays how early pop music often “borrowed” the creativity of Black artists without giving them credit. When a record executive asks Felicia if she can sing rock and roll, she replies, “Of course. Rock music is nothing but Negro blues sped up.”

“Memphis the Musical” was an interesting show to see in an era when the nation has its first Black president -- something that many who were alive during the show’s 1950s setting thought they would never see. “Memphis” is currently on a national tour and is scheduled to return to Ohio in early 2013 when it plays the Cincinnati’s Aronoff Center beginning Jan. 22. For more information, visit Memphisthemusical.com.  

Don't Hate The Player - Hate The Game

I was in Miami (Florida) last weekend visiting good friends who are like family. It rained the whole time I was down there and I just missed the tropical storm that was brewing in the Gulf on my way back to Ohio, but caught the aftermath in Columbus with the storms that hit on Friday and Sunday.

While I was in Miami,  the topic of the Heat’s recent big win and LeBron James’ MVP trophy came up.  My friends used to live in Columbus while attending Ohio State, and we agree that the overwhelmingly negative reaction to LeBron’s leaving the Cavs and moving to the Heat was over the top.

Being a native Ohioan, I understand people’s anger over the way he made the announcement. But I don’t understand why people were so upset that he chose to leave. I mean, everyone deserves an opportunity to branch out and grow – especially a young man in the prime of his career.

I thought it was lame that some people were acting like Cleveland’s entire economy was based on one man. Admittedly, I don’t follow the NBA closely, but I know that LeBron was a big draw and a big boost to the Cavs and Cleveland in general and that his departure left a void. But nobody should feel like an indentured servant – that they owe their whole lives to a team, a corporation or a city.

Instead of writing a public nasty letter to "King LeBron," Cavs owner Dan Gilbert should have said something to the effect of, "Ohio breeds world-class talent. We thank LeBron for his years of service, for all he's done for the team and for the city and state and we wish him the best." Isn't it better to maintain goodwill than burn the bridge and potentially turn such a talented individual into an enemy?

As my friends pointed out, NBA owners trade players all the time without any regard to the inconvenience and sacrifices that the players will have to make in relocating their families, etc. If LeBron had not been performing at his peak and the Cavs had chosen to trade him, would anybody have been crying for him?

Like show business, professional sports is a cutthroat business where you have a very narrow window to make your mark. Don’t hate the player, hate the game.