Off Key

If there was any good to come from Whitney Houston’s sudden and shocking passing on Saturday.

It’s that she didn’t have to sit through the 210 minute tragedy called the Grammy Awards on Sunday.

For years we have heard that the music business is dead.

Sunday night we confirmed it.

For three-and-a-half hours we watched an industry disappear in front of our eyes.

It was so bad.

Chris Brown performed.

Twice.

You know Chris Brown.

The dude who produced Rihanna's biggest hit.

She was also there.

And she sang too... two.

Two songs.

One by herself.

And one with Coldplay.

Now had the Grammy producers brought their A-Game, they would’ve had Brown and Rihanna duet a song.

“I’ve Got You Under My Skin.”

“Hit Me With Your Best Shot.”

“Beat It.”

Anything by The Black Eyed.... Peas. 

The possibilities are endless.

And it probably coulda happened.

As unbelievable as this sounds, those two young lovers are rumored to be back together.

Again.

I guess she just doesn’t know a bad thing when it hits her.


The hollywood crowd seemed to have forgotten about the past as well.


They stood and applauded Brown like he was Roman Polanski.

But these two were far from the worst part of this show.

That Grammy Award goes to something called Nicki Minaj.

Ok, I admit that I really enjoy Nicki’s song Super Bass.

But whatever good Nicki had done in the past was wiped out by her atrociously atrocious performance on Sunday.

I’m ok with weird.

I love Lady Gaga.

But Nicki’s skit was so far out there, I almost started begging for more Chris Brown.

It started with a confessional... and a priest... then a film... about an exorcism... followed by a new song.

About God knows what.

Then there was blue-haired Katy Perry.

She came out to sing her big hit “E.T.”, a song about Mary Hart’s legs.

But midway through the song, the music stopped.

And the mic gave out.

Followed by the lights.

For half a second, it looked like this show was about to get good.

A major league screw up.

On National TV.

But seconds later, the Katy Perry body double, who was fake singing that song, rushed off the stage into the darkness.

As the real Katy appeared above the stage.

To sing another song.

A new song.

About her bitter breakup with actor Russell Brand.

I didn’t see Don Henley in the crowd, but Katy’s lyrics brought plenty of dirty laundry.

“You chew me up and spit me up.  You took my life, you drained me down.  But that was then and this is now.”

This song was so venomous, Alanis Morissette was blushing.

Somewhere.

You remember her.

She was nominated for Best New Artist.

In 1996.

She probably would’ve won if it wasn’t for Hootie.

And his Blowfish.

This year’s top rookie went to something called Bon Iver.

Not Bon Jovi.

Bon Iver.

The guy who accepted the award, presumably Mr. Iver, provided the most uncomfortable moment of the night.

His acceptance speech.

It was clear that this guy doesn’t get out of his parent’s basement much.

And he certainly doesn’t talk in front of crowds much.

And he’s definitely never met anybody named Gucci.

And if he can sing, we wouldn’t know it.

He never got the chance to perform.

Now even with all the lousy moments, there were a few good ones.

Some even great.

Adele deserves every award they gave her.

And 21 more.

She is something special.

Let’s just hope she has another messy breakup before she writes her next album.

I loved Bruno Mars impression of James Brown.

Any night you see Bruce Springsteen is a good night.

And Jennifer Hudson’s tribute to Whitney was brilliant.

And touching.

The Foo Fighters were good... both times they performed.

And Sir Bacon loves Sir Paul McCartney.

But as for the other three hours.

Ouch!

Whether it was the 10-minute tribute to the Beach Boys.

Who haven’t had a #1 hit in the last 24 years.

And didn’t have one for 22 years before that.

Or the 10-minute tribute to Glen Campbell.

Who had a giant hit with Rhinestone Cowboy.

When I was in first grade.

38 years ago.

This was the worst excuse for an awards show since the ESPY’s.

And they had plenty of chances.

They had Carrie Underwood, Kelly Clarkson and Jennifer Hudson in the same room.

How ‘bout they sing a song together?

While Ryan Seacrest is kissing their feet.

Heck, Lady Gaga sat in the crowd, the entire night.

With a net over her face.

She didn’t get any awards.

She didn’t hand out any awards.

And she didn’t perform.

She didn’t even have a costume change.

Not even one.

I must’ve heard a dozen times that this was MUSIC’S BIGGEST NIGHT.

If that’s really true.

Whitney Houston, we have a problem.

RIP sweet voice.

We already miss you.

Not So Silent Night

Every so often I run across a new creation and I slap my head like its a V8 commercial.

WHY DIDN’T I THINK OF THAT???????

That happens EVERY time I go by a fantasy sports website.

Or listen to the words from a Katy Perry song.

Or drive by a Starbucks.

Damn Starbucks.

Well, it’s happened again.

And again.

Every Tuesday night.

It’s called Glee.

Just imagine if Grease had a baby with American Idol.

That’s Glee.

If you haven’t seen it, shame on you.

It has everything you would ever want in a show.

At least everything I would ever want in a show.

It is the greatest show of all-time.

At least the greatest show of this time.

This week.

Sure some of the characters are a little cliche.

A little predictable.

A little page 19 of the stereotype handbook.

But the creators of Glee have all the food groups covered.

Gay kid.  Jock.  Wheelchair.  Black girl.  Hot girl.

I clearly haven’t watched the show closely enough, but I imagine there is a Jew or two in there as well.

Actually, I haven’t watched the show much at all.

I’m guessing it is in the 2nd or 3rd season at this point and I’ve only seen two or three episodes.

But my oldest daughter is addicted.

As is my friend Rick.

And since Rick is old enough to be my daughter’s father, I figured it was good enough for me.

So now we watch it every week.

And as my family sits there singing the songs, I sit there thinking how rich we would be if I would’ve come up with the idea for this damn show.

Doh.

Singing is big in my family.

I do it.

My wife tries to do it.

My son would like to do it.

My oldest daughter refuses to do it.

And my youngest daughter loves doing it.

The Osmonds have nothing on us.

My wife and I have helped the kids find something they are passionate about.

And then we encourage them to do it SO much they are destined to hate it.

Ok, just kidding.   I think.

My oldest daughter is the dancer.   

My son is the baseball player.

And now child #3 is a singer.

Officially.

She loves soccer and softball... and reading, but she’s definitely the entertainer in the family.

So we signed her up for the local choir.

Not a church choir or school choir, this is the real deal.

Practice twice a week.   Payment once a month.

This singing school actually teaches the kids how to read music AND how to sing.

A few days ago this choir held its 21st Annual Winter Shindig.

In all there were 204 kids on the stage and more than a thousand people in the stands.

They broke the kids up into several age-specific groups and each group performed several songs.

I’m not sure if it was the father in me or the singer in me, but I loved every second of it.

When I was her age I sang in the Synagogue Choir.

That was a big deal.

Then.

Every Jewish New Year they would give me the solo.

About midway through the endless service, I would belt out a few words in Hebrew that I had no idea what they meant.

Then, as a form of appreciation, the old men in the audience would pinch my pudgy cheeks and squeeze my right hand until the blood stopped.

I would’ve preferred a little coin.

But hey, they loved me, they really loved me.

My daughter’s performance was a lot more official than anything I was ever part of.

There was a maestro.

And a pianist.

And a fluterist.

And for one song they had a glockenspielski.

Good thing this wasn’t a spelling bee.

The concert must’ve run close to two hours as the kids performed 22 songs.

My wife secured seats in the fifth or sixth row so that my daughter could be distracted by us.

When she came on stage she scratched her nose to say hello.

Waiving might’ve got her kicked out of the choir.

Then she stood front and center, singing three songs and spreading Christmas cheer for more than ten minutes.

And this was no generic Christmas cheer either.

There was no “Grandma got run over by a reindeer” or “I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus”.

This was the real stuff.

“Snow is falling still”.

And “Sleep, my child”.

And “A Winter Carol”.

Three songs I had never heard of.

And they had never sounded so beautiful.

So good in fact, I almost pinched my daughter’s cheeks.

There's always next year.

Seeing The Sights

I’m not sure if touristy is a real word, but if it is, I would say that I am still very much in my touristy phase of life in the big apple.

If you don’t believe me, maybe you will believe this.

Last Friday, I got up early and hoofed my butt down to The Today Show to see the three-song outdoor concert by Katy Perry.

I wouldn’t say I’m the biggest Katy Perry fan, but as the parent of three kids 13 and under, it was something I had to do.

Not seeing Katy Perry

I got there at like 8:29am, just in time to see the first song, “California Gurls”.

Actually, I got there just in time to HEAR the first song.

If I wanted to SEE anything, I needed to get there the night before.

According to the NYPD officer that I made small talk with, people started lining up at 6:00pm on Thursday.

Wait 14+ hours for three songs?

I wouldn’t do that if Katy would’ve let me sing with her.

Ok, I would.

The mini-concert was just the beginning of an action packed weekend.

Saturday I spent all day on Long Island visiting a friend and checking out the place.

According to longisland.com, Long Island is comprised of “two counties, two cities, numerous local towns, villages, hamlets, postal zones and designated places”.

And 3.5 million people.

Some of the cities (or towns or hamlets) on Long Island also provide some tremendous scrabble possibilities:

• Amagansett
• Hauppauge
• Massapequa
• Patchogue
• Ronkonkoma
• Sagaponack
• Setauket
• Wyandanch
• Yaphank

Oh, did I forget to mention Hicksville?

As a NASCAR fan, I thought I had been to Hicksville.

But this is, THE HICKSVILLE.

Now that the name calling is out to the way, I was really impressed by how nice Long Island really is.

New York City is a place like no other, for about 14 million reasons.

One of them is all of the options you have on where to live.

Even some you just might be able to afford.

Flip A Coin

If you are looking to the locals for some help on where to live, DON’T.

The people who live in Long Island, LOVE Long Island.

The people who don’t, DON’T.

The people who live in New Jersey, LOVE New Jersey.

The people who don’t, DON’T.

The people who live in Manhattan or Queens or Brooklyn or the Bronx, LOVE Manquebroonx.

The people who don’t, DON’T.

The people who commute 90 minutes each way, LOVE the down time.

The people who don’t commute, make fun of it.

I have met some really nice, opinionated, helpful, sincere, genuine people who are of absolutely no use to me.

King of the Castle

At least in this area.

Can somebody please make my decision for me!

One of the high points of my trip to Long Island, was a lunch stop at White Castle.

I didn’t see Harold or Kumar, but I did enjoy the little mini-burgers, all five of them.

As my friend put it, “they are gone in minutes, but they last for hours.”

My touristy weekend came to a close with a trip to Times Square.

I headed over to the TKTS window where they sell tickets to a Broadway play for half the price.

Basically, these are the tickets that people didn’t buy for shows that night.

So they’ve decided half of something is a whole lot better than all of nothing.

I’m down with that.

Amazingly, on a Saturday night in late August, I had about 20 options to choose from.

I wanted to see something with music, so I got one ticket for something called The Million Dollar Quartet.

Long story short, it’s the story of the one-time studio session with Elvis Presley, Johnny Cash, Jerry Lee Lewis and Carl Perkins.

So I bought my one ticket and headed over to the theatre.

When I got there, the usher instructed me to head down towards the stage and my seat would be on the right.

Signs of the Times

Ok.

What in the world of Bob Uecker is going on here.

My seat was not, “towards the stage”, my seat was in THE FRONT ROW.

I was so close that when the first actor came out and started speaking, his spit particles landed on my lap.

How cool is that?   I think.

Since this was my big night out, I wanted to get to the theatre early.   

Had I known where my seats were, I might’ve arrived at 6:00pm.

The night before.

(That’s what us comedians refer to as a callback:  See Katy Perry.)

Getting there early gave me a chance to look around, enjoy the atmosphere and most of all eavesdrop on the conversation of the two grumpy people sitting behind me.

In a span of a few minutes, Donald and Donna Depressing uttered the following statements:

• “we would’ve been better off in the balcony”

• “that dinner was so bad I couldn’t believe it”

• “it’s supposed to be 93 or 94 degrees tomorrow.  for a one o’clock baseball game, that should be fun"

• the waiter came around to ask for drink orders.  after he left, i heard, “why would I get something down here when I didn’t get something up there (at the bar)

They must’ve paid full price for their tickets.

But even with all the negativity, the show was amazing.

And as an extra bonus, I even heard the dynamic duo behind me clapping and cheering at the end of the show.

Oh, the magic of Broadway.