"Mystery Man"

T he guy sitting across the aisle from me in church looked quite familiar. He had one of those "I know I've seen you somewhere, but I can't place it" faces. I'd seen seen him several times before, sitting on the left side of the church, near the back. I normally sit on the right side of the church, near the back. On occasion, we'd nod at each other. But I couldn't place where I knew this man from. Yesterday, it hit me: I'd seen him on TV. He reminded me of Jim Brown ...

Sherman Oaks is full of people like him. You know their faces, but you can't remember where from right away. Then, there are some who you know immediately. Like the time I passed Michael Chiklis from "Vegas" near my neighborhood Cold Stone Creamery ice cream store on Ventura Boulevard, or coming up behind Lawrence Gilliard Jr. (DeAngelo Barksdale from "The Wire") in the pasta aisle at the Pavilions supermarket, or passing Robert Blake ("Baretta") at the corner of my block as he walked his dog. I was even sitting at a table in my neighborhood Starbucks when Paul Schulze ("Nurse Jackie," "The Sopranos") asked if he could sit in the empty seat across from me and eat his oatmeal. In Los Angeles, you often see celebrities doing everyday, noncelebrity things like walking the dog or strolling and eating ice cream or grocery shopping or eating oatmeal or sitting in church.

After yesterday's service, I went into the fellowship room for a cup of coffee and to chat with some of the people there. The "mystery man" was there, so I went up to him and introduced myself. He was gracious and I saw a smile come across his face as he nodded when I asked if he was an actor. I delicately danced around the issue that I recognized his face, but I didn't know his name. 

"Scarber," he said. "Sam Scarber."

We chatted for a minute about my being new to the church and that I lived nearby and had been doing background work of late. He chuckled again when I mentioned something to the effect that doing background work is a different ballgame. 

"Hang in there, though," he said. 

When I got home, sometime later, I did a Google search for Sam Scarber: drafted by the Dallas Cowboys as a running back in the third round in the 1971 NFL Draft. After his football career ended, he started doing TV work and Scarber has a long list of credits: "CHiPs," "Hill Street Blues," "The A-Team," "90210,” "Southland," "Criminal Minds" ... the last two on this list are shows that I've worked on. 

Maybe I'll get a chance to speak to Sam Scarber some more, about football (I played a little in junior high back in Gary, Ind.) or about "the business." Or life in general. 

"Hang in there," he told me. 

I think I will …

Back to one!

-30-

My Girl Roxy

Roxy at three months, left, and now.

Today, my little girl is going to school for the first time. At almost 6 months old, I believe it's time. Actually, it's overdue in my opinion. She's getting a little bit too much to handle.

It wasn't always like that, though.

My "girl" is Roxy, a German Shepherd mix that we rescued a few months ago. And even though she has become a handful: chewing up things in the apartment; tugging and biting on her "sister" Lucy's ear and tail; barking up a storm and demanding more and more attention from everyone in our apartment, we love her just the same.

I/we try to cut Roxy a break where we can, though. She had a rough start.

She and her litter mates Cookie and Coco are survivors, with Roxy being the runt of the group, which was discovered abandoned at a factory in the city.  There were six to start with, but by the time the litter's rescuer had scooped the pups up and taken them to a vet for medical attention, it was pretty late in the game.

Roxy had an infection that necessitated immediate and intensive care. She almost died. She's a fighter, though. Roxy with moxie ...

So, now that she's healed from her spaying and she's been dewormed and has had all of her shots, it's time she learns how to get along with others.

PetSmart offers training classes for puppies and older dogs. Six hourlong sessions for about $100. I think it'll be worth it.

Wish me luck.

--30--

"Losing It"

I am about 40 pounds lighter than I was when I last wrote here. And I feel better than I have in a long time. And I mean a long, loooong time. I'm eating better, sleeping better and my thinking has gotten more clear. At least I think so, anyway.

What is my "secret" formula?

What is the key? What is the deal?

It's Weight Watchers. Plain and simple. Weight Watchers. Well, it's not really all that plain, and for me, it's always been so simple — but it's a one-day-at-a-time kind of a thing, and I can go more into it later, in a bit.

The coolest thing about Weight Watchers is that the program is more about teaching you how to eat than it is about showing you how to diet and lose weight.

DIET = Don't

Imagine

Eating

That

Or ...

HALT = Hungry

Angry

Lonely

Tired

These are some of the things I've learned during my meetings, and I can roll with them. Oh, yeah.

Makes sense, doesn't it? I really never even thought about it this way. But now that I have committed myself to the program, it all makes so much sense. And the whole concept isn't really all that complex. Not at all.

I mean, if I can arrive at the point where I "get it," then ... It doesn't take a (and I'm going to use an overused term here) rocket scientist to grasp the concept of not overeating and pushing back and away from the table before the feeling of being waaaaay too full is reached. How about that?

Well, anyway. Back to "the plan."

Weight Watchers works.

No, they aren't paying me to say these things. (I could only BE so lucky. I could use the money.) And I'm not making a play to become their spokesman. Weight Watchers just works. That's all.

I'm not going to get into how MUCH I weighed before I started. Nor am I going into what my goal weight is. Not now. But let's just say that I didn't like the way I was looking. I didn't like the way my clothes were fitting (or no longer fitting as was the case) and I didn't like the way I was feeling.

I really didn't like the way I was feeling.

You see, I got a new job a couple of years ago. And I began to pour myself into it. I had a lot to learn and my learning curve was expected to be steep. I discovered this some time after I started. The office politics and the climate and lowered morale added to the mix and before I realized it, I was putting in more work-related hours than I should have. I wasn't exercising regularly. I wasn't having any FUN. And I wasn't being … well, ME!

The present economy and employment situation made me want to make myself

"vital" at the office, especially since I looked up and I was 50-plus years old. The phone doesn't ring as much the older you get. I heard that somewhere. Maybe I t was a movie. I can't remember, but it's the truth.

So, in my case, the phone wasn't ringing as much as it used to AND I was killing myself ... literally. And no, I didn't have a medical emergency or a near-death experience. (So many people I talk to and work with have to have some kind of A-plus-B-equals-C logic pattern laid out before they can grasp a concept) I just got tired of being overweight and I decided to do something about it.

Jenny Craig, Nutri-System and all the other programs that require you to

purchase and eat THEIR food didn't appeal to me because I have a hard enough time packing MY OWN food for the day, let alone trying to keep a supply of THEIRS handy.

Weight Watchers, however, teaches you to make choices based on system of points for everything you eat and how many points you're allowed each day. So, basically, you can eat what you want. You just have to keep track of what you eat and hoe MUCH of it you eat. There are guides and charts and there's even an iPhone app that helps you track. I like the app. I don't like to do all the math.

There are statistics that point to the percentage of people in the United States being overweight. And what's wrong with THAT picture?

Plenty, I'll tell you.

So, for me, it's Weight Watchers.

And it works!

So watch it, because I'm losing it.

-30-

"Reefer Madness"

I had the opportunity to go back home, to a family reunion in Indiana, a couple of weeks ago.

While I was there, I visited some of my old stomping grounds in Gary.

I really haven’t gone back there too much, but in the past few years I’ve found myself going back more often – being drawn back.

My parents have retired and moved to Atlanta. My brother and his family live near Washington, D.C. My sister lives in Atlanta with her family. So the only person I HAVE to see in Gary is Aunt Doris, my mother’s youngest sister.

If she ever found out that I was in Gary and didn’t stop by to see her, she’d probably try to take a switch to me – like the old days.

Gary, Ind., has always had a gritty reputation. Steel mills and its proximity to Chicago made it the place to be back when I grew up there. But it wasn’t until the late '80s and early '90s that the city took a nosedive, so much so that it was the nation's murder capital a couple of years running. So the Gary I remember is NOTHING like the Gary of today. And that breaks my heart.

I had some good times in Gary. But times were different then, very different.

Back in the day …

During my recent trip, I thought about the time when my best friend, Kevin, and I thought we had stumbled upon someone’s patch of marijuana growing in a wooded area near where we both lived.

What turned out to be some sort of wild foliage that only looked like cannabis got us so excited we could hardly wait to spend the money from our ill-gotten gains.

After we stumbled upon “the stash” we quickly ran back to my house (my parents were at work) to grab up as many shopping bags as we could and hightail it back to the weed.

We then dug up all the plants, put them in the bags and ran them back to my house. We had to do our dirty work at my house since there was always someone at Kevin’s. He came from a large family. At my place there weren’t so many people around.

Keep in mind we had NO idea what we were doing. None. But we hatched a plan anyway.

So we proceeded to take the leaves off the stems of these … plants, we put them on several of my mother’s cookie sheets and dried them out in the oven, which was set to its highest temperature. The plan was to dry the plants, grind up the leaves, bag the “product” in Baggies and we’d be in business. But we had to be finished “cooking” before my mother got home from work.

I don’t remember whose idea this whole thing was, but at the time it was going to be on!

As we sat watching the plants dry in the oven, we talked about what we were going to buy with the money we would make from our venture.

Converse Chuck Taylor high-tops. Matching Levi’s jeans and jacket. Imitation silk underwear. Several pairs of platform shoes. A couple of suits.

I was going to be “as clean as the board of health” when I went back to school the coming fall.

Oh, yeah. Stylin’!

After the leaves were dry, we crunched them up, bagged them and got rid of any incriminating evidence before my parents got home.

We made plans to meet back up later and divvy up the product so we could begin our venture.

First, though, we had to test the weed.

When we did, neither of us really knew what to expect – as inexperienced as we were – but we knew the headaches we had were not supposed to be part of the experience. After a couple of days and more “research,” we realized that what we had was not what we thought it was, so into the trashcan it all went. I remember purposely waiting for the right time to get rid of the stash: the night before garbage day. The city garbage pickup was at something like 7 or 8 a.m., so since I had to take our family’s two metal cans to the curb, I could get rid of the stash and all would be well.

The morning after I got rid of the stuff, after I heard the sanitation truck stop at our house, everything was back in order. Case closed.

Or so I thought.

One night a few years ago, while talking about this episode to my brother, Rudi, he surprised me by telling me that he knew all about it.

You see, Rudi grabbed the “weed” from the trashcan and proceeded to sell it to some of the neighborhood tough guys who were into smoking pot. He even made a few dollars. But when word got out that the “weed” was not weed, Rudi found himself in big trouble.

Whenever he found himself in trouble back then, Rudi would turn to me, his big brother. But this was big trouble, bigger than me. So Rudi turned to Cousin Mark, whose sister Linda had the romantic affections of one of the baddest dudes in the neighborhood, T.C. T.C. came from a family of bad dudes, and nobody messed with any of them. Mark talked to T.C., T.C. brokered a deal and Rudi got a pass … along with a stern warning: Stay out of the drug business!

Back in the day …

-30-

"Bankruptcy at Borders"

One of the reasons I was so excited about moving to Sherman Oaks was that there is a Borders right around the corner from my new apartment.

Yesterday, I learned that that Borders is one of 200 of the company's 642 stores it is closing. You see, Borders filed for bankruptcy protection.

Bummer!

I should have known something was amiss when, during one of
my recent visits to Santa Barbara, Calif., I noticed that the Borders on State Street AND the Barnes & Noble – in the next block – were closed. I hadn't been to Santa Barbara in several months, so I was surprised then saddened.

You see, since moving to "Cali" in 2006, bookstores have become my "groove." Especially if they have Wi-Fi.

I read somewhere a while ago that the bookstore had become the new library, a place where a person could get lost among the tomes on its shelves or enjoy a cup of Joe while people-watching. I can't tell you how many hours I've spent at Borders over the past few years. In Santa Barbara. Glendale. Pasadena. Sherman Oaks.

So, to me, knowing that Borders Group Inc. is closing the store on the corner of Ventura Boulevard and Cedros Avenue made me feel ... well, like the person who gets to the party right as it is ending.

"Man, that was a good one! You missed it. Too bad."

Seems like this is the story of my life, sometimes. Or, at the very least, a recurring theme.

I served in the military several decades ago, thinking I would travel the world then – after I'd served my hitch – use the G.I. Bill to finish college. That plan went awry when I learned from the Air Force recruiter I was talking to at the time, that the G.I. Bill, as I knew it, had been discontinued ... six months before I'd signed up.

And now, years later, just as I'd gotten used to the idea of having a place to chill out and expand my horizons – within a five-minute walk from my front door – that plan has gone awry.

Oh, well.

There's a public library a few miles away. I wonder if it has Wi-Fi.

-30-

"Doggone it!"

I like dogs. Always have. Sometimes, though, I believe some dog lovers take things to the extreme.

Not that the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show is an example of dog lovers being extreme, but in a way, I am glad it's all over.

A 5-year-old Scottish deerhound named Hickory won best in show at the esteemed New York event. And that's good. More power to Hickory ... and her owners and handlers. And anybody who might be a fan.

Just as long as they aren't snobs about it.

Yeah, yeah, I know all about how people treat their dogs as if they were their children. I happen to know some canines who eat better than some humans I know. And they certainly get better medical (and dental) treatment. That's OK, I suppose.

One time, while I was living in New York's borough of Manhattan, I came upon a woman who was walking her dog ... and the dog and its owner were wearing matching "outfits" - Burberry coats and black boots. I had to stop and gawk. Really. To be fair, the dog was a small one and the "boots"-- I later learned -- protected the animal's feet from the salt that it was on the sidewalks. It was during the month of January. Still, I thought the whole scene surreal.

I haven't seen that level of doggy-style coordination here in California, but the other day I watched as a woman held her purse down so that her terrier could jump into it. I actually thought that was pretty cool, by the way.

I just get irritated when I come across folks who act as if THEIR dog is THE dog of all dogs, as if all other dogs are less. Not cool. More than once when I was walking Lucy -- my "girl" (more on Lucy later) -- I've come across people who see us approaching and they give us a look ... as if we don't belong on the same street. Lucy is a 9-year-old rescue. She looks as if she is mixed with Pit Bull and German shepherd and she is one of the most mellow, sweet dogs I have ever met. The whole Michael Vick thing didn't help, but I'm not condoning nor faulting Vick, who paid for his crime and has moved on. At any rate, the snobs sometimes need to be taken down a peg or two every now and then.

Of course it cracks me up when these "pedigreed" pooches get their "dog" on, sniffing others (you know how dogs do) and even misbehave from time to time.

My upstairs neighbors own two Chihuahuas, one of which is missing a front leg and uses a prosthesis to get around. Then there's Blues, who lives nearby. Blues picks up his toys and puts them in a box when he's done with them. And Bones, who gets so excited to see you that you'd think he is going have a seizure.

You probably won't see Bones or Blues or even Lucy at Westminster.

Maybe there should be a major dog show for regular dogs, dogs who don't have papers or pedigrees ... but are stars just the same.

-30-

"Roses are red"

Valentine's Day.

If you're in a relationship, this is one of those holidays that you cannot forget about. You'd better not.

Funny thing, though. I don't believe it's been so commercial. I'm pretty sure it hasn't always been this way.

Roses are red ...

According to Wikipedia, Valentine's Day is named after Saint Valentine, a Christian martyr. And it's traditional to express love for each other by offering up flowers, confectionery and sending greeting cards.

I can remember when the most popular students in grade school would come home with the most valentines. Things became more complicated, years later, when I dated. Though I never considered myself a "playah," Valentine's Day got rather expensive. And complicated.

This one didn't like roses. That one did. This one loved chocolate candy. That one was allergic.

Nowadays, things are simple.

And I'm glad, too.

Roses are red.

-30-