I’m sitting & staring at my desk. You heard me. Staring. Not writing.

I have stacks of unfinished stories, scripts, and one lonely play. All wanting my attention. All shouting at me.

The longer I stare the more I can feel the cold comfort of doubt.

Mark Morford’s book, The Daring Spectacle, sits at one end of my desk. It mocks me. I’m only a quarter way through it and with each story I find little hidden pleasures. I don’t know how Mark does it. He doesn’t have writers…whatever. He espouses long, insightful, poignant paragraphs of epic, if not heartfelt proportions I don’t even have the words to express, or know how to spell.

I now hate Mark. Screw him and his immense talent.

Scanning what little open space that is left that isn’t reminding me I’m not doing what I tell people I do, I find a hidden moleskin notebook which I discover obtains the secret to my happiness and peace.

In it a dollar bill. And on this particular dollar bill is scrawled four potent words. They trigger a flood of insights into my life, and start me on the winding road to which I believe is happiness. Or to the liquor cabinet.

The night I wrote those words down, I was in trouble. I was marching down a career path that made me nauseous to think about. I had no friends nearby, no passions, no ambitions, no confidence. I had lost, by that time, any real belief in a future.

The optimism I’d carried so easily through grade school was a distant memory, by then as alien as photos from someone else’s life.

Small obstacles completely derailed me. I expected to fail at everything, and people outside my immediate circle generally scared me. It was a particularly bad night in a bad year, and I was in mourning for myself.

I was also totally naked.

When you’re depressed you don’t want to leave the shower. It’s one of the few safe, warm and inviting places to be. I found it difficult to turn off the water, because then it was back to real life. My cold, unpredictable life.

One night, I took a shower. I stayed in there so long, enjoying the heat, that the water started to run cool. As dreadful as it was, I had no choice but to get out. To make things worse, the window in that bathroom never closed properly, even in the winter. I knew the icy Oregon air was pouring in continuously throughout my shower, filling up the bathroom on the other side of the shower door.

I had a routine for this. Push in the faucet, fling open the door and grab the towel off the rack as quickly as possible. Tualatin was suffering a cold snap that night, and the bathroom would be as frigid as a meat locker, so I had to be quick.

The moment came; I slammed in the faucet, tore open the door and… no towel! In my funk I had forgotten to bring one with me. I jumped out, shivering, and forget shrinkage, body parts were finding refuge elsewhere. As I searched through all the cabinets…no towel anywhere in the bathroom.

Defeated, I stood on the mat and let the cold air overtake me. I watched the ice fog pour over the window sill like liquid nitrogen. I just let it have its way with me. I didn’t get mad, I didn’t shiver or scramble to dry off. I just let it feel like whatever it was going to feel like, and I noticed something peculiar.

It didn’t hurt me. It wasn’t excruciating, or even unpleasant, just colder than I’d like. My choice to give in to the cold, rather than escape it, robbed it of its power to make me miserable. It was only when I cowered and shivered that it was so awful. I was impervious to it, so long as I didn’t insist it not be cold. Why would I ever resent the cold again?

I was immune. I had conquered it.

The cold could never make me suffer, only I could. My brain started to overflow with the implications of this discovery. Was everything like this? Could I disarm any threat, just by letting it be what it is?

I had to write this down. Still naked, I ransacked the bathroom a second time, for something to write with and a piece of paper. I found a Sharpie marker and a dollar bill in my pants pockets on my dirty clothes that were shoved off to the side.

Lost for words, I scrawled:

Less resentment
Less suffering

It wasn’t Shakespeare (even he would’ve brought a towel to the shower) but it didn’t matter. The words were not the message, just reminders of it. I couldn’t forget it anyway.

I knew this was big. Huge even.

Nudity begets discovery. I bet Shakespeare never said anything quite…pedestrian.

The whole scene really felt quite historic. Not only could I see how sublime a revelation this would prove to be, but it happened in a remarkably similar manner to a much more famous discovery, twenty-two centuries earlier.

The ancient Greek scientist Archimedes also had the discovery of his lifetime while he was bathing.

He had been ordered, by a cranky and unreasonable king, to solve an extremely difficult problem. His Royal Highness suspected that the crown that had been made for him was not pure gold like he’d been promised, but was made with cheaper metals. Cursed with a reputation for being the local smarty-pants, Archimedes was charged with determining whether the crown was pure gold or not, though he could not dismantle or otherwise ruin the crown.

The crown was far too irregular and intricate to calculate its volume, so he had no way of knowing if it was as dense as gold. For days, he swore, kicked cats and yelled at passers-by. Out of ideas, he closed up his laboratory and drew himself a bath.

When he lowered himself in, water spilled over the sides, and The Answer struck him. He could submerge the crown, and measure the rise in the water level to determine its volume perfectly. He sprang from the tub and bounded out into the street, dripping and nude, gaily shouting “Eureka!” (I have found it!)

I should have shouted “Eureka!” and streaked out the door in similar fashion, but running through the rain-drenched, frozen streets of Tualatin in my birthday suit didn’t have the same appeal as cobblestones in the warm Greek sun. At least so I’ve been told.

Okay, back to me…

Of course, simply knowing what the problem was, and it really is the problem, didn’t automatically make life worthwhile overnight. It didn’t make me a disciplined or a courageous person. I was still timid, socially retarded, depleted of the confidence I had as an overachieving-underachiever middle-schooler. I still had bad habits, irrational fears, poor willpower, zero organizational skills and the only identifiable passions I had were soccer and art/writing. I still felt very much behind where I could be, where I should be.

No, in terms of where I was in life, my discovery didn’t change the score at all.

But it seemed to change all the rules.

It gave me, for the first time, a direction. I knew right from that cold, clear moment, that this truth would never change. Finally there was a light in the distance that I could always count on to find my bearings: my hell comes from inside, and it’s my responsibility.

In this new paradigm, I had access to all the power I needed to be happy, if I so chose. Power, I would learn, is nothing but responsibility. I have power over my happiness precisely to the extent I take responsibility for it. Same goes for achievement, wealth, discipline, even the state of the world itself. I suppose.

Circumstances would not, it turns out, be the death of me. My problems were not problems at all but for how I related to them.

And that’s where I invested my energies from that point on. Figuring out how to change myself, not push the river.

I turned to self-improvement and spirituality, and began the slow process of rebuilding myself. As I learned about how people have approached the conundrum of suffering, I kept seeing my same discovery in different words. Most notably, Krishnamurti summed up the essence of his life’s teachings with the same message, though much more elegantly. When asked the secret to his unwavering happiness he said, “I don’t mind what happens.”

So I didn’t exactly invent it. But at that time, I had not heard of Krishnamurti, or read Emerson, or Tolle, or Kabir. This was brand new territory to me, and life was never the same.

That’s not to say I never suffered again, not at all. I still do. I’m much better, but still delightfully imperfect. I do worry and resent, sometimes. Right now its directed at Mark. And I still have problems.

But I know exactly where to look for solutions.

Inward.

Now, I suppose I should just grab the first story/script/play that’s on top and start writing, but I’m thinking that perhaps a little inspiration is in order. You know, relax the mind and the muse will come.

Or I could read. (The Daring Spectacle, page 117, Thou Shalt Not Kid Thyself)

via Off the Reservation: Republican Party (1856 – 2010).

Jed states what I’ve been sayin’ for years. Only, he said it much better. And more words.

So…

You’re at a funeral.

Your son’s funeral.

He was killed in combat. He died doing something that I don’t have the guts to do, defending himself, his fellow soldiers, his country.

You’re not supposed to bury your kids. They’re supposed to bury you.

At a time of pain, suffering, at need, there are those that are outside protesting.

What are they protesting? No, not our far reaching philosophical militaristic strength. No, not some stray Tea-Baggers looking for a town hall meeting to shout down. No, no.

It was a fundamentalist church group out of Topeka, Kansas.

Was Lance Cpl. Matthew Snyder a satanist? Nope.

Did the Lance Corporal not tithe enough when he was on leave? I doubt Matthew even attended the church.

So, what was pastor Fred Phelps and his cult protesting? Apparently it has something to do with, God punishing the United States for “..the sins of homosexuality’ through events such as soldier’s deaths.

Was Matthew gay? Dunno. Don’t care. Again, he was doing what I wouldn’t do. If he were still with us, he’d be welcome at my Sunday table any time.

So, the God loving, God fearing people got to sue Matthew’s father, and won. Free speech strikes again.

The judges in the case ruled in favor of Mr. Phelps and his cult, then promptly had Matthew’s father pay a fine of 16,000-dollars. I know, what?

The court rule I agree with. But the judge on the case had every opportunity to lay down a fine of 1-dollar. He would have been able to send a message that, yes, the court will always rule in favor of free speech, but dumb-ass cults spewing hate should take notice, “You will not be subsidized by tax paying citizens for your asinine behavior.”

Yes. I am perfectly aware what I just wrote.

I am in favor of free speech, not stupid cults.

Why is Mr. Phelps and his band of idiots, ‘stupid’? Because free speech allows me to say so. And much like what my friend Mike commented, “If this happened at MY son’s funeral? They’re going to be burying more than just my son.”

The GOP needs a massive overhaul. If you’re gonna argue, bring statistics, bring facts, bring testimonials. The PowerPoint presentations (just the mere fact that they’re using Vista should be a red-flag), the lack of criticism and/ or admonishment of Tea Party groups, Palin, Bachmann, Boehner, Beck, and Limbaugh is just getting old, let alone trite. Reagan was an idealist that believed that his party would do the right thing and reign itself when all they did was become master of their own domain (yes, that was a Seinfeld reference).

Well, it appears that Jason Mattera has a following. So does Cholera. And like the disease his tactic of ‘journalism’ is obviously one that he learned by watching Punk’d with his soft approach only to be followed by non-stop verbal diarrhea. His questioning of Sen. Franken was not only Bush-League and unprofessional, but shows he’s wanting to be famous for being famous. Even Paris Hilton found that moniker old. I’m hoping never to see Jason doing a Carl’s Jr. commercial. But if the head of the RNC, Michael Steele, can’t lead, won’t lead, and it appears his testicles are somewhere locked away in a pantry, it shouldn’t surprise me that some dumb-ass like Jason Mattera is given a microphone and camera.

Social discourse. That’s what I want. I want people to question our leaders. Not yell, shout names, and threaten. I want facts, figures, and testimonials. Getting mad is one thing. Getting angry is another. I can be mad at my son. Getting angry with him serves no one. Yelling, shouting, or threatening my son is absolutely futile. And it should be the same when we have an audience with our leaders.

The ‘Party of No’ should not be graded on a curve, it should be graded for what they are: Failing.

Of course I know that you love and care for me, and I know you’ll totally understand. I just want to start off by saying how much I still care for you and will continue to hold you close to my heart. I’m terribly sorry I had to do this in public, but I felt it had to be done and believe me, this is not easy for me.

This note will be the last memory you’ll ever have of me, but I find our relationship just isnt working out for me. Please try not to be too upset, it’s that I feel we were just not a good match. You claim that you want to connect and share, when all that I’ve experienced is alienation, and insufficient communication on your part.

Truth be told, it is because of your blasé attitude, and your overly prideful actions that keeps me from being interested in continuing this relationship with you.

And with that I say, “Goodbye.”

Sean

Isn’t that how some of the best stories start out? Fairy tales, comedies and tragedies alike, all seem to start off with some far away magical place that resonates within.

My story isn’t like that. And I would not be offended if you were to move on to another blog. I’m not offended because mine isn’t a story, per se, it’s a period of my professional life that I can actually say that I would not have done much different if given the choice. But hindsight, usually 20/20, still doesn’t give any indication to “red flags”, or “signs” that would’ve led me to some sort of moment of enlightenment, or epiphany for that matter.

So what am I eluding to?

In job interviews, and in some cases, in casual settings, I’m asked what got me into the whole dot-com world back in the day. Which is usually followed by just how many off-shore accounts do I have my millions stashed.

Years ago, when first asked, I usually responded with a fairly acerbic answer. Concise, professional, but with undertones of anger. Not the best choice in a job interview situation. Gate keepers thrive on dumb shit responses like mine. Eloquent with purpose, and giving just  a hint of intelligence. But with a second glance at the resume, and the noticeable pulsating vein in the right temporal, they, the gate keepers, were then given the green light that it’s open season and the guy sitting across from them, who looks good in a suit I might add, is just a meaningless question away from losing his shit.

But that was then.

Now, when the subject is broached..

I was working, working, and working, and to be fair, it was a time that if I wasn’t challenged in the work place I was searching the Sunday want ads looking for the next gig. So after years of going through company after company, job after job, industry after industry and to work for men, and on a few occasions, women, who had done due diligence, worked their way up the corporate ladder, or in one case started the company, and being told that if I kept working hard, kept focused, then I too could be assistant manager of the department in 7-8 years. I could be making 65K in 4-5 years. 4-5 years. Who has that kind of time? Now this was the late 80′s, I was still young, I had ideas, and I had solutions to problems. I was a young kid who was told at a very real early age that I could be, I could do anything I wanted so long as I put my mind to it. But I wasn’t told about the office politics involved until it was too late. I wasn’t told about agendas, egos, pride and in one case, corporate spying. So I was young, opinionated, and obviously, frustrated. Not one person ever said that whatever I brought to the table was ludicrous, inaccurate, dated, or financially unacceptable. Actually, it was always the opposite. But the presentation of my ideas, back then, always seemed to put people off. My presentation skills were akin to that of a pit bull. I had solutions to the all company problems, I had answers to all questions, and I had thought of every detail. Only when I was done I had left such carnage that there was no one that really wanted to work with me to see it through. That’s a good idea guy, it’s not a good company man.

The internet was still in it’s infantile stage when I began to look at companies that wanted a marketing guy who could be trusted, and left alone. The description of anonymity to every job listing was like gold at the end of the rainbow. The fast and furious office pace got me giddy. The quick decision making part was like nirvana. It was a place of comfort, plus to all those that were still in the brick-n-mortar world, the old-school types, you looked like a pioneer. And later when you heard about the salaries, and the cashed out stock options, you could live like a rock star. A schmoe like me with celebrity status. But this was just the perception from the outside. I think we all know that the eye of the hurricane appears very calm, still, and unsettled. But if you’ve ever been in one, and I’ve had the occasion to be in two, it is the eeriest, unnerving, anxiety ridden moment(s). That’s what it was inside the dot-com world. A step in the wrong direction could mean disaster, and you could be up to your eye-balls in chaos.

My last dot-com I worked with was so top heavy with executives that as an example people would fly in from Cleveland and New York just to get approval on the color that should go on our business cards. This wasn’t 1965, this was 2000. Decision making via the internet, fax, or even by phone wasn’t enough. Face time was the new cache. These were grown men in their late 50′s who obviously had carte blanche to the corporate account and felt that there was no other way to express their importance than to…waste time.

And what was I doing? I was working on deals to increase our brand, aligning ourselves vertically with suppliers, buyers and manufacturers, refocusing out corporate communications while making damn sure that budgetary goals were met. I was committed. Getting up at 3:30 in the AM and coming home around 8:30 PM Monday through Friday, plus traveling 16 days out of every month. And for what? Money? I was making the same amount if I went to work for some brick and mortar down the street. So why did I do it? The excitement, I was sold by the idea, the potential to do something professionally significant in half the time that both my mother and father did with both their combined salaries.

But once you’ve been to Oz, and allowed behind the curtain…

Do you know why someone, like a venture capitalist, or angel,  will commit to something. It’s not because they want to, because ultimately these companies do not want to fork over money for anything. But these companies commit for one reason and one reason only, so some other venture capital, angel, doesn’t get there first.

While I was at one dot-com we claimed we were the number one aggregator. Our press release said we were the first guys in this particular niche market, only two months later stating that that niche didn’t really exist, so we did like everyone like us did, we said we weren’t a niche player but a business-to-business (b2b), as if that was gonna save our ass, becasue thousands of other internet companies did that very same thing the very same week. It’s a lot more fun to make inventory than to sell it, and a lot easier too. The amount of money that was going out the door was in the millions compared to what wasn’t coming in. Getting people to look at your website, to click on something, isn’t a business model, it’s an electronic billboard. Unless people are buying, you might as well be handing out flyers in front of a theater when the movie lets out.

Towards the end with my last dot-com, I was in a whirlwind of endless meetings, analysis paralysis, and flying around the country getting face-time with those on the c-level trying to convince them on one particular direction for the company. In order to be heard, hefty salaries, freedom from scrutiny, and eight-weeks vacation always stood in my way. As I was given a pat on the back followed by the obligatory, “You’re doin’ a bang-up job, relax..” as I was walked out of their office…I didn’t even know why I was there. I tried to recall why I got into the dot-com world in the first place. Sure I had a dream. And I did what guys like me always do. We smelled the excitement, the potential to make stupid-money, and we lowered our standards and our pay because we wanted in, we wanted to drink the nectar, not because I was the best at what I did but because this was where the action is. Here’s the big fallacy…because someone told me this is where the action is. And in the end I had lost my direction, my passion, and my soul. I needed a break, I needed to get out.

So, when I tell people that I was part of various dot-com companies, I get all kinds of responses from being amazed that I was part of a brief time in history, to one of being awed like I was a roadie for the Stones back in the 70′s, to one of ambivalence because they wished they had the courage to make the leap or one of a social misfit who doesn’t like to play by the corporate rules.

I’m looking forward to possibly jumping back into that world, but my sights are much more realistic. My eyes are open. I expect the potential to be there, I expect to be challenged, and I expect that there actually is a product/service to sell. And at the end of the day I can say I put in a hard days works, and I have something to show for it.

We’ve all heard or seen Thierry Henry’s handball in the World Cup qualifying game with Ireland.

So, what role should fair play play in a sports event of this magnitude? Henry, himself, has said that the fairest solution would be to have a re-play game. FIFA has already ruled that it will not happen.

I do have to disclose that with a the correct call at the time of the game would not guarantee Ireland a place in the World Cup. If the call was made, the game ended in a 1-1 tie, then it would’ve been left to penalty kicks.

So, what does fair play mean in this instance? Every time you look at FIFA no matter where they put on an event, where they have kids running out onto the field, they have banners that say FAIR PLAY, FAIR PLAY FOR EVERYONE. Fair play should be for the teams out on the field. And I do not accept FIFA’s ruling that they cannot do anything about it. The governing body of this sport has to be able to do something. It’s an injustice, there’s no question about it. As for having instant replay, I’m not so sure about if that is the answer, but FIFA shouldn’t take the stand, “Okay, I can’t do anything about it, the game is over, it’s history, so lets put it all behind us.”

So, what should be done? I believe they should re-play the game. At this stage they should have a replay. Everybody is asking for the game to be replayed, including Thierry Henry. It is unfortunate that his statement came almost three days AFTER the game. It’s very easy now for Henry to say that now when all the decisions, by the governing bodies (FIFA & UEFA), have already been made. It’s easy now for Henry to say that he isn’t a cheat, that he did in fact handle the ball which resulted in his team moving on to the World Cup, but the fact remains that he did not say anything after the game. And that’s my contentious issue with him. He’s trying to look noble when in fact, he falls so very short.

The amount of money attached to these games could only help the country of Ireland. I know it shouldn’t be a factor, but it is. The amount of money that Ireland would gain from being in the World Cup games would be unbelievable . So, in Ireland where they’ve been hit with extremely bad weather, a bad economy, along with the news of the match between Ireland/France has only made matters worse.

Henry has now put himself in the same category as Argentina’s Maradona “hand of God” spectacle in the 1986 World Cup semi-finals game. Congratulations Mr. Henry, you’ve made another highlight.

What FIFA has allowed is a major injustice, no matter how you look at it. It was cheating. And in all my years of watching and playing soccer, I have never seen an issue such as this, galvanize the sporting world. And the sporting world seems to expect something different. We expect honesty, we expect that if you have a skill you’re going to be rewarded. If you have the determination, you’re going to be rewarded. With FIFA’s latest actions what kind of message are they now sending to todays youth soccer players? We don’t like to see the mat get pulled out from underneath us due to someone cheating. And that’s what Thierry Henry did. He cheated. No matter how you look at it, Henry cheated.

Why would a top FIFA official make the statement, “The world wants to see France, not Ireland in the World Cup.” Yeah, it doesn’t sound bias to me either.

Oh, and the French team has no moral obligations to this matter. It doesn’t benefit them at all. FIFA is the governing body, they  have the moral obligation here. They are the ones that got us into this mess, they have to be the ones to get us out of it.

To backtrack a little bit here for those that are unfamiliar…the draw was supposed to be an open draw. There were eight second-place teams who have finished in UEFA Europe. At the beginning of the draw FIFA said, “Okay, we’re going to have an open draw with these eight teams.” But it looked like Germany, Portugal, and a few other teams weren’t going to get in, including France, and all of a sudden, the night before the draw, FIFA decides, “Okay, we’re gonna seed the teams.” So, if you can change the rules in the eleventh hour, as far as the seeding goes, you can announce that there will be in fact a re-play of the Ireland/France match. And it’s not like FIFA, or it’s underling UEFA, hasn’t done this type of thing before. In 1996 in an Arsenal match, that game was replayed. In 2006, FIFA said that an official made a bad call, and those teams played again.

So, why hasn’t FIFA done this again, especially since there’s so much at stake, financially, morally, ethically, and just plain “doing the right thing”?

Why indeed.

Here’s the crux of the 60-Minutes segment:

1) It cost $400K to get a liver transplant from UCLA Medical Center.

2) If you have the money, you can buy your way to the top of the donor list at UCLA Medical Center.

3) A certain Japanese mob boss paid $1 million dollars for his liver transplant at UCLA Medical Center, along with a $1K donation to the medical wing that did the transplant.

So, here’s my take-away:

1) The powers that be, along with the doctors involved,  at UCLA Medical Center find no moral or ethical obligation to how they do business. And obviously, the transplant business is booming. $400K for a liver. A liver that was donated. I’d love to see the breakdown as to how and why a transplant cost so fucking much. That’s ridiculous. It’s a obscene markup, and you can’t tell me “it’s what the market will bare.” It is what it is because they dictate, and the medical community damn wells knows that.

Now to make full disclosure here, I have been very vocal against organ donation. Why? For the very reason that the medical community has been screwing over everyone who signs on the dotted line. If I held a donor card, and if something were to happen to me and my liver were to go to a needy recipient, I want my family to get a piece of that $400K. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking but I don’t hear you bitching and complaining, let alone questioning what the hospital charges. The medical community fully understands the patients, and their families, need. Their anxiety. Their stress. But most of all their need to make the pain go away. And at a time of need they, the medical community, will take financial advantage any way possible. Because they know that at a time of need, there is no negotiating, there is no shopping around for the best price, best service. It is with the understanding that you have a need to have something cured, and you will pay dearly for it. $400k for a liver, and yet I cannot sell my liver on the open market to the highest bidder, but we allow the medical community to pillage and profit without batting an eyelash.

2) The powers that be at UCLA Medical Center are morally and ethically corrupt. The Japanese mob boss, a member of the Yakuza, doesn’t look like your every day Japanese citizen. They are covered, sleeved in tattoos. To say that you were unaware that the patient was a member of…anything you’d be blind. I am not inferring that those that are tattooed or those that are sleeved are  criminals. I am saying that members of the Yakuza are blatant about their affiliation and have no qualms stating as such. Therefore, anyone involved with the mob boss’s transplant was aware of just exactly who he is, and what he represents. So, when I say that UCLA Medical Center does not give a rat’s-ass about you, I mean, they only care when money is involved. Unfortunately, in a transplant situation, it’s people’s lives, and lives were lost when others were pushed down the transplant list as the Yakuza mob boss bought his way to the top.

I don’t foresee that with Health Care Reform this will resolve itself. The transplant list process is pathetic. There is no nationwide list. There is no nationwide database that is kept up-to-date. Why? Because too many in the medical community want a piece of the action. Meaning, if a hospital can make certain claims to it’s successful transplant rate, then that hospital promotes that to the community, which in turn correlates to more donations to that hospital. But anyone who’s taken a biology class knows that human tissue can only be supported for x-amount of hours. So, if a woman in Portland, Oregon is killed in a car crash, the clock is ticking to whether or not she can have her liver donated to a teenager in Salem, Oregon, which is 60-miles away.

I idea of donating ones organ(s) at the time of death is a noble one. I look forward to where the process and application are just as noble. Until then, my answer is, “Keep your filthy hands off.”

And if you think the most important story in the Los Angeles area is the proposed football stadium, or anything with substance, you’d be dead wrong.  The biggest story in L.A. last weekend wasn’t USC’s close win over Oregon State, the Yankees beating the Angels, or the Steelers handing the Vikings their first loss. It was the U2 concert. Because the entire mainstream media has been conned by Paul McGuinness and Live Nation.

Just under 100,000 of the nearly 13 million residents attended, but the hype would have you believe that every resident was there, that U2′s show is similar to last November’s Presidential election.

And the story was not about the music.  The story is the STAGE! No, not the music, but some huge contraption that leaves a larger than life carbon foot-print.

What kind of crazy, screwed up world do we live in where a band’s stage is more important than their music?

Last Friday I found myself watching the local news, which is like viewing a cable access show, only with less nudity, but a more accurate weather forecast. So, as I’m watching the news, who despite their HD-joyfulness, these two anchors started waxing poetic about the U2 show. They proclaimed,”..there are only 20,000 parking spaces.” So, take the train (there’s one in LA?), plane, take the bus, ride a bike, hell, even walk, but for god’s sake LEAVE NOW!

They were actually promoting tailgating.  “Get there around noon, to be sure you don’t miss a note..”…of the opening auto-tuned, boring, self-proclaimed super-group, The Black Eye Peas.

Wait a second, they have football games at the Rose Bowl all the time, they sell out and the whole county doesn’t give a shit.  Why, if U2 is there, is there such a panic?

Thank you Paul McGuinness.  It’s a lack-luster story that the press is buying hook, line and sinker.  It’s damn-near a repeat of Balloon-Boy stating, “They’re doing it for the show.”

And it’s all about the stage.

It gets a full page in Sunday’s L.A. “Times”.  In color, no less. Because black-n-white just wouldn’t give it justice.

It’s an article so thin it’s almost transparent, by some guy that lives in Alabama who is devoting an entire page to the inner-workings of U2′s stage set.  This is like dedicating a full page to the “Dancing with the Starts” TV stage set-up. Who cares?

But I have to admit, it is impressive.  It’s 170 feet tall.  Modeled after the inane Theme restaurant at LAX, that I have yet to know anyone who has ever gone there, but I’m supposed to be impressed that it was modeled after it.

News organizations focus on the new and novel, not the substance.  Hence U2′s opening act. And the U2 fans don’t want to be left out.  And people, aware of previous over-the-big top shows, don’t want to miss out on this one either.

So, even though the TV anchors falsely stated that the gig had sold out in four hours, while at the same time other news outlets were stating that the band hoped to fill the Rose Bowl and set a new attendance record.

We’ve been trained that everything is national. But no one cared about the national roll-out for U2′s latest album (No Line on the Horizon…you know, Get On Your Boots and…can you even name another off the album?), this city by city unveiling of their traveling show is making headlines.  It’s like the circus has come to town, but even The Ringling Brothers clean up after themselves.

The U2 camp is savvy enough to know that music is no longer the selling point.  You’ve got to deliver spectacle. Bigger and better.  Smoke and mirrors. The art of wag-the-dog. It’s jazz-hands to the nth-degree.

And since they don’t want to prostitute the music,  unlike Madonna, Mariah Carey, and Miley Cyrus,  don’t want to dance or have sets, they’re utilizing the old concept of any 70’s rock show and pumping it up with testosterone.

How many ways is this tour wrong?

After touring all summer, it has still not in profit-mode. They have two stage set-ups, leap-frogging from one venue to the other. Each is 25 + million euro’s (yeah, do the math on that in US dollars). The carbon footprint supersedes a whole field of well-fed cattle, never mind the private jets, cargo planes, trucks, and shuttle vans.

It’s inefficient.

But has it  achieved its goal? Which is getting people to buy. Buy singles. Buy the album/cd. Buy dvd’s. Buy merchandise. Buy tickets to their concert.

The missteps with U2 this year have been duly noted.  When people were paying attention, the band played a modern day version of “Discotheque” of “Get On Your Boots”,  and making a deal with BlackBerry as opposed to Apple, showing everyone over the age of three that it is all about the money.

But they got it right with the live show.  They’ve accomplished the one thing so very important to success in today’s music business…getting people to pay attention.

Again, not for the music, but in their stage set. How would you like to be a stage actor and have everyone talk about the theater. Not the performance. Or do you go to a museum for the building and not  the artwork inside. Yeah, it’s that ridiculous.

Not enough people listen to the radio any more. It’s less rock more talk. It’s the Morning Zoo with baseless banter and high-jinks, and less about the music. It’s about flash, cash, and what-can-you-do-for-me.

I understand you’ve got to spend money to make money.  By laying out so much dough, erecting something so ridiculous, U2 has managed to focus its efforts away from what’s important, the fans, and towards the spectacle, the stage.

Besides, what do they do next?  Take over Central Park, Alcatraz, the Oprah Show?  I’d rather they do what the Allman Brothers do/did, play the Fillmore East (now the Fillmore New York at Irving Plaza, owned by LiveNation by the way), or any like-size venue, twice a week for a month. City to city, in an intimate setting where they can connect to the audience and the audience can connect to the music, which is what I have come to listen to in awe and admiration.

As of Tuesday of last week Twitter suspended me. Why? Good question. I don’t know either. According to their rules and regulations, I have not violated a single one. But I’m suspended all the same. And from their automated response , their almost non-existent customer support, I don’t think they know either. But I’m not alone. Apparently, there are a couple of thousand of us in limbo while Twitter not only doesn’t respond to our pleas but they haven’t put out any release as to why there are so many of us who were suspended around the same time. So from a company that just received $100-million in financing last month, I say fuck’em. They haven’t a clue what they are doing.

Twitter is just cb-radio with 140-characters.

Oh, and why for the love of god is anyone talking to any executive  from the antiquated, bloated AOL. No one who had an ounce of grey-matter ever took AOL seriously. Unless you were an executive from Time-Warner that was about to have a huge pay day. But of course, where are they today?

FaceBook. Really? As pleased as I am to be re-acquainted with grade school and high school friends, the site is very intrusive. And is FaceBook the answer to our communication wants and needs? With all their bullshit games, and soul-sucking applications I’m surprised that GameFly isn’t endorsing them. And do we all need a dose of ginko biloba to recall all the times someone has hacked into their system.

Is there something out there that’ll save time while improving, or just delivering communication better? Or just suck up more of it?

Since I operate on a Mac I’m not familiar with Microsoft’s SharePoint, but if it does what Mr. Teper claims then I know for damn sure the company my wife works for, that is so heavily dependent on email,  could utilize it.