Greetings Mouthketeers,

Osama Bin Laden is dead, and our client, Cousin Brucie Morrow opened this week on Broadway.  What a week.  Both are huge events–for each respective party and culture, and both are important to the people who are their followers.

I am having a hard time understanding the media positioning on the Osama front.  First, how many of us heard American reporters tongue-twist our President’s name into Bin Laden’s?  President Osama?  It was really shameful, don’t you think?  I mean, here’s a guy (our Prez), who brought down the “Hitler” of our time, and a reporter can’t get his name straight?  Go back to journalism school, take an online history course at the University of Phoenix or pull up last week’s interviews with Donald Trump–he pronounced Obama’s name correctly!  Stop reporting, and start fact-checking!!

Second, how many days does the media need to report on the perimeter of the Osama story?  We heard about the killing, then we heard about the pictures.  Then we heard about what people thought about the pictures…And then I actually saw a show on cable that was showing other gruesome pictures of other dead people while they were talking about whether or not people should see Bin Laden’s gruesome pictures!  It’s too c-r-a-z-y.   I’m beginning to think the media wants to make this tragic story into a “Nightmare on Elm Street Part 4.”

Although I’m not for abortion, it’s not my place to decide if a woman should have one; and although I’m not for seeing the dead pictures of Osama Bin Laden, it’s not my place to decide whether the victims’ families of 9/11 should see them either.  If a mother of a child killed at the Twin Towers needs to see the blood of Bin Laden drip out of his brain for closure, then they need to see them, and they need to see them behind closed doors, not plastered on the front page of a tabloid.  The pictures should be housed at the State Department, and every family member of a victim should be invited to see them.  And if the family doesn’t want to see them, simply RSVP, “NO, CANNOT ATTEND.”

I love, love, love this country, and I also admire President Obama because he did the right thing.  I don’t think those brave Navy SEALs should have captured Bin Laden alive, and I don’t care whether or not he was armed when they took him down.  Were the victims of 9/11 armed when they were incinerated?  The only thing they were armed with was coffee and a donut, while they were rushing to work.  We pay way too many taxes as it is…would you really want a portion of your hard-earned money spent on keeping Osama Bin Laden in a prison, eating grilled cheese and bananas?

As the news broke about Bin Laden, the news started to break about the opening of Cousin Brucie, in the Tony award-winning Best Musical, “Memphis.”  He’s only going to be featured in the show for a week, but it was my company’s way of bringing light to his paperback version of “Rock & Roll…And the Beat Goes On” and boy was this fun times for all.  During the moments I was with the cast, the crew and our client, there was no talk of the Bin Laden story…it was as if I had stepped into a world before 9/11/2001, a feeling that was well worth it.  As I sit at Juniors restaurant, at Sardi’s and at Juniors (again) with Brucie, and share a laugh and talk about the time when he introduced the Beatles during their historic concert at Shea Stadium, the ones who were killed on 9/11 didn’t get a chance to laugh and eat cheesecake.  So, for God’s sake, if anyone in the media has any kind of integrity, please tone down the tabloiding so that people can heal…or perhaps see a picture of a dead man, or even see “Memphis” if they want.

Why did the Tony members diss “Priscilla, Queen of the Desert” for Best Musical?  Now, THAT’S a problem.

Peace,

The Mouthinator.

The Mouthinator Lifestyle, Politics, Pop Culture, entertainment

Mayor Fumeberg!!

Greetings Mouthketeers:

Is anyone stumped why NYC’s Mayor Bloomberg approved the mazes and mazes of pedestrian malls, fake sand, bike lanes (that no one seems to ride) and gigantic potted plants on the streets of the Big Apple?   First, I think the mayor has done a fine job in many ways, but this circus act on the streets of the city is making me FUME, (I’m fuming!), which is why, at least for today, I’m calling Mayor Bloomberg, Mayor FUMEberg!

You got that right, America!!

Take Broadway between 19th and 23rd streets–the Flatiron District and the hood of my company, Mouth Public Relations.  How many road gymnastics and cheap patio furniture can you put in one zone?  And, how many parking spots need to be in the middle of the street? Has the mayor even walked down the monster streets he and his transportation secretary re-routed?  The asphalt in town looks more like a bad version of a driving test than a serious tool for transportation.  And seriously, when you’re on 23rd street and ready to make a left turn: forget about only worrying about crashing into a bus or a pedestrian…NOW you have to worry about bashing into three uber-sized potted plants–strategically positioned as if they were pasties on a woman’s boobs–on the southeast corner of 23rd and Broadway–it’s an accident ready to happen.

OY Mayor, whassup with all dat?!@#

Seriously, I’m all for the environment, and actually get excited sitting on a lawn chair in the middle of Times Square; however, the last time I checked in dictionary.com, a “sidewalk” is for pedestrians, a “street” is for cars and trucks, and a “mall” is a place where you shop in Paramus, New Jersey.   I think the problem in the world isn’t about pushing the car off the streets of New York City (as if the Tablet has pushed the publishing industry virtually out of business), it’s about totally committing to a greener, smaller electric car, simply because people want to get to point A and point B faster than the mayor can say, “let’s create another traffic pattern!” And, whether Fumeberg likes it or not, the car is here to stay.

BTW, where ARE all the bike riders on the bike lanes?  If I was the owner of Schwinn bikes, I’d create a huge PR stunt and give away 5,000 bikes (first come/first served), in Times Square–simply to get people pumped on riding a bike again.  You see, if Fumeberg actually thought the bike lane idea through, he’d also create more parking lots for bikes, because in my opinion, people might ride a bike to work if they knew where the hell to park that thang.  (Our office at Mouth Public Relations is about 600 square feet, and since we have no storage space, we could balance a bike on our heads!  Why not?   Hahahahahaha…)

Whether you’re roller blading, riding a bike, walking or God forbid, driving a car, Mayor Fumeberg, would you PUHLEEZE, fill-up those facacta potholes, which emerged after all those snowstorms the newspapers said you weren’t even in town for?

Forget about comparing cellulite to cottage cheese, you can compare cellulite to the streets of NYC!

BTW, why do only 17% of those polled like Public School Chancellor Cathie Black?  She seems like a nice looking woman, right?

Peace,

The Mouthinator

The Mouthinator Lifestyle, News, Politics, entertainment

Greetings Mouthketeers:

Last night I had the privilege of going to the Elton John concert at Madison Square Garden, and if you think really quickly, you’d probably agree that it should have been the coolest concert in town.  Not.  Uh, was it me, or did I feel as if I was watching a Debbie Downer extravaganza for the AARP set?  Please understand I’m a member of AARP, so I’m preaching to the choir…however, it is these AARP moments that you don’t look forward to.  First, was Elton wearing sweatpants onstage, over a very ugly long coat that he would not have worn even in his better days?  Second, was the lighting scheme from my Bar Mitzvah?  How do you say, “1971?”  Blink, Blink, Spotlight.  Blink, Blink.   I could have sworn I saw a strobe light and a bit of smoke puff-puff from the back, but talking about a cheap-ass production!  Third, what was up with the sound?  Almost every song seemed to have gone through a bit of a soundcheck before it got up and running, and for a few hundred bucks a seat, it would have been nice for the band to rehearse before showing off their wares, no?

Speaking of the stage, the show was in three parts:  the first part featured some great Elton John anthems–you know, the kind of songs that you came to the Garden for.  The second part seemed straight out of Nashville or something, as Elton introduced Leon Russell, who apparently is sharing the billing on a new album they’ve recorded.  Is it me, or is there anyone else who did not know who Leon Russell was??   Or was that Z-Z Top onstage?  Or Willie Nelson?  Whomever Elton introduced was hobbling to the piano with a cane, and someone who looked as if they won’t pay their taxes anytime soon.  Negating how I felt about Leon Russell, Elton John totally lost his audience for the next hour (out of a three-hour concert); playing with Leon Russell as if they were at a dive bar in Dollywood.  And then, Elton introduces a special guest–a Rock & Roll “Hall of Famer”–Gregg Allman, who sang an entire song about the Civil War (I think) without any sound.  Perhaps he had laryngitis?

After the painful hour of listening to Elton and Leon’s batch of new songs (honestly I think there was one tune in there that was worth it), which to my knowledge hasn’t gotten any airplay before this concert, Elton came “back” with more greatest hits.  And when he sang them, you felt as if you were 20 years younger.   And that’s when the trouble started.

Who gives 50 something people–or people at any age–the right to act out, get drunk and start spitting over audience members?  That’s right.  That’s who was sitting next to me; and sadly they were from Brooklyn and Woodbridge New Jersey.  Can you believe that out of thousands of people, I had to sit next to those who probably hadn’t been to a concert since the last time Elton was at MSG!  In any event, once I had a yelling match with my bridge and tunnel neighbors–telling them basically to shut the f–k up–the concert was getting a bit better.  How could you hate anyone for singing “Benny and the Jets” or “Candle in the Wind?”

Even with cheesy lighting, sweat pants, bad sound, obnoxious audience members and a chunk of songs that aren’t ready for prime time, it was great to try and hear Elton John–as a senior citizen–with a voice of a 20 year-old.  Now why didn’t I get a PBS tote bag along with the purchase of two tickets?

Did I just see Raquel Welch on a Foster Grants commercial?  How old is that beauty??  How old is that commercial?

Peace.

The Mouthinator.

The Mouthinator Pop Culture, Uncategorized

Greetings Moutketeers:

I can’t help but think about our friends in Japan at the moment.  A nuclear reactor is melting?  I thought the only thing that melted was snow and ice cream…and now this?  Watching this unfold in front of our eyes convinces me even more that we’re only on this Earth for a fleeting moment.  In fact, yesterday I learned that the last remaining WW1 Veteran passed away.  Imagine that a whole era of people has moved out of town, so to speak?  Today, say a prayer for the Japanese, and say a prayer for all those of have fought in war.  If we are kind to each other and kind on the environment, perhaps our children and children’s children will someday say a prayer for us as we move down the conveyer belt of life.

Was “The Situation” really invited to speak on the life of Donald Trump?  OY.

Peace.

The Mouthinator

The Mouthinator Uncategorized

The Mouthinator might be coming back….Do you wanna hear from him?

The Mouthinator Uncategorized

Greetings Mouthketeers:

This was a week I really should have been on vacation or in a state where I should not have gotten out of bed. During this week I learned my friend’s dog passed away, learned another friend’s transgendered cousin committed suicide and hung herself, heard an old friend’s elderly dad had fallen, found out a book agent began pitching our clients to media without including us in the negotiation; and this week was the week a bat flew into my home at 5am and fluttered around me in my bedroom while I naked in my bed and screaming…as if I was a woman.

The bat story is worth detailing. It’s not a good feeling when your house alarm goes off at 5am, and it’s even worse to get a call from the alarm’s dispatcher telling you the motion detector in your living room is where the alarm was tripped.

I sleep in the buff (TMI); but imagine contemplating the notion that someone is walking up your stairs ready to murder you; only to learn that the violator is a bat, fluttering around you in your bed, while you are butt naked to the wind. (Thank God I wasn’t sitting naked on the terlet when this creature decided to freak me out.)

This is a true story.

The sounds that came out of me when this bat violated my space was only equal to the sound of a woman giving birth—only there were no stirrups to strap me into. Instead of taking a breath and remembering that bats are harmless little creatures who simply carry diseases; I launched an all out screaming campaign in the hopes this bat will fly back to whatever cave he came from. (Where were my neighbors during all of this? Were they afraid if they called the cops I would have pulled a “Henry Louis Gates” on them??)

So, I called the police. They gave me the name of an animal control service—who unfortunately wasn’t opened 24 hours-a-day. As I screamed down the hall to the guest bedroom, shutting the doors behind me as if the attacker would find me again and try and tussle my hair (did I tell you I’m bald?), I decided to boot up the laptop in the hopes of finding an around-the-clock company who will rescue me and put me and the bat out of our misery.

Jim—who lives in Connecticut—but owns a company called New York Bat Control (or something of that ilk), was kind enough to take my call, and talk me off a ledge of fear.

Two hours after my call, Jim arrived in his company uniform—looking as if he was Kevin Costner in that baseball movie he starred in. Sadly for me, the sun was rising just as Jim’s truck had pulled into the driveway, and if you remember anything about bats, they hide and sleep (upside down) by day, and flutter around by night. Needless to say, after an hour of bat hunting with a pair of rubber gloves and a flashlight, Jim did not find the intruder.

But Jim charged me $400 and the promise that he would meet me at 10pm (for free), and catch the bat when it woke up from its power nap.

Jim kept his promise and showed up, and found me sitting in my car refusing to go into my house. Jim asked me to open the door, which lead into a pitch black living room, and as I peaked through the panes of the old looking colonial window, I could see Jim doing a bat dance with the flashlight—and I could see the bat dancing to the beat of Jim’s song.

Frankly there was no music, but trust me when I say Jim and the bat gyrated to a tune I never heard of at any disco—and sadly the dance ended in about three minutes when Jim grabbed the flying mouse (uh, b-a-t), and broke his neck. (I know, I know, I asked Jim to let the bat go back to the wild but for some odd reason Jim said that the town wants all captured bats killed and tested for Rabies.) So my 15-hour saga with the bat ended on a high note.  (Boy I wish the stories of the dog that died, the woman who committed suicide, the agent who spoke out of turn, and the elderly man who fell would have had a happier ending; but when it comes to capturing bats, Jim is now on the top of my list of vendors I will definitely use in the future!) 

Bat behavior and bad behavior is not tolerated; however there’s gotta be some moral to the story, right?  What I also learned from Jim was that earlier in the morning he saw a coyote slithering in my yard, and reminded me to never let my dog off a leash—or on the deck without supervision because there will be a tragic ending.  I would have never learned about how to protect my dog if it wasn’t for the bat; and although the entire week was chock full of human bats circling me as if I was Dracula, deep down I knew there was going to be a brighter day at the end of this tunnel of sadness, drama and insanity.

Today is my company’s retreat, and I’m firing up the BBQ and grilling some chicken burgers for the staff. If the party is overshadowed by thunderstorms, I will switch gears, book a massage for my employees at the local day spa, and treat everyone to lunch at the state’s most critically-acclaimed smokehouse.

Darkness will eventually turn into light—and all I will need to do is take a breath and look toward the future.

Hey, wasn’t Teri Garr hysterical in “Young Frankenstein”?

Peace.

The Mouthinator.

The Mouthinator Pet, Pop Culture, entertainment

Greetings Mouthketeers:

True Story:  A year ago I was on the train from CT to NYC, and by the time I arrived at Grand Central Station, I got in a cab and rushed my butt to an emergency room.  I had a severe case of diahorrea and was dehydrated.  TMI?  Please read on.  As I lay on the gurney in the emergency room, the IV drip loaded with electrolytes, didn’t drip, and unfortunately I didn’t know I was shriveled up like a prune until six hours later–when I was ready to be discharged.  I was charged for the drip that never dropped,  I met a doctor for 30 seconds who asked how I was, walked away, charged me $2,500 for her “care” and to this day I’m still paying the emergency room bill.

I am not one of the 46 million people who live without healthcare.  In fact, I’ve offered a plan to my staff for years.  In order to keep monthly premiums down though, I signed up for a plan, which includes a $3,000 deductible and doesn’t cover emergencies.  Did you hear me?

Threeeeee   Thousssssssand   Dollllllllar   Deductttttttttible. 

I think my case of the runs cost me over $5,000 that day. 

You can call it socialism, mechanism, Buddhism, realism . . . Who cares what the label is . . . Whatever you wanna call it:  Call it a National Healthcare Plan, which I strongly feel America needs.  Many of you thought you would forget the fact you worked in a boring job because you believed your benefits were special; however, if you read the fine print . . . you might as well quit your job because you have the same stanky benefits as I do. 

We need a plan, and we want Obama to put it in place; because up until this date, no President has done so.  Puhleese people.  Anyone who believes Pussoir Palin and her evil antics, swearing that Obama’s plan is going to allow “Big Brother” to prematurely end grandma’s life is on steroids!  Remember, y’all.  Palin doesn’t read any newspapers so why should we believe she’s read any part of Obama’s healthcare proposal?  Perhaps she bought the plan on tape and is listening to it in the car as she whores herself across America, posing as a Republican?  Didn’t the evil Republican crowd “leave the building and go onto talk radio?”  Palin kills moose, quits her role as governor, isn’t up on the news, is an insult to women, speaks way out of turn and obviously didn’t educate her children about the Alaskan wild geese and the bees. (Remember her unwed teenage pregnant daughter?) 

Most likely Palin can afford her healthcare.  This plan won’t be for her.  It’s for all the nice people, the people who work for a living, read this blog and for those who don’t hate.

Vote for a choice . . . and this time . . . it’s a choice for a cheaper kind of healthcare with better benefits.

Hey did you know in real life Dr. Kildare was gay?

Peace.

The Mouthinator

The Mouthinator Health, Politics

Greetings Mouthketeers:

I was going to write about the late and most interesting, Eunice Kennedy Shriver, (was her husband’s first name, Sargent, or was he a sergeant in the war?) …Then I was going to send a shout out to my client, New York Times best-selling author, Mary Jo Buttafuoco, and the success of her book, Getting it Through My Thick Skull … (Wait until you hear who wants to sue her. . .) Then . . . right before blogging this evening I opened up my iPhone and wondered, “How the hell did I get 200 emails from 6:42-11pm, and why do I feel guilty going to bed without answering them?”

I’m pissed.  Yes, I’m the one who spent $625 to have an IT person reconnect my iPhone to the Mac to the PC, etc., etc.  But I hate the whole thing.      

As Bette Midler said in “The Rose,” “Where is everybody going?”  I truly believe the downfall of our society is Facebook, Twitter, Blackberry and iPhone, because at the end of the day, the act of maneuvering all these electronic devices is sucking the daylights out of us, and if you look back at the content of your tweets, and emails, and wall messages, you might notice that nothing you’ve read or written today is uber interesting and you certainly won’t cure cancer with the content produced in any of your profiles.  Sure, you confirmed a reservation or two via email, “friended” a friend you never liked in the first place on Facebook . . .  but at the end of the day, what does it really have to do with you and your life?    

Throw that Blackberry in the garbage and use the iPhone as a flashlight the next time you loose your keys in your knapsack.  That’s right; just use the phone as a flashlight.

Seriously, I can see the value in instant messaging when you’re in a hurry, but I don’t understand what is the importance of important issues anymore?  Have you turned into the person who is scrolling up and down your inbox while you’re in an elevator, simply because you’re playing ‘catch up’ with your device?  Should my evening be a big bust simply because the mobileme.com server hasn’t downloaded another 100 more messages in my inbox yet? 

Puhleese!  Give me a Princess rotary phone any day, because I want your number to call you and say, hi.  You got that right:  Take a breath, and call. It would be nice to hear your voice.

Does anyone remember Ernestine the telephone operator on “Laugh In”?

Peace.

The Mouthinator. 

The Mouthinator Lifestyle, Pop Culture, Technology

Greetings Mouthketeers:

I nearly upchucked my bagel and lox yesterday when I heard the news that allegedly, Sarah Palin is moving to Hampton Bays, New York, the town where my family has lived since 1986! Fact? According to Dan’s Papers, the local rag of the South Fork (known for forgetting to fact-check), the dummy ex-governor with a big mouth, a lot of kids and not much of any kind of experience, moved in on August 1^st! Is that chick gonna shop at my family’s King Kullen, use the terlet at the local Starbucks and go to the local movie theater? Get me outa here!

Well, it won’t be the first time, Dan’s Papers has (hopefully), made a mistake, but it isn’t the first time fancy-schmancy people have lived in Hampton Bays, the “poor” Hampton—the town where people who work and don’t need to be “seen”—live.

There are six things you need to know about Hampton Bays: One—the Hampton Bays Diner is the worst Greek Diner in America and I wouldn’t even invite Sarah to brunch there; Two—Barbra Streisand rented a house across the street from my mother for a summer; Three—the fabulous reporter and host, Jane Velez-Mitchell, spent her summers there as a kid; Four—a gazillion publishing execs live there too; Five—it’s the town where all of the debris from TWA Flight 800 was collected; and Six—if Sarah Palin moves in town I am going to tell my family to move to Canada!@#$ You got that right, Mouthketeers! That woman is a danger to Long Island because she’s gotta gun, and there are a lot of ducks, rabbits and deer romping around in the woods.

Out of all the hoods in the country, why on Earth is Palin plotzing in my family’s hamlet? Couldn’t she have moved near those corrupted rabbis in New Jersey instead of my sleepy town in Long Island? Unless she’s rehearsing for a summer stock version of “Annie Get Your Gun,” she don’t belong in this neck. Doesn’t she realize there will be Jews and gays and people who read the New York Times living around her corner? Sure, there are most likely a few KKK living down our streets too, but in my book, “Plottin’ Palin” is as mean-spirited as those weirdos in white.

Let’s put this in plain English: Sarah Palin is a quitter. Hampton Bays is a working class town. There is no room for Barbie doll, politics-as-usual, bigoted moose hunters.

Will Rush and Beck move to a manse in Hampton Bays too?

“Tear down that wall . . .” –Ronald Reagan

Peace.

The Mouthinator.

The Mouthinator News, Politics, Pop Culture

Greetings Mouthketeers:

I’m thrilled Kim Weiss and HCI Books hired my firm to rep Mary Jo Buttafuoco and her book, Getting It Through My Thick Skull. In all my years of working in PR, Mary Jo is the only client to be booked on eight morning shows and six free radio satellite tours, totaling over ten hours on the air.

That’s because people genuinely wanna hear from Mary Jo. Audiences wanna hear from a woman who was a victim but has come out of her ordeal—which, incidentally was seventeen years ago—as an advocate for others who might be in the same boat.

For those of you who never heard of Mary Jo Buttafuco, she’s an American icon—a housewife who was painting in her backyard when a sixteen year-old Amy Fisher rang her bell . . . and shot her in the head. All this bloodshed over an auto mechanic named Joey Buttafuoco, Mary Jo’s husband, who denied having an affair with Amy. (Amy was sent to prison for seven years, and Joey was arrested for a few months.)

What kills me about this story (no pun intended), is that some in the media refuse to interview Mary Jo because they think she’s too “tabloid!” (Thank you, Leonard Lopate for interviewing MJB, but what up with that NPR Fresh Air or Diane Rehm??) What these hoity-toity outlets seem to forget is that Mary Jo didn’t asked to be shot, and was never in a love triangle with the Long Island Lolita and Joey. That was a story that was hyped by the very media who disses Mary Jo.

When you hear the interviews with Mary Jo, she’s surprisingly eloquent, very smart and a character of compassion. You want her to win, and you want her to marry her fiancé, and gentle man, Stu Tendler. Even though it’s shocking to most why she stayed with Joey a decade after she was shot, you really get “it” after you hear Mary Jo talk about her life. In this case, love was really blind, but it’s never too late to see the light. Two years ago, Mary Jo had a revelation with her son, who claimed his dad was a sociopath, and after doing exhaustive research, Mary Jo agreed; and this book is her journey—no one else’s—about what it is to live with and what to avoid when you’re living with . . . a crazy.

So for all of you Mouthketeers who are sick and tired of hearing about Michael Jackson, and are really fed up with Henry Louis Gates, Jr.’s crap about his racial incident (did Obama really need to chime in?), pick up Mary Jo’s book and applaud her.

Hey, doesn’t is suck that E. Lynn Harris died?

Peace.

The Mouthinator.

The Mouthinator News, Pop Culture