Greetings Mouthketeers:

 

David Carradine, an actor with over 100 movies under his belt—including “Kill Bill”—was found dead on June 3rd, hanging by a nylon rope in a hotel room closet in Bangkok, Thailand, according to a Thai police official.  God bless him, because his family and friends swear he wasn’t suicidal these days.  OK. . . And? 

 

I’m not sure about you, but why do actors get celebrity treatment—you know, legendary status—when they die?  My parents:  Dead.  Where are their TV eulogies, and where are all my dead friends and all of my dead friends’ dead friends’ TV eulogies?  God only knows the country is going to shut down when Oprah or Madonna or Ryan Seacrest pass.  But for you, me and your friends?   Let’s put it this way:  I’d pre-pay and even write my own obit for the New York Times to keep on-file, instead of counting on someone else to pitch my final farewell.

 

I was walking down West 77^th Street about 20 years ago when I heard a thud.  I looked to the right, and apparently someone jumped off an apartment building rooftop.  I heard the noise and simply took a nap for over four hours.  To this day, I can still hear the thud.  For about 5 years, I worked for a set of Triplets, and one of them shot himself in his home on Mothers’ Day, leaving his wife without a husband, a young daughter without a dad, and two brothers without the third.  People die everyday—peacefully and tragically . . . so where is their moment of silence for all to see?

 

My point is, we have a weird perception of celebs, putting them on a pedestal simply because they pretend they’re someone else.  I’m not certain why the “let’s pretend” crowd deserve any special treatment when they pass simply because they’re actors, singers, dancers, writers, bloggers, etc., etc.  Anna Nicole Smith?  What the hell did this broad do to warrant tributes after TV shows and feature stories on the news of her passing?  Does her tombstone say, “She overdosed and left Dannielynn without a mother?” Puhleese.  Spare me the drama here because I do not get it.

 

Since this country is obsessed with Reality TV, why isn’t there a “Channel for the Dead?”  You know, a network of short bios on people who have passed?  That way, my friends John, Bob, Kerry, Joanie, Scott, Shar, and Paulie, to name a few, can play, fast-forward, and rewind the clips of their dead parents so their dear relatives get a few minutes of stardom—just like the chosen few.   

 

Does anyone know what happened to Yvonne DeCarlo?

 

Peace.

 

The Mouthinator. 

 

The Mouthinator Pop Culture, entertainment

Greetings Mouthketeers:
 
As many of you know, the Book Expo America (BEA), convention has landed in NYC, and this year’s installment should further shed light that this is a dismal time for books. That’s why I give the BEA a D- for not spicing it up and adding some puddy to the festivities in order to—at least—increase attendance and wake the crowd up.
 
Most book publishers won’t know what “puddy” means, but if I were the execs at BEA I’d find out.  If I knew my convention was slightly tanking this year because less publishers were exhibiting, I would look to other conventions, such as the International Auto Show, as a model for bringing in the people.  Hell, even the Auto Show’s website looks more inviting than the BEA’s. . . what’s up with that??

 

Here’s my suggestions for glamming the BEA convention up:  First, I’d open it up to the public, and make it cheap for the consumer to bring the entire family.  What’s the big secret behind these closed doors, book people? The worst thing that could happen is your books get some early buz and you give away a few more galleys.

Second, I’d bring in a busload of bikini-clad babes who could gyrate on top of platforms to look like books, as if they were slithering on a racing car at the Auto Show.

Third, I’d pump in some rock music or something peppy in the background. . . and PUHLESE do not put on any classical music because violins are snoozers, especially  when you want people to stay awake and order your inventory.

As honest as the station is, I’d get rid of the CSPAN bus that usually clogs a hallway, and replace it with a mud wrestling pit with oiled down lesbians who could promote a Prop 8 tell-all or something of that ilk. (Shout out to all the lesbian fans reading this.) Seriously though, if the publishers are spending every dime to bring in some celebs to sex this thing up a bit, the BEA should guarantee that exhibitors will be pitched to “Entertainment Tonight.” 
 
Most importantly, the book world should finally understand that the ebook is going to take over the marketplace, because the younger generation doesn’t care about whether or not they will be curling up with a big-ass book in the winter.  Books are way too heavy and dusty.  Gen X wants to read, but not read the way granny did.  Instead of walking around as if your industry is dying a slow death, publishers should simply sell an ebook selection for the same price as hardcover books.  What’ya scared of?  If one publisher demands this price, others will follow.  
 
In a culture where most people don’t read, it’s more important than ever for publishers to play the American game.  If sex sells, sell books in a sexy way.  Perhaps the BEA will be covered in Playboy next year—that is, if the mag is still in existence.
 
Did you read The Brothers Karamazov?  What a book.   
 
Peace.
 
The Mouthinator.

The Mouthinator Pop Culture, entertainment

Greetings Mouthketeers:

If you saw the “Today Show” this morning, you probably saw the interview with Sara Jane Moore, the only woman to have fired a bullet at a U.S. President (Gerald Ford). However, what the show didn’t tell you is that according to Geri Spieler, author of the new book, Taking Aim At the President:  The Remarkable Story of the Woman Who Shot At Gerald Ford, (Palgrave Macmillan), the late Gerald Ford agreed that the lack of communication between the Secret Service, FBI, and Justice Departments, could have been a major contributing factor to Sara Jane’s success in firing the gun.

Ford gave Spieler an exclusive interview for the book, which focused on intelligence gathering and government agencies.  Reveals Ford, “They all want their own turf. They get their own money, have their own power base.  It has been that way and it is not likely to change.  It’s too bad, and it is not likely to be any different.”  The book also reveals for the first time that because of Moore’s connection as a volunteer with various revolutionary groups, Sara Jane was indeed a double-agent:  Tapped to be an FBI and a San Francisco Police Department Informant.

Why didn’t the Today Show interview this author or reach out to anyone from the Ford family? Perhaps they did; but for about fourteen minutes, Sara Jane Moore was a star.

Does anyone remember the show, “Get Smart?”

Peace.

The Mouthinator.

The Mouthinator Politics, Pop Culture, entertainment

Greetings Mouthketeers:

 

Last night I received an e-blast from President Obama who was nominating his choice for Supreme Court:  Federal Appeals Judge, Sonia Sotomayor.  Jeez, did I just see a typo in that email?  If the President’s official e-press releases can house a grammatical error or two, where does that leave the standard for all of our everyday emails?  Who can keep up with all this e-correspondence anyway?  That’s why I nominate “email” as the worst waste of time and worst communicative tool of this generation. 

 

When did the powers that be (those powers being Blackberry, iPhone, etc.), decide typing emails was going to be a substitute for talking to each other?  Did I just hear someone saying they were just “chatting” with someone on a dating site?  Uh, hello.  You are typing buddy, not chatting.  You use your mouth to chat and your fingers to type.  Email has systematically stripped all of our personalities out of communication—at least when we send them during business hours. There’s no passion in an email, and if there is, the experts say it’s a misuse of the tool.

Who has time to write an email as if it was written by the likes of Ann Patchett or the late Michael Crichton, especially when you have three minutes to bang out the content before a business meeting? 

Did you ever regret sending out an email because of “the tone?”  Hmmm.

Should the White House Chief of Internet Marketing be fired for sending out the President’s email with a typo? I know book agents who have a major meltdown if there’s a typo in a client’s book, so why shouldn’t a press release sent out by the chief executive not be taken as seriously?  After all, once an email is published, it’s published.   

There has to be an easier way to do all of this.  Why don’t we take it upon ourselves and change the dynamic?  Let’s create a new job where people are hired as professional transcribers—those who take our dictation and create emails for us!  That way, our day is freed up to do other things, the company you hire will guarantee a grammar read before the email is sent to the recipient and all of the out-of-work actors will have a new survival job to be hired for.  After all, in the 70s we had telephone operators at Answering Services (who took our messages), and in the 80s we had Wang Word Processing Operators (who took our dictation).  God only knows what happened in the 90s; however in the 00s we should all just shut down our keyboards and let someone else handle the emailing, while we get back to work—and I bet you weren’t hired to stare at a computer and piddle about all day.  

 

When was the last time you made a pitch on the phone or sent out a letter to someone via the USPS?   I love getting a card in the mail, don’t you? 

 

Peace.

The Mouthinator. 

 

The Mouthinator Politics, Pop Culture

 

 

Greetings Mouthketeers:

Do you still read books?  If so, chances are you’re not finding out about the new ones from any book review . . . and that’s the saddest story in America.  That’s why I give all book review sections found in newspapers and magazines a big “F” for helping to f-ck up the demise of the book business.

Why do I think dailies and rags are screwing it up for the book world?  According to Wikianswers.com there were 1 Million books sold in America in 2007.  (Sorry, I couldn’t find data for 2008, so get over yourself.)  Why then, would the May 17^th issue of New York Times Book Review choose to review less than 20?  Why then, would the May 25^th issue of Time’s “Summer Previews” section include 7 books—along with a list of 6 other touted as a must-read, without a description of why the weekly was recommending it?  What about Newsweek who included one book?   And in the May 25^th issue of People, they reviewed 5 books, and another 2 were discovered in other parts of the magazine.  

Hell, People featured more styles of the summer’s hottest bikinis than reviews of books; and in Newsweek, embarrassingly they featured the bikini-clad Miss Cali on an entire page of their “Scope” section with a very “ingenious” quote by Trump (on why he allowed Miss Cali to keep her crown), boasting, “Carrie is totally beautiful.  And her answer because of that, took on greater importance.”  Did I just read that in Newsweek?  Hmmm.  Then the magazine should be called SoLastWeek or simply, BoringWeek. 

My point is that the media, which are responsible for promoting things, need to review more books, and need to be more kind to those who pitch them projects.  If 1 Million books were sold last year and less than 40 were plugged in the major rags of this country this week alone, I’m sure you’ll agree that most of us will never hear of the other 900,000+ hardcovers, which will go without a mention.  If the New York Times reviews every Broadway show, why doesn’t its book review editor demand that every book sold by a major publisher be reviewed, and then commit to at least reviewing 50% from the indies?  Since we’re on the subject, the Times should shorten their reviews.  How do you spell, “Y-A-W-N?”  We don’t need to read a whole page review on one tome—in some cases, these things are longer in length than the books themselves.  (Joke.)  Seriously tho, a book review should be a half column so the papers can simply feature more.  And if the same print outlets feel that sex sells, why not review trashy, tell-all books too?  Smart Mktg?  Perhaps David Geffen SHOULD buy the Times, because if anything, the book section will no doubt be sexier than it is and will attract the masses.  

Let it be known that as the real world looks to other formats to read—perhaps other than books—the media should help, not hinder, the outdated book business, and give these very smart but somewhat socially retarded group of writers and publishers a break because at the end of the day, the Trumps, the Bikini-clad Miss Cali’s, the politicians, the celebs—even the editors of the New York Times—all want to be known as authors who have published one of these . . . books. 

Did anyone read The Red Badge of Courage? 

Peace.

The Mouthinator.  

The Mouthinator Pop Culture

Greetings Mouthketeers:

 

Farrah Fawcett.  What can I say but God bless her.  The woman who made TV history in “Charlie’s Angels,” “The Burning Bed,” and who even made an ass of herself on the “Late Show with David Letterman” twelve years ago, is fighting for her life at the moment.  “Farrah’s Story,” a documentary, which airs tonight (Friday) on NBC is the sad but true struggle of Farrah’s two and a half (so far), year battle with anal cancer. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Farrah isn’t the first person in the country to use television as a medium to expose their plight to live.  The most recent episode in this category must be Tammy Faye Bakker Messner’s last interview—literally days before she passed away—on the “Larry King Live” program.  It was a very painful sight to see, but let’s face it: there were times we were all entertained by Tammy Faye, and because of that, why not give her a quick moment to bathe in her own life? 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The other person who has used TV as a tool to tell her story and motivate the masses is my friend and client, Kris Carr, a 30-something woman who, on one Valentines’ Day, woke up thinking she had a hangover, only to learn she had stage four cancer.  You think you’ve got probs.  Kris had a problem.  As the doctors confirmed she had no medical options—not even Chemotherapy to fight off the cancer cells—she morphed herself into an amazing wellness warrior, literally changing her attitude about life, using “Whole Foods as her pharmacy” and documenting her plight to fight her ailment in the TLC documentary called “Crazy Sexy Cancer.”  I was extremely lucky to first work with Kris and her husband Brian Fassett to promote Kris’s books, Crazy Sexy Cancer Tips, and Crazy Sexy Cancer Survivor, published by Globe Pequot, a passionate publishing house who really helped to launch Kris as the Deepak Chopra of her generation.  (Globe helped me to launch my company in a big way too.) If you think I’m hyping my ass and simply promoting my PR firm, I dare you to go on Kris’s wellness community websites, called CrazySexyLife.com and My.CrazySexyLife.com and tell me you were not moved or didn’t learn anything about wellness.  In fact, Kris is such a dynamo of hope, it’s been over five (perhaps six) years where her cancer is completely stabilized and even Oprah was mesmorized when she met her. 

 

My fantasy right now is for Fighting Farrah to meet Krazy Kris, and then hop over to pick up the late Terrific Tammy Faye.  I bet the three would really get along.  Sure, they share a remarkably horrible link, but they all have (or had), great hair, and great senses of humor.  My other fantasy right now is that they shouldn’t meet, shouldn’t have to go through what they are or were experiencing and shouldn’t be known as the grrrrrls who got the big “C.”

 

Whether you believe television is stupid or full of self-absorbed boring shows about nothing, I have described three examples where TV truly rocks.  If you want to see what a real reality show is, I implore you to watch these three women in action.  Even though the trio have had different experiences and different outcomes, they are the new “Charlie’s Angels,” and are a true gift of courage to us all. 

 

I look forward to tuning in tonight and watching “Farrah’s Story.”

 

What’s your favorite Farrah Fawcett television role? 

 

Peace.

 

 

The Mouthinator. 

The Mouthinator Pop Culture

 

Greetings Mouthketeers:

 

Is it me or does anyone else think Twitter or the people who tweet could possibly be the anti-Christ?  I was uber disturbed to read all the fanfare the other day over Dan Baum’s “Twitter-versy” (spare me writing that word again!), where the New Yorker writer tweeted about his experience at the literary rag, crying and kvetching about how his contract was not going to be renewed.

 

Do we really care whether or not Mr. Baum was hired as a contractor, as a freelancer or as a staffer?  No one put a gun to this guy’s head, begging him to write for a living, so why should we shed a tear?  Uh, hello, Mr. Baum:  How do you spell, “c-o-n-t-r-a-c-t   o-v-a-h?”  In the PR world, contracts come and go, and the best thing to do is just find another one.  If you’re tattling on your former boss via Twitter, (or would that be ‘twattling’ on your former employer?), telling the world how you’ve been tweated, (MWAH!!!), what incentive does a new company have to hire you because they’ll think you’re gonna tattle on them too.  It’s not as if you were raped.  You worked in magazine publishing, for God’s sake.  Have you tried book publishing???????   That biz will keep you on your toes, trust me.    

 

Frankly, the cushy newspaper and magazine writers of today are beginning to experience what everyday dancers, actors and singers have gone through for decades:  Rejection.  Can you imagine the movie “Fame” rewritten to focus on the lives of writers who longed to write, rather than dancers struggling to make it on Broadway?  It would be hilarious, and sadly the same old story but without Irene Cara singing the theme song.  Perhaps Mr. Baum could twit, uh sorry, tweet, the opening credits?    

 

Seriously tho, George Orwell would turn over in his grave if he knew that it wasn’t Big Brother, but Little Brother—the masses—who have morphed themselves into the electronic Gestapo—telling everyone about everything so it’s not safe to even walk out on the street for fear of being tweeted. 

 

The best time in the USA was pre-1990s.  People didn’t tweet or even write.  Many read, but most sang folk songs or disco danced.  “Awesome” wasn’t a word yet.  They screamed.  They talked.  They spent time running from the establishment, not feeding the powers that be spontaneous content that will end up haunting them in the future.  Next time you have a conflict, Mr. Baum, either keep your mouth shut, see a therapist or hit the backspace key.  No need to wear you tweets on your sleeve. 

 

Has anyone seen the new rendition of “Hair“? 

 

Peace.

 

The Mouthinator. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Mouthinator Pop Culture

Greetings Mouthketeers:

 

Boy, did I get a slew of private emails about yesterday’s Ringa Dinga Pinga posting.  Relax everyone.  Take a cold shower, and chill.  I was just ranting about sex.  It’s all good . . . but now . . . enough dirty mouth, let’s talk about . . . Traffic!

 

I love driving in New York City, and have been for 33 years. That means I’ve been caught in some major traffic jams, and even participated in an accident or two.   I was involved in one fender bender where a cabbie rammed into my rear just as he was going into a Diabetic shock; but he was OK and obviously I’m here to tell the story.

 

Friends, you don’t need me to recall my altercations and violations . . . I wanna reveal the secret to getting rid of traffic altogether, which has nothing to do with eliminating cabbies who don’t speak English or even truckers who do their deliveries during the day—it’s about how cars stop and start around town.  It’s all about how vehicles should be pulled, not pushed, by traffic lights.

 

You hear me?  I’ve come to the conclusion that on some streets, the way the lights are timed cause the backups; and if you don’t believe me, the next time you’re waiting for the light to turn green, look in your rear view mirror.  You’ll see block after block of traffic creeping towards you . . . when you should see the cars in front of you, moving away.  If the traffic commission would pull, not push the cars forward, I guarantee the traffic would dissipate.

 

Tell me, why are the parking spaces on some avenues now in the second lane—virtually in the middle of the street?  And how many bike lanes do we really need?  Remember Rollerbladers?  Why don’t they get a lane or two too?  Hell, this ain’t China and there aren’t enough rickshaws to warrant all these peddle-pushing paths.

 

Does anyone but me find it absolutely ridiculous to see all these faux parks (which were formerly car lanes), cropping up, giving the impression the city is truly turning green?  If I were Mayor Bloomberg I would spend my money planting the million trees I promised, rather than spray painting fake sand on the road.   

 

I detest road rage, and now that the city is literally shrinking its car lanes, you see more and more of it.   I cannot wait for the year Apple introduces an iPod, which one day will morph into an electrical Smart Car.  That will be the only size vehicle allowed on the streets, don’t you think? 

 

And let’s not forget those cameras cropping up on every street corner . . . Are you ready for your closeup?  New York:  You are  d-r-i-v-i-n-g  me crazy!!

 

Do you think Mayor Bloomberg has ever driven himself around the streets of NYC?

 

Peace.

 

The Mouthinator. 

The Mouthinator Pop Culture

 

 

Greetings Mouthketeers:

 

If you’re a true Mouthketeer, you already know I live in Connecticut; and when I first moved here (from NYC), I was amazed how friendly everyone is to each other—that neighbors wave to strangers.  My dog Rufus could be taking a dump and low and behold while I’m pooper-scoopering it up, the Nutmeggers are waving at me as if they’re saying, “Don’t worry, we’ll clean it up for you” or “Hi, let’s share some scooping tips with each other”  Weird?  Uh, no.  That’s their way of socializing. 

 

If they are “kind by day,” why are these same people “dark as night” when they’re commuting?   No air kisses on Metro-North.  People want anonymity, and I can’t blame them . . . which is why I’m utterly shocked these same riders don’t say anything when the drunks and the kids kick, scream and vomit during the entire trip to Grand Central Terminal. 

 

What the hell point am I making?  We’ve all been on a train, on a bus or on a plane, when there’s one person who oversteps the unofficial boundaries of silence in public.  Have you ever been on a subway and all of a sudden a smelly Doo Wop group runs in your car, begging for money, screaming “The Book of Love” or some ditty of that ilk in your face, guilting you into giving them money?  OK.  Some people have odor problems and most don’t make their fortunes on Wall Street; however, just because beggars need cash, doesn’t mean they have the right to hold me hostage . . . musically.  The next time a street performer who looks like Wayne Newton, sings, “When Sunny Gets Blue” off key, I will wash their mouth out with anti-bacterial soap, and test them for the Swine Flu. 

 

My fantasy is the next time I hear someone invade my space I will tell them to shut up.  To all the super-self-engaged people who pump up the volume when they talk on a cell phone so we can all hear them speak, you can all kiss my ass because you are gonna be challenged by me to keep quiet.  You got that right.  It is “commuter payback time.”

 

In closing, have you all seen the fantastic ad campaign for the State of Michigan saying, ‘We live—give or take—25,000 mornings, so why not spend some in Michigan?”  That ad further confirms we are all here for a fleeting moment; and if that’s the case, then we need to be more selfish of our time and become more vocal when people chip away at our hourglasses without forewarning. 

 

Have you ever been to Michigan?

 

Peace.

 

The Mouthinator. 

The Mouthinator Pop Culture

 

Greetings Mouthketeers:

 

It seems as if there is another pandemic alert:  The Swine Flu.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m scared.  Excuse me for asking, but whatever happened to Mad Cow Disease, and the Bird Flu?  Did the Bird . . . Flew?  If I remember correctly we were supposed to die of those diseases right?  Or was it the West Nile Virus?   

 

I’ve lived awhile, and it seems to me the more and more we live the more we live through outbreaks and diseases.  However, nowadays, we have way too many media outlets vying for attention and ratings to tell the story.  If you’re not media savvy, you might think the Swine Flu story is getting bigger and bigger and bigger—like a Godzilla or King Kong movie.  But if you look closely, the story stays the same—played out . . . over thousands of outlets.

 

When Shakespeare said, “All the world’s a stage,” I doubt he was talking about CNN, NBC, ABC, FOX, MSNBC, CBS, and PBS.  If he was referring to these conglomerates, perhaps his quote would have morphed to, “All the world’s a media circus.” 

 

Here’s a refreshing thought:  Instead of the media shoving fear down our throats, why don’t they offer simple, reassuring advice about Swine Flu, such as, how do you get it, how can you avoid getting it, and how do you treat it once you get it?  Instead, all we see are pictures of people walking around in masks—reminiscent of some Michael Jackson music video.

 

Again, don’t get me wrong.  I think it’s terrible we have to live through these diseases.  Let’s not diminish the fear over Cancer or AIDS or Autism or whatever; however, let’s not look at “fear” as a disease too.  “Fear” is a useless word.  It’s like a pimple.  Let’s stamp out the fear about the Swine Flu so we can go back to being scared shitless over the economic downturn. 

 

SSSSSSooooooooWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! 

 

Seriously, God bless those who have died from this pandemic.

 

 Do you get the flu every year?

 

Peace. 

 

The Mouthinator.   

The Mouthinator Pop Culture