Showing posts with label Pittsburgh Post-Gazette. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pittsburgh Post-Gazette. Show all posts

Friday, February 19, 2016

On being nice & nice PG article about me


I don’t know whether I’m a nice guy because I’m actually nice or because I've learned people treat nice people nicer.
It’s like what Major Frank Burns said when the bubbly cheerleader Henry Blake was trying to screw said old Ferret Face was just so nice.
“It’s nice to be nice to the nice!”
This confusion was cast in stark relief on Wednesday when I saw a woman in distress collapse to the icy sidewalk.
She was about 30, a brunette. Was she attractive? There’s something appealing about every woman in distress.
It’s not like that with dudes. A woman in distress is an opportunity for gallantry.
A man in distress is an opportunity for YouTube belly laughs.
She was carrying a purse and two packages, both or which were now scattered on the sidewalk next to where she was sprawled on all fours
I was at fourth at the traffic light. The other motorists had to see her, but did nothing.
Would I pass her, too?
Here’s exactly what went through my mind: If she’s having a heart attack, seizure or stroke there’s nothing I can do but say, “There, there,” until real help arrives.
What if she’s been shot, maybe by an angry ex? Do I want to get involved?
Lastly, “Can’t You Hear me Knocking,” by the Rolling Stones had just come on the radio and I hadn’t heard it in about two months. Helping this woman meant ruining the nice morning vibe.
What did I do?
I pulled over, got out, knelt down and asked, “Are you all right?”
She was. The steep sidewalk was a sheet of ice. She worked two blocks away on the other side of the Westmoreland County Courthouse.
“Let me help you,” I said, as I maneuvered her to safety. “ Please get in. I’ll drive you the rest of the way. It’s no problem at all.”
“Oh,” she said, “you’re so nice!”
How nice am I? I immediately began thinking how could I in two blocks parlay my chivalry into a robust sales pitch for my new book?
But I didn’t do that. Instead, I just told her not to be embarrassed and be glad all she bruised was her dignity.
I wonder about karma.
I remember once out of the goodness of my heart I spontaneously and anonymously decided to pay for some state trooper’s dry cleaning just because I saw it hanging there behind my duds.
I thought, wow, this day ought to go great. I’m a nice guy and the universe is bound to reward me.
It did not. In fact, it punished me with a legendary crapfest of a day. My computer malfunctioned, dropped a hammer on my toe, learned the kid needed braces, etc.
So I drove to Pittsburgh wondering if calamity would strike.
I don’t know whether my random act of kindness had anything to do with it, but it turned out to be a really nice day.
I’d pitched Brian O’Neill, columnist at the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, about my book and he was intrigued. I sent him a copy of “The Last Baby Boomer.”
I’d met Brian years before and figured he’d remember me. We’d both been roundtable guests on John McIntire’s free wheeling cable TV show. We all went drinking afterwards and had a grand time.
Brian didn’t remember any of it or me.
No matter. He loved the book. We talked for 90 minutes and just had a great exchange.
He wrote in yesterday’s P-G, “The first 50 pages were as funny as anything I’ve read in a long time, the middle should be shorter, there are too many typos, but the tale revs up again in the final third.”
It paints a great picture of me and the book and I’m very pleased. Here’s the link.
As we were saying our goodbyes, a light went on in Brian’s head.
“Now, I remember you! I remember saying the Rolling Stones hadn’t done anything good since ‘Some Girls’ in 1978 and you took offense. You were really angry.”
Sure sounds like me!
Nice is nice, but a man ain’t a man unless he’ll stand for something.

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Monday, January 18, 2016

An old paperboy delivers his newspaper lament


A younger friend recently asked where my wife and I met. I told him we were working at the local newspaper. And for the first time it dawned on me the story of our romantic coupling will one day soon require further explanation.
Something I’ve cherished nearly my whole life is going away.
And I don’t mean Val (last I checked, at least).
No, today I’m lamenting the apparent and inevitable demise of newspapers.
Many people, especially corporate beancounters, think the solution to declining readership is to make newspapers less like newspapers. They instead cater to people who prefer to get their news digitally.
But what’s even more disappointing is how newspapers are becoming openly hostile to those who enjoy getting home delivery.
It’s not unusual to see front page pictures with cutlines teasing readers to jump to the story — not on an inside page — but to the on-line version with all its tedious distractions.
So they want you to stop reading the paper you paid for and go to site most of them give away for free, the one where none of the industry geniuses have figured out how to earn so much as a dime.
Think I’m kidding?
Just last week the venerable Philadelphia Inquirer (third oldest U.S. newspaper, recipient of 20 Pulitzer Prizes) and its two sister publications were donated — donated! — to the non-profit Institute for Journalism in New Media, part of the Philadelphia Foundation.
So one non-profit is being absorbed by another and at this rate it’s apparent all I have to do to eventually own one of America’s great newspapers is just bide my time.
Did you know my first job was delivering newspapers for the now-defunct Pittsburgh Press?
I had one of the largest routes in the South Hills, 100 daily and 150 Sunday. I was in the 9th grade and making $100 a week; at Christmas I’d earn $500.
I remember thinking, man, if I can get paid this much to deliver the news, how much must they pay the geniuses who write it?”
In my career, I’ve only earned steady newspaper paychecks for five slim years, but I’ve always considered myself a bona fide newsman. I love newspapers and admire the people who put them together.
And I revel in reading a good paper. I savor them. I dart around between sections. I serendipitously discover stories I’d never find on-line.
So it hurts to see them going away or see them pricing themselves to a level that makes me hesitant to purchase. The daily Post-Gazette is now $1.50 a day. I feel like a chump buying it when I know I can get it free on-line.
The pain is particularly acute for me because my Mom feels the same as I do. She must have her daily paper. The problem is she is senile and is merely attached to the idea of getting a newspaper, even though she doesn’t comprehend a word.
“I have to have it to start my day,” she says.
It is her ink-stained security blanket.
And now the (somewhat) more reasonably priced paper, The Tribune-Review (75-cents), has ceased delivery to the 200-unit South Hills apartment where she lives. It’s true. You can no longer get the Pittsburgh Tribune-Review delivered in some places within Pittsburgh.
They say she should read it on-line, this to a woman who often gazes at the TV remote the way the ancients used to gaze at a solar eclipse.
Now I’m looking into ways to pay an exorbitant price to daily deliver a newspaper to a woman no longer mentally agile enough to read it, but feels inexplicably lost when it’s not there.
And newspaper can’t make money with devoted customers like that?
If only I could deliver industry-saving solutions to something that means so much to so many.

Related . . .


Friday, March 22, 2013

Setting the record straight: Lies I told The PG


My friends at the bar had sporting fun over this excellent article all about me and my book that appeared in yesterday’s Pittsburgh Post-Gazette.

“I must congratulate you,” one said, “on nurturing this conceit that you’re some tremendous humanitarian for the purposes of hocking your book.”

I thanked him for the spice his sarcasm adds to my day.

But he’s correct. The flattering article makes me seem like one of the world’s greatest guys, a generous and caring man whose every motivation is the well being of his fellow man.

How’d this happen?

Well, I’m the story’s only source and budgetary necessities have laid waste to newspaper fact-checking departments.

So if a reporter asks me what kind of guy I am, sure, I’m going to say I’m a real sweetheart. Happily, I have a cheerful book out there that supports the contention.

It would be fun to see what a real warts ‘n’ all portrait of me would say. But no reputable news organization would bother to undertake the task and my wife’s too busy to do it herself, thank God.

And, geez, would that be a best-seller with the boys at the bar.

But I thought I would try and balance the perception by giving the honest version of the 19-question “Snapshot” that accompanied the print version of the story.

I’ve never been asked these questions with the understanding they’d receive a wide readership. But I think anyone who’s ever seen the profile of a Playboy Playmate of the Month has put themselves in their shoes -- if they’re even wearing shoes -- and asked themselves how they’d answer.

Like, “That’s odd, my turn offs are traffic, bad breath and rude people, too. I think me and Miss March might really it it off!”

These questions aren’t as easy as they look because they all tempt you to lie a little.  You want people to think you’re cool and fun so they’ll buy your book or maybe invite you to a party full of interesting folks.

So I’ll set the record straight here with my actual answer and the true answer, where it applies.

Age: 50

True. I flinched just a bit when I wrote it. Would people be more impressed if I’d answered 29? Strangers would, but you can’t lie on the age question.

Hometown: Raised in Mt. Lebanon; now lives in Latrobe.

True. In Pittsburgh, Mt. Lebanon connotes privilege and as I’ve mentioned before, it’s a fact I used to dodge. No more. I’m proud of where I’ve been and where I’m at. I love it here in Latrobe and we’re not going anywhere.

• Education: Bachelor’s Degree, Ohio University.

True. Lots of people like to pad their resumes in this regard. Not me. Being a Bobcat is one of my most proud attributes. It’s where I learned to drink responsibly whenever I should and irresponsibly whenever I can. It’s where I became who I am. Go Bobcats!

Family: Wife, Valerie; daughters Josie, 12 and Lucy, 6.

True.

What’s important: Family and fun.

True, in the broadest sense. It’s a tricky question. Because I’ll catch hell from all quarters if I put “Staying on my bartender’s good side.” So I gave the safe answer. You see a lot of people who put “God” in there, first even. Sorry, God, but I wasn’t going to do that. Hope you understand.


First job: Newspaper carrier for the Pittsburgh Press.

True. Not a traditional job. Should I have put pizza maker? No. Delivering newspapers was such a great job for a kid. Sorry it’s not around anymore.

• When you were a kid, you wanted to: Skip School

True and a genius answer. I thought about putting astronaut or ball player, but I remember some of my happiest childhood memories occurred when I was skipping school. But I became so enamored with this answer it became a detrimental influence to several of the following questions.

• Hobbies: Reading, golf, recreational tavern time at The Pond in Latrobe.

Mostly true. I love to read and golf, but crafting a way to include my bar hobby, which I had to do, is a lie. Recreational tavern time? What the hell does that mean? Putting “drinking beer for a couple hours every other day or so,” makes me sound like a drunk. The honest answer would be “drinking,” but there’s so much more to it -- laughing, watching sports -- that I felt the dodgy “recreational tavern time” would work. Plus, that gave me a chance to mention Dave’s bar and that pleased him, which I’m always happy to do. The world will be a better place when convivial men and women like me can say, “I like to drink!” without crabby folks getting all judgmental. 

What’s playing on your TV: “Breaking Bad” re-runs.

Partially true. It’s our favorite and the one we’ll watch over and over. But we also love “Justified,” and “Homeland.” Our lunch routine includes “The Price Is Right!” Showcase Showdown followed by classic “Hawaii Five-0” reruns. I picked “Breaking Bad” because I thought it was the one that would make me appear most cool and, remember, that’s the motivation behind each and every answer, true or false.

What’s playing on your iPod: Mark Knopfler, Van Morrison, Todd Snider, Joe Ely.

One-quarter true. According to my iTunes play count, my top five most played songs are Mark Knopfler, Mark Knopfler, Mark Knopfler, Ray Davies and Bob Dylan. The first Van Morrison song doesn’t come until 15 and is preceded by more songs from Knopfler and ones by Stephen Bruton, Alan Jackson and the Rolling Stones. Snider and Ely don’t appear until well into the hundreds, so clearly I was calculating including them would appear cool. And I do love them. Josie asked me the other day who my favorite band was. I told her it depends on my mood. Then I went on to bore her with a 20-minute discourse on how much music means to me (she stopped even pretending to listen after two minutes). It’s an issue I plan to blog about soon, but the essence was I’m glad I’m not one of those people who can blurt out one name and be done with it. Music matters so much more than that. Honestly, I’ll take anyone of the four I mentioned with me on the deserted island.

Fantasy dinner date: Bill Clinton

False. I love Clinton, but the word “fantasy” makes this a difficult answer. For me fantasy includes nudity and I don’t want to see Bubba in the buff. I suppose my fantasy dinner date would be Rachel McAdams. She’s the perfect combo of sweet and sexy. Many guys try and score points by answering, “My darling wife.” I wasn’t going to do that because Val would know I was bullshitting, just as she would if she put, “My aristocratic and refined husband.” Her fantasy dinner date? The girl who plays Michonne on “Walking Dead,” a woman she once described on Facebook as “dreamy,” which still freaks the hell out of me.

Who would play you in a movie about your life: Matthew Broderick.

False. This is where the “skip school” answer again rears its head. Someone about 30 years ago said I looked like Broderick, so there is some ancient validity to the answer. But again with “cool” as my lighthouse, I answered him because I thought people would think of “Ferris Bueller” and perpetuate the conceit about me being this carefree hipster who writes self-help books about happiness. It’s a tough question. A great answer would have been Fred Flintstone.

Guilty pleasure: Playing hookie to watch Pirate baseball.

False. I love doing this, but I feel no guilt about it whatsoever. I suppose I should have answered splurging on sushi without my wife knowing about it, but then she’d read about it and I’d feel truly guilty. She reads about one out of four of my blogs and I’m hoping she’s skipping this one.

Favorite spot in the whole world: Bitter End Yacht Club, Virgin Gorda, British Virgin Islands.

False, but only because I’ve been fortunate enough to visit some great places. The butt-kissy answer is “At home in front of the fire with my darling family and our stupid dog!” I almost put Lake Louise in the Canadian Rockies, or New Orleans. But Val and I did have a great vacation at B.E.Y.C. and it’s obscure enough to boost my cool factor, I think.

If you had to do it all over again, you would: “Be more contemptuous of all authority.”

False. I took a lot of advice from more elderly idiots throughout my life, but that’s all part of growing up. No, if I was honest I’d have said something about screwing more babes before I got married. I had an old-fashioned view of integrity that kept me from cheating on girls who probably wouldn’t have really cared. But how would it have looked if I’d have answered: “More sex with bimbos!” Honest, but not cool.

Proudest moment so far: “Authoring a widely rejected self-published book that is showing signs it has a chance of being a sensation.”

False. I’m hopeful about the book, but it’s too early to say I’m proud. I’m proud of our daughters and my marriage, but nobody wants to read about that. Plus, I was running out of questions and wanted to hype the book some more.

• What’s on your bucket list: “Go another 20 years without having a job and somehow parlaying that into an actual job.”

False. A real whopper. Please! Please! Please, someone give me a job! Any job! I’d love to have a job that paid well, offered benefits, and had boss who was appreciative of my skills, one that rewarded me with influence and prestige.

I guess that’s on your bucket list, too.



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