When Irish Eyes are Smiling

At left: Katie and David Cassidy. Photo credit: Celebrity Photos.







Mr Daisy was watching "Arrow" DVDs, and the actress playing Laurel seemed so familiar to me. It was driving me crazy. I KNEW I'd seen her.

Her eyes. Very distinctive. I knew I had seen them before.

I can usually spot actors in various roles, even if they are wildly different. It's something I enjoy doing--trying to remember where I've seen them; which movie or TV show they were in previously. I especially enjoy solving the puzzle if many years have passed and they look recognizably older. (i.e. Did you realize that's 17-year-old Laurence Fishburne, primarily known to the younger generation as Morpheus, playing 'Clean' in Apocalypse Now?)

But I couldn't remember seeing this person AT ALL. I was confused. Why do her eyes look so familiar?



And so, finally hollering uncle and officially giving up, I went to the indispensable Internet Movie Database, that great settler of marital disputes.

She is David Cassidy's DAUGHTER. Ahh, so that's it! She assuredly has his eyes; Irish Eyes are Smiling.

Mr Daisy offered the observation that I had stared at David Cassidy's eyes on my bedroom wall for YEARS as a teenager, along with The Monkees, The Who, David Bowie, Iggy Pop, Lou Reed, Michael Jackson, and so many others.

And he's right. David Cassidy's eyes were lodged in my memory. They must have made quite an impression, to make his daughter appear so familiar to me.

~*~

When I visited my father in Indiana as a kid (usually a traumatic experience), I would try to stay away from his house as long as possible by hanging out with my cousins. I liked them a lot, and they thought I was cool for being from a "big city"... yes, you are now wondering why anyone would think Columbus, Ohio, is a "big city"--but in comparison to my father's hometown, it certainly was.

While we would be eating ice cream in front of what was then called the local Five and Dime, somebody would walk by, stop dead in their tracks and then do a double-take and ask me if I was _____'s daughter. In small towns, everyone knows everyone else.

It was galling, intrusive, but strangely validating. I hardly knew my father; years would go by when I didn't see him. Then he would inexplicably get a sudden attack of parental responsibility and drive across state lines to collect me for the summer. In Indiana, everyone would oooh and ahhh at our striking resemblance, which even extended to how we laughed, how we gestured, and our general 'theatrical' nature. It kinda blew my mind, since I had always believed you had to be raised by someone to "be like" them (not just LOOK like them) and it seemed that somehow, that had turned out NOT to be true at all. My mother raised me, not my father, and yet somehow, I was so much like him.

And so it is with young Katie. I knew I'd seen her before, knew she reminded me of someone I had watched before, very closely. It isn't just her eyes, of course. She is similarly LIKE him, as I was "like" my father. "Resemblances" are such an odd phenomenon; it isn't only a physical thing.

The cars stop, the people turn around on the sidewalk and ask Who's Your Daddy?

The 10,000-Hour Rule

My first-ever diary entry was about my cat, Smokey. I wrote: "I love my cat."

Some things never change. :)

~*~







The upstate's local GLBT pride event was Saturday in Spartanburg. I announced it on my radio show as being on "Saturday"--totally spacing the fact that I was taping the show (on Thursday) and therefore my announcement would be HEARD on Saturday, so I should have said the event was "today"--right? Argh! (Link to the show here)

This is the kind of dumb error that makes me want to scream when I hear the show replayed, and why I sometimes refuse to listen to more than a few minutes.

Obviously, I am still relatively new to the radio biz.

My talented producer and consigliere, Gregg Jocoy, has repeatedly reminded me of Malcolm Gladwell's famous '10,000-hour rule': One can only master a skill after doing it for 10,000 hours.

We have done about 55 radio shows so far, so we only have 9945 hours to go.

Brian Clark Howard writes:

One of the most interesting parts of Malcolm Gladwell’s fantastic book Outliers is his discussion of the “10,000-hour rule,” which posits that it takes about 10,000 hours of dedicated practice to truly master a skill, be it playing the violin, computer programming, or skateboarding.

Gladwell covers several tantalizing examples, from the Beatles to Bill Gates, and argues that the biggest factor in their success is not innate talent or blind luck, but rather dedication to their chosen craft. It’s an empowering message, and one that suggests that almost anyone can succeed if they put in the time (could those saccharine posters be right?).

Of course, privilege and luck can greatly ease the way, but there’s little substitute for 10,000 hours of work.

This infographic, created for the blog Zintro by Nowsourcing, takes a closer look at practice and the 10,000-hour rule.

Of course, as Kurt Cobain said, “Practice makes perfect, but nobody’s perfect, so why practice?”

As usual, Kurt had a point.

However, doing some quick math... I realize this may be good news for me. I first started writing in a diary when I was about six years old (photo of six-year-old self, above) and that means if I wrote approx 204 hours a year (which rounds out to about 17 hours a month), from then until now, I am very close to the 10,000-hour mark. The Promised Land awaits!

Unfortunately, I never kept track of that. I do know that some years I wrote passionately and obsessively for many hours a day, every day... and some years I didn't write at all. (I guess even feverish, teenybopper letter-writing about David Cassidy counts?)

I am not sure if it all evens out, but the hours do add up, after decades.

In any event, I must be getting close! One of those unexpectedly-positive things that comes from aging.

War is over, if you want it

Best thing I've heard today: Gloria Allred canceled her press conference with her stunningly-attractive client, Rachel Uchitel, just as Uchitel was poised to Tell All about her "relationship" with Tiger Woods.

Scandalmongers everywhere sobbed; Gloria never lets us down. This is a first!

After the cancellation, Allred's daughter, Lisa Bloom (yes, intrepid Court-TV junkies and scandalmongers love Lisa almost as much as we love her mom), announced on several news networks that mom would never cancel a press conference, except for one reason: Mr Green has arrived.

Mr Green! Love it.

And I'd love to know what kind of Merry Christmas the Uchitel family will have this year; something tells me the presents under the tree will be first rate indeed.

~*~

More scandals! DEAD AIR can barely keep up. As Renee reported, actress Meredith Baxter has come out as gay.

I first became very interested in Baxter when she dated... David Cassidy! Yes, I kept careful track of all the Cassidy-women: Meredith, Susan Dey, Judy Strangis, Robin Millan, and his first wife, the totally fabulous Kay Lenz. Embarrassing but true.

Camille Paglia once wrote the following about Baxter, which I found rather puzzling at the time... but now, suddenly makes perfect sense:

Baxter's 1992 performance as a real-life San Diego murderess in the two parts of "The Betty Broderick Story," "A Woman Scorned" and "Her Final Fury," remains one of the most impressive pieces of work by an American actress in the last 20 years. Though I've watched rebroadcasts of that tense docudrama times without number, I still thrill with admiration at Baxter's tough energy, pinpoint vocal work and insight into both sexual relations and American character. "The Betty Broderick Story" should be required viewing at every acting school.

Um, say what?

Of course (it should go without saying!), I enjoyed the Betty Broderick mini-series as much as the next scandalmonger... but hey, Meredith Baxter isn't Meryl Streep, okay? I wondered if Paglia (with whom I share my special great love for Elizabeth) had gone off the deep-end, or was possibly in love with Baxter.

Ha! Was I right or what?

Now that we know, I am wondering if they have actually dated or possibly got real friendly on one of those hot lesbian cruises.

It's interesting that Paglia lets her emotions interfere with her critical sensibilities, although she loves to accuse feminists like Naomi Wolf of doing the same thing. Paglia is always proudly blathering that she has "a male brain"; I wonder if effusively gushing over her favorite lady-friends is what she means by that?

(giggle)

~*~

Raleigh Demonstrators against Cliffside, from October 29th demonstration. Photo courtesy of the Canary Coalition.


On a political note, Duke Energy is still attempting to destroy the Blue Ridge Mountains with a coal-burning power-plant, smack-dab in the middle of one of the most beautiful areas in the world. I have covered this previously, and the brawl continues, with protesters busted this week also.

Jeanne Brooks writes, accurately:

Although coal-burning power plants are the largest source of carbon emissions in the U.S., that’s not the only concern. In August, U.S. Geological Survey research tested fish in about 300 streams across the nation and found every fish contaminated with mercury.

The smoke-stack emissions of power plants are a major source of the mercury, the EPA said, along with trash burning and cement plants.

Tiny particulates, associated with heart attacks and asthma, among other medical problems, are another power plant emission.

Removing mountain tops by detonation in central Appalachian states like West Virginia and Kentucky to mine coal is an additional, and ugly, factor. The debris has ruined and buried miles of streams.

STOP CLIFFSIDE!

~*~

Pausing for unpaid commercial for the wonderful MOMMIE DOTS line by Augisa & Co. All of their vegan, cruelty-free skin-products are terrific, but this one deserves a special shout-out.

I just sent the awesome Mommie 2 Be Bellie Butta to my daughter, as her pregnant self expands. Bellie Butta is made of aloe, chamomile, lavender and organic coconut oil; highly recommended for you future-mamas out there.

~*~

Locally, the Sara Lee factory is closing and laying off 200 workers. Our warmest positive thoughts, deadhead vibes and heartfelt novenas are with all the folks losing jobs at Christmastime, which just makes me wanna cry:

GREENVILLE, S.C. -- Officials with Sara Lee Corp. said 200 workers in South Carolina will lose their jobs when the company closes its bread factory in Greenville.

Sara Lee officials told the Herald-Journal of Spartanburg that they have to close the bakery in January because they lost a major customer.

Spokesman Mike Cummins said the plant makes frozen dough and bagels for the food service industry. Cummins said a few workers may be offered jobs at other plants, but the rest will get severance packages and help finding another job.

Sara Lee began operating the Greenville plant in 1984 after acquiring it from King's Hawaiian Bakery.

We are with you, folks, and wish you all the best.

~*~

And speaking of Christmas, as always, I am currently inundated with endless holiday music at my workplace. (My definitive Christmas music post is here!) However, I have noticed that John and Yoko's famous "Happy Christmas/War is Over" is pointedly NOT one of the songs being played over and over.

Hmm.

Maybe because the war isn't over?

(If you want it.)

~*~

Speaking of Christmas and capitalism, several different versions of the official DEAD AIR Christmas season kick-off tune have been yanked off YouTube already. Yes, boys and girls, The Grinch is alive and active and wants to CHEAT US OF OUR JAMS!

But I found one anyway, she snorted derisively. Listen now, before they yank this one too!

Come to think of it, they never play this one in public places either. ;)

Father Christmas - The Kinks

[via FoxyTunes / The Kinks]

Happy Birthday, David Cassidy

Left: David Cassidy's wonderfully sexy ROLLING STONE photo, by Annie Leibowitz.


Truth be told, I don't particularly enjoy knowing it's David Cassidy's birthday, but this bit of arcane knowledge remains stuck in my head.

Ellen Goodman once wrote a good piece about old folks' memories. She said she realized what the problem was: we can't erase things like you would from a hard drive. She said we'd have more ROOM to remember stuff if we could erase the detritus, such as old songs from childhood, capitals of countries that no longer exist, and other meaningless gibberish. My God, I now know how true that is. I can't remember the names of any of these new bands and tend to get the names all botched and morphed, i.e. Coldboy and Fall-Out Play rather than Coldplay and Fall-Out Boy. Sigh. Meanwhile, I can tell you that David Cassidy was born today in New York City in 1950. He's 5'8" and his favorite song was The Thrill is Gone by BB King. I do not WANT to retain these nonessential facts, yet inexplicably, I do--since I memorized this junk when I was 12. It shall therefore remain forever, since we have not perfected a delete function for the brain.

In person, David Cassidy was cute as a button, and I shrieked like the hysterical young fan I was. At some point I intend to write about full-fledged teenybopperdom and its undercurrent of violence--as an adult I read Cassidy's book (C'mon, Get Happy: Fear and Loathing on the Partridge Family Bus) in which he confesses his fear that he would be literally torn apart by the screaming-girl-hordes, and I daresay, he could have been. At what point does adulation and recently-turned-on estrogen turn into dangerous mob hysteria? And need I tell you, it's a lot of fun to be in that mob? (Or it was, I certainly wouldn't do it now.) I had the time of my life!

Thanks, it was fun, and happy birthday.
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Listening to: Yo La Tengo - Moby Octopad
via FoxyTunes