Archive | November, 2017

YES LOG Supplemental: Old Time Yes Reviews at Universal Amphitheater Circa 2000 & 2004

30 Nov
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This past week I’ve been prepping up my follow up to my entry of two weeks ago of “When Captain America Throws His Mighty Panty Shield” of sexual harassment in the work place including my near miss at getting booted out of Warner Bros Studios before I was even officially hired. But the notes I was gathering wasn’t beginning to make sense as the news cycle keeps constantly shifting and I was starting to meander in a whole different direction which would probably hinge on something not really work safe to work on and I really don’t want to risk any of my co-workers passing by glancing at what I’m doing on company property, so I think I’m going to curb it to the draft pile until the middle of next month.
Since I haven’t done anything really Yes Log related this year, I just happen to stumble across some mini-reviews in my Yahoo draft file that I wrote that got posted on Yesworld.com pertaining to two concerts I attended at the now long lamented Universal Amphitheater that got bulldozed over for the new Harry Potter ride.
I also offer condolences to the Howe family on the mysterious circumstance that took away the life of Steve Howe’s youngest son, Virgil.   
In the meanwhile, enjoy these diminutive trips back on down high the memory lane.
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Hey,
DOES ANYONE KNOW WHO SPORTCASTER MARV ALBERT’S FAVORITE ROCK BAND IS?
Give up?
WHY IT”S YESSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!
With that being said, I spent last Friday evening attending the thirty plus year old purveyors of progrockers show at the Universal Amphitheater for the first time in three years.
In addition to just having released a spectacular 5 CD box set spanning the width of their thirty plus career called Yes- In a Word 1969– (which has a humdinger of a list price of $79.99 although, when it first came out I got mine at $49.99 over at Best Buy), the current line up consisting of Jon Anderson– vocals, Steve Howe– guitars, Chris Squire-bass (one of the best and innovative bass players ever in existence), and Alan White on drums have managed to ensnare keyboard wizard Rick Wakeman back behind the electronic ivorys once again. As Jon Anderson would put it: “We have secretly referred to this tour as the Coming to Full Circle tour”.
I wholeheartedly to the sunrise agree.
For when I was a spry young lad, I remember going against my parents wishes to get abroad a bus to New York’s Madison Square Garden to see Yes perform when I was just fourteen years old.
This was the exact same line up when I first saw them play. So it brought back many pleasant memories and I still haven’t regretted it since.
Anyway, let me state one thing before I get into the review:
Universal Amphitheater sucks and smells like ass.
Thank you for letting me get that off my chest.
Why the band persists on playing at this venue is beyond AND before me.
Before the band begins to walk on the stage- they play a little excerpt from classical composer Stravinsky’s Firebird Suite. It’s the same exact piece they play in the last animated sequence of Fantasia 2000.
You see, not only is Disney ripping off residuals from Winnie the Pooh, but they are also pillaging Yes.
Yes should sue Disney. I bet Yes fans would find that very entertaining.
As the suite reaches its’ crescendo, the members of Yes each take their place behind their respectful instruments (Anderson has an arsenal of percussive gadgets he can play with when he gets bored during his playmates’ solo spots or has an acoustic guitar close by so he can strum along with off in the corner near White’s drumkit).
And then they launched into a fiery frenzy 40 canon salute of superb musicianship starting with “Siberian Khatru
(Don’t ask me what that last title means, I haven’t understood it myself for the past thirty years.)
They then followed with a rousing cover version of Paul Simon’s “America”. Which by this time, all the wandering stoners finally found their seats and my view was no longer obscured by baffling helpless ushers stumbling in the dark to find these hapless stoners’ seats.
After polite applause, the band recited one of their latest efforts off of last year’s Magnification album called “In the Presence Of.” It was an album recorded with a full symphony orchestra and their first without a keyboard player- so Rick had to fill in with sounds of a full orchestra generated off his keyboards. Stripped down, so to speak. And since I skipped out on the last two tours- to me, this was the official tour behind the album. (I wished Wakeman would’ve tackled the track, Dreamtime).
Then it was on to a couple of songs of which had never been performed for close to thirty years. From the Fragile album: “We Have Heaven” which segued into a song about a group of lost explorers trying to find warmth in the Arctic Circle- “South Side of the Sky.”
Hearing this performed certainly made my night and completely paid for my admission.
Each of those songs I listed above were generally in the eight to ten minute range. Now they were about to embark on a twenty two minute musical venture.
This one was called “The Revealing Science of G O D” A song loosely based on Hindu philosophy and yogi teachings.
At this point, I could smell something stronger in the air other than incense by the time the opening Dance of the Dawn chant was in full swing. How they got that in past security is beyond and before me(sic).
Now let me add that this opening chant of RSOG is quite a mouthful- but yet they pull it off within the first minute and a half of the song both intricately and delicately for the simple reason that they are….well, Yes.
Lots of people were pleased to hear Wakeman play this in concert- because it was the musical direction of this song and others that follow on the Tales from Topographic Oceans album caused him to first leave the band.
But I guess Rick finally got over it.
Next we were treated to the masterful guitar stylings of Mr. Steve Howe of whose appearance nowadays flabbergasted me. I mean, I have memories of this guy being on the cover of my sister’s Teen Beat magazine circa twenty years ago when he was doing pop oriented material for ASIA. Now in his mid-fifties, with granny glasses and just a little more hair than either Ron and Clint Howard put together; putting it mildly- he looks decrepit. Does he have cancer of something? Or is this the folly of choosing to be a vegetarian for the whole of your life?
But what the hell, he sure knows how to play the guitar and in this small delightful acoustic set we walked down memory lane to a little ditty called “Mood For a Day” with thrown in bits of soft Yes melodies  in most particular, the ending to a song called “The Ancient” that was also on the Tales album (I believe some refer to it as “Leaves of Green”).
Steve finished and said it was time for a short fifteen minute intermission.
Then I found out, I needed slightly more than fifteen minutes because when I got back, elfish singer, Jon Anderson had already launched into a new song called “Show Me a Child”
Then Rick took center stage. The crowd cheered as he tore into his wizened solo based on The Six Wives of Henry the VIII. Rick was garbed in his classic shiny silver spaceman suit with detachable cape accessory. It was at this point when the monitors on each side of the stage showed a close up of Rick. Upon seeing what was on the screens instantly horrified me.
Oh shit, was that…Edgar Winter on stage?
The guy who’s suing DC Comics for likeness infringement in Jonah Hex comic books?
But once Rick’s speedy fingers touched the electrifying keys, my fears were quelled when I realized that Rick just simply shaved his beard off. Please Rick, if you’re reading this: GROW IT BACK. It’s scaring the bejeebees out of me.
After Rick had finished, the band then unified themselves to present a rousing rendition of another Fragile classic, “Heart of the Sunrise
Then the title track from the latest album, “Magnification” was performed which segued into another favorite of mine- 1978’s “Don’t Kill the Whale,” that had Chris Squire all a bass pounding and a thumpity.
After that bit was done, Chris Squire took the mike and announced; “We just did a song about mammals, now we’re going to do a song about…FISH.”
Then Chris and Alan propelled themselves into orbit with Chris’s world renowned bass solo with a smattering of other Yes basslines that were known to the audience like Sound Chaser, Tempus Fugit, and On the Silent Wings of Freedom.
After that was over, a harp was brought on stage by a roadie, which is for singer, Jon Anderson to strut his angel strumming skills during the fifteen minute opus, Awaken from the 1977 Rick Wakeman come back album, Going For the One. During the middle of the song- everything all of a sudden got all religious like when Anderson traded his harp licks with Rick’s sampled church organ sound.
Upon retaking the vocals it looked as if Jon Anderson was having another one of those Jesus Christ flashbacks as he stood in silent prayer at the foot of the stage. Or maybe perhaps, it was Deepra Choka?
Wakeman has been quoted in the press as saying this about Anderson before rejoining the band: “ Jon Anderson is the only person in the world who is trying to save the planet by living on another one.”
Makes perfect sense to me.
Then the band left the stage and came back for a double song encore, “Yours Is No Disgrace” and their first world wide hit; an abridged version of the Fragile hit, “Roundabout” at which point towards the end, some strange woman was seen dancing at the edge of the stage with Anderson. I couldn’t figure out who it was. Could have been his daughter, Jade- as I had heard that she recently put an album out on Columbia Records and was probably there to cheerlead for her dad.
Then it was all over…..for now.
You know, I’m going to have start seeing Yes in different venues other than what is offered in LA.
If I recall in my last review back on The Ladder tour, I didn’t like the House of Blues because it was too cramped for my taste with a few individuals here and there breaking out in fisticuffs and drunks throwing up all over the place. Here, the number of seats and people are right, but the place sounds like a freakin’ s*** echoed tunnel. The house amplification just doesn’t do it for me. The show wasn’t too loud or not loud- it was just a muddy and distorted mess. For example: I remember Jon playing with some windchimes during the course of RSOG just for a sweetening effect, but yet you can hear Jon’s windchimes louder that either Steve’s guitar or Rick’s keyboard put together.
Anyway,
Keep star trooping on,
Cary Coatney
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Hey, does anyone remember who Marv Albert’s favorite rock band is?
 Its’ YEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSS!
And so here I am just a few years older since I’ve seen the last Yes concert at the Universal amphitheatre (not one of my favorite venues in the whole world, but easily accessible from my house). although what I got was the abridged version, so to speak.
Earlier in the year, another important Yes event was celebrated in my neck of the San Fernando Valley and that was the in-store signing release party of the U.S version of Rhino’s Ultimate Yes collection and the Yesspeak DVD at the Sherman Oaks Galleria’s Tower Record– a store that was literally 3 short blocks from my house. That was a fun experience, getting up at 4 AM in the morning just to wait in line for a wristband and chat it up with Valley locals about Yes music.
Hmmm, these septuagenarian old rockers are getting closer and closer to where I live, I wonder if I just invite them over for a barbecue or something.
 But that was a full on assault of acoustic serendipity and a fun evening of meet and greet – one of which I will always cherish for my remaining years. I wanted so much to check out the Anaheim show, but for one who doesn’t get around in a SUV and relies on public transport, that is one gig that might as well be as far out of reach as the south side of the sky- so I guess this show I saw Sunday would just as well have been my dog’s Saturday night’s dinner scraps.
  First, I’m grateful that the tour merchandise’s prices weren’t out in the stratosphere. I found a good $15.00 priced t-shirt (probably the lowest I’ve paid at a concert in years – maybe since when I was a snotty nosed 15 year old at the Tormato tour), although I’m kicking myself for not picking up the 35 dollar long sleeved Relayer one (didn’t see it until I left the concert) and the program book was a steal for $10 with a tribute to bootlegged concerts. Surly some appetizer to what will whet our full course of the proposed 3 disc live set that Rhino has scheduled for release in the near future.
   Security precautions made a good portion of the ticket holders late for Dream Theater, as evident by the cattle prodded march to the major pat ‘ho’ down provided by Uni staff members. When I got inside, Dream Theater as just ending a song from one of their older albums before launching into one of their most brilliant instrumental pieces, ‘Stream of Consciousness’ from their latest studio effort, Train of Thought. Haven’t seen the band since the 2000 Metropolis tour ( and there was a lot of stuff from the previous two albums that I haven’t heard live before ), so it was kinda of awkward to see DT occupy such a large stage- I’m so used to seeing them perform at smaller venues such as the House of Blues that they looked as if they were too small to be up there. Mike Portnoy is still, as usual, the star of the show just bitchslappin’ that drum kit away like a galactic warrior roaring to jettison into hyperdrive. The stuff he does to those skins really make my toes curl. And I think Jordan Rudess was purposely in a Yes homage mode that night- some of the timbres coming from his keyboard was sort of Wakemaneques, especially when they went into toe tapping territory on  ‘Solitary Shell’. Damn, I really dig that twirl-a- whirl keyboard stand that Rudess sports on stage. That could be really useful in any keyboard player’s arsenal. Also I’ve noticed that guitar god John P is starting to sprout a bald spot.
   And then it was on to the Steve Howe hair club for men.
   So it was here that I caught my first glimpse of the new designs for Roger Dean Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade. Varilites, camera, action. And if you squint closely, you’ll spot Keanu Reeves popping out of one of Alan White’s  robot bass drum pods like he did in ‘the Matrix’.
   The short abbreviated set opened beautifully with two songs I’ve never heard seen performed live before, ‘Going for the One’ and ‘Sweet Dreams’. Anderson’s voice cracking under the pressure of the high notes- but not by much- just a little tweaking in the Frodo vocal infrastructure, but nothing to be concerned about. There was the first of three guitar/keyboard solo duel frolicking between Wakeman and Howe during the end of “Sweet Dream”. I don’t know who really won but Howe and Wakeman would butt  heads again at the conclusion of South Side of the Sky and Starship Trooper.
   Unfortunately the two opening numbers would be the only highlight of the show for me. The rest of the show with the exception of the acoustic interlude, was just a ho hum, been there, done that kind of extravaganza for me. And the reason why  this obtuse dread of melancholy washes over me is because I look at most of the set list and it’s BEEN THERE, DONE THAT. I’ve already heard Yours is No Disgrace dozens of times. The same with Awaken and heck, I don’t even no longer want to go to places where And You and I have been – that was my cue for a ciggie break.
   It would be nice if the band could take a year or two off from touring – even though the twilight years are beckoning over the horizon and the risk of Steve Howe kneeling over any day now becoming more inevitable ( but it was a relief to know that the Geritol was giving him more pep than usual that night) just to sit back and record one new last record with Wakeman- even if it was to say good-bye and disappear into the sunset- it would be the honorable way – with Rick on board the sailing ship to nowhere leaving at any place.
   Please guys, new some new material to tour behind- or the franchise is going to wind up as bad as the Moody Blues where you will no longer need a scorecard to predict the set list. I gave up on that band when Hayward and Lodge gave poor Patrick Moraz the heave ho.
  I wouldn’t want the same to happen to my favorite minstrels in the world.
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When Captain America Throws His Mighty Panty Shield

15 Nov

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America – it sucks.

And believe it or not, you only have Captain America to blame.

You have him to blame for Donald Jackass Trump. Colin Kaepernick taking a knee. The Mandalay Bay shooter.  Kim Jong Un’s tinkertoy pea shooters. Russia collusion. Big fat fucking hairy slob Harvey Weinstein going down on you to lick your pussy and Kevin Spacey sneakingly manuevering himself in a crowded Shakespearean theater to grab your genitals.

All of it.

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Fucking. Captain. America’s. Fault!!

Some of you reading who mostly are here for the Harry Perzigian or the Yes Logs may or may not be familiar with the plot lines of the latest big mega event crossover that Marvel concocted in order to bring in new readers and to jack up the prices of all their titles while insulting the integrity and the wallets of die-hards long time fans who just happen to be fascist supporters of Trump.

The premise of the perplexing, but yet best selling mini-series is, to borrow a sentence or two from the Wikipedia’s entry:

The storyline deals with Hydra’s takeover of the Marvel Universe after Captain America is revealed to be one of their agents ever since the sentient Cosmic Cube Kobik affected his memories upon Red Skull ‘s clone using her powers on him. This causes the rest of the superheroes to join forces and rebel against their former leader and friend to prevent the world from falling under Hydra’s control.”

As the mini-series was getting underway, certain unruly people were going fucking ballistic on website comment sections while social media was having a meltdown going so far as to be calling for writer (and at one time, a city of Cincinnati councilman) Nick Spencer’s ballsack to be dangling off a lance, because the similarities of prominent Nazism making their longtime encore performance in the USA since the mid 1940’s was becoming all undeniable substantial in today’s ugly side of everyday existence all because of the inexperienced orangutan was a ‘breath of fresh air’ to the political establishment.

That is, if you enjoy the aroma of monkey shit in the morning.

Why do these totalitarian cattle have anything to fear when a mirror is held to their faces? Was it because they had their little feelings hurt when a black guy finally had a swing at bat of running our country  – THAT only pleasant alternative left to quell that near decade of racist thinking was to put a 70 year old babyman with no political demeanor or experience to be put in charge?

Whatever the fucking reason – NOBODY wants tradition messed with, nor allusions that a beloved hero of comics and movies to be depicted as a dirty dealing double agent standing at the beck and call of some foreign government barking orders for him to commit treason against his home country.

But that’s exactly what we have today IN REALITY: jerk-offs, including the 70 year old reality television show guy with ZERO POLITICAL EXPERIENCE and three fucking business bankruptcies to his fake name getting spiffs from foreign enablers to hoist his own business interests.

But how can you condense it all down to a mini time out?

280 character Twitter rants? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?

The reason why I don’t have a twitter account to my name is because I require UNLIMITED CHARACTER rants.

However the slime trail of social incorrectness is increasingly exponentially. People with no knowledge of fucking anything consider themselves to be experts of EVERYTHING. All of a sudden, your certificate of brain surgery rewarded to you from Phoenix University gives you immediate carte blanche to tell someone who’s worked probably a decade or so in achieving a master’s degree from a higher university of that self same  caliber to tell SOMEONE TO GO FUCK THEMSELVES ON A FACEBOOK POST over how their stupid gorilla of a candidate who couldn’t fucking peel a banana or throw shit without help of his own kids, let alone understand a goddamn single thing about the Bill of Rights or the US Constitution has to relearn the alphabet in order to spell his own signature on a new law to be passed.

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And the merriness seems to have spread to other industries as well, including my own industry which is the entertainment industry.  I constantly monitor a website called deadline.com for updated entertainment news. I have it up all the time at work while I’m prepping up residual checks for entertainment professionals constantly being refreshing it. Regardless of whether or not, we have a pretend awful reality show personality pretending to be siting on the throne, there’s really no reason for journalists and columnists that dominate the website to keep feeding us junk on politics when all you want to know what is the latest multimillion dollar movie deal is being made with major comic book properties being turned to life  – but they keep getting posted and thus it opens the floodgates of the comments section being monitored and ambushed by Drudge Report denizens knee deep in Flyoverville shit while throwing a Papa John Pizza party airstream trailer parks who think they know more about the entertainment industry than a actual someone who’s been working in it for the past fucking twenty years bitching and whining over why Tim Allen didn’t get invited.

That’s the clown mentality of this nation, folks. All of sudden, everyone’s a fucking expert except for the guy who puts himself through the actual 8 – 12 hour workday experience. You could go as far as Harry Knowles, the creator of Ain’t It Cool News, when shitheads from rural Texas once gather around  to dictate to you what is or what not should be a trendy Hollywood genre picture and make unsubstantiated threats to studio executives  if their dream production doesn’t stop from suffering in development hell for another day.

But I’m going all in different directions, why waste any more breath on another orange hairy pawed crotch grabbing sexual harasser?

I’ve been through the wringer. More than a decade or so I almost nearly had my entertainment industry career cut short back while I was temping for Warner Bros when a female ‘rival temp colleague’ also competing for my job to become permanent thought of a clever scheme of cheating her way to the finish line.

Her name was Jennifer Somebody. She came highly recommended to my department – IF my rival was sent over from a employment agency that was running a strip joint on the side. From day one when she first arrived, roughly a few months after I’d already been briefed and situated of what my job in the MIS – Script Services job would entail ( I was placed in charge of taking care of invoices for studio services and travel & expenses), she came roaring in cracking wise of sexual innuendos towards me probably because she believed that I was the youngest guy in the department who could probably withstand a few major blue ball false alarms.

Since she lived somewhere in Canoga Park and my house in Sherman Oaks was on her way, she offered me a lift home in her car and throughout the trip, she did nothing but whine about how it was her birthday the next day and nobody cared. Being nice about it and telling her that I was moonlighting as a independent comic book writer and publisher on the side  (having just published my first real professional looking product, The Deposit Man & the Great Gate of Mortality Act 1 through Brenner Printing out in Texas), I volunteered to make sure I got her a gift for tomorrow to help celebrate..

Until she quickly darted her face in my direction and said remotely, “Yeah? Are you going to give me sex?

I couldn’t believe that I just heard that.

I looked at her shocked and really tried to downplay my game face going all red  (because she was a hot looking blonde. NOT that I wouldn’t have minded), ‘no of course not. I just met you today. I MEANT I’ve got a new book printed and I was going to sign a copy for you.’

So I brought into work, my three warped wares that were so far done in collaboration with artist Larry Nadolsky to give her and soon enough, she became my lunch partner at work and usually during our trips down to the local Del Taco, she would indulge me with stories and pieces of her past which usually ended up with the happily ever after ending of her waking up in a jail cell from blacking out the night before: which translated to this: she used to work at strip joints to make ends meet by sucking dick and getting fucked up the ass – BUT on the plus side, she made sure her data entry and Excel skills remained satisfactory in all the office pools that she had thrown her name in.

HOWEVER tit for tat, my gentlemanly approach to savior-faire was really no different than hers. I admitted to her of places that I’d like go test my G string bang theory.  I once lived in a gorgeous house in Sherman Oaks owned by a cast member from the original Wizard of Oz film and I lived to flaunt it by inviting one night stands and girls off the internet to that house, and I guess what she was slowly getting pissed off with me about was my asking her opinion on what certain call girls to recommend looking for in the back pages of the LA Weekly (that’s a weekly alternative newspaper distributed free in the city of Los Angeles).

I don’t know if I insulted her by telling her flat out that ‘you’re my work colleague, so there’s no way I would want to get together with you socially- because – (to drive in the nail of the final coffin of our working relationship) that’s how my stepdad and mother met – AT work. And I grew up hating that motherfucker who came in and married my mother who thought he earned the right to order me around and tell me what to do.’

So after I told her my personal vehemence towards office romances, those lunch outings we took together came to an immediate halt.

One day, we were both called in by my boss and were told to go down to the main lot and take a series of assessments that they needed in case we were lucky enough to obtain permanent employment. We were selected to join a few other candidates who were also applying at various departments

I don’t know where it all went wrong. Even though there were eight of us cramped in that one tiny room at a warehouse building sequestered a few blocks from the Burbank Airport, we sat on opposite sides of the room barely talking to each other until the boss asked if it was ok if I rode down with her.  All I said to her as I got in the passenger side of her car was (I’ve should’ve just taken the local bus down to the lot) this compliment, ‘hey you look as if you’ve been working out. Your thighs look real muscular.’  She just gave me that sneer again.

Maybe she’s just having a shit day, OR she’s just repulsed for me to be all up in her personal space.  But, I thought of something that might cheer her up.

My knowledge of the studio.

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So after the testing took place on the lot right in the very same building where I had my one week orientation of testing to be eligible to work for the MIS Studio and Script Service Department right before the tragic events of 9/11 happened, I remember that Laramie Street, the make shift western era town where many Warner Bros classic westerns were filmed, including the classic Maverick television series that starred James Garner was in preparation to be bulldozed down. This was technically Jennifer’s real first visit to the lot- she’s never gone past the HR building on Alameda and Olive. So I told her, ‘Jennifer, we got to check this out, this perfect replica of a wild west town. They’re going to wreck it down next week and build new office bungalows in its’ place, We gotta say goodbye to it.’

She was very reluctant to go, but I playfully tugged on her arm to motion her to follow me. So I showed her the sights, going over to a horse barn, a hotel and saloon, and a sheriff station with all the props being prepared to be packed away. Just before Jennifer came aboard, my department came down for a barbeque one afternoon. I felt bad if Jennifer didn’t get to experience a part of this studio’s history that was being wiped from existence.

But she wasn’t really impressed. So we drove back and didn’t say a word for the rest of the way.

So a week goes by and we resume our natural working colleague ways.

Then one day, I’m unexpectedly called into my boss’ office who happens to be a gorgeous blonde in her own right, and she says to me: “Jennifer says that on the way to your assessments a couple of weeks back, that you squeezed her thigh in the car.”

I defiantly flat out told her, ‘no fucking way. I don’t hit on women in the workplace. That’s not my scene. She’s making things up. If anything, when she first started here, SHE MADE passes at me and had stopped talking to me when I rebuked her advances.”

My supervisors – who were both women, backed me up. They’ve grown to known me as a respectful subordinate who respected his bounds. I was thrilled to be working for Warner Bros. It’s always been one of lifelong goals. The only time, I’ve gotten in trouble with them was when I wandered away from a lunch date with them on the Ranch to hang out on the set with the actresses of the Batman spin-off show the Birds of Prey that only lasted for a half of season and they saw me get a hug from actress Ashley Scott who played the role of The Huntress.

Not longer than a few days fly by, IT WAS exactly on a Thursday. Me and a co-worker are having a ‘death pool’ bet on what celebrity was going to croak next. We were taking bets on how long it would take Bob Hope to die. A week? A month? A half a year maybe?

Jennifer wanted to play too. She injected herself into the conversation that was occurring across the room from her. Since the whole ‘joke bet’ was my idea, I just rudely shot back at her (because I was fucking pissed that she concocted that whole ‘squeezing my thigh’ story to my boss) – “ I WASN’T TALKING TO YOU!!

Jennifer freaking snapped in front of everyone in the room and started giving me the middle finger while yelling FUCK YOU over and over to me

Me being the undisputed gift of defection. My response to that was:

Honey, don’t embarrass yourself in front of everyone in this room by showing off your IQ score, ok??’

Gorgeous blonde boss came running into the room, baffled by what had just happened and wonder WHY the reason she was rapidly charging out of the building, crying her eyes out.

My boss looks to me and says to me: “ you know, you two are like oil and water’ before she went following Jennifer.

But Jennifer never came back. She got in her car and immediately sped out of the parking lot and later that afternoon, her agency called and said that she no longer wanted to work at Warner Bros.

After a year had gone by and the dust had settled,  In February of 2003, I was hired by Warner Bros and I lasted there for another two and a half years before I was laid off and half my department was dismantled and sent to India.

But let me tell you, if my name were DC editor Eddie Berzanga and that incident occurred on my watch in this day of 2017, I would’ve been drummed out and told to pack my shit up immediately.

There will be more to discuss in a couple of weeks.

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BUT know this: at the end of Secret Empire, Cap’s friends didn’t lose hope of abandoning him and helped crush the Cosmic Cube that was making Captain America getting his Hitler jollies of turning the United States into a racist fascist country – everything nearly magically turns back to the normal Marvel Universe that we usually know and love or abhor when they put loser concepts such as Marvel’s Agents of SHIELD back into television production..

However, in real life when a poser admits on tape that what women really enjoyed is to have their gine-gines grabbed and THEN is still elected president of the United States.

That’s not fucking normal.