Blue Jeans

Driving to breakfast today Kitty Kat said to me, "whoever says blue jeans are the most comfortable has never worn sweats...." I have to agree with her. Other than Mr. Levi Strauss himself, and maybe Mr. Jordach, et al, who the heck came up with the notion that blue jeans are the most comfortable thing to wear? They tend to be tight, scratchy, don't bend and in general are just NOT COMFORTABLE. Kitty kat and my little dude like sweats or "soft pants" as my little dude calls them. I find work pants, slacks or khakis, to be more comfortable than jeans. Is it just us? My little dude is more extreme than most; either "soft pants" or "soft little pants" (aka: shorts) is all he wears. Smart guy he is... why pretend blue jeans are comfortable when they just aren't!?

Yes, back in 6th grade it made sense to have jeans because we played ball on asphalt playgrounds and slid. What idiots!? Anyway, needed the triple layers of Toughskins to last more than one wearing! Lucky I grew up in SoCal so I could wear my OP's all year. We will get into that another day.

In conclusion, what do all my many readers think? Are jeans really comfortable or is that some marketing thing that Levi Strauss got us to believe?

Peace out.

Stu Nahan - R.I.P.

As I peddled away on the stationary bike this morning at the Ranch I was listening to the guys next to me rather than my Ipod. I had planned to give you a detailed report on this one guy that probably would win Mr. SacTown (and I don't mean that in a good way). Dude was 50ish, gray hair, gray goatee, overweight (mostly beer belly looking but he might have played high school football) and had his son there with him (12ish years old and pudgy just like pops). Another 50ish year old guy comes over to shoot the breeze with Mr. SacTown. "What you doing for new year's" yada, yada, yada.... Mr. SacTown replies, "I am staying home... it's amateur night out there." He continues, "people out there who shouldn't be, aren't used to drinking, can't hold their booze and then they are driving around.... amateur night." Well the SacTownGuy does agree, in general, that this theory may be true on new year's eve I am not sure it's a positive thing to brag about you being a professional drinker when you are 50. With few exceptions you should not be boasting that you are an alckey. That's great in college but not great when you a working professional (unless you are a professional "entertainer" of course), raising a kid, etc.... The SacTownGuy, for one, can't drink. Shoot, I had 2 beers last night at a holiday party and felt hung over this morning. I am comfortable with that. However, I can not go on talking about Mr. SacTown today as I have another more important topic. As I flipped through the paper I found an obit worth pasting below for your reading.

For some reason, Stu Nahan has always been claimed by SacTown as one of their own. I never understood this as I always thought of him as an LA sportscaster. Along with all the greats: Jim Hill, Fred Roggin (ok, well he wasn't great but he did have a national show for a long time) and of course a young Keith Olberman working at independent channel 5 (KTLA) for many years. I have to get side tracked here to tell you about the time Olberman reported live from Westwood that Coach Wooden was coming out of retirement to coach the Bruin's. This was about 1983 or so when the team was down. Oh ya, it was April 1st of that year. A very elaborate and believable story to this young lad.

Back to the point, the Stu Nahan obit is full of good trivia; some SacTown related (he actually did work here until 1968) but most LA related. It's a good read for those who didn't flip through the paper today.

I can almost hear Stu talking about Clubber Lang ringside....


Sportscaster Stu Nahan solidified his broadcasting fame with a number of movie roles, most notably in Sylvester Stallone’s “Rocky” films.
Stu Nahan, 81; longtime L.A. sportscaster
Sportscaster Stu Nahan solidified his broadcasting fame with a number of movie roles, most notably in Sylvester Stallone’s “Rocky” films.
By Larry Stewart, Los Angeles Times Staff Writer December 27, 2007
Stu Nahan, a onetime minor-league hockey goalie who delivered sports reports on Los Angeles television and radio for decades, has died. He was 81. Nahan died Wednesday at his Studio City home, after battling lymphoma, a form of cancer, since January, his family said.In 1968, Nahan began doing nightly sports reports on KABC-TV Channel 7. He moved to KNBC-TV Channel 4 in 1977 and to KTLA-TV Channel 5 in 1988, retiring from television in 1999. Nahan also appeared in a number of movies and television episodes. After landing a bit part in the 1971 TV movie "Brian's Song," he had a string of film roles as a sports commentator, most notably in Sylvester Stallone's series of "Rocky" films. He also played himself in "Fast Times at Ridgemont High" (1982), interviewing the character Jeff Spicoli -- played by Sean Penn -- in a dream sequence. Nahan was also a radio sports talk show host at KABC-AM (790) and most recently worked on Dodger pre- and postgame radio shows on KFWB-AM (980).A native of Los Angeles, Nahan moved at age 2 with his mother to Canada, where he grew up playing hockey. A star goalie at McGill University in Montreal, he signed a contract with the Toronto Maple Leafs of the National Hockey League in 1946. He was assigned to the minor-league Los Angeles Monarchs, who through the early 1950s played at the Pan Pacific Auditorium.When the Monarchs folded in 1952, so did Nahan's pro hockey career -- which, he admitted, wasn't a promising one."The real reason I quit was because I had a terrific sunburn on the back of my neck, which I got because the red light was on most of the time I was in the net," he would quip about the signal for a goal scored in hockey.He found work driving a delivery truck, and one day in 1954 he came across Bob Kelley, a prominent sports announcer who was the original voice of the National Football League's L.A. Rams.Kelley, recalling Nahan's gift of gab when he was playing for the Monarchs, offered to teach him the broadcasting business.Nahan worked as a gofer for Kelley during broadcasts of the Pacific Coast League's Los Angeles Angels, who played at the old Wrigley Field in L.A. "I kept the stats and got coffee, and every once in a while I'd get to broadcast an inning," Nahan recalled in an interview with former Times columnist John Hall in 1980. "The first year, I worked for nothing. The next season I got $50 a week. I had it made," he said. "I got special assignments driving visiting clubs to the ballpark. I'd bus the team to the park, do my radio work and then drive the team back to the hotel."In 1956, Nahan landed a play-by-play job on radio with the minor league Modesto Reds.In December of that year he happened to see the first newscast of a new Sacramento television station. Nahan called the station the next day to complain about the sports segment and ended up getting his first job doing nightly TV sports reports on KCRA, an NBC affiliate.While in Sacramento he was also the host of a children's TV program, appearing as "Skipper Stu." He would show cartoons while piloting his boat, the Channel Tender, accompanied by an octopus puppet, O.U. Squid.Nahan later moved to Philadelphia to host a children's show as "Captain Philadelphia" on WKBS. He also did play-by-play for the Flyers hockey team and Eagles pro football team.In 1968 Nahan returned to Los Angeles and began doing sports reports at Channel 7. Nine years later he moved to Channel 4 to replace Ross Porter, who left the station to become a play-by-play announcer for the Dodgers.In 1986, Channel 4 chose not to renew Nahan's contract, and Fred Roggin became the station's lead sportscaster.Nahan landed a job doing sports on the KABC radio morning show "Ken and Bob Company." The next year he replaced Bud Furillo on the afternoon "Sportstalk" show while continuing his role on "Ken and Bob."In 1988 Nahan was hired at Channel 5 to replace Keith Olbermann, who left for KCBS-TV Channel 2. Nahan continued with his radio work for a while as well.By September 1997, Nahan's role at Channel 5 had been reduced to periodic commentaries and occasional assignments, and a few months later Tony Hernandez was hired to replace Nahan as the station's main sportscaster.In 1999, Nahan was dismissed altogether.He twice served as the president of the Southern California Sports Broadcasters organization, first in 1990 and '91 and then continuously from 1996.Nahan is survived by his wife, Sandy; daughter Kathleen Derington; sons Mick and K.C.; six grandchildren; and seven great-grandchildren.Plans for a memorial service are pending.

Tests for Life

When does it end? When do we get to stop taking TESTS? As a child tests were never ending as you envisioned high school and then college in front of you and knew there would be countless tests. You took tests in school, you took pop quizzes, you took physical tests, you took the SAT, and now days kids have to take a test to graduate high school. Plus, getting your driver's license; that's a biggie (I got a 70% but that was enough to get my license!). Then in college you take tests constantly. You finish college and maybe you go to grad school; another test there, beit the LSAT, GRE or MCAT.

The SacTownGuy went to law school which was 3 years of hellish tests followed by a 3 full-day test from beyond hell. Studying for finals during law school was always 2 weeks of freakish study hours and horendous tests. Before taking my first exams people, in law school, talked about "C you at graduation." After that first round of tests I realized a batch of C's would be just perfect with me! An occasionaly B disrupted by 2.0 GPA throughout law school. I still remember hanging out with my homie JC after finishing my first semester's final exams. The two of us managed to spend $125 at Steamer's in 'Luma and I don't remember buying drinks for anybody except the two of us that night! Plus, my girlfriend was a waitress there so presumably we didn't pay for every drink; did we? Blew off a little steam that night and the next day... all day. Gosh that was one of worst hangovers EVER.

Navigate through 3 years of that and you take the bar exam. Who came up with that doozey? I still remember the night of the 3rd day of that bar exam... well, I remember until about 8:00 and not much more after that. After 10 weeks of studying from morning 'til midnight and then 3 full days of incredible mental exhaustion I let off a whee bit of steam. Thanks to my homie from North Carolina, D-la-B, I had a bottle of Jack and thanks to my homie Dlatz I had a box of cigars. Those two, and a few margaritas at Chevy's on the River, didn't blend so well! The next morning my little homie, the Glaze, dropped me off at SacTown airport with a couple of garbage bags so I could make it to LA. Who the hell plans a morning flight the day after the bar exam? I weighed in at 159 that afternoon in LA; was probably 165 24 hours earlier!

You pass the bar and you must be done taking tests forever, right? Then the SacTownGuy took a couple of other professional exams like the Utah Bar (easy in comparison to the Cali bar exam but you don't want to fail it) and then you are done, right? Then the SacTownGuy wanted to become a notary. Ok, the notary exam is not hard but you sure don't want to fail it, right? Then this past summer the SacTownGuy decided he wanted to become a certified specialist, as determined by the state bar, and that meant another day long test; on a Sunday for gosh sake! Who the heck schedules a 6.5 hour test for a Sunday and only offers it every two years!?

Today's mail brought good news... the SacTownGuy passed the certified specialist exam and as soon as I get in all the references I will be able to call myself a certified specialist in my area of law. Is that it? Will there be more?

When will these tests end? What's next? I assume when I am 85 I will have to take a driver's test again? I think I am ready for it....

Banned in the U.S.A.

I decided to go for a morning run this morning. Buurrrrrrrr, it was cold out. 30-35 degrees? This all in preparation for the SacTownGuy's trip to Maui in February for his big 4-0 celebration. That is, I love running outside in Maui so am starting to run a little now to be in shape to run everyday while in Maui. I don't want to make this blog all about rap music because that plays a pretty small part in the SacTownGuy's life but... this morning on the Ipod an old classic came on that I thought you all should know about (or be reminded about in case you once knew).

Back about 1986 Luther "Luke Skywalker" Campbell (later changed to "Luke" when George Lucas sued him - yes, really) was selling rap albums out of the trunk of his beat up car in Florida. Four years later he had a private plane, a recording studio, etc.... His first hit was "Throw The Dick" which was followed by We Want Some P_____." We Want Some... was an international mega-hit. I remember visiting my boy Footloose in Spain in 1989. We went to a house party where all the ladies were dancing (I was trying to take over the single turn table from the DJ but with the language barrier it was tough). The Two Live Crew came on at one point and all the ladies were singing along, "heeyyyy, we want some p____ ." It was quite funny. Anyway, Two Live Crew were HUGE back between '86 and '92 or so. They put out several albums which sold tons.

As the song, Banned in the U.S.A. tells us though Luke put out a clean and a "nasty" version of his album, though he put a parental advisory on his album cover, though he only let in adults to his shows, though he did everything he could to comply with (and even go well beyond then existing) laws and standard procedures, the Man came after Luke and the boys. The Man arrested Luke performing on stage, arrested record store owners who sold the album, etc... and all of that in Florida; Broward county (his home) even! We will talk about Florida politics some other time.

Luke pounced on this! He very quickly produced a single, followed by whole album, to the Born in the USA song, with his special (but clean) lyrics. I bought the single at Tower Records as they sold like hotcakes right next to the cash register. I still have that CD along with my 600 other rap CD's. A CLASSIC! Yes, Two Live Crew put out some songs with some NASTY lyrics; not even sure I can repeat them here without you seeing my blush. Me So Horny was the top hit off the album that was the final straw that brought the Man out. However, as Luke points out in the Banned in the USA song "this is not China, this is not Russia, this is not that country where the wall came down... this is America...." I just love the internet, rather than my paraphrasing with my average memory, I just found the words and will paste down below the Wikipedia entry which also points out that Bruce Springsteen approved the use of Born in the USA for this song! What a country!

Reminds me, that during the Two Live Crew's heyday, some old white guys in Florida put out an album called "Two Live Jews" but I actually refrained from buying it. Yes, really there was such an album and yes really I didn't buy it.



Banned in the U.S.A.
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia


Banned in the U.S.A. is the fourth album by 2 Live Crew. Released July 13, 1990 on Luke/Atlantic Records. Includes the hits "Do The Bart" and the title track.
The eponymous title single is a reference to the decision in a court case that their album As Nasty As They Wanna Be was obscene (the decision would later be overturned on appeal.) It uses the music from the song Born in the U.S.A. to which Bruce Springsteen gave them permission.
Displeased over the decision of Florida Governor Bob Martinez who, on being asked to examine the album, decided it was obscene and recommended local law enforcement take action against it, and over the subsequent action of Broward County, Florida sheriff Nick Navarro who arrested local record store owners on obscenity charges for selling the group's albums, and the subsequent arrest of members of the group on obscenity charges, the group included the song "Fuck Martinez," which also includes multiple repetitions of the phrase "fuck Navarro." To prevent the possibility of being sued by either Martinez or Navarro, the group found two other men with the same names, and got them to sign releases.

Banned In The U.S.A. lyrics[Government of the people]
[For the people]
[By the people]
News reporter:
Earlier today in Broward County, appalling court
judges upheld the previous
ruling to ban the sale of Miami rap group the 2 Live Crew's
double-platinum album, "Nasty As They Wanna Be," in Broward County.
"We think it's the banning of free speech. First Amendment protects
material, resultably."
Luke (being interviewed):
"We don't talk about, uh, harrassing and sexually brutalizing women in
my music, man!"
"We don't do that in my music, man! I'm tired of you saying that!"
Verse 1: Fresh Kid Ice
We've got white-collar people trying to grab our style
Saying we're too nasty and we're 2 Live
Corrupted politicians playing games
Bringing us down to boost their fame
They must be joking thinking we will fall
But they're like flies movin' the wall
We stand tall from beginning to end
With the help from fans and all our friends
Freedom of speech will never die
For us to help, our ancestors died
Don't keep thinking that we will quit
We'll always stand and never sit
We're 2 live, 2 black, 2 strong
Doing the right thing, and not the wrong
So listen up, y'all, to what we say
We won't be banned in the U.S.A.!
Reporter:
"Luke's concerts are for adults"
Luke (being interviewed):
"If it's an adult show you have to be 18"
"Our record is a year old, but with all the publicity, there's a lot of
people ... curiosity is around!"
"We're selling records to a totally different audience."
"I take a precaution that nobody else has not stickered my album, I made
TWO versions"
Verse 2: Brother Marquis
The First Amendment gave us freedom of speech
So what you sayin'? It didn't include me?
I like to party and have a good time
There's nothin' but pleasure written in our rhyme
I know you don't think we'll ever quit
We've got some people on our side who won't take your lip
We're gonna do all the things we wanna do
You can't stand to see a brother get as rich as you
This is the 90s and we're conin' on strong
Sayin' things and doin' things that you're sayin's wrong
Wisen up, 'cause on Election Day,
We'll see who's banned in the U.S.A.!
[The United States of America]
[Government of the people]
[The United States of America]
[For the people]
[The United States of America]
[By the people]
[By the people]
Luke (being interviewed):
"The show in Hollywood, that was for 21-and-over people, they had police
out there, cars of the people coming in the club, and they still
arrested us for performing in front of adults!"
Luke's speech:
What is this?? Is this not America? This is not China! This is not
Russia! This is not the place where they brought down the wall, this is
America! We have the right to say what we want to say, we have the right
to do what we want to do, and what I do in my house,
you might not do in your house!
So what I do in my house is my business! And the simple fact
of it all is that we are BONDED by the First Amendment! We have the
freedom of EXPRESSION! We have the freedom of CHOICE! And you,
Chinese, black, green, purple, Jew,
YOU have the right to listen to whoever
you want to, and even the 2 Live Crew! So all you right-wingers, left-
wingers, bigots, Communists, there IS a place for you in this world!
Because this is the land of the FREE, the home of the BRAVE! And 2 Live
is what we are!

Saturday Morning

Normally waking up at 4:20 makes a 6:00/6:30 Saturday morning seem like a very late sleep-in. This morning no different. Woke up feeling great, did 30 minutes on the stationary bike, nice hot shower, and then sit here reading the paper on-line.... Now at 7:30 I am greeted by little dude who just wants to watch some cartoons. No time to talk to me but he is sitting close to me which is nice. Oh, it's a My Little Pony commercial right now. He it watching intently but if I say anything to him he will pretend to not be interested. Kids are funny! The little girl should be up soon and then mommy after that. It's about the same every Saturday. The little girl will come out of her room fully dressed. Recently she has been sleeping in her clothes she intends to wear the next day. Let's just say her matching skills are about like her daddy's back about 7th or 8th grade when I first tried to match clothes. I remember the day I wore an all red Polo shirt and all red OP shorts; they matched! Lucky I didn't wander off campus that day as the local Crips might not have taken kindly to my attire! The little girl doesn't match much and lately has wanted to wear a fancy dress with pants underneath; often, a shirt or two also. The first big decision of the day is to go out for pancakes or stay home? Another half hour to an hour before we have to decide....

The Rodium

The SacTownGuy still loves his old rap music. To my many readers who don't like rap you might find some of this interesting and if not well I will try write something more exciting for you next... maybe a post about my very wealthy clients from Texas with oil, horses and that deep Texas drawl.

Back in late '86 my man Vinny introduced me to the Rodium Swap Meet down in LA. We hit it for the first time at either Thanksgiving or Xmas break during that freshman year of college. Met up with Vinny at his crib up in Ladera Heights and headed down to the Rodium with my homie D-latz. I don't have to say much as the LA Times article below gives a better picture of the swap meet then I could ever do. EVERY time we went home to LA for the next few years we always went to the Rodium; typically every Saturday or Sunday morning to see if he Steve had a new mix tape for sale. Ten bucks each for a TDK D-60 tape with fresh mixes. Often with intros by Dr. Dre and the boys. YES, I still have most of them. They should be digitized and on my Ipod real soon.

About that same time my cousin Drew was a senior at Taft High, out in the Valley (very far from Compton). I told him about this great new rap group (guys who later would form NWA). He told me, a couple of guys in his senior class at Taft were rappers. I said, "No dude, these rappers are BIG time that I am talking about...." Later we learned that the two guys he knew were O'Shea "Ice Cube" Jackson and Terry "T-Bone" Gray.

O'Shea did not show up to the 10 year reunion but pimping T-Bone did. About that time he was with the rap group Mack-10. I am told he had the pimp hat on and a wad of cash; buying drinks for everybody. If only O-Shea would have shown up!

Fast forward a few more years and my little cuz, Little Mr. S, was slanging some commercial real estate in Beverly... Hills that is. He had a deal where O'Shea's company was renting an office space. Little Mr. S found himself in the same elevator with Mr. Jackson, or is that Mr. Cube, and he said to Cube, "I have to tell you my brother played high school football with you...." After telling Cube the name, Mr. Cube replied, "Oh ya, Drew... he was hard." Of course, Cube could have said this about anybody right... however, he probably remembers Drew since Drew beat out Cube for starting fullback on the 10th grade football team. Cube then said, "yup... he played fullback and middle linebacker...." The truth is Drew was hard (and still is except for his flabby belly and balding head - just kidding dawg) and it's nice that Mr. Cube remembered. Speaking of "hard" how you like tough guy from Compton, O'Shea and his senior year yearbook photo?

Great LA Times article below if you are really bored today and want to learn all about the Rodium, NWA, Ice Cube, etc....

NWA: Straight Outta Comptonby TERRY MCDERMOTT of the LA Times 4/14/02

Parental Advisory: Explicit LyricsNo One Was Ready for N.W.A's 'Straight Outta Compton.' But It Sold 3 Million Records and Transformed the Music Industry.

By TERRY MCDERMOTT of the Los Angles Times
The beginning of the end of life as we know it occurred here, on a beaten patch of asphalt out in the vast, flat no man's land of greater Los Angeles. The beginning of the end came unannounced. There was no salute, no blast of trumpets or heavenly choir. It came in the sunken heat of summer at an abandoned drive-in movie theater called the Roadium.
The Roadium was graced by a grand arched gate that, in its day, promised entry to whatever secret kingdom Hollywood could conjure. By the summer of 1985, though, the drive-in, its dreams and innocent magic are relics of a long-gone past. The dull blur of south county towns the Roadium served--Torrance, Lawndale, Hawthorne, Gardena, Carson and Compton--are staging areas in a decade-long descent into what feels at times like a war zone; and at times is. Street corners are outposts in a new crack economy, boulevards battle lines dividing endless variations of Bloods and Crips, usually from one another, always from themselves. With the drive-in theater gone, the stuff of dreams has been traded for just plain stuff. The Roadium's arch now frames an open-air bazaar piled high with cheap Chinese toys, one-size-fits-all Sri Lankan socks, used car batteries, secondhand tool chests, last year's Barbie dolls and canned peas with last week's use-by date. The Roadium is a swap meet.

The first thing you notice are the people. The place is so jammed you wonder how they ever got along without it. At the moment, the biggest crowd surrounds a little stall just inside the old arch. Kids are lined up two, three deep along the perimeter of the stall, whooping and hollering. A lanky Japanese guy, whippet-thin and wired, presides behind a homemade plywood table in the middle of the noise. The table is stacked high with records, LPs and those 12-inch singles that disc jockeys spin. He's got more of the same displayed on a 20-foot-wide pegboard behind him.

He's got so much product that some days, days when the heat is so thick you could lean against it, the table legs sink an inch into the melting asphalt. The whole place isn't much bigger than a walk-in closet, and it's hot in every way imaginable. The air's an oven, the kids fired by the desire for the new.

"Yo, Steve. Whatcha got?"
"Stevie, Stevie, whatcha got new, man?"

Steve Yano is the man of the moment, an East L.A. guy who has somehow swapped a career as a high school guidance counselor to become the uncrowned king of a swap meet music underground. He has turned his table into the hippest, hottest record store on the West Coast. He's got everything--all the new East Coast hip-hop, the best old-school R&B, all the L.A. dance jams, that locking-and-popping stuff you see on "Soul Train." He has stuff nobody else has, stuff nobody else has ever heard of. He has stuff so new it doesn't even exist yet (not officially), stuff with no labels, no packaging, just the stamp of the new.

It is the new that tugs at the ears of the man who will deliver the beginning of the end of life as we know it. He's a little guy, 5-5, 5-6, tops, with the slow swagger of a hustler fat on house money. Steve Yano remembers him showing up that first day at the Roadium, going through piles of 12-inch singles. Big piles. "He looks 'em over, stacks 'em up. Then says, 'I'll take these."'

The guy has maybe 20 records in front of him. Yano is used to kids buying one, maybe two at a time. These are not rich kids. They wouldn't be at the swap meet if they were. Yano thinks this guy is scamming.
"All those?" he asks.
"Yeah," the kid says. He's got a high, squeaky voice that makes him sound even younger than he looks. And he looks about 13. He picks up one of the 12-inchers, a cut from some local DJs called the World Class Wreckin' Cru.

"Where you get that from?" he asks.

The question doesn't even register with Yano, who still can't believe the kid has money to buy all the records he has in front of him.
"All of them?" he asks.
"Sure," the kid says, and reaches down in his sock. He comes back up with a roll of cash. He peels the bills off. Bam. Just like that.

Then he says: "Tell Dre, Eric says, 'Whassup?' " With that, Eric Wright turns and walks off with a stack of records half as big as he is. Yano, of course, tells Dre nothing. Dre, Andre Young, a member of the Wreckin' Cru, is one of the hottest young DJs in L.A. He doesn't need to be bothered, man. Not with this kid anyhow. Wright comes back the next weekend, asks about Dre again, wants his numbers. He's polite but persistent and comes back every week. Yano finally asks Dre if he knows a homeboy named Eric Wright. And damned if Dre doesn't.
"Next thing I know," Yano says, "those guys are on a three-way call with me at 2 in the morning. Eric wants to open a record store. I tell him, 'Don't do it. It's a bad business. I can show you how, but don't do it.' " Eric has money--street money, dope money--and wants to go straight. Dre, meanwhile, bugs Yano, who knows every low-level somebody in the record business in all of Los Angeles, to start a record label. Dre wants a place to put out his own music.
In time, these dreams merged and came true. Eric went into the record business, all right, not with a corner store but with his own label and Dre was on it. Soon that label, Ruthless Records, sent out into the world some of the weirdest, funniest, saddest, maddest music anybody ever heard. Out of that little swap meet stall came the partnership that rocked, then overran the record business.

The partnership took full form in the hip-hop group Niggaz With Attitude, which in 1988 released a record called "Straight Outta Compton." This was the group's first national release. N.W.A was largely unknown. The record contained no hit singles. In most of the country, nothing from the record was played even once on the radio. It was too crude, too misogynistic, too violent. MTV, which had by then established itself as the primary gatekeeper of popular culture, refused to play N.W.A videos.

No radio, no television and no publicity. "Straight Outta Compton" sold 3 million records. The music it contained was so perverse, so nihilistic, so forbidden, politicians--then and still--elbowed each other out of the way to condemn it. Highbrow critics couldn't find language strong enough to critique it; they went further, questioning whether it was even music at all. It's barbaric, they said. Hide the women and children; bar the doors. Too late. Gangsta rap was in the house.

Locking and Popping
The content of youth culture today is, to a significant extent, hip-hop: hip-hop records, hip-hop fashion, hip-hop film, hip-hop attitude. It is the only genre of popular entertainment that cuts consistently across class, ethnicity, gender and age. Just as rock music was a vehicle for the countercultural attitudes that provoked social upheaval among the middle classes in the 1960s, hip-hop in general and gangsta rap in particular have carried urban underclass sensibilities to the wider society--which has reacted with equal parts enchantment, imitation and outrage.
But in the first half of the 1980s, people in the Los Angeles-based record industry saw hip-hop as an East Coast fad. Hip-hop's few national hits were dismissed as novelties. Southern California was in the grip of a dance epidemic, a local disco fever. A DJ collective called Uncle Jamm's Army played Culver City east to Pomona; the Dream Team owned South-Central. A forceful young man named Lonzo Williams worked the clubs and parties from Gardena to Long Beach.

Lonzo had been an ardent dancer who started DJing to make money. While still at Compton High School, he booked house and block parties, graduating to 1,000-plus-seat venues such as Alpine Village in Torrance and even the Queen Mary. Lonzo landed a regular gig at Eve After Dark, a new Compton nightclub. On Fridays he would spin records from 9 at night until 5 the next morning, turning the crowd over three or four times. To share the load, Lonzo in the early 1980s built a team of DJs called Disco Construction; then, as disco died, the World Class Wreckin' Cru. The Cru played the usual: Donna Summer, Average White Band, George Clinton, Parliament and Prince.

Eve was a high-class club--dresses for the ladies and ties and slacks for the gentlemen. Lonzo dressed his Jheri-curled DJs in matching lavender outfits and devised Temptations-style choreography. The club became a fixture on the dance map of Los Angeles. "People came out in droves," Lonzo recalls. "It was a constant party."

A young Compton kid started hanging around outside Eve, which didn't serve alcohol but had an age limit. His name was Andre Young. He was 17, still a student at Centennial High, and already a three-year DJ veteran. Young pestered Lonzo for a spot on the Cru. On a night when one of the regulars didn't show, Lonzo gave the new kid a shot. Lonzo says the key to DJing in such a competitive scene was to "find the most obscure record you could and play it." Dre was young, but he had tremendous musical knowledge. He'd been listening forever to his mother's extensive rhythm-and-blues and jazz record collection. When she came home after work at night, he once said, the stereo went on before the lights. He DJed for her and her friends when he was barely school age. That first night at Eve, Young mixed the old Motown song "Please Mr. Postman" over Afrika Bambaataa's seminal hip-hop recording, "Planet Rock"--two songs with completely different tempos and moods. For whatever reason, it worked.
The crowd went crazy and Lonzo went, "Hmm, what do we have here?" One of the most popular acts in town at the time was Uncle Jamm's Army, in which the DJs built identifiable characters--essentially roles they played onstage. One, a heartthrob named Egyptian Lover, did several numbers exploring the racier dimensions of his love life. Lonzo admired Young's musical talent, but even more he saw the good-looking young ladies' man as a draw, his answer to Egyptian Lover. Young joined the Wreckin' Cru under the stage name Dr. Dre in honor of Julius Erving, the basketball player known as Doctor J. Lonzo booked other acts into Eve, including the first L.A.-area appearances of New York rappers Kurtis Blow and Run-DMC. When the Wreckin' Cru saw Run-DMC for the first time, they looked at one another in amazement, recalls Antoine Carraby, a DJ known as Yella.

Run-DMC was a Eureka moment.
" 'This is it? It's not even a 10-minute show. We can do this.' That's exactly how it started," says Yella. "We can do this." They began writing their own material. It didn't seem to matter that none of them were musicians. Yella could program a drum machine. Otherwise, they were lost.
"We were DJs. What we knew was partying," Lonzo says. "I can't play dead. I can't play the radio." No matter. Dre was naturally musical in a way that most DJs only dreamed about. Dre and Yella hung out during the day at Eve After Dark, listening to records, figuring out how to replicate instrumental tracks on an old four-track recording deck in the back room. It was, Dre says, how he learned record production.

In 1984, they went into Audio Achievements studio in Torrance, where for $100 they recorded two tracks--one called Slice, the other Kru Groove. The music--a fast-beat techno sound influenced by the German band Kraftwerk--consisted mainly of drum tracks programmed by Yella and Dre's turntable scratching, the distinctive wicky, wicky sound made by manipulating a turntable by hand. Another member of the group, Marquette Hawkins, known as DJ Cli-N-Tel, rapped lyrics that mostly said how clever Yella was to have written them. They took the tracks to Macola Records, a small, independent label in Hollywood where you could have records pressed in lots as small as 500. For virtual pocket change, they were now proud owners of a two-sided, 12-inch dance single. They began selling it out of the trunk of Lonzo's car to independent record stores throughout Los Angeles.
"We sold 5,000 of them," Lonzo says. "Five thousand! That's like ghetto gold."

The New Mall
Steve Yano was a grad student in educational psychology at Cal State L.A. when he saw an ad on campus for a part-time job delivering records to stores in the area. Within a year, he found himself part owner of a record store with the man who had hired him. The store did well enough but couldn't support them both, so Yano sold his half of the business to his partner. Yano took payment in merchandise.

"At about this time, the West Coast swap meet scene just blew up," Yano says. "I spent the week, Monday through Friday, searching for product. Hitting all the spots in town, going through used record bins. Weekends, I'd sell at the meet. I went to every single pawnshop in L.A. You could buy 10 records for a dollar. I knew I could sell three of them for two bucks each."
At the peak of disco fever, Yano got a stall at one of the busiest swap meets in California--the Roadium on Redondo Beach Boulevard in Torrance. Customers at the Roadium were mainly African American, and Yano began to tailor his product to fit the customers. "Then there started to be this new type of talk--R&B, Grandmaster Flash, Kurtis Blow, Run-DMC," Yano says. "These guys are popping. Kids are talking about it. Do you have any 12-inch? Nobody has it. They've never heard of it. Finally, I found out places you can get some."
Among those sources was Lonzo Williams. Yano called him.
"Oh yeah, sure," Lonzo said. "How many you need?"
"Three or four," Yano answered.

"Pretty soon it was, 'I'll take 10 of these. Then 50,' " Yano says. "Pretty soon Lonzo is coming to me with stuff and I'm carrying 100 titles. I'm selling 100 a week of some of them. The DJ craze hits. Now everybody and their mother is a DJ and they all want the latest [music]. So they all come to me. I was selling a lot of 12-inch vinyl. I mean, a lot. Pretty soon other dealers are coming to me. I'm meeting these guys outside bowling alleys in parking lots at midnight. It was like we were dealing drugs.

"I become for a while a very important guy. I'm buying 500 copies of a title. The first place anybody called in L.A. was me. 'Play this. Whattya think?' All these label guys are starting to bring me their new records. I could tell the first weekend if something is going to sell just by how the kids react. If it was good, kids would start to break dance right there in the stall."
One day, when Yano went to Eve After Dark to meet Lonzo, he heard Dre and Yella in one of their practice sessions.

KDAY, a local radio station, had converted to an all hip-hop format, the first station in the country to do so. The station had a daily feature called Traffic Jam, and it solicited local DJs to make mixes. Dre and Yella did mixes several times a week--Yella on the drum machine, Dre scratching on the turntable.

Yano listened, rapt. "Is that how you do it?" he asked.
"You want us to make you a tape?" Yella answered. Yano took the tape to the swap meet the next weekend.
"I'm playing it," Yano says, "and people go, 'Who did that tape? Can I get that?"'
Calling Dr. Dre
By the mid-1980s, much of the record business had evolved into large integrated companies that did everything from signing artists, assigning them producers and songs, then promoting and selling their records through sales staffs. More and more, the records were marketed through giant retail chains. Low profit margins made store rack space too valuable to waste on unknown artists. This was less true in black communities, where small, locally owned retailers hung on and where there was an enduring demand not just for what was popular but for what was novel. These stores provided an outlet for the new music that the big chains wouldn't risk stocking. This helped make hip-hop possible in the first place. While Lonzo worked the local market, Don MacMillan, the owner of Macola Records, distributed Wreckin' Cru recordings to an informal network of independent distributors around the country. MacMillan had several hip-hop acts on Macola. The artists were drawn to him by the easy terms. He would press records in small quantities and send them out. He didn't care who was making the records or what was on them.

MacMillan let the artists put their own labels on the recordings and control their own publishing. Lonzo called his label Kru-Cut Records. After modest success with its first 12-inch single, the Cru had a hit with "Surgery," a 1984 number written and produced by Dre that sold 50,000 records--a huge amount for an independently made and distributed record. "Surgery" was typical of the Wreckin' Cru's music: basic electronic funk, a fast drum machine beat, lots of turntable scratching and silly lyrics ("Calling Dr. Dre to surgery"). The Wreckin' Cru started making the transition from dance hall DJs to recording artists. They followed "Surgery" with "Juice" in 1985 and put out an album called "World Class" that same year. CBS Records called. Larkin Arnold, an executive, wanted a meeting. "Larkin was like the black godfather of music. If he said there was a meeting, there was a meeting," Lonzo says. The meeting went well. Arnold said he'd get back to them, and the Wreckin' Cru went on tour as an opening act for Rick James. The Cru measured its success night to night by how many girls they could coax to their hotel rooms. Most nights, they earned high marks. "We had showmanship," Lonzo says.
They did their dance steps, wore lace gloves, makeup and rhinestone satin costumes. These were, in their way, almost quaint reminders of Lonzo's old-school roots. On the road, Lonzo got a call from his lawyer. CBS was offering a contract with a $100,000 advance. Are you interested, the lawyer wanted to know.
"Interested? Sign the damned contract!" Lonzo screamed. "You got power of attorney. Sign it before they change their minds."

Lonzo pauses at this point in the story. He now owns a small club on Manchester Boulevard in Inglewood. It's empty in the way that only a nightclub at noon can be. He looks around and shakes his head. "It was the worst thing that ever happened," he says. "From that point on, we had nothing but dissension over money." Dre complained that Lonzo wasn't paying him enough. He was the musical foundation of the Wreckin' Cru but was being paid as one of the guys. That category--one of the guys--meant everybody except Lonzo, who, in his own defense, says that no one understood how much it cost him to keep the Wreckin' Cru operating. It was his group; he paid for everything--advertising, recording costs, travel, equipment. It was only fair that he be paid more money. The irony was that the more successful the group became, the worse things got. This had been Lonzo's one big chance. It left without him. He shakes his head again. "One day you're cool, the next day you're not. By the time we came off the road, we were on the down slide," Lonzo says. "Something happened with those guys."

Boys Become Boyz
The Wreckin' Cru was Lonzo's group. He decided what music they did. As much as Dre complained about money, he told friends that he was equally frustrated with the Wreckin' Cru's musical direction. "I'm inviting Dre and Yella out to the stall. They're cutting records right there at the Roadium," Yano says. "Somebody plays it at a party. Everybody goes, 'What's that?' But you can't get it. You can't buy it anywhere. It was unbelievable. Dre says, 'Why don't you make a label?' I said, 'No way.' "
Dre kept asking. Yano kept saying no.
"Then one day," Yano says, "along comes Eazy."
There was no reason to think Eazy-E (Eric Wright) knew anything about any business but selling dope.
But being a dope man imposed certain career limitations. When he wandered by Yano's swap meet stall in 1985, at 22, he had resolved to get a new occupation. He told one friend if all else failed he would do what his father had done: go to work at the post office. First, though, he wanted to give the music business a try. And it was clear to everyone that it was the money more than the music that interested him. "Even as a kid, he was a businessman," Yano says.
This was something Dre notably was not. He was a terrible manager of his own affairs, forever broke. He made matters worse by ignoring money matters when he could. He racked up parking tickets and traffic citations, then didn't pay them until the fines doubled or tripled or he was jailed for not paying at all.

"What you gonna do? Couldn't leave him in jail, you might have a gig that weekend," Lonzo says.
So Lonzo bailed Dre out repeatedly. Finally, it happened one time too many. The call came, Dre asked and Lonzo said: "You know what? I'm gonna let your butt sit in jail for a while. Maybe you'll learn something." "So he calls Eazy," Lonzo says.

Eazy and Dre cut a deal: Eazy would bail Dre out of jail; Dre would produce records for Eazy's new record company. Of course, Eazy's record company existed only in Eazy's mind. The idea of a minor-league dope dealer starting a record company from scratch was not as preposterous as it might seem. It was possible to create a virtual record company, although nobody called it that at the time. The existence of Macola Records, basically a fee-for-service pressing plant, lowered the bar to enter the record business to next to nothing.

Macola provided all of the infrastructure to manufacture and distribute records. Studios could be rented. And the music itself could be made quickly and cheaply. All Eazy really needed was ambition, which he had, and Dre. "They come by the stall one day," Yano says. "I got a guy there doing T-shirts, spraying them. Eazy says, 'Whattya think of Ruthless? Ruthless Records?' " "That's cool," Yano said. And the T-shirt guy painted what would become the logo for Ruthless Records. Eazy Duz It Eazy now had a name but still no artists, no material, no plan. Dre gave him a tape from a New York rap duo called HBO. Eazy agreed to record them as the debut artists for Ruthless. He booked time at Audio Achievements, where the Wreckin' Cru records were made. He asked Dre for a song. Dre had been writing with O'Shea Jackson, a young Compton MC who lived four doors down from one of Dre's cousins. Jackson had been writing rhymes since grade school in L.A.'s Crenshaw district. Dre became a mentor. He'd pick Jackson up after school and take him along to clubs and to Lonzo's garage, which they had converted into a ramshackle recording studio. Dre produced an album by Jackson, Dre's cousin Jinx and a third friend, Kid Disaster. They called their group CIA (Criminals In Action). Jackson adopted the stage name Ice Cube. Like a lot of kids, Cube was a huge fan of the comedian Richard Pryor. Cube's parents had Pryor's records, which in addition to being hilarious were exceptionally profane. Cube listened to the albums when his parents left the house. He started writing similarly obscene rap parodies of popular songs. "We knew the value of language, especially profanity. We weren't that sophisticated, but we knew the power it had," Cube says.
He and Dre started DJing together at clubs and the Compton Skateland roller rink. Dre would play the instrumental tracks of popular hip-hop songs and Cube would rap obscene versions of the original lyrics. One of the highlights was a version of the Run-DMC hit "My Adidas" that Cube transformed into "My Penis." The Skateland kids loved it. Cube wrote constantly. "I never stopped," he says. "I had notebooks full of raps." Among them was one called "Boyz N Tha Hood" that Cube wrote during English class at Taft High School in Woodland Hills, where he was bused from South-Central. Cube showed the rhyme to Dre, who made an instrumental track for it. When HBO showed up in Torrance to record, Dre gave them "Boyz." HBO balked. Too West Coast, they said, and walked out. Eazy was stuck with the bill for an empty recording studio. Since Dre, Cube and the others were already in various groups, Dre urged Eazy to rap the song. Eazy resisted. He was a businessman. He knew nothing about rapping. Dre persisted, and with no other option, Eazy did the song.

He had no rap experience or skills, and it showed. It took two days to make the track. "We all laughed 'cuz it was so bad," Lonzo says. "Boyz N Tha Hood" is the story of a young man's misadventures with friends, cars, girls and guns on a single afternoon. It opens with him "cruisin' down tha street in my '64." He sees a friend driving a stolen car. He catches another friend trying to steal his car stereo and shoots him. He has a couple of drinks, gets in a fight with his girlfriend, then with her father. He wrecks the car and, finally, walking home, sees the guy with the stolen car from the first verse fight with police. A busy day. "I can sell that," Yano said.
Eazy took it to Macola, had a pressing done, and Yano started selling the 12-inch singles at the swap meet.

"Kids are just loving it," Yano says. "We had the best promotion you could ever get, promotion at the grass-roots street level." Eazy would drive up to Hollywood, ostensibly to talk to Don MacMillan. "He'd go to Macola, go into the back room and steal his own records," says Lorenzo Patterson, a young rapper whom Eazy recruited to join his label. "We'd take 'em out through the back door and throw them into his Jeep." Eazy hired "snipers"--friends, gangbangers, ordinary guys who wanted to make a couple bucks--to take the records around to neighborhood stores. They gave away cassette copies to kids in the projects who were leaders of their own little cliques.

Against all odds, "Boyz N Tha Hood" became a hit.
"The response told us we'd found our niche, to be ourselves," says Cube. Eazy persuaded Dre, Cube, Yella and another local rapper named Mik Lezan, known as the Arabian Prince, to form an all-star group. Dre and Yella would make the beats; Cube would write the lyrics; Arabian Prince, Cube and Eazy would rap them. They could all continue to do their own things and get together on the side to make wild records for Ruthless.

It was an informal collective. People came and went in the studio. Cube, just out of high school, surprised everybody by leaving town to take a course in architectural drafting in Arizona. "If this record thing didn't work out, I didn't want to be out there digging ditches," Cube says. The Arabian Prince left too--for a solo career. As replacements Eazy brought in Patterson, who went by the name M.C. Ren, and Tray Curry, a Texas rapper who performed as The D.O.C. Eazy auditioned Ren in his mother's Compton garage, where he had recording gear set up. Ren had been writing rhymes since junior high. He rhymed equations in algebra class. "He told me to start rapping about anything," Ren says. "So I started rapping about [stuff] in the garage. He liked it, took the tape to Dre. Dre signed me on the spot. Took me to a notary public he knew in Lakewood, signed me to a contract. There was no money or nothing. I didn't care. I was like, 'Fine.' "

Ren says Eazy's pitch was straightforward: at Ruthless, you could make records you couldn't make at other labels; it would be a place where nobody would tell you what you couldn't do. The records would all be like "Boyz N Tha Hood"--full of sex and guns, drinking and drugging. It would be stuff their friends would buy. At 24, Yella was the oldest of the crew. Eazy was 23; Dre, 21; Ren, 20; Cube, 18. One day, hanging out at the Arabian Prince's house in Inglewood, they arrived at a name for the new group. They wanted something everybody would identify with the West Coast. Somebody suggested From Compton With Love.
"Hell, no!" everyone shouted.
"Then," Ren recalls, "Eazy says, 'How 'bout N.W.A, Niggaz With Attitude?' Everybody's like, 'Hell, yeah. N.W.A it is.' "

The Permanent Business
As the label took shape, Eazy bugged Lonzo for an introduction to Jerry Heller, a veteran talent manager. Lonzo had met Heller at Macola, which was a kind of social club for the emerging local hip-hop scene. "We all heard of Jerry. He was always there at Don's," Lonzo says. "At one time he had almost everybody on the West Coast signed up. Throw it against the wall and see what sticks. That's what he was doing." Lonzo and Heller had become friendly. Lonzo was older than many of the other guys, and he and Heller had an easy rapport. Lonzo didn't much like Eazy. For one thing, he thought Eazy was prying Dre away from him. "The original plan was for Dre to produce Eazy and stay in the Cru," Lonzo says. "Dre was enticed by Eazy's lifestyle. He got tired of the flashy costumes, got tired of practicing the choreography. He wanted to be a rapper.
"I'm fighting for the Wreckin' Cru and I can't compete. There's a musical divide. I thought their music was good, but I wasn't into it. I loved ballads."

In the end, Lonzo agreed to introduce Eazy to Heller, but he made it clear he wasn't doing it as a friend. He charged Eazy $750. The introduction took place in March 1987 in the Macola lobby. "Eazy took the money out of his sock right there and paid Lonzo," Heller says. Heller was an old pro, a part of what music people call "the permanent business." Denizens of the permanent business have a genius mainly for endurance. They hang around, surfing the erratic waves of popularity that define pop culture. Heller had made and lost at least one fortune already. A middle-class, middle-aged, middle-of-the-road white guy with no musical ability, he had been managing musicians dating back to Creedence Clearwater Revival in the 1960s. By the 1980s, Heller's fortunes had declined. He was, he says, "burned out on the industry." "Then I heard about this scene at Macola, this pressing plant on Santa Monica Boulevard," Heller says. "For a thousand dollars, he'd press 500 records."

Eazy told Heller about the kind of record company he wanted. Then he played "Boyz N Tha Hood" and a new N.W.A song, "Straight Outta Compton." "It blew me away," Heller says. "I thought it was the most important music I had ever heard." They agreed to form a partnership and sealed the deal with a drink at Martini's, a Hollywood hangout. Heller decided that what N.W.A needed most was better promotion and distribution. That fall, Heller sent the band on tour and went shopping for a partner. The tour was far from glamorous. For much of it, N.W.A shared the bill with Salt-N-Pepa, a group of three women with national hits. Salt-N-Pepa flew between dates while N.W.A drove in a van.

Salt-N-Pepa found it greatly amusing that the hard-core Compton "gangsters" had to drive themselves. "Used to laugh at us: 'When y'all's plane leaving?' " Ren says. Heller wasn't having a great deal more fun trying to sell the group. He says Columbia Records executive Joe Smith's reaction, upon hearing a demo tape, was typical. Smith offered to purchase the name Ruthless, which he thought had possibilities, but wanted nothing to do with the records.
"Are you crazy?" Heller remembers Smith asking. "What the hell would make you believe somebody is going to buy this crap?" Some evidence was beginning to accumulate that Smith was wrong. Heller took Eazy to New York to introduce him at an industry gathering. They were in an elevator at the Park Lane Hotel. The elevator stopped and let on Joseph Simmons and Darryl McDaniels, the front men for Run-DMC. Heller and Eazy immediately recognized Simmons and McDaniels, who in turn gave Heller and, especially, Eazy the once over. Then, recognition having dawned, Simmons and McDaniels started softly rapping the lyrics to "Boyz N Tha Hood."

"They knew every word," Heller says. "The record had never been played on radio anywhere. It's a 12-inch single distributed locally. And they knew the whole thing." Seizing on the underground success of "Boyz," Macola's Don MacMillan compiled that song, a bunch of demos and rough recordings various people had done under the Ruthless banner and issued it as an album under the name "N.W.A and the Posse." Only three of the songs on the album were performed by what would become N.W.A. The record didn't sell in huge numbers, but it started building N.W.A's reputation. Johnny Phillips, a record distributor in Memphis, remembers a call around this time from one of his accounts, an independent record store in Cincinnati, asking about a record by a group called N.W.A that was being played in local clubs. "I called Macola, bought a couple hundred of them. By the next month we were reordering five, six, seven thousand a week. As soon as we got 'em, we sold 'em." Phillips, the nephew of Sam Phillips, the man who discovered Elvis Presley, was a key distributor for Priority Records, a fledgling company in Los Angeles. He sent Priority a copy of the Macola album. Priority was the creation of Bryan Turner and Mark Cerami, former K-Tel Records executives. They had started the label just two years before and made some money issuing a line of rap compilation albums. Then they hit it big with an unlikely novelty hit, the California raisins.

Television commercials for the California raisin industry had featured a musical quartet of animated raisins singing the soul classic "I Heard It Through the Grapevine." Priority licensed the rights to the singing raisins and put out an album of soul oldies. They sold 2 million copies. As a result, Priority was flush with cash and looking for new talent.
Coincidentally, Priority's offices were on the same floor of a Hollywood building as Jerry Heller's office. Turner, Cerami and Heller knew one another casually, and Heller had just been in to pitch N.W.A. Cerami went to see the group perform. It was like the Beatles, he said. That sealed it. N.W.A was set to follow in the footsteps of the California raisins.

Paint Ball Politics
In the record business, money is spent on two things: recording music and promoting it. By the time N.W.A went into the studio to make its first real album, "Straight Outta Compton," a typical studio album cost well more than $100,000 to produce. Some cost 10 times that much.
The more money that was spent and made, the greater the size of the record company that would manage it. One of the great gifts hip-hop gave to the music community was liberation from these corporate bureaucracies. Most hip-hop records were being made by small companies on low budgets--"on machines you could buy for $200 at Toys R Us," Heller says.
The other half of up-front costs--promotion and marketing--is spent mainly trying to get radio stations to play records. With N.W.A, there was no chance radio stations were going to touch the stuff, so there was no sense throwing money at them.

"You couldn't spend money on radio, so basically you couldn't spend money," Turner says. This, coupled with low production costs, made the economics of an N.W.A record utterly different.
"I could sell fifty, sixty, seventy thousand of these records and make money," Turner says.
With those numbers and with almost no investment, Priority could afford to both sign N.W.A and leave the group alone. After its brief tour, N.W.A, with Cube back home from Arizona, went into the studio with complete freedom to make whatever record they wanted to make. And they did.

"Straight Outta Compton" has been described variously as a work of revolutionary genius, a painful scream from the bleak streets of black America and, more commonly, as reprehensible trash with no redeeming value. It is all of that, and remains startling because of it.
"It's just an image," says Ren. "We got to do something that would distinguish ourselves. We was just trying to be different."

The fifth word on the first song on "Straight Outta Compton" is unprintable in The Times. The same word and many variations of it recur with regularity thereafter. The record is laced with language you don't hear on the radio or in polite society. That was the beauty of it and, from the group's point of view, the joy of it. "We were going to write about the street. Cussing and hollering," Ren says. They didn't give a damn about polite society, or anything beyond the narrow world of the low-level street hooligans they wrote about.

What is most shocking about the album is not the language but the gleeful, celebratory hedonism of it, the misogyny and violence and dark-as-midnight nihilism. As a listener, you get the sense you're learning more about something than you really want to know, something you might at some point be called to testify about. When people talk about the album's political and social power, they're referring mainly to the first three of 13 songs: "Straight Outta Compton," "F--- Tha Police" and "Gangsta, Gangsta."
The other 10 tracks are party songs, some of them great dance tracks but lyrically silly and forgettable. Several songs had been recorded previously and were redone for the album. It is a measure of the power of the first three songs that they have been able to drown out memory of the other 10. Dre has at times seemed embarrassed at the rawness of the whole affair, saying the record was crudely made. Others see this as a virtue, part of the album's immediacy. The record was made in just six weeks. It cost about $8,000 and has the loose sense of a bunch of guys having one hell of a good time--except Ice Cube, who is ferociously angry throughout.
"Think about how you felt at that age," Cube says. "I was mad at everything. When I went to the schools in the Valley, going through those neighborhoods, seeing how different they were from mine, that angered me. The injustice of it, that's what always got me--the injustice."
The group was not political in any way other than the most elementary sense. Cube's lyrics were more socially aware than he was. "F--- Tha Police" was at least as dismissive of the police as it was an attack on them. The group wasn't even going to record it initially. When Cube first showed the lyrics to Dre, he passed. "What else you got?" Dre asked.
It was only after Dre and Eazy were caught shooting paint balls at people at Torrance bus stops that Dre changed his mind about the song.
Cube was the main lyricist for the album. Dre and Yella shared the producer's credit. They were almost always the first ones in the Torrance studio and the last to leave. Others came and went as need or whim dictated. It was clear who was in charge.
"Dre was like the main ear," Ren says. "He'd tell you, 'Try to make it like this.' You'd do it. He'd be like, 'Cool.' Or, 'That's terrible.' Dre'd look at you like, you dumb mother . . . ."
The results do not match Dre's later musical sophistication; few things do. It was, as Priority's Bryan Turner points out, his first real album. Even so, the sound of the album is as powerful as the lyrics--and more varied. The fast-beat Wreckin' Cru techno is absent, replaced by slower, deeper, funkier rhythm tracks set in a scrap heap soundscape of sirens, gunshots, shouts, curses and cars. The overall effect can be ominous.

Hip-hop from its beginnings has been intensely place-based. Rappers have told us about their neighborhoods and towns, praising them and criticizing others. Regional chauvinism became a defining characteristic; geographic feuds a part of the drama. N.W.A made a virtue of necessity in celebrating Compton, a place few people had ever heard of outside Southern California. To this day, all that many people know of it is what N.W.A told them. In a way, people read both too much and too little into "Straight Outta Compton." Too much was made of supposed political motivations and probably not enough of the fact that these were kids making records for other kids.

Few people placed the record inside a broader regional tradition to which it clearly belongs. California pop music in the last 40 years has had four periods of peak popularity: mid-'60s surf and hot-rod music; late-'60s psychedelia; '70s laid-back country rock; and gangsta rap of the late '80s through the '90s.

As distinct as these genres are, they share a notably self-indulgent worldview. No matter who's singing--Beach Boys, Jefferson Airplane, the Eagles or Niggaz With Attitudes--or about what, California hedonism prevails. As Cube put it in "Gangsta, Gangsta," life is just girls and money, or words to that effect.

In almost any other medium, the same content would have been received more calmly. It would have been analyzed as an artistic stance, not a lifestyle. (These weren't, after all, real gangsters.) Dre would have been exalted as a postmodern master, Frank Gehry at the mixing board, cobbling scraps of James Brown funk to cool Euro techno in a way that made both seem more alive. Cube would have been doing political commentary on CNN and Eazy's autobiography would have been a business school staple.

People forgot that these were songs, fictions. Almost inevitably, establishment forces denounced "Straight Outta Compton." It set off a long-running, unresolved debate about the content of pop culture.
The ubiquity of pop music encourages overreaction; it's the only art form that blasts out of a 200-watt amp in the Toyota next to you at the stoplight on Slauson, the artillery thump of the bass vibrating shop windows a block away. Or, more to the point, the stoplight might be on Magic Mountain Parkway in Valencia; or any intersection in Bethesda, Md., Waukegan, Ill., or Redmond, Ore. Or, for that matter, in Tokyo, Paris or Rio.

From nearly the beginning, as soon as N.W.A broke out of the swap meet scene, the group sold most of its records far beyond the boundaries of black neighborhoods. Eventually, Priority calculated, 80% of the sales of "Straight Outta Compton" were in the suburbs, mainly to teenage boys who wouldn't know real niggaz if one woofed in their ears.

The FBI Helps Out
The record came out in late 1988. Radio wanted nothing to do with it. When the group taped a music video, MTV refused to play it. Still, sales climbed into the hundreds of thousands.
"How did it happen? I was there from the beginning and experienced pretty much every part of it from up close, and it's still inexplicable," says David King, a Priority salesman. "Other labels would ask me how we did it. I couldn't answer. Basically, we just manufactured and shipped records. And people kept asking for more."

In other words, "Straight Outta Compton" sold itself.
Johnny Phillips, the Memphis record distributor, cites the unusual relationship between small, black-owned record stores and their customers. "Black consumers in particular will buy where they can trust the store. Doesn't matter what it is. We've sold to combination record store/barber shops, even a pet store/record store."
Turner says the knowledge of distributors such as Phillips was crucial in getting the record introduced nationally. "Those were the really critical relationships, with the mom-and-pop stores, because there was a whole list of them that could actually get your record promoted, get your record sold because kids would come buy it. There was such a demand for rap and such a lack of supply."

At first the album received little national attention; sales built region by region. When it broke within an area, it crossed over to white markets almost immediately, King says. The hardest part was getting stores to stock it. "Once you got it in, that's all it took," King says. "It sold fast with junior high kids. It was illicit, forbidden fruit."

By the middle of 1989, six months after its release, "Straight Outta Compton" was a stealth phenomenon. Then N.W.A got lucky--perversely so. Milt Ahlerich, an assistant director of the FBI, sent a letter to Priority, accusing the label of selling a record ("F---Tha Police") that encouraged "violence against and disrespect for the law-enforcement officer." Ahlerich didn't propose to do anything. There was nothing he could do. He said merely that "we in the law enforcement community take exception to such action."

The bureau's interpretation of the song was so literal it's a wonder it didn't form a task force to dig up the bodies that Eazy, Ren and Cube bragged about dispatching. Bryan Turner didn't know how to react.

"I was scared. You kidding? It was the FBI. I'm just a kid from Canada, what do I know?" Turner says. "I showed it to some lawyers. They said they [the FBI] couldn't do anything. That made me feel better. Then we circulated the letter. The thing was like a nuclear explosion. Once we circulated that, everybody wanted to hear the record the FBI wanted to suppress."
N.W.A went back on tour. Sure enough, they were banned from performing in some cities, touching off small riots. Every time it happened, there was a spate of publicity followed by a spurt in sales. "It was free publicity as far as I was concerned," Yella says. Bill Adler, a former rap label executive, says it's simple to identify elements of a hit record. "Pop music is teen music. The stuff that's going to explode are the things that appeal to teens. Girls want somebody cute. Boys want somebody tough."

What could possibly be tougher than to have the FBI after you?
"The FBI helped out," Heller says. "MTV banned the 'Straight Outta Compton' video and we sold 100,000 copies. A whole cultural phenomenon. Several months into it, Elle did a 10-page spread on gangster chic in the foreign edition. We did a Newsweek cover." N.W.A woke the music industry to the huge commercial possibilities of hard-core hip-hop.
Eventually people quit asking if hip-hop was a fad. Rap music worked its way on to the radio, dominated it to some extent, ending what had been a decade of de facto radio racial segregation. Hip-hop, now dominated by gangsta rap descendants, is the best-selling music in the world.
"The economics of it were staggering. Just staggering," Heller says. If you were with Warner Bros., for example, and you sold 500,000 records, they might drop you from the label. The way we were doing it, if you sold 200,000 records you made a quarter million dollars. And you made it right there. We'd take the check to the bank, cash it and split it up on the corner."
Whether all of the checks were for the right amount would later become a subject of much debate and litigation, but for the time being N.W.A was riding down Main Street in the biggest parade any of them had ever imagined.

Consider the things that had to happen for "Straight Outta Compton" to become a hit record.
It required an economic catastrophe to overwhelm metropolitan Los Angeles, leaving African American neighborhoods in shambles, their residents in despair. It required a crack epidemic to then sweep through those same streets, offering more misery but also complicated opportunities that enriched people such as Eric Wright.

It required the invention of the VCR and the sudden, unforeseen decline of drive-in movie theaters, creating the space where new American bazaars--the swap meets--would rise. It required the existence of Macola Records, an old-school oddity hanging on in a new-school world, and the persistence of inner-city, word-of-mouth recommendations in an age of mass-media dominance. It apparently even required the existence of animated raisins lip-synching Marvin Gaye records.

This history is a crooked street, crowded with more happy accidents than are comfortable to contemplate. It begins to seem like fate. It begins to seem as if Puffy Combs might have underestimated Dr. Dre when he said, "Dre is to rap what God is to the church."
I Shot a Man in Reno

Here are sample lyrics from yet another song without redeeming social value:
"Early one morning while makin' the rounds,
I took a shot of cocaine and I shot my baby down
I shot her down then I went to bed,
I stuck that lovin' forty-four beneath my head."
The song continues with the protagonist chased and caught by police, then sent to prison. In the last verse, unrepentant to the end, he laments that he "can't forget the day I shot that bad bitch down." He regrets only getting caught.
Rap critics would be right in finding very little social uplift in this song, "Cocaine Blues," recorded by Roy Hogshead. Hogshead, however, was not a rap star. He didn't even have a nickname.
He recorded this song in 1947, and at least five versions of it have been made since. Johnny Cash sang it on his best-selling "Live at Folsom Prison" album in 1968. Nobody protested or even noticed.

Alan Light, founding editor of Vibe magazine, an influential hip-hop publication, says he asked Cash about the potential harmful effects of rap lyrics. Cash referred back to the Folsom Prison record, specifically to the title song, which includes the line, "I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die." You know, Cash said, I don't recall ever hearing about anyone listening to that song, then going to Reno and shooting somebody.

Neither, as far as anyone knows, has anybody killed a police officer after hearing N.W.A's "F--- Tha Police." So why did the FBI send a letter to N.W.A? Alan Light contrasts the reception of rap music with that of other popular arts that sometimes celebrate violence. Some of the best movies ever made--the "Godfather" series, for example--are exceptionally violent, and no one attempts to ban them. Dre points this out when he compares "Straight Outta Compton" to "Pulp Fiction." His songs are dark comedies, he says; he wonders why people don't see that.
"The difference is the level of respect accorded not to the artists but to the audience," Light says. The audience for movies is presumed to know better, to distinguish fact from fiction. The hip-hop audience, presumably, cannot.

Maybe that's the key to understanding the feelings "Straight Outta Compton" aroused, the success it enjoyed and the effects it continues to have. Maybe it disguises its fictional base too well. It's too real. When N.W.A shouted at you, you were compelled to shout back. N.W.A was together in its most potent lineup for less than two years.

Cube, financially frustrated, left before the end of 1989 for a highly successful solo career. He has since become a screenwriter, actor and movie producer, a virtual corporation unto himself. The other four members put out two more N.W.A records, but to considerably less effect.
Dre split acrimoniously from Ruthless in 1992 to help form Death Row Records, where he recorded the second most influential hip-hop album ever, "The Chronic," which defined the sound of rap for a decade. He has discovered and produced two of the biggest individual stars in hip-hop history--Snoop Dogg and Eminem.

Ren and Yella have had more limited solo careers. Ren is still recording, while Yella has a pornographic movie production business. Eazy continued to run Ruthless and to record until his death from AIDS in 1995. There continues to be talk of a reunion, with Snoop taking Eazy's spot.
Whatever comes of that, N.W.A had more of an effect in less time than probably any figures in pop music history. It's as if Sinatra had become Sinatra by cutting a single record, as if Dylan quit before going electric. N.W.A incited a revolution that redefined hip-hop just as hip-hop was poised to overrun popular culture. As pop has increasingly become the culture that matters, hip-hop has reached deep into mainstream America.
It really was the beginning of the end of life as we knew it. The beginning of the end, it turned out, was accompanied not by heavenly choirs but a rhythm section.
This is not an idle point. Rhythm is a drug. Maybe, like medicine, it should never be consumed in combination with other dangerous substances.

Maybe that's what happened with "Straight Outta Compton." Maybe by combining deadly rhythm with taboo subjects--violence and sex and drugs--it gathered unprecedented strength. Maybe it was unstoppable; just too powerful, too forceful.
Maybe, in other words, it was just too damn good. *

Terry McDermott is a Times staff writer who last wrote for the magazine about songwriter Steve Earle.

"Happy Holidays"

What is the proper way to recognize the holidays with someone you don't know? For example, when you pay in a store I think they should say "Happy Holidays" and not "Merry Christmas." Maybe I am Jewish? Maybe I am Jehovah's Witness (even they have to celebrate the new year)? Maybe I don't celebrate Christmas!? However, people in SacTown still insist on saying "Merry Christmas" and sending "Christmas" cards. Wake up people! NOT everybody in Sacramento goes to church and celebrates Christmas just like you do. To some people it's just another day... but with a lot of stores closed and no mail service! You go to LA, NYC, etc... and people say "Happy Holidays" because they don't know if you celebrate Christmas, Kwanzaa, Hanukkah or none of the above! I don't like to be overly politically correct but I am a fan of the Happy Holidays greeting or even Happy New Year as everybody celebrates that I think.

Furthermore, did you know that not everybody in the world has a Christmas tree? Some have no tree, bush or any other symbol for that matter. The item above is a class Hanukkah bush. In fact, one of the best I have ever seen. It could also be an eco-friendly thing from the Pacific Northwest, but I think it's a Hanukkah bush! SacTown kids, did you know that Santa Claus does not go to every house? His friend Harry Hanukkah goes to some. We will get into details about Harry next holiday season.

Yes, my kids celebrate Christmas, leave milk and cookies for Santa, open gifts, etc... but they also light the menorah (and open more gifts). By the way, the kids LOVED the menorah this year. Each night when I got home they were ready to light that baby. It was good for them on a couple levels, they got to play with fire and they got a gift! The very first night of Hanukkah, as I said the prayer, my little dude was trying to say it along with me. He was a word behind, throughout the blessing, but how nice to have him participating.

SacTown wants to be a cosmopolitan big city and has gotten tons of nice restaurants, clubs, hotels and stores in the last few years which have greatly improved the city... but we need to remember that not everybody celebrates Christmas. Some people go out to the movies and eat Chinese food on the 25th! With that, I conclude and say HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO ALL (even my Jehovah's Witness friends).

peace out

Cali

As I sat on the bike listening to my Ipod this morning, at the gym, I was really enjoying my old skool rap. Each song better than the previous one. I just get so much enjoyment listening to old classics like Christmas in Hollis (Run DMC), Gangsta Gangsta (NWA, of course), Life is Too Short (Todd Anthony Shaw - Too Short), and all the rest but then I got to one of my all time favorites... the Cabbage Patch Dance. That is really a GREAT song. It's probably from 1987 or 1988. It was performed by the World Class Wrekin Cru (not sure on the spelling of Wrekin or Cru) who were LA "rappers" similar to the LA Dream Team; more dance performers and certainly not hard core gangsta' rappers. They were not big time at all and in fact they were just some local LA guys. As they tell you, during the Cabbage Patch Dance, "the last song we did was called the Fly... it didn't quite hit and let me tell you why... the song was great... went to CBS and got stuck in red tape... held us up... kicked us in the butt... so we said forget it and fired up Cru Cut."

Anyway, that song represents so many things for me circa 1987. I had been in Nor Cal for one year and learned of the great "rivalry" between Nor Cal and So Cal which I will talk about at a later date. I was probably in my second year of college about then, rolling the 5.0 around with the booming bass, drinking beer, etc... life was good. The Cabbage Patch Dance, though I couldn't dance worth a darn, has some key lines. No profanity just braggadocios lines about how great life is in LA. Even life in the hood was made to sound like palm trees and sunny days... cuz "it's the middle of winter and it's eighty degrees...."

If memory serves it was written by one "O. Jackson." Yes, O'Shay Jackson, or Ice Cube as you might know him wrote the song. Before I go on, I just cheated and perused the Web for some more info. Wikipedia doesn't have a full explanation but pretty good:

"Cabbage patch dance
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

The Cabbage patch dance involves putting the hands together and moving them in a horizontal circular motion. It may also refer to the traditional Snowflake Day dance. (Clone High - Episode 11; Snowflake Day: A very special Clone High holiday special.)

Dr. Dre in 1987 with DJ Yella in world class wrecking cru invented what was supposed to be a short-lived fad. They wrote a song called "The Cabbage Patch" just for a dance they made. It soon became very popular, showing up in almost every dance club in America."

Here's a funny post in the Urban Dictionary:
"Cabbage Patch definitions from the Urban Dictionary1. Dance move that white guys tried to have catch on to confuse women into thinking that white guys have rhythm. Successfully performed when both your shoulders and fists (which are placed together in a manner that looks like you just connected both ends of an extension cord) move in time with each other in a fluid, circular motion. All the rage in the late 80's and early 90's."

Ok, back to my first point, the song just screams SO CAL 1987 (or so). I can't find the words on-line but the memorable ones to me:

"It's the Cabbage Patch Dance and it's from LA... DJ Yella and my home boy Dre...."

"Cruising down the street with the top pulled back... cold rocking the Cabbage Patch...."

"With my fresh Air Jordans and Fila shirt... I am ready for work...."

"... ten inch EV's and a fresh Alpine."

It's great. You give a shout out to your homies, brag about your car, your cloths and of course your car stereo. They talked about cruising down Crenshaw Blvd. sound like a cruise down Rodeo Drive. Having once eaten at the Fatburger on Crenshaw... it's no Rodeo Drive!

It reminds me of wearing my own Air Jordans, Fila gear, and of course the booming stereo system in the 5.0 (at that time anchored with the 12" Pyle Drivers... or maybe the Cerwin Vegas's... oh they were nice!). Kicking it over at my apartment with my homie D-latz with the mixing board and 2 turntables and drinking 40 ouncers of the King! Oh seems like yesterday....

With all that said, I think it's time to head home, pop open a fo'ty OZ and break out the mixing board (yes, I still rock the 1987, or so, Tandy mixing board!).

peace out

Car Salesmen

A lot of people do not like car salesmen. For some reason I love them! I find their job very interesting and sometimes wish I had worked as one at some point... maybe when I retire. Anyway, I laugh at their outright lies but enjoy more when they don't directly answer a question or when they give their automated responses.


My favorites automated responses that they provide are:


1) That's less than we paid for it. (Said with friendly laugh)


2) I will have to talk to the boss... I am on your team here but need the boss's ok.


3) I can't get into the holdback money... the boss has to make a dollar or two on the deal.


4) I don't know what the current dealer incentives are... that's for management to worry about.


5) I won't make any money on the deal but that's ok, I want to help you drive home in this new car.


6) I am not real sure but I think so.... (That means he KNOWS the opposite is true)


7) Extended warranties are a great deal... even though this car is so reliable.


8) You are being straight with me so let me be straight with you (that means he is about to lie).


9) I can't go a penny lower... that is my final final offer.


10) After saying the above, and a better deal is finally agreed to, "well I couldn't go lower than that other number, only the boss could."

I could go on but will refrain. The bottom line is they have a tough job. It's highly competitive, the internet has leveled the playing field to some degree (though I do not believe "invoice" is what any dealer really pays for a car and think that is totally a made up number) and though the owners of dealers make a very good living I don't think the average sales guy is pulling big coin. Plus, they work long hours and everybody makes fun of them for being car salesmen (even lower on the joke totem poll than lawyers, usually).

I enjoy negotiating with them, enjoy pointing out the many breaks in their line of reasoning and enjoy buying a new car!

In a future post we will talk about the different types of car salesmen:

1) Know-it-all;

2) Women with top few buttons unbuttoned;

3) English accent guy (studies show that Americans trust guys with English accents - I do NOT);

4) Cool guy pretending like he doesn't really need the job (they typically work at BMW, Porsche, etc...)

5) Blue collar guy (works at GMC, Chevy, Ford, etc....);

I have more but will save them for the future!

Peace out

Oracle of Omaha

The worlds of SacTownGuy sometimes collide. After cranking out 60 minutes on the recumbent bike, reading some murder mystery, I moved to the back row for 20 minutes of Barron's. SacTownGuy doesn't own a lot of stocks but finds the topic interesting. I turned my IPod on and as I listened to the RBL Posse telling me how you don't want to smoke that Bammer Weed followed by Ice Cube telling me about "Ghetto Bird's" (police helicopters) I read an article in Barron's about the Oracle of Omaha, Warren Buffett, and their headline store that Berkshire Hathaway is over-valued. WHAT? The stock market LEGEND, GURU, KNOW-IT-ALL... over-valued?

I thought back to a client meeting recently where they told me they got a letter from their stock broker that their account was not diversified as they had to large a percentage of one stock... BrKa (Berkshire Hathaway A shares - the good ones). As she commented to me, "that's crazy since it's so diversified it's like a giant mutual fund...." Right she is, Berkshire owns lots of insurance companies, or pieces of them, like Geico and American Re. However, it also owns companies, or pieces of them, like See's Candy and some Israeli metal fabricator. Mr. B is as well diversified as Mr. D was on Different Strokes!

I thus continued reading but not really buying the story. At one point the author suggested Brka was 10% over-valued according to one expert and another expert had it listed as "neutral." Ten percent? Neutral? BIG DEAL! Tell me it's 40% over-valued and experts are lining up to sell all they can and maybe I would be buy into the story.

I don't remember the exact numbers but the price has increased from about $80,000 to it's current position of about $140,000. Yes, that's for ONE share. Big price jump in just a year or two. I like selling when stocks are at toward their 52 week high and I like buying when they are near their 52 week low.

The story goes on to remind us that Mr. B is in his 70's. I don't remember exactly but old enough he could kick it at any moment... or leave 25 years. You just never know. I had heard he had his replacements already lined up so as to avoid a huge drop in value if he should die unexpectedly. He plans to put in place a CEO and a president of investments. One of these replacements is 70 years old himself. Though age brings wisdom maybe he should look for someone a tad younger... 60? Go crazy, and find a 50 year old!?

Bottom line, I say sell a little. Maybe keep some Brka if you have it but sell some too. Particularly if you own this in your tax deferred vehicle and would avoid cap gains tax. SELL, SELL, SELL... and don't smoke that Bammer Weed (whatever the hell that is).

Peace out

P.S. I have absolutely no licenses or certifications to show that I know crap about stocks. Thus take my opinion for what it is... a flippin' opinion. Buy? Sell? Trade? Whatever you want is fine... I am just blabbing.

Gas Station Situations

Maybe gas stations are just representative of society but have a couple of gas station incidents to report on today. One happened the other day, to Kitty Kat, as two cars thought they were next for a certain pump as they entered from different directions. Who was really next? Who knows. The one guy ended up sitting there, at least 10 minutes, without even pumping just to piss others off... that after a verbal altercation with the other driver. Oy vey!

Tonight was a totally different situation. I was inside a very small gas station MINI mart buying Kitty Kat a drink as she is addicted to Diet Coke. Has to be from the fountain; the can or bottle is ok if she is on a deserted island or something but other needs to come out of the fountain. Anyway, I am inside paying for the drink and a customer comes to complain about her gas pump overflowing.

At first I found her annoying. She just seemed like a complainer, sort of needy and just not very likable. I felt like saying, "deal with it... dry off... and get out of here so I can pay for my f'ing drink...." I resisted. However, my allegiance shifted as the two boneheads working at the gas station just stared at her. The employees never offered a towel, to assist with clean up or an apology. Yes, that's right, they NEVER said, "I'm sorry." It was really pathetic that two adults (both employees were in their 30's I would say) couldn't say those simple words that my 3 and 4 year old know! SAD. By that time, having switched allegiances, I felt like saying, "look lady, they aren't going to help clean OR say they are sorry as they should...." I resisted as I felt it might not be clear whose team I was on at that time. I thus moved around the needy customer so I could pay for my drink and then get out.

I finished my gas pumping, took my drink and headed home.... I kept thinking about the annoying lady and the bonehead employees... sad where our country has gotten to. People, like the annoying lady, can't take personal responsibility (i.e. grab a towel and clean your car and your self and go home) and people like the boneheads don't even know what the words "customer service" mean. It's really sad in both directions and I had to witness it all at once in a tiny little gas station.

Rise Guy, FP, gets UP

In case you didn't get to ESPN.com I am stealing this from them. Dear ESPN Lawyers: If it's a problem that I am cutting and pasting this please tell me and I will remove. If you sue me I will never watch SportsCenter again... ever!

I sometimes find myself listening to the Rise Guys on KHTK in the morning. They really suck but I still listen on occasion; generally between the gym and the office at about 7:00 AM. It's a couple of dopes along with "former major league baseball player FP Santangelo." They apparently aren't allowed to go more than 5 minutes with talking about his playing days... or should that be riding the pine days? Anyway, enough about his playing daze! About that time they have "FP's Hero of the Day" where each of the members of the Rise Guy's crew pick one athlete or team who did something wonderful the day before. A great individual achievement, a great team win, etc.... Then, after they each present their hero of the day FP picks the winner for the day. Nine times out of ten FP picks HIS own nomination as the overall winner. Sounds like Jeb Bush counting ballots in Florida to me. Anyway, it bothers me that this guy was able to parlay a no-hit/no-field baseball career into a morning DJ position. Ok, so it's not big time like ESPN Radio or something but still it's a job isn't it. He always comes across as Mr. Good Guy, Mr. Blue Coller, Mr. Hard Woker... and now this from ESPN.com on our own Rise Guy....


Santangelo admits HGH use, says he'll 'face the music'

By Wayne DrehsESPN.com(Archive)

Updated: December 14, 2007, 10:18 PM ET

As he sat in front of his television Thursday, waiting for the official release of the Mitchell report, former major league outfielder F.P. Santangelo feared the worst. He knew he had purchased human growth hormone from former New York Mets clubhouse attendant Kirk Radomski. He knew Sen. George Mitchell's investigators had asked to speak with him, a request he had denied.
And yet as Santangelo watched ESPN reporter Jeremy Schaap on live TV, quickly thumbing through the report's 409 pages before Mitchell eventually spoke, Santangelo prayed that his name wouldn't be read.
"I just kept saying, 'Please Lord, don't name me right here, right now. Don't be one of the first guys. Don't be one of the first guys,'" Santangelo told ESPN.com on Friday. "And I wasn't. That was a relief."
But the relief didn't last long. Minutes later, when the report was released online, Santangelo was one of at least 86 people accused by Mitchell of using performance-enhancing drugs.
Yet Santangelo has handled the 24 hours after his appearance in the report differently. While the aftermath of the report's release has been littered with no comments and vehement denials, there was Santangelo, who now works on Sacramento's KHTK Radio as a member of, "The Rise Guys" morning show, on the air Friday morning, admitting what he had done and taking calls from listeners who were equally eager to praise and condemn him.

Oakland A's at the time, F.P. Santangelo, right, and Jason Giambi high-five after a Giambi home run against the New York Yankees in the 2001 AL Division Series. Said Santangelo, who acknowledged he used HGH: "I made this bed and now I have to lie in it."
In an emotional two-hour radio appearance, the seven-year major league veteran, who last played with the Oakland A's in 2001, confessed to using human growth hormone, explained how and why he did it and publicly apologized to his two kids, his ex-wife, his parents and listeners. He talked about the difficulty he had in explaining it all to his children, and the concern he had that his son, F.P. Jr., would be teased Friday in middle school.
He even shared a story of reporters hiding outside his home Thursday evening and the guilt he felt each time the doorbell rang and he saw a look of fear on the faces of his kids.
"That was the part that made me feel, as a Dad, as bad as I've ever felt," Santangelo told listeners. "They were scared. That was the one thing that really hit home is that I made these bad decisions and now my kids are scared. I almost felt like a pedophile."
Santangelo's honesty, his candor and his willingness to accept responsibility for what he had done touched some listeners and infuriated others. Opinions ranged from, "You're a liar," "You should resign," and "What should I tell my kid?" to "You don't owe anyone an apology," "I commend you for telling the truth," and "Keep your head up."
Santangelo absorbed it all, telling listeners, "I made this bed and now I have to lie in it."
After the show, he received numerous phone calls from media outlets eager to make him into some sort of hero for telling the truth. It's a role he says he's entirely uncomfortable with.
"I don't want to be this out-front crusader guy," Santangelo told ESPN.com. "I did something absolutely wrong. I shouldn't be made a hero. I made a bad decision against everything I believe.
"I admitted it and I faced the music. And if by me being embarrassed helps generations to come not have to make the difficult decisions that I had to make, then it's good that this all came out. But I don't want to be Mr. Public Speaker and go talk to every high school in the world. Through my radio show, I just hope to get the word out about how bad this stuff is."
According to the Mitchell report, Santangelo purchased $1,400 worth of human growth hormone from Radomski in October of 2000. In addition, Radomski told Mitchell's investigators that Santangelo purchased the steroid Deca-Durabolin as well as testosterone "once or twice" while he was a member of the A's in 2001.
On the radio, Santangelo denied ever using or purchasing steroids or testosterone from Radomski. Santangelo did, however, say he purchased human growth hormone from the Mets clubhouse attendant.
Santangelo explained to listeners that he struggled with his rehab after shattering his knee cap in 1998. That winter, when his quadriceps muscle refused to fire and the Expos informed him that they weren't going to renew his contract, he feared his career was at stake. He researched HGH and mentioned the idea to a couple of his doctors, but they were unaware of the hormone's healing effects. So he called Radomski, whom he had met through a former teammate, and asked for help. He ended up taking a two-week cycle of HGH.
"When I was faced with the decision, in my mind, of my career ending or keeping it going, I compromised my morality and my beliefs," Santangelo said on the air. "I did what I thought I had to do."
In 2000, Santangelo struggled with the Los Angeles Dodgers, missing the last month of the season with a torn ligament in his hand. When the ligament failed to heal properly, he again turned to HGH for another two-week cycle.
"I figured if it worked once, it would work twice," he said. "I knew it was wrong, I felt dirty when I did it, but it worked. I love baseball and I love competing and the thought of not doing that scared the hell out of me. I panicked."
Santangelo said he declined the opportunity to speak with Mitchell's investigators because they never provided him with any evidence of what they had on him, and he didn't see how his involvement would help the game.
As for the discrepancies between his story and Radomski's and what that might mean for the rest of the report, Santangelo encouraged listeners to consider the source.
"I know this guy. He was a clubhouse guy" Santangelo said. "He wasn't organized, running out of a store or keeping track of shipments."
Friday, Santangelo described the release of the Mitchell report as a "relief," telling ESPN.com it was something he had wanted to "scream from the top of a mountain" for some time now, but fear of litigation kept him from doing so.
"I was scared," he said. "From a legal standpoint, there was an investigation going on and from a personal standpoint, I didn't know what they would do with my career. I wanted to tell everybody."
He said he met with radio station representatives earlier this week, explaining his likely inclusion in the report and asking how it should be handled. The original plan was to let things settle before discussing it on the air Monday. But after Santangelo heard the reaction on Thursday, he changed his mind, going on there air briefly Thursday night before joining his regular show Friday morning.
"This is just me," he said. "I hit things head-on. I'm honest to a fault. I never run away from anything. Once I knew this was coming out, I wasn't going to hide from it."
Though several listeners called for Santangelo to resign, CBS Radio, the parent company of KHTK, released a statement Thursday, saying, "This occurred well before he worked here and there's no change in his employment status."
During Friday's show, several listeners were critical of Santangelo, who on the air had previously denied using performance-enhancing drugs. One listener, Mike, was particularly frustrated. "You really painted yourself as the blue-collar, hard-working guy who did it the right way and didn't cheat. Guys like me can relate to that," Mike said. "Now I think your credibility is shot. In your field that you're in right now, that's every bit as bad as taking steroids in the pros."
Santangelo's response: "I respect your opinion. I would say I did do it the right way except for four weeks out of my 15-year baseball career. I agree with a lot of what you're saying. I can't argue with you."
As difficult as it was to listen to critical phone calls, Santangelo said the hardest part was sitting down with his kids a month ago to explain to them about the decision he'd made. When a caller asked what he should tell his 10-year-old son about Santangelo's inclusion in the report, the former major leaguer instructed him to tell him the exact same thing he told F.P. Jr.
"I told him, 'You make mistakes. If you make the right decision in the first place, you won't have to go through what I have. But if you do make a wrong decision, you handle it head-on, with humility and you move on.'
"My kids are learning a very good life lesson right now. Their Dad screwed up but he faced the music and is dealing with it head-on."
From the first time he injected himself with HGH, Santangelo told listeners he regretted it. He despised the way it made him feel and hated the fact that he had compromised his integrity.
He declined to discuss specifics with ESPN.com, but he said it changed his personality and caused him to make decisions he otherwise wouldn't have made.
But at the same time, it worked.
"That's the danger," he said. "It helped me heal. But it changes who you are. If you're a jerk, you become a bigger jerk. If you're impatient, you become more impatient. It accentuates whatever personality you have to the utmost. It gives you this false confidence."
Friday, when a 23-year-old caller named Jose told Santangelo he was considering taking HGH and that his trainer had access to the drug, Santangelo urged him not to inject himself, going as far as to get the caller's phone number so they could talk off the air.
"If you take it, you'll look great, but your life will change for the worse," Santangelo told Jose during the show. "You sound like a great guy, but you'll turn into an a--hole. You'll look good in the mirror and then the minute you come off it you'll look like a fat pig. Don't do it. Just promise me you won't do it."
At the end of his two-hour radio stint, Santangelo again apologized to his friends, his family and his listeners. He again took accountability for his actions and admitted he made a horrible mistake and that everyone's criticism was warranted.
And then, before he signed off, he explained one last thing: As he sees it, if all this attention helps one person, if all of his embarrassment helps Jose choose not to take performance-enhancing drugs, then, he said, it will all be worth it.
Wayne Drehs is a senior writer for ESPN.com. He can be reached at wayne.drehs@espn3.com. To learn more about Wayne, visit his ESPN Fan Page.

Auto Mall Fun

My boy D-smooth needs a new ride. We are going shopping today. What should he get? Before I get into that let me tell you that I love to dress down at car dealerships. Last year my wife and I went to the local Acura dealer one Saturday morning, dressed like... Saturday morning, kids yelling and screaming (and sitting in the NSX) and the salesguy gave us NO time. He made it clear he just wanted to get rid of us. We went back later that day and dropped $45 grr on an MDX. It's a game and I enjoy it. Best ever was summer '87. I was 19 and out test driving. The dealer didn't know my dad had died and left me $50 grr so I would be paying cash... and in fact, I literally had the checkbook in my holey pockets of my shorts that day. Went to the Saab dealer to test drive the old 900. It was about $20 g's but homie wouldn't let me test drive it. He just wanted to show me pictures inside. I left and bought a new Mustang GT a couple weeks later. More on that car another time. Anyway, maybe I will put on my sweaty gym cloths, that are in my trunk right now, just to play it down at the dealership today....

As I mentioned before the dude had an old Ford Probe up until a few years ago so I would imagine he would be happy with an old Datsun B-210 like Dr. Dre used to drive!? I also believe that was the type of car that they drove players from the bulley to the mound at Dodger Stadium in the 70's!? Anyway, back to D-smooth. He's a family man so probably looking for 4 doors. However, he wants something sporty and quite possibly a stick shift. He would probably be comfortable spending between 40 and 50 g's as he is a big time CPA so he can afford it... but can't be too flashy because nobody wants to see their CPA driving something impractical like a Vette. If we narrow the search based on 4 doors and stick shifts we come down to these basic options:

Acura TL
Audi A4
BMW 3 series
BMW 5 series
Caddie CTS
Honda Accord
Infiniti G35
Lexus IS250
Mercedes C-class
Saab 9-3 or 9-5
Volvo S-40

I skipped the Hyandai's, Kia's, etc... as I will not let D-smooth drive one of those.

We can quickly eliminate a few, Caddie for one because those have always been and will always be only good for old white guys (primarily Jewish guys in Florida or Palm Springs) and young black guys. Honda Accord is just a tad too basic... though the new model looks sweet so maybe it's worth a run by the dealership!? Lexus Is250 is only for young Asians (guys or gals) so that's out since D-smooth is a 40-something white guy. The Benzo may be worth looking at but I have never been a big Benz fan... probably because of people like my grampa Sid reminding me that the Benz is German, we are Jewish, etc.... Plus, it's their entry level car and to me driving an entry level Benzo is not good. Their product line is so long that I feel their low end cars are really just add ons and not a car they care about. D-smooth already did the Saab thing so that's out and Volvo is out too because it's really a Saab or a Ford and you don't want that.

I have never been a BMW guy. Some nice cars but even my BMW lover, D-latz up in Portland now acknowledges they are expensive to keep on the road. Plus the local dealer tries to sell all of them for OVER window sticker. Maybe he hasn't heard our economy is down a little!? For me, Audi is same as BMW in terms of repairs plus the A4 may be a tad small.

We are thus left with the G35 v. the Acura TL. Two similar cars in my opinion. A few more ponys under the hood of the rear wheel drive G35 but the TL is no slouch. In fact, the Acura web page says it jumps from zero to 60 in 5.4 seconds. Funny, because back in the 80's we thought my Mustang GT was really fast and it took about 7 to get to 60... but it cruised at 125... oh wait, shouldn't talk about that in case Ponch and Jon are reading this. That appears to be the same as the Infiniti. Hmmmmmmmm....

I think we need to go test drive because it's hard to tell from the web. Infiniti is a little more sports car as the Acura is front wheel drive. Acura comes with a 17" wheel which is a bit small in these days of people slamming 20"s on their Kia's. The Infiniti is standard at 18" but I am sure you can bump it to 19" at the dealer as I know the two door has 19"s. Wheels are important but I like to stay with wheels from the dealer.

Which has more prestige? Not really sure. I like my Infiniti G35 but I also like my wife's Acura MDX. One noted difference, at the Infiniti dealer they give you Infiniti rental cars to drive when your car is in for service. At Acura you have to go to Enterprise, off-site, and then rent a whatever.

That's my report for today. If D-smooth wants to get into automatics then we got a whole bunch of other cars to consider: Lexus G's, Infiniti M's, et al....

Future of baseball?

As I begin typing this the list of steroid users is coming out. In fact, in the last hour the preliminary list was "leaked" and now MLB is saying that the list has errors. Regardless of errors, what does this mean for the future of baseball? A friend mentioned it is like the Chicago Black Sox scandal of 1919. As he said that we both quickly agree this steroid thing is probably a lot worse. How much worse? What will happen? Will fans stop going to games? Stop buying jerseys? Stop buying baseball cards (I guess they already did that about 1993 but we will talk about that another day)? My take is the list is so large, and with this many guilty people there are more who somehow avoided detection, that people may have to just pretend this didn't happen.



We can't really put an asterisk by every single record in the record book because that is practically what would happen. Well, except for the all-time hits king but he has other problems; maybe a double asterisk!?



As someone on the radio said, if steroid users are not elected to the hall of fame then Cooperstown would be far from complete as they would not have the all-time hits king, the all-time HR king and maybe the best modern day pitcher (Clemens). How sad!



Plus, it's not like the old-timers didn't do a bunch of illegal stuff that may have enhanced their performance... cocaine most notably was rampant! Plus, as much beer as the old-timers drank they never felt any injuries! Even during prohibition they were drinking so it was illegal for at least a few years!



What's my conclusion? I am working on that....

MRI's SUCK

Sac Town Guy has had a bad neck (pinched nerve they tell me) going on 9 months. Thing really hurts. Been going to chiropractor, acupuncturist, physical therapist, massage therapist, regular doctor and consulted with an orthopedic surgeon I know. Man this thing sucks! Have wasted so much time and money on this thing. I do ice packs at night, medication throughout the day, hot baths, etc... and it still hurts. Pain goes down my arm and even tingles in my fingers. It's no good!

A couple months back I decided I needed to get an MRI to make sure nothing is seriously wrong. I asked the doctor for a referral for an MRI and of course the insurance company rejected it. Being a lawyer I sent a long letter appealing the decision and of course threatened a major lawsuit after explaining how bad my injury is, how it's not getting better, etc.... The insurance company saw the wisdom of my letter and approved the MRI. After dealing with the MRI yesterday I think I should have accepted the insurance company's denial. That was really not a fun time!

Before I go on let me say that this gives me added respect for my buddy Roscoe who has to go get an MRI every few months. Not only does he have to worry about what the results of the MRI may be but he has to deal with the f'ing MRI machine. Much props to Roscoe and hopefully he will have uneventful MRI's for a LONG time!

In typical Sac Town Guy fashion I arrived a few minutes early. After filling out the requisite paperwork (which was obviously ignored since the MRI technician asked many of the same questions when I went in the room) I waited some more. After the wait I was escorted back to the changing area, told to change, leave all metal in the locker, and then wait in the blue chair. I did as instructed though the blue chair was grossly dirty. The guy apparently getting an MRI before me came out and in a very down and dejected voice said something like, "I guess you are next!?" I didn't think it would be so bad so was unsure exactly what his words and tone meant.

I went into the MRI room and was told to leave my locker key on the table by the door. No problem. Makes sense to leave the key since they made such a big deal about no metal. I won't bore you with all the details of the MRI machine as you have probably seen one but in short, you lay down on a sliding tray and are slid into this machine. Last year I made fun of my mother in law for being unable to do the standard MRI due to claustrophobia. I now realize I suffer from a mild degree of claustrophobia as I was miserable the entire 25-30 minutes I was in the tube. The fact, is you only have a few inches, it seems, all around you. It's just way too tight an area to be sitting for 30 minutes unable to move.

I forgot to tell you about Hunchback. The technician was a 40ish year old lady, not particularly attractive with a bad hunchback. I guess that was a reminder of why I was there getting the stupid MRI... my bad posture! Anyway, she was a very nice lady but it was funny to have a hunchback helping me with my neck problem.

As I am laying there, the machine starts up. Oh ya, it's LOUD. Hunchback had given me ear plugs before sliding me into the machine. So as the machine starts growling and whirling a loud noise, I feel I vibration on my finger... oh shit... I realize I have my wedding ring on. I pride myself on having spent under $100 for my cheap wedding band and quickly calculate that the metal in that ring is no more valuable than the metal in the key I was told to leave at the door. This tells me I should not have my ring I my finger. I start to yell for Hunchback but the machine is making so much noise I doubt anybody can hear me. I thus started waiving my legs which are hanging out of the machine much like a synchronized swimmer with their legs out of the water. Luckily Hunchback, sees or hears me, and comes in to see what is wrong. She was very nice, put her hand on my leg to comfort me, and listened to my concern. She assured me my ring was ok. Let's start over....

It then begins a series of 3 and 5 minutes "pictures" that Hunchback announces each time we start a new one. Feeling extremely uncomfortable, as my neck/shoulder were jacked up in an awful position, and feeling claustrophobic I was not happy. I tried counting which passed the time ok. I think it ended up being 2 three minute pictures and 3 five minute pictures plus the time in between each. Probably close to a half hour total in the tube. It SUCKED.

I was so happy when Hunchback came to get me out. Maybe not the best looking woman around but her smile made me very happy! I then walked back to the changing room and saw the next patient and felt like saying, "I guess you are next...!?" However, I didn't say anything as I just wanted to get the heck out of there!

No word on the results yet. Hopefully they find something, minor, that they can fix!

Gym People

Today's Sacramento Bee article, http://www.sacbee.com/107/story/560474.html , must have stolen my idea for a blog that I mentioned in my first blog a couple days ago! I guess I have more readers than I thought!? I go to the gym every day. I go to one of three gyms that are a part of the same system of about 10 gyms total. They nice gyms, in nice neighborhoods with a nice upscale crowd for the most part. The one gym, the Club, has a few annoying lower class people; one of which I believe pays off the door guy rather than pay full membership (more on that another time). A few stragglers are at these gyms but mostly professional people. Anyway, just about every day I see things at the gym that shock me. Be it the guy who blows his nose in the towel and then wipes down the exercise equipment with that same towel when he is done working out or the guy that wear clothes that are too tight or the woman who insists on wearing tons of make-up to the gym at 5:00 AM. Oh ya, I am part of the early bird crew... 5:00 AM when they open the doors!

Let's start with how the early bird crew operates at my main gym, which we will call The Del. It opens at 5:00, on the dot and not a minute earlier due to the Door Nazi. She used to be morning employee but now is in management so comes in later. When she was the door person she would not open a second before 5:00 and often it was at least 5:01 by the time she opened. Now that she is in management she checks the sign in times, later in the day when she arrives, to make sure the morning employee did not let people in early... not even a minute. They claim it's because of insurance reasons... I find that hard to believe.

The line up begins about 4:55. It's a casual line up and in fact is really just a mass of people standing near the door. Though no official "line" everybody knows who they follow in... except one lady, Line Cutter. I am not sure what her problem is but she arrives about 4:58 and walks up to the front or half way to the front of the pack and plants herself there. Nobody says anything but I will assume I am not the only person that notices. Line Cutter is in her 50's and it's hard to imagine a person more in their own world. I have not seen Line Cutter lately so maybe she is sleeping in!?

So once the Door Nazi, or her underling, lets us in we scamper through the locker and into the gym. There are the regular people, Obvious State Worker, Overweight Guy, Retirees who should be sleeping-in, myself (just a regular white guy) and a variety of others. Overweight Guy is interesting. He works out EVERY day but still has this big gut. Why? I just can't figure him out. Maybe I will know in 20 years? Also, what's up with the retirees who show up at 5:00 AM every day? Why don't they sleep in? I know I would if I was retired.

We all go in, do our thing, keep to ourselves other than a few hellos, and get our workout done. Then there is Old Yeller! I first noticed her a few years ago as she would run on the treadmill and grunt, loudly, and different times. She is in her 40's, a little chubby but apparently in good shape as she works out a lot. I think she suffers from Turrets Syndrome as her grunts can be quite loud and without any consistent pattern. I will give her a pass on the grunting as maybe she can't help it but what about the loud talking? How f'ing annoying! The 5:00 AM crew is not there to socialize so when she strikes up a conversation, even though you are reading a book, it is annoying. However, it's even more annoying if you are across the gym and are forced to hear her conversation. BE QUIET. Treat this place like a library! Did you notice they don't turn on the music until 7:00 AM!? So she rambles on and on and on about her rich father-in-law, how successful she is at her job (very hard to believe), and on she goes....

Her lack of a sense of boundaries is my biggest problem with her. There is a towel cart stationed in the gym with drawers full of... towels (shocking!) and on the top of the cart is a basket with peddle straps for the bikes as some people take the peddle straps off. Which reminds me, HEY ASSHOLES STOP TAKING THE PEDDLE STRAPS OFF! Anyway, Old Yeller piles her personal belongings, towel, car keys, extra set of shoes, etc... ON TOP of the towel cart blocking the peddle straps. Lady, do you have no sense of public space v. private space? That is NOT your personal space. We have LOCKERS for your personal stuff why don't you use it. Do you really think you are that important that it's ok to force us to sift through your stuff to get to the peddle straps? Maybe I should really change your name to CLUELESS!?

Next post will be about annoying rich (I assume?) guy who drives the fancy Benzo. I believe he is a lobbyist and he is quite full of himself. We will deal with him in the future....

peace

The Barber Shop

How does the SacTownGuy decide where to get his haircut? Convienience first and foremost. If I am driving down the street and see a haircut place I will stop. I sometimes check if there are customers waiting. I sometimes check the price. I am not too picky. My hair cut has never required a precision stylist as it is pretty basic; clippers of varying numbers, shave the neck, done. It used to take 15 minutes and now down to about 5 minutes. Anyway, this happened back in the day and is 100% authentic. I have told the story a couple of times and thought you might get a laugh....

Back about 1994 or '95 I was a new young lawyer working for the man. The job sucked but it paid the bills... barely. The legal job market was thin back then so I took whatever job I could get. Worked out well, met the people I needed to meet, left that job after a year, and the rest is history. This was a real crappy job. I was young cocky lawyer, having just past the bar exam, and I had this crap job with a one hour lunch break. They had everything but the time clock there keeping track of me. Ok, so one day I wanted to get my haircut at lunch. I was driving around Broadway and 20th in SacTown. Mixed neighborhood, not white, not black, just a mix. I picked a little barber shop that looked nice, parked my sweet Acura Legend (with booming bass in the trunk) out front on the street and walked inside. Once inside I noticed something... everybody was looking at ME. A few customers, two barbers and they were all looking at me. Normally, with that many people waiting I would leave as I wouldn't want to wait the 20-30 minutes I guessed I would have to wait as I quickly calculauted the wait time. However, I didn't want to walk out like I was scared or uncomfortable because they were looking at me for one reason... the color of my skin. I had wondered into the preveriable "black barber shop." The neighborhood shop made visible to us white people in movies like Coming to America and the Barber Shop. I waited my turn.

At a white barber shop you are in and out in 15 minutes no matter what. As stated, it was back in '94 or '95 when I was working for the man and I was on my lunch break; a strict one hour. However, I didn't want to leave and look like a punk so I kept waiting. The wait turned out to be enjoyable though I was nervous about getting back to my job. As I have always been interested in the black culture this was a great place to sit and watch. The two barbers were distinct; the one was about 60 and looked like he had been cutting hair for about 1,000 years. He was tall and thin, quiet, went about his business, and then would occasionally throw some words of wisdom for everybody. The other barber was younger and built a lot like Ice Cube.

In a white barber shop you sit there, mind your own business, wait your turn. In a black barber shop everybody is talking. As is now well known, via movies and media stories, the black barber shop is a neighborhood gathering place. This day lived up to that as people came and went, some customers and some not, and the stories just kept going and going and going. My favorite story was primarily told by the young barber with some input from the crowd as he told the story. It seems like something like this happend in one of those barber shop movies... but this REALLY was the story being told this day back in the mid'90's. It had been some time before that a regular customer had been in the shop talking about how fast he was. Ice Cube was saying how fast he had been back in high school, breaking football records, etc.... Apparently they ended up with a foot race out front with all customers out there, betting on who would win, etc.... Apparently everybody in the shop on my day had also been there on race day so they kept correcting the story with their recollection of the facts, how much the winner won by, etc.... I don't remember if Ice Cube had won the race or not but I do remember that story went on forever!

As my wait headed toward 2 hours I figured it would be my turn soon....

Finally it was my turn but Ice Cube told me I had to wait for the older guy to cut my hair because, "he used to work in Fresno so has cut hair like yours before...." Like Fresno is the epicenter of white people's hair cutting or something!? The older barber was painfully careful cutting my hair. My cut became the focus of the shop as everybody watched; even Ice Cube was watching. In fact, if I remember correctly I believe the older barber was giving tips to Ice Cube as he cut so that Cube would be ready the next time a white guy wandered in to their shop. It probably took at least a half hour to cut it. Maybe it had been a while since he worked in Fresno!? He did a fine job but took his time. It was probably a combination of lack of practice and pride in his work which resulted in the half hour plus cut!

Anyway, it was an extremely funny experience.

My First Blog

This 10th day of December, 2007, marks my first official blog ever. What the heck do I say? How does one "start" their blog? I really don't know since I do not read many blogs and certainly do not remember ever reading a person's first post to their blog. I don't even know proper blog terminology. Is this a "blog entry" or a "post?" Am I "blogging" as I type? Not knowing all the details of what a blog is "supposed to look like," I will just do what feels right: thus, I will provide some personal background, a little on my encouragement to start this and my vision for this blog.

I am an old white guy. Ok, 39 years old, with 40 looming in early 2008. I am an attorney, a partner, at a small law firm in SacTown, Cali, I have a beautiful wife (Kitty Kat) and two PERFECT children. I realize "SacTown, Cali" doesn't sound like lawyer speak but I have an interesting mix. I was raised down in sunny SoCal. Though I lived in an all white (except for Gary Coleman, more on that at a later date) neighborhood, I went to school "east of the Shaw." That means east of Crenshaw Boulevard. Most white people, in LA, only know about Crenshaw Blvd., as an exit they pass on the freeway as they drive to Dodger Stadium, Staple's Center, etc.... Going to a school where I was the minority gives me a good insight into people of all different nationalties and backgrounds. I could play Nerf football on the blacktop playground with my Jewish friends or play basketball on our blacktop basketball Court, with my black friends, as Run DMV's "Hard Time's" jammed away on somebody's box. Speaking of which, I know more about rap music than most people that were raised in Compton; feel free to test me with any rap trivia you please. I am especially strong on LA rappers like NWA, LA Dream Team, Rodney O, Ice T, King T, Toddy Tee, Mixmaster Spade, etc.... Shoot, I used to go to the Rodium Swap Meet to buy all of the latest mix tapes back in the mid-late 80's to stay current on the latest trends as record stores weren't selling much rap back then.

I moved to NoCal for college, joined the white guy frat (Delta Tappa Kegga, or something like that), did the college thing, but again had friends of all backgrounds. My roommate the first semester of college was a white-white guy from Mendocino County who sold pot out of our dorm room. He drove a cool car (old GTO) but I was never a pot guy so found him hard to live with. Some day we will talk about his having live taranechelas and scropions living in empty Jack Daniels bottles in our dorm room. My roommate the second semester was an African-American from Seattle who played on the college football team who I had befriended my semester of college. We will call him "DJ." I like to say that DJ was so cool and smooth he even ironed his underwear! No really, he did. This is a great example how white people and black people do stuff differently (yes I will stereotype and generalize in my blog so if you don't like that please click away now). DJ ironed EVERYTHING before he wore it. I ironed NOTHING. I wore a dress shirt to certain frat meetings and even then would be all wrinkeled and desheveled. DJ was smooth with ironed clothes, trimmed eye brows, etc.... I just talked to DJ last week, 20 years after we were roommates, and he is still smooth as silk; he now forty-something with a new 28 year old bride... who I am sure is beautiful! He is now a cop down in 'Frisco. I still talk to a lot of my college friends so will talk about them as time goes on.

I met many of DJ's friends including one of his frat brothers I recently reconnected with, we will call him TopMack. The TopMack has a very cool blog that is one of two reasons I am writing this blog today. His blog is likely offensive to most of you so click over to his blog but caviat emptor!!! Again, only click here if you are thick skinned when it comes to swearing, drug use and a whole host of other things... http://www.topmacknigga.blogspot.com/ One of their other frat bros will also get mention from time to time is Slick Vinny. He had the coolest slammed Hyuandai back in '87; red, huge gold wheels, and a woofer box that took up the entire hatchback area. I gotz to give credit to Slick Vinny for turning me on to the Rodium Swap meet down in LA.

Ok, so as I was saying I will be mixing my writing with white guy lawyer, and hopefully, correct grammar... along with some "ghetto" slang picked up from years of going to school with a primary African-American population and/or thousands of hours of listening to hardcore gangster rap... still my favorite type of music. Of ya, and the second influence to get me to start this blog today is my man Frisbee Boy. Actually, that's not a cool enough name for him, let's call him D-Smooth. Frisbee Boy is his AKA, but we will go with D-Smooth as his primary name here. D-Smooth is a CPA, partner at his firm, very conservative in speak in client meetings; just like you would want your tax professional to be. My referrals to him always love him very his professional ethic and work product. I enjoy shooting the breeze with D-Smooth about our beloved SacTown King's, cars, mutual clients, etc.... Even at 40-something years old he can play a mean game of basketball, football, etc... plus he hits the golf ball a mile; albeit down other fairways. D-Smooth has been looking to buy a car, for some time, so we have been trading emails about it. He appreciated my comments and on a couple of occasions suggested a blog. Though not a car professional I certainly pay attention to people's automotive choice. I myself, even with wife, 2 young kids, etc... drive a 2 door, stick shift, small back seat... Infiniti G-35. I love it, my kids love it and it's a good pre-middle age crisis car. At a later time we can talk about what I will be buying for my 45th birthday; Porsche, Maserati or what about that "low end" Aston Martin? We have 5+ years to worry about that so no rush. As I type all this I realize this is a lot more fun than doing legal work. Yes, I really am a successful attorney, making more G's than YOU (probably), but sometimes these non-paying exercises are just good for the mind. Sort of like my going to the gym every morning. There are some FREAKS there at 5:00 AM when I pull up. I will tell you all about Book Guy, Yeller, Line Cutter Lady, Door Nazi, etc... in future blogs. It's the little things that get me in the morning... like the guy who blows his nose into his towel and then "cleans" his stationary bike with it afterwards. Is that really very sanitary? I mentioned cars up above and must say that the most knowledgable car guy I know, and guy that really got me into cars, is my man D-latz. D-latz is kicking up in the Pac-Northwest now after spending the last 20 years down in LaLa. D-latz had the nickname of "Boobs" in our frat back in college and I am sure we will find time to talk about his loves; cars and boobs at a later date. There will be others I will talk about in the future and just want to give a quick snapshot of people I will be talking about in the future: ok, yes, I have a beautiful wife who we will call Cat. I got new kids, "Mike D." (named after the famous Beastie Boy of that same name?) and MP, my little daughter. They are 4 and 3 years old, respectively, as I type this. I have a few old skool pat'ners I will be talking about: my cousins, Drew and Little Sether; my oldest buddy, Footloose Friedman out in corn country; my college buddies like P'luma and Rocker Rubes; my Watts connection, the Pittz Brothers; my momz, one of the only Dems in the great state of Utah; my oldest 92 year old g'ma, Susie and her 93 year old boyfriend Big L (they just got back from a week long Mexican cruise with connecting rooms); and many many other peeps you will be hearing about. I mentioned I have been trading emails with D-Smooth who encouraged me to blog. So let me paste a recent email I sent him about cars. Before I do that let me tell you a little about D-Smooth to give you some background and what kind of car he should be buying. As stated above D-Smooth is a CPA with a local firm. He has a wife and two young kids. He likes a nice car currently driving a 2000 Saab 9-5 Aero. He wants a nice car, likely a stick shift, probably a 4 door, but doesn't want to spend $75g's to get it. Plus, certain cars could be problematical for him; for example, one of his officer partners drives a fancy Lexus so D-Smooth can't show up in a low range Lexus as he will look like the junior partner so that's no good. Plus, he is wise with the dollar as most CPA's are so can't be too flashy. You know when I met him back about '96 or '97 he was rolling around in an old Ford Probe. For at least the first 3 or 4 years I knew him he said he was going to buy a new car soon but he kept driving that Probe until the wheels fell off. Props to him for driving that piece so long. He then took over the Saab lease payments from some dumb ass that was dropping six-fot'y a month on that car. Got a wad of cash to take over the payments so was a free car for a while. Damn CPA's are smart with the buck! Anyway, here is what I recently told D-Smooth:

"Let's start with the most important thing... I am not an Audi fan. I realize I am jaded by how bad those cars were when we were in high school. Not just the exploding gas tanks but also the fact that they were just souped up V-dubs. Other than the Audi Quatro of the mid-80's I think they made some crap cars back then. I can't get those cars out of mind. Fast forward to now I think they make a good car but I still don't think they are long term reliable cars. You are likely to drive the car for 7-8 years and thus I recommend you do what the Vapors said... "I think I am turning Japanese... I really think so...." I think it was the Vapors that sang that. Since it's not rap my knowledge may be off. I would go Infiniti, Acura or Lexus. I like the sporty Lexus... the 250? It's similar priced to the G35 I think. I am just not an Audi guy. My little cousin is turning his A6 in soon after a 3 year lease. He had a G35 before that. I would send him an email about his likes/dislikes but he left for Africa last night for 3 weeks. In case he dials up he probably doesn't want my email about cars. I would seriously look at long term reliability reports."

Other than discussed above, what else will you be seeing in my blogs? Lively discussion of the most trivial of trivia related to things like UCLA basketball (i.e. what number did Nigel Miguel wear while at UCLA?), stock talk (you know, my advice on which companies to invest in or not invest in), talk about women (will keep that on the positive tip of course) and more to come when I think of it.

I am really not sure what else to tell you on this initial post, or is it "blog" and I really should get working cuz I do have bills. Man, is it not easy to spend money? I make more money than I ever thought I would and spend even more than that. Maybe that will be the subject of a future blog. For now, as we used to say, peace and audi 5000g. -SacTownGuy OUT