THE TYGRRRR EXPRESS

On August 26th, 1990, I boarded a plane from New York and landed in Los Angeles.

I landed, looked at the beautiful sky, looked at the postcards, did a triple take, and realized that everything I had been told was true.

The first words out of my mouth contained expletives.

“Holy (redacted), I am never (redacted) leaving.”

It was like God had created a perfect city for me to run and play in.

No more shoveling snow (although my dad would remind me that he shoveled it and I stayed indoors. I specifically remember shoveling it once or twice) ever again.

I remember culture shock and almost getting into a fistfight with a store clerk. He asked me to give him my bag, and I said no. It was explained to me by one of my new California college classmates that he would give me the bag back once I left the store. He was just trying to prevent shoplifting. I thought he was trying to rob me. I gave him the bag grudgingly, and checked my things thoroughly when I got my bag back. The classmate explained that I was from New York, as if I was the one acting strange and not him.

I remember November 13th, 1990 when the Los Angeles Raiders when into Miami against the 8-1 Dolphins on Monday Night Football and just rammed the ball down their throats. Bo Jackson and Marcus Allen ran right at them, and the defense hounded Dan Marino in a 13-10 Raiders win. That night in Los Angeles was the first day it rained, and I had been there almost 3 months!

Normally I hate the rain. LA was in the midst of a drought, or as I called it “nice weather.” Yet when everybody made a slip and slide on the grass, I took part. Hot rain is better than freezing rain.

I remember being in a Jacuzzi in the dead of what would normally be winter. I had my soda and my fake cigar, thinking that I was living like Robin Leach in “Lifestyle of the Rich and Famous,” while my relatives back in New York were freezing their hides off.

I remember going to the guys for a fraternity party and ending up in the wrong building, accidentally ending up at a sorority party. There were 500 giggling, tipsy girls, and 4 guys. One of my friends realized we were in the wrong building and suggested we should go. I looked at him and said, “Go? What is this ‘go’ thing you speak of? You mean stay.” We did end up leaving, although I enjoyed feeling my way through the crowd on the way out. My bad habit of forgetting to empty my pockets before doing laundry rendered the phone numbers I collected indecipherable.

Yet as August of 2010 comes and goes, I still find myself struggling to answer the basic question…where am I from?

It seems so easy to answer. Yet to this day I have never told people that I am a Californian or an Angeleno. It just never felt right.

Los Angeles has been very good to me. I have friends here I will have for life. One of them I met the day my plane landed, and another one I met a month later.

I was definitely not a Californian then. It would have made no sense. I told everybody I was a New Yorker, because that is all I ever knew.

Some people would insist that I was never a New Yorker because to them, Manhattan is New York. For the uneducated, New York City in terms of geography is a tiny sliver of New York State.

When people would ask me where I was from in New York, I would say “Brooklyn born, Long Island raised.”

I only lived in Brooklyn a few months. I lived on Long Island for 18 years. Yet I never really bonded with Long Island. To this day I tell people that if you have never been, save your money because there is no reason to go whatsoever. My home on Long Island was always 20 minutes away from “something.”

This is where the geographically uneducated would mention the Hamptons. That was where the wealthy people lived. I was middle class, and have only been to the Hamptons 2 or 3 times in my life. So again, Long Island really did not offer much. Manhattan did nothing for me, and I still find it overrated.

Having said that, my favorite comedy movie of all time came out days before I left New York in 1990. Bill Murray played a clown who robbed a bank in “Quick Change.” The reason he robs the bank to begin with is so he can have enough money to finance his escape from New York. Several times he looks out the window and says “God I hate this town.” That love-hate relationship with New York defines me. I prefer living in Los Angeles, but identify and bond more with New York.

Brooklyn is where my passion is. I am very proud of my Brooklyn heritage. I did not grow up there, but that is where I was born, and where much of my family lives today. All of my family lived there except m parents, who escaped to Long Island.

I still vacation in Brooklyn. I go to Coney Island, home of the Original Nathan’s Hot Dog stand and the Boardwalk.

To say I am a Brooklynite would not be honest. It had the biggest impact on me, but I was not raised there. I spent a lot of time there visiting my family. Although my grandparents are gone, I still feel their spirit inside of me when I go to the park. Some of the 90 year olds recognize me. To have those people come up, touch my check, and hug me, is warmth I cannot feel anywhere else. They tell me how much my grandparents meant to them, and how much I meant to them.

Yet now I am 38. I have lived in Los Angeles 20 years, more than the 18 in New York. My friends wonder when I will just say I am an Angeleno. Yet I still tell people I am a New Yorker living in Los Angeles. Would I live in New York again? No. The weather is horrible. I don’t do cold weather. I would be bicoastal between LA and Brooklyn. I would say it that way because between LA and NY sounds pretentious, and I am not some Upper Westside snob. Manhattan looks down on Brooklyn, but Brooklyn is as real as it gets.

While LA has a reputation for phoniness, my friends are real, and they were raised here. As one of my friends reminded me, Los Angeles has been very good to me.

I just know where my emotions are.

When the 1992 LA riots happened, I watched the city burn. I was in college, and only blocks from the burning. The city I lived in was on fire, but I was like “cool.” It was interesting to watch. There was no emotional connection.

When 9/11 happened, I was in Los Angeles. Even though the planes hit Manhattan and not Brooklyn, it was my city that was attacked. It was personal. My friends from Brooklyn and Long Island were attacked. Like when we were kids, if you attack one of us, you attack all of us.

As soon as I could I flew back to NY, and still fly every 9/11, usually to NY. 9/11 reaffirmed the bond I had with my home state. Terrorists did not just attack a state. They attacked mine. It was personal.

To this day, I travel all across America. People ask me where I am from. I start out by saying that I live in Los Angeles. Yet then I quickly tell them, “but I was born and raised in New York.”

Los Angeles is associated with Hollywood and the entertainment industry, which I loathe. Los Angeles has the Lakers, who I detest. New York has Wall Street, which runs through my blood. I love it. I was a Wall Street guy for 15 years, although my dislike of cold weather had me working out of my firms’ LA offices most of the time. Yet sometimes I did work on the actual Wall Street itself, and it was a rush. Nevertheless, I am a car guy, not a train guy.

Everything about LA appeals to me in terms of lifestyle more than NY. Although I live in a highrise condo building in a nice area. My NY friends tell me that for a guy who would never live in Manhattan, I sure live like an Upper Westside guy. That is one step less revolting than being from Hollywood. Hollywood is 15 minutes East of me, and my car only goes West.

My NY accent was less thick than my cousins because my parents were schoolteachers. My mother taught English, and “gangster talk” was not permitted in the house. I once said “nevah” and my mother explained that it was pronounced “never.” I learned quickly to round off my r’s properly.  My accent comes out when I get angry or excited. When watching football, the accent comes out strong, although my cousins still think I have gone soft living in LA.
Living in NY, I was always a Raiders fan because as a kid I liked the logo. In 1980 the Jets and Giants were both 4-12 while the Raiders were about to win the Super Bowl.

(I do root for the NY teams to do well in every sport, preferring the Mets to the Yankees since my grandfather loved the Mets. I am fine with the Knicks. I prefer the Rangers over the Islanders, again my bond to the city being more than where I grew up. Yes, I hated the Islanders when they were winning championships every year. I am no bandwagon fan. )

Yet even though I had never been to California, they were always the Oakland Raiders to me, not the Los Angeles Raiders. I enjoyed seeing their games in LA, but was glad they moved back to Oakland because of tradition.

Tradition. That is what it is all about. Tradition is the way that Nathan’s Hot Dog tastes on the Boardwalk. It is how real NY Pizza tastes.

It is how I feel when sitting around the table with cousins for the Jewish holidays. They still live across the street from where my grandparents lived. That is how it should be.

I have a great life in Los Angeles. I have the best friends a guy could ask for. My children will be Angelenos, although we will vacation in Brooklyn on occasion so they can get a taste of their heritage.

Yet 30 years from now I just don’t see myself being an Angeleno. My parents retired to South Florida, but I am not a Floridian. I’ve never lived there.

As 20 years has turned me from a college kid into a young man, I freely admit that I love living in Los Angeles. Yet who I am runs deeper.

I am a New Yorker living in Los Angeles.

I am Brooklyn born, Long Island raised.

I was Brooklyn born near Coney Island, not too far from Sheep’s Head Bay, still vacationing by Neptune and West 5th St, walking distance to the Nathan’s and the Boardwalk.

That is my story. That is who I am. That is where I am from.

Once  a New Yorker…a Brooklynite…a Coney Island kid…always.

eric

I recently had the pleasure of attending my 20 year High School reunion.

Given that this is a very boring topic for those who did not attend my school, I have decided to throw in some gratuitous references to pop culture that have absolutely nothing to do with this column. This is done in a very subtle manner solely to increase blog traffic. I love it when imbeciles link to my column based on word searches without actually reading the column.

Although I am proud to have been born in Brooklyn, I actually attended school on Long Island. I have always said that for those who have never been to Long Island, save your money because there is no reason to go whatsoever. For those who live on Long Island, pretend to be offended while secretly admitting I am right. Growing up, my home was always 20 minutes from “something.”

Thankfully I was able to take part in a political function before the reunion, since business trips are what I do.

While my school experiences absolutely sucked on virtually every level, the best thing I did was go to my 10 year reunion. The nice people showed up, the creeps stayed home, and I buried the demons. Going to my 20 year reunion, I was completely at peace.

(The fact that I was successful, and therefore significantly more handsome, certainly helped matters. Sleeping with a smart, hot girlfriend also makes me more pleasant than I was growing up.)

The reunion was a fantastic experience. The two ladies who did most of the work should be given the equivalent of gold stars for the refrigerators. The slide shows they put together were brilliantly done.

The music was pure 1980s, which was fitting for the class of 1990. Although the dj did screw up by playing one song from that infernal LADY GAGA (for those wanting more updates on Lady Blah Blah, I say…well…blah blah), the rest of the night he remembered what generation was being represented.

As for me, I am on the road 300 days per year, and was glad to be able to fit this event in between San Diego and Arkansas. To mark the occasion, I broke out my 1980s style Miami Vice turquoise suit. The reason why I dressed like that is simple. I can. Most people can’t pull it off. Next time it is pink or yellow. Everybody else was dressed normal. Their loss.

Two of my fellow students I grew up with both attended the 10 year reunion. At that event, they ended up falling in love. At the 20 year reunion they were a married couple with a child. If that does not justify attending reunions, I cannot think of what does.

A sad occurrence was seeing one of our former class presidents being at less than full capacity due to a tragic car accident shortly after graduation. I hope God looks after him always. His attitude is very positive, which is admirable.

A sadder occurrence was that the son of one my favorite schoolteachers growing up gave us the bad news that his father had died 2 months earlier. I let him know how much his father meant in my life. I am sure many students felt that way, and I hope this gives the guy a bit of solace. Whether a person is 6 or 60 or 38, we are never prepared for losing our loved ones. I have my parents by the Grace of God, but still miss my grandparents.

One girl was there in a wheelchair. I did not ask about the circumstances because it was not my business. At the end of the evening I approached her, and received the most positive surprise of the entire night. Her husband, despite never attending our school, knew me from when we were 6 years old. For 2 years I attended a private school with him. He and I still had memories from 1978. He was not at this reunion, but thanks to FACEBOOK, we are now in touch.

The reunion was a reminder at how fleeting everything is. Seeing people with physical and mental handicaps before age 40 was frightening. Their sunny perspectives made it less painful to think about.

In addition to those in attendance, focus was also on those not attending. One of our classmates is currently in Afghanistan. He comes home soon. Rich, thank you for your service, and in advance, welcome home.

There were 2 girls growing up I did not get along with. Both were at the reunion. I took one of them aside, and said to her, “I was a real pr*ck to you growing up.” She laughed hysterically and said, “I was not that nice to you either.” She is now married with a stepchild, and the one reason I hated not getting along with her growing up was because both of our mothers got along very well. She and I took a picture together, and my mom was very happy. She wants everybody to like everybody.

The girl I liked when I was in 5th grade was there. She does not share my politics. Yet she is every bit as nice and sweet as when we were kids. Even back then I had great taste in girls. Her husband hit the jackpot.

The girl in 12th grade who scared all the boys to death was there with her husband. She laughed when I reminded her how tough she was. She still is that tough. She laughed when I pointed out to her that 4 different boys congratulated me for merely approaching her in school. Apparently getting shot down in flames was a badge of honor, since the others were to petrified to even ask.

Not one person at the reunion within earshot brought up any idiocies from today’s culture. Thankfully the 1980s did not infect the world with SNOOKIE, J-LO, LILO (which apparently either means LINDSAY LOHAN or a character that hangs out with Stitch, whoever that is), or PARIS HILTON.

Some of the people in the room had read my blog, and told me that they agreed with my politics. I am glad this was done privately, because I really wanted it to be an apolitical evening. I slipped once when at the end of the evening one of the attendees said they looked forward to seeing me one day on CNN. I corrected them in a laughing way and pointed out, “not CNN…Fox News.” Except for that one remark, I was thrilled that the evening was apolitical.

Politics was mostly absent, but economics was not. Many people could not attend the reunion because of the tough economic times. I am doing reasonably well, but I am under no illusions that at any moment things can change for anybody. I was thankful that enough people were in a financial position strong enough to attend.

While there was talk about doing a 30 year reunion, I hope they do one at 25 years. The difference between age 43 and 48 is very large. 43 is still relatively young. 48 is pushing 50. At 38 this was our last reunion where we were still “young.”

Some of the people did not age. Others gained stuff (weight), lost stuff (hair), and in the best cases, found stuff (love, marriage, and children). The best aspect of the reunion was that the people who showed up with spouses and loved ones from the 10 year reunion were with the same people a decade later. In an unstable world, the graduating class of 1990 seemed fairly stable in that department.

The one thing I will take away from the reunion more than anything else was that it was worth attending. For those who are thinking of skipping their reunion because of a lousy childhood, don’t do that. No matter how painful a person’s past, a pleasant present can beget a very bright future.

The temptation at this point is to Facebook everybody, say hello once or twice, and then not communicate again until the next reunion. I hope I do better than that. I hope that despite having an insanely busy life, that I appreciate these people by keeping in touch, at least 3 or 4 times per year.

They are a part of my life, and I have positive memories of them all. As we get older, the bad times fade away and the good times get enhanced. Adulthood and maturation humble us, which makes us better people.

May God forever shine his light on and bless those who attended my 1990 class 20 year reunion. If they represent even a small slice of America, then the best days of this nation itself are still in front of us.

eric

The only Southern state I had never been to was Arkansas. That finally changed, as today will be an Arkansas Saturday to remember. I will be at the state GOP convention in Little Rock, and then heading to the “Paint Arkansas Red Rally” in Hot Springs. I will be speaking in front of about 1200 people.

I am jut glad to be here. Every time I tried to get to Arkansas, something went wrong.

In late 2000 and early 2001, it looked like the two best football teams were the Oakland Raiders and the Tennessee Titans. They were on a collision course for the AFC Title Game. I had a ticket ready to fly to Nashville for the game, then drive to Memphis, and finally make it to Arkansas. I decided to put the ticket on 24 hour hold rather than buy it…just in case.

In a playoff shocker, the Baltimore Ravens stunned the Tennessee Titans. Instead of the South, I was headed to Oakland as the Raiders hosted the Ravens.

(What a waste of money….50 yard line, front row, and an @ss kicking.)

Two years later in 2002 the Titans and Raiders finally played in the AFC Title Game, but the game was in Oakland.

(The bad news was I was too scared to go. The good news is the Raiders won.)

I was still nowhere near Arkansas.

This 2010 trip to Arkansas was not easy. A simple flight from Los Angeles to Little Rock on Thursday, with a stopover in Las Vegas, seemed straightforward enough.

Awakened at 3:45am, I made my 6:15am flight from LA to Vegas. I could have gotten on my connecter and been in Little Rock by 2:30pm. That would have been the easy way. Apparently I never do anything the easy way. Oh well.

I was offered compensation to take a later flight, which would have gotten me into Little Rock by 9:30pm. A 7 hour delay is not thrilling, but the compensation was pleasant enough.

Of course the later flight was not a straight flight. I had to go from Las Vegas to San Antonio to Dallas to Little Rock. Two stops in Texas seemed insane, but airlines really are awful.

The trips to San Antonio and then Dallas were to be on the same plane, so at least that was convenient. How hard is it to stay on a plane, wait for the pilot to hit the head, and then continue on?

When we got to San Antonio the airline for reasons that nobody including the pilots understood decided to do a “plane swap.” To make things even more delightful, the connecter to Dallas was delayed 90 minutes. My inability to turn back time like Cher meant that I was not going to get to Little Rock.

I had the choice of staying in a hotel in San Antonio or Dallas. Since there were no direct flights from San Antonio to Little Rock, and everything went through Dallas anyway, staying in San Antonio made no sense.

They put me up in a nice hotel with a pool that closed at 10pm. On a day that started at 3:45am, getting in that pool at 9:45pm never felt so good. After 18 hours of partial hades, 15 minutes of heaven was all I needed to be relaxed again.

I was supposed to be a Friday 8am guest of Arkansas radio personality Dick Antoine. Being in Dallas made it tough to walk to the Arkansas studio. Thankfully I was able to call in and do the interview by phone.

At 12:45pm I took the one hour flight to Little Rock, and got there only 34 hours after my journey began.

I would have been enraged had the delays caused me to miss events, but the originald ecision tod elayw as mine, and I did not need to be there until today.

Some will wonder why it was so important to get to Arkansas.

It is important for the same reason I head to Nebraska next week. It is the same reason I go to places many others never see.

I am going to Arkansas for the same reason the guy climbs the mountain.

I am going to Arkansas because it is there.

People live there. There is something about each state that makes it different from the other 49.

This country is so amazing, and every state has beauty that cannot be described by merely reading a book or watching a television.

America is not coasts and flyover country. It is not podunkville. It is people.

No two people are alike. Arkansas gave us Bill Clinton, but it also gave us Mike Huckabee.

As for me, I am excited to have now been to every Southern State. At some point all 50 states will have welcomed me into their area.

For now, it is time to enjoy Arkansas Saturday.

eric

So much for Highbrow Friday. Today is Low-Medium-Brow Saturday, with me being generous toward myself regarding the medium.

The Miami Shark and I are enjoying a patriotic weekend. So as America turns 234, I revert to being 18, which was in 1990.

20 years ago while in college I wrote down some thoughts. Most of them were mine, but some were said by others. While doing some long overdue cleaning, I found the piece of paper with the quotes.

God help decent society, but now I realize that the screws loose in my head began coming undone many moons ago.

With that, here are some great quotes of mine from college.

1) To truly enjoy the pleasures of the flesh…one must have…flesh.

2) He who hesitates…

3) Please always remember and don’t ever forget…

4) Don’t do dope while you’re stoned.

5) I want one type of woman…a deaf mute.

7) Vidi Vici Veni

10) With the exceptions of sex, money, and power, I don’t believe in transient goods.

11) It’s not easy being the white knight in a black world.

18) If losing your virginity was as easy as losing your soul, life would be f*cking good.

19) I proceeded to penetrate the deep dark chasm of her cranial cavity.

20) Not all children are adopted. Some people did it after they were married. Gross.

22) Those 3 little words that get guys off the hook…I don’t know.

24 1/2) They shouldn’t call it afterglow. Nobody glows after. They smell funny and their hair is messed up.

26) My conscience is clean. I never use it.

28) Classical music would be easier to understand if it came with the Looney Tunes words in parentheses.

30) When in doubt…Make up your mind.

32) Each time after I go to bed and before I wake up…I sleep.

33) Always be exact in math. Astronauts die because of approximations.

35) Balloons are like virgins. Once you pop them, they’re gone for good.

36) The grass is always greener on the side that gets watered the most.

Other people had other things to say.

6) You can’t live with ’em…pass the beer nuts. (George Wendt as Norm Peterson on Cheers)

12) Boxing is like ballet except there is no music, no choreography, and the dancers hit each other. (Deep thoughts by Jack Handy on Saturday Night Live)

13) I once got arrested for scalping low numbers at a deli. (Steven Wright)

17) Don’t drink and drive. You might hit a bump and spill your drink. (Unknown)

23) Mom, I’ve been in my room for hours, and now you want me to look at it? (Bill Cosby, Himself)

27) Ho! Haha! Guard! Turn! Parry! Dodge! Spin! Ha! Thrust! (Daffy Duck as Robin Hood dealing with Porky Pig as Friar Tuck. Then Daffy’s beak would fly up)

29) I reminisce with people I don’t know. It takes longer. (Steven Wright)

31) Platonic relationship–He wants to play, she wants to keep it tonic. (Unknown)

34) I’ve seen the handwriting on the wall…and it’s illegible. (Unknown)

The others are not worth repeating. I have done enough damage to society.

Somehow, despite me, America has soldiered on. Well done USA. Happy 234.

eric

Gary Coleman left us far too soon, dying yesterday of a brain aneurysm at age 42.

It all seems so arbitrary. Bret Michaels suffers a brain ailment and survives (thank God). Gary Coleman has one and does not.

I am genuinely saddened by this death. While I grew up watching “Different Strokes,” and did like it when Arnold Jackson said, “What chu talkin bout Willis,” my bond was with Gary Coleman, not his character.

As silly as this sounds, I admired him and Emmanuel Lewis of “Webster” fame for succeeding despite being very short. I was always one of the shortest kids in school, and it bothered me. Many women rejected in me in my younger years because of my height.

(Then I began making money, and shockingly enough they showed much more interest. They also stopped wearing underwear. It is funny how that works, but that is for another time.)

When I saw Gary Coleman succeeding in life despite his physical limitations, it inspired me. I always rooted for him.

Although television is not real life, Conrad Bain always seemed like a good guy. He played Mr. Drummond, and he seemed to have a genuine affection for all three child stars. He is now 87 years old, and two of his “children” have pre-deceased him. Mr. Coleman is gone at age 42, and Kimberly character Dana Plato died tragically at age 37. Ms. Plato’s son also died, a suicide at age 25. Todd Bridges went from Willis Jackson to a life of cocaine induced hell that included twice being charged with serious crimes involving death. He was acquitted on murder charges, and charges were dropped in another incident when the police accepted his explanation of self defense. He seems to have turned his life around.

Mr. Coleman had legal troubles of his own, but they were minor in comparison to that of Ms. Plato and Mr. Bridges. His issues were health related. His body was simply built with too many defects. It was not drugs or alcohol, but a bad body from birth that just rebelled one too many times.

Many people do not remember this, but in 2002 he was one of the many people running for governor of California during the recall election. As crazy as this sounds, he came across as very sensible. Given the state of California today, I doubt he could have done worse. He laughed on the campaign trail, admitting that he was not a serious candidate but enjoying having fun with it. Again, I was surprised at how logical some of his proposals seemed.

I hope that in heaven, the shortest star on television in the 1980s stands tall with his creator. I hope he ends up head and shoulders above the rest with happiness and health.

On Earth, I wish his family well.

What chu talkin bout Willis! Say it aint so!

Sadly, it is.

Goodbye Mr. Coleman. You left us way too soon.

eric