Dr. 90210 Heroic

(AP) An elderly man on an American Airlines flight was restrained by passengers, including television's "Dr. 90210," after he got out of his seat and bristled at a flight attendant late Monday, officials said.

The jetliner landed safely in Los Angeles and police took the 104-year-old one-legged man with halitosis, who did not speak English, to a hospital for mental observation, an airport spokeswoman said.

"He evidently started to panic about 15 minutes before landing, when everyone is supposed to be buckled into seats," the spokeswoman said. "He was apparently unhappy with the temperature of his soup served during the inflight meal," she continued.

The man hopped out of his seat in coach and marched into first class. He was undeterred by the curtain separating the elite from the general population.

Dr. Robert Rey, a plastic surgeon who practices martial arts, told The Associated Press he got out of his seat and intervened when he heard the man make a "big noise" as he pushed a female flight attendant away from the cookie tray and tried to grab a handful of free snacks.

"When you get a black belt, at that stage your brain just clicks into action," the doctor said. "I restrained this gentleman in a very aggressive way without hurting him. Afterall, he was a very, very dangerous centenarian." Rey believed he did the right thing, but now is concerned that he will "not be allowed to board future flights carrying these deadly weapons," he said, referring to his right and left fists.

During the struggle with the unruly passenger, Rey used the palm of his hand to break the man's nose. He then reset the nose, performed a quick rhinoplasty, breast augmentation and brow lift on the man before the plane landed.

Another passenger helped as the man kicked and screamed, Rey said. That other passenger described the man's "kicking and screaming" more like "the pathetic wriglings of a 104-year-old invalid with bad breath."

Flight crew members described the man as "very frail" and "not deserving of such an ass whooping from a Beverly Hills bully."

The flight attendant "was shook up but not hurt," Rey said. To be sure, Rey asked the flight attendant to undress so that he could take Polaroid photos of her in front of a blue wall. The flight attendant is scheduled for liposuction and tummy tuck next week.

None of the five crew members or 122 passengers aboard the MD-80 plane from Austin, Texas, reported injuries -- well, except for the old guy who got his butt kicked. The elderly man received a bill for his plastic surgery totalling almost $11,000 from Rey's office.

Rey, who stars on the E! Network reality show "Dr. 90210" about a Beverly Hills plastic surgeon, was returning home after taping a cameo segment for John Basedow's latest "Fitness Made Simple" workout video.

"Let this be a lesson to anyone who thinks about coming through that first class curtain again," Rey said.

Cynic's Corner: The Da Vinci Code

The Cynic's Corner provides helpful and informative movie reviews without ever seeing the film. Motion pictures are rated on the following scale:

* = Not even worth reading this review
** = Stay home and wait until it's on video.
*** = Stay home and wait until it's on TNT for the tenth time
**** = Boycott the film and march in protest around the multiplex

The Da Vinci Code
***1/2

The books on my shelves display as badges of honor. After completing a good book, I will proudly slide it into place between titles likeThe Wealth and Poverty of Nations, Visions of Gerard or The Complete Stories of Kafka where it will reside in testament to my superior taste and knowledge. In the case of Dan Brown's The Da Vinci Code, after reading it I shamefully hid the book beneath a stack of dirty magazines.

I, like many, read Brown's bestseller in a three-hour period between reruns of The Daily Show. I had been battered about the face by a copy of the book, being told that it was the greatest novel since The Klone and I and that I was an idiot for not reading it. To this day, I don't see what the big deal is. The terrible way in which the book is written leaves one wondering was an editor at all involved? I think the poor syntax and sloppy grammar was probably Brown's best defense in the plagiarism case.

One thing is clear. When you read this book you can tell it would make a great movie. Probably a very long movie, but a good one none-the-less. And the fact that is has stirred up so much controversy, and gotten the evangelicals all huffy, just adds to the intrigue.

Back in October, I called for my own boycott of SONY Pictures after their production of films based on the Left Behind series of books. (Talk about books with a cult following.) Now the Vatican is is calling for their own boycott of SONY Pictures' The Da Vinci Code. Man, I love capitalism. If anyone should be boycotting this film, it should be art historians. The liberties taken with odd interpretations of great masterpieces is far more offensive than any marginally blasphemed messianic figure. I'd just love to see a hoard of museum curators berating ticket buyers at the box office.

The movie is worth seeing, not only for the rush of crossing a picket line, but for the thrill and mystery of a gripping story. Plus, it's worth checking out to see just what exactly is up with Tom Hanks' hair.

Digital Conquers All

I believe some of the most interesting and spontaneous photographs have happened at the end of a roll. Those last few frames you thought you were burning off, sometimes yielded surprising results. But that end-of-the-roll whimsy is now obsolete in the digital-camera age. Then again, with virtually no limit on the number of digital photographs you can take, a carefree impulsiveness to snap a picture of anything and everything is probably more pervasive than it should be.

Stanley Kubrik’s 2001: A Space Odyssey is still one of my favorite movies. And the fact that all of the special effects in this science fiction film are entirely mechanical, makes it that much more special. I’d say that most of the visual effects in that film are still superior to the over-modulated, eye-candy digital CGI effects used in films today.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not preaching analog here. I’m not one of those freaks that collects LPs or feels more creative in front of a typewriter. Quite the contrary. I love technology. However, I know that with all the benefits of our binary wireless high-speed broadband satellite era, there are sacrifices. I like to know what I’m giving up and how I can salvage some of that experience while reaping the benefits of the latest-and-greatest.

For example, I used to enjoy listening to AM radio on long road trips. Driving through small rural towns, local AM radio was how I could get a fleeting sense of the local aura at 75mph. But those days are probably gone now. For my birthday, the parental units were kind enough to give me an XM Satellite Radio receiver.

I’ve been using it for nearly two weeks now and am thoroughly hooked. 
Satellite radio allows you to listen to the same radio stations, commercial-free, coast to coast. So when you’re driving through Salina, Kansas and all you can find is one crackly Bluegrass channel, you can turn on your satellite radio and tune in a crystal-clear, interstellar Bluegrass channel of your choosing.

The unit I have is Delphi’s RoadyXT which is a lightweight faceplate the size of a credit card and a half-inch thick. It attaches to a base unit for the home and another for the car. While it requires a special antenna and a power source (wall outlet or cigarette lighter) it can play through any FM radio wirelessly. It’s the same concept behind Apple’s iTrip or, as I more fondly remember, “Mr. Mic.”

The broadcasts are all-digital and have an amazing clarity and range of sound. Even playing through my atrocious car stereo, the sound is impressive. Meanwhile, the faceplate displays the current artist and song playing -- a convenient distraction while driving. And living in an area where I can pick up radio stations in two major media markets but in six years haven’t found a single decent broadcaster worth programming into my presets, the selection of music choices on XM is a welcomed joy.

XM Satellite Radio offers a staggering number of channels. But much like cable television, only a small fraction of those offerings are of interest. Once you’ve weeded through and found what you’re looking for, it’s pretty addictive. However, my big gripe with XM is that they’ve gotten too cutesy by giving many of the channels names that have no relevance to the content. Names like “The Blend,” “The Mix,” “Big Tracks,” “Deep Tracks,” “Fred,” “Lucy” and “Ethel” aren’t nearly as helpful as, say, “Lite Pop,” “Alternative,” “Modern,” “Acoustic” and “Classic Rock.” When there are 200 channels to chose from and memorize, a little more specificity would be appreciated.

It took me a week to learn that “Lucy” is actually worthy of low-number preset status. It’s mix of artists like U2, David Bowie, Talking Heads, Violent Femmes and Elvis Costello is eclectic without being esoteric. And they play mostly lesser-known tracks from their albums, rather than just hits like “One” or “Pump It Up.” Too bad they have to throw in Dave Matthews or Counting Crows from time to time. Still, the variety of music played is far greater than anything you hear over the airwaves. Plus, during their station IDs, I really enjoy the little messages they scroll across the display like, “You were never cool in high school,” or “People like you made Jim Belushi famous.” 


Knowing me, you’d guess that I’ve also spent a good deal of time listening to XM Classics, their appropriately-monikered Classical music channel. It’s great to hear a Classical station playing large-scale symphonies and lesser-known contemporary works that the wallpaper public radio stations never go near. However, XM Classic’s programming does venture into the very obscure, even for this aficionado. I have very far-ranging knowledge and esoteric tastes. But I can do without the lowly works of Johann Wilhelm Wilms, Hugo Alfven, Karl Ditters von Dittersdorf or Alan Hovhannes, thank you. Sometimes, it’s okay to just play Beethoven. Heck, I’d even settle for Bruckner. 


XM Satellite Radio also offers “XM Public Radio” which carries some interesting programs. But last night it sounded like they were broadcasting hearings on traffic improvements somewhere in Boston. (?!) This is the one place where Sirius (XM’s competitor) has the edge in that they carry all of NPR’s programming. Which is why in morning drive time, I’m often switching off the XM and turning on the local NPR on FM. Sorry, but Bob Edwards (formerly of NPR, now on XM every morning) just isn’t cutting it for me. I need my “Morning Edition.”

I'm also excited about the large number of Spanish language stations. So many foreigners say they learned English by listening to American music or watching American TV. So I'm hoping that by listening to "Aguila," "Viva" or "Deportivo" on a daily basis will have me conversant in no time. "Radio des satélites es muy bueno!"

Saving the best for last, the greatest thing about satellite radio is that it carries every Major League Baseball game every day. This is probably the main reason it was seen as great gift for me. And that’s correct. Being a fan of an out-of-town team, I’ve been known to drive around in my car listening to fuzzy AM stations just to catch the end of a game. Now, I can listen clearly to all the games while driving around aimlessly. The little display even posts the current score, inning and number of outs.

Because of the limited number of channels they devote to MLB, they only carry the home team broadcast. It’s a small drawback. Listening to the away games, you hear the other team’s announcers in every city spouting off the same stupid facts from the media guide. But getting to hear the local commercials from Denver or Los Angeles has a surprising entertainment value. 


So, thanks mom and dad. XM Satellite Radio is definitely cool. I probably won’t miss listening to AM radio anymore. But maybe I’ll write XM a letter with a suggestion for a new radio station – “AM Across America.” Every five minutes the content would crackle from polka, to Christian talk, to Pat Boone. Now that would be worth the subscription.

How Much Dumber Can I Get?

I fondly remember being intoxicating by the flicker of a 13-inch black-and-white television I had in my room as a child. With bunny ears perched precariously on top of the TV, I could only switch between the seven different channels by getting up from my cushy bean bag chair to spin the dials. The channels were 3, 6, 10, 12, 17, 29 and 57. Today, those sound more like Powerball numbers.

Now, I sit at home on my couch with my remote control -- although I do miss that bean bag chair -- partaking of not just 80+ television stations, but as much other media as I can absorb simultaneously. It's something I like to call "multivegging."

What exactly is multivegging? Well, I'm doing it right now.

• The television is tuned to "Deal or No Deal." The sound is muted as this is a game show that requires no audio. Judging by tonight's contestant, apparently it doesn't require a fifth-grade math education, either.
  
• The XM Radio is on, tuned to an out-of-town baseball game. This also has a small screen on it displaying the current score, inning and number of outs.
  
• My laptop is open and online and there are no less than five tabs open in my browser.
  
  
  
  1. An online poker game I switch to every time the alert tells my it's my turn to act. I'm raising on a heart flush draw right now.
     
  2. A live box score from one other baseball game I'm currently tracking. I know, it's too early to scoreboard watch.
     
  3. An eBay auction item I've been monitoring for a week that ends in just three -- wait, two -- minutes. Crap, outbid again!
     
  4. An online crossword puzzle I fill in as a diversion -- a sorbet of the senses, if you will. Hey, what's a four-letter word for "bread spread?"
     
  5. And of course, this blog I'm currently typing. Does that explain all the typos?
  
  
• Oh, did I mention there's an issue of Chesapeake Home next to me, opened to an article on maintaining your hardwood floors? This is notable, of course, because I neither own a "Chesapeake Home" nor have any hardwood floors in my current home. In fact, the magazine subscription isn't even mine. It just arrives every month in my mailbox, addressed to the previous resident who has been deceased for no less than ten years.
  

I digress.

I know, you're probably wondering, "How is 'multivegging' different from 'multitasking?' "

"Multitasking" implies that you're actually doing something -- a task. I do this at work all the time. While I'm on the phone, I'll finish up an e-mail or file away important papers in the shredder. I'm able to fully accomplish two things at once. Talk about efficiency! Conversely, "multivegging" is about doing lots of nothing all at once. Right now, I'm processing as much useless, unavailing, time-wasting information as possible. After a long day of multitasking at work, it takes more than just one or two or three diversions for me to unwind. I need a circus of distractions to liquify my brain.

My wife, meanwhile, is in the other room, on the other computer, watching the other TV.

And somewhere in the house, a baby sits neglected. Hey, where is that kid anyway?

Coast to Coast

FROM TODAY'S LA TIMES

No-show bug must be going around
Cancellations are part of life for the L.A. Phil and other groups, but this year it's epidemic.

By Scott Timberg
Times Staff Writer

April 4, 2006

It seemed like a perfect — and perfectly balanced — week for the piano, the musical equivalent of Apollo and Dionysus appearing at the same party. On March 15, the stately, golden-toned Murray Perahia was to perform a recital at Walt Disney Concert Hall. The following night, the romantic, impetuous Martha Argerich would lead the Los Angeles Philharmonic in Beethoven's First Piano Concerto.

Neither event, as it turned out, would come to pass.

Both Perahia and Argerich canceled — Perahia with hand trouble, Argerich after a gallbladder operation — joining a striking number of concert and opera musicians this season who have been too sick to perform.

"They come in waves," says Deborah Borda, the Philharmonic's president. "We've been lucky for the last four or five years. But it's been a tidal wave."

In fact, at the end of last week the orchestra announced the 10th cancellation of its season: Hélène Grimaud, a young French pianist, was to play Rachmaninoff this Thursday and Sunday but canceled because of the aftereffects of pneumonia. (André Watts will appear in her stead.) Those shows were to bookend a Randy Newman concert Saturday night at Disney Hall. But that was postponed until November because Newman broke his wrist.

The Philharmonic is hardly alone. James Levine, the popular conductor of the Boston Symphony Orchestra and the Metropolitan Opera, canceled the remainder of his season with the Met, as well as concerts and a tour with the BSO, after an onstage fall and ensuing shoulder surgery. Seiji Ozawa of the Vienna State Opera dropped out of concerts because of shingles. Mezzo-soprano Lorraine Hunt Lieberson has failed to meet several commitments over the last year — including the San Francisco Opera premiere performances of John Adams' new opera, "Doctor Atomic" — because of a lower back injury. Plácido Domingo canceled several Met performances in February, as well as appearances elsewhere as "Parsifal," because of an inflamed windpipe. And so on.

So how are the Philharmonic and other organizations coping with this slew of no-shows?

"You have to stop doing everything that you're doing — immediately," says Chad Smith, who became the Philharmonic's vice president of artistic planning in January right as the trouble began. "You have to make sure Thursday night's concert happens" — and is up to the standards the audience, conductor and players are accustomed to.

"I think when you panic you usually make the wrong decision," says Laurence Tucker, director of artistic planning at the Seattle Symphony. "If it was easy, they wouldn't need me."

For the producing organization, a cancellation means not only the rapid issuing of a news release and the dispatching of hundreds of apologetic postcards. It also means scrambling to find a replacement. That can entail not only bundling a budding diva, say, onto a red-eye, but also searching for available hotel space.

Some administrators try to look on the bright side.

"Because we plan two and three years in advance," says Jeremy Rothman, artistic administrator at the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra, "it's an opportunity to do something current: 'This person has just been discovered.' " But, he adds, "No one looks forward to it." This year, he has had to deal with gaps in the Baltimore schedule created after his artistic director, Yuri Temirkanov, decided to take four weeks off after the death of a close friend.

Though early 2006 has seen a remarkable number of cancellations, this is by no means the first time there's been a rash of ailing musicians. Borda recalls a period in the early '90s when the New York Philharmonic, which she then headed, saw so much ill health among visiting musicians that "even the replacement would cancel."

She grew accustomed to coming onstage to break bad news. "I was on the stage so much it became humorous," she says. "When I walked out, people would groan." Before a New Year's Eve gala for which guests had paid as much as $250 to see Olga Borodina, the news of the diva's cancellation came so suddenly — Borda was getting dressed for the event — that she had to tap her dinner date, Marilyn Horne, to sing with about an hour's notice.

Some administrators make a joke of it: Rudolf Bing, the longtime Metropolitan Opera general manager, once announced a cancellation wearing a Viking helmet and toting a shield, as if to repel the audience's fury.

Much of the time, locating a substitute is not particularly hard. For conductors — both an orchestra's permanent leader and guests — organizations typically have backups ready. They also hire "cover" artists for difficult vocal pieces and for contemporary works not likely to be known by a large number of musicians.

But sometimes a substitution can be tricky. In February, the young British composer Thomas Adès was preparing to conduct a suite of music from his new opera based on Shakespeare's "The Tempest" at Disney Hall. Two days before rehearsals were set to begin, the Philharmonic heard that soprano Kate Royal was canceling because of illness.

"There are exactly four sopranos on the planet who have sung that music," Smith says. "I know Tom's music well, so I knew who these sopranos were."

But one of them couldn't get out of a performance in London, and another was tied up in Seattle. The third potential replacement was in Denmark and available but was expected to have visa problems. "On that one," Smith says, "I actually sweated."

It was only when he remembered that Santa Fe Opera is scheduled to perform the work this summer that he realized another singer, somewhere, might have started learning the music. Patricia Risley, slated to sing the work in July and August, was performing in Minnesota but flew in to replace Royal.

The pressure comes partly because orchestras try to keep the program unchanged after a cancellation. Audiences, after all, are as likely to purchase tickets for the repertoire as for the performers.

Otherwise, Rothman says, "it'd be like going to a movie and have them change the film on you because a reel's broken. The music is what's survived for so many years. That's what comes first when we have to make a change."

Opera, in general, is less vulnerable to cancellations because productions tend to emphasize the ensemble. But things can still go wrong. Christopher Koelsch, director of artistic planning at Los Angeles Opera, recalls 2000's rehearsals for "Peter Grimes," during which Philip Langridge, a celebrated Grimes, was poised between sickness and health. He could probably make opening night — but only if the company would allow him time to recover during the dress rehearsal. So another tenor flew in from New York to fill in at that rehearsal, then was sent home — and Langridge opened the opera without incident.

This season, the Philharmonic's experience with Perahia and Argerich shows the range of possibilities. Perahia, who on his doctor's advice dropped out of his entire tour, was deemed irreplaceable, and the recital was simply canceled. But Argerich — whose cancellations, health-related and otherwise, are legendary — was replaced by a young fellow Argentine who had recently won the prestigious Gilmore Artist Award and was starting to build up steam. Ingrid Fliter's bittersweet interpretation of the Beethoven drew cheers from audiences and strong reviews.

The possibility of surprise or disaster, after all, is what makes attending a live performance different from putting on a record or watching a movie.

"These are the kinds of jobs where you don't know what you'll deal with when you come to work each day," Rothman says. "That's what keeps it exciting. There's always something to keep us on our toes."

Cable's Out, Kill Me Now

The danger of having both cable TV and a cable modem is obvious. When the cable goes out, the information deprivation is downright dangerous.

After several hours of intense boredom last night (arranging all my pocket change to be heads up, alphabetizing those little cards that fall out of magazines and playing with the baby) I realized that I could watch TV if I really wanted to. I had a Netflix DVD sitting on the shelf that had been there for months. I'd put off watching Million Dollar Baby because of a friend's warning that she couldn't eat or sleep for a week after seeing the movie. But last night, in an act of true desperation, I finally gave in.

Now that I've seen it, I understand why it won all those Academy Awards. That being said, Million Dollar Baby is the worst, the worst, movie I have ever seen. What kind of sick bastard would make a movie like that? I remember watching Born on the Fourth of July, and feeling physically ill. That is story of pain and anguish. And it's a true story! What I can't believe is that someone would dream up a story like the one told in Million Dollar Baby. It's just sick. Get out the Prozac.

Like I said. I had been warned. But as I'm watching the movie, I'm thinking, "OK, there's obviously a twist coming, but how bad could it be?" I've seen Rocky IV like 17 times and I never got upset when Apollo Creed went down. (However, I'll admit to being mildly upset with Mr. T for years after watching him beat down Burgess Meredith in Rocky III.) But none of that prepared me for the shocker in Million Dollar Baby. Maybe it's because I'd been television and Internet deprived for several hours so the moving pictures had that much more impact. But as the credits rolled, I just wanted to kill myself. Or better yet, have someone sneak into my room and do it for me.

I Still Hate Cell Phones

I've ranted before on why I hate cell phones. But I failed to mention the most odius aspect of cellphone use: cellphones with musical ringtones.

I attended a very solemn and beautiful funeral service today for a musician who passed away after a long and courageous battle with cancer. After a moving and well-delivered eulogy, it was announced that the assembled would hear a special musical selection -- one with particular meaning to the deceased and his family. But in the moment immediately before the piano sonata could be begin, a cell phone rang out in what sounded like the opening strands of "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun." It would have been shameful enough for someone's cellphone to ring, beep or buzz at that moment. But to have such an infelicitous song blare throughout a memorial service was just deplorable.

I can understand in a roomful of over a hundred people, that one person can be moronic enough not to turn off their ringer altogether. I'll admit to being that moron at least once -- thankfully not during a funeral! This is why I almost always leave my own cell phone on vibrate. Even if it's in my jacket pocket, or across the room on a table, I can usually hear the vibration without anyone else even noticing. When my phone isn't on vibrate, the ring is set to a single beep. This is enough of an alert for me to either answer or silence my phone.

So why do people insist on using such irritating songs on their cell phones? You'd think the potential humiliation of a circumstance like what happened at today's funeral would be enough of a deterrent as people selected their ringtones. Do you think that this particular perpetrator went home and changed his or her cellphone ring to the "standard ring" or even something like "Just a Closer Walk with Thee?" I doubt it.

Any time a companion of mine has a cell phone that starts ringing out some ridiculous melody, I ask, "What's the point?" The answer is usually something lame like, "So I can tell my cell phone ring apart from everyone else's." I don't buy this one for a second. Like you can't tell if the ring is coming from your pocket or across the room? Please.

What I do know is that people, even though they may not admit it, very carefully select their cellphone ringtone as a personal statement of who they are. "I listened to Mozart once in college -- or maybe it was Vivaldi." "The seventh inning stretch is my favorite part of going to a hockey game." Or, "I'm a girl who just wants to have fun and I know how to program my ringtone." Hey, guess what. No one cares.

Baseball: The Ultimate Equalizer

FROM SATURDAY'S WALL STREET JOURNAL

The Replacements
With a crop of top conductors out sick, lesser-known young maestros are getting a chance at the spotlight

By JACOB HALE RUSSELL
March 25, 2006; Page P3

It's happening in Pittsburgh. It's been a problem in Boston, too. And now it's hit Baltimore: Conductors at some of the nation's top orchestras are out sick.

The orchestra world is struggling with some big headaches lately, from declining attendance to mounting deficits. But headed into the season's home stretch, there's another problem: out-of-commission conductors. Among the no-shows are James Levine at the Boston Symphony Orchestra and the Metropolitan Opera (torn rotator cuff), Seiji Ozawa of the Vienna State Opera (shingles) and the London Philharmonic Orchestra star Kurt Masur, who bowed out of this spring's major U.S. tour (heart palpitations, suspected viral infection).

"This has been fairly unusual to have this many conductors all at once having to cancel their dates," says Jeremy Rothman, artistic administrator of the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra, which recently had to find a month's worth of replacements when its star conductor went on bereavement leave. "It's like the disabled list for a baseball team."

The absences have been disappointing for fans, who've paid up to $100 to see stars like Mr. Masur and Mr. Levine. They've also been inconvenient for orchestra managers, who've been scrambling to fill the empty conductor slots on their schedules.

But this spate of sick conductors is also shaking up the classical music world in a surprising way. A group of lesser-known conductors -- many in their 20s or early 30s -- are being tapped as substitutes. That's giving these young maestros an unexpected moment in the spotlight -- and could end up reshaping orchestras in years to come.

Many orchestras are in a time of transition now, with conducting spots opening up at about 20 symphonies around the country, according to the American Symphony Orchestra League. These include some of the most-watched posts in the classical music world, including conductors at the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, the National Symphony Orchestra in Washington D.C. and soon the New York Philharmonic. Other top-tier orchestras in cities like Nashville, Dallas and Detroit are also seeking new maestros.

These searches come at a time that some in the orchestra world say is ripe for a new model of conductor; in the past few years, younger conductors -- and often Americans -- have increasingly risen to prominence in a European-dominated field. As they seek to attract a wider and younger audience base, orchestras value conductors who can connect with concertgoers, rather than remaining aloof.

Some of the biggest names in classical music history, such as Arturo Toscanini and Leonard Bernstein, were discovered when they subbed in for ailing conductors. Now a new generation of conductors is benefiting from crucial exposure at a key moment for orchestras. One of them is 26-year-old American James Gaffigan, an assistant conductor at the Cleveland Orchestra. Usually, his job responsibilities include conducting youth concerts and sitting in the wings during performances in case anything happens to the conductor.

But in January, when Franz Welser-Möst, the orchestra's music director, was bedridden with an ear infection, Mr. Gaffigan ended up leading what many consider the country's best orchestra in one of the biggest symphonic works, Beethoven's Fifth, and the world premiere of a major living composer, Marc-André Dalbavie.

"It's a weird job in that respect," Mr. Gaffigan says, "We're waiting for people to go down. You don't wish any harm on people, but some good things come out of bad things." Though Mr. Gaffigan has occasionally conducted subscription concerts for Cleveland, the Beethoven symphony is normally reserved for well-established music directors. Positive reviews paid off with other gigs, like subbing on Mozart's 250th birthday for a special concert at the Kansas City Symphony.

Mr. Gaffigan will also conduct La Bohème at the Zurich Opera in May. He became known at that opera house last summer, when he filled in for Mr. Welser-Möst, who was himself called in after the scheduled conductor, Marcello Viotti, suddenly died.

Even for somewhat more established young conductors, guest conducting can send a career forward several years, providing the chance to work with the best musicians -- and be heard by the best reviewers. When Bernard Haitink cancelled at the Berlin Philharmonic last month due to injury, the American conductor Alan Gilbert, who leads the Royal Stockholm Philharmonic Orchestra and the Santa Fe Opera, got his debut at what many consider the world's most prestigious orchestra. This led to top reviews, and some music world observers say that Mr. Gilbert, already rumored to be in the running for the top spot at the New York Philharmonic, got a big boost from his Berlin performance.

This month's big discovery might be Ludovic Morlot, a French assistant conductor in Boston. He substituted for Christoph von Dohnányi at the New York Philharmonic, earning accolades from important critics. As a result of his success there, Mr. Rothman called Mr. Morlot to Baltimore, where he again received rave reviews in a concert that included pianist Emanuel Ax.

Joseph Kluger, former president of the Philadelphia Orchestra and now a consultant on the arts at AEA Consulting, says audiences, critics and musicians often give the "benefit of the doubt" to replacements. "There's a hero-worship aspect of it," he says. "It adds an element of drama to something that could otherwise be routine."

To be sure, with orchestra seasons lasting from fall to spring -- and spanning flu season -- it's not unusual for conductors to call in sick and managers to scramble for replacements. Top conductors have packed schedules that involve jetting back and forth internationally, either with their own orchestra on tour or guest conducting, which makes the job exhausting.

But what has made March unusual is the large number of simultaneous high-profile absences at major symphonies, as well as the several-month-long absence for Mr. Levine, who is one of the world's most famous (and highly paid) conductors and heads both Boston Symphony Orchestra and the Metropolitan Opera, two of the most prominent classical-music organizations.

Artistic administrators aren't always able to find someone like Mr. Morlot waiting in the wings. When Robert Spano had to cancel a guest appearance at the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra this month, the orchestra had to call off its premiere of a composition by contemporary classical composer John Adams -- because they couldn't find someone else familiar with the complex piece. Baltimore had to nix a piece by Armenian composer Richard Yardumian for the same reason.

Conductor cancellations can cause serious problems for symphonies, as artistic directors are forced to scramble to find replacements in a game of musical chairs. "You find yourself sitting at your desk making phone calls to Europe, catching people on their cellphones, finding people in all kinds of unusual locations," says Baltimore's Mr. Rothman. "There's lots of work that you normally have 18 months lead time to figure out."

Pittsburgh and Baltimore have taken the unusual step of turning to concertmasters (the orchestra's lead violinist) to conduct some concerts -- in one case while still playing the violin. And Anne-Sophie Mutter, a top violin soloist, conducted Mozart pieces she herself was playing at Lincoln Center.

For orchestras, the stress of last-minute replacements could actually result in a modest financial gain. Conductors are paid on a per-concert basis and lose that fee when they cancel, and the replacements are usually cheaper than the stars who call in sick.

Audiences aren't usually allowed refunds for cancellations, though at most orchestras it's as much the repertoire and musicians who are the draw, and the chance to see the debut of a younger conductor can be exciting for some. But it's uncertain what impact a longer absence -- like Mr. Levine's -- could have on organizations like the Boston Symphony Orchestra and the Metropolitan Opera, which heavily depend on Mr. Levine's high profile for their financial well-being.

Nice Haircut!

My three-month-old son's newborn hair continues to fall out a few fine strands at a time. A soft downy fuzz is all that's left underneath. Hopefully, within a few months, that short fuzz will sprout into thick a head of baby hair. That will mean only one thing: baby's first haircut. He won't like it. Not one bit. I don't think any babies like getting their haircut. Which means we have something in common. I don't like getting my haircut either.

I've probably had my haircut nearly 300 times in my life. Wow, that's a lot of time sitting still in one of those vinyl chairs. I've probably had my seat cranked like seventeen miles up in the air. Despite all that experience and added height, haircuts still stress me out.

First of all, finding a barber who understands the shape of my head and is brave enough to tackle my wiry hair is the hardest part. Once I've found someone worthy of that trust, I stay pretty loyal. In fact, I've only ever had three people in my life that I've trusted with my hair. Okay, maybe it's not loyalty so much as avoidance of hassle. You see, the first time I sit in any barber's chair I have to put up with all the obnoxious comments and questions about my hair. You'd think barbers that want my business -- or at least a decent tip -- would be a bit more diplomatic. But I know that once they get it out of their system, I won't ever have to hear it again. This is why if they do a half-decent job I'll go back to them again and again.

This isn't to say that only three people have ever cut my hair. I've experimented with a few others over time. This was usually a circumstance of being away from home and in desperate need of a trim. My most unusual experience was getting my hair cut by a guy covered in tattoos and poked full of holes. This made really me nervous. I know it shouldn't have. I wasn't afraid he'd do a bad job. But if he had so few qualms about mutilating his own body, should I have trusted him with scissors?

The other thing that gets me worked up is that big silly bib. Do they have to put it on so tightly around my neck? And how many other people's hair and dandruff is all over those things? And once it's on, where am I supposed to put my hands? Do I have to leave them on the armrests and keep them visible? If I fold my hands in my lap under the bib, will people assume I'm playing with myself under there?

I hate watching my hair as it gets cut. As the barber shortens up the one side of my head first, I always wonder what would happen is the fire alarm went off at that very moment. Would I have to run out onto the street wearing that bib with my hair short on one side and long on the other? What if it's a real fire and the place is burning to the ground? (That jar full of combs soaking in alcohol would surely be an accelerant in such a blaze.) Then, would my barber finish my haircut on the street, or would I be left for days with an uneven coif?

If I'm lucky enough to make it all the way through without a fire alarm, why is it that when the barber finishes, it looks like nothing changed? Then when I get home and look in the mirror, I'm shocked by the dramatic alteration to my looks. I guess it's like watching yourself gain weight. It happens gradually enough that you don't notice it until you look at a picture of yourself from college when you were thinner (and had a better haircut).

Once I'm home from my haircut, the first thing I have to do is get in the shower. I just can't stand that itchy feeling around my neck, down my back and in my nevermind. Whoever thought that tiny little brush with a wooden handle would sweep away all the excess hair? I once went to a barber where they vacuumed the hair off! That hickey left me with some awkward explaining to do.

Of course, in that first post-haircut shower I always use way too much shampoo. Over the past month, as my hair had been growing longer and longer, I would have been gradually amplifying the amount of shampoo per shower. Now, with a shorter do, I'm left with handfuls of wasteful lather! It usually takes me a week to get back to an acceptable shampoo-hair equilibrium.

Getting out of the shower, I can never get my hair back the way I want it. I'm never totally satisfied with my haircuts. For me, the sign of a really good haircut, is one that draws the fewest comments. Because what I hate most about getting my ears lowered are the comments I must endure the next day.

"Oh, you got your haircut!"
"Hey, look, a haircut!"
"Gee, did you get your haircut?"

As if I hadn't noticed that I got my hair cut. Like I didn't sit there for 30 minutes making mindless small talk while watching the guy do it. Yes, I paid for it and everything. I even left a tip, albeit not a very good one. Hey, I was out of singles and no way I'm leaving a five spot.

But then again, if people aren't making any comments, is that because it looks terrible and they're just being polite by not saying anything?

So when my son gets into the barber's chair for the very first time and starts crying, I'll understand why.

New Classic Tradition Breakout

Does it bother anyone else that the international baseball tournament that started this year is called the World Baseball Classic? How can it be "classic" when it is brand new? It's like when I flipped by ESPN Classic the other day and they were showing a live college basketball game. The station logo on the top corner of the screen actually said "ESPN Classic Live." Talk about a disruption in the space-time continuum. It was like watching the end of Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey -- only with more dialogue. Ironically, the game wasn't very good.

Short Circuit

There has been an electrical outlet on the fritz in my kitchen. So today, being the expert electrician I am, I decided I would pull it out of the wall to see if anything terribly obvious presented itself -- you know, loose connections, burnt wires, rodent teeth marks, etc. With the cost just to get an electrician in the door, I figured it was worth risking electrocution to save $60.

Before pulling the socket out of the wall, I remembered I needed to head to the circuit box. The circuit breakers in our house were painstaking labeled by an alcoholic dyslexic over 20 years ago. The penciled lettering has faded substantially over the years, making the illegible handwriting even more cryptic. I had started to remap the switches a few years ago so that when I flipped the switch marked "master bdrm" I would know the lights in the kitchen would go off. Of course, I subsequently lost my magic decoder leaving me to throw random switches any time I needed to turn the power off somewhere in the house.

Trying to turn the power off to a specific area is not a one-person job. You really need two people -- one to throw the switches and another to stand watch in another room and yell "wrong one!" Alas, I was on my own today, flipping switches, wandering through the house, trying to figure out what had just gone off.

After ten minutes of this futility, I finally got the right switch thrown. But not before I had managed to turn off every other circuit in the house. Every clock in the house now flashed 12:00 am. With a bit of forethought, I should have done this exercise at exactly midnight. That would have saved me so much effort. Better yet, maybe I'll wait until daylight savings starts next time . I figure I'll have to change the time on all the clocks anyway.

In case you were wondering, when I finally did pull the outlet from the wall, I found what appeared to be a perfectly normal looking outlet. But what do I know about it? At least it's easier to turn all the power back on, than it is to turn it off.

Yeah, Whatever Pittsburgh

OK, so now that the commercials are over...

...it's eight days until pitchers and catchers report. Oddly for the Orioles, only the catchers have to show up since they don't have any pitching.

[rim shot]

A Forking Miracle!

Thomas' English Muffins reads Instant*Ethos!

The package of Thomas' English Muffins my wife brought home from the store today was emblazoned with the phrase:

"Improved Fork-Split!"

Can you believe it? They actually responding to my blog!

The instructions on the reverse of the packaging was the same (except for one corrected punctuation error). And after attempting to enjoy my first "improved fork-split" muffin, I must say the firemen needn't worry about their job security.

Hey, at least they're trying.

Fork Split My Ass

The carton of English Muffins reads:

1. Thomas' Original English Muffins are fork split. Gently pull apart.
2. Toast or brown until golden brown.
3. Serve warm with favorite topping.

Translation:

1. Thomas' Original English Muffins have been slightly punctured somewhere off-center along the edge. Good luck finding the holes. If you run your finger along the side, you should find something to grab onto. Gently pull halves apart, rending your muffin into little crumbly pieces. Good luck picking those little seeds from under your nail.
2. Place cumbled remnants into toaster oven. Small pieces will fall through the grate, settle directly on the heating element and catch on fire, setting off your smoke alarm. Wait until neighbors call fire or police departments.
3. When fire or police arrive, serve charred smoking muffin with favorite topping.

I Hate Cell Phones

I know it's a very Andy Rooney-type sentiment. But I really do hate cell phones.

It is amazing how cell phones can deliver instant, on-the-spot communication at any time to anyone anywhere. But then some people take this way too far. For example, here's a cell phone conversation I overheard from the person in front of me in line for a sandwich at Subway this afternoon:

Customer answers phone: Hello? Oh, hi, Cici. Yeah, did you hear about daddy? No? Didn't Aunt Tessa call you? News like this she would have called. Can I have a 12-inch Italian on white? They think it was a heart attack. No, I wanted that on white, please. Can you believe it? He was only 45. Provolone, please. So now I have to go to Virginia tonight. Yeah, he just dropped dead. Just like that. Can I get extra cheese? I meant to call him last night, but I fell asleep. Isn't that just weird? I wish he'd taken better care of himself. Lettuce, tomato, hot peppers, sweet peppers and olives. He was just too fat. He'd been having heart trouble for years. He never listened to nobody. Just mayo and oil please. So the funeral is on Friday and I'll be back for Tara's party on Saturday. Yes, the meal please. No, I'll be fine. Thanks for offering. Can I get a stamp? Okay, bye. Bye!

Of course the sandwich maker took no notice this sad conversation. Because she, too, was on a cell phone.

Papa's So Proud

Papa is so proud of his little boy. He's a little blogger already! Check him out regularly at:

Diaperlogue.BlogSpot.com

Welcome, Son

Welcome to the world, son.

If you thought today was rough, just wait until junior high school.

Religious Observance Gone Totally Wrong

From The New York Times
Megachurches Closed for Christmas

This is unbelievable. Churches closing in observance of Christmas! The hypocrisy is positively mind bending. I guess they figure everyone just spent all their money on presents, so passing the plate won't make it profitable to stay open Christmas day.

I can only imagine a sign hanging on a synagogue door readying, "Sorry, closed in observance of Yom Kippur."

'Going Postal'

When I arrived at my local post office this morning, there was quite a long line. I was in a hurry and was dreading the long wait to mail my package. There were at least a dozen people in line in front of me. After about ten minutes, I had moved near the front of the line. There were only three people ahead of me now. They included

• A short Asian woman with two kids tugging at her pant-legs and a third napping in a stroller. She was there to mail a birthday present to her niece.
  
• A young blonde woman in a long, fitted cashmere coat and lambskin gloves who was there to purchase stamps for her wedding invitations.
  
• And a frazzled old woman in a velvet running suit and Velcro sneakers hoping to buy sheets of stamps for her grandson.
  

None of them would be a match for the woman working the postal desk this day.

Betty had a bad hair weave and a gold tooth. A blue USPS cardigan hung over her gaunt shoulders. She was curt, mean and efficient. With a line stretching out the door, she was hell bent on keeping that line moving.

“Next in line!”

The short Asian women with kids approached the counter in hopes of mailing her niece’s birthday gift. She shows Betty a 16” commemorative Anastasia princess doll. It’s in its original packaging, unwrapped and in no way ready to be mailed.

“Can you help me mail this?”

Betty glances at the line now stretching into the next ZIP code.

“No.”

“It’s for my niece. Can you put this in a box and mail it for me?”

“No.”

“How do I send this?”

“You can’t mail it like that and I ain’t not Mailboxes, etc. Please step aside so I can help the next person.” Betty pushes the woman to the side with her arm and waves to the next person in line.

“Next!”

The Asian woman persists. “How can I box this and send it?”

Betty gives her a look that only a disgruntled postal employee can give. “There are boxes over on that rack. I recommend you find the right size and package it up yourself before I get ugly with you. Please step aside.”

The young blonde woman steps up to the counter and asks for a sheet of flower stamps for her wedding invitations. Betty presents the two sheets of stamps requested. The blonde woman takes several moments to examine the stamps. Betty stares her down, licking her chops.

“Do you have anything more spring-like?” Betty pulls out two more sheets of stamps and slaps them on the counter.

“Look at these you just tell me when you’ve made up your pretty little mind. Now please step aside. Next!”

The blonde woman looks up in dismay and is quickly bumped aside by the older woman in front of me in line. I can only smirk. I’m in a rush and Betty is making quick work of these morons. This is making my day.

The older woman faces the counter and asks for three sheets of stamps. Betty grabs them from the drawer and tosses them on the counter.

The woman looks at the stamps and tries to flatten them on the counter with her hands.

“Ma’am, can I have fresh sheets that aren’t wrinkled?”

Betty reaches into the drawer, grabs three more sheets of stamps and throws them on the counter.

“Ma’am, can you please not wrinkle the sheets of stamps? They’re for my grandson and they can’t be folded.”

“There’s nothing wrong with those. That will be $22.20.”

Continuing to flatten the sheets on the counter, the older woman hands Betty the money and says, “You know you don’t have to be so rude about it.”

“What?!” Betty says.

“You’re really being mean to everyone here, and I’m telling you I don’t like it.” Oh, no she did not… She did not just talk to Betty that way.

Betty rears back. “Sometimes it’s the people that come in here that do it.” (She has a legitimate point). Betty continues, “And I’ve been here since five in the morning so don’t start with me.”

Unfazed, the woman responds, “Well now I know not to come back to this post office again.”

“Lady, we all make choices in life.”

The yelling escalates and the insults begin to fly. Amid the flurry of expletives the woman exclaims, “Can I just have my change?”

Betty slaps the change on the counter. The woman looks at the change it’s clearly not enough. She glances quickly at Betty, avoids eye contact and turns to leave.

“Have a blessed day and may God bless you!” the woman sarcastically calls out as she walks away from the counter.

“Yeah, you bless this,” Betty mutters to herself. “Next in line!”

It’s finally my turn. I step toward the counter and place my package in front of Betty.

She looks at the box to make sure it is sealed and properly addressed. It’s like your teacher examining your homework in front of the entire class.

“How would you like to send this?”

It passed the test. Phew.

“Um, it just needs to be there by Friday,” my voices crackles out.

Betty flips the package onto the scale, slaps a sticker on it and throws it onto a conveyer belt behind her. The box teeters on the edge of the belt, spins and falls hard onto the floor with a crunch.

My voice quivers. “Um, a sheet of flag stamps please.”

Betty slaps a wadded sheet of stamps on the counter. I pay for the stamps, step to my left and leave.

Despite the long line still reaching out the door, I’m in and out in less than fifteen minutes.

Thank you, Betty. God Bless you and keep up the good work.

Eschatology Shmeschatology, Oy!

mood: Penitent
music: Jars of Clay

BOYCOTT SONY PICTURES
SONY Pictures Entertainment has put up big bucks to produce films of the "Left Behind" series of books. If you're not familiar with these xenophobic, anti-semitic, radical right-wing pulps, Michelle Goldberg of Salon.com provides a critical and thoughtful examination of this hatred-filled shit.

In short, the "Left Behind" anthology is a collection of best-selling titles geared toward kind, decent, god-fearing, Jew-Catholic-Arab-haters. The books are your run of the mill Antichrist, end-of-the-world thrillers filled with predictable plot twists -- you know, like when all the Jews realize their error and convert to Christianity before being tossed into Hell. Like we didn't see that coming...

Now you can see it all depicted in widescreen technicolor in feature films starring Kirk Cameron, Lou Gossett, Jr. and million-dollar CGI effects. Coming to a church near you! There's even a children's series of books. Nothing gets kids more inspired than a few stories about rapture. I can't wait for the animated series.

Some leaders in the Jewish community had issues with Mel Gibson's Passion of the Christ for it's portrayal of Jews as the gang-bangers of the Notorious J.H.C. But the "Left Behind" series doesn't just damn the Jews. The Antichrist bares striking similarity to the Pope and Arab nations get their asses kicked by Jews who eventually convert to Christianity to save their souls. Did I mention a Democratic American president is also in cahoots with the Antichrist? Let's not forget about those hedonistic liberals. They can go to Hell, too.

Many readers of the "Left Behind" series believe that the end really is near. Violent weather, floods and terrorism are just a few of the signs pointing to the impending Tribulation. Forget about deregulation of environmental protections, destruction of wetlands and conflagratory foreign policy. It's definitely the gays and family planning centers causing record numbers of hurricanes. I'm a believer in chaos theory and all, but that seems a bit far-fetched. If a drag queen flaps his wings in Miami Beach, will it rain in Salt Lake City?

SONY is clearly exploiting the Evangelical market in producing these films. Let's face it, there's big money here. Just think of the merchandising opportunities. Antichrist Christmas ornaments and Fire-and-Brimstone Yulelogs are already available for pre-order at the online store. For the time being these films will only be played in churches, but I can only assume that these pictures are soon destined for mainstream theaters.

I thought I would funnel my rage by encouraging a boycott of SONY. So I did a quick Google for "SONY boycott" in hopes of finding others already united in my cause. Turns out a lot of people are already pissed at SONY.

Like this guy who's ticked because his SONY playstation never worked right. Or this guy who just wanted to post a blog about Ken Jennings. This activist is upset about emulation suppression, whatever the hell that is. And these homeys are furious that SONY stole Rolando's track. Those bastards.

OK, maybe it's a weak coalition for now. But I think it's a start. Meanwhile, the next time Growing Pains or Iron Eagle is on, I beg you to please change the channel.