Episode Two features the band rehearsing, before our stage rehearsal, our song “Kiss The World Goodbye.” This is our opportunity to hear “Tommy The Cue Card Guy” actually speak for the first time! We want to thank our record producer at the time, Gary Spaniola, for capturing these magical moments for posterity! Njoy!

I see them everywhere… on my computer, on billboards, in the pages of magazines and on my TV screen… dead celebrities drinking champagne and dancing with vacuum cleaners and driving cars that came out decades after they were rotting in their graves.

It’s easy to see why advertisers want dead people to endorse them. Dead people are safe: they’re known quantities. It’s unlikely an ad campaign will get torpedoed by new revelations or scandals. They’ll never be accused of sexually assaulting a waitress in their hotel room or getting addicted to prescription pain killers. And even if we did find out something juicy and new about James Dean or Marilyn Monroe or Steve McQueen, would it hurt their image or just add to their mystique?

Dead celebrity endorsements are big business.

Einstein made $10 Million in 2009, according to Forbes latest annual list of top earning dead celebrities.  All the way back in the 2006 edition of the Forbes list, Corbis image licensing said Albert Einstein was their most requested person. As Tony Soprano might say, “Einstein is a good earner.” Of course, in his case, his earnings go to a good cause. The Hebrew University of Jerusalem gets the cash, including a share from Baby Einstein (Disney), although how would Albert have felt about their recent settlement for misleading claims of jump starting juvenile intelligence? Do you think he’d be proud that being a character in Night at the Museum ended up with him as part of a Happy Meal movie tie-in at McDonald’s?

If you want to hire a dead celebrity like Marilyn Monroe to sell your products, just click on over to the Legends Media Archive. You’ll find advertising-friendly images for dead celebs from John Belushi, Ingrid Bergman and Ty Cobb to Jackie Robinson, Mark Twain and Natalie Wood.

Live celebrities are no better. Some of them have even tarnished their reputations by becoming product hucksters. Are you old enough to remember when Orson Welles did commercials for Paul Masson wine: “We will sell no wine before its time.” More recently, we all had to cringe when Ed McMahon made a Cash4Gold commercial his last role.

But whether you think they sold out or not, it was their choice. Nobody forced them to make those commercials.

The dead can’t do that.

These dead celebrities have been stripped of their most basic right: the right to self-determination, to choose what they do or do not do. They are slaves to the choices of their estates, or of the people who own the copyright on their images.

Some cultures honor their dead. We exploit ours.

There’s nothing illegal about it, although the FTC is considering new regulations concerning celebrity endorsements, according to this blog post by Jonathan Faber, licensing expert and former president of “CMG Worldwide, Inc., whose clients include Marilyn Monroe, James Dean, Babe Ruth, Chuck Berry, Princess Diana…”

One of the proposed new rules is that “Advertisers should only use endorsements of celebrities if the advertiser believes that a celebrity subscribes to the views presented.” (Not a problem for the Marilyn Dom Perignon campaign, since it was her favorite champagne, or Steve McQueen driving a Ford Mustang, which he did famously in the 1968 cop classic, Bullitt.)

But this post isn’t about morality or legality. This post is about marketing.

The point of celebrity endorsement advertising is to make a connection between the celebrity’s persona, the product and the audience. If a celebrity swears by it, that’s good enough for me.

When done wrong, it can backfire. Who would believe that Paris Hilton ever ate at Carl’s Jr. or that Tiger Woods, one of the richest athletes in history and currently the top earning athlete endorser actually drives a Buick.

When done right, it can build a brand. When Brooke Shields said that nothing came between her and her Calvins, Calvin Klein became the must-have designer jean.

But what’s right about using a dead person to endorse your product? Does having David Spade talking to a now dead Chris Farley make you more likely to want to get Direct TV, or less? How many people went out and bought a Dirt Devil because some art director used special effects to force Fred Astaire to dance with one?

I know vampires and zombies are all the rage these days, but can someone please explain to me why anyone thinks a dead celebrity who never used a product can make a convincing sales pitch to the living?

Welcome back to Star Search Revisited! In Episode Seven we find our Star Search Semi-Finalists vying for win number six. Don’t look lightly on the competition as they turn out to be formidable competition indeed in the form of a beautifully harmonic boy/girl duo named One Plus One.

We took a big chance in trying to whittle our six minute epic, “Lost My Way,” down to the two minute version for the show. It was ambitious, but was it a calculated miscue? Will our heroes notch win number six? Will they go on to the finals? Can they survive the heat? Tune in to find out what happens!

Welcome to Star Search Back Stage Episode One! We hope to bring you a glimpse of what it was like during our three week flirtation with television stardom! The clips feature back stage impromptu rehearsals, stage rehearsals, dressing room antics and an overall, over indulgence in and flagrant use of fake British accents! Still can’t figure that one out?

Episode One features the band rehearsing, before our stage rehearsal, our song “Sea of Jealousy.” This is our first glimpse of “Tommy The Cue Card Guy!” We want to thank our record producer at the time, Gary Spaniola, for capturing these magical moments for posterity! Njoy!

In this final episode, I eventually get to the part about my almost-murder by the drunk Australian wild boar hunters. Let’s recap:

I am too drunk to know to say “no” to participating in the “Outback Rainforest Adventure” during my visit to the Great Barrier Reef in Part I, then the tour guide rips off his clothes and goes swimming in a rainforest waterfall pool in an Australian flag Speedo and I get all hot and bothered by it in Part II, and that was just the first day of this whole unfortunate trip.

I really want to remember every last activity we did the whole three days because they all sucked in their own way and because I revel in complaining, and it would be fun to tell you all about them in detail. But I only remember the very worst moments.  So I’ll just have to stick to those for the finale of my Outback adventure tale.

Okay, so the second day starts and Dundee herds all of our hungover asses into the Outbackmobile (this is the new name for our vehicle – since I can’t really describe what it was) and he tells us that we’ll be leaving the rainforest and entering the Outback. I was delighted to be leaving the rainforest behind, because I thought my chances of survival were significantly greater the further we got from all of the poisonous small things that wanted to kill me in the rainforest. But I wasn’t sure about the whole Outback thing. The closest I had been to the Outback prior to this was the Steakhouse, which, let me tell you is as beautiful to me as Oprah herself. I mean, you can order thick, fat steaks and pick them up in a drive thru after 20 minutes? Fucking genius.

So I had high hopes for this thing they called the Outback. Perhaps there would be cute kangaroos throwing colorful boomerangs around that happy Aboriginals dot-painted especially for them. Oh, and an old Aboriginal dude playing the didgeridoo while the koalas sat in a tree unobtrusively eating leaves or sleeping. That would captivate me for about 5 minutes, which is a very long time for me, so it looked like a ray of sunshine was in my future.

That is not what the Outback is like.  The Outback is possibly the most boring landscape in the entire universe. I’m a Midwestern girl, so I thought soybean fields were about as boring as a landscape could get, but no. The Australian Outback is the worst. Even the desert beats the Outback, because it’s all mystical and stuff and there are cliffs and canyons for you to fall off of, so it packs in some drama too.

Not the Steakhouse

So anyway, Dundee drives us into a landscape much like this one above and stopped the Outbackmobile in all of this nonsense and we had to go have a “look-see”. This is what Dundee called it when we were about to get out of the vehicle and wander around aimlessly. I hated look-sees. You would just walk around and get sweaty and look at dirt and a bush here and there and be like “wow. a fucking bush. awesome. where the fuck are the koalas I was led to believe Australia was rife with?” Dundee was animated. To him, this was all fucking awesome. Again, he was so like the Croc Hunter. He was jumping around with his machete bouncing up and down on his hip pointing out these huge ant hills and animatedly explaining how exactly the ants make them. He’d get down on his hands and knees and ogle the ants’ handiwork. I mean these things were about a foot or two off the ground, which is hella bigger than the ones you find on suburban sidewalks so I guess they were impressive compared to that, but they weren’t the fucking pyramids or anything. Dundee seemed to think they were the work of the gods.  Really? I mean, it’s a fucking two foot hill in the middle of nowhere. And plus, there aren’t any ants or termites or whatever crawling all over them, which was good, but creates too little drama to make me care.  I never got the five minutes of captivation I was so looking forward to.

So we had a day long look-see in the Outback and all we saw were these ant hills all over the place. And there was a little rocky hill thing we climbed too. And by “we”, I mean everybody else. It looked pointless to me. And maybe like it would cause me to sweat more than I was comfortable with. So I just sat at the bottom rolling my eyes and being annoying and scanning the horizon for killer koalas or at least some boxing kangaroos. No luck.

Okay, so then it starts getting dark and Dundee brings us back to the Outbackmobile and he declares that this is where we’ll camp tonight! Ummm – surely you jest? There aren’t any tents in the back of the mobile! How are we going to camp? Dundee informs me happily that we’re “sleeping under the stars – didn’t you read it in the brochure, Love?” No I didn’t fucking read it in the brochure.  I think we established if I had, I would be at a club chugging a Strongbow instead of in the middle of BFE with a Speedo-clad, machete-carrying, Steve Irwinesque tour guide.

And, even if I had read the brochure, aren’t there supposed to be tents? No. We were going to sleep in “swags”, which are kind of like sleeping bags, except instead of being soft and snuggly, they are made of heavy duty canvas and they are kind of shaped like coffins and you’re supposed to zip up your damn head inside them. And that is where I am supposed to fucking sleep. I mean, he didn’t even put a tarp down under the swag. It was like, unroll the swag and just put it on any dirty dusty spot and get in. Oh, and by the way, they don’t breathe at all, so get naked or you’ll probably sweat to death. The FUCK? Dundee was all about getting naked. And in places where a multitude of insects could claim any of your orifices as their own swag. Um. No thanks.

So this is where I have a little mental breakdown. There is no toilet. No shower. No bed. No alcohol. No McDonalds. Nobody, for miles, except us and Dundee. And I’m completely freaked out because I am sure that something or someone is going to attack me as I sleep. I mean, everybody knows that dingoes eat babies in Australia. So whats to stop them from trying to eat my arm? And how unnatural is it for people to just sleep outside under the stars? Are you kidding me? That’s the whole reason we fucking evolved – so that we could live in cool urban lofts with central air and skylights so we could see the stars in our temperature controlled, insect and psycho-free abodes. Why do so many people have such a huge problem with the great indoors?!  Who was going to keep me safe?!

Dundee’s machete. Thats who.  At least that was what he was telling me while I was on my knees screaming to God and tearing at my greasy hair. His machete was pretty big. And by now I was convinced he wasn’t going to kill me, though I was sure that he wanted to. Many times. He told me that he had some chocolate if I would just come back to the fire he built so we could have dinner and tell stories. It was blantantly clear I wasn’t the first hysterical woman he had talked off the ledge.  I was hungry. And I needed chocolate. So in tears, I returned to my friends and the British couple and we sat around a fire as Dundee cooked our dinner. I was still ruminating about how maybe I should spend more time sober so I wouldn’t agree to these insane “adventures” ever again, when suddenly from very far away, we saw headlights.  In the middle of the Outback. We were nowhere near a road. I thought that perhaps God had heard my prayer and sent Ed McMahon with an oversized check to deliver me from this hell. I started jumping up and down, elated. I was sure that I was being saved. It was the only logical explanation of what could be happening.

Dundee looked very concerned. That bastard wants to see me suffer, I told myself. He’s pissed Ed McMahon found me all the way out here. The tenacity of the Prize Patrol in this case was impressive. Those guys just wouldn’t be deterred once they found their winner, even though she is sitting in the middle of the fucking Outback. It was really very moving.  But, then again… We were kind of far away from civilization. And I didn’t know if satellite would reliably work that far away from civilization and it wasn’t really prime time in the US yet, so if they did it now most Americans would miss my glorious moment.  Plus, it would be really expensive to bring Ed’s makeup person all the way into the Outback. Maybe it wasn’t Ed.

The headlights were making zig zags all over the place, but seemed generally headed in our direction.  Now is a good time to remind you that at that time, cell phones came packed in briefcases and were used by about .8% of the population. We had no communication channels to civilization, so whatever was going to happen was going to happen without the benefit of 911. Dundee got up and started pacing. He told us to be quiet and not to talk to whoever it was and he then turned on the Outbackmobile and shined the headlights in the direction of the speeding vehicle that was barreling toward us, presumably so they wouldn’t run us over.

We started to panic a little. Our normally jovial Dundee broke out in a sweat. Apparently this part wasn’t in the brochure. Who the hell was in that car, and what the hell were they doing driving around in the Outback at night?  The headlights keep coming closer and we kind of all huddle together having no idea what to expect, but my hopes of it being the Prize Patrol were diminishing every second the lights came closer. No way Ed McMahon would drive that fast and erratically. Only somebody completely tanked could be driving.

Let me say it again. Only somebody completely tanked could be driving. Aw fuck. Lindsay Lohan was only 10 then. So who the hell was this?  The truck was upon us and our campfire within two minutes. Probably less. Dundee continued to pace nervously, and he took his machete off his belt in anticipation.  We did not have to wait long to find out who was driving. Two men, who I can only describe as extremely hillbilly-esque (they had no teeth – I swear to God), half rolled, half fell out of their jeep. But their messy dismount from the jeep did not affect their ability to hold their rifles.  At first they appeared to be very happy drunks.  They were laughing and wheezing and wanted to know who we were and what we were doing.  Dundee said we were having a look-see and camping.  He inquired about what they were doing.  I couldn’t understand a damn word they said, but I found out later they were looking for wild boars. They were wild boar hunters. Wild. Boar. Hunters.

Ummm….whaaat? Nobody said anything about the possibility of wild boar, let alone their hunters. They wanted to know if we had beer.  Believe me, fellas – if there were any beer, you would find it all coursing through my veins. Instead, I had more than my share of adrenaline flowing through them at that point.  Drunk hillbillies with guns scare me.

Two of my friends on the trip were from New York and LA, and they are whispering that we’re all going to die.  They were pretty sure that these guys were going to open fire at any moment.  I found it pretty ironic that the whole time we were in Australia, the Aussies would ask my friend from LA whether it was safe to go out on the streets in LA because of all of the drive by shootings. Hollywood makes LA look like the killing fields.  They thought Chicago was probably safe because the mob only killed everybody back during prohibition. We thought it was hysterical. But now the tables were turned and three chicks from LA, NYC and Chicago respectively were never more frightened than when faced with random drunk wild boar hunters.

You know how they say you get a “fight or flight” reflex in a situation like this? Now I know I’m a flight person. My goal was to get shot dead running away because there was no way in hell I was going to get myself raped by those two mother fuckers and then killed. Nope. I decided that I much preferred to get killed right away. I told my friends I’d take the first bullet. You know, for the team.

A heated argument seemed to erupt between Dundee and the hunters. They wanted to sit with us and be friends, but Dundee told them they weren’t really invited. Their initial joviality faded and then they seemed to be telling Dundee something along the lines of “Well see, we have guns and you only have a machete”. A pretty solid argument for how sloshed they were. But Dundee kept them talking and at a semi-safe distance from us.  Then one of my friends declared “They’ll kill Dundee first. And then they’ll rape us all and kill us. We’re so dead.” We looked at the guys we came with and asked them if they were going to stand for this. Like maybe they should back Dundee up or something. You know, act like men. They said the hell if they were going to get into the fray. Those guys were big, dumb, drunk and armed. I think their plan for escape was to run while we were getting raped. Pussies.

As Dundee and the hunters argued I was able to reframe the whole situation and kept thinking about whether it would be worse to be shot dead by these guys or to sleep under the stars in that coffin/swag thing. I was leaning toward the former (I seriously was) when suddenly the guys got back in their truck and peeled off into the night.  Wait. What? I was still alive and unraped? Whoa. That was heavy. Dundee came back and told us who they were and what they wanted. He wound up having to buy them off with some of our food. Good thing for me that Dundee was such a skilled negotiator, because if they had asked for one of the women,  I would’ve been the first one Dundee gave away.

I asked if maybe it would be best for us to drive to a hotel. Dundee said we’d be fine. Those guys weren’t coming back. Yeah, right. With all these naked coeds in swags? They’re totally coming back to rape us. I lobbied for us to forfeit our adventure and hightail it to Cairns. Dundee wouldn’t hear of it. He was back to his old self. Gleeful in my misery.

Eventually I had to get into the swag. But first I had a few questions for Dundee:

What if it rains? It won’t rain.

It doesn’t rain here? What if a pack of wild boar comes? No worries.

What about all those ants that built those big pyramid things? There won’t be many insects. Just get in. And take your clothes off or you’ll die of heat.

The hell if I was going to get naked. I had never had crabs and hell if I was going to get them from a “night under the stars” in a cheap swag in the Australian Outback.  I zipped myself in and the gross BO smell was overwhelming, and as promised, it was hot as hell, so I opened it just a little for some air. And I fell asleep.

Only to be awakened in the early hours of the next day by a very large drop of water which fell on my forehead. The fuck? And then another one.

“DO. NOT. TELL ME IT IS. RAINING. ON MY HEAD.” I said this as loudly as humanly possible, without having it turn into a shriek.  Oh yes. It was raining. My declaration woke the rest of the group.  I quickly unzipped the swag to sit up and start bitching more, when my eyes focused on two, no three, no FOOURRR!!! ant-like things that were bigger than a baby’s arm crawling on top of my swag. “HO-LY-SHIIIIIT!”

“I hate it here! I hate Australia! I hate you, Dundee! This is ridiculous. Get me the fuck out of here! You said it didn’t rain? What the fuck is it doing right now? We almost get shot last night and now there is some sort of fucking flash flood in the Outback and these fucking ants want to eat me. I HATE YOOOOUUUU! I hate this! ALL of this! I have never been more miserable in my entire life!” (If this story ever gets made into a movie, only Meryl could handle this complex character. Only she has the power to accurately convey the powerful rawness and the depth of my soul at that poignant moment.)

Dundee shrugged and smiled and said that we should fold our swags up and get in the Outbackmobile.  He was going to take us to a horse farm, then an Aboriginal village and then we were going to a pub. And then we were going back to Cairns. You know when you are fighting for your life, like you fall into any icy river, and your body conserves all the blood and gives it to your heart and lungs and brain and you have this intense focus to stay alive? Thankfully that is what happened to me in that very moment! My survival instincts finally kicked in and my brain focused on the word “pub” and I lived. Thank God Almighty. I lived.

It rained all morning.

The horse farm? Smelled like shit. Like I suppose most horse farms do.

The aboriginal village? Um, it was like going to the projects. We got to hang out with people who hate white people for ruining everything for them and then making them paint boomerangs and didgeridoos so that they could get some money from us so they could use the money to go back to being drunk again.  Awesome.

The pub? Glorious. And I kicked Dundee’s ass at darts. It felt good to be back in my element.

And then we got on with the rest of our vacation. And I lived to tell the tale.

SO…now you know what not to do in Australia.

You’re welcome.

A resounding thanks to all our fans who have inquired of late as to where and how they can purchase Skeleton Crew® music. Yes, there are a few vintage “pre-historic…dig! “enhanced CD’s” available on Ebay and Half.com, but if you’re in dire need of instant “skeletal gratification” you’re in luck!

Digital downloads of our landmark debut album, “pre-historic…dig!” are now available from Amazon.com at: http://www.amazon.com/Skeleton-Crew/e/B002NV0FFO/ref=sr_tc_2_0

or from our Nimbit Music Store at: http://www.nimbitmusic.com/skeletoncrew

If you’re a member of our Facebook Fan Page you will notice a “MyStore” Tab at top of our Fan Page. Click on the “MyStore” Tab and you have instant access to our Nimbit MP3 Store where you can download individual songs or entire albums. Our EP “Under The Watersign” was never released to the public and has only been made available now as “Digital Downloads” from Amazon.com and Nimbit.

Skeleton Crew® has plans for an exciting reemergence in 2010 with our new single, “Faith,” recorded for the Christmas in Detroit 3 Project. In addition, look for a new album of original material and some surprise recorded releases, too!

And don’t forget: Much of the music we released is available for listening for free either on our Facebook Fan Page or on our MySpace page or Amazon.com Store sites. We can’t thank everyone enough for your love and support! Here’s to a very harmonious 2010!

Welcome back one and all to America’s Number One TV-Time Rerun: Star Search Revisited! Last week had our musical group champs “Four Starring!” the little girl group “Girl Tyme” (there should be child labor laws!), the precursor to Destiny’s Child and the superstar juggernaut known as “Beyonce!”

This week in Episode Six of Star Search Revisited the world is up for grabs. If our heroes make it past this round they will be guaranteed a spot in the elusive “Star Search Semi-Finals!” The boys pull out another original song in pursuit of win number five recorded and arranged specifically for the show’s two minute performance time frame, called “Freedom On Your Mind,” as they go head-to-head with a very well attired band of cool guys called: Big Bang Rodeo!

Tune in to find out if they made it to the semi-finals and if they get there chance to meet the man himself: Ed McMahon! This one’s a nail biter!

Be prepared for the inevitable with the universal shirt for celebrity grieving. Whether you want a wearable contingency plan in case of celebrity croaking, or you just love awesome design, this shirt is for you my friend.

Imagine a talk show where the host’s face is, often, momentarily obscured by a plume of smoke from one of his guest’s cigarettes. Or a boom mike quite obviously dropping into a stoned guest’s personal space so as to better capture his incoherent ramblings. Or the host, again, being caught off guard by an impending commercial and then making little attempt to hide his frustration about yet another interruption to his conversation; crankily, and through rings of smoke, he announces the show will return after a brief commercial message.

Nowadays such qualities in a show would be openly mocked by a media-literate audience. Any imperfections that do occur in the dozens of talk shows that now poison the airwaves are well-planned attempts by the host or producer to keep it “real” or to convey an air of spontaneity or off-the-cuffery. Perhaps that’s why the fall-back technique for most non-fiction programs is to illuminate the production flaws, thereby perpetuating the myth that what is being viewed has not been plotted with meticulous precision. It didn’t used to be this way. People who worked in non-fiction television didn’t always try to dupe their viewers.

Lest anyone suspect I’m about to launch into a nostalgic riff about the glories of live television, that era was well before my time. I’m referring to the Dick Cavett Show, which in its various incarnations aired on seven different networks, most memorably for five years on ABC starting in 1969 and then in a scaled down version on PBS from 1977-1982.

The talk show has been around since the earliest days of television. For as much as television has changed in the last 50 years the talk show has changed very little. Neither have TV executive’s admiration for it. The reason talk shows are held so dear by the suits is not because they are a more highly evolved form of entertainment. It’s because they’re cheap. The only major outlay is the salary of the host, which is not insubstantial, but it pales in comparison to the cost of shooting on location, where a cast and crew must be paid, fed, housed and insured. In a time when viewers of prime time network television are dwindling like a 401k it should come as no surprise that a popular host landed a gig at 10 o’clock five nights a week.

Even though hundreds of channels are now available for every imaginable niche group, as a format, the talk show remains much it like it did at its inception. There is an opening monologue, a sidekick, a desk (usually), a band and invited guests (who are paid a few hundred dollars for their troubles). The guests, generally, are actors, musicians or comics. Occasionally, politicians, authors or athletes find their way onto the seat next to the host. Other variables include skits, stunts, and conceits that invite audience participation.

Dick Cavett made every effort to reject these clichés over the course of a forty year career. 

I recall my mother watching the Dick Cavett Show during the PBS iteration, but I can’t honestly recall a specific episode or guest from that period. Later, I heard my mother draw a comparison between Cavett and Charlie Rose. Since I’ve always admired her taste in anything cultural, I put myself on notice for anything bearing his name.

In 2005 Shout! Factory released several theme-based multi-disc DVD sets of Cavett’s old shows. They include specials with blandish titles like “Hollywood Greats” and “Comic Legends.” I recently rented the three-disc “Rock Icons” set through my Netflix account and I expected that the discs would feature only music performances and interviews, but the shows are available in their entirety, with a brief introduction from Cavett himself. Presently, he writes semi-regularly for The New York Times website and often includes clips from his old shows in his column.

In all the clips I’ve seen of Cavett’s shows I can’t help but having the impression that the only reason he had a talk show to begin with was because it gave him an excuse to meet and chat with a lot of really interesting people. The opening monologues from the ABC shows are terrible. They are too often referring to events germain only to New York, which is where the show was shot; garbage strikes, the incompetence of Mayor John Lindsay and local weather are common topics. He had a bandleader/sidekick who he tried, usually without success, to engage in witty repartee. Cavett himself could barely conceal his distaste in these talk show tropes. The PBS version of his show suited him much better as it dispensed with bandleader banter (there was no band to lead) and the opening monologue was more of an introduction than a series of one-liners. Cavett is at ease in this format, a mood that was probably exacerbated by a very small audience as opposed to the large studio audience that greeted him on the ABC version. There’s little doubt as to which version Cavettheads prefer.

Nevertheless, the ABC show aired during what could be fairly described as the salad days of popular music in America. The first program on the Rock Icons disc aired the day after Woodstock. Jimi Hendrix was slated to appear but had back out since his performance had lasted into the early morning hours of the day of shooting. The guest appeared more or less together. Joni Mitchell, looking childlike, sang three songs, one of which was performed a cappella. She had declined an appearance at Woodstock in favor of preparing for her appearance on Cavett’s show. A scheduling faux pas that her career was able to overcome. The other guests were David Crosby, Stephen Stills and Jefferson Airplane, whose singer, Grace Slick, referred to Cavett as Jim. Crosby is his usual grating self, commanding attention through the quantity, rather than the quality of his thoughts.

What’s interesting about this show is neither the guests nor the now-classic music, it’s Cavett. He and the musicians are seated in a circle, on what look to be pillows. Cavett, ignoring his usual jacket and tie, briefly dons an ascot—which he tosses into the crowd, recognizing the absurdity of its presence around his neck—and opens at least two buttons on his shirt. He looks like a complete square—to use the parlance—yet the musicians see that his curiosity is genuine. Watching this scene, I tried to imagine fellow talk-show host (and fellow Nebraskan) Johnny Carson in such a setting. And this, really, was the essence of the difference between the two men. Carson, who had his beginnings as a game show host was a master at making his guests feel comfortable and the best way to do that was to exude an air of comfort himself. He had great timing as a comic, and his monologues expertly combined self-deprecation with Midwestern sensibilities. Mostly though, Carson loved the Hollywood-ness of being the host of The Tonight Show. Sure, occasionally a topical guest found a spot between him and Ed McMahon, but he loved talking to Jimmy Stewart and Buddy Hackett and Shelley Winters and Phyllis Diller, about their latest movie or vacation or pet or hilarious circumstance. Very few people, besides Tiny Tim, made news on The Tonight Show. Carson specialized in being familiar.

By contrast, Cavett was willing to step out of his comfort zone if it meant he could book non-traditional guests. While it’s possible this was for the sake of ratings, it’s more likely that he was fascinated by people like Salvador Dali and Ingemar Bergman. Not only was Cavett willing to rattle his own cage he was not above rattling his guest’s when he felt it was merited. He interviewed Lester Maddox and Angela Davis, until she was forced to cancel. A guest, Jerome Rodale, died on his show (it was never aired) and he talked bluntly about pornography. He had no reservations about playing a role in the “Symphony of Emotions.” Try to imagine Carson doing this.

The first disc of the “Rock Icons” series concludes with interviews of David Bowie and Sly Stone. I’ve never been much of a fan of Bowie, but his appearance with Cavett was mesmerizing. He’s probably high at the time of the interview and once seated, his frame is so lean his bones seem ready to burst through his suit. As Cavett questions him, he grips a cane for balance, emotional or otherwise. Whether it’s Cavett’s presence or the narcotic effect, Bowie is as forthright any rock star I’ve ever seen. His very British smile (cosmetic dentistry apparently was not among Bowie’s expenses at the time) reveals an air of uncertainty about his well-established career. It’s Bowie as raw as he’s ever been.

Of all the performances on the set, Sly Stone’s is the best. He and the Family Stone are vibrant, enthusiastic and utterly charming. Unfortunately, Sly seems to also be under the influence when chatting with Cavett, his beaming smile providing little clue to what was actually coming from his mouth. At one point, Cavett looks like he has no clue what Sly just said—a very un-Carson like loss of poise—but plows on, knowing that another musical number will render this lapse in coherence irrelevant.

The second disk is dedicated to Janis Joplin. As with Bowie, I’ve admired her music more than I’ve enjoyed it, but here she is heartbreakingly endearing. Of course, I know what fate awaits her, but Cavett, who has acknowledged his own battles with depression, senses that this is a woman worn out. Cavett tries to build her up through praise, but then Janis talks about the loneliness of the road. He sympathizes with her complaint about overly cerebral European audiences. He lights her cigarette. In one memorable sequence, seated among Douglas Fairbanks, Jr, and Chet Huntley, she and Racquel Welch talk about current events and overzealous fans. Try to imagine say, Lady Gaga, talking with, say Harrison Ford, Tom Brokaw and Kate Winslet. It would be impossible in today’s heavily regimented, self-promotion environment, where guests have been trained to speak only of themselves.

Later, Janis finds herself on the same set as Gloria Swanson. Cavett seems to make an effort to include her in every conversation like an older brother guarding his baby sister in her first days in high school. He wants to indulge her and protect her.

The final disk opens with Paul Simon performing, talking about songwriting and working out an early version of “Still Crazy After All These Years.” Once Simon departs Cavett himself is interviewed by three authors—Jerzy Kosinski, Barbara Howar and Anthony Burgess—on the occasion of the printing of his own memoir. The authors critique the book and  Burgess is wonderfully frank while Kosinski attempts, with moderate success, to penetrate Cavett’s psyche. In a moment of meta-media, Howar reminds Cavett that what he does on a nightly basis as a talk show will quickly be forgotten, having written a book will be a more permanent accomplishment. I wonder which sells more these days, the book or DVDs of old shows?

The next artist featured is the effervescent Stevie Wonder. Even when writing about inner-city violence and despair, he manages to remain bubbly. Here, Cavett is somewhat placating, he appears unsure of how to refer, if at all, to Wonder’s blindness. The format of the traditional talk show, demanding some sort of acknowledgement of the obvious, is something Cavett would rather ignore, and I got the feeling that there many questions that went unspoken.

Finally, the series concludes with the quiet Beatle, George Harrison (Cavett’s interviews with John Lennon and Yoko Ono comprise a separate series on Shout!). Harrison performs anonymously as a guitarist with Gary Wright. The interview with him is all-encompassing. He and Cavett talk about the Concert for Bangladesh (and what a hassle it was to manage the money), why the Beatles broke up (he was tired of his “quota” of one or two songs per album and wanted to perform his own material), drug use and Ravi Shankar. Harrison mocks the convention of talk shows by reading from the commercial cues before Cavett. Cavett groans at every station break like a child being told to go to bed on Christmas Eve. “Commercial??? Can’t you see I’m talking to George Harrison!!!”

Whatever his frustrations, he is clearly enjoying his time with Harrison (and later, Shankar) so much so that he seems sincerely disappointed when Harrison compares his appearance on the show to a performance. “Do you really look at this as a conversation or a performance?” he asks. When Harrison assured him it’s the former, I felt Cavett’s relief. And that really was why Cavett endured. He understood that smart people respond to other smart people and a smart audience would understand and appreciate that. While he never garnered the audience of Carson, the devotion of his fans has never faded.

I think I’m addicted to Pepsi.

Plus, my hair hurts today.

Here’s the next thing I remember from my trip to Neverland:

EPISODE 1 – NEVERLAND
EPISODE 2 – HERE’S JOHNNY!
EPISODE 3 – THE MAN IN THE MIRROR
EPISODE 4 – THE CHOICE OF A NEW GENERATION (new this week)

Also, I forgot to mention: at Jukebox of the Dead X, the excellent Plustapes label is releasing our entire Halloween catalog on a limited edition two-cassette box set. From the proprietor:

“To help celebrate 10 years of Jukebox of the Dead, the all cassette label Plustapes will be releasing a limited edition (100) double cassette version of Detholz! covers including previously unreleased tracks. You can get them directly from the band, at Reckless records, Permanent records or via mailorder at http://www.plustapes.com. For more info email plustapes at gmail dot com.”

Glug.

***

Detholz! are pleased to announce the 10th Anniversary Halloween Jukebox of the Dead cover show has been confirmed. Buy tickets early and often as this show usually sells out. And, for all of you younger, sprightlier Detholz! fans, the show is 18 and up!

DETHOLZ! present:
JUKEBOX OF THE DEAD X
“FAME”
w/special guests BOBBY CONN & THE LOTO BALL SHOW with DJ sets by ONLY CHILDREN!
October 31, 2009
Lincoln Hall
2424 Lincoln Avenue
Chicago, IL
TICKETS ON SALE AS OF NOON TODAY @ http://www.lincolnhallchicago.com !

During our first trip down to the set of Ed McMahon’s Star Search the producers of Star Search were kind enough to arrange a special gig for us at Walt Disney World’s West End Theatre in Paradise Island. We performed two sets that night.

The cool thing, and I do mean “cool” was the fact we were privy to experience how the entertainers and workers at Disney World got from one place to another without disturbing the visitors. There is a labyrinth of underground walkways and service areas that span the enormous scope of the parks’ property. Our dressing room underneath the West End stage was literally a meat locker! It was very air-conditioned!

What made matters worse for the singer in the band was that fact he spent his entire morning and afternoon off that day with his favorite drummer in all the world at the pool getting third degree burns! Needless to say the combination of refrigeration, tight jeans and sun blisters the size of half-dollars on my thighs made for a painful performance. More so on me, I hope, than the audience!

Skeleton Crew® would like to thank Greg’s lovely wife Janine Tyler for taking the video footage of this performance at the West End Theatre, Pleasure Island, Disney World! Thanks Janine…WE LOVE YOU!

Actually, as we jog the memory bank…we stand corrected. Greg’s lovely wife Janine did not make this first trip down with us to Disney World as Greg and I were roomies on this trip. Greg gave his video camera to Dan’s then wife, Donna, who was the videographer for this particular event. So, we would like to thank Dan’s lovely wife Donna for taking the video footage at the West End Theatre, Pleasure Island, Disney World! Thanks Donna…WE LOVE YOU, TOO!

Greetings boys and girls of all ages! Well, if it’s Tuesday it must be: “Star Search Revisited” night! So gather up the brood and the appropriate munchies and libations and cuddle up to your nearest computer monitor. Go ahead…we’ll wait.

Episode Two finds our heroes competing against the reigning vocal/musical group champion, “My Brutha’s Keepa.” In order to get to this point, we had to compete against another contender, “The Petals,” for the chance to go up against the champs, which you saw last week in Episode One.

These two performances where actually filmed on the same day: one in the morning, break for lunch, then one in the afternoon. We decided to perform “We Ought To Know Better,”  the same song for this performance as we did in the first just in case we made it further in the competition to insure we had enough material for subsequent shows.

Welcome to the first episode in our Star Search Revisited Series. We’ll follow our heroes throughout their journey both on TV and behind the scenes in search of stardom and the $100,000.00 prize!

The summer of ’92 marked an incredible period of growth and evolution for Skeleton Crew®. We had many great gigs including The Palace of Auburn Hills SummerFest and some choice opening act opportunities at the DTE Energy Music Theater (then named, Pine Knob Music Theatre) and more.

The fall of ’92 brought on more surprises in the form of an invitation to audition for the television talent show, Star Search (the precursor to American Idol). Star Search was a huge hit at the time and during its years on the air.

Somehow (I’ll fill in the details when I have the time to ask some questions), noted record executive, Dick Williams, got a hold of a pre-release copy of our debut album, “Pre-Historic…Dig!,” which we just finished recording during the summer with our producer, Gary Spaniola, for his Baltic Records label. The next thing you know, one of Star Search’s talent producers, Marylyn Fisher, contacted us to schedule an audition.

I must admit, at first, there was much trepidation if we should do the show or not. We decided to do the audition figuring if we were selected to appear on the show we would decide then what we wanted to do. Well, we were chosen and we did decide to perform on Star Search.

We were informed that we had two minutes to perform each song to a pre-recorded backing track while the vocals were performed live during taping of the show. Rather than edit existing song tracks to conform to the two minute constraint, we went back into Seller Sound studio to re-arrange and record two minute versions of the songs we chose to perform on the show.

Two shows were taped on a scheduled taping day. Often we were up at 7 am for an 8:30 sound check and the first taping would begin around 10:30 or 11. Break for lunch and back for an afternoon taping at 1:30 or 2. People visiting Disney World had the opportunity to view a taping of a television show at the park and the crowds were enthusiastic.

We were given round trip airfare from Detroit to Orlando, Florida where Star Search was taped at Walt Disney World. Beautiful accommodations at The Port Orleans on our first trip down and Dixie Landings for the subsequent two return trips. Each band member also received $30.00 per diem for food and expenses per day. The entire process for Star Search ’93 took place between September and October 1992. Star Search ’93 aired in January of 1993.

Some of the acts that went on to fame and fortune that appeared with Skeleton Crew® on  Star Search ’93 included: a young cowboy named Justin Timberlake, Beyoncé who performed with the precursor to Destiny’s Child – Girl Tyme [Skeleton Crew has the unique distinction of forever being a footnote in the career of Beyoncé  as “the band of scary musicians that beat her on Star Search with a four-star performance.], an incredible singer and Star Search female vocalist champ, Beth Hart, and Star Search winning comedian Don MacMillan, who went on to work for McDonald’s Hamburgers as Mac Tonight.

We hope you enjoy revisiting our appearances on Star Search. We will follow the series over the next few weeks much like they were originally aired. We’ll also be uploading photos and video of the proceedings that went on behind the scenes in an effort to recreate the fun and excitement we experienced during this magical time in our history. Stay tuned for more!

Well, the first thing that I want to do is give my condolences to the Swayze family. The second thing is that I want to talk about his death. The first thing that I thought of when I found out was, Yeah right. He’s not dead. But then, I looked it up on the internet and saw all of the news flashes saying that he was dead. When I saw all of the news articles, the next thing that popped into mind was, Whoa. He’s actually dead. That made me think, in turn, about the other famous people who died this year. There was Walter Cronkite, Farrah Fawcett, the famous Michael Jackson, Billy Mays, Ted Kennedy, David Carradine, and now Patrick Swayze and Henry Gibson. Is it just me, or does it seem like 2009 is a bad year, other than the recession, in terms of famous people dying? I can’t even count how many famous people have died over the summer. I think that’s just nuts. It’s like 2009 is cursed when comes to famous people dying. Anyway, that’s just my opinion. By the way, go check out this article. It’s just like this posting.

So GSM just wanted to take a moment and remember some of the people that passed away this summer (June 21-September 22). It feels as though the number of important or well-known celebrities that said goodbye was above average this year, making it reasonable to refer to this year as the “Summer of Death”. As the saying goes, “Bad things come in threes”, but this summer completely shattered that theory.

Below (in order of day deceased) are just a few of the people that were lost this summer who will, and should  be remembered.

Ed McMahon – June 23

1923-2009 (86 yrs, medical complications)  Ed will be remembered best for being the always reliable and funny sidekick for Johnny Carson and the Tonight Show.

Farrah Fawcett – June 25

1946-2009 (62 yrs, Cancer) As the most beautiful third of Charlie’s Angels, Mrs. Fawcett’s sex appeal, amazing smile, and endless positivity will live on.

Michael Jackson – June 25

1958-2009 (50 yrs, Heart failure) The King of Pop is the greatest entertainer to have ever lived. The brilliant yet tragic master craftsman is a part of only a handful of 20th century artists who will be immortalized forever.

Billy Mays – June 28

1958-2009 (50 yrs, Hypertensive heart disease) Now this is a bit of a humorous character to have on the list, but Billy Mays is synonymous with the infomercials of the past 15 years. You may not know his name, but you certainly remember him, his commercials, and his products.

Steve McNair – July 4

1973-2009 (23 yrs, Murdered) Football fans will always remember the “Music City Miracle”, led by Tennessee Titans QB Steve McNair. It’s considered one of the greatest plays in NFL history. McNair is considered one of the all-time great ambassadors to the league. However, his second mistress didn’t think so highly of McNair after she found out that he had a first mistress. An unfortunate ending for such a good football player.

Martin Streek – July 6

1964-2009 (45 yrs, Suicide) Streek was an on-air personality for one of Toronto’s local rock stations, and widely considered one of the country’s best rock commentators and historians. Streek will be deeply missed by the people who knew and listened to him.

Robert McNamara – July 6

1916-2009 (93 yrs, Natural causes) Former President of the Ford Motor Company, and Defence Secretary under the Kennedy administration, McNamara will always be linked to America’s war in Vietnam, the Cuban Missile Crisis, and the Cold War between the Soviet Union and the U.S.A.  Fog of War is a fantastic documentary that allows McNamara narrate some of the tough decisions he had to make during his military, governmental, and corporate careers.

Oscar G. Mayer Jr. – July 6

1914-2009 (95 yrs, Natural causes) Not the original founder of Oscar Mayer Meats, Mayer Jr. did make the deli company what it is today. He is responsible for the jingle, “My bologna has a first name, it’s O-S-C-A-R. My bologna has a second name is M-A-Y-E-R!” We’d all love to have a jingle written for us…Mayer Jr. was the only one brave enough to do it.

Arturo Gatti – July 11

1972-2009 (37 yrs, Speculated suicide) One of the great Canadian boxers, Gatti always seemed a bit troubled. His skill in the ring won him many titles, and he will be revered by Montrealers forever.

Walter Cronkite - July 17

1916-2009 (92, Cerebrovascular disease) If not for the death of Michael Jackson, Walter Cronkite would have been the most memorable person to pass-on all summer. Cronkite was the definitive voice and presence of the baby boom generation. Cronkite was the man that North America turned to for reports on some of the most tragic, controversial, and inspirational news of the past 50 years. Cronkites will be remembered most for his calm and collected report of the assassination of President John F. Kennedy.

John Hughes – August 6

1950-2009 (59 yrs, Heart attack) Hughes is arguably the most influential film director, writer, and producer of the 1980’s. He created some of the most memorable and critically acclaimed movies of his time. Hughes had a knack for reinventing himself and his art. Despite mainly focused on filming comedies he always included an aspect of social commentary. He is responsible for classics like Sixteen Candles, The Breakfast Club, Ferris Bueller’s Day off, Planes,Trains, and Automobiles, Uncle Buck, and Home Alone.

Gibson – August 7

2002-2009 (7 dog yrs, Bone cancer) Gibson was the World’s Tallest dog according to the Guinness Book of World Records. This is a death that escaped most major headlines.

Eunice Kennedy Shriver – August 11

1921-2009 (88 yrs, Natural causes) Sister to President John F. Kennedy, Eunice also chose to make a life in the public realm. Eunice was the founder of the Special Olympics which celebrates sport among the physically and mentally disabled.

Les Paul – August 13

1915-2009 (94, Pneumonia) Paul is one of the most influential inventors and musicians of the last century. He was the creator of the solid-body electric guitar which made rock music become what it is today. Paul is also responsible for multi-track recording which is used by all musicians today. Up until his death he headlined rock shows at clubs in New York City.

Theodore “Teeder” Kennedy – August 14

1925-2009 (88 yrs, Heart failure) Teeder is one of the greatest captains in Maple Leafs history. Winning the Stanley Cup five times, three as captain, Teeder also had the honour of welcoming Queen Elizabeth II to Toronto’s Maple Leaf Gardens in 1951.

Edward “Ted” Kennedy – August 25

1932-2009 (77, Brain cancer) The youngest Kennedy-family brother, Ted will be remembered for his long career as a United States Senator. However, he will also be remembered for being the brother of two of America’s most beloved politicians; John and Robert Kennedy. After his brothers’ assassinations, Ted went through dark depression, a fatal accident scandal, and fear for his own life, only to continue as Massachusetts Senator and a failed campaign to become President in 1980. Anyway you slice it, Ted has bitter-sweet a life as anyone can have.

Cody - August 26

1994-2009 (15 dog yrs, Natural causes) This is my dog.  Everyone says it about their own dogs, but Cody truly was the best dog. Cwazy will be missed.

Patrick Swayze – September 14

1952-2009 ( 57 yrs., Pancreatic cancer) Swayze was often the butt of many jokes, but no one can deny that he was good at what he did. Swayze knew his niche, but that didn’t stop him from branching out and braving some challenging roles. The current generation may remember him most fondly from the early 90’s SNL sketch where he and Chris Farley played dancers auditioning for an open Chippendales spot, or from Point Break, starring opposite Keanu Reeves. However, Swayze will be best remembered for his roles in Dirty Dancing, Ghost, and  for playing Darrel in The Outsiders.

Christine and I go way back to the beginning of The Cheek of God. Her own blog, Flutter, was one of the first I ever read, and with her entry for the “Just A Little Crazy” series, she continues to inspire me . Be sure to visit the new Crazy! page to read previous entries in this series . . .

I can sing.

No, really I can.

The problem is, while I can sing, and well, I get immensely embarrassed when someone asks me to. About a year ago, someone asked me to sing on my blog. I did, but I was so shy for someone to see the absolutely mental faces I imagine that I make when I sing, that I made a sock puppet to sing for me. Out of a cashmere sock. And dreadlocks.

Oy.

So, there is a voice, hidden beneath a cashmere sock, just dying to be heard. When I was 19 I decided it was time for the world to hear it. I got a ginormous hair up my arse to audition for Star Search. Star. Search.

Ed McMahon.

Cheesy stage lights.

Copious amounts of make-up.

Bad, bad BAD costuming and enough pre-teen squeaky Whitney Houston wannabes to choke a moderately sized horse. Maybe even a big horse, although I haven’t done the calculations as to how big of a tween star it would take to bung up a Clydesdale. Not that you’d need to worry about a tween star being born purely Star Search.

For which I made my friend Jenny drive me to L.A., singing Madonna no fewer than 7034 times. She was a trooper, but to my credit I was on FIRE. Seriously? A 19-year-old white girl, wearing denim shorts, a button down denim shirt (of precisely matched washes) more hairspray than a southern girl’s wedding, and the reddest lipstick allowable by law, singing Madonna, with an entire verse en espanol? SO cross cultural. So fabulous.

[/end sarcasm]

We walked in to the auditorium where auditions were being held and without the benefit of my name or intent, I was given a number to wear when I reached the stage. I sat, watching a group of 6 girls, 3 guys, 2 dogs and a small Volvo do a rousing juggling routine, during which one of the dogs decided to crap onstage.

I shit you not (insert rimshot here).

Said shit was not yet removed, three excruciating acts later, when my number was called. I handed over my background music and took my very denim self up and positioned myself behind the mic. Then, I looked up. Ed McMahon (God rest his soul) was at the judge’s table, drinking coffee and picking his nose (so totally not speaking ill of the dead! It happened!). Literally. With his pinky. I took this to mean he was bored and I better hurry the hell up.

I waited for the music to start and opened my mouth, fully expected a belch, a crack or an “um” to betray my nerves. But, none of that happened. My voice, strong and true and beautiful came spilling out of me. Perfect in pitch and intensity, I rocked it. Until I reached one line.

I should have sang, “Te dijo, te amo”. Which means, “He told me, I love you”. What I sang was “Te dijo, me amo”, which means “He told me, I love me.”

Every Spanish-speaking person in the audience burst into applause and laughter.

Mortification grabbed me by my fallopian and yanked me off the stage, down the hallway and out to Jenny’s car. I didn’t wait to give them my name, I didn’t wait to get my tape of background music. I didn’t wait to get judge’s comments. I just hauled ass. I was at once thrilled with my nerve and mortified with my gaff.

Jenny and I drove home, me barely containing tears and her afraid to tell me that the judges thought I was great and had asked who I was. But it didn’t matter.

For three minutes, I moved. For three minutes, I shook. For three minutes, I let a room full of people see me . . . and I was a Spanish-challenged rock star. For three minutes, I dropped my chains and let the world hear my voice.

I’ve been dying to get back there ever since.

5. Billy Mays. TV infomercial pitchman. Died 6-28-09 of heart disease.

4. Ed McMahon. Game show host/TV personality. Died 6-23-09 of pneumonia and old age.

3. Walter Cronkite. News anchor. “CBS Evening News” was highest rated TV news program while he was their anchor until he retired. Died 7-17-09 of cerebrovascular disease.

2. Patrick Swayze. Actor most famous for dirty dancing. Died 9/14/09 of cancer.

1. Michael Jackson. The pop legend is the obvious shoe-in for the top slot on this morbid top 5.  Died 6-25-2009 from drug over-dose, murder?

Some honorable mention would include :

David Carradine who died 6-3-09 from apparent suicide. He an actor most famous for the Kung Fu series.

Farrah Fawcett who died the same day as MJ on 6-25-09. Her death was overshadowed by the pop king’s. She was a popular actress, model, and sex symbol around the 70’s.

It’s rough all over right now. The economy is still slumping, and the national unemployment rate is getting dangerously close to double digits. In August, it was at 9.7 percent. In times like these, there are people we turn to for help in getting through it. They couldn’t make our problems disappear, but they could bring a smile to our faces when we needed it the most.

Those people are leaving at what seems to be an alarming rate lately. Patrick Swayze, who died yesterday from pancreatic cancer at the age of 57, was one of those people. I was a little boy in 1987, when Swayze’s film “Dirty Dancing” hit it big. He had done other movies before that, like “The Outsiders” (which I had seen in a class in high school) and “Red Dawn”, but neither was as successful as “Dirty Dancing,” and it was the first time I had heard of him.

Although he was also in the critical and even bigger box office success “Ghost”, the Swayze favorite of my generation would appear to be “Road House”, where he plays a bouncer in a bar. Go figure.

Patrick Swayze is just another on a list of people both I and my parents grew up with who are no longer with us. In not even three months, we lost Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett, Michael Jackson, Billy Mays, Steve McNair, Walter Cronkite, John Hughes, Robert Novak and Sen. Ted Kennedy. I can’t help but wonder who is going to be next.

When you get right down to it, it’s just another example of how quickly our world can change. We get up every morning expecting that things are going to be the way they were the day before. And then we find out there’s been a change in plans, and something or someone we had been counting on being there is suddenly not there anymore and won’t be back ever again.

When this happens, it’s easy to want to throw in the towel and decide it’s too hard to go on. I’ve felt that way myself for much of the last two years. But I haven’t given up because I know that if I continue to dig, I will eventually hit something. It might not be what I want, but it’s something I can work with and build off.

That’s how the people I mentioned did it. Success didn’t come for them right away. And even when they achieved it, they hit some bumps in the road. But they kept trying knowing if they didn’t, they would be forgotten. I may never be as famous as Patrick Swayze or prominent as Ted Kennedy, but when I die, I want to be remembered the same way they are, as someone who continued to work toward his ultimate goal, even when he felt he could no longer accomplish it.

A friend was watching DVDs of the old Johnny Carson Show from 1978.  In one bit with Ed, Johnny listed and satirised “hot new businesses.”  A little more than 30 years ago, we laughed with Johnny about:

Hot New Businesses

1.   Plastic Ice for hot weather ice skating

http://www.coldproducts.com/ezvideo.php Great for kids in Florida and California who don’t know any different!

2.  Books on Tape

A commuter’s friend has replaced the book but been joined by the MP3 and Kindle http://bit.ly/2QVV5Y 

3.  Skinny Powder – reduces calories by 50%  OK, this one is not exactly the same but alli has gained supporters all over

4.  Remote Car Ignition 

Not only here, but a god send in cold climates!  Ford has taken it one step further http://bit.ly/2r0IYO

5. Videotaping homes for realtors

Pick any real estate site…

6.  House lights activated by a dog bark

Got the reverse…a motion detected light that includes a fake barking dog http://bit.ly/vVplI

7.  Instant Thermometer in a bandaid 

A mother’s best friend when a baby is crying! http://bit.ly/1qdhYf

8.  Happy Feet – gel insole for your shoes.  Too many brands to mention! http://bit.ly/Das0O

Still waiting for the light of day

A caligrapher that only does menus and earns $100,000/year

A new mouse trap that gives mice cancer, so they die a slow death.

The take away?  What business idea did you laugh at today?  Could be the future is right in front of you.

This amusing Cash4Gold Super Bowl ad made a splash when it first aired.

Come on, it’s tough not to laugh when MC Hammer claims to be selling a medallion of himself wearing a medallion, or when Ed McMahon gently pats a golden toilet and says, “Goodbye old friend” in the most wistful of tones.

Unfortunately, the company that they were representing is being accused by former employees and blogs of being fiendish in the extreme.

There’s obviously something questionable about a company with the sales pitch, “send us your gold…we will melt it down and pay you later, we swear.”

But to trade on the soul of a dying Ed McMahon to loot the olds of their gold…that is reprehensible.

If true.

The LA Times published an expose on the shady gold melters not long ago…

Cash4Gold.com, the Florida metal refinery that offers fast money to those who mail in baggies full of jewelry, has hit on a formula that would make 13th-century alchemists weep: It’s found a way to turn desperation into gold.

And in this economy, that’s a growth business. Last week, the 8-year-old company ponied up enough bullion to buy 30 seconds of famously expensive Super Bowl airtime, capping an ascent from the basement of late-night “As seen on TV” marketing.

A rising tide might lift all boats, but an ebbing tide draws buzzards. The airwaves and netways are filling up with quick-money schemes, not just Cash4Gold and its competitors — Dollars4Gold, GoldKit and GoldPaq — but simple ways to make thousands a week at home, or wring a profit from the depleted housing market.

But it’s Cash4Gold, which now boasts 350 employees, that has been able to buy its way into the cultural mainstream. In a bit of clever typecasting, its ad featured Ed McMahon and MC Hammer, faded celebrities known for their financial woes…

[...]

Cash4gold said it saw traffic to its website multiply by a factor of 10 in the wake of the ad.

That the commercial focuses on gold and says little about cash is just how Cash4Gold likes it. The company’s advertising is loaded with gold bars, fistfuls of diamonds and piles of expensive-looking jewelry (even though, of course, it’s those things that the consumer is giving up. )

But beneath the shiny veneer lies a dull reality: Cash4Gold is essentially a buyer of scrap metal. And scrap doesn’t fetch much on the open market.

Now the blog Consumerist has engaged Cash4Gold in a battle royale that has escalated into lawsuits.

By publicizing the true confessions of a former employee, Consumerist drew the wrath of Jeff Aronson, the corpulent CEO.

According to former employees and Consumerist, here’s what the Cash4Gold peeps allegedly do: they get you to describe your gold to them, and then send it to them. They then insure it for $100 or less.

Their methods for appraising the gold are said to be extremely ghetto, basically checking out the gold with a magnifying glass and pouring some stuff on it to see what happens. Meth labs are far more sophisticated than this operation.

The checks they issue are far smaller than one could reasonably expect to receive at a pawn shop.

A former employee claims that they deliberately delay delivery of checks in order to prevent customers from successfully seeking refunds within the alloted 10-day window. When enraged customers call to complain, reps are given bonuses for talking them down to a proscribed settlement number. If they happen to lose the gold – oops! – they blame the post office and the customer, and present the insurance settlement of $100 or less. To hear this employee tell it, it’s just a big scam.

Cash4Gold, through their representatives, have vehemently denied all these charges, asserting that their appraisal methods are “state of the art,” that there is no such thing as a Cash4Gold “scam,” and that the claims of the outspoken employees are completely false.

These denials are generally accompanied by threats of a lawsuit, if compliance is not obtained in deleting those charges from a particular web site.

Consumerist said “meet me at the court…it’s going down” and then issued a full barrage, “The Article Cash4Gold Doesn’t Want You To Read,” taking the issue apart point by point and blasting Aaronson & Co. for purportedly shameful behavior:

Less than two weeks after we ran Liberis’ anonymous “10 Confessions,” we received our first letter from the company’s lawyers. (The company also sent letters to Yahoo!, the LA Times and reportedly a number of blogs – including some that had linked to or referenced Liberis’ post.) The letter to us asserted that the post by Liberis was “false and defamatory” and that we should “immediately remove” our coverage of it, and “block further posting.”

We decided not to remove the post, and instead replied with a 2,400-word request for additional details that might back up Cash4Gold’s claims. Reason: we felt that killing a post we deemed to be both credible and newsworthy would be a disservice to our readers and a betrayal of our responsibility as consumer journalists.

In that letter, and in several follow ups, we’ve asked Cash4Gold and its lawyers for evidence to support their broad assertions of falsehood. We’ve also lauded the company for starting its own blog, and pushed it to continue to join “the public debate” about these issues.

Instead, Cash4Gold has pursued a take-no-prisoners approach against Liberis and her former colleague Nephew. The company sued both women, who, until recently, had no legal representation. Both now await the outcome of court cases that could lead to escalating fines and perhaps even jail time based on contempt charges. For our part, we’ve continued to research the story. Since Cash4Gold’s original challenge, we’ve talked to Liberis and Nephew, Cash4Gold customers, the Better Business Bureau, the Pompano Beach fire department and the U.S. Postal Service, among others. We’ve dug through numerous web sites, legal documents, complaints to the Florida Attorney General and public records. We’ve also tried to interview Cash4Gold’s Aronson, though without success. Bottom line: the available evidence from the time Liberis was working at Cash4Gold provides ample and compelling support for her 10 points.

The kicker is that Consumerist, once a Gawker Media blog under the aegis of minister of darkness Nick Denton, was recently purchased by none other than Consumers Union, the publisher of Consumer Reports.

This means that Consumerist has access to Consumer Reports’ awesome system for testing products and services – and that their credibility is backed by the superb Consumer Reports brand.

In this case, they rolled out the freakin’ Mystery Shoppers.

To understand the basic deal that Cash4Gold offers, we turned to Consumer Reports’ “mystery shoppers” – the nationwide team of anonymous consumers who help buy the gear that our parent company tests. The mystery shoppers sent 24 identical gold pendants and chains to Cash4Gold and some of its national competitors. The necklaces were purchased for $175 each. We calculated their “melt value” – meaning how much the raw gold was worth – as about $70 each, based on the market price for gold when the necklaces were received by the companies (during the test period, the price of gold fluctuated, but never dropped below $900 an ounce).

Our tests – which lasted from May through early July – found that Cash4Gold and its competitors offered simple and relatively transparent service. Online tracking systems were updated promptly, the companies generally mailed out checks within a day or two, and customer service reps were courteous and professional. The actual offers, however, were miserly. Cash4Gold sent back checks ranging from $7.60 to $12.72 (or 11% to 18% of melt value), the lowest amounts of any firm. But others weren’t far behind: GoldKit offered $7.81 to $20.59, and GoldPaq $8.22 to $13.11. Each of those deals was worse than what our mystery shoppers could get at local jewelers and pawn shops, which offered anywhere from $25 to $50. The results reinforce advice we’ve offered before, which is that consumers should not use these highly marketed services because the payments they offer are too low. No matter how nice the person is who gives it to you, a bad deal is still a bad deal.

Cash4Gold declined to discuss the test results, but other news reports suggest lowball checks are typical. CEO Aronson has said the company pays from as little as 20% to as much as 80% of the gold’s value. And in an interview with Good Morning America, he suggested that customers who want more money should take their business elsewhere. “If all you care about is the net dollar, and you’re willing to go to the seedy part of town, and you’re willing to travel around … I want you to go there,” Aronson said.

All this stands in contrast to Cash4Gold’s advertising claims. While its website acknowledges that a jeweler or a pawn shop might offer more, one TV ad boasts “With gold, silver and platinum at their highest value in decades, Cash4Gold.com is able to give you top dollar for your unwanted jewelry.” The same ad goes on: “Because we own our refinery, we can cut out the middleman, which means more cash in your pocket.” But we have trouble squaring that “top dollar” claim with the offers we got…

Again, Cash4Gold staunchly denies the claims of their disgruntled former employees. They have a blog post up dissecting the charges point by point. They concede that, yeah, the deals they are offering are not what you could expect at a pawn shop. But what homebound elderly wants to venture out across the tracks to haggle with creepy Jerome at King Pawn?

However, Cash4Gold’s scorched earth strategy of threatening lawsuits against anyone who besmirches their reputation seems to be backfiring. Consumerist has doubled down and they aren’t afraid of the legal posturing.

The story is now rippling out into the greater media realm…here’s a Reuters wrapup that sees Consumers Union extending a hearty middle finger to Aaronson and his posse.

A new investigative report from Consumerist.com shines a spotlight on the business practices of Cash4Gold, which bills itself as the “World’s #1 Gold Buyer,” and on the company’s efforts to silence Internet criticism through litigation and financial incentives.

The report adds that the gold-buying company recently sued Consumerist.com by appending the consumer-focused website to existing lawsuits against two former employees…

[...]

“We follow-up on such challenges conscientiously,” says Marc Perton, Executive Editor for Online Media at Consumers Union, “and so we immediately set out to learn whether the company’s allegations had merit, both through our own research and through requests to Cash4Gold for more information.” The company has declined to cooperate, though, and just this week canceled a scheduled interview with Cash4Gold CEO Jeff Aronson.

The investigation provided support to Consumerist.com’s decision to publish the “10 Confessions” post in the first place, and also turned up evidence that supports Liberis’ account of certain business practices and working conditions at the firm. But the Consumerist.com also found that Cash4Gold may have made improvements in the time since Liberis worked there last year. For example, Liberis said the firm was shut down temporarily for “health and code violations,” a statement the company disputed. Fire department records show that the Cash4Gold location was indeed shut down after a number of violations last year, but that Cash4Gold has accumulated no new violations since moving to a different address earlier this year.

“We’re proud of the work that Ben and Meg have done, and we only regret that their report could not include a response from Cash4Gold CEO Jeff Aronson beyond his earlier public comments,” Perton said. “We also hope today’s post will help lay to rest the idea that blogs don’t do investigative reporting.”

Take a look for yourself. Knowing what you know now, do the claims of this advertisement ring true to you?

I would never do business with Cash4Gold…

But I would GLADLY attend the monthly Jamaica Plain dance party of the same name.

This post has little to do with pop culture and more to do with a certain few (very few!) of our [unwanted] readers.  As a general rule, we love those who visit our blog and love even more those who take the time to comment and provide feedback.  I can’t speak for the other two Vultures, but I can speak for myself and I whole-heartedly mean what I’m going to say:

PEOPLE ARE SHITS.  We have lost many priceless pop culture icons this year and PCV couldn’t be sadder about it.  Your childish, discriminatory, speculative comments are unwarranted and unnecessary.  It is one thing to not be affected by someone’s passing; it is quite another to mock those who DO mourn.  The people who have passed are gone (although their work will live on forever); left behind are fans, friends, and family saddened by their passing.  There is no reason to attack them and pour salt in their already deep wounds.

I have stated before and will reiterate now:  negative comments about the deceased will be immediately deleted BY ME.  Each Vulture can see all comments posted on the blog and has the authority to delete them.  It matters not if you post them on my stories or someone else’s; they will be removed.  I urge all of you carrying around the amount of anger in your soul that requires you to lash out at those dealing with the pain of losing a loved one to dig deep within yourself and do the following:

- if you can’t find something nice to say, keep your fucking mouth shut
- learn a little class
- grow the fuck up

Lastly, to the majority of our readers (whom we ADORE), thank you for continuously supporting us.  Thank you for joining us in wishing a peaceful rest to those who we have lost.  Thank you for being good fucking people.