THE BEATLES - 50 Years Later, a Personal Reminiscence

February 9, 1964 was a Sunday, and that was the night the Ed Sullivan Show was live on television.  On that night, fifty years ago today, the Beatles debuted in America on that show.

On that long ago Sunday, I was practicing with my rock and roll band in my best friend's garage in the Kooser area of San Jose.  Joe was my best friend through high school, and is still a friend today.

Joe's mom stuck her head in the door to the garage and told us to come quick, and hear this new band on television.  We turned off our amplifiers, put our guitars down and sat on the floor in front of the television in the living room.  The Beatles came on and girls were screaming.  While the Beatles were singing and playing, captions appeared beneath each face giving the name of the Beatle on the screen.  The one beneath John's face read "Sorry girls, he's married."

What was striking about the Beatles was their appearance.  Gone were the Elvis-style pompadour hair helmets.  These guys looked like Little Boy Blue with their hair mops, devoid of pomade, but somehow, we liked it.  They wore cute little black suits with white shirts and black ties.  They used harmony singing, except for the Beach Boys, this was almost unheard of!  When the show was over, the Beatles bowed from the waist in unison.  We went back to our guitars and tried to pick out the tune to "She Loves You," but found it difficult.  This music was a lot different than the boogie woogie rock beat we were used to.

Early in 1964, we were all still in a blue funk over the assassination of President Kennedy.  Traditional rock and roll was dying out.  Anyone who could barely carry a tune was recording songs heavily overlaid with echo chamber effects (to hide their crummy voices), and instead of guitar, bass and drums, had whole orchestras providing the instrumentals.  It sucked.  Elvis was still making forgettable movies like "It Happened at the World's Fair" and Dion sang some monstrosity about "Do the Madison," another idiotic dance step.  It didn't catch on, thankfully.

The music fad just before the Beatles arrived was the hootenanny.  Hootenannies featured folks singers playing acoustic guitars and singing crap like "Don't Let the Rain Come Down -- My Roof's Got a Hole In It and I Might Drown."  One could could only hope.

If you weren't there, it may be hard to understand just how special the Beatles were.  They launched "the British Invasion," a whole slew of British bands that saved rock and roll and created a new genre of great music, i.e. British Rock.  Following in their footsteps were the Rolling Stones, the Dave Clark Five, Gerry and the Pacemakers, the Animals, and many more.

I saw the Beatles perform live at the Cow Palace near San Francisco in 1964 and 1965.  They were so cutting edge, so innovative, so talented -- George's fantastic guitar solos added so much to John's and Paul's singing, with Ringo providing the drum beat.  They seemed magical, and it was a magical time in those early days.

Now, fifty years later, John and George are dead, Paul and Ringo are in their seventies.  When I see a photograph of the foursome now, I remember that magic and how it felt, and they still seem cutting edge to me, even though they're not.  Cutting edge today is rap crap and stupid gimmicks, and "songs" that you can't even hum.

Now, like the night they appeared on the Ed Sullivan Show, popular music is in a low place, dominated by no-talent hacks, the great rock beat nowhere to be found.  Now is the perfect opportunity for a new rock group to emerge, to capture the public imagination, to restore the beat, revive the magic, and restore the joy that rock music can bring.  I hope I live to see it.

Here's some of their greats.

Some Late Thoughts on the 2014 Grammy Awards Ceremony

Busy, busy, busy doing tax returns.  That explains the big slowdown in my posting, if anyone cares. 

I watched the Grammy Awards, because my wife wanted to watch it, and I had no choice.  I liked seeing some of the old rockers like Kris Kristofferson, Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr.  I also enjoyed the western groups, and one new female country singer wore a very short dress, and she had fantastic legs.  Those were the good parts of the show.

I was annoyed at the new pop music acts and “artists.”  Some young woman with black lipstick was unveiled to smoke and flames by the raising of what looked like a giant Japanese lantern, revealing her underneath.  Then a troupe of people in tights all emulated grand mal seizures as they writhed around the stage, all while the black lipstick lady "sang."  The music was cacophonous and the words unintelligible.  The lady in black lipstick was later awarded a Grammy (a trophy resembling an old fashioned phonograph with a megaphone on top). 

 Then some black guys in white suits stomped around chanting and grunting to something called “Def Jam,” making me wish I really were def or that I could jam cotton into my ears.

 Surprisingly, the best music group was one from France, whose name I have deliberately forgotten, who wore what looked like white space suits, including helmets with black, opaque visors, so their faces were completely hidden.  Weeeeeeird.  It kind of reminded me of the Cone Heads from Saturday Night Live, with the space aliens explaining in a robotic monotone:  "We're from France."

There is a reason for all this dubious theater by the pop groups:  it is to hide the fact that they  don’t really have any talent.  Their songs are garbage, the lyrics the incomprehensible mutterings of the mad.  Without the giant lanterns, smoke, flames and space suits, they got nothing.

Towards the end of the ceremonies, Queen Latifa “married” 33 couples, some of whom were gay, right after some schmo with a weird haircut sang a non-melodic paean to the wonders of gay love.  How did this figure into a ceremony honoring the best singers?  It didn’t.  The left has control of the popular culture along with their control of the economy, the media and academia.  This enables them to continually propagandize us with their latest compulsions. 

Kim Kardashian's HUGE CABOOSE (Photoshop)

Kim Kardashian is a no-talent American female with semi-good looks, who is a television star on the utterly forgettable series "Keeping Up With The Kardashians."  Kim has a caboose that is truly breath-taking, not so much for its beauty but for its size.  The woman has one BIG ass.

Recently she had a baby and wanted to show off her post pregnancy body, so she took a "selfie" with her cell phone camera and posted it on Twitter and Instagram.  This apparently drew scores of critical comments by folks who were outraged at the "side boob" shot.  I wasn't outraged over that.  I was outraged at the popular culture for elevating this nobody to celebrity status for no particular reason.  I was also outraged over the size of her ass.  She truly ought to consider butt reduction surgery.

Until she does, though, I recommend she wear the above sign and red flags for the safety of others.  And when she is backing up, one of those warning systems on diesel trucks would be appropriate as well, the ones that go "beep beep beep beep."  No ifs, ands or BUTTS.

Read more about this important sociological phenomenon here.

American Power also commented on Kim's selfie here.

Miley Cyrus, Not Exactly the Girl Next Door

Miley Cyrus, just the girl you want your son to bring home to mother.

The face of American femininity.  What a doll.

Barf.

Madonna Simulates Gun Violence to an Alarmed Denver Audience

From the start of her career, I never liked Madonna.  I like her even less today.  She is a disgusting has-been hack who must rely on shock and scandal in lieu of actual talent.  She is being criticized today for putting on a skit in her Denver "concert" where she "shoots" a man "dead," then simulates shooting into the audience, brandishing the same handgun she has used in other acts.

She is singing "Bang bang, shootcha dead," over and over.

The only thing that is dead is her career.  Read more about it here.

Pretty Girl, Weird Swimsuit

From OMG, a series of photos called "What Were They Thinking?" I liked this one best. Although I heartily approve of the contents, the packaging looks downright uncomfortable.

Spider-Man Turns Black & Hispanic

The New Spider-Man

It has been noted that comic book makers are very left wing nowadays.  First they praised Barack Obama and made him a close buddy of Spider-Man; then they had Superman renounce his American citizenship.  Now Superman flies above Gotham with the same stirring music, but different words:  "For Truth, Justice and the One-World-Government Way!"

However, nothing has been able to completely scratch that P.C. itch, the desire to elevate "the Other" and remove Whitey from the scene.  But the comic book kids keep right on trying.

Yes, it was inevitable.  Spider-Man has become a young kid who is half black and half hispanic.  You see, Peter Parker, the white, nerdy kid who became the original Spider-Man, has been killed; but don't worry, it only happened in a parallel universe.  The new kid on the web is Miles Morales.  Now everyone has their own Spider-Man, depending on what universe they live in.

I don't know why all this ethnic business is so important to lefties.  Back when Zorro was carving a Z in everything that moved, I didn't insist on a European-derived Zorro.  I was happy to be pretend-hispanic as I drew Z's all over the neighborhood with a crayon.  Besides, a white Zorro would have to be renamed The Fox, since that is the English translation of "El Zorro," and then he would have to make the sign of the F, not the Z, and you can just imagine where that would have led.

Next up:  A Spider-Man in a wheel chair; a Spider-Man who is gay; a Spider-Man who is transgender.  Perhaps we will have a Spider-Man who is a Muslim.  A bit more troublesome:  a Spider-Man who is a single mother and a lesbian.  When you live in parallel universes, the possibilities are endless.

Read more here.

Remembering Marilyn Monroe and "The Seven Year Itch"

Marilyn Monroe

In Stockton, California, in 1955 my brother, our friend Peter and I caught the bus at the corner of W. Poplar Street and N. Yosemite and rode downtown to see a movie.  It was "The Seven Year Itch" starring Marilyn Monroe.  Monroe was a mega-sex idol in those days.  It's difficult to explain just how popular she was.

The film had a very sexy scene where Monroe's character is coming out of a movie theater with her date, the character portrayed by actor Tom Sewell.  There is a sidewalk grate over the subway tunnels below, and since it is a hot summer night, Monroe's character stands over the grate and lets the breeze from the trains below blow up her dress, ostensibly to cool her off.  The breeze floats her white dress up rather high, giving a great view of Monroe's stupendous legs.  I almost choked on my popcorn.  I was only 9 at the time, but I already knew I was a leg man.

Of course, the scene was designed to haunt young men's dreams, fire the agony of desire and drive guys completely nuts.  It worked.  People poured into the theaters to see Monroe's famous scene and fabulous legs.

Yesterday in Chicago's Pioneer Court, they unveiled a 26 foot statue of Marilyn Monroe in her famous subway grate pose, with her white dress billowing up.  Ah, the memories.

Marilyn Monroe was not the first person to ever make me aware of the striking differences between the anatomy of men and women.  The first time I ever saw cleavage is when a lady friend of my mom's came by the house.  She was wearing a low cut blouse and her lovely breasts were pressed together in a most pleasing way.  I was maybe three years old.

I then embarrassed my mom as only I could do, completely, thoroughly and profoundly.  I pointed to the lady's boobs and demanded to know "What's that?"  There was a lot of stammering and stuttering and gasps and sighs, but no straightforward answer was forthcoming.  Noticing that the subject matter was round with a crack in the middle, I observed, "It looks like a butt."

At that point a crack in the floor opened up and my mother descended into the nether regions of hell, simply to escape this abject humiliation.  Well, actually, no she didn't.  But she wanted to, believe me.  Personally, I was astounded to know that some women had butts on their chests.  A two-headed Martian would not have surprised me more.

Anyway, to return to Marilyn Monroe.  My friend Peter lived across the street from us in Stockton, and his father owned a 1954 calendar with the famous nude of Monroe, sitting on a red satin sheet, one arm locked over her head, an orgasmic expression on her face.  One day, when his father was off to work, Peter invited me over for a peek at the calendar.

I was thunderstruck.  It was the first time I had ever seen breasts.  I was utterly fascinated.  Hmm, so that's what a woman looks like, thought I.  I wanted one.

Read about the Monroe statute in Chicago here.

The Long, Beautiful Legs of Beyoncé (Photos)

Beyoncé's Legs

There's lots of bad news and downers and bummers out there this morning.  Casey Anthony smiling like the cat who swallowed the canary; unemployment still high at over 9%; a father dies at a baseball game trying to catch a baseball; another pro-terrorist flotilla is trying to break the Israeli embargo of Gaza.  There are days like this when I am almost too depressed to write about anything.

Well here's a nice change of pace from the U.K. Mail Online:  Beyoncé's latest photo shoot, showing off her magnificent, long legs.  AWOOOOOOOO!

See them all here.

What?  You say she also sings??  Fancy that.

Superman's Peckerectomy

Superman's creators have been moving "the Man of Steel" further left as time goes on. A section of comic strip has been making the rounds, showing Superman renouncing his US citizenship, to avoid having his actions seen as "instruments of U.S. policy." Superman is now a leftwing liberal, and like same, he detests his own country and yearns for a world government where he can merge with "the other," i.e., anyone and anything unamerican.

Well here's the Stogified version of the strip:

See the original version here.

By the way, according to Webster's, a peckerectomy is the surgical removal of one's penis when it is no longer needed, or when its owner wishes to renounce his manhood or register as a Democrat. (You can look it up.)

True Love: Hugh Hefner, 84, to Wed Crystal Harris, 24

It was announced over Twitter that Hugh Hefner, 84 year-old perpetual adolescent, has given an engagement ring to Playmate Crystal Harris, 24. We have it from a good source that Hefner walkered himself into the room and gave Harris a big red lollipop -- the ring was embedded therein and Harris discovered it on the 23rd lick.  "Ooooh, a ring," she squealed, as she dropped her Barbie Doll and danced a jig around the room.  "Does it squirt water?  Is it a magic decoding ring?" she asked.

The happy couple has much in common:  Hefner remembers World War II and Crystal remembers last week.  Hefner loves Benny Goodman and Big Band music while Crystal loves Hip Hop and Rap.  Hefner is a fan of Audrey Hepburn and Cary Grant. Crystal is a fan of SpongeBob SquarePants.

What will this twosome do when they aren't having hot sex?  Probably have deeply intellectual conversations about mysticism, quantum mechanics, federalism vs anti-federalism, string theory, parallel universes and the physics of black holes (the ones in space).  Or maybe Hugh will just fall asleep while Crystal plays video games.  Yeah, probably the latter.

Hugh baby, you made it to 84 and haven't yet figured it out:  there's a big difference between a sex partner and a soul mate.   At your age you should be far more concerned with the latter than the former.  HINT:  a soul mate is someone who would marry you even if you weren't filthy rich. Does Crystal really fit that definition?

Foxy Lady: Miss Virginia, Caressa Cameron, is Miss America 2010

Caressa Cameron (right and below), a 22 year old beauty from Fredericksburg, Virginia beat out 52 other contestants to be crowned Miss America tonight. Cameron deserved the honor: she is sizzling hot and sings like a pro. She sang "Listen" from the musical "Dreamgirls," revealing an amazing voice.

Rush Limbaugh was one of the judges. A video of Rush dancing at the event is embedded below.

Conan's Last "Tonight" Show; Where to Watch Video Clips or the Entire Show

I have been watching the strange NBC internecine struggles over the Tonight Show, Conan O'Brien and the former host, Jay Leno.  The way I understand it is that Jay Leno was replaced with Conan O'Brien as host of the Tonight Show seven months ago.  This was done even though Leno's "Tonight" show was doing quite well, popular among viewers and leading all other late night shows.  My own niece had appeared on Jay Leno's Tonight Show, in a segment about "your most terrible date."  She did quite well, though Leno never did pronounce the family name right.

O'Brien, a likable, energetic, younger guy, didn't do as well.  Viewers had developed a loyalty to Leno and weren't anxious to reassign that loyalty to O'Brien.  Under Conan, ratings for the Tonight Show sank.

Meanwhile, Jay Leno had been given another show at 10 PM, the Jay Leno Show.  The Leno Show looked very much like the old Tonight Show, with the same band, the same format, the same shtick.  Personally, I liked the 10 PM time slot, as I could watch it and still get a decent amount of sleep.  However, most viewers didn't like it, and the Leno Show's ratings were also in the tank.  Nobody was happy.

NBC proposed moving the Leno Show to 11:30 PM, reducing its time from an hour to a half hour, and move the Tonight Show to midnight.  Leno was on board but Conan said NO.  After a couple of weeks of wrangling over Conan's contract, he agreed to a buyout of $44 million, $32 million for himself and $12 million for his staff.  Last night was Conan's last as host of the Tonight Show.

Last night's show was offbeat and a lot more interesting.  Tom Hanks showed up with two glasses of Scotch, one of which he gave to O'Brien, before settling into the guest's couch to banter with Conan.  O'Brien claimed the beverage was only "Creme Soda," but the way Hanks was gingerly sipping it made me think not.  It appeared to be some strong drink.

Conan's show also featured a lot of film clips, of Conan in his trademark slate blue suit, blue shirt and dark tie, running down the highway, through grassy fields, through the desert.  Other clips showed Conan-like dummies being fired from cannons.  It was weird but fun.

Neil Young played harmonica, acoustic guitar and sang; the old Lefty's song was pleasant but I didn't know what he was singing about.  The song was sad and, I suppose, appropriate for Conan's last show.

Conan made one last impromptu speech to the audience, in which he waxed nostalgic about his 20 years with NBC, and teared up a bit in the process.

Finally, the eccentric comedian Will Ferrell performed, looking like a long-haired hippie straight out of 1968, and he and his own musicians joined with Conan's Tonight Show band to play and sing a song called "Freebird."  One of Ferrell's musicians was playing a lap steel guitar -- you don't see that very often anymore.  Conan, who plays guitar, picked up his own instrument and played along with the band until the show went off the air.  I'll miss these guys.

Conan O'Brien can't accept another show for seven months, according to his separation agreement, but it is rumored that he may be talking to Fox about a late night show there.

WATCH:
Selected clips of the show, or the entire show, can be viewed at Hulu.com, at this link.
You can also watch it at the NBC site at this link.

"Pants on the Ground" Video from American Idol

Another rare talent appeared on American Idol last night, in the form of a 62 year old man named Larry Platts, who sang an original composition called "Pants on the Ground."  In spite of the fact that Larry slightly exceeded the maximum allowable age of 28, his deeply felt ballad expressed the true feelings of many who are disgusted by the grunge look of gangland wanna-bes.  Enjoy.  (Larry -- you da man!)

Tiger Woods' Unfolding Nightmare

It's amazing how fast a popular personality can descend into public scorn and ridicule.  Tiger Woods made millions of dollars from his golf and product endorsements.  That was when he was the multicultural megastar of sports, young and handsome, with a winning smile and personality and a wholesome image of a husband and father.

Over the last two weeks, it was disclosed that Tiger Woods has been unfaithful to his wife, with as many as 11 known affairs.  No longer seen as a "wholesome" image, sponsors may drop Woods like a hot brick.  He has become radioactive, a public relations nightmare.

The late night comedians are having a field day.

Letterman noted that Tiger Woods has been on the Wheaties Box (14 times, as a matter of fact) but Wheaties won't put him on it anymore.  Considering the stamina required to bang 12 women, Letterman quipped that now, more than ever, he deserves to be on the box.

Jay Leno quipped that, in order to save time, Tiger Woods should just release a list of the women he hasn't had sex with.

Gatorade has dropped Tiger's image from their Tiger Woods Focus bottles.

It has been reported that other sponsors are pulling their Tiger Woods endorsements from prime time TV.  This could cost Tiger Woods millions in lost ad revenues.  Can he ever recover?

I think the answer is no, he will never recover completely.  His self-inflicted plight reminds me of Paul Reubens, the actor who played the role of Pee Wee Herman.  Reubens's "Pee Wee Herman" role was very popular with children.  Reubens made two movies and had a successful television show for kids, called "Pee Wee's Playhouse."  When Reubens was arrested in a porn theater for "flogging the log," his public image was destroyed overnight.  He too faced widespread scorn, ridicule and late-night TV jokes.  He never recovered.

Reubens has been all but invisible since then.  He has made cameo appearances on some television shows and is trying to make a comback.  Alas, once one falls from public grace, his career is practically shot.  Fatty Arbuckle, the silent screen actor and comedian, is probably the most egregious example of this.  Falsely accused of rape and murder, he was acquitted by a jury and received a public apology, but his career was dead.

Tiger Woods, however, is neither Pee Wee Herman nor Fatty Arbuckle .  No doubt he will at least partially recover and continue to earn money from endorsements, perhaps at a reduced level.

Then there's the question of his marriage.  Will it survive the scandal?  Or will his wife move out and take the children and the bank account with her?  I hope not, but if Elin Nordegen can forgive Tiger for cheating and publicly humiliating her, she is more forgiving than I would be.

Personally, I hope Tiger can somehow turn it around.  I'm rooting for him.  If it were up to me, I'd give him a mulligan and let him replay the hole take the shot over.

Tim Tebow's Girlfriend: What Scripture is Appropriate, Tim?

Tim Tebow, a staunch Christian, likes to put a scriptural reference in his eyeblack.  Eyeblack is this black stuff that is spread under a player's eyes to help absorb glare (See picture at left.)

Earlier I ran a photo of Tim Tebow with his girlfriend (see top pic, right), noting how blessed Tebow is in the woman department.

Tim puts the Bible verse references in his eyeblack when he plays football.  I have to wonder which scripture is appropriate for this blessing.  I assume it is one of thanks and gratitude.

Here's a sample.  This last photo is of Erin Drewes.  She is an angel.

And When I Die - Blood, Sweat and Tears

One of the benefits of geezerdom is that you remember when music actually sounded good.  Back in the late 60's a group called "Blood, Sweat and Tears" recorded a string of hits.  This song, "And When I Die" was one of them.  The words are pretty cool too.

Michael Jackson Finally Laid to Rest

Michael Jackson was finally laid to rest tonight, more than two months after his death. He was entombed in the Great Mausoleum in Forest Lawn Cemetery, Glendale, California. Forest Lawn is a famous cemetery; over 100 years old, it covers 300 acres of rolling hills. Over 250,000 people are buried or entombed there. Many are famous stars, singers, directors or musicians. The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

The Great Mausoleum, where Jackson lies, is an impressive structure; see photo at this link.

Michael Jackson will be in good company in the Great Mausoleum. Many great stars rest there, including Clark Gable, Jean Harlow, Carole Lombard and Red Skelton. The interior is a lot of marble -- to see what it looks like, view the private section where Clark Gable is located here.

Unfortunately for fans, Michael Jackson will be entombed in a private part of the mausoleum accessible only to family members; it requires a special "golden key of remembrance" to get in. This is wise, I think. Imagine what large crowds of fans and souvenir hunters would do to the quietude and solemnity of the place. However, this won't be a problem in a year or two. Time passes, passions subside and Michael Jackson will eventually be just one more famous name on the wall.

Other stars are buried in the grounds nearby -- James Stewart, Errol Flynn and Walt Disney, to name a few. To see a list of more, go here. To see a more complete, alphabetical list, see Findagrave.com, here.

Forest Lawn is not hospitable to star-gazing and refuses to give out information on the location of graves of famous people. The information, however, is readily available online and if you plan to visit, determine locations in advance. The guide at this link supplies a lot of information, not only for Forest Lawn but for various other cemeteries in and around Los Angeles.

Remember, however, that not all famous graves are accessible to the public. Some are located in locked sections or private gardens. Humphrey Bogart is one example.

A little known fact about Forest Lawn is that over 60,000 people have been married there, including Ronald Reagan (to Jane Wyman). There are several chapels on the grounds and they aren't limited to funerals.

My wife's cousin lives in Los Angeles and, until recently, worked at Forest Lawn selling cemetery plots. He found the work too melancholy for his tastes and left.

If you visit, be on your best behavior. A visitor's guide to Forest Lawn can be viewed at this link.

Update: See Findagrave.com for information and pictures of Michael Jackson at this link.

Jumpers: Suicides and the Golden Gate Bridge

Bro (my older brother) told me about some documentaries available on suicides by people jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge over San Francisco Bay. I looked into it and found the topic fascinating but very sad. It impressed on me the realization that, no matter how rough you may have it at any point in time, there are people who have it worse and can't cope.

A few years ago I walked the footpath on the Golden Gate Bridge. I was nervous about the four foot high guard rail that separated me from a very long drop. The barrier seemed fragile and insubstantial. I peered over the side at the water 220 feet below and my guts turned to jelly. I wondered how anyone could have the courage to jump.

This week I read a fascinating article in the New Yorker magazine called "Jumpers." The article (by Tad Friend) describes "the fatal grandeur of the Golden Gate Bridge," documenting the fact that about 24 souls per year depart this world by jumping off.

People come from all over just to jump off the bridge. They fly from out of state, take busses or trains or drive. One of the reasons is that the bridge is an easy way to arrange your own suicide. The rail on the bridge's walkway is only 4 feet high and easily scalable by most adults. Anyone who wants can walk the bridge, find an appropriate place, climb the rail and jump.

The Bridge is a cheap, sure and easy way to end one's life, but there is apparently a kind of fatal romance about it too. One's final view of this world is usually one of beauty.

Most jumpers do it on the side of the bridge facing the coast (the opposite side faces out to sea). The jumper can see Angel Island, Alacatraz Island, Treasure Island, and a Bay filled with sailboats and windsurfers. More people have committed suicide from the Bridge than anywhere else in the world.
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There is a 32 inch beam just behind the barrier that is known as "the chord." Often jumpers stand there for a few moments to get up their nerve. Beyond the chord there is only space and, 220 feet below, the Pacific Ocean. At that distance a body can accelerate to about 80 miles per hour in free fall. The impact generally shatters the rib cage or spine, exploding bone fragments through the internal organs of the heart, spleen, liver and lungs. The Coast Guard usually recovers the bodies but not all of them. Some are swept out to sea and never recovered, becoming food for the crabs. According to the television documentary "The Bridge," 24 people jumped to their deaths in 2004, three of whose bodies were never recovered.
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You can watch "The Bridge" on YouTube and it is touching and thought-provoking. Here's what the YouTube info says about it:

"The Bridge" is a 2006 documentary film by Eric Steel that tells the stories of a handful of individuals who committed suicide at the Golden Gate Bridge in 2004. The film was inspired by an article entitled "Jumpers," written by Tad Friend appearing in The New Yorker magazine in 2003.

The Bridge focuses on the large number of suicides that occur each year at the Golden Gate Bridge, capturing footage of the suicides and interviewing family members. Also interviewed are people who have attempted suicide at the bridge, witnesses of the suicides, and a jump survivor.

The movie was shot with multiple cameras pointed at a notorious suicide spot on the bridge during 2004. It captured 19 people as they took their final plunge, and then offers interviews with grieving families.

There are nine segments on YouTube, linked below in order to help you find them. I watched them all on Tuesday. I live near San Francisco and have been on the Golden Gate Bridge many times. The soft gray fog is cool and refreshing, the views spectacular. The film captures this and accentuates it with soft music, creating an almost meditative mood.
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I was particularly touched by a young thirty-something man with long, flowing hair, black sunglasses, a black leather jacket and black pants. His name was Gene Sprague and he was from San Jose, California. The cameras caught him walking back and forth along the safety barrier for some 90 minutes. Occasionally he paused by the barrier and appeared to be looking at the horizon, no doubt thinking about what he had come to do. I felt myself wishing I could have been there to try and talk him out of it.

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Finally, he climbs the barrier and stands on it, his back to the abyss. Then he gracefully falls backward off of the bridge (photo, above left), plunging downward. Another camera picks up the splash as he hits the Bay. The splash is violent, a tall geyser of white foam, followed by a lesser one seconds later. He does not reappear on the surface. He is dead. What a waste.
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Another segment of the film ends better. A man, Richard Waters of Pittsburgh, was walking the bridge and spies a young woman who has climbed over the barrier and is sitting on the chord, quietly staring at the watery depths below. At first Waters takes photographs of her and then realizes she is about to kill herself. He reaches over the barrier, grabs the collar of her coat and hoists her head first back over the barrier. She fights so he sits on her chest, using his cell phone to dial 911. Rescue personnel arrive quickly on the scene to take the woman away for psychiatric evaluation.
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I really admire private citizens who do heroic things on the spur of the moment. Richard Waters is a hero in my book.
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I do hope that anyone reading this, who is depressed or in psychic pain, gets help because a lot of people do care about you, whether you know it or not. Don't go over the Bridge. Death is permanent and irrevocable. Once you step off into space there is no changing your mind. Be a survivor, not a victim.

Someone did a study and discovered that, of the hundreds who have jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge, 28 have survived. All of them have said, that once they reached free fall, the first thing in their mind was "Oh God, I don't want to die." See an example of one of these survivors here.
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RELATED LINKS:

Here are the links to the YouTube videos of "The Bridge":

Segment 1

Segment 2

Segment 3

Segment 4

Segment 5

Segment 6

Segment 7

Segment 8

Segment 9
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Other links:

Related article from the U.K. Guardian, "Get Your Suicides Here Folks."

Related article from the U.K. Times Online, "The Bridge of Broken Dreams."

Related article from the U.K. Independent, "Bridge to Nowhere."

Suicide Prevention: If you are contemplating taking your own life, seek help.

Keeping up with the Kardashians

My son was home briefly on Sunday.  He likes to watch a reality show called "Keeping up with the Kardashians,"  so I was forced to watch it.  Who are the Kardashians?  Beats the hell out of me.  They are a family with three good looking daughters.  Okay, so they're good looking; does that justify following them around and listening to their banter about men and food and apartments and renting a chimpanzee for mom?  No.  Not only no, Hell No.

In any case, the show "Keeping up with the Kardashians" doesn't have much of a plot and the girls like to talk trashy and vulgar at times.  This is okay if one is discussing the Democrat Party, but in general such talk should be minimized.  

The daughters were quite pretty, especially Kim Kardashian.  That's her on the right.  My son recently saw her in person in Los Angeles.  She was in a store plugging some exercise videos she made.  Son said he was surprised to see how petite she is in real life. Humph, I think he's interested in the parts of her that are not so petite.  Well now, I can't say that she's hard on the eyes, though I would prefer her mom.  Now there's a babe.

Nevertheless, I won't be tuning in anytime soon.