In memory of Marion Kirschenbaum Altman, 1/26/27 - 11/20/03

Top 10 Reasons To See "Mother" (1996, Directed by Albert Brooks)

10. Frozen lettuce

9. Blocks of cheese the size of a Fiat

8. The protective ice shield that forms on your sherbert in the freezer

7. Looking for parking at Mollie Stone's

6. "I LOVE my mother, I'm not IN love with her!" (Yeah, right, pal, you keep believing that!)

5. "So what? You think I didn't have a life before you were born?"

4. The Beach Boys' "In My Room"

3. "You'll put the car back in the garage, won't you?"

2. "Oh, no, dear, we're not intimate, we just have sex occasionally."

1. Albert Brooks is the funniest man on the planet today (with the possible exception of me, of course, ha!) and Debbie Reynolds in the title role is nothing short of brilliant in her finest screen performance to date.

Thanks for listening, have a great day.

Once Upon A Dream

The Rascals were, and still are, one of my favorite 60s rock groups. They wrote and performed some of the most original, creative, and enjoyable music of that era. From the gloriously innocent "1-2-3" lead-off on "Good Lovin'" to the more mature rock/gospel sound of "People Got To Be Free," which heralded the beginning of their "peace and spirituality" phase, the Rascals have truly stood the test of time.

For years, my three favorite Rascals albums, "Once Upon A Dream," "Freedom Suite" and "See," were unavailable. Finally, Once Upon A Dream and See have both been re-issued on CD, and I just purchased and downloaded both from iTunes. Once Upon A Dream, the first of these three concept albums from 1968 and 1969, is nearly flawless from beginning to end, just as I remembered it. I am indeed a happy, lucky man. All I need now is for "Freedom Suite" to be re-issued and made available, and I will have the complete trilogy of what I consider to be their best work.

And my iPod now has 9,960 songs, and room for 5,040 more. Trust me, I'll fill it - and more.

Anyone who is interested in hearing a few tracks from Once Upon A Dream or See, drop me a note and I'll send you a few MP3 files. If anyone knows how I can include MP3 files in my postings, I'd be most grateful for the guidance.

Thanks for listening, have a great day.

So Long, Wilson, Hope The Shoes Served You Well

I read the news today, oh boy. (Sorry, corny and clichéd, I suppose, but that's exactly how I felt.) Wilson Pickett, dead at 64 of a heart attack. So sad, so young. One of the true icons of 60s soul, gone to that great big gospel choir in the sky.

In the fall of 1974 I was 19 years old, a sophomore at William Paterson College of New Jersey, working part-time as a shoe salesman at Broder's Florsheim Shoes in the Paramus Park Shopping Center. A nice-looking black man with a lot of jewelry on his fingers came in to the store and asked to see a pair of shoes in his size. I brought him the shoes and helped him put them on. He took a walk around the store, looked at them once or twice in the mirror, and said "I'll take 'em." (By the way, in the shoe business, this is what is known as "the perfect customer.")

At the counter, he handed me his credit card. I looked at the name on the card and my jaw dropped open. Wilson Pickett III. I looked up at him and said "you're Wilson Pickett?" With a laugh and a huge smile, he said, "yes, I am." And, believe it or not, all I could say was "wow" (remember, I was just a wide-eyed rock-and-roller back then, a mere young lad about to embark on a 20-year career in the music industry; I was not yet the cool, calm and collected man-of-the-world that I would soon become.)

So here he was, standing in front of me, the man who gave us "Mustang Sally," "In the Midnight Hour," "634-5789" and so much more, the man who dared to cover the Beatles' "Hey Jude" and did it well (so did Jose Feliciano, and I still claim to this day that those are the only two covers of that song worth a second listen), and he was buying Florsheim shoes in a store in Paramus, New Jersey (he lived in Englewood at the time), like he was just a normal, everyday kind of guy. But he wasn't. He was Wilson Pickett, and he was buying shoes from me, little ol' Kenny Altman, and I was floored.

Bye bye, Wilson, thank you for everything you shared with us, and I hope the shoes served you well. Thanks for the big smile you gave me back in 1974; it was as real and genuine as the smile I am smiling as I write this. :)

Why "Waiters on Wheels" in San Francisco Does Not Get My Money

"A satisfied customer will tell five people; an unsatisfied customer will tell 20."

A while back, I ordered a meal from Waiters on Wheels to be delivered to a friend of mine who had recently given birth. The bill came to a little over $100. Since I paid over the phone by credit card, I asked to have a receipt sent to me. I gave the telephone salesperson my home mailing address, as well as my fax number, and was assured that a receipt was forthcoming.

A week later, I had not received a receipt. Over the course of the next six weeks, I attempted to communicate with Waiters on Wheels several times by phone and by e-mail. My attempts included two messages to the Vice President of the company. Neither my voicemail messages, nor my e-mail messages, were ever returned. I never received a receipt.

Apparently, Waiters on Wheels does not need my money, and they certainly don't deserve it. Perhaps they don't deserve yours, either.

Read comments from other dissatisfied customers at http://www.yelp.com/biz/mrZREdC6WTHXcKrxwl38zw?hrid=IDBZ2fqg-GOIQhkb8MEJng

Have a good day and thanks for listening.

Letter to the Editor, San Francisco Chronicle

This appeared in the San Francisco Chronicle Saturday, January 7, 2006 -

Editor --

It is certainly regrettable that "Christian'' broadcaster Pat Robertson suggested Thursday that Israeli Prime Minister Ariel Sharon's stroke was divine punishment for "dividing God's land.''

What is more regrettable, however, is that The Chronicle found Robertson, and his comments, newsworthy. Robertson is a mean man who knows how to work the media to his fundraising advantage. He is nothing more than that, and the less attention paid to him by the mainstream press, the sooner he will fade into oblivion, which is exactly where he belongs.

KENNETH ALTMAN

San Francisco