“I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news.”

Huh?

I thought the hygienist cleaned and the dentist evaluated.

But not at this joint.

My old dentist had a love affair with Alaska. For three months every summer he took his boat up north and regaled me with incredible tales thereafter. The only problem was if you had a crisis during those three months.

I did.

So I went to see his old associate, the one who bailed when the seaman wouldn’t cough up his practice as promised. This young man said the tooth in question was unsavable and would have to be extracted and replaced with an implant.

But then I called Irving. Medical consigliere to the stars.

Irving had been imploring me to see his guy for years. And Irving’s track record is impeccable. He always hooks me up with the top guys, with an appointment right away, oftentimes outside scheduled business hours, with no wait. And if you don’t think that’s important, if you don’t think that’s an asset…

You just haven’t been broke down and busted on the side of the road, with no direction home, wondering how you’re going to escape this pain.

So I got an appointment.

But just before I went, Irving said he’d forgotten to tell me this was the most expensive dentist in the world.

And he is. He’s 50% more expensive than any dentist I’ve ever seen. Assuming you need serious work. Cleanings? Routine stuff? That’s all reasonable. But if you need a crown…

You’re gonna pay $1500 more than anywhere else, but this dentist has his own lab and there’s no waiting, from drilling to replacement it’s two, maybe three days.

And he saved the tooth.

So, ultimately I saved money. Instead of paying for an implant, for half the price I continued to use my own tooth, which is always preferable.

The next time the crack was below the gum line. I had to go for an emergency root canal, on my birthday no less. The endodontist, another Beverly Hills bigwig, told me there was no way the dentist could save the tooth, that an implant would be necessary. But this guy, my guy, Irving’s guy, said “I’m gonna work my magic.” And he did, he put on a crown.

And it’s been an endless series of crowns. Is it my age? My affinity for trail mix stirred up in Dannon coffee yogurt? I don’t know, but I’ve given up the trail mix, it’s just too expensive and aggravating in the long run.

And last spring the dentist replaced a crown. But in October, I started to get pain. December too. And then January. There’d be pressure when I bit down, and I’d barely be able to eat for a couple of days, and then it would fade away. And at the beginning of February the dentist adjusted the crown, you know, with the carbon paper, even though his work is always perfect, I’ve never had to go back for a tweak. And then, the pain went away.

Voila! Victory!

Now I’m a pessimist. Mix that up with some OCD and anxiety and I can anticipate disaster at every turn. But I’m trying to change, I asked myself why I was so concerned with Wednesday morning’s cleaning, after all, it was routine, I’d been pain free for months.

But then the hygienist uttered the above words.

There was a pocket. An infection. The dentist would render an opinion.

And he came in and did. Asked me if I had a periodontist.

I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT A PERIODONTIST IS!

My old girlfriend got substandard care from one back in the seventies, in a location far distant from the big city, she had some kind of gum graft, that’s all I knew, it had something to do with gums.

And I’m flummoxed and speechless and this dentist says he’ll call down the hall and get the periodontist to come over and grant an opinion.

Now the service is unbelievable, and I believe I’m undeserving of the attention. Hell, when I complained at an earlier visit, he said he’d have the endodontist stop by for an evaluation, which I declined, silly me. I mean what kind of operation is it where the service people come to YOU? I haven’t had a house call since the fifties!

But the word comes in that the periodontist is unavailable. Which aggravates me, because I’m out of town next week and I’ve got no time but then word came that he was going to appear.

And he did. In scrubs. With his nurse. It was like “M.A.S.H.,” I was getting undivided attention in the encampment.

And the first thing this periodontist asked was if I’d ever had a bad experience with dentists.

Huh?

Don’t they usually drill with impunity?

But when you pay through the nose, they give you their time. This dentist, in the penthouse, in the Golden Triangle, has all the time in the world for me, he never punches the clock. And this periodontist, who I did not know and wasn’t paying, was the same way.

There was a problem…

He wanted a full set of x-rays, and I should come in tomorrow, i.e. today, they’d squeeze me in no matter what.

So I show up today, and this periodontist engages me in conversation. Time is money, but we’re talking about his home country, his education, his father, we’re becoming old buddies.

But then he says we’re best off meeting for coffee and he calls in the nurse and we get down to business.

The nurse who attended when he did the first hip to jaw transplant. Thirty five years ago. When he was head of surgery at USC.

So he thinks it’s a failed root canal. I’d gone where everybody does, to that place in downtown Santa Monica, not thinking twice, not calling Irving for advice, two decades back. And now my decision is coming back to haunt me. The root could be broken. If so, I need an extraction and an implant, which had me horrified when I contemplated it last night, but in the hands of this genius I was oh-so-calm.

Whereupon they marshaled the troops for an immediate 3-D scan, which is definitive.

So I got in my car, and drove down south, to an office where the proprietor told me she jumped through hoops for this guy, he needed it right away. I felt like royalty.

Although I knew I was gonna pay for this experience.

That’s another thing. I was wearing ratty jeans and a Polo shirt. Not Beverly Hills appropriate. Kinda like the visit with the dermatologist the day before, who treats plenty of stars but is more impressed by education. I had to tell him I turned down Columbia, that sure, I’d gone to law school, but only practiced a couple of years. I was trying to impress him, to show him I was worthy, which felt creepy, but the truth is they judge you on your image, and your ability to pay.

Actually, the dermatologist is not charging me at all, one of the perks of my mini-fame. Yup, the higher up the food chain you go, the less you pay. But if you do have to open your wallet, it’s significant. And know that they’re judging you on the tip.

So I end up getting into it with the proprietor, who also shoots the pictures. She was an “Alpha Female,” self-described. She’d been married four times, but she didn’t need the men to raise her children.

And this is what I love about life. You can connect online, but when you’re up close and personal people will tell you anything and everything, assuming you ask and you’re interested, and I do and I am, because the only thing that counts is people and their stories.

And since we had bonded… She said she thought it was a fair exchange, suggested I refrain from paying, since I’d given her my time and my advice, but like a schmo I said no. But when I got the bill, I was wondering if I should have said yes.

And while I was waiting for my card to be run, she told me she could see what the periodontist was worried about, that the root had caved and there was bone loss and if I told anybody she’d told me she’d deny it, that was for the radiologist to say, but I was glad she did, so I wasn’t on pins and needles for twenty four hours.

Yup, you hope for the best but when the professionals are concerned expect the worst.

And this is gonna be an ordeal, and it’s gonna be expensive, but when you put yourself in the hands of geniuses, your odds of success are so much greater. I believe in the big doctor, who oftentimes is no more expensive than the nobody.

So you too can go to Beverly Hills.

Or you can say no to the expense. Or choose to spend your money elsewhere.

Or maybe you’re a rube like the looky-loos in the van taking pictures blocking my way on Rodeo Drive. I wouldn’t think of doing that, the same way you don’t interrupt a star at dinner, these are things you learn in Los Angeles, you respect the famous people’s space.

And the truth is, they respect yours, because in the City of Angels, with Beverly Hills at its heart, you never really know who someone might be. They might be dressed like a homeless person and be a zillionaire. So you get deference, not always, but oftentimes.

But I still don’t think I deserve it.

Smarts are overrated.

I’m not saying it’s a disadvantage to have a high IQ, be book smart, be educated, just that it won’t get you that far. The elites are all about jumping through hoops, getting good grades to get into a good school so they have insurance for the future. And too many squander this opportunity. By playing it safe, going to work for the bank.

But you want to be the tail that wags the dog, you want to be the one who calls your lawyer as opposed to the attorney codifying the deal.

How do you get there?

Some are born with it. Or have parents who teach them the ways of the world.

Most do not.

How can you learn?

You can buy a self-help book, but never forget, those are not individualized to you, and rah-rah motivation, endless cheerleading with a positive attitude really doesn’t go far. Sure, you don’t want to come across as depressed, you want to be motivated, but you’ve got to examine your flaws and learn new ways of thinking.

I’m a big fan of psychotherapy, which gets a bad rap these days. If you even admit you’ve got a problem you get a pill, or a short term of counseling. But if you’ve got the bucks you can see an analyst who will examine your issues and teach you new ways of thinking. As for those who believe they can do it on their own… That’s why men commit suicide, have trouble getting over relationships, while women circle the wagons, support each other and move on. Men soldier on, blindly. And if you’re not aware and looking all the time you’re gonna lose.

And then there’s observation, seeing how the great ones do it.

Forget their books, they’re self-promotional hogwash. Jack Welch cooked the books. Employed financial shenanigans. It was left to Jeff Immelt to pick up the trash and crawl GE from the wreckage, to sell assets that were bringing the company down and move the headquarters to Boston, a tech center.

Enjoy your business biographies, but they’re worth almost nothing.

But you can learn from business books. The creme de la creme, like Connie Bruck’s “The Predators’ Ball” and James B. Stewart’s “Den of Thieves” and “Storming The Magic Kingdom,” by John Taylor. Those are all out of date, but in their era they evidenced a cornucopia of insight, more beneficial than a business school course, because business school teaches you how to rape and pillage, but it does not teach you how to be build, how to get along with those outside the walls of the citadel, hell read the new book by Duff McDonald entitled “The Golden Passport” if you want to know about that, not that I’ve read it yet, and in many cases the reviews themselves are enough. And they’re minting new analytical tomes every day, hell, even read Bethany McLean in “Vanity Fair.”

Yes, you must be a student of the game. The players know the landscape, the other players, the history, where the bombs are buried. Information is the currency of business.

But once you have that…

You must have relationships, and who they’re with is very important.

When you’re starting out the people at the top don’t want to know your name, so you’re limited to those like you, at the bottom. Don’t waste time with people who are not going anywhere, who are fun to hang with but don’t push the ball forward. Yes, in business you’re either moving up the food chain or you’re falling behind, just ask all those baby boomers who can no longer work in the music business while their elite brethren are running it.

It takes time to ferret out who is a winner and who is a loser.

Attach yourself to the winners, they’ll carry you through.

But you must offer something of value, you cannot be replaceable.

And after more victories you’ll be exposed to higher-ups, who will not only show how the game is played, but may deign to help you.

And it becomes complicated, do you settle for less and break a relationship when a better one comes along or sit on the sidelines biding your time…

I DON’T KNOW! I’m still trying to figure it out, it’s a learning process.

And don’t be afraid of standing up for yourself, alienating people. If you can’t draw a line in the sand, if you can’t bite back, you won’t be respected. Many people will test you, if you cave, if you accede to their wishes and behavior, they’ll plow right over you.

And at the top of the pyramid you’ll find relative calmness. All the noise is underneath. Those at the top have not only survived, they know all their compatriots personally and have traded favors to the point where they’re owed something. You’re looking for someone who can get their call picked up instantly by anybody. They exist.

And if you’ve got none of the above skills, you must recognize this and attach yourself to those who do, it’s the only way out of the morass, especially today, when the world is comprised of winners and losers.

And if you’re a fan of kumbaya, if you want to love everybody and just get along, that’s fine, BUT DON’T BITCH WHEN YOU DON’T RISE ABOVE!

If you’re a band playing clubs making a living and happy, that’s cool with me. But if you can’t move on to arenas, which is ever more difficult to do, especially without radio play, you need someone with power and relationships. Who may not be interested because they don’t think you’ve got the chops.

This is the way of the world.

It’s all about power. Getting it, keeping it and wielding it.

And you cannot achieve that power in a vacuum, you gain it via relationships.

It’s both simple and complicated. Kinda like Monopoly. You can understand the game, but can you win?

And just like in Monopoly you’re a victim of chance. But never be afraid to roll the dice. And know you get to roll them again, it’s you who take yourself out of the game. Don’t do that.

She’s the left wing explainer.

I’ve become addicted to the news. Not only the papers, which arrive every day, whose apps I’m constantly checking on my phone, but TV, which I mostly catch on the satellite, Sirius XM.

That’s right, there’s everything from Fox to CNN, MSNBC to Bloomberg, NPR and the BBC. I want to know what’s going on.

And so does everybody else.

As George Drakoulias famously said, he used to fight over bands, now we fight over politics.

I did not see this coming. The long national primary season, which seemed to start immediately after Obama’s last electoral victory, resulted in two candidates who fought hard with Trump emerging victorious and now seemingly no one is happy.

And it’s hard to say it doesn’t matter.

Want an abortion? Want corporations out of politics? Then Gorsuch in the Supreme Court will keep you awake at night.

Want to get rid of Obamacare? Want to get rid of the welfare state? Well, that turns out to be much harder to do, turns out talk is cheap, and that wall ain’t gonna be erected anytime soon.

So what we’ve got is a lot of people yelling. On TV and in person. Figuring if they just shout loud enough, they’ll win. Not realizing no one who disagrees with them is tuning in anyway.

And then we’ve got Ms. Maddow, who takes a different tack.

Yes, yes, she was excoriated over her tedious buildup to the tax return reveal, but the truth is the media builds you up and then destroys you and if you believe it all you’ve got enough whiplash to end up in physical therapy.

And it’s weird playing the home game. With a President who constantly contradicts himself. Not only in statement, but policy.

But the whole world is watching.

America used to be the leader, now we’re not quite a pawn in their game, but other countries are suddenly no longer taking us that seriously, their quality of life is better, as is upward mobility, we’ve taken ourselves down a wrong path just like MTV with its endless reality shows, to the point where the channel died.

And then comes the curious case of Paramount Pictures. Which just named a usual suspect to run its operation. Jim Gianopulos has a long history of running studios, is this the disrupter you want in charge in the twenty first century?

Of course not. But those with the money play it safe and those who understand computers rule the world.

And they tell us the left wing is caught up in gender politics, too busy being a safe big tent, but then we end up listening to an educated lesbian who did not train for the job who holds us like putty in her hand, all the while imploring us to think for ourselves.

Everybody’s running for something in America. President, king of the internet, come on, what do you think all of those followers and likes are all about. But Maddow doesn’t seem to be running for anything. Unlike her compatriot Brian Williams who should be banished for his bluster, just because you look good that does not mean you’re entitled to read the news.

But the point here is America wants to learn. We keep hearing how stupid we are, set in our own ways. But every day Rachel respects us and tells us about that which we do not know but should. So when we go to cocktail parties (does anybody really do that anymore actually?), we can talk educatedly. Is that even a word? It does not matter. The point is politics is bringing us together, it’s the only thing we all pay attention to and can weigh in on. Not music, not movies, not TV, we’re all listening to and watching something different. Isn’t it interesting how everybody is suddenly concerned with society and its well-being?

Which is why the artists are out of touch. Batting us over the head to pay attention, their wares no different from the latest offering from Ronco, which just filed to go public, need a Pocket Fisherman? If you want to make it today…

You’ve got to treat your opponent, your customer, as an equal.

Yes, it’s respect, but it’s more than that.

The customer is not always right, but you should try to engage them on a level playing field, without subterfuge, unlike Wells Fargo.

And if money is the only thing you care about it’s suddenly gonna backfire on you, like United.

Yes, we love some brands, but we hate most corporations.

And we hate so many of the talking heads on TV.

Bill O’Reilly goes for the jugular, he’s holier-than-thou. If you’re a believer, fine, if you’re not, eegads, and that’s even before the sexual harassment. Bill thinks he’s better than you, and then they point to his old writings and his present contradictions and all you can have is contempt for this blowhard.

Or the bimbos on Fox and the other channels, especially the morning shows, laughing up a storm as if we’re all buddies, having a fine time.

BUT WE’RE NOT!

The downtrodden white males switched parties and voted for Trump and the educated elites have been freaking out ever since and who is gonna take both of us seriously?

Everybody wants to know more. And although cable TV and the internet anesthetize, they also educate. We live in an information society and we all want more.

And in a world where there is no tech help, no one you can rely on, ask for an interpretation, in walks Rachel Maddow.

She’s not like Lawrence O’Donnell, constantly playing GOTCHA!

She’s not strident.

She’s just laying it all out for us to make our own judgments, come to our own conclusions, her program is addictive, if you ran into her on the street you wouldn’t ask for an autograph or a selfie, but posit a question about the legislative agenda, hoping to engender a conversation.

And she’s not dour, she can laugh.

And if she came to your house you could get into it over a few drinks and still remain friends, even if you were a right winger.

But the longer you listen to her, the more she makes sense, she’s convincing people.

And now Rachel is beating Bill in the ratings.

Because it’s a long hard race and when there’s endless noise we’re looking for a safe haven where we can quietly engage.

This is a big deal, akin to Colbert beating Fallon.

Everything you know is wrong. People are not dumb, they’re smart. They want more, they want to engage. Ignore those trying to work the refs and pay attention to those trying to explain.

And listen to your neighbor, and when he or she gets on their high horse and tells you how it is…

Ignore them.

And then maybe after being ostracized they’ll calm down and engage.

That’s what’s gonna bring our nation together, heal us as a people, engagement.

And we’re getting none of this from D.C., and we’re getting none of this from the entertainers.

But we’re getting a ton of it from Rachel Maddow.

I Don’t Know – Spotify

I threw out “Speak of the Devil,” Ozzy Osbourne’s double live album. Michael Jensen gave it to me, or one of the people working for his PR firm. I was afraid someone would come over and see it, back when I used to let people into my house, when people used to stop by, before we all went virtual and heard from our peeps all the time yet rarely saw them.

You see Ozzy Osbourne was anathema. The first Black Sabbath LP came out when I was a freshman in college, it was excoriated by the press and got little airplay, any that I was exposed to anyway. It was just one step over the line, when Led Zeppelin were considered heavy metal and anything heavier was seen as trash, before Metallica became god and the whole scene moved to the left even more, or maybe right. That’s right, once upon a time heavy metal was mainstream, but now it’s niche.

So I’m driving all over town pushing the Sirius XM buttons. Needing music to kick out the mental jams, trying to track down the cause of my skin condition, which has flummoxed a slew of doctors. And on Ozzy’s Boneyard I heard “Highway Star.” You don’t know what it was like during the summer of ’73 hearing “Smoke On The Water” on the AM, which is all that my ’63 Chevy possessed, what a riff! Although at this point I prefer “Woman From Tokyo,” which curiously sports the same riff as Joe Walsh’s “Meadows,” from “The Smoker You Drink…,” released the very same year, although there was no lawsuit to my knowledge, and Joe never sued Steve Miller for the riff in “The Stake,” which was the same as the one in the previously released “Rocky Mountain Way,” and there’s that amazing bass sound in “Woman From Tokyo” half a minute in but I do prefer “Meadows” but both are tears, they leave the station slowly but then the turbocharger kicks in and they explode and you’re hanging on tight, enjoying the ride of your life. And the hit take of “Smoke On The Water” was the live one, from “Made In Japan,” which is so rare, reminds me of “Coming Up,” from “McCartney II,” the live iteration was such a treat on the radio, it was the one that succeeded, with Paul’s vocal twisting and turning, alternately screaming and singing melodiously, so joyous, so right, did I tell you it’s all about energy?

And I get sick of Ozzy intoning OZZY’S BONEYARD! on his channel, I remember when it was just called “The Boneyard” on XM, before the merger, and isn’t Ozzy a joke anyway, didn’t TV kill his career, not only Ozzfest but causing him to endlessly reunite with the remnants of Sabbath, all exposure is not good exposure, but Steven Tyler’s career emerged intact after “Idol” and you might ask about all those personalities on “The Voice,” but I’ll tell you they’re not stars like, they don’t represent what Ozzy did. Which is “I don’t give a F___! That used to be the rock and roll ethos, before everybody sold out to the corporation and bitched they still weren’t making enough money.

But somewhere along the line I realized I loved “Flying High Again.”

By time we hit the eighties it was about two rock stations in L.A. KNX flipped from soft rock to that which I do not remember, KROQ changed from free-format to the ROQ of the 80s and became so self-congratulatory it became unlistenable, so you pushed the buttons between KMET and KLOS and there were songs you did not want to listen to but the other station was on commercial and you came to know them by heart, like “Flying High Again,” the lyrics of which I did not comprehend until the internet.

Oh no, oh no
Here we go now

It was like you were on a roller coaster, strapped in, the car starting to move, with no exit, and as you’re entering the dark tunnel Ozzy is expressing anxiety and regrets and then… There was that crunchy guitar, like someone was using a buzzsaw as they were consuming Cheerios, it’s the work of guitar legend Randy Rhoads, the secret sauce of Ozzy’s solo success.

Randy Rhoads, he was around forever, he was the axeman in Quiet Riot, back when you could see that band all over town and they only had success in Japan.

But Randy perished in a plane crash and after recovering from the trauma, assuming one can do this at all, assuming Ozzy ever has, Ozzy reconstituted the band and emerged with a solo album every bit as good as what came before. There were a few false starts, but with Zakk Wylde firmly in the group, Ozzy released 1991’s “No More Tears,” a nearly hour long opus with almost no fat that is listenable throughout. The hits were “No More Tears,” “Mama, I’m Coming Home” and “Time After Time,” but I prefer the Lemmy cowrites “I Don’t Want To Change The World” and “Hellraiser,” both of which evidence the Ozzy ethos…I’m an outsider doing it my way, you can follow me or not, but I’m not gonna change.

But change he did. Became a joke on MTV and never equaled the peak on wax again, even though he tried.

And “No More Tears” infected me to the point where when my friend Jeff Laufer said we had to get tickets I called up Epic, this was in the days before e-mail, and we went to the Universal Amphitheatre and I was blown away, became a fan for life. It was all there, all those hits, presented by a curiously friendly madman, who kept showering the audience with water from a bucket, before he doused himself.

I had to go again. It was just that powerful. But, like I said, Ozzy’s now a punch line imploring us to see Sabbath before they disappear, refusing to pay Bill Ward along the way, and now I’ll probably get hate mail from Sharon, showing who wears the pants in the family, but now even Sharon’s gone warm and fuzzy, where have all the good times gone?

Which is all to say I’m driving down the highway passively listening and then “I Don’t Know” grabs me by the throat and won’t let go.

People look to me and say
Is the end near, when is the final day
What’s the future of mankind
How do I know, I got left behind

That’s who this music was for, the left behinds, the ones who did not go to Yale, never mind college at all, who changed your tires and made your goods before what was made was made in China and if something broke you just threw it away, like these same people, without a future voting for Trump, even if it’s against their everyday interests, because now they can’t even afford concert tickets and their music is a sideshow. But they and it didn’t used to be.

Everyone goes through changes
Looking to find the truth

Ain’t that so. What you used to believe you no longer do, you try on your bell-bottoms and then discard them, the older you get the more wisdom you’ve got but the less you know.

And speaking of changes, they’re embedded right there in the song, the second verse is different from the first, it’s got melody, you want to sing along as you’re banging your head.

Nobody ever told me, I found out for myself

That’s the truth of life, it’s your own adventure, learn the lessons but don’t become a slave to the past, leave your own mark.

And now you’ve got your arms in the air, implored by Ozzy, the guitars are raging, the bottom is pounding, but you can smell a whiff of the British Invasion, there’s melody and lyricism right there.

And then Randy Rhoads begins to shred. And I’m brought back to the way it once was. When we saw the Beatles on television and bought our guitars and all tried to play. Some never gave up, they became stars, all using the same instrument yet sounding different. Yes, it’s Randy Rhoads’s guitarwork that puts “I Don’t Know” over the top.

And I’m thinking how Ozzy is selling the same message as Dylan, that people are looking to him for answers but he hasn’t got any! You’ve got to look inside yourself.

But that does not mean you cannot crank the tunes to 11 to drown out all the detritus so you can think clearly. That’s the funny thing about this sound, it creates its own safe space. It’s the eye of a hurricane, the wind is blowing but at the center you feel safe, in control, that you can make it.

That’s the power of music.

That’s the power of Ozzy Osbourne.

And Randy Rhoads.