What is a life?

I miss the past. Believe me, I know the present is better, technology is a boon, but when I look at pics from way back when I’m enamored of the development process. Like skiing, I spend tons of time researching skiing online. And when I see the old straight skis and leather boots I remember how there was an arc, from off the radar to the mainstream to maturity. That’s right, skiing is now an upper class sport, with high speed lifts and shaped skis and there are still innovations, but few breakthroughs, kinda like music. And tech.

We went from transistor to stereo. From 45 to 33. From mono to two channel effects. And the music changed along the way. No one was prepared for “Sgt. Pepper,” or Hendrix. It’s like they came down from the stratosphere and engendered imitators who splintered off into something new. Where did prog rock come from? Forget the shunning of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, prog was both a breakthrough and big, ever since that Jann Wenner bio we have to reevaluate the past. Then again, he or she with the printing press controls reality and perceived truth. Isn’t that how we got into this mess, the web? We didn’t foresee this, we thought the internet would solve all our problems, but now four corporations dominate and everybody’s got a megaphone and we’re manipulated and no one believes in truth, hell, some right wing bozo sent me an e-mail about Hillary faux pas and when I linked him to Snopes he said he doesn’t trust the site, what next, no trust of science? Oops! We’re there! The left doesn’t trust medicine and the right doesn’t believe there’s global warming and you and me sit here and wonder not only how we got into this mess but where we’re gonna go.

I used to go to the movies. Constantly. Every night at one point. And then came the video revolution, where you could view history in your home as opposed to needing to go to the revival house. And now there are so many flicks I don’t know where to start, I don’t go to the theatre because the flick doesn’t start when I want it to, which is immediately, we live in an on demand culture where no one wants to waste any time. And the movies they promote have monsters and superheroes and special effects when I’m most interested in reality.

“The Meyerowitz Stories” is about reality.

And you can watch it right now, on Netflix. Everybody’s got an account, or access to one. And don’t e-mail you don’t, that you’re too broke for ten bucks a month, why do people feel better about themselves if they’re poor, or that you don’t believe in it, if one more idiot e-mails me they don’t have a smartphone…just imagine, a hundred years ago, you would have been the person without a car, how does that feel? People get worn out, they’ve got future shock, and then they die.

It’ll happen to you. But you don’t believe it. And then you do. When achievement no longer seems possible, when the book of your life has been written, when your world gets smaller.

You don’t want that to happen. Fight with your greatest strength. Don’t let your world get small. Did you read that “New York Times” article about dying alone in Japan? Gonna happen to the boomers, who were so busy striving for fulfillment, believing in their hedonistic ways, that they too might end up alone.

But once you were together. With friends. Arguing, putting each other down, laughing, and then some moved away, others died, you got wrapped up in your world and suddenly you found yourself alone.

It’s the human condition.

I like to watch movies about the human condition.

What if my parents were different? What if they supported me instead of tearing me down? What if I was not the middle child? What if my father had been a regular guy? We’ve evolved to the point where those considerations don’t matter. Famous people can cry, but the truth is you’ve got to appear together at all times, the Instagram culture, perception is more important than reality.

So Dustin Hoffman plays an artist who didn’t make it. Not someone who gave up the dream, but pursued it and didn’t reach the brass ring. Most people give up, like so many on the borderline, he taught. And he thought he was better than everybody else when deep inside he knew it was all a cover-up, a way to make himself look good in the few moments people were paying attention.

Adam Sandler is a man-child, never growing up, wearing his shorts every day. Oops, I do that, it’s one of the perks of living in Los Angeles, of being in the entertainment business, I have contempt for those in expensive suits, am I no different from Adam Sandler? I hope not.

And Adam has never worked, he just lives in the shadow of his dad, who doesn’t even realize the dynamic.

As for his sister Jean, she escaped, but not really. We see this in many families, someone moves away and has limited contact, they’re busy saving themselves, but Jean cannot help but do the right thing, she’s a good person. Those who’ve been abused are the most compassionate, they know what it’s like to be on the losing end emotionally.

And Ben Stiller looks like he’s together yet he’s not, he too is traumatized by his father. We know so many people like this, if you scratch the surface you’ll learn money doesn’t salve the wounds, they’re as untogether as you are.

You’re either crippled, or making up for it or both.

That’s what “The Meyerowitz Stories” is about.

Although it hearkens to the past, it’s positively new in its distribution, it opened theatrically and on Netflix simultaneously. This is the future, we’ve realized it in the music business, film is still learning. The enemy isn’t piracy, but obscurity.

I am a fan of Noah Baumbach, who’s an auteur, more like Woody Allen than Brett Ratner. Even Spielberg, his movies look good, but they lack heart, authenticity, which isn’t about getting the images right, but the emotions. Ever since “The Squid and the Whale” I’ve paid attention. Loved “Frances Ha” and “While We’re Young” and this is not to implore you to watch any of these films, I’m not saying you’ve got the same taste as I do, but once upon a time, prior to “Jaws,” this is what cinema was. You couldn’t make that much money, the focus was on art, on story, on truth. Film drove the culture.

Film doesn’t drive the culture anymore.

Certainly not music.

Nor even tech.

When you eliminate the humanity you’re left with a husk of what was. What we’re looking for in our art is not titillation so much as truth, truth lasts.

So “The Meyerowitz Stories” is sticking with me.

In the old days I would have gone on a Sunday afternoon.

But now it’s there, ready for a click.

And what the other people making these movies don’t realize is by doing it the old way they’re working against themselves. “Lady Bird,” ironically directed by Baumbach’s girlfriend, mumblecore superstar and now mainstream presence Greta Gerwig, is one of the best reviewed pictures of the year, but damned if I’ll go to the theatre to see it, it’s hard align time and mood, and when it finally gets to television there’ll be something new to see. And now the oldsters will crap on me but that’s not the point. I embrace the now and the future, can’t the past merge with them?

Streaming is fantastic. Having the history of music at your fingertips for ten bucks?

Same deal with Netflix.

But the oldsters decry them.

Something is lost in the march forward, air conditioning eliminated vent windows. But the present is better.

And the present means in some cases our heart’s desire is available at our fingertips.

We’re never going back, some people have to be dragged into the future.

And now I’m mixing my points. But that’s what happens in a free exchange world, people excoriate you constantly. I hate the anti-technology voices, you fix the future, you don’t go back to the past.

But life never really changes. We’re all human, with our own stories, more losses than victories, more conundrums than solutions.

And “The Meyerowitz Stories” evidenced this which is why I liked it.

“A Generation in Japan Faces a Lonely Death”

This is not about diversity, this is about a CHANGING OF THE GUARD!

The Grammys have been out of touch since day one. They missed the Beatles and they missed Led Zeppelin, hell, the New Artist award is considered the kiss of death. So if they got it so wrong for so long how did they get it so right this time? I DON’T KNOW!

This opacity leads to the question of ultimate winners to boot. Will Jay Z eclipse Kendrick for Album of the Year? Will Jay Z also beat out “Despacito” as Record of the Year? If so, we’ll know the same Grammy organization exists, one wherein members vote upon name recognition as opposed to intrinsic value.

That’s right, the Grammys are a joke. Anybody who believes in them is delusional. The wrong people win and even worse, now the winners don’t even see a bump in consumption.

BUT THAT MAY CHANGE!

Amazing how a little dose of truth pays dividends.

I’m eager to see what kind of show they produce. Whether their usual smorgasbord of head-scratching duets or the nominees who gained attention. The truth is network television has lost touch with America. It’s playing to everybody and therefore ultimately satisfying nobody. There’s no truth, no essence, nothing you can truly relate to like on HBO or Netflix. They excised the classical performances, will they excise ROCK?

THEY SHOULD!

Look at the nominees for Best Rock Album. Most people have never heard Mastodon, the War On Drugs, possibly the most deserving, can’t break out of their press niche, the Queens of the Stone Age have never gone broad and no one knows who Nothing More is. So maybe you get Metallica, since they’ve got the most name recognition in a backward category.

This is the end of the baby boomer hegemony. AND THEY DON’T LIKE IT!

The boomers thought they and their sound would triumph forever. But this turned out to be wrong. Oh, they’ll go see old bands made up of one member and a bunch of youngsters, but they’re not big new music consumers, otherwise these rock acts would be big names.

And they hang on to their files and CDs when everybody knows the action is in streaming.

And I won’t say the hip-hop acts lack mainstream coverage, but they absolutely dominate streaming, which demonstrates consumption, as opposed to manipulated radio charts. The lunatics have taken over the asylum, AND IT FEELS SO GOOD!

If the Grammy show wanted to survive, they’d let it be dominated by hip-hop, swipe away the detritus of old and focus on the new, on the future, but the problem with the organization is it always looks back, and as Don Henley sang you can never look back. Which is why he is a legend and winners like the Starland Vocal Band have been forgotten. It’s all about what you’ve got to say. AND THE RAPPERS SAY IT!

If you don’t like Childish Gambino’s “Redbone,” you don’t have ears.

Then again, it was influenced by Bootsy Collins’s “I’d Rather Be With You,” then again, Zeppelin and the rest of the blues-rockers wore their influences on their sleeves, even if they may not have acknowledged them.

And “Despacito” is a grand slam. From the video to the groove to Bieber, you cannot complain. It’s a deserving winner.

So if you’ve been living in the past…

The world has just passed you by.

And speaking of passed by, the refusal to acknowledge the impact of country is reflective of the division in our society at large. It’s made for crackers in red states, or at least the Grammys think so. Then again, the CMAs is always a better show than the Grammy telecast.

As for Ed Sheeran, America has now turned into the U.K. Where they build ’em up only to tear them down. So let me get this straight, if you evidence talent in multiple genres you’re a loser?

Come on.

But not only is Sheeran a winner, but maybe even bigger is John Mayer, who gave up chasing hits and is still selling arenas solo and stadiums with the reconstituted Dead. Because he’s learned the action is not on the hit parade, but in fans’ hearts. This is what screwed up the popsters, they lived from hit to hit, there was little base.

But there’s culture in hip-hop. Something completely absent from rock.

And we don’t know whether these nominations were massaged by committees, and as was said above, we have no idea what the final vote will be, but one thing’s for sure…

Overnight, the Grammys became relevant. The winners will get airtime in a world where it’s hard to get traction, it will pay dividends.

As for those nominated in categories other than the top four, forget about it. They won’t let most of you on the telecast and the truth is you may feel good about yourself but it ain’t gonna impact your career. There are too many categories featuring music with little traction, never mind manipulated winners based on friends in the academy. If I was running it they’d eliminate all those superfluous awards. Because everybody needs to play with the big boys (and girls!) Either you make music with ubiquity and reach a large audience or you’re irrelevant. Yup, that’s the world we live in, one of winners and losers. Make your pop, jazz or rock album penetrate our consciousness, otherwise giving you an award is like giving a kid a soccer trophy for participation.

Piss you off?

I bet I did.

But you can’t handle the truth.

And the Grammys just dropped a whole bunch of it on you this week.

Music: The Canary in the Coal Mine, Bob Lefsetz, Ignite, Wpp Stream USA

I don’t need no stinkin’ slides!

This was an Ignite talk, one of about a dozen at the Stream conference two weeks ago. I agreed to do it because that way people would know who I was. I’ve never used PowerPoint, which most people hate anyway, either the talk is good enough or it’s not, either you’re paying attention to what someone is saying or not, and even in the best of circumstances the slides are distracting.

Which is all to say I had none.

As for those numbers in the lower right hand corner of the screen, that’s where the slides should go.

The recording is not great, you’re gonna have to crank it to hear me.

And I do best when I’m responding to questions but here I’m letting it rip without preparation, about the history of the modern music business.

You can watch it.

Or not.

I have pemphigus.

They believe it’s foliaceus as opposed to vulgaris but we’re waiting for the blood work to come back from the Mayo Clinic for a precise diagnosis, but they’re both bad, my internist hasn’t seen it in his decades of practice and it took four dermatologists to diagnose it.

Don’t look it up. That’s what the last dermatologist told me. She thought the spots were a drug interaction, but no, it’s pemphigus.

And if you can’t resist you’ll see a picture of a body covered with red sores. The bottom line is the immune system goes haywire and the element that holds your skin together doesn’t work so you get these blisters and they pop and you end up with what were first dime-sized red spots and then progressed to quarter-sized and now are silver dollar-sized if not larger. Yes, it’s painful, you have no idea, I have to sleep in my clothes, otherwise my sores open up and glue me to the bed sheet, and it’s also itchy, very.

So this all started in August. 2016. I got a red spot under my arm. I figured it was from the sling I was wearing as a result of my shoulder surgery. But then in October it spread to my nose. Which prompted the first dermatologist visit, a man who does house calls for household names. But nothing he did worked. He’d have me come back for free, to check on the spots, but every ointment he prescribed had no effect.

Then I went to Colorado and my skin went nuclear. I thought it was the long underwear, I was covered in red spots and the only thing that satiated me was an extremely hot shower, of a temperature no one takes. And I know you’re not supposed to do that, but that’s the amount of pain and itchiness I possessed.

So I trooped back to Beverly Hills and despite such obvious sores the bigwig’s treatment had no effect so I stopped, I figured I was just a winter thing.

But then I was sitting in front of the house after midnight scratching so much that I decided to write about it, and a tsunami of responses came in. Mostly mumbo-jumbo. Why is it the educated class doesn’t believe in science? That’s right, the right-wingers and poor will go to the doctor, assuming they can afford one, but the left-wingers believe vaccinations incite autism and that a home remedy is better than anything a doctor can prescribe. I know I’m pissing you off. Hell, I had confirmation of my diagnosis and a good friend told me to get acupuncture. Huh? I’m on the verge of suicide and I’m gonna pass up a western solution nearly guaranteed to work?

But the good thing about writing about my skin problem is another bigwig skin doctor who is a subscriber tracked me down, he agreed to treat me for free, but when he heard the name of dermatologist number one, he was blown away that that guy couldn’t fix it, he’s a legend.

So we started with ointments and injections and ultimately a steroid on the nose and there was improvement, but no resolution. The biopsy on my chest showed nothing and when he wanted to do one on my nose, which would leave a scar, however little, I moved on. I can handle a scar on my nose if there’s a solution, but so far there hadn’t been one, and I didn’t believe this test would show one either.

That was April and May.

In June, my internist suggested a third dermatologist. Who specializes in clinical trials and breakthrough products. The guy barely possessed a personality and gave my skin the most cursory look, but declared there was a drug that would cure me, Dupixent, you inject it every couple of weeks and in a matter of months you’re cured. Hosannas! Manna from heaven! Eureka! A solution!

But Dupixent costs 35k and my insurer wouldn’t approve it. I waited all summer, enduring three appeals, no dice. If only they saw my body! But then Regeneron, the manufacturer, said they’d give it to me for free, once all appeals were exhausted, even one to the government.

So I’m hanging in there. But the last week of August my skin was so bad I went back to this third doctor and showed it to him and he was not impressed. Gave me some cream for my eyes that didn’t work. Did I tell you I haven’t been able to wear my contacts for three weeks? I’m wearing my old Lennon specs from 1970, so if you see me…

So I’m waiting for the Dupixent.

But my skin is getting worse and worse.

So I go for my annual physical, and ignore those who say you don’t need to, this guy diagnosed my cancer, and he said my skin was “very impressive,” he suggested I go to an immunologist, so I made an appointment.

Meanwhile, I needed a colonoscopy, and this doctor gives you a ton of time, which you pay for, and the truth is there are two tiers of coverage in America and if you’re rich you get the better one. And statistics prove the poor lag in life expectancy, because they don’t get this level of treatment. And I’m not wealthy, but my health is the most important thing to me, so I’ll sacrifice for it. And the first thing out of the gastroenterologist’s mouth was, “What’s up with your skin?”

I told him the saga I just told you and he gave me the choice of two new dermatologists in the Cedars family and ultimately said he believed it was caused by drugs.

And the internist said the same thing and so did my shrink, so my hematologist agreed to let me stop my Gleevec for a month, the drug that keeps my CML in check, even though he believed that a rash would have occurred much earlier in treatment, but he went along with the plan.

He was right.

He’s the head of hematology at UCLA.

But now my shrink was freaking out, and the gastroenterologist told me dermatologist number four would call me but this did not happen and I didn’t push it because I’d stopped the Gleevec but I called him and he gave me number four’s name.

So I went to her two weeks ago.

She too thought it was a drug reaction. But then she asked me if I wanted another biopsy. So I asked her. And when she equivocated, I said “Let’s do it.”

That was the week when I had blood drawn three times in two days.

No, that was the week after, I’m getting ahead of myself.

So I’m in Ojai with my ringer off, writing about Coke, and I feel a buzz in my pocket. It was five on a Friday afternoon and the number had no name, but it did say “Beverly Hills,” so I picked up.

It was her.

The biopsy result had come in.

I had pemphigus.

So Monday I go to the immunologist, who doesn’t even charge me, because he’s an eczema specialist and if it’s pemphigus…in L.A. you see the appropriate person.

So I went for the Mayo Clinic blood test and then went to the hematologist. Who typed furiously and said little. Other than he’d spoken to dermatologist number four and she said to check for lymphoma.

HUH???

He said there was no test for that, and the odds were low, but you never know.

So I was reeling, I was numb, if you wonder why I didn’t write for a few days, that was it.

But I had an appointment Monday, two days ago, with dermatologist number four to have my stitches from the biopsy removed.

She brought in another woman, both of these women are about forty, they studied under a professor at Johns Hopkins who’s the guru on pemphigus and this other woman is the go-to person for pemphigus and they said I should have Rituxan. And then debated whether to also give me this other treatment, with a three letter acronym I can’t remember. But they kept wavering whether to do it or not, it could have a ton of side effects, my kidney number is high and I’ve got CML. But if they gave me this treatment along with the Rituxan my skin would clear in two weeks. If I was just on the Rituxan alone, it would be 8-12! So I was not eager to let the three letter acronym go, but then they said it could be given at any time and I agreed, and also I’ve experienced some horrific side effects, someone has to, otherwise they wouldn’t be in the literature.

So they pulled some strings and I went for the infusion of Rituxan today.

They give it in the chemo ward. Actually, it’s mostly used for lymphoma. And it was in the office of the doctor who diagnosed my CML even though I passed him up for a specialist in leukemia, but the treatment room was huge, about fifteen stations, you know, those overpadded recliners, and the one thing that impressed me is they were so TOGETHER!!!

Unlike the facility where I got my back injections, which was so disorganized I almost bolted, not wanting to be another Joan Rivers, hell, the nurse poked me four times before she got a vein.

And I had to be there at 8. Which meant I had to wake up at 6:30, and if you know me that’s extremely rare, and I got to this office on Doheny and you’re never gonna believe it, they validated the parking, which no doctor in L.A. does, and I was there nearly all day, from 8-2:45.

That’s right, nurse number one said it would take five to seven hours. Huh??? Can I sit in a chair that long?

Actually, you can roll your station to the bathroom, where I had an accident, and almost fell over on the way thereto, and they’ll order you lunch, but first they give you steroids and Benadryl and that gives you…

Restless leg.

Which was freaking me out, I couldn’t sit still in the chair!

But they said it would pass in an hour or so and it did.

And I brought a backpack full of reading material, newspapers and magazines, as well as my iPad and Kindle, but I was so fogged out I couldn’t read, but I couldn’t sleep either.

And they kept coming to talk to me. A nurse practitioner to go through every detail. A pharmacist. A nutritionist. A social worker. And then the doctor himself, who spent an hour with me, even though he wasn’t really treating me.

There was one hiccup. They recited a litany of things I should watch out for. Fever, chills, a rash on my chest… They’d start infusing the Rituxan slowly and then amp it up. And when they got to 100, out of a possible 200, I started to get this sore throat and some mucous and I was willing to endure it but they wouldn’t hear of it. They stopped the infusion, injected some Zantac and something else and we waited… For half an hour. And I’m restless, I wanted to get out of there at some point.

And after a third trip to the bathroom a nurse told me I only had 45 minutes left, which stunned me, since there was a bag still half full, but that’s only saline and…

They let me drive, although the doctor was hesitant because of the effects of the Benadryl.

And I was optimistic all until a couple of hours back, lying on the bed, finishing up “Breaking Bad,” you see I’ve got these sores on my butt and they’re oozing and… When I get up, it’s painful, because of all the sores on my body.

So I’ve got to have another infusion in two weeks. And then another in six months. They’re pretty convinced it will work. It’s an off-label use of Rituxan, which is expensive in itself, I can only wonder what the day in the ward cost me, or my insurance, you can just be wandering around and be hit by something, they don’t know how I got it, but Ashkenazi Jews are prone to it and…

Without health insurance I wouldn’t be going to all these doctors, even though I’m paying on top. And I think of all the people who just hunker down and ignore pain, like that guy I had dinner with last week who waited nine months and his kidney cancer spread so removing the organ was not enough and…

Hell, I’m not gonna lecture you. You seemingly can’t change anybody’s mind these days. No one believes in facts. And few have the perseverance to see four doctors for the same thing.

But it saved me.

I hope.