California Democrats Show Their True Colors...AGAIN

I love it. Some members of the Democratic Progressive Caucus were caught with their pants down this week. Turns out that their "brainstorming" session on the California budget was accidentally broadcast throughout the entire Capitol building. And boy, did their true colors shine through.

Remember, it's been the Democrats that keep accusing the Republicans of stalling the budget process and of starving kids and killing old people if they get their version of the budget.

Well, guess what? Liberal Democrats like Jackie Goldberg admitted (in what they thought were private conversations) that it was in their interest to keep the stalemate going. It would, in their view, help them get the votes of the people to reduce the vote threshold for spending increases from a "Super majority" to a simple 55% majority.

JACKIE GOLDBERG: "But we have to figure out what we do think. And I do think it has to be in line with two things....One is how it impacts the 55% proposition. And secondly whether or not--if there's going to be a crisis to happen--if there's going to be a crisis, whether it should be this year or next year, in terms of members of our House who want to get re-elected, in terms of members of our House who (inaudible). Personally, I think the crisis is better off this year than next year."

And then, in a classic Keystone Cops scene, an unidentified staffer chimes in to the bunch: "Excuse me, guys, you can be heard outside."

To which, Jackie Goldberg exclaimed: "Oh Sh--!"

Oh yes indeed. Classic liberals caught once more with feet firmly in mouths. They've accused the Republicans of starving people and killing people for every day that we don't have a budget. Doesn't this revealing scene above make them accessories to murder, if we use their same analogy?

(Thanks to Assemblyman Tony Cox and his office for providing a transcript of this embarrassing conversation.)

22 July 2003 - Spencer Hughes

The Perfect Essay To Contemplate What It Means To Be "Independent"

According to today's regulators and bureaucrats, those of us who were kids in the 20's, 30's, 40's, 50's, 60's, 70's or even the early 80's, probably shouldn't have survived.

Our baby cribs were covered with bright colored lead-based paint.

We had no childproof lids or locks on medicine bottles, doors, or cabinets, and when we rode our bikes, we had no helmets.

Not to mention the risks we took hitchhiking ...

As children, we would ride in cars with no seat belts or air bags.
Riding in the back of a pickup truck on a warm day was always a special treat.

We drank water from the garden hose and not from a bottle. Horrors!

We ate cupcakes, bread and butter, and drank soda pop with sugar in it, but we were never overweight because we were always outside playing.

We shared one soft drink with four friends, from one bottle, and no one actually died from this.

We would spend hours building our go-carts out of scraps and then rode down the hill, only to find out we forgot the brakes. After running into the bushes a few times, we learned to solve the problem.

We would leave home in the morning and play all day, as long as we were back when the street lights came on. No one was able to reach us all day. No cell phones. Unthinkable!

We did not have Playstations, Nintendo 64, X-Boxes, no video games at all, no 99 channels on cable, video tape movies, surround sound, personal cell phones, personal computers, or Internet chat rooms.

We had friends! We went outside and found them.
We played dodge ball, and sometimes, the ball would really hurt.
We fell out of trees, got cut and broke bones and teeth, and there were no lawsuits from these accidents. They were accidents. No one was to blame but us. Remember accidents?

We had fights and punched each other and got black and blue and learned to get over it.

We made up games with sticks and tennis balls and, although we were told it would happen, we did not put out any eyes.

We rode bikes or walked to a friend's home and knocked on the door, or rang the bell or just walked in and talked to them.

Little League had tryouts and not everyone made the team. Those who didn't had to learn to deal with disappointment.

Some students weren't as smart as others, so they failed a grade and were held back to repeat the same grade.
Horrors!

Tests were not adjusted for any reason.

Our actions were our own.
Consequences were expected.

The idea of parents bailing us out if we got in trouble in school or broke a law was unheard of. They actually sided with the school or the law. Imagine that!

This generation has produced some of the best risk-takers, problem solvers, and inventors, ever.

We had freedom, failure, success, and responsibility--- and we learned how to deal with it. And you're one of them!
Congratulations.

Please pass this on to others who have had the luck to grow up as kids in those decades!

Independence Day, 4 July 2003 - Author Unknown

21 December 2002

Lulu LaBonte, our beautiful little princess, turned 4 years old today. I remember announcing to the radio audience--and to my parents and in-laws at the same time--that my wife was pregnant with our first child. I'll never forget where I was when I found out. My bowling league's annual banquet was taking place when my cell phone rang. My wife told me the news and my knees began to shake with excitement. "I'm going to be a daddy!" I proclaimed to the teams. A daddy!

Just yesterday, it seems, Lulu was born and the doctor held her out to me to hold. I cried tears of joy at the sight of her. The way she looked at me with those little, innocent eyes.

And now I see a young lady where I used to see a drooling baby girl. I see her younger brother playing with her old toys and it makes me a little sad. But then, she's always been advanced and ahead of the average child, so it's always seemed that she already WAS older. It's as if she's catching up chronologically to the age she HAS been acting.

I hear so many parents lamenting the loss of the years and the passage of innocence. I am guilty of the opposite. Sadly, I look ahead at the years before they even unfold. This may seem counterproductive, but it actually makes me appreciate life and our children even more. I make every moment count. There are never shortages of "I love you's" or story times or slumber parties.

When your children hug you and tell you that they love you, in words or with a smile, it's the only thing in the world that matters.

"I'll always be your little girl," she told me today.

Happy birthday, my little angel. Daddy loves you. For the millionth time today. My father used to tell me, "I love you more today than yesterday, but less than I will tomorrow."

Now I understand.

8 December 2002

This has perhaps been the hardest year yet in my young, Gen-Xer life. It was the first time I had ever gotten laid off in my life. It's funny. I survived the biggest markets and highest rated stations, and yet was beheaded in the end by a station most people still don't even know exists.

Here's one important thing for anyone interested in entering this crazy business. It doesn't matter how high your ratings are or how many people adore you. If a station doesn't like the way you laugh, the way you insist on being your own person, the way you stick with what you KNOW works instead what others THINK works, then you're out. Game over. Do not insert coin. Thanks for playing.

It doesn't help when someone from your past has started a virtual business out of telling people what a pain in the ass you were all those years. Never mind if it's true or not. For some reason, they believe him instead of you. Many don't even ask for your side of the story. When this type of trash talk impairs getting full time work in radio for nearly a year, one could almost smell a lawsuit. But I'm not going to weasel my way back to the radio dial. I'm going to get there the way I always have before. By being the most eclectic radio host in radio today. There's just no one doing the kind of show that I do. One of these days, dirty, unfounded quarter-truths will fall to the actual truth. The cream will still rise to the top.

So my quest for another life in radio has been impaired by many factors that I have no control over. At first it maddened me with anger. I wanted to put my fist through a wall. I cried myself to sleep many a night with tears of anger and resentment, of the knowledge that my children needed a father who could provide them all the things that God's gifts deserve. My daughter was there with me when I got the axe and I use that image as a burning desire to prove so many people wrong. Lulu's daddy will one day be one of the most popular hosts in modern radio. I promise her that every night when I kiss her sleeping eyes as she clutches her little bear. That alone is the only motivation I need.

So what have I been doing in between radio fill-ins around the nation and close-calls that never seem to materialize (thanks, friend)? I've been chatting with radio people from coast to coast, including the Big Apple. But this type of talk doesn't pay the bills. I've discovered a new life in retail.

In a lot of ways, it's the most fun job I've ever had in my life. The pay is terrible in the whole scheme of things. For the first time since high school, I wear a uniform to work. In the beginning it was horribly humiliating for me. I went from being asked for an autograph to being asked for a price check. But the Lord knows how much stronger this experience has made me. It is no longer humiliating for me. It is empowering. It is like a daily cold shower that cleanses me. That tells me that as much fun as it provides me, it is not what I was destined to do. I am convinced more than ever that my full time life belongs on the radio. That's not to say that I wouldn't keep this job once I get there again. I enjoy it that much, that I would entertain keeping it even when I'm big and famous.

I know what you're thinking. What on earth is a guy with more than a decade in radio and a U.C. Berkeley degree in Communications doing in a job like that? I'll tell you why. I have seen too many good radio people "fall out" of the business, only to land in a career that provides them more financial, as well as emotional, stability. Then what happens? Days turn into years and they usually never return to radio again. They become complacent in a job that they really don't want. But it's safe.

That's the last thing I want for me. Radio has been my dream since I was a kid. I've been watching and re-watching many movies in between my 15 hour workdays. Movies like Rudy and The Rookie and Flashdance and gasp...yes, even Eminem's first movie. And I have in common--perhaps now more than ever--one important thing with all of these protagonists. We've all had doors slammed in our faces. We've all been told we were no good, that we ought to pursue other careers. We've been told that success in show business is something better left to others (never mind that you already have more than a decade's worth of proof that you can and HAVE accomplished it). We've all come within an inch of throwing our arms up in the air and damning our dreams to hell.

But like the characters in these movies, I cannot put my dreams down anymore than I could put my heart down. I would die a million painful deaths by giving up my dream. I know I can do it because for more than 10 years, I have lived it. And I had dreamt it for as many years before that. Over the years, I have convinced a few programmers and tens of thousands of listeners or more that I have something that most people don't. My task now is to convince others of this same, simple truth.

A wise, motivational speaker has said that most people believe things when they see them. A few, fortunate others see things when they believe them. Think about that for a moment. It's the magic of believing in childhood dreams. Of believing in yourself when many around you close doors and spit on your dream. Their biggest flaw is that they don't realize they are actually trying to deny your destiny. And destiny cannot be denied. It can be altered and detoured down long, lonely streets. But it cannot be denied in the end.

The last year has showed me just how strong I am inside. Stronger than I ever thought possible. Some days are harder than others. But the dream--and the love of family and God--keeps me going.

I will get there again. Even if it means outlasting every other fish making his way up the chute. I may be a little fish. But I've got a big heart full of big dreams, and people in my life with bigger hearts full of bigger dreams that have made all the difference in the world.

God bless.

11 September 2002

Our son turned a year old this past Monday. I can't believe it. Could the time have flown by that fast? It's true what people say about your children growing up too fast.

September 11, 2001 was already destined to be a day we would never forget. It was the day we brought our little boy home from the hospital. It was supposed to be a joyful, memorable day. How were we to know that it would only be one out of the two?

I'll never forget the moment my wife woke me up that morning. The sense of doom in her voice. I was watching a nightmare on the television screen. A plane had hit the World Trade Center. My innocent side assumed it was a small private plane that must have gone off course. Just a terrible mistake. Until the second plane hit. A BIG plane. A COMMERCIAL plane. My God. "We're under attack," I said. And I remember looking down at our sleeping 2-day old son and thinking what a turbulent welcome the world had given him. And then we cried.

Within minutes I was on the phone to my parents. Our daughter had spent the night with them and I didn't want her seeing these images on the television. Losing one's innocence comes far too easy in this world, and there was no need to rush the process. I called friends, who in turn will forever remember where they were when I told them "America has been attacked. On our own soil." I think a lot of people found out about 9-11 from an ominous phone that rang too early to be a social call.

And then the first tower fell. This was even more surreal than the sight of the second plane hitting the building. The tower fell apart. And we were watching it live. And then the second tower collapsed. It took a long time to sink in that I had watched one of the major historical events of my lifetime unravel before my unbelieving eyes.

My son still slept. My wife and I still cried. And somewhere between a miraculous new life and sudden, incredible doom, our lives and our country were changed forever.

I cried for a long time after that. Especially when I looked at my two beautiful kids. What kind of an insane world were we in the process of handing over to them? What would their lives be like when they became our age? Would there even be an America left?

Sometimes I still cry when I look in on them and tuck them in. I cry because their childhood innocence, whether they know it or not, has been shattered by gutless bastards. I cry because I fear the day when I will have to explain to them what has happened to their nation. And I cry most of all, I think, because my children will never know what America was like pre-9-11. That is why it is the duty of every parent to educate their children about what has made America the greatest country on this planet. And to share with them the hope that this will always be so.

God bless America. And God help those who would harm its great people.

May 2002

Thanks everyone for your patience. I know it's been a long time since my website was updated. I never realized that I'd be wearing so many hats just to make a living. Free time has been scarce and time for updates even more rare. The whole family is doing well, thanks to all who have asked. I will do my best to update pictures of the kids. Lulu and Lorenzo are getting so big.

Project Blue Door is a personal studio that I have had built. It is a state of the art production and broadcasting facility. And it would never have happened if it hadn't been for the time, energy, and finances of family and friends. My parents helped finance the bulk of it. My close friends literally built it from the ground up. And now it's like having my very own radio station.

My goal is to come back with a vengeance. And I will. Success is the ultimate revenge, and it is the sweetest revenge of all. The Spencer Hughes Show will ultimately be reborn. And like the Six Million Dollar Man, it will be better, stronger, and faster than ever before.

I have some projects in the works as I write this. Some I will be able to share with you, others will need to remain more secretive. But either way, please know that I appreciate all of your tremendous support during my temporary hiatus from the airwaves. I have received THOUSANDS of e-mails from listeners all over the world (isn't the internet amazing?). Please know that as important as your e-mail is to me, I cannot always respond to them. I will do my best to sit down one night soon and crank out 100 responses in a shot. But it is hard. One job takes me into the late night, another begins before the sun is up. I will do my best.

Just know that The Spencer Hughes Show will burn rubber again. And it will remain the most eclectic show in the history of radio.

3 March 2002

It's been two weeks since my untimely departure from the radio airwaves. I have never been off the radio for this long in the 10 years I have been in the business.

What does it feel like? It feels rotten. It's what Superman would feel like if he could only be Clark Kent again. No cape, no flying around town, no cool powers like X-ray vision or virtual invincibility.

But it's not all bad being just Clark Kent.

I am working back in the real world, the world in which I worked for years BEFORE being in radio. But that was different. It was different because that was at a time in my life when I only dreamed about being on the air. Now that I know what it's like to have my dream career, anything else seems miserable by comparison.

But life goes on. I am currently working 12-16 hours a day trying to pay the bills and keep on keeping on. I am not stupid. I know that radio jobs are few and far between, so I must do what I have to do in order to make ends meet until the next time I find myself on the air.

Yet I really believe that radio is my destiny. It is a dream that I have had since I was a kid. And I do not plan on spitting it away anytime soon.

So...what is Project Blue Door? I can't say right now. But it is coming. And it's going to be big. But then, it could be a mighty failure, too.

All I can say is that I am putting everything I've got into my dream. It's a good dream, I think, and I will continue to let you know how it is coming along.

In the meantime, please keep e-mailing me and checking out my website for the latest News According To Hughes. Damn, I miss saying that. Have faith. I will be back on the air soon. And better than ever.

17 April 2001

I am going to have a son.

My wife and I went in today for her ultrasound and since she agreed to be surprised with our first child (beautiful Miss Lulu LaBonte), I agreed to find out the sex of our second.

The suspense nearly did me in. An hour in the waiting room. Heart pounding in my ears. Let's do it already.

I have to admit. I wanted a boy. Badly.

Our daughter is the most special thing in our lives. She is a doll. An angel sent from God. We have been so blessed to have her as a daughter. The sweet kisses. The pink dresses. The cute little smile and laugh that can stop a clock. The dolls and the ribbons. I can't imagine life without little Miss Lulu.

But I wanted a boy, too. Army men. Cowboys and Indians. Star Wars. The Lone Ranger. You know, guy stuff. I wanted a little boy that was a chip off the old block. I wanted the family name to live on a bit longer. At least for one more generation. Whether people understand it or not, passing on our name is as close to immortality as we will get here on earth.

And so it goes. There will be a little boy born in September. He will inherit a warm house, two loving parents, a cute older sister, a neurotic Labrador, and a lizard named Crea who will (if I take care of her) live through the boy's college years. Not to mention thrilled grandparents on both sides of the family.

I am going to have a son. Now my lovely wife and I will have the best of both worlds.

This is a day I will not soon forget. Not ever, in fact.

10 April 2001

Don't let the perceptions of others determine who you are or what you are capable of. Show them what you are made of. Surprise them by being the best you can be. As the saying goes, success is the best revenge. Do what others say can't be done, has never been done. Break new ground. Be the best YOU instead of a second best SOMEBODY ELSE.

Believe in yourself and your God given abilities. Nurture them. Love them. Let them blossom. Water them with positive thinking and confidence. Watch them grow. Be happy. It was in you all along.

5 April 2001

This evening Governor Davis addressed Californians about our power crisis. He stated, after endless quotes to the contrary, that the recent power rate increases are necessary. Thankfully, his re-election is NOT. Just say NAY to Gray!

Nine inmates filed a lawsuit claiming California has provided them poor medical treatment in prison. Poor little felons. They ought to talk to a veteran and ask them about the quality of health care for heroes in many of our nations V.A. hospitals. It's deplorable. If anyone has a reason to complain, it's them. Not a bunch of criminals who are lucky to receive ANY level of health care. Want better care? Have your relatives and buddies pay for it.

People are shocked that a show about mobsters contained a scene in which a pregnant stripper was beat to death. Anybody home? It's The Sopranos, stupid.

And talk about being obsessed with sports. A Corpus Christi couple have named their son ESPN. That's pronounced "Es-pen" in case you were wondering. Luckily they weren't as obsessed with movies or we'd have a little "HBO" running around Texas.

Remember show and tell in school? I have found memories of bringing in a salamander or a family heirloom or some strange thing I found on the way to school. But this child beats all. Little Jillian Blair brought a not so little friend to class--Kamba, a 4,100 pound elephant. The eight foot tall gentle beast's appearance was arranged through Jillian's grandfather's connections. What a cool treat for everybody.

2 April 2001

This past weekend, our two-year-old daughter reminded me once more of just how much I love being her father.

She waved to the sun and gave the moon a kiss good night. The look on her face as she enjoyed her first pony ride. Little kisses she'd plant on me for no particular reason. The way she played with her little buddy, so sweetly and innocently. These are a few of the things I wouldn't trade for gold.

And then at a bookstore, she asked me if she could go on the little storytime stage. Since it was vacant, I said sure. She got up there and excitedly danced around, a great big smile on her face. "You can do it to, daddy," she said. What? Me? Dance right there in the store? No way! "Come on, you silly goose!" she said. And that did it. I left any sense of embarrassment aside and danced around the wooding stage with my little angel.

This was a magical moment between father and daughter, no doubt about it. And I loved every second of it.

29 March 2001

Ever see one of those prefabricated homes making their way down the freeway? They're always followed by a pickup truck or Geo with a sign reading: "Caution: Wide Load!"

This has always driven me insane. Even when I was a kid, I used to think HOW STUPID! I mean, if you're driving down the highway and you can't tell that a HOUSE being towed is a WIDE LOAD, pull over and hand the keys to someone else! I don't want you on the road!

But think about it for a moment. That guy in the pickup truck or Geo is one lucky guy. He has a job because people are stupid. Or at least, because enough of us are stupid. Why else would he be needed? He follows that prefabricated home for dozens, probably HUNDREDS of miles. And I'm sure he's not doing it for charity.

So next time you see this, remember that you needed to be told that a HUGE, HEAVY, TALL, BULKY house was a wide load. Maybe we should have many of our fellow citizens followed around by somebody wearing a t-shirt that says: "Caution: Idiot!"

27 March 2001

We talked tonight a little about burnout at work. Ever felt it? I don't mean, did you ever have a bad day at work. Did you ever feel as if you just couldn't go back or you'd go nuts?

Radio is a hobby for me. A dream. A passion. It's what I have always wanted to do. Even when I was a young boy, I would recite monologues and the pages of comic books into my maternal grandfather's great big Sony tape recorder. I've played the tapes on the air before. They are pretty hysterical to listen to. I don't have any clue what I would be doing if it weren't for this job.

But I've hit the rough spots. I've reached the point in the road where I stopped and thought: I can't do this anymore. I love my job. It's all I want to do. But external forces are making it a lousy pile of annoyance. I would cry tears of anger some nights. And I guess I wasn't alone. In a recent survey by Integra Realty Resources in New York, nearly a quarter (of 1000 surveyed) said they had been driven to tears as a result of workplace stress. The largest group, 26% of respondents, was ages 25 to 34. Bingo. My age group. I even thought of a career change. Heck, hardly any of my friends were in the same career that they were in even two or three years ago. My father stayed with the same company for more than 30 years. Those days seemed over.

But I couldn't leave it. No way. Radio was like the sweetest woman who had never wronged me. It would be terrible to run off like a thief in the night and leave her.

And besides, what is a guy with a big mouth and a ton of thoughts in his head supposed to do? I know, I know. A lot of you wish I had been a mime instead. That reminds me of a joke a good friend and mentor of mine, Rick Stewart, liked to share with me. If you arrest a mime, do you have to read him his right to remain silent?

Unfortunately, I have often been one to get discouraged easily. Sometimes TOO easily. So please, take a grain of advice from someone who gets scared and frustrated like everyone else. Stick with it. Fight. Stand up for you believe in, what you love to do. Find something in life that's honest work. Love it. Live it. Try to be better at it than anyone else. And maybe just maybe, you'll feel as if you don't have to work a day in your life because what you are doing is so much fun. Find something worthy of your talents and people who hopefully will nurture them. And that's when magic starts to happen because you will actually look forward to going to work every morning or night instead of hiding with dread under the sheets, mumbling an excuse to call in sick.

Anyway, I've got to go now. I need some rest so I can wake up and get ready for the show. And I really can't wait. Talk with you tomorrow night.

26 March 2001

It's nice to see that simple amusements for children still exist out there. Monday we took our two-year-old daughter, Lulu LaBonte, to Fairytale Town in Sacramento. Her little buddy enjoyed it for the very first time.

Fairytale Town reminds me of my own childhood adventures in places like Fairyland in Oakland, Santa's Village in Scott's Valley, and Frontier Village in San Jose. Most of these places don't even exist anymore. Others are a mere shadow of what once was. My parents used to take me to Marine World back when it was in Redwood City and called Marine World Africa U.S.A. instead of Six Flags. There were just animals back then, pretty much. And that's what the park was all about--wildlife. Now it seems at its current home in Vallejo, the emphasis is on giant steal and wooden roller coasters, and the biggest wild animals are the rowdy kids who push and shove from one ride to the next.

There is a sad notion today that if an amusement doesn't involve moving really fast or have its technology in virtual reality, then the child will have no interest. Look at Disneyland. The submarine rides were good enough for generations of children. But not anymore. Who says? And then we see our kids are hyperactive and we put them on a drug instead of realizing their behavior is more a product of a rushed and chaotic childhood than anything else.

And that's why I took such pleasure in seeing Lulu playing with her friend at Fairytale Town. The children seem to like just fine an old, beaten up train engine with no bells or whistles. They crawled a dozen times through a slice of ceramic Swiss cheese dating back to 1958. And the old woman who lived in a shoe? You can't teach that rhyme to children anymore (contains spanking), but her homestead is safe in a shady corner of Fairytale Town.

There's something cool about a child seeing a corral with a donkey, a cow, and a stray cat and thinking it's the neatest thing in the world.

I'm not saying kids shouldn't ride roller coasters or spend their weekends in the fast lane once in awhile. But there's a big part of me that hopes somewhere out there a child is drawing hopscotch lines in the sidewalk, playing dodge ball at school (ever wonder why seemingly EVERY house HAS to have a basketball hoop out front?!?!), or plugging colored pegs into a Lite Brite. I was pleased the other day to see they still make those. And remember View Masters?

We do our children a disservice when we only give them the faster look at life. So slow down one sunny afternoon and go to Fairytale Town. It's one of the last places on earth where Humpty Dumpty can still sit on the wall without being deafened by the sounds of a dozen kids hanging upside down, six stories up.

Please support Fairytale Town in Sacramento. Visit them soon with the whole family!

This Old House

I am writing this essay at almost 2 in the morning during the last night in our old home. Sleep calls and I ignore it. There is too much to think about. Too much to remember.

The movers come tomorrow and our home looks like a movie studio shell. And indeed movies were filmed here, right in this old house of ours. Great ones you may never have heard of. Like the one where my wife and I are happily prancing about the early stages of the house, long before the carpets, the walls, or the bathtub went in. The grainy smiles and pride of young, first time home buyers watching their humble castle go up.

Or the multi-part series of Thanksgiving dinners and Christmas mornings by the tree, all featuring a soundtrack of laughter and joy and wonder.

And then there was my personal favorite feature film. The birth of our daughter. This was the exact spot where I first placed her down in her new home, right beside the Christmas tree. The greatest present of all. This is where we turned and crossed the threshold of her room and layed her in her crib for the first time ever and watched her for hours.

Over here is the first bathtub she ever bathed in, now so sterile looking and sadly void of rubber duckies and floating picture books. She will never splash daddy again, at least not on this movie set.

It was on this wall that I placed the dry erase board where a proud father wrote down every ounce of minutia with its respective dates and times: first bath, first smile, first this, that or the other.

She took her first steps into my mother's arms on this specific patch of carpet and over in that spot is where she said "I love you daddy" for the first time.

And on this spot on the floor, I cozily layed down and spent many a night beside my precious angel on my mission to chase the bed bugs away.

So much laughter filled this old house of ours. So many tears, too. We learned of births and deaths and career changes on this movie set. For those who care, I was sitting right over there when I spoke with my current General Manager for the first time. It was that conversation that brought me to a brand new station in Sacramento.

I thought my wife would be the more sentimental one. But then why am I the one sniffling amidst the nostalgia?

This, our old homestead, is someone else's now. But I am a little less saddened as I realize that it's memories are ours, and ours alone. We can take those with us as we establish another home. With a new darling baby that will be born there. With new hopes and wonders that will in turn become tomorrow's photographs and memories.

This movie studio shell has been good to us. So many classic movies. To be played again...and again.

Spencer Hughes, 13 February 2001

The Warning The Government Will Never Caution You About

Ever notice how the government wants to put warning labels on anything and everything it can get its ugly hands on? Next time you're out and about, take a good look around. Warning labels everywhere! You can't escape them. Most of them insult the intelligence, some point out real dangers. The problem is, we used to be able to figure those dangers out without the government's help.

But not anymore! We are dumber than ever, so naturally we need the government more than ever. We can't wake up or go to sleep or do most things in-between without Big Nanny watching over us.

Bad television? Uncle Sam, we need you! Internet porn? Uncle Sam, we need you! Birds and the bees? Uncle Sam, we need you! Need time off from work? Uncle Sam, we need you! Someone give you an ugly stare? Uncle Sam, we need you! The paycheck's not big enough? Uncle Sam, we need you! The children don't have daycare? Uncle Sam, we need you! (Fill in the blank)? Uncle Sam, WE NEED YOU!

We hardly rely on our own smarts anymore for anything. And that's what the government wants. Don't kid yourself. The government gains power when the people are more dependent. Conversely, the more independent people become, the less of a role the government needs to play in their lives. So contrary to what the politicos are saying, they need you to be helpless. They love it. They feed on it. They live by it.

The government is missing an obvious target for a warning label. ITSELF.

Warning: This government wants you to be dependent on it for everything.

Warning: This government will treat you more kindly if you are of a protected race or orientation.

Warning: This government will take your money and spend it on everything it shouldn't be spending it on. And if it takes in more than it needs, you'll never get a dime of it back.

Warning: This government will encroach on every area of your life. Warning: This government apparently wants to keep your children ignorant of its founding principles and values.

Warning: This government apparently has nothing but disdain for the Constitution of the United States.

Warning: This government doesn't want you to think for yourself and will discourage it at every turn.

Warning: This government will punish your achievements so that the less fortunate may prosper at your expense. Literally, at your expense.

Warning: This government does not trust law-abiding citizens to possess handguns, but apparently sees no threat in the bad guys having them.

Warning: This government will spend billions protecting the borders of other nations, but hardly a dime to protect its own.

Warning: This government does very few things well, and will continue to because the people seem to overlook this fact.

Warning: This government will happily do everything for you that you will allow it to do.

Warning: This government will never give you the above mentioned warnings. Ok. You have been warned.

Spencer Hughes, 28 June 2000



Some Father's Day Thoughts For My Angel

I don't think I can ever rightfully gripe about Mondays again. You see, my little angel, you were born on one. It was a beautiful, sunny Monday afternoon that your mother and I will never forget.

And I will always be thankful that I took the nurse's advice to sneak a peak at your tiny little head as it was raised into this world. "You have a daughter," the nurse said. And my eyes filled with tears when you let out your first cries. God had allowed your mommy and I to be his accomplices in a miracle. What a day.

You've changed so much in your first 18 months of life. It sounds like a cliche, but it was just yesterday that we brought you home. It was just yesterday that you were bald and tiny and frail in daddy's arms. I had to carry a burp rag everywhere.

Now, every time I look at you in the rearview mirror, you seem to change on me. You smile, play peak-a-boo, thumb through your story books, and say words so well. Apple. Dog. Juice. Milky milky. Daddeeeeee. I love it when you say that. I melt. You've been saying "Da!" for some time now. But just this past week, you called me for the first time. I mean, really called me. "Daddeeeeee! Daddeeeeee!" You wanted to show me your Winnie The Pooh book. And I dropped everything and read it to you.

I don't want to have any regrets. I want so badly to do everything right for you. There will not come a day when I will lament the fact that I wasn't there for you, ok? I made sure I was there to catch your first words, your first steps, and your first laugh. That's what daddy's are for. People may think I am crazy for taking so many pictures and video of your every action. But that's ok. I don't want to miss a thing.

So I kiss you a million times a day. And you plant pecks on me in return and blow kisses at us in that adorable little way of yours. I get on the floor and wrestle with you and give you the sillies (now it's finally fair since you can give Daddy the sillies in return!). I push you on the swing until you almost reach the sky. And sometimes we just lay down and laugh until we have tears rolling down our eyes.

Your mother and I can barely remember life before you. We watch home videos of Christmas and Thanksgiving and although we didn't know it at the time, it was so different before you came along. You've enriched our lives a million fold. You have truly blessed us.

Sometimes I swell up with tears just watching you play. You don't know that I'm watching you grow up right in front of me. I see you going through school and finding a career and a husband and moving out of the house and out of our lives. And I think how sad the day will be when I can't reach over anytime I want and steal a great big hug from my little angel. When I won't be able to stand by your crib at two in the morning just to watch you snuggle with Bear. I hope it never comes, but there may come a day when you won't want me around. When everything I do will embarrass you. At times like this I see the world though my own parents' eyes, and know a little of what they must have felt seeing me grow up.

So I will sap the life out of every waking moment with you. I will stretch them the best that I can so that time will last as long as I can make it last. That way when I am old and tired and homesick for the old days, I will know that I cherished every second with you.

The saddest part is that you will not remember these happy days and first years.

That is why I write this for you. I love you baby girl.

Always remember just how much you mean to me. Rest assured that even when I am old and senile and have forgotten everything else, I will never forget this love I have for you, my little angel.

Love,

Daddy

Father's Day, 18 June 2000



The Sad Truth About Amadou Diallo

The sad truth about Amadou Diallo is that most of us would have reacted the same way those four police officers did.

We may not like to think so. We may rather put the blame on racist cops instead of coming to terms with the real situation. And the real situation was this: four police officers felt they were being drawn down on by a suspected rapist.

Here are some of the dirty little details the press seems to be ignoring every time we hear about the "acquittal" of the four "white" officers who shot and killed a "black" man. Those four officers were combing the area for a suspected rapist. They saw Amadou Diallo acting a bit strangely in their view. They confronted him, told him to stop and to put his hands up. Did he do it? Of course not. He continued on. He entered the dark vestibule of his apartment building. Still no response from him. Mind you, these officers now had EVERY REASON IN THE WORLD to think that this man may have broken the law. Indeed, that this man may very well be the one they are looking for.

And then...Amadou Diallo did what no rational person should ever do when in this situation. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out...a...wallet! But you're a police officer, stressed out because you've cornered an uncooperative man you think is a suspected rapist. You think it's a gun, and you do what 99% of us would have done. You protect yourself and your fellow officers.

And that's what they did. They fired 41 shots, hitting Diallo with 19, killing him.

Apparently the jury was wise enough to see that this case was more about split second decisions and self preservation than it was about skin color and hatred for those that are different from us. If there was any evidence of racism, surely you would think the four black women on the jury would have been convinced of it. In fact, all it would have taken was ONE of them to say NO! These cops are guilty! And the whole thing would have be de-railed.

But Al Sharpton doesn't want to hear about that. He only wants to hear about hateful whites and angry blacks and everybody out to get him. He doesn't want to dare ponder for a moment that quite certainly, even a black officer would have fired at Diallo under the same circumstances.

Now there are threats of taking these officers to the Feds and having them brought up on civil rights violations. Can you say "Rodney King" revisited? You don't like the verdict, re-try the accused until you do. I know in my heart this is a form of double jeopardy, which of course is not allowed under our system. But I know, I know. They'll be brought up under different charges, which we all know are really the same charges.

Look at the O.J. case for a moment. As much as I despised him (and still do), I despised the fact that he had to pay millions of dollars for something another jury said he didn't do. So let me get this straight...a jury clears me of driving a bus through a building...but another jury says I have to pay the bill for the damages. Preponderance of evidence, I know. Blah, blah, blah.

Amadou Diallo's mother, Kadiadou, has obviously suffered more than any mother should have to. It was terrible what happened to her son on February 4, 1999. She told a group of supporters after the verdict "I still want to know what happened."

What happened, Mrs. Diallo, was sad. It was tragic. But it probably would have happened if the officers had been black because black officers want to come home to their wives and kids as much as white officers do.

What happened, Mrs. Diallo, was that a jury did not think these officers were guilty of the crimes they were charged with. And maybe, just maybe...they weren't. Sometimes, Mrs. Diallo, as much as we'd like to have one...there just isn't a boogeyman.

Spencer Hughes, 26 February 2000



Cherish The Moment

Yes, today was my birthday. I don't mind people knowing after the fact, but I always feel funny telling people ahead of time. They're always so nice and thoughtful and some send me things that make me feel guilty. I don't think I've ever asked for a day off on my birthday before. It never really seemed important to me. And I guess it still isn't in the whole scheme of things.

I've just been in a meditative mood lately, asking myself some tough and often depressing questions. What have you done with your life? What are you doing with your life right now? And where will you be in five years? Ten? Thirty? And who will be the people around you when you get there?

Miss Lulu, our precious 13 month old, went on an adventure with daddy to see my parents in San Francisco this morning. We had lunch at Joe's of Westlake, one of our favorite places to go. Sometimes I think we go there more for the nostalgia than because it has above average food. I remember my parents taking me there when I was a kid, and they remember going there long before I came along. And now Miss Lulu is getting to know it. And if it's like everything else in life, a wrecking ball will probably demolish it before she's ever old enough to remember it. It's sad, but true. I wish I could take her to Frontier Village in San Jose or Santa's Village in Scott's Valley, but there are only office parks and condos there now.

I found out as I was crossing the Bay Bridge into the City that I actually knew one of the passengers on Alaska Airlines flight 261. Cynthia Oti and I both worked weekends when my show first got off the ground in San Francisco. She was a very nice lady. We weren't friends or anything, but she was a great person to work with. Everybody liked her. And now she's dead. She was coming back from Puerto Vallarta, Mexico and was supposed to get off the plane and touch ground and go home and meet friends and go to work and get by and do it all over again the next day. But there was no next day.

How many of us live our lives thinking that we have an inexhaustible number of "next days"? Well have tomorrow to pay bills and mow the lawn and clean out the garage and laugh with our kids and tell our friends that we love them. Well be around forever and ever and the plane were on could never possibly go down into the ocean, right? How could it? I mean, here I am, reading a book with my spouse and my child and the flight attendant just handed us pretzels and booze and there's a slick magazine in the pouch full of all sorts of things we think we need but don't. What could possibly happen?

My mother told me today that Frank died. Frank was a neat old gentleman who my mother and I would sit with at Monday night bingos in San Francisco. He kind of looked like Fred Flintstone's father and had a wonderful sense of humor. That laugh of his. So contagious. I can still hear it now. He would always make me smile. And I guess he always will.

I spent the evening with Mama LaBonte, Baby LaBonte and two of our dearest friends. We ate meat and drank wine and we laughed and we sat by a fire with Andy Williams singing in the background and I realized everything one needs in life was right there in that room. And I realized I was happy. I wouldn't trade my friends and family for anything.

We once presented an interesting dilemma on the show. I asked listeners for how much money they would trade their friends. And I meant it for keeps...that they would NEVER see their friends again. They would simply vanish and leave their lives forever. Callers differed on their opinions, of course. Many people didn't believe me when I said that I wouldn't trade them for ANY amount of money. And that's coming from a guy who doesn't have many friends to begin with. I was being totally honest.

My life is special because of the people in it. I think of all the people that I've met and all the people that come and go in our lives. And then I think of the people that are sitting by the fire with you when another year of your life ticks away. These are the people you want to have around you for years to come.

These are the people you want to smile at and hug and cherish and thank and love. But not tomorrow. Right now. Here. Today. This moment. Because this moment is all we have. And it will not last forever.

Spencer Hughes, 1 February 2000



Elian Gonzalez

The battle over young Elian Gonzalez just got more ridiculous. Representative Dan Burton, R-Ind., met with Elian and says the child wants to stay in America. Surprise, surprise, surprise! Who wouldn't? Burton asked him how he liked living here, and Elian responded that he liked it very much. He did this while blowing bubbles, one of many bribery tools his extended family has used to convince him Cuba is not really his home. Elian was then asked "Would you like to go back to Cuba?" Sit down and hold on to your wig...Elian responded--without coaching, mind you--"No." No! He actually said once again that he does not want to return to Cuba! Welcome folks to our new questionnaire for citizenship! Just two questions! Do you like America? And do you want to go back to that miserable little country you came from? Yes? And no? Then welcome to America! We'll take you!

For those of you using this silly question and answer session as your reasoning to keep him here, ask yourselves this. Does your child ever answer "no" when asked or told any of the following: Go to bed now! Pick up your clothes! Would you like to go see grandma and grandpa this weekend? Eat your carrots! Finish your homework!

Chances are, the answer to the above question is yes. But does that mean, you as a parent, must accept this answer? Does your child rule your house? Do the inmates run the asylum? The simple answer to Burton's "interview" with Elian is--and those of you who are "reality challenged" should brace yourselves--the child's answer's are COMPLETELY IRRELEVANT!! What did he expect the boy to say? Yes, sir, I want to leave Disney World, blowing bubbles, and all the candy I can eat so I can go back to Castro's Cuba! Of course not!

And it shouldn't matter anyway. Six-year olds do not run their lives. Parents do. And what a lot of people want to ignore is that Elian has a father, and whether we like it or not, the man lives in Cuba. Elian's place is in Cuba. It doesn't mean that America isn't a better place; it is. It doesn't mean that Elian isn't a nice little boy; he most certainly is. It doesn't mean that Castro isn't a third rate despot of a banana republic; he is.

It does mean one thing. And that is, if we were the father or mother of this little boy, and some other nation had him, promised to grant him citizenship without our will, and refused to send him home, we would want nothing less than his speedy and unconditional return to us.

Juan Miguel would agree. You don't recognize the name, do you? That's Elian's father. And for whatever reason, he's been forgotten and ignored in this whole story.

Spencer Hughes, 30 January 2000



"For My Grandchildren, I'd Like Better"  
By Paul Harvey

We tried so hard to make things better for our kids that we made them worse. For my grandchildren, I'd like better.

I'd really like for you to know about hand-me-down clothes and homemade ice cream and leftover meatloaf sandwiches. I really would.

I hope you learn humility by being humiliated, and that you learn honesty by being cheated. I hope you learn to make your own bed and mow the lawn and wash the car. And I really hope nobody gives you a brand new car when you are sixteen. It will be good if at least one time you can see puppies born and your dog put to sleep. I hope you get a black eye fighting for something you believe in.

I hope you have to share a bedroom with your younger brother. And it's all right if you have to draw a line down the middle of the room, but when he wants to crawl under the covers with you because he's scared, I hope you let him. When you want to see a movie and your little brother wants to tag along, I hope you let him.

I hope you have to walk uphill to school with your friends and that you live in a town where you can do it safely. On rainy days when you have to catch a ride, I hope you don't ask your driver to drop you two blocks away so you won't be seen riding with someone as uncool as your Mom. If you want a slingshot, I hope your Dad teaches you how to make one instead of buying one. I hope you learn to dig in the dirt and read books.

When you learn to use computers, I hope you also learn to add and subtract in your head. I hope you get teased by your friends when you have your first crush on a girl, and when you talk back to your mother that you learn what Ivory soap tastes like.

May you skin your knee climbing a mountain, burn you hand on a stove and stick your tongue on a frozen flagpole. I don't care if you try a beer once, but I hope you don't like it. And if a friend offers you dope or a joint, I hope you realize he is not your friend.

I sure hope you make time to sit on a porch with your Grandpa and go fishing with your Uncle. May you feel sorrow at a funeral and joy during the holidays.

I hope your mother punishes you when you throw a baseball through your neighbor's window and that she hugs you and kisses you at Christmas time when you give her a plaster mold of your hand.

These things I wish for you--tough times and disappointment, hard work and happiness. To me, its the only way to appreciate life.

Send this to all of your friends who mean the most to you. We secure our friends not by accepting favors but by doing them.

Paul Harvey



"If I Had My Life To Live Over"  
Written By Erma Bombeck After She Realized She Was Dying Of Cancer

If I had my life to live over...

I would have gone to bed when I was sick instead of pretending the earth would go into a holding pattern if I weren't there for the day.

I would have burned the pink candle sculpted like a rose before it melted in storage.

I would have talked less and listened more.

I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was stained, or the sofa faded.

I would have eaten the popcorn in the 'good' living room and worried much less about the dirt when someone wanted to light a fire in the fireplace.

I would have taken the time to listen to my grandfather ramble about his youth.

I would have shared more of the responsibility carried by my husband.

I would never have insisted the car windows be rolled up on a summer day because my hair had just been teased and sprayed.

I would have sat on the lawn with my children and not worried about grass stains.

I would have cried and laughed less while watching television, and more while watching life.

I would never have bought anything just because it was practical, wouldn't show soil, or was guaranteed to last a lifetime.

Instead of wishing away nine months of pregnancy, I'd have cherished every moment and realized that the wonderment growing inside me was the only chance in life to assist God in a miracle.

When my kids kissed me impetuously, I would never have said, "Later. Now go get washed up for dinner."

There would have been more "I love you's", more "I'm sorry's..But mostly, given another shot at life, I would seize every minute...look at it and really see it ... live it...and never give it back.

Stop sweating the small stuff. Don't worry about who doesn't like you, who has more, or who's doing what.

Instead, let's cherish the relationships we have with those who do love us. Let's think about what God has blessed us with. And what we are doing each day to promote ourselves mentally, physically, emotionally, as well as spiritually.

Life is too short to let it pass you by.

We only have one shot at this and then it's gone.

Erma Bombeck

© 2002-2008 Spencer Hughes.  All Rights Reserved.