BRIAN LIBBY

A sublime Saturday morning jingle

Growing up, I thought of Looney Tunes belonging more to the domain of after-school cartoons than the Saturday morning variety. But thanks to The Bugs Bunny Roadrunner Show on CBS, they had a presence on the weekend as well.

The show seemed a little strange to me then, because it took classic Looney Tunes cartoons I knew well and seemed to either redo them or somehow change the film stock and audio to polish their look. You could tell that some of Mel Blanc's voices for the characters were ever so slightly different -- the work of a man twenty or thirty years older. And the cartoons usually didn't have the intro wind-up of that familiar Looney Tunes theme with the name bursting out of a series of fat circles.

But there is one part of The Bugs Bunny Roadrunner Show that always stuck with me: the opening theme. "Overtures! Curtains, lights!" Bugs and Daffy Duck sang as they marched up and down the stage with matching canes, hats and beige tuxedo jackets in a sort of Vaudeville by way of the Sixties style. I also liked the instrumental mid-point of the theme, when all the supporting Looney Tunes characters march across the stage in a line, from Yosemite Sam to Pepe Le Pew, as trombones blared.

Just as satisfying is the second song that comes as part of the extended BB/RR Show beginning. "Road Runner, the Coyote's after you!" a sort of 50s rockabilly-ish jingle goes. "Road Runner, if he catches you you're through!" It also includes a montage of several botched attemts by Wiley Coyote to catch him, my favorite perhaps being the lit stick of dynamite in a slingshot that explodes before the Coyote can release it. Like a lot of my friends, at least half of me was rooting for the Coyote to catch the Road Runner, but I loved the spareness of the desert backdrop and, considering the verboseness of Bugs and Daffy and most other characters, the fact that neither pursuer or pursued ever spoke. (The exception, of course, being Wiley Coyote's appearance in a couple of Bugs Bunny cartoons in which he very memorably speaks of himself in third person: "Wiley Coyote - super genius!"

Meanwhile, all I know is that when I walk dowtown in a few minutes, there will be many renditions of "Overtures! Curtains, lights!" as I amble down the sidewalk.

My righteous anthem: "By the Time I Get to Arizona"

One of the fun things about having an i-Pod and listening to it all the time is getting acquainted with old songs from one's collection never listened to much, or re-acquainted with songs of past affection.

I've always respected and admired the seminal hip-hoppers Public Enemy, from Chuck D's sermon-like rapping to Flavor Flav's comical punctuations. Obviously a song like "Fight the Power", used to such great effect in Spike Lee's great 1989 movie Do The Right Thing, is a classic. Public Enemy also has what may be my favorite album title from any artist: It Takes A Nation of Millions To Hold Us Back, a brilliant reverse-view of the oppression-ridden African American experience.

When the song "By The Time I Get To Arizona" came about, I received it with a bit of a chuckle. This was the early 90s, and the states of New Hampshire and Arizona were slow to enact Martin Luther King's birthday as a national holiday. People forget this now, but there was a bit of a practicality issue at play in whether to add another holiday to the American worker's array of days off, or to subtract a different holiday's apportioned time off such as Columbus Day or Presidents' Day.

Understandably, though, Public Enemy and many other African American leaders saw these two states abstaining from an MLK holiday as a racist act. As Sista Soulja (remember her?) says in the intro to the song, they seemed to find "...psychological discomfort in paying tribute to a black man who tried to teach white people the meaning of civilization."

What I love about the song, though, isn't its attention to the politics of national holidays, or even race itself. I find myself continually pumped up and energized by the more transcendent sense of righteous anger. We all have stuff that gets us angry now and then. We feel wronged, or that some person or entity close to us has. We feel powerless, frustrated, and want to act out. "By The Time I Get To Arizona" has a very strong, cathartic aspect that I can apply to any of my own feelings and motivations.

I also have a somewhat more specific, Arizona-related connection to the song, but it's nothing as noble in inspiration as race relations or Dr. King. I'm thinking of the football game a few months ago when Oregon's most successful season in its 113-year history--one with a Heisman Trophy and a national championship seemingly within reach--was ruined on the field in Tuscon at the University of Arizona. Nobody on the UA team caused Dennis Dixon's knee injury that evening, but it's far from the first time that turf has caused a major injury to an Oregon quarterback. Two years ago, NFL-bound Oregon quarterback Kellen Clemens broke his leg there, and Oregon (despite winning their last three games without him) was more or less aced out of a prestigious January bowl game because of it. A decade earlier, Ducks quarterback Bill Musgrave had an akle sprain in practice on the field that cost the team the game.

By the time I get to Arizona? I'm installing artificial turf. But only at night, because you'd have to be insane to go outside when it's 120 degrees.

Then again, it was just yesterday that my parents departed for a vacation in--where else?--Arizona. Apparently they and others seem to think walking onto the surface of the sun is pleasurable to a little light rain.

Of course, my listening to the song so regularly should also be a reminder that righteous anger is a dangerous emotion. When people are too righteous, they stop listening to reason. I think of the Winston Churchill quote we have on a fridge magnet in the kitchen: "A fanatic is one who can't change his mind and won't change the subject." Unless it involves a sports team called the Ducks or Blazers, I don't want to be a fanatic or to be self-righteous.

But then again, it's always fun to blow off a little steam. And while I may be mellow on the outside most of the time, it'd take nation of millions to hold back my emotions.

"Demolition of the RosefriendApartments" at PIFF

Pardon the self promotion, but I wanted to put the word out that my short film, Demolition of the Rosefriend Apartments, will be playing this Saturday in the Portland International Film Festival as part of the 'Made In Oregon' shorts program.

As you can see if you watch it online, the five-minute film is basically just a collection of raw video footage taken of the building's facade being torn down by a giant crane. I considered putting it to music, or having voice-over interviews or other audio about the story behind the Rosefriend Apartments, which as many may recall stood at Broadway and Jefferson downtown across from The Oregonian and Higgins restaurant until being torn down last year. But ultimately I just decided to keep it as simple as possible and with no embellishment.

Demolition of the Rosefriend Apartments from astro_tiki on Vimeo.

The Ladd Tower is under construction on this site now, and for those of us who had hoped the Rosefriend could be saved, I think now those passions are better directed towards the future. But I had an affection for the building and felt compelled to film some of its demolition.

In the film festival guide, the title was erroneously called The Destruction of the Rosefriend Apartments. I love the NW Film Center, and I don't want to split hairs, but I actually think that 'Demolition' is an important distinction from 'Destruction'. It's similar to how Return of the Jedi was originally set to be called Revenge of the Jedi, but George Lucas made the change from 'Revenge' to 'Return' because he decided that revenge wasn't a Jedi concept.

I'm certainly no Jedi. Probably more like C-3PO. And by no means would I compare myself George Lucas - although we do share a birthday. But I distinguish 'Demolition' from 'Destruction' in a similar way to revenge/return.

Even so, filming the demolition that day, as I stood in a very large crowd of men seemingly giddy to see the crane do its work, it seemed like I was surrounded by people with an appetite for destruction, to borrow from Guns & Roses (not that I'm a fan). I was one of the gawkers, of course. But I also felt a little guilty, like staring at a car accident as you drive by. Let’s face it, though: destruction is fun to watch. I guess it’s that weird irony that made me run and film that day. That and a desire, however corny it may sound, to not look away when the moment came.

The 'Made In Oregon' shorts program screens at 2PM Saturday at the Portland Art Museum's Whitsell Auditorium.

Memo to Cuervo: stop saying "cola"!

Last night I woke up at about 4AM and couldn't fall asleep for awhile. The reason couldn't have been more silly: I had a TV commercial that I can't stand playing continuously in my head.

A gravelly voice kept saying between my ears, "It's perfect with cola." It's the same voice I've heard in my head while showering for several mornings in a row. I feel outright tormented by it.

Years ago, my friend Chad told me a story of how as a child his younger brother had experienced a near nervous breakdown simply because the theme to the "Strawberry Shortcake" doll and cartoon was stuck in his head. ("Strawberry shortcake, my she's looking fine/Cute little doll with the strawberry smell.") I didn't believe it at the time. How could one innocuous jingle drive you crazy? But as silly as it sounds, "perfect with cola" is becoming my Strawberry Shortcake.

Although I hate to give them any additional publicity, however modest it may be coming from a little-read blog, the commercial was for Cuervo Black tequila. Apparently this darker variety of tequila is supposed to be ideally well matched with cola. But I have this thing about the word "cola". For starters, who even uses it? The brand names Coke and Pepsi have become synonyms for cola that are actually used far more often than the generic terms itself.

In other words, nobody says "cola". Except for my mom, of course, whom my sister and I tease and laugh at incessantly whenever we go to a restaurant and she says politely to the waiter, "I'd like a diet cola, please." It reminds me of that Simpsons episode when Mayor Quimby's young son goes ballistic because a French chef won't pronounce "chowder" as "chow-dah". "Say chowda!" he exclaims angrily. I want to do the same thing to the Cuervo people, only in reverse: Stop saying cola!

Apparently people usually drink tequila straight, or at least not mixed with soft drinks. Cuervo wants to challenge the traditional "rum and Coke" cocktail with its new tequila. But if they say, "Cuervo and Coke", they're plugging Coca-Cola. Or Pepsi were they to change the accompanying brand name.

My favorite part, also known as the part that irks me the most, is at the beginning, when the voice over says, "How to order a Cuervo Black and cola..." Next, a man steps up to the bar and says, "Cuervo Black and cola." Gee, thanks for the instruction - I never would have got that on my own!

An ad expert or a psychologist might point out that Cuervo Black's commercial has already achieved its purpose. People like me are blogging about it. No such thing as bad publicity, right? But as my friend John Jay, creative director at Adweek magazine's global ad agency of the year, Wieden + Kennedy, has said many times, little in advertising, art or culture matters more than authenticity. And even though it may be my own private affair, I find the Cuervo Black ad excruciatingly inauthentic. (Incidentally, WK's Coke commercial with a giant Charlie Brown the hero was my favorite Super Bowl ad. What if they'd replaced Charlie with another bald kid?)

If you really must try this new liquor offering, I urge you to try it with 7-Up or Sprite, also known as a lemon-lime carbonated beverage. And in case you need instructions on how to order, just tell the bartender, "Cuervo Black with lemon-lime carbonated beverage."

But I really love these Blazers

I never stopped loving the Portland Trail Blazers. Ever.

Not when they were ridiculed as the “Jail Blazers” for a string of crimes and misdemeanors. Not when they lost a 13-point fourth quarter lead in Game 7 of the Western Conference Finals and a probable world championship along with it (Indiana would never have beaten us that year). Not when they went seven years without an all-star, or posted the league’s worst record.

The Blazers and Ducks are different from any other sports-team loyalty I have. The rest are friends. These are family. It's not that they can do no wrong, but that I refuse to abandon them under any circumstances. They're my teams.

But it’s a lot more fun to be a Blazer lover now than it was a few years ago. Or three months ago.

This is without a doubt the most entertaining, skillful, promising and likable group of players since the glory days of the Clyde Drexler-led squads of the early 1990s. They are an absolute joy of a team, comprised of likable personalities with great talent. As a fan, I'm pinching myself.

The late David Halberstam's magnificent book The Breaks of the Game, in which the Pulitzer Prize winner chronicles the Blazers' 1979-80 season, includes a passage about how the NBA championship winning team of three years prior symbolized a certain type of basketball. In 1977, the ABA had merged into the NBA, and with it had gome the ABA's greater propensity for street-style basketball: dunks, one-on-one play. I always loved watching players like that, particularly Julius "Dr. J" Erving, a poster of whom was pinned to my childhood bedroom wall for several years.

But the '77 Blazers represented the enduring beauty and unity of a basketball team that played together and unselfishly with precision. For example, then-Indiana University coach Bob Knight, whose 1976 Hoosiers had gone undefeated to win the NCAA title, was a huge Blazers fan. Despite the presence of a superstar like Bill Walton, Portland had a little bit of the still-to-come movie "Hoosiers" in them.

Admittedly, the current Blazer team hasn't risen to the level of the other three great Blazer eras/teams: Walton's in the 70s, Drexler's in the early '90s or Pippen's at the turn of the century. But after this second-youngest squad in the NBA won 13 in a row and 19 out of 21 after starting the 2007-08 season with just five wins and 12 losses, with reigning rookie of the year Brandon Roy emerging as not just an all-star caliber player but maybe even hall-of-fame worthy, the Blazers “Rise With Us” marketing slogan this year doesn’t seem far fetched at all.

It was ironic recently when Portland played New York. Earlier in the day Roy was named to the all-star team, which was celebrated that night at the game in front of Zach Randolph. The last four years, Randolph led the Blazers in both scoring and rebounding (something no one else in team history has done). His average of 23 points a game a couple years ago is higher than Roy’s 19 this season. But no two players better illustrate how there’s more to one’s game than stats. Roy is the leader of this team in ways that Randolph never could have been.

Still, I thought it was unfortunate that Blazer fans booed Randolph upon his return. If I were booing anybody in that building last night, it would have been Knicks coach Isaiah Thomas.

The success Portland has had this season is of course particularly astonishing given how tragically it began, with #1 draft pick Greg Oden out for year with a knee injury. I was so depressed a few months ago when it happened that I wanted to sob. But now, it’s almost as if Oden’s injury could be good for the franchise. If he’s even close to as good as he looks, Oden could be the Patrick Ewing or David Robinson of his time. Before then, though, the Blazers are learning to win without him, and showing the league that this will not be a one-man team. Or if it is, it’ll probably be Roy’s.

I haven’t even mentioned my favorite current Blazer yet: Travis Outlaw. Of course Brandon Roy is the MVP, and LaMarcus Aldridge would probably get the second-most votes. Yet Outlaw’s game is so exquisitely silky-smooth, the way his lanky frame can sink jumpers and dunk and play defense with the outstretched but effortless look of the Fantastic Four’s Reed Richards. Add that to Outlaw’s rural Mississippi aw-shucks background, perhaps the best anecdote of all to Rasheed Wallace’s tantrums.

There's a TV commercial for the Blazers running currently in which Outlaw describes his game-winning shot against Memphis, which ignited the winning streak. Grooved into my memory banks and repeating whenever I think of the current Portland team is Outlaw recalling his winner: "Ooh my, there go the game!"

Again, even though I along with everybody else supporting the Blazers sheds no tears for Wallace, Wells and other malcontents being gone, it’s not fair to vilify them, because I would have been so jubilant had they won that 2000 championship. And they arguably had the best chance of any Blazer team that hasn’t won it all; even though Clyde’s teams advanced to the Finals twice, they were clearly the second-best team both those times. The 2000 Blazers were as good as any team in the NBA that year, and the only team that stopped them—the Lakers—went on to win three straight league titles after beating Portland by a hair’s breath. Wallace may have been getting technicals in those days, or threatening refs in the Rose Garden parking lot, or Damon Stoudamire might have been getting busted for drug possession. But the team’s leader Scottie Pippen was having a brilliant last flash to a hall of fame career with every aspect of the game—shooting, ball handling, defense, leadership—at full tilt. They probably never will, but I’d love to see Portland retire Pippen’s jersey someday. He was the MVP of that team, and he put up with a lot from his Jail Blazer teammates.

Even so, I knew there was something special about this team several weeks before the season began. In a move unheard of in Portland or any other NBA city, every member of the Trail Blazers voluntarily showed up weeks early to training camp. That might be what cost Greg Oden the injury to his knee, but it’s also what gives me reason again to hope for one of only two things in sports besides a Ducks football national championship that would for me connote paradise on earth. (And after the Ducks suffering their most tragic season in 113 years, the Blazer optimism is perfectly timed.)

Roy and company are still almost all in their early 20s, so there’s no pressure to jump through the window of opportunity as if from a burning building just yet. In fact, it’s the patience of general manager Kevin Pritchard that will be required in Portland rather than any smoking trades. Just let this team keep doing what they do, and the joys seem perfectly capable of taking care of themselves. In fact, it’s well under way.