The Karma of THE ARTIST

By Mike Takeuchi

"Sometimes life is wonderful. Today is one of those days." Michel Hazanavicius on Sunday.

On Saturday afternoon in Santa Monica, Michel Hazanavicius was in a hurry. He was in the middle of a whirlwind weekend and had just collected the first of four awards for him that day and start of nine speeches he had to make to accept the awards for the film he directed, THE ARTIST. In the terms of any filmmaker, it was a great weekend for the black-and-white, predominantly silent film which garnered four Independent Spirit Awards on Saturday, and five more at the Academy Awards at what host Billy Crystal jokingly called "The Bankrupt Theatre" on Sunday.

But at this particular moment, the French director had only achieved one thus far-the Independent Spirit Award for Best Director, and was in a hurry to get back to his seat to join his friends possibly to see what penis joke irreverently funny host Seth Rogen would make next. On his way, we nearly literally ran smack-dab into each other. He stopped, looked and realized that the Rubenesque Asian-American in front of him was someone somewhat familiar to him. Seemingly struggling for a moment to remember, I let him off the hook.

"Hey Michel, congratulations, plenty more of good things to come," I said.

Looking relieved that he didn't have to remember the name of someone he only had a scant recollection of (if at all), smiled brightly.

"Thank you, thank you very much," he genuinely expressed in his heavy French accent before disappearing into the backstage area of the tent.

With that, he was gone-onward and upward.

The first time I met Michel was in Santa Barbara at the Riviera Theatre. THE ARTIST was not yet known outside of my boss Roger Durling, the executive director of the Santa Barbara International Film Festival and a select few who saw it in Cannes, Telluride and Toronto. An agent friend of mine told me that it was going to be a hit.

I thought “Silent, black-and-white movie, Riiiiight!"

It turned out that he was right. An hour before he arrived, I watched the first part of this unique film just mesmerized. While the style was an homage to Billy Wilder, I got the same feeling I did when I watched Frank Capra films. These guys have something here.

Michel's arrival cut my viewing pleasure short, but I wasn't complaining as I looked forward to meeting him and his lovely wife Berenice Bejo (Alas, Ms. Bejo was ill and could not make it that evening but I was able to meet her later at SBIFF. All I can say about her is "Wow!").

As I walked him down the outer corridor of the Riviera as the credits of his film rolled, I didn't say anything to him other than give him some brief stage instructions on what to do. He peeked inside the still packed theatre and looked back at me.

“Wow, this is incredible!” he said.

In hindsight, I wish I said something incredibly wise and prescient like “Your life will never be the same again.” But instead I told him to enjoy himself, because the people he would be joining loved the film.

“Thank you very much,” he said.

When he went out to sit in his director’s chair, I was thinking who would have thought that it would be this successful?

Two months later, when he, Berenice, and Oscar Best Actor winner Jean Dujardin came for the Festival, they were nothing but gracious and full of class. While the highlight for me was getting a wink and a nod from Berenice, I will always remember the constant display of gratitude from Michel as he expressed his thanks several times during his stay with us. The more time spent together, the more I couldn’t help but root for them come Oscar Night not just for their niceness, but for the way they genuinely seemed to enjoy being around each other and just the joy each individual from the film possessed.

To a lot of people, I likened their run a lot to the people from my other recent favorite, SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE. While I mentioned in my previous post that there were parallels between the two, the most telling was that like THE ARTIST group, the trio of director Danny Boyle, writer Simon Beaufoy, and producer Christian Colson seemed to have such good karma going for them, one couldn’t but help get swept up in or at least very interested with this group.

And here it was happening, or did happen with a sense of deja’ vu all over again.

Why THE ARTIST Will (probably) Win Best Picture

Okay, here's who I think is going to win Best Picture at the Academy Awards tonight...wait, I don't know. But I do have a general idea, that when they open the envelope to reveal the Academy Award winner for Best Picture at the Kodak, ahem Hollywood and Highland Bankrupt Center Theatre tonight, I will be surprised if I'm surprised.

By the end of the broadcast, people will say that Billy Crystal was a nice replacement choice (While I and many others will have wished for Jon Stewart, Ellen, Chris Rock, or even Hugh Jackman to have been up there.) as host. No surprises, no Brent Ratner bombs of intolerance…

The other most likely occurrence is that, THE ARTIST will probably win Best Picture. I can't personally argue, because I loved the film enough to see it three, well two-and-a-half times because when the director Michel Hazanavicius came up to do a Q & A, I had to leave halfway through. When working with him, Michel and lead actor Jean Dujardin were gracious and actress Berenice Bejo took my breath away.

But no matter how much I enjoyed the film, I can't honestly say if it was the best of 2012 or not. Everyone surely has their own opinions much like they did when talking about 2009's SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE-it was good, but definitely not the best of the year was a familiar refrain.

While it remains one of my favorite films of recent years, in SLUMDOG's defense, the film won eight of the 10 Oscars it was nominated in including Best Picture, without having the benefit of one performer even being nominated in any of the four acting categories. Among Oscar receivers were director Danny Boyle, adapted screenplay (who my boy Simon Beaufoy beautifully adapted from Vikas Swarup’s wonderful novel "Q AND A'), cinematography, sound, music and direction. All for a film that a producers group that included Christian Colson, were worried about not getting any funding (after Warner Independent went under, it was bought by Fox Searchlight around the time of its world premiere at Telluride in 2008) and fearing it having to go direct to video. Soon enough, it gained critical acclaim and awards and where everyone was singing JAI HO! As SLUMDOG eventually grossed $377 million worldwide.

But I digress.

The journey of THE ARTIST shares some parallels, but it also has its differences. Unlike SLUMDOG, it is still relatively slow at box office ($76.5 million so far) and Dujardin (Best Actor) and the lovely Bejo (Best Supporting Actress) garnered performance Oscar nominations. But THE ARTIST is similar to Boyle's film in a few aspects, including noms in several different categories. It also has momentum amongst critics and more importantly, voting Academy members.

But even with a dearth of strong candidates, it could be an upset victim to THE DESCENDENTS or even HUGO when the last award is announced.

But it is in my opinion that it won't fall victim to the major upset due to the Weinstein Effect, aka Harvey and Bob. This one wildcard THE ARTIST holds up its sleeve will probably be the difference maker when the envelope is opened. Normally studios don't make that much of a difference, or at least as much as they would like people to believe, but because of the influence of the Weinstein brothers - any film that they were involved in has a shot at the brass ring...errr, golden statue. Take for instance one of the biggest upsets in Oscar history when SHAKESPEARE IN LOVE defeated SAVING PRIVATE RYAN and three others to win Best Picture in 1998.

Anyone who is familiar with film at the time can attest that this was nothing short of monumental, especially after PRIVATE RYAN's director Steven Spielberg had just taken the Best Director win a few minutes early. The odds of this occurring are not impossible, but difficult as films that have won a Best Director prize have gone onto win Best Picture 62 out of 85 times in Academy history.

When Harrison Ford (aka Grumpy Old Man With an Earring which is another story entirely) opened the envelope on national television, I recall a brief flash of shock over his face before announcing it. But was it really? This writer thinks that the brothers and their minions who were part of then Miramax Studios (which was named after the brothers' parents) understood the workings of a once mysterious group of Academy voters. Since then, their demographic cover has been blown thanks to a recent comprehensive article by the Lost Angeles Times that details the makeup of the 5,765 voting members. The story points out that the Academy Members are predominantly white males (no surprise there) that average 62-years of age.

With the utmost of respect and admiration, I think they knew how to work the system in their favor via publicity, shrewd marketing and knowing and being ahead of the curve in the ever-changing business. For the lack of a better term, they were the MONEYBALL (one of film's competition in the category) of their day with the difference being that they actually won the championship a few times.

I suspect a lot of this has to do with the T-Factor. No, the T-Factor is not some kind of foolproof saber metric formula, but it might as well be. The T-Factor is Lisa Taback, a publicist that works on Oscar campaigns. She was a big part of the publicity of SHAKESPEARE and since, then dozens of nominated and winning films, including last year's winner THE KING'S SPEECH-which leapfrogged frontrunners THE SOCIAL NETWORK and THE BLACK SWAN for the top prize.

Having known her these last few years, I have come to know Lisa as one tough broad who one doesn't want to cross. But to me she is always cordial and has shone compassion and reached out after losing a friend. I have come to admire her because of my interactions with observations of to see that she knows exactly what is needed to be a contender and will go to the wall to ensure that it happens.

It truly is a sight to watch her, her staff as well as the Weinstein group tirelessly work the room/red carpet in terms of getting media exposure for their film and possibly swaying voters much like a presidential candidate's staff trying to do the same thing. I again saw this firsthand at the Independent Spirit Awards on Saturday. While I don't have any insider information (if I did, I would be Vegas bound), but based on this as well as the habits of the Academy voters, it would be hard to bet against THE ARTIST as well as the Weinstein Effect and the T-Factor tonight.

Unforgettable Mike deGruy

By Mike Takeuchi for the Santa Barbara News-Press

I can't believe he's gone. Not yet a month ago, Mike deGruy and I were sharing an enlightening conversation on our passions when it was interrupted by a phone call. The Santa Barbaran, a multiple Emmy and BAFTA award-winning underwater cinematographer apologized because he had to take the call. After all, who rejects a call from Oscar-winning director James Cameron, especially if it concerns a collaboration they were going to be working on?

Other than a too-brief interlude at a press conference, that was the last time we spoke.

The ringing phone of the early morning call jarred me from a deep sleep last Saturday morning when the Executive Director and my boss at the Santa Barbara International Film Festival Roger Durling personally delivered the terribly bad news that our good friend deGruy died along with fellow filmmaker Andrew Wight in a helicopter crash in eastern Australia while scouting locations for a film that they were working on for Cameron and National Geographic.

I knelt down, unable to breathe, like I was punched in the gut.

My first reaction was that this couldn't be, I was just talking to him a few weeks ago. But a quick glance at the internet confirmed it was true. For the surreal rest-of-the day and throughout the weekend, hugs and tears were shared by all those who knew him. Even the Hollywood types who didn't know him and often seemed devoid of any sympathy, expressed their condolences to those of us who were reeling.

What followed over the next 24 hours on the internet were several stories, including pieces from the New York Times, the Guardian and dozens of others from around the world. Of course, all of the articles extolled his work in Cameron's "Last Mysteries of the Titanic" and the award-winning series from David Attenborough and Discovery's "Blue Planet: Seas of Life" (in which many could be seen on his website mikedegruy.com) which were nice, but understandably couldn't touch upon Mike as a man and a friend.

I knew him as an effervescent guy regularly clad in a fleece top, blue jeans and with a perpetual smile on his face that always left me feeling considerably much better after parting. When we worked together on the Film Festival's Field Trip to the Movies project for the last few years, he was constantly willing to take suggestions while offering his own wisdom on making the free program for Santa Barbara County fifth- and sixth-grade students better.

"Why don't we try this?" "What do you think if we ..." were the constant refrains of someone who never lost his wonder for life. And when he hit the stage to deliver the lesson along with the likes of Cameron two years ago and Oscar-winner Lee Unkrich ("Toy Story 3" ) last year, it was like 2,000 kids were attracted to his enthusiasm like a magnet and then reciprocated.

While he was great with the studio films, Mike was especially in his element with nature projects, like Cameron's "Aliens of the Deep," an incredible underwater piece that elicits as much pride from the vaunted filmmaker as the work he did with the Academy Award-winning "Titanic."

Mike and I often spoke of our mutual love for the outdoors. One memorable night we were joined by my wife Munch and his wife Mimi on discussing travel and the outdoors amidst the shallow cocktail party conversations where people started sidling up and eavesdropping as he spoke.

In our last extended conversation early in January, along with sharing some personal thoughts, my late friend continued to inspire me. Ever the teacher and caretaker of the Field Trip program, Mike offered some last-minute instructions to ensure that the kids remained engaged and involved. They were words that I will forever take to heart, not so much for their content, but for the passion behind it.

My deepest sympathies go out to Mimi, his children Max and Frances, and anyone who has ever been touched by this truly great individual.

For a more detailed and extremely moving tribute to Mike, click here: http://newswatch.nationalgeographic.com/2012/02/17/remembering-mike-degruy-and-andrew-wight-extraordinary-explorersfilmmakers/

The Scary Clown Finds a Home

By Mike Takeuchi

I always joke that clowns scare me. Maybe it comes from that old Seinfeld episode where Kramer reveals such, I don't know. But they really don't. In fact, for a long stretch of my younger childhood, I was happily a clown during Halloween. Complete with a homemade outfit stitched by my mom, I loved it...that is until a friend's older brother started calling my brother Darren "clown" and me "clown junior". After that, those costumes were soon retired perhaps out of an early fear of being type-casted.

Nevertheless, I managed to get out of my childhood unscathed-at least clownaphobia free so my therapist and I can spend more productive time going over whether my 12-years of attending Catholic school was permanently damaging or not. While the jury is still out on that, clowns or a clown came back to the forefront of my biggest fears.

This clown wasn't even a real human being and it wasn't very big, but it scared the crap out of me. It wasn't in the shape of some lamp or even a painting on the wall that had eyes that followed you wherever you went. It was a rather innocuous six-inch Christmas ornament that my wife Munch had for the last two decades.

With its cherubic smile painted on a white pasty face, jester hat, and dress that was straight out of the Renaissance, this Harlequin ornament was not a bad looking article in the artistic sense. But for whatever reason, each time I would see it I would feel this twinge like I was watching a creepy part of a horror film.

For our first few Christmases together, I would tolerate it by not saying anything to my wife when she put it on the Christmas tree. After a day or two, when she wasn't looking, I would move it to a part of the tree that was either facing the window or at least to a spot where I couldn't see it (something I confessed indirectly while she read this story).

But after a couple of years went by, I came clean and told my wife the truth.

"Sweetie, that clown really gives me the heebie jeebies," I said. ”Do you mind if we don't put it on the tree anymore?"

Despite looking at me strangely this year and ensuing Christmases, my wife good naturedly agreed to not put it on the tree. However, to amuse herself, once or twice, she did hide it in a spot like my sock drawer where I would inevitably find it and react with horror followed by a colorful comment.

After a while, it became a running joke.

"You better behave, or I'm going to bring the clown out," she would warn.

It probably worked because I never consciously crossed her again. In return, the clown would stay in its box on Christmas.

After years of this, Munch decided that we needed to do something about our friend that was akin to a proper burial. While I did threaten to bury the clown at sea, I could never follow through because I knew that she was semi-fond of it and besides, I believed that even creepy things that have been part of one’s life for two decades deserve some kind of proper sendoff.

So Munch came up with an idea. On Thanksgiving we would go up to our favorite city, San Francisco for the Thanksgiving weekend and stay at our usual "haunt" the Queen Anne Hotel. In regards to referring to it as a "haunt", there are two actual meanings. One is we love this hotel. Perfectly situated in Pacific Heights, near Japantown and close to many other things, it is a very comfortable, clean hotel that has the friendliest staff. Besides, in addition to a continental breakfast, cookies and sherry are served during Happy Hour. I mean, what could beat that?

The other reason for the term is that the Queen Anne Hotel is reportedly haunted by a woman named Mary Lake. Ms. Mary was apparently the founder of a girl's finishing school and died shortly after opening sometime in the late 1800's. It was later believed to be a gentlemen's club and even a few have said it carried some sort of astrological club. If the walls could talk though, it was probably in the voice of Ms. Mary-who has reportedly been seen there in full-fledged ghostness or in the shape of some bright orbs that appeared in some people's photos.

The decor has a Victorian style with red as the dominant color that doesn't dismiss the possibility of a resident spirit. The old elevator creeks and groans and often opens and closes seemingly of its own volition.

Even though we are often on the fourth floor, we opt to take the stairs. The fourth floor, which is the top, has an old church pulpit near the stairs along with a two and a half foot high Victorian style doll which looks very creepy. For the first few times we stayed there, I would point her/it to face the wall. After I grew more comfortable with her there, I just did it out of habit and to make my wife laugh. Apparently someone agrees with me as they wrote about it as well. Just Google “creepy doll Queen Anne Hotel San Francisco” and there it/she is on About.com

Of course, each morning the doll would be facing forward courtesy of either Mary Lake or the hotel staff.

Each time we have stayed there, we had hoped in vain that Mary Lake would make an appearance. The closest possible encounter occurred during one of our arrivals in our room on the fourth floor (the level where Ms. Mary reportedly frequents the most and where suite 410 is named after her) room, I jokingly said "Helloooooo!" in a hopeful voice, only to be responded to in a same way that was either a weird coincidence from someone down in the street, or it was actually the spirit of said ghost. While I have had only one semi-supernatural experience at the Sunnyvale Toys R' Us (which is another story altogether), I prefer to think of this as the latter, while my more grounded wife thinks it was probably the former. The only thing is when we looked down on the street a very short time later, there was nobody there.

Clown at the Mary Lake Suite.

Regardless, we agreed that it would be the perfect time and place to take our little friend as the hotel would be decorated up with Christmas ornaments. The plan would be to wait for a time when the main foyer, complete with not one, but two fireplaces would be unoccupied. We would then hang said clown on the giant Christmas tree in the center of the room.

The entire week before the trip, I kept reminding myself to not forget the clown. The night before we left for the Bay, I put the clown near the car keys to ensure that I wouldn't forget it. The next day, we loaded the car up and began our journey by going to the neighborhood 7-Eleven to get some provisions.

As we pulled out of the driveway, Munch grabbed me gently by the arm and looked at me.

"We forgot the clown."

"Shit."

So we drove back home and retrieved our precious cargo and put him/it into the car for transport to his "final destination." After a night in Santa Clara, and then a wonderful hike through Muir Woods in our own version of Black Friday, we arrived at the hotel to find the friendly manager Michael and Bonnie there to greet us at our favorite hotel on the planet.

The reason we started a tradition of staying at the Queen Anne around the holidays is that they really do it up right. The reception room has a complete diorama of a winter scene, with numerous stockings with each employee's name stitched on them hanging above. Inside the main room, the tree dominates the center. But there are also varying figures of Santa Claus and Father Christmas dotted around the room. In the far room which houses the second fireplace, a very scary two-foot high mechanical Santa holds sentry. Moving its arms and head while the motor groans, I imagine that old Karen Black TV movie from 1975, "The Trilogy of Terror" where a small voodoo statue comes alive to terrorize her.

Heading up to our room 403 (the Mary Lake Suite is 410 by the way), we settled in to rest and refresh. After a nice dinner at Suzu, we came back to an empty hotel lobby and sitting room. With Christmas music piped in and the sounds of the mechanical Santa Claus figures whirring throughout the room, the place had a very "Shining" type of feeling. A cold chill hit me that Munch didn't feel and I wondered aloud if it was Mary. After being assured that nobody else (human or otherwise) was in the room, we looked at the tree and then each other.

It was time to complete our mission and get rid of that effing clown.

We then climbed the four flights of stairs in the main hallway to our room, located and grabbed our clown and headed back down. After a brief tour around the room to ensure that nobody else was indeed in the room much like Red did when looking for the box Andy left him along that rock wall in "The Shawshank Redemption", Munch walked up and put the clown on the tree. Facing the back room to avoid attracting any unwanted staff attention for the hotel's newest and inadvertent ornament, it seemed right at home amongst the other decorations of similar style.

For some reason, as I looked at it on the tree, the expression on the clown seemed to have changed because it didn't look as scary as I thought it did before. In fact, it took on a warm quality that seemed to say that it was really happy to be there.

"I think it feels like it belongs here," I said to my rolling-eyed wife as I took a few photos for posterity. "And I don't get the same feeling I did when it was in our house."

"You know, we could always take it back home with us if you think you'll miss it," she said smirking.

I declined. After all, that no-longer-creepy harlequin clown had found its proper home.

And who am I to take someone or something out of the environment it belongs in?

Besides, I told her, we could always visit it.

Life on the Road with Yankees Coach Mick Kelleher

By Mike Takeuchi
From the Santa Barbara News-Press

The dog days of summer may be a ways off for most, but in the life of a Major League baseball player or coach, they are never too far away. To New York Yankees coach Mick Kelleher, when this happens, it's just another day at the office.

The longtime Santa Ynez resident, who spoke to the News-Press in Anaheim shortly after the Yankees beat the Angels 3-2 on Saturday evening, said that in a life filled with a 162- game (plus playoffs) routine of airplane, bus, game, hotel and repeat, the highs can't be too high, and the lows can't be too low. Those kinds of pearls of wisdom are what a professional baseball lifer can impart on a team full of future Hall of Famer players and all-stars.

Since being drafted in 1969 by the St. Louis Cardinals, Kelleher played in the Major Leagues from 1972 to '82 for five teams, most notably the Chicago Cubs. A steady fielder with a light bat (career average .213, no home runs), he is perhaps best known for his 1977 brawl with the San Diego Padres cantankerous slugger Dave Kingman. Since then, he has worked as an instructor with the Yankees, coached first base with the Pittsburgh Pirates (1986) and the Detroit Tigers (2003-05), and has been with New York as first base coach and infield instructor since the start of the 2009 World Championship season.

"I don't know of any other life, and I don't think I would want to," the graduate of the University of Puget Sound said. "But it's not for everyone. I didn't get home from last season until early November, and then Thanksgiving and Christmas with my wife (Renee) and family came and went, then I was doing some things on the ranch and then bam, it's time to go off to spring training in February. But, I have no complaints whatsoever."

Since the regular season began, life has been on fast forward where the Yankees are 33-26 and a game behind division rival Boston Red Sox. It has been an odd year in the American League East, every team is within sniffing distance of the lead. And according to Kelleher, it won't get any easier for his team.

After playing 25 games in 28 days, the Yankees are two games into a 16-in-a-row span that began on Tuesday with two losses to the Red Sox. After that, a mere three days off in July are followed by only two in August Add a doubleheader in each month and one understands why Kelleher, who also coached the Pirates in 1986 and the Tigers (2003-'05), wondered if the ancient Romans had baseball in mind when they coined the term "dog days of summer".

"We sometimes joke about when the dog days of summer are," Kelleher chuckled. "Does it start June, July, or August 15? Then we just laugh and give up trying to figure it out because there is no date for us. When you get later in the season, you just find yourself playing 20 straight in the grind to stay in pennant contention. Those are the dog days. And they come before you know it."

"Our schedule in particular is tough because there are so many TV and late night games and travel. But, it just goes with the territory. We are in the business that we are in, so you go out and you suck it up. "

The youthful looking 63-year-old does more than that. Watching Kelleher coach during pre-game warm-ups and then man the first base box is seeing someone who is wearing a uniform for the first and last time. Whether pouncing on foul balls like a ring-tailed lemur or acting like a one-man welcoming company to batters who reach first base, the passion and love for a game is outwardly apparent.

Credited for helping Derek Jeter during the future Hall of Famer shortstop's younger days, and more recently, working with second baseman Robinson Cano, the coach enjoyed a reward of sorts after the 2010 season when Jeter, Cano, and first baseman Mark Teixeira all won Gold Glove awards — the first time in the teams' storied tradition three players from the same infield garnished that honor.

"We have a composition of players here that are professional and play the game the right way," Kelleher said. "There's a little arrogance, but the egos are checked at the door. To me that's huge because they can get wrapped up with all the stuff with the media, but don't. They can come into the clubhouse as gentlemen and then go put on the uniform and go out to the field and play hard between the lines every day. They don't take the tradition of putting on this uniform and the Yankee mystique lightly."

But, he added, even the best suffer from time-to-time.

'All these players are the best in the world, but even for them, it is easy to lose that focus when you are mentally and physically tired," he said. "And when that happens, you go into a little bit of a daze and you go into a slump and then you make mistakes on defense because you are just tired."

" You talk to the players to let them know if they are working too hard and to back off their early ground balls or pregame work in the cage on the field and just concentrate on playing the game. They don't need motivation to push themselves, but we're here to coach, teach, talk to, and watch over them to make sure they keep that balance."

That means keeping up with players 30 to 40 years younger than him.

"Things are different now," Kelleher said before the game. "You have to be in better shape to help the players. Not (local attorney and Ironman triathlete) Joe Howell shape, but fit. "

When will he stop putting on the uniform and taking the glove to work?

"When I'm 75," Kelleher said with a straight face. "I think I can keep doing the drills (until then)."

Three seconds later, he couldn't hold back and broke out laughing.

"I don't know, I'm still enjoying it and living the life," he said. "Actually I'll retire when Joe Howell quits doing triathlons."

When told this, his friend chuckled.

"Any physical contest with Kelby on the other side, and my money would be on him," Howell said. "In terms of conditioning, coaching, or whatever he decides Kelby can go as long as he wants to go."

Which proves he's more than willing to grind it out.

email: sports@newspress.com

Amgen Tour of California Preview

By Mike Takeuchi

*Reprinted article.

As I expected, the first stage of the Amgen Tour of California was cancelled due to snow and ice on the roads. They will try again tomorrow.

With the Tour of California starting today in Lake Tahoe, a predicted snow forecast and the death of a rider in the Giro d'Italia are on the minds of many of the riders. But for three-time defending champion Levi Leipheimer, the concerns are understood.

"I think we as riders have a unique perspective, because we can do it (race) and then watch it on television," Leipheimer said. "On television it looks fairly docile and at times boring — we want riders to attack. But then, when we race, it's nerve-wracking and stressful, and sometimes, a moment of relapse or loss of concentration can be serious. When riders talk about safety or danger, we're not doing that to gain sympathy or dramatize our sport. I've been scared on downhills — in the Giro d'Italia the roads are small and steep and the riders have a lot of skill, but there is not a lot of room for error. Safety is a big issue for us. It's not so much about complaining — safety is a real issue."

That said, Leipheimer also added in a press conference that the race organizers "had their backs." Race director Jim Birrell said that they are monitoring the situation on a minute by minute basis.

"We've been watching the forecast and will continue to monitor the situation," Birrell said. Our team will come together (Saturday night) and will determine our action plan. Our concern is going to be what's on the road. If it's just wet, it will be all systems go. We'll look at all the variables we can to make the decision that's safest for these riders."

Race organizers will make a decision at 9 a.m. today on whether to conditions will be condusive to racing.

Rider safety is of paramount concern because the death of Leopard Trek rider Wouter Welandt in the third stage of the Giro has hit very close to home to some members of the peleton, including his teammate and current Tour co-favorite Andy Schleck.

"The loss of Wouter last week was personally a big shock for me," Schleck said. "He was a good friend of mine. There are no words to describe the feelings that were going through me, my brother and the team. The day after the crash, everyone at the Giro (d'Italia) showed respect and it was really nice to see."

"It has been hard for me to stay focused on training, but I'm sure he would have wanted me to stay in the race and do my best. The team is here and we ride for Wouter."

Schleck and Leipheimer are expected to take over the reins of the race after defending champion, Australian rider Michael Rogers pulled out of the race due to a stomach virus.

Weather permitting on Sunday, the biggest challenges of the initial stage will begin halfway through the first day at Spooner Pass (elevation 7,000 feet), and then culminate with a 1,000-foot climb at Brockway Summit toward the end. But just when the riders think they were done climbing, a short, steep 300 foot climb awaits them.

In stage two from Squaw Valley to Sacramento, what goes up, must come down. Going from the famed ski village and 1960 Winter Olympics Venue to the state's capital, this is a sprinter's delight, with the major concern being what a cyclist eats as they fly through the infamous Donner Pass. With HTC High Road's sprinting god Mark Cavendish and his gang of leadout riders racing in the Giro d'Italia look for Garmin-Cervelo's Thor Hushovd, U.S. national road champion Ben King (BMC Racing Team) or perhaps King's wily veteran teammate George Hincapie) to look for a stage win. Remember, it was Hincapie who took the sprint finish on Cabrillo Boulevard in the inaugural race.

After a relatively flat stage from Auburn to Modesto with sprinters again vying for a win in stage three, the next stage heads to the Mt. Hamilton Observatory in a steep climb to 4,130, but could be the ideal place for a young rider such as American rider Tejay Van Garderen, who supported 2010 champion Rogers in his win, to possibly try and steal the stage and take command of the race.

"Winning this year's Amgen Tour of California is definitely a goal for me," Van Garderen said. "The goal would be to do well or win, so I'm going to try to win. If I fail, I fail. I know it's going to be hard, but it's what I'm going to try to do."

After a relatively flat, yet long (at nearly 140 miles the lengthiest of the race) stage from Seaside to Paso Robles on Thursday, the long awaited stage for the local community arrives with the Solvang time trial. Despite its relatively short distance, this could be where the race is won...or lost. While sprinters are not enamored with the stage, time trialists like U.S. champion Taylor Phinney (the son of Davis Phinney) are practically chomping at the bit for this stage.

"I haven't really had a good test in the time trial yet, so Solvang will be my first big test before Nationals," Phinney said. "As a course, it kind of suits me. The time trial is my biggest goal here. I will be giving it my all for sure."

Despite not having Rogers, who is also one of the best time trial riders in the world, the all-around contenders like Schleck, who is Luxemburg's time trial champ, and Leipheimer, will pose stiff challenges for Phinney in the stage.

Following Friday's stage, despite being a relatively short 75.8-miles, what is considered the most difficult stage in the history of the Tour awaits. After a rolling first tough climb in the early part of the stage, the race ends with a brutal climb starting at the 50-mile mark and then proceeds to go nowhere but up, finally reaching the summit with 1,000 feet of climbing in less than three miles.

"This is by far the hardest edition of the Amgen Tour of California in six years," Leipheimer said. "I rode Mt. Baldy last April before last year's Tour because I had gotten word that it might be added to the route. That is a real climb — worthy of the Tour de France. Now, all of a sudden we have two mountain-top finishes with Mt. Baldy and Sierra Road."

The Hollywood Ranters

By Mike Takeuchi

VROMANS BOOKSTORE CAFÉ- I haven’t seen too many “grown-ups” throw temper tantrums throughout my life. In fact, I have only seen two in the last ten years and both of them involved people in “the business” or Hollywood. As a sportswriter/production supervisor aka glorified celebrity hand holder, I have had the privilege to be near some interesting people.

On the same token, the closer look revealed the warts. Of the people with the most distinctive blemishes, I would put Kobe Bryant at the top of the list of jerks that I have come across. Surprisingly, Barry Bonds wouldn’t even make my top (or bottom) ten list. Perhaps the few interactions I had with the recently convicted (of only obstruction of justice) ex-ballplayer, he seemed to be in a talkative mood.

But the one thing I have never encountered in a locker room or on the field was someone resembling Baby Huey when things didn’t go the large cartoon fowl’s way. I can’t say the same for my other job. Perhaps the machismo factor is involved when dealing with athletes. Showing anything other than anger followed by grim determination often gets one labeled a…well, a bitch. Internalize until you succeed and then say something like “I was disrespected” and sportswriters and fans will nod their heads knowingly.

It is the complete opposite in my other field of work Even those who do not get behind the camera, are often emotive to the point that they should honestly try out for a soap opera-if any of them are left.

The first occurrence happened during an awards tribute given to the great actor Geoffrey Rush. Oh, it wasn’t the gracious Australian who committed the faux pas’. To the contrary, he was a friendly gentleman who even took the time to thank this writer for “taking care” of him as he was being whisked away back to the airport. The night, which also included Academy Award winning best actor Colin Firth and the wonderfully wacky Helena Bonham Carter was a night for future Best Picture winner “The King’s Speech” and despite having to change some things, worked out pretty well.

However, the publicist for the actors didn’t think so. (Okay, I’m going to digress because I know now that although I have no desire to work in Hollywood, I don’t want to be sued for my debt and six-year-old 150 thousand mile Subaru. Therefore, I won’t reveal the culprit’s name-but I am sure if he read this, he knew it was him). In fact in his mind, he thought it was clear that the show had to end at a certain time. However, in everyone else’s world, aka reality, the actual stop time was to be later.

No matter.

The curmudgeonly clean pated publicist (who resembled a desert tortoise) voiced his displeasure to a co-worker of mine, bringing them to tears. While swearing, waving his arms, he stomped his feet like a little petulant child. My first instinct was because I liked this person I worked with was to slap him on the forehead with a “bitch slap”. My second instinct was to kick him in the d&^k as hard as I could to give him a real reason to throw a temper tantrum.

But my days when I was known as “Mad Mike” have been over for two decades. And although they threaten to come out from time-to-time, mellow Mike always helps his alter ego to come to his senses. Yet I was still in a rage after, I mean how a grown person can treat others this way. Yeah, he’s got a good job, and I’m sure he is competent at what he did. But it’s not as if a surgical resident dropped the one-sized scalpel that could remove the cancer from someone’s body or anything. This was the movies for Christ sake, just effing chill. Yet, regrettably I held my tongue and just kind of laughed at him from afar. Some of his peeps looked at me funny, but I didn’t give a crap.

And now three months later, I saw the scene again on an L.A. street. Going to some unknown film I was invited to and finding out that it was moved to yesterday. Sure I was pissed, because I had just met some friends at the Dodgers game (they’re terrible by the way), when I could have rode down with them and saved $35 in gas. Yet I drove separately to see this mystery film.

I had waited with another ear ringed guy who didn’t seem to want to receive a friendly greeting from me for about 30 minutes. When it became apparent nobody else was coming, he called the person that was both of our contacts. Yet because this middle-aged man was probably more important in the “business” than a seasonal worker at a film festival, the contact, who avoided my calls, immediately picked up.

As ear ringed middle aged guy listened to the contact from his IPhone 4 or whatever the hell version it was, I could see the hairs beginning to stand on the back of his neck as his skin started turning a crimson shade. I swear to Christ, I could see smoke, but it probably wasn’t true. After contact-on-the-other-end guy finished backpedaling, there was this long tense pause just like the final moments before Old Faithful blew at its regular interlude, or perhaps it even resembled Vesuvius before it wreaked havoc unexpectedly upon the resident s of Pompeii in 79 AD.

The release seemed almost as intense.

What followed was a torrent of expletives of epic proportions. The middle-aged earring guy blew his top that made the curmudgeonly tortoise look like Roger Williams addressing the Puritans. I hadn’t heard that many swear words in such a small amount of words since I watched the late George Carlin in his concert movie when he said “the seven words you can’t say on television”. It was perhaps even more expletive-filled than Tommy Lasorda’s rant to pitcher Doug Rau on the mound during the 1977 World Series that television microphones picked up. This is must-listening by the way, (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9-mqXodn5mQ).

He jumped up and down higher than the tortoise wished he could and gesture wildly with his one free arm saying to the effect that contact guy ruined his day and that his boss was going to hear about it. As for me, sure I was kind of annoyed, but that emotion quickly went by the wayside as I watched this impromptu performance on a Los Angeles street. My emotions went from irked, amused, to nearly rolling on the ground in hysterics or LMFAO to ROFLMAOIT in a span of about five seconds.

. I don’t know why, maybe I was thinking of the tortoise, but this guy looked so ridiculous that my reaction made me realize that I had better go around the corner. Once there, I immediately went into convulsions as tears squirted out of my ducts. I was so tempted to take a photo of the ranter, but I was afraid that even though his relatively small stature, rage would overcome my hysterics and then people would be watching a murder scene on KCAL 9. Besides, I doubted I could hold a camera straight because I was shaking so much.

Just when I started calming down, Mr. TT turned the corner and saw me. I was immediately embarrassed, but he just glanced at me and kept walking without a word. Perhaps he realized what an ass he made himself out to be. But probably not.