Fruitcake Weather

Sometimes in life there are unexpected consequences, or in this particular case, unexpected benefits. I haven't had tv since last February - a little matter of the cable bill. Where I live, there is no tv without cable. And even though there is a wealth of it on the internet and dvd, it somehow isn't the same when one is not partaking of the communion simultaneously with millions of our mass media brothers and sisters. The benefits include missing out on the incessant frenzied hyperbolic chatter when there is nothing new to report on an inane topic of intense focus, as well as missing out on the barrage of post Labor Day vulgar corporate Chri$tma$ hucksterism.


There is far less tension and anxiety in my world as a result. And now that I am retired, I will not have to spend the next 30 some days in a constant state of aural fear as the overproduced humbug of alleged holiday music is blared at one and all to further engender that holiday shopping urge - in a food store. It makes me wonder if we are being prepared for the day when an appropriate gift will be a can of genetically modified vegetables in a sauce of  tasty chemical additives. Oh, wait...

It was all so much simpler when I was young.

Every generation gets to say that, and for just about every generation, there is much truth in the statement. When I was young, it was considered unseemly to use advertising to implant Christmas desires before Thanksgiving. Holiday music was written by people who knew how to write real songs, and performed by people who could actually sing - and wasn't played until about two weeks before The Day. Christmas Holiday cheer was saved until Christmas was nigh. 

Last year, I discovered that most of the old Christmas specials and tv show episodes - the ones that could actually bring a bit of the spirit of joy and sharing into our lives, were either played continually on cable channels, or (for the better shows) available only on pay per view. The programs on pay per view were originally broadcast for free - or the price of watching a commercial. It tells you something about our modern world that the current corporate owners of those programs keep them unavailable until they are paid by each viewer for each viewing over a closed wire system which must also be paid for. 

And, sadly, some of the best programs have gone missing for one reason or another. I still have fond memories of a muppet Christmas special which had only one human character - Santa Claus, as played by Art Carney. I seem to recall it was rather sad, and I've never heard of it again. I thought I was imagining it until Laura over at Austanspace told me she remembered it too. Carney, by the way, was absolutely great as the Santa in the Twilight Zone episode, "Night of the Meek".

But the special I want most to see again was an ABC Stage 67 program, "A Christmas Memory". It was adapted from a Truman Capote short story by Eleanor Perry and Capote, who narrated it. It won Emmys for Geraldine Page and for the script. It also won a Peabody award. There is a multi-part post of it on You Tube, but it is in black and white. There is a good, clear print of it in color, but it is variously reported as missing, destroyed, or tied up in rights. It's complicated.

The story begins on a crisp cold morning in late November as... well, here, let Mr. Capote tell it:

" ...she is sixty-something, We are cousins, very distant ones, and we have lived together—well, as long as I can remember. Other people inhabit the house, relatives; and though they have power over us, and frequently make us cry, we are not, on the whole, too much aware of them. We are each other's best friend. She calls me Buddy, in memory of a boy who was formerly her best friend. The other Buddy died in the 1880's, when she was still a child. She is still a child.... It's always the same: a morning arrives in November, and my friend, as though officially inaugurating the Christmas time of year that exhilarates her imagination and fuels the blaze of her heart, announces: "It's fruitcake weather!"

Thanksgiving is tomorrow. The current version of holiday madness is about to begin in earnest. I try to find joy in the sheer vulgarity of it all, the overwhelming garishness of the decorations, the frenzied mobs I try to avoid, the steep prices that will be reduced the day after The Day, but it gets harder every year.

But there is something about Thanksgiving that gets us.  Everyone seems to celebrate it, friends and families draw together, and every year it seems like we have to triumph over ever increasing odds just to do it. But we do it. Even though it is mostly ritual now, often devoid of meaning, we still do it. There is something in us that understands. It is more than just a day of thanks giving. It is the start of a time which exhilarates our imaginations, and fuels the blaze in our hearts. And it always starts the same, on a cold morning in November, when it's fruitcake weather...

When did even little things become so difficult?

Just when the *&#$  did everything become so *&#$@%! difficult? I'm thinking of both my life and the lives of my friends in general, as well as few specific things.

For instance, take something as simple as burning a CD. I'm not talking about copying a CD, I'm talking about making one from mp3 tracks I did not purchase, but which were created using 78rpm records and etc. Making a CD is easy. BUT don't try to print a CD cover or label for it. When I first started burning discs of music in 2001, one program - that came installed on the computer - handled burning the CD and imported all of the basic information (track name, artist, time) into the print program. And you could do all kinds of graphics work with the labels and CD case and inserts. Then one day I upgraded to Windows XP so I could use my "always on" high speed internet connection because the old operating system wouldn't load the software for the high speed modem. And the CD burning program? Oops. Old software wouldn't work with the new operating system, and one couldn't upgrade because the product line had been sold to a different company. The only option was to go out and buy the new version. Okay, grit one's teeth, pay the expense. Oops - new version won't open old version files. Sorry. At least the program worked. But after a year or two, changes in driver files rendered the printing portion of the program obsolete - it no longer worked. Desperate emails to support provided no answers or downloadable patches. The best advice? Purchase the new version! The nice little program had changed, however. Now it was a big bloated program that handled making DVDs as well. And did a ton of other stuff that served my purposes in no way whatsoever. And the price had gone way, way up. But there was thankfully a basic version available that did most everything one would want. Except run properly on an older computer system even though mine was well within the requirements listed on the software's packaging. There was only one way to print disc information, and that didn't include title, artist, time. Oh, you could get that - if you upgraded to the big full out program for another sizable fee. A bit over a year ago I finally afforded a new computer. It had mostly "basic" versions of software - i.e. want full features? Spend another $120+ please! Each. Now when I burn a disc - I still can't print a label. I can use a laser to etch the contents right onto the disc, though. As long as I only want the title. And as long as there are only about 6 songs. It won't handle more. If you try to pick any of the other options available (print CD case) all of the content information goes away. So, I then spend time reading about and downloading trial versions of software programs that will read the track information which gets burned into the CD along with the music, and print it. Except not the way I want it. ALL I *&#$@%! WANT IS TITLE, ARTIST, AND TIME, GODDAMMIT! I'm can't believe I actually consider spending $30.00 if a test program works just so I can do this easily, but nooooooooo can't do that, save the money. (And I tried several programs, none of which worked properly - they'll download all the info and graphics of  discs you illegally copy, though.) You can get swirls in color all around the text, and use all kinds of "templates" providing allegedly professional looking designs. But a simple list with title-artist-time? Forget that.

And speaking of templates... Used to be you wanted to, say, print note cards? Easy! (I used to use them to promote my radio show.)

Design your card using a program template that automatically set the area size you had to work with, put card stock in the printer, use your print program to select a form number printed on the card stock box and everything would line up and print at just the right size. Done in minutes. No more of that, though. You now have selections that look like they will work, but then don't print right (creating rejects whose sole function seems to be using up the horribly expensive ink). And there's no way to specify the design size anymore to manually set up what you need. That's probably another program upgrade costing another hundred plus dollars.

The first thought that comes to mind is to quote the Red Queen, "Off with their heads!"
Greedy bastids.

Oh, in case I don't get back here in time to post this for tomorrow:

 
 

Sic Transit Gloria Mundi.

Coffee - check. Nosh - check - cranberry English muffins, 6 pack averaging 50 cents each muffin, cost of butter additional. Muffins, like last year, start out large and full of cranberries but by Thanksgiving are small with one cranberry each - Thomas' should be ashamed of itself. Fond memories of visiting the family at Thanksgiving emerge, if only because my father and stepmother could afford bacon with breakfast. I give Thanks that I once had a job where I made enough to afford bacon and can remember how much I liked it. Naturally, I have my own happy Thanksgiving breakfast, which includes Irish steel cut oatmeal. I still have a can, a couple of years old now. I no longer make it, not because it takes about 45 minutes, but because I like it with maple syrup drizzled over it, and maple syrup has been too expensive for a few years now. Even grade B. The first boil of maple sap produces that clear light brown color. That's for tourists. Real folks know to go for Grade B, it has all the flavor.



I just spent a few minutes sipping coffee and re-reading last year's Thanksgiving posts. I'd forgotten all about having the collection of Victorian Thanksgiving cards. And the memories of the holiday season kickoff. And having a family that actually spoke to each other and spent time together. Even if Aunt Lorraine wanted me to call her "Mommy". What did I care? My own mother had left (or was thrown out) before I was even six months old. Even still, I just couldn't do it. So what if that meant another beating?

And then there was Thanksgiving dinner at my grandmother's. My grandfather had died of a massive heart attack two years before I was born. Almost to the day. I suppose that might have had something to do with my father's attitude about me. She had remarried and now lived in the next town down the road. Her second husband had a couple of grandkids, too. There would be a special table just for us kids. The special china and silverware would be brought out, the extra leaf would be put into the dining room table. The extra mat would be put in, the big good tablecloth would be spread over it, and enough food to feed all the starving children in Europe (and then some) would appear. Turkey. Stuffing. Gravy. Cranberry sauce (this was before people served chunky cranberry sauce - it just wasn't available). Mashed potatoes. Peas. Succotash. Candied yams. Green beans. Glasses of water (it was still drinkable then). Glasses of iced tea. Who found the wishbone???

Around that table you'd find my great grand parents Wilbur and Laura, my Grandmother Helen and her second husband Mahlon, her three children - all boys. Uncle Bob and Aunt Lorraine. Dad. Uncle Harold and his meet the family date who would become Aunt Mary. Mahlon's son Jan and his wife Sue. Around the kid's table my brother Lewis, Jan's kids Ricky and Bonnie and the youngest, still a baby, whose name escapes me at the moment. Sorry kid. My cousins, Uncle Harold's children Patricia and Harold Michael hadn't come along yet. I just tried to type "Uncle Harold's kids" but couldn't. Mary had raised holy hell because I once called them 'kids'. Her children were not goats, thank you. She told my father I sassed her, even though I hadn't. I got beat. Fond memories.

Macy's parade has started. Kickoff has a horrible attempt at a musical number. No one seems to be able to write special material anymore. "Time for celebratin', Santa Claus' is waitin'". (I shudder quite involuntarily.) Chorus kids dressed to look like little nerd boys and girls, as though they were popular and not outcasts. Something which passes for choreography that involves jumping up and down, arms akimbo. The first balloon goes by, but Al Roker is too busy talking to notice. It's low to the ground and it's Sonic the Hedgehog, who or what ever that is. Now we're getting a preview of a new Disney show based on their 20 year old movie "Newsies". Someone should tell the casting director and costume designer that what are supposed to be pre teen newsboys aren't supposed to be ripped with muscles rivaling weightlifter competitions.

Another musical number - the cast of "Sister Act", another show based on a movie. Wait, didn't it used to work the other way around? The woman in the Whoppi Goldberg part dances on in the most robotic performance I've seen since Hal refused to open the pod bay doors.

There's a big balloon they are saying is Mickey. As in Mouse, maybe? Al Roker runs (not something you want to see) to talk to one of the handlers. The cameraman forgets to pan up so we can see the balloon. We do see the bottom of it, all yellow. A color not used for Mickey Mouse.

Now there's a musical number from "How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying". Harry Potter, minus his glasses, seems to be growing into the role since the bit they showed last June on the Tony Awards show. Except he still looks terrified that he's going to forget the next step. It's the "Brotherhood of Man" number. The female solo has so much vibrato I can barely understand a word she sings.

Now it's a musical number from "Priscilla, Queen of the Desert", based on another movie. Using songs from the Disco era. They're singing "I will survive" while two of the drag queens show off while dressed as turkeys.

Al Roker (why is this guy popular?) is interviewing two tv show actors who just happen to be sitting together on a nearby bleacher. What are they doing for Thanksgiving? One is going to his wife's family out in Far Rockaway Queens. The other merely smiles and says "Lower East Side for me". After all these years he still isn't allowed to say "My boyfriend's place".

More Al Roker interviews. Two other people I've barely heard of have replaced the two actors on the bench full of people.

Now it's a musical number from Spiderman, Turn Off the Dark. Based on a comic book. And a movie. Wait, isn't the stunt dancer Spiderman supposed to be the same size as the guy who turns into Spidey? The Green Goblin sings, "I'm the new Coney Island and all the rides are free." Now there's eight spidermen, but their synchronized routine isn't. Don't they have a PSM calling this?

Now there's a commerical for an insurance company and it's using the "Everybody knows your name" song from Cheers.

I don't know if I can last long enough to see the parade. At least, I think there's a parade there.

Jeez. Even the Rockettes' visual lines are sloppy. And in closeup they look more like drag queens than the cast of Priscilla. 31 supposed genetic females in New York City. Two are black. One appears Hispanic.

The parade finally starts after an hour of other things. As Matt Lauer says "The first of our marchers arriving on 34th Street...." we see cops on motorcycles. There's a turkey float which stops to let Avril Levine (sp?) sing something that is supposed to be a song. Yah, yah, yah, wish I had you here, here, here, near, near, near.

Wow. There's a band marching/playing so fast they look like they're running bomb squad members. Maybe they have the right idea.

Now there an "Ocean Spray" float (which has nothing to do with their product) with some country singer I've never heard of "makes me want to take the back road, park the truck where it gets hot". Huh? The camera catches a young black woman on the float trying to figure out how to dance to this crap. She tries a chorus girl move from a 1930's movie. It is oddly enderaing.

There's a Sesame Street float with performance of a song so bad everyone on the float is having to jump up and down and clap their hands trying to sell it. There is only one Sesame Street character visible. I suddenly recognize one of the guys trying to pretend to be "up" and "happy", and he looks soooo old. He's also at least 20 years younger than I am. I sink far down into my chair, then shift my position so I can't see any reflective surfaces.

Now there is a float from Hamburger Helper. I'm not making this up.

I think I've had enough. I try to tear myself away, but it's like the proverbial train wreck. Which I think is the next float, right after the rapping AFLAC balloon.

But first, a "balloon-icle" pitcher of koolaid. It looks suspiciously like grape. I reach out my hand to pour some. Seems like a good idea.

 

Happy Thanksgiving Day, folks.

November 24 is the 328th day of the year in the Gregorian calendar.
There are 394 days remaining until the end of time.

Trick or Treat for UNICEF?

Back when I was about 4 and 5 years old, when we kids went out on Halloween, many of us also held up a donation box while asking, "Trick or treat for UNICEF"? The idea originated with the wife of a Presbyterian minister from nearby Philadelphia.  Mary Emma Allison had seen a UNICEF booth collecting funds to send powdered milk to children in need around the world. WWII had been over for 5 years when she started with her own children and little Presbyterian Sunday School kids from her hubby's congregation. At the time , children were starving in Europe. They remained so until I was at least 8 years old. But by that time, I'd long stopped raising coin for my fellow less fortunate children. After all, it turned out that UNICEF (the United Nations Children's Fund) was a Communist front. Oh, the shame of my earlier wicked ways.

It was a year or two after the UNICEF fiasco that I was warned by Aunt Lorraine to go through my trick or treat haul carefully. There had been a story on the news that someone had put razor blades into an apple. You just couldn't trust people anymore. What was this world coming to?

One year, after Dad had the house on Lakeview Drive built, it was my turn to host the Halloween Party. I have a little bit of it on 8mm film. I really must try to get that stuff digitized... In the home movie, you can see us marching around (musical chairs, maybe?), bobbing for apples, drinking cider,. Oh, my God, cider. I just loved apple cider. One of the villages north of Swedesboro (which was the "big" town where the farmers market - a commercial enterprise - was located). Swedesboro had had the post war population boom and finally made it to 2,000 people - which officially put us on the map as a 'town'. Anyway, just north of Swedesboro on Kings Highway (the King of Sweden actually had marched down Main Street - but that's another story) was Mickleton. In the center of the village was a blinking yellow light at the only intersection around. If you turned right and drove about 100 feet, you'd be right at Mrs. McCaffrey's cider mill. Attached to the main house was a side barn area. Inside was a giant round wooden cider press. You could smell fermenting apples as you marched up to a spigot, held your glass gallon bottle to the tap, and let it go. Ahhh, the pleasure of it all. By local standards of the time, it was practically a hedonistic experience. And this was real cider. Take it home, put in a cool place, and if you don't get to it within a couple of days, "mother" would start rising. It was becoming hard cider, on its way to vinegar. You don't see gallon glass jugs much anymore. But on the rare occasion I do, I'm right back at McCaffrey's usually on the days I got to see them turn the mill press, powered by a configuration of rope attached to a small horse, walking in circles around the vat.  It's all gone now. I think the apple orchard was plowed over for housing. I heard that the mill itself was sold and has been rebuilt elsewhere. Ah, well.

 
         

      

Almost here...

Yesterday it snowed, but it was the kind of snow that doesn't stick. This afternoon, it started snowing again. And it hasn't stopped yet. It's really piling up outside. And for the third night in a row, I have no heat. Arrggghhh. Needless to say, work has been one of the levels of hell for two days now. And I have to be there at 6:45am tomorrow (Sunday). It's going to be a long walk and a long day. Monday, on Halloween, I have to work until 9pm. Ggggrrrr. I'd been thinking of doing it up a bit. I was going to cover the two glass doors with garbage bags, with either eyes, or a pumpkin face, cut out. With the lights on, it would look great. I had even spent a little bit of money on treats, just in case anybody came up the stairs. Ah, well. So it goes.

   

Just sayin'

There was an interesting tidbit in the news yesterday. Here's the opening lines:

-------------------

WASHINGTON (Reuters) - The National Security Agency, a secretive arm of the U.S. military, has begun providing Wall Street banks with intelligence on foreign hackers, a sign of growing U.S. fears of financial sabotage.


The assistance from the agency that conducts electronic spying overseas is part of an effort by American banks and other financial firms to get help from the U.S. military and private defense contractors to fend off cyber attacks, according to interviews with U.S. officials, security experts and defense industry executives.

The Federal Bureau of Investigation has also warned banks of particular threats amid concerns that hackers could potentially exploit security vulnerabilities to wreak havoc across global markets and cause economic mayhem.
 
-------------------


So, basically, the military is working with the banks. Kind of makes one wonder what else they're up to. Or, what they're really afraid of. Or, what they are getting ready for...

Just more scary thoughts as Halloween approaches.



Betty Grable



Emily's Restaurant

So, we've made a left, run through the arcade, and then there comes - a blank, really blank,  just nothing at all like an edited memory about a horcrux kind of blank. Oh, wait - I'm beginning to see one of the empty spaces - it's set back from the boardwalk a bit. It's the Flanders Hotel. I can't believe I forgot that place. I even worked there for awhile.

Built in the 1920's in the "Spanish Mission Revival style", The Flanders had a private beach, and its swimming pools were filled with salt water. It was a pretty swank place. In my day there, it was getting a lovely genteel patina of shabbiness. Except in the workers housing whose patina was more Tobacco Road.

There was this one guy, a dishwasher there who had something like 7 or 9 degrees. He just preferred to be left alone, and I guess he made a mindless zen ritual of washing dishes (a  mostly automated procedure). As winter arrived, he'd go wash dishes at a swank hotel in Ft. Lauderdale.

I worked in the kitchen and did a little bit of everything from cooking to dish and/or pot washer. Then I moved to the other side of the door and became a waiter. I subbed for the maitre de. I even played the piano one night.

The whole place had an almost old world charm. It was even rumored that the old ballroom was haunted, as well as the cellar catacombs. When it was built, it was so modern it was "fireproof". Sadly, this turned out to be true in 1927.



The place changed hands in 1996, and was renovated with an eye towards luxury condominiums. It now has luxury suites for rent - a single with ocean view is only $400.00 per night in high season. One of the ocean view penthouses will run you $950.00 per night. From what I gather there are portions of the place which were sold off, money came in from a new partner? and who owns what sounds complicated. In 2009, the building was added to the National Register of Historic Places. I'm afraid though, that it's too late already. Modern photos of their high price digs don't quite look right. It's all phony now, like the faux nouveau glass paneled door to a section of the new dining facilities named Emily's, their name for one of the ghosts whose name is actually Marilyn or Maryanne. What can I say?

It was a summer friend who worked at the Flanders who turned me on to Lenny Bruce. Gosh, all those years ago. But I remember. And I remember the slum conditions of the rooms for the workers. A different world from the one inhabited by hotel guests. And I remember the sad elegance of a once grand hotel, catering to an aging clientele who were out of their time as the world passed them by.  I was lucky to see it.

The Last Two Weeks of August

It's getting cool at nights now. And today, as I write, it's rainy with a temperature in the mid 60s Fahrenheit. Summer is ending. In a week or so the kids here will be going back to school. They go back so early here.

When I was a kid, school always started the Wednesday after Labor Day. I noticed some years ago that summers end earlier in New England than where I grew up in New Jersey. Up in Maine, most people have cleared out by the week before Labor Day. In New Jersey, I can remember standing on Labor Day morning on a Boardwalk so busy that you couldn't walk more than a couple of feet without bumping into someone. By 1pm, most of those folks were gone. By 4pm you could throw stones with all your might and not hit anyone.

As a matter of fact, it would be right about this time of the month that we'd all head to Ocean City for the last two weeks of August. My grandmother's Uncle Harry had a house there. This was in the late 1950's. I can't find a picture of the place (except in 8mm), but this gives you a fairly good idea of the area.

 By the early 1960's he'd sold the house, starting us on a one week stay at various places like the Sindia Apartments. The Sindia was a famous wreck from the days of the China trade.

Good God, the size of that thing. The ruins below were gone by the time I came along.

But, the following was there as long as I can remember, including the years I lived there (I left in 1972). I've read that they are now underground - thanks to a beach replenishment project. Local lore had it that a solid gold statue of the Buddha was on board the ship and never recovered...

Ocean City has been in my mind for a few months now. It first started showing up in my dreams. I'd find myself in the "Gardens" (read: Italian ) section of town...   well, it got me to thinking about maybe going back. At least it's an upfront tourist town. It's built for people watching. I can see myself, happy, retired, very poor,  sitting on a bench and watching the passing parade. Many of the benches on the boardwalk have backs which swing so you can sit looking out to sea, or set it to watch the world go by you on the boardwalk.

I've no idea who this is, and I really don't care all that much. So feel free to go ahead and make up your own story about her. It's from 1937 and that lady is sitting on the kind of bench I mean.

Oh, before I forget: One year we rented rooms at the new Sting Ray Motel. It was very modern for Ocean City. And it certainly didn't fit in architecturally. But it was right by the Boardwalk. And it was a block long. And see that section on the left? It is directly across the street from Uncle Harry's.

Ocean City Memories will be continued...