I (heart symbol) DVR

If ever there was any doubt that sometimes progress, in the form of technological innovation, can be good, one should look no further than the annoying and overpriced cable box that most of us have these days.

'Rabbit ears' antenna for set top use.

Once upon a time, tv signals were acquired for free via over the air broadcast. Well, nothing is ever really free, I suppose. Except the squandering of my charms, and even that had a cost - but that story is not the subject of this post. If there was a cost beyond the purchase of a television, it was the purchase of some form of antenna. Many people, living near the point of broadcast origin, could make due with nothing, or with rabbit ears. If you lived a little bit away from the source of the broadcasts, there might be a further cost with the purchase of an outdoor antenna, and once the evening network schedules began converting to color the follow up purchase of an antenna rotator to get a clear ghost free image.

Outdoor antenna with motor.

When cable came along, it was cheap, needed no set top box decoder, and carried only broadcast tv - because that's all there was. Broadcast then included the recently arrived UHF channels, which showed old movies and old tv shows. I still treasure the year I lived in my first 'on my own' apartment in Ocean City, NJ, where the cable brought Star Trek (then newly syndicated for re-runs) from a Philadelphia station at 6pm and from a New York City station at 7pm (a bit preferable, as the series from New York was shown in original broadcast order).

The Rotator control, which usually
sat by the 'easy chair'.

Eventually, HBO started up as a pay channel devoted to recent movies, shown uncut. Set top cable box decoders entered the scene. Other 'cable only' channels joined the fray. I suppose this plethora of entertainment could not have happened if the remote control hadn't come along about the same time as the antenna rotator. I was quite impressed by the first remote control we had, which was acquired with my Dad's purchase of our first color tv. Before that, I was the remote control. I didn't mind being told to jump up and change the channel - we didn't know anything different. (And I didn't mind being the remote in visits to my Grandmother or my Uncles. I supposed it was part of the deal of getting fed and being the kid.) Plus there was an extra added benefit of a bit of exercise.

One of the great inventions of all time, the remote control.

When home video recording began, I dove in. I loved recording programs (mostly old movies) that I would otherwise miss, and watching them later. I loved being able to fast forward through the commercials. And I really liked the idea of archiving the movies and programs I liked - at the time the Betamax and VHS cassettes weren't all that expensive.



Yes, I had a Betamax. Just like this.
Later models had better quality and stereo sound.
I got one of those, too.
And I still have it - but it needs a minor repair.

Fast forward to today. Cable now brings ever changing numbers of hundreds of 'stations', can provide what some advertising executive must laughingly refer to as 'high speed internet', Wi-Fi broadcasting that can't be turned off (although a passcode would be require to use it), and a 'land line' telephone line for those of us who prefer to be somewhat old-fashioned with that form of communication. (Today's everything to everybody media device telephones, and their cost, is worth a post of its own.)  Add in high definition and Digital Video Recording, and one's monthly bill for cable can easily reach a level which could inspire expense guilt in rich people (if they were to ever think about it).

The cable companies have, for many years now, given new shades of meaning to the concept of perfidy. They have created a world in which the cost of service isn't the cost of service. There is a rental fee for the set top box, a fee for high definition channels, a fee for this, a fee for that, various taxes, and service levels that boggle the imagination. I was lucky to get the classic movie channel as part of a promotional package - normally, I'd have to get all of the available sports channels to get the one channel in said group that is different (i.e. the classic movie channel). Hmmm, I'd best stop before the subject of this missive changes completely.

After years of ignoring requests to have my bill delivered electronically,
(known as 'going paperless'), I finally gave in and signed up.
It was truly wonderful not to have to deal with all that paper,
make decisions about how long to keep the bill after it was paid, etc.
The only problem? It took the cable company 9 months to stop sending a paper bill.

I should also note that a couple of years ago when I made peace with Comcast and got their service back, I was given their brand new cable box dvr - one of the first of that model given out. Within a year there was a replacement available that would do more - a lot more. Record up to 6 programs at once, and store many, many, many, many more movies and programs - among other improvements. I have yet to get it - I have too many movies and programs stored on my cable box that I haven't had a chance to watch. Oh, the problems of the modern world, eh?

The thing I enjoy the most these days is the DVR. At first I used it just to record programs I wanted to see but which weren't on at my preferred viewing times. Then came the discovery that the rewind function works for 'real time' tv. Let's say that yet another director let yet another actor mumble important lines of speech so badly that they could not be heard. (This problem is sometimes exacerbated by digital sound recording which can't seem to reproduce music and dialogue without it being either too quiet or too loud. Goldilocks would have never found 'just right', if you get my drift.) With DVR, one can simply hit rewind, raise the volume, and watch that part again. With DVR I can start recording a program like the Grammy awards, start watching the recording an hour or so into the program, fast forward through parts I have no desire to see, commercials, and so on and so forth, eventually catching up with the program's actual live broadcast before it is over. With DVR, 'Dancing With the Stars' can be reduced to a half hour's running time. And should a call of nature intrude while watching a broadcast, with DVR one can press the pause button, go outside and take care of business, and return to pick up where the interruption occurred.

The DVR also records in high definition (when you pay extra for the high definition in the first place) which includes the tv version of wide screen. Now there's a topic - wide screen tv uses a picture ratio of height to width that is not used by any movie company anywhere, ever. But these days we do away with much of what is possible and exist in the land of someone's definition of "good enough".

Now, I've been enjoying the possibilities of DVR for awhile. But last Saturday, my use of it turned into a triumph. The 4,727th Republican Party's Presidential-Candidate Debate started at 8pm, just as my radio show ended. I used the DVR to record it - in widescreen, color, high def, stereophonic sound, and watched it later. If the candidates had worn different costumes, it might have been mistaken for a World Wresting Federation brawl. The trick when watching is to realize that it is entertainment. Taking any of it seriously would result in a trip to the passport office just in case.

Speaking of my radio show (you must have known I'd get around to it) the first half of last Saturday's show took note of several birthdays, including a few of my favorite performers, like Jimmy Durante. The second half celebrated one of the composers of the Great American Song Book, Harold Arlen.

A young Harold Arlen, about the time he was composing revues for the Cotton Club,
and songs like, 'Stormy Weather', 'Get Happy', and 'Let's Fall in Love".

Arlen never promoted himself the way most of his contemporaries did. As a result, his contributions have been somewhat overlooked. It's odd, really - he composed some of the best pieces in the American Songbook, yet he rarely used the standard song form. He's often thought of as a composer of show music 'blues', yet he only composed a couple of songs in that form. If I'm still doing the show this time next year, I'll have to devote the entire 2 hours to him - there just isn't enough time to play most of his songs that should be played in such a program. Hopefully, I won't have another of my 'senior moments' - this time around I gave the wrong lyricist credit on one of my favorite Arlen songs, "Last Night When We Were Young". The wordsmith was Yip Harburg. As always, I hope any listeners enjoy the show.

Turkey Trottin'

Lots of fresh snow, power back on, warm place to park my hat, parades to watch on the tv, vittels to make for dinner... it's time to, well... you know



Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

"I want my Maypo"

As it turned out, the CBS special celebrating the 50th anniversary of the Beatles first appearance on Ed Sullivan was very, very good. After it was over, I was slightly perturbed with myself for not setting a recording on the digital video recording cable box. As partly predicted, my Facebook "feed" was full of comments the next morning about the show and the performances - they were almost all positive. It was alleged News reporting which contained negative remarks and write-ups - the Twitter universe, they noted, was aghast (it usually is...) that Katy Perry had changed a word in her rendition of "Yesterday" so that she wouldn't sing "I'm not half the man I used to be". As far as I was concerned, her rendition gave me one more reason to like her. In fact, I was impressed with many of the currently 'hot' performers - most of them can actually sing and play the hell out of their instruments. I was left wishing they would do it more often. I must also note that I was overwhelmed when Anne Lennox and Dave Stewart reunited as the Eurythmics to perform "Fool on the Hill". I've long been a fan of Ms. Lennox, and her/their rendition was superb:



I loved that there were shots of McCartney and Ringo singing along with the performers. It's nice to know they're fans of the Beatles too. And I must admit that I flushed with pleasure as McCartney began to play "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band"; nostalgia flowed freely. As he ended the number, Ringo skidded up alongside him and began to sing, "What would you do if I sang out of tune...". Something wet made its way down my cheek, washing away my sins.

It has been called to my attention, quite delightedly so, that the program will be repeated starting at 8:30pm this evening (Wednesday 12 February 2014). I've already set the DVR, but I will have to clear space on it. That is a recurring problem - it is almost always full. I've some hard decisions to make as to what to delete. Will it be the 4 or so hours of 'Twilight Zone' episodes I've yet to see from that New Year's Day marathon? Maybe it's time to get rid of "Incubus", an odd little early 60s black and white horror cheapy in which an impossibly young William Shatner fights the forces of evil? I haven't quite finished watching it, and well, it -is- the only movie I know of whose dialogue is spoken entirely in Esperanto. I suppose I could sacrifice "Whatever Happened to Baby Jane"... What am I saying? I must have lost my mind.



Losing one's mind just now isn't too odd a circumstance. It's all the rage.  (Pun intended.) We are playing on a Mercury Retrograde game-board. And it's been cold, minus something or other (Fahrenheit) cold. Such weather used to be common around here, but these days the wailing and caterwauling when single digits appear is kind of unnerving. Wait till folks discover that we are supposed to, possibly, maybe, get a blizzard this evening. One of the delights of not having a car and relying on public transportation is that I now stock provisions for several days to a week at a time. It will be a pleasure to avoid the markets today. Except I just realized that I forgot to pick up breakfast supplies. I only started eating breakfast again recently, and I find that it suits me. I hadn't eaten it with any regularity since I was a teen. As I sit here typing, staring out the glass sliding doors to one of those clear blue skies, snow on the ground glowing with a decomposing nitrate film stock brightness, savaging a bowl of steel cut oatmeal (with maple sausage and maple syrup), I suddenly find myself in the house on Allen Street. It had been my grandfather's house, and at the time was owned by my Uncle Bob. He, Aunt Lorraine, my father, my brother, and I all lived there for most of the 1950's. I am in the dining room, sitting at table. This would be about 1956, so there would be "I Like Ike" buttons on the sideboard that sits in the bay window. I was about to push my spoon into a bowl of maple oatmeal, a new product called "Maypo". There had been ads on tv for it. I was entranced, snared by the wiles of Madison Avenue, and wanted to try it.



I asked many times if we could add it to our shopping list. Finally Aunt Lorraine relented, purchased a box, and prepared the heavenly sustenance. My hand trembling, I raised my spoon in anticipation of holy communion. And I hated it. I was forced to eat it, of course. Not just that bowl, the entire box. After all, children were starving in Europe. I didn't touch any form of oatmeal again for over forty years. Lesson learned. You can't, or shouldn't, always get what you want. Hmmm, that reminds me, the 50th anniversary of the Rolling Stones first appearance on Ed Sullivan will be this coming October. I'd better start clearing off the DVR...

Hyperbole

When exactly was it? How did it happen, I often wonder, that our language descended into such decadence that the only thing left for it is the phenomenon of 'semantic satiation'? Was it the advertising hucksters who threw adjectives against nouns with punny commercial abandon? Was it the politicians seeking to waltz already malleable truth? Understanding isn't really necessary, even when it is still possible. I suppose this rumination originated with posts on Facebook. Some people post wonderful, funny, fascinating things. Images, videos, articles, news stories, memes. There are many posting groups centered around themes, such as "classic movies", "cute cats and funny furry animals", "my sad tale of woe", "horrid Hollywood homicides", "liberal politics", "Obama is destroying our country", etc. Some of these groups make money for advertisers by delivering a targeted audience. Many times, links are posted to web pages which, of course, contain paid advertising. A 'linked' article may require one to page through, well, several "pages". Pages with advertising. And pop up windows with advertising, and buttons to "like  this" on Facebook, Twitter, or any of a half dozen or more other "social networks". "Liking" basically translates as, "this will cause your friends who use said service to see your name and picture recommending this post, and there is even room for you to make a comment! You will show everyone that you are just so cool and with it by sharing this interest. Or educate them in this topic. Our headline and a few sentences will stay. And, Oh!, we have ads for you, too!") Each page view is rewarded with some one thousandthmillionth something or other of a cent. Volume is money. Advertising brings volume. So, in Social Media Land one doesn't have a "cute cat pic", one has "The Funniest cat pic of all time! I laughed so hard I wet my pants!" A minor and slightly unfortunate happenstance is suddenly an "Utterly Huge Fail!!!". (The latter phrase always seems to be used by individuals who betray no irony in using that particular verb as a noun.) "The Most Incredible Thing Ever of All Time!" It's like an all news channel, constantly producing raised levels of stress.

 

 

I'm not an Obama fan, but these "memes" are visual hyperbole and very annoying.

This post was originally going to note that we are midway through the awards shows season, and compare those programs and their breathless reportage with the State of the Union address. Hyperbole being a seemingly necessary ingredient all around. At the moment, however, I've become overwhelmed by "the night that changed the world" and several variations of that phrase. The night referenced is this very evening (February 9th), exactly 50 years ago. In this case, there is no exaggeration.

At 8pm Eastern Standard Time that night, Marconi Mark IV television cameras began broadcasting from what was then known as the CBS 'Studio 50'. It had opened in 1927 as the 1,400 seat Hammerstein's Theater. At various times, it was known as the Manhattan Theater (twice!), Billy Rose's Music Hall, and served as a nightclub. In 1936 it became Radio Theater #3, and then the CBS Radio Playhouse. It was converted into a television studio in 1950. Shortly thereafter, it became the home of "Talk of the Town", which soon changed its name to what everyone was already calling it - the "Ed Sullivan Show". 

Studio 50, at 53rd and Broadway, was a busy place. The Honeymooners was broadcast from there for several years.
As were What's My Line, To Tell the Truth, Password, the Rogers and Hammerstein Cinderella, Kate and Allie, etc.

Sullivan had been a boxer who had segued into being a sports reporter for The New York Evening Graphic. When Walter Winchell left the paper for the Hearst syndicate, Sullivan took over as theatre critic and gossip columnist. He soon had the power to make and break careers using the El Morocco as his home base (Winchell used The Stork Club). As the era of café society began fading, CBS hired him to host a variety show. The show was a huge hit and quickly became required viewing in any home with a tv set. And then there was the night in 1956 when Elvis Presley was on. Close to 83 % of the US tv audience tuned in - over 60 million people. (If someone tells you that they saw that show, ask them about the look on Sullivan's face after seeing Elvis perform. If they describe it, they didn't see the show. Sullivan was sick that night and "Elvin Presley" was introduced by guest host Charles Laughton.) By the way, Elvis was not "cut off at the hips" on that broadcast. That didn't happen until his third appearance.

By 1960, the Sullivan show was so famous that it was used as a plot device in the Broadway musical "Bye Bye Birdie". There was even a song called, "Hymn for a Sunday Evening", which was in the sequence that aired on the Sullivan show (advance the video player to 6 minutes into this clip if you want to just see the number in question performed by Paul Lynde and the cast):



In 1963, Sullivan was traveling through Heathrow airport as the fans of a band returning from a tour went wild. He said it was 'like Elvis all over again'. He offered the band top dollar for a guest spot. The band's manager, Brian Epstein, said he would take far less money - as long as The Beatles got to appear on three consecutive shows, got top billing, and numbers at the beginning and end of each show. Their first appearance was 50 years ago this evening.

Sullivan wisely planned for the bedlam which would follow the Beatles opening segment, and had the second act, a card magician, prerecord his appearance. The third act was the cast of the London musical, "Oliver", which had just transferred to Broadway. While waiting to go on, they had cheered their countrymen from the wings. The teenager playing the Artful Dodger was so impressed by the Beatles' screaming fans that he decided that he would have to become a rock star. After his run in Oliver, he signed with Screen Gems, the tv arm of Columbia Pictures, appeared on a few tv shows, and recorded a record for their label.  He soon became famous as Davey Jones of the Monkees.

The Beatles' Sullivan shows were broadcast in black and white - the show didn't make the change to color until 1965. (1965 was the first year of widespread color broadcasts. In those days, CBS had its own color process, which was different from the other networks. NBC used the system and cameras developed by RCA, which happened to own NBC. ABC was still too poor to afford its own color cameras, so they leased from NBC. In one of those moments of true irony, when color recording was desired for use in the US space program, the RCA designed equipment ended up using the CBS system to accomplish that goal.)

There will be a big Grammy tie in celebration of the Beatles anniversary tonight at 8pm. It will take place in the Ed Sullivan Theater, formerly Studio 50. For the last may years it has been the home of the David Letterman show. I don't know if they will use the old black and white footage - if they do, you'll note that Paul and Ringo often look up - they were looking at the fans in the balcony, which has since been removed. It's a much smaller theater now - these days, they use less than 400 of the seats. When the theater was rehabbed to house hi-definition broadcasts a few years back, a little known passageway to CBS' Studio 52, around the corner on 54th street, was sealed up. That studio, by the by, became better known as the nightclub "Studio 54". The Sullivan show faded away in 1971, victim of an aging demographic and lack of interest in vaudeville style entertainments. And the Beatles? Well, if you don't know that part... just check Facebook tomorrow. There will be lots of posts about them and the show tonight, with headlines like "Greatest Night Ever!", "Colossal Grammy Fail - What Were They Thinking?" and etc.

An Armistice Day Meditation

Once again I've been away from the blog for far too long. I don't know how I stay so busy, but I do. Perhaps part of the problem is spending time on' Fakebook', which is graphically oriented. A bit of text overwhelms the senses and one moves on quickly. I am rather visually oriented and get a kick out of all the graphics there. At least most of the time. Which means that there is something going on that is bothering me.

Back during this past summer, I metaphorically unplugged for a couple of weeks. At the time, I was starting a new course of medication for my rather painful skin condition. A medication with which I've had a fair amount of experience was involved. It has side effects; I gain weight and I become short tempered and angry. I warned everyone that I was going into a two week hibernation and that it would be best not to poke the bear. Of course, a couple of days in someone did. A Board member of the radio station insisted I change a Board decision or he would quit. I'd had enough of such games and I quit instead. I was the Board President, the Station Manager and the Program Director. I have to admit it was a good thing to do for my own sanity, but that is a story for another time. The break from the station, internet - and Fakebook - was, quite frankly, a little bit of wonderful. I had no intercourse with stupid posts which would raise my frustration level with my fellow human beings.

You see, I actually know people who rail against government programs, and who support and post the ravings of right wing provocateurs like Glenn Beck and Rush Limbaugh. They'd probably post the pithier comments of Ayn Rand except she is beyond their reading level. I've waited on these folks as a cashier in a local supermarket. They are conservative Christians. They utilize foodstamps. They live in subsidized housing. They have low paying jobs yet can afford payments on new cars. And they hate a "socialized" United States. They also give full support to the military.


The FB caption read "Don't forget our four legged veterans".

It was an oddity of U.S. history that Richard Nixon, who escalated the Vietnam War, proposed a volunteer army. Although a form of the draft (i.e. conscription) has returned in the necessity to register for "Selective Service", we've now had a volunteer army for forty years. We now have 'army families' in which generations of the otherwise economically challenged have gained employment in our standing armies.

When I unplugged, I watched a good bit of television. I quickly discovered that I had
stopped watching the shows I liked - I merely had them on as background music, paying attention at some moments, ignoring much of the program while I surfed graphics and read articles on the internet.

After a fight with Comcast over their/my bills, I didn't have tv service for over a year. I only recently returned to the fold. So I used my "unplugged" time to catch up on missed episodes of a few favorite shows. Watching shows, even without simultaneous internet grazing, is one thing. Realizing what I was watching was another. I discovered that I approach most television as disposable entertainment. I watch, I am entertained, I do not retain. In watching commercial cable channels (as opposed to subscription channels whose shows tend to be of higher quality) I began to notice a few trends. Most of the action type shows I used to watch had undergone interesting thematic changes.

Somewhere along the line I became a fan of NCIS. It is about a team of Navy investigators who delve into crimes involving those in military service. Their stories contained a mix of crimes; drugs, theft, romantic affairs, etc. Some episodes tackled "sensitive" topics - harassment of gays in the military, rape culture, the status of women in the services, etc. But there was a change over the last couple of years. It wasn't noticeable at first, but became inescapable with immersive viewing. Most of their story lines now revolved around terrorism - terrorists in war curtailing the rights of women, terrorists bombing military installations, terrorists attempting to harm the homeland, terrorists targeting our civilians. And our brave men and women responded by utilizing methods in which the corners of civil and human rights may be cut a little in order to preserve the greater good. Even the commercials had changed. There were now pitches which directly involved, and marketed to, military families. Financial services. Insurance. For our brave men and women, whom we honor.

This change wasn't reserved for just the two NCIS shows. Many of the detective/crime solving programs featured story lines which involved foiling terrorists here at home. Other shows just weren't as obsessed with such plotlines - but they were there. And so were the commercials.

News programming has also reflected what seems to be an obsession with our military. During the Bush years only the local channels would cover things like departure ceremonies for our National Guard being sent off to Iraq, Afghanistan and etc. Now even the networks spend a fair amount of time "honoring" our military families. It seems like it is impossible to watch a news program these days without someone giving thanks to our soldiers for their service. They also air the ads aimed at military families.

I find this all a little disturbing, particularly coming at a time when as a country we have more or less withdrawn from Iraq and are in the process of getting out of Afghanistan. At a time when a large portion of what had been the lower and middle portion of the middle class have been reduced to poverty levels, it's as though the corporations are pushing a military lifestyle. It is to be honored, to be envied. Patriotism. Service. Cue the Rousing Music and the Waving of flags. We are thankful. By the way, we now have an insurance program just for you.

I need to make it clear that I'm trying to keep my personal beliefs out of these observations and commentary. I am against conscription. I fail to understand why anyone should automatically owe a few years of their life to the government of a geographic area in which they were born. This includes the concept of non-military "national service". Armies are, in my view, a necessary evil. The world would be better off without standing armies. After the recent military exploits of my country, I have grave concerns about the "National Guard". The Guard, while a branch of the military services, was intended as a reserve to be called up in times of emergency. The idea is that the Guard serves only a couple of weeks per year to maintain training levels. They are not a professional army. Many Guard members joined for the financial help they received for college or vocational education. The Guard isn't really National - unless the Federal Government deems it necessary to take control, the Guard is supposed to be under the control of the various states. It was never intended to be used to fight foreign wars. That was supposed to be the job of the 'professional' army.

Today is Veterans Day. Originally, it was "Armistice Day", which celebrated the end of the War to End All Wars. In other words, a transition to Peace. Somewhere along the way it became a tribute to those who served in war. After the Second World War, it became a day to honor those who served or are serving in the militaries, period. (Memorial Day is a different day which honors those who gave their lives, or to be more precise had their lives taken from them, during our wars.)

Fakebook is awash in postings honoring the men (and sometimes, on rare occasions, honoring the women) who "serve". Everyone is dared to "repost" the particular images to PROVE that they also share in the honoring. This has been going on for awhile now as a regular matter of course. These "memes" (images with messages) appear as often as pictures of cute cats or extortions, oops I mean exhortations, to repost memes which pledge to welcome God and Jesus H. Christ into one's home. With Veteran's Day upon us, the normally sane are also partaking of this hero worship. Everyone, of every political persuasion, is posting some sort of Thanks to our Servicemen (servicemen more than women in the service).

 

Clipped from a Veteran's Day post on Homelessness. Right click and open in new window to enlarge.

        
Now look, I do honor and admire the people who go into the military. I also honor and admire the
people who don't, who go into any kind of service helping their fellow humans, and those who go to jail or who went to Canada rather than join in the Vietnam War, or any war, as well as the soldiers of the common people who fought for the 40 hour workday, who continue the fight for fairness, for feeding and housing those without, for healthcare for all and so forth. There are many kinds of war.

It's just that I can't help but feel that there is a confluence of phony honoring that goes beyond a trendy patriotism. When mixed with the marketability of a new class, the 'service families', I begin to wonder. When little suspensions of our Constitutionally protected rights are thrown in during entertainment programs as our military heroes save us from the terrorists, I become slightly concerned. When I see corporations pushing these ideas and images in news programming, I become moderately concerned. When I read news analysis which makes it clear how many of us have been reduced to poverty, I become alarmed with the juxtaposition of a proffered military employment opportunity. At the same time that these stories and advertisements become omnipresent,  news stories also appear telling of people (and Veterans!) whose homes have been swindled away by the banks over unpaid bills of little more than a hundred dollars. Food stamps assistance has been cut, and the bloodhounds are sniffing for more reductions. The current cuts will result in the corporate food stores getting Billions less in income. This will translate into higher prices and layoffs. The bloodhounds bark at the heels of Unemployment assistance, at Social Security, at healthcare. In the meantime, the corporations poison our food and water - and make certain that government inspection supposed to protect the populace is lax. There is a storm brewing as more and more of us become have nots. How long it will take until the storm hits, I don't know. But I begin to understand why I'm seeing so many images of the honored military, a new class to whom benefits flow, a professional military. No longer engaged overseas, they and the National Guard will be available to keep control at home.

 

 

Bless our Veterans, and give Thanks to those who serve.

My Favorite Year

Sometimes, it starts with a synchronicity of events. A memory emerges, unbidden, of moments of auditory or movie pleasure, fleeting imagery that wanders through consciousness a day or two before other forces and other connections make themselves known. Robin Hood has been in my mind again. Not any Robin Hood, not one of those modern reinterpretations, which I'm sure will soon emerge in a newer "darker" version dressed in black leather and fake muscle formed spandex, fighting zombie ghouls under the spell of the evil witch king brother of the rightful ruler, ably aided by a crossbow and hatchet wielding Maid Marion. No, I mean the real Robin Hood, to be precise, "The Adventures of Robin Hood". Deep in my secret heart of hearts, behind all the clutter of the modern world resides a more innocent time, of rainy Saturday and Sunday afternoons spent in front of a flickering tv image. I've never asked any of my female friends how they felt about Robin Hood, or the handsome action hero motif. Do they sigh for the hero, think it's all much ado about not much? How about us guys, how many of us have the Robin Hood thing inside of us? I can say that I never really wanted to be Robin Hood, I just wanted to be that good a man. And I wanted to know that Robin Hoods exist, heroes who stand against the tide of tyranny, who care for the hungry, for the poor, for justice, for what is right in a world gone wrong.

In case anyone is wondering,
this poster hangs over my bed

In those days, the tv image was black and white. It came as something of a shock in the early 1960's when I turned on our set and discovered that one of my favorite movies was in color. It took a viewing or two before I got used to the change. Over the years I booked and showed the film in coffee houses, cultural arts societies, saw it in museums and in revival theatres, learned about the "real" Technicolor system used to film it, and the nitrate film stock which gave it a sheen and glow no longer attainable. When I expanded from 8mm into collecting 16mm, Robin Hood was the third sound movie I purchased. The print was acquired through a New York based film editor - it was made using a special process intended for archival purposes which recaptured the intensity of the dye transfer process. It seems two extra prints had been struck, oh, my. There was a minor soundtrack problem in  my print, with no way to correct it. It didn't matter, I was in heaven. Since it was a movie, I should say I was in 7th Heaven. I haven't looked at the print in years, and assume with some regret that its' color has probably faded to red.

I've been day dreaming of trying to set up my old 16mm system again. I don't have the room, the projector is noisy, my motorized screen is in a barn miles from here; there are lots of reasons not to pursue the thought, but that hasn't yet ended the desire. I want to see Robin Hood again, and not tv size, thank you. I'd no sooner started thinking about this when I chanced upon a clip from the movie. But then, from some recess of memory I heard just a tad of a lovely little melody, "reappearing in my mind... but that was long ago... are your memories like mine, or have they let you go?" I know the song; it was written for a movie, but was never used. Michael Feinstein found it and recorded it. So did Margaret Whiting. It has a slightly sad melancholic quality, "My Favorite Year".

"My Favorite Year" was a wonderful early 1980's movie, one of those little gems that tend to be too easily forgotten. It starred Peter O'Toole, who had just been Oscar nominated for his work in "The Stunt Man", another sadly neglected movie. He plays the part of a famous action star romantic hero who time is passing by. The idea for the story came from an appearance by Errol Flynn on the Sid Caesar show in the early days of tv. At the time, Flynn had adopted the role of a charming inebriate, and was assigned a keeper - in real life a young Mel Brooks. It's one of those movies. The young writer who becomes the keeper shares traits from a couple of Caesar's writers - Brooks, Neil Simon, and a dash of Woody Allen. Another of Caesar's writers, Selma Diamond (and a big stevil favorite) is in the movie as a wardrobe mistress. (Those who were fans of the Dick Van Dyke show - also based on Caesar's 'Show of Shows' milieu - would recognize her as the basis for Rose Marie's character.)

So, "My Favorite Year" had been in my mind over the last couple of days. Last night I happened to turn on the tv, and there it was. If I'd known, I'd have recorded it. As it was, I just dropped in for the last hour, and I was thankful for the pleasure. It's one of the best things O'Toole has done; his Alan Swann inhabits a persona he knows was created for him to play, and he's smart enough to know that it's not that people just let him get way with things because of it, they want and expect him to do so. In once scene, he describes some of his life to his young keeper,

"The women who are interested in me know exactly who I am and what they want, and nine times out of ten, they get it."

"That's some curse."

"You'd be surprised. You see, no matter what I do, I can never fulfill their expectations."

There is a lovely scene in which O'Toole takes his young keeper off to dinner at the Stork Club; "are you sure you want the Stork Club, Mr. Swann?" "It's been a year and a half, surely they've repaired the wall of the bandstand by now". While there Swann is approached by an elderly gentleman whose wife is a fan. Would he be kind enough to say hello to her as he leaves after his dinner? He would not. Instead, he goes directly to the table, bows with the grace of aging gentleman, extends his hand, and asks for a dance. They glide gracefully around the floor; her eyes, brimming with happiness, memory, and swelling with tears never move from his. The scene is pure enchantment. The woman was Gloria Stuart, a former star who would only emerge from retirement again 15 years later to play "old Rose" in the 1997 "Titanic". You don't need to know this kind of stuff to watch the movie, but if you do you'll find a number of familiar faces and stories (Lainie Kazan! Adolph Green, Joseph Bologna, et. al), and lots of references and connections to the entertainment businesses of days gone by. The trailer really isn't very good, but it does give you an idea of how much fun this movie can be. If you ever see it listed, trust me, set aside the time to watch it, and a little extra to remember your favorite year.

Tap Your Troubles Away

Thank God(s)(dess)(es) that the heat and humidity finally broke. It was getting to me. Without air conditioning, the sweltering had me melting, melting you wretched brat... things weren't being helped by mega doses of prednisone which I've been taking since last Wednesday. The doctor (specialist) who prescribed them even called a half an hour ago to see how I was coping. Oh, everything's all right - I only quit as President of the non-profit which holds the license for the radio station, and resigned as station manager and program director. You know, the stuff that has been my identity for the last year and a half. Actually, I think I'm grateful. It was necessary, and I might not have done it otherwise.

It's complicated.

The precipitating event occurred when a Board member insisted I should do something his way immediately, instead of by the method the Board had agreed upon by vote two days earlier, or he would quit on the spot. He's in charge of our underwriting campaign and is the only person bringing in badly needed money. Me? I can't get the Board to pay a computer guy $40.00 for a cable that solved an emergency two months ago that made it possible for us to continue running the station. They keep saying they will order a cheaper version online and give the computer repair guy his once new, now used, cable back. (It's a non profit, it's complicated.) This wasn't a paid job, we're all volunteers. The choice was obvious. I quit. And the response from the Board has been peevishness that I did so without an appropriate exit strategy. (As Anna Russell used to sway, "I'm not making this up, you know".)

The weather had everybody on edge. Every look at the online news services, every look at Facebook, there were people in full out nasty. For breaks, you might find a relaxing but inordinate focus upon news bulletins detailing the progress of a woman in England waiting to begin labor. There is a little noted news story which describes how a woman in Texas took her life and the lives of her two children when she couldn't handle the process to get approved for foodstamps. As the above events were merely the seasoning in the shake and bake, I decided I was going to attempt to unplug a bit.

To start, I spent a good bit of time "unsubscribing" from mail lists, political advocacy bulletins, a few legitimate subscriptions, oh you know, the effluvia of the electronic messaging universe of one who has been around awhile. I am still getting email from which I "unsubscribed" last Wednesday. (I'm writing on the following Monday afternoon.) We're only talking about the relatively small 130 or so messages of the day that make it through the spam filters that stop the other 2,000 or so messages I get each day. I don't have the "you've got mail" ding thing going or I'd be as punch drunk as the girl they hire when they can't get Gloria Grahame for a film noir.

It was a year ago last February that economics ended my cable, phone, and internet connections for awhile. It was actually very easy to give up the tv, and I quickly discovered that I often had it on as background and/or diversion while on the computer. There were shows I liked, and I tried to keep up with them online, but I'm not really crazy about tv on my computer screen and I quickly ceased the effort. Call me old fashioned, or at least order one up, please. At any rate, it was the cutting off of internet access that I found difficult. This part of the life and times was played out against a backdrop of getting the radio station back on the air. Not having internet access at home was a problem. I got it back through a different company last August. Which means the special one year commitment introductory offer I had to accept to get close to the blatantly misrepresented price is about to expire.

 Oh, well.

A couple of months ago I got cable back. I couldn't wait to watch network news again, catch up on a few shows, vege out. Did I ever tell you about the time I was in a thrift shop with Jon Campo when he triumphantly discovered a group of BIC pens? They were the old ones, the ones that were first introduced. The price was right, and they were, as he quickly pointed out, better made than the product of the time. Thing is, when they were new those pens were the cheap plastic mass produced intimation of the real thing knock offs at which we turned up our collective noses in amused superiority. And, oh, the difference between tv a year ago and how it has changed? Did I every tell you about Jon Campo and the BIC pens?

I've been preparing for this, and have a digital cable video recording box full of cheesy movies and a few other audio visual hallucinatory indulgences There's a few DVDs I gave myself for Christmas which I've been holding for an appropriate occasion. The DVD player does that home surround sound thing. Oh, how I wish I could plug the cable box into it. Ah well, I shall just have to suffer through 'Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter' without surround sound. At least the image will be half way decent, as about two years ago I was given an old Sony high def widescreen tube style tv. Watching the digital recordings and the DVD's can be most entertaining. I mean heck, putting entertainment aside in a kind of holding bank is one of the things I've been up to since my first preteen purchases of movies on 8mm, then as I grew older I grew into 16mm, Beta, VHS, Laser Discs, DVD's. I'm retired and I have movies.

It's been two days now since I stopped looking at Facebook. I glance at the online news in a fashion which would mark me as a graduate of an Evelyn Wood course if they still had them. I have been watching, sometimes actually watching, tv while working on other things on the computer. Played a few extra games of solitaire. I've browsed some of those websites I bookmarked two years ago. I still feel too heavily plugged in.

Yesterday I found myself lying on a small raft in a large spring fed pond. It was early afternoon several days into a camping trip in the desert mountains south of San Diego sometime in the early 1980's. It was a Tuesday afternoon, the water more than cold enough to cause any male some embarrassment as it refreshed against the heat, the sky was cloudless blue. Something happened to my right shoulder. Tension began to drain away, melting away, first the right shoulder and then the left. I relaxed. I begin to wonder if the move from the cities to Vermont was an attempt to recapture that moment.

A couple of days ago, just as I started the unplugging, I heard from the Taxation folks. After I lost just about everything, again, the last time, the rebuilding started with a minimum wage cashier job. After the car died my inimitable sense of timing was rewarded when anyone at my almost full time part time hours hiring agreement was reduced to 28 to 30 hours a week. Two years ago, I found it necessary to cash in a burial policy I'd had since the mid 1960's. A small loan was taken against it in 1975. I only got about $1,700.00 as my payout. The insurance company filed paperwork showing a value of $7,000.00. The government decided they wanted well over $700.00 of it. I appealed, sending a copy of the check I'd thoughtfully made (thanks for the anal retentive training dear family!). The government has relented and decided it will accept $680.00.

I've been wondering if the tv shouldn't get turned off for awhile too. I can't much listen to the radio at the moment, there are too many pre-recorded underwriting spots and station IDs read by the guy who... I take my daily bath in water infused with bleach, part of treating my skin condition. It's not a full tub tub, but it is womblicious.

I turn on the cable to set up a recording for a movie I want to be sure to see. On the extra e$tra premium old movie channel, the one you have to pay for all the sports channels to get, they're showing the movies they used to show us for the price of watching a few commercials. The one at the moment has the Tommy Dorsey band performing. The unbilled boy singer takes the mic, it's Frank Sinatra. It's one of those black and white World War Two ship board romances with Red Skelton as a mystery writer whose hep cat male secretary is played by Bert Lahr. Virginia O'Brien delivers a very dry jive boogie woogie version of the song just used as a ballad. There's a tap dance filmed so that it can easily be removed from showings in the American South, as it is performed by two "Negro" male performers. They are billed as "Stump" and "Stumpy". Eleanor Powell's specialty tap is performed poolside, with Dorsey and the band, drummer Buddy Rich, trick steps on a chair, a table, and a diving board. The dialogue could use some polish to be considered third rate. It is completely, absurdly entertaining. Eleanor saves the day against Nazi saboteur smugglers by tapping the 11 o'clock in morse code. I haven't even poured the chilled white wine yet, but my right shoulder is beginning to get this almost tingly, sorta melty feeling.



As I finish jotting this down, another movie has been playing. Charlie Barnet just gave way to Ann Miller who, standing by a nightclub version of a navy destroyer's main guns, suddenly breaks out into song, tap and dance..."and when we've lit the torch of liberty, in each blacked out land across the sea, when a man can proudly say 'I'm free', we'll be dancing "The Vict'ry Polka,"... they'll come marching down Fifth Avenue, the United Nations in review, when this lovely dream has all come true, we'll be dancing "The Vict'ry Polka."
We're going to win this one folks.
There's been another twinge in the right shoulder.
Tomorrow is Tuesday.
I'm going to go pour the wine.

"You Can Buy a Dream or Two..."

Every now and again, the almanac information for a particular day contains something that makes me stop whatever I am doing (usually perusing the almanac listings) and leads me down paths of imagination or reverie. Needless to say, today's listing of the famous, the infamous, the worthy, the athletes, and the entertainers contained one name in particular which caught my attention and started me thinking of musical and other memories.

Maybe you had to have to have been a child in the 1950's, and remember music before Elvis, an era when the last of the big bands and the likes of the McGuire sisters, or doo wop anthems like "Sh-Boom" caught and/or created the public mood to really appreciate the name which caught my attention. Today is Ricky Nelson's birthday. I just called him Ricky, even though at age 21 he became Rick. I wonder if my calling him "Ricky" has to do with nostalgia or habit.

Rick Nelson was the son of big band leader Ozzie Nelson. His mother, Harriet Hilliard, had been the band's "girl singer", and gave up a potential career in the movies to continue with the band. (She'd sung "Get Thee Behind Me Satan" in the Fred Astaire - Ginger Rogers movie, "Follow the Fleet". The song had originally been intended for Rogers to sing in "Top Hat".) The band had been on tour in Los Angeles when they were signed as the house band for a radio show hosted by Red Skelton. When Skelton was drafted during WWII, Ozzie was given the chance to create his own show. The most popular radio program in the country at the time was "Fibber McGee and Molly", which had a recurring cast of characters who moved through Fibber and Molly's lives - it's regarded as the first situation comedy. Ozzie created a show about his family's life. His two sons were played by professional actors for several years before the boys were considered old enough to take on the roles themselves. After a successful movie version, Ozzie moved the show to tv, where it premiered in 1952. It must have been a trifle strange for the boys to go to work everyday pretending to be versions of themselves, working in a set that was a duplicate of their real life home. Ricky was often described as an odd little kid who suffered from asthma, and who encountered problems fitting in at his school. He got into trouble a lot. In 1957 when he was 16, he wanted to impress a girl who liked Elvis Presley. He bragged that he could make a record, too, and used his Dad's connections to do it. Ozzie was happy to see Ricky channel his energies, and wrote the song into the show. It was a Fats Domino's, "I'm Walking".



The episode aired in April of 1957. America changed a little bit that night.

Rock and Roll was still considered something wild and unruly. Preachers condemned it as an evil influence from their pulpits, and held public burnings of Elvis' records. Suddenly here was that nice Nelson boy, a kid who was growing up in front of America, a kid everyone liked, singing rock and roll. If Ricky Nelson liked it, if Ozzie and Harriet liked it, well then - it must be all right. Elvis, Bill Haley and the rest may have made rock and roll popular, but it was Ricky Nelson and his rock-a-billy infused style which made it acceptable. I was 6 years old at the time, and bought the 45 rpm record of "I'm Walkin" from the allowance I received for doing household chores.

Ricky didn't care for the musicians his dad had hired to back him so he put together his own band, starting with a kid around his own age, 18 year old James Burton, who became one of the great guitarists of rock and roll. Hit followed hit, with Ricky and his band preforming every couple of weeks on the show. During the 1958-1959 season (the year Elvis went into the army), Ricky Nelson had 12 big hits, one more than Elvis. Here's one of his biggest hits, "Hello Mary-Lou". Sadly, I  couldn't find a good copy on You Tube of the first version from the show, with Burton's electrifying guitar solo.



Ricky was a good looking kid, and there was something about him. There was a slight touch of a sneer that could turn into a smile, or which could hint at something slightly dangerous - but in a "nice" way. And, while he could really rock when his Dad would let him, he could also handle a ballad with style. For one big hit, Ozzie added a little bit of film imagery which some argue was a precursor of the first music videos.



The big hits, around 60 of them, continued until 1963, when the "British Invasion" moved rock and roll away from its rockabilly roots, girl groups, and doo-wop. Times were a'changing; the family tv show ended in 1966. Rick Nelson moved on to pioneer a blend of rock and country that paved the way for groups like The Eagles.

There would be one last big hit. In 1971, Rick was booked into a rock and roll revival show at Madison Square Garden. He made his entrance wearing long hair and bell bottoms, and launched into a couple of the old songs. For his third number, he performed a country tinged version of the Rolling Stones' "Honky Tonk Woman". The audience began booing. Some say the audience had expected young Ricky, but got Rick. Some say it was due to a police action against concert goers in the back of the auditorium. Whatever really happened,  the booing was loud and Rick left the stage. He wrote a song about it called "Garden Party" :



Over the next several years, Rick had his share of personal problems, including the very public break up of his marriage. He and his wife tried to reconcile, but neither were able to curtail the style of spending they had once enjoyed during his years at the top, which meant that he had to constantly tour to pay the bills, which further affected their marriage. When they finally divorced the financial settlement left him with no choice but to continue his life on the road, playing engagements in small clubs where he could still get bookings.  He acknowledged his predilection for marijuana (he used to bury his stash in his back yard), and publicly supported legalization (as did other 'smokers' like Bing Crosby). In interviews on tv he was always quiet, soft spoken, a little hesitant, often very funny, and quite modest. He usually made sure he gave credit to the people who performed with him or who wrote the songs he sang. On New Year's Eve in 1985, he was on his way to the last stop of a three concert tour when his rented plane crashed, killing everyone but the pilots. He was 45 years old.

While I've been putting this post together over several stops and starts, I can't help but notice that the little globe on my blog page shows my point of origin as "Nelson, NH"...

In all of his hits, both the rockers and the ballads, there is one song that I rediscovered as an adult that haunts me. I don't know why, maybe it's feelings of lost youth, or the passing of time, of an era when life was allegedly simpler. I grew up without a mom. My Aunt Lorraine filled that role for a few years. The tv shows I liked to watch had families with moms. I identified with two particular characters - the Beav, and Ricky. Both were younger brothers like I was. Maybe this song haunts me because it was one of the songs to which I first "slow danced", holding someone close. Maybe it's because I think the song catches something of the kid who didn't fit in, the real Ricky Nelson. Maybe it's the stirring of long lost feelings of another kid who didn't fit into his own small town in the southern part of New Jersey, who now finds himself writing from a place called "Nelson"...



So Happy Birthday, Rick Nelson. Thanks for the music, and the memories. Miss you.

"Did you ever undress in front of your dog?"

For several years now, I've been one of those people who wakes up repeatedly during a night's attempt at sleep. Early this morning, at 4:20am, I woke up with one thought on my mind, "why did I take the pork chop out of the freezer before I went to bed? That wasn't what I'd intended to make for tonight's dinner." I was perturbed, but I'm not sure if it was over the waking or the pork chop.

The news finally reached the online services I read this morning. Jonathan Winters passed on Thursday. I hate writing phrases like that. Words like "died", or "dead", euphemistic terms like "passed away", are all so final. "Passed" is not much better, but it leaves things a little more open. See, the thing is this; Jonathon Winters can never die. He lives every time a comedian takes an off the wall chance to either succeed or fail, and quickly changes the subject no matter the reaction. He lives every time Robin Williams performs in public. Williams famously referred to Winters as his "mentor", to which Winters replied he'd prefer "idol".

When he was 7, his folks broke up and Jonathan was taken to live with his grandmother. You can just tell he didn't fit in anywhere, and must have spent a great deal of time alone in his room. I can relate. He left high school to join the Marines and fight in the second World War. He married in 1948, and shortly thereafter found himself in need of a watch. Watches were much more expensive in those days than they are now; the young couple couldn't afford one. His wife challenged him to go to a local amateur contest and win the needed funds. He did, and got a radio show out of it. Sometimes there weren't any guests. He made them up. He soon found himself in New York working at a comedy club.


One night a janitor sweeping up at the club told him that doing imitations of famous people and making fun of them was okay, but asked him why he didn't make fun of regular folks, the people he'd left behind in small town America. The odd ball characters in his head were let loose. One of those characters, Maude Frickert , was basically stolen by Johnny Carson as a recurring character on the Tonight Show as "Aunt Blabby".

In the later 1960's, I heard that Winters had been institutionalized, locked up in a sanitarium. They only let him out to perform. There was some truth to the rumor, and in later manic sketches if a character was too much or didn't work there might be a quick aside, "No, not that one, they might put me back in." It was typical Winters.

Winters could throw out a punch lime, but his real humor was in his characters. All of it seemingly improvised on the spot, and quite "off the wall", a trait that only his contemporaries Jean Shepherd and Ernie Kovacs shared.

Like Kovacs, Mr. Winters gallops through many of my early tv memories. He was a guest on any number of shows, particularly when Steve Allen or Jack Paar was the host. Paar once gave Winters a piece of wood and challenged him to do something with it. For a few seconds he used it as a fishing rod, then a judge's gavel, then as baseball bat, then a lion tamer's whip - cracking it over the heads of the audience before a quick look at one person with an, "Oh. Sorry." And it was on Jack Paar that he famously asked the audience if they'd ever undressed in front of their dogs. (Pause.) “You think about that for a minute. A bird somehow doesn’t count. Or a cat. But a dog.” (Pause.) “They really stare.”





While it's true that almost every comedian or comic writer of the last 50 years, right down to those working in the business today learned form him (whether they know it or not), I don't like to think of a world without him. This morning's pork chop incident suddenly plays in my mind, and I giggle. Jonathan Winters taught me that. In one of his few movie appearances, he played twin brother undertakers in the film adaptation of Evelyn Waugh's "The Loved One". One of the brothers devises a plan to cope with a crowded cemetery by launching coffins into space, labeled "Resurrection Now!" If only.