Happiness is....

In his essay on the Myth of Sisyphus, Albert Camus concludes that Sisyphus' eternal struggle pushing that boulder to the top of the mountain only to have it roll backwards and to have to start all over again, is a hopeless task big enough to fill the heart, and that Sisyphus was therefore happy. If Mr. Camus were alive today, I would punch him in the face.

While living without a home internet connection, a friend told me of Fairmuck Communitcations' (not their real name, and I misspelled my real intention to spare any possible finer sensibilities of some of my readers) special offer of $19.99 per month for dsl.
I made the call.
"I want to get your special offer of dsl at 19.99 per month for 12 months as it says in your ad, please."
"To get that price, you must also take our telephoney service..."
"It doesn't say that in your ad."
"Yes, it does, it's in the fine print."
"I saw a part that said 'Save even more by bundling our telephoney service'..."
"Not that part, it was in the fine print. Look at the ad"
"It's an online ad and don't have internet at home."
"It's in the fine print."
"(Sigh) All right, how much will it be with the telephoney service?"
"$39.95 a month, and your dsl will be $19.99".
"So if I pay you more you will charge me less?"

After I asked, it was confirmed that there would be extra charges for local phone calls beyond a stunningly few minutes allotted per month. After I asked, I got the price for just the dsl - $29.95 a month. "That's less than a dollar a day!". I could hear the phoney smile. It would take exactly one week to hook me up, no money upfront. I would not have to be home when they came to install my service connection. I made the deal.

Oopsie - they don't show my apartment number in their records. They will have to add it manually. This will take an extra day. Or two.

The next day I got a call from Fairmuck.
"Sorry, Steven, but due to all the storms in Southern Vermont, we won't be able to install your dsl for two weeks."
"What storms in Southern Vermont? There haven't been anything but thundershowers."
"Oh no, there have been bad storms and flooding, plus very high winds from a hurricane."
"That was a year ago".
"No, there were more recent storms. You wouldn't believe the damage."

A few days went by and the modem (with wi-fi) showed up via Fed Ex. Why it was sent through a premium shipper when my account wouldn't be in service for a week and a half, I don't know. I wasn't billed for it, so I decided not to ask.

On the appointed Friday, I got home to find I'd had a telephone call from Fairmuck. They'd been unable to decide which telephone connector in my apartment building's basement was mine and would need access to my apartment. They would also need access to the locked room in the basement. That room used to house equipment from a once locally owned internet service provider. As I had the following day off, I started placing calls. The phone number for Fairmuck  played a recorded message which informed me that they were closed for the weekend. I called the phone from which the call to me was placed. An individual answered who told me it wasn't a Fairmuck number. When I noted that it was the number from which I'd been called, he told me no one was there and hung up. I called the office again, and found an 800 (free call) number for problems, emergencies, and tech advice. I called it. They couldn't find my account by using my cell phone number. As it turns out, I was assigned an "account phone number" even though I did not sign up for phone service - a number which appeared nowhere on the paperwork that accompanied the modem. I had the next day off from work, could they come back then? They could - if they could get a hold of their local dispatch - but that office was closed until Monday. "Look, I just went through a series of phone calls to make sure I had access to the locked room. Can a supervisor help?" Of course not, but the supervisor did get me a number I could call the next day. I did not complain about the over-modulated endlessly repeating recording of Vivaldi's "Four Seasons" 'Summer' movement to which I had been subjected for 20 minutes of hold time.

Next day, rinse and repeat, except that they couldn't find my account with either phone number.

Monday morning, before heading out to work, I called Fairmuck's main number. They couldn't find my account either, but a supervisor finally did. I explained that I had the next day, Tuesday, off. Would they please come back then? The supervisor called the local dispatch office. They could fit me in. Can you tell me approximately what time you might arrive? "They will give you a call around 8am with that information." "Thank You!"

Around 9am Tuesday, I discovered that the hold music had, thankfully, changed.  After a short musicale interlude I got someone who, while obviously American, seemed to have a few difficulties with both technology and any version of the English language that used b-i-g words. I gave him the benefit of the doubt and assumed it was his first day on the job and that he was nervous. At first, he couldn't find my account. After getting help, he put me on hold to "read the notes". Ten minutes later I was disconnected. After getting someone else on the line, I made them write down my phone number and promise to call me back if we were disconnected. I then had to recount the whole grizzly story even though all I wanted to know was what time I should expect the service person to arrive? It took getting another supervisor on the phone. She called the local dispatch. "They don't have you down for today, they have you behind a technician for Wednesday."   Behind? What? I tried my best to stay calm. Do you know how many people I have to involve to get that room unlocked? My landlord had a stroke, he can't just run right over to unlock it. I took the day off. Your installation person was here on Friday, did some of the work, came back later and found my landlord's rep who got him into the locked room. How much time do you really need? It can be done in a few minutes. Why do I have to fight you to do business with you? Is this why people warned me against Fairmuck? The supervisor talked to dispatch again. They fit me in for that afternoon - as long as there were no "business emergencies". If a business has a problem, Vermont law, I was told, made them go to the business first. About 2:30pm that afternoon, I got a robot call - my appointment for Tuesday was cancelled and rescheduled for Thursday.

This time they found my account pretty quickly. I asked for a supervisor as soon as they answered the phone. No, they had to know why first. I told them. They got me a supervisor. There was no way I would be able to take Thursday off from work or be home at any point during the day. The supervisor called the local dispatch - who was out of the office for lunch and an appointment and there was no one else! I finally got a call about an hour and a half later. Sorry, something had come up, there was no way. I had to go through the story again. I'd had it. I told the supervisor I was tired of all their lies I'd gotten since I placed the first call. I told them that it hadn't taken me long to realize that they had given me a non-existant afternoon appointment just to get me off the phone. I told the next supervisor that if they couldn't get my service connected by the next afternoon after I got home from work, they could come and get their equipment - and would they please mail my letters to my congressmen on their way back to their depot as walking, even with the cane, can be painful some days. The supervisor called dispatch again. An appointment for the next day was easy - that's what they had me down for!

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Just about the same day that I started my Fairmuck adventure, Google sent me an email that they were yanking my July 4th post as I had violated copyrights. They'd been contacted by Sony who claimed ownership of  "Mama, Look Sharp",  and another file in the same post by Jean Shepherd. There was a link where I could see the communication they received.
The link linked me to - the same email.
There was a link where I could fill out a form to protest the action.

I filled out a ton of information, and noted that Sony owned Columbia Pictures (for whom I used to work) which owned the movie version of "1776". The performance video of the song "Mama , Look Sharp" which I had posted was from the 1969 Tony Awards tv performance from that show, and was material not owned by Sony.  I pointed out that the video in my post was a link to a YouTube video, and that YouTube is owned by Google, who owns Blogspot. As the video was still available on YouTube, I suspected that they could easily ascertain that Sony didn't own that particular copyright, and that linking the video was okay. Furthermore, I explained that the Jean Shepherd file used was a public domain 1960's broadcast from radio station WOR and not the country western singer who might have a Sony album. After much work and research, I clicked the "send" button.  My reply went nowhere. I got an error message that the reply address and site didn't exist.

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Meanwhile back at the non-internet ranch, while printing out documents for the radio station, I ran out of paper and ink. I went off to my local Staples office supply store and purchased both, spending well over $60.00. I reloaded. First, my printer refused to align the new print cartridges. It gave me error messages that the print carriage was jammed - it wasn't. Then I discovered the reason the ink had shown as empty was that the previous color ink cartridge had leaked all over the sponges underneath the area where the cartridges load. I spent two days cleaning it all up. Still had the same problem. This was serious - after spending so much on the ink and paper, I wouldn't be able to afford to buy another printer anytime soon. After a couple more days I was able to get the carriage jam comment to go away. Then the printer decided that the new ink cartridges were empty. I spent another day cleaning contact surfaces. It finally saw the ink supplies. But then the printer decided that there was no paper in the paper tray. After two days of fiddling - which included getting out the original printer manual which was no help whatsoever - I gave up and dropped the whole thing onto to the bed. Forcibly, if you get my meaning. It bounced and got me in the shins.

After several days, the swelling is finally starting to go down.
It's alright, though.
According to Camus, I must be happy.

Absence

If anyone is looking for me or wondering where I am (and there are a few people who know to look here) my absence from the online world is not of my choosing. It's a simple lack of an internet connection. After I was disconnected by Comcast and lost my tv/internet/phone package, I was still able to stay online thanks to two wifi signals in my residential area. The good one vanished well over a month ago, and now the one with only a sporadic connection has gone as well.

Getting to use the internet access at our library is nearly impossible - there is a crowd of regular users who monopolize the main set of computers (one gets two 45 minute periods of use per day with on'es library card's codes). There is a second bank of "express" computers where one can get 20  minutes of internet use. Those are the ones that you can usually get to use. When I log on, I have to go right to my email as I get so much spam that my 10meg inbox fills up in one day. All of the radio station's email is set up to forward from the website to me.

This is the first time I've been able to get to post a note here. So.... just in case anyone is wondering, everything is okay, I've just been suffering from the usual symptoms of poverty, that's all.

I really have no idea when I'll be able to pay off Comcast and get my service back. I'd have to pull the paperwork to be sure, but the bill they send looks to me like they are billing me for the month when I was off service electronically, before they actually disconnected the wiring. In the meantime, they closed their local office and are now billing me another $550.00 (give or take a bit) because I haven't returned their equipment.

Ah, well.
Wish me luck in buying those occasional lottery tickets.
I'll try to post when I can.

Bitch bitch bitch

It has been almost two weeks since I was last able to post. Most of the time I didn't have a wifi internet connection up to the task. The good source has been gone long enough that it has become logical to assume that it is gone, period. I can no longer convince myself that it is simply on vacation, unless it is, perhaps, off on an extended tour of the continent. The bad connection seems to have heard my cries and whimpers in the night and has gotten a bit better over the last few days. Hopefully this portal to the world at large will continue. Although to be honest, I'm not sure it is worth it. The news either produces incredible angst, agitation, or despair. Perhaps it is an effect of the heat. My studio has been in the upper 90 degree Fahrenheit range. One night, back around July the 4th, I passed out from it.

Work hasn't been much better. The air conditioning, under the control of the corporate overlords, is only cool when one first comes into the store from the heat. Those of us working at the registers have been sweating in all the really uncomfortable places that don't show. We've been very busy most of the time, but the reduced staffing levels have meant that we work harder to keep up. Management no longer opens a sufficient number of "lanes". By this method, the "extra" cashiers are assigned to bag groceries so that management no longer has to hire "front end associates" for such tasks - or the rounding up of shopping carts and etcetera.

The customers have been bad in the bad heat. Last week, one woman actually adressed me as "boy". Another, having a bag of free ice from the fish counter, was extraordinarily specific about what she wanted placed in the same bag as the ice. Then she ripped into me for not putting the same items into two bags to make it easier for her to lift. I did not point out that the four items in the bag weighed no more than two pounds. Another woman constantly complains about the weight of her bags, even though I generally end up giving her one item per bag. She exhales grunting noises as she lifts a small cardboard tube of peanuts, but she can easily sling a 24 pack of beer around. One man pushed his cart into my back "to get (my) attention". I was off duty and purchasing my lunch at the time. Another man walked away from his almost two hundred dollar purchase because his driver's license had expired and he was refused the sale of a can of beer.

My hours at work have been reduced again. My work "category", which I don't think exists any longer, is set to provide a minimum of 28 hours and that is all I have been getting for several weeks. I get two days of 8 and a half hours, and three days of 4 hours. And most of my time is now spent on night shifts. After standing for a number of hours, what with the arthritis and all, I can no longer walk properly after my shift. I limp home, leaning heavily upon my cane as I traverse a major highway populated by speeding yahoos, heartless yuppies, other walkers, and a few very nice people who give rides to not quite strangers. If I restrict my hours to those for which bus service exists, I would be moved to the next category down. That group can only get up to 20 hours a week. People in that category, especially those who, like myself, are a bit older, have been getting four hours. A week.

So if my posts are few and far between, please don't worry (well, maybe a little). It's the job, and the heat. I'm cranky and out of sorts. All I'd do is bitch, bitch, and bitch some more.

Mama, Look Sharp

In Congress, July 4th...

The Fourth of July has always been special to me. When I was young, growing up in a small town in the southern part of New Jersey in the 1950's, it meant parades and fireworks. I was in the parade once or twice, marching with the cub scouts back in the days when they still had such parades.

For awhile there, the cub scouts used to go off to the roller rink over in Delmar about once a month. I loved going, even though I was never very good at it; my coordination lacked, well, coordination. Once, our roller rink was going to be closed for a private party. So we all piled into the bus and drove over to Delaware to a rink there. I remember how we waited on the bus. It was hot and uncomfortable. I remember the adults conferring up at the front of the bus. And we waited and waited. We never went in. Instead, the bus took us back home. It was many years before I found out what had happened. One of the cub scouts was a kid named Bruce. We were friends from school. The rink's owners had told the adults that we could go into the rink only if Bruce, who was black, stayed on the bus. The man who argued that we either all went in or none of us went in was my father. The rights of Americans, it seemed, didn't apply to all Americans. That new thing called the TV showed the lie, and the 1960's were born.

In the late 60's as I stepped out into the world on my own, the lie being exposed on TV was the Vietnam War. On October 15th, 1969 there was a worldwide Moratorium to End the War. People either stayed home from work or left their jobs to attend massive protests. I went to the one in New York City. It was a Wednesday, matinee day on Broadway, and the cast of several shows spoke at their curtain calls and invited the audience to attend the next rally with them. The cast of "1776" was there; Howard DiSilva, an actor who had once been blacklisted and who played Benjamin Franklin in that show, and I somehow fell into a great conversation about war, our times, and our country.

"1776" was a very different kind of musical. It concerned the creation and signing of the Declaration of Independence in Philadelphia. Philly was the big city near my hometown, an hour away. I had, of course, been to the old State House where the events took place. As a kid in the area, you went to such places. I also remember a trip to the old barracks in Trenton. The show was a huge success. At the 1969 Tony Awards, the number used to represent the show was one involving none of the principal performers. In it, a young messenger tells of seeing his two best friends shot and killed at Lexington green. The story is barely remembered and rarely told, but that morning most of the Minutemen had left town to defend the colonist's cache of arms in nearby Concord. When the British reached Lexington, its defenders were largely old men and teenagers.

(Video from YouTube of "Momma, Look Sharp", a song from the stage musical 1776, as performed on tv during the 1976 Tony Award Broadcast, was ordered removed by Google due to a copyright claim from SONY, whose Columbia Pictures company owns the movie, but not the musical itself, nor the Tony Awards. I tried to write Google about this at the address they gave me, but  that address turned out to not exist. Since I do not have the money to hire a lawyer in case of further actions should I repost this, I have removed it. So much for freedoms in a corporate controlled environment. If you wish to follow the wishes of the author of this post and watch this video at this point as intended, it is still available on YouTube at the following link: http://youtu.be/lYtbKXCaQx4 ) 


Three generations of my family fought in the Revolution as soldiers of the 26th Massachusetts Regiment under Colonel Baldwin. The Regiment was involved in the siege of Boston, and distinguished itself at the battle at Throg's Neck NY where, wildly outnumbered, they managed to hold off the British until General Washington and his troops could escape to White Plains, NY. They were involved in the battle there, and were with Washington when he crossed the Delaware. They would have been billeted at the barracks in Trenton. Of my three family members there, I think it was my great-great-great grandfather Hiram, who was a teenager at the time.

My post on this blog last year told how, during one particular July 4th during my years in New York City, I began to be uncomfortable in crowds. That post has this link, which still works, to the great Jean Shepherd radio broadcast which tells the 4th of July story of Ludlow Kissell and the Dago Bomb That Stuck Back. When you can, take the 42 or so minutes to listen to a master storyteller, please. You'll be glad you did.

The best July 4th celebrations I know are held every year in Boston. I was somewhat skittish about being in large crowds by the time I lived in Boston, but in 1989 I went downtown to the oldest part of town and took a few pictures of the events of the day. It is on July 4th every year that the USS Constitution, anchored in Boston harbor, is taken out into the bay. The yearly trip is required to keep the ships' commission. The ship is better known as "Old Ironsides".

Every year, there is a small parade which winds its way through the old streets, pausing briefly at sites such as the Granary Burial Grounds, which is the final resting place of three signers of the Declaration of Independence (Sam Adams, Robert Treat Paine, and John Hancock), a number of Revolutionary era patriots including Paul Revere, the victims of the Boston Massacre, and Mary "Mother" Goose (yes, really!). The parade stops again at the Old State House. It was there that the Boston Massacre took place, where British troops opened fire on protesting colonists. The pavement there is marked with a circle of granite where the first American to die for the cause of independency, an escaped slave named Crispus Attucks, fell dead.

It was from the balcony of the Old State House that the Declaration of Independence was first read to the people of the United states. It is read aloud there every year on the 4th. Being asked to do so used to be one of the greatest of honors in Boston.

The parade ends at Faneuil Hall, now better known as the Boston Market. The hall is upstairs; many a debate and meeting held there laid the groundwork for the Revolution. When I lived in Boston, every year on the 4th of July a topic of current public interest would be presented and debated there.
The old Boston and Quincy markets are now a tourist attraction. It was the first such historical place redeveloped by the Rouse Corporation, a creator of indoor shopping malls.

Back at the Old State House, there was a special ceremony that July 4th of 1989. A reproduction of the Liberty Statue that had been in Tiananmen Square in China that June was brought in. It was in Tiananmen Square that a large scale people's protest demanding freedoms was put down by massacring the protesters. I moved closer to get a better look. There standing on the spot where the Boston Massacre had taken place, was Ray Flynn, the mayor of Boston, and Shen Tong, one of the student leaders of the Tiananmen protests.

Mr. Shen had managed to escape the massacre and evaded the manhunt for his arrest. He simply boarded a plane out of China. No one stopped him. He was a hero. He was in his last days of being a teenager at the time.

Brattleboro used to have wonderful 4th of July parades. A friend and I used to drive out from Boston to attend them. Some years back, a local group whose mission was to shut down the local "Yankee" nuclear plant, was told it could no longer participate in the parade; marchers were no longer to protest anything at all, they were only allowed to celebrate our freedoms, thank you very much. The parade was largely financed by the nuclear power plant. People began to stay away. And although in subsequent years the protests were allowed to resume, the parade never really regained its footing nor did it ever regain the crowds that used to attend.

After the Columbia/TriStar office in which I worked in Boston was closed, I moved here. I was in my later 40's and worked three low wage jobs to pay the basic bills. I eventually ended up working for a co-operative organic food wholesaler. After a number of good years, the company went public and was bought (a behind the scenes deal) and I was out of work again. It was a year later before I found work as a clerk in a video store. By the following year, I was managing the store and ordering all the retail goods for both of the stores belonging to the owner. I eventually took over all of the owners work, ordering all of the rental titles for both stores. I worked about 15 hours a day and averaged about two days off a month. After a full year of such work, the owner took me out to lunch. He proceeded to tell me everything he thought I had been doing wrong for the last year. I asked when I was going to get the raise he had promised me over 6 months before. A few days later, he gave me work to do that meant I had to be in the store on the Fourth of July, which was to be my first day off in over a month. I was exhausted and dispirited. The job had taken over my life, most of my friends had fallen away as I no longer had time for them, and had offended some of them unintentionally and unknowingly. My health had suffered, I injured my knee and exacerbated the arthritis there, my skin condition started, and my weight ballooned. That July the 4th, I quit. That decision probably saved my health and mind. But it ruined me financially and spiritually. I could not find work. It was 2008 and the Great Recession had begun.

Now, a few months shy of 62 and early retirement, I usually end up working my low wage job on July the 4th. With reduced hours, standard now for two and a half years, I can barely afford rent and food. The date no longer gives me much of a thrill. That dream is gone. I work with a number of teenagers. I look at them, and realize that they live in a world that is so different from mine, at least the one in my head. America is no longer a moral force in the world. We no longer work for the common good. They either accept, or don't care, or don't feel there is anything they can do that we are now a country that tortures prisoners and marches off to preventative wars. That corporations own and cheapen everything that isn't reserved for the economic ruling class. That extraordinary amounts of money are spent in attempts to purchase the Presidency to the benefit of competing business interests. That unions are said to have almost destroyed the well being of our economy. They think it is right to give up liberty in order to preserve it. Their popular culture is as manufactured and crass as their music and the news they get from television, much of the internet, and the costly remaining newspapers. Their media and their television doesn't expose the lie, it is the lie. They spend their work breaks texting local friends or playing games on their cell phones. They have been fattened on processed chemicals instead of real whole foods, which are only for the well off now. I think about the social progress of the last few years, anti-bullying, obtaining basic rights for gay people, the first steps to getting healthcare for everyone. And it seems to me that these are battles largely being waged by the last remnants of the generations who came of age in the the tumult of the 1960's and 70's. I search the faces around me, but I see few who might become heroes of liberty. July the Fourth is now a day to work, get drunk, set off illegal fireworks, go shopping, and barbecue ever more expensive foodstuffs. The battles in which three generations of my forefathers fought are longer remembered. The ideals and progress built up in this country for the everyday citizen are being forgotten; they are becoming passe. I wonder if our teens would risk their lives for liberty? I look around me, and the only thought I have is, Momma, look sharp.

My best wishes for the Fourth to all those who remember, and still care.

Long-Haired Hare

On June the 25th, 1949, a new Warner Bros. Looney Tune cartoon, created by those talented folks over at Termite Terrace on the WB lot, made it's debut in movie theaters. It was called Long-Haired Hare, and it became a classic. And it sets off another raid on the memory bank.

When was it, around 1984 or so? It was during my tenure as the Director of Theatrical Distribution of Films, Inc. A deal was made with Warner Brothers to make new theatrical prints of their post 1948 cartoons (rights to the pre 1948 library lay elsewhere). They hadn't been available in uncut form for movie theaters since they were originally released. Many of the film exchanges still had a few prints, but they were worn and full of splices. A parade of some of the best by then classics was put together. It, and rentals of separate cartoons, became extremely popular on the revival and art house circuits, at drive-ins, and etc. As a single line item, they almost immediately became our biggest moneymaker. A couple more compilations were made, and a subsequent deal was negotiated between the different companies involved to make new prints of the B&W product.

I no longer remember which set premiered at the Bleecker Street Cinema. I think it was the original, but I can't imagine why it wouldn't have played the Regency (NYC's premiere revival theater at the time) first. At any rate, I was at the initial showing, waiting and looking for Chuck Jones, who was going to make an appearance and introduce the cartoons - or perhaps I should say  re-introduce the cartoons to theaters.

Chuck Jones! He was a writer, animator, and director. After Warners disbanded the cartoon unit, he'd made How the Grinch Stole Christmas for tv. While at Warners, he'd directed Duck Amuck, Rabbit Seasoning, What's Opera, Doc?, and One Froggy Evening. He'd created Marvin the Martian, the Road Runner, and Wylie E. Coyote. He'd refined and fine tuned Bugs and made a star out of former bit player Daffy Duck. He once said, "Bugs is who we want to be. Daffy is who we are." He was the man responsible for much of my behavioral imprinting. Growing up, Bugs Bunny was my hero.

At the Bleecker Steet, I waited. There was no Chuck Jones. The parade started and played to an audience which lost itself in hysterics. As the lights came up, a man stood up a few rows over from my vantage point, and introduced himself. It was Jones! He made a few quick remarks, then melted into the exiting crowd. I was so stunned by his unassuming manner that I can't quite recall what he said. I'm pretty sure that he mentioned that they didn't make the cartoons for kids - they made them for themselves. And he thanked us, of course. To this day, my association with the re-release of these cartoons is one of my proudest and happiest. So I never got a chance to meet the man who was such an influence on my life. It's just as well; I'd probably have become a stammering idiot and embarrassed myself.

Many of the copies of Warner Brothers cartoons which are on You Tube have codes to embed them on blogs like this, but when we do, they turn out to be "blocked" over rights and permissions claims. It's too bad, You Tube had been on its way to becoming such a wonderful depository of our pop cultural heritage. This one seems to work, for now. It's an old favorite, and I wish it a Happy anniversary. Kids today won't get the Stokowski jokes. They might not even catch that the singer is named "Giovanni" (Chuck) Jones. It doesn't matter, it still plays.


 

Bug Juice

It's been hot. On the summer solstice, the temperatures were to climb into the upper 90s and linger there for several days. I was going to need lots of liquid, and I knew it. I generally buy bottled spring water. The kind from real springs, the kind that tastes clean, if clean can be said to have a taste. I buy it in round clear plastic bottles that don't leach the taste of plastic into the water. My tap water is good, but not New York City tap water good. Even so, the water here is the best of any place I've lived in Brattleboro. Except. Except it has an overpoweringly strong smell of what my aging brain starts to say is chlorophyll, then chloroform, and which eventually settles down into chlorine. The heat was going to take more liquid than I wanted to purchase or carry. Something would have to be done.

The answer came from my response to my having filed for early retirement. I filed on June the 6th, D-Day, the first day I was legally able to do so. I found that early retirement isn't when I turn 62 in early September, but when one is 62. My first month of retirement, the computer assured me, would be October. Two weeks later the paperwork in the mail told me that I could expect my check for the month of October to be deposited in my account on approximately November the 15th. My first thought, after the horror of having to work a little longer flashed through my consciousness, was to request someone pass the grape kool-aid. I decided to take the suggestion. Kool-aid is cheap. Except you have to pour in a cup of sugar for every two quarts.

I never realized how much Kool-aid tastes like liquid jello. I've been on a jello with sliced bananas and grapes kick for the last few months. It's a cheap enough snack. After that first shock of recognition, two words floated by as if carried on a slight summer breeze of memory. Bug Juice. There is a picnic table not far from the back door, isn't it under the boughs of a mulberry tree? There is a plastic table cloth of red checkerboard. There are paper plates and cups and napkins and I am four or five in the backyard of the house on Allen Street. It is too hot to eat inside. And it is the kind of humid in which even light cotton feels wet as it clings to the body. There is a slight summer breeze in the twilight. Floating along it are fireflies.

There is a long sigh in the present. I miss the fireflies. There seem to be fewer every year. I haven't seen any for the last two years. I searched the internet on the subject. Lots of people have noticed. Loss of habitat. Pesticides. Changing weather patterns.

I am four or five, and chasing fireflies in the backyard. A glass jar is in my hands. Its lid has many holes poked into it. I use it to try to capture the magic twinkling light because it is special, and I will be special if I can keep it with me, twinkling beside my bed as I drift away on the slight summer breeze.

I am 61 now and the world, and I, have changed.
I miss the fireflies.

What have we wrought?

There are lots of things I have intended to post here, but I often lack the time and the moment passes. I should probably let this next bit go, but my dander is up, as we used to say. This subject isn't anything new, nor do I expect to let loose any comment which would earn a hallowed spot in the curmudgeon hall of fame.

One of the 'soft news' articles published today concerns people (invariably young - or at least much younger than myself) who use Twitter. Twitter uses a limited number of spaces for quick messages. The results have come close to destroying our ability to use language.

By way of example, I shall site a former resident of Brattleboro who now lives in Florida. He obtained a one hour time slot on our community radio station for which he pre-records a show which I then download and put into our automation program. In an email exchange discussing preparation of a new show (he was under the impression we hadn't used his previous effort) he wrote:

"yeah...the reason y i did do another 1 is because u didnt use that 1 so if u can use that 1 for tomm n ill get u a new 1 next week...."

In a world of abbreviated messaging, I suppose that I should applaud his creativity in communication. I am, however, appalled.

Things just got worse.

The article I noted above records responses published on Twitter regarding recent topics in the news. A current sample: "Who is Rodney King?", "Is it bad that idk who Rodney King is,  cause I don't."

Okay, fair enough. Name in the news, flashpoint for the LA riots, all of that was some time ago now.

But then there's comments like these, tweeted during the Grammy Awards back in February:

"who the hell is paul mccartney lomao he hella old!"

"im about to sounds naiive as F but who the hell is Paul McCartney??? this song sucks btw"

"Who tf is Paul Mccartney. ldgaf. Who he is he hella old too."

Okay, I'm horrified, but I'll let that one go, pop music has changed.

Here's the quotes that really got me:

"Wait! Titanic really happened? I thought it was just a movie."

"Guys, the Titanic was real! #mindblown."

"The titanic was real holly shit im never gooing on a cruise"

I was going to use all of this as a springboard to a minor diatribe against our modern world, but I've reconsidered and I think I'll just leave it there.
 
   

So much for "Private"

Back at the beginning of this year, there was a post on this blog which noted the birthday of an entertainer by the name of Sophie Tucker, who passed away almost 50 years ago. As an illustration of Ms. Tucker's style and song delivery - a style relegated to a time long gone - I created and posted my first You Tube video from materials in my personal files. The video comprised a song clip from a movie released in 1937.  The movie studio involved has been bought and sold several times, and there are hundreds of clips from that studio's movies on You Tube.

The clip was intended solely for use on this blog, and was thus marked "Private".

Today, I received  the following email from You Tube (owned by Google, which also owns Blogger, the host of this site):

help center | e-mail options | report spam

Dear --(I deleted my YouTube account name from this post)---, Your video "SophieTucker.mpg", may have content that is owned or licensed by Quiz Group Pro, but it’s still available on YouTube! In some cases, ads may appear next to it. This claim is not penalizing your account status. Visit your Copyright Notice page for more details on the policy applied to your video. Sincerely, - The YouTube Team

© 2012 YouTube, LLC 901 Cherry Ave, San Bruno, CA 94066 ----------------------- Of course I immediately took a look at my You Tube account. The video was still marked "Private". When played, my video had an advertising banner at the base of the You Tube frame. I worked for many years in the movie business, many of them in the area of repertory and revival titles. I know a lot about copyrights, underlying copyrights (i.e. a song used in a film clip may not be owned by the studio who made the movie), etc. I have never heard of "Quiz Group Pro". I know who owns the copyright to the film clip, and I know who owns the rights to the music. Neither are owned by Quiz Group Pro. Nor are they licensed by Quiz Group Pro. So who is Quiz Group Pro? An internet search turned up a Russian marketing company which claims it is the #1 You Tube partner in Russia. "We run the most profitable revenue sharing programs on YouTube..." Now, my account did not suffer any strikes against it based on their copyright claim - made against a PRIVATE video with a total of 13 views. To have such a claim, they are supposed to have on file with Google/You Tube a copy of the material that the Google/You Tube scearchbot utilizes to see if there are  sufficient similarities to justify their claim. I do not have money. If I did, I would notify Google/You Tube and demand to see the proof of this claim. Such action could open one up to a lawsuit. I did find notice of one person who went to court over such claims (don't know from who) and won, but it is still an expensive proposition. And, if I had money, I would take on Google/YouTube for even allowing such a scan in an area that was supposed to be "Private". Although I was in no way required to do so, I deleted the clip. And the only reason I did so is that I will not provide the vehicle for someone else's free ride advertising revenue.  Caveat emptor and all that.

Adverts June 1940

Anyone familiar with my radio show knows that toward the end of a program, I usually include a big band broadcast from the same week, just a different year. And I usually read a bit from the local newspaper that was published the day of the broadcast. I love reading some of the old advertisements. Here's a few examples from the Daily Reformer of June 13th, 1940 (or thereabouts - I do take a little artistic non-exact date license with the advertisements - small town newspaper, not a lot of pages).

God, I'd love to have that car!

Of course you can right click (open in new window - then left click on the image again) to enlarge....

I'd rather not watch for them, thank you.

More notes in passing....

One of things I had intended to do while I was on vacation was a thorough cleaning of my teeny tiny studio. It is easily the dustiest place I have ever lived. So much so that the winter and spring cleaning require moving what few pieces of furniture I have left in order to get at the harbingers of dust apocalypse. The wiring for all the electronics, so carefully laid out to make changes easy, had become an obstruction sapping the life-force of progress. I'd been having my normal "no, you -will- work" argument with the wifi device. I pulled it out of its front of the tower usb port and pushed it back in. The computer shut down. The monitor flashed a message that there was no input and that it was going to sleep. The power to the tower would not turn back on. I kept trying, but there was no response. In the ensuing panic I moved everything so I could get to the surge suppressing outlet adapters. Still powered. I unplugged., sweating beads of desperation and despair. I waited. I bided my time. I plugged back in. I pressed the on button again. It lit. I'd made it.

The experience was not without cost. Passwords and screen id names to websites had melted into the ethernet. I could cope. I also cleaned as I went Being sick all week, I knew I wasn't going to get a deep clean done. But I'd done little bits here and there. Now the area where I sit  has been cleaned up back to the baseboards. It cheers one up to have the floors clean, the dirt swabbed up off the linoleum in the galley, no dishes in the sink. Guest chairs which can actually be used for such purpose instead of temporary storage. The change was gradual and will hopefully continue. It helps.

This week has seen the passing of people whose time here impacted my own, and I must note them. At the beginning of the week, I learned that Frank Cady had died. Anyone who grew up in the 1960's in a house with a television would recognize him instantly. Aside from prolific appearances as a character actor in  movies and on tv, he was Sam Drucker, the storekeeper back home on The Beverly Hillbillies, Petticoat Junction, and Green Acres. It was a great character. He knew it, and seemed to inhabit it effortlessly.

The beginning of the week also saw the passing of Nolan Miller. I'm not a fashion maven, and what interest I have in the subject now is in retrospect. But in the 80's, Mr. Nolan designed the costumes for one of those life among the super-rich nighttime super soap operas, Dynasty. The first season had some glamour, and had ended with the head of the clan on trial for killing his son's male lover. There was a commotion in the courtroom as the camera revealed a pair of elegantly shod legs slinking towards the bench. We had to wait until the next season to learn that the legs belonged to Joan Collins. Her character, wealthy first wife, started a glam war with the second wife. Nolan Miller designed those costumes. It would not surprise me to learn that they were enough to make Cher cry. It was all great fun.

First glimpse in the courtroom...

Nolan Miller with Joan Collins 

typical high fashioned Dynasty

Ann Rutherford passed away. She'd been Scarlet's youngest sister in Gone With the Wind. And she was Polly Benedict, the (girl next door with sass) romantic interest of Andy Hardy. And she was the moon faced and starry eyed female lead of the Glenn Miller movie, Orchestra Wives, who stared so dreamily at trumpet player George Montgomery.

And Wayne Roberts has died. I'd never heard his name before. But I knew his work. Everyone in New York City in the 1970's did. Not that any images conjured themselves, memory was not helpful. And then I saw it - the tag. Stay High 149. It was instantly recognizable, you just never really "saw" it because it was so ubiquitous. It was everywhere. In the era of 1970's New York City budget cutbacks, graffiti was not being removed, and it started changing. No more block letters of names denoting a neighborhood. A look and style began to develop. Wayne Roberts was one of the people who made that happen. He tagged everything. He went everywhere (turns out he was a messenger). His was the first work to have a logo - a stuck figure like the one from the tv show The Saint, except this one was smoking what had to be a joint.

His tags began to be noticed and he began to get a bit of press. He started using entire sides of subway cars as a giant canvas. Norman Mailer featured him in a coffee table picture book celebrating ghetto art for rich white liberals who wanted to be with it. They should have just tried using the subway or actually walking around the side streets where things weren't so pretty and the real people were. At any rate, his picture got published, and he got arrested. The attention brought problems, and he disappeared into a world of drugs where he wouldn't be found. In 2000, someone recognized him. He learned that he had followers, and that he was accorded respect. And his work was being shown in galleries. He cleaned himself up, and made a little money selling his tags. He had a few good years before passing this week of liver disease. He was 61.

While it was easy to applaud the sheer gall and the in your face statement of existence of his surreptitiously and  nocturnally accomplished monumental graffiti, there was another side of it which made me sad. It wasn't that I was concerned about the destruction of public property. It was more the side effects, the proliferation of disrespect - for buildings, for conveyances most people used every day, for our immediate world. The decaying urban environment was gritty enough, it didn't need this visual pollution that grew to infect even small out of the way towns like Brattleboro. 

Graffiti became a movement. And it became the backdrop and artwork of an explosion of urban black creativity that channeled into dance and music. Rap. Hip Hop. Like anything else real and vital it quickly became a commodity to be sold and managed. It was linked to the growing image of thug culture, another sales job that too many people bought into. With the addition of cheap drugs, the new way of things, the image of cool, a veritable lifestyle, would trap and destroy more than just one generation. It's a cynical style that has cheapened our world and our culture. And I hope its time is passing, too.

The need to be done with that era is kind of like cleaning up your living space after a burst of drop and go. Cleaned up, things are a little nicer. Not so depressing. It helps, if only a little.

Center Square

I can't quite remember where I first saw Paul Lynde. I -think- it was in the role of Ann Margaret's father in the Bye Bye Birdie movie (a role he had originated on Broadway). He was Uncle Arthur on Bewitched. And then he became the center square on the Hollywood Squares game show. His snarky persona was as famous as his quips, which were unbelievably outrageous for their time. He was, by many accounts, an unhappy person. Today is his birthday, and I just wanted to take a moment to remember a man who made (and still makes) me laugh.

A few of his more famous lines from the center sqaure:

Q: In the movies, Frankenstein's monster was always big and ugly. And he had lots of scars. What was his biggest fear?
A: That the girls would be turned off by his big nuts.

Q: According to the old song, "At night, when you're asleep, into your tent I'll creep." Who am I?
A: The scoutmaster.

Q. Do female frogs croak?
A: If you hold their little heads under water long enough.

Q: Paul, can you get an elephant drunk?
A: Yes, but he still won't go up to your apartment.

Q: Prometheus was tied to the top of a mountain by the gods because he had given something to man. What did he give us?
A: I don't know what you got, but I got a sports shirt.

Q: Is Billy Graham considered a good dresser?
A: No, but he's a terrific end table.

Q: Is using an electric vibrating machine a good way to lose weight?
A: That's what I told the saleslady, but she just winked.

Q: When is it a good idea to put your pantyhose in the microwave oven for two minutes?
A: When your house is surrounded by the police.

Q:  If the right part comes along, will George C. Scott do a nude scene?
A:  You mean he doesn't have the right part?

Q: What do you call a man who gives you diamonds and pearls?
A: I'd call him "darling"!

Q: Oh, Paul, what would we ever do without you?
A:  Replace me with Charles Nelson Reilly!

Q:  Paul, according to the World Book Encylopedia, what is the main reason dogs pant?
A:  Because they can’t talk dirty!

Q: When you pat a dog on its head he will usually wag his tail. What will a goose do?
A: Make him bark.

Q: What is the name of the instrument with the light on the end, that the doctor sticks in your ear?
A: Oh, a cigarette.

Q: It is considered in bad taste to discuss two subjects at nudist camps. One is politics. What is the other?
A: Tape measures.

Q: Paul, in ancient Rome, bakers were required by law to bake something into each loaf of bread. What?
A: A Christian.

Q: What is a pullet?
A: A little show of affection.

Q: According to the French Chef, Julia Child, how much is a pinch?
A: Just enough to turn her on.

Q: Paul, why do Hell's Angels wear leather?
A: Because chiffon wrinkles too easily. 


Happy Birthday, Mr. Lynde.
And Thanks for all the laughs.

It's complicated

My little blog is under attack again. Some time back this site was discovered by spam bots which post voluminously and mercilessly at times. Their favorite choices for attack are "Uh, oh", which has (in two segments) a great piece from the Daily Show class warfare files, and "A Meditation on Valentine's Day". Most of their droppings push pills at discount prices. We are now knee deep in synchronicity, folks. Over at Austanspace Laura posted about the poor, and finished up with a clip from the movie "Caberet" in which Liza Minnelli and Joel Grey perform "The Money Song". As I was web gliding (I'm becoming more of a glider than a surfer these days, 'surfing' sounds too active), I chanced upon a blog with a video of Minnelli, Michael York, and Joel Grey at an event for a restoration job on the movie. All I will say is that time is not on our side. Oh - the restored footage chosen for the video was of "The Money Song". Liza, of course, is the daughter of Judy Garland. And you have no idea what restraint I am exercising in letting that description stand as is. The Meditation on Valentine's Day post used a song lyric written by Johnny Mercer. He wrote it to Garland as in, well, as in a love song. (Rather inconvenient as he met Garland at the time of her wedding to David Rose, but that's all another story. Maybe. It's complicated.)

Anyway, this past Sunday, I noted a couple of my personal reverberations for this time of year and the date of June the 10th. I left several things out (historically speaking, it's a busy day). The 10th was Judy Garland's birthday. To be honest, I avoided mentioning it because I didn't quite know what to say or do.

Garland was born on a June the 10th and died on June the 22nd. A friend of mine noticed that if you count it, as on a calendar, there are Twelve Days of Judy. "...on the sixth day of Judy my true love gave to me, six numbutol, five black bea-u-ties, four seconal, three... and a vodka chassseeerrrr". Well, you get the idea even if I can't sing.

What is there to say? The world has changed so much. Does the story still resonate with people today? Her parents vaudevillians who ran a movie house. Onstage at and from the age of two. Had to move when the stories about her father and the ushers started getting around. Resettled to the California promised land with a stage mother determined to give Rose Hovick a run for her money. Or in this case, her child's money. Under contract to the biggest, most powerful movie studio of the day, where the studio chief famously referred to her as his "little hunchback", and where she was given pills to keep her going, and pills to go to sleep. Hell of a story. Proclivity for drugs, alcohol, marrying gay men. Proverbial train wreck, multi car pile up. Pathos and bathos. It's one of those "when the legend becomes fact, print the legend" kinds of things. The story, and all that goes with it, the whole mythos, none of it really matters. What matters is that she was probably the best Goddamned entertainer who ever lived or who will ever live. For her last two birthdays, I unintentionally posted the same clip. Last year, I titled the post "Once every eternity". That about sums it up. See folks, this is what matters:

Happy Birthday, Judy. 

and Thank You.

time of the year

Last night, after having done what felt like a good radio show (a birthday salute to Cole Porter), I walked home at dusk as the scent of stock and gilliflowers perfumed a slight breeze. It was a beautiful evening, and I was suddenly 6 years old, catching fireflies in a jar in the backyard of the house on Allen Street. After arriving home I made repeated trips to the back door, peering out into the growing dark looking for fireflies, but there were none. Perhaps they are delayed due to the lengthy bout of rainy weather. Perhaps time has passed them by.

Today is the first day of a week long vacation. So, of course, late yesterday afternoon I started sneezing. By late last evening and overnight, half of my head was inflamed, glands were swollen, and so on and so forth. My friend Larry, who gets married this afternoon, has pancreatic cancer and has just started chemotherapy. It would not be a good idea for me to attend  his celebration. Ah, well.

This time of the year has any number of reverberations in my memory. My father passed away on June the 8th, 2000. It was in what, 1993? or 1994? while living in Boston that I went into hospital for a week with a very bad case of pneumonia. I've never been the same since. I almost missed the show of peonies in my garden. I had a plot in the Back Bay Fens, in what had been the WWII Victory Gardens. That was a rather wonderful garden, if I do say so myself. With the old roses and the peonies in bloom at the same time, you could smell my garden at least 100 feet away.  I won an award for it.

























And it was on a Monday, June 10th, 1968 to be exact, that I graduated High School. I received a special
award for being the "most dependable". No one in my family ever congratulated me or commented on it. Back then, I was the only  student who could be in the hallways between classes without an official pass. I was head of the audio visual department, as well as the managing editor of The Dragon, our school newspaper.

Those were heady and disturbing times. In just the few days before graduation, a woman named Valerie Solanas shot Andy Warhol, Robert Kennedy -  running for President - was assassinated, and the assassin of Martin Luther King, Jr. (who had been shot two months before) was arrested. There had been riots in Paris when the police cracked down on striking students. The Vietnam War was always in the news, as was 'Black Power'. The musical "Hair" had opened on Broadway. Simon & Garfunkel were singing about Mrs. Robinson, and Otis Redding was (Sittin' On) The Dock of the Bay. There was a cake melting in MacArthur Park, The Ohio Express had embarrassed the world with a song called "Yummy, Yummy, Yummy", Aretha (who was was to be on the cover of Time Magazine by the end of the month) was getting lots of airplay for her song, "Think". The Beatles started a new company called Apple Records. A new house cost $14,950.00 in a time when the average income was  $7,850.00 a year (minimum wage was $1.60 per hour). The average cost of a new car was $2,822.00, and gas was 34 cents a gallon. It cost you $1.50 to go see "2001, A Space Odyssey", "The Odd Couple", or the movie everyone was waiting for which opened later that week, "Rosemary's Baby". 

Salvador Dali created the cover of that week's TV Guide, which felt appropriate, as tv was often surreal between the news and the  variety shows, cop shows, and crazy comedies. There was Ed Sullivan, Lawrence Welk, the Hollywood Palace, the Kraft Music Hall, Jackie Gleason, Carol Burnett, Jonathon Winters, Red Skelton, the Smother's Brothers, Dean Martin, and Laugh-In. There were big star recent release movies being shown every night of the week in prime time. You could also see shows like Walt Disney's Wonderful World of Color, Peyton Place (which was on twice a week, and which had just made the change to color from black and white), My Three Sons, Hogan's Heroes, Mission Impossible, a Flying Nun, Bewitched, I Dream of Jeanie, Gunsmoke, Bonanza, Green Acres,  the Avengers, Mod Squad, That Girl, and Star Trek. We didn't know it then, but the first Big Mac would be sold the following September, forever changing food and creating a world of chain stores. 

That was the world into which I was being ejected. I was glad to be done with High School, and glad to be done with my little town. In a few days, I would leave my father's home forever as I went to find work for the summer in Ocean City. It occurs to me now that I also went off in search of myself.

Over the years, I've often heard people wish to be 17 (as I was when I graduated) or 18 again, or want to relive the '60's. Not me, once was enough, Thank You. 

To live in the fantasy again

It's been a lovely morning. There was a romantic's mist which settled in ever so briefly around 6am. It was a quiet morning - except for the birds whose 5am wake up chatter was rather boisterous. After yesterday's rain, I suppose that was forgivable. If I had a better camera (and glasses through which to see properly) I'd have run out to take photographs. I miss taking pictures. As much as I like the new digital world, I miss 35mm film. Now that Kodak is under bankruptcy re-organisation, does anyone still make 35mm film? Can it still be developed? I have several rolls that never made it to the photo shop during periods of financial duress. I've no idea what's on them. I hope I can still get them developed. Another project for another day. From 6am until 8am I took the time to web surf - my wifi connection has returned, at least for now. As I meandered around, I kept finding images of the world in which I grew up. A world in which design mattered. Yes, it was all a fantasy. And yes, sometimes, I want it back. A world of crepe paper proms, of girls in summer dresses, of fashion models in impossible poses...

Un-published photo taken for LIFE magazine, Mariemont High School's 1958 prom

Un-published photo taken for LIFE magazine, Mariemont High School's 1958 prom

LIFE magazine, 1958 - 'Formal dance held at the Kenwood Country Club was only traditional part of Mariemont's prom'

Evelyn Tripp in a summer dress, 1950's. I think this was taken for Vogue magazine.

Model wearing a gown with tulle trim for Queen magazine, 1951

Mannequins in window - Stockholm 1957

Dovima for Vogue US, 1951.

Jean Patchett, 1950s

Oh, well. Time to go. There's a beautiful day a'wastin'. Of course, I have to get the laundry started before the usual Sunday morning guy monopolizes the machines for the rest of the day....