To begin the Christmas season, I have to confess: I always wince when I hear "Frosty the Snowman." I must have been 9 years-old when the story was turned into a cartoon special for CBS. There I was, a kid with three brothers in the service; I'd watched the nation mourn Martin Luther King, Junior and Robert F. Kennedy on TV, and endured a change of schools. Then, to compound events, I watched a holiday special about a snowman, and got bummed because the sumbitch melted!!
Enjoy "Frosty," if you must--I'll take an uplifting tune like "Let it Snow, Let it Snow, let's exchange breathmints."
*
Now, on to the holiday just passed. It was a quiet time for a man not used to two consecutive days off the road. I decided to spend the day after Thanksgiving observing the hustle and bustle of my fellow Americans as they consumed any and everything on sale. What I saw was just how the world has changed over the last ten years. It's over the last decade that the day after Thanksgiving morphed into Black Friday. At what point (during what apparently has been my ten years snooze) did the day after Turkey day turn into "Black Friday?"
In the 60's, this was a welcome second day home from school, with ABC-TV offering a full slate of cartoons. It was also a day for the first of what would be a hundred turkey sandwiches (in our house, that meant bread slices, spread with butter, then loaded with stuffing, cranberry sauce and turkey---no small wonder a family-wide cholesterol battle rages, still).
At some point, local TV news organizations appropriated the retail jargon that alludes to the profit goal of that day, and "Black" Friday was born. It's covered as breathlessly as a Presidential campaign. We're treated to early morning video, capturing a phalanx of shoppers (and a few loutish buffoons), in herculean exhibitions of pre-dawn bargain hunting.
Some stores were open as early as 3 am, others said the hell with it and were open on
Thanksgiving Day. The pumpkin pie could obviously wait! There was money to be made!
My Friday journey started with circling the mall parking lot for about 15 minutes. I marveled at the fact that, even by 2pm, this massive horde had descended upon one place.
This was immediately apparent: at least one in three of the drivers had one hand on the wheel, and the other jammed to their skull, in the now familiar position of the frequent cell phone user. Since 1997, as the years flew by with the whoosh of an F-15, not only has the term "Black Friday" become standard, but cellular telephony has become affordable, convenient, and conspicuous to the point where it's taken for granted.
This kind of constant communication was once the stuff of comic strips. Something Dick Tracy would use to track down Mucous Face, or Flattop, or some other miscreant. With cell phones we get chit-chat, photos, video, music, instantaneous information. Dick Tracy would be amazed.
None-the-less, I don't use a cell when I drive. I have enough on my hands making sure I don't get run into by the people who are talking, gesticulating, head jerking, doing all the things people have always done when they talk on a phone.
Back to the mall--once I parked and went inside, it was much the same as it was in the parking lot. One in three were ambling along, engrossed in conversation. I walked and watched, while my inner monologue carefully noted it all. Had I been on the phone, I wouldn't be soaking it all in...the chatters, the gawkers, the cuties, the waddlers, the whole atmosphere.
There's been a transformation in human behavior with the advent of the technology we use so readily. Most obvious to me is that as people engage the urge to gab, they do so at a full robust volume, and it doesn't seem to phase them. Any and all personal issues are thrust into the open to bounce off the walls and into the consciousness of others--from the most mundane item of daily drudgery, to the embarrassingly prurient detail. I guess there was reason Ma Bell put public telephones in booths, that reason being PRIVACY. People don't seem to care about what they say, how loud they say it or where they might be when it's said. This fascinates me because when I use the cell in public places, I gravitate toward an enclosure, or someplace where I won't disturb others or air any private harangues.
It's increasingly evident that the more technological advances we make, the more we have to sacrifice in return. We don't realize it's a sacrifice because the conveniences we enjoy are so awesome. But they are sacrifices, still and all. There was a line Spencer Tracy delivered in an old movie called Inherit The Wind that says it better than I ever could. Playing a fictional version of attorney Clarence Darrow at the famous "Scopes Monkey Trial," Tracy addressed the jury about the price of progress: "The telephone unites us, but we lose the charm of distance; The airplane brings us closer, but the birds lose their wonder and the clouds smell of gasoline!"
If the Clarence Darrow-like character wondered about the advances of the 1920's, what we have in the 21st century would make him beat his head like a Neanderthal seeing a fire lit for the first time.
This is where we are, and there's no going back.
*
Not that some don't want us to--go backward, that is. A couple of weeks ago, Mike Huckabee, a Presidential candidate who's slowly rising in the polls, told an interviewer he believes the world is six thousand years old. If Clarence Darrow were living, his head would explode! This is what the "Scopes Monkey Trial" of 1925 was all about. Educator John Scopes was arrested for teaching Darwin's theory of evolution in Tennessee. He'd done so to test the validity of the law. Darrow defended Scopes, and William Jennings Bryan, three time presidential nominee and fundamentalist voice of the everyman, served as prosecutor. The film "Inherit the Wind" dramatizes the story brilliantly. The Scopes trial was in 1925, the movie was released in 1960. The idea of a presidential candidate in 2007 disavowing the theory of evolution is alarming. This is a battle with ignorance that was fought and won years ago...or so we thought.
That little nugget from Governor Huckabee was compounded by an utterance made a few months ago by the latest "brain surgeon" to fill the "zaftig" seat on that one hour tribute to oral halitosis, The View. I don't know her name, and don't really care to, but this misguided, gum-flapping cretin said she didn't know whether or not the world was FLAT. I could surmise the same about her head. Somebody please show her a photo from any Apollo moon mission, or maybe, just maybe have her crack open a school book before her lips separate once more, and foul the air with her appalling stupidity!
*
For those not in the Los Angeles area, and if you're of a certain age, you missed a holiday flashback. L.A's Channel 5, KTLA, celebrated its 60th anniversary on the air, with 60 straight hours of venerated old TV shows. I hadn't seen some of these series in 30 years. The lesson here is that what once made you howl with glee doesn't always hold up. What we recall as amusing TV in the 1960's, with rare exception, ages poorly. Case in point, McHale's Navy and F-Troop were must-see shows for me as a child. Watching them this weekend, there was no escaping the triteness, and the unflinching insensitivity to Asian and Native Americans. Such were the times. It's better to not watch those old shows, and just remember they once entertained you.
The exceptions, though, were strong! Jack Benny, The Honeymooners, and yes, The Munsters are still funny, even though it's been 42 years since the thermos from my Munsters lunchbox rolled out, hit the sidewalk and imploded.
'Til next time, Merry, Merry!
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Sunday, November 11, 2007
A few Random notes for November
THE DECADENCE OF SLEEPING ALL DAY
It's only decadent if you've spent all night, thrashing about in a world of hedonistic pleasure. If you work overnight, four or five nights a week, it's more like a refueling. That's what I did with the day, regardless of how I would like to have spent it, or where I'd like to have gone. When the body says "shut it down," you listen.
Having established that the day is gone, I figured this time out in the blogosphere, I'd tackle random topics with a few pithy comments, a la Larry King's old column in USA Today. I call it Larry King's old column, but who's to say Larry ever pushed a noun against a verb unless it was while he on radio or TV, massaging the egos of some politician, or Teeing up softballs for the latest tabloid sensation?
So, here we go with random thoughts:
JACK O'LANTERN THIS, CHARLIE BROWN
The pumpkin I bought for Halloween was tough enough to seat two fat rats and Cinderella. The sharpest steak knife couldn't carve it, so I drew the face of an imbecile on it with a magic marker. The neighbors loved it. Imbeciles were offended.
*
Have you noticed that once Halloween is over, Christmas season begins, with Thanksgiving as the huge meal in between? I'm certain that time hasn't dimmed my memory. There was a definite distance between the holidays, in the past. Here in the 21st century, you go to the drug store on November 1st, and the electrodes on Frankenstein's neck are replaced with jingle bells.
NEWS YOU COULD LOSE, AND JOHNNY U
After inhaling 858 pages of Arthur Schlesinger, I read Howard Kurtz, "Reality Wars," the latest tome detailing the seriousness and adjacent tom-foolery behind the world of network news. It's for those who are curious to examine the story behind those who present the news, and how delivering information has changed since TVs began to glow in every household. A 1983 book called "The Evening Stars," by Barbara Matusow starts the real tale of TV network news, from the 40's through Tom Brokaw, Peter Jennings, and Dan Rather. Kurtz ' book picks up where Matusow left off. Interesting history. Where the early anchors, like Cronkite and Brinkley, made the ascent from newspapers to radio and TV, today's anchor is a creation of TV itself, hence they are celebs...yet journalists, still. If you are inclined, give it a read.
*
Another book I've been going through is a biography of Johnny Unitas, the old Balitmore Colts quarterback. In those far way days before VCRs and DVDs, I had a film-cartridge player with a hand crank. In one of the film cartridges, Johnny Unitas taught you how to play quarterback. Imagine a day before 24-hour sports networks and sports talk radio. Cranking those cartridges was a way to watch football between games and in January (yes, January) when football season was over. Also, turning the crank forward and backward a click or two could make Johnny Unitas do wacky things with a football that only kids could appreciate.
In the Unitas book, the author details Johnny's first days in training camp with the Pittsburgh Steelers in 1955. When he asked where equipment like pads, socks, and jockstraps were, Johnny U was appalled when directed to grab what he needed from a large pile in the corner of the locker room. That was the NFL in the 50's, unsophisticated, uncouth, and unsanitary. After reading this passage, I saw a 60 minutes TV report about the spread of MRSA, a super staph infection that is impervious to anti-biotics. High Schools in Virgina are disinfecting their locker rooms on a regular basis, and telling players to wash frequently and not to share towels and clothing. It occured to me that those who played in the 1950's era NFL may well have risked the PLAGUE.
WE WISH YOU A SCHMALTZY CHRISTMAS
Not to beat a point to death, there are times when I envy the bears that hibernate between November and January. Bears are lucky, because they don't have to endure the maudlin seepage that serves as Holiday music, today. Jingle Bells, Rudolf The Red Nosed Reindeer, and O Holy Night have been almost completely supplanted by so many depressing efforts, the joy of the season is nearly lost. It is a fact that as the days grow short, and as pressure to please and entertain mounts, the blues can take hold. It's my position that the happier aspects of the season can only be enhanced by music that picks up the spirits. Devastating lyrics about lost pets and other hideous circumstances pluck the heart strings, yes. But in my mind, they have little association with the words "Merry Christmas."
I'm nearly alone in my opinion. Since 9/11, the ratings companies tell us all-Christmas radio stations do very well playing both Frosty the Snowman and co-dependant, sob-inducing, dirges by the likes of New Kids on the Block and Kenny G, for up to two months, 24 hours a day, seven days a week.
Don't get me wrong--sentimentality, nostalgia, and pathos are a part of Christmas. I'd just rather hear bells jingling and egg-nogg pouring...with more nogg than egg, thank you. In other words, I prefer all the good-old Christmas tunes.
*
More holiday stuff to come, as Turkey Day ensues, and Santa gorges himself for his wild, world-wide ride.
It's only decadent if you've spent all night, thrashing about in a world of hedonistic pleasure. If you work overnight, four or five nights a week, it's more like a refueling. That's what I did with the day, regardless of how I would like to have spent it, or where I'd like to have gone. When the body says "shut it down," you listen.
Having established that the day is gone, I figured this time out in the blogosphere, I'd tackle random topics with a few pithy comments, a la Larry King's old column in USA Today. I call it Larry King's old column, but who's to say Larry ever pushed a noun against a verb unless it was while he on radio or TV, massaging the egos of some politician, or Teeing up softballs for the latest tabloid sensation?
So, here we go with random thoughts:
JACK O'LANTERN THIS, CHARLIE BROWN
The pumpkin I bought for Halloween was tough enough to seat two fat rats and Cinderella. The sharpest steak knife couldn't carve it, so I drew the face of an imbecile on it with a magic marker. The neighbors loved it. Imbeciles were offended.
*
Have you noticed that once Halloween is over, Christmas season begins, with Thanksgiving as the huge meal in between? I'm certain that time hasn't dimmed my memory. There was a definite distance between the holidays, in the past. Here in the 21st century, you go to the drug store on November 1st, and the electrodes on Frankenstein's neck are replaced with jingle bells.
NEWS YOU COULD LOSE, AND JOHNNY U
After inhaling 858 pages of Arthur Schlesinger, I read Howard Kurtz, "Reality Wars," the latest tome detailing the seriousness and adjacent tom-foolery behind the world of network news. It's for those who are curious to examine the story behind those who present the news, and how delivering information has changed since TVs began to glow in every household. A 1983 book called "The Evening Stars," by Barbara Matusow starts the real tale of TV network news, from the 40's through Tom Brokaw, Peter Jennings, and Dan Rather. Kurtz ' book picks up where Matusow left off. Interesting history. Where the early anchors, like Cronkite and Brinkley, made the ascent from newspapers to radio and TV, today's anchor is a creation of TV itself, hence they are celebs...yet journalists, still. If you are inclined, give it a read.
*
Another book I've been going through is a biography of Johnny Unitas, the old Balitmore Colts quarterback. In those far way days before VCRs and DVDs, I had a film-cartridge player with a hand crank. In one of the film cartridges, Johnny Unitas taught you how to play quarterback. Imagine a day before 24-hour sports networks and sports talk radio. Cranking those cartridges was a way to watch football between games and in January (yes, January) when football season was over. Also, turning the crank forward and backward a click or two could make Johnny Unitas do wacky things with a football that only kids could appreciate.
In the Unitas book, the author details Johnny's first days in training camp with the Pittsburgh Steelers in 1955. When he asked where equipment like pads, socks, and jockstraps were, Johnny U was appalled when directed to grab what he needed from a large pile in the corner of the locker room. That was the NFL in the 50's, unsophisticated, uncouth, and unsanitary. After reading this passage, I saw a 60 minutes TV report about the spread of MRSA, a super staph infection that is impervious to anti-biotics. High Schools in Virgina are disinfecting their locker rooms on a regular basis, and telling players to wash frequently and not to share towels and clothing. It occured to me that those who played in the 1950's era NFL may well have risked the PLAGUE.
WE WISH YOU A SCHMALTZY CHRISTMAS
Not to beat a point to death, there are times when I envy the bears that hibernate between November and January. Bears are lucky, because they don't have to endure the maudlin seepage that serves as Holiday music, today. Jingle Bells, Rudolf The Red Nosed Reindeer, and O Holy Night have been almost completely supplanted by so many depressing efforts, the joy of the season is nearly lost. It is a fact that as the days grow short, and as pressure to please and entertain mounts, the blues can take hold. It's my position that the happier aspects of the season can only be enhanced by music that picks up the spirits. Devastating lyrics about lost pets and other hideous circumstances pluck the heart strings, yes. But in my mind, they have little association with the words "Merry Christmas."
I'm nearly alone in my opinion. Since 9/11, the ratings companies tell us all-Christmas radio stations do very well playing both Frosty the Snowman and co-dependant, sob-inducing, dirges by the likes of New Kids on the Block and Kenny G, for up to two months, 24 hours a day, seven days a week.
Don't get me wrong--sentimentality, nostalgia, and pathos are a part of Christmas. I'd just rather hear bells jingling and egg-nogg pouring...with more nogg than egg, thank you. In other words, I prefer all the good-old Christmas tunes.
*
More holiday stuff to come, as Turkey Day ensues, and Santa gorges himself for his wild, world-wide ride.
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