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.

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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.

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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.

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More holiday stuff to come, as Turkey Day ensues, and Santa gorges himself for his wild, world-wide ride.