January 31, 2009
LIFE EXPLAINED, PART 302
You're unlikely to hear anytime soon about aliens abducting a smart guy from a big city, say a scientist or the mayor or somebody like that. These aliens aren't doing themselves any favors by continually abducting guys with mullet haircuts and supermarket cashiers from trailer parks. Whatever happened to "Take me to your leader?"
OKAY, SCIENCE PEOPLE, IT'S PUT UP OR SHUT UP TIME!
Word out of Washington is that it is no longer official policy to consider science to be some sort of voodoo religion. Which means... well, who knows what it means? That depends on the scientists, doesn't it? It just might be that they have to go through a period of adjustment like the comedy industry is now experiencing after 8 years of growing lazy from government handouts. Our nation's comics were given a free ride by the Bush The Younger Administration with its socialist policy of providing them with their raw material for nothing. Few comics were prepared to start writing their own jokes again and the new administration won't play ball and act ridiculous. While the handwriting was on the wall for some time now, many in the comedy industry refused to believe that the government would stop giving them handouts, figuring to be permanently bailed out like they were for 8 glorious years.
All good things must come to an end however, and the comedians' loss looks to be our scientists' gain. Will they step up and get productive again? Can they on such short notice? They are in the opposite position of the comedy sector, far out of practice after being banished to society's wilderness with nary a government bone thrown their way, while the comedians are suffering from too much government largesse. Many of our scientists have spent their years in exile pursuing one frivolous project after another, from shilling for giant pharmaceutical corporations inventing drugs for imaginary mental conditions to debating whether the dinosaurs died out from getting whacked by an asteroid or by early mammal hit squads. None of which has helped mankind deal with some very severe problems that were only made worse by 8 years of comedy-oriented government.
It seems that their scientific skills have been so blunted that these people claim they have invented the wind! Everybody knows the Dutch invented the wind back in the Middle Ages when they started building all those wind mills. And as far as the sun, wasn't that an Egyptian discovery? How else can one explain all those temples to the sun god Aten and the fact that most of Egypt is one of the most sunburnt wastelands on this planet? Maybe when you spend 8 years debating over whether Pluto is a real planet or just another icy rock that's what happens, you start grasping at straws. You keep jabbering about how great life would be if only someone would let us do some stem cell research. Okay, you're allowed to do that now. Please don't tell us you've come up with a revolutionary new stem cell skin moisturizer or we're going to have to put some better people on the job.
And nobody gives a rat's ass about Restless Leg Syndrome, that's just a byproduct of being 9 years old and bored out of your skull by a teacher with a small imagination and smaller talent for teaching. The kid does not need to be drugged into a pint-sized zombie. Don't tell us about one more insect or anything further about the personal habits of gophers. We'd sort of like our scientists to tell us something we don't know, like maybe how to propel our vehicles and heat our homes without burning a giant hole in the sky and making tyrants rich. Or maybe curing a disease or two. What are you guys, like 0 for 50 since Polio? Talk about a slump! Those numbers will get you sent back to the minors. You haven't made much of a dent in cancer, diabetes or the new kid on the block, AIDS. Even malaria and cholera are making comebacks! What's next, leprosy? The Black Plague?
Just maybe in the near future the Discovery Channel and National Geographic can air some shows about scientists who haven't been dead for 50 years or more. Those cushy jobs narrating stuff abut Newton, Einstein, Curie and Galileo don't seem to have inspired similar efforts. Instead of talking about black holes, why don't we just send some people back into space? And not just in the neighborhood installing cable TV satellites either, deep space where cool and useful stuff can be discovered. The last bunch of scientific advances grew out of the space program, the fiber optics and the computers and whatnot. Let's see what else we can find. There will be no shortage of volunteers to go where no man has gone before if the scientists can get their act together and decide that the Moon is not the limit of either mankind or our imaginations.
Feeding the hungry would be a neat trick, too. On an incredibly bountiful planet, 36,000 people die every single day from starvation. Anybody working on that one besides Sally Struthers? There's a reason why poor people are chopping down the rain forests (our planet's lungs) like beavers on steroids and that's because they have ruined their existing farmland with Bronze Age farming methods. Any research underway to change that reality or do we have to rely on Sting and Bono, they of the single names? The choppers are only going to ruin the new farms in a couple of seasons and keep chopping and people willstill be dying in droves. Here's a clue: the rock & roll stars haven't come up with any scientific solutions, they are just keeping the seat warm and the issue alive until some of you people decide to make a career change from measuring the wing spans of hummingbirds and creating computer models of dinosaurs fighting each other like a bunch of 7-year olds claiming "My Tyrannosaurus can beat up your Stegosaurus!" Who cares?
Well, we can't burn the rotten remains of your computer generated behemoths and your efforts on behalf people with short attention spans have proven pretty fruitless outside of the fun drugs you keep creating. What else have you got beside a long white lab coat and a bunch of letters after your name? If you get busy now, real busy, maybe someday you'll have a list of accomplishments to go along with that PhD. And if your laboratory happens to be on the waterfront, it's not like you have a ton of time, either. Once those ice caps start to melt you'll have to switch to Oceanography or drown with the rest of us who didn't see fit to move to the new seacoasts of Pennsylvania and Utah. Science people, it's time to put up or shut up. We're watching you!
All good things must come to an end however, and the comedians' loss looks to be our scientists' gain. Will they step up and get productive again? Can they on such short notice? They are in the opposite position of the comedy sector, far out of practice after being banished to society's wilderness with nary a government bone thrown their way, while the comedians are suffering from too much government largesse. Many of our scientists have spent their years in exile pursuing one frivolous project after another, from shilling for giant pharmaceutical corporations inventing drugs for imaginary mental conditions to debating whether the dinosaurs died out from getting whacked by an asteroid or by early mammal hit squads. None of which has helped mankind deal with some very severe problems that were only made worse by 8 years of comedy-oriented government.
It seems that their scientific skills have been so blunted that these people claim they have invented the wind! Everybody knows the Dutch invented the wind back in the Middle Ages when they started building all those wind mills. And as far as the sun, wasn't that an Egyptian discovery? How else can one explain all those temples to the sun god Aten and the fact that most of Egypt is one of the most sunburnt wastelands on this planet? Maybe when you spend 8 years debating over whether Pluto is a real planet or just another icy rock that's what happens, you start grasping at straws. You keep jabbering about how great life would be if only someone would let us do some stem cell research. Okay, you're allowed to do that now. Please don't tell us you've come up with a revolutionary new stem cell skin moisturizer or we're going to have to put some better people on the job.
And nobody gives a rat's ass about Restless Leg Syndrome, that's just a byproduct of being 9 years old and bored out of your skull by a teacher with a small imagination and smaller talent for teaching. The kid does not need to be drugged into a pint-sized zombie. Don't tell us about one more insect or anything further about the personal habits of gophers. We'd sort of like our scientists to tell us something we don't know, like maybe how to propel our vehicles and heat our homes without burning a giant hole in the sky and making tyrants rich. Or maybe curing a disease or two. What are you guys, like 0 for 50 since Polio? Talk about a slump! Those numbers will get you sent back to the minors. You haven't made much of a dent in cancer, diabetes or the new kid on the block, AIDS. Even malaria and cholera are making comebacks! What's next, leprosy? The Black Plague?
Just maybe in the near future the Discovery Channel and National Geographic can air some shows about scientists who haven't been dead for 50 years or more. Those cushy jobs narrating stuff abut Newton, Einstein, Curie and Galileo don't seem to have inspired similar efforts. Instead of talking about black holes, why don't we just send some people back into space? And not just in the neighborhood installing cable TV satellites either, deep space where cool and useful stuff can be discovered. The last bunch of scientific advances grew out of the space program, the fiber optics and the computers and whatnot. Let's see what else we can find. There will be no shortage of volunteers to go where no man has gone before if the scientists can get their act together and decide that the Moon is not the limit of either mankind or our imaginations.
Feeding the hungry would be a neat trick, too. On an incredibly bountiful planet, 36,000 people die every single day from starvation. Anybody working on that one besides Sally Struthers? There's a reason why poor people are chopping down the rain forests (our planet's lungs) like beavers on steroids and that's because they have ruined their existing farmland with Bronze Age farming methods. Any research underway to change that reality or do we have to rely on Sting and Bono, they of the single names? The choppers are only going to ruin the new farms in a couple of seasons and keep chopping and people willstill be dying in droves. Here's a clue: the rock & roll stars haven't come up with any scientific solutions, they are just keeping the seat warm and the issue alive until some of you people decide to make a career change from measuring the wing spans of hummingbirds and creating computer models of dinosaurs fighting each other like a bunch of 7-year olds claiming "My Tyrannosaurus can beat up your Stegosaurus!" Who cares?
Well, we can't burn the rotten remains of your computer generated behemoths and your efforts on behalf people with short attention spans have proven pretty fruitless outside of the fun drugs you keep creating. What else have you got beside a long white lab coat and a bunch of letters after your name? If you get busy now, real busy, maybe someday you'll have a list of accomplishments to go along with that PhD. And if your laboratory happens to be on the waterfront, it's not like you have a ton of time, either. Once those ice caps start to melt you'll have to switch to Oceanography or drown with the rest of us who didn't see fit to move to the new seacoasts of Pennsylvania and Utah. Science people, it's time to put up or shut up. We're watching you!
January 30, 2009
LIFE EXPLAINED, PART 301
We attend most funerals out of love for the deceased. We pay our respects, express our profound grief, share sweet memories with other mourners and say our final goodbyes. Others we go to just to make certain that this walking, talking nightmare is really dead. When your time comes, which person will you be?
ANOTHER BLOW TO THE COMEDY SECTOR: BLAGOJEVICH OUSTED
Another American industry, a one-time world leader but now reeling, takes yet another hit in these turbulent economic times. The comedy sector, already hemorrhaging red ink from the loss of The Bush The Younger Administration, now loses another ready-made wellspring of daily comedy as the Illinois Senate has voted to impeach Governor Rod Blagojevich and remove him from office. The vote was an astonishing 59 to zip for impeachment, plus the additional kick in the ass of barring him for life from holding public office in the State of Illinois. What were these State Senators thinking?
In their provincial zeal to rid themselves of a crooked politician, they forgot about the big picture, that they are but one of fifty United States! And just who do they think is going to replace Blagojevich? The only honest Illinois politician is in White House now! They trash a national comedy treasure and they'll most likely put some dour, venal old bore in his place who's just as crooked but a lot more careful. Not many laughs in those secretive creeps. How selfish can these politicians get? Where is their patriotism? Where are their damned funny bones?
This amounts to a callous betrayal of America's ailing comedy industry and Illinois' own Second City Comedy Theater operating out of Chicago, once one of the most original and influential comedy troupes anywhere, spawning many of today's enduring comedy legends, some of them refugees from Canada. What does that say to aspiring comics fleeing to our shores from repressive regimes like Canada and the Taliban? Today the Statue of Liberty sheds a silent tear for the good times. Will the next Sacha Baron Cohen, alias Borat, seek asylum elsewhere, maybe even France, where they'll turn him into a mime? How did this happen to a world class American industry?
The comedy industry, already paralyzed by the overnight evaporation of comedy-friendly government, loses yet another source of inspiration. Even his name is funny, like a comedic Russian drinking toast. It's hard to hear Blah-Goy-avitch! without wanting to down a triple shot of vodka and smash your glass in a fireplace. His Moe Howard haircut and Bud Abbot-like straight man abilities will be hard to replace. Who else could keep a straight face on talk show after talk show explaining away his clearly taped conversations revealing an explicit plan to sell the president's former Senate seat to the highest bidder? He claimed this was his own secret code for achieving world peace and an end to hunger in our lifetimes while preserving Wrigley Field for future generations. Brilliant! This man never left character, never cracked a smile while he spun his tales. That's talent! Only Bill O'Really approaches his uncanny ability to keep a straight face when delivering hilarious comic spiels.
So now the industry is grasping at the thinnest of straws, hoping that Sarah Palin's announcement that she is forming her own Political Action Committee will provide the same belly laughs as her performance in the 2008 election campaign. Comedy insiders, however, fear that Ms. Palin doesn't have a decent second act in her and that she used up all her best material last year. How many times can you claim to be keeping an eye on Russia from your front porch? Anybody heard from the spelling-challenged Dan Quayle lately? Those in the know figure the Republicans will nominate somebody for president in 2012 who can name at least 5 out of the 61 nations and territories in Africa and pick a running mate who has read a newspaper or magazine within the past decade. Comedy pundits figure her to be a minor distraction at best, and all the good jokes about her have already been told. Where's a nation to turn for laughs?
There's always O'Really's tried and true Angry Man routines, and maybe his fat, drug-addled radio counterpart Lush Limburger, who's trying out a new comic persona as a traitor wishing the president to fail and his nation to collapse. That's a promising departure from his old schtick of "The Stoned Smirking Glutton." Then there's that Sean Sanity guy who just tossed out his liberal comic foil Alan Colmesover, but that's like watching Abbot without Costello. As funny as some of these comedians are, the comedy industry thrives on new blood and a fresh perspective. Their acts are old and starting to wear thin, even with Limburger's bold new Benedict Arnold act (It seems he just can't lose that smirk!). Unlike past aging masters like Henny Youngman and Rodney Dangerfield who embraced their retro images and reveled in being campy relics, these guys are trying to be cutting edge with a plastic spoon. It's just sad.
Besides, the sore loser is an old-hat comedy premise. Their great strength and off-the-wall appeal drew on being that most unusual sort of being, the sore winner. Their party was in power, the ideas they spent their lives pushing were a political reality and yet they still hated everybody and whined like outsiders. And in the face of failure after failure of their bonehead ideas and policies, they stayed on message with the same tunnel-visioned zeal as Goebbels in the bunker with the Feuhrer. That was hilarious! Now it's not. They just haven't moved on with the times and the new realities of the nation they are trying to amuse and seem reluctant to drop their genius image and give self-parody a shot. Which is yet another reason to mourn the banishment of Rod Blagojevich, a potential comedy superstar cut down in his prime. This man was a new kind of comic genius, and now we'll never know how far he could have taken his Brazen Lying Salesman routine. Look for one more industry to line up at Capitol Hill for a Federal bailout any day now. Damn you, Illinois State Senate!
In their provincial zeal to rid themselves of a crooked politician, they forgot about the big picture, that they are but one of fifty United States! And just who do they think is going to replace Blagojevich? The only honest Illinois politician is in White House now! They trash a national comedy treasure and they'll most likely put some dour, venal old bore in his place who's just as crooked but a lot more careful. Not many laughs in those secretive creeps. How selfish can these politicians get? Where is their patriotism? Where are their damned funny bones?
This amounts to a callous betrayal of America's ailing comedy industry and Illinois' own Second City Comedy Theater operating out of Chicago, once one of the most original and influential comedy troupes anywhere, spawning many of today's enduring comedy legends, some of them refugees from Canada. What does that say to aspiring comics fleeing to our shores from repressive regimes like Canada and the Taliban? Today the Statue of Liberty sheds a silent tear for the good times. Will the next Sacha Baron Cohen, alias Borat, seek asylum elsewhere, maybe even France, where they'll turn him into a mime? How did this happen to a world class American industry?
The comedy industry, already paralyzed by the overnight evaporation of comedy-friendly government, loses yet another source of inspiration. Even his name is funny, like a comedic Russian drinking toast. It's hard to hear Blah-Goy-avitch! without wanting to down a triple shot of vodka and smash your glass in a fireplace. His Moe Howard haircut and Bud Abbot-like straight man abilities will be hard to replace. Who else could keep a straight face on talk show after talk show explaining away his clearly taped conversations revealing an explicit plan to sell the president's former Senate seat to the highest bidder? He claimed this was his own secret code for achieving world peace and an end to hunger in our lifetimes while preserving Wrigley Field for future generations. Brilliant! This man never left character, never cracked a smile while he spun his tales. That's talent! Only Bill O'Really approaches his uncanny ability to keep a straight face when delivering hilarious comic spiels.
So now the industry is grasping at the thinnest of straws, hoping that Sarah Palin's announcement that she is forming her own Political Action Committee will provide the same belly laughs as her performance in the 2008 election campaign. Comedy insiders, however, fear that Ms. Palin doesn't have a decent second act in her and that she used up all her best material last year. How many times can you claim to be keeping an eye on Russia from your front porch? Anybody heard from the spelling-challenged Dan Quayle lately? Those in the know figure the Republicans will nominate somebody for president in 2012 who can name at least 5 out of the 61 nations and territories in Africa and pick a running mate who has read a newspaper or magazine within the past decade. Comedy pundits figure her to be a minor distraction at best, and all the good jokes about her have already been told. Where's a nation to turn for laughs?
There's always O'Really's tried and true Angry Man routines, and maybe his fat, drug-addled radio counterpart Lush Limburger, who's trying out a new comic persona as a traitor wishing the president to fail and his nation to collapse. That's a promising departure from his old schtick of "The Stoned Smirking Glutton." Then there's that Sean Sanity guy who just tossed out his liberal comic foil Alan Colmesover, but that's like watching Abbot without Costello. As funny as some of these comedians are, the comedy industry thrives on new blood and a fresh perspective. Their acts are old and starting to wear thin, even with Limburger's bold new Benedict Arnold act (It seems he just can't lose that smirk!). Unlike past aging masters like Henny Youngman and Rodney Dangerfield who embraced their retro images and reveled in being campy relics, these guys are trying to be cutting edge with a plastic spoon. It's just sad.
Besides, the sore loser is an old-hat comedy premise. Their great strength and off-the-wall appeal drew on being that most unusual sort of being, the sore winner. Their party was in power, the ideas they spent their lives pushing were a political reality and yet they still hated everybody and whined like outsiders. And in the face of failure after failure of their bonehead ideas and policies, they stayed on message with the same tunnel-visioned zeal as Goebbels in the bunker with the Feuhrer. That was hilarious! Now it's not. They just haven't moved on with the times and the new realities of the nation they are trying to amuse and seem reluctant to drop their genius image and give self-parody a shot. Which is yet another reason to mourn the banishment of Rod Blagojevich, a potential comedy superstar cut down in his prime. This man was a new kind of comic genius, and now we'll never know how far he could have taken his Brazen Lying Salesman routine. Look for one more industry to line up at Capitol Hill for a Federal bailout any day now. Damn you, Illinois State Senate!
January 29, 2009
BE MY VALENTINE... DON'T MAKE ME STALK YOU! BOB CRESPO & THE BIG SPENDERS LIVE ON VALENTINE'S DAY! MUSIC, MUCIC, MUSIC!
SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 14, 2009, 9:00 P.M. live at BADBOB'S BBQ
3112 LAWSON BOULEVARD, OCEANSIDE, NEW YORK 11572
For directions call: (516) 561-7427. Come to BadBob's BBQ on Valentine's Day with your main squeeze (Or your side lover. Up to you, but don't blame The Big Spenders if you choose wrong and it blows up in your face.). The best barbecue joint on Long Island now brings you the hottest music anywhere anytime when Bob Crespo & the Big Spenders show up to rock your world. Join Bob Crespo on vocals and guitar, Gary Kroman on lead and slide guitars, vocals, Ian Zdatny on bass, vocals and Dave Forman on drums and vocals. ALL STARS AT EVERY POSITION! (Maybe one of you Italian folks can bring a spare vowel for Ian's last name. Or not.)
3112 LAWSON BOULEVARD, OCEANSIDE, NEW YORK 11572
For directions call: (516) 561-7427. Come to BadBob's BBQ on Valentine's Day with your main squeeze (Or your side lover. Up to you, but don't blame The Big Spenders if you choose wrong and it blows up in your face.). The best barbecue joint on Long Island now brings you the hottest music anywhere anytime when Bob Crespo & the Big Spenders show up to rock your world. Join Bob Crespo on vocals and guitar, Gary Kroman on lead and slide guitars, vocals, Ian Zdatny on bass, vocals and Dave Forman on drums and vocals. ALL STARS AT EVERY POSITION! (Maybe one of you Italian folks can bring a spare vowel for Ian's last name. Or not.)
LIFE EXPLAINED, PART 300
There's nothing prettier than freshly fallen snow. Except maybe beautiful naked women, of course. No sense getting all sappy about the weather when there's fine looking females demanding attention.
ODD BITS
A mother in California gave birth to eight babies the other day. The odds against that happening are greater than those of being struck by lighting. As of this writing, she's cursing her luck and wishing for the lighting.
Michael Jackson's best selling album "Thriller" is going to be made into a Broadway Musical. No word yet on who will play Michael, but Jackson himself is hoping to land Angelina Jolie for the role, figuring maybe she'll be needing an experienced baby sitter while she's onstage.
Scientists in Great Britain have completed a study that confirms that cows that have names give more milk than cows without names. This study proves beyond the shadow of a doubt that scientists in the UK are just as liable to waste their expensive educations as scientists anywhere. Meanwhile, the ice caps are melting and we're still burning the greasy remains of rotten plants and lizards. On the plus side, however, we are naming a lot more cows.
Japan is the latest nation to send naval ships to the coast of Somalia to battle the pirates that have been wreaking havoc on international shipping. Several Asia-Pacific countries are busy drafting a joint resolution declaring that any amount of piracy on the high seas is far preferable to Japan becoming a major naval power again.
In Mexico, an 11-year old bullfighter killed 6 bulls in a bullring in an effort to break the world's record. Unfortunately, the Guinness Book of World Records does not acknowledge records involving the the harming or killing of animals. When questioned about it, the boy was pretty pissed off about the snub. The 6 bulls were unresponsive.
Speaking of world records, Bernie Madoff is breathing easier as one Ponzi scammer after another is brought to justice across the nation and the world. It seems than not a single one of these guys have come anywhere near approaching his pyramid scheme total of 50 billion dollars stolen. A few hundred million here, a billion or two there, chump change to to the "Wizard of Wall Street." The New York Times is even calling these wannabes "Mini-Madoffs" and pointing out that none of them merit the diamond-encrusted solid platinum ankle monitor that Mr. Madoff wears while under house arrest in his palatial Manhattan penthouse.
In exciting psychology news, compulsive shopping is getting it's own disease name! Even though shrinks haven't come up with a proper scary name for it yet, it is already being welcomed to the Dubious-New-Mental-Condition fraternity by Nervous Leg Syndrome, ADD and Bipolar Disease. The pharmaceutical giants are scrambling to create an expensive placebo to treat this new scourge.
It seems there's been a rash of violence in different parts of the nation stemming from bad karaoke performances. And not a minute too soon.
In real estate news, in an effort to jump-start the stagnating market, brokers are backing off their insistence that every condominium offered for sale must be listed as "luxurious." New labels being proposed for sales brochures include "Adequate," "Habitable" and "Has Ceilings." They're still not selling a damned thing, but at least it gives them something to do other than leaping in front of speeding dump trucks.
It is official, Spain has now clearly entered a serious recession with production dropping off dramatically. The official announcement was delayed by the daily three hour afternoon siesta. Who saw that one coming?
In Japan, whale meat from Iceland and Norway has gone on sale. Japanese consumers are excited, declaring it tastes just like chicken. Huge, house-sized chickens.
In Africa, it is reported that President Robert Mugabe is only one more cholera epidemic away from realizing his assertion that "Zimbabwe is all mine."
The Iranian President Mahmoud Imadinnerjacket has demanded an apology from the United States for "crimes against Iran." Maybe he's referring to the United States' stiffing of Iran for the hotel and blindfold bills of 52 American diplomats for 444 days when they were "guests" of the late Ayatolyah Howmany following their revolution in 1979. He has graciously offered to reciprocate by apologizing for his polyester leisure suits.
A New Zealand man has returned an MP3 player he bought for 10 bucks in an Oklahoma thrift shop when he discovered it contained 60 of the United States Army's sensitive files. Senior U.S. military officials were relieved to have recovered the MP3 player when it was revealed to also contain a recording of James Brown and The Famous Flames' groundbreaking live concert at Harlem's Apollo theatre in 1963, complete with several bonus tracks. While military secrets are a dime a dozen, that baby's hard to get your hands on.
A report from Tampa Florida confirms that many football players have suffered brain damage as a result of participating in their sport. Suspicions were aroused by the performances of many former players on NFL pre-game and half time shows. Once thought to be the result of the mind-numbing minutia arising from trying to fill air time during the 2-week buildup to the Super Bowl, doctors tested the afflicted athletes with picture puzzles and comic book reading comprehension drills since actual brain scans of many former NFL Stars-turned TV commentators revealed very little.
In more science news, the effects of human-generated carbon dioxide production in the atmosphere is being compared to a bathtub with its drain opened, which tells us very little. This from the people who still use the term "horsepower" to describe the strength of our engines. Perhaps a minor in language ought to be included in any science education, and maybe some sensitivity training to let these people know that non-scientists are plenty bright enough to wrap their brains around more precise scientific terms than horse and bathtub. We're not all addled ex-football players.
Yahoo is reporting hundreds of billions of dollars in losses for the 4th quarter of last year. So much for the idea that giving away your services for free will make you money by sheer volume. We here at bobcrespo.com can assure them it doesn't work that way. Might we suggest a little larceny? The word is that Bernie Madoff had a lot of time on his hands lately. The "Wizard of Wall Street" can probably come up with a customized pyramid scheme for Yahoo before lunchtime. What have they got to lose? It's pretty much all gone now.
Michael Jackson's best selling album "Thriller" is going to be made into a Broadway Musical. No word yet on who will play Michael, but Jackson himself is hoping to land Angelina Jolie for the role, figuring maybe she'll be needing an experienced baby sitter while she's onstage.
Scientists in Great Britain have completed a study that confirms that cows that have names give more milk than cows without names. This study proves beyond the shadow of a doubt that scientists in the UK are just as liable to waste their expensive educations as scientists anywhere. Meanwhile, the ice caps are melting and we're still burning the greasy remains of rotten plants and lizards. On the plus side, however, we are naming a lot more cows.
Japan is the latest nation to send naval ships to the coast of Somalia to battle the pirates that have been wreaking havoc on international shipping. Several Asia-Pacific countries are busy drafting a joint resolution declaring that any amount of piracy on the high seas is far preferable to Japan becoming a major naval power again.
In Mexico, an 11-year old bullfighter killed 6 bulls in a bullring in an effort to break the world's record. Unfortunately, the Guinness Book of World Records does not acknowledge records involving the the harming or killing of animals. When questioned about it, the boy was pretty pissed off about the snub. The 6 bulls were unresponsive.
Speaking of world records, Bernie Madoff is breathing easier as one Ponzi scammer after another is brought to justice across the nation and the world. It seems than not a single one of these guys have come anywhere near approaching his pyramid scheme total of 50 billion dollars stolen. A few hundred million here, a billion or two there, chump change to to the "Wizard of Wall Street." The New York Times is even calling these wannabes "Mini-Madoffs" and pointing out that none of them merit the diamond-encrusted solid platinum ankle monitor that Mr. Madoff wears while under house arrest in his palatial Manhattan penthouse.
In exciting psychology news, compulsive shopping is getting it's own disease name! Even though shrinks haven't come up with a proper scary name for it yet, it is already being welcomed to the Dubious-New-Mental-Condition fraternity by Nervous Leg Syndrome, ADD and Bipolar Disease. The pharmaceutical giants are scrambling to create an expensive placebo to treat this new scourge.
It seems there's been a rash of violence in different parts of the nation stemming from bad karaoke performances. And not a minute too soon.
In real estate news, in an effort to jump-start the stagnating market, brokers are backing off their insistence that every condominium offered for sale must be listed as "luxurious." New labels being proposed for sales brochures include "Adequate," "Habitable" and "Has Ceilings." They're still not selling a damned thing, but at least it gives them something to do other than leaping in front of speeding dump trucks.
It is official, Spain has now clearly entered a serious recession with production dropping off dramatically. The official announcement was delayed by the daily three hour afternoon siesta. Who saw that one coming?
In Japan, whale meat from Iceland and Norway has gone on sale. Japanese consumers are excited, declaring it tastes just like chicken. Huge, house-sized chickens.
In Africa, it is reported that President Robert Mugabe is only one more cholera epidemic away from realizing his assertion that "Zimbabwe is all mine."
The Iranian President Mahmoud Imadinnerjacket has demanded an apology from the United States for "crimes against Iran." Maybe he's referring to the United States' stiffing of Iran for the hotel and blindfold bills of 52 American diplomats for 444 days when they were "guests" of the late Ayatolyah Howmany following their revolution in 1979. He has graciously offered to reciprocate by apologizing for his polyester leisure suits.
A New Zealand man has returned an MP3 player he bought for 10 bucks in an Oklahoma thrift shop when he discovered it contained 60 of the United States Army's sensitive files. Senior U.S. military officials were relieved to have recovered the MP3 player when it was revealed to also contain a recording of James Brown and The Famous Flames' groundbreaking live concert at Harlem's Apollo theatre in 1963, complete with several bonus tracks. While military secrets are a dime a dozen, that baby's hard to get your hands on.
A report from Tampa Florida confirms that many football players have suffered brain damage as a result of participating in their sport. Suspicions were aroused by the performances of many former players on NFL pre-game and half time shows. Once thought to be the result of the mind-numbing minutia arising from trying to fill air time during the 2-week buildup to the Super Bowl, doctors tested the afflicted athletes with picture puzzles and comic book reading comprehension drills since actual brain scans of many former NFL Stars-turned TV commentators revealed very little.
In more science news, the effects of human-generated carbon dioxide production in the atmosphere is being compared to a bathtub with its drain opened, which tells us very little. This from the people who still use the term "horsepower" to describe the strength of our engines. Perhaps a minor in language ought to be included in any science education, and maybe some sensitivity training to let these people know that non-scientists are plenty bright enough to wrap their brains around more precise scientific terms than horse and bathtub. We're not all addled ex-football players.
Yahoo is reporting hundreds of billions of dollars in losses for the 4th quarter of last year. So much for the idea that giving away your services for free will make you money by sheer volume. We here at bobcrespo.com can assure them it doesn't work that way. Might we suggest a little larceny? The word is that Bernie Madoff had a lot of time on his hands lately. The "Wizard of Wall Street" can probably come up with a customized pyramid scheme for Yahoo before lunchtime. What have they got to lose? It's pretty much all gone now.
January 28, 2009
LIFE EXPLAINED, PART 299
There's no business like show business. Which is no big deal, since there's no business like waste recycling either. To each is own.
WHO ELSE CAN I ALIENATE?
You know you're a real outlaw when Face Book gets on your case. It seems I have been promoting this website to my personal friends and that's a no-no. Maybe I should have been posting photos of puppies or something. Only trouble is, I don't have any puppies and the only pictures I do have of puppies are from Korean cookbooks getting themselves wokked. Nobody wants to see that on Face Book, except maybe Korean chefs, and I don't know any. Besides, a lot of my friends are animal lovers, which is a good thing, except maybe for Sheep Guy. That's just wrong what he does and I wish he'd stop sharing those disturbing photographs with me. Sometimes you can't be too quick on the draw with the old Delete button.
Sheep Guy, do us all a favor and keep that part of your life private. While I have to admit your Little Lamb doesn't look unattractive in that French maid outfit, the bondage stuff is a little too much. How did you teach her to tie you up like that when all she's got are hooves? That's one Little Lamb that knows how to do more than follow Mary to school, eh? Be that as it may, why don't you go back to letting that be your little secret? Trust me, it's better that way. Sooner or later the Face Book Police are going to figure out what's what and you'll be banished like me. Maybe forever. My exile only lasted half a day, but with dire warnings that I could be terminated. Or at least my Face Book page, anyway. They don't have Face Book hit men, do they? That would be pretty awkward.
Maybe I'll move over to My Space and see if I can alienate them too. Wonder what rules they have? Does anybody ever read the Terms and Conditions to anything you sign up for on the internet? I sure don't. Hope I didn't promise anybody my first born or anything like that. He'd be pretty pissed off, no doubt. So would his lovely wife. No sense alienating the family, so maybe I'll start reading some of these Terms and Conditions. One of these days... Well, at least I don't have to deal with Microsoft anymore. That's one hard-ass company, let me tell you.
Got me a Mac now, and just in time, too. I was trying to get back to the Windows '98 operating system for my old computer and you'd think I asked them for Bill Gates' personal bank account numbers the way they reacted. Tried to shove that lame Vista system down my throat, they did, and I was forced to tell them where to go, and it wasn't Seattle. Who knew they tape all their calls? I never meant to actually carry out all those threats! I was just a little worked up is all! They sort of didn't see it that way. Now, those people have hit men, and even worse; attorneys. If you hear from Microsoft, you don't know me. Or my eldest son. Never heard of those guys.
So far so good with the iMac. If I have any trouble I get to speak with a nice Chinese lady in Shanghai named Veronica. Unless it's a music question, then she transfers me to some slacker in California named Chip or Slick or Skip or something and his accent is harder to understand than Veronica's. "Duuu-de, that's a narlee friggin' praah-blum!" What? Get me back to the nice Chinese lady! Luckily, I got the hang of the thing and stopped calling them. Every other week they send me updates and I agree to Terms and Conditions and upload whatever it is they're offering, I have no idea since it makes zero difference in the computer's performance. If they want to charge me, then no thanks, I'll muddle along with the free stuff. I'm not NASA over here, and odds are I'll never use half the crap inside this machine.
Which gets me thinking... I have a subscription list to this website! There must be rules, or Terms and Conditions. I don't even know, I leave that to my son the web guy, the one I promised to Microsoft. Maybe I can put something in the small print, oh, I don't know, nothing too greedy, maybe making me one of the beneficiaries of my subscribers' wills and life insurance policies, for maybe just a percentage point or two. Junior won't even miss it, especially if I stipulate I get paid off the top. That's more of a long-term strategy, though, and for all I know I'll drop dead before they do.
Then again, if I do live a long time I'm pretty much screwed since I never thought I'd live even this long and I'll be one broke-ass old codger. You think I'm grumpy now? Wait until it's cat food time! The win-the-lottery strategy hasn't panned out, so maybe the way to go is a combination long and short-term scheme, since I'm kind of broke now, too. I'll have to look into my options here, see how touchy banks are about sending me a tiny portion of my subscribers' bank accounts on the strength of their agreeing to my Mickey Mouse Terms and Conditions. Of course I won't implement these rules for my current subscribers, mind you, only new meat, er... readers!
So, here's what I'm offering my current subscribers: For every new subscriber you recommend and who actually signs up, bobcrespo.com will give you a piece of the action, say...10%. No, wait! Let's provide a real incentive here. How about 25%? We can make a discreet PayPal arrangement, maybe set up something offshore. Don't touch that mouse, that's not all! I can also offer you a preferred price for stock in bobcrespo.com. This one's totally legit, an IPO being handled by one of the top guns on Wall Street. Bernie Madoff himself is handling the whole deal for me, and he assures me it's a steal! Now if you'll just click the YES box on the Terms and Conditions...
Sheep Guy, do us all a favor and keep that part of your life private. While I have to admit your Little Lamb doesn't look unattractive in that French maid outfit, the bondage stuff is a little too much. How did you teach her to tie you up like that when all she's got are hooves? That's one Little Lamb that knows how to do more than follow Mary to school, eh? Be that as it may, why don't you go back to letting that be your little secret? Trust me, it's better that way. Sooner or later the Face Book Police are going to figure out what's what and you'll be banished like me. Maybe forever. My exile only lasted half a day, but with dire warnings that I could be terminated. Or at least my Face Book page, anyway. They don't have Face Book hit men, do they? That would be pretty awkward.
Maybe I'll move over to My Space and see if I can alienate them too. Wonder what rules they have? Does anybody ever read the Terms and Conditions to anything you sign up for on the internet? I sure don't. Hope I didn't promise anybody my first born or anything like that. He'd be pretty pissed off, no doubt. So would his lovely wife. No sense alienating the family, so maybe I'll start reading some of these Terms and Conditions. One of these days... Well, at least I don't have to deal with Microsoft anymore. That's one hard-ass company, let me tell you.
Got me a Mac now, and just in time, too. I was trying to get back to the Windows '98 operating system for my old computer and you'd think I asked them for Bill Gates' personal bank account numbers the way they reacted. Tried to shove that lame Vista system down my throat, they did, and I was forced to tell them where to go, and it wasn't Seattle. Who knew they tape all their calls? I never meant to actually carry out all those threats! I was just a little worked up is all! They sort of didn't see it that way. Now, those people have hit men, and even worse; attorneys. If you hear from Microsoft, you don't know me. Or my eldest son. Never heard of those guys.
So far so good with the iMac. If I have any trouble I get to speak with a nice Chinese lady in Shanghai named Veronica. Unless it's a music question, then she transfers me to some slacker in California named Chip or Slick or Skip or something and his accent is harder to understand than Veronica's. "Duuu-de, that's a narlee friggin' praah-blum!" What? Get me back to the nice Chinese lady! Luckily, I got the hang of the thing and stopped calling them. Every other week they send me updates and I agree to Terms and Conditions and upload whatever it is they're offering, I have no idea since it makes zero difference in the computer's performance. If they want to charge me, then no thanks, I'll muddle along with the free stuff. I'm not NASA over here, and odds are I'll never use half the crap inside this machine.
Which gets me thinking... I have a subscription list to this website! There must be rules, or Terms and Conditions. I don't even know, I leave that to my son the web guy, the one I promised to Microsoft. Maybe I can put something in the small print, oh, I don't know, nothing too greedy, maybe making me one of the beneficiaries of my subscribers' wills and life insurance policies, for maybe just a percentage point or two. Junior won't even miss it, especially if I stipulate I get paid off the top. That's more of a long-term strategy, though, and for all I know I'll drop dead before they do.
Then again, if I do live a long time I'm pretty much screwed since I never thought I'd live even this long and I'll be one broke-ass old codger. You think I'm grumpy now? Wait until it's cat food time! The win-the-lottery strategy hasn't panned out, so maybe the way to go is a combination long and short-term scheme, since I'm kind of broke now, too. I'll have to look into my options here, see how touchy banks are about sending me a tiny portion of my subscribers' bank accounts on the strength of their agreeing to my Mickey Mouse Terms and Conditions. Of course I won't implement these rules for my current subscribers, mind you, only new meat, er... readers!
So, here's what I'm offering my current subscribers: For every new subscriber you recommend and who actually signs up, bobcrespo.com will give you a piece of the action, say...10%. No, wait! Let's provide a real incentive here. How about 25%? We can make a discreet PayPal arrangement, maybe set up something offshore. Don't touch that mouse, that's not all! I can also offer you a preferred price for stock in bobcrespo.com. This one's totally legit, an IPO being handled by one of the top guns on Wall Street. Bernie Madoff himself is handling the whole deal for me, and he assures me it's a steal! Now if you'll just click the YES box on the Terms and Conditions...
January 27, 2009
BE MY VALENTINE... DON'T MAKE ME STALK YOU! BOB CRESPO & THE BIG SPENDERS LIVE ON VALENTINE'S DAY! MUSIC, MUCIC, MUSIC!
SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 14, 2009, 9:00 P.M. live at BADBOB'S BBQ
3112 LAWSON BOULEVARD,OCEANSIDE, NEW YORK 11572
For directions call: (516) 561-7427. Come to BadBob's BBQ on Valentine's Day with your main squeeze (Or your side lover. Up to you, but don't blame The Big Spenders if you choose wrong and it blows up in your face.). The best barbecue joint on Long Island now brings you the hottest music anywhere anytime when Bob Crespo & the Big Spenders show up to rock your world. Join Bob Crespo on vocals and guitar, Gary Kroman on lead and slide guitars, vocals, Ian Zdatny on bass, vocals and Dave Forman on drums and vocals. ALL STARS AT EVERY POSITION! (Maybe one of you Italian folks can bring a spare vowel for Ian's last name. Or not.)
3112 LAWSON BOULEVARD,OCEANSIDE, NEW YORK 11572
For directions call: (516) 561-7427. Come to BadBob's BBQ on Valentine's Day with your main squeeze (Or your side lover. Up to you, but don't blame The Big Spenders if you choose wrong and it blows up in your face.). The best barbecue joint on Long Island now brings you the hottest music anywhere anytime when Bob Crespo & the Big Spenders show up to rock your world. Join Bob Crespo on vocals and guitar, Gary Kroman on lead and slide guitars, vocals, Ian Zdatny on bass, vocals and Dave Forman on drums and vocals. ALL STARS AT EVERY POSITION! (Maybe one of you Italian folks can bring a spare vowel for Ian's last name. Or not.)
LIFE EXPLAINED, PART 298
The only difference between Americans and Canadians is the pronunciation of the word "about." Americans pronounce it: "Ah-bowt," while Canadians pronounce it: "approximately." Okay, there's those funny hats and bulky mackinaws they wear too, but hey, it's real cold up there! And that's approximately it.
WHO KNEW THE TALIBAN LIKED SKI RESORTS?
You read the news and find out some odd things. In Pakistan the Swat Valley has been in the news a lot lately with reports of the Taliban blowing up girls' schools and trying to run people's lives, banning music, dancing, movies and anything else that makes life joyful in this one-time tourist resort area. Who knew Pakistan even had a tourist resort area? That's the news, not the Taliban Inquisition. Who used to go there for a carefree holiday? What were the attractions? Did the Taliban arrive there for a vacation from killing people and blowing up stuff in Afghanistan and decide to make it busman's holiday? Maybe they figured what the hell, we've got the guns and explosives with us, why not? The news reports don't address any of these questions.
You can look up Swat on the internet and see it described as Paradise on Earth, complete with some breathtakingly beautiful scenery that looks like the set of the movie "Heidi," all forests and glens and crystal clear rivers and snowy mountain peaks. Even some of the buildings have that Bavarian chalet look to them. There's pictures of people hang gliding, skiing, hiking in flower-covered meadows and sipping cocktails in luxury hotels with magnificent 360 degree views. There are winding roads, horse trails, trout streams, wooden bridges suspended high above raging rapids and so many waterfalls that only the most beautiful catch your eye. The perfect place for a weary jihadist to kick back and forget about destroying the Great Satan for a week or two. Swat may well have been the inspiration for James Hilton's Shangri-La in his novel "Lost Horizon," about a peaceful Utopia where men get along.
But you know those whacky Taliban, they just can't sit still. After a few days of skiing, fishing and knocking back shots of Jaegermeister at the ski lodge, they probably noticed that everyone around them seemed pretty happy. A little too happy for their liking. And over what? It's not like the people of Swat had just killed anybody or blew anything up, so what was with all that joy and laughter? So, in a tradition that started with Alexander The Great 2,336 years ago, they decided to conquer the place. Maybe wipe those smiles off their faces, and so far, so good. They've got the whole valley living in fear and their bread and butter, the tourist trade, is gone completely. Which sort of makes them the infidels, because an outfit like the Taliban is nothing without an enemy to hate and a helpless population to terrorize.
It's a good deal for the Taliban, outside of the occasional Predator Drone that drops a rocket on a few of them. Pakistan sent some army units to fight them, the few that they can spare from their eternal border clashes with India, and they haven't exactly distinguished themselves in routing these foreign interlopers. Maybe Pakistan figures this Delaware-sized chunk of their real estate is not worth saving. Hard to say with that nation, a puzzling mix of a modern, educated and nuclear-armed nation that is also a poor, backward and almost primitive country dominated by ancient tribal loyalties. Will the real Pakistan please stand up? Even their government doesn't seem to be sure what sort of nation they are running.
All of which would be a remote curiosity to most Americans were it not for the fact that we have a war going on in Afghanistan for like 6 years now, what started out as a manhunt for Osama bin Laden but has now, like most wars, turned into something else entirely. Instead of just going in, grabbing bin Laden and killing anyone who prevented that and then leaving immediately, what we seem to have done is to try our hand at nation-building once again, even though the only nation America was ever successful at building was our own. (There's a lesson there somewhere, no?) Now we're sort of stuck there re-defeating the Taliban we overthrew when we got there and bin Laden is enjoying an exciting new career in video and the rest of the Taliban simply crossed the border into Pakistan, which is our ally, at least on paper, so we can't pursue them there.
Of course, none of this makes any more sense than doing calculus with Roman Numerals, either the Taliban with their banning of shaving, singing, dancing and education or America getting stuck in yet another incomprehensible mess with no possible good outcome. Unless maybe we can kill or capture bin Laden, at which point we should bid the whole region a so-long, it's been weird to know you. Hand them a few billion for their trouble and tell them to get back to us when they have something other than tribal warlords, jihadist fanatics and imprisoned illiterate women to offer the world.
Right now there's about as much chance of Afghanistan or Pakistan or any of the surrounding ikstans turning into peaceful democracies as there is of another Bush getting elected President of America anytime soon. Let's bring our troops home from places like these and wish their people the best of luck. As much as we'd like to, we can't fix the world, and the army isn't exactly the people you send in to win hearts and minds. They have another function entirely and they're very good at it. Let's fix America first before this sort of crap becomes a way of life and then we become Pakistan, a house divided and not really certain what sort of nation we want to be. Enough. The repairing of our own nation has barely begun. Let the real America stand up by having our armies stand down.
You can look up Swat on the internet and see it described as Paradise on Earth, complete with some breathtakingly beautiful scenery that looks like the set of the movie "Heidi," all forests and glens and crystal clear rivers and snowy mountain peaks. Even some of the buildings have that Bavarian chalet look to them. There's pictures of people hang gliding, skiing, hiking in flower-covered meadows and sipping cocktails in luxury hotels with magnificent 360 degree views. There are winding roads, horse trails, trout streams, wooden bridges suspended high above raging rapids and so many waterfalls that only the most beautiful catch your eye. The perfect place for a weary jihadist to kick back and forget about destroying the Great Satan for a week or two. Swat may well have been the inspiration for James Hilton's Shangri-La in his novel "Lost Horizon," about a peaceful Utopia where men get along.
But you know those whacky Taliban, they just can't sit still. After a few days of skiing, fishing and knocking back shots of Jaegermeister at the ski lodge, they probably noticed that everyone around them seemed pretty happy. A little too happy for their liking. And over what? It's not like the people of Swat had just killed anybody or blew anything up, so what was with all that joy and laughter? So, in a tradition that started with Alexander The Great 2,336 years ago, they decided to conquer the place. Maybe wipe those smiles off their faces, and so far, so good. They've got the whole valley living in fear and their bread and butter, the tourist trade, is gone completely. Which sort of makes them the infidels, because an outfit like the Taliban is nothing without an enemy to hate and a helpless population to terrorize.
It's a good deal for the Taliban, outside of the occasional Predator Drone that drops a rocket on a few of them. Pakistan sent some army units to fight them, the few that they can spare from their eternal border clashes with India, and they haven't exactly distinguished themselves in routing these foreign interlopers. Maybe Pakistan figures this Delaware-sized chunk of their real estate is not worth saving. Hard to say with that nation, a puzzling mix of a modern, educated and nuclear-armed nation that is also a poor, backward and almost primitive country dominated by ancient tribal loyalties. Will the real Pakistan please stand up? Even their government doesn't seem to be sure what sort of nation they are running.
All of which would be a remote curiosity to most Americans were it not for the fact that we have a war going on in Afghanistan for like 6 years now, what started out as a manhunt for Osama bin Laden but has now, like most wars, turned into something else entirely. Instead of just going in, grabbing bin Laden and killing anyone who prevented that and then leaving immediately, what we seem to have done is to try our hand at nation-building once again, even though the only nation America was ever successful at building was our own. (There's a lesson there somewhere, no?) Now we're sort of stuck there re-defeating the Taliban we overthrew when we got there and bin Laden is enjoying an exciting new career in video and the rest of the Taliban simply crossed the border into Pakistan, which is our ally, at least on paper, so we can't pursue them there.
Of course, none of this makes any more sense than doing calculus with Roman Numerals, either the Taliban with their banning of shaving, singing, dancing and education or America getting stuck in yet another incomprehensible mess with no possible good outcome. Unless maybe we can kill or capture bin Laden, at which point we should bid the whole region a so-long, it's been weird to know you. Hand them a few billion for their trouble and tell them to get back to us when they have something other than tribal warlords, jihadist fanatics and imprisoned illiterate women to offer the world.
Right now there's about as much chance of Afghanistan or Pakistan or any of the surrounding ikstans turning into peaceful democracies as there is of another Bush getting elected President of America anytime soon. Let's bring our troops home from places like these and wish their people the best of luck. As much as we'd like to, we can't fix the world, and the army isn't exactly the people you send in to win hearts and minds. They have another function entirely and they're very good at it. Let's fix America first before this sort of crap becomes a way of life and then we become Pakistan, a house divided and not really certain what sort of nation we want to be. Enough. The repairing of our own nation has barely begun. Let the real America stand up by having our armies stand down.
January 26, 2009
LIFE EXPLAINED, PART 297
When you think about it, "The only thing we have to to fear is fear itself" is kind of a creepy thought. Great, now on top of all the other legitimate fears people had back then, they had to fear fear too? No wonder they called those times The Great Depression. What was Roosevelt thinking?
THINGS WE DIDN'T ASK FOR
Who's idea was it to install televisions on top of every pump at gas stations? More importantly, can that guy be legally taken out and shot down like a rabid dog? Is there anybody around who thought the gas-pumping experience needed to be enhanced with blaring news reports? How much per-gallon extra is this service costing us? Enough to hire someone to pump the gas for us again, maybe squeegee the windshield and check the oil?
Was there a public clamor around 10 years ago for television shows with no scripts, no stories and no actors? Other than the news, that is, which was already depressing enough. Now we're stuck with with a contest where one reality show tries to out-moron the next one and, truth be told, there's a lot of stiff competition for Dumbest Idea and Biggest Jackass.
How pressing a need did we have for text-messaging? Is it filling any sort of gaping void in our lives? Most of us figure, well, we've already got these cell phones right there in the old pocket, call me, I'm available. Let's talk. The whole thing takes less than a minute, unlike the texting deal, which eats up valuable chunks of our lives for frivolous bullshit that can wait, like forever. Never mind texting me instructions in a one-sided conversation, we already have e-mail for that. Anything so pressing that it can't wait just might be a good time to actually speak to someone. Like a friggin' therapist, maybe. You can even text your sessions with those ineffectual clowns and leave the rest of us alone. It's a win-win situation for text addicts and their victims. They won't be cured, of course, but we won't have to know about it one way or the next.
Since when did NASCAR become a mainstream sport? Bad enough we have that punching-on-iceskates fiasco called hockey, now we're supposed to watch rednecks drive around in ovals? Why? And then we have to consider these guys athletes and not lunatics? Fat chance. Pretty much any driver can turn left all day. The only thing to look forward to at one of these races is a spectacular crash, and that's pretty morbid. Which is why most of us, not giving a rat's ass who won the damned silly race, tune in to the sports news highlights shows where only the crashes are featured. It's a huge time saver.
Every so often you're at your computer and a window pops up telling you that new software or an important upgrade is available. Which sort of makes you wonder what's wrong with your machine as it is, so you push the right buttons, punch in your secret password and BIngo!, the newest information is uploaded. The only thing is that afterwards you don't notice any difference at all in your computer's performance. So you wonder if (A.) this is some sort of scam, or (B.) you've just surrendered a whole bunch of megabytes of memory for a feature you'll never use in the course of your natural life.
Okay, so now we drink our water in bottles and pay a dollar for the privilege. We carry it around with us like we're crossing the desert. We'll cede that little piece of absurdity, it's sort of too late in the game to question that whole deal. Do we have to know what the ingredients are? There shouldn't be any at all other than water, no? So what's with the calorie counts and vitamin percentage lists (zero, zero, zero and zero)? If they feel the need to print something on these labels, how about jokes? Other than the one about charging us a dollar to drink water, that is. That would just be rubbing it in.
Who decided that dogs had to be neutered? Wouldn't a vasectomy do the trick? How would any of us like to be owned and dominated, and on top of that robbed of the relief of being able to hump each other? That's just wrong. Bad enough the dopey names we give these poor creatures. Give little Fluffy at least the dignity of keeping his nuts. And we call this the "humane" thing to do! If it was you facing a knife to your privates, you'd probably want to slow down and take a few moments to rethink that whole humanity thing. Few among us would say "Stop me before I screw again!"
Do we need TV sets with DVD players in the minivan to amuse Pee Wee on the way to soccer practice? Okay, the little ones may not be the most riveting of conversationalists, but they're never going to get there if no one ever talks to them. Shutting them up with dopey video games and constant TV shows isn't doing them any favors. Sooner or later they'll be expected to participate in at least some form of human interaction. And if you're taking a long trip, why give them one more thing to fight over in the back seat? What ever happened to yelling at your kids when they misbehave, or threatening to turn this car right around? If you're going to traumatize the tykes, might as well do it right.
Which one of us thought it would be great if a dozen people on TV could explain to us what we just heard in our native language and saw with our own eyes? Used to be just the one guy after a presidential speech or some big news event, and he was plenty annoying enough. Now we've got committees of interpreters of things that need no interpretation. There's still the one main guy, but he keeps calling on "experts" of one sort or another to put their two cents in for a more "in-depth analysis," or as in-depth as these clods can manage in 30 second sound bytes. According to the committee, you did not hear what you thought you heard, and did not see what was plain as day. Who knew we were so stupid? It's pretty humbling, no?
Was there a public clamor around 10 years ago for television shows with no scripts, no stories and no actors? Other than the news, that is, which was already depressing enough. Now we're stuck with with a contest where one reality show tries to out-moron the next one and, truth be told, there's a lot of stiff competition for Dumbest Idea and Biggest Jackass.
How pressing a need did we have for text-messaging? Is it filling any sort of gaping void in our lives? Most of us figure, well, we've already got these cell phones right there in the old pocket, call me, I'm available. Let's talk. The whole thing takes less than a minute, unlike the texting deal, which eats up valuable chunks of our lives for frivolous bullshit that can wait, like forever. Never mind texting me instructions in a one-sided conversation, we already have e-mail for that. Anything so pressing that it can't wait just might be a good time to actually speak to someone. Like a friggin' therapist, maybe. You can even text your sessions with those ineffectual clowns and leave the rest of us alone. It's a win-win situation for text addicts and their victims. They won't be cured, of course, but we won't have to know about it one way or the next.
Since when did NASCAR become a mainstream sport? Bad enough we have that punching-on-iceskates fiasco called hockey, now we're supposed to watch rednecks drive around in ovals? Why? And then we have to consider these guys athletes and not lunatics? Fat chance. Pretty much any driver can turn left all day. The only thing to look forward to at one of these races is a spectacular crash, and that's pretty morbid. Which is why most of us, not giving a rat's ass who won the damned silly race, tune in to the sports news highlights shows where only the crashes are featured. It's a huge time saver.
Every so often you're at your computer and a window pops up telling you that new software or an important upgrade is available. Which sort of makes you wonder what's wrong with your machine as it is, so you push the right buttons, punch in your secret password and BIngo!, the newest information is uploaded. The only thing is that afterwards you don't notice any difference at all in your computer's performance. So you wonder if (A.) this is some sort of scam, or (B.) you've just surrendered a whole bunch of megabytes of memory for a feature you'll never use in the course of your natural life.
Okay, so now we drink our water in bottles and pay a dollar for the privilege. We carry it around with us like we're crossing the desert. We'll cede that little piece of absurdity, it's sort of too late in the game to question that whole deal. Do we have to know what the ingredients are? There shouldn't be any at all other than water, no? So what's with the calorie counts and vitamin percentage lists (zero, zero, zero and zero)? If they feel the need to print something on these labels, how about jokes? Other than the one about charging us a dollar to drink water, that is. That would just be rubbing it in.
Who decided that dogs had to be neutered? Wouldn't a vasectomy do the trick? How would any of us like to be owned and dominated, and on top of that robbed of the relief of being able to hump each other? That's just wrong. Bad enough the dopey names we give these poor creatures. Give little Fluffy at least the dignity of keeping his nuts. And we call this the "humane" thing to do! If it was you facing a knife to your privates, you'd probably want to slow down and take a few moments to rethink that whole humanity thing. Few among us would say "Stop me before I screw again!"
Do we need TV sets with DVD players in the minivan to amuse Pee Wee on the way to soccer practice? Okay, the little ones may not be the most riveting of conversationalists, but they're never going to get there if no one ever talks to them. Shutting them up with dopey video games and constant TV shows isn't doing them any favors. Sooner or later they'll be expected to participate in at least some form of human interaction. And if you're taking a long trip, why give them one more thing to fight over in the back seat? What ever happened to yelling at your kids when they misbehave, or threatening to turn this car right around? If you're going to traumatize the tykes, might as well do it right.
Which one of us thought it would be great if a dozen people on TV could explain to us what we just heard in our native language and saw with our own eyes? Used to be just the one guy after a presidential speech or some big news event, and he was plenty annoying enough. Now we've got committees of interpreters of things that need no interpretation. There's still the one main guy, but he keeps calling on "experts" of one sort or another to put their two cents in for a more "in-depth analysis," or as in-depth as these clods can manage in 30 second sound bytes. According to the committee, you did not hear what you thought you heard, and did not see what was plain as day. Who knew we were so stupid? It's pretty humbling, no?
January 25, 2009
LIFE EXPLAINED, PART 296
There are worse things that being obnoxious. You could be obnoxious and dead. Obnoxious you can fix, but there's no known remedy for dead.
RULES FOR GENTLEMAN, PART 4
In our ongoing quest for the perfect set of Rules For Gentlemen in this rapidly changing modern world, we submit the following:
A gentleman never worries about his place in Gentleman History.
When confronted with a choice between right and wrong, a gentleman carefully weighs his options and picks what is best for his own interests.
A gentleman is always respectful of the feelings of others. Unless, of course, they are irritating the gentleman. Only then is it permissible to impugn their character, curse the day they were born and completely humiliate them in public. (A gentleman does not do things by half-measures!)
When his lady asks who are the other ladies in his life, a gentleman always lies with a straight face. Ladies are quite discerning and can detect even the merest whiff of fear. Be of stout heart and state your emphatic denials boldly!
Activities for or which a gentleman always wears gloves: Attending the theater, playing polo and committing a felony.
When calling on a lady it is customary for a gentleman to present her servant with a business card. There is no law saying that it can't be the business card of someone with a far more impressive title than oneself. After all, he is not there for a business meeting, but rather the business of meeting.
A gentleman does not cry "Fire!" in a crowded theater, no matter how excruciatingly boring the opera or ballet his lady has dragged him to see. If he expects any of the lady's slippery triangle afterwards, a gentleman endures!
When paying for dinner with a lady using a stolen credit card, a gentleman always makes sure the card is valid immediately beforehand by calling the 800 number on the card from a public telephone and not his own cell phone.
Wearing a tuxedo is no excuse for a gentleman to feel superior, especially if one is a theater usher or busboy.
A gentleman does not change the settings on someone else's computer. Simply check your e-mail, log out and thank your host.
Similarly, when a gentleman is conducting a computer scam, he does not hack into his victims' bank accounts from the computer of a friend. Even one's closest intimates might crack under interrogation. Instead, it is recommended that he break into a stranger's home or office and do his dirty work from their computer.
When a gentleman is arrested, he does not do the shameful "Perp Walk" with his head ducked down or his face hidden by his stylish overcoat. That behavior reeks of guilt, poor breeding and boorish tendencies. A true gentleman affects his usual jaunty air, holds his head up, looks the camera straight in the eye and smiles his most defiant and dignified smile, or at least as dignified as can be managed under the circumstances.
When out on bail, a gentleman does not engage in further criminal activity unless he is positive it will go undetected.
When in prison, if a gentleman drops his soap in the shower, he allows another inmate to bend over and retrieve it for him. He thanks him graciously afterward. If warranted, perhaps he offers him a pack of cigarettes.
When affecting one's escape from incarceration, a gentleman disposes of his prison garb as soon as possible, preferably donning a subtle ensemble blending in with one's surroundings. This is no time for a formal wear if one is escaping from a rural area populated by casually dressed people. That is simply bad form and an invitation to swift re-capture! Until such time as one establishes a new identity in a faraway place and obtains suitable plastic surgery, subtlety is the best policy. A gentleman knows when and when not to shine. Such awareness is indicative of impeccable judgement and superior breeding, hallmarks of the true gentleman!
A gentleman never worries about his place in Gentleman History.
When confronted with a choice between right and wrong, a gentleman carefully weighs his options and picks what is best for his own interests.
A gentleman is always respectful of the feelings of others. Unless, of course, they are irritating the gentleman. Only then is it permissible to impugn their character, curse the day they were born and completely humiliate them in public. (A gentleman does not do things by half-measures!)
When his lady asks who are the other ladies in his life, a gentleman always lies with a straight face. Ladies are quite discerning and can detect even the merest whiff of fear. Be of stout heart and state your emphatic denials boldly!
Activities for or which a gentleman always wears gloves: Attending the theater, playing polo and committing a felony.
When calling on a lady it is customary for a gentleman to present her servant with a business card. There is no law saying that it can't be the business card of someone with a far more impressive title than oneself. After all, he is not there for a business meeting, but rather the business of meeting.
A gentleman does not cry "Fire!" in a crowded theater, no matter how excruciatingly boring the opera or ballet his lady has dragged him to see. If he expects any of the lady's slippery triangle afterwards, a gentleman endures!
When paying for dinner with a lady using a stolen credit card, a gentleman always makes sure the card is valid immediately beforehand by calling the 800 number on the card from a public telephone and not his own cell phone.
Wearing a tuxedo is no excuse for a gentleman to feel superior, especially if one is a theater usher or busboy.
A gentleman does not change the settings on someone else's computer. Simply check your e-mail, log out and thank your host.
Similarly, when a gentleman is conducting a computer scam, he does not hack into his victims' bank accounts from the computer of a friend. Even one's closest intimates might crack under interrogation. Instead, it is recommended that he break into a stranger's home or office and do his dirty work from their computer.
When a gentleman is arrested, he does not do the shameful "Perp Walk" with his head ducked down or his face hidden by his stylish overcoat. That behavior reeks of guilt, poor breeding and boorish tendencies. A true gentleman affects his usual jaunty air, holds his head up, looks the camera straight in the eye and smiles his most defiant and dignified smile, or at least as dignified as can be managed under the circumstances.
When out on bail, a gentleman does not engage in further criminal activity unless he is positive it will go undetected.
When in prison, if a gentleman drops his soap in the shower, he allows another inmate to bend over and retrieve it for him. He thanks him graciously afterward. If warranted, perhaps he offers him a pack of cigarettes.
When affecting one's escape from incarceration, a gentleman disposes of his prison garb as soon as possible, preferably donning a subtle ensemble blending in with one's surroundings. This is no time for a formal wear if one is escaping from a rural area populated by casually dressed people. That is simply bad form and an invitation to swift re-capture! Until such time as one establishes a new identity in a faraway place and obtains suitable plastic surgery, subtlety is the best policy. A gentleman knows when and when not to shine. Such awareness is indicative of impeccable judgement and superior breeding, hallmarks of the true gentleman!
January 24, 2009
LIFE EXPLAINED, PART 295
Don't even try to figure out the deal with reality TV shows. Your brain will swell inside your skull and bits of it will stick out of your ears and nose and your eyes will bulge like a dead fish. Keep the remote handy as a preventative measure.
AMERICA'S LEAST WANTED: THE MANHUNT DOESN'T START NOW!
Join host Jim Welch on this week's unexciting new episode of "America's Least Wanted," the show that profiles those people that America just wants to go away. Whether they are annoying celebrities, crooked politicians or greedy corporate princes, America' Least Wanted fearlessly does not pursue their whereabouts or praise them in any way. The manhunt doesn't start right now:
TOM CRUISE: The Scientology evangelist and thick slice of cinematic ham has been annoying America for the better part of two decades. Every fifth or sixth movie this half-pint egomaniac will turn in a good performance, letting everybody know that he is at least capable of being a fine actor, but the great majority of his work makes William Shatner look nuanced and subtle by comparison. In the past couple of years he's really been getting on the world's nerves, turning up on talk show after talk show spouting some real dense bullshit about his religion and making a series of bad movies where he overdoes his schtick to the point of embarrassment. This mental midget of a man/child needs a time out.
GOVERNOR ROD BLAGOJEVICH: This sad clown who's name sounds like a Russian drinking toast (Blah-Goy-avitch!) is the Governor of Illinois who tried to sell President Obama's vacated Senate seat to the highest bidder. Not only that, he said so repeatedly over the phone and got himself recorded a whole bunch of times. Then he denies the whole thing, saying it was taken out of context and refuses to go away. How "I want to maximize the monetary worth of the seat" or "I want half a million dollars and a job for my wife for Obama's Senate seat" are out of context is a mystery to most listeners, unless maybe he was really referring to a murder he was planning and the bribes just came up as a side issue. Unfortunately the guy is not stupid-funny like Bush The Younger or forcefully brazen like Chicago's late boss of all political bosses Richard Daley and is a disgrace to his Moe Howard haircut. Time's up!
DONALD TRUMP: Never mind. It seems the guy has gone away. Be thankful for small miracles.
CONDOLEEZZA RICE: Other than Shotgun Dick Cheney, Ms. Rice is the only other prominent member of the Bush The Younger Gang to last the whole eight sordid years. Now that the rest of them are slinking away in ignominy, she's signing up with the Philip Morris agency, looking to cash in big time on her part in the Worst Administration in History And Into The Future For All Time Forever. While people used to think she was some sort of enigmatic mystery woman with more to her than meets the eye, that turned out not to be the case. She stuck around too long and her character, or rather her glaring lack of same, was revealed. She is as devoid of personality as she is of emotions and Philip Morris will have a hard sell with this amazingly uninteresting person who should have had a fascinating back story but simply doesn't. Sorry, Condee, but you are The Woman Who Wasn't There. Stay that way.
RUSH LIMBAUGH: If we need to hear from fat drug addicts with an attitude and no brains at all, well, there's always Hollywood and the world of Rock & Roll, where there's no shortage of such people. At least with our fat drug-addled actors and musicians, you get some talent to go along with the contradictory nonsense they spew. With this guy, the poster boy for the failure and collapse of the neo-conmen, you only get the whining. And he can take poster girl Anne Coulter with him. Their entertainment value expiration date has long since expired and they're starting to stink up the joint.
MICHAEL MOORER: Until he stops putting himself in his documentaries, it's time for this fat obnoxious slob to take a sabbatical too. While his heart may be in the right place, his rumpled baseball caps and homeless guy chic are starting to get on everybody's nerves. Maybe he can start filming an expose of condescending fat guys who are strangers to the comb and the razor and dress like slobs and think everybody else is stupid. Or he could set up Limbaugh and himself in a cage match, the winner to take all the Twinkies.
VINCE OFFER: The SHAMWOW! guy has now branched out to a new product, a flimsy vegetable chopper reminiscent of the Veg-O-Matic. Somebody stop his before we've got another Ron Popeil or Billy Mays on our hands! You watching the camera, guy? We can't do this all day...
THE PLACE-IN-HISTORY CLOWNS: Bad enough we've a year of TV talking heads debating where Bush The Younger's place in history will be (At the very bottom, fools!), now they're starting on Obama's place in history! While he is certain to go down in history as he first black guy elected to the Presidency, outside of that no-brainer maybe we should give the guy a full week in office before we start jabbering about this meaningless nonsense. Just a suggestion. Can we get these people some help? Can we get them off the air? Can we give them their own place in history, like extinct?
Tune in next week when America's Least Wanted doesn't pursue the whereabouts of Dick Morris, Bill O'Really, Paris Hilton and Karl Rove. These less-than-riveting celebrities and politicians have used up their 15 minutes of fame without having contributed a dime's worth of anything useful or memorable. Join ALW's indifferent farewells to these and more of America's Least Wanted and least interesting people. Go ahead, don't stay tuned and touch that dial all you like! It's not like you're missing anything.
TOM CRUISE: The Scientology evangelist and thick slice of cinematic ham has been annoying America for the better part of two decades. Every fifth or sixth movie this half-pint egomaniac will turn in a good performance, letting everybody know that he is at least capable of being a fine actor, but the great majority of his work makes William Shatner look nuanced and subtle by comparison. In the past couple of years he's really been getting on the world's nerves, turning up on talk show after talk show spouting some real dense bullshit about his religion and making a series of bad movies where he overdoes his schtick to the point of embarrassment. This mental midget of a man/child needs a time out.
GOVERNOR ROD BLAGOJEVICH: This sad clown who's name sounds like a Russian drinking toast (Blah-Goy-avitch!) is the Governor of Illinois who tried to sell President Obama's vacated Senate seat to the highest bidder. Not only that, he said so repeatedly over the phone and got himself recorded a whole bunch of times. Then he denies the whole thing, saying it was taken out of context and refuses to go away. How "I want to maximize the monetary worth of the seat" or "I want half a million dollars and a job for my wife for Obama's Senate seat" are out of context is a mystery to most listeners, unless maybe he was really referring to a murder he was planning and the bribes just came up as a side issue. Unfortunately the guy is not stupid-funny like Bush The Younger or forcefully brazen like Chicago's late boss of all political bosses Richard Daley and is a disgrace to his Moe Howard haircut. Time's up!
DONALD TRUMP: Never mind. It seems the guy has gone away. Be thankful for small miracles.
CONDOLEEZZA RICE: Other than Shotgun Dick Cheney, Ms. Rice is the only other prominent member of the Bush The Younger Gang to last the whole eight sordid years. Now that the rest of them are slinking away in ignominy, she's signing up with the Philip Morris agency, looking to cash in big time on her part in the Worst Administration in History And Into The Future For All Time Forever. While people used to think she was some sort of enigmatic mystery woman with more to her than meets the eye, that turned out not to be the case. She stuck around too long and her character, or rather her glaring lack of same, was revealed. She is as devoid of personality as she is of emotions and Philip Morris will have a hard sell with this amazingly uninteresting person who should have had a fascinating back story but simply doesn't. Sorry, Condee, but you are The Woman Who Wasn't There. Stay that way.
RUSH LIMBAUGH: If we need to hear from fat drug addicts with an attitude and no brains at all, well, there's always Hollywood and the world of Rock & Roll, where there's no shortage of such people. At least with our fat drug-addled actors and musicians, you get some talent to go along with the contradictory nonsense they spew. With this guy, the poster boy for the failure and collapse of the neo-conmen, you only get the whining. And he can take poster girl Anne Coulter with him. Their entertainment value expiration date has long since expired and they're starting to stink up the joint.
MICHAEL MOORER: Until he stops putting himself in his documentaries, it's time for this fat obnoxious slob to take a sabbatical too. While his heart may be in the right place, his rumpled baseball caps and homeless guy chic are starting to get on everybody's nerves. Maybe he can start filming an expose of condescending fat guys who are strangers to the comb and the razor and dress like slobs and think everybody else is stupid. Or he could set up Limbaugh and himself in a cage match, the winner to take all the Twinkies.
VINCE OFFER: The SHAMWOW! guy has now branched out to a new product, a flimsy vegetable chopper reminiscent of the Veg-O-Matic. Somebody stop his before we've got another Ron Popeil or Billy Mays on our hands! You watching the camera, guy? We can't do this all day...
THE PLACE-IN-HISTORY CLOWNS: Bad enough we've a year of TV talking heads debating where Bush The Younger's place in history will be (At the very bottom, fools!), now they're starting on Obama's place in history! While he is certain to go down in history as he first black guy elected to the Presidency, outside of that no-brainer maybe we should give the guy a full week in office before we start jabbering about this meaningless nonsense. Just a suggestion. Can we get these people some help? Can we get them off the air? Can we give them their own place in history, like extinct?
Tune in next week when America's Least Wanted doesn't pursue the whereabouts of Dick Morris, Bill O'Really, Paris Hilton and Karl Rove. These less-than-riveting celebrities and politicians have used up their 15 minutes of fame without having contributed a dime's worth of anything useful or memorable. Join ALW's indifferent farewells to these and more of America's Least Wanted and least interesting people. Go ahead, don't stay tuned and touch that dial all you like! It's not like you're missing anything.
January 23, 2009
LIFE EXPLAINED, PART 294
While there is nothing wrong with the name Chauncey, it is pretty funny. Careful with doling that one out to an unsuspecting child. If the kid has no aspirations to a career in comedy, theater criticism or as a personal valet to some baron or duke, he's in a world of trouble.
LIFE IS GOOD AND WONDERS ABOUND
The heck with all that bad news circulating lately. It's getting pretty monotonous so perhaps this is a day to ignore all that. We are not presidents and kings with the world on our shoulders and we're not magicians who can Abra Cadabra life's troubles away. What we can do, however, is change the world every single day in little ways. Toss a few snowballs around with some little kids, spend some time with that old granny down the block, maybe help her do some shopping. She's pretty good company and has seen a lot and knows a lot and still has a positive outlook and a ton of curiosity. There's a lesson there for those of us ground down by bad tidings. Odds are Granny has experienced far worse in her many years on this planet and has come out the other side just fine.
Take a walk around your neighborhood. Sure are a hell of a lot of people around, no? No shortage of those, and the vast majority of them are walking miracles, full of insights that wouldn't occur to you and eager to hear your side of the story too. Of course here's always a few bitter and nasty souls here and there, but too few to worry about. They're best left alone to their bitterness unless you think you can reach them somehow, and that is always a possibility if you have the love and the patience. The best part of life is that it isn't over yet and wonders and miracles are always around us, everywhere at all times. And to gain access to them, all we need to do is open our eyes. Those rambunctious guys digging up the street with their jackhammers and bulldozers? They know exactly what's down there and how to fix it. How cool is that?
That loopy little kid tearing up and down the sidewalk all the time? He's full of fun and whacky knowledge you haven't noticed and if you can get him to slow down and share some if it you'll be glad you did. He knows that Mrs. Miller's dog loves licorice just as much as he does and where all the best puddles form when it rains. You didn't know that! What about those giggling teenage girls in front of your neighbor's house all the time? That's music they're making, part of the soundtrack of your everyday life. Those old guys in the park looking like they're arguing all the time? Well, they are, and that's how they communicate and share their love. And there's centuries of experience there when you get a few of them together. Listen and learn.
That lady in the doctor's office with the frazzled look and the half moon eyeglasses? She runs the place and knows more about the patients than the doctor. And if you're nice to her you can get an appointment sooner rather than later. Those cops who drive by slow all the time looking all serious? They just want to get through the day with nothing bad to report and go home to their families with some good news. How about all those young singles crowding the local taverns? They're just looking to connect, to somehow find love and friendship and good times and tell the world that they are alive and they are somebody. If it doesn't always work out, well, what does? There's always tomorrow.
How about those exotic parrots from South America that somehow made themselves a home in New York City? They're blue and green and yellow and they squawk a lot about the cold weather, but still they figure out a way to thrive and survive and raise their young. Remind you of anybody? Everybody? Their music is part of the soundtrack too, and their brilliant colors only add to the visuals. And if the plain brown little birds are a little jealous, well, there's nothing to be done about that. Such is life, there's always another delicate little beauty parading around, and all we can do is show our appreciation and give thanks that we are here and that our eyes are wide open. Life is good and wonders abound.
Take a walk around your neighborhood. Sure are a hell of a lot of people around, no? No shortage of those, and the vast majority of them are walking miracles, full of insights that wouldn't occur to you and eager to hear your side of the story too. Of course here's always a few bitter and nasty souls here and there, but too few to worry about. They're best left alone to their bitterness unless you think you can reach them somehow, and that is always a possibility if you have the love and the patience. The best part of life is that it isn't over yet and wonders and miracles are always around us, everywhere at all times. And to gain access to them, all we need to do is open our eyes. Those rambunctious guys digging up the street with their jackhammers and bulldozers? They know exactly what's down there and how to fix it. How cool is that?
That loopy little kid tearing up and down the sidewalk all the time? He's full of fun and whacky knowledge you haven't noticed and if you can get him to slow down and share some if it you'll be glad you did. He knows that Mrs. Miller's dog loves licorice just as much as he does and where all the best puddles form when it rains. You didn't know that! What about those giggling teenage girls in front of your neighbor's house all the time? That's music they're making, part of the soundtrack of your everyday life. Those old guys in the park looking like they're arguing all the time? Well, they are, and that's how they communicate and share their love. And there's centuries of experience there when you get a few of them together. Listen and learn.
That lady in the doctor's office with the frazzled look and the half moon eyeglasses? She runs the place and knows more about the patients than the doctor. And if you're nice to her you can get an appointment sooner rather than later. Those cops who drive by slow all the time looking all serious? They just want to get through the day with nothing bad to report and go home to their families with some good news. How about all those young singles crowding the local taverns? They're just looking to connect, to somehow find love and friendship and good times and tell the world that they are alive and they are somebody. If it doesn't always work out, well, what does? There's always tomorrow.
How about those exotic parrots from South America that somehow made themselves a home in New York City? They're blue and green and yellow and they squawk a lot about the cold weather, but still they figure out a way to thrive and survive and raise their young. Remind you of anybody? Everybody? Their music is part of the soundtrack too, and their brilliant colors only add to the visuals. And if the plain brown little birds are a little jealous, well, there's nothing to be done about that. Such is life, there's always another delicate little beauty parading around, and all we can do is show our appreciation and give thanks that we are here and that our eyes are wide open. Life is good and wonders abound.
January 22, 2009
ONE MAN'S MEAT
As the comedy industry mourns the loss of its main inspiration with the end of the Bush The Younger Era, another industry rises. Such is the cyclical nature of life. Taking up the slack in ready-made entertainment will be the neo-conservative revisionists, already earnestly telling the world that what we witnessed and luckily survived for the past 8 years wasn't what we thought it was. It seems that Bush The Younger wasn't really a neo-con at all, but a liberal. Who knew? Their message is that Bush somehow infiltrated the Republican Party, got elected president and then secretly went about the business of implementing a leftist agenda, and that's why he left the country in such a shambles! Interesting theory. While this betrayal theory is complete bull, that's their story and they're sticking to it, and it does make for some solid entertainment. Looks like Bill O'Really is going to have a lot of company and some stiff competition in the I-Just-Made-This-Up category of political comedy.
The country being in such an awful mess, we'll take our laughs where we can find them. While the regular comedians recover from the shock of having to write their own material again, we look to Bush The Younger's former cheerleading squad for off-the-wall diversion. Hell, this Obama guy is way too normal and well-adjusted for real belly laughs, and hasn't done anything major yet to for the neoconmen to sink their fangs into, so for now, it's fantasy time. And if you're a conservative, neo or otherwise, fantasy is the only sensible refuge these days. LIke a scientist faced with his life's work being proved completely wrong, the facts just do not compute as a state of shock shields the mind and body from trauma. Nature is good to us like that, preventing countless head explosions.
Denial is is a powerful force within us, often serving to soften the blows of harsh reality. With most of us, that gradually breaks down into acceptance of what is real. But thankfully not with all of us. This would be a boring word if everybody was sane. The neo-cons, for years armchair geniuses confident that their theories and policies were the only proper approach to politics and life itself, all of a sudden got to implement their ideas in 2001. Their moment in the sun had arrived and they made the most of it. And for 8 long years they put their ideas into practice and it turned out that they were of the flat-earth variety, one disaster after another in the unforgiving arena of field-testing one's theories. Some say that catastrophic events, namely the 9/11 attacks on America, changed the dynamic of the experiment and skewed the results. Never mind that political theories are supposed to work in good times or bad, war or peace. Either the earth is flat or round, period.
Well, it turns out the world really is round and voters agreed so these people are back to doing what they do best; being angry misunderstood geniuses. It's better that way, for them and for the rest of us. They get to write and broadcast their delusional gibberish and we get them out our hair and enjoy the resulting entertainment value of their whining. It's a win-win situation while clearer heads go about the business of straightening out the mess Bush The Younger and his neo-con gang have left us. There's not many laughs in smart people doing their jobs properly. Many of us will miss the slapstick government, the fascist tendencies and the sheer bumbling incompetence of the past 8 years. After all, it was quite entertaining, if you don't pay too much attention to all that devastating pain and loss.
Not only that, those 8 years served to focus our minds on what was really important, the values that made America America in the first place. Like they say, you don't know what you've got until you lose it. It turns out Americans sort of like The Bill of Rights and do not like attacking other nations for no reason at all. We're also not so crazy about torture and secret prisons. It seems we wouldn't mind a little policing of the financial institutions that power our economy. We also enjoy it when the government doesn't allow our major cities to drown when natural disasters strike. Maybe we'd like to see some actual science applied to solving some real tough problems. And we like our neo-conservatives where they belong: out of power and back to their customary job of providing us with solid comedy entertainment.
The country being in such an awful mess, we'll take our laughs where we can find them. While the regular comedians recover from the shock of having to write their own material again, we look to Bush The Younger's former cheerleading squad for off-the-wall diversion. Hell, this Obama guy is way too normal and well-adjusted for real belly laughs, and hasn't done anything major yet to for the neoconmen to sink their fangs into, so for now, it's fantasy time. And if you're a conservative, neo or otherwise, fantasy is the only sensible refuge these days. LIke a scientist faced with his life's work being proved completely wrong, the facts just do not compute as a state of shock shields the mind and body from trauma. Nature is good to us like that, preventing countless head explosions.
Denial is is a powerful force within us, often serving to soften the blows of harsh reality. With most of us, that gradually breaks down into acceptance of what is real. But thankfully not with all of us. This would be a boring word if everybody was sane. The neo-cons, for years armchair geniuses confident that their theories and policies were the only proper approach to politics and life itself, all of a sudden got to implement their ideas in 2001. Their moment in the sun had arrived and they made the most of it. And for 8 long years they put their ideas into practice and it turned out that they were of the flat-earth variety, one disaster after another in the unforgiving arena of field-testing one's theories. Some say that catastrophic events, namely the 9/11 attacks on America, changed the dynamic of the experiment and skewed the results. Never mind that political theories are supposed to work in good times or bad, war or peace. Either the earth is flat or round, period.
Well, it turns out the world really is round and voters agreed so these people are back to doing what they do best; being angry misunderstood geniuses. It's better that way, for them and for the rest of us. They get to write and broadcast their delusional gibberish and we get them out our hair and enjoy the resulting entertainment value of their whining. It's a win-win situation while clearer heads go about the business of straightening out the mess Bush The Younger and his neo-con gang have left us. There's not many laughs in smart people doing their jobs properly. Many of us will miss the slapstick government, the fascist tendencies and the sheer bumbling incompetence of the past 8 years. After all, it was quite entertaining, if you don't pay too much attention to all that devastating pain and loss.
Not only that, those 8 years served to focus our minds on what was really important, the values that made America America in the first place. Like they say, you don't know what you've got until you lose it. It turns out Americans sort of like The Bill of Rights and do not like attacking other nations for no reason at all. We're also not so crazy about torture and secret prisons. It seems we wouldn't mind a little policing of the financial institutions that power our economy. We also enjoy it when the government doesn't allow our major cities to drown when natural disasters strike. Maybe we'd like to see some actual science applied to solving some real tough problems. And we like our neo-conservatives where they belong: out of power and back to their customary job of providing us with solid comedy entertainment.
January 21, 2009
LIFE EXPLAINED, PART 292
It's better to shoot for the moon than the the rooftops. Low expectations and halfhearted efforts are their own rewards. To hell with that when there's a moon in the sky with your name on it.
GOBAMA! THE FIRST GRANNY IS WATCHING
Okay, we got it. History was made, prejudices overcome and neo-conservatism exposed for the fraud it always was. We're proud, hopeful and determined to overcome all the grave problems we all face. Now get to work! Send Beyonce, U2 and Boss Springsteen home, pull down the bunting and get somebody to sweep up the National Mall. Get yourself a nice comfortable desk chair in the oval office and park your skinny butt in it for the duration. You have no ranch, no brush to clear and a family around you who you genuinely like. They'll be right upstairs when you need a reminder as to why you're doing all this hard work. Yours won't be a rugged commute, but your job will be a bitch and a half.
And don't forget you've got your mother-in-law living with you, your children's grandmother. You won't have to read the papers to know when you're screwing up, you'll just get The Look. You do not want to disappoint Granny One. You do not want to be the recipient of The Look And you don't want your wife pissed off at you either, she can make the hard life you pursued so single-mindedly even harder. Nor do you want your daughters hearing crap about you at school. You don't want them to turn into wild drunken bimbos like the Bush twins, traumatized and low in self-esteem from years of hearing what a bonehead their Daddy is and how he's screwing up this good thing we've got here that we call America.
It's not like we ask the impossible of our presidents, like we hand them some barren wasteland and say "Here, do something with this shithole!" This is America we trust them with, the most prosperous and free nation in history, bountiful and productive, the envy of the planet, and all we ask is that they don't fuck it up. Not a huge request. Just don't fuck it up, okay? Well, your predecessor sure fucked things up around here, and then some! He was just like his greedy friends, the clowns who were entrusted with America's economy and banking system, as golden a goose as ever there was until those guys started wondering what goose flesh tastes like and the bird freaked out and stopped laying golden eggs when they started sharpening their knives and tying on dinner bibs.
So now you're a guy of whom we are we're asking a hell of a lot, maybe even the impossible. It's your misfortune to follow America's worst and most destructive president ever and into the future, and America and our golden goose are hurting units. What's the plan, Stan? Hope it's a dandy. The goons you just defeated at the polls are already making the excuse that Bush The Younger was not really one of them, he didn't follow their blueprint. This is bullshit of course since he was the poster boy for neo-cons and implemented any harebrained scheme that popped into their pinheads. Which is what got us into this fine mess. Count on them harassing you every step of the way.
When they held power they were sore winners! Forget about now that they've been exposed as incompetents, cowards and thieves. All bets are off. The day after you won the election there were already numerous websites up and running calling for your impeachment, 3 months before you even took office! Your call for bipartisan cooperation is wasted on such cretins. Take the two years with your Democratic Congress and get everything done that you need done while the getting is good. After that there are no guarantees. The voters could go all apathetic again and the neo-conmen might con their way back into Congress in sufficient numbers to stymie your programs. You don't want to explain that one to Granny One.
While you're busy pursuing your agenda, appoint a special prosecutor and sic the FBI on the criminals in the Bush The Younger gang. You just swore to uphold the Constitution and that's not always pretty. Brotherhood, nonpartisanship and kumbaya aside, there were some serious criminals undermining our country and your oath requires you do not let that pass. It's the little things you let go, not the felonies. Get Joe The Vice President involved, he's been a Senator forever and knows where the bodies are buried. Dig them up and show the world the rotten corpses, and this way you'll make anyone in your own administration think twice before they decide to go over to the Dark Side. You didn't hire any saints, and in the stratosphere of power and ambition over which you now preside, temptation and corruption are always viable options. No sense kidding yourself.
So, welcome to our national nightmare, Mr. President, and forget about that honeymoon. Don't be shy about turning things upside down. After all, you did just that by getting elected in the first place so don't stop now. Don't worry about a second term, just go for broke right now and that will take care if itself. Give us a show to remember and get this train back on the tracks. We're with you here, we've got your back. A nation and the First Granny are expecting a whole lot. Shake things up and don't let us down. All we ask is a that you be a genius and do the impossible, or at the very least turn in a superhuman effort providing outstanding results. But hey, no pressure, right?
And don't forget you've got your mother-in-law living with you, your children's grandmother. You won't have to read the papers to know when you're screwing up, you'll just get The Look. You do not want to disappoint Granny One. You do not want to be the recipient of The Look And you don't want your wife pissed off at you either, she can make the hard life you pursued so single-mindedly even harder. Nor do you want your daughters hearing crap about you at school. You don't want them to turn into wild drunken bimbos like the Bush twins, traumatized and low in self-esteem from years of hearing what a bonehead their Daddy is and how he's screwing up this good thing we've got here that we call America.
It's not like we ask the impossible of our presidents, like we hand them some barren wasteland and say "Here, do something with this shithole!" This is America we trust them with, the most prosperous and free nation in history, bountiful and productive, the envy of the planet, and all we ask is that they don't fuck it up. Not a huge request. Just don't fuck it up, okay? Well, your predecessor sure fucked things up around here, and then some! He was just like his greedy friends, the clowns who were entrusted with America's economy and banking system, as golden a goose as ever there was until those guys started wondering what goose flesh tastes like and the bird freaked out and stopped laying golden eggs when they started sharpening their knives and tying on dinner bibs.
So now you're a guy of whom we are we're asking a hell of a lot, maybe even the impossible. It's your misfortune to follow America's worst and most destructive president ever and into the future, and America and our golden goose are hurting units. What's the plan, Stan? Hope it's a dandy. The goons you just defeated at the polls are already making the excuse that Bush The Younger was not really one of them, he didn't follow their blueprint. This is bullshit of course since he was the poster boy for neo-cons and implemented any harebrained scheme that popped into their pinheads. Which is what got us into this fine mess. Count on them harassing you every step of the way.
When they held power they were sore winners! Forget about now that they've been exposed as incompetents, cowards and thieves. All bets are off. The day after you won the election there were already numerous websites up and running calling for your impeachment, 3 months before you even took office! Your call for bipartisan cooperation is wasted on such cretins. Take the two years with your Democratic Congress and get everything done that you need done while the getting is good. After that there are no guarantees. The voters could go all apathetic again and the neo-conmen might con their way back into Congress in sufficient numbers to stymie your programs. You don't want to explain that one to Granny One.
While you're busy pursuing your agenda, appoint a special prosecutor and sic the FBI on the criminals in the Bush The Younger gang. You just swore to uphold the Constitution and that's not always pretty. Brotherhood, nonpartisanship and kumbaya aside, there were some serious criminals undermining our country and your oath requires you do not let that pass. It's the little things you let go, not the felonies. Get Joe The Vice President involved, he's been a Senator forever and knows where the bodies are buried. Dig them up and show the world the rotten corpses, and this way you'll make anyone in your own administration think twice before they decide to go over to the Dark Side. You didn't hire any saints, and in the stratosphere of power and ambition over which you now preside, temptation and corruption are always viable options. No sense kidding yourself.
So, welcome to our national nightmare, Mr. President, and forget about that honeymoon. Don't be shy about turning things upside down. After all, you did just that by getting elected in the first place so don't stop now. Don't worry about a second term, just go for broke right now and that will take care if itself. Give us a show to remember and get this train back on the tracks. We're with you here, we've got your back. A nation and the First Granny are expecting a whole lot. Shake things up and don't let us down. All we ask is a that you be a genius and do the impossible, or at the very least turn in a superhuman effort providing outstanding results. But hey, no pressure, right?
January 20, 2009
LIFE EXPLAINED, PART 291
Sometimes you see people with horrible problems or severe handicaps and you say to yourself: "That's really a shame, but I guess it could be worse. That could have happened to me!"
15 GUITAR SOLOS TO REMEMBER
Today is Inauguration Day, when history is being made with the swearing in of America's first black president. That's nice. Now let's talk guitar solos! We'll pretend that having a black president is no big deal, like it ought to be if you've ever read the Declaration of Independence and the United States Constitution with all that all-men-are-created-equal and equal-protection-under-the-law stuff and that whole Civil Rights deal. Should be a no-brainer, right? Besides, I've said plenty about all that for the time being, so let's move on to something equally important to all Americans: Great Guitar Solos! There's been a lot of them and the selections here might not be yours, but they're mine. Unlike men, not all guitar solos are created equal, so in no particular order, here are my favorites:
1. Nowhere Man, by the Beatles, guitar solo by George Harrison: A fifteen second gem of a solo that perfectly complements the song's melody in ringing counterpoint, matching the tempo, feel and mood of the song and a perfect illustration of Harrison's brilliant, concise and melodic style. No lead guitarist ever served his material better.
2. All Along the Watch Tower, by The Jimi Hendrix Experience, guitar solo by Jimi Hendrix: This Bob Dylan song is Dylan's favorite cover version of one of his songs and contains a solo where Jimi seems to turn his guitar inside out with some otherworldly effects, yet somehow complements the song superbly and renders it faithfully. With every hearing there's more to enjoy, another nuance revealed. While Hendrix performed a whole bunch of unforgettable guitar solos, this one stands out, right up there with the bird sounds on "Purple Haze" and the dangerous wah-wah wail of "Voodoo Child: Slight Return."
3. Reeling In The Years, by Steely Dan, guitar solo by Elliot Randall: From the sweet but urgent opening notes, veteran studio guitar slinger Elliot Randall grabs the listener by the throat and compels close attention throughout the song, right through his two beautiful solos, one in the middle and the other in the extended fade out. He gives us beautiful, melodic and breakneck playing that threatens to careen out of control but never does, masterfully propelling the song and making it one of Steely Dan's best and biggest hits. Not being a member of the band, Mr. Randall was paid only his standard studio fee.
4. Stairway to Heaven, by Led Zeppelin, guitar solo by Jimmy Page: In an otherwise fairly bizarre and typically overblown Zeppelin opus (what the hell is "a bustle in a hedgerow," anyway?), Jimmy Page rips out a seriously beautiful and superbly constructed scorcher of a guitar solo, the main reason that song has become one of the most played in classic rock history. Incidentally, what's Jimmy Page's favorite guitar solo? Elliot Randall's on "Reeling In The Years."
5. Sunshine Of Your Love, by Cream, guitar solo by Eric Clapton: Eric Clapton, the guitar player's guitar player, rips out a real beaut, starting off with a little moaning vibrato before building to a flurry of sweet rapid fire notes that propels the song to another level. The first of many, many memorable Clapton solos. By the way, his guitar playing earned him the right to needing only the one name; Clapton, just like Elvis, Jimi and Janis.
6. Rock Around The Clock, by Bill Haley and The Comets, guitar solo by Danny Cedrone: The first wild rock & roll guitar solo, Danny Cedrone let loose with a stinging flurry of notes that sent this seminal rock song into overdrive. Cedrone was a studio musician who had worked with Haley before, most notably on the song "Rocket 88," considered by many to be the first rock & roll song, as well as another rock standard from that pioneering era, "Shake, Rattle and Roll." Unfortunately for Danny he died in a fall down some stairs in June of 1954 and never lived to see his groundbreaking work immortalized forever in The Guitar God Pantheon
7. Blue Skies, by The Allman Brothers, guitar solos by Dickie Betts and Duane Allman: Two of the best guitar players who ever lived happened to be in the same band and between the two of them have produced some of the most electrifying and identifiable lead and slide guitar solos ever recorded, dozens of them. There would have been more had not Duane Allman died in a motorcycle crash shortly after the recording of this gem, a double solo masterpiece that starts with some of their trademark hot and sweet guitar harmonies before they alternate on beautiful and melodic individual solos that build to masterful climaxes to make the hair on your neck stand at attention before returning to the sweet dual harmonies and the rest of this great song written by Betts.
8. Pride And Joy, by Stevie Ray Vaughn And Double Trouble, guitar solo by Stevie Ray Vauhn: From its electrifying opening notes, this song promises to hit you where your live and it lives up to its promise. One of Vaughn's biggest hits, the guitar solo is a fiery combination of traditional blues licks and pure pyrotechnic virtuosity. Stevie Ray is another yet guitar great who died too young but he left us with more than enough scorch marks to remember him always.
9. Hound Dog, by Elvis Presley, guitar solo by Scotty Moore: This was the first #1 national hit for Elvis and the first best-selling song written by the prolific songwriting team of Jerry Lieber and Mike Stoller, and the first time Presley himself produced one of his records. It took 31 takes for Elvis to get the spontaneous-sounding version we all know and love. The Scotty Moore solo is a classic example of 1950's hollow-body electric guitar gritty treble attack, timeless and perfect for the song.
10. Johny B. Goode, by Chuck Berry, guitar solo by Chuck Berry: From one of the men who wrote the soundtrack to the 1950's, "Johnny B. Goode" contains perhaps THE rock & roll guitar solo, one of the most imitated and influential riffs ever invented and one that every rock & roll guitarist worth his salt knows by heart plus a hundred variations on the theme. Songwriters and guitarists have been recreating that song for two generations, and the main reason is that signature Chuck Berry guitar solo. Where would Keith Richards of the Rolling Stones be without his powerful influence?
11. Eight Miles High, by the Byrds, guitar solo by Roger McGuinn: The Byrds, best known for their jangly folk rock, soaring vocal harmonies designed by David Crosby and making rock & roll hits out of Bob Dylan songs, broke their mold with "Eight Miles High." A trippy, very 60's sounding song, McGuinn played free form jazz riffs on his 12-string electric Rickenbacker guitar, all at once nearly atonal and out of control while being precise, disciplined and majestic as the solo leads right back to the opening lyric.
12. Mississippi Queen, by Mountain, guitar solo by Leslie West: Leslie West, a mountain of a man in who's hands his Gibson Les Paul guitar looked like a toy, had one of the purest ringing tones and finest senses of melody of any rock & roll guitar soloist. Never a speed demon, West wrung the most juice out each note in what he called his "two-fingered style." The solo on "Mississippi Queen" is classic Leslie West, dripping with emotion and demanding our attention.
13. Proud Mary, by Credence Clearwater Revival, guitar solo by John Fogerty: Not a classic take-no-prisoners blazing solo, this one is more in the George Harrison school filtered though a Mississippi swamp, a flowing and melodic piece, low key but engaging and compelling, constructed perfectly for the material.
14. Purple Rain, by Prince, guitar solo by Prince: Prince has always been a supremely gifted songwriter, singer, showman, producer, arranger and a consummate musician, often playing all of the instruments on his recordings. He best instrument, however, has always been the guitar and he rates up there with the very best. Listen to his outstanding work on "Purple Rain," his axe crying and screaming and pleading along with the lyrics, that George Jetson-looking guitar as emotional an instrument as his voice; technically and tonally impeccable while being achingly emotional. Another inspired match of material and solo.
15. The End, by The Beatles, guitar solos by Paul McCartney, George Harrison and John Lennon: In a departure from their usual studio line-up and precise arrangements, the Beatles let fly on this one, the last song they ever recorded together. After a drum solo by Ringo Starr, Paul (usually the bass player but an accomplished guitarist himself) started the round robin, followed by George, then John, then once around again for an exciting, heart pounding, powerfully rocking sequence that stops abruptly for a piano part topped with their gorgeous harmonies singing their final line as a band, very appropriately: "And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make", followed by Harrison's beautiful guitar coda and a big finish for the biggest rock & roll band of them all.
Fittingly this list ends with The End, although there's so many more great guitarists and great solos to be mentioned, milestones by which rock and roll fans measure their lives. We can all sing and play air guitar right along with our favorites, just like we can all sing the lyrics to songs we haven't heard in years. I'm sure I left out a lot of classics and I'll kick myself tomorrow for not including them, like Keith Richard's groundbreaking work on "Honky Tonk Woman." Okay, make that 16 Guitar Solos to Remember. Maybe some of you are kicking me already for omitting some obvious favorites.
What are some of your all-time great guitar solos? The absolutely essential rock & roll guitar solos I forgot? Leave a comment on this page, it will become a permanent part of the web site. I never edit or delete any comments people are thoughtful enough to make. Meanwhile, let's all kick back and watch history being made when Barack Obama takes the oath of office today as the 44th President of the United States, and about damned time. Maybe turn the sound down and crank up Jimi's beautifully sonic version of "The Star Spangled Banner" for that little extra kick. See you tomorrow.
1. Nowhere Man, by the Beatles, guitar solo by George Harrison: A fifteen second gem of a solo that perfectly complements the song's melody in ringing counterpoint, matching the tempo, feel and mood of the song and a perfect illustration of Harrison's brilliant, concise and melodic style. No lead guitarist ever served his material better.
2. All Along the Watch Tower, by The Jimi Hendrix Experience, guitar solo by Jimi Hendrix: This Bob Dylan song is Dylan's favorite cover version of one of his songs and contains a solo where Jimi seems to turn his guitar inside out with some otherworldly effects, yet somehow complements the song superbly and renders it faithfully. With every hearing there's more to enjoy, another nuance revealed. While Hendrix performed a whole bunch of unforgettable guitar solos, this one stands out, right up there with the bird sounds on "Purple Haze" and the dangerous wah-wah wail of "Voodoo Child: Slight Return."
3. Reeling In The Years, by Steely Dan, guitar solo by Elliot Randall: From the sweet but urgent opening notes, veteran studio guitar slinger Elliot Randall grabs the listener by the throat and compels close attention throughout the song, right through his two beautiful solos, one in the middle and the other in the extended fade out. He gives us beautiful, melodic and breakneck playing that threatens to careen out of control but never does, masterfully propelling the song and making it one of Steely Dan's best and biggest hits. Not being a member of the band, Mr. Randall was paid only his standard studio fee.
4. Stairway to Heaven, by Led Zeppelin, guitar solo by Jimmy Page: In an otherwise fairly bizarre and typically overblown Zeppelin opus (what the hell is "a bustle in a hedgerow," anyway?), Jimmy Page rips out a seriously beautiful and superbly constructed scorcher of a guitar solo, the main reason that song has become one of the most played in classic rock history. Incidentally, what's Jimmy Page's favorite guitar solo? Elliot Randall's on "Reeling In The Years."
5. Sunshine Of Your Love, by Cream, guitar solo by Eric Clapton: Eric Clapton, the guitar player's guitar player, rips out a real beaut, starting off with a little moaning vibrato before building to a flurry of sweet rapid fire notes that propels the song to another level. The first of many, many memorable Clapton solos. By the way, his guitar playing earned him the right to needing only the one name; Clapton, just like Elvis, Jimi and Janis.
6. Rock Around The Clock, by Bill Haley and The Comets, guitar solo by Danny Cedrone: The first wild rock & roll guitar solo, Danny Cedrone let loose with a stinging flurry of notes that sent this seminal rock song into overdrive. Cedrone was a studio musician who had worked with Haley before, most notably on the song "Rocket 88," considered by many to be the first rock & roll song, as well as another rock standard from that pioneering era, "Shake, Rattle and Roll." Unfortunately for Danny he died in a fall down some stairs in June of 1954 and never lived to see his groundbreaking work immortalized forever in The Guitar God Pantheon
7. Blue Skies, by The Allman Brothers, guitar solos by Dickie Betts and Duane Allman: Two of the best guitar players who ever lived happened to be in the same band and between the two of them have produced some of the most electrifying and identifiable lead and slide guitar solos ever recorded, dozens of them. There would have been more had not Duane Allman died in a motorcycle crash shortly after the recording of this gem, a double solo masterpiece that starts with some of their trademark hot and sweet guitar harmonies before they alternate on beautiful and melodic individual solos that build to masterful climaxes to make the hair on your neck stand at attention before returning to the sweet dual harmonies and the rest of this great song written by Betts.
8. Pride And Joy, by Stevie Ray Vaughn And Double Trouble, guitar solo by Stevie Ray Vauhn: From its electrifying opening notes, this song promises to hit you where your live and it lives up to its promise. One of Vaughn's biggest hits, the guitar solo is a fiery combination of traditional blues licks and pure pyrotechnic virtuosity. Stevie Ray is another yet guitar great who died too young but he left us with more than enough scorch marks to remember him always.
9. Hound Dog, by Elvis Presley, guitar solo by Scotty Moore: This was the first #1 national hit for Elvis and the first best-selling song written by the prolific songwriting team of Jerry Lieber and Mike Stoller, and the first time Presley himself produced one of his records. It took 31 takes for Elvis to get the spontaneous-sounding version we all know and love. The Scotty Moore solo is a classic example of 1950's hollow-body electric guitar gritty treble attack, timeless and perfect for the song.
10. Johny B. Goode, by Chuck Berry, guitar solo by Chuck Berry: From one of the men who wrote the soundtrack to the 1950's, "Johnny B. Goode" contains perhaps THE rock & roll guitar solo, one of the most imitated and influential riffs ever invented and one that every rock & roll guitarist worth his salt knows by heart plus a hundred variations on the theme. Songwriters and guitarists have been recreating that song for two generations, and the main reason is that signature Chuck Berry guitar solo. Where would Keith Richards of the Rolling Stones be without his powerful influence?
11. Eight Miles High, by the Byrds, guitar solo by Roger McGuinn: The Byrds, best known for their jangly folk rock, soaring vocal harmonies designed by David Crosby and making rock & roll hits out of Bob Dylan songs, broke their mold with "Eight Miles High." A trippy, very 60's sounding song, McGuinn played free form jazz riffs on his 12-string electric Rickenbacker guitar, all at once nearly atonal and out of control while being precise, disciplined and majestic as the solo leads right back to the opening lyric.
12. Mississippi Queen, by Mountain, guitar solo by Leslie West: Leslie West, a mountain of a man in who's hands his Gibson Les Paul guitar looked like a toy, had one of the purest ringing tones and finest senses of melody of any rock & roll guitar soloist. Never a speed demon, West wrung the most juice out each note in what he called his "two-fingered style." The solo on "Mississippi Queen" is classic Leslie West, dripping with emotion and demanding our attention.
13. Proud Mary, by Credence Clearwater Revival, guitar solo by John Fogerty: Not a classic take-no-prisoners blazing solo, this one is more in the George Harrison school filtered though a Mississippi swamp, a flowing and melodic piece, low key but engaging and compelling, constructed perfectly for the material.
14. Purple Rain, by Prince, guitar solo by Prince: Prince has always been a supremely gifted songwriter, singer, showman, producer, arranger and a consummate musician, often playing all of the instruments on his recordings. He best instrument, however, has always been the guitar and he rates up there with the very best. Listen to his outstanding work on "Purple Rain," his axe crying and screaming and pleading along with the lyrics, that George Jetson-looking guitar as emotional an instrument as his voice; technically and tonally impeccable while being achingly emotional. Another inspired match of material and solo.
15. The End, by The Beatles, guitar solos by Paul McCartney, George Harrison and John Lennon: In a departure from their usual studio line-up and precise arrangements, the Beatles let fly on this one, the last song they ever recorded together. After a drum solo by Ringo Starr, Paul (usually the bass player but an accomplished guitarist himself) started the round robin, followed by George, then John, then once around again for an exciting, heart pounding, powerfully rocking sequence that stops abruptly for a piano part topped with their gorgeous harmonies singing their final line as a band, very appropriately: "And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make", followed by Harrison's beautiful guitar coda and a big finish for the biggest rock & roll band of them all.
Fittingly this list ends with The End, although there's so many more great guitarists and great solos to be mentioned, milestones by which rock and roll fans measure their lives. We can all sing and play air guitar right along with our favorites, just like we can all sing the lyrics to songs we haven't heard in years. I'm sure I left out a lot of classics and I'll kick myself tomorrow for not including them, like Keith Richard's groundbreaking work on "Honky Tonk Woman." Okay, make that 16 Guitar Solos to Remember. Maybe some of you are kicking me already for omitting some obvious favorites.
What are some of your all-time great guitar solos? The absolutely essential rock & roll guitar solos I forgot? Leave a comment on this page, it will become a permanent part of the web site. I never edit or delete any comments people are thoughtful enough to make. Meanwhile, let's all kick back and watch history being made when Barack Obama takes the oath of office today as the 44th President of the United States, and about damned time. Maybe turn the sound down and crank up Jimi's beautifully sonic version of "The Star Spangled Banner" for that little extra kick. See you tomorrow.
January 19, 2009
LIFE EXPLAINED, PART 290
There are are feelings only the young experience, and some that only older people feel. The difference is that older people understand both.
PACKING
"Laura, did you pack my pilot costume?"
"Yes, George, it's with the 'Mission Accomplished' sign."
"Good call. How 'bout my cowboy hat collection and brush clearin' clothes?"
"Yes, dear. They're on their way to Crawford."
"Thanks, mama. This movin' is a real headache. Don't know what I'd do without you."
"Did you clean out your desk yet, George?"
"Well..."
"Geeooorgiieee?"
"I been meanin' to, I really have, but Mr. Cheney keeps sendin' in those fellas with all them papers for me to sign, them pardons and executive orders for lettin' our friends have an easier time of manufacturatin' without all them pesky regulationeers buggin' 'em all the time about some little mess or other that happens..."
"But George, we're leaving tomorrow! You march right in there to that oval office and get busy!"
"I swear you're soundin' more and more like Mr. Cheney every day."
"What?"
"Nothin', mama. nothin'..."
Would you like some help?"
"Guess so. I really don't know were to begin..."
"What else is new? Now let's get to it. I've already had the Secret Service guys send in some boxes..."
"You think of everything..."
"And you don't think! Now come on!"
"Leggo my ear, woman! I'm comin'!"
"We'll start with the top of the desk. Here, put these pictures of me and the twins in that box over there. That portrait of your Mom is just too scary. We'll put that one in storage."
"Gotta admit, she scares the crap outta me too..."
"Do you want to keep all this other stuff? Do we really need this bobble-headed Karl Rove doll? I never could stand that creepy son of a bitch."
"I guess that can go, but the dried finger of Sadam's a keeper."
"Like hell it is, George! That's just disgusting!"
"But it's a gift from Mr. Cheney, part of a ten piece set!"
"Then sell it on E-Bay. I'm not cluttering up our new house in Dallas with dictator body parts!"
"What about Mr. Cheney's bronzed heart? He gave it to me when NASA replaced his with that hydraulic one..."
"Like I said, no dictator body parts in my new house!"
"Okay, mama. Maybe I'll send it over to Rummy. He's got a real impressive collection of Abu Graib memorabilia, some really cool stuff..."
"I don't want to hear it, George! Now, what about all these toys?"
"Toys? Them's my relaxoration devices! Maybe you don't know it, woman, but presidentin' is real brain-bustin 'activity! A man needs to unwind a little..."
"You've had 77 vacations, George, and Cheney and Rove have been calling the shots for 8 years! The Lego sets and the Pick-up Sticks are going!"
"Dang woman, you're as cold as Sadam's finger!"
"Let's get on with it, shall we? The Obamas will be here tomorrow."
"Tomorrow? You sure he won't be takin' a vacation? That inaugurationating is pretty tiring, all the spechifying and promise makin'..."
"Some presidents like to work hard, George."
"Don't know why. Not much point to that with all the assistants they give ya. Besides, the country runnin' is done by the Vice President! What good is bein' president if you got to break a sweat every day?"
"Whatever you say, Georgie, but we've got to be out of here tonight!"
"When's the furniture movers comin'?"
"What furniture?"
"Well, all of it. You can't fool me, Laura! We've moved a bunch of times. Big trucks come by with some big strong lumpy guys who haul our stuff away."
"Georgie, this is the White House! How many times do I have to tell you that this stuff belongs to the American people?"
"That's not what Mr. Cheney says!"
"Well, he's out of a job now too, you know!"
"Really? Can they do that? Who's going to run America without Mr. Cheney? Who's going to look out for our friends?"
"Georgie, our friends have already gotten all the billions they want and then some! There isn't anything left to give away."
"Then I guess our job here is done..."
"What have I been telling you all week? Now get busy and start packing!"
"You know, I'm gonna miss this place."
"Me too, Georgie."
"Think Obama will let me come by and sit behind the desk once in a while, you know, do some guest presidentin'?"
"I doubt it Georgie. He'll be pretty busy cleaning up after you."
"Than why'd they get rid of Mr. Cheney? Seems foolish. He knows exactly who to kill and who to push around to get stuff done. With all them new body parts he had installed, he figures to last through at least 3 or 4 more presidents!"
"Obama wants to do things differently."
"Well, that's kinda puzzlin'..."
"What isn't puzzling to you, Georgie? What isn't..."
"Yes, George, it's with the 'Mission Accomplished' sign."
"Good call. How 'bout my cowboy hat collection and brush clearin' clothes?"
"Yes, dear. They're on their way to Crawford."
"Thanks, mama. This movin' is a real headache. Don't know what I'd do without you."
"Did you clean out your desk yet, George?"
"Well..."
"Geeooorgiieee?"
"I been meanin' to, I really have, but Mr. Cheney keeps sendin' in those fellas with all them papers for me to sign, them pardons and executive orders for lettin' our friends have an easier time of manufacturatin' without all them pesky regulationeers buggin' 'em all the time about some little mess or other that happens..."
"But George, we're leaving tomorrow! You march right in there to that oval office and get busy!"
"I swear you're soundin' more and more like Mr. Cheney every day."
"What?"
"Nothin', mama. nothin'..."
Would you like some help?"
"Guess so. I really don't know were to begin..."
"What else is new? Now let's get to it. I've already had the Secret Service guys send in some boxes..."
"You think of everything..."
"And you don't think! Now come on!"
"Leggo my ear, woman! I'm comin'!"
"We'll start with the top of the desk. Here, put these pictures of me and the twins in that box over there. That portrait of your Mom is just too scary. We'll put that one in storage."
"Gotta admit, she scares the crap outta me too..."
"Do you want to keep all this other stuff? Do we really need this bobble-headed Karl Rove doll? I never could stand that creepy son of a bitch."
"I guess that can go, but the dried finger of Sadam's a keeper."
"Like hell it is, George! That's just disgusting!"
"But it's a gift from Mr. Cheney, part of a ten piece set!"
"Then sell it on E-Bay. I'm not cluttering up our new house in Dallas with dictator body parts!"
"What about Mr. Cheney's bronzed heart? He gave it to me when NASA replaced his with that hydraulic one..."
"Like I said, no dictator body parts in my new house!"
"Okay, mama. Maybe I'll send it over to Rummy. He's got a real impressive collection of Abu Graib memorabilia, some really cool stuff..."
"I don't want to hear it, George! Now, what about all these toys?"
"Toys? Them's my relaxoration devices! Maybe you don't know it, woman, but presidentin' is real brain-bustin 'activity! A man needs to unwind a little..."
"You've had 77 vacations, George, and Cheney and Rove have been calling the shots for 8 years! The Lego sets and the Pick-up Sticks are going!"
"Dang woman, you're as cold as Sadam's finger!"
"Let's get on with it, shall we? The Obamas will be here tomorrow."
"Tomorrow? You sure he won't be takin' a vacation? That inaugurationating is pretty tiring, all the spechifying and promise makin'..."
"Some presidents like to work hard, George."
"Don't know why. Not much point to that with all the assistants they give ya. Besides, the country runnin' is done by the Vice President! What good is bein' president if you got to break a sweat every day?"
"Whatever you say, Georgie, but we've got to be out of here tonight!"
"When's the furniture movers comin'?"
"What furniture?"
"Well, all of it. You can't fool me, Laura! We've moved a bunch of times. Big trucks come by with some big strong lumpy guys who haul our stuff away."
"Georgie, this is the White House! How many times do I have to tell you that this stuff belongs to the American people?"
"That's not what Mr. Cheney says!"
"Well, he's out of a job now too, you know!"
"Really? Can they do that? Who's going to run America without Mr. Cheney? Who's going to look out for our friends?"
"Georgie, our friends have already gotten all the billions they want and then some! There isn't anything left to give away."
"Then I guess our job here is done..."
"What have I been telling you all week? Now get busy and start packing!"
"You know, I'm gonna miss this place."
"Me too, Georgie."
"Think Obama will let me come by and sit behind the desk once in a while, you know, do some guest presidentin'?"
"I doubt it Georgie. He'll be pretty busy cleaning up after you."
"Than why'd they get rid of Mr. Cheney? Seems foolish. He knows exactly who to kill and who to push around to get stuff done. With all them new body parts he had installed, he figures to last through at least 3 or 4 more presidents!"
"Obama wants to do things differently."
"Well, that's kinda puzzlin'..."
"What isn't puzzling to you, Georgie? What isn't..."
January 18, 2009
LIFE EXPLAINED, PART 289
You can't enjoy life in the fast lane any more than you can enjoy the scenery while driving 90 miles an hour. Slow down, you might find something to savor.
NEW RULES FOR GENTLEMEN, PART 3
Modern living calls for a continual update of the rules for gentlemanly conduct. For centuries a static code of life, new realities have changed the dynamics of what it means to be a gentleman in this modern world. Observe:
A gentleman wears a shirt when getting arrested on an episode of COPS.
When appearing before Congress to request a bailout for your failed bank or investment firm, a true gentleman removes his diamond encrusted hat when entering the Capitol Building.
A gentleman expresses sincere regret for torturing prisoners. He does not smirk when doing so.
When shopping in WalMart, a gentleman never tramples anyone to death, no matter how low the price of those green polyurethane patio chairs he's always dreamed of owning.
When a gentleman attends a dog fight, he never sits close enough to the fighting pit to get his clothing stained with blood and canine body parts. When the dog on which he has wagered is slain and it is time to settle his accounts, he does so promptly with good grace and never brandishes a pistol.
While it is true that a gentleman should keep up keep up with current technology, he is under no obligation to purchase a new iPhone every 6 months. He is also cognizant of the fact that few people are interested in the clandestine sex videos he makes with his state-of-the-art tiny video camera if his partner is not a celebrity.
A gentleman never convinces himself that illegal downloading is not stealing.
A gentleman never comments negatively on the religion, sexual orientation, ethnic background or political views of his codefendants at his bank fraud trial. That is simply bad form and earns no sympathy from juries.
If a gentleman is a serial killer, he never taunts the police.
When a gentleman is forced to alter his appearance after being profiled on America's Most Wanted, his does so with taste and dignity, lest he suffer the embarrassment of being arrested in a flowered mumu.
Similarly, when a gentleman cross-dresses, he picks a flattering ensemble and makes sure he is close-shaven. A five o'clock shadow on even the most attractive transvestite betrays a regrettable lack of breeding.
A gentleman never commits the incredible faux pas of wearing a thong bathing suit, no matter how booty-licious he considers himself.
When a gentleman is a scientist, the lack of volunteer subjects for one's dubious experiments is no excuse to use one's children as laboratory rats.
It is unseemly for a gentleman to bestow cute names on his sexual organ. "Say hello to my personal assistant" should suffice.
When cyber-stalking someone, a gentleman never e-mails his prey from a friend's computer. To avoid detection, he avails himself of the public access terminals at the Public Library, and only during normal business hours. Breaking in to a library to send your dirty e-mails is the act of a cad.
When a gentleman is the dictator of one's poverty-stricken nation, he limits his bullet-proof limousine collection to 4 vehicles. He always instructs his chauffeur to honk his horn in a timely fashion before running over any of his subjects attempting to call his attention to their starving children.
When holding public office or heading a major corporation, a gentleman always keeps his stealing within the limits of decency. It is considered rubbing it in to hang a Renoir in one's guest bathroom.
When attempting to instigate a war, a gentleman always takes pains to point out that the intended target nation is filled with Godless subhumans deserving only of annihilation and the eternal damnation of hell fire.
It is not permissible for a gentleman to take a tax deduction for gifts to his mistresses unless they are legitimate professional business associates, such as proteges and personal secretaries. Very personal secretaries.
A gentleman always pretends to care about those less fortunate than himself. Always keep a straight face when feigning concern. To do less would be unseemly. The ladies seem to like that sort of thing, and a gentleman likes the sort thing only a lady can offer; hot sex.
A gentleman wears a shirt when getting arrested on an episode of COPS.
When appearing before Congress to request a bailout for your failed bank or investment firm, a true gentleman removes his diamond encrusted hat when entering the Capitol Building.
A gentleman expresses sincere regret for torturing prisoners. He does not smirk when doing so.
When shopping in WalMart, a gentleman never tramples anyone to death, no matter how low the price of those green polyurethane patio chairs he's always dreamed of owning.
When a gentleman attends a dog fight, he never sits close enough to the fighting pit to get his clothing stained with blood and canine body parts. When the dog on which he has wagered is slain and it is time to settle his accounts, he does so promptly with good grace and never brandishes a pistol.
While it is true that a gentleman should keep up keep up with current technology, he is under no obligation to purchase a new iPhone every 6 months. He is also cognizant of the fact that few people are interested in the clandestine sex videos he makes with his state-of-the-art tiny video camera if his partner is not a celebrity.
A gentleman never convinces himself that illegal downloading is not stealing.
A gentleman never comments negatively on the religion, sexual orientation, ethnic background or political views of his codefendants at his bank fraud trial. That is simply bad form and earns no sympathy from juries.
If a gentleman is a serial killer, he never taunts the police.
When a gentleman is forced to alter his appearance after being profiled on America's Most Wanted, his does so with taste and dignity, lest he suffer the embarrassment of being arrested in a flowered mumu.
Similarly, when a gentleman cross-dresses, he picks a flattering ensemble and makes sure he is close-shaven. A five o'clock shadow on even the most attractive transvestite betrays a regrettable lack of breeding.
A gentleman never commits the incredible faux pas of wearing a thong bathing suit, no matter how booty-licious he considers himself.
When a gentleman is a scientist, the lack of volunteer subjects for one's dubious experiments is no excuse to use one's children as laboratory rats.
It is unseemly for a gentleman to bestow cute names on his sexual organ. "Say hello to my personal assistant" should suffice.
When cyber-stalking someone, a gentleman never e-mails his prey from a friend's computer. To avoid detection, he avails himself of the public access terminals at the Public Library, and only during normal business hours. Breaking in to a library to send your dirty e-mails is the act of a cad.
When a gentleman is the dictator of one's poverty-stricken nation, he limits his bullet-proof limousine collection to 4 vehicles. He always instructs his chauffeur to honk his horn in a timely fashion before running over any of his subjects attempting to call his attention to their starving children.
When holding public office or heading a major corporation, a gentleman always keeps his stealing within the limits of decency. It is considered rubbing it in to hang a Renoir in one's guest bathroom.
When attempting to instigate a war, a gentleman always takes pains to point out that the intended target nation is filled with Godless subhumans deserving only of annihilation and the eternal damnation of hell fire.
It is not permissible for a gentleman to take a tax deduction for gifts to his mistresses unless they are legitimate professional business associates, such as proteges and personal secretaries. Very personal secretaries.
A gentleman always pretends to care about those less fortunate than himself. Always keep a straight face when feigning concern. To do less would be unseemly. The ladies seem to like that sort of thing, and a gentleman likes the sort thing only a lady can offer; hot sex.
January 17, 2009
LIFE EXPLAINED, PART 288
Getting your heart broken means you have opened it. Good for you. Better luck next time.
THE ROCK & ROLLER COASTER AND NEIL (FOREVER) YOUNG
Live fast, die young. How many of our rock & roll heroes have done just that? Drug overdoses, cirrhosis, car crashes, suicide, you-name-it, rock & rollers have been making grand exits for as long there's been rock & roll. Even Elvis checked out too soon, only 42 years old. Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Brian Jones and Kurt Cobain never saw 30. Scores more barely made it past that. We'll never know what other great music they might have given us, never witnessed them getting better and better at what they do. But that's rock & roll, a crap shoot for its big stars.
Then you have guys like The Rolling Stones, still performing and improving as a band well into their 60s. Who knew Keith Richards would last so long? Go figure. Mick Jagger always looked after #1 pretty well, so he figured to last, but did anyone think it would still be with the band he started with Richards and Charlie Watts over 45 years ago? The original bass player, Bill Wyman, actually retired from the band several years ago, no doubt with a generous old age pension to share with a wife young enough to be his granddaughter. The "new guy" in the band is guitarist Ron Wood, a 32-year member. Some people question the validity of old rockers like the Stones and Neil Young, but never bat an eye at old blues singers still plying their craft, old jazzmen and women, or singers of standards. Rock music started as a youth movement, but here it is still going strong almost 60 years later, and some of its early stars are still quite active. Take Neil (Forever) Young, for example.
If you listen to Young's recent work, he hasn't lost his touch when it comes to song writing, and has improved in both his Jeckyll and Hyde dual performing personalities, the quiet acoustic semi-folk singer/songwriter and the majestically loud and grungy guitar hero leading the band Crazy Horse. He even has an occasional third incarnation when he reunites with Crosby Stills and Nash as a solid band collaborator contributing both lead and harmony vocals and lending his impeccable musicianship to some fine ensemble instrumentation, holding his own with those other 3 aging giants of musical artistry and vocal gymnastics, Steven Stills, Graham Nash and that other surprise survivor of the Rock & Roller Coaster, David Crosby.
But Canadian transplant Young stands on his own, never content to play endless rounds of Greatest Hits tours, which he could easily do given his extensive body of work. He may be getting old, but his writing and performing certainly aren't. His output has never slowed down or fell prone to years-long gaps. He doesn't rewrite endless variations of the same few songs either, but lets his muse take him where it will and records the results. Some of his most brilliant work has come in recent years, very rare for a rocker, most of whom seem to peak and burn out early. While some of his records over his 40-plus years in the recording business have been so-so, none have been bad and every one of them is stamped with his personal musical integrity.
Check out his latest song "Fork In The Road" about "a bailout comin' but it's not for you." There's a video for the tune on YouTube that has the look and feel of a whacky home movie, which is probably what it is. Neil Young prefers to let his music do the talking, leaving the glitzy Hollywood video production to those artists whose music needs that kind of help. His doesn't. He doesn't pander to anyone but his own vision and like it or not, you get what he wants to play, not what is expected of him by fans, music executives or critics. He finds new fans in every generation coming of age, not because he mimics the newer sounds they prefer, but because he mimics no one.
He wrote a song singing the praises of Johnny Rotten 29 years ago at a time when Johnny Rotten's music with his band The Sex Pistols threatened to topple the pedestals upon which Mr. Young and his fellow old guard rock stars stood. Neil Young thought that was a healthy thing and said so in a commanding song called "Hey Hey, My My (Into The Black)." He rhymed "Hey hey, my my" with the lines "rock & roll will never die" and "more to the picture than meets the eye." Neil Young and his continuing evolution and astounding creative output is one of the main reasons why the first rhyme is a true statement and the second is a pretty good description of himself and his music. The Rock & Roller Coaster keeps careening along, just like another old roller coaster in Coney Island called The Cyclone, a rickety, flimsy wooden affair that just keeps getting scarier looking and more exciting as the years pass and it defies the wrecking ball, old yet forever young.
Then you have guys like The Rolling Stones, still performing and improving as a band well into their 60s. Who knew Keith Richards would last so long? Go figure. Mick Jagger always looked after #1 pretty well, so he figured to last, but did anyone think it would still be with the band he started with Richards and Charlie Watts over 45 years ago? The original bass player, Bill Wyman, actually retired from the band several years ago, no doubt with a generous old age pension to share with a wife young enough to be his granddaughter. The "new guy" in the band is guitarist Ron Wood, a 32-year member. Some people question the validity of old rockers like the Stones and Neil Young, but never bat an eye at old blues singers still plying their craft, old jazzmen and women, or singers of standards. Rock music started as a youth movement, but here it is still going strong almost 60 years later, and some of its early stars are still quite active. Take Neil (Forever) Young, for example.
If you listen to Young's recent work, he hasn't lost his touch when it comes to song writing, and has improved in both his Jeckyll and Hyde dual performing personalities, the quiet acoustic semi-folk singer/songwriter and the majestically loud and grungy guitar hero leading the band Crazy Horse. He even has an occasional third incarnation when he reunites with Crosby Stills and Nash as a solid band collaborator contributing both lead and harmony vocals and lending his impeccable musicianship to some fine ensemble instrumentation, holding his own with those other 3 aging giants of musical artistry and vocal gymnastics, Steven Stills, Graham Nash and that other surprise survivor of the Rock & Roller Coaster, David Crosby.
But Canadian transplant Young stands on his own, never content to play endless rounds of Greatest Hits tours, which he could easily do given his extensive body of work. He may be getting old, but his writing and performing certainly aren't. His output has never slowed down or fell prone to years-long gaps. He doesn't rewrite endless variations of the same few songs either, but lets his muse take him where it will and records the results. Some of his most brilliant work has come in recent years, very rare for a rocker, most of whom seem to peak and burn out early. While some of his records over his 40-plus years in the recording business have been so-so, none have been bad and every one of them is stamped with his personal musical integrity.
Check out his latest song "Fork In The Road" about "a bailout comin' but it's not for you." There's a video for the tune on YouTube that has the look and feel of a whacky home movie, which is probably what it is. Neil Young prefers to let his music do the talking, leaving the glitzy Hollywood video production to those artists whose music needs that kind of help. His doesn't. He doesn't pander to anyone but his own vision and like it or not, you get what he wants to play, not what is expected of him by fans, music executives or critics. He finds new fans in every generation coming of age, not because he mimics the newer sounds they prefer, but because he mimics no one.
He wrote a song singing the praises of Johnny Rotten 29 years ago at a time when Johnny Rotten's music with his band The Sex Pistols threatened to topple the pedestals upon which Mr. Young and his fellow old guard rock stars stood. Neil Young thought that was a healthy thing and said so in a commanding song called "Hey Hey, My My (Into The Black)." He rhymed "Hey hey, my my" with the lines "rock & roll will never die" and "more to the picture than meets the eye." Neil Young and his continuing evolution and astounding creative output is one of the main reasons why the first rhyme is a true statement and the second is a pretty good description of himself and his music. The Rock & Roller Coaster keeps careening along, just like another old roller coaster in Coney Island called The Cyclone, a rickety, flimsy wooden affair that just keeps getting scarier looking and more exciting as the years pass and it defies the wrecking ball, old yet forever young.
January 16, 2009
LIFE EXPLAINED, PART 287
Knowing you are lucky to be alive is essential. Sometimes life provides us with vivid reminders in case it slips our minds, things like diseases, serious accidents and natural disasters. Some go to great lengths to keep reminding themselves of this, doing crazy things like bungee jumping or aggravating O.J. Simpson. There's no need for that sort of thing. They can be real luck-changers.
THIS IS THE FUTURE FOR 155 LUCKY SOULS
Well, here we are, living in yesterday's future, the only place we can possibly be. With any luck, we'll be here tomorrow, which is today's future. It's a pretty good system considering some of our yesterdays. Tomorrow is never a bad day, unless you've got an appointment for a root canal or something. For the most part, tomorrow is going to be your day, that magic tomorrow when the light shines on you and everything goes your way. When fortune smiles. It seldom works out that way, but we don't know that, so we hope, we pray, we make our plans. And whatever happens, happens, and then there's always tomorrow again.
In the Hudson River in New York City yesterday there were 155 people not thinking about any of this. They had all boarded a plane an hour earlier headed for Charlotte, North Carolina, 155 people for various reasons. For five of them the airplane was their work place, a pilot, a copilot and three flight attendants expecting a routine short flight, just another day at the office. So much for taking things for granted.
The plane happened to share its flight path with a flock of geese and sucked one or more of them into each of its two engines, shutting them down at 3,500 feet in the air. This is usually the point in these stories that is only discovered when authorities locate the little black box that is the flight recorder from the smoldering wreckage of an airplane in which all aboard have perished. Yesterday just wasn't one of those days for those lucky 155 people.
The pilot calmly reported what happened to air traffic controllers and they instructed him to try to make it to Teeterborough airport in New Jersey if he possibly could. He couldn't possibly. The plane's engines were out and he was over densely populated New York City, a place with few desirable options for landing a broken jumbo jet. So the pilot, a man with the impressive name of Chesley B. "Sully" Sullenberger III and equally impressive piloting skills, decided that the best chance for his 150 passengers and the 8 million non-passengers directly below him was to try to land in the Hudson River.
That has happened from time to time in various places throughout aviation history, but never with the results pulled off by Mr. Sullenberger. He splashed the jet down lightly in the Hudson River just south of the George Washington Bridge, or as lightly as 50 tons of steel and highly flammable jet fuel can splash down. Well, he did it, with no serious injuries at all, an amazing feat, but now he had to deal with a huge jet not built to float slowly sinking into the icy waters of the Hudson on a very cold January day. Drowning and death from exposure were very real possibilities.
Enter the Magnificent New Yorkers. Fire and Police Department rescue boats swung into action and passenger ferries bee-lined to the stricken plane, quickly off-loading the passengers who were standing on the jet's wings knee-deep in ice water. Thirty more already in the drink were fished out before the 5-minute deadline for fatal hypothermia was reached. The Hudson is a busy river filled with all sorts of craft on any given day and all that were in the vicinity of the crash got very busy very quickly. There had been no time to organize any kind of coordinated rescue. No need, as it turned out. Ferries, tug boats and even helicopters joined the official response, swiftly transferring the passengers to scores of ambulances waiting onshore. Police divers plunged into the icy river to facilitate the transfer. The jumbo jet cooperated by floating for hours, eventually hitting land at the foot of Manhattan near Battery Park long after all aboard were safely evacuated.
So 155 people who very reasonably thought they had run out tomorrows now get another one. Who knows what their thought process is on this whole affair? While one can't really guess that, it is safe to assume their minds are pretty busy right now and that not a single one of them will shrug this off and put it out of their mind. At the very least, they have to know they have one thing in common with 154 people that they did not have in common yesterday. They all walked away from the crash of a jumbo jet in New York City on a cold day that should have been their last day on Earth. But it wasn't, and we are all witness to their shared miracle. This surely was that magic tomorrow for those 155 lucky souls, when the light shined upon them and fortune smiled. You just never know, do you?
In the Hudson River in New York City yesterday there were 155 people not thinking about any of this. They had all boarded a plane an hour earlier headed for Charlotte, North Carolina, 155 people for various reasons. For five of them the airplane was their work place, a pilot, a copilot and three flight attendants expecting a routine short flight, just another day at the office. So much for taking things for granted.
The plane happened to share its flight path with a flock of geese and sucked one or more of them into each of its two engines, shutting them down at 3,500 feet in the air. This is usually the point in these stories that is only discovered when authorities locate the little black box that is the flight recorder from the smoldering wreckage of an airplane in which all aboard have perished. Yesterday just wasn't one of those days for those lucky 155 people.
The pilot calmly reported what happened to air traffic controllers and they instructed him to try to make it to Teeterborough airport in New Jersey if he possibly could. He couldn't possibly. The plane's engines were out and he was over densely populated New York City, a place with few desirable options for landing a broken jumbo jet. So the pilot, a man with the impressive name of Chesley B. "Sully" Sullenberger III and equally impressive piloting skills, decided that the best chance for his 150 passengers and the 8 million non-passengers directly below him was to try to land in the Hudson River.
That has happened from time to time in various places throughout aviation history, but never with the results pulled off by Mr. Sullenberger. He splashed the jet down lightly in the Hudson River just south of the George Washington Bridge, or as lightly as 50 tons of steel and highly flammable jet fuel can splash down. Well, he did it, with no serious injuries at all, an amazing feat, but now he had to deal with a huge jet not built to float slowly sinking into the icy waters of the Hudson on a very cold January day. Drowning and death from exposure were very real possibilities.
Enter the Magnificent New Yorkers. Fire and Police Department rescue boats swung into action and passenger ferries bee-lined to the stricken plane, quickly off-loading the passengers who were standing on the jet's wings knee-deep in ice water. Thirty more already in the drink were fished out before the 5-minute deadline for fatal hypothermia was reached. The Hudson is a busy river filled with all sorts of craft on any given day and all that were in the vicinity of the crash got very busy very quickly. There had been no time to organize any kind of coordinated rescue. No need, as it turned out. Ferries, tug boats and even helicopters joined the official response, swiftly transferring the passengers to scores of ambulances waiting onshore. Police divers plunged into the icy river to facilitate the transfer. The jumbo jet cooperated by floating for hours, eventually hitting land at the foot of Manhattan near Battery Park long after all aboard were safely evacuated.
So 155 people who very reasonably thought they had run out tomorrows now get another one. Who knows what their thought process is on this whole affair? While one can't really guess that, it is safe to assume their minds are pretty busy right now and that not a single one of them will shrug this off and put it out of their mind. At the very least, they have to know they have one thing in common with 154 people that they did not have in common yesterday. They all walked away from the crash of a jumbo jet in New York City on a cold day that should have been their last day on Earth. But it wasn't, and we are all witness to their shared miracle. This surely was that magic tomorrow for those 155 lucky souls, when the light shined upon them and fortune smiled. You just never know, do you?
January 15, 2009
LIFE EXPLAINED, PART 286
The theory that no two snowflake are alike is a perfect example of inspired marketing. Who could prove otherwise when they melt as soon as you try to examine them? If you can come up with a similar "scientific" theory, you can get paid big dough to write a book and numerous magazine articles, appear on all the big talk shows and get called a genius without ever having to do anything useful. One cautionary note: sand is already taken.
PFOOEY ON PFIZER AND OTHER SCIENCE NOTES
The pharmaceutical corporate giant Pfizer has announced pflans to pfire 800 researchers, or 8 pfercent of their research employees. Their thinking was basically, "To hell with curing any diseases, there's no money in that. We've had such success with making up pfony mental conditions and inventing new and pfowerful sedatives to control them, we've got lifelong addicts, er... customers pfor our Pfizer pfroducts. Towards that end, we're getting rid of the dead wood among our research pfeople, those pfoolish dreamers trying to cure cancer and AIDS on our dime!" To which sufferers of catastrophic diseases reply: "Pfuk you, Pfizer!"
In other pharmaceutical corporate giant news, Eli Lily has agreed to pay $1.4 billion to victims of their drug Zyprexa, invented to treat disruptive children. Well, after taking Zyprexa, disruptive was a mild term indeed since side effects included risk of sudden death, heart failure, pneumonia, psychosis, dementia and morbid obesity. Parents of so-called "disruptive" children are now advised by medical authorities to deal with having a spirited child rather than a demented, psychotic, pneumonia-ridden and really fat dead kid.
Media reports from all over the nation are remarking on the phenomenon of Arctic temperatures, heavy snow fall and icy conditions striking much of the nation. Some reporters are calling these things a national emergency and demand an immediate government response. Cooler heads call these occurrences "Winter."
Children the world over can now deliver an emphatic Na-na-na-na-na and a huge I told you so to parents who insist on applying that noxious poultice known as Vic's VapoRub to their chests and faces when they are congested. It has been found that this minty, burning concoction actually increases children's production of mucus! So much for 103 years of popular wisdom, a contradiction in terms if ever there was one.
In yet another confirmation that governments don't get science right all that much, the Federal government has exempted second-hand stores from mandatory testing for the presence of lead and other toxins in toys and children's products. Thrift store owners are pleased with the decision since they claimed they would be put out of business if they were legally forced to stop poisoning poor children. The only items that still must be tested for toxins are children's clothing, but thrift store owners are appealing to the feds to cease and desist this body blow to the American entrepreneurial spirit, citing centuries of tradition of major industries contaminating both American citizens and their environment. They are claiming unfair bias against small, independent child poisoners.
Researchers at Durham University have found that people who have a very high intake of caffeine have a greater tendency to hallucinate. That goes a long way towards explaining that guy you work with who says all those nutty things all the time. You know the guy. Yeah, that guy, the one with the suspenders and the taped up eyeglasses who drinks coffee all day long and eats the same thing for lunch every single day, two cans of sardines, a banana and three stale biscuits. The guy who uses Dixie Peach Pomade hair tonic and thinks everybody is plotting against him and that the building is poisoning him and has a girlfriend named Maude he's been dating for seventeen years but she's a real idiot and will never measure up his mother and who wears a yellow rubber raincoat and owns eleven cats and thinks that every sporting event is fixed and swears he gets radio reception through the filings in his teeth. And you thought he was just nuts. Who knew it was the caffeine?
To celebrate The Year Of The Ox, Japanese scientists have announced the cloning of the ancestral bull of a luxurious brand of beef. The late bull, named Yasufuku, has had his testicles frozen for 13 years until it was decided to recreate him. Four calves were cloned, making way for cloned beef to be marketed. The scientists involved in the project are feeling their scientific oats so strongly that they plan on recreating the long-extinct Wooly Mammoth from frozen DNA. They didn't say whether or not they plan to market Mammoth meat or just figure out how to recreate huge mammals after they have killed and eaten the last whale on earth. Construction of a freezer large enough to hold a whale's testicles is underway.
In other pharmaceutical corporate giant news, Eli Lily has agreed to pay $1.4 billion to victims of their drug Zyprexa, invented to treat disruptive children. Well, after taking Zyprexa, disruptive was a mild term indeed since side effects included risk of sudden death, heart failure, pneumonia, psychosis, dementia and morbid obesity. Parents of so-called "disruptive" children are now advised by medical authorities to deal with having a spirited child rather than a demented, psychotic, pneumonia-ridden and really fat dead kid.
Media reports from all over the nation are remarking on the phenomenon of Arctic temperatures, heavy snow fall and icy conditions striking much of the nation. Some reporters are calling these things a national emergency and demand an immediate government response. Cooler heads call these occurrences "Winter."
Children the world over can now deliver an emphatic Na-na-na-na-na and a huge I told you so to parents who insist on applying that noxious poultice known as Vic's VapoRub to their chests and faces when they are congested. It has been found that this minty, burning concoction actually increases children's production of mucus! So much for 103 years of popular wisdom, a contradiction in terms if ever there was one.
In yet another confirmation that governments don't get science right all that much, the Federal government has exempted second-hand stores from mandatory testing for the presence of lead and other toxins in toys and children's products. Thrift store owners are pleased with the decision since they claimed they would be put out of business if they were legally forced to stop poisoning poor children. The only items that still must be tested for toxins are children's clothing, but thrift store owners are appealing to the feds to cease and desist this body blow to the American entrepreneurial spirit, citing centuries of tradition of major industries contaminating both American citizens and their environment. They are claiming unfair bias against small, independent child poisoners.
Researchers at Durham University have found that people who have a very high intake of caffeine have a greater tendency to hallucinate. That goes a long way towards explaining that guy you work with who says all those nutty things all the time. You know the guy. Yeah, that guy, the one with the suspenders and the taped up eyeglasses who drinks coffee all day long and eats the same thing for lunch every single day, two cans of sardines, a banana and three stale biscuits. The guy who uses Dixie Peach Pomade hair tonic and thinks everybody is plotting against him and that the building is poisoning him and has a girlfriend named Maude he's been dating for seventeen years but she's a real idiot and will never measure up his mother and who wears a yellow rubber raincoat and owns eleven cats and thinks that every sporting event is fixed and swears he gets radio reception through the filings in his teeth. And you thought he was just nuts. Who knew it was the caffeine?
To celebrate The Year Of The Ox, Japanese scientists have announced the cloning of the ancestral bull of a luxurious brand of beef. The late bull, named Yasufuku, has had his testicles frozen for 13 years until it was decided to recreate him. Four calves were cloned, making way for cloned beef to be marketed. The scientists involved in the project are feeling their scientific oats so strongly that they plan on recreating the long-extinct Wooly Mammoth from frozen DNA. They didn't say whether or not they plan to market Mammoth meat or just figure out how to recreate huge mammals after they have killed and eaten the last whale on earth. Construction of a freezer large enough to hold a whale's testicles is underway.
January 14, 2009
LIFE EXPLAINED, PART 285
The key to a very long life is pure dumb luck. All the healthy lifestyles, exercise regimens, sensible diets and good genetics in the world don't stand a chance against that dump truck with the faulty brakes. Might as well live it up before it's your turn in the headlights.
DOPOTO REPORTS: SEEING THE FOREST FOR ALL THOSE DAMNED TREES
The Department Of Pointing Out The Obvious (DOPOTO) lauds incoming Secretary of State Hillary Clinton for deflecting a question about peace in the Middle East. At her confirmation hearing today before The United States Senate, she told her former colleagues that despite "seemingly intractable problems," the United States "cannot give up on peace." In yet another reminder that Ms. Clinton is a formidable politician, she offered no hope whatsoever of peace in the Middle East breaking out in our lifetimes without actually saying so, blandly mentioning "reaching out" to Syria and Iran, fully aware that everyone in the room knows how futile an exercise that will be. Experienced analysts at DOPOTO read her statements as:
"We're not giving up on Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny either, but we're not holding our breath. We all know that as long as there is one Israeli and one Palestinian standing there will be a state of war! Unless maybe they get religion all of a sudden. No, wait, scratch that! They've already got plenty of that. Come on, guys! You know exactly what I mean, but you want me to dance around people hiding their homicidal racism behind God so we can all feel better about ourselves! Life's too short for that game! If you want to make a jackass of yourself, don't let me stop you! We all like to see a monkey dressed in a tuxedo every so often, Senators, but these hearings are hardly the forum for slapstick comedy. So please, try to limit the stupid questions and let's move on to the realm of the possible."
Even though she never said those exact words, the Senators got the message. Politics is full of code words.The Department Of Pointing Out The Obvious has become adept over the years at deciphering the hidden meaning of politicians' public statements. For example, "Mission Accomplished" really means "This is only the tip of a real treacherous iceberg, boys, and I'm the Captain of the Titanic!" This misrepresentation of the state of hostilities goes back to the days of the Vietnam War, when the term "Vietnamization," referring to turning the war over to the South Vietnamese Army, really meant: "Good luck, pals, we're outta here!" Count on the term "Iraqization" coming into popular use shortly.
Politicians walk a fine line between telling the truth and trying to get reelected. DOPOTO, on the other hand, has but one mandate: to point out the 800 pound gorilla in the room. Towards that end, we study culture, business and politics in an effort to make their workings more transparent, not always an easy task when there are people in this world whose sole occupation is spinning the issues, otherwise known as "lying." Hence the business term "downsizing" instead of "firing a whole bunch of people." Also in business you hear of "compensation packages," "bonuses," "preferred stock options" and "golden parachutes" for corporate executives, genteel terms for "grand larceny." In government, stolen public funds get labeled as "misappropriations."
On the other hand, lesser mortals than corporate executives or politicians never "misappropriate" anything. Without the benefit of having at their disposal press secretaries or public relations personnel, what they do is simply called stealing, and what they get for doing what others do on a far grander scale is lengthy prison sentences rather than bail outs. For the average felon, there is no trained professional handy other than his defense attorney to explain away his thieving ways, and when it comes time to hire a defense attorney, it's usually too late. Political and corporate thieves applaud this reality, so as to appear to their electorate and their stockholders as being in favor of "law and order," code words for controlling crime committed by small timers. This phenomenon was chronicled by Charles Dickens when he wrote Fagin's passionate defense of the London authorities' practice of hanging members of his youthful army of thieves in the novel "Oliver Twist," just so long as his own neck wasn't being measured for a noose.
There's all sorts of code words in the entertainment industry too. When an actor or actress is "suffering from exhaustion" that really means they've been stoned out of their minds for 3 months straight and are headed to rehab. When a movie "underperforms at the box office" that means it's a real bomb. When a movie is "in extended post-production" that means that all the King's Horses and all the King's Film Editors can't put this Humpty Dumpty of a film into any semblance of a coherent story. "Creative differences" is code for "we can't stand the sight of each other." Society is full of code words and glib assumptions.
Take the inauguration of our first black President, Barack Obama. DOPOTO has seen reports of numerous pronouncements being made by the left and the right that this makes us finally a "colorblind society." That's like saying that the first airplane flight by the Wright Brothers in 1903 made us an "aviation society" even though we only had the one airplane. When the first smokestack factory was built here, that may have signaled the beginning of the Industrial Revolution, but it wasn't a full blown revolution until there were a whole bunch of factories and foundries and mills chugging away. The election of Obama does show great progress and is an excellent sign that America is growing up when it comes to race. He represents a huge ray of hope as well as a concrete achievement.
That said, the Department Of Pointing Out The Obvious has a obligation to question our giddy assumptions. This is just the dawn of a colorblind society, if that is even what it means. It might be that Obama is one of those remarkable individuals who defy definition and conventional wisdom and that no other significant racial progress will be made anytime soon. Or it just might be that he'll be just another mediocre president. What would that mean to our brand new "colorblindness?" Like the airplanes and the factories, only time will tell. When it becomes no big deal what color or gender are our leaders, that will be that and no one will have to make any pronouncements one way or another. Still, it is exciting just the same, and a fine reason to be proud and hopeful.
"We're not giving up on Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny either, but we're not holding our breath. We all know that as long as there is one Israeli and one Palestinian standing there will be a state of war! Unless maybe they get religion all of a sudden. No, wait, scratch that! They've already got plenty of that. Come on, guys! You know exactly what I mean, but you want me to dance around people hiding their homicidal racism behind God so we can all feel better about ourselves! Life's too short for that game! If you want to make a jackass of yourself, don't let me stop you! We all like to see a monkey dressed in a tuxedo every so often, Senators, but these hearings are hardly the forum for slapstick comedy. So please, try to limit the stupid questions and let's move on to the realm of the possible."
Even though she never said those exact words, the Senators got the message. Politics is full of code words.The Department Of Pointing Out The Obvious has become adept over the years at deciphering the hidden meaning of politicians' public statements. For example, "Mission Accomplished" really means "This is only the tip of a real treacherous iceberg, boys, and I'm the Captain of the Titanic!" This misrepresentation of the state of hostilities goes back to the days of the Vietnam War, when the term "Vietnamization," referring to turning the war over to the South Vietnamese Army, really meant: "Good luck, pals, we're outta here!" Count on the term "Iraqization" coming into popular use shortly.
Politicians walk a fine line between telling the truth and trying to get reelected. DOPOTO, on the other hand, has but one mandate: to point out the 800 pound gorilla in the room. Towards that end, we study culture, business and politics in an effort to make their workings more transparent, not always an easy task when there are people in this world whose sole occupation is spinning the issues, otherwise known as "lying." Hence the business term "downsizing" instead of "firing a whole bunch of people." Also in business you hear of "compensation packages," "bonuses," "preferred stock options" and "golden parachutes" for corporate executives, genteel terms for "grand larceny." In government, stolen public funds get labeled as "misappropriations."
On the other hand, lesser mortals than corporate executives or politicians never "misappropriate" anything. Without the benefit of having at their disposal press secretaries or public relations personnel, what they do is simply called stealing, and what they get for doing what others do on a far grander scale is lengthy prison sentences rather than bail outs. For the average felon, there is no trained professional handy other than his defense attorney to explain away his thieving ways, and when it comes time to hire a defense attorney, it's usually too late. Political and corporate thieves applaud this reality, so as to appear to their electorate and their stockholders as being in favor of "law and order," code words for controlling crime committed by small timers. This phenomenon was chronicled by Charles Dickens when he wrote Fagin's passionate defense of the London authorities' practice of hanging members of his youthful army of thieves in the novel "Oliver Twist," just so long as his own neck wasn't being measured for a noose.
There's all sorts of code words in the entertainment industry too. When an actor or actress is "suffering from exhaustion" that really means they've been stoned out of their minds for 3 months straight and are headed to rehab. When a movie "underperforms at the box office" that means it's a real bomb. When a movie is "in extended post-production" that means that all the King's Horses and all the King's Film Editors can't put this Humpty Dumpty of a film into any semblance of a coherent story. "Creative differences" is code for "we can't stand the sight of each other." Society is full of code words and glib assumptions.
Take the inauguration of our first black President, Barack Obama. DOPOTO has seen reports of numerous pronouncements being made by the left and the right that this makes us finally a "colorblind society." That's like saying that the first airplane flight by the Wright Brothers in 1903 made us an "aviation society" even though we only had the one airplane. When the first smokestack factory was built here, that may have signaled the beginning of the Industrial Revolution, but it wasn't a full blown revolution until there were a whole bunch of factories and foundries and mills chugging away. The election of Obama does show great progress and is an excellent sign that America is growing up when it comes to race. He represents a huge ray of hope as well as a concrete achievement.
That said, the Department Of Pointing Out The Obvious has a obligation to question our giddy assumptions. This is just the dawn of a colorblind society, if that is even what it means. It might be that Obama is one of those remarkable individuals who defy definition and conventional wisdom and that no other significant racial progress will be made anytime soon. Or it just might be that he'll be just another mediocre president. What would that mean to our brand new "colorblindness?" Like the airplanes and the factories, only time will tell. When it becomes no big deal what color or gender are our leaders, that will be that and no one will have to make any pronouncements one way or another. Still, it is exciting just the same, and a fine reason to be proud and hopeful.
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