On this New Year's Eve, after a very pretty daytime snow, it's a bitterly cold night in New England, so I figured I'd offer this sage advice from the television show, Banacek, starring George Peppard, which aired for two years beginning in September 1972:
"If a wolf is chasing your sleigh, throw him a raisin cookie, but don’t stop to bake him a cake.”
– Thomas Banacek
This faux Polish proverb, naturally, reminds me of the "Old World" vignette, as told in Willa Cather's remarkable novel My Antonia, about the sleigh, filled with a wedding party, that was attacked by wolves. After first trying to outrun the pack, the drivers realized they would survive only by literally throwing the bride and groom to the wolves. They survived, but, boy, were they were hounded by the guilt...
Speaking of the cold, I can't help but think of a song lyric -- and no, it's not "Baby, it's Cold Outside."
How about "Artificial Flowers" (as sung by Bobby Darin with the most swinging arrangement ever, although the English band The Beautiful South does a nice touching arrangement of the song, as well, on their 1996 release Blue is the Colour)?
Alone in the world was poor little Ann
As sweet a young child as you'll find
Her parents had gone to their final reward
Leaving their baby behind.
Poor little Annie was only 9 years of age
When Mother and Dad went away
So she bravely worked at the one thing she knew
To earn her few pennies a day
She made artificial flowers, artificial flowers
Flowers for ladies of high fashion to wear
She made artificial flowers, artificial flowers
Fashioned from Annie's despair
With paper and shears, with some wire and wax
She made up each tulip and mum.
As snowflakes drifted into her tenement room
Her baby little fingers grew numb
From making artificial flowers...
They found little Annie all covered with ice
Still clutching her poor frozen shears
Amidst all the blossoms she had fashioned by hand
And watered with all her young tears
There must be a heaven where little Annie can play
In heavenly gardens and bowers.
And instead of a halo she'll wear 'round her head
A garland of genuine flowers
Ah, the associations a cold night can elicit!
Happy New Year and, as Dean Martin would sing, "sleep warm"!
31 December 2008
30 December 2008
No More "Foggy Days" in My Pants!
Like many, if not most, of us men, I suffer from the embarrassing problem of...well...uh...you know...a great deal of...of spam in my inbox.
And it just so happens that the vast majority of it focuses on my apparent lack of size in the "manliness" department.
While many of the titles of these messages stretch the bounds of effective metaphor and clever euphemism, I've finally received one that speaks my language: the language of the Great American Songbook!
The title of the spam reads "The Age of Miracles hasn't past [sic]," which, of course, is an allusion, albeit a misspelled one, to the ending of a wonderful Gershwin and Gershwin song, originally introduced by Fred Astaire, "A Foggy Day (in London Town):"
...How long, I wondered, could this thing last?
but the Age of Miracles hadn't passed;
for suddenly I saw you there,
and in foggy London Town the sun was shining everywhere!
I almost wanted to open the email and risk an e-virus because, if a George and Ira composition can't sell successful lovemakin', what can? Goodness knows, that "Viva Viagra" campaign isn't cutting it!
I'd also suggest a trio of other G & G titles for those Viagra or Cialis ads:
"Could You Use Me?"
"[My] Love is Here to Stay [Up]"
and, of course, the ever-popular
"(We are) Bronco Busters"!
And it just so happens that the vast majority of it focuses on my apparent lack of size in the "manliness" department.
While many of the titles of these messages stretch the bounds of effective metaphor and clever euphemism, I've finally received one that speaks my language: the language of the Great American Songbook!
The title of the spam reads "The Age of Miracles hasn't past [sic]," which, of course, is an allusion, albeit a misspelled one, to the ending of a wonderful Gershwin and Gershwin song, originally introduced by Fred Astaire, "A Foggy Day (in London Town):"
...How long, I wondered, could this thing last?
but the Age of Miracles hadn't passed;
for suddenly I saw you there,
and in foggy London Town the sun was shining everywhere!
I almost wanted to open the email and risk an e-virus because, if a George and Ira composition can't sell successful lovemakin', what can? Goodness knows, that "Viva Viagra" campaign isn't cutting it!
I'd also suggest a trio of other G & G titles for those Viagra or Cialis ads:
"Could You Use Me?"
"[My] Love is Here to Stay [Up]"
and, of course, the ever-popular
"(We are) Bronco Busters"!
Harold Pinter, RIP, in more ways than one
I first encountered the drama of Harold Pinter as a junior in high school in drama class in which we were given scripts of two of his "Revue Sketches," "Interview" and "trouble in the Works"-- odd little examples of British humor. With plot lines of how pornographers deal with the "Xmas" season and how manufacturers deal with unhappy workers, and punchlines of "Communists" and "Brandy Balls," respectively, they were as far a cry from my suburban Cincinnati upbringing as I could imagine. A truly honorable goal for any school, I must say.
And, lest we forget, they killed at the Christmas concert/performance that December!
Looking back -- or, should I say, at the present -- I can't imagine any HS doing the pornography/communism skit now, if there ever was another one that did it then. Too great a chance to offend someone, anyone.
Why risk that, even in the name of broadening young people's horizons, when we can do another production of High School Musical or Beauty and the Beast?
Mr. Pinter, we will miss you.
And, lest we forget, they killed at the Christmas concert/performance that December!
Looking back -- or, should I say, at the present -- I can't imagine any HS doing the pornography/communism skit now, if there ever was another one that did it then. Too great a chance to offend someone, anyone.
Why risk that, even in the name of broadening young people's horizons, when we can do another production of High School Musical or Beauty and the Beast?
Mr. Pinter, we will miss you.
29 December 2008
Cars are Cars
I'm not, and never was, a car guy. I don't understand how they work, and I don't much care about what I drive -- as long as it starts when it's supposed to and gets me where I want to go.
Indeed my daughters (9 and 13) and wife (no age necessary) are far better than I at identifying a wide variety of makes and models on the road. (For example, in Cleveland this past weekend celebrating Christmas with my family at my older brother's home, we played a game called Memory Madness, a "category" game that requires each team/player to give an example of the category until someone can't offer another example or repeats an earlier offering or gives a wrong answer. As early as the third go around for the "Car Models" category, while those around me were offering a veritable alphabet soup of "LX500," "H3," and "CRV," I was already falling back on the Dodge Dart.)
I never learned to drive a stick because, no matter how much "more fun" it is, it seems an unnecessary burden to be clutching and shifting all the time -- and, as my tap dance teacher will readily attest, coordination is not my strong suit.
In any event, "clutching and shifting" sounds like something folks should do in the back seat!
Even as I readily embrace the ease of the automatic transmission, I DETEST cruise control. The one thing all drivers should do is control their own speed, and those who rely on cruise control when driving long distances on the highway, and especially when seemingly compelled to set it, forget it, and yet remain in the far left lane... well, just revoke their licenses. Too often, because they can now ignore everything except what's in front of them, they tend to forget to check behind them. Face it, no matter how high they've set their speed, there's a chance that someone might want to pass them, and it's not their place to say "This is fast enough."
As I always tell my girls,"The job of every driver is to follow the rules of the road as safely and yet as efficiently as possible." So, if you have the right of way, it very rarely is safe or efficient to yield that to someone else, since there's a real good chance that the others on the road are counting on you to do what you're supposed to do not whatever whim you feel like indulging. Thus, if you're first in line at a stop light, it's your job to pay attention to it and move as soon as possible after that light turns green -- not only after you've decided who in the on-coming lane has waited long enough over there and should go before you. Follow the rules, and all will get their turn.
(Relatedly, while I'm no fan of cellphone use by drivers, I am befuddled by the distinction in CT and other states that makes my holding a cellphone illegal while I can hold a drink, a sandwich, or a balloon, for that matter, and not break any laws. If I were a scofflaw, I'd simply place my phone in a paper cup and talk into the cup. Take that, coppers!)
One can't end a posting on cars without citing Paul Simon's "Cars are Cars" from the best Paul Simon album ever, 1983's Hearts and Bones:
Some of my cars have been more like a home;
I lived in it, loved in it, polished its chrome.
Some of my homes have been more like a car;
I probably wouldn't have traveled this far
Indeed my daughters (9 and 13) and wife (no age necessary) are far better than I at identifying a wide variety of makes and models on the road. (For example, in Cleveland this past weekend celebrating Christmas with my family at my older brother's home, we played a game called Memory Madness, a "category" game that requires each team/player to give an example of the category until someone can't offer another example or repeats an earlier offering or gives a wrong answer. As early as the third go around for the "Car Models" category, while those around me were offering a veritable alphabet soup of "LX500," "H3," and "CRV," I was already falling back on the Dodge Dart.)
I never learned to drive a stick because, no matter how much "more fun" it is, it seems an unnecessary burden to be clutching and shifting all the time -- and, as my tap dance teacher will readily attest, coordination is not my strong suit.
In any event, "clutching and shifting" sounds like something folks should do in the back seat!
Even as I readily embrace the ease of the automatic transmission, I DETEST cruise control. The one thing all drivers should do is control their own speed, and those who rely on cruise control when driving long distances on the highway, and especially when seemingly compelled to set it, forget it, and yet remain in the far left lane... well, just revoke their licenses. Too often, because they can now ignore everything except what's in front of them, they tend to forget to check behind them. Face it, no matter how high they've set their speed, there's a chance that someone might want to pass them, and it's not their place to say "This is fast enough."
As I always tell my girls,"The job of every driver is to follow the rules of the road as safely and yet as efficiently as possible." So, if you have the right of way, it very rarely is safe or efficient to yield that to someone else, since there's a real good chance that the others on the road are counting on you to do what you're supposed to do not whatever whim you feel like indulging. Thus, if you're first in line at a stop light, it's your job to pay attention to it and move as soon as possible after that light turns green -- not only after you've decided who in the on-coming lane has waited long enough over there and should go before you. Follow the rules, and all will get their turn.
(Relatedly, while I'm no fan of cellphone use by drivers, I am befuddled by the distinction in CT and other states that makes my holding a cellphone illegal while I can hold a drink, a sandwich, or a balloon, for that matter, and not break any laws. If I were a scofflaw, I'd simply place my phone in a paper cup and talk into the cup. Take that, coppers!)
One can't end a posting on cars without citing Paul Simon's "Cars are Cars" from the best Paul Simon album ever, 1983's Hearts and Bones:
Some of my cars have been more like a home;
I lived in it, loved in it, polished its chrome.
Some of my homes have been more like a car;
I probably wouldn't have traveled this far
25 December 2008
24 December 2008
Ya learn somethin' new everyday
For instance:
If you get an idea for a post and begin a draft of it, but you don't finish it until after you've posted another piece (or two or three), the draft, when completed, is posted BEFORE the "later" ones. ?!?
A draft, after all, isn't a posting until it's posted -- no matter when it's begun!
And it should be published in the order it's posted.
In other words, if you're interested, there's something newer on the blog here than the last several posts.
Oy.
If you get an idea for a post and begin a draft of it, but you don't finish it until after you've posted another piece (or two or three), the draft, when completed, is posted BEFORE the "later" ones. ?!?
A draft, after all, isn't a posting until it's posted -- no matter when it's begun!
And it should be published in the order it's posted.
In other words, if you're interested, there's something newer on the blog here than the last several posts.
Oy.
Hark, the Herald Angel(fish)!
For as many of my jewelry purchases as possible (not that I have many, by the way), I try to patronize local businesses rather than chain stores. I do confess to heading to Tiffany's to buy a 20th Anniversary present for my wife last May, however; two decades of marriage to me should earn a woman something really special -- combat pay, as it were.
Anyway, this week, I went to to the local "mom and pop" jeweler looking for a holiday pin for my wife for Christmas, a little something festive to go with the requested "pastry cutter." "Mom" promptly directed me to a case on the wall and said, "Here's a Christmas tree!"
Now, this pin was indeed triangular-ish (as my younger daughter might say)...with a stem at the bottom, and I'm thinking, "Hmmm, an interesting Dali-esque wilting tree. The star at the top isn't even at the apex of the triangle. This is quite intriguing. I think I like it!"
Then, of course, I realized it wasn't a Christmas tree at all but rather an angel fish turned on its tail. The "star" was its eye, and the "stem" its tailfin. When I, trying to be helpful, pointed this out to her, she flatly contradicted me and said "No, that's a Christmas tree."
I remain unsure whether a) she took me for a fool (since that's not hard to do), b) she simply assumed I'm the stereotypical male who "doesn't know nothing 'bout buying no jewelry, Miss Scarlett," c) she didn't know her own merchandise, or d) the times are so financially dicey that she'd say anything for a sale.
I still made a purchase (which says far more about my lack of "gifting" imagination than my ability to overlook an insult), but, I assure you, I didn't buy the the "tree."
Anyway, this week, I went to to the local "mom and pop" jeweler looking for a holiday pin for my wife for Christmas, a little something festive to go with the requested "pastry cutter." "Mom" promptly directed me to a case on the wall and said, "Here's a Christmas tree!"
Now, this pin was indeed triangular-ish (as my younger daughter might say)...with a stem at the bottom, and I'm thinking, "Hmmm, an interesting Dali-esque wilting tree. The star at the top isn't even at the apex of the triangle. This is quite intriguing. I think I like it!"
Then, of course, I realized it wasn't a Christmas tree at all but rather an angel fish turned on its tail. The "star" was its eye, and the "stem" its tailfin. When I, trying to be helpful, pointed this out to her, she flatly contradicted me and said "No, that's a Christmas tree."
I remain unsure whether a) she took me for a fool (since that's not hard to do), b) she simply assumed I'm the stereotypical male who "doesn't know nothing 'bout buying no jewelry, Miss Scarlett," c) she didn't know her own merchandise, or d) the times are so financially dicey that she'd say anything for a sale.
I still made a purchase (which says far more about my lack of "gifting" imagination than my ability to overlook an insult), but, I assure you, I didn't buy the the "tree."
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