BRIEF THOUGHT

     Will the National Council of Churches and Bose ever band together to come up with a pair of decent sounding guilt-cancelling headphones?

REEL AMERICA

     Sometimes I depressurize on the weekends (for now, anyway) by tuning in to some irregularly scheduled programming on the various C-Span Channel and watch programs under the Reel America title.
     They can be very interesting and informative, especially the ones produced by the major network news divisions of the day.  The ones documenting the major upheaval and chaos of 1960s are of special interest to me as they break down the various opposing factions of different issues such as war, civil rights and student protests.  Of special note is the way these real citizens on both sides of a particular issue make their voices heard.....quietly yet distinctive and passionate.  No ghoulish sound bites or name calling.  Just hard thought opinions from real people going through some rather sensitive times in our country's history.
     Can it be that difficult to return to such civil discourse?  Only time and the way in which we choose to use the ever-changing technology will tell.  Just something to ponder with a few choice words written many years ago.  I do not own the rights to this film clip of David Strathairn beautifully embodying the pioneering journalist Edward R. Murrow.

R.I.P. TO THE LAST MAN ON EARTH

     Oh farts; I knew that this day was coming.  In fact, this article could have been written in tears two or three times.  "The Last Man Earth" was one of the most fascinating and innovative sitcoms ever on a broadcast network.  I'll be the first to admit that not all stories they tried worked but when they failed, they failed BIG TIME.  Will Forte was one of the most annoying but likable characters on TV.  As Phil Tandy Miller, Forte dialed down the gross-out humor and added a touch of the going-nowhere son from the 2013 quirky comedy-drama film "Nebraska."  To say that Tandy was socially awkward is quite the understatement.  All of the female cast members were certainly not made from the network comedy cookie-cutter department either .  Kristen Schaal as Phil's clingy and anal-retentive wife.  Mary Steenburgen as the recent widow who loves drinking wine while shooting zingers at the rest of the crew (okay, mostly just Tandy).  January Jones as the tough no-bullshit blonde bombshell who we find out later is suffering from mental illness.
     From the first couple episodes where Tandy goes from mansion to mansion trashing everything in sight except from the bare necessities (I almost to mention that this show took place in the near future where a virus had seemingly wiped out the world's population) and using their swimming pools as his personal makeshift toilet bowls to the later episodes where other survivors are revealed (and sometimes blown to bits), including Tandy's brother who is up in a space station when the virus breaks out.
     The show had 80s soap-opera like cliffhangers and dabbled in sci-fi but never dove in too deep; making sure laughter was the main ingredient.  The odd and fickle relationships between the members of 'the group' was the accelerator.  Their journey together as a forced family was what really made this wacky little world go around.  Alas, we'll probably never see the final destination.  I enjoyed the relative real-life pacing of the episodes along with the lack of  headache-inducing jump cuts, Red Bull enhanced rapid-fire dialogue and the welcome absence of tired documentary style camera work.  Thanks to FOX for letting this long strange trip go on for as long as it did.  Sunday nights will never be the same.

THE TRICYCLE DIARIES: VOLUME ONE

    

Yes, it's yet another beginning of what I hope will be a reoccurring feature on this blog focusing on my childhood.  And, no, I will neither confirm nor deny that these stories took place in the 1970s or 1980s.
     I was 5 years old in 1977 (oops) and lived in an old fashioned neighborhood in a small town that is still a part of a large state.  Geez, I hope I'm not hoping getting overtly candid here.  I get all red faced when other people do that.
     Anyway, we lived one block away from an Elementary School and a large public park and two blocks away from a Junior High School.  It was a great time to be alive with the forerunner of the current hipster, Jimmy Carter, as my President.  There were peanut shells all over our dear nation as an unabashed display of our excess.  Our family had a nice house with Cable TV that received almost 20 channels.  We were basically out of control and knew it but just didn't care.
     However, I had one 'hard and fast' rule that my parents made me promise to follow.  I could walk around the entire block on which we lived but could not cross the street in any direction.  I was landlocked and was not allowed to 'sail out to sea.'  The was a place located on a block between the Junior High School and Elementary School that I just had to visit.  All of the popular toddlers wanted to be seen there.  It was originally a neighborhood grocery store but by the time I was hip to the scene it was a combination candy store and game room.
     One day I was just sitting around learning how to add and subtract when my Mother asked if I'd like to go to this sugar coated mecca.  I just about spit out my Fruit Loops but ended up not doing that because I really liked Fruit Loops.  It was then my Mom lowered the boom on me and said I would be going with one of the neighbor's sons.  His name was Kevin and as much I hate to rhyme he was eleven.  This meant he might as well be Walter Brennan to my John Wayne.
     But this was not going to be a John Ford picture.  No sir; this was gonna be a groovy far out good time and I was definitely in!  Kevin came over a little later and we walked over the store.  I pretended that we were Sweathogs and that Mr. Woodman was after us.
     We Kevin opened to door to the place and I walked in, my mouth could not be open wider.  The store was everything I had imagined and as much I as I hate to rhyme it was so much more.   There was a jukebox! And a pinball machine!  Hell, this was the 1970s so there may have been more than one pinball machine!  There was also a table where some older kids who were hangin' and stuff.  The joint was hoppin' and then Kevin bought some candy for each of us.  My head was spinning at this point.  We hung out eating our candy and soaking in the atmosphere for about 20 minutes and then we headed back to our block.  This was just too much excitement for one fast living 5 year old and when I finally got home that afternoon, I feel asleep and woke up mid-Carson.  I think Buddy Hackett was the guest.  My Dad was always mad for The Hackett.

SUNDAYS WITH ALEC BALDWIN: MY REVIEW

    Okay.  This is going to be a bit uncomfortable.  The fact that a show like "Sundays With Alec Baldwin" is on the air anywhere (much less Big Bad ABC) is refreshing.  Both Charlie Rose and Tavis Smiley are doing time somewhere in the void because of recent sexual harassment charges so the fact that there is a forum showcasing people in arts, culture and sports is good news as the PBS replacements for the aforementioned men have been focused directly on politics and goodness knows we certainly need many more of those programs.
     The good:  Mr. Baldwin does get some good guests by judging by the pilot which aired after the Sunday Oscar telecast.  Jerry Seinfeld had some very interesting views on today's political correct environment and the #metoo movement.  He has previously stated that he will not perform at colleges anymore because students keep deconstructing every joke until they find something the may offend them.  SNL's Kate McKinnon was about as delightful as a current cast member can possibly be but I was simply bored by the end. Sorry.
     The bad:  These guests are obviously friends of Mr. Baldwin and of course you should put buddy butts in the seat next to you when your doing a pilot as it must calm the nerves but when both of the guests start turning tables and asking Baldwin about film roles and Trump impressions the interviews start to veer off the rails.
      So all in all, not a bad debut but I'm hoping the Marc Maron gets a chance to start taping his podcasts as he has a much more varied range of guests and a more childlike sense of wonder when interviewing people.  I'm giving the pilot of this series a B- but I still think it has potential for better things.

RHETORIC AS THE CAUSE OF DEATH

     I've been told to listen.  So I've listened. And listened.  And listened.  Now after pausing for immense reflection, I feel now is the time for my time to respond.  Each voice and its corresponding cause is straddling for pole position.  Wanting not only to be heard but respected and in some cases even feared.  The grasp for any type of power can be addictive and once you achieve it you may not want to ever lose it.
     Actions have consequences.  And now in this gilded age of social media so do words.  Sticks and stones may break one's bones but words may break one's will to live.  I believe that in adolescence we want to be liked or even loved.  We want to be accepted.  The urge to assimilate can be overwhelming.  Anyone that dares to march out of step with this urge is somehow deemed unworthy of our acceptance.  Praise is immediately spared.  Why?  Well, what will the others think?  Will my praise be spared if I don't spare praise of the ones who dare to differ from the agreed status quo?
     I believe these questions are the very beginning of the demise of happiness and harmony and the planting of the seeds of fear and paranoia and ultimately of destruction.  We are more fragile then we would care to admit and no one cares to freely announce their own shortcomings.  As we get older, the urge to assimilate begins to evaporate but I believe it does not disappear altogether.  That moment will arrive soon enough.  Meanwhile, we are supposed to become more understanding and more willing to look past the perceived flaws of others.  Being out of step is not supposed to be that important as long we still can become productive members of society.
     However, this progression appears to be actually regressing as of late.  Differences are being pointed out and more of us are learning how to refuse the natural order of progress and backslide into the process of assimilating again.  This is not tied to just one ideology either.  Both sides are desperately searching for their safe space again.  The ultimate safe space is the womb, isn't it?  And if one decides to travel the other direction, isn't the ultimate safe space is the great beyond?  Is meeting somewhere in between now considered taboo?   Is compromise the ultimate sin?
     Here is a quote that I hope will provide some comfort and just maybe some reconsideration:

     "A ship is safe in the harbor, but that is not what ships are made for."
                                                   -John Augustus Shedd

KHAKIS AFLAME

     I just watched two music documentaries lately.  Yeah, I'm a real wild guy.  The first film was about the last five years of David Bowie's life.  They had some home video taken on his last World Tour in 2003 and showed him and his band at a Town Pump (kind of a trucker's 7-Eleven) somewhere in Montana playing one of the 'claw' machines with the stuffed animals inside.  This would be just about the last thing I would probably ever think of David Bowie doing (and not to mention the last State he would be doing it).

 
     Then I watched a documentary about the English band XTC.  I've loved this band for a long time but didn't know much about them as little has been written and they had just a cult following in the U.S.  Andy Partridge seems like a rather chatty bloke but a bit mercurial.  Colin Moulding seems like a quiet genius and Dave Gregory is very thoughtful and concise.  There were some other members of the band but their stays were rather brief.  For whatever reason, I just don't see any of these guys ever hanging out at a Town Pump on Montana playing a 'claw' machine.

     David Bowie's lyrics always seemed somewhat cryptic and a little dark to me whereas most XTC lyrics were direct and even a bit funny at times.  What makes someone continually act dishonest or be unabashedly truthful?  Is it their upbringing?  Their surroundings?  What makes someone impoverished be thankful for what little they have?  What makes someone who has everything still want more?   Alas, big answers seem to be elusive for such a simple mind.  I do know that I'm constantly amazed at what joy these musicians have given to me over the years, even though their approaches to the craft were very different.  Strange but true.