Sing Out Louise! Smile, Baby!

Graphic from Yellowdog Granny.



















I am hoping to make it down to Columbia for the Republican CNN dog-and-pony-show (debate, I mean), but so far, no vehicular luck. Still panhandling for a ride, if any of you brave souls plan to go down there tomorrow to check out the Democratic Process In Action (grunts for emphasis). The Ron Paul people are having their rally directly afterwards, and that sounds like a good place to start witnessing the Third Party Gospel. I'm on it! Well okay, I would ordinarily be on it, if I had a car that could safely sustain a hundred-mile round trip without a thorough examination, which I don't.



Yes, yes, I know, if I had been a conscientious DoBee [1] I would have gotten my oil changed and tires rotated and what-all, but as an unemployed person I have not seen THE POINT. (See, she pauses to point out, HOW UNEMPLOYMENT NEGATIVELY INFLUENCES THE ECONOMY?!?) At any rate, here I am, send notes and emails and Twitters and Facebook IMs and what-have-you, if you are going down to our illustrious state capital to protest or hang out with the Ron Paul people tomorrow.



My first radio excursion on Saturday morning went well. Gregg roused himself from his cardiologist's floor and aided me wonderfully! I was scared to death, and had the proverbial death-grip on my old wooden antique rosary from Notre Dame (Indiana, not France), which was left to me by a deceased female neighbor named Butch, so its very lucky. In addition, I inexplicably required a huge Double Mocha Frappucino to get it done, but I did it! (Next week, will probably be able to make do with a regular single Vanilla.)



PLEASE DROP IN AND LISTEN! WFISradio.com, 1600 AM or 94.9 FM on your radio dial... or online. 9:00 AM on Saturday mornings, which is an ungodly weekend hour, and I apologize for that.



~*~



Be-bopping around the internet today, whilst watching Doris Day (yall know how much I love Doris) in With Six You Get Eggroll. A bad movie that nonetheless fascinated me as a wide-eyed, gullible youngster... as Single Mom-with-kids marries Single Dad-with-kids, and they wholesomely "blend" their families. As many of you know, I desperately wanted my mother to get married and behave in this wonderfully-domestic fashion, particularly if it meant she would stop wearing the bubble hairdos, popping amphetamines, singing in the country and western bands every night, drinking and smoking like a rat-pack member, marrying people she had just met and dammit, ACT LIKE SHE WAS SUPPOSED TO. [2] Ha.



Of course, now I realize, neither did Doris. If I had only known!



Will somebody tell me: Did wholesome TV-dad Brian Keith die of AIDS or is that just a rumor? Am I mixing him up with Robert Reed, since the plot of this movie is where they obviously came up with THE BRADY BUNCH? (It seemed that after Robert Reed died, it was suddenly open season on the nice TV-dads and magically, they all became gay overnight.)



Okay, checked Wikipedia: No, not true. Suicide. I knew it was something uncommon.



A shame. I always liked him.



The sweet, precocious little child-star, Anissa Jones, whom I liked so much on Brian Keith's old show, Family Affair, was an accidental drug death at age 18. We were only 6 months apart in age. The other child on the show, Johnny Whitaker, has spoken at length about his addiction problems, also, and is now a drug counselor.



I guess these Hollywood-fantasy families really were fake, weren't they?



~*~



[1] To the non-baby boomers, this is from the children's TV show Romper Room and has no relationship to the word DOOBIE as a joint or the Doobie Brothers. There were Do Bees and Don't Bees, and of course, we all tried to be good DO BEES! (We marginally succeeded.)



[2] Mama! Get out your white dress/you've done it before/without much success (Stephen Sondheim to the rescue). When I first heard this song as a kid, at maybe 8 years old, I sobbed my little heart out. (And it's where we get today's blog post title.)



See, I thought, the stipper's children understand!

Joel Osteen: Faster Horses

I admit, I am fascinated with Joel Osteen.

Primarily, the whole gospel-of-plenty thing, really blows my mind. Catholics will do a sneaky novena asking for greenbacks here and there, but nothing like Joel counsels us to do. He says you have to think BIG, like God does. He sounds like Cecil B DeMille.

As I've said before, this whole line of thinking was stolen wholesale from the late Reverend Ike, appropriately dressed up and taken to the white suburbs. Joel constantly tells us we deserve big things, better jobs, giant houses (don't settle for smaller!) and prosperity prosperity prosperity!

Listening to him, I have more than once recalled the chorus of the old Tom T. Hall song, Faster Horses:

Faster Horses
Younger Women
Older Whiskey
And More Money

I halfway-expect Joel to belt that out, at some point.

While I am admitting my fascination with America's foremost preacher of the Prosperity Gospel (note the link does not include Reverend Ike, whom they all stole from), let me catalog my points of fascination:

1) His smile and his teeth. The literary term, "he beamed at us" hardly suffices for what Joel can do... his smile is bloody incandescent.

Ronald Reagan Jr once said no man was a match for his father, when his father decided to "turn on the high-beams"--and I daresay, I have found the match.

Could anyone argue with this smile? I certainly couldn't. If he was in sales, he would be as rich as the Sun King... oh wait, he is and he is, I forgot.

2) His wife, Victoria. As a feminist, I don't usually call women Barbie dolls, since that would be mean, she winked at her readers. And besides, that would only be describing her appearance, not her famous diva-tantrums. Joel never talks about her tantrums, but I wonder how he feels about her periodic um, moods?

I'd love to be the proverbial fly-on-the-wall during one of their squabbles.

3) His hair. Nobody would listen to a promise of prosperity from a 49-year-old who was losing his hair. It's a psychological thing: since he has an enviable, profuse, heavy head of hair, he probably has LOTS OF EVERYTHING. Samson and Delilah, etc. His prayers keep his hair from falling out, don't they? Obviously, his prayers work pretty good!

4) The way he points upward (to God and heaven, presumably) at key points during his sermons. I once attended a retail-sales workshop in which I was taught that I should touch the item I intended to sell. Pick it up and make it "intimate"; you will notice on shopping networks such as QVC and HSN, there is virtual non-stop pawing of the merchandise. You have to make it real for people, and putting something REAL in their hands, is the way. And it does increase sales.

What do you if it's God you are selling?

Some preachers pound that Bible, or pound that lectern, or emote-in-extremis whilst explaining things (Jimmy Swaggart was famously very good at this). Joel points upward. Lots. It's like he's been there already, and has come back to tell you all about it.

Well, if having millions of dollars is the way to heaven, or is the equivalent of heaven on earth, or something... I guess he HAS been there, hasn't he?

My question is: In these harsh economic times, why isn't everyone jealous of him, instead of giving him even MORE money?

I think this is due to--

5) The amazingly-wholesome vibe he puts out. This is what keeps me glued to the screen. He is so POSITIVE, so, so, so... POSITIVE. There just isn't any other word for it. OPTIMISTIC maybe. And the people I've met who like Osteen, are just this optimistic and positive also. Although they tend to believe fundamentalist ideas (or at least give lip service to them), they are reluctant to judge others, and concentrate mostly on their own lives and spreading good feelings and love (while praying for prosperity).

You might say Osteen has learned to combine the peace-and-love of the hippie era of his childhood, with the Reagan-era go-getter capitalist concepts of his adulthood... just add Jesus and stir. Works for Joel.

Joel is way better than the Mike Huckabees of the world, and yet, there are Chrsitians who are driven bonkers by his warping of the scriptures, dragging in that tired old Prayer of Jabez and ignoring the words of Christ Himself.

Christ was no fan of the rich, and that is the Gospel. And yet, it seems this unabashed embrace of capitalist values insures they won't meddle too much in social issues. After all, unbridled capitalism IS a social issue, too, and I think Joel knows that. I watched an old sermon last night, dated 2009, and it was interesting in the way he says "Don't worry that you can't afford a new house, because God will provide!"--wait, I thought, did this idea contribute to the housing market crash?

Hanna Rosin has been there already, and is way ahead of me:

On the cover of his 4 million-copy best seller from 2004, Your Best Life Now, Joel Osteen looks like a recent college grad who just got hired by Goldman Sachs and can’t believe his good luck. His hair is full, his teeth are bright, his suit is polished but not flashy; he looks like a guy who would more likely shake your hand than cast out your demons. Osteen took over his father’s church in 1999. He had little preaching experience, although he’d managed the television ministry for years. The church grew quickly, as Osteen packaged himself to appeal to the broadest audience possible. In his books and sermons, Osteen quotes very little scripture, opting instead to tell uplifting personal anecdotes. He avoids controversy, and rarely appears on Christian TV. In a popular YouTube clip, he declines to confirm Larry King’s suggestion that only those who believe in Jesus will go to heaven.

...

Osteen is often derided as Christianity Lite, but he is more like Positivity Extreme. “Cast down anything negative, any thought that brings fear, worry, doubt, or unbelief,” he urges. “Your attitude should be: ‘I refuse to go backward. I am going forward with God. I am going to be the person he wants me to be. I’m going to fulfill my destiny.’” Telling yourself you are poor, or broke, or stuck in a dead-end job is a form of sin and “invites more negativity into your life,” he writes. Instead, you have to “program your mind for success,” wake up every morning and tell yourself, “God is guiding and directing my steps.” The advice is exactly like the message of The Secret, or any number of American self-help blockbusters that edge toward magical thinking, except that the religious context adds another dimension.

...

Demographically, the growth of the prosperity gospel tracks fairly closely to the pattern of foreclosure hot spots. Both spread in two particular kinds of communities—the exurban middle class and the urban poor. Many newer prosperity churches popped up around fringe suburban developments built in the 1990s and 2000s, says Walton. These are precisely the kinds of neighborhoods that have been decimated by foreclosures, according to Eric Halperin, of the Center for Responsible Lending

...

[Most] new prosperity-gospel churches were built along the Sun Belt, particularly in California, Florida, and Arizona—all areas that were hard-hit by the mortgage crisis. Bowler, who, like Walton, was researching a book, spent a lot of time attending the “financial empowerment” seminars that are common at prosperity churches. Advisers would pay lip service to “sound financial practices,” she recalls, but overall they would send the opposite message: posters advertising the seminars featured big houses in the background, and the parking spots closest to the church were reserved for luxury cars.

Nationally, the prosperity gospel has spread exponentially among African American and Latino congregations. This is also the other distinct pattern of foreclosures. “Hyper-segregated” urban communities were the worst off, says Halperin.

...

It is not all that surprising that the prosperity gospel persists despite its obvious failure to pay off. Much of popular religion these days is characterized by a vast gap between aspirations and reality. Few of Sarah Palin’s religious compatriots were shocked by her messy family life, because they’ve grown used to the paradoxes; some of the most socially conservative evangelical churches also have extremely high rates of teenage pregnancies, out-of-wedlock births, and divorce.

In short, it's Joel Osteen's hour. He won't put you down for being divorced, etc.

He will point upward, and for some unfathomable reason, you just want to follow him up there.

Greetings from Kudzu Nation

At left: Kudzu colonizes riverside on the Swamp Rabbit Trail.


My profuse apologies for the unannounced blog break. At first, it was a real live recreational break, complete with hiking my favorite section of our beloved Swamp Rabbit Trail ... and then our electricity went FIZZLE... and so did we.

Nightmarish!

After the storm this week, we were without electricity for a whole day. (Some areas got it much worse, too.) If you think that's easy in South Carolina summer heat, think again. We were careful to stay STILL and QUIET ... and I soon figured out the reason for the well-worn stereotype of southerners acting/talking S-L-O-W is likely because they were simply too hot to move for hundreds of years.

Made sick from heat, I barely got the laundry done. Thankfully, I think we've recovered now. (It took me a very nice birthday party to completely recover, but I have!)

Mr Daisy forced me to go see X-MEN FIRST CLASS, which wasn't half-bad. The black man sitting next to me buried his face in his hands when Darwin bought it early. Then he placed his head on the shoulder of the woman next to him, as if to weep. Yeah, the sole black man gets knocked off early, way before the bang-up finale, in which the X-Men stop the Cuban Missile Crisis! (and all this time you thought it was Bobby Kennedy!) I like to think I would have noticed this without my movie-neighbor's reaction, but it is possible I wouldn't have, so my hat is off to him for bringing it to my attention.

Why do they do that? The old Star Trek TV-series used to do that, too... if there was a black guy in the landing party, you could expect the aliens to eat his innards first!

Left: Kudzu eats tree.


Delinquent in blogging, at least I've been collecting some pretty good links, so have at it:

:: Possibly, the blog post title of the year: Republican Senator Says “Fuck It”, Legalize Gay Marriage (Jezebel)

:: Asshole New Jersey governor Christie declares to voters that it's "none of your business" if he sends his kids to private school while enthusiastically gutting public schools... and if you thought otherwise, New Jersey folks, since YOU are paying his salary, well, he sets you straight in no uncertain terms. ((((fumes))))

:: My Ex-Gay Friend (The New York Times) Fascinating article about queer-theory junkie who turns into a fundie. This is the money quote:

It all sounded very much like the Michael I knew at XY, a young man who was fascinated by queer theory — namely, the idea that sexual and gender identities are culturally constructed rather than biologically fixed — and who dreamed of a world without labels like “straight” and “gay,” which he deemed restrictive and designed to “segment and persecute,” as he argued in a 1998 issue of XY. Though he conceded back then that it was important “to stay unified under a ‘Gay’ political umbrella” until equality for gays and lesbians had been achieved, Michael preferred to label himself queer.

As Ben and I reminisced, I couldn’t help wondering if Michael’s new philosophy might, in a strange way, be a logical extension of what he believed back then — that “gay” is a limiting category and that sexual identities can change. Ben nodded. “A radical queer activist and a fundamentalist Christian aren’t always as different as they might seem,” he said, adding that they’re ideologues who can railroad over nuance and claim a monopoly on the truth.

:: I have repeatedly attempted to blog about the whole Boeing fiasco in South Carolina, but every time I start a post, the situation just mushrooms further. I think I have finally found an article that explains it succinctly: 'Boeing retaliated' (Charleston Post and Courier):

Republicans on the U.S. House Oversight and Government Reform Committee questioned why the Democrat-controlled National Labor Relations Board sued Boeing over its decision in 2009 to locate the plant in North Charleston.

Democrats questioned if Boeing retaliated against the International Association of Machinists and Aerospace Workers by putting the factory in mostly non-unionized South Carolina to avoid costly labor strikes.

On the hot seat during most of the nearly four-hour hearing was NLRB acting General Counsel Lafe Solomon, who reluctantly agreed to testify after being threatened with a subpoena.

"We believe the evidence will show that Boeing retaliated against its employees," Solomon said. "The decision to build a second line in South Carolina was in retaliation for the employees' right to strike."

And for you geeks who require labor-law details, please check out this post from the SC Green Party blog: NLRB and Labor Law: Discussion on C-Span

At left: Kudzu eats hill.


:: And just in case you wondered why our schools always place last (or near last) nationally? Greedhead Republican swine, especially the current governor:
Haley: $105 million should go for tax cuts, not schools. (The Columbia State)

Gov. Nikki Haley threatened Wednesday to veto a state Senate proposal to add $105 million to the state’s K-12 education funding, saying the money should instead be used for tax cuts or to pay off state debt.

Haley also said that, in the future, anytime a three-member panel of state economists increases its estimates of how much money the state will bring in, as it did last month, that money should go for tax cuts, rebates or to pay off state debt.

That position is certain to endear Haley to her Tea Party supporters, who say they are taxed enough already.

But it will upset others who say that, after cutting billions from the state’s general fund during the just-ended Great Recession, recovering state revenues should be used to restore services that were cut or can justify more support.

:: Announcing a South Carolina demonstration against the Libyan intervention, which our Senator Lindsey Graham thinks is just great great great. This has been organized by the Carolina Peace Resource Center:

Saturday, June 25 · 12:00pm - 1:00pm

Location: Five Points Fountain (Greene & Harden St.)
Columbia, South Carolina.

This is a great location, since you can shop afterwards at Hip-Wa-Zee (Hi Leslie!) and Loose Lucy's. Only a dullard could resist! Be there or be square! (Yes, I sometimes miss living in Columbia, which I did for about 7 months.)

And finally...

NO MORE Law and Order Criminal Intent after this weekend?!? (((screams in agony)))) NOOOOooooOOOO!!!!

They are taking one of my favorite binge-drugs away.

HeroesCon 2011

Heroes Convention at the Charlotte Convention Center this weekend, razzle-dazzle for fantasy fans of all ages. This was my second HeroesCon and it was loads of magical fun. I managed to satisfy a lifelong ambition by locating (and happily purchasing) a Speed Racer T-shirt! (I guess you're all pretty jealous now, huh?)

Photos below.

First up--WIMMINZ COMIX, yeah! We proudly practice Affirmative Action here at DEAD AIR, and hereby give space to the Women of HeroesCon, exhorting them to KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK in that veritable sea of testosterone that is the modern comics industry. YOU GO GIRLS! It was wonderful to talk with all of you.

1) Laura Martin, a comics-veteran (experienced enough to have her own Wikipedia page), she has worked for both DC and Marvel.

2) Cat Staggs

3) Rachelle Rosenberg

4) Sara Richard

5) Rhiannon Owens

6) Amy Mebberson draws adorable Disney characters.

7) Gina Kirlew is affiliated with BLAM!--Atlanta Female Comic Book Creators' Group.

8) Elaine Corvidae, author of Riven Sol. We talked about the need for older women in comics (as creators AND characters), and she proudly showed me her newest 47-year-old heroine. SPECIAL MENTION! :)

9) I briefly panicked that I didn't know who this was... I sifted through the mountain of colorful, illustrated business cards I brought home with me and lo and behold... there she was! Laura Truxillo has business cards with her likeness drawn thereon, looking exactly like the photo below, even including the hat... in fact, her blog is subtitled "the girl with the hat." Quite Truxillogical, indeed.

10) Sarah 'Pickles' Dill

11) Danielle Soloud

12) I am 99% sure this is Brittany Michel, one of the Snow by Night team, who gave me a very nice button with "Snow by Night" on it, for my infamous con hat. I know I wrote her name down somewhere! (sigh)

13) Bridgit Scheide

14) and 15) The enormous Stylin Online enclave, where a multitude of t-shirts representing every possible permutation of pop-culture is well-represented... this is where I got my Speed Racer t-shirt (as well as my much-admired Reservoir Dogs shirt from years gone by).

16) Old movie poster; there were about two zillion on display.

17) He insists on attending every single con, even though he is SO unfriendly he barely says a word to anyone. And so BOSSY!

18) through 28) Fans having fun.

29) John Bintz, creator of Dawn's Dictionary Drama... who was sweet enough to visit DEAR AIR last year and therefore earned himself a special citation. HI JOHN!

30) A CRY-BABY t-shirt I woulda bought if I was still a teenager; subtitled GOOD GIRLS WANT HIM BAD, BAD GIRLS WANT HIM WORSE!

Ah, ain't it the truth.

31) I gotta genuine nerdy thrill from recognizing these two medical professionals! I've even mentioned them on DEAD AIR before (comments in thread here)... they are from the old Twilight Zone episode, The Eye of the Beholder.

32) A shout-out for local store Planet Comics from Anderson, SC.

33) Fellas busy working on the Comic Geek Speak podcast.

34) Yes, there is always SOMEONE upset about the con. The guy with this sign solemnly picketed outside the Charlotte Convention Center whilst accompanied by a very well-behaved dalmation wearing a little red firefighter hat that said, "Fire Dept"--get it? (Hellfire, Fire Dept? Cute, huh?)

Admit you are impressed that Catholics get listed on the sign in THREE DIFFERENT CATEGORIES. Just so you know!

I admit, I miss the rapture signs from our last con experience...


And now, beaming up. Hope your weekend was as good!

~*~

Random complaining

I don't like:

...people who live in apartments and insist upon owning gigantic dogs that can't be exercised on a damn patio, so they bark all day long from boredom.

...southerners who claim various pot-luck offerings are vegetarian, but when pressed, admit said vegetable was fried in bacon grease.

...people who say the radiation in Japan is waaaay over there, so don't you worry yourself over it. The earth doesn't turn and the air never blows and water all stays in one place, so there's no way radiation can spread... oh, wait.

...de-clawing kitties. DON'T DO THAT. And I have the torn-up couches to prove that I don't believe in it. But I can also attest that torn-up couches are a small price to pay for well-mannered, happy felines.

...the way Farmville is always trying to separate you from your credit card, to purchase much-ballyhooed "Farm Cash"--with which you can buy cartoon lakes and donkeys and other dopey shit you don't need... hey, it's just like REAL LIFE!

...And finally...(((drum roll))

Male "enhancement" ads, like the endless infomercial I am listening to right now, wherein a dynamite sex-supplement promises to make you BIGGER and BETTER. It's probably just L-Arginine, an amino acid that can be taken by itself in large doses; up to 3 grams safely. (Works on women too! :D ) And it's lots cheaper than these TV-boosted supplements, which likely include Yohimbe, something that can adversely affect men with hypertension. (The difference between simple L-Arginine and these hotshot supplements can be as much as 100 bucks, so buyer beware.) I also hate the Viagra commercials for using the legendary and fabulous song "Spoonful" in the ads. The not-so-subtle racism of using a well-known black blues song directed at suburban white men with nice cars (not to mention the comprehensive medical insurance that covers these pricey Rx drugs; some insurers don't) seems a little obvious: If you take Viagra/Cialis/etc, you will be as sexy as black men, seems to be the significance of the blues-man message. And then there is the additional subtlety of the title and concept: you only need a spoonful of Viagra.

But even without music, all the winky-winky stuff in the ads (any moment can turn into a Cialis moment!) is offensive and junior high school. Yes, we all know how we get horny just by hammering nails (think about the Freudian implications of that for a second) and hanging out with the mister, as he does his manly household tasks. And then, a knowing look is exchanged, pecks on the mouth, and they leave the room together, arm in arm. We all know that our sexual experiences are EXACTLY like that, now don't we? (((rolls eyes)))

I do appreciate that the women in the ads are the same age as the men. In fact, these ads might be the only place on TV that this is true! Mostly, hot new actresses are paired with older, non-hotties. (Think about LAW AND ORDER and the age disparities.. gray hair and such are standard, but the women are all young.) This is true in movies as well. What can we surmise from this?: That BigPharma is aware they should try to be realistic in these ads--no Lolitas anywhere. And besides, maybe that is intimidating to older men? Or do they (as I suspect) just find the idea silly? (All they want is some familiar intimacy with the wife, not the babysitter.)

The CARS in the ads, and the fact that Viagra now sponsors NASCAR, well, that shouldn't be surprising. PERFORMANCE is a big word in all advertising related to men: Stereos, cell phones, cars, musical instruments, razor blades, athletic shoes, all promise various wonderful levels of PERFORMANCE, a word you rarely hear in commercials for women's products.

Now, I wonder why that is.

Garbage television addiction update

Although I proudly bragged in Monday's post about being a bad bitch, goodness mercy, folks... ain't no way I could measure up to the current crop of REAL HOUSEWIVES on the Bravo network. I'm currently watching both the New York and Orange County editions, she admitted, embarrassed. These shows put one in mind of slo-mo trainwrecks; gaudy, narcissistic, hedonistic, expensive, collagen-injected, botoxed, designer-clad, exquisitely-decorated, very thin trainwrecks. On another level, they are one long commercial for capitalism as The Entire Lifestyle, the Alpha and the Omega. (The human flaws, then, are also a manifestation of the lifestyle.)

Unfortunately, this season's bitchitude doesn't reach the mythic levels of RHO-New Jersey. RHONJ was totally in a class by itself, featuring such Golden Moments of Reality TV as Teresa's now-legendary table-flipping routine (even satired on SOUTH PARK), hair-pulling at chi-chi country clubs, psychic-healing by telephone and lots of other suburban fun. The New York/California crowd simply can't measure up to the cheesiness of our beloved Jersey Girls. You could wait all season and NOBODY will pull anyone else's hair, or their weave either. (sigh) Now, the Atlanta gals, especially NeNe, have engaged in some hair-pulling, and that show understands WHY WE WATCH. Don't be tardy for the party!

The one consistent sign of intelligence in these shows, Bethenny Frankel, got her own (well-deserved) spin-off TV show on Bravo. I enjoy watching her wittily fuss about her new baby, hubby, business, in-laws, etc, but it certainly isn't as much fun as listening to her dish about the other New York Housewives in her very honest, snarky, funny, acerbic, barbed fashion. And the fights! The Bethenny vs Kelly bouts were almost as good as Teresa turning over tables in posh restaurants. Any chance of a rematch between you girls? Your fans demand it!

Will Kelly guest star on Bethenny's show, maybe do a bunny-boiler routine? Not a stretch at all, and it's certainly better than Kelly pretending to be a reporter; Brenda Starr on crack. (And we can all do without more of THAT, please.) Yall need to jazz this stuff up, or I'ma quit watching.

Teresa raised the bar and now we want housewives attacking each other. And what's next? "Housewife snuff"?*

The ratings would go through the roof.



*I am suddenly reminded of the amusing short story "The National Pastime" by Norman Spinrad. Can't find a link.

Quote of the week

[The television commercial] is not merely therapy. It is instant therapy. Indeed, it puts forward a psychological theory of unique axioms: The commercial asks us to believe that all modern problems are solvable, that they are solvable fast, and that they are solvable fast through the interventions of technology, techniques and chemistry. This is, of course, a preposterous theory about the roots of discontent, and would appear so to anyone hearing or reading it. But the commercial disdains exposition, for that takes times and invites argument. It is a very bad commercial indeed that engages the viewer in wondering about the validity of the point being made. That is why most commercials use the literary device of the pseudo-parable as a means of doing their work. Such "parables" as The Ring Around the Collar, The Lost Travelers Checks, and The Phone Call from the Son Far Away not only have irrefutable emotional power but, like Biblical parables, are unambiguously didactic. The television commercial is about products only in the sense that the story of Jonah is about the anatomy of whales, which is to say, it isn't. Which is to say further, it is about how one ought to live one's life. Moreover, commercials have the advantage of vivid visual symbols through which we may easily learn the lessons being taught. Among these lessons are that short and simple messages are preferable to long and complex ones; that drama is to be preferred over exposition; that being sold solutions is better than being confronted with questions about problems. Such beliefs would naturally have implications for our orientation to political discourse; that is to say, we may begin to accept as normal certain assumptions about the political domain that either derive from or are amplified by the television commercial. For example, a person who has seen one million television commercials might well believe that all political problems have fast solutions through simple measures--or ought to. Or that complex language is not to be trusted, and that all problems lend themselves to theatrical expression. Or that argument is in bad taste, and leads only to an intolerable uncertainty. Such a person may also come to believe that it is not necessary to draw any line between politics and other forms of social life. Just as a television commercial will use an athlete, an actor, a musician, a novelist, a scientist or a countess to speak for the virtues of a product in no way within their domain of expertise, television also frees politicians from the limited field of their own expertise. Political figures may show up anywhere, at any time, doing anything, without being thought odd, presumptuous or in any way out of place. Which is to say, they have become assimilated into the general television culture as celebrities.

Neil Postman, Amusing Ourselves to Death, 1986

Charlie Sheen: Hero of the hour?

As you have undoubtedly heard, Charlie Sheen's live shows didn't go over so well over the weekend. Practicing alcoholics are never as funny as they think they are, in the long haul. With editing, yes. For a whole show, no. From ABC:

After all but getting booed off stage at the Detroit, Mich. debut of his live show, "My Violent Torpedo of Truth/Defeat Is Not an Option," it's unclear if or how Sheen's month-long tour will proceed.

Anticipation ran high for the event. Ticket holders milled about the Fox Theater in downtown Detroit before the 8 p.m. start time, sometimes yelling Sheen catchphrases like "tiger blood" and "winning" to rev up fellow attendees. As of Saturday afternoon, all 4,700 seats at the theater had been sold.

...

Sheen managed to up the crowd's enthusiasm for the start of his act. Before his official debut, he played a montage of video clips including scenes from "Apocalypse Now," the film starring Sheen's father that Sheen claims to be obsessed with. He then strutted on stage with his "goddesses," Bree Olsen and Natalie Kenly, who proceeded to engage in a passionate kiss, much to the delight of the crowd.

They then went backstage to burn a bowling shirt similar to the one Sheen wore on "Two and a Half Men." While footage of the shirt on fire in a garbage can played on the big screen behind him, Sheen urged the crowd to hold up their lighters, asking, "Doesn't anyone smoke cigarettes anymore?"

The spectacle mirrored the ranting and raving Sheen's done online and in interviews over the past few weeks. But after that, things took a turn for the weird.

Sheen stood at a podium in front of a pseudo-presidential looking seal saying "Warlock States of Sheen" and launched into a nonsensical speech seemingly directed at his critics.

He started, "Tonight I am delivered by cyber cloud, with the stomp and glisten of heaven's produce section." He then talked about burning something "down from the mount of olive" and "gasoline rainbows." He frequently damned "trolls" -- presumably, "Two and a Half Men" creator Chuck Lorre and his former bosses at CBS and Warner Brothers. He called Sarah Palin a "whore" for no apparent reason.

No apparent reason? Of course there is an apparent reason, that you media-swine refuse to take seriously: He's a misogynist pig.

The fact that so many people find his woman-hating amusing and worth celebrating, lets us know exactly how far we have to go.

Anna Holmes' piece in the New York Times, linked above, details all the woman-pounding Charlie has humorously engaged in over the years. And as a rich, privileged white man, he gets by with all of it (paging Chris Brown! Chris Brown, call your office)... and of course, since so many of the women getting pounded are mere actresses, models and sex workers, they 'deserve' it:

A woman’s active embrace of the fame monster or participation in the sex industry, we seem to say, means that she compromises her right not to be assaulted, let alone humiliated, insulted or degraded; it’s part of the deal. The promise of a modern Cinderella ending — attention, fame, the love and savings account of a rich man — is always the assumed goal.

Objectification and abuse, it follows, is not only an accepted occupational hazard for certain women, but something that men like Mr. Sheen have earned the right to indulge in. (Mr. Sheen reportedly once said that he didn’t pay prostitutes for the sex; he paid them “to leave.”)

Haha, ain't that funny? Is he serious or joking?--go the predictable onlooker-comments... ohhh, he's just being funny. Actually, I think he means everything he says, and he has repeatedly proven that he is willing to back it up with a nice right to the jaw, if any nearby female should argue.

Indeed, it’s difficult for many to discern any difference between Mr. Sheen’s real-life, round-the-clock, recorded outbursts and the sexist narratives devised by reality television producers, in which women are routinely portrayed as backstabbing floozies, and dreadful behavior by males is explained away as a side effect of unbridled passion or too much pilsner.

And so, a pricey live show-tour by a woman-hater, or should I say ANOTHER woman-hater (there are oodles of rock stars and hip-hop stars and country-and-western stars who have gotten plenty rich off of women-hating... paging Eminem! paging Ted Nugent! etc) ... and then I see Phyllis Schlafly (barfs for emphasis) on C-Span over the weekend, telling us that feminism is over with and no longer necessary, and what are these harridans and harpies still so pissed off about?

One wonders if she has flipped her channels lately, over to ABC (live video of Charlie at above link) or to the millions of other outlets that have advertised Charlie's zealously-sexist antics over recent months. Hello? What planet is Schlafly on?

They deserve each other, most assuredly.

Some more good news

So much is going on in the world, I hardly know where to begin. Alternative medicine suppliers have had an unexpected nationwide run on all types of iodine, in anticipation of radiation poisoning. This took us totally by surprise; we never expected it and didn't plan for it. For my part, I've been reminding everyone of how right I was in opposing nuclear power back in the wayward 70s, and loading up on nori. I figure it can't hurt.

And I've been talking to my customers, as always.

I guess you all know that the Left Behinders are out in force, what with wars and revolutions and rebellions all over the Mideast, as well as probable-meltdowns and the infamous year 2012 approaching. It's the end of the world as we know it.

Along these lines, I thought yall might like to see the First of the Four Horsemen, spotted in Egypt (on European television), whilst bored newsreaders jabbered on. I guess they didn't see it? (One wonders how anyone could miss video of the imminent apocalypse.)

Go to 1:25; they helpfully rerun it in slow-mo a few times, for your edification.



Now, see, if it hadn't been a WHITE horse, nobody would have noticed.

There are many explanations of this video, with copious details about glare and lens-reflection, etc... but of course, many people have their own explanations. And I get to hear all about it. But you know what?

I feel fine. :)

Friday nights in northern Ohio...

Children all over northern Ohio used to stay up late on Friday nights to watch Ghoulardi, who hosted horror movies and other fun stuff. We loved him! Apparently there is now a whole book out about him and his Cleveland-based show (see link), which I must read.

He did a memorable spoof on the immensely-popular 60s nighttime soap opera "Peyton Place", which he called Parma Place. It began with polka music, unlike the respectable New Englandish music that signaled the beginning of "Peyton Place"... In addition, the "drama" consisted of finding new places to put plastic pink flamingos in the yard, as Ghoulardi frequently complained to his long-suffering wife (curlers forever in her hair) that he couldn't find his Cheez Whiz. It was so OHIO... I don't think the jokes translate well to these modern times, but we loved it to death.

I loved all the wonderfully-shlocky horror movies I saw during that time, and have included some old trailers below.





~*~

Children of the Damned (1964)



~*~

Check out the question mark on the wall behind William Castle's head. Not sure of the significance.

13 Ghosts (1960)



~*~

Caution: major sexism, as a woman's brain/head survives and her scientist boyfriend scouts out other sexy bodies to sew onto her head. (Really, and we GREW UP on this stuff!)

The Brain That Wouldn't Die (1960)



~*~

Bad girls

Anne Francis has died. (Thanks to Barbara on Facebook for alerting me to this cultural milestone!)

Many of us baby-boomer girls remember her as HONEY WEST, private eye with a pet ocelot, who could beat up men with her superior karate abilities. We never missed her! I even had the Honey West doll, if you can believe it. (Luckily, she wore Barbie-issue clothes.)

There was no other woman on 60s television who came close, actually allowed to kick men's asses, until Batgirl and Barbara Stanwyck (on THE BIG VALLEY; she didn't blink an eye when she drew her gun on evil interlopers). [NOTE: Beware, annoying 60s violin-laden TV music at the link.]

Sci-fi fans will certainly remember Anne Francis from the great 50s cult movie FORBIDDEN PLANET (with Leslie Nielsen), where she swims naked (on another planet, of course, where the rules were different). She was also the star of the famous Twilight Zone episode titled THE AFTER HOURS (where the PR-photo is from). In THE AFTER HOURS, she plays a department-store mannequin come to life, who has forgotten that she is a mannequin. Creepy and melancholy, all at once, as the Rod Serling-written episodes tended to be.

Few of us children who saw that particular Twilight Zone, could ever pass a store-mannequin again without thinking of it.

Do they come to life at the end of the day?

She was wonderful, and beautiful. Goodbye Anne.

~*~

And... speaking of mannequins (yes, that was mean)... she hasn't even taken office yet, but governor-in-waiting Nikki Haley has put us all on notice that she intends to make sure nobody in South Carolina will have government-supported health care... isn't that a comfort? She has appointed one Tony Keck, to go after poor, sick and disabled people with gusto:

Nearly 2.3 million residents covered by private insurers would face lifetime limits on their coverage.

New insurance plans no longer would be required to cover preventive services, such as mammograms and flu shots

As if the state wasn't poor enough.

On the plus side (see, I'm not mean all the time), Haley has appointed Lynne Rogers to head South Carolina's Department of Probation, Pardon and Parole Services.:

She is the first African-American named by Haley to lead an agency.

At the same time Haley announced Rogers’ selection, the governor-elect unveiled a plan to merge the missions of Department of Corrections, the Department of Juvenile Justice and the Department of Probation, Pardon and Parole Services.

Such a coalition will create efficiency in incarceration-related issues to save taxpayers millions, Haley said.

Haley said she will support a proposal of Rep. Bakari Sellers, D-Bamberg, to make the probation agency a division of Corrections. She has promised to seek consolidation of some agencies.

According to non-stop Tea Party Movement/talk radio propaganda, South Carolinians are gonna save SO MUCH MONEY after Haley takes office, we will be virtually rolling in dough.

Oh yeah.

I can't wait.

~*~

Beep beep! Uh-huh!

Bad Girls - Donna Summer (1979)

Anthony Dellaventura 1948-2010

I don't remember our first conversation, but it was probably about Catholicism. Later, we moved on to every other subject in the universe. But in the beginning, I can remember that we were discussing health supplements and alternative medicine (he was an almost-daily customer in the store where I work), when the rather intimidating ex-NYPD cop suddenly reached out and touched the St Jude medal I was wearing.

"Patron saint of lost causes," he mused, in his heavy New York accent. Luhwust Cuhwuzzes, is how it sounded to me.

"Yeah," I agreed.

"Are you a lost cause?" his voice turned suddenly gentle, and I was caught off guard.

"Probably," I admitted.

He narrowed his eyes. "You are not. You are a very intelligent and beautiful person." He seemed to be speaking very honestly, and I was struck silent, which never happens. I was embarrassed to be complimented.

"You don't believe me," he was inspecting my face. All at once, I was aware that he had been a professional interrogator. "You believe what all these assholes say," he waved his hand around, as if to encompass the whole world (and particularly the Catholic Church) in "all these assholes" and I laughed.

He narrowed his eyes again, "Really. It isn't funny. You do. Well, don't. They dunno shit." And then he smiled. An amazing, award-winning smile.

And for a few years, Tony Dellaventura brightened my life. I saw him nearly every day. He drove an enormous custom Harley-Davidson and dressed in leather; tattooed from head to toe, able to bench-press 200 lbs at age 60, he was a striking figure. His name was Snake; the name tattooed on his throat, right above a snake. It was a long time before I knew his real name.

"Are you tattooed everywhere?" I once asked, curious.

"Every inch," he assured me. And he said he had a dragon down below, the dragon's tail becoming, well, you know.

I'm sure my eyes popped, "Didn't that hurt?!?"

"Oh hell yes," he said, matter-of-factly.

We argued about politics mostly, after it was discovered that we were in near-total opposition, yet agreed on certain libertarian basics: Let people have their guns, their dirty movies, their weed. (The mention of weed being illegal made him roll his eyes.) He particularly liked Ron Paul (as I wrote here once before), and was suitably impressed that I had gone to the Peace Center Amphitheater to hear Congressman Paul speak, even as a lefty. We would argue until we were interrupted, or until he would get thoroughly pissed off and walk away from me. But he was never rude.

Sometimes he would return later in the day, "And another thing..." and reply to what I had said earlier. He always heard me out and let me make my point, sometimes granting that I was right. It was during these conversations that I would hear references to his experiences as a cop; things he had seen that influenced his views in often surprising ways. Even as a fairly right-wing guy, he would freely admit (for instance), that gay people were unfairly targeted, since he had seen it himself so many times. And his New Yorker-honesty and bluntness always impressed me a great deal, since it was steeped in the harsh reality of what he had actually witnessed.

He ate a very healthy diet, almost fanatically so. When he told me he had pancreatic cancer, I was shocked; he seemed like Iron Man. (I knew the odds and I was upset.) And after that, Tony lost weight rapidly. He went back to New York City for treatment, then returned to South Carolina. I wanted to take his photo at one point, but he wouldn't let me, "I don't look so good right now, wait until I look a little better."

I didn't see him after that.

From Tony's obituary in the Staten Island Advance:

STATEN ISLAND, N.Y. — Anthony (The Snake) Dellaventura, 62, of Huguenot, a lifelong Staten Islander and a retired NYPD detective and private investigator whose rough-and-tumble workdays were dramatized in the television show “Dellaventura,” died Thursday in Calvary Hospital’s hospice in Brooklyn, after a long battle with pancreatic cancer.

I have never seen the TV show named after him, but I loved knowing someone who was the subject of a TV series.

He was exactly the sort of larger-than-life personality that great TV-characters are made of.

Mr. Dellaventura joined the NYPD in 1969. After two years in uniform, he spent five and a half years as a plainclothes anti-crime officer, charged with posing as a drug dealer. Described as a “cop’s cop,” he later was assigned to the Organized Crime Control Bureau, and was promoted to detective in 1981.

A fourth-degree black belt in martial arts and a weapons expert, he had been in a shootout with a robber in the parking lot of the Staten Island Mall.

Upon his retirement in 1984, he opened his own private investigation company and was hired by attorneys trying to uncover hidden funds during divorce cases, property owners looking to rout crack-dealing squatters, and film studios who wanted to destroy bootleg copies of new releases being sold by vendors on city streets.

The secret to his success in business, he once told the Advance, is being both a good sleuth and establishing confidence and good faith with clients.

Known as “The Snake,” he told New York Magazine in a 1992 profile that his friends gave him the nickname “because of the way I strike, like a cobra. But you couldn’t pay me a million dollars to beat someone up or kill somebody.”

He also said he was willing to do anything necessary for a case, as long as it didn’t include breaking any laws. Instead, Mr. Dellaventura’s hulking physical presence and intense face — he rarely cracked a smile — were often enough to intimidate even the most hardened criminal.

Actor Danny Aiello portrayed him in the drama “Dellaventura,” which recreated some of Mr. Dellaventura’s real-life cases during its run on CBS from late 1997 until early 1998. The episodes were based on events straight out of the detective’s caselog, with details changed for confidentiality.

Mr. Dellaventura told the Advance in an interview when the show debuted that he was pleased with Mr. Aiello’s performance, noting the actor resembled him physically — minus Mr. Dellaventura’s collection of more than 240 tattoos, which would have taken a makeup artist hours to recreate.

Mr. Dellaventura also served as a bodyguard for notables including Jack Dempsey, Sid Caesar and Harry Connick, Jr.

A deeply committed, born-again Christian, he was an active member of Faith Fellowship Ministries in Sayreville N.J., and Grace Fellowship Ministries in Greer, S.C., where he had a second home.

“He was just a tremendous friend to people,” said his wife, Susan. “You could call him at 3 in the morning and he would get up and drive to California to come to your aid.”

Mr. Dellaventura’s passions were rooting for the New York Yankees, riding his Harley-Davidson through the mountains of South Carolina, boxing, and watching old movies.

Most of all, he loved spending time with his family.

Surviving, along with his wife of 20 years, the former Susan Villani, are his sons, Anthony, Philip, Nicholas and Salvatore, and his daughter, Lucianne Dellaventura.

I met Susan and Salvatore, but not the rest of his family. My thoughts and prayers are with them.

I will miss you, my friend, as well as our spirited arguments and your solemn promise that you would settle the hash of anyone who messed with me. Your wild tattoos and multicolored, humongous Harley, making all kinds of rumbly noises in the parking lot. Must be Snake, I would think.

Reflexively, I sometimes still think it's you.

There are only a few in the world like you. So few. If you have indeed found that Afterlife we so often argued about, put in a good word for your favorite Lost Cause. I love you, and we sure do miss our favorite ex-NYPD cop here in Carolina.

Rest in peace.

Reflections on Jack Ruby

Depending upon who you read, Jack Ruby was a petty strip-club gangster or an important mobster-friend of Sam Giancana.







NOTE: Last year at this time, I posted this and I've gotten a fair number of hits on it ever since. I am running it again, since it accurately captures my nostalgic feelings/memories at the end of every November. Comments welcome on both posts.


~*~


It was November 24, 1963.

I remember that I was sitting on a footstool, my nose approximately 8 inches from my family's black-and-white TV set. If I got too close, I couldn't see anything, but I was intent on getting just as close as I could. I wanted to see it all.

It was Sunday morning, and I remember well the hubbub of the adults in the kitchen. I was the only one in the small dining room that served as our TV room. I heard the TV-news announcer say that Lee Oswald was going to be transferred in an armored vehicle. I didn't know what an armored vehicle was, but it sounded awesome. And yet... that little guy? As a six-year-old, I was surprised that such a skinny little guy could be the villain of the hour. I had expected the president's assassin to look something like Brutus, the dastardly evil man of the Popeye cartoons... or at least, he should bear some resemblance to Lex Luthor. This skinny, slight, soft-spoken fellow who calmly denied being near Dealey Plaza? Well, he was just spooky, that's all. They kept calling him a Marxist and a communist, words I didn't yet understand but knew meant that he was a bad person. (I would say the word "communist" in 1963 had the similar gravitas of the word "terrorist" in 2009.) I was enthralled by the constant TV-coverage, the switching back and forth from Dallas to Washington... to our new president, Lyndon Johnson and then back to the basement of Dallas city jail. It was as dazzling as space travel.

Middle-American culture had changed utterly and completely in only two days.

For one thing, the TV had not always been on before. You turned on the TV to watch something, and when it was over, you turned it off. Sometimes you left it on, but usually not. Among the working classes, it was not unusual for some families not to own a TV at all. There were often anti-TV holdouts in these families; cantankerous, old-school types who thought TV was all rubbish and probably unchristian. But after this weekend? This archaic viewpoint was consigned to the dustbin of history. Back in my first-grade class, I would hear about parents who had rushed out to buy a TV at long last. They simply could not bear to be left out.

The TV had been turned on, and stayed on. It was on when I got home from school, dismissed early due to the tragedy, and it was on throughout the funeral. And it stayed on forever after.

And the TV was on as they transferred Lee Oswald to the armored vehicle, or attempted to. There was much talk about security because tensions were running extremely high; there was palpable fury throughout the city of Dallas. When police had forcibly taken Oswald from the theater where they had discovered him, hostile mobs surrounded the police car, and it was said he might have been torn to pieces if the crowd had been able to get their hands on him.

Listening to all this, I was riveted. I remember peering intently as they brought him out, my nose almost right on the screen: There he is!

And then, the inevitable disappointment: such a nonthreatening little dude he was.

I peered and peered and then... bang. Oswald was down.

What?

It was so quick. If not for the firecracker-noise of the gun, I would never have known.

"They shot him!" I shouted, "They shot Oswald! They shot him!"

The adults stampeded as one entity, from the kitchen to the small dining room where I was. My mother, grandparents, some other relatives I have since forgotten... possibly my cousin Charlene.

"I SAW it!" I was shouting, "I SAW IT!"

SSSSSSSssssssshhhhhhhh! Everyone was shushing me. Had I really seen that? The adults' eyes were collectively popping. I felt pretty important for being the one to see it.

"He must be really mad about the president, huh?" I asked.

Nobody answered. They kept shushing me, as obviously-shaken news-announcers talked about what they had just witnessed.

And then, the adults were all looking at each other, that way adults did when they were thinking things that they would not share with children.

Finally, my grandfather said, in what I have come to call his Christian Science Wisdom voice: "Well, that really stinks."

My mother's eyes were wide, wide, wide.

My grandfather shook his head and said "Stinks!" again, rather emphatically. My mother nodded gravely back at him.

I didn't know what he meant then.

The TV-announcers were saying his name: Jack Ruby. The man's name was Jack Ruby.

~*~

Like millions of Americans that day, I saw a murder on live television. Because the murder was widely perceived as an act of justice, nobody worried about the ill effects on all of us children who saw it. And later, many years and decades later, when we began to doubt that what we saw was justice and instead wondered if it had been the silencing of a co-conspirator... nobody worried about the erosion of our morality and the consequential development of our cynicism.

But I trace it all back to that day, the day in the basement of the Dallas city jail.

They ask us, do you remember where you were when John F. Kennedy was assassinated? But I always ask, instead: What did you think when his accused murderer was pronounced dead? Because the silencing began then, the questions asked that will forever remain unanswered. (As Norman Mailer once explained the existence of the angry kids of the 60s: They hated the authority because the authority had lied.)

My grandfather was right. It certainly did stink. And the stench covered everything.

The lies of the powerful were uncovered and exposed before us, that morning in the basement of the Dallas city jail.

Some of us never forgot.