Years ago, I saw George Carlin’s routine on the ridiculousness of English language. One example he used: “Why do we drive on a parkway and park in a driveway?” That launched me on a lifelong journey where I have spent many useless hours pondering some imponderables. I had intended to do a whole blog on them, but my mind wandered and the only thing I could think of to tie these thoughts together were the very randomness of them.
You have been warned.
Some things don’t make sense to me, such as award shows and the awards that force these shows upon us. Forgive my esoteric and somewhat academic take on this, but awards are dumb. I have myriad examples of this, from Milli Vanilli winning a best new artist Grammy to Richard Burton never winning an Oscar to Parasite winning Best picture over … ANY of the other nominees to Better Call Saul never winning ANY EMMYS!!!! None. Zip. Zilch. Nada. Conspiracy? Hey, I just state the facts, you make up your own minds …
What is the proper length of time post-election to leave a bumper sticker on one’s vehicle? For example I still have my Carter-Mondale on the old DeSoto. Time to remove?
I watched Spectre the other night, the fourth in the Daniel Craig Bond series and was struck by lameness of its theme song. Sam Smith did it, I remember that, but nothing else, which led me to rank the top five Bond theme songs, as well as the bottom five.
Top five:
1. Goldfinger, Shirley Bassey – Usually these things are a matter of taste, but if you disagree with this, you’re just plain wrong.
2. Live and Let Die, Paul McCartney and Wings – I went back and forth between this and the next one for #2 (so to speak), but this gets the nod because, well, McCartney. Duh.
3. Skyfall, Adele – Seldom has a Bond theme song so richly captured the emotional texture of the movie to follow. Brava!
4. Nobody Does it Better, Carly Simon – Great song for easily the best of the Roger Moore Bond films.
5. Diamonds are Forever, Shirley Bassey (again!) – I had this tied with View to a Kill, but it came down to Shirley Bassey v. Duran Duran and Connery v. Moore. Enough said.
Now the bottom five:
Five-way tie because they are so bad I can’t remember any of them.
Speaking of songs, I also have a top five jukebox song list. This was compiled many moons ago when I was acting director of the CIA … not really, just wanted to see if you were paying attention. I was an actor/director at ASF (the Alabama Shakespeare Festival). Stop snickering up your sleeve; I shall pen an upcoming blog about my time at ASF which tuned out to be some of the best years of my career as I had the great good fortune of working with many talented actors, directors and designers from all across the country. Our country. My ASF memories will include the irresistible joys of sweet tea, the Postmaster General of the United States, and Barry Goldwater.
I kid you not.
Anyway, there was a 24-hour pool hall in Montgomery called The Gambler. Being actor types, we would frequently get out of the theater late at night and, being actor types, we liked to go places to drink, laugh and share stories about how great we were in that evening’s show. The Gambler not only served beer, and lots of it, it had a dozen pool tables and a robust jukebox. I ventured to get my money’s worth from said jukebox so I tended to choose long songs. Herewith my five faves:
1. L. A. Woman – The Doors
2. Sympathy for the Devil – The Stones
3. Hey Jude – The Beatles
4. Layla – Eric Clapton
5. Smoke on the Water – Deep Purple
Here’s one of myriad things I don’t get: why would you want to migrate to Texas, as we are told sooooo many people do, when you are walking into a state governed by an ignoramus, and where you could easily end up with a $17,000 power bill? Yes, it is the state of the great Willie Nelson, Austin City Limits and the body of Christ … speaking of which, if you were really planning on hanging out for Jesus to reappear don’t you think a place called Corpus Christi would be the obvious place to do it? But to my earlier question, I have two words (prepare yourself for they are rather obscene) that should strike bone-chilling terror into anyone contemplating a move to the Lone Star state – Ted Cruz.
I’m still shuddering.
One thing that sort of gets my goat these days … I think I made a "gets my goat" joke in an earlier blog so I am laying off that for now … is the frothing vitriol (good name for a band!) directed at teachers for, gasp, not wanting to put their health at risk by reopening schools too early. I get it – a lot of us are confused by the seeming randomness of the re-openings and vaccinations (why does an 18-year-old vet tech get one and a 64-year-old blathering actor/director/writer is still owie -less?), yet it seems allowing high school sports are okay, even football. A sport in which kids are literally breathing onto other people’s faces ON EVERY PLAY! But indoor learning is still off limits in most places. Well, unlike what some folks think … I’m looking at you … no, to your left … yes, you …one can’t wave a magic wand and make it safe for students, teachers and administrators to return to the classroom. How about getting it right instead of fast? There’s a sexual joke in there somewhere but I can’t quite untangle it.
Back to where I started. I am on Nextdoor Healdsburg. You may be on the Nextdoor (fill in blank) of your town. If you are you know that it is a sort of public whining/bitching/kvetching platform where anyone who signs up gets to post things like: “Anyone else hear that loud bang at 3:30am?” “Need a recommendation for how to dissolve human bones.” and “Just saw a woman pick an orange from a tree that is definitely not hers!” as well as other riveting posts. This week, there was a photo of someone’s personal items, I believe there might have been a sleeping bag, backpack and other personal effects on our downtown plaza, with the caption, “Is this the new normal?”
Responses varied from those who fell in line and pretty much said (without uttering it in precise terms) that this was a crying shame that our little tourist mecca should be blighted by the unsightly evidence of our homeless population, to those who appealed to our humanity and posted things along the lines of “Instead of vilifying these people, how ‘bout we figure out a way to help them?”
It was a reminder of my love/hate relationship with Nextdoor; I love that it connects people to each other across the community and I myself have used it a couple times to alert my neighbors when I was giving away stuff like an air hockey table, or a bike, or the secret to life, but it also exposes me to some real pieces of … work out there. Folks who seemingly relish complaining about something, anything! And those who opt to post some rather alarming views. Freedom of speech and all that, but I find I’m better off when I just read the initial post headline, such as “Who else saw the squirrel pushing a shopping cart out of Safeway yesterday?” I try to avoid diving down the rabbit hole of the comments sections. That way madness lies.
I leave you with this, because that’s how my mind works. I grew up watching TV, as many of you did (even if you won’t admit it) and I long ago got over the shame of knowing so much about so many TV shows while sometimes not quite being able to pinpoint my children’s birthdates. I have seen it all my friends, from TheDick Van Dyke Show to Get Smart to All in the Family to The Mary Tyler Moore Show to Mash to Happy Days to Family Ties to Cheers to Frasier to Seinfeld to 30 Rock to The Good Place to Schitt’s Creek.
While far from my favorite, I do hold a soft spot in my heart (and head) for Gilligan’s Island, perhaps the stupidest show every to grace the airwaves, save for My Mother the Car and the last season of Lost. And the greatest episode of that legendary series? Easy. The one where Phil Silvers ends up stranded on the island … for an island off any charts or maps they had a remarkable number of people who ended up stranded there. He played Harold Hecuba, a Broadway producer, so naturally the castaways concoct a brilliant plan to get off the island. They will create a musical, perform it for Harold, he will love it so much he will rescue them all and produce the show on Broadway.
The show? Here is the brilliant part. For some reason (the same one as to why all the castaways other than Gilligan and the Skipper seem to have brought dozens of changes of wardrobe for a “three-hour tour”), the Howells also have a record player and believe it was the Professor who possessed an instrumental album of the opera Carmen, so … are you sitting down? … they decide to do a musical version of Hamlet (yes, that Hamlet) set to the music of Carmen. Gilligan, of course, was Hamlet, with the Skipper as Polonius, Ginger miscast as Ophelia (should been Mary Ann, but that’s my one nit to pick). You don’t have to imagine it, just go on YouTube and search for Gilligan’s Island Hamlet. You can thank me later. Never has such a ludicrous show reached such absurdly sublime comic heights.
Well, as you can tell this week had precious little structure and I think I am randomed out. But I assure you that once you watch any of the Gilligan/Carmen/Hamlet clips you will never hear Shakespeare’s words in the same way.
Woe may be you.