This story came out of a chain of events. On Facebook, several of us were talking about the late Mac Wiseman and how his voice was so unique and that led me to think about Texas songwriter Guy Clark, who also had a unique and warm voice. I then went to YouTube and came upon a video of Clark singing “The Cape.” The lyrics of Clark’s song brought back a memory of Tom Rambo and several of us neighborhood kids reenacting something we’d seen in a movie serial.
There was a Saturday matinee serial featuring some guys who flew around in phony looking spaceships wearing something that resembled a two-gallon bucket on their heads and capes that attached to their necks and ran down their backs attaching to the wrists and ankles. When they saw something bad happening on the ground they zoom down in their rocket, open the side door, and leap into the air with their arms and legs spread out akin to a flying squirrel. They’d then swoop onto the bad guys, subdue them, and save the day.
Some of you may recall that at one time the only option we mortals had for home movies was an 8mm silent camera. Other than being the only option, the product sucked. All the neighborhood kids running round in blurry, grainy, flickering black and white globs of motion and dust.
Then came Super 8mm cameras and the quality became… I haven’t a clue. Other than costing more money I can’t say much more without Googling.
Every day there accrues a list of things that piss me off. Unless I keep notes the list is too long at the end of a given day to remember. That is a good thing, however, because it makes starting a new day a little easier. While I didn’t write anything down today here’s what I do recall.
Donald Trump made a simple slip of the tongue and called the CEO of Apple, Tim Cook, Tim Apple. Instead of just thumping his forehead and saying duh he had to make it look like he intended to call him that. He claimed he called him Tim Apple to save time. Seriously, has this egotistical asshole ever admitted to making a simple human error?
One of the worst SCOTUS decisions ever was Citizens United. Effectively it threw open the doors to campaign contributions. Mitt Romney just got hit with the biggest campaign violation fine since Citizens. His PAC, Right to Rise, illegally accepted $1.3 million from a Chinese owned corporation and was fined by the FEC $390,000. Don’t be surprised to learn that Trump gets found out for the same things.
The governor of Virginia is under fire for appearing on his medical school yearbook page either in blackface or in the uniform of a KKK member. The date was 1984, twenty years after the signing of civil rights acts and even more years since the murder of Emmett Till, the Montgomery bus boycott, or the beating of Selma marchers. Plenty of years to have learned that blackface and KKK costumes were not appropriate party wear. Plenty of time to learn that many things are offensive and that society, in general, should become aware and adjust their behaviors.
During the mid-1960s I was a student at Cerritos College in Norwalk, California. Cerritos had a football team called the Falcons and apparently, they were pretty good at the time. While I never attended one of their regular season games they did win a spot in a small college bowl game in Bakersfield called The Potato Bowl.
For whatever reason, several friends and I decided to make the drive. The Potato Bowl was played in a stadium that was literally a bowl dug into the earth and surrounded by bleacher seats.
The following photo was posted on Facebook by what I assume was a satire group. The claim was made that Ted Cruz spoke with the MAGA teenager about learning to live with “punchable face” syndrome. I’m not going to look it up but I’ll assume there is no such thing in the journals of medicine and it’s a joke. But, take a close look at the side by side photos and tell me you don’t see at least these two things:
They both have faces that with a couple of Miller High Lifes in you, you’d be tempted to punch.
MAGA boy could be Ted Cruz’ love child. There is obviously a shared DNA.
People talk about the evils of big business, big tobacco, big pharma, big hospitals and all the other “big” that seem to be monopolizing our lives. After watching my son I have to now add “big latex” to the list.
When I was a kid the only rubber gloves I remember people having in their homes were a pair of thicker yellow gloves with fuzzy liners that some women used to ward off “dishpan hands.” I don’t recall my mother using those or anything other than her bare hands to wash dishes, kill a chicken, mop the bathroom floor, or scrub the tub and toilet.
When my clock landed on seventy I began taking note of what being a senior citizen involved. Like all phases of my life, I see this one as just another chapter in the book. I’ve pretty much accepted each chapter and enjoyed turning the pages. I think my only fear is still having a life while having no quality of life. But in the meanwhile, here’s a few of the aging thing I noticed most recently.
I’ve always loved to travel but in the past year or so, I’ve not been willing to venture too far from my family doctor and the medical community I’m familiar with. Even twenty years younger I didn’t want to get too far from a Walmart and a hospital. On two Florida fishing trips, I ended up in an ER and had to get back home under adverse conditions, including a severely broken shoulder. These days going to Columbus may be too far.
For much of my life, I’ve heard warnings that young children and the elderly should take certain precautions such as, be sure to get your flu shot, pneumonia can be deadly for geezers so be sure to get your pneumonia shot, or colon cancer is the silent killer so with a smile say “I’d love it” when a proctologist asks to shove a ten-foot rubber hose up your butt.
A sure sign of old age and one that slowly creeps up on you is losing most connections to popular culture. Just watch the Grammy Awards or sit around listening to your grandchildren talk about what they’re doing for entertainment. You know you’re old when it all sounds like Swahili.
Somewhere along life’s journey waitresses and nurses began calling me honey or sweety. I’m probably on the same page with Andy Rooney with that one. Look girly, my name is Larry or Mr. Chapman. Hell, I’d even be okay with gramps.
One I do enjoy is having young people hold doors open for me and calling me sir. If I could only get them to salute as I pass by.
Back in the 1950s metal motor oil cans were everywhere and there were no American Pickers can collectors to gobble them up. Look behind most service stations and you’d find a pile of discarded oil cans leaking their remaining contents onto a thoroughly saturated and toxic plot of soil. I don’t know what eventually happened to these piles of cans but I guess junkmen came along and hauled them to Charley Cohen’s.
I don’t speak Italian and have no formal education regarding opera. I just enjoy hearing the wonderful voices of people like Pavoratti. I came across this video of him singing in a quartet of great voices. Now I have to deal with a personal question. Did I enjoy this clip because of the music or the abundance of full-frontal cleavage? Kind of like why you enjoyed Playboy. The truth was you enjoyed the nudity and the monthly centerfold. Some tried to claim, however, that they bought it just for the articles.
This is January 1, 2019, and so far it’s not been much different than yesterday, December 31, 2018. Two major differences are, there are far more hangovers being cared for today and there are tens of thousands of people not waiting ten to fifteen hours in the rains of New York’s Times Square for a crystal ball to be lowered at midnight. If there’s anything I can’t imagine it’s me standing in the rain with 100,000 others waiting to watch a shiny thing descend upon the earth.
When it comes to New Year Eve stories, however, those ball watchers will have a story that will far exceed anything I’ve done on New Year’s Eve. Neither Janet or I have been much for leaving the house on these occasions. In 2000 we did attend a community millennium celebration and maybe a couple of years afterward we went to a nearby neighbor’s and played Trivial Pursuit with some friends. Increasingly we don’t even bother staying up to watch the ball drop, which was the case last night. By eleven o’clock I was asleep and having dreams about when my first piss call would take place. In case you’re into these things, it was 1:22 am.
STARBUCKS: Starbucks opened its first coffee shop in 1971. Today there are over 28,000 shops spanning the globe. As the fringe right likes to say, that’s a lot of soldiers in the war against Christmas!