BEST OF...2008

2008 - THE BEST OF THE YEAR

Album : Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band - The Beatles

Book : Mastering The Art Of French Cooking - Julia Child

Cereal : Raisin Bran

Dog : Lassie

Earthquake : San Francisco, 1906

Fried Food : Latkes

Game : Snakes And Ladders

Head Injury : Little Bump

Itch : Lower Back

Jar : The Urn

Knick-Knack : Head Planter

Lawn Ornament : Smoochy Elves

Movie : The Godfather

Noise : The Little 'Ting' The Toaster Makes

Oval Object : Egg

Pencil : Ticonderoga # 2

Quart : 2% Milk

Reason To Stay Home : Too Cold And Rainy

Sign : 'For Sale By Owner'

TV Show : The Twilight Zone Marathon

Unfinished Manuscript : The Mystery Of Edwin Drood

Vaseline : 16 oz. Size

Word : Furtive

Xylophone Player : Lionel Hampton

Yin : Yang

Zelda : That Chick From 'Dobie Gillis'

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A YEAR AIN'T NOTHIN' BUT A NUMBER

Dear Readers,
As the old year winds down to it's final few hours, most people pause and take a quick look back at everything that's gone down in the last few months (No more top ten lists, pleeze). After we've tallied up our gains and losses, it's time to take the broader view and look at the events that made our world what it is on this New Years' Eve eve. To me, this year, moreso than most, has been about the sheer size of numbers. The newscasts and conversations of the nation were stuffed with numbers, numbers getting bigger or smaller, better or worse. Hardly any number remained static.
One number that remained the same was the 270 electoral votes that it takes to elect a President, and more citizens voted in a general election in history to select the first African-American (the 44th over all) as our next commander-in-chief. Wall Street, that Mount Olympus of numbers, looted the U.S. Treasury to the tune of at least 700 billion dollars, and probably one trillion dollars, once the bonuses are added in. The real number will probably never be known. Meanwhile, all the Stock Markets posted record losses (almost on a daily basis in September-October) and Americans set new records in tossing away unopened 401K statements, lest the numbers contained therein drive them to despair. While unemployment numbers haven't reached record levels yet, it's not for lack of trying. Plus, our national deficit has so many numbers in it, Apple and Microsoft working together couldn't accurately calculate it, let alone give it a name.
Some guy named Madoff made $50 billion go poof, while the 'Detroit Three' asked for $25 billion so that they could keep making 17 million cars that nobody really wants. The New York Yankees got themselves a $1.5 billion new stadium built, then went out and spent $500 million on contracts for three players! Shoppers who went to malls to buy for Christmas found themselves looking at 70% discounts on popular gift items, then were told they did not spend enough to keep dozens of retailers out of chapter 11. Oil went to $147 a barrel and gas soared to $4.00 a gallon, then went to $38 a barrel ($1.70 a gallon) and is headed back up again, making us all nauseous. The music industry struggles to sell recordings in the same numbers they used to, and good old consumer technology gave us more numbers of not-so-needed gadgets with more gigamemories - like 3G iphones, or, whatever - so we could never be alone with our thoughts ever again. Perhaps they have saved us all from contemplating the sheer weight of the numbers in 2008 (Which was also the biggest A.D. year, ever.).
Since I never bother to do any research or fact-checking on these blogs, I may have got a thing or two incorrect, but if you stop and think about it (stop twittering for a second, will you?) this year's numbers were quite staggering. If only there were some cosmic bailout available to us all as recompense for the blizzard of numbers stinging at our faces, we might feel more positive as we head in to the first day of a year with yet another big number - 2009. Calculate that.
Well, I know how many times I put the kettle on this year, because I've carefully counted the teabags (because they're from England, they cost more this year, too). And, I'm always watching the numbers on the clock, because somewhere on this planet, it's about 4 o'clock, and time for a nice cup of tea.

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SAME TIME, NEXT YEAR

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PUT THE BLAME ON FAME, BOY

THEME TIME RADIO HOUR WITH BOB DYLAN - SEASON 3, #9 "FAMOUS PEOPLE"
Broadcast December 10, 2008

In this episode, Dylan presents a theme he knows more than a little about: Being famous. I guess there are any number of songs about famous people, but judging by this collection, not very many of them are any good. The best example of this is the leadoff song, Jack Palance, by The Mighty Sparrow. I don't know if he's fallen off his twig, but a song about the resemblance between older street prostitutes(' I'm looking for youth, not experience', says he) and the fist-faced actor is not worth writing, let alone performing. Nice beat, though. Does anyone remember Janis Martin? No? Well, she was the 'Female Elvis', apparently, and her My Boy Elvis does no credit to old snakehips, in spite of the solid efforts of a great rockabilly backup band. King Stitt checks in with Lee Van Cleef, a tribute to a 60's movie hardman with the refrain ' I'm ugly, I'm ugly'. Not a great candidate to be your next ring tone.

Neurotic Belgian painter James Ensor gets an unmemorable tribute by They Might Be Giants, and flashy fifties fruitcake, Liberace, gets the country-and-western nod from Charlie Adams, a version he might have considered buying up the rights to and destroying, sparing all of us with intact hearing. One of those early-sixties 'response' songs, The Beatles Got To Go by persons named Ken Lazarus and Keith Lyn only comes alive when they parody a Beatles harmony at the end, reminding us again of how, back in the day, those lovable Liverpudlians stood out like a poppy in a field of corn. Bill Cox's The Fate Of Will Rogers And Wiley Post is my favorite track, a singin' newspaper account of the accident that claimed the lives of the stars who set the standard for celebrity plane crashes to follow. Bob wraps up the set with probably the worst song Simon & Garfunkel allowed to see the light of day, So Long, Frank Lloyd Wright, about missing the flamboyant modernist architect (missing an architect?). Simon must have wrote it after - in desperation - smoking a page torn from Jansen's History Of Art, then tripping down the aisles of Rizzoli's Books.

Artists are continually inspired by famous people, but not to write good songs about them. Once in a great while, a really good one comes along, though. As is becoming a frequent feature of TTRH lately, Dylan leaves out one of his own - Hurricane - that actually helped to get an innocent guy out of jail. Plus, it was a very good tune. Still, Bobby D. remains the most interesting and engaging deejay on the planet, in spite of turgid material, like The Clash doing their tribute to Montgomery Clift, The Right Profile. Gee, I was hoping it would be about John Barrymore, but it was just another song about a fame fatale.

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CAROLINE, NO

Dear Readers,
Politics is not an arena for the faint of heart and New York State politics is an arena where it's best to not have a heart. So it was with a certain amount of bemusement that I began to notice that famous nice-lady, Caroline Kennedy, was undertaking a whirlwind tour of New York State this past week to tout herself as the replacement in the U.S. Senate for the soon-to-be-kicked-upstairs incumbent, Hillary Clinton.
For people of a certain age, Caroline will be - in perpetuity - the cute little six-year old daughter of President John F. Kennedy, and all that she has done in the intervening years between 1963 and 2008 matters not a whit to the average person. Marrying Mr. Schlossberg and creating a lot of new, little Schlossbergs, plus all the charity work and fund-raising has not exactly burned itself in the public mind, as beneficial as it might all be. Chiefly, she is known by most people as the sister of People Magazine's 1988 'Hunk Of The Year', dimwit scion of the JFK mantle and editor of a now-defunct, pointless vanity magazine, the late, dead John-John, Jr.
Once known as 'America's Royal Family', the Kennedys have multiplied out of all proportion and have seen several of their members in and out of political office since the arrival on the scene of the 'three brothers', John F., Robert F., and the Shemp of the trio, Teddy. But aside from the originals, the next waves of elected family pols have been more notable for their appearances in police blotters and rehab centers than for championing any great issue or legislation. The grandchildren of the defeatist anti-Semite head of the family, Joseph P. Kennedy, have done far better outside elected office. They have been of some benefit to the nation in the private sector, running environmental and energy-assistance non-profits, while keeping up the family traditions of inebriation and adultery.
Caroline, however, has pretty much avoided the limelight, stayed free of scandal and has worked quietly behind the scenes effectively promoting her pet projects. But now, she has suddenly developed an interest in the U.S. Senate, and has begun to openly campaign for a job that only one person has the power to grant - The Governor of New York, David Patterson.
She's making it look like her selection is now a fait accompli by running around 'introducing' herself to a state she has barely seen, except for a 12-block radius around her Park Avenue apartment. Patterson, who is a dyed-in-the-wool New York political creature, was going to make some enemies no matter who he picked, but if he doesn't pick Caroline now, he's going to wish that he'd been caught out with a high-priced hooker instead of his nerdy weirdo predecessor, Eliot Schvitzer.
My question is why would Caroline even want to be a Senator? Why join that pack of gormless, fame-hunting, fortune-seeking mish-mash of scary clowns known collectively as the U.S. Senate? She's already famous, already rich and doesn't have to see her life story played out on the front pages of the newspapers every day. The seat she seeks has been used as a springboard to a try for the Presidency once or twice, but it's an office usually held by hard-core policy wonks (Moynahan, Schumer, Javits) who would rather attend a subcommittee hearing on recycled-concrete storage facilities planned for the Buffalo suburbs than fanny around with socialites and film stars. I recall a memorable photo of Hillary, during her early days in the Senate, that appeared on the front page of The New York Post. She's shown, sitting in a Senate committee hearing, looking like she was about to slip into a profound coma, she was so bored. Do you want an image like that on your resume Ms. Kennedy?
Maybe she's intending to park herself in the Senate for eight years, then take a stab at the White House in 2016. If that's her plan, she'd better hope that Hillary doesn't get wind of it. Having sweated out Sarah Palin's historic run that would have made her the first woman elected on a national ticket, she's not going to watch the next shot go to some broad who got where she was because of her last name. No siree. So, did Caroline catch 'presidential fever' while campaigning for Obama? Is this what it's all about?
My advice to Ms. Kennedy is to get out of the way and let a real New York sleazeball get the job, someone who will really work hard to get that bridge to nowhere in Schenectady funded, who will be happy to make sure a wind farm doesn't get built within 100 miles of a rich campaign donor's lakeside mansion, and who won't bat an eyelash when some lobbyist slips a fat wad of $100's under the table to insure the death of a bill to regulate upstate toxic-waste dumping. Getting into politics now, Caroline, would harm your reputation, like all those awful films Shirley Temple made after she hit puberty did hers. Your himbo brother nosedived into the Atlantic for no clear reason, (probably because he realized that you were the smart one) so please, Caroline, don't do your own nosedive. Let us remember you the way you were - a cute, bit player on the good ship Camelot.
At least I'm smart enough to know that I need a nice hot drink on this cold Winter solstice, so I am announcing that I will put the kettle on, because somewhere, it's about 4 o'clock, signalling that it's time for some tea.

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YAWN OF A NEW AGE

Dear Readers,
I heard something on the radio the other day about a research project that sought to figure out why it is that we yawn. Apparently, according to the conclusions reached by the scientists conducting the study, we yawn in order to get more oxygen to the brain, not because we're bored or tired. In the researchers' view, this extra oxygen helps us to become more alert and to concentrate better(like first thing in the morning), thus we gather more information. Plus, the reason that one yawn will trigger other yawns in a group of people is an atavistic trait of self (or group) protection like, ooh, he's getting more air to his brain so he can be more alert to a saber-toothed tiger attack, so I'd better get more air so I can stay alert, too. Sounds reasonable, eh?
If that theory holds any water, we all ought to be yawning like crazy. The current economic crisis threatens everybody to some degree, and being more alert to dangers is not a bad idea these days, as it seems that too many of us have been semi-dozing in a fog of insouciance and material excess. (I can feel that you're all yawning now, but perhaps that's because your mind wants to stay alert, and think this all through.)
The head of the English Anglican Church, Archbishop Rowan Williams was interviewed recently and said that the financial crisis was 'good for society' as it was time for a 'reality check' of our irresponsible spending and get-rich-quick schemes. A little preachy, (what else could he be?)yes? Trouble is, he lives quite a comfortable life, in his palace (Lambeth) where minions are available 24/7 to do his bidding, so while you have to admit that the bugger is right, he's pretty insulated from ordinary life - plus, he's got God well on his side. But maybe it is time for some sort of reality check, especially since real checks - the kind you can deposit - are getting rarer. After years of go-go, gotta-have-it, don't-know-why-exactly, don't-care-how-deep-in-debt-I-am living, it may be time for a collective yawn.
Maybe the best role model for this need of an oxygen rush is our own President Obama. Here's a guy who thrilled crowds during the campaign with his impassioned speeches, his inspirational vision and his ability to connect emotionally with our better instincts. But since his election, he's turned into a serious, sober and unflashy leader, one who is seeking to tone down the bitter partisan rhetoric and try and defuse the rancorous ideological divisions in order to seek the best solutions for our country's problems. Some people are now finding him boring. Yawn - hey, maybe he's right!
America has been and always will be a pretty kinetic place. By the world's standards, we're still a fairly young nation - a rambunctious adolescent - so that's to be expected. I'd like to think that all that's happened in the last few months - including what is to come in the next few months - has been like we're a teenager who's had a car crash caused by driving too fast and too recklessly. We're alive, but shaken, and have a day in court to(not) look forward to. But I sense there's still an arrogance there, a belief that 'what doesn't kill me, makes me stronger', and no one around with the authority to order us to grow up. I don't know that our new President is the guy who wants to tell us that, maybe the best he could do would be to create an atmosphere where we can figure it all out for ourselves. I'm hopeful, but doubtful, too.
In the endless loop of coming-of-age stories that is the USofA, there probably will be a time where growing up actually happens, and perhaps then, a new age of nation-wide responsibility will gain some traction. But it will take a working majority of people who will accept that less is more and that greed is bad, and like the beardy English Archbishop said, that 'we can't spend our way to a healthy economy'. We're nowhere near that majority at present. Yet can a collective, concentrating yawn fix things? It's a start. Hey! We're not bored, we're just needing some extra air to our brains. Stay alert, kids.
Well, I need to add some extra water to the kettle, because, even without yawning, I know that somewhere, it's 4 o'clock, and time for a nice cup of tea.

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HELP IS IN THE LIMO

A STATEMENT FROM THE WHITE HOUSE

In the wake of the fraud allegations in the matter of the Bernard Madoff investments scheme, I believe that it is the Federal Government's responsibility to step in and rescue those who have been hurt by this tragic situation. Therefore, this morning, I have signed an executive order to create a new government agency, called the Federal Ponzi - Scheme Assistance Program, or P-SAP.

This program will be funded by $500 billion in taxpayer dollars that can be used to compensate those who invested in Mr. Madoff's scheme and have found that they have lost enormous amounts of money, with no chance of recovery. As President, I feel it is my duty to protect the nation's billionaire investors from losses that would seriously affect their lavish lifestyles, put at risk their third and fourth homes, undermine their ungrateful children's huge trust funds and jeopardize their ability to hire the best divorce lawyers when they decide to trade up to a younger model. I would be derelict in my duty, as their President, to leave them with only 75 to 90% of their fortunes at this holiday time of the year. Defrauded investors will be able to draw from this fund immediately, with no restrictions, and restore their vast family finances to pre-Madoff levels, insuring that our nation's richest families will not have to endure additional hardships as they bravely face the coming economic difficulties. My government wants to guarantee that our nation will retain it's reserve of investors who's sound and reasoned judgement has made our country what it is today.

God Bless America, (signed) George W. Bush

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NO TAPS ON MY MAPS

In this Theme Time Radio Hour, broadcast the first week of December, Mr. Dylan sets out on a trip he's been on once before. "Street Map" is almost the same theme as "Map" from the first season of TTRH, but heads off on some interesting new sideroads as he broadens the journey to cover not only streets, but roads and highways as well.
I don't like to criticize such a unique and inspired deejay, but, for my taste, he could have left Laura Cantrell's soppy 14th Street in a roadside trashcan. I know what I would have replaced that ditty with, but Bob remains modest and leaves aside maybe the best 'highway' song ever, his own Highway 61.
In spite of that weak start, I can't quarrel with any of his other choices, which are uniformly classic. Roger Miller's King Of The Road was one of the first 'crossover' hits of the modern era and cemented his reputation as not only a great artist, but a fantastic wordsmith. Ray Charles' Lonely Avenue is a reminder of how edgy and wicked his early sound was -Do Not Pass. The surprise turn in the set is provided by an acapella demo rendition of Hit The Road, Jack done by Percy Mayfield. You can hear Brother Ray (and I think, a Raylette or two in the background) road-testing one of his big hits, trading verses with Mayfield.
Remember Green Day? I forgot how good they can be after a quick glance in the rear view mirror at Boulevard Of Broken Dreams tailgaiting me. And we get to hear Willin', the hopped-up, long haul trucker's anthem, first mapped out by Little Feat, a version that is streets ahead of anybody else's. The Nat Cole Trio gets on the map with - what else - (Get Your Kicks On) Route 66 and Dylan finishes up the journey with Woody Guthrie, Cisco Houston and Sonny Terry driving home an earthy version of Going Down The Road Feeling Bad that makes The Grateful Dead's concert-staple version sound like The Ray Coniff Singers.
I'm still a little turned around as to why this episode was called "Street Map". Shouldn't it more properly been titled "Highway" or "Road"?. Still, you don't argue with a genius (especially one who gives tacit approval to the bootlegging of his show) and Bob fills in the gaps between songs with stories and pertinent trivia, like the origin of familiar words, such as skid row and hobo. Plus, we get rare treats like a clip of Jack Kerouac reading from On The Road and even a snippet of Kraftwerk's synth-driven Autobahn. And, in his roster of show-biz legends who have died on the highway, we discover that Tom Mix (1930's cowboy star) was killed by his luggage. I did not know that.
Thanks again, Mr. D., for the great directions.

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STOP BY A LANGUAGE COP

Guest Column by Sgt. Abelard Z. Webster, US Language Patrol

Can I see your license? Did you know you were using the English Language in an extremely careless way? My problem with you people today is the way you use the word 'gentleman'. Do you have any idea of what you are doing?
For instance, how many times have I heard, on TV or radio, an eyewitness to some bank robbery or some other horrific crime, talking to a reporter saying "well, the gentleman pulled out a gun and shot the teller between the eyes". Do you have any idea how stupid that sounds? The dictionary that I keep in my back pocket describes 'gentleman' thusly: 1. "A man of gentle or noble birth or superior social position" 2. " A well-mannered and considerate man with high standards of proper behavior". Does that describe any perp you can think of? In my whole history of tracking down language abusers, I can only think of one lawbreaker that might fit those descriptions: The Scarlet Pimpernel, and I think that guy was made up.
When, will we ever stop describing the guy who just killed his entire family as 'the gentleman who is accused of the crime'? I must admit, even many of my fellow brothers and sisters in law enforcement will describe the suspect in a terrorist arson as the gentleman in custody. Oh dear, how one does cringe.
I can't do anything about my superiors, but while I have you pulled over, I ought to put you in mouthcuffs, but I'll let you off with a warning this time. Just promise me if you are ever interviewed by anybody about some stabbing or abduction or drive-by shooting that you will restrain yourself from describing the miscreant as a gentleman. Use any of the following descriptions when describing, say, the unknown bank-robber : the thug, the cretin, the nasty man, the bad guy, the twinkie-eating creep, Mr. Stinky, the brute, that Republican, my ex-husband, the commie, the criminal mastermind, that Wall Street Stockbroker, the poop-for-brains, the Little Elvis, the putz, the anti-socialist, the Captain Kangaroo, the silly-billy, the loser, the naughty, naughty boy or the green booger - but pleeeeeezzzeee, NOT 'Gentleman'! Almost anything else will do.
Well, take care now, and think a little before you speak.

Tea With S.B. prints guest columns from time to time but the views expressed are not necessarily the viewpoints of this blog...err...except for this one.

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WHAT'S AT THE BOTTOM OF YOUR BIRDCAGE?

ODE TO A NEWSPAPER

I see you on the stands,

Your headlines make demands -

To buy you and to read you.

Your ink gets on my hands,

Yet I'm your faithful fan -

This Ode's to you, Newspaper.

You're in such troubled climes,

A-heading for lean times -

The world no longer needs you.

Your price is paid in dimes,

Your stories do not rhyme -

Yo-de-lay-de-hoo, Newspaper.

Now we read our 'pods,

See you as useless bods,

We've turned our backs on you.

The techno-savvy gods,

Have turfed you 'neath the sod -

Koo-Koo-Ka-Choo, Newspaper.

May you stagger on for years,

And even as fate nears,

I'll say my prayers for you.

But don't expect the tears,

Of modern man - oh dear!

This Ode's for you, Newspaper.

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A BRILLIANT IDEA

Dear Readers,
As I continue to observe the U.S. economy skidding out of control like a drunken skier, the Alice-In-Wonderland qualities of the 'rescue' and 'bailout' priorities continue to amaze me. While Wall Street gets piles of cash with no strings attached, the poor, bewildered Detroit Three have worn out several good pairs of trousers crawling on their knees to Congress - a group of sleazy dissemblers that make sex workers look noble by comparison - and still have nothing to show for their pains.
The latest auto bail-out proposal continues to flounder as southern Republican Senators keep insisting that the UAW workers voluntarily turn themselves into slave labor in order to remain 'competitive' with the foreign automakers who have installed themselves on southern U.S. soil - stealthily subsidized by unknowing southern U.S. taxpayers. Meanwhile, the Congress continues to lavishly fund military white elephants like the F-22 fighter (which nobody seems to want) because to cancel that would risk 'thousands of jobs'.
So let's recapitulate: Zillions to Wall Street - no conditions. Trillions for an airplane that no one's even sure we need - jobs saved. Is there a secret grudge against Detroit? Can you say hypocritical?
As an ex-Detroiter, I grew up surrounded by cars. Cool cars. With that in mind, I propose a solution to all autoland's problems. Ever hear of Legacy Acts in the music world? Well, they are singers and bands and groups who used to rule the record charts. Acts like The Who, The Rolling Stones and The Fugs are indulged by big music because, while they don't have blockbuster hits anymore, the sales of their back catalogues of recordings are steady and respectable, and their names on the company's roster of contracts helps the label maintain a certain legitimacy, while causing no real harm. SO, what if, as a sop to the reptilian sybarites that call themselves legislators, the auto companies announced, as a condition of a bailout deal, that they were going to suspend the creation of new vehicles and instead, return to making replicas of their greatest hits? I give you - The Legacy Line.
Just imagine, Ford dumps the homely Focus in favor of the 1964 Mustang. Chrysler announces the abandonment of the pointless Sebring to revive the spaced-out 1959 Imperial, then, General Motors checks in by scrapping the feckless Aveo to reproduce the peerless 1957 Chevy or the still radical-looking 1959 El Camino. (For you 12-year old 'know-it-alls' out there, go directly to Google Image before reading any further). Can you imagine the deafening applause from the general public? I mean, these are freakin' classics! Sure, Detroit can still make a few modern-looking pickup trucks (with gunracks) - some guys will never give up those testostero-rides. But the general public would take new pride in their home-grown products. Half of us would feel happy nostalgia and the other half would respond much like the public did when they first came out - 'I Gotta Have One!' Everything else on the road would look like leftover junk from the old East German GDR. I can't imagine one congressman who wouldn't support a plan of such brilliance. The Detroit Three could even promise to revive some old, personal Congressional favorites in order to secure support. Some Southern Senator probably has fond memories of a classic sedan where he received his first kickback. There's certainly a few Western Representatives who recall what car it was where they seduced their first intern. Their lead hearts would surely soften and they couldn't vote for the bailout fast enough!
An additional benefit would be that the automakers would be able to update the 'legacy' cars with the improvements in reliability and materials that have evolved since the original designs were manufactured. And with the Detroit Three up and running and turning out profitable popular classics again, their engineers would have the time and money to work behind the scenes to develop new electric, solar, wind, french fry fat or Diet-Coke-and-Mentos powered automobiles that would be ready for market by the time the public tired of the 'legacy' models. What true American would buy a featureless, worker-ant Honda when they could be seen cruising down the road in a brand-new, fully-finned faultless Ford Fairlane?
I offer this solution free of charge to the nation. I think the workers, the buying public and an envious world would applaud such a innovative response to these troubled times. Building and buying cars would be fun again. I'm sure the old blueprints still exist somewhere, it's just a matter of a bit of re-tooling. Bring some of the old geezers who built the originals out of retirement to help with the re-launch! India and Pakistan could have a nuclear exchange and it wouldn't knock the return of Detroit's greatest hits off the front pages! America is still the native land of the big idea, the big shot and the big scam and this way, the big three can get bigged up again.
Well, that problem's solved, so let me fill up the kettle and plug it in, because I can feel the welding sparks on my face, coming from the direction of the rust belt. If not on the assembly line, then somewhere in this auto-frenzied world, it's four o'clock, and time for some tea.

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IT'S ONLY WORDS

Dear Readers,
Yesterday, in the British Parliament during question time, Prime Minister Gordon 'Mr. Bean' Brown, who was giving an answer to a query by the opposition about the (what else?) state of the economic crisis, made a slight verbal blunder and said that his government had 'saved the world', when he meant to say that they had 'saved the economy'. Well, you would have thought he had just announced that he was Napoleon, or Batman's sister, the way the Conservative caucus exploded in a cacophony of hoots, hollers and farmyard noises in reaction to what was such a small slip of the tongue. (Anybody who still thinks British Politicians are all erudite and reserved should listen to some of the goings on at Westminster. If food was allowed in the chamber - one shudders...). The leader of the opposition, David Cameron, leapt on the flub, then spent the better part of a half hour lambasting the hapless PM for his gaffe while his backbenchers carried on like they had just found out they'd been granted free, unlimited drinking rights to every pub in England. Such an uproar over one little misplaced word.
I've been thinking a lot about words lately - more accurately, their modern usage - in a society where hand-sized computers allow us to do texting("OMG"), Twittering ("I'm twittering, what are U doing?") and make utterly pointless cell-phone calls ("I'm in the supermarket, where are you?") that seem to have monopolized the national conversation. It's nice, in a way, that we're all checking up on one another, but do we have anything much to say? Was the invention of all these giga-gadgets really necessary?
I find it quite ironic that in a modern world where we have the most incredible communication devices (Flash Gordon and Dick Tracy didn't know the half of it!) that compliment, confirm and cross-pollinate each other, the most popular use of all these melanges of microchips comes down to a few insipid words in a Twitter message or a 2-minute clip on You Tube. In a prophetic phrase, the late Marshall McLuhan (no, he's nothing to do with Lindsay LOhan) once famously remarked that 'the medium is the message'. Now, I gotta tell ya', I didn't know what the hell he was on about - until now. He was talking about TV a couple of generations ago, but he could have just as well been gassing on today about the IPhone or Blackberry ( if he wasn't...err.. dead). Words still deliver most of our messages,(often, a funny face or a middle finger will suffice) yet it seems as if fewer of them, over a shorter period of time, is just fine with most people these days, written or spoken - especially tailored for the new technology.
Ah, words. I think it was Adam who first lamented the death of the written word, and I guess every generation since has felt it's imminent demise as new inventions have pushed it farther out towards the margins. Yet it survives, albeit in much less challenging forms. Would James Joyce find a publisher today? (He just barely found one in 1922). He'd probably have to blog. How many times I have heard that the script of a play or a movie or a TV show is 'talky' (meaning 'wordy') and therefore uninteresting or unworthy. Take, for instance, the new movie based on the play Doubt, which was considered talky on the stage, but has apparently been 'rescued' by Hollywood - with the addition of some car chase scenes as the Nun played by Meryl Streep, in her Aston-Martin DB 5 hunts down the Priest, as played by Philip Seymour Hoffman, driving his Formula One Ferrari. Now that's dialogue relief. The ironic thing is that half the people in the movie theatre will be texting - i.e., using words (sort of) while viewing the action.
Maybe I'm too sensitive on the subject, since recently, I have become the 5 Billionth blogger in the blog-o-world. But I'm keenly aware that my ramblings must seem like La Recherche Du Temps Perdu compared with Twitter-ers and texters - and most bloggers, for that matter. But as new technology gives us less for more, old technology like the humble newspaper seems destined to join the Rosetta Stone as an object we can appreciate, but wouldn't have in the house. Newspapers have tried to save themselves by putting their content on the web, but reading a story or an article on some I-Thing just isn't the same. I mean, isn't a relief to have a dirty great huge, full-page underwear ad on the page opposite some horrific story you just read about a cholera epidemic in Zimbabwe? The same experience on a Blackberry? No can do.
Yet I'm content to let the universe unfold as it should. Thoughtful commentary and information is still widely available to those who seek it out and the current trend of reducing language to grunts and words-without-vowels will eventually lose it's cache. It's just that, as technology is making the world a lot less mysterious than it used to be, it seems to me that it's making it's inhabitants a lot less interesting.
Well, all I'm interested in at the moment is the kettle coming to a boil at last, because somewhere in this less-interesting world, it's 4 o'clock, and time for a cup of tea.

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DOES ANYONE REMEMBER CARMEN MIRANDA?

Dear Readers,
Finally catching up with last week's Theme Time Radio Hour, 'Fruit'. I believe this is the first time Dylan has featured an entire category of victuals, but it's a sweet mixture, to be sure. Even though Bob's corny humor sometime borders on the overripe, he manages to keep the theme colorful and fresh with his usual mix of eclectic tunes and pips of wisdom and information.
I liked the fact that he included a few evergreens from the 1920's and 30's among his ambrosia of sound. The Memphis Jug Band gets a rare airing with it's 'Peaches In The Springtime', a track that oozes with the joy of making music that seems lost on today's calculating artistes. I don't know much about Sam Montgomery, but his 'Where The Sweet Old Oranges Grow' seems to channel the spirit and sound of Robert Johnson. Who knew that 'W-P-L-J' meant a workingman's drink of white port and lemon juice? I thought it was a defunct New York City Rock N' Roll station. Props to The Four Deuces for setting me straight. The Beatles check in with Strawberry Fields Forever, a record that never fails to impress me with it's genius. And to think those guys were singing 'Yeah, Yeah, Yeah' only 24 months before! The 1930's make another appearance with Crown Prince Waterford's joyful 'Eatin' Watermelon', a song that takes back the pure pleasure of devouring that particular southern fruit from the old-timey racists (who I know for a fact loved it, too). I'll skip lightly over Bob's inclusion of the hoary 'Banana Boat Song (Day-O)' to the finale of Billie Holiday's eerie 'Strange Fruit', which remains one of the most unsettling songs in musical history (after 'Snoopy Vs. The Red Baron', obviously), delivered by Lady 'Day with her unique mixture of accusation and sadness.
Dylan uses the theme to provide lists of desserts and ways of consuming fruit that would put Martha Stewart to shame, but all in all, it's a show that whets one's appetite on many different levels.

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BIG THREE, BIG DEAL

Dear Readers,
I was born and raised in Detroit, so I have very mixed feelings about the trouble the so-called 'Big Three' automakers have gotten themselves into. On the one hand, it was a delicious sight to watch Rick Wagoner, Robert Nardelli, and the other guys squirm as they went hat-in-hand to Congress last week, but on the other, I hate to see working people's jobs in such jeopardy.
The lead-brained CEOs haven't a clue. Much has been said about their first trip to Capitol Hill, taken by each, separately, on corporate private jets, but I thought the second begathon where they got into cars and drove themselves to Washington was an even bigger mistake. In my opinion, if they were trying to look so contrite and desperate, they should have ridden into D.C. on the backs of asses -very symbolic and in keeping with the seasonal theme. But oh no. No such inventiveness from these out-of-touch mendicants.
Still, it was a treat to watch them having to sit and listen to that barrage of hot air from the Congresspeoples. I found it interesting that the 'Big Three' were constantly being referred to as the 'Detroit Three', a change in moniker that puts them on the same level as the Chicago Seven or the Gang Of Four - basically, rogues on trial. Yet the politicians are such huge hypocrites. They have conspired for years to thwart any sensible attempt to raise gas mileage, and are now asserting their right to tell Detroit's knuckleheads how to run a business - and this after they've given away the entire U.S. Treasury to Wall Street. Pity the poor soul who will become Barack Obama's Treasury Secretary, as he will open up the safe and find nothing but cartoon moths flying out.
So, as Citigroup's board of directors continue light up their cigars with $100 bills, auto workers sweat it out, knowing their big bosses are fools, but praying that Congress comes up with the dough to save their jobs. I guess the pols should go ahead and do the deed, but I would suggest a caveat to the plan. What if, as a condition of bailing out the 'Big Three', Congress insisted that every single employee in the auto industry- from top to bottom - got paid the exact same salary until Ford, GM, and Chrysler paid back all the money they 'borrowed' and became profitable again? Let's see if the real-life IQ of the executives might not get bumped up a few points, having to live on a workingman's wage. It might be interesting to see how executives react to the steep learning curve of reality, as luxuries bit the dust, one by one, for the big-shots. I can hear it now, Dear Readers, 'S.B. is a socialist'! No I'm not! I just think a practical lesson is better than this '$1-a-year' jazz, that's all. Besides, I think if the auto executives screw it up anyway, they should all be deported. To Cuba. That's not socialism, now is it?
But, I wish Detroit well, because it's the city that made me what I am today - an under-appreciated blogger. Even though my next car will almost certainly be another Toyota, I want to see the U.S. auto industry survive, as we need more innovations from the people who brought you the Corvair, the Edsel and the K-Car. Party on, Motor City, can't wait to see what you come up with next!
Well, the old kettle is rusty and breaks down a lot (guess who made it?) but it still eventually comes to a boil, which is convenient, as somewhere, it's 4 o'clock, and time for some tea.

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