I like the songs the whole world sings

It all started with an innocent question, and much like the Watergate hearings, that innocent question led to thousands of hours of research, and several high-ranking officials were forced to leave office in disgrace. All right, not so much that last part, although there has been some talk of the Parks Commissioner of Albert Lea, MN, abdicating over the bogus Milli Vanilli concert held on his watch.

The innocent question came from friend Jonie, out in California: What are your 100 favorite songs? I took it to mean, if you had an mp3 player that could hold 100 tunes, which songs would you load on it before taking a three hour tour? (A three hour tour!)

I was a DJ, which means that my basement holds about 10,000 45 rpm records, most of them with white labels bearing the inscription "Radio Station Copy - Not For Sale." Albums? Got to be a couple thousand of them down there. Audio cassettes - a veritable plethora. CDs - almost five hundred purchased, plus another 200 or so home-burned. In other words, if I started listening to every recorded song I have right now and never did anything else again until I had played the very last record ("Jim Dandy", Black Oak Arkansas) I would be listening for a long long time. And I don't talk about all this music to brag - there's a lot of OCD in all those CDs. Chances are that I will never want to hear "Jim Dandy" again, but I just can't start throwing records out. And don't even get me started on my elementary school report cards, all downstairs in a box.


I'm pleased to share the songs with you, ten at a time, and this is coming in no particular order, except in the order in which I thought of them. I'll be tickled to hear your opinions!

1. Dear Hearts and Gentle People - Bing Crosby The perfect example of someone supremely talented in show business and totally lacking in human relations, "der Bingle" sure could sing, even though he was quite the patootie in his personal life.

2. He Stopped Loving Her Today - George Jones Talk about perfect examples - this is a perfect example of the good old country music so fervently mourned by many of us. It's the story of a guy who never got over getting dumped until he moved into a one-man bungalow with silver handles.

3. She Loves You - Beatles - 1964, we had just lost JFK, plunging the nation into a torpor. Timing being everything, the Beatles' popularity across Britain had reached fever pitch in time for their arrival here in February. They did this one on The Ed Sullivan Show, and for all we know, the other networks had a reanimated George Washington wrestling rebirthed Abe Lincoln that Sunday night.

4. Yes It Is - Beatles - Not a big hit, the flip side of "Ticket to Ride" featured what music experts call dissonant three-part harmony. I like it because it makes a stark emotional appeal, so rare today.

5. White Room - Cream - Not a one of us had any idea what they were talking about - In the white room with black curtains near the station. Blackroof country, no gold pavements, tired starlings, huh now? Proves that sometimes it's the song, not the lyrics. How do you know if a starling is tired?

6. Norman - Sue Thompson - (Didn't I tell you there would be some doozies on this list?) In this song, written by John D. Loudermilk, who also sent us "A Rose and a Baby Ruth," Then You Can Tell Me Goodbye," and "Indian Outlaw," Miss Sue is fending off offers from Jimmy, Joey and Billy, but she's holding out for Norman. Bonus: this is the intro music the Letterman band plays when Norm MacDonald saunters out on the show to prove once again why he is the funniest Canadian in America.

7. Surrender - Cheap Trick - I promised a guy I worked with at 911 that I could arrange to hear this song at least once a day for the rest of my life. There couldn't have been but a handful of days that I missed. Everything about Cheap Trick appealed to me: the stupendous playing of drummer Bun E. Carlos and guitarist Rick Neilsen, the semi-operatic singer Robin Zander, and the interchangeable bassists. The sound, the lyrics, the way Rick looked like Huntz Hall, and the fact that no less a critic than Homer Simpson says, "I prefer to listen to Cheap Trick." And "Surrender" has this deathless line: "When I woke up, Mom and Dad were rolling on the couch....rockin', rollin', rollin' numbers, got my Kiss records out..." We're all all right!

8. California Man - Cheap Trick - I burned a CD with the studio version of this followed by the live version from Budokan. I often play them back-to-back and over again, listening for the subtle nuances, and I can't choose a favorite recording. They didn't write this one, but The Cure got healed for the line "I don't care if your legs start aching, I'm a California man!" Whatever that means.

9. Statesboro Blues - Allman Brothers Band - Gregg Allman has seen his share of sorrow. The death of his brother Duane, his own descent into drug addiction, marriage to Cher: it's a blues festival weekend whenever he looks back. But this live version of an old blues number features Duane's amazing slide and Gregg's keyboard and vocals, all stunning.

10. Road Runner - Joan Jett Maryland's own Joan, from Rockville, and a huge Orioles fan (and there aren't that many huge Orioles!) It's easy to forget that she was a leather-clad trailblazer, not quite like Daniel Boone, but she did some great things. A lot of people will put "I Love Rock and Roll" on their list, and that's a cool song too, but I'm partial to this one and Joan said it's ok to be yourself in these matters.

Ironically enough

A couple of years back, because Alanis Morissette
wrote and recorded a song called "Ironic", the lyrics of which were pretty much free of irony, there ensued a discussion in academic circles about what irony really is. Irony is best illustrated in stories such as O. Henry's "Gift of the Magi," in which the guy sells his watch to buy pretty combs for his wife's hair, and she sells her hair to buy him a watch fob. (Such failures in planning by married folks have been a constant in network sitcoms dating back as far as Ozzie and Harriet.) It would have been amusingly ironic had the publisher of the Magi story paid the writer with a check made out to O. Henry, because that was only his nom de plume (French for "to each his own"), having been born Wm. Sidney Porter. Try cashing that check, and the teller's going "Yeah right, 'O' ! Your ID says Porter and you want to cash a check made out to Mr Henry?"

Rain on your wedding day, lighting a smoke in a no-smoke zone, having a plethora of spoons when all you want is one knife: these are not ironies, but coincidences or mockeries of what should have been, had things worked out. Although, ironically, you're better off not smoking...

Lovers of the ironic have long noted with a shake of the head that Keith Richards, the man whose dissolute lifestyle has regularly astounded even his debauched and libertine friends, is as of this writing (and I just checked CNN.com and the Comcast home page, just to be sure!) completely alive, and, as you see here, the very picture of health and refined living.


On the other foot, Jim Fixx passed away after running, and he was well known for extolling the health benefits of running. It's not known if Keith Richards ever read Fixx's books, being busy as he often was having his blood drained and changed to overcome the toxicity of opiate abuse.

Whatever, à chacun son goût,(pen name, as they say it in sunny France.) It's his life, and until the day he "rings me up" on the "telly" and inquires as to my wellbeing, it's none of my concern.

But this is irony: Dave Freeman died the other day way too young, at the age of 47. That is way too young to fall down and hit one's head and die from it for anyone, but for the guy who wrote 100 Things To Do Before You Die, it has to mean that he left things undone. Reading his book just made it onto my list of things I want to do before I head up to that big express checkout, as is making my own list of 100 things I want to do. I've been planning to write a list of the 100 songs I would load onto my desert island mp3 player, because my friend Jonie asked me to, and the list is ready! I will blog about it. Trust me, there are no esoteric, rare cuts on the list...I just pointed a finger at the clipboard and it came to rest on "Suspicious Minds" by Elvis A. Presley...but it does list the songs I can listen to over and over. Ironically, none of them are by Alanis Morissette.

This Old House

After a rather one-sided discussion with my doctor, it has been decided that, much like a man riding a donkey for a long time, I need to get off my ass and do some walking. OK. There's a lot that goes into choosing just where to walk. Doing laps around the various rooms of the house is hard on the carpet and really, really boring. Driving to the high school to do laps around the track is fun, but let's face it, when you do that you are deliberately placing yourself in the company of some exerwalkers and joggers who take themselves pretty doggone seriously. Here's where you'll see the iPods with the bicep strap, the special lightweight track shorts and thinclad tank tops, and sneakers purchased for a sum that rivals the defense expenditures of several emerging nations (my favorite: Chad!) My iPod came from the drugstore and is not really an iPod, but rather a cheap imitation that, if lost, stolen or flushed, will not cause despair. I always have another twenty bucks somewhere, or I could always get another cheap imitation iPod off eBay. My shorts and t-shirts are off Target (!) and my shoes, Rockports: The Favorite of Mall Walkers Everywhere.

By the way, last time I was at Harford Mall, I saw a sign advising of a Mall Walkers Association Meeting to be held one morning. I can just hear it now. What important business do they have to discuss? What smells better in the morning - the cinnamon buns or the coffee? Which employees of which department store tend to arrive earliest? latest? Compare and contrast.

I hear Holden's classmates hollering "Digression!" at me. On we go. I walked home from Mars tonight and I experienced something that I've noticed before, which is that you see a lot more when you're walking than you do when you're driving. When you're walking, you notice things along the side of the road that you just can't take time to examine while driving, what with being so busy changing CDs, sending text messages, adjusting the air vents and ogling the driver of that little silver job that just rolled up next to you. What, you didn't think we saw you, eyes all a-bulge like a Chuck Jones cartoon?





So, even though we've lived in this neighborhood for 21 years, I can't say that I've really seen this house before:




It is an old farmhouse-y kind of house. My gift of description just defies description sometimes. I just said that a house was house-y. Thackeray, Hemingway, Capote...move over. But it seems to be abandoned; at least, unlived-in. And the rest of the way home, I wondered about the people who lived there over the years. That house probably knew its share of joy and grief...when the new baby came home...when someone took ill...when they bought the new Chevy that time...when the Plymouth lunched its tranny that time over at the mall parking lot...when Dad got a new job and they all looked forward to it so much, what with the extra money coming in, but then it turned out to be bad because he didn't like the new duties, the hours weren't so favorable, and he would just as soon have gone back to the old job on the line...Were people conceived there? Did anyone pass away there? A house provides the stage for our lives, and I think this one would love to have people trim back the bushes it has grown in front of itself to hide its loneliness, come in and update the appliances, slap on a new coat of paint and get some living going on!

As Edgar A. Guest once said (and it's likely he repeated it over and over until his wife, a Mrs. Guest, begged him to stop), "It takes a heap o' livin' to make a house a home." Of course, he also said, "I want to be able, as days go by, always to look myself straight in the eye."

Sometimes I look myself straight in the eye, generally while shaving. I like to do that little thing where I pooooch out the cheek off of which I am whittling the whiskers. Could someone please go shave in that lonely old house so it can feel like a home again?

Your Own "TODAY" Show

I don't know if you've heard anything about this, but in February of 2009, if you don't have cable tv or a converter box to fool your television - and that's only fair, since your television has been fooling you for years and years - you will LOSE YOUR SIGNAL! Nothing but static.

Well, most people either have cable or could get it, and for the rest, those converter boxes can be made cheaper with a coupon that you can get free for the askin'.

But let's say you don't want cable, don't want to pay for it, and the whole converter box thing is just too doggone complicated. There's no need to panic. You can have all the benefits of TV right in your home.

For instance...NFL football. Go get a couple of jerseys for the teams playing in the big game. Listen to the radio. Reenact all the big plays in your cavernous living room. Benefit: free exercise!

Any sitcom based in any workplace: Get those wiseacres and smart Alex* at the office, store, plant or potato patch to sit around insulting each other for 13 minutes. Then have one of them take you aside and confide in you about a personal problem: broken heart, missed opportunity for promotion, pierced thorax. Three minutes. Then, for the next three minutes, gather the gang around and discuss how to help the hapless one: fix 'em up on a sure thing date with an overly libidinous member of the opposite sex, sabotage the person who actually got the promotion by hijacking their blog and filling it with obscenities directed at the boss's spouse, transplanted right pleural cavity. For six minutes, put the plan into action and watch the ensuing hilarity. Break for a final commercial for a stool softener or Viagra, then come back for a winsome, wistful wrap up scene, after which everyone goes home happy.

Alternate sitcom: have the youngest person in the family come home and say with big wide eyes that he heard someone in school was a drug user, or one of the people in the neighborhood has an alcohol problem, or someone's parent has become a practitioner of an alternative lifestyle. Have everything come out just peachy at the end, and call it a "Very Special 'Palin's Place' " or whatever you decide to call your show.


Your Own 'Today Show': Have Bud and Sis and Crazy Cousin Annie and Good Neighbor Alvin come over for breakfast. Constantly say the magic "Today Show" mantras:

--- "We're back right after this" (are you back or are you not?)

--- When someone else has finished speaking, say loudly, "Bud! THANK YOU!!!"

--- When Sis has finished talking about how four different people in this very block have recently suffered a pierced thorax, frown a little, and then say "Switching gears now..." before launching into a story you heard about an English farmer who can play "God Save The Queen" on his whistling lung. This demonstrates that you appreciate the severity of the other story, but enough seriousness this early, ya know?

---Be elaborately formal for no reason: call someone "Mr." when their first name has always been sufficient.

---Everyone talk at once!
(* stolen from Ring Lardner)

What the "hell"?

I refer to the excellent blog called the "Blog" of "Unnecessary" Quotation Marks (http://quotation-marks.blogspot.com/) and I see the disease they are tracking is spreading like wildfire.


Three things about punctuation never fail to raise my hackles, and if you read a lot, you'll know why I hardly ever go around with unraised hackles.
The unneeded hyphen, the uncalled-for apostrophe, and the undesirable quotation marks are the triumvirate of dumb. One can usually score a trifecta by visiting automobile repair shops and looking for a hastily scrawled sign that reads something such as ALL-TYPES REPAIR'S DONE "BY OUR CERTIFIED STAFF".

As faithful readers (thank you!) know, I am loyal to the Mars Supermarket
(http://trulyregalmanners.blogspot.com/2008/06/kool-kid.html) chain for many reasons, not least of which is that they don't demean the Fire Department by placing signs on their standpipe connections that would question the veracity, the competence, yea the very existence of the Fire Department, as does another local grocer:



I guess I ought to be more careful about buying their "beef" or "chicken."

Hanna Americana

Well, we've been waiting all day for this Hanna storm (isn't she a broadcaster on ESPN?) to arrive. Pictured above, Hanna Storm. It's heading our way fairly soon. As of last night, our meteorologists were fairly certain that by this time of day, the worst would be over and here it is, this time of day, and the ship hasn't even hit the sand yet. But in an hour or so we have to head out to round up the family for my sister's surprise birthday party...so I will delay publication on the off chance that she's reading this...and hope there is electricity in the house (knock on wood) when we get home.

Ladies and Gentlemen, here's Hannah Storm, of ESPN.

I believe she used to be on the Early Show on CBS, but I'm hardly alone in not being sure about that.


This smiling visage greets all visitors to Delaware; Hanna will be one of them this afternoon, but it's unlikely that she will have need to enter a Happy Harry's Drug Store. That's Harry, beaming down on all who enter his emporia - which are statewide in the Blue Hen state - and I really have to hand it to him for coming up with the greatest name ever for a drug store. I mean, what do we have around here - CVS, Walgreens and Rite Aid? All of them lack in the name pizzaz of Happy Harry's! Doggone it, having a Happy Harry's in the neighborhood would make you want to run down there right now! to load up on Alka-Seltzer, hair preparations and those luxury creams and lotions so helpful in the prevention of chafe.

Springfield, home town of the Simpsons, has some highly cool names for stores...The Leftorium, Hairy Shearers (where Homer goes for haircuts) and Jittery Joe's Java Hut, among them. And while it's fun to need groceries and say "I have to go to Mars," it would be fun to have a Happy Harry's to visit as well. I don't ask for much.

One more thing to worry about

Just in case you woke up today, concerned because there is nothing else to worry about except how well the Ravens can do this year with a rookie quarterback playing (or, in sports talk, with a "freshman QB at the helm,") or the affects of Hurricanes Hanna, Ike and Josephine, or the likelihood that Bristol Palin's boyfriend, who just had her name elegantly tattoed on his ring finger in the style popularized by Hollywood's - and America's - sweethearts, Pamela Anderson Lee and Tommy Lee Anderson, will soon be appointed Secretary of Hockey, I offer this, from the wires of the Associated Press:

ELKTON, Md. -- A species of stinging caterpillar more common in southern climates appears to have arrived on the Eastern Shore.

Francis Breeding, a pest management consultant with the Queen Anne's County Extension Office, says a woman needed medical treatment last week because venom from a puss caterpillar traveled up her arm to her lymph nodes.

Breeding says puss caterpillars don't bite, but their hair contains the venom.

Now, I had thought that civilization had reached a nadir some time ago when I first got word of the notion of warming Dr Pepper in a saucepan and serving it as an apres-ski libation (with a slice of lemon floating atop), but this is even worse. I can see a new reality show on TLC next month: Nature's Deadliest, One-on-One! In which the puss caterpillar will duke it out with a tapeworm for the rights to take on a hissing dung beetle for the interstellar crown...

.

Tough Losses

In a world...where there will still be movies...they just won't sound the same any more, because Don LaFontaine
has passed away. His was the voice that did the voiceovers for half a million movie trailers, commercials and other recordings over the years.

And in that world, there will still be country music singers, comedians and guitarists, but there won't be Jerry Reed, a man who could do it all better



than most.

Two talented men, both lost on the same day. What a shame.

But You Can Copy Off My Paper

I got one of those quizzes and I will leave my paper out on my desk so you can copy off of it if you wish...

Four jobs I have had in my life:

A&P clerk, radio deejay, teacher, 911 Supervisor

Film I've watched more than once:

Caddyshack, The Music Man, Stripes, the entire Jackass oeuvre

Four places I have lived:

Providence, Pocomoke City, Prince Frederick, Parkville

Four places I have been:

Cape May NJ, Pensacola FL, Eleuthera, the Bahamas, and Williamsburg VA

Four people who e-mail me regularly

Peggy, Jonie, Cheri, Becky

Four of my favorite foods:

Rare pit beef, pizza, flounder, shrimp

Four places I would rather be right now:

Williamsburg VA, Cape May NJ, Baseball Hall of Fame, The Price Is Right stage

Four things I am looking forward to this year

Football season, Thanksgiving, fall foliage, snow

Four TV Shows that I watch at the moment:

That 70's Show (still funny!), King of Queens, Monk, Prison Break

Four reasons to vote for McCain / Palin:

Giuiliani ("America's Mayor!") figures that being mayor of some Inuit fishing village is good enough experience to prepare people for being president of the United States, Palin's daughter's boyfriend is bound to get into some hilarious hi-jinx once he gets to the mainland, McCain's wife's father owns a beer distributorship, and Giuiliani pronounces Alaska as "Alasker" and "Obama" as "Obomber."

Don't even mention the Dalai Lama

But first - live, local, legbreaking:

Things I have learned from listening to cracker jackass right wing radio shows:

...When John McCain left his wife, well, that was understandable, and when he married the daughter of a beer baron, well, who wouldn't, ya know? But when Bill Clinton had a brief affair, he should have been burned at the stake, the mountebank, the lothario, the despoiler of all things pure and good.

...When a Republican changes his or her mind about something, he or she updates their position or revisits the issue or makes a revision, based on newly-acquired information. A Democrat who changes his or her mind about something is just a flip-flopper.

...Jamie Lynn Spears was the most horrid slattern on earth, and should have joined Clinton at the Bill-B-Q, because she had a child before getting married, and this makes her a terrible example of the evils of sex and the unbridled libido. Jamie Lynn's annual income probably affords her the chance to raise her baby in relative comfort. Bristol Palin is a fine example of the American Way, a shining light in the Alaskan sky, because she like totally intends to like get married maybe one day next week if her Mom can like write her a note and she can get out of Algebra!!!

Now back to our regularly scheduled program, already in progress:

The debate has raged for years, mainly within me, over how to pronounce the name of that animal called the llama, that hump-lacking, smaller-than-a-camel South American cud-chewing animal. Any schoolkid* can tell you these beasts with the amusing Latin genus designation Lama glama (originally, Lama glama ding dong) are widely used as pack animals by the Incas and other natives of the Andes mountains, a South American mountain range where chocolate-covered mints grow wild and are harvested by locals riding...uh, guess what?

*Any schoolkid with access to Google and nothing better to do right now.

But while you can bet your bottom peso that South Americans say this cartoonish animal's name 'yama' (with the same "ll" sound as in 'Tortilla'), you can also bet that any time I would say it that way, I was sure to get a look of disapprobation. In fact, in one landmark decision, I got six months' disapprobation. I would ask friends whose native language was Spanish about it, and they all said sure, "you say 'una yama.' '' { "LL" is its own letter in the Spanish alphabet, although the Spanish were obliged to give up the letter "K" and a third-round draft choice to get it.} But not so with my English-speaking friends, who all looked at me as if I were Bristol Palin at an abstinence rally for using the original (correct) pronunciation. In that case, I would posit, we need to start calling the flatbread in which burritos are wrapped a 'tortila' and then where does that lead? Right down the slippery slope to anarchy!

But I concede now; I give up. Mr. Garrison Keillor, broadcasting from the Minnesota State Fair this past weekend, called them "lamas" so there's no further point in my carrying on about it. I never question Mr. Keillor's use of any language, so saddle up your llamas and ride on, vaqueros! My name is Mark; como se llama usted? Oh no, here we go again.

Labor Day Tradition

As a kid, I always knew that Labor Day meant we were piling into the Plymouth along with the neighbors and heading for the carnival and outdoor supper up at the Glyndon Volunteer fire house. Then, it was back to school the next day. I'd put on my desert boots, khaki pants and plaid sport shirt and head back to the salt mine. Substitute "Rockports" for desert boots and nothing much has changed in the wardrobe.

The past 43 years have meant that I obsessively watched the Jerry Lewis MDA telethon.


I make no apology for admiring Jerry as I do. He has his faults, a titanic ego being chief among them. But he has done so much - raised over 2 'BILLION with a B' dollars for muscular dystrophy and other allied afflictions, such as ALS, the dreaded "Lou Gehrig's disease." You can't take that away from him. And as a performer, he knows few peers in his niche of clowning. Shoot me for thinking it's funny for him to jam a water glass in his mouth and make it appear that he has a glass snout! Put me in jail for convulsing when he hollers "Hey Laaaaaaaaaaaaaa-dy!" File charges against me for re-running the classic scene from "The Nutty Professor" in which the professor drinks the potion that turns him into a monster - who turns out to be an unctuous egomaniacal nightclub performer, based on Jerry's own self-image.

He do get complicated, don't he?

But the showbiz corn-lover in me, the guy who thrilled when Sammy Davis, Jr., sang "What Kind of Fool Am I?", who nodded ruefully when Debbie Reynolds got dumped by Eddie Fisher and then broke her neck to race out and record "Am I That Easy To Forget?" - the same guy who thrills every December at the first "thrum, thrum" of "The Little Drummer Boy" - finds nothing more heartwarming than the end of the MDA Telethon, when Jerry does one last check of the tote board, and as the electronic numbers dance across the LED screen, Jerry straddles a stool, croons "You'll Never Walk Alone" and then walks off. Alone.

Really something when the joint is jumping!

I frequently get questions about what I'm talking about. In my dotage, I tend to go on about my early days and the cultural landmarks that dotted my horizon like nuts on a sundae. And the songs! And the stories about the songs! How about the one that I reference in the sand quote above, the beloved "Bristol Stomp" by the Dovells? To explain the song, I will have to use some expressions that have fallen from the current lexicon, such as "dance craze," "fire house record hop" and "The Dovells."

First of all, is there a dance craze now, a specific step ("little dances that look so neat," as The Showmen sang in "It Will Stand")? I know that people who go dancing all do a variety of hip hop or something. It all looks a little bit aggressive to me, as if the dancers really don't care for each other. Don't ask me. I never could dance, but I enjoy seeing people who could, which is why I was a regular viewer of the Buddy Deane Show on Channel 13 on those days when I didn't have detention after school. That's the show upon which John Waters based a movie that became a Broadway show which became another movie, all called "Hairspray." And for those seeking the essence of Baltimore, well, that's how we roll here. Anyone who can get three meals out of the same pot of stew is doing things the BallTEEmore way!
Buddy Deane

But all the cool kids on Buddy Deane knew all - or started all - the latest dances. The Madison, The Roach, The Mashed Potato, The Stroll...we viewers learned from the cool kids of Baltimore. We did not watch Dick Clark's American Bandstand out of Philadelphia, because we had our own show. In the spirit of ecumenism, Buddy did have some Philly-based guests on his show, in the fashion of an archbishop providing overnight shelter to a traveling pilgrim. But Buddy, like Dick Clark, was available for record hops...another vestige of that long-ago era. The deal was, someone rented a social hall or a volunteer fire hall, hired a radio deejay looking for part-time work, and then the deejay showed up with tons of records, a couple of turntables and amplifiers, and then they opened the door to kids who wanted to demonstrate their ability to dance what they had seen danced on TV all week.

It was at one such event at the Goodwill Hose Company hall in Bristol, Pennsylvania, that a group known as the Dovells, led by Len Barry (ne Leonard Borisoff - I love researching real names!) heard a record with a cool guitar intro that had been recorded by some local kids. It was called "Every Day of the Week." The Dovells got the idea to take that guitar riff and write a song about the cool kids dancing at a volunteer fire house in Bristol Pennsylvania. The dance they were doing was The Stomp. It only seemed natural to call the new song "The Bristol Stomp." A few minutes with a couple of professional songwriters, Kal Mann and Dave Appell, and the song was ready to record, and hit as high as #2 on the charts in November, 1961. People dashed to Kresge's to pay 79 cents for a 45-rpm copy of the song, so they could hear Barry's wobbly vocals and the insistent, even hypnotic, backbeat of the song.



Now you can hear it too, and even see it, and you don't have to put on your tshirt and drive to Kresge's, as if there were a Kresge's to drive to. All you have to do is click right here, and make believe you're at a fire house:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jDo9yYSuzkk


No one makes dance craze records any more; at least, I hear none that are devoid of calls to shoot or stab people or call them nasty names. There are no fire house record hops, or none that I've heard of for years and years. Len Barry had a couple of solo hits, "1-2-3" and "Like A Baby," but has not remained a huge part of the entertainment business we know today, what with Justin Timberlake being so popular and all.

And I sit here wondering why.

Seen at the Fair

Clearly, the best night to go to the Maryland State Fair is on a drizzly Friday. With the crowd down to only a few dedicated fair-goers, happy-to-be-there Farm Kids, and Goth Kids who will go anywhere to show you their pants with 147 chains on them, we stolled about at will, saw our favorite things (sheep and swine) and Great Gosh-a-mighty, look who's selling food at the fair!


We thought it was the flamboyant rock pioneer and Geico spokesperson


Mr Little Richard Penniman, but it turned out that it wasn't. I was told this in no uncertain terms by the woman behind the counter, who told me they didn't sell Tutti-Frutti Cheeseburgers, and also asked me to stop calling her "Lucille." A wop-bob-a-loo-bop, a womp bam boo!

Your Second Amendment in Action

Dontavious Mays is the name of a little guy from Northeast Baltimore city. Last Saturday, he was wounded by a bullet while he was playing outside at around 5 pm. Does anyone think that it should be unsafe for a six-year-old to play outside in his own neighborhood at dinnertime on a warm summer Saturday?

And I'm not going to get into a gun control debate or discussion. If you feel that the Second Amendment extends the rights of militia membership to local drug dealers, I'm just gonna ask how well-regulated that militia is, and all I'd get would be fatuous answers about how the Second Amendment protects us all from jackbooted stormtroopers showing up late at night, searching our houses and seizing the precious firearms that we all need in case of insurrection, or if the guy who breaks in to rip off the combo DVD player/microwave/fax machine should forget to pack his weapon and Harry Homeowner comes downstairs to play Dirty Harry Homeowner, only he's wearing those slippers with no heels, and some rather seedy pajamas, so the burglar laughs at him and so on and so forth. Not going there.

What really sticks with me about this story is that, when the reporter on FOX45 covered it, he mentioned quite dispassionately that young Dontavious was shot while "two men were exchanging gunfire nearby." Just like that, as if it were a fact of daily life. People exchange ideas, phone numbers, email addresses, baseball cards, insurance information after a traffic accident, and the dumb heelless slippers that everyone, including career criminals, laughs at when you wear them. Most guys exchange them for those slippers that sort of look like camp moccasins. It just should not be accepted in the course of human events that two random men should exchange gunfire at 5 PM on a sunny summer Saturday while a six-year old is playing outside.

Anyone else feeling it?

A cool webtoy

Let's say you always dreamed of being immortalized in cartoon form, but things didn't work out. Don't you worry; it's not too late. Here's a link to a website http://www.befunky.com/ which will turn this



into this!


Of course, this is a highly complicated scientific doodad we're tying into here. Sometimes the differences are very, very subtle, adjusted by master cartoonists working in undisclosed locations. It's stunning to see this photo of a largely discredited political figurehead



turned into this amusing lampoon cartoon with some deft touches:



Only, I'm not really laughing.

A sentence never spoken

Does this sound a lot like that wordplay contest they have in the Sunday Washington POST every week - to compose a sentence that has never been said by anyone, anytime, anywhere? George Carlin said , as an example, "Hand me that piano."

Here's my sentence-never-before-spoken:


"I've been thinking about Buddy Hackett all day."

I guarantee you, you have never said that! But I have been thinking about the late comedian Buddy Hackett (born Leonard Hacker) who personified the rotund clown so ubiquitous in the nightclubs and burlesque theaters of a long-ago era in show biz. But Buddy could do a lot of things - a little soft shoe, a little dance, tell a joke, do pantomime, appear on talk shows, play parts in movies, and more. I mentioned him yesterday for his work in The Music Man ( http://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=buddy+hackett+shipoopi&search_type=&aq=0&oq=buddy+hackett+shi )doing the ''Shipoopi" and man, he was good at what he did. There was another performer who worked in much the same style, a man born Bernard Katzin, who achieved fame under the nom de show biz Stubby Kaye. What a great name! You can't say the name "Stubby Kaye" without smiling...must be the "k" sound.
Stubby Kaye (1918-1997)

Buddy Hackett (1924-2003)


Stubby Kaye died the day my father died in 1997. Buddy Hackett died on my birthday in 2003. Michael Phelps shares my birthday, my height and my high school, and there the similarities end, because I am about as great a swimmer as Buddy Hackett at this point. Don't tell me there's no conspiracy about him passing on my birthday! The signs are all over. But I don't get mad about it, because Buddy Hackett left behind a bit of philosophy that resonates within me every time I get the urge to get mad and stay there: "While you're holding grudges, they're out dancing." Out of the mind of a Borscht Belt comic came this nugget of wisdom. So valuable, so meaningful, so true! We've all done this - get into a brouhaha, and then get right into a snit, and sit around brooding for a week ("that lousy #$(*(#...why, I oughta....") and meanwhile the other person is out at the Dizzy Ballroom, tripping over the fantastic lights, not even thinking about us, not even a little bit. Leonard, Buddy - you were right.

Shipoopi!

Wells Fargo Wagon!

As a major fan of the TV cartoon Family Guy (and, some have said, an uncanny double for Stewie) I watch the episodes of that show with the same attention that an art lover might use while strutting through the Louvre. There's an episode in which dad Peter dances and sings the "Shipoopi" song from The Music Man while performing as a member of the New England Patriots.

Peggy, always the realist, points out that probably only a small percentage of the Family Guy audience has ever watched The Music Man and seen the original "Shipoopi," done by Buddy Hackett. It's a great movie; it tells the story of a con man whose game is bilking hick town residents out of money under the guise of organizing and training a boys' band. The angle is, he sells the instruments and uniforms, and then splits - usually. Go rent it and see how it plays out, or stop by: I have it on VHS and DVD, and the soundtracks (Broadway and movie) on LP and CD.

The story takes place in 1912 Iowa, and in one scene, the whole town of River City gets all worked up because the Wells Fargo wagon is rolling into town. That was sort of like the UPS or FedEX of its time, although there is some doubt as to whether or not the drivers wore shorts. But it's on my mind because I have a friend who is so sophisticated; she got a package from UPS the other day and did not bother opening it for some time. It turned out to be macaroons, instead of a textbook or something, but imagine being so cool that you get a package delivered and you just say, "I'll have to get around to opening that later on." I admire that coolness. Myself, I get all churned up when the US Mail truck shambles up our court. Who knows what might be in today's mail? A note from a long-lost friend? An invitation to a party, a wedding, a gathering of like-minded souls? This week's New Yorker? This week's Pennysaver, or Coupon Clipper, or Val-Pak (doesn't that sound like an antibiotic you have to take for 9 days straight?)

The mayor of River City calls people who live there the "Citizenians" of River City. Maybe they are so excited about the same thing that makes my heart leap when a package shows up:

lyrics to "Wells Fargo Wagon" by Meredith Willson:

First Voice

I got a box of maple sugar on my birthday.

Second Voice:
In March I got a gray mackinaw.

Third Voice:
And once I got some grapefruit from Tampa.

Fourth Voice:
Montgom'ry Ward sent me a bathtub and a cross-cut saw.

People:
O-ho the Wells Fargo Wagon is a-comin' now
Is it a prepaid surprise or C.O.D.

Fifth Voice:
It could be curtains!

Sixth Voice:
Or dishes!

Seventh Voice:
Or a double boiler!

Eighth Voice:
Or it could be

People:
Yes, it could be
Yes, you're right it surely could be

Eighth Voice:
Somethin' special

People:
Somethin' very, very special now

Eighth Voice:
Just for me!

People:
O-ho the Wells Fargo Wagon is a-comin' down the street.
Oh, don't let him pass my door!
O-ho the Wells Fargo
Wagon is a-comin' down the street
I wish I knew what he was comin' for.

Ninth Voice:
I got some salmon from Seattle last September.

Tenth Voice:
And I expect a new rockin' chair.

Eleventh Voice:
I hope I get my raisins from Fresno.

Quartet:
The D.A.R. have sent a cannon for the courthouse square!

So, I'm not cool. If that UPS truck pulls up out front, I'm gonna dash out there like Cindy McCain at a hair dye giveaway and see what Doug or Deacon have brought me! I hope it's somethin' special!

Mark's thoughts (with a nod to Hank Kingsley)

I was three years old here. Notice the grim determination, the rapt attention to duty, the mirthless countenance. Note that I am wearing a watch. I was three years of age, and yes, I knew how to tell time. I also knew how to cut chamfers and cross-hatch a 2 x 4. Punctuality has been a big thing for me for all these years.

...If you had the secret knowledge of how to make a fortune in real estate, would you a) open a school to teach others your secret knowledge and run incessant radio commercials inviting others to come and learn how they can make a fortune too by talking other people into selling them their houses cheap and then you just sell it for a huge profit or b) go make a fortune for yourself and keep your secret secret ?

That's what I thought you would do. As would I.

..."Back-to-school" in my long-ago day meant going to Kresge's or Murphy's to get some new pencils and pens and a blue binder, upon which to emblazon the image of Fred Flintstone in Magic Marker. I see the supply lists required for kids in elementary school these days, and I don't think that infantry soldiers who chased Rommel across Africa with my namesake had as many items on their supply lists.

...One item I look forward to receiving in the email every day is the word of the day from Merriam-Webster (sign up at www.m-w.com). The etymology of words we employ daily is endlessly fascinating. Take today's word: dilapidated. We use it all the time, and we also use the word lapidary all the time as well, any time we speak of someone who cuts or polishes precious stones. And that's pretty much all the time, right? Anyhow, it turns out that the two words share a common root in the Latin word "lapis" (stone) , and that the original meaning of dilapidated was "pelted with stones." Endlessly fascinating.

...If you could go back to the age of 18 and lay out a plan for your life, could it possibly be as much fun as your real life turned out to be?

...I miss the days when everyone got all worked up about the new car models coming out in September. Now all cars look basically alike, are either black or silver or red, and have no distinct personalities.

...I don't see why they can't make new episodes of The King of Queens. Or SWAT. Or, at least, some new Andy Griffith Shows.

...Toothpaste makes an excellent emergency spackle for when you remove that picture of Uncle Albert posing with Admiral Halsey during WWII from the dining room wall and there's that hole where the hanger used to be. Not only that, but new Crest with GL-47 has proven to be an effective dentifrice, and part of a conscientious program of oral hygiene.

...When I was in 4th grade I thought a dentifrice was the person in the dentist's office who cleaned your teeth.

...I have to go now; I feel all dilapidated.

Say it!

A sad time...I've had a couple of deaths among friends and former coworkers in the past couple of weeks. I have one piece of advice to pass along for those who care to hear it, and that is, if you have something nice to say about someone, say it now!

I found out too late a few years ago that once a person is gone, they are gone, and with them has gone my last chance to say something to them face-to-face. So - if you have always thought someone was funny, enjoyable company, reliable in a tight spot, or good to be around when things were sad, tell them now! What the hell are you waiting for?

If you like how someone looks in their new sweater, why not let them know? If you appreciate how someone came through for you a couple of years ago when things looked bleak, they will likely be glad to hear about it. It might even encourage them to be there for someone else somewhere down the road.

I remember an essay by Bob Greene (the sometimes-corny former Chicago columnist, not Oprah's diet guru) in which he talked about a Japanese woman who had come here to go to college and, in a phys ed class, had trouble mastering the intricacies of setting a volleyball, until a kind person on her team touched her lightly on the shoulder and said,"You can do this." From that moment on, the student felt confident and capable. And that student? Well, sorry, I'm not Paul Harvey; I have no idea whatever happened to her, but I'll bet she went on to do things with a sense of capability. All because someone took a minute to say a kind word.

Sometimes, people who were just paid a compliment will look at you and say, "Do you really mean that?" Speaking for myself, I am not able to say things I don't mean. I cannot act, cannot take on any persona other than my own, so I make it a point to mean what I say and say what I mean.

And if you go on the theory that no matter what, there is always something good to say about everyone, well, that George Bush certainly keeps his hair looking well-groomed at all times.

There. I did it!

Going Daily?

You might have noticed that, of late, publication for this blog has been, well, erratic at best. I could trot out all the usual reasons: the rising cost of newsprint and ink and gasoline for the delivery trucks that get this to your front door every morning (but that would be a fib!) or just plain laziness. Now, that would be the truth. You ain't met the man as lazy as I in the summer. The heat and humidity just sap me of all energy except for that required to do my job, and bake blueberry muffins (my secret recipe: Jiffy Baking Mix and fresh blueberries. Follow instructions on box and add twice as many blueberries as they say to.)

So as to instill within myself a bit of discipline, I am going to impose a requirement that this blog be published daily from now on! Or I'll know the reason why! And sometimes I will go off on one my patented rants about politicians, oil companies or the producers of certain television shows, movies and other forms of entertainment. And sometimes, I might just share a favorite poem or funny picture.

Take this one: well, now you don't have to, because I already took it...but just look at it for a second, ok?


I took this photo in the unisex necessary room of the great Beans Coffee Shop in Woodstown, NJ. Can't tell how old this ad for witch hazel might be, but it sure did seem to someone that witch hazel could just about cure everything! It cured boils, carbuncles, even felons! Dag, this stuff even lowered the crime rate, not to mention cutting way back on itching eruptions.

Tomorrow's topic will be much more pastoral in nature. Meanwhile, let's reach for the witch hazel.