Paul Harvey's "Angel" dies

Paul's beloved wife, known to his fans as "Angel" has died after a long battle with leukemia. She was 92.

Spiritual, not religious

Another great blog is Stuff White People Like. My favorite entry is this one.

Bing Was Hip

A blogger who calls herself Trombonology quotes Artie Shaw, who said Bing Crosby was the first hip white person. Please check out http://relativeesoterica.blogspot.com/It's one of those special blogs that rewards you for wading through the junk to get to it.

Ben Stein Expelled

I saw Ben Stein's documentary, or whatever it is.
I don't have a whole lot of interest in the science/Intelligent design debate.
Playing the role of a film reviewer, it didn't impress me. The producers, trying to keep it from being a dull documentary about science, philosophy, religion, Darwinism, creationism and freedom of speech all rolled into one, jazzed it up with quick shots of Hitler, the Berlin Wall, Nazi death camps and who knows what. Way over the top.

Favorite Berlin Song

Has anybody else ever heard it? FOR THE VERY FIRST TIME. I know of only two recordings but I hope there are others. An instrumental by Mantovani and a superb vocal by Bunny Paul, A Detroit singer. "For the very first time there won't be a next time ... all my love affairing was simply preparing to love for the first time, you." And the melody is as good as that poetical lyric.

R. I. P. Local Radio

It's that time of year for thunder storms and power outages. When the power comes back, is that a power inage??
There's not much point in having a battery operated radio these days because there's no local radio to turn to. No local radio news. I was in radio when it was an important part of the community. You could could find out everything from who died (yes, there were daily radio obits) to who hit a pole and took out the power. Local radio announcers, news directors and deejays were public figures. We were stars. Today's only radio stars are Rush Limbaugh, Paul Harvey and few other syndicated talkers. They are not local. How about Paul Junior. Can he really sound that much like the old man? I'm not about to buy batteries to listen to them.

WLW

After dark, when AM radio reception is hot, I often turn the mighty '41 Zenith pictured above, to 700, WLW in Cincinnati. I'm not greatly interested in their news format. I listen because of history. That's where Doris Day, the Clooney Sisters and other big stars got their show business start. Fats Waller was a staff musician. For several years WLW was the world's most powerful regular AM broadcast band station, operating at an unprecedented half a million watts. No other station before or since has been allowed to do that. WLW ... magical call letters for any old time radio buff.

Famous Cliftons

I wonder what the average age of bloggers is. I'm guessing it's something under 30, and that less than a dozen of them around the world ever heard of Clifton Fadiman, for whom I was not named but I wish I had been. He was pretty smart. Learn who he was in the BROADCASTELLAN entry for April 22.

Fadimanesque Name

Thanks to Harry Heuser and his invention of what I assume is a new word, I now use my real, actual first name. Not Clifford. Clifton. I could say I was such a bright child that my parents named me after the erudite panelist on the Information Please radio show. But that would be a lie and I always tell the truth. Just like everyone else who puts things on the internet.

Unpopular Culture

Herewith, forthwith and henceforth, this blog shall be devoted to my geriatric journaling about Media, entertainment and so-called pop culture, whatever that is. Most of it will deal with stuff that stopped being popular a very long time ago. There might be an occasional foray into something fairly contemporary.

My Problem With David Sedaris

Now that I have your attention and you're ready to blast me for failing to appreciate the great humorist, let me admit that there's nothing wrong with him. It's literally my problem. There is something wrong with me. I am narrowly focused on the spoken word . I'd rather listen to it than read it. I have read none of Sedaris's stuff, only listened to it. I've read just a bit of Garrison's Keillor's work, with a whole different feeling from what his radio work gives me. I need the voice and inflections. I have read none of Jean Shepherd's books. Based on listening, I put him near the top of the great humorists of the past century. I like good adlib talkers. Sedaris is a writer who came to fame reading his stuff aloud on NPR. There is a big difference in writing for the printed page and writing spoken word material. When Sedaris did his show in this town, he lost his place in his reading at one point. Apparently that just added to his charm for his fans who nearly filled the big theater. And there's his voice. He said, in an NPR interview, ":Sometimes I worry that I never advanced beyond adolescence.. My voice didn't." He does sound like a teenage boy, which might be one of the more unpleasant sounds and creatures you can encounter. I raised two of them. Some wise person said teenagers are God's punishment for enjoying sex. I suppose the kid voice adds to his appeal for some, but with my need to hear a "radio voice": in the very old fashioned sense of the term, it doesn't work for me. Keillor has a wonderful voice made for radio as he closes his eyes and tells his tales of Lake Wobegon. He knows how to make love to a microphone. He loves the radio medium and he has used it to become somewhat of a phenomenon. Shepherd was a great adlib storyteller, also with a radio background. Like Keillor, he lets you think he's forgotten where he's going with it and then brings it all back full circle. In Sedaris's NPR interview, he also said, "Crack open my skull, a 12 year old would pop out." I do like that. I have no doubt that if Keillor heard that interview, he would say "me, too." He loves to talk about farts and boogers. Seems to me that it's even funnier when 60 year old Keillor does it than when I hear it from the teen age sounding voice of Sedaris. You expect it from a kid. It's funny from an old guy who still has the kid in him. So it's my spoken word obsession that won't let me appreciate Sedaris and his considerable gift. Same problem with Ira Glass, too. His stories are great but his voice irritates me and he talks too fast. Oh boy, I will hear from his fans, if any of them read my geriatric ramblings. They will tell me they can't stand Diane Rehm because she talks too slow.

Liza in NYC

I asked a gay friend if it's OK for an old straight guy to like Judy and Liza. He assures me that it is. I'm not a big Liza fan and the critics didn't much care for New York, New York. But what do they know. Good music. I liked it a lot when it came out and I will be watching it again the 26th just after midnight. The TCM channel is the only thing I use the digital box from Comcast for. Comcast, the cable company we love to hate.

Keillor's Joke Show

Garrison's annual joke show hit new highs (or was it new lows) in bad, bad jokes. I loved it anyway. It almost makes me want to contribute to Public Radio. But not quite. Any medium that lets him get away with a story about a farting high school class can't be all bad. His closing story about the cow, in such wonderfully bad taste that I won't even repeat it here, still makes me laugh when I think of it. Onward and upward, Garrison old boy. I don't care what you write in Salon or anyplace that gets you in trouble. Just give me some radio fun on Saturday night and I'll be a fan forever. One question, though. Whatever happened to booger jokes? Have they all been told?

Have you visited Lake Wobegon?

It surprises me somewhat when I run across someone who has never been transported by the magic of radio to Garrison Keillor's Lake Wobegon, Minnesota on a Saturday Night. But realistically, his 4 million listeners is a tiny, tiny drip, not even a full fledged drop in the bucket when compared to the huge millions of folks watching TV at any given moment.

Harry's Magnificent Obsession

I know what I will be doing with the rest of my life. I will read Harry Heuser's broadcastellan blog about great classic radio shows, movies, plays, books, writers, actors and on and on and on until my eyballs fall out. He says he's "keeping up with the out of date." It will take the rest of my days to read what he writes. He has already produced huge volumes and continues to write new stuff at a rate that boggles me. What a labor love.What a monument to the art of research. What a magnificent obsession. I love it. Why did I not know about this when he began it? The photos, the audio clips, the writing style are enough to make a fellow OCD type go happily nuts. Where else could I hear Arthur Godfrey as a staff network announcer before he became a big radio and TV star, introducing Fred Allen and his guest, Gracie Fields? It's wartime and Godfrey reminds us that if we have more than five tires per vehicle, we must sell the extras to the government. If we don't. we won't get our windshield sticker that lets us buy gas. Allen quips that his car has more stickers than Mrs. Roosevelt's suitcase. Where else might I see a video of a very young Judy Garland in a duet with Fanny Brice in her Baby Snooks dress? Where does he get this stuff? It's amazing. It's obsessive. So check it out. Get obsessed with Harry and me. You will never be the same.

IT'S MUPPETATIONAL!

Watching some of the original Muppet Shows with my 8 year old grandson, I'm reminded of what a genius Jim Henson was. Those funny creatures are utterly believable. They're real. And how fortunate that 8 year old is to have a mom, my splendid daughter, who exposes him to old stuff. Every kid should know about Kermit the Frog, Miss Piggy and Lydia the Tatooed Lady.

Thanks, Father Bob

Friend Father Bob says I ask good questions. That comes from what my boss at the radio station in Flint told me many decades ago,long before General Motors fell apart and Michael Moore made Flint famous. Or infamous. He said, "I notice that when you interview someone, you ask a question and then answer it with your own view before he can answer. Don't do that!" He was right. I adopted the "be interested in what the other person has to say, then shut up and listen" formula and it made me a pretty good interviewer.

Bettie Page in poor health

Sad news for Bettie Page fans. The world's greatest pin-up girl, 84, is being cared for in a California nursing home. We love you, Bettie.

Wally Phillips

The great one died earlier this month at 82. Only words good enough for Wally and WGN Radio are "legend" and "institution."

How do you look naked?

Here's a good song about it

April in February

Guess what 50 year old recording just showed up on a cat food commercial. Oh yeah, April Stevens with her naughty "Teach me Tiger." I hope they paid her well for using it.

Jeep Song

Talk about infectious!! I just watched this Jeep commercial 15 times. Don't waste time trying to identify the singer or where you can buy it. It's production music, made for the commercial. Even if you get through to the agency, they won't tell you anything.

Farting Around

I have not read a Kurt Vonnegut book. I did stumble onto one of his funny lines. That was enough. It says it all. What more can you say.What more do I need to read. "Our purpose here on Earth is to fart around."

Miss W-DOG, where are you now?

Too bad I can't locate a photo of Miss W-DOG. To answer the inevitable question, why would she want to be Miss W-DOG, I can only say it was the 50's and things were very different. We had a contest to choose the young woman who would be so honored. It was rigged. She might have been the only applicant. I composed a terrible, awful, unspeakably bad rock'n' roll Official Miss W-DOG song for her. She thought it was beautiful. I am embarrassed to remember that some local group performed it at the Michigan State Fair. She was the local grocer's daughter. Sounds like a title for a racy paperback, doesn't it. Oh Carolyn, Miss-W-DOG. Where are you now?

The Banks of the Wabash

A blog I read every day is "All I'm Saying." It's written by a fellow who is back home again in Indiana after visiting far away places with strange sounding names. Most of the time I don't know what he's talking about because I am twice his age plus ten and quite out of touch with anything that happened after 1954. I like his blog because he has fun. Doesn't take himself with great seriousness. He found the ancient April Stevens recording of "Teach Me Tiger" that caused an uproar for being too sexy. It's on his blog for all to hear and laugh at how funny it sounds half a century later. Hearing it again for the first time in decades, I laughed out loud at how hot it was in its day.

Hawkey Night in Canada

I spelled it the way our neighbours to the North say it. Unless you live in Michigan, that is. We have Canadians to the North, East and South of us. Sounds like a Cole Porter lyric, doesn't it. Anyway ... it sure made me feel good to find someone who knows even less about sports and geography than I do. Sports came into the conversation and the Toronto Maple Leafs were mentioned. This person said, with genuine innocence, "Why would they name a team after a leaf?"

The Maple Leaf Forever

Here's my nomination for one of the most infectious, makes-you-want-to-dance songs of the late 20th Century. It's Bobby Gimby's Canadian Centennial Song. It almost makes me want to go to a hockey game.

Call the Undertaker

I must retract the post of December 29. There is something that's more fun than player piano music. It's a player piano accompanied by a live theater pipe organ. Check out this You Tube. Jim Riggs. If it doesn't make you dance, call the undertaker right away because you are dead.

What Would Shep Say?

Listening to Jean Shepherd's New Years Eve show from the mid 60's, I found myself wishing he were still with us. Wouldn't you love to hear his commentary on the present state of the world!

Great Communicators

One of the Fox News Shows referred to two of the current political hopefuls as having one-on-one communication skills comparable to two long gone radio and TV personalities that today's young voters probably never heard of. Two of the greatest broadcast communicators of the past century. Arthur Godfrey and Dave Garroway.

APRIL STEVENS

If anybody remembers April at all, it's probably the recording of "Deep Purple" that she did with her brother, Nino Tempo. Unless you are awfully old, which is not likely because old people don't do blogs unless they are in their second or third childhood like me, you never heard April's "Teach Me Tiger" and "Gimme a little kiss." That's your loss. They were pretty close to auditory pornography. She looked pretty hot, too. What blood I have left gets overheated at the mention of her name. I would try to play my old 45 but it might spontaneously combust. Or maybe I would.

Two Antiques

A 1930 antique with his 1941 antique. The thing on top is the famous Zenith Wavemagnet antenna.

I've Been Adopted

You know you are over the hill, too old to get in trouble when a sixty year old woman says she wants to adopt you as her father. Oh well, while it might not be quite as appealing as having a young thing call me her sugar Daddy, it's a whole lot safer. OK kid, you've got a dad to replace the one who died many moons ago. I agree with you that he and I would have liked each other. Maybe he's looking down and giving us his blessing. I hope I stay around long enough to do some good fathering for you.

The Age Thing

Punching the "next blog" button, I ran across a touching and well written page,
http://middleageddivorce.blogspot.com/ The woman got divorced at 49. So I am wondering, if 49 or 50 is middle age, does old age set in when you hit one hundred? I remember when middle age was 35. One of the great radio soap operas, "The Romance of Helen Trent" opened with Helen's valiant attempt to prove that "because a woman is 35, or older, romance in life need not be over. That the romance of youth can be extended into middle life and even beyond.” Even after 27 years on the air and over 7000 episodes, poor old Helen failed to get Gil Whitney to marry her. The cad.

The Old Pianna Roll

I love player piano music. It's the most fun you can have without doing sonmething immoral, illegal or fattening. Makes you want to dance. Here is an amazing repository of hundreds of old player rolls you can listen to on the 'net. They load fast and sound great. http://members.shaw.ca/smythe/archive.htm

Good Christmas Movie

There is at least one very good Christmas Movie. It's Jean Shepherd's "A Christmas Story." Shepherd was an American original. The first radio novelist. His tribute to another original, Arthur Godfrey was aired on NPR. It's the March 17th show on the list of Shep's NPR shows. Check that site for some of his great monologues. I was privileged to chat with Shepherd on ham radio from his place on Sanibel Island, where he spent his last years.

EATING CATS

Mike Royko again: "Whether one eats a cat or not is a personal choice, and I don't want to sway anyone one way or another. But if you do, there is one obvious cooking tip: Always remember to remove the bell from the cat's collar before cooking. "

Hereditary Cynicism?

Gleaned from Christmas Day Conversation: Cliffie Junior has inherited the old man's healthy cynicism about bad movies, bad game shows, bad commercials, bad stuff in general. I'm proud of him. We both miss Mike Royko. That says a lot about us. Here is a great Royko quote: "It's been my policy to view the Internet not as an 'information highway,' but as an electronic asylum filled with babbling loonies." Our respective wives do not have easy lives. Just ask them.

NO DEAL, HOWIE

A special Christmas Night "Deal or No Deal??!!" That's obscene. If the TV has to be on at all, I'll watch a bad Christmas movie. I am getting Scroogier.

TV FOR XMAS

How many bad Christmas movies can there be? Television's voracious appetite for programming has spawned hundreds of them. How many ways can you tell a touching story of love and reconcilliation without getting sappy or too religious. So call me Scrooge.

Jennifer Love's Body Again

I detest shopping. Only good thing about it is reading the tabloid covers at the checkout. Great questions like, " Will Jennifer Love Hewitt pose for Playboy?" I don't suppose she can sue anybody for printing that. The magazine's lawyer would say, "We did not imply that she was thinking about it. I was just looking at her latest photo, not the bad butt shot, and wondering if she might do that. A perfectly logical and legal question." I wonder how much lawyers get paid for that sort of thing. I will ask Denny Crane and Alan Shore.

Can You Trust Snopes???

I don't believe anything I read on the internet. That includes the stuff I grind out, much of which is baloney and bullpuckey. Let the reader beware. When I get one of those virus warnings that I should send to everybody I know or their comptuers will blow up in their faces, I immediately go to Snopes. Snopes does a great job of exposing those crazy myths, hoaxes and phony stories that have been around so long that they have become legends. Many are years, even decades old. They are changed just enough to make them look contemporary. The e-mail that makes me most suspicious comes from genuinely concerned forwarders that include a quote from Snopes to prove that the warning is the real thing. That can be a classic case of a half truth that's worse than a lie. It circulates the very hoaxes that Snopes is trying to expose. You gotta go into Snoopes and read the whole, often lengthy story, not just the part that's copied in the forward. There's one going around now that warns about a virus that will wipe out your hard drive, reported on CNN. There's a scary Snopes quote right at the top. Read the whole Snopes article and down at the bottom it tells you no such virus exists and there was no report on CNN. So if you and/or your computer croak because I failed to let you know about some terrible evil that was waiting to do you in, sue me.

JENNIFERS' BUTTS

You grammarians calm down. The title is correct and the apostrophe is in the right place. I speak of two Jennifers and their respective rear ends. Jennifer Love Hewitt is having a major tizzy fit because of a most unflattering photo of her butt that is all over TV and the tabloids. To put it politely, let's just say that if Victoria's secret is looking for a star to model their bikini bottoms, they would not choose Ms. JLH. As well as having an imperfect posterior region, she has this really weird TV show on which she counsels troublesome ghosts that are stuck between here and the other side. When she gets through with them, they cross over.
Not long ago, Jennifer Lopez's rear was the object of much speculation about whether it was too big. She said she liked her "little round bubble-butt. "
So if you are about to give birth to a female child, do not name her Jennifer. Or if you already have a little Jennifer and she wants to grow up and be a star, you need to sit her down and have a serious talk about the birds, bees, butts and show business. Let her know that her now cute little tushie might someday become splashed all over the media. Think about that.

Moms love Phil

Dr. Phil had another show that left the women applauding and the men clutching their family jewels. Phil's philosopy: If your wife wants a kid it's your job to give her one, whatever it takes. Up to and including reversing your vasectomy. Phil did it for Robn and six weeks later, Jordan was in the oven. What a guy, what a guy. When old Phil boasted, "My boys did the job," how many women all over the country started fantasizing about doing the nasty with him??

Must the show go on?

I found a You Tube of Peggy Lee singing "Mr. Wonderful." I couldn't watch all of it. She was sick, overweight, sitting, probably because she was unable to stand. Not singing well at all. The same thing happpend to Rosemary Clooney, Judy Garland and many great stars. It made me think of one of my favorite Rosie recordings, "Mixed Emotions." I have lots of ambivalence about legendary performers who keep going right up to the end. It's a mix of admiration for what they were and what they gave to the world, their dedication to their fans, sadness for what time has done to them and a wish that they had chosen quiet retirement. I don't think I would want to be in the adoring audience for one of those concerts, wondering if the fading star is going to sing his or her final note and expire right before my eyes. I surely would not want to be the performer. Let 'em remember me as when as when I was at the top of my game. Those concerts usually get maudlin reviews with a polite reference to the star not being at his or her best anymore, but we love them anyway. Makes me sad.

PEGGY AND ME

I have a plan. My personal plastic surgeon has agreed to build me two big, handsome ears just like Clark Gable and Jimmy Roberts. My personal psychic and medium, Madame Mystica, says she can put me touch with Peggy Lee, who has been singing with the angels on "the other side" for quite a few years now. Madame asssure me that all things are possible if you only believe, and I believe that Peggy will fall in love with my ears and spend the rest of her heavenly life and my earthly life purring her arrangement of "Mr. Wonderful" into my big, handsome amorous ears. First one, then the other. Or maybe both at the same time. Do they have stereo in heaven?

I considered putting Miss Lee's recording of that song here for all to hear. But it is too powerful. It might cause massive yearning and burning among men and dangerous jealousy in their women. And I don't want other guys hooking up and tuning in. She sings that song to only one man at a time and he knows it. Namely, me. That is not one of her hit recordings. It is seldom mentioned. I know she did it just for me.

Ear Envy

I don't know anything about penis envy. I have Ear Envy. I want big, handsome ears like Clark Gable and Lawrence Welk's singer, the late Jimmy Roberts.
Seems like those big ones would hold a lot of sweet nothings whispered into them. Did Norma Zimmer do that?

Hearing Aid Insurance

If insurance coverage made hearing aids available to everyone who needs them, the insurance companies would take a huge hit. Their benevolent sounding commercials notwithstanding, they are not going to let that happen. If you want to get steamed up about this, just Google "hearing aid insurance" or any similar phrase.

Hearing Aid Cost

The local paper has a touching story about an eight year old boy who needs a $1700 hearing aid, not covered by insurance. He insisted on giving some money he had saved for it to a paralyzed friend. So what's wrong with this story? I just got a new garage door and opener for less than half the price of that hearing aid. If we had to pay that much for a pair of glasses, prescribed by someone who has at least as much training and overhead as an audiologist, our screams would be heard 'round the world. Hearing aid prices will come down and insurance will cover them when more children and aging boomers need them and they become as common as what is now "eyewear."

Lawrence Welk Lives

As of this moment there are 66 posts answering the fellow who started it all by asking why those old Lawrence Welk shows are on PBS TV every week instead of much better bands from that era. Why have the champagne Music Makers been on TV for 50 years? You can learn a lot from watching the interviews with surviving old Welk stars. When one of them was asked what she learned from boss Daddy Welk, she said he reminded her that she was in show business and the music business. Not art. Business. Son Larry Welk and everyone who keeps those old shows going knows that. Lawrence found a niche and he milked it. It still works today. PBS makes a lot of noise about being a high class alternative to commercial broacasting, but they have to care about ratings and income. The old Welk Shows are top rated , big money makers for PBS at fundraising time. .

Weird Online Groups

I have been on probably 8 or 10 groups. Everything from exotic diseases to Hammond Organs and Wurlitzer Pianos and goofy religions and all sorts of hobby and professional interests. People who spend too much time on the internet are weird. I spend too much time on the internet. Every group I've been on has degernated into feudin', fightin' and fussin' that would get you punched in the nose if you said those things in person. A guy on my group that's supposed to be about antique radios is all pissed at the administrator who deletes his rants about the price of gasoline.
I am now embroiled in deep do-do about Lawrence Welk. I love those corny old shows. Can't get enough of it. Other guys in the group say it's the ultimate pollution of the TV airwaves. Those guys need to get a life. I need to get a life.

pointless, obscure post

I joined some fellow geezers for lunch yesterday at the local Perkins Restaurant. I always want to call the restaurant and ask if Ma Perkins is there, but they wouldn't get it. Nobody under 80 would, and almost nobody that old has a computer, so why am I writing this. I guess I need to move into the Shady Pines rest home. The folks there would remember Ma and Evie and Shuffle even if their short term memory was all shot. They would tell me to call Ma at the Lumber Yard.

Turkey Testicle Time

I will be heading for Byron, Illinois this weekend for the annual Turkey Testicle Festival. I don't think I will get in on the turkey testicle eating contest but I have been training for the "Run for the nuts." That Byron is some wild town!

Married to the Internet

24 percent of Americans say the internet is a suitable substitute for a real, live mate. The only thing you can't do online is procreate. That's next.

It's all over in 2012!!

So the world is going to end. Again. This time it's 2012. Let it end. I did not buy a generator, stockpile food and fill my gastank to be ready for the year 2000 and I plan no special preparations for 2012. Whatever happens, happens. Big hairy deal.

Twelve Step Question

I wonder if the many groups that borrowed AA's twelve step program accept the controversial part that says the addiction/disease/whatever it is can never be cured, but only arrested and you can never drink, smoke, gamble, do drugs, etc. even moderately, socially or recreationally or you'll be shot down if you fall off the wagon even once.

Sexual Addiction Disease?

It's been revealed that President Ford said Bill Clinton is a sex addict who needs to be treated for it. Is it a disease, like the current wisdom(?) says of addiction to alcohol, drugs, gambling, overeating, undereating, porno, internet, cluttering and anything else we do to dangerous excess? (I seriously need to join clutterers Anonymous) The Sex Addicts Anonymous group, patterned after AA's 12 step program, says it is. I was surprised that Dr. Phil appears not to believe it and he's ready to fight with any therapist who uses that diagnosis as an excuse for not keeping your pants on.

One Wife, One Life

Having been marrierd to the same person for a very, very, very long time, there is a big part of me that needs to believe in that terribly old fashioned "Til death do us part" kind of matrimony. Yet I keep running into couples who seem to have finally got it right after the second, third, fourth or fifth time. Go figure.

Salem Weather Report

Massive flooding today in Salem, someplace in soapland. John Black croaked and today's funeral has caused rivers of tears across the country.

Radio Humorists

This refers only to the radio work of the following. Their written stuff is a whole different thing.
Jean Shepherd gives me sore sides from laughing so hard. Garrison Keillor makes me smile, chortle, guffaw and laugh out loud once in a while. David Sedaris leaves me colder than a Mackerel that's been out of the water too long. His voice and delivery are so off-putting that I lose whatever appeal his stories might have. Don't like "This American Life" for the same reason. Ira Glass puts me off. I think it's a generation thing. I'm too damn old to understand or appreciate contemporary delivery.

Who's the greatest humorist?

The Damfinos, members of the International Buster Keaton Society, have left town. The next big thing at the restored downtown theater here in Riverdale, Mishconson is David Sedaris. I am so far out of touch with today's pop culture that I had never heard of him. He is hyped as America's greatest humorist. Like Garrison Keillor (I do know about him) he came to fame on Public Radio. Also like Lake Wobegon's gift to radio, Sedaris is compared to Mark Twain. So is Jean Shepherd. Jean who, you say? Marshall McLuhan, who wrote a pretty famous book about media, "The Medium is the Message," called him the first radio novelist. You heard Shepherd's voice if you ever saw "A Christmas Story" about young Ralphie, his air rifle and his dad's sexy leg lamp.
I wonder what Sam Clemens would have to say about all this comparing?

THE NIGHT MY ORGAN DEFLATED

There I was in the spotlight, riding the massive red and gold theater pipe organ console up out of the orchestra pit. A thousand people behind me waiting to watch a silent film starring the great Buster Keaton, the action accompanied by the grand organ.
Does anybody remember the old, turn of the century song, The Lost Chord? The words go, "My fingers wandered idly over the noisy keys."
Right in the middle of a mighty organ sforzando, the blower that supplies the air to the pipes died. My fingers wandered frantically over the silent keys. Nary a sound came forth.
A newspaper review of the show said, "Mr. Martin's organ lost its air."

BUSTER KEATON INTERNATIONAL SOCIETY CONVENTION

THE

DAMFINOS ARE COMING!

It's time for the Damfinos, the International Buster Keaton Society, to convene in Muskegon, Michigan, where Buster and his family had a summer lakefront home in the 20"s. In the photo, you see Eleanor Keaton, Buster's widow. She was much younger than Buster but they had 28 good years together. She passed away in 1998. Behind her, that's me, the organist for the silent films shown that night. Next to me, Al Flogge,

show business afficiando and friend of the stars. In front of him is his long time friend, Adrian Booth, Buster's co-star in one of the films shown that night. As of this date, she is still with us and Al Flogge attended her recent birthday celebration.

I'm at the console of the Frauenthal Theater's 1930 Barton Pipe Organ. The bright red and gold console was typical of the Barton organs. The company's founder loved the garishly painted circus wagons of that era and his consoles, designed to look as theatrical as they sound, are referred to as "circus wagon" style.

This year's organist is a real pro from Chicago, Dennis Scott. ..

Big Confession

Here it is... the awful secret that might get me kicked out of the blogosphere and drummed out of the male gender, especially at this time of national obsession with the "S" word. No, not that "S" word. Forgive me Father, for I have sinned against all that is manly. I do not like sports! Any sports. All sports are utterly incomprehensible at best, irritating at worst. I try to watch baseball, football, hockey, etc. etc. I do not understand what those people are doing or why they are doing it. I cannot figure out why the players on the field, court or whatever you call the place where they do it are doing it. I am totally mystified at the hundreds of thousands of screaming fans in the stands or whatever you call the place where they sit except when they are standing and shouting. I would surely have a nervous breakdown if forced to attend a big time sporting event. Is it God's fault? Did He leave some of my parts out of me when He made me?
Maybe He did, because I can't understand the appeal of game shows, their spastic contestants, their studio audiences or their millions of TV fans, either. What do you think, Father ... is there a chance that reincarnation might be true, so I can be complete next time around? One more question, Father. I heard that "Hail Mary" has something to do with football. Don't try to explain that to me. I wouldn't get it. Couldn't handle it if I did. What's that? You want to get this confession over with because there's a game you don't want to miss?

Boston Legal: The Old and the Horny

The wonderfully quirky Boston Legal might be the only top rated TV sitcom that is not about the young and the horny. I love it when 75 year old Denny Crane gets all overheated about the thought of seventy-something Shirley Schmidt in her high school cheerleader costume. I hope the writers don't run out of goofy ideas in my lifetime. It hasn't happend yet.

Good Words Gone Bad

The latest fine old word that has bit the dust, leaving a cloud of incorrectness, is "Senior." It seems that the youth-obsessed boomers, just getting into their sixties, will not answer to that one anymore. A local former grocery store is being turned into a magnificent center for those of a certain age but it cannot call itself a senior center because it would be boycotted by those young-thinking boomer types. So we call it Tanglewood Park. Cool, eh? It's between Tanglewood and Park Streets. The "Senior Perspectives" magazine published by the area council on aging is agonizing over what new name might be appropriate if we want anybody under 85 to read it. While we are at it we had better get rid of "aging" in the council's name. What can we become the council on?
I am so far into seniorhood that I don't even remember the first time some young clerk asked if I got the senior discount. I suppose it was traumatic. Did I really look that old? These days, I don't care what you call me. Just give me some benefits. Reward me with discounts just for staying alive for a long time.

Funeral Music as Torture

Music as torture is not a new idea. It is probably as old as music and torture. You could break the spirit of a rebellious teen ager by making him watch those old Lawrence Welk shows. Or you could send your cantankerous old grandpa to the funny farm by blowing out his hearing aids with the loudest, hardest rock you can find. Music as torture is in the news lately because it has been used to break the prisoners at Gitmo. It seems to me that playing the deceased's favorite music at a funeral or memorial service might be the highest (or lowest) form of musical torture. It is a great way to give a final post mortem thumbing of the nose or raising of the middle finger to all those in attendance that you couldn't stand. Make them listen to polkas. Or opera. Or Gregorian Chants. Or Buddhist Chants. Whatever. If you want to stick it to those you know who believe the bagpipe is an ill wind that nobody blows good, be sure to have a piper play you-know-what. It will make them crazy.

Comparing Vietnam and Iraq

I don't know who Gerald W. Johnson was or is, but he said a smart thing, quoted on today's NPR On The Media show.

Nothing changes more constantly than the past; for the past that influences our lives does not consist of what actually happened, but of what men believe happened

High Drama Addiction

I figured out what makes those nutty people go on shows like Dr. Phil. They are addicted to high drama. They thrive on fighting and craziness. They need it. They don't want to fix it, they are not interested in stopping it, they just want to enjoy it in their own weird way.They would go nuts if they had to spend five minutes with peace and quiet.

The case of the SEXY SITTER

You are a young husband and father. Your 18 year old baby sitter comes on to you. She unzips your pants. Nature takes it course. You and the sitter do a very bad thing. You go on Dr. Phil's show. You get skewered, roasted and toasted. You did not have the good sense, fortutude or basic moral values to tell the temptress to leave you alone because you are married. The mostly female audience loves it. They are ready to storm the stage and Bobbitize you so you can't do it again. The few males, dragged to the show by their wives, are squirming. Some are thinking, "There, but for the grace of God ..." Others were not so fortunate. But what of the sexy sitter? Not one word about morals or lack thereof. What's her story? Is she an innocent victim? Has she done it before? will she do it again? Ah, but there is a much bigger question. It is being asked in the network executive offices. "What can we do to top this on tomorrow's show that will keep the ratings going through the roof?"

Me and Sam McGee

We are experiencing what is politely called a "cold snap." I call it freezing to death. When I expire, which could be any day now if it don't warm up, my earthly remains will become what the mortuary industry calls "cremains." Like Robert W. Service's Sam McGee, I will order the attendants to leave the oven door closed so I can stay warm.

Dr. Phil has lost it

Dr. Phil and Robin have totally sold out to the ratings race. The new season opened with new heights of hype. I like Dr. Laura better. She gets right to the point, tells 'em what they need to hear and if they don't like it, that's their problem. There's none of Phil's "I'll give you my hard hitting, straight from the shoulder word on what you need to do right after these commercials. " I'm asleep before he comes back. Reminds me of the old story about the super salesman bride groom who spent his wedding night sitting on the edge of the bed, telling his bride how great it was going to be when they made love.

Oprah and Obama

Does Oprah have enough power to get Obama elected, or least nominated? Probably. Is that a good thing? I like what Bob Dylan said about show biz figures messing with issues like that. "For some reason, people seem to think performers have the answer to the problems of society. What can you say to somethng like that? It's absurd, really." What's really crazy is when the performers believe it.

Year's Worst Commercial?

A question for you boomers who have lost your teeth and who are driven to distraction by loose uppers or lowers rattling around in your head. Did you rush right out to grab a package of Sea Bond Denture Adhesive, inspired by those bright, happy, young, fun loving seniors singing "Bye bye ooze, bye bye yuckiness" to the tune of an old Everly Brothers song? If you did, then mabye it's not such a bad commercial after all. It did what commercials are supposed to do . I can't really be sore at the ad agency that produced the commercial. It will probably win an award. Henceforth and forever more, every person who reaches for a package of Seabond will see and hear that image in their heads. But I can be big time pissed at the Brothers or whoever now owns the rights to their songs. Can they be so hard-up that they actually took big bucks from the agency for the right to turn the song into that travesty? Is nothing sacred??

Crazy Old Men

I don't believe in long blog posts. Who would take the time to read them? Having said that, here is a long blog post. It is my column for a senior magazine. It won't appear until sometime in October, so I must wait to see if it gets any interesting responses.


Crazy Old Men
I apologize to mental health workers and patients who might be offended by my title. I chose it because I am willing to do whatever it takes to make a reader stop to see what it’s all about.
For almost three years, I held a most interesting volunteer position at the geriatric unit of Hackley Behavioral Health. In today’s era of language correctness, we no longer speak of psychiatric wards, but that’s what it is. It is a locked, in-patient psychiatric facility with a separate unit for older patients. Old timers still think of it as Northwood. I did what they called music therapy. It was really no more than playing old songs on the piano and reminiscing with the patients, many of whom were younger than I was. I was good at it and there were some rewarding breakthroughs.
The most surprising thing I encountered there was the large number of male patients. I expected that the population of any geriatric facility would be mostly female, as in nursing homes, just because women live longer. I am still puzzled about what it is that is putting so many older men in psychiatric treatment facilities. Is it Alzheimer’s or other dementia? Addiction to drugs or alcohol? Family pressure from adult offspring whose lives are a mess? Loss of self worth because of retirement, especially if forced by downsizing, company restructuring or sale? Can’t get a new job because of age? Indulgent, mothering wives who left widowers unable to care for themselves? Involuntary commitment by family members? That was the case with many of the patients I saw.
Could it be that it is simply more acceptable for men to seek professional help for emotional problems than it was for previous generations. Perhaps we are past the notion that men are supposed to be the great, stoic dragon slayers, Clint and Arnold, shooting and terminating, keeping it all together while our women fall apart There are days when I am precariously close to checking myself in to the psych ward and asking to be pumped full of something to get me through the stuff that the twenty first century is throwing at us old guys. That is a terrible admission that men of my father’s generation would never even have dared think about, much less put it in black and white for all the world to see.
Here is a thought that won’t win me any points with any macho male types out there. Might it be that members of what we used to call the weaker sex are actually better equipped to handle life’s ego-crushing emotional blows and defeats than we men are?
I ask for comments from mental health professionals, patients, family, spouses, men who are hurting, armchair psychologists and anyone who has something to say about all this. You may be anonymous. We waive the usual rule that letters to the editor must be signed. If you e-mal me personally at janman30@yahoo.com, your e-mail address will not be saved unless you specifically say you are interested in personal correspondence.

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It's Father Coglin

After spending far too much time staring at the screen, I find that I recalled it correctly ... It's Father Coglin or Coglen, not Cofflin. I have too much time on my hands. Now I can move on to other foolish searches. My next post will be the text of my column for a senior magazine published by the area Council on Aging here in Mishconson.

Father Coughlin

Anybody out there with the correct pronunciation of the infamous radio priest's name ? I am producing a talk that mentions him and I want to get it right. I was very young when he was spewing his venom from the Shrine of the Little Flower, but I seem to recall hearing it as "Coglin" rather than "Cofflin."

PBS GEEZER SHOWS

I am ancient. I can't relate to music that came along after 1954, the last year of what are now "old standard" performers and songs before rock became the popular music of choice. So I usually like it when PBS trots out the old stars for their fundraisers, knowing that it will cause older viewers to open their billfolds, let the moths fly out and make a healthy contribution.But they went too far with their latest senior special. Sure, it's good to know that Ed Ames, Kay Starr, Margaret Whiting, Robert Goulet, Andy Williams and the Crew Cuts and the Gaylords are still breathing regularly and able to shuffle up to a microphone. But some of them looked pretty bad and didn't sing all that great.Nick Clooney's tribute to his sister Rosie was nice, and I will assume it was at his merciful request that they showed only clips of her great early performances and not later ones where she was overweight and struggling. When 94 year old Tony Martin sang or lip synched or whatever it was, I'm not sure it was the same song the orchestra was playing. It was painful. Let the old stars rest in peaceful retirement.

The Rand Girls, Ayn and Sally

A friend has changed his e-mail name to "randfan." He hastened to add that he meant Ayn, not Sally. That's too bad. I ain't smart enough to understand Ayn and all that stuff she wrote. But I sure appreciate Sally and her fans and bubbles.

Grissom, You're the man

CSI's Gil Grissom might be my favorite TV character. He's a perfect geek, nerd or whatever the currently correct word is ... knows more about forensics and bugs than anybody, but has no clue about relationships or women. Frustrated co-worker Sarah wants more than a working relationship and old Gil just can't figure out what's bugging her. I don't know if I'm supposed to be mad at him for being so dumb or at her for trying to pull something out of him that he doesn't have to give. Maybe that's what makes a good story. You can let it say whatever you want it to.

Mr. Foley and Me

I had an unpleasant and somewhat painful procedure at the doctor's office. I asked the nurse if anyone ever freaked out and demanded to be put to sleep. She said it's the younger guys who can't handle it. One of them, in for a vasectomy, passed out before they even started the operation, went home and never came back. By the time you achieve senior status, you have had so many surgeries and so many tubes and cameras poked into every known orfice that one more doesn't matter all that much.

Bubble Boy

Number 7 Grandson Alexander

Naked truth about blogosphere

It took ten clicks on the "Next blog" button to find one in English. Number ten was photos of naked Latinas. But I could read about them in English.

Hot Butts, Tight Jeans

Am I a dirty old man? Don't answer that. Am I seeing sex where it isn't? Are the current Old Navy commercials pornographic? Do most womens' butts look that good in tight jeans?

Diane Rehm/Ira Glass/Terry Gross

There's a blogger who can't stand NPR's Diane Rehm because she is old and talks slow. I can't listen to Ira Glass because he's young and talks too fast. So maybe Public Radio does have something for everyone. And there's Terry Gross. She talks OK ... holds some kind of record for the most bigshot guests who have walked out on her.

New Heights of Lawyer Creativity

There is a lawyer even more "creative" than the one who puts drunk drivers back on the road. This one took the case of the woman whose husband was burned by Starbuck's tea. She is suing because he burned his lips so bad that she can't kiss him.

How Impersonal Can it Get?

Here is one of the few reasons I wish I were a lot younger: I would have no memory of the pre-digital, personal service era when we dealt with real people, not buttons on a touch-tone phone. How far can this depersonalization go? I think we are there. After endless punching of buttons to get to the desired department and finally holding on for the operator, a recorded voice told me that if I wanted to talk to the operator I should leave my name and number and he or she (more likely an "it") would call me back. We must now make an appointement to talk to an operator.
But wait! There's more. Do not try to pay your utility bill in person. Drop it in the box that's there for your great convenience or mail or pay online. It will cost you two bucks to hand it to a real live person. Mighty Comcast has joined this evil plot to do away with real people. It will cost me two bucks to pay my bill in person there, too. Yea, verily. We have reached the epitome of impersonalization.

President of Starkist

Is the big boss at Starkist the TUNA KAHUNA?

Fruit of the Loom song

I am so so old that when those ladies come on in their bras and panties I just close my eyes and freak out over that song. Sounds like the same people who did the Country Time Lemonade song a few years ago. Those diminished chords have a strange and wonderful effect. Country Time offered recordings of the song and I sent for one. I still play it

Most Creative Lawyer?

If I get so frustrated and confused by road construction and repair that I have an accident and/or drive into a big hole and/or have a nervous breakdown, can I sue the city or the state or whoever is in charge of the motoring mayhem? I'll bet I could find a lawyer who would take the case. I have one in mind. I just saw his TV commercial. He is soliciting business from people charged with drunk driving. He has taken the phrase, "Friends don't let friends drive drunk" and twisted it to, "Friends don't let friends plead guilty." He will get your license restored and put you back on the road so you can do it again.

HOLY HOT DOGS, BATMAN!

I have been eating Hebrew National Kosher Hot Dogs. They are as good as the TV commercials say they are. That's because Hebrew National answers to a higher power.

Amos 'n' Andy and Leo

Leo the MGM Lion first roared at moviegoers in 1924. He's even older than I am! I watch old MGM musicals just to hear him roar and to see those wonderful words "Ars Gratia Artis." Art for its own sake. Thank goodness I grew up back in those old, incorrect, insensitive days when we enjoyed radio, books, movies and all art forms just the fun of it. We didn't analyze it to death or indulge in hand wringing and teeth gnashing about the bad messages that were filling our minds.
Should I apologize to my 8 year old African American Grandson for loving the nightly radio adventures of Amos 'n' Andy when I was not much older than he is? I guess I could say I didn't know any better. The roles were played by two white guys using what in those days was "Negro dialect." Must I feel guilty for loving MGM's all Black film from 1943, "Cabin in the sky?" What a beautiful and touching tale. There was Ethel Waters, the great lady who kissed me on the cheek after I did a radio interview with her. Eddie Anderson, as her "Little Joe" was so closely associated with his long running radio and TV role as Jack Benny's valet that the movie credits call him Eddie "Rochester" Anderson. When Ethel Waters sings one of the great all time torch songs, "Happiness is just a thing called Joe," I lose it. Goosebumps big time. The song was nominated for an academy award. The title song is a superb piece of songwriting, too. The first eleven notes climb upward, just like the mystical stairway to the heavenly cabin that Petunia and Little Joe climb in the film's wonderful dream sequence. Ethel Waters continued to sing "Cabin in the Sky," along with "His Eye is on the Sparrow" in her later years when she joined the Billy Graham Crusades.
The DVD release of the film is preceeded by an apology for the racial stereotypes and it's followed by a long, detailed social commentary, complete with clips illustrating various stereotypical situations and characters. The commentator took a slap at what he perceived as the simple minded religious faith that was portrayed in the film. I didn't find it at all simple minded, but "simple" in the best sense of the word, a charming, well crafted and acted tale of the battle between good and evil, God and the devil. Lena Horne, now in her eighties, played the temptress who seduced Little Joe. She was on the commentary. I would like to have heard what she said, but I got bored to death before her part came on.
When my now 8 year old grandson gets older, must he apologize to his grandkids for loving old Disney and Warner Brothers cartoons?" They're violent, they're full of racial, ethnic and gender stereotypes. You can find something demeaning about some group in every famous cartoon character and story. Dangerous music, too. The NPR interview with a fellow who has written a book about cartoon music ended with Louis Armstrong's recording of "Chinatown My Chinatown" as an example of an unfortunate stereotpye. Will 8 year old Alexander have to wring his hands and gnash his teeth about his youthful cartoon habit when he gets to be an old granddad??

Flagged Blogs

I wonder what it takes to get a blog removed after being flagged. Can't be porno or "bad words." There's plenty of that. I don't think it's politically incorrect views about the government, individuals or groups. And with so many miilions of bloggers online, blog providers can't possibly have enough people to investigate every complaint.How many flaggged blogs wind up being deleted? Wouldn't it be interesting to get into the complaint department. Has a media reporter ever done a story about that? I think I will suggest it.

Old Things

A good friend who collects everything gave me the magnificent, big-as-a-barn 1941 Zenith console Radio that's the centerpiece of the nostalgia corner of my room, along with pictures of a 1930 Packard, Theater Organ consoles and legendary pin-up girl Bettie Page busting out of her nurses uniform. (My son, who is not all bad, gave me the huge wall hanging of Bettie.) If I can clear a space on the wall, my old QSL cards and ham license plates will go up there.
This collector friend asked me the other day, "What's the good word?" I said, "It's not sex. Not money. I know, it's ANTIQUES!" He agreed. He would be happy to add an old Hammond Organ to my den of nostalgia, but I would want a Leslie speaker for it, and they are even bigger than the radio. I guess I could float a loan and add a room for my old toys. While I'm at it, how about a bigger garage to house an old Packard and a mid 80's Chrysler Fifth Avenue. How fortunate that my wife does not read my blog. I am saved from an untimely death by murder.

I love old things. Maybe it's because I am one.

The Gay Life. Changing Times

Anybody out there young enough to remember a famous book (I think it was also a play) "Our Hearts Were Young and Gay"?
I have a note from a friend my age (real old) whose granddaughter's wedding will feature a gay man best friend instead of a bridesmaid. Granny says that if she had done that when she married, her country village forbears would have disowned her. If I had told my country village relatives I had a gay friend, they would have said, "That's nice. It's good for you to be with happy people."

Buster Keaton on Bikini Beach?

Even if you are not sick, you should go to a doctor's waiting room to look at amazing magazines you didn't know about. I was astounded to learn that Buster Keaton, the great silent film maker who some say was better than Chaplin, was reduced in later years to appearing in at least two Annette Funicello-Frankie Avalon beach bikini films in the mid 60's. Apparently he played himself, complete with his trademark porkpie hat. When I can find it, I will post a picture of me with Buster's widow and his co-star in one of his silents from the 20's. Eleanor Keaton has left us, but silent actress Adrian Booth is still around at 88.

Cynics Anonymous

Responding to my Fathers Day post, Etaoin Shrdlu finds it typically cynical. I am president of the local CA chapter. It has naught to do with my advanced age and associated curmudgeonliness. When I quit my first job at the radio station owned by the Methodist Church and told the boss it was clear that the church didn't want or
need a radio station, he said "We have a cynic here." I was in my early 20's. There is another thing young persons need to know when contemplating marriage: Your lover's little human peculiarities might become major irritants as he/she gets older. Oops, there I go again. I must call a CA meeting so we can share gripes and groans about life.

Fathers Day

Few men, maybe none, are quite the father that their wives wish they were. Is that cynical? I hope not. Male and female parenting needs are different. That's one of the thousand and one things you need to know before you cohabit and make babies. If I were a premarital counsellor I would remind the couples of that. But they probably wouldn't listen.

Phil and Robin

Dr. Phil is too hard on men. If he has never had a lusty thought about some babe in 30 years of marriage, Robin must be a helluva woman.

THE WRITING LIFE

Not a very creative or original title for one who claims to care about words. But that's what it's about. Writing and life. The only time I am really happy, the only thing that I lose myself in, is writing. Doesn't matter whether I'm composing in my head or pecking away at the keyboard and watching those wonderful words pop up on the screen. That's probably a pretty neurotic thing. Writing is something you do alone. I suppose a shrink would say I need to check into Nurse Ratched's psych ward and get a real life. How I admire those writers who are great adventurers, living life to the fullest, living it and writing about it with equal balance, skill and passion.
I get some kind of vicarious joy watching people, especially musicians, who get happily lost in what they do.It's also great fun to read about bloggers' passions. I'm a pretty good amateur musician, but I never quite get lost in it like the real musicians do.I get close to that point and then something goes wrong, I leave the keyboard and don't touch it again for a long time. When I'm on the bandstand, doing the announcing at a Big Band Concert, it makes me smile to know that the audience thinks I'm up there going happily nuts to be involved with all that great music. They don't need to know that I'm lost in mentally composing my clever adlib introduction for the next tune on the list. Words are my music. I should have used that for the title.