A few months ago, Sony PlayStation fell victim to cyberhackers who compromised personal information belonging to, oh, I don't know, about a hundred million users. Sony claims they were using industry standard protection devices. This begs the question: should industry standards be upgraded? Just asking. But the real problem is this: 100,000,000 PlayStation users had to sit it out while Sony shut down the service. What in God's name would they do?
Read a book?
Go outside and play?
Talk to someone face to face?
I asked a thirteen year old boy who lives on my block if he subscribed to Sony's PlayStation wifi. He said, yes, he did. I asked him if he knew the system was shut down for a while. He said, yes, I know. And then I asked him, "What are you going to do if you can't use Playstation for a few months?" And he said:
"I just jump over to Xbox."
What a dumbass question.
BUT HEY! We adults are facing the same problem with regard to football and basketball. A possible NBA lockout is following right on the heels of the NFL lockout. Come this fall, the possibility exists that we will have no football. And maybe no basketball? What in tarnation is going on in this Godforsaken universe? We need to help billionaires settle their differences with millionaires as soon as possible. The implications are ominous. Without football or basketball, we would have to
Read a book?
Go outside and play?
Talk to someone face to face?
By the way, there is a group of cyberhackers known as "Anonymous" wreaking havoc upon banks and defense contractors. Really? "Anonymous?" Of course you're anonymous...if you used your real names, officials would know how to find you. Back in the seventies, we used cool names for our revolutionary organizations, like the Symbionese Liberation Army. Or Red Dawn. C'mon, get with it for Chrisakes!
Monday, June 20, 2011
Friday, June 17, 2011
Go Sell Your Cloaks and Buy Swords
See - even Jesus knew when to weapon up. Okay, so people say that Jesus would never advocate violence. I'm not sure of the biblical metaphors or what not...all I know is that soon afterward someone got their ear cut off.
There are plenty of people out there who think the coming financial meltdown necessitates a self-defense regimen consisting of food storage*, bomb shelters and weapons training-we are facing our own moment of cloak-selling. I'm not so sure. Yeah, maybe another round of quantitative easing might inflate the dollar to the point of obsolescence; maybe we find ourselves in a modern day production of Cabaret, hauling wheelbarrows of Deutschmarks to the grocery store to buy a single loaf of bread. (Can I be Joel Grey? Wilkommen!) But do we really forecast rioting? Social unrest, perhaps, but I don't think anybody's really up for takin' it to the streets. The point of armed resistance has long since passed away. If I get busted for protesting, there goes my shot at that promotion for that job that doesn't exist anymore in that company that outsourced all of its jobs overseas.
Anyways, I live across the highway from a gun club. It's not fair for me to complain about it...sort of like the guy who buys a house next to O'Hare and complains about the jet noise. Nonetheless, here I go. Gunshot is one of the most disturbing noises in the world.** There is something unsettling about gunshot report, even a half mile away. My dog, Forrest, was a coon hound, genetically in tune with gunshot. But even he did not like it. If the gun dudes were out blasting away at the skeet, Forrest would just stick his head out of the garage and turn right back around. He would ask me, most sincerely, if it would be okay if he just peed in the kitchen today. And I couldn't argue with him.
But there must be something to it. What are these guys doing? And why are they doing it on Sunday morning? For God's sake, can we not give it a rest on Sunday til noon...at least? (There should be a law: No one is allowed to make any noise, be it lawn maintenance, big wheels, basketball bouncing, or shooting, until 11:00 am on Sundays and holidays.) But, do they know something we don't know? Do they?
NONETHELESS: Summer is here. Hot weather always brings increased odds of violence. What if the economy collapses in the middle of July? What if decent, God-fearing people can't find employment, food, housing - just as the temperature spikes toward 100? By the way, why does it get so damn hot in Arizona and Nevada, but no one seems to riot there? Some people believe it's because there is no humidity. People used to tell my father he should move there. He would always say, "Yeah, but doesn't it get really hot there?" And they would respond, "Yes, but it's a really dry heat." And my father would tell them, "So is my oven, but you don't see me moving there."
Whatever. If the financial world collapses and you find yourself tempted to take up arms, back off. When the Clay People come to take over Earth, I will run across the highway and enlist the help of my Sunday gun-toting brethren. In the meantime, just sit out on the front porch with a glass of lemonade and take it all in. My friend Randy recommends fresh squeezed lemons, "none of this neon green powdered crap."
*When I was in college, I worked for my grandfather's moving and storage company. One of my first assignments was my next door neighbors - they were Mormons moving to Utah. Mormons must be prepared for whatever disaster befalls them...war, famine, unemployment, Bernie Madoff.......and that includes a basementful of grains, water, etc. My job was - you guessed it - the basement. Five gallon containers of wheat, rice, corn...hundreds of them. For years after that, in my dreams, I made them smoke and dance.
**When I was in college, a grad student by the name of Frederico (not his real name - his real name was Andy) lived on my floor in the dorm. He lived in Ireland for a few years during "The Troubles"...not the Troubles of 1916, or the 1940's, or the 1960's, but the Troubles of the 1970's. Every time he heard a loud "BANG", he would freak out, thinking it was gunfire or bombing. God, did we have fun with him!
There are plenty of people out there who think the coming financial meltdown necessitates a self-defense regimen consisting of food storage*, bomb shelters and weapons training-we are facing our own moment of cloak-selling. I'm not so sure. Yeah, maybe another round of quantitative easing might inflate the dollar to the point of obsolescence; maybe we find ourselves in a modern day production of Cabaret, hauling wheelbarrows of Deutschmarks to the grocery store to buy a single loaf of bread. (Can I be Joel Grey? Wilkommen!) But do we really forecast rioting? Social unrest, perhaps, but I don't think anybody's really up for takin' it to the streets. The point of armed resistance has long since passed away. If I get busted for protesting, there goes my shot at that promotion for that job that doesn't exist anymore in that company that outsourced all of its jobs overseas.
Anyways, I live across the highway from a gun club. It's not fair for me to complain about it...sort of like the guy who buys a house next to O'Hare and complains about the jet noise. Nonetheless, here I go. Gunshot is one of the most disturbing noises in the world.** There is something unsettling about gunshot report, even a half mile away. My dog, Forrest, was a coon hound, genetically in tune with gunshot. But even he did not like it. If the gun dudes were out blasting away at the skeet, Forrest would just stick his head out of the garage and turn right back around. He would ask me, most sincerely, if it would be okay if he just peed in the kitchen today. And I couldn't argue with him.
But there must be something to it. What are these guys doing? And why are they doing it on Sunday morning? For God's sake, can we not give it a rest on Sunday til noon...at least? (There should be a law: No one is allowed to make any noise, be it lawn maintenance, big wheels, basketball bouncing, or shooting, until 11:00 am on Sundays and holidays.) But, do they know something we don't know? Do they?
NONETHELESS: Summer is here. Hot weather always brings increased odds of violence. What if the economy collapses in the middle of July? What if decent, God-fearing people can't find employment, food, housing - just as the temperature spikes toward 100? By the way, why does it get so damn hot in Arizona and Nevada, but no one seems to riot there? Some people believe it's because there is no humidity. People used to tell my father he should move there. He would always say, "Yeah, but doesn't it get really hot there?" And they would respond, "Yes, but it's a really dry heat." And my father would tell them, "So is my oven, but you don't see me moving there."
Whatever. If the financial world collapses and you find yourself tempted to take up arms, back off. When the Clay People come to take over Earth, I will run across the highway and enlist the help of my Sunday gun-toting brethren. In the meantime, just sit out on the front porch with a glass of lemonade and take it all in. My friend Randy recommends fresh squeezed lemons, "none of this neon green powdered crap."
*When I was in college, I worked for my grandfather's moving and storage company. One of my first assignments was my next door neighbors - they were Mormons moving to Utah. Mormons must be prepared for whatever disaster befalls them...war, famine, unemployment, Bernie Madoff.......and that includes a basementful of grains, water, etc. My job was - you guessed it - the basement. Five gallon containers of wheat, rice, corn...hundreds of them. For years after that, in my dreams, I made them smoke and dance.
**When I was in college, a grad student by the name of Frederico (not his real name - his real name was Andy) lived on my floor in the dorm. He lived in Ireland for a few years during "The Troubles"...not the Troubles of 1916, or the 1940's, or the 1960's, but the Troubles of the 1970's. Every time he heard a loud "BANG", he would freak out, thinking it was gunfire or bombing. God, did we have fun with him!
Monday, May 16, 2011
Plastic Dessert and Other Aggravation
My students asked me if I've ever eaten Dippin Dots.I have, and there's one thing you should know: Dippin Dots are not the ice cream of the future. They are an abomination thrust upon real Americans who like their ice cream pure and creamy. I'm not exactly sure what they are made of; all I know is I tried them once. Kinda taste like frozen plastic beads. Remember when beads were all the rage? My girls loved them. Bead stores sprung up across the country: rows and rows of buckets filled with colored plastic beads. Make bracelets! Make necklaces! Make dad broke! They finally went the way of Cabbage Patch Kids; all their outlets dried up. The salvage companies swooped in and held all the product in storage for the next outbreak of bead fever. But it never came. I think they sold them to a guy who owned a cryogenic lab. That's my theory, but I'm not sure. One thing I am sure of: ice cream is the ice cream of the future.
Note: where do you find the most Dippin Dots kiosks? At shopping malls! Further proof of their evil. I have a hard time with shopping malls. They emit electromagnetic waves that scramble my brain whenever I drive within a two mile radius. True story - I once drove in circles around a mall for approximately three and a half hours, completely unaware of what I was doing. I was only able to break free of it's grip when the mall closed for the evening. It's what Ufologists call "lost time." I had a lost time episode! I have no idea what transpired, but I felt violated. I tried to work in a mall once, but I blacked out my first day. They found me endlessly riding the escalators. Down one side, u-turn, back up the other side. They say I was gone for over six hours.
That wasn't my worst job. I flunked a few classes in college and had to attend summer school to make up the credits. One of the classes was a theology seminar, and since I went to a Catholic college, I couldn't just blow it off. So I took two courses at Loyola in the city. Thing was, they were night courses, so I had to work graveyard shift. I couldn't work a regular day shift because I wouldn't be able to get off work early enough to make the 16 hour commute to the city. The only company hiring a third shift at the time was a new amusement park called "Great America." That's right, the only hell worse than a mall. I watered flowers. For eight hours. Oh, I got a lunch break: Dinty Moore Stew in a can from the vending machine. My co-workers were college students, too. Most of them. They asked me what I was studying. "Oh, Augustine, Henry James." "Who?" was the only response.
"I'm taking a course at the local college," one of them said. "It's really cool; it's called Philosophy of Star Trek." Another co-worker chimed in: "That sounds like the dumbest course anyone could ever take." The first one countered with, "So what are you taking?" To which he responded, "How To Be A Better Student." I laughed and mentioned the ultimate irony if somebody managed to flunk that course. "I did," he said. "This is my second time."
By the way, amusement parks usually boast several strategically located Dippin Dots kiosks. Draw your own conclusions.
You can find Dippin Dots at most Major League Baseball parks, too. But that's okay, they have baseball there as well. And real ice cream. I like it when they scoop it into those miniature batting helmet replicas. The only bad thing about that is sometimes I fell like Hannibal Lecter when he was eating that FBI guy's brains right out of his head. Yikes. Speaking of baseball: The best hitter in major league history was Ted Williams, and guess what? His family had him cryogenically frozen. Three guesses where he is right now, and the first two don't count.
Note: where do you find the most Dippin Dots kiosks? At shopping malls! Further proof of their evil. I have a hard time with shopping malls. They emit electromagnetic waves that scramble my brain whenever I drive within a two mile radius. True story - I once drove in circles around a mall for approximately three and a half hours, completely unaware of what I was doing. I was only able to break free of it's grip when the mall closed for the evening. It's what Ufologists call "lost time." I had a lost time episode! I have no idea what transpired, but I felt violated. I tried to work in a mall once, but I blacked out my first day. They found me endlessly riding the escalators. Down one side, u-turn, back up the other side. They say I was gone for over six hours.
That wasn't my worst job. I flunked a few classes in college and had to attend summer school to make up the credits. One of the classes was a theology seminar, and since I went to a Catholic college, I couldn't just blow it off. So I took two courses at Loyola in the city. Thing was, they were night courses, so I had to work graveyard shift. I couldn't work a regular day shift because I wouldn't be able to get off work early enough to make the 16 hour commute to the city. The only company hiring a third shift at the time was a new amusement park called "Great America." That's right, the only hell worse than a mall. I watered flowers. For eight hours. Oh, I got a lunch break: Dinty Moore Stew in a can from the vending machine. My co-workers were college students, too. Most of them. They asked me what I was studying. "Oh, Augustine, Henry James." "Who?" was the only response.
"I'm taking a course at the local college," one of them said. "It's really cool; it's called Philosophy of Star Trek." Another co-worker chimed in: "That sounds like the dumbest course anyone could ever take." The first one countered with, "So what are you taking?" To which he responded, "How To Be A Better Student." I laughed and mentioned the ultimate irony if somebody managed to flunk that course. "I did," he said. "This is my second time."
By the way, amusement parks usually boast several strategically located Dippin Dots kiosks. Draw your own conclusions.
You can find Dippin Dots at most Major League Baseball parks, too. But that's okay, they have baseball there as well. And real ice cream. I like it when they scoop it into those miniature batting helmet replicas. The only bad thing about that is sometimes I fell like Hannibal Lecter when he was eating that FBI guy's brains right out of his head. Yikes. Speaking of baseball: The best hitter in major league history was Ted Williams, and guess what? His family had him cryogenically frozen. Three guesses where he is right now, and the first two don't count.
Monday, May 2, 2011
You Deserve a Break Today, or, Even Wal-Mart Gets The Blues
McDonald's recently held a National Hire Day, and I thought, is that really necessary? Well, apparently it is. Over one million were served applications for McJobs. This is a recovery? Only 62,000 were hired, by the way, out of those one million applicants. That's a 6.2% acceptance rate. Somebody pointed out that it's easier to get into Harvard, currently accepting 7% of all applicants. But that makes sense, considering that most college graduates are finding themselves slinging burgers anyway. I say skip University and go right to work. You have landed a more prestigious appointment than any Ivy League school could offer. The average state college tuition is $15,000 yearly; the average private institution will run you $36,000. Lay out that money for higher learning and wind up finding a job at the mini-mart. Save yourself the hassle: you will find yourself ahead of the game in the long run.
Wal-Mart CEO Mike Duke recently fretted (yes, I used the word fretted) about a down-turn in sales, due, in his humble opinion, to the meteoric rise in gas prices. It couldn't have anything to do with the loss of jobs to cheap, overseas labor, could it? Or perhaps because more people than ever before are discovering their mortgages are so far underwater they need SCUBA gear? Wal-Mart also sees inflation soaring in the near future. It will soon cost you more to buy Indonesian sweat pants.
But that's okay, blame the unions. Yes, the same unions that built the middle class in this country. Even if you work in a non-union workplace, your wage and benefits are a direct result of union struggles. They are (were) bargaining chips played in an effort to secure your services. Several states are trying (and succeeding) in outlawing bargaining rights for public service sectors, and all hell breaks loose. "Isn't it awful what's happening in Wisconsin?" Yes, it is. Why don't we just outlaw breathing, and get it over with.
One man walks away with 52 billion dollars, but blame the unions. HEY! THAT GUY'S IN JAIL! WE CAN GET OUR MONEY BACK! SURELY HE COULDN'T SPEND 52 BILLION DOLLARS! WHA? WHERE'D IT GO?
No, wait: blame the teachers. Yes, teachers. I remember when I was in high school, all of my teachers made sure I knew how to run a proper Ponzi Scheme. First period, English; second period, Chemistry; third period, Fraud and sucking the soul out Grandpa's retirement fund..
Well, I suppose McDonald's will need all those new hires. Typical recession-proof businesses include movie houses, bowling alleys, and fast food. Wolf it down and then see if you can afford medical care. You deserve a break today. Have yourself a Happy Meal.
Wal-Mart CEO Mike Duke recently fretted (yes, I used the word fretted) about a down-turn in sales, due, in his humble opinion, to the meteoric rise in gas prices. It couldn't have anything to do with the loss of jobs to cheap, overseas labor, could it? Or perhaps because more people than ever before are discovering their mortgages are so far underwater they need SCUBA gear? Wal-Mart also sees inflation soaring in the near future. It will soon cost you more to buy Indonesian sweat pants.
But that's okay, blame the unions. Yes, the same unions that built the middle class in this country. Even if you work in a non-union workplace, your wage and benefits are a direct result of union struggles. They are (were) bargaining chips played in an effort to secure your services. Several states are trying (and succeeding) in outlawing bargaining rights for public service sectors, and all hell breaks loose. "Isn't it awful what's happening in Wisconsin?" Yes, it is. Why don't we just outlaw breathing, and get it over with.
One man walks away with 52 billion dollars, but blame the unions. HEY! THAT GUY'S IN JAIL! WE CAN GET OUR MONEY BACK! SURELY HE COULDN'T SPEND 52 BILLION DOLLARS! WHA? WHERE'D IT GO?
No, wait: blame the teachers. Yes, teachers. I remember when I was in high school, all of my teachers made sure I knew how to run a proper Ponzi Scheme. First period, English; second period, Chemistry; third period, Fraud and sucking the soul out Grandpa's retirement fund..
Well, I suppose McDonald's will need all those new hires. Typical recession-proof businesses include movie houses, bowling alleys, and fast food. Wolf it down and then see if you can afford medical care. You deserve a break today. Have yourself a Happy Meal.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Psycho-dogs and Orwellian Phone Apps
You know how professional athletes show up with mysterious injuries like broken hands or sprained ankles and they explain it away by claiming they tripped over the dog? Nobody believes them; they assume they were involved in a bar fight or a domestic altercation or some other alcohol induced horseplay. Well, I believe them! If you own a neurotic psycho rescue shelter dog, it will kill you, sooner or later. He will cut you off at the knees on the stairs, or shred your thigh muscles, or attack someone you love.
My dog's name is Forrest Gump. He is faster than hell and dumber than a box of rocks. I asked him why he found it necessary to complicate my life with the threat of major medical payment responsibility. "There are several reasons," he said. And, surprisingly, he was advanced enough to list them in bullet points:
"Yes. You move, I move."
"Then... one thing you should know. The delivery man at the front door with the Italian beef sandwich is your friend. I repeat, the man with the Italian beef sandwich is your friend. Also, that girl, I'm sure you remember her, is my daughter."
If you do not hear from me in the near future, alert the EMT's that I am at the bottom of the stairs.
Hey! I teach high school English. Right now we are reading Brave New World and studying dystopian societies. I told my students to compile what I call a "Paranoid Folder," a collection of current articles from magazines, websites, etc.... that reflect ....WAIT A MINUTE: NEWS FLASH...
FORREST ALMOST THREW ME OFF THE SECOND STORY BALCONY OF MY TOWNHOUSE....HE WAS DEFENDING ME FROM THE TWO MINI-POODLES NEXT DOOR... APPARENTLY BONNIE AND CLYDE WERE PREPARING A HOSTILE TAKEOVER WHEREBY THEY WOULD ASSUME FAVORITE DOG STATUS IN MY HOUSEHOLD.
...current trends in government and social activity that reflect what we have learned in this particular unit. I told them that there was an iPhone app called the Patriot App they could download that would allow them to snitch on their neighbor with respect to "national security" or "suspicious behavior."
http://www.theyeshivaworld.com/news/General+News/78251/iPhone-Snitch-network-Launched.html
They didn't believe me. I showed them the App on the web and told them they could download it if they wanted. They did. "I didn't believe you," they said, " but here it is." They complained that the app cost $1.00, so I gave them a dollar and told them to download it.
The very first thing I heard after that was, "Guess who the first person is I'm turning in?"
Right now there's an unmarked car in front of my house with two dudes wearing fedoras.
FOOTNOTE TO LAST POST:
In the last post I actually used the phrase," for crying out loud." What in tarnation is wrong with me?
My dog's name is Forrest Gump. He is faster than hell and dumber than a box of rocks. I asked him why he found it necessary to complicate my life with the threat of major medical payment responsibility. "There are several reasons," he said. And, surprisingly, he was advanced enough to list them in bullet points:
- I will never eat again.
- You will walk out the door and never come back.
- Anyone at the door is suspect; they are here to kill everyone and set fire to the house destroying everything but me - I will be unlucky enough to live and be sent back to the shelter.
"Yes. You move, I move."
"Then... one thing you should know. The delivery man at the front door with the Italian beef sandwich is your friend. I repeat, the man with the Italian beef sandwich is your friend. Also, that girl, I'm sure you remember her, is my daughter."
If you do not hear from me in the near future, alert the EMT's that I am at the bottom of the stairs.
Hey! I teach high school English. Right now we are reading Brave New World and studying dystopian societies. I told my students to compile what I call a "Paranoid Folder," a collection of current articles from magazines, websites, etc.... that reflect ....WAIT A MINUTE: NEWS FLASH...
FORREST ALMOST THREW ME OFF THE SECOND STORY BALCONY OF MY TOWNHOUSE....HE WAS DEFENDING ME FROM THE TWO MINI-POODLES NEXT DOOR... APPARENTLY BONNIE AND CLYDE WERE PREPARING A HOSTILE TAKEOVER WHEREBY THEY WOULD ASSUME FAVORITE DOG STATUS IN MY HOUSEHOLD.
...current trends in government and social activity that reflect what we have learned in this particular unit. I told them that there was an iPhone app called the Patriot App they could download that would allow them to snitch on their neighbor with respect to "national security" or "suspicious behavior."
http://www.theyeshivaworld.com/news/General+News/78251/iPhone-Snitch-network-Launched.html
They didn't believe me. I showed them the App on the web and told them they could download it if they wanted. They did. "I didn't believe you," they said, " but here it is." They complained that the app cost $1.00, so I gave them a dollar and told them to download it.
The very first thing I heard after that was, "Guess who the first person is I'm turning in?"
Right now there's an unmarked car in front of my house with two dudes wearing fedoras.
FOOTNOTE TO LAST POST:
In the last post I actually used the phrase," for crying out loud." What in tarnation is wrong with me?
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Dispelling Myths
No, I was not at Woodstock.
I was twelve years old in August, 1969. These wacky kids today, they have no sense of historical perspective. I think they believe that anyone over fifty with the slightest interest in amplified music must have been at Woodstock. In reality, you could find me mopping floors and emptying ashtrays at the local bowling alley. That's not to say I didn't immerse myself in the fervor of the day. I wore the uniform of the revolution: flannel shirt, jeans, combat boots, shoulder-length hair. I looked like I jumped off the cover of Neil Young's Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere. But I was twelve, for crying out loud. Follow-up question: "Were you born at Woodstock?" Yes, I slid right out of the womb and into the mud. My parents ate the brown acid, and, well, here I am.
The bowling alley provided quite an education. Late nights one am sweeping out the bar as the good ole boys drank whiskey and rye. "Hey, hippie, you burn your draft card?" Again, my age. "Hey, long-hair, you a draft-dodger? You burn your draft card?" "No, I told him. "I am only twelve. But if I did have a draft card, I probably would burn it right here in this bar. I would find it a lamentable waste of my American Youth to die for you. You and your ugly war and your redneck friends can go screw yourself. Also, I am not old enough to vote. If I was, I wouldn't have voted for your pal Nixon. You have destroyed a once proud nation. Where is your wife? Excuse me now, but I have to go wax lanes six through twelve." OK, so older folks have a strange perspective, too. Which goes to show you:
Things were not better in the Eisenhower Era.
I'm sorry, but let's take a look at some of the artists who charted on Billboard in 1955, the year before I was born:
June 1967 also witnessed the release of The Beatles' landmark Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band. I did not, however, start wearing marching band uniforms.
So, yes, remember the good old days: separate drinking fountains, nuclear weapons testing, Joe McCarthy, the interstate highway system. Eisenhower warned against the coming 'Military Industrial Complex', yet he initiated what was referred to as the National System of Interstate and Defense Highways. It was designed to be a system of roadways to transport missiles, troops and military supplies in case our Cold War foes invaded. He got the idea from the Germans. So what's up with that, Ike?
Speaking of Mitch Miller, he used to have a TV show called Sing Along With Mitch on NBC in the early sixties. He and an all-male choir would sing tunes, and the TV audience could follow the lyrics and sing along. Good times. I used to stay with my grandmother for a few weeks in the summer, and she made me sit there and - not just watch - but sing along! I have a little scar on my soul to this day. Years later, my grandmother stopped asking me to visit because I was sporting the aforementioned revolutionary garb. "You used to be such a nice boy," she'd say. My uncle used to taunt me: "Hey, long hair and sandals! Who do you think you are, Jesus?"
No, I am Neil Young.
I was twelve years old in August, 1969. These wacky kids today, they have no sense of historical perspective. I think they believe that anyone over fifty with the slightest interest in amplified music must have been at Woodstock. In reality, you could find me mopping floors and emptying ashtrays at the local bowling alley. That's not to say I didn't immerse myself in the fervor of the day. I wore the uniform of the revolution: flannel shirt, jeans, combat boots, shoulder-length hair. I looked like I jumped off the cover of Neil Young's Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere. But I was twelve, for crying out loud. Follow-up question: "Were you born at Woodstock?" Yes, I slid right out of the womb and into the mud. My parents ate the brown acid, and, well, here I am.
The bowling alley provided quite an education. Late nights one am sweeping out the bar as the good ole boys drank whiskey and rye. "Hey, hippie, you burn your draft card?" Again, my age. "Hey, long-hair, you a draft-dodger? You burn your draft card?" "No, I told him. "I am only twelve. But if I did have a draft card, I probably would burn it right here in this bar. I would find it a lamentable waste of my American Youth to die for you. You and your ugly war and your redneck friends can go screw yourself. Also, I am not old enough to vote. If I was, I wouldn't have voted for your pal Nixon. You have destroyed a once proud nation. Where is your wife? Excuse me now, but I have to go wax lanes six through twelve." OK, so older folks have a strange perspective, too. Which goes to show you:
Things were not better in the Eisenhower Era.
I'm sorry, but let's take a look at some of the artists who charted on Billboard in 1955, the year before I was born:
- Mitch Miller
- Perry Como
- Roger Williams
- Tennessee Ernie Ford
- The Four Lads
June 1967 also witnessed the release of The Beatles' landmark Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band. I did not, however, start wearing marching band uniforms.
So, yes, remember the good old days: separate drinking fountains, nuclear weapons testing, Joe McCarthy, the interstate highway system. Eisenhower warned against the coming 'Military Industrial Complex', yet he initiated what was referred to as the National System of Interstate and Defense Highways. It was designed to be a system of roadways to transport missiles, troops and military supplies in case our Cold War foes invaded. He got the idea from the Germans. So what's up with that, Ike?
Speaking of Mitch Miller, he used to have a TV show called Sing Along With Mitch on NBC in the early sixties. He and an all-male choir would sing tunes, and the TV audience could follow the lyrics and sing along. Good times. I used to stay with my grandmother for a few weeks in the summer, and she made me sit there and - not just watch - but sing along! I have a little scar on my soul to this day. Years later, my grandmother stopped asking me to visit because I was sporting the aforementioned revolutionary garb. "You used to be such a nice boy," she'd say. My uncle used to taunt me: "Hey, long hair and sandals! Who do you think you are, Jesus?"
No, I am Neil Young.
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