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- Must Make Joke
- An Expression for All Occasions
- He Answered the Final Summons
- Great White Devours Sunday Afternoon
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To the readers of "Lou's Mildly Amusing Musings" wherever you may be. Take note! Van Pelt will be playing at Logan's Pub in Pittsburgh this coming Saturday, June 6, 2009. The opening act, Funky Nubbins, will begin at 9 pm.
I'm not sure how many of the millions of readers of this blog are also fans of Van Pelt but if the answer is all of you, we may be able to move the gig up onto the roof of the bar and fill the streets of Oakland. This is the concert that the "mainstream media" doesn't want you to know about, but our voices will not be silenced. Van Pelt will be playing an eclectic mix of songs by various singer-songwriters over the age of 50. The Seventies shall not be forgotten.
You have now been notified of the rocking that will take place this Saturday. For yourself and for the future generations, please act accordingly.
I think that there are certain situations where there are really only one or two jokes that you can make. I think photos that accompany blog pages, or now twitter pages, is just such a situation.
I heard on my favorite podcast (Galactic Watercooler), that Brent Spiner has a crazy twitter thing going where he sometimes doles out a line from a story he is spinning one twitter at a time. Indeed, he does. But he also has the above photo of himself. I think it's the overly serious and overly profound author photograph that I have on my blog as well.
It reminds me of one of my favorite David Sedaris stories (that I think I've referred to already): He goes into a novelty store and sees a jar of eyeballs on the counter. He immediately goes to grab an eyeball when he sees a sign reading, "Do not hold the fake eyes up to your real eyes," which is exactly what he was going to do.
Then again, there's something comforting in arriving at the same joke as other people. I like to think that me and Brent Spiner might have a similar sense of humor. I will admit that Spiner pulled this one off better than I did. Holding the glasses is the perfect touch. I didn't think of that.
The only other kind of joke photograph that you would use for a blog or twitter would be a picture of you eating something. Maybe cereal.
My wife has a friend who, like her, is a poultry enthusiast. She will often drive him to the local poultry swap that takes place every month. Paul is in his late seventies and is an atheist. He is very critical of organized religion and takes notice whenever a minister or evangelist gets caught up in some kind of scandal, which only reinforces his belief that religion is a sham.
The poultry swap takes place on a Sunday morning, and Krista will sometimes call Paul up and ask if he wants to "go to church." She really means the poultry swap, but sometimes Paul will be thinking of real church and he responds with one of his favorite expressions. He says, "I'll go to church...up a raccoon's ass."
I've been thinking that this expression is extremely versatile and that I could modify it to fit all kinds of situations.
Sure, I'll go to the committee meeting...up a raccoon's ass. You want me to come to your wine tasting party? A weekly staff meeting, you say? Oh, you're having a brainstorming session down the hall? Teambuilding retreat? I'll go to your teambuilding retreat...up a raccoon's ass.
As I dissect the expression, I think it's a variation on the old proverb that a camel can pass through the eye of a needle sooner than a rich man can pass through the gates of heaven. If I know my scriptures, I believe that's from Ephesians, somewhere around chapter 30 or 40.
Though I suspect that they cleaned it up for the Bible. The common saying at the time would start with one guy asking, "Can a rich man go to heaven?" His friend would reply, with much sarcasm, "Sure, a rich man can go to heaven...up a camel's ass."
As I was reading a 1909 newspaper today, I noticed how they really jazzed up the obituaries back then. One I saw today for a guy we'll call Ezekiel Fuchs had the headline: Ezekiel Fuchs Answered the Final Summons.
It seemed a bit poetic but also a bit morbid. Saying that he answered the final summons conjures up an image of a guy walking out a door one last time or punching a clock or something like that. It far surpasses the literal: Ezekiel Fuchs Died of a Heart Attack or Ezekiel Fuchs Died in His Sleep Last Night. About one thousand times better than Ezekiel Fuchs Passed Away.
To me, the phrase "passed away" conjures up the image of someone vanishing, but sort of slowly vanishing. The obituaries of olden times didn't sugarcoat death that way. I have even seen obituaries make reference to the Grim Reaper, such as Reaper Calls On Ezekiel Fuchs. I'm also reminded of Hudsucker Proxy when the company announces over the loudspeakers: "At noon today, Wering Hudsucker merged with the infinite." Rather than sweep death under the rug, they made it into a bit of a dramatic event.
Not to mention those who died violently could count on having the details of their death described vividly. The paper included many accounts of cave ins and slate falls in the mines not to mention bizarre accidents in the brickyards and the tin mills. It was not unusual for the first line of a news item to include the phrase "skull crushed." One I saw today ended on a comforting note: coworkers examined the body and determined that the man was killed instantly.
It also seemed like deaths could be dramatic but not at all heroic. Ezekiel Fuchs Defeated by Illness. Then they'll give details about the person's health leading up to their death. Fuchs suffered from the grip for three months. He continually weakened until he was bedridden by February. Finally, he succumbed on March 15.
One bizarre story I read today was about an automobile terrifying a horse. An elderly couple were riding in their buggy on the way to Steubenville, I think, and when an approaching car startled their horse, they were thrown from the buggy. The woman was thrown into a barbed wire fence. The story finished with: It will be months before she is able to go out again.
Certainly some harsh shit going down back in 1909, but I liked how they looked at the brutal realities square on. Maybe I should try to write my own obituary at some point. Perhaps something like: Martin Exits World.
I cannot tell you how many times all my potential plans have vanished into thin air because of the 1975 summer blockbuster "Jaws." Well, it happened again today.
Usually if I come in early enough, I can resist it. But if I come in anytime after Richard Dreyfuss shows up, I usually succumb to its powers. Then when Robert Shaw comes on screen, all the chores, dirty clothes, dirty dishes, cat boxes, trash, half-read books, pet projects; they can all go to hell. Instead I find myself yelling, "Tie me a sheep shank!"
I think Quint is the perfect hero. He's gruff and unlikeable. And he's a bit too cocky -- he doesn't know what kind of shark he's up against. But then we begin to peel back layer after layer and find out that Quint is more than we thought.
I see a lot of Humphrey Bogart characters in Quint. At first we think that Rick in Casablanca is just a cynical, bitter son of a bitch who's out to screw over an old girlfriend, but gradually we learn about his dark but heroic past. With Quint, by the time Hooper has won Quint over, Quint has won us over.
The drinking scene, I think it goes without saying, is one of the greatest scenes in the history of film. I've seen Shaw's retelling of the USS Indianapolis so many times I know it's rhythym and inflection, and it's an absolute work of art. The way he starts off by smiling and putting his hand on Hooper's arm as Hooper is laughing about his own joke. Then, just the right number of dramatic pauses. He taps his tin cup of moonshine just right. He's got a glint in his eyes and a smile at some points, which hides the raw emotions beneath the surface. It's worth watching and rewatching no matter how long the to-do list is.
And while I'm at it, it's also Roy Scheider at his best. I sometimes forget that he's a New York City cop until they get on the boat, and he has no idea what he's doing. I love the scene when Jaws has come back to get them, and Scheider runs to his bag to get his .357 revolver. And the dangling cigarette -- what a great touch. His performance is deceptively simple, I think.
One other thing I was thinking about: the age of the characters. It seems that heroes today are much more likely to be 18-29 years old rather than the 30-50 range that you have in the great action movies of the 1970s. I shudder to think who'd be playing the three guys in a 2009 version of Jaws. I suspect Colin Farrell would be in there somewhere.
Finally, being perhaps the first summer blockbuster, it was un-self-conscious about a blockbuster. While there are big lines and big moments and special effects, everything is more understated. There's a lot of time to think and reflect and ignore dirty dishes, dirty clothes, etc.
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