Years ago, during the Cold War, a Soviet spokesman was quoted as saying, “Why does the American Peasant put up with all the wasteful military spending?”
I was both astonished and offended by the statement, not the wasteful spending part but the term American Peasant. Does a peasant drive a Buick or live in an air-conditioned split level ranch house? How dare these Tartar savages insult us?
Of course wasteful military spending continued unabated to this day despite the warning President Eisenhower gave us about the military-industrial complex. War is Peace is one of the pillars of Big Brother. During the Reagan years we boasted of bankrupting the Soviets. Well, you can now include us in the Chapter 11 filing.
Dosvidanya suburbia, McMansions, and second homes. Au revoir fancy restaurants, expensive wine and lavish tips. Goodbye gas guzzlers, and those fat 401K s (the K stands for Kaput). We’re all working class now.
But what about those plump pensions for State workers? We can’t afford them anymore. “Any government that robs Peter to pay Paul will get the full support of Paul”, said George Bernard Shaw, no Fox News apparatchik, but a genuine Fabian Socialist.
The pension liability facing the States is now over $3 trillion. So the protestors crowd the State house in Wisconsin. I think that if you’re going to storm the Winter Palace you’ll need more than placards to change the system. The Ur union organizer Samuel Gompers was asked long ago what he wanted and his one word answer was “more”. I’m afraid the word today is “less”.
Don’t look at me tovarich. I’m a Don but not a Cossack. I agree with you. We’ll just have to see how the Nouveau Peasentry deals with the new reality. To quote the Unitarian Minister Bob Marshall, “If you want to be free brother, pay cash”.
Nevertheless, it’s nice to see the dictators falling in the Middle East. I saw my favorite war movie this week, “Sahara” circa 1943. The whole conflict is there in the desert. The pathetic Italian prisoner denounces Mussolini to his Nazi fellow prisoner who kills him. Meanwhile Tank Commander Humphrey Bogart gives the most inspirational speech in the film. He convinces his band of Allies to hold the line in a 100 to 1 shot. They prevail with bravery and losses. Tobruk is retaken and the Germans are stopped at El Alemein. Bottom line, to win you have to sacrifice and endure, die if you must if Rommel breaks out even if his name is Glenn Beck or John Boenher.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Saturday, February 19, 2011
The wittiest man in England
His name is Steve Lovering and he is an Eminent Bathonian (meaning he lives on charm and pale moonlight in Bath, near London).You might find him on Facebook but he’s far too modest to put his profile on Debrett’s or Burke’s Peerage.
He has been amusing me for years without resorting to long-winded jokes, puns, attitude, four letter words or any of the rusty tools of today’s unfunny comics. (See my blog “Say something witty” Dec. 10th, 2010 posting.)
He does it with erudition. He is extremely well read and superbly educated (just ask him).
Although he has written comedy professionally, his main career has been in advertising. He is sort of an English Don Draper, from Mad Men. In other words, pretty cool.
He is also very well traveled and comes to visit me in Vegas, which he calls Gomorrah. I did stump him once by saying that I knew what they did in Sodom but what were they guilty of in Gomorrah? He dodged this with some quote from Phillip Larkin rather than hear my theory that Sodom and Gomorrah were brother and sister, but that’s another parable.
Here’s how quick he is. There’s a spa here in the new Cosmopolitan called The Violet Hour. Ring a bell? Probably not, but Steve instantly knew it was from T.S. Eliot’s “The Waste Land”. “At the violet hour, when the eyes and back turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits..” Notice he didn’t stoop to saying it’s a spa known as The Waist Land.
He knows Orwell as well as I do, probably better since he once lived in the same flat as Saint George. Here’s some of his quickwittedness in action:
The most dreadful scene in 1984 is the torture chamber where people’s worst fears are used to break them. When the guards start to attach a cage with rats on his face, Winston screams, “Do it to Julia”, the ultimate betrayal of his love. He is broken forever. As Steve says:
Winston worked hard for the State,
Met Julia and goes on a date,
His thought crimes come out,
He sees rats; turns devout,
Now he thinks that Big Brother is great.
Steve has enjoyed a Dorian Grey deal and seems never to look older. I suppose when he does reach old age he will have to leave his mews house in Bath and be taken to a home for the terminally handsome.
He has been amusing me for years without resorting to long-winded jokes, puns, attitude, four letter words or any of the rusty tools of today’s unfunny comics. (See my blog “Say something witty” Dec. 10th, 2010 posting.)
He does it with erudition. He is extremely well read and superbly educated (just ask him).
Although he has written comedy professionally, his main career has been in advertising. He is sort of an English Don Draper, from Mad Men. In other words, pretty cool.
He is also very well traveled and comes to visit me in Vegas, which he calls Gomorrah. I did stump him once by saying that I knew what they did in Sodom but what were they guilty of in Gomorrah? He dodged this with some quote from Phillip Larkin rather than hear my theory that Sodom and Gomorrah were brother and sister, but that’s another parable.
Here’s how quick he is. There’s a spa here in the new Cosmopolitan called The Violet Hour. Ring a bell? Probably not, but Steve instantly knew it was from T.S. Eliot’s “The Waste Land”. “At the violet hour, when the eyes and back turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits..” Notice he didn’t stoop to saying it’s a spa known as The Waist Land.
He knows Orwell as well as I do, probably better since he once lived in the same flat as Saint George. Here’s some of his quickwittedness in action:
The most dreadful scene in 1984 is the torture chamber where people’s worst fears are used to break them. When the guards start to attach a cage with rats on his face, Winston screams, “Do it to Julia”, the ultimate betrayal of his love. He is broken forever. As Steve says:
Winston worked hard for the State,
Met Julia and goes on a date,
His thought crimes come out,
He sees rats; turns devout,
Now he thinks that Big Brother is great.
Steve has enjoyed a Dorian Grey deal and seems never to look older. I suppose when he does reach old age he will have to leave his mews house in Bath and be taken to a home for the terminally handsome.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Spam, Scam, Thank You Mam!
It started last month when a scheme slithered into my mail box. Voila, it contained a check for $4400 made out to me from a real bank. I had to do a few routine things such as remit some of it to people I’ve never heard of, but hey, a lot of it was mine to keep. I showed it to my bank manager and he said he would gladly deposit it but if it didn’t clear in ten days I would be stuck with a big fee and my own checks would be cashed. Actually, anyone could smell a rat in this one: a big check for doing very little, in this market! Hope springs eternal in the human breast. (1)
Two came in yesterday. One was simply a blatant chain letter. Send money to the top name and insert yourself at the bottom. Oh, and also buy 400 labels from them. Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive (2) This is a Stone Age scam but it proves that a sucker is born every minute (3).
The other was more polished and was triggered by two of the seven deadly sins: sloth and greed. It was titled Document of Award Payment and featured a check for $1,400,000. This is something Publisher’s Clearing House told me about when I subscribed to the ultra-thin Time magazine. I thought it was kosher. But I took time to read it carefully. It had no real sender’s name or address and it made some glaring mistakes in English, but you can see that in the newspaper every day. What I noticed was the check mark to enclose $19.99 basically to prove that I was me. It had nothing to do with Publishers Clearing House. What do ya think, I’m dumb or something? (4)
These are decidedly simple scams, unlike the big money rip offs in mortgages and derivatives but they are booby trapped just the same.
Schemers love dreamers, but folks, just put your dreams away for another day. If it says Act now, Urgent, Offer expires in five minutes, click here, only $47 for the secret to a six figure income I suggest you Act Now and throw it in the trash can and click the spam button. Never give these suckers an even break. (5)
(1) Alexander Pope, (2) Sir Walter Scott, (3) P.T Barnum (4) Lena Lamont in Singin’ in the Rain. (5) W.C. Fields Quotations courtesy of www.ask.com
Two came in yesterday. One was simply a blatant chain letter. Send money to the top name and insert yourself at the bottom. Oh, and also buy 400 labels from them. Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive (2) This is a Stone Age scam but it proves that a sucker is born every minute (3).
The other was more polished and was triggered by two of the seven deadly sins: sloth and greed. It was titled Document of Award Payment and featured a check for $1,400,000. This is something Publisher’s Clearing House told me about when I subscribed to the ultra-thin Time magazine. I thought it was kosher. But I took time to read it carefully. It had no real sender’s name or address and it made some glaring mistakes in English, but you can see that in the newspaper every day. What I noticed was the check mark to enclose $19.99 basically to prove that I was me. It had nothing to do with Publishers Clearing House. What do ya think, I’m dumb or something? (4)
These are decidedly simple scams, unlike the big money rip offs in mortgages and derivatives but they are booby trapped just the same.
Schemers love dreamers, but folks, just put your dreams away for another day. If it says Act now, Urgent, Offer expires in five minutes, click here, only $47 for the secret to a six figure income I suggest you Act Now and throw it in the trash can and click the spam button. Never give these suckers an even break. (5)
(1) Alexander Pope, (2) Sir Walter Scott, (3) P.T Barnum (4) Lena Lamont in Singin’ in the Rain. (5) W.C. Fields Quotations courtesy of www.ask.com
Monday, February 7, 2011
An explanation! My kingdom for an explanation!
It’s Oscar month on TCM so I watched Richard III, the one with Laurence Olivier, not the remake with Ian McKellen done in 1930’s fascist costume. That’s the one where I cheekily told the girl in the box office, “Gee Richard III, I must have missed the first two”. I know she didn’t have a clue what I was saying but then who would know anything about history 500 years ago, no matter how important it was.
There have been plenty of films about Henry VIII , a part played by Charles Laughton, Richard Burton, Robert Shaw and Eric Bana and I wouldn’t be surprised to see Jeff Bridges in the role. It’s a great way for actors to chew the scenery but how did this much-married ruffian get there? I got hold of a new book by Michael Hicks called “The Wars of the Roses”. Notice the plural, not the War of the Roses that everyone uses and was the title of a Michael Douglas and Kathleen Turner black comedy.
The real wars were hardly comedy. There was more death and deceit in that era than The Sopranos and Law and Order put together. As one historian called them, “the most frenetic and purposeless battles in English history”
But who knows anything about them except for the famous lines Richard opens with in Shakespeare’s play, “Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer” to his exit line, “A horse, my kingdom for a horse”. Now you can be the first on your block to speak with authority on this, and see if anyone cares.
The Wars of the Roses were the end of the Middle Ages and the start of Modern Britain. This brings up the question of whether history is even important today. One of my most distressing encounters was with a young man who proudly told me that he just graduated from college with a major in History. So I said I’d give him an easy test on dates. I started with 1066, ”the Industrial Revolution” he said. Well, no, it was the Norman Conquest of England. I then said 1860 to 1864, ”the Industrial Revolution” he said quickly, well, yes, but more particularly the American Civil War. By now, he was getting annoyed. I tried 1914 to 1918 and he just shrugged his shoulders, 1939 to 1945, “nothing happened then” he said sulkily. He’s probably a tenured Professor by now in some Midwestern college teaching the History of The Tea Party.
At a cocktail party I said to someone, “What news on the Rialto?” and the hostess said, “What is that, some kind of New York saying?” Well, Al Pacino played Shylock so maybe it is.
Here are some facts in case there’s a snap quiz: Richard III was killed at The Battle of Bosworth in 1485. Henry Tudor became king and Henry VIII ascended the throne in 1509. This is not the guy Herman’s Hermits sang about in “I’m Henry the Eighth I am, I am”. They were usurpers. The term War of the Roses came from Sir Walter Scott in 1829.
As the great American historian Cole Porter advised, “Brush up your Shakespeare, start quoting him now”. After all, Shakespeare wrote eight plays about the period. By the way, the winner was the House of Lancaster, the guys who wore the white rose, the reds were the House of York. After III no more Richards, after VIII no more Henrys, lots of Edwards and Georges, a few Queens and Charlies and, of course, the long-reigning Larry King.
However, as far as I can tell the only survivor of this medieval massacre was the actress Claire Bloom who played Richard’s girlfriend Lady Ann. She has lived long enough to play Queen Mary, the mother of George VI in the Oscar-nominated film “The King’s Speech”. Lesson over, back to Super Bowl XLV. Boy, you have to know your Roman numerals to study history.
There have been plenty of films about Henry VIII , a part played by Charles Laughton, Richard Burton, Robert Shaw and Eric Bana and I wouldn’t be surprised to see Jeff Bridges in the role. It’s a great way for actors to chew the scenery but how did this much-married ruffian get there? I got hold of a new book by Michael Hicks called “The Wars of the Roses”. Notice the plural, not the War of the Roses that everyone uses and was the title of a Michael Douglas and Kathleen Turner black comedy.
The real wars were hardly comedy. There was more death and deceit in that era than The Sopranos and Law and Order put together. As one historian called them, “the most frenetic and purposeless battles in English history”
But who knows anything about them except for the famous lines Richard opens with in Shakespeare’s play, “Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer” to his exit line, “A horse, my kingdom for a horse”. Now you can be the first on your block to speak with authority on this, and see if anyone cares.
The Wars of the Roses were the end of the Middle Ages and the start of Modern Britain. This brings up the question of whether history is even important today. One of my most distressing encounters was with a young man who proudly told me that he just graduated from college with a major in History. So I said I’d give him an easy test on dates. I started with 1066, ”the Industrial Revolution” he said. Well, no, it was the Norman Conquest of England. I then said 1860 to 1864, ”the Industrial Revolution” he said quickly, well, yes, but more particularly the American Civil War. By now, he was getting annoyed. I tried 1914 to 1918 and he just shrugged his shoulders, 1939 to 1945, “nothing happened then” he said sulkily. He’s probably a tenured Professor by now in some Midwestern college teaching the History of The Tea Party.
At a cocktail party I said to someone, “What news on the Rialto?” and the hostess said, “What is that, some kind of New York saying?” Well, Al Pacino played Shylock so maybe it is.
Here are some facts in case there’s a snap quiz: Richard III was killed at The Battle of Bosworth in 1485. Henry Tudor became king and Henry VIII ascended the throne in 1509. This is not the guy Herman’s Hermits sang about in “I’m Henry the Eighth I am, I am”. They were usurpers. The term War of the Roses came from Sir Walter Scott in 1829.
As the great American historian Cole Porter advised, “Brush up your Shakespeare, start quoting him now”. After all, Shakespeare wrote eight plays about the period. By the way, the winner was the House of Lancaster, the guys who wore the white rose, the reds were the House of York. After III no more Richards, after VIII no more Henrys, lots of Edwards and Georges, a few Queens and Charlies and, of course, the long-reigning Larry King.
However, as far as I can tell the only survivor of this medieval massacre was the actress Claire Bloom who played Richard’s girlfriend Lady Ann. She has lived long enough to play Queen Mary, the mother of George VI in the Oscar-nominated film “The King’s Speech”. Lesson over, back to Super Bowl XLV. Boy, you have to know your Roman numerals to study history.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
My career that wasn't.
I graduated from UC Berkeley with a degree in Journalism. This was so I could continue my brilliant career as a high school jazz columnist, copyboy and night reporter on my alma mater paper, the mighty Vancouver Sun.
But a funny thing happened on my way to byline fame and stop-the-presses action.
When I showed up for my interview at the Sun with my wife Peggy, they announced that they could only hire one of us and since Peggy had worked on magazines in New York and the Berkeley Gazette and, most importantly, was a member of the American Newspaper Guild, she got the job. Besides, they offered her twice the money I could get.
So she went to work on the paper and I went to work at a night liquor store.
I took interviews during the day but a journalism degree doesn’t attract much attention in the broader economy. I got a job with the prestigious but stolid Hudson’s Bay Co as an executive trainee. One of the truisms about Canada is that it doesn’t value talent and openly disdains ambition. Otherwise Diana Krall would still be singing in Nanaimo bars and Jim Carrey would be doing standup in Toronto.
I was treading water till I applied for a job at an advertising agency. I was hired on the spot by a brilliant guy from New York who liked the Berkeley part of my resume.
Thus did my 35 year career in advertising get started. The most fun you can have with your clothes on they say, correctly.
It certainly paid off in money and adventure after we left Vancouver.
The future has no facts and when you’re starting out you don’t realize there is no such thing as a career, just the jobs you get or lose. You’re usually so tied down raising a family or keeping up with the Joneses that you don’t understand that it’s more important to heed Joseph Campbell’s advice and follow your bliss.
If I’d stayed in Vancouver I would have had one year’s experience 35 times. No growth and no adventure. Journalism would have disappeared very quickly for me anyway until today you have the internet asking, “Is your cat psychic?”; the Enquirer screaming, “Dwarf rapes nun, escapes in UFO” to the over-packaged hysteria that masquerades as cable news. And on a page in Life magazine I saw today they couldn’t even identify Glenn Miller correctly. They had Ray McKinley playing the drums. Where have all the fact checkers gone?
In the satiric “Being There”, a TV reporter asks the infantile Chauncey Gardner if he prefers print or television news, and he gives his stock answer, “I like to watch”, and she announces triumphantly, “at least someone has the guts to be honest”.
So, what would have been the result of a career in journalism? Instead of a smile from Julie Christie in London and meetings in New York, Paris, Madrid and Tokyo I would probably have ended up back at the night liquor store.
But a funny thing happened on my way to byline fame and stop-the-presses action.
When I showed up for my interview at the Sun with my wife Peggy, they announced that they could only hire one of us and since Peggy had worked on magazines in New York and the Berkeley Gazette and, most importantly, was a member of the American Newspaper Guild, she got the job. Besides, they offered her twice the money I could get.
So she went to work on the paper and I went to work at a night liquor store.
I took interviews during the day but a journalism degree doesn’t attract much attention in the broader economy. I got a job with the prestigious but stolid Hudson’s Bay Co as an executive trainee. One of the truisms about Canada is that it doesn’t value talent and openly disdains ambition. Otherwise Diana Krall would still be singing in Nanaimo bars and Jim Carrey would be doing standup in Toronto.
I was treading water till I applied for a job at an advertising agency. I was hired on the spot by a brilliant guy from New York who liked the Berkeley part of my resume.
Thus did my 35 year career in advertising get started. The most fun you can have with your clothes on they say, correctly.
It certainly paid off in money and adventure after we left Vancouver.
The future has no facts and when you’re starting out you don’t realize there is no such thing as a career, just the jobs you get or lose. You’re usually so tied down raising a family or keeping up with the Joneses that you don’t understand that it’s more important to heed Joseph Campbell’s advice and follow your bliss.
If I’d stayed in Vancouver I would have had one year’s experience 35 times. No growth and no adventure. Journalism would have disappeared very quickly for me anyway until today you have the internet asking, “Is your cat psychic?”; the Enquirer screaming, “Dwarf rapes nun, escapes in UFO” to the over-packaged hysteria that masquerades as cable news. And on a page in Life magazine I saw today they couldn’t even identify Glenn Miller correctly. They had Ray McKinley playing the drums. Where have all the fact checkers gone?
In the satiric “Being There”, a TV reporter asks the infantile Chauncey Gardner if he prefers print or television news, and he gives his stock answer, “I like to watch”, and she announces triumphantly, “at least someone has the guts to be honest”.
So, what would have been the result of a career in journalism? Instead of a smile from Julie Christie in London and meetings in New York, Paris, Madrid and Tokyo I would probably have ended up back at the night liquor store.
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