Where are the melody, harmony, rhythm and dynamics?

     Ever since Johnny Carson retired, so did Doc Everson and his Big Band sound. During the past 25 years the airwaves have been a cacophony of loud, annoying and forgettable "music." I put this last word in quotes because the "music" is not music. It's just plain noise!
     During my high school days in the 40's we didn't have TV, computers or cell phones. Nor did we have Viagra for those horrible four hour erections. Instead, we macho guys put a coke bottle in our pants pocket, a condom in the wallet and danced cheek to cheek, hoping we might get lucky on prom night.
     Then, after taking my date home before midnight (curfew), I would drive down Main Street in Coshocton, OH, park anywhere (no meters in those days), walk over to our favorite hangout, MacCluggage's Malt Shop, and watch the cars go by, honking their horns. They were the lucky ones who had a girl friend in the passenger seat and permission to stay out until 1:00 am.
     Bully Jack Brown usually mooned the honkers, much to the horror of the young ladies who ducked down in embarrassment. Brown was a football player, a linebacker with huge legs, and he always tormented us skinny guys with sucker punches to the stomach or a hard kick in the ass. I avoided him like the plague.
     Bill Benner was two years older than I and he also played football. In one pickup game after school, the 7th grade, Benner tackled me and twisted my ankle until it broke. I ended up in bed with a cast for six weeks, just listening to "The Farm and Home Hour" on radio everyday. The show had a concert band and played mostly Sousa marches. That's when I learned to play the drums.
     A dozen years later I was driving from Columbus,OH to Coshocton and I heard the siren behind me. It was an Ohio State Patrol car. I pulled over, the officer got out and it was Bill Benner in uniform. I had no idea he became a police officer. Bill then apologized profusely for breaking my leg and said it was a long time chip on his shoulder. I shook hands and told him to forget it, as I had.
     But now I digress. Back to the subject. Lousy music. I have to quote Frank Sinatra: "Rock musicians only know three chords, and two of them are wrong." It's now four days after Christmas and I'm hearing "White Christmas" on my TV music channel. Beautiful song! Think of it. Written by a Jew! Will Irwin was Irving Berlin's music librarian in his spacious townhouse on Beekman Place in New York City. Will told me Berlin turned into a cranky old man with all kinds of medical ills, and he still retched over the memory of his daughter marrying a goy.
     During the final days of his life, Berlin ordered all his house lights to be turned off when a choral group appeared outside on December 25th to sing "White Christmas." But they still sang in the dark.
And I remembered that the super of my apartment building on West End Avenue gave his runaway daughter and husband a safe haven, as private detectives were searching for them.
     It's time for lunch. I'll do another blog next week about the subject I started out to complain about.

WANT TO FREEZE YOUR ASS OFF?

      Just book a flight to Yellow Knife, NWT, temperature 30 degress BELOW ZERO!  I spent three days and nights there at the Capital Suites several years ago. My purpose was to hold a Q. and A. session following a screening of “Abel Raises Cain,” the award-winning documentary by Jen and Jeff Hockett.

     The Yellow Knife Film Club paid my expenses for air transportation, hotel, meals and a $500 honorarium. Not a bad deal, right? Wrong.  I was never so cold in my life, except inside my hotel room. Outside my window I could see a Horton’s Fast Food. 

     I took one step outside the hotel and couldn’t breathe. Ice everywhere, nobody on the sidewalks, just traffic. I returned to the front desk and was advised to use the enclosed passage to the hospital next door. They had a cafeteria. That’s where I had my breakfast and other meals.

     The night of the screening, several members drove me to the Wildcat Café for dinner. This was a small wooden shack that tilted badly. It was constructed of old timbers, an elderly lady in her 70’s greeted us at the door and asked, “Will you have shark or filet of sole?” I chose the latter.

     I glanced around inside as this woman showed us to our reserved table, only one of three tables and all occupied.

Then she went behind the counter and threw our fish orders on the grill. Whoever was the inferior decorator did an interesting job. There were a hundred or more business cards tacked on one wall and dozens of photos on another. That was our entertainment, I suppose.

     I learned that Madame Zonga was born into a royal family in Turkey, turned over to a relative who was moving to Canada and she grew up in Yellow Knife. Her passion was food and she did everything from buying the food to cooking, serving and cleaning. Just she alone, and she loved the responsibility.

Hmmmmm.

     It was a baby shark, but I still couldn’t look at its head, cut in half,  on the plates of my friends. Quite frankly, my filet of sole was quite delicious, along with baby carrots and a large tomato for me to slice.

     There was very hushed conversation from other patrons, Madame Zonga was busy cooking, serving and cleaning away dishes. We had hot tea and rum cake for dessert. Then on to our screening.

     There were about 50 people in a small classroom in this downtown building. The DVD played well and the audience laughed in all the right places. They were delighted to see me afterwards and I received a standing ovation.

     Griswold Thatcher, my host, offered to pick me up in the morning and tour the town (population 20,000). I declined, blowing my nose as though I had a cold. So he said he would drive me to the airport at noon, departing at l pm for Toronto, making a connection back to New York’s JFK.

     All went well on the six hour return flight, I slept most of the way, with a bad dream being eaten by a shark. At the Toronto Airport, entrepreneur Gary Topp met me with two delicious corned beef sandwiches. We ate and talked. When he asked me how I felt about the trip to Yellow Knife. I had only two words:”Never again!”

    

    

Oi Vey! The VA!

     Yes, I'm complaining about the VA. This second largest government employer is awash in paperwork, delays and treadmills to oblivion. A few million veterans are victims of a vicious SNAFU and the former CEO of Proctor & Gamble, Robert McDonald ("call me Secretary Bob") is now in charge of the VA. He will be the fox in the chicken pen.
     Ask any person on the street what they think about the vets on a hospital list to nowhere, and they will just shrug and say, "I don't know and I don't care."  That response is typical of the average VA employee:  IGNORANCE AND APATHY.  Working for the VA is a featherbed, because you don't have to do anything. You don't even have to show up for work! Just pay someone to sign in for you.
     So Secretary Bob has his arms full. He will have to clean house with massive layoffs, early retirement and outright firings with loss of pensions and perks. Then, I suggest he enter the Federal Witness Program because his life won't be worth much. A few million former VAers will go hunting for him.
     My own personal complaint against the VA is the time it takes to get a response. I was in the service, honorably discharged and earned a service-connected injury. It took me over a year to obtain increased compensation. It wasn't enough and the VA paid no attention to my having a wife to support, although I filed the necessary forms three times and wrote a letter to the First Lady to complain. No response.
     So I appealed to the VA and they promptly sent me 55 pages to read and fill out. That was overwhelming! What colossal nerve. Months went by and I'm still waiting for a response. I do have assistance from Senator Richard Blumenthal's office. His associate, Heather Chandler, has been monitoring my appeal and she seems to be a compassionate and dedicated person.
     Ironically, when I was in the service I was with a special unit that raised millions of dollars for Army Emergency Relief. That money was paid out to indigent families requiring non-recourse loans; i.e. they did not have to pay back the money that saved them from bankruptcy and eviction from homes. Now, I'm seeking some relief that I am entitled to (having a wife, for example), and my request seems to be on one more VA treadmill to oblivion.
     I hope Secretary Bob starts cracking his whip and begins to unload the dead wood earning salaries, bonuses and PX discounts. There are a few million college graduates without jobs willing to work passionately at the VA and perform honestly. Hmmmmmmmm.  The line forms to the right.

Try our new Xnanapoop for your skin.......

     All the new products to save our skins, bones and internal organs are flooding the internet. First you have to guess the CATCHA code of numbers and letters that are interwined and really impossible to distinguish one symbol from another. So I keep trying and failing, trying and failing. Each time a new set of numbers and letters puzzle me. I finally give up.
     Then, when I try to leave the page, a drop-down box appears with an offer to send me free samples of the pills. While I mull over the offer, their ROBOT has darkened my screen, except for the box that appears next with the message: PLEASE DON'T LEAVE THIS PAGE. I'm waiting for another message like, WE LOVE YOU! No chance. I'm out of there, even after a final deceitful message from the ROBOT: YOU MIGHT LOSE ALL YOUR EMAILS!  STAY WITH US. WE'LL DOUBLE YOUR FREE PILL ORDER.
     These sucker traps manage to defeat all the walls and other safety methods devised by the companies that are spreading their disingenuous wares on an unsuspecting public. There should be a course in all high schools and colleges: HOW TO AVOID THE SUCKER TRAPS ONLINE! And then how to defeat them. Once they get our plastic cards....only for shipping and handling...to obtain their free samples, you are automatically billed at an outrageous monthly fee for the next year.
     Although I do resent having to keep my guard up constantly for the sucker traps, I remain amazed at how wonderful it is to send emails, receive them and use the word processing equipment for writing. My old typewriters have been abandoned, although the electric IBM lasted me 30 years until I ran out of ribbons. They weren't available anywhere I went. All sold out. Then I called The CEO of IBM in Armonk,NY, claiming to be "Dr. Rogers with his X-rays."  The secretary put me right through, I explained my ploy and two days later a dozen ribbons arrived in the mail.
     At this time, late at night, I've run out of ideas. I'm still miffed over the intellectual property usurping of my copyrighted "horse pants" by the Jimmy Kimmel Show and Shark Tank too. That subject will be dealt with in my next blog in a few days. So stay tuned.