Rain, the mall, rain

It wasn’t supposed to rain again but it did: yesterday, today . . . tomorrow? I should be grateful because it’s so hot everywhere else, but as Thelma says in Rear Window, “It only makes the heat wet.” Plus the mosquitoes are everywhere. What a summer! The trips to the mall with my spawn have been nice, and the walks with my dog are good for the soul. I hope you’re having a dry-ish, not-too-hot (or dry/or wet) summer. 

 

Remembering that I was once a musician . . .

My music from what feels like another lifetime. It doesn't sound half bad after surviving a pandemic and the general chaos of life. Hope you enjoy, and thanks for listening. And, who would I be if I didn't plug my stuff on itunes? 

I wrote this one in my garage, probably on a summer day much like this. The general song was there, the riff, and some of the lyrics. The song is based on the somewhat simplistic idea that you can move to a new state and change your entire life--I've always lived close to the border of Kansas and Missouri (had to drive to the latter to get beer on Sunday). Beer is one thing, what about your whole life? It's one of those fascinations of not only societal change, but earth and landscape going from dry flat prairie to lush, hilly lakes and a bunch of small towns hidden amongst in the woods. Have you ever seen the pan handle strip of the northwest area of OK? That is strangely fascinates me as well . . . to live in a desolated strip of America wedged between everywhere else. It feels like another world. 

Kansas City is a tough place to live, on both sides, and I kept getting an image of a young man with only a few possessions stepping on a bus that leads to another life. Then came the other stories . . . Thanks again for listening. 

Shoe Day next?

So . . . how was Boxing Day? I can't claim to understand the holiday, but I like that it extends things a bit. There's nothing more depressing than the sight of a tree still green and glistening out in someone's trash pile like a dead carcass. A bit harsh, but that's how it is. I'm with the Brits--make up something, anything, to extend the fun.

One thing I do know about Boxing Day is that it's when The Beatles aired their wacky, doomed Magical Mystery Tour. I say doomed because apparently it wasn't well received by the general public or fans alike, reason being the BBC aired it in black and white. But see, everyone knew The Beatles weren't green. I don't particularly buy the whole "it wasn't aired in color" excuse because most people didn't have color sets back then, but I can see how the film was beyond the pale for most folks' limited imagination. 

Here's a story, way back when I worked at Sears, Dorothy Dollarhide said she had a VHS copy of Magical Mystery Tour and being the crazy Beatles fanatic that I am, I begged her to lend it to me.

"It's really horrible," she said, pulling it out of her oversized purse with embroidered cats on it. "You won't like it."

"Thanks, but you don't know me at all," I said, though I did feel a tinge of insecurity. What if I did end up not liking it? Would it collapse my deck of Beatle cards so carefully put together--my illustrious BIG BEATLE FANDOM no one could pierce? Once a fan, always a fan. 

"I want it back in a week," she said, turning away with her long, white hippie hair swinging in a circle. I dodged. 

That night I went home and carefully shoved the tape into the DVD player--the old Beta was now on crutches despite the movie club commitment Mother had signed in blood. Just three more Beta rentals before she was free. I had the same commitment via Columbia House records and tapes. 

Near an hour later, psychedelic images and musical interludes had flashed before my eyes, and at the end of it I wasn't mad or disappointed. I was giddy. I loved it! I freaking loved Magical Mystery Tour and Dorothy could eat it! 

I don't think the problem was that it was a bad film, and neither did I it was Scorsese great. It was THE BEATLES, that's what. I truly think if you love the band as they are, or were, you'll love MMT. But if you only love the mop top Romeo specks in suits, you haven't a chance. Years have passed and though I have, my opinion of the film remains the same--it's still great and even more so as it truly encapsulates a specific time in history that will never come again: a renaissance of music, expression and love.

If nothing else, MMT had great songs in it, and a few not-so-great but still better than most. NO one can argue that "I Am the Walrus" isn't great and has stood the vice-like pressures of time. I think it's one of Lennon's best, lyric and music-wise. Its sequence comes off like an early version of an edgy music video, which Mike Nesmith (RIP sweet Mike) claims to have created. "Fool on the Hill" is an introspective wonder by Paul with a lovely sort of Kodachrome-ish sunspot dream sequence. I even love George's lackluster "Blue Jay Way" where he sits amid a fog punching keys on a chalk piano and near gets run over by a bus. The whole film is a farce, you see, that's the point. Victor Spinelli (Hard Day's Night. Help!) yells at cows and there's a strip tease at one surreal point. 

I honestly don't know who loves The Beatles and not Magical Mystery Tour. It sort of . . . baffles the Beatle brain. They should air it every Boxing Day and quite whining about the Black and White bit, heck, I didn't have a color TV until high school. But that's enough about my opinion.

Here's some facts for those of who you also love the film:

 

1     Year: 1967 Filming: 11 September thru 25 September 1967, straight after the unfortunate passing of dear Brian Epstein--who had helped plan the film and was looking forward to production. The idea was loosely based off Alan Ginsberg and fellow American poets who had driven around the States in a bus.

      Locations: shot in and around RAF West Malling, a decommissioned military airfield in Kent as it was not possible to book any London film studio at short notice-- the ballroom sequences for "Your Mother Should Know", were filmed in the disused aircraft hangars

7.   Airing: The film originally aired on BBC1  in black-and-white, on Boxing Day, 26 December 1967—but later was shown in color. Shown again in color in January 1968.

8.       Monty Python wanted to use it to start their live shows, but the plan didn’t happen. However, they were allowed a private viewing and some of the members went on to form the mock band The Rutles. 

An unscripted film

Took two weeks to film

Shown on Boxing Day (December 26, 1967, Christmastide)

A failure at onset but loved in time

George Harrison calls it an extended home movie

Featured “I Am the Walrus” music video.

Mother's always right . . .

It was 1980s-something, and I had come home late from a Saturday-night babysitting job. My mother rented A Christmas Story from the local Pop-N-Go rental store and stuck a post-it note on it with the message, "Watch this, Amy, it's hilarious." Let me sideline for a second and tell you about the time she scored a sweet deal on twenty free rentals in exchange for the purchase of a Beta video machine--which I programmed to record live TV and little did we know the thing was a dinosaur the second the ink dried on her John Henry. Anyway, while I was gone on my job she and my older brother, on break from an all-boys Catholic seminary, had watched the movie without me.

I went to the kitchen to grab a snack and came back to start the movie. Scenes from 1940s welcomed me, a time that was my mother's and thus somehow my own. It's like that, isn't it? Your parents' time is yours, and vice-versa. And to be honest, I wasn't unfamiliar with the small town, nor the red brick school Ralph Parker attended--mine had rocking, bubbling boilers and a huge auditorium with red velvet curtains. I also knew that horrible feeling of the sun going down (perhaps forever) while walking through the snow-packed alleyways of town; a strange yet poetic hue of orangey pink pulsing through silver clouds lined with snow--more snow. I too had a bully and dealt with him or her, as well as the shame of poor grades and the fear that another Christmas would pass without getting the one gift I'd asked for, yet still I asked and believed. The loss of innocence would have been the worst depravation of all. A Christmas Story encapsulated all of this--hope, desperation, loneliness, agony, euphoria. Namely, I think it was the sarcasm mixed with a nine-year old boys' logic that got to me. Triple-dog dare . . . brilliant.  I hated to admit my mother was right, I mean, she was the one who frequently pointed at the TV, nearly missing my eye, to say that some random actress was so-and-so from a totally different movie. "It's not her," I'd say, but she always persisted. "It is, I'm sure of it." 

One Christmas mother and I went out to find a tree and she wasn't in the best of moods--finances, career, family . . . my father . . . who knows? We pulled up to the lot in her Pinto with the windows you had to manually roll down and no tape deck in the dash to peruse a small collection of trees all priced around $30, our breath freezing before our faces. "I can't afford these, and anyway, we end up throwing it away," she told me. I was upset--invisible tears burned my throat. We came back home treeless, and I spent the rest of the night in bed listening to Phantom of the Opera on headphones, thinking no one understood what it was like to have a mother like this, and life would always be a terrible ordeal. 

My rich cousins across town said they walked out of A Christmas Story after only a few minutes because, quote and unquote, It was horrible and no one acts like that. Sitting there in my mother's livingroom in that tender glow of 16, auburn hair permed to a frizz, freckles splashed across my Statue of Liberty nose and skin itching with a bad case of bacne, I watched the end credits roll across the screen of a black and white TV and thought to myself that I'd never seen anything more relatable. Who hasn't touched their tongue on frozen metal to see if it sticks? Who hasn't taken a dare, or been the aggressor? Who hasn't tried being the teacher's pet in hopes for an A or had someone hold your arm behind your back long enough for you to think it might break? And then the moment you lost it and go postal on your bully, vulgarities flying (the ones Mother taught you).

Years on, I read the short-story collection the movie had been based on called, In God We Trust, All Others Pay Cash by Jean Shepherd who, ironically and fantastically interviewed The Beatles for Playboy magazine in the 1960s. You can't get more iconic than that. That is indeed Shepherd's voice in the movie, the adult version of Ralphie, and he is immaculate with his intonations. The guy had quite a sense of humor and a vivid way to describe life in the Midwest. Sadly, our dear Ralphie probably didn't grow up to squeaky clean, but the memories are great. Really great. My favorite story is about the time his mother and every mother in town collected Depression era dinnerware from the local grocery store, one piece at a time. It turned into a race, who could get every piece--a full of set to replace the chipped, mismatched collection they currently had at home. It was akin to the father's crazed leg lamp ordeal, though a bit more tasteful (pun intended). There was a coup at the local movie theater when the mothers found out the grocery store who had run the scam held no intention of giving them the last and final piece--a gravy boat. For me, this is brilliant writing. The best. A Christmas Story only shows a hint of Shepherd's storytelling. 

Recently I caught a new addition to the franchise, a movie based on a now adult Ralphie--wife, kids and all--who comes home after his father's passing. At Christmas, of course. All the familiar faces are there, and some of the same schtick, but it works. I like the idea of seeing Jean Shepherd on film, even if it's a bit glossed over. He did not have a perfect adulthood. What is perfect though, is the sentiment they capture in A Christmas Story Christmas. It makes you feel all the same happy feelings from the original, like you came home again. What's really uncanny is the voice--adult Ralphie (Peter Billingsley) narrated not by the (sadly) deceased Jean Shepherd, no, it's . . . Ralphie. He sounds just like Shepherd. I can hear my mother say, "Hey, isn't that so-and-so from the original?" Yes, Mother, you're right. It is." Though, it's not. It's the kid. But it's such a close timber I want to believe . . .

I'd love to see them make another movie about Jean Shepherd amid his Playboy days interviewing the likes of The Beatles and Rolling Stones. Wouldn't that be great? I hope they get on it. I triple-dog-dare them.

Do you or don't you?

 

This is serious, do you love fruitcake or don't you? It's a yanni/laurel type of thing, this. You either love the crumbly packed full of nuts and dried fruits loaf or you don't. Well? Okay, I love it. Don't tell anyone, but every year around this time I go a bit nutty and fruity for the dessert (?). I guess . . . you could call it that. A dessert? The Romans ate it for energy pre-battle like Popeye ate spinach before busting Brutus' obnoxious ass, so I guess to them it was more of a power up, Mario style. Not a dessert. Rum must have changed that. Aye, matey. Hand me that spiced fruit sweet rock before the scurvy hits. But then, there are real reasons to have it around. Rat killer. Free doorstop. How did this start up again? Romans . . . 

Can't remember the first time I tasted fruitcake, but it was probably at a family dinner and when I saw it alone among the puddings and pies I felt some kin of sympathy. I'll try you, I said, then willed my young buds to muster excitement. You're not weird or oddly shaped. There I stood in deep consternation a tall, wiry and freckled auburn-haired teenager still with a Hail Mary on her lips. Let's be honest, if you've already forced yourself to eat the Brussel sprouts, fruitcake isn't that far behind. Anyway, I tried it, and *secretly* went a little wild. Why wasn't anyone gobbling this stuff up like Dan Akroyd sniffing cocaine at SNL second season? The Irish lass in me was aghast and confused. Memories came to the surface--memories of a past life and many hardships. Mashed or fried--loam that is. Hey, fruitcake ain't that bad. But the others . . . seemed to prefer the more obnoxious whipped cream covered cheesecake--sort of a blasé option if you asked me. Boring. Trite. The whole thing was mysterious . . . 

Well, I've never been like the rest, I thought while shoveling it in. 

So there I sat while the others nursed their heart-stopping dairy confectionary and I thought, how can one get back to a buffet without being noticed? Surely, they were all too sauced to care but alas my return sojourn brought ire and much cachinnation: "Look at Amy, she likes fruitcake." Oh, God. The shame. 

As many others, I went into the fruitcake closet (a good place to hide and consume) and suffocated my appetite to a once-yearly limit. Which is good, because that's the only time it's available. By the way, there's mince pie, rum cake, plum pudding . . . Then came an obsession of consuming it with every Christmas Carol adaptation known to man. Let's see . . .  musical or theatrical? Alistiar Sim or Albert Finney . . . Surely, this is okay and perfectly normal. 

You, uh, haven't answered yet. Do you like fruitcake, or don't you? No, no . . . really . . . it's okay. I understand (wink). You don't to have to say. Some things are better left known only by the strong rum, butter and candied fruit vapor coming from your face orifice. 

 

Oh my, Musk

Musk says he's going bankrupt with tw*tter, and honestly, it's not a surprise but we're talking 44 billion. Do you know how many homeless, hungry, sick could have been helped with that money? Or how about puppies for kids? Parades for veterans (Happy Veteran's Day, btw) or maybe a spa day for cancer patients?

That has to be the fastest money bleed known in history. And why? Why . . .

Well, you know how I feel. I think the whole thing went down right before the Midterms on purpose and now that they're over, well, he doesn't need tw*tter anymore. Poof. He's done.

He probably thought he'd have fun with the $8 blowhard blue check scheme only to watch it explode like an entire fireworks display on the 4th. People were buying the blue checks with false accounts then spoofing high profilers who had earned their checks previously. Like I said, the star-bellied Sneeches didn't know whose belly had stars from the start. Total romper room chaos, and he is the babysitter. 

Pretty sure he's out of here and going back to Starlink because . . . he's selling Tesla stock too. Hmm. 

Look, I don't mean to get on the guy every darn day, but let's face it, he does some fairly SUS shite and I don't like it (or him) at all. He didn't even invent Tesla. That was another one of his purchases. 

What do you think of,  um, M*sk? Be nice and don't cuss too much. 

*these are only my opinions and not fact. the above is for entertainments purposes only*

It's all good

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Many are sad here in the US that we did not have a blue wave or that the Robert Kennedy-ish Beto O'Rourke and amazing, strong Stacey Abrams did not win their states, however I think what we are seeing is actually really, really good (though I am truly let down they did not win). Tr*mp's picks, which toured the land with Q music and all sorts of strange antics like blood-red lighting and crazy fireworks, LOST. Now he is the uncool kid at school--everyone is calling him out and telling him not to run in 2024. He's lost his power. He's bellbottoms in 1985. Even if a few of his picks get in, they will turn from his influence and go to the winning side. And as for us blue folk, we gained seats and also have independent newbies who will be allies. That's a huge relief. So, I am not crying, I'm actually super thrilled about these events and what they mean not only for democracy but for certain document stealing ex-presidents to be held accountable at long last. 

It's like, you can cry over not getting a white cake with yellow flowers, but what's the use if it's a yellow cake with white flowers? You still have cake. It's still good. 

Let's enjoy the cake and not shed any tears. Things look good.

Musk we?

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As soon as Elon M*sk began saying he'd buy twitter I logged off. Then when it looked like he wouldn't be able to, I came back. That meant losing my list of followers and having to start all over again. But I don't breathe the same air as fascists or use the same social media. It was easy to see what the outcome would be if he bought the app--and indeed my fears were correct: I saw Musk allowing hate speech (not free speech) to take over. From what I've heard it happened instantly. 

Here's what gets me, and I've probably written this exact same thing but bear with me, WHO allowed him to buy Twitter, WHO gave him the money, WHY was he allowed to do it? My guesses: money-hungry losers, R*ssia/S*udi/Ch*na, money. 

Musk was on my radar back before P*tin invaded Ukraine. I saw that he was about to do something and began alerting everyone, but no one listened. When he offered Ukraine the use of his Starlink satellites, I got a bad feeling and went on *twitter* saying, "DON'T USE STARLINK--if you do it will find your location and P*tin will use this information." Indeed, time after time groups of people inside apartment buildings, hospitals and schools were blown up. Now, did Musk know this? Or was he/is he being used by nefarious forces? His track record of abuse and bullish ways tells me that doesn't matter--what matters is he isn't to be trusted. 

Disclaimer--the above was my intuitive opinion. 

When he admitted he works with R*ssia and got in trouble for it, he backtracked and went on a new revenge to buy Twitter. And it happened. Then he lets antisemitic K*nye back on (who started a GOFUNDME to get his 1 billion status back--good luck). M*sk doesn't really care about twitter, or you or me. He wants money and control. He doesn't like the word no and will do stupid, foolish things out of revenge. He's a tool for the GOP. Twitter will go down the sink and all that money too.

The White House and President Biden used Twitter and that's where I see this all as an act of war against Democracy right before the midterms, just like DeJoy was used (and is still being used) to slow down the post office. Wouldn't want those darn paper ballots to get counted in time--but guess what? All ballots are paper ballots. Duh. People, if you are mailing or dropping one off at a box write the date in bold letters on the envelope. Check your voting location. Be wise. Every vote counts-- especially yours.

They are saying the red meanies are ahead--but that's because they polled Betty in the middle of nowhere MIDWEST, USA. Betty answered he landline because she thought it was Paula calling about the church dinner. The polls aren't accurate, but the massive number of pre-ballots are. Still, vote. 

What if it does come down to a 100 vote difference for your candidate? That means you truly do make a difference. Andy Warhol said every person has five minutes of fame, well, maybe this is yours. Get out there and do it. 

Lastly, they are saying things like, "Tiffany doesn't care about abortion rights, she cares about how expensive everything is!" Wrong. Tiffany cares about herself, her mother, her sister, her daughter, her neighbor, etc. And despite what Tiffany has told you, she's going to vote the way she feels. She's voting for women in America. Don't f*ck with Tiffany. Get out of the way and let her vote.

People have died in wars so we can vote. Never forget that. 

The Beatles in India

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Last night I watched the documentary The Beatles and India which describes the band’s time with the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi that stretched from the London Hilton Hotel to a retreat in Wales and then across to India. A string of other well-known figures in England and beyond were part of the entourage of seekers who followed along, but The Beatles clearly were used to advertise and confirm the Maharishi's burgeoning influence as well as the transcendental movement as a whole. The film is well done, highlighting a specific event that changed each member of The Beatles forever.  

Not a lot has been known about that time as much of it steeped in the mystical experiment which was to be kept sacred, but the film does a good job of not only providing details of what the Maharishi thought of each Beatle, but where they slept and meditated, as well as moments that provided songs in the conclusive ‘While Album,’ which we all know was heavily influenced by events of that time. We also get a soundbite from an unearthed interview with George Harrison where he explains the frustrations of being famous when all he wanted to do was travel and blend in like any human. He was on a spiritual journey and wanted no part of the press ruining for him. 

Sadly, in a short span of time The Beatles went from child-like devotion to bitter rebellion with the TM movement, and well, the Maharishi. To be fair to him, he gave them a gift they desperately needed—a way to break from addictions—including toxic people and situations. They were heavily into LSD and some members had begun to dabble in heroin, so meeting the Maharishi was a healthy alternative. TM in general is meant to teach self-dependence, to go within without seeking outside authority.  In a few years’ time, the music scene would lose both Hendrix and Joplin to drugs, and you can only guess Lennon would have followed suit . . . if not for TM and the Maharishi. Think of it, the world would have never heard “Imagine.”

The Maharishi himself, a childlike joyous creature, was human and people forget that. He had a test as we all do at some point in our human existence, and he failed momentarily. It would be hard to be around the brightest and all that fame, and not fail at least a little. Yet it is said that he provided them with a great tool—to elevate and go within. To deal with life on a simple basis. To be organic and clean, and vulnerable. That’s a beautiful gift. As far as I know, the Maharishi went on to serve many in the same humble way, without failure. Did he proposition Prudence Farrow (Dear Prudence) or was it all a lie? Without a yes or no, because none of us where there and the movie does not provide an answer, I think it’s fair to say that anyone who followed the Maharishi to India was there for some-thing. Was he unethical? Certainly not on the level of a Jim Jones—which is how many psychopathic cults end up. I don’t think he was anything near that level of cult. It was a movement and a teachable era. It was healthy for The Beatles to be part of it, and also to end their association. If TM teaches you anything, it should be how to think for yourself.

I loved how The Beatles and India showed how much they learned and how the process affected many. Sadly, manager Brian Epstein died within that process, but the experience can still be felt. Two vignettes in particular which I find touching: John going up in a helicopter with the Maharishi (hoping to get “the answer”) and being shown that the people in the valley would wish for them to crash because they were poor and someone like John crashing into their world would equate a falling star coming to earth. John said to the Maharishi, “If you don’t move your ass on the seat, their prayers will be answered.” Typical John. Another time, a young woman was shivering inside the group during a nighttime gathering and sweet George offered to share his shawl to keep her warm. She expressed great sorrow in having said no to him. What could have been?

We all know the events, but we do not know the fine details. The Beatles and India does a good job at providing the answer.

If you are a die-hard Beatles fan or even a lukewarm lover of the band, give it a watch. It's well done and shows an important part of rock and roll history.

 

November 8th

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In just a few days we vote in America, and though the thought of permanent fascism being part of our landscape I'm more than ready to end the endless run of political ads and chaotic fodder which has spread worse than a virus. In Kansas we voted to preserve a woman's right to choose and I suspect that will end if the wrong candidate wins next week, yet honestly I can't see this happening--Democracy has a bigger chance of winning because it is the thread of this country and always will be. You'd have to call us the UNunited States, the Fascist States, or worse, Tr*mp Nation. Yikes. I don't care if you like him, but this is a democracy fought and won from King George. No more tyranny, thank you very much. Land of the free and all that . . .

The worst part of this election cycle is the deniers--those running for office who have already claimed "they won." Like a sore loser at a baseball game, "I'm going to win!" Well, catch the ball then. Do something to win. Show us what you're capable of, how you'll serve and then hold tight to those promises. I remember playing baseball one summer season and I was terrible, horrible. the worst. That's what made the one time I hit a ball to third base so fantastic. People congratulated me, cheered, patted me on the shoulder--the memory is happily frozen in my mind for eternity because I earned that applause. I knew that most of my time in the game was low level stuff and so that one Victory was well enjoyed. My ineptness was real, and a reality. How do you win if you can't or won't play? These candidates who won't debate, won't say how they'll represent ALL THE PEOPLE, won't show signs of being able to work with others, and worst of all who won't concede . . . should they be running? I say no. It's tiring. Let the best man or woman win, if they'll WIN. Lose if you lose. And if you do lose, you concede and let us move on. 

Unfortunately, we are bound to spend the next month or so with back-and-forth results, lawsuits, and headaches of the political kind. I can't stand the thought, but this is a game after all. Freedom is hard fought and preserved. At the moment we have armed men at voting stations, threating and intimidating, and on the news they paint a doomsday picture of loss. It's all done to make us apathetic. No. GO OUT AND VOTE.

EVERY VOTE COUNTS. Every single one.

This is your ballgame and you can win, but you have to play.

This is Halloween