I come before you today to admit that my wife, clever world-conquering she-beast that she is, still regularly confuses Adam Sandler with Ben Stiller. I do not suffer from this particular lapse of recognition. I see these gentlemen as separate and distinct comedic talents capable of all manner of amusing feats, though both have also distinguished themselves in more dramatic fare. For me, it could be noted that Sandler is the goofier of the two, while Stiller plays a little more intense.
But that's not exactly what I'm concerned with today. Ben Stiller had parents that delivered to him a comic sensibility that was forged in the outrage found in the mundane. Stiller and Meara, his mother and father would most certainly have influenced his eventual career choices.
In case you were not aware of the early forms of this dynamic duo, Jerry Stiller and Anne Meara were a married couple who brought a more gritty vibe to the bits performed by Mike Nichols and Elaine May. Nichols and May were far more erudite than Stiller and Meara. Manhattan as opposed to the Bronx, if you will. There was an earthiness in what Jerry and Anne did that most certainly sprang from their real-life marriage. Sixty-two years of it. If you're going to be married to someone for more than half a century, you had best develop a pretty good sense of humor. Or show up with one.
Jerry Stiller and Anne Meara apparently did just that. As a matter of fact, they were a comedy team before they were a family team. They were a part of The Compass Players, which eventually became the legendary Second City, making the pair pre-legendary. In 1961, they started out on their own, and didn't look back.
Decades passed, and the duo showed up separately or together on hundreds of TV shows, and dozens of films. From Ed Sullivan to Laugh-In to the Love Boat, you couldn't switch the dial too many times without running into Stiller and Meara. Jerry was perhaps best knows as George Costanza's dad on Seinfeld, where he gave us innumerable great lines as well as the alternative holiday, Festivus. His collaborations with Kramer made everyone else's bad ideas seem just a little better.
Now the curtain has rung down on Jerry's act. He goes to join his beloved partner in the comedy club in the sky. Maybe now I can use this moment as a chance to tag off on my wife's confusion: "Oh him? That's Jerry Stiller's son." Aloha, Jerry. You stomped on the Terra and made me laugh. You will be missed.
Thursday, May 14, 2020
Wednesday, May 13, 2020
Treasures
We were talking, as we often do, about the olden days. We would have talked irregardless. It was Sunday after all. My mother and I do that. We talk on Sundays. And frequently on other days of the week as the occasion calls for it. But this was Mother's Day, and the distance that separates us this year felt expressly huge as we continue to shelter in place. Chatting on the phone took some of the edge off that feeling.
As it always does.
We spoke of times gone by, with plenty of love and affection, mixed with a twist of sarcasm to keep from falling into Hallmark territory. She told me about her first pair of Keds. The ones she bought when she was eight or nine with the money her grandmother gave her. The first money she could remember having, since she grew up in the back of a drug store there wasn't a need for carrying cash. But there she was: flush. And she knew what she wanted. She tried them on and felt happy for making her first purchase, for which she plunked down the bills on the counter. Unfortunately, because she had been carrying them folded up for security, she was under the impression that she had twice as much money as she did in reality. Mortified, she had to be bailed out by her grandmother who was on for just such an emergency. My mother lived to hate those shoes for the memory of that embarrassment.
This is how I found out that Keds have been making shoes for a very long time. We also touched on the glass that my mother uses for her lunch, which is a pretty solid ritual for her. The glass used to belong to that same grandmother, and it has survived all these years. We reckoned that glass would be more than a hundred years old at this point. It has a chip on the rim, not jagged, but could do a nice number on your lip if you weren't being careful.
And my mother is always careful.
We talked for an hour or so, and then parted ways so she could prepare her lunch, along with that glass. Our conversation pinballed across nine decades or more, tagging off on my childhood and hers. I confessed to my own predilection for collecting souvenir tumblers from sporting events. We agreed that they might not be as viable in another fifty years. However, I know in my mother's cupboard is a plastic mug from Arby's commemorating the Denver Broncos' 1983 season. Last time I visited, it still held water.
And there's no chip on the rim. We'll talk again.
As it always does.
We spoke of times gone by, with plenty of love and affection, mixed with a twist of sarcasm to keep from falling into Hallmark territory. She told me about her first pair of Keds. The ones she bought when she was eight or nine with the money her grandmother gave her. The first money she could remember having, since she grew up in the back of a drug store there wasn't a need for carrying cash. But there she was: flush. And she knew what she wanted. She tried them on and felt happy for making her first purchase, for which she plunked down the bills on the counter. Unfortunately, because she had been carrying them folded up for security, she was under the impression that she had twice as much money as she did in reality. Mortified, she had to be bailed out by her grandmother who was on for just such an emergency. My mother lived to hate those shoes for the memory of that embarrassment.
This is how I found out that Keds have been making shoes for a very long time. We also touched on the glass that my mother uses for her lunch, which is a pretty solid ritual for her. The glass used to belong to that same grandmother, and it has survived all these years. We reckoned that glass would be more than a hundred years old at this point. It has a chip on the rim, not jagged, but could do a nice number on your lip if you weren't being careful.
And my mother is always careful.
We talked for an hour or so, and then parted ways so she could prepare her lunch, along with that glass. Our conversation pinballed across nine decades or more, tagging off on my childhood and hers. I confessed to my own predilection for collecting souvenir tumblers from sporting events. We agreed that they might not be as viable in another fifty years. However, I know in my mother's cupboard is a plastic mug from Arby's commemorating the Denver Broncos' 1983 season. Last time I visited, it still held water.
And there's no chip on the rim. We'll talk again.
Tuesday, May 12, 2020
Not So Very Little At All
There was nothing little about Little Richard. Big voice. Big talent. Big show. His stage name was a tip of the showbiz hat to rhythm and blues acts who came before him like Little Esther and Little Milton. It also kept people from from mangling his last name: Penniman.
Over a three year period spanning from 1956 to 1958, Richard had a string of hits that helped define the roots of rock and roll: "Tutti Frutti," "Long Tall Sally," "Rip It Up," "Good Golly Miss Molly." It is no coincidence that these seeds were planted at the moment that Elvis Presley began his career. While Richard and Chuck Berry were bringing this new sound to a world in desperate need of sounds to make it shake, rattle and roll, the business of the music business was working feverishly to create a new face for this burgeoning industry. A white face. Elvis became the King, while all those other pioneers were relegated to jukeboxes and radio play that quickly became known as "the oldies."
Elton John most certainly owes his entire career to Little Richard. Diminutive guy pounding on a piano and singing just as hard? That was Richard's act first. And, to be fair, a little Jerry Lee Lewis. But Little Richard has the distinction of doing his act while tearing down the color barrier that existed back then. The same color barrier that kept his career from blossoming fully.
In 1962, Richard played in Brighton England with an English group known as The Beatles, who went on to cover "Long Tall Sally" both live and on record. James Brown got his start as a Little Richard impersonator. Decades later, they teamed up on Wheel of Fortune. But by this time Richard was more relic than rock and roll. His early appearances in films like "Can't Knock The Rock" and "The Girl Can't Help It" eventually transformed into the Reverend Orvis Goodnight, the wacky neighbor in Down And Out In Beverly Hills. Wacky or not, he could still rock the house.
Four years ago when Prince died, he took what was left of Little Richard's show with him. The tiniest of mustaches and a flamboyant style that thumbed its nose at convention, audiences thirty years later seemed to be more receptive to what Richard had to offer. No matter. Richard Penniman was one of ten original inductees into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Maybe no one ever fully understood Richard, but they felt his influence in the only way they should: in his music.
He stomped on keyboards like he stomped on the Terra. Little Richard has gone to that big stage in the sky where you can still hear him if you listen. He will be missed.
Over a three year period spanning from 1956 to 1958, Richard had a string of hits that helped define the roots of rock and roll: "Tutti Frutti," "Long Tall Sally," "Rip It Up," "Good Golly Miss Molly." It is no coincidence that these seeds were planted at the moment that Elvis Presley began his career. While Richard and Chuck Berry were bringing this new sound to a world in desperate need of sounds to make it shake, rattle and roll, the business of the music business was working feverishly to create a new face for this burgeoning industry. A white face. Elvis became the King, while all those other pioneers were relegated to jukeboxes and radio play that quickly became known as "the oldies."
Elton John most certainly owes his entire career to Little Richard. Diminutive guy pounding on a piano and singing just as hard? That was Richard's act first. And, to be fair, a little Jerry Lee Lewis. But Little Richard has the distinction of doing his act while tearing down the color barrier that existed back then. The same color barrier that kept his career from blossoming fully.
In 1962, Richard played in Brighton England with an English group known as The Beatles, who went on to cover "Long Tall Sally" both live and on record. James Brown got his start as a Little Richard impersonator. Decades later, they teamed up on Wheel of Fortune. But by this time Richard was more relic than rock and roll. His early appearances in films like "Can't Knock The Rock" and "The Girl Can't Help It" eventually transformed into the Reverend Orvis Goodnight, the wacky neighbor in Down And Out In Beverly Hills. Wacky or not, he could still rock the house.
Four years ago when Prince died, he took what was left of Little Richard's show with him. The tiniest of mustaches and a flamboyant style that thumbed its nose at convention, audiences thirty years later seemed to be more receptive to what Richard had to offer. No matter. Richard Penniman was one of ten original inductees into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Maybe no one ever fully understood Richard, but they felt his influence in the only way they should: in his music.
He stomped on keyboards like he stomped on the Terra. Little Richard has gone to that big stage in the sky where you can still hear him if you listen. He will be missed.
Monday, May 11, 2020
Dead Until Proven Innocent
If you have stopped watching the news because of the essential Groundhog Day effect that it has been having on everyone, you may not be aware of the case of Ahmaud Arbery. Ahmaud was shot and killed on February twenty-third of this year. It was just last week that his "alleged" killers were taken into custody. The reason for the quotation marks is the existence of a video of the shooting taking place. Mister Arberry can be seen jogging down a suburban street where he is stopped by two men in a pickup truck, one of whom has a shotgun. Shots are fired. Ahmaud collapses. The two men in the pickup, a father and son who happen to be white, confronted and killed this young man who happened to be black. The father and son insist that they were rounding up what they believed to be a burglary suspect. The fact that the video, which was taken by an associate of the father and son, doesn't look anything like that makes me wonder why it took two and a half months to round up the "alleged" assailants.
Suddenly I was thrown back to one of the worst movies ever made, Plan Nine From Outer Space. This film includes some of the worst dialogue ever committed to celluloid, including this one: "One thing's sure: Inspector Clay is dead - murdered - and somebody's responsible!" Inspector Clouseau or Lieutenant Frank Drebin of Police Squad could have cracked this case in the two minutes it takes to watch the video and still had time to fall squarely on their faces. Apparently the law enforcement types in Glynn County, Georgia felt compelled to skip directly to the falling on their collective faces portion of the drill.
And guess what? There was no "alleged" string of burglaries in the two weeks leading up to Ahmaud's murder.
Oops. Did I just call this murder? Without throwing in the "alleged" with our without quotation marks? I have already mentioned the somewhat coincidental nature of the races involved in this killing, Just happens that two white guys in a pickup truck assaulted and murdered an African American man with a shotgun. Ahmaud's crime would be running while not white. Which, in most states, is not illegal. Most counties in Georgia, for that matter, would not have found this defensible.
So, you say social distancing is still a problem in some areas?
Sorry. Hard to keep my distance from this one.
Suddenly I was thrown back to one of the worst movies ever made, Plan Nine From Outer Space. This film includes some of the worst dialogue ever committed to celluloid, including this one: "One thing's sure: Inspector Clay is dead - murdered - and somebody's responsible!" Inspector Clouseau or Lieutenant Frank Drebin of Police Squad could have cracked this case in the two minutes it takes to watch the video and still had time to fall squarely on their faces. Apparently the law enforcement types in Glynn County, Georgia felt compelled to skip directly to the falling on their collective faces portion of the drill.
And guess what? There was no "alleged" string of burglaries in the two weeks leading up to Ahmaud's murder.
Oops. Did I just call this murder? Without throwing in the "alleged" with our without quotation marks? I have already mentioned the somewhat coincidental nature of the races involved in this killing, Just happens that two white guys in a pickup truck assaulted and murdered an African American man with a shotgun. Ahmaud's crime would be running while not white. Which, in most states, is not illegal. Most counties in Georgia, for that matter, would not have found this defensible.
So, you say social distancing is still a problem in some areas?
Sorry. Hard to keep my distance from this one.
Sunday, May 10, 2020
The Mother Road
I am thankful for the path chosen
The one that delivered me here
The one that brought our son to us
I am grateful for the courage it took
The patience and care
The kindness and consideration
I can only imagine
And yet this happens all the time
every day of the year
every minute of every day
Someone becomes a mother
Or not
Becoming a mother is not
done on a whim
Motherhood should never be
accidental
Happily joyfully playfully
but never fearfully
I am proud to know
so many mothers
To be the son
To be the father
And to watch
As mother's magic
Fills the world
With love
And hope
Bringing us life
Thank you for that
The one that delivered me here
The one that brought our son to us
I am grateful for the courage it took
The patience and care
The kindness and consideration
I can only imagine
And yet this happens all the time
every day of the year
every minute of every day
Someone becomes a mother
Or not
Becoming a mother is not
done on a whim
Motherhood should never be
accidental
Happily joyfully playfully
but never fearfully
I am proud to know
so many mothers
To be the son
To be the father
And to watch
As mother's magic
Fills the world
With love
And hope
Bringing us life
Thank you for that
Saturday, May 09, 2020
What's Bugging Me Now
Okay, I'm still not quite done with this whole global pandemic thing and now the news folks want me to be terrified by something brand new: the Murder Hornet. As we tumble toward a hundred thousand American lives lost to a disease, I am supposed to be frightened of an insect. From Asia. Only a matter of time before we are told that these were genetically mutated beasts released from a lab whose only reason for existing is to wipe out all life as we know it here in the United States.
Don't get me wrong. I am fully capable of caring fear on two fronts. I have been anxious about the Rage Against The Machine reunion for months now, but I guess if there's a Murder Hornet to take the place of that creeping distress then I can allow myself to become preoccupied with that. I have never been a big fan of your garden variety wasp. Not only can they bite or sting, unlike their little friends the bee, they can sting multiple times. That makes the whole wasp versus bee thing pretty much moot in my book.
And now they're murderous.
So, if you're as old as I am, you might remember when the Killer Bees were on their way here. And they weren't coming from Asia. They were on their way from South America about forty-five years ago. And we were horrified by the possibility of being overwhelmed by the Africanized Bee. To date, about a thousand people have been killed by killer bees. Not in a month or a day. That's like since we decided to keep track. You might not have guessed that by watching the 1978 film The Swarm. Michael Caine lead an all-star cast in an effort to subdue the vengeful and vicious bugs who were looking for trouble when they finally found themselves in a country that needed a good disaster. Happily for all concerned, the bees were easily fooled and once lured into a central location they were doused with oil and set on fire. Okay, not exactly like destroying Los Angeles with an earthquake or setting a skyscraper ablaze, but it worked to keep America frightened until the next Airport movie could be put together.
But this is no movie. Murder Hornets are here. Now. And maybe you don't feel like waiting for Michael Caine or Charlton Heston to save us all. The good news is that our friend the honey bee is more than capable of vanquishing the occasional giant hornet visit to their hive.
Which means I can probably relax for a little while longer. Freeing me up to fret more about having to use chopsticks in public.
Nothing to fear but fear itself? They don't know me very well, do they?
Friday, May 08, 2020
Grand Re-Opening
It will happen.
The Cubs won the World Series.
Anything can happen.
Maybe not this year because there is still no word about exactly how sports will emerge on the other side of this mess. Recently, MGM resorts in Las Vegas offered to host the NBA season within the confines of their facilities. Players, coaches, families. Fans? Not so much. That would put a cap on what will long be remembered as the most peculiar basketball season on record. College basketball players would probably disagree, since their season ended in a puff of smoke rather than a grand tournament of champions.
Meanwhile, back on main street, shop owners are pondering how best to come back out of hibernation. What will it be like when doors that have been shut for so long spring open again? A mad rush to stand six feet apart while shopping for books and candles? Curbside delivery for the local furniture store? How will we emerge from this extended and deadly game of Cooties?
Evidence suggests that we are not good listeners. Most of the places that have re-opened have seen spikes in confirmed new cases of COVID-19. This would be the learning curve, the one that will be measured in lives lost.
Then again, it seems just as likely that this will be a chance for us all to practice the social part of distancing. After months of looking at empty store shelves, maybe we won't take toilet paper for granted anymore. It could be that we have all spent this time in our cocoons learning to be better humans. This could be evolutionary.
And with each new step we take in the brave new world, we need to remind ourselves of the tens of thousands who died while we were trying to piece together our response. Every doctor, nurse, EMT, paramedic, firefighter, police officer, delivery person, and son who shared his Disney Plus password should be raised high and acknowledged for the battle they helped wage.
Because we have to be better after all of this.
Don't we?
We were all sent to our rooms for two months to think about the way we have been acting, and I hope that we are collectively ready to be held accountable for our actions. As the poet from Akron, Ohio wrote, "It's time to go forward, move ahead, and give the past a slip."
Let's be careful out there.
The Cubs won the World Series.
Anything can happen.
Maybe not this year because there is still no word about exactly how sports will emerge on the other side of this mess. Recently, MGM resorts in Las Vegas offered to host the NBA season within the confines of their facilities. Players, coaches, families. Fans? Not so much. That would put a cap on what will long be remembered as the most peculiar basketball season on record. College basketball players would probably disagree, since their season ended in a puff of smoke rather than a grand tournament of champions.
Meanwhile, back on main street, shop owners are pondering how best to come back out of hibernation. What will it be like when doors that have been shut for so long spring open again? A mad rush to stand six feet apart while shopping for books and candles? Curbside delivery for the local furniture store? How will we emerge from this extended and deadly game of Cooties?
Evidence suggests that we are not good listeners. Most of the places that have re-opened have seen spikes in confirmed new cases of COVID-19. This would be the learning curve, the one that will be measured in lives lost.
Then again, it seems just as likely that this will be a chance for us all to practice the social part of distancing. After months of looking at empty store shelves, maybe we won't take toilet paper for granted anymore. It could be that we have all spent this time in our cocoons learning to be better humans. This could be evolutionary.
And with each new step we take in the brave new world, we need to remind ourselves of the tens of thousands who died while we were trying to piece together our response. Every doctor, nurse, EMT, paramedic, firefighter, police officer, delivery person, and son who shared his Disney Plus password should be raised high and acknowledged for the battle they helped wage.
Because we have to be better after all of this.
Don't we?
We were all sent to our rooms for two months to think about the way we have been acting, and I hope that we are collectively ready to be held accountable for our actions. As the poet from Akron, Ohio wrote, "It's time to go forward, move ahead, and give the past a slip."
Let's be careful out there.
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