Chuck E. Cheese is getting a reboot. Way back when, about a week ago, Charles Elliot Cheese looked like your average, baseball cap wearing rodent. Sometimes he appeared in skateboard gear, just to show off his hipness to all the kids. Just not quite hip enough. The powers that be at CEC Entertainment Incorporated have decided to give him a makeover. Mister Cheese will now appear as an electric-guitar-playing rock star. There was no mention as to how this might impact the flavor or taste of the pizza at their restaurants, but that's never really been the reason for lining up at Chuck E. Cheese, right?
I have a very painful memory of they way they messed with my Quake, back in the day. He started out as this burly miner with a hard hat, and when they were finished with him, he was this tiny-waisted super hero-ish guy wearing a hat best suited for the Australian outback, not the mines. How was he supposed to stand up to Quisp's taunting now? At least they left Quake's primary motivations intact. I can remember being asked, as a youth, if I thought it would be okay for the rabbit to have some Trix. I believe that it is in the hearts and minds of every rabbit to know what is best for every individual rabbit, and if Trix will fix what ails them, who am I to stand in their way? I know Trix are for kids, but sometimes they are for poor, afflicted, desperate rabbits.
At least Trix has done us the favor of maintaining one particular rodent for that product's lifespan. The same cannot be said for Cocoa Krispies. The mascot for that breakfast treat has had at least nine different spokescharacters over the past fifty-four years. Is it that hard to sell puffed bits of rice that have the magical attraction of turning your milk chocolaty? You could sell that to me with a picture of burning tractor tires on the front of the box and I would eat it.
But I'm not everybody. Apparently there aren't enough millions of dollars being spent at the place where parents take their kids when they want to combine a video arcade with Disneyland and Shakey's. A rat with a Stratocaster strapped to him will bring them in droves, I'm sure. I guess that's why I'm still watching "Mad Men."
Saturday, July 07, 2012
Friday, July 06, 2012
Down To The Fishin' Hole
This might get me in trouble with a couple of my friends, but I confess that I have never watched an entire episode of "Matlock." The way I made room for old Ben and his associates in Atlanta by imagining that Andy Taylor had grown older and finally out of Mayberry, turning his experience with the law as a small town sheriff into a thriving law practice under an assumed name. Andy Taylor was just too significant a presence in my televised world to make room for another persona for Mister Andy Griffith.
Though I was just a mere slip of a lad when it came on, I knew that "Mayberry R.F.D" was merely a shadow cast by the institution that was "The Andy Griffith Show." It was a comedy monolith that produced homespun moments of quiet genius as well as an Academy Award winning director. Goober, Floyd the Barber, Otis the Town Drunk, even fussy old Aunt Bea were people I welcomed into my living room a half an hour at a time, from black and white to color. It didn't matter, I was happy to spend a little time with the denizens of that North Carolina burg. I listened with great interest to "What it was was football," and watched "No Time For Sergeants" with that same cozy feeling.
Even when Andy started selling crackers, I was happy to believe that everything tasted great when it sat on a Ritz, since he seemed so genuine in his endorsement. But by the seventies and early eighties, my vision of Andy was disrupted by a pair of cinematic appearances. First came "Pray For The Wildcats," in which Andy goes on a motorcycle tour with Mister Brady and Captain Kirk. It doesn't end well. When I was in college, I caught a much earlier vision of Andy's country entertainer in "A Face In The Crowd." That one didn't start too well and ended worse, but it was testament to the power that Griffith had as an actor. It made me glad that he tended to use his powers for good and not evil.
I'll miss Andy as a physical presence, but his genius lives on wherever reruns exist. Aloha, Andy. Tell Goober I said "Hey."
Though I was just a mere slip of a lad when it came on, I knew that "Mayberry R.F.D" was merely a shadow cast by the institution that was "The Andy Griffith Show." It was a comedy monolith that produced homespun moments of quiet genius as well as an Academy Award winning director. Goober, Floyd the Barber, Otis the Town Drunk, even fussy old Aunt Bea were people I welcomed into my living room a half an hour at a time, from black and white to color. It didn't matter, I was happy to spend a little time with the denizens of that North Carolina burg. I listened with great interest to "What it was was football," and watched "No Time For Sergeants" with that same cozy feeling.
Even when Andy started selling crackers, I was happy to believe that everything tasted great when it sat on a Ritz, since he seemed so genuine in his endorsement. But by the seventies and early eighties, my vision of Andy was disrupted by a pair of cinematic appearances. First came "Pray For The Wildcats," in which Andy goes on a motorcycle tour with Mister Brady and Captain Kirk. It doesn't end well. When I was in college, I caught a much earlier vision of Andy's country entertainer in "A Face In The Crowd." That one didn't start too well and ended worse, but it was testament to the power that Griffith had as an actor. It made me glad that he tended to use his powers for good and not evil.
I'll miss Andy as a physical presence, but his genius lives on wherever reruns exist. Aloha, Andy. Tell Goober I said "Hey."
Thursday, July 05, 2012
The Fact Is...
Geraldo Rivera had been fired in 1985 after criticizing ABC for canceling a report on an alleged relationship between John F. Kennedy and Marilyn Monroe. He then hosted the special The Mystery of My Closet which was broadcast live on July 2, 2012. The two hour special (including commercials) was greatly hyped as potentially revealing great riches or leather gear on live television. This included the presence of a taste examiner should any wire hangers be found and agents from the Fashion Police to collect any of Geraldo's leisure suits that might be discovered. When the closet was finally opened the only things found inside were dirt and several empty cologne bottles including one Rivera claimed was Old Spice body Wash. Despite the ending, the special became the most-watched syndicated television special with an estimated audience of thirty million. "Seems like we struck out," Rivera was quoted as saying after the show, though he later wrote of the event in his autobiography Exposing Myself that "My career was not over, I knew, but had just begun. And all because of a silly, high-concept stunt that failed to deliver on its titillating promise." The term "Geraldo Rivera's Closet" has become slang for a heavily hyped event with disappointing results.
Somewhere, Anderson Cooper is rocking a black T-shirt and smiling.
Somewhere, Anderson Cooper is rocking a black T-shirt and smiling.
Wednesday, July 04, 2012
It's Not Pink - It's Lightish Red, White and Blue
Fourth of July, and it's time for Jamboree! James Turley, a Boy Scouts of America national board member, announced that he will work from within the scouting organization to change its long-standing position barring gay Scouts and gay Scout leaders. So this year there will be even more to celebrate, right?
Unless you're Chuck Norris. "Is Turley working on his own initiative, or has the White House prodded him with perks and favors?" Norris asks in an article on Ammoland.com, which also suggests that Obama has tossed several political plums Turley's way so that he will carry out what he describes as the White House's pro-gay agenda. "Is it a coincidence that Turley is in tight cahoots with the White House and that he is the only BSA national board member in one hundred years to oppose its pro-traditional family stance?"
First off, let me say that I have only recently returned from a trip to Disneyland, so I was intrigued by this contrast to the happiest place on earth: Ammoland. The most homophobic place on earth? Sorry, I meant "family-friendly." I'm not guessing there are any rides there, but you might be asked to field strip an AR-15 while live automatic weapons fire is sprayed overhead. You won't find any of those Nancy-Boys signing up for that one, I bet. Unless it was David Nelson, gay gun enthusiast. The right to bear arms is really not too terribly different from baring all sorts of other things, and it's what we should be celebrating this Fourth of July. Freedom and Tolerance should go hand in hand, but probably not in public, right?
I just know there's a Chuck Norris joke in here that I haven't fully mined, but right now, I'm going to exercise my constitutional right to ignore him.
Unless you're Chuck Norris. "Is Turley working on his own initiative, or has the White House prodded him with perks and favors?" Norris asks in an article on Ammoland.com, which also suggests that Obama has tossed several political plums Turley's way so that he will carry out what he describes as the White House's pro-gay agenda. "Is it a coincidence that Turley is in tight cahoots with the White House and that he is the only BSA national board member in one hundred years to oppose its pro-traditional family stance?"
First off, let me say that I have only recently returned from a trip to Disneyland, so I was intrigued by this contrast to the happiest place on earth: Ammoland. The most homophobic place on earth? Sorry, I meant "family-friendly." I'm not guessing there are any rides there, but you might be asked to field strip an AR-15 while live automatic weapons fire is sprayed overhead. You won't find any of those Nancy-Boys signing up for that one, I bet. Unless it was David Nelson, gay gun enthusiast. The right to bear arms is really not too terribly different from baring all sorts of other things, and it's what we should be celebrating this Fourth of July. Freedom and Tolerance should go hand in hand, but probably not in public, right?
I just know there's a Chuck Norris joke in here that I haven't fully mined, but right now, I'm going to exercise my constitutional right to ignore him.
Tuesday, July 03, 2012
Back In Time
June 28, 2012: The day that Marty McFly picked to land in when he went "Back to the Future." Not the past, but the future which as we all know is part two. Hoverboards, and pump-up sneakers. When that day finally arrived, I found myself at the epicenter of this storm at Universal Studios in Los Angeles, California. I was there to take in a concert featuring the musical talents of Boz Scaggs, Michael McDonald, and Donald Fagen, collectively called The Dukes of September. Fascinated as I was with this trip down memory lane, I was also captivated by the venue. I had heard of the Universal Amphitheater for decades, most prominently in the late nineteen seventies and early eighties. This was the place where Steve Martin and the Blues Brothers had each recorded an album, records that I internalized and made part of my life. In the past.
Now here I was, in the future, thinking about how I had seen the Blues Brothers at another amphitheater, Red Rocks, so many years ago. That's what I was thinking as we made our way to the gate that night. That's when I saw the two gentlemen in black suits, skinny ties, sunglasses and fedoras. One of them was carrying a briefcase which was, no doubt, full of blues. That shook me just a little. Once we were inside, and sat down, there was a guy a few rows in front us wearing a t-shirt featuring the silhouettes of both Jake and Elwood, below which was the caption: "We're putting the band back together."
The show was a trip down memory lane, featuring hits from Steely Dan, the Doobie Brothers, and Mister Silk Degrees himself, Boz Scaggs. I was expressly amused as I watched the lady at the front of the auditorium whose job it was to translate each song for those who are hard of hearing try to power her way through "Kid Charlemagne." That was as bravura a performance as anything we saw that night.
When it was all over, we walked back outside, since the amphitheater had become an indoor venue back in 1982 when Universal opened a theme park adjacent to their concert venue. We took in the sights and sounds of the present, as we made our way back to the car, and the future.
Now here I was, in the future, thinking about how I had seen the Blues Brothers at another amphitheater, Red Rocks, so many years ago. That's what I was thinking as we made our way to the gate that night. That's when I saw the two gentlemen in black suits, skinny ties, sunglasses and fedoras. One of them was carrying a briefcase which was, no doubt, full of blues. That shook me just a little. Once we were inside, and sat down, there was a guy a few rows in front us wearing a t-shirt featuring the silhouettes of both Jake and Elwood, below which was the caption: "We're putting the band back together."
The show was a trip down memory lane, featuring hits from Steely Dan, the Doobie Brothers, and Mister Silk Degrees himself, Boz Scaggs. I was expressly amused as I watched the lady at the front of the auditorium whose job it was to translate each song for those who are hard of hearing try to power her way through "Kid Charlemagne." That was as bravura a performance as anything we saw that night.
When it was all over, we walked back outside, since the amphitheater had become an indoor venue back in 1982 when Universal opened a theme park adjacent to their concert venue. We took in the sights and sounds of the present, as we made our way back to the car, and the future.
Monday, July 02, 2012
Costs Of Good And Service
Millions of dollars are currently being raised for the coming presidential campaign. Both parties are throwing parties and hosting dinners in hopes of wringing one more dollar than the other guys out of their supporters. Super PACs are gathering and dispersing cash in a flurry not seen in our political history. If the race to the White House was settled on a purely monetary basis, the Democrats would have their work cut out for themselves, but the pockets on both sides seem to be awfully deep.
Twenty years ago, Democratic strategist and Skeletor impersonator James Carville insisted that the focus of that election was "The economy, stupid." While not exactly affirming everyone's self-esteem, he seemed to have given his candidate, William Clinton, a direction. Of course, it helped that his campaign was supported by a very impressive war chest, stuffed with the hard-won nickels and dimes of those who truly believed in his vision. And a bunch of big checks from private donors. Hundreds of millions of dollars were spent on that election, and when the smoke cleared, a new era had begun.
More than a billion dollars were raised and spent on the 2008 campaign. You might think an infusion of cash like that into our moribund economy would get things started over again. This time around, we're almost certain to top two billion dollars. The attack-ad industry just got the bailout they so desperately needed. For the past four years, these folks have been living on the edge of society with their hands out, looking for a way back in. The crepe paper and Mylar balloon industries have suffered as well, but now all of that is going to change. America is back on its feet again, thanks to the hard work of a few rugged individualists with money to throw around. All of those dollars are bound to trickle down to the rest of us before next November, right? Or am I missing something?
Twenty years ago, Democratic strategist and Skeletor impersonator James Carville insisted that the focus of that election was "The economy, stupid." While not exactly affirming everyone's self-esteem, he seemed to have given his candidate, William Clinton, a direction. Of course, it helped that his campaign was supported by a very impressive war chest, stuffed with the hard-won nickels and dimes of those who truly believed in his vision. And a bunch of big checks from private donors. Hundreds of millions of dollars were spent on that election, and when the smoke cleared, a new era had begun.
More than a billion dollars were raised and spent on the 2008 campaign. You might think an infusion of cash like that into our moribund economy would get things started over again. This time around, we're almost certain to top two billion dollars. The attack-ad industry just got the bailout they so desperately needed. For the past four years, these folks have been living on the edge of society with their hands out, looking for a way back in. The crepe paper and Mylar balloon industries have suffered as well, but now all of that is going to change. America is back on its feet again, thanks to the hard work of a few rugged individualists with money to throw around. All of those dollars are bound to trickle down to the rest of us before next November, right? Or am I missing something?
Sunday, July 01, 2012
Greatest Hit
It was somewhere around the middle of "Sleepless In Seattle" that my wife and I began to roll our eyes. This reaction escalated into the third act of this remake of "An Affair To Remember," until we began to pantomime the screenwriter of this tripe hammering away at her typewriter wearing boxing gloves. Nothing clever of subtle, just a ticking clock and two star-crossed lovers: America's Sweethearts, Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks. This was sad, since we had been quite enamored of both of them up until that point. Until they had been swallowed whole by Nora Ephron.
Was this always the way I felt about Ms. Ephron? No. As a matter of fact, there was a shining moment when she was elevated to private cult status with a little flick entitled "When Harry Met Sally." Meg Ryan was in that one too, but her cute quotient hadn't run its course and Billy Crystal was just the right amount of a wiseacre to carry off being a leading man. It was sweet. It was funny. It was swunny. I watched it over and over, savoring the notion that my wife would later describe thus: "You marry the one you can't get rid of."
For us, that was the high water mark for Nora Ephron and us. We got tired of the formula, but we kept showing up to her movies because we were hooked on the possibility that her next one might be another home run. We waited through "Michael" and "You've Got Mail." We should have been tipped off by the presence of Hanks and Ryan, who by this time were phoning in their romantic comedies. Who could blame them?
My wife and I could. We finally learned our lesson and started staying home. Sometimes we caught bits and pieces of her later films on television. We inevitably wanted the time we spent back. We had hoped for more Harry and Sally. It never came. And now it never will again. I will miss Nora Ephron for what she gave to me in that one story of two young people who discover over a decade or two that they belong together. The Hollywood story of my life with my wife. Thank you for that, Nora. Sleep well. Aloha.
Was this always the way I felt about Ms. Ephron? No. As a matter of fact, there was a shining moment when she was elevated to private cult status with a little flick entitled "When Harry Met Sally." Meg Ryan was in that one too, but her cute quotient hadn't run its course and Billy Crystal was just the right amount of a wiseacre to carry off being a leading man. It was sweet. It was funny. It was swunny. I watched it over and over, savoring the notion that my wife would later describe thus: "You marry the one you can't get rid of."
For us, that was the high water mark for Nora Ephron and us. We got tired of the formula, but we kept showing up to her movies because we were hooked on the possibility that her next one might be another home run. We waited through "Michael" and "You've Got Mail." We should have been tipped off by the presence of Hanks and Ryan, who by this time were phoning in their romantic comedies. Who could blame them?
My wife and I could. We finally learned our lesson and started staying home. Sometimes we caught bits and pieces of her later films on television. We inevitably wanted the time we spent back. We had hoped for more Harry and Sally. It never came. And now it never will again. I will miss Nora Ephron for what she gave to me in that one story of two young people who discover over a decade or two that they belong together. The Hollywood story of my life with my wife. Thank you for that, Nora. Sleep well. Aloha.
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