Imagination

Imagination

Why do some people get so excited, sometimes even angry when a TV show has an editing error? 

The latest gaff was on “Bachelor in Paradise.”  I know, a stupid show, but many of us with no life do watch it.  

(If you do not watch or even own a TV it is fine with me.  I am as proud to watch this crap as some people are to assert, they never watch the most popular entertainment invention ever.)

Sorry for the mini-rant, it is just any time I mention TV there is always someone who brags about never watching or even owning a TV, as if that make them a better person than the 99.9% of the world that watches every night…(oops, that might have been another mini-rant…again, I am sorry.)

Anyway, this show ends each week with the bachelor(ette) handing out a rose to the bachelor(ette) of his (or her) choice.  The most controversial rose is always edited to be given at the end of the show.  This week, they failed to edit a scene showing a rose on a bachelorette that had not yet been chosen.

OMG!  “Bachelorette Nation” (That’s what they call serious viewers) exploded like the show was ruined and someone needed to be fired.

A few months ago, TV land erupted over a goof where a scene on “Game of Thrones” showed a Starbucks Coffee Cup.

Both of these mistakes could only be caught if you paused and reran the scene a few times.  The goofs lasted a nanosecond.

I guess the people who get all upset over these edit goofs did not grow up watching “Flash Gordon” where the spaceships were obviously cardboard on a string with a sparkler burning out of the tail.

Maybe they never got the crap scared out of them by a man in a scaly wet suit with Voit swim fins who was “The Creature From the Black Lagoon.”

They probably did not grow up believing Godzilla was tromping all over Tokyo and not plastic buildings from a Lionel Train set.

People today are so used to the fantastic special effects and editing that make movies and TV so real that any minor goof ruins the whole effect for them…Plus people today just love finding mistakes and apparently feel superior when the get to point those mistakes out.  I see that myself anytime I misspell a word or make a grammatical error.

I suppose when you’ve bought into the Lone Ranger shooting a gun out of the bad guys hand and never drawing blood, watched Batman climb a building with ease, or “Lost in Space” robots made of cardboard and flexible aluminum vent hosing, you lose your imagination.

My folks were raised listening to radio; now that generation had real imagination.

I Need Teef Relief!

I Need Teef Relief!

At 73 I’m doing pretty well.  Blood pressure normal, cholesterol below border line high, arthritis…big toe, left hip, but not that bad yet.  Yes, I am still kicking and able to do stuff like guitar, bowling, golf and yeah, that too.

However, eating and whistling, not so good.  I need teeth relief!

The #10 had to be extracted.  When your teeth are bad you learn their numbers.  Number ten is right up front.  I’ve had a fake #10 for years by means of a post glued into the remains of the original.  Now the original remains are no longer  stable enough to hold the fake.

I can do just fine without this tooth, but the gap makes me look like a banjo player, and I do not play banjo.  The old remains had to be dug out and in a few weeks a suitable replacement by way of a bridge will be introduced.

So, the other day I had the extraction.  At the same time, my #4 started acting up.  I took a few leftover antibiotics from a previous issue and the acting up eased a bit, but I knew I would need more antibiotics.

Now I had an extracted tooth that was sore and sometimes even angry on one side and a cranky tooth on the other side.  Eating was not any fun at all.

RT – Why do you never lose any weight when a short-term ailment keeps you from eating?

I had to visit my dentist for the third time in the last week to get an ex-ray to confirm I needed the antibiotics. 

The dentist had a new assistant.  I knew she was a new assistant by the way she took the ex-ray.

She covered me with lead.  Stuck the ex-ray thing with the circle target into my mouth, stepped outside and pressed the button that makes that zapping sound.  When she came back inside the office, she and the dentist could not understand why the picture of the tooth did not seem right.

“Hey Doc, do you have some new technology.”

“Um…what?”

“Well you used to have to bring that boom thing around and point it at the circle target before zapping.”

New nurse, “Oops, I think I forgot that part!”

Oh well, no harm no foul, but in the future, I’m going to keep my eye on this assistant.

Anyway, I got the new prescription.  The extraction is healing, but anything hot or crunchy makes the other tooth angry.  Unable to drink coffee gave me a withdrawal headache, and the antibiotics leave you feeling a bit flu like.

All this is putting a crimp in my golf game where I am sure I have figured out a swing flaw that will allow me to break 90.  It is the seven-hundred and eighty-third time I have figured out my swing flaw; this time I am sure I have it.  I won’t know for sure until my teeth stop acting up.

I need teef relief! 

NIMFY

NIMFY

NIMFY, not NAMBLA…"Not in my front yard", there will be no talk of man boy love on my blog!


Wacky people are great.  I’m talking about wacky people who just do crazy stuff, but stuff that does not hurt anyone, and actually gives people something to talk about.


Without wacky people there would be no insane decoration at Christmas, the season would be more boring.  Without wacky people who would have invented silly putty, or yoyo’s.  Only a wacky person would make a car out of LEGOS or a guitar out of a cigar box.


Wacky people make the world more interesting.  They are fun people.   Fun people, unless of course, these people are your next door neighbors.


On the way to my dentist I pass a house owned by wacky people.  At first glance their front yard looks like there is a party going on.  People assembled around a BBQ, others sitting and chatting, others just wandering around…except they are not wandering around, they do not move.


This front yard is covered with mannequins.

Interesting, even fun, unless of course this scene was next door to your house.

Bad pictures, car behind was honking!

I Googled for an answer to what was going on in this yard.


Turns out the old couple that lives in the house had an issue with cars coming off a nearby highway and driving by too fast.  These people are artists and they decided if they put up a man who appeared to be crossing the road, cars would slow down.


Before long they added a few more mannequins and as artists and wacky people are prone to do, they did not stop.  There must now be 20-30 of these mannequins in this yard.  

They have been there for several years.  I don’t think they will be coming down soon.  They survive rain, snow and wind.


People now do slow down when they come off the highway.  They often stop and take pictures.  I get a kick out of this yard whenever I pass it.


Wacky people are fun, they make the world a little bit more interesting.

Of course they are not my neighbors.  If they were I would think, please, NIMFY!

The Mandolin

The Mandolin

Fresh off my recollection of an old banjo, I paid a visit to the local Guitar Store.  I was just going with my friend Frog as he was dropping off a guitar for service before we were on our way to hit some golf balls.

Visiting “The Guitar Store” and all its temptations can be expensive.  While Frog was chatting with the guitar technician, and Frog can chat with the best, I browsed through the acoustic guitar section.  This is always fun as you can grab an instrument and play just to get an idea of how a different guitar feels and sounds.

As I was killing time, the mandolin caught my eye.  It was a used mandolin, not high end, but I thought it was beautiful.  I always wanted to mess around with a mandolin, and this one would also make a nice wall ornament for my collection.

If you are not a guitar/string instrument person you would not understand.  

The attraction of these instruments, even if you do not expect to play them very much, is akin to the attraction many women have to shoes, and some men have to tools.  You may only wear them once, but they are pretty, and they just look good in your closet, or you may never use a tool but it looks good on your work bench.  

Wood string instruments are like that to me, and from the traffic in this store, I am not alone in this attraction.

The mandolin was used, but it looked brand new, no scratches, was not warped and was just pretty!  It was also eighty dollars less than the same model if brand new.

I could not pass on a bargain.  I talked the store into including new strings which they put on (the mandolin has eight strings and the process is different than for a guitar) and I am now the proud owner of this wall hanger.

I will learn a few chords and a few songs, but mostly it is a full-time decoration and part time toy, much like my ukulele.  Oh, I can knock “Tiny Bubbles” out of the park on my uke but it is also mostly a decoration.

Is it being extravagant buying a musical instrument mostly as a decoration? 

Maybe, but hey, women have their shoes, guys their tools and millionaires have their homes and yachts. 

I like musical string instruments.

The Banjo

The Banjo

 

Not much to post about these days, but this memory was stirred by a post from Rick @ https://www.rickwatson-writer.com/ .

 

Years ago, when I was in High School, so lots of years ago, I found an old banjo in our basement.  Now I always sort of thought it would be fun to play banjo, but this banjo was broken.  At the time I did not want to play an instrument badly enough to try and fix an old broken banjo.

I did think the banjo was beautiful.  It came in a hard case, had a nice wooden neck and what I later learned was a resonator.  The neck was covered with ivory inlay markings.  It was pretty, but it was broken. 

It was a four-string tenor banjo, but two strings were broken so it wouldn’t play.

A few years after my find, my brother brought a friend from college home for a visit.  The friend mentioned that he wanted to learn to play banjo.

My Pops spoke up,

“I have an old banjo in the basement.  It is old but it is a nice one and I never play it anymore.”

I was about to speak up and tell him that it was broken, when the friend spoke,

“Oh, thanks, but I couldn’t take it.”

“Nonsense, it is of no use to me, it is perfectly good, it only needs to be restrung.”

The friend took the banjo. 

I often wonder about that old banjo.  I might have tried playing if I knew strings were easily replaced.  I never thought to ask Pops about it before he passed.

My guess is that it was not a cheap banjo.  Cheap instruments are not always carried in an expensive hard case.  A cheap banjo might go for $100, and a good hard case $50.  Who would put a cheap banjo in an expensive case?

Also, my Dad did not often buy cheap.  He was thrifty, but he did not buy cheap stuff.  I’m not sure they even sold cheap banjos when he would have bought this one.  In the 1930’s they did not import stringed instruments from Taiwan, or Indonesia.  I doubt banjos were mass produced at home either.

My guess from researching the internet, and my best recollection, is the banjo was a Gibson, a very fine and expensive banjo.  This is mostly based on all the ivory inlays that I remember.

If only I had spoken up when I first saw that old banjo. I might have had a lot of fun with it, but mostly it would have been like having a piece of my Pops.

Broken strings are replaceable…who knew?

Oh well, I could probably afford to replace that banjo, but it would not be the same.  

I still have the memories of the old banjo, and my Pops.

The memories, unlike the strings, are not replaceable.

 

GOLF ARRRG!

GOLF ARRRG!

Hmmm…no post in two days. 

Recent posts bordered on politics, a big (NO NO!), making fun of Mrs. C (Zzzzz), and a fart record re-run (Eeeew!).  I’ve got nothing.  Still I have a need to post something.  Why, I do not know. 

Perhaps I should join Bloggers anonymous.

“Hi, my name is Cranky, and I blog, even when I have nothing to say.”

“Hello Cranky.”

“All I have these days is golf, and no one likes golf.”

“Blog about it anyway Cranky, no one has to read it, you just need to post something.”

“Your right, thanks.”

I played golf today, second time this week.  Both days I came to the ninth hole two under.  (I generally only play nine holes, especially in this heat.)  That’s two under bogy, not two under par for those who know the game.  Two under par and I would be joining the senior circuit.

Anyway.

I come to the ninth hole and a simple score of five on this par four hole and I go home very happy.  This hole is only 330 yards long, but there is water 180 yards out and it would take a gorilla to drive past that water.

So, both days I lay up five yards from the water hole, an easy 150-yard five iron to the green, or even close to the green and it is chip, putt, putt, bogy-five and I go home a happy golfer.

Both days I hit the only topped grounder of the day dribbling right into the water.  Penalty, hit, chip, putt, putt, putt, and I go home pissed off and miserable after a round ruining eight.

 

Arrrg!!

This is a horrible game! 

Except, it is not commuting three hours a day on a sweaty train, working a crappy job, and coming home to a wack-a-doodle wife!

I now come home to a cold beer a good woman and a short nap.

Golf is tough.

Life is good.

 

 

 

PILLOW FIGHT

PILLOW FIGHT

My wife has a thing about pillows.  I will try my best to explain, but I don’t have it figured out myself.

We have lots of pillows on our bed.  Mrs. C has about eight.   I have I think six.  I only use two, but that would make the bed too unbalanced so I have six, I think, maybe it is four or five…

Mrs. C does not use all eight pillows at the same time, they all just have different purposes, even though they are all basically the same. 

She used six for watching TV, the other two are on the floor next to her holding up her computer power cord.  If she falls asleep with six pillows it is only short term. 

When she is ready to turn in for the night, she uses four pillows to sleep on, two pillows go to the end of the bed and the cord holding pillows are moved for what reason I do not know.

I sleep on two pillows and the other four are just scrunched up out of my way.

Mrs. C takes a nap in the day when I retreat to my basement lair to watch TV, exercise on my Total Gym machine, and practice guitar.  She naps on my pillows, always turning one up vertical resting against the other five pillows.  Always the same pillow.

The other day, as a test as I retreated downstairs I grabbed her vertical resting pillow saying,

“I’m going to need this downstairs.”

“I don’t think so!” As she grabbed one end and hung on for life.

“You have at least thirteen pillows, I need this one downstairs.”

“No you don’t, your just being a jerk.”

“No, I need this pillow!” (I was just being a jerk).

“DON’T MESS WITH MY PILLOWS!!”

Do you remember the “Exorcist?” Scary movie right? Not as scary as messing with Mrs. C’s pillows.

I didn’t really need it anyway.

THE CREPITATION CONTEST OF 1946

THE CREPITATION CONTEST OF 1946

In the summer of 1958, a twelve year old Cranky was visiting his Uncle Jack and Cousins Johnny and Dex.  My Uncle was a big man, over 300 pounds with a laugh to match his size.  It was on this visit that I first heard the recording.

My Aunt Sally had gone shopping, and Uncle Jack asked if anyone wanted to hear a funny record.  We all of course said yes, and Uncle Jack proceeded to pull out a small 78 record hidden inside a volume of Compton’s Encyclopedia. 

“Do not tell Aunt Sally, or your folks,” I was admonished by Uncle Jack, “this is a bootleg record.”

Now I was excited.  A bootleg record; was it even legal to listen to such a recording?  Uncle Jack said nothing as he queued up the record and placed the needle on the bootleg disc.

What followed was shocking to a lad that had been raised by WASPS.  Raised by a family of adults who had never uttered a curse word in my presence, always appeared very proper and certainly were not the type to listen to potty humor.

The bootleg recording was produced in 1946 in Canada by two sportscasters as a goof.  Apparently they made several copies, but it was not for distribution.  The recording was copied again and again on disc and reel to reel tape.  It was distributed underground and played in dark rooms and back alleys around the world.

I about peed my pants listening to this record.  It was years later before I ever discussed it with anyone.  It was a bootleg recording.  Was it illegal?  It was just wrong…wasn’t it?

I later met many people who had also heard this recording and also had about peed their pants.  This recording was the earliest example of something gone viral; quietly, and whispered in the dark, viral.

Thanks to the internet I have rediscovered the recording.  If you are immature, and enjoy potty humor, sit back, hit play, and enjoy the blow by blow description of the contest between the champion Englishman Lord Windesmear, and the challenger, Australian Paul Boomer as they compete in:

The Great Crepitation Contest!

It is a bit long, 15 minutes.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uPplyQWf-u4

Paul Boomer and Lord Windesmear at the farting pole

A re-run from my 13-year-old self July 2013

I NEED A LIST

I NEED A LIST

I am not a prude.  I am not a racist.  For the most part, words or visuals do not upset me.  I am old, and I am confused about what words are proper today, and what words are forbidden.

For instance:

I get it that you can not say the “N” word, even though clearly everyone knows what the “N” word is so that eventually if you say “The N word” you will offend people.  Soon it will be you have to say “That word” to mean “The N word”.  

Look words are not offensive, it is words in a specific context that are offensive…OK I don’t want to get in a debate, just let me know which words can no longer be used.  Maybe print a list of what is not acceptable, then update the list everyday as the rules seem to change often.

The other day I was corrected in a disciplinary fashion from a young person for using the term “Actress.”  Apparently if you act, you are an “actor.”  Any gender identification is offensive. 

Look, I don’t care, just tell me the rules.

Why on TV can you say Ass, but not asshole?  Can you say ass and hole in the same sentence?  “He was an ass because he dug a hole.”

How come you can’t say “Pussy” but you can say VeJayJay?

Why does “actress” offend, but a commercial can have models demonstrate the superiority of their Vejayjay trimming devise?

Can I say “an actor of unknown gender but I suspect (he/she/it?) may have a vejayjay.”?

When I was a child, we used to play Cowboys and Indians.  I am old.  Sometimes I use the term Indian instead of Native American…or is it Indigenous person?  When I use the term “Indian” do I really need to be corrected?  Is the world worse off if I use a that word?  Are Native Americans better off if I am corrected?

I just saw a commercial advertising a no wrinkle cleaning product that basically claimed their wrinkle free product would hide a 13-year-olds boner.  (Can I say boner?  What about hard-on, or pitched a tent?  I need that list!) It was pretty funny to me, but I’ll bet it offended a lot of other old people.  Probably more than saying “actress” offends a millennial.

The same young people who are offended by “Indian” or “actress” or any number of words that are on their not published list, have no problem using “Fuck” as punctuation. 

I over-hear it in public areas all the time. 

“My fucking boss is so fucking stupid; I want to kick his mother-fucking ass!” 

It is not only offensive to many people, but it has also watered down and ruined a perfectly good word.  “Fuck” used to get your attention and emphasized your point, it has lost its effectiveness.  

These same fuck-punctuating people would have no problem correcting me if they over-heard me say “actress” or “Indian.”

Can I say “mother-fucking indigenous actor person of indeterminant gender?”

I need a list! 

An Observation

An Observation

You can learn a lot from watching TV commercials.  They are a window into our world.  If hundreds of years from now, archaeologists find a cache of early 21^st century TV commercials they would make the following conclusions about our world today.

Ninety-five percent of all doctors and judges are female.

Almost all cleaning products are sold by people with English accents.

One hundred percent of dentists are female.

Most children are smarter than their parents.

Men are bigger and stronger than women but are generally defeated when they ingage in physical competition against each other.

There is nothing more important to a mom than clean white shirts.

Most young married couples are mixed race.

People drink alcohol for the taste and refreshment, they never get high.

Furniture stores are always going out of business.

Men can not find anything around the house, are careless and forget every important date…OK, that one is accurate.

Those future archaeologists will believe all these things to be true, TV commercials must mirror life as we know it…right?