Heard It on the Grapevine

The Drive-In

Drive-in speakers–earbuds for the car. In fact, is not my iPhone simply a pocket sized motor movie?

One stormy Illinois night the whole family piled into a repurposed military Ford. Probably around 1948. We were provisioned with Kool-Aid, potato chips and extra blankets. Since air conditioning had not been invented we had all the windows cranked down. The blankets protected us from mosquitoes. As the sun went down the sky got still and a bit greenish. This lent extra character to the feature. “Look out, Dorothy! It’s a tornado!”

In California, our destination resort was the Pleasant Hill Motor Movie. More than once we employed the sneak-in-via-the-trunk ritual. This was in Carolyn Kelloway’s ’39 Buick. The trunk lock was jammed so we had to yank the back seat open and slither in that way. No idea how two of us fit in there. It was great preparation for being tunnel rats in Vietnam. An experience I thankfully avoided.

My personal vehicle was Barry Bertani’s 40 Ford coupe. Nicely hot-rodded up, it provided that “American Graffiti” feel to dates at the Motor Movie. By some twist of fate I also acquired Barry’s girl friend, Debbie Dean, in the bargain.

Debbie was a sweet girl, always ready go by herself to fetch set-ups from the snack bar, while I fished the plastic gin flask from under the seat. She was also as tall as I, making me a gender equality pioneer in so many ways. Or maybe she just triggered a life-long obsession with leggy super models. [“Hello. I know you are taller than I, but let me buy you a drink. I’ll just stand on this chair.”]

During my Army days, my female companion took me to the drive-in for the new Beatles’ film “Help!” We went in her Nash Metropolitan, a car far more dangerous than any Corvair. Then it rained like an SOB, fog developed inside the tiny stupid car and we had to hang our wet heads out the windows to see the screen. I am not kidding. By the time Ringo got his ring back, the Metropolitan was one of the few cars still there.

During the Hippy-Dippy days I remember taking a Flower Child I met at a Davis, Calif. smoke-in to a movie. When we reached the theater, she was pleasantly freaked out. “You mean you’re taking me to a Walk-In?”  OK!  I was a hero that night. She had a neat car, but it was not Drive-In material: a Triumph Spitfire Coupe.

There was a Drive-In connection in Davis, however. When I opened my motorcycle shop in 1968, I ran an ad every night for a year at the local Drive-In. The last picture showed my mustachioed physiognomy, 30 feet high on the outdoor screen. This raised my local hero quotient even higher.

Now all the Drive-Ins are gone. Or are they?

Next month I’ll be visiting my wife’s people near Niagara Falls. The Transit Drive-In in Lockport New York has operated more-or-less continually since 1952.

In 2011, an AARP story said there were 371 drive-ins in the United States, though it is unclear how many of these are traditional versus ad hoc “sheet-in-a-field” venues. ["Catch a Sunset Screening", AARP The Magazine (Washington, D.C.): 10, ISSN 1541-9894]

PS. My wife is as tall as I am.

Blackhawk Museum – April 1, 2012

Before the band played, I captured several cars.

1963 Thunderbird was my 7^th car. While not this show car version, mine had the 390 cubic inch V-8 and the leather seats weren’t cracked too badly. Think I paid $200 for it.

Jaguar XK-SS. 1 of only 16 ever sold. Actor Steve McQueen bought one in 1957 for $4,000. Another sold in 2005 for almost $2 million.

Wood-bodied car. Would not an accident cause serious splinter wounds?

Fatty Arbuckle’s Pierce Arrow is almost 7 feet tall. Arbuckle was the first movie star to make over a million a year. When he attended a three-day party in San Francisco, an actress died. Arbuckle was tried for her murder but quickly acquitted. He should have stayed in his car.

Here is Fatty:

Rolls Royce. Years ago in a land far away (Ft. Lauderdale, Florida) a friend had access to one of these. We drove up and down passed the infamous Elbow Room. We three couples felt so cool, until an identical Rolls pulled up next to us at a stoplight.

Can't wait until next year.

Alas, Poor Twinkie, I knew him well

News item: Hostess Brands—baker of Wonder Bread and Twinkies—has filed for bankruptcy.

Twinkies moist, crème-filled cake was the perfect food. So good, we’d lick the cardboard for the last morsel. And easier to handle than those sloppy Suzy Q’s.

This all goes back a ways.

1930 Twinkies were invented in Illinois.

1955 I used my lunch money to buy cigarettes. Survived on Twinkies and surplus Illinois chocolate milk at only a penny per carton.

1956-60 During high school in California I never once ate lunch in the cafeteria. Instead, bought BBQ chips, chocolate milk and Twinkies and walked the halls. I ate over 1,000 Twinkies, which doubtless gives me a youthful appearance to this day.

1964 At my college Hostess Twinkies were known as “white man soul food.”

Late 60’s Nothing like a dozen Twinkies to cure The Munchies. Bolder girls seductively pretended to "smoke" their Twinkies, like fat stubby cigars or something.

1971 When SF Columnist Herb Caen asked for ethnic WASP traditions, I wrote him that “Hostess Twinkies are WASP soul food.” He published that along with my name.

1972 Dialogue when Sammy Davis Jr. visited All in The Family:

Archie: (speaking to Edith) Open up a fresh box of Twinkies for Mr. Davis.

Sammy Davis, Jr.: Twinkies?

Michael: Yeah. Kind of a WASP soul food.

[Season 2, Episode 21, First aired 2/19/72]

1978 Deranged ex-SF cop and baked potato vendor Dan White murdered SF mayor George Moscone and gay supervisor Harvey Milk. White claimed diminished capacity due to gorging on sugary snack foods. Thus was born the “Twinkie Defense.”

19?? Jerry Garcia—famed lead guitarist for The Grateful Dead:

“Hey, my chest feels kinda tight. F**k it, pass me a Twinkie”

1995 Rice University test Twinkies and publish results as The Twinkies Project.

1995 Jerry Garcia died in drug rehab.  One of his many addictions was said to be Twinkies.

2010 Twinkie diet. College professor Mark Haub went on a diet consisting mainly of Twinkies, Oreos, and Doritos in an attempt to demonstrate to his students "for weight loss, pure calorie counting is what matters—not the nutritional value of the food". He lost 27 pounds in 2 months but did not shoot anyone.

Finally, Deep-fried Twinkies. A deep-fried Twinkie involves freezing the cake, dipping it into batter, and deep-frying it to create a variation on the traditional snack cake. "Something magical occurs when the pastry hits the hot oil. The creamy white vegetable shortening filling liquefies, impregnating the sponge cake with its luscious vanilla flavor....The cake itself softens and warms, nearly melting, contrasting with the crisp, deep-fried crust in a buttery and suave way. The pièce de résistance, however, is a ruby-hued berry sauce, adding a tart sophistication to all that airy sugary goodness." [NY Times] Fried Twinkies are sold in fairs as well as ball games.      

I need some of these, now.

Thief of Time

Hello. My name is Chuck.

Hello, Chuck.

I am an addict. I am addicted to cable television news.

“Chewing gum for the mind,” is SF newspaperman Herb Caen’s term for television. I think of TV as a Thief of Time.

But cable news is a good thing, right? It kept me so wonderfully informed as I wrestled with Medicare, really studied Global Warming, devised how to fix Illegal Immigration and came up with a bulletproof plan for our worsening fiscal condition.

So what, who cares?

The obvious fixes will not happen. Vested interests--starting with our elected representatives--will not allow real change. They love our money lining their pockets. Example: The Clinton’s net worth now exceeds $200 million.

So over the years I was just listening to myself, a Vox Clamantis in Deserto. Meanwhile, the ladies on Fox seem so important, CNN has great coverage, Bloomberg TV fosters a compassionate conservatism. I wish I could watch several channels at once.

This was ridiculous. Then “Bring Me Sunshine” gave me a flash of insight. [Video below.] I realized I need to go cold turkey.

After 30 years, I am going to cut The Cable and eliminate cable news.

I plan to snag digital TV signals from the sky for free. I’ll use Netflix for the occasional movie. This will save me over $1,000 a year and hundreds of hours to write and snooze  under the cork trees.

Doubtless the Political Solution Industry will continue unabated without me. In fact, someone else’s recent, doable Simple Plan is linked below.

But I shall miss Megyn Kelly’s shoes.

And now Sancho, I see these were only windmills.

Let us leave them to their endless flapping.

Download A Simple Plan

 

 

Good-Bye, Steve

How strange to be so affected by the death of a rich business guy. I don’t even know what to call Steve Jobs: Innovator, Visionary, Creative Entrepreneur?

Apple’s Pitchman, some called him. Well, OK, but so much more. In both sales and engineering simple, elegant results require huge front-end effort. Steve spoke like a knowledgeable next-door neighbor, telling a seemingly simple story. In a way he was a high tech Mr. Rogers.

Wasn’t it exciting to hear him tell about “just one more”...“really awesome thing”? Thanks, Steve.

Steve—and my brother Jim—solved a huge problem for me. In the 80s I joined the oldest software company in the world. We produced powerful but terribly confusing tools to solve mainframe software problems. Eventually, we workers were given desktop PCs.

The PCs sucked. They infected our desks with the horrible complexities of the mainframe.

In 1989 I sought advice from brother Jim, a college prof, on how to configure my first home PC. “Forget it, he said. “Get a Mac.”

Fortunately I listened. Following the lead of Apple's 1984 hammer thrower, I became a Mac Zealot.

With few exceptions I could handle all the installations, troubleshooting and upgrades myself. Soon I replaced the PC at work with my own Mac. I became the top salesman for eight years running.

I even adopted Steve’s approach to Marketing. He rejected focus groups for gauging client interests. Instead, he decided what folks needed. So I touted my software products my way, too. Countless clients told me “I never thought of that. We could use what you are selling.”

What Steve was selling was a whole new way of walking, his way. Who can forget the “Think Different” campaign.

When I was able to save a few dollars I bought Apple stock. Over the years its appreciation has paid many times over for all my Apple purchases. Thanks, Steve.

But mostly Steve became an unwitting mentor for me.

• How to follow one’s passion
• How to grow, to never give up
• How to overcome adversity in both professional and personal life
• How to stay focused
• How to really prepare so everything sparkles with effortlessness
• How to be interesting
• How to be magical

Thanks, Steve.

Helter Skelter - The New Sultans of Swing

First Tiger Woods. Then Tiger Moms. Now Arnold The Tigernator.

Where will it end?

News of Arnold Schwarzenegger’s 14 year-old love child is bringing his other paramours out of the woodwork. Mother Superior Bill O’Reilly is blaming the Internet. More likely it is the sea change caused by the Sexual Revolution. 

Even the Catholic Church has latched onto the Sexual Revolution. The Church has rationalized the secret priestly sex crimes, essentially “blaming Woodstock”. Apparently the priests could not get tickets.

[“Don’t blame me, Officer. I had to rob that bank because of the Theft Revolution.”]

So why the awful male behavior?

Over the last 100 years philosophy, then psychology and finally real science has concluded that modern men and women have evolved successful breeding behaviors–behaviors that have become instinctual. Unfortunately, they also conflict.

Male humans most successfully spread their DNA by impregnating as many females as possible. Females, on the other hand, are most successful if they and their offspring are cared for, ideally by a dedicated provider.

As Cassius would say, “The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars/ But in our genes.”

Thus, Father Nature invented sex and women invented marriage. And now the genders live in peace and harmony today, having resolved all differences. Oh sure.

Most folks do keep a lid on it. Otherwise, every one would be “doing it in the streets and scaring the horses” as W. C. Fields warned.

But rich and/or infamous men often revert to our more animalistic behaviors. Tiger Woods–like roaming hunters or traveling salesmen–found willing companions on the road after a hard day on the links. Other men like to keep it at home. Which brings us to the sultans’ harem of today.

Helter Skelter was a proto-heavy metal Beatles song. It is the name of a carnival ride, used as a metaphor for crazy excess. It happened to inspire the most insane result of the Hippie period: Charles Manson. When he wasn’t plotting or murdering innocents in Satanic rituals, he was rutting with the women in his retinue. In others words, his harem.

Of course Arnold is not a violent criminal. He is just an actor, albeit a highly successful one. (TMZ reported his community property to be worth half a Billion dollars.)

But Arnold, like the Manson monster, apparently likes to do his multiple rutting domestically. 

[The harem is still with us in the polygamy traditions of some Islamic cultures and a handful of Mormons on HBO.]

Which leads us to the latest monster with multiple women in the household: Osama bin Laden. Manson, Arnold, OBL: these are the new sultans of swing.

This is obviously a job for the UN–not the IMF, by the way. “One man, one woman”. If this were the enforced rule, then all problems would be solved.

Note to Arnold’s movie fans: Do not be worried that your action hero has been damaged by his peccadilloes. At the same time Arnold was impregnating the maid, the President of the United States was being serviced by his Boy Toy Monica under the desk in the Oval Office. Things have turned out well for The President: he makes a fortune speaking, while his wife runs US foreign policy.

Lady and The Princess

Fairy tales can come true, it can happen to you

If you're young at heart.

 

Prince William and Kate Middleton processed through Westminster Cathedral on their way to a Disneyesque “happily ever after.” Who could look away from such a lush, warm-hearted spectacle?

Indeed. So many invited guests and self-appointed street worshippers elevated the event to…well, a coronation.

And in a sense it was, wasn’t it? Nouveau Princess Kate is now the designated Bearer of Royal Offspring, providing she survives the endless attacks of the Storm Photographers. How sweet that she was picked for this exalted role.

Or was she? Tabloid history tells us she “set her cap” for the orphaned Prince Willy even before she met him in St. Andrews College. In fact her infamous charity fashion show costume was likely picked to “show him the goods”. Wow! Who could refuse that offer?

This stunt also revealed Kate to be a daring, over-the-top fashoinista, a women who does things Her Way.

Conclusion: Princess Kate was and still is one smart, tough cookie. And well she should be–comes with the Princess job. Something with which her dear departed mother-in-law never came to grips.

Consider another Princess: Grace of Monaco. Her prince also fell in love with Grace’s virginal beauty. This image was carefully cultivated by Hollywood. In reality, Grace was secretly known for “keeping company” with her costars.

Grace Kelly was my college roommate’s 2^nd cousin.  He once got the call to rush home to Westport, “The Prince and Grace are coming!”

A fine visit and posed pictures for the local paper. But the Prince and the Secret Service driver “had a few too many” so Grace drove them all back to Manhattan that night. One tough cookie.

We so easily fool ourselves about the power of hyper-ambitious, talented women. They do not get to where they are by accident or good fortune. To paraphrase Tina Turner “What’s luck got to do with it?”

Which brings us to the Lady.    Gaga.

At first blush (!) she comes off like the new Madonna. Younger, even less dressed. More outrageous, if that is possible.

But art world affectionados see a female Salvador Dali in-the-making. Media addicts are still recovering from her 60 Minutes interview in which she leads a confused Anderson Cooper through space and time.

Musicians know she “is the real deal”–she writes her own stuff, albeit under an unfortunate amount of alcohol and other forbidden enhancements.

Her followers–especially The Little Monsters–vibrate to both her presence and her message of self-acceptance. Where will it end?

One hopes she survives her success, adoration and the oodles of money. If she does, she will join the pantheon of beautiful, talented, self-made “Royals”.

Where in the world do these women come from? Perhaps they are just “Born This Way.”

NOTES.

• Prince William is only semi-orphaned, providing one stipulates his father’s mental competence.
• The expression to set one's cap for comes from the French navigational expression mettre le cap sur, meaning 'to set a course for.' How this came to apply to husband-hunting Englishwomen is unknown. The first clear evidence is found in Thackeray's Vanity Fair (1848) "That girl is setting her cap at you." (One of my favorite books.)
• Salvador Dali [1904-1989] was one of the first conceptual artists. Although a great painter, he sure knew how to work a crowd.

 

Snow Days

Nothing better during the holidays than hanging out in NY, waiting for Spring to come. Here’s how it went down.

We JetBlued to Flushing (Queens, NY) for a holiday visit with Danielle (daughter) and Spyros (boyfriend). Our pre-Christmas tradition included lunch at Rockefeller Center. The Zamboni stopped by.

Then the prettier members performed scarf posing by the tree.

Later we replenished with a warm outdoor rum drink.  Wife Nannette typo’d this as “Having Ho Chocolate in The Park.” OK.

Enjoyed several parties meeting Spyros extended Greek family. Outstanding food and company. They were enthralled by my many stories. Alas, there was no Zorba dancing.

Then there was some snow. Spyros took me out for a walk. Eerie silence as the falling snow muffled the few moving vehicles. My glasses iced up so I recalled a cold Chicago childhood. Our footsteps sounded like we were being followed. Spyros called this sound, “crunching cockroaches.”

Then it snowed some more. The neighbors turned out for a shovel fest, a modern Currie and Ives moment.  Note that picture is taken from inside, near the hearth.

We had a snow day, playing cards and noshing, or what ever it is called in Greece.

Tuesday our flight was not cancelled, but the street was still unplowed. So we took a 4WD limo to JFK.  Here is a windshield view once we got going.

Just before boarding, our flight simply disappeared from the departure board. At 8 pm it got worse. JetBlue announced total shut down and told us to Go Home. As in, “Bad dog. Go home.”

As we contemplated our sins and the unfairness of it all, a rumor blew like snow through the depressed Oakland-bound passengers: our flight would be the only one to go.

Heavenly trumpets sounded, the clouds parted and Cherubs of Travel gamboled above our heads. We got home this morning just before dawn.

So Merry Christmas to all and to all a Good Night.

How to Survive Your College Reunion

Most of us approach our college reunions with a mixture of curiosity and dread. We want to learn what happened to everyone else, but we are concerned about measuring up.  Did we accomplish enough? Are we still witty and pretty, etc?

The experience can be quite pleasant if you develop a Game Plan. Let us segment the task into Expectation Setting, Pre-Reunion Communication and Handling the Event itself.

Expectation Setting. Reunion reality dictates that at least one classmate will have earned serious money, one will be really famous, one will look like Richard Gere and/or Britney on a really good day. You cannot compete with this, so lower your expectations.

Pre-Reunion communications are best handled electronically. First, put up a simple web site.  It has three parts, your picture, a list of your undergraduate activities and your Cause Celêbre.

Use a PC tool to make your face look wider.  Then, during the reunion, you will get complements on “how much better you look in person.”  Write a page on your unique experiences at school.  Spin your story.  Turn hiding out in the Chess Club into “Mittyesque adventures with team of fellow intellectuals.” Clotheshorse behavior in the sorority becomes “developed lifelong love of costume and design.”  Put it all in there.

Your pet cause can be real, or one adopted for the occasion.  Select one with cute pictures.  Save the Ducks is superior to Save the Rats.  Advise classmates that this ‘saving’ should be a class project.

Do NOT post on your web site: your resume, pictures of grandchildren, dog or boat, pleas for financial assistance, or anything you have done since college. Remember reunions are all about surviving a few days of looking backwards.

Once your web site is done, mass email the URL to all your classmates. Tell them how thrilled they might be to check your site and see if they are mentioned.

Handling the Event. Go on time, leave early and take plenty of Time Outs. If you cannot stay in the expensive hotel at the corner of campus, take micro-naps in bathroom stalls.

Drinking seems to be the principle pastime at reunions. Practice at home as often as possible. Learn to tell short, self-deprecating stories.

At the event greet people by simultaneously deciphering their nametag and asking, “Did you see my web site?” Regardless of their answer, ask their position on Saving the Ducks. They will ignore you and yammer on about their grandchildren.

You have just survived the Ideal Reunion Encounter. Repeat as needed.

There will be meetings. These are great chances to make witty remarks to a captive, if hungover, audience. The first meeting will deal with the Middle East.  Professors and other experts will round a table for an articulate game of Ain’t It Awful. These folks will rekindle fond memories of sitting in class when you could have been on a road trip. About halfway through you will realize that behind their eloquent phrases they haven’t got a clue. Start a whispering contest in the audience with funny comments about their hand-wringing platitudes.

Skip all other meetings. Their only purpose will be to honor seven figure contributors to the Alumni Fund.

Fill your time with campus explorations. If you have gray hair, you can go anywhere. Go right into the President’s house. Even if he/she calls the campus police, you will be treated with kid gloves. No one wants to bruise a potential contributor to the Alumni Fund.

As you pack to leave early, you will have many fond memories. People you thought were Snobs are only chronically depressed at not getting into Harvard. The still-employed are jealous of the Idle Retirees. The retired folks obsess over which stores have Double Coupon Days and when. The Frat Boys are still fratting. The Sorority Sisters are still gloating. You have survived with your own Reunion Game Plan.

Sample reunion website

 

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