Geezer Lodge

THE ROAD TO SUCCESS

 

Celebrities without portfolio are not peculiar to these times.  A friend researching a book on “celebrity” points out that, in fact, the Gabor sisters were our first true "celebrities". Bereft of talent, they appeared in a few films always keeping their acting chops extremely well hidden. (Who could ever forget Zsa Zsa’s tour-de-force performance in “Queen of Outer-Space”.)  No, they couldn’t act, but what they could do was marry rich guys. Scattered among the three – Magda, Zsa Zsa, and Eva – were twenty marriages, and  each trip to the altar brought more notoriety and more wealth.  Zsa Zsa was once married to Conrad Hilton, who divorced her after his chief financial officer informed him that she was outspending the cash flow of the entire hotel chain. Billed as "glamour personified" and brilliantly managed by their mother, Jolie, they were fixtures on the society and gossip pages in every newspaper and magazine. Thus, we can see the direct lineage between them and the Kardashians and Paris Hilton.

The thing is, publicity transmutes into money, big money. Paris Hilton reportedly once received one million dollars for attending a party in Australia for a product launch.  For some reason, unbeknownst to me, the public buys into this celebrity business, especially when the product is good looking women, and, all I can say is that there are some very smart people behind it.  People smart enough to make millions from nothing at all.

All well and good.  I get it.  Impoverished or bored, or both, Americans dive out the escape hatch of idolizing celebrity royalty. But, hello, enter a new twist. Something modern. Let us now ponder the notion that a guy, again managed by very smart people, is such a colossal asshole that he achieves celebrity status.  The reasons are slightly different.  Rather than worshiping royal status, in his case the impulse for the public’s attention is much like rubber-necking a car accident.  But, wreck or not, this guy is in demand and gets work. It's amazing.

And, I am, yes, talking about David Hasslehoff.  This guy has simply taken the idea of a jerk to breathtaking new heights.  Richard Simmons and Carrot Top are contemptible B players in comparison.  But there is, quite surprisingly, no contempt for Hasslehoff, simply stunned silence and awe.  And the reason seems to be that there can be no halfway in his game.  There is no glory in a half-baked asshole. (You can be a minor Kardashian and have minor celebrity status. But, not the Hasslehoff path.) You've got to go all the way. No one knows the names of the people who almost climbed Everest. The same here.  Hasslehoff did it by nothing short of reaching the pinnacle of Mount Asshole, and there he stands alone, exhilarated by the view of lesser peaks and the sky, the view from the top. And I say he deserves the rewards of his success.  Unfortunately, others will follow, and are.

What great times these are: eh, my friend?   B.O.       

 

GREAT LYRIC

MR forwards this great lyric from David Bromberg:  "Take your tongue outta my mouth, 'cause I'm kissin' you goodbye."   Thought for the day.  B. O.

GREAT INVESTMENTS

It is common knowledge that the greatest investment ever made was the GI bill for WWII veterans.  By sending those who served in that great war to college we achieved an inestimable return:  The transistor, the computer, the moon landings, understanding of both the cosmos and the atom, great teachers and people of learning, great works of art and literature -- in fact, practically all we now know and have.

Surely it is wise to do the same for those who served in the Gulf War, Iraq and Afghanistan.  Where in hell is the thanks for these our finest Americans?  The benefit will only be for all of us and future generations.

B.O.

NAMING OF PARTS

 

My friend HWW3 forwards this:

I. NAMING OF PARTS  By Henry Reed

To-day we have naming of parts. Yesterday,
We had daily cleaning. And to-morrow morning,
We shall have what to do after firing. But to-day,
To-day we have naming of parts. Japonica
Glistens like coral in all of the neighboring gardens,
          And to-day we have naming of parts.

This is the lower sling swivel. And this
Is the upper sling swivel, whose use you will see,
When you are given your slings. And this is the piling swivel,
Which in your case you have not got. The branches
Hold in the gardens their silent, eloquent gestures,
          Which in our case we have not got.

This is the safety-catch, which is always released
With an easy flick of the thumb. And please do not let me
See anyone using his finger. You can do it quite easy
If you have any strength in your thumb. The blossoms
Are fragile and motionless, never letting anyone see
          Any of them using their finger.

And this you can see is the bolt. The purpose of this
Is to open the breech, as you see. We can slide it
Rapidly backwards and forwards: we call this
Easing the spring. And rapidly backwards and forwards
The early bees are assaulting and fumbling the flowers:
          They call it easing the Spring.

They call it easing the Spring: it is perfectly easy
If you have any strength in your thumb: like the bolt,
And the breech, and the cocking-piece, and the point of balance,
Which in our case we have not got; and the almond-blossom
Silent in all of the gardens and the bees going backwards and forwards,
          For to-day we have naming of parts.

B.O.

HEY MR. TALIBAN

 

I wouldn’t say that urinating on dead things was a tradition in my hometown in upstate New York, but, if forced to watch one more episode of “Storage Wars,” I would confess that we did it a lot.  Dogs, cats, rats, hamsters, chickens, batteries and cars that wouldn’t run. It didn’t matter.  If it was dead, we pissed on it -- as a farewell salute. Like the time we found our cat dead one afternoon under the porch stairs. My father dragged him out and the whole family – me, my sister, my mom and dad – all gathered round and hosed him down good. And, I must say that special “goodbye” got pretty emotional believe you me. And as a kid I remember it was common to see groups of townsfolk gathered around something dead in the street, or, having read about a death in the newspaper, appear at a funeral home and administer the Yellow Farewell.

I got interested in the origin of the Urine Eulogy after I was arrested in New York City a few years ago for saying “goodbye” to a what I thought was a dead homeless man, instead an undercover cop pretending to sleep.  But, near as I can find out the custom seems to have had its origins in war among fighting men as a gesture of respect to fallen enemy soldiers. 

Locals tell me that our town’s tradition began way back during the Civil War when a resident, serving with the New York Teachers’ Militia, heard someone say upon hearing the news that Lincoln was dead, “Piss on em”. Now Lincoln was, as everyone knows, a great man, and what tribute could be offered by a bunch of rag-tag soldiers without so much as a penny between them. So, the story goes that the long ago resident of our town lay down pretending to be Lincoln and was summarily pissed upon by his mates.  Admittedly, this story anecdotal, but suffice it to say that, if not this young man, then someone else happily brought the ritual home from war at some point. 

I read in the newspaper that some US Marines have graced the bodies of some Taliban soldiers with the Kidney Kudo, But, I for one, am not so sure the Taliban deserve this tribute.  I first met them through Harry Belafonte.  In his immortal hit “Dayo” he sang the line, “Hey Mr. Taliban, tally me banana.”  I had reservations then about the Taliban because I had a sneaking suspicion they would short-count Harry’s bananas.  And, I sure as heck don’t like them now.  They lost me when they tore down that 100 foot tall Buddha. 

So, my point is that I don’t like being in the position of nay-sayer, but I think our  service men and women should be a little more selective in respecting their opponents on the battlefield.  I guess this whole incident is the result of our current infatuation with political correctness; that everyone must be treated in the exact same way no matter what.  I just don’t think these Taliban people deserved to be pissed on.  They haven’t earned it in my book. B.O.

 

  

 

"OUT THE WINDOW"

There is a fine, fine piece by Donald Hall in The New Yorker magazine of January 23, 2012 entitled "Out the Window".  I failed in erstablishing a link to the peice, (The New Yorker website didn't like the idea.) so you'll just have to get the magazine and read it. (Or subscribe to the website.) Trust me, it's worth it.  B.O.  

NEXT: WIND POWER FROM POLITICIANS

http://news.discovery.com/tech/wind-power-without-the-blades.html?fb_ref=fb2&fb_source=home_oneline               B.O.

BALANCE

My life is becoming more and more of a blend of the past and the present.  I can sense a shift in the balance, and I suppose that, when there is no more present, I will be gone.   B. O.

A MOST WELCOME QUANTITATIVE APPROACH TO A NATIONAL PROBLEM

 

http://www.slate.com/articles/life/low_concept/2012/01/calvin_trillin_offers_a_new_way_of_measuring_pretentiousness.html

HEY, THOSE LED'S ARE SOMETHING



We've finished another holiday season; you know, the six week “festival of consumption" beginning with Thanksgiving and ending with New Years. It has always confused me with how little regard we are held by big business.  After all, we finance all the Wall Street mergers and acquisitions with our personal credit card debt.  Maybe it’s because we do it so giddily.  Some folks actually wait overnight in sleeping bags for a store touting a big sale to open.

But there is a spiritual element to the holidays. Walking around New York’s Central Park on New Year’s Eve, I was overcome by the twinkling miracle of the LED.  Wow.  Have they enhanced our lives or what? I have to tell you, when I was a kid I just didn’t see this coming at all.  Flashlights. Commercial signs. Video Displays.  But. the holidays and special events are where these little guys really give life a boost.  As my wife and I sat on a park bench, thousands upon thousands of fellow humans paraded by covered in battery-powered Christmas lights.  People wore blinking glasses heralding 2012.  Shoes lit up. Hats lit up. Noise-makers flickered and changed color. Sitting near a tribute to John Lennon installed in the sidewalk of a little circle, we witnessed person after person leave a string of flashing LED’s as a token of their love and grief for John.  In fact, last night it seemed the full sum of humanity was flashing and twinkling in an electronic celebration of how sweet life can be.  LED’s can say so much, and these modern times are really something, no?  B.O.