#A-TO-Z-CHALLENGE THEME REVEAL KIND OF

Well... shit. Here I was going along, having survived stupid mopes invading my home. Beating up two muggers, getting past essential tremors and burying a companion who was one of the best people I ever knew. I had generally just stopped writing, because my viola playing had more or less taken off again, and I was getting to play challenging things in orchestras like the Tampa Bay Symphony. I was also getting out and about again; I'd recently become an Inspector for the Clerk of Elections of Hillsborough County and was working all of the General, Primary and Special elections, when one of my online viola students, whom I'd been teaching for several years, thought we'd make a pretty good team in life together. I wasn't averse to this idea; I'm not someone who wants to spend the rest of my life alone, but I'm not looking for just any old body either; we share much of the same outlooks and values and have the same quirky sense of humor. Since irl match-ups have been so horrible, I thought this might worth a shot.

"Wolf" was the unwitting matchmaker

Since we were very familiar with one another and talked several times a week, I thought “why the hell not”; I packed up my computers and my viola, “Wolf” and headed to South Carolina, to live with a man, I'd never met irl. Being legally blind, I was having trouble getting rides to the TBSO, and fed up with all of that, I quit. My newly-minted fiancé assured me that all the rides I ever could need would be provided happily and he's been great with that. We set up house in the country, filled it full of cats, with a dog for security and three birds, just for the hell of it. We run a sort of half-assed cat rescue for tuxedos, in memory of my poor Bootsie, ("Bootsie's Retreat") who was so cruelly treated by my ex-husband, that he died of starvation, less than a month after I got him out of the house that I was forbidden to enter, when we divorced.

My ridiculous dog, Ripley, wallowing on the bed, I just spent 20 minutes making. He's also a riot.

The cats are a hoot; tuxedos HAVE to be the clowns of the cat world. We fostered one tiny two-month old kitten, named “Eddie”, or “Eddifur” as I call him. The night we brought him home, he was introduced to our husky-hound mix, “Ripley”. Eddie looked at Ripley and did the puff-up-walk-sideways and backed into his little kitten house. He was so tiny, he couldn't figure out how to un-puff himself, so he circled around backward about three times, before he figured that shit out. Later on that night, after James had fallen asleep, this tiny creature proceeded to cavort all over James and turn somersaults, when his itty-bitty claws got caught in the blankets. James slept on, and I cackled much like Muttley in delight, as quietly as I could; it was so funny.

Eddifur, in front, photo-bombing Allie. Eddie is the sweetest boy and I call him "son". He's really a gentle cat. His favorite pastime is to "supervise" in the kitchen.

A week later, we adopted another tuxedo, named Allie, for “Allie Cat”. She too, puffed up and walked sideways when she saw Ripley. The most notable thing that she and Eddie did together, other than multiply exponentially in the mischief department, is they showed me the meaning of good housekeeping, and by that, I mean, unplugging appliances, when you are through using them. One calm evening, when all was quiet, James, Ripley and I were all tucked up nice and snug in the bed, snoozing away, when HOLYMOSESONACRACKER! SOMEONE DROPPED A 747 ENGINE IN MY HALLWAY!

"Allie", alias "KittenMcGrabbyPaws". This is the squirmiest, grabbiest kitten I've ever had. She tries to stand up and walk on her hind legs like a little person, and she made up this game one day, where she grabbed my hand, walked me over to a box (sorta on her hind legs), sit down, and then grabbed my hand and led me away from it, only to repeat said action. I know not what the object of the "game" was. She looks like she has wool on her hind legs, so naturally, all of our little darlings suffer terribly from "catwool", whatever that is...

Nope; it was just two tiny kittens assing around the vacuum cleaner and they turned it on. This is one of those big ones, that will suck up the entire living room, if you're not careful. The kittens, of course became ghosts. My hilarious friend, Alex, asked, “Did you turn the kittens into ghosts for that, or did they just evaporate?” Ha ha. “They just evaporated”, I answered. James observed “At least this is different than them Singing The Song Of Their People at 3 am!” Sort of, I guess?

A short time after that, James came home from work, and as he opened the front door, he says “Mary! How did the kitten get out of the house?”, and he was bent down picking up a tuxedo kitten, about the same size and configuration of our two. I hadn't been outside the house all day, so I at first thought “Hmmm, this is James' sneaky way of getting another kitten in the house!” I said, “Look behind me, here are our two chuckleheads!” and he looked. He was probably thinking, “Hmmm, this is Mary's sneaky way of getting another kitten in the house!”, but he brought this kitten in, who was about the same age as the other two. The kitten was in distress; hot and frazzled. James gave him a bath and we called our county's ASPCA. Both of our kittens had been vaccinated, but this one had not, so we weren't worried that this new kitten would make them sick. When it was apparent that the shelter had no room for him, we figured we were in for a penny; in for a pound and added him to our brood. James named him after my father, “Glenn Wallace”. The exponential quality of mischief-like behavior continued, only instead of four, we now had nine little busy-bodies and boy, are they something.

"Glenn Wallace" or just "Glenn" or "Chucklehead" or "Asshat" (which applies to all 3). Smarter than hell. He knows his name and he bonded quickly with me. His idea of a good time is to snooze in my lap all afternoon, even if I'm practicing.

About this time, I thought up the idea of a “Tuxedo Rescue” and mentioned it to James as we were driving off to the Walmart. He smartly returned with, “Hey, we're really close to the Harris Psychiatric Hospital! Would you like a short stay there?” After a good laugh, he said (being the compassionate soul he is)
“Maybe there's something to this idea....”

We started looking at all the shelters in our area for tuxedos. We found a blue-and-white one recently. Her name is “Misty” and she was in a situation where the people hoarded animals. She has no teeth, and must eat soft food. She's just the sweetest thing and will play if she thinks no one is looking. She and Glenn are the smartest, with Glenn being scary-smart. He knows hand commands and they all know their names. I guess this is my dotage. Not bad, coming from the 'hood and a horrid situation. We look constantly; they are few and far between...

Misty is tiny, tiny, tiny. I'm not sure if she was malnourished when she was young. I do know that she was only spayed a year ago -- she's six years old -- and has had at least one litter of kittens. She's really a good cat, and sneaky fun. You have to catch her at playing. 

My health is better than it's ever been; I've put on fifteen pounds and I feel great. I'm playing well (I'll get to why I'm writing now in a moment), after I fell and cracked my elbow. But, I fell and cracked a rib and I broke my hip and had it replaced in October of 2018. I had the fastest recovery and rehab EVER then, as I lived alone and you cannot show weakness in the jungle of Nebraska Avenue. I can still kick the shit out of people, but have no reason to do that anymore.

Glenn is also the longest cat I've ever had; he's a full four feet, when stretched out. He has really long whiskers, so I sing to him, "Scaramouch! Scaramouch!... CanyoudotheFandango?, in a high voice and he looks at me like I'm an idiot.

Anyway, I joined a new orchestra, here in the Carolinas; the Foothills Philharmonic, conducted by the wonderful Kory Vrieze. we were practicing “Scheherazade”, much to my delight. We did such an awesome job with it in 2015, with Mark Sforzini and the Tampa Bay Symphony, and we were going to do just as fine a job here.

Alas, a thing called a pandemic intervened. Coronavirus shut down the orchestra, along with the rest of the country. I've worked at a tertiary care facility, and did so for four years. Virology always fascinated me and I understand disease vectors. I knew six weeks ago, that I would be in a quarantine of my own making. I'm at high-risk, and I've survived too much awful shit; had so much good luck, that I cannot continue to bank on that happening indefinitely, so I ran right to my doc's office and we did our shorthand discussion: “triage”, “shortages of supplies”, “out-of-date infrastructure”, “lack of leadership” and so on. I was supposed to take a trip out-of-state to meet my fiancé's parents, later on in the summer. Since they are elderly and since I am high-risk, none of this is happening. It's no one's fault; it just is.

However, now that I am blogging again, I can also freely express my total dismay and contempt for what I see happening; not only in our own government, but around the world. I do feel that our so-called President has finally found himself in a position that he cannot possibly lie or backpedal his way out of and his actions, even before his taking of office have been treasonous, illegal and immoral. I will never accept what he has done to our Supreme Court, and his minions within the Senate and Congress, should all be held liable. This is the kind of thing that in times past, would bring about Revolution; line 'em up against the wall, shoot 'em and start over. Lenin had it right.

Anyway, I'm back, and while I'm happy in my life and having a great time, I fear for our WAY of life. Looking forward to #a-to-z-challenge!

#A-TO-Z-CHALLENGE - LETTERS “C” AND “D” - CATS AND DOGS OF NEBRASKA AVENUE

 

Living on and around Nebraska Avenue has been a colorful journey and the denizens here have been sure to bring along their four-footed companions on whatever this all is. We have quite the assortment, and one breed of cat, known as the “Havana Brown” originated right here in V. M. Ybor. The cat is a beauty to behold; dark, small and fierce and so brown as to be almost black. It is related to the Siamese and is a striking animal.

Havana Brown

But, we mostly have an odd breed of cat that doesn't seem to know what it wants to be and they are most typified by my old matriarch, who has since passed on, “Mama”. She was part-calico, part-striped, with patches and colors a-riot. Her progeny are all over this 'hood and have been adopted by the good-hearted folk. When she came to us, she was pregnant with her last litter, and we had her spayed, but her descendants are still here, with all of her colors and patterns. These cats are almost all fixed, and they loll about the streets around Nebraska Avenue, living the lives of kings and queens all. It's fun to walk about the 'hood to see them.

"Mama" standing on my porch, looking for a treat. This animal did not know what she wanted to be, so she was a bunch of everything. Her descendants are still cavorting around here. I miss her, dearly.

There's also a feral colony that I feed and they like to just come in the house and run riot. I'm not too sure where they came from, but I do feed them and they seem to have adopted me. I named one “Chloe” before I discovered he was a male, but he doesn't seem to mind. He enjoys coming in, eating and then sleeping somewhere, until I've forgotten he's in the house and then scaring the hell out of me. He wouldn't let me pet him for the longest time, and now, he likes to make an ass out of himself by rolling all over my feet for treats. So, yeah, his name is “Chloe”. He brought along two younger siblings and they all played “Rodeo” in my kitchen one afternoon, as I was airing out my house on a cool afternoon. Who doesn't love cats romping through the house on a sunny afternoon?

Batch o' newborn kittens. Almost 3 summers ago, I hand-raised 5 newborns up to 5 months, before I toured Japan. I was so exhausted by the 2nd week of feedings. But, I raised and adopted out 5 healthy, beautiful kittens. Their mom had been hit by a car and no one else in the 'hood had ever done this before. Me and my fat mouth.

They may not be that feral; they could be the type of cats that “dine” at several houses and live the life of Riley. This would not be the first time I've been scammed by cats. It's harder for dogs to get away with that kind of nonsense.

All the pitbulls I see around here are happy like this guy. Simba looks like this. He's real happy now that his "family" has been extended. Even if it is just more cats.

Dogs are a lot different anyway, and the dogs of Nebraska Avenue are no different. They are a loyal bunch, and there are many of them here. Because this is the 'hood, the breed of choice is the Pitbull. Or, for some peculiar reason, little tiny anklebiters of indeterminate make. The people who own Pitbulls are very good and kind with them and they are great dogs to have. We had one show up once, when I was at the homeless shelter and he played and romped with several of us, before his panicked owner showed up, looking for him.

The other families that don't have pitbulls have these little dogs, furry and non-furry. There's no in-between or medium-sized dogs here. So, I guess we either go large or small, or go home! Not sure what it says about our demographic here!

The neighbors had a pitbull before they moved and he was such a sweet, biddable dog. I was sad when they moved and he left. The only other dog I currently know, is Simba, who lives upstairs. He's a Pitbull and he's very excited. His sister-cat just had kittens and he is going to help raise them. The mama cat, Maggie, seems fine with this arrangement. Since they all live in an apartment and Simba can't hide the kittens, I'm sure it will be fine.

I just remember growing up, we had a large dog who was very excited when one of our cats had kittens. He “kit-napped” them and we found them all in the garage; he had gathered the kittens inside his giant paws and was guarding them. They were yowling angry, because they were hungry. Simba has no hiding place. He'll have to do his “guarding” right there in front of Mama cat!

A-TO-Z CHALLENGE 2015 THEME REVEAL POST – THE MUSIC IN MY LIFE

I suppose it was inevitable, after I started paying again. Music never really leaves the soul; the heart. If one has been taken with the sounds of music from birth, that makes it even harder to leave it behind. It hasn't been easy, for several years, to just write (or, whatever it is I do here) and NOT be able to play. There was always that twinge; that longing that was never slaked. Although it seemed certain senses had failed me, my ears never did; in fact they grew sharper with the diminution of my other senses. The partial loss of my vision, the loss of my tactile senses to some degree, the loss of smell – which in my neck of the woods is no great loss; last summer, something crawled up under the house and died – never really registered as anything but some kind of annoyances, and in that, I was proven right, when a crackerjack neurologist diagnosed my motor disorder and at last, treatment and relief granted me a new aspect in my life, but I digress. As to the dead thing beneath the house, according to the reactions of people around me, I wasn't sure if it was animal or human; a quick jaunt under the house by a police officer, assured us it was an animal, but in truth, I don't think he was under there long enough to be sure, as I've never seen a man crawl in reverse so quickly. I've been reassured by one and all that the smell was horrific. Sometimes, loss is a good thing.

courtesy of: glasshouse.org.au

One of my dad's favorites; I teethed on an old 33 1/3 album cover of a Glenn Miller album. My dad was cool with that, just so long as I didn't eat the vinyl.

Anyway, 2014 was the year I began to play viola again, after a nearly 8 year hiatus. It was frightening at first, but muscle memory runs deep, so deep that it will overtake many obstacles and really, the biggest obstacle was myself; I kept getting in my own way. As I grew comfortable with playing again, and began to trust once more in my reflexes, it all began to come back. We're currently in the throes of rehearsal of Shostakovich's 5^th Symphony, Prokofiev's 3^rd Piano Concerto, the 1^st Movement and Aaron Copeland's “Lincoln Portrait”, a piece I've played before. This concert, with the Tampa Bay Symphony, is a concert designed to showcase music “for the people”; our musical director, Mark Sforzini has chosen carefully and well this season and more about him in a moment.

The magnificent composer Dmitry Shostakovich; in 1942, featured as a volunteer fireman during the Battle of Leningrad, which was in fact, a 900-day siege by the Nazis. While there, Shostakovich wrote his 7th, 8th and 9th symphonies, called appropriately enough, the "Leningrad Symphonies".

I chose the theme “Music In My Life” because I have had a broad range of influences throughout my life, from Chabrier, to Glenn Miller, to Rammstein and Psy. I am not someone who is a snob about where good music comes from; it's all around us. You just have to look for it and LISTEN, really listen to what is being played. I'm not a fan of “background” music, although I have provided plenty of it, and a lot of it has been awful, as anyone who has read my blog can attest. Everything from “The Chipmunk Christmas Song” to “Life is Just a Bowl of Cherries!” (Pizzacatto all the way!) has been played by me for filthy lucre and then some. I've played for everybody and everything from channeling Elvis (he was in the building on the Jumbotron, that night) to Garfield the Cat. I ran home with big, fat paychecks for such nonsense and this had no influence on my life whatsoever, with the exception of causing a few nightmares and regrets at an education wasted, but I was in good company. At least I didn't go to Julliard, like some of my stand partners did; I heard all manner of comments from “Thank God, this is easy” to “I spent four years at Curtis Institute of Music for this?”.

courtesy: youtube.com

The summer of 2013 saw the arrival of PSY and Gangnam Style. PSY studied at the Berklee College of Music and his music reflects a sly sense of the absurd and his musicianship is superb. Gangnam Style was done up as Klingon Style, and every other kind of style you can think of. The video had so many views that it actually broke the counter after 2 billion or so views. About half of those were mine, as I had started my motor disorder therapy in earnest and there's a lot of dancing involved. Gangnam Style hit true absurdity when the Wyatt Family or whoever they are, set the whole thing to dubstep and computerized their flashing Christmas display lights. Talk about a festival of kitsch. Wub-wub-wub-wubwub. Wub-wub-wub-wubwub. That's about the only thing I HAVEN'T played on my viola!

No, the music that truly influenced me was Beethoven, Debussy, Tchaikovsky, Stravinsky, Richard Strauss, Shostakovich, Brahms and so many others in the classical mode. But, there were many other influences as well. Glenn Miller, Benny Goodman, K'eb Mo, Robert Johnson and the Delta Bluesmen had an influence on how I learned to play with nuances and also learned how to “swing”. I plan on visiting some of these folks, as well as the afore-mentioned Mark Sforzini, current Music Director of the Tampa Bay Symphony, as well as the St. Petersburg Opera. I played in the Opera Tampa company for twelve seasons, with Maestro Anton Coppola, he of the “Italian Opera is hard, Wagner is easy, it's just a goddamned 1-2-3-4 and everyone is over the moon!” and developed another nuanced ability to play within operatic confines, with it's many rubatos and flowing rhythms. These are all different types of playing, than from what I originally was trained to do classically, by a professor who was a student of the famed Ivan Galamian, a renowned pedagogue.

courtesy of: youtube.com

I know; who the hell is this guy? Well, along with my standards and things that are less alarming, comes the guy who is referred to as "Guy Who Sings the Troll Song". There is actually a ten-hour version of this on youtube and it's a great song for sing-alongs and hilarity. I had forgotten it, until a member of my clan family introduced it into our karaoke nights on Team Speak 3, when we play Runescape. Lest you think we're not serious about music, we have several musicians, including this year's silver medal winner of the Chopin Competition. The great thing about musicians is we never really grow up!

Even after college, I was green as grass. The real education began in the trenches; performing day-to-day and learning so many different styles of playing. It's been quite a ride and I'm fortunate to be here. Let me share with you some of the folks and styles that influenced ME. I was told once that we are all self-taught and that all a really great teacher does is inspire us. I believe that to be true; once the basics are set, the rest is up to us as artists, to make the music and own it. I hope you enjoy this month, reading about the influences in my musical sphere!

#ROW80 1ST QTR 2014 – WRITING PROMPT – TWO CATS

TWO CATS

 

Now that the A-to-Z Challenge for 2014 is over, I can honestly say that I am a much happier writer going “themeless” or at least with something a bit more complex than just “HUMOR AND HUMORISTS”, which was never the knee-slapper I thought it would be, I can return once more to my aimless nit-picking, meandering, diatribes, general nonsense and philosophical wonderings about just how many angels can dance on the head of a pin and is there anybody out there. That is NOT the fault of my awesome team and my wonderful team leader, Damyanti G of #teamDamyanti. I will be side by side with them again next year. The fault was mine in not preparing and not really thinking about how a "theme" can work to one's advantage. Lesson learned; but I am glad I did it because I always come away from these challenges a better writer and with great friends!

Writing about humor wasn't as funny as I thought it would be. Judging from the comments, my family was a whole lot funnier. Next year, I'm just going to write about them.

 

All of this is in an effort to forestall editing on my own magnum opus from NaNoWriMo 2013, Music of the Spheres, because while I think it has several wonderful ideas, it has a lot wrong with it, and I haven't the least clue of where to begin, as I am not a creative writer. I'm more about ideas, and I noticed when I was writing Music, my characters did a whole lot of standing around and pontificating. Not exactly the most exciting thing for a Sci-fi Thriller, even if it does include the Alien Undead Railroad Underground, or something approximating that.

So, stepping bravely back into the fray of blogging every day on my own whims, which is what I did when I first started “Homeless Chronicles Blah Blah Blah” I decided to write about some of the goings-on around and about Nebraska Ave., 33605, 33602, which I haven't done in a long, long time; I'm returning to my writing roots, as it were.

Imagine about twenty buses going hell-bent trying to keep a schedule, racing in or out, in a giant, tilt-a-whirl thing. Now, imagine smoking brakes, or non-functioning brakes and it's raining. It's THAT much fun!

 

Three days ago, I had to take the bus to Rose Diagnostics to get a chest x-ray for my pulmonary doctor. Not a big deal, and it's one transfer. I take the number 2 downtown to the Marion Transfer Center, where commences the Bus Ballet. For those just tuning in, the Bus Ballet is where every bus converges into a round-about at the same time, and it is a fine cacophony of brake squeals, snorts of exhaust and bus hornery playing. This is accompanied by near-misses, bus asses heaving into sight, zipping past squared-off windshields, that make them seem oh, so much closer, and just as quickly sinking out of sight, as if below the waterline. It is one of my favorite parts of riding the bus – call me an adrenaline junkie – and I always look forward to the MTC; it's always hectic and that day's was even more so, as I had to run to catch the number 14 to go up Armenia to Rose Diagnostics.

That done and quickly, I skipped back across Armenia to make my return back downtown, to take the #2 back up Nebraska Ave., 33605 to my house. I just made it and the #14 arrived on time. I sat down and was just kind of zoning. I was kind of tired, but was thinking about my last two A-to-Z blog posts. I looked towards the front of the bus and where people usually put their baby buggies, or their grocery buggies, I noticed a wire cage, about 3 feet by 3 feet, with a blanket on the bottom of it. My vision has been a bit worse than usual of late, so I really couldn't make out anything, except what I thought were two ears on the left hand side of the cage. I was on the left-hand side of the bus, in the only open seat.

The two cats were this laid-back. Their owner was so solicitous, but they hardly seemed perturbed. The tuxedo cat was a domestic short-hair, but they looked much like this. As the bus bumped over the ruts in the road, the cats' heads bobbed and swayed along with the peoples' heads.

 

At the next stop, the man who was sitting on the right side of the bus, left his seat and I moved over and up one and I could see then what was in the cage. There were two cats. One was a ginger cat, red-and-white striped and the other was a tuxedo cat. The pair were laying side-by-side and although it was warm on the bus and noisy, they seemed perfectly okay with all of the people getting on and off the bus. The bus was noisier than usual and had worse-than-normal bus shocks, as in non-existent. We may as well have been riding in a Conestoga wagon going west during the 1880s, but these two cats rode along fine, their little heads dipping and bobbing in time, with the rest of us. They were more well-behaved than some of the kids I have encountered on the bus. Their owner, a guy in his mid-30s, wearing a wife-beater, denim shorts, tattooed, with 'banger signs and chains, was standing by them, with another cart with food, kitty litter and litter box and he would occasionally stroke one of them or talk to them.

When I was homeless, one of my roommates, who was given to confabulation told me that someone had chickens on the bus, and I told her she was full of it. Maybe she wasn't. . . nah, she was, because she conflated everything else.

When we arrived at MTC, he was the first one off, cats, cage, cart and all. I stopped and asked the bus driver if that was permissible as I have a pet who needs to see the vet. Mama needs her annual check up and I have been pondering on how I am going to get her to the doctor. The bus driver said, “Well, he should have had two carriers, but yes it is allowed.” Happy day! Now of course, getting Mama to go along with the bus ride will be another story and probably not a happy one!

#A-TO-Z CHALLENGE – LETTER “Z” – ZEPPO MARX

ZEPPO MARX

Somewhere around the letter “Q” I realized I had forgotten (I REALLY do very little planning, when I write) to pay homage to the Marx Bros., probably one of the funniest and most innovative of comedy teams of all time. Since this is the last day of the A-to-Z Challenge, I performed an end-run and decided to pick Zeppo Marx for my final entry.

Herbert Manfred "Zeppo" Marx, born February 25, 1901, died November 30, 1979, was the youngest of the five (Groucho, Chico, Harpo and Gummo) Marx Bros. and was an American actor, theatrical agent, and engineer(!) He appeared in the first five Marx Bros. feature films, from 1929 to 1933, but then left the act to start his second career as an engineer and theatrical agent. Zeppo became a multi-millionaire due to his engineering efforts.

Groucho and Zeppo Marx, in I'm Against It, in "Horse Feathers" (1932)

Zeppo initially performed with his brothers, during their vaudeville years, occasionally stepping in as Captain Spaulding for his brother Groucho, who recalled, “He was so good in Animal Crackers that I would have let him play the part indefinitely, if they had allowed me to smoke in the audience”. However, Zeppo was never able to develop a comic persona of his own that could stand up against his brothers'. Although he accompanied his brothers in the first five films, he left shortly after to pursue his other interests: theatrical representation through an agency that he founded with his brother Gummo and a machining parts company, known as the Aeroquip Company. This company produced a motorcycle, called the Marmat Twin and the Marmat clamps used to hold the “Fat Man” atomic bomb inside the B-29 named Bockscar. Zeppo also invented a wristwatch that would monitor the pulse rate of cardiac patients and give off an alarm of the heartbeat became irregular.

All of the Marx Brothers were excellent musicians, and self-trained. Harpo did start taking lessons with a renowned harpist in NYC, but ended up teaching her his method of playing.

Surprising facts about a brother I only knew as someone who was overshadowed by his more talented brothers, Zeppo had a foot in both worlds, artistic and scientific, something rarely heard of, with the exception of Austrian actress Hedy Lamarr, during the hey-day of vaudeville, silent films and into black-and-white movies!

#A-TO-Z CHALLENGE – LETTER “Y” – “WEIRD” AL YANKOVIC

"WEIRD" AL YANKOVIC

I've pretty much grown up with “Weird” Al Yankovic and hadn't really considered him, until in a fit of desperation and lack of time (this is the time of year when I have every medical test known to man, and a few that probably aren't normally performed, done. Last year, I had my essential tremor, or e.t. [appropriately named enough] or “Parkinson's Lite – all the symptoms, only half the drugs" diagnosed and for that test I got a bumper sticker “Ask Me About My DaTScan” which I attached to my walker since I don't drive. I don't use a walker, either, but that's ANOTHER story, and we simply don't have time! Besides, this is about “Weird” Al and I'm glad I picked him, not for his parody songs, “EAT IT” (based on Michael Jackson's “Beat It”) or “FAT” (also based on Michael Jackson's song “Bad”) but for one song alone that I and probably a whole bunch of people out there in cyber ville can relate to.

eBay - An original song by "Weird Al" spoofs the culture of buyers and sellers on eBay. As someone who has participated in the buying-and-sell frenzy, he's captured the peculiarities of these folks perfectly; it's also extremely well-written!

Alfred Matthew “Weird Al” Yankovic, born October 23, 1959 is an American singer-songwriter, musician, parodist, record producer, satirist, music video director, film producer, actor, and author. He is known for his humorous songs that make like of popular culture and often parody specific songs by contemporary musical acts. Since his first-aired comedy song in 1976, he has sold more than 12 million albums (as of 2007), recorded more than 150 parody and original songs, and has performed more than 1,000 live shows.

Al's first accordion lesson, which sparked his career in music, was on the day before his sixth birthday. A door-to-door salesman traveling through his hometown of Lynwood offered his parents a choice of accordion or guitar lessons at a local music school. Yankovic claims the reason his parents chose accordion over guitar was “They figured there should be at least one more accordion-playing Yankovic in the world”, referring to Frankie Yankovic, to whom he is not related directly. Yankovic said that his “parents chose the accordion because they were convinced it would revolutionize rock”.

                                                                                                                                                                         courtesy: The Prince of Parodies

The same guy with the accordion showed up at my door, when I was six years old too, and told my parents how “gifted” I was while I was just holding the thing. That guy clearly needed a hearing-aid. He didn't know how gifted I was on the viola, although I just pretend to play the violin.

#A-TO-Z CHALLENGE – LETTER “X” – SWAMI X

SWAMI X

I honestly had not clue one as to what I was going to write about for my letter “X” when I reached this juncture. So, I did what any good researcher does in a pinch (forget about preparing ahead, I do everything in real-time) I hit Wikipedia up for a suggestion and discovered a little-known boardwalk performer in America. . .

Swami X is an American boardwalk performer and stand-up comedian. Active from the 1970s to 1985, he performed in Los Angeles, San Francisco, Berkeley, and New York. He was known for bawdy sexual humor and political invective.

His act was a monologue mixing pity sociopolitical observations with poetry, sarcasm and humor, which typically included blasphemy, profanity and attacking the shibboleths of the day – producing “pleased shock and delighted outrage” in observers. His notable lines include”

• “How do we know Jesus Christ was Jewish? Because he went into his Father's business.”
• “Sex is not the answer. Sex is the question. 'Yes' is the answer.”
• “If I had known I would live this long, I would have taken better care of myself.”

                                                                                                        

Swami X's 88th Birthday, I presume with my faboo upside-down reading superpowers!

He was known for appearing on the Venice Boardwalk, at the UCLA and the U. C. Berkely campuses, in San Francisco (probably on the wharf or near Ghirardelli Square), and at Washington Park in NYC. He retired in 1985. In 2009 the mayor of L. A., Antonio Villaraigosa, presented him with an official proclamation.

The fun part of this came when I was looking for pictures. The disambiguation is wide and wonderful in the images; everything from real Swamis to Swami Comedy Acts. Maybe I should have done my whole A-to-Z them on Swamis. On second thought, no. It's been hard enough coming up with entertaining Humorists, or witty observations about Humor itself. I actually believe I would have been better off just writing 26 stories about my crazy family; God knows there's material enough!

Anyway, I found these delightful pictures of some Swamis, but not OUR Swami:

I'm guessing this is some kind of Bollywood Musical Extravaganza-type Comedy. It looks to be a laff-riot!

 Presenting Swami Beyondananda! At the Unitarian Fellowship, of all places. There is so much going on here. Would the Indian defamation league complain? Is there an Indian defamation league? This is so fitting for Unitarians, whose creed seems to be "whatever, whomever, all ever, forever". Or something. The concept of a 2-man, 1-man show has me a little befuddled as well. Does this guy use a sock puppet for his alter ego? Or just put on his Swami hat?

Swami who is a real Swami; alas I couldn't find his name. He also looks like he's ready for his tryout in the latest revival of "Hair", as it was during the age of love and peace and harmony. I miss those days.

 Okay this is OUR Swami, Swami X. He looks like a cross between "Easy Rider" and a parade float! I remember the street performers in San Francisco back in the early 70s. I missed this, because I surely would have remembered him, had I seen him. I'm sorry I missed him.

 

Swami X in his days of retirement, looking rather back-woodsish and Jeremiah Johnson-like.

 

#A-TO-Z CHALLENGE – LETTER “W” – WOODY ALLEN

WOODY ALLEN

I was about 15 when I discovered the zany intellectual comedy of Woody Allen. His discourses on existentialism, the philosophy of Kierkegaard, mixed with the slap-stick comedy of Chaplin, made his movies in the late 60s and early 70s, gems of the cinema.

Woody Allen (born Allen Stewart Konigsberg, December 1, 1935) is an actor, director, screenwriter, comedian, musician and playwright whose career span more than 50 years.

He worked as a comedy writer in the 1950s, writing jokes and scripts for the Tee Vee and publishing books of short humor pieces. In the early 1960s, Allen began performing as a stand-up comic emphasizing monologues rather than traditional jokes. As a comic, he developed the persona of an insecure, intellectual, fretful nebbish, which maintains is quite different from his real-lie personality, In 2004, Comedy Central, ranked Allen in fourth place on a list of 100 greatest stand-up comics, while a UK survey ranked Allen as the third greatest comedian.

"To you, I'm an Atheist. To God, I'm the loyal opposition." ~ Woody Allen

By the mid-60s Allen was writing and directing films, first specializing in slapstick comedies before moving into dramatic material influenced by European art cinema during the 1970s. He is often identified as part of the New Hollywood wave of filmmakers of the mid-60s to late 70s. He often stars in his own films, typically in the persona he developed as a standup.

"Life doesn't imitate art. It imitates bad television." ~ Woody Allen

Allen was born in the Bronx and raised in Brooklyn. His family was Ashkenazi Jewish; his grandparents immigrated from Russia and Austria, and spoke Yiddish, Hewbrew, and German. Allen spoke German quite a bit in his early years. He would later joke that when he was young he was sent to inter-faith summer camps, where he “was savagely beaten by children of all races and creeds”.

"I can't listen to any more Wagner, you know. . . I'm starting to get the urge to conquer Poland." ~Woody Allen

Allen originally started writing for humorist Herb Shriner, earning $25 a week. At 19, he began writing scripts for The Tonight Show, specials for Sid Caesar post-Caesar's Hour (1954-1957) and other television show. He also wrote for Candid Camera later on, and appeared in some episodes.

Allen branched out, writing short stories and cartoon captions for magazines such as The New Yorker; he was inspired by the tradition of four prominent New Yorker humorist, S. J. Perelman, George S. Kaufman, Robert Benchley and Max Shulman, whose material he modernized. Allen is an accomplised author, with four published collections of his short pieces and plays. I can attest to the humor and zaniness of his written comedy; Getting Even is one of the funniest books I've ever read. Looking at the Table of Contents for Side Effects now makes this a must read.

"I took a test in Existentialism. I left all the answers blank and got 100." ~Woody Allen

Of all of Allen's movies, his earliest resonate with me the most. His first foray into film, was more like some comedic brew of Mystery Science Theater 3000 and horribly-interpreted sci-films, complete with commentary, called What's Up Tiger-Lily. The plot, according to Allen involved the theft of the recipe for the world's greatest egg salad and the recovery of said recipe from evil-overlords by brave Secret Agent. This is all plunked down on top of a cheesy Japanese spy movie, dubbed with idiotic dialogue and crazy sound effects and the results are hilarious.

Compilations of clips from "What's Up Tiger Lily?"

I realize my humor hit some of it's maturation at around the age of 18, but the ludicrous dialogue and funny voices still amuse me. Allen went from here to produce and release several more movies in the late 60s, Take the Money and Run, Bananas, Sleeper and Love and Death, which is still one of the best satirical pieces on Russian Literature and characterizations of all time. He followed that up with Manhattan, (all music by George Gershwin, here) Annie Hall and Hanna and Her Sisters. 

The Marching Band Cello Scene from Take the Money and Run

As a passionate fan of jazz, Allen has featured New Orleans jazz in most of his movies and performed publicly since the late 60s, most notable with the Preservation Hall Jazz Band, on his soundtrack for Sleeper. He continues to perform most Monday nights with his jazz ensemble at the Carlysle Hotel in NYC.  

The revival scene in Sleeper, where Woody Allen discovers he's awoken 200 years in the future.

His later movies and projects have garnered him much in the way of fame and innumerable awards; in film direction, production and writing. He has established himself in both America and in Europe as a man of Arts and Letters, and he continues to this day to write and produce plays, movies and play in his jazz ensemble. One of my favorites for his wit and literary style, and for his slapstick, he has proven himself in both sophisticated circles and as a favorite alá his Chaplinesque style in his earlier films. In all of his earlier movies, as well as his later ones, he questioned authority, relationships, and the existence of God. You thought as much as you laughed, which I always enjoyed. In my opinion, the very best humorists, whatever the genre do this; they make us think; they may make us uncomfortable, but that is the only way we develop and expand our own views.

#A-TO-Z CHALLENGE – LETTER “V” – VISUAL GAG

VISUAL GAG

A visual gag or sight gag is anything which conveys its humor visually, often without words being used at all. The gag may involve a physical impossibility or an unexpected occurrence. The humor is caused by alternative interpretations of the goings-on. Visual gags are used in plays, acting on television and movies and in magic.

I love visual gags and a certain amount of slap-stick. The comedian, Soupy Sales was very popular in the United States, back in the 50s, because of his slap-stick, but I found it tedious, because it was so repetitious. Only in certain cases, and certain comedians, does repetition truly work, in my opinion. Eddie Izzard is a master at it, because he drops his repetitious phrases in randomly and unexpectedly, but it is hard to pull off and should be avoided by all but the best, which, in my humble opinion, Eddie is. But, we're going to look at visual gags, because I don't have to type, type, type, and frankly, I had a hell of a time finding a “V” comedian that I was satisfied with; Jim Varney appealed to a few folks here back in the 90s, but tragically, he died young and his was a very “niche” type of comedy. Funny as he was, I decided to give him a pass. Rest in peace, Jim; you were terrific!

Jim Varney started his career selling ice cream on the Tee Vee. I first saw his ad, in about 1980, when I was still at school, where he is getting an ice cream cone filled, and the cone moves off-screen, then back on-screen each time, with one additional scoop, as he sings a goofy rendition of "Happy Birthday". At the conclusion of the song, he has about 4 scoops of ice-cream on a cone and they fall off. The camera fades to black, as he holds his empty cone, goofy grin in place, glancing down at his empty cone, then back at the camera. I howled.

 

I love pictures like this; a late friend of mine and I spent the weekend at Fort Knox, playing with the heavy artillery and helicopters. I took a picture of her in front of the suspended Huey, ducking, as if a giant mosquito was after her. Sadly, the picture did not survive my many moves and upheavals.

Visual gags can be of a solitary picture, or involve elaborate set-ups to get to the punchline. Both are satisfying, but some are so simple and work well with children. Others are of the WTF? variety and I ran into plenty of those as single-shots. I'm either having a major case of the stupids, or the humor is so full of arcana as to be truly indecipherable, except for say, archaeologists, or Buddhists, or whatever. 

 This sort of thing requires friends who care not one whit how you behave in public. "Walk Like An Egyptian" is apt, and at least you can get to the murals, which must surely be just painted on by starving Art Students. I've seen Egyptology displays, where you are not allowed anywhere near the displays, for fear of disturbing Im-ho-tep, or breaking a priceless cat-mummy toe, or something.

                                                                                                            courtesy: Thingesque

 I get that the dog is blind and the cat is leading the dog, but what's up with the duck? In any case, it would be a rather erratic arrangement, because once Fluffy gets a whiff of tuna, or smells a catnip patch, it's going to be a wild ride for the two blind passengers.

We are left then, with the elaborate set-up, or rather, a series of visual gags that in pacing and style, often resembles a boxing match, or the Finale of a symphonic work. In terms of tempo, and frequency of events, the gag may start out slow, seem pointless and build from there. We go to our old friend Charlie Chaplin for the Pawn Shop Fight Scene for some fun. Check out the way Charlie worms his way back into the owner's good graces and seemingly wins the fair maiden's heart!

 

Chaplin was a true master, and watching this again just made it all fresh and new!