Do I have Dino fever? You bet jurassic! And after the events of this past week, it’s a good thing! The week began with some hoodlums/gangsters/punks/n’er do wells breaking the passenger side window of my beloved car. What angered me most was they didn’t even take anything! It was just a random, senseless act of destruction!
But that was fixed. Later in the week the back end of the one-two punch landed when someone stole the bike out of my garage! It was an old Schwinn, which weighed more than I do, complete with those ugly curly handlebars, but the real value was purely sentimental. (Just think of all the places we traveled together!)
So how did I handle the setbacks? How did I work through the anger and loss? I tried thinking like a dinosaur! Such things seem rather trivial and insignificant when you are facing extinction! How would a dinosaur have handled this past week? I figured they would have watched a couple of movies. (Old movies of course!)
DAVE’S "DINO-MITE VIDEO PICK OF THE WEEK: "Awakenings"
Someone somewhere in Hollywood saw the success and acclaim "Rain Man" achieved. Thus the germ of an idea-another movie about a "handicapped" person teaching a "normal" person a lesson in life-was born.
Although Robert DeNiro’s performance isn’t as effective as Dustin Hoffman’s, and Robin Williams’ isn’t nearly as good as Tom Cruise’s, "Awakenings" nonetheless has its charms. The movie is based on a true story about a doctor who finds several patients residing in a mental hospital afflicted with similar symptoms. Rigidly staring off into another world, behaving like statues (the clinical diagnosis), their days and years drift away.
The doctor, played by Williams, researches the medical backgrounds and discovers each patient was a victim of Encephalitis, "sleeping disease", never awakening from the inflammation of their brains. He treats them with an experimental drug and awakens them from their slumber. DeNiro plays one of the reborn and his ensuing journey makes for the essence of the movie.
Directed by Penny Marshall, the movie isn’t as effective as it could have been. (What is the state of Hollywood when two of its most powerful directors were one time known as "Meathead" and "Laverne"?) The movie never captures the spirit of the re-awakening, the miracle that these people are still alive after all the years gone by. And the crux of the story- that DeNiro teaches the sad and lonely Williams, who is a victim of a self inflicted isolated and pointless existence, what the miracle of life is really about-is never achieved. Williams doesn’t seem that bad off and never seems to appreciate what is happening to DeNiro’s character.
Yet, the movie does contain an undeniable impact. More than one tear fell at the conclusion of the story (and it wasn’t a crocodile’s tear but rather a dinosaur’s).
DAVE’S DINO-MITE ONE BUCK MOVIE PICK OF THE WEEK: "The Sandlot"
A couple of years ago, James Earl Jones played an integral role in "Field of Dreams". That movie was an overly romantic look at the game of baseball. Based on WD Kinsella’s wonderful book, Shoeless Joe, "Field of Dreams" captured some of the wonder but none of the sense of wonder of the journey into a mystical thread of the American landscape.
"Field of Dreams" didn’t want to be realistic but went over the edge of credibility. Who could believe that Kevin Costner’s wife, played by Amy Madigan could smile and say "sure honey" when Costner decides to ruin his farm by building a huge ball field, drive cross country with a radical stranger in search of a dead ballplayer" Some wives might be wonderful and supportive but Madigan’s love is stuff movies are made from.
Jones’ most recent role is in a follow up movie, "The Sandlot". This movie is one boy’s look back to the days when the events at a neighborhood sandlot were larger than life. Baseball was the center of the universe for the group of kids that gathered every day at the sandlot. The wonderful secret of the movie (no it isn’t that the girl is really a man) is about the monster dog behind the field that eats all the balls hit over the fence, or boys that dare to venture behind it.
Like "Field of Dreams", the events are silly and absurd, but "The Sandlot" doesn’t take itself too seriously and thus succeeds better. This is supposed to be fun and nostalgic and it is. The only flaw is the casing of Jones as the player who know the Babe, the Bambino, the Sultan of Swat, as "George Herman" and who could have been an even bigger legend had he not been blinded. The issue of baseball’s black eye, its long time color line, is not addressed and the glaring omission seems to be almost deliberate. Even baseball isn’t as simple as it seems.
Still "The Sandlot" is one of the few "Baseball" movies that succeeds in capturing the spirit of the sport. Even Barney can appreciate that: this movie gets three scales off his tail…
But seriously what did get me through a most difficult week? Well, it was nice being recognized for a year’s worth of work. And to top it all off, one of my favorite young artists, gave me her latest drawing and poem which will appear in these pages soon. Smiles all around…
What is the definition of a neighbor? This weekend, my favorite family of four moved into a house a few blocks from my apartment. Do they qualify as neighbors or technically speaking, are the other dwellers in my complex my only "true" neighbors? I had a caller ask me where "approximately" the Secretary of State’s office was located. Snidely I responded (although it was a reflex, honest), "Forget approximately, I can tell you exactly where we are." The remark wasn’t appreciated.
My answer to last week’s Fridley rap question: DJ Jazzy Jeff, Hammer, and Vanilla Ice.
The final installment of "Late Night With David Letterman" was wonderful. I only wished Hawkeye hadn’t lost his sanity.
Monday, June 28, 1993
Monday, June 21, 1993
Searching for Variety
They killed off the variety show with Ed Sullivan, leaving only a trace of Topo Gigio. Others have since tried to revive the format; everyone from Carol Burnett to Howard Cosell, from Jeff Altman and Pink Lady to Mel Tillis and Susan Anton. But the conspiracy runs deeper than anyone in the know is willing to admit.
Do you expect me to believe we can put a man on the moon, we can even televise our putting a man on the moon (although there is the belief the footage we witnessed was really staged on the sands of Kingman Arizona) but we can’t successfully televise a rock concert?
We’re not exactly in the "Golden Age" of television anymore. The days of "Sheriff Lobo", "BJ and the Bear", and "Hello Larry" probably will never be repeated, achieved or matched again thus there is plenty of air time for a weekly concert or two. The expenses would be minimal, slightly more than a newsmagazine like "Hard Copy" and quite frankly probably would make for better TV than most
"But the conspiracy runs deeper than anyone in the know is willing to admit."
Sporting events. Aren’t made for TV movies a drag? Yet each network seems to have plenty of time for those.
Last week FOX broadcast live Paul McCartney’s final concert of his North American Tour. Although there were major flaws in the presentation (enough to suspect sabotage), it was better than an evening of "Down the Shore" and "Herman’s Head." Having seen pretty much the same concert in person here in the dome, it must be reported that Paul’s energy wasn’t captured very well on the small screen. But perhaps that was intended.
McCartney is a master at "pacing" his show into a thematic whole. The necessity to include commercials during the live
"We’re not exactly in the ‘Golden Age’ of television anymore."
performance, threw the balance of the show off kilter. It’s not coincidence nor a simple twist of fate that the man juxtaposes "Looking for Changes" with "Another Day" (a song about the traps of routine, the hum drum monotony of every day life) or strings together an alliteration of song titles, "Lady Madonna", "Live and let Die", and "Let it Be." This is the musician who created musical jeopardy by posing a question, "how many people" long after he provided the answer, "too many people." (This is something you might try in your spare time, find an artist who answers his own questions in song. It’s fun if done in moderation.)
In person the show was an adequate reflection of McCartney’s magical musical tour. As shown on TV, it seemed more like a Beach Boys’ Las Vegas nostalgia act. It was down right sacrilegious to run the credits through "Hey Jude" and cut the song off right as the "Nah Nah Nahs" were beginning.
The proletariat is crying out for the showing of more live concerts. Even through the commercial interruptions, subpar performances, annoying banter, glimpses of inspiration are bound to appear. That’s something lacking elsewhere on TV and perhaps the reason variety (and Ed) are dead.
Do you expect me to believe we can put a man on the moon, we can even televise our putting a man on the moon (although there is the belief the footage we witnessed was really staged on the sands of Kingman Arizona) but we can’t successfully televise a rock concert?
We’re not exactly in the "Golden Age" of television anymore. The days of "Sheriff Lobo", "BJ and the Bear", and "Hello Larry" probably will never be repeated, achieved or matched again thus there is plenty of air time for a weekly concert or two. The expenses would be minimal, slightly more than a newsmagazine like "Hard Copy" and quite frankly probably would make for better TV than most
"But the conspiracy runs deeper than anyone in the know is willing to admit."
Sporting events. Aren’t made for TV movies a drag? Yet each network seems to have plenty of time for those.
Last week FOX broadcast live Paul McCartney’s final concert of his North American Tour. Although there were major flaws in the presentation (enough to suspect sabotage), it was better than an evening of "Down the Shore" and "Herman’s Head." Having seen pretty much the same concert in person here in the dome, it must be reported that Paul’s energy wasn’t captured very well on the small screen. But perhaps that was intended.
McCartney is a master at "pacing" his show into a thematic whole. The necessity to include commercials during the live
"We’re not exactly in the ‘Golden Age’ of television anymore."
performance, threw the balance of the show off kilter. It’s not coincidence nor a simple twist of fate that the man juxtaposes "Looking for Changes" with "Another Day" (a song about the traps of routine, the hum drum monotony of every day life) or strings together an alliteration of song titles, "Lady Madonna", "Live and let Die", and "Let it Be." This is the musician who created musical jeopardy by posing a question, "how many people" long after he provided the answer, "too many people." (This is something you might try in your spare time, find an artist who answers his own questions in song. It’s fun if done in moderation.)
In person the show was an adequate reflection of McCartney’s magical musical tour. As shown on TV, it seemed more like a Beach Boys’ Las Vegas nostalgia act. It was down right sacrilegious to run the credits through "Hey Jude" and cut the song off right as the "Nah Nah Nahs" were beginning.
The proletariat is crying out for the showing of more live concerts. Even through the commercial interruptions, subpar performances, annoying banter, glimpses of inspiration are bound to appear. That’s something lacking elsewhere on TV and perhaps the reason variety (and Ed) are dead.
Monday, June 14, 1993
One Year Anniversary
This week the newsletter celebrates its one-year anniversary. To all that have written, commented, participated- tres bien! Keep it up! I look forward to hearing more from everyone in the next year. I would also like to thank Al for his support. We pledge to keep striving to improve, and obviously we have lots of room to meet that goal. Someday we will obtain legal newsletter status.
Here is a look back at the past year:
May 1992 – A notice is posted in the back room of the St. Paul Cheapo announcing the opening of editor for the company’s newsletter. Already working seven days a week, I decide that’s exactly what I need, more work.
June 1992 – I interview with Scott, getting some idea of what will be expected. I leave thinking it will be a monthly effort for the Cheapo stores.
June 19, 1992 – The first issue appears. My biggest fear is a memory of "20/20’s" debut on ABC. The show started with two co-anchors and goofy graphics. After one episode, the show is yanked and remodeled to reappear with Hugh Downs as host. Fiasco or competence? I really don’t know.
June 25, 1992 – Al tells me not only does he want it to be a weekly newsletter, but it is for the Applause stores as well. A bigger readership-a definite plus despite more pressure.
July 14, 1992 – We begin to settle into a determined format.
July 15, 1992 – We run out of original ideas.
September 1992 – Our "Dylan" issue wins awards, demonstrates the editor is loopy.
December 1992 – Highlight of brief history as many participate in year-end edition.
March 1993 – Attend newsletter seminar. Plenty of ideas presented. Enthused and itchy to implement some of them.
March 1993 – New look, same newsletter.
April 1993 – Approval from Washington DC.
May 1993 – Our "McCartney" issue draws groans.
June 1993 – The big "Sinatra" issue is planned but postponed for purely personal reasons.
FUN FACTS:
# of sausage egg biscuits consumed by newsletter staff over past year – 58
# of breakfast burritos consumed over same period – 46
Typographical and grammatical errors made over past year: 634, leading to a game more popular than "Where’s Waldo", called where’s the errors?
Words most frequently mentioned over past year: "Max", "chafing", and "I’m sorry".
Here is a look back at the past year:
May 1992 – A notice is posted in the back room of the St. Paul Cheapo announcing the opening of editor for the company’s newsletter. Already working seven days a week, I decide that’s exactly what I need, more work.
June 1992 – I interview with Scott, getting some idea of what will be expected. I leave thinking it will be a monthly effort for the Cheapo stores.
June 19, 1992 – The first issue appears. My biggest fear is a memory of "20/20’s" debut on ABC. The show started with two co-anchors and goofy graphics. After one episode, the show is yanked and remodeled to reappear with Hugh Downs as host. Fiasco or competence? I really don’t know.
June 25, 1992 – Al tells me not only does he want it to be a weekly newsletter, but it is for the Applause stores as well. A bigger readership-a definite plus despite more pressure.
July 14, 1992 – We begin to settle into a determined format.
July 15, 1992 – We run out of original ideas.
September 1992 – Our "Dylan" issue wins awards, demonstrates the editor is loopy.
December 1992 – Highlight of brief history as many participate in year-end edition.
March 1993 – Attend newsletter seminar. Plenty of ideas presented. Enthused and itchy to implement some of them.
March 1993 – New look, same newsletter.
April 1993 – Approval from Washington DC.
May 1993 – Our "McCartney" issue draws groans.
June 1993 – The big "Sinatra" issue is planned but postponed for purely personal reasons.
FUN FACTS:
# of sausage egg biscuits consumed by newsletter staff over past year – 58
# of breakfast burritos consumed over same period – 46
Typographical and grammatical errors made over past year: 634, leading to a game more popular than "Where’s Waldo", called where’s the errors?
Words most frequently mentioned over past year: "Max", "chafing", and "I’m sorry".
What's in a Name?
Last week, Prince caused a minor ripple (even my Mom and Dad commented) when he legally changed his name to the @ symbol (actually he didn’t change it to that symbol but the one he chose isn’t featured on this keyboard).
There seemed to be a great deal of hostility towards his actions; just another celebrity doing something absurd for extra publicity. But hey, at least he chose something better than say, "Sting" or "Dylan".
For the past year we have been searching for the appropriate name for our newsletter. Thanks now to @, we not only have to sort through millions of words, but now we have just as many symbols to consider. Arrrggg. We do like the Soul Man’s suggestion to change the name to some type of odorless gas.
@ is to be applauded for his decision. Most of us can recognize his voice, his music, his face (we’ve seen just about every part of his body), why label the entity with such a restrictive word as "Prince"?
As part of my phone job, I am required to answer, "This is David." 40% of the people respond by saying, "Hi Steven…" Either I have an enunciation problem or people just don’t listen very well. Nonetheless do I offer any less customer service with the name "Steven"? I don’t think so. By giving my name it makes the call more personal, yet in essence my name could be Regis and the answers, and tone of call would remain the same.
Indeed, I don’t like a caller who keeps referring to me as "Dave". It’s like a used car salesman/newly found friend, who puts his arm around me and pretends as if they really care about me, the wife and the kids. My friends can call me what they want but is it right for a complete stranger to assume it is proper to converse on a first name basis?
For the past few years I have talked to some individuals pretty much on a daily basis. We share stories of our lives (they love to hear about Max) and it takes the edge off the pile of work we all face. A couple of these people, I don’t know the names of, and it seems silly at this late junction to ask them what their names are. That’s my loss; not only are they to remain faceless to me, but two days after I leave the job, they will evaporate into the wind. For people that have made my job, and thus my life easier, that’s too bad. They deserve more.
Employees of this company are supposed to wear nametags. This is a good idea in retail since it identifies you as an employee at the same time as allowing the customer the opportunity to put a name with the person. People seem to respond to this type of contact.
In a way that’s an unfortunate aspect of human nature. What difference does it make what we call something? Why are we so dependent on labeling things? Why do we need definitions in life? That’s one of the points to my favorite "British" comedy (ok itself a label I know) "The Rise and Fall of Reginald Perrin". Al turned me on to this show several years ago and it has stuck with me deeply. The show is about a businessman who gets fed up with the routine of everyday life, fakes his suicide, only to come back to live the same life over again. His wife meets the new incarnation and to the astonishment of her daughter says she is willing to go along with her husband’s strange behavior. What difference does it make if we call him Reggie or Martin Windpipe (Wellborne)? If he’s happier with one name, why not accept the change? Precisely.
NEXT WEEK: DM reveals his new name!
There seemed to be a great deal of hostility towards his actions; just another celebrity doing something absurd for extra publicity. But hey, at least he chose something better than say, "Sting" or "Dylan".
For the past year we have been searching for the appropriate name for our newsletter. Thanks now to @, we not only have to sort through millions of words, but now we have just as many symbols to consider. Arrrggg. We do like the Soul Man’s suggestion to change the name to some type of odorless gas.
@ is to be applauded for his decision. Most of us can recognize his voice, his music, his face (we’ve seen just about every part of his body), why label the entity with such a restrictive word as "Prince"?
As part of my phone job, I am required to answer, "This is David." 40% of the people respond by saying, "Hi Steven…" Either I have an enunciation problem or people just don’t listen very well. Nonetheless do I offer any less customer service with the name "Steven"? I don’t think so. By giving my name it makes the call more personal, yet in essence my name could be Regis and the answers, and tone of call would remain the same.
Indeed, I don’t like a caller who keeps referring to me as "Dave". It’s like a used car salesman/newly found friend, who puts his arm around me and pretends as if they really care about me, the wife and the kids. My friends can call me what they want but is it right for a complete stranger to assume it is proper to converse on a first name basis?
For the past few years I have talked to some individuals pretty much on a daily basis. We share stories of our lives (they love to hear about Max) and it takes the edge off the pile of work we all face. A couple of these people, I don’t know the names of, and it seems silly at this late junction to ask them what their names are. That’s my loss; not only are they to remain faceless to me, but two days after I leave the job, they will evaporate into the wind. For people that have made my job, and thus my life easier, that’s too bad. They deserve more.
Employees of this company are supposed to wear nametags. This is a good idea in retail since it identifies you as an employee at the same time as allowing the customer the opportunity to put a name with the person. People seem to respond to this type of contact.
In a way that’s an unfortunate aspect of human nature. What difference does it make what we call something? Why are we so dependent on labeling things? Why do we need definitions in life? That’s one of the points to my favorite "British" comedy (ok itself a label I know) "The Rise and Fall of Reginald Perrin". Al turned me on to this show several years ago and it has stuck with me deeply. The show is about a businessman who gets fed up with the routine of everyday life, fakes his suicide, only to come back to live the same life over again. His wife meets the new incarnation and to the astonishment of her daughter says she is willing to go along with her husband’s strange behavior. What difference does it make if we call him Reggie or Martin Windpipe (Wellborne)? If he’s happier with one name, why not accept the change? Precisely.
NEXT WEEK: DM reveals his new name!
Monday, June 7, 1993
Conan Maeda's Retail Tips
Conan Maeda’s Retail Tips
During the 1937 Major League All Star Game, the great Dizzy Dean, one of the memorable members of the goofy "Gashouse Gang" was struck on the toe by a line drive.
Ol’ Diz continued pitching even with the bad toe, but changed his pitching motion to compensate for the pain. As a result, he hurt his arm and was never the same player.
Dizzy then became a radio broadcaster where his colorful anecdotes were told in his equally colorful but butchered version of the English language. So poor was Dizzy’s English that there was actually a
"I discovered over the past week I have the aversion to saying ‘good morning’ to people."
Protest by a group of grade school teachers complaining that the youth of America was picking up on his vernacular and we were raising a generation of country talkin’ verbally stunted children.
This past week I watched the NBA Western Conference Finals with one of the announcers being Earvin "Magic" Johnson. Magic was of course the leader of the great Lakers teams of the 1980’s. He was forced to retire after contracting the HIV virus. Like Ol’ Diz, Magic has a charismatic personality. Like Diz, Magic’s use of the English language can leave a purist gaping.
My biggest linguistic pet peeve is adding the suffix "ness" to a word to make it a noun. Magic has come up with a couple of these that are beyond my tolerance level. Describing Shawn Kemp’s ability to be around the ball at the most opportune times, Magic used the word, "activenness." Describing what Tom Chambers brings off the Phoenix bench, Magic labeled it, "veteranness." Arrggg.
As Rush Limbaugh says (dittos from the newsletter), like it or not, we are judge by the way we speak. So some of us (and Rush is not one of these) try to say as little as possible.
I discovered over the past week I have the aversion to saying "good morning" to people. I don’t know how I developed this among my many neurotic traits but I find myself trying to sneak to my desk without speaking to anyone else. One’s first words are the most important after all.
This brings to mind a recent episode of "Star Trek: TNG" where it was shown one of the Federations’ most difficult missions is first contact with a new species. It is important to build trust from the beginning.
My last roommate and I used to greet each other in the morning with a grumble. That greeting continued for me to everyone I saw until about 9:00. That may work in a big bumbling bureaucracy, but it does not work in a business. One of the new trends in retail is placing someone at the front of the store just to greet incoming customers. I personally don’t like this, makes me edgy.
I don’t appreciate it though, when I bring some merchandise up to a register and get no kind of interaction with the employee. This is the place contact of some kind is necessary even for the most aloof among us "Politeness" and "humanness" are a requirement here.
During the 1937 Major League All Star Game, the great Dizzy Dean, one of the memorable members of the goofy "Gashouse Gang" was struck on the toe by a line drive.
Ol’ Diz continued pitching even with the bad toe, but changed his pitching motion to compensate for the pain. As a result, he hurt his arm and was never the same player.
Dizzy then became a radio broadcaster where his colorful anecdotes were told in his equally colorful but butchered version of the English language. So poor was Dizzy’s English that there was actually a
"I discovered over the past week I have the aversion to saying ‘good morning’ to people."
Protest by a group of grade school teachers complaining that the youth of America was picking up on his vernacular and we were raising a generation of country talkin’ verbally stunted children.
This past week I watched the NBA Western Conference Finals with one of the announcers being Earvin "Magic" Johnson. Magic was of course the leader of the great Lakers teams of the 1980’s. He was forced to retire after contracting the HIV virus. Like Ol’ Diz, Magic has a charismatic personality. Like Diz, Magic’s use of the English language can leave a purist gaping.
My biggest linguistic pet peeve is adding the suffix "ness" to a word to make it a noun. Magic has come up with a couple of these that are beyond my tolerance level. Describing Shawn Kemp’s ability to be around the ball at the most opportune times, Magic used the word, "activenness." Describing what Tom Chambers brings off the Phoenix bench, Magic labeled it, "veteranness." Arrggg.
As Rush Limbaugh says (dittos from the newsletter), like it or not, we are judge by the way we speak. So some of us (and Rush is not one of these) try to say as little as possible.
I discovered over the past week I have the aversion to saying "good morning" to people. I don’t know how I developed this among my many neurotic traits but I find myself trying to sneak to my desk without speaking to anyone else. One’s first words are the most important after all.
This brings to mind a recent episode of "Star Trek: TNG" where it was shown one of the Federations’ most difficult missions is first contact with a new species. It is important to build trust from the beginning.
My last roommate and I used to greet each other in the morning with a grumble. That greeting continued for me to everyone I saw until about 9:00. That may work in a big bumbling bureaucracy, but it does not work in a business. One of the new trends in retail is placing someone at the front of the store just to greet incoming customers. I personally don’t like this, makes me edgy.
I don’t appreciate it though, when I bring some merchandise up to a register and get no kind of interaction with the employee. This is the place contact of some kind is necessary even for the most aloof among us "Politeness" and "humanness" are a requirement here.
Monday, May 31, 1993
Proven More Effective Than Prozac
One of the saddest shows I’ve ever seen was a special Johnny Carson did in the late 70’s. The show was about Johnny returning home to his high school reunion in Nebraska.
The point of the show seemed to be that yes, Johnny could go home again. There were clips of the places and people from Johnny’s youth, as all the town folk told their favorite memories of their favorite son. What it ended up showing was an isolated and private man, uncomfortable e yet yearning for the companionship of friends he no longer had any connection with.
This is the year of my tenth high school reunion. I’ve been contacted (told to call an "800" number for more information-just how important was my class?) yet I have no interest in attending. The last contact I had with a member of my class was, oh I’d say, about 9.9 years ago. Sometimes it’s best to move on and keep on moving.
I wasn’t exactly in the popular elite of my high school. The highlights of my years there were getting a hallway of people singing the chorus of "Uncle Albert/Admiral Halsey" and an auditorium of people singing along to my rendition of "Let it Be." Thus I was stuck with the label of a Beatle fanatic, and while others got the awards for "Most Likely to Succeed" and "Cutest Smile" I won an honorary award as the "5th Beatle."
I approached Paul McCartney’s concert last Sunday with a great deal of skepticism. If anyone is guilty of trying to recapture and re-live some of the past it has been Paul. These last two world tours have been burdened with a heavy reliance on nostalgia.
I wasn’t planning on going after it was announced Paul was coming to the Dome. I figured I would hang out downtown and see how much tickets were being scalped for before I made my decision to attend. But I changed my mind. The man responsible for providing a vast amount of the music to the soundtrack of my life was coming, and I had to see him.
I’m not really a dork, I just play one for the newsletter. But immediately I saw actual singes I might enjoy myself that evening. Sitting in the ozone zone with a bunch of strangers from Green Bay ("…the last great concert I saw was REO Speedwagon"), I listened to the music playing on the sound system before the show. Up bubbled a quirky live version of "Monkberry Moon Delight" from the LP Ram, which was Paul doing his best Captain Beefheart imitation. The moment froze me; no one seemed to notice the odd but oh so pleasant background sound
What happened next is hard to describe. Far be it for me to exaggerate the evening, but I had what I can only describe as a religious experience. The cynicism melted and for a moment, Paul and his band did what great art can do’ they stopped time. By the end of the night, the critic found himself "nah nah nahing" with 50,000 others to the refrain of "Hey Jude."
But it was a long and winding road getting to that point. The show opened with a version of "Drive My Car" complete with the "beep, beep, ‘n’ beep beep yeahs" flashed on the huge video screen above the stage. Fun stuff.
But the moment that turned the old heart over was the fourth song, "Another Day." Paul’s first post Beatle single. It was an unexpected blast from the past and though others seemed to be just waiting for the next Beatle song, this was it for me. I realized/felt I was sitting there watching an old friend sing an old favorite tune.
It just goes o show if you stick around long enough, good stuff will eventually happen. Back in 1989, when Paul began to tour again, I had the chance to see him in either Ames or Chicago, but I wasn’t in any shape to make the journey. Thus I thought my last chance to see my favorite fab four frontman forever had flittered away. Given the second chance, I had almost turned away; but now Paul was performing a song he and Linda wrote 23 years ago, and I was enjoying?! Myself.
The weakness of these tours has been the lack of any type of on-going creativity. The shows are tightly structured, the same songs are played night after night. There is a scene in Paul Simon’s movie, One Trick Pony where Simon is talking about the ultimate rock show, sarcastically calling it a "spectacle." McCartney’s show truly is that from the fireworks in "Live and Let Die," to the platform with his piano that hovers above the crowd, the rolling sheets of manuscript during "Paperback Writer," to the slide shows, particularly the one during "C’mon People" where there is a series of Linda’s work from the 60’s ending with a photo of John. That seemed a bit contrived and undeserved.
The message seemed to be a bit "Orson Wellian" as well as Orwellian. Paul is using technology to enhance his old work but at the same time has gone to great lengths to recapture the original sound as closely as he can.
Like Welles or Elvis before him, Paul’s best work might have been achieved when he was in his early 20’s. He seems to be more and more resigned to that. I don’t mean that to sound sinister. While John always strived to be an Artist with the capital "A", Paul has seemed more content with being an entertainer above all else. If this means he is on his way to becoming the next or new Sinatra, I for one can enjoy that.
Paul’s musical purpose seems to be to put on a show for his fans. He still has the desire to please. Where the message used to be in the music, now it lies in performing because his work has meant so much to so many over the years and Paul is well aware and proud of that.
I was talking to our Emmett from St. Paul a few weeks back. He had seen Paul’s performance on "Saturday Night Live" a few weeks back. Emmett wondered how anyone could not admire the enthusiasm and fun Paul still seems to be having. It was equally refreshing and inspirational to see first hand that the person who was having the best time of all last Sunday was none other than Paul himself.
The point of the show seemed to be that yes, Johnny could go home again. There were clips of the places and people from Johnny’s youth, as all the town folk told their favorite memories of their favorite son. What it ended up showing was an isolated and private man, uncomfortable e yet yearning for the companionship of friends he no longer had any connection with.
This is the year of my tenth high school reunion. I’ve been contacted (told to call an "800" number for more information-just how important was my class?) yet I have no interest in attending. The last contact I had with a member of my class was, oh I’d say, about 9.9 years ago. Sometimes it’s best to move on and keep on moving.
I wasn’t exactly in the popular elite of my high school. The highlights of my years there were getting a hallway of people singing the chorus of "Uncle Albert/Admiral Halsey" and an auditorium of people singing along to my rendition of "Let it Be." Thus I was stuck with the label of a Beatle fanatic, and while others got the awards for "Most Likely to Succeed" and "Cutest Smile" I won an honorary award as the "5th Beatle."
I approached Paul McCartney’s concert last Sunday with a great deal of skepticism. If anyone is guilty of trying to recapture and re-live some of the past it has been Paul. These last two world tours have been burdened with a heavy reliance on nostalgia.
I wasn’t planning on going after it was announced Paul was coming to the Dome. I figured I would hang out downtown and see how much tickets were being scalped for before I made my decision to attend. But I changed my mind. The man responsible for providing a vast amount of the music to the soundtrack of my life was coming, and I had to see him.
I’m not really a dork, I just play one for the newsletter. But immediately I saw actual singes I might enjoy myself that evening. Sitting in the ozone zone with a bunch of strangers from Green Bay ("…the last great concert I saw was REO Speedwagon"), I listened to the music playing on the sound system before the show. Up bubbled a quirky live version of "Monkberry Moon Delight" from the LP Ram, which was Paul doing his best Captain Beefheart imitation. The moment froze me; no one seemed to notice the odd but oh so pleasant background sound
What happened next is hard to describe. Far be it for me to exaggerate the evening, but I had what I can only describe as a religious experience. The cynicism melted and for a moment, Paul and his band did what great art can do’ they stopped time. By the end of the night, the critic found himself "nah nah nahing" with 50,000 others to the refrain of "Hey Jude."
But it was a long and winding road getting to that point. The show opened with a version of "Drive My Car" complete with the "beep, beep, ‘n’ beep beep yeahs" flashed on the huge video screen above the stage. Fun stuff.
But the moment that turned the old heart over was the fourth song, "Another Day." Paul’s first post Beatle single. It was an unexpected blast from the past and though others seemed to be just waiting for the next Beatle song, this was it for me. I realized/felt I was sitting there watching an old friend sing an old favorite tune.
It just goes o show if you stick around long enough, good stuff will eventually happen. Back in 1989, when Paul began to tour again, I had the chance to see him in either Ames or Chicago, but I wasn’t in any shape to make the journey. Thus I thought my last chance to see my favorite fab four frontman forever had flittered away. Given the second chance, I had almost turned away; but now Paul was performing a song he and Linda wrote 23 years ago, and I was enjoying?! Myself.
The weakness of these tours has been the lack of any type of on-going creativity. The shows are tightly structured, the same songs are played night after night. There is a scene in Paul Simon’s movie, One Trick Pony where Simon is talking about the ultimate rock show, sarcastically calling it a "spectacle." McCartney’s show truly is that from the fireworks in "Live and Let Die," to the platform with his piano that hovers above the crowd, the rolling sheets of manuscript during "Paperback Writer," to the slide shows, particularly the one during "C’mon People" where there is a series of Linda’s work from the 60’s ending with a photo of John. That seemed a bit contrived and undeserved.
The message seemed to be a bit "Orson Wellian" as well as Orwellian. Paul is using technology to enhance his old work but at the same time has gone to great lengths to recapture the original sound as closely as he can.
Like Welles or Elvis before him, Paul’s best work might have been achieved when he was in his early 20’s. He seems to be more and more resigned to that. I don’t mean that to sound sinister. While John always strived to be an Artist with the capital "A", Paul has seemed more content with being an entertainer above all else. If this means he is on his way to becoming the next or new Sinatra, I for one can enjoy that.
Paul’s musical purpose seems to be to put on a show for his fans. He still has the desire to please. Where the message used to be in the music, now it lies in performing because his work has meant so much to so many over the years and Paul is well aware and proud of that.
I was talking to our Emmett from St. Paul a few weeks back. He had seen Paul’s performance on "Saturday Night Live" a few weeks back. Emmett wondered how anyone could not admire the enthusiasm and fun Paul still seems to be having. It was equally refreshing and inspirational to see first hand that the person who was having the best time of all last Sunday was none other than Paul himself.
Monday, May 24, 1993
Notes and Stuff
I am officially announcing my retirement from newsletter writing. I will continue to tour, and work on other related projects, but my studio days are behind me. However, I have several hundred unreleased stories, which will run periodically.
Max had a checkup last week. He’s a healthy little guy. Dropped a pound over the year although he maintains his Kirby Puckett pouch. I was told I should brush his teeth. Our first few attempts have been an adventure; toothpaste everywhere, but tartar still on his teeth. Still, he enjoys the flossing.
The question Jason posed a few weeks back about the feet on the cover of Paul McCartney’s "Off the Ground" was answered by Paul’s latest video. In order: Blair, Linda, Paul, Wix, Hamisch and Robbie.
Have a feeling of duress from living your life in a vacuum? Your hard work has not been awarded? One analysis of the situation would lead to the conclusion what you need to do is submit an article to the newsletter where you can have your perfectly find (good?) English professionally butchered. We specialize in dangling participles and ending sentences with prepositions.
Next week: an on site report form the Metrodome and the McCartney experience. Happy Victoria Day, bye bye.
Max had a checkup last week. He’s a healthy little guy. Dropped a pound over the year although he maintains his Kirby Puckett pouch. I was told I should brush his teeth. Our first few attempts have been an adventure; toothpaste everywhere, but tartar still on his teeth. Still, he enjoys the flossing.
The question Jason posed a few weeks back about the feet on the cover of Paul McCartney’s "Off the Ground" was answered by Paul’s latest video. In order: Blair, Linda, Paul, Wix, Hamisch and Robbie.
Have a feeling of duress from living your life in a vacuum? Your hard work has not been awarded? One analysis of the situation would lead to the conclusion what you need to do is submit an article to the newsletter where you can have your perfectly find (good?) English professionally butchered. We specialize in dangling participles and ending sentences with prepositions.
Next week: an on site report form the Metrodome and the McCartney experience. Happy Victoria Day, bye bye.
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