Re: “I cannot hear John Wayne say, “I’d like a double latte.”
Originally that's my joke. I am sure of that, except that isn't the way I told it. Besides, I don't know how it got out there. Yet, I am glad it did. So—here's how I told it the first time:
I cannot hear John Wayne say, “Make mine a double latte, pilgrim," while he's standing at the bar.
I too enjoyed the St. Louis Christmas celebration at the Fabulous Fox. Sorry to have missed Sue Scott but brava to Maria Jette in her role as Duane’s Mom. Good to have an update of the news from Lake Wobegon; however, I can’t seem to lose the mental image of “cat sphincter massage.”
Wow! That's hard to imagine, Maria Jette as Duane's Mom! I'm sure she added her own touch!
I had the great good fortune to get into an elevator onboard a HAL ship and find Maria Jette there at the push-button controls. I'm sure she thought I was the epitome of the "star-struck", almost drooling FAN! She was my favorite among APHC songstresses - not just for her voice, but for the roles she played. I loved that piquancy, that "tart" flavor she could project so well. Sometimes the image she projected could get as far as a Long Island street kid who would retort "Says Who?!" to anyone who put her down, and maybe even put up her dukes to fight.
It seems to me that Maria was way ahead of the time, with respect to "Gender Politics". There were so many ditzy "Lucile Balls" or "Fibber McGee's 'Molly'" on the scene. For me, Maria Jette is this generation's "Mary Martin - as Peter Pan." It was so brave of you, the creator of APHC, to challenge gender tropes so openly! It's one of the many, many fascinating new avenues you've gifted the airwaves with! YYYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!
Our musician son from Chicago was to perform here in St. Louis on the same night you were at the Fox. While it wasn't a difficult decision, it was a painful one. His show was at the Sinkhole, a not so fabulous venue, but appropriate for the niche of music. He did well. It was good to see him.
It was good to see you as well, albeit a couple days later, via Mandolin.
For what it's worth, I'm the old goat that was in row D at the Fox in June of '16. You read aloud the note my wife Ellen crafted from our children, as a celebration of Father's Day...Make hay while the sun shines, you can't catch if you don't cast, worry is a waste of imagination and most of life is no hill for a climber. Goofy dadism's that I'd hoped might help our children navigate life. I recall you tucked the note into the pocket of your seersucker jacket. My heart leapt. After years of being on the receiving end of our cerebral relationship, perhaps I was able to offer something to you.
As we age, we seem to become a reduction sauce of ourselves. Yours is a beautiful roux, seemingly absent of the burden that comes with caring for things that simply don't deserve the attention.
A heartfelt thanks for years of inspiring entertainment.
I am a great admirer of your humor but was dismayed to read your limerick regarding the suicide of Sylvia Plath. There is nothing humorous about suicide.
Sally C - I think holiday gift distribution speed depends on what is scheduled to happen afterward. The Christmases I loved the best were those when our family drove down to Old Town Road, in the outskirts of Bridgeport, Connecticut. My maternal grandmother, "Mama", would invite us down for the holidays. She definitely lived "Over the River" (the Hudson River)" and "Through The Woods" (Her nearly solitary house was a short hike Through the Woods to a bridge that overlooked the Merritt Parkway and a tiny pond amid the blueberry bushes and Sassafras trees. "To get us out of the House" (Mother and daughter wanted to have some "girl-talk" with husband and kids out of the way), my Dad would entertain my younger brother and I first by seating us close to a bridge abutment and play games such as "counting cars", checking for out-of-state license plates, and identifying make, model and year of the passing traffic. I think it was a 1956 Thunderbird that we kept looking for, until we saw "Our Car!" (only in our fantasies!)
Once we had settled down, we'd find some tree branches and model them into hockey sticks. With a stone for a puck, we'd slap the puck around until we were exhausted! That was our "proper condition" - especially in the early years when our great grandparents lived with Mama. Our energy was just too much for great-grandmother, though we loved to sit on Great-grandpa's lap and listen to his heart, especially because it almost kept time with his "Grandfather Clock".
Cherished memories of Long, Long Ago! Mama's daughter-in-law just couldn't cook in someone else's kitchen without becoming overly bossy. As I recall, I was in fourth grade when Mama had too much one Thanksgiving. "That's IT! You're not welcome here any more! " she decreed.
I'm beginning to cry, right here and now, remembering the sadness I felt when we could no longer sing "Over the river and Through the Woods to Grandmother's House We Go!" If a parent wants to alienate a child's affection, cutting that child off from relatives is a sure fire technique in my mind!
Come to think about it, that was probably a life-long lesson for me! When my two daughters were pre-teens, my marital situation and I divorced their father. When they were visiting him, he bad-mouthed me, royally. On the other hand, he was the custodial parent, and I felt I'd be doing the girls a deep disservice if I challenged them to choose between their parent's loyalties. As adults, my older daughter - very much the apple that didn't fall far from his tree - hasn't spoken to me since her High School graduation. On the other hand, my "Mom!-I-am-Not a-Clone!" younger daughter and I are steady sources of income for telephone companies, with our transcontinental conversations of a half- to a full hour at a time!
I think it's important - in lineal families, for members to be able to cast their imagination up the Family Tree - to have a sense of "Who They Are" and "Where They Come From." Whenever I'm in that sort of forest, I love breaking off green Sassafras twigs and biting into the bark, to get that "Root Beer" taste. Then I bend down and cup a hand to fill it with blueberries, sometimes with white dustings to indicate ripeness. At once I'm a child again, back at Mama's beloved house in the woods!
"I am just a standard old Minnesota Democrat and who needs more of that?", you ask. I'll tell you who; everybody. I agree with you that us old farts should hand the world over to the young but try handing Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez to my brother-in-law in Florida. No, this country still requires us old Democrats, and if you can find one, old republicans to make this transition as a tether to reality for this country to move on with a lesser amount of kicking and screaming, as long as this new accepted childishness dominates politics. Our obligation to our young people isn't over just because we're old, even if it should be.
Re: “I cannot hear John Wayne say, “I’d like a double latte.”
Originally that's my joke. I am sure of that, except that isn't the way I told it. Besides, I don't know how it got out there. Yet, I am glad it did. So—here's how I told it the first time:
I cannot hear John Wayne say, “Make mine a double latte, pilgrim," while he's standing at the bar.
Garrison,
I too enjoyed the St. Louis Christmas celebration at the Fabulous Fox. Sorry to have missed Sue Scott but brava to Maria Jette in her role as Duane’s Mom. Good to have an update of the news from Lake Wobegon; however, I can’t seem to lose the mental image of “cat sphincter massage.”
Tom
Wow! That's hard to imagine, Maria Jette as Duane's Mom! I'm sure she added her own touch!
I had the great good fortune to get into an elevator onboard a HAL ship and find Maria Jette there at the push-button controls. I'm sure she thought I was the epitome of the "star-struck", almost drooling FAN! She was my favorite among APHC songstresses - not just for her voice, but for the roles she played. I loved that piquancy, that "tart" flavor she could project so well. Sometimes the image she projected could get as far as a Long Island street kid who would retort "Says Who?!" to anyone who put her down, and maybe even put up her dukes to fight.
It seems to me that Maria was way ahead of the time, with respect to "Gender Politics". There were so many ditzy "Lucile Balls" or "Fibber McGee's 'Molly'" on the scene. For me, Maria Jette is this generation's "Mary Martin - as Peter Pan." It was so brave of you, the creator of APHC, to challenge gender tropes so openly! It's one of the many, many fascinating new avenues you've gifted the airwaves with! YYYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!
It was a direct hit.
Our musician son from Chicago was to perform here in St. Louis on the same night you were at the Fox. While it wasn't a difficult decision, it was a painful one. His show was at the Sinkhole, a not so fabulous venue, but appropriate for the niche of music. He did well. It was good to see him.
It was good to see you as well, albeit a couple days later, via Mandolin.
For what it's worth, I'm the old goat that was in row D at the Fox in June of '16. You read aloud the note my wife Ellen crafted from our children, as a celebration of Father's Day...Make hay while the sun shines, you can't catch if you don't cast, worry is a waste of imagination and most of life is no hill for a climber. Goofy dadism's that I'd hoped might help our children navigate life. I recall you tucked the note into the pocket of your seersucker jacket. My heart leapt. After years of being on the receiving end of our cerebral relationship, perhaps I was able to offer something to you.
As we age, we seem to become a reduction sauce of ourselves. Yours is a beautiful roux, seemingly absent of the burden that comes with caring for things that simply don't deserve the attention.
A heartfelt thanks for years of inspiring entertainment.
Steve
Excellent of Torontonian (I believe) Elizabeth Block to remember a funny New Yorker cartoon. Can't recall the last time I laughed at one.
I am a great admirer of your humor but was dismayed to read your limerick regarding the suicide of Sylvia Plath. There is nothing humorous about suicide.
Funny. Well, not "funny" as you see it, of course. But I found it to be a limeric regarding reasonable choices.
Sally C - I think holiday gift distribution speed depends on what is scheduled to happen afterward. The Christmases I loved the best were those when our family drove down to Old Town Road, in the outskirts of Bridgeport, Connecticut. My maternal grandmother, "Mama", would invite us down for the holidays. She definitely lived "Over the River" (the Hudson River)" and "Through The Woods" (Her nearly solitary house was a short hike Through the Woods to a bridge that overlooked the Merritt Parkway and a tiny pond amid the blueberry bushes and Sassafras trees. "To get us out of the House" (Mother and daughter wanted to have some "girl-talk" with husband and kids out of the way), my Dad would entertain my younger brother and I first by seating us close to a bridge abutment and play games such as "counting cars", checking for out-of-state license plates, and identifying make, model and year of the passing traffic. I think it was a 1956 Thunderbird that we kept looking for, until we saw "Our Car!" (only in our fantasies!)
Once we had settled down, we'd find some tree branches and model them into hockey sticks. With a stone for a puck, we'd slap the puck around until we were exhausted! That was our "proper condition" - especially in the early years when our great grandparents lived with Mama. Our energy was just too much for great-grandmother, though we loved to sit on Great-grandpa's lap and listen to his heart, especially because it almost kept time with his "Grandfather Clock".
Cherished memories of Long, Long Ago! Mama's daughter-in-law just couldn't cook in someone else's kitchen without becoming overly bossy. As I recall, I was in fourth grade when Mama had too much one Thanksgiving. "That's IT! You're not welcome here any more! " she decreed.
I'm beginning to cry, right here and now, remembering the sadness I felt when we could no longer sing "Over the river and Through the Woods to Grandmother's House We Go!" If a parent wants to alienate a child's affection, cutting that child off from relatives is a sure fire technique in my mind!
Come to think about it, that was probably a life-long lesson for me! When my two daughters were pre-teens, my marital situation and I divorced their father. When they were visiting him, he bad-mouthed me, royally. On the other hand, he was the custodial parent, and I felt I'd be doing the girls a deep disservice if I challenged them to choose between their parent's loyalties. As adults, my older daughter - very much the apple that didn't fall far from his tree - hasn't spoken to me since her High School graduation. On the other hand, my "Mom!-I-am-Not a-Clone!" younger daughter and I are steady sources of income for telephone companies, with our transcontinental conversations of a half- to a full hour at a time!
I think it's important - in lineal families, for members to be able to cast their imagination up the Family Tree - to have a sense of "Who They Are" and "Where They Come From." Whenever I'm in that sort of forest, I love breaking off green Sassafras twigs and biting into the bark, to get that "Root Beer" taste. Then I bend down and cup a hand to fill it with blueberries, sometimes with white dustings to indicate ripeness. At once I'm a child again, back at Mama's beloved house in the woods!
"I am just a standard old Minnesota Democrat and who needs more of that?", you ask. I'll tell you who; everybody. I agree with you that us old farts should hand the world over to the young but try handing Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez to my brother-in-law in Florida. No, this country still requires us old Democrats, and if you can find one, old republicans to make this transition as a tether to reality for this country to move on with a lesser amount of kicking and screaming, as long as this new accepted childishness dominates politics. Our obligation to our young people isn't over just because we're old, even if it should be.