I've been watching Have Gun all over again, and as usual, I am struck by how much it has changed. I have mixed feelings about Richard Boone, finding him both sexy and a little too craggy and world-weary to be truly appealing - oh, those long, long sighs that seem to indicate he's actually a little bored to be doing Season 7 of this thing - though he does have a diamond-sharp intelligence mixed with alpha-male swaggering that was, maybe, ahead of its time. He was something of an anti-hero, and an antidote to Chuck Connors, Steve McQueen and Clint Eastwood, the other major players in this wildly-popular '60s genre. Have Gun was sometimes called the "thinking man's Western", and Paladin was surely a thinking man who sometimes thought with his pistol. Take that whatever way you wish.
This man wore ruffled shirts and paisley smoking jackets, murmured sweet somethings to the multiple fancy ladies in his hotel room in San Francisco, and then got called out to go and kill somebody. We knew it was coming when he flashed his card with the knight on it and we heard that unforgettable four-note theme that meant TROUBLE. BTW, I haven't confirmed this yet, but I have heard that it was written by the genius composer Bernard Hermann, who also scored Psycho, Taxi Driver and countless other classics.
In essence, that was the show. Ladies, card, travel, gun, oops, BANG, dead. It was only a half-hour show, meaning the plot, characters and story arc had to all be accomplished in the space of 23 minutes. Sometimes I get lost in these intricacies which are introduced and developed so quickly that it can be hard to follow. Boone slows the pace down with his gravitas, his pacing lion's stride and centaur presence on a horse (though he DOES bounce a little too much, revealing that he's really a city slicker at heart).
There's always a woman, often in some sort of dilemma, and always a longstanding grudge, sometimes a prisoner with his hands shackled together, a few tussles in which we obviously see Stunt Paladin at work, and then - always always - the gunfight. This is where the cobra strikes. And his fans all know that even if he has had to lay down his enormous horse pistol, he has another little gun secreted in the palm of his hand which, at close range, can blow a man down in a second. And then there's that thing he does with his hat, the quick jerk down over his eyes followed by a gentle pat on top. Aside from Humphrey Bogart, no man has ever worn a hat so well.
THIS particular scene is hotter than I expected. Paladin is getting over a fever and lying prone in the wagon - an erotic scenario to begin with - and this Mexican spitfire, whose husband is puttering around just outside the wagon, climbs in, climbs on and seduces him. He is more than willing to be seduced, and is that rare, rare thing - an actor who knows how to kiss convincingly. None of this Anthony Perkins flinching and wincing. He looks like he enjoyed doing this scene, and his little crooked smile at the end seems to say, "Ah. Another conquest."
In the mustardseed sun, By full tilt river and switchback sea Where the cormorants scud, In his house on stilts high among beaks And palavers of birds This sandgrain day in the bent bay's grave He celebrates and spurns His driftwood thirty-fifth wind turned age; Herons spire and spear.
Under and round him go
Flounders, gulls, on their cold, dying trails,
Doing what they are told,
Curlews aloud in the congered waves
Work at their ways to death,
And the rhymer in the long tongued room,
Who tolls his birthday bell,
Toils towards the ambush of his wounds;
Herons, steeple stemmed, bless.
In the thistledown fall,
He sings towards anguish; finches fly
In the claw tracks of hawks
On a seizing sky; small fishes glide
Through wynds and shells of drowned
Ship towns to pastures of otters. He
In his slant, racking house
And the hewn coils of his trade perceives
Herons walk in their shroud,
The livelong river's robe
Of minnows wreathing around their prayer;
And far at sea he knows,
Who slaves to his crouched, eternal end
Under a serpent cloud,
Dolphins dive in their turnturtle dust,
The rippled seals streak down
To kill and their own tide daubing blood
Slides good in the sleek mouth.
In a cavernous, swung
Wave's silence, wept white angelus knells.
Thirty-five bells sing struck
On skull and scar where his loves lie wrecked,
Steered by the falling stars.
And to-morrow weeps in a blind cage
Terror will rage apart
Before chains break to a hammer flame
And love unbolts the dark
And freely he goes lost
In the unknown, famous light of great
And fabulous, dear God.
Dark is a way and light is a place,
Heaven that never was
Nor will be ever is always true,
And, in that brambled void,
Plenty as blackberries in the woods
The dead grow for His joy.
There he might wander bare
With the spirits of the horseshoe bay
Or the stars' seashore dead,
Marrow of eagles, the roots of whales
And wishbones of wild geese,
With blessed, unborn God and His Ghost,
And every soul His priest,
Gulled and chanter in young Heaven's fold
Be at cloud quaking peace,
But dark is a long way.
He, on the earth of the night, alone
With all the living, prays,
Who knows the rocketing wind will blow
The bones out of the hills,
And the scythed boulders bleed, and the last
Rage shattered waters kick
Masts and fishes to the still quick stars,
Faithlessly unto Him
Who is the light of old
And air shaped Heaven where souls grow wild
As horses in the foam:
Oh, let me midlife mourn by the shrined
And druid herons' vows
The voyage to ruin I must run,
Dawn ships clouted aground,
Yet, though I cry with tumbledown tongue,
Count my blessings aloud:
Four elements and five
Senses, and man a spirit in love
Tangling through this spun slime
To his nimbus bell cool kingdom come
And the lost, moonshine domes,
And the sea that hides his secret selves
Deep in its black, base bones,
Lulling of spheres in the seashell flesh,
And this last blessing most,
That the closer I move
To death, one man through his sundered hulks,
The louder the sun blooms
And the tusked, ramshackling sea exults;
And every wave of the way
And gale I tackle, the whole world then,
With more triumphant faith
Than ever was since the world was said,
Spins its morning of praise,
I hear the bouncing hills
Grow larked and greener at berry brown
Fall and the dew larks sing
Taller this thunderclap spring, and how
More spanned with angels ride
The mansouled fiery islands! Oh,
Holier then their eyes,
And my shining men no more alone
As I sail out to die
Without a doubt, this is the most bizarre ad compilation I've ever seen. And I've seen some doozies! This is from the video description: Have you ever heard of SPUD cigarettes? Why is their mascot a SNOWMAN? Why is that guy smoking Spuds in the shower? Why is that weirdo trying to hypnotize us? And what the futz is "mouth happy"? The answer to these and many other questions cannot be found in this bizarre ad compilation. And friends - DON'T STOP SMOKING! Switch to New Spuds!
NEWS FLASH! There is a Wikipedia entry explaining Spud: "Menthol cigarettes were first developed by Lloyd "Spud" Hughes of Mingo Junction, Ohio, in 1924, though the idea did not become popular until the Axton-Fisher Tobacco Co. acquired the patent in 1927, marketing them nationwide as "Spud Menthol Cooled Cigarettes". Spud brand menthol cigarettes went on to become the fifth most popular brand in the US by 1932, and it remained the only menthol cigarette on the market until the Brown & Williamson Tobacco Company created the Kool brand in 1933."
NOTE: This explains a LOT, from the bizarre name to the "cooler than KOOL" (i. e. far superior to that OTHER menthol cigarette). I believe this campaign was last-ditch, as the guy smoking in the shower says, "SAY! I used to smoke Spuds years ago, but they sure didn't taste like THIS!" This is an admission that they used to taste like crap. The reference to "new Spuds" is misleading, if the cigarette was first marketed in 1927! Makes you wonder how many times they "rebranded" these things to try to make them successful. The fact that nobody has ever heard of them is telling. These ads look like 1950s-'60s, especially that last, really creepy one, so "old Spuds" from the 1920s were probably pretty atrocious. But at least you can smoke them when you have a cold!)
I never watched this show, but the opening theme scared the hell out of me! I wasn't allowed to watch it because it was "too adult" (and, no doubt, too boring anyway). But from my bedroom, where I lay straining my ears while I was supposed to be asleep, I could hear the gaunt, stark opening trills on the strings, followed by the DUM! DUM! - then the dark, bluesy, film noir-sounding theme, like something from an old Warner Brothers movie with a score by Max Steiner. Max Steiner didn't write this, but he could have.
Is BLOGGER dying? Who knows, at this point. For some reason, when I was having problems with Google, the page suddenly changed and many features were dropped, and I have not been able to get them back. My son the techie said Google probably isn't supporting Blogger any more BECAUSE IT'S SO OLD! I resented that, mainly because I too am "so old" and not technically proficient at all.
At the moment, I can only use workarounds. The comments will no longer be visible under the posts, which INFURIATES me because I used to love the long threads of comments which were easy to see. Now you have to click on "comments" and a box comes up. Oh yes, you CAN see the comments, kind of, sort of, but it looks like shit. I don't know yet if I will get an email copy, so I may not even be able to monitor them. Worst of all, I can't edit or delete comments that may be dangerous to leave up.
It takes something away from the blog that you can't just view the conversations, which sometimes have gone on for years and years. The rare posts that got over 100 comments now don't display them at all. It is all supposed to be there somewhere, but it won't show. A big chunk of Blogger has been cut off and thrown away. If Google does in fact bail on this, it will be the end of a 12-year experience - nay, an ODYSSEY taking me from the callow optimist of 2011 to the cynical, world-weary, but far more realistic person you see today.
SO, if you want to leave a comment and see all the pre-existing comments, click "comments" at the bottom of the post and a box will come up. I hope. I think you have to fill in some idiotic thing like "I am not a robot" (OH REALLY?? I was certain you were!). But for now, that's the best I can do, and the other features missing will have to be worked-around as well. So, beloved readers, hang in with me and I will try not to have a nervous breakdown over all this. Phoooey!
Could SAUSAGES be behind the royal rift? Diana's former
butler Paul Burrell claims 'Harry felt less important than William as a
child because he got fewer bangers with his breakfast' - and the rift
between Fab Four widened over 'house envy'
Princess Diana's butler says Harry would get upset as a child at breakfast times
Paul Burrell says the Duke of Sussex wondered why William got more sausages
He said the nanny would tell Harry that William needed more as he would be king
Princess Diana's
former butler has pondered whether William being given more sausages
for breakfast when he was a child played a part in their played a part
in their fractious relationship as adults.
Paul Burrell claims the Duke of Sussex would become confused and complain when he was young that his older brother got bigger breakfasts.
The
64-year-old claims after the young prince asked why that once, a nanny
for the pair told him the now-Prince of Wales needed 'filling up more'
as he would be 'King one day'.
Mr
Burrell, who acted as butler for the Princess of Wales for 10 years,
said it could have been an early display of the dynamic between the two
feuding siblings that dominates today.
Mr. Burrell, who was present during William and Harry's childhood, said
there were signs of an early rivalry between the princes.
'When I look back now, I think maybe I was glimpsing the dynamic at play,' he told the Sun.
'One time I saw the nanny give William three sausages at breakfast and Harry had two.
'And Harry would look at his plate and say, how come he gets three? And I only get two.'
Mr
Burrell added that when the nanny responded about the pecking order
between the two brothers the now-Duke of Sussex would 'fall quiet and
suck it up'.
The former member of the
Royal Household said despite Diana seeing the boys as 'absolutely
equal', he believes the hierarchy within the Firm that puts William
first has caused resentment from Harry.
He
said that the Duke 'found it tough living up to the standard set by
William' and that this became more stark when he attended Eton against
his mother's wishes.
Mr Burrell said
Diana had felt Harry would be unjustly compared to his older brother if
he went to the independent school, and that this turned out to be the
case.
The father-of-two said that
William was 'brighter' than his younger brother, and that while the
future King was 'measured and stoic', Harry took to playing the clown to
get noticed.
He added that he no
longer recognises the Harry who is in the public eye today to the young
boy he saw grow up in the Royal Household, saying: 'He's clearly hurt
and angry at being "the spare" and so he's lashing out from that place.'
Meanwhile,
Mr Burrell claimed that the relationship between the Fab Four - the
Sussexes and the Cambridges - worsened over 'house envy'
He
claimed that Meghan, who was then living in Nottingham Cottage while
the Cambridges were in Kensington Palace, 'got a sight of everything
Kate and William enjoyed... she realised she wasn't in the top tier'.
It
comes after the Duke of Sussex lashed out at Mr Burrell in his recently
released memoir, Spare, which also saw him launch vicious attacks on
his brother and the monarchy.
In the
book, which was released in the UK on Tuesday, Harry accused Diana's
former butler of 'milking' her death for money by publishing his 2001
book A Royal Duty.
The novel contained a
raft of private revelations, although in his memoir Harry called it
'one man's self-justifying, self-centring version of events'.
Harry
said he learned of the book while working as an unpaid farmhand in
Australia at the age of 19, adding that it 'made my blood boil'.
He
wrote that he wanted to fly home to 'confront' Mr Burrell for his 'cold
and overt betrayal', but his father and brother talked him out of it.
Speaking
last week after the publication of Harry's memoir, Mr Burrell said
Diana would be 'appalled' by her youngest son's behaviour, and accused
Harry of making 'personal, vindictive revelations'.
He added that he saw Meghan, the Duchess of Sussex, as the driving force behind the Duke's behaviour.
He
told Australian television: 'She [Meghan] is beside him steering him on
his path. You can't just blame Harry. You have to blame the both of
them.
'I don't like to see the rug
being pulled beneath the feet of our King and Harry's brother, who is on
his way to being King. And the snipes that have gone forward about Kate
[the Princess of Wales]...
'Kate has
never put a foot wrong. But the other side of the story will never be
heard because the royals believe there's great dignity in silence.'
Oh how I love making animations! This is a small excerpt from Fred Astaire and Eleanor Powell's classic tap number, Begin the Beguine. Even at this slowed-down speed, their grace is incredible. The music syncs up better than I had hoped!
Still working on blog problems. . . I hope someone can see this, at least. I can't be sure.
I have always puzzled over why all the old advertisments for television sets showed people closing cabinet doors on them to hide the screen. It seemed unthinkable to allow that ever-open eye to sit there nakedly in your living room. But this reluctance to reveal that you even HAD a TV has another explanation. Just as you could see into the TV, as if all the actors and news people and kids' programs were taking place right inside the set, people back then believed that THE TV COULD SEE THEM. No, I'm not kidding! There was a widespread panic about this insidious development that would have made George Orwell order another pint of Guinness. You even saw newspaper editorials about this horrifying violation of privacy. But when the thing wasn't turned on, it had to be shuttered in, pushed down, HIDDEN. Some years later, TV consoles became more elaborate, and eventually the TV set was seen as just another highly-functional but not terribly decorative piece of furniture.
P.S To my unending annoyance, I have not yet found out what's wrong with the disabled features on my blog. The comments section has been weirdly blanked out by Google, which is weird because I've never seen another reference to Google on this blog. My son the techie just claimed Google has given up on Blogger and no longer supports them, but why then am I still able to post? I have even done some copy-and-paste to republish old posts. Some things work, some don't. And I am not even sure how it started. DAMN, this is just like Real Life!
P. P. S.: Since I can no longer upload videos directly from YouTube, they now look pretty shitty, but I would recommend you click on "Watch on YouTube" at the bottom. No black bars there.
This is one of those great old ads I remember from my childhood. I wasn't old enough to remember Edward G's gangsterish heyday in the '30s and '40s, so by the time this ad came out, he was a retired gentleman with an aristocratic, if Bronx-ish manner of speaking. For some reason the part I remember most is "let it steep a while to develop the full flavor" - not knowing what "steep" meant, of course, and even at that age wondering why he was using INSTANT Maxwell House to "brew" a pot of coffee. Of course, no one makes a pot of coffee out of instant any more, just as no one "percs" their coffee - which is too bad, because the wood-block theme for the Maxwell House coffee percolator was a classic. And it did smell good, though tasting it was another matter. Anyway, I have a poignant memory of Robinson's very last movie role, performed while he was frail and terminally ill with cancer. Soylent Green is one of my favorite dystopian movies, in no small measure because of the rapport between Charlton Heston and Robinson. He was also in a bizarre but moving death scenario where his body was soon to be transformed into FOOD. "Soylent Green is PEOPLE!" Heston cried, almost as memorably as "Get your stinking paws off me, you damn dirty ape!"
It's that time of year again - or rather, that weird non-time between Christmas and New Years. Myself, I am glued to my chair, when not eating macadamia nuts and Purdy's chocolates and feeling sick.
It is raining too hard to go outside. It is raining too hard to do anything.
I had never even heard of Crimbo (some sort of weird contraction of Christmas, probably British or maybe even Australian) until a few years ago when I stumbled across it on some site or other. Crimbo is also related to Crimbo pressie, Crimbot, Crimbus, Crimcheck, and no doubt thousands of others, many of them defined below. Some of them are nasty. Looking them up will give you something to do.
BLOGGER'S UPDATE. Still haven't solved the bizarre problems I am having with Blogger. Some of the features of my blog have been mysteriously disabled (most significantly, the comments section, though posting videos is now quite difficult and doesn't look right). This seemed to happen when I briefly could not go on my Google account, but once that problem was solved, the blog deficiencies remained. My son the techie genius said "Blogger must be broken. Maybe they'll fix it. I'm amazed Google still supports something this old." But hell, I'M old myself - the blog celebrates obsolete technology, among other things, so I don't have any desire to render it slickly updated. No bells and whistles, which I loathe on any website. So I'll keep working on this, trying to get answers. My Amazon Author Page is now nearly disabled, through no fault of my own, so anyone following the link I generally post will see something pretty amateurish and pathetic. I was so proud of that page, encompassing my author profile, my blog posts, and a photo gallery which included images of the covers of my books (kind of important for recognition!). Amazon has dropped all these features without explaining it. So there's not much left but bare bones. I may have to set something up myself, but I'm still wondering why they would do this. It won't sell any books for THEM if they put up shitty webpages for authors that do more harm than good. But anyway, have a happy new year! May 2023 be COVID FREE.
There's something magical about Camay soap! It instantly transforms you into a Camay Bride. This sounds alarmingly like some polygamous group. I also think that guy at the end looks just a little TOO pleased.
MEGHAN MCCAIN: Kiss America goodbye, Harry and Meghan,
you've finally lost us: We're covering our eyes, plugging our ears and
screaming -please God, make it stop
That's the spectacularly clear conclusion after two volumes and six hours of a mind-numbingly deep dive into the Netflix saga of the world's most miserable (ex)royals.
Congrats H&M, you've done something Biden and Trump couldn't. You've brought America together.
Almost everyone is plugging their ears, covering their eyes, and screaming: Please God, make it stop!
The
New York Times reheated the 'second serving of reviews' of the Megflix
opus. 'Some critics have had their fill of the couple's account,' they
write, detailing a laundry list of critics who found it to be a
'grudge-rehashing,' a 'gussied-up reality show' and 'out-of-touch,
self-absorbed and cornier than a Hallmark movie.'
Left-leaning
The Atlantic ran the headline, 'The Cringeworthy End of 'Harry &
Meghan' on Netflix'… 'The ex-royals insist they're moving on. Viewers
should be so lucky'. Far-left Salon ran the hilarious headline, 'It's
okay to admit Harry and Meghan are annoying.' Yes, we know it's 'okay'.
The
royally aggrieved couple's bestie, CBS News anchor Gayle King, who
attended Meghan's baby shower, called the finale, 'very dicey'. Whoopi
Goldberg said she had better things to do than watch it at all. Liberal
shock jock Howard Stern was calling them 'whiny bitches… like the
Kardashians but boring,' even before the series ended.
Harry and
Meghan have lost America. That's the spectacularly clear conclusion
after two volumes and six hours of a mind-numbingly deep dive into the
Netflix saga of the world's most miserable (ex)royals.
I could go on and on. But what do ordinary Americans think?
The
current 'audience score' on the crowdsourced rating site Rotten
Tomatoes is 14%. Honestly, it's hard to find something lower, so I gave
up scrolling.
What happened? Not too
long ago, it was completely taboo and could get you kicked off US and UK
television - see Sharon Osbourne and Piers Morgan – for even
questioning Harry and Meghan.
Well, that has clearly come to an end. And I'll tell you why:
First, no one likes clickbait.
After
the infamous Oprah interview and Volume I, everyone was expecting some
bombshells. But it was all duds. The most explosive headline from Volume
II was that Harry's brother screamed at him when H&M decided to
ditch the family and pursue fame and fortune abroad.
But we're not told what
William said. Harry receives a text from William after the Oprah
sit-down, but we don't know what he wrote.
That's their style - all tease and no payoff.
We
still don't know the identity of the 'royal racist' who allegedly
questioned 'how dark' their son Archie's skin would be. We don't know
the details of how Princess Kate allegedly made Meghan Markle cry before
the wedding. We have no tangible proof that the royal family is
institutionally racist.
This is what I
spent six hours of my life waiting for? Instead, we are shown them
crying during emotional hypnotherapy sessions – whatever that is.
Not
to mention what they put their family through. How trashy to shame your
own flesh and blood and for what? It was all smoke and no fire.
Second,
and most importantly, Americans want to root for the underdog, but
you've got to give us something – anything – to root for.
Never
once in the entire series did Harry and Meghan show a scintilla of
introspection. Never did they ask to be forgiven, or show personal
accountability and growth.
According to
them, there's nothing they could have done differently. They're perfect
angels, blameless. In their telling, it was the Queen and the rampantly
racist royal family who felt threatened by Meghan's incandescent star
power. She's a super-mega-ultra-star. No one could possibly compete with
her and she was punished for it.
Instead
of anything resembling reality, we get a front row view into their home
in one of the wealthiest areas in America, Montecito, California. It
looks like a Nancy Meyers set, impeccably decorated, including one scene
where Meghan is sitting on a chair with an Hermes blanket behind her
that costs a cool $1,650.
Not
to mention what they put their family through. How trashy to shame your
own flesh and blood and for what? It was all smoke and no fire.
They
have horses, chickens, idyllic views of the coast. They ride in black
SUV's with full security escorts. They take refuge in Tyler Perry's
house and on private islands off of Canada, they stay in enormous
penthouses in New York City, their dogs fly on private beds in their
private planes with their team of assistants and nannies. But there's
nothing redeeming about being ex-royals?
It's
painfully obvious to everyone that they wouldn't be living this life
and Netflix wouldn't be paying them $100 million dollars if they were
not related to Queen Elizabeth. But again, there is no acknowledgement
of this at all.
Finally, Meghan and
Harry say they're ready to move on after their gruelling 17 months (oh
my!) as working royals. But they're not moving on, not even a little
bit. Harry's book 'Spare' drops in January and Meghan says her podcast
series is not done yet. I'm sure both will serve up more painful
memories and flimsy cheap shots at their relatives. They are
oversaturating the market and they are not evolving. At some point, they
are going to have to come up with a new act.
Maybe
the greatest mistake that Harry and Meghan made was taking Americans
for fools. Millions gave them the benefit of the doubt. They watched
their watched interviews and shows with open minds and at the end –
nothing. It remains to be seen whether Americans will buy their book and
whatever other grievance porn they create next. But judging from what
we're reading and hearing today – America has moved on, even if they
haven't.
Please note! To my loyal fans (all 37 of them): I'm still working on my problems with Blogger and so far haven't come up with a way to bring my comments section back, along with posting videos from YouTube and other things. I am TRYING not to freak out about it! I hope this is the very last thing I post about H & M, who are coming across as self-absorbed, petty, angry, and overall sickening. Meantime, I'll have to try to get some help from Blogger, as my son the tech genius claims that Google isn't the problem - though I have had unending problems with Google lately with both the blog and my YouTube channel, Stay tuned for the solution!
I am having numerous problems with this blog, having somehow lost touch with Google and having to sign in every time I even look at the home page. As it stands, there is a lot in this blog that has been mysteriously disabled, and so far I can't get it back. I am fairly certain the comments section is disabled, as I only get a blank white square where the comments box should be.
I will likely have to contact Blogger, but last time I did that I got nowhere because I don't "speak computer", and when I try to put it in plain English, they act as if they don't know what I am talking about, or even take shots at me for being ignorant. There are a lot of things that are supposed to show on my home page which now don't, as I can only get the generic home page that other people see, making me sign in 15 times a day and STILL not have the features I need.
The little symbols on my home page, i. e. the little pencil through which I used to be able to easily edit, is gone, along with all the rest of them. All I can say is, they looked like little wrenches here and there. I don't know what to call these things, but if I refer to the "little editing pencil" or "the little wrenches", I am told they don't exist and I am speaking gibberish. It is extremely disheartening, not to mention brutal on the self-esteem.
The upshot of it is, I may have to try to manage with a partially-disabled Blogger, with a lot of features vanishing for no discernible reason. The settings are rudimentary (yes, I HAVE tried the settings, Blogger! Don`t tell me what a "setting" is, because I know!), and most of them are greyed out and can't even be changed. The worst heartbreak for me is apparently losing my comments section, or at least the ability to receive them via email, which I can no longer set up in a blank white box. I very often get comments on ten-year-old posts, but now, if I get them at all, I will never know it, as I can't set up the email feature. It's no longer there.
I love this blog and have kept it for twelve years without any major mishaps. The site has been updated several times, so no, it is NOT a "dinosaur" which is actually obsolete, as I am so often told. I don't want to switch to a more sterile, streamlined blog platform. I like it the way it is. My blog celebrates obsolete technology, along with silent films, old ads, etc., so a slick format would not work at all - and besides, I HATE "slick"!
I feel pretty obsolete myself right now, and I have no way of telling how to get these features back, if it is even possible. I don't even know why they went away, except that I lost touch with Google for some unknown reason, and my son the techie had to help me get it back. The worst of it is losing my comments, but the box that comes up is now completely blank except for a "SORRY!" Hey, THEY'RE sorry? I'm sorry I even got up this morning.
An all-time YouTube classic, from back in the days when YouTube was all about sharing the fun. This cat must enjoy the sensation of being swaddled, but given the fact most cats love to cram their bodies into tight spaces (my 16-pounder tries to squeeze into a shoebox), it might not be as remarkable as it looks. I think getting kitty to lie down on the paper and stay there would be the easy part. They don't show the cat being released from his paper bondage, but it might be cute to plunk him under the tree like that just as everyone is coming down the stairs on Christmas morning.
Harold Lloyd could do a lot with a little (one of the definitions of genius), and completely charm an audience in the space of one minute. His physical comedy had no equal. In this delightful clip, a photographer is trying to get him to hold still as a fly lands on his nose, and a mouse runs up his pants leg.
This is one of those GENIUS ads for Maxwell House coffee. Along with the "cup and a half of flavor", this one was unforgettable, with those simple, effective visuals, the warm voiceover, and the coffee-perk tune on the woodblocks.
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