Here's a spirited, slightly fast version of "Take Five" by the Dave Brubeck Quartet on Ralph J. Gleason's "Jazz Casual," a show on PBS predecessor NET, in 1961:
Because. Just because.
February 2011 Archives
I had the Oscars on the big screen tonight, the Knicks-Heat in a window on my laptop screen, and work on the rest of the screen. I would like to think that this intense multitasking will not have deleterious long-term effects on my brain.
But all of that leaves no time for here tonight. Busy week ahead, although some things will be returning to semi-normal (I'll be able to life weights again, for one thing). So, see you tomorrow. Maybe.
It's "The Green Slime"!!!:
Featuring the least convincing alien life forms in cinematic history (the spawn of the titular substance), plus what the future in space looked like to late 1960's Hollywood. Robert Horton! Luciana Paluzzi, in a precipitous decline from the days of "Thunderball"! Richard Jaeckel! When the movie was shot, the title was "Battle Beyond the Stars"; you have to assume that the leads were not pleased to find that the movie changed its title before hitting theaters. This was a co-production of MGM and Toei Company, shot in Japan, and they pulled in every American they could find in Japan to be the extras. I remember this as a staple of matinees and TV, and, yes, it's pretty awful. And disappointing, since the slime doesn't directly attack like "The Blob," but rather mutates into the rubber-like one-eyed non-flying gray people eaters.
And crowning the awfulness is the theme, written by Charles Fox, who later co-wrote a lot of TV themes ("Love American Style," "Laverne and Shirley," "Happy Days") and even "Killing Me Softly With His Song." Needless to say, this one isn't quite on that level:
Classic.
It's been a long week and it's time to relax. Enjoy a Jam Handy industrial film from 1940, "Let Yourself Go," a "scientific novelty" with plenty of ways to relax, from shopping for mattresses and pillows to a talk with a "famous psychologist" who keeps looking off camera in a most disturbing manner. Things blow up, rollercoasters roll, and chairs collapse, but in the dullest, least exciting way:
I feel more relaxed already, don't you? Oh, and it's interesting how they tout how much longer and wider cars had gotten; they'd have been shocked at what happened a few decades later, when compacts replaced the big boats of those days.
It's Thursday, my column's not done for All Access, I'm fried, and it's time for sleep. So here's a report on what I happened to encounter on my run yesterday morning, when I found myself in the midst of police cars, fire trucks, lifeguard trucks, and choppers:
Guy lived, and, if he survives, will probably face murder charges. No, I didn't see the actual jump, but I was there shortly thereafter. Freaky.
Look, it's the Boston Bozo!:
We didn't have a local Bozo when I was a kid, so we got the Boston Bozo, Frank Avruch. That's because the Boston Bozo, from the old WHDH-TV, was the syndicated Bozo, as opposed to the big WGN-TV Chicago Bozo and the other local Bozos in various markets. I hated clowns, but as I recall, there was nothing else to watch on other channels at the time Bozo aired, so Bozo it was, with Butchie Boy and Bozo cartoons and the bit where they turned names into drawings.
I was about the age of the kid in the bow tie spinning the wheel at the time. The whole concept of clowns escaped me. They weren't animals, but they didn't look like any other humans. They were just mutated, and depressing, because they made noise and did pratfalls but were totally unfunny. Bozo doesn't give me fond memories; it was just odd.
(Fun Fact: Mr. Lion on the Boston syndicated Bozo later became Big Bird. Carroll Spinney. Really.)
It was Fran's birthday today. Between work and meetings and chores and trying to fix the backyard fence after it finally fell down, we had a wonderful day together, capped by a lovely evening at Terranea for dinner. A nice meal in a nice room with a view of the ocean at sunset, celebrating the birthday of the one you love... that counts as a great day, even with the fence thing.
Happy birthday, Fran.
Hey, look, a clip from a 1961 Duke-North Carolina basketball game:
The little guy who drives, gets fouled, and then throws a punch is none other than Larry Brown, who has coached practically every team in the NBA at least once. His tormentor was Art Heyman, later a Knick and an ABA player I saw when he was with the New Jersey Americans in Teaneck (not that I would have known, since I was a child and busied myself running up and down the baseline in Teaneck Armory while the game was in progress; those were the days....).
The best part of this movie, for my money:
...is the moment, shown in the trailer, when the partiers realize that the parka-clad gentlemen who have come into the cabin are not the Ski Patrol but are, instead, James Brown and His Famous Flames. The rest? Kinda sucks, unless you're a Lesley Gore fan (yes, she sings "Sunshine, Lollipops and Rainbows" on the bus) or into Frankie Avalon and Dwayne Hickman in drag.
I saw this at a bus stop in Palos Verdes:
What was it doing there? Was it thrown out of a car by an enraged parent after enduring constant honks from Junior? Was it dropped there by a drunken reveler after a night of frivolity while waiting for a bus to take him back to San Pedro? Was it placed there by a higher being to test our ability to reason? Why was there a battered blue vuvuzela at a remote bus stop on the California coast?
We may never know. Last I saw, it was still there, a week later. I'M not picking it up.
Just because (because what? Because it's late and I want to go to sleep), here's the trailer for a 1967 sleazy roadshow movie, "Teenage Mother," from 60's-70's grindhouse producer Jerry Gross, about a "real tease" who "turned brudda against brudda" in Petaluma, CA:
The narrator's accent is, well, unique. And the acting and dialogue snippets are unique, too. "Young lady, there's no such thing as being a little bit pregnant," says the doctor. Nine months of trouble! And "in addition to the film, there will be a brief lecture on how to use our bodies." Oh, yeah, in one of his very first roles, there's a young Fred Willard. How can you possibly pass this one up? I know I couldn't.
"In colah and Cinemascope. TEENAGE MUDDAH means nine months o' trubble!"
In memory of the great character actor Kenneth Mars, here he is on "Fernwood 2Night" as civic leader William W.D. "Bud" Prize, the man with the chin-adjusting contraption:
And here's William W.D. "Bud" Prize debating Sylvia Miller (Fannie Flagg) about her alleged alien encounter:
Of course, he was hilarious in the original "The Producers," and in "What's Up, Doc," and in all the Mel Brooks movies. Just naturally funny.
Rich Hofmann of the Philadelphia Daily News swung by what's left of the Spectrum and put some pictures to some sounds:
The voice of Gene Hart, the shell of a really memorable place. Nice.
The good thing about the otherwise inexplicable decision of the Grammy Awards and CBS to delay the telecast of the show for the West Coast is that even those who care about the awards don't have to watch, because by the time 8:00 rolls around, we already know who won, who lost, and who did what. Lady Gaga doing her Madonna rip? Bob Dylan looking homeless? Someone nobody's ever heard of winning Best New Artist? Cee Lo and Gwyneth and the Muppets? Heard about all of it. Don't feel the need to see it. Besides, rock 'n' roll is dead, or hadn't you heard? Wait, last-second save, Arcade Fire wins Album of the Year. Maybe there's hope... nah, it's at best on life support. Arcade Fire is only good by comparison to whatever else was nominated.
Although I did see the HP commercial with the riff from "Walk on the Wild Side," which is really just another nail in rock's coffin. Oh, well, it was a nice ride.
On a personal note, I still feel like crap. Congestion, headache, coughing... whatever crud is going around, it's still resident in my sinuses. Watching the Grammys would only make it worse.
I spent most of the day attempting to sleep off a cold and headache. I feel a little better now, but not much. This, on the other hand, does make me feel better, a realy nice series of time-lapse shots of L.A. and Santa Monica by photographer Matt Givot. Makes this place seem almost, well, exciting, active, and vibrant, even the 110 Freeway:
The Angels from Givot on Vimeo.
He also did this one of the Irvine Spectrum:
Irvine Spectrum Timelapse from Givot on Vimeo.
Nice.
HT: LA Observed.
In case you're younger than, say, 40 and you can't imagine how boring TV was when there were only a few channels and there was no cable and everything was in black and white, I give you the immortal Jon Gnagy:
"Learn to Draw with Jon Gnagy" was on TV when I was a kid, and we watched it because there was really nothing else on at the time. My sister even had a Jon Gnagy art set at one point.
The show was just a guy with a goatee drawing. That's it. Simple drawings, no embellishment. Kids, you have no idea how good you have it.
Today, more people know Jon Gnagy from Howard Stern's show and the stock exclamation "Jon Gnagy beard!," which is something that one-time guest "Gina Man" would say. (It's rude) But for those of us who predate the multi-channel universe, that was your Sunday morning television fare, Jon Gnagy drawing something. Somehow, we made do.
Had to work late again tonight, so no content here. Should be better tomorrow.
Still uncomfortable, but functional. And tired. Thanks for asking. Again, no time tonight, but, tomorrow, I'm lookin' at you.
Still hurting a little tonight, so I'll have to keep this short. Rough day today; bad night's sleep having to stay on one side, hard to use my arm, had to take a break in the morning and sleep some of it off. But them's the breaks.
Nah, I won't go into detail. I'll be okay, I guess. But for a few weeks, I'll be uncomfortable, annoyed, and brief. Pretty much how I always am anyway.
You'll find a lot more of my stuff at All Access and Nerdist right now. And I'm keeping this whining out of those pieces, too, so that's a bonus.
I'm hurting a little bit right now, for a good reason which I'll probably explain shortly. But at the moment, I need to step away from this thing and lie down. On my left side. Ow.
I'm okay, really. Just need a little recovery time. Did I say ow?
Eminem for Chrysler? Not bad, but he didn't even do his own voiceover.
Now, Rod Serling for the 1971 Ford LTD, that's more like it. They don't make massive boat-like cars like this anymore:
Quiet, in this case, means eerie.
No time, so while it's still there and hasn't been taken down, here's Christina Aguilera screwing up the National Anthem:
If that intense passion was real instead of artifice, she'd be concentrating on the words. Oh, well.
You know how I love this stuff, and I can't explain why, but here you go, Seattle TV IDs from the late 70's and early 80's, posted by YouTube user robtatsea2009 about a year ago:
KIRO-TV:
KSTW-TV:
KING-TV, including a young Lou Dobbs as a local news anchor:
KCPQ-TV:
KTZZ-TV:
As I said, I don't know why this stuff fascinates me. It just does. And I'm not even from Seattle.
Betcha by golly wow, it's the Styistics promoting WCAU-TV Philadelphia's news in 1982:
Their hitmaking days were pretty much over by then, but they were still a name and, with several personnel changes, continue today. And in 1982, they were rockin' the 80's styles, singing "Join the Switch," bounding up the steps across from City Hall, chanting "Larry Kane!" and "Deborah Knapp!," chugging alongside a SEPTA train... Spectacular.
So spectacular, in fact, that Australian comedian Dan Ilic did a parody a couple of years ago for the Melbourne International Comedy Festival, "promoting" Network Ten anchor Ron Wilson:
You don't see news promos like that anymore. Then again, there's no present-day equivalent of the Stylistics, either.
And so, the Larry Platt era begins at the Philadelphia Daily News.
Now, that's the paper I remember trudging to the Wawa on Lancaster Avenue to buy every day.
1976:
"If You're A Fan Of The Six Million Dollar Man And The Bionic Woman You'll Love YOYO!"
No.
I saw this show during its only half-season on ABC. It was really, truly awful -- every obvious joke, telegraphed, and unfunny. Press his nose and a Polaroid comes out of his pocket! Magnets attach themselves to him! On and on with the schtick. (Conrad) John Schuck and Richard B. Shull, both reliable comedy veterans, tried very hard to make it work. Bruce Kirby -- Bruno's dad -- was also in it, and Jay Leno was in the pilot (really). But it stank something fierce.
Here's proof, if you'll pardon the aspect ratio:
Toldja.
What do you do when you finish a long day or work and expensive electrical repair work?
You fantasize about hitting the lottery, of course:
Zero Mostel, classic Tevye. My parents listened to the Zero Mostel "Fiddler on the Roof" soundtrack all the time. The sentiments remain appropriate 45 years later.
