Photo Challenge – Satisfaction
Couldn’t help myself. I know it’s not my own photography. In fact, it’s video and isn’t even photography. But … you know, “Can’t get no satisfaction!”
Because even just hearing the word, I have to hum the song! Time has certainly changed them. But then again, it has changed us all.
When Leslie proposed this project to me, I wasn’t exactly sure how it would work out, but it came out fine!
Today is Father’s Day. The song “Tribute to Clarence” by swo8 Blues Jazz from the album Osaka Time in iTunes, was written for Leslie’s father, Clarence. They had an organ at home — at one point, even a pipe organ (I’m so envious — I love the sound of those pipes).
Leslie’s father built a special room to house the pipes. When he played that organ the house rocked! Clarence had two loves in life: music and his dogs. It was at the “dogs” that I came in because I have pictures of dogs, probably because we have two dogs now and have had as many as five. If we took in all the dogs offered to us, we’d have probably been able to register as a shelter, but we were up to capacity.
A fine piece of original jazz! The dog is Leslie’s “grand-dog.” The man playing the organ is indeed the aforementioned Clarence, Leslie’s dad.
Enjoy!!
I married Jeff in 1965. I was 18, he was 26. I was still finishing my B.A. Both Jeff and I needed to get out of our parent’s homes and make a life. It was a classic “jailbreak” marriage and for a long time, it worked well.
But time marched on and I wanted to move on. He wanted everything to stay the same — and so we parted. I went to Israel and he stayed where he was.
Graphic Jeff, Studio A
When I was sad, Jeffrey used to sing to me. This is the song he sang.
For one birthday, I bought him a wind-up snow globe. It played “You Are My Sunshine” and had a big green frog on a lily pad in the water. When you wound it, it played that song. He kept the globe as long as he lived, which was not nearly long enough.
Happy birthday, Jeff. You would have been 80 years old today and I wish you were alive so I could tease you about your age.
You should still be here.
So, 2018 is over. Like any end of the year, the last few weeks were filled with “Year End Retrospectives.” A year ago I wrote this blog.
I hate year-end retrospectives.
Especially this year. A year ago, all anybody could talk about was just how much 2016 sucked. And it did. But then, along came 2017.
2017 said to 2016 “Here, hold my beer” Then along came 2018 who said to 2016 and 2017 “Pussies! Let me show you how it’s really done.”
So here’s my “Year End Retrospective, The Short and To-The-Point-2018-Edition.” And yes, I’m doing it in 2019. Why? Because I’m a rebel because I’m going rogue because I only remembered I wrote it last year on New Year’s Eve this year. So here it is, 2018 month-by-month.
January. Well, that sucked.
February. God, that really sucked.
March. Are you kidding me? How much more can this possibly suck?
April. This can’t get worse.
May. It got worse.
June. Are you fucking kidding me!?
July. This is just not happening.
August. Well, that just happened. WTF?!
September. This is insane.
October. No, he’s insane.
November. Shit, he is REALLY insane.
December. This insanity has to end.
At least we still have Betty White.
PS: And to start the New Year off on a good note, I give you two dogs playing “I got your nose.”
Need something to do with all that spare time?
This one was a beer advertisement!
Your weekends are boring? No problem. Try building the DOUBLE SQUARE SQUIRREL ASSAULT COURSE and learn what crazy really means in the world of the squirrel!
Garry should be telling this story because it’s his story, not mine. But since he’s busy elsewhere, I’ll tell the story — as I’ve heard it — and maybe he can write a better version later.
Garry started working in the business — television — before the switch from film to videotape was made — and he left the business just before everything went to DVDs, flash and SD cards, and hard drives. He was working at the end of the movie era through the early years of video when it was the “new kid in town. ”
He remembers the horrors of forgetting to load the camera and shooting only to come back with nothing. Not unlike me forgetting to paste down the full-page color advertisement from Sony that belonged in the middle of the magazine I was editing. Ah, the good old days of being young and stupid.
Or misfeeding the film into the camera and being unable to get it to run. Garry remembers racing back to the office so they could develop the film, edit it, and get it up in time for the news. Ah, more of the good old days!
Movie set
Film was touchier than videotape. If the light was wrong, it ran too hot or green. When it rolled, you wanted to hide under a table somewhere. Even though you didn’t do the shooting, it was still your work and when it was blazing orange or glaringly green, it was painful to see.
On screen, video looks different than film. Sometimes you see shows where parts are filmed and the rest is on video. You can always see the change from one scene to the other.
Film looks different than video. It’s both the texture and luster and crispness. It’s hard to describe the difference, but you know it when you see it.
Film is also a sturdier product and lasts longer, which is why movies are shot on film, not video. Video tends to self-destruct over time and not a lot of time, either. We didn’t get our wedding video transferred to DVD soon enough. We lost a lot of the graphic portions. We were able to save the soundtrack, but a lot of pictures couldn’t be salvaged.
Thus, here is the message for all of you old enough to have videotaped important past events in your lives: Get the video transferred to DVD or you’ll lose it. If you haven’t already lost it.
If SHE thinks they don’t need the extra money, possibly they don’t? Just a thought.
From the group “Three Dog Night,” written by Hoyt Axton, this has to be the most joyful noise to come out of a radio during the 1970s. It still makes me want to dance!
“It’s not anchors away,” she said, more than a small hint of snark in her voice. It’s ‘aweigh’ and it’s about getting the anchor up from the bottom and the sand into which it usually sinks. So when they sing “Anchors Aweigh” they mean they are supposed to haul the anchor off the bottom before setting sail.”
“But doesn’t that mean the same thing?” he argued.
“No, it doesn’t. One means ‘lift up the anchor’ and the other means ‘go.'”
“But in the end,” he persisted, “It means ‘move on out,’ or whatever they used to yell in Wagon Train.”
“Those were cows. Beef. Move’em on out refers to animals. With legs. Anchors are not alive unless you count the barnacles — which I don’t. Honestly, you landlubbers never learn anything.”
Above and below are two little videos of a racing Solings. That was the sailboat I had way back when. There have been a few changes made, but not many. The soling is a racing sailboat, but if you aren’t using her to race, you can open her deck and install benches. They are more comfortable for sitting or napping if you are out on the water for a long afternoon.
She was a dandy vessel for an afternoon in shallow water, such as we had along the south shore of Long Island (New York). Sailing by wind only, the birds seemed to think we were one of them. We didn’t have much power anyway, just a 5 hp outboard for when tide and wind were against us, or we had to drop the mainsail to go under a bridge.
Ours was, just like this one including that lovely Omega which all Solings show on their sails. Our too was entirely white with just a hint of teak as decoration.
We were careful to never drop anchor where we were told not to. Jeff was a great swimmer, but no one wanted to dive into channel waters. They were filthy — and you had to keep your eyes open while you untangled the anchor. Even so, sometimes, you couldn’t finish the job before you ran out of air. Without an air tank, holding your breath is difficult while you are working underwater.
And with that, she dropped the sailboat’s little anchor, completely ignoring the huge signs all along the shoreline with big painted letters saying “DO NOT ANCHOR HERE! CABLE BELOW!” The problem wasn’t what the anchor could do to the cable. Those were pretty big cables and this was a rather small sailboat. The problem was that the anchor would likely hook onto a cable and be impossible to release.
After that, the only way to get it loose would be to jump into the water and swim down deep enough to unhook the anchor from the cable. Some people did that, especially when it was an expensive anchor and the water wasn’t too deep, but most people, having ignored the warnings to not anchor wound up leaving their anchor behind, thus sailing away rather than aweigh.
She was no great swimmer. He could just about tread water with a short doggy paddle in between. So, as their anchor cleverly hooked the heavy telephone cable, was when she decided it was time to weigh the anchor, they would try winding it up, but it would stop and refuse to budge.
That was when she would finally notice all the signs along the inlet about not anchoring here. Unable to release the anchor from the cable, she would end up releasing the anchor.
One new anchor, one replaced anchor chain. And probably a new crank and case and a serious dive into some credit card. Oops.
It would be just one more anchor sunk to the sandy bottom of the inlet. The bottom of the inlet must be full of them by now.
He was lying on his back on one of the benches when she came back holding two gin and tonics. He smiled when he realized she had taken off the top of her bikini.
He’d mention the anchor later. This was the fun part of the sail. Why ruin it?
There’s a beautiful and poignant song in the musical “South Pacific”, by Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein. It’s called, “You’ve Got To Be Carefully Taught”. It opens with the lines “You’ve got to be taught to hate and fear, you’ve got to be taught from year to year.”
I’ve been thinking about those lyrics recently. I was struck by a common statistic in both the Brexit vote in the UK and our election of Donald Trump. In the UK, the voters who voted most heavily anti-immigrant and anti-EU were from areas that had few to no immigrants. The open-minded, pro-immigrant, pro-EU voters were clustered in the areas with the highest volume of immigrants.
Interesting.
The same phenomenon repeated itself in the United States. Trump supporters accepted, if not endorsed his xenophobic, anti-Muslim, racist rhetoric and dog whistling. His voters were concentrated in areas that were most heavily white, with the lowest number of immigrants and other racial minorities.
The cities, where immigrants and minorities are concentrated, were across the board Democratic and anti-Trump. It seems that if you have contacts with minority groups or people not exactly like yourself, you accept and don’t fear them.
If these groups of people are total unknowns to you, you’re open to believing all the negative rhetoric about them. You’re open to seeing them as dangerous and destructive to you and your way of life.
At first, I thought this was counter-intuitive. But I realized that it makes perfect sense. When you live with a diverse group of people, you see that everyone, regardless of race, nationality or religion, shares your life experience. Most importantly, you see all other people as individuals. To you, they’re not, nor can they be seen as, a monolithic, mysterious blob of humanity, threatening everything you hold dear.
On a personal note, I grew up in New York City. Even in the ‘50’s and ‘60’s, I saw different races and nationalities everywhere. I also went to integrated schools. When I was four years old, I had an eye-opening experience that I still remember. I’m a Jewish Caucasian. My beloved Nanny was a Christian black woman.
To me, Ethie was part of the family. She was just like me in every way. The first time that belief was challenged was when something came up about her going to church. It suddenly hit me that Ethie wasn’t JEWISH! She wasn’t just like me, she was different in some ways. It still didn’t register on me that her skin was a different color. That didn’t even show up on my four-year-old radar. I just remember grappling with the idea that Ethie was not really family.
She was not JUST LIKE US. She was, in some crucial way, different. I didn’t love her any less. I learned something that day. That I could love someone who wasn’t exactly like me.
Different was okay.
I guess isolation from different religious and ethnic groups leaves you susceptible to hate and fear.
You’ve got to be taught
To hate and fear,
You’ve got to be taught
From year to year,
It’s got to be drummed
In your dear little ear
You’ve got to be carefully taught.
You’ve got to be taught to be afraid
|Of people whose eyes are oddly made,
And people whose skin is a diff’rent shade,
You’ve got to be carefully taught.
You’ve got to be taught before it’s too late,
Before you are six or seven or eight,
To hate all the people your relatives hate,
You’ve got to be carefully taught!
Video via – Tech Insider
Further Readings And References @ NASA, Sparkonit, TechCrunch
Long before he was a cop on “Law and Order,” Jerry Orbach was a very well-known, Tony-awarded Broadway singer and actor. This is from The Fantasticks and it may be one of the most deeply touching songs ever written. Especially when one is already deep in December.
It’s possible I included this song (twice, no less) entirely because I wanted to hear it. Oddly, though, when I googled “handle” this is the song which came up half a dozen times.
Was it a sign? I took it as such.
When I was first working (at that point, for my father, which I should add didn’t last long) — getting paid badly because no one pays you worse than your family — this was the song of the year. They always played it at the end of my relatively short commute and I would sit in the car and wait until the song was over. I can still sing along with it.
A friend of mine one day sat me down and explained every single line in the song and what it meant. I still see all of our music encapsulated in this one, elegant song. And because sometimes, two versions really are better than one, please watch this one. The sound isn’t as good, but it’s our story. Or maybe, my story. Yours too?
What is really eerie about the song is its relevance. Satan was originally Mick Jagger … but I think we all know who Satan really is.
McClean had the right idea, just the wrong character.
When we used to spend a month or more on the Vineyard and became “summer people,” our vacations were completely lacking in substance and that’s the way we liked them.
You lost your watch on the third day. You forgot to wear underwear by the end of the first week. By the middle of the second week, you had no idea what day of the week it was and were probably at least a little tipsy.
Vineyard house – Originally part of the New York Yacht Club, it was a boathouse that became a house and is now an air BNB. This was where we stayed before it was restored. This looks “pre-restoration,” so the odds are that I or one of the many other photographers with whom we shared the house took the picture
If you made it to week three, by then you forgot what you used to do back on the mainland.
The Vineyard was where you went and nothing happened. There were no events. No parties. No concerts except usually one around the end of August to raise money for the food bank — generally the Taylor and Simon families propped up the event.
Since 1884, islanders have enjoyed the beauty of this magnificent carousel. Built by Charles W.F. Dare, it is the nation’s oldest platform carousel still in operation. Acquired by the Preservation Trust in 1986, the carousel is a National Historic Landmark. Children (and others) may enjoy a ride from Easter Sunday through Columbus Day. Rides cost just $1 and if you catch the brass ring, you ride for free. Video games and refreshments are also available.
Unless a president came to visit, or a plane crashed somewhere, nothing happened. Oh, right, one year, there were fireworks in the channel behind the house. There were two Clinton parties, one hosted by the Simons (that was when Clinton played the saxophone) and the next held by the Taylors, which is when I met Kate (I had no idea who she was until later). She was the only woman I met who dressed like me in long Indian dresses and beads.
One year it was really hot.
One summer it was surprisingly cold.
One summer, a novelist I liked did a book signing at “Bunch of Grapes.”
One of our friends made an amazingly good daiquiri. I made frozen strawberry daiquiris using real strawberries and brown sugar that tasted so good, even people who never drank got wiped out.
Garry commented considering the alcoholic stupor many of us were in, our real question should have been “Do I know who I am?”
Back deck Vineyard house. Did a lot of drinking back there. Eating. And reading. There was a big rope hammock at the end of the deck. This picture had to be pre-restoration while we were still the summer residents — along with a bunch of other people.
So what made it so special? Probably the same thing that makes boating special. Nothing. You slept, you hung out on the dock. Read a book. Roamed through Oak Bluffs looking for bargains. Wandered around Edgartown. Had a burger. Had a drink. Bought something useless but pretty.
No substance. Doing nothing and loving it.
The Island Theatre. When we were there, it wasn’t air-conditioned. I suppose it is now.
Strolled over to the Flying Horses carousel. If you got lucky, you might catch a gold ring and get a free ride while the calliope played.
Watched pink sunsets over Nantucket Sound.
If it rained, maybe we’d go to a movie.
1891 – Circuit Avenue, Oak Bluffs. It changed very little in a century.
There was no schedule until you had to leave. Then, you had to find your watch, make sure you could find your ferry tickets. Hope the bridge was not open so you wouldn’t miss your boat. Missing the boat could mean a very long day in the parking lot of the Steamship Company.
Nothing was special or substantial about the Vineyard. That’s what made it special.
Just when I think I’ve finally figured out what’s going on with my body, something weird changes and I have to figure it out all over again. When I think I know what I look like, I take a peek in the mirror and wonder — “Who is that?”
When I know what day it is? It isn’t. Sometimes, I’m not fully clear on the year and recently, someone asked me my age and I said 22 without even a pause.
What would Superman have to say about today’s world? I’m absolutely sure he could fix it, aren’t you?
Now, it’s obvious I am not 22 … or for that matter, 62. I think my brain skipped a beat and made me — for that brief moment — the girl I was. Because in 1969, I really was 22. That was a great year. My best year.
The music was amazing. The news was upbeat and we just knew that somehow, everything would work out better. And it would do it soon. It wasn’t that we didn’t have plenty of issues and problems, but we were positive, and absolutely, positively certain that we could overcome them and really be great. Americans.
Great Americans, not these tawdry pretend imitation creatures that mealy mouth Americans but act like Stalin’s cohorts.
We walked on the moon and the Mets — who had previously been not only the worst team in baseball but hilariously the worst team — won the World Series. My friends were alive, full of bounce, and energy. Nobody was trying to figure out where they could move so they could use public transport, avoid having to drive, and skip the hard winters.
We still liked winter. We thought snow was fun. We went sledding and tobogganing even though they hadn’t yet invented Uggs. We went to the beach in summer and people got a suntan and bragged about it.
We got birth control and Roe V. Wade came down from the Supreme Court — and it was a real Supreme Court with honest-to-God the best in the world judges on it. They didn’t always agree and some of them were definitely strict constitutionalists while others were more inclined to change the law because the world was growing up.
But for all of them, the Constitution of the United States was the issue. It mattered. Law mattered. No matter where they fell, on which side of whatever issue was presented, they cared enough to be sure they made decisions they believed were in the best interests of the people they served.
Remember that? They people they served? They served us because we were the people. Even the politicians we hated were real Americans. They believed in this country. They believed we had a role in this world and it wasn’t just to become the richest, most corrupt global corporation on Planet Earth.
It’s not hard for my brain to take a bounce and get back there. I wonder what kids today will remember as their happiest days? I hope it won’t be how many different things they could do with their mobile phones. That would be too pathetic.
So just when I think I know something, it skitters away. Sometimes, it’s because I forgot. It’s easy to forget. So many things don’t feel important now. Values have changed. My understanding of reality has changed.
Remember growing up with The Lone Ranger?
I bet the Super and Lone could make things right! With maybe a hint of Crockett, just for the legend. You should always print the legend.
How you see life depends on how you look at things
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LYRICS:
Was a good friend of mine
I never understood a single word he said
But I helped him drink his wine
And he always had some mighty fine wine
now Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea
Joy to you and me
If I were the king of the world
Tell you what I’d do
I’d throw away the cars and the bars and the wars
Make sweet love to youSingin’ now,
Joy to the world
All the boys and girls
Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea
Joy to you and me
(INSTRUMENTAL INTERLUDE)
You know I love the ladies
Love to have my fun
I’m a high night flyer and a rainbow rider
A straight-shootin’ son of a gun
I said a straight shootin’ son of a gun
Joy to the world
All the boys and girls
Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea
Joy to you and me Joy to the world
All the boys and girls
Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea
Joy to you and me
Joy to the world
All the boys and girls
Joy to the world
Joy to you and me
Joy to the world
All the boys and girls
Now Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea
Joy to you and me
Joy to the world
All the boys and girls
Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea
Joy to you and me
Joy to the world All the boys and girls
Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea
Joy to you and me …