Fall Is Falling

A Mr. Cranky's Neighborhood Episode

                                                Image by JamesDeMers from Pixabay            

This is a weekly column consisting of letters to my perspicacious progeny. I write letters to my grandkids and my great-grandkids — the Stickies — to advise them and haunt them after they become grups or I'm deleted.

Warning: This column is rated SSC — Sexy Seasoned Citizens — Perusal by kids, callowyutes, and/or grups may result in a debilitating intersectional triggering

About 

Glossary 

Erratically Appearing Hallucinatory Guest Star: Dana — A Gentlerreader

"Fall is my favorite season in Los Angles, watching the birds change color and fall from the trees." -David Letterman  

Dear Grandstickies and Great-Grandstickies (and Gentlereaders), 

This morning, as I was perambulating about my neighborhood, fall fell.

Well, not so much fell as subtly slid in and sat down like a locally well-known sinner slinks into church after a soul-searing Saturday night, late yet again, and sits close to the door he/she/they just gently closed in order to effect a quick exit.

[Alliterate much? What on Earth are you on about now?] 

As much as possible, and what I'm on about is that although (hopefully) brightly colored leaves and frosty morns are still a ways off... 

["Frosty morns?" Gimme a break!]

I'm waxing poetic, Dana, you unrefined philistine.

[Whatever.]

Well said. Anyways, although the window air conditioners that randomly sprout from the walls of Casa de Chaos like acne vulgaris on a callowyute are still gently humming...  

[For the love of...]

Leaves, hither and thither, have begun to turn and fall.

[Crab apples on the ground have started to rot. Fruit flies gather 'round 'cause they like 'em a lot.] 

I heard a handful of hovering, honking geese approaching and my heart was hardened by hoar frost. 

[Oh please! It was 71 degrees!] 

Well, yeah, but nevertheless I did have a mild panic attack. You know how much I hate winter. I was rooting through my little grey cells and trying to remember if I had any valerian tea at home when they flew over. A half dozen geese in a half V formation (\), headed northwest.

Phew. It's just the boys/girls/um, gang? getting the band back together and working out the logistics for their annual Dixie tour. I've still got time to stock up on hot chocolate, check the blanket inventory, verify if there's enough rock salt in the mudroom, investigate the disappearance of the snow shovel, verify that no one drank the emergency brandy, install plastic sheathing on certain troublesome windows, etceterows. 

[You realize, of course, that the word Dixie might cause you to run afoul of the Intersectional Inquisition?]

Oh well, too late now. 

The Stickies have returned to school in meatspace and cyberspace. "Poppa the printers out of ink again." School busses look like they're transporting surgeons that don't get along.

Wait... you Stickies have returned to school? Now that I'm officially pushing 70 I sometimes get confused. Technically speaking I'm writing to the Stickies, well, mostly I'm writing to their future selves, but...

[We've talked about this. Mostly you're writing to/for your gentlereaders so for the sake of simplicity you... Get a grip and take your pills. Next thing you know you'll be known around the hood for screaming, "Get off my lawn!" at feral cats when you go out to get the mail.] 

Let's hope not, I'm...

[While we're on the subject, some of the neighbors have noticed you spend most of your waking hours in comfortable robes.]

Only because people would think I was weird if I wore one of my togas or kimonos. My slippers have sturdy soles in case I need to go outside and I wear clothes when I go walking or have to go (shudder) shopping. 

[So far at least.] 

Speaking of the neighbors, my favorite Morman (my 80-year-old next-door neighbor, not the sixties sitcom) just bought himself a trike to celebrate his recent retirement. Not one of those three-wheeled bikes with a basket on the back, I'm talking three-wheeled motorcycle.    

He's given up driving truck once or twice a week to maintain his driving chops and I guess the thrill of being the owner/operator of two enormous riding lawn mowers is gone so he got himself a Can-Am Spyder. 

Rock on Harlan. 

I've heard that birdwatching has enjoyed a renaissance of sorts because of the Wuhan flu lockdown. I've had a growing fascination with the last of the dinosaurs for a while now but so far it's one of those many things I keep threatening to do more about than I'm actually likely to do. 

In the course of the morning segment of my (theoretically) twice daily walks I often find myself walking down a certain street that's saturated with starlings. I swear the flock gets a little larger with each passing week.

Shades of Alfred Hitchcock.

I went a-googlin' and discovered that the distant ancestors of modern birds had teeth and that Ohio's starlings are infamous for their rapacious and aggressive behavior. 

What if some of 'em have mutated and now have teeth from eating genetically modified food? If you come across a headline like Ohio Man Killed by a Murmuration of Murderous Starlings it might not be clickbait. Gotta go, I'm working on a movie script.

Poppa loves you,

Have an OK day

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Cranky don't tweet.

Kamala Harris For President

                                                                Image by RJA1988 from Pixabay   

This is a weekly column consisting of letters to my perspicacious progeny. I write letters to my grandkids and my great-grandkids — the Stickies — to advise them and haunt them after they become grups or I'm deleted.

Warning: This column is rated SSC — Sexy Seasoned Citizens — Perusal by kids, callowyutes, and/or grups may result in a debilitating intersectional triggering

About 

Glossary 

Erratically Appearing Hallucinatory Guest Star: Dana — A Gentlerreader

"I'm not talking about the neo-Nazis and the white nationalists, because they should be condemned totally." -Donald Trump

Dear (eventual) Grandstickies and Great-Grandstickies (and Gentlereaders), 

[Kamala Harris For President! Are you skimping on your meds again so you can afford to have pizza delivered once a week? 

Wait-wait-wait... Is this just your face-saving way of dropping out of the race? Are you no longer running for king? I've heard nothing from CNN or Fox.]  

No, Dana, I...

[And she's not running for president she...]

Don't think so huh? She's... nevermind. No, Dana, I'm still running. My formal endorsement is a purely defensive maneuver inspired by Scott Adams, the IUPPPP&PVOTTOT, Antifa, and Black Lives Matter. 

[Huh?]

In 2016, Mr. Adams (the Dilbert dude) had his lucrative corporate speaking engagements dry up and he started receiving death threats for predicting that Daffy Donald would win and explaining how the Donald so easily manipulates his fellow H. sapiens to get his way.

This was in spite of the fact he went out of his way to not endorse the Donald, and also made it clear he normally doesn't even vote. 

Adams, having achieved FU level wealth quite some time ago, nowadays devotes a lot of his time to trying to teach the world why H. sapiens are fundamentally irrational creatures that rarely act rationally and how to best use this information. 

In fact, like Jonathon Haidt, who proved this clinically several years ago, he points out that often as not we use our rational abilities to rationalize our irrational behaviors. 

For the record, nowadays Mr. Adams is a self-acknowledged Trump supporter and does plan to vote for the first time in many years. Two of his reasons are Uncle Joe's cognitive challenges and because he (or his handlers) are still playing the debunked Fine People Hoax card, among others.  

He's also mentioned the destruction of the ISIS caliphate and points out that prior to the plague the economy was booming and African Americans were enjoying record employment levels that Uncle Joe and the Obamanator could only dream of.

Anyways... Mr. Adam's formally endorsed the Hilliam in 2016. Given that allegedly rational people came after him in spite of the fact he clearly and unambiguously made it clear he was not endorsing the Donald, it was the rational (and funniest) thing to do. 

Especially since, figuratively and literally, people who wore a certain red baseball-style cap were (and continue to be) beat up on a regular basis in the name of social justice.   

Especially since, figuratively and literally, the Wokies have devolved to the point they're now setting things on fire, the rational thing to do is endorse Uncle Joe's regent before he hits the wall and/or is elbowed aside. 

[Wait-wait-wait, regent?]

Merrian-Webster - 1: a person who governs a kingdom in the minority, absence, or disability of the sovereign (my emphasis)

Substitute republic rapidly degenerating into a democracy for kingdom and it works perfectly.

[But what if the Orange One triumphs?]  

There are no mobs of red-hat-wearing Trumpets running wild in the streets. Win/win (survive/survive).  

Speaking of the Dilbert dude, I'd like to personally thank Scott Adams for being one of the talking heads I follow — although we frequently disagree and his ego... well, nevermind — to suss out what's really going on.   

See, as I've written before, my life has been a case study in how to be a day late and a dollar short. I'm an un-syndicated columnist (a pretentious blogger?) in an era in which trusted publications, reading, and word-blogging are rapidly being replaced by (often videoized) podcasts and video-blogging.

As for me, I agree with Daphne du Maurier. "Writers should be read, but neither seen nor heard."

[Stick in the mud!]  

Thank you, Dana. Guilty as charged. 

Although I've always personally been a voracious reader, and now I'm a writer, I don't take this, well, personally. Depending on who you ask, as much as "half of the human brain is directly or indirectly devoted to processing visual information." 

I have mixed feelings about the podcasts that are more like broadcast radio shows (i.e., no video) because they make it possible to add yet another task/distraction to our multitasked lives and ever-diminishing attention spans.

[Huh?]

Are you gonna' tell me you don't know at least one someone who can't seem to function without never-ending audio (and/or video) input? 

[Oh.] 

[Is there a point on the horizon my blatherskitish buddy? You're about out of allocated words.] 

Well, I'm just glad that Scott Adams, and no shortage of others with a clue and who are more motivated than I, are willing to tweet and stream and appear as guests and write lengthy non-fiction books and teach classes and give talks and lectures and etceteratures. 

Your semi-humble correspondent is grateful that he's not the only one that thinks Western Civilization ain't all bad. I'm content to write my semi-humble little column aware that Adams, as well as the members of the Intellectual Dark Web, are trying hard to save the republic (and the world...) from itself.  

 

Poppa loves you,

Have an OK day

Share this column or give me a thumb (up or in my eye) below. If my work pleases you you can buy me some cheap coffee with your debit/credit card.    

Feel free to comment/like/follow/cancel/troll me on Cranky's Facebook page.

Cranky don't tweet. 

 

That's Life

Image by WikiImages from Pixabay

                                          

This is a weekly column consisting of letters to my perspicacious progeny. I write letters to my grandkids and my great-grandkids — the Stickies — to advise them and haunt them after they become grups or I'm deleted.

Warning: This column is rated SSC — Sexy Seasoned Citizens — Perusal by kids, callowyutes, and/or grups may result in a debilitating intersectional triggering

About 

Glossary 

Erratically Appearing Hallucinatory Guest Star: Dana — A Gentlerreader

"So-called real life is just high school with money." -Omar von Puffendorf

Dear Grandstickies and Great-Grandstickies (and Gentlereaders), 

That's Life,  and with apologies to Frank Sinatra, Kelly Gordon, and Dean Kay — I tell ya, I can't deny it. 

[Deny what? And what's with all the links?]

It's a phrase from the song, and as to...

[What song?]

The song Frank Sinatra made famous back in...

[Oh, that song. I know that song. It's from that movie, The Joker, right? Have you seen it?]

Have not and will not. I'm not sophisticated enough to appreciate comic book inspired nihilism, despair, and violence masquerading as art.

[Dude!, It won a bunch of awards! It...]

It tells you everything you need to know about Hollywood and what passes for entertainment nowadays, Dana.

[Boring old fart!]

Hallucination!

Recently, in the course of one of my obligatory brisk walks around Mr. Cranky's neighborhood (geezercise), Mr. Sinatra's version of this song escaped from the zeitgeist of the mid-sixties and reincarnated as an earworm within the confines of my macrocephalic visage.

[Macrocephalic visage? Ain't that a fancy way of saying you have a big head, Charlie Brown?]   

Well, yes, but unlike Master Charles Brown, I have a manly trunk and a remarkable head of hair for someone about to turn 39 for the 28th time.

[Tanklike trunk is more like it, and you might be more circumspect about using the antiquated honorific "master," all things considered. Wait! You just did that to stir the sh..., provoke the poop.]

(At this point in the story your humble correspondent's eyes rolled up, a sly grin manifested, and in a singsong voice he said, "dum de dum de dum.")

When I got home from my walk I decided to google the lyrics for That's Life. As you may (or may not) be aware, the song in question was a hooge hit for Frank Sinatra in 1965.

I've developed a recent fascination with song lyrics and the web makes it possible to retrieve the lyrics of nearly any song nearly instantly. I find the dramatic contrast between reading the lyrics without the music and hearing the exact same words sung while music is playing particularly interesting.

If you've ever done this I'm sure you're aware of the dramatic emotional impact imparted to often quite simple, straightforward words when they're sung and accompanied by competently played musical instruments.

Music has the power to tap emotional reservoirs even when the lyrics are somewhat simplistic, or even if the lyrics aren't actually lyrics. 

[How do you sing a song without lyrics?]

Howsabout Clare Torry singing on Pink Floyd's The Great Gig In The Sky from the multimillion-selling, and still selling, The Dark Side of the Moon. (Apropos of nothing much, in today's money she was paid the equivalent of about $500.)

And don't forget the immortal Ella Fitzgerald, MASTER (mistress?) of both lyrical and scat singing.

[Who? What?]

Never mind.

[Hold up a second, you never explained the links that you started this column with.] 

Good point. Mr. Sinatra made the song his own by working his magic and slightly tweaking the original lyrics. Messrs. Gordon and Kay are the songwriters.

[Which has what to do with...] 

Well, while confirming my suspicion that I'd find relatively simple, relatively brief lyrics — summation: life's an emotional roller coaster but I'll never stop riding it till I can't — I also discovered the song has its own Wikipedia entry. 

Dean Kay, 80, had and continues to have, a world-class career in the music industry. Kelly Gordon also did quite well  — till he died from lung cancer back in 1981 at the age of 49. 

That's life.

Marion Montgomery was the first artist to record the song, in 1963, but it failed to chart. O.C. Smith, a struggling artist who didn't have a hit till '68, released his version in February of '66. It charted but only made it to #127 on Billboard's famous list.

BIG BUT... Sinatra heard Smith's version of the song on his car radio and released his version in November of the same year. Result: #4 on the "Hot 100" chart and #1 on the "Easy Listening chart."

That's also life. 

On the other hand... In 1968 Roger Miller released a song that was written for him, Little Green Apples, that made it to #39 on the Hot 100 chart. O.C. Smith released his version that same year which made it to #2 and sold over 1,000,000 copies. 

[Allrigtalready! I get it, you're trying to teach the Stickies something but geez...]

Did you know that when Mr. Smith's version of Little Green Apples reached number two that the Beatle'es Hey, Jude was number one? Do you realize that...

Poppa loves you,
Have an OK day

Share this column or give me a thumb (up or in my eye) below. If my work pleases you you can buy me some cheap coffee with your debit/credit card.    

Feel free to comment/like/follow/cancel/troll me viaCranky's Facebook page.

Cranky don't tweet.