Corn... So Majestically Waving

This commercial from the 1960s completely ruined my life.  When I first saw it I could not stop talking about it and laughing for weeks.  Noting other people's reactions to my reaction, I realized that maybe I saw things a little differently than the prescribed way of looking at things. And that has made all the difference.  

"Made from corn - so majestically waving".  "SO MAJESTICALLY WAVING!"  That is literary advertising genius!   In an era defined by the stuffy smirking hip-ness of the Smothers Brothers, and the dark politic-laden trendy humor of Laugh-in, this commercial message was a blast of the light of reality - nothing less than the essence of humor, to laugh at one's self.  Who better to sell corn flakes than a farm lady standing on her farm, looking straight at you, pleading "Please Buy Our Corn Flakes!"

And so, as life went on, I ended up watching "Hee Haw" when everybody else was watching "Laugh In".  I took up playing the accordion when all the hipsters were all taking up the guitar.  I listened to a different Muse.  And I stayed true to myself.  And so many times over the years, I've had the satisfaction of seeing people discover something that I've known about all along.



Thanks for listening and contributing. I'd love to hear from you.

cool cat indeed

So, there  it is.  The coolest cat in milwaukee.  Gondi the Cat.  The People came in droves to the Grand Opening of Companion Art Gallery, and in droves, they cast their votes.  Companion Art Gallery is a place where the dog and cat lovers of this world can find objects of art to enhance their lifestyle.  Local artists disiplay their creations, and can even create a unique item based on your own beloved pet.

So, after spending most of the day in a 5-foot Dalmation suit, Sandy, the founder of the gallery tallied up the audience votes. The Coolest Cat, chosen by the attendees, based on the photos submitted, was Gondi.   So, Gondi it is that will be the official Cool Cat mascot at the upcoming Bay View Bash street festival.

However, as Syd reminded me, Gondi's is not a history of a "rise to coolness", but rather, a betrayal of the Feline Mystique.  Gondi, as Syd reminded me, was a total sell-out. And this latest publicity stunt is the culmination.  I turn the remainder of this narrative over to Syd, who demanded equal time, that the true story might be told.

That's me, there in Gondi's shadow.  And let me tell you, the wind wasn't beneath his wings.....  I put up with a lot, having to do all the work, while he frittered his life away in betrayal to felines everywhere. When there was a box to be licked or a squirrel to be hated, I was right on the job.  And, where was Gondi? The photos tell the whole sad and ugly story.

the cross-species dressing

traditional holiday values would give us a glimpse of the REAL Gondi.  Not so cool, now, eh?

And completely shameless.  Look - he's actually enjoying this humiliation.  To what depths?

And this!  what depraved role-playing is this?  "'allo, I am Inspector Gondolino, may I inspect your Tuna Treats?"

Oh, now THAT's real manly - i am shocked, simply shocked.

And I've got the goods on this till-now unsolved crime. Never know when I'm gonna take a stroll down Memory Lane and show everybody MY photo album!

Oh, look!  I'm a cool cat, too.    Jealous?  me?  nawww

Just watch yer back, Gondi, Boy.  Watch yer back...

I'm Syd, your future ruler.

morning paper

AH, Labor day!

But, this morning as I sat back with a cup of instant coffee (two packets for the comatose), my wife turned on the TV.  The relentless rotation of Daytime TV greeted us.  I'm usually at my day job at this time on a Monday morning, so, it's always a revelation - so much different from night time programming.  And, rather than run downstairs, I was lured by promises of a performance by Lady Gaga.  She was on the morning show called The View.  Barbara Walters, Whoopi Goldberg, and some other ladies all sit on one side of a table (something like the Last Supper) except they all talk at once. Lady Gaga even joined them for the cackling part, with promises of a performance later in the show. You can't really make out what they're talking about, because everybody's talking at once.

At the end of the show, the promised performance by Lady Gaga was spectacular. She is a devoted hard-working performer, and doesn't try to conform to the norm of affectation one sees from other performers on her level of "diva-tude".  Without any theatrics or outlandish costuming, Lady Gaga is still an ultra-talented performer.

In the mean-time, I sat through a disturbing commercial reenactment of a domestic crisis.  A man emerges from a room, presumably the loo.   He hollers "Honey, we're out of paper, could you toss me a roll?"  A roll of paper clips him in the side of the head, and scrapes off most of his hair.  Presumably, the paper was not soft enough for his tender nethers.  So, he hollers down the hall again, half his hair missing "Honey, we're out of paper, could you toss me a roll?"  And, another roll nails him, the roll hits him in the chest, and explodes into a fuzzy explosion of lint, all over his clothes.   Too soft.  Then, of course, he goes through it all again, still no business taken care of.  And, of course, now we're all ready for Brand X.  This time, Honey comes to her senses, and hollers back at him - "GET YOUR OWN DAMN PAPER, AND CLEAN UP THAT MESS!"  Just kidding.  What woman would put up with that?

Thanks for listening and contributing. I'd love to hear from you.

Miss Taras - Part Two - The Rest of the Story

part two of two parts. Link for part one.

Miss Taras, the second grade teacher of St. John's was a ruthless disciplinarian. Enduring a year in her class was to have looked terror directly in the face, and survived.  It made one stronger, and gave us something to talk about later in life.

Over the course of the year, she told us stories of her childhood, and the more I think about these, the more different it was than the childhood of her typical student. (with some exceptions).  She had two sisters, and grew up in a very strict household, in the Great Depression (the one in the twentieth century, not the Obamanation) in a very poor section of town. (which town? possibly Watertown, WI? we never found out)  Her stories of her childhood were populated by dangerous late-night walks home, "tramps", "darkies", and various unsavory characters that God and the Angels protected her from.  

All her life, Miss Taras lived with her two sisters, until they died. She never married - teaching, the church, and her sisters were her entire life.  

I remember one night when we were in high school (our grade school class stayed together and played together through the Lutheran Youth Group).  I noticed that the light was still on in the 2nd grade class room.  I ventured up there, to see what was going on.  Miss Taras was in there, working away at re-organizing a cabinet in the back of the classroom.  After I accounted for myself, very respectable after all those years, I noticed that she was crying.  I asked if there was anything I could help her with, noticing boxes on the top shelf of the cabinet.  She said that she was trying to get a box down, but the chair kept sliding.  I told her to hold on, I was the right man for the job!  Got the box down, and we talked; she asked me if I might be interested in working for the church library, which she oversaw.  I loved the church library, with all those old concordances, Horatio Alger stories, and German books. And, so I became an assistant church librarian, one or two nights a week. 

As the years went by, I went off to college, Miss Taras got closer to retirement age.  There were factional disputes about a Synod reorganization at the time, and the church was never quite the same - a faction detached itself and started a new congregation.  Many of the people I knew went to the new church, and, in the whole mess, it came time for Miss Taras to retire.

I remember the "retirement party" Pastor Kay had for her.  After a Sunday morning service, as some of the congregation was already leaving, he announced that Miss Taras was retiring, blah blah blah, and would she please come forward at this time to receive a token of our appreciation.  She walked up, slowly. Years of working on her feet had made it difficult for her to get around.  She received her PLAQUE, and turned to the congregation, and stood in the aisle.  Pastor Kay didn't even offer her a damn microphone.  Her closing remarks I could barely hear, delivered in the soft low voice that I remembered from the classroom, but people jostling out the door made it inaudible.  Not even a sheet cake in the school basement. Good bye, Miss Taras. Thanks for all your faithful service.

More years passed.  I came home for a weekend from college.  My mother told me that Miss Taras was in Beverly Terrace, a skilled-care center, recovering from a broken bone.  I talked my friend Norman, who was also in her second-grade class, into going with me.  Miss Taras was delighted to have two visitors from the past who thought of her. We stayed for hours.  Here is part of Norm's account of the visit:

"She told us a bit about growing up in a strict home, her dad, explaining WHY she'd been so strict.  It's all so Twilight Zone.  But I remember losing all my resentment that day, and feeling sorry for a woman who had lived her whole life in service to the church....and children most of all.  The day was a gift. There was more to the woman than a seemingly bitter child hater.  And who also knew that we had been wrong about her.  But as 7 year olds we never got the facts."

One thing Miss Taras said, as best as Norman and I can construct the exact wording:  

"...looking back, I've only got one regret that, 

I think I could have been a little less strict with my students" 

Thanks for listening and contributing. I'd love to hear from you.

Miss Taras Part One - The Brown Uncle

part one of two parts

Jesus Savior wash away

All that has been wrong today

Help me every day to be

Good and gentle, more like Thee

At the end of each day of Miss Schoenicke's first grade, we would "put the day to bed" with a song and a prayer.  It would give me a peaceful feeling, in the cool green tree-filtered afternoon classroom sunlight, imagining that we could start over tomorrow, with a clean slate. And that glorious first year at grade school came to a close with a play we wrote and staged, presented to the entire student body, in which we all let our talents and imaginations soar. So, the following September, we all returned to school full of renewed anticipation for the joyful work of education to continue.

Within minutes of our arrival at the second-grade room, we each realized that things were going to be drastically different from now on.  The harsh eastern sunlight blazed through the glass block and the whole room was dazzlingly brilliant with the new reality.  And there were now many more of us.  Our A through M first-grade class had been merged with Mrs. Otto's N through Z first grade class - there was only one way through second grade, and there were now thirty-six of us in the merged class. Before long, we got acquainted with those in the last half of the alphabet, because there is security in numbers.  And we needed lots of security, for we were in the second-grade class of the legendary Miss Taras.

Miss Taras was slight and tall, fast, and strong.  Miss Taras had an unusually low speaking voice, about the same pitch and timbre as a large dog's low bark, And an amazing range of volume - you didn't want to hear that voice yelling at you.  When she explained something, she'd sometimes end a sentence with a drawn-out "Yes?" accompanied by a mirthless grin that was terrifying.  Sometimes when excited, she would speak so fast, that you didn't wholly understand what it was that she had said, but you just knew that you'd better be nodding when she said "Yes?" with that grin ...

The chalkboard on the side of the classroom was reserved for the names.  In chalk squares would be various headings, and under the headings were the penances.  It was never good to have your name on that board.  If you didn't complete an assignment on time, your name went up there, and then there were the various punishment writing assignments..  "I should obey." - 100 times was the most common.  Other writing requirements for other circumstances, all with that persistent mind-numbing repetition, If your name was on the board, the work had to be done, or you  had to stay after school to finish it.  Only when your name was erased from the board could we "wash away all that has been wrong today".

Turns out, however, there was more to obedience than writing "I should obey" 100 times on sheet after sheet of blue-lined yellow newsprint.

As we descended into the routine of the new regime, we discovered that relentless discipline was now the new norm. Miss Taras had no favorites, and the offenses she singled out followed no discernible pattern - best just to tow the line, look straight ahead, and keep a low profile.  There was no telling what would set her off.  Inattention, whispering in class, gum, distractions - it didn't take much for that low growl to become a thundering bark.  You never knew who would get scolded next.  Once, she mentioned casually that if someone was really disobedient,.the "Brown Uncle would come out, and we wouldn't want that - Yes?" (again the heart-stopping ice-in-your veins bleak grin).  Thoughts were racing. Who was the Brown Uncle?  How did he know when to come out?

You always remember the first time.  One brilliant morning, Miss Taras was demonstrating an arithmetic problem on the blackboard.  It had been a relatively un-turbulent morning, only a few new names on the board.  Suddenly, she stopped in mid-sentence. Without another word, she walked very fast over to her desk, and opened the lower drawer.  A cellophane crackle from things in the drawer, and then - a thin brown leather belt.  Holding it doubled over above her shoulder, she moved very quickly to the first row of desks. The room sat in stunned silence - 36 of us, and not a sound.  Unable to move, our hearts stopped in the moment, we watched.  She grabbed Ron Kopp (not his name) by the arm, and pulled him to his feet.  Punctuating - each  - word with a blow to his backside, she said, in words I'll remember forever "Ron - Don't - Do - Silly - Things!"  Those five, and Ron was slammed back down into his seat.  In the ensuing silence, the Brown Uncle was returned to the drawer.  What went on for the rest of the morning, or for the entire day, for that matter, I do not and can not remember. (My hands are trembling as I write this - didn't realize how potent a memory can be.)

We were clenched in a state of outright terror for the rest of the school year. But she had hit us with her best shot, and we weren't beaten down, not altogether.  Our main objective, as a class, was to keep from setting her off.  As the year wore on, though, hardly any of us eluded her deadly and unpredictable aim. There was no schadenfreude, no gleeful delight at the discipline of another student. None of that.  We were all together in this, and when the Brown Uncle came down on one of us, we all felt it.  There were various escapes, contrived illnesses, and some real ones attributable to the tension of the rigid discipline, reticence at home, but, for the most part, the ordeal made us stronger, brought us closer to one another, and made us more appreciative of subsequent teachers.  One of our cosmic rewards was the sixth grade, a particularly harmonious year, all of us with Mr. Gottschalk (another story another time), that showed us how close we really were to one another, sharing joy and growing up together.

I don't recall us ever speaking to one another about discipline outside of the classroom, or at home.  Perhaps it was different for other students, but for me, what happened in the classroom stayed in the classroom.  Mainly, because repercussions from parents would have only made it worse. Things were different in those days.

But, lately, through the miracle of social networking, some of us have been getting together and sharing our experiences, those vivid memories of St. John's Grade School.  A hug for all my old friends. Love You all.

part one of two parts - part 2 scheduled for tomorrow

Thanks for listening and contributing. I'd love to hear from you.

Cabinets Without Words

A week and a day ago, my wife and I went to Schaumburg, Illinois, although the thrill of traveling has by now somewhat subsided.  The toll roads took their toll, and we saw more traffic barrels than we could ever have imagined.  We came back with an entire mini-van full of cabinet kits, which, we hoped would be assembled into a cash-wrap counter for Joyce's store. 

As I unpacked the 64 packages of materials, (yes i counted), I noticed that, although I had hundreds of pages of instructions, among the hundreds of pages there were only about eight words.  The rest was all pictures - complex pictures that required long periods of contemplation and meditation before understanding would dawn.

Here to help me was my little Scandinavian assistant - a little white Ikea guy with lots of willingness, but, sadly, no hands.  First he regaled us with "If I Had a Hammer" and the second verse was "If I had Two Screwdrivers", but, while he was cheerful, he was unable to lend a hand, because he had none. He was not that much help at figuring out what was going on with the assembly..

When he started pitching in, that's when things started to go wrong.  He broke the corner of the box, and he felt bad about that, but poor fellow had only those flippers, and couldn't get much of a grip.  I told him not to worry about it, but, on the other hand, not to touch another goddam thing.

He was sad to have disappointed me, and picked up his accordion to play a sad little song from the old country about the enigmatic injustices and inequities between willingness and abilities.  Of course this left me a mournful feeling for having been so hard on the little fellow.  And I had all the assembly to do myself.

He encouraged me wherever he could, and admired it whenever I got two or three pieces to fit together. That sort of cheered him up.-

But then he got on the phone, and well, that's kind of the last I saw of him. He must have been recalled by the factory.

Well, the next thing you know, the zombies came, either out of the boxes, or little Flipper left the door open and they walked in. One of them had only one leg

They seemed to want to work, and they were very strong. However, I don't think their vision was that great - well, what do you expect of zombies, anyway?  It was like watching an Air Screwdriver competition, turning fasteners that only they could see. Aren't zombies really dead or something awful like that?   I left the windows open.

I found that if I led them to the work, they would keep at it until the job was done.  Required a lot of supervision, but I managed to harness most of the Zombie Power available to me.

But, they were kind of clumsy on their own, and lots of things got broken.  One of them broke off a cabinet leg, and almost dropped the cabinet on someone's finger.

As the job was almost done, some of the zombies got into the refrigerator, and drank all my beer.  That's when they started grunting around, ape-like, lurching into things.  They picked up the cabinets and started spinning them around in the air... Drunken zombies can be very strong, and utmost caution must be employed around them.

Finally, I put my foot down.  I got out a can of Zombie-B-Gon, and brandishing a menacing white spritz, I chased them all out, so I could finish the job myself.

 So, now we have a huge faux wood homemade complex of cabinetry with drawers, doors, shelves, and countertops.  This is a deluxe setup, with door dampers, drawer dampers, and a kick-board around the base.  A black onyx top and some beautiful brushed aluminum handles finish it off.

The Missus approves, and that's all that matters to me. That's me in the red shirt.

Yup, I love her.

Thanks for listening and contributing. I'd love to hear from you.

Cabinets Without Words

We had been looking for a Cash Wrap for Joyce's store.  A year ago I didn't even know what a Cash Wrap was, but in the world of store fixtures, it's a simple two-level checkout counter, with a little work table on the clerk's side, and a higher level on the customer side.  The Cash Wrap is very hard to come by as a used fixture - the ones available are very beat-up or very expensive.

So, we decided - how hard could it be?  Joyce got a few estimates from contractors, who wanted thousands of dollars, many of these dollars in advance to build us one.  Well, how hard it could be? 

This week I've been off of work all week from the day job, just a relaxing vacation in Milwaukee, weekend was kinda busy with a simultaneous musical engagement and class reunion, but the rest of the week was gloriously free!.  But, within hours of my arrival on Friday night, Joyce had a brilliant idea - "Let's get some components from Ikea, and make our own Cash Wrap".  So, first thing Monday morning the three of us headed off to Schaumburg, Illinois.  The three of us -  me, Joyce, and the GPS.  Joyce and the GPS lady argued most of the way there, and I was ready to turn around and come back home, but by then I'd already paid my first tollbooth, so I decided to stick it out.  Recalculating...

The short version - we found the components and returned after dark with sore feet, and exactly 63 packages of parts.  Count 'em!

I spent every day on the floor assembling, and trying to decipher the various manuals, which are written in a remote dialect of Idiot.  There are hardly any words in the manuals, only pictures.  In our home-made assembly are two base cabinets, two wall cabinets modified into base cabinets, leg assemblies, drawer assemblies, door and hinge assemblies, and two counter-top slabs.

Our grand project has over 40 hours in it already, not counting the night I spent helping the Chinese move their freezer, but the materials cost us less than a third of our lowest contractor estimate.

So, now it's late Friday night, my fingers are full of tiny infected micro-slivers from forming and drilling 3rd-world particle board, my vacation is gone, and I'm exhausted.  But almost done.  I think it will look grand..

Thanks for listening and contributing. I'd love to hear from you.