My friends, I feel quite confident in the assertion
that one thought that never crossed your craniums while perusing previous
postings was, “this blog’s okay, but what it’s really missing is pretention and
haughtiness.” After all, as author I’ve
taken a pseudonym from the preeminent metropolis on the globe, exhibited a
writing style solely possible if one has recently swallowed a thesaurus, and
like the great Professor Irwin Corey before me, state opinions as if Moses
descending from Mount Sinai in possession of mankind’s greatest truths, and as
a renowned authority on all things, animal, vegetable and mineral. Well, pish-posh, or you ain’t seen nothing
yet (depending on whether you feel more at peace with a Mary Poppins or Al
Jolson reference) for today we dip our
toe into the shallow waters of poetry. And unlike last week’s presentation of
the classic, “Richard Cory” by Edwin Arlington Robinson, this minor rhyme
is self-penned, with the hope being that if you are now or have ever been
gainfully employed and have experienced the necessity of reportage to another,
you will associate with this vituperative verse of vengeance. Should this unfamiliar
foray into the finer arts not suit your taste or temperament, please practice
patience as we will conclude with comical birthday wishes and a Kink’s standard.
Delusions
Tonight we pity
the King and Queen
Who rule from 9 to
5.
When dusk embarks,
And power wanes,
Just ego’s left
alive.
A corporate clone
With little worth,
No power but to
bully.
A tangled self
Awash in fear
A life, unrealized
fully.
Are you content
with cubicles as eminent domain?
Or is there more
that you once sought
A love as life’s
refrain?
You made your
choice
As all must do
We look back on
decisions
Then realize
We’re just
despised,
The subject of
derision.
Before we reach
our final choice
Time gives us many
ways
To modify a tone
of voice
And soften future
days.
Your training’s
full of falsehoods,
Experience, but
lies
Have you no vision
of yourself
In other people’s
eyes?
A second, third
and final chance
Afforded to us all.
Take Providence,
your private God,
And change before
your fall.
Saturday, March 23rd
Birthdays
Happy 23rd birthday to Princess Eugenie of York, daughter of Prince Andrew and Sarah
Ferguson. As the sixth in succession to
the British Crown, we extend natal wishes with the good and equitable feelings
and knowledge that she is just as unlikely to ascend to the royal throne as any
of us commoners. However, should she read this; she does possess the power to
off nycityman’s head.
It’s also the birthday of another daughter of royalty,
this time of the theatrical sort, as Amanda
Plummer, child of Christopher Plummer and Tammy Grimes turns 56. When we
were both much younger folk, we actually spent a day working together on an
unsold TV pilot. When asked of her memories of nycityman a look of confusion,
fear and disdain is her most common response.
Also reaching her 56th year today is Teresa Ganzel,
and as confusion, fear and disdain now overtake your facial features as well,
an explanation - Teresa was the actress to assume the role of Tea Time Movie Matinee Lady in the Johnny Carson, Art Fern sketches upon the passing of Carol
Wayne. “You take the San Diego Freeway to the Ventura Freeway. You drive to the
Slauson Cutoff, get out of your car, cut off your Slauson.” Anybody? Bueller?
Many happy returns to the talented Chaka Khan, who for years prior to Whitney Houston was "every
woman." Quick, name another member of Rufus.
And last, but in no way least, “Hello
Dere” and the happiest 91st birthday to comedian Marty Allen, the
non-crooning half of comedy duo, Allen and Rossi. At a time when every comic
doing the Carson, Douglas, Griffin, Sullivan variety/ talk-show circuit was
required, by law, to have the last name Allen (see Marty, Woody, Steve,
Dennis, Bernie) the wild antics of Marty and Steve Rossi helped shape a very
young nycityboy’s obsession with obscure and forgotten comedy teams.
In conclusion, first a clip of
Allen and Rossi at work, and the promised Kink’s gem, “A Well Respected Man.”
Have any
comments, questions, criticisms, compliments, candid confessions, cash
contributions? Contact me at butchersaprons@mail.com.
“But I work in his
factory
And I curse the life I'm living
And I curse my poverty
And I wish that I could be,
Oh, I wish that I could be,
Oh, I wish that I could be
Richard Cory.” – Paul Simon
How to have a fun and festive, pre-St. Patrick’s Day
Saturday? Share a Simon and Garfunkel classic about a man who “went home last
night, and put a bullet through his head.” Then, once regaling in the mirth and
merriment of that uplifting and light-hearted ditty, further examine the joyful
tale of Master Cory’s fretful fate with the original poem that inspired
songsmith Simon. And to reiterate, yes,
you did indeed read the word “poem” as in verse, and rhyming and couplets, for
it is far passed time that this bloviated blog acquired some class, refinement,
sophistication and, might I even go so far as to suggest, savior faire, should
the subject be so suited.
It’s Saturday, a day to vacate the often ugly anger and
acrimony of politics and its dissonant discourse for a much anticipated return (not
by anyone in particular) to a favorite feature from the past – “Saturday Song
Selection.” That being said, the political nature of both Simon’s composition and
Edwin Arlington Robinson’s elegy can hardly be disregarded. Though one is from 1965 and the other 1897,
the story and the conflict within is are as fresh today as Mitt Romney’s
recorded comments on the 47% tape expressing admiration for the efficiency and
profitability of the business model of a Chinese factory he toured, where young
girls work for pennies a day, imprisoned within the barbed-wire-fenced walls, housed in dormitories, 12 girls to a room,
sleeping in 4 sets of bunk beds stacked 3 high, with a single bathroom being
shared by 10 rooms. While articulating his ardor for those appalling working conditions, Romney was as elated and aroused as
when imagining a Marie Osmond nipple slip on “Dancing with the Stars.” Mitt
Romney is Richard Cory, but without the conscience and remorse (and, so much
for leaving politics behind.)
From the Tea-publican dawn of time, 4000 years ago, when
man and dinosaur together roamed the earth,
and Fred Flintstone busted the stones of Mr. Slate; to their
apocalyptic, nihilist One World Government feverish, future fantasy where all
pistol-packing, God-gracing, liberty-loving, formerly-free Americans will be
enslaved, placed in internment camps or sent off to reservations, inconceivable
conditions to those proud patriots who have no knowledge of their nation’s
history, believing it a favored, Yahweh creation; there will forever be the "well to do, up on
Lennox Avenue," and the proletariat who shed blood, sweat and tears (and on rare
occasion, even earth, wind and fire) to provide population and profit for their
enterprises, and the enrichment of the few. The 1% versus the 99% is no new phenomenon but
rather an auld acquaintance never to be forgot, and likely to be ever-present
in the annals of humankind as long as inordinate, if not even, obscene wealth
inequity, along with imbalance in living conditions and quality of life exist.
Simon and cityman
Unbeknownst to Mr. Simon (whose recent Saturday Night
Live appearance revealed his current look as a “Little Big Man” doppelganger,
he and nycityman have a long and storied history (currently playing out in a “cease
and desist” order.) From receiving the “Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme” LP, an
initial step from children’s music to
more mature fare (thanks to the vast booty acquired from Mom and Dad’s introductory order as members of the Columbia
Records Club), to a presentation of a Simon lyric for an intermediate school
poetry project, to pathetically picking my way through “The Paul Simon Songbook”
when first an extremely unskilled, high school taught, beginning guitar player,
to Simon’s hosting duties in the early SNL years (commonly considered “our show”
to television devotees of a certain age and philosophy), to attendance at the historic, free Simon and
Garfunkel reunion concert in Central Park, this fellow New Yorker has almost
always been an nycityman cultural presence and is long overdue to be featured
in “Saturday Song Selection.” As someone who attempts creativity and entertainment
through manipulation of the written word, I would kill an aimless drifter for
just a fraction of Simon’s aptitude and ability with the English language.
The Poem
Richard Cory by American Poet, Edwin Arlington Robinson
(1869 – 1935)
Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.
And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good-morning," and he glittered when he
walked.
And he was rich – yes, richer than a king –
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.
So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.
Saturday, March 16th
Birthdays
Fabulously, successful restaurateur, Jean-Georges Vongerichten, turns 55
today, mentioned only to allow nycityman to annoyingly elevate his proboscis
high-aloft into the ether and boast of attendance at his elite and expensive,
self-named eatery (one must live up to one’s given nom de blog.)
Longtime readers know that
certain biographical elements guarantee inclusion into the birthday well-wishes.
“Laugh-In” cast members will always be feted as will any objects of early, amorous,
adolescent longing. So, many happy returns of the day to Canadian born
actress, Kate Nelligan, who, until
this very moment, I believed to be of British birth. Lust knows no
nationality.
"Come to me, nycityman."
Chuck Woolery, born in 1940, promised he’d be returning in “two and two” and we haven’t seen him since.
Stage, screen and television actor, Victor Garber, will be extinguishing 64 candles today and we… (sorry, lost interest.)
Classic, legendary and long
deceased comic, Henny Youngman, would have turned 107 today. He left
us for the great Catskills resort in the sky in 1998. In 1987, after 58 years
of marriage, they took his wife… please.
We conclude with celebratory
congratulations to the biggest star of the day, show business icon, and The
King of “Classy” Comedy – happy 87th to comic, actor, writer,
director, philanthropist, a man who knows the farcical potential of a misadjusted
disposal lighter in close proximity to large nostrils, and the hoped for hilarity
of a bellowed “lady!” when emerging in a child’s voice from an adult body,
not only a legend in his own mind, but a legitimate, genuine legend, Jerry Lewis. Say what you will of his purportedly,
over-sized sense of self-importance, his rampant egomania and his mythically
proportioned difficult personality, Jerry must always be credited and appreciated
for his lifetime of dedication and hard work to the cause of eliminating
Muscular Dystrophy, and the unceremonious and disrespectful removal from his position
and status in the MDA is a black mark in that organization’s history.
In certain circles, this is considered very funny
From a live 1966 appearance on
Canadian television, (maybe Kate Nelligan was there) Simon and Garfunkel perform,
“Richard Cory.”
Have any comments, questions, criticisms, compliments, candid confessions, cash contributions? Contact me at butchersaprons@mail.com.
Worth a Thousand Words VII – Bride of a Thousand Words
Official Obama White House photographer, Pete Souza, has
done yeoman’s duty, these last 4 years, preserving and capturing for posterity some
remarkable images, both artistic and historic, of the personal and professional
goings-on, in and around the Oval Office.
So significant and extraordinary are most of these photographs that, of
course, it is the duty of “… and several butcher’s aprons” to share them and
then ruin them with silly and
sophomoric comedy captions, as we are
kind of jerky and annoying that way.
These are presented with apologies and much appreciation and admiration for
his excellent work; and with sincere hopes that in the unlikely event that he finds
himself exposed to this minor bit of whimsy, Mr. Souza appreciates the humor and
the, mostly, good-natured spirit in which this was intended, and does not,
instead, make use of our fine criminal justice system.
Today’s post also includes a special surprise, and a
first for this blog – a captivating contest complete with glorious and glamorous,
grand-prizes! Slog your way through the amusingly,
annotated snapshots, and the details will follow.
For a look at more of Pete Souza’s photography, minus the
juvenile jests, you can travel the highways and byways of the World Wide Web to
his Flickr page by following this link - http://www.flickr.com/photos/whitehouse/
As always, all pictures can be enlarged for easier reading with a mere click of the mouse.
Contest Giveaway
If you’ll glance to where the lovely Carol Merrill is now
standing (or simply scroll to the picture beneath this paragraph) you’ll see
the fabulous, paltry prize package of “…and several butcher’s aprons” swag! Faster than you can decry, “why would anybody
possibly want this junk?” you can be the first on your blog to own this unique
and unappealing key-chain, pen and refrigerator magnet set! Once your anticipation and exhilaration are
contained, merely compose your very own comic caption to the final Souza
photograph posted below, and email said wacky witticism to butchersaprons@mail.com. Besides guaranteed procurement of the hitherto
mentioned treasure trove, the winning entry will also be posted on an upcoming
blog where it may be seen by some of our over 160,000 previous readers.
All this can be yours!
Hmm, surely something funny must be going on here
Lastly, as is our want, we conclude with a musical number
that, should you not be a remnant from the Gilded Age such as myself, may
help explain the meaning of today’s title. From 2007, 63 years
after his plane went missing over the English Channel while traveling to
entertain troops, the Glenn Miller Orchestra and “Pennsylvania 6-5000.”
