Saturday Song Selection: Frank Sinatra – What Are You Doing the Rest of Your Life

“I want to see your face in every kind of light

In fields of gold and forest of the night
And when you stand before the candles on a cake
Oh, let me be the one to hear the silent wish you make”

Since the last “… and several butcher’s aprons” post leaned, oh so slightly, to the cynical, sarcastic and somewhat spiteful, we return to the “Saturday Song Selection” series with, if I may borrow an over-used phrase from those who gave our blog its very title, “something completely different,” a mood change as dramatic as Mitt’s policy shifts from Monday to Tuesday and an opening sentence as lengthy as his list of lies. This Saturday, June 16^th, nycityman gets sentimental, soft, schmaltzy and sappy, with a lump in his throat and perhaps even a tear brought to the eye and a wish that you may similarly react. Feel no embarrassment if you do, for it was Frank Sinatra with his raw, sensitive and vulnerable interpretation of ballads, particularly songs of heart break and regret, who showed that it was okay for a tough-guy to cry. After his meteoric rise and early big band, bobbysoxer period idolatry, Sinatra suffered a time of both professional and personal decline and turmoil, climaxing in the end of his marriage to Ava Gardner. Listen to the material he released after this period and you hear a singer who had matured into an artist, and one who openly expressed and exposed his emotions and experiences. 

“What are You Doing the Rest of Your Life” was recorded in 1974. In Frank’s “summer, winter, spring and fall” of his life, he was decidely autumnal, for although he would continue to perform for over 20 more years, that voice had seen a lot of life and was no longer quite as powerful or pristine, nor were the performances as consistent. But I have a particular fondness and emotional attachment to this period and the years that followed, as this was the Sinatra era I would get to experience live, and even if a note was a soupçon uncertain, what remained unadulterated and untainted by time, cigarettes, or Jack Daniels was the evocation, the poignancy and passion, the life behind the song.  Seeing Sinatra in concert was permanently an event, no matter the actual number of times in attendance, each was a singular and memorable occurrence.  In the twilight of his journey you realized you were seeing history.

With lyrics by Alan and Marilyn Bergman, music by the wonderful French composer Michel Legrand  and an arrangement by frequent Sinatra collaborator, Don Costa, “What are You Doing the Rest of Your Life” is a true highlight of the latter part of Sinatra’s career – a moving, evocative, emotional performance from an expressive voice.  However one must point out that his recent habit of holding, twisting and exaggerating the ‘I” sound, as In “night” and “light” ending each with an overemphasis on the “t” – I suppose the spelling would be something akin to“lyeeett”- a staple to impressionists from this day forward, is certainly fully on display in this track. I myself find it quite enjoyable to do when indulging in the fine and respected art of karaoke, and think of it as a humble, reverential homage.

The composer, Michel Legrand has written over 200 film and TV scores, received every conceivable honor and award in the international music industry, and is known in the United States for such songs as the theme from “Brian’s Song,” the Oscar winning “Windmills of Your Mind,” “I Will Wait for You,” “How Do You Keep the Music Playing?” and today’s presentation. It certainly seems imperative that Monsieur Legrand must be the subject of a future Saturday Song Selection - tout de suite.

Saturday, June 16^th Birthdays

1993 Alice Ann Newman – Today Randy Newman’s daughter turns 19. I post that simple fact purely to posit the question – why would I possibly know that?

1987 Abby Elliott – Third generation in a comedy family, Abby’s dad is Chris Elliott and her grandfather was the Bob half of Bob and Ray, legendary, incomparable and droll (yes, I said droll) radio comedy team. I feel a slight affection for this clan, as I saw Bob live at Carnegie Hall. I worked with Chris once, and I’ve recently seen Abby wearing naught but a smile and fortuitously placed soap bubbles in Maxim magazine.  There, Abby, you wanted attention, you got attention! Now go put some clothes on. What would your grandfather think?

1938 Joyce Carol Oates – I have to admit, Joyce Carol Oates has been included in a mistakenly vain attempt to try and present nycityman and this blog as learned and classy. I, along with everyone associated with “… in several butcher’s aprons,” blogspot, and the entire world wide web across this great globe of ours, sincerely apologizes and we will attempt to return to our television and pop culture references as rapidly as is humanly possible.

1937 Erich Segal – Love means never having to make but the most obvious joke.

1936 Fred Oster - Dutch Television host – see earlier entry: Alice Ann Newman

1907 Jack Albertson – this man he ain't so hard to understand. Chico, if you try now, I know that you can lend a helping hand. But much more significantly, Jack Albertson was the postal employee in “A Miracle on 34^th St” who, in a glorious display of the lethargy and slothfulness of the government employee and the fabled corruption and inefficiency of government agencies, reroutes all the “Dear Santa” letters to the courthouse where Kris Kringle is on trial for mental instability, and thereby saves our most beloved of holidays and rescues Santa from a lifetime of institutionalization -. and remember, Mr. Claus’ lifetime is multiple hundreds of years.

1890 Stan Laurel - brilliant, beloved, immortal – if only kids today would watch black and white. What’s to say about one half of arguably the greatest comedy duo in film history – and not really arguably? Just enjoy the clip below from the Laurel and Hardy classic, “Way out West.”

But first, Frank Sinatra, “What are You Doing the Rest of Your Life?”

Mind Games: Miniature Capo di Tutti Capis - Our Beloved Bosses

A Caustically Critical and Comical Contemplation of Those Who Would Be Corporate Kings

Mr. Mooney - Iconic Boss #1

“I wear the chain I forged in life. I made it link by link and yard by yard while on Earth and, now I will never be rid of it any more than you will be rid of yours!” – Jacob Marley’s Ghost

 “We all been playing the mind games forever.” – John Lennon

“(What they do?)
(They smile in your face)
All the time they want to take your place
The back stabbers” - The O’Jays

We’ve shared many a cantankerous and crabby, if not disparaging, derogatory and disapproving blog post in the notoriously unheralded history of  “…and several butcher’s aprons,” but this entry may be the Burj Khalifa, the Sancy Diamond, the Mount Everest, the Xaviera Hollander (what are things that are the ultimate in their categories, Alex?)  of self-indulgent, bitter, acrimonious epistles, because this time – it’s personal!  (hit menacing music sting.)

They go by an abundant multiplicity of professional titles – boss, supervisor, superior, manager, coordinator, bully, back-stabber, deviant and sexual predator. But despite this opulent variety of workplace monikers those fellow homo-sapiens, by birth and nature biological equals, who hold far too much say, sway and power over substantial percentages of our days and our lives, whether achieving such through hard work, talent and dedication or through nepotism, quotas or frequent favors of the flesh, often share comparable characteristics. The employer/employee relationship seems by its very make-up to be an unavoidably adversarial one. The relative positions and roles in society are opposite and counter to each other. But why do some (many? the majority of?) bosses behave the way they do? Does management training demand that this sultan of supremacy surrender his or her humanity and humility - those very traits that would permit them to more empathize with and understand those who report to them? Are bosses by necessity always the worst people in the world, is it a qualification for success in the endeavor? With just a minor adjustment in focus and attitude, and a little taken off the sides and back, would Charles Manson have been the best darn Chief Operating Officer the world has ever seen? Could Jeffrey Dahmer have saved Borders Books? Could Mitt Romney have parlayed the personal pain, financial ruin and joblessness of thousands of hard working , middle-class Americans into obscene and almost immeasurable riches for himself? Could he have taken Gerber out of the mouths of babes in order to put more beluga in his own? (Oh wait, that happened.)

Mr. Dithers - Iconic Boss #2

The large, multi-national corporation for which I toil is more top heavy than a Hollywood plastic surgeon’s client list, just chock-a-block with “senior-”, “vice-”, “executive-“, “chief-“ titles of all stripes, manner and ilk - and by that I mean, of course, as in the GOP, the Vatican and every late-night comedy/talk show writing staff, they are in great preponderance, white males. Many are reasonable, rational human beings taking no joy in correcting, chastising or cajoling. And then there’s Maude (the name has been changed for employment security and for easy 70’s sitcom referencing) my main muse for this installment and the person to whom it is dedicated. Maude has mastered the art of the mind game – warm, fuzzy, loving, caring, armed with hot from the oven, fresh, home-made baked goods, a moist munchie in one gnarled claw but a razor sharp saber in the other (perhaps I best borrow the King's food taster), an appealing smile, and a kind but unmistakably feigned encouraging word on Monday; while on Tuesday she is inaccessible, callous, unkind and imperiously aloof. Your days are spent in psychological dismay – which guise will be revealed this fine morning and in what manner should she be approached, if indeed she even allows any approachment at all. Most importantly, whether experiencing either the Jekyll or Hyde phase, you suspect that during both extremes she has been laboring behind the scenes to sabotage and undermine your career; yet it is done not out of a predetermined perniciousness or a particular abhorrence toward you, rather, it is the way she feels she can most effectively and efficiently advance her own. As with any good cult or terrorist organization leader her primary management approach is to break your spirit. Like a wild palomino in a sport jacket and chinos, once you’re broken and defeated, she has triumphed, and from 9 to 5, has wrestled complete control over your being. Have a nice day.

                                                                                                                                                        

A Few Other Boss Types

This is the Totie Fields or London Lee of supervisors (no, how about the Rusty Warren or Mickey Manners of supervisors? Okay, we’ll go with Sarah Silverman and Patton Oswalt) always on, an apparently frustrated stand-up comic with a confrontational Catskills comedic repertoire. The result, he/she frequently embarrasses themselves in hallways, in lunchrooms, in elevators and most often and most damaging, in department meetings. Unfortunately and through no fault of your own, as all injurious jesters require a foil, you are often drawn downward into their dungeon of disgrace. And, once again, as it has on so many previous occasions, your mind queries, “I report to this person?!”

The whiner, verbalizes only through the nasal cavity, rarely through the mouth, while taking credit for other people’s work. His desktop is covered in pharmaceuticals, vitamins and supplements of every variation, next to the super-sized box of lotion-enhanced facial tissues. This archetype seems to constantly fall ill when exceptionally loathsome assignments appear. Suddenly you’ll be entrusted with unprecedented  freedom and responsibility, but fear not proper due recognition, as he’ll be receiving all acknowledgment and praise for your 5 consecutive nights spent slaving until the witching hour, while he remained at home, reclined on the settee, Chivas Regal,  Primatene Mist and Afrin in hand, convulsing at the Big Bang Theory reruns on TBS. This boss has perfected a management method combining the most irritating elements of Gary Cole in “Office Space,”  Garry Shandling and Quinn Cummings (see Wikipedia – annoying child actress “The Goodbye Girl” and “Family.”)

They don’t have a life, so why should you? This administrator is hermetic, lacking in humor or imagination and possesses awkward social skills, consequently, they subsist on cubicle and coffee machine. They work nights and weekends (and Christmas and New Year’s and especially Valentine’s Day night) so why shouldn’t you? All is not gloom and doom, however, as you will receive one day of recreation while under their vocational jurisdiction, that being, of course, the sad anniversary of the occasion that Captain Fluffy Paws left us for the great scoop-able litter box in the sky.

While culled from individual experience with an extensive degree of embellishment and exaggeration for entertainment purposes - so don’t try this at home - perhaps among the satirical specificity there is some universality to be found. If you are a boss yourself, take no offense, as surely you don’t recognize any semblance of yourself amongst this collection of ogres and miscreants. And although an envied, flourishing leader of men you may be, somewhere there is someone even you have to answer to. So, here’s to those who have attained bountiful business brilliance. Here’s to the winners. “Here's to the winners, lift up the glasses. Here's to the glory still to be. Here's to the battle, whatever it's for.”  But, keep in mind, while you may have achieved exalted ambitions, remember that no one, save his indistinguishable cloned progeny, not even his most ardent supporters, hold any real affection for Mitt Romney. So strive while you may for Willard doppelganger-hood and its accompanying formidable fiscal feats, in reality, humanity and compassion are true traits of the winner and demand a distinctly dissimilar skill-set.

And finally, a question - is it worth the possibility of jeopardizing one’s livelihood just for the juvenile, enjoyable, and spiritually and psychologically satisfying opportunity to expose and ridicule one’s supervisors, especially in such obvious and identifiable ways? When having wine with dinner, it certainly, at least momentarily, appeared so.

We conclude with an “… and several butcher’s aprons” first – 3 classic songs in commentary of the current topic featuring John Lennon, The O’Jays and Frank Sinatra.

I, Magoo

The Perils and Foibles of Being Simultaneously Nearsighted and Farsighted

Aging in an Age of Aging

Writing Subtitles Even When the Thesaurus Tool is Malfunctioning

“Oh Magoo, you’ve done it again!” – Quincy Magoo

“I Can’t See Nobody

No, I Can’t See Nobody” – The Bee Gees

Despite the best efforts and intents of resveratrol, CoQ-10, fish Oil, flavonoids, beta-carotene or any other of the seemingly infinite, and completely unregulated,  anti-oxidants and natural supplements we devour desperately - individual Ponce De Leons all, in a quixotic quest for our personal fountains of youth – each and every one of us, mortal to our very core, will inevitably succumb to nature, aging and maturity and their inescapable consequences  (Benjamin Button – a curious case, Joan Rivers’ eyelids, and the GOP policy towards women’s health issues aside.)  As I ascend through the furtively fleet passage of time, I fear that the illustration of Mr. Magoo, presented here, represents a fairly accurate depiction of the current and future states of nycityman - and not only in appearance and stature, but even more so in terms of awareness, alertness and overall general behaviors. I’ve become as myopic as Michele Bachmann’s matchmaker, as Donald Trump’s hairstylist, or as Cardinal Timothy Dolan at the annual gay rights parade.

Being nearsighted is far from a new development, gold aviator frames with brown-hued, gradient lenses (scoff if you wish, but it was the era, they were the trendiest of all spectacles and coordinated brilliantly with the quiana shirts and platform shoes – we were stayin’ alive) were indispensable accoutrements beginning in high school. My ocular acuity decreased as persistently and precipitously as an abstinence pledge in Wasilla, Alaska, and if not for the astonishing advances in lens technology, I’d be sporting glasses that look like 19^thcentury stereoscopes. But, alas now, thanks to the generosity, gifts and good graces of Father Time (whom I think of more as a neglectful, if not abusive, step-father) I am also farsighted, and that condition too is deteriorating as rapidly as a Fox News viewer’s useful grey matter. Ponder the reality – if one is farsighted, and one is also nearsighted, what category of “sighted” remains? Through laborious and ceaseless scientific study and inquiry (lying in bed, sans corrective lenses, periodical and ruler in hand) I recently ascertained that the area I can see clearly, the entire distance in which I can discern the visual variation between Arnold Schwarzenegger and Danny DeVito,  totals 5 inches! From about 12 inches to 17 inches away from my eyes, words and objects are distinct and distinguishable - before 12 inches and beyond 17 inches, my sense of being, life, humanity and events is perceived through the same camera filter that was used to shoot Doris Day on the old television series that bared her name. When prepping for slumber, and therefore lens-less, the cloudy, amorphous, shapeless blob lurching toward me in the gloom of darkness could be anyone from, optimistically - winsome, Welsh warbler, Katherine Jenkins (temporarily replacing Barbara Eden as the current, comic, childish crush reference) to, more pessimistically, renowned cinema villain, Kane Hodder, cleaver at the ready.

Katherine Jenkins

Actually experiencing life as a Mr. Magoo is not minutely as amusing in reality as it is in the animated realm. For example, driving into a fire hydrant has very little actual comic value, even if a chicken inexplicably appears upon the scene and is thrown into the air upon contact. Similarly, should you find yourself driving off of a cliff your vehicle will not defy gravity and stay aloft in the air as you register a triple take to camera before plummeting.  And, it’s best if we spare the details of the actual aftermath of an anvil dropping on a head. Needless to say the body does not transform into a whimsical accordion. 

Once upon a time I could see.  I was a sharp-eyed, alert, hormone-driven youngster who could spot VPL and muffin tops and most urgently, adam’s apples on people whom in every other aspect appeared wonderfully womanly, from a football field away. I could see near and far, hither and yon, fore and aft, and even Shields and Yarnell.  I could see fire I could see rain. But now, I have to give serious, thoughtful and even lengthy deliberations to concerns like – if I were to be in a plane crash, would it better if I were wearing my contact lenses or my glasses? I’m still debating that.

The Bee Gees, and “I Can’t See Nobody”

London Calling: Notes From Across the Pond

“When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life.” – Samuel Johnson 


 “As long as I gaze on Waterloo sunset
 I am in paradise.” – Ray Davies 


 They gave us our language (and I’d like to thank them for the use of it; it’s a wonderful, rich, expressive one; the language of William Shakespeare, Percy Shelley and Benny Hill; and I deeply apologize that we’ve mucked it up so.) They gave us our legal system (“Law and Order: UK” is very similar to the American original except, as the detectives can’t carry firearms, they must subdue suspects through the use of scathing sarcasm.) They gave us much of our culture (And we gave them back “Larry the Cable Guy's Christmas Spectacular.”) And, perhaps most importantly, they gave us Monty Python’s Flying Circus, through whom all things are possible. And the “they” of which I speak are, of course, the English. Recently, nycityman and a valued close companion, heretofore referred to, very likely much to her consternation, as nycitywoman, traversed the expansive Atlantic for yet another visit to our beloved city of London. Now, although a foreign land, having spent 53 years immersing myself in the tongue, I felt well prepared for the journey.


Perhaps nycityman’s pathetic priority on said journey (patiently indulged by the more temperate nycitywoman) -
Pubs, pubs and even more pubs – Pubs in the UK are virtual time machines where one is transported from 2012 directly to the 1800’s, 1700’s, 1600’s and in a few cases, even the 1500’s, and with nary a Morlock in sight to endanger you (obscure H.G. Welles reference.) And within these taverns is found a distinct atmosphere, a character, achievable only with the passage of time and one that can never be satisfactorily artificially created – an advancement of infinite proportion from let’s say TGIFridays or Applebees. Enter Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese, the Lamb and Flag or the Grenadier (rumored to be rife with poltergeists of past generations) and embrace the history, the lore, the fascination, yet calm that comes with the knowledge that you’re treading the same floor boards as did Alfred Lord Tennyson, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, G.K. Chesterton, Samuel Johnson and W.B. Yeats. Perhaps the worn wooden bench on which you alight was the very one on which Charles Dickens first conceived of Sydney Carton’s noble and glorious sacrifice. As you gaze around your rich, bountiful and colorful surroundings realize that this establishment has somehow survived everything from the Great Fire to the Blitz to still be standing and in operation for these many hundreds of years. Should the "gents" also be historically accurate to a long ago and bygone era, think of it not as a detriment but rather as a further addition to the genuine flavor of the environs, and as a unique opportunity to experience but a small portion of life as those who came before you did. And don't fear, the Bubonic Plague germs have ceased being active centuries ago.


A walking city – a warning - 
On our first day in London, as is tradition, I almost got hit by a car. While having had the good fortune to vacation in England’s capital city on 7 or 8 separate occasions now, my tendency still remains to look the wrong way when crossing the street. Luckily, when one does get struck by a conveyance there, which for nycityman appears inevitability, the cars are so small they just harmlessly bounce off of you after impact. However, and be warned, such is not the case with the iconic double-decker buses, just be grateful for National Health - mores the pity that we cower before the civilized and progressive concept of a universally well-cared for population.


Accommodations - and a word from our sponsor – 
Think the Cratchitts’ surroundings too posh? Consider the Tower of London ideal lodgings if not for the lack of Showtime and HBO? Love “Fawlty Towers” so that you dream of experiencing a Basil Fawlty fire-drill? Well, when next you find yourself in London be sure to book yourself a room at Millennium's Bailey Hotel - where the lifts lift - in name only, sheets are changed but only after a fatality, it takes David Blaine to properly construe the mechanics of your door lock, and toilet paper is rationed one precious square at a time (please sir, can I have some more?) and as for the toilet, a successful flush is as likely as one at the yearly London School for the Tragically Near-Sighted Texas Hold-Em' Tournament. The Millennium Bailey Hotel - A Little Taste of Mogadishu in the Heart of London. 
All that being said, and there was quite a bit of writer’s embellishment involved, to hopeful comic effect, both nycityman and woman would very likely stay there again should the price be right. It is an expensive metropolis and the exchange rate never favors Americans. We can purchase our own toilet tissue (as we did), take the stairs (a wise notion as the lift doors did trap me once) and call housekeeping with a sheet request (as we needed to.) If, for you,  luxury is a must, Willard Romney best be your travel-mate (non-canine, only) 


“For all sad words of tongue and pen, the saddest are these, 'My vacation's over'” – 
A fortnight ago (we were in London, after all) nycityman was a free, liberated being, bounding the boulevards of one of the planet’s magnificent municipalities, doing whatever I desired whenever I desired –  champagne tea at the Dorchester Hotel, roast rib of Scottish beef, plus a birthday fete, at the historic Simpsons in the Strand, cocktails in the swank flat of a renowned, hit-making songwriter, dinner with a successful author, multiple melodious musicals, casino gambling - no obligations, “no strings and no connections, no ties to my affections, fancy free and free for anything fancy.” (Sorry, Irving Berlin’s “Top Hat” was playing on the West End.) In a perfect and unrealistic fantasy version of reality, a variation of how we live while vacationing should be our actual lives - traveling, experiencing new things, exploring fascinating and exciting cites like London - this should be real life, everyday life, not 8 hours or more each day spent caged in the intellectually inhumane and humiliating confines of a cubicle surrounded by dozens, if not hundreds, of other slogging, similarly sedated and despondent drones - life is far too treasurable and brief, Now, while this delightful delusion of mine, and millions of others, is as impracticable and unobtainable as my junior high school one about Barbara Eden in her Jeannie costume - obviously, people just can’t stop working and still maintain a society – each and every one us could pause and sniff the American Beauties just a little bit more. The concept of the sacrosanct and venerated American work ethic is a ruse designed to make us think we should be proud giving up our valuable time to devote our lives to our corporate overloads in the pursuit of enriching others and not ourselves. But then again – it’s a living. 


And for a final, related thought – is the richness, joy and fulfillment one often relishes while on holiday due to the enrichment of travel with its discovery of new and different places and people; or would it all be for naught and perhaps even lonely and depressing without the company of a special person with whom one shares these new encounters and experiences? (I’m hopeful that sometime soon, we’ll even resolve our on-going airplane armrest skirmish.) Perhaps when all is said and done, the most vital element to a successful, memorable and pleasurable vacation is the company you keep. 


And now, more from England with the brilliant, Kinks and “Waterloo Sunset” - 

Rick Santorum: Time Traveler!!

Over the Cuckoo’s Nest: Your 2012 Republican Candidates


“… for pure, blind stupidity, nobody beats Santorum. In my 20 years in the Senate, I never met a dumber member.” - Mark Salter, aide to John McCain,

“I'd say that Rick Santorum has one of the finest minds of the 13th century.” - Tom Ferrick, The Philadelphia Inquirer

“Radical feminists have been making the pitch that justice demands that women and men be given an equal opportunity to make it to the top in the workplace.” - Rick Santorum

“So I go insane
Like I always do” - Lindsey Buckingham


A mysterious stranger born of an ancient peoples, he’s traversed the corridors of time with the cruel, ruthless and merciless intent of spreading his bizarre and barbaric behaviors and beliefs. With him, he carries a sacred satchel containing only mid-twentieth century, suburban-American sweater vests. Each sanctified garment represents a core tenet of his antediluvian philosophy and ideology - inequality of the sexes and races, religious intolerance, rejection of science and fact, bigotry toward the gay community, the promotion of ignorance over enlightenment, and the dread fear of all things sexual. His eventual objective - to eliminate any traces of women, homosexuals, non-Catholic Christians, college students, the poor, the working class, union members, teachers, individuals with skin tones more than two shades darker than his own, liberals, Birkenstock retailers, vegetarians, intellectuals, scientists, every member of the Field family - Frank, Storm and even Allison, immigrants whose last names are exceptionally difficult to either spell or pronounce, Williamsburg hipsters, choreographers, the Children’s Television Workshop-creators of Sesame Street, and of course, the Blue Man Group (a point of agreement) from the surface of our beloved planet (the very same terra firma that he believes requires no ecological attention, as it exists solely for the purpose of humankind to use and then to drain of its resources); and to destroy modern civilization as we know it. He’s known only by the name - SANTORUM! Rick Santorum - righteous hero to none;
combatant in the war against progress; enemy of equality, education, environmentalism and evolution - virtuous champion of one-time, formerly controversial topics that have been settled lo these last many eons, since the wheel and fire were considered the iphone and ipad of their day.

Possible President to be Santorum, is “anti” issues no one ever has been “anti” of before in the entire history of politics. Caesar Augustus would deem him old-fashioned and backward thinking (but then upon his passing make him a god, as was the want in olden days when a glimpse of stocking was looked on as something shocking - Santorum, Roman God of the Sadly Clueless, Lucky Enough to Have Nice Hair Though) He’s anti-education! Who has ever cautioned us about the creeping, skulking dangers and temptations of a good education before? A pertinent fact - the unemployment rate for college graduates stands at 4.5%, while it is 9.5% for those without college degrees. He’s anti-separation of Church and State - a religious zealot who is actually against freedom of religion, as the First Amendment is the only thing standing between Rick and his required membership in our potential new state faith, in which we will now be worshipping the ancient Aztec god, Huitzilopochtli. He occasionally demands a human sacrifice but there are an exorbitant number of paid holidays, so it fairly evens out. He’s also anti-contraception as, much like the mother in “Carrie,” and the high school classmate who found herself in the unfortunate circumstance of having Santorum be her “first” - Rick believes sex to be dirty, nasty and sinful (just as it should be when performed properly) and an act to be reserved only for the marriage bed and even then only for the purpose of procreation, As Santorum has 7 children, we can be hopeful that wife. Karen, has only had to suffer through the tender, skillful, soulful, artful, passionate, Marvin Gaye-like, love-making of “Rick the Quick” just those 7 times.

Is Santorum actually the backwards, ignorant, bigoted, hate-filled, small-minded cretin he appears to be (I say this, of course, with a generosity of spirit, complete impartiality and without a hint of irrationally, angry exaggeration) or is he, in point of fact, shrewd and aware that his most likely pathway to secure the Republican nomination is to appeal to the lowest common denominator.- to appeal to the haters and the intolerant. His social politics are certainly pre-20th century, and he takes his policy cues more from Matthew, Luke and John than from Washington, Jefferson and Adams - and the modern day Republican has gotten so far to the right that he may be exactly what they're looking for. They're bitter and angry that women and homosexuals and blacks and other minorities have made so many strides and they blame them for their own troubles and insufficiencies. The presence of a black man in the White House was the final straw to push these extremists out of the shadows and into the mainstream GOP. Now they’ve got a candidate breathing reactionary, regressive fire, while cloaking his fanaticism in the flag and crown of thorns.

As always, in the “Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” series, we like to conclude by allowing the subjects to bury themselves with revelations of their own nonsensical, fanciful, implausible, but embarrassingly memorable quotations. Santorum has been such a font of foolishness and preposterous proclamations that he has clearly demonstrated his qualifications to serve as Governor of Alaska.

On the virtues of higher education -
“President Obama once said he wants everybody in America to go to college. What a snob. Taught by some liberal college professor trying to indoctrinate them,”
"I understand why Barack Obama wants to send every kid to college, because of their indoctrination mills, absolutely ... The indoctrination that is going on at the university level is a harm to our country."
"62 percent of kids who go into college with a faith commitment leave without it,"

On his obsession with the indecent nature of sex, often with particular care and attention to the detailed depictions of explicit, sweaty, hot man-on-man action, the likes of which have not been heard outside of a Marcus Bachmann Yahoo chat -
“Woodstock is the great American orgy. This is who the Democratic Party has become. They have become the party of Woodstock. The prey upon our most basic primal lusts, and that’s sex. And the whole abortion culture, it’s not about life. It’s about sexual freedom. That’s what it’s about. Homosexuality. It’s about sexual freedom.”
“It comes down to sex. That’s what it’s all about. It comes down to freedom, and it comes down to sex. If you have anything to with any of the sexual issues, and if you are on the wrong side of being able to do all of the sexual freedoms you want, you are a bad guy."
"contraception... it's not okay. It's a license to do things in a sexual realm that is counter to how things are supposed to be. (Sex) is supposed to be within marriage"
"If the Supreme Court says that you have the right to consensual [gay] sex within your home, then you have the right to bigamy, you have the right to polygamy, you have the right to incest... It's not, you know, man on child, man on dog"
“[Gay marriage] threatens my marriage. It threatens all marriages. It threatens the traditional values of this country.”

On his religious moderation and acceptance of those with other beliefs -
“But is there such thing as a sincere liberal Christian… the answer is, no, it’s not. I don’t think there is such a thing…You’re a liberal something, but you’re not a Christian.”
"When you go so far afield of that and take what is a salvation story and turn it into a liberation theology story, which is done in the Catholic world as well as in the evangelical world, you have abandoned Christendom, in my opinion. And you don’t have a right to claim it."
“I don’t believe in an America where the separation between church and state is absolute.”

And now, Lindsey Buckingham performs, "Go Insane.” ‘Nuff said.

Sarah Palin: Profile in Cowardice

This blog entry will be somewhat different in tone than the usual, "... and several butcher's aprons" post. It will lack the standard jokes, similes and snarky comical attitude. Even the closing song intended as additional commentary will be missing for, unfortunately, the subject at hand is too serious for such frivolity. Some time ago, I had optimistically hoped that our days of addressing the problem of Sarah Palin had been left behind in the dustbin of history. She had appeared to become as irrelevant as Marcus Bachmann at a Playboy mansion soiree. This heartless harpy has received enough of the public attention that she so obviously and pathetically craves, that we no longer wished to contribute to fulfilling that need for her - then Gabrielle Giffords, and her wonderful and devoted husband, Mark Kelly appeared on the television news magazine "20/20," and Palin, once again, became a relevant topic.

Now, often the most effective way to rid ourselves of puerile, public figures poisoning our political system and population with their ignorance, intolerance and hatred is simply to ignore them. Nothing wounds a Palin or a Glenn Beck more than a lack of what they most pathologically desire - publicity. And, as previously stated, we have made a concerted effort to avoid any mention of such sad individuals. But upon viewing Gifford's travails on TV, one cannot help but feel ire that Sarah Palin - she of "don't retreat, reload," the gun sight map specifically targeting Giffords by district and name, one version of which also contains the message, "we've diagnosed the problem...help us prescribe the solution," among many other examples of her steady stream of violent rhetoric and imagery - has not herself taken responsibility, nor has been held accountable for the acts of violence that followed, culminating in the tragic shooting of Giffords and the many attendees at her rally that day. 

The fact that Palin still maintains a public profile, and didn't just quietly withdraw to private life to pray to whatever demonic deity could produce such a selfish, sanctimonious shrew, and ask forgiveness for her many reprehensible words and deeds, says more about this miserable human being than any outside observer could possibly express. 

What's tragic and sadly ironic is that Gabrielle Giffords now valiantly and bravely struggles to regain her brain functions as a result of someone who never had any to begin with.  Sarah Palin must never hold a place of political importance and influence again, our country and its people are far too great for that.

To end this piece on a positive, more germane and proper note, we salute Representative Giffords and Retired Captain Kelly who show, despite the news coverage to the contrary, that in our culture, our world and our country, the brave, the courageous, the good people, far outweigh and far outnumber the vile, the venal, the vitriolic, the vulgar, the Palins, that we are cursed with and that seem to be a necessary evil and consequence of a free and open society. We should all hope that someday we can find in someone what Giffords and Kelly have found in each other and that no future Sarah Palins plague us with their presence.

Saturday Song Selection - The Grass Roots: Wait a Million Years

“As love is reality,
When you are near to me, I am in ecstasy
I'd swallow the pain and pride
Baby, I just can't hide all that I feel inside”





It’s feeling as if this may be a proper moment in time to lighten things up a bit here at “… and several butcher’s aprons.” The recent bountiful barrage of caustically controversial political pieces thankfully, remarkably and thrillingly, increased readership by almost twenty-fold. However, the sudden exposure to a much larger audience also brought with it responding streams of invectives heretofore not experienced. We learned, through this multiplied and more open interaction with the virtual universe that, for example, nycityman is “vile,” needs to take a long hard look at himself in the mirror, and is a writer whose talents are neither worthy of posting nor reading (the comment that most cut me to the quick, but admittedly, it is a quick in need of some minor cutting.) In certain quarters, I’ve been portrayed somewhat as a left-wing answer to Glenn Beck, and although I’d prefer Jeff Beck, I actually think that’s kind of fantastic in the sense that it’s very satisfying that someone is not only paying attention but is motivated enough to strongly comment and critique - whether it be of a positive or negative nature. But, for the present, a change of pace - return with us now to the thrilling days of yesteryear (Hi Ho Silver, away) to a calmer time, a more peaceful time, a time of love and joy, and a time of going to San Francisco wearing flowers in your hair – as we revisit “Saturday Song Selection.” We’ll play a memorable, beloved ditty, have some good-hearted merriment with birthday acknowledgments, and an enjoyable, innocent time will be had by all - suitable for readers of all ages and all political persuasions – sans preaching, pontificating and proselytizing. It’s been a long time, now I’m coming back home. I’ve been away now, oh how, I’ve been alone (wait - now there’s a great song, and although not the subject of this “Saturday Song Selection” it will be posted here as an extra added attraction.)

The Roots of The Grass Roots

Perhaps this is one of those bands of the classic rock era whose name you may just vaguely recognize. Maybe you can even recall one song of theirs, but more likely you can’t actually name any of them. Then you scan Sirius, happen upon an oldies station, and soon are singing along to one of the many Grass Roots hits you never before credited to them – “Midnight Confession,” “Wait a Million Years,” “Two Divided by Love,” “Temptation Eyes,” “Sooner or Later“… on and on (though not “On and On,“ the Stephen Bishop standard.) Some impressive facts - from 1967 to 1972, The Grass Roots set a record for being on the Billboard charts 307 straight weeks. They’re one of only nine bands that have charted twenty nine or more Top 100 Billboard singles. They have sold over twenty million records, and have earned one platinum album, two gold albums and thirteen gold singles.
Considering their admirable achievements, their origins and history are a little unusual. In essence, the Grass Roots began as a fake assemblage – like the Archies, the New Kids on the Block or the 2012 Republican Presidential candidates - at first, not much more than a dream someone once had (or in the case of that GOP roster, a nightmare.) Songwriters, Steve Barri and P.F. Sloan were charged by Dunhill Records to compose some folk-rock songs, the burgeoning musical trend at the time. They penned a few and recorded them with studio musicians. Hits emerged and unexpectedly they had to put together an actual group to assume the mantle of the record label owned moniker, The Grass Roots. Initially, The Bedouins, an already existing band did the Clark Kent to Superman-like transformation and a pop-rock saga began. Yet the Bedouins lasted in this new incarnation for but for a short time and another group, The 13th Floor, replaced them to become the most successful, most stable line-up of what was to be an ever-evolving congregation. In total, 33 different members have passed through the Grass Roots, an organization as flexible, malleable and changeable as Mitt Romney’s convictions – nycityman is anxiously awaiting his opportunity. Among the many Rooters was Creed Bratton, now stretching his talents to portray Creed Bratton on “The Office.”


Saturday, November 5th Birthdays

1963 Tatum O'Neal - The youngest Academy Award winner in history, at age 10, for “Paper Moon,“ as daughter of Ryan O’Neal and ex-wife of John McEnroe, also the unfortunate recipient of the “Worst, Most Repugnant Men in Any Woman’s Life” honors. A relationship with the recently deceased Moammar Gadhafi would have been a step in the right direction for her.

1947 Peter Noone - Obviously his name wasn’t Herman and he really wasn’t a hermit, so for a career and persona built on maliciously contemptible, ugly and deceitful lies and obfuscations, designed to deceive millions of gullible young people throughout the world - a very likeable guy with a healthy catalog of hit songs to his credit. As a child he also acted in the eternally running British drama, “Coronation Street.” Eyewitnesses report that Mrs. Brown’s daughter was not nearly as lovely as consistently insisted on by Noone.

1941 Art Garfunkel - Primarily known through much of his career as “and Garfunkel,” a tradition later continued effectively by “and Oates,” his individual recognition grew with his Golden Globe nominated performance in “Carnal Knowledge.” He was, of course, half of the greatest duo of the rock music era, blessed with a distinctive and amazing voice and, most importantly, born in Queens, part of nycityman’s five borough domain.

1940 Elke Sommer - German-born actress and 1960’s and 70’s hot number, possibly best remembered for being the object of an unpleasantly aging Bob Hope’s distasteful film and TV lechery. The lustful “tiger-growl” just isn’t as comical or charming with the vibrating dentures.

1912 Natalie Schafer - The late Ms. Shafer appeared in 17 Broadway plays and dozens of Hollywood features from 1941 to 1989 and yet she is known solely for a role she played in a bad TV sitcom that lasted a mere 3 seasons - “Gilligan’s Island,” Author of the autobiography, “Cutely Refer to Me as Lovey One More Time and I Can’t Promise I’ll Be Accountable for My Actions with this Ice Pick… Dear,“ she and co-star, Jim Backus are personally responsible for the way every comedic actor has chosen to depict a wealthy person for the last four decades.

1911 Roy Rogers - We’re wishing happy trails to the “King of the Cowboys” wherever he may now be. Star of 100 films as well as a radio and TV series that ran a combined 15 seasons, and an inductee to the Country Music Hall of Fame; with “Queen of the West” wife, Dale Evans, he founded and supported numerous children’s charities. No joke here, it’s Roy Rogers, he was an icon and sometimes it’s good just to learn.

This song transports me back to childhood summer days and WABC radio. Although, it’s really just run of the mill, standard 60’s pop, it has greatness, and even if you’ve never heard it before see if you can stay still while listening. Presenting the Grass Roots with that love song of exaggeration, “Wait a Million Years” -



And as promised, and previously alluded to, a special “Saturday Song Selection” bonus - the Beatles and “Wait.”