Sing Along!

Cathy did some babysitting today.  My friend, Mike, left his little girl with us for the morning.  Taylor is not a year old yet, but she already has a favorite television show.  Her favorite is Yo Gabba Gabba.  When the music came on, her face lit up and she started leaning to the side to see the tv.  Mike said she has favorite episodes already.  This was not one of them.  The robot and fuzzy monsters started singing a song about not playing in the street.  Like Mike said, if adult humans told a kid not to play in traffic, they would just ignore the advice.  But a big fuzzy monster sings a song about the street being "for trucks, cars, buses, and other dangerous things" and it's gospel to a kid.  Cathy suggested that all lessons in school should be set to music.

That made me start thinking about what my generation learned from music, especially music on television.  How about Coke teaching "the world to sing in perfect harmony?"  Or McDonald's telling us that we "deserve a break today."  Tab letting us know that it's "a beautiful drink for beautiful people."  My favorite, "aye, aye, aye, I am the Frito Bandito!"  "You're in good hands with Allstate."  And "like a good neighbor, State Farm is there."  And finally, "when you say Budweiser, you've said it all."

Saturday morning cartoons had Schoolhouse Rocks public service ads.  They taught grammar with Conjunction Junction.  One taught that breakfast is the most important meal and that "a peanut butter and jelly sandwich any time of day, is a treat."  The one that needs to be brought out of retirement is How a Bill Becomes a Law. 

Our congressmen missed out on the first part of the video where "the whole process starts with ... the folks back home decided they wanted a law passed."  The idea doesn't start with the president, unions, or radicals from Columbia University.  It starts with "folks back home." 

I'm sure the song was edited to fit into its allotted time.  Because it never mentions giving billions of dollars in deals to the senators from Nebraska, Louisiana (sorry, it wasn't put in for only Louisiana.  Any state that suffered a major natural disaster in 2005 would be eligible.  At least as long as their state capitol rhymed with patton luge), and Connecticut.  Then let's turn on the water for a couple of drought-stricken California districts to get their votes.  Still not enough to pass.  Okay, tell the representatives that don't believe we should pay to kill babies that we'll take that part out later.  Really, we promise.  I think all that was in the original version of the song.  It just had to be edited out.

The best part though?  The animated version of the bill was a one page document rolled like a scroll.  That, of course, is just for television though.  The bill that created medicare was 28 pages, the one that created the interstate highway system was two pages, and the Constitution was four pages, six if you count the letter of transmittal and the Bill of Rights.  That many pages wouldn't look good on television.  It might look fishy, like they were trying to sneak something in.  Like maybe a takeover of something important, oh, say the student loan program for grins.  So how suspicious would a 2,700 page pile on the steps of the capitol look?  What could you possibly sneak into a 2,700 page mess?  Pretty much anything you wanted.  Just to be fair, post it on the internet three days before the vote, so congressmen, the media, and the public have a chance to read it and respond. 

Sing along, I'm just a bill, I'm only a bill...    

Hometown and Roots

If you aren't familiar with Steinbeck's Travels with Charley:  In Search of America, it is his observations about America and Americans as he travels from Maine to California with his dog Charley.  From the very beginning of the book, he writes about his yearning to be on the move.  He also notices the longing looks he gets from both friends and total strangers when he talks about his plans.  He feels that Americans have an inborn need to travel and explore.

One of his observations early in the book is of the large numbers of mobile homes he is seeing on the interstates.  At one point, Steinbeck has dinner with a family whose mobile home sits alone on a hill near the highway.  He asks about the lack of roots such a lifestyle provides.  The man says that his family has never had roots.  His father came over from Italy and lived in New York apartments moving with the availability of work.  His wife's family had the same experience coming over from Ireland, where their "roots" tied them to a land during famine.  They welcomed the opportunity to cut the roots and come to America.

Steinbeck predicts that the mobile homes will become more popular, since they offer a nice, inexpensive home that is, by definition, mobile.  If work or opportunity presents itself in a new location, all the mobile home owner has to do is pay for a trucking company to move their home to a new location.  No more being tied to a specific area because of a home that you may not be able to sell.  Maybe that will be the next recycled new idea to come out of the current tough economy and housing market.  

Steinbeck also speculates about the previously mentioned American need to be on the move and to explore.  He thinks that maybe the need is genetic.  Other than the relatively small Native American population, all of us came here from somewhere else.  Our ancestors pulled up their roots and came to America.  Whether we inherited the desire to move, or we learned the behavior from our ancestors, it has always been there.  And, as Steinbeck points out, from the beginning of mankind, we have moved constantly in search of food or a better climate.  Today we do the same in search of better employment or business opportunities.

Another interesting observation is about communication.  He mentions calling home at least twice a week to get in touch with his wife during his journey and reconnect with who he is.  He uses the analogy of a comet.  His past and responsibilities are the tail he carries with him like a comet's tail.  Steinbeck muses that only 100 years prior to his cross country journey, families moved from east to west going years without communicating with friends and family "back home."  Today,50 years after Steinbeck's travels, with cell phones, we are rarely out of touch for more than an hour. Even in the unpopulated, mountainous area that I live in, I am very rarely in an area where I can't be reached by cell phone.  Does that make me more mobile, or just give me a longer tail?

  

 

Hometown

One advantage to business being down this winter is that I'm not working 60-80 hours a week this year.  That leaves some time to do more recreational activities.  Of course the disadvantage to working less hours with slower sales is the decrease in income.  That seems to be one of the unfair facts of life.  If you are making money, you have no time.  If you have time, you are not making money.  Such is life.

So, I have been reading more than I have in several years.  Two books I read this week both have hometowns and roots as a major theme.  The first one is Larry McMurtry's wrap-up of his first protagonist, Duane Moore from The Last Picture Show.  In this new book, Rhino Ranch, Duane feels disconnected from his hometown of Thalia.  A wealthy philanthropist has started a preserve to save the rhino and the town welcomes the business and money, but not the people involved.  Duane is torn between loyalty for his town and disgust for the way they treat outsiders (anyone who hasn't lived there for their entire life).  And even worse, as he ages, he is becoming one of the outsiders.  His successful oil company is now being run by his son, and now if the young people know him at all, it is just through stories or rumors about his series of wives and scandals.  He even goes through the stereotypical you young 'uns get off my lawn old man stage.  Well, sort of.  His involves the omnipresent meth cookers.  I would highly recommend this book to anyone who has read the previous books in the Duane Moore saga:  The Last Picture Show, Texasville, and Duane's Depressed.  It's a good, quick read.  As longtime Dallas sportswriter, Blackie Sherrod once said, McMurtry has written great books and good books.  The story might not be great, but he can't write a bad book. 

The second book I'm reading this week is John Steinbeck's Travels with Charley.

I think I'll write about it in tomorrow's post.

More Childhood Pyromania

Like I said yesterday, one of my few regular chores was taking out the trash and as I got older, burning it.  In our small town, the city only picked up our trash a couple of times a month.  So, we burned it in our trash barrels at least a couple of times between pick-ups.  I don't remember if there was a regular pick-up schedule, or if Don just came by when he had time.  He was kind of the do-everything city employee.  I think he was the maintenance department, animal control, and waste management department combined.  Anyway at least a couple of times that I can remember, Don provided our entertainment on a summer day.  Burning trash in the barrel and an irregular pick-up schedule was a dangerous combination.  Trash burned the day before the pick up would not be flaming, but would be smoldering.  Smoldering trash compacted on top of the other trash would eventually produce a flaming garbage truck.  I remember Bobby and I racing our bikes down the street trying to keep up with Don as he sped through town to the city dump with flames trailing out the back of the truck.

I also remember a scary trash burning incident with Jeff. We had difficulty getting the trash in his alley to burn.  His parents had their own gas tank, unfortunately within fairly easy reach of the trash barrels.  After several failed attempts to get the trash to burn, we had the brilliant idea to pour gasoline on the trash.  The tank had a long hose and just reached the barrel.  A few cautious shots of gasoline were dumped on top of the trash.  Being reasonably intelligent boys, we took the hose back to the tank before trying to light the trash.  Jeff lit a match on the side of the barrel and tossed it in.  Instantly there was a fwoomp and the flames shot up out of the barrel, just like in the cartoons!  And just like in the cartoons, the trail of gasoline that dripped down the side of the barrel to the ground and along the wooden fence toward the gas tank also lit up.  I stomped on as much as I could and Jeff ran for the water hose, which of course reached almost to the fire.  Fortunately for us, the gasoline trailed out into the dirt of the alley before crossing back into the grass to the gas tank.  The gasoline burned off before the flames had a chance to get back to the dry grass.  That was end of my trash burning career, and probably for Jeff too.

Back to Don, the city worker, he also drove the truck that sprayed for mosquitoes in the summer.  That was another form of entertainment for Bobby, Jeff, and me.  We would chase behind the truck on our bicycles, inhaling the ddt fog that would keep the mosquitoes from carrying us away.  There's a line in a James McMurtry song titled, 12 O'Clock Whistle,that says about DDT, "that stuff won't hurt you none, the neighbor lady'd say, but encephalitis, now that'll ruin your day. "If you like country-folk-rock music, I'd recommend James McMurtry.  And this one,It Had to Happen, is my favorite album. For some reason, this song reminds me of spending time in the summer with my Grandma Mae. Besides how can anyone resist a song that successfully works "encephalitis" into its lyrics!