THE INFORMATION #972 DECEMBER 22, 2017

THE INFORMATION #972

DECEMBER 22, 2017
Copyright 2017 FRANCIS DIMENNO
dimenno@gmail.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

The conscious water saw its God and blushed.–Milton

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE

BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER ELEVEN: PART FIFTY-SIX: DAYS OF WRATH

It was a week before the official beginning of winter but the sky was already filled with flakes of drifting snow and skirling seagulls which wheeled and churned through the arctic chill, despondently screeching as low as ten feet above the cobblestoned streets. Horse-drawn wagons trailed steaming horse apples which froze almost instantaneously on the brick streets. On the cobblestoned sidewalks, puddles left over from a recent big rain formed sheets of impenetrable ice, which Cadger Tandy could not break with his heel even if he wanted to. He refrained because he thought such a childish action to be undignified for a fourteen-year-old. He no longer wished to be seen as a capricious child.

The weather made him miserably uncomfortable. Wind blasted through the holes in his shoes. Wind and cold froze his fingers. The smell of burning wood filled the air, and thick skirls of oily black smoke slowly emerged from the thin rooftop pipes of the tenements and warehouses of Noxtown. He looked through eyes blurred with tears and cold at a horse-drawn trolley car nearly frozen to the tracks and heard the snorting and wheezing of the shivering trolley-car horse, clad only in a thin blanket, its eyes popping as it struggled to extricate the full car. The trolley-man signaled for the passengers to debark, and they did so, although some of the men grumbled and cursed. At last the struggling horse was able to pull the car free of the iced-up rails. The trolley-man then rode the vacated car back to the trolley-yard and the stables, and Cadger Tandy decided that his youthful dream of being a trolley-car conductor was very likely a misguided fancy.

It was so cold that the very act of breathing induced a painful chill in the chest. The wind shistled. His gloveless fingers began tingling, then quickly numbed. When, at high noon, Cadger Tandy met Count Victor Justin in the business district of central Noxtown, the Count suggested they walk past the canyons of business establishments housed in four-story buildings with facades of worn orange, dull blue, and powder grey, and repair to the nearby Cokey’s Arcade, where they could perambulate in a space somewhat removed from the worst effects of the near-winter cold. The arcade numbered among its shops a stationer, an art supply store, newsstands, gift shops, a department store, a nickelodeon and a barber shop. Roving gangs of ragged youth slightly older than Tandy had formulated the same plan of seeking indoor comfort and were pushing their way through crowds of Yuletide shoppers with loud hoots and cries. “That there’s the Alley Mob, from the War Side,” said Cadger Tandy. “They’ve come from the other side of the river. They’re probably looking for the Raiders, from the Hoodtown Section.”

“Gangs. T’was ever thus,” said Count Victor Justin. “From the cavemen to today. Young men will go a rovin’ and a-rovin’ till rovin’ proves their ru-i-in. ‘In Amsterdam there lived a maid….’ Are you familiar with that fine old song? ‘Her eyes are like two stars so bright…”? No? No, well the upshot is you’re wise to avoid jealous boyfriends, and, in general, to steer clear of gangs who control a certain territory that ain’t your own. Do ye ken? Chumps will fight and die over a few square blocks. Happens every week. Or you’ll see two dumb brutes fighting over a zook. Isn’t nature grand? No better than animals, they are. Look you that you don’t join them. You may think that if you get in with a tough mob, you’ll be on Easy Street for keeps, but a gang like that is only as strong as its weakest link, and in every herd of would-be lions there’s always one chicken-hearted chirping canary who will sell you down the Salt River quicker’n you can say ‘By der Neddy Jingo’–you can bank on it.

“The way to keep gangs from bothering you is to keep your head up, your eyes looking away, your pose confident, and yourself well-armed. The threat of violence is an excellent stand-in for the real thing. Let ’em know you’re already mobbed up with some heavy-hitters who would no likee if their number one boy cried foul, and they’ll give you a wide berth. Tell ’em about your mad-eyed Uncle Hector, who burned Flips alive in their huts in the South Pacific and who sees blackened dead bodies in his sleep. Hint around that you’re his favorite nephew, and that he wouldn’t take kindly to anybody who manhandled his kin. Speak softly, and carry around a load of grade-A number one bullshit. Yob. When dealing with yekkmen like that, you’ve got to be cold. Cold as an arctic breeze. Most of them are hopped up on sniffing powder anyway. You don’t want to be the victim of their mania for persecuting strangers. There’s also a lot of that sort of thing in Old Europe, you know, only over there the slums are called ghettos and gang violence is called a pogrom. Woe betide the Yiddle with his fiddle who tangles assholes with that trusty crew! Hereabouts, at least, the gangs have got a more egalitarian policy–they’ll stomp you into a blood puddle regardless of race or creed, though if you’re a Cat’lick among Protties, or vice versa, you’re in for an even more monumental beating.

“I guess what I’m saying is that there’s gangs and there’s gangs. In certain neighborhoods, it’s a war of all against all. Unless you travel in a pack, you’re subject to be beaten and robbed at any time. But in some of the other enclaves, there are eyes on the street. If you manage to make yourself fit in and dispense a few favors, you can use your influence with the local badmen to avoid a beating. Naturally, you want to settle in the latter such place, if you have to live in the slums at all. I could tell you stories about some notorious buildings that even the police wouldn’t enter. Don’t you know that when they finally tore down one of the most notorious panel-houses on Columbia Avenue, they found the bones of twenty babies buried in what used to be the cellar? And the bones of a dozen men secreted in the walls? Murder will out. Only, in this instance, none of the perpetrators were ever caught. In some precincts, murder most foul is a hanging offense. In others, it’s just the cost of doing business, business as usual, an everyday sort of thing. That’s why the military draft should be made compulsory. Get them young hoodlums off the street and learn ’em a trade. Once they’ve been through basic training, they become detached from flights of fancy and devote their lives to living the way the factory bosses like ’em–apt to follow orders and do as they’re told, and no two words about it. Aye, the Army will either break you or make you–usually the former. Don’t take my word for it–look at any former gob or bummer or greyback–look into their eyes and you’ll see their empty, hollow stare. Just make damned sure whatever else you do that you don’t end up that way–that is all.”
1*SALUTATION

MAYO THOMPSON

WORRIED, WORRIED

ALSO SEE:

THE RED KRAYOLA

HURRICANE FIGHTER PLANE

2*REFERENCE

WHY YOU SHOULD SURROUND YOURSELF WITH MORE BOOKS THAN YOU’LL EVER READ

https://www.inc.com/jessica-stillman/why-you-should-stop-feeling-bad-about-all-those-books-you-buy-dont-read.html

3*HUMOR

WALLY WOOD

THE COMIC STRIP CHRISTMAS PARTY

http://belatednerd.com/the-comic-strip-christmas-party/
4*NOVELTY

JB’S WAREHOUSE & CURIO EMPORIUM

https://jbwarehouse.blogspot.com/search?updated-min=2011-01-01T00%3A00%3A00-05%3A00&updated-max=2012-01-01T00%3A00%3A00-05%3A00&max-results=50

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST

STARVING POLAR BEAR ON ICELESS LAND

https://news.nationalgeographic.com/2017/12/polar-bear-starving-arctic-sea-ice-melt-climate-change-spd/

6* DAILY UTILITY

THE PERIODIC TABLE OF IRRATIONAL NONSENSE

https://crispian-jago.blogspot.com/2010/07/periodic-table-of-irrational-nonsense.html

ALSO SEE:

THE GALLERY OF THE ABSURD

http://www.galleryofabsurd.com/

7*CARTOON

THE TEN WORST THINGS HANNA-BARBERA EVER MADE

https://www.therobotsvoice.com/2011/12/the_10_worst_things_hanna-barbera_ever_made.php?mid=54

8*PRESCRIPTION

MEDICAL SLANG

http://www.messybeast.com/dragonqueen/medical-acronyms.htm

9* RUMOR PATROL
PULP INTERNATIONAL
WHISPER
http://www.pulpinternational.com/pulp/keyword/Whisper.html
10* LAGNIAPPE

IGGY POP

TURN BLUE

ALSO SEE:

Ziemnioki
Linda i Świetliki
Las Putas Melancolicas

11*DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA

CRIME DOES NOT PAY COMICS

I am learning interesting things by reading Crime Does Not Pay Comics in sequential order.

The covers were extraordinarily gruesome from the outset. The cover of #24 (actually, the third issue) is hard to top, even today.
https://files1.comics.org//img/gcd/covers_by_id/186/w400/186007.jpg?2692258500471865167

After the war, a stable of better artists (George Tuska, et al.) was recruited, and the magazine’s popularity exploded.

It glorified criminal enterprises and provided lurid, and frequently highly inaccurate biographies of noted criminals. For instance, see this issue (#58, DEC 1947, one of my favorites):
(“I’d like to sharpen my nails on that fat face!”)
https://digitalcomicmuseum.com/preview/index.php?did=15515

And this (#68 OCT 1948):

In 1948, sales of each issue peaked at one million. There were so many imitators that Lev Gleason introduced a second title, CRIME AND PUNISHMENT.

Dark Horse halted its series of reprints with Volume ten, ending with #61 (MAR 1948). (Too bad. #11 and #12 would also have been worthwhile, and would have ended the run before the comics started to get preachy.)

It diverged, within a matter of two years, from contents which glorified the criminal to stories which glorified policemen.

And eventually, they began running covers which showed criminals as inept and portrayed cops in a heroic light, such as this (#69, NOV 1948)

And this: (#80, OCT 1949):

Certainly by 1950, as Nicky Wright observes, the crime comics had been “toned down”.

All due to the fuss made by critics of the comic book.

I just bought this from Abebooks.
Blackjacked and Pistol-Whipped: A Crime Does Not Pay Primer
Only $6.68, including shipping.

Mostly for the cover, and so I can read the introductory matter.

ALSO SEE:
http://www.crimeboss.com/history02-1.html

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE

MAMIE VAN DOREN ON BOB HOPE

Does anyone remember Bob Hope? I was just the right age for Mr Hope….16. Because I turned him down he would never invite me to work with him.

Bob Hope made millions of dollars off entertaining the troops. Those tours were sold to NBC. He never did anything for the good of anyone else. He had side pieces tucked away in bungalows all over L.A. He once told Barbara Peyton that she needed a new mattress, and if she didn’t get one he wouldn’t fuck her anymore. Miraculously, he paid for it. That said, he was the most tightfisted asshole in Hollywood. Delores was complicit too. She knew what he was doing and looked the other way. It saved wear and tear on her.

Worst of all, he wasn’t funny. He was surrounded by writers all the time, and couldn’t be funny without them.

Can you tell I didn’t like him?–mamie

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THE INFORMATION #971 DECEMBER 15, 2017

THE INFORMATION #971
DECEMBER 15, 2017
Copyright 2017 FRANCIS DIMENNO
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com

The old white man didn’t look into your eyes, he looked clear through your eyes, and straight to the inside of the back of your head. ‘Instead of runnin from pain, which is the natural thing in life, in boxing you step to it, get me?’― F.X. Toole
WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER ELEVEN: PART FIFTY-FIVE: DAYS OF WRATH
“Where did you learn so much about fighting, anyway?” said Cadger Tandy to Count Victor Justin. It was the last warm autumn day before the snows were due.

“Well, my Ettil Yob, let me ask you something in return: What is the most popular sport?

“I dunno…baseball?”

“Nae, Yob. Nit and Nix. It’s boxing. And you know I’ve had my finger in quite a few pies over the year. Patent medicines. Card Games. Masonic Lodges. And horse racing. Quite naturally, I also developed an interest in boxing. As a matter of fact, for a brief time I managed the featherweight contender of the world: A pug known as Johnny Fist, the Socko Kid. He fought Abe Attell once. Problem is, he did everything wrong during that fight. He didn’t go to any matches that Attell was in. This was before Abie was named champ. They used to call him “The Little Hebrew.” Attell was all mobbed up, or so they say, and the fix was in, which is how he got to the top. Kid Fist McGillicuddy grew up in the same tough Irish neighborhood, in Frisco. He used to have to beat up ten kids a day. Later on, he sold papers, and he still had to hand out the socko because times was tough owing to the Panic and older kids was always trying to steal his corner. He had a head made of pig iron. He used to crack wise and say that the only man who ever knocked him out was his dentist.

“One of the problems Johnny had was that he was lazy. He didn’t want to skip rope, or do jumping jacks, or throw the medicine ball, or perform calisthenics. Even worse, he didn’t want to do his roadwork. He knew he had to, but he didn’t always push himself the way he oughta. Also, he had an eye for the Zooks. And that was bad news. Give me an ornery fighter every time. One who can barely contain his rage. It makes a man fearless in the ring, and gives him a supreme edge. And everybody knows that if you get laid the night before a fight, it saps your energy. If you’re making goofy spoony eyes at a frail, then you ain’t concentrating on the task at hand, which is to maul that gorilla lurking in the neutral corner who’s fixing to knock you out and snatch your purse away.

“Another problem he had is that he liked to hang around in taverns. Not to drink, or so he said, but just out of a sense of companionship. He might have been better off making new friends at a pink tea party, or a church social. He would of been much better off spending a quiet evening at the Chess Club. As it was, he would go to the toughest seashore dives he could find, where wharf rats played the hornpipe and their zooks danced on tables. He would always make some sort of wise remark, and the sailors and dock wallopers would take umbrage,. I think the guy had a Napoleon complex. He wasn’t exactly a shrimp, but he was only about five foot and four and a half inches tall, and I guess that like most little men with a bit of red blood, he was aching to prove to the world that he was a real he-man in spite of his size. So he’d get into brawls with some real bruisers, some of whom weighed twice as much as he did. He could lick just about any man in the house, and because he was so well known in them parts, he was always having to prove it. Which is how he busted up his hands, but good. He was hot-tempered, and inclined to be rowdy. He always took the first punch, and asked questions later. He had no sense of the appropriate. He should have been wrapping his hands up good, and saving his workouts for his sparring partners. Instead, the young jolthead used to scrap with boozed-up blutos, and brutes who were feeling no pain. Small wonder he came down with a case of arthritis. By the time he met up with Attell, he was just about washed up. He just wasn’t as tough at The Little Hebrew. And everyone knew it but him. They had him at 20 to 1. If Attell could of been convinced to take a dive, we could of made our fortunes then and there. Imagine betting a grand at 20 to 1!

“McGillicuddy was convinced he could take The Little Hebrew. And he very nearly did, too, except that after eight rounds, he was winded. Too many late nights fighting boozehounds kept him in bed when he shoulda oughta been up bright and early doing his roadwork and hitting the old speed bag. He should of been training five times a week, but he only trained three. He should of been eating lots of steak and lamb chops and such, but instead he always filled up on peas and mashed potatoes and other such truck. Also, he would often eat just before he went to bed, which is a big mistake, because everybody knows that you can actually gain weight overnight when you stuff yourself before you hit the sack. Plus, you tend to have terrible dreams, and that’s no way to get a restful kip.

“Yob, he did everything wrong, and yet he almost licked Attell on sheer guts alone. I never seen anything like it, before or since. This was back in the days when boxing was a much more rough-and-tumble sport than it is now. Back when many refs still remembered John Sullivan and the bare-knuckle days. So Johnny used every dirty trick he knew against the little Hebrew. Putting chloroform on his glove in the hopes that it would get in Attell’s eyes and blind him. Punching below the belt–well below. And you should of seen him in the clinches. He…well, it’s no use talking about it. It just wasn’t enough. The fight took place in Denver, and The Little Champ had the advantage, because he was acclimated to the thin air, and McGillicuddy wasn’t. If only Kid Fist had had a little more upstairs, he might have beat Attell on sheer strategy. As it was, The Little Champ scored a knockout in the ninth round. I still made a pretty penny off the bout–most bookies were offering odds that Attell would deck my boy in three.

“Anyway, Kid Fist was washed up after that, I hear he went to Binghampton New York and took a job as a shoe clerk. I haven’t heard hide not hair of him in about five years. But I still remember that fight. And what he said to me afterwards. ‘I hit him below the belt. But he still wouldn’t fall down and go boom. I guess that God always favors the guy who sticks to the main plan.’

“Kid Fist was no Sir Isaac Newton. But he sure knew his onions–leastways, on that score.”

1*SALUTATION
THE LOVIN’ SPOONFUL
“POW”

SEE ALSO:
SAM THE SHAM & THE PHARAOHS
LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD

ALSO SEE:
THE ROYAL GUARDSMEN
SNOOPY’S CHRISTMAS

SNOOPY VS. THE RED BARON

2*REFERENCE
DAN CARLIN
THE DESTROYER OF WORLDS

3*HUMOR

From HOW TO GET AHEAD IN ADVERTISING

DISTORTION OF TRUTH BY ASSOCIATION


4*NOVELTY
EAT YOUR SNOTS, JIMMY
http://www.mensfitness.com/life/science-says-booger-eating-and-nose-picking-healthy

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
FRANKENSTEIN’S MONSTER MEETS HIS BRIDE

6* DAILY UTILITY
THE LOVE STORY TO END ALL LOVE STORIES
http://truelovecomicstales.blogspot.com/2015/04/modern-love-love-story-to-end-all-love.html
7*CARTOON
SPAIN RODRIGUEZ
http://www.comicsreporter.com/index.php/fff_results_post_296_after_before_watchmen/
8*PRESCRIPTION
Why does TIME get to decide who the person of the year is? They picked good old Hitler back in 1938.

CAPTION: Der Fuhrer, in an introspective mood, chillin’ with his Alsatian bitch.

9* RUMOR PATROL
FIFTEEN SONGS WITH SATANIC BACKWARDS MESSAGES
http://www.vh1.com/news/52612/15-songs-satanic-backwards-messages/
10* LAGNIAPPE
NERVOUS NORVUS
APE CALL

ALSO SEE:
APE CALL (BACKWARDS)

“I HATE BUGS”

SEE ALSO:
https://www.allmusic.com/album/stone-age-woo-mw0001008924
11*DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
The History of Rock and Roll. Volume One 1920-1963.By Ed Ward. Flatiron Books. New York. 2016. Hardcover. 402 pages.
Review by Francis DiMenno
This history, which came out about twelve months ago, will provide a wonderful primer for those who are under the impression that rock and roll didn’t truly really begin until the advent of the Beatles. Make no mistake: toward the end of the book, Ward does devote nearly 100 pages to the events leading up to the British Invasion. But the remainder of his history is a lively narrative recap of the major styles and trends which led to the consolidation and initial decline of the genre still known as Rock and Roll. It is a story familiar, perhaps, mostly to ethnomusicologists and savvy and erudite musicians.

We start with the latter part of the nineteenth century and the era prior to the widespread dissemination of recorded sound technology: field hollers, chain gang songs, and other work songs. Church music. Homespun fiddle and banjo music. There were not very many professional musicians, and they were mostly confined to the cities. Rural denizens made their own music, or would attend medicine shows, “a sort of low-rent offspring of the touring minstrel show,” which were accompanied by musicians, often young, who brought strange new sounds and forms of music to the hinterlands. At the end of the nineteenth century, guitar-based blues emerged. Then came piano-based ragtime. Ward begins his actual survey with Mamie Smith’s non-blues recording of “Crazy Blues”; a consensus choice, but a good one. As the recorded music industry blossomed, it issued shellac 78s of ethnic music, the new genre of Western music, and, of course, the rural and urban forms of the blues, known right up until the 1950s as “race” recordings. After the Second World War, local scenes emerged for both blues and country music. Piano-based Boogie-woogie, a form popular in the 1930s, enjoyed a revival in 1945 with Arthur Smith’s “Guitar Boogie,” and the form was also widely adopted by country musicians. In 1948, Roy Brown wrote “Good Rockin’ Tonight,” and eventually had a minor hit with it. Wynonie Harris immediately covered it and took it to #1 on the black charts. We are given a too-brief survey of Gospel music, and then Ward proceeds to give us some background on Lightnin’ Hopkins, B.B. King, John Lee Hooker, and Howling Wolf; practically unknown back then; legends now. And then we get to 1951, and Ike Turner, and Jackie Brenston’s “Rocket 88,” which some now point to as the first recorded rock and roll song. That same year, Alan Freed, a white Cleveland DJ, bucked the higher-ups at radio station WJW, a 50,000 watt behemoth which blanketed Ohio, Pennsylvania, and points east and west. The name of his program was “The Moondog Show”. He labeled the type of black music which he broadcast as “Rock and Roll.” White teenagers latched onto it in a big way, and the rest is history.

What follows is a veritable roll call of the early history of the still-emerging genre. Sam Phillips’ Sun Records. The Moonglows. Big Mama Thornton’s “Hound Dog.” Lieber and Stoller. Jackie Wilson. The Clovers. The Drifters. Early Elvis. Early Ray Charles. Hank Ballard’s somewhat smutty “Work With Me Annie”. Big Joe Turner. Chuck Berry. Anyone with more than a glancing familiarity with rock and roll needs to know these names. Ward gives them their due by chronicling their emergence and providing the needed biographical context, all within a narrative which is far from encyclopedic but also far more than merely cursory. We then proceed through the rise of Johnny Ace, Etta James (“Roll With Me, Henry”). Even The Five Keys, of whom Ward dryly notes, “They started 1955 off with a novelty hit ‘Ling Ting Tong,’ a racist bit about the title character, who lived in Chinatown and had a song he sung: ‘Eye a smokum boo-eye-ay, eye a smokum boo.'” (An early reefer song?) There then follows a familiar litany of standards: The Penguins, with “Earth Angel.” The Platters, with “Only You.” And…Bill Haley and the Comets, with “Rock Around the Clock,” which provided the opening soundtrack for the juvenile-delinquent themed exploitation movie “The Blackboard Jungle.”

But wait, there’s more! Far more. The inexplicable and practically indescribable Little Richard (“They thought I was stupid and crazy and that I didn’t know where I was going.”) He didn’t. At first. Until he was seen at a local nightclub piano performing an impromptu rendition of a raunchy song called “Tutti Frutti.” With lyrics re-written by Doris Labostrie, a married woman with children, and with the contributions of Earl Palmer (who “invented rock & roll drumming, setting a rhythmic template that would endure for decades….”), the song became a smash hit and even topped the pop charts. As a consequence, “Studies were launched to see if this music caused juvenile delinquency.”

Then came the era of Carl Perkins, Buddy Holly, and Johnny Cash. And even thirteen-year-old Frankie Lymon and the Teenagers. All with their accompanying stories and lore. Take, for instance, James Brown and the Famous Flames, and their song “Please, Please, Please.” And the reaction of the dyspeptic and nearly blind owner of King Records, Syd Jacobs. “What is this shit?….Fuck it. I’m putting it out cross-country just to prove what a piece of shit it is.” It wasn’t. It was a hit. We then proceed to names both big and small. Roy Orbison. Alis Lesley, “the female Elvis.” Wanda Jackson. Otis Rush. Nervous Norvous. Screamin’ Jay Hawkins. The Chips. (“Rubber Biscuit.”) The Cadets. (“Stranded in the Jungle.”) Warren Smith. (“Ubangi Stomp.”) And Jerry Lee Lewis.

By now we’re up to 1957. The brief Calypso craze. “People were so eager to see rock & roll off that they welcomed Calypso as its successor.” Not a chance. because, in the summer of that year, rock and roll came to television with Philadelphia’s “American Bandstand,” hosted by Dick Clark. “For the kids…it was a window to a teen paradise.” Perhaps in more ways than one. Ward notes that “Firsthand reports from regulars detail make-out sessions and outright sex in the cloakroom and reefer smoking on the building’s roof.” The summer of 1957, Ward asserts, “saw the first flowering of rock & roll as a national phenomenon, although it was still controversial.” Even Hollywood began to churn out quickie rocksploitation movies, in order to quickly cash in on the supposed craze.

In 1958, Elvis was drafted into the Army as US53310761, and underwent basic training. (Ward thoughtfully provides the famous picture of a scrawny white-haired and white-smocked army barber giving him his “regulation military haircut”.) Who would fill the void? There were at hand The Everly Brothers, Gene Vincent, Dion and the Belmonts, and even Little Richard’s mentor Esquerita. There was also a search for more wholesome music which would be provided by “the next Sinatra.” Frankie Avalon. Fabian Forte. Paul Anka. Bobby Darin. And there were also novelty tune peddlers such as Sheb Wooley, as well as David Seville and his execrable Chipmunks. And a brief craze for instrumentals, by the likes of Duane Eddy. Among the college crowd, rock and roll was yesterday’s news; jazz and folk were now the music that was in.

1959 was a disastrous year. On February 3rd, Buddy Holly, The Big Bopper, and Richie Valens died in a plane crash. It was not, as Ward is careful to note, “the day the music died,” although he does mention that “…more and more, ‘good music’-leaning performers were taking over white rock and roll.” This was also the year that Soul emerged, with Ray Charles, though it didn’t yet have a name. Phil Spector recorded his first single. And 1959 was also the year that Berry Gordy founded Motown, as Tamla Records. Rock and roll consumers were already becoming nostalgic for the early years, as seen by the success of the Oldies But Goodies series of records on the aptly named Original Sound label. At the end of the year, another disaster struck. Chuck Berry was arrested under the Mann Act, for prostitution, and eventually landed in federal prison on this trumped-up charge. Also in November, the DJ Payola scandal would usher in the 1960s, and the fall of Alan Freed.

There is a tendency for old-time rock and roll aficionados to write off the period from 1960 to 1963 as a virtual wasteland. This impulse is not totally misguided, yet it overstates the truth. True, there was the massive “Twist” craze perpetrated and perpetuated by the former chicken plucker Ernest Evans, who performed under the name of Chubby Checker, in homage to Fats Domino. (We should be glad, I suppose, that he didn’t select the name “Oleaginous Bingo”.) But it was also a time during which “…country was as sclerotic as pop…It was the black charts where the action was.” There was the rise of Motown, and of the New Orleans sound. There was R&B. There were even the ever-present “oldies”. Plus Surf Music. Folk Music. And jazzman Dave Brubeck even had a massive hit with “Take Five” b/w “Blue Rondo a la Turk,” which in 1961 became the top-selling jazz single of all times, spending twelve weeks on the chart and peaking at #25. Late in 1961 21-year old Phil Spector founded Philles records. Spector (and others) heralded the emergence of “Teen Pan Alley.” And the Pendletons changed their image and their name and became…the Beach Boys. All was not lost. The British Invasion was waiting in the wings.

Ward has a story to tell, and he covers a massive amount of material in a briskly efficient fashion, without omitting any truly significant developments. He even leaves room for many, though not too many, interesting biographical asides. Overall, this history provides an excellent survey course in the origins and development of rock and roll. I am enthusiastically anticipating his second volume.

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE
THE WONDERFUL LITTLE TIN BOX

books.google.com/books?id=c4UoX6-Sv1AC&pg=PA396&lpg=PA396&dq=it+was+in+a+box.+a+wonderful+tin+box&source=bl&ots=V3xg4vyrLr&sig=rdP6F116nwUB5BM51lG_3Mh4zIc&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiH0P6WlvjXAhUCUt8KHQ6JCUkQ6AEIXDAM#v=onepage&q=it%20was%20in%20a%20box.%20a%20wonderful%20tin%20box&f=false

THE INFORMATION #970 DECEMBER 8, 2017

THE INFORMATION #970

DECEMBER 8, 2017
Copyright 2017 FRANCIS DIMENNO
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com 

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE 

BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER ELEVEN: PART FIFTY-FOUR: DAYS OF WRATH

“Well, my Ettil Yob,” said Count Victor Justin to Cadger Tandy when next they met. It was an unseasonably warm day during an unseasonably warm November, and all the leaves which had yet to fall were suspended in a golden state just prior to turning brown. “Did you follow my advice about the bullies?”

“Yeah.” said Cadger Tandy, “And they threw me out of school. I’m suspended for three weeks. The word is that I didn’t fight fair.”

“What did you do?”

“Everything you told me to, and more. I bit the other kid on the cheek. I stomped on his toe and twisted. And I smashed his elbow with a hammer.”

“That’s my boy! Well done, my good and faithful servant! And what else?”

“That’s it. He ran for his life and someone told the teacher. And the teacher came up to me and whacked me one. Only it wasn’t my fault! The other kid started it–and they didn’t punish him at all. It ain’t fair.”

“Of course it ain’t fair. The notion that the world is fair or that such a thing as fairness even exists is a bourgeois notion. I can assure you, Yob, that the very rich and the very poor–they know different. The rich think nothing is ever their fault; the poor are half-convinced that everything is always their fault–mostly because of the way the world treats ’em. Nobody’s arresting the rich man for pissing in the street and passing out under a bridge; the policeman takes one look at his tailored suit, concludes the Yellof is a gent, calls for a cab, and is thereafter extremely solicitous as to his welfare, in the hopes of garnering a fat tip from the swell and an official commendation from the police department. 

“You can say what you like about the fairness of things; it will never change, and the world will keep going ’round in its own peculiar fashion, just the same. If the sun were to blink out tomorrow, then here’s what would happen, Yob. The rich would find a way to make money off it. How do you think they got so rich? By sitting around and letting George do it? No siree–they get out there and hustle. Before the very next morning, they would have cornered the market on fur coats and longjohns. They’d have bought out all the firewood and would be selling it at extortionate prices. They would have armed goons stationed in front of their own private coal cars with instructions to shoot anyone who took so much as a lump of bitumin. 

“The poor would get drunk and run riot. That’s all they’re good for, really. I have an endless contempt for the poor–not because I’m some sort of arrogant snob, even though I am that. No–it’s because they have absolutely no idea how to adapt to changing circumstances, other than figuring out some way of degrading themselves further. If the sun were to blink out, they would treat the occasion as an opportunity to act irresponsible, which wouldn’t be much of a stretch, because poor people are always irresponsible. Either because they get dragged down by the irresponsible members of their loathsome clans, or because they have expensive vices which they are under no circumstances willing to relinquish. Y’see, they live in trash, because they are trash. They are trash from the moment they are born, and they are surrounded by trash, and so they have a garbage mentality, where everything that someone else has thrown away is something they can glaum onto, and you can be sure they’ll do it, with both greasy fists. That’s why so many of them take flunky jobs, where some boss yells at them all day long. Because they feel like they don’t deserve any better. Because they don’t know any better. They don’t envy the rich–no, because they want to be rich themselves, maybe by making a big score somehow, even though they have no initiative, or maybe by winning the Irish Sweepstakes or some other pitiful and pathetic long shot. No–the people the wretched poor hate most are the bourgeoisie, because they were born in comfortable circumstances, and yet they had to work for it. Damn it, if you’re going to loan money to anybody, loan it to one of the bourgeois because they would rather die than be considered a welcher or a piker. Reputation means everything to those Yobs. Everything!

“As for the bourgeoisie, if the sun were to hide its face from us forever more, they would huddle around in front of the ever-dwindling fire, feeding it sticks of their once-fine furniture until they ultimately froze. People underestimate the bourgeoisie, but they do so at their peril. They are the most human of animals. For they must have everything just so. They consider any monetary setback to be temporary, and they will allow themselves to get hundreds of dollars in debt, and for what? Just to keep up appearances! God forbid that the neighbors should think of them as poor! Why, their crumb-crushers would be jeered at whenever they went to school. No, Yob, the rich are not the biggest snobs. Many of them are actually down to earth, and can talk to a doctor or a bellhop with an equal degree of equanimity. No–it is the goddamn middle class as likes to put on airs and act as though they’re something special, although there’s very little separating them from an honest laborer except some white bread in the pantry and a piano in the parlor, and maybe a four-poster bed. Superficial externalities which they think makes them for all the world a superior breed. If they got it, the poor will give money to beggars–or at least a lump–because they know all too well what it’s like to be up against it. The rich give money to beggars because it makes them feel good about themselves. Only the middle class is stingy when it comes to hand-outs, because they figure they need to keep everything to themselves. 

“The rich, the poor, and the bourgeoisie, they all act according to their environment and their natures. And all of them act correctly, and according to their own lights. Not one of them behaves like they Christ they all favor with their mealy-mouthed lip-service–least of all the bourgeoisie. If one of ’em ever did, you can be sure they’d be locked up in the loony bin within eight hours. ‘Do as I say–not as I do.’ That is the basis of our American civilization. And it would behoove you to remember as much, Ettil Yob.”

1*SALUTATION

THE DAMBUILDERS

SMOOTH CONTROL

https://youtu.be/vrYl1e9YvK8

2*REFERENCE

Nurse no longer employed after tweeting white boys should be ‘sacrificed to the wolves’

https://www.metro.us/news/the-big-stories/nurse-controversial-tweet-white-boys

DO NOT BRING YOUR UGLY DROOLING POOP FACTORY TO ME. I WILL DESTROY IT. –Night Nurse
GOD HATES UGLY BABIES. –Night Nurse
IS THAT YOUR NEWBORN SON? WELL, CRAWL HIS FILTH OUT OF HERE.–Night Nurse

3*HUMOR

ED AMES: OBSESSIVE STALKER?

“MY CUP RUNNETH OVER”

https://youtu.be/xvaQisHV8jw

Sometimes in the evening when you do not see
I study the small things you do constantly
I memorize moments that I’m fondest of
My cup runneth over with love

 

4*NOVELTY

Grinch Alert: Two Suspects Spray Painted Cliff Walk
Police are asking for help identifying two women who allegedly spray-painted the Cliff Walk.


patch.com/rhode-island/newport/grinch-alert-two-suspects-spray-painted-cliff-walk
www.providencejournal.com/news/20171129/newport-police-women-caught-on-camera-vandalizing-cliff-walk-with-spray-paint

 

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST

SCOTTISH TWITTER ROASTS TRUMP

“Gerbil-headed, woodstained, haunted spunktrumpet.”

https://www.buzzfeed.com/hilarywardle/custard-flavoured-jobby?utm_term=.hoGbL2aXw#.gxOg6Rymk

 

6* DAILY UTILITY

THE MADDENINGLY MAD MEN WORLD OF SEXUAL HARASSMENT

envisioningtheamericandream.com/2015/04/13/the-maddeningly-mad-men-world-of-sexual-harassment/

7*CARTOON

SIMPSONS

INSECT OVERLORDS

https://youtu.be/A_Y0knr6XBQ

 

8*PRESCRIPTION

It must be admitted…it is most difficult to obtain absolute certainties for the purposes of history. Fortunately it is, in general, more a matter of mere curiosity than of real importance. … The truth of history, so much in request, to which every body eagerly appeals, is too often but a word. At the time of the events, during the heat of conflicting passions, it cannot exist; and if, at a later period, all parties are agreed respecting it, it is because those persons who were interested in the events, those who might be able to contradict what is asserted, are no more. What then is, generally speaking, the truth of history? A fable agreed upon. As it has been very ingeniously remarked, there are in these matters, two essential points, very distinct from each other: the positive facts, and the moral intentions. With respect to the positive facts, it would seem that they ought to be incontrovertible; yet you will not find two accounts agreeing together in relating the same fact: some have remained contested points to this day, and will ever remain so. With regard to moral intentions, how shall we judge of them, even admitting the candour of those who relate events? And what will be the case if the narrators be not sincere, or if they should be actuated by interest or passions? I have given an order, but who was able to read my thoughts, my real intentions? Yet every one will take up that order, and measure it according to his own scale, or adapt it to his own plans or system…. And then memoirs are digested, memoranda are written, witticisms and anecdotes are circulated; and of such materials is history composed. –Napoleon

shannonselin.com/2014/08/10-napoleon-bonaparte-quotes-context/

9* RUMOR PATROL

THE BOULE: BLACK ELITE BETRAYED THEIR BROTHERS

www.henrymakow.com/2016/04/Boule-Black-Elite-Betrayed-their-Brothers%20.html

ALSO SEE:

JFK/CIA

www.salon.com/2015/11/22/inside_the_plot_to_kill_jfk_the_secret_story_of_the_cia_and_what_really_happened_in_dallas/

10* LAGNIAPPE

THE LEFT BANKE 1966-1969

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gp1rwHxJTHU

11*DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA

THE BUZZCOCKS COVER THE ASSOCIATION

The Association!


Must have been some kind of sick joke.

“Let’s write a song with the exact same melody as ‘Windy’!”

https://youtu.be/6CbUVOo_a70

*11A BOOKS READ AND REVIEWED

ANNE OF GREEN GABLES. MARSDEN & THUMMLER. ****

BACK TO SCHOOL. SMITH. ***

BAKING WITH KAFKA. GAULD. ****

BATMAN ARKHAM: CLAYFACE. **1/2

BATMAN ARKHAM: MISTER FREEZE. ***

BATMAN BEYOND 1. ESCAPING THE GRAVE. ***1/2

BEHAVING BADLY. COLLINSWORTH. ***1/2

BEING ELVIS.  CONNELLY. ****

THE BIG BOOK OF THE UNEXPLAINED. MOENCH. ****

THE BIG NOWHERE. ELLROY. ****

THE BLACK DAHLIA. ELLROY. ****

BUDDHA: AN ENLIGHTENED LIFE. NAGULAKONDA & MOORE. ****1/2

CHURCHILL & ORWELL. RICKS. ****

CLOSE TO THE KNIVES. WOJNAROWICZ. ****

DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR? EVANS. ***1/2

DURAN DURAN, IMELDA MARCOS, AND ME. MAPA. ***1/2

FAITH 3. SUPERSTAR. ***

GENERATIONS. BIONDI. ****

GOING INTO TOWN. CHAST. ****

GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY. MOTHER ENTROPY. ***1/2

HEART TRANSPLANT. VACHSS. ****

HORSEMEN OF THE APOCALYPSE. RUSSELL. ****

I AM ALFONSO JONES. MEDINA. ***

INJUSTICE 2. VOL. 1. ****

INK IN WATER. DAVIS & KETTNER. ****

THE INVISIBLE BRIDGE. PERLSTEIN. ****1/2

JAMES BOND 007: TROUBLE SPOT. ***

JANE. MCKENNA & PEREZ. ***1/2

L.A. CONFIDENTIAL. ELLROY. ****

THE LEAGUE OF EXTRAORDINARY GENTLEMEN 1. MOORE. ****

LEARN BETTER. BOSER. ***1/2

LETTERMAN: THE LAST GIANT OF LATE NIGHT. ZINOMAN. ****

LIGHTER THAN MY SHADOW. GREEN. ****

THE MIDNIGHT ASSASSIN. HOLLANDSWORTH. ****

MONET: ITINERANT OF LIGHT. EFA & RUBIO. ****1/2

NIGHTWING 3. NIGHTWING MUST DIE. ***

NOTHING LASTS FOREVER. GRACE. ***

PIPER. ASHER, ET AL. ****

PLAY ALL. JAMES. ****

RAVINA THE WITCH? MIZUNO. ****

RED HOOD & THE OUTLAWS 2. WHO IS ARTEMIS? ***

RED SNOW. KATSUMATA. ****

ROYAL CITY. LEMIRE. ****

SAIGON CALLING. TRUONG. ****1/2

SECRET SIX 1. UNHINGED. SIMONE. ****

SILVER SURFER EPIC COLLECTION 7. INFINITY GAUNTLET. ***1/2

SIMON DARK 1. ASHES. ***

SIMON DARK 2. THE GAME OF LIFE. ***

SNOW PIERCER 1. LOB & RACHETTE. ****1/2

SNOW PIERCER 2. LOB & RACHETTE. ****1/2

SON OF SHAOLIN 1. ***

THE SPECTACULAR SISTERHOOD OF SUPERWOMEN. NICHOLSON. ***

SPIDER-GWEN 4. PREDATORS. **1/2

SPIDER-MAN/DEADPOOL 3. ITSY BITSY. ***

A THOUSAND NAKED STRANGERS. HAZZARD. ****

A THOUSAND YEARS IN HELL. TILLIEUX. ***1/2

UNBEATABLE SQUIRREL GIRL 6. ***1/2

THE UNKNOWN 1. WAID & OSTERVEER. ****

THE UNSTOPPABLE WASP 1. ***1/2

VERAX. CHATTERJEE & KHALIL. ****1/2

THE VIETNAM WAR. WARD & BURNS. ****

VOICES IN THE DARK. BEYER & LUST. ****1/2

WARNINGS. CLARKE & EDDY. ****1/2

WE ARE OUR BRAINS. SWAAB. ****1/2

WHITE JAZZ. ELLROY. ****

 

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE

Sidney Portier was a sexual harasser. 

He preferred to be called “Sir”.
Case in point:

LULU

“TO SIR WITH LOVE”

https://youtu.be/JOVQ4vAmM7Y

MODERN WISDOM NUMBER 230 DECEMBER 2017

MODERN WISDOM: AMERICA’S ONLY HUMOR MAGAZINE 

NUMBER 230 
DECEMBER 2017


Copyright 2017 Francis DiMenno
dimenno@gmail.com
http://www.dimenno.wordpress.com

 
1. NOIR MISFORTUNE COOKIES
SECOND SERIES
151. The policeman is your friend–but he wants to be more.
152. You don’t know the right people. You don’t even know the wrong ones.
153. Even your confessions are as boring as a slow drain.
154. You were going to set the world on fire–but you got burned instead. 
155. You took too many reds and whites and now you got the blues.
156. Paranoid one, even the chirping crickets foretell your doom.
157. You’ll never see the green green grass of home…on your grave.
158. You will finally ride in a Cadillac–on your way to the morgue.
159. Drinking is slow poison…but you’re in a great big hurry.
160. Coffee bores you–for there’s already a bitter taste in your mouth.
161. Your wife is no better than you–and that is saying a lot.
162. Your dentist knows you are wooing his pretty young trophy wife. 
163. Gambling man, terminal alcoholism is the least of your concerns.
164. Once you were as meek as a dove, but now you’re a stool pigeon.
165. Your new boss will catch you digging pie out of the garbage.
166. You will live in the best house…on the worst ghetto block.
167. Beggars can’t be choosy…but that floozy spells trouble.
168. Your troubles will be compounded–but there will be no interest.
169. You’ll never know your favorite bartender pisses in your beer.
170. You will be murdered in a flophouse for your last 45 cents.
171. You’re not only the town drunk–you’re the world drunk. 
172. The jealous circus midget will tell the strongman you’re a boy-lover.
173. You will wake without pain…on the morning that you die.
174. The hard cons all call you “the lily-livered warden’s boy.”
175. Those credit cards you stole belong to a gunned-down cop.
176. Night-shift job? No. Your wife woos sailors for watered-down drinks.
177. Every time you hear a bell…means the cops are getting closer.
178. Your trusted priest will rat you out without a second thought.
179. Cops are so familiar with your lies they won’t believe the truth.
180. The Big Man finds your craven cowardice amusing…for now.
181. They will someday name a song for you, Psycho.
182. Your psychiatrist is a man who drinks…his own urine.
183. Your court-appointed lawyer is in love with your pretty wife.
184. How can you live on nothing a year? Easy–you’re in jail.
185. Fry cook, someday you will fry–in the electric chair.
186. You are in a pit and your struggles will only make it bottomless.
187. What does not kill you will only make you stranger.
188. Robin Hood? Hah! Robin Hood never crippled a sheriff’s daughter!
189. Son of a bitch and bastard–your graveyeard epitaph.
190. That elephant you teased in Cincinnati has a long, long memory.
191. You graduated from Penn State but are headed for The State Pen.
192. Your stolen DNA is all over the murder scene, patsy.
193. That “hot” diamond you bought for your fiancee is cubic zirconium, fool.
194. You bought the blackmailer’s silence–but he won’t stay silent for long.
195. You will have a long life–a long life of trouble.
196. That “girl” you kissed under the mistletoe was your boss’s son.
197. Four days to freedom–prison riot–dead screw–life without parole.
198. Those screaming faces on the flophouse wallpaper tell lies, psychotic one.
199. Look to the men on yout left and right. Both will betray you. 
200. Jealous co-worker–computer porn–police called in–fired, no references.
 

2.  REVERSE COMEDY
I’m always in the wrong place at the wrong time. Unfortunately, this appears to be one of those times.

I am the king of all animals. Unfortunately, you appear to be humans.

I’m sorry–I should have never come up here. But if not here–then where?

It’s because I have no confidence. In fact, I’m not even sure I should be saying this.

Nowadays, all people ever talk about is the H-bomb. Why does the A-bomb get so little respect? That ruins it for me.

Poor Nagasaki. All of the radioactivity and none of the glory.

This is my B material. Why should I waste my A material on crumbs like you? What’s in it for me?

I am just a young man. I don’t know much. But I do know one thing. You are old–old and in the way.

I know we’ve all been laughin’ it up here. But now, I’d like to be serious for a moment. Kids–stay in school. Because we just don’t want you around us.

One time I was stung by a bee. I ran to tell my father and he said “Why wasn’t it an A?”

When I was a kid, I knocked a forty ounce bottle of Ballantine’s Ale off the table. My mother turned around and said, ‘You see? That’s why we can’t have nice things.’

A funny story. I was walking down the street drinking from a forty ounce bottle of Ballantine Ale and a homeless person stopped me and said, ‘Hey! That’s MY brand!”

He had three teeth on the left side of his mouth, two teeth on the right side of his mouth, and one tooth in the middle. I said to myself, ‘Hmm…I’m going to have to play that number.’

I offered him a cigarette and he tore the filter off. I turned around and said to him, ‘No wonder you’re homeless! You destroy everything you touch!

I hate A, E, I, O, and especially U. And sometimes Y. Why? I don’t know! Don’t bother me!

Don’t be afraid of me. I am a nonviolent hypocrite. I have removed violence from my life. You believe me–don’t you? Or do you want a little…trouble?

Some people look at the world and say ‘Why’? I look at the world and say ‘Shut up. All of you.’

[Mic drop.]

3. RASTUS
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/5/55/Cream_of_Wheat_advertisement.jpg

The Cream of Wheat mascot’s name is “Rastus,” though he’s often called
“Cream of Wheat Man”.

Rastus is a pejorative term traditionally associated with African
Americans in the United States. It is considered highly offensive.[1]

The name is sometimes given as ‘Rastus, and it is likely a shortening
of Erastus, a disciple of St. Paul mentioned in Acts 19:22, Romans
16:23, and 2 Timothy 4:20. “Rastus” has been used as a generic, often
derogatory, name for black men at least since 1880, when Joel Chandler
Harris included a Black deacon named “Brer Rastus” in the first Uncle
Remus book. Contrary to popular belief, however, “Rastus” has never
been particularly popular as a Black name. For example, the 1870
census reported only 42 individuals named “Rastus” in the United
States, of whom only four were Black or mulatto.[1] Rastus—as any
happy black man, not as a particular person—became a familiar
character in minstrel shows

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rastus

He certainly belongs in some sort of League of Racially Degrading
Advertising Mascots, along with Aunt Jemima, Uncle Ben, and The Gold
Dust Twins. Maybe even Famous Amos and Sammy Stevens (this fellow):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vao-IfsMROA

The boy’s name Rastus \r(a)-stus, ras-tus\. Diminutive of Erastus
(Greek) “loving”.


Similar baby names are Rasmus, Faustus, Festus, Gustus and Justus.
http://www.thinkbabynames.com/meaning/1/Rastus

Rastus does, however, occupy a place of honor here:

 

4.WHY FAT PEOPLE DISGUST US
Every era has its own pathologies. In the late 1800’s it was
neurasthenia. But who discusses that now? It almost seems quaint, like phrenology, or alchemy.
But let’s face it. Primates such as us are hard-wired to hoard body
fat to cope with food scarcity.

Blaming people for being fat is like blaming camels for having humps.

Sure, with that mythical attribute called “will power” (as if
organisms have free will at all), you can override your programming.


It’s easy, right?
But, if it’s so damn easy, why are children afraid of thunder?

Why does your hand go to your heart when you see the flag?

And why do people mouth ignorant pieties when they ought to know better?

Because it’s not easy at all to even understand, let alone transcend,
our human nature. It involves effort, and practice, and reinforcement,
and not all people at all times are situated to have the benefit of
all of these.

For Christ sake, make compassion your default mode.

There will then be far less chance of causing harm.

Making people feel guilty for things they have little or no control
over is one of the worst things you can do.

“They have a right to censure that have a heart to help: the rest is
cruelty, not justice.”–William Penn

5.

MARVEL VS. DC
This farcical distinction is all about politics and social class.
Marvel = Atheist, liberal, metropolitan.

DC = Religious, conservative, rural.

Incidentally, both Goodman and Donenfeld had backgrounds in porn and
intelligence ops. Something few of these geeks know.

Both Marvel and DC are, and have always been, indoctrination
machines busily grinding behind the facade of entertainment.

In the 1970s Archie Comics had ties to charismatic Christianity.

http://generationexploitation.blogspot.com/2006/06/history-of-christian-archi_114951302719460209.html

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spire_Christian_Comics

Its famously vindictive publisher, John Goldwater, spearheaded the Comics Code.

Lev Gleason Publications and EC, both with communist/socialist
publisher and editors, were both driven out of business in the 1950s.

6.

WHY DO PEOPLE FLAUNT THE REBEL FLAG?
It’s a slippery slope, though, since you could sensibly ask the same
questions of folks who flaunt the Yankee Flag.
Northern pride over what?

Taking 5 years to whip the South? (Actually, 145, and counting….)

Residential segregation?

Snobbishness?

Being (for the most part) cold damp and miserable for nine months out
of twelve? (Maybe I exaggerate….)

Besides brains, WTF is there to be proud of up Nawth?

And don’t even get me started on people who fly African Unity flags.

In fact, aren’t flags in general are a shabby and primitive way to
show your affiliation?

7.

THE STAND UP COMEDY ACT
Comedy clubs are a gulag for self-styled hipsters.
I’ve probably done over a thousand shows. At stand up places, at bars,
at rock venues, at colleges, and in front of rock-type audiences.

Cerebral humor does not work very well in bars and rock clubs. There’s
something about the atmosphere of a bar or rock club that differs from
a stand up club.

And stand up is harder than it looks.

For those of you who aspire to take the stage for the first time, some
advice that was handed down to me by Meg Herbig, and which I now hand
down to you.

Start by working up five minutes of original material. Memorize it.
Practice it by writing large keywords on one or two sheets of paper.
Ten “bits” are plenty. No more than twenty. If you can get five good
laughs, you’ve done your job.

Bring those sheets of paper (“cheat sheets”) to the gig and put them
where you can see them. They’re your safety net in case you blank out.

How do you work up material? Stuff in the news. Stuff that happened to
you or somebody you know. Comics rarely tell jokes as such.

Comic bits generally turn on the unexpected. Here’s a classic joke:

I was down south and my cousin Earl had this old hound dog who was
licking his balls.

[One beat.]

I said, “Gee, I wish I could do that.”

[one beat]

Earl said,

[one beat]

“Get to know him first.”

You definitely want a strong opening. Something clever and original
that also serves to alert the crowd that you’re glad to be there and
looking forward to making them laugh. (When in doubt, something
physical, like a spit take, works wonders. “He told me I was supposed
to tell jokes. I said [swig from bottle] ‘ptoo!'”)

Then you work up some kind of connected narrative. Many comics wax
anecdotal. Wright’s gimmick was stream of conciousness. Carlin was
much the same. But those guys had their game down perfect. You’re not
going to even come close to them, even if you swipe their material.

To end, think of a strong closer. It’s part of the comedic ethic to end
with a laugh. Many comics won’t leave the stage until they do. For
your first time, a mild chuckle will do.

8.

“Alcohol, the cause of and solution to all of life’s problems.”I’m pretty sure George Meyer got that gag from somewhere else.

I knew George back when he was a Poonie, and those guys have a huge
humor library in that castle of theirs.

For instance, The Neurotic’s Notebook.

The chief reason for drinking is the desire to behave in a certain
way, and to be able to blame it on alcohol. ~Mignon McLaughlin, The
Neurotic’s Notebook, 1960

 

 
9. LOVE AND DEATH
In his 1947 monograph “Love and Death: A Study in Censorship”, Gershon
Legman had a great deal to say about the nexus of sex and violence in
the comic books and other media in the 1940s.
As did Marshall McLuhan, in The Mechanical Bride: Folklore of
Industrial Man (1951).

Concerns echoed right down to today in Durham’s The Lolita Effect (2008).

Superhero comics in particular have always had homoerotic
undercurrents. Hidden identities. Vigilante justice. Naked men who
fly.

Why not? After all, they are an offshoot of the so-called “weird
mystery” and “spicy detective” pulps.

Incidentally, if you want the real story behind the gay Batman
controversy, I suggest you look no further than this relevant passage
in Fredric Wertham’s 1954 polemic Seduction of the Innocent:

Wertham himself said of the relationship between Batman and Robin; “It
is like a wish-dream of two homosexuals living together,” adding:

“Sometimes they are shown on a couch, Bruce reclining and Dick sitting
next to him, jacket off, collar open, and his hand on his friend’s
arm. Like the girls in other stories, Robin is sometimes held captive
by the villains. …

“Robin is a handsome ephebic boy, usually shown in his uniform with
bare legs. He is buoyant with energy and devoted to nothing on Earth
or in interplanetary space as much as to Bruce Wayne. He often stands
with his legs spread, the genital region discreetly evident.

“In these stories there are practically no decent, attractive,
successful women. A typical female character is the Catwoman, who is
vicious and uses a whip. The atmosphere is homosexual and
anti-feminine. If the girl is good-looking she is undoubtedly the
villainess. If she is after Bruce Wayne, she will have no chance
against Dick.”

An article about Wertham:
http://art-bin.com/art/awertham.html

Seduction links:

http://www.lostsoti.org/SOTILinks.htm 

Wertham’s book is not the first in its field. As mentioned, Gershon
Legman’s 1947 monograph, “Love and Death” was possibly the first
extended and serious treatment of the comic book. (Legman also
published a 1946 article in “Notes and Queries” reviewing the history
of the comic strip.)

It was rumored that Fredric Wertham’s polemic was actually ghosted by
Legman. I find that doubtful; Wertham had written previous books whose
style conforms to that of Seduction (original title: All Our
Innocences). A few stylistic flourishes reveal that Legman may have
reviewed the manuscript and added emendations, but I find little
stylistic evidence that he wrote the entire book.

10. PROPAGANDA

“Those who manipulate the organized habits and opinions of the masses
constitute an invisible government which is the true ruling power of
our country.”- Edward Bernays

“You can hardly imagine the warfare that broke out in this area in the
first half of the last century. It would hardly be an exaggeration to
say that sometimes real ‘astral battles’ took place.” – General Boris
Ratnikov, former KGB officer

“The most tyrannical of governments are those which make crimes of
opinions, for everyone has an inalienable right to his thoughts.” –
Benedict Spinoza

“No one ever heard of the truth being enforced by law. Whenever the
secular arm is called in to sustain an idea, whether new or old, it is
always a bad idea, and not infrequently it is downright idiotic.” –
H.L. Mencken

“The media’s the most powerful entity on earth. They have the power to
make the innocent guilty and to make the guilty innocent, and that’s
power. Because they control the minds of the masses.” – Malcolm X

“We need a program of psychosurgery and political control of our
society. The purpose is physical control of the mind. Everyone who
deviates from the given norm can be surgically mutilated. The
individual may think that the most important reality is his own
existence, but this is only his personal point of view. This lacks
historical perspective. Man does not have the right to develop his own
mind. This kind of liberal orientation has great appeal. We must
electrically control the brain. Some day armies and generals will be
controlled by electrical stimulation of the brain.” – Dr. Jose
Delgado, MKULTRA

“During a war, news should be given out for instruction rather than
information.”
– Joseph Goebbels


11. “SOMETHING IN THE AIR”
https://youtu.be/RTZoJ01FpD8

Brilliantly effective as the soundtrack to the grand finale of “The
Magic Christian,” in which businessmen scramble for money tossed into
a vat of manure.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Xg2v_T2XH8

The Magic Christian: Original Trailer:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=szpXshpuAso

“In 1969, Pete Townshend, The Who’s guitarist, created the band to
play songs written by the former Who roadie, drummer / singer John
‘Speedy’ Keen (miscredited as “Keene” on the single’s label). Keen
wrote the opening track on The Who Sell Out album, “Armenia City In
The Sky”. Townshend produced the single, arranged its strings, played
its bass guitar under the pseudonym Bijou Drains, and hired for it
eccentric GPO engineer and jazz pianist Andy ‘Thunderclap’ Newman
(born Andrew Newman, in 1943) and the fifteen year old Glaswegian
Jimmy McCulloch.

Originally titled “Revolution”, but later renamed because the Beatles
released a single of that name, “Something in the Air” captured
post-flower power rebellion, marrying McCulloch’s sweeping acoustic
and glowing electric guitars, Keen’s powerful drumming and yearning
falsetto, and Newman’s felicitous piano solo.

The single was Number One for three weeks, holding off Elvis Presley
in the process. The scale of the song’s success surprised everyone,
and there were no plans to promote Thunderclap Newman with live
performances.

Eventually a line-up, augmented by Jim Pitman-Avory (bassist) and
McCulloch’s elder brother Jack (drums), played a handful of gigs.
Personal records say the band played live only five times, although
Keen referred to a two-month tour, playing “everywhere”.

The members of the band had little in common. Newman once commented,
in a 1972 interview with New Musical Express, that he got on with
Keen’s music but not with him personally, it was a similar case with
McCulloch. Two more singles followed before the band split.”

THE INFORMATION #969 DECEMBER 1, 2017

THE INFORMATION #969

DECEMBER 1, 2017
Copyright 2017 FRANCIS DIMENNO
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com 

Chi dorme non piglia pesce.–Italian proverb

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE 

BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER ELEVEN: PART FIFTY-THREE: DAYS OF WRATH

“Now, Yob,” said Count Victor Justin to Cadger Tandy, “I got something important I mean to talk to you about. I see you’ve been coming home from school lately with bruises on your face. Seems to me you’ve met the business end of a few scrapes. Hope you gave as good as you got. Hope you didn’t lie down in the dust and let ’em pummel on you.”

Cadger Tandy replied with a sad look and a nervous cough. The old man recognized it and said, “Not so good. You have the makings of a frightened victim. Get off that track, Yob, or you’ll have a hard row to hoe for the rest of your natural born days. Buck up, Yobbo. Get some steel in your spine. Remember one thing: a thief is not so bad. The thief only steals your material possessions. He wants nothing whatsoever to do with you, personally. But what a bully does to you is strictly personal, and nothing else. He is hungry for power and glory, and he means to show the world he deserves it by taking it directly from you, in front of witnesses too, if possible. A bully steals something far worse than possessions, which can be easily replaced, even if you have to steal them from somebody else. A bully steals your dignity, and your reputation. If it looks like you’re going to be made a victim, my advice to you, Yob, is to go for the jugular. Treat it like it’s a matter of life and death, because in many senses of the word, it is. All’s fair in love and war. If someone tries to use physical strength to put one over on you, make them pay the price. No matter how much bigger they might be, always remember that you’re probably smarter than them, and a better man, and quicker on your feet. A good stout kick to the kneecap will cripple them, and make them think twice about coming after you. If you can break their nose with the heel of your hand, so much the better. A sidewise chop to the throat will keep them gasping for breath. Once they’re down, don’t all of a sudden develop a conscience. Give ’em the boot. If the bully’s pals start to rush in, punch ’em in the nuts. Or go for the eyes. Or bite off a finger or an ear. That will make the rest of them back off. That’s the way he-men used to fight on the old frontier; if you can make those city dubs think you’re a wild man then that’s half the battle won. The word will go out like lightning that you’re nobody to be trifled with. Especially if you take to wearing weighted gloves, or carry a metal bar concealed in your fist. A few scraped knuckles in the short run will save you a lot of misery later on. Let them think that you’re slightly off your rocker, and that when you’re trifled with, you go berserk. Take to wearing heavy rings on your right hand. Casually mention what sort of damage these baubles might inflict on a person’s face.

“But the one thing you don’t want to do is use your new-found reputation as a tough Mugg to put one over on the weak and vulnerable, women and children, the aged and infirm–all should be under your protection, rather than fearing your tripwire temper or your itchy trigger-finger. This ain’t morality I’m spouting, but good common sense. No one really respects a bully. They fear him and they hate him and they try to get even with him whenever they can. But everyone respects a man who will stand on principle. Whose word is his bond. Who never snitches out his pals, or even his worst enemy.

“Now, vigorous exercise is all well and good, when you’re a young man. It will serve you well as you become older and start to lose some of your pep, because you’ll have provided a good foundation for your house of sand. But there’s no need to trouble yourself with the strenuous life as you get older. Moderate exercise is best. Ride a horse, or even walk for about an hour a day, and you won’t need to trifle with dumbbells or throw the medicine ball around. That’s where Teddy Roosevelt has got it all wrong. All that boxing he done as a youngster probably rattled his brains. Feats of athletic strength are all very well and good if you plan to go in as a circus strongman, but you do know, don’t you, that when those Yellofs grow long in the tooth, they are subject to all manners of aches and pains brought on by their former exertions. Better you should learn to take some time out to relax. 

“City livin’ can make you nutty, you know. You start in to hearing voices that ain’t there, and very often, them voices ain’t particularly friendly. Nor should they be. You get out whatever is put in. If you spend your life living in a church, more often than not you’ll hear the voice of God. But if you spend your whole life in a place like Blowtown, then soon enough you’ll be crazier’n a shithouse rat, and all the voices will be of tough Muggs who want to do you dirt. But don’t you let them. And don’t you listen to any of them voices. Build another story for yourself. One where you come out on top. That’s the only way to fight the inside meemies.

“But be careful what you wish for. I once knew a tough yegg when I was in stir. His name was Ellis Deagan. He was an ugly bruiser with coal-black hair and a scar down his cheek. A black Irishman. He looked like a shaved ape. He wouldn’t rat on his pals who were planning a break, so the Warden threw him in the hole. After spending about six months there on a diet of bread and water, all he could think of was how hungry he was. Day and night, he started screeching ‘Ham and eggs! Ham and eggs!’ Finally, they sent a guard to quiet him down. He shivved the turnkey and made a break for it. They caught him, and he was sentenced to the chair. And do you know what he got for his last meal? That’s right–ham and eggs. But he didn’t seem to realize what was happening. When they brang him his dessert, he put it aside and said he thought he’d save it for later.

“So…if you’re going to build–build high. And if you’re going to dream…dream big. Don’t end up like Ellis Deagan. He sold his soul–for a plate of ham and eggs!”

 

1*SALUTATION

EMITT RHODES

SOMEBODY JUST FOR ME
https://youtu.be/N0ux-PGjqwA?t=2225

If you can listen to this and not grow a smile on your face, then you probably cried at the death of little Nell, rather than following the advice of Oscar Wilde and laughing hysterically.

VERY BEST OF
https://youtu.be/N0ux-PGjqwA?list=RDN0ux-PGjqwA

SOLO ALBUMS PLAYLIST

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eysEjjbbYPw&list=RDeysEjjbbYPw&t=2

2*REFERENCE

 

“IT’S A PONZI SCHEME”: WALL STREET FEARS TRUMP’S DERANGED TAX PLAN COULD KICK OFF ECONOMIC EUTHANASIA
Wall Street vets say an attack on blue states could start a chain reaction in the housing market. “Will this be the first tax cut in American history that actually results in a recession?”

https://www.vanityfair.com/news/2017/11/wall-street-fears-trumps-deranged-tax-plan-could-kick-off-economic-euthanasia

ALSO SEE:

REALTORS HATE SENATE TAX BILL

www.forbes.com/sites/samanthasharf/2017/11/10/senate-tax-bill-saves-the-mortgage-interest-deduction-but-the-real-estate-industry-still-hates-it/

 

3*HUMOR

GUEST SPEAKER ACCIDENTALLY SHOWS PORN TO VIRGINIA STUDENTS

http://fox5sandiego.com/2017/11/20/thats-not-mine-guest-speaker-accidentally-shows-porn-to-virginia-students/

 

4*NOVELTY

THE THING WITH TWO HEADS (trailer)

https://youtu.be/gWHNA_j7h5A

DOGFIGHT

HARE KRSNA

https://youtu.be/aK7jO_6t_TI?t=886

 

 

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST

FAMOUS GROPERS OF FILMLAND

And what about JFK?

He once confided to the British Prime Minister that if he didn’t have a woman, he developed crippling headaches.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2725363/EXCLUSIVE-How-Harold-If-I-dont-woman-I-terrible-headaches-They-gossiped-sex-wives-world-affairs-bizarre-friendship-President-Kennedy-Prime-Minister-Macmillan.html

 

6* DAILY UTILITY

CHARLES MINGUS

BETTER GET HIT IN YOUR SOUL

https://youtu.be/Z-R11B7EGt0

7*CARTOON

SATAN IN COMICS

drgangrene.blogspot.com/2011/07/post-666-satan-in-comics.html

8*PRESCRIPTION

RHUBARB RHUBARB RHUBARB

In crowd scenes, actors were once instructed to repeat the word “rhubarb” to simulate the noise of an excited crowd.

Q: ‘Rhubarb’ Why do they go on about rhubarb in all the crowd scenes? (Also “Watermelon” and “Toy boat toy boat toy boat”)
A: Something they teach in drama and voice coaching. It’s meant to simulate crowd noise. Muffled background speech. The ‘toy boat’ riff doubles as a way of poking fun at a movie’s special effects models. (Change B. Goode)

http://forrestcrow.proboards.com/thread/5959/esoteric-references-vi

Try it!

 

9* RUMOR PATROL

THE JENKEM HOAX

https://www.buzzfeed.com/iexplorer/let-us-remember-the-greatest-internet-hoax-jenkem

https://www.snopes.com/crime/warnings/jenkem.asp

 

10* LAGNIAPPE

NEVER LEARN NOT TO LOVE

The Beach Boys Play Charlie Manson

https://youtu.be/XJrrQ2apjVg

11*DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA

WIRE

Wire was one of those bands which, like The Velvet Underground,  were, in their day, more influential than popular. Mission of Burma, among others, learned a great deal from them. They almost qualify as the first post-punk band, right in the middle of the whole new wave/punk explosion. Their first three albums are essential.


PINK FLAG
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tNVdziest58&t=2365s

CHAIRS MISSING
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ScAYeUyY_uk&t=2606s

154
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aulVyCui5ss

Nearly all of Pink Flag is great. The most notable tracks include “Reuters,” “Ex-Lion Tamer,” “Brazil,” “Surgeon’s Girl,” “Pink Flag,” “Straight Line,” “Mr. Suit,” “Strange,” “Fragile,” “Different to Me,” “Champs,” and, perhaps above all, “12XU”.

On Chairs Missing, some notable tracks are “Sand in My Joints,” “I Am the Fly,” and “Too Late”.

On 151, by far the best-known song is “Map Ref. 41ºN 93ºW.”

 

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE

JIMMY MACK

The term “Mack” designates a pimp.

So the song really should be called “Jimmy Pimp.” Or “Pimpy Jim.”

JIMMY MACK

LAURA NYRO & LABELLE

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EK-XUJu46UQ

THE INFORMATION #968 NOVEMBER 24, 2017

THE INFORMATION #968

NOVEMBER 24, 2017
Copyright 2017 FRANCIS DIMENNO
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com 

There are a terrible lot of lies going around the world, and the worst of it is that half of them are true.—Winston Churchill

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE 

BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER ELEVEN: PART FIFTY-TWO: DAYS OF WRATH

“Yob, depend on two things in this life–” said Count Victor Justin to Cadger Tandy, “–one is, that zooks are about 99 times out a 100 a fur bit more trouble’n they’re worth. And the other is this: money makes the world go ’round. Everybody wants it; even the Anarchist who loudly bawls that all private property should be abolished is peculiarly proprietary when it comes to his bottle of red-eye and his best girl. But the crucial Yellofs to be ware of are The Filth. They are mostly corrupt—though who isn’t? The Coppers all the time make distinctions between honest graft and the other kind–so why shouldn’t grifters?”

It was mid-Autumn; past the first frost, and a few weeks past the turnip harvest. The smell of horse apples and burning leaves filled the already-noxious air around Blowtown, and mingled with the smell of coal smoke and other factory effluvia. The two walked along the railroad tracks along the outskirts of town, and Cadger Tandy noticed that a muddy stream nearby flowed sluggishly and bore away a child’s rag doll and fragments of a wooden wagon wheel.

“Of course, by honest graft I mean the kind where once you’re bought off, you stay bought off. That’s where blackmailers and extortioners go wrong. Nearly everybody is good for a one-time touch. But to come back month after month and week after week to wet your beak and demand more and more is just lazy. And greedy. Cop and blow, that’s the motto of the smart grifter. And always change up your procedure as you go from town to town so some fly copper or Pinkerton Detective can’t all of a sudden put two and two together and suss you out by the way you say please and thank you. I always resisted the impulse to leave my mark when perpetrating a score. Yob, there just ain’t no percentage in being a wiseacre, and letting on that you’re smarter than you actually are. To work your way through this fallen world, you gotta have grift sense. I don’t know how to explain it–it seems to be something that some men are born with, though you can pick it up pretty fast working the carny, where most of the Yellofs are jailbirds, or in stir, where all of them are.

“Now, one of these days you might find yourself on your uppers. You might even be forced to take a square job. Sure, and anything is better than throwing yourself on the tender mercies of the Sally, unless you ain’t got no other choice. Wolves like to prowl the free missions, looking for plump young Prushans they can turn out. The first and foremost thing you got to remember, Yob, is that you are no man’s punk. You might very well prefer death to such an ignominy. I would. How can you ever look your friends–or anybody, for that matter–in the face, after such a deed? Better you should kill the Yellof. No court in the land would convict you, if you manage to get a sly mouthpiece. 

“In essence, in order to make your way in the world, you yourself have got to be sly, but not so anybody notices. Don’t dilly-dally with zooks while on the way up. There’ll be plenty of time for that sort of thing once you get settled. God forbid that one of them should get attached to you. Because once you turn her out–and you will–chances are she’ll go straight to the coppers, or, even worse, to your worst enemies, and fill their ears with poison. Soon the whole world will know your grift, and you’ll have to venture to the other side of the pond, or take up residence in the big stick country, where nobody knows your name–and that’s not good, because establishing a strong reputation among your peers is half the battle won. As long as the fraternity knows that you’re an all-right Gee, you’ll never want for material assistance when you’re in a tight spot. You can count on it! It’s as good a deal as bein’ in the Masons. Better, as a matter of fact. Masons tend to be complacent because they operate under the protection of their all-powerful organization. Whenever they visit some strange town, they tend to drink too much, and start hunting for some ladies of easy virtue, and that makes them vulnerable to the Murphy, and to the panel house, and the ‘aggrieved hubby’ routine, and any number of other short cons. Whenever there’s a big convention in Noxtown, the grifters grow sleek and fat. And when not much is doing, plenty of them go south for the winter. Florida, for some. Where the circus freaks all go. But the coppers in those precincts are mostly cross-roads clowns. Some of them you can grease, and some of them you can’t, because they’re too damn stupid. And you never really know which one you’re going to get—a wised-up peeler or a Holy Joe, or worse. Many’s the time a man has run afoul of a murderous sheriff and has never come back north to tell the tale. Better you should stay in place and deal solely with people who you know, and who know you. You should always have ready and waiting a safe hideout—a little cabin in some Podunk town, sure, when the heat becomes too much in the old neighborhood, but that ought to be built up years in advance and certainly not left to fate. I’m sure I’ve told you this before, and maybe even more than once, but when you’re looking for a safe haven, and all your so-called pals have let you down, the best place to get the gen is from good old George, the Pullman Porter. You may not think so to look at ’em, Yob, but a lot of those babies are smarter than the police. Sure–they’ll shuffle their feet and let out a cross between a whine and a drawl when you first make their acquaintance, but once they meet Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Hamilton, why, they are a regular fount of useful information. 

“Don’t take my word for it. Try it yourself and see. A lot of ’em act slow and sleepy because they don’t want to be put in a position where they’re showing up a white man, but once they’re convinced of your benevolent intentions toward them, you will find no better friend on the planet. Not that they’ll want you sleeping with their sister, mind you, or slapping their old Mammy on the rump. They have a peculiar notion of their own dignity; just like you and me. Just so long as you keep that in mind, you’ll be hard put to put a foot wrong with ‘em. Especially down South. Some of the Northern Nigras can be a bit uppity, but cash on the barrelhead and some friendly comradely words will soon soothe even the wildest bad ‘un.     

“Of course, Yob, you do know that when it comes right down to it, money is worthless. Money can’t buy you health…or friendship. Or loyalty.”

 A strategic pause.

“I am, of course, referring to Confederate money. Haww….”

1*SALUTATION

THE GRAINS OF SAND

THAT’S WHEN HAPPINESS BEGAN

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rkp9w8lHv5k

2*REFERENCE

America is facing an epistemic crisis

https://www.vox.com/policy-and-politics/2017/11/2/16588964/america-epistemic-crisis

ALSO SEE:

Americans — especially but not exclusively Trump voters — believe crazy, wrong things

https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/rampage/wp/2016/12/28/americans-especially-but-not-exclusively-trump-voters-believe-crazy-wrong-things/?utm_term=.910738ce6ac3#comments

3*HUMOR

HOMELESS VETERANS ON NEWBURY STREET

https://youtu.be/ST_1pWFUwxQ?t=2785

4*NOVELTY

Frank Sinatra & The Fifth Dimension

Sweet Blindness

https://youtu.be/U60ixsEQUrA

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST

How to Defeat a Pit Bull with Your Bare Hands

Because nothing can muck up a sweet Seattle spring like having your face ripped off by a dog.

by David Schmader
www.thestranger.com/seattle/how-to-defeat-a-pit-bull-with-your-bare-hands/Content?oid=3708968

How to Defeat Someone Made Furious by “How to Defeat a Pit Bull with Your Bare Hands”

Because nothing infuriates pit bull lovers like using the breed as an example of a dog that might rip your face off.

by David Schmader
www.thestranger.com/seattle/how-to-defeat-someone-made-furious-by-how-to-defeat-a-pit-bull-with-your-bare-hands/Content?oid=3800677

6* DAILY UTILITY

Johnny Quick–sexist bastard!
slaymonstrobot.blogspot.com/2014/11/johnny-quick-sexist-bastard.html

7*CARTOON

Pit bull art

https://www.pinterest.com/bebach2801/pit-bull-art/

8*PRESCRIPTION

I can make you too a husky he-man

https://digitalcomicmuseum.com/preview/cache/1510686794CDNP730002.jpg

digitalcomicmuseum.com/preview/index.php?did=18391&page=2

9* RUMOR PATROL

THE KRATOM MENACE
www.sagewisdom.org/kratomguide.html

 10* LAGNIAPPE

LOUIS C.K.

I am tickled to death about the fact that the same morons who were worshipping him as the second coming are now acting as though he is the evil ringmaster of Satan’s Circus, Incorporated.

Ah, how fickle the mob can be! “Making invalids out of supermen,” to quote Don Van Vliet.

 There is, of course, the old joke with the following punchline:

“For years I gave away millions of dollars to charity, and was known as ‘Loius the Great Philanthropist’. But all you have to do is suck one cock, and you’re ‘Louis the Cocksucker’!” (Cited in G. Legman, Rationale.)

Also see:
books.google.com/books?id=vWrkKV-BSQ8C&pg=PA47&lpg=PA47&dq=legman+all+you+have+to+do+is+suck+one+cock&source=bl&ots=aXhIBGaNRM&sig=Nphjelumps2SwoGB7W2eI-bPpP8&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjqjOjRxLTXAhUL7SYKHdI6CV8Q6AEIOzAD#v=onepage&q=legman%20all%20you%20have%20to%20do%20is%20suck%20one%20cock&f=false

 SEE ALSO:

LEWIS BLACK ON COMEDY

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cBBcha8Gwc0

11*DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA

The New Analog: Listening and Reconnecting in a Digital World. By Damon Krukowski. The New Press, 2017. 225 pages, hardcover.

REVIEW BY FRANCIS DIMENNO

If you have ever wondered why CDs and digital media sound different from vinyl LPs and live performances, and if you have ever marveled at how much the world has changed since the late 1980s due to digital media, then this book will go a long way in explaining the how and why.

Some noise, first: In high school I had a gifted English teacher named John Engel, who taught us, among other things, about the passage of the agrarian society, the dislocations of the industrial revolution, and how these developments affected everyday people. Hand-crafted materials, he told us, had given way to machine-produced items which were inferior in nearly every way. Except that they were cheap, and plentiful. This dilemma was explored on the Smithsonian Anthology of American Folk Music , in a song called “Peg and Awl,” recorded by the Carolina Tar Heels in 1928. We also find this opinion echoed in a 1936 Little Orphan Annie strip, in which Annie is befriended by the kindly cobbler Mr. Boot. When he finds himself temporarily outclassed by a flashy city slicker who undercuts his prices with machine-tooled methods, he is asked why he doesn’t follow suit. Mr. Boot proudly draws himself up and says “Good quality…the best leather…hand-crafting. I can’t do it any other way. None of these newfangled shortcuts for me!” And, with Annie’s resourceful help, he not only prevails, but becomes a millionaire. 

We see the clash between the old and new begin to assume greater rhetorical prominence in the 1960s, in the world of Underground Comics.In touting the back to the land movement, Mr. Natural says: “The right tool for the right job!” “The old ways is the best ways,” says Mr. Natural’s father. Meanwhile, General Electric’s slogan was “Progress is our most important product.”

So: Old and new. Systolic and diastolic. Reaction and rebellion. And now, analog and digital. 

Now for the signal: By giving us a thoroughgoing explanation of the term “signal to noise” and enabling us to understand how much we lose when signal is enshrined and noise is discarded, Krukowski’s book is a useful primer for thoughtfully navigating between the analog and digital worlds. Damon Krukowski, formerly of Galaxie 500 and currently of Damon & Naomi,  is a natural teacher and leads the reader through his argument point by point, in much the same way as a gifted tutor or tour guide might explain relatively complex phenomena in ways a layman might readily understand. 

Along the way, to further bolster his points and make for a fun read, the author takes us on many interesting side excursions. Sinatra’s fabled breath control. The vagaries of GPS, Google Maps, and Spotify Discover. Dark Side of the Moon in Quadraphonic sound. The studio wizardry of Brian Wilson and the Beatles. Carbon mics vs. electret mics. The children’s game of Chinese Whispers. Old-fashioned phone booths. The origin of the SIRI icon. Record Stores in Cambridge. (Stereo Jack, who defected from Cheapo’s and opened his own store, could sometimes come across as rather brusque.) 

He also explains the origins of idioms and technical terms such as crosstalk, sidetone, latency, “put a sock in it,” and “His Master’s Voice.” Also, wow and flutter. K-weighting. Parlor guitars. There are also many interesting bits of trivia: the meaning of “Golden ears.” The audible sound of the air conditioning at the end of “A Day in the Life.” The once-famous comedy routine “Cohen on the Telephone.” The debut of the short-lived motion picture phenomenon of SENSURROUND, which relied on subwoofers to literally shake the seats of the moviegoers. What it really means to turn the Marshall amp “up to 11.” (Nothing, actually.) What zero on a VU meter actually signifies. (“An average pivot between a bit too little signal and a bit too much.”) 

 

All of these side trips help to lead the reader inexorably to Krukowski’s conclusion: that the impulse to separate the signal from the noise, either as a cost-saving measure (as in digital media) or as a “strategy for the monetization of data gathered from users” (in social media), is misguided at best. Because “Noise has value….The value of space and time.” (Author’s emphasis.) 


This is a book which every musician, especially those who are interested in recording technology, should carefully read. A person who specializes in information science will also find it immensely valuable. Don’t take my word for it. Read this incisive and entertaining book and see for yourself. It will make you smarter, and possibly even help you to see (and hear) the world in an entirely new way.   

12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE

ANNE OF GREEN GABLES

Anne of Green Gables is actually a prototypical noir. Manic-depressive Anne poured arsenic down the well and killed her stepfather.

THE INFORMATION #967 NOVEMBER 17, 2017

THE INFORMATION #967
NOVEMBER 17, 2017
Copyright 2017 FRANCIS DIMENNO
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com 


Bride: A woman with a fine prospect of happiness behind her. –Ambrose Bierce

WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE 
BOOK THREE: SAVAGE NOXTOWN
CHAPTER ELEVEN: PART FIFTY-ONE: DAYS OF WRATH
 

“How are your living arrangements with Red Mary?” said Count Victor Justin to Cadger Tandy. It was the first cold day of November, and a thin rime of frost had formed on all the wooden fences and street-facing windows.

“She has me sleeping on an old featherbed up in the attic. It’s cold up there. She tells the girls to leave me alone, and mostly, they do. It does gets cold up there, though. Real cold. But I’ve got plenty of quilts. And the food’s good.”

“I remember the first time I laid eyes on you. You must of been about eight. How old are you now? Twelve?”

“Thirteen. Going on fourteen.”

“Yes, of course. Quite so. I have noticed that only the young make such distinctions. The old are content to let you think that they’re younger than they actually are. What does that tell you?”

“That old people are liars.”

“Quite so. And that young people are tactless and wear their hearts on their sleeves and that’s why young men are so awkward around women. Unless, of course, they happen to live in a whorehouse.”

“It’s not the worst place in the world.”

“No, no, far from it. Why do you suppose so many married men seek comfort there?”

“Because…they’re tired of their wives?”

“Usually, it’s because their wives are tired of them. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not knocking marriage. Every man needs a woman. The race must go on. And they are soft and warm, especially when there’s a chill in the air. Why do you suppose so many bastards are born in September? Yes, every man needs a woman. Unless they’re a member of the green carnation brigade. But I hear tell that even some of them take the sacred vows of holy macaroni.

 

“But here’s the big thing about family life–there’s no privacy. Even if you’re a bachelor, the worst part about city living,” said Count Victor Justin to Cadger Tandy, “and residing in a boardinghouse, like I used to do–well, just you guess. No privacy, that’s what.

“Why? Because there are odious fat old hags unnumbered in greasy shifts and nightgowns with bitter turned-down faces always looking askance at you, no matter what you do, and always poking their nose in your private business–not because they loathe you, which they assuredly do, but because they loathe all humanity, which means anyone younger and prettier than them, which, in essence, is everybody.

“Oh, sure, they’ll nod indulgently at you if you happen to be doing something they approve of, like getting up at five a.m., which shows that you’re good people or taking your grandma out in her wheelchair to get some sun, which shows that you respect not only the elderly but all authority figures, legitimate or not. Or going to church every day, which shows that you’re an empty-headed herd-follower who loves the Lordie more than he loves some good old shut-eye.

“But otherwise they will bitch and moan and whine and complain about nearly everything else you do. If you store a microscopic lamb chop wrapped in butcher paper in the communal icebox, they will claim you are taking up too much space. If you use the bathroom for more than four minutes, they will claim you are taking a siesta in there, or maybe even injecting some narcotic drugs with a hypodermic needle. If they hear you have a visitor, they will claim you are engaging in hanky-panky with a woman of easy virtue, even if she happens to be your sister and you keep the door wide open the whole time. If you are seen carrying a bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag into your room, they will claim that you’re boozing it up in there, even if the only fizzy beverage you happen to drink is Sarsaparilla pop.

“Those stupid and absolutely worthless old biddies are slicker than shit through a tinhorn. Because they are never at a loss when it comes to finding fault. If you could figure out some way of making money out of this attribute of theirs, you would make your fortune in no time. The pestiferous snoops! They spy on their neighbors because they have no life of their own. They are not interesting, and they have no interests other than other people’s business. They spent the best years of their lives cleaning up shitty diapers and screaming abuse at toddlers, and by the time they grow old and ugly they find that the whole world has passed them by. Their sons and daughters usually avoid them on account of their bitter, vindictive tongues. The only people they confide in are the other stupid fat old hags of the neighborhood, and they spend their time speaking of predictable and stupid things. Usually to the detriment of normal, healthy people.

“It seems as though the one thing they can’t stand is the sight of anyone, anywhere, having fun of any kind. They will butt in on your conversation with one of your pals without a second thought, to make some sort of oafish remark. Another thing I despise about them is that they will squeeze a nickel until the buffalo shits, and hold on to a dollar until the eagle screams. They usually have lots of valuable jewelry–rings and things–but they keep them locked away so nobody else can enjoy ’em. They are the ultimate dogs in the manger. God forbid that you should do something in their presence that doesn’t meet with their high-minded approval. They will glare at you like a rubber-mouthed blue tick hound after you’ve stolen his bone and whacked him on the head. And then they will unleash a torrent of vitriolic chatter that would make an alderman blush. As though you just pissed on their grandpaw’s grave, or stolen the cracklin’s from their mammy’s fat gourd.

And they all have hearts of stone. Even the toughest mug will blow you to a feed when you’re on your uppers–won’t he? Sure. But not these biddies! They would sooner die than give a starving tramp so much as a slice of bread and butter, or even a baked potato. I’ve kept my eyes and ears wide open–I’ve seen the elephant and heard the hooty owl, and I know whereof I speak.

“You might consider me a monster for saying so, but I think they all ought to be rounded up and put on some island somewhere, and left to themselves to bicker and whinge, and let us normal happy healthy people get on with our lives. To occupy their time, you might board them in a big house that’s impossible to keep clean, so they can spend all their spare time scrubbing and dusting. Because what else are they good for, other than stabbing each other in the back with their forked tongues? Is it any wonder that the Puritans burned them as witches? Is there anybody out there who would dare to claim that they deserved any better? The Puritans may have been chuckleheads who wore black felt hats and buckles on their shoes and didn’t know what a whole lot of nines were, but they got that much right. We should go and do likewise. There’s only one problem with that. The last time I checked, it was a crime to murder one of these sour old biddies. Even though I’ll bet you that no all-male jury in the forty-eight states would vote to convict. And no D.A. with plain sense would even bother to indict. Alas–for better or worst, we live under a system of laws, and even fatuous old Termagants are protected by it. Bad ‘cess to ’em!

“That’s why you got to be very careful in who you marry, Yob. Always get a gander at the mother, first. That sweet young thing is bound to turn out to be a bitter old harridan, who breathes vitriol and keeps her lair surrounded by empty bottles of Lydia Pinkham’s vegetable compound. Oh, she’s virtuous all right. One sip of wine will make her tiddly, or so she says with a flirtatious little giggle, but once she gets on in years she’ll be sucking down bottles of that highly alcoholic tonic just as though it were malted milk! It’s not the drunkenness I mind–it’s the sheer hypocrisy. These joy-killing old frumps are secret lushes, all of ’em. They drove their old men to an early grave with their asinine temperance lectures, and meanwhile, they’re whooping it up back home with those ‘remedies for ailments peculiar to women’. Haw! That’s a hot one! It’s hotter than a fresh-fucked fox in a forest fire! It’s enough to make a Quaker laugh! It’s funnier than a cat eating shit out of a hairbrush! My only regret is that Mrs. Pinkham didn’t include a sizable dose of arsenic along with the black cohosh and gentian root.

“But there I go again–displaying homicidal tendencies which are altogether utterly incompatible with my usual tolerant and liberal disposition.”  

1*SALUTATION
THE BYRDS
TIME BETWEEN
2*REFERENCE
3*HUMOR
FRANK KOZIK
ACID IS GROOVY!
 
7*CARTOON
WALT DISNEY
EDUCATION FOR DEATH
8*PRESCRIPTION
HOPPITY HOOPER
DO THE CROAK
9* RUMOR PATROL
FIX THIS NATION
TEXAS CHURCH SHOOTING IS TEXTBOOK ARGUMENT AGAINST GUN CONTROL

Of course, what none of these celebrities or Democrats are willing to acknowledge is that, according to our best gauge of the situation, the killer was actually stopped by two residents who were packing heat at the time of the shooting. If one of them – a churchgoer with a gun of his own – had not shot the perpetrator, there’s no telling what kind of horrific story we would be talking about today. God knows the story is horrific enough as it is.
http://www.fixthisnation.com/conservative-breaking-news/texas-church-shooting-is-textbook-argument-against-gun-control/

 
10* LAGNIAPPE
ROBYN HITCHCOCK
SUPERMAN
11*DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
HORSEMEN OF THE APOCALYPSE

The science is overwhelming, the facts are in. The planet is heating up at an alarming rate and the results are everywhere to be seen. Yet, as time runs out, climate progress is blocked by the men who are profiting from the burning of the planet: Energy moguls like the Koch brothers and ExxonMobil CEO Rex Tillerson. Powerful politicians like Senators Mitch McConnell and Jim Inhofe, who receive massive contributions from the oil and coal industries. Most of these men are too intelligent to truly believe that climate change is not a growing crisis. And yet they have put their profits and careers ahead of the health and welfare of the world’s population and even their own children and grandchildren. How do they explain themselves to their offspring, to the next generations that must deal with the environmental havoc that these men have wreaked? Horsemen of the Apocalypse takes a very personal look at this global crisis, literally bringing it home.
http://www.hpb.com/products/horsemen-of-the-apocalypse-9781510703346

 
12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE
SONGS EXTOLLING ALCOHOLISM
The best one of them all is probably this one:
LAURA NYRO
SWEET BLINDNESS

(Proving once more that drunks have all the best tunes.)