Monthly Archives: April 2018

History Doesn’t Repeat

I heard a great comment on NPR’s Fresh Air the other day. I believe it might have been Jake Tapper, but since the quote is wrongly attributed to Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens nom de plum), if I attribute it wrongly, so be it.

The comment was, “History doesn’t repeat itself, but it rhymes.”

A day or so later I read that Ford was no longer going to manufacture sedans, but would focus on trucks and SUV or crossover vehicles that look like this:

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Ford Expedition 2019

It’s kind of interesting that Henry Ford’s vehicles started out looking like this,

 

Ford-Model-T-1

Ford Model T 1907-1927

eventually evolving into this.

ford_model_a_tudor_sedan_1930_01

Ford Model A – 1927-1931

Notice any similarities in the body shapes? He might have been onto something a century or so ago.

Maybe Henry Ford’s design

Would repeat again, after a time.

The shape of his car proved to be fine,

And history, does–once again–rhyme.

The World Stage

First_Folio,_Shakespeare_-_0212_(All_the_world's_a_stage)

William had a way with words, but more importantly, a way with thoughts. Most of us, unfortunately, didn’t enjoy Shakespeare because in high school literature class we read his plays, not as plays but as stories. They’re great plays. They’re TERRIBLE stories.

It’s like trying to sing a blueprint or mime an equation. It just don’t work.

However, he had some great thoughts.

“All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.”

If we are the actors (players), to some extent we get to choose–or at least imagine–our audience. As the curtain opens, for whom are we performing? Facebook? Snapchat? The 24-hour news cycle? Reality TV producers? Our moral compass? God? The choice is ours.

On a real stage, the lights are so bright that it is almost impossible to see the audience. Since we don’t know who’s out there, we should play our parts as we believe they should be played.

The curtain is opening. Put your heart and soul into whatever role is yours to play.

Thought for Today

At times I think I would prefer to be a gentleman, in the old English sense, born into wealth and privilege with lands and a stately old home with gardeners taking care of the outside and an entire staff keeping the inside neat and tidy (including my teenagers’ bedrooms and bathroom).

estate 1

Maybe a little over the top, but you know what I mean.

I’d have to juggle my tennis match with other elites and various social engagements in order to make time to sign important papers to increase my wealth or to meet with important peers awaiting my sage advise.

No such luck. That is not how my day will unfold.

However, today I will not hide behind a spoofed telephone number on your caller ID to try to sell you a time-share condominium. I will not go around my store and relabel all the appliances, automobiles, or canned goods with a higher “Regular Price” so the same old “Sale Price” looks like a better deal. Nor will I be sending you an email to steal your money, your password, or your identity. I won’t pretend I’m a Nigerian Prince who needs your help to rescue my fortune or try to convince you that, based on a single poorly performed experiment, I can cure you of your chronic ills.

I’ll just go to work, then come home to my family.

Not to bad, really.

 

Harry, Thank You and Godspeed

Harry

One of the most phenomenal gifts to magic left us today–Harry Anderson. He was a street performer, a delightful guest on Saturday Night Live, Judge Harry Stone on Night Court, and he played Dave Berry on Dave’s World.

How anyone could play Dave Berry is beyond me—but then Harry was also beyond me.

After television, he moved to New Orleans and opened a bar with a magic shop. When Hurricane Katrina devastated the area, the word is that he kept his place open to feed (important) and provide coffee (MORE important) to the first responders.  Later, he moved to Asheville, NC.

When I heard that he had moved, I did a search and found a Harry Anderson in Asheville, and wanted to send him a letter. I wanted to tell him that I enjoyed Night Court. I watched it here, In 1988, on my way to Antarctica, they only had a limited number of hours of television in New Zealand, but one program they had was Night Court–they must have enjoyed him, too. I think he would have liked that. I bought the DVDs. If you never saw Night Court #1, you need to.

Harry rekindled my interest in magic. I’m not much of a performer, but I love the art (and, yes, the science) of stage magic. It’s like the person who could never paint the Mona Lisa, but is dumbstruck by its beauty. Knowing how the magic is done only deepens my respect and admiration for those who perform.

The last performance I did was Thanksgiving, probably in the 1980s, in the basement of my parents’ home. My audience was my kids, parents, siblings, niece and nephews. When I did his trademark* needle through the arm (“It’s an illusion. It’s like–it’s like economic recovery. You think that it’s happening but it really isn’t!) my mother had to leave the room.

Harry would have approved.

I love magic, but to put it into perspective–I’ve seen Harry Blackstone, Jr. perform, and had a wonderful discussion with him after his show and got an autographed picture. (The picture faded but the conversation never will. He was a gentleman with class.) I would have loved to have had him as a next door neighbor.

I’ve seen David Copperfield several times; I suspect deep down inside he’s shy–in the lobby, after the show, he’d autograph memorabilia (including mine), but didn’t say much.

I saw Doug Henning on stage and the show was absolutely awesome, but never had the chance to talk with him.

I’ve been to the magic convention in Colon, Michigan and the Magic Castle in California, several times. I have to count the Safe House in Milwaukee as another great venue for magic.

But I never saw Harry’s show live and I never met him.

Doug Henning was wonderful, but we knew–KNEW–he wouldn’t drown upside down in the “milk jug.” David Copperfield’s illusions are so large that they defied description. We KNEW that the Statue of Liberty was still there and there was no passage through the Great Wall of China.

Then there was Harry. He told you it was an illusion. He told you that he really wasn’t pushing an 18 inch needle through his arm, BUT, we all knew a kid in high school who, for a few dollars would have done exactly that. That’s what made Harry’s performances so wonderful. You never could completely suspend the disbelief. Harry knew what was truly magic–and made us believe, even if just a little.

I’m sorry I never sent that letter. I might have made a friend, or one of us might have thought the other was a total jerk. But I never did, so I’ll never know.

How many opportunities do each of us pass on for no good reason? Maybe we should each take a chance on something before it’s too late.

Goodbye, Harry. I’m sorry I never sent the letter.

 

 

*Harry didn’t invent the illusion. It was once called Whodo Voodoo, which never made it because it was considered too gory, but Harry had the perfect story (patter) to make it work.

Louie vs Politicians

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I try to stay out of political discussions for a variety of reasons; my blood pressure, the effect of stress on other medical problems with my (rapidly) aging body, and the fact that most political stories–once the hyperbole is removed–are not interesting, and definitely not uplifting.

We adopted our dog Louie from the animal shelter about six years ago. We’ve been told that Louie is a “Walker Treeing Coon Hound,” whatever that means. To me it means that he has that distinctive combination of bark and howl that says, “Hound,” and he’s not afraid to use it.

He barks at squirrels, the garbage truck, the UPS truck, everyone walking down the street, and various imaginary threats. The doorbell immediately puts him into DEFCON ONE. He runs to the door, complete with cartoon-like running feet unaccompanied by forward motion.

He spends a lot of time in bed. In fact he has one on the back porch and one in the house just so it’s convenient for him.

He loves to eat, especially “forbidden fruit,” which has resulted in several (expensive) emergency surgeries to remove.

Nirvana, to him, is an open gate or door through which he launches like a rocket. Of course, he expects us to grab the car keys, follow him, and open the car door so that he also gets to go for a ride in the car.

In summary:

  • Louie makes a lot of noise for no good reason.
  • When he does move, most of it is for show, not action.
  • He spends a lot of time doing nothing.
  • He partakes of things that he should not.
  • He likes to travel without any particular reason.
  • He believes that we should clean up after all his mistakes.
  • When caught doing something he shouldn’t, he displays an amazing picture of innocence.

Why would I need to follow politics when I’ve got Louie?

Don’t be fooled by the innocent expression.

Ergo Not

The-Thinker-by-Auguste-Rodin

I take my role as philosopher-without-portfolio seriously. We all think all the time–things like “I’m hungry!” or “I want to go have some fun!” but I have tried to think about those things that everybody else doesn’t have time or interest for.

Ideally, thinking follows some semblance of a logical path, ultimately leading to some type of conclusion. My thoughts have led me to such a conclusion.

As near as I can tell, I’m the only person in the world who doesn’t know what’s best for you. I’m in no position to tell you what to think, do, or say. I can’t tell you which medicine you should ask your doctor about, which car you need to buy, or which detergent will get your clothes the cleanest. I can’t even advise you as to which cable news network you should watch.

On the other hand, it seems like everyone else is ready, willing, and able to advise, recommend, and whenever possible, direct your every action and reaction.

So, I apologize, but I’m that one person who doesn’t know what’s best for you. To quote Bob Dylan, “It ain’t me babe!”

Deal with it. I’m too busy thinking.