Birrrrd-MAN!!!!

Today I'd like to talk about a cartoon I frequently watched, and was somewhat embarassed by, as a kid...that Hanna Barbera superhero-BIRDMAN! (not Charlie Parker!)

Birdman was a winged hero created by the same animation studio that brought the world The Flintstones, Scooby-Doo, etc. Our hero (the aforementioned "Birdman") apparently lived and worked in a pretty cool secret base on the top of a mountain. Birdman never seemed to cook, clean or do laundry in his little hideaway, he never even seemed to change his clothes....all he did was sit and watch a screen mounted on the wall for the latest emergency message. These came at the start of every episode, when he would recieve a call from his boss, a suave joker wearing any eyepatch and smoking a pipe, by name of "Falcon 7" (it was never established what happened to Falcons 1 through 6, though I imagine the crime fighting business can be pretty perilous at times). Falcon 7 would grimly intone that one of Birdman's old nemeses had returned (a bit of perfunctory back-story), and Birdman needed to stop him. Always eager to help if he could, Birdman would turn to his assistant, a giant purple eagle named "Avenger". "Come Avenger", Birdman would command, "..."Aawk", Avenger would reply, and they'd be off. The roof of the mountain would open up, and Birdman and Avenger would soar up into the sky.

This is where I usually became a little embarassed as a kid. Birdman would always shout his name in an over-wrought baritone..."Biiiiiiiiird...MAN!" he would shout, usually several times an episode. I don't know why, but it always kind of bothered me, and I remember clearly dashing to the TV and turning the sound down whenever it looked like Birdman was about to announce himself. There must be some psychological root to dealing with a hero who occasionally embarasses you-probably the same one we deal with when coming to grips with our parents.

Anyway, Birdman's power came from the power of the sun, which was pretty cool..UNLESS..he entered some kind of shadowy domain...a cave, a basement, etc. wherein his powers would fade. Unfortunately for Birdman, ALL of his nemeses lived in basements, caves, grottos, etc. So there would be Birdman, shouting his name and swooping in to kick ass, when suddenly (in the same baritone) he would announce "my powers.....WEAKENING!" Uh oh...looks like it's lights out (literally) for Birdman. And it would have been too, if not for his purple pal, Avenger! "Bird" (if I can call him that) would have just enough juice to push a little button on the collar around his neck, and communicate with Avenger, who had a stylish matching collar (and maybe cufflinks, I don't know). "Avenger", "Bird" would gasp..."Operation RESCUE". Avenger, invariably would know what to do (as Birdman would get captured with greater regularity than Exlax). Freeing Birdman, the duo would fly into the sky to get "close to the sun" (Icarus, where are you?) to recharge his powers. With one more shout of his name (and me sliding towards the TV to turn down the sound), Birdman would hurtle towards his always-startled foe. Birdman had some pretty neat "solar" weapons, including a "solar sheild" he could generate, and a "solar ray". I still vividly remember one villian shouting "Don't use your solar ray...YOU MIGHT HIT ME!!" Anyway, Birdman would save the day, and once more, shout his own name to the heavens (sound down of course).

The Birdman show had a second feature with three alien superheros of the future called the Galaxy Trio. The Trio had some pretty hilarious powers-"Gravity Girl" could reverse and control the effects of gravity (was she Estee Lauder in disguise?), "Meteor Man" could make any part of his body grow to gigantic proportions at will (remember, this was a pre-peuberty show for me, so I though his giant fists made perfect sense). Finally there was "Vapor Man", could could create any kind of caustic vapor known to man. Considering the amount of time we spent amusing each other with our own caustic vapors, he was probably the closest adolescent boys could come to actually being a super hero.

A lot of times people say they watch their favorite childhood shows again after gowing up, and complain about being disappointed. I'm happy to say I'm not disappointed with Birdman. Sure it's cheezy and repetitive, but doggone it, it's cool. And I'm no longer embarassed when my hero shouts out his name.

BIIIIIIIRD-MAN!

Country living made "easy"

I just bought a copy of a book called "Country Wisdom Almanac", from some place called "Black Dog & Leventhal Publishers". It's one of these collections of relatively folksy bits of information that most people probably used to know, but have since been relegated to book sections for the urban folk-wannabees of the world. These are the people who currently enjoy the comforts of modern urban civilization while pondering wistfully as to when they might plow up their back yard to plant rows of corn, or make a chicken coop out of their garage. I have to admit, I am increasingly finding myself drifting towards that camp. Whether I eventually give up the deliciously-convenient life of the urban taxpayer due to personal choice (selling up and buying a bit of land with it's own artesian well and space for a herd of attack goats) or whether it's forced upon me (meteor crases into the earth, ending industrial civilization), I am increasingly attracted to the "son of the sod" scene.

Now of course, I'm not kidding myself. I'm still an urban-comfort junkie because it's not easy tilling soil, weeding a garden or scooping out chicken droppings. The plus side, as I envision it, is in knowing how to do stuff for yourself, with locally-available ingredients. Here's an example:

Know the difference between a "poultice" and a "plaster"? A "poultice" is a "warm moist mass of powdered or crushed fresh herbs" (according to the above-mentioned C.W. Almanac). These herbs (witch hazel, herbal tea, or maybe even something called "herbal tincture") are applied directly to the skin to relieve inflammation, draw out infections, relieve muscle spasms, and for all we know improve your love life do your taxes for you. "Plasters" are like a poultice, except the herbal goop is between two thin pieces of cloth. Now I can say, with confidence "Looks like you need a poultice applied to that. Ayup!"

How about building your own stone wall? The average city "dude" would probably say you just start heaping rocks on top of each other until the contractor comes to do a proper job. Not the nouveau-sodbuster though! There are actually different kinds of stones, ranging in texture from coarse, soft, crumbly and dense (much like the people many of us work with every day). Advise from the C.W. Almanac includes "If a stone looks doubtful for laying, pass it up" (great advice for all of us) and when lifting stones, "Grab the stone in what would be a normal position, and drop your rear another 2 feet. When lifting, hug the stone close". I can just see all those poor dumb city-folk, trying to lift their stones withuot hugging, and possibly caressing them, in the proper way.

I actually bought this book as a substitute for the book I originally wanted to buy. That one was out-of stock, but my store has ordered extra copies, and I shall soon add the knowledge of that book to what I already have. This other book (I think it was called "101 Things Your Grandparetnts Knew" or something like that) also includes information on how to make your own shoes, and how to dig a well. Rural bliss cannot be far behind. Poultice anyone?

Singing in the Shower

People often comment on how much better their voices sound in the shower, but how many people acknowledge how much they improve on the lyrics of thier songs? Here's my most recent version of the old Trooper song "The Boys in the Bright White Sportscar" (remember, you need to hear the sound of splashing water and smell Finesse moisturing shampoo to get the full effect)

Here I am,
The boy in the bight white sports car,
Waving my arms in the air (wave arms here)
Who do I think I am?
And where did I get that car?

There I go,
The boy in the bright white sports car,
Honking at all the girls,
I'm jack-of all-trades-Stan,
Or maybe a garbage man

Naaa na na na, Naaa na na na NAAAAAAA

There I go,
I am really rollin'
I'd better call a cop,
Say my car is probably stolen
STOLEN!!!! (shout this)

Alternate lyric:

Say I love eating stollen...STOLLEN!!! (a sweet German pastry)

There I go,
A boy in a bright white sports car
Who do I think I am?
Where did I park the CAAAAR???

Personally, I think shower lyrics make a heck of a lot more sense than the originals. If I ever remember any others, I'll record them here.

Jive Talk Update-G.I. Jive!

Ok, it's been a while since I had some entries from the HepCats Jive Talk dictionary. Here's a tribute to the amazing people who serve in the armed forces...of course I'm talking about G.I.Jive!!

Armored Cow- canned milk

Bean Gun-rolling kitchen

Cross Bar Hotel- guard house

Dog Show- a foot inspection

Ether- a radio telephone

Fly the Wet Beam- flying along a river

General's Car- a wheelbarrow

Higher than a Georgia Pine- unduly excitied

Ink- coffee

Jeeter- a lieutenant

Knuckle Buster- a crescent wrench

Let Her Eat- drive ar full speed

Maggie's Drawers- a red flag used on a rifle range to inidcate a miss

North Dakota Rice- hot cereal

Old Issue- an old soldier

Prop Wash= an expression of disbelief

Quartermaster Gait- a step longer than the regulation thirty-inch pace

Red Leg-artilleryman

Six and 20 Tootsie- any bit of a young and enticing femininity who is responsible for a Flying Cadet returning late from a weekend leave

Tar Bucket- full dress hat

Uncle Sam's Party- payday

Valley Forge- temporary tent city in cold weather

Wing-heavy- inebriated

You're Gigged- you've been reported for violating a rule or ordinace

As always, if anyone wanders across this site and would like to see more of these posted, just leave a note! If this is your first visit, look back at my old posts for more Jive Talk!

Olympic Thoughts

I've always had mixed opinions about the modern Olympics. On the one hand, you have to admire the dedication of the atheletes involved, whether they win a medal or not. The sacrifice and pain they must put up with dwarfs anything I have attempted in the past, and deserve unflagging admiration. On the other hand, the Olympics are frequently a political statement on the merits of one form of government or another, and the concept of "fair competition" between rich and poor countries is often questionable. There is also the arguement of "the money could be better spend doing....(fill in the blank)", but I've never really subscribed to that one, as it tends to belittle anything that isn't absolutely pragmatic, and I think humans gain their quality of life and identity through how they manage their non-pragmatic stuff (art, love, purely investigative science, etc.)

Here's a thought that surfaced this weekend. How about having an Olympic games founded soley on playground games? We could have Olympic Red Rover competition, or "line tag" (I don't know how many people played that one-you need a tennis court where the players have to stick to the lines when they move, but are considered "safe" when standing on an intersction of lines). How about Olympic "What time is it Mr. Wolf"? If you never played that, the "it" person is the "wolf", and the players advance slowly behind him/her asking "What time is it Mr. Wolf?" The "wolf" answers 1 o'clock, 2 o'clock, etc. until they think the line of players is close enough to "tag" one of them, when they scream "It's lunch time", and turn around and run at the screaming hordes behind them. I love picturing a group of Olympic hammer-throwers running away while shreiking at the tops of their lungs.

There are enough playground games for a winter Olympics too. Olympic "king of the hill" is a natural, along with Olympic snowball fights and Olympic snowman knock-down (how long does it take you to knock down another kid's snowman?). I remember kids spending their entire winter recesses trying to roll the largest snow-ball they could make, often rolling one or more kids under the mammoth snow-ball as they went.

I forsee "Nerf" being a major sponsor of the games, and host nations introducing their own country's kids games as demonstration sports. I oould easily identify with a marble-shooter more than a decathelete, and enjoy watching the laughter of thwe kid rolled down the snow-hill more than the distress of the sprinter who lost a medal by 1 1/100's of a second.

Better Than Awesome moments!

Once in a while I like to think back to those moments where I gained a temporary or passing victory of some kind, but which has since, gained a signifigance far beyond the implications of the actual event. On other words, life's greatest moments. Here's a sampling.

This year: I was sitting in Chicago's O'Hare airport, waiting out a 2.5 hour layover. It was during the lunch hour, so I had plenty of time to burn off by sitting down and having lunch somewhere. I selected one of the ubiquitious restaurants that seem to breed in airports these days (I think it was called "Chili's" or something like that). I ordered a lunch from the menu and a beer. The waitress asked me for some ID before she would bring me my beer. I'm 47 years old, and I was "carded". That was the best beer I ever tasted.

Flash back to High School (grade 10 I believe). I don't know how many people have a personal tormentor in school, but I'd suspect it's probably more common than the "High school is the best time of your life" set would admit to. Mine was a gap-toothed little troglodite with a permenent scowl who, before I even knew who the heck he was, started calling me the word to suggest my sexual preferences lay within my common gender. Now please understand, when I went to High School, suggestions of homosexuality were the worst kind of epithet. While it wasn't true in my case, I found out that I had to endure regular snide comments by this little troll who apparently just didn't like my looks (for this I also gained somewhat of an appreciation for the torment that gays and lesbians have had to deal with over the years....not a total appreciation, mind you , but this little sampling was sickening enough for me). I wasn't a kid prone to fighting (the thought of it quite frankly scared me), so I tried the "avoidance" technique, which occasionally worked, but which also occasionally left me lurching away with hunched shoulders after another verbal tirade. Well, one day in a gym class, our "teacher" (gym teachers always seemd to be Vince Lombardi wannabees, ignoring the general physical health of the masses, to pander to the jocks of the group) had us divide up for a game of flag football. To make a lengthening story short, I found myself lined up against the troglodite, who instantly started promising humiliation beyond my wildest dreams. The first time he charged at me, I raised both arms and smashed the little bugger in the chops. I still remember walking back to our side's "huddle", to the congratulations of my side's guys. as the little toad writhed in the dirt. Just as a post-script, I think he's a cop now. Take from that what you will.

Primary school. I remember (vaguely) making a clay figure of an Ankylosaurus ( a 4-legged plant eater with a hard shell on it's back and a club at the end of it's tail-kind of like a cross between a rhino and a tank). I was REALLY big on dinosaurs as a kid, and while other kids were dreaming of being pilots or cowboys, I was dreaming of being a Paleontologist. Anyway, I remember making my little clay Ankylosaurus, and my teacher being so impressed I was asked to take it to the Principal's office to show the Principal himself. Now aside from the chance to linger outside of class, I was also able to show up the Principal, who had no idea what an Ankylosaurus was. I remember starting to doubt the intelligence of adults at that time as well. I still do.

Other little victories:

-the first time I got a haircut I wanted (Beatles) rather than the one my parent's wanted (mental patient)

-when I beat my best buddy in a game of badminton (he always beat me in everything, up to then)

-being called the "coolest guy ever" by a girl I had the hots for

-winning a Mexican yodelling contest in a Caribbean resort

Notice than none of these include things like "getting my degree" or "buying my house". I guess the sweetness of the Better Than Awesome moment is in the brevity and personal nature of the event.

Dream a little dream with me

Dreaming is something , they tell us, we all do, whether we remember them or not. People have tried to interpret dreams for centuries, with varying results. Some, I think, are fairly obvious. I remember I used to dream about tornados fairly frequently. The dreams had different settings (a field, a road, etc.) but all had the same sequence. I would start off, travelling through an open countryside, when I saw the start of a tornado in the distance. As I ran and searched for shelter, the tornado would form and come right towards me. For all but the last two dreams, I was just about to find shelter (a gully, a basement, etc.) as the tornado was upon me, and I would wake up just before I found out if I was safe or was sucked off to Oz. The second last time I had a tornado dream, I was able to open a door and start down a flight of stairs before the tornado hit. The door shook violently, but I felt fairly safe. The last time I ever had a tornado dream, I found shelter and was deep in a safe basement, with other people I didn't recognize. By the time the tornado hit, I felt calm and safe.

I used to have another, very weird dream all the time. I always started the dream in the basement of a house, and would start to explore the house room by room. As I explored, I felt a growing sense of threat and unease. The dream would always end just as I was opening a door, and my nerves were screaming at me not to do it. I would sometimes have this dream more than once a night. The weird thing was, if I did something in the first dream, like move an object, the object was in it's new location in the second dream. I had these for a number of years as well, and I knew they were almost over when I had one dream that had me looking up a spiral staircase into the light. I wasn't out of the house yet, but I knew I was close. The second last dream I knew I was on the ground floor of the house and about to get out. I still explored rooms, but mainly out of curiosity. I remember one had a bunch of Asian monks, hovering cross-legged in front a black board, in a room that looked like a school room. I remember thinking, in my dream "no that's not it." This particular dream sequence ended literaly, with me walkong out of the door and into a grassy field. I remember looking back and seeing a red-painted wood-frame house. There was one more brief dream after this one, where I set the house on fire and said to myself "I had to do this".

Most of my dreams, however, are of the weird and amusing kind. Recently I dreamt I was the host of a local public-broadcast talk show. My first episode didn't go so well, as it was based in the small appliance department of a store, and I had no guests to talk to. For my second episode, I switched locations to a small coffee shop, located in an old house. The house had a number of shelves with small china figurines in it. My guest was Tom Petty, and I remember clearly asking Tom how a creative person got their ideas. Tom proceeded to demonstrate, by putting on a cloth octopus costume and prancing around the room as he spoke. I remember watching ceramic oraments flying as Tom pranced from side to side, including a little ceramic cowboy's head with a cowboy hat being crushed under his feet. As you can imagine, the episode was a hit.

Another dream I just had last night featured myself in Las Vegas. For some reason I was wearing a long hair extention from the back of my head. It was ponytail, about an inch and a half thick. It was obviously an extention, as it was red and my natural hair colour is greying-brown. I clearly remember whacking people with the end of my pony-tail as I walked past them. If they confronted me, I would hold the end of the pony-tail under my nose, like a false moustache, and in a phoney English accent, would say "My dear chap I don't know what you are talking about." Of course, no-one saw through my ruse.

I would have to say that probably 90% or more of the dreams I can remember are of the variety of the last two I have mentioned. Bizarre. Oddly entertaining. And probably entirely without deeper meaning, except the definite possibility that my mind is happily warped.

Unless Tom Petty actually does prance around in a cloth octopus costume when he's writing songs. If anyone can confirm this, I would be greateful.