Partners in Crying

On an old episode of THE MONKEES, the boys were discussing the sensitivity of their fellow band mate Peter Tork when one of them declares,

"He cries at card tricks."

That's me all over these days, a living testament to the belief that men cry more as they get older. I own it. If there's anything that involves my grandkids, I'll blubber openly and be proud of it. The world can be a sad place, especially lately and my empathy will work overtime in reaction to horrible tragedy in the world. But it can also be therapeutic. I am not immune to its healing abilities even it involves welling up my tear ducts and letting the waterworks flow. I have found that my reactions as of late have become increasingly unpredictable.

Music is always a trigger. If Johnny Cash's rendition of "Hurt" plays, I'm an instant wreck especially with the lyric:
What I become, my sweetest friend
Everyone I know goes away in the end
The video for "Hurt" cuts to June Carter on "my sweetest friend" and my mind immediately goes to her passing just before Johnny's. He died four months later.

James Taylor's "Fire and Rain" conjures immediate images of 9/11 since I saw him play this at a benefit for First Responders following the tragedy.

There's hours of time on the telephone line to talk about things to come
Sweet dreams and flying machines in pieces on the grounds.

I'm weeping as I type those words right now.

And something as innocuous as Rod Stewart's "Forever Young" or Donna Lewis' "I Love You Always Forever" hits me on a personal level, choking me up once again. Recently, little ditties like "Home" by Edward Sharpe and The Magnetic Zeros or Moonshine Willie's "Dig a Little Deeper", both of which remind me of the love of my life who is my wife who sometimes tells not to "get all weepy".

I like to think I'm above cheap sentimentality, but I guess I'm not. I hate obvious pulls at the heartstrings and I have a tendency to pull back. When something as well done as the recent WONDER movie comes along, I'll go all in willingly. Sometimes the power of joy moves me and seeing THE BOOK OF MORMON, not a tear jerker in the least, hit the "Wah!" button. That could have been the culmination of the whole experience since it was my first Broadway show in that magical New York summer. Hey, this summer, I even got a little misty eyed at this.

Olympian weightlifter Ryan Crouser's tribute to his grandpa 

What do you want from me? I'm a grandpa. It's in my contract.

I've always been sensitive, but as time rolls on, it's been rising to the surface on almost a daily basis. But I accept this and sometimes embrace it.

I'm not made of stone. I am not a rock. I am not an island.

Just don't mistake my weepiness for weakness.

Now pass the Kleenex or I'll slap the snot outta ya.

License to Trill

The theme for the anxiously awaited James Bond film SPECTRE has been released and elicits nothing morethan polite golf applause. Sam Smith's "Writing's on the Wall" is underwhelming to say the least, but certainly not the worst to say the most. It's a wisp of a tune that actually should have been something to blow the doors off an Aston Martin. Instead, there's this B-side ballad and unfortunately, the Writing on the Wall reads:
Here I sit,
brokenhearted.
Came to shit,
but only farted.

To be frank, the opening theme song for Bond films has always been a dicey proposition. The franchise tends to cater to current pop music trends and with mixed results since it is so ephemeral. It began in the Connery era when, after the one two knockout punches delivered by Shirley Bassey on GOLDFINGER and Tom Jones with THUNDERBALL, the singer chosen for YOU ONLY LIVE TWICE was...Nancy Sinatra, undoubtedly due to "These Boots Were Made for Walkin'". Thank goodness the song itself was decent enough and the production covered up many of her flat tones. Many times the gamble paid off, but for every Paul McCartney, Duran Duran and Tina Turner, the landscape is littered with a-ha, Rita Coolidge and worst of all, Sheryl Crow, badly in need of Auto-Tune for her flat rendition of TOMORROW NEVER DIES, making Nancy Sinatra sound like Maria Callas in comparison. But my favorite song credit has to be "THE WORLD IS NOT ENOUGH performed by Garbage". I couldn't agree more.

But I'm no fan of Adele's Oscar winning theme for SKYFALL either. I find it mid-range and rather unremarkable. Sure, I predictably go for the undeniable classics such as the aforementioned Bassey and Jones numbers. In Bassey's case, it stops and ends with GOLDFINGER. DIAMONDS ARE FOREVER is acceptable if deriviative and the less said about MOONRAKER the better.I find Gladys Knight's rendition of LICENSE TO KILL underrated just as I do Tina Turner's GOLDENEYE. I'm also a sucker for both Lulu's MAN WITH THE GOLDEN GUN and Jack White/Alicia Keys' "Another Way to Die" from QUANTUM OF SOLACE. And every time I hear "Nobody Does It Better" from THE SPY WHO LOVED ME, Carly Simon wins my heart every single time.

You'll notice I'm not mentioning the composers here. Need I mention John Barry, Thomas Newman, Marvin Hamlisch, David Arnold, et al? I suppose I should but I am concentrating on the finished product.

But while we're on the subject, Carl Davis' instrumental renditions of the 007 theme songs on the album BOND FOR ORCHESTRA transforms many of these otherwise piss poor songs into something quite magical and decent offerings even better. Chris Cornell's "You Know My Name" from CASINO ROYALE just knocks it into the cheap seats and "We Have All the Time in the World", even without Louis Armstrong's melancholy raspiness, is still a wonderful melody from ON HER MAJESTY'S SECRET SERVICE. Madonna's mediocre electronica effort,  DIE ANOTHER DAY, actually gets to live a little while longer.

Naturally,the songs  have no bearing on the film themselves. When the two coincide, it's serendipity. When it doesn't, it's not a total loss. No matter how I feel about Smith's half-hearted SPECTRE theme, it will be aided by yet another brilliant title sequence created by Maurice Binder's worthy successor, Danny Kleinman, a rarity in this day and age.

Of course, one could only imagine the themes and artists that could have been, such as this previously lost recording of Johnny Cash's take on THUNDERBALL

.

Yippy-ky-ay, Mr. Bond!

Names are for Tombstones, Baby

What's in a name?
Actually, a better question might be: What is my sudden obsession with names? Maybe I'm suffering some sort of identity crisis. (Well, not so much a crisis, per se. I'd say it's more of a irritation of the Id.) That recent article about that poor little New Zealand kid with the unfortunate name of Talula Does the Hula from Hawaii actually prompted this.
In my travels (in other words, my day job), I frequently pass a waterbirthing center that posts recent birth announcements on its office door. No last names are given, just the first name and birthdate, a nice little honor bestowed on the newborn, something they can appreciate after they've been wrung out and toweled off (it being a waterbirth and all-Everybody out of the pool!). I just had to jot down some of the monikers these parents have chosen to give their young 'uns.

Some of the choice offerings include:

Trekken-Once they move out of their parents’ basement, apparently geeks can procreate too. Who knew?

Allura- Another possible candidate for Starfleet. Could be the love child of Capt. Kirk and Lt. Uhura.

Finia Joy-Pleasant sounding enough, though rather like a chocolate bar. Or carob.

Luka Moon-Good name for a hero in a romance novel. Hopefully, he's not named after Keith...or the guy that swims with the fishes.

Solace-Boy, girl or none of the above? You make the call. Solace is another word for comfort, consolation and future therapy. Probably conceived after the last Bond movie. “Hey, how’s your brother, Quantum?” (Speaking of which, I wrote some secret agent stories when I was a kid in the Sean Connery 007 era. My agent’s named was Dick King. I didn’t get my own joke until much later. I didn't even realize it was a joke. Freudian at twelve years old? You betcha boots.)

Lupine-"Hello. My parents think I'm wolf-like. Please don't hurt me."

Arowyn-Sounds suspiciously Tolkien-like, making it somewhat mystical, unless of course, the parents were junkies with Cockney accents.

Easy-Another unisex name like Solace. For the kid's sake, I hope it's not a girl.

Madrone Thoreau Pendragon- A) Future Dungeons and Dragon player, B) Pretentious git,
C) Mouthbreather or D) All of the above.

That last one is pretty horrific, but it really does try too hard. In my opinion, the best, or worst depending on your outlook on life, has to be:

Onyx Olympus

Sweet Humpin' Horehounds!

Anyone remember the old Shel Siverstein song, "A Boy Named Sue", popularized by Johnny Cash? That could be a big clue right there as to why in the name of all that's holy anyone would do this to an innocent child, unless of course they really want to encourage him take up a career in porn and that name will give him a leg up, so to speak. To keep their son Double O out of harm's way for at least a little while, I would suggest home schooling thE lad, that is, unless the house pets start taunting him. "Onyx Olympus? Seriously? At least I'm named Fluffy for a reason!" This cruel joke could be boiled down to another theory altogether : Unwanted pregnancy.

Were these dimwitted parents ever kids themselves? Did they never experience the evil that children do? The nicknames other kids will call them will damage their young psyches and leave them with mental scars for years to come as it is. You think when little Onyx gains a few pounds that the kids won't call him Oinks? To be so arrogantly blind as to give your offspring an absurdly affected name is the same as drawing a target on their Underoos.

And I'm one to talk? Yes, I am, especially since I had to endure the charming title of "Scotty Potty", courtesy of my very own brother and sister. Sometimes they shortened it to "Scott the Pot"just make it even worse. It wasn't until I reached public school when it morphed into the brand name for toilet paper, Scott Tissue. How charming to be associated with bodily functions. And "Beam me up, Scotty?" Don't get me started.

Just remember, Onyx, Solace, Arowyn and Lupine may some day have children of their own and they can name them whatever the hell they want to name them. Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Trekken.

And if I ever had a son, do you know what I would have named him?

Why, Stymie Opie Cherney, of course.