Wonderful World

Sunday night in the 60's meant “Walt Disney’s Wonderful World of Color". Of course in our house it was “The Wonderful World of Black and White”. The only color TV that I was aware of was the one my cousins had. These were the cousins, like pretty much all of my cousins, that I only saw maybe once a year, and that was if we happened to be visiting my grandparents at the same time. So I had never actually been to their house and seen this alleged TV. I only knew of it because my oldest sister, Karen, occasionally babysat for them and would later comment on the glories of this amazing device. These stories had the added benefit of driving home the inferiority of not only our TV, but by extension, the people watching it (i.e.: me).

But even in black and white, that show was a big deal to me. Every week there would be something different on. Maybe a comedy, maybe a drama. All in that Disney style. It was made even better because usually the whole family would crowd into Mom and Dad's room and watch it together. It felt like an event. It was a little like being at the movies, except more comfortable.

There were plenty of good shows: "Kilroy", which seemed to be a favorite of Karen's, "Thomasina", which also seemed to be a favorite of Karen's. And plenty more. One of the best, in my opinion, was “The Scarecrow of Romney Marsh”. I remember being both fascinated and totally creeped out by it. "Scarecrow" starred Patrick Magoohan, who is still one of my all time favorites. This was serialized over at least a couple of weeks... and kept me up for several weeks more.

But for all the fond memories of the shows I watched, I think my strongest memory is of the show I didn't watch.

When I was little, my bedroom was a converted walk-through dressing room that stood between the upstairs hall and Mom and Dad's room. All that separated my room from theirs was a French door, usually open, but with a shade on their side for the times that the door would close.  This didn't happen often but when it did, the message was clear:  Keep. Out.  This arrangement seemed to work out pretty well, at least for me. Back then, privacy wasn't my first priority, which was good, since I had none. It also made it handy for when Dad would frequently have to come in and comfort me at bedtime. The problem was, I would often worry and dwell on things right before bedtime (as opposed to pretty much all the time now). It would get to the point where I would be too overwhelmed and scared to go to bed. Dad called them"bad thoughts". Now I just call it "life". This was a frustrating experience for both of us.

Anyway, one Sunday night, Disney comes on and we all crowded into Mom and Dad's room. On this particular night, they were playing the story of Davy Crockett. The show must have been pretty uneventful, and I only say this because I don't remember much about it. What I do remember is that it was continued to the following week. No big deal. Not for me anyway but it was for Dad. He knew the story of Davy Crockett and he knew that things didn't end well for Davy. This meant that if I watched it next Sunday, it wasn't going to end well for me, which also meant it wasn't going to end well for Dad either.

So next Sunday night rolls around and it became obvious that something bad was going to happen. And it did. We all piled into Mom and Dad's room, everyone but me. It was announced that I was not going to be able to watch it that night. Dad's clear message was that this was somehow for the greater good. I was shut out. Dad and the rest of the family disappeared behind the French door and down went the shade.

For the next hour, my imagination was kept in check only by my growing resentment. I practiced my scowl, arching my eyebrows and squinting my eyes. People would know, in no uncertain terms, that I was not a happy camper. All I could hear from the next room were the muffled sounds of the TV. And every time the TV quieted down, I made sure to look as disgruntled as possible, just in case someone was coming to the door. No one did. I practiced my scowl to perfection.

Finally, I heard the TV switch off and I jumped up on my bed, perching myself like some angry gargoyle. The door swung open and everybody filed out, right through my room. My scowl went unnoticed. Dad came out last and he had some bad news to tell me. No, it wasn't about Davy. Not exactly anyway. It was about the show. It seems that while the story of Davy at the Alamo was indeed a multi-part episode, the final episode wouldn't be until next week. Sorry about that, but I wouldn't be able to watch it next week either. I would have a full week to develop my resentment  into a passive-aggressive performance art piece (I was fantastic, by the way).

I'm sure if I surfed around today, I could find a clip of this show. But somehow, I feel like if I watched it now, it would be like I was letting everyone off the hook. And I'm not quite prepared to do that just yet.

Those Swiss Do It All

How have I gotten this far in life without one of these?

Another Indication That It's Time To Get a Life

This is sad. I hate seeing places like this closed up and left to decay. Assuming it's for sale, you know no one is ever going to buy a place like this, at least not to open it up as a bowling alley again. I'm pretty sure the demand for bowling is still in a downward trend. Heck, I don't even see bowling on TV anymore. I've been wrong before though.

People once came here for no other reason than to have a good time. Maybe it meant bowling, maybe it meant getting away from it all. Maybe it meant spending time with someone who was special. People must have gone on dates here. I wonder what they think when they drive by now.

I wonder what it's like inside. I picture it a little like "The Shining"- phantom sounds of balls hitting the pins and echoes of people cheering and high fiving each other. Are there traces of little kids birthday parties still going on?

I even wonder about the pins. I can almost see a demand for bowling balls, relatively speaking that is. But as hard as it would be to unload bowling balls, it must be impossible to sell used bowling pins. Who would buy bowling pins? I wonder if they're all in there, standing in place, in the dark... waiting...

I wonder what the hell is the matter with me for even thinking about these things.

Sam

My Audience of Two

I kind of feel bad that I am wasting the time of people who search on "Bird Watching" or whatever, and have the misfortune of ending up here.

Bird Watching

So I’m sitting in my boss’s office today having a one-on-one meeting, when I look to my right. There, outside the sliding glass doors, in the rain, is a flock of sparrows pecking at the ground. There must have been at least thirty of them. Now, I can’t be 100% positive, but I’m pretty sure that these are the same little S.O.B’s that torment me at home, chasing away the “nice” birds (like chickadees), while they gorge themselves on the dwindling contents of my feeders.

Artistic Rendering

There I am sitting there, helpless, trying to concentrate on what my boss is talking about. But all I can do is watch these guys sitting on the grass, not ten six feet away, taunting me. How they found me, I have no clue. And how they knew I was without my laser pointer, I have no idea.

One of these days I’ll make my dreams come true and figure out how to covert a bug zapper into a “bird feeder”. Then we’ll see who has the last laugh.

Going Out of My Mind

First the hurricane bullys it's way through. Now we're getting even more rain.

At least we had that brief respite of drippingly humid days.