Monday, April 13, 2009
As you know by now, I am a great admirer of the late Fred Rogers. I've gone into great detail, in the past, concerning that admiration, so no need to do so again today. I mention my admiration, though, as preface to a general displeasure voiced by my niece, Alyssa, when she was perhaps 7-years-old.
Alyssa said that Mister Rogers seemed nice, but as soon as you got to his place, and felt comfortable being there, he wanted you to go someplace else with him, and she found this to be exceedingly rude, especially since you had no choice but to go wherever he wished to take you. It might have been a visit to a museum, or to a friend of his who played a musical instrument, or to find out what was happening in The Neighborhood Of Make-Believe, but it was always someplace else. She rather liked his house and, no matter how nice the someplace else might turn out to be, she felt it was bad manners to expect your guest to accompany you there when she had just made herself at home.
She was right, of course, and now I find myself doing the same to you.
Some of you are aware of the fact that I've begun another blog. It is called The Talkback Button and I am writing it for my place of business, Marketing Messages. You may also be aware that it is a family-friendly sort of blog, unlike here where you've encountered the random "fuck" or "son of a bitch" for no particular reason other than the fact that it refreshes my spirit to say them every once in a while.
(In that regard, I am reminded of the late George Carlin. After hearing his recording FM & AM, I rushed out to buy another of his records. Little did I know that all of his previous work had been obscenity-free. While amusing, it was not something that touched my soul. His transformation was from safe to threatening, while mine appears to be going in the reverse direction. I fear his evolution provided a much more satisfying result than mine will, but I suppose I shouldn't prejudice you unduly concerning my new work, so forget I said anything between these parentheses.)
(In a further digression, I find it especially disheartening that most of my heroes have kicked the bucket. Not just Rogers and Carlin, but also Vonnegut, Twain [he kicked before my birth, but still...] and almost every comedy team worth caring about, not to mention three-quarters of The Ramones. Those of my heroes who remain among the living are, for the most part, in a state of artistic decrepitude, revisiting their past glories and pretending that they're something new, bright, and shiny. Iggy Pop would be a prime example. Ah, well. I am not without that same fault, as some of you were no doubt thinking.)
Enough of this jibber-jabber. If you wish further reading material, please go to The Talkback Button. If, like niece Alyssa, you'd rather stay in the place where you were invited to in the first place, you're welcome to stick around here and make yourself comfortable. I ask only that you not leave any wet towels on the floor if you take a bath. I'll be back on Wednesday, so please change the sheets if you have any intimate company.