There's Not Enough...

Christmas Eve, Christmas Day/Night, then the day after, I climbed up-down, up-down, over and over again through our 400 channels. There's lots there, of course, with lots likewise not there.

The short list of missing shows goes like this...

• Marty Tyler Moore
  

• Rhoda

• Phyllis
  

• Dick Van Dyke
  

• The Three Stooges

• The Honeymooners

• The Munsters

• The Addams Family

• Donna Reed

• Leave It To Beaver

• All In The Family

• My Three Sons (especially the original b&w episodes)

• The Bob Newhart Show - both versions. The second show was simply called Newhart.
  

Alright, most of these shows are ancient to an awful lot of people. There's no arguing with that. There is, though, something else they are; timeless. And they are nowhere to be found. Plus, they are all mindless, largely pointless, yet very amusing and extraordinarily well-written and well-produced situation comedies. And they were all very well-cast, too. Sadly, I can't seem to find any of them anywhere on my television.

It would by my opinion that upon this short list of sitcoms are all shows that hold up as well today as they did the day they debuted. Unlike a lot of other sitcoms that look almost disturbing today, shows that you make you wonder how and why they ever made it to the network, these half-hour pieces are still appealing.

For the sake of comparison, I suppose, mentioning a show or two that didn't hold up is necessary.

• Mork and Mindy. Enough said? Sorry, it doesn't work today, didn't work a year, five, ten years ago. Once upon a time, yes, it did. Mork and Mindy is a show that is not timeless. My opinion only, let's make sure and note that.

I say we need an Old Fart Channel, or perhaps less offensive, My Geezer Channel. OFC or MGC, we need one of these to accommodate picky grumps like me who want to re-live 1958, 1968, 1978. Surely you get the idea here.

Right you are, TVLand is out there, but for whatever reason or reasons, TVLand has jettisoned most of the aforementioned shows, although they did once air them. Contractually, it might be that they no long have rights to the shows. Why, I'm not sure, but my guess is that these shows have been mothballed for now rather than them being unavailable for airing.

I want them back.

I also want back...

• Petticoat Junction Again, as with My Three Sons, who's hiding the earliest season's b&w episodes? Let's go, let's have them. And while we're at it, how about My Favorite Martian and Dennis The Menace. Oh, and what kind of man have I become? How could anyone forget The Three Stooges? Sorry, guys.
  

One final thought this time around. Christmas brought a revelation, a watershed event.

Finally, after thirty years plus, I couldn't look at A Christmas Story again, not one more time,not even for fifteen minutes, not even at some of the best and classic scenes. Enough. Stop.

Even It's A Wonderful Life wore a little thin this year. It looked a little too familiar, so did The Wizard of Oz.

Bring it on...My Geezer Channel.

Just a Thought...

Not to preach, not to sermonize, not to tell anyone else what to do.

BUT...

Local merchants, not of the chain variety, and I ain't mentioning any names here, need to get their scat together.

There are several things I am looking to buy, some for Christmas, some soon after.

My wife Carol and I have spent years trying, oftentimes desperately and failing in the process, to do as much business as we can locally. We try. So help me, we try. At times, we go out of our way to buy "local."

A lot of you "locals" make it really tough to do so. Your choice, of course, you make your business decisions. Just remember that the consumer makes business decisions, too. One such decision might be to pass you by, to not even consider you when making a purchase.

One of the most egregious and impossible-to-understand things you're doing is NOT HAVING A WEB PRESENCE.

How you can not have a website as we get ready to swing into 2009 is beyond me.

Here, let me give you just one example of how you snooze and lose without a site - potential customers don't even know if you're still there, still in business.

Sure, pick up the phone and call, you say. Right, easy enough, you say. Sure, jump in the truck, drive on over, see for yourself, you say.

Sorry, it's not enough in this day and age. Looking up your number other than on-line and calling isn't an option for a lot of us consumers. We want to hit a search, find your site, get your hours, see what you might have in stock, then possibly do business with you.

It's not like I have a bag of money to throw at someone here, we're not talking thousands upon thousands. Hundreds upon hundreds? Yeah, that's more like it.

If your business is such that you can afford to throw away a sale, any sale really, then you're in good shape. Congratulations, you sure don't need me.

Radio on Sunday With Paul...

Don't much recall ever mentioning this man on the blog. The only reason for that is I do believe he likes his privacy. If there's a microsopce nearby, he doesn't want to be under it. Life in TV can be a soap opera, I don't think he ever cared for that component of the biz. Among his many qualities exists a healthy measure of modesty.

This is Paul Stueber. A little picture of a big man. A big man in so many fine ways, so many admirable ways. It's the best photo I could find.

Paul Stueber is a friend. He's also been a mentor, colleague, and he used to be the boss man. In his role as boss, Paul was a protector of sorts in that last job of mine. When Paul went, I knew there was every chance my days were numbered. They, of course, were.

Listen, I don't want to do is lay it on so thick as to embarrass this guy. That being said, you really need to know that he possesses what I consider to be the finest resume that has ever passed through this television market. He is smart, savvy, and "been there and done that" more than anyone I know who has worked, or works now, in the broadcasting business. It really is that straightforward; Paul Stueber is one of a kind.

This coming Sunday, the ever-gracious Paul has invited me to join him on his monthly radio show on WILK. It'll be my pleasure to be right there. I hope you'll listen, if only to learn more about this guy. Noon to 2:00 PM. Paul will lead, I'll follow wherever he wants to go. I look very forward to it.

Lots of Boscoving Today...

Did you Boscov today?

I know, I know. Look, if you're under, say, 45 or so, you probably don't remember the once very familiar radio and TV jingle, "Did You Boscov Today-ay?" You probably had no idea that Boscov could be a verb.

When Boscov's came to town, meaning Wilkes-Barre in this case, it was a big deal. Then Boscov's came to Scranton, then Hazleton, also big deals.

I'd heard lots of great things about this Boscov's place back in the mid and late 70s when living in Williamsport. Williamsport didn't have a Boscov's but there was one in Sunbury. Boscov's impressed enough Williamsporters that they drove over to Sunbury to have a look, came back, and raved about this chain.

(Williamsport then had its very own downtown department store, LL Stearns, now long gone.)

Al Boscov liked to put on a show when he opened a new store. The W-B Grand Opening featured Henny Youngman, Peter Lawford, Dagmar, and Zippy The Chimp.

Youngman was then, this was the early '80s, enjoying a renewal of his career, a career which stretched all the way back to Vaudeville.

"Take my wife...please!" was Youngman's signature one-liner, and this man was recognized across the land as The King of The One-Liners. One-liners were largely all he did, one-liners interrupted by Youngman's screeching a few chords on his ever-present violin.

Then there was Peter Lawford. Peter Lawford was in sore need of what Youngman had, a career restart, perhaps a new career altogether. He was down for the count.

The dashing Englishman, a former Hollywood leading man, an Honest-To-God member of the beyond legendary Rat Pack, wasn't having a good go of things.

Peter Lawford, once married to Patricia Kennedy, sister of JFK, RFK, and Teddy, making him a member of one of the world's most watched and beloved families, was relegated to picking up gigs opening department stores and, I suppose, other small-time venues that paid a couple bucks. The fall from the big rooms of Las Vegas to the Community Room of Wilkes-Barre's Boscov's must be dizzying.

You, me, loads of others, would be tickled peachy pink to get paid to show up at grand openings. You, me, we're not Peter Lawford. You, me, we never had a big Hollywood career. You, me, we never spent weekends at those six acres in Hyannis on Nantucket Sound known to the world simply as The Compound.

As to the other two headliners, Dagmar and Zippy The Chimp, you can Google them if you're of a mind.

So, how do I know all this stuff? Simple. I was there.

Working for WARM at the time, the radio station played a a big role in publicizing Boscov's W-B Grand Opening. My contribution, for which there was indeed compensation, was doing my early mid-day show for a couple days live from the front doors of Boscov's on South Main.

Never did see Youngman, or Dagmar, or Zippy. Lawford, yes, I saw him just fine, right up close and personal. I had the opportunity to interview Peter Lawford. Lawford was clearly in rough shape, yet he was charming, cordial, pleasant, and just plain nice. Peter Lawford died a little over a year after that interview. Peter Lawford died on a Christmas Eve.

So, did I Boscov today? Why, yes, I did Boscov today, Pearl Harbor Day of 2008. And what to my wondering eyes did appear?

A fully jammed parkade!

Well, you can just deck my halls all to heck. There wasn't a spot to be found on the first pass, not on the second pass, but I managed to wiggle into what I believe to be a space on our third trip around. The store was crowded and employees were smiling. The employees we had the pleasure of dealing with were quick to tell us how much they loved Mr. Boscov. We were quick to tell them we loved their store, and that we couldn't remember the last time their parkade was full.

Working literally next door to the entrance ramp to that parkade for twenty years, I could easily recall many a week or so before Christmases past, days and nights when you'd without fail find a blocks' long traffic jam waiting to "Boscov." Maybe Santa will bring a few of those this year.

I sure hope so.

Time For A New Toy...

Men, boys, prices of toys. We've all heard the variations a bunch of times.

"The only difference between men and boys is the price of their toys."

It's pretty much it. Christmas means toys, or perhaps just one new toy. I never boxed it into Christmas alone. If I needed a new toy, I went out and got me one.

There never seemed to be any pattern to when the need for a toy would arise, when that itch would first start needing a good scratch. One day, one minute, one thought would enter your head. That visiting electrical impulse popped the kernel of a seemingly unecessary yearning for a new toy.

Once it's in your head, you're really not happy until the toy is in your hand. You can, however, wait it out and stare it down, which I've honest to God done a few times. There have been times I just had to have a thing, a toy. Instead of running out and buying "it," I showed some self restraint, self-control, and waited until the urge faded. And it will...if you wait.

A whole bunch of my acquaintances have a GPS in their car or truck. They love them.

Or maybe loved is more like it.

Seems that the biggest shortcoming of a GPS is that once you come to the painful realization that you don't drive somewhere unknown five to seven times weekly, and that most of the America we know is fairly well-marked, a GPS is more a novelty, and amazing one at that, than anything else. It's a toy. The biggest appeal of that unit sucking on to the inside of your windshield could be to someone on the outside of your windshield who might want to walk away with it.

I toughed it out. Probably for the better part of nine months now, I denied the urge. Then, just within the last couple weeks I awoke to a day where the smoldering want for a GPS was gone, it was over, it had passed. Patience had paid a dividend, brought its own reward, which is me not throwing money away on something, a toy, that will serve no purpose, fulfill no practical need. Phewwwfff, that was close.

I want a set of drums.

I've always wanted drums. A real set of drums, with a real bass, a couple of attached Toms, a floor Tom, one hellacious snare, and some big crashing cymbals. Give me a couple pair of sticks and cut me loose. OK, there is no need for a big honking drum set like the one on the right. Maybe a simpler set, as seen below, would do just fine.

One problem, I don't play drums. Nor do I play any other musical instrument you might name. I have no musical ability.

Where to start?

One paragraph ought to pretty much cover things. See, I have no musical ability whatsoever. Despite loving music forever, despite growing up in a music loving family, despite trying several instruments in my life, and that would include paying for lessons, I can't play a thing.

So, why drums?

I figure it this way - I am never going to play in a band, never going to perform solo, never have to amuse anyone but myself with a set of drums. The added benefit, of course, is even lacking an ounce of talent, I might be able to make some sense of the drums, some recognizable beats, some rhythm.

I actually know more than a few guys who can pound on drums and make them sound good. These are guys who don't read a note of music, never took a lesson. These are guys who just got tired of tapping on table tops and glasses with spoons and forks, then went out and bought some drums.

Then, just last evening, I remembered once having a neighbor who used to beat on his drums in their attached garage. I remembered how, when he'd first start to "practice," you would have sworn someone had just tossed seven or eight galvanized garbage cans out into the street from an attic window. You had to listen with some intensity to make out a vague repetitive noise that would indicate drums, and not the township's recyclable truck doing a rollover nearby.

Yeah, a small set ought to do it.

Charming, just charming...

From my old pal Michael Neff, I share this present - his list of favorite and deeply troubling Christmas songs. I swear, all of them, each of them, every single one, is actually a song...

Michael writes: Vince -Every year, I look forward to playing these highly-depressing songs. And, answering the suicidal calls that follow. *special note* - These are REAL songs!

The Little Boy That Santa Forgot - Nat King Cole

(" ... he's such a sad little laddie, 'cause he hasn't got a Daddy")

Daddy, Don't Get Drunk This Christmas - John Denver

(" ... don't make Mama cry, as you get high on beer and wine, that's why she's cryin' all the time")

Christmas In Jail - various country artists
(" ... he's spendin' Christmas in jail, 'cause what he did with a gun, it just wasn't fun, and now he can't make bail")

The Lost Puppy - Terry Clark

(" ... the puppy I got today, it just up and ran away, so please bring him back to my toddler, as that's what you ought to do, so my baby's dying wish can come true")

Santa Got A DWI - Gretchen Swinn

(" ... the reason Santa didn't come this year, like your no-good Daddy, he had too much beer, so go ahead and cry, Santa got a DWI")

Mama's Gone On Santa's Sleigh - The Cartwrights

(" ... when the kids ask why Mama died on Christmas, this is what I say, she went to be with Papa, she left that day on Santa's sleigh")

The Ring That Broke The Circle - Patty Lovelle

(" ... the ring he gave me for Christmas, I couldn't accept like this, I couldn't tell him that the baby, it just wasn't his)

Not having to listen to any one of the above should give us all cause for great joy and contentment this holiday season.