We're just at the beginning of the summer concert season. Recently Belle posted a music quiz, and Lucy has been busy loading up the Summertime CDs. In going through the show listings, when I spotted Cheap Trick, The New Cars, Blondie, and Earth, Wind and Fire I thought I had somehow wandered off into 1977. I may have been relevant then, but my memory isn't what it used to be.

But although I've been 31 years old for over twenty years now, I still have the desire to get out there with the grandkids and "kick up my heels" on occasion, hopefully without my back locking up.

Well, imagine my surprise to see that the concert scene is dominated by a number of these 70s acts from my generation.

Yeah, I'm talking about my generation. People try to put us down, just because our dentures give us speech impediments. But that has not stopped these 70s artists from trying to tell the world that their message is still hip, despite the numerous hip replacement surgeries that have taken place in their bands.

Concert promoters have brought together acts like the James Gang, Bruce Springsteen, Paul Simon and Steely Dan for appearances in this area. Last year they even brought back Lollapalooza, which featured acts like a new version of Jane's Addiction and Queens of the Stone Age, not to be confused with the ongoing Rolling Stones tour.

Most younger fans don't understand 70's music. Many of them use it as cell phone ringers. You see, we're well aware that we are not Grandmasters, but we're not all grandparents.

And the kids nowadays think of the Beach Boys as those old guys they saw patrolling the Wildwood beaches with their metal detectors. Granted, sixty-year old men should not be singing songs like "In My Room" anymore, unless they're referring to the particular ward in the home they may have wandered away from.

I've been paying attention to the music scene since many of these bands arrived, some dating back to the mid sixties. I knew immediately that they had something important to say, because they named themselves Strawberry Alarm Clock, Daddy Dewdrop, and the 1910 Fruitgum Company.
Established stars like the Beatles broke down the complexities of a relationship with the deep, heartfelt lyric, "I don't know why you say goodbye, I say hello." And the band Steam eloquently continued, "Na na na na, hey hey-ey, goodbye." Actually, considering the events of the original Woodstock, casual observers might have somehow gotten the idea that people were using pharmaceuticals a mite stronger than Advil.

Of course, times changed and musical tastes continued to evolve.
And mosh pits continue to abound, consisting of rebellious youngsters performing pile drivers, figure-four leg locks, and other Texas Death Match wrestling maneuvers on each other.

But through it all, classic rock artists have survived. And when I say classic, I am by no means referring to classical. As long as people have tried to put my generation down, the worst insult came when they turned Stairway to Heaven by Led Zeppelin into elevator music.

That was just another way of radio telling us that we couldn't rock anymore. After we turned up our hearing aids, we answered that we hate easy listening music. Time may not be on our side anymore, but we know there's no such thing as "soft" rock. Many classic rock fans have long held the desire to hear some kind of evil elevator shaft music station, featuring songs like Slow Ride by Foghat and Enter Sandman by Metallica in their dentist's office.

So I'm grateful to see that 70s music has a message which is still considered relevant, important, and not necessarily incontinent. I mean, today we've just gotten word that Paris Hilton plans to release a hip hop album. We are very near the end of civilization, but I do look forward to the videos.

Yes, we older folks are continuing to prove that we can still "Boogie Oogie Oogie" till we just can't boogie no more. All right, sometimes the message comes out garbled. But right now my strawberry alarm clock says that my generation has been up after 11 PM, so it needs some Ben-Gay and a nap. Good night.

Bob H

Iran just closed one of its newspapers due to the publication of a controversial cartoon. And there have been riots across Europe due to cartoons published in Denmark late last year.With all due respect to anyone's particular religion, I used to enjoy cartoons more when they were supposed to be funny.

Yes there used to be a time when we read cartoons hoping to get a laugh. All right, with the possible exception of Sally Forth, Nancy, and the current Garfield. Well, in the interest of respect for all concerned, we wanted to get back to the drawing board, so to speak, to get some answers. And thanks to the Freedom of Information Act and President Bush's domestic surveillance program, we were able to find out exactly what kind of intentions some of these cartoon characters had.

First, we were able to pull the CIA file of the Bullwinkle Show's top villain, Boris Badenov. Badenov, also known as The World's Greatest No-Goodnik, was born and lowered in Pottsylvania, and graduated magna cum lousy from USC (The University of Safe Cracking), where he majored in bomb throwing.

Little has been heard of Badenov since the end of the Cold War and he has gone into virtual seclusion. He is not considered a threat to our homeland security. We learned that he spends his spare time working on his Fireside Crook Book with his live-in companion, Natasha Fatale. When he was reached for comment, Badenov only replied, "Sharrup you mouth!"

Elsewhere, around the mid 1990s a pair of genetically engineered cartoon mice known as Pinky and the Brain began making a lot of noise at the ACME laboratory. This, of course, was the same firm which supplied many faulty devices to another cartoon super genius, Wile E. Coyote. We intercepted tapes of one of their lab sessions from 1998:

PINKY: What are we going to do tonight, Brain?

BRAIN: The same thing we do every night, Pinky. Try to take over the world.

Putting two and two together, we considered these two a threat to homeland security. Since we haven't heard from Pinky or the Brain for some time, we contacted the ACME laboratory to learn what they were doing these days. We found out that the Brain was semi-retired.

ME: Brain, I was concerned about your past activities because the United States has had a lot of homeland security issues in recent years.

BRAIN: Very interesting. Are you pondering what I'm pondering?

ME: I think so Brain, but we'll never be able to get a trampoline and the Rockettes over here at this hour.

PINKY: Narf!

So the first cartoon characters we contacted appear to have learned their lesson. Although the signs appeared to be good about the intentions of most cartoon characters, we couldn't quite feel satisfied without getting comments from one of the veterans of cartoondom's golden age when cartoons used to be for fun. After considering another one of the top recent news headlines, we contacted Warner Brothers own small game hunter, Elmer Fudd.

Fudd, believed to be 66, is wetired, I mean retired after contracting a severe case of rabbititus on his last hunting trip. We sat down with Fudd in the game room of his Victorian rancher in Florida for a brief discussion.

ME: Have you ever had any accidents similar to Vice-President Cheney's during your days as a hunter?

ELMER: Unwess you count Bugs Bunny tying my gun in a knot, no. And occasionawwy I would forget whether it was actuawwy wabbit season or duck season.

ME: But no incidents involving any other hunters?

ELMER: No. For some weason, no one else ever wanted to hunt with me. But I always fowwowed on cardinal wule to prevent accidents in the field during my days as a hunter.

ME: What was that?

ELMER: He doesn't have to shoot me now, he can shoot me when we get home.

ME: Do you think people should be treating this shooting as a political issue?
ELMER: Not at all. I weawwy weawwy wike it when Wepubwicans and wibewals awike can put their diffewences aside and use pwoper westwaint while using fiweawms.

ME: Finally Mr. Fudd, do you believe cartoon characters are promoting anyone's evil agenda these days?

ELMER: I think people should just weave us awone. We all need to show a wittle towewance. Now I have a question. Isn't Pat Wobertson, who just weg pwessed 2000 pounds, a cawtoon figure now?

ME: I think so.

ELMER: I knew thewe was a good weason I got out of the business.

Bob H

I hope everyone is having a nice holiday weekend. Many times we need a break in our daily routine.  Perhaps you're feeling stressed because you realize that you're suffering from three-quarters of the ailments you're expected to ask your doctor about on TV. I'm not a doctor, and I don't even play one on Blogstream. Today we pay for tags required to use the Jersey beaches, for air to put in our tires, and they're thinking of taxing the water. So considering the price of gasoline, maybe you need to be loading up the car and planning a vacation to the end of your driveway. But at least I am not bitter.  This should help you to decide whether you need longer than a weekend away.

Bob H

 

 

I saw this in the news sometime last week. Apparently things have come to this.

Woman forfeits friend for free tank of gas

She leaves companion at gas station as deposit after fill-up, never returns

BERLIN - A German woman left her friend as a deposit at a gas station because she did not have enough cash to pay for her gasoline, police said Wednesday.

"She didn't have enough money to pay the bill, so her friend stayed behind as a human deposit while she went to withdraw cash," said a spokesman for police in the southern town of Münchberg. "Unfortunately, the woman did not return."

Two hours after the 20-year-old driver left, the gas station called the police, who interrogated the stranded "deposit" before releasing her. Police are investigating the driver on suspicion of fraud.

This is an interesting deposit system, and is apparently a true story. Many of us have friends like this. This method would work if you were driving with the proper company, like certain in-laws or an ex. Although I'd have to say that the woman who was left behind has some serious self-esteem issues, and owes someone a good pounding. According to the reports on gas prices in Europe, I don't think I have enough friends to drive!

Bob H

Since it's the heart of the graduation season, and Lucy just posted Blogstream's graduating class a few nights ago, I thought I'd chime in with a little commencement address from a member of the Geritol generation. But at least I am not bitter. Folks from other areas will please excuse the New Jersey slant, but you can't make up the stuff that goes on here.

It's time once again to offer a few words to this year's class of high school and college graduates. You know, we almost didn't make it to the ceremony today. The combination of your I-pods and cell phones along with the hearing aids of myself and your parents caused a massive blackout across three states earlier this morning.

Anyway, we know the youth of America is strong. You're young and you're healthy. Years ago we were young. What we have now are commercials which tell us to ask our doctors about things.

That's all we get. I've never had any particular desire to throw a football through an inner tube, and I'm not about to start now. My sex life hasn't slowed down in the slightest, even though I'm older than the entire front row of students. Actually, it's hard for something to slow down when it barely registered in the first place. It can never be a good sign when blind dates suggest to me that we start seeing other people.

And I don't know what Lunesta is, or what it does. Students need to understand now that respect for your parents doesn't involve commercials for acid reflux disease. Maybe a few of us could stand a little help with acid flashback disease.

But that's not why you're here. I'm here to tell you today that as you are about to enter the working world, you will be faced with more than a few issues this year. Your future is not as bright as we would like it to be, unless you've recently come in contact with a Nigerian banker.

What I mean is, New Jersey is broke. Flat busted. But I can explain, I swear. We've got a problem. My name is Bob, and I'm addicted to oil. We've got a grease monkey on our back. Back in the day we all graduated with honors from Quaker State.

It wasn't our fault. Like many of you, we suffered from overcrowded classrooms when we were going to school. In many cases they combined totally unrelated classes. We learned our mathematics and our philosophy lessons at the same time from our professors Aristotle and J.D. Clampett.

Clampett was one of the original oil men who ran Halliburton back in the 1960s. He's kind of like Larry the Cable Guy with black gold, Texas tea, and a fancy eatin' table.

Anyway, they taught us that money cannot buy happiness, yet money is the root of all evil. So we came to the obvious conclusion that all rich people are politicians. And money may not buy happiness, but it does buy friends and an awful lot of political influence.

While we were growing up, many of us still dreamed about becoming one of the leaders of the free world. We wanted to be important, and to make a difference.

Security in Trenton was always tight for our leaders, even in the days before 9/11. You were not permitted to enter the capital building without a thorough security check. If you were found with any lighters, metal objects, or ethics on your person it became immediate grounds for termination.

We slowly soured on the leader idea, because our next lesson explained what ever became of the middle class worker. A fool and his money are soon parted. Most of us go through our paychecks quickly, because money doesn't buy happiness, but it sure puts a nice down payment on some of our finest misery.

Outside of the classroom, we learned many financial lessons during careful home study beer bong experiments from musicians like Paul McCartney, who said, "Money Can't Buy Me Love." Fortunately money can still pay for a fleet of U-Hauls which hold all of your possessions when you park right next to it.

And the last time I checked, McCartney owned the approximate one-third of the planet not currently possessed by Oprah or Donald Trump. Our favorite musical lesson was, Lord, won't you buy me a Mercedes-Benz.

When we considered our state's financial problems, we asked all of you to write a final paper on ways to raise revenue for New Jersey. One student thought it would be a good idea to fine people for cell phone conversations in the produce aisles of a supermarket. He suggested a fifty percent off three day only sale on common sense, conscience, and morals at Trenton since no one there was using any.

Another idea was to enter into a deal with Pennsylvania Governor Ed Rendell to sell the empty seats at Phillies games to use for meetings by New Jersey's excessive government members, saving on Trenton office costs.

I thought your ideas were useful until I got to the one wise kid. He said that members of my age group who can only afford Ambien for sleep aid on our prescription plans should be hired as short-order cooks, with working hours coming during our bedtime.

Putting such ideas into practice will help to insure your financial security. Besides, in our local area, state law requires at least one Dunkin' Donuts-Baskin-Robbins for every two city blocks, so exciting employment opportunities are virtually endless. And remember, like that old philosopher Ken Lay once said, A penny saved is all that's left of your 401k plan. Thank you.

Bob H