New York Daily News, August 17th, 1977.

Elvis died yesterday. Not Costello--I mean Presley, and I mean forty-two years ago on yesterday's date. (I am nothing if not a thorough reporter of old news, huh?)

In my stash of varied nostalgia items (heavy on printed ephemera, and thus voted "Most Flammable Collection" by the readers of Reminisce Magazine for six years running), I have the NY Daily News edition which broke the sad news on the following day. Btw, I used my phone to take these pics as scanning old papers can be rough on them, so I apologize if they're less than pristine.

Here's the centerfold of the issue, memorializing The King. I was going to say he was a rough-looking 42 (judging from the photo at lower right), but if I met a guy that age without carpet remnant sideburns, wearing a t-shirt instead of a bespangled jumpsuit with albatross-wing lapels, I'd probably think he looked fine.

Of course, there was also plenty of news about David Berkowitz, who'd been recently nabbed for the "Son of Sam" murders. This small article relates instances of Berkowitz using rock lyrics in his correspondence. Barry McGuire?

 

 I'm not much of an athletic supporter (thirty years using that gag and still going strong!), so I'm limiting my sports coverage to this back page piece about transsexual Renee Richards being allowed to play in the upcoming U.S. Open, with the judge citing New York State's "Human Rights Law." Hey, a human given human rights, how about that?

 From Liz Smith's column, a photo of lovely Carrie Fisher along with a bit about her piece of the Star Wars action.

 

Moving on to the movie section, here's a neat little item about Richard Kiel, already known for Eegah! and The Longest Yard, now chewing up screens as "Jaws" in The Spy Who Loved Me.

 Now let's take a deep dive into that movie section, first with a full-page ad for Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger, a favorite of mine which I saw in the theater--one of the RKO Twins in my hometown, to be precise. Growing up in Plainview, I was spoiled with FOUR movie theaters, and two of them were twins! By the late eighties, they were all heartbreakingly defunct.

 At center top on the next page, there's an ad for Fantastic Animation Festival. This is another I saw in the theater, probably this very weekend. This one played at the movie house in the Morton Village Shopping Center, within walking distance from my home. I recall my mom and possibly one of my sisters taking me, and I was enthralled. It shouldn't come as a surprise, considering the content of my YouTube channel, that one of my favorite segments featured wildly-animated commercials, including this 7-Up spot that still inspires a twinge of awe in me. (The porno ads displayed here inspire a twinge of something else.)

The entire film can be seen here, with particularly memorable sequences for me including Will Vinton's Closed Mondays, Bambi Meets Godzilla, an 1941 Fleischer Superman cartoon, and a music video of sorts for Cat Stevens' "Moonshadow."

Here's another one-off ad, for Suspiria.

Suspiria is mainly notable to me for the TV commercial, which I may have posted here before but is always worth another look. It absolutely terrified your eight-year-old Non-Parader. Keep in mind that very few people had televisions with remote controls back then, so changing channels required being right next to your TV as you manipulated the dials. Thus, you might flip the channel and find yourself face-to-face with this:

This next page has ads for Disney attractions (also regular viewing that summer, at the Old Country Road Twin) and the first Bad News Bears sequel (which I saw at the Hicksville Twin). Check out the tiny inset for Sinbad at the drive-in.

Of course, Star Wars was well established as a mega-hit by this time. Ruby was less well-received, surprising considering that snappy tagline.

Here are some reviews of flicks playing somewhere in the metro area.

Let's move on to the TV section, detailing a rerun-choked summer schedule. Still, Alan Sues was on Merv Griffin, so who can complain? I could write about a couple dozen things that strike my fancy on this page, but I'll just leave it at mentioning Cancel My Reservation at 11:30. I recommend you tune it in sometime and marvel at how extraordinarily unfunny and ineptly-filmed it is.

Here's a boob tube column which you will either find interesting or not.

This fucking asshole was on channel 9 every weekday morning. He's still on TV every day (via satellite), and still a tremendous fucking asshole.

Some random ads for ya: Never patronized the Circle Line, but the commercial looked tantalizing...

Woolworth's offered back-to-school sales, a nightmarish prospect while summer was still in full swing, but at least there was picking out a lunchbox to ameliorate things somewhat...

Here's just the top portion of a Pathmark ad, with James Karen doing a western turn...

Last and almost certainly least, yet another sugary cereal debuted, which seemed like a daily event by this time.

The cartoon spokes-wizard for Cookie-Crisp was "Cookie Jarvis," in case you were unaware. I guess when the universe takes an Elvis, it gives a Jarvis. Who are we to attempt the deciphering of such a mystery? In any case, I'll keep presenting the long-forgotten evidence for you to make up your own mind.

Until next time, don't stop not parading!

We Will Return to Old Nonsense in a Moment, But First This Public Service Announcement.

Nah, it's no public service, just me shooting my mouth off again. Been a while since I've written anything political. The mood struck every so often when Bush was President, not so much during Obama's years. I don't know that I've posted anything at all about Trump here because I only inflict those rantings on my Facebook friends (who number in the low dozens, and whose indifference is undoubtedly tinged with chagrin at finding themselves in such spurious company). Maybe I should confine my lefty leanings to that forum, and only post about politics here if I'm referring to, say, the 1980 election.

That's when my Saint Pius X social studies classmates had to choose whichever candidate they wanted to follow, thus dividing this group of about 30 sixth grade Catholic kiddies into camps of the two major parties. Except me, of course, who had to be different and so chose John B. Anderson, who was running as an independent. I didn't know the first thing about him, I just knew I didn't really give a shit about the whole shebang. I don't even remember if anyone else chose him. I do vaguely recall working with a group, because I didn't dig that scene at all, like couldn't even imagine who would enjoy such a thing. Some kids got all worked up over supporting their guy, and would trash-talk his opponents (and his pre-teen followers). It struck me that the kids who got the most agitated seemed to know the least about the issues at hand. The more things change...

(So says the guy sealed in his Nerd Room on his day off. Hey, is that why they call it "hermetically sealed?" Okay, I just looked it up: Kinda, but no, but sorta. Man, that Wikipedia is a real know-it-all! Turn it off, brainiac, yer making my head hurt!)

Fuck it, since shit's been on my mind, and since I hope to follow this post with nostalgical nincompoopery in short order, I'm gonna go ahead and put some opinion up in this mother.


I always hear about these politicians who are in the pocket of the NRA, so I’ve been wondering if the NRA would be willing to buy my complacency too. Granted, the protestations I've made have been minimal--giving money to anti-gun causes and signing petitions, haven’t ever written my representatives or marched or any of that. But can they put an appropriate price on my willingness to accept the ever-present potential for mass shootings? Because I hate to say it, but giving up often feels like the way to go. Rather than attempt to thwart the gun fetishists and anti-government paranoiacs, bearing whatever cost that would bring, it might be easier to live my life knowing that any excursion beyond my home’s perimeter might be my last. The odds of taking a bullet are relatively low, right? The people I love will simply have to feel like they're in danger every time they shop, or worship, or attend an outdoor event (or an indoor one), or watch a little league game, or go to work, or visit a restaurant, bar, or nightclub. What will the NRA pay us to have that in the back of our minds for the rest of our lives? Anything at all?

Or maybe someone will have the guts to admit that ordinary citizens shouldn’t have a gun powerful enough to decimate a roomful of people in seconds, much less an entire arsenal of them. After it happened to a roomful of five-year-olds, it briefly seemed like a pretty safe bet that action would be taken. Instead, the two major takeaways from that baby massacre were A) the gun used became more popular than ever, and B) wackjobs came out of the woodwork to insist (whether they actually believed it or were just trying to create chaos) that those children never existed in the first place. Once you ponder that, maybe we’re the wackjobs for believing America could ever go back to our old normal.

So what is that old life worth, a life lived with a little less fear now irredeemably replaced by one with less innocence and safety and trust? Is everyone’s right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness lesser than the right of a few to possess enough firepower to effortlessly murder everyone within a half-mile radius?

This may be new, but it’s not normal. And at the very least I expect to be compensated. The NRA should consider my wearied soul a bargain compared to the ones they’ve helped to erase.



(Okay, one more FB post, preacherman!)


Quick lesson that seems to have been forgotten: America is kinda based on the idea that people from all over the world can come here for a better life. Some of us think that's the goal and not just a general idea. I'm sorry if that concept only suits you when you're at the top of the food chain (or believe yourself to be), but if you think they should go back, maybe it's you who's in the wrong place.
Refresher course:




Okay, that's it! I'm putting away the crate of Camay! But I'll leave you with this zinger: Given all he’s had to apologize for lately, it might be time for us to say to Biden what Ponce de Leon said to the Indians: I’m taking away the keys!

Um, Native Americans. Sorry.

I guess I should stick to the vintage stuff, so here's a fun little diagram from the New York Post, March 31st, 1981. Reagan was shot, stocks "plunged" less than nine points, market was shut down early. (Sounds like chicanery to me.) John Woodruff, you're a sick fuck indeed. Well done.