Story idea goes bad for Gene Weingarten, but he got a column out of it anyway: "Maybe the past is only a phone call away" (WaPo). They say you can never go home again, and, it seems, you can never phone home again.
We were just talking about E.T. yesterday. Remember? "Like Steven Spielberg’s E.T., [Biden] seems to instinctually believe in the healing power of physical connection—even if that intimacy can sometimes feel a bit too close."
Everybody's trying to make a connection... but maybe nobody's there anymore. Weingarten's column made me think of Bob Dylan's "Talking World War III Blues":
I was feelin’ kinda lonesome and blueI needed somebody to talk toSo I called up the operator of timeJust to hear a voice of some kind“When you hear the beep it will be three o’clock”She said that for over an hourAnd I hung up
I love this old clip... and notice the variation on the lyrics just before the one-minute mark:
In the official lyrics (at the link above), we see hear that Bob talking about his "crazy dream":
I said, “Hold it, Doc, a World War passed through my brain”He said, “Nurse, get your pad, this boy’s insane”He grabbed my arm, I said, “Ouch!”As I landed on the psychiatric couchHe said, “Tell me about it”
In the clip, that last line becomes "He said, 'Tell me about it, dreamwise.'" Dreamwise! That's an example of the figure of speech we were talking about yesterday in the post about "That's the way the cookie crumbles." Remember? In the 1960 movie "The Apartment," Jack Lemmon says, “That’s the way it crumbles cookiewise.” I quoted a professor who bemoaned "the horrible '-wise' jargon" of the 1960s. Nice to hear Bob Dylan bemoaning the same usage, whenever that was — around 1963.
Some nice coincidences this morning. Seems hopeful.
28 comments:
whatever differences we might have — cultural, political, whatever — would disappear with greater familiarity and understanding. Above all, we would, together, two ordinary people, prove that for all this country’s troubles, modernity does not have to be soulless.
Go to hell.
"Everybody's trying to make a connection... but maybe nobody's there anymore."
Yes and no. We are all connected to Big Brother, and He is very much connected to us. What more do we need?
I fully expect some of my Liberal friends [or relations] who cancelled our friendship because of my Trump support to phone or email me wanting to 'heal' our relationship, 'water under the bridge' and all that. But I have no interest in healing a friendship so easily destroyed because of my political choices. And the past four years have shown me just how deep is the gulf between their agenda and my belief in America.
Now that we have Biden in office, apparently, and Cheney advising him, WWIII can’t be that far off!
I just tried my childhood number. It's no longer in service please check the number and try again
Not believing in a soul is what makes things “ soulless”.
And if you still have any leftist in your life I have found the way to get to them. It only works if you live in a red state but tell them that Biden is instituting a nationwide mask mandate day one and they will now have to wear a mask every time they step out their door. Its fun to watch how crestfallen they are
I’ll give Weingarten props for creativity. A dozen years ago he had the idea to set up a young virtuoso violinist (Josh Bell) as a street musician playing by a Metro subway station. Hardly anyone noticed, though I seem to recall that a couple kids seemed to realize they were listening to fabulous music before hassled parents pulled them away to go board their train. I also don’t recall how much Josh Bell collected one his hat, but I do recall that it wasn’t much.
mockturtle - Agree.
@mockturtle, please remember to call them racists and tell them that you’ll consider welcoming them back when Biden’s employment numbers for minorities match Trump’s numbers from 2019.
Thomas Wolfe could not be reached for comment
I remember years ago when I finally relented and signed up for Facebook. I didn't post anything and just basically read a few things on it for a week or so. Then I started getting people from my past reaching out to me. When one of them started sending me updates about her activities on Farmville and wondered when I would be joining, I deleted my Facebook account. All in all I had it for maybe 4 weeks, a long time ago.
The past needs to stay in the past. It looks better that way.
If I call my childhood number, I get my folks' house across town.
They brought their NY number with them when they moved down here to Texas.
VOIP is a wonderful thing...
I can't call my childhood number as it no longer exists due to an area code change. Of course Gene Weingarten wouldn't have that problem because there's no way the phone company would ever get away with messing with phone numbers in NYC. Does that qualify as some sort of White Privilege?
The horrible “wise” jargon of the 60s started to annoy me in the 70s. Guess I wasn’t aware of it before that. Sadly, It hasn’t gone away.
Connection, I just can't make no connection
And then there's Memphis Tennessee sung by Johnny Rivers. I think anyone listening to that song will be in a better mood at the end of it. Very catchy. And then if a somber mood suits better, listen to Jim Croce's Operator.
And I kind of like attaching -wise to words to make my point. Like, what are we all thinking revolution-wise, today or do we wait a few days? Get Up Stand Up! (A shout out to Bob Marley in honor of our new V.P. and the Caribbean side of her DNA.)
"Connection, I just can't make no connection"
Yeah, I was thinking of that song when I wrote the post. It feels like a connection that you thought of it too.
That also makes me think of Trump's old closing tune — "I knew she was gonna meet her connection/At her feet was her footloose man..."
But as he got closer to not getting what he wanted, he switched to the mania of "YMCA" — "you can make real your dreams/But you got to know this one thing/No man does it all by himself... put your pride on the shelf...."
Some budding Proust out there could write a long novel about the memories that surge into consciousness prompted by the verification questions websites ask us: first phone number, birthplace, name of first pet, make and model of first car, Mother's maiden name.
"Long distance information, give me Memphis, Tennessee . . ."
Classic.
It's news to me that Trump had/has a closing tune (I don't recognize the lyrics either); I was aware of the use of YMCA, another classic.
If I called my childhood number I'd get my youngest brother, still in the house we moved to in 1960. I wouldn't call any of the other numbers that I remember, because someone might answer and I hate talking on the phone.
Narr
I do NOT want to hear politicians and pundits talk about soul (unless they mean the music)
I don't remember any of my childhood phone numbers... other than that one began with "Sycamore 8." I liked when phone numbers began with a word. People used to be afraid of "becoming a number" or "just a number." You don't hear that complaint much anymore.
I have no desire to make a connection with people who have been calling me names, denigrating my life and misrepresenting everything I believe in.
In college, back in the 1970s, the last four digits of my dorm room's phone number were the first four digits of every phone in a female-only dorm. To call within campus, say from the dorm lobby up to a room, only the last four digits were necessary. Call 8675 and you were connected with my room, even if you added 3 more digits. Yeah, like 309.
So every Sunday morning, we'd get calls in my room from parents coming to take their precious daughters out to church. And they'd get us, just-woken college males, my roomies and me, answering what the parents thought were the phones in their daughter's room. We'd generally say, "She's still asleep, we were up late last night, should I wake her?" Or say, "OH NO! SHE TOLD ME NOT TO ANSWER THE PHONE!" Then we'd hang up, and leave the phone off the hook.
We got a new phone number from the university after only two months of this.
I grew up with a party line phone. When we got our own private line it was the end of an era of community involvement with each others' lives which cannot be imagined now.
mikee, I call Fecebook, Twatter, and the like the 21st C party line.
Narr
In more ways than one
I thought Gene was a good editor at the Miami Herald's Sunday magazine -- even if it was made easy by having Dave Barry on his staff. But later on, I realize he was just another asshat liberal. Won't even bother to read the link.
THEOLDMAN
Running out of patience and tolerance for people who defame me simply because I support DJT and refuse to lift a false fist in allegiance to the Marxist and racist BLM movement.
indeed marcus, but he has really shown his true colors,
I think it was Neil Simon’s “California Suite” where Jane Fonda comes out from New York to meets up with her ex (Alan Alda?) and after some talk about their troubled daughter, he asks her, so what’s new with you? Fonda says, “You mean . . . mate-wise?” Only she could deliver a line like that.
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