Author: Dick

New evidence indicates that Americans have finally lost their minds. Exhibit A is the popularity of ABC Television’s “Dancing With the Stars.”

This show is apparently just one version of an international conspiracy to drive the world mad which all started with a BBC program. You just have to watch those Brits. You never know what kind of craziness they’ll start next.

What is patently bizarre about the U.S. version of this televised dance contest is its “stars” who are probably some of people one would least think of as dancers. For instance this season has included conservative pundit Tucker Carlson and combat-talk show host Jerry Springer, both of whom have been voted off the island.

Former NFL star running back Emmett Smith, who remains a contender on the show, is also not the first person to pop up in one’s head when envisioning mahvelous dancers. So, yes, “Dancing With the Stars” proves we as a society have finally plunged over the deep end to a dark and dismal abyss. One-two-three-four, one-two-three four …

With television, an industry which franchises successful concepts to an extent Ray Krok would have envied, it is only a matter of time that we will begin to see new programs which are a variation of the parent theme of “Dancing With the Stars.” New shows on the horizons may include:

“Stars Dancing With Dangerous Wild Animals”
“When Dangerous Animals Attack Dancing Stars”
“Dancing With the Terrorist Leaders” (Featuring an Osama bin Laden cameo)
“Dancing With Bill O’Reilly”
“The Southern Baptist Dance Hour”
“Dancing With the Teletubbies”

Well, it could just go on and on and on. It’s not a pretty prospect and just might lead to the end of civilization as we know it. One-two-three …

Everything doesn’t necessarily look worse in black and white as Paul Simon contends in “Kodachrome.” And not everything the government touches turns to s*it. These are the truisms I gather looking at old B & W photos from the Library of Congress Web site. The below shots in particular come from the Farm Security Administration-Office of War Information Collection. The collection features tons of photos chronicling the Great Depression, Dust Bowl and World War II Years.

Children playing in Lafayette, La., by Russell Lee.

Russell Lee was one of the photographers who was part of the government-sponsored FSA-OSI photography project. I always admired how he could bring out the character and personality of his subjects such as in this shot below.

East Texan, Jacksonville, Texas, by Russell Lee.

John Vachon was, likewise, a master at making every picture tell a story. As in this photograph from during World War II in my old stomping grounds of Beaumont, Texas, proves.

A woman mechanic for the transit system in Beaumont, Texas, uses a hoist, by John Vachon.

A number of political conservatives of the current and past ilk find some sort of “creeping socialism” in the New Deal programs that put many back to work after the Depression. Among those who were given jobs were artists. But a nation without history is a nation without its soul. And photographers like Lee and Vachon — through the government programs — left us images of our historical soul in what were some dark times in the old U.S.A.

The fact that these images of our past remain and they are accessible freely through the Web makes me think that such projects can be listed if someone ever asks you: What good is our government? Of course, the other good that the government does is printing wonderfully wacky images on their paper money. An eye on top of the pyramid (back of the $1 bill)? What were those folks smoking?

The candles on my birthday cake get a little out of hand.

Tomorrow I turn 51. It’s bad enough to say that you are half-a-century old but even worse to say that you are more than half-a-century old. Be that as it may, I have more than enough stuff to depress me so I am not going to let another birthday get me down.

I know all the cliches: You’re as old as you feel, blah, blah, blah. I have to admit that my mind still feels relatively young even though the living medical laboratory that is my arthritic cervical spine tries to dash those feelings quite frequently. But I’ve had fun, had a few laughs, seen a few weird things in my time and almost got arrested for kissing a girl after Wurstfest in Gruene Hall. So I don’t think I have any right to rail about getting older. Besides, what in the hell can I do about it — popsiclyze myself like Ted Williams? Hey, many are cold but few are frozen. I’ve always wanted to use that saying and damned if I didn’t fit it in.

So I am taking the weekend off. Happy freaking birthday to me.

When the Marxists take over, comrade, we’ll all be equal!

Photo by Mary R. Vogt and courtesy of morgueFile.

It is a nasty, dreary day. I have been trying to make some headway on a story I am writing for a publication. I am pleased to report I’ve made some headway, but yet here I am pecking out malarkey on EFD.

In between working and not working and working again and not working again, I have thought about wanting something to drink. I have finally narrowed the choices down between some lemon Celestial Seasons tea and some sort of soft drink. The problem, or make that one problem, is I would have to go to the store to buy a soft drink. And as I may have mentioned, it’s nasty outside.

My other problem is choosing which soft drink I would buy. I thought about Mr. Pibb, but I don’t think it has been sold under that name for years. Besides, I never liked Mr. Pibb. I recall that it tasted like bog water strained through athletic socks. Or worse.

The truth be told, I’m not much of a soft drink fan anymore. When I was a kid I used to slam ice-cold 6 1/2-oz. bottles of Coca-Cola down one after another. I also was quite a fan of Fanta at one time during the 1960s. I don’t know why. I later found out out Fanta was first bottled by Coca-Cola in Nazi Germany although its arrival on the scene was apparently not aimed at developing a master Fanta-drinking race.

At some point in time, I came to like Dr. Pepper, even though I heard a lot of people say it tasted like prune juice. When I was in elementary school I used to see kids put peanuts (shelled ones) in their Dr. Pepper. I don’t know, this too was in the 60s. Maybe they were getting stoned on it, like people who licked toads were supposed to get high. I still drink a Dr. Pepper every now and then, so I think it is rather funny that I never once visited the Dr. Pepper Museum in the seven years I lived in Waco. Big Red also hails from Waco. I’m talking about the soda, not Lucille Ball. I still don’t put peanuts in Dr. Pepper. Nor in Big Red for that matter.

Come to think of it, a root beer wouldn’t be so bad right now. I used to fancy Barqs Root Beer. It was just a local brand when I was stationed in Gulfport, Miss. How far it has strayed from its roots. I have had a few Dads Root Beers, which is bottled by the same company as Moxie. Unfortunately, I always thought that Dads Root Beer lacked moxie. Har har.

R.C. Cola was always known as a big Southern soda water. But I never drank much of it. I never was a big Moon Pie fan either.

Two of the worst soft drink ideas in my estimation are Yoo Hoo and New Coke. Chocolate is okay. Even chocolate syrup is okay on a sundae or a Monday for that matter. But a chocolate soft drink? I don’t know. It just doesn’t seem right. The same goes for the New Coke. Not only does it not seem right, it just isn’t right. I think the Coke people picked up on that.

Actually, the last soft drink I can remember drinking was a Jarritos Limon. I bought a 2-liter bottle at the Mercado La Familia in Beaumont while I was still living there. A little bit of Jarritos goes a long way.

Well, there are so many choices that I spent all of my break time thinking about them, so going to the store to buy a soft drink has become a moot point. I guess I will have the tea.