R.I.P. "COMMUNITY," 2009-2014... I'll truly miss you!

There was once, at the very beginning, a sense in which this show had-- well, let us say... at least a bare working context of actual reality.  It would still have been watchable, even good in that form... but thankfully, the whole project went wildly off the rails and fast... even well before that first quirky season ended.

The original premise? It was pretty simple, really.

A cocky lawyer is disbarred when it is discovered he had no real bachelor's degree, and he has no choice but to enroll at a local Community College to procure one.  Even the college in those early episodes was something similar to a real JC-- and of course there's a strangeness to all higher learning campuses in today's USA that could reasonably sustain a hip, satirical, comedic look at one.  

Instead of this, however, COMMUNITY-- the sitcom brain-child of some geeky genius guy named Dan Harmon-- chose to be a hip, satirical, comedic look at... well... at Television itself, at story conceits in general, really at everything from metaphysics and religion and science fiction,  to the strange appeal of ersatz "barely-foods" like chicken fingers, and ersatz "barley-tropes" like zombie apocalypses.

In retrospect, it had to end sometime, and now is probably that time.  Looking back, the whole show-- from season one to season five-- and I was watching the very first night it premiered-- has a nice kind of completeness to it.   Recently, I watched that pilot episode again as a syndicated replay.  Although it didn't have the insanity of the later episodes it was actually a perfect starter.  At one point, the lawyer Jeff Winger's old friend Duncan, now a washed-up junior college professor, tells Jeff:

"What you have now, my friend, is a second chance at an honest life."  

And, amazingly, this truly serves as the overall thematic arc of the entire series:  a cynic-- who borders being a sociopath-- is forced to make and maintain friends with his own dysfunctional and irritating community-at-hand.

Now, don't get me wrong... there was always  a sense in which that whole thing was the usual annoyingly heavy-handed allegory about human collectivism [even the title was significantly suggestive of that favorite Hollywood theme about  a deeper and mystical "socialism within us all"-- usually stuff that sends this old libertarian scrambling-- I mean SCRAMBLING-- for the remote control!]  

But what set COMMUNITY apart-- at least for me-- were two things:

1.  An amazing ensemble cast of truly gifted comedic actors [comedians are one thing, actors are another... the talented hybrid of both is a MUCH rarer thing than we often realize.]

2.  A team of writers who often actually succeeded in doing what is usually only claimed:  creating scripts that are new takes and truly unique in the history of the American sit-com.

This combination gave us stuff like the legendary "Time-line" episode [don't even ask how many times my kids and I have watched this one]; the 2-- count them-- 2 Dungeons & Dragons episodes [amazing textured entertainment even to a guy who never even thought of playing an RPG-- and I confess I kinda want to now!];  the Law & Order episode ["Need I remind you, gentlemen, this is NOT a court of law!"]; and the list goes on and on. 

COMMUNITY famously had one of those "loyal cult followings" that literally saved it from cancelation about 4 times.  Although I never joined any campaign to save it or sent any emails on its behalf, I am truly thankful for all those fellow geeks that did.

One thing's for sure:   Thursday nights will never be quite the same again.

 

EXCELSIOR!

 

WELL I MADE IT TO FIVE-0! [and I don't mean Hawaii!]

Yep it was May 14, 1964-- 16th Israeli Independence day-- the day I first came to America... :) 


50 years!  It's a doggone half century!  to be honest, I feel pretty much the same as I have most of my adult life... 'cept I need to drop some weight! 


I prayed for wisdom a lot when younger.   Now it seems like what wisdom I got came with a price in this mortal life. 

Still, I can NOT complain!  Life is good and God is Great!

PEACE

Psalms 90:12 
So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.

COOL STUFF FROM LIBRARY BOOKS #33, Mother's Day Edition: "D.L. Moody's Mother And Her Own Prodigal"

How Moody's Mother

Forgave her Prodigal Son.

 

 

 

I can give you a little experience of my own family.

 

Before I was fourteen years old the first thing I remember was the death of my father. He had been unfortunate in business, and failed. Soon after his death the creditors came in and took everything.

 

My mother was left with a large family of children. One calamity after another swept over the entire household. Twins were added to the family, and my mother was taken sick. The eldest boy was fifteen years of age, and to him my mother looked as a stay in her calamity, but all at once that boy became a wanderer. He had been reading some of the trashy novels, and the belief had seized him that he had only to go away to make a fortune. Away he went. I can remember how eagerly she used to look for tidings of that boy; how she used to send us to the post office to see if there was a letter from him, and recollect how we used to come back with the sad news,

 

"No letter."

 

I remember how in the evenings we used to sit beside her in that New England home, and we would talk about our father; but the moment the name of that boy was mentioned she would hush us into silence. Some nights when the wind was very high, and the house, which was upon a hill, would tremble at every gust, the voice of my mother was raised in prayer for that wanderer who had treated her so unkindly.

 

I used to think she loved him more than all the rest of us put together, and I believe she did. On a Thanksgiving day--you know that is a family day in New England--she used to set a chair for him, thinking he would return home. Her family grew up and her boys left home. When I got so that I could write, I sent letters all over the country, but could find no trace of him. One day while in Boston the news reached me that he had returned.

 

While in that city, I remember how I used to look for him in every store--he had a mark on his face--but I never got any trace. One day while my mother was sitting at the door, a stranger was seen coming toward the house, and when he came to the door he stopped.

 

My mother didn't know her boy.

 

He stood there with folded arms and great beard flowing down his breast, his tears trickling down his face. When my mother saw those tears she cried,

 

"Oh, it's my lost son,"

 

 and entreated him to come in. But he stood still.

 

"No, mother," he said, "I will not come in till I hear first you forgive me."

 

Do you believe she was not willing to forgive him? Do you think she was likely to keep him long standing there? She rushed to the threshold and threw her arms around him, and breathed forgiveness.

 

Ah, sinner, if you but ask God to be merciful to you a sinner, ask Him for forgiveness, although your life has been bad--ask Him for mercy, and He will not keep you long waiting for an answer.

 

 

From MOODY'S ANECDOTES, also known as: "Moody's Anecdotes And Illustrations
       Related in his Revival Work by the Great Evangilist" EDITED BY REV. J. B. McClure.CHICAGO: Rhodes & McClure Publishing Co. 1899

 

PEACE

 

BIG AL's JOVIAL JUKEBOX #28: "Old Dan's Records" by GORDON LIGHTFOOT, 1972



 

 

Albie's Note: From his 1972 album of the same title, Gord's very cool and touching tribute to friendship and the collecting of old vinyl records. 

 

"High above the fireplace,
There's a smile on old Dan's face!"

 

'Nuff said! 

 

Old Dan's Records, 

©1972 by Gordon Lightfoot

Get out old Dan's records
Get out old Dan's records
We will dance the whole night long
It's fun to play the old time songs
If old Dan could see us now
I know he'd be so proud

Bring out old Dan's records
Bring out old Dan's records
I remember my Aunt Bea
She'd dance with Dan till two or three
If old Dan could see her now
I know he'd shout out loud

Dig out old Dan's records
Bring out old Dan's records
We're all here, we've all got dates
We'll dance all night to the 78s
If old Dan could see us now
I know he'd be so proud
If old Dan was with us still
I know he'd come around

Get out old Dan's records
Dig out old Dan's records
Back to 1935
The foxtrot, jitterbug and jive
If old Dan could see us now
I know he'd be so proud

Get out old Dan's records
Bring out old Dan's records
High above the fireplace
There's a smile on old Dan's face
If old Dan could see us now
I know he'd be so proud
If old Dan was with us still
I know he'd come around

 

PEACE

RANDOM THOUGHTS ABOUT BOOKS... Classics and Westerns and other stuff.

First, The CLASSICS. 

I think to think I've read my share of classics, but I know I've really barely scratched the surface.  It sounds almost silly to say it, but the "classics" are called that for a reason... they have stood the test of time and can still move you like no other books. 

Now I have to admit... there were classics I just couldn't get into at all; but I know dang well the problem was ME, not the book.  For instance, James Fenimore Cooper.  Although he is of major importance-- he inarguably invented the "western," for goodness' sake-- I just can't get into those books.  My own mother told me one of her favorite books in childhood was his revolutionary war tale THE SPY, so I feel bad for not liking him. But in fact the only Cooper book I ever  finished was LAST OF THE MOHICANS, and to be honest that was in a Reader's Digest condensed version. [D'oh!] It's been a few years now,  so maybe I'll try him again.  

Also Thomas Wolfe.  Now this one I feel less bad about, since the critics still have trouble even calling him classic anymore, but I always think back to my beloved Jack Kerouac's great love of him.  Years ago, in the '80s, I read a great interview with the late 1960s, near-death Kerouac in-- I think-- Esquire Magazine, where Jack [drinking and drunk, of course] asked the interviewer [and I may be paraphrasing a bit]:

"OK, let me test you.  Who is the greatest of all American writers?"

The interviewer answers: "I think I would say... Melville."

Jack leans back and says, "Hmm. Melville... let's think about that,"  then suddenly yells:

"Wolfe, THOMAS WOLFE!"

Such a cool story, and its coolness has been behind every attempt I have made to read LOOK HOMEWARD ANGEL or YOU CAN'T GO HOME AGAIN.  So far, however, the only piece by Wolfe I have finished is his longish Civil War short story "Chickamauga,"  which I found to be very fine, indeed.

T. Wolfe... Another guy I will maybe tackle again someday.

By the way, Melville I have read.  I read MOBY DICK in its entirety one summer [1993, I believe] when I was working in  a chicken plant in NW Arkansas.  I loved it!  Or at least most of it.  If you've never read it I can tell you what they say is true; it starts out riveting for the first, say 150 pages or so, then comes a dense, wordy, moody, and yes, legendarily boring section of at least 200 pages.  All  the whaling details are famously and intensely monotonous-- [e.g. there is an entire long chapter on the whale's whiteness including a lengthy discussion of albinoism in nature, I kid you not!]--  but the payoffs of the final 100 pages or so are truly worth it.   An amazing American classic about-- I think-- self-delusion, pride, and obsession. 

But I guess my favorite classics are the ones that are ultimately just amazingly good stories.  What fella, to this day-- from ages 9 to 90-- picking them up for the first time,  would not be riveted by, say,  TREASURE ISLAND or WHITE FANG or TOM SAWYER or WAR OF THE WORLDS... all just gripping stories no one else could have told but their authors.  Some classics, like HUCKLEBERRY FINN or AROUND THE WORLD IN 80 DAYS are still laugh out loud funny in places, truly an amazing accomplishment.

And then there are the "genre classics,"  the best popular books in western or mystery or just "best seller" categories.   To be honest, these are the kind of "classics" that take up most of my "educational" reading time anymore. 

I am currently reading a very interesting non-fiction book about writing and reading by Pulitzer Prize winner Michael Chabon called MAPS AND LEGENDS that, very interestingly, defends "popular fiction" as the real classic literature of any culture.  I may be simplifying his argument, but not by much.  Chabon is a great writer, by the way. I picked up his AMAZING ADVENTURES OF KAVALIER AND CLAY for 50 cents at a thrift store last and ate up its 500 or so pages in a couple days... it was that good [although I could have done without the "gay" stuff... hey, sue me... I am a Christian and a conservative fella by nature and will be 50 this year, so take me with the proverbial grain of Na CL. ]

Anyway, his arguments about fiction were very interesting to me, and made me feel less bad about all the reading time I spend in good ol' popular fiction. According to Chabon, nearly all writing is really "fan fiction" on a certain level-- since writers constantly imitate their influences-- so being snobby about good stories well told is pointless.

Having said that, I love the "classics" even when it comes to my beloved westerns.  Don't get me wrong, I can read a good "pulpy" western by anyone from Walker Tompkins to Fran Striker-- and then I can read Bret Harte, Mark Twain, and Andy Adams on top of 'em-- but often I tend to stay with guys I really know can deliver. 

In my humble opinion, the very greatest, I mean best-of-the-best, Western writers I have yet encountered could be counted on one hand.  Now... every Louis L'amour or Zane Grey that captured the public's fancy earned his spurs as far as I am concerned, and I love them all dearly, believe me...  but on a personal level this "top of the tops" list is bound to be much shorter.

Understand...  there are literally scores of others I have enjoyed, but these, to me, are the masters.

Feel free to differ, of course, but my list would include O. Henry [possibly my favorite author PERIOD, so in many odd ways my favorite "western" writer, even though it's all short fiction], Ernest Haycox, Will Henry, and Dorothy M. Johnson.

O. Henry's westerns are simply amazing, and they are scattered throughout his collected works, not just in his volume HEARTS OF THE WEST.  The early critic who called him the "deMaupassant of the sagebrush" was right on target.

In the case of both Haycox and Will Henry, it's a bit of a hit-and miss. Both of these guys have early works that are not in the same league as their later amazing novels and stories, so you just have to explore til you find the great-- and I mean GREAT-- stuff.  In both cases I recommend starting with short fiction.   You'll be hooked, I'm tellin' ya.

Johnson, on the other hand, is dang near perfect.  Get this... when I was about 12 years old, my Baptist pastor inexplicably gave me a copy of her book INDIAN COUNTRY in an old Ballantine paperback edition, and I was hooked from then on. I have never read a single bad thing-- and hardly even a single "less-than-great" thing-- written by her.   Among other greatnesses she remains the single most libertarian [with a small "L"] fiction wirter I have yet encountered.  It would be very revealing-- and perhaps a bit embarassing--  to know just how much she may have influenced my later life and thought.  What more can a fiction writer accomplish?

Are there good western writers today?  Yup, actually... a bunch of 'em!  I am amazed at the good western fiction that goes un-noticed today all the time, and a bunch of it is written by men whose blogs I follow happily. 

However, if I had to choose a great-- perhaps even  "classic"--  writer of westerns still living, it would be one of my admitted favorites, Bill Pronzini.   Although he is most famous-- and justly so-- as a mystery writer, I love his westerns WAY more.   They are always amazingly well-researched stories that use the west as a backdrop to make character studies and tales  that are really universal.  Pronzini will tell unusual stories about aspects of the west you never thought of-- like newspapermen, bartenders, stable hands, salesmen and moonshiners-- and make gripping psychological stories that never actually rely on violence, although it can occur in his fiction.  Check him out.  Pronzini is a master.  [I am starting to think pretty highly of Johnny D. Boggs, too.]

And time would fail me to discuss all the sci-fi and mystery and adventure stuff that goes under-valued in our culture... so I should really stop for now.

In short,  its like they say... So many books, so little time.

 

PEACE

 

SONGS THAT TELL A STORY # 9: "Riverboat!" by FARON YOUNG, 1959

Albie's Note: In 1959, the "americana story song" was at its peak of popularity, with million sellers from Marty Robbins, Johnny Cash, and Johnny Horton inspiring scores of imitations.   This one was a pretty big hit when compared to how forgotten it is today: #4 Country, #83 Pop.

From the pen of song-writing legend Bill Anderson, here is the saga of "RIVERBOAT":

Well, I spent the better part of my life
On a Mississippi riverboat
I used to be known from coast to coast
As the slickest gambler afloat.
I've dealt the cards from Minnesota
To the harbor in New Orleans
I made a lotta big money on the riverboat
I loved a lotta pretty riverboat queens.
Riverboat, riverboat
I love your whistle's wail
I wish I was back on the riverboart
'Stead of in the Memphis jail.

--- Instrumental ---

Oh, a big man got on the riverboat
Our last time in St. Paul
He had a lotta money but his luck went bad
And the riverboat won it all.
He said I dealt from the bottom of the deck
And he pulled a shiny knife
But before that gambler lunged at me
My .44 took his life.
Riverboat, riverboat
I love your whistle's wail
I wish I was back on the riverboart
'Stead of in the Memphis jail.

--- Instrumental ---

Well, they came on the boat and they took me to jail
When we got to Tennessee
A gamblin' man has very few friends
Guess nobody cared for me.
So I might be here for a many long years
But if I ever get out
I'm gonna head straight for that levee
And get me a riverboat headin' south.
Riverboat, riverboat
I love your whistle's wail
I wish I was back on the riverboart
'Stead of in the Memphis jail.
'Stead of in the Memphis jail...

 

 

 

PEACE

SATURDAY COMEDY SHOWCASE #5: "The Walnuts" [WALTONS Parody] from CRAZY MAGAZINE #3, 1974

Albie's Note:  When I was a kid in the early '70s, there were basically 3 humor mags aimed at our pre-adolescent, rebellious funny-bones:  MAD, [of course] CRACKED, and CRAZY.   The last one was Marvel Comics' late-in-the-day shot at this market, and it always seemed to be our third and last choice for "late-night-flashlight" comedic reading.   Still, it had it's moments, and this satire on the classic drama THE WALTONS-- a huge, and I mean HUGE TV hit at the time--  is about as laugh-out-loud funny as anything I've ever read.   I actually love THE WALTONS, but this devastating parody really cracked me up!

 

"First, John-Boob, can you help me short-sheet the north 40?"

 

 

 

 

PEACE