"The first family of Minnesota Blogging" - Mitch Berg, Shot in the Dark

Illuminating fun, faith,
family and foolishness.

“If liberty means anything at all, it means the right
to tell people what they do not want to hear.”

- George Orwell

Friday, September 28, 2007

If I had my druthers

Sadie Hawkins Day. The Shmoo. Lower Slobovia. Joe Bfstplk, Evil Eye Fleegle and General Bullmoose. Lonesome Polecat and Hairless Joe. Stupyfyin' Jones and Moonbeam McSwine. Marryin' Sam, Fearless Fosdick and Kickapoo Joy Juice.

If you still don't know what I'm talking about, here are the final clues: Dogpatch, U.S.A; Daisy Mae and Li'l Abner.

Today is the birthday of Al Capp, creator of the classic comic strip "Li'l Abner" that was the model for bringing entertainment and political commentary to the masses via daily syndication. (Don't worry, "Pogo" fans — I'm with you there, too.)

I read Li'l Abner daily in the Indianapolis Star when I was growing up (though I probably understood maybe 20% of it) and whenever I could until Capp shut the strip dowin in 1977. A highlight of my teen years was appearing in a stage production of Li'l Abner in my high school play. The director/drama teacher wanted me to be Li'l Abner or Marryin' Sam, but I could not sing. A lick. So what else was there to do with all this talent, imposing, broad shoulders and no vocal talent but to take on the role of Earthquake McGoon, who's singing was supposed to be awful. And I nailed it. Every night.

(And a happy, one-day-late birthday to you, Stupyfyin' Jones. And Mr. Fleegle, there might still be a need for your services in regards to the Mall Diva.)

If'n I had my druthers, I'd still be reading Li'l Abner. Natcherly!


Tuesday, September 25, 2007

1, 2, 3, 4 ...
Huzzah, it's football season again! That means I'm spending more time in front of the tube watching a game...and all of the commercials that go with it. By this point in my life I can pretty much tune these out (though I can't explain these strange cravings for cheese puffs, fast food and big screen TVs), but I make note of commercials I like and those that drive me crazy.

Of the latter, what's really bugging me lately are the commercials for Ford trucks. Now I like Mike Rowe a lot and his "Dirty Jobs" show is something the kids and I like to catch. He's a likable enough pitchman for Ford, but if he's getting paid for every time those commercials run he's going to have more than enough to tell someone else to do those dirty jobs. Every TV timeout this last weekend featured one of two different Ford truck commercials. I mean it, I started to count on them: a commercial break would occur and I'd think, "Let's see, last break they showed the one with the truck stopping the cargo plane so that means that this break it will be the one with the truck going through the road course backwards" — and I'd be right! And I hate it when I'm right! (About things like this anyway.) The repetition is enough to make me reject the Flomax commercials because suddenly having to go to the bathroom at every commercial break doesn't seem like such a bad thing.

This year's crop of Coors Light commercials with the hokey coach interviews (which I ripped last year) are still annoying, though I'm glad they've let poor Bill Walsh rest in peace. The only interest I've taken in these is that they fulfilled my prediction of using Denny Green's infamous "they are who we thought they were" meltdown from last year, but even that just makes me mad to think that he's still getting paid.

On the "like" side, though, I have to admit to being beguiled by the iPod Nano commercial that features a series of the little video-playing Nanos being lifted off the table like playing cards while showing a music video of a woman in an electric blue jumpsuit. Now I'm not an iPod kind of guy. My lifestyle is not such that I need to have my ears tickled non-stop by some form of musical entertainment. But the little song the woman is singing keeps growing on me, or perhaps it's the almost laughably simplistic choreography in the video that somehow reminds me of the dance scene in the Charlie Brown Christmas program. I don't know just what it was, but it drove me to find out who the singer is and the name of the song.

I succeeded:



(If the video doesn't play on your monitor you can also check it out at this link.)

Her name is Leslie Feist, a Canadian indie-fave and I've found a lot of her music on iTunes that I think I'll be downloading (but for CDs, not an iPod).

Mmmm, catchy. "1,2,3,4, tell me why you love me more..."

Update:

My first impression of the choreography for this video was based on what I could see in the Nano screen in the TV commercial. Looking at it more closely, while the dance moves are simple, the camera-work is very creative and cleverly makes use of perspective - and apparently it's done in one amazing, continuous take!

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

A praying nation
I wrote this essay for another publication, back in September, 2001.

Ultimately, America’s secular façade crumbled even before its material symbols collapsed. I first turned on my radio — and heard the first words regarding Tuesday’s disaster — moments before the second tower was struck. The voices of the national news team were already urging Americans to pray for the safety of those involved. It sounded almost glib at first, but as the unreal became real and the horror increased by the minute, the references became more heart-felt, even desperate.

As our true helplessness and vulnerability became apparent, the call to pray was in every report and every story. And pray we did: alone, with our families, and in special services and vigils that themselves became news. All of this flying in the face of a culture and media that has said for years that faith and divine intervention are, at best, inappropriate if not impossible. It must have been like discovering that the kooky old aunt you’ve been keeping in the attic is the only one who knows where the family silver is buried.

But which is the true picture of America? Are we a secular society that merely pays lip service to faith when a crisis looms, or are we a nation of quiet faithful who allow ourselves to be cowed by society until circumstances give us a chance to break out? I know how our attackers would describe us.

Make no mistake, this is a spiritual and religious war. Those who attacked us chose as their main target what they perceived to be the symbolic spiritual center of our nation. Perhaps we need to ask why the most recognizable symbol — and target — of a country founded on Christian principles should turn out to be the World Trade Center.

My opinion, however, is that we are primarily a nation of faith even if the cultural spin obscures this. There are just too many blessings in our lives and too few fruitful external assaults on our freedom and security for it to be otherwise. Our country could not have developed the abundance we experience (or manage our enormous debt) without God’s favor and the generally well-intentioned (if unfocused) spiritual character of our people. The vicious and ungodly in-fighting of our leaders and factions in an attempt to garner power and divvy up the fruit from our foundational blessings is both sad and laughable in comparison to the desperation that much of the rest of the world lives in: we’re fleas fighting over the dog, but our biting and scratching just may drive the dog crazy (to which the dyslexic, atheistic flea shouts "there is no dog!")

But if we’re stronger spiritually than we realize, what is the meaning of the September 11 attacks?


Monday, September 10, 2007

Not only is there no such thing as a free lunch, you're going to pay a premium
For the last couple of months I've been seeing certain TV commercials showing throngs of consumers moving through coffee shops, delis, newspaper stands in choreographed efficiency as the ultimate receivers of our just-in-time economy until ... until some troglodyte tries to pay cash for his bearclaw. Everything comes to a screeching halt and everyone looks at him as if he had just tried to pay with a handful of shells, or asked if anyone had change for a goat. The patrons now jammed up behind him in line scowl, and the cashier sneers at him as she makes a big show of counting out his change. You almost expect her to spit in the poor guy's palm as she finishes, then bite her thumb at him.

The time-honored tradition of "cash-on-the-barrelhead," of "in God we trust, all others pay cash," and "show me the money!" is now the latest target of the commercial and advertising interests that made us feel insecure about our body-odor, bad breath and ring-around-the-collar. You see, the new, cool way to buy is to forget the petty cash and whip out the pretty plastic. It's fast, it's easy, and if it's less than $25 you don't even have to sign your name!

You owe it to yourself! You owe it to the people in line behind you! And, let's not forget, you owe it, literally, to the bank that issued you the card! Booya!

The credit card companies and banks want you to use that credit card, not because it makes life simpler for you, but because it makes it simpler for their executives to get their bonuses at the end of the year from all the interest you pay.

"But it's only a $5 purchase," you say. That, my friend, is the same kind of thinking that lets you believe you really can get a $500,000 mortgage for just $483 a month (and never mind the small print). No, it's a really a $6 purchase, if you're paying a 20% rate on your credit card.

Is that a big deal? Well, up until the first of this year my company had a great, long-standing employee benefit that most of us took for granted: a 25% discount off of our lunch tab at the corporate cafeteria if we showed our company ID. Then they decided to discontinue this benefit. Oh, you should have heard the complaining, and the outrage! (I know, I was one of them). Some people complained that it was an additional burden on their already stretched finances. Personally, I could afford the increase, but found the company's explanation for the change to be specious. I made up the difference by buying my bottled water at Walmart for .40 and bringing it to work instead of paying $1.35 for it at the cafeteria. (I save money and wreck the environment, so it's a win-win).

Yet today I see some of those who complained now swiping their credit cards through the reader at the cash (or should I say "credit") register, now paying 45% more for their lunch than they did this time last year. Now, maybe they're using their credit card because they don't have the cash to otherwise afford the bag of chips to accessorize their meal. If so, though, that's the kind of thinking and behavior that ultimately turns them from consumers into the consumed.

It's not that I don't admire efficiency and a fast pass through the lunch line so I can get on with my break. I know who the fast cashiers are in our cafeteria and, admittedly, there have been times I've stewed in line as my soup cooled while some lady painstakingly wrote out a check, recorded it in her register and balanced her checkbook before moving on. I also know that we often trade off money for convenience, and even have "convenience stores" dedicated to that. It's just that now whenever I see those credit card commercials, or see someone using their card for an incidental purchase, I think of the extra charges they are bringing on themselves and it reminds me of an alternate meaning to the phrase, "swipe your card": the one that means steal, as opposed to a quick pass.

Tuesday, September 4, 2007

She is missed
"No person was ever honored for what he received. Honor has been the reward for what he gave."
— Calvin Coolidge


Ten years ago a great woman died. Her life was an example of selfless service to others, especially the poor and ill-used. Her fame was merely a tool she was given to advance her cause, and like many a tool it chafed and left it's share of calluses, all of which she bore without complaint or retaliation, considering it unworthy of her mission.

A week-end long tribute where so many of those touched by her life could speak of her gifts and her sacrifice, of the ongoing effect and inspiration of her life, and express an awestruck admiration for the deprivations she endured and embraced would have been fitting.

I saw no such tribute last weekend.