Monday Artday and SFG: olympics

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The challenge word this week on both Monday Artday and sugar frosted goodness is “olympics”.
dah dah da da da da dah
There are things I don’t  like. I don’t like being manipulated and told what to like. The media in the United States has been manipulating and telling us what to like for years. The influence of the US media combined with the complacency and short attention span of the average US citizen creates an awesome power. Most recently, we, as a society, are told by the media to give our allegiance and adoration to Britney Spears, High School Musical, American Idol, Hannah Montana and countless others. We are guided, influenced and swayed to follow the every move of someone or something that the media deems “a star”. Sure, I know it’s not a new thing. I watched “The Partridge Family” when I was a kid. My female classmates in elementary school pored over Tiger Beat Magazine. And as the years go on, the manipulation intensifies.

I watched the Summer Olympics in 1972. In the years before cable television, we only received four channels, so there wasn’t much choice. The afore-mentioned Partridge Family was pre-empted, so we watched. I remember cheering that porn star-mustachioed Mark Spitz and his incredible swimming accomplishments. I remember my mom digging Mr. Spitz for other reasons, as highlighted in his famous poster. We marveled as deadpan Russian Olga Korbut executed impossible gymnastic routines. I also remember watching live coverage of the ominous horror as the Olympic Village in Munich was infiltrated by eight Palestinian terrorists. I watched the 1976 Summer Olympics from Montreal, where Romanian darling Nadia Comăneci simultaneously won the hearts of viewers and the highest scores from judges and made us forget Olga Korbut.

In between the two Olympics in the 70s, life went on. Regular television programming was resumed and interest in discussing the Olympics waned.
From 1980 until now, I have watched approximately three minutes of the Olympics. I thought about that. I have come to believe that the Olympics are much more popular in other countries than in the United States, much like soccer. The United States media attempts to whip up interest in the Olympics because so much money is sunk into it by advertisers and NBC. Unlike professional sports like baseball or football, where fans can follow a player’s career for years, Olympic participants appear in one (maybe two) Games and then retire from their sport. With each new Games, we are presented with new athletes and their stories about which we are expected to care. They are offered in such a way that we are told “these are the people you must watch for and care about.” We are commanded to watch sporting events that, aside from two weeks at the end of summer every four years, no one gives a shit about.

I have heard more stories about Michael Phelps’ facial hair and his daily calorie intake than I really care to. He seems like a good guy. I guess it’s a good thing that he can swim fast. I suppose winning eight gold medals is good. But he’s a swimmer! A swimmer, for Christ’s sake! A guy who swims in a goddamn swimming pool! He’s not a brain surgeon. He hasn’t cured cancer. And after his endorsements run out when the “next cool athlete” rolls around, he’ll be wearing a paper hat and asking if you’d like to try the hot apple pie.

The Olympic Games have grown to over 11,100 competitors from 202 countries. Have you been following the careers of these 2008 Olympic gold medal winners?
Samuel Sánchez
Masato Uchishiba
Satu Mäkelä-Nummela
Pak Hyon Suk
Chen Ying
Elena Kaliská
I didn’t think so.

The US Olympic Men’s Basketball team brought home an unprecedented nine gold medals between 1936 and 1984. In 1996, the previously amateur basketball team was comprised of the best-of-the-best of the NBA. They easily took the gold medal in Men’s Basketball. Yesterday afternoon, 2008 US Men’s Basketball teammates, Kobe Bryant and LeBron James giggled on the bench as they watched their team trounce the Australian team by 31 points. The Coubertin Medal is awarded to athletes who exhibit the spirit of sportsmanship. It is named for Pierre de Coubertin, founder of the International Olympic Committee, whose ideals are illustrated in the official Olympic Creed:
“The most important thing in the Olympic Games is not to win but to take part, just as the most important thing in life is not the triumph but the struggle. The essential thing is not to have conquered but to have fought well.”

The original ideology of the Olympics was noble. The current ideology of the Olympics is bullshit.

*Footnote: My wife is watching the Olympics as I make this post. They just presented a story during Women’s Beach Volleyball (Yes, THAT’S an Olympic event). The story told about volleyball team member Misty May-Treanor and how she brought some of her mother’s ashes (as in cremated) to sprinkle at the volleyball venue in Beijing.
I hate the fucking Olympics.

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IF: detach

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And nobody's gonna go to school today/She's going to make them stay at home.
All Brenda Ann Spencer wanted for Christmas 1978 was a radio.

That’s all.

Just a radio.

Her father bought her a rifle instead.

On Monday, January 29, 1979, 16-year-old Brenda Ann Spencer opened fire on children arriving at Grover Cleveland Elementary School in San Diego, across the street from her house. She killed two school employees and wounded eight students and a police officer. Principal Burton Wragg was attempting to rescue children in the line of fire when he was shot and killed, and custodian Mike Suchar was slain attempting to aid Wragg.

During the six-hour standoff with police, she made such comments to police negotiators as “There was no reason for it, and it was just a lot of fun”; “It was just like shooting ducks in a pond”; and “The children looked like a herd of cows standing around, it was really easy pickings.” Brenda showed no remorse, no emotion and was totally detached from the incident.

When asked what drove her to this form of murderous madness, she told a reporter, “I don’t like Mondays. This livens up the day.” Brenda pled guilty to two counts of murder and assault with a deadly weapon and was sentenced to 25 years to life in prison. She has been up for parole four times and has been turned down each time.

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Monday Artday: 1 character, 4 panels

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The challenge on Monday Artday this week is “1 character, 4 panels”.
What're you lookin' at, you hockey puck?
This challenge was posted on August 4 as a two-week challenge because the person who mantains the Monday Artday illustration blog was going on vacation. So was I.
So, I’m walking across Harbor Boulevard in Anaheim, California, with Pudge’s Mom and Captain Wow. We were headed to Disneyland. While walking through the tram and bus loading area, I asked them for suggestions for the challenge. Pudge’s Mom says, “How about a strip of photos from a photo booth.” Captain Wow, at the same time, says, “Ha! You should draw Mr. Potato Head!”
Instead of doing two drawings, I combined both ideas because I’m lazy.

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IF: sail

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The challenge word this week on illustrationfriday.com is “sail”.
Life goes on day after day/Hearts torn in every way
In Greek mythology, Charon is the ferryman of the dead. The souls of the deceased are brought to him by Hermes, and Charon ferries them across the river Styx, to Hades. The fee for his service was a single obolos coin which was placed in the mouth of a corpse at burial. Those who cannot afford the passage, or are not admitted to Hades by Charon, are doomed to wander on the banks of the Styx for a hundred years.

And then the ferryman said,
“There is trouble ahead,
So you must pay me now,” – “Don’t do it!”
“You must pay me now,” – “Don’t do it!”
And still that voice came from beyond,
“Whatever you do,

Don’t pay the ferryman,
Don’t even fix a price,
Don’t pay the ferryman,
Until he gets you to the other side;

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from my sketchbook: bob crane

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Better watch that, Schultz, somebody could trip over it and get hurt!
In 1956, Bob Crane was the number one morning disc jockey on Los Angeles’ KNX-AM radio. He filled the broadcast with sly wit, drumming, and guests such as Marilyn Monroe, Frank Sinatra, and Bob Hope. Crane became known as “The King of the Los Angeles Airwaves.” With high ambitions, Crane pursued acting opportunities. He subbed for Johnny Carson on “Who Do You Trust?” and acted on shows like “The Twilight Zone,” “Alfred Hitchcock Presents,” and “General Electric Theater.” Crane’s one episode performance on the “Dick Van Dyke Show” led to his recurring role as neighbor Dr. Dave Kelsey on the “Donna Reed Show“. Crane’s career was taking off.

In 1965, Crane was offered the starring role in a comedy pilot about Allied prisoners in a German P.O.W. camp, “Hogan’s Heroes.” Crane was nominated for an Emmy twice for his role of the wisecracking Colonel Robert Hogan. During the run of Hogan’s Heroes, Crane met Patricia Olsen (who used the name Sigrid Valdis). Crane divorced his wife of twenty years, and married Patricia on the set of the show in 1970.

There was another Bob Crane that was kept hidden from the public. Crane was obsessed with sex and with sleeping with as many different women as humanly possible. And in the way that some collectors amass stamps or coins, Crane took hundreds and hundreds of explicit photographs of his conquests, including snapshots of himself engaged in sex with these women. He frequented Hollywood strip clubs and topless bars and rarely left alone. Crane departed the “Donna Reed Show”, some say because of a sexually aggressive attitude toward his stage wife. Crane’s first wife and Patricia both turned a blind eye to Crane’s exploits for as long as they could. Crane actually had an affair with the two actresses who played Colonel Klink’s secretary (the latter being Patricia Olsen).

“Hogan’s Heroes” co-star (and future Family Feud host) Richard Dawson introduced Crane to video salesman John Carpenter who shared Crane’s interest in photography and, as it turns out, sex. Carpenter supplied early versions of video technology (including early VCRs), and he’d often participate in and film group sex with the women that Crane would meet.

In 1971, after six seasons, CBS canceled “Hogan’s Heroes”. Not wanting to let his career decline, he appeared in numerous one-shot guest roles on network series. He made two movies for Disney. NBC gave him another shot at his own series. That lasted three months. Crane purchased the rights to the play “Beginner’s Luck” and toured the U.S. in productions as its director and star. The play brought Crane to Scottsdale, Arizona.

On Wednesday, June 28, 1978, after completing an evening performance and signing autographs for fans in the lobby, Crane returned to his apartment with Carpenter. Before they left again, Crane argued loudly on the phone with Patricia. Crane and Carpenter then headed to a local bar, where they had drinks with two women whom they had arranged to meet. At about 2:00 A.M., the foursome went to a coffee shop. About half an hour later, Carpenter left to pack for his return trip to Los Angeles the next morning. Back at his hotel room, Carpenter called Crane one final time. Crane was considering ending his lifestyle of heavy partying, and during this last phone call, Crane reportedly told Carpenter that their friendship was over.

Just after 2 p.m. on June 29, Victoria Berry, Crane’s co-star in “Beginner’s Luck”, decided to drop in on Crane at his apartment. After her knock received no answer, she tried the door knob. It was unlocked and the door swung open. When she entered the apartment bedroom she stopped and paused. Crane was lying in a fetal position in the bed. There was a huge dark area behind his head with great sweeps of blood on the wall. His face was so badly beaten that he was unrecognizable from the left side. A video cord was wrapped around his neck.

Approximately 50 pornographic videotapes were found in Crane’s apartment, as well as professional photography equipment in the bathroom for developing and enlarging still shots. A negative strip was found in the enlarger, revealing a woman in both clothed and nude poses. Circumstantial evidence pointed to John Carpenter. Police officers who arrived at the scene of the crime noted that Carpenter called the apartment several times and didn’t seem surprised that the police were there. Further investigation revealed several blood smears were found in Carpenter’s car that matched Crane’s blood type. At that time DNA testing didn’t exist to confirm if it was Crane’s or not. Not enough solid additional evidence could be produced and the case went cold.

In 1992, fourteen years after the murder, the case was reopened. An attempt to test the blood found in the car failed to produce any result due to improper preservation of the evidence. At Carpenter’s trial in 1994, the prosecution showed a videotape of Crane and Carpenter engaging in sex with the same woman to demonstrate their close relationship. However, Carpenter was acquitted on a lack of convincing evidence.

Carpenter died in 1998. He maintained his innocence to the end.

Here’s Bob Crane – not being Hogan and not having sex.

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SFG: mischief

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The current challenge word on sugarfrostedgoodness.com is “mischief”.
how can we dance when our earth is turning
In Northeast Philadelphia where I grew up, as in most places thoughout the United States, the night before Hallowe’en was recognized as “Mischief Night”. In the 1960s, the time in which I grew up, the so-called mischief was usually of the “prank” variety and, for the most part, harmless. At sundown on October 30, some neighborhood kids would mark up car windows with a bar of soap. They would toss an egg or two at a random house. They may unload a battery of toilet paper on a neighbor’s tree, entwining its autumn-bare branches in yards of Charmin.

One year, my brother sat in the darkness of our yard, poised with the garden hose in his hand, waiting patiently and silently for those young vandals. A group of kids approached my dad’s Dodge Dart and my brother let loose his deluge. The kids scattered. I don’t remember our house being a victim for years after.

While innocuous hijinks were the norm in my neighborhood, across the Delaware River in Camden, New Jersey, it was a different story. Beginning in the late 60s, things in Camden started to deteriorate. The Camden Fire Department started getting numerous false alarms and calls for trash fires. The seventies ushered in a period of significant civil unrest in Camden. The situation got dangerous for firefighters; people started throwing rocks and bottles at firefighters and their apparatus. This period of dangerous, at times riotous behavior spilled over into Mischief Night, which evolved into a much more destructive annual event. Every October 30th, hoodlums would do their very best to burn the city of Camden to the ground. Over 130 arsons were committed in Camden on the night of October 30, 1991. The next year, Camden started emptying the streets of potential troublemakers, busing thousands of teenagers to Halloween events outside the city. Camden officials also organized a massive police and fire presence, which along with a stricter-than-usual curfew, has helped tame Mischief Night.

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IF: poof

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The illustrationfriday.com challenge word this week is “poof”.
But try to understand/Try to understand/Try try try to understand
I have always loved magicians. My mom introduced me to magicians when we watched Tony Curtis’ totally inaccurate portrayal of Harry Houdini in 1953’s “Houdini”. When I was a kid, on every “Ed Sullivan Show” on Sunday night — between a performance by Vikki Carr and Morty Gunty — there was usually a magician. Long before David Kotkin made the Statue of Liberty disappear or Christopher Sarantakos walked across the surface of a Las Vegas swimming pool, there was Blackstone.
Harry Blackstone Jr. was a great TV magician. He was a staple on TV variety shows throughout the 1970s. Unfortunately, if you are younger that 30, you probably don’t remember him. He followed in his father’s footsteps and became a greater and more popular showman. He was a personable character with great audience rapport and a devilish sense of humor. His tricks weren’t spectacular, his act, however, was.
He was my dad’s favorite magician. One of Blackstone’s signature illusions was making a birdcage disappear while it was being held by three guys from the audience. He also selected gentlemen from the audience to assist in a trick involving a length of rope. He would always choose an elderly gentlemen and after a brief explanation, Blackstone would place his face an inch from the old man’s face and scream, “WE’RE GONNA DO A ROPE TRICK!” My dad would roar with laughter.
In 1985, on the 100th anniversary of his father’s birth, Harry Blackstone, Jr. donated to the Smithsonian Institution the original floating light bulb — designed and built by Thomas Edison. This was the first ever donation accepted by the Smithsonian in the field of magic.
He infamously performed during the half-time show at the 1987 Orange Bowl, in which four of the five tricks Blackstone attempted failed miserably due to missed cues and poorly designed props.
He also created four magic kits, from beginner to advanced, which were the best sellers at their time.
Blacktone died in 1997 due to complications arising from pancreatic cancer.
My wife always says that magicians on TV are ridiculous. I certainly understand that most things on TV are bullshit. And magic is bullshit. So, the two together equals double the bullshit. But I still find magic entertaining. Sure, it’s cooler seeing  magicians in person, but I’ll take it where I can get it.

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Monday Artday: summer

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The Monday Artday challenge word this week is “summer”.
hey fudgy wudgy here!
I love summer. I was born in the summer. I wait all winter for summer to come. I dislike the snow and the cold weather. Summer has always meant warm weather and vacations.

Elsewhere on my blog, I have talked about going to pre-casino Atlantic City when I was a kid. Part of my family’s ritual of going “down the shore” (as they say in Philadelphia) was a trip to the beach. The beach in Atlantic City is one of the last free beaches at the Jersey shore. By “free”, I mean that most other beaches require bathers to purchase a beach tag for admission. Beach tags are a small pinback button-like deal and are sold at the municipality’s City Hall for full season admission or by lifeguards at the beach for a daily pass. The money collected for beach tags usually goes toward maintaining a clean and safe beach experience. The beaches within the Atlantic City limits remain free of charge and it shows. The casinos glitter and sparkle on the famed Boardwalk. Just a few feet away, you’ll find one of the dirtiest beaches you’ve even seen.

It was different in the mid-1960s. I played in the sand. I built sand castles. I threw sand at my brother. My brother threw sand at me. My mom drank her world-famous iced tea from a big orange Thermos jug. My dad went into the ocean in his usual costume of a short-sleeve, button-down shirt, sunglasses and a cigarette.

One of the high points of a ’60s beach day was waiting for the ice cream guy. As soon as the blanket was spread and the umbrella was set up, I begged my mom for some coins. Although I was playing, I kept one eye open and one ear cocked for the ice cream man’s call. Every summer, we saw the same guys — Sal, Chas and Leo. They were three guys, looking back now, from which one wouldn’t dare dream of purchasing a food product. They were weathered and tanned with skin that resembled a well-worn catcher’s mitt. They dressed in sun-faded, torn and stitched ragged clothing. Some wore beat-up sandals on their filthy and calloused feet. Some just wore their filthy feet. It was 1967, so each sported long, unkempt hair – usually tied back in a ponytail – and a beard in desperate need of a trim. With the support of a duct taped nylon strap, they toted a huge, white cooler. It was covered with dents on the outside and filled with dry ice and frozen confections. You could hear them approach with their calls of “Fudgy Wudgy HEEEE-AHH!” A Fudgy Wudgy was a rocket shaped Fudgsicle with an extremely-fake, laboratory version of banana flavored stripe around the middle. There were also twin popsicles and tri-flavor dixie cups (with a little wooden paddle that served as a spoon). My mom always got a Good Humor Chocolate Eclair – vanilla ice cream on a stick coated with tiny bits of vanilla and chocolate cake crunchies. I remember loving the ice cream buying experience, but not the ice cream itself. The products were so rock-hard, frozen solid that taste was nonexistent. They melted in the hot summer sun, but the ice cream still had a flavor reminiscent of stainless steel.

I continued to go to Atlantic City as a teenager. In the late 1970s, my friends and I would descend upon Betty’s Rooming House for several beer-soaked weekends every summer. By day, when we weren’t drinking, we would head to the beach to watch girls, but usually ended up throwing sand at each other. But, still, we always bought ice cream. Still from Sal or Chas or Leo, now several years older and looking it.

My son just reminded me that my wife bought ice cream for him as a child, in the early 1990s – from Sal or Chas or Leo – on the beach in Ventnor, just south of Atlantic City.

My wife and I are going to Ventnor this weekend. I haven’t been to the beach in years, but I won’t be surprised if I see Sal or Chas or Leo shlepping  their frozen wares. It wouldn’t be summer without them.

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IF: canned

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The challenge word this week on illustrationfriday.com is “canned”.
no dogs or jews allowed.
Arthur Godfrey ranks as one of the important on-air stars of the first decade of American television. As the new medium was invading American households, there was something about Godfrey’s wide grin, his infectious chuckle, his unruly shock of red hair and his folksy ukelele playing that made millions tune in not once, but twice a week.
His on-air delivery of sponsor Lipton Tea’s commercials had the American public rushing to their local grocers. No television viewer during the 1950s doubted that Godfrey really did love Lipton Tea and drank it every day. He delighted in tossing aside prepared scripts and telling his audience: “Aw, who wrote this stuff? Everybody knows Lipton’s is the best tea you can buy. So why get fancy about it? Getcha some Lipton’s Tea”. And, boy, did they!
However, when the cameras were off, Godfrey was a crazed, anti-Semitic, controlling megalomaniac. Godfrey ruled his cast with an iron-fist and he took no shit from them. He knew that when someone appeared on his show, their popularity was instant. So, his inflated ego felt entitled to make demands. He insisted his “Little Godfreys” (as his regulars were known) attend dance and singing classes, believing all should be versatile performers. In meetings with the cast and his staff, Godfrey was abusive and intimidating. In spite of his ability to bring in profits, CBS owner William Paley disliked Godfrey. Frank Stanton, CBS president, liked Godfrey, especially because he kept show production cost down.
In 1951, a mutual friend introduced Godfrey to a young singer named Julius LaRosa. Godfrey gave LaRosa a break and put him on his show. LaRosa proved popular and became a frequent guest performer on Godfrey’s show. Along with the rest of the cast, LaRosa was required to take dance lessons. He missed one due to a family emergency. When he arrived at the studio, he was advised via a cast bulletin board, that his services were not required for that week’s show. Soon afterwards, LaRosa had a national hit record with “Eh Cumpari”. He began to receive fan mail that topped the amount that Godfrey was receiving. LaRosa also hired his own agent, something Godfrey was adamantly against. Godfrey felt he was detecting a bit of “cockiness” in LaRosa’s attitude.
In October 1953, Godfrey consulted with CBS president Stanton. Stanton suggested Godfrey actually fire LaRosa on the air, however conflicting stories indicate that he may not have been serious. Nonetheless, after lavishing praise on LaRosa in introducing the singer’s performance, Godfrey thanked him and then announced that this was LaRosa’s “swan song” with the show. LaRosa had to be told what the phrase “swan song” meant. He was dumbfounded, since he had not been informed beforehand of his departure. LaRosa was so popular at the time, America seemed to side with him… a reaction that Godfrey never expected.
As time went on, Godfrey’s own popularity waned, eventually making him a dinosaur among the fleeting and fickle world of television.

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Monday Artday: opposites

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tinka-tinka-tee!
Bewitched‘s Samantha Stephens was a typical late-1960’s housewife. She was demure and straight-laced. She had a loving husband, Darrin, a hothead who was incompetent in his job. She had an adorable daughter who followed in her mom’s footsteps and an infant son. Her mother, Endora, who was estranged from her father, disliked Darrin. Oh, and Samantha was a witch.

Samantha had a cousin Serena. Except for her dark hair and heart-shaped birthmark, Serena was Samantha’s identical twin. However, they were total opposites. Serena was a wild, free-spirit hippie with an affinity for psychedelic miniskirts. She kept company with prankster Uncle Arthur and she loved rock and roll music, once teaming with 60’s singers Boyce and Hart. Oh, Serena was a witch, too.

Although popular for eight seasons, Bewitched  met its demise at the hands of a more progressive show – All in The Family. Sadly, Elizabeth Montgomery, the actress who played Samantha, passed away on May 18, 1995. Pandora Spocks, the actress who played Serena, passed away at the exact same time.

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