BACK ON THE CHAIN GANG

We try to mix it up around here so after posting Liz Taylor we wanted to visit the other end of the entertainment spectrum--and while Chrissie Hynde, lead singer for The Pretenders, is not exactly the anti-Liz she'll do in a pinch. The Pretenders started back in 1978 and they've been making their own brand of tight punk rock ever since. This goes out to everyone who works for a living.

SO LONG, LIZ

Elizabeth Taylor was a Hollywood icon. The camera loved her. She first made an impression in National Velvet, dazzled us in Butterfield 8, tore up the scenery in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, and roared as a blousy, booze-addled scold in Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf, for which she won an Oscar.

Nowadays we have a glut of celebrities--people famous for being famous (do we even need to see Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan or Charley Sheen ever again?) and we obsess about their every move, scrutinize their love lives and cluck our tongues at their bad behavior--but Taylor was a real "movie star." She gave us plenty to gossip about, but whether she was sending a bowl of chili from Chasen's halfway around the world, or gallivanting in Portofino or Puerto Vallarta with Richard Burton (or some other husband) she was an icon of Old Hollywood. She certainly starred in some stinkers (try sitting through Cleopatra, the story of the Egyptian queen told in real time) but she also gave us some classic performances. End of an era.

SUNSHINE DAYDREAM

Here's the handbill you might have seen back in the magical, mystical days of the early seventies when the Springfield Creamery had a potluck and the Keseys invited good pals The Grateful Dead.

Chuck Kesey (author Ken's brother) and his wife Sue started the creamery in 1960, and, according to the official history, it was "the first fully-cultured probiotic yogurt in the US." The obvious joke (obvious at the time, anyway) was that Kesey put acid in the acidophilus, which wasn't true, of course. Well, okay, he might have. Ken Kesey and the Pranksters were good friends with the Dead, who back in 1966 or so stoked their infamous "acid tests" with live music (and acid, which was legal at the time, supplied by their pal Owsley, the mysterious chemist and sound engineer who died this week in a car crash in Australia. But that's another story.) Anyway, the Dead were back among their friends for a sunny day and the show has since become legendary.


"Jack Straw" performed by the Grateful Dead live at Old Renaissance Faire Grounds August 27th, 1972.

This overgrown potluck was held at Old Renaissance Faire Grounds in Veneta, Oregon, on August 27th, 1972. The Dead played a great show, as you can tell from these clips. It was another time, one filled with hippies and children and scampering dogs, a time when one could almost believe the Age of Aquarius was just around the corner--if you were high, anyway. (Outside this Utopian village the War was grinding on, Nixon was in the White House and the country was fiercely divided between the Hawks and Doves. Sound familiar?) These snippets of archival film are something for the time capsule, so don't judge the scene too harshly. Believe me, the current crop of pop music will look silly thirty-nine years from now. Even so, be forewarned: this is 1972 and there are plenty of longhaired hippies, and some are wearing their birthday suits, and while this may look funny now remember at this point in time the rest of the country would be reelecting Nixon by a landslide in a couple months--and boy does that look dumb in retrospect. Drop your ego and preconceptions, loosen your neck-tie and stop worrying about looking silly. This is a gathering of the tribes at a safe haven in the Oregon countryside, a time to leave the square, straight world behind for one glorious summer afternoon. Return with us now to those thrilling days of yesteryear.

One more thing. According to the official record, "The Yogurt making times of the 1970’s remained challenging for Springfield Creamery and the Kesey family, to the extent that the Grateful Dead was called upon in 1972 to perform a benefit concert for the Creamery. It was an epic and historical event. More than 20,000 people attended, entering the outdoor summer event in Veneta, Oregon using their tickets, which were printed on Nancy's Yogurt labels. A movie was made of the concert entitled 'Sunshine Daydream’ and the creamery was kept afloat, thanks to the help of the Grateful Dead and 20,000 of their friends on that hot summer day."


"China Cat Sunflower," August 27th, 1972.

YOU PRETEND TO BE AMERICAN

Speaking of Tunisia, Dany Brillant is a popular Tunisian-French vocalist. Here he performs Tu Vuo' Fa L'americano, a swinging Italian number by Renato Carosone you may have heard in "The Talented Mr. Ripley." The song has been covered by everyone from Brian Setzer to Sophia Loren, which gives us an excuse to post a picture of Sophia Loren.

"Tu vuò fà l'americano" means, literally, "You pretend to be American", or more idiomatically, "You're an American wannabe." The song is a humorous putdown of an Italian who acts American--drinks whiskey and soda, dances to rock and roll, plays baseball and smokes Camels--yet still relies on his parents for support.

According to Carosone, who wrote the song in collaboration with Nick Salerno in 1956, the lyrics "were deeply based on the American Dream, interpreting jazz and its derivatives as a symbol of an America, lively land of progress and well-being, but always Neapolitan-style, folding that symbol in a sly parody of its customs."

Sophia Loren sang it, too: as if we needed an excuse

WHAT DO TEACHERS MAKE?

A fiery defense of teachers from Taylor Mali. I guess the guy who asked him “What do you make?” at a dinner party never thought he’d get this answer. In a society that overvalues moneymaking and status, and undervalues critical thinking, teachers may not rank very highly on the social scale. That's a shame. Taylor sets the record straight.

YOU KNOW

DRINK UP, HONEY!

St. Patrick's Day is coming, and that means a good many people will wear green, pretend to be Irish and consider it their duty--in honor of the saint who chased the snakes out of Ireland--to drink themselves into a coma. What better way to commemorate the life and deeds of this Romano-Briton and Christian missionary who is recognized as the patron saint of Ireland than with a good healthy bout of projectile vomiting? Of course, I'm kidding. I wouldn't poke fun at this beloved celebration--and holy day of obligation for church-goers. Not unless I've had a few drinks, anyway, and then I might let loose a blasphemous string of profanity and curse all that is sacred and solemn--but that would only be the booze talking. And then if I drove home drunk and jumped the curb and ran over a few pedestrians, well, by God, that would only be the booze driving. And then if my poor little overworked liver, which has started to resemble a weatherbeaten football that's been boiled with cabbage for a few goodly hours, starts to fail me and I call for a man of the cloth in my final hour, and he doesn't show up, well, then it's the booze that doesn't show up since the priest will undoubtedly be plastered himself. See how it works? Booze is the excuse that makes the world go round! So grab some green (which was outlawed by the bloody Brits) and sing a few rebel songs and lament about the Troubles and the terrible potato famine and don't get suckered in to some tourist trap sports bar just because they put a shamrock in the window and sell green beer and sodden corned beef--stay home, crack a bottle of Jameson's and a couple Guinnesses and give a nod to St. Pat before you pass out. Erin go Bragh!

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