Why was the 70s a breeding ground of bad pop music? I’m not talking about “bad” as in “good”, like things were in those topsy-turvy 80s. I mean just sucky. I’m not even referring to the current climate, where every new act is a media zombie and the product is soulless, overproduced and dull. When else could Minnie Riverton (Lovin’ You – is easy ‘cause you’re beautiful) have had a big hit with such a over-the-top, saccharine and cheese-packed song? Back then, it wasn’t even considered an abhorrent nightmare of sap that strains the eardrums and sends small pets scurrying when she hits the upper registers of human auditory ability are tested as the song is today. In fact, if you look in dictionaries from that time, and turn to the page with “sh!ttiest song in all of recorded history”, you usually won’t even find an entry.
Don’t even get me started on Captain & Tenille, who not only scored a string of hits, culminating with “Muskrat Love”, but went on and got their own variety show. Variety shows were pretty standard stuff in the 70s, considering they even gave one to Shields & Yarnell, a pair of mimes. TV execs: Mimes on television, you say? Yes, we’ve got to capitalize on this mime-wave that’s sweeping the country. Ha, you try that, radio guys! Our ratings will be through the roof! Oh, that’s “crime wave”, not “mime wave”? Put ‘em on anyway. A full hour on the Tuesday night lineup. If that doesn’t work, give those mimes a radio show.
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Another outdated movie review - I just saw “Les Miserables” from 1998. The premise is that this guy stole a loaf of bread and was sentenced to some grossly unjust amount of time in prison. He served 19 years and then was let out on parole. He broke parole and became a fugitive. There’s inspector Cleseau chasing him around France for an additional 19 years. After 38 years the Parisian law enforcement machine will not let up the persecution of the criminal mastermind responsible for perpetrating the great baguette caper of 1771. Sacre bleu!
And a baguette really ought to be a “little bagel”, dontcha think?
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I don’t usually tell tales of my kids. Kid stories are either sickeningly sweet, or just sickening; like when the subject matter involves the frequency, color or consistency of poop. Then comes some vignette of how it wound up in various locations not normally associated with fecal matter. TMI, anyone?
A non-poop, non-sickeningly sweet story: They had little Valentine’s parties at their day care. Of course it’s healthy to shove two year olds into the notions of romantic love with those of differing or similar genders, so long as no one feels left out. Anyway, I looked at the little dinky cards that they exchanged, the cheapest cards that could possibly be purchased and thrown away because the kids can’t read. Anyway, there were some with random cartoonish hearts and Cinderellas and Snow Whites. For the boys, there were a few Spiderman cards with slight puns like “I’m stuck on you!”
The most bizarre and inappropriate cross-marketing attempts were the Transformers valentines. I’m a testosterone poisoned macho guy, but I just don’t see any correlation between robotic monstrosities and 4 year old puppy love. There was some rather stern looking face of armor peering over the side of a military transport unit from outer space. “I’M SEARCHING FOR YOU, VALENTINE.” Another, a Transformer with a gigantic war-weapon-doodle-whacker-laser-cannon. “I SHALL PROVE THAT I AM THE BEST, VALENTINE!” At least the gun wasn’t pointed directly at the reader, but nothing says “I (heart) U” than vaguely human, war-mongering chunks of metal with glowing red eyes. They must have Decepticon cards for the kids you don’t really like. Next to transformers and terminators, even ninjas look like little cupids.
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