let me entertain you

It's no secret how much I love television. It has been claimed — though never truly documented — that I will walk into a darkened room and turn on the television before I will turn on a light. When my wife and I moved to our home in the suburbs, years before cable television was available within the Philadelphia city limits, I made sure that our access to the wonderful world of cable TV was secured before I called the electric and water companies for their services. Television took top priority.  I wasn't going to be nearly as entertained by watching water come out of our kitchen faucet or — as previously established — by flicking a light switch.

My affinity for watching television isn't anything new. I've been watching since I was a little kid and now, I go out of my way to watch a lot of those same shows that I enjoyed in the early 60s and 70s. Some are good and have stood the test of time, like the timeless, sophisticated humor of The Dick Van Dyke Show or even the topical fun of Barney Miller. Some, like Dennis the Menace and Car 54 Where Are You?, are just awful, but I watch them just the same because they give me a warm, nostalgic feeling. I understand that the generation after me doesn't share the same pleasure I get from a decades old episode of Family Affair or The Beverly Hillbillies. Or maybe I don't. I have tried to get my son to watch some of the shows that reside in a soft spot in my heart and memory. While he appreciates the enduring wit of Jack Benny and George Burns and even the broad antics of The Honeymooners, he cringes at Don Knotts' jittery ineptitude as the hapless "Barney Fife" on The Andy Griffith Show. ("Why doesn't Andy just fucking shoot that moron?" my son has asked. "That's the reason Andy doesn't carry a gun," I'd explain.)

My wife and I have found ourselves watching reruns of The Ed Sullivan Show, broadcast nightly on the Decades channel, one of the many retro programming networks available through our cable provider. Ed Sullivan, an uptight fellow with no discernable talent, snagged the top names in show business to appear on his show — a show that lasted an incredible 24 seasons. It was a staple on Sunday evenings, with nearly every household in the country tuning in to watch. Ed's formula for each episode was to present a wide variety of acts that would appeal to every member of the family. A singer, a dance troupe, a comedian and acts straight from the circus. Over the years, tastes changed and soon the top rock groups of the day were featured alongside opera singers and fully-staged scenes from Broadway musicals. In the 1990s, a syndication package of The Ed Sullivan Show was made available to re-introduce the show to a new audience. The package condenses the original hour-long shows into 30 minute compilations featuring the same variety of acts that made the show so popular. There is usually a singer of contemporary (for the time) fame, a current (again, for the time period) rock group, a comedian and some sort of novelty act, like a  magician, a tightrope walker or a couple of guys juggling flaming batons while switching top hats with each other. Some segments are in black and white, as it wasn't until 1965 that The Ed Sullivan Show was broadcast in living, garish color.

We have enjoyed watching Ed Sullivan nervously introducing acts, mispronouncing names and clumsily greeting guests post-performance. We like seeing countless performances by The Supremes, amused by the obvious perturbed expression on Florence Ballard's face behind Diana Ross's back. We like seeing early stand-up appearances by a crewcut-sporting George Carlin or a fresh-faced Richard Pryor, along with forgotten names like Jackie Vernon and Guy Marks. We marvel at the appeal of two young ladies, on their backs, juggling full-size dining room tables with their feet or a genteel-looking Asian man diving headfirst through a tiny ring of blazing scimitars. Among these many episodes, Mrs. P and I discovered an act — one of Ed's trademark novelty acts — that we must have missed as children. (The show left the airwaves when I was 10.) It was a man by the name of Arthur Worsley.

"A bottle of beer, a bottle of beer"

Ed Sullivan (or his representatives) scoured the globe for acts to present to the American television-watching public. They came across Arthur Worsley in his native Great Britain. Worsley, a ventriloquist, was quite popular on British television, as well as a regular performer at The London Palladium. By the time he made his first of a dozen appearances on the Sullivan show, he was a pretty big name in many parts of the world. But Arthur Worsley was not an ordinary ventriloquist. Well, sure, he had a dummy — in this case — a pug-nosed little wiseacre named "Charlie Brown." And, yes, he made ol' Charlie "speak" while his mouth remained perfectly still. But, the true novelty in Worsely's act was how he — Worsley — stood silent while his dummy screamed and berated and abused him. Worsley himself barely spoke a word. Sometimes he didn't even look at the dummy, which made the dummy even angrier, prompting an even more virulent barrage of insults. The act would culminate with a meta take on the act itself. Charlie would explain that certain letters are difficult for ventriloquists to pronounce without moving their lips, the most arduous being the letter "B." Arthur's gaze would wander as Charlie would demand his attention and acknowledgment of the fact that "B" was particularly challenging to say without moving this lips. Then Charlie would spew, in rapid-fire succession, a stream of "B" words, all articulated and very understandable — while Arthur stood by with a disinterested expression on his face. The act concluded with Charlie repeating "A bottle of beer, a bottle of beer, a bottle of beer" over and over, eloquently enunciating each demanding "B" sound with no effort at all while Arthur's lips displayed nary a quiver — all to the delight of the theater audience. It was highly entertaining — and very funny. Over the years, Worsley did variations of the same act on The Ed Sullivan Show, all to similarly approving reaction. Ed Sullivan called Arthur Worsley "The Greatest Ventriloquist in the World." In reruns of The Ed Sullivan Show, Mrs. Pincus and I have seen the same "Arthur Worsley and Charlie Brown" act many many times and every time, it is just as funny as the first time we saw it.

We have told many people about this act. No one seems to remember it. Most people stare at us expressionlessly as our description of the performance evolves into peals of laughter, followed by embarrassed awkwardness. Recently, my brother-in-law (not that one, the other one) came over for dinner with my nephew Tish who is 14 years-old. Before and during dinner, Tish was totally captivated by his cellphone, barely participating in dinnertime conversation. Trying to engage Tish, I began to tell him about The Ed Sullivan Show reruns that we watch. Tish had never heard of the show, so I had to offer a short, sometimes disjointed, backstory of the concept of TV variety shows and who exactly Mr. Sullivan was. Tish seemed nonplussed by my explanation, having grown up in and spoiled by the era of Netflix, YouTube, TikTok and other on-demand, instant gratification outlets of entertainment. Once I was relatively satisfied that he had understood the gist of the "television variety show," I extracted my cellphone from my pocket and pulled up a YouTube clip of a grainy, black & white appearance of Arthur Worsley and Charlie Brown on The Ed Sullivan Show from 1960. I started the clip and turned my phone in Tish's direction. Initially, he looked at me as though I just told him I was about to give him a root canal. Then, with heavy-lidded eyes, he stared at the tiny screen in my hand as if he was watching paint dry. And his reaction to the clip was just about as enthusiastic. His already waning attention was lessening by the second. We didn't even make it to the classic "A bottle of beer, a bottle of beer" shtick. I had lost him. Tish had begun scrutinizing the wrought iron chandelier that hangs above our dining room table. I turned the clip off and The Ed Sullivan Show was not mentioned again.

The last new episode of The Ed Sullivan Show was presented on March 28, 1971. Citing lower ratings, a diminishing demographic and changing entertainment preferences, the show was canceled. I think I witnessed all of that at my dining room table.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

who's that girl?

This is a funny story, although the person who it is about probably won't think it's funny. I can only assume she has most likely long forgotten about it. I haven't, because I remember everything... especially incidents that are blog-worthy. And, if you really come down to it, everything is blog-worthy! So, out of respect for her privacy and the potential for embarrassment, I will do my very best to be vague about locations and other details that may reveal the subject's true identity. And, of course, I  have changed her name.

My son and I have been going to concerts together for years. My wife and I went to some concerts together before my son was born. A more happily married couple you will never meet, but because my wife and I don't exactly see eye-to-eye where our musical tastes are concerned, she was just as happy to have our son accompany me to concerts than have to sit thorough another band that wasn't the Grateful Dead. One evening way back in 2008, my son and I went to see a band at a fairly large concert venue in Philadelphia. The band was a pretty popular one and a local stop was sure to bring out their City of Brotherly Love faithful in droves. My son is employed at a Philadelphia radio station and has, on occasion, labeled himself a "minor local celebrity." Not to toot his own horn, but he isn't wrong. I have proudly witnessed radio listeners recognize him by either the sound of his voice or from seeing his face on the radio station's website or other social media platforms. Often, at concerts by bands that enjoy regular airplay on his station, his recognition increases. On this particular night, we had just entered the lobby of the venue, when a young woman approached us. She knew my son from a few radio station events and he politely introduced me to her. "Veronica," he said, "this is my dad."

"Really?," Veronica said and she demurely batted her eyes at me and smiled. She was older than my son, but considerably younger than I was. The three of us talked for a few minutes, until I fake-cleared my throat and mentioned that we should be making our way to our seats. My son told Veronica that we'd be going to another concert later in the week at a smaller venue in the city. She smiled broadly and told us that she had tickets to that show as well. She gave a dainty little wave and said "I hope I'll see you there." We headed off in different directions to our seats.

Later in the week, Mrs. Pincus and I went to the smaller venue along with our son for the aforementioned show. The place was pretty crowded and we claimed a tall bistro table on the open floor at which to stand. The three of us chit-chatted before the show began. Our conversation was suddenly interrupted when Veronica bounded up to our table. "Hi Josh!," she beamed and reached out and rested a hand on top of one of my hands on the table top. "So nice to see you again."

I smiled, wrestled my hand out from under her hand and gestured towards my wife. "This is my wife," I said. "Susan, this is Veronica." Mrs. P smiled and politely said, "Hello." 

Veronica's eyes narrowed and her jaw fell agape. "Your wife?," she exclaimed, in a tone reserved for catching someone rifling through her purse. "You didn't tell me you were married!" 

"You didn't ask.," I replied. I found her accusation to be a bit of a head-scratcher, considering I wear a wedding ring and we were introduced by my son! 

Veronica frowned and stomped away into the crowd and, since I didn't see her for the remainder of the evening, was possibly avoiding me. I explained the whole scenario to Mrs. P and we shared a good laugh.

I have seen Veronica on occasion at various music-related events in the area. We would nod or otherwise cordially acknowledge each other. Veronica eventually married and moved out of the Philadelphia area. We are connected through the outreaching avenues of social media and even occasionally interact with a "thumbs up" emoji here and again.

Oh man... I hope she doesn't read this.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

it doesn't matter what you had for lunch

One of my responsibilities at work is to order printing. In addition to design, layout and production, I arrange for collateral materials — brochures, informational "one-sheets," various types of signage — to be printed. (For years, these items were known by their actual names. In the corporate world, keeping with the trend of referring to common things by a new and confusing buzzword, they are now collectively called "deliverables.")

Over the course of my thirty-plus years in the marketing/advertising/publishing field, the amount of actual printing has dropped considerably. Chalk it up to the internet and, more recently, portable devices like the iPad and Kindle. You can also lump in the overall short attention span of the average person (a direct result of the aforementioned wireless culprits). But, every once in a while, some things still require a physical piece of paper with words and colors and a logo, if not simply to appease a bunch of old guys who haven't quite warmed up to progress.

Because most people are either not familiar with, oblivious to or not interested in the actual time frame or the effort that goes in to the printing process, I am lucky to have a full-service quick-print shop right on the premises at work. So, when another whim-driven printing project arises with an impossible turn-around time, I can send a PDF of the job via email and in a short time, I will miraculously have a quantity of professionally-printed pieces, ready to impress.

There have been three different managers of the in-house printing facility in the nearly eight years I've been with my current employer. The first guy — Chris — was great. He was well-versed in all printing terminology and was able to provide quality service and product. He was replaced by Dave. Dave was an idiot. He was forgetful and unresponsive. Dave was soon relived of duty and a new guy named Chris came aboard. New Chris is capable, knowledgeable, accommodating and friendly. Obviously, they should stick to hiring guys named "Chris."

A month or so ago, New Chris delivered a stack of freshly-printed newsletters to my office. I thanked him for his usual prompt service. He offered a heartfelt "You're welcome," immediately followed by an invitation that caught be off-guard.

"Hey, Josh," he began as he dropped the newsletters on my desk, "You've been giving us a lot of work lately and we'd like to thank you by taking you out for lunch one day this week." 

Wow, I thought, that's really nice. Then I thought about who I would have to have lunch with! In addition to printing services, this outside company also maintains our internal and external mail room. A team of sleepwalking boobs shuffle regularly about the hallways, pushing carts laden with envelopes and packages. At any given time during the day, I swear they have the same cargo and have just been pushing it aimlessly around for hours. When placing print orders, I only feel comfortable dealing with Chris, as the rest of the staff seem to not fully grasp the concept of... well, of anything. If Chris is out, simple explanations become lengthy and repetitious usually ending with: "You should probably wait until Chris is back." And now I face the possibility of eating with these goons. What on earth would I talk to them about? What sort of common topic could fill a lunch hour? Oh, jeez... this was bad.

The week went on and Chris never called me. I was relieved. It was a nice gesture and it looked like I was off the hook.

On Thursday, Chris showed up at my office door again and reiterated his invitation. Shit! This time, he said they would be ordering in. Ugh! Now, I'd have to sit in their office and make benign chit-chat for an hour! Maybe I could say I was really busy and had to rush back to work. All sorts of lame excuses rushed through my head. How could I spend little to no time at a lunch in which I was the guest of honor? This was gonna take some strategy and it wouldn't be easy.

Chris instructed me to visit the website of a local Ruby Tuesday's and select a lunch entree. I hate Ruby Tuesday's. Their menu is not very accommodating to vegetarians. Aside from spaghetti squash and baked potatoes, the pickins are pretty slim. However, I do eat fish (I know, I know, technically I'm not a vegetarian, I'm a pescatarian. Go fuck yourself), so I ordered a grilled salmon salad. And the anxiety started all over again.

All morning, I played the pending lunch date over and over in my head. Could I talk about movies? No, I haven't seen any recent movies, as my tastes tend to lean towards Hollywood classics shot in glorious black & white with most of the cast long deceased. Could I talk about sports? Not really, aside from baseball (which is all but done), I don't follow sports. How about books? Nah, I doubt any of these cart-pushers have read anything more advanced than Hop on Pop. The clock ticked. 11:30. 11:45. Finally, the noon hour struck. Soon, it was quarter-after. Then, 12:30. Had I been forgotten? It was today, wasn't it? My phone wasn't ringing. No "Hey, Josh, lunch is a-waiting up here!"

Suddenly, at two minutes before one, Chris appeared at my door. I stifled a gulp. He smiled and announced, "Here you are!" In his outstretched grip was a large, Styrofoam take-out container. "Enjoy!" he said, as he handed me the container and a sealed package containing plastic utensils and a neatly folded napkin. I thanked him. He returned a nod and headed back down the hallway alone. With a long exhale of relief, I popped open the lid — all ready to enjoy a solo lunch.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com