you wanna try ...?

I can't imagine how my internet algorithm translates in terms of... of...  honestly, I don't think it falls into any sort of definable terms. On any given day, I log into some aspect of the internet a few dozen times. On Facebook or Instagram, I see all sorts of videos (or "reels" or "stories," as the different platforms call their videos) from people talking to their cats, to clips of comics' stand-up routines, to insider "hacks" at Disney theme parks, to pan-and-scan shots of cemeteries accompanied by wind-blown off-camera narration from someone who cannot pronounce anything. Mixed among this seemingly unrelated content, I recently started seeing videos from a woman named Emmymade. I see Emmymade's videos more and more frequently. I suppose since I watched one all the way through, my algorithm was adjusted to show me more of Emmymade's videos. And her videos are adorable.

I am a nearly 65-year old white male. I would consider myself "out-of-the-loop" as far as trends in current pop culture go. I don't think I could identify a Taylor Swift song. I'm not quite sure why Sydney Sweeney is famous. Considering my longtime undying love of television, there are dozens of shows on dozens of streaming services that I have never heard of nor seen. I find myself Googling various phrases I see written or hear spoken on the internet to get some context as to their meaning. So please forgive me if I'm a little late to the party where Emmymade is concerned.

A little quick research answered some basic questions. California-born, Rhode Island-raised Emmeline Cho began making videos sixteen years ago when she was living in Japan. With her very first video, demonstrating how to use a Japanese candy-making kit, she attempted to combat her boredom and show what it was like for a foreigner living abroad. She continued making videos after moving back to the United States. She branched out with her content, presenting herself taste-testing new foods, examining and tasting the contents of military ration packs along with simple recipes for comfort food or unusual food combinations. To date, Emmymade has amassed over three million subscribers.

What makes Emmymade so compelling is her unpretentious demeanor. She displays a sense of naivete that manifests as bewilderment. For someone whose main focus is food and food-related subject matter, she seems astonished by things like bread and butter and forks and plates. One video, shot in her car just after getting food from a Burger King drive-thru, was highly enjoyable. Her description of the fast food outlet's signature Whopper came across as though she is the first person to ever try a Whopper and you were there to witness it! She says things like "the bun is soft and chewy... really fresh and it has these little sesame seeds all over it." or "the meat is good and well-seasoned." Then, with her mouth full, she politely dabs the corners of her lips while nodding her head in approval and offering several affirming "hmm-mm, hmm-mm"s, careful not to speak with her mouth full. It was just delightful.

In the majority of her videos (at least the ones I have seen), Emmymade is just positively gobsmacked by the things that emerge from her oven... or her blender... despite the fact that she put the individual ingredients in there just minutes prior. She is shocked when she opens a can and it is filled with the contents pictured on the label. She is overjoyed when a finished loaf of bread is extracted from a vintage breadmaker after adding the required ingredients and waiting the prescribed amount of time to bake. She smiles and tells her loyal viewers that the whole house smells like bread. She enthusiastically slices the freshly baked loaf, awkwardly adds a little butter and takes a dainty bite. For a moment, while she is close-mouthed chewing, she offers her trademarked "hmm-mm, hmm-mm" before swallowing. Her assessment of the bread is usually "it is very chewy and bready, slightly sweet, very airy".... you know, the way you or I would describe bread. But, the whole presentation is so endearing and Emmymade is as cute as a button.

I was telling my son about my discovery of Emmymade's videos. He laughed and told me that there are dozens if not hundreds of people on the internet that do this sort of thing. (there I go revealing my "out-of-the-loop"ness again!) He went on to say the funniest one of these folks is the woman who makes fun of these "content creators." In her videos, she tries the most everyday foods as though it's her first time. In one video, she explains that she will be eating chocolate chip cookies and she has never eaten chocolate chip cookies before. After a hesitant, but healthy bite, she describes the experience with such adjectives as "chocolatey" and "crunchy." She further admits that she never expected them to be so filled with chocolate chips. Once she is finished, she moves on to the next item she will be tasting, and that item is chocolate chip cookies. She repeats the entire first segment, as though she didn't just do that very thing, again confessing that she has never had a chocolate chip cookie before.

I still watch Emmymade's videos when they pop up in my feed. She's still entertaining and unintentionally comical. However, my algorithm has determined that I'd also enjoy watching a personable young Scottish guy named "Hugh Abroad" who travels to various Asian countries to sample their culture, primarily through their street food.

Once again, the algorithms are right.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

here we are now, entertain us

I like to watch movies. I like to watch movies with my wife and I like to watch movies alone. Sometimes, I have to do both of those because I don't always share the same tastes in movies with my wife. Recently, I have watched a few recent releases that — in a million years — Mrs. Pincus would not have sat through. One was a fairly graphic horror movie. I know from past experience that Mrs. P has little tolerance for horror movies. I still remember her watching Creepshow through fingers protectively threaded across her eyes and asking how much longer will this go on. The recent movie I watched would have had her exiting the room after the opening scene. I watched another recent release that would not have held her interest at all. It was a very slow build-up until the story started to come together. So, I have — more or less — become the official movie screener for the Pincus household. I will chose a movie for the two of us to watch, based on whether or not Mrs. P will like it. I will happily admit that I'm not always right.

Recently, I suggested a made-for-television movie called A Carol for Another Christmas. It was originally broadcast in 1964 on ABC. It was only shown once until it resurfaced a few years ago on the  Turner Classic Movies network. I thought it was a good choice for us to watch. It was written by Rod Serling and Mrs. P is a long time fan of Twilight Zone. It featured well-known actors like Sterling Hayden, Ben Gazzara, Eve Marie Saint, Peter Sellers, Robert Shaw and Pat Hingle. So, we settled in to watch. It turned out to be a long-winded, smack-you-over-the-head, message-filled piece of anti-nuclear propaganda that was produced, in part, by the United Nations. It was a tedious, repetitive, preachy, self-righteous 84-minutes that seemed twice as long. As we watched, I could sense that Mrs. P was getting "antsy." Fifteen minutes in, her full attention was given to her cellphone. That evening's entertainment choice was a bust on my part. I vowed to be more discerning in future suggestions.

Last night, we interrupted our usual evening's viewing of cartoons (our cable provider recently began carrying MeTV Toons, a 24-hour network devoted to the cartoons of our youth) to watch a movie. I selected a movie that I remember watching years ago. I asked my wife if she had ever seen it. She was unsure. So, we watched.

The movie in question was a 1968 theatrical release called The Night They Raided Minsky's. It was an early production from the pre-All in the Family partnership of Norman Lear and Bud Yorkin. The film had a very interesting and chaotic journey to the big screen, even before a film frame of celluloid was shot. It was based on a 1960 novel about the bygone days of burlesque in New York City. Tony Curtis was originally cast in the lead, but friction over the script caused him to walk. A young Alan Alda was considered as a replacement, but he was locked into a role on Broadway. Jason Robards was tagged just a few weeks before shooting was to begin. Mickey Rooney, then Joel Grey, were pursued for the second lead, but other bookings prevented them from taking the role. British comedian Norman Wisdom was cast despite being relatively unknown to American audiences. Joey Faye, Eddie Lawrence, Dexter Maitland and Bert Lahr — all former burlesque performers — rounded out the cast. Lahr, however, was practically on his deathbed, have been diagnosed with terminal cancer just prior to production. The cast was supplemented by solid performances from Denholm Elliot, Joseph Wiseman, Harry Andrews, Forrest Tucker and Elliot Gould in his motion picture debut. At the forefront was the adorably waif-like Britt Ekland as the object of everyone's affection. William Friedkin, fresh off his directorial debut at the helm of Sonny & Cher's 1967 hippie indulgence Good Times (and several years away from The French Connection and The Exorcist) was tapped to direct. Friedkin, who shot forty hours of footage for the project, had a vision for the final product that differed from Lear's, Yorkin's and the "powers that be" at United Artists. After working — unsuccessfully — with respected film editor Ralph Rosenblum, Friedkin moved on to another project. He called The Night They Raided Minsky's "the biggest piece of crap he was ever involved with." Rosenblum took a full year to recut and reimagine the movie with no input from the director. He introduced period stock footage. He reshot some scenes with a body double substituting for Bert Lahr, who had died during production. Rosenblum's version — which Friedkin had nothing to do with — was released to surprisingly positive reviews. It boasted the biggest budget for a film shot in New York City at the time. Its paper-thin plot, continuity errors and seedy look are all forgivable, as The Night They Raided Minsky's offered a frozen snapshot of a bygone and nearly forgotten period of entertainment history. The film — a complete work of fiction — was a love letter to the bawdy side of vaudeville and — according to the opening narration — the origin of the strip tease.

Mrs. P and I watched The Night They Raided Minsky's. It was uneven. It was creepy. It was funny. It was enjoyable. The cast was stellar, if somewhat slightly above the sitcom-level script. The full-length classic burlesque skits that were showcased was like watching a documentary, sometimes overshadowing the main plot of the movie... whatever it was. There was a love triangle of sorts. There was a shifty plot to humiliate a staunch moral advocate. There was an overbearing gangster. There was an angry Amish patriarch searching for his wayward daughter. There was a lot going on and sometimes the story was interrupted for the sake of a barrage of risque jokes. Despite the spot-on performances from Norman Wisdom, Joseph Wiseman, Jason Robards and Britt Ekland, the true stars of The Night They Raided Minsky's were the ladies who formed the disinterested, going-through-the-motions chorus of the burlesque stage. Everything came to a head in a very raucous climax and a very sit-com-y ending. 

Ninety-eight minutes later, Mrs. P and I were entertained. And I don't think she looked at the clock once.

Well, maybe once.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

I met Britt Elkand in 2016. She was very sweet.

sit down, get up, get out

This year — 2025 — marks fifty years that Josh Pincus has been going to concerts. In those fifty years, I have seen a lot of bands. An awful lot of bands. More bands than I can remember. I have seen bands you heard of. I have seen bands you never heard of. I have seen bands I never heard of. I have seen performers from all sorts of varied genres in all sorts of venues. I've seen swing bands and punk bands and classic rock bands — both on their way up and on their way down. I've seen old time crooners and experimental performers. I once saw actress Grey DeLisle (the voice of "Daphne" on Scooby Doo) sing a solo version of "Bohemian Rhapsody" while accompanying herself on the autoharp. Yep, I've seen it all.

Well, almost all.

There's a place in the world
for the angry young man

I am actually surprised by the number of really big names I have never seen. There are bands of which I numbered myself as a fan, that I just plain never saw in concert. Billy Joel, for instance. Growing up in the era of what is now respectfully (or dismissively) called "classic rock," it's strange that I never saw Billy Joel. He played in Philadelphia countless times when I was of prime "concert going" age. But, for whatever reason, I just never saw him. Same goes for Pink Floyd, although missing the Animals tour in 1977, due to a "misunderstanding" with my brother, is still a sticking point. On a smaller scale, I never got to see Shonen Knife, a trio of Japanese guitar-driven punk ladies that give The Ramones a run for their money. Although they have graced many small stages in my hometown over the years, I just was never able to coordinate a time to get to see them. When Billy Joel resumed touring after a brief hiatus from the stage and a permanent end to his recording career, I was encouraged to see him by a few friends. I declined, saying that I want to see cool 1977 Billy Joel, not old Billy Joel in the 21st century.

Old man, take a look at my life

Almost thirty years ago, a concert was announced in nearby Camden, New Jersey at the current Freedom Mortgage Pavilion, the shittiest venue on the East coast. Freedom Mortgage Pavilion has gone through a long list of monikers since its opening as the awkwardly-named "Blockbuster-Sony Music Entertainment Centre" in 1995. The headliner for this show was Neil Young. His supporting act was up-and-comers Ben Folds Five. I was never ever a fan of Neil Young, Crazy Horse, Crosby Stills Nash & Young, Buffalo Springfield or any other band that featured the globally-revered Canadian singer-songwriter. I was, however, a huge fan of Ben Folds Five and their self-titled debut album. I joked, at the time, that Mrs. P and I could buy one ticket for that show. I'd go in to see Ben Folds and company perform their brand of infectious piano-driven rock and roll. When their set was finished, I'd come out and pass my ticket to my wife, where she could enjoy the six-string guitar stylings and high-pitched whine of Mr. Young. (I know. I know. Cheap shot.)

Last night, I checked two performers off of my "never saw live" list. I don't really have a list. I hate making lists. That's just for dramatic effect. I like "dramatic effect" more that I like making lists.

The Dream Police - da da da da da da da

Earlier this year, classic rock icon Rod Stewart — Rod the Mod, if you will — announced the end of the large-scale touring portion of his career with an eighteen-city tour called "One Last Time." Rod clarifies that, at 80 years old, he has no plans to retire. He states he loves singing, he has a full head of hair (famously cut in his trademark choppy shag) and is still physically fit. He will still continue his residency at Caesar's in Las Vegas in the fall when this tour concludes. Mrs. Pincus, besides being a long-time, devoted Dead Head, has been a fan of Rod Stewart for about as long as she has followed Jerry Garcia and his trippy pals. But, as a veteran of numerous concerts, has never seen the soccer-loving singer perform live. Without going into detail, we were gifted two tickets to the Philadelphia stop on Rod's final tour. I was not then, nor have I ever been, a fan of Rod Stewart, but I was happy to attend with Mrs. Pincus... plus Midwest rockers Cheap Trick were opening each date as Rod's special guest. I always liked Cheap Trick. I owned copies of Heaven Tonight, Live at Budokon and Dream Police when I was in high school, yet Cheap Trick was one of those bands I never got to see live.

The night of the show finally rolled around and my wife and I found ourselves in the midst of a sea of old people. We parked and trudged up to the front gates of the venue along with hundreds and hundreds of bent-over folks wielding canes to assist their balance and their walking ability. I marveled at the crowd that was drawn to a Rod Stewart concert in 2025. I scanned the faces of the attendees — shuffling along with their heads down and bumping into other shufflers, lining up to purchase 26 dollar plastic cups of wine and 10 dollar slices of pizza, stopping to look around (right in the middle of moving foot traffic) as though they had forgotten where they were. (According to my wife of 41 years, I obviously haven't looked in a mirror lately.) We found our seats with the help of two unhelpful ushers and one very helpful one. Having arrived particularly early, we occupied our time by playing Wordle on our cellphones, something I don't recall doing in the the minutes leading up to Fleetwood Mac taking the stage at the Spectrum in 1977. The venue seats filled in with people dressed as though they were attending a pitch to purchase a time share, all sporting either sour scowls or slack-jawed stares. Much to my dismay, these people are officially my peers... whether I like it or not.

We're all all right! We're all all right! 

The lights dimmed at 7:30 on the dot. None of this "we'll start when we feel like it" bullshit for the older crowd. We have self-imposed curfews, you insolent whippersnappers! The PA blared "Ladies and gentlemen, the best fucking rock and roll band - Cheap Trick!" and the four members of the band sauntered out to the stage. (Side note: I have a long-time gripe with bands comprised of one [or none!] original members under the guise of the band you know and love. Cheap Trick currently includes three of the four founders, although bassist Tom Petersson left for seven years in the 80s, but returned. Enigmatic drummer Bun E. Carlos retired in 2010 and was replaced by guitarist Rick Nielsen's son Daxx. Daxx has been keeping the rhythm for fifteen years. In my convoluted rules, they are still Cheap Trick, despite a small adjustment in personnel. Queen....? That's another story.) The volume shot up and Cheap Trick ripped into their raucous cover of The Move's "California Man," a song which they have made their own. This was followed by hit after hit after hit. Rick Nielsen switched guitars about thirty times, each one more elaborately decorated than the previous, and frequently doused the first few rows with handfuls of guitar picks. Lead singer Robin Zander — at 72 — still shows off his pin-up boy good looks and his virtuoso vocals still sound as good as they did in the 70s. Cheap Trick still has regular album releases (A new one is coming in October! Brace yourselves, kiddies!) and tours constantly. As evidenced by certain members of the audience, Cheap Trick is still someone's favorite band. Their set most definitely woke up the Rod Stewart crowd who were counting on a brief nap before the headliner began.

Young hearts be free tonight

When Cheap Trick took their final farewell bows, I noted that signing Cheap Trick as the support band on this — or any — tour was a gutsy move on the part of the tour promoters. They are a tough act to follow. The fact that the overwhelming majority of the audience was there to see Rod Stewart could only be the show's saving grace. Dozens of crew members quickly and efficiently cleared out any remnants of a Cheap Trick performance as they readied things for the elaborate production that would be Rod Stewart's final large scale hurrah. Admittedly, I was never a Rod Stewart fan. I didn't dislike Rod Stewart in the way of a ....say... Dave Matthews. I just never purchased a Rod Stewart album, but I didn't switch the station if I heard a Rod Stewart song on the radio. Rod and his band — a guitarist, a bassist, a drummer, a stand-out saxophonist and a group of six young ladies - fresh from a Robert Palmer video - would provide some lively and complementary backing vocals, as well as a plethora of assorted instruments — kicked things off with a high-energy rendition of Rod's creepy 1984 hit "Infatuation." From then, it was a showcase of Rod Stewart's greatest hits, including highlights from his time as lead singer of Faces and his celebrated solo career. "Ooh La La," "Tonight's The Night," "Maggie May," "Young Turks" — they were all there and punctuated by some very compelling and high-tech staging and imagery. Rod even covered "It's a Heartache," the 1977 Bonnie Tyler hit. This probably furthered the confusion of those who assumed that Rod and his signature raspy vocals was behind the song originally. All in all, Rod Stewart is a true showman. With the exception of the few instances he disappeared for a costume change, at no time was he not the focus of the various antics taking place on the stage. The band, with the six ladies at the forefront, was given a place in the spotlight while Rod retreated backstage for a brief respite and wardrobe refresh. But when he returned, it was all Rod, all the time. Rod Stewart is 80 — 80! — and he's got better moves than performers a quarter of his age. Rod barreled though a comprehensive overview of his seven decade career. He wiggled and shimmied and shook and kicked. At one point, the one-time hopeful professional soccer player, butted soccer balls off of his blond-tressed head into the frenzied audience. (Um... he's 80!) He even plucked a bewildered toddler from the audience — sporting an "I ♥ ROD" t-shirt — and deposited her on the stage  to the delight of her parents and the crowd. The night drew to a close with a heartfelt take on "Some Guys Have All The Luck." A very fitting sentiment.

While this show didn't make me a fan, it was a pretty entertaining night. The company was great. The tickets were free and I got to enter two "checks" on my list.

There is no list.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

try to remember

I have loved television for as long as I can remember. I had my favorite TV shows that I watched episodes as often as possible. Unfortunately, at the time, "as often as possible" was usually twice. Back in the 60s and 70s, TV shows produced as many as 26 episodes per season — some even more! After the initial broadcast of an episode, it was usually rerun one more time in the summer when production went on hiatus until the fall season, if the particular show was renewed. If the series was canceled, that was it, that show would never see the light of day again. Of course there were exceptions. The Monkees, which originally ran in primetime on NBC, enjoyed a three-year stretch as part of the Saturday morning line-up on CBS and later for a year on ABC. But, for the most part, after a series was canceled, that was it! You never saw that show again... until syndication packages began popping up on local UHF channels in specific markets. (Hey kids, ask your parents to explain "UHF" to you.)  

In 1985, Nick at Nite changed everything. Boasting a kitschy line-up of television favorites from the 50s and 60s, Nick at Night kicked off a nostalgia trend and spawned a variety of other cable channels to purchase the rights to beloved — and forgotten — shows and rerun them over and over and over again. Nick at Nite showed Mr. Ed, Donna Reed, Dennis the Menace and Route 66. Soon, they were supplementing their library with The Andy Griffith Show, Get Smart, The Dick Van Dyke Show and others, allowing the fledgling network to expand its broadcast day from a few hours at night to a full 24-hour schedule. Nick at Nite's rivals were showing Leave it to Beaver, Burns and Allen, Jack Benny along with other forgotten favorites like My Favorite Martian, Mayberry RFD and other popular shows with a surprisingly limited number of episodes like The Munsters (70 episodes) and Gidget (32 episodes). With other "retro" networks showing up on cable line-ups, series that were long forgotten found a new home, new exposure to a new audience and a new lease on life. Hey! Who are we kidding? There was no new audience. These revivals were geared exclusively to folks who watched them in their original run. Being the trivia fan and nostalgia enthusiast, I loved watching shows that I watched — or barely remembered — in my youth. I saw a show called Good Morning World for the first time when Antenna TV brought it back for a short run a few years ago. The series surrounded a morning radio show and the wacky antics of its hosts (played by Joby Baker and sitcom vet Ronnie Schell.) The show featured Billy DeWolfe, exercising his classic uppity fussbudget character, as well as an early career performance by Goldie Hawn. It was the creation of Sam Persky and Bill Denoff, the creative team who got their start under Carl Reiner's wing on The Dick Van Dyke Show. Good Morning World was the pair's follow-up to the success of another of their creations — That Girl. You've no doubt heard of That Girl and you probably never saw an episode of Good Morning World. There's a reason for that.

As technology advanced and the act of watching television evolved from three networks to a variety of streaming services offering original content and old favorites, more and more "forgotten shows" have surfaced — whether we like it or not. A whole new generation is enjoying The X-Files. Sitcoms like Seinfeld (whose infamous final episode was broadcast over thirty years ago) still can be found in syndication and ready to binge on Netflix, thanks to a lucrative, long-term licensing deal. Sure there are plenty of shows that have not been seen in years and probably will never be seen again. But, thanks to the internet and the good people at YouTube, a quick search will have you wallowing in the nostalgia of your youth with one or two episodes of a "Oh yeah! I remember this!" show. Recently, my wife and I watched a few installments of the late night music showcase The Midnight Special, which ran for a decade on NBC after the Friday night edition of The Tonight Show. I never thought I'd ever see this show again, but... here we are getting misty-eyed while viewing a performance by Loggins and  Messina and scratching our heads while an obviously stoned Paul Williams trips over his lines.

YouTube is a treasure trove of content for those — like me — seeking long forgotten shows available for a curious viewing. I stumbled across one such show a few nights ago, one I had never heard of before. The show was called Normal Life and it ran for 13 unremarkable episodes from March until July 1990. It was a 30 minute sitcom starring Cindy Williams, giving television another shot after the embittered end to her successful role on Laverne and Shirley. Her costar was Max Gail, looking vastly different from his youthful "Detective Wojciehowicz" on the critically-acclaimed Barney Miller. The series was very loosely based on the homelife of eclectic rocker Frank Zappa. It even starred two of Zappa's children — Moon Unit and her brother Dweezil — essentially playing themselves. There is one episode of Normal Life available on YouTube, thanks to user "VHS Captures" who uploaded it, noting they discovered it on an old VHS tape. A little research revealed that the episode — entitled "It's Only Rock and Roll" was the fifth episode in the series, originally broadcast on April 18, 1990. So, we watched.

It was awful.

It was typical 90s sitcom fare, chock full of unnatural acting, trite dialogue, terrible jokes, exaggerated physicality and a lot of mugging for the camera. Poor Cindy Williams looked as thought she really wanted to make this show succeed. Max Gail looked as though he needed to have a firm talk with his agent. The two Zappa kids rolled their eyes and acted as though they had signed on for something different. The entire show ran for the standard 22 minutes with commercials. Ten minutes in, my wife asked if the show's runtime was an hour, as she felt that how long we had been subjected to it.

Look, I love television and I will watch things that most people will not. I will watch Gilligan's Island. I will watch Hazel (even though I do not like it). I watch Dragnet to laugh at the purposely stiff acting, as well as nostalgic vistas of 1960s Los Angeles. I even like to watch little curiosities like Normal Life. But, one episode was enough to satisfy my curiosity.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

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

buona fortuna, addio bambina

This story appeared on my illustration blog in 2020.

Sergio Franchi. What a melodic, romantic sounding name! It was very fitting for the Italian tenor with the robust voice and charming demeanor. Sergio Franchi! Throughout the 70s, he sang on The Ed Sullivan Show, filled the big showrooms in Las Vegas and toured the country, enchanting audiences that were mostly comprised of suburban American housewives looking to inject a little Continental excitement into their routine lives.

My mom was one of them.

My mom loved Sergio Franchi. As a teenager in the early 1940s, she was fan of big-band swing and was quite the accomplished jitterbug dancer. She swooned along with her contemporaries to the likes of Frank Sinatra and Eddie Fisher. She could be spotted at the famed Steel Pier in Atlantic City doing the Lindy or on the dance floor at Grossinger's in the Catskill Mountains "cuttin' a rug" with some guy whose name she barely knew. As long as there was music, my mom was there.

She always kept up with musical trends. She fell for Tom Jones in the 60s with his tight, high-waisted pants doing their best to contain his gyrating hips. She listened with heavy-lidded eyes to Bobby Darin and Mel Torme and Vic Damone. And then she discovered Sergio Franchi.

Sergio Franchi! Rugged, chiseled, Romanesque features. Barrel-chested and impeccably groomed — always sporting a simple yet elegant tuxedo, its bow tie usually undone by song number three of his repertoire. In later years, Sergio would display a trendy perm on his previously close-cropped 'do. His easy, but charismatic, personality and his wide smile entranced his audiences. And that voice! Magnificent, velvety tones that could handle popular tunes as easily as soaring operatic arias.

My mom never missed seeing Sergio Franchi at the Latin Casino when he came to our area. "The Latin," as it was colloquially known, was a very popular night club that moved from its original Philadelphia location to a larger venue just over the New Jersey state line. Despite its name, The Latin Casino was not actually a casino, although it attracted the same caliber acts that played the real casinos in Las Vegas. Frank, Dean, Sammy — they all performed there on nationwide tours that stopped in and around the City of Brotherly Love. Ironically, its downfall was the introduction of casino gambling in Atlantic City, putting a clause in performer's contracts not allowing them to appear with a certain radius of the seashore resort — a radius that included the Latin Casino. However, in its heyday, my mom would go with a girlfriend or her sister to see Sergio Franchi — but never with my father. He wasn't interested in going anywhere — especially to see some singer who wasn't Al Jolson. Good thing, too, because my mom was very uninhibited and I'm sure she offered her share of screams and cat-calls along with the other female members of the audience. One morning, after my mom had seen Sergio Franchi the night before, I came into our kitchen to find a red cloth napkin folded neatly on the kitchen table. My mom, with stars in her eyes, explained that Sergio had wiped his face with the napkin and handed it down to her at her stage-side table. It was as though the Lady of the Lake had touched Arthur's shoulders with Excalibur. In later years, Sergio Franchi moved his Philadelphia area stop to the Valley Forge Music Fair, a smaller, in-the-round venue just minutes from where George Washington led troops fighting for our country's independence. As far as my mom was concerned, they fought for her right to sit in the front row to see Sergio Franchi sing. In between songs, Sergio Franchi would address the audience, often remarking about the name of the town where the venue was located. "King of Prussia!," he would say, his diminished, though still present Italian accent rolling the "R". He'd gesture with his outstretched arm in a mock-majestic flourish as he repeated it "King of Prussia! I love to perform in King of Prussia, Pennsylvania!" He'd smile and the audience would giggle and sigh in unison, as though they had rehearsed

Surprisingly, my mom owned just one Sergio Franchi album... but she played it over and over and over again. It was a 1973 RCA Records compilation imaginatively titled This is Sergio Franchi. The cover showed two sketchy drawings of the singer — a close-up and a waist-up action pose — against a very generic 70s-style design and typeface. When she could gain control of the family stereo, she would blast This is Sergio Franchi the way my brother would crank the volume on Physical Graffiti. This is Sergio Franchi earned a place in our family's all-inclusive record collection, even if it looked out of place among the many releases by Queen, Springsteen and Elton John. (Oh, my mom listened to those, too.)

Sergio Franchi appeared on the popular morning talk show Regis and Kathie Lee in 1989. It would prove to be his final TV appearance. Afterwards, during rehearsals for a show at South Shore Music Circus in Massachusetts, Sergio Franchi collapsed on stage. He was hospitalized and the remaining dates of his summer tour were canceled. Testing revealed a brain tumor and, despite treatments including radiation, Sergio passed away in May 1990 at the age of 64.

My mom, who was fighting her own battle with cancer, was crushed when she heard the news. When she returned home from her chemotherapy sessions, she played her copy of This is Sergio Franchi until the grooves in the vinyl wore flat.

My mom passed away in October 1991.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

shout it out loud

Mrs. Pincus and I were driving back to Philadelphia after a weekend getaway on the southern coast of Connecticut. Although it's just a little over three hours away and Mrs. P loves to drive, we found that a quick pull-over at one of the many rest stops that dot I-95 would be just the revitalizing respite our little journey needed.

He did not live here.

This particular one was named in honor of noted inventor (and sometime asshole) Thomas Edison and sits at mile marker 92.9 on the New Jersey Turnpike. Once my excitement subsided when I realized that this was not Thomas Edison's boyhood home but just a collection of fast food joints, over-priced New Jersey souvenirs and much-appreciated public bathrooms, I happily welcomed a fresh cup of coffee from a pretentious little counter service foodery called Pret-A-Manger. 

Away in a...

We made our way past the unwashed masses gathered in the queue at the Burger King as we headed towards the unfamiliar Pret-A-Manger, whose offerings, according to the signs outside the building, included "organic coffee." Wow! That sounded pretty good/exotic/expensive. It turns out, it was just one of those. The latter, to be exact. It was burning hot and no amount of cream and sweetener could mask the overpowering bitterness of its taste. Now, my wife and I drink a lot of coffee, but we are, by no means connoisseurs. We like Wawa's coffee (a local legend among the ranks of convenience stores) and we have come around on the coffee from Dunkin Donuts (or "Dunkin" as they now wish to be called). We don't like the stuff that is peddled by java powerhouse Starbuck's. Their coffee always tastes burnt and for six bucks a pop — coffee should not taste burnt. I know we are in the minority on this opinion, but aren't we all entitled to that? (I'll answer for you. "Yes." The answer is "Yes.")

We took our lousy coffee back out to our car. For a Sunday afternoon in the middle of North Jersey, the parking lot was packed! And I do mean packed! There were barely any spaces available for weary travelers to stop, park, stretch their legs and enjoy a terrible cup of coffee. The always-prepared Mrs. P (she was a Girl Scout after all)  had packed a small cooler with yogurt, cut up vegetables and hummus and fruit to serve as a quick mid-day snack before getting back on the road for the home stretch of our trip. 

Little did we know, there would be entertainment as we ate.

Can you hear me now?

Just across from where our car was parked, a man was pacing feverishly while shouting into his cellphone. He was filled with purpose, gesturing wildly with his free hand, as he circled the confines of a rare empty parking space. Several hopeful cars slowly approached his domain only to sheepishly drive off when they saw the threat of confrontation. This guy was pissed about something! And whoever was on the receiving end of his electronic wrath was getting a good chunk of this guy's mind. Or, maybe he wasn't angry. To tell the truth, he was too far away for us to make out any actual words. He could have been happily giving praise and hearty congratulations to whoever was listening on the other end. What we did know is that he was strutting and prancing around that space like a cross between 1970s-era Mick Jagger and Al Pacino in front of the bank in Dog Day Afternoon. And he was yelling at the top of his lungs.

I can top that.

The silver car parked in the space adjacent to his territory, we realized, belonged to him. And the woman who was leaning on the open passenger-side door was his wife — or at least his traveling companion. Guess what she was doing? She was screaming into her cellphone rivaling her male counterpart. Her body language was equally as animated — flailing arms, pacing like a cornered lioness. Watching the two of them was like watching a meticulously choreographed performance. Each participant providing an individual display, yet together, their similar movements in perfect synchronization.

By this time, the man had completed all he needed to say to the party to whom he was speaking/shouting. He walked towards his car and grabbed the door handle... but suddenly let it go to return to its normal position. He then turned in the direction of the rear of his car. Fumbling momentarily with his keys, he pressed a button on a key fob and the car's truck popped open. He leaned into the trunk, obviously searching through whatever was in there to find something specific. And boy! did he. He extracted a large liquor bottle filled with dark brown liquid. He uncapped the bottle and took a healthy gulp  — not a taste or a swig — a big, chugging gulp! He looked around a bit as he replaced the bottle. I don't know who or what he was checking for, because his little afternoon nip was in full view of everyone who was parked nearby, walking to or from their cars or sitting in their vehicles (like us). Satisfied with his little "booster shot," the man got behind the steering wheel and, after a very brief verbal exchange with the woman — who had also finished her phone conversation — sped off at a speed a bit too fast for a busy parking lot filled with weary families anxious for a little rest before the last leg of vacation.

People sure can be entertaining. Especially when they don't know they're the entertainment.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

everybody is a star

I have two blogs to which I regularly contribute. I am active on Twitter, Instagram and, now (unfortunately) Facebook. My posts across all social media platforms bear a certain similarity. There are unusual things I see, unusual things I seek out, screenshots of old television shows and an inordinate amount of death references. Over the years, I have had a few people (fans? followers? inmates?) suggest that I do a podcast, focusing on my specific interests. Now, my son makes his living as part of the broadcast field. He is very qualified to do a podcast, from both the content side and the technology side of things. The idea has been suggested to him countless times - waaaay more times than I have received those suggestions. He does not do a podcast. Of any kind. On any subject.

The internet and easy-to-learn, easy-to-access technology has made it possible for anyone — literally anyone — to create a podcast. That doesn't mean that everyone should create a podcast. And If you have listened to a sampling of the plethora of podcasts flooding various podcast outlets, you will soon discover that a lot of these folks should have those microphones wrenched out of their hands and their access to upload immediately cut off. An overwhelming number of podcasts are unscripted with no real focus on a coherent subject. The improvised commentary is fraught with "umms" and "ahhs" and "errs," along with incessant laughing (usually at something that isn't funny). Don't get me wrong. There are some podcasts that are enjoyable, but one has to weed through hours and hours of amateurish tedium to find them.

Which brings me to You Tube, the original "do-it-yourself" production platform for those frustrated documentarians whose stories must be told... even if they really don't have much of a story. I humbly admit that I used to contribute to my own YouTube channel. I would post videos from concerts I went to. After 150 videos, I realized that I wasn't watching them. No one on the internet was watching them and I was impeding on my own enjoyment of the concert. So, I stopped (although the videos are still there).

Like most people, I have watched a lot of YouTube content. I learned how to accomplish some techniques in Photoshop. I have watched full concerts and live broadcasts from some of my favorite bands. I have watched some funny clips from comedians and informative pieces on subjects in which I am interested. But — like podcasts — just because you can make a YouTube video doesn't mean you should make a YouTube video.

With my current situation of having a lot of time on my hands, I have been watching more that my fair share of YouTube videos. I have found there is something for every interest — so matter how obscure. If you are interested in something... anything, someone (often more than one person) has made a video about it. I don't have to remind you of my interest in all things Disney, so I often look for videos about Disney Parks. I also look for content dealing with the area surrounding Walt Disney World. I was in Central Florida for the first time in the early 80s. On later trips, I have driven around looking for changes, improvements and additions to the area — new attractions, closed attractions and other alterations to the Orlando area landscape. Now, I can do that from the comfort of my own home via YouTube. Usually.

Mystery Fun House

In 1980 and '81 (my first trips to Orlando), my friends and I went to a local attraction called "Mystery Fun House." True to its name, Mystery Fun House boasted hours of fun in the form of a walk-thru, multi-room fun house with a hall of mirrors, a disorienting odd perspective room and many standard examples of carnival-level amusement. There was also an arcade and a pizza restaurant. The facade was notable for the giant fiberglass wizard character that spanned the entrance way and loomed high over entering guests. Mystery Fun House shut its doors for good in early 2001 after declining popularity in the shadow of Walt Disney World and Universal Studios. It was used as a Welcome Center for a time-share company until it was converted to its current role as one of many discount ticket centers to entice tourists. Curiously, I am not the only person interested in the path and eventual fate of the attraction.

YouTuber A and YouTuber B

This week, I found not one but two videos on YouTube, surprisingly, dealing with the same arcane subject. Both videos are part of a series by two different so-called YouTubers, each of whom have been posting videos to the site for nearly a decade. These two guys' videos employ nearly identical motifs. They both work alone, using their cellphone to shoot their video and later, do their own editing on a most-likely free piece of software. The videos appear choppy, jumpy, unscripted, unprofessional and poorly thought out. Both hosts seem unfamiliar with the subject on which they are reporting, using off-the-top-of-their-head commentary instead of actual research. Neither host appears to have crossed paths with a bar of soap or a bottle of shampoo since the Carter Administration. I suppose this is a good time to point out that they boast 14,800 and 502,000 subscribers respectively. (I have purposely blurred their identities.)

YouTuber A shoots a lot of scenes through the windshield of his RV. From what I understand, this is his trademark "thing." His narration is unfocused stream-of consciousness, often stumbling over his words while he gathers his thoughts. He also peppers his speech with a distracting amount of "cool" catchphrases that feel awkward and more suited to a person half his age. He injects more personal anecdotes than pertinent information regarding his various subjects. He is the star rather than the topic of the particular video. I found his inarticulate delivery to be both distracting and irritating. A dangerous combination. I can't figure out why he doesn't edit out and re-shoot some of his flubs and missteps. He obviously has the capabilities. I watched one of his videos that included him running to avoid a bee, with footage from his perspective accompanied by shrieks.

Yes... I know... there were windows right here.

I watched YouTuber B's video entitled "What Remains From Mystery Fun House." The eight-and-a-half minute piece consists of the host wandering the empty parking lot, wondering aloud if he will be asked to leave by employees in the building. Then, he films and points at the building from several different angles, noting the former location of the wizard figure as well as several windows that have been covered up. He repeats this in its entirety with each angle adjustment. A full five minutes in, he ventures up to a Plexiglas-covered sign left from the attraction's early days. He focuses on the sign for a very, very long time. He goes back to pointing out the former window locations again before wrapping things up when he is spotted by a suspicious ticket center employee.

Both videos were torture to watch, like that guy at a party who won't shut up about a movie that no one cares about and interrupts you when you attempt to change the subject. They are both in-your-face and are in possession of a face that you really don't want in yours.

I'm sure there is good and enjoyable content on YouTube. I have actually viewed some. I just have to remember where I left it.

And I won't be doing a podcast any time soon.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com