overture! curtain! lights!

Remember that song? If you're around my age, you probably still know all the words. I know I do. When I heard those magical opening lines, I knew the Bugs Bunny show was starting. And, boy, did I love Bugs Bunny.

Yeah, you probably have heard me gush and profess my love and admiration for all things Disney. But, my infatuation with The Walt Disney Company and its all of its offshoots didn't come into being until I was nearly out of my teens. When I was a kid, I loved to watch Bugs Bunny and his animated pals. Even though the cartoons I was watching were from my parents' era, they were timeless... except, of course, when they made topical references to World War II. But, Bugs Bunny was clever and sassy. He was a schemer and a loveable jerk. He was sort-of the "anti-Mickey Mouse"... and that aspect of his rascally (or "wascally" as Elmer Fudd would put it) personality was purposely exploited in his cameo appearance alongside Mickey Mouse in 1988's Who Framed Roger Rabbit? 

The Bugs Bunny Show (with its catchy theme song) premiered in primetime in October 1960. The show served as an anthology of theatrical Looney Tunes shorts, originally produced in the 1940s. Under the supervision of veteran animators Chuck Jones and Friz Freleng, the cartoons were trimmed for time and fitted with new title cards better suited for television. A brand-new introduction was created featuring Bugs Bunny and his long-time adversary Daffy Duck along with that memorable theme composed by the prolific team of Mack David and Jerry Livingston. (Gosh! Even Jerry Seinfeld knows it!) The Bugs Bunny Show ran on Tuesday evenings for three years until it was moved to its familiar spot on Saturday mornings where it stayed (in one form or another on one network or another) for four decades. 

It was in the middle 1960s that I became an avid viewer. Plopped in front of the Pincus family black & white TV set, with a big bowl of sugar frosted somethings on my pajama-clad lap, I was hypnotized by the animated antics of Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, Yosemite Sam, Porky Pig, Foghorn Leghorn, Sylvester & Tweety, Road Runner and Wile E. Coyote and even the one-joke premise of Pepe LePew. And when the opening fanfare of that infectious theme song started and Bugs and Daffy (in their vaudeville finest) took the stage, I was right there... singing along.

.... but, about that opening sequence.

If you recall, Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck kicked off each episode in yellow jackets, red bow ties, straw hats and canes (curiously, no pants). After the first verse of the song, a parade of familiar and beloved Warner Brothers characters would enter silently from the wings and march across the stage. 

There was Tweety and Speedy Gonzales and... wait..... just wait a second.... who the fuck is that kangaroo?

Yes, even as a child, this didn't sit right with me. There was Yosemite Sam and Sylvester the Cat and Elmer Fudd — all getting the ass-end of this buttinsky marsupial. How on earth did this Outback refugee get third placement? He even has the nerve to take the stage before Wile E. Coyote and Foghorn Leghorn make it into the shot! (Foghorn Leghorn, is last... I say, I say last!!) This was an outrage! Where was Porky Pig or the Tasmanian Devil or Road Runner or even Granny? What was this nondescript kangaroo doing rubbing elbows with these...these... stars! I never saw this kangaroo in any cartoon. I had no idea who he is or what he does. And I was especially irked that he was being treated like cartoon royalty among this actual cartoon royalty.

This has bugged the shit out of me for fifty years. Half a fucking century!

Retro TV network Me-TV has started showing cartoons on weekday mornings and I watch a good portion of the program before I leave for work. Bookended with corny schtick by the host and a puppet, an assortment of Warner Brothers cartoons are presented along with a smattering of background trivia. I don't pay very close attention to the show, as I have seen these cartoons countless times in my life. However, every so often, they slip one curiosity in that makes me take notice. Once they showed Horton Hatches the Egg, a 1942 cartoon that was the very first animated adaptation of a Dr. Seuss book. Around Christmastime, they showed a particularly gruesome take on The Little Match Girl from Columbia Studios in 1937. But, just recently, I saw a cartoon entitled Hop, Look and Listen from 1948. It was a vehicle for Sylvester the cat and featured one Hippety Hopper, a kangaroo that escaped from the zoo. My kangaroo. I sat up and paid close attention. It was the usual fare of "mistaken identity." Sylvester thinks the kangaroo is an overgrown mouse and attempts to catch and eventually eat it. Of course, if cartoons have taught us anything, we understand that all kangaroos are expert boxers and poor Sylvester has the shit kicked out of him several times over the course of seven minutes. But now, I had a starting point — a name.

A quick "google" search resulted in enough information to satisfy me. Hippety Hopper appeared in 14 Warner Brothers shorts between his debut in 1948 until 1964, when Warner Brothers gave up trying to endear him to its audience. Also, as fate would have it, Warner Brothers pulled the plug on its animation studio in 1964 with the decline in demand for theatrical cartoons. The plot of Hippety Hopper cartoons did not vary from the "escaped from a zoo/circus/pet shop and is mistaken for a giant mouse" premise. I guess Pepe LePew pulled the "one trick pony" act off better.

Still, I cannot understand how this minor, almost forgotten character from the annals of Warner Brothers' storied history, pushed himself between the "Fastest Mouse in all of Mexico" and the "Rootin'est Tootin'est Orneriest Cowpoke this side of the Pecos" on a show that ran for four decades and no one seemed to notice or care.

Just me.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

preaching and a-cryin', tellin' me I'm lyin' about a job

Once again, much to my shock and surprise, I found myself back on the job market. The last time I had to look for a job was approximately fifteen years ago. The methods for seeking employment had changed considerably since 2003 — and it was a bit daunting. 

First of all — and this was the scariest aspect of the whole procedure — fifteen years ago, I wasn't 56. Looking for a job when you are within ten years of retirement age is tough.  The reality is: the current world of graphic design is a young(er) person's world. And the actual process does not lend itself favorably to those of us with — shall we say — "experience." You see, there is no longer the opportunity to call a prospective employer and set up a face-to-face interview. Hell, you can't even drop by an office and present your resume because that office is on the fortieth floor of an office building and the lobby of that building is patrolled by uniformed guards that won't let you past the reception desk unless you actually know someone up in those lofty heights. Thanks Mohamed Atta, you motherfucker.

So, the preferred avenue at which potential employment is sought is now — ta daa! — the internet. Yep, websites like Monster and Indeed and Glassdoor and ZipRecruiter and LinkedIn are the way to go. A bunch of impersonal, electronic equivalents of the newspaper want ads or that bulletin board down at the  local supermarket. Every morning (I was still waking up at the same time I did when I was working), I'd diligently check each one of these websites and apply to each and every applicable position — and even a few that were slightly outside of my realm of expertise. I posted a reworked, streamlined version of my Curriculum Vitae, featuring only bulleted lists of my four most recent positions, edited down from a thirty-five year career of graphic design, illustration, publishing, advertising, printing.... I should probably turn this into a bulleted list. Once a job is applied for electronically, the next step is waiting. And waiting. And waiting. You see, there is literally no contact with those nameless, faceless folks who are offering jobs. There is no room for follow-up. There's no "hey, did you get my resume and can we discuss my qualifications?" There's no way of knowing if there even is a job available or if these folks are just testing the waters. Or worse... something more malevolent.

Nope.

On the final day of my tenure with my most recent employer, I received an email from one of the many companies to which I electronically sent my resume. The person identified herself as a recruiter from Tesla Motors. I vaguely remember applying for a graphic designer opening offered by an ad on one of the many online job boards. The recruiter, Sarah, invited me to an interview via Google Hangouts, a mode of communication with which I was unfamiliar. I figured it's some new technology that "the kids" use, so I better learn fast, lest I appear out of touch with current technology. Some quick research  and a bit of "trial-and-error" revealed that, once I was logged in to my Google account, I had access to Google Hangouts. I'm pretty savvy with other forms of social media, so I was able to figure out Google Hangouts in no time. I contacted Sarah at the appointed time and we began what looked like a Facebook Messenger session (or the old AOL IM, for those of you closer to my age). I thought it was a bit odd that Sarah was using a "GMail" account and not an official "Tesla Motors" email address, but when the chat turned to real graphic design questions, I changed my focus to the more important subject at hand. I was asked about my past design experience and the interviewer soon posed questions related to logo design and the entire creative process, using terms that were specific to the industry. Next, I was briefly informed that this was a "work-from-home" position and would require me to outfit a home office, then the conversation quickly turned to comfortable salary and benefits. After nearly an hour online, Sarah said she would present a transcript of our conversation to the hiring manager and I should "stand-by." And "stand-by" I did. For twenty minutes... while I was in the train station waiting for a train. (That's right, I participated in this entire interview on my cellphone!) Finally, Sarah returned to our "chat" and told me I had been hired by Tesla Motors. Then, she immediately sent me a lengthy list of everything that I would be required to purchase for my home office, including a Mac Pro and software, a Wacom tablet, a high-resolution flatbed scanner, a color laser printer and sundry other items that amounted to the contents of the average Staples store. I asked if I could have a phone number to speak to someone regarding this rather large purchase and eventual reimbursement. She assured me I would be speaking to someone soon, but failed to supply a phone number of any kind, instead, opting to supplement her list of essential equipment. I waited for a pause in the texts, quickly interjecting that I didn't think this was the job for me. She only replied "Okay" and disconnected from our conversation without inquiring about a reason for my change of heart. I was honestly confused and I second guessed my decision. Did I just turn down a job? But, the more I thought about it, the less sense the whole thing made.

A few weeks later, after sending countless (and I do mean countless!) applications to more employment offers than I can remember, I received an email from one "Michelle Technow," a recruiter from TSC Apparel. TSC was one of the many companies that was advertising for a graphic designer on several of the job-seeking websites. In the email, Michelle indicated that she wished to conduct an interview via Google Hangouts. I immediately became suspicious. Again, she was using a GMail email address instead of one from the company with whom she claimed to be associated. 

This time, I did a little pre-interview investigating. I went to the TSC website. They are indeed a legitimate company that supplies clothing to businesses on a wholesale level. I navigated to the "Careers" page of their website, where I was greeted by this message...

Holy shit! This is unbelievable! I took a screenshot of the message and quickly opened a Google Hangouts window to let Michelle Technow that I was ready to proceed with my interview. And I played dumb.

 

I waited a minute, then I sent the screen shot to her, along with a question about it.

And, again, I waited for a reply from Michelle Technow.... or whoever the fuck was on the other end of this bogus chat. I got nothing. As a matter of fact, the bright and colorful avatar of her (alleged) face went dim. I noticed that my message failed to send.

What on earth is this bullshit? Have people really sunk this low? Scamming some poor sap who is trying to find a job? Really? Really?? That's on the same level as kicking a puppy or cursing at a baby (and we certainly know that people do that!). Makes me lose my faith in humanity. Wait a second.... I have no faith in humanity. I haven't for a long time.

Anyway, after a long, tedious and very discouraging period of job hunting, I am now, once again, employed.

And I'm staying away from Google Hangouts.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

I saw the harbor lights

Here's a fun fact: When the Food Network conceived the show Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives and offered hosting duties to Guy Fieri, they had to explain what exactly a diner was to the boorish, peroxide-blonde celebrity chef. He just could not grasp the concept, despite being a "restaurateur"* for over twenty years.

However, anyone who grew up on the East Coast — specifically in close proximity to New Jersey — is very familiar with diners and all they have to offer. Poor, derided New Jersey is home to the largest collection of diners in the world — a claim that is completely understandable. A drive through any small town (Jersey has a lot of them) will reveal scenery regularly dotted with gleaming chrome eateries. Diner menus are renowned for their encyclopedic proportions, offering page after laminated page of every possible configuration of meal from hearty breakfasts to full-course dinners (with soup or salad, choice of two vegetables and Jell-o or rice pudding for dessert) to late-night snacks. Even those watching their weight need not worry, as diners notoriously offer "lo-cal" versions of popular dishes. Diner owners seem to think that a hamburger served with peaches and cottage cheese constitutes suitable diet fare. Every diner offers pretty much the same, abundant selection and the same quality food. Not great, but somehow, comforting. After all, it's kind of difficult to screw up eggs or a tuna melt.

I have always loved eating in diners. They are a fascinating time capsule, a place where eras from the past remain a part of the present. What is really fascinating  is that, no matter where they are located, they are all pretty much the same. Same set up. Same decor, Same wait staff. You know what i mean. That teased-haired woman with the doily on her head and too much rouge on her cheeks, her voice roughened by years of cigarette smoke, her vocabulary peppered with lots of "hon"s and "sweetie"s and "not a problem"s. My dad's favorite diner was The Heritage, a place just a few blocks from our house. Our family ate there often. My dad ate breakfast there every weekday morning for decades, and after my mom died, he ate every meal there. The Heritage had a waitress that fit that description. As a matter of fact, all of their waitresses fit that description.

This past summer, Mrs. Pincus and I took regular drives to and from Atlantic City. Sometimes, we went to spend a day on the beach. Sometimes, we went to take care of other obligations. One evening, we were driving back home to Philadelphia. As we drove, we discussed our options for dinner. Growing weary of pizza and sandwiches from Wawa (we love 'em, but...), we decided to stop at one of the many diners that we usually pass on our routine transversing of Route 30. The narrow, mostly two-lane, highway that is Route 30 snakes through many small towns — Pomona, Absecon, Egg Harbor City, Chesilhurst, Elwood, Hammonton — in Southern New Jersey. For a lot of these tiny burgs, the only place to eat is a diner. Just ahead of us, between a church and an Auto Zone, we spotted the soft glowing neon of the Harbor Diner. But this time, we stopped.

There's a light....

The Harbor Diner is pretty unspectacular. It's chrome-clad exterior is similar to a thousand other diners on Route 30 and throughout South Jersey. Inside, the faux leather booths, silver-flecked Formica counter and other characteristics were, again, as nondescript as any other establishment in its category. A young lady grabbed two hefty menus and directed us to a booth along the front of the narrow building. We scanned the numerous offerings for something that did not include meat. On most diner menus, the vegetarian-friendly options are plentiful. I decided on an entree from the typewritten dinner menu that was attached with a clip to the pre-printed menu, expanding the selections by at least 30. The waitress — another young lady who bore all the signs of evolving into the waitress I described earlier — deposited glasses of water on our table and asked if we were ready to order. My wife ordered a lettuce and tomato club sandwich, an assemblage that sometimes requires a bit of explanation and garners strange looks when it is made clear that no bacon is to be included. However, our waitress scribbled the order on a pad without so much as a blink. I ordered grilled salmon and was promptly informed that salmon was not available. I settled, instead, for fried flounder, a diner staple and a point of misty reference from my youth. I ordered fried flounder at The Heritage Diner more times that I can remember. A short time later, our food arrived. It was typical diner food and it was good. Really good. Afterwards, Mrs. P got rice pudding to take home.

A week or so later, we stopped at the Harbor Diner. This time we were with our son and his girlfriend, returning from a relaxing day on the Atlantic City beach. Our family was greeted by the staff of the Harbor Diner as though we  were regulars. We ordered and we all enjoyed our choices. It was a good meal, nothing spectacular or exotic. Just good food at ridiculously cheap prices.

Cluck and Z with Murphy on the side

A few weeks went by and, once again, Mrs. P and I found ourselves at the Harbor Diner. This time it was late, nearly 11 PM. We looked over the menu and decided to have breakfast nine hours early. Mrs. Pincus ordered sunny-side up eggs, toast and home fried potatoes. Strangely, the preparation of the eggs required a bit of additional explanation. The waitress asked if my wife if she wanted her sunny-side up eggs "over easy." My wife smiled and clarified, "No, sunny-side up." The waitress nodded without further expression and jotted something down on her little pad. I ordered a mushroom-cheese omelette and its standard accompaniments. When our food was brought out, I promptly took a picture of my classic-looking platter and posted the result on Instagram. Google Maps, into which I am automatically logged on, asked If I wished to post my photo to the gallery created for the Harbor Diner. I happily accepted, uploaded my photo and then dug into my late dinner/early breakfast.

A few days later, I got an alert from Google. Someone had a question for me about the Harbor Diner, based on the photo I posted, no doubt. I clicked the notice and this eloquent, astute dissertation popped up:

I read it. And reread it. And reread it again. Technically, it wan't a question. Obviously, this fellow was disappointed with his visit to our newly discovered. eatery. Even after several run-throughs, I was still confused by this poor customer's sentiment. His anger seemed to have totally obliterated his ability to use punctuation, save for a set of misplaced ellipses. That aside, I sort of surmised that he saw a young lady (presumably a waitress, although he does not make that clear) smoking in the "ketchen," which I understand to be the area where the food is prepared and not the late creator of the popular.Dennis the Menace comic strip. His food was "diff" and "cold," which, unless it was ice cream or gazpacho (which I do not believe they offer), is unacceptable. Actually, I'm not sure was is acceptable, as far as "diff" is concerned. He concludes by saying that he is paying for this kind of service and he would go there "agian" (sic).

I was saddened by Mr Google "M"s convoluted rant cum complaint about the Harbor Diner. I cannot speak for Mr. "M," (actually he can barely speak for himself), but I know that I will happily return to the Harbor Diner, if given the opportunity. 

Perhaps next summer. Perhaps next week.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

*allegedly