Be Joyous. Or Else
If life seems jolly rotten
There’s something you’ve forgotten
And that’s to laugh and smile and dance and sing
When you’re feeling in the dumps
Don’t be silly, chumps
Just purse your lips and whistle – that’s the thing
If life seems jolly rotten
There’s something you’ve forgotten
And that’s to laugh and smile and dance and sing
When you’re feeling in the dumps
Don’t be silly, chumps
Just purse your lips and whistle – that’s the thing
Exclusive video! Must credit Sippican Cottage!
Or, you know, The IT Crowd.
Many, that is pure cornball stuff. It’s the kind of show you avoid like the plague if you read a description of it, because you’re too cool for school, yo. But if you’re dragged to it, you end up laughing like a hyena. One wonders just how much dragging it takes to get a president back into Ford’s Theater.
It’s vaudeville and the circus, but edgy. It’s staggering to think of how much practice it took to make the juggling look like an offhand detail in the act.
If you’ve never tried it, juggling is really quite interesting. There was a bit of a fad for it back in the 80s. Davis makes a joke out of the primary practice for juggling at the beginning of the act. He throws one ball back and forth. That’s the muscle memory portion of the necessary practice. You have to be able to toss the balls in the same parabolic arc, over and over, without thinking about it. Then you perform 2/3 of a full cycle by starting with a ball in each hand, throwing one ball in the air, and “exchanging” the balls when the first ball is about halfway to the opposite hand. Then you graduate to a full exchange starting with two balls in one hand and one in the other. That’s where it gets interesting, and counter-intuitive. You can’t look at the balls. If you look at any one of the balls, you’ll miss the other two. You have to look out into the middle distance, and let the balls pass in front of you, and learn to simply let your hands find the balls without concentrating on any individual ball.
That’s how you juggle. Learn it, and maybe you can perform for a president or speaker of the house or a senator or two. You’ll need some jokes, though. Sorry, I can’t help you there. I don’t know how to tell jokes.

I was never in the Boy Scouts. Our family wasn’t the joining type. We mostly steered clear of organizations of all kinds. If we wanted to go bowling, we went to the bowling alley and did bowling things. Matching shirts were not required. Enough of my friends were Boy Scouts, however, for me to know what’s involved. I got to wondering how the Boy Scout ethos is holding up after all these years.
Come to think of it, I’m not sure the Boy Scouts even exists anymore. I seem to recall rather a lot of lawsuits. I better check.
Well, I’m back. Sure enough, if you squint hard enough, the Boys Scouts still exists. Except it’s just not for boys anymore, which in most ways defeats its stated purpose. But it’ll still do for the purposes of our discussion. The Scouts take an oath. Oaths used to be pretty serious public declarations of intent. Way back when, oaths were understood to be the Terms of Service consent form for standing outside the Pearly Gates with some ‘splainin’ to do if you broke them. The only thing people adhere to as rigidly as an oath nowadays is a grudge over someone who took your parking space. Every other promise seems pretty conditional at this point.
Anyway, the Scout Oath says you’ll obey the Scout Law, which reads as follows:
A Scout is Trustworthy, Loyal, Helpful, Friendly, Courteous, Kind, Obedient, Cheerful, Thrifty, Brave, Clean and Reverent.
I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot here, but a Scout should also put a comma after Clean, as God and Strunk and White intended. But let’s not quibble. That’s a pretty good rundown of how a good male citizen should behave. I have no idea how a good female citizen should behave. I’ve only met one in the last thirty years, and I married her, so the sample size is too small to make any sweeping judgments.
Since the scouts of all flavors include girls now, you could assume that they intend for girls to act like boys, but I am beset by doubts on that score. Making all the boys into little girls is probably more like it. I’ve noticed that the gender uniformity river only flows one way. But a good citizen is a good citizen, wherever you find one. Let’s see how well the average citizen is adhering to the precepts of Scout Law, with or without the BSA’s ministrations in their yute. Let’s go to Walmart!
If there’s anyplace better than Wallie World to put your finger on the pulse of society, I’m glad I haven’t experienced it. I’m not sure if the county lockup or a methadone clinic would be a sideways move, or a downward hop from our tiny town Wallie World. Since it’s basically the only game in town, you get a good blast of what most people are like, because most people are required to go there if they want stuff like groceries or clothes named George.
I essentially never leave my house, so I’m going to rely on my wife’s rundown of the goings on at the Walton’s Rodeo Drive for Rodeo clowns. She always returns from grocery shopping there somewhat haggard. I ask her about her trips the way Henry Hill queries Karen after her trip to see Jimmy the Gent. She likes to pause to compose herself first, and of course wash herself thoroughly with bleach, including her eyes. Then we get down to it. I’ll see if I can compare tales from her most recent trip to the entries in the Scout Law, and see how Ammurhiga is shaping up recently.
So it appears that adding girls to the Boy Scouts didn’t do the trick of making good citizens. I think we need to add all the adults, too, and even geriatrics to the membership. We’ll need about five hundred Cardinal Richelieu types in charge of it to start over properly. And we should get that guy from Ben Hur that hits the post with big mallets in the trireme to indicate ramming speed to supervise the meetings.
[Update: Many thanks to Bob for his generous contribution to the tip jar. Contributions like his keep this blog, and blogger, going.]
Alrighty then. We need something to argue about. Politics is out, of course. All smart people always have the same brand of politics. Which one? Smart people never tell.
No, we need to argue about something more substantial than the fenceposts currently serving in government at all levels. I can’t stand the thought of hashing out the usual Star Wars or Star Trek conundrum, or Ginger or Mary Ann sorts of things. I don’t care what color that dress was, either. Let’s squabble about something more substantial. Eyepatches! Which musician wore them best? It’s a meaty topic, fer sure. If you like, you can base your assessments on style alone, or give extra credit for glaucoma or car wrecks or whatever.
We’ll wade right in with Davey “Ziggy” Jones, who may not win in the eyepatch competition, but certainly is rocking the finest mullet. That’s worthy of the NHL in the 90s right there:
Pretty strong entry. I like that the guitar isn’t plugged in. Fake eyepatch, fake strumming, it’s all good. I hope those aren’t his real teeth, though.
Next up, Dead or Alive, doing their (as far as I know) only hit. I don’t know much about this band, but I’ll bet the lead singer has heard of David Bowie:
I’m not sure the addition of a textual quality to the eyepatch added much to the whole enchilada.
Let’s move on. We’re fiddling our fingers in the busted chips at the bottom of the Glam Rock bowl with that last one. We need to take it up a couple hundred notches. Bryan Ferry nearly invented Glam Rock. Let’s see how he does:
Now we’re talking. I have no idea what kind of degenerate activity Bryan got up to, probably with those two singers he kidnapped from the airport stewardess lounge, but for once, a mother was right, and he really did put his eye out doing it. The uniform’s nice too. Boy Scout in perdition, with an absinthe merit badge. Gonna be hard to beat.
Back in the USA, we have Kansas, and I mean that both ways:
Poor guy can’t see he has two guitars on. Let’s not mock him. Especially when we can just make fun of the lead singer.
That last one looked too, well, medicinal to be an true image enhancer. But we’ve saved what I think is the best for last. This guy has it all. He’s obviously as dissipated as Ferry could ever hope to be. He’s up for any sort of shenanigans, you can just tell. After all, he used to sing a song titled, When you’re in love with a beautiful woman, it’s hard.
The dude is friends with Shel Silverstein, for criminey’s sake. That means he’s capable of anything. I’m trying to picture the moonshine still explosion or knife fight or gator-wrasslin’ gig that harvested an ojo from the dude. He’s ahead by five lengths in our sweepstakes coming into the home stretch, if you ask me.
Feel free to vote for your favorite in the comments. I’ll keep an eye out for you.
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