I'm Not A Cat Guy, But I'm Still Really Mourning Grumpy Cat

Grumpy Cat died last month at the age of 7. 

The big, sad news of the past month is that Grumpy Cat passed away back in mid-May at the age of 7.

She was a celebrity, and word of her passing was all over the news, seemingly almost to the level of press coverage at the deaths of Michael Jackson and Princess Di.

And no wonder. Grumpy Cat was the ultimate internet celebrity, becoming one of the most popular memes out there.

She went to the SXSW festival in 2013 and people lined up around the block to take selfies with Grumpy Cat. She was probably the hottest celebrity at the star-studded event.

Grumpy Cat did have a thrilling life, making appearances on television shows and ball games. She went to Broadway to visit the cast of "Cats," --- obviously!

Grumpy Cat also "wrote" a bestselling book called "Grumpy Cat: A Grumpy Book."

As NPR reported:

"The Grumpy Cat book promised to 'put any bad mood in perspective' - and that seems to be a main source of the mourning and tributes that were triggered by the unexpected and unwelcome news that one of the worlds most adorable grouches is no longer with us. 

'I loved the cat,' one fan wrote, 'I find the absolute pleasure of meeting her once and I will never forget it. I will never forget the first time I saw her face! I learned much from her an deeply saddened and devastated to hear of her passing.'"

This fame was all because Grumpy Cat was a relatable meme. I'm not really into internet memes, but this one fit my occasional moods perfectly. Same with everybody else. Grumpy Cat made it OK to not be relentlessly cheerful all the time, as long as you didn't let the grumpiness harden into hate or deep gloom.

Even President Obama, during a speech, did an imitation of Grumpy Cat while mocking some negative acting Republicans.

Doris Day Passes Away At Age 97

I have been temporarily far too busy to post on this here blog thingy lately. I hope to post more soon.

For now, though, I should mark the passing today of the great Doris Day, who passed away today at age 97.  As the loving obits all note, she really had a full, busy life of talent.

I'll save these good tributes for the experts. I'll just mark her passing with this tribute: A video of Doris Day and her famous song Que Sera Sera

Appreciating Chuck Barris, Of Gong Show Fame - One Of World's Most Unique Characters

Chuck Barris died this week at the age of 87. He was
lowbrow, for sure, and I'm eternally grateful to him for that

Word arrived this morning that Chuck Barris, best known as the emcee of the very, very lowbrow 1970s talent contest television program "The Gong Show" has died at the age of 87.

I was a teenager when "The Gong Show" was on, so it fit my mentality perfectly. It was cruel, gaudy, annoying, anti-intellectual, druggy, stupid and a complete waste of time

In other words, perfect.

Most of the acts on "The Gong Show" were amateur, and many were not very good, to say the least.

One act involved two young women eating Popsicles very suggestively, which won them gongs, except of course from Jaye P Morgan, the, shall we say, sexually free regular judge on the program.

Panelist Phillis Diller gave the "PopsicleTwins" as they were called a score of zero on a scale of 0-10, but Jaye P Morgan gave them a 10, saying, "Do you know that's the way I started?"

Yeah, OK. And the show was really that tacky.

(For those who are somehow unfamiliar with the wonders of "The Gong Show," if a judge didn't like an act and couldn't bear watching it anymore, he or she would strike a big gong behind the panel, thus ending the act.

"The Gong Show" was impeccably chaotic. It was obvious that Barris, and many of the judges, were on something, and that something wasn't just a natural good mood. We're talking pharmaceuticals, folks!

By the way, there were some interesting judges on "The Gong Show," including David Letterman before he got really famous. Steve Martin played the banjo on the program. The band Oingo Boingo made a bizarre appearance.

Mare Winningham was on the show, operating under an alias on The Gong Show, singing at age 16. Pee-wee Herman, before he was Pee-wee Herman performed on the show as part of a jazzy duo called Suave and Debonair.

As Billboard reports, other celebrity judges that somehow got roped into doing the show included June Allyson, Milton Berle, Ruth Buzzi, Adrienne Barbeau, Dione Warwick, Sarah Vaughn, Joan Rivers, Tony Randall, Johnny Paycheck, Martin Mull, Wolfman Jack and Peter Lawford.

This is probably the reason we had all these luminaries on "The Gong Show": Whether you admit it or not, all of us like to wallow, to slum it from time to time. It's an opportunity to let your guard down, to not think, to take a break from always burnishing your image.

Chuck Barris understood this, which is why he had so many unlikely successes in life. And made us happy.

Very little of what Barris did with his life Changed History, but his life added plenty of color to plenty of other peoples' lives. Those were gaudy colors, and that was the point.

Barris kept popping up in American pop culture in random ways. He was kind of a smart, goofy, shameless but still loveable Forrest Gump.

As the New York Times reports, Barris first turned up as a guy to babysit a young ABC star named Dick Clark to keep him out of trouble during the Payola Scandal in the 1950s. (Though the Times reported that Barris mostly spent his time on that job drawing on pads of paper.)

The scandal involved the manufacture of radio hits by paying for radio play. 

Barris then wrote  the 1962 fizzy pop song "Palisades Park", performed by Freddy Cannon.

By 1965, Barris hit his glorious tackiness stride by created the television game show "The Dating Game," in which a bachelor or bachlorett would choose a date based on answers of three possible suiters hidden behind a screen.

After that, Barris created the equally lowbrow "The Newlywed Game," that beautifully icky game show that had newly-married couples test how in tune they really were with each other.

Then, in the mid-1970s, of course came "The Gong Show," which echoes on television today.

As the New York Times put it:

"The ghost of "The Gong Show" is evident in numerous reality-television shows of more recent vintage - the early rounds of any given season of  "American Idol", for instance."

See? Barris was a visionary of sorts.

New episode of "The Gong Show" were only produced for about two years, but the party lived on in syndication.

Barris faded from the scene a bit until he wrote the book, "Confessions of a Dangerous Mind" in 1984 where he claimed that in addition to his being a game show king, he was also an assassin for the CIA.

Now, that seems completely improbable, but with Barris, you have to wonder. Was he?  Barris never gave a straight answer, but the CIA says Barris had nothing to do with them. But you never know.   Just another bizarre chapter in an odd life

Nevertheless, a movie based on the book became a smash hit movie directed by George Clooney and starring Sam Rockwell as Barris.

He went on to write several more books in recent years.

The New York Times said Barris would have preferred to be rememberd as an author, but he knew - correctly - that he'd be remembered differently.

Barris said: "I think on my tombstone it's just going to say, 'Gonged at last,' and I'm stuck with that."

I suppose Barris can be partly blamed for the so-called dumbing of the American mind.

However, as I said, he gave us all many welcome chances to go slumming in the most kitschy, strange and dim resources of American culture.

My low brows are very low withiBarris' legacy.

And I'm eternally grateful to him for that.

To give you a refresher course on how delightful, stupidly wonderful "The Gong Show" was, here's a few clips.

Here, Barris, and the judges, are particularly taken by an act called "The Worms," so much so, that Barris kept demanding encore performances:




Next, here's juggler Hillary Carlip on "The Gong Show" performing a glorious, bad physical pun routine that still has me laughing out loud. (This might be my favorite Gong Show clip.)



And here's that "Popsicle Girls" clip, the one I mentioned in the narrative. It's the most cringe-worthy thing I've seen in ages. Also, TOTALLY NSFW

RIP Mary Tyler Moore. I'll Fling My Hat In The Air In Your Honor

Opening credit of the Mary Tyler Moore show where
she gleefully throws her hat into the Minneapolis air.

Word arrived today that Mary Tyler Moore has died at the age of 80.

The accomplished actor and comedian was known for many roles in her decades in the business, but everybody most relates to her lead role in that 1970s show "The Mary Tyler Moore Show."

I think Moore, and her role on that show, helped smooth the way for what could have been an even rougher ride for women in the 1970s than they otherwise could have had.

The 1970s was a time when women were asserting their demands for equal rights, equal pay, equal everything that they deserved.

Women are still (!!!)  fighting that battle (See: Womens March last weekend) but I think Moore and her show helped show that efforts toward equality weren't such a bad thing. She normalized the idea of a single, independent, intelligent woman who, as the show's song went, could make it on her own.

For an amazing number of people in the 1970s, that was too much of a concept to bear. Women were supposed to be the supportive little wifey, at least to some minds.  She was sort of a transitional figure: Still sometimes deferential to men, other times asserting herself.

In the Mary Tyler Moore show, her character, Mary Richards, was a television producer and journalist, good at her job if, like everybody else, imperfect.

The very first episode of the show set a very good tone. Mary Richards was applying for a position at the newsroom of fictional television station WJM. Her would-be boss, Lou Grant, asked her a lot of unwelcomed questions about her age and relationship status.

Mary responded: "You've been asking a lot of very personal questions that don't have a thing to do with my qualifications for this job."

Lots of people cheered at that moment.

In a very nice appreciation in today's Minneapolis Star-Tribune (the Mary Tyler Moore show was set in Minneapolis) the newpaper had this truism to say.

"Some early viewers balked at Richards' eagerness to please the men in her life and the fact that she almost always referred to her gruff boss as Mr. Grant. But even leading feminists recognized Richards as a breakthrough figure. 

'The was a happy human image of a woman as an independent person that several generations of young (and not so young so young) women alone stopped suffering if they didn't have a date on a Saturday night,' Betty Friedan wrote in a 1978 article in the Washington Post. 

Richards wasn't exactly a goody two shoes. As the series progressed, we watched her demand a raise, get suspended, go to jail to protect a source and come down with a case of the giggles at a funeral.

On occasion she stayed out all night. She was on the pill."

I also like to think Mary Tyler Moore, through her character Mary Richards, helped a lot of men warm to the idea of dating an interesting women who had her own thoughts and ambitions.

That seems quaint now, but it wasn't then.

Maybe we should all get online and binge watch all kinds of Mary Tyler Moore episodes tonight. Can't hurt. Can only help.

There's a statue of Mary Tyler Moore in Minneapolis. It depicts that famous moment in the opening credits of the show where she gleefully throws her hat up in the air on a busy Minneapolis street corner.

Moore once said:

"I hope when a little girl walks by the statue, she'll ask her mother who that was, and it'll be explained to her that she was a young women who had a dream and followed it through."

That's still a message most young women, and men for that matter, need to hear. Over and over.

Thanks, Mary. Because of your help, I think we'll make it after all.

Here's two clips in remembrance of the great MTM, first, the famous opening credits to the Mary Tyler Moore show, then the famous Chuckles the Clown funeral scene:

The Woman Who Was The Voice Of Judy Jetson And Penelope Pitstop Has Died

Janet Waldo with a drawing of her character
Judy Jetson. Waldo died this week at the age of 96.  

Remember "The Jetsons"?

The futuristic cartoon from the 1960s featured a family living way off in the future, and it included the perky teenage Judy Jetson.

She was the one with the gravity-defying ponytail who always seemed to be gushing about the hot guys at school. You know, hunks like Buddy Blastoff, Larry Luner and Ricky Rocket.

Judy Jetson's voice was so gushy and like wow you practically went into a diabetic coma listening to her.

The reason I bring all this up is, sadly, the voice of Judy Jetson, Janet Waldo, has passed away at the age of 96. 

She was an iconic voice of other young women and teenagers in mid to late 20th century cartoons, including the voice of Josie in "Josie And the Pussy Cats."

She was also the voice of Penelope Pitstop. You remember her. That perky voice again, this time with a southern accent. "Heyelp!, Heyelp!"

RIP to an icon of 1960s cartoons.

Here's Judy Jetson, going gaga over boys on The Jetsons:

Henry "Red" Sutkoski: 4/24/1920 - 1/23/2016

My dad, Red Sutkoski, in his tavern, Red's Place, shortly
before he retired in 1991. Red's Place
was a popular gathering spot in West Rutland,
Vermont for the four decades my father owned the place.
Photo by my brother in law, David Jenne. 

My dad, Red Sutkoski passed away Saturday afternoon, January 23, 2016 at the age of 95.

He had a damn good run, that's for sure.

He wasn't well known outside of Vermont, but in a time when we can all be overwhelmed by the greed, crassness, ill will and anger out there, the whole world could learn from his grace, giving nature and gentle wit.

Dad was born in 1920 to Polish immigrants in what was then the busy marble quarrying town of West Rutland, Vermont.

Dad, known to everyone from Day One as Red for his red hair, lived a sweep of West Rutland's history:

He saw onstruction of the duplexes built for Vermont Marble Company workers, the Great Flood of 1927, the Great Depression, the labor riots among West Rutland quarry workers in the 1930s.

Red saw Prohibition, during which he good naturedly took note of who got busted for making what dad called "Screech," which was the shockingly abysmal home made booze people discreetly made during that time.

Along with most of West Rutland's young men, Red marched off to World War II. He came back, opened his restaurant and bar, and from that perch saw the town at first thrive with the marble quarries, then go into a near death spiral when the quarries closed and the jobs evaporated.

He watched West Rutland struggle back from those days, and had a hand in its slow rebirth, by encouraging its redevelopment while honoring the community's history.

Red was the unofficial Town Historian, as he was the go to person to ask whenever you wanted to know what happened in town anytime after 1920, the year he was born. His mind was sharp to the end.

He was much more than West Rutland's memory vault, and everybody in town knew it. His warmth, humor, compassion and friendship brought out the best in the town,. The best in its people. His family. Me.

My dad, Red Sutkoski outdoors in his younger days. He loved
being outside, especially if it was working on a project
to benefit those around him. 

That restaurant and tavern Red owned for 40 years in the heart of West Rutland had the official name of Marble Valley Restaurant, but everybody just knew it as Red's Place.

It was the spot where marble quarry workers, Polish immigrants, truck drivers, the lonely, the gregarious, and the occasional drunk went, as the Billy Joel song says, to forget about life for awhile.

Or maybe embrace it. With Red's laughter ringing out over the sound of either a Polish polka or Patsy Cline warbling from the juke box, the smoky Red's Place was the most welcoming and lively place in town.

There's even a song by the excellent Vermont band Starline Rhythm Boys called Red's Place that is about my dad and his bar. It captures the vibe of the bar, and my dad just perfectly. (Watch the video of the Boys performing that song at the bottom of this blog post.)

Red's Place wasn't fancy, and neither was the clientele. Dad liked it that way. Sure, he embraced and befriended everyone,  including the rich and powerful. As long as they didn't abuse people with their power and money, or victimized them with it.

Dad's soft spot, though, was for the underdog, which was why Red's Place was such a good fit for him, and such a good fit for West Rutland.

Red's Place was a second home to quarry workers, Polish immigrants, truck drivers, farmers, and other town residents who just wanted a friendly refuge for the evening.

Many of us Americans are perhaps inadvertently raised to celebrate the rich, the powerful, the flashy, the thrilling. And that's all OK, except when we do so at the expense of everyone else. Or worse, we ignore the underdogs as not important and not worth our time.

Dad knew everyone was important, and he showed it by being welcoming to everybody. As long as they weren't hurting anyone else.

Dad's example in his life and work showed me how to do the opposite of that. He taught me to seek out the people we're "supposed" to ignore and dismiss. The ones that have no power, who live quiet lives, who live humbly, through choice or circumstance.

For all that I'm a much richer, happier, well-rounded person.  We should all live by dad's example. The world would be a much better place if we did.

Red Sutkoski as a young man reading the paper with a faithful
companion at his West Rutland, Vermont home. It was
a perfect combination for him. Red loved animals,
and he was always curious about what
was going on in the world around him. 

That doesn't mean we should be somber sympathizers to those who aren't at the top of the heap. The only way dad's example worked, how his life worked, was through a sense of humor.

If there's not laughter, according to the Rules of Red, there's not much else to live for.

So Red loved telling stories of other's foibles, in a way that celebrates rather than ridicules our pratfall moments.

As mentioned, West Rutland had many Polish immigrants that came to work in the quarries during the later 19th century and early 20th century.  Many people, including dad, regularly spoke Polish.

At Red's Place, you'd often hear people yell out "Nostrovia," the Eastern European equivalent to "Cheers!" when people share a toast.

At one point, a new guy started coming into Red's Place. He was worried about fitting in, and didn't speak much. He listened, trying to understand the vernacular.

This guy kept hearing everyone saying "Nostrovia!" and finally decided to make his move. He bought the man sitting next to him a beer, and chimed in with that golden cheer. The man clinked the bottle with his new buddies at the bar and shouted, "Nice driveway!"

The moment was so funny that dad immediately embraced the Nice Driveway guy as a good friend.

Dad loved telling the "Nice Driveway" story, such that I've taken it upon myself to spread the tale. Everyone knows that when they share a drink or a bottle with me, we'll clink our glasses and tell each other, "Nice driveway."

If that's not a good tribute to Red, I don't know what is.

God knows dad's sense of humor was gloriously goofy.  One great example was a day a long time ago when he was walking along Marble Street in West Rutland.

A car with out of state plates pulled up along side him, its driver obviously lost and in need of directions. "How do you get to Tinmouth?,"  the woman in the passenger seat asked dad.

"My brother takes me,!" dad replied.

Of course, he said he was just kidding, and made sure the couple in the car got on the right road to Tinmouth.

Roads figure pretty prominently in my memory of dad.

When I was about six or seven years old,  the state was building a four lane road in back of our house. The Brand New Route 4.

The way the road was built in back of our house,  there was a two lane eastbound lane, situated at an elevation several feet above the parallel westbound lanes.

As they were building the road, dad and I would go up and explore the construction site. Often, he'd start singing, of all things, a bit of the Scottish song "The Bonny Banks of Loch Lomond."

The part he'd sing, was "You take the high road and I'll take the low road."

On the surface, his words could be taken as a simple commentary on the highway construction. But there was a deeper meaning. He was instructing me to take the high road in life, just as he did.  I guess the best way we can remember Red and his life is to always take that high road. And I'm not talking about eastbound Route 4 here.

Red's M.O. was to take the high road quietly.  He had a gorgeous habit of honoring history, and the people that came before him. In a remote corner of West Rutland, the Whipple Hollow Cemetery had become overgrown, broken down and all but forgotten by people in town.

So he took it upon himself to clear the broken trees and branches, rip out the weeds, replant grass and got some help fixing broken grave stones.  This kind of stuff dad did is infectious.

As dad was at the Whipple Hollow Cemetery one day, Markowski Excavating was working on a nearby construction project. When they saw what dad was doing, they quickly went up to the cemetery with an excavator to clear rocks, stumps and debris away.

Dad never worried about controversial topics, especially when they involved love. When I came out as gay and introduced him to Jeff Modereger, the man I would marry, dad embraced Jeff like he would his own son.

Dad's biggest goal was that his three children, me, Lynn and Laurie, would be happy and well taken care of. Dad went out knowing that the husbands and partners of us three kids were making us all happy, and would take care of us beautifully once he was gone.

My dad and my father-in-law, Don Modereger, were both about 90 years old when Jeff and I married. Don had a lot in common with Red, especially in terms of their warmth, generosity, compassion and good humor.

Red and Don's only face to face meeting was at my wedding. (Don lived way out in South Dakota, and it was hard for both Red and Don to travel.)

Even so, Red and Don immediately became good friends. I can't help but think the two fathers are sharing a good laugh as I write this.

This month, dad's physical heart finally gave out, worn down by 95 years of work and family and joy and troubles and worry and friendship.  But his metaphorical, spiritual and loving heart kept beating strong. It still is.

There's not going to be a wake or a funeral or anything like that, because Red said he didn't want such ceremonies.  He never wanted people to make a fuss over him. Red told us that if anybody wanted to mark his passing, they should just do something kind for someone else.

To close out and keep celebrating Dad's life,the video of the Starline Rhythm Boys performing "Red's Place" is coming up.

When you watch it, grab a beer, and another one to share with a friend. Clink the two bottles together, tell each other "Nice driveway," laugh, and then say or do something good for anyone you see around you.

Red will see this, fetch another round for his friends in heaven, and the party will go on here and up there. Just as he wants it.

So dad, all I can say to you now is "Nice driveway."

Country Great Lynn Anderson Dies; Hangs Out In Heaven's Rose Garden

Lynn Anderson died this past week of a heart attack at age 67. 

Lynn Anderson.  

The country great had a long string of hits. She's probably most remembered for her song "I Beg Your Pardon, I Never Promised You A Rose Garden."

It was a wonderful song about how nobody is perfect in a relationship, but just try to enjoy the good times when they come along.

My dad owned a tavern back then, when the song came out in 1970. I remember always hearing it on the jukebox when I stopped in to say hi to dad as a kid.

I guess it was a decent cry in your beer song.

Anyway, rest in peace, Lynn Anderson.

Here's a fun video from Britain's Top Of the Pops television show of Anderson performing "Rose Garden" when it was a big hit. Props to the British kids trying to figure out how to dance to country music

I also love the big hair female country singers had in the 1960s and 1970s.

Here's the video:

Marselis Parsons, Vermont's Walter Cronkite, Dies; One More Great Old School Journalist Gone

Marselis Parsons, the Walter Cronkite of Vermont
has passed away, and now even fewer of the
great old school Vermont journalists are left standing.  

Here in Vermont this week, we're mourning the loss of a guy named Marselis Parsons, who was widely regarded as the Walter Cronkite of Vermont.

Every evening for a quarter century, ending in 2009, Vermonters settled down to watch the Channel 3 news on WCAX, and there was Parsons, in just-the-facts-mode, reviewing the day's events in the Green Mountain State.

Vermont isn't always exactly a hotbed of breaking news, Bernie Sander's formal presidential campaign kickoff this week notwithstanding.

"Div" as Parsons was called, had an hour to fill, including the sports and weather, of course, but as anchor and news director, was always able - nightly - to make our gloriously weird state understandable.

Parsons delivered the news in a steady, deadpan voice, never seeming to break his evenhandedness or show emotion. Except of course when his mentor, WCAX anchor Mickey Gallagher, died suddenly, while at work at WCAX in 1984, and Parsons had to report that news.

He was an institution, having spent 40 years at WCAX, as a reporter, then anchor, then filing occasional stories in retirement

Parsons was as far removed as possible from the  "bubble headed bleach blonde, who comes on at 5, who can tell you about the plane crash with a gleam in her eye," as Don Henley famously indicted in his song "Dirty Laundry."

Parsons could sure as hell tell you about the plane crash, but he told you why the plane crash mattered, who it affected, and how such a thing could be prevented from happening again. He followed the stories to the end.

If it took five years for the plane crash investigation to end, by God at the end of five years, there was Parsons reporting on the outcome of that probe.

According to Michael Donoghue, writing in the Burlington Free Press:

"'I'm not crazy about being anchor,' he once told the Burlington Free Press. 'Most stations hire Ken and Barbie dolls.'

He wanted newshounds in his newsroom.

'Most of these reporters aren't going to win a beauty contest. But I think they are good reporters, he said once, pointing at his newsroom."

Makes you want to rid your cable news stations of all those perky blondes reciting a script instead of reporting the news, doesn't it?

 I thought it was fitting that  Donoghue of the Burlington Free Press -  another giant of Vermont journalism -  wrote the definitive news obit about Parsons.

Donoghue, along with Parsons, are, or were, the last of the old school Vermont journalists. The kind I'll miss the most when they're gone or retired.

Oh, sure, I'm a fan just like the rest of the world of the way news is done now. Disasters become visual "weather porn" on the nightly news, and the important parts of those stories are buried.

I enjoy watching the smarmy news satire of Jon Stewart and John Oliver. I'll even indulge in the news-free, facts are stupid conservatism of Fox News. 

I also accept that it's a different journalism world, where reporters are judged by the number of Twitter followers they have, or the number of Facebook comments they get.

There's nothing wrong with being entertaining and engaging. Any journalist wants to be that, as they should. However, news isn't always a popularity contest. Sometimes news is not candy, to be happily consumed. Sometimes it's medicine we have to take, to  understand the world around us.

That seems like a statement from Captain Obvious, but I'm not sure anymore.

I was in Vermont journalism for more than 20 years, until the Burlington Free Press let me go in 2013. I understood, and they understood. Journalism had changed, and I wasn't sure I fully bought into the change. Both me and the Free Press knew it was time for me to go.

Parsons (and Donoghue, for that matter) stayed put. Stayed committed. Stayed on the story.

Parsons could have jumped ship and moved up the journalistic ladder to bigger markets, but he stayed in Vermont. That's where his commitment was.

In the Free Press, Donoghue writes:

"(Parsons) was happy being in Vermont, where there was easy access to politicians, judges and other newsmakers.

Parsons loved chasing hard news. When the city of Burlington experienced a large number of arson fires in the 1970s, Parsons, after finishing the 11 p.m. newscast, joined reporters and other media outlets hanging out at the police station trading war stories and waiting for the alarms.

He became an auxillary firefighter for the city of Burlington and sometimes would sleep over at the fire station. His blue Fiat convertible had an emergency red light to help him get to scenes quicker."

Nowadays, trading war stories and hanging out at the police station is no way to get more Twitter followers nowadays. But it's surely the best way to get the most compelling news.

Vermont Gov. Peter Shumlin summed it all up as he reacted to news that Parsons, 70, had died.

 "We lost a legend - the Walter Cronkite of Vermont," the governor said.

Gong Show's Gene, Gene The Dancing Machine Dies; Mourning The Loss Of A Bit Of Tackiness

Gene, Gene The Dancing Machine, left, always
sent Gong Show host Chuck Barris (right) into
spasms of uncontrollable joy.  

Word spread over the weekend that Gene, Gene, The Dancing Machine has died, says the Hollywood Reporter. 

Gene, Gene The Dancing Machine was a fixture on that 1970s bit of televised drug-induced weirdness know as the "Gong Show."

I am maybe the world's biggest fan of tastelessness, crassness and kitsch, so the Gong Show was heaven to me.

Upsettingly, the loss of Gene, Gene the Dancing Machine, whose real name was Gene Patton, means the world is a slightly less goofy place, and that's sad.

Actually, Gene, Gene The Dancing Machine was the most normal person on the Gong Show, but that's not saying much.

For the uninitiated and the too-young-to-remember, The Gong Show was an early version of the current rash of talent shows.

It was sort of an Alice in Wonderland version of "America's Got Talent."

The Gong Show host, Chuck Barris, was clearly on some major pharmaceuticals. I'm guessing cocaine and a whole bunch of other stuff.

The three-member panel of judges, usually B-list celebrities, rated the contestants, many of whom were awful. The celebrity judges, always with Jaye P. Morgan at the helm, would bang a large gong when an act was particularly heinous. Hence the "Gong Show" name of the program.

Here's how the Hollywood Reporter describes the Gene, Gene sections of the show:

"At a random moment during the game show, Barris would introduce Patton, and the curtain would part, bringing the shuffling stagehand with the painter's cap onstage to the sounds of 'Jumpin at the Woodside,' a jazz tune made popular by Count Basie. His dance sent everyone on the set -- Barris, the judges, the cameramen, rthe audience -- into an uncontrollable boogie."

 Gene wasn't a particulary good dancer, but the extreme spasms of joy it brought to the drug-addled Chuck Barris was worth the performance.

The Gong Show was only on the air for two or three years in the late 1970s, but of course lived on for decades in syndication and on YouTube.

Everything about the show set new lows in tastelessness, which to me of course means it was the pinnacle of television genius.

Here's a mashup of Gene, Gene The Dancing Machine on the Gong Show:

Here's My Memorial To Tommy Ramone

As many of you likely heard, Tommy Ramone died last Friday at the age of 65. He had been the last surviving original member of the Ramones.

The Ramones, in the late 1970s.  

Maybe people thought I was strange when I was a teenager in rather insulated, isolated West Rutland, Vermont, but I was one of the few people around who loved their thrashing, wild sound.

But as I grew older and moved to different places, I found there were many, MANY other people like me who loved the insanity that was the Ramones.

Yeah, "I Want To Be Sedated" and "Sheena Is A Punk Rocker" weren't the pinnacle of lyrical cleverness, so what?

The Ramones were meant to be cathartic.

As a memorial, and for the aforementioned catharsis, and since it's summer and fitting, I present you with "Rockaway Beach" by the Ramones. Go ahead, crank it up as loud as you can. Bother the neighbors. Bother the other sunbathers at whatever beach you're at.

It will be worth it:

Even David Brenner's Web Site Announces His Passing With Flair

Hat tip to Tom Bodett for noting on Twitter the home page of David Brenner's Web site.

Brenner, the longtime, popular comedian, died over the weekend at the age of 78.

If you visited Brenner's Web site last night, you get some words written against a stark black background, with a nice photo of Brenner.

Yes, that sounds appropriate for the Web site of a celebrity who just died.

But the words are priceless. Click on the image on this post to make it bigger so you can read what was on the Web site more easily.

A wonderful comic send off for a wonderful comic entertainer.

Sad News: Devo Guitarist Bob Casale Has Died

A guitarist for the group Devo, Bob Casale, died of heart failure Monday at the age of 61.

Devo guitarist Bob Casale died Monday
at the age of 61.  

I often make references to Devo, talking about those famous red hats they wore, basically flower pots.

But really, Devo was amazing. Strange, for sure, but that's what I like. I'm definitely saddened by Casale's passing.

Devo was, is certainly much, MUCH more than wearing flower pots on one's head.

The band's name, by the way, comes from the word, or their word "de-evolution" the idea that mankind has stopped evolving and is actually regressing.

When they formed way back in the late 60s or 70s, they used as evidence of "de-evolution" the dysfunction of American society.

Given how much worse some aspects of American politics, media and society are now compared to a generation ago, Devo maybe had a point.

Rolling Stone has a good article on Casale, and some awesome links to past articles on Devo.

You probably remember Devo for the song "Whip It"

I personally like their reworking of the Rolling Stones' "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction." The video is awesome and entertaining and weird and wonderful, too. Watch:

No Lie: Obits Can Be Fun, Insightful

A lot of people think obituaries are depressing. I can see why. A loved one has died, people are mourning. Where's the joy?

Mary "Pink" Mullaney, with grandkids.  

But if the writers of the obituary really know how to celebrate the person's life, they can be brilliant, instructive and fun.

A perfect example is this obituary that has been circulating around the Internet today. I wish I knew this woman, named Mary "Pink" Mullaney, who died at age 85 in Wisconsin.

Here's her obituary in its entirety. It's  good guide on how to lead a successful life:

If you're about to throw away an old pair of pantyhose, stop. Consider: Mary Agnes Mullaney (you probably knew her as "Pink") who entered eternal life on Sunday, September 1, 2013. Her spirit is carried on by her six children, 17 grandchildren, three surviving siblings in New "Joisey", and an extended family of relations and friends from every walk of life. We were blessed to learn many valuable lessons from Pink during her 85 years, among them: Never throw away old pantyhose. Use the old ones to tie gutters, child-proof cabinets, tie toilet flappers, or hang Christmas ornaments.

Also: If a possum takes up residence in your shed, grab a barbecue brush to coax him out. If he doesn't leave, brush him for twenty minutes and let him stay.

Let a dog (or two or three) share your bed. Say the rosary while you walk them.

Go to church with a chicken sandwich in your purse. Cry at the consecration, every time. Give the chicken sandwich to your homeless friend after mass.

Go to a nursing home and kiss everyone. When you learn someone's name, share their patron saint's story, and their feast day, so they can celebrate. Invite new friends to Thanksgiving dinner. If they are from another country and you have trouble understanding them, learn to "listen with an accent."

Never say mean things about anybody; they are "poor souls to pray for."

Put picky-eating children in the box at the bottom of the laundry chute, tell them they are hungry lions in a cage, and feed them veggies through the slats.

Correspond with the imprisoned and have lunch with the cognitively challenged.

Do the Jumble every morning.

Keep the car keys under the front seat so they don't get lost.

Make the car dance by lightly tapping the brakes to the beat of songs on the radio.

Offer rides to people carrying a big load or caught in the rain or summer heat. Believe the hitchhiker you pick up who says he is a landscaper and his name is "Peat Moss."

Help anyone struggling to get their kids into a car or shopping cart or across a parking lot.

Give to every charity that asks. Choose to believe the best about what they do with your money, no matter what your children say they discovered online.

Allow the homeless to keep warm in your car while you are at Mass.

Take magazines you've already read to your doctors' office for others to enjoy. Do not tear off the mailing label, "Because if someone wants to contact me, that would be nice."

In her lifetime, Pink made contact time after time. Those who've taken her lessons to heart will continue to ensure that a cold drink will be left for the overheated garbage collector and mail carrier, every baby will be kissed, every nursing home resident will be visited, the hungry will have a sandwich, the guest will have a warm bed and soft nightlight, and the encroaching possum will know the soothing sensation of a barbecue brush upon its back.

Above all, Pink wrote -- to everyone, about everything. You may read this and recall a letter from her that touched your heart, tickled your funny bone, or maybe made you say "huh?"

She is survived by her children and grandchildren whose photos she would share with prospective friends in the checkout line: Tim (wife Janice, children Timmy, Joey, T.J., Miki and Danny); Kevin (wife Kathy, children Kacey, Ryan, Jordan and Kevin); Jerry (wife Gita, children Nisha and Cathan); MaryAnne; Peter (wife Maria Jose, children Rodrigo and Paulo); and Meg (husband David Vartanian, children Peter, Lily, Jerry and Blase); siblings Anne, Helen, and Robert; and many in-laws, nieces, nephews, friends and family too numerous to list but not forgotten.

Pink is reunited with her husband and favorite dance and political debate partner, Dr. Gerald L. Mullaney, and is predeceased by six siblings.

RIP Eydie Gorme

Word came out today that Eydie Gorme died after a brief illness at the age of 84.

I have to admit as a kid I couldn't STAND Eydie Gorme and her husband and singing partner Steve Lawrence. So lovey dovey. So cheesy. So many teeth in those smile.

The late, great Eydie Gorme  

Of course my negative opinion of Gorme and Lawrence was unfair. What's wrong with love? And if they were so happy and in love with each other and their lives, why should I complain?

One has to remember to not get all cynical and eye-rolling with sedate contentment. And Gorme was a talented singer.

Steve and Eydie were together for 55 years. Steve Lawrence released this touching and sad statement about his wife's death.

"Eydie has been my partner on stage and in life for more than 55 years. I fell in love with her the moment I saw her and even more the first time I heard her sing."

 Very sweet. Really, I retract any nastiness I had toward  Gorme.

Which would make my mother happy. She LOVED Steve and Eydie.

Goodbye, Eydie. I'm sure whereever you are in the afterlife   will sound sweeter with you there.

Here's perhaps her most famous song. Yes, it's cheesy, but it's become a guilty pleasure of mine:

Schoep, Dog Made Famous in Beautiful Water Photo Last Year, Has Died

Sad news to report that the subject of a gorgeous photograph that pretty much everybody saw when it went viral last year died yesterday.

The famous photo of Schoep and John Unger. Photo by
Hannah Stonehouse Hudson. 

Schoep the dog passed away at the age of 20.

You remember the picture, that you see in this post here. His owner, John Unger, would take Schoep out into the cool waters of Lake Superior in the summer to relieve Schoep's arthritis.

The photo shows more clearly than any other I've seen the exquisite relationship between dog and human.

According to the Northlands Newscenter of Wisconsin, Unger posted this message on his Facebook page yesterday:

"I Breathe But I Can't Catch My Breath. Schoep passed yesterday. More information in the days ahead."  The photo accompanying the post showed a single dog's paw print in the sand on a beach.

I can relate. One of my dogs died in late May, and you really can't catch my breath. I only had Bailey for a year. Imagine Unger's pain, since he and Schoep had been pals for many, many years.

Judging by John and Schoep's Facebook page, the end came suddenly and unexpectedly, as posts through July 15 indicated the two were having a nice summer walking along the beaches of Lake Superior or taking dips in the water.

A very nice photo apparently taken July 14 shows Schoep contentedly dozing off amid some wildflowers under a beautiful blue summer sky.

If it's any comfort, Unger should be congratulated by all of us for showing us the beauty of love and companionship. Kudos to Hannah Stonehouse Hudson for shooting and sharing the photo, too.

So, thanks Schoep and John. I hope Mr. Unger knows he and Schoep made the world a better place. That doesn't bring Schoep back, but I hope it's some comfort.

Bailey Modereger-Sutkoski 2000-2013

The sweet golden dog Bailey Modereger-Sutkoski, 13 in human years, died peacefully after a short illness Saturday with his loving dads and brother Jackson the cocker spaniel with him to send him off.

Bailey enjoying a windy autumn day last November.   

Bailey was proud of his reputation as a bit of an International Dog of Mystery.  His origins are indeed murky, though it appeared he was a handsome mix of Huskie and maybe some golden retreiver, or possibly Malamute.

His soulful brown eyes melted hearts where ever Bailey went

He lived with another  family who obviously loved Bailey and kept him well cared for over a number of years.

However,  the family had to very reluctantly relinquish Bailey in 2012 because they could no longer financially care for him.

By that time, Bailey had become fast friends with Jackson at his doggie day care in Milton. Jackson introduced Bailey to his dads, Jeff Modereger and Matt Sutkoski.

Since Bailey needed a new home, Jackson asked his dads if the family could adopt Bailey.  Jeff and Matt enthusiastically agreed and never regretted it.

Never one to focus on the past, Bailey offered us few clues as to what his life was like before he moved in with his dads and Jackson around the first of July, 2012.  He settled quickly and happily into his new home.

Bailey was pleased that his new digs were situated on an exposed, breezy hillside. He loved to spend time standing in the yard, facing the wind, the gusts blowing through his gold and white mane. He savored all the different aromas wafting in the breeze.

At various times during the day, Bailey also liked to slowly explore his grassy yard, just looking and smelling for whatever went on in the course of the day.

Bailey also loved his morning routine, which involved heading outdoors in the cold, predawn hours with Jackson and usually with his sleepy but still loving and patient dad Jeff at 4 or 5 a.m. In those early morning outdoor jaunts,  Bailey reminded Jeff about the beauty and miracle of each new morning.

Later, when dad Matt was up and pecking away at his laptop in his office, Bailey always came into the room for kisses, a neck rub, then a vigorous belly rub.  Bailey knew that all work was no way to go, so he made sure every morning to remind Matt that belly rubs were much better and more important than the latest news.

Bailey enjoying a nice snooze in the warm indoors
on a frigid day in January, 2013.  

Bailey's morning routine was complete when he chowed down his breakfast, always with gusto, then he'd settle down next to Jeff, who would be enjoying his morning coffee.

Bailey was the quiet, zen-like Yin to his brother Jackson's rambunctious Yang. They were an odd couple, but a happy one. Jackson liked to enthusiastically and playfully bat at Bailey's neck and face, which Bailey accepted for awhile, until a quick, authoritative growl would settle Jackson down.

Bailey also loved spending time at Deja Vu Dog Kennels for the day while his dads were at work, playing with his brother Jackson and the other dogs cavorting at the day care.

Settling into somewhat old age by the time he arrived in St. Albans, Bailey also liked to curl up in his comfortable bed in the living room as his dads watched TV, then move to another bed in the bedroom to be close to his dads as they turned in for the night.

Healthy until the last two weeks of his life, though a bit deaf, Bailey would often snuggle up to dads Jeff or Matt, seeking and getting a sense of security in the aromas the two men picked up during the day.

During his illness over the last two weeks, Bailey was stoic and uncomplaining, as he always was. His dads were understandably distressed by Bailey's sudden poor health, but despite his own pain and discomfort, Bailey always went out of his way to try to ease his dads' worries and tell them everything will be OK.

Bailey is survived by his dads, Jeff Modereger and Matt Sutkoski of St. Albans, Vermont, his brother, Jackson the cocker spaniel, also of St. Albans, Vermont, his special, dear friend Barb Brodhead of Deja Vu Kennels in Milton, Vermont; his (Jeff) grandparents Donald and Lois Modereger of Yankton, South Dakota; his (Matt) grandparents, Henry and Pauline Sutkoski of West Rutland, Vermont; many loving aunts, uncles, and other human relatives, and very many human and canine friends.

In lieu of flowers, those who wish may donate to their local animal shelter, Humane Society or any organization that shows love and support to dogs and all other animals.

George Jones, RIP. He Had One Of The Greatest, Most Disturbing Country Hits

As anyone who follows the news knows by now, the great country legend George Jones died Friday.

He had a huge string of wonderful hits, placing an incredible 143 songs in the Billboard Top 40 Hot Country Songs over the years.

The late, great George Jones

He was famously married to the late Tammy Wynette, another of my absolute favorite country singers. Their duet, "We're Not The Jet Set," is a punny, funny classic that I'll never get sick of.

Jones and Wynette were staples on the jukebox in the neighborhood bar my father owned while I was growing up in West Rutland, Vermont. Any time I'd visit him there, chances are I'd hear George Jones crooning from that brightly lit jukebox in that dimly lit bar.

Jones' best known song, one that has often been called the greatest country song ever written and performed, is also a terribly disturbing tune, which is of course why I love it so much.

For those somehow not familiar with "He"He Stopped Loving Her Today," it was written by R.V. Braddock and C. Putnam Jr., tells the tale of a man who for decades carries a torch for a woman who left him.

Some lyrics:

"He kept picture on his wall
Went half crazy now and then
He still loved her through it all
Hoping she'd come back again."

Finally, she did come back, to reiterate the love affair was over a long time ago and would never rekindle. So we get this:

"He stopped loving her today
They placed a wreath upon his door
And soon they'll carry him away
He stopped loving her today."

Yep, after waiting for her all those years, essentially wasting his life, that last visit drove our man to suicide.

Like I said, a disturbing, sad, but brilliant country song.  Here's a YouTube clip of Jones performing "He Stopped Loving Her Today:

RIP Joe South, Known Most for "Games People Play"

Joe South has died at age 72.

A lot of you never heard of him, of course. But he was a big singer/songwriter whose heyday was in the 1960s and 1970s.

An old picture of Joe South

There's one song by South in particular I've always liked, and I think about from time to time. It's called "Games People Play."  I first heard it when it came out in 1969 and I was a wee lad of  7.

Often songs I loved when I was little became awful when I was an adult, or vice versa. But this one stuck with me.

Some lyrics of "Games People Play" have extra resonance now, in this political season and in these times when so many people are telling us their god is better than our god.

Here's two examples of the song's lyrics to show you what I mean:

"Oh the games people play now
 Every night and every day now
Never meaning what they say now
Never saying what they mean"

 And:
"People walking up to you 
Singing glory hallelulia 
And they're trying to sock it to you In the name of the Lord."

Sad to say, I guess times didn't change all that much in the four decades since South wrote that song, huh?
Here's the song/video to jog your memory