Let Oscar winner Anthony Quinn tell you what the hell love is

A face that says "romance": Anthony Quinn on the cover of his 1969 LP.

I don't know who was asking for it, but in 1969, Mexican-American actor Anthony Quinn, star of Zorba the Greek, recorded a spoken word album entitled In My Own Way... I Love You for Capitol Records. By that point, he'd already won two Academy Awards, so I guess he could do whatever the hell he wanted. I mean, who was going to say no to Anthony Quinn? The 12-song collection, also featuring the Harold Spina Singers, contained Quinn's gravely-voiced, philosophical musings about love, which he recited over a lush musical background. I'm guessing the album was supposed to set the mood for a romantic evening. If you were some high-powered advertising executive, say, and you'd just brought home some cutie from the typing pool back to your penthouse apartment, you'd put In My Own Way... I Love You on the hi-fi, pour some drinks, dim the lights, and wait for the magic to happen. And what did you get for your money? Well, you'd get tracks like "What is Love?" It takes Mr. Quinn quite a while to get around to answering the title question, and his winding path takes him through such diverse topics as peanut brittle, the New York Yankees, and "snitching a drag on a cigarette." My favorite part is when he just starts listing women's names. I can't tell you how many times I've amused myself by imitating this very passage. What eventually is revealed is that Anthony Quinn is, hands down, the manliest man who ever manned. Take a listen.

A new 'Mary Worth' rewrite

Original by Karen Moy and Joe Giella. Drastic rewrite by your humble blogger.

I'm working on some dandy new content for this blog, but in the meantime, I wanted to post something new here. This is another one of my rewrites of a newspaper comic. I took today's Mary Worth and added my own dialogue to it, changing the plot ever so slightly. Currently, the storyline revolves around a recently-reuinted couple, Adam and Terry. Disturbingly, Adam moved into Terry's building without telling her. She was shocked and horrified at first, but now they're sort of dating again. In this episode, they've just been hot air ballooning and are enjoying a nice lunch afterwards. Terry clearly wants to take things slowly, but Adam is already talking marriage. I thought that was funny, so I made the dumb thing you see above. Enjoy.

I've done similar jokes about the high-pressure guys in Mary Worth before. Here's an example from a few years back. I called this one "The Patient Man."

A moldy oldie from the Blevins vaults.

One song at a time: "Let the Water Run Down"

Ben E. King (1938-2015)

The song: "Let the Water Run Down

Artist: Ben E. King

Released: 1964

"Stand By Me" is dominating the obituaries of R&B singer Ben E. King, who left us on Thursday at the age of 76. And why shouldn't it? Not only did King co-write and sing the ballad, but it was a big hit twice -- twenty-five years apart, no less! -- and inspired cover versions by everyone from John Lennon to Muhammad Ali. It's one of those indestructible oldies that has burrowed so deeply into the collective subconscious that we take it for granted.

But Mr. King's career did not begin or end with those three minutes of evocative, violin-drenched music. Along with his solo career, of course, he was a key member of The Drifters during that group's early prime and thus provided lead vocals on even more indelible prom night classics: "Save the Last Dance for Me," "Spanish Harlem," "This Magic Moment," and more.

But none of those is the Ben E. King song I like best. "Stand by Me" and those Drifters hits I mentioned are definitely on the softer, more genteel side of soul music. Nothing wrong with that. But King could definitely throw down when the song called for it.

As a prime example, take a song he recorded as a B-side for Atco Records in 1964, three years after "Stand by Me." It's called "Let the Water Run Down," and I first heard it on a compilation of songs with the so-called "Bo Diddley beat." (It's that rhythm that goes BOMP BOMP BOMP uh BOMP BOMP!)

This record is about as un-"Stand by Me" as you can get. There's not a violin for miles. The song is edgy, insistent, and urgent. King sound genuinely perturbed as he retreats to the bathroom to sob over the woman who's just dumped him. While he's freaking out, there's a line forming of people who just have to use the can. That's a high pressure situation, and the song captures it perfectly. Enjoy.

One Song at a Time: "Love Me, Please Love Me"

French pop star Michel Polnareff sings his Frenchie heart out.

The song: "Love Me, Please Love Me"

Artist: Michel Polnareff

Released: 1966

Elvis Presley had at least two major hit singles in 1956 that were direct, unambiguous requests for love. 

"Love Me Tender," which takes its melody from an old folk tune called "Aura Lee," is a swaggering seduction routine set to music. It's audio foreplay, a sexual aperitif etched into wax. The guy in the song is a Lothario type, sweet-talking some innocent girl right out of her poodle skirt. The lyrics are G-rated ("You have made my life complete, and I love you so") and ostensibly wholesome, but you can tell why this guy made parents nervous back then. What did he mean by "all my dreams fulfill?" What kind of dreams did he have in mind? 

The King had another one that same year just called "Love Me," which I like even better. It's supposed to be about a desperate guy groveling at the feet of a cold-hearted woman. ("Treat me like a fool, treat me mean and cruel, but love me!") But Elvis wasn't really the desperate, groveling type, so the song comes off as kinky and masochistic instead. You get the impression that the guy in the song gets off on the rough treatment he receives from this dame. Topping from the bottom, you might say.

A decade later, over in France, a moody, floppy-haired singer named Michel Polnareff had a #1 hit with his own plea for love, "Love Me, Please Love Me." It's just about the most pathetic I've ever heard someone sound on record, and I love it. Most of the lyrics are in French, but you don't really need a translation to get the gist of it. Not when poor Michel is howling in falsetto like a mournful hound dog.

This song demonstrates a level of vulnerability that Elvis Presley never would have been comfortable with. From what I can glean of his delightfully bizarre and eventful Wikipedia entry, Michel was just as troubled in real life as he sounds on this record. You can hear his genuine sorrow in every throbbing triplet he pounds out on the piano. 

I can just imagine some heartsick Frenchman playing this record over and over again, using his last bit of strength to life the tone arm on his vintage record player. Whenever I want to wallow in misery (which is basically all the time), "Love Me, Please Love Me" is my go-to song.

One Song at a Time: "I Only Want You"

The Passions, a lesser-known but worthwhile doo-wop group.

The song: "I Only Want You"

Artist: The Passions

Released: 1960

Soundtrack to a college crush.

During all my years of schooling, an era of my life I tried to prolong indefinitely so as to avoid entry into the dreaded "real world," I only ever had one crush on a teacher. 

It was one of my college professors, a woman who taught courses on Spanish literature and culture. If you follow any particular major or minor long enough, you'll eventually have the same profs over and over again, and she was repeatedly one of mine. To maintain propriety, I'll avoid naming her or the institute of higher learning for which she still works. 

Let me cut you off at the pass by pointing out that she wasn't the busty, provocatively-dressed "Hot for Teacher"-type seductress you're likely picturing. No short skirts, plunging necklines, stilettos, or fishnet stockings here. Instead, this professor was a modest, sensibly-dressed brunette with a soft voice and a mildly nerdy vibe. I can never be sure why exactly I developed such a crush on her, but looking at her picture in the college's staff directory still makes my heart flutter to this day. 

Every crush needs a musical soundtrack, I feel, and for this one I chose classic doo-wop, in particular a track from 1960 called "I Only Want You" by The Passions. I discovered it on a Rhino Records compilation and loved it immediately, playing it over and over. AllMusic describes The Passions as "an above-average white doo-wop ensemble from Brooklyn." Apparently, they recorded for a few years, starting in the late 1950s, but never quite made it. 

This particular tune wasn't even one of their bigger hits, but it got my attention anyway. What was it that first caught my fancy? Was it the lopsided drum part, which emphasizes the second and fourth beats of each measure rather than the first and third, sounding like a pirate with a peg-leg running through a steel corridor? Maybe it was the descending pizzicato strings that "answer" the lead singer after every line of the verses? 

Probably it's just the unabashed erotic yearning of the lyrics, i.e. the fact that the guy in the song is just so consumed with lust for some young lady "every waking hour, every minute of the day." This poor dope can't even get a break when he falls asleep: "Even in my dreams, you are there it seems/I can always see your face." It reminds me of a line from Just Jaeckin's Emmanuelle (1974): "Real love is erection, not orgasm." That's the essence of "I Only Want You." It's the perfect combination of harmony and hard-on.

This is the second episode of this proposed series. I've changed the title from "Best Song Ever" to "One Song at a Time" to emphasize that this is basically an autobiography in the form of record reviews.

Let's all wallow in my sub-mediocrity, shall we?

A more-or-less typical episode of Trolleytown Frolics

The Toonerville Trolley

In yesterday's post about my fear of mediocrity, I mentioned that for a while in the mid-2000s, I drew a crude homemade comic strip called Trolleytown Frolics. Going through the images on my computer, I managed to find at least one strip that I'd bothered to scan. It's pretty representative of what Trolleytown was like. 

If you're wondering about the name, by the way, it came from my interest in comic strips of the past. There was a famous one called Toonerville Folks by Fontaine Fox which ran from 1908 to 1955, and it featured a vehicle called the Toonerville Trolley. The "frolics" part also comes from old movies and cartoons. The IMDb has listings for Frisky Frolics (1932), Frozen Frolics (1933), Barnyard Frolics (1917), Vitaphone Frolics (1937), and many others. It seems like a lot of these titles are from the 1930s, and at the time I was sort of "into" '30s culture. I still like the music of that era very much.

This particular Trolleytown Frolics features the luckless antihero, Thirsty Lad (my cartoon avatar), locked in a debate with a disembodied narrator. Don't judge the artwork too harshly. I can draw better than this, but it was scribbled in a tiny notebook while riding a commuter train. The handwriting can be tough to read, so here's a transcription:

NARRATOR: How ya doin', Thirsty?

THIRSTY: Me? Swell! Perfect!

NARRATOR: Perfect? 

THIRSTY: Well, uh, maybe not "perfect" exactly, but...

NARRATOR: So what's wrong? 

THIRSTY: Nothing's wrong!

NARRATOR: If nothing were wrong, you'd be perfect!

THIRSTY: Then I guess I am perfect! La-di-da! I'm perfect!

NARRATOR: You seem upset. I'll go.

THIRSTY: I am not upset! Please stay so that we can continue this delightful chat!

NARRATOR: Yeah. I'm gonna go now.

THIRSTY: seriously i'm fine... great, in fact.

{END}

 As you can see, I had a panel left over, so I filled it with "Random Evil Guys." This would have been written on the way home from work on an average weekday, so you gain some idea of my mindset in that situation. In this scenario, both the Narrator and Thirsty are manifestations of me. So now you have an even better idea of how my mind works. You can also see how influenced I was by the psychodrama of the '90s Nickelodeon cartoon The Ren & Stimpy Show. Thirsty's pose in the fourth panel is taken directly from an R&S episode called "Space Madness."

A comparison: Stimpy in "Space Madness" vs. Thirsty in Trolleytown Frolics

I cannot let this topic of mediocrity pass without mentioning a great skit from Mr. Show with Bob and David, a parody of Amadeus set in turn-of-the-century America and centered around marching band music.  You're not meant to identify with David Cross' character, frustrated would-be march composer Salini, but I do anyway. And then there's Jay Johnston's legitimately disturbing "Mediocrity" character. I'm so glad my specter of adequacy looks like the cartoon character Gossamer and not this ghoulish monstrosity. Both Bob and David are great in this sketch. The emotional burden here is on David, but Bob gives such great, off-kilter line readings to dialogue like: "For I have work to do!" As a former marching band member myself, I love the way he wears the hat everywhere and chews on the chinstrap occasionally.

HEALTH NEWS 'N' NOTES: Still feeling fine. The demonic-possession-like fear I once experienced has been replaced with just plain old ordinary "jitters." The appetite continues to improve, though the libido remains dormant. I realize now that my exercise routine revolves around walking, which takes place outdoors. That's going to be a problem as the temperatures drop. I'll have to find another solution. 

True story: during my last full year as a teacher, I lived in a very small, isolated town in an apartment that was actually part of a roadside motel. The place was tiny, as you might guess, but the rent was so cheap! Best of all, I had access to the motel's indoor swimming pool and spent hours swimming laps. I mean, I'm no Mark Spitz, but I got pretty good... for me. When I left my job at that high school, I stayed on in the motel for a few more months while I planned my next move and used the pool more than ever. 

My current apartment complex used to have a pool, a rather nasty outdoor one which was home to ducks and geese, but the owners filled it in several years ago. Today, you'd never know there was a pool there except for the lonely changing room which still stands as a sad monument to its former existence. Anyway, I realize how important exercise is to maintaining good emotional health, so I'll have to figure something else out. So far, though, the meds are robbing me of my ambition. (Damn. That's a paraphrase of something Samuel L. Jackson said in Jackie Brown. Can't I get away from pop culture references? I read books. Honestly, I do.)

My horror

Speaking of which, I somehow got into a position in which my MD appointment and therapist appointment were scheduled for the same day. Now there are going to be phone calls and me writing down numbers on pieces of paper while I sort this out. Meanwhile, I've neglected to schedule a dental checkup or an oil change for an embarrassingly long time. How I wish I had someone who'd sort out all these practicalities for me so that I could just focus on getting better. 

My MD's office is in someplace called "Elgin," which I've heard of but have never visited. If I were to list my Top 5 phobias, "driving to someplace new" would be right up there, perhaps #1. I hate driving. I hate cars. I hate the whole thing. I didn't choose this doctor, by the way. He was assigned to me in the behavioral health center, and I said something pithy and intelligent like, "Duhhhhh, okay." I don't want to cancel this appointment, though, because there are some side effects which I want to address ASAP. The libido thing is becoming a problem, especially. I want to be a lustful, chauvinist, patriarchal pig again. Kidding, of course. But I do want to be interested again.

Depress-A-Date! Or: How I learned to stop worrying and become a manic pixie dreamgirl

Image courtesy of Wacky Packages

I have a date tonight.

Or maybe not. I don't know. Maybe I shouldn't be thinking of this as a "date," but I've had so few of them in my life that I'm tempted to chalk this up in the "win" column. In any event, I've decided to use this blog, at least for the time being, to discuss what's going on in my life. And this, readers, is what's going on in my life.

First, some background. As a person whose life has been ruled to this point by fear and depression and whose default mode is seclusion, I have had very few interactions of a romantic nature in my waking life. I've had a string of crushes and hopeless infatuations since I was probably 11, but nothing meaningful or beneficial has ever occurred because of them. My one date in high school was escorting a young lady to our school's Sadie Hawkins dance. Yeah, that's the one where the girls ask the guys out, and this particular young lady was pretty insistent. Our evening was a mini-masterpiece of tragicomedy which might make for a good short story someday. Needless to say, it did not lead to a sequel.

Ain't it the truth?

After high school, I lived alone with my father and felt a strong obligation to stay home and keep him company as much as possible. My college years were strictly about studying and getting good grades. There was not even a hint of "fun" involved and certainly no dating. Not that my father would have discouraged it (he's never brought up the subject), but I would have felt like I was betraying him somehow. Particularly since my mother died, I've tried not to change much from the person I was at 17. It's a routine that has grown sadder and sadder with each passing year as my body has aged while my lifestyle has not kept pace. A couple of times over the years (two to be exact), I have mustered all my courage to ask out coworkers, since those are generally the only women with whom I ever interact. In return for my efforts, I've received the expected polite, gentle, slightly condescending rejections, which actually sting quite a bit more than women may realize. I would so much rather have been slapped across the face or cussed out than to be treated as a slightly slow-witted child. (Of course, I would have preferred acceptance to any of these options.) These experiences crushed me so badly that I swore to myself that I would never again pursue romantic relationships. Who needs 'em, right? Shouldn't I just be happy to be myself? Why do I need another person to validate that? Trust me, I've had this argument with myself countless times over the years. The trouble is, it gets a little stale after 37 years.

Group meetings: an unlikely spot for "meet cutes."

All this brings us up to today. Even though I have theoretically given up on finding "the right girl" or "any girl who will tolerate me for more than five minutes," I cannot help but fantasize and, if I am feeling especially brave, flirt. The very first day I was in the behavioral health center -- scared out of my wits but outwardly projecting calm -- I attended my initial group meeting, a session about anger management, and was struck by the comments made by a fellow patient, a young woman I'll refer to as Helen (not her name). I'd seen this young woman earlier when I was being admitted, but I didn't approach her because (1) I was shy, and (2) she had a black eye and seemed to be in a state of subtle distress. Anyway, during the session, she explained to the counselor that she couldn't believe that she was really there and that the whole situation felt like a dream or a nightmare. She also expressed a strong desire to get back to her life. Other patients tried to reason with her and rationalize with her, but I just listened in amazement because she had just vocalized my exact thoughts. After the meeting dispersed, I approached Helen in the hall and told her how relieved I was that she'd said what she said, and we ended up going off to a more secluded spot in the ward to talk for a while. I learned that her black eye was self-inflicted as part of a suicide attempt and that she was very nervous about being away from work for so long. From that point on, Helen and I were close companions. We ate our meals together, attended groups together, and had nice long conversations during the frequent "down times" between scheduled events. She was always on the verge of lapsing into pessimism and despair, so I took it as a personal mission to give her frequent pep talks during the day. "You're the most positive person in the world," she'd tell me, which was definitely news to me. During my stay, Helen's parents visited twice, and both times she made a point of introducing me to them. On her penultimate night in the ward, Helen and her family gathered in a semi-circle in one of the day rooms, and they invited me (unique among the other patients) to be a part of their discussion.

Helen and I were discharged within a few hours of each other last Friday, and before she left, she gave me her phone number and told me to call her. I have not yet mentioned that we live in the same town just minutes from each other, but that's a huge part of the story. As with my childhood friendships, geographical convenience might play a major role in my adult relationships. Anyway, the Saturday after I got out, I hemmed and hawed a bit but finally wound up calling her number. Since then, we have talked over the phone a few times, and she suggested that we meet up at a downtown Starbucks tonight.

Somehow, I've become Zooey Deschanel

I know, I know. No sane, rational person would call this a "date." There is nothing remotely "romantic" about any of this. This is not a Hollywood romcom. If this were a romcom, though, I would be the "manic pixie dream girl" in this script. So far in this relationship, I've been the quirky, kooky, fun-loving one trying to pull the other person out of the doldrums. But let's be serious here. This is just plain, old, ordinary, disappointing real life. Two people who have been through a common experience are meeting at a Starbucks. That's it. In all likelihood, it will lead to nothing. Maybe all we have in common is this terrible thing, and once we stop talking about that, there will be nothing left to say.

But, still, this story shows that I'm trying. At least I'm getting "out there," whatever that means.

Wish me luck.

Are YOU in a "zombie" relationship? 5 ways to know for sure!

This relationship has obviously sunk. See what I did there? Oh, the fun never stops on this blog!

Hello out there, lovelorn readers!

Over the years, we living impaired have often served an allegorical purpose in society. Simply put, people like to use zombies to "represent" various ideas. We're walking, groaning, brain-eating metaphors for a lot of writers. In the hands of someone like George Romero, for instance, we can represent any troubling social or political trend which happens to be bothering him at the time. Personally, I don't mind this at all. Given a choice between being a metaphor and being a target, I'll choose metaphor every time.

It is in that spirit that I present the following list. Readers, take an honest inventory of your current relationship with your spouse or significant other. Is it thriving and healthy or is it shambling along in a mindless state, devouring all it its path in a wanton orgy of bloodlust? Read these following tell-tale signs to see if you're in a "zombie" relationship.

1. Verbal cues 

What sorts of things does your partner typically say to you? If your answer was along the lines of "I love you" or  "please pass the salt," you have nothing to fear as you are in a healthy relationship. However, if your answer was more like "The very sight of you makes my flesh crawl!" or "One step further and I'll shoot!" you clearly have a problem.

2. Body language

Does your partner still like to hold your hand? Do you enjoy snuggling up close to each other on the couch? If so, these are healthy signs. On the other hand, if your partner frequently vomits in your presence or cowers in a corner the moment you enter a room, this could be a point of concern. Another troubling sign is running. Naturally, jogging is a great way to stay in shape, but if your boyfriend or girlfriend runs away from you at speeds approaching those of Jesse Owens at the 1936 games, your relationship may well be headed for rocky times.

Like this one!

3. Use of technology

How often does your lover send you e-mails or text messages? Several times daily? Good! However, if your significant other has recently deleted all his or her social media accounts, stopped answering e-mails, and disposed of all cell phones and computers in an industrial-strength trash compactor -- and has done so without telling you -- this may be an indication of potential strife.

4. Weaponry

Does your significant other have a sizable arsenal containing various weapons, like guns, knives, swords, throwing stars, and crossbows? If so, this is not necessarily cause for alarm. Your partner may be merely a hobbyist with a strong interest in these fearsome objects. However, if he/she will not discuss this arsenal with you -- and yet uses you for target practice anyway -- it may be time to move on.

5. Separate checks please...

It's important for couples to spend time with each other, but "togetherness" has its limits. Many successful couples find it healthy to engage in activities apart from one another. Some very contented partners even prefer sleeping in separate beds or taking separate vacations. But if your spouse or significant other insists on separate continents, separate hemispheres, or separate tectonic plates, you may want to reconsider your relationship.

Readers, I urge you to study these signs carefully and think about them in terms of your own life. Does this sound like you? If so, perhaps there is a relationship in your life which needs a blast of buckshot right between the eyebrows. You can thank me later.

(today's zomby) AND THE LOVE LIVES OF MACHINES!

Wow, this is a grim one. What can I say, folks? It goes with the territory of writing a cartoon about a dead guy. But should love be the exclusive domain of the living? Science suggests otherwise. I recently came across this 2010 clip with the self-explanatory title Japanese Robot Girlfriend.

The prototype JRG seems pleasant enough but rather cold, and it was a mistake to dress her as an actual nurse instead of a nurse in a 1980s music video. Perhaps what's needed here is some musical inspiration. There are a surprising number of tunes about the love lives of machines.

Here from Hollywood's golden year of 1939 is the possibly earliest example of the form, as crooned by the immortal Jack Haley:

Earnest and poignant if not exactly arousing. As an example of how quickly music evolves over time, here is a jumpin' little number by Wynonie Harris from 1951, a mere eleven years later:

Sadly, the romance of machinery does not seem to have been a major theme in popular music for most of the 1950s and 1960s. The Miracles, however, brought the theme back big time in 1975:

That #1 hit was almost certainly the inspiration for this bizarre 1978 disco number by Dee D. Jackson:



And who can forget Marvin the Paranoid Android's contribution to the subgenre from 1981:

I couldn't very well end this little survey without mentioning that there are not one but two great songs called "Computer Love," one by Zapp & Roger and one by Kraftwerk. Here they both are:

Weren't those nice? Kinda makes you see the machines in your life in a different way, right? Right?!?

Oh, forget it. I'm going into the kitchen and getting freaky with the toaster. Don't judge me.

ZOMBY belongs in an institution... the institution of MARRIAGE, that is!!!

"That woman belongs in an institution... and I don't mean marriage!" - BETTE DAVIS on the subject of Joan Crawford*

* at least according to John Waters

Plot twist! ZOMBY caught "canoodling" with another "woman"!

What, you thought our hero could be allowed to be happy for two consecutive days? In the Z-man's defense, Resusci Anne is pretty hot. And a blonde to boot!

Check out this seductive, come-hither pose:

ZOMBY finally gets his ZOMB-ETTE and she's... uh, lovely. Really.

A major milestone in ZOMBY!!! history, with optional ROMANTIC MUSIC!