JAMES BROWN - THE FINAL REVUE

He was as close to true godhood as a mortal can get. The hardest working man in show business... soul brother numero uno... a warrior for love and peace... MISTER JAMES BROWN!

I saw him twice. Once in Rochester, New York; once in Cleveland, Ohio. Both performances were a kind of religious celebration. I felt spiritually enriched besides being entertained. While he was a music icon, greater talent existed in his very being. Like Muhammad Ali, he advanced the cause of personal self-worth for those disenfranchised by mass culture. James uplifted generations with his positivism and artistry. The fact that he was a frail, human soul with mortal faults seemed almost beside the point.

Jesse Jackson said: "He was dramatic to the end, dying on Christmas Day. He'll be all over the news, all over the world today - he would have it no other way."

Little Richard Said: "He was an innovator, an emancipator, an originator. Rap music, all that stuff came from James Brown. A great treasure is gone."

Now, JB is on the eternal tip, twirling, strutting, sweating, keyboard-jamming, cape-wearing, kicking a heavenly microphone stand and getting down for an audience of soulful saints. Hendrix, Morrison, Albert King, John Lennon, and a host of electrified apostles are with him now.

Rest with God, dear brother. You will be the song that swells our hearts to joy, forever!

RDI
12-26-06

A PINK NOEL

c. 2006 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(12-06)


I slept in late on Saturday. Very late!
Admittedly, the event itself was not unique. I had awakened off-schedule many times since June, when unemployment carelessly sidetracked my personal agenda. But today carried a greater reward. After much creative wordsmithing, my December slumber offered an opportunity to subconsciously compose an ending to my most recent manuscript. Over coffee, I mused about the document. A bit of self-editing, plus one more paragraph of text… and it would be ready to send!
Only one thing stood between breakfast and my goal. She was a petite, eight-year-old girl named Soccer Fairy. Liz, my wife, was already at work. Handling family needs on the homefront was now a responsibility I carried alone!
It was a serious occasion in the household. We had agreed to a parent-child meeting at ten o’clock! The moment held importance that could not be denied. Grandma Cali busied herself with Leigh, The Fairy’s older sister, as I sat at the kitchen table. Already in attendance were Curious George, Grumpy the Siamese cat, and our Pomeranian, Quigley.
The occasion was even more auspicious than celebrating our girl’s masterful work as a goalie in summertime soccer. She had once blocked two difficult shots in the fourth quarter of a game to guarantee victory! The task currently at hand held much greater significance, however. We had to solve a riddle that had nagged her all year.
“Okay Roddy, call the meeting to order,” she said, smartly.
I replied with a yawn. “Order, everyone! Order! I’ll have an order of fries with my cheeseburger, and a chocolate shake. Okay, what else do you need?”
Soccer Fairy wasn’t amused. “This is important!”
Quigley barked enthusiastically. “Arf, arf!”
“Sorry,” I apologized. “Keep talking while I refill my mug.”
Leigh nodded her approval.
“We’ve got to figure this out,” SF proclaimed with a frown. “What will we get Mommy for Christmas? Time is running out!”
I went blank. “Usually, she gets plenty of chocolate and perfume. You can’t miss with those kinds of gifts!”
“We do that every year!” The Fairy complained.
I sank into my chair. “Yes, but…”
Grumpy swatted at a stray envelope.
“We need something different! That stuff is boooring!” she complained.
Quigley put a paw over his eyes. “Yelp!”
Grandma Cali spooned pancakes onto our stovetop griddle. “Leigh and I are staying out of this. Good luck!”
My eyes wouldn’t focus. “Okay, maybe we need a theme.”
“Like the Twelve Days of Christmas?” SF wondered aloud.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “But with a twist to please Mommy.”
“Like Twelve Days of Pink for Christmas?” she cheered.
Leigh couldn’t stop laughing. That was it!
Quigley waved a paw at Curious George. “Rowf!!”
I chugged java until my eyes quit burning. “I think the Bob and Doug McKenzie approach would be easier. Just give her ‘a beer, in a tree’ and call it Noel!”
Soccer Fairy pointed her finger. “Roddy!”
Grumpy hid under the table.
“Uhmm, okay. A Pink Christmas,” I said with contrition. “So, how do we come up with a dozen presents that fit the plan?”
SF began to sing. “On the first day of Christmas, we gave to Mommy… fuzzy slippers from the Dollar Tree!”
“Pink, of course,” I said.
Leigh giggled at the improvised carol.
I took a deep breath. “Well then! On the second day of Christmas, we gave to Mommy... two plastic flamingos, and pink fuzzy slippers from the Dollar Tree.”
“Pink Flamingos?” The Fairy laughed.
“The company that makes them in Massachusetts is going out of business,” I said. “They could end up being rare birds.”
Grandma Cali was stunned. “Say it ain’t so!”
Quigley joined Grumpy under the table.
SF continued the song. “On the third day of Christmas, we gave to Mommy… three pink poodle skirts, two plastic flamingos, and pink fuzzy slippers from the Dollar Tree!”
I chuckled. Our list was gaining credibility. “On the fourth day of Christmas, we gave to Mommy… four Pink Floyd CDs, three pink poodle skirts, two pink flamingos, and pink fuzzy slippers from the Dollar Tree.”
“Floyd wears pink?” The Fairy said with confusion.
“Never mind,” I replied. “They’re a rock group. Mommy will know.”
She kept the vibe going. “On the fifth day of Christmas, we gave to Mommy… Five pink lipsticks! Four Pink Floyd CDs, three pink poodle skirts, two pink flamingos, and pink fuzzy slippers from the Dollar Tree!"
Quigley ran for the living room. “Yarf!”
I thought hard enough to break a sweat. “On the sixth day of Christmas, we gave to Mommy…six pounds of pink salmon. Five pink lipsticks! Four Pink Floyd CDs, three pink poodle skirts, two pink flamingos, and pink fuzzy slippers from the Dollar Tree!"
“Yuck!” Grandma Cali exclaimed.
Leigh wrinkled her nose.
“Work with me here,” I pleaded.
Soccer Fairy kept singing with excitement. “On the seventh day of Christmas, we gave to Mommy… seven Pink Panther dolls, six pounds of pink salmon. Five pink lipsticks! Four Pink Floyd CDs, three pink poodle skirts, two pink flamingos, and pink fuzzy slippers from the Dollar Tree!"
Our idea-train was on track!
“On the eighth day of Christmas,” I sang. “We gave to Mommy… eight 8-Tracks by Pink Lady, seven Pink Panther dolls, six pounds of pink salmon. Five pink lipsticks! Four Pink Floyd CDs, three pink poodle skirts, two pink flamingos, and pink fuzzy slippers from the Dollar Tree!"
The Fairy scratched her head. “Who??”
“Pink Lady was a Japanese duo, Mie and Kei,” I explained. “They sang like disco robots. Once, the girls even had a TV show with comedian Jeff Altman called ‘Pink Lady and Jeff’ on NBC. That was when I was in high school.”
“You are goofy!” she retorted. “Anyway… On the ninth day of Christmas, we gave to Mommy… nine pink Cadillacs, eight 8-Tracks by Pink Lady, seven Pink Panther dolls, six pounds of pink salmon. Five pink lipsticks! Four Pink Floyd CDs, three pink poodle skirts, two pink flamingos, and pink fuzzy slippers from the Dollar Tree!"
“How do we afford nine Cadillacs?” I said in disbelief.
“We can get her Hot Wheels cars,” she squeaked, joyfully.
I took a deep breath. “On the tenth day of Christmas, we gave to Mommy… ten pink Hello Kitty charms, nine pink Cadillacs, eight 8-Tracks by Pink Lady, seven Pink Panther dolls, six pounds of pink salmon. Five pink lipsticks! Four Pink Floyd CDs, three pink poodle skirts, two pink flamingos, and pink fuzzy slippers from the Dollar Tree!"
Quigley begged for mercy. “Yowwwwwl!”
Leigh waved her arms as Grandma Cali professed amazement. “Don’t stop now! Finish the tune!”
Soccer Fairy grew anxious. “On the eleventh day of Christmas, we gave to Mommy… eleven pink petunias, ten pink Hello Kitty charms, nine pink Cadillacs, eight 8-Tracks by Pink Lady, seven Pink Panther dolls, six pounds of pink salmon. Five pink lipsticks! Four Pink Floyd CDs, three pink poodle skirts, two pink flamingos, and pink fuzzy slippers from the Dollar Tree!"
Suddenly, the room went silent. Everyone was staring at me with anticipation. I drank the last of my coffee in a single gulp.
Grumpy slapped the floor with his furry tail.
“Just one more verse,” Grandma Cali said, supportively.
Quigley barked in agreement. “Arf!”
“Come on, Roddy,” The Fairy pleaded. “You can do it! What’s the last thing on our list?”
I stood up in front of the kitchen table. My voice began to swell. “On the twelfth day of Christmas, we gave to Mommy… twelve pink RAZR cell phones, eleven pink petunias, ten pink Hello Kitty charms, nine pink Cadillacs, eight 8-Tracks by Pink Lady, seven Pink Panther dolls, six pounds of pink salmon. Five pink lipsticks! Four Pink Floyd CDs, three pink poodle skirts, two pink flamingos, and pink fuzzy slippers from the Dollar Tree!"
Applause filled the air. “We did it! Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!!!!!!!!!”

* * * * *

As the holiday drew nearer, Liz was puzzled by the proliferation of packages under our tree. “What is all that stuff? There are so many boxes. And all addressed to… me?”
“It’s just a bit of old-fashioned Yuletide spirit,” I said. “Think of it as a hug from your family. Every bundle says ‘we love you’ with Christmas cheer!”

FROM THE GEAUGA COUNTY MAPLE LEAF, CHARDON, OHIO

MAN LAWS

c. 2006 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(11-06)



Beer commercials are a truly American form of art. They touch hearts and minds from all levels of the social strata. These promotional spots dispense wisdom and humor in a form that speaks clearly to the everyday public. So their impact on the nation is considerable.
Recently, a series of ads by the Miller Brewing Company sparked spirited chatter in our household. As Liz and I enjoyed Parmesan-Tomato Fettuccine, the topic entered our conversation.
“This is good,” she observed. “I like your style, Chef Rodney.”
I bowed my head. “Thanks. It is my own creation…”
She giggled. “No recipe?”
I frowned. “Nah, those are too restrictive. Free-form cooking is my culinary style. If it doesn’t taste right, I just drink more adult beverages.”
My wife gestured with her fork. “Is that a ‘Man Law’ Mr. Ice?”
I was stunned by the remark. “A what?”
“A ‘Man Law’ like the beer advertisement,” she said.
Laughter spilled from my mouth. “Yeah, there you go! So let it be written on this day…in the County of Geauga… Mannn Lawwww!”
Liz tilted her head back. “Wait… what’s that… there is the echo of an idea… I feel a newspaper column coming on…”
My face went red. “Okay, I get your suggestion.”
Her mock-epiphany was comically dramatic. “Yes, there it is… a bold strike of inspiration, in the overwhelming darkness…”
“Where is my notepad?” I said. “Let me jot this down.”
She clapped with victory. “Have The Maple Leaf earmark that pay envelope for meeeeeeeee!”

ROD’S ‘MAN LAWS’

1.) BIGGER IS BETTER. A TRUCK IS ALWAYS PREFERABLE TO A YUGO.
In other words, no man truly enjoys driving a minivan, economy car, or anything painted in pastel colors. Fuel economy is something to gripe about, but not a determining factor in vehicle selection. We like to occupy as much space on the road as possible.

2.) MEN LIKE MACHINERY. PERIOD.
We enjoy lawn tractors, snow throwers, tools, barbecue grills, and shop vacuums with extra appliances. Owning a high-output cordless drill that can double as an emergency water pump and signal flare would be heavenly. Having a Black & Decker military-spec fillet knife and salad shooter, is our dream.

3.) BEER IS A FOOD GROUP
We consume this flavorful brew with gusto. Fruit and toy umbrellas are nothing more than a distraction. Our only interest in a feminine slant on beer comes from the opinions of top models who sell the stuff during sporting events.

4.) CHICKEN WINGS ARE BETTER THAN SALAD, ANY DAY
We don’t care about calories or carbohydrates. What we eat must be spicy and filling. If it goes with beer, that is an added plus. (If it doesn’t, we’ll drink suds with it, anyway.)

5.) DOGS OFFER THE HIGHEST FORM OF FRIENDSHIP
A good canine buddy will provide loyalty without conditions. A human being that can do the same is very, very rare. In dogs we trust.

6.) MUD IS BEAUTIFUL
We like it on our T-shirts, jeans, work boots, and pickup trucks. A smear across the
face says “Hoo boy, I’m having fun today!” Mud is sexy. John Wayne, Chuck
Norris, or Sam Elliot didn’t mind getting grubby in their movies. If ‘dirt’ was a color,
we’d buy it from Sherwin-Williams and paint the house for good!

7.) WAITRESSES SHOULD BE DRESSED FOR FUN
Choose your preference. They should either be attired like a Hooters Girl, a
Playboy Bunny, or a cheerleader.

8.) FRUIT ISN’T ON MY MENU. SORRY!
If God wanted me to eat fruit, he would’ve made a cow out of pineapple or a chicken
out of prunes.

9.) TOOLS GET THE JOB DONE
If you want the plumbing fixed, I need a wrench to do it. That’s why the garage is full of tools instead of yellow beach hats and lime green sandals.

10.) ‘TITANIC’ IS A CRAPPY MOVIE
The only good part is watching that famous boat go under. The rest is
boooooooring! Bring on something with Arnold Schwarzenegger.

When the list was finished, I showed it to Liz. Her reaction came as a total surprise. I had expected an in-depth critique of the platitudes. But instead, she demanded equal time. “Why aren’t there any ‘Woman Laws’ in those commercials?”
I bit my tongue. “Do women actually watch beer advertisements?”
She wasn’t amused. “Could you answer my question?”
I shrugged. “Okay, I have no clue. Why don’t you write some of your own? I’ll include them with my manuscript.”
Her response echoed like a cheer. “Yes! Equal time, here I come!!”

LIZ’S WOMAN LAWS:

1.) CHOCOLATE IS A FOOD GROUP
If men understood the power of chocolate they could avoid most marital disputes, and divorces that result. But Mother God didn’t include that information in their gender template. They don’t deserve to know.

2.) BEAUTY SHOULDN’T BE A FULL-TIME JOB
Men typically judge women only by their appearance. That kind of outlook is shallow. Get over it! This isn’t high school. Don’t expect me to look like a Prom Queen after nine hours at work.

3. YOU HAVE TO SPEAK TO BE UNDERSTOOD
If you want us to understand you, it requires use of the English language. Spousal communication is not like playing ‘Wheel of Fortune.’ I don’t have time to guess what you are thinking. Just say it! (Politely, with tact.)

4.) FRUIT IS GOOD FOR YOU - SO IS THE COLOR PINK
The same goes for vegetables, low-fat cheese, and yogurt. You can’t live on steak,
ribs, pizza, and chicken wings without expecting multiple heart attacks by age 50.
And wearing pink is proven to reduce stress. Do the math!

5.) BEING COLOR-COORDINATED WILL NOT MAKE OTHERS QUESTION
YOUR MANHOOD
Having on a shirt, pants, and shoes that actually go together can be fun. You won’t embarrass me in public, and I like that.

6.) SHOES ARE LIKE POTATO CHIPS – MY CRAVING STOPS WHEN THE
BAG IS EMPTY
I wouldn’t expect you to eat one cheese puff while watching a football game. Don’t ask me to survive with one pair of shoes.

7.) SHOPPING IS MORE COMPETITIVE THAN HUNTING
You spend all day tracking down helpless animals. C’mon, genius, eventually you’ll
shoot something if you wait long enough. I have to find bargains while
trying to out-think other customers on the prowl for goodies!

8.) BEING ROMANTIC SHOULD COME NATURALLY
Get your priorities straight: Wife = first; leisure activities = second. If I were a ‘Monster Truck’ you’d follow me everywhere. At least show the same amount of interest you’d have for a new air compressor or shotgun.

9.) CANDLELIGHT, FLOWERS, AND WINE ARE ALWAYS A HIT!
A night with television, a thirty-pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon Beer, and a bag of corn chips does NOT constitute “having fun.”

10.) ‘TITANTIC’ IS ONE OF THE GREATEST MOVIES EVER MADE
It isn’t supposed to be an adventure film. It’s a love story. Stop complaining!

By the time I’d finished writing, my coffee cup was empty. A trip to the kitchen offered snacks and more refreshment. I paused thoughtfully, while reflecting on the contrast of genderized platitudes. “Will this really work for the newspaper?
Liz spoke from the other room. “You only missed one thing.”
I was puzzled. “What? I missed something…?”
“You never mentioned pork rinds,” she said.
My face went red for a second time. “Okay… why does that matter??”
She pointed her finger in the air. “You’ve got to mention crunchy pig bites whenever the subject turns to food, honey. It’s a MAN LAWWWWWWWW!”

FROM THE GEAUGA COUNTY MAPLE LEAF

PRESTO PIZZA

Woww... what a discovery.

Yep, I'm a fan of Pop Tarts. A sense of awe has always surrounded this Kellogg product, for my generation. We came of age as these tasty pastries were entering our cultural folklore. Admittedly, I eat them 'raw' as an adult. (This is what my stepson used to call untoasted tarts.) But they satisfy my craving for sweet snacking, as ever.

The idea of a pizza spin on the Pop Tart template seems almost logical. Yet I don't remember the Presto Pizza Pastries. The box shown here is dated 1971, so such a boom-era food item should be familiar... but it isn't. A quick poll of my immediate famiy yielded the same. Apparently, this bit of grocer's history has been lost to the winds of time.

Pop Tarts are such a non-PC consumable. (OMG - prepared in a hotttt toaster that could burn little fingers!) And their current 'Crazy Good' ad campaign doesn't help the brand image. (Geez, they show a cartoon image of some poor kid in a straight-jacket!) But re-introducing this idea wouldn't be an impossibility. Perhaps with a bit more international flavor, they could sell in the modern marketplace? Call 'em "Pepi's Pizza Planks" and add a side cup of extra Marinara sauce, good for the microwave. Go with Sausage, Pepperoni, or Cheese varieties.

It could be a hit! But I'd still probably eat them raw...

(Have a look around at http://theimaginaryworld.com)