Engage. Enrage. Enjoy.

More (No) Respect Coming Later this Spring

Posted on by thependulumswings staff

Before cable, satellite, and the internet, comics had few nationwide outlets for fans to enjoy their humor.  At least musicians had recording studios and could have an album pressed, publicized, and sold for them in addition to their concert tours.  Comics could “stand up” in a comedy house, pack their bags, drive to the next town, and “stand up” all over again.  The pay was poor and the travel was brutal.  Few attempted to do so on a coast to coast basis.  Fewer lasted trying to do so.

One who toiled in relative obscurity, beat the long odds, and gained a national following is our favorite. He was good enough to get a shot on one of the very few network programs that provided a platform.  On Sunday, March 5, 1967, The Ed Sullivan Show needed a last-minute replacement for another act, and he became the surprise hit of the show.  He was already 46 years old then.

However, no platform was bigger than stage left of Johnny Carson’s desk.  Already in his fifties, he made Johnny Carson laugh out loud (LOL for you kids) each time he appeared on The Tonight Show.  Carson had great content control as a producer for his own show.  He liked Jack Roy (born Jacob Rodney Cohen, November 22, 1921 – October 5, 2004), popularly known by the stage name Rodney Dangerfield, so much that he appeared 35 times.  He may have gotten “no respect, no respect at all,” but we have great respect for his persistence, brand cultivation, and sense of humor.

In fact we have so much respect that we are hopeful that our site update later this spring will include a Dangerfield joke of the day.  In show biz that is called a tease.  So, let’s tease you with a smidgen of his “No Respect” shtick.

“Right from birth I got no respect.  The doctor took one look at me.  He spanked my mother.”

“The doctor said to my mom ‘we did everything that we could.’  But he lived!”

“My mother didn’t breast feed me.   She told me she liked me as a friend.”

More (no) respect for Jacob Rodney Cohen soon.

 

 

Oh Baby, Utopia is No Where Near.

Posted on by thependulumswings staff

We are wondering if we have been too hard on the month of February lately.  After all February makes us appreciate almost all of the other months more.  And, at least its only 28 days long(short).  So, there is that going for it.  Every day cannot be utopia.  Utopia?  Now there is an often spoken word that makes us wonder as well.  What does utopia mean, and what is the origin of its meaning?

Meaning: it’s a great place that doesn’t exist

History:  In 1516 Sir Thomas More wrote the first ‘Utopia‘. He coined the word ‘utopia‘ from the Greek ou-topos meaning ‘no place’ or ‘nowhere’. But this was a pun – the almost identical Greek word eu-topos means a good place. So at the very heart of the word is a vital question: can a perfect world ever be realized?

Can a perfect world ever be realized?  Probably not would be our guess, but we can hope.  But if indeed we fall short it’s no reason to throw the baby out with the bath water is it?

Meaning: Hang on to valuable things when getting rid of unnecessary things

History: During Medieval times most people bathed only once a year. Even when they did bathe, the entire family used the same tub full of water. The man of the house bathed first, followed by other males, then females, and finally the babies. You can imagine how thick and cloudy the water became by that time, so the infants’ mothers had to take care not to throw them out with the bath water when they emptied the tub.

Or so the story goes.

Perhaps we should strive for utopia after all.  Because in a perfect world, or even an imperfect one, we should probably bath more than once a year.  We’ve come a long way.  but, we’ve got a long ways to go.

 

Two to Avoid. Blackballed and Blacklisted.

Posted on by thependulumswings staff

Have you ever felt faint?  Did it cause you to pass out?  Or, in other words have you ever blacked out?  Scary.  Causes are many.  Physical maladies are usually the culprit.  But emotional stress can provide the impetus as well.  For example what if you were trying to gain entry into a club of your choice and right before your eyes you were denied by the very people who supposedly supported your attempt?  If so, you were blackballed before you blacked out.  What is “blackballing” and where did it come from?

Meaning:  a rejection via secret ballot, where a white ball constitutes a vote in support and a black ball signifies opposition.   A large supply of black and white balls is provided for voters.  Each voter casts a single ball into the ballot box under cover of a cloth and/or the box itself, so that observers can see who votes but not how they are voting.  When the voting is complete, the box is opened and the balls are displayed.  All present can immediately see the result without any means of knowing which members objected.

Origin:  Since the seventeenth century, these rules have commonly applied to elections to membership of many gentlemen’s clubs, country clubs, and fraternities.  This system is typically used where a club’s rules provide that one or two objections, rather than an at-least-50% share of votes, are sufficient to defeat a proposition.

It would be bad enough to be blackballed denying entry into a specific organization you covet. At least here are other clubs that you could join.  However, it would be far worse if you were rejected by an entire industry or profession.  In that case you would be “blacklisted.”

Meaning: to put someone’s name on a list of people who are considered not acceptable, which keeps the person from getting jobs, going certain places, or doing particular things.

Origin:  possibly as early as the 1610’s indicative of disgrace, censure, punishment (attested to in a black book) . It was specifically used as an employers’ list of workers considered troublesome (usually for union activity) and is from 1884 or sooner.

People have been getting rejected or ostracised for centuries.  One supposes that if you had to choose it would be better to be blackballed than blacklisted.  But, it would be best to avoid both obviously.  Neither are for the faint of heart.

 

 

 

As They May Say Across the Pond, “Bloody Sheep!”

Posted on by thependulumswings staff

We ugly Americans are gluttonous.  More is better.   We collect.  Some even hoard.  More insurance.  More regulations.   “More, more, more” sang Andrea True in 1976.  But when you “have more than you can shake a stick at” you likely have too much.  What pray tell does that mean and where did that phrase come from?

Meaning: Having more of something than you need
History: Farmers controlled their sheep by shaking their staffs to indicate where the animals should go. When farmers had more sheep than they could control, it was said they had “more than you can shake a stick at.”

But, just because one owns more than they can handle or might need it doesn’t give you the right to steal from them.  Maybe you could beg.  Maybe you could borrow.  But you shalt not steal.  If you do grab a sheep or two, be sure to wash away the evidence right away.  After all you don’t want to be “caught with blood on your hands.”

Meaning: To be caught doing something wrong
History: This saying originated because of a law. If someone butchered an animal that didn’t belong to him, he had to be caught with the animal’s blood on his hands to be convicted. Being caught with freshly cut meat did not make the person guilty.

Seems like it was tough even way back then to convict someone of a crime.  That must be why it seems like we have more criminals than we can shake a stick at.

I Have Yet Another Story and a Moral Thereof.

Posted on by thependulumswings staff

As a business professional newbie the excitement for my first ever sales meeting trip grew by the day.  Our company had met its overall goal.  Las Vegas here we come.   And, as a bonus, individuals who met their goals were invited out a day earlier to enjoy some sun, fun, and a round of golf if you so pleased.

In 1983 the old Desert Inn, one of Vegas’ first and finest, had just completed a huge remodel.  As our taxi wheeled us onto the property everything seemed larger than life.  A coworker and I grabbed our over the shoulder bags (few are made anymore), our briefcases (even fewer are made anymore), and our golf clubs (few that hit it straight were ever made).  The long check in lines at the wide front reception area awaited.

Checking in can take forever in Vegas.  This time-lapse can be compounded if you chose the wrong line.  Why they didn’t(and some still don’t) have one line a la a bank queue is one of life’s great mysteries.  The lines were quite long.  We chose one roughly in the middle of about a dozen that each stretched a good 40 or so feet.  This made passing through the lobby a crazy cross weave through humans and their collective baggage.

Our approaching tee time left us anxious to get this done.  As each guest registered and carried their belongings away the remaining unregistered of us (sheep) picked our belongings up, moved forward one spot, and set them all down a bit closer to the coveted check in.

In the same line my buddy was right behind me.  Our banter, bragging, and betting on the coming round helped pass the time and mostly allowed us to ignore the chaos of it all.

As it was time to move up one more spot yet again I slung all of what I brought over my shoulders and picked up the case to advance.  His wisecrack made me turn back to him to get in another word.  I over did it and my golf clubs suddenly had circular momentum.  One unfortunate human was knifing through perpendicular to our line and my spot just then.  My clubs, fueled by my momentum, cut his legs right out from underneath him.  “Down goes Frazier,” Howard Cosell would have reported.

As I dropped what I owned to help my victim up from his sprawled on the marble fall I instantly saw who it was.  Good news.  It wasn’t Smokin’ Joe.  Bad news.  It was a smoking hot, Las Vegas headline entertainer named Sammy Davis Jr.  One very important member  of the famous Rat Pack lie before me clutching his leg.  Ouch.

I asked if he was alright as I helped him to his feet.  He muttered something like, “it’s all cool man.”  I wanted to ask if he was going to mention this to Frank Sinatra, another famous Rat Pack member.  And, more importantly to me at that moment, he purportedly had mafia ties.  I figured it would lighten the moment.  I reconsidered.  Instead I said, “I’m quite sorry for this.”  He nodded and plodded along, his limp barely noticeable.

Oh, what’s the moral of the story?  In show business timing is everything.  Get it right and you can knock them off of their feet.