I’m sitting here in my big, comfortable, black leather poppa chair, semi-trembling. I’ve just noticed that civilization, as we know it is tottering at a tipping point. And it’s partly my fault. The ancient Mayan 2012 end of the world prophesy is nothing compared to the impact on our weakened society of what I must call, the dreaded “D Word !” I must even be careful just saying that out loud, because the “Forces For Good In The Community” are always lurking… constantly alert to this incredible opportunity that the use of this new, and dreaded “D Word” gives them to be shocked, dismayed, and offended.
We have, in the long history of mankind, faced similar threats to our way of life when we have discovered…hidden…craftily in our midst…the “B Word,” the “N Word,” The “H Word,” and the “F Word.” Words for which, if you say them, those Forces For Good In The Community will righteously punish you by getting you fired from your broadcasting job, banishing you to live in Odessa, Texas, and/or sticking your wet tongue in a hot socket. (Actually sticking your wet tongue in a hot socket might not be such a bad punishment, because the resulting hairdo might win you a place on American Idol.)
We need to bring in the wisdom of Big Louie, his own bad self, the Chief Mustard Cutter of the Louie-Louie Generation to put this threat into an understandable perspective. If you are new to this podcast, you need to know about the Louie-Louie Generation, because you’re probably a member of it, and you just don’t know it. Check it out. Big Louie always says, “When you get to be somewhere between 40 and 50 years old, something terrible happens to popular music.”
Louie-Louie Generation Lads and Ladies went to soda fountains where the pouring faucets had big round handles that looked like ice cream cones on top. We bought gas for 24 cents a gallon. We went to double feature movies, with a couple of cartoons and a newsreel thrown in, in air conditioned theaters. We did the “Duck and cover” drill to put our school desks between us and thermonuclear destruction. We counted on our fingers instead of pushing calculator buttons to pass algebra. And believe it or not, there wasn’t any cholesterol, e-mail, or duck tape. And do peg pants, mini skirts, duck tails, and tye dyes mean anything to you?
You’re probably tempted to say “Those were the good old days,”…except for the algebra. Actually, some of thse good old days weren’t so good. But some of the nights were excellent.
Musically, we had Elvis “Swivel Hips” Presley, who later became a king. We learned the Duck Walk from Chuck Berry, and we got new haircuts like the “Mop Tops” who called themselves, “The Beatles.” We tucked the “truly official words to Louie-Louie” into our wallets and sang them softly to the girls at the record hops. We were having a lot of fun. We had no idea we were destroying civilization until our Social Studies teachers, our preachers, and the other members of the Forces For Good In The Community pointed out that we were reveling in the “Music of the Devil.”
Times have changed. We Louie-Louie Generation lads and ladies are now living in the era of the Pimple People, and the Dreadful Drones. Often, Louie-Louie folks from places like Brooklyn are inclined to say, “If we can’t beat them senseless, let’s arrange to have them beaten senseless.” But regardless of what you do, things are going to go, where they’re going to go. Gas, for example is going for around $3 a gallon. We have six foot wide plasma tvs hooked up to Tivos, computer dating, virtual sex, cloning, NASCAR, and cell phones with personalized ring tones…none of which sound like Louie-Louie. And that’s because the Pimple People/Dreadful Drone musical culture is nourished by folks like the well respected pop singer and naked person Brittany Spears, American Idol winners, and Rappy headed ho performers like Public Enemy…who, much to the distress of the Forces For Good, is a multi millionaire because he always uses the “N Word,” the “B Word,” the “F Word,” and the “H Word.” I think he may have missed the new “D Word.”
Let me be clear. I think Rap is Crap. But this round of “The End Of The World Is Coming Because Of The Devil’s Music” is going to have exactly the same effect as all the rounds before it. That is to say…Zip. As Big Louie always says, “The Republic will stand. Sex will still sell. And most guys will continue to seek meaningful over night relationships.” Listen…Music makes it’s own nation. And the people of any nation have a right to speak what ever language they like.
Dick’s Details Quiz. All answers are in the current podcast.
1- What does your neighborhood terrorist think your omelet says about America.
2- What do the birds in my driveway like to say ?
3- Who, among us, do not have to tighten our belts these days?
Dick’s Details. They take your mind off your mind.
To me, the Forces For Good In The Community are like slinky toys. There’ really not good for anything much, but the idea of pushing them down the stairs does bring a smile to my face. It’s not only some music they don’t like. They evidently don’t like a lot of the stuff in my new Night Connections 3 personal audio album either. Especially one of the stories called, “It’s Cryin’ Time.” It’s in the current podcast.
Have you ever cried so hard you started to laugh ? That’s what the woman in the story did. And it felt so good. If you like “Cryin’ Time,” you can just keep the current podcast. Or if you want a fresh copy, just go back to www.dicksummer.com , and download it from the Night Connections 3 icon on the home page.
Music makes it’s own nation, and the people of any nation have a right to speak whatever language they want. The “B Word,” the “N Word,” the “H Word,” and the “F Word” are spoken a lot in the Rap nation. I don’t speak the Rap nation language. I’d be an alien there. And I wouldn’t want to live there. But I wouldn’t be afraid to visit. I also don’t speak Mexican or Canadian French. But I’ve been to Canada and Mexico, and I’ve been able to communicate with the people there well enough to get along quite nicely.
Proud Podcast Participant Ed Sweeney told me how we got the “F Word.” In the 1700s, the king of England signed a law that required all ladies of the evening to be examined by doctors before being allowed to ply their trade on the king’s ships while in port. The licenses were issued under the title of “Fornication Under Consent of the King. Check out the abbreviation.
That’s my kind of king.
Oh yeah…the new letter that’s got us teetering on the tipping point…the “D Word.” My main client’s executive secretary, who is definitely under the influence of the Forces For Good In The Community, calls me Richard, or Mr. Summer…because she can’t bring herself to use the newly dreaded “D Word.” She’s simply can’t call me…Dick.