Tag: Mossad

What the Heck is a Magic Twanger, Froggy?

We all grow up with idols. I imagine who or what we choose to emulate is a reflection of our character.

So here goes and please don’t judge me.

My favorite TV personality growing up in the fifties was, drum roll please…Froggy the Gremlin from Andy’s Gang.  Hiya, Kids Hiya Hiya. Words to live by I say.

Yes, Baby Boomers were lucky to grow up with such a brilliant and hysterical array of puppets and unforgettable characters.

Although I loved Howdy Doody, Rootie Kazootie, White Fang and Black Tooth, Kukla Fran and Ollie and all the others, Froggy the Gremlin from Andy’s Gang holds a special place in my heart.

“Why?” you ask.

Who couldn’t love a frog with a deep bass voice in a suit? One who drives everyone around him crazy and gets them tearing their hair out, and screaming while you roar with laughter?

Top that off with a black cat named Midnight that says nothing except “nice” and plays musical instruments badly. Hello, pure perfection.

The sponsor was even a little strange. Some kid with a pageboy and a dog announcing,

“That’s my dog Tige, he lives in a shoe.

I’m Buster Brown look for me in there too.”

The show followed a pretty straightforward formula. Andy Divine was the host who welcomed you each week singing the sage words:

You Got a Gang

I got a gang.  

Everybody’s got to have a gang.

But there’s only one real gang for me, Good old Andy’s gang.

It all seemed pretty harmless to me. But of course, our generation was nothing if not innocent.

There was also a short film mostly starring Gunga the Jungle Boy. He rode an elephant and had adventures.

Then there may be a musical number, but the highlight was always Froggy driving his music teacher, Pasta Fazooli, and everyone crazy. He’d twist and add to their words to completely change the meaning and make them look stupid.

By the time Froggy was done they were tearing their hair out and running screaming off the stage. Froggy just laughed evilly.

Okay, so what was so funny about that you ask?

I believe this is the same generation that thought that anything bought from Acme and used by Coyote was the funniest thing of life?

And most still do.

So did we have a warped sense of humor? Or was there something we missed in the violence and nastiness? Did this lead to aggressive behavior?  What is so funny about a frog creating chaos? Driving people to distraction and freaking out while a frog breaks into fits of laughter at their pain.

Could you ever imagine Big Bird slamming the lid down on Oscar’s head? Or Bert stealing Cookie Monster’s cookies? Or Kermit making Elmo cry?

Couldn’t happen.

I see irony here. After all Baby Boomers marched against war, despite the carnage they found so hilarious.

Seriously, Coyote falling off a cliff with an anvil aiming for his head? And don’t forget that dumb look on his face. Priceless.

Despite the fact we watched the Untouchables, Froggy Gremlin driving people out of their minds, Bugs creating havoc for everyone around him and Acme selling explosives, I thought we abhorred violence.

We marched against a war and made Peace, Love and Rock and Roll the watchwords of our generation.

We were Woodstock, The Chicago Seven and flower children. If true, how were we affected by the violence we found so uproariously funny?

“Watching violence in movies and on television is potentially harmful to your child. As early as the 1960s, studies reported that watching violence can make children more aggressive.”

This is what the experts claimed.

Still, is it true? It doesn’t seem to make any sense at all.

I always turn my head away from the horse head in the bed scene every time I watch The Godfather. And I have watched it a lot.

Were we being brainwashed to accept pain and destruction as commonplace? I never felt that way, but perhaps I was naïve.

Was Froggy the inspiration for Jedi mind control. After all what is different about Froggy changing the meaning of someone’s sentence and Luke saying “You will take me to Jabba?”

Was pluck your magic twanger, Froggy some sort of secret code for brainwashing?

Have the CIA and Mossad adopted it to use on terrorists?

How could anyone accuse Midnight the Cat, whose every word was “Nice,” of exhibiting aggressive behavior?

Let’s get real here. Do you really believe Baby Boomers were affected by Ming the Merciless when Flash Gordon chased him through space on his cardboard rocket ship?

Or wanted to emulate Superman when he hit the bad guy a foot away from his face?

For heaven’s sake people, have you forgotten about Lassie and Timmy?

Yes, I agree Viet Nam changed us. We were greatly upset by the Chicago Democratic Convention of 1968. No doubt about the horror we all felt watching the brutal violence against our peace efforts.

Yet no one can ever convince me that Froggy, Bugs or Yosemite Sam created a generation of violence-prone adults. Did we all grow up to be the Three Stooges?

Perhaps we were an angry generation, I’ll give you that one.

War, Watergate, John, Martin and Robert assassinations, drugs, the loss of innocence, all contributed to a feeling of frustration and hopelessness. But violence? I just can’t see it.

Yet, if I’m wrong about the impact, I’m not about the need for the laughter.

I admit our taste was a bit juvenile. But Froggy and his magic twanger (whatever that is) or Acme’s weapons list seemed to provide great laughs. After all Punch and Judy are older than dirt.

Can laughter be a bad thing? No one will ever convince me it can.

If you say it is I’ll get really angry with you and…

Never mind. Have a nice day.

Ouch! My Feet are Killing Me.

Men will never understand the pain a woman suffers. I’m not talking about the trying to push a watermelon through your cervix pain. No, I’m talking about the pain you can’t acknowledge or scream about.

At least in childbirth you are allowed to yell and call your mate every name in the book. And even make up a few new ones if you want.

I’m talking about the pain of walking in high-heeled shoes that are pinching your toes like Godzilla is bouncing on them. I’m talking about that feeling that if you have to walk another step you will rip off those Christian Louboutins and beat the closest person over the head with the heel point.

An overwhelming Oh-my-God-I-wish-I-were-dead kind of pain only a woman in five-inch heels could understand.

Okay, I do realize men get kidney stones and they lose their minds from the pain.

So, if men have experienced that, then they do have some idea of a woman’s suffering.

So why am I bringing this up at all? Do you not have more important things to worry about, Norma?

Of course I do, but the other night I was reminded of women’s suffering and tolerance for pain watching Melania Trump at the inaugural ball.

Now this is not a political piece so please don’t start sending me hate memes or unfriending me. It’s to make a point about women and shoes.

I’m certain it took hours to put herself together and she was bedecked in a designer gown and all the trimmings.

But the real story here is the shoes.

When she walked into the ball I instantly saw on her face that familiar look of pain. Someone who is wishing she could take off her shoes and wiggle her toes in ice water. Whose toes hadn’t felt blood rushing through them in hours. Yet she knew the fashion world was snapping pics and judging, so Birkenstocks were out of the question.

When I was young in the Mesozoic era, the highest heels we wore were three inches.

That was enough to pinch, hurt and ouch our way through occasions when it was necessary to sport a dressy shoe.

Now women wear five-inch heels. Are you kidding me? I once saw Jodie Foster in heels so high her calves were bulging tighter than Tyson’s fists.

We’ve all been there. Trying to smile and act cool while we’re fighting not to cry or scream out loud from the agony. Trying not to show it on our face when we are literally wincing from the torture.

So my question is why? Why wear shoes that will cause you excruciating pain instead of sensible-sized heels?

I’m thinking one of the best parts of getting to grandma age is you never have to wear those Manolo torture chambers again. No one gives a damn if a seventy-five-year-old woman’s legs look shapely under her gown.

My friends and I fell back down to earth years ago searching for pretty flats to wear for fancy occasions.

And what a difference it made.

While other women in skyscraper heels suffered and tried to smile through the evening, we were cozy and comfortable in old lady flats with a cushy insole.

Now I do have some friends who can rock a one or two incher while wearing a soft insert, but I’m not that adventurous. Nope. I’ve decided life is too short to wear a vice around my feet that squeezes harder with each moment of swelling.

The last time I wore a heel I was limping and crying within the first hour. I said “screw this and walked around in my nylons the rest of the night.”

Do I care if people were pointing and giggling behind my back? Hell no, because they were all men. The women were nodding and sending me looks of pity and total understanding of my dilemma. Although some of them continued to brave on in higher heels with full knowledge they wouldn’t be walking without pain for the next few days.

So why do women care at all? I have a bunch of shoes in my closet I will never wear again. Yet I don’t have the heart to give them away yet.

Many were only worn once, but they sit sadly in the box awaiting their night on the town.

A night that will never come. So why do I keep them?

Is it because I actually believe that I will someday be able to tolerate the torture again? Does old age make you more masochistic?

Trust me. There is no pain killer strong enough to eliminate the misery and still allow me to walk upright without bumping into walls.

My toes still smart when I think about the squeezing they endured in those pointed, but absolutely yummy candy-apple-red heels I so loved.

It’s a chick thing and I don’t expect men to get it.

Most men would be sensible and ask, “well if they hurt your feet so much why wear them?”

Easy for them to say. Does common sense have anything at all to do with fashion?

Well, I’d have to admit when you’re young you kind of feel it’s your duty to suffer for style.

It’s so great to get to the Chico’s age. Now one can wear loose clothes, low heels and big necklaces or scarves to cover that turkey neck.

Don’t even start me on the whole fabulous “throw-a-hat-on” thing.

As difficult as it is to age, I must admit one of the perks is you no longer have to give a damn about fashion. You can display great taste even wearing comfortable clothes and low-heeled shoes.

At least there are other choices now besides Naturalizers or the grandma kickers of yesteryear.

Sadly, most people are too busy noticing all those wrinkles on your face to even make it down to the feet anyway.

The only thing a woman in her seventies should be doing with a five-inch heel is using it as a weapon if she’s attacked.

Even if I could get them on and stand in them, chances are I’d fall flat on my face immediately. What am I, a high wire performer in my old age?

As a public service I have a tip for the CIA and Mossad. Next time you are trying to make a terrorist talk, just put them in a pair of five-inch, one size too small Manolo Blahniks and make them walk two miles. They’ll sing like a bird after only twenty minutes.

Charlie Tuna’s Bait and Switch and is This Our New Reality?

chickenportabello

Charlie Tuna’s Bait and Switch and is This Our New Reality?

If anyone wonders why one would think of Charlie Tuna at a time when the world is in chaos it seems very reasonable to me. I’m not sure if it’s the chocolate binges that have led me to these crazy, out-there theories and ramblings, but take the ride with me. What the heck? What else do we have to do after binge watching Ozark?

Right now most of us seem possessed with escaping from the turmoil of the outside world and building a safe harbor within our homes and minds.

Although too many are cavalier about the imminent dangers surrounding us at every turn, many have sought refuge in the past and the refrigerator, although not necessarily in that order.

I’ve been surprised and delighted lately at how many have responded positively and vocally to my waxing nostalgic about my youth in Detroit and desire to recall as many wonderful memories as I can from what seems to me now, a magical time in our history. A time when streets were safe, life was innocent and children were in awe of a puppet or seeing the peacock’s feathers in color on a television set. When everyone on the block rushed to see the first color TV, listened for the good humor man and compared collections of 45 records as though they were gold coins worth a fortune. Life made sense.

When the new Hi Fi was delivered I wondered how I’d ever learn to work this new state-of-the-art device. I was so happy when I learned to stick the plastic middle piece into my forty fives to make them fit over the spindle thingy on the turntable without breaking the record. Pretty high tech stuff huh? Now I wrestle with megabytes and artificial intelligence.

No, I’m not digressing from the whole Charlie Tuna headline at all, just merely leading up to a point I wish to convey. Perhaps Charlie Tuna had it right after all. If the whole world was looking for tunas “wit good taste,” Charlie would produce artwork or whatever he needed to do to prove himself. However, as he was reminded in the commercial, “Star-Kist don’t want tunas wit good taste, they want tunas that taste good.”

Yes, we all remember the old commercials where Charlie struggles to be selected by Star-Kist, a company so picky they thumbed their nose at Charlie, an obvious star and continued to reject his constant advances.

And how did we react to his dilemma? We loved Charlie and although we sympathized with his rejection, we were torn by the thought of the company relenting and putting him in a can on our supermarket shelf.

As I’ve said before, we were very innocent. But Charlie’s quandary seemed to teach him a valuable lesson that now goes unnoticed; distraction will save your ass.

Yes, without noticing, Charlie pulled the greatest bait and switch, pun intended, in history. Have you ever wondered why all anyone can talk about nowadays is salmon?

It’s all about the salmon. How healthy and full of good omegas they are. How sustainable they can be raised. How you can’t go to a damn dinner party and not find a slab of pink fish in front of you.

I for one dislike salmon unless it is dressed up like Cinderella for the ball or on a bagel loaded with cream cheese, and have struggled with why we have recently experienced this great love for salmon.

So because I have little to do except check the refrigerator for new food that may have snuck in while I wasn’t looking, I gave it some thought.

I’m convinced this is a plot hatched up by some undercover Charlie Tuna with the help of the Mossad (I have to infer that any food-related plots would defer to Israel) to distract people and turn them off tuna and onto salmon.

Why you ask would Charlie do this when he has always been a big proponent of tuna? Simple, pressure from a tuna mafia that simply got tired of having their tush chased all over the ocean.

Distraction is the perfect vehicle. It allows anyone with an agenda to perform under a cover of whatever they wish and we are easily fooled.

So the big boy tunas sat down with Charlie and laid it on the line, “Stop pushing the tuna or we’ll push you back hard.”

So Charlie possessing a desire for survival decided to secretly exploit a salmon agenda in an increasingly health-conscious society that believes salmon is the filet mignon of the fish world.

Smart move, Charlie. Salmon is now king and the poor fish is dead in the water, literally. Sad after all that work to swim upstream.

If this seems like a long way to go to make a point, it’s not so far as you’d think.

We are inundated today with distractions and being force-fed a steady diet of craziness, fear and distrust.

We are stressed over the news that changes hourly from one extreme to another. Masks, no masks, ventilators bad, no good, who knows anymore, you can catch COVID19 if your neighbor sneezes two blocks away, wait that’s six feet, lock down, go out, occupy the streets, take back our streets, police or no police, I guess if you’re in trouble you can call Rin Tin Tin to save you. Is Joe Biden still alive in the basement or is it a hologram? Is Trump self destructing on purpose or does he have some devious plan? Did Lincoln free the slaves or was he a racist? Is Congress as useless as an old girdle without any elastic left? Oh sorry that one is a no brainer, yes, Congress is useless, no quandary there.

No wonder people are hiding in their homes eating themselves into oblivion. Is all this craziness an attempt to distract us from what’s really happening and if so they’re doing a hellava job, because I don’t have a clue.

We’ve all lived through crazy times before. Viet Nam, the Cold War, Watergate, Bill Clinton’s women, Tiananmen Square, 9/11, the list goes on, but this is different, a complete switch from tuna to salmon.

This is a whole new breed of chaos and even the strongest of us have no idea what to make of it all.

Our generation is tough, but where once there were answers that made even a little sense, now there are none, and it’s a scary place to be.

So now that they’ve switched us off tuna and onto salmon I have two questions; first, what is behind this salmon switch and second, who is the real Charlie Tuna and what is he ultimately up to?

Yes, it’s unsettling and I feel like I’m living through an episode of The Twilight Zone.

And I think I hear Rod Serling’s voice now: “For your consideration, a world that once made sense now filled with strange happenings that cannot be explained. Is this truly reality or has the present descended into what these people will soon awaken to and find makes perfect sense in the new world within the Twilight Zone?”

Anyone for a tuna sandwich on whole wheat with chips in a little paper cup? I thought so. And tell ‘em Charlie sent ya.

Chicken Stuffed Portobello

4 large Portobello mushrooms cleaned

1 large or two small chicken breasts

1/4 cup celery chopped

1 cup grated Fontina cheese

1 cup shredded Parmesan Reggiano cheese

½ cup heavy cream

½ cup mayo

½ cup sliced almonds

1 heaping tablespoon of Panko crumbs

2 tablespoons of chopped sweet onions, sautéed with the celery

Salt and pepper

Cook and season chicken breast until soft. You can poach it in broth or water and wine. After shredding chicken breast combine with all other ingredients except Parmesan Reggiano.

Salt and pepper to taste

Fill the mushroom caps with chicken mixture and cover with Parmesan Reggiano. You may add sautéed spinach or tomatoes if you’d like.

Place on a greased baking sheet and bake at 350 for 20 minutes until warmed through and cheese is melted on top. Serve with soup and salad for a great easy supper.