Last week I gave you a very cut-and-dried ‘How To Not Die in the Aftermath of a Disaster’ lecture. Then I got thinking about what got me motivated to do my own disaster preparations, and I thought, Why not give them the zombie version, too?
Caveat: you could just go read The Zombie Survival Guide by Max Brooks (son of Hollywood legend Mel Brooks). But that would take you ages, whereas this will take you ten minutes, so...hooray for the abridged version?
Let’s start by assuming two things: 1) you’ve been forced to flee your home area and seek a safe haven elsewhere, and 2) you’re starting with the basics we covered last week: food, water, shelter, and a plan to get to your people. Great. Now, let’s expand on that, because an earthquake is a one-time event leading to a relatively short period of disaster recovery, but zombies are forever. So now you need your basics for a prolonged period of time, and your supply of powdered Chicken à la King is unlikely to last as long as you might like. You aren’t going to want to live in a tent forever. You’re going to need a reliable source of water.
Yeah, it’s a lot to think about. But remember, there are zombies! I know some of you are bound to be The Walking Dead fans, so this should all look familiar to you. I’ve never so much as seen half an episode, so somehow that ought to prove that this exercise is also fun for non-zombie enthusiasts...right? Anyway, you’ve got your basics and you’ve got your people.
But have you really thought about your people? I know you’re all going to want to take the family, which is great and you should, but you need to think bigger than that. Who do you know that has outdoors skills? Medical skills? Do you know a general contractor? Someone with a green thumb? Who was in 4-H as a kid? What about a crafty person who can make something from nothing? And that friend you have who likes to go hunting for mushrooms?
I know, right? If you’ve ever played the cooperative board game Pandemic, you’ll know that the right blend of expertise can be the difference between survival and a world overrun with crazy killer diseases. It’s the same to survive in a hostile environment. Diversity of skills is key. Choose your people wisely.
***My editor would like it noted for the record that “basic worker bees like [her]” are important, too, and she's right. Remember your Hufflepuffs, people. Their dedication and loyalty may save your life.***
Food and water sources are obviously very important. If you have the space and can stockpile non-perishable goods, that’s a great start. A water filtration system or rain barrels are also good. Eventually, though, you’re going to have to look elsewhere for these things, and there’s always the possibility that you may not have been able to get everything in the vehicle or convoy of vehicles in which you fled. This is where local geography is going to come in very handy indeed. Know your local water sources. Know your native plants and animals.
Know what makes squirrel palatable.
An ideal situation would be a wooded area on a coastline with a fresh water source that flows to the sea, but that might not be attainable, so you’re going to have to work with whatever you’ve got. “Improvise, adapt, and overcome”, amirite? Anything goes when there are zombies, so go ahead and carve out a niche for yourself in the nearest open space or county/state park. Just make sure it’s also easily defended against other people who may not have been as prepared as you, or, you know, zombies. High ground is a sought-after location for a reason.
While we’re on the subject of defense, let’s talk about your armory. (Zombies, remember? Also possibly roving groups of people who didn’t plan as well as you did, or are just assholes.) Everyone immediately thinks ‘firearms’, and yes, they’re a good thing to plan to have (for more than protection--you gotta eat, ya know), but you have to remember that they’re machines. They require maintenance. They have a lot of working parts. This is the zombie apocalypse, and Amazon can’t deliver to “The hut next to the hill, down the river from what was formerly Guerneville”. The other thing to consider here is ammunition. Yes, you could stockpile the .9mm, but remember, you also have to travel with it and store it, and sooner or later you’re going to run out. What are your options, then? How about the dystopian favorite: the bow and arrow. Easy to build and maintain, and you’re likely to have an infinite supply of ammunition available, because arrows actually grow on trees. Not the world’s greatest marksman? How about a spear or a club? Personally, I’m a fan of the crowbar because it can be used as both a tool and a weapon. Two birds, one stone, my friends.
Simplification of transportation is also something to consider. Gas and spare parts will only be around for so long. You know what’s relatively easy to maintain? A bicycle. Sure, it has its faults, too, but you’ll be able to use it long after the oil fields have gone up in smoke and the sides of the highways are Tesla graveyards. There’s also animal transportation like horses or mules, but don’t forget that they need to be fed and sheltered, too. If you think you can swing it, go for it, but weigh the odds first.
I could go on about this for a while, but I’ll stop here because I can see a few of you glazing over. But you have to admit that making the whole exercise of disaster preparedness into a game makes it significantly more interesting!
Thursday, July 25, 2019
Thursday, July 18, 2019
Shake, Rattle, Roll, & Survive
In light of the recent rash of earthquakes in Southern California (and apparently one in Washington? WTF?) I am going to do you all a favor and tell you about disaster preparedness. A public service, if you will. My contribution to the collective civil consciousness.
You’re welcome.
Historically, I wasn’t the best at preparing for disasters of any kind--natural or otherwise. Then I started dating a Navy man and was introduced to something which (according to him and the Navy man I dated after him and all of their friends) was a ubiquitous pastime among the junior enlisted: The Zombie S.O.P.
An S.O.P., or Standard Operating Procedure, is an A-to-Z plan for what to do in case of [fill in the blank]. They are not strictly for disasters or large events--they can be a guide to how to complete a task, or a job as a whole. They can be a short bulleted list, or a comprehensive manual with chapters and appendices and charts and all manner of informational foofaraw. The Zombie S.O.P.s created by my former Navy dudes and their buddies were obviously more fantastical than factual, but the fact remained that they were an exercise in disaster preparedness--the zombie part just made it more fun. And let’s face facts: if you’re prepared for zombies, you’re prepared for anything.
You want to start with the five basic questions--who, what, when, where, and how?
The ‘who’ is obviously yourself and anyone else for whom you may be responsible. Draw up a rota of anyone else you need (or choose, you can always have an ‘emergency group’) to know how to get in contact or meet up with.
The ‘what’ is your disaster preparedness kit. You can find a gazillion lists of recommended items for these all over the internet so I won’t get into too much detail here, but you want to cover food, water, and shelter at a minimum. Beyond that you can include anything else you think you need. Medications and first aid supplies, pet food and supplies, a change of clothes and shoes--whatever. Make sure your kit or kits are stocked and packed up and in a place where everyone who needs to know about them can find them easily. I keep my kit in my car, because nine times out of ten my car is where I am. (I’ll take the chance on that other tenth of the time--I draw the line at dragging my earthquake kit on public transit.)
Part of the ‘when’ is obvious--when a disaster occurs. The other part of the ‘when’ I think of as a kind of a curfew. Depending upon the distance you may be from the other members of your emergency group, you’ll want to set some sort of timeline for making contact with each other, especially if telephones and cell towers are down. “If we aren’t all here within two hours, we’ll start to worry,” would be fine if everyone is in close geographical proximity. The further away people are, the longer the time frame. Depending upon the severity of the disaster, you may want to set a sliding scale for time limits. Of course, it’s all up to you, and I realize that there’s a lot of extra thought required for things like sliding scales, so set up what you’re comfortable with. For my part, I figure if half the state falls into the ocean I want my people to show up within 24 hours or it’s every man for himself. “Leave no man behind” doesn’t apply in the zombie apocalypse.
For most people, the ‘where’ will be their home, and that makes perfect sense for family units. If your group consists of more than one household, however, you will want to select a central location that will be simple enough to get to but unlikely to be crowded.
As long as you know where your stuff is and where your people are (as best the communication situation will allow) and you keep a clear head, everything will eventually be fine. Earthquakes are my ‘area of specialty’ because I live in California--the best thing to do if you’re indoors is to get underneath something and protect your head as best you can. (I’ve seen arguments against the ‘triangle’, door frames, and trying to get outside circulating recently, so I’ll stick with the ol’ tried and true.) If you’re outside, try to stay clear of anything that could potentially fall on you. If you’re in an area where your disasters are tornadoes or hurricanes or something else, follow the guidelines you’re used to.
Oh, and ‘how’. Mustn’t forget ‘how’.
BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY.
Be safe, y’all.
You’re welcome.
Historically, I wasn’t the best at preparing for disasters of any kind--natural or otherwise. Then I started dating a Navy man and was introduced to something which (according to him and the Navy man I dated after him and all of their friends) was a ubiquitous pastime among the junior enlisted: The Zombie S.O.P.
An S.O.P., or Standard Operating Procedure, is an A-to-Z plan for what to do in case of [fill in the blank]. They are not strictly for disasters or large events--they can be a guide to how to complete a task, or a job as a whole. They can be a short bulleted list, or a comprehensive manual with chapters and appendices and charts and all manner of informational foofaraw. The Zombie S.O.P.s created by my former Navy dudes and their buddies were obviously more fantastical than factual, but the fact remained that they were an exercise in disaster preparedness--the zombie part just made it more fun. And let’s face facts: if you’re prepared for zombies, you’re prepared for anything.
You want to start with the five basic questions--who, what, when, where, and how?
The ‘who’ is obviously yourself and anyone else for whom you may be responsible. Draw up a rota of anyone else you need (or choose, you can always have an ‘emergency group’) to know how to get in contact or meet up with.
The ‘what’ is your disaster preparedness kit. You can find a gazillion lists of recommended items for these all over the internet so I won’t get into too much detail here, but you want to cover food, water, and shelter at a minimum. Beyond that you can include anything else you think you need. Medications and first aid supplies, pet food and supplies, a change of clothes and shoes--whatever. Make sure your kit or kits are stocked and packed up and in a place where everyone who needs to know about them can find them easily. I keep my kit in my car, because nine times out of ten my car is where I am. (I’ll take the chance on that other tenth of the time--I draw the line at dragging my earthquake kit on public transit.)
Part of the ‘when’ is obvious--when a disaster occurs. The other part of the ‘when’ I think of as a kind of a curfew. Depending upon the distance you may be from the other members of your emergency group, you’ll want to set some sort of timeline for making contact with each other, especially if telephones and cell towers are down. “If we aren’t all here within two hours, we’ll start to worry,” would be fine if everyone is in close geographical proximity. The further away people are, the longer the time frame. Depending upon the severity of the disaster, you may want to set a sliding scale for time limits. Of course, it’s all up to you, and I realize that there’s a lot of extra thought required for things like sliding scales, so set up what you’re comfortable with. For my part, I figure if half the state falls into the ocean I want my people to show up within 24 hours or it’s every man for himself. “Leave no man behind” doesn’t apply in the zombie apocalypse.
For most people, the ‘where’ will be their home, and that makes perfect sense for family units. If your group consists of more than one household, however, you will want to select a central location that will be simple enough to get to but unlikely to be crowded.
As long as you know where your stuff is and where your people are (as best the communication situation will allow) and you keep a clear head, everything will eventually be fine. Earthquakes are my ‘area of specialty’ because I live in California--the best thing to do if you’re indoors is to get underneath something and protect your head as best you can. (I’ve seen arguments against the ‘triangle’, door frames, and trying to get outside circulating recently, so I’ll stick with the ol’ tried and true.) If you’re outside, try to stay clear of anything that could potentially fall on you. If you’re in an area where your disasters are tornadoes or hurricanes or something else, follow the guidelines you’re used to.
Oh, and ‘how’. Mustn’t forget ‘how’.
BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY.
Be safe, y’all.
Thursday, July 11, 2019
There’s got to be a tutorial for this online...
***Possible Trigger Warning*** (Creepy-crawlies and dead things.)
When I bought my condo five years ago I got suckered into being on the board of the HOA, and I haven’t managed to get off of it since. To be fair, the perks are equivalent to the annoyances (most of the time) and being the control freak that I am, I like to have a finger on the pulse as regards the community in which I reside, so it could be worse.
The HOA has been slowly going through each unit and replacing either the unit in question’s balcony or patio fence, obviously depending upon whether the unit is a ground-floor or upper-floor unit. We’ve been doing the balconies first, obviously, because the potential for death and destruction is far greater, but we’ve now finished the balconies that were in ‘critical condition’ and are moving on to the patio fences.
I have a patio fence. It has been in not-great shape since I bought my unit. Its initial not-great shape has deteriorated over time, and it is now on its last legs. It’s got flapping boards and dry rot and the whole enchilada. I keep waiting for it to do something out of a cartoon, like the whole bottom foot to just crumble and the remainder of the fence to shift down in one whole piece and suddenly instead of a six-foot fence I have a five-foot fence. (This is highly comical in my head. Not sure how well it translates to anyone else’s head…)
The Great Fence Replacement of 2019 is scheduled to take place sometime during the next two weeks. The company doing the replacements is doing several in the community, and because you never know what’s going to happen when you start pulling things down and putting new ones up, they don’t publish an official schedule in case everything goes to shit on one unit and puts them behind. That being said, I had to have my patio and fence clear/consolidated before the scheduled two weeks so that whenever the workers get to my place, they can get on with things with a minimum of fuss. Not really a huge problem, and a completely realistic expectation.
Except I kiiinda hadn’t done my leaves for...well, a while, anyway.
There is a large Black Oak in the courtyard of my building. Every autumn, it drops its leaves. A great number of them fall into my patio. I am a lazy so-and-so, and only properly get rid of them ‘every so often’, which can mean once a year, once every other year, once every two years...you get the idea. So there were a lot of leaves to be dealt with. Also some rather dusty patio furniture, a whole heck of a lot of succulents in various pots, a bunch of unused pots, and other general patio detritus you would expect.
And dust and pollen. Lots and lots of dust and pollen.
Honestly, I was going to do a half-assed job and just sort of smoosh everything inwards onto the pavers, but somehow I managed to call up the energy to do things properly, and now my patio (though still dusty, there’s only so much one can do about that,) looks much more like a patio (albeit one waiting to have its fence re-done) than a leaf commune.
***If you were waiting for it, here’s the part with the creepy-crawlies.***
The thing about leaf communes is that they attract a whole ecosystem of critters. I don’t even want to think about how many spiders I displaced, squished (accidentally), or ::shudders:: touched (even through garden gloves) during the couple of hours it took me to sort through that mess. (My rule on spiders is this: if they’re outside, they are allowed to live. If they come into my house, they go squish. BUH-BYE.) I am purposely not looking up ‘common California spiders’ and pretending that every one I saw was a harmless, common garden spider of some sort and not, in fact, something that could have killed me.
Nope. Not even gonna check. No, thank you. Nuh-uh. Absitively, posilutely not.
Anyway, toward the end of this chore, when I was bagging up the leaves to be taken away, I disturbed a rat snake. To be fair, it’s not like he couldn’t have known I was coming, what with all the ruckus I was making, but nevertheless, there he was, wriggling and startled and suddenly disoriented.
I felt kinda bad. But only kinda.
Honestly, at first I thought I had just uncovered a giant earthworm, but it became clear pretty quickly that, pinkish as it was, this was a scaly critter with a proper head. I shooed him out underneath another part of the fence, and that was that. And he wasn’t very big. Maybe a foot long, but skinny. Definitely a juvenile.
Moving along.
***If the creepy-crawlies section didn’t do it for you, this might. You have been warned.***
Three* of my now-departed ratties were buried in the dirt part of my patio, close to the fence. I say ‘were’, because I personally disinterred them yesterday.
Yeah. I know.
But here’s the thing; they were buried in a place where they were bound to be unearthed by the fence replacement, and I just couldn’t bear the thought of my sweet little loves being crushed and mixed up and possibly stuck in cement. So I gathered what I could of them and put them in labeled plastic baggies, and now I need to figure out how to get the bones clean so I can do something artsy with them. I may end up just doing their skulls rather than their skulls and whatever else I managed to get hold of, but we’ll cross that bridge when we have the plans.
*The fourth, Gabby Rat, was cremated, because she was the only one of the four of them who was euthanized at the regular vet. Everyone else went to the emergency vet, and they give you the option to take them home.
When I bought my condo five years ago I got suckered into being on the board of the HOA, and I haven’t managed to get off of it since. To be fair, the perks are equivalent to the annoyances (most of the time) and being the control freak that I am, I like to have a finger on the pulse as regards the community in which I reside, so it could be worse.
The HOA has been slowly going through each unit and replacing either the unit in question’s balcony or patio fence, obviously depending upon whether the unit is a ground-floor or upper-floor unit. We’ve been doing the balconies first, obviously, because the potential for death and destruction is far greater, but we’ve now finished the balconies that were in ‘critical condition’ and are moving on to the patio fences.
I have a patio fence. It has been in not-great shape since I bought my unit. Its initial not-great shape has deteriorated over time, and it is now on its last legs. It’s got flapping boards and dry rot and the whole enchilada. I keep waiting for it to do something out of a cartoon, like the whole bottom foot to just crumble and the remainder of the fence to shift down in one whole piece and suddenly instead of a six-foot fence I have a five-foot fence. (This is highly comical in my head. Not sure how well it translates to anyone else’s head…)
The Great Fence Replacement of 2019 is scheduled to take place sometime during the next two weeks. The company doing the replacements is doing several in the community, and because you never know what’s going to happen when you start pulling things down and putting new ones up, they don’t publish an official schedule in case everything goes to shit on one unit and puts them behind. That being said, I had to have my patio and fence clear/consolidated before the scheduled two weeks so that whenever the workers get to my place, they can get on with things with a minimum of fuss. Not really a huge problem, and a completely realistic expectation.
Except I kiiinda hadn’t done my leaves for...well, a while, anyway.
There is a large Black Oak in the courtyard of my building. Every autumn, it drops its leaves. A great number of them fall into my patio. I am a lazy so-and-so, and only properly get rid of them ‘every so often’, which can mean once a year, once every other year, once every two years...you get the idea. So there were a lot of leaves to be dealt with. Also some rather dusty patio furniture, a whole heck of a lot of succulents in various pots, a bunch of unused pots, and other general patio detritus you would expect.
And dust and pollen. Lots and lots of dust and pollen.
Honestly, I was going to do a half-assed job and just sort of smoosh everything inwards onto the pavers, but somehow I managed to call up the energy to do things properly, and now my patio (though still dusty, there’s only so much one can do about that,) looks much more like a patio (albeit one waiting to have its fence re-done) than a leaf commune.
***If you were waiting for it, here’s the part with the creepy-crawlies.***
The thing about leaf communes is that they attract a whole ecosystem of critters. I don’t even want to think about how many spiders I displaced, squished (accidentally), or ::shudders:: touched (even through garden gloves) during the couple of hours it took me to sort through that mess. (My rule on spiders is this: if they’re outside, they are allowed to live. If they come into my house, they go squish. BUH-BYE.) I am purposely not looking up ‘common California spiders’ and pretending that every one I saw was a harmless, common garden spider of some sort and not, in fact, something that could have killed me.
Nope. Not even gonna check. No, thank you. Nuh-uh. Absitively, posilutely not.
Anyway, toward the end of this chore, when I was bagging up the leaves to be taken away, I disturbed a rat snake. To be fair, it’s not like he couldn’t have known I was coming, what with all the ruckus I was making, but nevertheless, there he was, wriggling and startled and suddenly disoriented.
I felt kinda bad. But only kinda.
Honestly, at first I thought I had just uncovered a giant earthworm, but it became clear pretty quickly that, pinkish as it was, this was a scaly critter with a proper head. I shooed him out underneath another part of the fence, and that was that. And he wasn’t very big. Maybe a foot long, but skinny. Definitely a juvenile.
Moving along.
***If the creepy-crawlies section didn’t do it for you, this might. You have been warned.***
Three* of my now-departed ratties were buried in the dirt part of my patio, close to the fence. I say ‘were’, because I personally disinterred them yesterday.
Yeah. I know.
But here’s the thing; they were buried in a place where they were bound to be unearthed by the fence replacement, and I just couldn’t bear the thought of my sweet little loves being crushed and mixed up and possibly stuck in cement. So I gathered what I could of them and put them in labeled plastic baggies, and now I need to figure out how to get the bones clean so I can do something artsy with them. I may end up just doing their skulls rather than their skulls and whatever else I managed to get hold of, but we’ll cross that bridge when we have the plans.
*The fourth, Gabby Rat, was cremated, because she was the only one of the four of them who was euthanized at the regular vet. Everyone else went to the emergency vet, and they give you the option to take them home.
Thursday, July 4, 2019
“Look that up in your Funk & Wagnalls”
For those of you just tuning in, there is one piece of information you must understand: I am ninety on the inside.
I have older-than-average parents for someone my age and, as such, was exposed to a variety of older films and television during my formative years. These all shaped (warped?) my sense of humor and understanding of the world and the people in it, and as a result my frame of reference for popular culture is far more broad than you would think if you based it purely on my age.
2018 was a big year for a television show that was incredibly innovative and even slightly dangerous for its time--Rowan and Martin’s Laugh-In. Laugh-In celebrated fifty years last year, and all six seasons are currently streaming on Amazon Prime. I have no qualms with this. I am reveling in the fact that with the push of a couple of buttons I can watch Judy Carne get water thrown all over her, or Ruth Buzzi beat Arte Johnson over the head with a handbag, or Jo Anne Worley chew the scenery with an operatic flourish, or just drool over Dan Rowan and his mustache. (What? He was gorgeous. You won’t convince me otherwise.)
Now, since Amazon got the rights to stream the shows themselves, Netflix (not to be left out) produced an event which was filmed at the Dolby Theatre in Los Angeles, entitled Still LAUGH-IN: The Stars Celebrate. And this, friends, is what is making me want to scream.
I had high hopes going into it, really. The promos were pushing the fact that Ruth Buzzi, Jo Anne Worley, and Lily Tomlin would be performing along with a number of other actors, comedians, and show business people, so I figured it couldn’t be all bad. (After all, there are sadly only five of the original core cast of Laugh-In still alive--the other two are Arte Johnson* and Goldie Hawn, and there could be any of a number of reasons that they didn’t attend, so I won’t bother to speculate.) I assumed that the cast of the show were involved because Laugh-In formed their comedic style or inspired them to go into television, and that was the case, but I also assumed that in producing this tribute to a show they knew and loved, that they’d do their utmost to do it justice.
Friends, they did not.
Laugh-In originally aired between 1967 (the initial one-off show which then landed the series) and 1973. Kennedy was assassinated in 1963. America sent its first round of troops to Vietnam in 1965. The Civil Rights movement was winding down. Hippie culture was on the rise. The Sexual Revolution was in full swing.
There was a lot going on.
The show had a unique ability to put a humorous spin on just about everything that was happening in the world at the time while also adhering (at least mostly) to far more stringent censorship regulations in television broadcasting than we have today. Not only were they forced to be clever in their satirization of the world at large, they were forced to be clever in their delivery of it, and that is where Still LAUGH-IN failed to live up to its idol. Let me put it this way; in 1970, you couldn’t drop an F-Bomb on television (or any number of other types of media). The subject of sex, though becoming less taboo, was still discussed in an obfuscated fashion. Drug use--mainly marijuana--was hinted at and suggested, but not openly touted. Still LAUGH-IN was floor-to-ceiling swearing, sex, and blatant pot jokes. No physical comedy entendres. (Castmember Dave Madden would toss a handful of confetti into the air whenever he had a “naughty thought”.) No thinly veiled references to sex. (“Blow in my ear and I’ll follow you anywhere.”) No obvious doubles for curse words. (“Look that up in your Funk & Wagnalls!”)
The core cast of Season Two (L to R, bottom to top): Dan Rowan, Dick Martin, Dave Madden,
Judy Carne, Henry Gibson, Ruth Buzzi, Jo Anne Worley, Chelsea Brown, Goldie Hawn,
Arte Johnson, Alan Sues, “Sweet Dick” Whittington
These days, we get away with a whole pile of things we couldn’t in media fifty (forty, thirty, twenty, ten…) years ago. Apart from an increasingly shortening list of things that aren’t allowed to be broadcast before the watershed, we can use what used to be ‘blue’ language with a minimum of fuss and we can talk about nearly everything, including topics some people might still find questionable or risqué. The few remaining true pearl-clutchers bemoan this loudly to anyone who will listen.
“Is nothing sacred?!”
::falls dramatically onto carefully placed fainting couch as necklace string breaks and pearls scatter, but they don’t scatter wantonly because that would be très vulgaire::**
This rapid relaxing of the level of what is ‘socially acceptable’ has made us complacent. There is no need to veil anything anymore. We can just come out and say it. I’d even go so far as to say that ‘shock value’ is going extinct--if it hasn’t gone that far already. The majority of the comedy in Still LAUGH-IN was lazy. The original show couldn’t afford to be lazy--they’d have been thrown off the air in a heartbeat. There was thought and craft and artistry behind Laugh-In’s writing because there had to be. In order to push the boundaries they pushed, they had to get creative on so many levels. I’m not sure there are too many more boundaries to push, nowadays.
Maybe this was the ideal end result of the shake-up in comedy that Laugh-In stoked. They were clever in 1972 for our right to say ‘fuck’ after 10 PM today. It’s not an inherently bad thing, but in giving us so much more freedom, we have lost our ability to look at things from skewed angles and offer a seemingly innocent product with subtext that reads any way but. No, I don’t think draconian censorship is a good idea, but you do have to admit it makes you work harder to circumnavigate it, and the results can be significantly more satisfying. And it’s not as though Laugh-In isn’t representative of its time in many ways--there are scenes they got away with that today wouldn’t make the final cut because, for just one example, blackface has been determined to be wildly inappropriate and out of respect it is no longer an acceptable comedic device.
Even with what we find to be its faults today, Laugh-In helped to pave the way for modern media, and it is certainly deserving of tribute on the august occasion of its 50th year. But you’re not going to do it any justice if you overlook the thing that made it work in the first place. Still LAUGH-IN could have paid considerably better homage to its source material if someone had just taken the time to really think about what they were doing rather than taking the easy way out by going for the obvious jokes. In the end, George Schlatter seemed to be enjoying it, so maybe that’s all that matters. But was I deeply, deeply disappointed?
“You bet your sweet bippy!”
*At time of writing this was accurate. Mr. Johnson passed away on July 3rd, 2019, one day before this post published. (I found out the morning of 7/4.)
**Laugh-In even took a shot at the pearl-clutchers--when she joined the cast in the middle of Season 3, Lily Tomlin created the character of Mrs. Earbore, The Tasteful Lady, who was everything you'd think a pearl-clutcher would be...until she stood up.
I have older-than-average parents for someone my age and, as such, was exposed to a variety of older films and television during my formative years. These all shaped (warped?) my sense of humor and understanding of the world and the people in it, and as a result my frame of reference for popular culture is far more broad than you would think if you based it purely on my age.
2018 was a big year for a television show that was incredibly innovative and even slightly dangerous for its time--Rowan and Martin’s Laugh-In. Laugh-In celebrated fifty years last year, and all six seasons are currently streaming on Amazon Prime. I have no qualms with this. I am reveling in the fact that with the push of a couple of buttons I can watch Judy Carne get water thrown all over her, or Ruth Buzzi beat Arte Johnson over the head with a handbag, or Jo Anne Worley chew the scenery with an operatic flourish, or just drool over Dan Rowan and his mustache. (What? He was gorgeous. You won’t convince me otherwise.)
Now, since Amazon got the rights to stream the shows themselves, Netflix (not to be left out) produced an event which was filmed at the Dolby Theatre in Los Angeles, entitled Still LAUGH-IN: The Stars Celebrate. And this, friends, is what is making me want to scream.
I had high hopes going into it, really. The promos were pushing the fact that Ruth Buzzi, Jo Anne Worley, and Lily Tomlin would be performing along with a number of other actors, comedians, and show business people, so I figured it couldn’t be all bad. (After all, there are sadly only five of the original core cast of Laugh-In still alive--the other two are Arte Johnson* and Goldie Hawn, and there could be any of a number of reasons that they didn’t attend, so I won’t bother to speculate.) I assumed that the cast of the show were involved because Laugh-In formed their comedic style or inspired them to go into television, and that was the case, but I also assumed that in producing this tribute to a show they knew and loved, that they’d do their utmost to do it justice.
Friends, they did not.
Laugh-In originally aired between 1967 (the initial one-off show which then landed the series) and 1973. Kennedy was assassinated in 1963. America sent its first round of troops to Vietnam in 1965. The Civil Rights movement was winding down. Hippie culture was on the rise. The Sexual Revolution was in full swing.
There was a lot going on.
The show had a unique ability to put a humorous spin on just about everything that was happening in the world at the time while also adhering (at least mostly) to far more stringent censorship regulations in television broadcasting than we have today. Not only were they forced to be clever in their satirization of the world at large, they were forced to be clever in their delivery of it, and that is where Still LAUGH-IN failed to live up to its idol. Let me put it this way; in 1970, you couldn’t drop an F-Bomb on television (or any number of other types of media). The subject of sex, though becoming less taboo, was still discussed in an obfuscated fashion. Drug use--mainly marijuana--was hinted at and suggested, but not openly touted. Still LAUGH-IN was floor-to-ceiling swearing, sex, and blatant pot jokes. No physical comedy entendres. (Castmember Dave Madden would toss a handful of confetti into the air whenever he had a “naughty thought”.) No thinly veiled references to sex. (“Blow in my ear and I’ll follow you anywhere.”) No obvious doubles for curse words. (“Look that up in your Funk & Wagnalls!”)
The core cast of Season Two (L to R, bottom to top): Dan Rowan, Dick Martin, Dave Madden,
Judy Carne, Henry Gibson, Ruth Buzzi, Jo Anne Worley, Chelsea Brown, Goldie Hawn,
Arte Johnson, Alan Sues, “Sweet Dick” Whittington
These days, we get away with a whole pile of things we couldn’t in media fifty (forty, thirty, twenty, ten…) years ago. Apart from an increasingly shortening list of things that aren’t allowed to be broadcast before the watershed, we can use what used to be ‘blue’ language with a minimum of fuss and we can talk about nearly everything, including topics some people might still find questionable or risqué. The few remaining true pearl-clutchers bemoan this loudly to anyone who will listen.
“Is nothing sacred?!”
::falls dramatically onto carefully placed fainting couch as necklace string breaks and pearls scatter, but they don’t scatter wantonly because that would be très vulgaire::**
This rapid relaxing of the level of what is ‘socially acceptable’ has made us complacent. There is no need to veil anything anymore. We can just come out and say it. I’d even go so far as to say that ‘shock value’ is going extinct--if it hasn’t gone that far already. The majority of the comedy in Still LAUGH-IN was lazy. The original show couldn’t afford to be lazy--they’d have been thrown off the air in a heartbeat. There was thought and craft and artistry behind Laugh-In’s writing because there had to be. In order to push the boundaries they pushed, they had to get creative on so many levels. I’m not sure there are too many more boundaries to push, nowadays.
Maybe this was the ideal end result of the shake-up in comedy that Laugh-In stoked. They were clever in 1972 for our right to say ‘fuck’ after 10 PM today. It’s not an inherently bad thing, but in giving us so much more freedom, we have lost our ability to look at things from skewed angles and offer a seemingly innocent product with subtext that reads any way but. No, I don’t think draconian censorship is a good idea, but you do have to admit it makes you work harder to circumnavigate it, and the results can be significantly more satisfying. And it’s not as though Laugh-In isn’t representative of its time in many ways--there are scenes they got away with that today wouldn’t make the final cut because, for just one example, blackface has been determined to be wildly inappropriate and out of respect it is no longer an acceptable comedic device.
Even with what we find to be its faults today, Laugh-In helped to pave the way for modern media, and it is certainly deserving of tribute on the august occasion of its 50th year. But you’re not going to do it any justice if you overlook the thing that made it work in the first place. Still LAUGH-IN could have paid considerably better homage to its source material if someone had just taken the time to really think about what they were doing rather than taking the easy way out by going for the obvious jokes. In the end, George Schlatter seemed to be enjoying it, so maybe that’s all that matters. But was I deeply, deeply disappointed?
“You bet your sweet bippy!”
*At time of writing this was accurate. Mr. Johnson passed away on July 3rd, 2019, one day before this post published. (I found out the morning of 7/4.)
**Laugh-In even took a shot at the pearl-clutchers--when she joined the cast in the middle of Season 3, Lily Tomlin created the character of Mrs. Earbore, The Tasteful Lady, who was everything you'd think a pearl-clutcher would be...until she stood up.
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