another bootleg column, this one about raging against the machines that threaten to run/ruin our lives ... hope you enjoy it ... The last time I was in a physical fight, one with fists flying, was 1968. I was in the eighth grade. And I won. True, the guy I beat up was two years younger but he asked for it and I was more than happy to oblige. Fight or flight, right? I can’t even remember what made us throw down, but I think it had something to do with football. No surprise there, since it’s a brutal and barbaric game and that, obviously, is what made it so much fun to play. Especially with no rules. It was just a pickup game, a ragtag collection of friends who gathered nearly afternoon to bash each other silly in the time between the end of “Dark Shadows” and the dinner bell. The way it probably happened is that I was getting ready to catch yet another pass and this kid went after my knees, which was a cheap shot, even by our dubious standards of sportsmanship. “Hey, a-----e!” I certainly would have yelled and started the shoving match, but he’d lighted the fire and, thus, deserved my ire. It didn’t last long. Fights rarely did back in grade school. High school, too. Mostly just a lot of yapping and then someone lost and life went on. I was thinking about that 90-second interlude the other day when the news came down that a professional football player had been implicated in the murder of another human being. Now, no one knows whether or not this person pulled the trigger, but I suspect that Aaron Hernandez is as guilty as O.J. Simpson was. Which means, he’ll walk. This isn’t the point. The point is that I really wish I could unleash some kind of physical violence on things like this computer, my “new” turntable, my 1991 Honda Civic, the DVD player, my cell phone and a whole bunch of machines that simply refuse to work. Oh, man ... I’ve kicked ‘em all. punched some and hated them all. And guess what? They still don’t work. They don’t even bleed. LET’S TURN TO CLASSIC cinema for illumination. Everyone’s seen “Jaws,” certainly, a film that’s turned every beachgoer into a shark-a-phobe anytime they dip a toe into an ocean. They start to hear that ominous music and fully expect that they’re about to lose a limb. Silly of Steven Spielberg to even suggest such a thing; odds are greater folks’ll sustain greater damage mowing the lawn. Or playing pickup football. Still, “Jaws” is must-see TV every time it comes on. It’s on a very short that also includes “The Breakfast Club,” “Bull Durham,” “The Graduate” and “The Shawshank Redemption.” These aren’t the greatest movies ever made – those include “The Godfather,” “Casablanca,” “Psycho,” “Dr. Strangelove” and “A Hard Day’s Night” – but they are among the most eminently watchable. Once you stumble upon on one of them as you’re channel surfing, you’re in for the duration. Alas, the concept of waiting for the karma wheel to turn your way is becoming as lost an art as listening to baseball game on the radio. Everything nowadays (jeez, I sound old) has to be now, immediate, raw. If you only knew how old that concept is. Trust me, today’s innovation is yesterday’s 8-track. Life alone moves ahead ... everything else recedes into nothingness. Which brings back to “Jaws” and Robert Shaw who, you might agree,’ chews the scenery every time his character, Quint, is onscreen. He rages against the dying of the light. I think my favorite moment is one that most folks don’t even remember. I like to think it was improvised and that Spielberg decided, “What the hell?” and left it in. Sure, it’s violent, but not like blowing up a shark. It’s more subtle than that. Chief Brody decides that his little hunting expedition is in way over its head and, soundly, decides to radio in for more help. Quint picks up a baseball bat – or something like that – and smashes the shortwave to smithereens, just bashes it out of existence. This is precisely how I feel when this computer doesn’t work. I revert to that eighth-grade kid who’s simply had enough of this world’s crap and decides to stand up for what matters. Now, of course, partially the result of his rash behavior, Quint dies a bloody, hideous, painful, excruciating death. But that’s OK. At least he beat that mechanical menace that threatened his self-image. MACHINES HAVE THEIR place, of course. I’m the first to admit that the transistor radio is among the finest inventions of the 20th century and that Les Paul changed the world when he electrified the guitar. Oh, of course, and I couldn’t get through a single day without a cooler. Or a fan. Mostly, though, machines break down and even they’re not as malevolent as Hal in “2001,” they aren’t benign, either. Ever buy a used lawnmower or one of these new-fangled phones that do everything but allow you to make a call? You know what I’m saying. But it’s summer and all you need to enjoy it is the sun, the sea and the surf. Scrap that GPS and drive until you hit the Atlantic. Or the Pacific. Simply head for a coast and hang on. Sure, I’m sounding a lot like that eighth-grade kid who beat the snot out of a friend, but that’s life. Sometimes, you simply have to strip away all artifice and be yourself. I fought a machine the other day and, figuratively, I crushed it. Guy called me and asked if I wanted to expand our cable to four thousand channels. Something like that. “No,” I said. “We’d like to cut ours to the below-basic package.” “May I ask why, sir?” “Sure,” I said. “You never play ‘Jaws’ anymore.” “But we offer all those new reality shows, the housewives and the dome and the idols and pawn stars and ...” “Shut up,” I said. “I’m not in your demographic and I’m dangerous.” This kid wouldn’t have stood a chance in a pickup football game. Backyard wiffle ball would have wasted him. I should close. Let’s strive to keep it simple, OK? If some punk NFL player decides to shoot someone, ignore the whole circus. Children die every day for lack of food and no one spares them a thought. Killers headline the news for only one reason. Folks lap it up. Stop it. Instead, just listen to me and take a transistor radio to the water. Mike Dewey can be emailed at CarolinamikeD@aol or snail-mailed at 6211 Cardinal Drive, New Bern, NC 28560. If you’re into Facebook, he’s there, too.
Posted on: Mon, 15 Jul 2013 20:01:53 +0000
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