7.31.2012

Week 99: Land Rover Safari


The awesome little aqua-colored exploration vehicle above is vintage from when Matchbox was made in England by Lesney. This little guy once came in an actual box, which will always be way cooler to me than blister packaging.

Recently I have been watching a lot of old movies, and I've been reflecting on cinema images that once looked cool, but like Matchbox boxes, have gone away.

Here are my top picks.

Dark rooms. The anticipation of what would be revealed in the developer tray is a coolness that is irreplaceable. Even more, though, was the look of the darkroom, with its moody red lighting often creating a  melancholy loneliness. Digital photography can lead to great intrigue in movies, but not really coolness. Coolness takes time, and dim lighting doesn't hurt, either.

Smoking. I'm against smoking. That said, on screen it looked cool, particularly in black and white, and never smelled bad -- in other words, it was unconnected to the actual nastiness of the habit. I especially miss the style imparted when a gentleman lit a lady's cigarette, or, in some cases, visa versa. I also miss the emotions, from coyness to disdain, communicated in the way a cigarette case clicked open and shut. Those omnipresent images rightfully disappeared for the betterment of society, but even the Pink Panther and Audrey Hepburn smoked back then, and they both looked good doing it.

Hats. I miss the images of most hats, especially fedoras, although I doubt I will ever wistfully yearn for images of  baseball caps turned backwards.

Typewriters. Writing always looked cooler when done on a typewriter, but a lot of that coolness was the sound. Typewriters would not have seemed so cool if they had gone chirp chirp chirp instead of click click click. Speaking of sound, I also miss that choppy, metallic robot voice that robots were once supposed to use. Now that machines can mimic real voices, how will kids pretend to be a robot?

Answering machines. A newer lost image of coolness, technology has largely rendered answering machines obsolete, so you don't get the same drama of coming home to a flashing red message button hinting doom, or a not-flashing red button, hinting heartbreak.

Phone booths. Like cigarette cases, the metallic click of a coin into a pay phone could take on desperation, sorrow, or emotional turnaround. Pay phones still exist, but are few and far between with nowhere near enough booths to allow a changing area for superheros or a place to hide when The Birds attack. For all their usefulness, cell phones may have single-handedly done the most damage to motion picture cool, although perhaps years from now when people communicate with implanted chips in their skulls someone will be reminiscing about how cool Jason Bourne looked flipping open a cell phone.

Analog dials. Whether on a radio, dashboard, or futuristic console, a digital light display will never have that same coolness, and, in some sci-fi movie instances, the same silliness.



These images are about a fantasy cool -- I never once actually missed typing on a typewriter (and have even more emphatically not missed correction fluid) or eating in a smoke-filled restaurant anymore than I have ever felt sad that the world was full of colors instead of only shades of black, white and gray.

Even so, watch Robert Mitchum in Out of the Past and tell me you can top that for cool.


Cool photo courtesy of Phil Pekarcik.

7.24.2012

Week 98: 1968 BMW 2002


1968, the year that saw this week's featured BMW, was the year of some of my favorite movies, and while I was too young to see them first run, they were hitting television by the time I was old enough to watch them. 


These movies included the moody, sultry and sexy The Thomas Crowne Affair (I still love that Windmills of Your Mind song) and Bullitt, horror classics The Night of the Living Dead and Rosemary's Baby, sci-fi classics 2001: A Space Odyssey and Planet of the Apes, family films Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and The Shakiest Gun in the West (with Don Knotts), and Clint Eastwood in Hang 'Em High, which stands in a category all its own. There were other good, or at least of note, movies from 1968, also.


I don't watch many movies with my kids as I've been unable to tolerate most animated kids movies lately, and not because they are necessarily bad, but because they have begun to irritate me something fierce, to the point of causing me to swear under my breath and then come up with something even mildly plausible I said instead of the $@#*@! I actually muttered. I don't know if it's the over-abundance of sarcastic animals or the obligatory references to pop culture (why would a prehistoric animal do the cell phone hand gesture for "call me?" $@#*@!) or if it's the constant usage of Indian and other accents for humor (again, always used by talking animals), but I just can't watch these movies anymore. 


I'm not selfish or anything, and I will deal with a movie occasionally as part of parental duty -- that's the same duty experienced by any adult who ever freely sat through any of the Free Willy or Beethoven series -- but it's rare to enjoy the experience.


That's why yesterday was so amazing. We decided to watch a VCR tape (that's this mysterious relic from the past - a plastic case with magic picture tape inside) of the Little Rascals that someone had given  to us. The experience was remarkable -- all of us, even three-year-old G, laughed loudly, and my older son even replayed parts over two, three and four times.


Listen, I'm not about taking an old guy stance that claims there isn't anything good on TV or the movies or that kids should watch real humor like when I was a kid. I have no desire to push anything from my past on my kids, and actually hope they never find out I was a fan of Ponch and the rest of the regulars on CHiPs.  I'm just thrilled when something, anything connects with all of us, and connects in a real way, not in an I'm-pretending-for-their-sake way. That happened with Spanky, Darla and Alfalfa yesterday. Baby G actually loudly snorted a chortle, a big deal for him as he's one  for simply giving a subtle smile out of one side of his mouth. 


If there is a way to send my thanks backwards through time to Hal Roach and all the child actors in Our Gang, let it happen now. Like most parents, having a good, sincere laugh at a movie or TV show that doesn't generate an eye roll, sigh or just blank stare from someone is a miraculous event, and one worth celebrating.

If you haven't had that experience in a while, why not give the Little Rascals a try?


7.17.2012

Week 97: 1962 Mustang Concept Car


"There's one of those cars, what do you call them, oh, I know, it, what is it, you know with the horse on it -- what two cars have horses again?"

"A Ford Mustang and a Ferrari."

"Oh, yeah, yeah, a Ferrari and a Mustang. Which one has the horse kind of standing up, going e-e-e-e-eh, e-e-e-e-eh, with its legs kicking up in the air?"

"That's the Ferrari."

"Right. I thought so. I thought that was what it is. I saw a Mustang, then, with the horse that is running."

"Yes, you're right. That was a Mustang."

"That's a super cool car."

"Yes it is."

"Hey, wouldn't it be cool if we had a Mustang and we could drive it?"

"That would be cool."

"Or a Ferrari!"

"That would also be cool."

"Maybe someday we can have a Mustang and a Ferrari."

"Maybe."

"LOOK! LOOK!! ANOTHER MUSTANG!! A BLACK ONE!!"

"You're right. That's the second Mustang we've seen."

"I could drive that one and you could drive the other Mustang."

"We would go fast."

"Super fast."

"Which is better, a Ferrari or a Mustang?"

"A Ferrari is more expensive, but I think I'd rather drive a Mustang."

"Yes. Me too. Because they look just cool, don't you think?"

"I do."

"Me too. We would look pretty good driving in a Mustang."

"Yes, we would."

I looked in the rear view mirror and saw my five-year-old son, serene and content, with the faintest sign of a smile.

There was no need to say more.

We drove in silence until we passed our next Mustang.


7.10.2012

Week 96: Circle Tracker


This week's Tiny Car, Hot Wheels' Circle Tracker, is representative of a whole bunch of Daddy elements.

First and foremost, this little diecast is aqua, and as regular readers know, aqua makes me stupid happy.

Second, the car is from the HW Video Game Heroes collection. Even though I have never been good at video games, not even during my youth playing Centipede at the Howard Johnson's near the turnpike or Frogger and Galaga at the bowling alley (on an aside, I can't believe how much coffee and how many doughnuts I used to consume back then -- I'm fairly certain the doughnut dough actually patched up holes that must have been burnt through my stomach from drinking that midnight  jitter juice), video games are nonetheless a major creator of discussion, strife, debate, disagreement and eardrum shattering shrieks (from three-year-old G, not my wife). I might go so far as to say that when I allow my three-year-old to play the Wii, I finally become a Video Game Hero ... with stars in my eyes.


He loves playing the Wii, and regardless of how many restrictions I put on gameplay, he asks if he can play about once every hour, and those request feel like they are around the clock. *SnOre Snort can I play Wii? Zzzzz*.

G has been asking to play Wii so much that now he sometimes slips it into other things he says with barely a change in vocal inflection, so that the request simply flows as one run-on sentence. "Can I have a gwass of milk hey can I play Wii?" "Was that thunder outside can I play Wii?" "Are lobsters dangerous can I play Wii?" No, for real.

I'm selective about the games I allow my kids to play, much more conservative than many other parents I hear about, but I have no apologies. I was horrified when I heard my five-year-old insist that kids on his preschool bus play Black Ops, Call of Duty and Grand Theft Auto, and while I'm sure some of the kids were lying, I'm also sure some of them were not. Call me gramps, but no five-year-old should be playing a rated M game, no matter how fun it might sound to engage in acts of mega violence and depravity. Plenty of time for that when they get older.

No, the games in rotation for my youngest two are Just Dance, Just Dance II, Wii Sports Resort, JumpStart Pet Rescue, and G's favorite, Wipe Out, based on the TV show.

Watching him play Wipe Out is way more fun than the game. It's like being in a studio audience. He jumps, shouts, talks back to the television (you're not getting me, no, no way, I'll show you!), laughs, jumps some more, and becomes completely immersed in the game. He's become quite good, also, although sometimes he'll just have a character jump into the water over and over, laughing more and more each time.

When I'm watching him play, even I forget sometimes that I need to have him do some other type of more imaginative play or constructive work. I suspect watching a toddler make a contestant jump into the water is more heart warming than watching him blow off somebody's head with a bazooka, but I also suspect the parents letting their preschoolers blow off people's heads with bazookas are not watching their kids play at all.

Enough preaching.

But seriously, Black Ops?

This blog entry has already become too lengthy, so I won't even touch on the Circle Tracker tie-in except to say I've been tracking my kids doing the same things over and over this week -- circle tracking.

As for the car's double zero number, I could say it relates to my current job search, but let's just say it means  time is up for this entry.

Either that or it means two big bug eyes looking right at you. You pick.


Hot Wheels photo was shot by myself but the checkerboard background concept was the idea of Racer Z.

7.03.2012

Week 95: 1969 Karmann Ghia Convertible


Racer A and I saw a Karmann Ghia a few weeks ago -- I remember because he asked what it was and now that I have told him, he'll squirrel away that acorn of information.


His brain collects trivia. I found an old postcard for my vintage shop the other day, a beauty of a colorized linen card.  As I was looking at it he asked what it was. "This is a vintage card of the Brooklyn Bridge."


"Oh. In New York City?" he asked.


It wasn't until later that it occurred to me the location of the Brooklyn Bridge might not be common knowledge to a pre-schooler outside of New York City, and trust me, Ohio is very much outside of New York City.


Such trivia, however is not evenly distributed or outwardly logical, and the danger to a dad is to assume he knows ... well, anything, really.  His world view is like a complex outline drawing, as in a coloring book, with specific parts of the picture, the shell of a turtle or the pom pom on a hat, meticulously colored, with other, larger areas still white.


What I mean is he might surprise me by remembering what a Venetian blind is or by understanding the electoral college (just kidding -- even he doesn't understand the electoral college), yet I'm having a difficult time getting him to accept that the level of darkness outside does not directly link to time and that bedtime is still bedtime even if it is light outside, and that we can eat lunch instead of dinner even if the sky is dark and black from a storm.  This might be a bad example, however, because you can't really color "time" but only its correlations to our senses, which, now that I think about it, he is doing. Maybe my coloring book analogy is better than I thought. Or maybe he's just trying to stay up later, which is probably more likely.

Those odd bits of trivia, however, are fun, and if I don't know how he came across many items of knowledge, I relish the unexpectedly random questions that I can identify as trivia gathering. What is a 'public' park?"  "Does a squirrel eat mint?" "What does the little 'k' mean on the cereal box?" "What is a 'sinus'?" "Why are most school buses yellow but  buses adults ride different colors?" 


I probably can only truthfully answer less than 50% of his questions, but the weirder the more enjoyable, and when I don't know an answer, I often try to find out the answer and get back to him, and I find that experience remarkably satisfying.


By the way: the little 'k' stands for "kosher," and gardeners say squirrels don't like mint.