Usually, when I do one of these things, I have a few ideas bookmarked but not this time so I'm just going to have to wing it. What's the minimum number of sections for a Grab Bag anyway? Got to be at least three, doesn't it? And in my case a song to end, like the old vaudeville performer I have apparently become.
There's an interesting beginning. I'm a couple of years shy of seventy now, terrifying though that is, but even that advanced age puts me well shy of any age you'd need to be to have experienced Vaudeville. Hell, my mother, who was 93 when she died earlier this year, was too young for Vaudeville. Wikipedia dates it from the 1870s to the 1930s.
Added to that, it was distanced from me by space as well as time. Vaudeville was a purely North American phenomenon. Over here we had Music Hall as our nearest equivalent. Music Hall flourished from "the early Victorian era until around World War I" (Wikipedia again. This is why I occasionally give them money when they come begging. Without Wikipedia, I'd have to do some secondary research. Or get an AI Agent; which, screw that!)
So how and why do I even know what either of them is?
There's some excuse, or at least an explanation, for Music Hall. When I was growing up I had to suffer through the interminable tedium of a TV show called "The Good Old Days" (To which I will not link. You can thank me later.) in which much the same bunch of comedians and singers that did the rounds of all the variety shows back then (And there were far too many of them - performers and shows both.) got themselves dolled up in nineteenth-century drag to drone their way through the kind of material that got stage door johnnies hot under the Eton collar, back when Marie Lloyd or Vesta Tilley flashed an ankle.
O. M. G. ! Just look at that last sentence! Why in the name of sanity do I know what a "stage door johnny" was or what they wore? Or who Marie Lloyd or Vesta Tilley were? How does this stuff get into your head in the first place and why doesn't fall out again, seconds later? I can't remember 90% of anything I actually want to remember and yet apparently I can trot this stuff out without blinking.
Before someone chips in to correct me on Vesta Tilley, she's there to both prove and disprove my point. I did easily remember her name and she was a massively popular Music Hall star but she wouldn't have been flashing her ankles because she was a male impersonator. I had to google her to check what she was famous for and it was that.
I heard a whole program about her on the radio once and yet I only remembered who she was and when and where she performed, not what she did, which was the important part. Shows how superficial this knowledge is, much of the time.
As for Vaudeville, my knowledge pretty much starts and ends with the Marx Brothers. I love the Marx Brothers but then who doesn't? I was introduced to them at an early age, when they may even all still have been alive (I'd have to check the dates.) although none were still performing.
My mother was a big fan and I grew up watching their movies, not only on television, whenever they came on but at the cinema. The Marx Brothers became swept up somehow by the counter-culture as did a whole slew of icons of the past (Viz. Peter Blake's cover for Sgt. Pepper.) and their movies were shown surprisingly often in art-house cinemas when I was still at school. They were also a staple of the college film societies when I was at Cambridge at the end of the seventies and beginning of the eighties.
How the hell did I get started on this in the first place? Oh yes, I remember. (I don't. I had to go back and read the beginning of the post to remind myself...) I was saying how a grab bag post had to be three items minimum plus a song at the end, although that last bit's just me.
Hmm. I'm nine paragraphs in now (Actually thirteen after the edit...) That's six hundred and fifty words. (Seven-eighty now...) Is it worth getting back to the original Grab Bag? I could just carry on riffing on Vaudeville, I guess, but I don't know anything about it or indeed have anything I want to say. Still, when has that ever stopped me?
It occurs to me this is one of those post I sometimes do for Blaugust, when we hit Advice Week or whatever we're calling it that year. Are we doing those this time? The themed weeks? I didn't see anything about it in the opening posts but I'm not sure we've had the full agenda yet.
Based on the last couple of years, though, I don't feel qualified to offer advice to would-be bloggers any more, even though I've been doing this for a decade and a half and I've written well over three and a half thousand posts now. Blogs in the third decade of the twenty-first century don't look much like the blogs I learned from before I started, let alone like this one.
In a way, they tend to look more like, well, web-logs. It's like regression to the meaningless.
Rather than long-form posts on specific subjects, topics or activities, most of the newer blogs I still read, the ones I picked up from Blaugusts past, are day-to-day diaries or sets of notes or quick thoughts on this and that. My go-to advice on sitting down and typing to see what comes out, then calling it a post, looks a bit redundant these days. That's what everyone seems to be doing already.
And why not? It's bloody easy, isn't it? Yesterday's Palworld post took me all day, on and off. Probably at least four hours altogether. And here we are today, almost a thousand words done (More than a thousand, post-edit.) and how long has it taken me? About half an hour so far.
And I can keep this up all day. I'm not kidding. It's the easiest thing in the world, just tapping away at a keyboard, letting your thoughts flow onto the page, lightly editing as you go along and giving the whole thing a final pass at the end. If you ever get stuck for something to say, just say anything.
Ooh! Now I want to watch Say Anything, the 'eighties movie starring John Cusack and Ione Skye. You know it! It's the one where he stands on the lawn under his girlfriend's bedroom window, holding a ghetto blaster over his head. Iconic image. I'm going to grab it and stick it in here later. (Or, in fact, use it as the header.)
That's not my favorite part of the movie, though. My favorite part is where he has dinner with his girlfriend's family and when her father asks him what he's going to do with his life he says "Kickboxing. Sport of the future!". (Except he doesn't, as I'll explain later. It's just another misremembering.)
I used to quote that a lot, often à propos of nothing. Kickboxing! Sport of the future! I'd say. Just like that, out of nowhere. I'd like to say I've stopped doing it but I'd be lying.
It's curious I can remember that quote and those scenes (Albeit in a mistakenly composite fashion, it turns out...) but I have no idea what song was playing on the ghetto blaster. I'm sure it would have been significant. I'm pretty sure it was some awful power ballad. Probably Huey Lewis and the News or Phil Collins or something equally unbearable.
Oh, you know I'm going to have to look it up now. I was going to embed the clip anyway.
Hah! It's Peter bloody Gabriel! I guess that's a step up from the drummer of his old band, at least. Still a horrible song, though, but then Lloyd Dobler isn't exactly Mr Sophisticated. That's kind of the point.
As for the scene where he actually says "Kickboxing. Sport of the future." it's weirdly hard to find online. It's not, as I always misremember, the dinner party scene although everyone else seems to think it is, too. The quote is used numerous times as the title or in the description of clips on YouTube but then the clip is almost always the dinner party scene, where he doesn't say it at all.
That one does include the superb speech, where Lloyd explains what he won't be doing for a living:
" I don't want to sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career. I don't want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold, bought, or processed, or repair anything sold, bought, or processed. You know, as a career, I don't want to do that."
If you haven't seen that one, do yourself a favor but the only clip I can find on YouTube of the actual scene where he says the key phrase, which is when he comes to pick Diane up for a date, has almost inaudible sound. I might have to find my copy and upload the damn thing myself...
The key moment is in the trailer above, though.
I said earlier I was too young to have any excuse for knowing literally anything about Vaudeville or Music Hall but I'm also too old to have a deep emotional attachment to teen movies from the 'eighties, aren't I? Say Anything came out in 1989, when I was 31. And I doubt I saw it until the early 'nineties anyway.
I must be emotionally unstable anyway, I guess, (Quiet at the back!) One of the reasons I haven't rewatched a lot of those 'eighties classics for the longest time is that I get too emotionally involved. Pretty in Pink, Fresh Horses, The Sure Thing, Some Kind of Wonderful... I want to watch them all again but do I want to put myself through the trauma? I'm just going to have steel myself and buy some tissues.
The only one I have re-watched in recent years is Ferris Bueller's Day Off. I think we have about four copies in the house, in different formats. We kept re-buying it for a while. It's a lighter watch, on the surface at least, although not once you stop to think about it. Plus it's the gift that never stops giving. Always something new.
I have plans to start re-watching and re-reading a lot of stuff once I officially retire. Not that I'll have that much more free time. It's more of an existential decision. Much though I love new things, I'm starting to think I might have overdone the neology just a tad in recent years. The past has its place, too. And not just as somewhere to run to for comfort. There are always new things to find there.
If I follow though, and I think I will, expect more posts like this, only much more focused and coherent. Not that it would be possible to be much less focused and coherent. Although I could give it a shot if you like...
And with that, I think I'm going to stop. Absolutely not the post I thought I was going to write, although I guess it's kind of a grab bag in its way. A grab bag of memories and associations.
Didn't I say I was going to end with a song? I think that's how all this started. And it's not going to be Peter Gabriel, I'll tell you that for nothing!
Modernism - Perennial
Weirdly appropriate, wouldn't you say?
Also, 2000 words, ninety minutes, including the edit and an hour off for tea but not counting the digression into exactly when Lloyd Dobler talks about the sport of the future. That's how to do it!
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