Yep, it’s another one of those mornings. I’ll read something (in this case, it was Harper’s) that’ll get me thinking about other topics, and before I know it, I’ve got 16 browser tabs running, and I’ve forgotten what drew me to the magazine article in the first place. I love it. Free association, literary style.

Today’s side trip went back to my childhood years. As kids of the 60s and teenagers of the 70s, we experienced many of the then-incredible developments in the food and entertainment industries. In particular, I have vivid memories of new toys and snacks that were just so new and groovy (not to mention marketed with total Mad Men hipness and appeal), you just had to bug your mom to buy them — which, of course, was the entire point. Bait dropped; fish hooked. Ching! It seemed like there was a new product every day, hard-sold to a nation with little to no concern for trivialities like loads of processed sugar, preservatives, red dye, lead-based paint, and other sundry contaminants that lurked beneath the shiny, colorful, chocolaty surfaces.

From the “Remember When” category, behold some gems from my wasted youth:

Yes, Mavis and I each had one. And did you know that hula-hooping is now one of the hottest new fitness crazes? How about that. Everything old is new again.

And how about this awesome stuff that my mother refused to buy?

I think she allowed us to get it once or twice, actually. The taste is not particularly memorable to me (I can’t recall it at all, truth be told), and with no refrigeration, it couldn’t have been anywhere near pudding-like in consistency. Mother was probably wise to veto it.

Never had these, either. What could possibly be wrong with sugar-covered sugar in a sugar cup?

I wonder if anyone else’s family called this “Kraft Dinner.” Although I don’t buy it anymore, I still have to catch myself and instead refer to it as “mac & cheese.” It was the 70s version of Ramen noodles. When I was in college in ’77, whoever made this in the dorm’s community kitchen was instantly popular.

A huge thank-you to my mother for never doing this to us.

Do you remember any of these? Over the years, as I’ve waxed nostalgic about foods here at RtB, I’ve found that much depended on the region where you grew up. What are some of your favorite prepackaged food/toy memories? Were they delightfully tacky, tasteless or dangerous to play with, but you loved them anyway? Like Jarts and Chuckles? You know — the “adult toy” (shyeah right) that had the words “Missile Game” in the title, and the little squares of sugar-coated rubber? Excellent.

There are many things on my mind this morning, but I’ll settle on two for today. Y’know, save the rest for later.

First: Go spend four dollars at Amazon and buy this book. Written by none other than RtB’s own Ross, it’s a fascinating collection of quotes by and about musicians from long ago up to right now. I’m on page…well, I’m not sure what page I’m on because this Kindle thing on my phone doesn’t give page numbers, but I’m in the “B” section (the authors of the quotes are listed alphabetically). One of my favorites so far:

One of the main sources of mental corruption in this country is the ghost of Vince Lombardi:  Don’t matter how you play the game, don’t matter if you enjoy the game, don’t matter if the game means anything, the important thing is to win. I think that’s as good a definition of mental illness as you’re gonna get.  ~Jello Biafra, Dead Kennedys

Haha — true. Seriously, it’s not your typical “quote book,” if the “A” section is any indication. Hoist it on over to Amazon and buy it.

Second: While doing some early morning research the other day, I came across a 1947 headline from LIFE magazine. It read, The Most Beautiful Suicide. Without even clicking on the link, I knew the photo the title referenced: the tragic leap by 23-year-old Evelyn McHale from the Empire State Building.

She’d recently gotten engaged, but according to her suicide note, she didn’t feel worthy. The photo here is a dramatically colorized version of the original Robert Wiles picture (the only photograph he ever published), showing Evelyn in surreal, peaceful repose, with her ankles crossed, skirt hem at a respectable display length, and still holding her necklace. LIFE ran the photo (many publications refused) on a full page two weeks later, with the following caption:

On May Day, just after leaving her fiancé, 23-year-old Evelyn McHale wrote a note. ‘He is much better off without me … I wouldn’t make a good wife for anybody,’ … Then she crossed it out. She went to the observation platform of the Empire State Building. Through the mist she gazed at the street, 86 floors below. Then she jumped. In her desperate determination, she leapt clear of the setbacks and hit a United Nations limousine parked at the curb. Across the street, photography student Robert Wiles heard an explosive crash. Just four minutes after Evelyn McHale’s death, Wiles got this picture of death’s violence and its composure.

I’ve had some pretty low moments in my life, to be sure. I think it’s safe to say we’ve all had them. But to be so low — so miserably desperate and despondent — as to consider ending it all, and by leaping off a building? I can say, mercifully, that I’ve never been in that place. I hope I never will be.

I don’t mean to be morbid or gloomy today; I’m actually in great spirits (I will get things done today or ELSE). Rather, I just write what results from the neurons doing their random job.

So, I’m happy! And I love my job. And the Tribe won again last night. And NO — LeBron isn’t coming back to the Cavaliers. (Now watch me eat those words someday…)

Son Lars is pretty good at solving visual puns (and to my everlasting delight, gets a kick out of some of them, as does Seamus). I like that my kids enjoy wordplay. Sharpens the ol’ gray matter, you know. Here are a few; some easy, a couple notsamuch. All are good, though. Solve ’em in the comment section. Ready, steady, go.

PS – I did #9 all by myself.

#1

#2

#3

#4

#5

#6

#7

#8

#9

#10

#11

There you go — have pun.

Over coffee this morning, I read an old short story by Stephen King (about a middle-aged woman named Jax — imagine that), and I kept going back to reread a certain phrase. I read it like five times over. A 60-something wife looks at her aging husband and thinks, this isn’t life; this is merely practicing to be old. Later in the tale, there is a reference to life at their age being “thin.”

As happens all too often, it got me thinking (unsurprising, given King’s writing, of which I am a longtime fan).

When I look back on my life, which is becoming easier to do, as I now have more years behind me than in front of me, what do I want to see and remember? Scrimping every dime in case there’s an emergency? Spending precious hours and days of my time off on “stuff that needs done around here,” instead of achieving a healthier balance? Working endless hours so I can manage to continually miss out on spending time with family and friends?

Should we have put the money we saved back towards installing a fence around the back yard for Remy instead of planning a trip to NYC? Probably. Except, no. Sure, it would have been nice and convenient, but truth be told, I’d rather take Remy to the dog park and play with him in a huge space where he can run around with other pups. So the fence can wait. For the last nine years, I’ve taken dogs out on leashes in the pouring rain, during blizzards, and when my yard was covered in ice. I can do it a while longer. Why? Because I want to live a life that’s thick; heavy, and webbed with great memories that stick to my soul. Because I’m willing to roll the dice against a “rainy day” when I might need that money for “when something goes wrong.” That which feeds the soul has to take precedence once in a while, and I’m aware it’s not without risk. But what an exciting ride…

Of course, this is not to say that I want to live life without a thought for the future. We do have pension plans and some extra measures in place, but by no means are we wealthy. We won’t live large in our “golden years,” but hopefully we’ll live sufficiently, with the intent to not be a burden on our children.

So, the fence can wait. So can the replacement of the main floor window treatments. It’s OK to not dive into a second mortgage so I can have a nice kitchen, when I have done just fine, cooking for large numbers in my cramped little galley. We will make do with the at-times limited comforts of our space, and be grateful that we have it.

Instead, we’ll go on vacations. We’ll buy those fun bunk beds for the grandsons. I’ll put a lid on obsessing over how many calories I consume in a day, or how that pair of jeans makes me look fat. For now, within the boundaries of finances, time and wisdom, I will live a thick life — thick with silliness, walks, reading, family, friends, travel, and memories. I want to do all these things while I am still able, and not look back 20 years from now — possibly when I’m less able, or even unable — and regret my choice to be safe and frugal, as opposed to choosing to feel young and free while I still had the ability and the opportunity.

It’s all about that balance, isn’t it?

We’ve all done it. I mean, really. We’ve all said, “Thus-and-so is incredibly overrated.” I know I have. A partial personal list contains everything from singers and bands to ideas and events:

1. Janis Joplin
2. Billie Holiday (I know: strange, coming from a jazz singer, but…)
3. Celine Dion
4. Cher
5. KISS
6. The Super Bowl (unless the Browns are in it, so…yeah, I’m safe)
7. Twitter
8. Partisan politics
9. Graduate degrees
10. Channing Tatum
11. Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band (Yep, I said it.)
12. Ohio State University

Of course, all of the above are based solely on subjective interpretation. Who’s to say Janis Joplin is overrated? Why should you care what I think — especially if you own every one of her albums and listen to her every day? It’s not that I’m saying she was a bad singer (although her voice on “Piece of My Heart” reminds me of someone screaming, “Get out! The building’s on fire!”); rather, I’m saying that assigning world-changing importance to her voice and her accomplishments is stretching it a bit.

And I should clarify #11. Everyone who knows me knows how I feel about the Fabs. But that doesn’t mean I swoon over everything they did. In fact, they wrote bad music on occasion. I could name 10 Beatles tunes I hate. Sergeant Pepper’s LHCB was an innovative project for its time. Lots of “firsts” on that record, for sure. But the music…with the possible exception of “She’s Leaving Home,” there’s not a single song from that album that I’d put on “repeat” on my playlist. If you ask me — and by “me,” I mean a Beatles fanatic — I’d point to Revolver or Rubber Soul as far more deserving of mountain-top status than SPLHCB.

What’s on your “overrated” list? Anything we should know about? Fire away in the comments.