Tag Archives: 1960s

Fare Thee Well, Liz Taylor

I hadn鈥檛 thought much about Elizabeth Taylor until a few weeks ago, when I happened to listen to Bob Dylan鈥檚 I Shall Be Free. what do we need to make the country grow? Brigitte Bardot, Anita Ekberg, Sophia Loren, and in the end, Elizabeth Taylor 鈥 all the impossible fantasies of my 1960s childhood! It鈥檚 a helluva song, but just try and find a video clip of the original. Give it up Bob! It鈥檚 a national treasure! Continue reading

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Ronald Reagan at 100: Is He The 鈥淩ubber Bustier鈥 of the Republican Party? His Son Thinks So!

Today is the 100th anniversary of Ronald Reagan’s birth, an august occasion to be sure. So leave it to Beaver to upset the apple cart. Ron Reagan, irreverent son of the 40th President, says Republicans venerate his old man like a fetish. Ron still thinks of him fondly as 鈥淒ad鈥 鈥 the sunny 50s-60s type who could groan like Ward Cleaver when he caught the Beav smoking dope in the bedroom. Now Ron鈥檚 making the grand book tour to promote his piece of the legend, My Father at 100. Continue reading

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LBJ Needed A Little More Stride in the Crotch

What did we do for yucks before Jon Stewart and Steven Colbert? U.S. Presidents said the darnedest things and preserved it for posterity with secret tape recorders in the Oval Office. So now we can listen to Lyndon Johnson belch and kvetch about his crotch, from nuts to bung hole, thanks to Put This On. And the true beauty of it is this: it鈥檚 all in the public domain, available for Rabelaisian mashups, because we the people paid for the office and the tape recorders. Continue reading

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Finding a Flaneur in 鈥淭he Moviegoer鈥

Certification, repetition, rotation, the genie-soul of a place 鈥 I found the footsteps of Walter Benjamin and 鈥淩eturn of the Flaneur鈥 throughout The Moviegoer by Walker Percy. No sooner had we finished reading it than I wanted to start all over again at the beginning, ready to annotate the text to make my case. Continue reading

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Fare Thee Well, Captain Beefheart

When I was a kid, Captain Beefheart seemed about as underground as you could get. You wouldn鈥檛 hear him on pop 40 radio. You had to tune in late at night to a free-form college station. Or have a misfit friend, as I did, who could recite lyrics from Trout Mask Replica as if he were channeling Tristan Tzara. Continue reading

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