So when the coupon came in the mail for one of those expensive specialty foo-foo beauty shops, I jumped on the chance to have an expert sell me an overpriced tub of “the look.” As I entered Foo-Foo, I was immediately greeted by the teenage expert with the awkward, yet familiar, “you’re a man and you don’t belong here” smile.  We soon became friends by the time we passed the curling irons, once she realized I had rudimentary knowledge of hair care products and wasn’t merely purchasing a gift card. After we talked shop about body, volume, sheen, and hold, she settled on the perfect product, which was a type of wax.  It wasn’t too glossy and it wouldn’t dry out, flake, or melt in the heat. Wrap it up!

At this time, I should probably mention that while I was playing in the Disneyland of mop tops, I completely forgot about my own personal Merlin that I regularly see at Sleeping Beauty’s Castle:  Lisa.  I drive 75 miles to see my stylist. She’s THAT good. But she wouldn’t recommend the products they carried at her salon, so I was on my own to find something drier than a gel and less glossy than a pomade. She recommended a cross between a wax and a gel. The product that Foo-Foo girl recommended seemed to fit that bill.

It was a new day in the bathroom. The sun was shining as I unscrewed the lid of this new waxy wonder.  It went on perfectly, not too wet, not too dry, and not too glossy.  Hurrah! Until I washed off the residue from my hands.  Or at least tried to.  Oops.  My stylist warned me to get something “water based,” which I happened to forget when Foo-Foo Tinkerbell was flying through the sky amidst the fireworks.  Main ingredient: petrolatum – aka “BP in a jar.” It didn’t wash off.

That day, I had perfect hair. And that evening, after I showered, shampooed, and shampooed again, I still had perfect hair. I went to bed with perfect hair and woke up with perfect hair. My pillow was smoking a cigarette. For a couple of days, I functioned on a “tease and go” principle, simply tweaking my hair into form without effort.  It eventually did wash out.  I miss the convenience of “tease and go,” but my hair felt nappy, like someone was going to crack a couple of eggs on my head and sizzle up some breakfast.  Come to think of it, I should have mixed it with the pomade that smelled like bacon.

As I delicately sliced off a scrap of my medium-rare tri-tip roast, my attention was distracted by a nearby couple, certainly not delicately slicing anything but my nerves.  It was actually a woman and her young daughter.  A thin, white cord connected Mom’s earphones to her phone, and every few minutes, she entertained a new call.  Social calls, not necessarily between bites.  She stared straight ahead at Daughter, who was entertaining herself with a coloring book.  Between calls, she’d talk to Daughter, and they appeared to have a normal conversation… for about three minutes at a time.  What I found interesting was that the daughter could tell when the call stopped, even though Mom remained in her comatose, forward-looking pose.  It was difficult for me to identify the segues, but somehow Daughter was all too familiar with the behavior.  I found it sad that this was probably considered “quality time” between Mom and Daughter.  At least it wasn’t McDonald’s.

I’m not sure why I dread Blockbuster so much, but I do.  Every time I go in, I feel like I’m walking through a Goodwill thrift store wearing a tuxedo, and someone I know will point and say, “Haha! You’re RENTING! Go back to 1988, VHS Boy!” It just seems so dirty to me.  Unethical. So non-vogue.  Besides that, they never have the actual movie you’re looking for, unless you’re into farting, burping, teen starlet comedies, of which they have several copies of each.  I refuse to rent them, not only because they’re mind-numbingly atrocious, but because they reek of teen farts and burps.

The movie in question was Rope, which is more than a mere classic from Alfred Hitchcock.  Hitchcock was known for producing some low budget films that didn’t look low budget.  35mm film stock comes in reels of 1000 feet.  At 90 feet per minute, this gives the director approximately eleven minutes of film per reel.  The way the story goes, Hitchcock ran each reel to its full eleven minutes so as to avoid having a few seconds of unused (wasted) film at the end.  Every eleven minutes, he either faded to black at calculated moments or deliberately placed black objects in the camera’s path so as to allow the next reel to seamlessly splice in and pick right up.  Genius, considering the precision timing involved.

Blockbuster? Oh, they didn’t have Rope.  But they did have another Hitchcock classic, Lifeboat. There I stood, waiting in line next to parents holding farting, burping comedies for their teens who, incidentally, were still at home, too embarrassed to be seen in a Blockbuster with their parents.  Years ago, I would be hiding my passé movie selection from the others, dodging random snickers.  Classics?  Grandpa’s movies? This was business, though, which now takes on a “cooler” context.  And that’s when the sales droid amused me…

DROID:  Oh, your card is expired.  For fifteen dollars, I can renew it for a year.  Actually, for ten, since this first one is free!

ME: Yeah, I only come in once a year.  Renew? Can’t I just rent it without the big renewal thing?

DROID: Yes, for $5.47, but you can renew it for ten.  And it’s good all year!

ME: Look, I’m a producer and just need to watch it for a film study. And you didn’t have the exact movie I needed anyway, so this one will have to do.  Normally I’d get it mailed from Netflix, but I need to watch it this weekend.  I only come in once a year, so I don’t need a subscription.  And I already feel dirty for coming here. And old. And unloved.

DROID: But it’s only four dollars more.

*crickets*

ME: Here’s six dollars. Knock yourself out.

This explains why they’ve closed the other Blockbusters, and why this one survives only as a backup to depleted garage sale inventory.

I predict the 2010 Fall election to be… a yawner.  Yes, I’m a patriot, and yes, I believe in democracy and voting.  But seriously, campaigns are spending and popularity contests, not demonstrations of public representation.  (This is nothing new.)  The worst of it are the sheep who only watch television ads, monitor single news sources, and believe mail brochure propaganda.  Obviously, these mediums are paid for by special interests, and money is democracy’s worst enemy.

The worst part of the voting process is the lack of political education.  This is especially worrisome with today’s youth — who are tomorrow’s political future — and tend to believe what they hear because it’s easier than learning and understanding real information.  As an American, it is essential to put effort into understanding what and who you’re voting for, otherwise you might as well hand over all your belongings and liberties, because they obviously aren’t worth protecting.

Information is a dangerous thing.  I can tell you a complete lie, and depending on my credentials, you may just believe me.  Maybe I’m a celebrity you find entertaining, maybe I have a list of causes you believe in, or maybe I simply say things that make you feel appreciated and important to humanity.  But they can be lies, specifically crafted to appeal to your emotions and self worth!  Always check facts, always obtain information from multiple and competing media organizations, and always do your homework.

So who or what do you believe? Here’s Jefferson’s recommendations and “Quick Start Guide” on how to vote, without actually telling you how to vote:

1. Shred all ads that arrive by mail.  They’re obviously sent to you by candidates or organizations with agendas.  Even when they seem to have a good case for smearing the other guy, that other guy will have some response that makes the accusation seem questionable.
2. Likewise, ignore all TV and radio ads.
3. Read, watch, or otherwise consume news from multiple media sources.  Yes, news is usually biased, so monitor several sources and understand the biases of each reporting agency and how it affects their programming.
4. Assess the list of the causes, organizations, politicians, or individuals that you believe represent your ideals and philosophies.  Then, go to their websites or otherwise obtain information from them about who and what they support.  This will tell you which politicians support those causes, and which ballot initiatives are most friendly to them.
5. After reviewing the candidate or ballot initiatives for the causes you support, compare them, and determine one by one which ones “win” over the others.  Sometimes this is hard, because you may believe strongly in two causes with opposing views.  Do your best, and compromise where needed.
6. Vote according to your conscience.

So the bottom line is… be educated, be American, and vote!

The wind breaks through the garden
Shaking flowers to the ground
Looking closer, I beg your pardon
Atop the pond, one flower is found

Two weeks later, I returned
Those flowers had withered away
But the one on the water, unturned
Well nourished, it survives today

In the 1950′s, television sets were large, boxy appliances, often used as centerpieces in living rooms.  The back of the sets were readily removable in order to replace electronic vacuum tubes, fuses, and other “user-serviceable” parts.  Radios, amplifiers, electric organs, and other electronic appliances also fell victim to popping the lid.  There were repair shops for those not adventurous enough to unscrew the back of a high voltage device.  One better, most cities had repairmen who would make house calls, armed with boxes of vacuum tubes, tools, and the latest catalog of new appliances.  Most people, however, had a relative or family friend who was savvy enough to wield a screwdriver;  the only complication encountered was the occasional lost screw.

Although it may sound strange by today’s standards, user-based service was both practical and economical.  Flaws due to constraints in technology were confined to parts intentionally designed to be replaced.  The rest of the appliance was generally robust and would last for years without trouble.  Replaceable parts were installed in sockets or screwed down to where a user could easily access and replace them.

Today’s complexity of electronics has restricted service to manufacturers or authorized service centers where specialized parts, knowledge, and tools are required.  When electronics fail, individual parts are no longer replaced — the whole unit or main board of components is replaced instead.  Repair personnel rarely make house calls, unless expressly defined in a service agreement, paid for by the purchaser.  Independent repair shops still exist, but service now consists of replacing main component boards, plugs, and knobs, or up-selling the owner into a new appliance.  Frequently, the cost to repair exceeds that of a new appliance altogether. Appliances throughout the 1970s and 1980s even carried a label that read, “No user-serviceable parts inside.”  This phrase has altogether been retired from modern day appliances.

When new technology fails, it fails hard — no simple “replace a fuse” trick.  Appliances are no longer built with intentional maintenance in mind; there is now an expectation of high quality and reliability.  Whereas a ’50s television set may have required tube replacement every two years, today’s consumer expects a television monitor to last five, seven, or more.  It is more common that the owner will replace an appliance due to wanting newer technology and not because of malfunction.

This “upgrade technology” behavior poses a quandary that did not exist years ago.  Consumers now have garages, closets, and basements full of perfectly good — but obsolete — electronics.  We have an aversion to throwing out perfectly working things, and likewise lack a market that seeks them out.  We turn to eBay, CraigsList, and even the local paper to try to find homes for our old friends, but then run into the dilemma of having to accept pennies on the dollar for electronics that we once shelled out hundreds of dollars for.

I predict that we will soon have a used electronics crisis, if it isn’t here already.  Junkyards, not unlike those seen on TV’s Sanford & Son, will feature living room electronics rather than kitchen plumbing.  In California, we are already taxed at purchase for the future disposal of electronic goods; removal of “e-waste” is controlled by strict recycling and disposal programs.  Aside from the psychological aversion of having to throw out perfectly good merchandise, regulations and disposal concerns will likely having us storing this “nuclear waste” in our attics for years to come.

“Hair bands” have been around since the 1970s, but it didn’t take on a new meaning until British pop culture started working its way from punk and new wave enclaves into the mainstream American pop charts.  Hair wasn’t just long, it was frizzy, spiked, colored, shaved… pretty much anything you could do to a poodle, they did with hair.  Wham! had perfect, shampoo-commercial hair.  Dale Bozzio of Missing Persons fame seemed to change her frizzy, multicolored ‘do regularly.  Pete Burns of Dead or Alive would have made a peacock proud.  And Boy George of Culture Club… I’m not even going to go there.  In the ’80s, being unique was so trendy to the point where uniqueness itself was hackneyed and commonplace.

What was arguably different about music in the 1980s was the proliferation of the electronic music synthesizer keyboard.  Unlike electric organs and early “synths” of the ’70s, synthesizers allowed manipulation and shape of the raw components of sound waves: oscillators, envelopes, filters, amplifiers, and various effects.  Tones could be made to resemble musical instruments, from bass guitars to flutes and even accordions.  They were far from the perfect instrumentation of their orchestral counterparts, but the mechanical and electronic “feel” of synthesizer sound was what really gave the 1980s its musical signature.  The resonating saws of the Oberheim OB-Xa made Van Halen’s Jump, well… jump.  The light, almost-hidden, saxophone pad in Simple Minds’ Don’t You Forget About Me adds to the depth of the verses, contrasting with the sharp “da daa ta daa daa daaaa” strings of its chorus .  As a backwards comparison, Never Tear Us Apart by INXS shows us versus full of staccato strings, complemented by a true saxophone solo by Kirk Pengilly.

One of the bands that relied heavily on the synthesizer, perhaps even defined by the synthesizer, was Duran Duran, with keyboard artist Nick Rhodes pushing the limits of what one could do with the technology.  In Last Chance on the Stairway, you can hear the ethereal strings binding the tune together.  The arpeggio was a mechanical advancement in synthesizers, automating rapid, staccato-based tones.  In Rio, the arpeggio provided the “plinking” sound in almost-random fashion, which was also popular with their hit song Hungry Like the Wolf.  Noticeably in Rio, they used a real saxophone for the solos rather than a synthesized sax, giving the synthesizer its own commanding role rather than being a mere replacement for live instruments.  The 1980s synths gave us clever and unique qualities to expand music, meshed with the traditional instrumentation from prior eras.

As music continues to evolve, so did synthesizer technology during the 1980s.  The electric organ had been around for decades prior to the 80s, but the development of the transistor in the 1960s allowed companies like Moog Music to start producing electronic, musical keyboards.  These synthesizers allowed the player to modify various tonal qualities and parameters using knobs, switches, and wires.  The concept of an instrument was no longer limited to one type of tone; a single synthesizer could play tones emulating a bass guitar, string concerto, woodwind flute, or brass trumpet.  They were called analog synths due their reliance on passive, electronic components such as resistors and capacitors.  It was common to have to tune them or otherwise maintain them in order to produce consistent sound.

As noted earlier, the synthesizer was not a true substitute for a real instrument.  By the early 1980s, however, the tones were good enough to reasonably emulate instruments to where the player could differentiate between a church organ and a Hammond organ or between violin and cello.  This imperfection, coupled with new electronic sound experiences, provided the charm and uniqueness of what we now refer to fondly as 1980s “synth pop.”  Bands were constantly adopting and tweaking new keyboards as fast as manufacturers could produce them in order to deliver the next “new sound” to the world.

Music continued to evolve, and synthesizers evolved with it.  The synth industry was sure to incorporate the latest electronics to create more realistic sounds.  One key advancement in realism was the introduction of digital technology.  Instead of relying on passive electronics to generate sound from scratch, real life sounds could be sampled, or stored in a type of computer memory so that a key press would replay a recording of a real instrument.  A byproduct of this was the invention of the drum machine and sampling keyboards, where one could record his own sounds to be replayed at the touch of a key.

Today, keyboards are so sophisticated and refined that the instrument quality of a digital keyboard is virtually indistinguishable from the real instrument, due mainly to the ability to sample real instruments with high resolution.  The grand piano on a Roland Fantom-X, for example, is recorded (sampled) four times per key to emulate four different levels of pressure that a player may exert (known as keyboard velocity). As keyboards push toward more and more realism, technology distances us from the synth pop of the ’80s.  The charm of the genre is still alive, however, as many new bands are reviving that old synth pop sound.  In fact, most new digital keyboards now contain presets that emulate classic sounds of the era.  The once workhorses of the ’80s, such as the Yamaha DX-7, Roland Jupiter, and Sequential Circuits’ Prophet, are now sought after by new bands looking to break away from instrument realism.  These now rare relics fetch a hefty price on secondary markets, such as eBay.  In fact, it’s not uncommon to find an analog Roland Jupiter 8 on “sale” for four-to-six thousand dollars (US), much higher than its original price in 1984, and more than twice as expensive as a modern-day Roland professional digital synthesizer.

The wood veneer finish told you it was designed in the 1970s, but the hard plastic joystick screamed 80s.  I look at a modern console game controller, curved to fit the hands, with many controls that allow complicated game movements.  The 2600 joystick was a square box that fit oddly in your palm, with only a stick and a large orange button to move objects on the screen.  Both the button and stick were stiff and difficult to move, and rashes or bruises were common after several hours of play.  It wasn’t long before other manufacturers caught on and produced slightly better versions of the box-stick model.  We didn’t know what Carpel Tunnel Syndrome was at the time, but I’m pretty sure that’s what made us numb — not Mom complaining that we were staying up to late.

There were no 3-D games for the 2600, and graphics were limited to 128 colors.  The 2600 was known for it’s blocky graphics, and “people” were either squares or clumps of squares.  A gun was typically a line extending from a clump of squares.  When you pressed the joystick button, a distortion sound was heard and a dot was expelled from the “gun.”  Sound was equally primitive, with just two sound channels that could produce electronic beeps and tones.  The 2600 connected to your TV antenna or Cable TV jack; using your TV helped make this an affordable entertainment platform for the home.  Note that this sometimes generated fights during prime-time TV viewing hours.

Using the 2600 was simple.  It came with two joysticks for two-player gaming, but you could also purchase paddle (turn-able knob) controllers or other accessories for specific games.  It had four levers on the front (power, b/w vs. color, game select, and game reset) and two slider switches on the rear to control difficulty for each player. To play a game, you simply put the cartridge in the slot and turned the 2600 on.  A menu or title screen would appear, at which you would hit the game select switch to flip through options for the number of players or variations of game play.  Hit the reset switch and you were off to have fun.  Playing against little brother? No problem, just flip the rear difficulty switch to “B” to make things harder for you.  Usually this just sped up the game speed or reduced your countdown timer.

Since there was no internal storage memory, all player data was erased every time the console was turned off.  This frequently involved finding a neutral party to witness high scores to prove such events actually happened.  Mom or an older brother more interested in encyclopedias  usually filled that role.

Tempers would sometimes flare, and it wasn’t uncommon for someone to hit the reset switch in a moment of rage.  This was usually followed by someone yanking the cartridge out of the slot without turning the power off first — the deadliest sin in Atariland, where doing so was rumored to destroy both cartridge and console.

Games frequently had hidden features that would display programmer credits or produce some other treat for the player.  Word of these “easter eggs” traveled by word-of-mouth or in magazines, as this was years before consumer use of the Internet.  For fun, you could flick the power button causing a game malfunction, where random bits of the game would appear on the screen in improper places with unpredictability, usually followed by an obnoxious unintended noise.

As major game companies like Activision started creating games for the Atari 2600, games that showcased higher complexity became the norm.  A lot was done with two sound channels and 128 colors.  Players still appeared blocky, but game play included adventure games with more objects on the screen and the ability to gather items and maintain them throughout a story-based scenario.

Like all good things, Atari eventually folded due to what many perceive as poor marketing of its products.  Subsequent game consoles like the Atari 5200 just never caught on.  Affordable home  computer systems such as the Commodore 64 and Apple II provided more gaming features and doubled as a home computer, complete with a keyboard.

Although Atari technology seems primitive by today’s standards, the charm of the Atari 2600 was that a lot of kids had them, and it was easy to make new friends just by showing up at their house with a new game.  It was a creative outlet for youthful energy that didn’t involve annoying the neighbors in the backyard.  It was a rainy day treat.  Most of all, it was a marvel for its time, opening the door for the home adoption 0f future gaming platforms, such as the Nintendo, PlayStation, and now Xbox series of systems.