Tuesday, December 31, 2013

Sabre Tooths and Artifacts

After saying that I used to have a crush on 1970s American television actor Randolph Mantooth, I am now feeling dinosaur-old. Indeed, I am feeling like T'pau--the chick who called Spock "Spook" on the first Star Trek series (which I saw in re-runs, mind you) and then Spock opened a can of whoop-ass on Kirk (after semi-groping Nurse Chapel and generally losing his Vulcan cool).
I've posted a clip of this episode. I have always loved the music that accompanied Spock and Kirk's battle. You can hum it any time life gets crazy-intense...online in the 12-items-or-less aisle when people have 28 items, moshing into the crowds and Christmas shopping for a Nintendo wii, you name it.

I don't think I'm a LOT like T'pau--nobody carries me around in a sedan chair (damn it), I lack the ceremonial warthog atop my head, and my eyebrows are less stylized. Yet, I'm feeling real ancient and T'paulike today. So, let me show you some of my ancient artifacts!

This is a photo of what my first car looked like--it was a 1967 Dodge Coronet and it was almost officially an antique when I got it in the mid-1980s. I have to go into the big scary chest of photos to find a picture of my ACTUAL first car; I can't do that because I always bang my head on the ceiling of the crawlspace and end up with a concussion. So, trust me (at least until I go into the crawlspace); it was exactly like this except in worse shape. I loved the triangular shaped windows and overall mammothness of the vehicle. Due to its behemoth proportions, I never parallel-parked (that was the part of the driver's test I was most worried about failing). I would just drive around and around until I found a parking space I could glide straight into. The chambermaids that I used to work with all heartily approved of the car because it was so big and better to drive in the snow. "You drive somethin' like my Toyota," one noted, "and you'll end up ham and eggs in a ditch. I wish I still had my Chrysler Newport. My boyfriend made me sell it 'cause he didn't want to be seen in it."
When I was growing up, we had a hi-fi from my mother's swinging days living as a young married woman on a Naval Air Base with a houseboy from the Phillipines and a cook named Ruby (I never witnessed these days, they live on only in legend and in my sister's dim memories of the time when she had a playhouse with little windowboxes, non-stop root beer whenever she asked for it, and no hairy monkeybaby--me--to share it all with). It was from Germany and it was called a Telefunken. It had a turntable, a radio, and a shortwave radio that would make a noise like "Verrrrrbuzzzzzzkuhschmurrrrrrr" whenever I tried to tune something exotic in. I have the hunch that it would be worth a lot these days if I still had it, so I'm not even gonna look it up. Here it is (note--an actual photo of me with the real Telefunken is available, but you would laugh at my hair and pious expression so I cannot post it):
This is the hairdryer we used to have when I was growing up. To my mind, it fried some parts of your hair while leaving other parts quite damp. It is a good thing that the state of the art has advanced past this:
Last but not least, here we have Randolph Mantooth. I think I was attracted to him because he is one-half Seminole (or at least I believed that to be the case at the time) and I was proud of being part Native American (although this is iffy at the moment and not at all substantiated enough for me to claim a share of casino profits--my Cousin Dude now is claiming that we are "descended from Spanish Royalty" and I'd get to the bottom of his theory except each time he starts to talk about genealogy my eyes glaze and I start auto-nodding).

MANTOOTH THENMANTOOTH NOW
After looking up photos online, I have come to the happy conclusion that Randolph Mantooth (or at least his Webmaster) likely has a sense of humor. I was going to copy in some text from his Web site that says he took a course in "how to laugh on stage" but when I tried to right-click on said text to copy it a little dialogue box popped up that said, "Sorry! No can do! No copy for you! You wouldn't want Randy to be mad at you for stealing his stuff, would you?" To which I say: Nooooooo! I just want Randy to resuscitate me. Still, after all these years, bedad! (Although his Web site's music threw me off, I must admit. Speakers up for a delightfully cheesy experience!)