#reechy sounding

[sohannabarberaesque]

Upon seeing this, who could picture Squiddly Diddly playing the old squeezebox (and a reechy-sounding one, besides) at some San Pedro dive bar on Saturday nights, with Chief Winchley unaware of the exercise?

[flappyfluellen]

Tell me about the closet scene in Hamlet and why it's so interesting!

OKAY LET’S GO

(i’m so glad i already had most of the ideas here written down in the annotations of my hamlet edition)

the first reason why this scene is so fascinating is that hamlet and gertrude continually switch what pronouns they use to refer to each other. first, gertrude uses the familiar “thou” for hamlet, while hamlet uses the formal/polite “you” for her.

GERTRUDE: Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended.HAMLET: Mother, you have my father much offended.GERTRUDE: Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue.

gertrude, confused, switches to the formal “you,” probably out of caution. they continue like this, the tension in the conversation rising, until gertrude cries, “What wilt thou do? thou wilt not murder me?” (i also love all the emotion in this scene—it’s very clear through the text, and very disturbing.)

hamlet kills polonius. gertrude stays with “thou”—either to chastise hamlet or attempt to regain the familiarity she’s lost, if that makes sense. it seems to be the former, what with gertrude’s later line “What have I done, that thou dar’st wag thy tongue / In noise so rude against me?”

it’s also interesting to note that hamlet’s attack on gertrude is, from the beginning, based in gender roles. for example, he cites modesty, virtue, and innocence—all of which are stereotypically feminine—as things which gertrude is lacking or that she lost when she married claudius.

anyway, hamlet has a lot of really nasty things to say to gertrude, but what interests me the most is his distinction between gertrude’s emotions and her reason. i’m not going to close read the entire thing, but i find these passages particularly interesting—think about reason vs. emotion, choice vs. compulsion, madness vs. sanity, etc:

You cannot call it love; for at your ageThe hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble,And waits upon the judgment: and what judgmentWould step from this to this? Sense, sure, you have,Else could you not have motion; but sure, that senseIs apoplex'd; for madness would not err,Nor sense to ecstasy was ne'er so thrall'dBut it reserved some quantity of choice,To serve in such a difference....Proclaim no shameWhen the compulsive ardor gives the charge,Since frost itself as actively doth burnAnd reason panders will.

in this monologue, hamlet also switches to “thou” for the first time in the scene, obviously to attack and belittle gertrude.

then gertrude says this,

O Hamlet, speak no more:Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul;And there I see such black and grained spotsAs will not leave their tinct.

which almost seems like some sort of confession. it also looks like she believes hamlet’s words—believing that she’s done something wrong, whether that be marrying claudius or even, as mentioned earlier in the scene, helping to kill hamlet sr. (which is less likely textually, but an interesting direction to take a production...)

and then of course we have this passage,

Nay, but to liveIn the rank sweat of an enseamed bed,Stew'd in corruption, honeying and making loveOver the nasty sty—

which is just downright GROSS, with some very nasty imagery going on.

another quote i find interesting is gertrude’s ���These words, like daggers, enter in mine ears,” which reminds me of Hamlet’s earlier line, “I will speak daggers to [Gertrude], but use none.”

but then everything changes when the ghost enters:

GHOST: Speak to her, Hamlet.HAMLET: How is it with you, lady?GERTRUDE: Alas, how is't with you...

here, both of them turn back to the formal/distant “you.” hamlet no longer has the upper hand—he’s afraid, and so is gertrude. there’s some interesting pronoun stuff here:

O gentle son,Upon the heat and flame of thy distemperSprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look?

AND THEN. hamlet has this absolutely fascinating line to the ghost:

Do not look upon me;Lest with this piteous action you convertMy stern effects: then what I have to doWill want true color; tears perchance for blood.

“what I have to do”—kill claudius? this almost seems like hamlet doesn’t want to kill him, but the ghost is making him do it. (i played off this theme in my screenplay, actually!)

after the ghost exits, gertrude, who couldn’t see the ghost, insists that hamlet’s mad. hamlet insists he isn’t. he then goes on to, again, urge gertrude not to sleep with claudius, and tell her to repent. lots of religious rhetoric here. but this time, hamlet isn’t attacking her, he’s pleading with her. gertrude also switches pronouns again to “thou,” while hamlet stays with the polite “you”:

GERTRUDE: O Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in twain.HAMLET: O, throw away the worser part of it,And live the purer with the other half.Good night: but go not to mine uncle's bed;Assume a virtue, if you have it not.

it almost seems like hamlet is trying to save her or help her, since he doesn’t want her to go to hell. (“I must be cruel, only to be kind.”) there are some other interesting individual lines in this speech, but i won’t go into them.

AND NOW COMES MY FAVORITE PART—

GERTRUDE: What shall I do?HAMLET: Not this, by no means, that I bid you do:Let the bloat king tempt you again to bed;Pinch wanton on your cheek; call you his mouse;And let him, for a pair of reechy kisses,Or paddling in your neck with his damn'd fingers,Make you to ravel all this matter out,That I essentially am not in madness,But mad in craft.

the main point here is that hamlet is not mad, he’s just pretending and that under no circumstances should gertrude tell this to claudius. hamlet starts out by listing things that gertrude should Not Do—even if claudius kisses her and all that stuff, she should not tell him that hamlet’s faking his madness. hamlet then goes on a rant that’s sarcastic and kind of hard to understand, so i haven’t included it. basically it’s just adding to his above points.

gertrude responds:

Be thou assured, if words be made of breath,And breath of life, I have no life to breatheWhat thou hast said to me.

essentially an interesting way of saying “I swear I won’t tell him.”

her assurance here is REALLY IMPORTANT in the next scene, where this happens:

CLAUDIUS: What, Gertrude? How does Hamlet?GERTRUDE: Mad as the sea and wind, when both contendWhich is the mightier.

GET THIS: gertrude keeps her word. she insists that hamlet is mad, even though she knows he isn’t. and this is important because it seems now that she’s more on hamlet’s side than claudius’.

then the scene goes in a different direction. (i swear i’m almost done)

HAMLET: I must to England; you know that?GERTRUDE: Alack, I had forgot: 'tis so concluded on.HAMLETThere's letters seal'd: and my two schoolfellows,Whom I will trust as I will adders fang'd,They bear the mandate; they must sweep my way,And marshal me to knavery. Let it work;For 'tis the sport to have the engineerHoist with his own petard: and 't shall go hardBut I will delve one yard below their mines,And blow them at the moon: O, 'tis most sweet,When in one line two crafts directly meet.

this passage suggests that hamlet knows about claudius’ plot to have him killed in england. i especially like the “hoist with his own petard” line: the folger edition rephrases it as, “to have the maker of military devices blown up by his own explosives.” essentially, hamlet is already planning to turn the plot on claudius (the engineer) by having r&g killed. it’s also fascinating how excited he sounds about this: “tis the sport,” “tis most sweet.” and as for his “two crafts”—foiling claudius’ plot, and killing r&g? he sure sounds excited to kill r&g. it’s pretty awful.

it’s also interesting that this part comes right after the “don’t tell claudius i’m sane” part, since there seems to be no correlation. and why tell gertrude about his plot to kill r&g? my theory is that the two are in fact related—perhaps, if claudius thinks hamlet is insane, hamlet can go about his plotting business without suspicion.

WOW OKAY THAT WAS HELLA LONG but i hope it makes sense. i could probably unpack the scene even more, if i had the time and energy to do so. but i think this is just fine. if you read the whole thing, i’m impressed!!

[sohannabarberaesque]

So Quick Draw McGraw goes into another awful-sounding, almost reechy-like even, rendering of "Bury Me Not On The Lone Prairie" as drives his faithful Babalooie irate--

BABALOOIE, ever the frustrated one in circumstances such as this: Hey Queekstraw, don't you think-- QUICK DRAW McGRAW, interjecting: I DOES THE THINNIN' AROUND HERE, BABALOOIE ... AND DOOOOONNNNNNN'T YOU FORGET IT--!!! Especially when it comes to the rather reechy tone of my musical renditions!!

[sohannabarberaesque]

As The Banana Splits were looking through a recent tranche of fan mail

FLEEGLE, as leader of The Banana Splits, looking through a predictable-sounding batch: Fellow Splits, doesn't it seem at time that much of the fan mail we receive can turn out to be predictable, sounding more or less the same? BINGO, looking at one particular specimen therefor: Well, I have at least one letter that begs to differ with what Fleegle said just now! [Reads] "Dear Splits: I could never stand that God-awful way you were depicted in that awful and reechy horror film! And know, I still like you the way I remember you from younger days! Need more be said? {signed} Not One for Horror" SNORKY: [Incessant honking of approval of the letter's sentiments, which Drooper notes in so interpreting] DROOPER, reading another specimen of fan letter: "Dear Banana Splits--Have you ever performed in some one-horse town's 'Opry House,' and not managed to look like fools in the process? {signed} Can't Stand Branson" [Responding] Whoever you are, ye who signed yourself "Can't Stand Branson," I have to agree with your sentiment expressed by your signature; those shows in Branson are just twisted appeals to the most basic of patriotic feelings these same one-horse towns are conditioned into accepting, for the most part ... as to your question, there have been several instances of our performing in what you call "one-horse town Opry Houses," and have managed to come out none the worse for wear. BINGO, adding some insight: Though in such instances, we admit to imagining whether our mere appearance would cause heart attacks in certain among the more conservative elements, unaware of the oblivious that such communities seem destined to be wanting of any serious help whatsoever! FLEEGLE, exuberantly: Well-put, Bingo; well-put! SNORKY: [Exuberant, yet incessant, honking of approval] BANANA VAC: Now THAT was fan mail I like hearing!!

[sohannabarberaesque]

Just being the Cattanooga Cats isn't exactly enough these days

First Kitten: Do you like to climb poles? Second Kitten: No; I'm not that kind of a cat.

--from Capt. Billy's Whiz Bang, December 1924

Sometimes, those midnight biscuits-and-gravy breakfasts the Cattanooga Cats are legendary for can generate some innovative ideas for improving their concert tours. Especially when some variety as goes beyond merely performing light-hearted and whimsical country-flavoured pop music (not to mention Scoots bringing up some anecdotes and thigh-slappers of stories drawing heavily on personal experience to open the second part of the show).

Yet at the same time recognising they're not quite the sort for Branson, Missouri; it seems they prefer carefully-nuanced country and hillbilly-music acts with subtle conservative propaganda messaging such as can appeal to a largely "poor white" audience whose patriotic feelings are crude, base and easily malleable along Shepherd of the Hills Expressway and 76 Country Boulevard.

So it came as no surprise to hear Kitty Jo "kick things up a notch" in terms of maintaining their relevance and audience appeal, if not so much on tour than at the stage of Cattanooga Klatsche, their Gatlinburg coffee house and artisan roastery, by suggesting something in the vein of that "feline circus" act as part of the Sundown Ceremony on Key West's Mallory Square as a distraction which, while not quite entr'acte material, certainly would offer more than a common concert experience bound to be stale and dated.

In effect, a side act of trained stunt felines pulling off a number of gymnastically-inclined acts bound to include a pole-climbing sequence bound to make the Wacky Races' Rufus Ruffcut look like a second-rate reject from a travelling lumberjack show of the cheapest sort. Especially considering that the climbing poles are also doing yeoman duty as scratching posts ... and the whole scored to reechy-sounding, hackneyed even, circus music to draw out the laughs, in particular a campy-sounding band version of "California, Here I Come" during the pole-climb act.

If the charge laid here, reader and fellow Hanna-Barberian, is likely one of trying to outdo The Banana Splits in seeking to reclaim their name from an awful horror-film treatment vis-a-vis concert antics and the reading of choicest examples of fan mail ... than Country, Kitty Jo, Groove and Scoots could be said to be "guilty on all counts, but for mitigating circumstances." (Especially those of a competitive nature.) Whether such will work or no (especially with the critics) is anybody's guess, which only time will answer.

**************

@warnerbrosentertainment @indigo-corvus @jellystone-enjoyer @iheartgod175 @archive-archives @themineralyoucrave @thebigdingle @princessgalaxy505 @thylordshipofbutts @screamingtoosoftly @warnerbros-blog1 @groovybribri @theweekenddigest @haiyis-dark-void @warnerbrosent-blog

[sohannabarberaesque]

An almost whimsical sort of ice-breaker moment with the Cattanooga Cats in concert

[Groove goes into a "rimshot" routine, after which--] KITTY JO, somewhat excitedly: Boys, I assume you know the old "piano tuna" gag.... [Audience laughter] COUNTRY: I assume it's the one about "you can tune a piano, but--" [leading the audience into the gag] "YOU CAN'T TUNA FISH!" [Laughter again among the audience. during which Teeny Tim, assisted by a couple of stagehands, brings unto the stage a somewhat reechy-sounding honkytonk-type piano for the act about to follow] SCOOTS, sensing such to be his cue: I assume this is the cue for my comic honky-tonk piano number! [Country and Kitty Jo nod approvingly as Scoots struts to the piano seat and, after some comedic-type stalling, plays some cheesy nickelodeon-type piano numbers; the awful tuning of the piano is such as turns out sending the audience into laughter]

[sohannabarberaesque]

So much for "taking Tiger Mountain (by strategy)" ...

[As our scene opens, we find Quick Draw McGraw doing a rather reechy-sounding rendering of the old "Bury Me Not On The Lone Prairie" on his "gee-tar," even if it means annoying his burro buddy, Babalooie, to the point of sheer frustration....]

BABALOOIE, peeved off as peeved off gets: Hey Queekstraw, doesn't such a musical approach seem a little annoying?

QUICK DRAW McGRAW, explaining it in his rather absurdist way: If I may explain, Babalooie, such is basically my own original approach to dealing with the bandits and the lawless element--by strategy!

BABALOOIE: If, by "strategy," you mean such awfully ear-grating music as yours, Queekstraw, how do you exactly expect such to work?

QUICK DRAW McGRAW: Sheer psychology, Babalooie!

[As can be expected, some lawless mail-robber type, as Quick Draw would so refer, outside whose hotel Quick Draw is performing this exercise psychological, shouts at Quick Draw to knock it off, as he's probably trying to get some rest, prompting--]

BABALOOIE: Queekstraw!! Can't you see that mail train bandit you were serenading is getting hotter than heck?!

QUICK DRAW McGRAW: Which brings up my second step in this use of strategy to deal with the criminal-type elements! [Whereupon he takes a quick leave of absence to change into the old El Kabong, stunning Babalooie, naturally.]

EL KABONG, who is really Quick Draw in disguise, right down to the awful-sounding guitar serving as the "Kabonger": EL KABONG, OLE!!! Stand back, Babalooie, while El Kabong kabongs the mail thief in his slumber yonder to his JUST DESSERTS!

BABALOOIE, a bit confused: I just have to wonder whether El Kabong means stuff like flan; come to think of it, I could use some flan every now and then....

[Off in the distance, we can hear El Kabong go into his act, shouting "KABONG!!" and preparing to conk the targeted with the Patent Kabonger ... only we find the targeted having collapsed and fallen on the floor, as if from a Fatal Heart Attack.]

EL KABONG, caught off his guard: Well, whatever did you know ... our suspect dropped dead of a Fatal Heart Attack!

BABALOOIE: Which certainly has me think--

EL KABONG, interrupting: I do's the thinning around here, Babalooie--AND DOOOOONNNN'T YOU FORGET IT!!!

BABALOOIE: Meanwhile, I have to wonder if he didn't expect what was coming from El Kabong!

EL KABONG: Now that is a pretty likely possibility there, Babalooie!!

BABALOOIE: I admit that I like this El Kabong fellow; he can certainly surprise mail thieves to death by clever strategy!

[sohannabarberaesque]

“Underwater America with Peter Potamus” (episode 5: Monterey Bay, California)

Herewith, another contrived transcript for another episode of Underwater America with Peter Potamus, imagined as a syndicated documentary series in the early 1970′s where Peter Potamus leads a crew of close friends in a series of SCUBA-diving misadventures to demonstrate the fun and friendship inherent in SCUBA.

[The inevitable corny aerial view of the Monterey Peninsula and Monterey Bay to open the show, with a rather reechy-sounding--perhaps 78 rpm--rendering of “In Old Monterey” to try and evoke attraction to the scene, when--]

PETER POTAMUS, standing near Point Lobos and with a decent view of the Lone Cypress in the background: I’ve heard it been said that the waters off Monterey, where I’m standing now, are something of a paradise for the diving fraternity, rivalled only by Catalina Island. Admittedly chilly by virtue of location, but just picturing our diving company in such waters ought to be rather interesting in and of itself ... particularly considering where yours truly happens to be rather fat himself ...

[Whereupon we find the three lupines of the company, Loopy De Loop, Hokey Wolf and Mildew Wolf, come up on set almost unbidden ...]

HOKEY WOLF, going into Sgt. Bilko-type histrionics: Uh, Peter, if I understand it correctly, doesn’t Point Lobos translate as “Wolf Point” from the Spanish?

PETER POTAMUS: Now that you mention it, Hokey ... indeed, it does. And it’s rather interesting to note that Point Lobos is one of the better spots on the California coast for beach-based diving. After all, getting a dive boat anchored in the middle of the kelp forests offshore without digging up kelp when the anchor comes up is probably a crazy sort of scenario to be imagined ... 

LOOPY DE LOOP, trying not to get obnoxious in the “charm offensive”: Yet I believe we were reading somewhere heading up that you’ve got some rather diverse marine life here--sea otters, sea lions, harbor seals, grouper, sea bass,--

PETER POTAMUS: Point taken, Loopy! [Trying to get back to rational--] Steinbeck aside, what with Cannery Row itself in decline, Point Lobos was chosen for the dive here in Monterey Bay because, as Loopy pointed out, you’ve got such diversity of sea life to be had in a beach-entry diving scenario. And yet you don’t want to look ridiculous entering the water in a normal sort of manner, especially when it’s chilly (generally 50-60 degrees the year round) and yet you want to be natural for the most part ...

[The action goes into a sort of “flashback” during a breakfast session in a diner not far from the Cannery Row district, which, at the time this show is imagined as in production, was down but to one operating cannery in contrast to the half-dozen such running when John Steinbeck’s novel came out in 1945.]

Over breakfast, which is how our crew likes planning dive misadventures--no doubt including much in the way of coffee (although Wally Gator prefers orange juice)--

WALLY GATOR, explaining: I’m one with a rather tender stomach for coffee, and besides, being the Florida type myself, I’d rather prefer OJ for my breakfasts, don’t you know?!

PETER POTAMUS, getting back to track: --we do a little research from dive-spot maps picked up at a decent little dive shop down the way. Not to mention the waitresses, one of whom is a regular Monterey Bay diver and acknowledges some experience with the local waters....

JILL, the waitress in question: I was rather stunned to find such a diving party as a hippo, three wolves, a gorilla, a polar bear, an alligator, a lion, a hyena and an octopus as underwater cameraman at breakfast ... but I admit to having much acquaintenance with Point Lobos as a dive spot, so I felt like recommending it.

[Onward to the preparations, which include not just the gearing up and the safety lecture, but also some advice on dealing with the colder waters than accustomed to in previous dives--and on the beach, at that!]

PETER POTAMUS: And so it was on Point Lobos that we assembled for an early evening sort of dive. Not unlike the late-afternoon sort of scenario which surfers call “the evening glass,” which finds milder water temperatures and calmer seas. As well as clearer waters, but still, expect Monterey Bay to be as chilly. [Several divers getting ready to leave take notice of such an anthro diving party suiting up, and must be rather perplexed themselves] And as it’s one of those “beach entry” sort of dive spots, we walk in backwards, just to make sure we enter on the safe side of things ...

[The dive-in ... taking underwater ballet-type entrances to sillier and sillier extremes, or maybe not. And it’s in the middle of a major kelp grove such as Point Lobos is legendary for in the diving world]

BREEZLY BRUIN, taking stock of the dive some time later: Just picturing such massive kelp plants, their stalks approaching the surface of the water ... you don’t find such off Alaska these days, let alone some giant crab....

MAGILLA GORILLA, likewise: How exactly it is that I took up with Peter Potamus’ crowd and joined such a crazy diving troupe is anybody’s guess ... especially after the near-fiasco with the surfer crowd at Gremmie Gulch, if you still remember that one. But for a gorilla like myself, sensing such spectacular kelp groves as these has got to be something new.

[We soon can discern Peter Potamus pointing out a surprising-looking underwater cave about 30 feet down, which finds a couple of sea otters at play as if guarding the cave for some reason otherwise mysterious]

PETER POTAMUS, commenting on the discovery: I could never get too much over this moment of a couple of rather playful sea otters, part of a rather substantial colony which inhabits Monterey Bay, acting as if they were guards to some underwater treasure not otherwise known among the diving crowd here ... but somehow, those sea otters, once hunted almost to extinction for fur pelts, can get to be rather likable critters.... ohhh, here comes one such, pointing out a bed of abalone shells somehow interesting-looking ...

And we could never get over such oversized kelp groves, reminding me of those giant redwood trees in Yosemite and further northward in California, past San Francisco even ... [Witness the sheer astonishment of all in the party at such a kelp forest as they never experienced before, not even off Catalina ... and with twilight coming on, time to surface ... eventually to find our party hilariously reacting to a warm-up fire in a fire pit at a park near Point Lobos beach, with some chicken stock heated up as well]

I must certainly admit, though, for the experience, Point Lobos would have to be the kind of dive stretching all possible adjectives just to describe such diversity of marine life ... even when a couple of sea otters jealously looking like guards to an Aladdin’s Cave of sorts underwater turn out being playful. Even if one such tried to bite at my finger, which, thankfully, was gloved.

[And even as twilight descends on Monterey Bay, the Lone Cypress can still be discerned in clear view, a sort of sentinel of the Monterey Bay experience ... even as the whole pans out aerially to find the last sunset rays discerning in the waters of Monterey Bay and the Pacific to finish out this episode.]

[sohannabarberaesque]

Postcards from Snagglepuss: Recalling an encounter with a Lovesick Sasquatch

So I venture from the Long Beach motel I'm staying in at the moment between perceived misadventures, trying to figure out another such, when the desideratum hits me to head to a nearby coffee house as also happens to be near the Catalina Terminal and kill the evening there. And while the music that evening may not have been the Cattanooga Cats, for some reason the sound reminded me of same. Especially over some rather potent Americanos which were potent enough to recall one episode "back in the hills," so to speak.

And with all those chases involving one Major Minor seeking to reduce me to a trophy at the Adventurers' Club, the episode I was reminded of here was close to it.

Only the aroma I encountered was not gunpowder ... but feminine sexual arousal. Specifically, arousal of a female Sasquatch resident in the region. Arousal which smelled rather potent, reechy even, suggesting serious lovesickness on the female's part and parcel.

But it was sheer tiredness from the persual, which she provoked, mind you, that made me realise what the stench meant: She wanted some serious lovemaking. And she wanted ME, of all the woodland creatures, to be her love interest. And while, I admit, we two were rather different ... needless to say, all those tabloid headlines in the vein of I WAS BIGFOOT'S LOVE SLAVE!! (the sort Freddie Jones just seems to relish, come to think of it) came rushing to me as the she-Sasquatch was making some rather absurd gestures suggesting that I spend some time lying on her and giving her some joy, some comfort even, in her lovesick condition. Which, initially, and by my own admission, felt a bit unnerving ... but gradually, things melted rather wonderfully, magically even, with yours truly actually making love(!!) unto a Sasquatch.

... and by the time it was all over, I seemed to feel light on my feet, having satisfied what seemed for her a burning need. She seemed to express as much besides.

But still, having a few Americanos at an all-night coffee house, while not enough to make you light-hearted, can bring back memories rather sensual, memories that somehow got stuck in my mind all this while.

[sohannabarberaesque]

In Minneapolis at Aquatennial Time with The Funtastic World of Hanna-Barbera essentially

Just imagine the opening scene here: Snagglepuss and Mildew Wolf, as per their co-commentator roles in Scooby's All-Star Laff-A-Lympics, being in some two-bit Hollywood screening room on a par with the legendary Nosseck's, getting ready to preview what essentially amounts to a documentary on what is encapsulated in the title of this piece ... with Mildew giving the command to start the projector, and with the inevitable film heders and all giving way to--

A somewhat reechy-sounding recording of "Minneapolis at Aquatennial Time," the longtime hymn of the Minneapolis Aquatennial (especially back when celebrities were invited over in the 1950's, many such being guests of a special Cedric Adams-led radio broadcast over the legendary WCCO as part thereof) showing some classic Aquatennial moments from the past ... segueing into the arrival of many of Hanna-Barbera's greatest Funtastics upon the Mill City (with multi-frame images throughout, many such having the Skipper Pins being affixed) as the Aquatennial approacheth ... not to mention an eve-of-Aquatennial gig featuring both The Banana Splits and the Cattanooga Cats at the legendary First Avenue on the same stage which Prince made famous in his time ... itself cutting to--

The Opening Conclave on Tuesday evening, as presided over by Huckleberry Hound and Snagglepuss as Co-Leaders of the Hanna-Barbera Convocations since last spring's such over the Truth or Consequences Fiesta weekend, with Huck's traditonal "... and a Huckleberry Hound Doh HOWWWWWW-DEEEEEE to all of you!" and Snagglepuss' ice-breaking "Heavens to Cedric Adams!" bringing things to a start, along with the inevitable reminder of all participant making sure they got their Skipper Pins and Events Schedule, followed by Droopy delivering the Welcoming Address, of which a ful transcript will follow tomorrow.

Not to mention a Midnight Turkey Dinner following in tribute to the storied Club 538 (”Where Turkey Is King”), with The Goofy Guards (Yippee, Yappee and Yahooey) enjoying the turkey drumsticks with pretty much everybody else taking stock of roast turkey breast with Thanksgiving/Christmas-type trimmings (notably a green-bean hotdish which Clementine "herself" whipped up, but also including garlic-laced mashed potatoes, bread stuffing, roast gravy and plenty of desserts--as well as some stimulating conversation and introductions to boot besides).

Wednesday: First day of Aquatennial. Among the characters at the Minneapolis Farmer's Market (Lyndale Avenue) pre-dawn: The crew from Clue Club (Woofer and Whimper among them), Penelope Pitstop, Magilla Gorilla (hopefully not overzealously squeezing some of the produce) ... the Hair Bear Bunch and the Bungle Brothers doing a street-performance schtick downtown, with plenty of corny jokes of Capt. Billy's Whiz Bang sort ... plenty of appearences alongside the downtown food trucks, including Ruff and Reddy and Peter Potamus helping dish some wares up ... Scooby-Doo's siblings in a Frisbee-toss demonstration ... and, heading into the Torchlight Parade, the whole crew chowing down on Juicy Lucys with The King's crew performing a rather silly routine (and Big H setting a record for eating the most Juicy Lucys in one sitting). Still, though, the Torchlight Parade appearence was rather memorable (and, hence, will be discussed next week in this space in further detail)--and these were just the highlights!

Thursday: Monty Python notwithstanding, a SPAM Breakfast Buffet, with no less than seven different varieties of Minnesota's famous luncheon meat (including SPAM Lite and SPAM Oven-Roasted Turkey) featured, along with Belgian waffles, omlettes featuring diced SPAM and cheese and French toast, prepared and served by the Laydeez of Hanna-Barbera "themselves"--preceded with such illustroius Hanna-Barberians prowling the Minneapolis Farmer's Market as the Scooby-Doo crew, Ruff and Reddy, Augie Doggie and Doggie Daddy and Goober and the Ghost Chasers ... Kwicky Koala setting up an Aussie Sampler tent downtown offering Vegemite on SAO crispbreads, several varieties of TimTams (including White Coat and Dark Mint), Iced Vo-Vos, Cherry Ripe bars and cuppas of Australian-grown Nerada Tea ... and, as if walkabouts weren't good enough for many of the Hanna-Barbera stable, you also had lunchtime symposiae featuring such greats as Scooby-Doo's crew, the CB Bears and the Cattanooga Cats (who also performed a free evening concert on the riverfront).

Friday: The Hair Bear Bunch, Cattanooga Cats, Snagglepuss, Peter Potamus and Crazy Claws making the Farmers' Market walkabout rounds, not to mention Kitty Jo picking up some fresh bread and produce ... the aforementioned Crazy Claws passing out Wisconsin Dells literature on Hennepin Avenue and Fifth Street, not to mention the commuters coming in on the Northstar commuter rail at Target Field Station ... Loopy DeLoop working a poutine truck downtown, with such toppings as the classic homestyle gravy, chicken curry, turkey chili and Bolognese spaghetti sauce ... a symposium featuring The Banana Splits, with plenty of curious Q&A throughout ... Shaggy being seen chowing down on Juicy Lucys without serious discomfort, as seems to be thecase with him and food ... and the Skatebirds pulling off some crazy disco-sk8er moves when an Aquatennial visitor left a boombox on for no apparent reason whatsoever.

Saturday: Rounding out the whole: A Hotdish Cookoff Competition downtown, with many Hanna-Barbera greats spending the morning at the Farmers' Market getting supplies as much as meet-and-greet of the usual market crowds early mornings and even well-wishing when word of the hotdish competition somehow leaked out. Not even Sis and Honey were immune from the frenzy, even to the point of having stocked up on cream of mushroom soup, typical indispensible to preparing hotdish in the Minnesota fashion, as well as fresh chicken breasts. The venue for the cookoff being an abandoned storefront downtown, with Aquatennial fans even being invited in for "meet-and-greet" and an evening sampler of the finished products. Sadly, nothing with Scooby Snacks featured, but plenty of wild rice, macaroni, spaghetti, stuffing mix, breadcrumbs, cream-style soups--and even ground beef and veggie burgers--dominating.  One particular favourite: Shaggy and Velma's take on green-bean hotdish, adding veggie crumbles to the Thanksgiving dinner side dish classic. Unlikely winner: The Cattanooga Cats' chicken-and-dumpling pie with bacon chips and homemade biscuits on top. As for the concluding fireworks: Inch High Private Eye, considering his rather small stature, being invited to check all the fittings and connexions to make sure all was in order ... and Scrappy-Doo (whence did HE come from?) setting off the display.

But these were just the highlights ... there's more of this where this came from encapsulating the Hanna-Barbera Aquatennial Convocation in this space over coming days. (Oh, and did I mention Sis and Honey, formerly of The Hanna-Barbera Happy Hour, having their very own overnight shortwave radio station over the course of Aquatennial, replete with interviews and interludes?)

[sohannabarberaesque]

Moth Mondays with the Funtastic World of Hanna-Barbera: Country from Cattanooga Cats

Returning to this tribute to The Moth, reader, is no less than the male lead of that feline folk-pop quartet the Cattanooga Cats--Country, by name, who we all know is in a relationship of long standing with Kitty Jo, its female lead. As we find out, Kitty Jo may not exactly have been Country's first fling romantically:

You might say I'm pretty glad to have Kitty Jo as not just part of our band, the Cattanooga Cats, but also as a wonderful friend and companion. I admit that we may have our differences, but when all is said and done, things actually turn out rather wonderful. We may not exactly be Lulubelle and Scotty, but Kitty Jo and I have some rather lively exchanges on stage during our concerts which can get to be hilarious, with such rivalled only by Scoots' storytelling segments.

But to be honest about it, Kitty Jo wasn't exactly my first romantic interest.

This goes back to when I was just a carefree country boy practicing chords on my guitar, which turned out to be one of those rather awful-sounding ones as were offered cheap late nights on that high-powered Mexican radio station, XERF I believe was its call. And despite every attempt I could to get it right, it still sounded awful. No wonder the coffeehouse crowds were laughing uproariously at me playing such an awful-sounding guitar, and the jokes were innumerable. And it was at one coffeehouse concert in Nashville that I met my first love--she was like that Persian cat "perfumed and fair" of a certain poem who, we are told, encountered a tom cat "lithe and long, and dirty and yellow," in the words of that poem ... and I suppose you know the rest.

Her name, as I recall it, was Tabitha. She was rather heavy on the fur, and had that certain look which suggested that I might have something to look forward to. I do admit that she had class, judging by the way she was dolled up ... and after this particularly awful concert in another of those coffeehouses where tips are about the only pay you're likely to get, she invited me, a rather unsophistciated country type, to her apartment across town in the high-rent section. And I must admit the room smelled heavily of catnip. Tabitha, I must acknowledge, may have had some class, but when the dawn came along ... she explained that she wouldn't want to get caught dead with someone of my type, even if we were sleeping together on the sofa. Whether there was any serious romance that night, I can't quite recall; the catnip seemed to be rather heady, and then some.

Still, thanks just the same, she remarked ... but I tried not to let any disappointment show on the street. Mind you, I wouldn't be the sort as would take comfort in cheap muscatel, let alone Southern white lightning of the sort some crazy cousins of mine we never talk much about have been known to brew up in the worst possible way ... and even with an awful-sounding, out-of-tune guitar such as I had, practice seemed to be the best thing to do to kill the time. Which was enough to attract the attention of another feline as passed by--a tabby as was fond of worn T-shirts and a cracked sense of humour.Marsha, she called herself... and after a few choice bits of conversation, I decided to spend a few days with her in her basement apartment in a slightly-reechy part of town. Which was kitschy in its own way, and yet she know how to make a raw country tomcat like yours truly understand the basics of love and romance. Explaining that I was a small-time coffeehouse guitar act with an awful-sounding guitar as could never be tuned properly, Marsha understood my predicament. But unlike Tabitha, Marsha wasn't heavy into catnip; rather, strong black coffee and decent Southern cookin' were her weaknesses.

Which continued for about two weeks, as a matter of fact. At which time Marsha acknowledged that she was moving on, and that the relationship was wonderful while it lasted. But as a final thank you, she gave me the name of a close feline friend to look up for some support.

It turned out to be no less than Kitty Jo "herself."

And one of the first things Kitty Jo did that made sense for me was to get for me a much better guitar, to begin with ("That crummy-sounding Mexican border radio 'gee-tar' just sounds awful!") ... and to encourage me to get my guitar playing up to speed. After just a weekend of practice at her pad, I couldn't help but notice how things sounded much better compared to what had been the butt of jokes all over town. Which was all the more so, what with her finding some friends to put together a modest little band with an interest in light folk rock and "sunshine pop." (No, it's not the name of a soft drink.) And it took awhile, but after going through some 60 would-be drummers, we found ours in Groove, who's fond of talking away in rhyme and can do a mean rinshot. Not to mention a fondness for Southern comfort food, especially barbecue.

As for bassist, we didn't want a washtub bass; it was felt to be only cheapening things, and made us look too hokey. But still, we didn't want to be too high-strung either. Luckily, in Scoots we found the ideal such; as I heard him explain once, he's learned tp play music since he was the proverbial knee-high to a grasshopper, picking up the standup bass, banjo, eight-string guitar, musical saw, dulcimer and harmonica, among other insturments. As if that weren't enough, he can also be a rather adept storyteller, relating experiences of his crazy feline kith and kin from "back in the holler"; again, he picked up the talent from growing up in a nearly-dysfunctional family as included an episode of nervous breakdown on his mother's part during a rather hot summer as saw him learn "the facts of life" from a rather wonderful gal, Amy Catline. All in all, music and storytelling were the weapons he grew up on to get through such dysfunction.

Still ... Kitty Jo was a rather attractive gal, with a bit of the small town in her. And still is, come to think of it. Did I ever mention where Kitty Jo has this rather impressive recipe for chess pie, something of a Souther staple? (It's just a custard pie with cornmeal and vinegar, if you're not exactly from the South.)

"... and that's the story from The Moth"

(The preceding is an independent fanfic feature having no official connexion or association with The Moth. For more information, please visit TheMoth.org.)

[sohannabarberaesque]

So much for Square Bear "taking the glove": A Hair Bear Bunch crossover with Bright Star

It was bound to be another of those routine monthly amateur boxing matches at the Hillsdale Armory as were bound to bring out the dregs of masculinity such as George Harvey, reporter and erstwhile columnist for the Hillsdale Morning Star, was bound to be doting paragrahps on about just how smoke-filled and reechy-looking the card went. Particularly considering that the circuit that staged such boxing matches (if you could call them so) thought "professional wrestling" was getting too hackneyed, and moving into "the sweet science" with equally tacky effect might attract a "better" crowd.

Which was hardly the case.

Until the Hair Bear Bunch, perennial vagabonds from the Wonderland Zoo, stepped into the picture. In particular Square Bear, rather tall and paunchy, as if his being none too bright was the big distraction: Seems that Hair Bear had stumbled upon an item in a low-class "sporting" gazetta announcing the Hillsdale Armory boxing display, and thought it might be worthwhile to send Square Bear into the ring, especially considering the inducement of $500 if anyone could go three rounds with "Madame Killjoy," the circuit's star female boxer (who, Rumour had it, was recruited fresh out of the state womens' prison after having been released, hoping such might attract the Real American Male interested in boxing).

"The very idea! Me boxing Madame Killjoy--I hear she's a serious bruiser!" saith Square Bear in the locker room ahead of the scheduled ring time.

Which amounted to something rather opportune, what with the legendary Mr. Harvey "himself" having come in for seeking out column-related material as would work well into his latest missive about such farces of the Sweet Science--and couldn't be more surprised to find the trio of Hair, Square and Bubi by the locker assigned him.

"Uh," Hair Bear, in his leadership role, exclaimed, "don't be stunned by us, Mr.--"

"Harvey. George Harvey, Morning Star. Doing a feature on these matches for my column."

"Uh, Mr. Harvey," Hair Bear continued, "we thought it might be amusing to enter Square Bear into one of these boxing matches here at the Armory, so as to build up his courage and everything--"

"What courage are you talking about?!" Square Bear replied slightly myopically.

"It just seems," Mr. Harvey continued, "that our paper's readers might be interested in this very idea of a dim-witted bear taking the glove with Madame Killjoy at tonight's matches."

"Yeah, Mr. Harvey," Square Bear remarked, "and becoming a killjoy myseld in the end!"

To which the ever-confusing Bubi rejoindered, "Somehow, the very hasty clyde couldn't come up with anything better to kill the time with, so to put it rather simply--" Whereupon Hair Bear covered Bubi's rather rambling mouth with his forepaw and remarked, "You see, Mr. Harvey, Bubi can easily get a little carried away and confused at times."

"Rightly understood," Mr. Harvey remarked.

"But getting back to business," Hair Bear remarked, "I just hope Square Bear will manage to build up some serious courage in the ring--"

"I certainly hope so," saith Square.

Whereupon the referee gave the Two Minutes' Warning for the team to get ready for their match, which would be next on the card. The match as was already underway was already bound to be farcical in itself, what with Madame Killjoy attempting to make serious mincemeat out of an otherwise promising upstart in the ring--and showing it.

And once the bell sounded to announce the next match, the referee's announcement that Square Bear was stepping in to answer Madame Killjoy's challenge was drowned out by wholesale jeering and derision over the fact that her next challenger was of the ursine persuasion. No Victor the Rasslin' Bear was Square; in fact--

"ME GO THREE ROUNDS WITH THAT FARCE OF A BOXER?!!" shouteth Madame Killjoy.

(Uproarious laughter.)

"No way, NO HOW!! I QUIT!!" Whereupon Madame Killjoy sulked out of the ring, notwithstanding some rather loud booing and taunting which included several missiles being thrown towards the ring. To which the announcer rejoindered: "Inasmuch as Madame Killjoy has chosen not to compete with Square Bear--SQUARE BEAR WINS BY FORFEIT!"

(Even louder booing.)

And just as the prize money was being handed Square Bear, Hair Bear hatched a plan for escape lest the Hillsdale Armory be torn apart as a result--and once safely out onto the street, as per plan, Square Bear's Invisible Motorbike roared into action towards Norma Rae's Blue Plate Cafe, Hillsdale's all-night eatery of legend, howbeit using back alleys to avoid the prospect of lynch mobs and police making things ugly. And once at the Blue Plate, the TV was on with a Breaking Story about the disorder and chaos ensuing in the wake of Madame Killjoy's shock departure from the boxing card at the Hillsdale Armory for refusing to take on Square Bear (complete with smartfone video of the moment at hand). And in what was bound to be the utter collapse of the whole ruse, the crew took to bowls of chili.

But the next morning;s Star ran with the story, though not with overbaked sensationalism as would be expected; Susan Armstrong, the Star's editor and publisher, would not go for the National Enquirer approach. Instead, George Harvey's piece led the coverage on its front page:

So much for the boxing matches at the Armory last night.

It's hard to say what motivated this Madame Killjoy (whoever she may be) to forfeit her scheduled boxing match with Square Bear, whom some of you may recall from Saturday mornings past ... but she certainly proved one thing: Hillsdale was never meant for cheap boxing cards of the tawdriest sort as played the Armory over recent months.

Such overdone masculinity was deflated by Square Bear without even having to move a muscle. And God bless him for bringing the whole to collapse--and with it, Hillsdale coming to its senses. Thankfully, Hillsdale is better than this, and Square Bear did what few others, even this paper, could do.

By using outright farce, and the sheer force thereof, the Hair Bear Bunch (God bless them) deserve equal credit.

Let's hope Hillsdale has learned some lessons in the process. As I said earlier, Hillsdale is better than this.

(By the time that edition was delivered across Hillsdale and surrounding towns, the Hair Bears were off, it turned out, for what misadventure next awaited them. Where that would be, we may never know.)