Business and economics is primarily fixated on Artificial Intelligence nowadays. I have a love/hate relationship with these technological advances that move at light speed, and we're just getting started. Don't want to be left behind. Having a grasp on what the digerati are doing will keep me off life support. It's the surveillance economy with "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" as the rally song: "He sees you when you're sleeping, He knows when you're awake, He knows when you've been bad or good, So be good for goodness sake.". They're everywhere. Especially Facebook and Twitter. You can go from headliner to also-ran in a heartbeat with the ubiquitousness of social media platforms. You've got to be careful what you're saying and watch your step. It's like a minefield. At my age, I should know better, but that may not be enough.
Recently, I've seen a television commercial for a meditation smartphone app called "Calm" on frequent rotation. The thirty second spot has no dialogue, just footage of a rainstorm soaking a sunlit meadow with the mellow ambient audio accompanying it. Ripe for a rainbow. Seems too touchy-feely to me. I tend to drink a lot of coffee and listen to Heavy Metal music from a forgotten era. I'm a relic now. Way out of step with what's deemed popular culture. When you get down to it, it's been that way for thirty-five years. Ever since I began reading to a fault. My tastes in creative video content seem to be archaic, too. Turner Classic Movies is my preferred cable network. Even with my contemporaries, I'm out in left field. Back in the 1980's when my peers were climbing the corporate ladder, I was down and out in Philadelphia. No phone, no food, no pets. I ain't got no cigarettes. You know the old song.
Although we're in Phase III of reopening in New York State, I'm still very cautious when I go out. Masks and social distancing are the norm. Plus, I stay in a lot, and as a result, am experiencing some déjà vu because of the isolation. It brings me back to my first year in Philadelphia when I was alone. Television reception was lousy in Center City with no cable, no Internet, and it cost an arm and a leg to call long distance. I wrote a lot of letters. 1984 at its finest. I had a futon and a boombox in a three story walk-up studio apartment. Didn't have many cassettes, and would listen to The Minutemen Double Nickels on the Dime endlessly. One song on the album is "There Ain't Shit on T.V. Tonight". Apropos then, and apropos now, even with being inundated with multiple options on Netflix. I just can't get into binge watching.
Since there's hardly any televised sports except for NASCAR and golf, and the movie theaters are closed, I recently signed up with Netflix for the third time. Tried the free trial month twice and dropped it. I tend to tune into baseball during the summer months, so Netflix hasn't been a priority in the past. I opted for the least expensive package - one screen in standard definition even though I have an HDTV. I just don't watch enough of their offerings to justify the extra money per month for High-Def and a second screen. I'll see how it goes. If I view one movie every thirty days, it pays for itself. In June I watched the Netflix Original Da 5 Bloods directed by Spike Lee. Not one of his better movies, but the acting was superior. I'm tending to spend more time streaming The Roku Channel for their retro options. Some of the television series they feature are in the same vein as Turner Classic Movies, in black and white instead of living color. Shows such as The Outer Limits, Roger Moore in The Saint and Peter Gunn.
If you're not familiar with Peter Gunn starring Craig Stevens as the title character, you may have heard the theme song written by Henry Mancini. It's been performed by almost every bar band from here to Helsinki. My favorite cover version is by The Cramps off their album Big Beat From Badsville. The series ran from 1958-1961 during the tail end of first Golden Age of Television. An era that has greatly influenced me. Gunn is a suave gumshoe from the Cary Grant school, and keeps running into members of what they used to call The Syndicate. He gets into lots of fights and shootouts, and always seems to land on his feet, sometimes with the help of the Hepcats that hang out at Mother's cocktail lounge. Gunn uses Mother's as his office, and the smoke filled bar's house band is fronted by sultry songstress Edie Hart played by Lola Albright. She's Peter Gunn's girlfriend. A real corker. The double entendre banter backstage between sets is good old fashioned dialogue. The band plays cool jazz that was popular at the time, reminiscent of the Chico Hamilton Quintet featured in the Burt Lancaster feature film Sweet Smell of Success. One of my favorites.
I've watched a few of the first season episodes of Peter Gunn with mixed feelings. Some of the thirty minute segments are good, others not so hot. It takes me back three decades when I first got cable, and there was a 48 hour Alfred Hitchcock Presents marathon on Nick at Nite. They were promoting it to go on regular rotation. I used a VCR to record almost every episode. I must have taped close to 50 of Hitchcock's best stories. Found out that for every five segments, one was a gem. Some of them classics with great actors such as Joseph Cotton and Ralph Meeker. Was it worth all the time and effort I spent in front of the tube? Probably not. That's why I'm reluctant to spend too much more time with the smooth shamus in Peter Gunn. That said, I'll give it some more time. There's something about a guy in a sharkskin suit with a skinny tie and a small brimmed fedora chain smoking Chesterfields that keeps me wanting more. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
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