Rant #2,180: Allergies

Yes, I have them, and I have them bad.

I have them when the pollen count is high, I have them when the pollen count is low, I have them 12 months/365 days a year, and in leap years, I have them for that one extra day.

I have had them for as long as I can remember.

They don't go away, and they not only impact your nose and throat, eyes and ears, but when I have them bad, they effect just bout every part of my body; I just don't feel at my best when I have them.

This week has been a tough one. We are in the middle of summer, we have not had much rain at all in recent days, and my eyes and my nose are feeling the discomfort.

They just don't feel right the entire day; but what can I do, I simply learn to live with it, and kind of work around it when I can, which is difficult. I can't tell you how many times I write these Rants with maybe one and a half eyes; when you see a spelling mistake here, you can bet it is because I didn't see it.

Anyway, to get to my point, I believe that I have reached an anniversary in my pain and suffering, a positive to take away from all the negatives I have had related to my allergies.

I believe that I have passed my 46th anniversary of taking allergy shots every month; yes, I have been getting allergy shots on a regular basis since I was 15 years old, so I have pretty much have been getting my allergy shots for more than 550 months straight!

When my allergies first started to come to me and affect me in the mid to late 1960s, not much was known about allergies and how to control them. There seemed to be more studies out on food allergies than just your garden variety allergies related to dust, ragweed, and pollution, and, in fact, I knew somebody who was allergic to orange juice.

Well, he simply did not drink orange juice, and he was fine.

Me, my allergies overtook me to the point that I could not eat, could not sleep, and there were days that I simply could not function. I was constantly blowing my nose, and where some kids' pockets were filled with baseball cards, rubber balls and loose change back then, mine were filled with tissues.

Anyway, when we moved to Long Island in the summer of 1971, my doctor implored to my mother that I needed an air conditioner so I could breathe properly, and I was the first one in my family to have one in my room.

It helped, but what was to really help was the next step.

The study of the types of allergies that I have became more focused in the early 1970s, and things were being discovered about those with allergies, and ways to tone down the symptoms.

So, I believe that it was sometime during this summer period in 1972, I went for an allergy test at a place called The Allergy Testing Institute.

I took the now-archaic, then-revolutionary "staple gun" allergy test, where you were literally stapled up and down your arm with different chemicals that you could be allergic to, and the indentations in your arm were numbered, and the ones that didn't puff up you were not allergic to, the ones that did you were allergic to.

You had to sit there after the chemicals were injected at a table were you could place your arms out, and you could not turn your arms over for about an hour, if I remember correctly.

Well, if I remember correctly, my right arm was fine, just full of little indentations that seemingly went away as quickly as they came.

My left arm, however, looked like I had fought a battle with a rabid dog, It was twice the size of my other arm, as puffed up as could be, and it literally looked like I had been mainlining heroin, as the veins in my arm seemed to be inflamed.

Suffice it to say that I could not wear a short sleeve shirt for about a week or two after that, until the arm went back to normal.

But it was well worth it.

A week or two later, the test results came back, and for the very first time, we actually found out what I was allergic to: the usual grass and ragweed and tree pollen and other pollens, and also, horse hair and something called the Jerome bush. There were some other things, but I don't remember them, but suffice it to say that I was allergic to pretty much everything they injected into my one arm.

The Allergy Testing Institute then hooked me up with a local doctor who would administer allergy shots to me each month for an undetermined time.

I went to this doctor once for the shots, and we had to wait a few weeks to see if they made any difference and if I had any positive or negative reaction to them. They seemed to take, and when I was about a day away from going once again, I read in Newsday that he had committed suicide (hopefully not over me), and we had to find another local doctor to give the shots to me.

We found one, and so started the regular odyssey--at 15 years of age--of going to my doctor to take allergy shots each and every month, which I have done pretty religiously over the past 46 years.

I have been regularly tested for my allergies every few years--now, it is just a simple blood test--and let me tell you, getting the shots has made a world of difference to me.

Where once my only defense against what was ailing me was a tissue, now I have steroids in my body that at least try to fight the allergens that force me to feel out of sync.

It doesn't always help, but I can't see myself living the life I have lived without getting this monthly shot--it has improved things dramatically, but again, it is pretty much a Band-Aid to what you have, and not a cure.

Some people go on and off the shots at regular intervals, because they and their doctors believe that you can build up an immunity to the shots and their benefits over time, but I have never wavered.

My allergies were so bad that I felt if I went off the shots, not only would I have to be tested again--I did not want to go through that staple gun thing again--but I might go back to suffering.

So even at the behest of a few of my doctors over the past 46 years, I have never gone off the shots.

Look, I still suffer, but I am chicken; I never want to go back to the way I was, and I mean never.

I have been poked and prodded seemingly a million times related to my shots--I have gotten anywhere from a single shot to four shots in both of my upper arms for all of these years, and I have the pin pricks in those areas to attest for that--but it has all been worth it.

And no, the allergy medicines do nothing for me, but the shots do.

So as I march on to my 50th anniversary of getting shots in 2022, I have to say that the first doctor who gave me my shots put me on the right path. I often thought that if he knew he had helped me, or at least one person, he might not have done what he did to himself.

But whatever the case, I have gotten through typing this out with just one sneeze and a few tissues ... if I was doing this at 15 years of age, I don't know if I actually could do it; that is how bad I was.

So as I still wheeze and sneeze but not freeze in this warm weather, have a good weekend, and I will speak to you again on Monday.

Classic Rant #833 (October 28, 2012): Hit Me With Your Best Shot

This is an early Rant, one of the few times I have every posted on a Sunday.

It is supposed to be really bad in my neck of the woods tomorrow.

Long Island is supposed to get the brunt of Hurricane Sandy, and between the rain and winds of 70 miles per hour, things promise to be a bit of a mess.

Since I don't even know if we are going to have power, I figured I would put this out now, while the electricity is on.

And no, tomorrow is not a sleep-in day for either myself or my wife.

My wife received a call this evening that her bank will be open.

Why, I don't know. I guess people in the middle of a hurricane enjoy going to the bank to count their money.

Me, well, my place never closes.

Without getting into specifics, my place of business has no emergency weather plan.

Their credo is: If you can get to work, fine, if not, you can't get to work.

I kid you not.

Two years ago during a blizzard, I somehow got to work, but not before I almost got into a major car accident when my car spun around in the middle of a busy thoroughfare.

I got to work, very angry that I had even tried to get there, and the phone rang.

I picked it up, thinking it was someone to tell me that we were closed.

It was the owner of the place, who passed away a few months ago.

He says to me, "What are you doing there?" and I asked him, "Are we closed?"

He didn't know.

I later asked one of the vice presidents if we were open or closed, and he told me, "You managed to make it to work, and others won't be at work today."

That is the answer I received.

Pretty pathetic.

So when no one is out on the road tomorrow, I will be, as will my wife.

Heck, even my physical therapy session was canceled for today.

Smarter heads prevailed in our school district, which has shut down for at least tomorrow, so my son is home safe.

Well, anyway, if you are impacted by the storm, I hope it is minimally. I hope to see you back here on Tuesday, but let's see what happens.

The worst of the storm is supposed to occur Monday night into Tuesday morning, so everything is literally and figuratively up in the air.

Let's hope it all stays on the ground.

But I can take it.

Hit me with your best shot! Fire away!

Rant #2,179: Hicky Burr

I am going to say it, but please, don't drag me over the coals for doing so.

Happy Birthday to ...

Bill Cosby.

Yes, the disgraced comedian--a trailblazer in so many ways, whose habit of taking his pants down was his ultimate undoing--was born today in 1937, so that makes him 81 years old.

Look, we know that this guy is not the saint that he was portrayed as for 50 years or more--there were allegations of sexual misconduct way before the avalanche that came most recently--but somehow, we went with the charade, I guess because we simply wanted to.

Cosby was America's favorite pitchman, he was America's favorite dad, he was a trailblazer on television and on record in so many ways.

And we all laughed with him, whether we were black, white, yellow, brown, green or purple.

Cosby never really told jokes in his routines; he wove stories that we could all relate to.

So even though his skin might have been dark, he was the true "everyman," sort of Will Rogers with an urban bent.

His records sold in the millions, and there were plenty of them, about 99 percent of them as G-rated as a comedy record could possibly be.

He spoke about his family, the world around him, and himself, and we could all relate to what he said, and we laughed and laughed some more.

Of course, his profile on television is what helped him become what he became to us, even if it was false.

He blazed a trail starting with "I Spy," and though his own subsequent TV shoes, he became probably the most likable presence on what was then a pretty new and fresh medium.

This continued through the 1980s, and his "Cosby Show" stands as something of a landmark in television, a show that cut across all racial barriers showing an upscale black family and their daily routines.

He also was the perfect pitchman, whether it was for Jello pudding or whatever else he was pushing. He had that smile, he had that voice that he could wrap around a particular product, and in the 1960s, 1970s, 1980s and even into the 1990s, if you were able to snare him to push your product, the product would turn gold.

He won many awards, from colleges and universities and elsewhere, for his humanitarian efforts, and he became a stalwart of our society, particularly in his own community, where he took his brethren to task for their lack of education, the way they dressed, and overall, the way many of them acted.

And his image, even though slightly tarnished by some mild allegations over the years, was sterling.

Yes, it was also as sterling as tin.

Once the word got out that it was "Cosby season," dozens of women came out the woodwork, charging him with sexual crimes that really hit our collective nerve.

To me, probably 95 percent of what came out was pure nonsense--meaning the relationship he had with them was, in fact, consensual, and whatever means he used to gain their trust was not something that was going to be punished by any court.

These women knew what they were getting into, and they got into it, and sure 40 and 50 years later, they might have regretted it, because it got them nowhere fast, but no court was going to convict him of anything.

But it all caught up with him in the end.

When he ventured outside of the Hollywood circle--where so much more is permissible, in particular during the pre-AIDS years of the 1960s, 1970s and perhaps even the 1980s--he literally got caught with his pants down.

His career ruined, his persona ripped apart and in tatters, and with his health failing, Cosby is going to be facing the music soon, and he will probably making his next appearances not at the local arena, but in a prison cell.

"The bigger they are, the harder they fall" certainly would apply here, and Cosby's fall has been a great one.

He gained all of our trust, he may have been the first Hollywood icon who was accepted by all people no matter what their station in life was, and he literally threw it all away for some rolls in the hay.

His marriage was often portrayed as rock solid, he joked about his family in his comedy routines, he spoke about his wife in glowing terms, but one has to wonder what was really going on behind closed doors in the Cosby house over the decades.

Whatever the case, Cosby was a true trailblazer, and I think with him, when the book on him is closed, you are going to have two distinct chapters: 1) the public persona, the trailblazer, the work that he did that really captured the spirit of America; and 2) what allegedly went on behind closed doors, where he wasn't the Mr. Nice Guy that he was so successful with in his public persona.

Yes, they are intertwined, but they are also separate, and with Cosby in particular, you have to look at both sides of the equation to get into the psyche of the total human being.

Today is his birthday, and I wish him well, not only because I am a fan of his public persona, but because I also realize that what went on behind closed doors will forever stain him, and will take precedence in talking about him forever more.

He did what he did, we as a society bought what he was selling hook, line and sinker, and when it all came to a head, we had to shake our collective heads.

How could we be so gullible?

Classic Rant #832 (October 26, 2012): All It Takes Is $20

I heard yesterday that the Rolling Stones, probably the biggest rock concert draw of all time, will be holding a series of concerts where the price of admission will be ...

Get this ...

Only $20.

That's right, just $20.

The kicker to this is that they will be performing in smaller clubs to hone their act for their upcoming, very short tour celebrating their 50th anniversary.

I know that this will set off a flurry of speculation about where they will be and how to get tickets, because as you know, seeing the Rolling Stones live can often cost you a bundle for just a single ticket.

And you can bet that if any of these one-off concerts is held in the U.S., lucky people will get their tickets and many will go right to the secondary market, and once again, you will have to sacrifice an arm and a leg to see them live.

Those $20 tickets will probably go for hundreds of dollars on that market, if not more.

Right now, I believe the only place they've announced these concerts is in Europe, but if they come to North America, watch out!

The Stones have done this before.

In the 1970s, they played numerous smaller concerts in preparation for larger ones, and although many were bootlegged, one actually came out legitimately, the "Live at the El Mocambo" LP.

And you can bet the current crop of concerts will be heavily bootlegged, and it probably won't be as difficult as it once was to do, what with cell phones being ubiquitous right now.

But whatever the case, some people will have the opportunity to see the Stones for $20, or in Europe, whatever the monetary equivalent of $20 is.

And that is a steal, a real steal.

I have never seen them live, but it must be quite an experience, one that might be drawing to a close.

These guys are in their 70s or at least pushing that number.

How long can they go on?

Would you pay to see 80 year old Stones?

Would they even want to see themselves performing at that stage of their lives?

You never know, because 80 is the new 40, isn't it?

I sure hope so, because that makes my 55 years the new 30.

I wish I knew then what I know now, that's all I can say.

Rant #2,178: Echo Valley 2-6809

Echo Valley is a city in Washington State, where skiing is king.

It also serves as the basis of the name of a song by the Partridge Family, where David Cassidy laments that he should have called that number, because there was a girl on the other end of the line ... and when he finally calls the number, the number has been disconnected.

Oh well, there are a lot of fish in the sea, so David certainly moved on, but that sad song says it all.

Anyway, Echo Valley also serves as the name of a very interesting podcast that I discovered pretty much by accident.

Let me give you a little background first.

What is bubblegum?

We all know that it is a chewy candy that can lead to some nasty cavities, but it is pretty much part of our lives from early on.

(Me, I am not a candy eater to begin with, so I used to give whatever bubblegum I got to my sister, and the resultant cavities followed.)

Chew, chew and chew some more, until all the flavor goes out of it.

That is pretty much the idea behind bubblegum music too.

Bubblegum music, or at least when a certain type of music was denoted as bubblegum music, came to us in the mid-1960s, although its origins probably go back way before that.

But let's look at when a certain type of music was defined that way ...

The Beatles took the world by storm with their feel-good music, seemingly coming at the right time to help the world to heal after the assassination of one of our most popular presidents, both nationally and internationally, John F. Kennedy.

Hitting the American airwaves literally weeks after the assassination, the Beatles made us feel good about life again, and their boy next door looks--and that hair--really set the pace for us to get up by our bootstraps and move on from that terrible tragedy.

The Beatles sang about love, girls, relationships, and pretty much what other performers sung about back then, but they did it in such a novel way that even non-music lovers couldn't help but notice.

But there is only a short time when you can sing about those things without everything growing stale, and the Beatles moved on from that, or at least the way they handled their music moved on, and they began to produce music, pretty much starting in 1966 or so, that dealt with other subjects, including inner turmoil, in a more adult way (and yes, they still sang about love, girls and relationships, but again, in a more adult way).

A new generation of kids were starting to stand out in the world, taking over after their older brothers and sisters--who had grooved to the early sounds of the Beatles--had grown with that group and yearned for more progressive sounds.

The kids who were about seven years old to about 10 years old in 1966--my generation--wasn't yet ready to fully move on with the Beatles, and something called "The Monkees" was there to soothe our musical soul, talking about the same things the Beatles did but with that early-Beatle tone and mystique.

Music people saw that this type of music could sell millions and millions of records--they certainly saw it with the Beatles, and it was clearly perpetuated by the Monkees--and they believed they had a formula to create a new genre of music that would appeal to younger kids and do it with double entendre themes to make even older kids take notice.

Existing acts like the Monkees, Paul Revere and the Raiders, Tommy James and the Shondells, and Tommy Roe were categorized, sometimes unfairly, as bubblegum acts, but the genre needed a central axis, and it found it on one particular label.

And thus, around 1967 or 1968, came bubblegum music, with groups and phantom groups coming and going and making hit records on a label almost designed for this type of music, Buddah Records.

You had the 1910 Fruitgum Co., the Ohio Express, and countless other creations that spouted out "1,2,3 Red Light" and "Yummy, Yummy, Yummy" with glee and kids ate it up, with these acts selling millions and millions of records.

The actual bubblegum craze lasted maybe two years, and the Buddah acts still were cranking out records, but another generation of kids had moved on.

There was still bubblegum music out there--Bobby Sherman and the aforementioned David Cassidy, anyone?--but heck, even the Monkees moved on from there with "Head," Tommy James moved on from there with "Crystal Blue Persuasion," and Tommy Roe and the Raiders would also eventually at least try to get out of that area.

Well, back to the podcast ...

I simply discovered this podcast by someone posting a note on Facebook about the Monkees' Micky Dolenz appearing on the "Echo Valley" podcast.

I downloaded the show, and the hour-long show featured maybe five minutes of Dolenz talking about his Monkees days, but the other 55 minutes featured an array of bubblegum music that I either did not know existed or hadn't heard in ages.

The premise of the show is that one Professor Bubblegum is the mayor, the librarian and the archivist of Echo Valley, which here is a fictitious town that is a haven for bubblegummers and bubblegum music.

So over the hour-long podcast--which now numbers 125 episodes at this writing, beginning in 2011--the Professor takes us on a whirl through the town and its inhabitants, everybody from the Monkees to the Partridge Family to the Groovy Ghoulies to Josie and the Pussycats to the 1910 Fruitgum Co. to the Lemon Pipers to ... well, I think you get it.

There is a mild plot to every telecast, which uses music from records, TV shows and TV commercials to carry out the show's theme.

This isn't all nonsensical bubblegum. One episode actually delved into the question of "What act was the first boy band?" and very interestingly, it was not the Monkees--it was, according to Professor Bubblegum, the Comedian Harmonists, a pre-World War II German act which was created with much the same resolve as the Monkees were--and a short history of the act was given on this particular podcast, even delving into the group's Jewish ancestry and their negative experiences when they came to the United States at the outbreak of World War II.

So yes, the show is as lightweight as air, but it can be a bit heavier, with mild histories thrown into the mix with bubblegum music, a story segment where the Professor reads from comic books and magazines of the day which touch on bubblegum and bubblegum-related acts, and just plain fun.

If you are interested in hearing/downloading this podcast, you can begin at its beginning at http://echovalleymusic.blogspot.com/2011/06/echo-valley-episode-1.html and go on from there.

And no, I have no idea who Professor Bubblegum is, and like many Buddah bubblegum acts, I don't really care to know what is real and what isn't ... just go with the flow and I guarantee, you will not be disappointed.

And if you don't choose to try this podcast out, like David Cassidy sang in "Echo Valley 2-6809," ...

I should have called that number ... ."

Classic Rant #831 (October 25, 2012): They Done Did It

The NHL's New York Islanders have announced that they will be moving to Brooklyn in 2015, playing their games at the brand new Barclay Center.

They will be abandoning Long Island's Nassau Coliseum for better digs, much like the Nets left the Coliseum in the 1970s.

The Islanders will now join the Nets at the new venue, leaving the Nassau Coliseum with nothing.

And I do mean nothing.

The Coliseum has no professional sports teams in its roster. It has become a maybe third-rate venue for the circus, the Harlem Globetrotters, and the WWE, but with the Barlclay Center as its new rival, it will have a hard time attracting even tractor pulling at this juncture.

I just knew this was going to happen.

I wrote about this some time ago here. The Nassau Hub, including the Nassau Coliseum, has been a political football for years.

The Islanders first brought up the need for a new venue more than 20 years ago, and ironically, what happened there happened in Brooklyn--and Manhattan--in the 1950s, when New York City turned a deaf ear on the Dodgers and Giants' desire for their own new digs.

Nothing happened then, and the teams left.

Nothing happened now, and the Islanders left.

And as usual, you can blame the politicians, who would rather carve out their own political agendas rather than do something that we all can be proud of.

And you can blame Islander ownership, who thought too big, couldn't answer certain questions, and tried to cover up their inadequacies by laying it all on Nassau County taxpayers.

Well, with the Islanders gone, what do you do with this area? Do you make it into a mixed-use haven for housing and technology and retail, do you retain some aspect of an arena as part of the plan?

What do you do?

Supposedly, we will all find out next week, as we have been told that a master developer will be named for the area.

My thought is that the area will be zoned for mixed use, and there will be some type of arena at the site, or at least some type of sports and entertainment-related venue there..

Whether it can viably compete with not just the Barclay Center, but also Madison Square Garden, is doubtful.

What you need is a developer with a vision for something totally different for that venue, something that the other two sites do not offer.

I was thinking of an outdoor stadium with not only a retractable roof, but also a retractable field. I believe there is one such place in existence, in Hawaii. There was talk for such a stadium for the Mets before CitiField was conceived.

Make it a smaller venue, like the minor league Ducks play in in Central Islip. It can be used for both outdoor and indoor events, including concerts.

Why not? Think outside the box ...

Something all those involved in this fiasco didn't do.

And ironically, the Nets, the former Coliseum tenants, played the Knicks in a preseason game there last night.

The Nets wore their throwback 1970s Julius Erving-style jerseys, because the Knicks refused to wear their home jerseys.

And to add insult to injury, the Nets were designated the home team for last night's game.

Yes, yesterday was a dark day for Long Island, and it had nothing to do with the Nets' new black and white logo and motif.

The whole situation stinks, but when you get politicians involved, this is what you get.

And when they do announce what they are doing with the Nassau Hub, unless it's something really special that includes some type of arena, I can guarantee that you will hear a collective yawn coming from all those who remember the Coliseum as something of a special place.

Brooklyn, here were come ... ?

(And to add insult to injury, I just received my occasional "Coliseum Connection" email--heralding the Islanders move to Brooklyn! Do you believe that they have the nerve to send something like this out--and with all the information about Brooklyn yet. Talk about sticking the knife in and turning it!)

Rant #2,177: Yellow Submarine

One of the most delightful, and surprising films of the 1960s re-emerged last week in theaters, and this week, on record.

"Yellow Submarine," the Beatles' cartoon movie, shouldn't have worked, couldn't have worked, but it did, on so many levels that it is considered an animated classic 50 years after its original theatrical run.

Just in short, if I remember the story correctly, the Beatles owed United Artists one more film after "A Hard Day's Night" and "Help," two very, very successful endeavors.

A script was handed in that would have been a musical western, but it was pretty much rejected by all sides, including Paul, John, George and Ringo, who at this point in their lives, were not that much into creating another romp like the other two films were.

But they had to fulfill their contract, and the thought came to mind that a Beatles film could be made, even with minimal participation from the Fab Four, if it was animated.

The Beatles had a cartoon on American television during this period, that wasn't very good, but was very popular. Produced by Filmation Studios and Al Brodax, the show, on ABC, kept the Beatles in mind with the younger viewer in mind, sort of a counterpoint to "The Monkees," which had captured the young kids that the Beatles had left behind.

The studio was chosen, much to the chagrin of many, and then the story gets a bit muddled. A storyline based on the song "Yellow Submarine" would be used--again, one of the Beatles' most popular songs for younger listeners, and probably chosen to snare the kids to see a cartoon in movie theaters--but pulling another rabbit out of the hat, the song would be used as a basis for a psychedelic romp through an imaginary land called Pepperland, where the boys met up with many strange characters, including the Blue Meanies.

Sort of innocence colliding with modern culture at the time ... the Beatles were still not that intrigued, agreed to allow the use of a couple of their minor tunes along with "Yellow Submarine," but their participation would still be minimal, and like the TV cartoon, they would have voice actors mimic their actual voices (the Beatles later agree to appear in a segment as themselves late in the movie).

Anyway, the film was somehow made, and incredibly, it gained almost universal acclaim, and stands as a classic of its genre; sort of a psychedelic kids movie with great music to bolster its kind of thin plot.

I do have an interesting personal story about the film that I am going to tell in abbreviated form here. I was 11 years old when this movie opened, and one of my classes at I.S. 72 in South Jamaica, Queens, New York was art.

The teacher was one of those teachers who either liked you or didn't. Those she liked loved her, those she didn't, well, they just wanted to get through the class and move on to something else.

I was in the latter category, as were my friends. One friend in particular and I were called up to the front of the room one day when our class was working on something or other.

"You boys have no artistic talent at all, and I want you to see "Yellow Submarine" to show you what true art is," she said to us. Yes, she actually said this to us, but again, this was 1968, not 2018, where you could not get away with this type of nonsense.

She also wanted us to write a short paper, summarizing the story and what made it artistic.

We both did just that, but what she said has stuck with me all these years later, and if I saw the teacher today--I believe she is still with us--I would let her know that the way she handled this was all wrong ... maybe we were not artistic, but we were talented. My friend is a doctor, and I am a writer.

Art is in the eye of the beholder, and this art teacher was blind.

Anyway, back to "Yellow Submarine" ...

The film reopened in theaters for a brief theatrical run last week, and while I am sure it might today seem a bit dated, the movie still holds up to a certain degree. No, I did not see it in the theater this time around, but after seeing it on VHS tape and later DVD, and even later, Blu-ray over the past several years, I can attest to the fact that in 1960, it was pretty revolutionary, but in 2018, it is simply an artifact of a different time.

Whatever the case, it is a good film, and along with the short theatrical run, a limited-release single picture disk was also released from the film's soundtrack, featuring the title tune and "Eleanor Rigby," so the single stands as a re-release of the original hit single, but this time, as a picture disk.

It is a nice companion to the film, and I did buy it, and I received it in the mail yesterday. This is all courtesy of my wife, who bought me a store gift card for Father's Day that I used for this purchase.

I guess to sum it all up, if you have not seen "Yellow Submarine," try to find it on tape or DVD or Blu-ray or whatever format you can, and try to look at it through 1968 eyes, even if you weren't around way back then.

It is a nice fantasy movie, which kind of tries to be a "Wizard of Oz" in cartoon form. While it doesn't hit that goal, it is still a really nice film that you can watch with young kids and not have to explain too much, even though some of its themes are really from the psychedelic era.

And the title song ... was that one of the first rock and roll drinking songs or just a nice sing-along?

Ask the Blue Meanies, I guess.