British quartet The Beatles which can be approximately translated as the beetles-drummers, was returning to New York from a tour in Washington. A Pullman car carrying the artists was also filled with music critics, photographers and TV correspondents. During the train trip the artists were expected to discuss their views on music, culture and the meaning of life in general.
The train started moving and the journalists got their notepads ready. Suddenly one of the artists, Ringo Starr yelled like a Tarzan and started jumping on the couches like an ape. John Lennon and George Harrison traded pants in public, the ones they were wearing at the time. Then Ringo made the buzzing noises sounding like a film camera, and George climbed on the luggage rack.
But those present in the car weren’t amused for long. The thing is that the “beetles” behave on the stage just like they were acting on the train. “We are worthless musicians” admits George Harrison, the one lying in the luggage rack, “we can’t sing or do anything else with any skill.”
Nevertheless, in only four weeks two and a half million records by the “beetles” were sold in the USA. In Glasgow, England the performance by the quartet was banned after three and a half thousand crazed youths started crashing chairs and walls following the example of the artists. The noise during the concerts is so loud that the artists can’t hear their own singing. This actually makes them happy. Just the opposite, when they can hear each other’s screams they feel that the concert was a failure.
How can one explain the popularity of the quartet “The Beatles”? Even the magazine Newsweek mentions the ad campaign preceding their visit to the US: five million banners with the words “The Beatles are coming” were hanged on the telephone poles; the same number of posters was decorating public restrooms. Their screams named “I want hold your hand” and “Love me do” were played on the radio day and night.
There is no doubt that if Christ himself visited the United States, he wouldn’t get even a tenth of the advertisement.
Most importantly, “beetles” are masters at stirring up the darkest and the most primitive emotions in their audiences. And since most of their fans are between 12 and 16 years old, it’s easy to imagine the “educational” influences of the “beetles”. It only makes sense that fights and fainting are just as an inseparable part of the quartet’s concerts as the reinforced police presence.
Scandalous fame of the hairy “beetles” gave an idea to an American cartoonist Herblock. Since the popularity of one of the leading candidates for the President of the USA from the Republican Party Barry Goldwater is steadily declining, the artist suggested he should a get a “beetle”-like haircut and pick up a guitar.
Although this idea is not that outrageous; beetles – musicians and beetle-candidate have a lot in common. They both appeal to the lowest in human nature, they only know how to scream and mainly rely on the advertisement.
Specialists predict that “beetles” won’t be able to hold on to their success, they are just not in the league. And the same can be said about the senator from Arizona: his speeches are too delusional even for the right-wing of the American “crazies”…
*translated by me
**the article uses the wordplay Beatles-beetles mostly referring to The Beatles pejoratively as bugs.
It may be hard to believe but on a rare occasion I make myself feel like a rich man and spend more than five dollars on a lunch. So this post is written by the “big spender” me, not the “normal” me who usually pays for drinks with a pocketful of nickels and dimes. Today’s lunch tab at the new Farmhouse restaurant was $12.02 – definitely pushing the limits of my generosity, but that was the price to pay for a lunch with the prominent local blogger and beer consultant to the stars – Bull.E.Vard who is not accustomed to my usual cheap eats.
The Farmhouse Restaurant is located in the former Delaware Cafe space in the City Market area.
It’s a great location with a roomy outdoor seating area, where we had no problem finding a table. Inside the restaurant decor features exposed brick and various farm touches, like tables made out of an old door, lanterns and waitresses in cowboy boots. Before the restaurant opened for business there was a buzz among the annoying “foodie” community about the new local farm-to-table trend in the restaurant business and other such nonsense. All of this does nothing for me, except maybe waitresses in cowboy boots; the one who was serving our table was the highlight of the hour, and she didn’t charge me for the salad (sorry that was the “cheapskate” me commenting here). Unfortunately my old habit is to tune out people’s names so I can’t recommend her that way, but you will know who I am talking about when you walk in.
The reason we even thought about the Farmhouse was the unusual “Chicken Fried Duck, Sweet and Hot Pepper Relish, Arugula, Egg Bun: $8.00”; this must be the duck season on the farm or something.(that and the phrase:”All Sandwiches Comes with Fries & Pickled Vegetables” which somehow made me think of “all your base are belong to us“).
The sandwich arrived quickly, with the salad (by mistake) and “chilled potato leek soup” on the side.
A duck breast in a crispy fried coating with some relish on top was bigger than the bun.
It was pretty tasty,although it didn’t taste very ducky. If I didn’t say duck on the menu, I probably wouldn’t have noticed, but to be fair I haven’t had duck in years, so I may not remember what it tastes like in the first place. Not tasty enough for a 45-mile round-trip, but still not bad. Potato-soup was average. As another “farm” touch the drinking water was dispensed in the empty wine bottles. I am sure someone will write about great farm-like atmosphere “just like at grandma’s”. All I remember from living at my Grandma’s is the outhouse, I bet that would really enhance the atmosphere in every sense of that word.
Anyway, I liked the restaurant,the food and especially the waitress. In my opinion the place is sorely missing the alcohol, although it just opened so that may be forthcoming; I didn’t feel like inundating the people who work there with unnecessary questions. Speaking of annoying, my conversation with Bull E.Vard centered around the trend of self-obsessed foodies taking all the fun out of dining (just like social-media spammers are killing it for the rest of us). Luckily in this area there are many bloggers covering all things food from cheap to disgusting and from ethnic to traditional, all with the necessary detail and honest opinions. I am generally not interested in the Chef’s name or a paragraph-long name of a sandwich; I am very interested in how it tasted, wait times, general attitude and waitresses’ names.
With that said, I am now going back to my normal spending pattern until the piggy bank I broke today is glued back together and filled with change.
The Soviet National Exhibition in New York City was the outgrowth of a new emphasis on cultural exchanges by both the United States and the Soviet Union in the late 1950s. In January 1958, the two nations signed an agreement designed to increase cultural contact and specifically cited the “usefulness of exhibits as an effective means of developing mutual understanding.” At the end of 1958, both nations agreed to host national exhibitions from the other nation. The Soviet National Exhibition came to New York City in June 1959, and ran until late July. The focal point of the exhibition was Sputnik, the Soviet satellite that had gone into orbit around the earth in 1957. There were also exhibits on Soviet industry and agriculture, as well as musical and theatrical performances. Unknown to most of the U.S. public, until the Times article of July 5, 1959, was that the Soviets had placed comment books around the exhibition hall. Americans, never shy in expressing their opinions, gladly obliged by filling the books up as quickly as they were placed. To a large degree, the comments reflected the existing Cold War animosities. A typical remark was, “I think the main perspective of this Russian exhibit is to show the average American citizen how lucky he is to be an American.” Another sarcastically noted, “I missed seeing your typical Russian home (dump) and your labor camps (slave camps).” And after a performance of Russian folk music, one “critic” declared, “Russian music is for the birds. If they’ll take it.” Other comments were considered too “coarse” to be reprinted.
Germany wasn’t on my bucket list. I don’t even have a list. The only reason I use it to name my travel posts is because I like the way they look on my travel page, all nicely lined up.
The original plan was to stop at Bruges on the way from Amsterdam to Paris, but the prospect of spending a day with my childhood friend, riding on an autobahn, while still adding another country to the itinerary outweighed my desire to see the exact spot where the body of a killer plopped down from the tower in that one movie. A chance to see the famous Cologne Cathedral in person and me having only a vague idea of how to make the trip from Amsterdam to Bruges and still make it to Paris the same night tipped the scale and the next morning we were on the way to Düsseldorf.
Face:
I was underwhelmed by the autobahn. Besides not having a speed limit in some places it wasn’t that much different from the stretch of I-70 between Kansas City and St.Louis. My friend drove fairly fast on some stretches, but just like here we were frequently slowed down by construction and slow drivers in the passing lane. My eye was missing my favorite highway entertainment – the billboards. It took about 2.5 hours to arrive in Düsseldorf.
Düsseldorf turned out to be a lively town with an interesting but fairly generic historic center and a large and expensive shopping district. That one restaurant downtown with a German name serves the best liver I’ve ever had. Make sure to check it out while you there.
