Cagle World

Tyrades! by Danny Tyree

“Time Enough at Last.”

The new year reminds me of that classic “Twilight Zone” episode starring Burgess Meredith as a put-upon bookworm.

(No, he wasn’t reading on the wing of an airplane! Get your episodes straight, with “The Twilight Zone Companion,” for Pete’s sake!)

True bibliophiles are all the same. Whether our preference is studying the rise and fall of empires or the rise and fall of heaving bosoms, we eagerly anticipate how many volumes we can absorb in the pristine, wide-open next 12 months.

The lucky few exceed their wildest expectations. The rest of us find one obstacle or another curtailing or demolishing our plans.

Some readers persevere and come up only a few chapters short when New Year’s Eve ends. Other poor wretches finish the year woefully short of even scaled-back goals. (“Maybe next year I’ll find out if Thing One and Thing Two get out of that box!”)

Sometimes kowtowing to political correctness is the cause of our failure. (“No, you’re not going to be reading anyone’s ‘Collected Works.’ Works implies a meritocracy! Down with systemic Dewey Decimal System!”)

Family obligations put reading on the back burner. Even if you’re full-blooded Cherokee, you’ll find relatives from “the old country” magically arriving unannounced to spend three weeks!

Sometimes totally unexpected family tragedies intervene. (“Who could have guessed that my ceiling-high stack of backup encyclopedias would somehow bury Grandpa alive? Say, I wonder if Guinness has a record for Most Harrowing Non-Coalmine Rescue Attempt?”)

Finite hours and competition from podcasts, streaming services and video games chip away at good intentions of curling up with a good book. (“Tonight’s true-crime podcast: it’s truly a crime what you’re doing to your poor spine as you curl up with…”)

Sometimes your enthusiasm wanes when you realize no one outside your book club cares about the milestones you pride yourself on. (“Dostoevsky? Tolstoy? Aren’t they the guys who invented pickleball? Grab a seat and I’ll tell you about the Volley from Hell…”)

Longer commutes, mandatory overtime and stressful promotions can all cut into precious reading time. Say goodbye to Louis L’Amour and John Clancy. Now all you have time to read is “100 Clients You Must Suck Up to Before You Find the Sweet Release of Death.”

Even good news such as grandchildren moving closer can be detrimental to your reading goals. (“Grandpa, why didn’t Stephen King autograph this first-edition book with ink that could withstand peanut butter and jelly?”)

Don’t get me started on social obligations and household chores. Sometimes you just can’t help going into Beastie Boys mode. You gotta fight for your right to paaaaage turn! (“Yes, I could use this pressure washer to clean the vinyl siding or…I could use it to hold you at bay while I finish these brain teasers.”)

Me? With the hope that springs eternal within the heaving or non-heaving human breast, I aspire to finish reading “The Roswell Legacy,” Garry Marshall’s “My Happy Days in Hollywood” and “The Grand Ole Opry: The Making of an American Icon” this year.

I hope that you can meet all your own reading goals this year. Maybe you’ll even order my second self-published book from Amazon. (Search “Danny Tyree Why.”) Hint hint.

“You’re traveling through another dimension, a dimension not only of sight and sound but of Tyree being encouraged to hold onto his day job…”

–

Copyright 2023 Danny Tyree, distributed by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.

Danny Tyree welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.”

Tyrades! by Danny Tyree

I won’t hazard a guess as to whether it achieves immortality like “grassy knoll” or “hanging chads,” but surely the phrase “bomb cyclone storm” will remain in the public consciousness of those who endured its cruelties.

We’ll laugh about this someday, but right now an awful lot of Americans have a “single digit” they’d like to give right back to Mother Nature.

And we’re not exactly chummy with 2022, which on its way out is taunting us with, “Bet now you wish you had bought the extended warranty!”

Yes, I mourn for those who lost their lives due to the recent winter weather event (event as in “One… night… only! Well, two nights only! Would you believe three or four nights only? Tell a buddy, bring a flame thrower!”), but those of us who survived will be talking about dead automobile batteries, industrial-strength windshield de-icer, “rolling blackouts” and other inconveniences for a long time. Assuming our tongues aren’t still stuck to a lamppost in the summer of 2027.

I’m still waiting for the other snow-covered shoe to drop, but so far there has mercifully been only muted politicization of the blizzard (vis-a-vis climate change debates). Okay, I did overhear one social justice warrior protesting the term “once-in-a-generation phenomenon” because (duh) it’s offensive to mayflies.

I know meteorologists gave the citizenry several days’ notice of the potential hazards, but folks really should have been paying closer attention earlier in the year. For instance, when wooly worm caterpillars replaced their familiar dark bands with patterns of Four Horsemen. (Nice job of burying the lede, almanac editors!)

Catastrophes like this bring out our resourcefulness and teamwork, but they are also a grim reminder of human frailty and mortality. Granted, wearing layer upon layer upon layer of clothing makes us let our guard down concerning firearms-related mortality in particular. (“Is that all you got, punk? You sure that’s not an assault peashooter?”)

Canceled flights, curtailed bus routes and treacherous backroads caused many families to cancel, reschedule or scale back their celebrations. The weather conditions forced travelers to progress rather quickly from Plan B to Plan C. (“I’ll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams – assuming I get any sleep with all the &^%$# snoring at the terminal!”)

Alas, even some of the intrepid souls who made it through the snow and slush to celebrate the holidays with their loved ones became disoriented upon arrival because of the absence of familiar landmarks. (Statistics are still being compiled on how many lawn gnomes declared, “Forget this! I’m MOVING to Nome!”)

Other frostbitten travelers got turned away at the front door, because they were mistaken for Blue Man Group. (“Now, if Cirque du Soleil had come knocking on the door, we’d have fetched them some eggnog, right, Ma?”)

Some families redoubled their efforts to spread joy and goodwill despite the blizzard, but others made a calculated decision to tick off their neighbors. (“Did you see the price of propane, honey? We need all the free flaming sacks of dog poop we can get!”)

I’m grateful that residents of the handful of states that escaped the direct impact of the winter storm have sent thoughts, prayers and good vibes our way.

They empathize because, while they dodged a bullet this time, they realize their time will come for wildfires, earthquakes, floods or …a hundred-year infestation of smart-aleck columnists!

–

Copyright 2022 Danny Tyree, distributed by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.

Danny Tyree welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.”

Tyrades! by Danny Tyree

As I write this year-end essay about 2022 trends in food and dining, I must confess that I’m playing catch-up.

I have obligations and hobbies, so I wasn’t technically paying attention (i.e., giving a rat’s rump) as 12 months of decadent delights, culinary controversies and avocado abominations unfolded. (“Homo sapiens still ingest food? What about that crazy ‘opposable thumbs’ fad? How long did THAT last?”)

Okay, I was narrowly focused on one aspect of food. I spent several months attempting to update George Carlin’s “7 Words You Can’t Say On TV” routine to include the really dirty words: “portion control.”

(To clear my head, I threw on my relaxed-fit jeans and rented a stretch limo for a joyride; but the deceptively named monstrosity stretched in all the wrong places!)

Still, mostly, it boils down to the fact that I’m a simple man – a “well, only if the escargot is on the value menu” man. I don’t need to keep tabs of chef migrations or counterintuitive sauces or balsamic gamechangers.

I can still muster a childlike sense of wonder concerning foods that other people long ago became jaded about. (“Wow. Potato chips in a canister! What will they think of next? No, wait – don’t tell me. My heart can’t take it.”)

This simplicity is a throwback to my childhood. I would spend weeks and months poring over menus and brochures in preparation for a family vacation and the exotic cuisine that it would entail. Invariably, once we reached an eatery, I would look up at my father and ask, “Can I just order a hamburger?”

(Surely it was only my imagination that Dad muttered, “Can I just order a paternity test?”)

More power to all the foodies in search of the Next Big Thing, but sometimes I think we’ve gotten too soft. Back when men were men and pronouns were the evil twin of sentence diagramming, you heard people stoically declaring “My arteries are 90 percent blocked” or “My lone remaining kidney is failing.” Now you can’t toss a rock in a crowd without hitting someone who is whining, “My taste buds are under-titillated.”

I’m sure I would be hanging on every word of a food influencer if I hosted dinner parties, but I don’t. My apron doesn’t say “Kiss the cook”; it says, “Phone me up and give me a short description of YOUR meal as we each enjoy our blessed solitude.”

I see that “climate-friendly” food has been a major trend this year. Vegan, plant-based diets. Meat-and-dairy-free “cheese” and “butcher” shops. (I’m leery of foods that come wrapped in quotation marks. What’s next? “Fry me up a piece of that iambic pentameter, Bubba”?) Sustainable seafood. *Sigh* In the old days, the only sustainable part of a good meal was a sustainable belch.

I noticed that a large percentage of the food trends were exacerbated by TikTok videos. So … a Chinese video-hosting site sucking up user data like a bumpkin slurping his soup is America’s “go to” place for gastronomic advice. I don’t think that’s the way Americans used to do things. (“Honey, why don’t you call up Joe Stalin and ask him how to make the casserole?”)

Thanks for letting me vent. I realize I may have to eat some of my words in 2023.

But if I smear my words on a butter board first…

–

Copyright 2022 Danny Tyree, distributed by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.

Danny Tyree welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.”

Tyrades! by Danny Tyree

When writing advertising copy, I sometimes find myself desperately searching for a zinger of a tag line – and settling for trite admonitions such as “Make this the best hunting season ever” or “Make this the best summer vacation ever.”

I despise such capitulations to deadlines, because listeners with terminal illnesses, maxed-out credit cards or fruitless marriage counseling sessions may perceive the sentiments as glib or clueless.

Never is the situation more danger-fraught than at Christmas. A melancholy Judy Garland yuletide favorite notwithstanding, an ill-timed “Have the merriest Christmas ever” can hit people the wrong way.

Assuming you don’t relish being hit the wrong way, take the reindeer by the horns (er, antlers) and accept responsibility for your own Merry Christmas. Clement C. Moore wrote about a visit from Saint Nicholas; he never promised that LIFE was going to climb down your chimney with goodies galore. So like Ms. Garland, you may have to brainstorm ways to “muddle through somehow.”

Cherished memories can be both a blessing and a curse around the holidays. Sideline your rose-colored glasses and apply some perspective to those much-ballyhooed “simpler times.” Not everything is perfect for everyone all the time. In those halcyon days of visiting your grandparents and playing with an inexhaustible supply of cousins, it’s very likely that your “carefree” grandparents had already lost their own grandparents.

It’s likely that someone in the crowd struggled with polio or tuberculosis, or lost sleep worrying about loved ones facing enemy fire. Unless you grew up in a prolonged economic sweet spot, your stoic mom and dad probably had to make genuine sacrifices to see that you had that bike or that dolly.

On these cold, gray winter days, some people spend less time stoking the fireplace than fanning the embers of old grudges. Be the better person and try reaching out to friends and relatives who are no longer in your social circle. Practice deflecting touchy topics. Santa’s elves have a corner on building toys – try building some bridgesto replace those that you’ve burned behind you.

Accentuate the positive. Instead of counting the empty seats at the table, count the freckles on that step-grandchild you’re meeting for the first time. Count the job offers heaped upon that nephew who lives on the far side of the country. Count the extra hours of family time that modern conveniences afford you (if everyone will forego the modernly convenient smartphone for a few hours).

Bad habits can steal all the happiness of Christmas. Don’t feel obligated to wait until the ball has dropped in Times Square to unleash your resolutions – get a head start.

If you’ve worn out a pair of scissors clipping obituaries from the newspaper, it’s time to be proactive and make some new friends. Depending on your budget and your mobility, do your best to get to know your neighbors, strike up a conversation while standing in line, volunteer to feed the less fortunate or send a card of encouragement to a young stranger who exhibits good citizenship.

Even with all my coaching, this may not be your best Christmas ever. Or even in the Top 5. But loneliness and regret don’t have to be inevitable parts of anyone’s Christmas. (Reasonable) happiness is yours for the taking.

I say the following with the least glibness and cluelessness possible: Have yourself a Merry Christmas.

–

Copyright 2022 Danny Tyree, distributed by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.

Danny Tyree welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.”

Tyrades! by Danny Tyree

Saint Nick wasn’t the only man in a red suit that magical Christmas season 50 years ago.

On Saturday December 23, 1972, I walked from my house to Sharp’s Drive-In Market and splurged on four 20-cent comic books.

One of my selections was heavily influenced by an ad appearing in DC Comics: “Coming in December…DC’s Christmas gift to you! Shazam is coming!”

I could scarcely wait to rush home and open my copy of “Shazam!” #1. Unfortunately, my gut reaction upon seeing the interior artwork was, “What’s this cartoony junk???” You see, I had recently sworn off “kiddie” comics. But “Shazam!” grew on me. By the second issue, it was my favorite title.

“Shazam!” #1 featured the triumphal return of “the original Captain Marvel” and his extended family. Introduced in Fawcett’s “Whiz Comics” #2 (cover-dated February 1940), Captain Marvel was the alter ego of boy reporter Billy Batson. By speaking the magic word “Shazam!,” Billy summoned a mystical bolt of lightning and transformed into a costumed adult super-hero who saved the world from countless threats.

During the 1940s (what comics aficionados refer to as the Golden Age of Comics), Captain Marvel appeared in his own 12-chapter Republic movie serial and even outsold Superman on the newsstands.

But “the world’s mightiest mortal” went into limbo in 1953 because of (a) the declining popularity of super-heroes and (b) a long-running lawsuit in which DC accused the good captain of being a rip-off of Superman.

That’s why “Shazam!” was such a big deal in 1972, bringing Captain Marvel and the rest of the Marvel Family back to a nostalgia-crazed world after almost 20 years. (The comic had to be named “Shazam!” after the magic word and the wizard who gave it to Billy, because in the ensuing decades rival Marvel Comics had trademarked the name Captain Marvel and introduced the first of a series of heroes bearing that name. Countless fans over the past half-century have gotten the book title and hero name confused, so DC officially changed the hero’s name to Shazam circa 2012.)

Still…even though the revival spawned a fondly remembered live-action CBS Saturday morning program and a 1981 NBC animated version, the Big Red Cheese (as arch-villain Doctor Thaddeus Bodog Sivana dubbed him) never matched his former glory.

(When I was writing for “Comics Buyer’s Guide” magazine in 1987, I received a letter from Captain Marvel co-creator C.C. Beck, lamenting that the modern handlers had made the character either too silly or too grim, rarely capturing the delicate balance of whimsy and suspense that marked the original incarnation.)

I’m glad DC keeps going back to the drawing board, trying to let the do-gooder live up to his potential. My family enjoyed the 2019 movie and looks forward to next year’s sequel, “Shazam! Fury of the Gods.”

I hope that this Christmas some lucky child finds Shazam! graphic novels or a DVD of the aforementioned movie under the tree.

We still need to believe in the triumph of good over evil.

We still need some good, clean fun.

And we sometimes need to comfort ourselves with the fantasy that one magic word could endow us with the strength to solve all our problems.

I heard rumors that the concept has even reached the White House, whose current occupant perhaps read the 1940s adventures of Captain Marvel.

“With one magic word…fourscore and seven years ago…”

–

Copyright 2022 Danny Tyree, distributed by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.

Danny Tyree welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.”

Tyrades! by Danny Tyree

It has been years since my family last dealt with the “pictures with Santa” pageantry, but Saint Nick impersonators remain an integral part of Christmas for Americans.

Parents feel compelled to honor the tradition of dumping tiny tots in Santa’s lap, even if they’re not emotionally ready for the experience. I wish I hadn’t sold my Child Psychology textbook back to the college bookstore, or I would explain why kids who think nothing of sticking a fork in an electrical outlet or inviting a rabid wolverine into the house are suddenly in fight-or-flight-or-wet-your-pants mode over a jovial old man who surrounds himself with elves and candy canes.

Yes, shrieking and bawling are the immediate result of encounters with Kris Kringle, but the traumatizing life event also creates repressed memories that pop up unexpectedly in adulthood. (“The ocean – it’s shaking like a bowlful of jelly! I can’t help it – I’m going A.W.O.L. from the Navy!”)

Some Santa impersonators (motto: “I’m not a morbidly obese peeping Tom, but I play one at the local mall”) volunteer for the pure joy of seeing children’s faces light up. Other Santa surrogates don the iconic red suit to earn extra money. (Granted, in today’s economy, “extra” money is what Bigfoot and Elvis would use to purchase a unicorn for their UFO.)

I’m glad there are still job opportunities for Santa Clauses, considering retailers’ self-checkout mentality. (“Put on this cap, make yourself a vague promise, make way for the next kid. Buh-bye.”)

Physical disabilities are no roadblock to those truly committed to serving as a mall Santa. The agencies that book Santas do, however, frown on applicants with dyslexia. Being upfront about that cuts down on posting a “Santa wanted” sign and having guys with cloven hooves and pitchforks showing up for auditions.

An article in the “New York Post” recommended Santa roleplaying as a side hustle for college students, but I think the job is more suited for seasoned individuals with experience as fathers or grandfathers. Eight hours of putting up with snotty noses, sticky hands, beard-tugging, mile-long lists, mystery smells and awkward questions (“If you can visit every home in the world in one night, how come it has taken my dad more than three years to go to the corner store for a pack of cigarettes?”) would make the young guys’ reproductive system implode.

Yes, some spoiled brats issue totally unreasonable demands, so it’s heartwarming when one is well grounded in reality. Like the little girl who was patient enough to put off a pony until next Christmas. (“I know that THIS year I need to prioritize having Santa make my 10th-story apartment pony-accessible.”)

Santa impersonators have to do an amazing job of hemming and hawing when presented with a budget-busting wish list. “I’ll check into that.” “Let me see what I can do.” “I would hate to disappoint a good little boy or girl.” Toss in the occasional “I’ll have to circle back,” “infrastructure” and “democracy,” and Santa would qualify for Secret Service protection!

On the other hand, do you know who is the most powerful person in the world? Elon Musk? China’s Xi Jinping? Wrong. It’s a ready-to-retire Santa who gives parents that reindeer-in-the-headlights look by rubberstamping everything on the little darlings’ wish list.

I wouldn’t call them evil masterminds, but their “Ho ho ho” sure sounds more like “Bwahahaha.”

–

Copyright 2022 Danny Tyree, distributed by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.

Danny Tyree welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.”

Tyrades! by Danny Tyree

“Do you mind if we have leftovers?”

When my wife poses that question, I always answer, “No, that’s fine,” because (a) I genuinely enjoy leftovers, (b) I don’t want to cause extra trouble for her and (c) I can’t afford the airline tickets to transport a Tupperware container of six-day-old broccoli to all those “starving children on the other side of the world who would give their right arm for a fraction of the food you and your siblings are wasting.”

Unless I redeem my “frequent guilt trip miles.” But I digress.

Although leftovers are a societal bone of contention year-round, they are particularly controversial in the last month of the year, as Americans race to finish off the wretched excess of Thanksgiving leftovers before the creation of a wretched excess of Christmas leftovers. (“I’ll be home for Christmas…if only in my relaxed-fit sweatpants…”)

And don’t forget the wretched excess of New Year edibles. The only thing that drops faster than the Times Square ball is my good cholesterol.

Yes, even though urbanization and feminism have gotten us away from the notion of needing to fortify a clan of hungry fieldhands, tradition and gluttony still make us cook/take-out/“five-second rule” way too much food.

The right attitude and right recipes can help us stop wasting all that food. A creative chef can turn yesterday’s turkey into turkey sandwiches, turkey hash, turkey soup and countless other variations. (“You can still make a wish with the wishbone, even in aerosol form.”)

One of my friends spent several years writing a book about repurposing kale and fruitcake. Ironically enough, it wound up in the remaindered bin.

Of course, there are limits to reinventing last night’s supper. Your children’s delicate sensibilities should be taken into consideration when contemplating leftovers. Don’t torture them by making them eat carrots two days in a row after their busy day of watching the same “PAW Patrol” and “Peppa Pig” episodes for the 500th time.

Maybe you’d better be sitting down for this, but leading researchers have determined that the people least likely to lend a hand whipping up a new menu item are the most likely to gripe about leftovers. (“Next, we won a research grant to study washing the dishes. Sweet. Let’s celebrate. What…lobster AGAIN?”)

Human beings really should hold themselves to a higher standard than my tomcat Moggie. No matter how much dry food he finds already on his plate, he expects a few “fresh” bits dropped on the plate before he’ll deign to eat. His mother neglected those all-important lessons about starving cats on the other side of the world.

I grew up eating whatever was set in front of me (I tried eating what was set behind me, but my career as a budding contortionist couldn’t handle the chiropractic bills), so I grind my teeth when I hear some effete snob regarding himself as too good to eat leftovers. (Whoa…grinding my teeth dislodged some leftover cranberry sauce. Better the second time around.)

Citizens in First World countries are notorious about sending food to the landfill. We need to revive the World War II motto “Take all you want, but eat all you take.” Then we can stop being so tolerant of a chuckled “Guess my eyes were bigger than my stomach.”

Maybe the right response is “But my boot and your rear are a perfect match.”

–

Copyright 2022 Danny Tyree, distributed by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.

Danny Tyree welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.”

Tyrades! by Danny Tyree

Please pardon me, but I am always overcome by mawkish sentimentality at this time of year.

I cannot contain my gratitude. I am thankful for a paycheck and sunsets and modern plumbing and mobility and rainbows and warm clothing and good friends and conjunctions and…

I am thankful that I can do anything you can do better, I can do anything better than you – except get $%&# show tunes out of my head.

I am thankful for eight-month tick-and-flea collars, because the traumatic monthly sprayings do not promote ideal master/pet relations. (“Believe me, if I had opposable thumbs, I would light the sack on fire myself, buddy!”)

I am thankful that I don’t often get into embarrassing public conversations where I mispronounce misleadingly spelled names (“Erdogan,” “Ghosn,” “Ghislaine,” etc.) that I have encountered only in print. I am thankful that my parents gave me a good, old-fashioned, easy-to-pronounce, meat-and-potatoes name. Although, admittedly, I got a lot of ribbing in school when the teacher called “Ribeye Russet Tyree.”

Speaking of school, I am thankful that I went through the educational system in an unenlightened time when being the “teacher’s pet” didn’t include neutering.

I am thankful that when someone sneezes, I can still wish them a heartfelt “gesundheit,” without being required by law to add “press 2 if you wish to hear ‘gesundheit’ in Spanish.”

I am thankful that I am savvy enough not to leap at extended warranties. Okay, obviously, I got the one on “temporary insanity,” but that’s it.

I am thankful that I have survived this long without being remotely proficient at tying knots. (“There! That boat’s not going anywhere – unless it gets repossessed to pay for all the duct tape.”)

I am thankful that only God can make a tree, because one made by committee/focus group would be a disaster. (“Bark? Bark? Are we trying to get confused with a kennel? I’m going to go out on a limb here and say…oh, wait, that reminds me, limbs are so last year…”)

I am thankful that I can usually purchase my size 14 shoes without clerks wagering on how many clowns will cram back into the car.

I am thankful that I get a percentage of the gate when my good gut bacteria and bad gut bacteria have a mixed martial arts showdown.

I am thankful for Google Earth, because when I was watching “Bewitched” as a tyke, my recurring thought was always, “Forget jetpacks! I hope someday everyone in the world will get to be Gladys Kravitz!”

I am thankful that I have somehow resisted the siren call of cryptocurrency. Granted, the Sirens in Greek mythology had a call more melodic than “Hey, doofus, over there – wanna get rich quick?”

I am thankful that humans don’t hibernate, because “The best part of waking up is Folgers in your barrel” just doesn’t have the same ring to it.

I am thankful for the thoughts and prayers of friends and acquaintances, even in an era when thoughts and prayers are not in high regard. (“Just heard that you’re laid up with a bad back. Well, we’re going to pass some emergency legislation banning bad backs. Perhaps you’d like to contribute…”)

Mostly, I’m thankful I can keep in touch with my valued readers via Twitter (@TyreeDanny) and Truth Social (@tyreetyrades).

Don’t be a stranger. Especially not some enchanted evening…Aaarrrggghhh!

–

Copyright 2022 Danny Tyree, distributed by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.

Danny Tyree welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.”

Tyrades! by Danny Tyree

My cousin’s husband owns a funeral home, so I’m anxious to hear his take on a front-page article from the November 4 “Wall Street Journal.”

According to the article, morticians are innovating ways to put the “fun” in funeral (including burial plot raffles and “open house” family events featuring food, live music and bouncy houses) – or maybe it was putting the “monument” in monumentally screwed up ideas! I get those mixed up.

The article talked about undertakers enticing their potential customers to deal with the elephant in the room (their own mortality) and be more proactive about end-of-life planning. This will take the burden off your loved ones, so they will be tanned and rested and in a positively chipper mood as they fight over your estate. (“Step back from the Hummel figurines or I’m snatching you bald-headed…bless your heart…”)

A funeral industry convention workshop was titled “How to build your pre-need customer pipeline,” which, I’m sorry, dredges up too many memories of my dearly departed childhood goldfish.

Many undertakers report positive feedback for the laid-back attitude, but traditionalist customers are adamant that recent experiments in funeral marketing are disrespectful. (“We’ll talk more when I get back from the King Tut exhibit. Need any souvenirs?”)

Some of today’s off-the-wall customized services leave me with mixed emotions. I can handle a funeral sanctioned by the Board of Funeral Directors and Embalmers, but not one sanctioned by the Board of Ouija.

I suppose some ways of jazzing up the funeral experience are more tolerable than others. I could see a Grim Reaper with a tie-dyed robe, or a magician sawing someone’s ashes in half. I’m cool with a standup comedian whining, “Hey, I’m dying up here.”

Tequila is probably a counterproductive libation for promotional events. It’s a real buzzkill to think about the worms biding their time to get their revenge.

Whacking a pinata filled with organs some bozo failed to donate to medical science? Let’s not and say we did.

And a mime trapped in an invisible box is probably not going to sell many funeral packages – unless you get to nominate the mime as your “plus one.”

One of the wildest innovations is “living funerals.” You can attend a dry run of your own funeral, complete with casket, mourners, funeral procession, etc. You can witness the lavish proceedings without having an “out-of-body” experience, just an “out-of-disposable-income” experience.

This supposedly gives you peace of mind, but it sounds more anxiety-producing to me. (“I knew it – Ralph came just for the free calendars, not for me! And why isn’t Mike hitting on my ‘surviving spouse’? Does that conceited jerk think he’s too good for her?”)

Seriously, this is all artificial and skewed. Past performance is no guarantee of how your actual funeral will be in five, 10 or 20 years. A “living funeral” is like the “air guitar” of shuffling off this mortal coil, except the groupies are all hanging around the undertaker, who is raking in extra dough.

As my son noted, this is a brilliant way to get consumers to pay for a service twice. Maybe other professions will follow the funeral industry’s lead. (“Just drink this awful liquid and sit on the potty all day. Then come back when you’re 40 and we’ll do all that again PLUS run a scope inside you. Let’s put endless co-pays in colonoscopy!”

–

Copyright 2022 Danny Tyree, distributed by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.

Danny Tyree welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.”

Tyrades! by Danny Tyree

Murphy’s Law being what it is, whether you’re talking about a surprise party, a romantic getaway or visiting an acquaintance in the hospital, good intentions don’t always pan out.

The same goes for the intention to carry out a proper observation of Veterans Day.

Sometimes work/family obligations, ill health or inclement weather stand in the way of attending a public ceremony honoring our nation’s veterans. “Maybe next year” is the lament of too many of us.

Imagine my delight when a Google search revealed “Suggested Speech for Veterans Day 2022” from The American Legion. (I did not find a corresponding speech from the VFW, but I want to tip my hat to that organization as well.)

The downloadable speech can be found at: https://www.legion.org/publications/257163/veterans-day-speech-2022.

My mention of this speech is not at all intended to offer it as a “get out of jail free” card for skipping public commemorations and melding with your recliner. But it is invaluable as a substitute for those who truly can’t participate. It is also a supplement and keepsake for those who do manage to attend a parade or other ceremony.

Perhaps the unassuming title of the document flies under your radar, but I am struck by the term “suggested.”

The speech is a template, a guideline, a resource for the dignitaries directing local commemorations across the country. Thanks to the men and women defending our shores and airspace, this republic has stood for nearly 250 years. We do not have some conquering foreign tyrant dictating the contents of public communications or enforcing mandatory attendance at “pep rallies.”

Besides telling about the military and post-military contributions of our veterans, the speech advocates for the hiring of veterans, calls attention to the plight of homeless vets and publicizes the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline (9-8-8, extension 1 for veterans).

I hope the speech will be widely heard and circulated, to stir up our appreciation of veterans.

Sure, society still gives a nod to the dwindling members of the Greatest Generation who fought in World War II and Korea. We have learned to exhibit a certain degree of respect for the draftees who were trapped in the quagmire of the Vietnam War. But sometimes it seems that the advent of the all-volunteer military has made us more complacent.

“Hey, they knew what they were signing up for” is the attitude of many who think that our national security comes from pixie dust.
But do any of us ever know exactly what we’re getting into? Referring back to good intentions, no marriage, no job, no infrastructure project ever turns out exactly like we expected.

We complain about politicians lying, but to a considerable extent, they are genuinely flummoxed when they get elected and their sincere (naïve) promises prove to be impossible to implement.

No matter how brave, athletic and resourceful an enlistee is, the military is an unenviable challenge.

Regulations, culture clashes, inhospitable climates, separation from loved ones and physical danger all make honorable military service something worth celebrating.

Those who speak dismissively of our veterans are guilty of a dishonorable discharge from their mouths.

Try your best to mark Veterans Day by thanking a vet one-on-one and/or attending a community ceremony.

But download the speech as well. And pass a copy along to everyone whom you think could benefit from its inspirational message.

Turn “good intentions” into “mission accomplished.”

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Copyright 2022 Danny Tyree, distributed by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.

Danny Tyree welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.”