Cagle World

Tyrades! by Danny Tyree

Realizing that September 25 marks the 50th anniversary of the premiere of “The Partridge Family,” I am reminded that time moves more swiftly than a 45 RPM turntable.

It seems like only yesterday that I was a fifth-grader and my mother was teasing me because 10-year-old Danny Partridge (played by Danny Bonaduce) was in love.

In the blink of an eye, it’s 2020 and I feel compelled to sing, “I woke up in Depends this morning/ I woke up in Depends this morning/ Went to sleep with Hot Wheels on my mind…”

So much water has gone under the bridge, I honestly can’t remember if I had a crush on Susan Dey as Laurie Partridge; but when I later watched Dey as deputy district attorney Grace Van Owen on “L.A. Law,” I kept thinking some defendant would growl, “I’m pleading the fifth – unless you put on your Laurie braces! Rrrroooww!”

Unless you were alive back then, it’s hard to explain the mass hysteria that greeted songs such as “I Think I Love You” and “Doesn’t Somebody Want to Be Wanted?” (“Speak for yourself,” interjects Bruno the local mechanic. “I IDENTIFY as an 11-year-old girl from 1970.” Uh, good to know. I hope you’ll be using a wrench instead of a Kenner Easy Bake Oven on my car next time, Bruno.)

When I commemorate the anniversaries of cultural milestones, I often fall back on the cliché of yearning for “simpler times.” But even comfortably nestled between “Nanny and the Professor” and “That Girl” on ABC’s Friday night schedule, “The Partridge Family” was just a brief respite in tumultuous times. It was a world where teenage girls could vie to “Win a date with David Cassidy” while their older brothers could just as easily “Win a date at the Hanoi Hilton.”

The ”simpler times” theme also got tested when – half-way through the show’s run – David Cassidy wearied of his squeaky-clean image and posed nude for the cover of the May 1972 “Rolling Stone” magazine. (I cannot verify rumors that Cassidy first tried posing for Norman Rockwell, who ran away screaming, “Noooo…it’s like that ‘Saturday Evening Post’ session with the G.I. model peeling off his undergarments while peeling potatoes with his mother, all over again! I quit!”)

Musical snobs looked down on the show because the actors only pretended to play musical instruments and only matriarch Shirley Partridge (Shirley Jones) and oldest son Keith (Cassidy) actually sang on the show or the soundtrack albums.

Of course, those critics are the same purists who would probably have BLED OUT while confusing actor Robert Young with character Marcus Welby, M.D. (“Come on – you can fix this protruding femur AND my broken marriage before the first commercial!”)

I am tickled that our local radio station (WJJM in Lewisburg, Tennessee) isn’t embarrassed to showcase upbeat oldies acts such as The Partridge Family and The Jackson 5. Most “classic rock” stations don’t say “Come on, get happy.” They say, “Come on, relive that phase when you had a dead-end job and the Mayo Clinic named STDs after you.”

Whoa… “Nanny and the Professor”! Now I remember my Juliet Mills crush! Oops… I think I laid a big Partridge Family opening credits EGG!

I wish I had Partridge manager Reuben Kincaid patching up things with my wife.

Honey, I think I love…sleeping on the couch. *Sigh*

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Copyright 2020 Danny Tyree. Danny welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.” Danny’s weekly column is distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons Inc. newspaper syndicate.

Tyrades! by Danny Tyree

What were you doing the night of Saturday, March 19, 1977?

Like 21.2 million other Americans, I was watching the final episode of “The Mary Tyler Moore Show.” Watching it and making a nerdy audio recording of it for posterity. Sure, I didn’t anticipate the cassette keepsake having such an eardrum-assaulting HUM on it, but at least I felt like I was a part of something historic. And maybe I should use the tape’s hum even today to drown myself out when I spontaneously start singing, “It’s a long way to Tipperary, it’s a long way to go…”

But I’m getting ahead of myself. The 50th anniversary of the premiere of the show is coming up on September 19. Even though the late Moore was already famous for playing Laura Petrie on “The Dick Van Dyke Show,” who could have guessed when she bumped “Petticoat Junction” from the CBS Saturday night schedule that her eponymous sitcom would last for seven seasons, spawn three spinoffs, provide a template for future workplace comedies, garner 29 Emmy Awards and make a sex symbol out of Ed Asner? (Okay, four of five ain’t bad.)

Moore’s character (liberated thirtysomething Mary Richards) dated – but she was an inspiration to countless girls and young women who chose to focus on their careers and self-actualization rather than settling down with the first Prince Charming who would “rescue” them. After umpteen dateless nights in high school and college, I was starting to think that not only Mary Richards but also Jane Jetson, Ethel Mertz, Phyllis Diller, Morticia Addams and Miss Nancy on “Romper Room” were inspiring girls to make me a low priority. (“As soon as I’ve made a million dollars in my career watching paint dry, maybe you can take me out.”)

I don’t know that I was fully conscious of the influence at the time, but in retrospect, I’m sure the gang in the fictional WJM TV newsroom had an impact on my majoring in broadcast journalism in college. (Of course, that was only after I couldn’t find a university with a doctorate program in “Movin’ on up to the east side, to a deluxe apartment in the sky…”)

The writing on “The Mary Tyler Moore Show” was smart, sophisticated and socially relevant. And it’s a blessing that we have reruns preserved in amber on Hulu, so we don’t have to harbor pointless dreams of a remake. Do we really need to hear “The F-word’s all around, no need to waste it” or see a jubilant Mary toss a Molotov cocktail instead of her tam into the air? Would we want Chuckles the Clown coming back to life and writing a bestseller about his visit to heaven? (“A little song, a little dance, a little seltzer down your…er, gown.”)

Highly promoted series finales have become standard now. But when “The Mary Tyler Moore Show” ended, it joined “The Fugitive” as one of the few shows that offered closure to loyal viewers. All those shows featuring castaways, genies, nose-twitching witches, Martian uncles and caped crusaders just ended unceremoniously. Of course, maybe that’s a blessing. (“Wiiiillllbuuuurrr – Soylent Green is horses!”)

Thank you for reading this far in my ramblings. You’re gonna make it after all…oh no! The dreaded last-paragraph drift to the crossword puzzle!

I hope there’s no clue for “pluck, spirit, mettle.” I HATE spunk!

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Copyright 2020 Danny Tyree. Danny welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.” Danny’s weekly column is distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons Inc. newspaper syndicate.

Tyrades! by Danny Tyree

One of the highlights of my 93-year-old mother’s week is when she receives an inspirational essay from a church lady (hi, Regina!) who maintains a mailing list for Special People.

Yes, the world is flooded with anxieties, conflicts and doubts. Many of us NEED someone hitting us over the head with a metaphorical two-by-four on a weekly/daily/hourly basis – refocusing our thoughts on truisms about perseverance, forgiveness, friendship, self-worth and happiness. (And about counting to 10 when some insufferable busybody bugs us concerning whether the metaphorical two-by-four comes from a metaphorical SUSTAINABLE FOREST.)

When I was growing up, we basically had “Keep on truckin’” and “Today is the first day of the rest of your life – start it right with Total”; but now there is a seemingly inexhaustible supply of books, calendars, refrigerator magnets, posters, jewelry, coffee mugs, apps, etc. to promote a positive attitude. If he were alive today, I’m sure Winston Churchill would reassure us, “When your heart is weighed down with despair…when you’re DOWN IN THE DUMPS…gather up some of those discarded calendars, refrigerator magnets, etc. and see how long it takes them to give the NEXT schmuck Type-2 diabetes.”

Six years ago, one of my business associates encouraged me to become a motivational speaker. Because of family commitments, some since-resolved health issues and a detour waiting breathlessly for each new day of the Klingon inspirational calendar (“Today is a good day to die. And TODAY is another good day to die..”), I haven’t taken that route yet. But I am putting the finishing touches on a motivational/inspirational book for publication in November. (Details to follow.)

I’m keeping both eyes on the deadline. It’s harder than it looks to write gems such as “You can’t motivate other people until you first master motivating…master motivating… y’know, if they would hurry up and detonate dynamite at the quarry again, maybe that bag of Cheetos would vibrate over toward me…”

Inspirational quotes can be stressful when they are (superficially, at least) in conflict with one another. My guiding maxim is poet Robert Browning’s “A man’s reach should always exceed his grasp or what’s a heaven for?” It takes some fancy footwork to mesh that with Saint Paul’s “Godliness with contentment is great gain.” (Sudden-death overtime tiebreaker: so, Robert, got a spare BASILICA on you?)

I’ll admit that I would derive more benefit from inspirational quotes if I didn’t insist on OVERTHINKING them.

Take for example, when I read Leo Tolstoy’s advice “Happiness consists of living each day as if it were the first day of your honeymoon and the last day of your vacation.” Just imagine: a “Groundhog Day” existence where you’re constantly shifting between “Hurry up and give me that room key or I’m LEAVING the car parked right here in your lobby!” and “We’re not going back 350 miles for that teddy bear! Not when I…uh, had him CLONED for your birthday.” High jinks and productivity ensue.

Let’s not forget Buddha’s “Learn to let go. That is the key to happiness.” Yeah, and the key to falling from the gym rope and getting out of P.E. class for the rest of the year.

Whether you prefer Zig Ziglar, Albert Einstein, Mark Twain or “Unknown,” keep thinking those good thoughts.

As for my book, whatever doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger in resisting the sequel. *Sigh*

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Copyright 2020 Danny Tyree. Danny welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.” Danny’s weekly column is distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons Inc. newspaper syndicate.

Tyrades! by Danny Tyree

For most of us, Labor Day will be an occasion for relaxation and contemplation.

(And MORAL DILEMMAS, because our contemplation will be complicated by the fact that the little cartoon angel on our right shoulder and the little cartoon devil on our left shoulder aren’t allowed within six feet of each other.)

For others, even in the time of pandemic, it will be “just another manic Monday.”

My afterschool job required me to work EVERY holiday, so my sincerest empathy goes out to those truck drivers, retail clerks, restaurant employees, medical personnel, utility workers, newspaper staffers and others who will be keeping their noses to the grindstone on September 7.

Sure, some of you appreciate the extra pay; but don’t be so modest. Truly, you folks are the glue that holds this country together, which is ironic, since most of the people who actually MAKE glue will be at home flipping burgers or snoozing in the hammock.

Take solace in the recognition that you’re ESSENTIAL EMPLOYEES – even if management has decided that what is essential for society’s survival is someone to referee a round of “Maybe you snatched the last marked-down queen-size mattress, but I’m snatching you bald-headed on Black Friday, you hussy!”

After nearly two decades of working mandatory overtime, I am now hooked on my weekends and holidays. If you ever hear ME singing, “I’ve been working on the railroad all the live-long day/ I’ve been working on the railroad, JUST TO PASS THE TIME AWAY,” please put a golden spike through my noggin and tell Dinah to blow it out her…well, never mind.

I’m sure Labor Day will be more bearable for workers if the boss doesn’t pipe in TRIGGERING MUSIC, such as The Band harmonizing “Take a load off, Annie.” (“Ain’t no load coming off unless I get a new forklift and double overtime pay! Where’s the shop steward?”)

Certainly, we need to give a Labor Day shout-out to our nation’s first responders (paramedics, police officers, firefighters, that know-it-all kid who thinks he has to answer every %$#@ question, etc.).

I still haven’t made up my mind about how much glory we owe our nation’s LAST RESPONDERS. (“Sorry, we’re late. The car needed an oil change and I had three Big Gulps and Hunter finally talked me into looking at the map and…oh, he did? I’m glad it was a lovely service. So, would six months be too soon to call you up for a date?”)

Being self-employed is no guarantee of getting out of working on Labor Day. Dairy farmers in particular get no slack from the REAL bosses. (“It’s about time you showed up for our twice-daily meeting, Bubba. It would be an UDDER DISASTER if you skipped a milking. No, you don’t have to tip me for the humor. PLEASE don’t tip me!”)

I know we need a catch-all term for people who work outside of management, but maybe by next year I’ll brainstorm a less generic term than “labor.” I mean, if you tell someone “I’m going into astrophysics” or “I’m going into the clergy,” they know what you’re talking about. If you say, “I’m going into labor,” they start boiling water and calling 911 for a first responder. Especially if you’re a dude. (“I TOLD you them GMO squashes would ruin mankind’s chromosomes! But everybody listened to that little devil hovering…”)

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Copyright 2020 Danny Tyree. Danny welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.” Danny’s weekly column is distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons Inc. newspaper syndicate.

Tyrades! by Danny Tyree

“The first thing we do, let’s reboot all the lawyers.”

No, that’s not really how the line from Shakespeare’s “Henry VI, Part 2” goes; but it came to mind when I read a Wall Street Journal special section on artificial intelligence and encountered the article “Would You Trust A Lawyer Bot?”

According to the Journal, numerous startup tech companies are churning out apps and digital services that horn in on routine procedures typically performed by flesh-and-blood, bar-exam-passing lawyers. These tasks include generating lease agreements and nondisclosure agreements, canceling unwanted subscriptions, getting compensation from airlines and settling which rider shouted “Shotgun!” first. (On the last one, the algorithm usually places disproportionate weight on “Which one has beer money?”)

The Latin legal phrase “res ipsa loquitur (the thing speaks for itself)” has never been more apt.

(Watch out for the day when the artificial intelligence decides, “Hey, we keep using all these phrases from a DEAD LANGUAGE. Somebody must have KILLED it! Do I hear a negligence suit coming on? KA-CHING!”)

Isn’t the 21st century wild? We’re suddenly embracing companies that help “the little guy” file personal-injury lawsuits using software that has no understanding of “little guys,” “persons” or “injuries.” (“That’s a lie! I know all about injuries! Candy Crush and Angry Birds keep hogging all the random-access memory on the phone!”)

Remember back in school when you made fun of the bookworms who just regurgitated facts? Now we bow down to computer programs that … regurgitate facts. (“Yeah, it regurgitates facts, but it regurgitates them so CHEAPLY. And doesn’t narc about wedgies.”)

If the apps are going to be as eager-to-please as Siri and Alexa, you’ll have to tell all your friends to take the precaution of turning them off around you. (“I waited for you at the wrong restaurant. So, SUE me. Wow! That subpoena was fast!”)

I, for one, will miss the human touch of picking up on nuances and context. Go to an app with a complaint of “My boss gave me the SHAFT,” and you’re likely to hear the mellifluous tones of Isaac Hayes singing, “Who is the man that would risk his neck for his brother, man? Can ya dig it?”

There’s still something to be said for the benefits of living, breathing lawyers. The attorney who prepared my mother’s will was aided by the fact that he has known the family for years. In this era of the “internet of things,” I’m not sure I want my VIRTUAL lawyer knowing so much about me. (“My friend the water heater tells me you’ve been taking awfully long showers. And, oh, the stories your electric scales could – and do – tell…”)

Is society ready for automated “ambulance chasers” that can declare, “If I can just get wi-fi to connect, I’ll STOP that ambulance ahead, dead in its tracks!”?

Can you imagine the impact on history if we’d employed these apps earlier? (“Before I deliver my summation on the evils of school segregation, let’s enjoy a few pop-up ads!”)

Yes, automated legal services are a boon for people who have been genuinely wronged but can’t afford to seek redress through the traditional legal system. But do we really want every Tom, Dick and Harry emboldened to sue? (“I am offended that the word ‘frivolous’ begins with an ‘f’ instead of a ‘ph’! Let’s take Merriam-Webster to the cleaners!”)

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Copyright 2020 Danny Tyree. Danny welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.” Danny’s weekly column is distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons Inc. newspaper syndicate.

Tyrades! by Danny Tyree

I was jealous of my wife a couple of years ago.

Our son’s sophomore English class read Ray Bradbury’s cautionary novel “Fahrenheit 451” and she found the time to read along.

My writing deadlines and regimen of prioritizing news and nonfiction books blocked me from making it a family affair. But August 22 marks the 100th anniversary of the birth of Bradbury (who passed away in 2012), so I’ve been doing the best I can to prepare to pay tribute to the author whose haunting short story “There Will Come Soft Rains” remains one of my most vivid junior high school memories.

(The GIRLS in my class also deserve credit for seeing to it that science fiction and fantasy were my most vivid junior high school memories. *Sigh*)

As the centennial approaches, I’ve been speed-reading Bradbury biographical material. I waxed nostalgic to learn of his childhood encounters with Johnson Smith Company novelty catalogs, and felt tremendously relieved to discover that he, too, thought NBC’s 1980 miniseries of “The Martian Chronicles” was “just boring.”

I’m reacquainting myself with the anthology “The Illustrated Man.” (Oh, how that intriguing tattoo-enhanced cover called out to me from the paperback rack at the local library nearly 50 years ago!) I’m scheduling time to watch “Something Wicked This Way Comes” (starring Jason Robards), the Emmy-winning animated movie “The Halloween Tree” and the “I Sing the Body Electric” episode of the original “The Twilight Zone.”

Starting with “Mars Is Heaven,” I’m working my way through the 65 episodes of the 1985-1992 “Ray Bradbury Theater” TV series. (Oh, that intoxicatingly cluttered, imagination-invigorating office in the opening sequence!)

Bradbury was a man ahead of his time, and not just because he envisioned technological marvels such as banking ATMs, ear buds, Bluetooth headsets and artificial intelligence. He believed in “paying it forward” before it was a “thing.” He was never bashful about crediting inspirations, such as H.G. Wells, Jules Verne and Edgar Rice Burroughs. He also made time to encourage young writers. (At least one of my Facebook friends reveres Bradbury as an invaluable mentor.)

As early as 1994, Bradbury was sounding alarm bells about then-nascent “political correctness.” He had such a love affair with the English language, it would be disrespectful to PUT WORDS in his mouth about any specific current personalities, causes or hot-button topics; but I can’t imagine he would have approved of the sledgehammer approach of modern “cancel culture.”

What all can Bradbury fans (and potential fans) do to mark the milestone birthday?

Certainly, the various fan pages on social media can point you to books (in numerous genres), memorabilia and events.

Bradbury disciplined himself to write something every single day. It was good advice not just for professional writers but for ordinary folks as well. Write “thank you” cards and “I heard you’re under the weather cards. Write recipes. Write brainstormed ideas that just might come to fruition someday. Write recollections of family anecdotes. Again, pay it forward.

To the extent that COVID-19 allows, utilize and support your local public library. Libraries have had few better friends than Ray “Libraries raised me” Bradbury.

Civic projects abound, but a library is a priceless starting point for finding the things that really matter to you.

“Burning passions, not burning books.” Bradbury could doubtless say it better, but I’m sure he would approve of the sentiment.

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Copyright 2020 Danny Tyree. Danny welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.” Danny’s weekly column is distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons Inc. newspaper syndicate.

Tyrades! by Danny Tyree

My first knowledge of the War in the Pacific probably came from then-new episodes of “McHale’s Navy” and the 20-year-old “Made in Occupied Japan” dishware that my mother collected.

Seemingly overnight, I find myself struggling to do justice to the topic of the 75th (!) anniversary of V-J (Victory over Japan) Day.

(Japan declared total surrender to the Allies on August 15, 1945. Many nations do use the 15th for V-J Day remembrances, but President Truman delayed the official U.S. commemoration until September 2, when the formal surrender document was signed aboard the battleship USS Missouri in Tokyo Bay. I guess, like the coroner of “Oz,” Truman wanted to ensure that imperial Japan was “not only merely dead, but really most sincerely dead.”)

World War II veterans (from both the European Theater and Pacific Theater) were all around me when I was growing up. They were neighbors, churchgoers, shopkeepers, government officials, coaches and more. I never thought they were a dime a dozen, but I did take it for granted they were… immortal.

Again, seemingly overnight, most of those veterans are now deceased or in failing mental/physical health. Ditto their spouses, their older children (who aided the war effort by planting Victory Gardens and collecting scrap metal) and an alarming number of their younger children (my generation – the postwar Baby Boomers).

This 75th anniversary is a sobering milestone. 76th or 80th or 90th anniversaries just aren’t as catchy, and by the time the 100th anniversary of V-J Day arrives, only a handful of centenarians with adult memories of World War II will be around for interviews. (Undoubtedly, they will credit a diet of lard-dipped Marlboros.)

As time marches on, “Today In History” articles will mention 75th anniversaries of Churchill’s “iron curtain” speech, the rise of Red China, the beginning of the Korean conflict, etc.; but details of World War II will be even more “irrelevant” than they are now. (This will delight some people. I just read of a young man in Great Britain who demands that schools skip teaching about the war because the Holocaust and warfare are too “intense” for modern sensibilities.)

So, regrettably, this is sort of a “last hurrah” for the Greatest Generation.

That’s why we should all make the most of the occasion. Fly your flag proudly. Dig out a dusty family scrapbook. Ponder how Gen. Douglas MacArthur’s magnanimous treatment of postwar Japan led to friendly ties today. Pray that world leaders may go another 75 years without using an atomic bomb in combat. Do something thoughtful for a veteran, whether they served as sniper or mail clerk.

Contemplate how V-E Day and V-J Day impact your everyday life. We tend to focus on the totalitarian nightmare we would face in 2020 if the Axis Powers had won; but even if the Allies had eventually triumphed, every additional day of combat would have increased casualties. One of my college professors confided that – until Japan’s surrender — he was scheduled to be in the first wave of Marines to serve as cannon fodder on the beaches. Many of us would never have been born if not for the efforts that brought the war to a close in summer 1945. Did I just feel someone walking on my grave?

Finally, mark your calendars to make every Veterans Day and Memorial Day more special than the last.

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Copyright 2020 Danny Tyree. Danny welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.” Danny’s weekly column is distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons Inc. newspaper syndicate.

Tyrades! by Danny Tyree

When I was a carefree lad watching “Lost in Space,” the Robinson family’s high-tech hydroponic garden sounded neat.

Now I worry that the science fiction program sowed seeds that are taking us too far away from our roots of harvest festivals and “planting by the signs.”

According to a recent Wall Street Journal article, “vertical farms” may be the wave of the future – if we can find enough vertical WORKERS. (“Quit nagging, mom. I can’t have been slumped over the video game console for more than – HOW long does it take for mold to make penicillin? I WOULD whip out RENT MONEY for the basement, but I need both hands free for the controller. Sorry.”)

Vertical farms are located close to urban areas and occupy multistory buildings. Crops are grown in water or misted air instead of soil and are bathed in carefully controlled LED lights instead of natural sunlight.

Yes, we have reached an era when Paul Harvey’s 1978 speech “So, God made a farmer” is replaced with “So, the HR Department made a farmer.” If slavery reparations do materialize, instead of “40 acres and a mule,” beneficiaries will receive “40 stories and a drone.”

One might assume that with all the vaunted EFFICIENCIES of vertical farms, there will be no more need for agricultural SUBSIDIES. But as one industry expert chuckled, “How amusing. No, right here next to the trays and trays of squash, we have LOBBYISTS stacked all the way to the ceiling.”

Does no one worry about a handful of vertical farmers gaining too much market share? Seinfeld wouldn’t stand a chance against the CHICKPEA NAZI.

Aren’t you concerned about artificial intelligence (AI) taking on a big role in operating vertical farms? What if the smarty-pants devices get a little too self-aware and bossy? (“Good boy. You have raised your daily quota of vegetables. Now, EAT…YOUR…VEGETABLES! Look the other way while you feed them to the dog under the table? I’m sorry, Dave. I’m afraid I can’t do that.”)

I’m sure there are vertical-farm employees who take great pride in their work, but for most it will be just another 9-to-5 grind. Civilization will lose something indefinably precious when there are no more fiercely independent, calloused, sunbaked, jack-of-all-trades hometown heroes praying for relief from drought or flood. (“Heavenly Father, give me the right emoji to tell the tech guy on the next shift he needs to fix this glitch.”)

Some traditional “land spreadin’ out so far and wide” farms have passed through numerous generations. It’s not very inspirational for a vertical-farm owner to tell his progeny, “Someday all of this will be yours – unless some cybercriminal hacks the AI and the entire crop winds up in a Nigerian widow’s bank account.”

Perhaps we can rein in the breakneck pace of vertical farming via labeling. We currently have labels stigmatizing GMO crops. Maybe produce will bear a sticker announcing, “This rutabaga was produced by an underemployed 17th-century Antarctic LGBTQ Literature major who thinks chocolate milk comes from brown cows.”

The WSJ article spotlighted all the advantages of vertical farming, but it remained silent about the Big Picture of the ecosystem impact on all the bugs, birds and critters that depend on coexisting with traditional farmers.

Hey, is that a plague of dislocated locusts hitting office workers up for spare change?

“Danger, Will Robinson – danger!”

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Copyright 2020 Danny Tyree. Danny welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.” Danny’s weekly column is distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons Inc. newspaper syndicate.

Tyrades! by Danny Tyree

“Shower the people you love with love/ Show them the way that you feel.” – James Taylor

With all due respect to the five-time Grammy Award winner, I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain and I’ve seen sunny days when I wished people would put their advice where the sun DON’T shine.

I think most homo sapiens do a serviceable job of unbottling our emotions when a special person is terminally ill or going into a battle zone. But some well-intentioned buttinsky is always trying to guilt us into opening up around seemingly healthy acquaintances because – you never know – we may never see them alive again.

You’ve memorized the platitudes. It’s urgent that you thank your old coach, because he might get hit by a bus tomorrow. It’s urgent that you thank your childhood neighbor for buying your awful lemonade, because he might get hit by a bus tomorrow. It’s urgent… y’know, instead of chitchatting about long-ago favors, we ought to be rounding up all our mentors and benefactors, arming them with pitchforks and torches and GETTING THAT DRUNK BUS DRIVER OFF THE STREETS!

Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not heartless. My Sunday school class knows I think of them as family. I recently thanked the lady who introduced me to my wife 35 years ago. Out of the blue, I thanked a former classmate for defending me against teasing in fifth grade P.E. class. But do-gooders are feverishly brainstorming more and more professionals, friends, and acquaintances that we should be thanking, hugging, saluting, etc.

There’s no earthly way to do justice to EVERYONE. Not everybody gets a “Did you ever know that you’re my hero?” ribbon. You must PRIORITIZE and lug around actuarial charts to survive. (“Here comes Pete. Maybe it’s time to quit being superficial and finally open up about that time he covered for me and got fired. But wait…office job, good diet, no dangerous sports, no smoking, uses sunscreen…maybe next time. Hey, Pete – workin’ hard or hardly workin’, pal?”)

Focusing on the fragility of life can lead to some seemingly endless conversations. (“Nice chatting with you, Herb. Hope you have fun on your vacation. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. *Chuckle* But, seriously, here’s a list of things I wouldn’t do: lean against a rickety guardrail, drive on a bald tire, make a pass at a mobster’s girlfriend, eat foods processed on machinery also used for processing peanuts…”)

I know you can attain a natural high by getting in the habit of thinking about other people’s mortality and doling out the compliments, congratulations and apologies accordingly. But there’s a flip side to those emotions. (“Wait a minute…Wally is sizing me up and pitying ME because he thinks I’M the one who’s going to die first. Son of a gun. Hey, Wally, I’ll bet your wid… er, your WIFE… would look really smokin’ in black.”)

Be kind. Avoid regrets. But pace yourself. Unfortunately, blood kin merits extra deference.

“Uncle Aloysius, I can’t thank you enough for that riveting account of the time you – or your twin brother, you really can’t remember for sure – almost got chosen as an alternate for the Watching Paint Dry Competition in the state capital. I’m so inspired, I’m going to name my first son after you. Oh, wait – I went all the way through menopause during the story. Darn.”

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Copyright 2020 Danny Tyree. Danny welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.” Danny’s weekly column is distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons Inc. newspaper syndicate.

Tyrades! by Danny Tyree

Much of the nation is experiencing a prolonged heat wave, so of course your humble columnist counterintuitively conjures up WARM MEMORIES to comfort himself.

When I was in college, I sometimes supplemented my income by helping my late father with deliveries for Easy Pay Tire Store (the tires-and-appliances store where he worked for the Ritter family).

One delivery should have been routine (installing an air conditioner for a countryfied elderly couple I had known since my high school job at Sharp’s Drive-In Market), but we wound up in hot water.

(Yes, I perceived them as an “elderly couple”; but with the perspective of another four decades, I smack my forehead and declare, “Those codgers were pretty cool and in the prime of life! Ow! I threw my shoulder out of whack while smacking my forehead! Fetch me some liniment, dagnabbit!”)

Despite the sort of sultry summers testified to by all those southern courtroom scenes in movies, this was the couple’s first air conditioner. Scientific marvels are usually good news; but unfortunately, our arrival was an unmitigated UNPLEASANT SURPRISE for the wife.

You see, her chauvinistic husband had the audacity to make the purchase without consulting her. When we arrived with the appliance, she was way less interested in the specs for the BTUs than in finding someone’s B-U-T-T to kick.

She (call her Mrs. H.) experienced a meltdown (not the seasonal kind) and read Mr. H. the Riot Act. (Try reading the Riot Act with profuse sweat dripping all over the ink.)

It was an extravagant waste of hard-earned money or an insult to their pioneer forebears or the death knell of the screen window industry or the Devil’s Toolbox or SOMETHING, but she was violently opposed to the newfangled contraption.

(I’m glad Mr. H. didn’t tell her the full story – how he DROVE to Easy Pay in a horseless carriage, instead of relying on smoke signals or a messenger pigeon.)

Mr. H. assured us we could ignore her histrionics and proceed with the installation. Just as we were about to hoist the air conditioner into the window from the yard, she proclaimed from indoors, “I’m going to cut loose through this window with my shotgun!”

Dad and I looked at one another with matching “deer in the headlights” expressions. Our minds were racing to remember if we lived in a “stand your ground – even if you’d be better off sipping a glass of refreshing lemonade, old woman” state.

Then Mr. H. decided to pour gasoline on the fire by casually calling to Mrs. H. from the yard, “Ah’ll be expectin’ mah danner (dinner) in about an ire (hour)!”

Dad and I probably owed Stretch Armstrong ROYALTIES for the way we lifted the air conditioner into the window, leaning WAY out of buckshot range.

With immeasurable trepidation, we entered the house to do the final touches. By the time Dad had the appliance plugged in and putting forth its frosty goodness, the lady of the house was intrigued, delighted and treating the air conditioner like a best friend she hadn’t seen since grade school!

We skedaddled before the feuding couple could employ the “Are you as turned on as I am?” movie cliche.

Do you have your own anecdotes about summertime joys or hardships? I’d love to get your emails.

But consult your spouse! PLEASE consult your spouse!

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Copyright 2020 Danny Tyree. Danny welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.” Danny’s weekly column is distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons Inc. newspaper syndicate.