On The Flintstones (and a Tiny Bit About the Infestation of Pointless PR Schmucks)

June 13, 2013:  Good Morning, Class ... This week we -- (meaning me) -- were  -- (meaning was) -- torn between between writing about why PR people are such uselesss, unnecessary, resource-sucking schmucks whose meaningless purpose in life centers on driving poor, innocent, good-intentioned writers like myself to the point of sour diarrhea with their utterly pointless and time-consuming formalities and importunate moronically self-consumed bullshit ... and writing about The Flintstones. For my own relative peace of mind, I thought it wise to go with The Flintstones.

It's a tad surprising that my Blah-ugh! has, up until now, omitted any Flintstone commentary, for it's a grand show and certainly a vitally important cultural, social and, dare I say, political lynchpin. Yet it's a big world out there. I realized this week that the Blondie (Chris Stein) song "Shayla" deserves an entire entry of its own, for Chris'sake, so with that kind of pedantic focus I'm having to regularly apply, it'll be years before I ever give Steven Spielberg his long-warranted and overdue due.

Anyway, I remain a faithful Flintstones fan, as we probably all do. But that doesn't mean -- like with everything else about me -- there aren't authentic concerns and questions that will probably never be answered. For instance, who was Gerry Johnson and why did she (or he) replace Bea Benederet as the voice of Betty Rubble? Why, in fact, did they stop crediting Benederet in the controversial 3rd Season? What was Wilma's relationship with Boney Hurdle really about (or, for that matter, her history with Rodney the Knife Thrower) And why was I so stupid my entire life as to believe that line in the opening song -- "Through the courtesy of Fred's two feet" -- was "Rudolph, turn and see a place to eat"? (Although, the more I think about it, there really were some valid reasons.)

It's hard to know where to begin writing about a show -- a phenomenon, really -- to which one could devote an entire series of books and perhaps several college courses. The clever use of animals to perform their menial tasks and replace modern automated machines alone is worthy of an essay. (I find it interesting how, even though it was in primitive times, some of the inventions are much more practical than what we have today, such as the turtle jack that will actually lower your car when you tell it to. Of course, some make no sense at all, such as the elephant sprinkler that Barney invents; I mean, how much water can it really hold in its trunk anyway?!)

Where to begin focusing? For one thing, it's fascinating to realize that the great Allan Melvin was one of the regular supporting voices on the show -- something I didn't ever realize until last month! Those of you (cretins) who don't know the name will recognize him not only as the extremely annoying Sam the Butcher from The Brady Bunch, but also Archie Bunker's neighbor and sometimes friend Barney Hefner. (A good trivia question, if nothing else -- Who graced the cast of three of the best and most important TV shows of last century?) I assume you already know that the Great Gazoo was voiced by the great Harvey Korman, who as you must also know did the voice of Carol Burnett.

We just started on the 5th Season last night and it's surprisingly startling how the show demands that you suspend reality going forward. Honestly, I never had a big problem accepting things like the Barney 'Copter (a.k.a. the Flintstone Flyer), Barney's invisibility, or Fred fighting the Bull-osaurus in Rockapulco. But Season Five starts right away with the introduction of Hoppie (the hoparoo -- a much less believable animal than Dino ever was). By the second episode Barney takes Fred to Dr. Len Frankenstone to help restore his sense and, consequently, he switches his personality with, respectively, Dino's, Barney's and ultimately Wilma's. (You probably also remember this episode as including the disturbing oddity of Dr. Dracuslab and his three bats; I mean, come on!)

But I don't want to imply I have a problem with any of this. I don't. It's just surprising to me that a show that was able to establish such a frank believability as a human drama had to, after only four full seasons, resort to such high chicanery. For example, in the rodeo episode, Pebbles suddenly has blue eyes in one scene. I mean, what the hell is that about?! Do they need to, from a dramaturlogical standpoint, establish her obvious love of her daddy by flashing new blue baby eyes? It just seems odd to me, that's all ...

I love The Flintstones, and could spend valuable hours reminiscing about a litany of Flintstone-related moments and experiences -- the spy woman who's "too important to be captured," the gravel-voiced song cameo of Ann Margrock doing "I Ain't Gonna Be Yo Fool," the walk and accompanying jazz music of Perry Gunite walking across the room in the bar to order "Rocks over rocks," Rock Quarry, the extreme oddity of Bam-Bam and Pebbles singing that "Let the Sunshine In" song, Uncle Giggles, "slalom," Wilma as the Happy Housewife singing "Make Your Hubby Happy," Fred's "Pass the poi!" line, "H-E-P-L," The Flintstone Canaries singing the Soft Soap theme on the Hum Along with Herman show, the grissly choking sound the cop makes when Fred tries to drag him through the hole in the wall of his new addition remove that's partially on Barney's property, Grandma Dynamite, Betty as Mrs. O'Lady, the Happy Anniversary song, and of course the cameo by the Beau Brummels, as the Beau Brummelstones, singing their awesome song "Laugh Laugh."

I could go on ... One day I may have to ...

Jarret Liotta on Writing -- Part I

December 2, 2009: Many of my most loyal readers constantly ask where I get my ideas for essays and stories. (Maybe they don't actually ask, but I can tell what they're thinking from the way they look at me.) As a rule I don't like to talk about myself, but I thought I'd make this rare exception and, per chance, enlighten some of my fans and followers as to the esoteric processes that drive and motivate this complex and -- dare I say -- scintillating young man.

In actuality, I get a great number of ideas when I'm out walking. I like to walk because it gives me a chance to ponder my victories and agonize over my defeats, as well as get a little exercise.

Just tonight, for instance, an idea came to me for creating a lengthy fantasy interview with a car company executive who explained to me why headlights were being made much brighter these days. (The blinding headlights I kept being flashed with also played a role. The exec's name was Milton Dickwad, and in that frustrating politically charged avoidant manner unique to corporate PR men, he tries to convince us that the brighter, sharper headlights, though they hurt one's eyes beyond reason, are actually generating more energy back toward the cellunoid (whatever that is) through a very complicated process we're all too stupid to understand, thereby making the car more fuel efficient and, therefore, more environmentally friendly. And, of course, in the most classic of mass-American-appeal fashions, we blindly take his word for it and exit the interview grateful for the little pine tree air freshner he granted us gratis.)

Another recent idea, which came about thanks to a coworker, after he saw me drinking a bottle of Snapple iced tea, centers on exposing the sham of Snapple's "Real" Facts inside their caps. Very few people seem to know that these "facts" are mostly lies, but not all them. In order to differentiate, you have to visit their stupid website. I find this somehow monstrous, as they're planting stupid ideas in my and my children's heads every time we're stupid enough to read their stupid caps (and believe me, we're that stupid!) It infuriates me, because I know from experience that misinformation, once learned, will, over time, become fact in a brain, unless it's replaced. Therefore, unless we take the time to flush the information out by researching the facts -- and I promise you, we never will! -- we're stuck going through the rest of our lives believing erroneous trivia about bees and Indian monkeys and a whole variety of other stupid things ... Fucking assholes! I wish I'd stop drinking their stupid tea. (That'd show them!)

But I digress. I merely wanted to point out how easily and arbitrarily my story ideas arise. The key is getting them down. In some strange way, once the idea hits, in an instant I can almost feel exactly how the thing is to be written, and yet I still have to discipline myself through the process of doing it. More often than not, as you can see from the above, I flippantly make some notes on one idea or another, then never get back to it. On rare occasions I'll regret it, and maybe even revisit an idea many months later, but mostly those ideas are replaced by new ones which -- upon entering the mind -- simply seem like the best, most vital, most original and engaging idea ever to be thought up ... until the next one replaces it ...

Anyway, the most important point is, Why are you wasting your time reading about these stupid ideas when you should be away from your computer nurturing yourself with ice cream and pornography? Haven't I taught you anything, O favorite readers of mine!