His Name ... José Jiménez, Astronaut

NASA's shuttle Atlantis launched into outer space this morning, marking the end of an impressive half century for American primates. I remember life before the race to penetrate the heavens and, strangely, find myself living in the future where no more of our astronauts will pop up beyond the Earth's atmosphere strapped inside USA vehicles.

My comment on Twitter got me to reminiscing.

I was around for the USA's first manned space flight & the last. The best thing the NASA programs gave me was José Jiménez.

I was being silly, but, to be truthful, not much.

In 1961, before manned rocket flights, a comedy routine jumped to the top of the airplay on Top 40 radio stations, and elsewhere, becoming a swift national sensation. Comedian Bill Dana released an in-depth Q&A with his comic character, José Jiménez. It seems the endearing innocent somehow positioned himself to become "the first man in space!"

I was nine and completely devoted to this piece of comedy brilliance. So consumed, I demanded -- as much as a kid could dare -- that my mother purchase the 45 RPM double-sided single, which I played on our turntable incessantly, memorizing and simultaneously performing the material in response to interviewer Don Hinckley.

I found "The Astronaut" at YouTube to share here, but this particular copy has an added puppet show performance video inserted by a fan. Underlying, however, is the uncut audio I still adore and enjoy as if it were emanating from a news broadcast.

Before listening, Wikipedia adds an anecdote about José's superstar fame:

Perhaps surprisingly, the character of José Jiménez caught on amongst the seven Mercury astronauts, and Dana became good friends with them. "Okay, José, you're on your way!" Deke Slayton quipped as Alan Shepard's famous first flight launched, in reference to the astronaut parody.

For his role as José the Astronaut, Dana was officially made an honorary Mercury astronaut.

José Jiménez: "The Astronaut" via YouTube

Top 10 Signs the Movie You're Watching Will Not Win an Oscar

10. "Our Feature Presentation" title has big finger pointing at the exit.

9. Five dollar surcharge for No-D glasses.

8. Air traffic controllers shut down projector beam.

7. Hair balls under six admitted free.

6. Don Cheadle passes by your seat, offers lift home, now, man!

5. Two thumbs up your nose trying to pull yourself out of the auditorium.

4. Turned down by Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson. Starring Rosie "The Rock" O'Donnell.

3. Avatars are blue, but look and sound like Clumsy Smurf, Tuffy Smurf, Dreamy Smurf, Smurfette, and Gasping Tom Bosley.

2. Unmarked vans halt beneath screen, smuggle viewers to Cinema 12.

And the Top One Sign the Movie You're Watching Will Not Win an Oscar:

Fellow audience Muppets remove their eyes, put them into the box with the ping-pong paddles.

---

Thanks, topic suggested by Bob Middleton.

Walk Like a Man, Talk Like a Man

Since 1933, a cornerstone of the Radio City holiday performances has been the "Parade of the Wooden Soldiers," shown in this promotional photograph. The Rockettes march about in tiny steps and precise formations to create the illusion of gigantic toys executing their military drills. For many viewers, it is the favorite sequence of "Christmas Spectacular," met with hearty applause of recognition as Santa winds them up to tippy toe onward.

The musical number is so iconic and beloved, I was highly tickled to round a corner after the cast had departed and behold the sharp uniforms congregating near the Fox Theatre stage door, apparently in anticipation of laundry day. I stopped and smiled.



I felt surprisingly paternal to the young ladies during our association, so it is with fondness and a gentleman's innocence when I claim I got into the Rockettes' pants.

Happy Hump Day 2

I have raved about the delightful catering provided for the cast and crew during the Atlanta run of "Radio City Christmas Spectacular" at the Fox. I couldn't have been more pleased and my tummy is humbled and grateful to the producers and the theatre.

Well, to be honest, the food improved after the first week. Initially, it was kinda bland, but I might have been in the wrong buffet line....

Say Wha'?

Fox Theatre
Atlanta, GA
November 2009

One evening, moments before the second act in a technical rehearsal of "Radio City Christmas Spectacular," I sat quietly at the video controls, listening over my earpiece to the Production Stage Manager chat with members of the crew. She noted several last minute preparations. Here's an actual conversation.

Stage Manager: "Are the elves all Miked up, yet?"

Long pause.

Me: "Um, I don't know whether I should take offense at that."

Stage Manager: "At what?"

Me: "All Miked up."

Short pause.

Stage Manager: "I meant 'microphone.'"

Me: "Oh-hhh..."

Eating With the Stars

I've been finished with my commitment to the "Radio City Christmas Spectacular" for five days and I am so hungry. Golly, did they feed us!

Thanksgiving weekend alone, we put on 11 shows (and untold poundage) in three days. We ate every three hours, following the Nativity finale. That's eight catered feasts in three days -- plus, snacks whenever we pleased.

To fit them all in, I had to schedule times to belch.

"I can erupt at 2:57, Intermission, which means I can Coca-Cola now and, maybe, THESE BROWNIES!... Nom. Nom. Nom. Nom. Nom...."

The crew always ate with the cast. Rockettes in their robes AND gravy!

For that I gave thanks.

Indeed, the Rockettes wore bathrobes to the buffets, before changing back into their work clothes. I simply continued to wear the terrycloth kimono while doing my job, strutting up through the Fox Theatre balcony crowds to the projection room.

Breezy! And more time for scarfing!

Santa dined in his red, fur-trimmed Slanket, which had to be altered after each slurp fest, while the Ensemble was seen in fleece Snuggies, which kept them warm and the sheep out of the commissary.

Say, for what it's worth, those Rockettes can pack away the food. I was astounded to see the girls' plates piled high with desserts galore. Of course, that's what abundant exercise can allow -- and exactly how I keep my figure, through vigorous exercise. I'm on The Burp Work-Out.

I stretched on a sofa after one humongous meal, stuffed, fulfilled, and happy, until some wag pointed at my tummy and asked if I were understudying the camels.

Nightmare Closet

Watching the performers behind the scenes was an education. They were forever rehearsing and keeping up to speed in their parts. The Dance Captains and other production personnel were relentless in their scrutiny of the toe tapping. Swing feet would be sent onto the stage on a moment's notice. This show is a meat grinder on dancers. The place was lined with severed heads.

Brutal.

Happy Hump Day!

Meet the actors (or, perhaps, I should say "actresses") I worked with during the "Radio City Christmas Spectacular" engagement in Atlanta.



These are great gals. I visited each day in their dressing corral behind the Fox Theatre.

Yes, I know, ladies, you won't date me either.


The girls are from Kansas. That is correct: Kansas camels, named Missy and Laverne, not Laverne and Shirley, as I originally had been informed.

They'd eye me as I walked up and head bump each other and snort with glee. I believe that's ruminant quadruped for "Squiggy."

The camels tour and appear in the Nativity scene, but due to The Rockettes' strong bargaining position, my furry friends don't do any fancy footwork in the show. They walk on stage, chew the scenery, and pay their respects to the baby Jesus impersonator. Then, they are outta there, for a roll in the hay.

Big Weekend

My 3½ weeks on the crew of Atlanta's presentation of the "Radio City Christmas Spectacular" concluded early Monday morning after the final show led to eight hours of striking the rental projection equipment for the ship out. Four of those hours involved heavy lifting and the other four involved heavy limping.

I also agreed to be fed twice. No Rockette agreed to pat me on the head and coo, "Poor baby."



The Fox Theatre's Production Manager told me I won the award for early exit. I left dozens of stagehands behind in my dust as they continued their massive 24-hour task to pack the sets, wardrobe, and technical apparatus onto anywhere between 17 and 22 huge trucks, depending to whom I talked.

Santa packed and flew his own sleigh. S'okay. He has a Teamsters card.

I knew the time had arrived for me to leave when the elf shoes were on the road to Dallas. They'll tinkle starting Thursday.

My new pals, the camels, donkey, and sheep, left after the curtain. They ate it and then clopped into a limo and sped away.

I heard a Rockette coo, "Poor ewe."

Glamorous, Isn't It?

After my 35mm movie clip insertion into the "Radio City Christmas Spectacular" performances, I make my way from the projection booth, high atop the Fox Theatre, down through the vast balcony and lobby (furtively dodging snippy, power-hungry volunteer ushers), into and along the basement, up the stairs, treading the stage over to this ultra-tech video console, located in a utility closet across the hall from The Slop Room, where the big sink and mop reside, fester, and plot.

I feel so regal.

From this location, I await my cue to play and project an 89-second piece of video into the famous Radio City "Living Nativity" sequence, via the actual equipment used in Bethlehem on that fateful night.

Hey, Kids, Let's Put on a Show!

I arrived for my first day of rehearsals on the Atlanta engagement of the "Radio City Christmas Spectacular Starring The Rockettes" at The Fabulous Fox Theatre, shown above. The venue is not quite so fab at dawn when I'm sleepy, but still more than nifty.

My work on the show's crew may be harder than I had previously thought. The production office called and said, "Bring a toothbrush and print-out a Mapquest to your final burial spot."

The hours and days and nights of set-up and rehearsing have been long, but fun. We open this evening for 35 performances, sometimes as many as four per day, over the next few weeks.

The good news is, however, if I die while toiling on "Radio City," The Rockettes will be there for "Taps."

Big Weekend

Big weekend, rehearsing "Radio City Christmas Spectacular," I devoured two scrumptious crew-provided meals and three crew-provided snacks, all in one day.

I love the show business!

The Rockettes' eye-high kicks are impressive, but can't hold a fork to The Rockettes' mouth-high pie.

Fare Thee Well, The Rockettes Need Me...

I'm off to join the circus. Well, not exactly. I'm embedding myself with the Atlanta crew of "Radio City Christmas Spectacular," which is already underway preparing the stage, sets, props, livestock, and technical marvels which will make the huge production come together for 35 performances later this month and into December.

I'm excited to be part of a show of this magnitude and I'm up to speed for my specialty number, "I Wanna Hippopotamus for Christmas and Lots of Fresh Newspapers Forever, Maybe Some Renuzit."

Crooning and gyrating like an orphan boy beaver, I wear protruding eyeteeth and lederhosen (not protruding, it's Christmas, people!), and elf shoes ensconced with jingle bells and elf elite's foot powder.

I am adorable.

Just in case. I'm ready with that dazzling piece of musical magic just in case. It is a show-stopper^®.

Otherwise, I'll have duties behind the scenes and in the projection room during the extravaganzas, toting my throat lozenges and truss and seasonal salves, just in case. Just in case.

Okay. I'm heading out, high steppin', high kickin' sideways through our kitchen door, down the steps, and into the car. It's hard to do kicks in a Saturn, so I'll probably toe tap until I arrive sideways, up the steps, and through the Fox Theatre stage door.

"How do you do, Mademoiselles Rockettes?"

'House of Hits,' Then and Now

Continued From: "Michael's 'Navy'," "'A Hard Day's' Plight," "Tales From the Dark Slide: The Lost Picture Shows," "What a Way to Beau," and "'How the West Was' Run."

I am a student of movie advertising, fascinated by the art of the coming attractions trailers, posters, and print ads. I peruse the displays in newspapers for extended periods and remember doing so in earnest as early as age eight. That's when I noticed the Plaza Theatre had its own slogan.

There it is, the ever-present, "House of Hits."

How cool is that? No other theatre in Atlanta dared boast such a high platitude upon itself, which was strange, considering other theatres ran the same mix of pictures as the Plaza.

Few, if any, were knowingly and actively booking flops, seeking the title of "House of Bombs."

Oh, the Fox did brag conceit about its fabulousness and being "The South's Finest," but those were descriptions of environment, not the product on the silver screen.

Much like the Capri, or I should say, "The Comfortable Capri," a curious, milquetoast claim.

That's the best they could come up with?

So, if the Fox is "fabulous" and the Capri is "comfortable," we're comparing a tuxedo to a muu-muu and bunny slippers.

I've got news for them. The Capri was never comfortable. It was somewhere between a wedgie and flesh caught in a zipper.

Truth be told, few of us buy tickets to look at the interior design or lavish in relaxation splendor. We purchase admission to see a particular show and it had better score!

The Plaza believed, apparently, the world revolved around it, so competitors would have to be content to acknowledge their subordinate status to the bold, overlordy "House of Hits," settling for lesser slogans, such as, "Tool Shed of Hits," "Garage Apartment of Hits," Mother-in-Law Cottage of Hits," "Slave Quarters of Hits," or "Hash House of Hits, Now With Butter Squirts."

Obviously, such verbiages could sap too much valuable advertising space. I, frankly, don't recall seeing these particular bombasts used. Any possible exhibitors' turf war was fought in private.

"House of Hits" are the three little words I remember most from throughout the 1960s. Unfortunately, the catchphrase ceased to apply during the next decade, as the Plaza dabbled and splashed in the seedy cinematic underbelly of skin flicks. The beloved term, altered slightly, made way for, the obvious, "House of Hims."

Actually, I don't comprehend what happened to the slogan. Whatever the new wording became, they probably chickened out like I did. Titular decisions are problematic.


For the past four decades, since the Plaza dropped the phrase, I've been known to answer my humble abode's telephone, "House of Hits."

I like the sound and, subsequently, no one ever inquires about "Ishtar," "Hudson Hawk," nor "Howard the Duck."

In recent years, I've drifted to answering my phones with either "Funhouse," "Funmobile," or "FunWalmart," depending on the globetrotting.

I do drop in the occasional "House of Hits" for sentimental reasons and to keep the franchise alive. Use it or lose it.

In closing, I know this story had you at "House of Hits," but I thought you might also be interested in my preferred method to conclude telephone conversations.

Because "Good-bye" is so shopworn, so 1920, so civil, I opt for either "Plenty Free Parking" or "Member F.D.I.C."

It all depends on my mood and area financial regulations.

_{Plaza Theatre marquee photo by dbking, Creative Commons license.
1964 movie theatre ads courtesy The Stan Malone Collection. Closed Mondays.}

'How the West Was' Run

Continued From: "Michael's 'Navy'," "'A Hard Day's' Plight," "Tales From the Dark Slide: The Lost Picture Shows," and "What a Way to Beau"

This newspaper advertisement, dated Aug. 5, 1964, is for a suburban showcase "at popular prices" of "How the West Was Won," following its initial 30-week CINERAMA engagement at Martin Cinerama Theatre, downtown Atlanta, the previous year.

As luck would have it, when I discovered the ad, I was listening to Alfred Newman's glorious "How the West Was Won" score.

Yep, I'm a cowboy.

Still no pony, though.

Giddyup. The Cobb Center Theatre, a large shopping mall installation, was newish at this point, a thousand-seat beauty.

Giddyup. The last time I was in the area, the enterprise had long been closed, ravaged in graffiti, broken glass, high weeds, and a posted condemnation notice. It looked like a slum. I snapped my fingers in a steady beat and waited for the Sharks and the Jets to pirouette by.

I did a little divertissement, an arabesque and danse de caractère into my car, and drove away -- but with a sneer and disheveled sweatshirt.

MGM's "How the West Was Won" was the last of the 3-strip CINERAMA productions, meaning the epic had been photographed with a trio of synchronized cameras, placed adjacent to one another to grab their portions of the BIG pictures.

The finished movie, shown from interlocked 35mm projectors, had each machine beaming one-third of the collective image onto a mammoth deep-curved screen. The jolt was CINERAMA managed to extend the action to the edges of the viewer's peripheral vision. It was a precursor to virtual reality entertainment.

Only a handful of theatres were equipped for the full-scale CINERAMA treatment, so after the initial "How the West Was Won" playdates, the three sections of footage were combined and printed onto a single strip of 35mm celluloid to exhibit in ordinary cinemas on their essentially flat, significantly smaller screens. Today, this cheat is known as Fake IMAX.

No, not really, but I feel better. The visual resolution and manipulation was not true CINERAMA and, surely, it was a disappointment to witness, even in a nice venue like the Cobb Center.

Elsewhere, going forward, the official CINERAMA theatres featured special one-strip 70mm, deep-curve projection, as first hatched via "It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad World" and "Circus World." Now peddling blow-ups of traditional films, the revised, less clunky, less expensive process was never as viscerally successful as pure CINERAMA, although worthwhile. The era burned out with "Krakatoa, East of Java," five years down the hole.

Readers are highly recommended to view the Blu-ray digital restoration of "How the West Was Won," which has a stunning transfer, cleverly suggesting the deep-curve of the intended cinematography and presentation.

I've seen "HTWWW" six times in actual CINERAMA performances, as recently as 2003 in Los Angeles' CINERAMA Dome. Sitting up close, centered adjacent to the TV, watching the "Smilebox" edition on a 46-inch 1080p set is nearly as satisfying as being plunked into the "sweet spot" at a CINERAMA theatre. (The standard 2008 DVD has its rewards, too.)

In some ways, such as image clarity, brightness, and absence of format distractions, the video experience is better. I could smell the buffalo and Eli Wallach, so, darn it, they've gone too far.


Related: "Cinerama Holiday" | "It's the Bass Bass Bass Bass Words"

_{Thanks to Stan Malone}

What a Way to Beau

Continued From: "Michael's 'Navy'," "'A Hard Day's' Plight," and "Tales From the Dark Slide: The Lost Picture Shows"

One of those 1960s' sex romps delivering more tease than T's, "What a Way to Go," was playing in Atlanta's finest movie theatre when "A Hard Day's Night" and "McHale's Navy" came to town. Top heavy with perky stars, no one could fault The Fabulous Fox passing on the singers and the sailors for the swingers.


Weeks later, we presented "What a Way to Go" at my employer's Emory Theatre.

I spent a long Saturday in the basement, spray-painting 450 or so large metal alphabet letters fire-engine red to spruce up the neon marquee over the street entrance.

I listened to Shirley MacLaine and her lover boys cuddling and smooching, show after show, as the soundtrack squeezed through the cracks in the wooden auditorium floor above my head. The package was a perfect, ear-opening mating lesson for a 12-year-old lad: the birds and the bees and the buzz.

Inhaling can after can of spray paint fumes can do that.

And explains why to this day before I sex romp, I shake it vigorously until I hear a tiny ball roll around inside.

_{Special thanks to Stan Malone}

Back to the Fab: Bygones With 'the Wind'

Continued From: "100 Things About Me #170: Fabulous Fun" and "Fox: In the Box"

Recently, Scott phoned from The Fabulous Fox, "Mike, come run 'Gone With the Wind' with me on Sunday."

"Aw, we don't need to do that, do we? Haven't we shown it enough?"

"Apparently, not," he said, considering our yearly unspoolings in the '80s and intermittent bookings since. I last showed the four-hour southern epic there 11 years ago and Scott: five. "Gone With the Wind" always delivers a crowd in Atlanta.

"Well, ohhhh-kay," I said in my little boy "don't wanna do chores and stuff, Mommy," voice.


And days later, after seven years on furlough, I was back, working the Fab.

Durrett and Rhett, together again. Scott and Sc'lett, too.

Frankly, I did give a damn, when I said, "What do you mean 'they're going to feed us'?"

"We get meals now, part of the deal," Scott explained, morphing into and out of Santa Claus. "We order. Theatre buys and delivers."

"If I had known that," I said, "I would've shown 'The Hottie and the Nottie' with you. 'The House Bunny,' even. I'm free 'Paul Blart, Mall Cop.'"

Soon, we were underway. On Scott's cue, I was to push the large, green, thumbs-optional buttons underneath the porthole. I prefer the thumbs to, say, an index and a pinky. My thumbs are powerful and exacting and seasoned veterans. I give the audience professionalism, knuckled strength, and, yes, humanity.

No awards, please. I was on the clock -- with hot sustenance and sporks to come.

Thumbs #1 and #2 punched, synchronized and cute, changing the bright light beams tilting down to the screen from the digitally-shown "Fox Theatre Feature Presentation" header over to the 70/35mm film projector.

As Max Steiner's stirring "Gone With the Wind" overture enveloped the audience, I heard myself say, "How do, Cap'n Butler!"

Adding, "Enough work, when do we eat?"

I've always been inquisitive.

"We've got to do the sound checks, first," Taskmaster Scott informed me. "You walk around the auditorium and listen. I'll stay here and adjust the levels, if need be," he said, presenting me with a portable two-way radio.

It took me a few minutes to negotiate the numerous stairways descending to the balcony and onto the main lobby floor, where I sharp right-turned and passed unobtrusively through the packed, mammoth orchestra audience to a position near the stage, underneath the screen.

Scarlett O'Hara squeezed into her swangin' hoop party frock. Scott whispered into his radio, "Mike, are you there?"

"Look! I'm walkie and I'm talkie! Now, you walkie and talkie, Taskmaster Scott. I'm walkie and talkie! Are you walkie and talkie?"

"Good, Brian Regan, ha, funny. It's the Civil War, Mike. They had dashie and yelpie."

The movie volume was assessed to be about as balanced as it can get inside a gargantuan plaster room with 4,000-plus popcorn munchers gawking shoulder to shoulder.

I returned to the booth. We settled into our projection caretakers' routines for the duration of the matinee, selecting items off Today's Menu.

Lunch arrived shortly after Sherman burned Atlanta to the ground.

"That battle was a terrible, terrible thing, and right here on Peachtree St.," I sighed. "But worth it for this complimentary cheese and spinach ravioli."

Scott was lost in thought -- probably something highly technical concerning the show in progress. He said, "What kind of wine goes with 'Fast & Furious 4?'"

"That would be Yoo-Hoo," I offered.

Minutes before five o'clock, "Gone With the Wind" concluded. The theatre closed its doors for a quick clean-up, as Scott and I reset the equipment for another round. We also made a small adjustment.

Sometimes the intelligibility of the dialogue on a 1939 film is difficult to discern via 2009 amplification methods. Scott took his tiny jeweler's screwdriver to the sound racks and administered the surgical correction. We conferred and we were confident, on the next show, Rhett would not be heard to say, "Frankly, my dweeb, I don't give a drat."

It comes with experience, folks.

The evening's throng was ushered into the Fab and we began again. This "Gone With the Wind" went off without a hitch.

Sherman burned Atlanta to the ground. Persistent bastard, I'll give him that.

"Would you like chilled, bottled grocery store tap water with your Panini, sir?"

I nodded to Scott and smacked my thanks, before sharing the bad news: "I'll need to be off whenever 'Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs' plays. I'm a vegetarian."

"What if you only ran the reels pertaining to clear skies or simple red sauce?"

"Mmm. Okay," I caved, arm twisted. "Maybe we can order Chinese."

"You ever thread a projector with chopsticks?"

"Fortune cookie say, 'Anything possible.'"

At 11:07 p.m., we closed out the movie and the final capacity crowd of happy customers headed home.

"Fabulous," Scott said to me.

"What say we run a late show? I'm hungry."

Incoming

My California buddy, Rich, sent me a clipping from the "Pasadena Star News," detailing a new movie theatre in his area.

PASADENA - At a time of general belt-tightening, Australia-based Gold Class Cinemas is betting that movie audiences in Old Pasadena will shell out $22 to $32 apiece to enjoy what they call "the ultimate luxury cinema experience...."

Patrons can meet in the lounge or bar, [businessman Rob] Goldberg said, then eat dinner cooked by an executive chef - Kobe beef and lobster, perhaps - while watching movies from a reclining armchair in a 40-seat theater....

And no, he said, it's not like sitting in your recliner at home, eating dinner on a tray in front of the big-screen television.

"Number one, people probably don't have butlers, and a 30-foot screen ... and they probably don't have Dolby 5.1 digital sound," Goldberg said. "If you get cold, you can press a call button and they'll bring you a blanket. Seriously!"

"...It's like a movie and a spa at the same time," he said. "You can truly relax and be good to yourself."

I hate to snap a wet towel at the spa spin, but I would be avoiding this theatre with a passion.

I don't want to hear or smell people masticating while "Bolt" gets sidetracked by their doggie bag fixin's.

I also do not desire melted butter splattered onto my 3-D glasses in a lobster claw munch gone horribly wrong.

I do like the $32 admission price, as that amount gives me permission to use the ticket money to buy the Blu-ray instead. I'll watch at the house with my own damn blankie, thank you.

And the wife gets in free! Seriously!

Movies are definitely a better overall viewer experience in home high-def. It's not the size of a screen that is most important. It's the quality of the image -- and the quiet far away from strange, annoying social climbers talking with their mouths full of London Broil and Twizzlers Au Jus.

The movie should be the focus of going out to a movie. At a so-called luxury cinema, it is not. The motion picture would be a disraction. You'll be looking at your gravy puddle more than Matthew McConaughey--

Wait a minute. I just broke my argument.

Something Wicked This Way Bums

It was fun to attend "Wicked" in Atlanta during the Halloween season, but the most wicked things we saw were the t-shirts in the lobby for thirty-five dollars.

I Heard It Through the Tape, Mime

Paramount sent me this photo from "Madagascar: Escape 2 Africa." The image appears to have been taken inside a tattered airplane, but it's also my dream home theatre, mostly due to the animals and 10-minute movie reels.

Oddly enough, the setting reminds me of one horrible day during the summer following high school.

Because of a personnel emergency, my projectionist union sent me to run the far-beyond tacky flicks at the Houston Street Art Cinema in Atlanta. I was recently 18 and scared to death to be downtown in a dive, but I was working my way to college. This place would prove to be more educational than Biology Lab.

The theatre was an old, greasy automobile garage that had been converted into a makeshift auditorium. They specialized in naughty 16mm silent films for gentlemen, cough cough, and their (where applicable) guests, hack hack cough hack shudder.

To placate these discerning audiences, I was instructed to feed an audio cassette of Burt Bacharach's "The Look of Love" album repeatedly through the speaker system, so the overcoat crowd would be dazzled and mood-enhanced by the miracle of sound.

"I can hardly wait to hold you, feel my arms around you, how long I have waited..."

Show business.

Classy.

Thank goodness it wasn't "Raindrops Keep Fallin' on My Head."

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_{With apologies to Mr. Bacharach and, of course, B.J. Thomas.}