I was raised by TV. My formative years 5 thru 10 are reflected, for better or worse, in the Fall Previews shown below. I love these clips, the hair, the clothes, the cars, the graphics and special effects. The memories come flooding back. ENJOY!!
Starbucks and Jake Johannsen. Just on my way for yet another Starbucks. I highly recommend large daily doses of the wonderdrug caffeine. I also highly recommend large daily doses of laughter. What a magical time we live in. Enjoy!
I remember seeing a clip of Harold Lloyd hanging off a building when I was 10 years old and I freaked out, it was an amazing illusion of height. Take from the following videos what you will. The journalism in The History of The Flintstones is pretty intense, viewer discretion advised. Anyway, Happy saturday morning!
The Bonnechere Caves were a big part of my childhood. My dad and mom were good friends of the original owners, Tom and Ruth Woodward. Both gone now many years. Tom was a larger than life character. He was a showman, probably a genius, definitely a rebel and he had a cave. Tom, was Tom, but Ruth, was Mrs. Woodward . She was tough and razor smart. I think she grew up on the prairies during the Depression, though I stand to be corrected on that. Something made her tough. She told me once, one of the ways she had made herself smarter was to read and study a page of the dictionary everyday. Which she did, for many years, like clockwork, while waiting for the school bus to pick up her kids. One of the daughters was a high school pal of my dads.
Tom discovered the caves and opened them to the paying public. He used to say that when he was a boy, growing up poor in England, he always wanted a backyard with a waterfall and some caves. And thats what he got. When I was a kid this was part of my extended backyard. It fell within my five mile bicycle radius.
Eganville, was geographically manageable for a kid. Five minutes on your bike, in any direction, and you were in the bush. Waterfalls, caves, creeks, limestone quarries and riverbanks were daily destinations during the summer months. Truly a wonderland to grow up around.
The village, rising up on both banks of the Bonnechere River, maintained the classic small town on the riverbank design. Starting from the waters edge with a small clutch of older commercial buildings. The hotels are gone now. Up a little further the houses, nested and perched among the trees in an order only understood by the types of birds that frequent telephone lines and leafless branches at sunset. And Churches, plenty for everybody, it was a town full of steeples. Some gone now.
As picturesque as it was, the Bonnechere Valley could be slightly less kind in the winter months. It was different back then, winter had teeth. Snowstorms would last for a week. Coldsnaps… coldsnaps seems woefully inadequate… more like hell frozen over. If you did’nt have the requisite number of layers you ran the risk of having your blood freeze in your veins. Adults drank a lot more then, to prevent blood freeze-up, I suppose. Times were different. Snowmobile racing was a big distraction from the potentially deadly meteorological event known as February. Think winter directed by Michael Bay.
Even though the village was tiny, and had a population of only 1500 or so, there was something very traditional about the place. Handed down through the generations was a centuries old prejudice. On a day to day basis it was virtually invisible but somehow it cultivated. The prejudice was this, we didn’t know any of the Catholic kids, and they didn’t know us; until we got to high school. We were public school kids. A ragtag group of mostly, but not all, Protestants, many,like myself, Lutheran. My immediate clan was not particularly religious, but the family tree had its roots in the noble German traditions of Church and public service. I went to Sunday School. I sat in the little tiny wooden chairs, sang the bad songs, made the bad over-glued construction paper crafts. We put on a couple extravaganzas, one around Easter and another around Christmas. This went on for years. Anyway, I’m pretty sure, but I can’t confirm it, we didn’t know the Catholic kids because we were pretty sure our extravaganzas were better than their extravaganzas. So who needed them. Oh, we’d see em around, on the bridge, at the rink, swimming at the river but they were just ghosts to us.
This is where I grew up.
Isla Mujeres Mexico Hotel Kinich is a great place to stay. The rooms are great, the staff is awesome and the location is perfect. Its on one of the side streets downtown so its quiet at night but only a 3 minute walk to all the restaurants, bars, cafes, live music and a 5 minute walk to one of the worlds best beaches, North Beach. The video is a little long but you get to see everything in detail.
When you stay there make sure to tell them Skyscrapercamera on YouTube sent you. I’m trying to get a deal on my room for next year! – Thanks, Greg
My dear old dad, had he lived, would have been 73 this year. Its hard to believe hes been gone almost 30 years. He used to love driving the backroads. You could go all day and although you’d cut across paved roads, you did’nt have to drive on em to get anywhere if you didn’t want to and usually we did not. This was the ‘backroads- country- drop in and say hello- type of roadtrip’ that is still practiced by some today. The roadtrip bug bit me when I was young. It was’nt uncommon, in the summer months, to be piled into the open truck bed of our trusty F150, sometimes just me and Steve-O, other times heaps of cousins or neighbours kids. Barrelling down some quicksand-gravel topped, pothole infested ribbon of washboard, the AM radio blarin’ ‘Tinman”, the dust so thick it would burn the eyes, sting the skin and make your throat feel like you were drinking volcanic sandpaper. God it was great to be a kid!!!
Anyway,enough about roadtrips. The old man liked to laugh and had a pretty good sense of humour. Being German, some of the humour was a little odd. He ate Limburger cheese. The most disgusting, foul, toxic, substance on earth. One of dads great pleasures was convincing people to try it. He took great pride, and skill, in explaining how it was one of the finest cheeses in the world and tasted nothing like it smelled( of course it tasted much worse) and on and on. The reactions were always worth the investment. He would roar.
Dad loved TV. And dad loved radio. I have fond memories of watching Laugh-in, Ed Sullivan, the Smothers Brothers, Flip Wilson, Bob Newhart, Johhny Carson, Steve Allen, Jack Benny and so many more. TV or radio, one or the other was always on. Thanks dad. Happy Birthday.
This was the final song of a great show. Sherri and I were on a road trip to New York last winter and as we were walking past Radio City Music Hall we saw a lineup to get into John Mellencamps big show. In honour of my Birthday, an hour later we were siitting 10th row center. A couple hours after that we were eating Cheesecake at the Carnegie Deli. Fun Birthday!