In my head, every one of those was a Top Ten hit, yet in reality only the first two troubled the UK charts (9 To 5 got to #47... can you believe that?). Despite that, Dolly is one of the few artists I've come across to have a separate discography page for Albums and Singles on iffypedia... so I doubt she worried much about her British record sales.
Dolly defined country music glamour.
Dolly had her own bridge and theme park.
Dolly single-handedly cured Covid. (Well, she did a hell of a lot more than most politicians.)
Like Tina Turner before her, I thought Dolly would go on forever.
Teachers love their Awareness Days' Calendar. Black History
Month. World Environment Day. International Literacy Day. There’s always
something to build a lesson on if you go searching.
Along the way, I’ve come across some truly ridiculous
awareness days… and so… you can guess the rest.
What better day to start than January 16th?
It's National
Nothing Day!
National Nothing Day is an "un-event" created in
1972 by newspaper columnist Harold Pullman Coffin and observed in the United
States annually on January 16 since 1973.
Its aim is “to provide Americans with one National Day when
they can just sit without celebrating, observing or honouring anything”.
We need this day in the UK too!
Here are some sweets nothings to help us celebrate….
Even though I'm not a football fan, I've been enjoying the show Ted Lasso very much. Louise got bored with it towards the end of the first season, she said it was trying too hard to recreate the "feelgood" tone of Parks & Recreation... and I can see what she means... but I'll take my feelgood anywhere I can get it these days.
Anyway, I finally had time to watch the end of Season 1 over the Easter holiday, and that last episode had me in tears on more than one occasion. I can see perfectly well that the show is emotionally manipulative, but so much TV leaves me feeling absolutely nothing these days, so I think it's worthy of note when something breaks through my cynicism.
There was one line in particular that made me hit pause until I had time to collect myself and carry on watching. It worked in the context of the show, but it spoke to me beyond that... and made me grateful for what I've got.
There is something worse out there than being sad, and that is being alone and sad.
Feeling brow-beaten Day after day, I think it's over, but I just can't get away
You said, forget it, Well, don't jump the gun, You're laughing this time, Next time, you might be the one To tell... The Story of the Blues!
First they take your pride, Turn it all inside, And then you realise you've got nothing left to lose So you try to stop, Try to get back up And then you realise, you're telling The Story of the Blues.
At a California university in the 1950s, a rather bizarre experiment took place.
A man is sitting in a chair with lots of electrical wires coming out of it. Some of these wires are taped to his arms, his legs and his face with electrodes. One by one, a group of student volunteers are led into an adjacent room where they can see the wired-up man through a window. A scientist in a white coat tells them that they are taking part in an experiment, that it’s quite safe, and that it’s for the good of humanity. All they have to do is follow instructions.
On the desk in front of them is a box with a big red button on. The scientist checks his watch, consults his clipboard, and then says, “Push the button.”
The student pushes the button.
The man in the next room suddenly begins to scream and convulse, his body twisting and writhing, his face stretched in agony. This goes on for a few seconds before it stops and the man slumps back into his chair.
“Did I…?” says the volunteer, looking concerned. “Was that because I…?”
“Press the button again,” says the scientist.
“Wait, no, did I…?”
“Press the button again.”
“I don’t want to hurt him. You said it was safe. I don’t think—”
As recommended by Ben, I’ve started reading Dr. Faith G. Harper’s Unfuck Your Brain. At first, I found her tone a little uncomfortable for a science / self-help book, because she swears. A lot. Not just in the title of the book, but pretty much every other sentence. She also uses a lot of slang and hipster / yoof speak that seems out of place for a medical professional of her age (not that I know exactly how old she is, but she doesn’t look like a fresh-faced Millennial).
However, after a chapter or two, I found myself warming to her style, even appreciating it. She clearly knows her shit (to use her vernacular), and throws a lot of heavy brain-science at you, but does so in a way that’s very down to earth and actually quite endearing after a while. Your own mileage may vary, but I’m starting to learn that we can choose how we react to things, whether we like them or not. We don’t have to follow our initial instincts… which is a good thing, since my initial instinct appears to be hardwired to dislike most things automatically… and then just go along with that, without question. This may well have something to do with a concept Dr. Faith has just introduced me too: my storytelling brain…
It's not just English teachers, frustrated wannabe novelists and people who spend far too much time writing about obscure musical trivia on the internet who have storytelling brains… we all do. Here’s Paul J. Zak, director of the Centre for Neuroeconomics Studies at Claremont Graduate University in California.
…as social creatures who regularly affiliate with strangers, stories are an effective way to transmit important information and values from one individual or community to the next. Stories that are personal and emotionally compelling engage more of the brain, and thus are better remembered, than simply stating a set of facts.
Weirdly, this is something I’ve been teaching my students for a while now in my own clumsy way, without really understanding the science behind it. The writing question in GCSE English Language Paper 2 gives students an opinion such as “Homework is a waste of time” or “Prisons are too lenient” and then asks them to write an article, speech or letter in which they argue their opinion on this subject, for or against. I regularly advise students that the worst thing they can do is to start out by telling the reader their opinion and bombarding them with facts – much better to open with a story that illustrates their opinion in a persuasive manner.
We all love stories – and good stories make us care about characters and want to know what happens to them. Even unpleasant characters. Stories help us process our own experiences, emotions and relationships. Through stories we gain empathy which helps us connect and stay connected with other people (remember how the amygdala is interested in protecting our place in society as much as saving us from danger?). You meet your mate in the pub? What’s the first thing you say after the initial greetings and small talk are out of the way? “You’ll never guess what happened to me this week…”
Storytelling is also what our brains do when they’ve not got anything more important to deal with. That’s why our brains keep telling stories when we’re asleep – dreaming. That’s why our minds wander when we’re driving home and we start to construct stories about what we’ll have for tea, where we’re going this weekend, the conversation we might have with our significant other. We make plans, which are just stories, and try to head off conflict (which is an essential part of any story, but something we go out of our way to avoid in real life). And Dr. Zak even believes it’s why we slow down to look at car accidents – it’s not out of a ghoulish desire to see mangled bodies and twisted metal, it’s self-preservation. If we can construct a story about why it happened, we can then stop the same thing happening to ourselves. So don’t feel guilty the next time you drive by a multi-car pile-up: the scientists have given you a free pass to gawk.
Stories help us learn. This is something good teachers understand. Even barely average to occasionally piss poor teachers like myself pick it up eventually. Say I’ve got to explain the imperative voice to a class. I can give them the grammatical explanation like so…
“The imperative mood is a verb form used to make a demand, issue a warning, or give advice or instructions. The subject of sentences in the imperative mood is implied to be the second-person pronoun “you,” but the word usually isn't actually included (e.g., “close the door”).”
Or I can tell them the story at the top of this post, to illustrate the power of a command sentence that uses the imperative voice.
Is it a true story? Well, I’m sure I’ve read about similar experiments that were used to explain why so many Nazi soldiers followed the orders of the Third Reich in WWII… but whether it’s true or not really doesn’t matter. The fact is, that story is far more likely to help your brain remember the definition, purpose and power of the imperative voice than reading a dozen grammar textbooks back to back ever will.
Stories help us learn because they create recognisable patterns which relate to our own experiences. Or, to use science talk, they create and strengthen neural pathways. Here’s an explanation from The Great Minds Clinic…
A neural pathway is a series of connected neurons that send signals from one part of the brain to another.
We already have a series of neural pathways, and we are creating new ones all the time. An example of an early neural pathway is that if a baby smiles, he or she is rewarded by a smile in return and possibly a cuddle. The same baby may work out that if he or she touches something sharp, it may hurt. Both are valuable learning experiences.
Neural pathways tell our brain how to react to whatever is thrown at us on a daily basis. That includes things we’ve dealt with before and things we’ve only ever seen or heard about second hand (which is why we’re so interested in car crashes). It’s like the basic programming language you might have learned in school, starting with IF…
IF b > 10 THEN GOTO 20.
Or, to put it into language Dr. Faith G. Harper would be more likely to approve of…
IF hungry sabretooth tiger approaching THEN getthefuckoutofDodge!
All very useful in terms of keeping us alive, which you’ll recall is our brain’s number one function.
Except…
Except sometimes we create neural pathways that are significantly less useful, using stories that reinforce negative or self-destructive responses and ultimately lead us into a world of pain and misery.
Which is where I’ll pick up next time.
(A reminder, if you're new here... I'm writing these posts for myself, to help me understand my own mental health and hopefully manage it a little better than I have been doing over the past few years. They may be of interest to you too, but I'm not preaching. Or, as Todd Snider puts it, "I did not do this to change your mind about anything, I did this to ease my own mind about everything".)
This weekend was the 50th anniversary of Last of the Summer Wine, a sitcom about a bunch of ridiculous Yorkshire pensioners that ran for a total of 31 series before it breathed its last in 2010. I know this because I live in Holmfirth, the village (although it calls itself a town, it's not a town really) in which the show was set, a village which has thrived on LOTSW tourism for half a century. On Saturday, while Sam and I were trying to do our shopping, we had to navigate coach loads of fans (most of them now older than the show's characters) and cosplayers... yes, there were people wandering around dressed as Compo, Foggy, Clegg and Nora Batty. It was, as always, a right pain in the arse.
I watched the show as a kid, because it was just what you did round here. The main appeal was in working out where the location shots were filmed... increasingly, as the years went by, they weren't filmed in Holmfirth at all, but in surrounding villages such as Meltham, Honley, Marsden and Slawit (Slaithwaite) which is where I grew up. The show outlived most of its original cast: Michael Bates, who played Cyril Blamire in the original series, died in 1978. He was replaced by Brian Wilde as Foggy, who stayed with the show, on and off, till the mid-90s. Compo, who gave his name to the local Fish & Chip shop, was the show's main character until actor Bill Owen's death in 1999, after which he was replaced by his son, Tom. Of the originals, only the great Peter Sallis, the voice of Wallace & Gromit, outlived the show, though he was reduced to a sit down role by the final series, replaced in the "action" sequences by younger comedy actors such as Russ Abbott and Burt Kwouk. The show became an old folk's home for British thespians, with Brian Murphy, Frank Thornton, Thora Hird and Jean 'Hilda Ogden' Alexander joining the ranks over the years. Though I bailed out in the late 80s, my mum kept watching it, and still enjoys the repeats on UK Gold (or whatever it's called these days). Summer Wine is a time capsule of a certain type of Yorkshire village and its inhabitants... ironically most of the people who live in Holmfirth these days are comers-in. Compo probably wouldn't be able to afford a house round here anymore. (I barely can.)
Although the phrase "Last of the Summer Wine" sounds like it could originate from a Keats poem, it was actually coined by the show's creator, Roy Clarke, as a metaphor for living out the dregs of one's life in fine style. With that in mind, anyone referring to LOTSW in song must be familiar with the show itself, right?
It's just you and Foucault and my bass guitar
And I've seen you walk on water
And you wash your feet with my hair and my tears
I loved you in the runs the last of the summer wine.
King Cnut could not hold back the tide, and I cannot hold back society's full-throttle descent into dystopia. All I can do is watch helplessly from the sidelines, and nod my head sagely when others hold a mirror up to the madness. Which is why I've been using this space over the past few weeks to quote excerpts from Dave Eggers' novel, The Every. Because everyone should read it and face up to the horror...
In this extract, the
Every introduces a new app which can measure the quality of friendship. Delaney
suggested it as a joke, but once it’s been developed, it quickly goes viral…
Delaney did not breathe. It was AuthentiFriend. Everything
was the same, but far more developed, and now it was called Friendy.
“Terrible name,” Joan said, “I hate it already.”
“No,” Preeti said. “It’s like a lie detector test. It tells
you if someone’s honest, candid. You know dogs can sense cancer? This senses
any untruth. Anything hidden, withheld. Is the word guile?”
“It can sense guile? That’s fucking dark,” Joan said.
“What’s the big number in the corner?” Helen asked. In the
upper right of the screen, above Urmila’s face, a number – 88 – was pulsing.
“That’s overall quality of friendship,” Preeti said. “You
know the stats about friendship. You live longer and healthier if you have quality
friendships. That’s why the slogan.” She pointed to the screen’s upper left
corner, where the words “Who are you real friends?” were written in a sharp and
accusatory font.
“It’s about quality, not quantity,” Preeti said. “We’re
always worried about the number of
friends we have, when we should be assessing the quality of those friendships.”
“This is sulphurous,” Joan said, and Delaney loved her for
it.
“It’s just for fun,” Preeti said.
“That is some diabolical fun,” Joan said.
Her opinion was in the minority. The others were trying to
decide on someone they should call – a test subject. Berit had a college friend
she thought would be appropriate. Minutes later, a dark-haired woman named
Anita appeared on the main screen. She was in Uppsala, Sweden.
“Hi, Anita!” Berit said. She had positioned herself across
the room, in a quiet corner. To Anita, Berit would appear to be alone, talking
to her on a tablet. But everyone else was watching Anita on the large screen.
“How are you?” Berit asked.
Anita’s answer, “Good!” was deemed untruthful.
“Are you sure?” Berit asked.
“Yes. Why?” Anita asked.
Friendy’s red lights were pulsing – lack of candour,
guardedness.
“I’ve always meant to ask you,” Berit said, “when we were in
college, you went to the Stockholm archipelago with a bunch of people.
Remember?”
“Of course,” Anita said. “Why?”
“My boyfriend at the time went with you,” Berit said.
“Remember Per?”
Delaney’s brain was on fire. A moment ago Berit had seemed
confident and kind, and now, with this weaselly tool, she’d become a weasel.
“I do,” Anita said uncertainly.
“You always seemed to have a thing for Per, am I right?”
Berit asked.
“I wouldn’t say it was a thing,”
Anita said. “Berit, why are you bringing this up now? It was eight years ago. I
haven’t seen Per since that summer.”
“I just always had a feeling something happened between you
two on that trip. And remember I couldn’t go. My brother was dying.”
“Yes, I know. I’ve always been sorry you couldn’t be with
us,” Anita said, her voice quavering and eyes growing wet. Friendy’s sensors
were going wild. “Nothing happened between us.”
A green light pulsed. This was truthful. The crowd was
impressed. Berit pressed on.
“Just tell me,” she said. “You were attracted to him, yes?”
“Oh Berit,” Anita said. “When are you coming home next?
Maybe we can talk then. I don’t like this.”
Overall Anita’s truthfulness score was in the low 20s.
“Never mind,” Berit said. “I got the answers I needed.”
And she ended the connection.
“This was a good friend of yours?” Preeti asked.
“Since we were six,” Berit said.
“Berit!” Joan snapped. ”Have you regressed to thirteen years
old? You can’t take this seriously. It’s a fucking app that some nerds here
developed.”
Berit laughed. “I know. I know it’s silly. I’ll call her
again some other time and get a read on things.”
Ro comforted her. “Give her a few more chances. Average them
together.” Her eyes were soft and magnanimous, almost saintly. “She deserves
that – an aggregate score.”
Nancy Sinatra and Lee Hazlewood recorded two albums together, in 1968 and 1972. They are essential listening. Less well known is their third collaboration, from 2004, just three years before Barton Lee's death. For some insane reason, this record was never released in the UK, and was only ever available on import from Australia. Utterly absurd, as it's a fantastic album that never fails to put a huge smile on my face...
