THE ELBOW TAX

{This piece was written in December 2000}

         What is a person to do when he turns on his TV and finds Brian Williams telling him that a major snowstorm is heading this way in the next
forty-eight hours? "Major snowstorm" is an optimistic spin; a better word might be cataclysm. Should I get out my signboard and march around the post office announcing that the end of the world is near?

         I notice when NBC has bad news to relay, they send out Williams or John Siegenthaler. They have too much invested in Tom Brokaw to permit him to be stoned by the masses. I must remind myself to write a memo to John to do something about that name; just the sound of "S-I-E-G-E-N-T-H-A-L-E-R" makes me want to put my head under a pillow.

         The local weathermen are more circumspect. With an average snowfall of sixty inches a year, and with major ski resorts in listening distance, news of snow is relayed as an opportunity, not a disaster. Local residents know that when national news speaks of bad weather coming, it must be headed for New York City, Washington DC or Los Angeles.

         Emigrating here from Philadelphia, I still feel the chill up the spine and must fight the urge to rush to the market and clean the bread off the shelves. In my old part of the world, the forecast of snow brought out German Inflation Fever in people, that rush upon commodities caused by the populace knowing that tomorrow it will take two wheelbarrows of Marks to buy what will cost one wheelbarrow today.

         Of course, every once in a while the soothsayers are right. In 1996 thirty-one inches were dumped on Philadelphia and little moved for two days. I recall that the first vehicles on the street, after the snowplows and the TV crews, were the beer trucks. During those two days I entertained family and self by singing old TV jingles.

         I found myself doing it again this morning, so maybe another big one is approaching and the snow will be over the roof. Even if it is, I will

"Stop paying the elbow tax
When you start cleaning with Ajax"

I substituted 'when I start running my John Deere' but it didn't have that same catchy 'Ajax' and 'tax' rhyme.

         Driving home from Jiffy Lube, I realized it takes a singular talent to remember the Robert Hall ditty:

"When the values go up, up, up
And the prices go down, down, down
Robert Hall is in season
We'll show you the reason
Low overhead, low overhead"

From there I segued into:

"Brusha, Brusha, Brusha
New Ipana Toothpaste"

         I was on a roll; I was really hot. I had the Ballantine Beer and Gillette Blue Blade jingles down cold. These were not pop tunes turned into advertisements, but original songs. I even had the first two lines of a Navy recruiting song of the 50's, but it faded from memory.

         I knew that Winston tasted good, like a cigarette should, as politically incorrect as it is to say that today; and that I should use more than a little dab of Brylcream only if I dared. I even returned to radio:

Start the day
with good Hot Ralston
and you surely will agree
It's the most nutritious breakfast
Gives you cowboy energy
It's nutritious and delicious
Made of golden western wheat
So take a tip from Tom
Go tell your mom
Hot Ralston can't be beat

         GIANTS walked the earth in those days, writing those tunes. Today someone buys the rights to an old rock song, or pays the original artist a fee to use it again, and now it is the voiceover that delivers the message. How do I sing a voiceover?

         Today we 'brand' the song with the product, or do I have it backward? Sometimes the song has been remade, sometimes it is the original. Someone, Nissan I believe, is actually bringing 'Steam' back to life with "Hey, Hey,
Goodbye", and this after crowds at sporting events have beaten it to death.

         I had just been considering adding the Upstate Ford Dealers' two line theme to my bag when I noticed their ads had changed and they had gone to a hip-hop theme. I hope they haven't canned the white-haired gentleman and his lady friend who would appear after the last words of the couplet. He looked so much like the pharmaceutical salesman who would break in on my doctor to push the newest pills way back when.

         Why did I write this? If it really snows, I will have nothing to sing, having given my concert already. Of course, there is always,

"Suddenly it's 1960
1960 on wheels
When you see and drive the Plymouth
You'll know how 1960 feels."

         What's that? They don't make Plymouths anymore? Guess I'll go to the store and buy some Ipana.