Dissing the gods

We’re actually all in the house at the same time. Kate, back in the nest after graduating from Delaware, works ‘til seven every night at a KinderCare. Steve, restless high school senior, frequently slips out to the Y, Barnes & Noble, over to a friend’s.

This night, for a few minutes anyway, not only are we all home, but in the same general vicinity. Kate’s watching “E! News,” kicked back in the recliner, doing her nails, the two dogs curled on the couch.

“So,” I ask, “what’s your recommendation for Steve? What college do you think he should go to?”

“Well, I just learned Drexel is $51,000 a year.”

“Next.”

The conversation draws Steve into the living room.

“Wait!” yells Suze. “What time is it? Turn on channel 12.”

“What?”

“Just turn on channel 12. It’s eight o’clock.”

Steve, after years of diligent practice handling the remote like an extension of his arm, flicks to channel 12.

There on the flat screen are John, Paul, George and Ringo, in soft-focus black and white, flickering as though transmitted from a distant planet. They’ve got their matching mop-tops, dark suits with white shirts and thin dark ties. “She loves me, yeah, yeah, yeah,” they sing, with a smiling earnestness seeming to be aimed at earning Establishment Ed’s approval.

“It’s the Ed Sullivan show,” says Suze. “It’s the first time the Beatles were on the Ed Sullivan show. I remember it like it was yesterday.”

“Who’s Ed?” asks Steve.

Steve and Kate start giggling, then laughing. Their parents are taken aback, especially Suze, who one time actually saw the Beatles live in concert. “What’s so funny?”

“They look so corny,” says Kate. “Yeah,” seconds Steve. “Did they really wear their hair like that?” asks Kate.

The kids are disrespecting the gods. Funny thing is, both of them like Beatles’ music off of CDs. But visually you better be styling nowadays: Calvin Klein, Urban Outfitters, The Gap, Banana Republic, New York Connection, Abercrombie & Fitch, Hollister, American Apparel, American Eagle, the brands that Kate (“I am, therefore I shop”) can recite in her sleep. Steve was a late bloomer but is coming on strong — J. Crew, Ralph Lauren, Polo, Nike. Awkward Ed’s show of course never scored any style points. Steve and Kate might as well be watching the Marx Brothers as the Beatles. But the Marx Brothers would be equally baffling and prehistoric. “Who are the Marx Brothers? You mean Karl Marx? Were they a band?”

Anyway, Ed comes out, shakes hands with the Beatles, and the documentary moves to a clip of the Beatles’ archrivals, the Beach Boys, also singing on the Sullivan show. The five boys in the band, barely out of their teens, are scrubbed fresh and wear matching striped shirts and white pants. A couple of hot rods have been rolled on stage for props. They’re sing “I Get Around” by Ed’s rules, like the Beatles, standing in place, smiling and clean. Nothing to unnerve the adults.
“Oh… my… god!” sputters Kate. “They’re even cornier. They’re nerds.”

“What do you think, Steve? Steve?”

Black and white TV was never his world. He’s retreated to his bedroom and his X Box 360 and NCAA Football 2010, with animated players more realistic than 45-year-old clips of the Beatles.
Next up, from 1969, Tommy James and the Shondells singing “Crimson and Clover,” with the Sullivan show now in color, and the camera going psychedelic with tripped out mirror images and dizzying, flashing shots zooming in and out. Scenes from Woodstock follow and Kate groans.

“You gotta be on drugs, then this music would sound OK,” says Kate, staring in befuddlement. “You guys did a lot of drugs back then, right? I mean the hippies. If that’s what drugs make things looks like, I’d completely freak out.”

“Times change,” says Suze.

“I should say,” says Kate, inferring a total understatement. “Can I change the channel?”