Fate as a Friend

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Some say that Life is made up of lost opportunities. Whilst that may be correct, Life is of course comprised of many aspects and to imply missed opportunities is foremost among them displays a negative mind-set that may even, for those of that demeanour, escalate those lost opportunities.

Nevertheless when I look back at my life I can think of many opportunities that I have not taken, regret not having taken and today—at 63—despair of ever taking. They range from the relative mundane such as not going to the Bruce Springsteen concert to the life changing such as not travelling the world or not becoming proficient at playing a musical instrument—I would have loved to be a rock drummer.

But one opportunity I did take, one afforded me by my late mother, was to become a writer. It wasn’t immediate, I started as a delivery boy in a newspaper, but doors opened continually and often fate intervened to help. In that regard, and in having the mother whom I did, I have been truly blessed. Let me say this though—and here we are arriving at the theme of this Fryday—I don’t think I am particularly talented as a writer but I am a good reader, a vociferous reader, and that, along with fate, the mother and luck, has helped immensely.

A young lady whom I met yesterday and who is yearning to be employed in the communication industry prompted these thoughts. She is a hard-worker, intelligent and has a supportive mother; yet you can see the doubt in her eyes and what is extravagantly called the fear of the future. That is understandable; at her stage of life, much of the future stretches before her like an unmapped desert. Yet she will have guides across that desert. There will be people to help her. There will be opportunities that come up—some of her own doing, others through sheer luck or the intervention of Fate. Nobody, and I mean nobody (unless they choose) is left to face the future alone.

My life has undergone many changes. One of the most abrupt and ultimately joyous was in 1986 when I won a major writing competition that I had not even entered. But Fate intervened, and I was subsequently offered, and took, the opportunity to write full-time. Another more recent was the meeting of my wife under a set of circumstances so unlikely that many have said it was Fate playing Cupid. I agree. It was.

I am now likely to make another change (with my wife, not to my wife J) and like that young lady yesterday I, too, have a new and uncharted desert to cross.  But cross it I will, because I will have Fate as a friend and a glorious nurturing thing called Life to lead and to lead me.

Jumping the Shark

My one and only appearance thus far on Shortland Street has had none of the expected or desired effects. It has not furthered my acting career, it has not given me street-recognition, and it has not even prompted an invitation to appear on “Shorty Street” again. The fact that I was not prominent in Ellen DeGeneres’ Academy Awards’ selfie is further evidence of my abject failure as an actor—shared by Lisa Minnelli. And the reason I have grown a beard is not, as I hoped, to escape unwanted attention, but simply because everybody else is doing it and I have a fear of loneliness.
So, there I am a sad forlorn case consigned to watching Jones and its repeat broadcasts of some of the classic shows of my youth. And therein lies a silver if somewhat perverse lining and a vivid example that I am in fact not alone. Many of the actors seen on Jones today are, like me, one-hit wonders, or close to it. Many are dead of course and it is very hard to come back from that even for The Love Boat or Fantasy Island. But others are consigned to memory, rest homes or the nostalgia circuit. Which is where I think some of their shows should also stay. Opinions will differ but it is clear that some shows stand the test of time (and a repeat on Jones) while others do not. Of those that do not—in my opinion—I would list, among others, Happy Days, On the Busses, and Bonanza. Of those I believe warrant repeats and I am thoroughly enjoying are Columbo (Stephen Fry calls Columbo one of his favourites), High Chaparral, and Cheers.
British comedies such as Dad’s Army deserve even more repeat viewings, but where is Hancock’s Half Hour?
Some of the programmes I have listed were in fact in the midst of their death throes first time around, which makes the repeats even more inexplicable. Uppermost among these are the later episodes (post Ron Howard) of Happy Days. Watch them now. Fonzie is a shadow of his former self—resorting to jumping over sharks in an ill-conceived foray to Hawaii. That very act, jumping a shark, has become a nomenclature for any show that resorts to outlandish situations to instil life into a moribund corpse. Another trick was to introduce new blood, usually someone sickingly cute. Happy days had Chachi Arcola  (Scott Baio) and the dreadful Roger Philips (Ted McGinley), and All in the Family introduced kids in an ultimately unsuccessful attempt to infuse life into an already dead programme. Archie didn’t need it; nor, before him, did Alf have it.
But good on Jones for bringing these shows—good and bad—back. Where else on television these days can you see again such great characters as Buck Cannon and Manolito Montoya (High Chaparral), Norm and Cliff (Cheers), Louie De Palma and Reverend Jim" Ignatowski (Taxi) and of course Columbo?
It is just a great pity that we have to wade through sharks to get to them.