Scary 70s Thursday: Men in Giant Psychedelic Animal Suits

You’re being chased through the woods by a man-sized fuzzy blue lion, who sings psychedelic Beatles songs at you while you run. An orange monkey, a tiger with an eyepatch, and a green dog wearing a big brown hat capture you in a massive net, then implore the lion, whose name is Rory, to read aloud a story to you. If you’ve never woken up from either this particular nightmare in a pool of sweat, or anything like it, you probably didn’t grow up in the late 60s to early 70s, and completely missed out on the weekly (sometimes even daily) man-sized furry freakshows that were a mainstay of children’s television. You think you had it hard with the Teletubbies, and thought that baby in the sun thing was trippy… You haven’t seen what happens when the Teletubbies and the Wiggles get together and get laid while on horse tranquilizers…

Animal Kwackers sing Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds

It’s a pretty simple rendition, actually, also found on their Animal Kwackers LP which I had as a child. Bongo, Rory, Twang and Boots play a happy melody written by the greatest rock and roll band ever in the world, and it just happens to be about being on LSD. I utterly loved this when I was a kid, and no amount of Just Say No campaigns later on as a teenager could remove the glory that was Animal Kwackers telling me to drop acid. None. So the good news is that when I finally do, I may actually be able to understand:

H. R. Pufnstuf

Technically this, and the following group of six-foot, two-legged monsters, were really made in the 60s, but their shows ran into the 70s and were on continual rerun throughout my decade. I never got to see the series of H. R. Pufnstuf, but did see the movie, and boy, between this, Hanna Barbera’s version of Alice In Wonderland (or What’s A Nice Kid Like You Doing In A Place Like This?), and The Phantom Tollbooth, you never actually have to say no to drugs. It’s all right there, on the screen, man!

Anyhoo. Pufnstuf’s name’s a complete give away. He lives on Living Island, where, you know, wow, everything’s alive, man, he calls everyone dude, dude. His friend Jimmy, the only true human on the show, is transported there by a magical talking flute. Not, you know, James Galway‘s magical golden flute, but one that talks, man. It’s all, you know, wow, man… etc.

Not this flute, the one that TALKS!

Also notice that the title sequence is one minute forty-nine seconds. That’s just for you guys at the back who zoned out halfway through the last show and couldn’t remember what the hell it was about, or had some fight about ‘bogarting’ or somesuch.

The Banana Splits

There ain’t much that can be said about this wacky foursome that hasn’t been said before. Fleegle, Bingo, Drooper and Snorky are the godfathers of six-foot psychedelic critterdom. (Fun Banana Splits fact: All the outside scenes in series one were filmed at Six Flags Over Texas theme park, by future director of Superman, Richard Donner.) Essentially The Banana Splits, a combine of the talents from Hanna Barbera and Sid & Marty Krofft who also created Pufnstuf, was a live-action cartoon. It used all the well-known Hanna Barbera sound effects and sight gags, and what’s best is that there’s absolutely no attempt to make the character’s mouths move. So there’s a lot of talking by creatures who grin like stoners or run around with their tongues sticking out like wasted junkies. So, sit back and enjoy The Banana Splits in all their wonderfully wacky-backy glory.

Now, thanks to the internet, these guys would be considered the godfathers of furrydom and I’m surprised there isn’t some ultra-not-actually-sexy slash-fic written about them by basement bound 37 year-olds.

You know… Thinking about it… That doesn’t sound like a bad idea at all… Time to start flexing those slash-fingers!

Just as Strange in the 70s – Doomsday Cults

For those who are starting already to stockpile their canned foods and water bottles, duct tape, white paint and Armalites for the Rapture/2012/Big Terror Attack, you are not alone. Nor have you ever been. There are records in history of a Millennium cult that thought Jesus was going to save us in 1000AD, and ever since then (and, I’m sure before even that) people have truly believed that for some reason The End Of The World Is Nigh.

30 years ago, in 1978, things were no different. Along with the Jonestown Mass Suicides of Guyana in November, there was another group a little closer to home (well, at least closer to where I live now, anyway) who, in December of 1978, were also preparing themselves for the end of the world – in 1984.

This little look back at December 1978 from the Vineland Times Journal of south New Jersey found, amongst other odd stories of the day:

… members of a religious sect were picketing in support of their leader, who was being sought by the FBI on charges of federal income tax invasion.

According to the story, which ran as a two-part front-page series, the man claimed to be the prophet Jeremiah reincarnated and had publicly admitted that he hadn’t paid his income taxes since 1948.

Many of his followers, numbering 150 to 200 in South Jersey, also refused to pay federal taxes because they wanted “no part of a system bent on destruction of the human race.”

Even as their leader hid from the feds, they met on Tuesday nights in McKee City, studying the Bible and preparing to follow him into the mountains to wait out the effects of a nuclear war that was going to destroy two-thirds of the world’s population in 1984.

If there’s a lesson to learned from late 1978 for all you conspiracy theorists, cultists and dominionists out there… It’s that you may possibly be right, but more likely than not, you are very, very wrong.

If you are living in 1978, here’s a handy 3-step guide on how to spot a cultist, versus your typical stuck in 1972 hippy.

1. If your brother lives in a commune – he’s a hippy. If he lives on a compound – he’s a cultist.
2. If your sister smokes a ton of weed then passes out on your couch – she’s a hippy. If she drinks Kool-Aid, writes a cryptic pseudo-socialistic suicide note on the back of matchbook, then keels over dead – cultist.
3. If your best friend joins a new group of yogic flyers held by a guru in Mike’s house every Tuesday night – hippy. If your best friend joins a new group by taking a psych test after being lured into a shop window on Charing Cross Road – scary, scary, scary cultist. Rescue your friend immediately, lest he end up as Tom Cruise’s 40 year old manservant.

So, before the aliens ask you to take them to your leader and all you can point to is a large man called Bubba, probably a good idea to keep paying your taxes, and try not to poison all your followers in a Revolutionary Suicide pact. Not too much to ask, is it?

Creepy Happy 70s – Chirpy Chirpy Cheep Cheep

Simple 70s Games #1 – Rebound

Eight ball bearings with a plastic cover on it, two players and a bit of wood. The object of the game is to get as far down the other side of the board as you can without going over the edge for points. Player with most points wins. Take that, Grand Theft Auto!

Stranger in the 70s – The Popularity of Windswept Pianists

Relax and enjoy the warm tones of Richard Clayderman’s “Ballade Pour Adeline” as he floats through Paris on the back of a flatbed truck playing the piano and staring at you like a hungry dog.

Every now and then an anomaly appears in the record charts that just defies description. French pianist Richard Clayderman is one of those anomalies. His first single, proudly displayed in this post, sold 22 million copies in 38 countries in 1976. Since then he has sold upwards of 90 million records. Not bad for a former session musician.

There was an untapped market in 1976 for what I can only describe as middle class foreplay music. In terms of foreplay music, he was no Barry White. he wasn’t even Mantovani (although Mantovani’s influence on White’s string arrangements is blatant), he was a handsome, safe French guy with a soft-fingered approach to love that thirty-something women could dig, and bachelors with black leather and chromed steel tubing furniture in their pads could use to lure the demure into the mood. I mean, look at him. The guy just oozes risk-free romance.

Having said all that, he’s still enormously popular in South East Asia, so maybe I’m painting a incorrect picture, but back then, it was all Mateus red wine and whispered conversations in front of the gas fire on a cold winter night before Clayderman finally brings you to a point where you simply have to slip into something more… comfortable.

Ten Things We Miss From The 70s

10. Pan-Am and TWA

Although these two airlines did start way back in the 30s and did continue beyond the 70s into the 90s, there’s something classically 70s about Pan Am and TWA that’s hard to pin down. Maybe it’s the funky logos and typefaces they used. Pan Am had a reputation of being a pretty classy airline, which is why I’m including the magazine ad about first class down below. Notice the ridiculous amount of text you got in ads back then?

 

Pan Am’s other famous tagline was “If you do not master your aircraft, your aircraft becomes your master”.

 

Anyway, I was in a thrift store last weekend and came >< this close to purchasing an old TWA vinyl holiday bag in red and white. Although it would have made for a cool retro messenger bag, I had to remind myself that it was TWA, after all, and reminded me of Thomas Cook holiday catalogues. Brrr! Sent a chill down my back, I can tell you.

 

In the 70s, the term “widebody” was reserved for the aircraft, rather than passengers from Topeka.

 

TWA Commercial from the 70s, featuring Peter Sellers

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oLy2DkJ8xn8

 

Oh, hey, and this is the exact bag I found in the thrift store…

 

 

You may now realize why I didn’t want to spend $30 on it.

 

Related: DC-10 Crashes

“Look, ma, no engine!”

 

Yes, I know I shouldn’t joke about them, but it was hard not to. To start with, the cargo doors had a habit of blowing off the plane in mid-air, causing them to decompress and fall out of the sky. So they fixed the problem and went back into service, only for the engine to fall off of the DC-10 you see above at Chicago’s O’Hare Airport. For a long time, as a kid, whenever we saw a plane flying over our school, we’d assume the worse and run for cover, just in case it was a DC-10. Since then, I’ve flown on a couple of DC-10′s and they’re not bad little planes. I just tend to pray more whenever I board one…

 

 

9. Leisure Suits

Luckily, I wore some weird crap when I was young, but no one bought me one of these. I was a shorts and t-shirts kinda kid, preferably tennis-related, and I could make a pair of Converse Chuck Taylors last forever. I’d have hated being stuck in any kind of suit back then, let alone one made with 100% polyester, but now… hey why not? They’re color coordinated, no need to iron, and you look like a guy who’s ready to safari. How can you beat that?

 

Rather typically, Adam couldn’t find a seat in the cafeteria because the German tourists had claimed them all already by 6am.

 

Related: Iron-On Patches

These guys made it into the 80s with the rise of the denim jacket and metal band, but they were at their best and weirdest in the 70s. Why on earth would anyone buy an article of clothing, then buy a patch which is not much more than an advert for a product, then spend the time ironing them onto said article of clothing? Because jeans are expensive and you’ve worn a hole in the knees, of course!

 

Having said that, not sure if my mum would have given me one of these to put on my knees. Not until I was 10, anyway.

 

You can never have enough Schlitz on your jeans.

 

Related: Crimplene

I really shouldn’t have to say too much about this stuff. Yet another non-iron man-made polyester blend that neither breathed nor fitted properly. The dress below is 100% crimplene, and makes even a headless mannequin look like a sweaty Stay-Pressed Cruella DeVille. However, because of its memory plastic nature, you could roll it up, throw it in a TWA Vacation Getaway bag, fly to DC, take it out and throw it on and still look great in time for the Ambassador’s Party. Just stay away from naked flames, or hairy waiters serving Ferrero Roche.

 

Everybody run, Joan Crawford’s ghost is coming for you…

 

8. Datsuns

I honestly miss Datsuns. There was something of the Ford Capri to them. Long noses and lean muscular racing lines, and cool, cool colors. When Nissan killed the brand in the 80s I was so disappointed. Don’t forget, I had a couple of Datsuns in my Matchbox Super 75 collection, but I never had any Nissans, no sirree. So, yeah, bring back the Datsun.

 

Believe it or not, the 610 really was the most luxurious Datsun.

 

Plus, they had a logo that looks just like a London Underground station.

 

7. LED Digital Watches

LED watches came out just before the more comonly known LCD watches which is what we would conceive of as a digital watch today. But LED watches were way cooler. For a start, they required more power than an LCD watch, which meant that, in order to find out what time it was, not only did you have to look at your watch, you had to find a big silver button on the side and press that in until you had a dent in your finger to make the LEDs light up. Some of them had a calendar, too, but by then, your finger’s got a hole in it, and you’re using an ice lolly stick to bridge the gap and hey, it’s not worth the trouble, man.

 

Despite that, all you could think about was that you had a watch that looked like it belonged on an astronaut, and who wouldn’t want that?

Someone actually thought it would be a good advertisement to show this watch not telling the time.

 

6. People On The Moon

Speaking of astronauts, remember when they didn’t just go up in space, float about a bit then come back down again? That’s right, we actually sent them places. What’s crazier is that we sent them to the moon using computers that have been eclipsed in power and memory by my old Motorola Razr. That’s some pretty heavy stuff right there, dude.

 

Apollo 17 Astronaut re-enacts scenes from “Dude, Where’s My Car?”

 

Related: SkyLab

This thing was about the size of a Lower East Side studio apartment, yet three people at a time lived and worked in it 24 hours a day 7 days a week for months. Sure the Soyuz cosmonauts had it bad, but think about the smell. It’s not like you can just open a window or anything. International Space Station? Luxury! On the plus side, you were closer to home than the crazy guys on the moon. Bad side? When everyone left it, they just waited for it to fall out of the sky. If that was its main purpose in life, you might as well saved all those tax-payer dollars and thrown a DC-10 up there instead.

 

Ceci n’est pas une pipe.

 

5. Jimmy Hoffa

Okay, I don’t miss him. But he is missing. Still. Rumor has it that I ride over him on the train every morning on the way to work.

 

Giants Stadium Stairwell Foundation, East Rutherford, NJ: Self-portrait.

 

Related: Lord Lucan

This guy, however, I do miss, because I grew up on the stories of his disappearance and there were constant sightings of him appearing in the papers all through the 70s and early 80s. Lord Lucan killed his children’s nanny with the lead pipe in the basement, and tried to kill his wife, too, before she escaped and called for help. When the police searhed the house he was not there, and has never been found since. Rumor has it that he fled to Rhodesia and changed his name to Ian Smith.

 

“Oui, oui, je suis une porn star.”

 

4. A world without home computers

I know, I know. Without this thing I wouldn’t be able to write this, you wouldn’t be able to read it, and Google Analytics wouldn’t keep making me cry by telling me I have no hits. No matter, I’m not sorry. I really would prefer a world without email, Blackberrys, internet porn, first person shooters and worst of all, national databases. So, that begs the question… What did we do without home computers?

 

Instead of Word Processors we had Typing Pools

 

The device below is called a typewriter. A police officer in 2008 found one of these in a carrying case at the bottom of a set of stairs and called in the bomb squad to blow it up, because he’d never seen one before. Then again, this was in Florida, so no big surprise there.

 

Typists in the 70s were trained in school, and probably wouldn’t be able to get a job unless they touch-typed at an average of 70-plus words per minute. 90 WPM was more common. Sometimes a typist would have to take a dictation, either live, or from a cassette, and would use either a weird squiggly language called ‘short-hand’ or type as fast as the person was speaking. In teh 70s, if you were a short-hand or audio typist, with a 90WPM speed, you’d get pretty far in your typing pool.

 

Mildred always lost the Friday afternoon ‘staring slightly to the right’ competitions.

 

Ever wonder what the CC stands for in an email? It means Carbon Copy. That was a sheet of carbon paper that went between sheets of regular paper that would print on the second sheet as you typed. You could make about 4 copies of anything at any one time using that stuff. After that, the hammers of the typewriter wouldn’t be strong enough to go through all that paper. Carbon paper was a great time-saver, but you never really wanted to touch it, as it would invariably go all over your hand, and then everyone would know who strangled their boss last Friday.

 

Telex

Your average business card in 2008 contains your phone number and your email address. In the 70s it would be your phone number and your Telex number. Fax machines existed, but they were extremely poor quality. Much better to type out your message or letter again and then send it via telex. Or, even better, by mail. If the postmen weren’t on strike, that is.

 

Sure, for 1978 this was a pretty cool laptop, but it was a bugger trying to fit into my messenger bag.

 

TeleType Machines

If you listen to radio news, you’ll hear one of these clacking away in the background. Well, at least a looped audio file of one, anyway. My main memory of these is the British TV Sports show, Grandstand. After 4.30pm every Saturday, the football results would start coming in, and rather than just telling us what they were, they’d actually cut to the teletype machine as it was receiving them and a man with the most BBC English voice you’ev ever heard would read them out. We all waited with baited breath for the Scottish results to come in, though, as we all longed for him to announce “Forfar 5, East Fife 4″, but I don’t think it ever happened.

 

The new Terminator could take any shape or form, once it had touched it.

 

Related: A world where political scandals ended in something other than ‘-gate’.

 

3. Smitty

The “Smitty Did It” ad campaign was huge back in the mid-70s. Somehow, just the knowledge that you were wearing it was enough to reverse gravity. I mostly miss this, though for one reason, as no one I knew actually wore the stuff (they all used Charlie)… My sister used to pick me and swing me around while I sang the jingle.

 

Weird memories tend to land on my head like that.

 

Smitty: Anti-gravity juice for ladies.

 

Here’s a link to the commercial. Hopefully it works as I can’t test it here.

http://www.tvparty.com/tv4/smitty-77-hi.ram

 

Related: Harmony Hairspray

Is she or isn’t she, the commercial used to ask us. And of course, she was, but only until the invention of mousse.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s_ZiUGgsePo

 

 

2. Beverage Pull Tabs

For years we were given cans that had pull tabs that came completely off, rather than the ones we have today that scrunch metal into your drink before you get a chance to drink it. Pull tabs were great when they worked, but they had two problems. Firstly, sometimes the ring section would break off, leaving the can completely unopenable, except with a stick.

 

Each can came embossed with two easily ignorable sentences.

 

Secondly, the streets were littered with these things:

 

 

Mostly, they were squashed by cars or bikes. There are some sections of road in London still where you can see them, flattened and embedded into the asphalt as though they were part of the mixture. Archaeologists in thousadns of years time will dig up those roads wondering why we placed them there, and they’ll never know. They’ll never know.

 

Related: Watney’s Party Seven

Because a party ain’t a party until someone brings a couple of sevens with them. This is just a seven pint can of cheap crap ale. It wasn’t a keg, because it didn’t have a tap, you just poked a hole in it and poured.

 

Ta-daa! Instant party!

 

1. Chicken In A Basket

Before my dad had his Triumph Dolomite, we had a Morris 1300.  Where we lived in London, the spot behind my dad’s car was taken up by an orange Reliant Robin that was used as a Chicken-In-A-Basket delivery van. To this day, I know that CIAB was supposed to be classy, if you were working class council flat kids like me, but for the life of me I don’t know why. It’s not chicken cordon bleu, it’s not not even chicken kiev, it’s just chicken. And it’s not even on a plate.

 

Still felt posh, though…

 

It’s chicken. And it’s in a basket.

 

Related: Black Forest Gateau

Layers of cream, sponge, strawberries, chocolate. It fell out of favor with the introduction of the Wall’s Viennetta, but you’d still never turn down a slice of this yumness.

Om-nom-nom!

 

Life On Mars USA: The Pilot

 

Okay, so last night the US version of Life On Mars premiered on ABC. For those who don’t know, Life On Mars was a BBC show about a ‘noughties’ detective who is hit by a car and wakes up in 1973. He discovers he’s still a cop, still has detective work to do, and has to solve the rather meta-phyical puzzle of how he got thjere and why. Did he travel in time? Is he dreaming this while in coma? Or has he simply gone insane? Quite the trifecta. The original, set in Manchester, UK, is a bleak view of the early 70′s. The majority of the population are unionized factory workers, or shopkeepers, or bouncers in gentlemen’s nightclubs. Women are still finding their place in society. Racists openly taunt and belittle non-whites to their faces without consequence. Yet the show also manages to slide a massive slice of warm nostalgia into this huge shite sandwich. It’s a violent, it needs to be un-PC world, that portrays the world as it really was back then, one episode at time, walking the line between showing us how far we’ve come and how much we’d love to go back to live there. The show itself, however, is a cop show, based on a cross between The Sweeney and the original Get Carter. The Independent describes it as a ”time when hair was long, lapels were wide, and police brutality came as standard.” That pretty much sums it up.

 

The US version transplants the action to New York’s East Village, which is apropos, as many of its denizens never made it out of the 70s anyway.

 

 

So, what did I think?

 

I didn’t think it was all that bad. There were a few key moments where they hit it perfectly. Firstly, well they actually shelled out the cash to get Life On Mars and Baba O’Reilly on the soundtrack at the exact same points as the original. The shot of the World Trade Center that seals the deal that he’s in 1973 is spot on, almost brought tears to Mrs Ski’s eyes. All my hopes that they make this a kind of gritty, urban crime drama with a little wit thrown in, like a Starsky & Hutch, or Kojak, seem to have been fulfilled. It looks fantastic, a ton of attention has gone into the detail, and the CGI work that gives us New York 1973 is seamless.

 

Script-wise… Most of it was taken directly from the first episode of the original. There were obviously the changes in slang, and nicknaming Annie “No-Nuts” was a perfect hearkening back to 1977′s The Choirboys (about dysfunctional and corrupt LA cops) who had a character called No Balls Hadley. Otherwise, it was a little hit-and-miss. There was too much exposition, not enough wit or one-liners, and no tension at all really between Tyler and Hunt, which is the key to the success of the show. Maybe they’ll build that up more, but poor Keitel, who is seriously starting to look his age (69), didn’t have much to work with in this pilot. His entrance, I have to admit is pretty classic, though… He’s just standing there in the doorway to his office fanning himself – cut to Hunt gut-punching Tyler to show him who’s in charge. However, it just felt a little rushed, and no surprise, as they had to get five plots that previously had an hour to breathe into 42 minutes which they didn’t quite manage to do, so the impact of the event is lost somewhat.

 

Acting-wise, everyone was better than expected. Harvey Keitel needs to be tougher, but, as I said, they didn’t give him much to work with. I was extremely impressed with Michael Imperioli as Ray, though. He seemed a lot more threatening and uncaring than Keitel, and it looks like they may turn much of the Tyler/Hunt tension into Tyler/Carling tension.

 

Music was good. Direction sucked, though. Too much focus on Tyler, and not enough background interplay between the other characters. This might change as the series progresses and they move away from the original scripts, but this should be much more of an ensemble piece than last night’s episode was. 

 

All in all, I’m still optimistic about it. I think the show had a good start, but I’m not sure if it would have hooked me instantly quite the way the BBC version (and I saw that on a plane… I *needed* to know what happened as soon as I landed!) did. One major plus to it is the look of 1973 New York. Although it seems a little too clean to be real, the slightly grainy, earth-tone color correction of the world gives you a great feel for 1973 NYC.  I only hope enough people keep watching it to make it what it should be, an edgy 70′s cop show with a 2008 detective in it.

Ridski has sent you a custom Slacker radio station

What’s happening, everyone! I built a little Made in the 70s internet radio station on Slacker.com. I’ll be adding more bands and songs on it going forward, but this should be enough to get us all started. It’s totally groovy, man. Ridski sent you a personalized Slacker radio station. Check out the station details below or click here to start listening now. Made in the 70s Radio Made in the 70s Made in the 70s plays the best music from Alan Parsons, Argent, Badfinger, Barry White, Billy Paul, Billy Preston, Boz Scaggs, Crosby, Stills & Nash, David Bowie, Deep Purple and many more! Your friend Ridski sent you this email. Please feel free to review our privacy policy. – www.slacker.com Copyright � 2007 Slacker, Inc.

Having Trouble Selling Your Product? Naked Hippie Chicks Work Everytime

It’s true. If it wasn’t for Ace Combs, we wouldn’t be able to rock the Fu Manchu ‘tache, cover our Bristols with nothing but hair, enjoy our four foot long combover or… Wait… There’s no way Foxy Brown used that comb to frizz out her afro. It would take her all day and hurt like a mofo! What were they thinking?

Listen Foxy, forget Ace Combs, and those hippies to your right. They’re no good to you. They don’t know you like I know you. You need to get your bad self one of these:

You’re damn right.

Ray Winstone in new HBO Cop Drama set in 1972

Some people may have noticed my newly-founded obsession with the 70′s began roughly a day after I watched the first season of Life On Mars about a year and a half ago. It’s a weird feeling that’s been growing on me ever since, that nostalgic longing for simpler times that I know people in their 30′s in 1978 had for the late 50′s. But I do now unabashedly enjoy traveling down Memory Lane when I chance, and hope you readers are happily following along.

So, it brings me a mixture of happiness and trepidation that the US version of Life On Mars wasn’t canceled after very poor reviews of the pilot episode, but has been completely re-tooled, re-scripted, and moved from 1972 L.A. to 1972 New York, with Harvey Keitel now as Gene Hunt, and Gretchen Mol as Annie. It could be great, it could be okay, it could bomb completely. Either way, the original UK show cannot suffer, and as long I’ve still got those discs, I’m happy.

Whatever the outcome of October 9th’s season premiere of Life On Mars, there’s something currently filming in Brooklyn that has also peaked my interest: “Last Of The Ninth” is a new HBO series starring Ray Winstone as a cop in the same corrupt 1972 NYPD that Serpico tried to fight. I can completely imagine ABC screwing up a perfect show by watering it down, changing the reality of the characters, etc., but HBO, who probably should have made Life On Mars in the first place, I fully trust to get it right. Who knows, maybe I’ll be proved wrong, and if I am, then I’ll be a happy man.