On Spenser and September and going home

Had my first extended post-illness outing Friday night. Fun, fun, fun, down at the old school.

I'll post the link when the column hits the street, but the short version is I made it to Halls High for the official kickoff of the school's centennial. Old friends, teachers, classmates, people I hadn't seen since before I got sick, some for 20 years or more, were there. Heady stuff for a Halls guy.

Sis and I even got photographed together on the football field. How about that! 

I only had about a three-hour tour in me (not bad, considering where I've been), so I left as it began to rain. Robert Rogers and I met for Mexican. He'd just gotten back from England with his wife. They'd hiked along Hadrian's Wall, and I wanted to hear about it. The pictures were something.

He said the country folks were friendly. Isn't that usually the way of it? And he said the food was fabulous, and the portions were plenty.

I told Robert he'd subliminally inspired me to binge watch British detective shows. I've always had a soft spot for BBC and ITV mysteries, especially "Inspector Morse." So I watched five or six of them while they were gone.

"Morse," if you know the show, sent me seeking English poets. Spenser, for starters. I kept trying to recall a couple of lines that seem to fit this September. Finally found them.

My soul's long lacked food, my heaven's bliss.
Leaves, lines, and rhymes seek her to please alone...

Forget leaves, lines, and rhymes, and sure as heck forget trying to please. The moon's a harsh mistress, and the sky is made of stone. Jimmy Webb taught me that a long time ago. So, I'll just keep on being me. It's the easiest role to play, you see. 

But the nightmare is ending, bliss is in the blessings, and I'm more or less content. My soul no longer wants for much. It got plenty of feeding Friday night and again Saturday at a small gathering. I saw several high school folks and friends there, too.

I had some laughs and enjoyed the chatter and made it about three hours or so there as well. Then I headed home to crash.

Per Robert's suggestion, I watched part of Andrew Marr's "Making of Modern Britain" documentary. It proved to be just the right amount of mental floss to remove the UT/Ohio game from my mind. Then I couldn't sleep, as usual, so I watched another "Morse."

Sunday was stormy, overcast, cool. So I stayed on the couch most of the day. Lo and behold, Dick Powell, a longtime favorite, and "Murder, My Sweet" aired on Turner Classic Movies about 6. I hadn't gotten to watch my favorite channel in more than two years. Monochrome film noir, uncut and commercial free? Magic medicine.

I wonder if students still read poetry? I stumbled across an article that says wonderful words and rhyme are on YouTube, of all places.

Ah, well. Gather ye rosebuds while ye may.

Yeah, yeah, I know that's Herrick, not Spenser, but I have a migraine headache. And I have a little hope that the language will survive after all.

How could I not? What's that old country song say?

"At least I had the weekend..."

Social media -- super, sickening or somewhere in between?

Read an interesting article in The (London) Times yesterday.

The gist of it was that the popularity of TV period pieces like "Downton Abbey" (its Series 4 premiere two weeks ago drew the highest ratings for a drama in the history of PBS) and "Mr. Selfridge" are striking a chord with viewers worldwide because it reminds us of a slower, simpler time.

Hang on, hang on. Before you think, "Here Mabe goes again, waxing poetic about the past, hear me out a minute.

I've been thinking a lot lately about the long-term effect that social media will have on a society with an already short attention span. People used to gripe about MTV and sound bites. Twitter has reduced talking to 140 characters. Facebook is a shining, seductive online soap opera.

And we don't even have to be sitting at a computer anymore. Smartphones have made the whole thing portable! How many times have you seen couples sitting in a restaurant doing everything but talking to one another? I once watched two kids, who were sitting side by side at a baseball game, "talk" to each other by texting. And, no, they weren't watching the game.

Something's happening here, but what it is ain't exactly clear, with apologies to the Buffalo Springfield. Communication skills are shrinking. A sizable number of children and adults, at least judging by their cyberspace chatter, appear to be barely literate. That could be an indictment of American education, or users could just think online observations don't have to be grammatically correct. Either scenario stinks. I meet young people all the time who can't carry on a conversation.

Now, having said all of that, there's a flaw in this flue, too.

Period dramas have been popular for years. Paging "The Waltons," the original "Upstairs Downstairs," "The Wonderful World of Disney" and any Sherlock Holmes show set in the proper period. (Holmes is the most portrayed fictional character, and his motion picture adventures started in the silent era.)

I meet many, many people of all ages who use social media daily and are smarter and more articulate than I.

And, perhaps most importantly, nostalgia is a two-edged sword. Sure, watching "Downton" makes me wish I were a leisurely English lord, but as the Times article pointed out, the "good ol' days" were also filled with rudimentary medical practices ("Downton" dealt with that last year), terrible attitudes toward women and minorities and many social issues, illiteracy and little access to information.

Social media outlets have also created needed national and international conversations, given users unprecedented access to news, helped flame the fires of revolution, connected us to classmates, relatives and others we'd never see on a regular basis, and -- let's face it -- are just plain fun.

Sobering thoughts before one starts wishing it took a carrier pigeon to bring you this blog.

Time to hop across the pond...

OK, friends and neighbors, it's time to hop across the pond.

Tonight on PBS is perhaps the greatest back-to-back programming schedule since "All in the Family" and "M*A*S*H."

Yes, the sadistically seductive "Downton Abbey" (Series 4) airs at 9 p.m. (EST), followed by the much anticipated return of "Sherlock" (Series 3).

As you can see, I'm all set. And don't worry. Since one has to dress for dinner at Downton, I'm wearing black tie and tails underneath that smoking jacket.

Cheerio and the game is a-foot!

And thank you, BBC and PBS. I've been looking for something to screen on Sunday nights since "Murder, She Wrote" expired.