The year is 1895. At the Grand Cafe in Paris, France, two brothers are showing off their latest invention. It’s a strange-looking contraption–boxes and a crank all precariously perched atop a wooden tripod. The brothers, Lumière by name, call their odd machine a cinematograph. It is a combination camera, printer, and film projector. And at the Grand Cafe, the crowds have come with money in hand to see moving pictures of the city they live in, the City of Lights.
It is December 28 and, on this day in pop culture history, the ritual of going to the movies was born.
It is 1980, the morning of May 21. School is almost over for the year. I feel the first erratic twitches of puberty grunting through my adrenal glands. More important than any of that, though, more important than girls or grades or how to get better with either of them, is the fact that May 21 is the official release date of The Empire Strikes Back.
And I am ready.
It’s September 5, 1975, and President Gerald R. Ford is visiting California. Appointed rather than elected, Ford has not been the greatest President. He’s already been repeatedly made fun of by Chevy Chase on SNL for being clumsy. He is also dealing with the public relations nightmare that occurred when he pardoned former President Richard Nixon for his part in the Watergate burglary and other crimes. He is seen as a stooge, a puppet, a leader who would rather play golf than deal with the issues.
The year is 1577. All throughout a dirty black summer, the soldiers loyal to Stephen Báthory, the Polish-Lithuanian, laid siege to the city. The inhabitants of the city didn’t recognize Báthory’s authority and had resolved to let themselves die if they couldn’t keep possession of their home.
These sworn enemies of the Báthory kingdom were known as Danzigers, and they all lived in the city of Danzig.
That’s right. Today marks the end of the Siege of Danzig.
It’s December 15, 1939, and Atlanta is all abuzz. The film, Gone with the Wind, is set to premiere at the Loew’s Grand Theater. Dig this, kids: 300,000 people made a line seven miles long, just to watch the limousines carrying the stars of the film from the airport to the theater. That is possibly the most boring parade imaginable. Oh, look. A car. Oh, look. Another car.
Image from Disco Demolition Night in Chicago; July 12, 1979
Today is an important, nay, pivotal day in pop culture history because of two shocking and relevant events.
Dusty: “What does that mean? Infamous?”
Ned: “Ah, Dusty! Infamous is when you’re more than famous! This guy El Guapo is not just famous, he’s IN-famous!”
—Three Amigos!
I’m not sure if The Rolling Stones Rock and Roll Circus is famous or infamous, so maybe it’s both. We do know that on December 11, 1968, some of the biggest rock acts in the world got together to film a concert special. The Stones were the headliners, with Mick Jagger resplendent in a ringmaster’s outfit, the master of ceremonies for a carnival-like concert film that ended up being lost for decades.
Not only does it have the greatest dance scene ever committed to celluloid (you know it’s true), but A Charlie Brown Christmas is also one of the most well-loved television specials of all time. It works on many different levels and, even though it has definite Christian leanings, the cartoon crosses those potentially limiting boundaries with a sophistication that bursts through the lines of what was expected of a child’s entertainment.
By Jeffery X Martin\
Today is the day that John Lennon was shot to death outside the Chelsea by some asshole who seriously misinterpreted The Catcher in the Rye. I’ve read that book. I missed the part about killing rock stars.
Frank Zappa died today in 1993.
Calling Frank Zappa “influential” is like saying ghost peppers will leave a mild burning sensation in your mouth after you eat them. It’s like saying water is wet. The sky is blue. The legend and legacy of Frank Zappa are elemental. He took music and made it his bitch.
His beautiful, happy, gleaming and weeping submissive bitch.