Mr. Jazz and I had dinner with friends last week and at one point one of our hosts (lets call him M) was cutting through a chicken breast. I told him had I known I would have brought my cleaver, which would have made the job that much easier. Plus the thing would actually get some use. It was a gift and I’ve never actually used it, since I don’t often have chickens or rabbits to hack apart.
Actually maybe I should get a rabbit or other furry dead thing to try it on. Cause as it stands, it’s just there. Waiting. Waiting for that madman to break in, at which point I’ll take the cleaver and whack him with it, splitting open his head and the cops will arrest me and I’ll end up in jail and spend the rest my life as Big Bertha’s bitch. While there’s something to be said for being lodged, clothed and fed, being Big Bertha’s bitch… meh, not so much.
Who me? An overactive imagination???
Segue back to the cleaver conversation with M. Because me? I digress.
Once upon a time when television was a young and awesome medium with a bright future, someone invented the sitcom. One sitcom in particular interests us here: Leave It To Beaver.
A quintessential late fifties American family, the Cleavers (hence the tie-in with the knife – I seem obsessed with those lately, but again, I digress). Dad (Ward) goes to work every day doing who knows what. Mom (June) stays home and vacuums in full makeup, heels and pearls, coffee always on, smile plastered on her face, the woman was probably on Librium, or whatever happy pill used to be the norm back then. Then there’s the older brother, Wally, who’s just there for… well, no one knows too much why Wally is around, probably as a sidekick to , the show’s namesake, his little brother Theodore, aka Beaver.
Beaver. Beaver Cleaver. As M pointed out, either they were clueless or the show’s writers had an evil sense of humour putting a name like that on TV in the late 50s. I tend to go with the second possibility. Because Beaver Cleaver? That can't be accidental.