Monday, December 31, 2018
Sunday, December 30, 2018
What's on my mind.
The Sunday during the Octave of Christmas ought to inspire my mind with many profound thoughts. If not that, then the Sunday before New Year's Eve should, or the Solemnity of Mary. Or simply the passing of time, the candle's wick diminishes, the call of winter echoes, the checks will say 2018 for three weeks into the year, and the trash men have Tuesday off. Ah, but none of those things are on my mind today.
It's cold, and I wish I had hair.
Hair is never around when you need it. My old man was very proud of his coif, and it paid him back by abandoning ship when he was in his early forties. I'm the only one who inherited his hair, or lack of it. Jesus tells us that "Even the hairs of your head have all been counted," and my head makes it easier than most.
Of course it's unfair. I have male friends in the sixties and seventies and one close to ninety who have full, flowing hair, generally in a stately shade of gray. This Key has no locks. My hair color is "scalp." So what's a guy to do when his mane starts making for the exits like the theater is on fire?
Before Christmas I had to go shopping with my wife for a last-minute present for a teenage girl. This took us to Forever 21, not a store I frequent, nor had ever actually set foot in before. In fact, my hairline is evidence that the concept of "forever twenty-one" is unlikely. Anyway, among the many things in that establishment that would not normally interest me were the hairpieces:
Stylish, huh? And I thought, Hey! No one would buy me in a bad toupee, but in a bad wig? A "fun" wig?
Nobody is expected to think that's your real hair. If you saw a girl in a club with one of those crazy wigs, your mind might say "That's fake hair" but your lizard brain might say "Wild hair!!! She looks like fun!" Of course, her real hair is probably not missing, like mine, but is beneath the wig, tied up in a bun so tight that when she smiles her kneecaps go up her thighs.
Now, I had to wonder, what would it be like to wear one of those?
Pretty great, huh? And as Don Imus used to say, I'm comfortable enough with my manliness to say long hair makes a fella good-lookin'. Don't you think?
Okay, back to the scalp look. And lots of hats.
It's cold, and I wish I had hair.
Hair is never around when you need it. My old man was very proud of his coif, and it paid him back by abandoning ship when he was in his early forties. I'm the only one who inherited his hair, or lack of it. Jesus tells us that "Even the hairs of your head have all been counted," and my head makes it easier than most.
Of course it's unfair. I have male friends in the sixties and seventies and one close to ninety who have full, flowing hair, generally in a stately shade of gray. This Key has no locks. My hair color is "scalp." So what's a guy to do when his mane starts making for the exits like the theater is on fire?
Before Christmas I had to go shopping with my wife for a last-minute present for a teenage girl. This took us to Forever 21, not a store I frequent, nor had ever actually set foot in before. In fact, my hairline is evidence that the concept of "forever twenty-one" is unlikely. Anyway, among the many things in that establishment that would not normally interest me were the hairpieces:
Stylish, huh? And I thought, Hey! No one would buy me in a bad toupee, but in a bad wig? A "fun" wig?
Nobody is expected to think that's your real hair. If you saw a girl in a club with one of those crazy wigs, your mind might say "That's fake hair" but your lizard brain might say "Wild hair!!! She looks like fun!" Of course, her real hair is probably not missing, like mine, but is beneath the wig, tied up in a bun so tight that when she smiles her kneecaps go up her thighs.
Now, I had to wonder, what would it be like to wear one of those?
Pretty great, huh? And as Don Imus used to say, I'm comfortable enough with my manliness to say long hair makes a fella good-lookin'. Don't you think?
Okay, back to the scalp look. And lots of hats.
Saturday, December 29, 2018
Loot!
I mentioned the other day that Santa was good to me this year. Mr. Philbin asks: So what did I get?
I think he wants to gauge whether I was Nicer than he was. Regular readers of this blog, kind and good-looking as they are, have not actually met Mr. Philbin, but rest assured that he spend most of the year on Santa's Naughty list, only squeaking onto the Nice list with a flurry of good behaviors in December.
But never mind about him. What did I get?
Well, I got a big set of top-notch baking equipment -- Oh, well, so much for that New Year's resolution! -- and some other fantastic cooking stuff as well. I got a Batman & Robin ornament, and a tiny little Pac Man machine, to feed my inner geek. And along those lines...
Yes, the MST3K coffee mug! When cold and empty, you only see the show's logo, but as you fill it with hot coffee, the sky and the chairs and the quippers begin to appear. I love it. It's big enough for me -- most of these kind of mugs only hold maybe 12 ounces, but this sucker can take two Keurig pods, easy. I usually need a double shot of joe to keep mobile.
These kinds of mugs are generally as delicate as eggs -- no dishwashers! no microwaves! hand wash only! don't taunt happy fun mug! -- but I don't care. When we moved from an apartment to a house years ago, one of the biggest bonuses was a dishwasher, but I can still scrub a few things by hand when I have to -- if it's worth it. My neato mug is.
I also got a present that theoretically was for the dogs, but it really for me, and boy was I happy. It's a poop bag dispenser that has a flashlight -- get this - BUILT RIGHT IN! I know, right!??! No more trying to use the flashlight on my phone to clean up after the dogs at night, which isn't a great flashlight and always involved the peril of dropping my phone right in the poop. Now I have a bag dispenser and flashlight COMBINED. This thing is AWESOME!
About now you're thinking that I must be waaaay higher up on Santa's Nice list than you are, to which I say -- hey, what CAN I say? Some of us just have the knack, or should I say... the gift. Better luck next year!
(I have heard that Mr. Philbin got nothing from Santa but toothpaste, plain boxer shorts in the wrong size, and some wax lips, but that has not been corroborated at press time.)
I think he wants to gauge whether I was Nicer than he was. Regular readers of this blog, kind and good-looking as they are, have not actually met Mr. Philbin, but rest assured that he spend most of the year on Santa's Naughty list, only squeaking onto the Nice list with a flurry of good behaviors in December.
But never mind about him. What did I get?
Well, I got a big set of top-notch baking equipment -- Oh, well, so much for that New Year's resolution! -- and some other fantastic cooking stuff as well. I got a Batman & Robin ornament, and a tiny little Pac Man machine, to feed my inner geek. And along those lines...
Yes, the MST3K coffee mug! When cold and empty, you only see the show's logo, but as you fill it with hot coffee, the sky and the chairs and the quippers begin to appear. I love it. It's big enough for me -- most of these kind of mugs only hold maybe 12 ounces, but this sucker can take two Keurig pods, easy. I usually need a double shot of joe to keep mobile.
These kinds of mugs are generally as delicate as eggs -- no dishwashers! no microwaves! hand wash only! don't taunt happy fun mug! -- but I don't care. When we moved from an apartment to a house years ago, one of the biggest bonuses was a dishwasher, but I can still scrub a few things by hand when I have to -- if it's worth it. My neato mug is.
I also got a present that theoretically was for the dogs, but it really for me, and boy was I happy. It's a poop bag dispenser that has a flashlight -- get this - BUILT RIGHT IN! I know, right!??! No more trying to use the flashlight on my phone to clean up after the dogs at night, which isn't a great flashlight and always involved the peril of dropping my phone right in the poop. Now I have a bag dispenser and flashlight COMBINED. This thing is AWESOME!
About now you're thinking that I must be waaaay higher up on Santa's Nice list than you are, to which I say -- hey, what CAN I say? Some of us just have the knack, or should I say... the gift. Better luck next year!
(I have heard that Mr. Philbin got nothing from Santa but toothpaste, plain boxer shorts in the wrong size, and some wax lips, but that has not been corroborated at press time.)
Friday, December 28, 2018
A boulevard of broken glass.
I worked on a book with some pretty typical young characters -- the dopey hero, the bully, the goofy sidekick, the girl genius who is smarter than the hero, the wise elder, the clueless elder, and so on. You call them stereotypes; the writer might call them archetypes. But they aren't archetypes, not really, not of the kind Frazer or Campbell or even Jung might recognize. They are, however, pretty common these days, and thus stereotypes.
The girl genius, of course, nowadays has to be totally "woke," to use that childish term that reflects its coiners' level of maturity. Fans of Harry Potter will recall that Hermoine Granger, girl genius, founded S.P.E.W., the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare, to help the service-bound house elves. (That was in the Goblet of Fire book, published 2000, when this type was in its infancy.) To the credit of author J. K. Rowling, the fictional issue of house elf servitude turned out more complex than Hermoine realized, and she was unable to accomplish much.
That's not the case for the younger generation of tiresome shrews that populate newer novels for children and adults. If they do Mary Sue a cause local to the fictional world, they will be completely successful and their opponents vanquished, sometimes almost magically. And some other character will tell her something like, "You are the most courageous person I have ever met." Mary Sue's flaw is that she cares... sometimes too much.
But it's probably unfair to call this character a Mary Sue, since she's not always the hero -- perhaps Smurfette Brown, who can destroy an army of strawmen with ease.
The character is inevitably a fountain of political correctness, the kind of pest that in real life others would avoid. Any mention of Western Europe will automatically be followed by "colonialism"; any mention of the United States will bring up its uniformly dark history and its thievery from others, because the world's wealth is (to borrow from P. J. O'Rourke) just one big pizza, and if we get the last slice then South America has to eat the box. If someone mentions the heroics and brilliance of George Washington, he'll be told that Washington had syphilis (although there's no evidence he did, and syphilis didn't account for his wearing a wig because he did not wear one). She is a walking encyclopedia of woke facts, whether they are true or not. Everything another character might say will spark her to educate them, on pollution or history or politics -- God, the politics -- or racism or sexism or any other -ism, and because they are her friends they will appreciate it.
That's how you know it's fiction. Spending time with a person like this is like walking down a boulevard of broken glass; however careful you may be, you're going to get cut again and again. At least the sniffy and gossipy Church Ladies of yore might be convinced to stand down out of Christian charity once in a while. Nothing ever stops the Wokeheads.
And yet, real life has a way of playing out differently than novels. For a look at what happens in modern-day radical communities, I recommend "Sad Radicals" by recovering radical Conor Barnes:
Probably the worst offense from Smurfette Brown & Co. is a literary one. The less-than-human characters, not just our sharp-tongued she-devil, are indeed stereotypes, meant to provide the author's bona fides, dull except to those unfortunate people who look at them as exemplars. And there are a lot of boring books out there. Checking the boxes of political correctness may win an author a contract, and maybe awards, but is not the way to enjoyable reading.
Even in real life I would encourage the enthusiastic wokemeister to cool down and get a sense of humor. Everyone around you will appreciate it. They may be sympathetic, they may be patient, they may be your parents and legally obligated to be in your presence for some portion of the time, but they don't deserve rudeness and lecturing. Clear away the broken glass.
The girl genius, of course, nowadays has to be totally "woke," to use that childish term that reflects its coiners' level of maturity. Fans of Harry Potter will recall that Hermoine Granger, girl genius, founded S.P.E.W., the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare, to help the service-bound house elves. (That was in the Goblet of Fire book, published 2000, when this type was in its infancy.) To the credit of author J. K. Rowling, the fictional issue of house elf servitude turned out more complex than Hermoine realized, and she was unable to accomplish much.
That's not the case for the younger generation of tiresome shrews that populate newer novels for children and adults. If they do Mary Sue a cause local to the fictional world, they will be completely successful and their opponents vanquished, sometimes almost magically. And some other character will tell her something like, "You are the most courageous person I have ever met." Mary Sue's flaw is that she cares... sometimes too much.
But it's probably unfair to call this character a Mary Sue, since she's not always the hero -- perhaps Smurfette Brown, who can destroy an army of strawmen with ease.
The character is inevitably a fountain of political correctness, the kind of pest that in real life others would avoid. Any mention of Western Europe will automatically be followed by "colonialism"; any mention of the United States will bring up its uniformly dark history and its thievery from others, because the world's wealth is (to borrow from P. J. O'Rourke) just one big pizza, and if we get the last slice then South America has to eat the box. If someone mentions the heroics and brilliance of George Washington, he'll be told that Washington had syphilis (although there's no evidence he did, and syphilis didn't account for his wearing a wig because he did not wear one). She is a walking encyclopedia of woke facts, whether they are true or not. Everything another character might say will spark her to educate them, on pollution or history or politics -- God, the politics -- or racism or sexism or any other -ism, and because they are her friends they will appreciate it.
That's how you know it's fiction. Spending time with a person like this is like walking down a boulevard of broken glass; however careful you may be, you're going to get cut again and again. At least the sniffy and gossipy Church Ladies of yore might be convinced to stand down out of Christian charity once in a while. Nothing ever stops the Wokeheads.
And yet, real life has a way of playing out differently than novels. For a look at what happens in modern-day radical communities, I recommend "Sad Radicals" by recovering radical Conor Barnes:
Radical communities select for particular personality types. They attract deeply compassionate people, especially young people attuned to the suffering inherent to existence. They attract hurt people, looking for an explanation for the pain they’ve endured. And both of these derive meaning for that suffering by attributing it to the force that they now dedicate themselves to opposing. They are no longer purely a victim, but an underdog.And even for those who don't quite go so far as Antifa-level wokeitude, there are surprises. Boys and young men who take their cues from novels might think that the way to a woman's heart is supporting all her causes, but the College Fix reports that "a study in the Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin says that women prefer men who display 'benevolent' sexist attitudes because these indicate men are willing to make an investment — 'protect, provide, and commit'—in a relationship." So, lads, you can either be a sexist, a loser, or an abuser; the options would seem to be limited to those three.
However, radical communities also attract people looking for an excuse to be violent illegalists. And the surplus of vulnerable and compassionate people attracts sadists and abusers ready to exploit them. The only gatekeeping that goes on in radical communities is that of language and passion—if you can rail against capitalism in woke language, you’re in.
Probably the worst offense from Smurfette Brown & Co. is a literary one. The less-than-human characters, not just our sharp-tongued she-devil, are indeed stereotypes, meant to provide the author's bona fides, dull except to those unfortunate people who look at them as exemplars. And there are a lot of boring books out there. Checking the boxes of political correctness may win an author a contract, and maybe awards, but is not the way to enjoyable reading.
Even in real life I would encourage the enthusiastic wokemeister to cool down and get a sense of humor. Everyone around you will appreciate it. They may be sympathetic, they may be patient, they may be your parents and legally obligated to be in your presence for some portion of the time, but they don't deserve rudeness and lecturing. Clear away the broken glass.
Thursday, December 27, 2018
Rotten luck.
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| Unfortunately for Craig's field sobriety test, he picked a bad time to confuse "spread eagle" and "Chicken Dance." |
Wednesday, December 26, 2018
Post-Christmas.
I feel like I ate the 12 dishes of Polish Christmas, the Italian Feast of the Seven Fishes, a Thankgiving dinner, and maybe a Seder in there somewhere as well.
It was a great feast, as befits the greatest birthday in the world. But man, my New Year's resolution is set. Fortunately that means I have a few days to eat all the leftovers. Although today, I will eat nothing but dietary fiber and water. (Note: This decision may be rescinded by lunchtime.)
Aside from all that, I don't have much to share with you today. Santa was good to me, better than I deserve, and I hope he was to you, too. For the first time in maybe a decade we did not all gather 'round the tube to watch A Christmas Story; just never had the time. Add that to list with The Year Without a Santa Claus and Prancer and the George C. Scott Christmas Carol as Christmas faves we just never got to this year. No, the holiday is not over, and we keep the decorations up until Epiphany, but once it's December 26 the likelihood of seeing these videos drops precipitously. I guess there's always Rudolph's Shiny New Year.
Besides, I gotta get back to work. I have a project due Monday that could take anywhere between two and twenty hours; haven't cracked it open so I don't know yet. My wife's on a well-earned vacation, or at least staycation.
Best wishes for you on Boxing Day, and if you didn't get what you wanted yesterday, I hope you will today. See ya tomorrow!
Aside from all that, I don't have much to share with you today. Santa was good to me, better than I deserve, and I hope he was to you, too. For the first time in maybe a decade we did not all gather 'round the tube to watch A Christmas Story; just never had the time. Add that to list with The Year Without a Santa Claus and Prancer and the George C. Scott Christmas Carol as Christmas faves we just never got to this year. No, the holiday is not over, and we keep the decorations up until Epiphany, but once it's December 26 the likelihood of seeing these videos drops precipitously. I guess there's always Rudolph's Shiny New Year.
Besides, I gotta get back to work. I have a project due Monday that could take anywhere between two and twenty hours; haven't cracked it open so I don't know yet. My wife's on a well-earned vacation, or at least staycation.
Best wishes for you on Boxing Day, and if you didn't get what you wanted yesterday, I hope you will today. See ya tomorrow!
Tuesday, December 25, 2018
Christmas morning.
Hello, all, and merry Christmas to you! Or at least a happy one. "Merry" always seems too indicate running around, drinking and acting like a fool. Some people prefer a milder, more reflective Christmas. "Happy" covers all.
So yesterday morning we had a little taste of snow, just to remind us it was A) winter and B) Christmas Eve:
But it all melted by lunchtime.
Not that there wasn't enough snow around, at least in decorative form:
I still can't figure out if that snowman's carrot is on backward.
Traipsing around with Tralfaz, Senior Varsity Dog, one might also see such sights as the Deflatables -- inflatable decor that had spent the whole night riding high on fans and electric bulbs, but look like garbage in the cold light of day. I don't want to pick on them, but it appears that Santa had a rough night.
Which is why I'm more partial to the old-fashioned hard plastics.
When I was a kid, which hardly seems like any time ago at all, plastic anything was considered a vile mockery of real tradition by the right people. I never felt that way, but now this kind of decoration seems charmingly old-fashioned. And yes, it's nonbiodegradable, but it lasts and lasts. This fellow here must be thirty years old. I doubt many inflatable decorations can last that long.
But I'm always cheered by whatever is on the lawn for holiday purposes. They all look great:
Um... About that last one. I know it's a Christmas decoration because I've passed that house many times and there was no swan sleigh out front. Now, it's a nice object, looks handmade, and something about the paint style says early 1970's to me. It would only fit a toddler, but what would pull it? A Labradoodle? And what makes it a Christmas decoration? Seven swans a-swimming? Swan Lake meets the Nutcracker Suite? If any of the home's occupants had been around I would have asked. If I get an update I'll pass it on.
Church was last night -- ours has an early vigil for screaming children and the Midnight Mass for people who, unlike me, can stay awake in public places at 1:00 a.m. without falling into a slobbering doze. Fortunately there is another Mass at 8:00 on Christmas Eve, and we got there.
As for our Christmas dinner, no ham for me:
Ain't no beef or ham for Fred
Chicken it won't be!
Gonna eat some lamb instead
Turkey ain't for me!
Oh, I'm gettin' mutton for Christmas...
A few months ago I tried a slow-cooker lamb shanks recipe that went over so well it got elevated to Best Fred Food status, making it the top choice for Christmas dinner. So that's what we're eating, if I don't forget to plug the pot in; I hope your dinner is even better.
Happy and/or Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good day!
So yesterday morning we had a little taste of snow, just to remind us it was A) winter and B) Christmas Eve:
But it all melted by lunchtime.
Not that there wasn't enough snow around, at least in decorative form:
I still can't figure out if that snowman's carrot is on backward.
Traipsing around with Tralfaz, Senior Varsity Dog, one might also see such sights as the Deflatables -- inflatable decor that had spent the whole night riding high on fans and electric bulbs, but look like garbage in the cold light of day. I don't want to pick on them, but it appears that Santa had a rough night.
Which is why I'm more partial to the old-fashioned hard plastics.
When I was a kid, which hardly seems like any time ago at all, plastic anything was considered a vile mockery of real tradition by the right people. I never felt that way, but now this kind of decoration seems charmingly old-fashioned. And yes, it's nonbiodegradable, but it lasts and lasts. This fellow here must be thirty years old. I doubt many inflatable decorations can last that long.
But I'm always cheered by whatever is on the lawn for holiday purposes. They all look great:
 |
| Lookie what he can do! |
Um... About that last one. I know it's a Christmas decoration because I've passed that house many times and there was no swan sleigh out front. Now, it's a nice object, looks handmade, and something about the paint style says early 1970's to me. It would only fit a toddler, but what would pull it? A Labradoodle? And what makes it a Christmas decoration? Seven swans a-swimming? Swan Lake meets the Nutcracker Suite? If any of the home's occupants had been around I would have asked. If I get an update I'll pass it on.
Church was last night -- ours has an early vigil for screaming children and the Midnight Mass for people who, unlike me, can stay awake in public places at 1:00 a.m. without falling into a slobbering doze. Fortunately there is another Mass at 8:00 on Christmas Eve, and we got there.
As for our Christmas dinner, no ham for me:
Ain't no beef or ham for Fred
Chicken it won't be!
Gonna eat some lamb instead
Turkey ain't for me!
Oh, I'm gettin' mutton for Christmas...
A few months ago I tried a slow-cooker lamb shanks recipe that went over so well it got elevated to Best Fred Food status, making it the top choice for Christmas dinner. So that's what we're eating, if I don't forget to plug the pot in; I hope your dinner is even better.
Happy and/or Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good day!
Monday, December 24, 2018
Humility and glory.
"This sketch of the human story began in a cave; the cave which popular science associates with the cave-man and in which practical discovery has really found archaic drawings of animals. The second half of human history, which was like a new creation of the world, also begins in a cave. There is even a shadow of such a fancy in the fact that animals were again present; for it was a cave used as a stable by the mountaineers of the uplands about Bethlehem; who still drive their cattle into such holes and caverns at night. It was here that a homeless couple had crept underground with the cattle when the doors of the crowded caravanserai had been shut in their faces; and it was here beneath the very feet of the passers-by, in a cellar under the very floor of the world, that Jesus Christ was born. But in that second creation there was indeed something symbolical in the roots of the primeval rock or the horns of the prehistoric herd. God also was a CaveMan, and, had also traced strange shapes of creatures, curiously colored upon the wall of the world; but the pictures that he made had come to life." --G.K. Chesterton, "The God in the Cave," The Everlasting Man
Sunday, December 23, 2018
Miserable Christmas.
So you may hate Christmas, or just the way it's celebrated, or just the music that plays everywhere in December. Okay! This post is for you.
I've decided to rank the most depressing Christmas songs in order of their depressive qualities, from least to worse. I have absolutely no idea if there are even more depressing Christmas songs out there; probably so. These are the ones I'm familiar with. Please feel free to add your own in comments. And go ahead, dispute my rankings. We're all friends here.
I understand full well that for someone suffering illness, loneliness, grief, any of the many ills that plague us in this fallen world, that the most depressing carols may be the most cheerful, mocking our misery. If you're stuck in Saskatchewan on this second day of winter and dealing with seasonal affective disorder, "Mele Kalikimaka" might be the cruelest thing you could hear. If that is where you find yourself, I am heartily sad for you. However, my mission today is to find songs that can ruin Christmas even if everything is going well, all by their miserable little selves. So here are my picks:
Depressing Christmas
"A Christmas Carol" - Tom Lehrer's mockery of the Christmas celebration is only mildly depressing, since it is pretty funny and contains some of his trademark clever rhymes ("Relations, sparing no expensell / Send some useless old utensil / Or a matching pen and pencil"). It also contains the earliest known (to me) poop joke in popular music ("Hail our dear old friend Kris Kringle / Driving his reindeer across the sky / Don't stand underneath when they fly by"). It's not a bad song, but it may take some wind out of your Christmas sails.
"Here Comes Fatty Claus" - Hard to top this one for negativity about the holiday season, unleavened by any cleverness. Makes you laugh the first time you hear it, then never again.
"Father Christmas" - The Kinks' 1976 ditty features violence against a department store Santa by children, followed with a plea for charity to these same thugs. Its humor keeps it up as high as #3, but really, it paints a bleak picture of Christmas in the UK, at least in the 1970s.
"In the Bleak Midwinter" - And speaking of bleak, this poem by the wonderful Christina Rossetti has been used for a dirge-like hymn for a long time now, and yet it takes too many liberties. It paints the midwinter scene beautifully -- "Earth stood hard as iron. Water like a stone." And I know the midwinter is a metaphor. But a metaphor has to be true on both ends, and Christmas Day is exactly four days into winter. You know what the temperature forecast for Jerusalem is this Christmas? Sixty degrees Fahrenheit. I'm not saying it can't be cold there, or that we know that Jesus was born on the day we celebrate as his birthday (we don't, but could be), but Rossetti's poem only works properly if it really is as cold in Bethlehem as it is in our sinful hearts. So it's wrong and sad at the same time. The most common music with the poem is from Gustav Holst, best known for The Planets, who was an amazing composer but not a merry, sprightly type.
"I'll Be Home for Christmas" - A sad, longing song about not being home for Christmas, it made me sad when I first heard it as a kid, at an age where I kind of wouldn't have minded being away from my family for Christmas. (Which I would have regretted had it happened, but you know how kids are.) Even sadder when you know it was written in 1943, during World War II, and how many Americans fighting in Europe and the Pacific and everywhere else who heard the song never did get home for Christmas, ever.
"Do They Know It's Christmas?" - A friend of a friend was in the Peace Corps, and my pal passes along his assessment of this 1984 drek: "It represents the worst form of patronizing arrogance and paternalism and feeds the savior complex of many international development professionals. It is a vile song that will cause me to walk out of a room." Plus, most of Ethiopia is Christian, so I think they'd gotten the message that it was Christmas. And, if it weren't for the God-damned Soviet Union there might never have been a famine. But don't let that stop your wealthy Western guilt; the accusatory nature of depressing Christmas songs will be visited again below. Meanwhile, Sir Bob Geldof got rich and got a knighthood. Hey, you don't get to be Sir Bob for "I Don't Like Mondays," do you?
"Blue Christmas" - If, like me, you grew up thinking that this song sprang like Athena from the dark-browed forehead of King Elvis, you too are mistaken. "Blue Christmas" was first recorded by Doye O'Dell, and you can read the rest of its winding history thanks to the unbeatable Mark Steyn, who mentions everything about the song worth knowing except that it's the only song used in Rankin-Bass's The Year Without a Santa Claus that was not written by Jules Bass and Maury Laws. Anyway, its brokenheartedness earns it a spot on our depressing list, but its bitterness ("You'll be doing all right with your Christmas of white") keeps it from scoring higher on the Depress-O-Meter.
"Christmas Song" - The first of two by Jethro Tull, with the admission that Tull is one of my favorite bands EVAH!!😍 But what an anti-Christmas song front man Ian Anderson wrote here, for 1972's Living in the Past. You get the idea: "When you're stuffing yourself at the Christmas parties / You'll just laugh when I tell you to take a running jump" and "How can you laugh when your own mother's hungry? / How can you smile when your reasons for smiling are wrong?" It calls for a remembrance of Christ, but you can't take that seriously from a pretty obvious non-Christian. However, it does end with the call for "Santa! Pass us that bottle," baring the singer's own complicity in the revels. But Anderson would return with:
"Jack Frost and the Hooded Crow" - Almost a decade later this was recorded by Tull during the Broadsword and the Beast sessions, but it didn't make the album; it would appear as a B-side and on the band's box set released in 1988. This one goes straight to threats - your lack of charity could bring punishment from God, who'll take away all your good things and throw you in the gutter with the loathed punks ("The Lord may find you wanting / Let your good fortune disappear"). Eek! Sad and scary!
"Santa Can't Stay" - Dwight Yoakam's yuletide tribute to broken homes is funny, but of course it isn't. Yeah, Santa shows up drunk, like Mom expected, driving a car just like Dad's, and it's all seen from the point of view of the kids. But it is funny, especially when Santa "threw a present really hard that almost hit Mom's new boyfriend, Ray" (we are also told that Santa "might just beat the crap outta Ray"). But it's horrible too. But the music is festive! And it's awful. One of the great country music songs. Depressing.
"Please Come Home for Christmas" - It kind of figures that the first recording, from 1960, of this Christmas blues song would be from a guy named Charles Brown. No wonder he told Linus he couldn't understand Christmas in 1965. First the ironic start ("Bells will be ringing," the kind of observation that makes for happy Christmas songs and happy wedding songs), then you get it right in the teeth on line three ("My baby's gone, I have no friends"). Wow, you lost your woman and all your friends!? The title plea follows and we, the listeners, have little doubt that it will do no good at all. Next Christmas he'll be drunk and living in a box. And he'll be crying...
"Christmas Tears" - Yes, a year later, in 1961, Freddie King put out his own song of Christmas blues, blues that this singer has been carrying for years. "You been gone such a long, long time / But it's Christmas and I can't get you off of my mind / Seems like you been gone a hundred years or more / But if you were here with me now / I'd hang 'Merry Christmas' on my door". Not only did his woman leave, but he absolutely cannot get over it. Jeez, the next song up for this guy would be a holiday cut of "He Stopped Loving Her Today." Forget the wassail; pass the strychnine.
"Pretty Paper" - I have a somewhat limited appreciation for Roy Orbison, and this song is one of the reasons why. Seems to be Christmas as seen from the eyes of someone lonely, poor, drunk, stupid, God knows what else. Of course everyone ignores the pathetic reject. (Supposedly it was based on the really sad story of a handicapped seller of gift wrap, as detailed on Wikipedia, if you're not depressed enough.) It has the subtlety of an RAF Grand Slam bomb. Anyway, Willie Nelson wrote it, so maybe that explains it.
"I Believe in Father Christmas" - Emerson, Lake & Palmer's bitter little song to a cheerful melody has always depressed me. The singer apparently has lost faith in everything because it rained on Christmas. ("They said there'd be snow at Christmas... But instead it just kept on raining.") Okay. Actually, reading a little about the origin of the song has softened me on it, but it's still sad, disgruntled, and wet.
"Looking for Eden" - And here comes Ian Anderson again, this time from his solo album Walk Into Light, trying to get some of that ELP soggy Christmas money: "And where on earth are all those songs of Eden? / The fairy tales, the shepherds and wise men? / Just one old dosser lurching down Oxford Street / To spend his Christmas lying in the rain." Not only does Christmas suck, and everyone who celebrates it sucks, but it's just a pack of fairy tales. And it's raining. Kill me now.
"Happy Xmas (War Is Over)" - And here we are at last, the only Christmas song by an ex-Beatle so bad it could almost make us forgive "Wonderful Christmastime," if it were possible to forgive "Wonderful Christmastime." John Lennon's soggy little paean to peace uses Christmas in a way that makes Willie Nelson look subtle, to tell us if we all decide not to have war, we will not have war. How simple! How easy! And guess what? If we all decide not to steal, we'll have no theft! If we all decide not to be jealous, we'll have no jealousy! But you know something? It only takes one side to start a war, and then everyone involved has to play along. Maybe on some other planet Lennon's ideas would have worked, but I live with human beings here on Earth. And the choir sucks too. I think the most depressing thing about this song is that people still seem to think it's profound. I liked it better as a Jamaican tourist jingle.
You may have noticed one thing most of these songs have in common -- airplay. Some are hits, and kept their creators in royalties for life. Clearly there's a market for depressing Christmas songs. I'm working on one called "Strange Ornaments," in which Santa comes down the chimney to find a whole family has hanged themselves because of the horror of living in HERR TRUMP'S AMERIKKKA!!!!! I think it'll be big on college radio stations.
Honorable and Dishonorable Mention
"Christmas with the Devil" - Okay, if you take Spinal Tap seriously, this would be a horrible sentiment, and possibly depressing. But you can't, so it isn't. "The sugar plums are rancid / And the stockings are in flames!" Sure. Though I guess its bad taste could sour some people on Christmas. I think it's a funnier as an idea than in execution, but this really does sound like bad heavy metal.
"'Zat You, Santa Claus?" - A weird number, unlike any holiday song I know, with a totally a Halloween sound. First done with great pizzazz by the incomparable Louis Armstrong in 1953 and covered by everyone else since, even the Muppets. May leave you scratching your head, but the semi-implied threat doesn't make for depression. It does, however, seem to be particularly popular with people who hate Christmas.
"Christmas at Ground Zero" -Weird Al sings of the "crazy fluke" of the world being destroyed in a nuclear holocaust on "this jolly holiday." Really gets the '60s pop-Christmas sound down solid, so the parody music is on target. Kind of depressing, I guess, if you're worried about nuclear war, which we were more in 1986 when this song came out than in 2018, thank God.
"Another Christmas Song" - And here comes Ian Anderson AGAIN! This time from 1989's Rock Island, but by now Tull's flutemeister has gotten a little less petulant, and actually paints a poetical picture of the "Old Man" calling all his children home at Christmas, "proving that the blood is strong." And a sweet sentiment bordering on faith: "Everyone is from somewhere / Even if you've never been there." Of course, it wouldn't be an Anderson Christmas song without an accusation: "How many wars you fighting out there this winter's morning?" Yeah, yeah, yeah. Sorry we're not living up to your expectations.
"Xerox Xmas Letter" - This one's totally unfair, as it's funny and comes from Ray Stevens's Christmas Through a Different Window album. It's the supposed text of a pathetic family's annual photocopied letter that comes from the Christmas cards. I could see it maybe making you sad if that sounds like your family ("We took down the front yard tire swing / Now that Junior's in the pen / But it looks like a happy new year / They moved him off death row again!"). Then again, every song from the album could have that effect ("Bad Little Boy," "Guilt for Christmas," "I Won't Be Home for Christmas," "The Little Drummer Boy--Next Door," and so on). Hell, so could Tepper and Bennett's "Nuttin' for Christmas," if you've been a rotten little kid.
"Same Old Lang Syne" - Dan Fogelberg does meet his old love in the grocery store on Christmas Eve, but the title of this sad and wistful number says New Year's Eve. So, not quite eligible as a depressing Christmas song.
"Santa Claus Go Straight to the Ghetto" - This ditty from the unexpected Christmas singer James Brown is not depressing at all, actually, unless the very idea of poor neighborhoods or ethnic ghettos is that depressing for you. If it is, don't listen to Run-DMC's "Christmas in Hollis" either.
"I'll Be Home for Christmas (Though Just in Memory)" - Wait, didn't we cover this? Yes, but no. This is the 1942 song by Buck Ram, awfully similar to the 1943 song by Walter Kent and Kim Gannon mentioned above, and if you think there had to have been a lawsuit, you are sooooo right. But this song doesn't have the heartrending quality of Kent and Gannon's song; it's more wistful than sorrowful, and it doesn't save the punch until the end ("though just in memory" is the second line; "if only in my dreams" is the last line of the latter song). Sad, yes, but not as sad, or as good.
Well, all right! That's enough depression! We need a pickup, quick, and that means the Drifters!
Phew! That was close. Thanks, Drifters! And Joshua Held (who did the animation)!
And if that's not enough, here's Lionel Hampton:
Okay, I think that'll hold us through Christmas Eve! May your Christmas be lovely and totally non-depressing.
I've decided to rank the most depressing Christmas songs in order of their depressive qualities, from least to worse. I have absolutely no idea if there are even more depressing Christmas songs out there; probably so. These are the ones I'm familiar with. Please feel free to add your own in comments. And go ahead, dispute my rankings. We're all friends here.
I understand full well that for someone suffering illness, loneliness, grief, any of the many ills that plague us in this fallen world, that the most depressing carols may be the most cheerful, mocking our misery. If you're stuck in Saskatchewan on this second day of winter and dealing with seasonal affective disorder, "Mele Kalikimaka" might be the cruelest thing you could hear. If that is where you find yourself, I am heartily sad for you. However, my mission today is to find songs that can ruin Christmas even if everything is going well, all by their miserable little selves. So here are my picks:
Depressing Christmas
"A Christmas Carol" - Tom Lehrer's mockery of the Christmas celebration is only mildly depressing, since it is pretty funny and contains some of his trademark clever rhymes ("Relations, sparing no expensell / Send some useless old utensil / Or a matching pen and pencil"). It also contains the earliest known (to me) poop joke in popular music ("Hail our dear old friend Kris Kringle / Driving his reindeer across the sky / Don't stand underneath when they fly by"). It's not a bad song, but it may take some wind out of your Christmas sails.
"Here Comes Fatty Claus" - Hard to top this one for negativity about the holiday season, unleavened by any cleverness. Makes you laugh the first time you hear it, then never again.
"Father Christmas" - The Kinks' 1976 ditty features violence against a department store Santa by children, followed with a plea for charity to these same thugs. Its humor keeps it up as high as #3, but really, it paints a bleak picture of Christmas in the UK, at least in the 1970s.
"In the Bleak Midwinter" - And speaking of bleak, this poem by the wonderful Christina Rossetti has been used for a dirge-like hymn for a long time now, and yet it takes too many liberties. It paints the midwinter scene beautifully -- "Earth stood hard as iron. Water like a stone." And I know the midwinter is a metaphor. But a metaphor has to be true on both ends, and Christmas Day is exactly four days into winter. You know what the temperature forecast for Jerusalem is this Christmas? Sixty degrees Fahrenheit. I'm not saying it can't be cold there, or that we know that Jesus was born on the day we celebrate as his birthday (we don't, but could be), but Rossetti's poem only works properly if it really is as cold in Bethlehem as it is in our sinful hearts. So it's wrong and sad at the same time. The most common music with the poem is from Gustav Holst, best known for The Planets, who was an amazing composer but not a merry, sprightly type.
"I'll Be Home for Christmas" - A sad, longing song about not being home for Christmas, it made me sad when I first heard it as a kid, at an age where I kind of wouldn't have minded being away from my family for Christmas. (Which I would have regretted had it happened, but you know how kids are.) Even sadder when you know it was written in 1943, during World War II, and how many Americans fighting in Europe and the Pacific and everywhere else who heard the song never did get home for Christmas, ever.
"Do They Know It's Christmas?" - A friend of a friend was in the Peace Corps, and my pal passes along his assessment of this 1984 drek: "It represents the worst form of patronizing arrogance and paternalism and feeds the savior complex of many international development professionals. It is a vile song that will cause me to walk out of a room." Plus, most of Ethiopia is Christian, so I think they'd gotten the message that it was Christmas. And, if it weren't for the God-damned Soviet Union there might never have been a famine. But don't let that stop your wealthy Western guilt; the accusatory nature of depressing Christmas songs will be visited again below. Meanwhile, Sir Bob Geldof got rich and got a knighthood. Hey, you don't get to be Sir Bob for "I Don't Like Mondays," do you?
"Blue Christmas" - If, like me, you grew up thinking that this song sprang like Athena from the dark-browed forehead of King Elvis, you too are mistaken. "Blue Christmas" was first recorded by Doye O'Dell, and you can read the rest of its winding history thanks to the unbeatable Mark Steyn, who mentions everything about the song worth knowing except that it's the only song used in Rankin-Bass's The Year Without a Santa Claus that was not written by Jules Bass and Maury Laws. Anyway, its brokenheartedness earns it a spot on our depressing list, but its bitterness ("You'll be doing all right with your Christmas of white") keeps it from scoring higher on the Depress-O-Meter.
"Christmas Song" - The first of two by Jethro Tull, with the admission that Tull is one of my favorite bands EVAH!!😍 But what an anti-Christmas song front man Ian Anderson wrote here, for 1972's Living in the Past. You get the idea: "When you're stuffing yourself at the Christmas parties / You'll just laugh when I tell you to take a running jump" and "How can you laugh when your own mother's hungry? / How can you smile when your reasons for smiling are wrong?" It calls for a remembrance of Christ, but you can't take that seriously from a pretty obvious non-Christian. However, it does end with the call for "Santa! Pass us that bottle," baring the singer's own complicity in the revels. But Anderson would return with:
"Jack Frost and the Hooded Crow" - Almost a decade later this was recorded by Tull during the Broadsword and the Beast sessions, but it didn't make the album; it would appear as a B-side and on the band's box set released in 1988. This one goes straight to threats - your lack of charity could bring punishment from God, who'll take away all your good things and throw you in the gutter with the loathed punks ("The Lord may find you wanting / Let your good fortune disappear"). Eek! Sad and scary!
"Santa Can't Stay" - Dwight Yoakam's yuletide tribute to broken homes is funny, but of course it isn't. Yeah, Santa shows up drunk, like Mom expected, driving a car just like Dad's, and it's all seen from the point of view of the kids. But it is funny, especially when Santa "threw a present really hard that almost hit Mom's new boyfriend, Ray" (we are also told that Santa "might just beat the crap outta Ray"). But it's horrible too. But the music is festive! And it's awful. One of the great country music songs. Depressing.
"Please Come Home for Christmas" - It kind of figures that the first recording, from 1960, of this Christmas blues song would be from a guy named Charles Brown. No wonder he told Linus he couldn't understand Christmas in 1965. First the ironic start ("Bells will be ringing," the kind of observation that makes for happy Christmas songs and happy wedding songs), then you get it right in the teeth on line three ("My baby's gone, I have no friends"). Wow, you lost your woman and all your friends!? The title plea follows and we, the listeners, have little doubt that it will do no good at all. Next Christmas he'll be drunk and living in a box. And he'll be crying...
"Christmas Tears" - Yes, a year later, in 1961, Freddie King put out his own song of Christmas blues, blues that this singer has been carrying for years. "You been gone such a long, long time / But it's Christmas and I can't get you off of my mind / Seems like you been gone a hundred years or more / But if you were here with me now / I'd hang 'Merry Christmas' on my door". Not only did his woman leave, but he absolutely cannot get over it. Jeez, the next song up for this guy would be a holiday cut of "He Stopped Loving Her Today." Forget the wassail; pass the strychnine.
"Pretty Paper" - I have a somewhat limited appreciation for Roy Orbison, and this song is one of the reasons why. Seems to be Christmas as seen from the eyes of someone lonely, poor, drunk, stupid, God knows what else. Of course everyone ignores the pathetic reject. (Supposedly it was based on the really sad story of a handicapped seller of gift wrap, as detailed on Wikipedia, if you're not depressed enough.) It has the subtlety of an RAF Grand Slam bomb. Anyway, Willie Nelson wrote it, so maybe that explains it.
"I Believe in Father Christmas" - Emerson, Lake & Palmer's bitter little song to a cheerful melody has always depressed me. The singer apparently has lost faith in everything because it rained on Christmas. ("They said there'd be snow at Christmas... But instead it just kept on raining.") Okay. Actually, reading a little about the origin of the song has softened me on it, but it's still sad, disgruntled, and wet.
"Looking for Eden" - And here comes Ian Anderson again, this time from his solo album Walk Into Light, trying to get some of that ELP soggy Christmas money: "And where on earth are all those songs of Eden? / The fairy tales, the shepherds and wise men? / Just one old dosser lurching down Oxford Street / To spend his Christmas lying in the rain." Not only does Christmas suck, and everyone who celebrates it sucks, but it's just a pack of fairy tales. And it's raining. Kill me now.
"Happy Xmas (War Is Over)" - And here we are at last, the only Christmas song by an ex-Beatle so bad it could almost make us forgive "Wonderful Christmastime," if it were possible to forgive "Wonderful Christmastime." John Lennon's soggy little paean to peace uses Christmas in a way that makes Willie Nelson look subtle, to tell us if we all decide not to have war, we will not have war. How simple! How easy! And guess what? If we all decide not to steal, we'll have no theft! If we all decide not to be jealous, we'll have no jealousy! But you know something? It only takes one side to start a war, and then everyone involved has to play along. Maybe on some other planet Lennon's ideas would have worked, but I live with human beings here on Earth. And the choir sucks too. I think the most depressing thing about this song is that people still seem to think it's profound. I liked it better as a Jamaican tourist jingle.
🎄😭
You may have noticed one thing most of these songs have in common -- airplay. Some are hits, and kept their creators in royalties for life. Clearly there's a market for depressing Christmas songs. I'm working on one called "Strange Ornaments," in which Santa comes down the chimney to find a whole family has hanged themselves because of the horror of living in HERR TRUMP'S AMERIKKKA!!!!! I think it'll be big on college radio stations.
🎄💀
"Christmas with the Devil" - Okay, if you take Spinal Tap seriously, this would be a horrible sentiment, and possibly depressing. But you can't, so it isn't. "The sugar plums are rancid / And the stockings are in flames!" Sure. Though I guess its bad taste could sour some people on Christmas. I think it's a funnier as an idea than in execution, but this really does sound like bad heavy metal.
"'Zat You, Santa Claus?" - A weird number, unlike any holiday song I know, with a totally a Halloween sound. First done with great pizzazz by the incomparable Louis Armstrong in 1953 and covered by everyone else since, even the Muppets. May leave you scratching your head, but the semi-implied threat doesn't make for depression. It does, however, seem to be particularly popular with people who hate Christmas.
"Christmas at Ground Zero" -Weird Al sings of the "crazy fluke" of the world being destroyed in a nuclear holocaust on "this jolly holiday." Really gets the '60s pop-Christmas sound down solid, so the parody music is on target. Kind of depressing, I guess, if you're worried about nuclear war, which we were more in 1986 when this song came out than in 2018, thank God.
"Another Christmas Song" - And here comes Ian Anderson AGAIN! This time from 1989's Rock Island, but by now Tull's flutemeister has gotten a little less petulant, and actually paints a poetical picture of the "Old Man" calling all his children home at Christmas, "proving that the blood is strong." And a sweet sentiment bordering on faith: "Everyone is from somewhere / Even if you've never been there." Of course, it wouldn't be an Anderson Christmas song without an accusation: "How many wars you fighting out there this winter's morning?" Yeah, yeah, yeah. Sorry we're not living up to your expectations.
"Xerox Xmas Letter" - This one's totally unfair, as it's funny and comes from Ray Stevens's Christmas Through a Different Window album. It's the supposed text of a pathetic family's annual photocopied letter that comes from the Christmas cards. I could see it maybe making you sad if that sounds like your family ("We took down the front yard tire swing / Now that Junior's in the pen / But it looks like a happy new year / They moved him off death row again!"). Then again, every song from the album could have that effect ("Bad Little Boy," "Guilt for Christmas," "I Won't Be Home for Christmas," "The Little Drummer Boy--Next Door," and so on). Hell, so could Tepper and Bennett's "Nuttin' for Christmas," if you've been a rotten little kid.
"Same Old Lang Syne" - Dan Fogelberg does meet his old love in the grocery store on Christmas Eve, but the title of this sad and wistful number says New Year's Eve. So, not quite eligible as a depressing Christmas song.
"Santa Claus Go Straight to the Ghetto" - This ditty from the unexpected Christmas singer James Brown is not depressing at all, actually, unless the very idea of poor neighborhoods or ethnic ghettos is that depressing for you. If it is, don't listen to Run-DMC's "Christmas in Hollis" either.
"I'll Be Home for Christmas (Though Just in Memory)" - Wait, didn't we cover this? Yes, but no. This is the 1942 song by Buck Ram, awfully similar to the 1943 song by Walter Kent and Kim Gannon mentioned above, and if you think there had to have been a lawsuit, you are sooooo right. But this song doesn't have the heartrending quality of Kent and Gannon's song; it's more wistful than sorrowful, and it doesn't save the punch until the end ("though just in memory" is the second line; "if only in my dreams" is the last line of the latter song). Sad, yes, but not as sad, or as good.
Well, all right! That's enough depression! We need a pickup, quick, and that means the Drifters!
Phew! That was close. Thanks, Drifters! And Joshua Held (who did the animation)!
And if that's not enough, here's Lionel Hampton:
Saturday, December 22, 2018
New calendars.
As I noted a couple of weeks ago, it's CALENDAR TIME! Get your free ones from the Chinese restaurant or the church, or wait until you get one from a relative who doesn't like you for Christmas. "2019 Great Coffee Mugs Calendar" or "Chinese Crested Puppies 2019!!!!!" maybe.
We've all seen enough calendars, especially the ones for kids, to
know that months have particular colors. And fonts, but that's less
standardized. In the northern hemisphere I think they look something like this.
Now, you may disagree with some or all of these choices, and I could easily be swayed that there are better ones. But to help appreciate my design, here's the months with the fonts and colors all mixed up:
Friday, December 21, 2018
Thursday, December 20, 2018
Rockquaman!
“Gotta boogie, Gare,” said Zach.
“Going to meet Christine and go to the movies. Gonna try to get her to the Aquaman
movie, but guaranteed we wind up at a chick flick. You okay?”
“Okay? Of course. Tell her I said
hi. Haven’t been out with you both in a while.”
“Yeah,” said Zach, tactfully not
adding that four was company but three was a crowd. “You hanging here?”
“Why not? They got food, and a
delightful piquant atmosphere.”
“Pee-what?”
“Exactly. Anyway, I think some of
the guys are coming by in a little while. Tony and the others.” This was a lie;
their friends and acquaintances might enter the bar in the afternoon, or after
ten, but not likely between the hours of seven and ten. It was six thirty.
“Okay, Gary. Take it easy.”
“Say hi to Arthur Curry for me.”
“Who?”
“Aquaman. That was his human name.
Or used to be. I can’t keep up with the comics anymore.”
Zach shook his head, grinning.
“Dork.”
“You want to see the movie.”
“Yeah, well, ninety-nine percent
chance I’m going to wind up at a romantic comedy anyway. See you.”
🔱🔱🔱
A lot changed about that scene between the time I started playing with the ideas that would become the book and its pub date in 2010, but Aquaman was always the movie that Gary's friend was going to see. I remember my thinking on this. I chose the subject very carefully.
I wanted it to be a superhero movie because the book has dual storylines related to that -- our hero, Gary, dealing with some tough life situations, and his imaginary alter ego, Cobalt, coming out of retirement when someone tries to kill him. I wanted to establish Gary as a dork who would know Aquaman's birth name, the kind of guy who made up his own comic books as a teenager. So it had to be an unusual hero -- everyone knows who Clark Kent and Peter Parker are, but Aquaman?
I also wanted it to be a hero with whom people were at least a little familiar (and Aquaman had starred in a lot of TV cartoons, including Super Friends). But I didn't want to reference a popular hero like the Hulk, who might actually star in a movie, because it would date the book. So I needed to pick a well-known comic book hero whom I could safely assume would never really be the star of his own movie.
And, here we are.
So you never really can predict what's going to happen, can you? I just thought it was interesting.
Anyway, I like Aquaman and I'm glad he got his own movie. He's been a hero in good standing since 1941.
People made fun of him, like my pals at IMAO. The very idea of an Aquaman movie (by James Cameron!) was a gag on the HBO show Entourage. Well, I didn't make fun of Aquaman. (Okay, maybe a little.) And hey, he got a namecheck in the Barenaked Ladies' hit "One Week." The Sub-Mariner can't say that, the soggy sack o' barnacles!
Arthur was a pretty powerful character even before they gave him the Trident of Neptune. My only concern is if he picks the fish over us. Since the 1960s there's been a current (so to speak) of anti-humanism running through his stories because of water pollution and war, but he's still one of us -- a New Englander, in fact. Or he was. Like Gary, I can't keep up with the comics anymore. I think they've changed his origin a dozen times.
Good luck, Aquaman! If you see his movie, let me know if you like it. Unless you get dragged to some chick flick instead.
I wanted it to be a superhero movie because the book has dual storylines related to that -- our hero, Gary, dealing with some tough life situations, and his imaginary alter ego, Cobalt, coming out of retirement when someone tries to kill him. I wanted to establish Gary as a dork who would know Aquaman's birth name, the kind of guy who made up his own comic books as a teenager. So it had to be an unusual hero -- everyone knows who Clark Kent and Peter Parker are, but Aquaman?
I also wanted it to be a hero with whom people were at least a little familiar (and Aquaman had starred in a lot of TV cartoons, including Super Friends). But I didn't want to reference a popular hero like the Hulk, who might actually star in a movie, because it would date the book. So I needed to pick a well-known comic book hero whom I could safely assume would never really be the star of his own movie.
And, here we are.
So you never really can predict what's going to happen, can you? I just thought it was interesting.
Anyway, I like Aquaman and I'm glad he got his own movie. He's been a hero in good standing since 1941.
 |
| Crushing the Axis. |
People made fun of him, like my pals at IMAO. The very idea of an Aquaman movie (by James Cameron!) was a gag on the HBO show Entourage. Well, I didn't make fun of Aquaman. (Okay, maybe a little.) And hey, he got a namecheck in the Barenaked Ladies' hit "One Week." The Sub-Mariner can't say that, the soggy sack o' barnacles!
Arthur was a pretty powerful character even before they gave him the Trident of Neptune. My only concern is if he picks the fish over us. Since the 1960s there's been a current (so to speak) of anti-humanism running through his stories because of water pollution and war, but he's still one of us -- a New Englander, in fact. Or he was. Like Gary, I can't keep up with the comics anymore. I think they've changed his origin a dozen times.
Good luck, Aquaman! If you see his movie, let me know if you like it. Unless you get dragged to some chick flick instead.
Wednesday, December 19, 2018
Whoville PD.
We were working the graveyard when a call came in to the station. The jing-tingle of the phone startled Detective Joey Who, who almost dropped his cards on the floor -- and he had just pulled to an inside straight. I could tell by the way his whiskers twitched.
"Precinct," said Desk Sgt. Flinia Who. "What? Robbery? On Christmas Eve? Gotta be a mistake."
My ears pricked up. This sounded like trouble.
"No, no, Mr. Who, that's all right. I'm sure your daughter's not lying. Gimme the address and we'll get out there right now. Thanks." She jotted the information on a pad.
Joey and I got up, the game forgotten. At least for us; the other players, janitor Squeaky Cleen Who and town drunk Booey Who, took a look at our cards. The doctor on call, a guy named Who, would have done just as much, but he wasn't there that night. He disappears on us sometimes.
"What's the story, Flinia?" I asked, getting my coat.
"This guy says his daughter saw Santa Claus in her living room," she said.
"So?"
"Well, Santa gives her a drink and sends her to bed, right? So, of course, an hour later she has to use the euphemism. Then she sees that this so-called Santa has taken everything! All the presents, the tree, the food, everything."
"Not the Who Hash?"
"Everything to the last crumb. So she's upset and her father's having a fit. You better get over there, Harry."
"On the way. C'mon, Joey."
We headed out into the cold night. Whoville PD has a rep to uphold, for crack service.
By the time we got to East Who Street, the whole block was in an uproar, everyone milling around outside. This Who guy had been going around to his neighbors, and it turned out they'd had everything stolen, too.
"About time you got here!" he said. "I'm Townshend Who, and this is my daughter, Cindy-Lou. She saw the culprit."
"Okay if I talk with her?"
"Yes, go ahead."
I sent Joey around to check if anyone else'd seen the perp while I jawed with the kid. "All right, little girl, thank you for alerting your folks," I said, trying to sound calm. "So you met someone claiming to be Santa, right?"
"Uh-huh," she said. A perky little kid, not shy or anything. "I heard him stuffing the tree up our chimbley and I asked him why he was taking it. He said something about a light being broken. But then why did he take everything?"
"Good question. What did he look like? Red suit, beard?"
"No beard. He was green."
"Wait, he was wearing a green suit?"
"No, a red suit. He was green."
"Well, I'll be a-- Cindy, you've been a great help. Why don't you folks go inside and get warm? We're on the case."
"Do you know who did it already?" asked the dad.
"Not Who," I said. "More of a what."
I talked to a couple of other people, but Cindy-Lou was the only eyewitness. A peek in the windows confirmed their stories -- nothing left, no presents, no decorations, no yule log, nothing but hooks and some wire.
Joey's findings confirmed my suspicions.
"I looked around the snow," he said. "Reindeer tracks, you know? Found 'em, but with the snow falling looked like three or four hours ago. Sled tracks too."
"You're like a one-man Whoville CSI, you know that?"
"But there was second sled, more recent, and no reindeer tracks. You know what I seen instead?"
"Dog tracks."
"Yeah."
"The three words that best describe this case," I said, "are as follows, and I quote: stink, stank, stunk."
"Grinch," he said.
"Call it in," I said. "If he's hit all these houses, he might be working the whole town, trying to steal Christmas."
"We're probably too late," grumbled Joey. "Grinches are strong, fast, and sneaky. He's probably heading back up Mount Crumpit with the loot already. We'll never find him up there."
"You're right," I said, "but these kids are gonna be crushed when they see there's no floofloovers, no tartookas, no whohoopers or gardookas. What'll they do without trumtookas, slooslunkas, or blumbloopas? And the whowonkas! That's the hottest toy this year!"
"I know, I know," said Joey. "And what's Christmas without a game of zoozittacarzay?"
I shook my head. No Christmas was coming. And no breakfast. Everyone on the block said that the green jerk took all the food. This was gonna be a hungry town.
Then I got an idea.
"Hey, Joey," I said. "You still on the PBA choir?"
"Yeah."
"And you guys know the other singing groups in town, right?"
"Yeah... where you going with this?"
"Y'know," I said, "the problem with Grinches is their tiny little hearts. Sad, shriveled little things. But they're suckers for music."
Joey started to smile. "You're a good detective, Harry Who."
I smiled back. "Quick," I said, "before he dumps everything. Get everyone in the town square. We got some Fahoo Forays to sing!"
----
Author's Note: I haven't seen the new Grinch cartoon yet, or in fact the Ron Howard Grinch movie, and I have no idea if either features the detective work of the Whoville PD. If either movie used any of the above gags, rest assured they somehow stole my idea. That goes double for reader Mr. Philbin.
"Precinct," said Desk Sgt. Flinia Who. "What? Robbery? On Christmas Eve? Gotta be a mistake."
My ears pricked up. This sounded like trouble.
"No, no, Mr. Who, that's all right. I'm sure your daughter's not lying. Gimme the address and we'll get out there right now. Thanks." She jotted the information on a pad.
Joey and I got up, the game forgotten. At least for us; the other players, janitor Squeaky Cleen Who and town drunk Booey Who, took a look at our cards. The doctor on call, a guy named Who, would have done just as much, but he wasn't there that night. He disappears on us sometimes.
"What's the story, Flinia?" I asked, getting my coat.
"This guy says his daughter saw Santa Claus in her living room," she said.
"So?"
"Well, Santa gives her a drink and sends her to bed, right? So, of course, an hour later she has to use the euphemism. Then she sees that this so-called Santa has taken everything! All the presents, the tree, the food, everything."
"Not the Who Hash?"
"Everything to the last crumb. So she's upset and her father's having a fit. You better get over there, Harry."
"On the way. C'mon, Joey."
We headed out into the cold night. Whoville PD has a rep to uphold, for crack service.
By the time we got to East Who Street, the whole block was in an uproar, everyone milling around outside. This Who guy had been going around to his neighbors, and it turned out they'd had everything stolen, too.
"About time you got here!" he said. "I'm Townshend Who, and this is my daughter, Cindy-Lou. She saw the culprit."
"Okay if I talk with her?"
"Yes, go ahead."
I sent Joey around to check if anyone else'd seen the perp while I jawed with the kid. "All right, little girl, thank you for alerting your folks," I said, trying to sound calm. "So you met someone claiming to be Santa, right?"
"Uh-huh," she said. A perky little kid, not shy or anything. "I heard him stuffing the tree up our chimbley and I asked him why he was taking it. He said something about a light being broken. But then why did he take everything?"
"Good question. What did he look like? Red suit, beard?"
"No beard. He was green."
"Wait, he was wearing a green suit?"
"No, a red suit. He was green."
"Well, I'll be a-- Cindy, you've been a great help. Why don't you folks go inside and get warm? We're on the case."
"Do you know who did it already?" asked the dad.
"Not Who," I said. "More of a what."
I talked to a couple of other people, but Cindy-Lou was the only eyewitness. A peek in the windows confirmed their stories -- nothing left, no presents, no decorations, no yule log, nothing but hooks and some wire.
Joey's findings confirmed my suspicions.
"I looked around the snow," he said. "Reindeer tracks, you know? Found 'em, but with the snow falling looked like three or four hours ago. Sled tracks too."
"You're like a one-man Whoville CSI, you know that?"
"But there was second sled, more recent, and no reindeer tracks. You know what I seen instead?"
"Dog tracks."
"Yeah."
"The three words that best describe this case," I said, "are as follows, and I quote: stink, stank, stunk."
"Grinch," he said.
"Call it in," I said. "If he's hit all these houses, he might be working the whole town, trying to steal Christmas."
"We're probably too late," grumbled Joey. "Grinches are strong, fast, and sneaky. He's probably heading back up Mount Crumpit with the loot already. We'll never find him up there."
"You're right," I said, "but these kids are gonna be crushed when they see there's no floofloovers, no tartookas, no whohoopers or gardookas. What'll they do without trumtookas, slooslunkas, or blumbloopas? And the whowonkas! That's the hottest toy this year!"
"I know, I know," said Joey. "And what's Christmas without a game of zoozittacarzay?"
I shook my head. No Christmas was coming. And no breakfast. Everyone on the block said that the green jerk took all the food. This was gonna be a hungry town.
Then I got an idea.
"Hey, Joey," I said. "You still on the PBA choir?"
"Yeah."
"And you guys know the other singing groups in town, right?"
"Yeah... where you going with this?"
"Y'know," I said, "the problem with Grinches is their tiny little hearts. Sad, shriveled little things. But they're suckers for music."
Joey started to smile. "You're a good detective, Harry Who."
I smiled back. "Quick," I said, "before he dumps everything. Get everyone in the town square. We got some Fahoo Forays to sing!"
----
Author's Note: I haven't seen the new Grinch cartoon yet, or in fact the Ron Howard Grinch movie, and I have no idea if either features the detective work of the Whoville PD. If either movie used any of the above gags, rest assured they somehow stole my idea. That goes double for reader Mr. Philbin.
Tuesday, December 18, 2018
Caligula's fall?
I was cleaning off the ol' hard drive last week and came across this -- and I have to tell you, it's been hanging around in my Screenshots folder since 2015, and for more than three years I have had no idea what to do with it.
This was a short-lived campaign for the Lunchables brand of pre-packed food by Kraft. Specifically for the then-new Lunchables Uploaded, which is basically a microwavable Lunchables with more food and a drink.
So they got... Malcolm McDowell to be part of the product launch.
Whuh?
Yeah, the actor most famous for playing rapey killer Alex in A Clockwork Orange, who also played Mick Travis in a series of bizarre Lindsay Anderson films, the dastard Harry Flashman in Royal Flash, and even Caligula in the eponymous X-rated film, signed on to peddle... luncheon meat. This is an actor so cruel that he played a evil professor in a collegiate sitcom; so horrible that he couldn't do a cartoon except as villains like Metallo or Zarm; so scary he played the bad Mr. Roarke in the revival of Fantasy Island; so awful that he played himself in The Player... selling kids' food in 2015.
Eh, it's a living.
Actually, reports are that McDowell is a nice enough guy, apparently friendlier than a lot of movie actors, with a lot of gratitude for his bizarre career, so I guess the evil stuff just kind of got attached to him. Plus, if you're British, you have to play villains, no matter how decent a chap you are. It's been scientifically proven!
Still, McDowell has a history of brilliant performances, often in the service of unworthy vehicles, and the lunch meat thing has to be among the lowest of them all. The gimmick, using the hashtag Are You Down With Up, was that McDowell would be miscast as a teenager in a commercial for teenagers and... well, just have a look. And then go here and have another look. They're supposed to be painful in a funny way, but they're just kind of painful. Not McDowell's fault. He's game, but the campaign makes no sense.
Plus: Did teenagers in 2015 even know who this guy was? They should have, of course, but teens are not usually known for paying attention to cultural history, or any other kind of history. They are, for the most part, meatheads. They were when I was one, and I have seen nothing to convince me they've gotten better since.
Well, I say, caps off to Malcolm McDowell, who is a fine actor and who obviously has a sense of humor about himself. Plus, his whole career he has been a working actor, which is almost as big an oxymoron as "wealthy author." And I'm sure he'll be able to keep working as long as he wants to. We'll never run out of the need for screen villains. Or lunch.
----
UPDATE: Mr. Philbin alerts me that McDowell is also known as the guy who killed Captain Kirk, which means he has a lot of experience dealing with ham. Once again Mr. Philbin has bested me, and he shall pay for this outrage.
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