The plant rooms at the Victorian Conservatory, and a brief note on the 1932 Tarzan.

Perhaps I should wait a few minutes before posting the pictures to which I referred yesterday. The problem won't be the pictures, but could easily be a typing tantrum from me. I have just gotten off the phone with Comcast-Xfinity-NBC-Universal-etc. and I'm madder than a hive of hornets in a Warner Bros. or Disney cartoon. The miserable corporate entity with which I was dealing could easily be depicted as a cartoon villain, but that would only serve to humanize it. Then again, depicting it as Simon Legree would only serve to humanize it.

A few of the angry dancing dwarfs, pictured while
in the act of menacing the white folks in the pit.
 

Last night, a friend came over to watch a movie. After looking at the options available on the DVR, I asked to take a quick look at the Turner Classic Movies on demand section, as titles appearing there are only available for a few days. I had noticed a listing for a Popeye cartoon, with an allotted time of two hours. I wanted to see what the listing comprised - if it was cartoon after cartoon, etc. Imagine our surprise when after the first cartoon, it turned out that the entire 1932 'Tarzan, the Ape Man' was there. Feeling the hand of divine cinema providence, we watched it. It had been quite some time since I'd seen it, and I had forgotten a number of things. Unbelievably, I had forgotten about the tribe of nasty dwarfs. After being captured, the white folks are lassoed into a pit to fight a large ape creature. The dwarfs hurl darts at them for extra fun while performing an odd, gleeful jumping up and down while waving darts menacingly in the air dance. My instinctual reaction is to identify with the white folks in the pit, feeling as though I've been lassoed into it, forced to battle a large creature while deadly darts whizz by - which is how it feels to deal with Comcast-Xfinity-NBC-Universal.

But I digress.
I'll try to write about Tarzan tomorrow.
Today I wanted to post a few pictures of plants in the other rooms of the Smith college horticultural department's 120+ year old conservatory, the rooms not dedicated to the spring bulb show.

While the bulb show always provides that first overwhelming fragrance of Spring, providing a lift to winter weary spirits (not that I am personally weary of winter), the other 'rooms' of the conservatory provide a green and happy relief from the gray world outside. Sadly, this year what has lately been called the 'cool temperate room' was not its usual self. The waterfall was shut off and under repair, many of the plants had been removed, or relocated, or cut back. Things change from year to year, but the waterfall and pool were missed. Herewith, a few pictures of the offerings from the various environments the rooms emulate.

Someone, perhaps with a sense of humor, threw one of the daffodil flowers in with the water lilies.

Sadly, I must get ready for the bus to the grocery store, so this will be it for today.
I hope the various photos are found to be enjoyable.

                     

On becoming obsolete, and the spring bulb show...

(a mental dance and rumination illustrated with pictures taken yesterday at the annual Spring bulb show held in the 120+ year old conservatory of the Smith College horticultural department.)

My computer, a desk top, is aging.
It is slowing down; it's innards are constantly examined for viruses, but they are not the problem.
It stays updated, but the updates seem to add stress.
It's use of the fan has increased; it tries to keep cool as it deals with changes.
It seems as though it no longer has the ability to quickly process the ever increasing amount of data required for its ability to quickly complete what should be simple tasks.
Sometimes I wonder if all of this is a metaphor for the person who operates it.
I was going to write, "the person who owns it..." but that raises a few uncomfortable questions about the true nature of our relationship.
Certainly, it runs programs designed to keep it trouble free more than it once did.
It runs them so much, in fact, that I often have problems getting it to let me use it.

I've encountered this problem before.
It was solved with the purchase of a newer more powerful computer.
That event was in early May of 2011.
As the purchase was a discounted model from a chain store, I suspect that the computer was introduced the previous year.
Which means that it is old in computer years.
I can't believe I just wrote, "in computer years".
(sigh)

Sometimes it seems that most of the electronics are breaking down.
The tv works without a hitch, but the cable box often refuses to respond to commands as it busily updates the schedule page, or spies on people, or whatever it is really doing when I only want to see what else is on, or to simply change the channel.

Some days the internet pauses, takes a few breaths, and acts as though it is about to demand a vacation. It reminds me of the days when someone on the east coast could tell that it was after 5pm on the west coast - even simple internet searches slowed down when so many people got home and turned on their computers.




Over the last year I've explored streaming audio-visual content from services such as Amazon and Netscape. The hope was that I'd be able to cancel a large portion of my cable-phone-internet package to reduce costs. If there is a holiday, or a storm which keeps a large number of people home, streaming becomes a problem. One never knows where the problem originates, of course. Is it with Comcast, slowing down my service now that they can? Is it due to so much demand that Netscape or Amazon can't handle it? Is it a part of the electronic infrastructure somewhere in between the coast on which I'm located and the coast on which the streaming service originates? The reality is that when there is a problem, there is nothing we can do about it, whether or not we understand why it is happening. Is that a metaphor for life in the current version of America (or the world)?

These aren't new complaints, of course.
A minor problem can now have major repercussions.
I no longer carry more than a couple of dollars on my person.
If my bank's system, or the internet, or the company that screens for fraudulent purchases for the bank, or the grocery store's system hiccups, or is down, for any reason, I wouldn't be able to purchase groceries (this has happened to me couple of times).

The modern way of using plastic cards to access the 1's and 0's that represent money has been frustrating for some time. I still haven't forgotten my attempt some years ago to make a purchase in New Hampshire, a state that borders the state where I reside (Vermont), in a town about a half an hour's drive from my apartment. The purchase was around $100.00, and was for the business for which I worked (to be reimbursed). The purchase was denied. Luckily, this was during banking hours, so I called the bank. They quickly determined that the problem was that I seldom bought anything in New Hampshire, and seldom spent that amount of money on a purchase, so it had been denied as suspicious. They would authorize it so the sale would go through. Only it didn't. Another call to the bank revealed that they paid a company to flag what it considered suspicious activity on an account, and that company hadn't yet released my own funds to make the purchase. They would call the company while I waited on hold. I was eventually told everything was okay. Except it wasn't. All told, it took about 45 minutes to an hour just to be able to spend my own money which was in my own account.

When everything works the way it is intended, the modern electronic digital computer world can be quite an improvement over the old fashioned, low quality, slower analog world in which I grew up.
As long as one can afford it.

So why do I sometimes wish for a simpler time, a more gregarious time when people connected in person rather than through devices, when movies were screen in theatres and watched with a hundred or more friends of the dark in a shared experience?

The older folks always seem to complain that life was simpler, more beautiful, better crafted, more enjoyable, more social, more (fill in the blank) when they were young. That is when they weren't complaining about how difficult it was when they were young.

Now that I am of that older generation, I hear these same contradictory complaints from myself, see them in the things I type out, and revel in the open space, the balance between them, while accepting that there is nothing I can do, and that it doesn't do any good to try to understand. Then I try to understand.

 

Sometimes I wonder if I'm the computer, simply pushed beyond my capacity by the newer programs, that don't work as well as the older programs. If, in short, I am becoming old fashioned, and obsolete. I also wonder if I care about it in the least.

For now it is snowing, yesterday I reveled in the promise of Spring at the annual bulb show , and I plan to spend the rest of today reveling in a world passing away, a world that, like myself, is busy becoming obsolete.

addenda - While uploading the pictures for this post, the internet paused, lost the connection, and the program became stuck trying to upload the last picture. Tomorrow, I'll try to upload pictures from the conservatory rooms that aren't part of the bulb show. If the technology lets me. In the meantime, I'll be left to ponder whether the systems are simply breaking down, or becoming obsolete. I'll try to let pictures of spring flowers distract me. Before they become obsolete too.

Notes on a popcorn movie, Hollywood Boulevard.

Opening lines can be tough.

They have to hook you in, make you want to continue the journey, and imply that the time spent won't be a waste. That's a lot of value judgment riding on a few words. Then there's a philosophical question regarding what is, or isn't, of "value". Further complicating matters is that the concept of what is of 'value' shifts. A divertissement on a mildly stressful day may have enormous value, but try one's patience at other times.

This week's shared motion picture experience was 'Hollywood Boulevard'. It had been my entry in a friend's 'bad movie night' competition. It wasn't the movie chosen to be screened that evening, but it did intrigue my friend enough that he asked to come over to see it. Perhaps my description of its content as relying heavily on 'guns and naked female breasts' had something to do with it. That very description reflects upon my age. When I was a callow youth (as opposed to being a callow adult)(ba-dum-dum), gentlemen didn't use certain words in mixed company. There is a much better description of the movie within the movie itself. The premise is the old standby of 'young girl goes to Hollywood to become a star', but that's just the opening line. Most of the movie is a send up of the low budget bottom of the triple bill drive in passion pit school of filmmaking, made by a company which specialized in low budget bottom of the bill drive in passion pit movies. In one scene, the star of such a movie (Mary Woronov) tries to convince the director (Paul Bartel) to increase the size of her part by changing the script to eliminate the other female characters. Killing them off, she reasons, will further audience sympathy for her character, whose suffering will then illuminate the human condition. The director replies, "This is not a film about the human condition, this is a film about tits and ass!"

Once upon a time in Hollywood, there was a low budget studio known as American International Pictures (A.I.P.). It was created in 1954 to make inexpensive movies which would be sold as double bills. Enter a new film producer named Roger Corman, who had a picture called "The Fast and the Furious', filmed on a $50,000 budget in 10 days. Distribution rights went to AIP after they promised Corman enough money to make two more movies. 'The Fast and the Furious' became AIP's first release. AIP turned out a series of schlock sci-fi atomic bomb monster movies, teenage hot rod rock and roll movies, beach party movies, and a series based on Edgar Allen Poe stories. It was also a training ground for folks who would later become major industry talent. In 1970, Corman started his own company, New World Pictures. New World continued the AIP style, made schlock, and did it on the cheap. In the process, they provided a training ground for more folks who would become major industry talent (the late Jonathan Demme, Ron Howard, Joe Dante, etc.), and added a pick up distribution arm for films by European directors like Fellini and Bergman.

'Hollywood Boulevard' was made on a bet. In 1976, producer Jon Davison bet Roger Corman that he could still turn out a movie as cheaply, and in as little time, as anything Corman had done. Corman took the bet, and gave Davison 10 days and $50,000. Twenty years had passed since 'Fast and Furious', and that amount wasn't going to go as far. Davison knew he would need to reuse footage from other New World movies. He'd made the bet in cahoots with the two guys who had been editing New World's trailers: Joe Dante (Gremlins), and Alan Arkush (Rock and Roll High School). It became the first directing job for both. The movie was shot on what used to be known as 'short ends', film left over after a scene was shot. Such pieces were saved and sold to low budget filmmakers. They didn't just purloin footage from other movies by the way, they also made good use of costumes and props from low budget classics like 'Death Race 2000', 'Battle Beyond the Sun', 'Big Bad Mama' (a personal favorite), 'Night Call Nurses', and etc.

Miracle Pictures. If it's a good picture, it's a Miracle.

The film opens with a hand drawn logo for 'Miracle Pictures', which turns out to be on the side of a van at a movie shoot. Director Eric von Leppe is busy filming a sky diving scene. He is staring at a plane overhead. His star, Mary McQueen, wanders by while stating, "Things are looking up." The back of the van opens, and a movie producer, whose name is only given as 'PG', steps out, adjusting his zipper. He is followed by a half naked starlet. PG wanders over to the director, complains that the scene being filmed is costing him a fortune and could have been done cheaper if they had used miniatures. He follows that up with one of my favorite movie lines, "Listen, remind me, I wanna pump up some more laughs in that crucifixion scene. More sex." Which prompts von Leppe to ask, "Well, which is it going to be"? PG replies, "More sex. It's cheaper."

The director, played by low-budget director Paul Bartel ('Death Race 2000', 'Eating Raoul', 'Scenes From the Class Struggle in Beverly Hills', and the wonderful but rarely seen 'Secret Cinema') just happens to have the name of Boris Karloff's character from a 1963 Corman cheapie, 'The Terror'. That movie, by the way, was filmed on sets left over from a previous AIP production. During the credits sequence, the name of Jeffrey Kramer, the actor playing Miracle Pictures' writer, is seen as our heroine walks past a poster advertising the movie, 'Jaws'. Mr. Kramer's first movie role was as a deputy in that picture. He plays Patrick Hobby, which is the name of a hack writer in a series of F. Scott Fitzgerald short stories. The script for 'Hollywood Boulevard', by the way, is credited to 'Patrick Hobby'. The actual author of the script was Dan Opatoshu, a member of the writer's guild who could not be credited for his work on a non-union movie. He was given credit as 'Assistant to Mr. Hobby'. It's that kind of movie.

The bad jokes, the funny jokes, and the 'in jokes' fly fast and furious. There are cameos tucked in here and there; at one party, Forrest J. Ackerman could be spotted off to one side. Mr. Ackerman was the editor of 'Famous Monsters of Filmland', a magazine to which many of my generation, including myself, were devoted. I have heard that in one particular scene, in which a familiar looking creature is seen reading the script for 'Atomic War Brides' before throwing it into a toilet, future director Jonathan Demme played 'Godzina'. By the way, in an interview segment, Bartel's director discusses his upcoming project, 'Atomic War Brides' and notes, “What we’re trying to do here is combine the legend of Romeo and Juliet with high speed car action and a sincere plea for international atomic controls in our time.”

In the film there a production assistant named 'Scotty', a blond guy with an easy smile. The part was played by Jonathan Kaplan, who had already directed a few exploitation titles for Corman, and who would soon get serious attention with one of my favorite independent titles of that era, 'Over the Edge'. He would go on to direct 'Heart Like a Wheel', and 'The Accused'. Just as a by the by, one of the jobs in the movie he seems to enjoy is turning a firehouse on a bevy of starlets in a wet t-shirt contest.

Paul Bartel as Director Eric von Leppe, and Jonathan Kaplan as Scotty.

There's also a musical performance from Commander Cody and His Lost Planet Airmen, performing a somewhat indecent song. Playing the saxophone is Weird Al Yankovic. The group disbanded after filming their scene.  

 

Perhaps my favorite moment takes place at a drive-in theatre where our heroine has gone with her agent, and her script writing boyfriend, to see their finished movie, "The Machete Maidens of Mora Tau".

 

                        

The agent, played by Dick Miller, is named Walter Paisley, which was the name of Mr. Miller's character in Corman's 1958 beatnik artist opus, 'Bucket of Blood'. As the trio waits for their movie's debut, a scene from 'The Terror' plays onscreen. In it, a young Dick Miller talks with Boris Karloff. Seeing Dick Miller 1976, watching Dick Miller 1963, is worth the price of the DVD in my book. If you can get one - it's out of print. There was a very limited edition BluRay made form the master negative. Copies can occasionally be found on eBay.

(Blogger is acting up - above is Dick Miller as the agent Walter Paisley. Below is our heroine from   Hollywood Boulevard, Candice Rialson as up and coming starlet Candy Wednesday.)

 

There are too many jokes, and too many connections to mention here. As a movie, the film is the equivalent of popcorn. Not terribly nutritious, but a hell of a lot of fun.
 





Notes regarding Heroes and movies.

There are several things I should be doing, so of course I'm going to ignore them and work on a blog post instead. The venomous expression of politics, with its accompanying slithering about, have made Facebook and Twitter a fly over zone for now. You know, I've never been fond of that 'fly over' expression, as it seems to me to be a bit of rhetoric that seeks to be divisive; it has a pejorative built in. I will note that the non 'fly over' portions of the country are those portions of the East and West coasts that are home to those awful liberal 'elites' (i.e. "blue" on a political map). They are almost magical areas where sanity still seems to prevail these days. Those areas fare better in everything from quality of life studies to education, health care, happiness, financial stability, and generate a sizeable portion of the country's income. Which explains why the Trump administration's budget and tax plans seem to target those very areas. I don't want to leave that statement unsupported, but I shall for now.

From 'Black Sheep' (2006)

There are plenty of other statements I'd like to make without posting voluminous notes to support my comments. I could, for instance, point out that two of our governments' agencies which heavily influence the daily life and future of our country are the Office of Management and Budget, and the Environmental Protection Agency. The two men in charge of those agencies were both politically active in their respective states. If one were to take an honest look at the financial health of those states, the status of education in those states, the tax burden, etc. ad infinitum, one of the first things one might notice, if one can look behind the curtain of tourist and relocation PR, is that both states are financially distressed to the point of being referred to economically as "sinkholes". Their people are largely poor. Their educational systems are in disaster mode. These states are the bottom of our country's barrel. These men are regarded by the current administration, and their enablers, as heroes.

Gal Gadot as Wonder Woman. More than a gal with a sword.

A recent discussion with a friend raised the issue of the Hero, and the Hero's place, in our entertainment culture. I had finally caught up with the 'Wonder Woman' movie, which was widely praised and a huge financial success. While it was delightful to have the super hero figure be a woman, there was little else to differentiate it from any other superhero movie, and I pointed out in discussion that the movie simply substituted a female lead for a male. Kind of like the change of sex for the role of Hildy between the stage play and movie of 'The Front Page' to the remake version known as 'His Girl Friday'. The hero role being female was simply a change, it didn't inform or impact the story. 'Wonder Woman' had the same tired tropes as any other superhero movie. I should point out that I'm just making observations; no judgement on the product is intended. It is product, and that statement isn't intended as a judgement either. I found it to be an enjoyable and entertaining movie. I'm not trying to impose my thoughts or vision on it. You know, I hate this. I hate having to qualify every statement; in this case to make it clear that I have no problem with female superheroes, lead roles, or action figures. I'd like to see more of them, and I'm delighted that young girls (or older girls, or women of any age) can have female fantasy figures which might inspire their dreams and persons.

Gal Gadot as Wonder woman,  her sword placed as if it were...
umm, nevermind.

The discussion veered to the first 'Star Wars' movie, which I rushed to see on opening day after reading a review which linked that movie's themes to Joseph Campbell's books, 'The Hero With a Thousand Faces', and 'Myths to Live By'. Such themes reflected some of my interests, and both books had been influences on my thinking. Thoughts of a hero's quest have been rambling around my brain due to the movies I've watched these last three nights.

Sunday afternoon was spent at a younger friend's home attending his monthly 'movie night'. The idea is that there is a stated theme; each person attending should (if so moved) bring a DVD of a movie reflecting that theme, and give a very quick pitch on its behalf. Those in attendance write on slips of paper the name of the movie which most appeals to them. The slips are put into a hat, from which one slip is selected, providing the selection to be viewed. The theme this time was 'really bad movies'. The winner was 'Black Sheep', a New Zealand indy effort in which a flock of sheep become ravenous flesh eating killers of humans. It's got blood, guts, a middling implied criticism of money making science, a zombie or two, and makes particularly good use of sheep flatulence. Science, in this case, was a substitute for magical forces. The male hero is a younger brother with a phobia about sheep, who has returned to the family ranch to sell his interest to his evil and deluded older brother. The boy, in his journey, must confront and overcome his phobia, confront and overcome his brother, and become action oriented enough to overcome his nelly attributes to fight off the marauding sheep for the survival of the main characters and all of mankind. The girl hero arrives to expose animal abuses at the ranch. Her journey moves her from babbling about new age mysticism to becoming an action figure fighting the sheep, helping the younger brother to survive, saving mankind, and, of course falling in love with the younger brother.

Experience (Danielle Mason) and Henry (Nathan Meister) in the midst of a long day fighting sheep. 

The sheep(le) are out to get you , you know. Be warned.

John Wayne as Ringo.

Monday night, a friend unexpectedly had free time and came over to watch one of the movies I wanted to see and delete from my digital video recorder. We settled on the 1939 'Stagecoach'. In it, the male hero escapes from jail in order to extract revenge on three bad guy brothers who killed his family and whose false testimony put him in prison in the first place. His journey includes fighting to save the stagecoach from Indian attack even though a sheriff has him in shackles. The girl hero is less action oriented, instead proving herself as a caring, nurturing goddess despite being thrown out of town by the uplifter ladies league for being of questionable moral character in her choice of employment. The movie took great pains not to use the word prostitute, and greater pains to not state that another female character was pregnant. The hero, named Ringo, was played by a youngish John Wayne. The good-bad girl was Clare Trevor, who had top billing. The rest of the cast was character actor heaven. It's the kind of movie which keeps things moving in an attempt to distract the viewer from questioning some sizeable holes in the story. I could, and should, go on at length about the movie, but that will have to be its own post in that great someday in the sky. I'll just note this about one iconic shot - Ringo is first seen, standing by the side of the road, his shotgun male appendage held akimbo. As he walked towards the stagecoach, I noticed was that he didn't fill out his jeans all that well. Simply put, John Wayne had a saggy female pear shaped ass. Otherwise, he was the slightly nelly butch straight shooter who treated the good-bad girl with the respect that no one else could muster, save perhaps for the drunken doctor who was really Scarlett O'Hara's father.

 

Last night, another friend came over on the spur of the moment. We watched the 1940 'Thief of Bagdad'. (Note to the Turner Classic Movies channel: the print quality was shameful.) Sabu, then 16, played the titular hero. He spends a portion of the movie as a dog, due to a spell by an evil wizard. He also helps a wronged Prince regain his throne, helps the Prince save the woman the Prince loves, copes with an ill tempered genie, fights off a giant spider without falling into an aqueous pit inhabited by octopi, visits magical places, and triumphs over other similar adversities while fulfilling prophecy. For his part, the Prince is cut from the same sort of slightly nelly English male cloth as an Ashley Wilkes or Sebastian Flyte. He must overcome magical blindness, find his Princess, and defeat the usurper of his throne, the very magician whose anti-education, pro-punishment, rule by fear, power mad greedy attitudes starves the population, and provides the evil which engulfs several kingdoms. In this, the oldest of the movies being noted, the hero journey for the Princess involves staying out of the clutches of the evil wizard, and falling instantly in love with the Prince who speaks in poetic phrases.

Two of the movies involved Princesses (Thief of Bagdad, and Wonder Woman whose journey includes learning that she is the daughter of Zeus and Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons. She is out to kill Ares, the God of War. In classical Greek mythology, Hippolyta was Ares daughter. The movie's comic book mythology avoids the potential complications of that one. In Stagecoach, One might make a case for the woman traveling to meet her husband being a Princess stand-in. She was a Southern Lady, which figures slightly in the Grand Hotel on wagon wheels plot. The girl in Black Sheep starts as a satirical take on new age hippie throwbacks and could thus be said to be a Princess stand in, but was otherwise just a modern gal who proves to have some gumption.



Black Sheep (2006) Experience got a gun.  



In a sense, three of the movies had magical realms;  Black Sheep's was the New Zealand farm in the countryside which left me wondering when the hobbits were going to appear; Wonder Woman's realm was an island protected by Zeus' magic cloud cover, and Thief was set in ancient Iraq's mythical period. If there was a magical place in Stagecoach, it was Ringo's ranch in Mexico where he and the good-bad girl could live in blessed happy ever afterness if only they could reach it. It was only mentioned, never seen, and not integral to the story.

In all four stories, the heroes overcome obstacles, and fight for their happiness, as well as the common good. All of them must deal with the sacrifice of friends or relatives along their journeys' paths. In all but Stagecoach, the heroes save the world.

Of these four movies, the only one which didn't involve magical forces was Stagecoach. Well, unless you count too many bullets, or killing all of your enemies in an impossible situation (the main event occurs off screen). This American myth has a wronged hero, willing to suffer the penalty of 'doing what a man's gotta do'.



The Stagecoach about to depart a rest stop, even though they know Geronimo is out and about.
John Carradine (far left), Andy Devine (holding the reins), George Bancroft (riding shotgun), Chris Pin-Martin as the innkeeper, Louise Platt as the woman traveling to meet her husband, Donald Meek as the milquetoast liquor salesman, Clare Trevor as the good-bad girl, John Wayne as the Ringo Kid, Berton Churchill as the thieving bank manager. 
Thomas Mitchell, who won an Academy Award for his drunken doctor, is not in the picture.

Now, let's go back for a moment to those two erstwhile heroes of the right, the men in charge of the nation's budget, and the nation's environment. They present themselves as John Wayne he-men out to conquer a world gone mad due to the ideals of those annoying liberals who want to feed the hungry, house the homeless, educate the masses, and provide health care in a reasonable manner. Needless to say, these men do not fit the hero myth. Their 'common good' is what is good for the power brokers who pay them, those who steal people's money, food, kingdoms, and who unleash unholy forces in the name of profit.

Conrad Veidt, the evil wizard of Thief of Bagdad, plots how to cover up his orange hair.
No wait, that's not right... Mr. Veidt played Nazi Major Strasser in Casablanca, and
the murderous somnambulist in the silent German expressionist classic 'The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari.'

What we need these days are honest nelly heroes, their butch helpers, angry women, and pissed off teenagers to work together to rid ourselves of the usurpers of power, who prefer their people uneducated, sent off to endless wars, fighting each other at home for scraps of food, so they can't unite to fight the evil taking over the kingdoms. But that would be the old school hero journey, and involve magical help. Even the American West loner hero living by a moral code seems decidedly old fashioned now. Folks are counting on the investigation being held by Mr. Mueller as magical help. In so many ways, it's the same old tropes.

A proposal to protect our schoolchildren from gun toting maniacs.

It is difficult to even begin saying something, or anything. "Rampant killings" sounds harsh, or isn't harsh enough, or could possibly be trounced upon for insensitivity at this difficult time. The struggle to use words that won't prove incendiary when noun meets adjective has become stupefying. After yet another massacre by white racist hate mongers incident of the type which has so recently occurred in a Florida high school, it becomes imperative to avoid all of the currently popular social media platforms; they become deadly cesspools of unhinged 'call and response' political insanity. 

One of the first posts I saw after this incident occurred was a 'meme' which condemned liberals who wouldn't let the families involved suffer mourn in peace, insisting instead on using what happened to promote their anti-gun agenda. I should point out that at that moment, I hadn't seen a single post calling for gun control. The issue was raised by the person condemning it.

This reminds me of a number of posts from alt-right wing conservative folks I know. A recent photo of an American flag flying proudly in the breeze was accompanied by text which noted something on the order of "Liberals say this triggers Muslims". I think there was more, but I don't remember if one was supposed to 'share' or 'like' to show support for the flag, country, Christian God, or for possibly murdering the liberals. What struck me is that I live in what is regarded as the most 'liberal' state in the union, but I've never heard anyone, not one single person, make such a suggestion. It's a phony argument that does little more than sow dissention through the use of trite soundbite phrases coupled with what are supposed to be soul stirring images (i.e. propaganda). One might be forgiven for assuming that the flag in the photo was billowing due to all the hot air expounded in its direction. Hot air seems to be all our country's Congress and politicians can muster these days, aside form giving enormous tax breaks to the wealthy and to the corporations. Oh, sure, there is some righteous indignation being spread about, some of it from the lefteous. (Sorry about that one.)

This morning, this image was posted and 'shared' with me:

 

I wrote a couple of lines of commentary about the message on the above t-shirt. As soon as I finished, Blogger closed either of its own accord, or possible outside interference by a deity. I have decided not to tempt fate, becoming a wishy-washy adult who fails to respond to inanity, just in case.

 

The simple fact of the matter is this: the Republicans sold out long ago to moneyed interests who give them millions. The Democrats, many of whom have also enjoyed the same largesse, sputter, putter, mutter, and do nothing substantial.

It remains to us, and to survivors, to do something. The Republicans show every sign of being terrorized by the thought of angry women targeting them. If anyone has any doubts that the protests of the last year haven't been effective, just look at how the White House crew couldn't get out of the line of fire fast enough when it was revealed that they had a wife-beater amongst their midst. Oopsie, it was more than one. I hope women take up this issue. I do not wish to add to their burden, it's just a thought based on the observation that they seem to be the only ones getting any action out of this administration. Outside of the rich, and the corporations, I mean.

Therefore, I am moved to suggest a new approach, based on the line of reasoning previously espoused by some of our finer Republican elected officials. There is a simple, and direct way to solve the problem of adults, or for that matter, kids, taking guns into a school and going on a rampage of destruction.

Arm the kids. And make schools 'open carry'. If every kid in the classroom, hallway, gym, music room, lunchroom, or bathroom was armed, there would be far less incentive to shoot at them; they would be able to shoot back and defend themselves as God intended. No one is going to push their way into a kindergarten with evil intent when there is a roomful of armed preschoolers on hand.  Students will no longer feel comfortable bullying one another, not when their intended target is aiming a glock semiautomatic at their little heads.

Oh, sure, there may be a few problems for teachers when homework assignments are given out, or discipline is required, but so what if we lose a few? It's not like our government wants those kids to get a decent education. If that happened the kids might realize that the folks who should be working to protect them are little more than lying thieving bastards who have set the kids up for a lifetime of menial jobs and starvation wages, lightened now and again by the receipt of a box of canned vegetables to prove that government cares.

I would further suggest that the both the White House and Congress allow open carry of firearms. Then, when the kids go to visit on 'learn about your government day', they might do themselves some good.



"Time goes by so slowly..."

It's been awhile. The first thing I thought of to write was to quote a line from the mid 1950's song 'Unchained Melody'; "Time goes by, so slowly, and time can do so much...."

The song was composed by Alex North, who composed scores for Hollywood movies. In this case, the movie was 'Unchained'. The lyrics were by Hy Zaret, who refused the movie producer's request to put the film title in the lyrics, which is how that title came about. 'Unchained' is a little known (and little seen) 1955 film about a man in an experimental 'prison without walls' who struggles with a decision to escape and reunite with his family, or to finish out his sentence. Among the cast is Todd Duncan, the baritone who was hand picked by George Gershwin to perform the role of Porgy in 'Porgy and Bess'. Mr. Duncan was the first to record the song, by the way. In once scene, filmed at the experimental prison in Chino, California, Dexter Gordon can be seen playing his saxophone. He was incarcerated there at the time, for possession of heroin. His playing was dubbed by Georgie Auld.



The shoreline by our campsite at Little Tupper Lake.
It really is a lovely spot.

There were a number of loons about, including 13 of them
together. That's not a common occurrence, by the way.

I'd been thinking often about getting back to this blog, without doing so. Today, as I was looking something up, this page opened of its own accord. Perhaps I hit a shortcut button, I don't know. It seemed like a good suggestion, so here I am. Since the last entry here, I've managed to keep myself busy, as usual. This year, it took forever to put the garden to bed, as the season extended into November. (I made a ton of pesto which I froze and am happily consuming.) I went off on another adventure camping/canoeing trip to a wilderness area of the Adirondacks (a bit stressful this year, as the old friend with whom I go camping spent the entire week being most disagreeable). And I started up my radio show again after almost a year and a half's sabbatical, etcetera. Christmas was a bit of a bust; the largest dinner I think I ever made was cancelled when friends declined to travel due to snow. Extreme cold a few days later ended up freezing the pipes, which translated into losing heat and hot water. The loss of essential services was not an auspicious start to the new year. What was possibly my personal all time best Christmas tree, and decorating job, was destroyed, destroyed again, and yet again while being moved for the accessing of heating pipes. I could go on with a litany of slights and challenges from the universe, but I've little desire to do so, and I doubt that anyone cares - including myself.

Here's a few of my garden photos, all taken in mid to late October.

I was about to go on about the state of the world, my country, my friends, movies in general, watching a Fred Astaire movie last night, the projected Stephen Spielberg remake of 'West Side Story', spinning this or that fantastical tale along the way (all too true, however), tying it all in with concepts of time, and life as an open air prison; but I've just noticed the hour, and I've already spent too long choosing which photos to post and getting this far. I probably won't be able to get back here for a couple of days, but I do intend to do so. There's so much to note as we sink into the abyss.