Stranger Than Fiction

WELLINGTON, New Zealand (AP) —Rolling Stones Keith Richards was hospitalized for a mild concussion he suffered while vacationing in Fiji, reportedly after falling out of a palm tree.

Reports on CNN stated he and Ron Wood were climbing a palm tree when Richards fell.

I want to know the conversation leading up to this.

Why did two senior citizens decide to shimmy up a palm tree? To see the ocean better? They weren't high enough already?


Officials say that Richards declined pain medication, but requested a Marlboro and a shot of Jack Daniels.

The Five Films

A trend has been started. Film Geek posted the five films that changed his life. My buddy Primal Scream guy did one. I think it's a really cool idea. So, for your amusement, I post such.

To really think of films that changed you. Not films that amuse you, but actually had a real impact. Narrowing it down to five is hard, but here goes: The five films that changed my life.

5. Being There. Peter Sellers as the oddball Chance Gardiner is pure genius. The film is flawless in sustaining gentle, understated humor. On some level, I related to Chance being so out of step with the world because so often I feel that way. The world hums along at a rate and manner that I feel totally at odds with at times.

It is a film that makes me feel good. After all, as Chance says:

...And if you give your garden a lot of love, and if you work very hard and have a lot of patience, in the proper season you will see it grow to be very beautiful...


4. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. Aren't we all, in some way, fighting a system that threatens to dehumanize us? Nicholson gives his best ever performance as Randle P. McMurphy who is ultimately destroyed by a system that values order and protocol over humanity. Sounds like where you work? You betcha.






3. The Elephant Man. I can not fathom someone watching this and not being moved.

I think of Dickens: "It may be, that in the sight of Heaven, you are more worthless and less fit to live than millions like this poor man's child. "












2. Amadeus. How do the merely talented contend with genius? Does it eat them up inside with jealousy? Is there rage against God because of it? How does a creative life continue with the knowledge of limitations? Every artist must resolve this issue or be eaten up by jealousy. This film knocked me out.

At the end, while being wheeled down the hallway of the asylum, the elderly Salieri cries out: I am the patron saint of mediocrity! I absolve you! I absolve you!

Incredible.









1. Apocalypse Now. No kidding, I debated whether to put Hamlet. (1948, Sir Laurence Olivier) at number one, but Apocalypse Now clearly outranks it. People at first thought that this was just another indictment of the Vietnam War, but time has shown that the film has a much broader meaning. This is just a metaphorical journey of the soul with the warning that when we look into the darkness, it also looks into us (to paraphrase Nietzsche). Brando is so awesome as the insane Kurtz and the narration by Martin Sheen is unparalleled. Simply a flawless film, but one to be viewed sparingly.

As a friend said as he returned a tape soon after I loaned it to him: "It began to hypnotize me. I began watching it in the morning as soon as I got up."

Bad way to start the day, dude. Start with coffee.




Well, that's my five. A very tough assignment. Enjoy. Do a list yourself.

Guilty Pleasures

Have you discovered iTunes yet?

[Note to younger people: buy the music, support the artists, especially those who are independents! They need your support. End of sermon.]

One thing about iTunes they don't tell you: nostalgia is reasonable.

(Peter Gabriel. front man of Genesis, circa 1970)

These Apple people keep adding more and more music to the iTunes store-even stuff that's ancient history. Lately, I've been downloading some relics of the past- real guilty pleasures. The Rolling Stones back catalog are right at the top of this list for me. Evidently I am not alone in guilty pleasures.

A friend of mine recently confessed to purchasing, on the cheap through a European iTunes-like service, old rock songs from Genesis. There was a tinge of guilt when he asked if it was normal to be revisiting the music of the past. Of course it's normal, I replied. Nothing wrong with walking down the old nostalgic path, as long as you don't try to live there.

Important note to music snobs: all of us have guilty pleasures when it comes to music. All of us have found pleasure in pop music from time to time. Admit it now and feel better.

Genesis was an art rock band (much like Pink Floyd) before they became corporate FM hitmakers producing painful hits like Invisible Touch and I Can't Dance. This artful era Genesis was the music of our youth.
Just like any teenagers, we idolized Genesis and especially their strange front man, Peter Gabriel. No wonder! Gabriel took to wearing outrageous costumes on stage and at one point sported a haircut that had a small section of his head shaved. Rumors in the press suggested that he was mentally ill. This added to the Gabriel mythos.

(LEFT. Ok, the guy was a little wacky.)

One of our friends got us started on this environmental kick where we revered nature and hated all developments, especially cities. Somehow, we saw all these man-made structures as being destructive to the ultimate beauty and harmony of nature. Long, arduous hikes in Kanawha State Forest were seen as a part of this ideology that sometimes seemed to border on a theology. This wasn't a forest, but a refuge, a sanctuary, and a place to commune with something higher than oneself. Yes, now it sounds ridiculous, but back then we placed all this radical environmental ideology into the music, interpreting lyrics as a sign that Genesis felt the same way we did.

My friend and I have long past these foolish youthful ideas. Eno talks about gracefully giving up "the baggage of youth."Still, I find myself looking at the Stones' back catalog every time I wander into Best Buy. There I look again and again at Some Girls, Goat's Head Soup and Steel Wheels. I finally came to the conclusion that purchasing an entire $13.99 CD is stupid. iTunes will let me download the songs I want at 99 cents a pop. Fine with me.

My friend's conclusion after all this: some of this old music is just unlistenable. Good thing it was cheap.

If you're going to get nostalgic:


don't spend a lot of money.

Ernie's Joke

The following is an original joke by Ernie, AKA, Ernesto Magnito:

This guy went to an appliance store and bought a electric cooking stove. He went home and used it, but then had to take it back. WHY?



Because he got burnt!

Tidbits

Strange coiffures

Last night, after a late night trip to Kroger, drove past the local no-frills barber shop only to see a man getting a haircut at 11 at night.

The Connoiseur's Guide to Carnivorous Cadavers (or He Rambles On Again)

PART ONE: THE BACKGROUND

?

I already know what you're going to say, so just say it and get it over with.

What the heck are you talking about now? Why must you torture us with this nostalgic cinematic minutia?

Answer: because I must!

Let me say this, not as disclaimer, but as something to keep in mind as you read this: there are people who are even worse about this than me. In fact, it is almost a cult.

FACT: There is a fairly strong cult-like following of the horror movie subgenre-zombie movies. So strong that Hollywood and other less powerful filmakers have taken notice and subsequently, films of this genre have been to sprout all over.

I saw Night of the Living Dead (1968) when I was kid living in rural Pennsylvania on the late-night Chiller Theatre on channel 11 out of Pittsburgh. I have blogged about this before, so I skip those details, but imagine a ten or eleven year-old watching this stuff. I was scared out of my mind. This was commercial TV in the 60's, so no ratings for TV programs back then. What would this film get now: an R? PG13?

Romero and company not only created a NEW genre of horror film, but they broke new ground both artistically and the whole gore-violence thing. The premiere was met by outrage, controversy and conversely with undying, unconditional love by the new fan base that Romero had now created.

The real point of this was that this film, the genesis of all zombie films, was made by hometown (Pittsburgh) hero George A. Romero. The film was not only produced by Romero, but shot around Pennsylvania as well, making it a true homestate project and elevating Romero's status among his fans. In fact, people make trips to see the graveyard which opens the film and post their pictures online. It is now a cult.

Then Romero released Dawn of the Dead (1978) which I saw with a few of my college friends. Back then, Dawn freaked me out. We all just spoke in broken phrases on our way back to our dorms. Today it looks a bit comical and low budget, but like Night, it broke new ground in the gore department and truly sealed Romero's status as a cult figure, an icon of international stature. In fact, people take trips to the Monroeville Mall, still in existance, as some kind of baptismal journey-wanting to be just a little closer to the magic of film and history. Long before this cult status, this mall is part of my personal history and was just as surprised as anyone that people would actually view it as such a cult landmark.

YES, you read that correctly-international stature. Romero now has four films in the zombie genre with the last being Land of the Dead in 2005 and since that first film in 1968, each new generation has discovered these films and claims them as their own. Not just in America, but Germany, UK and Italy, there are fanatical followings. Italy's Dario Argento was involved with the making of Dawn and even cut his own version of the film which was revered by the lucky few to get a copy of it (Anchor Bay released a definite FOUR DISC version of this movie because of all the versions floating around.). Italy also has director Luigi Fulci who has come out with his own set of zombie films-all of which owe great debt to Romero.

PART TWO: You must believe

Yes, I include myself among those who call themselves fans of Romero films and all things zombie, BUT you have to go here to really understand the absolute fanaticism that is out there for this stuff:http://www.homepageofthedead.com/

There you will find forums that have virulent debates over the origin of the outerspace virus that caused the outbreak of the living dead. Heated arguments over the detailed knowledge of Dawn of the Dead, the value of the new movie versus the older ones and on and on and on until you log out for fear that you may lose your mind or otherwise permanently lose all sense of reality. The information is vast, mostly accurate and highly subjective because these people are real fans: fanatics of highest order.

There is one point they can ALL agree upon though: They all love George Romero.

And his flesh-eating zombies.

Thanks, guys.

Don Knotts.





Darren McGavin.
Dennis Weaver.

Am I Sensing a Theme?

Tidbits: I think a theme is emerging here.

A trip to the local drugstore proves interesting.

The man in front of me was dropping off a perscription. He had "that look" about him: racing flames knit cap and dark sunglasses. As he walked by, the familar sweet smell of bourbon. "Kentucky bourbon?" I wanted to ask him. Oh well, it was around 4PM.

Walking towards the front of the store, I am greeted by a large cutout of Elvis who is now evidently hawking his own line of fine (gasp) wines. "Jailhouse Red"? I'm not kidding here.

I'm in line again. The man in front of me purchases no less than three quarts of beer and then proceeds to place them neatly in a handy padded carrying case. Well, the man was prepared at least.

Tidbits

Nursing home hallway sounds:

"Jesus, help me. Oh Lord, help me."

* * * **

Faulty logic:

After finding out his sister was hiding some contraband for a friend, the brother went ballistic. So ballistic that the police were called to the scene. When they arrived, the brother was armed with a knife about to do harm to his sister.
Police: "Put down the weapon, sir."
Brother: "Don't worry buddy, I ain't coming for you. I'm goin' after my sister."

* * * **
Public perception

Local news team pounces on eclectic guy, outside his home, concerning local dispute over two gambling parlors being within 100 feet of each other. All said and done, eclectic guy loved the camera [even though camera does not like eclectic guy], the microphone and the reporter who knowingly kept hitting him with questions.
Final cut: E-guy looks like he's angry with his neighbors, pointing at their house, saying:
"They were dead-set against it."

Leaving for work today, neighbor conveniently hid behind the tree to avoid talking to me.

Seeing Anew with Old Eyes

I am not a saint.

Big surprise there, yes?

The church is not considering giving me an award for my charity work, nor for my admirable record in helping the poor. No civic organization is planning a dinner in my name for my steadfast community work or a medal for my outstanding involvement in helping the homeless. Alas, no plans for that stained glass window bearing my agreeable likeness.

Flying under the radar is not quite adequate to describe me. How about: not even in the air, let alone near the airport. Succinctly: he avoids mainly and ignores mostly.

I have mused about going down to serve food to hungry people, but have I do so? Nope. The closest I have come to charity is that for the past few years, during the cold months, we wander down to the men's shelter and get rid of some of my clothes and jackets that are no longer of use. With this act, I placate my guilt by clearing a space in my closet. That's close to sainthood, yes?

I shy away from the collection plate for the most part. Occasionally, a worn greenback will depart for something that is urgent and important.

Whye doth he tellth us this stoof?

Because I think that I'm changing my viewpoint on these things. Thus I quote the Saintly Zimmerman:

And I've never gotten used to it I've just learned to turn it off

Either I'm too sensitive or else I'm getting soft.





I realized something was changing inside of me when last I watched A Clockwork Orange.

Background story: Back in late high school/early college we (me and my droogs) first discovered Clockwork on HBO-the early days when nudity on cable was still a bit shocking- even to young men whose thoughts rarely ran anywhere else. We watched it every time this came on (You see, young people, VHS players and the like were just coming into households, so we had no videos yet.) *My memory might be a bit hazy on this point because I do recall watching a tape from HBO me thinks. Oh well. I'm losing it.

Then we got the book by Burgess and went over the top with it. Reading it aloud, using the proper "Little Alex" imitation, memorizing the lines and even getting a good grip on the slang , we mastered that book.

For myself, I admired the film, the book and the characters for different reasons. The film was so different from anything I had ever seen. From the first time I watched it, the images burned into permanent memory. Forget what day it is? Sure. Forget any of the scenes throughout the entire film? Nope. Never gonna happen.

But it was the characters that I admired for their absolute fearlessness. These guys were not afraid of anyone or anything. I have always been a big chicken, afraid of my own shadow. Anything can make me jump. For a soft boy like me, growing up in a good neighborhood, this was a way of being vicariously unafraid.

Afraid? Terms to describe Little Alex and friends like sociopath or psychopath were not in my thinking at that time. Little Alex wasn't afraid because he felt nothing but his own savage desires. The "savagery of youth" is how a colleague of mine describes it and this is so true. Just read the newspapers or watch the news.

We watched with delight the scences of "Ultra-violence". This is, ironically, some of the best violence ever filmed-it is almost visual ballet, it is so skillful. Kubrick was a master, after all.

One scence involves the beating of a homeless man, obviously intoxicated, in some kind of causeway. [That sounds so phony politically correct, even to me. Let me continue, please.]

Back then, we all laughed at the poor guy being pummeled, pounded and kicked, but when I watched this recently, I found myself cringing. I thought "that poor devil didn't deserve that." That is a total 360 degree turn, people. [In fact, we didn't finish The Devil's Rejects because it is so depraved in its indifference to human life. It's a sick film about sick people doing sick things.]

Here, a film that is practically memorized and certainly an all-time favorite, has become more difficult to watch. I began to ponder my reaction. Why cringe? Is it the wisdom of age?

Maybe.

What does this add up to, this wisdom of age? Is it like Eliot wrote:

What was to be the value of the long looked forward to,
Long hoped for calm,
the autumnal serenity
And the wisdom of age?
Had they deceived us
Or deceived themselves, the quiet-voiced elders,
Bequeathing us merely a receipt for deceit?

Sometimes when I'm talking to the young people that I teach at the local college, I often get a sense that my words are failing to reach. They fall to the floor in a tangled mess, useless and without point. I am imparting nothing. No golden chalice nor wisdom of age, but educated gibberish. Then, there are moments when I realize that they'll be ok, they'll find their own way and I am only here to shine a flashlight along the way. Anyway, they absorb more by example than any other means.

Perhaps there is no wisdom in getting older, but experience. Experience only blunts the enthusiasm for things we have already experienced and that is not wisdom, that's only knowledge. So I say, without pomp or circumstance, not from so faraway pillar of superiority, that I am getting softer and stronger with the knowledge that life is to be saved, preserved, sanctified and it is a divine gift. Regardless of your faith, this is the central truth behind the Golden Rule, the Sermon on the Mount, etc. This is the only truth we know because regardless of whether there is a light at the end of the tunnel (and whether that light is, in fact, a train) or whether a rich reward awaits us after the proverbial and inevitable mortal coil shuffle, we can only know for sure one thing: there is only this life. All else is hope and speculation.

So, am I going to watch violent flicks or have I sworn them off? Nah. I'll watch endless zombie carnage and gore and not even bat an eye. It's pure stupid fantasy- an easy line of demarcation. But this other stuff, senseless violence against others, that's causing a change in this old guy.

Other positions on the dial

OTHER RADIO THINGS

(Left. Jerry Waters doing his thing.)

Not to jump ship or root for another team, but I have to confess to turning on AM talk radio in the am (on those rare occasions) for a source of amusement. It's not all amusement on Supertalk WVTS's Jerry Waters show, M-F 10am to noon, but it sure amuses me. No political beast am I, but Waters and ever-present sidekick Pete Thaw (Why does he make me think of a crustacean? Crusty? Curmudgeon?) keep me informed on Charleston and WV politically comical (and sometimes downright nasty and even tragic) happenings.

I have been let in on the nasty fights with the Nitro City Council, debates with the folks pro and con regarding the Charleston Police officer who killed a woman at a KC intersection, in short, this uninvolved old boy feels like a little better citizen-better informed. Waters comes to radio with this to say about it:Later, the talk show host position was offered to him for a couple of reasons: He had been a fill-in on several talk shows in the past. He had hundreds of "Letters to the editors" published in the past 20 years and had become somewhat of a lightning rod in Charleston by discussing topics that others avoided. Not everyone agrees with him, and he doesn't expect them to.

You can't make this stuff up and that speaks volumes. I do not view myself as part of the radio-DJ brotherhood and look not for envy as a subtext here, but those are rather ambiguous qualifications, yes? I had no radio qualifications, so I applaud the man getting the gig.

The best part of this show is the often loony banter that goes on between Jerry and Pete. Clearly, between the two of them, Pete Thaw better knows the facts and often gently puts Jerry, who may be right in the middle of an angry rant, back on a factual track. All sincerity and good intentions aside, I promise the readers of these pages one thing: I will record some of this banter and create an "Omage a Waters". Perhaps if I feel evil enough, it might be mailed to them for a reaction.

Another guilty pleasure gone away: Art Bell. Nobody gets "out there" like this guy. Aliens in our skies? Sure. Art is ready. Creatures we can't see because the exist on other dimensions? "Talk to me", says Art. Apocalyptic, castastrophic global interplanetary taxation without representation? "Fine. You're on the Wild Card line. Go ahead."

Art retired. Shite. This is the first I've heard about it. Sure have been wondering what happened to the show as I drive home every Sunday night.

Cheap Thrills and Memories For the Old Guy

I am a cheap date.

I have been reliving my childhood via old horror/sci-fi movies and I've been having a ball doing it. I'm all for the Time Marches On-Never Look Back Brigade, but sometimes looking back is just fun. I don't want to live in the past because it's over and done, but looking back helps to ground a person I believe.

I bought this little sci-fi gem thru Amazon at an obscenely cheap rate: $3.75 In fact, the shipping was almost as much. Good price for an old classic.

People today talk fervently about how young people's minds are being ruined by violent content on TV, video games and the internet and I'm not here to debate such a complicated subject, but I will tell you that these movies permanently ruined any chance of me having a normal outlook on life.

The first thing that ever messed me up was Mad Magazine. Then it was Chiller Theater, hosted by cheese-in-a-tux Bill "Chilly Billy" Cardille, and that dealt the next blow to my mental health.
From the web:
Chiller began in 1963 when Cardille, Pittsburgh TV station WIIC's wrestling announcer and host of the kiddie show Tip Top Time, was approached to host Channel 11's new afternoon horror movie showcase, called Chiller Theater from the beginning. The films Cardille had to choose from were the great bumper crop from Univeral's heyday — Screen Gems' famous Shock Theater package — plus a few select classics from the Atom Age fifties. The program finally came into its own after a time change to 11:30 p.m. in the mid-sixties.

Now that I'm a broadcaster, I wonder how Cardille felt when the station approached him first about the horror film host spot and then the move to the late-night gig. His family, his wife especially, was probably thrilled.

Me? Now? You wouldn't have to ask me twice.

In fact, I know that when Freaky Music Month comes, it is an attempt to create a similar fright into our listeners that I experienced those late nights with WIIC.

Because my memory for some things, especially dates, is often mush, I have to rely on the recollections of others. For instance, I have learned from the above web site that I was all of nine years old when I first watched The Crawling Eye on Sunday, January 22, 1967 at 1:05 AM. Even some 38 years later, I can remember quite vividly a few images from the film.


This movie, and so many others like it, burned images into this brain of mine at such an early stage of my development that they can not be erased, even by time. Ask me what I had for lunch yesterday and I'll scratch the back of my head and you can see me fish uncomfortably for the answer. Talk about Attack of the Crab Monsters or The Last Man on Earth and I'm there with every detail.

Watching The Crawling Eye now, even with all of it's unsophisticated production values, makes me realize that it's still a good movie. There are some cornball stereotypes like the pontificating-through-his-glasses scientist, a wacky over-the-top psychic, the overly swaggering, confident American(this is a British film by the way) played by Forrest Tucker who spouts "DO WHAT YOU'RE TOLD!" to these hapless villagers. And then
there are those monsters. These pictures speak for themselves.

Watching the film recently I yelled, "Now that's what I'm talking about! Why don't they have monsters like that anymore?!" I have the same insane, irrational enthusiasm for monster movies that most sports fans have for their favorite teams.

Speaking of that, there is still more entertainment value in these hopelessly cheesy eyeball octopi than most CGI creatures (Spielberg excluded, of course) with their billion dollar budgets. Why ye ask? Because of imagination.

My wife calls this movie "stupid". Of course it is, that's why I love it.
Don't expect me to defend this films on any intellectual or cinematic level. Hell no. I won't force you to watch a single frame. Just leave me alone when I want to, ok?

You see, I recognize that there is that warm buzz of nostalgia that comes with these films. Life was a lot simpler then. So clear, so easy to understand. It was a time that I can also remember my father. We spent a few nights watching old Chilly Billy's Chiller Theater. I suppose he got the inside wink-wink jokes that Bill Cardille and his cast of corney characters. My father passed away when I was 13 and so those memories are sacred to me. It is just a way to remember.

Ray Bradbury said that, as a kid, once he discovered dinosaurs, that his whole world changed. In a preface to one of his books, he says even today that he'll always keep his dinosaurs. I say a hearty amen to that.

You all can keep your reality. I'll keep my monsters.


And I'll betcha I live in a much happier world.