Monday, December 15, 2014

The Delayed Spirit Of Christmas


This is a bit of a a cheat as I had written this some time ago, but with all of the hustle and bustle of Christmas and all the other Johnny Come Lately holidays in the world at this time of year, I am hoping no one noticed.  Besides I did re-edit it a bit, taking out all references to gratuitous nudity, cussing that would make longshoremen blush, and anything having to do with my endorsing gratuitiously nude people swearing a lot.  But I did subtract enough old words and add enough new ones that it really doesn't change a thing lengthwise.  The omission of the phrase "Darn these darned socks!" also occurred during this re-edit.  Enjoy!

 
The bell ringer's bell ringing left much to be desired.  She only started ringing when she saw that people were approaching the store entrance.  As soon as she made eye contact with someone, she wearily plastered on a fake smile.  Then a listless "Merry Christmas" came out of her mouth staccato-like, if I can use a made up word.  The whole scene became so cheerless that some enterprising members from the local synagogue set up a booth nearby just in case any passersby wanted to convert to celebrate Hanukkah.

This was the scene that was set before me as I entered that palace of consumerism, that den of bargains known as Shopko.  If you are unfamiliar with Shopko, allow me to explain: this store is the true representation of everything on the planet that is good and pure and wonderful.  That being said, the store only suffers in comparison to Target in that it doesn't have the neat optional Target (Tahr-zhay) pronunciation.  (Although I'm doing everything I can by lobbying for Shopko to receive an umlaut in it by 2018.  Shopkö.  See what I mean?  It just adds that air of Teutonic authority that is altogether lacking in many western shopping establishments.  By the way on a page-filling note, one day when you’re feeling brave and you want to see what it was like to shop in the former East Germany, check out Aldi as a reference.)

The only thing giving a pedestrian even more chills than the brisk winter air was the spectacle of this person ringing those silver bells.  Given her lackluster expression, I am certain she was out there only because she lost a bet.  Perhaps this was under court order and when the judge was sentencing her to community service, he was stumped for a civic duty to hand out.  “It is the judgment of this court that you be taken from this place and uh…placed in front a… shopping establishment with…um…a pair of bells…and a red pot!  Yeah, that’s it!  Bells and a red pot!  Bailiff!  Bring on the next case!” 

Of course in playing the part of “concerned citizen interested in the welfare of my fellow man”, I quickly passed her by, avoided eye contact, and gave nothing save an indication that it was cold outside to anyone who was watching.  I also was on what some would call “a feeble mission” to get a laundry hamper as soon as possible.  (These same vague people would argue that one could definitely wait to purchase something as inconsequential as a laundry hamper, but I disagree if for no other reason than it serves my interests to do so in this tale.)

The bell ringer could tell I was not going to give her anything.  Apparently she had divined from my pretend look of purpose and furrowed brow that I had need of some kind of laundry containment device so I obviously could not be held up for anything.  However, unlike the legions of other charity minions that I have noticed in my holiday travels, she stopped ringing the bells immediately, shrugged, and went back to staring out at the frosty nothingness of the parking lot. 

Now here is where unreasonable indignation on my part rears its ugly head.  Why did she give up so easily?  Did I not look like a man of means?  After all it was a Shopko I was going into, not a Wal-Mart!  Heavens, that alone must show that I have some extra cents to burn.  Obviously I was pegged as someone that was not worth the effort.  So that means that I don’t have money to give, which implies that I am dirt poor.  Therefore with that as a basis for a conclusion, you should have started emptying out your little red bucket into my needy coffers!  Such hypocrisy!

As a side note, here’s an actual tip if you want money from yours truly.  Trying to instill guilt within me by blankly staring with a pathetic smile as you swing your little metal bells will not get the job done.  I suggest you work for it!  Do a dance.  Start reciting the entire "Twas the Night Before Christmas" backwards in German with a Spanish accent.  Above all else and here lies your best bet: stop ringing the bells.  All of these efforts can get me to plunk down a mildly earned drachma or two from my tight sweaty fist into your bottomless crimson pot.

I believe that the bottom line is this: What hope can the Salvation Army give others if they can't even save this poor sad bell-ringer’s soul? 

I have a fond memory from high school in which a friend of mine told a story in class concerning how Salvation Army Santas were roughing people up for money on the street.  He was very convincing to the point of having several classmates shaking their heads in the disgust.  The nicest girl in the class, “nicest” meaning the”most naïve”, thought this tale was a true tragedy.  Meanwhile I was chided for failing to stifle the giggles that were leaking out of my quivering lips in reaction to this incredible fictional social travesty. 

Of course he had made it up.  The only truth in the presentation was that it was written out on paper and he probably spelled his name correctly.  After that the report’s accuracy waned dramatically.  But the image of Santas on street corners pummeling citizens with their bells for coins has fortuitously never left me.  It has also left me wary of scurrilous holiday beggars because every false story, no matter how ludicrous, has a moldy core of truth somewhere in it.

After what I believed was a long enough time, I left the Shopko.  Unfortunately I was hamperless because the ones they had for sale looked like they had were shipped in straight from Chernobyl’s laundromats without the necessary 16 day scrub down they required before being placed on the shelves for the massive pre-Christmas hamper sales.  As I left the building I got caught up, some would say purposely, in a crowd leaving the store in order to avoid the bell ringing disaster in the entryway.  The mindset here of course is: "Of course you understand I cannot give you any money for you see I am surrounded and impeded by other human beings!”  (Look at all the great social responsibility avoidance techniques I’m sending your way!  And you’re welcome!)
 
While I was pretending to look for my car, which was parked right in the front row, I caught a glimpse of the bell ringer’s face.  She showed another tired expression because I'm sure she sees that little crowd maneuver on an average of 564 times an hour.  Muttering about going to Target because they understand me there, I got into my car and drove off still in search of the elusive hamper.  As I left, I turned on the stereo and the CD player started warming up.  Soon I would be enjoying the smooth non-sober tones of Dean Martin’s Christmas album.  The CD switched to a new track.  What song will Dino grace us with now?  Why Silver Bells, of course.


What else would it have been?





 

Thursday, October 30, 2014

Halloween XVII: The Return of the Revenge of the Reupholstery of Michael Myers


During this hectic, moist, and rather inflammatory election season, let us remember the real reason for the season: Halloween.  Halloween seems to take a backseat during every election year and I for one am taking a stand.  If I were more than just me, I would be piling all the stands that I would be able to take into a nice pile to prove that I had taken them in the first place.  That would show the standless hordes for sure once and for all.

Halloween doesn’t even get acknowledged aside from the occasional tired editorial cartoon that has one of the candidates the cartoonist opposes made out to look like a carved jack o’lantern without the candle lit inside and we’re all supposed to chuckle knowingly as this hack gets a Pulitzer prize for having the audacity to retread this worn idea once again.  (Budding editorial cartoonists: no, you may not use this idea if you’ve never heard of it before and yes, you must acknowledge me when you get your Pulitzer.) 

So in order to avoid this electoral quagmire, come with me to the safer confines of Halloween.  After all, Halloween is certainly less scary than most if not all politicians.  Plus, you can feel safe here.  This blog takes on the hard hitting issues of frivolity and nonsense and turns them on their respective ears, if they have ears to begin with once I started.  What was I talking about again?  Oh, yes: Halloween!

Now how can one go through Halloween without mentioning that the season manages to have the best array of motion pictures compared to any other time of year?  One cannot.  The Columbus Day people fall silent.  The Thanksgiving Day fans just have Planes, Trains, and Automobiles and the Charlie Brown special and that’s it.  Ultimately, the bullying Christmas crowd will mash their way on in and throw their weight around on this topic.  However, and I want to state this in my best poor grammatical manner: there are more better Halloween movies than there are Christmas movies.  I know it boils down to personal taste and as I am the one writing this, those people are wrong.  In my correct opinion I can watch Bela Lugosi and Christopher Lee all day instead of watching Jimmy Stewart fall into the pool yet again and Bing Crosby croon one more time.  (It’s A Wonderful Life is barely a Christmas movie folks.  Let’s face it.  Clarence could have come at any moment during the year to point out the obvious to George Bailey and you’d get the same result.*)

But soft, let us away from those Christmas nebbishes with their delusions of grandeur and dive into the world of Halloween horror movies, namely the Halloween movie series.  Now entire volumes have been written about this franchise and chances are there’s not much I can offer in the way of new material.  Yet I feel compelled to mention a few things about this much loved and very frustrating film series.  Consider them my Cliff’s Notes for people that won’t even be read because they’re obviously too lazy to watch a movie let alone read something.

Now as far as franchises go, Halloween fits the definition by having lasted with ten movies and sadly still counting.  However as they have Halloween in the title of the movies, they must reflect the greatness of the season.  A friendly word of warning: this franchise has some real peaks and valleys, mostly valleys.  Michael Myers isn’t as pithy as Freddy Krueger or as showy as Jason Voorhees.  He’s creepy and spooky and all together ooky and tends to stalk around more than kill nubile teens in gory ways.  However you can do a lot when you play with the house money that the first movie created over 35 years ago.  


HALLOWEEN

The legendary modern horror films are easy to rattle off: Psycho, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Night of the Living Dead, The Evil Dead, Tootsie.  Together with those titles, one can easily put the 1978 classic that started everything: Halloween.  It still holds up rather well even to this day.  Director/screenwriter/composer John Carpenter rightfully made his nut on this flick.  Carpenter hit every note so amazingly well it is hard to believe that this is the same man that made Memoirs of an Invisible Man with Chevy Chase.  Dean Cundey has beautiful cinematography throughout.  The atmosphere is just right, the gore is non-existent, and suspense rules the day, even up and through the ending which they always say they didn’t plan on for a sequel.  Yeah, sure.  Jamie Lee Curtis comes off very well, acting-wise not clothing-wise and Donald Pleasance as Dr. Loomis proves to be an admirable anchor for not just this film, but for the entire series.  (Always try to remember Pleasance in full Blofeld from You Only Live Twice-mode chasing evil.  It makes it fun!)  The character of Michael Myers enters our hearts as the ultimate boogeyman.  The teen characters are not irritating, aside from the relative lack of nudity, and the rest of the cast has very believable performances.  All in all, this film still stands as a cornerstone of the horror film.  It was just one of a remarkable streak of superior pictures that Carpenter made from 1976-1988.  (Yes, I’m including They Live! and I don’t feel guilty about that.)  And they used Don’t Fear the Reaper, which was just the right touch.  Needed more cowbell though.


HALLOWEEN II

 
Of course Halloween also kicked off a slew of imitators with a holiday theme.  My Bloody Valentine, Friday the 13th, Prom Night, Happy Birthday to Me, Graduation Day, Mother’s Day, Groundhog Day, etc. all followed and some were good, many were not.  Why Arbor Day was never made is still an unanswerable question.  (I can see the poster now: “Are you Green?  Now you’re Red…with BLOOD!”)  But not to be outdone, the producers of Halloween decided to follow the cash with their own follow-up.  As Michael Myers was seemingly alive and free at the end of the first one, they made the first sequel just a continuation of the first movie which makes this the longest Halloween night on record.  Surprisingly the film works and somehow makes itself a worthy companion to the first film.  Others may argue about the subsequent sequels as to their respective merits or lack thereof, but Halloween II basks in the afterglow of the first movie and completely shreds the subsequent sequels.  My arguments against the film would be the rash of victims that are introduced just to be killed is mundane and the introduction to the plotline that Jamie Lee Curtis is actually Myers’ sister is rather unnecessary.  They should’ve just had Dr. Loomis be Michael’s uncle too.  But Donald Pleasance once again can’t shoot enough bullets into Michael Myers and future Last Starfighter Lance Guest gets his first movie role.    

HALLOWEEN III: SEASON OF THE WITCH

Has a film angered shrill fanboys in one fell swoop more than Halloween III?  (I would have to say that it finally took Rob Zombie’s second Halloween effort to break the spell of this second sequel on fans.)  Obviously the first sequel printed money, so they rushed into the fray with a third entry.  But they decided against using a Michael Myers storyline because that would be the obvious route to further box office success, I guess.  (I like to think that it was John Carpenter’s idea so that he could finally kill any future attachments to the series, but I digress.)  No Michael in a Halloween movie?  Why, that’s as foolish as having a Friday the 13th television series and you don’t use Jason Voorhees at all.  (Oh, wait...) However despite that seemingly large gaping Mammoth Cave-sized gaffe, the film itself is a tight little sci-fi horror gem on its own.  Dan O’Herlihy comes across as a great sinister villain and Tom Atkins is a good choice as leading man.  There is much to recommend rediscovering this flick including some great direction by Tommy Lee Wallace.  Alas, this film would be the last in the series that would benefit from the hands of John Carpenter, producer Debra Hill, and cinematographer Dean Cundey.  Had they called the film Season of the Witch and not have it connected with the Halloween series, it might have done better.  Then again, they could have called the movie Free Money or Open Bar and Buffet and had it come out better.  As far as the series goes, each sequel or remake that brings back Michael Myers again and again since this film has come out hasn’t compared with how good Halloween III actually is.

HALLOWEEN 4: THE RETURN OF MICHAEL MYERS

So after all that audience complaining, Michael Myers comes back from the seeming fiery death he encountered at the end of Halloween II.  (Why isn’t fiery spelled firey?  Why change the order of the letters?  This frustrates me.)  Now to make it even more interesting I would have called this film by the same title and yet never have Myers show up.  You think fans were ticked off before?  That would have been great!  Fortunately this sequel has some things to recommend to it, especially once again compared to a lot of the dreck that follows after this point.  Danielle Harris is introduced as Jamie Lee Curtis’ daughter, which gives Michael Myers a reason to come back to kill some more.  Donald Pleasance is back as well, peppering Michael with as many bullets as he can.  (I like his psychiatric style: if he cannot get through to the patient, either confine him or kill him.  We need more gun-toting doctors to deal with the damaged beyond repair humans that infiltrate our planet.)  My major complaint is that with this film we see the start of how they will never get Michael’s mask right ever again in every sequel.  It is just plain irritating when you see some of the versions that will come out in the films.  The vigilante rednecks story point is a cul-de-sac and once again Michael Myers is blown up.  However, honorable mention goes to Beau Starr, as the police chief who is not just a clichéd small town cop.  Thank you also to the filmmakers for making an entry that wasn’t completely embarrassing despite it still looking throughout like a glorified TV movie.

HALLOWEEN 5: THE REVENGE OF MICHAEL MYERS

Hoo boy, strap in because we’re coming to a downhill slalom starting with this entry.  Taking place one year after the events of Part 4, Michael Myers isn’t blown into Myers bits after all, but instead convalesces under the care of a hobo for the next 365 ¼ days.  Realizing that it is Halloween again and he has relatives to kill, Michael then whacks this guy and comes back to try to kill his niece who is all of a sudden telepathic because it is convenient to the plot.  First the good points: Danielle Harris is a trouper and acquits herself well during the proceedings.  Also Donald Pleasance is the reliable stalwart that have depended on for his relentless pursuit to quash evil.  And that’s about it.  This film is the turning point in the Halloween series because it really is the first time where we are rooting for Michael Myers more than we are hurt when the well-developed characters are eliminated.  Case in point: any film that relies on wacky cops for forced comic relief needs to be stopped at all costs.  Michael couldn’t whack these numbskulls quick enough and even then the film disappoints by not having Michael killing them over and over again.  Then again once more after that.  We have our moment of revenge stolen.  This is reason enough for vitriol.  And the ending where someone in black, probably Johnny Cash, walks around town is confusing and forced and head-scratching.  But this ending is enough to carry over to…dare I say it…

HALLOWEEN: THE CURSE OF MICHAEL MYERS

Holy cow, you’re still reading?!  It’s bad enough having to write this stuff, but isn’t there something else more constructive you could be doing?  Well, okay, I’ll continue by saying that the worst sin a film can commit is to be boring.  A close second is everything that Halloween 6 did.  In a futile effort to explain away why Michael Myers is who he is and what he is and why he does what he does beyond what we knew from previous films, we are led down a path of cults and Celtic markings and a just plain angry movie.  Through it all we have Donald Pleasance pop up and he does try valiantly to bring some sanity to this mess, but even he gave up and passed away before the film was even released.  Michael Myers’ niece was recast only to have her character killed thereby ending one of the only redeemable things to have come out of the previous two movies.  However, it is fun to see Paul Rudd in a pre-“I Know Who Paul Rudd Is” role.  Legend once had it that there was an infamous Producer’s Cut of the film that existed that explained some of the rougher patches that the released version butchered through the editing.  This cut of the film was recently released and yes, it is better, but between the two movies, there just isn’t a good movie in there to be had.  It’s like trying to edit Police Academy 4: Citizens On Patrol and Police Academy 5: Assignment: Miami Beach together and try to get something barely watchable out of it.   So the series was seemingly dead, but then…

HALLOWEEN H20: TWENTY YEARS LATER

For the 20th anniversary of the first film, fans were treated with the return of Jamie Lee Curtis to the series!  Horror veteran Steve Miner was directing and a young We Don’t Know Who You Are Yet Josh Hartnett was cast as Curtis’ son.  All the storylines that came after the 2nd movie were jettisoned to accompany the movie, which consisted of Jamie’s character becoming a teacher at a prep school, trying to live her life after the events of that Halloween night H20 years ago.  Janet Leigh, Jamie Lee’s real life mom and Norman Bates’ favorite guest, pops in and is a welcome sight.  LL Cool J is cast as a security guard and Mr. Cool J is a surprise pleasure.  The film is arguably the best one since the 2nd one and is a definite highpoint of the series, such as it is.  This is mainly due to Curtis who proves that she has come a long way from the first two movies and My Girl 2.  (Does anyone else notice that the only characters Jamie Lee has repeated in her film career have been in either Halloween movies or the My Girls?  Is that good or bad?)  I remember that the ending was amazing and resulted in cheers from the audience after Jamie Lee takes care of Michael Myers once and for all.  Well…


HALLOWEEN: RESURRECTION

Okay, so this movie went ahead and proved that you can suck the air completely out of the film that preceded it.  Jamie Lee didn’t really kill Myers, Myers instead comes in the first 15 minutes and kills Jamie Lee Curtis.  Ahem.  So now we’re left with what?  A group of kids wanting to be part of a reality show filming inside of the old Myers’ house and Michael comes back and hijinks ensue.  Busta Rhymes is in there somewhere, trying like mad to be as good as LL Cool J and just cannot do it.  What happened aside from the producers killing all of the good will created in the previous film?  Outside of the first 15 minutes, take away Michael Myers from the story completely and make it just a random serial killer’s house.  See?  There’s nothing special to Halloween there which makes this film yet another in a long line of “Hey we started a new storyline in the middle of all these sequels and now we’ve squashed the potential completely” films that consistently dog the Halloween series.  Think about it: the Friday the 13th series was pretty tight in comparison, which is sad for other reasons.  So now we’ve had at least three mini-series within 8 sequels.  What could possibly happen now?


HALLOWEEN

Well, you get Rob Zombie in to perk the series up.  Now I love Rob Zombie.  I’ve followed his music from White Zombie’s Astro Creep 2000 to the present day solo efforts.  I think that his love of the horror genre knows no bounds.  He is very well read on the topic and one of the smartest creative minds we’ve seen.  His first movie House of 1000 Corpses was reedited away from him and we have yet to see a director’s cut coming.  His next film The Devil’s Rejects was an amazing ride.  So he wasn’t a bad choice for this project at all given his pedigree.  But I think the film’s major shortcoming comes in trying to explain the faceless Michael Myers by giving him a sympathetic past.  Why Zombie chose this path is a mystery.  It certainly doesn’t make the film as tight as it could have been.  Then again when you have a 4.5 hour documentary on the making of this film perhaps you like over explaining things beyond the level of typical audience patience.  Malcom McDowell is no Donald Pleasance, but he still is not a bad choice for Dr. Loomis.  The usual array of Zombie regulars and his use of genre players comes off well.  His choice for the Jamie Lee Curtis role, Scout Taylor-Compton, is excruciatingly bad to the point that you really want Michael Myers to drive several knives into her.  Danielle Harris from Parts 4 and 5 was also cast and does a very good job, so good you wonder why Zombie didn’t cast her in the lead instead.  Unless his goal was to make us hate Taylor-Compton and he just couldn’t do that to the much loved Harris.  What is irritating is there are so many things that Zombie got right, it is frustrating that the film doesn’t come together as a whole.  Yet it made money so we got…

H2: HALLOWEEN II

Remember what I said about over explaining?  Here I’ll refresh your memory: But I think the film’s major shortcoming comes in trying to explain the faceless Michael Myers by giving him a sympathetic past.  I give Zombie credit by not just doing a rehash of the first sequel.  He could’ve taken that path, which would have been easier, but instead he went in a “I’m going to beat Michael’s motivation into your head and you’re going to like it” mode.  Well, I didn’t like it, quite the opposite.  And Taylor-Compton proves that she could be even more irritating and grating than in the first movie.  As she set that bar so high previously, it is comforting to know that she didn’t blow her entire talents on the first movie.  This is just an angry, confused mess of a movie.  Danielle Harris once again is wasted in the role.  This entire film just makes me want to walk away and enjoy Friday the 13th Part VIII: Jason Takes Manhattan instead.  And I hate that movie. 



Well, you made it this far and I think you’re just completely mad to have made it this far.  However, I hope that my little ranting diatribe on this series hasn’t put you off of it.  At the very least, see the original first film and go from there.  Besides, the Halloween series has much to commend to it.  First off and foremost off, it isn’t the Nightmare on Elm Street series.  Whew, you want to talk about beleaguered?



Have a happy, enjoyable, and fattening Halloween everyone!  And in the words of Dr. Loomis replying to someone saying that they've been trick or treated to death tonight: "You don't know what death is!"



* There are eleven Christmas classics that I will heartily endorse in no particular order: The Bishop’s Wife, the George C. Scott version of A Christmas Carol, the original Miracle On 34th Street, A Christmas Story, Batman Returns, Die Hard, National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, Scrooged, Die Hard 2, Lethal Weapon, and Gremlins. 

Tuesday, October 21, 2014

We Picked A Patch Of Perfectly Plump Pumpkins Pleasantly


After publishing an amazing two posts in one month, I decided to go for broke and try posting a third.  That’s right, I am going to tempt fate itself, cause fate to come out of hiding, and lead fate into an amazing trap of my own cunning and devisementation.  Several dozens of people that I mentioned this to were quite put off by my rather brusque and pushy attitude.  However to a man, they all came to the same conclusion: they were going to call the police if I continued to bother them while they were enjoying their value meals.  I then decided upon a new approach, that I would show a tender side to my ever-lackadaisical audience.

Now I have been blessed in having a lovely wife and three children that are absolute humdingers.  They are just the cat’s meow and bee’s knees.  Like you, I have no idea what any of those phrases mean, but I’m sure they’re just plain aces.  My daughter, Agincourt, is four years old and just started preschool this year.  Odds are this will probably be the only year of her schooling that I will ever have a fighting chance in helping her with her homework successfully, so I am naturally interested in her education.  This I do by asking her questions and feigning fascination with every detail I hear much like all parents do.  (Sorry to burst your bubble, but it is true.  Your parents didn’t listen to your nattering any more than their parents listened to them and so on back through to infinity.  My parents were even more cruel when I would explain things to them.  They would take extensive notes and then ask me to shred them when I was done talking.)

But on to brighter subjects!  Today was the day of the field trip to the pumpkin patch.  About 25 odd children, 2 normal ones, and their respective parents and grandparents, along with those that weren’t respected, all gathered together to participate on this journey.  I had forgotten how much I loved travelling by school bus to any location.  Then I remembered that I have never loved that.  Yet despite my preconceived notions, we boarded the bus.  What happened next had me too shocked for words.

This bus was a thing of luxury compared to the rusty sweatboxes that I had to experience.  I remember the pungent diesel fumes, combined with the fact that they finally got the heater fixed by Memorial Day.  I remember the fact that no one cared that there was but one emergency exit that was welded shut in the rear of the bus.  I remember that we never had luggage racks above the seats; we were lucky if there was enough room for your knees as long as you didn’t breathe. 

So I was prepared for some clunky decrepit pile of yellow sadness that decided that having shocks would be too expensive long, long ago.  Instead I saw a gleaming golden chariot of scholastic transport.  Immediately I was angered.  These children need to experience the mobile hell that I and others of the surrounding generations experienced.  They needed a bus driver that was too concerned with lighting her cigarette rather than paying attention to road signs.  Where was the multitude of odors that the bevy of students imbedded into the seat cushions?  Where were the sudden stops that drove the back of the seat in front of you into your temple?  These kids would miss out on all of these experiences and that is a terrific wrong that might never be righted.

The pumpkin patch had all of the usual refinements: a corn maze, a tractor ride, feeding goats, a sing-along in a barn, and of course picking a pumpkin.  There was also a full-fledged playground to boot.  She got her pumpkin, played on the playground, fed the goats, sang along, enjoyed the tractor ride, and went through the maze.  My daughter and the rest of the kids had a blast, which was the point of the whole exercise.  Field trips are the greatest events during schooling and they occur less and less with each passing school year.  (The only way you get a field trip in later school years is if you manage to get yourself injured, but I don't recommend this path for anyone save for the extremely bored student at any public grade school or a regular student at any Lutheran school.*)

I think the biggest lesson I learned while on going along on this field trip is that I am actually a parent.  Now yes, I had an inkling that I was a parent before today.  After all, there are pictures that show me having been in at least two hospital rooms holding several babies, so I must be a father.  But just watching my daughter with this group of kids, experiencing these things for the first time, enjoying herself, and then beaming with a wonderful smile up at me all the while holding my hand.  Well, it just felt like the rollercoaster of my adult life has taken another turn towards maturity, a turn that I’ve normally fought rather successfully over the years.  Amazing how simple a field trip to a pumpkin patch on a rather blustery day can bring about such perspective.

Of course this entire day also brought about a more pressing matter.  I am going to buy the most dilapidated, tetanus infested, garbage bus that I can find and drive kids around for no apparent reason for hours on end.  They will never truly grow up if they never are involved with that mode of transportation.  I’m sure this sounds like sour grapes on my part, but I assure you, it only sounds like sour grapes because it is sour grapes on my part.  How can they call it schooling if the kids aren't going to learn everything about the school experience?  They'll thank me later.  Perhaps I'll be so effective, they will write annoying blogs about me someday.


*"Now Ben," you may be saying, "why this random dig at Lutheran grade school kids?  You were going along so nicely and even had a touching moment and then you went ahead and spoiled it.  Remember you went through the Lutheran grade school system too, young man!"  Well, I warrant that my seemingly unwarranted dig was indeed warrantable.  You see at the same time our group of preschoolers showed up, a similarly sized group of kids from a Lutheran childcare center arrived for their field trip.  Hey great, this is all well and good, I begrudge no child of any religious background the chance to run through a corn maze.  However this group's unpardonable sin was failing to notify the farm in question that they were even arriving this day.  How this managed to happen is bewildering.  That group obviously got the message out to their group, had the bus set up for the trip, had plenty of parents along for the trip, and even had it on their school's online calendar which I checked when I got home.  But they just decided to not bother to schedule with the farm they were going to?  Pretty sloppy, if you ask me. 

The zero sum game of this little error meant that they had to keep shuffling our groups around to make sure that we weren't overflowing one section of the farm all at once.  The farm employees handled it very well and took it in stride, yet this meant that due to the moving around, our group, which was scheduled I remind you, had to cut short several points of interest along the way.  So this short sheeted the experience with our kids at the farm, which royally put me off.

I don't care what your school group's religious background is, but when you come barging in uninvited and spoil my kid's chances to pet llamas and feed pigs because you took your own sweet time in the petting zoo portion of the farm then GAME ON!

Thursday, October 16, 2014

Points Of Know Return To Sender

Now that I’ve dazzled your eyes with an amazing story of blatantly famous people I’ve rubbed shoulders against, I have decided that perhaps the time has come for you to know a little bit more about me, Benjamin Horatio Nelson Wink, Esq, OBE, Last Son Of Krypton, Lord of the Commonwealth, EKG.

Perhaps by coming down to the level of the common folk, you can better relate to me and my indescribable life and my condescriptive opinions.  Sure others have attempted to describe it with comments such as “pedestrian”, “not that unusual”, and “Yawn.”  (I assure all that the word “yawn” was used and it wasn’t just someone that was caught in the reflexive act of yawning when asked the question.  It is this hard-hitting realism that I know that you demand from me and I am only too willing to give without being requested in the first place.)

But what method will be best suited to convey the ideas that I would like to convoy to you all?  Perhaps a thrilling power point presentation that boggles the mind and creates headaches would work.  Perchance an astounding array of badly scanned pictures would do the trick.  Photoshopped nudity is always a stunning sight.  But no, I have decided to blow open the technological doors and amaze all concerned with this fascinating new function of Microsoft Word: bullet points!  Yes folks, I am definitely not a Luddite for I have never even been to Luddia or even the capital city of Luddiwania.  I am proud to be truly at the forefront of being behind the times by about 15 minutes.

And so without further adoodoo, here these exclusive bullet points for you the reader so you may gain just a smidgen of insight into me, myself, and I.  Do enjoy and share with loved ones and those you can barely tolerate.

·        I have amassed a large quantity of books that I intend to read.  Just as a precaution, I will dog-ear pages of those books in case a guest happens to peruse one of my volumes so they assume how well read I am.
 
·        Some would say that they would never be able to deliberately throw the annual grade school spelling bee that they were forced to compete in.  So I did it two years in a row to prove my point.
 
·        I happen to be from Wisconsin.  If the reader happens to be from Illinois, thank you for the speeding tickets, now get out.  If the reader happens to be from Minnesota, I’ll write slower for you.  If the reader happens to be from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, realize that you are our red-headed stepchildren.  If the reader is from any other state that has an NFL franchise, I can’t explain Green Bay to you.  I would apologize, but you can add that apology together with a half dollar and still only get fifty cents.
 
·        I once discovered how many licks it took for me to get to center of a Tootsie Roll Pop, counting out loud the number of licks as I went along.  If you thought some people on a long bus trip couldn’t get more annoying, let me tell you that I can roll with the best of them.
 
·        Others might have the integrity to leave high school band if they really can’t play all that well.  Yet if you’re me, you stick with it and work harder.  Otherwise you won’t get the easy ‘A’ for your GPA and you’d lose out on the absolutely smokingly attractive ladies in your saxophone section. 
 
·        I once danced with the devil in the pale moonlight.  His tango rivals that of Sean Connery’s in Never Say Never Again.
 
·        If you have given up hope for your future and insist on going to a rather bad Midwestern parochial college in the middle of Minnesota for five years, don’t automatically think that you will have the talent to compose an award-winning blog such as this one.  I worked hard at my not-paying-attention skills and honed them to a fairly sharp point during my sentence there.  However I would not recommend this same path for the faint of heart or for anyone that has the chance to go to an actual college or university.
 
·        I once taped over my parents’ copy of Lonesome Dove in order to get more episodes of Mystery Science Theater 3000 recorded during one of their Turkey Day Thanksgiving marathons.  When queried, I responded that I had no idea how that could have happened despite the rather large LONESOME DOVE that was written on the side of the VHS tape.
 
·        I have bent cutlery with my mind before then going to actually do it with my hands.
 
·        There are many firm beliefs that I have but towards the top of the importance list is that no matter how large a Rolling Stones fan you are, there is nothing sadder than owning any solo album by Mick Jagger.
 
·        Did you know that there were only 7 copies made of the Slash’s Snakepit It’s Five O’Clock Somewhere album?  Did you know that at any given moment those same copies are shifted across the United States from used record store to used record store in a fruitless attempt to sell them?
 
·        The first time I ever attended a movie theater without my parents or relatives was to see the magnum opus The Karate Kid Part III.  We decided to really show that we were smarter than our parents and sit directly in the middle of the front row.  Ralph Macchio’s face is still burned into my retinas in all of its widescreen glory.  At least it wasn’t The Next Karate Kid.
 
·        I firmly believe that the tomato is the most evil fruit imaginable.  Adam and Eve didn’t eat the apple, one of the most versatile of fruits, because they were chowing down on that slimy seedy orb of death at the time.


Well I hope that these piercing insights help to illustrate just a portion of my amazing psyche to the huddled masses.  Frankly I am amazed that I managed to get two of these posted in the same month.  I am going on such a tear right now, I feel like another Sue Grafton if she decided to start using numbers in each of her book titles instead of letters.

Wednesday, October 1, 2014

I Thought You'd Be Taller When You Met Me

Since exploding into the blogging world, many people have approached me on the street asking me the truly important questions: “Would you like to sample some of this fried summer sausage?” and “Did you pay for your gas at the pump?”  Let’s not forget this penetrating query, “Would you be willing to buy some chocolate bars to help our pee wee football team?”  Yes, it is clear that I have made an impression that will not be filled in quietly with concrete and then driven on anonymously.

Obviously it has been hard to deal with this level of fame and notoriety.  I empathize with those who have trodden on the lonely path of famousity before me.  It has been difficult, but I made what I believe is the best choice in confronting the massive hordes of fandom.  I have had a series of custom shirts made that state: “No, I am not World Famous Blogger Ben Wink, but thanks for asking!”  This definitely helps me to blend in with the plebs and other common folk.  I also had a jersey made that says that I’m a fan of the Dallas Yankee Heat.  This has helped me to confuse certain sections of the drooling public while assimilating with them at the same time as well.

However taking voluminous amounts of precious time to answer my several fan letters and summonses has not been the tremendous slice of pie that I was led to believe it would be.  It has been daunting.  I even had to run out and buy another book of stamps because I was almost out anyway.  But I was once like you.  I was a fan of things that I never made and people that I am not.  Along the way, I have brushed the teeth of fame and even flossed afterwards.  Now allow me to state the obvious question that is currently about to cross your mind and beat your mouth to the punch in saying it: “Gosh, Ben, which famous people have you experienced in your long and excruciatingly awe-inspiring life?!”  Funny you should ask in that predetermined-by-my-editing kind of way!

Obviously there is not enough bandwidth to explore all those amazing stars in the fame heavens that have crossed my path in just one go.  I mean I have to stretch this out as much as I can.  So with that mindset and without any more hesitation here are the fortunate famous folks that have had the honor of meeting me personally in person.

On a dark night back in 1999, I was privileged to go see the progressive rock band Yes in concert in Minneapolis, MN.  Ah, if you have never experienced the prog rock band crowd, you haven’t lived.  But that’s okay as they haven’t either.  Unless living in your mom’s basement through the tender age of 40 is called living.  But I kid the proggers as I like to call them.  (By the way, could you at least take out the garbage when you get home?  Thanks.)

The show started and a whirlwind of notes spun around into sheer tornadoes of 13 minute epics.  The only respite was when they played Owner of a Lonely Heart which was not only 4 minutes long but also resulted in women popping up out of nowhere, applauding because it was the only song they recognized.  This was truly amazing!  Women at a progalogdingdong concert?!  Actual women?  Not just Peter Gabriel wearing a dress?  Wow.  I was stunned.

But to make a long story short, which is hard for Yes to do in any case, lead singer Jon Anderson was having throat issues all night.  He thought he could muscle through it, but when your songs average 15 minutes each, it can get rather strained.  Finally he just gave up after a little over an hour of music, or three songs in Yes-speak.  What could we do but leave upon hearing the news?  We were just out of the building when we noticed activity in the alley behind the theater.  A friend of mine immediately recognized Steve Howe, the guitarist for the band, standing in the alley talking to fans.  Then he recognized bassist Chris Squire and drummer Alan White.

I know what you’re going to ask: Who in the hell would actually recognize these men?!  Well this good friend of mine actually brought some LP sleeves in the slim hope of getting autographs from these guys.  Yes dear reader, LP sleeves.  Thankfully the theater was dark so no one could see me sitting next to him.  But I kid because after hoping against hope, there they were signing autographs!  So he sidled on over to them to meet his prog heroes.  I simply shook hands with them and walked away from the ever-increasing throng of middle-aged men clad in tour shirts from 1975.  These poor shirts never planned on being stretched that thin over the intervening decades and were hoping for death or a tear that would take them out of the tour attendance wardrobe rotation.  Please pray for these shirts.

We left the teeming Minnesotan multitude with my friend’s items signed and joy in our collective hearts.  Truth be told, it was a rather neat thing the band did as they understood what a downer it was that they had to stop the show early.  Then again this wouldn’t have happened to me if I had seen The Bangles with Susanna Hoffs in person back in the day.  It of course would happen when I see rapidly aging British prog rock stars whose last hit was back in 1983.  (I was going to throw in “male” as a description as well, but as there are no other kinds of British prog rock stars it was therefore redundant.) 

So there you go!  I hope you enjoyed the first taste of those lucky famous people who have been supremely fortunate in meeting me.  I shall delve further into the files of memory and entrance you dear reader with my tales of adventure with the wildly well-known people that have met me.

Friday, September 12, 2014

That Foot Is Me

Well, given the absolutely titanic response that has come regarding my first post, I have decided to press on anyway.  Critics were quite diverse in their opinions.  I read opinions ranging from “tired” to “overwritten and tired” to “sad and tired” and took those to heart.  Obviously the phrase “more articles like this will bring about the apocalypse” was in reference to something off of the HuffPost and was mistakenly left here instead.

Through sheer tyranny of will, I am going to continue to fill up space on the Interwebnet.  By proving that I am as hip and with it as the rest of those Internet fillers out there, I shall now start with something that is never done on any other website, blog, email, or just randomly abandoned Word files: a movie review.  That’s right.  I am taking the big step to be real, relational, and relevant.  But which film shall this inaugural review be based on?  Something from Bergman or Fellini or Kurosawa?  Mayhap something from the rich film catalogues of Scorsese or Spielberg or Stallone?  Nay, I shall sally forth and use something out of left field entirely by looking upon a film that is quite fond to me, as my opinion is one of the only ones that matter.  This film is of course the magnum opus of 1978: National Lampoon’s Animal House.

I can remember back in the dim dark past of my youth that often my brother and I would be minded at my grandparents’ house during the summer months.  And after we had completely exhausted my brother’s reasons to be outside doing sporty things, we would retire to the house for a bit.  We then had carte blanche in regards to picking movies to watch from the video library.  Even at that young age, we had the wherewithal to avoid the movies that my aunt loved.  A more sickening array of romantic “comedies” is hard to find I’ll warrant.  (Movie Fan ProTip #1: Any movie with Meg Ryan that isn’t Armed and Dangerous, avoid like the plague.  You’ll thank me.  Movie Fan ProTip #1.1: I can allow for The Presidio, but only if you promise me you’ll skip over Meg’s parts as much as you can.  Concentrate on Sean Connery instead.  You’re welcome.)

Going past that collection of supreme banality, our preteen eyes would fall upon the films that made up our youth: Fletch, Fletch Lives, The ‘burbs, and Caddyshack.  But wedged in there was yet another comedy that we were far too young to watch at the time, the aforementioned National Lampoon’s Animal House!  (See, it all comes together now!  And I shall be referencing this film as simply Animal House for the rest of the post because A) no one calls it by the full name and B) National Lampoon put out far too many bad films that smeared its stellar reputation to be given any grace at this point.)

For some reason my grandparents let us watch this movie.  Why did they do it?  Was it the proper Elmer Bernstein score that lent an air of credibility to the proceedings?  Was it the cast headed up by that nice and charming Belushi boy?  Did they secretly hope that despite all of the shenanigans we’d end up wanting to be more like the Omegas?  I was either around nine or ten years old at the time, my brother younger than that.  Yet this film, which does indeed earn its ‘R’ rating, was popped in wholeheartedly whenever my brother and I wanted to watch it.  Perhaps they just wanted a well-earned quiet moment from the two massively distracting boys that rampaged through their home.  I don’t know and part of me never wants to know as I like the mystery behind the decision.  I can’t explain it, but I love them for letting us do it because that anarchic little comedy-that-could wedged itself in my heart from that day forth.

When time came for me to go off to college, I was wondering if my experiences would echo any of the exploits of the Delta fraternity.  But when you go to a Not-That-Great-Small-Lutheran-College in the middle of Minnesota, you’ve set yourself up for failure on all counts.  A student there thinks more about how to stay warm from the arctic blasts and how to stay alive on the cruel gruel they passed off as “food”.  Everybody knows everybody else on the campus; there is no anonymity whatsoever.  The college was truly a high school after high school, minus the fun antics of going to high school but plus the fact that you were in Minnesota.  Minnesota is taken from the Native American word “Minnesota” which means “No, we’re not kidding, that is all the land has to offer”. 

Being a Lutheran campus, the school not only had a faculty of Dean Wormers, but a student body that was made up of them as well.  These were people that blanched if they overheard you say a risqué phrase such as “What the hell?”  They went pale if you dared to say that you love Monty Python’s Life of Brian.  There was no Homecoming parade to ruin.  There was no ROTC to drive golf balls towards.  There were no fraternities. 

The only thing that came close was the drinking on campus, but it was a crew of angry, sports loving drunks, not fun-loving ones.  Also there were sexual encounters but, to put it nicely, my campus didn’t have a bevy of Mandy Pepperidges in the woodwork.  (To be fair, there wasn’t a romp of Otters either, but as this is from my skewed perspective, I’m passing over that point.) 

Time passes and I ensured that I would have a copy of this movie for my very own, first on VHS, then on DVD and then on DVD again, even though the 2nd time on DVD can be accurately called a “cash grab for the studio”.  More time passes as days stretch into weeks, weeks stretch into months, months go on a diet and become days again, the days, realizing they are too thin, overreact and become full blown seasons, and so forth.  So through just sheer exhaustion of day to day married life with children and a job combined with the arduous and painful experience writing the previous sentence, I wanted to watch something comfortable that I already knew.  No surprises, not today thank you very much.  Just something familiar will occupy my magical TV tonight.  I chose my old friend Animal House and popped it in the player.

It hasn’t aged a day, just like me as I was born the same year the movie came out.  The film is as great as when I first witnessed it with my underage eyes.  The direction from John Landis is tight, the film wasn’t shot to look like a comedy (which is a plus by the way), the cast of then unknowns shine brightly, Belushi was a comedic star that burned too quickly, Donald Sutherland plays Donald Sutherland and does it very well, and I still get invested in the actual story, which is a rarity for me with any movie coming out in recent years.

The bottom line is that given my college life compared to the one depicted in this movie, I will always prefer to think of Animal House as my college flashback.  The shame of it was that not-that-great-college was far more expensive than my purchasing Animal House over the years, even with the multiple formats.  I also believe I might have had a better education had I just stuck with rewatching this movie instead of obtaining a degree that has gotten revenue for the company that matted and framed it and that’s about it.      

I must make special mention of the late John Vernon as Dean Vernon Wormer.  His role is one that could have been played with ham-fisted, scenery-chewing glory.  Instead he portrayed a terrific comedic menace, which is incredibly hard.  There is a fine line that he had to walk and he did it brilliantly.  I always thought that his character got the job as dean after he failed as mayor in Dirty Harry.  When placed in that context, it is understandable as to why Dean Wormer was such a prick, but a well-played prick nonetheless.

So what have we learned?  We’ve learned that this film still stands out among all other comedies even after this much time has passed.  We’ve learned that John Belushi was never better in any other film role.  (Yes, even 1941.)  Above all else, we’ve learned that no matter what; go to a better college for your education.  They have the finances and resources available to make your studies and campus living worthwhile.  At the very least when you go and destroy their Homecoming parade in a futile and stupid gesture, the school will actually notice.

Thursday, August 21, 2014

A New Beginning All Over Again

Since the world was clamoring for yet another person to fill up the rapidly dwindling space on the Interwebs, I have decided to take the bull by the horns (the trumpets, actually) and state that I am proud to have been given this honor after taking it by force.  And why not?  My opinion is certainly as valid as any other person that is in total agreement with me, so why shouldn’t I state it on a public forum such as this?  Well, public in the sense that I rule over it and am the final arbitrator in moments of conflict.  But like buses and open trough urinals, it is indeed a public convenience.

I think back to the dark dim days of the fledging Interwebnet and think of the massive contribution that I made by doing nothing to help it along.  I remember first discovering email at college and being so pleased that I could send 7 word sentences from my dank computer room in my dank dormitory to other dank computer rooms in other dank dormitories throughout the world, let alone across the dank campus.  Truly this innovation was the focal point of the universe.  This is certainly the result of science and other sciencey things that happened.  Surely Custer would be pleased at knowing that his sacrifice was indeed not in vain, if for no other reason that we can now look up how foolish he was in a matter of seconds.  (Personally, I never knew why Custer didn’t just hide out in that nice Little Big Horn gift shop until the fighting subsided.  After all, it was in sight of where he was massacred.  You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him use the air-conditioned restrooms inside I guess.) 

I can only promise several things about this blog.  It will be updated in a sketchy and unreliable manner.  I shall attempt to post things only after my wife has embarrassed me enough to actually log in and do just that.  My outrage will always be justified according to the parameters that I have set up for myself.  Opinions from others that conflict with mine will of course be considered “cute” and patted on the head as I shake my head condescendingly at them.  I will also state that there are definitely more reliable places than this to learn about car maintenance, taxidermy, and the perfect soufflé recipes.

The one thing I shall definitely make every effort to accomplish is to throw up random movie appraisals.  Of course these films will definitely not be current Hollywood fare, but from deep within the collection that I have from all different genres, all actors, all actresses, all directors.  This serves two purposes: 1) to bring attention to the masses about several thousand guilty pleasures and overlooked films in my film library and 2) to justify to my wife the collection that I do have already and why building another wing onto our abode in order to house more of the collection is a worthwhile endeavor.  (Purpose #2 is actually the only one worth considering; the first one was thrown in just so I’d have more than one listed.)

So without further ado, because frankly there is plenty ado in the world already with me having to add to it, this enterprise begins!  As Mr. Marx once shouted from his opera box, I say also, “Let there be dancing in the streets, drinking in the saloons, and necking in the parlor!”