Remember When?

Hello - what's this?
September 16, 2005: "...He told me once that he would never haunt me when he died. He had just arrived for Christmas break. We were riding home from the airport in our Buick wagon and I was sitting in my favorite spot: front and center between Dad and Darren. It was dark and foggy, but the fog wasn't very dense. It was the type of fog that looks like fluffy clouds flying by. Darren started telling me about a scary book he had read about the ghosts of pirates coming out of the fog. He said that it didn't seem like any fun to scare people and that if he were a ghost he would rather just hang out and watch "The Three Stooges" instead. Anytime I catch "The Three Stooges" while channel surfing, I stop, chuckle to myself, and spend a few moments with Darren's ghost."
For you fans of comment-reading out there, this is one that came in late - over the transom, if you will. Darren's sister reaching out into cyberspace to give me a little psychic tweak. It reminds me of the essential nature of memories - they are best when they are shared. I remember that station wagon too. It was the vehicle that ferried Darren and all his most important possessions to Colorado College when we were both freshman. My father watched as Darren and his dad loaded his stuff into his dorm room, including a wide variety of Tupperware containers. My father referred to Darren for several months as "that Tupperware kid." I still have one of the big plastic tumblers that he showed up with - it holds Peter Parker, the amazing Spider plant.
That same station wagon brought me back from Muskogee when I learned that Volkswagen Super Beetles are oil-cooled, and if you didn't check the oil for a thousand miles or so, you might just throw a rod and the engine would be null and void. Darren's dad drove us back to Colorado: Matt and I in the back seat, Darren up front riding shotgun. It was on this ride that Matt unspooled his lengthy monologue on the border town of Kanarado, entitled "Festival of the Wretched." Time and space would not allow me to do it justice here - perhaps another day.
Sometimes we forget how much shared reality we have. I get periodic reminders when boys who were once in fourth grade come up behind me with deep voices and facial hair saying, "Mister Caven - remember me?" It takes a moment, then I hit on the name - "Danny! How's school? What grade are you in?" I confess it's easier with the girls, they look more like stretched out versions of their previous selves - and the voices don't change that much.
My niece is going to be seventeen in a few months. She's starting to think about what college she wants to attend. I'm feeling pretty old, but I have my memories that I insist on sharing. Maybe I'll even send that big tumbler on to live in her dorm room.

Coming Soon

A poster for the classic German 1920s film "Metropolis" has been sold for a world record $690,000 to a private collector from the United States. That's great. That means my "Friday the 13th: Jason Takes Manhattan" poster is probably worth almost ten dollars now. Truth is, for the collector (which I periodically refer to myself as) the Jason poster could go for as high as one hundred dollars, since it was a preview sheet and Paramount was supposed to destroy all of them since the studio failed to get clearance for the "I (heart) N.Y." logo from the folks in the Big Apple.
The problem with my collection is that it is almost entirely anecdotal, with very few pieces that have any real collectible value beyond their meaning to me. I've got posters for just about every Terry Gilliam movie (even "Jabberwocky"). I've got posters for movies that never got released (Roger Corman's version of "The Fantastic Four"). I've got a whole slew of posters for horror films that my wife won't let me put up (they're more for the bachelor pad, I suppose). I do have a poster for "Revenge of the Jedi." That one is actually worth something, since it is not only rare, but has a collector's cachet to it - especially now that George Lucas has finished the second trilogy with "Revenge of the Sith."
Still - there isn't enough wall space in three houses to mount all the art that I've collected over the years. Why do I bother keeping it around? I could sell it all in an afternoon on Ebay.
But that would be wrong. Each one has a story. I've got a pair of Marlene Dietrich reprints for my wife. My son has "Dumbo" because at the very bottom of the poster you can see his favorite train from his infancy: Casey Junior. The horror movies remind me of the apartments I trashed throughout college. It's a great big scrapbook that I'm not ready to part with.
Maybe someday someone will offer me a thousand dollars for the Jason poster. Until then, I'm hanging onto them.

Spin This

Has Bill O'Reilly been smoking the same stuff that Pat Robertson has? Last week, Bill had this to say about San Francisco: "Listen, citizens of San Francisco, if you vote against military recruiting, you're not going to get another nickel in federal funds. Fine. You want to be your own country? Go right ahead."
Fair enough - the folks here in Northern California have always envisioned themselves as their own republic anyway, so what's all the fuss about? "And if al-Qaida comes in here and blows you up, we're not going to do anything about it. We're going to say, look, every other place in America is off limits to you, except San Francisco. You want to blow up the Coit Tower? Go ahead."
That's heading into Robertson territory. You may recall in previous episodes of "Spot the Pinhead" when Pat Robertson suggested that the Almighty was actually a vindictive sort who would probably bring down some natural disaster or plague if you didn't happen to agree with the somewhat whimsical notion of "Intelligent Design" (what about the platypus, huh Pat?).
A check on Bill's website tells us that "tonight on 'The Factor,' Bill O'Reilly takes on the orchestrated campaign organized by left wing critics who have whipped up controversy about his satirical riff on the city of San Francisco."
Gee, that sounds a little like spin control, coming from a guy who describes his show this way: "'The O'Reilly Factor' is driven by me. I will not stand for 'spin.' I look for guests who will stand up and verbally battle for what they believe in."
Maybe - but what about his comments from February 2004 about San Francisco's refusal to halt issuing marriage licenses to gay and lesbian couples? "The situation's now much bigger than just gay marriage. It's clear the authorities in California are not going to enforce the law, even though it is clearly stated. This is a massive breakdown in social policy. That's the fundamental problem. The combination of a frightened governor, a sympathetic press, and activist judges have nullified California's legal definition of marriage. And now full-blown anarchy is underway in the city by the Bay."
How about the time that the San Francisco Chronicle reported that O'Reilly's program had been dropped by a local radio station (June 2003)? "Today's example comes from Web sites that picked up a false report from The San Francisco Chronicle that said a San Francisco radio station dropped The Radio Factor. If anyone had bothered to make even one phone call, they would have learned that Westwood One made a deal with another San Francisco radio station, weeks ago to move The Radio Factor. Thus the word "dropped" is obviously inaccurate and dishonest. We'll see if The Chronicle runs a correction, but you can bet you won't be seeing many corrections on the net." Ironically, again, this was taken from Bill's Internet web site.
Okay, so maybe we should let Bill have a chance to clarify his position on San Francisco's "Hot Talk" AM 560 (also home to Rush Limbaugh): "What I said isnÂ’t controversial. What I said needed to be said. IÂ’m sitting here and IÂ’m looking at a city that has absolutely no clue about what the world is. None. You know, if you had been hit on 9/11 instead of New York, believe me, you would not have voted against military recruitinging. Yet the left-wing, selfish, Land of Oz philosophy that the media and the city politicians have embraced out there is an absolute intellectual disgrace."
Thank you for those kind words, and now I've got to get back to paving that Yellow Brick Road. See you in the funny papers, Bill.

Ridin' The Storm Out

As I sat in the warm sun of the east side of the Raider's stadium this afternoon, my mind drifted back to a time when I found myself at stadiums on a regular basis. I attended my share of sporting events, primarily college football, but I also found myself in the stands for a whole lot of rock and roll. The kids, they love the rock and roll.
Growing up in Colorado, there was a series of summer concerts with a list of big name acts - heavy hitters like Fleetwood Mac, the Eagles, and the Doobie Brothers. These headliners were usually supported by two or three acts of somewhat lesser stature, but still featured performers: Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band, Sammy Hagar, Steve Miller. Then there was the opening act. These guys had to go on stage sometime just after noon and warm up a crowd that came to see the headliner, and the booze and drugs had yet to kick in. John Sebastian, of Loving Spoonful and "Welcome Back" fame, started the day for a throng awaiting Fleetwood Mac. His ebullient presence rubbed us all pretty raw anyway, but he kept asking a crowd standing on the field of the university of Colorado at Boulder, "How ya doin', Denver?" Not just once, but a dozen times.
These "Colorado Sun Days" were generally organized around a theme or at least a sound - country rock, pop, surf. Then there was the bill of hard rock put together that opened with Richie Blackmore's Rainbow, followed by Ted Nugent, The Scorpions, and capping off the day of head-banging was REO Speedwagon. Huh? What was that about? It was at this show that my sense of community at rock shows was cemented forever. About halfway through Ted Nugent's set, the crowd had surged to the stage, leaving a large section of the field exposed. From my seat, I noticed that there was a guy sitting on another guy's chest, beating the living crap out of him. People wandered back and forth, carrying beer or heading to the Porta-Potties while the assault continued. Maybe it was the frenzy of the music, or the heat of the day, but when a cop finally made it over to pull the two guys apart they staggered to their feet and made like they were best friends.
I guess they must have been really big Speedwagon fans.

Hazy Shade of Autumn

Looking out my window, I'm reminded of a piece of movie trivia. Back in 1978 when John Carpenter's "Halloween" first came out, October had come to Haddonfield, Illinois and bushels of dead foliage swirled down the dark and lonely streets as night fell. I was way too busy peeking between my fingers, wincing in anticipation of each new shock, to notice that all the trees were full of leaves and the lawns were an emerald green.
Movie magic - the dead leaves that rustled underfoot in Haddonfield were bought from a craft store and painted autumn colors. To save money, they were swept up after each shot and recycled throughout the rest of the film. The lawns are green and lush because it's the middle of spring.
I mention all of this because this is my experience of Fall in Northern California. When I look outside, I can see a tree across the street in full blaze Autumn glory. If I lean forward just a bit, the palm tree right behind it is visible. I will be mowing the lawn through the Christmas holidays. I usually have to unplug the inflatable snowman to get power to the weed whacker. The seasons are regulated by the newsletter at my son's school. I can tell that it's Fall because there are pumpkins and leaves in the clip art.
It does get dark much earlier now. Maybe that's so the prop guys can get the leaves up before morning.

Dear God

I suppose I should be a little concerned. After yesterday's blog in which I poked fun at Intelligent Design and vowed allegiance (or amusement at the very least) to the Flying Spaghetti Monster, I now feel a sense of dread looming on the horizon.
Pat Robertson is going to sick God on me.
I'm on that list right after the residents of Dover, Pennsylvania. "I'd like to say to the good citizens of Dover: If there is a disaster in your area, don't turn to God. You just rejected him from your city," Robertson said on the Christian Broadcasting Network's "700 Club." Why? Because they chose to dump a school board that favored teaching intelligent design. God's little elf continued: "God is tolerant and loving, but we can't keep sticking our finger in his eye forever," Robertson said. "If they have future problems in Dover, I recommend they call on Charles Darwin. Maybe he can help them."
The cartoon that creates in my mind is almost too hysterical too imagine. What pictures dance in Pat Robertson's tiny head? That big white haired guy with the flowing beard and robes isn't Gandalf - or Dumbledore, and that speck crawling into the corner of His eye must be Chuck Darwin. "I'll show you 'Origin of the Species,'" growls an angry God as he pinches Darwin like a flea between his enormous fingers. "Please! I did not mean to offend!" squeals the twisting Evilutionist.
Near the end of his life, Darwin continued to give support to the local church and help with parish work, but on Sundays would go for a walk while his family attended church - possibly avoiding potential smiting for his beliefs. If disaster comes to Dover, do we have Darwin to blame? And if Dover is swallowed up and consumed in fire, am I next?

Jocko Homo

Don't get me wrong, I think the notion that there is a plan to the way things have been placed in our world is a very comforting one. My wife, bless her, is exceptional in her willingness to see the best in all things and people (her husband included) and she wanted to know why this whole Intelligent Design thing was bad and wrong.
At its core, I maintain that the suggestion that someone smarter than us (humans, not dolphins) is presently or has in the past slapped together this Rube Goldberg machine of a universe. There are plenty of coincidences and parallels that make the smartest apes stop and ponder: Must be something bigger than us.
Or not. Here's where I fall of the ID bandwagon: It's not science. It's rationale, justification, philosophy, comforting notion, but not science. The State of Kansas just approved an Intelligent Design curriculum for its schools. The new standards say high school students must understand major evolutionary concepts. But they also declare that the basic Darwinian theory that all life had a common origin and that natural chemical processes created the building blocks of life have been challenged in recent years by fossil evidence and molecular biology. In addition, the board rewrote the definition of science, so that it is no longer limited to the search for natural explanations of phenomena. Here I will cite an open letter to the Kansas School Board from the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster: "If the Intelligent Design theory is not based on faith, but instead another scientific theory, as is claimed, then you must also allow our theory to be taught, as it is also based on science, not on faith." The COFSM goes on to say that we have been tricked into believing that our world is older than it truly is - "For example, a scientist may perform a carbon-dating process on an artifact. He finds that approximately 75% of the Carbon-14 has decayed by electron emission to Nitrogen-14, and infers that this artifact is approximately 10,000 years old, as the half-life of Carbon-14 appears to be 5,730 years. But what our scientist does not realize is that every time he makes a measurement, the Flying Spaghetti Monster is there changing the results with His Noodly Appendage."
Now, don't you feel better about this whole uncertainty about evolution? One Kansas ID proponent wondered, "I have a question: if man comes from monkeys, why are there still monkeys? Why do you waste time teaching something in science class that is not scientific?"
To which I can only reply with the words of the prophets from Akron, Ohio:
"God made man
but he used the monkey to do it
apes in the plan
we're all here to prove it
I can walk like an ape
talk like an ape
I can do what a monkey can do
God made man
but a monkey supplied the glue"
- DEVO