Saturday, June 27, 2009
"Night Calls The Green Falcon" by Robert McCammeron
This was a short story about an old man who had played a superhero in a "serial" in the '50's. One night he sort of flips his lid and dresses up in his old costume and tries to track down a real serial killer. Funny, yet suspenseful.
This is a collection of short stories inspired by the work of HP Lovecraft. It has quite a few well done tales written in the Lovecraft Mythos. I have been wanting to get ahold of some of his stuff, since he apparently has been highly influential in the the darker side of fantasy writing (and gaming of course) but this influenced by schtuff is all our library had, but its promising. Gahan Wilson and Roger Zelazzzney, the illustrator and author of A Night in the Lonesome October, #8 on the JSFC reccomended reading list both contribute. I started, then skipped about 2 of these stories on the grounds of if I wanted to be that disgusted I would shove my head up a cow's rectum rather than read this, but on the most of the others are much better.
What is it about scary stories that makes them seem to work best as short stories rather than as books?
I also want to go on public record that I don't really care that Michael Jackson is dead. Big whoop! At first I thought I was glad that he was dead, but on further reflection, I realized that I actually dont care. I find it highly distasteful the amount of mooning it up the media is doing with this. Let him be dead, and quit trying to make money off of it. People die all the time. He was just a wierd singer, not a god. It's interesting how humans seem to be hard wired to worship stuff. People want things and people to be bigger and more important than they really are. I don't get why they do that, but they do. I don't.
A while back I broke character and went to a Major League Baseball game. It was just bizzarre to me the amount of pryotechnics and shazzaam and ceremony they threw into this ballgame. I knew they would do a ceremonial first pitch, but they did like 8 or 9 ceremonial first pitches, and they called each one a ceremonial first pitch. They ought to have had the grace to call the second one the ceremonial second pitch, and then the third, etc etc, but no, nothing would do but they must call each one the first pitch. Why not call them the ceremonial zeroth pitches?
They did the wave. That was so hilarious to me I literally drew funny looks I was laughing so hard. What would an alien write in it's note book? "Each human in turn rises to its feet, then sitting down again, thereby creating a communal wave which circulates for an infinte circuit about the arena, verily, until they get bored as a collective." The hive mind stuff is just wild.
A Mascot dancing around like this game mattered to him, like it was his soul, like if we won we would all then experience true joy and bliss, as a new age of peace was ushered in. Dancing girls. Oh, yeah and recreational beverages for sale. It all forced me to think about ancient pagan rituals. It would be alot cooler if it had been some gladitorial bloodsport, but no, just 2 dozen homely guys playing a pretty wierd, complex, yet uncerebral game in which nobody's life is at stake.
I'm not saying it was dumb or stupid, it was kind of cool, because all these people were collectively enjoying themselves, and that was fun to be around. It was just wierd to me. Surreal. But apparently I am in the minority in seeing it that way.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
So off I went. 5 minutes or so I found myself approaching the neighborhood elementary school where Jonni goes. I noted a gravel path into the unmowed jungle that surrounds our little town and thought: “what the schmee. I’ll see if it goes anywhere.”
It did. The gravel road ended and a dirt path took over. The dirt path forked and forked again. The woods on either side hung over the path so that I was obliged to duck like a goblin as I went. The creek (the same as the one that our ditch leads into) crossed the path and I did some wading. By now, my run has turned into more of a shamble, as the terrain and flora are becoming more of a problem. But the path is still clear. People obviously use it, but I don’t think anyone maintains it. It’s not scenic or pretty for old people to stroll on, but dank and ignored for kids to hide in. Lots of forks. More water crossings. New running shoes too, all soaking now. And the grass is getting taller on the trail. And the spandex shorts I am wearing are not ideal jungle gear. (I wound up with 5 ticks!) Lots of mud too because it’s been rainy lately.
Suddenly an open field. Surrounded entirely by jungle. No houses visible at all. Oddly enough, an abandoned pair of b-ball hoops set in a slab of cement in the middle of this place. Kind of an after the bomb sort of feel. My kind of thing.
“Why are these lonely hoops here? What did this place used to look like that someone thought B-ball hoops would be a good investment here? And speaking of here, where am I?”
Well, I had a fairly good idea, I thought. My plan had been to follow the jungle path until it dumped me out somewhere civilized again and then find my way home from there. Or, if the path dead-ended first, to simply back track. I considered that I was about at a point where neither option was manifesting and figured I’d go ahead start backtracking now. So I went back the way I came. I picked up my pace to a run again, with my work out in mind.
More damp. More goblin duck walk under branches. More forks. More nearly undefined path. Pretty soon I had to admit to myself that this poorly defined path I was on was actually not really a path at all, but more like a figment of my imagination. So I hadn’t come this way the first time through.
I’m not lost, clearly, cause I am still parallel to the stream, and how lost can I possibly be with that landmark handy? The various pathes have crossed the stream all over the place so, I figure the best move, since backtracking has failed me, is to find the stream and stick with it.
Finding the stream is easy. Having done that, I realize that all I have to do is head upstream, until I find my ditch.
Or is it down stream? Fish. Not sure, but my hunch is upstream.
The path is dead on my side of the creek now, so I wade across (new shoes sustaining no new damage at this point, anyway) and pick up the trail on that side. Two or so minutes later however, it’s dead again on this side, but looks possibly active again on the other side. This crossing isn’t so pretty. Its gotten a little deeper; before I could see my feet under water. Now not so much. Not liking that.
On the other side I find that the trail appears to be die almost right away. It might, might, might, sort of pick up again on the other side, but this crossing is not straight across, but actually pretty stinking lateral, the bank on the opposite side allowing no purchase until I have forded through the middle of the water a good 30 yards or so, and none of it is seeing-your-feet water.
And the path… the more I study that far bank, the less convinced I am that there really is a path over there at all.
I stand on my sandbar for a good 5-7 minutes or so thinking. I waded out about 4 feet. If I was assured that there was something worth having on the otherside I’d go for it, buuuut…
Well, the one thing I am not going to do is backtrack. Rewade all that crap, only to be back where I started? No.
Ultimately, I decided to blaze a path through the forest. I could pretty much guess, looking at the skyline that there was some sort of clearing up hill and 25 or so feet laterally from the creek, but no sort of path to get there, and me in spandex. But it looked like my best bet. It was a solid up hill, but when I broke into that clearing I was glad that I did. I was on train tracks. Well, not on the tracks, but beside them.
Two directions to pick from now, and I knew one of them would get me somewhere.
There was a bridge going over the tracks in one direction that I suspected was one that I sometimes go running over, so I made for that direction, and it was a good thing I didn’t go the other way, because if I had I wouldn’t have intersected civilization for 3 or more miles and then I would have had to hoof it another 3 miles from there to home, and by then I would have been classed as a missing person, maybe. The bridge was about a half mile off, and I’m already a half hour or so late home from my run, so I set in to jogging. Railroad gravel is no good for running on. Its not gravel at all, but more like boulders, so I made bad time, but it was my bridge when I got there and then was pretty much home free.
So that’s how I got lost within a mile or so of my own home. Go ahead and laugh. There are three major geographical features of my town, one being the interstate, which doesn’t come into this story and the other being the railroad and the creek. Our neighborhood is bounded by the creek on 3 sides, my ditch being a tributary to it. There’s more neighborhoods beyond the creek, but before you get to them you have to cross the rail road. The space between the railroad and creek is all wild and belongs to nobody especially, and is all just woods, and that’s where I was. It’s not a broad strip of land, its an embarrassingly slim place for someone to get lost in, but there it is.
I’ll have to go back in jeans and boots and a hat and explore. Brad, if you make it out this way this summer, we’ll have to have a shot at it, interested?
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Saturday, June 13, 2009
That's the name of this poster. Moon Goddess Diana. (Don't believe me, check it out) It's by an artist named Howard Johnson, who apparently does alot of contemporary artwork of mythological stuff.
This one is of Diana, goddess of the hunt and the moon, and also identified sometimes with/as Hecate. (a single diety with three aspects... sounds oddly familiar). Greek version of her was Athena (i think... let me check). Nope, I was wrong. Artemis was her greek name. Twin of Apollo the sun god. (sun god, moon goddess, get it?). Also name Selene. Selene in the Sky, Artemis on Earth, Hecate in the lower world, as my book here puts it. (Edith Hamliton's Mythology, if you must know).
But ANYHOW. The point is: Moon Goddess Diana. Does anybody else think this poster has an unintended(?) and hilarious double entendre going on?
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Thursday, June 4, 2009
This one cracked us up endlessly last night. Us being not Liz, and not really Suzzanne, but me, Todd and the kids.
Oh, and I have been worried about Renae not seeing the end of the google plex thing so here that is:
(Oh- great job on evolving! You go!)