September
2007
By Douglas Kent,
Email: doug
of whiningkentpigs.com or diplomacyworld
of yahoo.com
On the web at http://www.whiningkentpigs.com – or
go directly to the Diplomacy section at http://www.whiningkentpigs.com/DW/. Also be sure to visit the new Diplomacy
World website at http://www.diplomacyworld.net
All Eternal Sunshine readers are encouraged
to join the free Eternal Sunshine Yahoo group at http://games.groups.yahoo.com/group/eternal_sunshine_diplomacy/
to stay up-to-date on any subzine news or errata.
Quote Of The Month – “Maybe you can
find yourself a nice antique rocking chair to die in.”
(Clementine in “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind”)
Here
I am, irritating you with yet another issue of Eternal Sunshine, the Diplomacy subzine
designed for socially-confused hermits and Turtle Chex
Mix fanatics. I hope your summer is
going well; here in Dallas we’ve been very lucky with the weather. Aside from all the rain and flooding (which
hasn’t been a problem for me personally) the temperatures have been relatively
mild. We didn’t even hit over 100
degrees until mid-August. During some
past years we’ve had dozens of days in a row where the heat crossed over the
century mark. Pretty soon we’ll enter
autumn, which is a sort of depressing time for me as I really miss the
beautiful northeastern trees and leaves that I grew up with. Maybe someday we’ll move north again? I’m sure Texas would be more than happy to
get rid of the likes of me!
Thanks
as usual to all of you who sent in nice comments about the pieces I’ve been
printing in this rag or on my blog (or both).
I’ve got one more prison story to finish up (“The Sunglasses”) and then
I think I’m going to go back to writing about my first
marriage or my childhood…or both, switching from one to the other. I’m not likely to run out of stories anytime
soon. The only problem is building the
energy and motivation to sit down and produce something. I’ve found writing on the blog helps quite a
bit, because it allows me to break down each piece into smaller sections. I have a real struggle doing that mentally –
breaking down a task into smaller, more manageable parts. Instead I get overwhelmed by the enormity of
a perfect version of what I’m considering, and toss the whole project rather
than disappoint myself. Fortunately in
the last six months I’ve really improved in that area,
and I believe a major reason for that is the feedback some of you have been
kind enough to give me.
In
personal news, Heather and I continue to prepare for our Halloween
wedding. The invitations should go out
in a week or so. When I think about the
potential guest list, offhand it seems rather small. But then once you sit down and start writing
all the names out, you realize how many people you know or are close to. Hmmm, I believe the social rule is that if
you are invited to a wedding, you have to send a present even if you do not
attend. Is that correct? If so, you should all expect to be
invited! So why not save us the trouble
and just send the presents now? Cash,
gift cards, and other valuable items are all appreciated!
We
no longer volunteer with the local animal rescue group I mentioned in earlier
issues. This isn’t because we no longer
want to help the animals – we plan on finding a new rescue group or shelter to
volunteer our time to. Instead, in this
case it was simply that the woman who runs the rescue group is a real mess, and
we couldn’t deal with her drama anymore.
Each Saturday we would have to listen to her complaining about every
aspect of her life. First her car broke
down, so we felt obligated to go take care of the animals seven nights a
week. Then her laptop computer got
stolen, which contained all of her records.
When it was discovered that her own son was the one who stole it (along
with a friend), she wanted to get the police to press charges…on the friend,
but not her son. Then her own dog was
“stolen” by a neighbor. The list goes on
and on. We saw her go into a screaming
argument with her teenage son because he bought her a breast instead of a thigh
from a chicken place. The next thing we
knew, she had “traded” her son to some friend of hers for her friend’s
mentally-challenged son in return. You
never knew what the new drama was going to be, but there was no doubt it would
be something!
A
bigger concern for us was the condition of the animals. The dogs would appear weekly with scars or
cuts, which she would attribute either to fighting or to “trying to break out
of the kennels.” The cats she’d bring
were either flea-infested or stricken with diarrhea or both. Her “adoption fees” fluctuated based on what
the person asking looked like, whether it was one of her favorite dogs that
slept in bed with her, and whether her mortgage was past due. There seemed to be no separation between her
personal money and that of the rescue group, even though the rescue is
registered as a 501-whatever non-profit organization. And on top of all this, her stories on the
animals, where they came from, their names, and what vet work they’d had done
seemed to change from hour to hour. Her
dogs and cats supposedly had been fully vetted and had their shots, but the
paperwork was strangely missing. On one
occasion she claimed to have paid to have a dog fixed, but he clearly hadn’t
been. Inevitably, these
misunderstandings were the fault of everyone else, and never her. In the end, we didn’t feel comfortable
helping someone we could not trust. Even
if she was telling the truth about everything, she isn’t in any condition
physically, financially, or emotionally to be responsible for all of these
needy animals. All we were doing was
helping her hold off complete collapse for another week. Personally, I would rather she have to shut
her organization down. Her laziness and
drama theatrics were to the point that we were no longer there to help the
animals – we were there to help her keep her personal life together. Regardless, after we spend a few weeks
resting and running errands (like finalizing our wedding plans), we’ll begin the search for a more reputable organization
that needs volunteers. Heather has cried
a few times because she truly misses the animals and feels terrible that we
aren’t able to spend time with them and improve their lives for a few hours a
week anymore.
The
first week we didn’t go to work with the rescue group, we couldn’t have made it
anyway, as that was the Saturday we had to bring Tigger into the vet for what
we feared could be her last appointment.
Things had not been going well for her in the prior three weeks. While on one hand we were having a much
easier time giving Tigger her thyroid medication because of the discovery of
Pill Pockets, she seemed to be going downhill fast. She would still get up to eat and use the
litter, but her movements were slow and labored. We were concerned she was becoming
dehydrated, as it wasn’t often we would see her drinking water (but we had no
real way of verifying that since she spends all day here while we are at
work). Basically, she looked old and
feeble and miserable, and as much as it upset us to think about it, we had to
prepare in advance for the possibility that when we brought her in, we may have
to decide to put her down then and there, or bring her home to spend another
few days while we located a service that would do the procedure here at the
apartment. I even called in advance to
have the papers drawn up, just in case.
Our
regular vet wasn’t in that day, so one of the newer vets – but very skilled, as
all at that particular clinic are – did the exam. At first she agreed Tigger did not look
particularly well, although her heart rate was way down which was a major
improvement from when we first discovered her thyroid condition. After doing her blood test, however, we were
all very surprised to discover that her thyroid level was still much too low –
meaning her medication level was too high.
Normally a cat requires at least the amount we had been giving her to
respond, but every case is different, and apparently Tigger reacts easily. Dr. Thomas also showed us that Tigger was
willing to take her pill not just with Pill Pockets, but also stuck in a bit of
Easy Cheese. (I should mention that
while we continue to use this trick at home, it does not always work. On occasion Tigger is clever enough to eat
all the cheese and then spit out the ½ pill.
On those days, I stick the pill back in a Pill Pocket and give it to her
a bit later). Also we were shown that
Tigger was not dehydrated. Her skin was
loose, but when you use the “gum test” (pressing on her upper gum to see how
long it takes to turn pink again) her color returned instantly. So the appointment turned from potential
goodbyes into hope for improvement. I am
happy to report that aside from a minor flea problem that is now under control
(which she must have picked up from Toby), Tigger seems much more herself. She is more active, more affectionate, and
more herself. Yes, she is still a whiny
grumpy sourpuss most of the time, but that’s to be expected from a 20-year-old
cat who has to deal with a 3-year-old black cat who
wants to instigate trouble whenever he can.
I am now hopeful Tigger will hang around for a lot longer than earlier
suspected. That’s good news.
I
suppose before I move on to the latest in my prison series, I should take a
minute to make my NFL picks for the year.
I know my MLB picks weren’t all that hot – although I need to back and
see what the heck I said, its hard to remember when
most of my baseball attention is focused on trying to make the Yankees lose as
many games as possible! Anyway, here are
my NFL picks:
AFC East – New England, Jets, Buffalo, Miami. I think Miami may be just dreadful.
AFC North – Baltimore, Cincinnati, Pittsburgh,
Cleveland. I’m tired of Cleveland getting good press
every year, only to fall flat on their faces once the season starts.
AFC South – Indianapolis, Tennessee, Jacksonville,
Houston. Letter Carr go will turn out to be a mistake.
AFC West – San Diego, Denver, Kansas City, Oakland. Will Oakland ever be a true NFL team again?
NFC
East – Dallas, Philadelphia, Giants, Washington. Not the picks I want to make, being a Giants
fan and a Cowboy hater. I think the
Giants will s-u-c-k!
NFC
North – Chicago, Detroit, Green Bay, Minnesota.
Detroit is finally putting things together.
NFC
South – New Orleans, Carolina, Atlanta, Tampa Bay. Atlanta and Tampa Bay may fight it out for
worst in the conference.
NFC
West – Seattle, San Francisco, Arizona, St. Louis. Arizona disappoints again, while San
Francisco surprises.
AFC
Championship: Baltimore over New England.
NFC
Championship: New Orleans over Chicago.
Super
Bowl: New Orleans over Baltimore.
Finally,
on baseball, I am pretty happy with what the Rangers got for Gagne. The Teixeira trade may or may not pay off,
but I don’t care – they got the most they could for him. Too bad Aki was hurt,
I would have liked to trade him too. I
don’t think Texas will be too terrible next year, especially if we can sign a
quality center fielder.
Okay,
on to the rest of this mess…don’t forget to sign up for the game openings
before I get tired of offering them! See
you in a month.
(Note - names in
this piece have been changed but the events are, as always, as I remember them)
My
First Prison Bunkmate
On
my first day in prison, the Unit Manager talked to me in his office for about
two minutes. He was an ex-Marine type,
but seemed pretty straightforward. His
instructions were rather simple: follow the rules, stay the hell out of his
way, behave myself, and if I had any questions I should direct them to his
clerk (an inmate) first before I bothered him with anything.
I
suppose he was able to size me up rather quickly. "You'll be fine, just keep your nose
clean." Glancing down at the
paperwork on his desk, he looked up at me again. "The guy you're bunking with is a bit of
a slob, but I don't think you'll have any problems with him. His name is Alan."
A
few minutes later I was introduced to Alan Linden. The man standing before me, hand
outstretched, was quite striking in appearance.
His skin was pasty and pale, with a long face and high forehead. His unkempt black hair was thinning,
extending his forehead halfway across his crown, and the terrible comb-over did
little to hide his large bald spot in the back.
A large, ethnic nose helped complete the portrait of the stereotypical
schemer, which in Alan's case turned out to be quite accurate.
Instantly
Alan had decided he would be the one to show me the ropes. It seemed very important to him that I regard
him as an authority on everything, from who was who within the prison system to
where to get the best deals on anything and everything. In the first hour Alan told me he would be
happy to fix me up with new socks, a radio, an extra blanket, food from the
kitchen...all for a price, of which I was sure he'd keep a nice cut despite his
claim to the contrary. The fact was I
didn't have much money, and being a bit shell shocked at my first day in
prison, I wasn't especially interested in doing any business until I could
figure out the lay of the land.
It
was precisely my inexperience which caused me not to notice some things
initially..things which quickly became apparent over
my first week. First of all, Alan was a
terrible pack rat. The man seemed to
throw nothing away. Old magazines, empty
peanut jars, little bottles that tooth powder or other
personal items came in - he snatched it all up and stuffed it in his
locker. When he didn't have enough room
there, he'd hide things under his mattress and pillow,
or in one of two drawers under his bottom bunk.
Those drawers were regarded as a prized possession in this facility, as
they did not have anymore to pass out, and there were not enough to go around. I politely turned down his offer to sell me
one of his for $20; I already knew that was twice the going rate, but I didn't
need the space anyway.
It
was also next to impossible to have a conversation with Alan. He was a complete know-it-all, but the New
York style who thought he could win his arguments by saying things like “Ahhh, what do you know?”
He was a Deadhead, so any discussion of music immediately returned to
their superiority over every other musical act in history. He’d open his locker and show me photos of his
“girlfriend” – the one who wouldn’t let him call, and who only wanted his
letters to go to a PO Box. Sort of like
she didn’t want anyone who she might be shacking up with to know that she still
had contact with Alan. Since he had
signed power-of-attorney for the apartment building he owned over to her while
he was locked up, this didn’t seem to be a workable situation. As the months went on, Alan would slowly lose
his sanity when it came to this “relationship.”
When he wasn’t fussing over the fiasco, he’d stare at a photo of the two
of them together and sigh. But the sigh
was not directed at her; instead it was directed at his own
image in the photo. “Look what a
beautiful head of hair I had!” he’d exclaim.
True, compared to the thin, frizzy, greasy mop he wore now, including
the bald spot the size of Antarctica, the hair in the photo looked to be a vast
improvement. It made me wonder just how
long ago it had been taken, as I learned Alan had only been in prison for about
six months himself.
Aside
from being a pack rat, Alan was also a real slob. Since we could be punished for having a messy
cubicle, it became my self-imposed job to sweep and mop the floor every
morning, and to empty the trash can before I left for work. Alan worked in the kitchen, and generally
didn't get out of bed until after I had left, so he seemed fine with the
arrangement. In exchange, Alan's job was
to use the floor buffer on our floor to keep the wax shiny. I think I only saw him do that one time
during the entire period we shared a cubicle, but I simply didn't care enough
to get into an argument. As long as I
could keep the area tolerably clean without too much effort, I was willing to
overlook his personal habits. The last
thing I needed was stress with a bunkmate, or aggravation from the staff. Taking a long-term view, I figured I'd just
need to learn to deal with it until a better bunk became available.
Alan's
lack of cleanliness was not restricted to leaving an inordinate amount of hair,
trash, and food matter all over the floor and desk. He was just as dirty when it came to personal
hygiene. Because he worked in the
kitchen, Alan would usually spend the day in his kitchen whites, leaving his
khaki uniform for visits or his days off.
He'd work, getting all sweaty, then come back
to the housing unit. Without taking a
shower, he'd strip down to his undergarments, pull on a dirty set of
long-johns, and put the same filthy whites back on over them. On those rare days when he did decide to take
a shower, I'd be horrified to see him put the same dirty long-johns on over his
supposedly clean body. There simply was
no reason to live that way; the facility not only had free washers and dryers
for inmate use, but they also had a prison laundry where you could get your clothes
cleaned for you (in a laundry bag) within 24 hours. Most inmates preferred to go to the trouble
of self-washing, if for no other reasons than you didn't get your uniform as
wrinkled, and you didn't have to imagine what other filthy clothes were mixed
into the same load as yours. But Alan
let his sweaty, stinky clothes fester in his laundry bag day after day, hanging
from the hook by his bunk. I am sure he
must have cleaned them once in a while, but I don't know when. And I NEVER saw him exchange his bedding on
exchange day every Wednesday. The man
was pure filth. When
the C.O. called him "a bit of a slob," that was like calling the
national debt "a bit of a cash flow problem."
When
I would meet inmates for the first time and they'd ask me who I was bunking
with, I'd always get one of two responses.
Wither they'd roll their eyes and say "sorry, man" or they'd
look at me in confusion. "Who is
Alan?" they'd ask, and when I would try to describe him they'd finally
exclaim "oh, the crazy guy!" I
was starting to understand what they meant.
It wasn't just that he had no respect for himself - he also had no
respect for me or for anyone else around him.
Alan's
poor hygiene seemed to be getting worse over time. When he'd sit in the TV room, which was
usually completely packed, people would do anything they could to avoid sitting
within three seats of him on any side.
It got to the point that inmates were coming to *me* to see if I could
try and talk some sense into him. Why
Alan was all of a sudden my problem, I don't know. Perhaps I'd lasted longer than anybody else
without trying to kill him. Anyway, I
finally bit the bullet and sat him down.
"Alan,
people have been coming to me talking about you" I told him. "They're complaining that you really
stink, and that you need to take a shower more often."
"Huh? That's not me they're
smelling. It is probably one of
those Mexicans."
"Well
I don't know what to tell you Alan, but this is what they are saying. And I have noticed that you have a tendency
to become pretty ripe, especially after you work all day. I mean, you don't wash your clothes very
often, and...I don't know...you don't want to get a bad reputation around here
do you?"
After
a lot of arguing, Alan came up with a plan.
He was willing to trust me, not anybody else. So if I felt that he had started to stink, I
should let him know so he could take a shower right away. But to preserve his dignity (not that he had
any left that I knew of), I wasn't supposed to tell him he smelled bad. Instead, I was supposed to use a code
phrase. All I'd have to do is tell him
"Hey Alan, 7-Up." Then he'd
take a shower and change his clothes.
A
few days later, I was sitting in my top bunk writing a letter, when Alan walked
in and sat down on his bed. Immediately
the terrible odor of sweat and dirt wafted up to my nose, making me turn my
head and cough. I called quietly down to
him, "Hey Alan. 7-Up,
man, 7-Up."
Alan
lifted his arm, sniffer at his armpit, and shook his head. "Uh-uh man, it isn't me."
So much for that plan. But I was soon to learn that Alan's nasty
habits went further than I imagined.
After
I’d shared a cubicle with Alan for a few months, a young kid named Rico moved
in to the cube next door. Like me, he
slept on the top bunk, and we shared an appreciation for pushing people’s
buttons when we knew we could get away with it.
Rico had his favorite target in a large, one-eyed guy named Big Jim who
was finishing up a twelve-year bid. Big
Jim and Rico worked the same detail, and while in some ways Rico regarding him
as a father figure, in others he was like an older brother. You’d never see a bigger smile on Rico’s face
then when Big Jim was shouting at him or chasing him away because of something
he’d said or done. Rico’s pranks were
usually childish and harmless: a favorite was to sit at the same table as Big
Jim during dinner when there was something sought-after for dessert, such as a
small piece of cake. Rico would eat his
entire meal, and then sit there staring at his dessert until Big Jim would
finally ask if he could have it.
Inevitably, Rico would then destroy the dessert, either by pouring soda
on it, or spitting on it, or covering it in pepper, before looking up and
saying “Sure Jim, you can have it!” To
Rico, the shame of having the cake smashed in his face by an angry Big Jim was
a small price to pay for getting the desired rise out of Big Jim.
Rico’s
other favorite habit was to sit on his bunk and sing along with his walkman
radio. Unfortunately for those around
him, Rico couldn’t carry a tune with a wheelbarrow. He’d croon along while wearing his
headphones, mangling or randomly changing the words and completely ignoring the
song’s key. At first I found this a bit
annoying, although there was humor in it.
But soon I discovered that Alan hated Rico’s singing. It drove him absolutely nuts, to the point
that Alan would bang on the wall and shout at him to stop. Of course, that did no good, because even if
Rico could hear Alan over the music and his own singing, I highly doubt he
would have quieted down. If nothing
else, he’d be more likely to sing louder.
One
song in particular set Alan off like no other: the Barenaked
Ladies song that goes something like “Another postcard with chimpanzees I never
wanted, addressed to me.” The local FM
station we were able to get decent reception from seemed to play that song at
least once an hour. So I found I was
able to relieve some of my suppressed resentment towards Alan by inducing Rico
to sing along whenever the song came on.
Having discovered Rico’s love of M&M’s, all it took was three or
four hard candy shells filled with sweet chocolate middles to start the
performance. Pretty soon Rico decided
irritating Alan was even more fun than raising Big Jim’s blood pressure. He no longer waited for the song to come on
the radio; now he’d often walk over to our cube and ask Alan if he wanted to
hear the “latest remix” of Chimpanzee, which consisted of the chorus repeated
ad nauseam, broken up only by the occasional turntable “cutting” hand motion
and Rico calling out “ch-ch-ch-check check check.” I would try to surpass my laughter, but the
sight or Alan’s pale skin turned bright red, clumps of thinning black hair in
his clenched fists, and his teeth gnashing like we was a shark trying to bite
through a line was usually more than I could stand. I’d burst out in a fit of laughter, and Rico
would run away to the sound of Alan’s curses.
I
no longer cared much about having a friendly relationship with Alan by this
time. Any hope I had of feeling anything
but loathing for him was crushed by his latest inappropriate habit: public masturbation.
In
prison, or at least in the facilities I spent time in, masturbation is not
something you do openly. It was
generally assumed most inmates did it, but there was an unwritten understanding
that it should be limited to the bathroom stalls. At later facilities I know inmates sometimes
talked of “spanking the monkey” in the shower, but in this location the showers
were open areas with 6 shower heads, where you almost always had to share the
showers with another inmate at the same time while a line of anxious
clock-watchers stood waiting for their turn before the hot water ran out. Despite rumors I had heard to the contrary
before I was incarcerated, the bathroom stalls had doors, and most had locks,
so privacy could be obtained when necessary.
The more concerned inmates would sometimes use damp toilet paper to
cover up the cracks around the door, on the off chance someone might try to
peek. That wasn’t really necessary
however…if you were going to be quiet about it, there was a general don’t
ask-don’t tell policy about what took place behind the stall door.
I
shouldn’t have been surprised that Alan didn’t abide by this policy. After all, he never wanted to use the
bathroom to take a shower, why would he want to go there to enjoy any
privacy? He had recently had so many
complaints lodged at him about his lack of hygiene that he’d started to “fake
shower.” He would strip down to his
underwear, put on his bathrobe (something most inmates did not have or could
not afford to buy), and wander off to get himself clean. He would generally return less than five
minutes later, hair dry as a desert, and start exclaiming (to nobody in
particular) “Wow, great shower.
G-r-e-a-t shower! Boy did that
feel good.” Whether this little song and
dance routine fooled anybody I have no idea, but I do know Alan would simply
put back on the same dirty long-johns, as always. Even if he had been clean, which I doubt, the
odor from those nasty clothes would be sure to irritate even the least
sensitive of noses.
One
morning a guy who lived in the cubicle next to ours pulled me aside and let me
know what I had missed the night before while sleeping. There was a window between our cubicles, half
on our side and half on his, and while it didn’t serve any useful purpose, it
did at least give a view of what was outside – in this case a few feet of grass
and another building. At night, however,
if an inmate in either cubicle was using a reading lamp or the fluorescent lamp
on the desk after lights-out, the window was magically transformed into a
mirror, transmitting a view of our desk area to the desk area next door, and
vice-versa. Apparently Alan had been up
late “reading” at the desk, and took it upon himself to engage in some personal
physical activity while flipping the pages of his secret porn stash. While it was only chance that this neighborly
inmate had seen what was going on in the window reflection, the fact is that
anybody who happened to walk by the cubicle would have been treated to the same
horrific view.
It
wasn’t more than a week later that I was dozing off in my bunk one evening when
a heard a conversation between Alan and another inmate who I could not identify. My glasses were off, and considering the tone
of the conversation I chose to pretend I was asleep and simply listen. As near as I could tell, Alan was lying in
the bunk below me, and the other inmate was in the walkway outside the
cubicle. Basically it went like this:
Inmate:
“Yo man, you need to knock that off, that shit ain’t right.”
Alan:
(nervous laugh)
Inmate:
“Don’t laugh, it isn’t funny. I’m not
kidding man. Show some respect, your bunky is asleep up there and people are walking by. I can see what you’re doing. If you want to play with yourself, go to the
bathroom.”
Alan:
“No dude, I wasn’t. I was just
scratching.”
Inmate:
(walking away) “Mighty odd way to scratch yourself, pulling
on your dick like that.”
Word
must have started to get around, because pretty soon Alan was being referred to
as “Yanker” behind his back…and occasionally to his
face as well. Our conversations were now
as short as I could keep them, often with nothing but grunts in response to
anything he might ask me. The subject
itself was never discussed directly, but the icy chill whenever he entered the
cubicle should have been enough to tip him off that I hated his guts.
I
got a break for about six days, when Alan got sent to “the hole” for inciting a
work stoppage in the chow hall. I kept
hoping he wouldn’t come back, because after seven days he would lose his bunk
and they would assign it to someone else, but as usual I wasn’t that
lucky. It was fun, in an evil way, to
watch the CO try to pack up Alan’s stuff from his locker. I’m told it normally takes one large bag for
the inmate’s belongings. In Alan’s case,
it took four full bags and part of a fifth, not including all of the crap they
threw away. I don’t think the guy had
ever seen anything like it.
When
Alan came back, he looked worse than ever, and I wasn’t surprised to learn he
hadn’t shaved or showered while he was locked up. The charge of inciting a work stoppage had
been dropped, but he’d lost his job in the kitchen and was assigned one
scooping up trash. He had also now
earned a reputation with the guards as a pain in the ass, so life was sure to
be miserable for the foreseeable future.
About
a week later, I received word that I was being moved to a lower bunk in a
different cubicle. Lower bunks were
assigned first by medical necessity, and then by seniority. Alan seemed surprised that I had accepted the
transfer. “Why would you want to move
over there? We get along pretty good
here. I thought we’d just keep things
the way they are?” Fat
chance. As if I needed a reminder
of why I wanted to move, two night before the transfer was to take place, I was
awakened about ten minutes earlier than I normally got up to a rhythmic shaking
and squeaking of the bed. It didn’t take
a Rhodes Scholar to know what Alan was doing down there. I muttered loudly “You’ve got to me kidding
me!” and sat up in bed. The shaking
stopped, and moments later an obviously fake snore could be heard emanating
from the bunk below me. I’d had enough,
but there simply didn’t seem to be a reason to confront Alan. I was moving, and he’d be someone else’s
problem soon enough. As it turned out,
Alan was transferred to another facility soon afterward. But to this day, whenever I hear “Another
Postcard”, I instantly am reminded of Rico’s singing, and Alan’s shouting and
banging on the wall.
Stardust – Stardust is, when
broken down to its base element, a wonderful little fairy tale. It is the story of Tristan, played with
heroic innocence by Charlie Cox. In
order to convince Sienna Miller to marry him, Tristan dares to cross the wall
which separates his village from unknown realms beyond. His goal is to bring back a falling star, but
he quickly discovers that star is none other than Yvaine
(Claire Daines), who was knocked out of the sky by a
necklace flying into space. The threads
of the fairy tale include a dying King and his sons who want the necklace,
Michelle Pfeiffer as the leader of three sister witches who want Yvaine’s heart, a minor witch and her captive slave with
special ties to Tristan and his father, and a group of pirate-types who catch
lightning from the clouds (led by Robert DeNiro).
I’ve
heard this film described as “Princess Bride on steroids” and I can see some
similarities between the two. But
Stardust is very different. It seems to
effortlessly transport the audience into its magical world, both because of the
awesome scenery and cinematography and thanks to the script, adapted from a
book by Neil Gaiman (who earned his early fame as a
literary comic book author, the driving force behind the Sandman series). The special effects are understated, leaving
the fantasy in the action and the plot instead of filtered through distracting
CGI animation. Matthew Vaughn’s
direction is well-suited, and the world of Wall and beyond is somewhat
reminiscent of Terry Gilliam and his Baron Munchausen universe…and I mean that
as a compliment. Stardust is everything
that movie should have been and much more.
Humor
is sprinkled throughout, in a delicious English flavor. Michelle Pfeiffer is exquisite as the evil
witch, at once alluring and seductive and dangerous. Robert DeNiro plays
his limited part to perfection, in a role which could have been easily ruined
if handed to someone else (like Robin Williams, who might seem an obvious
choice to a typical Hollywood casting department). There is also a hilarious appearance by Ricky
Gervais of “The Office” fame as a slick trader, and
the seven brothers (dead and alive) searching for the necklace offer a number
of hearty laughs.
The
only problem the film experiences is its inability to market itself
properly. I don’t remember seeing the
trailer for this movie, but I don’t believe a typical one could do it any
justice. Stardust is a magical journey
which will far too easily be lost among the doldrums of sequels which fill most
of the multiplex screens this season.
It’s a sad state of affairs when families will spend the day going to
suffer through Rush Hour 3 instead of letting their eyes and imaginations run
wild through the world of Stardust. Make
the effort to see the film on the big screen while you still can. You won’t be sorry.
Rocket Science - "Rocket
Science" is a small picture. It
doesn't have a big message, expect that life can be hard and make you
unhappy. But it is still filled with
plenty of laughs, and that's a good thing, because if you can't find ways to
laugh at the confusion and idiocy and misery all around you, you're pretty much
done.
I
suppose you could compare this film in some ways to the classic "Welcome
to the Dollhouse" and cross that with "Sixteen Candles"...except
in "Sixteen Candles" Samantha wasn't as odd as she thought she was,
and in "Welcome to the Dollhouse" we were confronted with the misery
of public school like acid tossed in our eyes.
"Rocket Science" takes a quieter approach, one in which the
weight of the world doesn't feel quite so massive, and where the characters (in
a somewhat untrue view of teenage years, in my opinion) realize that life will
go on. Anyone who remembers how crucial
a big test or an early relationship felt will likely see the same sense of
urgency and overwhelming, over dramatized magnitude missing. But I still laughed quite a bit, all the
same.
The
plot is simple enough. Reece Daniel
Thompson plays Hal Hefner, a lonely teenager who lives in a less than ideal
world. His parents are splitting up, his
older brother is a kleptomaniac and calls him by female names, and worst of all
Hal is a stutterer. He is basically
invisible, to the point where his classmates don't even seem to make much fun
of him. Suddenly, however, the school's
debate champion Ginny (played by Anna Kendrick) recruits him as her debate
partner. Stuck between how unsure of
himself he feels and his sudden rush of acceptance and personal triumph,
between his loneliness and his infatuation with the self-assured and cute
Ginny, Hal tries to put all the pieces together and end up on top.
Along
the way there are a multitude of humorous characters, most of who are
introduced only long enough to still be vague and amusing. Some of the funnier moments carry an odd sort
of humor, dark but still somewhat lighthearted.
Jeffrey Blitz, who wrote and directed the film, keeps the story moving
along but leaves a few twists which are sharp enough to be unexpected. And Reece Thompson keeps the stutter
believable, not going for the cheap and easy laugh. His character is more than his speech
problem.
This
film is likely to get lost among the big budget movies and sequels and
star-studded comedies this season.
But
if you find it at a local art house theater, don't miss the chance to see
"Rocket Science" before it disappears.
Seen
on DVD
– Running With
Scissors (C-; the only reason I wanted to see this was to learn if all the
terrible reviews it received when it was first released were justified. They were!
It was boring, long, without emotion, and had maybe three laughs in it,
which is strange when you consider it was adapted from a book which was both
hilarious and enthralling. If I had seen
the movie BEFORE I’d read the book, I would now have absolutely zero interest
in reading it); The Short Films of David
Lynch (D; aside from “The Cowboy and the Frenchman” I could have done
without seeing this, although “Grandmother” and “The Alphabet” offered glimpses
into the Lynch we’d learn to love later on.); Dumbland (B-, eight animated
shorts by David Lynch in simple stick-figure format. Amusing in an odd way, the sort of animated
shorts you might have seen on the old MTV series “Liquid TV”); The Science of Sleep (C+, visually very
interesting, but the plot lost out to the attention paid to the dreamlike state
of most of the film); The Dead Girl
(C, bad choice starting with the weakest chapter of the five, almost turned it
off, but gave it a chance and it got better); Elizabeth (B+, we watched this in preparation for the sequel which
I think will be released in the Fall, and which I look forward to seeing. Wonderful performances. But wasn’t Mary beheaded in real life? I forget).
I Know You’re Out
There
– Michael Beaumier – This book is a collection of
anecdotes by Michael relating to the years he spent as the personals editor of
the Chicago Reader. To be perfectly
honest, I found almost none of these stories to be very amusing, or even
interesting. The only section which got
a laugh out of me was one where he brings his boyfriend to Christmas to meet
his family…and that story had nothing to do with the personal column. Once he returned the subject to his work, the
laugh meter went back to zero. Skip this,
I give it a D.
The Idler Book of
Crap Jobs
– Edited by Dan Kieran – A collection of “100 tales of workplace hell.” Little one-page snippets of terrible jobs,
classifies as “dangerous” or “disgusting” or “immoral” or “soul-destroying.” A good bathroom book. Some of the jobs didn’t seem that terrible,
but if I had to actually do them I imagine after a few months I’d be
suicidal. Other, like Silo Cleaner or
Maggot Farmer are best avoided at all costs. Give it a B-.
Dane Maslen: (Regarding Chris Babcock’s comment on the Popeye theme in last issue’s By Popular Demand results) There's a sandwich-delivery van (it does deliveries to offices) in my area that announces its arrival by playing 'La Cucaracha'. Personally I find this highly amusing. I presume that neither the owners of the van nor their customers speak any Spanish.
Reminds me of all the marketing stories
about how important it is to examine the target language when it comes to
naming a product. The most famous case
that I can think of is the Chevy Nova, which failed to sell in Central
America. General Motors executives were
perplexed until someone pointed out that in Spanish “No va”
means “doesn’t go.”
Brendan
Whyte: Jack Nicholson
movies: I've only seen A Few Good Men and Cuckoo's Nest, but recently saw his
first bit part, in Little Shop of Horrors (the original). The latter colored my
thoughts when I went to a dentist here in upcountry Thailand... they took an
x-ray then the dentist (a girl who looks 15 and wears braces) and her equally
young assistant were giggling over my x-ray while they stood behind me, with me
in the chair, wondering what this was going to cost, and how much it would
hurt. I still can't brush on that side
without drawing blood...
…and we see yet another reason I have
trouble motivating myself to see the dentist.
The giggling teenagers sound a lot like the scene in She’s Having a Baby when Kevin Bacon drops off his “sample” to the
fertility doctor.
Harold
Reynolds: I thought I'd drop
you a line to say that a few weeks ago I got a message from none other than Rod
Walker about the Diplomacy A to Z. I have updated it on my site based on his
comments. I also have created a better PDF version, courtesy of OpenOffice. I was thinking that it's about time that the
Hobby literati thoroughly reviewed and updated its contents to create V 7.0, as
a lot of it is quite dated.
Rod and I have exchanged an email or two
recently as well, as I’m hard at work searching for long-time hobby members to
contribute to Diplomacy World #100.
Yes, we do really need to see about updating some of the information in
there!
Your description of life as a guest of the
State, and about "don't get sick" was disturbing, but not nearly as
unpleasant for me as it would have been for you. 8-( I have heard similar
complaints in the news about substandard medical care here in the Canadian
corrections system. There just isn't the motivation (i.e. money) for medical
folks to do work in the corrections system, yet many will go off to third world
countries to do work helping the underprivileged. Yet there's a third world right in their
neighborhoods. And I probably shouldn't get started on the Indian reservations.
In the US BOP, it simply is a function of
money and nothing else. The BOP gets
less money ever year, and has to spend it on more inmates every year
(especially as more and more crimes become Federal crimes). Between that and the bureaucracy, I suppose
it is lucky there is any medical care at all!
When I left they had started charging a co-payment to inmates for
medical care (which would be waived if you had no balance in your commissary
account).
I'm glad that your new cat is working out.
My cat likes to chase twist-ties and those wretched wires that toys come
festooned with nowadays. I wrap one around my finger to make a helix and toss
it on the floor, and off he goes. Great
fun, and free!
Toby will play with absolutely
anything. We’re just getting used to
having a cat who still thinks they are a kitten again; Tigger past that stage a
few years ago, maybe when she turned 17.
But he is tons of fun, and so damn sweet, even when I am running late
for work I have to stop and play with him for a few minutes!
Diplomacy (Black Press): Graham Wilson, Brad
Wilson, Chris Babcock, Melinda Holley, needs just three more. Getting close, who wants to join in the fun?
Balkan Wars VI (Black Press): Signed up: Jack
McHugh, Graham Wilson, Brad Wilson, needs four more. Rules and map on request, or you can find
them online within Paul Bolduc’s Boris
the Spider site at: http://members.aol.com/prbolduc/boris/hrules/BW6.html
Colonia VII_B (White Press): Fred Hyatt’s
worldwide variant. Signed
up: Jim Burgess, Graham Wilson, David Partridge, Brad Wilson, needs 5 more. Rules and map on request, or you can find
them at a section of Harold Reynold’s Bad Pet website at http://www.badpets.net/Diplomacy/Colonia_VIIB/index.html.
By
Popular Demand
The goal is to pick something
that fits the category and will be the "most popular" answer. You
score points based on the number of entries that match yours. For example, if
the category is "Cats" and the responses were 7 for Persian, 3 for
Calico and 1 for Siamese, everyone who said Persian would get 7 points, Calico
3 and the lone Siamese would score 1 point. The cumulative total over 10 rounds
will determine the overall winner. Anyone may enter at any point, starting with
an equivalent point total of the lowest cumulative score from the previous
round. If a person misses a round, they'll receive the minimum score from the
round added to their cumulative total. And, if you want to submit some
commentary with your answers, feel free to.
The game will consist of 10 rounds.
A prize will be awarded to the winner.
Round 5 Categories
