Top 50 Trash Horror Films of the 1980's: #45-41

What better a month to continue the countdown than October?!  It was times like these that the Horror section at video stores would start to get a bit thin.  As such, sometimes you'd end up with your 6th choice.  Might one of the films below been such a choice?

#45 - Beyond Dream's Door (1989)

Back of the VHS description: BEYOND DREAM'S DOOR...it's where dreams become reality and your worst nightmares come true.  Suspense, action, adventure, and terrifically entertaining story combine to make this tale of terror an unforgettable experience.  

Ben Dobbs, an All-American college student, has been repressing his strange and terrifying dreams since childhood.  Suddenly, he loses control - his dreams turn into living nightmares where he must find a seductive but deadly dream girl in a house inhabited by the living dead.

In a tense battle of wits, strength and determination, Ben must make the toughest and perhaps last decision of his life.

I felt mixed about this one.  When it comes to the movement of the plot, and the action therein, it has all the subtlety of a frying pan to the face.  The continued, unnecessary close-ups had more than a touch of film school, and I was correct (Ohio St).  The acting is monotone, at best.  

And yet...

At least they're trying something interesting here.  How long do your dreams stay with you?  I remember dreams I had when I was a kid - enough to wake me up as a "bad dream" and none of them are remotely resembling a horror movie.  (Mostly resembling a YouTube video of unsettling local TV footage from 1982) I thought about how the woman formerly known as Smiley has vastly different dreams than I yet we're right next to each other.  How The Big Scoop usually has dreams of what's interesting her at the moment.  About how, after reflection, I remember some daydreams from years back!

The film came and went with me but the concept, the idea, has stayed with me much longer.  I usually only stump for remakes if they're really "do-overs" to fix issues beyond their control from the original (some of which is budget in nature) and Beyond Dream's Door certainly deserves such a treatment.  The tone can remain the same, even nearly all the plot, but up the game with actual actors and tighter editing, and it would be sensational.

#44 - Blood Lake (1987)

Back of the VHS description: A quick dip into the lake turns into a blood bath of horror.

Six teenagers are looking forward to a weekend of partying, sex, and all around fun.  But before the party is even started, one couple disappears, only to be found later brutally murdered.  A blood thirsty killer is stalking their summer playground.

One by one bodies begin to turn up.  On the beach, in the boat, the vacationers become prey to the venomous, vengeance-seeking maniac.  There's only one person left to either kill the killer or be killed.  There's no where to hide.  Who will come out alive?

Editor's note: Hey, A+ on grammar

Barryfilm presents!  "Boss!  You gotta look at the files!"  And it's actually SHOT ON VIDEO!  

We're not 30 seconds into the movie proper, and I'm already laughing.  A man whose tube socks are pushed all the way down is just up and stabbed.  But even the threat of being stabbed doesn't seem like a big deal...until it is, of course.

You can believe that 6 people can fit into a Trans Am, can't you?  Lead, played by the film's writer Doug Barry, might be Marc Summers' twin:

Tony, maybe 14/15, the horniest guy you know: Hey Mike, you gonna be a butthole this weekend or are you gonna let me drink?

Mike: A butthole?!  I don't care if you drink.  Don't go crazy on us.

This shot above lasts roughly 2 minutes with dialogue all said with their backs to the camera.  Gold.

The plot is straight-forward, but as it moves along, the way it evolves makes no sense.  Mike hears noises and runs outside to investigate.  He yells "oh shit!" and runs around to the shed, and comes back in.  False alarm.  Was it?  If so, why were you so panicked?  It doesn't matter, because we can cut to a water-skiing montage to rock & roll!  Nice blend of Molly Hatchet and Quarterflash.  Plus, Becky in her swimsuit: what a babe.  And then...ANOTHER water-skiing montage!

After another time-killing scene playing "Quarters" with homophobic improv galore (and Mike the clear King of this game), it takes more than HALF the movie to be completed before you get any genuine suspense (a drowning, I think?  Who needs lights when the moon exists).  Perhaps that's why this film is rated so poorly: as a horror film, it's below average.  But as a cultural curio of its time and place (Oklahoma, late 80's) it is sensational.  It's as if, for 90 minutes, you've found a time machine you can't control, but the visit is worth it.

Closing Credit: Dry Lake Special Effect by An Act of God

#43 - Bloody Moon (1981, 1983 in the US)

Back of the VHS description: Two young American girls living in Europe, are attending a school where they are learning Spanish.  Unknown to the girls, in the school, a murder was committed two years ago; in this institution.  Miguel, who was accused of the murder, returns to this town, when soon after one of the girls in the school is murdered.

Panic sets in at the school, as the crimes continue, as the police search for the murderer.

Who is the killer???

(Editor's note - the grammar on these boxes is unreal.  Why does it always seem as though these descriptions are written by people who've never seen the movie?  Is it because that's true?!)

Unlike Violent Shit, this foreign film is more cinematic than nearly anything else on this list.  It has great musical stings, whether for suspense (seemingly borrowed from the TV series Kung Fu) or just exposition.  This also being a foreign film, means the literal translations sound like the voice actors from language cassettes.  (And, wouldn't you know it, there are scenes of the girls listening to just that) Just because one is willing to look past it doesn't mean the viewing experience is any easier.  

All that said, my favorite parts were things like this random tennis scene, where a woman acts as a "judge" while 2 other women (who have never played tennis before, it appears) play against a guy.

(Look at that soft lens, the natural light, the "judge")

The California sound plays (the very sting that plays throughout the whole damn movie) as that scene is then, randomly and immediately over; the player is now walking toward topless sunbathers by the pool.  He gets pushed in, of course, but so does one of the topless girls, it appears, by accident.  Then that scene, too, is randomly and immediately over; we're now on to fully clothed girls catching up by the pool, working on the Spanish lessons.

There are 2 ways to fill in time between kills in these kinds of movies.  You can do a waterskiing montage in Oklahoma, or you can shoot something that looks like a foreign perfume commercial at a resort.  

Angela then arrives.  She'll be staying in bungalow 13.  

(Oh, you 1980 Spanish & German babe.  Olivia Pascal, you are a bewitching, beguiling gal.  It is up to me to save you from the weirdo with the facial skin rash and hair worse than my own.)

That weirdo is one of many men trying to sneak into your place while you do such tasks as unpack and inspect each piece of clothing as if you're seeing it for the first time.  

Life won't get any easier for Angela.  She'll surely witness a murder, even hearing the confession on one of those language cassettes.  A giant "boulder" might almost crush you out of nowhere.  You'll "murder" a mannequin.  It takes you almost becoming the final victim to then get the fuck out.  And there it ends.  Yes, I'm leaving out a lot of weird bits here, and I'm in no rush to see this again, but it wasn't a total waste of time.

#42 - The Children (1980, in theaters)

10+ years ago, as the 2nd of a double feature at the New Beverly Cinema, I saw this gem for the first time.  Oh, did I enjoy this film.  Entertainment intentional and otherwise.  Let's just go back in time over 40 years ago for a TV commercial, one more time, because I honestly and truly miss commercials like this one:

Folks, when that bus goes through the radioactive smoke, it's all over.  See this movie.  Here's another:

Honestly, give this a shot.  You will be entertained.  If these commercials can't sell you on your time, know that Terror Trap refers to this as a "tacky exploitation film."  You'll need to be in the mood to see a tacky exploitation film, but when you are, this should be at the top of your list.  I could go on and on, but I'm doing that already!

#41 - Anthropophagus: The Grim Reaper (1980)

Back of the VHS description: A deserted beach.  A bloodcurdling scream.  A decapitated head.  So ends another tourist's holiday.  So begins another Anthropophagus The Beast as it gallops through shock after bloody shock.  Probably one of the most frightening films you will ever see, it will leave you wondering if deep inside us all, there may lurk the cannibal.  Watch it, if you dare!

Gotta say, the setup about sent me to the off button, but it was a half-hour in until we very s  l  o  w  l  y saw some sort of plot movement and payoff.  Nice instrumental music from the "In Search Of..." files.  And, after a stabbing, the rest of the island visitors consoling the killer is a unique turn of events for these kinds of films.  I don't know - maybe I'm watching too many of these (as if that's a problem).  But I was left wondering if Bleeding Skull put some titles in here to give the Comic Book Guy vibe of "yeah, but have you seen THIS?!"  Well, I've seen this, and I'm ready for the next title.

Still, though, Halloween is right around the corner.  Anyone up for water skiing?  If you come along, I'll get you a beer if you won't be a butthole.

That was a long, long time ago, when I was passing through

When you're in search for video gold, analog in type, you find yourself cleaning up constantly.  My desk always looks the way it does because the shipments just keep coming.  Because someone reminds me of something and I have to find it - and when I do, "putting it away" becomes a labored affair.  Because someone asks and research has to be done.  

One such issue was the request from Trip Darvez, who (once upon a time) wrote for the L.A. Reader.  That paper hasn't been around for decades, as you know.  Speaking of, it was 2 decades ago that I first met Trip (at a pool party) and he said that he had a copy - on Beta! - of "Video Reader" a special from KCOP in 1983.  I think the fact that I had heard of it connected us, though anyone who really knows me knows that I've heard of a lot of random old TV, commercials, night clubs, so on.  Can't say it's all the way useful in my daily life but it's actually helped me every now and then with employment, so I continue to pile it on in the same manner of my desk.

Anyway, without getting too into the mundane, Trip didn't make it in time for our meet-up at the last living Du-Par's restaurant...one nowhere near me, because he said (almost unintelligibly) there was something wrong with his Plymouth.  I was pleasantly surprised by the food, annoyed by the pay-for-parking, even more annoyed about the drive at a time when purchasing gasoline is to be part of a vast conspiracy, but so goes another day.

It wasn't until I decompressed that I realized there was a connection here: the last of an LA chain, the last Plymouth that wasn't a collector, the last writer from that lane of prose that was grinding out LA Life at a time when it was at its nuttiest.  The combination of all 3 items gave me an appreciative smile at a time when I needed it.  I think Trip might have noticed it too, but I assure you he didn't connect the dots in the same fashion.

Days later I received a box from Trip (mailed) containing a stack of video and audio cassettes, even some micro cassettes he used for interviews.  There was a note enclosed, written on a wrinkled paper wine bag.  "Do you think it's in here?"  The tracks of Trip's mind were going off in all directions.  He needed help, but not in the way you'd think.

So, I flashed back to those 2 decades ago, the days of the Crescent Heights Overdose, of the walk west on the Strip, the mental gates of steel in view.  At that time, more was new than current (or "old" in that respect) and meeting Trip was one of many things at that time.  I remember asking Donovan about how often he'd visit his store and he said he didn't know him.  And then Trip's missives would be here and there, and time would march on, and I'd always think of how random life can be, how connections can be made with the flimsiness of pretenses, and what loyalty means.  

So, after some prompting, it came together.  Like being able to understand someone through a thick accent that baffles others.  We hadn't talked about that show since...shit, was it when the blog started - 2005?!  No, that can't be...but I think that's right.  And yet, this is what he's asking.  

To be fair, I haven't done anything but just look through the box.  It still sits next to my desk.  In sum the contents could be anything or nothing.  I could contact Trip, then eventually get a hold of him (one way or another) and say "nope, looked through all the tapes, no Video Reader."  Would that be enough?  "Hey, you taped a bunch of Goodnight L.A. episodes!" Oh...but what else? he might say.   

Hey - at least he's still around.  Just like the tapes.  The stories.  Some of the locations.  Trip is still out there and, it seems, so is more gold.  

Top 50 Trash Horror Films of the 1980's: #50-46

 As I set up last month, there's only 1 way to find out how one would feel about the Trash Horror films of the 1980's, other than the fact that there are a LOT of them, and as I also found out, you could maybe thin this list by a LOT as well.

#50 - Violent Shit (1989)

Back of the VHS description: Experience a lesson in real bad taste.  (The rest in German)

There's an old projectionist's saying, apathetic as it may be: "Well, it's exactly what it says on the can."  In the scope of all movies, I guess it's violent.  It, too, is shit.  The opening features a child playing in the park with the titles "Starring K. The Butcher Shitter."  Now, I have to be honest: I was wondering if this would be no different than those high school films Mike made, at least in spirit, with the difference that somehow this was distributed.  It's hard not to draw parallels in many aspects - the killing of the mother early in the film to the, well, "reproductive system GONE" scene in "Larry LaRue's Much Ado About Systems."  What the actors lack in skill and pretty much interest, they do have the German going, which makes everything sound angry.  But again, I kept going back to Larry LaRue's rough day and all it showed was that editing, even on a VHS, is everything.  If you're a beat too late, well...

I could go on and on, but I fear I'm already using up too much emotion, interest, and time on this one. 

 

#49 - The Video Dead (1987)

Back of the VHS description: You're all alone, and an old horror film is showing on late night T.V. - a group of zombies is prowling through a misty wood.  Suddenly, one of the zombies turns towards you and starts beating on the T.V. screen.  As the set explodes outwards and a rotting hand reaches for your throat, you realise (sic) it's too late to hit the "pause" button...You're a victim of THE VIDEO DEAD.

When Teenagers Jeff and Zoe find an old T.V. set in their new house, they're not to know that it's haunted; but when a horde of flesh-eating monsters escape through the screen to prey upon a quiet suburb, it's up to them to end the bloodshed by forcing the zombies back into their transistorized crypt.  If horror is what you're looking for, then THE VIDEO DEAD are waiting for you!

First off, is it me, or does the back of the box give nearly EVERYTHING away?  Did the producers feel a need to give a hard sell to this one?  I can't imagine why.  Right off the bat, before even acknowledging the Carpenter-inspired opening, in the back recesses of my mind, I thought I'd seen this movie before...but I must have been confusing it with TerrorVision.  Completely night and day from Violent Shit...a movie with style, flair, and humor in spades.  There might be more fade-outs in the first 20 minutes than all films combined in 1985.  Spending money smartly: keep so much of the film to a cul-de-sac, you can put the rest toward practical effects.  A housewife is placed upside down into a washing machine.  The Video Dead goes to show how much fun a horror movie can be if those making it just commit 1000% to the idea, however nutty it might be, and actually try to make a good movie.

Line Readings of the Year Award goes to this scene toward the beginning:

Jeff: So, what about you?  What are you up to?

Zoe, a "teen": Well, I start my first semester at the universitythefirstofnextmonth.

Jeff: You got in.  Great.  (Read just as its written) What's your major?

Zoe: Aerobics.

Jeff: (spits out a spoonful of canned chili) Aerobics?!

Zoe: Yeah!  You know, aerobics?!

Jeff: You can't major in aerobics!

Zoe: WELL, it may not be higher education, but it's still a degree, Jeff.  And I'm taking it very seriously.

Jeff: I'm almost afraid to ask what your minor is.

Zoe: Music videos.

Jeff: Seriously?!

Zoe: Yeah, seriously.

(Cut to shots of both of them shaking their heads, and yet another fade out.)

Don't miss this one!

#48 - The Nail Gun Massacre (1985)

Back of the VHS description: A beautiful young girl is brutally gang-raped by construction workers at a building site in a small Texas town.  Suddenly, mutilated bodies begin turning up.  Nailed up.  Nailed to trees.  Nailed to the pavement.  Nailed to each other!  The Nail Gun Maniac is deadly and no one knows who he'll hammer down next.  It's a piercing, no-holes barred trip into industrial-strength horror!

Clever wordplay on the back of the box.  But for an uncomfortable plotline that's been done before (and perhaps not just once) it seems to get in the way of the main crux of the film: shooting nails into people.  It's not the worst-looking film (I bet they had no idea just how 80s it would look in throw-away shots) and the killer does seem imbibed with Schwarzenegger's ability to deliver one-liners intended (or otherwise) to laugh.  Each of those, however, have to cover up with the awful acting.  It's that point where bad acting makes the film worse, not better.  I will admit I got a chuckle out of seeing a random dad nailed and then falling over a lit BBQ (then pushing it backwards, while "dead," so he doesn't fall over) and his daughter coming out to swim by saying "Dad, are the steaks burning?"

#47 - Nightbeast (1982)

Back of the VHS description: Few people witness the arrival of an alien craft in the dead of the night.  The presence of the hostile extra-terrestrial is soon felt by a small American town where mutilated bodies are found.  It soon becomes apparent that the creature hungers for flesh and blood and begins to wreak death and destruction to all that stands in its path.  

A savage and horrific monster movie right through to the bloody end!

Note: This seems to have been released in theaters or drive-ins in the fall of 1982, a minor yet important point that we'll likely fall into now and again on this list.  

Pre-dating Predator by a handful of years, where do I start with this one?  I mean, right at the beginning, it's laser sounds with "Amazing Film Productions Presents."  A no-star cast with one actor receiving an "And..." call-out.  (Something done on Morris & the Rookie for the same reason)  The first line is actually "What the hell was that?"  The second is "Holy Shit."  An excellent synth soundtrack (by J.J. Abrams, no less!  Some moments clearly stuck in the Duffer Brothers' minds) merged with perfect stock library music of the time period.  When a woman has to quickly pack, she does so in the nude so that she has ALL her clothing in front of her.  For what the film is, there are some impressively cinematic shots, showing some attempt and skill.  

At roughly 80 minutes, you'd think it would not waste time (even in chase scenes, with plenty of dry ice and smoke machines).  You'd be wrong.  Shootouts seemingly last forever.  And sure, nearly every line reading is said without conviction, and maybe Nightbeast doesn't attack the same way as the Predator.  And maybe the sex scene looks like parents...someone's parents...your parents, getting it on.  

By the way, am I the only one noticing the similarity between the Sheriff and the first producer of Late Night, Barry Sand?

In the end, it's good is good, it's bad is awful...middle of the road for me.  But we're not even 5 films in and I've already felt I've seen the worst.  At least I hope so.

#46 - The Dead Next Door (1989)

Back of the VHS description: THE DEAD NEXT DOOR is a zombie lover's dream come true!  An inventive scientist has created the ultimate virus: it takes over and replaces a corpse's cells, using it as a slave to keep supplying its favorite dish: humans!  When the virus goes awry, the government fights back by creating a crack team of soldiers called The Zombie Squad.  Their mission: save the humans, and seek out and destroy the dead!  From the streets of Washington, D.C. to the fields of Virginia and on to the suburbs of Akron, Ohio, (editor's note: WTF?) our heroes fight a nonstop struggle for life and death, along the way, stumbling onto an insane religious cult bent on keeping the dead alive and well until the (box ripped) comes for their ultimate mission...to (box ripped)"

This one came out on video in November of 1989, juuuuust under the wire.  It's also a very funny, creative spin on zombie movies.  Shit, whatever sins this movie commits (zombies that run?!), look at it this way: a zombie rents VHS tapes, naturally frightening the customers and owners, with a father holding a child running out.  It's touches like that show, almost immediately, that you'll have to pay attention to this one to find the hidden gems (and not just obvious, but welcome laughs like a car casually hitting a zombie)

• A zombie eating a tire with blood on it
• "Somewhere in Virginia"
• "You up for a visit to Dr. Molsen's torture chamber?"
• "Well, Dr. Savini!"
• "Nothing will happen.  I stake my hat and my life on it."

And every time the pacing lags (for a movie that essentially lasts 70 minutes), well, a zombie bites another human, more gore, and here we go again.  In reality, this is just the kind of film/video that belongs on this list.  In the fall - the next 5 on this list.  These are my thoughts, what did you think?

Me & my VCR

To pin down the exact date would be difficult, but I remember where I was (a video store) and who I was with (Mike).  At that age, the rentals completely depended on who was with me - comedy or TV and weird stuff would usually be picked with other friends.  With Mike, though, we'd wander over to the Horror section.  While there was the name or "known" titles, my instincts looking for the strange (a trait I carried over from Bloomington) was something he adjusted to pretty quick.  Our definition of "good" didn't even exist.  Something in each title would be worth it, and with unknown Horror titles, you know and they know the cover art will be key.  

Sometimes it is artwork, sometimes a photo that has either nothing to do with the plot or isn't even in the film at all.  That's all it takes to get the rental and now the wonder begins.  Will it actually be good?  Will it be bad/good?  Will it be ok but include once specific scene that's worth it?  Is a woman topless?  There will be something, somewhere, worth our effort.

Fast forward.  Beyond Donovan's store (which had many, many more unknown titles).  The late, lamented FEARnet was a glorious place that did not discriminate (for better or worse) on the content.  There were some titles we'd air that, honestly, didn't fit the genres at all.  Some, at best, should have been left behind.  The difference was the intended audience simply wouldn't let that happen.  The loyalty of the Horror audience is genuine and strong, so even at my advanced age, I guess I shouldn't be surprised that titles I've never heard of (and, upon researching, were little-seen) received a Blu-Ray transfer with all sorts of goodies.  The audience won't let it die.

It turns out there are more titles I've never heard of.  A LOT of titles.  So much so, that when Bleeding Skull released a list of "The 50 Best Trash-Horror films of the 1980's" I knew I had an assignment.  The moment I sent it to Drew, he felt the same way.  And so, in the coming months, he and I will review the titles from #50 to #1.  How will we feel (besides fortified)?  Will we watch something and find a hidden gem?  Will either of us find one that we think is dog dung, all things aside?  There's only one way to find out.  Look at the cover art once again, pick it up off the shelf, and walk toward the counter.  It's a couple bucks, nothing more.  You have a few days to let the tape sit on top of the machine before you press play, and then...

I'm doing it my way

What parts of Dealville evolve and what parts do not will always surprise me.  I'll think I can count on an area to remain swanky only to find out it's been razzed.  You can't depend on any of that, but you can count on the hunt. It was under these pretenses that I went to an old Italian haunt for a dealmaking lunch.  The location was a block from an old home...a block also from that nutty intersection, Sunset and Crescent Heights.

After a pleasant greeting from the chef, instead of re-connecting we immediately took stock.  He said graduation "is at hand and Father's Day is around the corner."  But we're not here to celebrate either and we're not going to fall into the trap of talking about the old workplace...yet.  It was more about current dealings framed about the surroundings.

"That used to be a Union 76 station, but I don't know why it's a vacant lot."  Me either, but just the fact that it IS helps, doesn't it?  Then again, he and I used to work at the same company, and now we don't.  I kept trying to steer the conversation to the current and that if we were going to go to the "old days" it shouldn't involve us.  At least, I hope not.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised by this fact, but over the past couple years, I've struggled to review culture.  Not just for this screed, but to keep up learning of new shows, music, etc. I don't find myself just going back to the old well so much as straining at something...just what, I couldn't say.  It may or may not exist.

Memories can last forever, but swank doesn't.  You have to appreciate these things while you can.  Get knee deep into it.  If my time out here has taught me anything, it really is that - "enjoy it while you can" because for every place you love that's exactly the same as it always was, the other 80% are long gone.  And these things aren't the new of which I search, they've replaced not the rundown but instead the ember of time with sterile forced fun.  All things considered; I'd rather keep my money.  How defiant!  I've only been able to watch 1 Dodgers game all season (when I was available) but I've also saved over $400 since the offseason.

And some of that money can be spent at places like that Italian place as we dine on the patio, mainlining iced tea on a sunny summer day, worn out old songs playing while we discuss the new.  I looked beyond to that intersection, saw my old self, and raised my glass.  I wonder what he'd think of me.  I'm not sure what I think of him (besides the parental want of help and guidance).  Back to now, the waiter took the plate and we acknowledged Drew's old phrase:

We can be here and there.

Libations...sensations that stagger the mind

This is the day of the expanding home, of space anew, of buckets that are filled with cash to be set afire.  Real things are turned around, but the work is not done.  It's never done, because when one item is checked, the next much be matched.  And you want to be fair to everyone and everything, and so, sooner or later, these are also improved.

Long ago, stuck in the mire, I heard a phrase that wasn't meant to be advice but was quickly taken as such: "Love is like money: you have to make it, lose it, and then make it again to know its meaning."  The love part, that's another day, but while things were stockpiling for a point, once the ball started rolling, it all came out.  Not wants but wants tied to needs.  As such, one can't help but be caught off guard when the artist formerly known as Smiley suddenly emails about a new TV she saw that's on sale.  Well hell, this time I didn't have to lift a fucking finger.  Is it color?  Cool, let's do it.

I say all of this when I think back to yesterday where I was feted with rhubarb and rhubarb related items.  I related nutty times in Las Vegas.  I spent hours in the dirt preparing the soil with the Big Scoop.  We then relaxed with the newest member of the family, a crested gecko.  As she (he?  We don't know yet, but whatever) sat on my shoulder as she likes to do, surveying her surroundings, I related to the Scoop "You remember, it was a year ago when you said you wanted one and I told you give it time.  We'll strike when it's hot.  Maybe toward the tail end (haha) of seemingly smart buying, which is how my life has gone, but it would happen.  The gecko turned into a fish, then a bird, and then back to a gecko.  But here we are.  She climbs up my arm every time, the steps at once fast and measured, each foot down specific and exact.

"Wait!  Careful!"  Careful?  I haven't moved and neither has she, so let's ALL calm down, OK?  Deep breaths.  The setup is done.  We have plenty of time to sort shit out.  Just keep making it happen.  Keep making deals.  Let the wind fall.  Let it work itself.  Go all the way.  Later, and only later, will you be able to look around, smile and nod, capturing the full scope of all your hard work.  And then, like before and after, onward!

She Got Stung

And to think - I thought the only hassle was going to be the drive there and back.  A guy I knew in college once said Long Beach is"just too far enough to force people to come down and visit."  Well, I waited this time so that the Grand Prix was the prior weekend.  As we passed the still-up stands to Ocean Blvd., I was trying to make the best of what I consider "uncomfortable relaxation."

The Dog Beach sounds like a good idea in theory: you don't have to swim or tan if you don't want to (and with all sorts of rando dogs about, you wont), your dog can lose its mind for a while, and maybe you'll get a laugh or two.  And, to be honest, I think what I just said about the Dog Beach I could say to ANY beach...a good idea in theory.  Sounds fun.  Then you go and do it and, well, you know.

Good luck eating that hearty sandwich you brought for lunch.  Might as well have blew a whistle and sent em all showing up.  I'm in a chair doing what looks like leg bicycle exercises while I attempt to eat.  Despite the less than tropic temps, just the sight of the ocean led the Big Scoop into the waves.  After a break (where I sat as "blocker" and she dined in the back of the tent) she returned to the water.  A little bit later, I considered what it would take to conspire to leave.  Maybe 30 minutes or so from now, I'll start to put the word out.

As I neared the waves, 2 out of control dogs came out of nowhere and careened into the artist formerly known as Smiley's left knee...the very one surgically repaired years ago.  Of course, no owners in sight, no one claiming anything, and as we tended to the fallen I felt my convictions being proven.  See, rest this, I'll help pack up, we go.  

I walk up to get the Big Scoop's towel and as I return to the water there is a commotion.  As I look down she yelps "my foot really hurts!"  There is blood.  Well isn't this the fucking icing on the shitcake.  This has become such a deal that 2 lifeguards have left the tower to come by.  "Yeah, I think that's a stingray sting."  What?  There are fucking STINGRAYS about?  Why aren't there signs?  Why no warning from you 2?  "Yeah, do you live nearby?"  Um...no.  "OK, what you gotta do is put it in hot water.  That'll make it heal."  While I appreciate your insight, could you maybe do you fucking job and help with, I don't know...a band aid?  Anything?

Perhaps not wanting to bother with it or too stoned or wanting to be stoned, he agrees to take us to another lifeguard station to solve this.  In the bed of a pickup, not inside, because the blood is getting all over and so are the screams.  Upon arrival I have no idea where I am, but this lifeguard has a hose and a giant yellow plastic bag.  The bag reads "STINGRAY" and over the screams and cries of those who "will never go in the ocean again" put the foot in the bag so that we can put in hot water - the kind of hot water that is at hot tub level, which feels so good to someone who is already bleeding and in pain.  So begins a rather sick game of fill in, console as much as an inconsolable child will tolerate (in some of those moments she told me she "needs her space" which lasted about 15 seconds before I had to return to the Scoop), dump out, and repeat.

Soon enough, though, we are not alone: in comes a surfer in his 20s; even with foot coverings, for the same thing.  Then a kayak victim on BOTH feet.  And then a women who seemed on the verge of tears.  And then another.  Once the supplies of pain meds and ice cream arrived, I looked from one end to another: 8 wounded, 2 fellow surfers and 3 lifeguards onlooking, and me.  That, after maybe 90 minutes, the wound was cleaned enough, pain subsided enough, attitude adjusted enough to leave for another hour-long drive, I was relieved more than I've been in years.

That night, at a Mexican restaurant, I ordered the tallest tumbler of sangria they served.  I gave the big scoop a cheeseburger and enchiladas because she needed her strength.  I kept being told "this will be SOME story one day.  You'll always remember it."  Shit, man, I'm still in the thick of it now.  It's a story now, not in the future.  It's one that the sangria healed, the Easter candy soothed, and the following night's dinner led everyone to agree: can the weirdo shit please stop?!

"The Kind of Polls I'd Like to See Today"

I've written in the past about how I don't miss making March Madness picks, but in that screed I didn't mention the one thing I do miss.  Just thinking about it now makes me melancholy.  It was the one thing that appeared before the tournament started, and it wasn't looked at the second the tournament ended...until March 1st, the following year:  The message board.  

The board itself took on a personality all its own.  I would write polls in the classic Letterman Late Night style: 2 "serious" answers and 1 go-for-laughs answer.  Jake would try to include something mildly serious on who was paying, how the scoring would go, but even he would have to drop a "DURRRR" in there by the end.  Drew's would ensure his "question" would be followed by a long list chockablock with quotes from something - Caddyshack, Seinfeld, it didn't matter.  When referencing a pick of Potsy's, there would naturally be food references a-plenty, some so specific and local it likely left me confounded.  I knew the purpose and could read into it, of course.  

And Potsy understood this too, but when your focus is on betting games and brandy slush, you don't have time to write polls yourself.  So he'd write a message like the title of this blog and, rightfully, get shamed for it.  You want gold, pal?  You gotta pay the price.  All the same, I write this in his memory.

This nostalgia rush made me wonder: are these things still out there?  Does a server somewhere in the bowels of CBS HQ save these things?  I had to find out for myself.  Upon visiting a page I hadn't in a while I was requested to "unlock the full power of cbssports.com."  Not knowing what they mean by this insistent request, I naturally clicked "I'll fix it next time."  Some searching found "bracket games" and something called "Hickory Hal's Hog Locker."  

Empty.  I was more disappointed than anything, but I knew my work wasn't finished.  Some looking around found an account settings page that included "show archived teams."  Nope.  Nothing.  It, like making selections, is all a memory.

But what memories!

How would you best describe the players for Northern Iowa?

A) Overachievers

B) Gritty band of victors

C) Ugly as sin

It's finally March, which means we get to see some old friends again.  Which do you miss the most the rest of the year?

A) Belmont

B) Old Dominion

C) Jack in the Box's taco sale

There were polls that went over the line, but you don't know you've done so until you've fallen, right?  (It was either me comparing Potsy to Elvis or something about a rope belt...I don't know, but when you're on a roll you let it fly)  There was the "Beef Stew Award" given to the person whose championship pick didn't even win a game.  There were even some to set the mood because, what else is there to say?  From 2009 I remember:

Hey Stan and Trip!  Feeling good about picking Pittsburgh to win it all?

A) No.

B) No.

It took me no longer doing picks at all (and, to be honest, no one else writing on the message board) to realize what I missed most: it was our collective excitement of the tournament.  It was our never-ending search for upsets.  It was Potsy automatically putting UCSB in the sweet 16.  It was clowning on someone getting something way wrong (someone I don't know once picked Texas A&M to win it all...and this was in men's basketball...and not in a video game) or propping up those who got it right (Potsy recovering from early round defeats to win it all one year and use his winnings on gallons of Butter Brickle ice cream).

As with so many things, time marches on.  People fade away, contacts are lost.  My version of this is now the Big Scoop and I cheering on our adopted team Loyola-Chicago through another run.  It's not whether it's better, just different.  But as this time of year moves on, I'll send a text here and there, and somewhere, in the moment, there's a glimmer of what once was...and like so many sure-fire picks, crossed out and crumpled up.

The LA Rams: Vindication, a Championship, and a mea culpa

This is it, folks.  All the distractions that surround me can not hide the fact that the Los Angeles Rams are Super Bowl Champions!  Not the Rams somewhere else.  Not just getting to the Super Bowl, which was cool, too, but not as gold as this - the feeling yesterday, today, for years from now.  6 years ago, they'd just moved back to town, a dream come true.  And now, here's the other: a ring!  An LA ring!  Oh, the satisfaction.

Who is this championship "for" (so to speak)?  

The current staff

Current coaches (who did just enough, who I wish gambled a little more, who I wished realized we don't have a good OL and stopped running the ball WEEKS ago [so we're one-dimensional, at least it's a dimension] but also had the stones to call an end-around of all things with the game on the line)

Current players obviously, some of whom are injured, even a couple who should be cut in March for hands of stone and I'm looking at you and I won't even say your name but hey you're a Super Bowl Champion now

The front office - more about them later

Members of the past who gave their all

I would appreciate "Stan Mustache" to make the gesture of a ring, sent to the likes of the family of Deacon Jones, the Youngbloods, Vince Ferragamo, Eric Dickerson, Flipper Anderson, Nolan Cromwell, Fred Dryer, I could go on and on, but you get my drift.

Fans

No shit?  Well, yeah, but why do we do this?  Why do we go all in on a team?  The emotions, the euphoria and dismissive attitudes on something we can't control?  If we choose to, we do it for the reasons like last night, this morning, and the glow that will last for the next handful of years.  If I can wear my 2020 World Series Champions T shirt still delighted by the result, what's stopping me?  Maybe this will blunt or in the least town down any near-future calamities.  We won LVI, and that's cool.  So dial it back and know there are good times.  (I think I'm just writing for my future self now)

And now a mea culpa.

13 months ago I wrote many friends about the trade for Stafford.  My reaction was like getting an instant junk shot: all caps, incredulous at what was sold to me and (more specifically) what the Rams were giving away.  "They're going all-in!  So what if they won't have a draft pick until 2030?  They want that Super Bowl now!" was what we were told.  I don't know that the phrase necessarily applies, but the sentiment was there.  As a fan of the team, don't you want that, though?  You want the team you choose to give your interest to do something, even if it's not what you'd do, to show they want to succeed.  And sometimes that comes from years of failure because young talent comes together and blooms at the same time.  As fans, we tend to like that more because we can see the development like a plant taking root and beginning to grow.  It's clear to us.  Cobbling together many good parts seems good in theory, but be honest: how often have you seen that fail, underwhelm, not pay off?  More times than I care to recall.

Early in the season I admitted the obvious, which was a guarded apology.  I considered Stafford an "older Goff" with a ceiling and one prone to make the wrong choice.  And, for a stretch this season, I was proven right.  In the end, though, someone who knows much more about football than me was right.  Those 13 months ago, that knowledgeable football person wanted that deal.  And while it could have been handled better, can you dispute the results? 

Long ago, Drew Boatman wrote such a statement: "Sometimes, I need to just admit I am wrong about sports."  This was a statement personal to him, but believe me that I could likely make a similar list, though it would be things like "we should have kept this person because I was right when I agreed with the team about letting another person go"  But Matthew Stafford might be my biggest error.  A guy whose mere thought could only yield one positive statement ("go Dawgs, hunker down") and maybe something about how bad it must be to be stuck in Detroit.  (Both statements are true, by the way)  But HIM?  On "my team?"  Oh NO.  All wrong.  Why?  Why did we do this?!

 That's why.

Its future is just a Mirage

Upon arrival in Las Vegas, I was taken to my casino by a very Potsy-esque character (difference being he's alive).  A 3-decade veteran, we shared our own thoughts on the changes over that time, good and bad.  He knew of all conventions, back streets, and where the rare deals still exist.  In the course of this conversation, he shared this flash: "The Mirage is supposed to be torn down next year for a new casino."  What's that, you say?!  Well, I never made a dime there, and I guess Love has played its course there, but is that really it?  Hard Rock bought it and is going to try again in town, so is that how it goes?  And if so, what's it like in a dead casino walking?

I knew the only way to find out is to dive head-in myself and check it out.  Jim was unusually flaky, so there would be no reunion in-town...just me.  The Mirage is still as you remember it...the big open dome front, the tropical vibe, the unusual cigarette smoke mixing in with that tropical vibe, the generic named restaurants ("Snack Stand", "Sports Bar"), that was all the same.  But look deeper, and you can see tell-tale signs.  The ceilings are low, a sign of the old days.  There are rooms and areas that used be for something else that are now complete empty.  There were stores, but now the doors to those are closed.  Don't look over there, and don't ask.  They'll drive this until the tank is empty, and then we'll all wave goodbye.

When I walked outside again, I wandered around the grounds.  Even for a weekday evening, it was unusually slow and quiet.  If security wasn't what it was, I'd have done more diving, but to be honest, I didn't care that much.  I'm not trying to be brazen, but honest: it's another old name you can add to the list in town.  I never had any success there, except seeing a great show, so yeah, why not razz it?

What the cab driver said was still ringing in my ears.  I went from casino to casino in walking distance looking for that elusive deal.  His take was South Point, but a car ride just for a meal deal went against the whole point.  So I continue to wander until something very bizarre caught my eye: Casino Royale.  It's still here?  It's still here!

A little touch of downtown out near the Strip, Casino Hotel almost brings laughter the minute you walk in (a wall of mirrors is the first touch) but don't sell it short.  It doesn't try to be anything it isn't.  But I kept walking, and then I saw the food options.  And I saw this:

I had to take the photo quickly to as not be seen.  It was something that was burned into my brain forever, but as you can witness, had I not, my explanation would not do any justice.

• The "Bundle Deal" - 3 corn dogs for $6.  Are you up for the challenge?
• The foot long dog for just $2.49, and all sauce pumps (all = 3) right on the counter.
• The "Manager's Special" which consists of chicken tenders, fries, and a drink
• Please do not enter this door: it is for Snack Nook employees only

On the website they suggest to "swing by our Food Court for lunch or a quick snack" and that it is "on premises."  The dutifully noted "only White Castle on the West Coast" is mere steps away, which might be why there was no one at the counter on either side.  Or maybe because there were no seats and tables to enjoy my dog.  Was I supposed to be enjoying it as I balanced it on the counter of a slot machine?  It's a mystery.

Walking out I was left to reflect.  Las Vegas remains an enigma.  I know my favorites, and plans, but Las Vegas changes, and we have to as well.  It rolls along and like the many people handing out "Free Poker Tournament" flyers or hooker's business cards: when faced with either attention or apathy, it goes forward.  There will always be "new," we will always be able to look back, and we'll start planning memories from the future.

"I'm glad you're here!"

We had ambitious madness planned for this break.  It feels like we're in a rerun of last year right now, and sweet Moses I hope not.  The madness, some of which was going to be written about, has to be shelved, temporarily (I hope), while we walk slowly.  It doesn't stop any of us from planning for the future, of course.  We're used to having things delayed this decade, I suppose.

In lieu of this, I was reading Mick LaSalle's new book, and I was struck by a long quote.  I thought about "getting into it" more here, but copy and paste will do it justice.  Sometimes when you're reading, or even viewing a scene in a TV show or movie, you have to stop right there and tell someone.  You have to share it for whatever reason: what you've just seen or read has moved you to do so.  My reason for this quote from Mick is simple enough: in a time when travel can be risky, when (for me) no one wants to visit but wants me to leave (and wonders why I haven't already), when, decades later, there are still snide remarks from those far from my environs, I just...well, here it is:

Pages 78-79

"No one who hasn't been to Nebraska has any particular idea about Nebraska that goes beyond some pictures of guesses involving corn, or snow, or tornadoes.  But everyone in the United States decides how they feel about California.  And the feelings can be based on anything, based on any number of facts, real or imagined, that a person chooses to believe.  California is large.  It contains multitudes, and so virtually anything you think about it will be, at least to some extent, true, unless you think it's small and doesn't matter.

Mostly, the feelings about California will be ones of either approval or disapproval.  To most of America, California is good or bad.

Some people want to move here and will.  Some people want to move here, but know they never will, but are okay with California as kind of dream or idea.  And some people aren't interested - they're quite happy where they are.  But in that last category, there are still others who, despite not wanting to live here, feel the presence of California as some alternate possibility, not only in American life, but within their own consciousness - an open door that they can choose to go through or not, but whose existence they resent and wish they could ignore.

Curiously, this last category also contains people who make generalizations about how we in California feel about them, when people in California aren't thinking of them at all, beyond a vague wishing them well. We can't quite imagine them, simply because, for better or worse and probably mostly for better, there is no national mythology surrounding their location.  We do notice, when we go to the middle of the country, that the people tend to be friendlier, and fatter, and with an unaccountable tendency to be politically bizarre, but these are just impressions, hardly fully formed opinions.

We also notice, when we travel to other places in the United States, that we meet people who love to tell us all about California, to fill us in about little details, about how the whole state is going broke, or how this or that congresswoman's district is a disaster.  But when we ask them when was the last time they were in California, they usually say they were never there.  But they know all about it.  From a friend.  Who probably has also never been there."

Goodbye, 2021.  Up and down, rolling hills, good/bad and vice versa.  (deep breath)

It's All Over Now

In an interview setting a few months ago, an unnecessarily angry woman was accosting me over...well, my career.  Specifically, the length of stays at each company.  "You're only at a place for a few years, then you leave.  Can we trust you to stay?"  I reiterated that each situation is different: you go in to each job you've ever had with good faith.  Sometimes it stays, but many MORE times it changes.  Said changes aren't created by you.  Either you look around for something new or people look for someone new...and off we go.  She was unconvinced.  

Fast forward a few months and I'm leaving my current role for tastier everything.  Not at the company I reference in the paragraph above, but somewhere else.  We've got a lot of growing to do.  Pleased to be a part of it, part of a place where I'm wanted, and that I can grow doing what I want.  And like so many others, I enter this in good faith.

Sometimes I envy those who have been working at the same place for decades.  Whenever I bring it up, they deflect; doesn't matter the person or even industry, they push it away.  And maybe that's just their life...and my life is to be some sort of entertainment Pepper Rogers (or basketball coach we could easily name, though the ones that move around a lot are always filled with tawdry tales).  At somewhere a few years, off to the next, but not as a rule.  Every once in a while I'm not the one who wanted to leave, but that's how it goes.  Searching for a rainbow.

And yet, of the little advice I can give anyone, I am always amazed and thankful for the jobs I didn't get.  When you're filled with strife 9-5, there are times you'll do just about anything.  After interviews you'll be asked "Does it sound interesting?  Do you want to do it?"  It's often accompanied by a sigh and "Yeah, it sounds like it would be good."  No one is convinced.  Shit, that topic and the places and roles therein would make a good post if anyone would care.

I'm in charge.  That's right.  While I wait for others to "get ready to go" or look out from the hot tub wondering they'll get in, I've realized I have to find what enjoyment I can in going with the flow.  When the enjoyment disappears, deals have to be made.  As the pie is passed, I'll be thankful for yet another deal.  It's what this town taught me.

"I'm a Prickly Pear!"

Look, I was on vacation: I'd heard of it, sure, even used it in a phrase now and then, but I didn't know the effects.  So when the pup came in from the "backyard" she got her morning pets, and immediately I knew something was amiss.  In my morning fog, did I try to pick up some fiberglass that I thought was a breakfast pastry?  This...this doesn't feel good.  It was the prickly pear.  That damn thing in the corner by the fence that I figured she'd have more sense to avoid.

This was solved (salved) and so we drove deeper and deeper into the desert, all the winding not just for joshua trees, but for the elusive "skull rock."  And...so it is.  In the middle of nowhere, we were suddenly in a crowd, our moments only fleeting; like meeting Santa.

I was more than up for an amble amongst rocks, and with the lack of heat I knew that even something that would be classified as a "hike" wouldn't be bad.  And it wasn't, and there were good pictures, but "Ferdinand Magellan Finkel" kept insisting that the trail we were on was a circle.  Legend has it that the Boy Scouts made this decades ago, and she didn't seem fazed that we were going the wrong way at the start: "Isn't this the wrong way?" I asked more than once.  "But it's a circle" she kept saying...over and over...though it sure didn't feel that way.

And, when we got back to the road and didn't see the car, with the sun starting to set, I had to let the snark fly.  And, for a mile or 2, there we walked back to the car (glad we were right about that direction) looking like the saddest hitchhikers around.  One positive of that, though, was for Ol Lightning herself the Big Scoop to declare "I don't wanna go on another hike!"  

So what do you do?  You dive into what town there is...eating way too much at a place called Country Kitchen (no, not THAT Country Kitchen)...an activity that nearly became a daily occurrence because it was so darn good.  Look for more items on the "garden" side of things.  Lately, when out of town, I ask myself "Yeah...but if you HAD to, could you make it here?  Could you deal?"  A handful of days doesn't tell you that, but maybe it's the lack of new experiences the nearly 2 years brought us, I'm more than willing to hang longer.  Well...sometimes, not everywhere.  And I won't name locations.

In the legendary film Leaving Las Vegas, Sera tells Ben she knows of a place "in the desert" and there Ben goes, imbibing past the limit again.  After some hot scenes, Ben tries to walk...into a glass end table.  Sera is immediately concerned, but not Ben: so full of juice, he knows the right response is to laugh.  "Whoops!  Uh oh, I'm a prickly pear!"

Roughly a decade later at a party in Venice, TV's Jonas Anderson found himself in the same state.  The "fun times camera" was out, and there the same thing happened again.  This time a wicker table, so nothing more than a "whoa!" from the rest of the crowd...but then he did it.  Even in the state he was in, he repeated that same quote.  I was nearly on the floor laughing - how did he remember that?  And to say it THEN?  

Me, at Star Pharmacy at 10AM, being a prickly pear wasn't nearly as fun.  Breakfast libations and biscuits and gravy were the other cure for my pain (and waistline, apparently) but as I looked on the horizon, wind howling, we made good through and through.  When in the desert, do as I say: surprises good and bad lurk around the cacti, so keep the drink at hand.

One Hell of a Weekend

I'm writing this on a Saturday night not because this will get any readership but more that this has become an historical document and I'm in the moment.  Because I'm old, my interest in a Halloween party diminished oh so much when I was told I had to arrive in costume.  I hemmed and hawed, tried to bullshit my way out of it.  No luck.

So, last week, I just started verbalizing things in some sort of word association that appeared I was having a conversation with...well, you'd have thought I'd have gone back into the world of generic spirits, but no.  No, I was almost talking through my problem.  It was concluded with what I considered as a problem solved: 4 plastic lobsters and a colorful fishing net.

This afternoon as I saw the Gophers and Dawgs do what they should always do, I clipped the tags off the lobsters.  I stretched out the blue fishing net in the back yard and folded it.  I placed plastic clips on the "open end" and then cut a hold in the middle.  Wearing the net, I used more hooks to place the lobsters in the net at odd angles.

We arrived late due to no fault of my own (as always).

"Trip!  What are you?!"

I'm the catch of the day.

"Oh my god I love it!"

And that, dear readers, is the sign of the eventuality: I won "Best Costume" at the party.  The awards were spirits and desserts, all of which I consumed in one sitting while I looked at other adults: some not in costume (nice try), some in half-assed BS that needed too much explanation, and some that spent WAY too much money and to be honest made more than a few guests uncomfortable.

Thinking out loud and $15.  Sometimes shit breaks your way, and it's worth remembering in those rare moments when creativity brings out gold.

Can I exit out that door?

 After days of stress, I've allowed myself some space to lean back and...observe internally?  

1. Supply chains have fixed themselves.

I know that it's a long road back, but there are many simple pleasures that I wasn't aware made a large impact in my life.  These were used as a rightful excuse a year ago, and while I should still be aware of it now, I won't have it.  The distress began over the summer when Pacifico in cans disappeared.  Yeah, look, when it's hot and I'm starting to get a little hazy, I don't trust myself when I'm outside on the patio.  It eventually returned.  Same, it seems, as my favorite iced tea, which I down like an addict.  And I admit as much: it helps me reduce my alcohol intake, refreshes, and generally gives me the vibe of a pleasant afternoon DJ.  (Or so I've been told)  I get em by the case and don't give a fuck.  Then, one day, it was gone.  All of it.  The magnum bottles, the small bottles, the "tall" sized plastic bottles, all of it gone.  

Make my own?  It...look, I tried that, and it was OK, but not as good.  Like the angry Jimmy Dean caller, this had to be fixed.  I ordered a flat wholesale, and I was sat down to "have a talk" about it.  Shit, I don't smoke...is it really that serious?  What if this was a Sparkletts delivery truck?  You wouldn't give a shit about that, would you?  "Trip likes the taste of this water."  Well, I've been told that has "caught up now" and that supplies will be secured in time for Saturday, where I am looking for continued good things out of the Mountain West.  And why not?  

2. I can't find my sunglasses.

Nothing to add here, other than the fact that I haven't been able to find them since the weekend, and if you see them, please let me know.  Feel like I looked everywhere.  Hope I didn't leave them in the park...if so, they're long gone.  I write in honesty that this is why I don't buy "expensive" sunglasses for the same reason I don't wear a watch: I don't trust myself.

3. It's going to be a wild card, isn't it?

Second-best record in baseball and yet I fear a play-in game where Roberts is going to let whoever starts, likely Max, only pitch 3 innings and get scared and then someone like fucking Graterol is going to throw the same amount of innings and that's that.  I said second-best...that's not first, is it?  Eh, we did it a few years ago and ended up in the World Series so I should shut my mouth.  "We" - haha!  That's how it goes.  Come on boys!

(Reminder: The 2020 World Champion shirt still fits, and will fit forever.  And...so far, Stafford looks like a dog that's finally been adopted after spending a decade in the Pound, so there's that)

4. The dial can still go up

Hit 100 twice this week, but the dial is aiming down.  Over acceptable Mediterranean food last night an agreement was met that this isn't the "end" or fully Fall because there are now too many "bump-ups" to know better.  All those things make for good ideas and marketing (turkey-flavored candy corn, for example) but why we're here is for that overall level of comfort.  Be it a nightly stroll with Doo Dads or hosing off the heat from the plants, the talk is of the moment and the future. 

So, we keep on.  The mental door remains open.

Use all your well-learned politeness

As I returned to the kitchen this morning, all the signs were there: the jar of peanut butter left open with a knife still in it, an empty milk carton and what's left of the loaf of bread all on the counter.  It's that scene of an immediate break-away.  School Days.  That we're able to do this much, as I wrote in August, is a fulfillment of a moment of hope.

So nothing is perfect, we won't be at "before," but it sure beats the alternative, doesn't it?  I think it does.  I run in to others that do, too.  But that isn't the majority, which surprises me.  And maybe I shouldn't be surprised, but it's clear that we are living in a new age: The New Era of Cynicism.

There are always going to be people whose life has gone horribly wrong, and you're seeing them in the moment of self-awareness.  Life is many things, one of which an endless map with choices galore.  Incorrect Life Choices - it's their way of life, and it's not YOUR fault that you happen to be walking down a sidewalk and see that person hit with the realization that they, in that moment, are surrounded by A's, B's, even C+'s, and they're just knee-deep in their own failure.  But now, we're just at a point where the majority responds to anything with a furrowed brow or phony smile with "Huh.  Yeah, right."

It's not always that obvious.  I'm old enough to remember when, if some things weren't going right for the majority of the public, it wouldn't completely remove optimism.  So they no longer make your favorite belt in your new size.  So the team you root for is in dead last.  So you really do need to get a new DVD player if you want to watch your copy of Clerks again.  Does that define you as a person?  To much of the public, those nuisances now do, and I've never seen anything like it.

I'm wondering where it leaves those of us who like actual interaction.  Maybe it was 2020 into 2021 and all of the doom that surrounded and was survived, but for many, you'd never know it.  As each day winds down I can pinpoint an interaction or 2 and then shake my head wondering "What the fuck was THAT?"  And what can you do beyond move on, try someone/something/somewhere else?  

I have the sangria, the games are planned, the AC is hummin', deals are being made and made anew.  Those who enjoy revelry will be around, likewise prepared to fart in the direction of the living black clouds.  While they are left to sulk alone, I'll get a refill. 

(Just Like) Starting Over

Well, there it was...something that I wondered if it could/would happen years from now.  Only history will tell everyone if this was the right move or not...but there she was, taking too long as usual, early morning happiness gone by the time of the walk to school.  It was like "before" just as the whole hope and point of today was getting back to "before" in as best a way as we can.  I lingered longer than was desired by others, and then I couldn't wait to get home.

It was a bittersweet feeling, and I don't know that I expected it or that this return to "before" was the point.  I was happy we were attempting this, but "lingering dread" didn't use to be part of my personality, particularly in relation to the Big Scoop herself, her education, or anything like that.  But there it was, and it was tough shaking it...if I fully did at all.

I had a Summer where she was at camp, one that, when it began, seemed even closer to "before" than we are now.  Those early drop-offs were one of happy befuddlement.  I only looked back once.  It was good fortune, and I moved forward.  And I know I should remember that we're closer to that than otherwise.  But because this is school, it's hard not shaking the feelings.  As with other parents, we'd talk during Summer vacation like old salts at the VFW, knowing horror on we could speak of, that no on else could really understand.  I thought back to a scene from Kramer vs. Kramer:

The Big Scoop is older.  Kool-Aid was never spilled on important documents.  But what's happening in this scene was nearly 18 months of my life.  If this picture or thinking of this scene brings you a laugh, well, there were comedic moments during that time but it was never funny.  If you don't have a kid, well, of course it means nothing to you.  Why not think selfishly when thinking of yourself?  That there is no understanding by those without kids, from my employer, even my spouse...I'll never get over that.  And just as I was saying a moment ago, maybe that's selfish, too, because I'm talking about myself...but in that very same 18 month run, I couldn't do that, could I?  

But it's over.  Is it over?  If it is over, may we never speak of it again.  If everyone else couldn't understand it then, they won't in the future.  I'll stay quiet on it until, years later, it'll come up.  Someone will ask.  I'll shake my head.  A flood of emotions.  The future will "before", I hope it will be, but I'll never be "before" again.

 

Summer Rock 'n Roll

Already in the middle of Summer, despite my lazy (read: relaxed) self, I've had a greater demand for experiencing the simple pleasures of the season.  These staples used to seem common (or borderline mundane) until they were taken away.  Now that they're back, I can't get enough.

At the pool, I was in line for the waterslides again and again.  The lifeguard incorrectly assumed I was there to assist someone, but no.  No, I'm going solo, over and over.  Mostly down the lazy one, occasionally down the covered "lightnin'" slide.  Look at all these other adults.  Either yelling at their (or other) kids, or face-to-phone.  Meanwhile, I road the waves until I began to feel my equilibrium over-index juuuuust a bit.  Hey, I'll take that sign.  Head home for drinky time.

The following day, I finally shook off cobwebs to get a massage, followed up by a visit to 7-Eleven for a Slurpee.  I dined on leftover ribs under a tree, and I was later told it seemed obvious to all that might get into my way that I'm in the flow.  

Looking back, none of the aforementioned activities are unique to me in sum, nor unusual at all for Summer...and yet, you remove those from day to day life, well, shit...no wonder why I was breaking down so often last year.  

Sometimes I wonder if I'd be different if I moved to Hawaii...or maybe when I get even older and (god forbid) be allowed to retire.  And I could be wrong....but I doubt it.  The wave will continue.

Of Leopard Geckos and Lounging

When it comes to vacations, there is a fluid, ongoing disagreement of the pace.  I don't want to be completely sedentary; I want to do stuff, but my main objective is to relax.  More than anything else, I am happy made in the shade.  I'm also happy being in the pool, careening about a float with others, or about to jump in, clapping my hands saying "This is CRAZY."  I don't need to be on the go that much.  The other side is constant planning, daily discussions, and a "let's go" attitude.  These 2 waves crash when we're out of town, and I'm hopeful yet weary of the blend.

I think I was still settling in to my new surroundings when the Big Scoop herself came out of the owner's home.  "Dad!  Look!  It's a leopard gecko!  They said it's a great pet, easy to take care of and everything!"  Upon quick inspection, it sure was, and it was resting on her forearm.  Look, that's fine for YOU, but when do I get to have this pet hang out on me?  Well, ask, and next thing I know, it was climbing up my arm to my neck.  How about this, huh?!

(I want to reiterate again one of the qualities she has that I don't is her way to become America's Guest and just immediately make fast friends with anyone under any circumstance.  She'd known this family less than 24 hours and they offered to make her chocolate chip waffles the next morning)

A trip to Coronado one day was supposed to yield more of that: we'd sight-see, wander, dine, and hit the beach.  Such items in sum shouldn't become an ordeal under any circumstances.  But when someone pushes for "riding" a contraption that looks like a man-powered golf cart...it has to be done until all agree that life is now done the hard way.  It's unneeded effort that was paid for.  I was more than hesitant on this idea, went along with it to stop someone talking about it, and yet we only went a block.  "I don't like this."  I had to be polite but blunt, sounding like a child...which is a coincidence since an actual child was saying the same thing in even saltier language.  We received an immediate refund.  "OK, well now what?"  I was asked.  Who says "now" has to be anything?

The following day, La Jolla remained scenic, the food delicious, and the waves angry.  Mother Earth was sending a message, yet a companion wanted to push ahead.  So there I found myself hours later surrounded by people I've never met, wearing a wetsuit that was previously worn maybe 30 minutes ago, missing vital instructions because there was always someone uncomfortable.  As such, I went out to sea getting 2 giant waves right in the mush, paddling and seemingly getting nowhere, exhausted and cold, all to see a sea lion asleep.  On the way back in, I tried my best to follow instructions only to wipe out and have the kayak land right on my noggin.  I was fine because kids: wear a helmet.  Always take the helmet option.  Last time I went horse riding I wore something called a "polo helmet" and I don't give a fuck how I looked, because if Buttercup got spooked by a squirrel or something, I'll be...well, not AS hurt.

Like the sea, we were all salty.  Once cleaned, we searched for nightlife and found it.  Tasty food, funny waiters, goings on in the dark.  Now, isn't THAT a vacation?  Or am I the only one who thinks so?  

Day of depart it was sorrowful looks, one last swim, one last gecko visit.  "Dad, let's look up getting one."  And so it begins.  I returned home, sat on the patio in the backyard, and drank beer.  All I heard were the birds ready for Summer and the occasional prop plane.  Maybe it took this vaca for some in my surroundings to realize that, because I’m not talking, or simply being quiet, does not mean I want or need to be talked to...and if after this physical vacation I needed a mental one, too, it makes me think I'm not the first and it won't be my last.

Good health in filth

How quickly things change from bad to good and vice versa.  I could give a million examples but I'll cut to the quick: I was able to receive my vaccines in April and earlier this month.  I'd have gone anywhere to do this, but what worked out for me was the infamous Ralphs on Sunset.  It was a go-to market for me in my Hollywood days in the early to mid 00's, and creator of many tales.  And, for a while, that stretch of Sunset was "Rock n Roll" for everything in title with it being east of the Strip, but with Guitar Center and many similar shops nearby helping give that moniker.  At the time, it was merely a nickname, but it was the clientele that enhanced its nuttiness.

I couldn't tell you when I was last in this place - maybe 16 years?  Just arriving back to that part of town was a rush of memories.  It was late, wandering nights.  It was occasions where I was one of the folks closing down El Compadre.  And it was the Filthy Falk himself, stumbling in and out of many bars and apartments.  The very definition of a functioning alcoholic, he agreed that central AC was important over the summer, as was a pool.  The rest did not matter.  When I say "the rest," I mean it.  And in this area, I can think back to him:

Getting kicked out of multiple bars, all before midnight.

Falling face-first on the sidewalk in a drunken haze.  Before an ambulance could show up, he rode the 3rd rail home and then ate 2 cans of Chef Boy-ar-Dee.

Him drunkenly buying 3 hot dogs (with ketchup, mustard and mayonnaise) eating one, and then throwing two simultaneously at another apartment's parking garage door...and the hot dogs sticking sideways in place.

Myself, driving home and thinking a wino was sleeping in the floral arrangement in front of my building, only to discover it was ol Filth himself, having some trouble standing up.

Some of those thoughts, and others, were clouding me as I parked and walked inside.  The Ralphs had now installed a giant mural reading "Rock n Roll" leaning into this experience, and had altered the lighting to match.  Both times, there I was in a room off a very small pharmacy, getting a shot to help bring my immediate society somewhat closer to the old days.  And I'm thankful.  As a location, it's large, it has a lot, and it's a touch dumpy.  That's a rather good summary of where I lived that year and the neighborhood in general.

In my youth, once I had the chance I altered between my living area surrounded by niceties and wanting to be where the action is...because at that price, I could only have 1 or the other.  It wasn't much longer I realized that you should aim more toward the former than the latter...but when hitting the town is your default plans, why would you think otherwise?