Wednesday, August 30, 2017

Back in the Day.

When I was a kid my dad gave me a book about the history of Stone Mountain, Georgia (the mountain, not the town). I ignored most of the book because it was obsessed with the fucking carving that now blights it. But what I did like about it were the many photos of the mountain before it was violated by that stinking carved monument.

Somewhere along the way I lost that book, and I wish I still had it just to see those photos. Because the mountain was beautiful in those days. I recall there was a series of photos showing the initial dynamite charges being set off to straighten out the bulge of the cliff face to facilitate the obscene picture that now mars the mountainside. Even as a kid those photos made me want to vomit.

I don't know why the mountain became a center for Klan activity and white nationalism. Maybe it was because the man who owned the property was also a piece of shit and invited them in. I sincerely don't know (and don't care).

At any rate, it's hard these days to find photos of the mountain pre-carving.

Here are a couple for those of you who might be interested.

I vividly recall the first time I went to see Stone Mountain. They were still working on that goddamned carving. My dad and I were standing at a viewing platform below looking up at the schmucks carving rock. I turned to my dad and asked, "Who are those three guys in the carving?"

And my dad answered, "Just three goddamned assholes who don't amount to a pile of cow shit."

Some nearby people glared at my dad but didn't say jack shit.

One of the largest granite monoliths on Earth. Almost 900 feet from base to summit.

Monday, August 28, 2017


Today is Jack Kirby's 100th birthday!
Jack Kirby, the single greatest creator in the history of the comic book art form. The list of the characters his mind produced for various comic book companies boggles the mind. He conceived them, he wrote their stories, and he brought them to life in illustrated sequential format.
Keep in mind that he never had a "co-creator" with the sole exception of one of his business partners (Joe Simon). The so-called "co-creator" often linked to his name was a salaried no-talent company shill who existed only to enable a corporation to steal Kirby's intellectual property.
The fact that Kirby was able to keep producing amazing stories for children and young adults even as he was being robbed is the evidence of his willpower and his love for his family and his fans.

Kirby, the Creator.

Thursday, August 24, 2017


I've never understood filmmakers who want to either recreate or follow a movie that is already perfect. (Or, for those who think there is nothing that is perfect, a truly excellent film.)

One of my favorite films is BLADE RUNNER, the 1982 production starring Harrison Ford, Rutger Hauer, and Sean Young. It is one of the few movies that I feel is about as perfect as they make them. Based on Philip K. Dick's novel, DO ANDROIDS DREAM OF ELECTRIC SHEEP, it takes the premise of that book and bends it to appeal to what was then modern sensibilities. It of course takes liberties with Dick's novel, but retains the seed that Dick intended. (I know this because PK Dick approved of the movie which he saw shortly before it was released and just before he died.)

The movie, to me, is a classic. Ford is used to great effect even though he is not--in my opinion--a very good actor. Rutger Hauer turned in what may be the best performance of his career portraying the child-like android, Roy Batty who is the leader of a small group of escaped "replicants" (artificial humans); and whose existence places him as a kind of Christ-like figure. The rest of the cast similarly give us amazing turns. Again, Sean Young as Rachel--a replicant who doesn't know she is not human--never looked better and never again turned in an acting job like that one. Small character roles like M. Emmett Walsh as a corrupt police captain, and Hy Pyke as Taffy Lewis, the sleazy owner of a drinking/prostitution establishment turn out pure performances and unforgettable voices and exposition. Joe Turkel is unforgettable as Eldon Tyrell. James Hong as Hannibal Chew. William Sanderson as J.F. Sebastian. Every actor was chosen brilliantly and directed to perfection.

Even the music (by Vangelis) is inspired. The direction is flawless. The script polished to a dark and horrific onyx.

The movie is, to me, as good as it gets. And yet, when I research the production of the film, I realize that it was saved as much as what ended up being left out of the storyline as by what was revealed onscreen. Scenes were eventually excised that would have ruined the movie. Further research has led me to conclude that studio executives who obviously had some amount of insight used a heavy hand to reign in the director, Ridley Scott. Putting lie to the idea that officious high-minded pricks are always a bad thing when it comes to creating art. In this case it seems that they saved a film rather than hindered or ruined it.

Since BLADE RUNNER is just about the best movie I've seen--and easily the finest genre film I've watched--I wonder what has possessed the money men to create a sequel. The best that they could hope to achieve, artistically, would be to equal the flawless original. And the chances of that are almost zero. So, given that they likely cannot even meet the quality of the first movie, why bother to make what will probably be considered a bland and lifeless movie when compared to the living, gleaming creation that was revealed to the public in 1982? It's as if they're courting disaster not just critically, but economically, also.

I don't think I'll watch the sequel. I won't even mention it by name. I just don't trust the odds that the talent and the pure chance and accident that created the merit of BLADE RUNNER can possibly be repeated.

Sean Young as Rachel: image of perfection.

M. Emmett Walsh as Bryant.

Joe Turkel as Eldon Tyrell.

Hy Pyke as the sleazy Taffey Lewis.

Wednesday, August 23, 2017

Falls Park, Greenville, South Carolina.

I have visited a lot of urban parks. Lots of cities have amazing downtown parks. Of all of such parks I have visited (in places like New York City, Atlanta, Chicago, etc.) the best one I have ever walked is Falls Park on the Reedy River in downtown Greenville, South Carolina.

The centerpiece of this park is the amazing waterfall on the Reedy River. For many decades this waterfall was hidden by a bridge that had been constructed in such a way that it was almost impossible to view the waterfall. In addition, the area was surrounded by light industry and warehouses and the neighborhood was decaying and unpleasant. The only people I knew in the 90s who were aware of the waterfall were people who obsess with visiting and photographing waterfalls of note. They would find a place to park their vehicles and then scramble down the weed-choked banks to creep under the bridge to take their photos and then beat a hasty retreat.

Fortunately, the City of Greenville had some far-sighted citizens who worked to change the sad fact that all of this beauty was hidden and otherwise blighted. Beginning in 1967 these people began to work to change things. The Carolinas Foothills Garden Club started the process by reclaiming 26 acres and worked with Furman University, and the City of Greenville to begin improvements. As the years and decades passed the park began to form and in 2002 the Camperdown Bridge was finally removed, allowing citizens to once again see the falls.

Millions of dollars in donations and tax levies later, the Falls Park is an absolute delight to see and experience. There are trails, a unique pedestrian bridge that allows unparalleled views, gardens, monuments, and lawns. All around the park retail and restaurants, hotels and real estate have flourished. Having visited Greenville in the past before the park was created, and today, I can say that I have never seen an urban area more rewarded and invigorated by something as simple as the establishment of a park.

But this is no ordinary park. It is, in fact, worthy of being a vacation destination. One can spend a day or two moving just around the park and its periphery and the place will never fail to excite.

If you've never visited Falls Park, I highly recommend a trip. If you have, then you don't need me to tell you how great it is or that you need to return. You've probably already revisited it many times.

The author of the experience.

This old warehouse/factory was re-purposed to dramatic effect.

Roots of a tenacious beech tree.

The Falls for which the park was created.

The unique curved suspension pedestrian bridge.

Wonderful infrastructure everywhere you look.

Typical scene around the falls and river.
For the people.

"Let's go back!"

Wednesday, August 16, 2017

Can't Tear It Down? Legislate It Away.

Growing up I lived in four places: Brunswick, GA; Atlanta, GA; Macon, GA; and Ellijay, GA.
Brunswick, Macon, and Atlanta were all majority African-American. (And still are.) But there are Confederate memorials on public property in all of them. Atlanta has the most wide-spread of these things. I mean, hell...the entire freaking city is a Confederate Memorial. My home town, Brunswick, has the least presence of such memorials. There is one that I know of, and it's really obscure and isolated that it's not really very objectionable. As far as I know it's the single such memorial in the city.
Ellijay was not merely majority white--it was 100% white. And as I recall they also merely had a single Confederate memorial; which is really weird because that part of GA refused to support the Confederacy and instead sided with the Union. But it's also the most virulently racist place I ever lived so I reckon they figured they'd best have a monument to the Confederacy.
At any rate, I wonder why any city with a majority of black voters would put up with this shit.
And here is Stone Mountain, GA. It is not technically Atlanta, but is nearby, and is home to the most vile of the Confederate Monuments. It should be scrubbed off of the mountain. I'm sure it could be accomplished without blasting.

Sunday, August 13, 2017

Two in a Row!

I watched two films this week and liked both of them. Yeah. I know. Completely unheard of.
My son came over last Sunday and we looked through a host of trailers trying to pick out a film that we thought would be fun. We settled on COLOSSAL. It stars Anne Hathaway and Jason Sudeikis. Now, I have to say I have never been too keen on Hathaway. I tried to watch a couple of her chick flicks with my wife but I just couldn't handle them--ephemeral and cheesy.
However, this movie was really good. She turned in what I can only say was an excellent performance, and frankly I've never found her so attractive. Yeah. We dug this one.
The film has a really superficially silly plot of a giant monster appearing in Seoul (a "kaiju" for the geekier among us). As the film progresses the heroine realizes that the monster's movements correspond to her own. Interesting.
Then another monster--a giant robot--appears and its movements correspond to those of Jason Sudekis who plays a bar owner who is obsessed with Hathaway.
From there, the film remains an interesting read of Hathaway's character and her interactions with the various male players (there aren't really any other females in the film). There turns out to be a reason and a cause for the monsters and their connections to the two leads, but it's of course silly, but you know what? Giant monsters are silly.
The underlying themes of the film are deeper than that, of course, dealing with relationships, obsessions, addictions, and--more or less--feminism and independence.
We both enjoyed it.

The other movie I watched was THE ARRIVAL. It stars Amy Adams (who i rather fancy) and is about aliens suddenly appearing on Earth in vast ships that have stationed themselves at twelve spots around the planet. Adams plays one of the world's leading linguists who is recruited by the military to try to communicate with the aliens, which she finally does.
Jeremy Renner--another actor I admire who seems to be somehow stuck in action and superhero flicks--portrays a physicist also recruited to try to break the code that will allow humans and aliens (eventually called 'hexapods') to talk to one another.
Over all this hovers the threat of military violence from several of the other nations who have found themselves as parking spots for alien craft. The two scientists have to figure out how to talk to the aliens before it is too late and before anxious military types start shooting.
Woven into all of this is the recurring back-story of Adams' daughter who died of some type of rare disease years before the events with the aliens.
I found the film to be entertaining, and it has a decent--and appropriately subdued--moral message. And of course there is a rather sweet twist that takes place at the end of the film which had a good romantic, and hopeful, development.
I rather liked it.
Not only didn't these movies piss me off, I had a good time watching both of them.
I think I'm going to run out and buy a lottery ticket before my luck runs out.

Friday, August 11, 2017


Over the years I watched the gentrification of Charlotte NC's economically depressed inner city. For whatever reason it was done--logic, profit motive, real estate development, etc.--I had a front-row seat as a letter carrier. I would deliver mail in places where gunshots were a common background noise, drug deals were open and going on in plain sight, police crime scene tape was like a bright yellow Easter decoration on every block. Fights and screams and threats of violence was something you tuned out and walked through; garbage was piled high from time to time, and stray mutts ran loose while trained attack dogs were chained in about one of of every three yards.

Despite the crime, these neighborhoods were gorgeous. Hilly streets. Enormous hardwood trees everywhere. And even the poverty of the then-current owners and renters could not hide the former beauty of most of the faded old homes that had been built when these neighborhoods were where the people with higher paying jobs had once lived.

And then...poof! The investors came in and started buying up the houses. If the homes were rentals, the new owners waited until leases were done and did not renew. Once the tenants were gone they boarded up the structures until 50-75% of the neighborhoods were vacant. They bought apartments and multi-family units and knocked them over.

After that...the Yuppies moved in. They fixed up the old houses and turned them into attractive and now high-dollar properties. Lawns were seeded and maintained. Flower gardens were planted. Street lights were repaired and replaced. The police were suddenly present as smiling security and not as brutal enforcers. New buildings sprouted where the low-rent apartments had once stood. Nice shops, neighborhood bodegas, boutiques, restaurants--all of these appeared.

It only took, on average, about six years or so for these various neighborhoods to be transformed from poor to middle class. All are easily accessible to downtown Charlotte. The old cars that once rattled around the streets were suddenly replaced with shining, new sedans--Lexus, Mercedes-Benz, Infiniti, Audi--in freshly paved driveways and on roads gleaming with newly pressed asphalt.

Where did the poor go? In the most massive part of the irony of it all, the white flight that had been from urban to suburban has been reversed. The poor blacks, Hispanics, and Asians I once delivered mail to are now in those suburban houses where the white folk had retreated a few decades back. They just switched places, like a tide ebbing and flowing, but populations being moved by the gravity of money instead of the Moon.

Recently I took a drive through several of the old neighborhoods where I used to deliver mail. These were places many letter carriers couldn't wait to move out of because of the crime and poverty and the labor of avoiding dog bites and dodging bullets (but where I worked for about twelve years). Now, sparkling with safety, not much breaks the silence. All we saw were a few kids riding their bikes and some young moms pushing baby strollers. And the rambling ranch houses one could have bought for $30K in 1995 when I started carrying mail? A lot of them are still there, but you'd hardly recognize them with poured concreted driveways, second-floor additions, fresh paint, and $700K price tags.

Nothing moves humans like the power of cash. Or lack thereof.

Tuesday, August 08, 2017

Comic Book Sales and Emotionally Retarded Adults

A lot of people are talking about the death of the printed comic book today. Many blame the price. I haven't bought a new comic book in many, many years so I wasn't sure how much one costs. Apparently it is between $3.99 and $4.99.
So. How does that measure up to a ten cent comic book published in 1960? As near as I can figure (from Internet sources) ten cents had a modern value of $1.25. So back then a new comic cost that much--a buck-twenty-five. Yeah, that's a lot less than four or five bucks.
But is it just the price of the comic itself that is killing sales? Back in 1960 there were comic books that sold near, or over, one million copies per month. Walt Disney Comics and Stories, Superman, Batman, etc. Also, there were more comic book publishers selling lots of titles back then.
Therefore, it must be more than just the price that is killing the comic book industry. And as I noted many years ago that reason is that kids don't read. I mean, they just don't. Face it. 99.99% of kids would rather watch TV or play a video game than take the effort to read a comic book. Sure, many parents are going to balk at paying $4 for a goddamned comic book about superheroes. But it's not just that. If a kid wanted a comic book, hundreds of thousands of parents would buy them some.
It is no trouble to conclude that something else is going on and that thing is that kids don't want any damned comic books. The reasons for that are many, but when you get right down to it, I just have to repeat--kids don't read.
The number of readers in general is growing slimmer every year. It's not just kids. But we see in these new generations of children what will be heading down the pike in years to come. No kids reading comics equals no adults reading anything beyond food labels and directional signs in a couple of decades. Switching to electronic comics isn't going to help, either. Because people who download electronic literature tend not to read that stuff. Yeah, they pay for the downloads, but then they rarely read them. At some point people are going to stop downloading ebooks because the only reason they bothered to take that step is because of some advertising and perhaps some peer pressure from the couple of people they know who do read.
The printed comic, like the printed book, is going to vanish soon. There won't be any comic book stores just as we see book stores fading like rotten fruit on the vine.
Are comic books too expensive? Maybe. But if no one but a few thousand emotionally retarded adults (which pretty much describes the current audience of superhero mainstream comics) read them, the format is already doomed.
Unless kids start reading again, and unless the comic book market place branches out and produces material other than superhero stuff and nihilistic violence aimed at those same emotionally retarded adults, then very soon there will be no comic books to read. Wave goodbye to what may in fact be the only actual USA-inspired art form: the periodical printed comic book.
Where's my vomit emoji?

Saturday, August 05, 2017

Today, Tomorrow, Forever.

One of my son's childhood friends died a couple of days ago. I had not seen Jacob in several years--not since the CD and DVD exchange store he managed closed it doors and I no longer had a chance to stop there to talk with him about music and movies. Even Andy had not seen him in over a year, and once upon a time when they both were teenagers and then high school graduates it seemed Jacob was at our house as often as not.

Jacob died of a drug overdose--heroin.

He was a great kid and we always liked to see him around. Jacob seemed level-headed and responsible and had a good job both before he graduated high school and after. There never seemed to be a time when he was not smiling and never a moment when he was around that he didn't make everyone else feel happier. In brief, he was a very nice person and we were always cheered to see him come walking through the door with Andy.

I have no idea what made him take heroin. It makes no sense to me, nor did it to Andy--but who knows what drives a person? Perhaps it was depression? I honestly cannot tell you.

The memorial service today was overflowing. Easily 300 people. The folk running the service barely had enough space to provide everyone with parking.

Carole and I arrived for the service and immediately I became depressed, recalling what a nice young man Jacob had always been. And of course there is nothing on Earth so heartbreaking as seeing a mother who has lost a child. Mothers are not supposed to live to see their children precede them in death and when I see it I always am filled with despair.

I like to think of myself as a stoic. Sometimes I think I would have made a good Brit. Stiff upper lip and all that, you know. That's me. I try to keep most of my emotions at bay, especially despair and grief. Anger, I can handle--and sometime welcome. But sadness is not my old friend and I try to keep him far away. But today...seeing Jacob's mother in the throes of complete misery, I had to admit that bastard sadness into my life. Despite my best efforts to hold it in, seeing my own son in tears over his old pal fleeing this life, and memories of Jacob's ever-present smiles and laughter, I could not forestall those tears, either. They came, even if I hadn't seen that boy in several years. He had been a part of my own son's life for so long that I could not help it.

Jacob was 31 years old. Yes, a man of course, but my memory of him was as a kid a little older than my boy. The snuffing out of his brief life is a tragedy, and I cannot imagine what his mother has been enduring the past few days and what she must endure for the rest of her life.

Several people spoke. His older brother, his minister, his girlfriend. They talked about how happy he made them. But his younger brother also spoke, and he was bitter and angry. He had not known his older brother who had loved him so and had made him laugh so hard was tormented with a drug problem. Few, apparently, were aware. And this kid brother admitted his anger toward those who knew and did not tell others, who did not help.

Maybe that anger will help see him through all of this. I hope so. Whatever gets you through the night, my friend.