Rambling John

Furs and Zombie First Aid

Oct 082011

I’d intended to post about last weekend a few days ago and now the next one is here already. It was a trip back to the 80s with Sanj at the Keswick theater in Glenside. The Tom Tom Club opened for the Psychedelic Furs. I hadn’t listened to the Tom Tom Club back, although I did enjoy the Talking Heads. I was there for the Furs. Nonetheless, I recognized a few of their songs and the performers looked like they were having a genuinely good time. They closed with Take Me to the River and Psycho Killer to much applause, then the Furs took the stage. Now, they have a presence all dressed in black suits and sporting a decidedly Brit Pop sound. Butler, their lead singed, had moves that made me think of a few Bowie performance I’d seen a decade ago.

All-in-all, a fun show with a highlight that Sanj happened to catch. A number of people, myself included, left their seats to stand in the aisles close to the stage. Some fan-girl reached up and strummed the lead singer’s guitar while he was playing close to the audience. Her reward was the heel of his boot. She wasn’t injured, just appropriately put back in her place.

Sanj observed, and I agree, that the second half of the Tom Tom Club’s performance and the first half of the Furs’ was filled with energy and spot on. It took the Tom Tom Club time to find their groove and once several audience members were dancing in the aisles they fed off that kick it up a notch. The Furs started strong, but the night grew on. The core members of the band are getting up in the years and I think they just got tired toward the end. It’s understandable. I’m willing to cut them some slack.

Although the Keswick has more liberal camera policies than most venues, I didn’t bring my SLR with me – nor my point and shoot. I had only my cell phone. Here are a few obligatory blurry cell phone shots:

Tom Tom Club

Psychedelic Furs

Psychedelic Furs, Richard Butler

In other news, we managed to get our latest release of our “For Zombies” videos produced. Principle photography was shot Sept. 24^th (thanks to all involved) and edited over the week and last weekend. I think we surpassed the first two. The story moves along rapidly. We had more gags and opportunities for gags. Thanks go to Jim for bringing the props and putting up with our abuse. Without further ado, here it is in all its glory:

Christmas Perennials and Madness

Madness No Responses »

Oct 012011

I’ve been waiting throughout 2011 for it to happen and yesterday it finally did. A weather-beaten, sun-bleached Christmas ornament that’s been taunting me for the better part of the year finally dropped like a rotten fruit. I’m getting ahead of myself.

Last November, I moved from the wilds of concrete and strip malls in Northeast Philadelphia to a decidedly greener location in Abington, PA. We looked at homes that were both part of and unrelated to home owners’ associations. I had a neighbor across the driveway from the old place that had a disembodied toilet in their breezeway for several months. I was tempted to go out there and sit on it with a newspaper with my pants at my ankles. I’d plant myself there a few minutes before they’d leave for an early morning greeting and surprise. If this is what HOAs prevent (the toilet, not my sitting on it), then I’m all for it, but they overreach.

My girlfriend and I both agreed that we didn’t want to deal with HOAs after reading several articles about political infighting and the resulting lawsuits. Reading a few HOA rules and regulations documents further solidified our stance. One in particular stood in when it stated that it did not allow the owners to keep more than one cat and/or dog in the residence. You could have one cat and one dog, but not two cats or two dogs. I don’t own any animals, but if I did I would consider having two cats or two dogs so they could keep each other company. It might be possible to circumvent the rules if you had two cats. Who would know? Well, this HOA conducts annual home inspections during May and June. It’s on their charter. The police need a warrant to enter your home, but not the HOA if you sign their covenant.

We ended up at an old renovated house. It has the charm and character of a Victorian with modern amenities. It’s not part of an HOA. While an HOA has the potential to be the source of many migraines, it would not allow for Christmas decorations to be up year-round.

My neighbors across the street hung colorful plastic ornaments in their maple on the front lawn in December ’10. It’s appropriate for the season and gave a bare tree some interest. I had absolutely no objections. January came and so did plenty of snow. The decorations remained into Feb. and, given the frigid weather and record-setting snowfall I still didn’t mind. Then came March, April and May. A contractor lives there. I often see his truck parked on the front lawn. They must have ladder. They surely had one to put up the decorations. Excuses are running thin. Sure, it’s been wet in the Northeast. We’re on track to set a rainfall record for the year, but we have had clear sunny days – and the baubles remain, taunting me.

Leaves grew over covering most of them, but one bold ornament remained in the open. By mid-summer it was weather-beaten, sun-bleached and lost its initial flaming-orange luster. It hung and glinted at me, a reminder of its unseasonable presence. Along came Hurricane Irene and I hoped it would take these round plastic demons with it. We got a puddle of water in the basement. Our roof shingles survived and so did the objects of my growing ire. I was in DC for the earthquake. When I heard that it reached up to the Philly area, I had my fingers crossed that I’d come home to a Christmas-free tree. Two acts of nature and still they hang on.

Is it wrong to hope for a 7.0 quake with the tree as its epicenter? Considering our house is across the street, maybe it’s not such a good idea. Perhaps the ground could open up and swallow the tree. Sadly, I don’t think it’s going to happen no matter how hard I pound the ground. I’d settle for a mini-quake that would just shake those abominations loose.

Yesterday, I was sitting in a rocking chair on my porch enjoying a pleasant evening when I looked up expecting to see the faded eye-sore. It finally fell! I let out a small cry of excitement and triumph. This called for a beer. I saw the neighbor pull onto the lawn as I rocked back in profound satisfaction. He got out of his pickup and walked right past it. No ladder required; just a modicum of effort. I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me that it was ignored. Perhaps it would just sit there until there’s a strong breeze or the next time the lawn is mowed. As much as I complain about these Christmas perennials, their lawn is kept under control. Could I wait that long? I’ve already waited three seasons. What’s another two weeks?

As the night wore on, the temptation to steal across the street and abscond with the round fallen demon grew. A friend suggested taking it and putting it up in my tree as an act of defiance. While that notion has appeal, it would send the wrong message. I don’t want to support this behavior. No, it must be removed. I slept fitfully.

This morning, in light of day, I opened the front door and there it was, sun glinting off the bleached surface. I wasn’t sure if it was of my own volition or if some unholy force compelled me across the street. Before I was even aware, I was walking across the street and picking it up. I cackled like a mad man and quickly silenced myself for fear that they might hear me. Absconding with the object of my desire and hate, I returned inside and presented it to my girlfriend, like a cat bringing a fresh kill to its owner. She had just dressed for the morning and was still drying her hair. While finding it amusing, I’m sure it reinforced her belief that I can’t be left unsupervised.

I present to you my trophy:

By my count, four remain hidden in the leaves. I’m tempted to leave a ransom note threatening to destory my capture lest they remove the rest. I wonder if the hangers-on will be joined by new compatriots and coconspirators plotting to drive mad this Christmas or if they’ll follow suit and drop. Perhaps they’ll simply cling through until they are seasonable once more.

Ramblings About Rumblings

Experiences 1 Response »

Aug 232011

The last few days have been rather eventful.

Friday night I attended the first annual Philadelphia Geek Awards. I had been a resident of Philadelphia until this past November when I moved to Abington, just north of the city. Physical distance and getting through the move has kept me out of touch of what’s been going in town. The City Paper doesn’t find its way to Abington. The Geek Awards brought some fun events and blogs worth following to my attention. I’ll be following the winner of Best New Blog, Drink Philly, and keeping an eye out for the next Mega-Bad Movie Night from the Academy of Natural Sciences. The full list of winners is available at Geekadelphia.

Then it was onward to the filming of “Brewing for Zombies” and “Grilling for Zombies” featuring instructional videos for zombies teaching various hobbies. This is by zombies and for zombies. More on this next month or so after the videos have been released.

This week I’m down in Chevy Chase, MD, for client training. If I walk across the street I’m in DC. At approximately 1:50 pm this afternoon I experienced my first earthquake. Well, that’s not entirely true. In ’73 or ’74, when I was less than a year old, a small quake hit Philadelphia. I’m told it only rattled the pipes in the basement of our house. It may not be my first quake, but it is the first one I can remember. I was on the 7^th floor of an office building in a class room with an overhead projector. The room shook. I thought it was some construction equipment getting pushed around on the floor above, but it was too thorough of a rumble. A few of us stepped outside the room into the hallway. The entire building was shaking. I wasn’t familiar with the layout and it took a few moments to find the stairwell. In a fire, that’s where you’re supposed to be. It’s also supposed to be the most strongly built portion of the structure. If anything stands, that will, right? For some reason, the scene from Predator where Schwarzenegger yells “Get to the choppa!” quickly flashed through my mind. I admit, for a possible last and final thought, that’s pretty lame.

People were milling outside their buildings all over Wisconsin Ave. The quake lasted only thirty seconds. It was already over before I set foot in the stairwell. The ground might have stopped shaking, but my legs hadn’t. I’ve seen plenty of quips online from people on the West Coast looking askance at our seemingly overblown reaction to an East Coast earthquake. If I had lived through (and remembered) more on a routine basis, sure it wouldn’t be a big deal. When you’re struck with the wholly unexpected it has an impact. Is LA prepared to deal with a blizzard dumping two feet of snow? I think not. No doubt, we would scoff at their reaction to it. While in Austin, back in January ’08, the town was hit with an ice storm. They didn’t have any salt and covered the streets with sand. Everything, including the airport, came to a halt. They were as unprepared for an ice storm near the Gulf Coast as we were for an earthquake on the East Coast. Blizzards, I can handle. Earthquakes are another matter.

This afternoon, #DCQuake was trending on Twitter. There was an image of a downed lawn chair introduced with the text: “Shocking images of the devastation after the #dcquake A 5.9 earthquake!”

Granted, there were no deaths or quake-related injuries reported. However, there was some minor damage. A wall collapsed onto four parked cars. Cinderblocks were in the driver’s seat in one of them. It could have been worse. Two spires on the National Cathedral toppled off. It’s located two and a half miles from the hotel where I’m staying on Wisconsin Ave (I checked online for driving distance). The last thing I expect to find online is sensitivity from anonymous online postings. It bothers me more than it should. And the fact that it bothers me stands in contrast to my initial thought referencing Predator. Tomorrow, I’ll probably have another opinion, but tonight, as I write this in my 9^th floor hotel room, the image of the chair doesn’t get a laugh.

Dreaming of Rats

Dreams No Responses »

Aug 152011

Among my friends, I have a reputation for having strange dreams. I don’t recall each one. Most are lost in that momentary twilight haze between sleep and consciousness. Those that manage to float through the fog are vivid and specific – and odd.

While vacationing in Aruba, several years ago now (before Natalee Holloway’s murder), I went for an early morning snorkeling and SNUBA trip. I’m not SCUBA certified, but I wanted to dive. The trip wasn’t long enough to justify a course and testing. SNUBA gave me an opportunity to dive up to 20 feet with only a mask. A long tube connects the mask to tanks on the surface floating on a raft. I met a friendly spiny star fish and a shy octopus nestled among fire engine red coral. It was a fantastic trip and an exhausting one. By mid-day, back at the hotel, I gave into a deep sleep.

Aruban newspapers cover stories from around the Caribbean, including Cuba. Castro was in the news and somehow made his way into my slumber. There I was having a conversation with him. He was convivial while espousing the virtues of communism and arguing against the evils of capitalism and democracy. He poured me a drink, slapped me on the shoulder and offered a cigar as he said, “John, call me Fid!” Strange and bizarre, but there it was. For the record, I’m still a US citizen and a registered voter.

Last night’s dream was just as vivid, but sinister. After my mother passed away a decade ago, I inherited my childhood home and renovated. Out went the 80s wallpaper and popcorn ceiling. I took it down to the studs. When it was done it was no longer my parents’ place. I had made it my own. Last year, back in November, I purchased a wonderful new home and put my old place on the market this past April. Yesterday, I signed an agreement of sale for my childhood house. I’m glossing over a few years in there. That’s not important for this story. I’m willing to compressing a decade into a paragraph to move along the telling is nothing. I’ll squeeze a century into a sentence if it suits me.

Anyway, I dreamed of rats last night. They were crawling through under the floorboards, up the walls and into the book cases. They ate all the books I had ever read. They were still hungry. They crawled into my computers, both old and new. They crawled into my external hard drives. They ate all the photos I had ever taken. They ate all the software I had development for my clients. They ate all the documentation I had ever written for my work assignments. They were still hungry. They crawled into my router and through the fiber-optic cables. They ate my bank accounts. They ate my Facebook page and Linked In profile. They ate my blog and every article I had written. And they were hungry still. They crawled into the minds of everyone I knew. They ate the memories of anyone ever having known me. Hungry still, they crawled in to my own mind and ate my memories. Rats. The only thing left was rats. And I woke up.

It left me shaken. I’m not so bold as to claim that death doesn’t frighten me, but this is about something bigger. This is the fear of forgetting and being forgotten.

I can use this. There’s a short story somewhere in there.

Looking Back at the Muppets

Movies and TV No Responses »

Aug 012011

It’s time to play the music, it’s time to light the lights. And it was time for The Muppet Show at 7:30. It was the time of footie pajamas and Tang, a time of warmth and safety. Sprawled on the carpet, surrounded by Lincoln Logs, Tinker Toys and Legos, I’d be ready for it. The curtain would rise and there was Kermit introducing another episode. Today, I can look back and appreciate that John Cleese and Alice Cooper guest starred, but back then all I cared about was whether or not Gonzo would shoot himself out of a cannon or that the chicken escapes the Swedish Chef’s culinary designs.

The Muppets rode the wave of 70s variety shows that included The Sonny and Cher Comedy Hour and The Carol Burnett Show. It’s a formula that works well for introducing a host of characters including the good-natured Fozzy Bear with his cheesy humor, Animal and his frenetic energy and Miss Piggy who has a heck of a karate chop and undying devotion to Kermit (although I do find her too bossy). Kermit would go on to become one Jim Henson’s most recognizable creations. The lovable green frog opened the subsequent Muppet Movie with a stirring rendition of The Rainbow Connection. If that song doesn’t get you the least little bit choked up, well, there’s nothing I can do for you.

My personal favorite muppet is not a headliner. He didn’t appear in every episode, but I loved every skit where he did appear. The good Dr. Bunsen Honeydew was the source of my early childhood aspiration to be a scientist. The skit would invariably end with his meek, hapless assistant subject to an explosion or some chemical reaction gone awry. The only complaint Beaker could manage was an unintelligible, high pitched plea. He was the perfect subject for various dangerous experiments. If this is science, I’m in! Perhaps this is the root cause of my affinity for super villains. A good friend got me a Dr. Bunsen Honeydew action figure for a birthday present one year. He’s up on a high shelf in my office looking down approvingly as I write. If an unreferenced statement in a Wikipedia article and internet polls are to be believed (and aren’t they?) then I’m not alone in my adoration. According to Dr. Bunsen Honeydew’s Wikipedia entry, an internet poll sponsored by the BBC and the British Advancement of Science Dr. Bunsen Honeydew and Beaker came in #1 for most favored cinematic scientists beating out Mr. Spock by a wide margin.

Explosions, Animal pounding on a drum and Gonzo’s daredevil acts always held my interest. That’s what it took to get the attention of my six-year-old self. Nonetheless, a skit on the show would get occasionally get through that childish filter and make a profound impression. I can still vividly recall two in particular, even now, over thirty years. No YouTube required.

The scene opens with a host of woodland animals in the forest and an opossum singing For What It’s Worth by Buffalo Springfield. There’s a man with a gun over there… And enter the hunters shooting wildly as the animals duck for cover, out of sight. Stop, children, what’s that sound? Everybody look what’s goin’ round… At the end, the hunters come back across the stage bragging about the motorcycle and cement truck they shot. I knew this was about more than a protest against hunting, but I couldn’t put my finger on the real message. I asked my parents and they explained, as best they could to a six-year-old, that making too many roads and builds was bad for the animals. I was made vaguely aware of environmentalism in the late 70s and the seed of conservation was planted. I didn’t join Green Peace and harass whaling ships, but I did grow up with an appreciation for wild places. Today, I contribute to the Nature Conservancy, an organization dedicate to preserving sensitive land from development, and I belong to the National Audubon Society. Several vacations have been spent in our wonderful national parks. I don’t credit this single experience as the root of my love of nature. There were others. Nonetheless, the message was clear. Such is the gentle wisdom of Jim Henson and The Muppet Show.

In another segment, an old heavily bearded muppet in a bubbling science lab is mixing chemicals and drinking samples as he sings Time in Bottle by Jim Croce. With each swig of his formula he gets younger and younger until something goes wrong with the last dose and, in a puff of smoke, he’s his old self again. The concept of old age was nothing new to me. My grandparents on my father’s side lived with us while I was growing up. They were well into their seventies at the time of this particular episode. It is the first time that it crossed my mind that old people might not want to be old. At six, you can’t wait to grow up with all the benefits that age brings – freedom, driving, staying up as late as you want. I hadn’t considered that an adult could desire youth. It cast my grandparents and their friends in a new light. When we would go visiting my great aunt in a nursing home, it became apparent to me why so many of the residents greeted me and lavished so much attention. They desired their youth and I was a reminder of it.

This November, The Muppets is released and I look forward to it. I just hope they’ll let me in the theater with my adult-sized footie pajamas.