The Plague

Contrary to popular belief (at least where I work), I am convinced that weekends and vacations are an essential part of health and wellness. And by "weekends", I mean "Saturdays and Sundays where you do NOT work at the office". And "vacations" are times where you travel to someplace exotic and don't even think about your job.

My friends have heard me talking about how badly I needed a vacation for a couple of months now. I fully intended to take one as soon as there was a break in the workload. And since my work typically ebbs and flows, I figured I'd be flying south for the winter shortly after the first of the year.

But then there was another assignment. And then another. No lulls at all. As a devoted employee, of course I continued to report to the office, work over the weekends, and defer my time off, even as my body deteriorated under the non-stop stress. Well, it doesn't take a Carl Sagan to figure out what happened next...one week before I was scheduled to finally get a break, I collapsed under the weight of a brutal cold.

The good news is that it wasn't the flu, so there was no gastric distress associated with my decline in health. I didn't have a fever, nor did I lose my appetite. I was merely afflicted with a clogged head, occasional sneezing and coughing, and a wildly fluctuating temperature regulation system. But the worst part was the total depletion of energy and the complete loss of higher brain functions. I essentially became a zombie -- incapable of anything but stumbling around, moaning, and eating.

And sleeping. Lots of sleeping.

I had a long to-do list for the weekend, which included both work and personal tasks. But once the cold kicked in and the mind shut down, it was fruitless to even try to think of productivity. Life became a blurred sequence of moves from the bed to the couch, from being cocooned in blankets to standing immobile in front of the refrigerator. My grand plans for exercise, creativity, and socialization were replaced by stoic acceptance that watching Hogan's Heroes was probably going to be the highlight of my day. The insides of my ears itched in places Q-tips couldn't reach, and emptying my skull into a kleenex provided only about 10 minutes of relief before the process had to be repeated. The hours crept by in a fog, leaving 2 1/2 days of my life tallied up squarely in the "wasted" column.

OK, that may be a bit of an exaggeration. I did manage to balance my checkbook, file away my tax return folders, and even finish reading an entire library book. But regardless how productive you can force yourself to be between naps, it's impossible to feel a real sense of accomplishment when you're entire weekend world consists of an area less than 20 yards in diameter and your slumber hours outnumber those of wakefulness. Yes, no matter how you juggle the numbers, this weekend was wasted. Sigh.

But the good news is that I'm recovering quickly, and I expect to be fully functional as the workweek begins. Of course, I'll have to somehow figure out how to make up for that downtime; chores remain undone and calories remain unburned. I have groceries to shop for, oil changes to administer, and laundry to do. In fact, I should probably burn my current sheets and hose down my entire condo with disinfectant, just to make sure this disease is well and truly extinct. So...it could be a busy week. I hope to have many exciting accomplishments to share with you in the next few days, so stay tuned. In the meantime, try to avoid anyone who sounds the least bit sniffly, and have a great day!

A Moment of Reflection

I don't think of myself as a whiny person, but I guess I am. I suppose it has something to do with being introverted; since I don't talk to people all that much, I probably start most conversations with whatever's on the top of my mind. And lately, those mind-top subjects are mostly tied up in things that have been frustrating me. Regular readers will recognize many of those topics, since they've been discussed here multiple times. You know -- stuff like Commies in Congress, idiots who don't use their turn signals and go slow in the fast lane, and Middle East dictators who don't gracefully step down and turn their countries over to the wise and benevolent folks who create SuperBowl commercials. And oh yeah, my running.



Thank goodness I have wonderful friends who tolerate my grumbling, and sometimes even offer insightful feedback. The other day when I mentioned my most recent struggles with my stride, one of my runner friends held up a hand to pause my monologue and asked, "So why DO you run?"

"Huh?"

"C'mon, Terry, you're always complaining about how hard running is, and how you always get hurt, and how much you suffer every time you lace up your shoes. Why in the world do you keep doing it? There are plenty of other ways to exercise."

"Um, well....ummm." I knew I had an answer for the question, but I couldn't immediately articulate it. And of course, any time I can't immediately spew an opinion about something, it sends me into deep introspection. Why do I run?

The first answer that popped into my head was that it's a good way to burn calories, and with my deep affection for both chocolate and pizza, I absolutely require an effective calorie-burning outlet. Swimming doesn't do it, since nature has seen fit to settle upon the "whale" shape as the default aquatic form. And strangely enough, watching TV and reading science fiction novels doesn't really strip off the pounds, either.

But let's face it, I could do all sorts of other exercise to burn calories. I could ride bikes, climb stairs, or toss medicine balls around. I could go for long walks. I could take a jazzercise class. I could also choose to eat less, I suppose...but if we succumb to that kind of thinking, then the terrorists win.

No, it's clear that it's not just about calories. There are other reasons I continue to pursue a sport that I'm so clearly not suited for. For one thing, many of my closest friends are runners. They inspire and motivate me, and often urge me (or at least invite me) to join them in their exercise. There are social benefits, then, as well as the cardio-vascular ones. I may not enjoy running all that much, but I seem to like runners. In fact, behind swimmers and Star Trek aficionados, runners tend to be the finest people there are.

I know what you're thinking -- I could hang out with runners without needing to subject myself to the various tortures involved in slapping feet to pavement. So there must be more. Oh sure, there's the philosophy of the book "Born to Run", which states that humans are built for running, and that it's a natural thing to do...and therefore should be pursued for the pure anatomical rightness of it.

But I could be a mutant. There is ample evidence that I'm not quite "normal". In fact, when I mentioned to one of my friends that I was reading a book on flying saucers, she said "Nobody else is like you." I think she meant it to mean something along the lines of "Dude, you are egregiously mentally irregular", but I interpreted it as a compliment, as in "You are a unique and special individual." So, it's not inconceivable that I am not one of those humans who was born to run, but instead am involved in the sport for another reason entirely. I'm going to blame it on the Boy Scouts.

Somewhere in my youth, the "Be Prepared" motto took on attributes above and beyond keeping a first aid kit in the car and knowing how to start fires without matches. I got the idea that being prepared also means that a person should be ready to use self-propulsion to save himself if his car broke down outside of town, or if he ends up being chased by a rabid wolverine. Therefore, it has always seemed to me that a person should be able to run, at least a moderate amount. And therefore I guess I feel a bit of guilt every time I think of giving up on running. I'd be a disgrace to my old uniform, wouldn't I?

Besides, there are occasionally moments of triumph and inspiration that make it easy to keep going. In fact, last Saturday I was struggling to finish the last mile of my run when I passed a woman running in the other direction. Her legs were flailing wildly and her arms were swinging like a palsied gorilla. My friend Kristen noticed her, too, and turned to make a comment to me. "Hey," she said, "at least your form is better than hers!"

So, as long as I'm not the most horrifyingly hideous runner on the road, I guess I have to keep going, don't I? And besides, it gives me something to write about besides flying saucers. But more on that topic later. In the meantime, I'll try not to whine too much. And you have a great day!

President's Day

Once you get past the obvious choices of Ronald Reagan and George W. Bush, people tend to diverge a bit when asked to name their favorite President. Some will prefer George Washington for his firm "Death to Cherry Trees" stand against environmental wackos. Some will choose Chester Alan Arthur because he has the same first name as the Cheetos mascot. Some admire Thomas Jefferson the most because of his fondness for his devoted wife, "Weezie". And still others will pick Ben Franklin, Winston Churchill, Bill Gates, or Arnold Schwartzenegger...which can probably be blamed on tightwad taxpayers for underfunding our public school system.

And of course, a number of people will choose their favorite President based on the coolness of his hat.



Actually, most of today's schoolkids couldn't care less about Presidents, except for the fact that they get out of school to celebrate the old dudes. But it makes me wonder; do people in other countries get days off school to honor their past leaders? Do Mongolians celebrate "Genghis Khan Day"? Do the Rooskies have a "Tsar's Day"? Do Australians celebrate the founding of Botany Bay?

I do not know. And yes, I do blame low taxes for my ignorance. Let's fix this, people—After all, can you name any problem in this country's history that has not been solved by throwing massive amounts of money at it? I didn't think so.

Anyway, since this blog is aimed at entertainment in addition to education, I thought I'd take a quick poll about Presidents. But since the mainstream media adequately covers real Presidents, I thought I'd ask about the Commanders in Chief that somebody just made up.

So...who is your favorite Fictional President?

The leading candidates probably have to include "Dave", whose most appealing qualities are that he gets to hang out with Sigourney Weaver and has a Jean-Luc Picard lookalike for his VP. Of course, slimy chrome-toothed aliens have also been known to hang out with Ms. Weaver, so that may not be a real vote-getter. And it's not like Dave actually does any cool presidential stuff. Balancing budgets? Exposing political scandals? Yawn and double-yawn.

So, if Dave isn't your guy, perhaps you want a President who flies jets, shoots at the stinkin' aliens, and cranks out inspiring speeches before jetting off into the skies to nuke the saucer people. He may not be quite as swashbuckley as Harrison Ford in "Air Force One", but Bill Pullman does a surprising good job of saving the world through careful application of diplomacy.

Nah, I'm kidding. There's no reason to use diplomacy when you can open up a can of good ol' Randy Quaid!

But if you want to talk about serious annihilation, you can't do better than "Dr. Strangelove", wherein the entire earth explodes. It's not really the President's fault...though I would say that it's Peter Sellers' best non-Clouseau performance. Serious film scholars would probably want to contrast this fictional President with the one played by Henry Fonda in "Failsafe", which is essentially the same movie, only without the emphasis on the evils of fluoridation. Seriously, watch "Strangelove" and "Failsafe" back to back sometime...preferably right before an election.

Feel free to send me your own suggestions. When you start to seriously ponder the question, you realize just how many fictional Presidents there have been over the years. And nearly all of them are more upstanding and admirable than any of the real ones. So for my choice, I decided not to go with a cigar-smoking swashbuckler, a thoughtful intellectual, or even a song-and-dance man. I made my choice based on the fact that I just like this guy, have admired his performances in many movies, and suspect that I'd enjoy having a drink with him. He just seems like a swell fellow.

That's right—My choice for favorite fictional President is Tommy "Tiny" Lister, in "The Fifth Element". In addition to having the best wardrobe, he's probably the most realistic President in the history of cinema. His job consists of listening to advisors and experts, making tough decisions, and saying all the politically correct things when it comes time to make the follow-up phone calls once the crisis has been averted. Plus, it's a pretty good movie (even though it has Chris Tucker in it).

Anyway, I hope you all had an excellent President's Day, and are looking forward to the next opportunity to close the schools and reminisce about people who may or may not appear on your currency or among the rocks of South Dakota. Have a great day!

The Grinch

If you haven't yet read yesterday's blog and taken your guess at the name quiz therein, please scroll down to do that before reading this entry. Thank you.

The name Boris Karloff was intended to sound dramatic and perhaps a bit scary. It must've worked, because the name "Boris" has been used to represent evil ever since. From Boris Badenov to Boris Yeltsin, the name has been used to strike terror into the hearts of good people, even heroic Americans like the lovable Bobby Fischer.

OK, maybe Bobby Fischer isn't a good example. He's the Randy Quaid of the chess world, I suppose, so I withdraw the comment. But I stand by my assertion that Karloff and the others have succeeded in making "Boris" a name that no upstanding American would ever name their child. It's kinda like what that cartoon mouse did to ruin the name "Mickey".

Anyway, the point is that I feel it necessary to educate people about the misunderstood Mr. Karloff, just as I feel it's imperative to let the current generation of spineless punks know that my generation walked 27 miles to school, uphill, through 3 feet of snow every day, were paddled senseless by heartless and hideous Vice Principals, and learned how to communicate without needing emoticons. (Yes, this rant is probably a symptom of the EOC problem I mentioned a few posts back, but just go with it, OK? Thanks.)

Mr. Karloff was born in England in 1887, which means he was pretty darned old when he portrayed the Grinch in 1966. The good news is that even the youngest generations are aware of his outstanding performance in the Dr. Seuss classic, but the bad news is that very few of them have any knowledge of his rich legacy of film roles from the early years of cinema.

Most of Bad Boris's roles were in the horror genre, with the most famous one being in the original "Frankenstein". People who have never actually seen the film think that he plays a rampaging monster with no feelings or conscience (sorta like Russell Crowe or Lady Gaga). The common perception is that the monster goes berserk from the moment the lightning tickles his electrodes, but the truth is that Karloff plays the role with sympathetic intelligence, and for the majority of the movie has a childlike wonder about the amazing world he has awoken to find. It's only when the villagers mistake him for Hannibal Lecter that he goes all Ferrigno on them. After watching the film, it's hard to look at the monster in the same way; it changes the ideas you may have gotten from Halloween decorations -- Rather than attack him with pitchforks, it would probably make more sense to buy him a beer and recruit him for your rugby team.

But Karloff also played mummies, murderers, zombies, and all sorts of other sinister characters who lisped in a mellifluous British accent. As an actor, he probably had far more range than his filmography would indicate, but he seemed content to play to his sterotype...and did it for 55 years. (Here's a link to the trailer for one of Karloff's more comedic movies. If you watch the clip, pay close attention for the clarinet solo that would greatly influence Peter Frampton more than three decades later.)

Anyway, the fellow's real name was William Henry Pratt.

Here are the others:

A. Marion Michael Morrison = John Wayne
B. William Henry Pratt = Boris Karloff
C. Henry John Deutschendorf Jr. = John Denver
D. Gordan Matthew Thomas Sumner = Sting
E. Edson Arantes do Nascimento = Pelé
F. Archibald Alexander Leach = Cary Grant
G. Cassius Marcellus Clay, Jr. = Muhammad Ali
H. Norma Jean Baker = Boy George
I. Theodor S. Geisel = Dr. Seuss

So here's my question for you to ponder for the rest of the day: Why doesn't anyone name their boy "Cassius" anymore? (Or Marion, for that matter.) I'm also open to discussions of whether Mr. Pratt might've had an entirely different career had he stuck with his original name. And I'd be interested in knowing what alias you'd choose if you decided to become a monster movie actor. Let me know, and have a great day!

Sincerely,
Speed

Time's Fun When You're Having Flies

Much has happened since we last spoke. Turmoil in the land of mummies, freezing cold in Colorado, then warm sunny skies in Colorado, a new season of American Idol, Carmello Anthony being traded to the Mets -- yes, much has happened.

I'm sure everyone's waiting to hear my opinion on Egypt. Well, here it is: It's been a darn long time since there's been a good mummy movie. Yes, I know there are those who like Brendan Fraser, and I suppose "The Mummy" is one of his better films -- but that's still not really saying much. Give me Karloff every time.

So here's today's trivia quiz. What was Boris Karloff's real name? (These are all real people...bonus points if you know their more commonly known pseudonyms.)

A. Marion Michael Morrison
B. William Henry Pratt
C. Henry John Deutschendorf Jr.
D. Gordan Matthew Thomas Sumner
E. Edson Arantes do Nascimento
F. Archibald Alexander Leach
G. Cassius Marcellus Clay, Jr.
H. Norma Jean Baker
I. Theodor S. Geisel

As far as I know, only one of the folks listed above was ever a movie mummy. The others achieved fame via other pursuits. But I don't think anyone's career has ever been hurt by playing a mummy, so I'd highly recommend it to anyone who is looking to expand their resume. If you have a fully-funded mummy movie project that needs a Director, let me know.

Anyway, I'm continuing to work on a crazy proposal, so consistent blogging is still an iffy thing. But I'll try my best to provide the answer to the Karloff Question tomorrow. In the meantime, please think about how a regime change in Egypt might affect the rampaging mummy population...and have a great day!

Am I Suffering from EOC?

I'm beginning to suspect that I'm falling victim to Early Onset Curmudgeonhood. EOC is an ugly disease, causing vital young people like myself to become ornery and cantankerous, and to behave like crotchety old people. Its symptoms include rants about whippersnappers, rambling stories about how things were "back in the day", and the tendency to predict armageddon by attributing society's decline to current youth fashion trends and popular music.

Curmudgeonhood normally occurs when a person reaches advanced age. This is a period where daily activities consist solely of reading obituaries, eating mashed potatoes, and chasing neighborhood kids off your lawn. The curmudgeon is generally a person who has long since retired from an industry that no longer exists, who listens exclusively to music recorded by dead people, and who wears pants that buckle above the navel.

I do not yet fit that definition. I'm decades away from retirement, for one thing. And if it weren't for statutory requirements to the contrary, I would rarely even wear pants, much less buckle them above the navel. I don't have a lawn, and I am still totally hip to the latest trends in music, like Ricky Martin, Milli Vanilli, and Puff Diddley, etc.

I'm a young, happenin' dude. And yet...

I find myself annoyed that they closed the schools today. Why, back in MY day, the only times they closed the schools were when the snow was so deep that even the plows couldn't get through. All we have here today is some zero-degree temperatures and an inch of snow. Zero and an inch? I laugh at such trivial weather. Ha ha!

Seriously, what's wrong with these people? Has our entire society become so wimpy that we're afraid to send our kids to school unless the roads are completely dry? Whatever happened to Nietsche and Darwin, and all the "adversity makes you stronger" philosophies that caused our parents to throw us off the pier for swimming lessons, and toss us into pits of snakes to "toughen us up"?

And then there's this:



Good lord. It used to be that milk was considered to be a healthy food. In fact, an essential food. And now it's appearing on warning labels as a danger to mankind?

It makes me sad, dagnabbit. I think somebody should do a study to see if there's a correlation between the increase in milk allergies and the number of snow days. I bet you that if the nannyfication of our society continues, by the time I'm actually old enough to qualify for curmudgeonhood there'll be warning labels on bananas and apples...and schools will only be open during the two perfect days in the spring and in the fall. It just chaps my breeches, it does.

Oh well, I don't suppose there's anything I can do about it, other than shaking my fist and flapping my gums. So I suppose I'll just go along with the trend; I'll cower under the covers and refuse to go out if there's any hint of preciptitation, or if there's rumors of rogue chocolate about. The best way to avoid bad stuff is to do nothing at all, so let's all get on board with that idea, OK?

Have a great day!