A Tiny Owl

Yesterday, Julia texted to ask if I had read FAIR PLAY by Tove Jansson, which Julia said reminded her of SWEET BANANAS. I had read no Tove Jansson at all, though she often came up in ADVENTURE TIME meetings. Here's the thing! Yes, here's the kind of astonishing coincidence you pay me the big bucks to notice. I had just plucked a book by Tove Jansson off the shelf the day before! It was one recommended by both Jimmy and Bill, I'm pretty sure: THE SUMMER BOOK. I read a few pages after receiving Julia's text, and came straight away to "a tiny owl. It was sitting on a branch, silhouetted against the evening sky. No one had ever seen an owl on the island before." It upsets me to think that some of you may not remember how every book I read has an owl in it. In non-owl matters, I was tempted to "blog" yesterday, when McNeil told me about some comic books he had found, detailing the exploits of a group of soldiers called "The Losers." He wondered whether the comics were from the 1940s, then mentioned the cover price of 20 cents, which set my old brain a-chiming! Twenty cents is what I paid for a comic book in the early 70s, I helpfully informed McNeil. I remembered when the price began to have a seemingly cheerful sunburst around it, along with the ominous (if you thought about it) slogan, "STILL ONLY TWENTY CENTS!" (see above). Soon enough, comic books would cost you a cool quarter apiece! Two bits! In the parlance of our goodly ancestors. It was well before comics went up to 30 cents that I eased myself from the coarse habit of haunting the spinning rack at Schambeau's grocery store or Red's Drugs, two now-defunct institutions of Bayou La Batre, Alabama. So I must have stopped reading comics by late 1976, if the internet is to be believed. Yes, I am proud to say I never stooped to buying a 30-cent comic book. This is the kind of stuff I almost "blogged" about yesterday. According to McNeil, one of "The Losers" (I want to say his name was Johnny Cloud - yes! There it is, printed on the cover) purposely destroyed his plane after every mission! It seems wasteful, and maybe I don't have the facts right. I was never into the war comics. As I think we can all agree, I was such a special little man.

Important

I don't "blog" anymore, but sometimes it becomes necessary, for example, when I think about something I "blogged" in 2007. That's when Dr. Theresa and I were so surprised to see wild turkeys standing by the side of the road, which resulted in everyone we knew chiming in to tell us how boring and common it was to see wild turkeys everywhere all the time. On Monday, August 23, 2021, as we made our way out of our neighborhood, conveyed by an automobile of which Dr. Theresa was in command as she kindly shepherded me to a doctor's appointment, we observed five wild turkeys standing by the side of the road.

Strange and Unwitnessed Circumstances

I'm reading the novel DUNE with Kate and Hanna. Sometimes Adam chimes in about DUNE because he read it years ago. He thinks it's funny there's a character named Duncan Idaho. Anyway, today he idly remarked, "Idaho probably means something." I decided to check! And that's when I found out this amazing story I read about on two different general-interest websites so now I'm an expert. It seems as if some guy wandered into a meeting where they were trying to name Idaho. He wasn't even supposed to be there! He pretended to be a delegate from someplace or another. (I am telling this story very loosely. Please do not cite it in any of your accurate historical dissertations.) He was like, "I've got a great name: Idaho! It's a real word and it actually means something cool." And everybody was like, "Whoa! Idaho! I like the sound of it! Who is this guy? I love this guy! Get over here, you!" Then later it turned out the guy was just full of beans. He had totally made up the name Idaho! He said was inspired by a little girl named Ida. But nobody knows for sure. Anyway, you don't believe me? Take a look at the wikipedia page of the guy who claimed to have made up the name Idaho ("click" here). There, now I've looked at three different webpages. What a day! So while I was reading his wikipedia entry I thought, "Holy mackerel! I think I saw a whole movie about this guy starring Vincent Price!" (See above.) But I was wrong. Our guy, George M. Willing, was just a conman pal of the conman played by Vincent Price. I'm not even sure they bothered to make him a character in the movie. Mr. Willing died of "strange and unwitnessed circumstances," the newspapers said.

An Old Carnival Term

It is a universally acknowledged fact that I don't "blog" anymore. But I was watching some of FULL METAL JACKET, a side effect of reading a biography of Stanley Kubrick with Megan Abbott, when what dialogue should chime in my ear but "Where's the wienie?" It's the question of an editor who has just glanced through an article submitted by reporter Matthew Modine. I was reminded at once of another celebrity biography recently read by Megan and myself in an offshoot of our aptly named Doomed Book Club: one about Walt Disney, in which Disney on more than one occasion refers to the "wienie" in much the same way. He is, according to his biographer Neal Gabler, "borrowing an old carnival term" for something that will entice your intended customer "presumably the way a wienie entices a dog." At one point, Walt Disney shouts "It doesn't have a wienie!" at some flustered GE executives, who have "no idea what Walt meant." Of course, we are all familiar with a more common phrase meaning much the same thing: "the hook." Now, why am I telling you this? I'll be honest: I DON'T KNOW! But just look. Lurking behind Matthew Modine - at the very moment when his editor is asking him "Where's the wienie?" - are two Mickey Mouse figurines and one Mickey Mouse head. Coincidence? Yes. It seems unlikely that Stanley Kubrick knew or cared that Walt Disney used to like to go around saying "wienie."

Why Music Boxes Are Creepy

A strangely frequent reason that people visit this "blog" is to search for an answer to that (apparently) eternal question "Why Are Music Boxes Creepy?" I feel bad - guilt-ridden, truthfully - because that old "post" to which they are so often directed (you'd be surprised how many times a day people want to know why music boxes are creepy) is misleading. Some kid had written in to me with the idea that "Maybe music boxes are creepy because they are a purposeless vestige of Europe's aristo-centric period." And I quoted him in that "post" much too approvingly. Of course that's NOT why music boxes are creepy. Nor is this kid's highfalutin statement true in almost any way. Music boxes, for example, aren't any more "purposeless" than anything else. I gave that kid too much of a pass! I was trying to be nice. But now, all these years later, sad people who want to know why music boxes are creepy look to me for answers (several times a day, bewilderingly) and get nothing! And that kid is six years older now, so I suppose he can handle the truth that his big theories are full of beans. People aren't watching a movie about a dark house where a music box starts to play in the dead of night and the hair rises on their arms because they are suddenly reminded of "Europe's aristo-centric period"! Sorry to be so harsh! But you, theorizing kid, are probably at least 28, I'm going to guess, whoever you were, a full-grown adult by now who can accept the facts! I suppose music boxes are creepy because they are light and tinkly, for one thing. Scary noises in literature often start out soft... the rats scratching in Lovecraft, the beating of the telltale heart in Poe ("such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton")... soft music is scary at night... whistling, like in M or THE STEPFATHER... some awful killer is always humming softy to himself as he sharpens his instruments... also, music boxes are meant to be activated by the human hand (might be thought of, in fact, as an "alarm" of sorts... did people place diamonds and gold in them for this reason? Someone else may feel free to research the matter), so if you suddenly hear one in the middle of the night, when everyone is supposed to be asleep, something is wrong... like the record player and the wind-up toys and such in CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE THIRD KIND... music is a human endeavor, and maybe the mechanism IS an unwelcome (creepy?) reminder that our works can go on without us. And of course the kid from the old "post" WAS sort of onto something... in that a music box is a form of entertainment that a ghost might find comforting. Like, "I remember these!" Yes, just the sort of sentimental object to which a poor dead ghost might be attracted... a private, lonely entertainment even in life... so personal, maybe you shouldn't be overhearing it... a box to receive a particular soul... like a coffin... and yes, it IS a voice from the past, with a limited vocabulary. It can play only one thing... over and over... like a ghost... like the obsessive thoughts of a madman... like me... like that dude in MOBY-DICK... and slowing down, little by little... I was having drinks with Lee Durkee and he mentioned how music boxes are always slowing down... Sometimes they wind down unresolved, like life. There's nothing tenser in music than the "suspended fourth"... that's where the power of the music box's creepy cousin the jack-in-the-box comes in... the relationship between suspended chords and suspense. Bach could really leave you hanging, except he always had the luxury of resolving, except when played on a music box, I guess. Lee Durkee also contended that musical selections have something to do with it. "Music boxes don't play 'Turkey in the Straw,'" he said, emphasizing the jauntiness of that hoedown. I'll have to think about that. Is it true? And in any case I suspect "Turkey in the Straw" could be creepy enough on the right music box... Is the similarly bouncy "Pop Goes the Weasel" creepy just because we've heard it on so many dilapidated jack-in-the-boxes? Or is it the disturbing foreknowledge that the weasel is bound to "pop"?... Melodies are messages... pianos play by themselves in movies... half-forgotten snatches... they're trying to tell you something... they can't quite tell it to you straight... what's creepier than an oracle? And when you open a music box, a little ballerina figurine or such often begins to twirl stiffly... we think at once of what Freud said about dolls in his essay on "The Uncanny," but I think that book is in Dr. Theresa's office at the other end of the house and I don't feel like getting up. In conclusion, I apologize to all the people who have read that lazy and erroneous previous "blog" "post" lo these many years. My intellectual cowardice is beyond appalling! Another possible answer is: music boxes aren't creepy. (Illustration: Vera Farmiga looking at a creepy music box in a scary ghost movie we went to see with Chris Offutt. I saw Vera Farmiga checking into my hotel last time I was in Burbank! Sorry I forgot to tell you. I pestered her with fawning and she was real nice about it. She was wearing a stylish hat!) PS One Kris Simmons, whom I know via twitter, has chimed in to say, ha ha! - wait, is that even a pun? Do music boxes "chime"? - "I think it's because they sound out of tune." And she's onto something I hadn't considered! What could be more ghostly than these rusty gears and teeth and coils and knobby spools... still striving, but bent and warped by senescence? I ask you! Remember Edmund Spenser's ghosts with iron teeth... An out-of-tune music box is an echo, touchingly faded and changed... like a ghost... or a reflection... am I too suggestible? But this picture of Ms. Farmiga hints at a mirror in the lid... wasn't that common in music boxes? And aren't mirrors doorways into other worlds...? We just did a whole ADVENTURE TIME episode about that! Do I need to get all GOLDEN BOUGH on you...? So music boxes have little versions of ourselves inside... or else who's looking at what in that little mirror when the music box is playing by itself...? Okay! I'll keep adding more reasons music boxes are creepy. Send your suggestions to CREEPY MUSIC BOX c/o "Writer" Oxford, MS 38655. If you don't think music boxes are creepy be sure to include NOT CREEPY MUSIC BOX on your postcard.

Canned Meatballs and Aqua Velva

I'm not sure Hogan is back home from tour yet, where her copy of the dual autobiography of Jim and Henny Backus (I think; so far it's all Jim Backus, though Henny will chime in about Jim's father's excellent golfing skills, for example) is waiting for her. I promised to go slow... and I'm keeping my promise... I'm only on Chapter Three... but I have a great desire to spill the beans about it, as it's all about Jim Backus's friendship with Victor Mature (pictured), which started when they were in military school together (I think that's where Jim won the big football game). DON'T READ THIS, HOGAN. As teenagers they would throw parties in their dorm room, serving drinks made by mixing lemon soda and Aqua Velva. KIDS! DON'T DRINK AFTERSHAVE LOTION. IT WILL LITERALLY KILL YOU. And anyway they don't put the same stuff in it as they did when Jim Backus and Victor Mature were teenagers so what's the point. When he grew up Victor Mature had his own line of canned meatballs. I confirmed this with an old newspaper article - "click" here to read it - which states that Victor Mature "makes love to movie queens for money and peddles television sets and meatballs for fun." As Jen Vafidis points out on twitter we also learn - information not in the book, so far - that "!! his dog is named Genius II because the first Genius is him !!" which strikes me as playful self-deprecation.

Sick and Blunted, Y'all

I was reading ol' Stephen Holden in the New York Times today, he whose cabaret reviews have baffled and intrigued me with their tortured and ecstatic turns of phrase, whose movie reviews have oft been fraught with dubious cultural assumptions. Today he wrote, "For Ms. Huppert it is the latest in a long line of roles that require her to ooze an imperious hauteur, something she can probably do in her sleep." Though I appreciated what he was getting at (this photo makes a good case for it), I struggled with the phrase. It's my own problem, not Stephen Holden's! I don't like to think of anyone oozing anything in her sleep, especially imperious hauteur. Speaking of turns of phrase, Lee and Larry came over last night to watch Orson Welles's movie FALSTAFF (also known as CHIMES AT MIDNIGHT), and when John Gielgud (as Henry IV) said, "He was but as the cuckoo is in June, heard, not regarded; seen, but with such eyes as, sick and blunted with community, afford no extraordinary gaze," I thought, "Yeah! That's why I got off facebook." I used to think hobos were the original facebook, but there's Shakespeare writing about it so now I don't know what to think! I'm back on twitter, though. Who cares? EXACTLY!

Wind Chime Correction

Hogan says that the wind chimes in question were a gift FROM her grandmother, but were hanging outside Hogan's own bedroom window in Inman Park when they caused all the trouble and made the song get written. And now in gratitude for your patience in this matter, please "click" here to enjoy a great weird wind chime song by the Beach Boys, a song which, if I am recalling correctly, Barry B. loves as much as I do. This long-distance dedication is going out on the airwaves to you, Barry B.!

Everything Is Perfect

Hey! Do you like everything perfect? Sound quality for instance? Then there is probably something wrong with you! Go see a doctor. I was thinking about "Blog" Buddy Kelly Hogan today and how a song she wrote called "Blue and Far" would have been a great Julie London number. And I just found a recording of it on the youtube, but the sound quality is pretty crummy because that's how we did things in 1993 and we didn't care and we still don't! I seem to recall (and Hogan can correct me) that the musical notes of "Blue and Far" came from some wind chimes hanging outside the bedroom where she stayed at her grandmother's house and they kept bothering her until she turned them into a song. Or am I making that up? Who knows? I'm crazy! And here's the gross braggy part: at around the 5:05 mark of the video below, Kelly starts singing a song I wrote! Who cares? Not you! But as far as I know it is the only recording left in the world of this song, so consider yourself an archeologist. PS That is the man from Hubcap City playing guitar! So now I hope you are sated with knowledge.

Meat and Potatoes

Barry B. chimes in on those silent old Super 8 movies we silent old men used to project on our walls when we were silent old children. Part III of our continuing series! Here's what Barry had to say: "One of my favorites was entitled 'Good Old Corn.' It had several segments put together from old Keystone movies. One segment had this guy diving off a pier into the ocean and where he dives is only a couple feet deep. He’s upside down – his head underwater - with his legs kicking forever then the tide pulls out a little and we see him standing on his head then he falls over. There was another segment with a young woman walking an ultra rickety old man (like her grandfather) when a young man comes along and – I believe smarts off to the old man – when suddenly the little old man does this Popeye like transformation (more mental than physical) and starts chasing the young man around and beating him up. There was a big Keystone Kop chase at the end. I think the one I had with Ben Turpin and the pie fight was called Keystone Hotel. One time I got a super 8 from K Mart called The Spider and on the cover there was a spider with a skull head. When I watched the movie it was just a giant spider (with NO skeleton head). I also had a seven minute version of Roger Corman’s The Undead with Allison Hayes, Billy Barty and Dick Miller. The box had a scary cover (like the poster on IMDB). I also had a several minute version of The French Connection that started out with the guy getting shot in the face then it went to the car chase, then the weird ending shot and that was about it. I also had a several minute version of Psycho which had the shower scene – then Perkins running down from the motel (with the subtitle - 'God... Mother... Blood... Blood') then Balsam creeping up the stairs and getting offed, then Miles creeping around and finding 'mom' then Loomis grabbing Perkins, then Perkins sitting there staring at the camera. Just the meat and potatoes. I still have a little film box for Frankenstein Meets the Wolfman – and an Andy Panda cartoon. But I used to rent super 8s from the library – Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, Nosferatu, old Douglas Fairbanks, Laurel and Hardy and Charlie Chaplin. That stuff was awesome. All that Blackhawk stuff. That was an awesome company. Like Ward, I’d show them forwards, backwards and sideways."

Owl Movement

Friend of the "blog" Brian Z. chimes in with the best thing I have ever heard: he once played an owl on stage! Here's the kicker: he did it in COLLEGE. Plus he was "trained in owl movement." Suddenly I love college again.

"I Hope You're Sitting Down"

... was the title of the e-mail in which Phil sent this Jerry Lewis record cover. I was, thank goodness! Because Phil also included a place on the "internet" where you can go and listen to the song and story. In other eating news, New Orleans-born chef John Currence chimes in on the subject of Hubig's pies: "I once fit a whole apple one in my mouth in seventh grade, to try and impress a girl. [Very Jerry Lewisish - ed.] She still doesn't speak to me. I cried when I saw my first one after Katrina. I remember the exact convenience store I was in on Claiborne Avenue. The nice man gave me the pie... Banana is my favorite, but they are hard to find... sweet potato is also extremely good. Put one in the microvave for 15 seconds and it morphs from simply wonderful to transcendent. [Phil agrees. - ed.] I won a big cooking competition in New Orleans last August. When I was done, I had not eaten for about three days. As I collapsed, I was approached by a reporter for the New Orleans paper who wanted to know how I felt after the competition. All I could think was that I was hungry and I told her I would pay a hundred dollars for a hubig's pie I was so famished. She thought it was very funny and put that quote in the story in the paper. A week later, I got a box in the mail from the nice folks at hubig's. In it were 12 hubig's pies, a note of congratulations and an invoice for $1,200."

The Willeford Revival

Looks like everyone is reading Charles Willeford these days. And by everyone I mean McNeil and me. Last night I told McNeil I'm reading PICK-UP, a yellowed, pocket-sized, typo-riddled Black Lizard reprint I picked up years ago in the used mystery section at A Cappella. McNeil (inspired by the "blog," it turns out) is reading THE MACHINE IN WARD 11, a Willeford story collection, which he obtained by his preferred method of the inter-library loan. So, in PICK-UP, the narrator and the eponymous "pick-up" go to a nightclub called the Dolphin. There's a trio playing. "The trio," says the narrator, "consisted of chimes, theremin, and electric guitar." Crazy! I tried to imagine it. It's even stranger than the nightclub with the harp and bongo duet in TEACHER'S PET. Now I want to go to a nightclub! Somewhere with a bassoon, a triangle and a wind machine.

McNeil's "Thoughts I've Been A-Thinkin'"

Email from McNeil. It made me realize we need a feature wherein McNeil dispenses folksy wisdom. Here it is. McNeil writes: "I was thinking about that pic of Rob C. on your blog. Is that all one needs in life? An umbrella, a musket, some sort of basket, and a bit of curiosity? Perhaps. But what about love, Daniel D.? Is that just a myth (as Gordon Gekko notes in Wall Street - and perhaps many other characters in many other works of fiction. Maybe that's something for the Blogketeers to chime in on)?" Okay! Now I will try to find a good, random picture off the "internet" that we can all pretend is McNeil being thoughtful. Some guy smoking a pipe, probably. Or feeding a kangaroo. Or wallaby. Or whatever.

Phil Chimes In

Phil chimes in, confirming McNeil's astute surmise that he (Phil) knows all about Ornette Coleman. As evidence, Phil provides a "link" to a "blog" where there is an account of an Ornette Coleman concert attended and enjoyed by Phil in the city of New Orleans, Louisiana, in the year 2003 A.D. I am starting to think McNeil is right. Are we getting a little Ornette heavy here at the "blog"? I leave you with this, and then Ornette (and YouTube, for that matter - our favorite crutch?) can rest for a spell:

Whorton On Rollers

Jim Whorton chimes in about McNeil's HIGH ROLLERS segment: "Did you notice how at one point, when the contestant starts to use a calm voice, Alex Trebek says 'Don't go quiet on us now, Gene!' That took me back to junior high when I was in the marching band, and getting in trouble simply for not being excited."

"Fave" Lines: Hollywood Chimes In

We have a new "fave" line to report in our continuing series of "fave" lines. Famed Academy-award nominated Hollywood director Mark Osborne writes in to quote Steve Martin's character in DIRTY ROTTEN SCOUNDRELS. Now the line itself, "fave" though it may be, is too filthy to repeat here by the "blog's" exacting standards of prudishness, but we encourage you to rent the film on DVD, VHS, or BetaMax and listen out for the part when Steve Martin explains from which hole in his body "class" is exuded. Then you will know Mark Osborne's "fave" line!

Dear "Blog"

Our recent humble "bloggings" have garnered literally four responses! It's by far the most overwhelming thing we have ever experienced here at the "blog." And now, with our current intern shortage, we won't lie - it's a little hard to acknowledge all four letters individually. But we respect you, our "blog" readers, and we're going to do the best we can to respond to each and every communique. First, Barry B. writes in to note that the Jeep's diet consisted specifically of orchids. Speaking of diets, Jim Whorton was moved by our recent reflection (or "blog"flection, as I like to call it) on lunch boxes of days gone by. He recalls that in 1971 he enjoyed sandwiches of mustard and American cheese, AND sandwiches of butter and sugar, each sometimes carried in his first lunch box, which featured the Hair Bear Bunch (pictured). Meanwhile, the reliable Mr. McNeil reports a flabbergasting coincidence. Yesterday, BEFORE he had read my "blog," with its reference to The Comfortable Chair, he found himself standing at the stove, whipping up a batch of rice, and singing to himself, over and over, "a child walks in the garden"... the refrain, Mr. McNeil informs us, to a song by that very same band, The Comfortable Chair! And finally, the mysterious Ms. "M" chimes in to approve of our approval of THE WIRE. Thanks for writing, everybody! Sometimes I wonder if "blogging" really matters, then I remember the good folks out there.

Jukebox Confession

Our "post" on Penderecki continues to result in an astonishing flood of heartfelt responses. Jeff McNeil chimes in today, moved by Jim Whorton's reflections on the matter. It seems that at age 13, McNeil was dropped off twice at week at Pizza Hut, to bide his time for an hour while his sister was in gymnastics class. His only solace in this repeated abandonment? Playing Aerosmith's "Toys in the Attic" over and over on the jukebox. "I'm one of those people Whorton was talking about," laments McNeil. Lament no more. Here's today's "blogging" tip: It takes all kinds to make the world! McNeil has done no less than provide us with the kind of dialectic upon which the "blog" thrives.

A Poignant Recollection

Mr. Jamie Allen, one of the editors of the quarterly "Duck & Herring Co. Pocket Field Guide," chimes in with Chapter 14 of our series on childhood superhero freakouts and their effect on modern literature. It may be remarked upon with some interest that the autumnal gloom and mystery of Mr. Allen's tale is rivaled only by that of another editor, Mr. Eli Horowitz. What is up with editors? Only time will tell. For now, we turn to the words of Mr. Allen: "There was one [comic book] that stands out in my mind for two reasons. It was a large one, given to me when I was sick, with this magificent cover showing Superman and Shazam facing off - in a fight to the death! The drawing was colorful and the muscles were ripped and I just couldn't understand how Superman and Shazam could fight each other, let alone to the death. This is one reason it stands out; I really liked Superman and could never see him losing any sort of fight, of course, but I also really liked Shazam because he didn't get the respect he deserved in the shadow of Superman, I felt. And so I immediately had a lot at stake in the fight between Superman and Shazam. I think I was using my storytelling brain for one of the first times, because I had all kinds of scenarios worked up before I even opened the thing. And then I opened the thing and it was, you know, the ol' comic book trick where the pictures are not color or even as well drawn. And the storyline just didn't live up to the hype inside my head. This is the second reason I remember this so well. I remember I would allow myself to be fooled by it again and again - I'd see the awesome cover of the comic book, and I'd think, Maybe I missed something? Maybe I wasn't as advanced in my reading the first time I read it? And I would open it again and the same thing - anti-climax." POSTSCRIPT FROM THE "BLOGMASTER": Mr. Allen may be forgiven, considering the rather traumatic circumstances, for forgetting that the character's name is Captain Marvel and "Shazam" merely the magic word he uses to achieve his transformation.