Let's Start Something, or "How I Came To Fear The Metal Cop."

Sometimes I'll use this blog for my own agenda.

As you can see, there are just as many 'item find' posts on here as there are musings from yours truly. 

But we all laugh about them, right?

Despite this blog's infancy, when it began I vowed to keep it free of political agenda. The last thing I want is to upset someone and have them boycott the store because of my beliefs. However, I need to make an exception to this rule. Once. And know that I wouldn't do this unless I felt that it was absolutely warranted. This may seem like a joke. I assure you it's not.

With so much news to follow these days, it's hard to keep up with all of it. Yesterday, I came across an article about a proposed Robocop Statue being erected in Detroit. The article is here if you'd like to read it.

     I felt a little odd after I'd finished reading. I should think this is hilarious, right? It's a story about a group of people whose aim is to create a metal statue in the likeness of a fictional, crime-fighting Robot. So why am I not laughing?

There isn't a single day that goes by where someone doesn't come into this store and complain about the state of things. Gripes about the Economy seem to be the most prevalent topic, but, more specifically, the Economy of Buffalo, New York. And while I generally try to turn the conversation towards the positive aspects of this area, I can't help but agree. When you're surrounded by so many vacant buildings, it's hard to look someone in the face and say, "You're worrying too much." I worry about these things, too, but it has become so common-place that I'm dismissing opinions based not on their validity but because, deep down, I'm sick of hearing them. In truth: I have become disenchanted.  

    
     And this is how Robocop Statue's creep in.

     I spend my day pondering questions: What could I do to change things? Could one of these vacant buildings be turned into a charming Art Space? Maybe one of the various literacy groups could use this old storefront as a centralized hub? Should I, as a concerned citizen, focus more on the rich history and architectural beauty of this area to spike tourism? Or should I convince the working people of this area to donate a portion of their hard earned--and equally hard kept--money into erecting a statue of a fictional f****** character? 

     Because the impact of that is, what, going to revitalize that area? Showcase the resilience of the people living in it? Reflect the character of a population who has continually smacked around and sold out? These areas of American industry are dying, and in a time when we should be putting our heads together and trying to figure out the things we can do to create growth, the populace screams back to build a statue of Robocop?

F*** off.

I don't live in Detroit, but I care about what something like this says to people everywhere. It's says we've given up, and we're tired of trying. So, Buffalo/America/World, I'm going to make this pledge to you now: I'm going to change things. I'm going to get involved. I'm going to find a way to bring people together, to create things that celebrate diversity & adversity; I'm attempting to take great strides to make things better, but I can't do it alone. Let's hold meetings, let's form a group, let's get together, let's bounce ideas off one another, let's make a commitment and stick to it. 

I'm not claiming to be an expert at the revitalization of an area, but I am willing to learn. And if one group can put out the call to raise $50,000 dollars for the statue of a 80's Action Hero, then what can be accomplished when, educated, like-minded individuals come together and pledge to change things for the better? Anything. And I bet it's a hell of a lot better than Robocop.

Nothing To Offer.

The Class of '48

I have loads of High School regrets but being a lame yearbook signer is in my top 5. I know that sounds stupid (and, well, it is), but I signed so many yearbooks "Love life with no regrets" which is nothing like me at all. I'm not saying I don't believe in it, but it's not something I'd ever say to anyone in real life. If I could go back, I'd be much more cryptic. "Dear Steph, The keys will always hang on the mantel. I'm sorry the jeans didn't fit, but you're smile makes up for it. Stay Golden." Twenty years from now, when your kids go poking through your yearbook, they won't know what that means. Chances are you won't either, but you might laugh. "Oh, that, Eric Mowery. Always a kidder." 

Today's find comes from Pelham, NY's Class of '48 Yearbook.

"Dear Betty,
     Don't kill to many Boys with those big brown eyes while I'm aw away. Hope your House doesn't burn down
                  Love
                       Bob Peterson
                          alias
                            "Pete"


See? Either Bob was planning ahead for the joke or he was some kind of serial arsonist (also planning ahead).

Unfortunately, I could not find a picture of Betty anywhere in her yearbook. Based on what her classmates were saying, Betty was a stone cold fox and one of the 'swellest' underclassmen at Pelham.

*****************************************************************************

Special Nostalgia Section! 

A time traveling Eric tells High School Eric the things he will regret about his Senior Yearbook if he doesn't make an effort to correct them before it's too late:

1. Do not wear a Smashing Pumpkins T-Shirt while you have your Senior Picture taken
2. Do not have all your senior info revolve around Marilyn Manson quotes. 
3. Do not actually call anyone that writes "Gimme a call sometime!" in the back of your book.
4. Lose weight

Oh, Youth, you were so entertaining. 

Confessions of a Comic Geek: Part One

I'm a geek. And, admittedly, a pretty big one.

Did you not know this? Surely, you must have suspected. I mean, there have been hints of this since I was young. My action figure wall in college, my collection of Nine Inch Nails import albums, my hetero-crush on Neil Gaiman...all of it pretty damning evidence. But if you have any lingering doubts, let me put them to bed right now: Eric Mowery is a Geek.

And why is this even a topic? Because last night, while discussing said geekdom, I had a thought: For years I've considered myself to be a fairly well read person; yet, the thing that I'm most knowledgeable about is still seen as somewhat shameful. Despite the recent influx of people hearting comics, superhero comics are still not taken very seriously. And if this is the case, how much brevity does my comprehension of comic books carry? Should I stop telling people I'm well-read? Where do I really fit on the Smart Smarter Smartest pyramid of social standings? Can having a brain full of Marvel comic trivia make me an literary juggernaut? Or did I only use the word 'juggernaut' because he is a Marvel Character? To find out, I had to break down my history with comics into sections. 

Read on, True Believer, you're my only hope.

 Part One: 

"The first thing I ever remember reading is also the first thing I remember keeping."

Uncanny X-Men #113 came out before I was even born, but I was given a copy of it as a child. When I say 'remember keeping' what I really mean is: the first item I cherished. Above anything else, I coveted this comic and kept it rolled up and with me at all times. On my mental shelf of nostalgia, it sits beside my Nintendo, my Smurf Guitar, and my light up Glow Worm; however, no other single item had an impact of my life like this comic did. Be it a blessing or curse, my path in life shifted.

The X-Men are Marvel characters, and Marvel is who held my allegiance throughout my childhood. I, like many other boys, quickly became obsessed with Wolverine, but also fell in love with Daredevil, Alpha Flight (I know. I was the only one.), and Captain America. X-Men was my most accessible title (they sold that title at the gas station by my house) so I relied on that to get my comics fix. The man working at the local Uni-Mart always tried talking me into DC titles, but I couldn't be bothered. In addition to reading them, I also drew the images from them, and this practice dominated many of my evenings.  

Part Two:
"No, no, stop, stop! You're far too kind."

     When I was a teenager, I knew a great deal about movies. Whenever a family member had a question about an actor or series, I was quick to answer, and this knowledge always brought on a wave of undeserved praise. "You're so smart," my Mother would say. "I can always count on you to know what I'm talking about." But (sorry, Mom) this really had nothing to do with my intelligence. It just meant that I spent a lot of time watching films and reading reviews. If I've told you I've watched American Beauty and know of all the actors associated with it, you think, "A lot of people have and do." But if I'm asking you questions about the themes in American Beauty, it's parallels with other films, and what it's trying to say then maybe giving a shout out to my intelligence is warranted. If only because I'm creating a dialogue.

      Growing up it was much harder to have dialogue about comics. Until chat rooms came along, a lone friend and myself looked to our semi-local comic shop to satisfy our need to discuss all things Marvel. This shop; however, always employed the variety of comic geek that would not waste their time reading mainstream issues of anything. And since my friend and I wouldn't dare read anything that didn't have a guy in tights as it's star, we were constantly at a loss for things to discuss. All of my dialogue happened with one other person, and I never once got to impress anyone with anything I'd learned.


My artistic ability excelled during this period in my life. I failed at getting my friends into reading comics, but I was very successful at getting them to appreciate the artwork I was pulling off because of comics. Eventually, I began writing and drawing a series of dailies that I passed around during lunch. 'Soldiers of Fortune' was my first but also my least successful. It was a straight-up superhero comic with a detailed backstory (well, as detailed as 8th grade gets) and complicated characters. It wasn't until 'The Adventures of Dickey' came along that my classmates began asking for these dailies by request. Dickey was a crudely drawn superhero who used his..well, I WAS IN EIGHTH GRADE! Come on. Seriously. How riveting a story line does one expect from an thirteen year old? Anyway, everyone loved Dickey. Yet, it was impossible to have a conversation about it. I marched onward, falling back on stupid humor, and waiting for the right moment to say, "Hey, if you like my comic, why don't you check these out?" And just when that moment finally arose...
    
...High School happened.

To Be continued!

   

With A Capital D

"What was the plate number again? Oh, right. Very funny, smart ass."

I have a confession to make. I'm a terrible drinker.

No, not a terrible drunk--a terrible drinker. Meaning: I've never been very good at drinking for a long period of time. Sure, I've been drunk before, and I have some fantastically funny stories that revolve around   intoxication, but when it comes to drinking over long periods of time I'm no good. I get slow; I get lethargic and I just want to lay down. All I can say right now to save my 'cool' is: 'When I peak, baby, I peak.' The raving madman that my friends adore may only come out between Southern Comforts 3 & 4, but when he does he brings both magic and mayhem. 

And then immediately needs to be put to bed.

******************   

Today's item is a flier from New York State's Division of Motor Vehicles. If you were to open it up (don't try opening it up. It's just part of the screen.) it would inform you of the penalties enforced by the state and the programs available to those in need of help. Most notably the 'Drinking Driver Program.'

******************

Completely Unrelated: Does anyone have any new music they'd recommend? Doesn't have to be something that was just released, just something new that you feel like sharing. Feel free to post it in the comments below. 

     

Let's All Go To The Movies

"What building shaped crater?! Damn it, we're lost!"

I find a lot of movie related items.

A Lot.

In the world of collecting we call this 'ephemera,' or 'things that most people threw away.' Take this sweet looking 2001 ad, for example. Made to advertise the first screening at Warner Hollywood's Famous 'Cinerama' back in 1968, Joe Everyman, who may have obtained this via local store or through the mail, would read the detailed info (located on the back) and decide whether or not he was going to shell out the $3.00 for this 'reserved seat engagement.' After ordering tickets, Joe would toss the ad and end it's short life. A short, sweet life mourned by all.

But, obviously, some of these things survived and are now being collected. '2001' is unique because the Hollywood Cinerama premiered the movie there just two days after it's debut in Washington, D.C. Is it worth a lot? Might be. But you'd have to be into Kubrick ephemera...or just really like old movie announcements. Or Arthur C. Clarke items. Or Cinerama items. Or...you get the point.

 <----Wizard of OZ ad. Nice shape but
probably worth pennies.

       Steve McQueen in 'The Reivers.'----->
       Hunk Factor...er, uh, Worth point:  $2


Most of these items are fun to collect because they are fairly inexpensive--or should be, anyway. They're not old love letters or  photographs, but I still enjoy them if only for the tag lines.



In a totally unrelated note: Last night's performance (see yesterday's post) was great! Still plenty of weekends left if you'd like to catch one of the showings.

Shameless Plug #1

Hello, Blogosphere. Good to see you. Me? Oh, I'm fine. You're looking tip-top though. Been working out? No? So you just always look this good? Hmph. I would hate you if I didn't love you so much. And I do love you. So much. 

Blogosphere, I need to talk to you about something. I'm in a play called '4:48: Psychosis' that opens tonight, and I was hoping you could help me spread the word to those who might be interested in coming. It's an emotional piece--very experimental--and deals with Depression and Suicide. We'll be staging this at the Manny Fried Playhouse/Subversive Theatre located at 255 Great Arrow Avenue (right off of Elmwood). It stars Rebecca Ward, Sara Ball, and Myself. Brian Zybala is directing; Rachel Zeller is stage managing. 


We would all love and appreciate any support, Blogosphere. 




Check out additional info here.   

Everything Was Different

Before graduating from LAHS, I was required to give a presentation in my English class about what I wanted to do with my life. I chose 'Become Famous' (I'm not lying) and outlined the many different ways in which that could happen. Along with a paper, cited sources, and oral presentation, an interview was also to be performed with someone in a related field. Since Lewistown had no movie stars or famous musicians, I chose Matt Wagner, a comic book writer and artist that was, strangely, living in my town while working on a book called 'Mage' for Dark Horse Comics. I found Matt's name in the local phone book and (probably) freaked him out when I called to ask about his life, his income, and his fame. My results weren't as glamorous as I wanted them to be so, for the sake of graduation, I just made things up. Mrs. Everhart, I'm sorry for lying. I know you're probably sitting at home, reading my blog, crying about this while simultaneously picking out all of my punctuation errors, but, let's face it: You loved having me as a student.  You allowed my senior project to be 'Become Famous.' You were going to pass me anyway.

And now that all my dirty laundry has been aired, let's focus our attention on today's find.

 Everything Was Different is comprised of interviews done by a group of very honest & trustworthy Hunter High School students in the Spring of 1986. Their objective was to talk with Seniors affiliated with the Stanley Isaacs Center Neighborhood Center in New York as a way to challenge age segregation. This booklet, which, I'm assuming, saw very limited publication, is a collection of said interviews--uncensored and typed exactly as spoken.

The seniors--and participating students--are identified in the front of the book, but their names are missing from the interview exerts in the pages that following. They were asked a range of topics, including (but not limited to) War, Work, and Segregation.

Incredibly interesting. But, did I really need to tell you that?



It's hard pricing an item like this. It's uncommon but I doubt anyone (before this post, of course) would come in asking specifically for it. For now, it remains in the Mowery Collection*.

Suggestion: Read 'The Contract With God Trilogy' by Will Eisner. It's a fantastic look at how old neighborhoods came about. I kept referring back to Eisner while I read Everything Was Different. Even if you have no interest in this sort of thing, check it out anyway. The man was a genius.

*Mowery Collection is housed in my work desk. Example: "Would you like to come down to Old Editions and check out 'The Mowery Collection?' It's kept in Eric's desk. It's just the things he has found since he began working there. He keeps all of it locked away in 'The Keep.' Which is his desk." 

Christmas Comes Early

"Hold on! I want the file cabinet to be in this one."

Wow. What a find, right? There are far too many stories that could stem from this one. Unfortunately, I do not have any names or a studio location, but I'm sure somebody out there recognizes one of these fine blokes. I typed ''1940 director unibrow" into Google but all I got were images of Frida Kahlo. 

The Swift Hand of Boarded Justice

I don't come across many Skateboarding related items, so when I found this comic devoted to vigilante skateboards I knew it was special.

All I remember about 1989 are the Ninja Turtles and my NES. I kinda-sorta remember some of my older cousins getting bit by the skateboarding bug, but I couldn't be bothered with it. Skateboarding seemed to require an insane amount of balance, coordination, and a fearless attitude when it came to taking off one's shirt. Being a fat kid--who burned like piece of toast--meant that the shirt always stayed on. Always. When this comic was released I was perfectly content playing Skate or Die for my Nintendo and pretending like I knew what "goofy foot" style meant.
     As I hinted at, Shred is about a vigilante skateboarder named...Shred. Duh. And he fights crime by doing sweet tricks off Bad Guy faces. His costume is made up of leather and zippers (seriously. loooot of zippers on this outfit.) and he wears a skull mask to instill fear into the hearts of villains everywhere.  In this particular issue, Shred rescues a girl from her Uzi-toting ex-boyfriend & fights a Cyborg (named Cy-Board) with Dreadlocks. Seriously, he has dreadlocks.
    "Eric, where can I buy this?!"
     Hold on to your interrobang there, friend. It's right here. But I have to warn you: You'll enjoy this much like a Van Damme movie. You buy the thing because you like to laugh at it, but you'll never be able to explain it's presence to anyone.

Saturday

     Dear World,

Stop it.

Sincerely,

Eric

P.S. Seriously.

Eric Mowery presents: A Life In Books, or The Travel Agent for Those of Us Who Have Passed On

Years ago, my boss bought a collection of books belonging to a local professor and avid traveler. I'm not going to put his name in this blog; however, at Old Editions, his name is synonymous with Collector, and you'd be hard pressed to open up a few books and not find his signature in one of them. Friends of the store have been making comments about it for years, and--while I'm trying to avoid going full-on 'Hallmark' about this--his 'presence' in this store makes sifting through book-after-book a treat.
     If he had actually read all the titles I've found his name in, he would've had to have been a Literary Juggernaut. His name is plastered in scholarly books like The Poetic Image in 6 Genres and also in trashy, throwaways like Candy, and while I marvel at his ability to transcend genres, I'm more impressed with the kind of history he left behind in all the books he'd owned. Allow me to explain.
     Along with a signature, most of his books come with a date and a location. The man traveled. I mean TRAVELED, and on those long trips he'd purchase books to keep him entertained. Even without the locations, the ticket stubs--used as bookmarks--tell me where he'd been. If I wanted to, I could sit down and map out most of this man's life just through the things that he read...

...and I'm completely blow away by this.

There are days when I feel like a voyeur, privy to information that I'm not supposed to know.

There are days when my mind runs rampant and I imagine him saving lives (or taking them) in the cities that he visited.

Sometimes I love seeing his name because it feels like we have similar tastes (his name is in all the F. Scott Fitzgerald Biographies we have)

Sometimes I hate seeing his name because I feel like he was just 'collecting' books and not reading them (His name is in every scandalous Ted Kennedy book we have. We have many.)

And sometimes I just get depressed. This is the inevitable path for all my books. And, as much as I enjoy looking through his collection, it makes me sick to think that one day there may be a cranky, twenty-something sifting through all my old comics* and pondering the life I led. However, such a feeling isn't going to make me stop buying the books I love. I would have stopped a long time ago. 

    And for all of my hang-ups, there's one thing I can't deny: Since I've begun working here I have sold countless scores of his books. I've sold them to local customers, I've sold them at trade shows in different states, and I've even mailed some of them to different parts of the world. And while the people buying them may not understand what the location and date symbolize, I do: That even in death, this man is still traveling with all of his books.   

And I could probably write a book about that.  

Eeeeeeeppppppiiiiiiccccccc.

     The accompanying picture is a Travel Coupon celebrating the Collector's 14 years of traveling via Greyhound Bus. I found this tucked away inside of a Book Club Edition of Harlan Ellison's Dangerous Visions. 

Heartbreaking or Heartwarming? Little bit of both?

*Well, not my comics. I'll probably be buried with those. 

From My Kitchen To Yours

When the premiere food critic of Buffalo asked me to come up with a dish that would 'knock the socks off a jackrabbit,' I hesitated. Should I throw together something I had just learned from one of my various cooking clubs? Or do I prepare something dear to me? Something I've been carrying around in this big brain of mine since I first learned how to cook? The answer, dear reader, is only a recipe away!

From the kitchen of Eric Mowery...

White Trash Cauliflower Bake (Preparation Time: 3 Weeks & 45 Minutes)

1 Large Head of Cauliflower
4 Cans Genny Light/Keystone (can be High Life--if it's an occasion)
1 1/3 C of Half and Half (Most coffee shops have this lying about for free)
10 oz bag of Great Value Cheddar Cheese
3 Tbsp Flour
2-3 Bottles of OV
Cabela's Dangerous Hunts for the Xbox 360
6 Diner packets of Butter (Land O Lakes is nice)
2 Tbsp Bread Crumbs
VHS Tape with (at least) 2 hours of America's Funniest Home Videos
2 Packets 'Spicy Mustard' from McDonalds
Salt & Pepper
2-6 Friends
Pinch of Nutmeg

Directions:

Start by buying a 12 Pack of Old Vienna and a case of Genny Light (or whatever you like). Call 2-6 friends and tell them that you've just purchased an array of fine beverages, just found an old VHS tape of Bob Sagat-Era America's Funniest Home Video episodes, and have just purchased Cabela's Dangerous Hunts for your 360. When friends agree to come over, have them stop at McDonald's and buy you some Chicken strips. Make sure they get at least 6 packets of Spicy Mustard dipping sauce (this will be important later).

Proceed to play games, drink, and eat BUT keep in mind that you will need some of those beers and sauce packets for later. Have fun.


After a week and a half goes by, call up an Ex-girlfriend (works best with an Ex) and start talking about  
the 'good old days.' When ex-girlfriend informs you of her new boyfriend, start an argument with her. Hang up. Call up an 'old flame' (works best with an old flame) and ask her if she wants to come over. When she tells you to 'get a life,' hang up the phone and finish off the remaining bottles of OV and Genny Light. You won't get drunk (probably) but you will feel the need to get a cup of Diner coffee to get rid of frontal lobe headache. Call 1-2 friend(s) and have someone pick you up. While at diner, secure butter packets and creamer, if available. DO NOT attempt to put creamer in pocket. Pocket will get wet and you will lose your creamer. 


Wake up the next day and examine life. 


Later that day preheat oven to 450 degrees. Trim cauliflower and break into small florets (or 'brainy looking chunks'). Boil cauliflower in salted water for 15 minutes. Cauliflower should be soft, not mushy.


Drain in Colander (bowel with holes in it) and place in a buttered baking dish. 


Get out one of your roommates saucepans and pour Half & Half into it. Remove butter from packets and flick them into liquid. Stir in flour.


Heat mixture until it boils. Whisk it! until it thickens.


Add almost whole bag of cheese, mustard, and nutmeg to mixture. Salt and Pepper, too (but go easy).


Cook for another minute and then pour all that shit over Cauliflower. Dump the rest of the cheese and the Bread Crumbs on top. Throw that bitch in the oven. Simultaneously, start an episode of (Family Guy. Insert name of terrible show here). Watch episode. During end credits of episode, take Cauliflower out of oven.


Call up 3-6 friends. "I just made Cheddar Cauliflower Bake. Get your ass over here." Pause for laughter. Don't forget to tell them to pick up a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon. Enjoy.

From my Kitchen to yours!






                                           Bone Appetite!




              

Sincerely, Francis

I love finding old pictures in books. Well, no, come to think of it most of the pictures I find are incredibly boring and bland and hardly noteworthy. What I really mean to say is that I love to find unique or obscure pictures in old books. When I started working at Old Editions Bookshop I found a polaroid of a rather large woman posing for the camera & wearing an ornate headdress and it ruined everything. I mean, come on, a find like that comes along, I don't know, once...maybe twice a century. How do you top that? Answer: You don't. Old, disgusting polaroids set the bar really high. All the pictures of empty rooms, houses, and beaches that came after failed in comparison.

There are plenty of sites devoted to Old Pictures. In fact, there's a really great one here that I came across this morning. And while I'm not going to get into the habit of posting the photographs that I've found, I do have an exception.  

"Francis: Stone. Cold. Fox."

Safely tucked away in a book that was headed for the recycling bin, I found "Sincerely Francis." Obviously what made this picture stand out from the rest was it's age, but I must also note the smile on her face and the 'sincerely' written in the bottom corner. I know you can't tell, but the little oval portrait is mounted on a gray rag paper and shielded within a paper, rectangular holder. In between Francis and the gray flap is a piece of tissue paper (with a spiderweb design on it). 

I don't know the origins of the portrait but that won't stop me from making something up. It is as follows:

"It had been two years since Billy Tamlin took a job at Potter's Mill doing simple construction when he was handed his Notice of Deployment. Tamlin, having no family of his own, gathered up what little belongings he had and made arrangements with Arthur Potter, the owner of Potter's Mill, to store his wares until he returned. His possessions included one pair of leather work boots, three sets of work clothes, a suit of less than mediocre quality, and two copies of Scribner's Monthly. 'It's a sad lot to leave behind,' Arthur commented, as he watched Billy board the train to Philadelphia, 'but maybe a sadder lot to come back to.' Everyone, in town, prayed for the best while simultaneously expecting the worst. Billy was already an orphan. His loss would be mourned, but it would be an easier loss for the town of Carlisle to accept. 

       No one knew of Francis' love for Billy. In the still of the morning, mere hours before Billy boarded the train--possibly never to return, she went to him and poured out her heart. 'We can leave right now,' she said. 'No one, besides me, is going to miss one soldier. I cannot be without you!' Tamlin thought long and hard by these words. He had a duty as United States citizen but also a duty to the woman he loved. Fearing that someone would see them together, Billy kissed Francis goodbye and calmed her with the promise that they would always be together--no matter what he had to do, they would find a way to be together. Francis was dew-eyed when she'd left but touched by his promise. 

     It wasn't until the very next morning that Mrs. Metcalf found the note by her bed. "I'm sorry, Mrs," it began, "but I must do this. I've taken the remainder of my own money out of the safe, and I've boarded a train bound for Philadelphia. Please tell the other girls that I'm sorry, and I shall miss them." At the end of the letter, Mrs. Metcalf reached into the envelope and removed a gray portrait holder from it's contents. 'Sincerely, Francis' it said at the base of the picture. 

     Mrs. Metcalf, frazzled but quick witted, stuffed the picture into a book titled The Vaux-De-Vire and quietly went about the rest of her day."

Is it great? Probably not. I wrote it all rather quickly. And it should also be noted that I had no mention of alien abductions or the like. Why is that worth mentioning? Billy gets a notice of deployment--then he gets abducted! Billy boards the train--right before the whole train is abducted! Francis leaves Billy in the wee hours of the morning--and is then ABDUCTED! Plenty of opportunities to write that in. 

But whatever the reason for the sincerity, I think it's a great photograph and an exceptionally great find in a book... 

...about Abductions. 

            

How To Succeed At Business

When I was in my teens, I recall having a conversation about the word 'sick' with one of my closest friends. My friend (let's call him Brian) was at the mall with his girlfriend when a salesperson approached him about a t-shirt he was holding. "You gotta buy that," the salesman said, "we only have a few left and that design is sick." Brian, confused and frazzled, turned and asked the salesman to repeat what he'd said, slowly as to catch all of it. 


"Dude, it's a sick shirt." 


I wasn't there for the tirade that followed, but I believed every bit of it. I could picture Brian's face, already twisted from his hatred of salespeople, locked in vernacular agony. The cliched 'pin' had dropped and found it's final resting place squarely between the feet of the 'with it' and the 'without.' "Sick? Can you believe that?" He recalled to me later. "Can you imagine using the word sick to describe something you like? It makes no sense." And, to be perfectly honest, he was right: At the time it made absolutely no sense to me, but I quickly chalked it up to being out of the loop. My hometown was behind the times on everything. We were all still wearing Airwalks when the rest of the world moved on to New Balance; still rocking those fun-loving, family approved MC Hammer pants when Hammer was signing up with Death Row records. I wasn't impressed by what the salesman said, but I wasn't surprised that I had no idea how 'sick' became synonymous with 'awesome.' 


Even now, ten years later (we were really behind), I still don't get it, but I do marvel at the evolutionary process of Words.


Simply put: Etymology is wicked sweet.        



Take the word 'Pagan' for example:

How to Succeed in Business without being a Pagan, was published in 1974 by Glen Hale Bump. For the lowly price of $1.50, Mr. Bump posed an alternative to the 'traditional methods of business' by offering up a Christian's take on the subject. What were those methods he was rivaling against? Let's find out!

If Mr. Bump were alive and publishing books in the 14th century, his book would be referring to 'Country folk,' as Pagan comes from the Latin paganus meaning: "Villager, rustic, civilian." Waaaaaaay before that the Roman's were using the term paganus to refer to incompetent soldiers, and sometime after that the Christians took that word to mean incompetent soldiers for Christ. In 1959 a motorcycle gang, crime syndicate began calling themselves "Pagans Motorcycle Club" and under the leadership of John 'Satan' Marron their treachery spread throughout New York & Pennsylvania. They were lovingly referred to from there on out as 'The Pagans'.    


Webster's defines Pagan (n) -  one who has little or no religion and who delights in sensual pleasures and material goods : an irreligious or hedonistic person. Pagan is also known to mean 'heathen' because of Heathen represents someone who lacks civility. At one time Vikings were considered Heathens then, in turn, considered Pagans. 


So, obviously, Mr. Bump's original aim was something like:

How To Succeed in Business without being an Incompetent, Motorcycle-clad, Hedonistic Viking who seeks to remain outside local boundaries and live like a Country Bumpkin.




I'm not sure how well the book sold, but I do know we have a copy of it in our store for $2.00. And, if you're not into Bump's approach, you can always check out mine.  

"Blood Sacrifices? Pretty sick, Bro."

Do you fall to your knees over the evolution of any words? 
If so, do tell. 

Teach Them Well

I'd hate to be around when the nanny-cam brought this to the attention of the family. On one hand you have Little Billy decking Grandpa but more shocking is the excitement on the face of a senior citizen about to get waylaid by an eight-year-old. It's not a surprise that he 'refuses to babysit' but, well, it kind of is...I mean, look at that face!?!

I was thinking of giving this post a 'say what you feel' vibe, but I really don't want to detract any attention from this clipping. Please take a moment to look, laugh, and marvel at that Million dollar smile.

All things considered, I guess it's better this way. Imagine if it was Grandpa who connected?

(Image was found as a bookmark)

"I'll find him for three, but I'll catch him, and kill him, for ten."

     When I was a kid, my Aunt used to tell a story about a woman she knew that lost her leg to a Great White shark. Well, she ''kind of'' knew her. Her best friend's cousin, who'd been vacationing in Florida, met a woman from Delaware whose brother-in-law saw a woman get attacked by a shark. 

"A Shark!" She would say. "A Shark who bit off that poor woman's leg!"

No doubt released in the wake of JAWS induced 'shark-mania,' Jaws Of Death was created to cash in on the air of fear (and curiosity) surrounding both novel and film. With tag lines like "Why Sharks Have Developed A Taste For Human Flesh" & "Why You Could Be The Next Victim of The Silent Savages" the 'real' threat of the Great White should become apparent to even the most cranky of skeptics. 

Why would you want something like this? A better question is obviously, "How soon can you mail that out?" If you're anything like my Aunt, you'll need this to validate any irrational fear you may have, or to quell the skepticism of your nagging, 'know-it-all' Nephew. Plus, think how lovely it would look framed and hanging in your foyer!  

And speaking of conversation pieces, were you, dear reader, swept up in any movie-induced hysteria? Do tell!