Wednesday, October 31, 2018

Terrificon 2018, Part One ~~ A "Comical Wednesday" Post


The above illustration graced my blog's sidebar for two or three weeks, promising to give you my "report" on TerrifiCon... or is that Terrificon? Or maybe TERRIFICon? It's spelled all three ways on their website! Well, by "report" all I mean is that I'm about to tell you the people and panels I went to see, and what a great time I had! This will be another multi-parter, but I promise you, it'll have nowhere near as many chapters as my recent "Insect Asides" series. I should also point out that I'm not necessarily going to describe any events in strict chronological order!

So here goes:

Terrificon 2018 was held from August 17-19 at the beautiful and spacious brand-new convention center at Uncasville, Connecticut's Mohegan Sun Casino & Resort. Last year, My friend John and I went to Terrificon 2017 on only one afternoon (as described here and here), and I managed to get a paltry four signatures from comic book professionals.

This year, John and I planned to attend on both Friday and Saturday. Like last year, my main objective was to obtain the signatures of various comic book artists and writers, but with two days to play with, I'd obviously be able to meet more of them. There were also a few TV and movie celebrities whom I had hopes of meeting, plus John and I also wanted to attend some "panels." (Panels basically consist of a handful of people discussing a particular comic-related subject. Some panels, of course, deal with other various forms of entertainment.)


John and I were both quite impressed with Mohegan Sun's new convention center. We each grabbed a copy of the convention's program and walked in. The very first thing I saw that impressed me was a giant statue of Thanos, a Marvel Comics villain who's been around for forty-five years... and I've been reading about him almost that long (late 1975), plus you just know I back-tracked and read his earlier appearances, right? Thanos, of course, was the main antagonist in this year's blockbuster film, Avengers: Infinity War. (Several writers and artists known for working with Thanos, including his creator, Jim Starlin, were at Terrificon. More on that in Part Two!)

I've always loved the character of Thanos, so I figured that this was a good omen that I was going to have a great time!

The movie and TV celebrities I was hoping to meet were:

Jon Bernthal, who had a secondary but important role in The Wolf of Wall Street, but is probably best known for his current role of the Punisher in Netflix's series of the same name. Unfortunately, he had to cancel his appearance at the last minute.


Ralph Macchio, famous for starring in The Karate Kid, as well as being in The Outsiders, My Cousin Vinny, and many others.


Sam Jones, who portrayed the titular hero in Flash Gordon, as well as a somewhat demented version of himself in Ted and Ted 2.


Pom Klementieff -- *sigh* -- who's played Mantis in Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2, and Avengers: The Infinity War.


And last, but certainly not least, Henry Winkler, a man with several acting roles in his resume, the most famous being Fonzie on ABC's Happy Days!


Well, fellow babies, I may as well confess right here that I didn't actually get to meet any of these stars! Things just didn't work out that way.

However, Henry Winkler was scheduled to appear on one of those panels I mentioned earlier. Instead of a panel moderator discussing Henry's career with Henry himself and the audience, Mr. Winkler took the stage all alone and regaled the crowd with a well-prepared talk about his personal history, from being born to a couple of rather unsupportive parents all the way through his fame & fortune and an actor, as well as little side trips to some of his other successful ventures in life (such as the children's books he's written). He turned out to be quite the motivational speaker. It made me (and John) wonder if he'd ever done that professionally, like Tony Robbins, Wayne Dyer, Susan Powter, and so many others.

As you can see, Terrificon could have fit several people besides Henry on that panel. They weren't necessary.


Jon Bernthal wasn't the only scheduled guest who didn't show. Unfortunately, comic writer and artist Keith Giffen couldn't attend, reportedly due to a stroke.

So, you may be wondering, did I get to meet anyone?

Oh, sure. I met writer Mike W. Barr, and had him sign my copy of The Brave and the Bold #200, and my trade paperback collecting the Camelot 3000 series Barr did with artist Brian Bolland.




Sorry, I can't show you the signature on this one! Mike W. Barr signed this one on the
inside, and I didn't want to chance wrecking the binding by scanning the interior for this post.

Writer Roger Stern has written a lot of comics which I've enjoyed over the years, but the coolest thing I could put my hands on in the days leading up to the convention was my copy of a trade paperback of stories he wrote which artist John Byrne drew. The stories featured one of my all-time favorite characters, Captain America.





Most of the writers and (especially) artists charge something for their signatures. How much they charge varies widely. An autograph from comic legend Neal Adams autograph will cost you fifty dollars! Roger Stern had a sort of "tip jar" and when I asked what he charged for his signatures, he said that was up to me. Unfortunately, all I had in my wallet were twenty dollar bills. I explained that to him, and he just smiled and told me not to worry about it.

So no, I didn't "worry." But the next day I returned and stuffed a couple of bucks in the jar!

I also got a signature from a writer named Paul Kupperberg, who'd written one series in particular that I loved: Arion the Immortal. This six-issue mini-series was a sequel of sorts to an ongoing series called Arion Lord of Atlantis. The earlier series had established that Arion had been born in 45,000 B.C. and frankly, I didn't follow that first series. However, when I read about the concept of the upcoming mini-series, I was hooked.


The seriocomic second series established that Arion was immortal, and that he and much of his supporting cast from Arion Lord of Atlantis were all still alive in the late 20th century -- albeit looking like any ordinary elderly people -- and living in Greenwich Village!

If there are any actual "rules" for owning and operating a comic shop, one of them is that you should order your store's stock according to how many items you actually believe you'll sell, and not order extra copies of stuff just because you happen to like it.

Well, at that time (1992) I owned and operated a comic book and collectibles store. I had so much faith that Arion the Immortal would be a good read, I broke that rule! I ordered extra copies (just a few, not hundreds, nor even dozens) and placed one in the subscription files of several of my regular customers. I made them an offer I'd never made before nor since: If they would give the first issue of the title a try, and didn't like it, they could return the book for a full refund (only $1.50, but still...).

As it turned out, some of them signed up for the next five issues, and some didn't, but not one of them asked for their money back.

Of course, I told Paul Kupperberg that little story when I had him sign my copy of Arion the Immortal #1. Not only that, but the series' artist, Ron Wilson, was also at Terrificon that weekend. (I'd forgotten that he drew it!) So I got both of them to sign it (and you know I told him the story too).




Okey-dokey, folks. I'm going to stop here and give you the old "To Be Continued." I'll see you with another "Comical Wednesday" post next week, plus I'm almost certain to give you a non-comic-related post this coming Saturday or Sunday.

Thanks for your time.

Captain Terrificon, Terrificon logo and TerrifiCon promotional images and copy are Copyright AND Trademarks of Big Fedora Marketing, LLC. and Mitch Hallock 2015, 2016, 2017 and 2018. All rights reserved.

Sunday, October 28, 2018

Happy Candy Mooching Day... or Something!* (A "Short Shorts" Post)

(*Well, you've gotta admit, a lot of people nowadays concentrate on the candy-giving -- or candy-receiving -- aspect, rather than the day's original meaning! Just like some people do with Easter!)

Today's "Short Shorts" are partial reprints from three different blog posts of mine! Two from this here Foxyblog, and one from my old David'Z RantZ blog!

1. Can you guess who the person in the following photo is?

No, silly, not who the character is. That's obviously Frankenstein's Monster. But do you know who the actor is?

No?

Give up?

It's James Dean.

No, not the sausage guy. That's Jimmy Dean. This is James Dean, the "Rebel Without a Cause" James Dean.

And a brief story behind the photo can be found here. In fact, it's so brief that I could really just tell you myself, but the Frankensteinia blog is an absolute delight for fans of the famous Doctor Frankenstein's Creation, and I really don't want you to miss your chance to see it! Enjoy.

*  *  *  *  *


2. The Gates of Hell have opened, fellow babies, and the writing is on the wall!

Along with the ghosts, ghouls, and goblins associated with Halloween trick-or-treaters, the truly terrible element of this Halloween season has already reared its ugly head.

And the saddest part of this whole situation is that it's involved a close friend of mine! This is a woman whom many of my readers know... and thus, a woman whose name I shall hereby change for the sake of gallantly protecting her reputation from being smeared by this potential scandal!

I'll just call her... ummm... "Petsy." [Modern-day note: She's alive and well, and still visits this blog on occasion, but when this bit was written a few years ago, "Petsy" often commented and was often mentioned... so most of my blog's readers knew exactly who she really was!]

"Petsy" (name cleverly changed to disguise her identity)

The other night, in the middle of an otherwise uneventful conversation, Petsy all-too-casually mentioned that, as we chatted (I'm sorry, I can hardly even say this!), she was eating... candy corn.

That's right, freakin' candy corn!

And, supposedly, liking it.


Yes, I said "supposedly." Come on. No one really likes this crap. (And that's not just my opinion, either. It's a fact. I could easily give you dozens of links to internet articles that could prove it, but... ummm... I'm not going to.)

"You know something, Petsy?" I began, "It's proof that I'm a true friend when I tell you that learning this about you will not affect our friendship."

"Are you for real? What on earth have you got against candy corn?"

"You mean, besides the fact that it's The Confection from Hell?"

"Cute, Silver. I didn't know you were so passionate about your hate for a candy you shouldn't even eat in the first place." (Betsy... I mean, Petsy... knows I'm diabetic.)

"It's not real candy. It's not even real food. No expiration date on the bag, I'll bet. I believe it's made from some polystyrene-based compound, like Styrofoam."

"Silver, it says it's made from real honey... like myself!"

"They lie... but you don't."

"They don't lie! It's right there in the ingredients list."

I shook my head. "Forged documents for verification. Same goes for if they do list an expiration date on it. They don't have to cuz it's not real food. Don't be so easily fooled, Betsy."

"That's Petsy."

"Sorry."

"Did you know that candy corn is the only candy in American history that has never been advertised?"

"They can't advertise it, for the same reason they can no longer advertise cigarettes. It's lethal."

She continued reading. " 'Each year Americans consume enough Brach's Candy Corn that if laid end-to-end, would circle the earth 4.25 times.' "

"What they don't tell you is how many more times you could circle the earth each year with the candy corn that people won't eat, the stuff the kids turn down at Halloween. The bowl goes into the closet, and you know what? They bring the same damned candy corn out the next year, and the year after that, and the year after that...!"

"Oh, good grief! What a silly reaction! It's not as if I said that I liked those horrible Circus Peanuts..."

Circus Peanuts

*sigh* I may have to write a Part Two to this post, fellow babies.

(Petsy's quotes in the above story are 100% accurate... or only about 60-70% accurate. I'll let you know which it is whenever I decide for myself.)

Thanks for your time.

P.S. -- I should add, I'm not totally unreasonable, and may someday be persuaded...


*  *  *  *  *


3. Okay, fellow babies, here's a Halloween Quickie for you!

Ah, 'tis the season for all parents to go through their kiddies' Halloween loot to make sure there are no poisons, pins, or razor blades (as in the photo at the top of my post) embedded in the candy.

But you know something? I've seen people doing that since the early 1970s, and I think the paranoia is over-blown!

Read here and here, and see if you don't agree, at least a bit!


Okay, gotta run. I wanna post this, and there's someone knocking at my door...

A trick-or-treater? Don't be silly!


See? I told you I wasn't totally unreasonable!

Thanks for your time.

A Zero for Zorro!

Thursday, October 25, 2018

Toomey's Rest -- Nevada (1889) ~~ Reprinted from July 16th, 2009


For quite a while several years ago, I was a weekly participant in a meme called "Theme Thursday." It introduced my blog and myself to other bloggers, and in turn introduced them (and their blogs) to me. Some of the blogging friends I made then are still with me today, and vice versa.

Each week there'd be a different prompt word. You could take any meaning of the word that you chose, and then you wrote a story, article, song, etc., or drew a sketch or painted a picture, or posted a photo... Anything you wanted to do! If, for example, the word was "film," you could post about a movie you liked or disliked, or about someone making a movie, or post something referring to the film in a camera... or you could give it a totally different angle and write about pond scum!

Well, on July 16th, 2009, the word was "stage," and I contributed the  following:

(And by the way, the narrator of the story is emphatically not supposed to be Yours Truly. This old gent is a Westerner who's probably somewhere around eighty years old. Just sayin'.)


*  *  *  *  *

Lemme see if I can remember enough of this yarn -- one that my Grampy told me when I was a little sprout, maybe seventy years gone now -- to do it justice.

What's left of the once-booming Toomey's Rest, Nevada, has been a ghost town for pretty near a century. But in the late 1800s, its silver mine made more than a few town-folk financially well off... and made one man in particular mighty wealthy.

As it happens, that wealthy man, Mordecai Ohrne, is -- or maybe I oughtta say "was" -- this story's antagonist. Can't really call him an outright "villain," 'though he certainly had his faults.

Ohrne -- or as everybody called him, "Orn" -- owned the Toomey's Rest silver mine, and the better of the town's two hotels, and the local saloon (not to mention employing the "soiled doves" plying the world's oldest trade in the fancy rooms above the saloon). Mayor Jasper Cicero was mayor because he'd run for office with Orn's backing. (And Jasper had only earned that by marrying Orn's older sister!) Most of the townspeople owed Orn their livelihoods, and several of the miners "owed their souls to the company store," to paraphrase a line from the old song...

A lotta -- hell, most of -- the citizens of Toomey's Rest didn't even know Orn's full name. Rumor had it that "Orn" was short for "ornery," rather than just a misspelling of his real surname. Orn was a temperamental sort, you might say, but calling him ornery was about the worst you could say for someone as powerful as Orn was.

TV and movie Westerns seem to have one stereotype of the town's richest man, but outside of his "finger in every pie" aspect, Orn didn't fit it. He was fairly honest. He wasn't a bully (except for something I'm saving for a tiny bit later). In fact, he wasn't a violent man at all. Tough, sure. (In fact, if you took a swing at Orn, it's 'cause you were pretty drunk, or pretty stupid, or both.) But not violent.

Folks say that ol' Orn had come to prominence due to a mighty unique combination of horse sense and luck. No one had ever -- and I mean ever with a capital "E" -- gotten the best of him in any situation, business or personal.

Orn was tall, about six-and-a-half feet. He had long, jet-black hair, slicked back... and a beard like Abe Lincoln's, one that ran around his jawline and framed his face, but had no mustache attached.

When he spoke, Orn generally spoke so stiltedly as to sound like he was reading from a script. Hard to have a regular, down-to-earth conversation with him, or so they said. Maybe he was trying to seem more formally educated that he had been. Which is not to say that Orn was a stupid man. Not even close.

He was always flanked by two so-called bodyguards known only as Culhane and Micah. Having two bodyguards was a natural enough precaution for a feller who always wore a fully-stuffed money belt like Orn did, but as for the effectiveness of these two... well, folks could recall Orn saving one or the other of them from a scrape or two or three, rather than vice versa.

Orn had married a buxom Scot named Kate, whom he'd met and fallen in love with in San Francisco years earlier. Once he'd made his fortune, he'd sent for her. Now, ten or so years later, they had a five-year-old daughter named Lucy (not Lucille).

But enough about Orn for now. Lemme tell you about another feller, a feller named Werner Gunderman.

Gunderman was in his late twenties, about ten or twelve years younger than Orn, and he had been very well-educated, somewhere. He was almost six feet tall, and was skinny as a rail. He was clean-shaven, with light brown hair which he kept kinda short. He was never seen outdoors without a beat-up brown bowler hat and a brown leather buttoned-up vest.

Werner Gunderman had married a demure little gal everybody -- including Werner -- called "Peanut," years before he settled in Toomey's Rest. Pretty little thing, with blue eyes and blonde hair... always wore her hair in one long braid. No one ever seemed to use Peanut's real name, so whatever it was has been "lost" over the years, you might say. Anyway, Peanut had become Mrs. Gunderman when she and Werner were both just teenagers.

At the time of this here story, they had an eight-year-old daughter named Anika, who had her mom's looks and her dad's hair and eye color, both brown. Wore her hair in one long braid, just like Peanut, her mom. Anika had the prettiest voice in the whole church choir. She evidently got whatever musical talent she had from Werner, who played an instrument... sorta.

By "sorta," I mean... well... Werner Gunderman played the harp! Kinda girly, if you ask me. More than one feller or another whispered that if it wasn't for little Anika being proof that Werner was a real man, if you know what I mean... Well, let's not even get into it, okay?

Anyway, Werner Gunderman had lived in town about two years or so, and had started helping out at old Ben Butler's general store. Then Ben had a stroke which left him in a wheelchair, and Gunderman became the store's full-time manager. In short order, Ben hired another young man, Tom O'Malley, to help out, and in no time at all, either Gunderman or O'Malley could run the store alone if need be.

So, as you might have guessed, Orn didn't really have any enemies. And Gunderman hadn't made any enemies, either...

Except for Orn himself. He really didn't like Gunderman.

And no one was ever sure why.

Gunderman's soft way of speaking, his politeness, his harp-playing... a few people said he was what they called a "poof," and suggested that that's the real reason that Orn despised Werner. But those folks were usually answered by others pointing out the fact that Gunderman was married and had fathered a child. What more proof was there that a man was a man, right?

Things seemed so much simpler then...

Some people said that "Gunderman" was a Jewish name, and Orn probably didn't like Jews. I don't believe it. For one thing, Grampy himself told me that Gunderman and his family attended the Baptist church every single Sunday, so if there was any Jewish blood in their ancestry, they'd changed to Christian long before moving to Toomey's Rest. And for another thing, no one ever had any proof that Orn didn't like Jews anyway.

There was another rumor that made the rounds back then, and that was that Werner Gunderman (or his wife) had some African blood, maybe as much as a quarter. Grampy heard Anika called an "octoroon" a handful of times when they were friends as kids. (That's a feller or a gal that's one-eighth what polite folks back then would have called "Negro.")

I guess it's so that Orn wasn't all that crazy about Negroes, but I hate to say that a lotta white folks felt that way then. I'm sure not defending it, mind you, but sadly, that's the way it was.

So maybe that's it. Maybe Orn was one of those folks who felt that being a "little bit" Negro was the same thing as being all Negro, and here was this whole damned Gunderman family "posing" as white...!

But me, I like to think better of Orn than that.

Orn never did anything outright to hurt Werner's family. No "accidents" ever befell Ben Butler's store, and no suspicious fires ever threatened the Gunderman's house... but every time Orn and Wenrer happened to be in the same place, Orn would needle poor Gunderman until the younger feller had to walk away silently, with the sound of everybody present laughing at him as he skulked off.

Orn's attacks, for lack of a better word, were all verbal. Some were pretty clever, while others were kinda juvenile, like replacing "Werner" with "worm," dumb stuff like that.

Orn tried all sorts of insults to get a rise out of Gunderman, as if he thought that everything he'd done to the poor little sissy would be justified as long as Werner threw the first punch in a fight... or drew a knife first... or drew a gun first...

Orn was clearly ready to "meet" Gunderman any way that the younger feller wanted. If, that is, Werner ever got up the guts to make the fight a physical one.

I said that Werner had no real enemies except for Orn, but most of the townspeople avoided getting too friendly with any of the Gundermans. No sense taking chances and upsetting Orn, right? But my Grampy's mom and dad liked little Anika Gunderman and let my Grampy -- their son, Artemus -- hang around with her constantly. They didn't mind at all that the two youngsters seemed to be smitten with each other.

For lack of a better way to put it, "the beginning of the end" came one hot August day in 1889. Everything -- or, I should say, everyone -- came together at once.

Orn and his sidekick Micah were doing some kinda business in the town's lone bank. Culhane, his other crony, got bored and slipped across the wide and dusty Main Street to take advantage of the free whiskey available to him at Orn's saloon.

Meanwhile, Tom O'Malley was escorting Werner to the noon stage, leaving for God-knows-where in fifteen minutes or so. Peanut Gunderman was watching Butler's store while her husband and Tom discussed some last-minute business. My Grampy, Artemus, had accompanied the whole Gunderman family into town, and he and Anika were playing in the middle of Main Street.

Culhane knew not to stray too far from Orn, nor for very long. So he probably wasn't too drunk when he came out of the saloon.

Just drunk enough to make a rude comment to the little girl standing next to her friend Artemus.

"What did you say to me, mister?" demanded Anika, eyes flashing.

"Yeah!" said the boy who'd grow up to be my Grampy, "What did you say to her, mister?"

Culhane turned on my Grampy. "I called her a pickaninny! Not that it's any of your business, little Arthur!"

Anika kicked dirt in Culhane's direction. "His name isn't Arthur, it's Artemus!"

"Yeah!" Grampy repeated, "My name ain't Arthur, it's Artemus!"

Culhane laughed, his voice a high-pitched cackle. "You two little tadpoles say that like it's a better name than Arthur!"

Well! That little spitfire, Anika, wasn't gonna stand there and let someone insult her friend like that. Before Grampy or Culhane realized what she was doing, she'd bent down, grabbed a small stone from the dust, and thrown it at Culhane. It struck him in the lip, enough to sting and draw blood, and enough to really rile him! He drew his arm back, as if he were going to backhand her.

He didn't see the solid punch that knocked him backwards and off his feet. But he sure felt it.

Culhane looked up from his seated position in the dirt to see a glowering, wiry figure wearing a brown leather vest and a weather-beaten bowler hat.

"Gunderman?" exclaimed Culhane. "You hit me? You?"

"I'll do worse than that if you ever raise a hand to my child again, Culhane!" said Werner, in a soft voice somehow made ominous by its low tone. Werner looked over at Grampy, who was standing in front of Anika as if to protect her. "Or anyone's child, for that matter."

Culhane didn't even attempt to stand. His upper lip curled back in a sneer as he slowly and almost imperceptively reached for the .45 revolver resting snugly in the holster strapped to his right thigh. "Well, if I do raise my hand to any young'un, you sure ain't gonna be around to see it..."

Culhane's gun had scarcely cleared the holster before a shiny black boot crashed down on his forearm, pinning it to the ground.

The boot belonged to a very unhappy-looking Orn.

"What in the hell is going on here?" Orn demanded, using about as much profanity as anyone had ever heard him use.

"I struck your man Culhane," began Gunderman, totally without emotion, "because he was about to strike my Anika."

"She threw a rock at me, first!" protested Culhane, who was being helped to his feet by Orn's other stooge, Micah.

Orn's eyes flashed with anger as he turned to look at Culhane. "She is a child! And you sound like one as well!"

Culhane was rudely shoved from behind, by Micah. "Shut your damned mouth, you baboon!" hissed Micah. The two men walked away, toward Orn's hotel.

Now it was Orn and Werner Gunderman who faced each other alone. Well, "alone" if you don't count my Grampy, Anika, and Tom O'Malley, who was holding Werner's suitcase.

"Thank you, Orn," said Werner Gunderman, flatly.

Orn whirled around angrily and pointed an accusing finger in Gunderman's face. "Do not dare to thank me! Ever! As I see it, this entire situation is of your making!"

A slight rise to Werner's eyebrows was the only sign of emotion on his face. "My making? Your drunken henchman threatens my daughter, and you consider it my fault?"

"I do," said Orn, "in the sense that Culhane's frustration mirrors my own. His actions, however rash and misdirected, were merely the response to seeing myself grow increasingly weary of your cowardly reluctance to rebel against my disdain for you!"

(See? I told you Orn spoke kinda funny... certainly not like the average cowboy. Either that or Grampy's memory was a little warped.)

Gunderman's voice remained level, but his hands trembled a bit. "Orn, all along, ever since you first showed me this 'disdain' you speak of -- one which you won't even do me the courtesy of explaining! -- I've tried to keep things from escalating into a physical confrontation. And I could live with scorn, and ridicule, and humiliation, as long as it was mine alone! But now, Orn, you've involved my family, and this cannot continue! So I ask you: What will it take for you to cease your tiresome proddings?"

Orn thought for a long second. "This very moment is the first time you've ever truly stood up to me. Therefore, I entreat you to carry that through to its logical conclusion, and fight me. The weapons may be of your choosing." As he said that, however, Orn looked at Werner to see that the shorter, frailer man wore only one belt, the one which supported his pants. He carried no gun.

"Weapons? I don't want to kill you, Orn, nor do I think you truly want to kill me, or you would have allowed your man to shoot me."

"No, I would not have allowed Culhane to shoot you, even if I did wish you dead. I fight my own battles, Gunderman."

"As you say. As it is... fisticuffs will do." Werner stepped closer to Orn. "But whether I win or lose, our confrontation must have the same outcome for me to agree to this."

"Outcome? Other than the victory of the match itself?"

"Yes. Either way this ends, it will also end your harassment of me. You have always said you cannot respect me for never defending myself physically against your verbal taunts. If I fight you, you must admit to at least enough respect for me as to leave me alone in the future!"

Orn thought for a long second once again. And almost smiled. "Done. Are you ready, then?"

"No. Not now!"

"What?"

Werner pointed to the noon stage, approximately fifty feet from where this small crowd was standing. "In only a couple of minutes, the stage leaves, and I must be on it."

"You are leaving town. I see. How convenient."

Werner shook his head, as if to brush off the implied insult, which he otherwise ignored. "Today is Monday. I shall return by one week from this coming Thursday, and at three o'clock on Thursday afternoon, I shall be on the stage. If you come to see me then, we shall have this ridiculous battle which you have been attempting to provoke for so long. But you must agree that three o'clock on Thursday will be the time we resolve our differences once and for all... and that is regardless of whether you come to meet me or not!"

"Rest assured, I shall come for you."

"And so you understand and agree to my conditions. I shall be on the stage at three o'clock next Thursday afternoon. If you come to see me then, we shall fight. And our animosity will be ended regardless of the fight's victor."

"Do not attempt to insult me by implying I do not understand your conditions. I agree to everything. One week from Thursday, at three o'clock, I shall finally have my opportunity to soundly and definitively thrash you!"

"Unless I thrash you," said Werner, with the slightest of smiles.

And as Orn walked away, they all heard a sound that few citizens of Toomey's Rest could ever recall hearing: Orn's booming laughter.

Grampy said that the next ten days was the longest ten days of his life, and there were plenty of townsfolk who'd probably have agreed with him.

By the time three p.m. on the appointed date arrived, there were pretty near thirty people gathered around waiting for the stagecoach. Little Artemus -- my Grampy -- was one of the people waiting there to see the big grudge match, even 'though his best friend Anika was in the Baptist church at the other end of town, rehearsing for a solo song she was gonna be singing the following Sunday. (He was a boy, so you gotta excuse him his priorities.)

Right up front of the crowd was Orn, of course, with Culhane and Micah on either side of him, although standing a bit behind him as well.

Orn was wearing a plain, white, collarless shirt with its sleeves rolled up. He was as ready as he was ever gonna get.

The stage approached, stopped, and the passengers started getting out. There were three. An old lady, a middle-aged feller (her son, somebody said), and a second man...

A second man who was not Werner Gunderman.

Something sounding like a snarl came from deep inside Orn, and someone standing close to him said he heard the term "that lily-livered..." hiss from between Orn's lips.

Micah and Culhane both rushed to the stagecoach and looked inside. Micah shouted, "He ain't in here, boss!"

"Obviously not!" Orn thundered. "I am hardly surprised. Once again, Gunderman has played the coward's role."

Culhane meekly walked up to Orn. "Why don't we go to the saloon and have a few? No action happenin' out here, I reckon."

Orn merely nodded.

As the three men walked away, one of the townspeople shouted, "Hey, Orn, this mean you an' th'kid are still enemies?"

Without looking back, Orn replied, "He did not keep his part of the bargain. I am not obligated to keep mine."

An hour... maybe more, maybe less... passed. Orn, Culhane, and Micah were still in the saloon when my Grampy -- who was playing in the middle of Main Street -- saw Anika and her dad approaching. They entered the saloon; Grampy followed.

Culhane saw Gunderman first. "Sweet mother of Jesus!" he said, under his breath.

"Orn," began Gunderman, as if he were already in the middle of a chat with the big man, "I'm only here to confirm that this mysterious and pointless feud between us is over."

Orn sipped at his whiskey, and didn't even bother turning to face Werner. "That is a poor jest, Gunderman. Nothing has changed. I was there, in accordance with our agreement, but you were not."

"Not true, Orn. You are the one who did not show."

Orn's eyes flashed angrily, and his voice raised slightly, but he still did not face Gunderman. "I have more than two dozen witnesses who would disagree. Let me repeat the conditions of our pact, sir! You claimed that you were leaving town, and would return today, on the three o'clock stage from..."

"Wrong. My precise words were 'I shall return by one week from this coming Thursday, and at three o'clock on Thursday afternoon, I shall be on the stage.' Those were my exact words, Orn!"

"I fail to see a palpable difference."

"I said I would return to town on or before Thursday. As it happened, the eldest son of the sick friend whom I'd gone to visit returned me to my home late Wednesday evening... a fact I admittedly did not think prudent to share with you."

"That does not matter. You still promised to be there when that stage arrived!"

"Again, Orn, you are mistaken. At three this afternoon, my daughter Anika and I were alone in the Baptist church, where she practiced her solo song for this Sunday's service. I accompanied her... on my harp, of course, which is a fitting instrument of accompaniment for one with such an angelic voice."

Orn turned to face Werner. The two men locked eyes.

Werner finished his explanation. "As I played for Anika, three o'clock came and went. And I maintain that it was your job to find me... there... sitting at my harp on the cleared-off choir loft which shall be Anika's stage this Sunday!"

From somewhere deep within Orn it began... a low, rumbling kinda growl which turned into an even louder laugh than Grampy and the others had heard ten days earlier. Still laughing, Orn stood there, looking with new-found respect at the only man who'd ever gotten the best of him. He grasped Werner's arm, and gently tugged Werner toward the bar. "Gunderman... Werner... Have yourself a drink! On the house!"

"I'm afraid I don't drink, Orn."

Orn's eyes narrowed. "I insist. No friend of Mordecai Ohrne's can refuse a drink!" Orn laughed his bellowing laugh once more, even as Werner considered the bestowal of the word "friend" upon him. "So... be it milk, water, or root beer, sir... You shall have a drink!"

And for those of you wondering if Grampy -- Artemus -- stayed friends (or more) with Anika Gunderman... Theirs was a life-long friendship, you might say!

In fact, thirteen years later, Anika was the maid of honor when Grampy Artemus married Orn's daughter Lucy!

*  *  *  *  *

Thanks for your time.

Monday, October 22, 2018

Finger Lickin' Good!

Here's one of the crazier things I recently sold on eBay!



Vintage Colonel Sanders KENTUCKY FRIED CHICKEN Pressure Cooker, Circa 1950s
Have one to sell?Sell it yourself

Vintage Colonel Sanders KENTUCKY FRIED CHICKEN Pressure Cooker, Circa 1950s

Item condition:--
Sale date:Oct 11, 2018
1
Price:US $177.00

Shipping and handling

Item location: Webster, Massachusetts, United States
Shipping to: United States

Seller's description
Back in the 1950s, before he had his own restaurants, Colonel Harland Sanders used
to drive around the country trying to talk individual restaurateurs into selling his
Kentucky Fried Chicken. This is one of the original pressure cookers the Colonel
would bring into your restaurant. It has its metal Kentucky Fried Chicken plaque with
its serial number 28621 (see Scan #2), and still has the original black rubber gasket
(see Scan #4)... although I would be leery of actually trying to cook with it. It weighs

about ten pounds.

Whoever wins  this auction will also receive a free Colonel Sanders hand puppet from
(I believe) the 1970s. See Scans #7 and #8.

If you are pleased with your item(s) upon receipt, please leave positive feedback at
your earliest convenience. That way, I’ll know the transaction was satisfactory. I will
leave feedback for you only after receiving feedback from you.
Listing images
Thanks for your time.

Friday, October 19, 2018

Survey Says!

Richard Dawson, first host of Family Feud, in a sketch with Johnny Carson as President Ronald Reagan.

David M. Lynch's First Rule of Writing: Never Throw Anything Away.

Since I've spent so much time lately reminiscing about various not-too-personal aspects of my past life (like my fifteen chapter "Insect Asides" series, a few random reprinted posts, my Tuesday post about this blog's tenth anniversary, etc.), today's post ought to fit right in.

I was looking through my old computer files and found something that's been kicking around since 2001, which was only a couple of years after I finally broke down and whole-heartedly embraced this wacky, zany, kooky "internet" thang.

In those days, I was quite likely to forward jokes and little memes that other people sent to me, and the following was no exception. So here's the text of an email which you might have gotten from me then, if we corresponded with each other (Brand new, personal observations will be written in brackets, in bold print, italicized, and in blue!):


*  * * *  *

Hi,

I recently received the following message. I did not "mess" with it, even a bit. If you choose to respond, please delete this introduction from me. Whether you replace it with one of your own is up to you, of course.

Have fun (sort of),

David

Okay, here's what you're supposed to do...and DON'T BE LAME and spoil the fun. Do it. [Do I even HAVE to tell you that I didn't write that "Don't Be Lame" command? It was part of the email which someone sent to me!] Copy (not forward) this entire e-mail and paste it onto a new e-mail that you will send. Change all of the answers so that they apply to you. Then, send this to a whole bunch of people you know INCLUDING the person who sent it to you. The theory is that you will learn a lot of little known facts about your friends and family. Remember to send it back to the person who sent it to you.

1. LIVING ARRANGEMENT? Renting a three-room apartment, but it's really four if you count the rather large hallway. And I do! I live alone. No wife or girlfriend, no kids, no pets. [Yep, "no pets". This was about three years before I got Orson.]

2. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW? I'm not reading anything lately. No time! The last two books I picked up and never finished were You Might as Well Live (a bio of writer Dorothy Parker) and The Best of Damon Runyon, a wonderfully-preserved paperback book from 1943! The last few books I've read completely through have been celebrity biographies (Kovacsland, The Real Bettie Page, Mr. Laurel & Mr. Hardy, and three Orson Welles bios, Citizen Welles, Rosebud, and Orson Welles) and other Hollywood memoirs (The Name Above the Title by Frank Capra, and Adventures in the Screen Trade by William Goldman, the latter of which was sent to me from Florida by one of my many friends named Jennifer. Thanks, Jennifer!)

3. WHAT'S ON YOUR MOUSE PAD? [My mouse doesn't even have a mouse pad nowadays.] The "Charter Pipeline" logo. I just got their online service, and received my new computer only a couple of days before that. It'll no doubt be a while before I get anything more personalized.

4. FAVORITE CARD GAME? Unless you count the "Free Cell" game installed on both my computer and the one at work, I don't really play cards often at all. I think the last card game I played was "UNO" in the late 1980s!

5. FAVORITE MAGAZINE? Maxim, although, believe it or not, after all the adult mags I've sold, the cheesecake shots in Maxim don't do a hell of a lot for me! Forgive the cliche, but I read the articles!

6a. FAVORITE SMELL: Hmm, I'll eschew the obvious, here... Okay, how about very well-done boneless spareribs from a Chinese restaurant? I could also list a couple of people whose personal scents are somehow comforting (and I'm not joking here), but... I won't. And don't ask me in person, either! :)

6b. LEAST FAVORITE SMELL: Any bad breath odor emanating from a source which is, shall we say, attempting intimacy?

7. FAVORITE SOUND? Make that "sounds." Mostly musical. The voice of someone like Billie Holiday, Frank Sinatra, Enrico Caruso, or even Freddie Mercury... How about the "right" guitar riff or solo, when performed by Jimi Hendrix, Stevie Ray Vaughan, Ted Nugent, David Gilmour... Then, there's the classical stuff. Mozart, Beethoven, Grieg... You get the idea by now, right?

8. WORST FEELING IN THE WORLD? The thought of my dying with no one around me at that very moment, and (I predict) with so much left undone.

9. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU THINK OF WHEN YOU WAKE UP? "Excuse me, miss, but what was your name?" (Hey, after that last one, I had to lighten things up a bit, ya know?)

10. FAVORITE COLOR? Black. Big surprise there, huh? But remember, everybody, I was dressing in black 10-15 years before all the Goths made it fashionable!

11. HOW MANY RINGS BEFORE YOU ANSWER THE PHONE? Phone? What phone? [It's true! I didn't have a telephone -- cell phone or landline -- for many years! I do have one now, though.]

12. FUTURE CHILD'S NAME? Yeah, right.

13. WHAT IS MOST IMPORTANT IN LIFE? Feeling needed and wanted by friends. Preferably both, simultaneously. And that just barely edges out my second choice, "the feeling that you've made a positive mark in the world" as number one!

14. FAVORITE FOODS? Boneless spareribs, pistachio nuts, oysters, and my very own chicken soup. [I'd have to add McDonald's Filet-O-Fish, and boneless Buffalo wings.]

15. CHOCOLATE OR VANILLA? Vanilla. I've always been vanilla, surrounded by chocolate. Think about it, and get back to me.

16. DO YOU LIKE TO DRIVE FAST? Not any more. I guess that comes with age, and the gradual awareness of one's own mortality. [Just recently, I was driving my mechanic back to his garage after he'd done a car repair, and he told me I drove "like an old lady." I was going 37 mph in a 40 mph zone. I said "You do realize that the speed limit is just that, right? It tells you the highest speed you're supposed to go. There's no law that says you have to travel that fast, and even if there were... Seriously? Three mph under the limit, and you're f***ing complaining?"]

17. DO YOU SLEEP WITH A STUFFED ANIMAL? Only when I have to... Oh, wait, you said "stuffed," not "inflatable?" Never mind. No.

18. STORMS -- COOL OR SCARY? Very cool. You can pick up energy from the air during a thunderstorm, and during a snowstorm, I like to test myself by being one of the few idiots on the road.

19. WHAT TYPE WAS YOUR FIRST CAR? A 1964 Plymouth Belvedere with an 8-cylinder 318 engine and a funky push-button transmission.

[Nope. You're NOT imagining things. There was/is no #20!]

21. FAVORITE DRINK? Alcoholic: Molson Golden Ale. Non-alcoholic: Dr. Pepper. Seasonal: Egg nog. [Nowadays, when I drink alcohol -- which is  rarely -- I prefer Coors Light. And I don't drink soda very often. I usually drink coffee, unsweetened iced tea, or sugar-free powdered drink mixes. Currently, my favorite is Welch's Cherry Pomegranate Singles to Go.]

22. WHAT IS YOUR ZODIAC SIGN? Scorpio. And if anybody wants a demonstration of the term "Scorpio rising..."

23. DO YOU EAT THE STEMS OF BROCCOLI? Of course. Why waste it?

24. IF YOU COULD HAVE ANY JOB YOU WANTED WHAT WOULD IT BE? Hmm. "Sultan" isn't really a job, is it? Okay, I'd put "writer," but since I've actually done that from time to time, even 'though I don't support myself that way, let's say "actor." In the movies, primarily. [Since then, I actually did support myself as a writer for a few years. Now I'm pretty much retired, except for the flea market and eBay.]

25. IF YOU COULD DYE YOUR HAIR ANY COLOR? Gee, let's try going back to where it was ten years ago!

26. EVER BEEN IN LOVE? Next question? Okay, okay... "Yes," and always with the wrong people (one way or another). [I don't mean "the wrong people" as an insult. No, really. I just figure if I'm not still with them now, they couldn't have been the right person, y'know?]

27. IS THE GLASS HALF EMPTY OR HALF FULL? That depends. Did you take an empty glass, and fill it halfway? If so, then of course, it's half full. If you took a full glass and drank half, or poured out half, then it would be half empty. [I love messing with those little cliches, y'know?] That's the curse of being analytical! And did you notice that "analyze" and "anal" (as in conservative, or uptight) appear to have the same root word?

28. FAVORITE MOVIE? Make that movies, since I own over 1300. "The Philadelphia Story," "Casablanca," and "It's a Wonderful Life" (I know, me and the rest of the world...!) among the classics, and "Midnight Run" and "Ed Wood" among the moderns. [Since then, my 1300 videotape estimate grew to exceed two thousand! Now, of course, my collection includes DVDs. I have dozens of those.]

29. DO YOU TYPE WITH YOUR FINGERS ON THE RIGHT KEYS? No, technically, but I prefer to think of the "right" keys as the ones which give me the right results. If I type an "r" and "r" shows up on the paper (or screen), then I must've had my finger on the right key. Ya think?

30. WHAT'S UNDER YOUR BED? I never store things under the bed. And since I just rearranged my bedroom, no dust bunnies, either. The occasional sock before laundry day, perhaps?

31. FAVORITE NUMBER? Not what you're thinking. I don't have one, really.

32. FAVORITE SPORT TO WATCH? I'm not a sports person, but... Baseball, if I have to watch anything. It would have been roller games (very similar to roller derby), back in the '70s, but what they call roller derby today is too glitzed-up.

33. SAY ONE NICE THING ABOUT THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU. She's probably the most unique individual I've ever known. And with my friends, that's saying a lot. [And here we are, many years later, and I don't even speak to that "person."]

34. PERSON YOU SENT THIS TO WHO IS MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND? Jennifer. (Which one? Hahahahahahahahahaha....!)

35. PERSON YOU SENT THIS TO WHO IS LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND? Bekki. (And that is a challenge.) [Uhhh... I hate to admit it, but I can't even recall who "Bekki" was! You'd think that with the odd spelling of "Bekki," she would have made some sort of lasting impression on me, right? Apparently not.]

36. IF YOU COULD BE ANY ANIMAL, WHAT WOULD YOU BE? A real scorpion. Or a dragon (which is supposedly mythological, true, but...).

*  *  *  *  *

Thanks for your time.
Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...