Package Lander II: The (Not) Quickening

(Thanks, tarash oniani!)

So, in the middle of this more very urgent chaos taking place, I have 19 pounds of someone else’s medical supplies here. They’ve been here over a week and it’s FedEx’s fault for “just doing their job”. Hi, FedEx. Anyway, here’s the deal: someone ordered whatever is in this box and had it shipped here, but they seem to have mixed up their address with mine or the person who took the order scrambled the numbers or couldn’t read someone’s handwriting properly. I say this because just over two weeks back, I got two large boxes bundled together that for the same person.

After about 45 minutes to an hour spent going to the FedEx website which constantly sent me to an automated call line no matter what I tried, I held on for a live operator and explained the situation. The problem seemed to be solved when he said the box would be retrieved (which took a few days), but guess what?  It wasn’t.  A week or so later, another large box labeled medical supplies arrived and was left at the door before I even had the chance to open that door and explain to the driver this wasn’t the correct address. FedEk was called again, and almost 52 minutes of looping muzak later, someone said they would be picking up the box… and that was what, almost a week ago?

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That’s Entertainment?

stop the world

Where’s the brake pedal, please?

Yeah, I’m still here – just thinking about too much stuff as I guess we all are these days. Or most of us, as a few folks clearly aren’t much for sensible thought. There are a lot of half-written things here because it’s hard to concentrate on being entertaining when the planet is spinning in “Stop The World – I Want To Get Off” mode, whee.

(Thanks, RetroAlexander!)

Anyway, I’ll pop in here later in a more “reviewery” mode as I’ve actually been playing a load of stuff that’s been quite good, but I don’t want to give the total impression that I’m totally clueless to all this distress going on. The blinders were, in fact, never on here. I just keep my annoyance with many things in check with the insane hope that we figure out one day that we should maybe have a test for leaders like the ones they give sanitation workers or some other public employees or maybe even the those that choose to volunteer for medical research for a few spare dollars to live on.

Some music to lighten the mood (not by much, though):

(Thanks, IamPersonMan!)

-GW

(Not So) Random Film of the Week: No Blade of Grass

no blade of grassSo, I lost a coin toss with myself a few days ago and ended up watching a pretty dark film from the lower end of the bucket list. Reasons, I guess. I also guess I should put a trigger warning here, as this one’s something else.

Grim meets garish (plus tax where applicable) in Cornel Wilde’s 1970 apocalyptic survival shocker No Blade of Grass, which is very likely not a film you want to see if you’re holed up in quarantine for a spell. Then again, it’s a film that’s brutal to watch under any circumstances, with its kind of timely by today’s calendar plot and Wilde’s decision to linger on some scenes that are a bit too exploitative and counteract whatever strong ecological message he was trying to send.

Then again, the source material wasn’t exactly a pleasant story either. Still, Wilde (who co-wrote, directed, and produced the film) gets his powerful message across from the opening moments, using a sledgehammer of assorted mostly stock imagery of polluted water, air and land, plus what seems to be clips of a dying emaciated child to let you know business is meant in all that intensity of the opening moments. I think there was a nuclear explosion in there somewhere as well, but I might have been busy trying to find my jaw, which was under the sofa when it fell off and rolled under it. I need to vacuum more, it seems, as my chin was a bit dusty when I located it. Uh, so mind-blowing and downbeat opening, plus a reach for a finger pistol depressing tune (sung by Roger Whittaker!) as a main title? Check.

(Thanks, The Film Archives!)

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The Chair (And Other Tales Of Modern Terror)

(Or: Trick or Treat III, but I didn’t want the title to be too long.)

I: The Chair

Gossamer and Bugs

“What’s up. doc?”, indeed.

Yesterday afternoon, I was about to go downstairs to get my mail, when I opened the door, stepped halfway outside and immediately saw some monsters in the hall about 15 feet away. I calmly walked back inside, shut the door and shook my head, then got a bottle of cold water from the refrigerator and took a seat on the couch. The TV was on and it was the usual news of the day, all bad all the time, of late.  It was going to be a long wait before I went back outside again.

Okay, so it wasn’t ‘real’ monsters at all and no real monsters like you see in the movies actually exist no matter how good the film is. But there was a young guy sitting in a chair in that hallway getting his hair cut by another older guy who was standing up, and no, the guy doing the cutting didn’t have six foot long arms, either.

When I sat down, I shook my head again, then laughed for maybe a good two minutes. What came to mind at that point was this:

(Thanks, Edge of the Fringe!)

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It’s My Party…

at-the-florist

At The Florist – Frederick Childe Hassam

So, I got a birthday card last week (it’s today, so go get me some cake, please, thank you) and I laughed aloud when I opened it because the card had a portion of a painting I’d seen a while ago and it impressed me so much that I went and wrote a (bad) short story based on the image. This was some decades ago, but I recall more or less it was about humans being briefly ruled by a flower race and it not being so bad because it was more a symbiotic relationship at the end of the day.

As those flowers smelled nice and only tasked humans with carrying them from place to place, things were pretty laid back. If I’m not mistaken, this period of peace ended with a few servants, tired of allergies and a few bee stings, attacked their masters and realized they weren’t able to do much in the way of defending themselves. Hey, I said it was a bad story, didn’t I? Okay, it was VERY bad. Anyway, the point was today’s flower markets are reversals of how flowers once shopped humans to work for them and my, how things have changed, haven’t they? Yes, I used to write some weird stuff. Eh, oh well.

(Thanks, good times!)

Back to the salt mines and all that jazz.

-GW

Banner Photo by Irina Iriser on Unsplash

Life is Sweet (Trick or Treat 2)

Okay, things are back to normal… well, the internet works much better today, I mean. I need to catch up on a few too many reviews, but first, some brain draining to take care of. It helps me in these crazy times. This will be another TO BE CONTINUED entry, thanks to a bit of stream of consciousness working itself into this post, but I think we’ll be done by the third one.

Maybe.

(Thanks. Cuerva!)

I don’t swim at all not because I’m lazy or never had the opportunity to learn. When I was about 7 or 8, the parents sent us to summer camp and maybe ten minutes into the very first day there, one of the counselors decided to grab some frightened kid from the back of a group of kids who’d never seen a lake up close before and toss him into it. There’s nothing like taking in the sights while airborne and screaming, then the shock of cold water hitting your body (or your body hitting the water at speed) and seeing fish swim away along with a few water snakes. And man, those assorted pebbles and rocks on the bottom of the lake? I was getting a geology lesson and learning about a small selection of sea life while sinking like a proverbial stone. Ah, memories!

To be fair, I didn’t even know snakes could live in water until that point and I would have been surprised at that if I wasn’t busy drowning. At some point, I was fished out by a bunch of councilors after they saw I didn’t surface (my bad! I didn’t read the instructions on swimming before I got on the non-air conditioned hot as hell yellow school bus, and by the way, there were NO instructions). But it also seemed that no one was stepping up to get me to a hospital or medically treated for swallowing all that lake water. I know I was out for a bit, as I woke up with a crowd of worried camp counselors staring down at me and all that water I guess was coughed up and I can recall a bunch of kids with big wide eyes gathered nearby. We hadn’t even been assigned cabins when this happened, so they all had nowhere to go.

I was a pre-Jason Vorehees victim of kid-neglecting teens, I guess. I think I need revenge, or an appropriate trailer:

(Thanks, YouTube Movies!)

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Frogs (Trick or Treat 1)

(Thanks, Burbanked!)

I rather liked science class as lot as a kid despite running into a few bumps in the road, literal warts and all. I recall almost no one wanting to dissect those pickled frogs that the teacher placed on each lab table one fine day, save for two guys in the back (why are the shady ones always in the back and equipped with sharp knives now?) who I guess either turned out later to be really good doctors or even better serial killers later on in life. That and there were a couple of too gleeful girls who obviously didn’t believe that kissing a very dead frog would generate a very dead prince or a live one, for that matter. They just wanted to gross out those that spied them doing it, Ewww.

The more amusing thing here was those girls otherwise hated the class except for this one time and a few other incidents where mayhem was a potential outcome. There was the one time they (about a year later), along with one of the two boys from the back ‘accidentally’ created ammonia gas in the lab that cleared the whole floor, eventually leading to school being dismissed for the day, whee. Uh, don’t try that trick at home, by the way. It’ll the be the perfect cure for everything that ails you with the very obnoxious little side effect of a bit of invisible but acrid smelling poisonous death (and neither a fine nor noble death at that).

(Thanks. Henridellik!)

Eventually, during the two days, I caved into the learning process and with a fellow equally skittish student (we were all paired up in the class – less dead frogs means a sharing moment for all), we took the plunge. Yes, I thought of all those company-farmed frogs taking a plunge one fine day for a final swim they didn’t know would have them a few hundred miles away dead, well-preserved and soon to be splayed out like ghastly centerfolds courtesy of class-provided scissors and scalpels. My partner in (non) crime was a girl who mentioned before we cut into the preserved formerly ribbiting animal that she had frog once for dinner and yes, it tasted like chicken.

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The Missing, The Mail, And The .19 Pork Chop

Well, Hi There.

If asked how I’m doing, I’d say I’m more very much more annoyed these days than usual, but I’m still breathing, which is a hard realization to work around with all this dice throwing going on by the political machine in spots. “Roll your dice, move your mice!” Yes, it’s hard to dance around the elephant in the room, but after seeing EMS pop by the building a few too many times over the months, plus a growing amount of undelivered mail sitting downstairs, it’s been a bit too joyless around here. Well, until I found out that the mail carrier who regularly did the job perfectly was off taking care of his parents for a spell and the person now doing his job was pretty much rushing it by what it seems was sticking the mail in whatever mailbox was laid eyes on and getting the hell out of the building as fast as possible.

Boo, Sir, Ma’am, or otherwise. At least I got to play mailman for an hour or so by dropping off some bills and letters to their correct apartments later, as did a few others who got someone else’s correspondence. Now, I’m a fan of the post office normally, but not when an employee does this to everyone’s mail on the route. Whatever miserable death count I was grimly thinking of was chopped down considerably by some mislaid mail, but that was a merely a small decline in the joylessness. One bit of a laugh came when I deposited some bills at one apartment and the guy who lived there opened the door, saw he had bills and let out a deadpan “Wow. Gee, Thanks.” he really didn’t mean.

Hey, don’t shoot (a mean glare at) me – I’m only the messenger.

(Thanks, MyMotownTunes0815007!)

Still, a few neighbors have gone and left the building (is that literally or figuratively? I forget!*), so that’s a painful fact to work with. Even though we weren’t close, a chat in the elevator, a wave and smile at the right time, or some weird conversation about ice cream are all memory banked and filed for future use now. Processing is different for all of us, but I’d say similar in how we hold onto that past. Presently I’m back and forth on a few things relevant and not so, but I try not to go under the waves more than necessary, as madness stalks that dark, dank alley and that’s a total drowning pool.

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Testing, Testing…

(Thanks, YOLO SWAGSSON!)

As I figured, there’s a test that definitely works after all, but a test isn’t a cure, just a warning sign. I’m fine, although my poor brain is leaping between being entertaining as I’m supposed to and being totally freaked out that there are too many really foolish people who believe all of this sickness is just the common flu on steroids.

Well, let me go finish a few posts up. We’re in that period where keeping up with the news is a pain as it’s all bad on many fronts because denial isn’t the name of a river in Egypt and too many people in a few places just aren’t on the ball. Stop their world, they want to get off. Me, I’m working on a playlist for all this craziness, here’s a tune from it:

(Thanks, Flowers of Romance!)

-GW

Hmm. Your Tax Dollars @ Work Circa 1943 Make For Some Interesting Food For Thought…

(thanks, allpublicdomain!)

Ha and ha. It’s kind of funny that we live in a country where some are going nuts about too much government poking in to their private lives or nanny state politicians wanting to tell people what they can and can’t eat when back in 1943, this was considered a mighty GOOD thing to want to have happen. Yeah, yeah, we were in a big war back then, but haven’t we been in a bigger and longer one this century to some extent? Yeah, I bet if this nifty propaganda flick ran in every movie theater and on every network TV station NOW, half the people watching would choke on that super-sized soda and barrel of popcorn in their extra-wide laps while the other half would be banging out a protest petition on their devices with chubby little sausage (flavored) fingers. I say look at it this way, folks – staying in better shape keeps you alive longer to enjoy some of that freedom people keep dying for just so you can gorge yourselves while they do all the heavy lifting.

Now go thank a soldier somewhere on your block this weekend and maybe have a fresh turnip for dessert…