Logan Again

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A couple of friends, both younger (ahem), liked my recent post on Logan’s Run.  As did someone my post on Goodreads.  I was pleased to see that.  I was alive, but not yet literate, when the book was originally published.  So, predictably, I sat down to watch the movie again.  My wife had to work that weekend and I had last seen it in 2011.  This time, the book fresh in my mind, I was able to notice just how much the movie diverges.  For practical reasons, the movie has people live to 30 instead of 21.  The issue was finding enough young actors (this was the seventies, after all) who could carry off the story.  Michael York was over thirty, but he could pass.  The book is a romp across the country, and it would be unbelievable in the film if Peter Ustinov were able to walk from Washington DC to Los Angeles.  

The movie has Logan dedicated to Jessica, but in the novel they have to grow to love each other.  In the film, Logan is sent on a secret mission to find Sanctuary, which, it turns out, doesn’t exist.  The novel has Ballard (transformed into “the old man” in cinematic form) disguised as Francis, Logan’s fellow Sandman, from pretty much the beginning.  On the screen, Francis remains a dedicated Sandman to the end.  Gone are the zoo animals in Washington, the hovercraft chases, and the little children who save Jessica’s life.  Granted, a lot in the novel would be very difficult to transfer to celluloid, and changes had to be made.  The whole episode of the religion of “Carrousel” isn’t in the book, but was added to give the movie coherence.  I did find it odd that they included the scene with Box, which really doesn’t fit the film.  

In any case, it warms my heart that some of my younger friends have fond memories of this movie.  It’s definitely a period piece.  Fitting for the seventies, there’s kind of an atheistic undertone to it.  Sanctuary only exists in people’s minds.  Nobody is “renewed” (born again).  But not all is doom and gloom.  The old man quotes from Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats, by T. S. Eliot.  (That fact is the only way that I could get my daughter to watch the film.)  And it does have an optimistic ending.  Logan and Jessica decide they want to stay together—marriage was ancient history in their world.  And the young people, my greatest hope for the future, came to see the old man was fascinating.  Something that gives this particular writer a true sense of hope.

Entitlement

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I’ve been guilty of this myself, so the first stone is being cast straight up into the air over my own head.  Academic authors misunderstand how to title a book.  The fact is, these days, that libraries often make their choice whether or not to buy based on the main title—no time for subtitles!  Trade books tend to sell with flashy, if somewhat ambiguous titles.  A well-selected title is truly a thing of beauty.  This tends not to work for academic books.  The librarian wants to know, at a glance, what the book is about.  After being in the editing biz for about seventeen years now, I can honestly say that the vast majority of authors just don’t get this.  They propose catchy, even clever titles that say nothing concerning what the book is about.  Many of them are titles of several other published books.  What’s called for is a descriptive moniker.

Again, I’ve made this mistake myself, but many of the guild have a difficult time distinguishing between the books they write and those that you find in bookstores (trade books).  This is understandable enough when you’ve put years of your life into writing the tome and you want to get some notice for having done so.  Getting notice is a trick all its own these days, but if you’re willing to settle for even average sales, attend to the title.  The book business itself has changed.  For example, back when I was writing my first book (which did have a descriptive title), academic books sales with established publishers sold at least around 300 copies, pretty much guaranteed.  So much so that some presses would print 300 copies and when they sold out the book was put “out of stock indefinitely.”  (You don’t put books “out of print” since authors often have legal recourse to request the rights back.)

That “at least 300” level has now shrunk to under 100.  One reason is there is far too much being published these days.  Publish or perish has come home to roost.  Libraries, which tend to struggle, have to be selective.  And picking a book with a chipper but non-descriptive title is not likely to happen.  So you cleverly title a book, say, Nightmares with the Bible, and it sells fewer than 100 copies.  (In my defense, I understood that it was likely to be made paperback, given the target readership for the series.)  Lesson learned.  Trade titles need to be left to trade books.  And let’s be honest; if your book is a research book written for other researchers, library sales are generally your only hope.

Vengeance Is Hers

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A Lesson in Vengeance, by Victoria Lee,  is a novel with some twists that I’ll try to conceal.  It is a kind of young adult horror-themed dark academia novel.  I really enjoyed it although there are a few improbable events.  That’s the way of fiction with an unreliable narrator.  Felicity Morrow, a girl from a wealthy Boston family, is enrolled at Dalloway School.  Dalloway is a girl’s prep school in upstate New York.  Felicity had to take some time off, during which she was institutionalized, after the death of her best friend, and lover, Alex.  Now that she’s back at school she feels the ghost of her friend coming back for vengeance.  She lives in Godwin House, which only has space for five.  It’s also part of the story of the Dalloway five, girls accused as witches when the school was founded, who all died there.

A new girl is starting at Dalloway this year.  Ellis Haley has already written a published novel and is working on a second.  She lives in Alex’s old room.  In spite of their rocky start, Ellis and Felicity become friends.  Then more than friends.  Meanwhile, they’re both working on their senior projects but Ellis wants to form a fictional coven and replay the way the Dalloway five died, for her novel.  Things grow tense as Felicity begins to remember more and more about what happened to Alex.  Then a murder takes place.  I won’t say more about the plot.  The last several chapters are ones where putting down the book is a real struggle.  You want to know who did it.  And since Felicity is the narrator, you gather that she must survive.  But this isn’t without danger.

The horror elements involve ghosts and witches.  Since Felicity is revealed to be an unreliable narrator it’s unclear whether the ghosts are real or not.  Most of the events are revealed to have had naturalistic answers, but one remains as either a real ghostly visitation or a delusion on the part of Felicity.  I read this book as part of my ongoing fascination with dark academia, and I’m glad I did.  It’s quite a well-told story.  Enough information is held back and revealed in moments of insight as the story unfolds that I was kept guessing until very near the end.  And the final realization only hits at the very end.  This is a good entry into dark academia for anyone wondering where to start, at least in my opinion.

Accidentally Backward

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I watched Regression by accident.  “How is that possible?” you might ask.  Well, I don’t read up about movies before watching them.  These days I try to save money by streaming on services I pay for anyway, such as Amazon Prime.  I had identified The Tractate Middoth as a movie that I could see without knowing anything beyond that it was based on an M. R. James story and that it was only about half an hour long.  I clicked on it.  It struck me as strange that it began with a “based on true events” intertitle, but people will do anything to sell a movie, including saying fiction is fact.  Then I noticed that the production values were pretty substantial.  I began to wonder if there were two movies by that title.   About forty minutes later, I’m needing to take a restroom break and I’m thinking, this movie should be done by now but it feels like we’re in the middle of things.

After I flushed and clicked back in, the title “Regression” flashed across the top of the screen.  Well, that explained a lot.  I didn’t recall having read any M. R. James stories like what I was seeing.  Clearly my initial click had been off and I’d hit the movie next to, or above or below, the one I wanted to see.  With that level of investment, I figured I might as well watch the rest.  It wasn’t bad but it took me a while to reassess my expectations.  Regression is about how the Satanic ritual abuse scares of the 1990s were fueled by, well, regression therapy.  A girl in Minnesota is identified as having been ritually abused.  Her story convinces police, who use a therapist to do hypno-regression to uncover what “really happened.”  Soon even the cop in charge is seeing Satanists coming after him in his own house.

The movie isn’t great, but it’s not bad either.  It has enough Bible in it to have made the cut for Holy Horror (or Holy Sequel).  And it is religion-based horror.  It wasn’t what I was expecting to see, of course, but that can’t be blamed on the movie.  The Satanic panic was real and unfortunate.  The movie is probably more of a thriller than horror, and yes, I can accept that it was based on real incidents because the panic is well documented.  There is no Devil here.  There are also no Satanists.  The real culprit, the film implies, is the fundamentalist minister who first suspected the abuse.  It is something to think about, but it was no Tractate Middoth.

Second Friday the 13th

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It’s a measure of how regimented my life has become.  The 9-2-5 workday is ruled by the calendar in a way teaching wasn’t.  But on this, the second Friday the 13th of 2026 I figured I’d reveal something that only repetitive calendar watching taught me.  It’s so simple many children probably know it, but it is something that being a drone taught me.  Ready?  Unless it’s a leap year, the dates in March are the same as they are in February.  Mathematically (and I don’t think that way) this makes perfect sense.  February’s 28 days are evenly divisible by seven, something that isn’t true of either 30 or 31.  That means in three years out of four, March begins on the same day of the month that February does.  So if February has a Friday the 13th, so does March.  

Photo credit: Andreas F. Borchert, Wikicommons

I’ve confessed to being interested in holidays and significant dates.  Last month we had Friday the 13th before St. Valentine’s Day on the 14th, and the following Monday, the 16th, was Presidents Day.  A special long weekend.  This kind of syzygy always catches my attention.  I knew even then, however, that Friday the 13th would recur in March.  The only extenuation, in this case, is that St. Patrick’s Day is on Tuesday.  Now, I have some Irish ancestry and Tuesday always vexes me a bit.  Well, the coming Tuesday, I mean.  Green isn’t really my color.  I have a green sweater that doesn’t really fit anymore, but I try to wear it just about every year.  (I’ve had it since high school.  I can still fit into my college clothes—those that I still have, but alas, nothing green.)  I keep clothes until they literally wear out.  I can’t donate them because they’re rags by the time I’m done wearing them.  I grew up poor and that shows.

So here I am on Friday the 13th wondering if I should buy something green to wear on Tuesday.  You see, I take holidays seriously.  One of my unpublished books was about holidays.  I ended up using some of it in The Wicker Man, but May Day is still a ways off at this point.  Friday the 13th isn’t really a holiday, except for horror fans.  I’ve only seen the first two movies in the franchise—slashers have never been my favorites.  So this is just another Friday at work for me.  It feels sort of like the movie Groundhog Day.  The calendar just keeps telling me it’s a work day.  But at least on Tuesday I’ll be wearing green.  And if I decide to act on my impulse, contrary to my usual practice, and spend money on a sweater instead of books, maybe it’ll even be something new.

Please Read

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This post is longer than my usual fare, but it is important.  I’m putting the full text in “Full Essays” (the link is above, in the drop-down menu under the “Blog” heading) and I strongly urge you, for your own sake, to read it.  Here goes:

On March 9 I was nearly the victim of an AI scam.  Regular readers will know that I was scammed out of a large amount of money last year.  I’m vigilant now, but I’m also human.  AI exploits humanity.  I had just reported an email on gmail as phishing.  (Phishing is using email to scam someone.)  I had even written a blog post about it.  You can, and should report phishing emails when they occur.  Right now, on gmail, you need to go to the three dots in the upper right after you open the message and use the drop-down menu to report it.  I reported one message then this one arrived, looking all legit:

Let me explain.  Writers in my category (struggling, probably neurodiverse) really want to reach readers.  I want to paste the whole email into this email but before I do let me say that I Googled the “person” it was from and found a legitimate individual in the NYC area, generally.  I also Googled the NYC Philosophy and Psychology Reading Group; it actually exists.  It’s a MeetUp group.  They don’t have a website.  I checked all of this before responding.  Please read on!  I will explain the warning signs and what I realized only later.  Here is the text of the email: (go to Full Essays to read more). If you cannot access Full Essays from another website (e.g. Facebook or Goodreads), please go to steveawiggins.com to get to it (I have no idea how WordPress works!)

Talking Tolkien

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I read The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings back in college.  Although I enjoyed them a great deal, they weren’t enough to swing me into high fantasy.  I do sometimes think I should go back and re-read them, but with so many books on my to read list, it’s a matter of time.  In any case, I’d read that the movie Tolkien was a good example of dark academia, cinema-style, so I finally got around to seeing it.  Although I learned quite a bit about Tolkien’s life from it, as a movie it really never soars.  The academia part is pretty straightforward as King Edward’s School and Oxford University play a large role in Tolkien’s life, and in the movie.  As does World War I, which is where the darkness comes from.  That, and being an orphan.  And also a guardian priest who prevents you from being with the girl you love.  The movie stays with Tolkien until he begins writing The Hobbit.

The difficulty with biopics of writers is that trying to portray where they get their ideas is a fraught business.  Those of us who write fiction know that inspiration comes in many forms, from dreams, to real life events, to the visit of an unusual shop.  Travel, intriguing people, and ideas out of the blue can all trigger a story or novel.  How do you capture inspiration on film?  A love story is, believe it or not, somewhat easier.  The film portrays Tolkien’s early fascination with Edith Bratt, whom he would eventually marry.  One thing that I’ve learned from psychology and those who teach storytelling is that certain narratives more or less play automatically in people’s minds.  Now, this cannot be asserted universally, but if you introduce a young woman and a young man in a story, many people’s minds naturally begin to bring them together romantically.  Showing how a writer goes about their craft is different.

Many biopics of writers are considered examples of dark academia.  Probably one of the reasons is that no lives are lived without loss and trauma.  People handled traumatic events differently.  Many writers use their art as a coping mechanism.  I can’t know, but I suspect that such things often lead people to become writers.  Poe, for example, keenly felt the loss of his mother at a young age, a trauma that would lead to a lifetime of writing.  I hadn’t known, until watching this movie, that Tolkien had become an orphan.  I knew little of his life; I’d read his books, and even walked by his house in Oxford, but this movie did provide a bit of context.  I’m glad, for that reason, to have seen it.

AI Takeover

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It’s already beginning.  As if the world under Trump isn’t bad enough, AI (you can call me Al) is beginning to play its tricks.  You see, I know my place.  I am a writer who gets a few hits on my blog now and again and whose books cost more to write than they ever earn.  (I do hope to reverse that trend, but this is the truth of the matter.)  I call myself, on my introductory website page, an “unfluencer.”  Again, I strive for accuracy.  That means that when I receive an unexpected email from someone much higher up the ladder than I am, I’m suspicious.  So the other day I had an email purporting to be from Rose Tremain, the author of The Road Home and other novels.  Dame Rose Tremain, just so we’re clear.  “She” was writing to me to ask which of my books she should read first.  Suspicious?

Any writer likes to feel flattered.  A moment’s reflection, however, made me realize a few things.  My email address is not on my website, which “she” claims to have explored.  The actual Rose Tremain is 82 and is unlikely to suddenly be developing a taste to read nonfiction books about horror movies written by someone whom most horror fans wouldn’t even recognize.  I honestly have no idea why Al is yanking my chain like this.  I have received emails before that, I suspect in retrospect, were AI generated.  They ask innocuous questions, sort of like you think a young extraterrestrial interested in academic earthly arcana might ask.  Nothing threatening.  Nothing asking you to reveal too much.  Almost as if Al is lonely.  I begin to wonder if I have ever received any legitimate emails at all from people I didn’t reach out to first.

The future of Al impersonating people is already here.  We have our information out there on the web.  Those really, really curious can find my email, I’m pretty sure.  Security questions, although I try not to reveal too much personal information here, are getting harder to pick.  Did I ever mention my first pet’s name?  The town in which I was born?  The address of any of the many places I’ve lived?  Anything shared on social media (and perhaps off social media) is available for Al to use and exploit.  And yes, Al will attempt to take advantage of your all-too-human curiosity and sense of accomplishment.  Take it from an unfluencer, individuals formally recognized by the British royal family don’t send chatty emails about your favorite book.  The AI takeover has begun.

Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash

Creepy Cryptids

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J. W. Ocker and I have a few things in common.  We’re both Edgar Allan Poe fans.  We both have an interest in the odd.  And we like to visit places where something strange is commemorated.  It gives me hope that there are likely more such people out there.  I read Ocker’s Poe-Land a few months back and knew I’d be coming back for more.  The United States of Cryptids caught my eye.  This book is for fun, but with a serious subtext—our world is a weird place.  Dividing the country into four regions: Northeast, South, Midwest, and West, Ocker traveled across the country looking for stories, or better yet, memorial statues and/or plaques, of cryptids.  Defined broadly.  These cryptids can be sightings of something unusual, folklore, or, in some cases, confessed hoaxes.  He makes the point repeatedly that cryptids make for great tourism opportunities.  There are people like me that will seek out such places, given half the opportunity.

Quirk Books, which has been unfortunately experiencing some difficulties of late, functions as a sort of home to oddities.  And cryptids fall into that category.  Ocker does point out, on a serious note, that any animal reported to have been encountered prior to scientific description was a cryptid.  Perhaps the most famous case is the gorilla, which many non-Africans believed to be mythic until one was actually found.  Or the coelacanth.  In any case, discussing cryptozoology is a dicey thing to do.  If you take it too seriously you’ll be ousted from polite society and if you handle it with too much humor, true believers will shun you.  Ocker manages to find the middle ground here with a book that is fun to read and yet gives you ideas of places to visit or concepts to explore.

Reading Ocker’s books makes me think that maybe I take things a bit too seriously from time to time.  That’s one reason that it’s important for me to read authors like him.  I’m plagued with a need to know.  Not everybody is, of course.  I do tend to take things with an amount of earnestness that others sometimes find too intense.  It’s probably my childhood that’s to blame.  That doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy a lighthearted treatment of unknown animals.  And I do try to keep a somewhat open, if critical mind.  There’s a line, sometimes fine, between having fun with and making fun of.  Ocker enjoys the odd enough to know which side of that line to walk.  Or drive.  Now, where did I leave my car keys?

Googling Books

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I admit to Googling my own books from time to time.  (I know, I know!  You’ll go blind if you don’t stop doing that!)  Since I haven’t yet seen any royalties (or reviews) yet for Sleepy Hollow as American Myth, I searched for it.  Google now has a page topper, generated by AI, I suspect, that goes across specific searches such as for a person who’s got some internet presence, or a book.  Not all books get such a banner, however; yes, I’ve looked.  My Sleepy Hollow book, however, pulled up a page topper.  It was still a work in progress, however.  By the way, I did this search with results not personalized; Google knows people like to see themselves topping a page.  So here’s what I saw:

Okay, so they got a number of things right.  This is the correct book and the description seems correct.  The publication date is right and I did indeed write Weathering the Psalms (still my best selling book).  But what’s going on with Wal-Mart?  They have the title correct but that picture?  Although I watch a lot of movies, I’m pretty sure this one has nothing to do with Sleepy Hollow.  What I tried to do in that book was find every extant movie on the story and watch them.  It is possible I missed some (the internet isn’t built to give that kind of comprehensive information, which is why human authors are still necessary).  Besides, AI has hallucinations, and this seems to be one of them right here.  It couldn’t find a copy of the cover of my book (which appears on the left-hand side, but apparently the right…) so it filled something else in instead.

None of my other books get their own banner/topper on Google, except A Reassessment of Asherah.  That isn’t my best selling book, but it is my most consulted.  That banner, however, also has mistaken information.  It says it was originally published in 2007.  The original date as actually 1993.  Web-scraping may not help with that.  The book, as originally published, didn’t have an ebook, and the information about it largely comes from the second edition, published by Gorgias Press.  But then, only humans are concerned with such things.  There are no sultry women staring out of one of the topper windows, so the images appear to be correct.  That’s one of the funny things about being a human author—you want the information about your books to be right.  Of course, I should probably cut down on the Googling of my own books.  It’s unseemly.

Demon Pop

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To be honest, I hadn’t even heard of KPop Demon Hunters.  The places I look for media advice generally don’t cover such fare.  I’m not into K-pop, Manga, or boy/girl bands.  Most of my media tends a bit towards the weightier side.  Now that I’ve sufficiently justified myself, my wife asked if I’d like to see it, pointing out that there were demons in it.  The concept seemed intriguing; Huntrix, a girl-band K-pop trio, hunt demons while building a protective barrier with their songs.  Then Gwi-Ma, the king of the demons agrees to a plan for a demonic boy band, the Saja Boys, to draw attention away from Huntrix, lessening their power and the protective shield they’ve built.  When demons get through they feast on the souls of humans.  Huntrix is hampered by the fact that Rumi, one of the singers, had a demon for a father and her bandmates, Mira and Zoey, do not know this.  When they find out, internal strife leads them to losing the battle of the bands.  Until they accept Rumi for who she is.

The story is well told, even for those of us who wouldn’t normally willingly listen to K-pop.  I appreciate stories of female empowerment.  And there are, after all, demons.  The concept of demons in eastern Asia is quite different from how they’re conceived in Abrahamic religions.  Gwi-Ma is not “the Devil,” although he shares some of those characteristics in this movie.  The demons are portrayed in monstrous form, and they are very numerous.  Since this is an animated film for audiences that include younger ages, they don’t reach horror-movie levels.  All in all, this wasn’t a bad diversion for an evening’s winding down.  It did make me think about the way demons differ not only across time, but across cultures.

As I discuss in Nightmares with the Bible, the concept of demons evolved over time in the western world.  Not all demons were bad in Greek thought, but monotheism made them evil.  Meanwhile further east in Asia, the concept—which may have developed independently—was more ambivalent.  Many years ago, while visiting my brother-in-law on the west coast, we watched an Anime movie about demons, but I’ve unfortunately forgotten the title.  Since this was about two decades ago, hope of recovering that data is minimal.  Still, I remember being affected by seeing it.  Of course, it wasn’t a musical.  Boy bands and girl bands seem not to have enough world-weariness to sing songs that resonate with me.  I guess I have my own demons with which to struggle.

The Black Monk

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Back at Nashotah House the local ghost was called “the Black Monk.”  A plausible origin story circulated with the name; a student broke through the ice on the lake one winter night and met his demise.  Some even claimed to know which was his gravestone in the cemetery on campus.  I really didn’t give much thought to any of this until I learned that Anton Chekhov wrote a short story titled “The Black Monk.”  Now, I don’t know if some literate Nashotah student was referencing Chekhov or if the color was just fitting for a cassocked community of quasi-monks.  In either case, I decided to read the story.  The Russian tale involves a man named Kovrin.  He holds a Master of Arts degree, in the way that degrees in Russian stories bring the holder a great deal of respect.  He was raised by a wealthy farmer who owns extensive orchards, and, needing some time to relax from his city schedule, goes to stay with his former guardian and his daughter.  While there he relates the tale of the Black Monk, who was seen all around the world, and maybe even in space, from where he walked in Arabia or Syria, a thousand years ago.  It was rumored that he would return a millennium later, and, as it turns out, Kovrin sees him.

G.K. Savitsky’s illustration “The Black Monk,” public domain via Wikimedia

Kovrin is a successful, bright, and cheerful scholar.  He begins to see the phantom and have conversations with him.  The monk assures him that he (Kovrin) is extraordinary, a genius even.  That other people, satisfied with mediocrity, melt into the herd.  True genius, however, is often perceived by others as madness.  They have long conversations.  Kovrin marries the farmer’s daughter but their relationship is troubled.  One night she awakes to find him speaking to an empty chair—nobody else sees the Black Monk.  Convinced that he is mentally ill, she and her father put him in a doctor’s care and his new regime of lifestyle changes prevents further visits of the Monk.  Kovrin, however, grows sullen and dull.  He realizes that his genius is gone and that he has become ordinary.  His marriage falls apart and when he goes on a vacation to the Crimea, he once again sees the Black Monk.  His feelings of being extraordinary begin to return, but he dies that night.  His corpse wears a smile.

This tale had me thinking.  It’s not clear that Kovrin was really mad but no doubt he’d been quite intelligent.  He was given a university chair and received the praise of others.  It was the cure that destroyed him.  It robbed him of his enjoyment of life and also led to the downfall of the farm since his father-in-law died and his daughter, now separated from Kovrin, writes to curse him for his insanity.  The farmer and his daughter aren’t always sympathetic characters, but until his dying day (literally) Kovrin had lost all that made his life meaningful.  The Black Monk admits he’s an apparition, but Kovrin was clearly brilliant while he met and conversed with him.  I’m not sure of any parallels with Nashotah House, but it has a character in common with Chekhov’s story.

Finding October

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This post is both about and not about a movie.  On a recent weekend I tried to watch The Houses October Built.  I found it on a free streaming service (with commercials) and settled in.  I’ve been looking for good movies to watch in October for many years, and this one seemed to have promise.  Then a couple of things happened.  But first, the idea: a group of friends want to find the most extreme haunted house attraction in the country.  Fine and good.  Their banter is appropriate, and engaging.  But thing one: the backdrop is again in part of the country where the leaves don’t change dramatically.  Like Halloween, it has the Southern California feel.  Not the truly spooky mid-Atlantic, upper Midwest, or New England autumn.  This is, for me, an integral part of the Halloween, or October experience.  It’s one of the reasons I could never move to the south.

Thing two: as a found footage movie, the camera motion made me physically sick.  Now, I don’t want to give up on “found footage” films.  I really liked The Blair Witch Project.  Perhaps because one of the missing campers was a film student, the camera motion wasn’t extreme.  I do remember newspaper reviews when it came out saying that some people left the theater ill because of it.  Since then, however, found footage has become a standard horror trope.  Some of it is quite good.  The Houses October Built joins VHS Viral, Amish Witches, and even Avatar 3D,  as films I could not finish watching because of too much camera motion.  Other movies have come close.  I’m sure the condition I have has a name.  Since it mostly affects me these days when watching movies, I see no reason to go under the knife to fix it.  But the fact is, the nausea after it sets in lasts for more than a day.  The insidious part is that I notice I’ve entered that realm suddenly, usually because a movie, like The Houses October Built, are engrossing.

If enough people read this blog I’d call this a plea to movie makers—the camera does not have to move constantly to make your film scary.  You are, in fact, limiting your viewership by at least one fan by making it utterly unwatchable.  No movie is worth being physically ill into the next day.  I have a friend whose favorite type of horror movie is found footage.  I often can’t discuss this with him because I’m often afraid to watch them.  And really, does anybody else appreciate that the trees are part of what makes the fall spooky?

Lap Dog

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Recently my laptop had to be in the shop a couple of days when a component went bad.  This became a period of discovery for me.  My laptop is my constant companion.  I’m not a big phone user and I have no other devices.  Suddenly I had to live without something I’d come to rely upon.  It was, in a way, a grieving process.  I’ve grown accustomed to being able to check in on the internet when a thought occurs to me.  Flip open the laptop and look.  Or, if I want to watch a movie, streaming it.  Even if it’s a matter of my wife and I wanting to see a “television” series for an evening’s entertainment after work, it has to be done through my laptop.  (No other devices will connect to our television, which is, unfortunately, beginning to show signs of requiring replacement.)  Just ten years ago this wouldn’t have been such an issue.

Getting the time to take the laptop in required advance planning.  This blog, for instance, is dependent on my laptop.  I can’t tap things out with my thumbs on my phone—I don’t text—and my phone isn’t that new either.  I had to pre-load several blog posts before the laptop went away and figure out how to launch (or “drop,” as the terminology goes) them from my phone.  I’m not sure of my neurological diagnosis, but I am a creature of strong habit.  That’s how I get books written while working a 9-2-5 job.  I’m used to waking up, firing up the laptop, and writing for the first hour or so of each day.  I had to figure some other way to do this, without wearing my thumbs down to nubs.  This blog is a daily obsession.

And then there was the emotional part.  The day I dropped the laptop off—it had to be a weekend because, well, work—I was despondent both before and afterward.  Listless, I couldn’t start a new project or even continue work on any because I’d already backed up my hard drive and would risk losing any changes made.  (I don’t trust the cloud.)  Then I thought, how did I ever survive in the before time?  I only became a laptop junkie this millennium, and the majority of my life was in the last one.  I recognize the warning signs of addiction.  During this period I decided to unplug as much as possible and read more print books.  Perhaps that’s the most sane thing I’ve done in quite a long time.

Tapped Out

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I grew up with rock-n-roll.  Those born in the previous decade to mine can say the same thing, but collectively we are the earliest now adults who never knew life without it.  Extrapolating from that, the longest surviving early rockers are also aging and many of them are still playing.  In a nutshell this was the inspiration for Spinal Tap II, a mockumentary where Tap is legally obligated to perform one more concert.  The band members have been estranged for years, each having taken up a different career.  As with This Is Spinal Tap, their final concert is being documented by an interested director.  The band tries to negotiate all the changes that have taken place since the eighties which, God help me, were forty years ago.  The premise is both funny and sad.  Tensions still exist between Nigel and David, with Derek being the glue that holds them together.

The movie is entertaining and well done but does lack the energy of the 1984 film.  It made me reflective since the nature of fame is no protection against having to work into old age to survive.  Rock stars, like athletes, tend to peak at a young age.  With the improvements in health care and lifestyle, they can live many years beyond the height of their influence and it’s not unusual, if the money wasn’t managed well, for work to continue.  That fact hangs like a pall over the humor.  I still listen to the bands and performers from my youth who’ve continued to rock into their seventies, or in the case of the movie, Paul McCartney in his eighties, and ponder the passage of time and what it means.  As someone aging myself, I know what it’s like to think like a young person but awake with a body shy on the spryness factor.

Although critics mostly liked Spinal Tap II it did poorly at the box office.  I suspect many people my age feel this dilemma keenly.  Those of us who are seniors sometimes aren’t willing to let go and let others eclipse us.  We see this in the world of politics all the time.  Capitalism sets us up so that generally those who are old control the resources, and, rewarding greed, this system doesn’t encourage letting go.  Power, I imagine, creates quite a rush.  Being on stage with thousands of people adoring you must be something almost impossible to let go.  I also listen to some younger artists.  Rock is uniquely fitting for the young.  To me it seems that all is right as long as the music continues and inspired people, often young, continue to make it.