“Their sexual profile is, possibly, part of the in vitro neutering procedures I suspect in use that then produce gay or latent assets who won’t be burdened by actual family obligations. (That last bit is pure speculation but a useful placeholder until I can get to the bottom of this) I suspect their contributing biological parents are cousins, the mothers themselves illegitimate, thus certain physical traits, like height or lack thereof, become pronounced amid this milieu.” (Tyrone McCloskey, Cold Blood and Weak Tea)
Tyrone’s words came to mind as I read Kevin’s piece below, mostly because of the words “…until I get to the bottom of this.” I too would like to get to the bottom of this – we’ve dabbled about the edges with Matt Damon and the Bokanovsky Brats. There is something going on here with the breeding and selection of talent that graces our music and entertainment industries, young brats selected at a very young age (perhaps even in vitro) and given an automatic ticket to stardom.
Kevin did not set out to write about Jennifer Connelly, and all of the writers here know about this experience – we just stumble into things and can’t let go. Over at Fakeologist there is a short video up showing a part of the Zapruder film, and in it can plainly be seen that JFK before the road sign is not the same person as JFK after the road sign. I only mention that because a person of interest turns up in the comments there and is given a royal and unique Terran Downvale treatment – Jim Henson, who also turns up in Kevin’s piece below. Terran, it seems, also has trouble letting go of things.
Kevin tells me he is thinking about starting his own blog, and this piece would not fit with his plans, so offers it to us here. He has also been featured prominently in the past by Miles Mathis, the most recent on faith healers.
A few years back I was alive with the excitement of a discovery that changed my outlook, that “Paul McCartney” was actually two men, a set of twins. Once I got a thorough immersion in their faces, they became easily to tell apart, so that I can easily see that today’s Paul McCartney is actually “Mike,” though we do not have the luxury of knowing their real names.
That information in tow, I put together a (in retrospect, sloppy) blog post on the matter, and submitted it to Miles Mathis. He rejected it as not up to standards, which I easily accepted, as I was indeed a newbie. At a certain point in the succeeding conversation he suggested one flaw in my writing: “You make too many assumptions.”
I was not prepared to accept this comment from XE on first reading. It sat uncomfortably even as I know I can be fooled, and have been time and again.
I watched the movie Grizzly Man in 2005, and we met Timothy Treadwell at a lecture in either Bozeman or Billings, Montana. That created personal interest. What I wrote before was the result of twelve-year-old memories.
Back then I did not watch movies with a discerning eye. I still thought jets flew through buildings like a knife through butter. I thought that elections were real, that news was essentially a (distorted) reflection of reality, and that a movie labeled “documentary” by its makers would be an honest enterprise.
I had to watch the movie again, and did yesterday afternoon.
This essay contains medical information that might be construed as advice. It is not, but rather just long-winded opinion. Read it at your own risk.
Zombies on the Brain
In this piece I will proffer a novel thesis. And like every argument, I start from certain premises—things that one accepts without trying to prove.
I hold this truth to be self-evident: that the most awesome of all movie monsters ever are sword-wielding skeletons. I will drop anything to watch the scene from the 1963 classic Jason and the Argonauts in which the Claymation Dynamation skeletons rise from the soil to attack Jason and his men. I also stipulate to the nearly equal awesomeness of CGI skeletons. [Edit: see comments below]
The other cinematic monsters leave me cold. Vampires? They suck. Werewolves? What’s the big hairy deal? Mummies? There’s more wick than wickedness about them. Godzilla and Rodan? Hardly rad to me. You can keep your demon-possessed dolls, your poltergeists, and your ghosts. The Terminator is alright, but just because under the ugly Arnold-skin is a bitchin’ metallic skeleton. Continue reading “Avast, We Scurvy Dogs!”→
Back many years ago I used to go to our local library looking for something new and interesting. I would go through the stacks looking for books that had many copies, thinking that popular meant good. I’m no literary critic, but in that manner, I discovered Robert Ludlum, and gobbled up everything he wrote. If not good, at least he was enjoyable. He had a sense of authenticity about him, and his characters, while formulaic, were not the typical American-good-everyone-else-bad type. Anyone could be a villain, duplicity was all about, and power was always hidden in the shadows.
Ludlum died having written perhaps half of his final book, and other authors took over. I could tell, reading that last book, exactly where he passed on. The writing voice changed, the characters became cardboard cutouts.
Robert Ludlum is now a trademark, and the books are written by a committee named “Robert van Lustbader.” I’ve not read another since.
Back in the 1980s, hungry for fresh reading material, I wandered up and down the fiction aisles at our local library looking for books that had multiple copies on hand. These I knew would be popular, and so worth a look. In this manner I came across Robert Ludlum. I enjoyed his work, and read every one of his books. I was impressed that his heroes and villains could be of any nationality. Americans were not singled out as good guys, which was a nice relief from the constant barrage of patriotism and jingoism we get in the espionage/thriller mode.
The line “Mongo only pawn…” was written by Richard Pryor, who was originally cast to be the black sheriff in Mel Brooks’ classic, Blazing Saddles. I watch the movie when I need a lift. Good hard laughter is a sleep aid.
The studio overrode Brooks in casting, and the part of Bart, the sheriff, went to Cleavon Little, who did a creditable job.
But we’ll never know what we missed had Pryor gotten the part.