Super Bowl LII is 11 days away at this writing. The match-up is set: New England Patriots vs. the Minnesota Vikings. We know this because four days before the AFC and NFC Championship games, the NFL inadvertently ran this image on their Facebook page in conjunction with a promotion/giveaway:
The first spoken line of dialogue from Fellini Satyricon.
I sometimes type it as a jumping-off point when I have nothing to write about. As you can see, I have not been giving this blog the love it deserves. The last thing I posted was over two months ago, which infuriated my wife because she thinks I need to stop talking politics. We're buying a house, you see, which means we are putting aside our nomadic ways and establishing roots in our Florida community, and politics tends to alienate people, especially here in...
Want to know how I feel right now?
Let me tell you how I feel.
Here I am, sitting in my flat.
Deep in the heart of Vielle Ville (Old Town)—Nice, Provence-Alpes-Côte d’Azur, France.
Random thoughts bounce hither and yon in my head.
I saw a Facebook page last week about a pub in Nice called Le Ketje. Once every few weeks at Le Ketje, aspiring rock stars can join in live karaoke. Now, when the karaoke is live, that means you have a real band playing behind you. The lyrics are printed on paper instead of spoon-fed on a flat-screen monitor.
The Facebook page listed the songs in the visiting band's playlist, most of them French pop. But there was a mouthful of English-language ‘60s/’70s songs thrown into the mix.
Day three of 2017, and I’ve already gotten into it with a Trump supporter. I won’t flesh out the details of the argument or which one of us was obviously right (hint: I think it was me). I will just say that when the smoke cleared and I walked away from Facebook, I felt like crap. This is common in most people, actually. Too often, when confronted with a position or situation that is almost unfathomable to us, we try to make sense of it by forcing our wills upon others.
Been there, done that, bought the DVD, ate the Happy Meal.
It doesn’t work. Never has, never will.
So this cool horror film is screening in Wichita, Kansas (my old stomping grounds) this weekend, and I AM GOING... to be Wichita the following weekend! So I can't be there to see this, and that pisses me off.
You all know Hank the cat--writer, muse, survivor, and dead ringer for the Beast in Jean Cocteau's La Belle et la Bête. Back in mid December, I decided to expose Hank to the original Star Wars trilogy, Episodes IV through VI, in preparation for the release of Star Wars: The Force Awakens. Hank had some pretty strong opinions about the first film, some of them a bit R-rated. What follows is an account of that viewing experience, which will appear in my upcoming memoir (originally titled Geek Pray Walkabout, later changed to Geek Pray Evolve, currently a nameless manuscript in search of an identity). If you love Star Wars, you may not like what Hank has to say, but please don't take it out on him or his kind. Cat lives matter, after all:
About the Bloggers
The doctors have a name for it: confabulation. The filling in gaps in memory by unconstrained fabrication.
In the latter half of the 19th Century, there was this Russian psychiatrist named Sergei Sergeyevich Korsakov observed this behavior in chronic alcoholics. Most often, these patients resorted to imagination to compensate for irregular memory loss and impaired ability to acquire new information.
The phenomenon is called Korsakov's psychosis.
Listen: most of this blog is true ...