Mark R. Hunter's Blog, page 41
August 18, 2019
Book Review: Anansi Boys, by Neil Gaiman
"God is dead. Meet the kids."
Fat Charlie Nancy is just a normal guy with a normal job and a normal girlfriend, which tells you, considering this is a Neil Gaiman book, that things are about to go very, very sideways for him. Sure enough, he soon learns that his father has dropped dead while singing karaoke in a Florida bar.
Fat Charlie hates his father, who seems to have made it his mission to humiliate his son, including giving him his nickname. Finding out that Dad was a god named Anansi doesn't change Fat Charlie's opinion a bit. But that little revelation is only the beginning, as Fat Charlie's brother, Spider, shows up and turns Fat Charlie's tiny spare bedroom into a huge pleasure palace.
Then things get weird.
Nobody's better at taking regular people and dropping them down a rabbit hole than Neil Gaiman. He did it brilliantly in American Gods, and here he brings back one of those gods, Anansi, to torture his unsuspecting offspring. Fat Charlie, once settled into his London life, now finds himself ping-ponging across the Atlantic Ocean, with his job, relationship, and life in jeopardy as he desperately struggles to figure out what's going on.
It's a comedy.
After all, there are also few authors better at drawing humor out of their character's misery, either.
Although not as complicated as American Gods--there's only one god involved here, mostly, and way fewer characters--Gaiman weaves a great tale of rich and eclectic people, in a (shall I say it?) web that gradually draws their stories together. It's delightful, chaotic, and great fun, written in a free flowing way less experienced writers just couldn't get away with. I have a feeling Gaiman works hard to make his writing look like it's not hard work.
Fat Charlie Nancy is just a normal guy with a normal job and a normal girlfriend, which tells you, considering this is a Neil Gaiman book, that things are about to go very, very sideways for him. Sure enough, he soon learns that his father has dropped dead while singing karaoke in a Florida bar.
Fat Charlie hates his father, who seems to have made it his mission to humiliate his son, including giving him his nickname. Finding out that Dad was a god named Anansi doesn't change Fat Charlie's opinion a bit. But that little revelation is only the beginning, as Fat Charlie's brother, Spider, shows up and turns Fat Charlie's tiny spare bedroom into a huge pleasure palace.
Then things get weird.
Nobody's better at taking regular people and dropping them down a rabbit hole than Neil Gaiman. He did it brilliantly in American Gods, and here he brings back one of those gods, Anansi, to torture his unsuspecting offspring. Fat Charlie, once settled into his London life, now finds himself ping-ponging across the Atlantic Ocean, with his job, relationship, and life in jeopardy as he desperately struggles to figure out what's going on.
It's a comedy.
After all, there are also few authors better at drawing humor out of their character's misery, either.
Although not as complicated as American Gods--there's only one god involved here, mostly, and way fewer characters--Gaiman weaves a great tale of rich and eclectic people, in a (shall I say it?) web that gradually draws their stories together. It's delightful, chaotic, and great fun, written in a free flowing way less experienced writers just couldn't get away with. I have a feeling Gaiman works hard to make his writing look like it's not hard work.
August 14, 2019
Animal stories
TURTLE, TURTLE
Earlier this summer, as I entered Pokagon State Park, I spotted a turtle making it's slow way across the road.
There was a car coming the other way, but the turtle was about to the center line and looked safe from it. I shifted into park, got out, and ran up to the turtle since, as you know, it takes them about ten days to cross two lanes.
When I reached down, the turtle scampered away like a rabbit with its tail on fire.
I had no idea they could move that fast. All I had to do was keep stepping behind it, and it made its way to the far side in a matter of seconds. On the way back to the car, I noticed the guy driving the other way looked just as surprised as I was.
A few days later Emily encountered a snapping turtle, and had a similar experience in that it whirled around so fast she couldn't get it off the highway, for fear of losing fingers. Some neighbors who apparently had been there before brought down a broom and trash can, and successfully moved it out of harm's way.
DON'T BE CATTY
We have a compost pile in our back yard, held together by some old wooden pallets. It's a good way to take scraps of food and other suitable garbage, mix it with grass clipping and leaves, and end up with some nice, usable soil. Granted that I haven't had time to plant a garden in some years, but if nothing else maybe I can use it as a base to try and grow some grass in the front yard, assuming I trim those thick shade trees first.
There's always something.
Cats, on the other hand, know how to relax. In fact, when I went out back to mow the lawn I saw a small black bundle on top of the compost, which I at first took to be a dead cat. I got within a few feet of it before realizing it was just sleeping.
It was a cool morning, and the decomposing products in compost, along with a layer of leaves over top, apparently gave the little feline a warm and comfy place for a nap. I was trying to quietly turn on my camera's phone when it stretched, turned its sleepy face around, and splotted me.
The only thing I saw after that was a black streak, for the space of maybe half a second, before it disappeared around the corner.
It's probably for the best that I saw it, instead of it being discovered by our dog, who has a faster reaction time and doesn't bother taking pictures.
FLYING HIGH--I MEAN, LOW--AND PROUD
A few weeks ago Emily and I drove down to Missouri. Part of that trip is down the length of southern Illinois, on the four lane interstate 57. Toward the south it gets hilly and picturesque, just as Indiana does, but closer to the center of the state it can be a bit of a bland drive. Picture I-70 west of Indianapolis, only with less corn.
So when a large bird flew down low over the highway, it caught my attention. It was being chased by a much smaller bird, something I've seen often that's (I assume) related to nest stealing. Usually the larger bird is a hawk, or buzzard.
In this case it came down extra low, and took a turn just over the highway, in the same direction we were traveling. For just a moment, it was almost still in relation to our car, just thirty feet or so away.
It was a bald eagle.
This is what Ben Franklin wanted as our national symbol. Thanksgiving wouldn't be the same, fighting over an eagle leg.
They're more common now than they used to be, but still not very common; when I was a kid they were practically unheard of. But there it was, right in front of us (no, I didn't take a picture--I was driving). Emily and I squeed and maybe I peed a little, and had something to talk about until we got further down and started seeing the Mississippi River area flooding.
It was a bald eagle, people. Right in front of us. And I don't want to make it sound like I'm just a fanboy, and maybe it was a small thing, but it was really neat.
I think sometimes we don't take the time to realize just how neat the little things can be. We get to thinking something's not worth seeing unless its had a few million dollars worth of CGI work put into it. We don't even bother looking up from our phones anymore. We're bringing up a whole generation of people who don't get how truly cool it is to see those first blooming flowers of spring, bringing color back to the world.
Check out those rainbows, people. Study the stars. Our universe is a miracle.
Earlier this summer, as I entered Pokagon State Park, I spotted a turtle making it's slow way across the road.
There was a car coming the other way, but the turtle was about to the center line and looked safe from it. I shifted into park, got out, and ran up to the turtle since, as you know, it takes them about ten days to cross two lanes.
When I reached down, the turtle scampered away like a rabbit with its tail on fire.
I had no idea they could move that fast. All I had to do was keep stepping behind it, and it made its way to the far side in a matter of seconds. On the way back to the car, I noticed the guy driving the other way looked just as surprised as I was.
A few days later Emily encountered a snapping turtle, and had a similar experience in that it whirled around so fast she couldn't get it off the highway, for fear of losing fingers. Some neighbors who apparently had been there before brought down a broom and trash can, and successfully moved it out of harm's way.
DON'T BE CATTY
We have a compost pile in our back yard, held together by some old wooden pallets. It's a good way to take scraps of food and other suitable garbage, mix it with grass clipping and leaves, and end up with some nice, usable soil. Granted that I haven't had time to plant a garden in some years, but if nothing else maybe I can use it as a base to try and grow some grass in the front yard, assuming I trim those thick shade trees first.
There's always something.
Cats, on the other hand, know how to relax. In fact, when I went out back to mow the lawn I saw a small black bundle on top of the compost, which I at first took to be a dead cat. I got within a few feet of it before realizing it was just sleeping.
It was a cool morning, and the decomposing products in compost, along with a layer of leaves over top, apparently gave the little feline a warm and comfy place for a nap. I was trying to quietly turn on my camera's phone when it stretched, turned its sleepy face around, and splotted me.
The only thing I saw after that was a black streak, for the space of maybe half a second, before it disappeared around the corner.
It's probably for the best that I saw it, instead of it being discovered by our dog, who has a faster reaction time and doesn't bother taking pictures.
FLYING HIGH--I MEAN, LOW--AND PROUD
A few weeks ago Emily and I drove down to Missouri. Part of that trip is down the length of southern Illinois, on the four lane interstate 57. Toward the south it gets hilly and picturesque, just as Indiana does, but closer to the center of the state it can be a bit of a bland drive. Picture I-70 west of Indianapolis, only with less corn.
So when a large bird flew down low over the highway, it caught my attention. It was being chased by a much smaller bird, something I've seen often that's (I assume) related to nest stealing. Usually the larger bird is a hawk, or buzzard.
In this case it came down extra low, and took a turn just over the highway, in the same direction we were traveling. For just a moment, it was almost still in relation to our car, just thirty feet or so away.
It was a bald eagle.
This is what Ben Franklin wanted as our national symbol. Thanksgiving wouldn't be the same, fighting over an eagle leg.
They're more common now than they used to be, but still not very common; when I was a kid they were practically unheard of. But there it was, right in front of us (no, I didn't take a picture--I was driving). Emily and I squeed and maybe I peed a little, and had something to talk about until we got further down and started seeing the Mississippi River area flooding.
It was a bald eagle, people. Right in front of us. And I don't want to make it sound like I'm just a fanboy, and maybe it was a small thing, but it was really neat.
I think sometimes we don't take the time to realize just how neat the little things can be. We get to thinking something's not worth seeing unless its had a few million dollars worth of CGI work put into it. We don't even bother looking up from our phones anymore. We're bringing up a whole generation of people who don't get how truly cool it is to see those first blooming flowers of spring, bringing color back to the world.
Check out those rainbows, people. Study the stars. Our universe is a miracle.
August 6, 2019
Knee replacement went well, road trip was middling
Emily's father had knee replacement surgery Monday and came through okay, although she tells me he's having pain issues. She's going to be down there taking care of him for a week or two.
I drove her down Sunday, and drove back Monday, because there was quite literally no one to replace me for my whole work rotation. (Which isn't to say I'm irreplaceable--that's a different thing entirely.) It was right at 1,000 miles starting out Sunday morning, and getting back Monday afternoon.
A thousand miles in thirty hours is hardly a record, by any standards. Still, I'm getting a little, um, older for that. We listened to Neil Gaiman's "Neverwhere" on the way down, and I listened to podcasts on the way back, which made it easier ... but man, am I stiff and sore, and tired.
Beowulf wasn't overly thrilled either, especially when he realized we were leaving without Emily. It took half the trip to get him to drink any water, and as we got close to home I bought him a cheeseburger just so he'd eat something. Poor fellow hasn't gone a day without seeing her since we got him, and I haven't been separated from her that long since we got married. The difference is that I can stay busy to keep my mind off of it, and he's just moping by the door.
Not much of interest on the drive, except that I got buzzed by a biplane doing some crop dusting. It's startling to suddenly see a shadow pass over that's bigger than the car.
Prayers and good thoughts requested for my father-in-law -- and for Emily, who's tasked with making him get up and exercise his new knee, something I'm sure he won't want to do.
I drove her down Sunday, and drove back Monday, because there was quite literally no one to replace me for my whole work rotation. (Which isn't to say I'm irreplaceable--that's a different thing entirely.) It was right at 1,000 miles starting out Sunday morning, and getting back Monday afternoon.
A thousand miles in thirty hours is hardly a record, by any standards. Still, I'm getting a little, um, older for that. We listened to Neil Gaiman's "Neverwhere" on the way down, and I listened to podcasts on the way back, which made it easier ... but man, am I stiff and sore, and tired.
Beowulf wasn't overly thrilled either, especially when he realized we were leaving without Emily. It took half the trip to get him to drink any water, and as we got close to home I bought him a cheeseburger just so he'd eat something. Poor fellow hasn't gone a day without seeing her since we got him, and I haven't been separated from her that long since we got married. The difference is that I can stay busy to keep my mind off of it, and he's just moping by the door.
Not much of interest on the drive, except that I got buzzed by a biplane doing some crop dusting. It's startling to suddenly see a shadow pass over that's bigger than the car.
Prayers and good thoughts requested for my father-in-law -- and for Emily, who's tasked with making him get up and exercise his new knee, something I'm sure he won't want to do.
July 31, 2019
I'm the Writer of the Week!
I’m the Humor Outcasts Writer of the Week!
https://humoroutcasts.com/2019/ho-wri...
They had very nice things to say about me. Some of them were even true.
https://humoroutcasts.com/2019/ho-wri...
They had very nice things to say about me. Some of them were even true.
July 25, 2019
Our (old) Coming Attractions press release
This was part of a series of Coming Attractions related posts I was going to put out regularly to promote the book's release. This summer being typical, the last one I posted was almost two months ago. *sigh* This one is just the press release I sent out to various newspapers, radio and TV stations, blogs, celebrity talk show hosts, and the Library of Congress, just after the the book first came out. It did land me a TV interview, but otherwise it seems to have vanished without a trace, so this might be the first time you've seen it.
So hey, you want to share this around ... who am I to stop you?
(You can read chapter one here: https://markrhunter.blogspot.com/2019...)
A local author has just published his tenth book, and saved travel money by setting it in Noble County.
Coming Attractions follows the battle to save an Indiana drive-in theater from developers, and is the fourth romantic comedy written by Mark R. Hunter of Albion. It was easy to get into the mood, Hunter says: He brainstormed and outlined the story while sitting with his family at the Auburn-Garrett Drive-in, waiting for the first feature to start.
In the darkness of an Indiana drive-in movie theater, Maddie McKinley returns from the concession stand, climbs into the wrong van, and gets tackled by the father of the kids inside. Logan Chandler is embarrassed about roughing her up, but also intrigued by the beautiful young woman from Boston, who arrived alone at the movies wearing an expensive dress. Unfortunately, he’s the local businessman leading a battle to save the drive-in from developers—and she’s the attorney sent to make sure it’s torn down.
"At heart it's a love story, but it's also about a clash of cultures and changing times," Hunter says. "And coffee. Somehow coffee became a theme ... and I don't even drink coffee."
The story's other main setting is the fictional town of Hopewell, situated somewhere in eastern Noble County, which he named after nearby Hopewell Road. It's familiar territory for Hunter, whose novels Storm Chaser and its sequel The Notorious Ian Grant, and their related short story collection, Storm Chaser Shorts, were mostly set in the fictional town of Hurricane, also in Noble County.
Although his most recent novel, Radio Red, is set in Michigan, he and his wife Emily also went local for two non-fiction books: Images of America: Albion and Noble County, and Smoky Days and Sleepless Nights: A Century Or So With the Albion Fire Department. The two also collaborated on the humor book Hoosier Hysterical: How The West Became The Midwest Without Moving At All, and collected his humor pieces together in Slightly Off The Mark.
Mark Hunter also wrote a young adult novel set in southern Indiana, The No-Campfire Girls.
Coming Attractions and the Hunters' other books, and a link to Mark R. Hunter's blog, can be found on his website at www.markrhunter.com, and he has an Amazon Author Page at www.amazon.com/Mark-R-Hunter/e/B0058C...
Mark can also be found on social media, including:
Blogger: https://markrhunter.blogspot.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MarkRHunter
Twitter: https://twitter.com/MarkRHunter
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show...
So hey, you want to share this around ... who am I to stop you?
(You can read chapter one here: https://markrhunter.blogspot.com/2019...)
A local author has just published his tenth book, and saved travel money by setting it in Noble County.
Coming Attractions follows the battle to save an Indiana drive-in theater from developers, and is the fourth romantic comedy written by Mark R. Hunter of Albion. It was easy to get into the mood, Hunter says: He brainstormed and outlined the story while sitting with his family at the Auburn-Garrett Drive-in, waiting for the first feature to start.
In the darkness of an Indiana drive-in movie theater, Maddie McKinley returns from the concession stand, climbs into the wrong van, and gets tackled by the father of the kids inside. Logan Chandler is embarrassed about roughing her up, but also intrigued by the beautiful young woman from Boston, who arrived alone at the movies wearing an expensive dress. Unfortunately, he’s the local businessman leading a battle to save the drive-in from developers—and she’s the attorney sent to make sure it’s torn down.
"At heart it's a love story, but it's also about a clash of cultures and changing times," Hunter says. "And coffee. Somehow coffee became a theme ... and I don't even drink coffee."
The story's other main setting is the fictional town of Hopewell, situated somewhere in eastern Noble County, which he named after nearby Hopewell Road. It's familiar territory for Hunter, whose novels Storm Chaser and its sequel The Notorious Ian Grant, and their related short story collection, Storm Chaser Shorts, were mostly set in the fictional town of Hurricane, also in Noble County.
Although his most recent novel, Radio Red, is set in Michigan, he and his wife Emily also went local for two non-fiction books: Images of America: Albion and Noble County, and Smoky Days and Sleepless Nights: A Century Or So With the Albion Fire Department. The two also collaborated on the humor book Hoosier Hysterical: How The West Became The Midwest Without Moving At All, and collected his humor pieces together in Slightly Off The Mark.
Mark Hunter also wrote a young adult novel set in southern Indiana, The No-Campfire Girls.
Coming Attractions and the Hunters' other books, and a link to Mark R. Hunter's blog, can be found on his website at www.markrhunter.com, and he has an Amazon Author Page at www.amazon.com/Mark-R-Hunter/e/B0058C...
Mark can also be found on social media, including:
Blogger: https://markrhunter.blogspot.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MarkRHunter
Twitter: https://twitter.com/MarkRHunter
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show...
July 18, 2019
Apollo: One Giant Leap For Mankind
It was one of my earliest memories.
Six days earlier, I turned seven. It was one heck of a birthday present.
Human beings landing on the surface of another heavenly body. It's hard to remember, fifty years after, just how remarkable that was. In 1969 it had been only twelve years since anything made by humans was launched into orbit, let alone 300,000 miles further on to the Moon.Only eight years before (fourteen months before my birth), the first American was shot into space.
It was all new.
Cars were being designed with rocketship-like fins on them. Star Trek and Lost in Space were on TV. (My very earliest memory is hiding behind my mother while she ironed clothes and watched a particularly scary scene from Star Trek.) My Christmas gifts? Action figures from the Matt Mason astronaut collection, and a complete Apollo rocket that, with a click, shot the Apollo capsule into the air.
We were space nuts because space was, perhaps literally, the future.
Or so we thought.
I remember one aunt claiming that the Moon landings never really happened. Yes, that was a thing even back then. The rest of us sat transfixed in front of our television sets, which themselves were the size of an Apollo capsule, and similarly colorless. We watched the launches, the landings, the splashdowns, even the retrieval as helicopters set the capsules down on the deck of a handy aircraft carrier.
One day our teacher brought a portable TV into the classroom--by portable, I mean it could be picked up by one person, assuming that one person had been working out. She adjusted the rabbit ears until a kinda-sorta picture came on, and we sat silently, watching one of the Apollo capsules splash down in the Pacific.
It was an early experiment in bringing technology into the classroom, and it sure worked for us ... although I wouldn't see a TV in class again until high school.
Oddly enough, I have no memory of the Apollo 13 crisis, and I wonder now if my parents didn't keep the news from me. Maybe they figured, correctly, that I had anxieties of my own without learning that my real life heroes were only human, after all. But otherwise, I was all about space.
Can it really have been fifty years?
What the hell happened? We were supposed to be on Mars by now. Where's the Moonbase? Why isn't Southwest Airlines booking cheap flights to a space station? Where the heck are the ray guns, and the communicators?
I was supposed to be up there, dammit. During winter I'd tie the hood of my coat tight around my face, and pretend I was in a spacesuit. Granted that space is warmer than Indiana winters of my youth, but still.
I'm what people call a fiscal conservative. I don't think any government should spend beyond their means, and I'm very much against throwing money around just because you can print more. Heaven knows manned space exploration is almost as expensive as a presidential election campaign.
But this is one area in which we should be spending more.
The advantages of space exploration are enormous. Big enough to justify the expense, with all the other problems in the world? I would argue yes, but not just the missions themselves. It requires an investment in science, and that requires an investment in people: education, interest, employment. Discoveries that will lead to another wave of innovation and invention. Imagine the materials, knowledge, and technology that came out of the Apollo era, and imagine that continuing on, with a new generation.
A new generation. I think one of the problems with the world today is that we've lost our love of discovery just for the sake of discovery. Yes, exploration can bring us that new technology, those new jobs, maybe solutions to today's problems. But more important than that, it's time to make kids wonder again.
We need to be able to sit our kids in front of the TV again, and let them see real wonders, going on right before their eyes. Well, maybe not TV; maybe online, or on their phones, or visors, or their cyber-optic implants. Mankind has always thrilled in that exploration, that discovery. Reestablishing manned space exploration--preferably as a species, rather than as a country--might be just what it takes to get us moving forward as a people again.
Okay, so maybe it's too late for me to go up there. But I have grandchildren, now. And maybe, fifty years from now, people will be telling the story of when they landed ... somewhere.
Six days earlier, I turned seven. It was one heck of a birthday present.
Human beings landing on the surface of another heavenly body. It's hard to remember, fifty years after, just how remarkable that was. In 1969 it had been only twelve years since anything made by humans was launched into orbit, let alone 300,000 miles further on to the Moon.Only eight years before (fourteen months before my birth), the first American was shot into space.
It was all new.
Cars were being designed with rocketship-like fins on them. Star Trek and Lost in Space were on TV. (My very earliest memory is hiding behind my mother while she ironed clothes and watched a particularly scary scene from Star Trek.) My Christmas gifts? Action figures from the Matt Mason astronaut collection, and a complete Apollo rocket that, with a click, shot the Apollo capsule into the air.
We were space nuts because space was, perhaps literally, the future.
Or so we thought.
I remember one aunt claiming that the Moon landings never really happened. Yes, that was a thing even back then. The rest of us sat transfixed in front of our television sets, which themselves were the size of an Apollo capsule, and similarly colorless. We watched the launches, the landings, the splashdowns, even the retrieval as helicopters set the capsules down on the deck of a handy aircraft carrier.
One day our teacher brought a portable TV into the classroom--by portable, I mean it could be picked up by one person, assuming that one person had been working out. She adjusted the rabbit ears until a kinda-sorta picture came on, and we sat silently, watching one of the Apollo capsules splash down in the Pacific.
It was an early experiment in bringing technology into the classroom, and it sure worked for us ... although I wouldn't see a TV in class again until high school.
Oddly enough, I have no memory of the Apollo 13 crisis, and I wonder now if my parents didn't keep the news from me. Maybe they figured, correctly, that I had anxieties of my own without learning that my real life heroes were only human, after all. But otherwise, I was all about space.
Can it really have been fifty years?
What the hell happened? We were supposed to be on Mars by now. Where's the Moonbase? Why isn't Southwest Airlines booking cheap flights to a space station? Where the heck are the ray guns, and the communicators?
I was supposed to be up there, dammit. During winter I'd tie the hood of my coat tight around my face, and pretend I was in a spacesuit. Granted that space is warmer than Indiana winters of my youth, but still.
I'm what people call a fiscal conservative. I don't think any government should spend beyond their means, and I'm very much against throwing money around just because you can print more. Heaven knows manned space exploration is almost as expensive as a presidential election campaign.
But this is one area in which we should be spending more.
The advantages of space exploration are enormous. Big enough to justify the expense, with all the other problems in the world? I would argue yes, but not just the missions themselves. It requires an investment in science, and that requires an investment in people: education, interest, employment. Discoveries that will lead to another wave of innovation and invention. Imagine the materials, knowledge, and technology that came out of the Apollo era, and imagine that continuing on, with a new generation.
A new generation. I think one of the problems with the world today is that we've lost our love of discovery just for the sake of discovery. Yes, exploration can bring us that new technology, those new jobs, maybe solutions to today's problems. But more important than that, it's time to make kids wonder again.
We need to be able to sit our kids in front of the TV again, and let them see real wonders, going on right before their eyes. Well, maybe not TV; maybe online, or on their phones, or visors, or their cyber-optic implants. Mankind has always thrilled in that exploration, that discovery. Reestablishing manned space exploration--preferably as a species, rather than as a country--might be just what it takes to get us moving forward as a people again.
Okay, so maybe it's too late for me to go up there. But I have grandchildren, now. And maybe, fifty years from now, people will be telling the story of when they landed ... somewhere.
July 13, 2019
Old Firefighters Never Die: They Just Smell Smoky
Thirty-nine years ago today (July 14th, since I'm posting this early--or if you're reading it later), I walked into a former auto dealership, past a twenty-eight year old fire engine and a bread truck that had been converted into a rescue unit, and asked to become a volunteer firefighter.
To this day, I don't know where I found the courage. I was painfully shy and not exactly an action hero, but there were two things I wanted to do with my life: write and fight fires. Not at the same time, you understand.
Having those as my full-time jobs never worked out.
Still, I summoned the courage to walk into that meeting room, my first experience with entering a smoke-filled room as a firefighter. (Smoking was allowed inside at that time, you see--and some of the members had taken to pipes and cigars.)
The Fire Chief asked my age, and didn't seem all that pleased that I'd turned eighteen that very day. Only decades later did I learn that the Albion Fire Department had, just a few short years before, reduced the minimum age for a volunteer from 21 to 18. I probably seemed like a snot-nosed, green little punk, which I was.
For reasons I'm not interested in getting into, our department was in dire shape back then. We spent many years building it back up: replacing old trucks, updating equipment and training, improving protective gear and communications equipment. We got a lot better.
The AFD protects 96 square miles, mostly rural. As members we sometimes disagree on the best way to do things, but we've always understood our job is to protect everyone and everything to the best of our abilities. We've had our losses; we've had our saves. My home is one in a line of three buildings that at one time or another caught fire, but are still standing today thanks to dedicated volunteers.
Our job is to take the battle to the fire, not to wait while the fire comes to us. It's to do our level best to keep the danger as far back as possible. To protect businesses and farm fields; homes and wildlife sanctuaries; factories and a state park.
Emergency services are inefficient by nature. We can't just rent out equipment we need for a certain incident at a certain time, because emergencies don't call in to schedule themselves. Last year we didn't get such terrible snowstorms that we needed both our four wheel drives just to get out of the station. Next year, we might have half a dozen such storms. Tomorrow we might have a car fire that's out on arrival, or we might need our foam equipment for an overturned gasoline tanker, or we might send a brush truck to aid a neighboring department at a field fire, or we might have to extricate five people from a car crushed beneath a semi. Or none of those. Or all.
It's our job to continually improve our department; to leave it better than when we walked through the firehouse door. To keep it from falling behind again.
I don't know how long I'll be there for that.
This is not a "woe is me" post; I've had a good run. But I've had some problems with energy-sucking pain in recent years, some of it chronic, some of it of the "ouch! I'm dying right now!" variety. Ironically, it started when I hurt my spine at a fire in the 80s, and was exacerbated (get your mind out of the gutter and look it up) when I pulled a back muscle at an accident scene. (Fun fact: Trying to hide your pain instead of immediately seeking treatment is stupid.)
Some days I can fight fire; most days I can do something; some days I lay whining on the couch, like a man-flu victim.
In recent years I've floated the idea of being just the safety officer, at least on bad pain days, since that job can be done without a great deal of manual labor. Turn off utilities, check air quality, monitor hazardous operations, things of that nature.
After all, a safety officer should be present at every major emergency scene, and a lot of smaller ones. The first time I took action as safety officer, it was just a wildland fire. (Okay, it was a really big one, but still.) Somebody needs to take care of that stuff, especially as firefighters tend to be the go get 'em type.
All I have to do is discipline myself not to haul a hose into the building on my bad days. Lately, as the bad days increase, I've been thinking I could do that ... um, not do that.
But like all volunteer departments, we're undermanned. The question is, can I be useful enough in that supporting role, even if it's just keeping a head count or helping with water supply, when we don't have enough people as it is? Can't my being there be at least of a little help, even when I can't throw an air pack on?
Mostly I'm just thinking out loud, here, motivated by the turn of another year. All that is a question for the Chief and the fire board, not something I can decide on my own. But I'm starting to think it's that or retirement, and I do like to be useful.
Of course, there's always fund-raising through the writing of books, in which my wife and I are both engaged as we speak. But, like an old fire horse, I'll always want to gallop to the scene. Mostly I'm writing this because--maybe also like that old fire horse, if it could talk--seeing that anniversary come up started me waxing nostalgic again. I guess old firefighters never die: They just start telling war stories.
http://www.markrhunter.com/
To this day, I don't know where I found the courage. I was painfully shy and not exactly an action hero, but there were two things I wanted to do with my life: write and fight fires. Not at the same time, you understand.
Having those as my full-time jobs never worked out.
Still, I summoned the courage to walk into that meeting room, my first experience with entering a smoke-filled room as a firefighter. (Smoking was allowed inside at that time, you see--and some of the members had taken to pipes and cigars.)
The Fire Chief asked my age, and didn't seem all that pleased that I'd turned eighteen that very day. Only decades later did I learn that the Albion Fire Department had, just a few short years before, reduced the minimum age for a volunteer from 21 to 18. I probably seemed like a snot-nosed, green little punk, which I was.
For reasons I'm not interested in getting into, our department was in dire shape back then. We spent many years building it back up: replacing old trucks, updating equipment and training, improving protective gear and communications equipment. We got a lot better.
The AFD protects 96 square miles, mostly rural. As members we sometimes disagree on the best way to do things, but we've always understood our job is to protect everyone and everything to the best of our abilities. We've had our losses; we've had our saves. My home is one in a line of three buildings that at one time or another caught fire, but are still standing today thanks to dedicated volunteers.
Our job is to take the battle to the fire, not to wait while the fire comes to us. It's to do our level best to keep the danger as far back as possible. To protect businesses and farm fields; homes and wildlife sanctuaries; factories and a state park.
Emergency services are inefficient by nature. We can't just rent out equipment we need for a certain incident at a certain time, because emergencies don't call in to schedule themselves. Last year we didn't get such terrible snowstorms that we needed both our four wheel drives just to get out of the station. Next year, we might have half a dozen such storms. Tomorrow we might have a car fire that's out on arrival, or we might need our foam equipment for an overturned gasoline tanker, or we might send a brush truck to aid a neighboring department at a field fire, or we might have to extricate five people from a car crushed beneath a semi. Or none of those. Or all.
It's our job to continually improve our department; to leave it better than when we walked through the firehouse door. To keep it from falling behind again.
I don't know how long I'll be there for that.
This is not a "woe is me" post; I've had a good run. But I've had some problems with energy-sucking pain in recent years, some of it chronic, some of it of the "ouch! I'm dying right now!" variety. Ironically, it started when I hurt my spine at a fire in the 80s, and was exacerbated (get your mind out of the gutter and look it up) when I pulled a back muscle at an accident scene. (Fun fact: Trying to hide your pain instead of immediately seeking treatment is stupid.)
Some days I can fight fire; most days I can do something; some days I lay whining on the couch, like a man-flu victim.
In recent years I've floated the idea of being just the safety officer, at least on bad pain days, since that job can be done without a great deal of manual labor. Turn off utilities, check air quality, monitor hazardous operations, things of that nature.
After all, a safety officer should be present at every major emergency scene, and a lot of smaller ones. The first time I took action as safety officer, it was just a wildland fire. (Okay, it was a really big one, but still.) Somebody needs to take care of that stuff, especially as firefighters tend to be the go get 'em type.
All I have to do is discipline myself not to haul a hose into the building on my bad days. Lately, as the bad days increase, I've been thinking I could do that ... um, not do that.
But like all volunteer departments, we're undermanned. The question is, can I be useful enough in that supporting role, even if it's just keeping a head count or helping with water supply, when we don't have enough people as it is? Can't my being there be at least of a little help, even when I can't throw an air pack on?
Mostly I'm just thinking out loud, here, motivated by the turn of another year. All that is a question for the Chief and the fire board, not something I can decide on my own. But I'm starting to think it's that or retirement, and I do like to be useful.
Of course, there's always fund-raising through the writing of books, in which my wife and I are both engaged as we speak. But, like an old fire horse, I'll always want to gallop to the scene. Mostly I'm writing this because--maybe also like that old fire horse, if it could talk--seeing that anniversary come up started me waxing nostalgic again. I guess old firefighters never die: They just start telling war stories.
http://www.markrhunter.com/
July 9, 2019
Movie Review: Spider-Man: Far From Home
So, funny story: One day, half of all the people in the world suddenly turned to dust. Then, five years later, all those disappeared people simply popped right back to life, in what's become known as "The Blip". Okay, not so funny story.
You'd think that would cause some chaos, wouldn't you?
"Spider-Man: Far From Home" may focus on just one superhero, but the movie functions as an epilogue to the entire Marvel Cinematic Universe (so far), especially the Avengers saga.
Ahem: I just realized I should yell "Spoiler Alert!" ... although if you care that much about "Avengers: Endgame", why haven't you already watched it?
Young Peter Parker has been brought back to life in a world where half the people he knows are suddenly five years older. Worse, most of the other heroes he helped to defeat Thanos have gone off to one place or another, and his mentor, Tony Stark, is dead. Peter wants to be just a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man in his own New York neighborhood, but finds himself a celebrity and an Avenger--while he really just wants to be a normal teenager for awhile. So when he gets a chance to travel with some schoolmates to Europe he jumps at it, with big plans to romance his love interest, MJ, and have completely non-superheroic adventures.
We all know how that will work out.
Sure enough, a new threat appears, along with a new hero who needs some help, but all the rest of the Avengers have scattered. Peter finds himself up to his web head in deadly battles and keeping his identity secret, all while mourning the death of his mentor and trying to find his own place in the world.
It's a lot for a sixteen year old.
Thank goodness the makers of this movie understand the key to the Marvel movie success: Take the characters and their universe seriously, but still throw in a good dose of humor and whimsy. Peter is indeed overwhelmed and lost, worried about his responsibilities, and still grieving; but he's also a kid with super powers, and how cool is that? With the occasional help of a few old friends (Well, well, well: You know a certain tough guy with an eye patch will show up), Tom Holland gives us a Peter Parker who can handle the same gauntlet of emotions the audience gets put through.
Jake Gyllenhaal is a nice addition as a new hero, Mysterio, who's trying to keep Earth from suffering the same fate as his home planet. We also have fun appearances from Marisa Tomei as Peter's (hot!) Aunt May, who knows Peter's secret and is oddly accepting of the danger it puts him in; Jon Favreau as Happy Hogan, who's taken Spider-Man on as his own project after they both lost Tony Stark; and Zendaya as a tough, resourceful version of MJ. A long cast list hits all the right notes, including a surprise appearance in a mid-credit scene.
Speaking of the mid-credit scene--stick around for it. It turns the whole Spider-Man universe on its head. The after-credit scene is also fun, but not as mind-boggling.
My score:
Entertainment Value: 5 out of 4 M&Ms. Yeah, it's better than perfect. So I had a lot of fun--sue me.
Oscar Potential: 3 out of 4 M&Ms. While the effects are, as usual, outstanding, we also get some great acting performances that have exactly zero chances of being acknowledged by the Academy.
You'd think that would cause some chaos, wouldn't you?
"Spider-Man: Far From Home" may focus on just one superhero, but the movie functions as an epilogue to the entire Marvel Cinematic Universe (so far), especially the Avengers saga.
Ahem: I just realized I should yell "Spoiler Alert!" ... although if you care that much about "Avengers: Endgame", why haven't you already watched it?
Young Peter Parker has been brought back to life in a world where half the people he knows are suddenly five years older. Worse, most of the other heroes he helped to defeat Thanos have gone off to one place or another, and his mentor, Tony Stark, is dead. Peter wants to be just a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man in his own New York neighborhood, but finds himself a celebrity and an Avenger--while he really just wants to be a normal teenager for awhile. So when he gets a chance to travel with some schoolmates to Europe he jumps at it, with big plans to romance his love interest, MJ, and have completely non-superheroic adventures.
We all know how that will work out.
Sure enough, a new threat appears, along with a new hero who needs some help, but all the rest of the Avengers have scattered. Peter finds himself up to his web head in deadly battles and keeping his identity secret, all while mourning the death of his mentor and trying to find his own place in the world.
It's a lot for a sixteen year old.
Thank goodness the makers of this movie understand the key to the Marvel movie success: Take the characters and their universe seriously, but still throw in a good dose of humor and whimsy. Peter is indeed overwhelmed and lost, worried about his responsibilities, and still grieving; but he's also a kid with super powers, and how cool is that? With the occasional help of a few old friends (Well, well, well: You know a certain tough guy with an eye patch will show up), Tom Holland gives us a Peter Parker who can handle the same gauntlet of emotions the audience gets put through.
Jake Gyllenhaal is a nice addition as a new hero, Mysterio, who's trying to keep Earth from suffering the same fate as his home planet. We also have fun appearances from Marisa Tomei as Peter's (hot!) Aunt May, who knows Peter's secret and is oddly accepting of the danger it puts him in; Jon Favreau as Happy Hogan, who's taken Spider-Man on as his own project after they both lost Tony Stark; and Zendaya as a tough, resourceful version of MJ. A long cast list hits all the right notes, including a surprise appearance in a mid-credit scene.
Speaking of the mid-credit scene--stick around for it. It turns the whole Spider-Man universe on its head. The after-credit scene is also fun, but not as mind-boggling.
My score:
Entertainment Value: 5 out of 4 M&Ms. Yeah, it's better than perfect. So I had a lot of fun--sue me.
Oscar Potential: 3 out of 4 M&Ms. While the effects are, as usual, outstanding, we also get some great acting performances that have exactly zero chances of being acknowledged by the Academy.
July 6, 2019
4-H Writers Show Potential
I received this year's Noble County 4-H Creative Writing Projects the other day, so I'll be busy with the judging for several days.
I kind of hate that word, judging. Who am I to judge? I should forward all of these to George R.R. Martin or J.K. Rowling, they could judge ... but they're probably busy buying countries, or something.
When people start referring to me as M.R. Hunter, maybe I'll be too busy too. Until then, it's only right to help along aspiring authors. I was one, once ... and in many ways I'm still aspiring, along with inspiring and perspiring. So I'll do my best to do right by them.
Still, it's hard to be objective, especially when you can still remember how flimsy your own self-esteem was back then, and by you I mean me. Also, there are three categories, and it's important not to judge one by the standards of another. It would be like judging a college essay, then using the same standard to judge a third grader's "what I did last summer" paper.
Every 4-H entry I've read showed potential for great works to come. I hope I'll see all their names on a bookshelf, someday.
I kind of hate that word, judging. Who am I to judge? I should forward all of these to George R.R. Martin or J.K. Rowling, they could judge ... but they're probably busy buying countries, or something.
When people start referring to me as M.R. Hunter, maybe I'll be too busy too. Until then, it's only right to help along aspiring authors. I was one, once ... and in many ways I'm still aspiring, along with inspiring and perspiring. So I'll do my best to do right by them.
Still, it's hard to be objective, especially when you can still remember how flimsy your own self-esteem was back then, and by you I mean me. Also, there are three categories, and it's important not to judge one by the standards of another. It would be like judging a college essay, then using the same standard to judge a third grader's "what I did last summer" paper.
Every 4-H entry I've read showed potential for great works to come. I hope I'll see all their names on a bookshelf, someday.
July 3, 2019
Happy Independence Day
"We hold these truths to be self-evident: That all men are created equal; that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights; that among these rights are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. That to secure these rights, governments are instituted among men -- deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed."
On this Independence Day, remember that while we have differences, we've always had differences. We're still all human beings, far more alike than different. Most of us--at least, most of us outside of Washington, D.C.--want to keep this country free and great, even if we disagree on how to do so. So disagree: But try to find areas of agreement, and respect each other. And be kind.
We need each other now more than ever before.
On this Independence Day, remember that while we have differences, we've always had differences. We're still all human beings, far more alike than different. Most of us--at least, most of us outside of Washington, D.C.--want to keep this country free and great, even if we disagree on how to do so. So disagree: But try to find areas of agreement, and respect each other. And be kind.
We need each other now more than ever before.
