Rish Outfield's Blog, page 2

Rish Outcast 307: Like Stamp-Collecting

After going to two different comic-related sales, Rish talks about comic books, and a chilling prediction someone made.

Also, Fake Sean knows a special place where boys and girls can all be queens every single day.

To download the episode, Right-Click HERE.

To support me on Patreon, click HERE.

Logo by Gino "Likes Damp Collecting" Moretto.

The Creep In The Woods

I had to wait until today to type this up because yesterday afternoon, the R button broke off on my laptop* and I had to resort to Copy-and-Pasting the letter in my writing and not being able to Repeat Action in my editing, but you wouldn't believe a) how many times one Ctrl-Rs and b) how many words have Rs in 'em.  

Anyway...

I've mentioned it before, but my brother has one of those nature trail cameras he will often set up outside our family cabin, usually to find out where the badger keeps its den (the darn thing is smart enough to avoid most traps we set for it, but strong enough to bend the metal of the one that's caught it)(it's also small enough to evade our turbolasers, but that's beside the point).
I noticed that there was a dead animal in the trap outside the badger den, and thought I would look to see if the creature had come out at any time to try to get it, so I grabbed the SD card and took it inside to look at the footage.

It's got a motion sensor on it, and it only works when it sees something move in front of it, but this machine is a newer one that records video AND audio several times a day.  I saw a couple of deer walk by, several squirrels, and at least one large woodchuck, and--I think I've mentioned this before--I always imagine how it would be to see some kind of thing wandering around in the woods out there, lurching about in the dark, perhaps stepping up to the camera to investigate it.  What if it was a terrifying old woman with shining night-vision eyes?  Or a young, naked Rami Malek or old, fully-clothed John Malkovich.  How about Jon Heder in a corn chowder-spattered wedding dress?
But no, there was nothing explicitly terrifying . . . except that in the moments I had walked around the cameras, examining the traps and the den, you could hear me talking to myself, like a crazy person wandering around the park (or city library) or a character written by Stan Lee.  I couldn't help but wonder what my brother would think, when it comes time to watch the footage himself, but he's known me for decades, so the only person surprised would be me.

*It was SOOOO beyond time to retire the darn thing, but I kept using it out of stubbornness, despite it having about a dozen problems (from overheating to the sound going out to making a loud buzzing sound [the fan was broken, hence the overheating] to simply not wanting to boot up from time to time), since it was familiar to me.

Rish Outcast 306: With A Banjo On My Knee

Rish presents his story, "With A Banjo On My Knee," written for a Journey Into... contest, that, despite not winning the contest, he thinks is pretty good.

Garrett McClarren finds an old banjo in an alley and discovers that it has the power to soothe the savage . . . well, Los Angeleno.

If you want to download the episode, Right-Click HERE.

If you want to support me on Patreon, click HERE.

If you wanna hear the original version, click HERE.

Logo by Gino "With A Ukulele On My Knee" Moretto.

Mystery of the Open Unit

(February 7th . . . move there)

Last night, after I got off from work, I quickly drove to the storage unit to retrieve two Transformers I had sold (they were Crasher and Blurr, since you asked.  Why are you so oddly curious about them?), and as I pulled in, I found an open unit a couple rows away from mine.  There tend to be open empty units all the time, because their owners have cleared them out and not bothered to close the doors, since (presumably) they're just going to get opened and inspected anyway.  But this one was not empty . . . it was still full of stuff.

I was pressed for time (twice I've been locked inside the property for staying later than ten o'clock--once it was literally 10:00 and the doors wouldn't open to let me through), but I paused for a few seconds outside their unit, shining my highbeams on the contents, wondering if someone was transferring the inventory to another space and had just left it open since it was night and no one was around, or if someone had accidentally left their unit open (which seems extraordinarily unlikely.  You see, the reason people pay so g.d. much for someone to store their stuff month to month is because it is valuable to them (presumably more valuable than the price to store it - though, in my mom's unit's case . . .), so even if you didn't have a lock*, you'd surely close the door, and hope no one would notice (which they wouldn't, I mean, come on).
Well, I saw a bunch of items sitting in the darkened unit, but nothing that jumped out at me enough to go in there at night and risk getting locked in the property and/or murdered by the madman who lives in the unit (he's in space 214, by the way).  I raced over to my own space, opened and grabbed the Transformers (they were the Walmart exclusives from 2022.  Why ask for all these details?  Are you interested in buying them?  If so, why did you wait until someone else did?), then left with six or seven minutes to spare.
I did sell something in the night (no, I don't remember what it was.  Do you need me to look it up?  Is it that important?), though, so I drove back again the next morning, hoping to get it packaged up and in the mailbox before the postman came.  But that abandoned storage unit was still open, still stocked, and seemed to have been untouched since the night before.  So, I parked outside it, and went to investigate. 

It had been cleaned out of anything valuable, but there were still several books, packing materials, a bunch of plastic containers, some clothes, and a little coffee table-sized shelf, along with what was surely garbage they hadn't felt like hauling off.  I opened one of the plastic containers, just to see, and it held a bunch of family pictures in it.**  Odd that they would be abandoned, but you never know the backstory on these things.  I found nothing of value--to me, anyway--and the only thing I took was a five or six foot stretch of bubble wrap, which I could easily use the next time I sell a Transformer (Um, okay, the series was called Velocitron 500.  They were in a blue package.  If you like them all that much, I'll hook you up with a deal, okay?  Just get off my back and let me blog).  I was again curious why a non-empty unit would be left open, but in a world where little makes sense, you can drown in the rising tide of How Comes.
But you may be asking, why did I share this stupid post with you, if you didn't find anything and nothing of interest ever happened (except for a reader being bizarrely curious about the overpriced action figures I sell, jeez!)?  Well, I can't help but think about what I might have found.  
Either something crazy-precious and costly, or something super-creepy and upsetting.  As I went on my run tonight, I thought there had to be a story in there, of stumbling upon something where I would spend the rest of my days regretting being curious and wandering into where I didn't belong.  Of course, in a story it would have been night, and I'd have had ten minutes (or so) before the gates locked, so I'd have had no qualms about peeking into the darkened unit to see what was in there.  And maybe I did find something valuable, something totally cool, and it caused me to lose track of time, and by the time I also discovered something disturbing or grisly, those doors would be sealed for the night.
And of course, the strange storage unit would not have been abandoned--the owner would have been nearby, perhaps disposing of a body, perhaps just getting more bubble wrap (so he could use them to dispose of a body).  You never know.


*Twice I have dropped a lock after opening the unit and broken the key off, forcing me to go out and buy another lock.  Twice.
**According to that Robin Williams movie, other than the family pets, the first thing a family would rescue from a burning house is their family photos . . . so maybe that movie was wrong?

Marshal And I Talk Season 2 of "Andor"

After a bit of foot-dragging, I finally watched the second season of "Andor," and just like seeing CITIZEN KANE, GONE WITH THE WIND, THE RISE OF CHUN-LI, and LAWRENCE OF ARABIA for the first time, I kinda had to shrug and say, "Yeah, it was as good as everybody says."

Whoops, guess you don't have to listen to me and Marshal Latham talk about it now over at the Star Wars: Delusions of Grandeur podcast HERE.  Seems like a bit of a waste spending all that time on the episode.

Marshal And I Talk About KRULL (1983)

A while back, Marshal and I watched KRULL, an ambitious 1983 Sci-Fi/Fantasy movie hoping to be the next STAR WARS.  But did STAR WARS have The Glaive?

Seems like a long time ago, but you can check out our review HERE.

Podcast That Dares 59: For The Blood Is The Life

Rish presents F. Marion Crawford's 1911 short story "For The Blood Is The Life." Drink up!

To download the episode, Right-Click HERE.

To support my vain efforts on Patreon, click HERE.

Logo by Gino "The Stud Is The Life" Moretto.

Rish Outcast 305: In Security 3

Rish talks--at length--about a library patron suffering from mental illness, he tries to say "Who cares?" more often, watches Active Shooter Training, plays detective in The Case of the Stolen Backpack, and facilitates a proposal. And says "of course" a lot.

As always, you can download the file by Right-Clicking HERE.

And of course, you can support my Patreon by clicking HERE.

Logo by Gino "Out Security" Moretto.

My Voice On Jonathan Wilson's "The Hollows"

Jonathan Wilson is a really good guy, and waaaaaaay more ambitious than I have become.

 He has continued to write short stories and on occasion has me do a voice or two on the full-cast audio versions.  But he has also embraced the demon-fed technology of the day, and creates motion videos for his stories.  It's certainly not what I would do . . . but isn't that the beauty of other people?

Well beauty or not, here's his tale, "The Hollows," in which both Big and I lend our voices (though not our faces this time) to the experience.  Teen Josh has been forbidden to hang out in the dangerous hollows near his neighborhood, but his friends manage to get him out there.  Big mistake.

You can check out the video HERE, or, since it's on YouTube, I could just post it below:

Baby's First Protest

Years ago, when I worked in L.A., I heard there was going to be a faux anti-mutant protest as a promotion for the X-MEN movie.  I called up my friend Erik and bought a posterboard and made up a pair of protest signs (one was of Blinky the Fish from "The Simpsons" with a circle-slash through it, and the other said, "Do your duty, report a mutie!"--which I was quite proud of), and we went to the venue to participate in the protest.  When we got there, we were told that it was not a real protest, and only paid Fox employees were allowed to march in the parade.  It saddened me, and I swore to never raise my hand in protest again.

Yet here we are, twenty-five short years later, and I'm up to my old tricks.  

Because of the long-gestating announcement that Donald Trump was going to have a military parade in Washington DC to honor the 250th anniversary of the U.S. Army . . . that just happened to occur on his 79th birthday, an opposite event was announced: something called No Kings Day.  
It was organized to show criticism of Trump and his cabinet, and in the last few days got a huge boost as his administration ramped up their efforts to detain, arrest, harass, and deport as many undocumented immigrants as possible, focused specifically in Los Angeles, where the whole infrastructure is basically propped up by undocumented workers.  I don't have to tell you this, but Trump's birthday celebration could not have fallen at a worse time, at least as far as his general approval among Americans goes.*
My niece and her fiancé recently went to a rally in the capitol, where I could only listen to the livestream while going on an uncharacteristic daylight run, but I sent her a message when I heard about No Kings Day, and asked if she wanted to go to it.  Me not being near to her favorite uncle, I heard nothing for almost two weeks . . . but a couple of days before the event, she texted me back saying she was in.  It would be Saturday morning, starting at nine am.
I had worked the night before, and there was a lady at work who was talking about going and told me that, if I went, I should make a sign to hold up to the traffic that drove by.  So, after finishing my shift, and wasting my time going to Target, and doing my run, and eating, I sat down to make a sign.  I tried to think of a play on words, a pun on the word Trump or a rhyme with the word "Don," or his famous "I like people who weren't captured" statement.**

Ultimately, all I could come up with was to draw the Burger King mascot and put a circle with a slash through it (what I irritatingly refer to as the Ghostbusters symbol), and another where I wrote the words "So Much Destruction, Such Little Hands."
I should have made a third sign, since Cathexis's boyfriend was also coming, and ended up driving us there, but I'm not sure what I would've written on it (I'm still fond of the old saw "If You're Not Angry, You're Not Paying Attention"--one I could write up for next time), but when we got there, somebody handed my niece a "No Kings" sign, and now we all had one.

We drove to the middle of town, where the City Center is (and where my niece has recently started working), and the size of the crowd was unbelievable.  It was probably three or four times what I imagined, even thinking a lot of folks would be there.  People were very nice, patient, and seemingly happy to be there.  I saw so many clever, funny, or incendiary signs, and discovered that everybody had their own thing they were outraged about, from climate change to bastardry, from deliberate ignorance to Ukraine, from dishonesty to billionaires being in charge, from racism to Trump being a literal pile of shit, from criminality to climate change denial.
But the issue that the most people were up in arms about was the immigration policy.  The thing is, every single one of us, unless you're a Navajo or Shoshone or Ute, is an immigrant, or descended from one.  Because of the pioneer heritage of many around here, there were signs that pointed out that, if you're white, it's a legacy, but if you're brown, it's an invasion.  And "No One Is Illegal On Stolen Land," read two or three of the signs.

And man, the signs.  They ranged from barely-legible to artistically impressive, funny ("They're Eating The Checks!  They're Eating The Balances!") to heartbreaking (I saw two different Anne Frank quotations, prompting my niece to ask what I thought of Frank***).  There were several signs with scriptural reference on them, which kind of blew my mind because I--naively, apparently--simply assumed that all religious folks blindly pretended that Donald Trump was one of them, and were perfectly content with the ungodly things he does each and every day.

I saw a couple of signs that said "I have friends everywhere" on them, which I recognized as a line from "Andor," and probably means that I should edit the podcast where Marshal and I talk about it . . . soonish.

There were also many signs (and sign-holders) there in support of LGBT causes, which included drag queens and unicorns.  Somehow, in my lifetime, the pink flamingo has been displaced as the gayest of all animals . . . and that too makes me sad.

My favorite one simply said, "Chinga La Migra," which is a lyrical, rhymey way of saying "Eff the Immigration Police."

The elderly lady beside us had a sign she was waving that was probably the most decent and benign thing I saw that day, and I did my best Trump impression of him saying, "One nasty woman was waving a nasty sign that said 'Peace and Dignity For All' on, can you believe that?"

The crowd, despite being dangerously large, was calm and well-behaved, and there were (ring)leaders walking up and down the sidewalk with megaphones, telling us what to chant, and having us sing This Land Is Your Land, the National Anthem, America The Beautiful, and the theme song to Cheers.  Okay, not that last one, but it would've been very welcome.  Oh, and very out-of-keeping with what we were protesting against, there were people walking through the crowd offering free water, flag stickers, and (in one dude's case) Oreo cookies.

Any time someone heckled, gave us the finger, or threatened to make America great again, we were instructed to chant "We are peaceful, We are peaceful, We are peaceful," either to reassure the cops that were walking up and down the street, keeping an eye on everything.

It was a hot day, and my niece was trying her best not to roast in the sun (she vowed to make a sign that said, "It must be bad to make a ginger go outside and protest!" for next time), but people were accommodating and arranged themselves so everyone could get some shade that wanted it.  I saw a girl I work with at the library, but she never acknowledged me, so some things haven't changed.  Even so, it was great to be part of a community, and around so many people passionate about something.

When we were done, we walked around the whole gathering so we could see the signs we had missed (someone had brought a giant Very Hungry Caterpillar that said "Eat the Rich" on it), and then drove around the block so we could honk and wave at the folks just getting there.  In the end, it won't amount to much--those in power are just too powerful, and the groups powerful enough to actually make a difference are either apathetic or complicit.  But it felt good to stand next to others, to sing and shout and not feel alone, not feel like the outrage belonged to few, but to many.

See ya out there.

*Of course I don't mean that everybody hates what he's doing.  There are thousands--if not millions--of people out there all too eager to play Charlie McCarthy to Trump's Edgar Bergen . . . a reference so dated, only his supporters could be old enough to understand it.  And believe me, the crueler he and his policies get, the harder they become.
**Something like "I like presidents without felony convictions."
***"I love Anne Frank," I said, which seemed comprehensive enough.