Herb Williams-Dalgart's Blog, page 2

November 8, 2012

The Empire Strikes Gold


Obama’s back in the White House, there’s another Kennedy in Congress (taking over for fan-favorite Barney Frank), and the rancor of the campaign will (hopefully) be swept away with the horrible destruction wrought by Hurricane Sandy.  It’s been quite a week and Americans are tired!  Though, daylight savings did offer an hour of well-needed sleep last weekend.  I loved that.
 Aside from Hurricane Sandy, perhaps the second most shocking event of the month is the announcement that Disney has purchased Lucasfilm for $4 billion—a deal which includes Industrial Light & Magic, Skywalker Sound, and video game manufacturer, LucasArts.  Congratulations, Lucas grandchildren!  You are now modern-day pharaohs and may choose the slaves with whom you will be buried under the Lucas pyramids Grandpa George has undoubtedly built on the ranch.  Of course, I have no way of knowing.  My invitation to Skywalker Ranch has somehow been delayed in the mail. Fans of the blog have known that my love/hate relationship with both Lucas and Disney have been fodder for my maniacal musings (love the alliteration, people!).  I’ve mocked their mutual love of secrecy and their common addiction to control.  I’ve been impressed by Lucas’ obsession with perfection, and Disney’s uncanny ability to predict the future as though Walt’s disembodied frozen head is offering oracle-like predictions from beneath Sleeping Beauty’s castle.  Don’t pretend it hasn’t occurred to you, too... Lucas putting young Anakin Skywalker into Return of the Jedi as a ghost is a lot like Disney working Captain Jack Sparrow into the Pirates of the Caribbean ride.  Make something new happen as though it was always there...  evil revisionists! Now, we’re left to wonder what happens when the Dark Empire meets the Happiest Place on Earth.  Do we feel fear or joy?  Or is it just a moment of, “meh.”   Yoda says, “Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering.”   While I’m the last guy to argue with Yoda, I think he may have it backwards—that suffering might actually lead to hate.  Case in point:  after suffering through The Phantom Menace, I’d say that was when my Lucas hate kicked in.  Nevertheless, there may be more to enjoy than fear when considering this mega-merger of cosmic forces. Part of me marvels at the hilarity that Carrie Fisher is now a Disney Princess!  Think about it, people!  Carrie Fisher may be the first Disney princess to publically acknowledge drug and alcohol abuse (though I think a few princesses have tried apples, potions, and spinning wheels against our better judgment).  Fans of Carrie Fisher’s one-woman show might appreciate her strategic use of profanity, unbecoming a mistress of the realm.  I, for one, like a little sass in my princesses, though I’m not sure little girls should be encouraged to don a Halloween “Slave Leia” costume as they would Ariel or Jasmine costumes.   Nevertheless, as the last princess of Alderaan, Leia really beats out Pocahontas for the most tragic princess, doesn’t she?  Leia’s dad wanted to rule with his son, not his daughter.  Major sexist diss!  Leia should have some serious issues after Episode VI, and who would blame her?  Hey, maybe that could be the plot for Episode VII – Lady Vader’s Revenge.  Whoop!  There it is! How do I start my Lady Vader’s Revenge Website now?!  Hands off.  I call the idea as my own.  I’m working on the screenplay already, people, and I’m setting aside my other masterpiece – Supermodel Astronaut.  Now that I think about it, there may be a place for Supermodel Astronaut in the new “Disney Wars” Universe.  Hmmmm....  Maybe I could clone her...  The dark side is so seductive! Who knows?  The Disney connection may have been pondered all along by the evil genius of Lucas himself.  Jar-Jar Binks is slightly reminiscent of Goofy.  Even Luke Skywalker had hints of Eeyore when he complained about living on the planet farthest from any bright center of the universe, or whining about going to the Toshi station to pick up power converters.  Just watch Episode IV.  Luke Skywalker whines like Minnie Mouse.  Man up, son of Vader!  No one likes a Jedi whiner.  A vengeful Leia?  Think about it.  It has legs, people! I can see new possibilities for mash-up movies, too:  Snow White and the Seven Droids; Winnie the Hut; The Arisitosith; The Emperor’s New Groove (no title change, but a totally new meaning)! Even Pixar can get some mash-up action – Droid Story or Wall-E Strikes Back…  The juices are flowing, folks! While the initial thought of these two cultural juggernauts blending to create a megalithic Empire may give some folks pause, the 11 year-old boy in me who saw Star Wars: A New Hope at the Topanga Mall thinks this makes some sort of cosmic sense. Selling Lucasfilm to Disney may have been the most humane thing Lucas has done with his franchise since the first trilogy (the real one, people, from 1977).  While Disney-fying sci-fi films may create concern for some, I’ve been admittedly happy with what Disney has done for the Marvel franchise movies.  If they can bring the same serious decorum, fun, and special effects restraint and subordinate the glitz of CGI to real STORY in the Star Wars franchise as they’ve done for Marvel, we may have some awesomeness ahead.  They can do this! Do or do not.  There is no try. With Harrison Ford, Carrie Fisher, and Mark Hamill too old to pick up the story where Return of the Jedi left off (or maybe too old to pick up anything), we’re left to wonder if other actors will play those roles or if new characters will now populate the Star Wars world of the future.  I’m excited at the thought of a new Star Wars ride at the theme parks, too—just, please, no virtual shake-and-baking like the current Star Tours ride.  Star Tours at Disneyland usually leaves me with nausea and a headache (and that’s just from the line and the price of admission!)  Insert drumroll and cymbal crash hereà X. Disney and Pixar driving the deep, layered world of the Empire may be something brilliant to behold.  Or, it could just mean more Jawas falling off giant lizards, Greedo shooting first, or the wrong Anakin ghost waving goodbye at the end of it all. Either way, they’ve got my attention and probably a zillion other people’s—and that just may be worth the $4 billion they paid.    © 2012, Herb Williams-Dalgart
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Published on November 08, 2012 20:38

September 19, 2012

Ready or Not... Comikaze!

Once again, I found myself at a comic book convention—this time at Stan Lee’s Comikaze at the LA Convention Center.  You may recall my last pilgrimage to the Mecca of all comic book conventions, San Diego’s Comic-Con.  That convention left me exhausted but excited, yet not all-too-eager to jump into the fray of another human flood of costumed super dudes.  Of course, if I had a cowl, a shield, and a body full of super-soldier serum, I’d be ready for anything, but don’t get me started.

Any reservations I may have had were quickly dispelled; Comikaze did not disappoint.  It had all the usual features I’ve come to expect from comic conventions: 
·        The attendees...  Open-mouth-breathing, wide-eyed hordes of social misfits, MENSA members, rocket scientists, outcasts (or as I like to call them, “my peeps”).  You’ve never seen such a wretched hive of scum and villainy.  Shout out to my Jedi fans—Holla!
·        The food...  cardboardy pizza, rubber hot dogs, mystery tacos, surprising and rather wonderful noodles, and junk food the likes of which these folks haven’t  seen since... well, probably yesterday
·        Memorabilia... Shirts, comics, statues, collectibles, clothing, trading cards and just about everything else from every age of super hero-dom, the Potterverse, Who-dom, The Shire, Horror-ville, and whatever other alternate universe conflicts with ours.  No passport required.
·        The aroma... The slight pungent odor of sweat coming from too-often-worn elaborate costumes, headdresses, and masks.  Maybe it was just the sweat coming from the Quidditch pitch or perhaps the hundreds of Magic Card players hunched over tables.  After Halloween, we used to throw away our costumes; not these folks – they just enhance, bedazzle, and re-don (the parent in me would like to recommend they consider “dry clean” as well)

Of course, all this eye candy was accompanied by the occasional conflicting feeling that I was both exactly where I was meant to be and that I was entirely out of my element.  Then again, that just may be one of the many manifestations of my soon to be spectacular mid-life crisis.  Stay tuned.
At Comikaze, the celebrity encounters were a-plenty.  I got to meet with and speak to Stan Lee, my hero.  You may recall I only saw him from afar at the last “con.”  Some of you know I also got to meet him way back in college, too.   And just like it was back in college, the drooling was once again up close and personal (poor Stan!).  I got to shake his hand, hug him, take my picture with him, and have a chat.  Sort of like meeting Santa, without the sitting on the lap and wishing for toys.
My Stan chat went like this (imagine me wide-eyed and Stan graciously smiling):

Herb:  Hey Stan!  My name is Herb!
Stan:  Well, hello, Herb!
Herb:  It’s been 25 years since I last met you.
Stan:  Really?
Herb:  Yeah.  Andromeda Bookstore in Santa Barbara.
Stan:  Of course.  I remember you.
Herb:  You do?
Stan:  Yeah, you were wearing the brown pants. [He grins mischievously and I know I’ve been duped. He is a riot, it should be known.]
Herb:  Very good!  [Here, I’m interrupted by a Stan staffer who positions us for taking our picture.  When we’re done, my family joins]
Herb:  Hey, Stan this is my son, his friend, and my wife!
Stan:  Oh, I see a lot has changed in 25 years.
Herb:  Oh, yeah! 
Stan:  Well, I hope I see you in another 25 years.  [He shakes my hand, more firmly than you’d think for an 89 year-old man]
Herb:  Me too! 
My wife says it’s an honor to meet him and he says, “The pleasure is all mine, my dear.”  Such a classy guy!
In case you’re still wondering, Stan is an awesome dude.  Whether you’re a comic book aficionado, a fan of Marvel hero movies, or simply a citizen breathing air on Earth, there’s no escaping his legacy.  The guy invented Spider-Man for crying out loud!  Wake up, people!

Clearly, this was the highlight of my weekend.  I have a Stan-the-man-crush.
Of course, Stan was not the only celeb at the con.  I did take some perverse pleasure watching some of the other celebrities attempt to approach Stan’s level of fame. 
For instance, I enjoyed watching the ill-advised, post-plastic-surgery Morgan Fairchild, dolled up, sitting in a booth, watching the throngs and hordes of orcs, Iron Men, ninjas, Jedis, Freddy Kruegers, and Doctors Who, Doom, and Strange pass right by her, not even knowing who she was.
Kids, if you don’t know Ms. Fairchild, get on those Internets and Google-ize her.  It may take a little work. 
I must say, Ms. Fairchild looked very disgruntled at being so ignored, and I half-expected her to grab a “batlith” from a passing Klingon, jump the draped folding table, and disembowel some pimply teen or maybe throttle her agent, if just for the attention.  That would’ve been awesome though, given the mock battles that routinely broke out not unlike flash mobs, I suspect very few people would have noticed.
Oddly (and counter-intuitively) Lou Ferrigno was similarly passed over by the nerd minions, though a lot of people squinted in confusion at the life size 1970s picture of him dressed as the Hulk which was propped next to his booth, probably not fully understanding what that was about.  
I was sorta sad for ol’ Lou.  He was alone and clearly forgotten, though seemed like a nice guy, if not just a bit forlorn.  I guess the modern variety CGI Hulks are cooler than the old school big dudes painted green.  Sorry, Lou.  You’re just an analog superhero at a digital con.  Please don’t smash me.  Blame the new Hulk, Mark Garofalo and those guys at Marvel studios.
There was a bit of a Batman reunion with booths hosting Adam West (TV’s Batman), Burt Ward (TV’s Robin), and Julie Newmar (TV’s Catwoman--the sexiest of them all if you ask me, which you didn't).  It was practically a bat cave with all the bat-action goin’ on!
Richard Anderson (TV’s Oscar Goldman from “The Six Million Dollar Man”) was there to sign autographs.  I have nothing but respect for Mr. Anderson, but if someone told me he was 109 years old, I would’ve believed him.  That dude could use some bionics of his own.  What is the shelf life of celebrity?  A sad question.  Maybe we can rebuild him.
Elvira, vampyric TV icon and host of early 80’s TV horror marathons was there.  She had lots of Elvira memorabilia and was quite nice to everyone who came to see her.  Unlike Ms. Fairchild, the mistress of the dark seemed to fit in quite nicely with the nerd minions and was ready for fun.  Didn’t get to chat with her, but wish I did!  She floated my boat back in the day and maybe just a little even now.
Although I refrained from donning my own costume, I did wear my Captain America and Super Soldier shirts that weekend.  I still admired the earnestness of those more bold and brave in how much time and money they spent to dress themselves and then commit to their characters.  And though I recognized most of the superhero costumes, I didn’t have a clue about the pink and blue-haired manga dress-ups, nor the self-designed, self-named monsters like last year’s Shark Commando. 
I heard one guy in a draped, boney/hairy costume explain to someone that he was a Level Three Oranga-Lith (I think that’s what he said).  The person on the receiving end of the explanation nodded and said, “cool,” but I was just confused and admittedly more than a little amused.  But, you gotta give points for creativity, right?
There was, however, a bunch of zombies!  This was cool.  I get zombies.  No explanation necessary.
In fact, the convention had set up an indoor area the size of three football fields surrounded by chain link fencing.  Within the fenced area, they set up ten of those big bounce houses that create slides, climbing walls, fortresses, and such so that the area was one big maze of obstacle course elements simulating a decimated city.  Then, they turned down the lights, filled the place with actors dressed as zombies, set off occasional sirens and let a roving spotlight search the scene.  With the mood set, they sent people through the maze at $30 a pop!  They called it “Zombie Apocalypse” and it was all kinds of awesome.  Genius, in fact. 
“Survivors” got a limited edition “Walking Dead Season 3” poster.  If you don’t know about AMC’s TV show, “The Walking Dead,” I’ll forgive you, only if you promise to get on the ol’ Google, figure out what you’re missing, order the DVDs/Blu-Rays and become hopelessly addicted.  You can thank me after the apocalypse.
Anyhow, back to the con.... my son and his friend went through the apocalypse twice (I love that you can survive two apocalypses... apocalypsii?).  I was excited more that I didn’t have to pay again.  I make it a policy only to pay for one apocalypse a day.
Thinking the fun was over, I was pleasantly surprised to learn the next day that my son and his friend convinced the show runners to let them dress as zombies and torment the other wanna-be survivors.  Unbelievable!  Thirty minutes in hair, costume, and makeup with professional makeup artists transformed these kids into very gruesome zombies.  They were then instructed to chase people for three hours.  To say they had the time of their lives would be an understatement (time of their deaths?).  If I knew being dead made my son happy, I would have killed him years ago!
The weekend offered opportunities for the boys to play Quidditch, traipse around as zombies, play Magic Card games, buy comics and posters and shirts, play video games, and gawk at their favorite purple-haired “Hit Girl” (look it up, people.  This blog is interactive).
Throughout it all, I couldn’t help but wonder how such events reflect human nature and pop culture.  Deep inside, we all like to pretend.  Some lead real lives and come to conventions to pretend and some just pretend in real life and come to conventions to get real.  I say, give in to your inner nerd.  Embrace your hidden geek.  Become the hero/zombie/princess/ Level Three Oranga-Lith within you!  Of course, if there’s a monster in there, I’ll advise you to keep pretending you’re just a regular human, but love your inner monster anyway. 
Of course, once that mid-life crisis hits, you may not be able to control your inner Ferrigno.  Then again, no one may notice.


© 2012, Herb Williams-Dalgart

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Published on September 19, 2012 14:50

March 4, 2012

Obsessed with Perfection

When I learned that George Lucas was re-releasing the Star Wars saga in 3D, I had a single thought—leave it to Lucas to find yet another way to disappoint me.  Now he can offend me in the 3rd dimension, too.
The original Star Wars trilogy was awe-inspiring and exciting—kids, these were Episodes 4, 5, and 6, before anyone really considered them episodes.  Come to think of it, we didn’t really know about special effects or understand what “action figures” were back then, either.  These movies set the bar.  They spawned the nerds of a generation.

Of course, in the new generation of flat screens and iPods, the prequels were released (or perhaps, like a plague, are better described as “unleashed”).  Unlike their predecessors, the new films were nausea inspiring.

Poor dialog, racist caricatures (Jar-Jar Binks? the Trade Federation?  Come on!), thin plotlines, and lazy direction were the result of Lucas’ obsessive focus on visual effects and his unwillingness to share the writing, development, and directing responsibilities with brave souls who might speak truth to power.  If you doubt me, watch the extra features on the DVDs that show how Lucas oversees his minions who fear him.  He literally carries an “approved by Lucas” stamp around the spacious Lucasfilm studios and puts a mark on concept art presented to him when he approves it.  Creative modelers and artists tremble when he comes by.  He strikes fear into his team as he inspects their work.  Watch it.  Try not to laugh.  And then cry.

Lucas is no longer the rebel director, doing something new and risky as he did with Star Wars in 1976.  Now, he’s a mega corporation, crushing all who would oppose him.  Lucas has become Vader, hell bent on ruling the universe.

He’d find my lack of faith disturbing.

His obsession with visual effects has harmed his storytelling, not helped it.  Awesome explosions don’t make up for bad stories, bad direction, or silly dialog (look at me, giving advice to one of the most financially successful directors in history.  Dang, I’m a badass... Part of me just worried that Lucas would read this and send stormtroopers to my house to disappear me).  Remember, you read it here first, people.  If I go missing, look for me or my remains at Skywalker Ranch.

I’m neither the first nor only critic of Mr. Lucas—the guy is sorely abused by the public, particularly over “The Phantom Menace” (“The Fandom Meanness?”).  People have dedicated blogs, websites, fan-made video remakes, and full-blown edits of his films as forms of criticism.  Go surf the inter-Webs.  If you Google “Hate George Lucas,” you’ll get about 12,300,000 results.  Go see.  I’ll wait right here...  It’s truly an awe-inspiring body of handmade hatred.

Re-releasing his epic saga in 3D may further fill his already deep pockets and secure the financial futures for generations of Lucas children and grandchildren and great grandchildren to come.  Am I too old to be adopted?  Herb Lucas?  Nah.

But, finances aside, on some level I have to admit, I sorta get his obsession with doing things over and over until he’s happy.  He wants everything to be perfect.  An illness?  Perhaps.  But the little George Lucas inside him just wants it all to be perfect.  My northern European father built that into my DNA.  The force is strong in my family.  What’s Lucas’ deal?

Maybe this is the same thing Joan Rivers struggles with, too.  She felt so unhappy her whole life, she had a face do-over; and over; and over...  I love Joan, but I’m not sure she got the face she wanted.

Or Priscilla Presley.  She, too, had some special effects wizardry on her face.  Is it me, or does she look like Jack Nicholson’s version of Batman’s “The Joker?”  What would Elvis say?   He’d probably kick my ass and sing “Don’t Be Cruel.”

In truth, I shouldn’t throw stones.  I have a little obsession with perfection, too—though clearly, I don’t care about my face.  Sorry, people and mirror.

About a year ago, I got myself a Lego keychain—a miniature model figure of Woody, the cowboy from Pixar’s “A Toy Story” trilogy (a superior trilogy that does not forget to put story above everything, though still offering breakthrough special effects.  Pay attention, Mr. Lucas.  Pixar’s schooled you!).

Two months into my proud ownership of the keychain, my son dropped my keys and one of Woody’s little Lego legs broke off.  Like a scene from the actual “Toy Story” movie, my toy was dismembered.

There was something oddly sweet about my one-legged cowboy.  He reminded me of the Hans Christian Andersen story, “The Steadfast Tin Soldier” where a one-legged tin soldier falls in love with a one-legged paper ballerina.  Read it sometime.  Here’s a spoiler—both the soldier and ballerina die horribly in the end.  Hans Christian Anderson was a disturbed dude.  Did you realize Anderson was the author of the original “Little Mermaid?”  Perhaps you didn’t know in his version, the little mermaid dissolved into sea foam at the end?  No pretty Disney wedding there!  And no special effects to make it look like Greedo shot first.  Wait, wrong story...

Anyhow, happy with my one-legged Lego cowboy keychain, I tucked away the disembodied leg in my desk and went on with life, proud to have a battle-scarred Toy Story veteran in my pocket.  Then, the unthinkable happened last month:  the second leg broke off.  This incident and my reaction to it revealed a prejudice I didn’t realize I had.  While I found my one-legged cowboy charming, my no-legged cowboy was a problem.

True confessions—when I originally bought my Woody keychain, I was so excited I bought TWO.  Woody #2 has been residing in my desk drawer, tags still attached, ready to be deployed in case of just such an emergency.  Now that I think of it, he’s probably horrified to be lying in a drawer next to a severed leg identical to his own....

Like another episode from the original “Toy Story” movies, I had a toy horror show with parts and pieces in a drawer (like Toy Story 1), and a doppleganger to my hero (like Buzz Lightyear’s “twin” in “A Toy Story 2?”).  Life imitating art?  Toys imitating life?  Herb imitating a grown man?

Now, let’s pause a moment.  If you’ve seen neither the Star Wars saga nor the Toy Story trilogy, you’re probably annoyed with me for the onslaught of cultural references. If you have no idea who Woody, Buzz, Greedo, or Vader are or what I mean when I say “Lego keychain,” your probably lost.  Then again, if you’ve seen neither Star Wars nor Toy Story, or have never seen Lego, you’re probably a Unabomber living in a tree house or you’re so countercultural that you don’t read blogs anyway.

Let me help you catch up:  Pixar is great; Star Wars was great and now isn’t; and I’m struggling with a broken cowboy-shaped key chain, having endowed the entire broken keychain event with some sort of existential importance.  If you’re still behind, that’s where I’m leaving you.  Moving on.

At first, I tried gluing the legs back on.  They were originally designed to move, but when glued, they would not.  I could live with that (and if my cowboy could talk or think, I figured he’d agree).  Of course, the glue didn’t take.  Then, I taped them.  That lasted a month, and then the legs fell off again.  I barely heard the sound of plastic hitting the pavement and it took a moment for me to realize what had happened, but once again, I’d saved the legs.

Now, the dilemma.  Do I try a third time to affix the legs or, do I deploy “Plan B” Woody—the doppleganger in the drawer?

Like Lucas, I’m plagued by the need for perfection.  Part of me just wants to continue forward with my original, broken, pieced-together, keychain.  Broken is sort of perfect in its own way, isn’t it?  I feel a poem coming on...

Another part of me wants to stop fretting, stop accepting a broken keychain, replace Woody 1 with Woody 2, and move on.  But somehow I know, one choice will make me a rebel and the other will make me an evil overlord.  I refuse to become Vader, but what kind of keychain cowboy has no legs?

Maybe the answer is just to get another keychain altogether.  Not a Woody, but some other Lego guy... The best choice could be to make no choice at all.  Then again, what kind of cowboy, what kind of Jedi, would bow out when the going gets tough?

Let’s leave it to you, my honored readers.  Using the poll on the sidebar, tell me what YOU would do!

Most votes wins!  And you won’t need 3D glasses!



© 2012, Herb Williams-Dalgart
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Published on March 04, 2012 15:45

September 30, 2011

A Piece of My Mind... Or My Toe?

Last night, my family watched, “127 Hours” in the family room while I hid out in the office.  This is the movie that recounts the experience of that solo hiker who got his arm trapped under a rock while hiking alone in Utah and had to cut his arm free so he could survive the ordeal.  The movie apparently shows, in explicit visual (and auditory) detail, just how the hiker carved off his limb. 
I sat at my desk, trying to pay my bills online and working to update my Facebook status while my family screamed and groaned for what seemed an hour.  This was all accompanied by the “sclorch” and “crunch” of special effects dismemberment.  Just recounting it for you is making me queasy.  Bleh.  The family finally proclaimed victory when, by the end of the movie, they had managed to avoid barfing.  It’s the little things, I guess.

Now, I’m a fan of movies, as you likely already know.  I’ve written screenplays, read screenplays, and watched a zillion movies, including many bad ones (1986’s, “Howard the Duck” or 2000’s Battlefield Earth come to mind—mostly because they made me want to barf, too).  And, though I understand “127 Hours” was critically acclaimed and allegedly well-acted, I don’t really enjoy the whole injury-porn thing.
The real guy who cut off his arm has nothing but sympathy from me, and a huge truckload of respect for being able to do the deed by himself.  But a little part of me—the shameful part that I’m told to keep to myself—thinks that guy should’ve had a hiking buddy with him and that, on some level, he was just asking for trouble.  Note to self:  don’t criticize the premise of a real-life biographic movie immediately after others have watched it.  They won’t be happy.
My point:  there are just things you shouldn’t do alone.  Hiking in an avalanche zone is probably one of those things.  It seems, therefore, incorrectly celebratory to make a film about the whole ordeal—unless the film is used to scare people into recruiting a hiking buddy.  I guess that’s the second note to self.  Hiking buddy.
I recall a North Dakota teenager in 1992, alone on the family farm when he slipped next to the family auger (an auger is a giant drill bit on a tractor used to till the soil.  Thank you Wikipedia!).  Both the boy’s arms got yanked under the auger, which ripped them out, leaving him with bloody stumps and no one around to help.  This kid kept his wits enough to run home, dial for help using a pen he picked up with his mouth, and then jump in the bathtub to keep his stumps from bleeding out.  The kid not only survived, they reattached his arms!  Well done.  They make those farm kids hearty, don’t they?  I’m switching from Coco-Puffs to bacon and eggs.  Third note to self.
Again, though I’m happy and respectful for his bravery (incidentally, the accident would’ve killed a suburban wuss like me!), I humbly suggest that farming with giant drills might be another one of those things you shouldn’t do alone. 
Last month, a dude in Colorado went to cut some wood in the forest.  He was—you guessed it—alone!  The trailer on his truck slipped and landed on his foot.  He screamed for help, but no one was around.  Of course, his phone was back in the truck and he was pinned twenty feet away by the foot with no one to help.  And, though he forgot his phone, he remembered his pocket knife.  How lucky!  He lasted 30 minutes before deciding the toes had to go.  Unlike his North Dakotan predecessor, reattachment was not an option.
I’m sure you know I’m the last guy to criticize (okay, maybe second to last).  But 30 minutes?  It may just be in my nature, but it would’ve taken me at least 3 hours before I gave up on moving the truck with my bare hands or before I stopped screaming my lungs out.  I can’t say how long I would’ve waited before deciding these little piggies had to go wee-wee-wee all the way cut off.  Come to think of it, my little piggies would’ve stayed home, gone to market, or had roast beef before taking me into the woods alone.  Nevertheless, I do feel bad for the guy.  I guess it’s an abject lesson in why you should keep your phone on you at all times.  Note to self, Number Four. Man, I gotta lot of those notes.
Of course, now that I’ve recounted these dramatic incidents for you, I sorta see the draw for an audience to the near-tragedies.  They are loaded with excitement, the stakes are certainly high, and there’s an element of heroism in braving the pain and horror.  As far as I know, though, they never made a movie out of that auger kid’s story or that toe guy’s.
Maybe all those SAW movies cover the self-mutilation/injury-porn genre enough.  How many of those have they made?  Six?  Can’t say I watched any of them.  Not really interested.  For me, they’re NOT SAW.  NOT SEE?  NOT SEEN?   Oh, you get it.
In truth, I’m beginning to think they’re running out of movie ideas.  Some recent flicks have seemed so bad they make me ponder my own self-mutilation.  “Smurfs” made me consider scooping out my own eyes with a spoon.  “The Chimpmunks’ Squeakuel” made me want to cut off my own ears, and someone has to explain why “Yogi Bear” had to be made.  I nearly stuffed my hand through the TV screen when I saw the ad for that one!  Really?  Yogi Bear?
A quick note to movie studios (since I’m running out of notes to myself)—you don’t have to make every old cartoon into a live action/animated feature film.  For that matter, you don’t need to entertain people with self-injury flicks, either.
Here’s my soapbox moment.  In truth, I think I get the attraction.  It’s the same reason tattoos and body piercings are so popular these days.  It’s the new generation.  Parents of this generation—the so-called “helicopter parents” who drop in on every moment of their kids’ lives and never let their kids get injured, take risks, feel bad or inadequate—these parents have forgotten that risk and danger lead to learning, and that kids will forever be fascinated by the things they are denied.  You take away the risks, they seek them out.  You keep them from getting hurt, they want to hurt themselves.  The “Emo” kids, the self-proclaimed “cutters”—they slice themselves not just to get attention, it’s fascination.... it’s their need for risk.  It’s to taste their mortality.  I know it’s not all that simple.  But it surely is part of the big picture.
I’m not suggesting we neglect our kids or intentionally put them in danger (although when they mouth off, I can’t say I’m not tempted to offer a little “inflicted danger”).  I’m just saying, let loose the reigns a little.  Let the kids take chances.  Park your helicopter.  Let the kids do things without you.  It’s good for them.  Builds character.  Kinda like barfing at movies.
When it’s time to get your kids a birthday gift, consider a pocket phone instead of a pocket knife.  Or, if you do give them a pocket knife, make sure they know when to use it on arms and toes and when to use it on other things, and then let them go with it. When they wanna go hiking, be a buddy. 
And if they fall down on the path, congratulate them.  You both just learned something.



© 2012, Herb Williams-Dalgart


Here are a few kid challenges that will drive parents crazy, but see what happens if you allow the kids to:
·        Play in the mud·        Collect bugs·        Try a sip of beer·        Cross the street WITHOUT holding hands·        See a scary movie before bed·        Say a bad word·        Do math homework in PEN·        Eat dessert first·        Call someone on the phone without a parent’s help·        Ask for directions even when a parent has GPS·        Order what they actually want from the menu, even if it’s breakfast for dinner·        Skip brushing teeth one night·        Camp out in the backyard·        Take the dog for a walk down the street... alone·        Have a burping contest·        Stay up WAY past bed time·        Go to a midnight movie premier and eat candy (so long as the movie isn’t SAW 7, Smurfs 2, or Yogi Bear.  Let’s not get carried away).

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Published on September 30, 2011 23:03

August 6, 2011

Adventures at "The Con"

When you tell a 12 year-old boy you’re taking him to Comic-Con, it just feels right.  For those of you newbies that don’t know what Comic-Con is, go Google it and come back.  I’ll wait.
Okay, now that you know it’s a huge media extravaganza in San Diego with movies, comic books, celebrities, sci-fi memorabilia, and everything remotely related, you get the picture.  This year’s Comic-Con boasted over 126,000 attendees, most of whom arrived in some form of costume, super-hero t-shirt, hat, makeup, or hairdo.  It was a combination of Halloween, Mardi Gras, the last day of 7th grade, and the Bellevue Mental Hospital family picnic day.  Seriously, I think I saw more cosmetics, hair extensions, and outfits than in “Sex in the City 2.” (Ok, I’ll be honest.  I didn’t see Sex in the City 2, but you get my point.)

Once there, you realize quickly that anyone that goes to Comic-con has to be nuts, or a huge sucker for his 12 year-old son, or maybe just a 12 year-old trapped in an nearly-adult sized body himself.  You can figure out which is me.
Whatever your reason for going, once you get there you see it’s a feast for the senses, complete with sights that push your understanding of human nature.  Most people’s costumes were quickly identifiable—Spider-man (red/blue and black costume), Superman, The Dark Knight, Green Lantern....  Others were a little harder to pin down, even for the seasoned cartoon-o-phile.
One dude, for example, had no shirt, a fake mustache (at least it looked fake), combat boots, and carried around a giant stuffed shark.  Um.  Which hero was he?  I can’t claim to know them ALL, but I’m pretty sure Aquaman didn’t have a black mustache and boots.  Was it Aquaman’s lesser known cousin, G-I-Joke?  Was it a long lost ocean-bound Mario Brother?  I honestly have no idea.
To give you a sense of the hilarity of the human (and super human) spectacle, I will list for you a few of my sightings, a couple favorite overheard phrases, and some interesting moments (isn’t that nice of me?).  Think of this as time travel back to the event.  Come to think of it, if you embrace that idea, maybe you’re ready for “The Con” yourself....
First, the sightings:A man dressed as “the Flash” whizzing by on a Segway (funny, yet sensible, no?) A pug dressed as Spider-Man being walked by a lady dressed as Electro-Woman (I couldn’t help but wonder who chose the outfits). A man dressed as Electro-Woman (totally unrelated to the prior Spidey-on-a-leash Electro Woman; his costume was better, though he didn’t quite fill out the bustier portion.) A dude in underwear that can best be described as a “banana hammock” holding a sign with an arrow pointing at his crotch that said, “The Real Thor’s Hammer.” (Editor’s note: that hammer couldn’t pound a nail or summon thunder.  Sorry dude.) Justin Timberlake!! (No, he didn’t ask me to join him for the N’Sync reunion.  But he did forgive me for choosing not to tour with the guys in the first place.  Peace out, J.T.). A t-shirt with a picture of Ricardo Montalban from his role in Star Trek II with the caption “Comic-Khan” (if you don’t get this joke, Comic-Con was not for you.  Live long and prosper).
Now some overheard conversations
While in any number of 3 hour lines waiting for a celebrity panel or advanced screening, I heard a few conversations that made me wonder, “Do any kids play outside anymore?”

In line for the “Futurama” panel:
Nerd 1:           “I think you just fall in love with your first Dr. Who and every other Dr. Who just isn’t your Dr. Who.”
Nerd 2:           “Yeah, totally.  But Tom Baker was the best ‘Who’.”
Nerd 1:           “Didn’t you hear what I said?”


In line for the Sony Pictures panel:
Geek 1:          “I love your kilt!”
Geek 2:          “Yours too!”
Geek 1:          “I made mine.”
Geek 2:          “Awesome.  I kinda figured.  Where else would you find camouflage kilt fabric?”


At the bootleg DVD booth:
Dork 1:           “Sigmund and the Sea Monsters!”
Dork 2:           “Sid and Marty Krofft must’ve been on drugs, dude.”
Dork 1:           “Duh.  Puff n’ Stuff?”
Dork 2:           “Oh, right.”


Interesting moments:
Really, too many to list, but here are a few that still stick with me...
1.    A lady dressed as one of the Mario Brothers (from the video games) taking a picture of a Star Wars Storm Trooper drinking a Starbucks coffee through a straw poking into his helmet.  She thought he looked ridiculous.  Her outfit was rubber.  Comic irony?
2.    A very attractive woman wearing a cog on a necklace guiding open-mouthed teenagers to a booth where they could try the “Gears of War 3” video game BEFORE its “official release.”  I think a few of those boys “unofficially released.”
3.    Pizza for breakfast (it’s amazing what Dad finds acceptable for the most important meal of the day when you’ve got somewhere to be and Mom’s not in the picture!)
4.    My son meeting his hero, Matt Groening (creator of “The Simpsons” and “Futurama”).  I think he almost wet himself.  Maybe that was me.
5.    A full grown man in sweatpants pulled to his mid-chest, waiting in line for a movie screening, picking his nose..... then eating it.  And that was during the first hour of a three hour wait.  We named him “Picker” (his super power was making us throw up in our mouths).
6.    My son meeting actor Aziz Ansari who literally bumped into him while in line for my soda refill.  Serves me right for sending the boy – he had the Hollywood encounter (again!).
7.    Stan Lee... in the Marvel Comics booth!  Stan!!  The Man!!  The real super hero.  Excelsior!! (okay, now I’m the nerd!)  I love Stan Lee!

All said, it was worth the lack of sleep, the failing nutrition, the gawking, the waiting in lines, the 3-D glasses-induced dementia, and the occasional fearing for my life.  Comic-con is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. 
Now the question is, am I up for it again next year?



© 2011, Herb Williams-Dalgart
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Published on August 06, 2011 18:06