An earnest dedication

I’ve been thinking of the best way to sum up what Betty Page’s death meant to me and had just settled on a theme when I found a notice from the Rodenberry family that Majel Barrett passed away today. This is getting to be too much for me to process. So many people I’ve met are passing away this year.

Betty Page just reinforced the loss of Dave Stevens, two beautiful people who gave so much of them selves and asked so little in return. Forry Ackerman and Majel Barrett where larger than life icon that shaped the world in ways we will never know. Steve Gerber an ‘irascible’ gadfly who shook up comic not only with his writing but with his activism. Frank Thomas, last of Disney’s nine old men, became a metaphor of the state of the medium he helped create as well as Bill Melendez who breath life into the Charles Shultz’ Peanuts Gang and gave snoopy a voice.

There are so many more but it all just becomes words, the words become noise, and the noise is drowned out by the next rolling billboard. Life is for the Living. We have more important things to worry about; jobs, families, health. Who am I kidding; the next reality show will erase your memories like so many whiteboards. Did you catch that? “Catch what?” many of you will think but the old fogies got it right way. How many of you remember blackboards. Out with the old in with the new is the mantra in our fast paced lives. White boards are more sanitary than there dusty predecessors. Oh but you can’t produce the same variety or art on that slick laminated surface as you could on the deceptively smooth slate surface. You can streak, smudge and scrawl on that dark canvas with vibrant pastels that would never show on the pail young upstart. Many master pieces was lost to the teacher’s eraser to reside the recesses of the mind.
That is were all these people live now; in the “Remember when’s” and “Did you knows” of late night gad fests. I’ve decide that this is not a fitting tribute to people who shaped us as much as any parent or teacher ever did. I’ve this moment resolved to gather the works of the people who have passed. Not to preserve, there are groups much better equipped than I am. but to share. A few minutes here and there, with family and friends to rededicate them to our memories, reflecting on why they were more than just names in the credits. It’s the least I can do after all they’ve done for me.

Perceptual Anesthesia

Their hands always locked,
feet struggling to find a mutual pace.
A warm caress, a sideways glance or two,
an oddly timed grin, mouthed words
meant only for each other;
all symptoms of a rare disease,
that affliction that dulls otherwise bright minds;
a perceptual anesthesia as Mencken wrote.

How fortunate we think we are
to have either neglected
that part of ourselves outright,
or chosen that it is best
to never do so again
than to have done so and lost.

Yet we are human and so we do
that which is most human,
we search to fill the quiet moments with.
We look beyond our instincts.
Steel ourselves for disappointment.
We advance cautiously, looking for
the all-too familiar signs.

But if this were entirely new?
A heady mixture
of the familiar and the sublime.
That person with which you feel
a better part of yourself
Looks and admires inexplicably
that better part of herself

Would you not:
lock hands and find
that mutual pace for struggling feet?
Give that unexpected caress,
glance or oddly timed grin?
Tell her, beyond reason,
or by snarky observation,
beyond your hard-won disdain
for perceptual anesthesia,
how much you love?

BfHerbie: What's in a name?

A little explanation about my nickname, there will be an exam later. My name is Armando. I am a recovering nerd, geek, space-cadet, of the sort that used to play Dungeons and Dragons, collect comic books, and go to Rennaissance Fairs in character. I am not ashamed of my past. I still partake of certain comic book conventions; the only important one that gathers every year in San Diego, I watch Summer blockbuster movies without a hint of irony, and I like big-haired anime. I love Hong Kong movies, too. I have two kids who play video games. I have no qualms about sharing my interests with them. The Nerd Revolution was not only televised, we all own the 5 disc box set with the director’s commentary.

It’s a real vindication for my me and homies who rolled through the barren wasteland, taking the abuse from the preppies and the mods, the cha-chas and gangsters, the pocket-protectors in hand. We graduated, went to school, grew up and took over. We built the iPhone, created the Web, invented Windows Vista, shot the Matrix, built Narnia, and crash landed on Lost island.

I’d like to say I’ve grown up. I have greater responsibilities and I no longer immerse myself blindly in imaginary worlds. Yet, there is still a great part of me that can’t forget where I’ve been and that’s why my nickname is Herbie: B(big), f(fat), Herbie (Popnecker) who is a parody super-hero comic from the 1950’s. He’s ridiculous and so am I. It keeps me grounded.

Polish Power

Just finished another book in Duane Swierczynski’s ouvre, roman noir updated for the post-internet age. It’s called Severance Package, to go along with the book I finished last week which was The Blonde, and I’ve got to say: as trashy, black-hearted fun, I haven’t been into an author like this since I “discovered” Andrew Vachss for myself. If that doesn’t mean anythin to you well, I’m sorry let me break it down. Take a little film noir, a little tragicomedy, and a whole lot of the old ultraviolence. Some of it shreds credulity to bits, but hey I’m not too particular for fun Summer reading.

The Blonde is about a guy who gets poisoned in an airport bar by the titular blonde and then needs to help her stay alive amidst high-tech espionage and nonstop action. Severance Package is about aguy who works for a high-stakes financial firm who gets called in for work one Saturday and finds out that the firm is actually an black-ops intelligence front but that the operation has been closed and all involved have been ordered eliminated. It’s high concept, but not high camp, and Swierczynski pulls it off.

Next step for me? I’m reading the Wheelman.

Unrequited haikus:

Unrequited haikus:
So there’s this girl. at
work Curly hair. Piercing. Tall.
Should have asked her out.

My so called love life
Dreaming of a love affair
last night passed out drunk

She walks in beauty
crying she seems very lost
Have you seen my sis?

I am reclining
Talked to her. Minutes ago.
Relieved she walks by

There’s something different
about you today you seem
different happy

You walked by. Happy.
Don’t lie, don’t give me a line
No line. I don’t lie.

Thank you, you’re very
sweet. Want to get a coffee?
Wanted to ask you

The rest images
strawberry lips curly hair.
crinkly. She loves me

I wake to write it
before the haze of morning
takes my happiness

To Sir, with Bacon and Ham

The end of the school year is always fraught with trouble. There are endless assessments, exams you might call them, cumulative folders need filling in, report cards, yadayada; a big mountain that I managed scaling incrimentally over 2 weeks time minimizing the effects of stress and overwork and yet I still jumped headfirst into “Crazyville Canyon”. I can gloat my dear reader, weeks off to watch the glutes atrophy, but I won’t. We all bear professional crosses and mine is to teach, not more or less important than any of yours.

What I won’t apologize for is the time off. For however many weeks on end (it varies if you’re on a traditional or year-round-school calendar) I put on a daily 6 hour reality show that isn’t televized, and makes no money if the audience doesn’t show up. It has one executive producer, thousands of producers, but one writer (myself). The audience participates to varying levels or degrees, and much of the time is spent on reviewing what was learned the previous years. I’m not complaining, it is an honorable profession and if anything I am an honorable man or at least I try. It is a profession that drives good people to an all-encompassing burnout, and I won’t add myself to that list.

Which is why I will sit at home most days and sleep till 11. I will finish my mediocre American novel about finding love in all the e-places. I will enjoy the time I have with my girlfriend. I will see more films on my top 100 AFI films of all time. I will travel, preferably on my bike as gas is too expensive. I will lose 10 pounds before the new year starts.

Most importantly I will see my kids because everything takes a back seat there. Especially teaching.

A Long Walk Spoiled

It’s been an up and down week tethered to the usual rants and raves from the menagerie of harpies and sicko-phants that exhibit themselves in the gallery. Here’s a slice:

1)a lady I knew, a year or two older than myself, passed away the other day from stomach cancer, the same disease that took her father and her brother. She had 3 kids, little ones.

2)a hanger-on, pretender to the throne, is trying to weasel himself into the good graces of a family member, and I am certain would like a parcel of land, his acres and a mule free, that certainly my brother and I would inherit.

3)my mother continues her descent into reinhabited adolescence, nose ring, small-of-the-back tattoo, is that what comes next?

4)my father continues his descent into the family business, that of melancholic nostalgia, a Cuban-American pitfall.

5)my sons, dueling fevers, left husks of their very active and vibrant selves, left me battered last weekend

6)she who shall not be named, according to the ammended documents of the familial settlement, is suspiciously moving her forces to outflank my battered troops mercilessly.

7)that radio show which takes up so much of my free-time, continues to stubbornly resists making any money back from our investment

8)suffering writer’s block for the first time in memory

9)the shorts on my profile were opened up, a huge gash ripped along the right pant leg, I threw it out

10)despite it all I am buoyed by the sheer lunacy of falling in love again

Wicked

I’m still dragging from the great night I had, a night I’d been planning with my girlfriend Jennifer for awhile now (it was her birthday the night before) and I’m still having the music running through my head.

We saw Wicked (how very upscale), and while I don’t usually like big production number musicals I did like Wicked. Yeah, I guess it was the witty digs at the political establishment and the humorous bits between the showstoppers. There was a bit of Disneyland to the staging, the dragon breathing fire above the actors a bit much, but the shadows of the original stars Chenowith and Menzel were still present despite lesser talents in the L.A. production at the Pantages. I usually hate the Pantages for its big musical histrionics, but this was a musical for the age after excess, controlled yet wooly I would say, and it was in the end: just great. Cool songs that I could sing in the shower to. A bit of snarky commentary at the political and musical establishment and overall another beautiful night amongst many others for me and my girl.

Nothing like the Sun

It’s so much easier to write when life is in flux,
the words a tether, the strands of a life together;
images on a page. A ring, a dress,
a humidor on one. A calendar,
a drawing, wind chimes on the other.
The coral deposits of a life, of love

Not so much when life has turned
the words cast, thoughts in a fugue,
returning instead to a closed eyed smile.
a picture. a place, a dish, a hand held tight.
a turn of a phrase, a secret told. trust.
No, this is nothing like the sun.
Cliched. False. Needy. Unilateral.
All the much better.

Doing it for the kids: an RPG Tale

Prior entries on this site have established the staff of the AV Room as avid fans of role playing games.  RPGs are an excellent means of developing the imagination.  My current endeavor is an ambitious effort to introduce the nuances of role playing to a group of youngsters under the age of twelve.

In the past I would spend about two weeks of review before starting the latest installment of our 26 year old campaign. Having experience players gives the game master a solid foundation on which to build and also the flexibility to change things as needed. For the newest campaign I must plot as much in advance as possible.

When I finish I’ll have spent about 6 months planning out every detail.  I’ve developed a system were they start as 0-level characters who haven’t fully developed their attributes or skills and through game play they will develop both to first level and character age 15. I want to cover several weeks a session so I plan on having them plot how juggle apprenticeships with studies and practice will be covered in minimal rolls based on time management charts, i.e. did they get there chores done in time to go to class.  On their days off work they can do what they want.

To keep them occupied I’ve created detailed city maps and their surrounding terrain. There are hundreds of NPCs with complex social groups governments, secret societies and new character classes.  The ruins of the old city or liberally sprinkled with oodles of hidden goodies.  And I’m plotting encounters galore.  This will be my best thought out storyline for a campaign ever!

While there are lots of antagonist to keep the young players engaged I have to face my own enemy; boredom.  I have to compete with RPG progeny: the video game.  I will have to paint the most vivid pictures in their minds.  So I’m enlisting Herbie’s art skills to help flesh out their characters as well as the parents to guide them though the mechanics and maximize their fun.

The ultimate goal is fun.  For me fun will be the satisfaction of the player recounting game moments fondly.  Now I just have to convince a group of tweens that sitting around a table rolling dice is fun.

-CJ