Sloth, Maybe?

  You're probably wondering why I've assumed this title:  Lunar Robot God? Well, it all began while I was watching a series of interviews with British grade school children in 1966.  They were asked about what life would be like come the year 2000.  "Our old future," as Crow T. Robot would call it. Some foresaw nuclear annihilation.  A planet devoid of life made so by the folly of men.  One child even went as far as the earth burning brightly as would a supernova if beheld by extraterrestrial astronomers light years from hence. Others prognosticated overpopulation and human beings being housed in cramped cubicles stacked one atop the other.  They found this prospect to be very depressing indeed.  I should know.  I lived in one of these apartment buildings, or "tower blocks" as the Brits would phrase it. Another topic that was raised was ecological disaster.  One boy envisioned the majority of the British Isles immersed under 300 to 400 feet of water, leaving

  Stop making Star Wars , Marvel and DCEU films. Just STOP. I'm not the only one who used to look forward to those films with mounting eagerness in my heart. I'm sure I speak on behalf of a growing number of former fans who have become exhausted with a never ending pipeline of movies, streaming shows, animated series, "hawt toys," and other ancillary bric a brac. Some protest, "But muh Mandalorian! "  "But muh Joker! "  "But muh Wandavision! "  "But muh Peacemaker! " No.  No, no, no, NO. Not all the Baby Yoda / Grogus in the world will stop the decay of these behemoths. The antics of James Gunn and Taika Waititi are getting very old, very fast There's only so many Joker films Todd Phillips can crank out.  Joker was just refried Taxi Driver / King of Comedy if you're honest about it. For myself, I honestly thought that musicals would be the next trend in popular filmmaking, but neither In the Heights nor refried West S

During my daily walk along the aqueduct trail passing through Yonkers, I saw a deer just before my vision reached its vanishing point. It was standing perfectly still with its limbs extended.  It was ready to dash away at any moment, or perhaps it was preparing to defend itself. I wondered:  Do deer defend themselves with their hooves?  I remembered seeing a video many years ago of a stag raining a flurry of blows from its hooves from a hapless hunter.  Of course, my memory could have been playing tricks on me. I could tell it saw me, but it didn't dart away. I narrowed my vision and I thought I saw a faun standing next to it.  Was the parent a doe?  A stag?  Was it prepared to fight for its offspring? Could it smell me?  Did it detect some pheromone my body was secreting? I decided to turn around and walk back the way I came.  At least, I would walk a part of the way and then return to where I stood.  By then, I reasoned, the deer and her/his faun would have left. I walked out of

  When Suze and I first came to the Wellmont Theater at Montclair, NJ in 2018, it was to see industrial legends Ministry.  We were far to the left of the audience seats and well into the back, but we could still make out "Uncle Al" Jourgenson.  The man had so many piercings he looked like a Cenobite from the Hellraiser films.  We managed to get a lift from our longtime buddies Dom Manfredi and Kate Dervin.  While the ladies were on their best behavior, Dom and I had regressed into two eight year olds kicking each other in the ass and laughing as we drove and then walked to the Wellmont. Fast forward to May of 2022.  Suze and I hopped five trains and walked a mile to get to the MC Hotel in Montclair.  I grumbled that we would never do that again, as I have an irrational hatred of the NYC subway and NJ Transit (Well, maybe not totally irrational).  That weekend's attraction was The Alan Parsons Project, who are way on the opposite side of the genre meter from Ministry.  As

I planned well for this summer, and then I forgot I did. So this is Middle Age.  It consists of me agonizing at how our white “summer” bathrobes are still buried deep in our cardboard boxes and that “it’s about bloody time we unpack those suckers now that the weather is too warm for our thick bathrobes”... ...only to see that, in fact, both summer robes are already hanging in the closet, albeit a little too far back behind the door for me to see until I finally took notice of them four days ago. Here’s how this happened: Last September, when we packed everything for moving from the River Tides apartment into our newly purchased co-op right next door, we agreed not to bury the swimsuits and white robes in a box, but just carry them all in a suitcase for ease of unpacking and storing. The swimming pool season had just ended, but we were determined to keep this summer stuff in easy reach, not only in preparation for June of 2022 but also in case we find ourselves a hotel swimming pool any

Returning our attention to Mom's birthday weekend at Mohonk Mountain House.  Susan and I had to handle my mother gingerly.  She was as delicate as a jeweled eggshell.  She suffers from neuropathy, which makes her dependent on a walker. The layout of Mohonk Mountain House is not so much one building as it is a conglomeration of buildings joined together.  A second floor hallway in one building may transition unevenly with the third floor in an annex.  There are not many ramps, and there was no one on hand to operate the handicap lifts.  We had to ease Mom up the short steps leading from the main building to the pool/spa. Fortunately, at the pool/spa building, there is an elevator which leads to the three levels of the gift shop, the spa and sauna, and the pool.  With swimming gear in our possession, we went to our respective changing rooms.  I emerged first from the men's room and relaxed on a bench.  I anticipated a fifteen minute wait for Susan and Mom to emerge from the ladie

Yeah, well... - JJB UP NEXT - Change of topic:  More good news about my Mom.