The End of the World

I just finished reading this book titled, "The Road" by Cormac McCarthy and it was effin' scary. I was extremely sad and frightened the entire time I was reading because it touches on my oldest, most primal fear. Mass Extinction.

One of my only and greatest fears is Nuclear Holocaust. "The Road" involves a Father and Son struggling to survive during Nuclear Winter. Anyone who has seen or read "No Country for Old Men" can imagine how stark this story is... It's an amazing read made difficult by the sadness of each, beautifully written, sentence. By the end, I wanted to throw it into the corner of my room and yell "YOU'RE JUST A BOOK!" at it.

Nuclear War is something that has scared the shit out of me ever since I was a kid. There was this movie called, "The Day After" starring Jason Robards that aired on the T.V. when I was little. I was still at an age when I couldn't readily discern between Reality and Fiction. So, when bombs started raining down on Kansas and the rest of America I thought it was News. I remember crying and people telling me it wasn't real. Not Real? But it is. It is real.

I've been spending every day after that trying to keep Nuclear Thoughts as far from my mind as possible. Who needs that Garbage clogging up the old imagination? I can't have my brain frozen in fear... Nuclear Winter... I got a lot of important stuff to ponder. Like how to invent the perfect popcorn machine, what improvements would benefit my "Snow Vacuum®", and blogging. So, I keeps the Nuclear stuff to simple entertainment.

I've written before about my infatuation with Horror flicks. Well, there are tons of different types of Horror subgenres. Each one causes a wide array of fears. There's the quick spook that makes you jump, the eerie, the weird, and the downright frightening. Only One thing fills me with all out dread, though, and that's Nuclear Holocaust. Everyone has their thing. This is mine. I can take Gory or Gross. I can take Shocking. Most things I won't bat an eye at. I get scared, of course, that's the fun part but I just can't take the thought of losing everything. You can walk away from a Zombie movie and say "that was awesome." Not quite so easy when you've just come from a movie or read a book about Nuclear Fallout. (Excluding Superman Four when he collected all of the World's Nuclear Weapons and threw them into the Sun. The greatest of Superman's many feats.)


Yeah, so, "The Day After" effed me up. As did "Miracle Mile." Some goof told me it was their "favorite" movie and I, like a bigger goof, borrowed it. It wasn't until "Miracle Mile" started that I realized the ending would be the saddest thing I'd ever seen. Two people meet, fall in love, and then get caught in the middle of Nuclear War. All in the same day. A real wrist cutter, this movie. I don't recommend it. Also, I don't recommend watching a sad movie when you know the locations where it's been filmed. Unfortunately for me I had visited the location- the La brea Tar Pits- a few months before and my cousin lives nearby so, that was an enjoyable period full of colorful nightmares. The ending was a real downer. (Likewise the La Brea Tar Pits.)

Another experience I had with Nuclear War, for pure entertainment sake, was neither a book nor a movie but a Museum. It definitely ranks up their as the weirdest of all four. On a trip to New Mexico, for a few days, a coworker and I were trying to keep ourselves occupied. Albuqurque has little in the way of amusements and for some strange reason we chose to spend our time checking out The National Atomic Museum. Now, if you click the link you may notice, about half-way down the page, they have a description of their Exhibit Halls-

Exhibits include:
* Pioneers of Science including Madame Marie Curie, Albert Einstein and Lise Meitner.
* What's Hot, What's Not - Radiation in the World Around You explaining both
naturally occurring and man created radiation.
* The Manhattan Project, WW II, and The Cold War
* Seeing is Healing, a look at Nuclear Medicine
* Waging Peace, the history of Arms Control
* Little Al's Lab™, where inquisitive young minds can try their hand at science
activities.

Little Al's Lab? Their description makes the place sound cute. In reality, most of those exhibits: "Pioneers of Science, Seeing is Healing, Waging Peace, and Little Al's Lab" are about one fourth of the total space. "What's Hot, What's Not" is more of a booth. (More along the lines of a Science Project or one of those Supermarket Blood Pressure Testing Machines.) It's tiny. Meanwhile, replicas of Bombs fill the rest of the joint. Floor to ceiling Surface to Air Missiles, ICBMs, Warheads, Fission Bombs... The absolute jewel of "The N.A.M." is a life-sized replica of "Fat Man." Yes. The same mutha-effa we dropped on Nagasaki.


Here's a lovely couple on their honey moon taking a few of photo-ops next to the A- Bomb. What's so striking about this picture isn't the happy interracial couple vacationing in New Mexico. It's the cartoonishly HUGE weapon they're standing next to. I know it had to be big, thus the name, but did they have to paint it bright Yellow? (If you think I didn't get my picture taken standing next to that thing you are out of your damn mind.) I was thoroughly entertained. And Horrified.

The weirdest part about the whole Museum wasn't the exhibits. It was one of the informational people. There was this guy who looked like Robert Duvall playing an old, ex-army guy. He had been at the actual test sites in Alamagordo, New Mexico. He had also been involved with all of the Manhattan Project stuff on the military side. One of the first things I heard him say was, "it's not exactly Politically Correct but what'd ya expect..."

...I don't know... I don't know...

Perhaps... I'm waiting for that amazing moment when the term "human intelligence" ceases to be an oxymoron. Hopefully, it'll be a few happy moments before we decide to get rid of the Earth Killing Weapons.

I got completely freaked out when he started to talk about "Yield." I mistook "Yield" to mean: "how many people will die" in the event one of those bastards is launched. This guy got extremely excited when talking about the "Trident Missile" which he was lucky enough to work on and he nearly got a boner when I told him about my bright idea. How they should put a seat up on-top of "Fat Man" so people could take pictures of themselves riding it like Slim Pickens in "Dr. Strangelove."

Lately, I have this vague, sinking feeling that George Dubs has a little key around his neck -looks a little like the key to a kryptonite bike lock- and on his very last day in office he's gonna want to finally see what it'll do to "that dohickey" in the corner drawer of his desk.

A few days ago, in an effort to quell my fear, a friend told me that each society has a moment where it believes the world will end. (Plagues, genocide, coldwar, and what all.) And, yet, Society always seems to get it wrong. That may be. But there's no reason not to be prepaired.

If you need me, I'll be in my bedroom. Fashioning a sign that says "The End is Nigh.".

-Chris

Cryptozoology

One of my absolute favorite subjects in the known Universe is Cryptozoology. The study of animals that may or may not exist. Particularly the legend of the Upright Ape (Sasquatch). You can have your Aliens and Government Conspiracies but give me my Sea Serpents, my Lake Monsters, and my Blurry Behemoths. The majority of people don't believe in these sorts of thing. Folks tend to look a little kooky when they express their views on the myths and legends of our world. Which is just a shame. Isn't it better to think that there are still some mysteries left in the world?

We already know that there are monsters in the Deep Ocean because it's all over the Discovery Channel and Animal Planet. Consider, for a moment, The Colossal Squid which is 39-46 feet long, has the largest eyes in the animal kingdom, and is one of the largest living organisms on the planet. I know, It sounds fake but it's real and it's HUGE. I'm sure most people don't know anything about The Colossal Squid, nor do they care. Your average person has no occasion to encounter a Colossal Squid because he tends to hang out in places other than your local laundromat, movie theater, or watering hole. (Although, the latter is most likely.) Which brings me to my major point. Location.

Most of the places that these mythical animals are spotted are remote. The ground they cover widespread. People don't live there. That's why the squid in the picture below was the first whole specimen and wasn't found until 2003. To date, a fully mature A-dult hasn't been found. (The one in the picture is only 20 feet long. Can you believe that?)


People tend to not care about anything that isn't within their realm of experience. So, until a Sasquatch walks right through downtown Portland, people may never believe in him. Now, I'm not saying that without a doubt he exists... BUT it is possible. He could be out there. He may just want to be left alone. Sasquatch doesn't need us parading him around town, buying him hats, and handing him a cellphone so he can text his cousin, Yeti. Maybe he likes the peace and is hanging out waiting for the next ice age.

It should come as no surprise, though, that just about a week ago fresh, credible Abominable Snowman footprints were found in the Himalayas.


What also shouldn't surprise you is that these footprints were found by a guy who was in the middle of a scientific process known as "filming a television show." Even worse is that the title of the T.V. show is "Destination Truth" and airs on "The Science Fiction Channel" which does wonders for credibility, I guess.

Don't get me wrong. I love the SFC. They are responsible for one of my other hobbies... "Giant Monster" movies. (SFC has produced a whole string of silly features: Boa, Python, Boa vs. Python, King Cobra, Komodo vs. Cobra, Snake King, Mega Snake, Snakehead Terror... You know, the new classics. As well as two of my personal favorites: Frankenfish and Creature.) I never thought one of my hobbies would become a hinderance to the other but there you have it. A television station that is known for showing killer Bigfoot movies is now the leading authority when it comes to Yeti evidence.

The major problem with any Bigfoot Safari is that it exists in the first place. A true conundrum. As soon as you set out on your trek you're deemed a fruit loop. How can any scientist, worth his electron microscope, be determined to prove that the Legend is true and keep their good scientifical name in the process? Each good question deserves another. Where the hell is Jane Goodall when you need her?


Finally, witness the sign above... I worked at the Massachusetts State House for a few years and I know what has to happen in order for anything in a State to change. Do you have any idea how difficult the legislative process can be? Let alone put up a "Creature Resembling 'Bigfoot'" road sign? Every time I see this picture I get excited. I think it's the idea of a room full of business minded people in suits arguing the importance of a warning. This is minor evidence that some serious people may actually believe. A little imagination can go a long way. There's really no reason to find him. It's better if he's never caught. Let him remain a Legend...

Bigfoot. "The Rock Star of the Woods."

-Chris

Secrets of The Ninja

Growing up in my town, as with most everywhere else, nicknames were popular. Charlestown was predominantly Irish so a lot of people tended to use last names. My brothers were both known as "Walshy." I eventually earned the same name but for a good deal of time, in my youth, I was known by a much simpler title: "Spaceshot." I suppose it beats: "Sausage,""Bucket Head," or "Pickles." (One time when my great and fellow space cadet, Marc Sawyer, passed "Pickle" in the street he yelled, "YO! PICKLE! Dill out, man!" -still one of the funniest lines I've ever heard.) As I've grown older, what was once a pain in the ass nickname has now become a badge of honor. Also, in looking back, I deserved it.

There was a weird period of time going from childhood to teenage years when everyone started getting way to serious. They turned their thoughts from silliness to dating and sports and I didn't want all of that crap. I wanted to go on adventures. I would often try to get my friends to explore the unchartered territories of our town or climb through people's backyards. This caused no end of ridicule. I knew then that I'd have to keep some secrets to myself. The most important of all is that I was a Ninja.


I know. Ninjas have become the rage, kitsch and all that, but at the age of twelve I was really a Ninja. Minus the killing. I was more interested in the martial arts, agility, and stealth. Stealth and Balance were my strong suit. Ask anyone in my family. (That's one of my favorite phrases, by the way, because who in your family wouldn't lie for you?) I would spend most time in my house trying to be as quiet as possible.There was even a time when I would skulk around my town wearing a Ninja uniform, scaling sheer walls and keeping to the shadows. My only enemy: potential embarrassment, if anyone ever caught me. But no one ever did.

Imagine my delight, then, while reading "The New Yorker" this week and heard tell of a Ninja Thief on Staten Island. (Also, home to my favorite rap group "The Wu Tang Clan.") It seems that the borough is having problems with a cat burglar who dresses up like a Ninja and who, as yet, hasn't been caught. The NYPD has got better things to do than get killed. (Besides, the last time I checked they didn't own a Sherman Tank.) Also, he made a Hundred and Thirty Thousand Dollar heist from one house. So, we may never get to know his identity. That is, unless, someday he decides to blog about it.

I'm waiting for my call from the NYPD. Sometimes you need a Ninja to catch one.

The Greatest Show on Earth

Yesterday my brother, David, was taking a stroll up on kooky Hollywood Blvd. and randomly he was handed tickets for a taping to The New American Gladiators. Any doubt as to why we'd moved to Hollywood was crushed in that instant. American Gladiators. For Free.

We went and ran into a Writer's Guild Picket Line. We don't cross picket lines. Our Dad is a union guy and that, in turn, makes us union guys. So, In a screech of brakes and a shattering of fun we turned our car around from the Sony Studios Lot and headed back for the homestead. I was deflated. I had been extremely excited to go and see the taping. Who isn't a fan of American Gladiators? AND I just found out that Hulk Hogan is the new host. Double Whammy. As a kid, I was a Hulkamaniac. I even got the Hulk Hogan Workout Kit for Christmas one year. Dumbbells, one of those hand gripper machines, an audio motivation tape, a bandanna, and an easily tearable, pre-ripped, yellow Hulkamaniac tank top. I excitedly ripped it in two before I even wore it, taped it up so it was easier to tear, and ripped it off again whenever I was around another human being. The only thing it was missing was a bleached blond handlebar mustache and mullet kit.

My original plan here was to write a blog about our experiences at The New American Gladiators show. I guess we'll have to settle for an oldie but goodie on the very same subject. My apologies if the length gets away from me. I hope you're as psyched as I am.

Let's take a little time traveling trip all the way back to the good year of our lord nineteen hundred and ninety one. The year I was in the eigth grade. More importantly, the year my brother, David, was in the eleventh grade. At the time, he attended High School at the, now defunct, ever legendary Don Bosco Technical High School in Downtown Boston. In my experience a truly magical place. Now, I don't know how they do it other places but, where I'm from, in the eighth grade they allow students to take a couple of days off to visit and experience different High Schools in the area. Figure out where they might like to continue schooling. I picked a couple of places. The first was Matignon High School in Cambridge, which I eventually chose, (because they had girls) and Don Bosco.

An all boys school, "Bosco" is best described as unruly. Located in the area of Downtown Boston people often referred to as "The Zone" or "Combat Zone." (Long ago, our Red Light District.) It was common to see ladies of the night (or "Lovelies") prowling just outside the doors of the school. Some of my favorite stories involve the years that my two older brothers went to school there.

My visit happened to be on a Friday in the fall. The date was significant way before I even told my teacher I needed to take the day off. The importance of the day is impossible to understate because it was the same day of the Don Bosco Bears football rally which my brother was in charge of planning. For weeks and weeks he had been cooking up a scheme that would put all other football rallies, everywhere, to shame.

From what I understand most High Schools tend to introduce the football team, maybe there's a mascot or a funny little skitch, or whatever, but most just go with the old "here's your football team" deal. Bosco was an all boy's school so the idea was to do whatever is going to drive the kids bonkers.

David was responsible for one of 1991's big rallies. The theme he decided on: American Gladiators.

David, with the help of his best friend Chris Hickey and I, spent weeks before the big day collecting old football helmets, wigs, costumes, any manner of stuff that would make them look ridiculous, as well as, creating gladiator names, making pugil sticks, and planning the competition. (For anyone making Crystal Meth in their basement, consider making Pugil sticks along the same lines. I know it won't get you high and make you indestructible, but it's just about the most fun anyone can have.)

On the day of the event, I followed my friend, Matt Mahegan, around the school and had a great experience. Each class brought it's own new insanity, depending on the teacher. It seemed, to me, to be a school full of kids getting away with whatever they could. Like Dickensian London or prison. In one class I remeber kids yelling at the Brother teaching every time he turned around to the chalk board. I guess he was deaf, so they'd swear at him and say all kinds of lewd, weird shit about their own genitals. The Southie kids were the craziest. And everybody seemed to know my brother, David, and thought he was a great kid. I wasn't even at the school a full day and yet I seemed to be accepted as "Little Walshy."

It was a half day and not too long after lunch we got the call to file down to the gymnasium. If it's one thing I remember clearly it's the size of the Don Bosco gym. Huge. More like an airplane hanger. And on this particular Friday in the fall of 1991 the gym would be turned into an Arena for American Gladiators. As soon as everyone filed into the arena, the festivities were underway. The football squad was announced and that business was taken care of, somewhat hastily, with a few speeches from coaches and the like.

Then the lights were dimmed and some carnival music was played as announcers introduced the competitors. (The announcers in this case were friends of David who were really funny and eventually got into some trouble for advertising feminine products during non-existent commercial breaks) The competitors were a bunch of ragtag bunch of misfits chosen for their character status in the school and amount of yelling they'd bring out of the crowd. And yell we did. As they jogged out to the killing floor they were greeted by "Boos", "Hissssses", "You're Going Downs", "Ya Mutha's", and the shout of their individual nicknames.

Then the limits of the P.A. and the gym were put to the test with the introductions of the Gladiators. The place went dark and, "Rock You Like A Hurricane" by Scorpions boomed through speakers. A spotlight from the top corner of the gym centered on a locker room door and my brother's gang of goofballs charged out wearing all manor of leotard (one and two-piece), old school high-tops, knee socks, and prostheses. Armed with pugil sticks and crazy hairdos the Gladiators sprinted into the gym as each one was announced. Once assembled they looked like a hairband full of wrestlers that needed a place to rock but couldn't find a stage. My brother's character was named Chief J. Smegma (due to the statue of liberty headdress he wore), and one of the most memorable characters was "Vestite."

















Half woman, half man, all beast: "Vestite," like all of the Gladiators, was wearing a melange of clothing items collected from home. For some reason our crazy mother has always been a fan of costumes and rediculous clothing. (An affinity David and I have inherited.) As a result my brother was able to outfit and transform all of his High School buddies into the freakshow badasses they became at the Rally. What made "Vestite" an individual was the tighter than tight clothing and armor plating he/she adorned. In this case, the armor plating was made up of plastic ass cheeks and giant plastic titties. But the crowning achievement was the bulge in his pants. "Vestite" had a package that was clearly visible - through the leg of his bicycle shorts - all the way to the back of the bleachers at the top of the gym. In a Catholic High School no less... Impressive.

Even before the competition started the crowd was screaming for blood. The games paralelled those from the T.V. show. There was Tug O' War, The Joust, Powerball, Assault, and The Eliminator among others. The Tug O' War and Joust were exactly as you'd expect them to be: quick and ugly. People in football and hockey helmets pummeling each other with sticks, ropes let go, and geeks smashing down on flimsy wrestling mats. The highlights were The Assault and The Eliminator. The first being an excuse to fire tennis balls at a hapless student. There were bunkers set up all around the gymnasium hiding nerf footballs for the competitor to toss at a target. The Gladiators were standing on some staging with several tons of tennis balls. Whenever the whistle was blown the competitor wouldn't make it a single step before the gymnasium would rain green.

The whole event was hilarious. It ended with "The Eliminator," a glorified obstacle course. It's exactly how you'd imagine it with tires, hurdles, and cones but also one crucial difference. Bloodthirsty sickos. The challenge wasn't only to make it to the end of a makeshift obstacle course. It was to stay alive. The same goes for the whole competition. If the competitor took a lead, even for a moment, you could see them sparking the fury in The Gladiator's collective eye. From flicker to flame, fire to Armageddon. In recollection most of these competitions seem a little one sided. (No different than a guy, who auditioned at the mall, being broken in half by another man, twice his size, on national television.) God help anyone for crossing those guys. They were hilarious, ugly, and mean.

To the very last, the students were going ape-shit for the Gladiators Rally. I have no idea if the Bears won or lost that footbal game but whenever I envision that day my mind fades out slowly... First, the kids in the stands. Then, the competitors and the music. Finally, The Gladiators slowly dissapear, waving and posing for the crowd that's no longer there... until all that's left is an empty gymnasium and one sound, cacaphonous... Thousands of berserk Don Bosco teenagers chanting "VESTITE! VESTITE! VESTITE! VESTITE!.." echoing into eternity.

Somewhere there should be a trophy case for great ideas, well executed.

-Chris