Films and Other Horrors

I've been enjoying the annual horror movie fest on television that is a run-up to Halloween. I watched one yesterday entitled "Disturbia", (a great title that) about a kid incarcerated at home, ankle bracelet style, who watches the world from his windows and believes a neighbor to be a killer. Yeah I know, Hitchcock did this in "Rear Window", but this updated and dummied down for teens knock off starring Shia Le Bouef steak was not too bad. The leads were all believable and the heavy, I think played by David Morse, was a credible serial killer. A second flick I watched yesterday, "The Hitcher" was just a gore fest featuring another serial slayer of a particularly bloody bent. Multiple murder murderers it appears, have replaced monsters in modern horror pics in all but the SciFi genre. Truth is I suspect, that Hollywood has determined plausible horrors to be more frightening than the "suspension of disbelief" type. I still prefer the latter but that's probably more nostalgia than preference. Originality and great direction are required to frighten today's calloused horror movie veterans with monsters large or small, but I still believe it can be done. "Halloween", "Poltergeist", "An American Werewolf in London" and Coppola's "Dracula" are some of my favorite forget reality flicks. "Fried Greed Tomatoes", "Sleepless in Seattle", "Pretty Woman" "Steel Magnolias" and "Alien" were frightening as well but of course they were all SciFi.

I'm thinking a giant one bodied, three headed puppet, Dubya, Palin, McCain being the heads, danced about on strings by Carl Rove and Dick Cheney, seen stomping through the countryside (you might even say surging)would strike fear in the hearts of most movie goers today. I know I'd be frightened and I wouldn't even have to suspend my disbelief.

I'm Titleless

A guy whose name already escapes me although I read it less than an hour ago was featured on a yahoo news clip this morning. He's written a short book on what we could have purchased with the trillion dollars we have already spent in Iraq. Some, like paying off every credit card in the U.S. or covering every road with gold plate were whimsical while others were quite serious. Doubling the size of our police forces or a free college education for every high school graduate comes to mind. I'm not sure what category buying an iPOD for everyone on the planet falls under. A trillion dollars is a lot of money the writer makes abundantly clear. It is a sum, in fact, that most of us cannot even conceive. That being said, he then points out that recent estimates put the Iraq cost figure at closer to three trillion dollars! Too bad, is what I've go to I say. I'd like to have one of those iPODs.

Woowoo Charly, RTGFKAR and Yers Trewly are going about the business of getting used to being Gusless. It's a slow business. We keep seeing him in our minds eye in all those day to day moments when we would interact. Play time, feed time, walk time, treat time, bed time, spontaneous mess with the dog time. He's everywhere. But, of course, he's not. We are getting better though. We are able to talk a little about him now without breaking into sobs. We are even making plans to do this and that instead of just mope-ing around the house. Today we were going to play golf if it hadn't rained. It's October though. Rain is a regular feature. Our back up plan is movie rentals. I'm thinking something loud and heroic. Batman maybe, or Indiana Jones. Certainly nothing sad or soppy. It's a process, this grieving thing. We know that. And we know that grief will eventually fade and be replaced by something better. Good memories of happy times. It's a process. A damned, fucking, slow process.

Gustavo

Gustavo was a serious little guy. He went about his job of being the family dog with purpose and intent. He was not, you know, just some silly puppy. He was a real dog he seemed to say and he wanted to be treated with the respect a real, meaning big, dog would get. From the time I opened the door in the morning to let him out until he and I "walked the perimeter" at night to chase away whatever needed chasing away, he was all business. There was serious dog stuff to do everyday and he was just the dog to do it. Even playtime, when he would bring his stuffed Garfield and drop it at the feet of whichever of us he decided should play tug-of-war was done with a kind of "this is important stuff" attitude on his part. It was as if he were consciously entertaining us and not the other way around. He was loyal and dedicated to our little "pack" and was most content when we were all together. He could relax then, hang out and not worry about an absent member.

Gus was, though, almost from the beginning, my dog. Whether he designated me "alpha", as dog trainers like to put it, or whether it was because I took him for long walks and frequent car rides, his favorite things in life and, with him along, a couple of my favorites as well, he became my second shadow. I grew, over his four short years, very accustomed to having him close at hand and always felt vaguely uncomfortable when he was not. I think Charly felt the same. For that reason, she and I made it a practise to take Gus with us whenever and wherever dogs were allowed. Nothing would put more sparkle in his eyes and move his stumpy tail to wag then hearing Charly say "you gedda go, you gedda go" as we walked to the car. And conversely, nothing would make his whole body sag and droop more than when we told him he had to stay home. At those times, we drooped a little ourselves.

When he did "gedda go" Gus would prop himself happily on the back seat with his fore paws on the console between the front seats. This gave him a windshield view and enabled him to get to the serious business of warning other critters away. We were never able to cure him of growling ferociously at whatever beast we happened to drive by. After awhile we just quit trying. What the heck, it only lasted a couple of seconds and it seemed to make him so happy. With Gus serious and happy went hand in hand.

I have written several blogs about Gus, mostly humorous accounts of dog and man that I'm sure Gus would take issue with had he been able to read. Silliness, he would no doubt point out, is a human trait and he was a dog. Dogs he would say, are serious creatures. Then he would roll on his back and wait for the tummy rub.

Gus passed away a couple of night's ago at veterinary hospital in David where we had taken him for treatment of an undetermined illness. The vet said he died of a heart attack related to a heart ailment, probably an inherited condition.

There is nothing wrong with my own ticker that I know of despite the ache of loss that surrounds it. It is where Gus lives now, and always will.

Football Memories

I woke up this morning with a partially remembered dream about playing touch football during the halftimes of Denver Bronco games trying to invade my consciousness. I lost the thread of the dream, but it inspired some nice memories.

Back in the day, a group of friends and we Waltons rotated houses on Sundays to watch the Denver games. The Broncos had John Elway playing for them at that time and win or lose he was always fun to watch. We were all a pretty athletic bunch and if the weather permitted, a ragtag football match usually broke out in the streets fronting our houses. Traffic was minimal in those days on Sundays and even less so when the Broncos were playing. Men, women, children and yapping dogs all took part. It was great fun and often so much fun that we'd be well into the third quarter before someone inside would yell that Elway was doing something extraordinary again and we ought to come and see.

My boys, sons Don and Todd, and I didn't need others to get up a game though. We had our own good time playing wide receiver against cornerback with me chucking the ball to whichever son was on offense at the time. Todd was three and a half years younger than Don and at a speed and coordination disadvantage, but he never let that get in the way of competing with his older brother. He developed a set of moves that were both hysterical and effective. He would run around (parked) cars, behind cars and onto cars to get separation and I would have to get the ball to him at just the right moment. Both boys could always catch well, so that was never a problem. Todd's best move was to run, fall and fake injury. When his brother relaxed his guard, Todd would jump up and burst into the open. Second best was to just get us all laughing one way or another, a thing he's always had a talent for, and then sprint into the clear. My passes weren't always the best at those times. In the early years - we started playing when both boys were very little - it was pretty much a mismatch when Don was on offense. Just pitch and catch, really. If we were playing on grass, I would purposely throw the ball high or low or behind him to make the grab more difficult. It was a joy to watch him dive and make a catch. Later, when both boys were in their teens, the talent gap closed substantially and Don had to play with greater intensity to get open.

It would be nice to get out and throw the ball around right now. Of course we'd be limited to five yard outs and hitches, but just seeing the boys shoving playfully and talking smack to each other would be all I need to make me happy. Since distance apart doesn't permit that - Don in Colorado, Todd in Maryland and Yers Trewly here in Panama - I guess we are left with just watching the games. That being the case...Go Broncos!

The Middle Distance

October is to Panama what February is to wintry U.S. states, a month to endure. Will the rain never cease Michelangelo? Will there be no end of it? Of course rain is easier to tolerate than February's snow, sleet and cold, but we wimps here in paradise still feel that whining is called for when the sun makes only token appearances. With actual life limited and soggy up close I believe the best thing to do is go somewhere else. Somewhere in the middle distance.

Volcan Baru is shrouded in fog this morning which means that if you stare off into the middle distance your visibility has maxed out. It is, though, nice there in the m.d. I can see inside the fog where the nothingness cavorts and dances and all things are possible because they are all imagined anyway. Hope lives there and dreams too. I can see the Past rearranged to my liking and forward to the Future as far as I choose. There's a debate lurking there and a dental appointment to boot and...now I've done it, I've left the m.d. and returned to the real, the up close where the window in front of me could use a washing, my dog is sick and I do in fact have to see a dentista this afternoon.

Screw that, it's back to the middle distance for me.

There is a debate tonight to look forward to and it's shaping up to be a good one. The format calls for the two candidates to stand toe to toe and shout their opinions at each other. When McCain loses his temper which, of course, is inevitable, he will be permitted to pull a handkerchief from his sleeve and use it to slap Obama across the face in challenge. Obama will then have the choice of weapons and I am told he will select nineteenth century dueling pistols as his gun control legislation won't allow anything more modern. The debate committee has ruled out sabers and such as unfair to the older opponent. The Seconds will then be called to join the fray and issued weapons of their own. Palin, who doesn't follow rules, will select a hunting rifle. As a further fairness consideration, she will receive only one bullet. Biden will choose a wolf. The combatants will then stand back to back and pace off ten steps before turning and beginning their assaults. If any two of the opposing parties remain standing after the initial thrust, they will be issued gladiator clothes and weaponry for a second round of debating in which there will be no rules whatsoever. Vegas has a potential Palin vs Obama final at even odds with a Wolf vs McCain the least likely to occur but a good bet at ten to one. Whatever the outcome, this is definitely "don't miss TV".

Yup, it is true. The middle distance is the place to be.

Creative Juice

I have been feeling imagination-less of late. It is as if the monkeymind has found a comfortable branch to rest on and refuses to budge. I'm not sure what is needed - a kick in the pants, a cattle prod, a jump start - but something has to be done soon to get me off the mark.

I am going to a big party tonight to celebrate Woowoo Charly, the Old Redneck and friend Victoria's October birthdays. There will be more Panamanians than gringos in attendance and my lame Spanish will surely be tested. I'm hoping some gaffe or blooper or blunder will occur(not involving me of course, although that usually is the case)to get my creative juices flowing.

Okay there you have it, just what I REALLY needed, the phrase "creative juices flowing." Exactly what kind of juices are they, where do they come from and how do you make them flow, well let me tell you. The nut from which creative juice is extracted sits above my shoulders and is an area often referred to by others as the "nutcase." Peeling away the leafy layers of lethargy to get at the juice in the nutcase is a process euphemistically called "going bananas." The lethargy remains are toxic and must be disposed of carefully. It is highly recommended that you bury them far from televised sports or good books as these influences can reconstitute the lethargy into a vegetative state known as couch potato; a condition to be avoided at all costs except upon weekends. Once you have achieved the gone completely bananas state, it is easy to tap into the creative juice as it is right there in front of you just waiting to flow. I recommend tilting the nutcase towards a computer to start the flow, but others suggest that tilting toward easels, clay, cameras, cooking implements and such works equally well. When the juice has been completely spilled upon your project...quit.

Right Parters

I thought about typing in this whole bit from Vanity Fair magazine, but I'm far too lazy so I will, for the most part, summarize.

Reasons McCain should not be president: He's as much a puppet of the neocons as George Bush. He's a hothead and K street's Manchurian candidate, a man willing to do anything to pander to the fringes of his party. He's too old to be president of anything. Local chamber of commerce, maybe. President of the U.S.? Certainly not. And now the biggie that has me writing this. He parts his hair on the right side.

Brother and sister sociologists John and Catherine Walker "who have spent a frightening amount of time researching the subject, conclude that 'a hair part has a crucial impact on interpersonal relationships by affecting immediate character appraisal, perceived personality traits, self perception and self development.'"
Right parters they note, tend to possess right brain tendencies like obsessiveness, defensiveness, extremism, fanaticism, weakness and woodenness. Alrighty then! Positive traits are memory of pictures and musical perception. A McCain white house should use flash cards and show tunes to accompany classified information. Of the six previous presidents who were right partners five were considered failures, James Buchanon, Warren G. Harding, John Tyler, Andrew Jackson and Chester A. Arthur and the sixth Ronald Reagan was a success to many and a failure to others depending on your opinion of Iran-contra and the sweeping deregulation that has led to today's economic woes.

Left parters or no parters include Abe Lincoln, both Roosevelts, Truman, Eisenhower, Kennedy and Lyndon Johnson. Lincoln and Jimmy Carter both switched parts to the left when they entered office. Bill Clinton has no part and Hilary parts on the left. Rush Limbaugh is a right parter. Obama is a no parter like the majority of Americans today.

The final word on who will make it big in D.C. goes to DC Comics. In the Chris Reeve Superman films Clark Kent parted his hair on the right. The man of steel, on the other hand, parted his on the left.

So there you have that.

More Md, NY and Connecticut

Where was I? Woowoo Charly has been rattling beads, consulting crystals, talking to the animals and trying to clear our computer of assorted demons and somehow, along the way, she usurped Monkeymind. I could not gain access to the blog. Even when I answered comments, I appeared as Charly! Rats! I am not, however, without my own devices. Recalling the wisdom and clarity of Casey Stengal, Yogi Berra, Dubya and Sarah Palin, I summoned forth all the intellectual resources available from my enormous cranium and did the one thing certain to fix the problem. I called out into the dawn those mystical words known but to a few that bring hope, faith and charity to all, well to me anyway, I said, "hey Charly you better come fix this thing" and she did.

We partied from sun up Saturday all day throughout the day and into the night. You would too if you were us. D and T sang and played mostly blues in their pajamas first thing in the A.M. while I strummed along quietly when T shouted out the chords and changes. Mostly I was late, off, buzzy and bad but what the hell, I was holding the guitar properly. The boys are awesome and when they performed for everyone on the balcony that night, I just sat and listened, knowing better than to screw up their act. During the day there were store trips and walks through the woods to the playground for Jackson and Keely. I could spend many hours just watching them. I know I'm biased, but I swear they glow. The day went by very fast and in the early eve we were joined by T and D's aunt and uncle on their mother's side - my ex - and their son and his wife. All good folk. I remember lasagna, booze, laughter and music. Also hugs, kisses, dancing and craziness. D, T and I were the last to bed, but that's nothing new, we always are. Morning was bagels and beer, a hardy breakfast if ever there was one, and afternoon brought the parting. Lots of tears then all around. I swallowed mine in a manly way and tried not to look at anyone I wouldn't be seeing for a long time knowing my manly way would dissolve into blubbering if I did. Dara, Dave, Charly and I went back to NY in the rental car, Kira and Laura took the bus.

Ensuing days brought trips to Coney Island and its fabulous aquarium, Little Odessa NY's Russian section, where we sampled vodkas from Russia while a table of Russian men behind us all drank Grey Goose vodka from France. I figure they know which is the good stuff so I'm going with the Goose next time. We ate sushi one day at Charly's request and I had a Subway turkey sandwich to appease my craving on another. Thursday Woowoo Chuck and I trained up to Connecticut to have lunch with my 90 year old Uncle Horace and his wife Ruth. She is an Alzheimer's patient and has a full time nurse from Jamaica to help care for her. We ate at Unc's country club where I snuck in and put a napkin across my lap as fast as possible because I was wearing jeans. Jeans are not allowed and nor is smoking but Ralph Kiner, a club member and hall of fame baseball player is permitted to fire up a stogie when he's there. As I am a hall of fame jeans wearer I feel I should be allowed the same style courtesy. Long story short I didn't get caught. There were restaurants and bars and more laughter rounding out the week and another day long party on which I cooked french toast for everyone including two friends of D and K's. Somewhere along the way the Broncos lost to Kansas City and I still don't care. We left on a Monday that seems like yesterday and had a smooth trip home. Always glad to be there, but missing my "peeps" a lot already. As I've said, they are the best.

The 400th Blog

There is something scary about that...400 blogs. They all emanate from inside my head. I have a small head. How many could be left in there? What happens when it's completely empty and there is nary a creative thought left? Wait! I know! I'll run for office!

The bus ride from Chinatown NY to Chinatown DC (are there Americatowns in China?)took close to five hours or about the same as the plane ride from Panama to Newark. The bus was more comfortable though, bigger seats, no Ashton Kutcher movies and a stop along the way for refreshments. I also liked the part about the bus being on the ground and not thousands of feet in the air. We made it to our destination in the late afternoon and son Todd was there to greet us per the plan. As we loaded our luggage into the back of his car Todd suddenly asks me if I have any change. Huh? Look he tells me, there's a guy over there with a little kid I think needs some help. I turn around and see a man slumped on the sidewalk against a nearby wall with a kid cradled under his arm. Their faces are concealed, his by a hood and the child's turned away. I take a buck off my money clip and approach them saying something like hey buddy could you use some... and that's when the guy throws back his hood and leaps to his feet with his kidlet doing likewise. He's my son Jr. and his daughter Keely. I'm stunned. I'm speechless. Behind me Woowoo Charly screeches and in seconds we are all hugging, kissing and beaming like actors in a toothpaste commercial. Woowoo Chuck and I remain in shock during the long ride to Todd's house. The boys and Keely chatter away.

What has happened is this: Jr. is as broke as advertised, but his good buddy Jeff (JoeBob to his friends) donated his frequent flier miles to the cause. Thank you JoeBob. Daughter Kira then pitched in to help with all the additional expenses. Woowoo Charly and I were in the U.S. on Dave and Dara's tab and daughter Laura, who doesn't travel often, made it a point to be there so we could all reunite for the first time since Woowoo and I moved to Panama five years ago. I'm still sorting out how amazing the whole trip played out.

I don't know what else to say before I go back to the collage except thank you to all my clan for making this reunion happen. I clearly have the best family on the planet. I love them all and I wouldn't swap them for any other. When D and D and K, L, and Jackson My Man arrived the next morning and the party began I couldn't imagine being happier. I was so happy, in fact, that a week later when the Broncos lost to the lowly Chiefs, I was still glowing and didn't even care. Now that's happy.

And a final note before I go back to being my silly self is an additional thank you to Heather, Jr's wife, who couldn't be there but understood our need to see Jr. and Keely. And a thank you also goes to Ziza, Todd's wife, who not only tolerated us, but joined in as we turned her home into frat party. We love you both.

And another big thanks to RTGFKAR who manned the home front and looked after Gustavo the Wonder Dog. He gets a hug and a Taylor Ham.

New York Rambling

Alrighty then, Woowoo Charly and I are back from NY where we had two weeks that can only be described as awesome! (By "only" I mean if one lacks imagination and the ability to depict events using two or more words and yup, that's me. My mind is effectively whited out by the flood of thoughts that arrive when I call for NY trip details. A collage of people and play appears like a fat cloud and hovers about my frontal lobes obscuring the divisions between each NY event. Awesome just keeps popping up and though I love the original intent of the word - a mixed bag of reverence and wonder - I fear its effect has been diminished by over use. Still, there it is, AWESOME!)

I could I suppose, start at the beginning and write a precise account in detail of all that occurred from the get go to the done deal. I could, that is, if I had the focus, concentration and attention span of a ten year old and we all know that's not the case. I mean this blog isn't called Monkeymind for nothing. So...in lieu of being clear and having to write coherently, I'll just give you the collage. (Hmmm, if collage were a Spanish word it would be pronounced ko-yag-eee.)(You see? The mind of the monkey is ever present.)

Hotel Estancia no TV but little bottles of wine and packaged cookies-nice breakfast next morn. Beep beep shoes off then board plane. Long flight, bad movie-Ashton Kutcher-give me a break. Cab from Newark to Brooklyn-yeeha!-we are definetly not in Panama anymore Toto-talk Spanish to Argentinian driver. Hugs and shiny wet eyes from and to Dara and Dave and grandson-Jackson My Man who is almost two but is tall as four-NBA scouts should be alerted. Dave off to busines retreat for rest of week-bummer. Kira arrives-more hugging-lots of excited talking- watch Daily Show and Colbert Report before sacking down-funny funny shows. Mexican resturant for lunch next day-Jackson at preschool-talked Spanish to waiter whose own Spanish seemed very clear-not so fast-later conversation, drinks and a cigar for me in backyard of D and D's as sun sets-Kira over again after work. Next day long walk in beautiful Prospect Park and visit to zoo there with Jackson and Dara. That night Kira picks up Laura at La Guardia. All three daughters Laura-Kira-Dara now in NY-amazing. Next day K and L take us to Chinatown NY and put us on a bus-say what-headed to Chinatown D.C. to be picked up by son Todd. Girls and Dave to drive down in rental car the following morning. Four of our five kid units will then be together-fifth unable to come from Denver-congressional financial bailout doesn't have him targeted.

Tomorrow the big surprise.

Spell check is not working. Feel free to make corrections.