How to Train Your Cat to Come When You Call Its Name

          This new information is not new.  But—if your brain does not already possess this possibly-useful knowledge—you'll immediately grasp its common sense basis, as you palm-slap your forehead and say, "Where's this simple information been all my life?"

          Dogs come when they are called because their brains easily translate human-speak (no matter the language we use); I posit that German is the best human-language dogs can translate.  I say this, not because I lived in Germany for four years and witnessed it, but because many of the best dog training schools teach humans to speak to their dogs using German-language commands.

          The reason is simple once you know it.  All dogs bark in a staccato manner; their brains are conditioned to hear other-dog communication this way:  noise. silence. noise. silence.  Since German words are barked (even by the most smooth-voiced German orators) teaching non-German speaking humans to use German words when communicating with their dog insures the animal hears sharp, distinct, clipped commands.  There's not much difference between "stop" and "halt"; "come" and "komm"; or "stay" and "bleiben"; but training with German words prevents the human from slipping from "Skipper— pause —come!" to "cummereSkipperboyURschagoodboyThatzrightcummere".

          Cats meow in a tonally escalating-to-descending manner; their brains are conditioned to hear other-cat communication this way: NoooOoiiiIisennNoiseee.  So when you want your cat to come when you call...you need to sing his or her name.  It doesn't matter what words you use in the song as long as it includes the cat's name.  Just yowl in as plaintive a manner as possible.  If your cat knows its name, it'll come to you.  Probably not the first time you sing it, but if you practice sing-calling every day, several times a day, and stroking and praising it when it comes, "My cat never comes when it is called." will soon become, "My cat comes when I call some of the time." and eventually will become, "My cat comes almost all the time."

          Why almost all the time...why not all the time, like dogs?  Because dogs are like Germans.  Punctual.  Practical.  Reliable.  Cats are like you and me (and—if you're German—this is a metaphor.  Stop. Taking. Things. So. Literally.  Good boy).  When our phones ring we check caller ID, decide if we're in the mood, too busy, too tired...and maybe-sometimes we even turn off our phones because we don't want to be bothered.  When you sing-call for your cat in the middle of its nap on the laundry you took out of the dryer but haven't gotten around to folding yet, don't be surprised if it "hits ignore" and goes back to sleep.

          This truth is buried in everything we innately know about dogs and cats.  The best names for dogs are short and roll off the tongue in a punchy, almost monosyllabic manner (Rex, Fido, Jack) while the best names for cats are long and drawn out (Cecil O. Zonkey).  Sure, you may use its short nickname but you realize that's for your own benefit.  Not his.  All he hears is dog-speak.

          When my cat is off doing his own thing and I sing, "whereismyCECILBoy-o-boy-o-ZooOooNKeEeYBoOy..i-sure-missMyCECILloO-ZOoooonKeeey."  He comes.  90% of the time.  I understand it'll be done at cat pace and not dog pace.  Cats need to stretch.  Focus.  Think about their next inactive action.  Smell and listen to check if danger is present.  Then mozy.  It may take a few sung phrases.  He may not arrive for a few minutes.

          I think it's fantastic he only blows me off once in a while since I ignore phone calls from family and friends at least that often.

Autumn Peeked at Me Today

          For a brief half-minute he walked about 200 meters ahead.  When he turned, looked over his shoulder (saw me) and casually marched into the forest, I could see his very bushy brownish-gray tail.  I immediately knew it wasn't a domestic dog.  I thought it wasn't low enough to the ground or as small as (I believed) a gray fox should be (but that outdated glossy magazine and zoo-based belief was in need of an internet refresher—now, I'm not so sure).  It definitely wasn't tall or gangly or large or light-gray enough to be a wolf.  My best guess: male coyote.

          When I got to the spot I thought he entered the woods...I paused.  He was observing me from behind a fallen log.  For one long, slow, breath, we stared at each other.  Then, he turned, and I watched the tops of twigs shiver and the leaves of underbrush vibrate marking his path as he moved away into his forest.

          A male coyote with toxoplasmosis.   

          Toxoplasmosis is an infection in mammals caused by a protozoa.  (As you recall from Biology 101, protozoa are extremely tiny organisms which are easy to see under a microscope and are more fun to identify than other things found in a drop of pond water because most of them are motile.)  Almost every mammal on earth can be infected by it.  You might be infected right now—might have been infected your entire life—there are very few symptoms after the initial infection which is normally misidentified as the flu.

          The toxoplasmosis protozoan thrives on the inside of felines and insures its life-cycle continues in a very unique way [more on that soon].  (It's safe to assume the protozoan is/was incapable of differentiating between the guts of saber-tooth tigers and those of your housecat.)

          The protozoan infects the tissue of its feline host as well as passes cysts (eggs) into the feline's feces.  Those cysts are passed to new hosts both when the feline is eaten as well as when a cyst is transferred from the feline's feces to the paw of another mammal who later ingests the cyst when grooming (or when your pet uses the litter box and happens to get a cyst on his paw, which transfers to the carpet where your baby crawls and...baby's first "cold").

          Very unique way:  when mice get toxoplasmosis, they tend to exhibit behavior which can best be described as "risky".  They are less scared of open spaces than their uninfected brethren; and, strangely, they don't avoid the odor of cat urine (as do all uninfected mice) but, instead, they are either incapable of noticing the odor or are attracted to it.

          It's safe to assume the protozoan can't differentiate which warm blooded animal has consumed it, therefore, the obvious question:  Is the behavior of all animals, including humans, affected just like that of the mice?

          Within the last few decades a small number of studies have been done on how toxoplasmosis affects humans.  The indication is that toxoplasmosis acts in concert with hormones in humans to exaggerate behaviors.  Infected men tend to be risk takers; they exhibit jealousy more often than uninfected men, and are more willing to disobey laws (one study showed infected men were 2.5 times more likely to have automobile accidents than uninfected men).  Infected women tend to be more compassionate, warm, and more conscientious than uninfected women.

          I couldn't find a study to determine if the kind little old lady who always has something nice to say and who keeps 23 cats in her house on the corner, can't smell them or is actually attracted to the smell...but there's little doubt about the fact that she's infected with toxoplasmosis.

          Just like the male risk-taking coyote who paused to get a closer look at the noisy man on the first day of autumn.

          Post Script - - - I've cared for and been friends with the full gamut of cats my entire life (indoor only, outdoor only, and indoor-outdoor).  It seems improbable to me—with all the cat puke I've cleaned, scratches I received, and scat I've dumped with bare hands since the invention of clumping cat litter—that one cyst hasn't found its way inside of me.  However.  I'm a pretty strict law abider; I never understood what getting jealous accomplished; and I've very rarely intentionally risked harming myself (Avoid Pain At All Costs - a good subtitle for my life story).
           Clearly, I don't have any of the male behavioral symptoms of toxoplasmosis.  On the other hand, although I don't think the term "warm" has ever been used in reference to me (a term which I think applies to extraverts not introverts) I would agree I'm more compassionate and conscientious than the average bear.  Which means (operating upon the assumption of being infected) that I have less testosterone and more estrogen inside me for the protozoa to amplify.
          But, I hate the smell of cat piss and can detect the tiniest whiff from several meters away...so maybe I'm just one of those guys who's immune to the brain control of the catbug aliens.

Thievery Corporation Concert

          Two pictures containing me in one week!  The first marking the endpoint in the goody bygone days of yore when I intentionally cropped myself out of everything (including bare legs) to impose a facade of pseudo-zorroloneranger-esque anonymity, while this pic is just some vaingloriously ridiculous Where's WaldVeacho foolishness.

          I'm wearing an orange shirt.

How to Improve the Entire World


          Since all card-carrying members of the narcissistic personality disorder club refuse to carry membership cards almost as vehemently as they deny their own membership, this bumper sticker won't cause your car (or your ass) to get kicked like zombies definitely would if you had a bumper sticker that said: 'first ... kill all the ZOMBIES'.

          Unlike zombies, identifying narcissists is not always easy.  Along with seven myths about narcissism, there are many signs to look for in others.  Of course—only in others, as I already pointed out, it's impossible for a narcissist to recognize their own traits:
  • Believe they are better than others
  • Fantasize about power, success, and attractiveness
  • Exaggerate their achievements or talents
  • Expect constant praise and admiration
  • Believe they are special (and act accordingly)
  • Lack empathy; fail to recognize emotions or feelings of others
  • Expect others to always go along with their ideas and plans
  • Take advantage of others
  • Express disdain for those they think are inferior
  • Express jealousy of others as well as believe others are jealous of them
  • Incapable of maintaining healthy relationships (especially long-term)
  • Set unrealistic goals
  • Thin-skinned; feel easily hurt and rejected
  • Possess a fragile self-esteem
  • Display a tough-minded or unemotional appearance
          Just like you can't convince a zombie to stop trying to eat anyone's and everyone's brains, you can't convince a narcissist to stop ruining the world with their constant manipulative yet disdainful blathering-on-and-on about themselves.  The best way to stop them both is with a headshot.

          One problem...a world without narcissists is a world without celebutantes, celebutards, and most other reality television participants who not only stoke the coals but fan the flames of our schadenfreude.

This Is How We Do It

Five mile hike and we feel alright
Both feeling hearty up on the mountain
Take my kleen kanteen and sip it up
Cecil O. Zonk jump along the path
Parading together and we're hummin'
Birds 'n the breeze cry, "Zonkey's coming!"
It feels so good in my woods today
With chitterin' squirrels and butterfly play
Flash-glimpsing thru the leaves and needles
Kitt ya oughtta pad on up to th' shade
So lift your nose and throw up your tail
Me all I meow'z my trekkin' partner says:
          Kinda jazzed and it's all because (this is how we do it)
          State forest does it like nowhere else (this is how we do it)
          We—my hikin' feline and I—will beeline (this is how we do it)
          Venture back to this woodland track 'cause (this is how we do it)

REPLAY by Ken Grimwood - Book Review (☆☆☆☆☆)

          This speculative fiction novel combines the perfect blend of what-if from Groundhog Day quarter century, with the clean pacing and suspense of The Time Traveler's Wife (book not film).  Soft science fiction fans will not be disappointed because Ken Grimwood deftly dangles the bet-you-know-what'll-happen-next bait followed by several successful surprises. 

          I enjoyed the story enough to give it my highest rating because I recall almost all of the key American events which happened between 1963 and 1988.  However, the downfall of a story which leans as heavily on a specific country's historical events as REPLAY does, is that it gradually loses its audience.  Consequently, I don't recommend it to anyone born after 1970 (unless they are history/SF buffs or love period-pieces)...readers born between 1970 and 1980 will rate it four-stars, between 1980-1990, three stars, et cetera.

          I suspect this novel will become a shitty movie someday soon (I'm a bit surprised it hasn't already).  Just like many books of this type, the success of the plot is based on the empathy we slowly gain watching the world go by through the main character(s) eyes.  Films rarely succeed in relating "over a long period of time" to their audiences.   The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (the film, not Fitzgerald's short story) attempted to accomplish this feat...and bored most of its audience while doing so.  There are exceptions.  Robert Zemeckis's Forrest Gump (a bad book turned into a great screenplay) is the first example I can think of.  If someone had the patience and skill to Gumpize REPLAY and could find the perfect 28 year-old everyman-character actor who is not a comedian (who must capture the two-and-a-half decades between college freshman and middle age; make us love him, feel sorry for him, hate him, and eventually love him again)...I picture ....ahhh.... nobody comes to mind.   Which is why this hypothetical film will be made out of pure suckage.

Dear fuzzy-headed faces from prestigious places,



          Please stop dumbing-down your [specific area of scientific expertise] to coloring book level.  I'm really sorry [name of college or university] doesn't pay enough for you to disregard all those enticing offers from [television channel] but every time you recite from a script written to be understood by [target audience] you inflict excruciating pain in my brain.
           I know.  Brains don't actually have pain receptors.  But, when watching [video of gravity tests in a testosterone-laden common-sense-free environment] I experience (real-to-me) empathetic groin pain and I feel a similar pain inside my skull when I watch you transmogrify [complex theorem or formula] to the level of SeeDickAndJaneRun.

          Because specifics are better than vague analogies:

          •  Tweedle Dee, aka Brian Richmond, The George Washington University (NOVA, Becoming Human minutes 2:28 thru 3:00) - his explanation of a few theories why quadrupedal protohumans became bipedal: "...they stood up to be able to see over tall grass...they stood to be able to pick fruits off of the low branches of trees...(or)...to cool more efficiently so that we don't have as much sun beating on so much of our body."
          •  Tweedle Dum, aka Daniel Leiberman, Harvard University (NOVA, Becoming Human minutes 3:00 thru 4:40) - his favorite opinion why quadrupedal protohumans became bipedal:  "...the most compelling hypothesis is that it saved us energy."

          These two idiots bruised my frontal lobes.  Their few seconds of Discovery Channel fame only proved one thing:  neither of them actually understands natural selection.

          In a muddled attempt at simplicity, this NOVA episode completely fails to explain natural selection and offers information as true, which is the exact opposite of the truth.  The show paints a picture that six million years ago, in the middle of protoAfrica (with the environment in flux and jungles becoming savannahs)...for reasons we can only guess at...a protochimpanzee stood on its hind legs and, subsequently, passed that ability to constantly walk upright to its progeny.

          The fiction—like that of so many television shows based on psudo- and/or fuzzy-science—is relating that the reason/desire to walk upright preceded our distant ancestor's ability to do so.  But when somebody from [prestigious place of higher learning] says, "they stood up in order to..." how can we interpret it otherwise?

          What actually happened?  How did a few of the little ancient monkeys who walked on four legs many millions of years ago eventually walk on only their two hind legs?  The same way every gradual evolutionary change occurred in every living entity since the beginning of life.  It happened by mistake.  Zillions upon Trillions of miniscule beneficial mistakes.  The same number (or more) of non-beneficial mistakes also (must've-probably) occurred, but any of those mistakes (those which don't improve their possessor's chance of procreation) are useless in evolutionary terms and lead to extinction. 

          One quadrupedal protohuman gave birth to a malformed baby with a slightly misshaped pelvis (I'll call her Miss TakΓ¨).  Her pelvis was a bit too flat, too horizontal...and all the quadrupedal kids at school teased little TakΓ¨ because she wasn't very good at reindeer games; but she was able to survive long enough to procreate and pass along that genetic error because she was [reason for not dying...including being lucky].  She had a fifteenth cousin twice removed with a slightly bent thumb which made swinging from branches a little harder than normal, but she always won at thumb-war; and her imperceptibly encephalitic and slightly taller great-great-great grandson (who could never peek over a log without his forehead being seen when playing hide-n-seek) became a great hunter because of his above-average eyesight...and his eighteenth son from his fifteenth mate (who happened to be distantly related to thumb-war cousin) was taller-still but he happened to have less body hair, hated the winter, and walked a long distance in order to live in a warmer place...ad infinitum...modern man.

          South Park's Mrs Garrison's grasp of the theory of evolution is more accurate.  The fact that Trey Parker and Matt Stone are more capable than NOVA at explaining natural selection makes me giggle-cringe (but inflicts no pain in my gulliver).


re-posted/edited in 2020

Not the Best Way to Start a Day at the Beach

          Low tide.  About a half-mile from the beach access road—the closest people are more than 200 meters off—I swing a U-turn a bit too high off the wet-packed sand, intending to park facing the ocean.  Somewhere in that sentence there should have been a descriptive adverb...a 'stupidly' or at the very least a 'thoughtlessly'.

          I knew I was farged the moment I lost forward momentum, but we took a few minutes to insure it was so before calling a tow truck.  Twenty minutes later the guy hooked up, pulled me forward ten feet, and gave us the bill.  It cost slightly more than a dollar an inch.

          Is there a combo-adverb for extremely stupid and very costly?   

Make Self-Service Gas Illegal

          I have an unemployed friend.  Keeping a constant paycheck was a challenge for him even before the economy married the weather.  (Remember when Miss Weather was only occasionally crazy in public and Mister Economy appeared strong and confident?  In case you just awoke from a three-year hibernation, Mr. and Mrs. Weather-Economy are an extremely toxic couple.)  Every time my friend and I talk he says, "Believe me, I'm always out there looking, but there just aren't any jobs available."

          There are jobs.  Plenty of them.  It's just that there are none in the field he has experience in.  That's the full-time-with-great-benefits field where one got paid a 40+K salary to accomplish 8-hours of actual work every 40-hour "work week".

          Today, politicians don't dare open their mouths unless they can find a way to jam the words 'job creation' into every one of their paragraphs.  Do they understand the difference between rhetoric and action?

          My two cents:  If the other 48 states (or the US congress) passed full-service gas station laws, like those in Oregon and New Jersey...with the stroke of a (governor's or president's) pen they would create tens of thousands...hundreds of thousands...over a million jobs.

           That's right, over a million jobs.

           There are approximately 240,000* self-service gas stations in the 48 US states that don't have full-service laws.  A conservative estimate:  five additional full-time minimum wage employees, per gas station, would be required to be hired if every state (or the US government) passed mandatory full-service gas station laws.  1.2 million new jobs. 

           PROS:   Gas station attendant jobs can't be lost to oversea workers.
                        Required training and licenses prevent illegal aliens from filling these jobs.
                        Fuel spills and accidents at the station's pump are drastically eliminated.
                     
           CONS:  Price increase at the pump (about 10 cents a gallon).

           Disagree with my recommendation?  Feel free to tell me why. 

* 2007 census:  118,756 gas stations + 97,508 gas stations with convenience stores + 21,248 other gas stations + 10,131 stations without employees = 247,643.  Oregon / New Jersey stations: 1,061 / 2,545 gas stations + 618 / 749 gas stations with convenience stores + 443 / 1,796 other gas stations  = 7,212.

Can't Stop The Serenity


          Last weekend I was a volunteer for CSTS at the Hollywood Theater.  It's run annually by the PDX Browncoats and all profits are donated to charity.

          There were over 400 fantastic theater goers watching Dr Horrible's Sing Along Blog and Serenity on the big screen, with an intermission Q&A with artist Patric Reynolds (of Dark Horse Comics fame).  The after-party was relaxing-interesting, except when I verbally stumble-said brownshirts after I'd imbibed the exact-right amount of libation to make that faux pas possible (corrected immediately by every Browncoat within earshot). 

launch monitor - swing statistics (golf)


          I used a radar to determine my current average golf club distances.  This is a first for me (and I enjoy tracking anything done for a first time).  As one ages and loses muscle, one's "numbers" change.  Hopefully, this will help.  Too often, I'm missing the club's sweet-spot...which is lowering my carry distance.    

Club (degree)  Speed (mph)   Loft (angle)   Carry Yardage     Total Yardage             

Driver (10.5)        96                13.5                    222                      245
3 Wd (15)            91                11.5                    187                      207   (should be 210-carry 225-total)
5 Wd (19)            92                15                       190                      208
3 I (21)                88                17                       175                      188
4 I (23)                84                17.5                    164                      176
5 I (27)                83                18                       150                      157
6 I (30)                84                21.5                    144                      152
7 I (34)                84                23                       133                      140
8 I (37)                83                25                       122                      126
9 I (41)                78                28                       110                      113
PW (45)               73                30                         90                        91

Hypocrisy — An Invaluable Discriminator

          I recall riding in cars in the 1970's with my step-dad behind the wheel.  In traffic, he would holler and gesture and 'talk a blue streak' (mom-speak) about other drivers and pedestrians.  At home, he would occasionally shout at TV newscasters.  In person, however, he was always polite...to a fault.

          Who was my step-dad?

          A reactionary, idiotic, rude, old man; intelligent enough to know when to filter himself?  Or was he a courteous, open-minded, thoughtful person who—when safely ensconced on the other-side of a protective barrier—ranted at the occasional egregiously-behaved fool or jester?  I don't know if the answer is important.  I suspect it's not.  But the question is.

          Immediate family were the only witnesses to his bursts of vitriol.  I seriously doubt he would ever have defined himself using negative verbiage of any stripe (even the concept of defining himself would have been foreign to him).  I think of all the co-workers, fellow congregants, neighbors and extended family members who thought they knew him but who never witnessed him shout, "Pick a fuckin lane you miserable cunt!" or "They otta throw all those longhair-draft-dodgein-fags in the slammer!"

          If you subscribe to the belief that people 'reveal their true nature' in times when their guard is down...my step-dad was Archie Bunker wearing a Jimmy Carter mask.  When I consider his behavior in the context of how it affected who I grew up to be, I focus on the hypocrisy.  His lifelong struggle to keep internal-Archie mute and fabricate the external-Jimmy persona must have been immensely difficult; as difficult as a homosexual who (in 1966 America) decided at the age of thirty-nine to forevermore deny his innate attraction and marry an aging divorcΓ©e with two grade-school children before moving his ready-made family half-way across the country (this unrelated suspicion I have about my step-dad is based on very few facts; I merely include it here to suggest there were possible other hidden layers to "who he really was").

          Back to hypocrisy.  I suspect it's a much more valuable discriminator than many people realize.  How often do you attempt to measure someone's normally hidden hypocrisy?  It's one of, if not THE primary tool I use to decide if someone is a trusted friend or merely an acquaintance.

         Here is a quote from one of the most un-hypocritical people I've ever known; I hope he remains my good friend for a long time to come:  "If I'd been friends with OJ Simpson, and, back in 1994, I went to talk to him and he said to me, 'Dude, I just snapped when I saw 'em together.' Then I'd have just said, 'That's cool, let's go play golf.'  But if he was all, 'Hey, I hope they catch who really did it.'  Then I wouldn't have been able to stay friends with him."

          Chris's blog post Don't call me a "liberal" begins with this excerpt (above-right) of commenters on a Weather.com article about the current drought in Texas.  As is often the case, give a hypocrite a protective barrier (the epitome of web-commenting) and they let their inner Archie Bunker out.

          I learned from my step-dad what I didn't want to be.  Who you read here is who you talk to on the phone is who you meet in person.  Liberal?..ok.  Hypocrite?..never.

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LIMBO - game review - ☆☆☆☆☆

          I enjoy puzzles.  I get a wonderful micro-instant brain fizz when, after extensive trial and error (or in the case of this game—trial, death, and re-spawn) 'I can't figure this one out' crystallizes, the solution clicks in my gulliver, and...'oh yea! Gotcha.'

          If Edward Gorey designed a side-scroller like The Humans, it would be Limbo; a game with good value for average invested entertainment time ($15 for ≈15 hours).  A few of its 39 chapters are time-sensitive, which seem more a test of hand-eye coordination than mental dexterity; others rely on pure deduction (path + tools = looks impossible but it's not); a few are sequence oriented; many are a combination of all of the above.  Add the occasional anti-gravity device, electro-magnet, huge insect, and...well...you get a great puzzle game.

summer-goings-on


          The summer is half-gone.  The weather outside is delightful (with nary a day above 90 this year).  I'm not rubbing it in, I empathize with the rest of the sweltering US, but in a glad-it's-not-me kind of way.  I've kept busy golfing (although I only broke 90 once), disc golfing, hiking with my cat, preparing my 5th wheel trailer and selling it, as well as playing the video game Fallout New Vegas.

         I played the first Fallout for a brief time in 1997 and hated it.  This one, the fourth in the series, was much more of a "puzzle solver and strategy game" than a "first-person shooter" and, therefore, very enjoyable for me.
        

RUBBER - Film Review - ☆☆☆☆☆


          This quirkaholic of quirky independent films is very worth going out of your way to see if you're a fan of un-pigeonhole-able esoteric comedies.

          Why quirky?  Well, let's see.  Although it looks like it was filmed in the high-desert of California, it was actually filmed by French filmmakers, in Angola, (where Portuguese is the national language) with an all English-speaking cast.  Except for the tire.  It doesn't talk.  It kills people; but it does so mutely.  The name of the film's production company is Elle Driver; that's pretty quirky...Daryl Hannah's character in Kill Bill.  The capper for the label king-o-the-quirk is the film's preface-prologue-dialogue:
          In the Stephen Spielberg film ET, why is the alien brown?  No reason.  In Love Story, why do the two characters fall madly in love with each other?  No reason.  In Oliver Stone's JFK, why is the president suddenly assassinated by some stranger?  No reason.  In the excellent Chain Saw Massacre by Tobe Hooper why don’t we ever see the characters go to the bathroom or wash their hands like people do in real life?  Absolutely no reason.  Worse, in The Pianist by Polanski, how come this guy has to hide and live like a bum when he plays the piano so well?  Once again, the answer is:  no reason!
          I could go on for hours with more examples.  The list in endless.  You probably never gave it a thought; but all great films
without exceptioncontain an important element of: 'no reason'.  And you know why?  Because life itself is filled with no reason.
          Why can't we see the air all around us?  No reason.  Why are we always thinking?  No reason.  Why do some people love sausages and other people hate sausages?  No fucking reason!
          Did you enjoy laughing at This is Spinal Tap and Grindhouse?  The litmus test is not if you laughed, but whether (when you reflect on those film-watching experiences) you think to yourself, 'I remember enjoying the humor'.  Then you'll enjoy Rubber.

          I enjoyed it immensely.

GRAB BAG

          Welcome to Pin-The-Tale on You.  Every mature person you will ever pass on the street has more-than-probably done things which could qualify them to be labeled 'bad' or 'good'.  It just depends on who tells your story; and, of course, how the game show audience reacts to it.  Our grab bag spinner will stop when your tale is finished.  Will it land on B, for bad?  G for Good?  Maybe you're a combination of equal parts bad and good; if so, the spinner could stop on A for Average.  And—of course—the audience may choose to reject you from the game (spinner on R); this normally only happens when someone competes who's mentally incapable of understanding the difference between good and bad.         
          I recall grab bags from childhood fairs.  A game of chance.  After money was paid (I recall it being ten cents) I reached into a large basket and removed (grabbed) a wrapped unknown paper-wrapped item (bag).  It was usually something worthless; and, by that, I don't mean it had zero value, just that the items were worth less than a dime.  Worth less.

          When we were children my mother told us this nursery rhyme (which, today, Squire attributes to the poet Longfellow):  There was a little girl, who had a little curl, right in the middle of her forehead; when she was good, she was very very good, but when she was bad she was horrid. 

          For too-many-to-count I was (and am still) plagued by bad people.  I've had my fill.

          For seventeen of my twenty military years I worked in law enforcement, where (obviously) it was my job to prevent people from doing bad things, catch those who had already done bad things, and (once I became a supervisor) train my subordinates to do the preventing/catching while (most important) insure there were no subordinates who were bad.

          Lately, I've been (unsuccessfully) trying to help the two spawn of my fiancΓ©e grow up.  They, too, are worth less than the time and money I have invested.  Although one is nearly a legal adult (17 biological years old; mentally 14; emotionally 12) and the other is legally an adult (23 biological years old; mentally 15; emotionally ?...he has none) neither has the capacity, wherewithal, ability, or desire to be good.  Actually, the opposite seems to be true.

          Over the last eight months the 17 year old has spent 4 months in jail, (theft, drugs, various probation violations) the other 4 months he repeatedly ran away and lived on friends couches and the street.  There are no rules he is willing to obey.  He says jail means nothing.  It's just "hitting the pause button with free food and TV".  We've rarely seen him in 2011 except in various different courtrooms.

          My years as a cop tells me he is going to continue to commit more serious felonies and will spend the majority of his life in prison.

          The 23 year old has never had a drivers license, never held a job long enough to put on a rΓ©sumΓ©, and has also spent a few months in jail (drugs, resisting arrest).  His increasingly erratic behavior could be disorganized schizophrenia.  He refuses to discuss or ever admit he acts abnormally.  In his mind his actions (hording, inability to focus, substance abuse, lack of hygiene, obsessive-compulsive actions, and an inability to handle any property without damaging it) are normal.  He claims he doesn't need anything but to eat my food, waste my hot water, live in my guest room, and use my electricity.  We evicted him this week (and—don't get the wrong idea—he only visited for three weeks...which turned out to be 19 days too long). 

          My years as a member of civilized society tells me he is going to be a petty criminal who spends his life in dozens of different homeless shelters and on the street begging for spare change.

          The studio audience has voted.

          The spinner for the 17 year old lands on B...and it's leaning towards HORRID.

          The spinner for the 23 year old stopped on R.

The Tree of Life - Review (☆☆☆☆)

          This is not a film for the masses.  It doesn't matter that Pitt and Penn are in it.  It also doesn't matter that almost every critic loves it (including unpaid ones like me).  It matters slightly that it was written and directed by Terrence Malick, because he directed The Thin Red Line and The New World; if you remember those films, and liked them, there's a slight chance you'll like this one too.  And, it doesn't matter that Malick won the Palme D'Or for it either.

          The reason it doesn't matter that Pitt and Penn are in it is because dialogue is slim to nonexistent and they share a very crowded stage with trees, supernovas, rivers, dinosaurs, flames, volcanoes, oceans, births, deaths and dozens of other fractured-kaleidoscope images compiled with whispered suggestions for the viewer to interpret as they will.

          Were we seeing the narrator's today-thoughts?  His or her memories?  Dreams?  Could these images (set to pipe organ religious and classical music) be interpreted as answers to the various narrator's muttered prayers?  Was this just a 50's era retelling of the Oedipus myth?  If you like/need your films to provide closure and answers...this one intentionally does the opposite.  It provides nothing but fodder for thought and discussion.  I suspect very few people will take away the same message.  (Leaving the theater, I overheard a woman ask, "Who was Sean Penn supposed to be?")

          I question if it would ever be necessary to include the words 'spoiler alert' when talking about this film.  I don't think so.  Just like it's impossible to spoil an abstract expressionist's painting by explaining what you think someone else should look for in it, The Tree of Life is an existential expressionist film and telling about the images shown and scenes depicted is no way similar to saying "Keven Spacey is Keyser SΓΆze" because...in more ways than one...there is no plot.  There are events that unfold.  Personalities are revealed.  Characters interact.  But everything important to understanding the film goes on in the viewer's mind.  The various beliefs and multitude of experiences you bring to the theater—impacts what the film means.  To you.

          Riddles and panoramic images of the massively huge and the insanely tiny (some of the CGI = low Discovery-Channel quality) are interspersed with day-in-the-life scenes from middle America, half a century ago.  The target audience for this film are those who can relate, personally, with white, middle-class, small town life before the era of The Beatles/Vietnam/Woodstock et. al. (viewers who are not Caucasian, or never lived in a small town, or were not middle class, or are not—currently—older than 40...will probably dislike/not understand this film).

          I've read a few reviews of this film; there are some common threads.

          Many critics focus on the father's (Pitt's) stern attitude and behavior.  Some use the term abusive; others soften their label and write: borderline abusive.  No matter.  What's important is they're all unable to keep their personal beliefs out of their reviews.  It is that kind of film.  It forces you to focus on and evaluate your personal beliefs.  (If I were to allow personal beliefs to enter mine, I'd write: the little deviant, back-talking, miscreants deserved more punishment than they got and their mindless moronic mother needed something to force her head out of the clouds.)

          Also, the vast majority of those who dislike/don't understand this film use the word pretentious in their reviews (seems to be the go-to word of the proudly and willfully ignorant).  If you're not a fan of art-house films as well as recent Palm D'Or winners (e.g. The White Ribbon, 2009; 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days, 2007; Dancer in the Dark, 2000) don't let slick marketing (Pitt and Penn!) convince you to see this one.  In the future, ask someone you trust to be your film umpire.  If you do see a film you don't understand, don't be petulant...just admit it was beyond your grasp.     

          I haven't seen many abstract fiction films (Ingmar Bergman's come to mind; I don't understand them at all) but I give this one four stars because it's unique and, even though I can't say I understood all of it, I liked/like thinking about what it caused me to contemplate.

          Those avid filmophiles who see hundreds of films a year will be entertained by its originality.  Every year there are so many films which are almost immediately forgettable; this film is anything but.

More on my film criticism:

Why?

          I rarely look at my blog's statistics.  My reason for writing these pages is more about the act of creating than who my audience might be.  I occasionally enjoy looking back at my thoughts from yestermonth; and in a decade or three I'll have a massive record of who I was.  (Hey...stranger things have happened!  Just because my male ancestors on both sides all died before reaching social-security-age...doesn't mean the grim reaper has already penciled-in my reservation. *he says, mentally knocking on wood*)  If I do survive until then, I intend to re-read and peruse this s n a p p e r h e a d web blog in order to combat or stimulate my senility.

          Today, I learned from my blog's statistics that the post I wrote on 20 November 2009, Life-Mission: Possible, has been read (or at least visited) 512 unique times.  I crafted that hopefully-funny, quasi-autobiographical post to show how, from childhood to retirement, I selfishly and constantly consumed things, furnishings, appliances, pets, and women.  In the article, I reflected on films and TV shows (like Mission Impossible) as my life's mileage markers.

          I can understand why some of my other posts have been (and will continue to be) so-often visited; they contain adult oriented, often searched, keywords.

          When a page contains more than a couple anatomically explicit words, which your average cock in hand mouth-breather thinks are somehow connotative of sex, it might blow your mind the bucket load of ass-hats who flock to that page.  You get the idea...I don't need to include words like cum, cunt, or fuck to pull in page views...hell...this post (now that it contains all these naughty bits) may surpass 512 visits in less than a month.  The icing on the cake (albeit the word fetish would help it become a shoe in) to guarantee that it becomes the post-with-the-most is a lurid image (or threesome).  Not even a good or explicit pornographic picture, just a light to attract the porn moth's attention.  Maybe just a black and white snapshot which looks like something it isn't.

I THINK YOU KNOW WHY

Re-written / updated Feb 2020 

Disc Golf Stability Chart, overstable/understable

          While perusing SQUIRE for disc-golf information, I failed to find a succinctly written explanation which might assist novice discgolfers in disc selection; so, here are a few simple suggestions:

          You can play disc golf with only one disc.  Start with a very stable multi-purpose one (like a Vibram Ascent).  I recommend bright colors; why take a chance on losing it?

          Three discs are sufficient to attain good scores: a long-range driver that turns slightly at the end of its flight; a mid-range disc that turns slightly in the opposite direction of your driver; and a putter.

          Putters are soft and designed to absorb forward momentum and bend/drop on impact (with the target chains, hopefully).  Drivers and mid-range discs are hard and bounce/ricochet upon impact.

          Disc weights only become important once you refine your throw.  Heavy discs (more than 170 grams) fly longer and are less affected by cross-winds; light discs (less than 150 grams) are better for children.  Begin with medium driving and mid-range discs (150 to 170 grams).  The weight of your putting-disc is unimportant.

          Depending upon which hand you use and whether you throw sidearm or backhand, (some throw both) either a clockwise or counterclockwise spin is imparted on the disc.  Almost all discs 'fade slightly' or 'turn greatly' one way or the other, as they slow down at the end of their flight.  This chart should help you understand disc stability:

 
          Those discs which turn or fade in the same direction as their spin are referred to as under-stable.  The amount they fade is indicated in negative numbers:  -0.5 = slightly under-stable, -4.0 = very under-stable.  Discs which turn or fade in the opposite direction from their spin are referred to as over-stable.  The amount they fade is indicated in positive numbers: +0.5 = slightly over-stable, +4.0 = very over-stable.   (I use this key to remember these terms:  O = Opposite, Over-stable, pOsitive numbers).

          The driver and mid-range discs of beginners should be between .5 and 1.5 (If your first driver is over-stable your first mid-range disc should be under-stable and vice versa.)

          LOCAL PDX DISC GOLF COURSE:  If you're a discgolfer in the Portland area, the best place to play is Horning's Hideout.  They have three 18 hole courses.  All 54 holes have professional tee boxes, signage, and targets.  Their Meadow Ridge Course is ranked in the top ten nationally (and it'll kick your ass and send it home crying to momma if you're a bogey discgolfer...like me).  Their Canyon Course is my favorite and their Highland Course is fun and challenging.  The $3.00 day-fee and the 30-45 minute drive cuts down on lark-in-the-park-nutjobs.  Interested in a game?—veachglines@gmail.com—and I'll meet you there (as long as it isn't raining).

Disc Golf Station - Review (☆☆☆☆)

          Another first.

          Last month, the fantastic folks at Disc Golf Station offered me a free disc in exchange for my review.  I explained to them that I was in the market for an under-stable heavy disc and they selected/sent me a DISCRAFT ESP Meteor mid-range (pictured).  It is heavy (175 grams) has a great feel on release, and is minutely under-stable.

          A brief explanation (for those elderly readers thinking 'backyard Frisbee').  A discgolf disc is referred to as stable when it remains on a straight path no matter how it is spun-thrown (which would be indicated by the number 0.0 in its description).  Depending upon which hand you throw with and how you throw, you impart a clockwise or a counterclockwise spin on the disc; almost all discs 'fade slightly' or 'turn greatly' one way or the other, as their spin slows at the end of their flight.

          Those discs which turn or fade in the same direction as their spin are referred to as under-stable.  The amount they fade is indicated in negative numbers:  -0.5 = slightly under-stable, -4.0 = very under-stable.

          Discs which turn or fade in the opposite direction from their spin are referred to as over-stable.  The amount they fade is indicated in positive numbers: +0.5 = slightly over-stable, +4.0 = very over-stable. (a key I use to remember these terms:  O = Opposite, Over-stable, pOsitive numbers).

          PROS:  Discgolfstation.com has a continually-evolving and wonderful selection of discs.  They are aware of the importance of clearly identifying the available weight, stability, and color of each disc they have on-hand.  Color is important.  I refuse to throw green or blue discs...the colors of professionals and fools (for those who know exactly where their discs will land and those who don't mind losing $15.00 in short foliage).  I'm neither.  I love that they include free shipping for almost everything.  Their discs are comparable (and in a majority of cases cheaper) than I've found in several brick-and-mortar stores.  For these reasons, I'll continue to shop for future discs at Disc Golf Station.

          CONS:  Some of the descriptions on discgolfstation.com are confusing and many don't take into consideration that wear and use will change a disc's flight performance.  Strangely, a few of the disc's write-ups explain how it'll fly when thrown in one manner ("for right hand, backhand throws" is found in many places).  Any disc-synopsis containing the words 'right', 'left', as well as 'hyzer' or 'anhyzer' (which always need added explanation) is confusing and misleading.  Intentionally snubbing every left-handed discgolfer and all those right handed discgolfers who don't throw backhanded seems contrary to good business.  

          I've been playing disc golf for years and I'm familiar with all the foolish and incomprehensible terms, so I don't pay attention to confusing explanations for what +1.5 or -0.5 means when describing over- or under-stability.  I suspect, however, that's not the case with everyone.  For the novice shopper, Disc Golf Station could benefit from a clearer and more-succinct emphasis on the browsing and pre-ordering phase.

          Their entire Disc Golf Info page should be re-tooled with a more mature and professional audience in mind.  Currently, it begins with: Disc Golf, commonly known as frisbee golf, is the most amazing sport ever invented!  Easy to learn and FUN to play..."  Gadzooks Batman, it hasn't been referred to as 'frisbee golf' for decades.  The flagrant use of exclamation points and CAPS indicates someone thought it'd be neato-keeno to have their ten year old write copy.

          None the less, thank you Disc Golf Station, your Discraft Meteor ESP is a fantastic disc.  If you are a knowledgeable discgolfer and are already aware what disc you are looking for, I recommend Disc Golf Station.

Glove Shoes (Glooes)

      I've always been a little out-there in je-ne-sais-quoi-land when it comes to what I wear on my feet.  I think it's probably because, in the military, I had very little footwear options.

          For about five years in the mid-1980s I wore grey puffy moon-boots.  In the 1990s I had a pair of deckshoes, made by Timberland, with a foot-hugging gripping padded insert (which they discontinued).  It seems when I find something I absolutely love it's a sure-bet guarantee there're very few other people on the planet who think the same way.  In the early 2000s I found a pair of leather clogs with a squshy leather insole made by a company in Israel that fit perfectly...so I bought three pairs; one a little larger for when I might need to wear socks.

          Recently, I purchased my first pair of Vibram FiveFingers leather toe-shoes.  It's like walking barefoot only with traction and protection.  Hiking, disc golfing, no matter where...they are more comfortable than any other summer shoe I've ever worn.  I feel as if I'm wearing a thin glove on my feet.  I love them.

          Which means they are just too weird and will only be available on ebay soon.  So.  I'll have to get a few pair in different colors and one a size bigger for socks.  Yea...these socks.