Mr. Montecarlo, whom we met last time, was not just a teacher at St. Francis High, he was also the faculty advisor to the Model Congress club at the school. Oh, and profanity spoiler alert on this one. There be some cursing. Read something else if that's a problem.
Being a super duper cool kid (irony), I was in the Model Congress club. Let me take just a moment here and address the fact that Model Congress is not considered a "cool" high school activity. St. Francis was an all-male Catholic school. Br. Willard, the principal, worked tirelessly to keep us out of contact with members of the opposite sex. Model Congress meant getting to go on a weekend trip to other cities and stay in a hotel with not only your own friends from school, but other high school students from lots of other schools, many of whom were girls. Have fun on the basketball court with the other guys, "cool" dudes.
Anyway, Mr. Montecarlo (or Monty, as he was often called) was constantly full of sage advice for his young charges. We already covered some of that advice in the previous post. A piece of advice that didn't get mentioned yet involved dicks. Yes, that's right, dicks. Like, slang for the penis. You see, Monty was very concerned that we practice, practice, practice for the Model Congress sessions (no, they were not held at Carnegie Hall). He wanted us to make sure we knew our stuff backwards and front. Why?
"So you don't wind up sitting in front of the room with your dick in your hands."
Oh. Good advice. Do not hold your dick. But later, Monty congratulated a very successful Model Congress weekend (Best Delegation award, what?) with the following summary:
"You guys walked out of that room with your dicks held high!"
Oh. OK. So holding your dick is good, as long as it's held high. Thanks for clarifying. So there you have it. Anyone reading this with a dick, or with ready access to one, do not hold it unless you hold it high.
Speaking of dicks, nearly everyone on the Model Congress trips got a little closer to a full view of Monty's Carlo each conference. The reason for this is not sketchy, just kinda gross. You see, Monty was a runner. On Model Congress weekends, he would volunteer to wake any delegates up early that wanted to go running with him bright and early, before our morning meet-ups. Monty and whoever else would go off for a run and the rest of us would wake up and stumble to the hotel room that the club officers were staying in to meet and touch base for the day. (We also had similar meetings to these at night to recount the day's events). Monty and his dedicated running fanatics would then show up fresh from their run to chat.
Monty, when running, dressed appropriately for running. His appropriate running attire consisted of a t-shirt and unbearably small short-shorts. When standing, they were short. When he would prop one leg up on the TV while talking to us all, they were beyond short. They were obscene. Perhaps it was a clever ruse to make sure we were paying attention to him and not looking at the TV, which was too close to the danger zone. This would make sense.
This would make sense because at the nighttime meetings, usually the TV would be on while we were talking, although muted. Here are some facts about hotel TVs, at least the ones at the hotels we stayed at. Hotel TVs carry HBO and other premium channels (at least they did at the turn of the 21st century). Here is a fact about HBO and other premium channels. Sometimes at night they carry soft porn. More than one meeting consisted of a clever Model Congress officer manning the remote so every time Monty wondered just what was so interesting on the TV behind him, he would look and see something innocuous like a muted Simpsons episode, not muted boobs.
All good things must come to an end, and the days of Monty getting to run the Model Congress show all by himself was no exception. A history teacher who started my sophomore year that most of us found annoying as all hell, Mr. Haystack, wanted in on the action. So he did what he needed to do to make himself the assistant faculty advisor or whatever for the club. Monty tolerated this. He gave Mr. Haystack zero responsibilities and basically just had him sit around and feel important. When we went to a Model Congress conference in a relatively nearby city, Mr. Montecarlo didn't even care that Mr. Haystack wouldn't be able to travel along with the group and would instead meet up late that night. The plan, by all accounts, was for Mr. Haystack to show up, head up to Mr. Montecarlo's room, knock, and crash there for the evening.
Around midnight, Mr. Haystack walked down the hotel hall and knocked on Monty's door. Several ear-witnesses confirm that Mr. Haystack repeatedly knocked and asked to be let in, only to be repeatedly turned away by a muffled "GO AWAY!" or "GO THE FUCK AWAY!" My good friend Graham Robot opened his door to see what the commotion was all about. Mr. Haystack saw him and said "Oh! Graham! Let me-" but was cut off by Graham closing his door without a word. Mr. Haystack had to end up paying for his own separate room. Also, his car was broken into and his radio stolen, I believe that very night. If he was less of an asshat, I would've felt really bad for him.
Mr. Montecarlo hated most people. He hated some people especially more. But there were a very select few people that he adored. One of them was a student a few years older than me, and at one time the President of the Model Congress Club: Zack Cherry. Monty LOVED Zack. Like, mancrush loved. Zack could pretty much do no wrong whatsoever in Monty's eyes. To Zack's credit, other than getting kind of an inflated ego sometimes, he was usually a pretty cool guy who took younger Model Congress delegates under his wing and taught them how to be good delegates and act cool at the same time. Zack is important to the very end of my Model Congress experience.
At the end of my senior year, Monty had an end-of-year goodbye party at his home for his Model Congress students. Zack had graduated two or so years ago at this point. My friends and I came to the party. Graham Robot was there, Dan Hellion was there, Bill Alias... a bunch of good guys. We sat in roughly a circle in Monty's screened in porch room. Each time a new person would arrive, Monty would tell them about how Zack Cherry said he might stop by for the party. Most conversation with Monty returned to this point eventually that day. Time passed, we ate, and Monty seemed more and more distant and dejected. Finally, realizing Zack Cherry would not be showing up, Monty abruptly kicked us all out of his house.
"Well, you all probably want to get going now. Bye."
So ended our Model Congress careers and our time with that delightfully bitter fellow, Mr. Montecarlo.
PS - One time he bought an air rifle from a student to kill squirrels with and when a school staff member found out she put a stuffed squirrel in his mailbox with a note that said "don't hurt me!". The next day he brought an actual dead squirrel to school in a plastic bag and returned the favor in her mailbox. Not really sure how to have fit that one into the narrative. Probably the most fucked up thing I've ever heard of a teacher doing, barring, you know, actual abuse of a student or something.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Sunday, June 06, 2010
Tales from High School X - Mr. Montecarlo: Enter the Misanthrope
My high school faculty was full of characters. You've already read about Señor Golbez, Mr. Manicotti, and Br. Raygun (at least, you've read about them if you're not a new reader of this blog... check the back entries to catch up!). Tonight I'd like to introduce you to another educator, Mr. John Montecarlo. Mr. Montecarlo was a cantankerous old bastard who was probably not THAT old, all things considered. Mr. Montecarlo seemed outright disdainful towards any and everyone, at least to some degree, although with a few exceptions. This put him in an odd relationship with students. On the one hand, he usually seemed to barely be able to tolerate his students, especially if they said or did something he found stupid or just didn't like (He at one point referred to a student in his class as Joe McCarthy (somewhat deservedly)). However, he also couldn't stand the school administration and some of their bullshit rules and regulations. And he didn't really believe in censoring himself. This meant that Mr. Montecarlo was sometimes an antagonist to me and other students, sometimes an ally, and sometimes just amusingly miserable (he once declared that highways should not post signs of any sort because they are eyesores. Not just billboards. Like, exit signs).
Mr. Montecarlo taught Civics to Freshmen, AP Politics to Seniors, and he was the faculty adviser for the Model Congress club. I knew him from the latter two of those three roles. Mr. Montecarlo, as I said, didn't really particularly care about rules he didn't personally enact. Rather than have us bring some waiver forms home to sign for Model Congress trips, he would save time by having us trade slips with the person sitting next to us and forge their parents' signatures. I actually thought that was kinda fun.
There were, of course, certain rules Mr. Montecarlo did expect us to follow. I remember the meeting we had the week before a Model Congress trip where the club officers announced that Mr. Montecarlo had a few words for us. "Gentlemen," he began, "you are representing St. Francis High next week. The things you do will reflect on the entire delegation, and the entire school. As such, I expect you to handle yourselves in a way that will not embarrass all of us. Now as you know, this trip will put you in contact with students from a lot of other schools. Many of those students will be female. You may find this causes certain thoughts and urges to crop up. I warn you now, and you'd better pay attention..."
"...No fat chicks."
What a class act. Bill Drill broke that rule and was never allowed to live it down, and got a mention by name during the same speech the following year.
Mr. Montecarlo, despite his career teaching at a Catholic prep school and lanky build, liked to appear tough, in touch with the blue collar working man. My friends and I speculated at one point that he would, every morning, drive his hands into buckets of nails and coal to toughen himself up. He would, as noted above, use colorful language in front of students. His image as a caustic dick seemed to be a point of pride to him (not hatin', just sayin'). This sets the stage for an awkward encounter between Mr. Montecarlo and my friend John Gozer, who was himself a fairly masculine and no-nonsense guy (although not a dick, caustic or otherwise).
John was stopping by Mr. Montecarlo's room after a school day had ended to clarify details about an assignment. He had gone to another classroom first, and so mostly all of the students were out of the building or in other rooms (detention, extra help, etc.) by that point. As he walked into the room, he noticed Mr. Montecarlo's radio was on. Then he noticed what song was on. Then he noticed Mr. Montecarlo facing the blackboard, oblivious to John's entry, dancing and singing along in his bass voice to Tina Turner's "What's Love Got To Do With It?" It only took a few seconds for him to realize he wasn't alone, but those few seconds of corpse-like dancing were enough for John to log a classic moment away for future discussion with peers.
Mr. Montecarlo was not a big fan of my friend Dan Hellion. Their political views did not align, and Mr. Montecarlo didn't like that Dan would regularly stand up for himself and disagree with him when he felt strongly about something. The two of them had a relationship that could be described as mutually respectful yet antagonistic... they each knew the other to possess clever intellect and strong views, but they often found themselves at odds. Senior year in AP Politics, Mr. Montecarlo would often reserve his toughest questions for Dan, trying to catch him not paying attention. One day he laid a special trap for Dan.
Every day in AP Politics we would spend the first few minutes reading copies of the Boston Globe to find articles about current events or politics to discuss. One particular morning, Mr. Montecarlo instructed Dan to pay special attention to an article a few pages in. After the few minutes of reading, class discussion began. Mr. Montecarlo asked Dan what he thought of the article he selected. "It was pretty good, raised some interesting points," said Dan. "What did you think of Edwin Meese?" inquired Mr. Montecarlo, with a satisfied look on his face. The trap was set. "Well, I'm not sure. I'd like to see the full context of his comments, but based on-" Dan didn't get to finish. Mr. Montecarlo gleefully, smugly sprung his trap. "You didn't read the article, did you, Hellion? Edwin Meese is DEAD!"
Edwin Meese was not, and as of the time of writing this post, IS not dead. He is alive and well. He was certainly alive and well 9-or-so years ago when this event took place. Dan knew this. "What!? No he's not!" Mr. Montecarlo was taken slightly aback, and was certainly unprepared for other students to chime in. "Yeah, Mr. Montecarlo, he's alive." "Yeah, he's in this article." "Mr. Montecarlo, what are you talking about?" He had to backpedal pretty quickly. "Uhhh... must be thinking of the wrong Edwin Meese. Anyway, moving along."
Next time, we'll go along with Mr. Montecarlo on the Model Congress trips and see what kinds of chicanery occurred there. But until then, may your lives be full and long, just like Edwin "Ed" Meese III!
Mr. Montecarlo taught Civics to Freshmen, AP Politics to Seniors, and he was the faculty adviser for the Model Congress club. I knew him from the latter two of those three roles. Mr. Montecarlo, as I said, didn't really particularly care about rules he didn't personally enact. Rather than have us bring some waiver forms home to sign for Model Congress trips, he would save time by having us trade slips with the person sitting next to us and forge their parents' signatures. I actually thought that was kinda fun.
There were, of course, certain rules Mr. Montecarlo did expect us to follow. I remember the meeting we had the week before a Model Congress trip where the club officers announced that Mr. Montecarlo had a few words for us. "Gentlemen," he began, "you are representing St. Francis High next week. The things you do will reflect on the entire delegation, and the entire school. As such, I expect you to handle yourselves in a way that will not embarrass all of us. Now as you know, this trip will put you in contact with students from a lot of other schools. Many of those students will be female. You may find this causes certain thoughts and urges to crop up. I warn you now, and you'd better pay attention..."
"...No fat chicks."
What a class act. Bill Drill broke that rule and was never allowed to live it down, and got a mention by name during the same speech the following year.
Mr. Montecarlo, despite his career teaching at a Catholic prep school and lanky build, liked to appear tough, in touch with the blue collar working man. My friends and I speculated at one point that he would, every morning, drive his hands into buckets of nails and coal to toughen himself up. He would, as noted above, use colorful language in front of students. His image as a caustic dick seemed to be a point of pride to him (not hatin', just sayin'). This sets the stage for an awkward encounter between Mr. Montecarlo and my friend John Gozer, who was himself a fairly masculine and no-nonsense guy (although not a dick, caustic or otherwise).
John was stopping by Mr. Montecarlo's room after a school day had ended to clarify details about an assignment. He had gone to another classroom first, and so mostly all of the students were out of the building or in other rooms (detention, extra help, etc.) by that point. As he walked into the room, he noticed Mr. Montecarlo's radio was on. Then he noticed what song was on. Then he noticed Mr. Montecarlo facing the blackboard, oblivious to John's entry, dancing and singing along in his bass voice to Tina Turner's "What's Love Got To Do With It?" It only took a few seconds for him to realize he wasn't alone, but those few seconds of corpse-like dancing were enough for John to log a classic moment away for future discussion with peers.
Mr. Montecarlo was not a big fan of my friend Dan Hellion. Their political views did not align, and Mr. Montecarlo didn't like that Dan would regularly stand up for himself and disagree with him when he felt strongly about something. The two of them had a relationship that could be described as mutually respectful yet antagonistic... they each knew the other to possess clever intellect and strong views, but they often found themselves at odds. Senior year in AP Politics, Mr. Montecarlo would often reserve his toughest questions for Dan, trying to catch him not paying attention. One day he laid a special trap for Dan.
Every day in AP Politics we would spend the first few minutes reading copies of the Boston Globe to find articles about current events or politics to discuss. One particular morning, Mr. Montecarlo instructed Dan to pay special attention to an article a few pages in. After the few minutes of reading, class discussion began. Mr. Montecarlo asked Dan what he thought of the article he selected. "It was pretty good, raised some interesting points," said Dan. "What did you think of Edwin Meese?" inquired Mr. Montecarlo, with a satisfied look on his face. The trap was set. "Well, I'm not sure. I'd like to see the full context of his comments, but based on-" Dan didn't get to finish. Mr. Montecarlo gleefully, smugly sprung his trap. "You didn't read the article, did you, Hellion? Edwin Meese is DEAD!"
Edwin Meese was not, and as of the time of writing this post, IS not dead. He is alive and well. He was certainly alive and well 9-or-so years ago when this event took place. Dan knew this. "What!? No he's not!" Mr. Montecarlo was taken slightly aback, and was certainly unprepared for other students to chime in. "Yeah, Mr. Montecarlo, he's alive." "Yeah, he's in this article." "Mr. Montecarlo, what are you talking about?" He had to backpedal pretty quickly. "Uhhh... must be thinking of the wrong Edwin Meese. Anyway, moving along."
Next time, we'll go along with Mr. Montecarlo on the Model Congress trips and see what kinds of chicanery occurred there. But until then, may your lives be full and long, just like Edwin "Ed" Meese III!
Tuesday, June 01, 2010
These are a Few of My Favorite Things
I enjoy things. Not all things. Some things. And some things more than other things. This is, as far as I can tell, true for just about everyone. And what with all people sharing certain common physiological and neurological traits, the continuum of enjoyment of things tends to map out fairly consistently across individuals, at in broad senses. For example, most people would place "uncontrollable vomiting," "being stabbed in the face," and "smelling a bus full of dead cats" in the "not enjoy" category. I'd wager nobody who ever existed would have all three of those NOT be in the "not enjoy" category. Most people would place "eating delicious food," "belly laughing," and "having really good sex" solidly in the "enjoy" category. These are like, universal human constants.
However, there exists an immeasurable plentitude of sensations/experiences for which, to co-opt a popular phrase, your mileage may vary. These are the little things in life that, for reasons known or unknown, we enjoy (or maybe not enjoy) significantly more than other people seem to. Listed here for your reading pleasure (or not - your mileage may vary (see what I did there?)) are some of those life's special pleasures for me, in no particular order.
However, there exists an immeasurable plentitude of sensations/experiences for which, to co-opt a popular phrase, your mileage may vary. These are the little things in life that, for reasons known or unknown, we enjoy (or maybe not enjoy) significantly more than other people seem to. Listed here for your reading pleasure (or not - your mileage may vary (see what I did there?)) are some of those life's special pleasures for me, in no particular order.
- New Socks - I did a whole post about this several years ago, before the big hiatus and reboot of the blog. Basically, wearing new socks feels really good. No sock will ever feel as good as on its first wearing. On mornings where I get to put on brand new socks, I smile.
- Driving in the HOV Lane - It rarely makes any difference at all in terms of getting where I'm going more quickly, but when I have a passenger and an opportunity to travel in an HOV Lane, 8/10 times I take that chance. Something about getting to drive in a lane that I'd sometimes not be allowed to drive in feels awesome. Like taking a secret road to the Batcave or something.
- Using Parentheses (sometimes) - If you read this blog, you already know this about me. In fact, the more grammatically inclined amongst you (what up, dorks?) may find it irksome. Especially just now. I like doing it though. It makes me feel like I'm writing a little secret message to you, the reader. Like the rest of the body of the text is general admission, but what's in the parentheses, well, that's just between us. And FYI, I'm grammatically inclined like you wouldn't believe, and I've got test scores to prove it, son, so don't be thinking you out-grammar me just because you're a hater.
- Coldsandal - So my car has the A/C blow in the foot area as well as out of the dashboard vents. Well, not just the A/C I guess, it's an option for ventilation of any temperature. But only the A/C applies here. Basically, when I wear my sandals and drive, I like to take my right foot out of the sandal to work the pedals. Keeping it on feels imprecise. Sometimes the left foot wanders out too, but that's just for the sake of luxury. In the summer, with the A/C on, something delightful happens. When my foot is out of the sandal, the sandal, with the A/C blowing right on it, gets cold. When I eventually put my foot back in, it is a magical feeling, my friends. Like, new socks magical. Sometimes my feet are lucky.
- Lies that are the Literal Opposite of the Truth - I don't know why I find this hysterical, but when a person or fictional character tells a lie that is a flat, obvious contradiction from reality, I find it hilarious. Not just any lies, specifically lies that couldn't be further from the truth. They must be told with utter confidence to be funny too. Sometimes I like to do this to answer really obvious questions that I've gotten tired of hearing: "It's cold out, are you really wearing shorts?" "No."
- Eating Chicken - Full stop.
- Singing Along with Non-Vocal Parts of Songs - It's not just me. It's apparently a "Lebowski" trait. At least Jaja's habit of announcing the song lyrics right before they're sung didn't propagate as well.
- Bridges - Particularly ones for walking on, although ones for driving on can be cool too. There's something I really like about walking on a wooden foot bridge though.
- Icy Crystal Tree Phenomenon - I think that when deciduous trees with thin branches at high altitude have ice completely coat the branches so the tree looks like it's made of crystal, it is one of the most beautiful sights in the world. I've tended to run into this on higher trails while skiing or on the ski lift. This, combined with the super clear air at the top of a mountain makes it one of my favorite places in the world on a cold but clear day. By extension of the crystal tree phenomenon, I've consistently spent inordinate amounts of time in the Ice Country area of Secret of Mana for the SNES every time I've played through it. Check this video from about 8:52 in if you're not familiar. God I love that tranquil song...
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
NES Nightmare Fuel
Like so many people in my age cohort, I had the pleasure of having my childhood years coincide with the explosion of the video game industry. While my loving parents, Steven and Diane Thirty successfully kept video games out of our home until I got a Nintendo Game Boy in the third grade, I had been playing them for years prior to that, courtesy of my dear uncle Hulka and his stepsons Jimmy and Charlie Easterbreak. Hulka actually spent a few years working for a local video game story that was actually (unknown to him) a front for a media pirating racket. Hulka got tons of games through this position, and Jimmy, Charlie, and I reaped the benefits.
However, video games aren't all fun and... uhh... games. At least not when your age is in the single digits and fear is a still a difficult emotion to regulate. There are scary games today. They tend to try to be scary, sometimes to awesome effect (What up Resident Evil and Bioshock?). Old video games, if they were terrifying, were often terrifying without particularly trying to be so. Their anxiety was more one of a feeling of impending, inevitable death at the hands of some relatively cartoonish looking creature.
I would like to share with you today a rogues gallery from my young childhood, a veritable who's who of my most hated and feared 8-bit nemeses. Those of you of comparable ages to my own, be warned, this could trigger long-buried anxieties. Without further ado, here are the five NES-era video game baddies that taunted, tortured, and traumatized me more than any others.
#5 - Duck Hunt Dog
Alright, this guy would be higher on the list for the sheer amount of hate he caused me to spew, but I wasn't actually afraid of this dog from Duck Hunt. I hated him. I hate him still. This smug god damn dog would act like my friend, eager to help me shoot some ducks. But when I inevitably eventually missed one or two, he would laugh at me. He would laugh at my failure, giddy with contempt. A boy can only take so much of this before he turns his NES Zapper on his faithful four-legged companion. But wait. What's this? Oh dear god. Dear god in heaven. YOUR FIREARMS ARE USELESS AGAINST HIS DICKISHNESS! The only thing to be done was eventually to turn off the NES through tears of frustration. God damn you, dog. God damn you to hell.
#4 - Dodongo
Dodongo, a level boss and later mid-boss in the Legend of Zelda, wasn't really that terrifying. Look at his picture. He's just a little yellow triceratops. But beating Dodongo took careful timing. You had to place bombs directly into his mouth (or apparently you can stun these guys with bombs that explode NEAR them, then hit them with your sword. I did not know this as a child). Getting the timing on this right as an adult is tricky but not that bad. As a child, coupled with a genuine desire to not screw up at Zelda in front of my beloved uncle, getting that timing right was awful. 3/4 of the time, I wouldn't even fight Dodongo. I'd wander around the dungeon, putting it off, until finally giving the controller to Hulka and begging him to just beat this one part for me. This strategy was also useful for the #2 foe on the list.
#3 - Baron Von Blubba
When I was really young, I loved Bubble Bobble. In nursery school, we made an "All About Me" book that was a cross between a scrapbook and a yearbook, and my favorite song is listed as "The Bubble Bubble Song" because my nursery school teacher didn't know what a Bubble Bobble was. There was a restaurant in my town that had a Bubble Bobble arcade game. I loved that game so much. But there was one problem with Bubble Bobble. Taking too long to beat a stage caused the game to generate an invincible, deadly, and scary looking enemy: Baron Von Blubba, the ghost whale. Nothing can hurt him. Nothing can stop him. He will chase you until you finish the level or die at his ghastly white flippers. This was so much worse than just dying when a timer ends. Here you had the faintest glimmer of hope for escape and a grinning death's head cetacean ripping that glimmer out of your 5-year-old hands. If I knew who Captain Ahab was at age 5, I would've understood him. White whales are trouble like whoa.
#2 - Queen Medusa
I don't know why, but the Medusa boss in Castlevania earned the name Queen Medusa in the American manual for the game. Maybe because she was the queen of the lesser-but-still-unbelievably-frustrating Medusa enemies. Whatever. I don't know what it was about Queen Medusa's grinning, snake-haired head that filled my heart with ice and stopped my brain in its tracks, but she did just that every time I neared the end of level 2. I would literally stop advancing down the hallway to the battle against her for minutes at a time, trying desperately to think of a way to keep playing without having to face her. Maybe it was something about the way she moved in those sinuous arcs, maybe it was the perfectly cast sinister smile on her face, but Queen Medusa reduced me to the scared little child I was, leading to me begging Hulka to "please just beat her for me!" I would even leave the room when Hulka was playing while he fought her. Hulka put up with a lot. I owe you one, buddy.
#1 - Phanto
I do not have a good track record with floating heads that smile evilly. Medusa may have been the queen of my video game nightmares, but Phanto was king. Phanto appeared in several levels of Super Mario Bros. 2. His gimmick was to appear as a simple wall hanging until you picked up a key, necessary to proceed through the stage. Once you picked up the key, Phanto would fly around, his gleefully sadistic expression unchanging, until you either narrowly made it to the door, or he murdered you in cold blood, grinning all the while. The fact that you could get him to back off by putting down the key seemed like mercy, but in fact it just made lifting the key again all the more panic-inducing. Touch the key and Phanto will get you. Phanto was the monster under the bed, the boogeyman, the man in the van with free candy. Everything you fear when the lights go out, that was Phanto. The grin of pure evil.
Some of you may be wondering why the Angry Sun from Super Mario Bros. 3 isn't on the list. Honestly, I didn't like him either, but he didn't fill me with terror like these other guys did. By all rights, a big face moving in an arc pattern fits the description of my hit list, but maybe his fiery grimace scared me less than an ice-cold smirk.
However, video games aren't all fun and... uhh... games. At least not when your age is in the single digits and fear is a still a difficult emotion to regulate. There are scary games today. They tend to try to be scary, sometimes to awesome effect (What up Resident Evil and Bioshock?). Old video games, if they were terrifying, were often terrifying without particularly trying to be so. Their anxiety was more one of a feeling of impending, inevitable death at the hands of some relatively cartoonish looking creature.
I would like to share with you today a rogues gallery from my young childhood, a veritable who's who of my most hated and feared 8-bit nemeses. Those of you of comparable ages to my own, be warned, this could trigger long-buried anxieties. Without further ado, here are the five NES-era video game baddies that taunted, tortured, and traumatized me more than any others.
#5 - Duck Hunt Dog
Alright, this guy would be higher on the list for the sheer amount of hate he caused me to spew, but I wasn't actually afraid of this dog from Duck Hunt. I hated him. I hate him still. This smug god damn dog would act like my friend, eager to help me shoot some ducks. But when I inevitably eventually missed one or two, he would laugh at me. He would laugh at my failure, giddy with contempt. A boy can only take so much of this before he turns his NES Zapper on his faithful four-legged companion. But wait. What's this? Oh dear god. Dear god in heaven. YOUR FIREARMS ARE USELESS AGAINST HIS DICKISHNESS! The only thing to be done was eventually to turn off the NES through tears of frustration. God damn you, dog. God damn you to hell.
#4 - Dodongo
Dodongo, a level boss and later mid-boss in the Legend of Zelda, wasn't really that terrifying. Look at his picture. He's just a little yellow triceratops. But beating Dodongo took careful timing. You had to place bombs directly into his mouth (or apparently you can stun these guys with bombs that explode NEAR them, then hit them with your sword. I did not know this as a child). Getting the timing on this right as an adult is tricky but not that bad. As a child, coupled with a genuine desire to not screw up at Zelda in front of my beloved uncle, getting that timing right was awful. 3/4 of the time, I wouldn't even fight Dodongo. I'd wander around the dungeon, putting it off, until finally giving the controller to Hulka and begging him to just beat this one part for me. This strategy was also useful for the #2 foe on the list.
#3 - Baron Von Blubba
When I was really young, I loved Bubble Bobble. In nursery school, we made an "All About Me" book that was a cross between a scrapbook and a yearbook, and my favorite song is listed as "The Bubble Bubble Song" because my nursery school teacher didn't know what a Bubble Bobble was. There was a restaurant in my town that had a Bubble Bobble arcade game. I loved that game so much. But there was one problem with Bubble Bobble. Taking too long to beat a stage caused the game to generate an invincible, deadly, and scary looking enemy: Baron Von Blubba, the ghost whale. Nothing can hurt him. Nothing can stop him. He will chase you until you finish the level or die at his ghastly white flippers. This was so much worse than just dying when a timer ends. Here you had the faintest glimmer of hope for escape and a grinning death's head cetacean ripping that glimmer out of your 5-year-old hands. If I knew who Captain Ahab was at age 5, I would've understood him. White whales are trouble like whoa.
#2 - Queen Medusa
I don't know why, but the Medusa boss in Castlevania earned the name Queen Medusa in the American manual for the game. Maybe because she was the queen of the lesser-but-still-unbelievably-frustrating Medusa enemies. Whatever. I don't know what it was about Queen Medusa's grinning, snake-haired head that filled my heart with ice and stopped my brain in its tracks, but she did just that every time I neared the end of level 2. I would literally stop advancing down the hallway to the battle against her for minutes at a time, trying desperately to think of a way to keep playing without having to face her. Maybe it was something about the way she moved in those sinuous arcs, maybe it was the perfectly cast sinister smile on her face, but Queen Medusa reduced me to the scared little child I was, leading to me begging Hulka to "please just beat her for me!" I would even leave the room when Hulka was playing while he fought her. Hulka put up with a lot. I owe you one, buddy.
#1 - Phanto
I do not have a good track record with floating heads that smile evilly. Medusa may have been the queen of my video game nightmares, but Phanto was king. Phanto appeared in several levels of Super Mario Bros. 2. His gimmick was to appear as a simple wall hanging until you picked up a key, necessary to proceed through the stage. Once you picked up the key, Phanto would fly around, his gleefully sadistic expression unchanging, until you either narrowly made it to the door, or he murdered you in cold blood, grinning all the while. The fact that you could get him to back off by putting down the key seemed like mercy, but in fact it just made lifting the key again all the more panic-inducing. Touch the key and Phanto will get you. Phanto was the monster under the bed, the boogeyman, the man in the van with free candy. Everything you fear when the lights go out, that was Phanto. The grin of pure evil.
Some of you may be wondering why the Angry Sun from Super Mario Bros. 3 isn't on the list. Honestly, I didn't like him either, but he didn't fill me with terror like these other guys did. By all rights, a big face moving in an arc pattern fits the description of my hit list, but maybe his fiery grimace scared me less than an ice-cold smirk.
Thursday, May 06, 2010
Tales From The Lebowskis - Great Jaja Adventures, Vol. 5
After a long hiatus, I thought it prudent to do another installment of Tales From The Lebowskis. For those of you just joining us, you may want to navigate older posts and acquaint yourselves with the individuals featured in these tales. This installment is the fifth Great Jaja Adventure, entitled "Lunar Fenderbender"
In the early 1970's, an enjoyable pastime for the Lebowski crew was to play the board game Password. The whole family could get involved with this: Mary Lebowski (later to be known as "Nonnie"), David Lebowski Sr. (eventually "Jaja"), Diane Lebowski (my mother), Susan Lebowski, David Lebowski Jr. (later "Blaze" and/or "Daven"), Patty Lebowski (later "Pappy") and the youngest Lebowski, Stephen (later "Lebo" and "Hulka"). On some occasions, they were joined by the clan patriarch, John Lebowski, then Jaja, eventually Great Jaja, and now living in our hearts and memories.
It was April, 1972. I am sure of this for a reason that will eventually become clear. The entire Lebowski clan was playing a heated game of Password. It was Great Jaja's turn. Password, for those unfamiliar, consists of a player attempting to get the other players to guess a secret word within a time limit. Great Jaja had the perfect clue for his secret word. The timer began. "Astronaut" he said smugly. Reasonable guesses such as "rocketship", "space", and "planet" were thrown out. Shocked and angry his perfect clue fell to such simpletons, he repeated it again, angrily. "Astronaut!" More guesses. "God damn it, astronaut!" More guesses. "God damn you people, astronaut! Astronaut!" But alas, the younger generations of Lebowski were unable to come up with the secret word, even as more and more obscenities framed the perfect clue.
Time eventually ran out, as time is wont to do. The time came for the big reveal. What was the secret word, Great Jaja?
Fender.
You may be thinking, "what in god's holy name does the word astronaut have to do with the word fender?" This, and other variants thereon, was the exact question every Lebowski in the room asked Great Jaja.
"Don't you people watch the goddamn news?"
You see, in April 1972, the Apollo 16 mission was taking place. Apollo 16 was one of the moon missions that made use of a Lunar Roving Vehicle (LRV) or "Lunar Rover". The LRV used in Apollo 16 experienced issues with its rear fender extension during the mission. Essentially, it broke off, the astronauts attempted to reattach it with tape, but the lunar dust caused the tape's adhesive to fail, and the part was lost. They eventually constructed a makeshift fender out of, amongst other things, duct tape and moon maps.
But you no doubt already knew this. Everyone knows this, god damn it. What kind of damn fool could even hear the word "astronaut" and not immediately think "fender"? Certainly not the Lebowskis, not anymore. In fact, to this day, if you approach any of the Lebowskis present that evening (and several who were not) and prompt them with "astronaut" the response will ring clear and true.
Fender.
If you know who these people are, try it for yourself some time.
In the early 1970's, an enjoyable pastime for the Lebowski crew was to play the board game Password. The whole family could get involved with this: Mary Lebowski (later to be known as "Nonnie"), David Lebowski Sr. (eventually "Jaja"), Diane Lebowski (my mother), Susan Lebowski, David Lebowski Jr. (later "Blaze" and/or "Daven"), Patty Lebowski (later "Pappy") and the youngest Lebowski, Stephen (later "Lebo" and "Hulka"). On some occasions, they were joined by the clan patriarch, John Lebowski, then Jaja, eventually Great Jaja, and now living in our hearts and memories.
It was April, 1972. I am sure of this for a reason that will eventually become clear. The entire Lebowski clan was playing a heated game of Password. It was Great Jaja's turn. Password, for those unfamiliar, consists of a player attempting to get the other players to guess a secret word within a time limit. Great Jaja had the perfect clue for his secret word. The timer began. "Astronaut" he said smugly. Reasonable guesses such as "rocketship", "space", and "planet" were thrown out. Shocked and angry his perfect clue fell to such simpletons, he repeated it again, angrily. "Astronaut!" More guesses. "God damn it, astronaut!" More guesses. "God damn you people, astronaut! Astronaut!" But alas, the younger generations of Lebowski were unable to come up with the secret word, even as more and more obscenities framed the perfect clue.
Time eventually ran out, as time is wont to do. The time came for the big reveal. What was the secret word, Great Jaja?
Fender.
You may be thinking, "what in god's holy name does the word astronaut have to do with the word fender?" This, and other variants thereon, was the exact question every Lebowski in the room asked Great Jaja.
"Don't you people watch the goddamn news?"
You see, in April 1972, the Apollo 16 mission was taking place. Apollo 16 was one of the moon missions that made use of a Lunar Roving Vehicle (LRV) or "Lunar Rover". The LRV used in Apollo 16 experienced issues with its rear fender extension during the mission. Essentially, it broke off, the astronauts attempted to reattach it with tape, but the lunar dust caused the tape's adhesive to fail, and the part was lost. They eventually constructed a makeshift fender out of, amongst other things, duct tape and moon maps.
But you no doubt already knew this. Everyone knows this, god damn it. What kind of damn fool could even hear the word "astronaut" and not immediately think "fender"? Certainly not the Lebowskis, not anymore. In fact, to this day, if you approach any of the Lebowskis present that evening (and several who were not) and prompt them with "astronaut" the response will ring clear and true.
Fender.
If you know who these people are, try it for yourself some time.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Formative Years Fiction - Evil Robots
Sorry it took me so long to post the next one. There's a lot of scanning, etc. involved in doing these and I wasn't sure if it would be easier to try to make a .pdf, especially for one down the line that lacks illustrations and is long (for a kid's story). Anyway, at least for now we'll stick with the multiple images format.
So here is the next installment of my Formative Years Fiction feature. This story is from the 3rd grade (as will be the next one). It is an action-adventure story written in the first person. What kid doesn't dream about taking on hordes of evil foes and winning? Because each page is more self contained than in the previous story I'll be posting commentary after each page instead of just one block of text at the end. Without further ado, enjoy Evil Robots! (As always, you can click each image to see it full-sized)
As you can see, the cover sets the tone for what is sure to be an exciting romp in the world of robotics. Now, you may already be wondering how a robot, a mechanical construct without free will could possibly be considered "evil". Eat my butt.
Oh good, for those who somehow started reading this but somehow missed the cover with crazy robots all over it.
There was no particular reason why this book was dedicated to my cousin, Brett Pallos. I just thought he would enjoy a story about evil robots.
I didn't actually own a plunger dart gun as a kid. I desperately wanted one. So in my story, I got to have one. But it betrayed me! I liked using quoted speech and onomatopoeia in this story, apparently. Also, I would still find those fridge contents very disappointing today, except maybe some veggies. Meghan is my sister, Meghan Thirty, with whom I had a tumultuous relationship as a child. Yowsa? Really? I wrote "yowsa"?
Regarding the illustration, I like the random broken roller skate that has no purpose. I also like how badly 2D the fridge is, especially its bizarre face. And good lord, I hope nobody attempts to use those flimsy handles on the fridge doors.
Fridge, you dick! Those ice cubes look painful, and check out the massive flaming lump they left on my head! I was a big fan of the eye-pop-out effect for shocked cartoon characters at that point, it found its way into a lot of my drawings at that age.
"Too" not "to", young me. Also, poor Meghan, getting blamed for everything.
OK, so a steady diet of cartoons had taught me, by this point, that water is very bad for electronic devices, such as robots. Of course, if anything mechanical breaks, it must explode. That's just how those things work. I like the impossible angle on the dart shot in this picture. Also, it's weird but something about the face on this drawing of me reminds my of my cousin Sarah Thirty's long-term boyfriend Donnie Dunder. (He is much better looking than this drawing though, don't worry. He's also not a 3rd grader who fights evil robots.)
That first line is quite the rhyme. I like that the car needed no impetus to come to life, but turning the key will shut it off. Our house really was on a hillside, that angle is only a slight exaggeration of our driveway at the time. I like that I was so surprised by the car that I jumped two stories, had my Walkman fly off my head onto the roof, my eyes bugged out, my tongue went crazy, and I said "Aooga" with no exclamation point. As if I were calmly stating it. Also, I like that the car just has the word "Varoom" overit him.
Well, yeah, I'd say that's suspicious. I remember being super proud of Roboland's security system when I drew it. Thieves are brought to the roof and tied to a post. A robotic punching glove then punches them, post and all, onto the adjacent roof, into a cage that apparently has a poker game and a TV inside. Ray's Chopping Block was a real store in my town, and spelled their actual sign correctly. There was also a Citgo in the center of town, but the sign was not that big. Apparently in my story they borrowed the sign from near Fenway Park in Boston. And made it all lower-case.
Alright, shitty fiction trick #58: conveniently mention something had been true all along, right when it's necessary. However, this is really a borderline example. It wasn't as though I hadn't explained how I became soaking wet, I just hadn't explained it in a way that made any logical sense whatsoever. You see, the ice cubes that struck me in the back of the head when I was fighting the fridge were made of water. Clearly that brief contact with the ice cubes was enough for me to become soaking wet and remain that way for several minutes if not hours. I like the final robot ominously sitting in its display case, and I like that the case's upper left corner is shaped just perfectly to let the explosion not touch it.
And here it is, the big daddy of them all, the Spider-Snake-Dragon-Robot. I'd be a goner if that fancy water fountain didn't have a "Blast" option for just such an occasion.
And that's the end. No explanation of why the robots came to life. No explanation of what their purpose was. There are way too many questions left unanswered here... tell me this story continues!
Thank. God. If we read the whole series, everything will be explained! Also, there will be evil creatures, evil people, and... uhhh... evil minerals. Great. The evil people are the only ones who won't be in all caps, for some reason. Unfortunately, I never actually wrote these sequels. The unanswered questions will remain unanswered for all time. But here's what those sequels might have looked like in a parallel universe where I made them.
Evil Creatures is full of shout-outs to a favorite recurring conversation I have with my friends Josh Stryker and Marco Agrocrag about deadly animal hybrids. There's a Snawk, a Bat o' War Jellyfish (a thing of NIGHTMARES), an Alligator Snapping Tulverine, a Wolfornet, and a starfish holding an assault rifle (not a hybrid). I went with the JRR Tolkien "In a bind? Giant eagles, for the win!" idea too.
One of the shadowy figures in Evil People should be instantly recognizable to folks who have known me long enough. Enjoy!
So here is the next installment of my Formative Years Fiction feature. This story is from the 3rd grade (as will be the next one). It is an action-adventure story written in the first person. What kid doesn't dream about taking on hordes of evil foes and winning? Because each page is more self contained than in the previous story I'll be posting commentary after each page instead of just one block of text at the end. Without further ado, enjoy Evil Robots! (As always, you can click each image to see it full-sized)
As you can see, the cover sets the tone for what is sure to be an exciting romp in the world of robotics. Now, you may already be wondering how a robot, a mechanical construct without free will could possibly be considered "evil". Eat my butt.
Oh good, for those who somehow started reading this but somehow missed the cover with crazy robots all over it.
There was no particular reason why this book was dedicated to my cousin, Brett Pallos. I just thought he would enjoy a story about evil robots.
I didn't actually own a plunger dart gun as a kid. I desperately wanted one. So in my story, I got to have one. But it betrayed me! I liked using quoted speech and onomatopoeia in this story, apparently. Also, I would still find those fridge contents very disappointing today, except maybe some veggies. Meghan is my sister, Meghan Thirty, with whom I had a tumultuous relationship as a child. Yowsa? Really? I wrote "yowsa"?
Regarding the illustration, I like the random broken roller skate that has no purpose. I also like how badly 2D the fridge is, especially its bizarre face. And good lord, I hope nobody attempts to use those flimsy handles on the fridge doors.
Fridge, you dick! Those ice cubes look painful, and check out the massive flaming lump they left on my head! I was a big fan of the eye-pop-out effect for shocked cartoon characters at that point, it found its way into a lot of my drawings at that age.
"Too" not "to", young me. Also, poor Meghan, getting blamed for everything.
OK, so a steady diet of cartoons had taught me, by this point, that water is very bad for electronic devices, such as robots. Of course, if anything mechanical breaks, it must explode. That's just how those things work. I like the impossible angle on the dart shot in this picture. Also, it's weird but something about the face on this drawing of me reminds my of my cousin Sarah Thirty's long-term boyfriend Donnie Dunder. (He is much better looking than this drawing though, don't worry. He's also not a 3rd grader who fights evil robots.)
That first line is quite the rhyme. I like that the car needed no impetus to come to life, but turning the key will shut it off. Our house really was on a hillside, that angle is only a slight exaggeration of our driveway at the time. I like that I was so surprised by the car that I jumped two stories, had my Walkman fly off my head onto the roof, my eyes bugged out, my tongue went crazy, and I said "Aooga" with no exclamation point. As if I were calmly stating it. Also, I like that the car just has the word "Varoom" over
Well, yeah, I'd say that's suspicious. I remember being super proud of Roboland's security system when I drew it. Thieves are brought to the roof and tied to a post. A robotic punching glove then punches them, post and all, onto the adjacent roof, into a cage that apparently has a poker game and a TV inside. Ray's Chopping Block was a real store in my town, and spelled their actual sign correctly. There was also a Citgo in the center of town, but the sign was not that big. Apparently in my story they borrowed the sign from near Fenway Park in Boston. And made it all lower-case.
Alright, shitty fiction trick #58: conveniently mention something had been true all along, right when it's necessary. However, this is really a borderline example. It wasn't as though I hadn't explained how I became soaking wet, I just hadn't explained it in a way that made any logical sense whatsoever. You see, the ice cubes that struck me in the back of the head when I was fighting the fridge were made of water. Clearly that brief contact with the ice cubes was enough for me to become soaking wet and remain that way for several minutes if not hours. I like the final robot ominously sitting in its display case, and I like that the case's upper left corner is shaped just perfectly to let the explosion not touch it.
And here it is, the big daddy of them all, the Spider-Snake-Dragon-Robot. I'd be a goner if that fancy water fountain didn't have a "Blast" option for just such an occasion.
And that's the end. No explanation of why the robots came to life. No explanation of what their purpose was. There are way too many questions left unanswered here... tell me this story continues!
Thank. God. If we read the whole series, everything will be explained! Also, there will be evil creatures, evil people, and... uhhh... evil minerals. Great. The evil people are the only ones who won't be in all caps, for some reason. Unfortunately, I never actually wrote these sequels. The unanswered questions will remain unanswered for all time. But here's what those sequels might have looked like in a parallel universe where I made them.
Evil Creatures is full of shout-outs to a favorite recurring conversation I have with my friends Josh Stryker and Marco Agrocrag about deadly animal hybrids. There's a Snawk, a Bat o' War Jellyfish (a thing of NIGHTMARES), an Alligator Snapping Tulverine, a Wolfornet, and a starfish holding an assault rifle (not a hybrid). I went with the JRR Tolkien "In a bind? Giant eagles, for the win!" idea too.
One of the shadowy figures in Evil People should be instantly recognizable to folks who have known me long enough. Enjoy!
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Formative Years Fiction - GOLD MINS AN ADFANCHER STORY
New feature! Formative Years Fiction will be a chronicle of written works from my childhood years that have been preserved and exist to this day. I did not think of this idea unprompted. You see, lately I have been enjoying (enjoying so much!) the webcomic Axe Cop. Axe Cop is a web comic written by a 6-year-old (5 at the series' start) and related to his 29-year-old professional comic book artist brother, who illustrates the adventures. The work neither mocks nor patronizes the young author's imagination, instead giving professional level expressive tools to the unfiltered mind of a child. It rules.
I was a creative kid, but nowhere near as creative as the little genius behind Axe Cop. I also had no older brother to turn my ideas into pure comic magic, only a mom who saved my periodic works of fiction. Because sometimes I wrote. Often for school, sometimes for fun. Below is my earliest surviving written fictional narrative, penned at age 6. It is a tale of action, suspense, and triumph. I wanted to call it Gold Mines: An Adventure Story but at age 6, could only manage GOLD MINS AN ADFANCHER STORY. I dared not flatten the memo pad it was written on in a scanner for fear the binding would come apart, so it is in the form of several photographs. A transcript is available below the images.
Transcript:
GOLD MINS AN ADFANCHER STORY
A GOLD MINER WAS DIGING A HOLE WHEN HE FOND
A MAP IT WAS A TRESHER MAP HE FOLOD
THE MAP TO THE DESERT WHER HE FOND
A CAVE HE WENT IN THE CAVE IT WAS DARK
HE FELT SOMETHING IT FELT LIKE SOMETHING HE FELT
BEFORE IT WAS A COLED SNAK GARDING
A KEY AND A DOOR
IN THE DOOR WAS GOLD HE ATAKD THE SNAKE
UNTEL HE KELD IT HE GRABD THE KEY
AND OPIND THE DOOR AND
GOT THE GOLD AND BOHT A NEW HOUSE
ABOT THE AUTHER THE AUTHERMATTHEW Remus! HAS ALOT OF TOYS
There are many questions left unanswered. Why was a miner digging a hole? Why did he need a map to find a desert with a clearly visible cave? Why had he felt a (coiled/cold?) snake before? Why was the snake guarding a key and a door? Who locked the door and left the key so close by with a snake? Why did Remus Thirty spell snake two different ways two pages apart? Sadly, no sequel exists to GOLD MINS AN ADFANCHER STORY. However, not all is lost. For while 6-year-old me did not have a 29-year-old brother who could draw, 26-year-old me who can draw DOES exist. Here is a special artistic rendering of GOLD MINS AN ADFANCHER STORY.
I was a creative kid, but nowhere near as creative as the little genius behind Axe Cop. I also had no older brother to turn my ideas into pure comic magic, only a mom who saved my periodic works of fiction. Because sometimes I wrote. Often for school, sometimes for fun. Below is my earliest surviving written fictional narrative, penned at age 6. It is a tale of action, suspense, and triumph. I wanted to call it Gold Mines: An Adventure Story but at age 6, could only manage GOLD MINS AN ADFANCHER STORY. I dared not flatten the memo pad it was written on in a scanner for fear the binding would come apart, so it is in the form of several photographs. A transcript is available below the images.
Transcript:
GOLD MINS AN ADFANCHER STORY
A GOLD MINER WAS DIGING A HOLE WHEN HE FOND
A MAP IT WAS A TRESHER MAP HE FOLOD
THE MAP TO THE DESERT WHER HE FOND
A CAVE HE WENT IN THE CAVE IT WAS DARK
HE FELT SOMETHING IT FELT LIKE SOMETHING HE FELT
BEFORE IT WAS A COLED SNAK GARDING
A KEY AND A DOOR
IN THE DOOR WAS GOLD HE ATAKD THE SNAKE
UNTEL HE KELD IT HE GRABD THE KEY
AND OPIND THE DOOR AND
GOT THE GOLD AND BOHT A NEW HOUSE
ABOT THE AUTHER THE AUTHER
There are many questions left unanswered. Why was a miner digging a hole? Why did he need a map to find a desert with a clearly visible cave? Why had he felt a (coiled/cold?) snake before? Why was the snake guarding a key and a door? Who locked the door and left the key so close by with a snake? Why did Remus Thirty spell snake two different ways two pages apart? Sadly, no sequel exists to GOLD MINS AN ADFANCHER STORY. However, not all is lost. For while 6-year-old me did not have a 29-year-old brother who could draw, 26-year-old me who can draw DOES exist. Here is a special artistic rendering of GOLD MINS AN ADFANCHER STORY.
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