Memorial Day Moment

I used to write "Happy Memorial Day." But it's not really a cheery sort of holiday. Solemn. Thoughtful. Everything has its price. That's something worth keeping in mind.

History.com

Writing Blues

Disclosure

Bad case on this overcast May morning. My Dunwich book beckons but it's reached a point of maddening difficulty and I want to scarp it for a new writing project. I dread something new - fresh and filled with possibilities. A disguise for surrender in all its humiliation. I have banker's boxes full of writing starts, not so many finishes. Nothing will come easy this morning. Today must be the writing equivalent of the  Bataan Death March, where escape is an illusion and the Japanese will bayonet me for falling out. Let's see how much I finish now. (Though I wish the Japanese would be quiet and let me work and stop oooing over my Batman animation cells. But if I say anything, they yell and threaten. Would they bring me coffee? Probably not. My only Japanese is "Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto.")

H.R. Geiger In The Projection Booth

Sideshow

That's where he, is in a manner of speaking, and that's the title of Mike White's podcast. Tune in as Mike speaks with Swiss director Belinda Sallin about her documentary on noted artist Geiger, his work and spooky legacy.

Your Home for Ralph Dibny

Ralph Dibny in knots and loving it.

Should you fall behind in your mission to learn all you can about the Elongated Man, then Rafa Rivas has your back. Check our his blog as he peels back the layers on all Ralph Dibny doings.

Nostalgic Race Report: Eugene Marathon

(In honor of my last and best running accomplishment, I repost this race report from May, 2008.)


Light shifted subtly over the Willamette River. You sensed God working the sliders on his heavenly lighting board, blending shade and tone while sipping coffee from an immense mug. As marathon day began in Eugene, temperatures hung around the low 40s. I was reluctant to leave the warmth of our rented Rav. But MDW (My Darling Wife) pointed out that no man ever raced crouched over a hot air vent. So it was out into the cold near Hayward Field on the University of Oregon campus. MDW vowed to meet me at mile 18. There I'd planned to leave my water belt: a symbolic act to "lighten the load" for the arduous last miles where head games are mandatory. Meanwhile, I lined up behind other shivering runners at a Port-O-Potty.

Back in January, around the time I began training for this race, the wife of a friend died battling leukemia. I asked Peter if he'd mind my dedicating the marathon to Rosina. He and the kids were cool, but I had forgotten to bring anything. Fortunately, MDW grabbed some art supplies and cobbled together a fine inscription for me to wear. As I ran that day, spectators called out Rosina's name, encouraging me to keep going for her. In those moments, it seemed Rosina was present but just out of sight, as if she'd gone to fetch something from the car.

As to the course, imagine a drawing of a bolo tie such as gentlemen might wear in a square dance. Now imagine that same bolo tie drawn by an angry man. This will give you an idea of the route's shape. The opening miles led out from the campus, up a hill, down another, then into a park area where the metal tips would be if it really were a bolo tie. Doubling back to the U of O campus, the course led up another long hill, down to the Willamette River and across. Instead of a turquoise clasp, Autzen Stadium provided the center piece around which the race swirled, looping along bike paths around the Willamette. Tree-lined and tranquil, the river flowed under quaint foot bridges. The finish line was just outside the stadium where you could purchase bolo ties and other treasured souvenirs.






Finally, we go. Despite last-minute wavering, my goal was to break four hours. That meant a pace of 9:10, 49 seconds per mile less than my previous best in Phoenix. Since January 2007, my only marathon had been an extended walk in Chicago. The night before, I'd phoned coaches Jimmy and Kate for a little advice. They told me many useful, savvy things that I promptly forgot. But what I recalled was to stay on pace and save something for the end.

The first mile led uphill. I ran way too slow (9:40). I wanted to sob like a weepy old man, but didn't.

Mile 2: Mostly downhill.

Mile 3: More downhill. Now I was almost a minute ahead of pace. Cool.

Miles 4 and 5: Running the dangling string section of the bolo tie. Ate some yummy goo.

Mile 6: Doubling back to campus through Amazon Park. Still slightly ahead of pace.

Mile 7: Up a long hill. I slowed again, keeping my heart beat even. Runners blasted by, huffing and puffing. I smugly watched them pass.

Miles 8 & 9: Back through the campus, then across the Willamette on a foot bridge. At one point, I thought my legs were buckling. But it was only the bridge wobbling from impacting runner feet. Still, I hurried across.

Mile 10: On the bike trails along the river; more yummy goo with double caffeine.

Mile 11: We'd been running mixed in with a half-marathon. Now the half-marathoners veered off to finish their race. I remarked to a woman next to me, "I thought they'd never leave."

Mile 12: MDW surprised me at 12. I was still ahead of pace, feeling great. Perhaps I'd made too much of this marathon business? We confirmed our date for 18.

Mile 13.1: Half-way assessment. I was at 1:56:52, about an 8:55 pace. A little brisk, but no strain. Figuring I could hold it a bit longer, I decided to press on.

Mile 14: I encountered the Clopper. A lean man in his 60s with short, silvery hair, he slapped the ground loudly with every stride like a farm horse walking on cobblestones. Whock-whock-whock-whock! The sound grated. I sped past. But since I was walking a minute every seven minutes, there was no escape. I'd prepare to run again when I'd hear whock-whock-whock coming up behind.

Mile 15: What was on the menu? Surprise, it was another double-caffeine goo! (Damn the Clopper!)

Mile 16: Holding steady two and three minutes ahead of pace. I was looking at a solid finish. I uped my run/walk ratio to 8x1.

Mile 17: Something happened here but I can't remember.

Mile 18: MDW took my water belt after I washed down the last of my salt.

Mile 19: I finally ditched the Clopper. Hurray! Oh, God, hurray! First little twinges of leg pain.

Mile 20: Back across the Willamette. We're now running on the south side bike trails. I was still ahead, 3:00:06, but my pace had dropped to 9:00. My legs were beginning to feel a tad thick.

Mile 21: Now began the Track of Broken Dreams, better known as the last miles of a marathon. I dropped a full minute.

Mile 22: Dropped another minute. The same effort took tons of energy. My calves felt like iron knots. The four-hour pace group leader, whom I hadn't seen all day, breezed past with several runners in tow.

Mile 23: Leaking seconds badly, I dropped intervals and ran. All around, marathoners were breaking down: a young, bearded guy fast-hobbled on an injured foot; a husky Asian man cramped out in pain; a girl in tangerine shorts ran backwards to ease the ache; a guy in a floppy hat staggered off the trail and heaved a great spray of liquid. He heaved again and again. Meanwhile, sunlight shone through the trees and the Willamette flowed serenely.

Mile 24: For the moment, I'd plugged the time leakage and was almost exactly on pace, but fading fast. My hip flexors felt as light as a parking structure. Walking at a water station, I ate jelly beans and realized I enjoyed walking. Forcing myself to run, I focused on a large man in a red T-Shirt and passed him.

Mile 25: On pace, but maintaining the effort brought a bonus hurt. A side stitch arrived as I passed a balding runner in a blue and gold singlet. His feet quickened as he tried to catch me. Pretending I was in the Olympics staving off a Kenyan, I moved ahead to the next runner.

Mile 26: Reaching the shadow of Autzen Stadium, I was roughly on pace, but gassed. MDW waved and cheered. All the blood in my upper body had migrated to my legs. Woozy and light-headed, I lumbered along on auto pilot.

Mile .2: An orange snow fence lined the final kilometer. On the race clock ahead, red LED numbers inched into the four-hour district. I tried recalling how many seconds had passed before I crossed the start mat. However calculations were oafish folly as I lacked blood north of my waist.

I made it by six seconds: 3:59:53.

MDW helped me to a curb where I sat and stared at nothing for several minutes. I was fortunate to have reached my goal. Nevertheless, I finished what I set out to do. Plus, I honored Rosina and pumped money into the Eugene economy so they might purchase yet more commemorative bolo ties.

It's been two days since the marathon, we're back home and life proceeds. We have to move in a few weeks. And there's still the TNT Summer Team and preparing them for their first marathon. Oh yeah, and finding a job. And jury duty.

But today I'll rest and eat pizza and think about running another marathon in a few months.

That'll be fun.



(Start line photo by Rick Russell. All others by MDW Joy.)

Originally posted May 6, 2008 as Tales from Eugene. In the seven years since this race I've had a knee operation, shoulder operation, operation on my nose for skin cancer, operation for prostate cancer, and put on sixty pounds. But that day, I was gold.

Nat'l Lampoon Kit and Kaboodle

Cliparts.Co

Back in the day, the National Lampoon featured  a one-off comic with a cat chasing wise-cracking mouse antagonists similar to Pixie and Dixie and Mr. Jinx. Except there was no squash and stretch. If a character was injured, they were stuck with that wound. To mix medias, imagine an episode of Slappy Squirrel if Walter Wolf never recovered from the injuries Slappy dealt him.

Long ago, it was considered edgy. Today, there are fewer and fewer lines left to cross and so the race to shock roars on. There are sites which specialize in adding Quentin Tarantino like violence to Classic WB and Hanna-Barbara characters, with images featuring agony and maniacal intent.

Over at Noblesse Oblige, you can view a few panels of Kit and Kaboodle. Like Monty Python violence, the carnage is surreal and over-the-top to the point of absurdity. As you will note, the characters are plucky, persistent, and badly maimed. Perhaps Netflix is working on a series?

5 War Movies I'd Like to See Made

In no particular order, here are five historical conflicts that I think would make excellent films.

Forty Days of Musa Dagh

Pronounced 'Moosa Da,' (or Moses' Mountain) this site in modern Syria was once a part of the Ottoman Empire. During the 1915 genocide, six Armenian villages—5,000 people—fled to the mountain and fought off assaults by the Turkish army. With its back to the Mediterranean, Musa Dagh held out for 53 days. As food and ammunition dwindled, the embattled Armenians managed to signal passing French warships. The survivors were taken to safety in Egypt.

Not surprisingly, Turkey has fought like a velociraptor to keep this film from being made. A 1930s production was scotched by Turkish diplomatic pressure on the U.S. State Department and MGM. Sly Stallone and Mel Gibson both backed off Musa Dagh projects after Turkish grousing. President Obama won't even call it a genocide, referring to the Armenian massacre as a 'great catastrophe.' A 'great catastrophe' is the 2004 tsunamis or Chicago Cubs baseball. What happened in Turkey was genocide.

Book to Read: Forty Days of Musa Dagh by Franz Werfel.

Operation Buffalo

Marines along the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ) were given a thankless and 

bloody task of checking North Vietnamese infiltration into South Vietnam. Untouchable in North Vietnam for political reasons, Russian-made artillery concealed in caves constantly shelled the Marines. By fighting at times of their own choosing, then retreating back to safety across the DMZ, the North Vietnamese Army (NVA) controlled the tempo of battle. As if matters weren't bad enough, Secretary of Defense McNamara decided that a nice barrier built during the fighting would control infiltration. Finally, Marines were worn down by constant patrolling, a poor supply chain, and saddled with new M16 rifles that jammed. 

In the face of all that, an understrength Marine company was ambushed and shot to bits in July 1967. The subsequent relief of the survivors, attempts to recover the dead, and a massive NVA assault across the DMZ highlight the bravery and dedication of men locked in a futile war of attrition. 

I once had the rights to a book about this operation, but hopefully someone else will find the money and energy to bring this project to life.    

Book to Read: Operation Buffalo: USMC Fight for the DMZ by Keith William Nolan.

The Forest Brothers

A Baltic Red Dawn, people in Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia waged guerrilla war against the Soviet Union until the mid-1950s. Overrun by Russia in 1940, then Nazi Germany, then Russia again in 1944, the Baltic peoples were under no illusions as to what awaited them under brutal Soviet occupation. In desperation, many waged a forlorn battle with the invaders, hiding out in forests and fighting until betrayed by communists serving in British Intelligence. After Stalin's death, an amnesty ended most of the conflict, though isolated units soldiered on until the 1960s. 

Some films have been made in the Baltics, but there's still plenty of David vs. Goliath, brother against brother material to fill up 120 minutes. 

Book to Read: Forest Brothers: The Account of an Anti-Soviet Lithuanian Freedom Fighter 1944-1948 by Juozas Luksa.  

The Great Siege

In 1565, the world superpower was the Ottoman Empire under Sultan Suleiman the Magnificent. Annoyed by the raiding of the last crusading order, Knights of St. John, the Sultan commanded a huge fleet to sail to the island of Malta and crush the knights. With a split command, the Turks invested the knights' forts, hauled up artillery and attempted to batter the walls into a degraded state for a final assault. The ensuing siege, the politics, tactics, and personalities of the opposing commanders would make for fascinating viewing.

This movie is probably too non-pc for at least another generation. Nevertheless, given Turkey's attitude, I would release it as a double feature with Forty Days of Musa Dagh.  

Book to Read: The Great Siege: Malta 1565 by Ernle Bradford

Neptune's Inferno

In a series of battles lasting six months, the U.S. Navy lost five-thousand men wrestling the Japanese for control of the seas around Guadalcanal. This is a film made for CGI as the U.S. fritters away their advantage in radar because senior officer don't trust the "new fangled thing." Japanese night fighting tactics and torpedoes are decisive early on. Lots of command in-fighting on both sides in a back-and-forth brawl that saw the United States reduced to a single damaged aircraft carrier in the whole Pacific during the fall of 1942.

This ought to be the 21st Century equivalent of In Harm's Way except we won't blow up model ships in a big tank.

Book to Read: Neptune's Inferno: The U.S. Navy at Guadalcanal by James D. Hornfischer.