They didn’t stop me after all! The government, I mean. I was halfway certain the forms had not been filed, and I’d ended up on the no-fly list. When you test positive right before a trip and you cancel, you have to prove to the government that you didn’t go. You must send your cancellations to the CDC. If you do not, you’re on the do-not fly list.

Do you have any reassurance that all was done correctly? No. Now, the fellow to whom I sent my docs - the guy who requested them - was at the airport doing CDC business, and I’ve no idea what. The name of the org contained “triage,” as if was wearing a full hazmat suit and directing the forklifts to remove the bodies from the parking ramp down to the burn pits. You know, the was it was last August. Anyway, he said he had received the documents, and that was the last I heard. Nothing about “they’re good” of “they’ve been sent to the relevant authorities” or “please resubmit in triplicate with notarized time stamps and a voice recording of the Virgin Air automated assistant saying your name backwards.”

Anyway, that’s where I went. Off to Arizona for the memorial for wife’s father. She went first to do some set-up work; Daughter flew to Mpls and we met at the airport, then flew out together. Met first for a beer and Mexican at the Barrio, the place where the family always had a drink and a meal before getting on Icelandic Air for the Europe experience. Back when travel was exploration and adventure, instead of the latest run of weddings and funerals.

Those are the sole reasons for travel in 2021. Two of each. So far. You can schedule the first but the second is hard to get on the calendar.

At least I’ve gotten in two flights this year, and that feels as if I’m clawing back to something. I hear people complaining on Twitter about plane travel, and pal, unless you’re stuck on the plane, not moving, moving, I don’t want to hear it. I’m up here like the Sarge in Aliens. Every cup of coffee, a fine espresso! Every snack a banquet! The meal at the airport was underwhelming, but the chance to talk about podcasts and Illustrators problems and classes and advertising and such was water to a parched brain. Kid’s so smart and quick. And not a kid, either.

Well, yes, always a kid, but you know what I mean.

So. I’ve watched a Perry Mason - a bad one. Confusing. I think it had one Star Trek connection.

PIC

I think she was the daughter of Kirk’s defense attorney.

I played a few levels of Monument Valley, since the second version of the game has been sitting unplayed on my phone for a few years, and I wanted to remind myself how to play it. Lovely little thing. Landing soon, then we get slotted into the family roles and take it from there. I have to do an AV thing at the memorial. Am bracing for a disaster.

LATER

Of course, there was disaster. I brought the slide show on a thumb drive, and one of the sisters wanted to try it the night before. I got a call while enjoying a remarkable tequila from a distillery that used to belong to George Clooney, when the phone buzzed. It did not work. USB DISCONNECTED. I had to make a diagnostic evaluation over the phone. Well, what did USB DISCONNECTED mean? Unlikely they were using a dedicated line from the AV unit to the TV . . . Hold on, where are you putting the USB? Into the TV.

Ah. Later: the front desk guy used another drive, and that worked! Okay, now we have it. I’ll leave it up to you: why did one drive that worked just fine for me not work on the Sharp TV, and one other drive did?

FAT-32, baby. I went to the room at 10 or so, got out my bag of dangles, produced the right one to mate the old USB to my Mac, threw the video on the new dongle and reformatted one of my own just for backup. Gee Mister Wizard, you’re keen

The next day went very well. The mass was solemn, warm, emotional, cathartic. The gathering at the club room at the condo complex went perfectly. Got all the grandkids into pictures, talked to people I haven’t seen in a while, and felt myself back where I was the last time I came here: January 2020, before it all happened. Back when I was looking forward to 2020 as a year of travel and opportunity. Before.

But now it seems after. Right? No: the guys at the catering stand were talking in hushed tones about how they thought the WEF was going to institute another world-wide lockdown. Seemed likely. They were also talking about climate lockdowns, man. So I asked them some questions about what they had heard, why they thought something was going to happen. It wasn’t anything specific. It was just a vibe they got, pieces of things they picked up. You know? Seems likely, because the government wants it to happen because then they get more powerful. Look at Australia. All the powerful people want it.

When the remembrance ceremony broke up, all the cousins went to the big arcade where they used to go as kids to play akee-ball and bumper cars. Every parent watched them go with a gleam of joy, to see them all together and reliving a pleasant memory.

Anway, it’s late and I just got back. And Inhave to get up in five hours to take Daughter back to the airport. But there’s really no more to say: everyone should be so lucky to get so many people to remember you a year after you’re gone.

 

 

Pervstrologer Marbert, I think:

Note the cliched sanitation officer on the right - a character I wouldn't recognize if it hadn't been for the end of some Total TV animation credits.

 

 

It’s an extremely minor Universal horror movie. On the other hand, it’s a Universal horror movie, and that’s always fun.

As distinct from your sane, well-adjusted ghoul, I guess.

Basic plot: mad scientist uses Mayan gas - you know, the stuff found on their old art . . .

. . . to turn a young earnest scientist into a zombie who needs to eat fresh hearts. The usual.

The scientist’s motivation? He wants the young scientist’s girlfriend. Uh - okay. We soon learn she doesn’t want to be the young scientist’s girlfriend in the first place; she likes another guy. Odd twist but whatever. One IMDB reviewer said that’s all poppycock, and the old dude is obviously hot for the young scientist, and it’s all a parable about unnatural relationships. Didn’t pick that up myself.

Hey. It’s a radio guy.

Was he a real radio guy? No.

Gene O'Donnell was born on February 28, 1911 in Iowa, USA as Orville Eugene O'Donnell. He was an actor, known for Barney Blake, Police Reporter (1948), On the Spot (1940) and You're Out of Luck (1941). He was married to Dolores. He died on November 22, 1992 in Woodland Hills, Los Angeles, California, USA.

His last credit was a Night Gallery I remember well: the William Windom ep about the guy who went bonkers when they tore down his old bar. He played the bartender.  He didn’t have any lines.

Ghoul has its 40s moments:

As you know by now, I love the old fake papers. There’s always the screaming headline pertinent to the exact moment of the plot, and then some anodyne stuff about taxes.

 

What you can’t see in this one is the motto under the name of the paper:

I thought it said “If you see it printed here, it’s a lie.”

Anyway. Quick, a few creepy moments that are not creepy in the least by modern standards - which is perhaps why we might enjoy it today.

Good job by David Bruce -

Died early, at 60. His imdb bio:

Bruce's brief stardom and fall from it is the subject of "Errol Flynn", a song by his daughter, Amanda McBroom. Bruce costarred in three Errol Flynn films, The Sea Hawk (1940), Santa Fe Trail (1940), and Adventures of Don Juan (1948). Hence the lyric, "But he held my hand tight as he pointed his name out/Only four or five names down below Errol Flynn”.

His daughter, by the way, wrote the song “The Rose.”

Movies like this make you feel 12 or 14 again, for some reason, reveling in the bygone classics that might pop up on the Saturday night late movie, with that dazzling Universal intro and thrilling theme.

Speaking of music - here’s the real reason I chose this. Let’s make this a test. I can’t help but think that when someone else wrote the exact same thing, much later, and it was (cough) an homage.

 

Yeeeahhh, Danny, quite the conicidence.

   
Then there's this. Can you name that piece?
   

 

AND THEN THERE'S THIS. It never ends.

 

For Five Hundred Dollars, panel, can you Name! That! Symphony!

 

 

   
  That will  have to do. Matches await!
   

 

 

 

 

 
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