Not talking about the Jeremy Robert Johnson story, although it’s one of my favorites of his, but the kind of endurance running we hominids used to use (used to use more) to run down prey. I mean, of course we did that—it’s what my “Chapter Six” story argues. Also, I’ve read accounts that, in the Great Plains, long before Kevin Costner got there, it was kind of a Sunday sport for white guys (I specify because in the accounts I know, it’s only ever white guys doing this) to find a wolf, put on some old-timey running shoes, and take off after that wolf. Trick is, that wolf’ll always stay just ahead of the runner, and after a while it just dies. This always struck me as half made-up, since we all see the helicopter footage of wolves bounding through snow for half a day after an eventually foundering elk. And they’re not dying then, are they?
Also? I’ll try not to steal all his, even though we share the same span of years, and probably had the same Crüe patches on our jackets.
Also also? I should maybe say: I’ve only ever seen two movies at the theater for seven nights in a row. The first was Exorcist III. The second was Scream. So in those two years, I think I know what wins. The rest, though, I’m going to have to do some digging, some hard remembering, some throwadart guessing [ my oh-so-rigorous method: I went through, filled in my favorite movies in their years, then searched all the other year’s movies to fill in the rest. if that came up dry, I searched by horror movies. then animated movies. then indie movies. then the following year’s Academy Award nominess. that last search never came close to helping me. mostly it just made me instasad ].
Surely I’m not the only one who keeps pics/cartoons/memes/whatever around to look at every day just because they compel immediate, involuntary happiness? I had said they ‘elicit,’ but that wasn’t nearly aggressive enough.
Here’s the one I’ve been laughing at for a few weeks now. It’s never lost any of its punch, so far. It may in fact be perfect:
That’s the afternoon. For the evening:
Very cool con (#DINKDenver). Some few snaps.
Opening the first fold-out of the program:
Getting to the Hex table:
The Narrators panel/event I did:
And, maybe obviously, only one of these snaps is from me, other three are nabbed off social media (first is Bret Smith, second’s probably either Josh Viola or Dean Wyant, third’s Aaron Anansi Spriggs). Me? I never can remember to take a picture. Always too busy narrating it all in my head.
That right click you can do in Pages, when you finally get tired of seeing those Charlie Brown lips under all the words you make up? Well, I guess it’s Charlie Brown lips in MSWord, but I despise having to open Word, like, a little piece of my soul dies each time I have to (and I have to a lot, for trackchanges purposes), so here’s a grab of the highway dividers (hashmarks? Indian Jones map-in-action lines?) Pages plants underneath the words it doesn’t know:
Hey, it’s 2004’s Crash, back in the nineties! Not really. Well, kind of. What happened, I suspect, was someone got tasked with making this music video for the Judds (see: way below), then heard the line “tribes of men” in there, then made the old Indians-are-in-tribes, aren’t they?-association, and bam, this video was born in a blaze of glory, up on that same mesa Bon Jovi had their “Blaze of Glory.”