As I get deeper into my cronehood, this time of existence in which people either do not see me or pretend they have business elsewhere when the cowl slips, November has become my friend. The mocking young forms who strode about oh so hot to trot last summer are now buried under layers of linen and lycra and are having a hell of a hard time using their phones in the rain.
This is when spells begin to form in my bewitched soul: “Poor dears, tech-smitten, next time forget the mittens.”
I was young once, not always an old Witch, and, if I recall correctly, I was also perceived as a loathsome bitch by people past age sixty. Not so much in behaviour, but just by being–still fresh, my future not mostly used up. Fortunately, I was not heavily accessorized as people are today. Until the late 90’s an umbrella and backpack were as far as the extras went. Being native to the Pacific Northwest I know umbrellas are useless because from fall to spring the rain falls not just sideways, but from every direction including up. Non-native Seattle umbrella users always wind up looking like clueless idiots. The defeated fools get caught on tape futilely waving their shredded sticks and are categorized by the genial assholes who do the local TV weather reports as an “out of towner.”
Now there’s a term, “genial asshole.” Yes indeedy, that one hits the mark. Triple bull. I see genial assholes riding razor scooters, failing to alert pedestrians on the sidewalk to their zipping by at fifteen mph, then getting shitty about nearly hurting someone. And yet when the power of the situation is against them they smile and say no worries as though you need forgiving for being assaulted by their vehicles.
I chant: “Genial asshole. One tenth a man. I command land on your can.”
November is particularly rough on Genial Assholes (which I now field promote to the status of proper noun) who ride razors. You might think that tooling across a walking bridge, causing Genial Asshole mayhem, is pretty cute in August, but let’s see you go up against a fifty-mile an hour side blast while on the Manette Bridge. I was treated to such an event, so holy that it must be called a miracle, a little tidbit from God’s banquet that fell toward me, of all the groundlings–an accidental blessing he’s been doing his best to get back since it happened. But soon after I rejected heaven and accepted the fact that I caused it to happen with my psi talent. You see, a young roundish sack of Gen Zee Goo got dropped onto his beefy buttocks by such a gust after he nearly collided with me from behind. I laughed and laughed because the spell was perfect. (Oh, the tub of shit was unharmed–Crisco doesn’t bruise). He squealed onto his hooves and actually tried to get back on the damn thing, but to my disappointment, sigh, he wised up. Oh yes, I continue to revel in the beautiful thing I caused to happen.
Now you might be wondering what I was doing on the bridge, during November, in the wild rain. Well, as a Witch I’m always on the fucking bridge in the wild rain. If not there, seek me on the wily moors. Unpopular places are where the Bad News is at. Forget the “in” spots. Magick incantations are best used on lone Genial Assholes. It’s the private little tragedies that befall the big that matter.
“No, I’ll do it–you’re too smart to be nice,” a friend told me once, at work, when someone needed to deliver bad news to the boss; for some reason it was decided that it should be told in a friendly way, which “included me out” as Goldwyn said. At first I explored the remark for insult, but I decided that having my intelligence evaluated and deemed unworthy of a small, sniveling ability appealed to me. I mean that’s the sort of thing characters portrayed by Bette Davis and Alan Rickman would hear about themselves. Can hardly feature Margo Channing or the Sheriff of Nottingham convincingly giving a fuck about a late delivery that means nothing to either. I make mention of that because it is the sort of world view you need to embrace to successfully use mental powers to dump a razor criminal on its dirigible-esque derriere.
Now, perhaps some of you have heard references to my “target”’s weight that vex you. Sorry, but I’m a bit overweight–seems to come with the ageing thing. And as we all know what we are we can verbally abuse and yet complain about you if you dare call us fat. That, my friends, is the modern definition of justice. Gotta have someone in the Tower who doesn’t deserve to be there. Life would not make sense otherwise.
Writing is either making sense of life or proving there is no sense to the task. Hard to decide, both ideas have their points, yet neither fully arrives at eureka. Regardless, six writers took a swing at the worthy job this week and they all landed well.
The week began Sunday with a special titled Like Lightning by Evangeline Golden. The horrors of the Holocaust remain vivid, eighty years gone by. It should frighten people into vigilance that such an event occurred during the lifetimes of millions who still live. Such still happens today on a smaller numerical scale that is just as evil. This fine work tells of another event of the endless horror show.
Say Aunts by return writer Kayla Cain opened the regular week with something I found damned weird, but in a good way. I suppose if people were better to each other we would be too dull to write about. Kayla found a small ray of light in a particularly dark patch of the universe.
Damn weird but in a good way continued Tuesday with Wailing Guitar by Steve Sibra. There is humour, rock and roll and engaging energy throughout the piece. At first, I thought the idea of the situation would be annoying. But, really, annoying people has always been at the heart of Rock and Roll.
Days Off by Dylan Wang has no rock and roll in it, in fact it explores a sad and even listless place in which wanting days of life to get out of the way of a date that is perceived as special. It’s brave to take on such an idea and it takes talent to get it over.
Florian is Totally Fine With This by return writer Courtney Jean Day, well marked Thursday. The world is infinitely interesting and we are all quite entertaining if we can just step back and take a look at our little dramas with any objectivity. Courtney did so with a mixture of elan and restraint.
Angela and the Balm by J.D. Strunk is another visit to a special place I call Hellzastan. End of Days stuff needs a special energy and a unique premise to distinguish itself, let alone get published. Which is exactly what J.D. has accomplished. Now I am not sure if my belief that the MC hearing bomb pronounced “balm” in the southeastern American accent was the intention, but I liked that a lot regardless.
There they are, six souls safe from incantations uttered on my part. We have seen some of them before and hope to see all of them again soon.
Although Hugh handled Halloween perfectly, I have an urge to add my list of ten films that make horror special. For me, science fiction horror is not the same as the old place on the hill sort of thing.
- The Bride of Frankenstein (Ernst Thesiger as Dr. Protorious is a blessing)
- The House on Haunted Hill (Vincent Price Superstar)
- The Haunting (Not quite the book, but highly effective. The remake is terrible)
- Se7en (not technically horror, but Gweneth’s head in a box works)
- Ed Wood (partially an homage to Lugosi, and a time hopefully not to be forgotten)
- Saw (You knew someone was going to use it)
- House of a 1000 Corpses (The Firefly “Fambly” relates to more people than is comfortable. Sid Haig is another immortal)
- Shadow of the Vampire (Willem Dafoe as Max Schreck is even creepier than the original Orlock)
- Swengali (Unbelievable sets and fine performance by John Barrymore. Like in all early horror films (except The Bride of Frankenstein), the supporting cast was feeble and annoying)
- Yours
The clip is dedicated to Prunella Scales who died recently. Fawlty Towers may be the funniest TV show ever and fierce Sybil had her fair share of winning moments. Some might say it is unfair to be remembered mainly for one thing, but, hey, she made us laugh and it is not like being remembered for terrorism.
Leila
literally stories 
Fine post. Celebration of Prunella Scales excellent: the lines were good, but the delivery was always perfection.
Further hazard for pedestrians: solid phalanx of teens all staring at their phones – only occasion when umbrella useful.
thanks, mick
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Hi Mick
Oh I do despise seeing someone walking ahead hooked over the phone. I do detest having to keep an eye on them.
A riding crop might make a good “walking tool.” A quick little slap might do wonders for atrophied awareness.
Thank you and I look foward to your latest week at Saragun Sorings starting Monday.
Leila
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Another excellent Saturday column and roundup. I appreciate the razor wit—and the targets it cuts. RIP Prunella Scales. Fawlty Towers is one of the funniest shows ever, although it got so frenetic sometimes it made me nervous. We also lost the wonderful Patricia Routledge, who played Mrs. Bucket…uh, I mean Mrs. Bouquet. I’d add Jaws to the horror list because I always take the opportunity to add Jaws to a list of good movies.
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Hi David
Patricia was great too! I did enjoy Prunella because she had to be at least a foot shorter than Cleese, even with the hair, yet she brought him eye to eye with the good old fashioned foot stomp.
When I first saw JAWS I was one of maybe fifty in the audience who leapt when the Chief got the look that spawned the “bigger boat” line.
Thank you
Leila
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A lesser known quote from the Chief, but another I always remember, is “That’s one bad hat, Harry.” Got one a lot like it now.
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Hi David
Jaws was also remarkable because it had a first rate cat. Roy S, Dreyfuss and Shaw were/are top of the line actors. I think that helped to elevate it even more.
Leila
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If you have any hexy left over there’s a few drivers of mobility scooters could do with a bit of a spell. I know we’re supposed to be sympathetic and I am. My dad needed one and now my brother does. But needing help to get about shouldn’t make you totally selfish and we all have to share the world. I expect I’ll be hexed now. Ah well. Good post and thanks for your help this week. dd
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Oh yes, the Hover round people. About fifteen, maybe twenty years ago one nudged me on the pathway in the cemetery. The buzzard. I am old enough not to take that crap anymore! (Authorized exclamation mark).
I swear give anyone wheels on the sidewalk, be it a pram or a motorized chair and someone will abuse it.
Hmmm, a spell “Don’t wheel into trouble, bump me again and you see double.”
Eh, it’s a bit early, post Halloween lethargy…
Thank you, Diane as always
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Leila,
I don’t believe women ride razer scoters much and never hover on hoverboards. Why’s that?
What interests me are the men on those self-propelled boards that ride face forward and body open like Minotaur’s. Such confidence. Such hubris. Just an ordinary Joe, legs spread, with the heart, brains, and body of a Bull. How they love facing the breeze they create.
Oh, to be alone on the electrical board. The Minotaur!
[How stupid looking!] — gerry
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Hi Gerry
You make excellent points. I see guys speeding on those things just one teensy uncontrollable event from a razor casket.
I think if one were to go out it would be cooler to wreck a Harley.
Testosterone actually has good purpose, but it appears to me that anything beyond a hint does drastic IQ damage.
Thank you!
Leila
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Leila
Your prose is cathartic and cleansing (and one might almost say purgative).
You take situations that we all experience and perhaps don’t know what to say about. And you hand them back to the reader, making the reader feel somehow justified, or at least better about themselves.
Your symbolic Pacific Northwest stands for all the world.
The first person persona you’ve created (and/or presented) in this piece is eternal.
It’s the voice of an outsider who’s on the “outside” because she understands everyone else all too well. And better than they do themselves.
It’s the voice of an artist who understands the nuances. And the shades of gray in between the black and white.
And it’s the voice of a creator who knows that sometimes people have it coming to them.
Sometimes what everyone most needs is a slap in the face, maybe not literally, but spiritually, symbolically, metaphorically.
It’s an astringent, satirical, justifiably and hilariously angry voice that is also generous beyond belief.
And that is a truly one of a kind combination.
I can also add that I have never understood the American obsession (created or undergirded by Hollywood, or both) with female youth and beauty.
I love female youth and beauty just like anyone else, but anyone with their eyes open knows that older women are just as good looking as younger women are.
Indeed, often better looking, for example during those frequent times when they suddenly look 16 again. It’s a moment that can stay in your heart forever and it happens again and again.
Creative and good-hearted people are ALWAYS good looking, and the more creative and the more good-hearted, the more so.
The unsightly ones are the ones who love to strut and preen and tell everyone (sometimes even the whole world) how good-looking they are.
Satan was never good looking. He just looked good (and still looks good, even now) to those who like what he can do for them.
Thank you for being you and for writing like only you know how to do, a blessing and a curse for you but only a blessing to all your now and future readers!
Dale
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Hello Dale
Man oh man you are great at commenting.
One of the best things about writing is we all look alike in these crooked little symbols. Seldom do human beings look as they are. Age and gender causes that, unless you are as deliciously out of order as Divine in the opening (well throughout) Pink Flamingos.
In a very real, reductice way artistic expression (not to get fancy) “shows” a person. Not immediately, but by and by. I guess it is all a matter of taste thereafter.
Thanks as always and I hope anyone else who sees this will take a look at the Drifter, every Sunday at Saragun Springs.
Leila
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Hi Leila
I like November, too. The young think they own the world, been this way since the beginning.
Those winds and rain sound amazing shredding the umbrellas.
It’s great when Providence strikes and takes a jackass off the board. Him and his Razor. lol. Had to laugh how you described him as, “Gen Zee Goo ” Perfect!
Writing might be the only refuge.
I watched Se7en last week and I realized it’s one of the best endings that I’ve ever seen or read. Not for Gweneth but still…
Christopher
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Hi Christopher
Indeed the ending of Se7en is flat out brilliant–one of those dream things that any writer would love to hit. It was made just before the huge tech boom and it’s one of the last great films of the 90’s, along with Pulp Fiction.
Thank you for stopping by
Leila
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I would love to write a mind blowing ending like that!
I noticed now they’re using these cheesy AI or computer generated special effects that are ruining the movies. What movies there are besides Marvel comics. As soon as I see cheap special effects in a movie I’m done. They need to go watch some of Steven Spielberg’s movies. Or Steve McQueen in “Bullet.” Real cars and stunt drivers.
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Leila –
Ah yes, the wet and cool specific NW USA. Ain’t no dry life, but It’s my life (Wille Nelson ripoff).
I’d add either version of “The Thing (from another world)” in large part because there was no escape from the humans isolated base. It is probably the first movie that I remember. Scared the whiz out of me at the time I was about ten.”
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Hi Doug
That one along with The Day the Earth Stood Still and The War of the Worlds were big favorites when I was growing up.
I found a copy of the John W. Campbell novella The Thing was based on called “Who Goes There?” (1938) at the St Vincent de Paul thrift store years ago. Actually, the remake of The Thing is closer to the book, but how can anyone resist Marshal Dillon as a psycho vegetable?
Thank you,
Leila
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“Invaders from Mars” also 1953 gave me the heebie jeebies when it came out, the remake “Mars Attacks” was done for laughs and nostalgia.
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Leila –
All true. I suspect the difference is mainly available technology. 1950s couldn’t have done the “morphing” of the more recent one. There may be even another version, not sure.
Another biggie from my youth
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Plonk Marcus Aurelius or the Buddha or Chuang Tzu on a modern street: OK feller, get philosophical. What a roundup this is. Funnily serious – bite with a smile – & even funnier & more incisive on second reading. Old technology had me scribbling such things as “Gotta have someone in the Tower who doesn’t deserve to be there. Life would not make sense otherwise.” Wherever the Bad News Is At, Leila: be there! It’ll always be a joy to read.
Geraint
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Hello Geraint
You are wise and wonderful. When I heard that there have been a much higher amount of innocent people in the various towers throughout the world than I had ever thought my first reaction was to become an anarchist. But really, there are good systems, we just need to employ the damn things properly.
I am not a complete luddite but I do miss reading stuff written by a lovely hand–the little things. Turning ourselves into the Borg is a terrble idea.
Thank you
Leila
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Hi Leila,
I have been a town walker for years and I reckon there should be an exam. You need one to drive and I think you should need one to walk in urban areas. It’s getting worse. Four wide families really do my tits in. The fucking useless father and mother are so involved with their vile offspring that they forget that there are folks behind them who don’t want to stop and play fucking pat-a-cake or whatever.
Mobile phones, ear-buds and prancing fucks should all have points on their walking licences!
It’s a sorry state of affairs when some twat has to think about putting one foot in front of the other!
One film that I think is missing is ‘House Of Frankenstein’. All monsters together and Karloff without make-up!!
Excellent as always!!
Hugh
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Hello Hugh
It has come to a pretty pass when there are people too ignorant and self involved that they can’t get walking down the sidewalk right. What you say makes me think of the group I call Mr and Mrs Bring ’em Young–not thirty they have six insufferable children waddling down the walk with loaded diapers and getting in the way. Affluent looking people who are on their devices and are teaching their spawn to be evil little shitheads.
I mean, for God’s sake, it is the sidewalk–it does not get any more basic!
Thank you as always
Leila
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Another great week of stories. Love your top ten films list – Shadow of the Vampire is genius. I quite enjoyed the recently made Nosferatu as well.
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Hi Paul
Glad to hear good things about the new Nosferatu. I plan on seeing it soon (sometimes “soon” takes a year or so). And I agree Shadow of the Vampire is tremendous; I wish more people would support well made things and lay off the comic book stuff.
Thank you
Leila
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Hi Leila – late to the starting block this week! Recovering from my November birthday celebrations ha, ha! You’re right the grand entrance into the cold and wet and damp season is underrated and in Holland we really now how to do a storm.
I agree with you about the tyranny of the sidewalks and streets – we have our bike paths of course but they have been taken over by electric bikes, scooters, and fat bikes who are all texting as they blow past, biking on the wrong side and breezing through red lights. Its as if traffic laws do not apply to them. They are in general a great nuisance. Us dowdy old one-speed-back-pedal-brake bikers are left in the dust if we do manage to stay up-right, never mind trying to walk across the bike path these days. It’s top sort on a windy day here.
I love Sybil Fawlty – brilliant film clips – thanks.
my best, Maria
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Hi Maria
It is never too late to fight sidewalk tyrants. Happy birthday! I know all about moody birth months, I was born in
January. Them fat bikes have got to go!
Thank you
Leila
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