Happy Birthday, Amelia Earhart

You don't hear the term "aviatrix" anymore, and that's a shame, because that is one awesome word.  "Pilot" just doesn't have the same ring to it.

Born on July 24, 1897, Earhart would go on to become one of the most famous aviators in the world, her name still synonymous with pioneering and the adventurous spirit of the 20th Century.

Earhart was the first woman to cross the Atlantic by plane, an educator and a leader in the cause of women's rights.

She is, of course, equally famous for disappearing during her ill-fated flight over the Pacific Ocean while attempting to circumnavigate the globe.

We're still looking for you, Amelia.

D-Day Anniversary

Better writers than myself will have covered the D-Day Anniversary, but Wednesday was the 68th Anniversary of the Allies storming of Normandy, signalling the beginning of the end of the occupation of France and the end of the Third Reich.

We didn't want the day to pass with no mention of the event.

Happy Birthday to Marilyn Monroe

Today is the birthday of Norma Jeane Mortenson, who would go on to create an image of sexually charged glamour in American cinema and related media around 60 years ago, something that we're still not sure what to do with today.

Like everybody else who first learned Marilyn Monroe's biography from a maudlin Elton John tune, I cannot help but see her as a tragic figure.  Doubly so as, according to a number of sources, Monroe was also a bit of a genius, just one who knew that wasn't what the cameras or the public believed or wanted, and managed to play a role quite often in her public life.  It's only in seeing the surprising number of photos that surface with Mornoe with a book in her hands, or the fact that one of her choices of a man to marry was Arthur Miller*, that the image of the head tilted back with the open mouth smile becomes a put-on and the other Monroe comes into focus.  But maybe that's why Monroe continues to be discussed when Jayne Mansfield (and, in her way, Mamie Van Doren) have disappeared into pop cultural ephemera most people can't pick out of a line-up.

Memorial Day: American Women

On this Memorial Day, I thought maybe I'd take a minute to remember the many women who've also served in and in conjunction with the US Armed Forces.

I'm not clear on how women are currently deployed in the US Military, but in our recent wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, there can be no question that those anywhere in the theater are at risk.  Nor can you bypass the sacrifice many have made just to serve.

Its hard to ignore the contributions of women in World War II, be it the WACS, the WAVES, the women who took jobs in factories building machinery or the women who carefully managed a country under rationing and who planted victory gardens.

Korea and Vietnam saw women serving in an increased capacity as medical staff.

Like A Doll's Eyes - Quint's Monologue

As we head toward Memorial Day, a day of remembering our fallen soldiers here in the US, and as we cross the threshold into summer (at least here below the the Mason-Dixon Line), I am already pondering not if, but when, I will watch Jaws this summer.

I can't remember the last time I saw a movie with a monologue, a real monologue, included.  I don't suppose the kids these days would sit for a full two or three minutes of somebody just, you know, talking, without pulling out their cell phones and texting away.  But this is from an era of filmmaking that wasn't entirely about avoiding risk, perhaps the only serious era where this occurred at the studios.

No matter how many time I watch it, Robert Shaw's speech about the sinking of the Indianapolis still hits me.  Its a terrific bit of film writing and an amazing performance to match, all carried by the extremely young Steven Spielberg behind the camera.



The sinking of the Indianapolis as described by Shaw's character Quint was all too real, the details of which had only been released to the public in the few years previous to when Jaws hit theaters, and not many had heard the story.

Clearly the speech sets the motivation for Quint, that its far more than about the $10,000 plus expenses, and it gives the film's primordial man vs. nature premise a bent that supersedes Brody's duty and Hooper's scientific curiosity.  And, in many ways, despite tying the film to World War II, it also manages to decouple the film from a 70's creature movie, placing it alongside Melville as a seafaring journey, a sort of tale of revenge against the very sea that gives the character meaning.

Memorial Day isn't just about car sales or a day off.

1100 men went in the water, 316 men come out.  The sharks took the rest.  June the 29th, 1945.

Happy Birthday, Star Wars

Apparently today is the 35th Anniversary of the release of Star Wars.  We do not care to dwell upon the meaning of this day too much.

So, you know, thanks for the first three movies and a happy childhood and whatnot.

And, of course, Princess Leia.

And

And, of course...

Today is Jimmy Stewart's 104th Birthday

In college I took a class called "acting for non-acting majors".  Everyone in the room had to state who their favorite male and female actors were.  The folks who weren't film buffs tended to drop the names of popular actors of the day, many of which left me rolling my eyes so hard I'm surprised my orbs weren't creaking with rust by the time they got to me.  The folks who wanted to be seen as having discriminating taste all said "Al Pacino", and this was well after Scent of a Woman.  It was amazing.

Well, in the Spring of 1997, when asked, my answer was:  Jimmy Stewart

And if you asked me again today, I'm not sure my answer would change, other than to say that I see no point in asking the question.  Today, I would also say:  Jimmy Stewart

And today is Stewart's 104th Birthday.

Happy Birthday, Mr. President - 50th Anniversary

Well, this is interesting.

Saturday was the birthday of both our own NathanC and Seattle-based-pal, The My.  NathanC received a light hearted image of Donald Duck with cake.  For The My, I decided to Google an image of Marilyn Monroe in "the dress" singing to JFK.

It turns out that May 19th, 2012 was the 50th Anniversary of the infamous "Happy Birthday, Mr. President" birthday serenade from Marilyn Monroe to John F. Kennedy, President of the United State of America.

I say:  God bless America.

While Mrs. Kennedy was not in attendance, the performance did not go unnoticed.  It can't have been much fun to see America's icon of sex throwing herself at her husband from a stage in front of not just a Madison Square Garden full of people, but Life Magazine, TV cameras, and the world.

Still the gold standard for both brazen winking about one's dalliances and performances of The Birthday Song*, we can only stare in disbelief that the world of 1962 was kooky enough that one would have their birthday party hosted by Peter Lawford.  Also: have their mistress sing to them on camera in front of an NBA-arena-sized crowd.

If you've never seen Monroe's breathy performance, here you go:

The reference to "the late Marilyn Monroe" was a joke about Monroe's tardiness to the birthday program. Of course, Monroe would be dead within 6 months.

For more on the performance, consult the internet.

Happy 50th Anniversary of ruining everybody else's birthday, Ms. Monroe.


*Megan Draper's performance of Zou Bisou Bisou in the Season 5 premiere of Mad Men may set another standard for good Birthday singing ideas.

75th Anniversary of the Hindenburg Disaster

On May 6th, 1937 the airship known as The Hindenburg burst into flames, killing 36 people.

In many ways it's utterly shocking that only 36 died.  

It may come to you as a surprise that I am NOT an expert in pre-WWII era airships or their design, so I really don't know much about the disaster other than that you really don't see people clamoring for blimp rides these days.

The Hindenburg was also supposed to be one of Nazi Germany's showcase Graf Zeppelins in America, so, you sort of have to have mixed feelings...

I'm not one to shy away from looking directly at a car crash scene, so if you want to see it, the footage from the disaster is up and online.  Learn where we got the phrase "Oh, the humanity!" that one declares when witnessing a disaster.

For more information, you can click here.

Happy Birthday, Manfred! (The Red Baron)

Today is the 120th birthday of Manfred von Richthofen.

AKA:  The Red Baron

No, that dude does not look German at all.

von Richthofen is known to my generation primarily through frozen pizza marketing and as the cad who shoots down Snoopy, WWI Flying Ace.*  But real he was (and without the handsome mustache attributed to him by the pizza box artists).

The Red Baron had a reported 80 victories in the skies over Europe, many in his Fokker Dr.I, the crimson tri-wing you absolutely cannot believe someone had the guts to fly in any combat conditions whatsoever.  During WWI, air combat retained some semblance of gentlemanly chivalry as understood in Europe, with pilots following certain rules of engagement and a vague sense of knightly honor, even as they ambushed one another relentlessly from cloud cover or diving in with the sun at their backs to ensure a tactical advantage.

Apparently its not apocryphal that von Richtofen collected silver mugs with the date and location of his various victories inscribed upon them, of which he had about 60 when Germany ran out of silver.

The Red Baron was, of course, fighting on the side of the Germans in what became truly horrific combat on the ground as trench warfare led to the introduction of new tactics, including gas warfare.  Perhaps because of the near certainty of death in aerial combat (it was sort of a question of "when" more than "if" your number would get punched), the 80 victories and surviving one disaster did not deter The Baron, who turned down a cushy desk job, recognizing that other wounded German soldiers would also be returning to the front lines.

The circumstances of von Richthofen's death are somewhat puzzled over, as its possible he went down from enemy fire from the air or from the ground, but when he finally did go down in 1918, the British treated his burial with the utmost respect.  Perhaps not a hero, but certainly a respected opponent.  His remains were later reinterred in Berlin.


*there's a whole song about Snoopy vs. von Richthofen.

Signal Watch Reads: Green River Killer - A True Detective Story

The name Jeff Jensen didn't immediately ring any bells as a comics writer when I looked at who penned this book, but as a writer for Entertainment Weekly I know the name, indeed, thanks to the fact that I cannot remember a time when Jamie wasn't a subscriber to Entertainment Weekly.

Jensen's own father, Tom Jensen, was a detective in the King County Sheriff's Department who was on the Green River Task Force from the early 1980's until the unit was dissolved in 1990.  He continued work on the case right up through the Green River Killer's conviction around 2003.

Like a lot of morbid kids seeking a cheap thrill, back in high school I checked out books on serial killers from the local library.  In addition to names like Son of Sam and Zodiac, The Green River Killer was always named as one of the greatest hits of serial killers.  He was called out in part thanks to the sheer number of those he was suspected to have killed and in part because he'd never been caught.  Of course doing a little reading quickly dismisses the whole "brilliant mastermind" scenario of the Hannibal Lecter books.  The reality is that it's hard to catch people who kill mostly strangers and with motives that don't stem from personal grudges, and the stories of both victims and killers are often bleak and tragic.

No Post Tuesday - TR edition

One of the first disagreements Jamie and I had when moving in together was about whether or not I could purchase and hang a portrait of Theodore Roosevelt in the living room.  I was told I could not.  Eventually, I married her anyway.

I think that one day I will get my Roosevelt portrait.

Also, its probably time to crack that 3rd Roosevelt volume.

Signal Watch President's Day!: William Henry Harrison (Number 9)

This President's Day we talk our Nation's* 9th President, William Henry Harrison.

President Harrison was born in 1773 in Virginia, son of one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence.  He would be elected President in 1840, and attain fame among generations of school children perusing their textbooks to be shocked at the dates next to Harrison's name, and the reputation as "the guy who died right after taking office".

Which, of course, is true.  After an illustrious career as a member of the US Congress (from what was then called the Northwest Territory), Governor of the territory of Indiana and with an honorable military record, including his role as the General at the Battle of Tippecanoe with the Shawnee and his leadership during the War of 1812, Harrison would find himself nominated twice for the office of President.

During his second turn at running for office under the Whig banner, in 1840 Harrison successfully campaigned as a bit of a good old boy, played up the Tippecanoe angle, which you may recall from the "Tippecanoe and Tyler Too" campaign slogan, and did very well, especially in the electoral college.

March 4th of 1841 Harrison took office.  By March 26th he fell ill with a cold which spiraled into pneumonia.  Harrison died on April 4th, 1841.

For a full history of what befell Harrison and why, I invite you review this video:





In his short term in office, some which was spent ill, Harrison did not manage to achieve much other than to make appointments.  He would be succeeded by his Vice President, John Tyler, most famous for being the first President to take office because the elected President had died, and for later joining and serving in the Congress of the Confederacy.  He was also in office when Texas joined the United States.

Alas, poor William Henry Harrison.  A colorful career as a servant to his country, repaid with a somewhat goofy campaign slogan you learned in Junior High and for becoming a cautionary tale as to why one should keep out of the rain.

*for those of us in the good 'ol US of A!

St. Valentine's Day (Massacre)

It ain't all roses, hearts and chocolates.

On February 14th, 1929, 7 men of the "Bugs" Moran Gang were brutally murdered by what is now believed to have been possibly Capone's gang dressed up as cops. Prior to the Massacre, Chicago had been a bit loose with their gangsters, treating them a bit like celebrities who provided jobs and booze in the era of the Volstead Act.

A bizarre but telling detail of the incident:  One victim (with 14 bullets in him) was still alive when found. Asked by the cops who had done the deed, he said "Nobody shot me".

Wikipedia has a phenomenal amount of info on the gruesome crime.

Noir City Special: We Crash Dashiell Hammett's Apartment

So, more than once I mentioned that Jenifer had lined up something highly unusual for my visit to San Francisco that was going to be a real topper for the trip out.

She told me ahead of time that she'd gotten this set up, but it didn't make any sense at the time.  After having spent a few days with Jenifer, I now get that she's just one of those people who has the near-magical ability to make things work.

Its also worth mentioning that Jenifer figured out from looking at pictures that she lives across the street from the recently renovated former apartment of pulp hero, Dashiell Hammett.

The story around the apartment itself is kind of amazing, and involves sleuthing on the part of his truest fans.  Its true Hammett lived in multiple buildings, but by looking at return addresses on envelopes from letters, descriptions of Sam Spade's apartment in The Maltese Falcon and a few other contextual clues, they've narrowed it down and figured out that this was the apartment Hammett resided at for a few years in San Francisco, and when he wrote The Maltese Falcon.

I'm still not entirely clear on how Jenifer made the contact, but this morning we met up with one of the organizers of Noir City, who had been one of those investigators and who had lived in the apartment himself and did a lot of renovations.  I won't go into specifics, but basically the apartment is now a very weird spot.  Nobody lives there, and its a residential building, so there are no tours.  Essentially its supported by a philanthropist who pays the rent and maintenance and the place sits empty most days except for an occasional tour like ours or a walking tour.

Jenifer models next to the plaque talking about Hammett outside the security door.

The building is down the street from my hotel, as well.  And one thing I've learned in my short stay is that behind a lot of these facades, there's something going on or some crazy history in a lot of these buildings you wouldn't guess walking by, be it a famous author's former residence, or a secret stash of vintage cars or swimming pools by big doors.

Just inside the doorway

It doesn't seem that anybody was really aware of the building's history until the last 20 years, and so the apartment had to be basically re-done to match the original decor.  The building went up in 1917, and so Hammett would have lived there about 10 years after it opened.  Since that time, landlords had removed doors, painted over glass, added a hundred layers of paint, etc...

Dedicated folks pieced together the apartment from fixtures in apartments from the building that were original, found items that matched the book, etc...

Its a fairly small place.  A bedroom/ living room with a murphy bed, a small bath (with the original clawfoot tub and toilet, so you can stand where Hammett stood as he showered, I suppose), a small kitchen, etc..   So this was not from a period in Hammett's life where the money was just rolling in.  Its a modest living space in a part of town with a lot of character now and then.

I did take more pictures, and when I upload them to Google, I'll post a link.

Oh, the Falcon on the desk?  I'm not sure what that's about.

No, this was not Hammett's chair, but its a nice chair, right?

Of a very special, very noir weekend, this was an unbelievable bit of history that put a near surreal spin on things.

Thanks to Jenifer for arranging the tour (and so much more during my stay), to Bill who was more host that tour guide, and Doug, who was... there, I guess.

More pics when I get home and get them off my phone.

Signal Watch Reads: Feynman

A few months ago Jim Ottaviani visited Austin during the promotional tour of his graphic novel, Feynman, a biographical sketch of famed physicist Richard Feynman.  It turns out that Jim's day job is in the field of digital libraries, and he had a sort of informal chat at the library, where it turned out he knew two of my colleagues from graduate school.

Its a small world, but I wouldn't want to paint it.*

A few things:  

1)  I struggled mightily in high school physics and stuck with geology as much as possible in college when asked to to take science (rocks!).  My investigations into modern physics (stuff they were not teaching at my high school) have been mostly catch-as-catch can through television specials, reading articles online and this, my third comic book on physics in any way, shape or form.  I know some basic principles, I know some names, I understand that light behaves like a wave and a particle, and aside from that, I sort of stop and start with what everyone who has ever owned more than one Pink Floyd album knows about Schroedinger's Cat.  And, as I understand it, what we consider the point of the experiment is incorrect.

2)  I don't pretend like I had ever heard of Richard Feynman before this book hit the shelves.  The pop-culture aspect of science also eludes me, and so I had not read any of Mr. Feynman's books or sat about urbanely quoting the man over coffee served in a small and delicate cup.  

3)  I have a hard time remembering the basic fundamentals of physics.  Every time I return to the material, that part of my brain re-engages, and neurons re-fire, but its not something I think about very often.  Its sort of how I wrote down what the Higgs-Boson is just so I had a place to go look it up every time I needed to know while reading an article on the LHC.

My hat if off to Jim Ottaviani for his handling and structure of a book that could have been an horrendous mess.  The book is really 85% biography, 15% physics lesson in order to explain why Feynman matters to Sally Q. Reader.  As he states in the afterword, I had no doubt that Ottaviani had done his research enough to both understand and not judge the man particularly one way or another, and to internalize what Feynman was on about enough to share it with an audience as clueless about physics as myself.

Take a minute today

Remember, remember...

Before it was a movie that utterly watered down the premise and execution, V for Vendetta was the comic that every mildly disaffected teenager should read.  And then read again every five years, like any book that affects you in your youth.

Its funny what age, experience and the insight derived from both bring to a text you think you know.

I've mixed feelings regarding the fact that both Anonymous and emo teens have adopted the face of Guy Fawkes, a figure who's politics are so of his time and personal issues, that I've never been able to get my head around the morality of his gameplan.  But, really, my trip to England finally got my head around some of how the non-democratized world worked in ye-olde-era in which nations' fates hung upon big-stakes games of "get rich or die tryin'", and how quickly one could end up dead in crowned countries right up til fairly recent history.

Its a far leap from The Gunpowder Plot to the Occupy Wallstreet movement, and I suspect that its the anarchic principles outlined in V the comic and movie that inspire the mask.

I watch Anonymous with a sort of detached interest.  How does one condone vigilantism, be it on the internet or elsewhere?  How does one not smile a bit when you see masked Trickster agents befuddling folks who believe they've got it all under control (and profit from keeping it that way)?  But cringe when you see that same merry approach to chaos used without wisdom or restraint?

But, hell, I heard this week they might be targeting M13?  That would be remarkable.

Between you and me, I do not want either governments or corporations who do not tremble a little at the thought of what the unwashed masses can do.

There's an argument to be made about Mystery Men, here, as well, of wondering about the morality of a Superman or Batman who can disappear into the shadows by putting on glasses or pulling off a cowl.  And its interesting to see the masks appear at rallies, online, on posters...  If you don't know who we are...?  you've given us a playing field in which we know more than you do, and we know how to make it hurt...

And maybe that's what I find fascinating about this return to a 1938 Superman, brash and dangerous, as likely to make mistakes as a drunken bull perusing a china shop.  Its amusing how some readers find this idea unsettling, and I think that's the energy the character likely exuded back in the day, that captured the imagination of street kids with clear moral compasses, but the lack of experience or knowledge to understand how complicated the world can become, or understand the concept of compromise.

So, let us all remember, remember...

It was surely about justice in the mind of Mr. Fawkes.  Or at least a moral obligation to the church and/ or crown.  But there's always a fine line between anarchic justice and terrorism, isn't there?  You don't see me striking back against those with whom I disagree with cyber-attacks or by burning down their office cubes.

Its not the way I prefer to engage with those with whom I disagree.  But it doesn't mean you can't enjoy seeing someone get tweaked now and again.

So, what is "Melbotis"?

So, it occurred to me - there's a whole audience out there that doesn't know what the story is with "Melbotis", "The League", why is the house called "League HQ"?, etc...

So, here's the story.

In 2000, Jamie and I moved into a house in South Austin just about the time some friends had broken up and were moving to separate coasts.  Whilst together, they'd taken on a Golden Retriever pup they named "Melbotis".  The name came from an inside joke they had about a couple named "Melba" and "Otis".  I didn't know this until well after they'd handed Mel over to us in the summer of 2000.

The pronunciation is, roughly, "Mel-Boh-Duss".

Right after he came onboard, I took Mel to the vet for his routine check-up, but at his original vet.  I believed his name was spelled "Melbodus", and learned that, no...  it was spelled "Melbotis" while looking at his medical records.

Mel was a big boy.  I think he topped off at 112 pounds before he got put on a diet.  Big, and very happy to try to sit in your lap, or at least get as much into your lap as possible.

He was also oddly smart, and we began to realize his vocabulary was fairly extensive.  He loved to swim, run off the leash, hoard toys and tennis balls, shake, play fetch, do a trick or two, and destroy toys.  He could follow directions and hand gestures, and generally liked being involved in whatever scheme you had going on.

I was 25 when we got Mel, and something about a dog that large that seemed to know his own business meant that I was perfectly comfortable treating him more like a roommate than a pet.  Sure, we fed him and took care of him, but he was given a lot of latitude to just sort of come and go from the house to the yard, get in the car if he felt like it, and just generally hang out.

Mel's Halloween costume circa 2002

Jamie had never had a dog, and suddenly she was faced with this thing as large as herself living in the house. I would not characterize the first year as building a deep emotional bond, but then Jamie's job evaporated, and she spent a few months at home looking for jobs.  And during that time, she and Mel became really good buddies.

In 2002, we moved to Arizona.  For a while I'd made jokes around the house about how we were the "League of Melbotis", and so when I launched a blog in 2003 (this was new stuff back then), that was what I named the site.  You can still see League of Melbotis online.

This Moment in History: Qaddafi dead

Today I saw reports that Libyan leader/ dictator/ state-funded-terrorist-supporting quack Muammar el-Qaddafi (I'm going with the NYT's spelling) had been killed in a clash in Libya between Qaddafi's dwindling forces and the uprising against his regime.  On the elliptical at the gym, I watched Anderson Cooper trying to make sense of video footage he'd received of a bloody-faced Qaddafi, apparently just before his death.  And here's an article on the whole, ugly, final day of Qaddafi's life.  

Our younger readers will not necessarily remember Qaddafi as the bogeyman to the US that he was back in the 1980's.  But his participation in bombings of airline flights inform a bit of why it seemed logical to the US populace in 2003 that perhaps Saddam Hussein was supporting terrorist action.  Many of us remember Qaddafi in association with bombings such as the one at Lockerbie.

I also recall our repeated attempts to bomb Qaddafi, which eventually led to his retreat from the world stage as the US sent sorties of F-111's over Tripoli, strategically placing bombs into the bedrooms of his various homes.

I was in history class when we discussed how and why we'd bombed Libya.

I won't mourn the man, but just as I am uncertain that I was uncomfortable with the festival atmosphere that followed the death of Bin Laden, it doesn't feel like anything to celebrate.  It just feels like is something that never should have happened to begin with.  I dunno.  I guess we'll just have to differ on that.