The Death of a Flower: The Hydrangeas

It’s an odd feeling, getting flowers for the strict purpose of watching them decay, but by now, having watched a rose and an iris bite the dust, I was really getting into this new project. I walked in to the florist, feeling vaguely like a predator on the prowl, and carefully selected the new subjects.

What I chose was a group of hydrangeas, for a number of different reasons. For starters, I had never seen a dead hydrangea. They most often live in people’s gardens and spring back up each year. Also, there are so many groupings of small flowers, I wondered what would happen to them. Would they just wilt? Drop off?

Hydrangeas Day 1

I set up in the dungeon room in the basement on day 1 and took some shots. I was still getting used to my new Elinchrom flash heads and it went well over all, but these hydrangeas were so puffy and full it was hard to get all three in the same shot.

I tried again on Day 3. One of the hydrangeas had already started going downhill a bit, and I got my first glimpse of the inner workings of the flower. All of these wonderful purple veins began to appear, now visibly holding the blue and white blossoms. I had no concept of the intricate system that was created to give these flowers their shape, and now it was opening up to show me.

Hydrangea, Day 3

I realized it was a futile effort to try and get all three flowers in the same shot, so I transferred the individual flowers to their own vases. This is when things started to get really interesting. As the flowers drooped and the hairlines of each began to recede, they took on some strange, human quality.

Hydrangea, Day 5

One of the three in particular became a terrific subject for a portrait. I shot this one with the same care as you would shoot a person.

Hydrangea, Day 5

I realized later how great these flowers were for this project, because they didn’t just wilt and die, they transformed into something different. These hydrangeas became something new.

Hydrangea, Day 7Already after a week, even in water, all three of the hydrangeas started to get decidedly crunchy. The leaves curled inward and were showing off their veins, just adding to the interest.

Hydrangea, Day 10

By now I had moved on to a set of Gerber Daisies, but I still kept the Hydrangeas around for test shots. One of my favorites of this latter group of shots I took was from a completely different angle. Somehow, and I don’t know if this just developed over time or whether it was like this to begin with, the stem of one of the flowers had magnificent curves to it, so I grabbed a few shots from up top to accentuate this effect.

Hydrangea, Day 16

The point of this project was never clearly defined to me until these particular flowers. Decay can be beautiful and that in part is what I set out to document, but that’s not where it begins or ends. A picture of a person on day 1 and a picture on day 17,000 can both be beautiful, and in completely different ways. We all recognize the beauty of a flower in its fullness, but once it goes past it’s prime, it gets tossed in the trash. But there’s something in every stage of life that is interesting, vital, and fascinating.

Here are the first few in the Death of a Flower series, the rose and the iris. Over the next few months I’ll be adding more to this series, including the Gerber Daisies, a couple of Proteas, Sunflowers, Ragusa Mums and Lilies.

 

60 Thoughts on It’s a Wonderful Life, Having Not Seen It for About a Year

As most of you do about this time of year, I over-indulge in Christmas movies. Lately we’ve been visiting the cheesy made-for-TV variety, the hastily-put-together genre that we can’t seem to get enough of. After a while of wallowing in that trough, you have to revisit the classics to detox, so, while we wrapped presents, we made our way back to Bedford Falls.

Here are my thoughts, in chronological order:

  1. (wCaprahen we paused at the ‘Directed by Frank Capra’ portion of the credits, to get some clear tape from the dining room table) What is that Santa doing down there, to the left of Capra’s credit? Is he in a kick-line? Shouldn’t there be four other Santas kicking right next to him?
  2. The Angel Joseph is apparently the Constellation Orion. I’m betting that’s in the Apocrypha.
  3. Word to the wise, kids. Don’t go sledding down a hill into a frozen pond when there’s a GAPING HOLE IN THE ICE at the end of it.
  4. But then again, you can’t become a war hero later on in the movie if you don’t take risks.
  5. So how did Harry luck out and not lose hearing in one of his ears, even though he was foundering in the icy water for at least 20 seconds until all the rest of the kids came over to save him?
  6. Story of George’s life, I guess.
  7. Poor George.
  8. Violet Bick: trampiest 11-year-old ever.
  9. Creepiest moment: when Clarence declares from Heaven, “I like George Bailey.”
  10. What exactly are George and Harry doing upstairs that’s shaking the chandelier downstairs? Rough-housing? And can you actually picture Jimmy Stewart rough-housing?
  11. Beulah Bondi plays Ma Bailey. She played a lot of Moms. She played Jimmy Stewart’s Mom in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington. When Jimmy Stewart had a sitcom in the early 70’s, she played his Mom in that, too.
  12. In case you’ve never noticed, that’s a moderately grown-up Carl “Alfalfa” Switzer who gets thrown over for George Bailey at the dance and eventually flips the switch to open the floor up to reveal the pool.
  13. How did that pool/gym floor idea never catch on?
  14. One of my favorite moments in the whole movie is George and Mary in the water, and he’s still dancing. Donna Reed is laughing so hard that I almost have to believe that wasn’t planned.
  15. Favorite line in the movie: “Why don’t you kiss here instead of talking her to death?”
  16. Things I’d like to know: while Mary is in advanced state of undress and in the hydrangea bushes, and just before George gets whisked away to see his ailing father, he says the line, “I’ll make a deal with you Mary…”
  17. I think 1946 audiences may not have been ready for the second part of that sentence.
  18. Harry was second team All-American. At his size. It was the thirties, all right.
  19. Wait, wait, wait. Harry got married and no one knew about it?
  20. Not even his mother, who (we assume) would have told George and Uncle Billy?
  21. This seems impulsive.
  22. Even if you have a good job in Buffalo waiting for you.
  23. Bedford Falls looks an awful lot like Mill Valley.
  24. In fact, isn’t that the clock tower in the background?
  25. It’s generally accepts that Sam Wainwright goes “Hee-haw.”
  26. But why?
  27. I mean, obviously it didn’t affect his business interests.
  28. But why?
  29. “Making violent love” obviously meant something different in 1946.
  30. So after George clutches Mary while she’s on the phone and tells her that he wants to do what he wants to do, and then gives in and starts making violent 1946 love to Mary, is Sam still on the phone? That would suck.
  31. Hee-haw.
  32. It also sucks to get married on the day the market crashes.
  33. There’s not a person my age or younger who doesn’t snicker a bit at the thought of George’s two friends being Bert and Ernie.
  34. Character Actor Alert: Charles Lane shows up in the scene as the guy explaining to Potter what’s going on in Bailey Park. That man played wiry, crotchety guys in Hollywood for 50 years. Even as a younger man he appears to be 55 years old.
  35. By the way, just for fun, focus in on the dude standing behind Potter’s chair. The longer you look at that stone face, the funnier it gets.
  36. Potter has a skull on his desk.
  37. Potter also has a bust of Napoleon.
  38. These are what are known as “warning signs.”
  39. Christmas is finally mentioned in minute 76 of the movie.
  40. Uncle Billy has a raven.
  41. Uncle Billy has a squirrel.
  42. These are also known as “warning signs.”
  43. George looks like he hasn’t shaved for about three days when he’s in Martini’s bar, being punched out by Mr. Welsh, but he had to have shaved that morning, because he was obviously at work. All part of his bad day, I assume.
  44. Wish I had never been born, the point of our whole story, comes at minute 103.
  45. George’s alt-universe sucks for pretty much everybody but Nick. Looks like he’s doing a good business in Pottersville.
  46. Pretty keen neon in Pottersville, too.
  47. But maybe I’m missing the point.
  48. George’s hair takes a beating through his trip to Pottersville.
  49. But then, George’s car takes a beating in Bedford Falls. And his reputation.
  50. And although everyone in Pottersville thinks he’s a loony, he can always go somewhere else.
  51. Again, I seem to be missing the point.
  52. Big finish: everyone shows up with money. That’s always a good ending.
  53. Character Actor Alert: Al Bridge shows up as the sheriff with the warrant for George’s arrest (which he later tears up). Al Bridge was in every one of Preston Sturges’ movies and was consistently hilarious. Watch him in Hail the Conquering Hero and The Miracle of Morgan’s Creek and you won’t be sorry.
  54. They’re missing 8000 dollars. Think there’s 8000 dollars in that basket?
  55. Sam Wainwright can wire up to 25,000 dollars. He’d just like everyone to know that.
  56. Well, that’s fine, Sam, but we only need 8000.
  57. Hee haw.
  58. At any rate, what happens to the extra cash? Just asking.
  59. And I’d like to think that once Old Man Potter drops the amount of 8000 dollars in the bank the next day, the townspeople will come around and give us the satisfying butt-kicking Saturday Night Live sketch ending we’ve always wanted.
  60. The end.

Pictures of Cat

It used to bother me when I used to see someone’s Instagram feed entirely populated by pictures of that person’s cat. Or an Instagram feed that is supposedly “the cat’s account.” Well, it still bothers me, and that will never change.

But now that I am a cat owner, or at least a cat lessee, I can understand the temptation.

Cat
Cat

Cats, of course, are awake only about 7-10 minutes a day, so when they are awake, it is an event. So we document the event. The problem is, cats almost always have the same expressions which are:

  1. scared
  2. mildly awake
  3. half asleep
  4. asleep
  5. scared again
  6. blue steel

This does not run the gamut of emotions. Not like a dog, who can smile, flop a tongue out, look sad, etc. “Scared” is too difficult to capture, because lenses fast enough to gather in such information have not been made. “Asleep” is too easy. So when you see an Instagram feed full of Cat, you tend to see “Mildly Awake” and “Half Asleep” in a grand variety of locations.

Cat Again
Cat Again

This isn’t especially fair to Cat. The personality of Cat is not easily reproduced in still images. Cat runs around for no reason. Whenever Laura takes out a nail file, he goes nuts and bats at it. He hisses at his tail. He drinks out of the tub. Video works for these moments, but a picture doesn’t tell the full story.

So we resist. Not only because of that, but very often, he stops doing whatever he’s doing when a camera and/or iPhone is whisked out.

Cat, Once More
Cat, Once More

But Cat does allow us one small indulgence: very often in the middle of his 23-hour, 53-minute nap, he will stretch. He’s developed this stretch so that it looks interesting, and well-worth documenting.

Supercat
Cat’s Secret Identity Revealed

In fact, as it turns out, he is SuperCat. The World’s Laziest and Most Indifferent Superhero.

SuperCat, Again
SuperCat, Please Save Us Following Your Nap

So, Cat Lovers and those who have close to half a million pictures of your own cat lodged in your phone, you’re welcome. For all others, move along. Nothing to see here. Now back to our regularly-scheduled programming.

The Death of a Flower: The Iris

After the first few shots with the roses, I moved on to a flower that was growing in our garden. One of the irises in the side yard had been knocked down by a storm, so we cut it away and put it in a vase. My original thought was to get shots with a very dark background, so I was waiting to take shots at night. I also had very little lighting, as I was still using the dorky little floor lamp I bought at Target rather than anything official and proper.

Iris Day 1Iris Day 2The results varied, but I found if I used my remote shutter and kept the camera on a tripod, I could manipulate the light to suit my purpose.

Iris Day 5The above shot was on Day 5. This was probably my favorite of all the Iris shots I made using this method.

But then I decided that dangling a floor lamp with a bare 60-watt bulb wasn’t exactly the way to go about this. I also discovered that shooting in the dark could produce interesting results, but I couldn’t stop there.So I bought a couple of Elinchrom flash heads with softboxes to control the light better.

I also got the idea of escaping the living room to shoot in the strange recesses of our basement. We have a room at the front, underneath the porch, which looks like a good set for a horror movie. The iris was quite dead at this point, so it seemed like appropriate surroundings for a dead flower in a vase.

Iris, Day 12I kept the iris around far longer than I should have, until it got all wispy and fragile. I used it for test shots for a while before I got to my next subject, the hydrangeas. I continued to shoot in that odd basement room—and still do—with several other subjects, which I’ll share in the coming weeks. But here’s a test shot, taken about a month after I grabbed this one out of the garden, which may be the best shot I took that day.

Iris, Day 29

Another Time, Another Place

As I mentioned before, it’s been really difficult to get out there and get some sign pictures. Vacations always allow me some roaming time, but this year, with our schedule being crazy and Hurricane Matthew and the election and the sun was in my eyes and my dog ate it, well, almost zero planning time went in to this year’s trip. Which meant my annual research into signs we might see did not happen.

We booked it on down to Daytona, and the plan was to book it on back. We got up at 4am, so by the time it was light enough for a breakfast place to be open, we were already in South Carolina. I got off in Walterboro to get gas, and what did I see next door? The ever-present fireworks stand. Only this one was equipped with neon.

FireworksI should say, this side was equipped with neon. The other side, the side where the sun was shining, was not. The neon side, however, faces the highway, which makes the most sense.

Still, good fortune. It had been so long since I had grabbed a shot of a halfway-decent sign. It got my blood going.

We passed into North Carolina, then into Virginia. Since we left earlier than most years, the trip through the Shenandoah Valley was in total daylight. Normally, we’d lose the sun before Staunton (as it did when we made our crazy ride to Wright’s Dairy-Rite), but this time we got to see a lot more.

And something passed through my mind from research past…wasn’t there a drive-in theater around here?

I had seen it from the road a few times. It was on Route 11, parallel to I-81, on a flat stretch. On the way down, since it was daylight, we could see it, but only after the exit. Normally on the way back, it was too late to take a picture. But now…

I knew what it looked like. I knew what the terrain looked like. I just didn’t know the exact location. And then, the road started to even out a bit, the landscape began to flatten out, and US 11 was visible to the west. We watched and waited, and then, there it was. I got off the highway. Stephens City, VA.

Family Drive-In, Stephens City, VA

The Family Drive-In, much to my surprise, was still in operation. Not only that, but they were showing movies that night, and people were filing in. I would have loved to have stayed for the Monster-Rama, but unfortunately time and Cat waited for no man.

But as long as we were on US 11…

I decided to stay on the old highway to see what I could see. After all, some of the best signs are found on the US roads, so I figured my chances were pretty good to stumble upon something. We rolled through Stephens City, and on the edge of town, our stumbling paid off.

Redwood Budget Motel, Stephens City, VAThe motel itself was closed. I pulled the car over and got out. A man was walking along the road. He looked at me with my camera and he asked, “Are you an engineer?”

I smiled. “Photographer.”

He motioned his head at the sign. “Can you make that thing look any better?”

I said I would do my best.

Soon we were in West Virginia and sun went down. It was a good day, one that I didn’t expect. And it never would have happened if we had left at the same old time and did the same old thing.

Cleaning the Ocean

Every year, we trek down to Daytona Beach, usually in October or November. It’s the time we use to get rid of all the stuff we’ve been carrying with us throughout the year. We were set to go down the last week of October, when all of a sudden The Weather Channel erupted with talk of Hurricane Matthew. It’s always difficult to tell with The Weather Channel, since they throw around words like “massive”, “deadly”, and “run for your lives” with alarming frequency.

Daytona Beach Pier

The storm passed by a few weeks before our vacation, producing more damage than has been done in years. TWC was probably disappointed that the whole state didn’t fall into the ocean, but we can’t have everything.

The place we normally stay in had a little water damage, so we stayed in another condo in the same building. One of our favorite restaurants, Our Deck Down Under, lost about half of its pier and a ton of roof shingles, but it was open. Tia Cori’s, a must-visit while in Daytona, looked like nothing had ever happened. First world problems, we said. Oh dear, our view of the ocean will be sullied by a bit of construction.

Our Deck Down Under

The first night, we slept in fits and starts, struggling with stressful dreams, while outside, the ocean drifted softly into shore, depositing remnants of the long-past storm in the sand.

Our usual pattern is to take the proverbial long walk on the beach in the morning. Every year we talk over our current state of life and every year we come up with new, creative ideas to overcome our current state of life. For some reason, I would never take my camera. Each time we would take a walk, we would see something and say, “Well, we should have brought the camera.” And yet I never did. Maybe I was worried I’d drop it in the ocean, or sand would get in it, or an osprey would swoop down and steal it from around my neck, whatever excuse was in vogue.

Forget all that this year, I thought. I’m taking it along.

The ocean didn’t disappoint. The first few days, the sea’s offerings came in two separate packages; in the form of tumbleweed-like collections of reeds, and in strange, red roots.

Sea HairballRed RootThe next few days, man-made objects made their way on to the beach, as if the ocean were tossing out its junk. One morning, we found close to fifteen beached flip-flops.

Flip FlopAnd then, when it seemed like the ocean had no more garbage to toss, we found this:

Drown Your TelevisionMost likely this television was on a ship, because it was encased in a metal box. How it got in the ocean is anybody’s guess, but needless to say, the ocean didn’t need it.

It is a great reminder of how little we really need. We’re fooled by the speed of life into thinking we’re accomplishing things, or we’re fooled by our own successes into thinking that we’ve achieved something, when in reality you miss so much if you don’t take the time. We walked and we talked and we got rid of our own junk on the shore, and wondered to ourselves how we could make these sorts of moments happen every day.

 

The Death of a Flower

Those of you who are friends with me on Facebook or who have been following me on Instagram have seen my latest group of pictures, under the banner of “The Death of a Flower.” This started almost out of necessity, because a) I’ve photographed pretty much every old sign within a 50-mile radius and b) I travel so much for work I don’t really have time to go outside the 50-mile radius to find others.

It started back in May. The roses I bought Laura for our anniversary sat on the highest shelf of our kitchen, out of the reach of Cat, who has a tendency to eat plants, particularly the ones that are most harmful to him. The roses were out of sight and out of mind, and before we knew it, they were very, very dead. Laura went to put them in the garbage, and I looked at the one on top and said, “No. Look at that. Isn’t that interesting? I should take a picture of that.”

So we did some primitive lighting work, which consisted of one cheapo floor lamp from Target. Laura held that and I held the flower with one hand and took the shots with the other.

Rose

The results were good, but I would have liked to have seen pictures of what we looked like trying to take these.

Back of the rose

Over the summer, I invested in some actual lighting, in the form of a couple of Elinchrom flash heads, and the results have been fantastic. I’ll be posting quite a few more in the weeks to come.

 

On the Cubs in the World Series

I started out as a Red Sox fan. More or less, I was born into it, since half my family is in the Boston area, and at the time when the baseball section of my American brain began to fire on all synapses, the Red Sox were in the World Series. It was the era of Yaz and Jim Rice and the oft-forgotten Fred Lynn, and Red Sox Nation (before Red Sox Nation was Red Sox Nation) was abuzz. They didn’t win the World Series that year, or make it to the playoffs the following year, or the next, and then there was Bucky Dent and Mike Torrez, and that was that.

I was too young to understand such anguish. Next year could truly be the “next year” we all waited for, and I could say it without the world-weary skepticism that permeates that phrase.

Around this time, my cousin Doc, who came from the Chicago area, came to live next door to us. He had been weaned on the Cubs, and was nourished by a steady diet of broadcasts on WGN and Jack Brickhouse. Nobody believes me to this day, but Doc once fell off his Big Wheel and scraped his knee, and blood the color of Rick Reuschel’s #48 came leaking out of the wound. True story.

He believed that I should be a Cubs fan, and since I was younger and had no older brothers or sisters to give me such guidance for the first five years of my life, I agreed.

The first few years of my life as a Cub fan were pretty uneventful. Since the Cubs were mediocre at best, they were not often televised, and since this was the day before cable was so prevalent, they were even less televised.

My parents took me to Myrtle Beach for Spring Break one year and the hotel had cable, and more importantly, WGN. I found out that the opening game of the 1982 season was going to be on, so instead of playing on the beach, I was holed up in the hotel room, watching the Cubs at the end of the bed. Doc had often talked about Jack Brickhouse, how he was this legend of epic proportions, so I was looking forward to actually hearing the voice that had called so many games. It turned out that the legend had retired, and some new guy had come in. I was disappointed. Who was this Harry Caray guy, anyway?

My Dad came in and wanted to know what I was doing moping around in front of a television when the beach awaited. The beach could wait. The Cubs had a new second baseman, Bump Wills, and I had to see how he would do. Dad sighed and shook his head, or at least, I imagine he probably did, because my eyes were glued to the screen.

And here I was, on Saturday, in a hotel room, eyes glued to the set as the Cubs made it to the World Series for the first time in my lifetime.

Victory
Courtesy Jamie Squire, Getty Images

In between these two experiences, there were a few close calls, brushes with fate that ended poorly. 1984: the Cubs went out to a marvelous two-game lead in their series against the Padres, having destroyed them in game 1 at Wrigley. The Padres roared back in the next three games (it was only a 5-game series then, curse it), culminating in a moment where first baseman Leon Durham had a ball skirt through his legs in game 5, eerily prefacing Bill Buckner’s similar play two years later.

1989, they won the division, but in the playoffs, the Giants’ Will Clark essentially got a hit every time he came to the plate in the now-7-game series.

And of course 2003. I was at a wedding in Chattanooga that fateful day. They had the game playing on a bar TV where the rehearsal dinner was held, and at the time I was watching, no one had ever heard or ever dreamed of a Steve Bartman. I left that night, little knowing of the horrors to come. It would not be until the next morning that I heard all the gruesome details, that by one man’s sin, we would have to wait 13 more years for a measure of redemption.

Sidebar: those of the ESPN variety recently called on Cubs fans to exonerate said Mr. Bartman. Further, that other fans were also reaching for the ball that was untimely ripped from the womb of Moises Alou’s glove. Unfortunately for the radio personality who made such claims, there is photographic proof.

Bartman
Courtesy Fox Sports

No good way to defend that, still to this day. Despite that, I wish Mr. Bartman health, long life. Thirteen years is a long time to live with such a weight. I even wish him to one day, return to the ballpark that has defined him. But probably after victory is complete. In a game that matters little. And that he is seated far, far away from the action.

Anyway, now is not the time to remember the past. Good luck to my ancient heroes as they maneuver their way through uncharted waters. Next year appears to be this year.

And my cousin Doc? He’s still baseball mad and bleeds Cubbie Blue. Check out his venture, Ballparks of America.

We Have a Cat

We have a cat.

I never wanted a cat.

I’m pretty sure I never asked for a cat.

Growing up, my family had dogs. We had a collie named Heather, and then we had a cocker spaniel named Flurry. My grandfather had a dog, and so did my other grandfather. My uncles had dogs. Laura’s family: 85% allergic. They had some barn cats on the family farm, and one cat named Ralph who thought he was a dog. Laura’s favorite pet growing up was Bo, the black Lab with a penchant for bringing dead things home whenever her parents had company. We’re dog people through and through, so this would make you think that, even by some extraordinary accident, we would not end up with a cat. You’d think.

Last year, my brother-in-law was deployed to Japan, and it was assumed that sister-in-law Hannah and her cat would come alongside. Only problem was, the cat needed his shots to be let into the country. They were leaving soon, and since the cat also needed to be in quarantine for six months after his shots, there was no way they could put him on the plane. So we got a call, since we happen to be the only twosome in the family blessed to have neither member allergic, to see if we would be willing to take on a cat for six months. “This is only temporary,” said Hannah. “I’ll be back at Christmas to pick him up and take him back to Japan with me.”

Six months with cat. There are worse things. We said yes.

We cat-proofed the house. We wanted to make sure that there was nothing he could get into, because he has a reputation for destroying plants. We also wanted to make sure that there was no little crevice he could get into where we couldn’t get him out. First time in the house, Cat, whose real life I-don’t-respond to-that name is Coco-Nut, emptied himself out of his carrier and sprinted, as if led by a helpful star, to the one place we hadn’t taken care of, a small space between the cabinets and the radiator in the kitchen. He stayed there a day and a half.

cat
Cat

Eventually he came out. Sadder but wiser, we put a board in front of that space in the kitchen. With that spot off-limits, he decided the living room closet was more to his liking. That would be his home for the next week. We put out food and water, which Cat must have indulged in while we were sleeping. I caught him in the hallway once in that first week. He froze, wide-eyed, and looked at me as if he was positive I was going to grab him and take a huge bite out of his head. So I didn’t move, figuring any movement would scare him. We stood there for a minute. I thought about reasoning with him, telling him that eventually he was going to have to get used to the new humans, but there’s always that pesky language barrier. I gave up and moved slightly, and Cat disappeared without a trace, back in the sanctuary of the hall closet.

As time went by, Cat started to come out. He acknowledged our existence. He allowed us, on occasion, and if he felt like it, and if the wind was blowing in the right direction, to pet him. And over the following months, we came to an agreement: we would say nice things to him and treat him like the cat we never had, and in return, he wouldn’t stop eating and die. This system worked well, and everybody seemed happy about it.

Four months into Cat’s six month stay at Uncle Scott and Aunt Laura’s house, we received a call from Hannah. As it turns out, there was a flaw in the plan. She wasn’t going to be able to bring Cat with her back to Japan on a military flight. Moreover, even though it was possible for her to fly on a commercial flight to pick Cat up and bring him back, chances are he would be stuck in customs for days, if not months. Cat, being the sensitive flower that he is, wouldn’t take well to such delays, and most likely would void section 2 of our agreement, viz. eating and not dying.

So, really, there was only one solution.

We have a cat.

We never asked for a cat.

But there it is.

Some Thoughts on Back to the Future

Back to the Future is one of my favorite movies. It’s the first movie I watched in the theater by myself. It had been a while since I had seen it, and I was secretly worried that it wouldn’t hold up after all these years. Here are my thoughts, in numerical order:

  1. 1985 sucks.
  2. No, really.
  3. At least this version of 1985. I mean, there’s graffiti everywhere, one of the movie theaters is X-rated, they’ve pasted some monstrosity over the gorgeous Western Auto Parts store sign, and Marty’s wearing a padded vest you can get at Chico’s. Really, 1955 is much cooler.
  4. But that’s the big joke, isn’t it? History is much less kind to 1985, and it’s almost like Robert Zemeckis realized that it would. So kudos to you, Bob.
  5. Power of Love: still holds up, somehow.
  6. By the way, great cameo, Huey Lewis.
  7. Has anybody seen Huey Lewis lately?
  8. The Pepsi Free joke (“If you want a Pepsi, kid, you’ll have to pay for it.”) really only worked in 1985. Pepsi Free was discontinued in 1987.
  9. How many Pepsi references are in this movie? The clunker Pepsi Free joke, there’s a Pepsi box underneath Marvin Berry’s amp, Marty drinks a Diet Pepsi, the can on Marty’s shelf when he wakes up in the morning…
  10. By the way, who sleeps with their arm behind their back like Marty does? That just looks so uncomfortable, and he obviously makes a habit of it because he wakes up twice like that.
  11. Libyans in a micro bus? I thought this was hilarious in 1985, but man, does that seem like a weird, dated reference now. But I’m still delighted that they crashed it into a photomat booth, even after all these years.
  12. Eric Stoltz originally had the role of Marty. Every now and then I try to picture it, and it doesn’t work.
  13. Such language: there’s a lot more swearing in this movie than there probably needs to be. Most likely because they wanted a PG rating rather than a G rating, I’m guessing, and in 1985, uncalled-for swearing got you that. This was before the day that such vague things as “Sci Fi Violence” were enough to get you to PG.
  14. Is it such a crazy idea to breed pine trees? Is it, Mr. I’m Gonna Build Me a Time Machine?
  15. Whose idea on what school committee was it to name the dance “Enchantment Under the Sea”?
  16. “Now, Chris,” says Bob, the director, “when you hear the words 1.21 Gigowatts, I want you to freak out. Got that?” “I got it, I got it…”
  17. Would we still remember John DeLorean’s car company if not for this movie?
  18. Where are George McFly’s parents?
  19. I mean, Marty just waltzes in in a radiation suit armed with a walkman and an Edward Van Halen tape, and no one is there to stop him. No wonder George is a Peeping Tom.
  20. Does Billy Zane have a line? He seems to be content standing behind Biff chewing gum.
  21. Thomas F. Wilson is much better playing young Biff than as middle-aged combover Biff.
  22. Does Marty have to go exactly 88 miles per hour when the bolt of lightning passes into the flux capacitor? I’m not sure what science is involved in this.
  23. Lone Pine Mall. Great joke. I think I watched this movie three times before I caught it.
  24. Weird moment at the end: when Marty returns to the Lone Pine Mall and watches Doc get shot a second time, then witnesses the aforementioned awesome microbus/photomat crash, instead of running down the well-worn path to see if Doc is all right, he throws himself headlong down the embankment like he’s jumping into a foxhole. I’m not sure why.
  25. If this is George McFly’s first novel that’s being delivered to the house, what has he been doing for a living up until now that has given him such a nice living room?
  26. So, is anybody’s life worse off at the end of the movie?
  27. Even Biff seems much happier. Despite the fact that he cheats his customers into thinking they’ve received two coats of wax when in fact they’ve only received one, Biff seems genuinely content as a small business owner.
  28. That Toyota truck that magically appears in the garage at the end is the best thing that 1985 has to offer.
  29. Best thing in the credits: Old Man Peabody’s son’s name? Sherman.
  30. Worst thing in the credits: Old Man Peabody’s daughter’s name? Daughter. Daughter Peabody. Well done, guys.