General

Thanksgiving Memories

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Thanksgiving. Turkey Day. Festival of the Harvest. Stuff-your-face-day.

Call it whatever you want. The fourth Thursday of November is the day the citizens of the United States set aside to acknowledge and give thanks for whatever good fortunes life has given them. The holiday has some religious connotations for many, but on the whole it has long been considered a civil holiday. It probably has its roots in the harvest celebrations of the Pilgrims and Puritans of colonial New England. Harvest celebrations are as old as civilization itself. It’s just that the denizens of the Massachusetts Bay colony (both the natives and the imports) managed to do this particular dinner party with such gusto that Thanksgiving as Americans understand it is often credited to them.

Different countries have their thanksgiving holiday on different days, depending on when the harvest traditionally comes in. The closer you are to the Arctic Circle, the earlier in the year the harvest. That’s partly why Canada, for instance, has their Thanksgiving holiday in October. I suspect if you did the research, you could find harvest holidays every week from October through December, somewhere in the Northern Hemisphere.

But enough history. A lot of people like to share memories they have associated with Thanksgiving. For me, I’m afraid it’s pretty pedestrian, but amusing in its own way. I grew up in Central New York, and by late November, snow and ice had usually moved in for the winter, and that tended to put a damper on things. As such, my family didn’t always travel, though occasionally we would have friends over.

Thanksgiving at my house usually started with getting up early enough to watch the Macy’s Day parade. Like most kids, I waited impatiently through the musical numbers and scores of marching bands just so I could see the balloons and fancy floats. As I got older and started studying music I developed a greater appreciation for the bands and musical performances, especially some of those precision band drills. By the time I was a teen I had also acquired an appreciation for the flag girls, majorettes, and of course the Radio City Rockettes. Though I suspect that had more to do with the really short costumes and my being a teenage male than it did with dance routines and parade drills.

After the parade was finished, we would have a very light lunch, with the aim of saving room for dinner. Mom would then hand my brother and I an assortment of vegetables, fruit, and loaves of bread, which we were instructed to chop up while watching King Kong. I never understood this, but every Thanksgiving, one of the regional television stations in New York City – I think it was WPIX – ran a group of giant ape movies. They usually started with the original King Kong, followed by Mighty Joe Young (also the original), and then some other ape movie. Some years it was Son of Kong, others it was King Kong versus Godzilla, and there were other titles in the rotation. However, by the time the third ape movie came around, dinner was close to ready, so we often missed it. And we were OK with that, because by that point we had been glued to the television for as much as eight hours, and our eyes itched.

All those vegetables my brother and I chopped up (carrots, potatoes, turnip [yuch], broccoli spears, and celery), and the loaves of bread (which became the base for the turkey stuffing), morphed into a traditional Thanksgiving dinner that couldn’t be beat. My mom followed her mom’s example when it came to Thanksgiving dinner, so no one left the table hungry. And even if you were full after dinner, there was still dessert, usually three different types of pie. (That’s where most of the fruit went.)

After dinner, the various leftovers were packed up into serving sized containers which we would live off for close to a week. The dog was treated to a handful of table scraps, and some poor soul was assigned dish washing duty. My dad often got stuck with that one. In later years, when we had an automatic dishwasher, it became much easier. After that there wasn’t much more to do, so the day quickly wound down. Given our collective tryptophan-induced stupor, that’s not surprising.

Now, there were some years when we traveled for Thanksgiving. One of our more common destinations was the home of my maternal grandparents in Lawrence, Massachusetts. As large as my mother’s Thanksgiving feast was, my grandmother – I called her Memere – took it even further. Her feast was enormous! At the time I had several extended family members in that part of New England, and it was customary for all of them to descend on Memere and Pepere’s for Thanksgiving dinner. The side dishes numbered in the double digits, and one year there were two fifteen pound turkeys! Sometimes Memere would have two or even three sittings. It’s rather hard to describe, but one of Memere’s Thanksgiving feasts was certainly an experience.

But then, I probably don’t have to describe it. I’ve heard many people tell of similar family feasts, and some families still have them when they can. So I suspect most people have been to such a gathering, be it Thanksgiving or otherwise.

For the past several years, Thanksgiving has been at my brother’s house in Maryland. The drill is oddly familiar to the one I had growing up, only without the ape movies. Usually my nephews and daughter are watching a DVD of a Disney movie while the rest of us go about preparing dinner. This year will have the added challenge of herding my very ambulatory two-year old son and preventing him from getting into everything and anything. I will also be singing at church that morning, so we’ll be arriving later in the day than in past years. I suspect in years to come the children will have their own version of this essay, where they talk about the amusing and memorable things that happened on Thanksgiving Day.

But you know what one of the best things about Thanksgiving Day? It is little essays like this one, or rather what this essay describes. My father has been gone for over 20 years. At the last few Thanksgivings in Homer, New York, there was a noticeable absence at the table. But I still remember him, very clearly. My maternal grandmother has been gone for over ten years, and she hadn’t done one of her massive feasts for roughly another five before that. Many of the extended family that I used to see at these gatherings have also passed on. Others, I’m sorry to say, we no longer have contact with, because of a major schism within the family a few years back. But I can still see all of their faces.

Memories, big and small, funny and sad, touching and inspiring, are precious things to be collected, remembered, and cherished. And once a year, be sure to give thanks for them.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Image credits belong to SpicesCafe.com, and Thanksgiving Day 2014.

Theosaurus Rex (Godzilla)

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A couple of weeks ago, my family and I picked up a copy of the latest Godzilla movie (2014) from a local Red Box. We watched giant monsters terrorize the world, while we terrorized our stomachs with nachos.

Spoiler alert!

The movie was fairly pedestrian, but not at all bad. Simply put, humanity tampered with things it didn’t fully understand. Ancient, dormant creatures were released as a result, and Mother Nature (Gaea?) had to bring out her 400-foot tall enforcer to put things right again. The story has been done before. Godzilla 2000 had a similar theme, though in that film the antagonist was an alien. In some ways, this movie reminded me more of the Gamera franchise than Godzilla, in that the star monster was less of a terror villain and more of a giant action hero.

Regardless, I thought the movie was fun. Personally, I would have liked to see more of the Big G and less of those MUTO things, though they were cool in their own way. The movie was pretty much what I expected from a Godzilla movie. Parts of it were more cerebral than many earlier Godzilla movies, and it certainly wasn’t a camp fest, but so what.

However.

From what I have read, a lot of people were very disappointed by the film. Given the hype and anticipation the film received, I don’t think any movie could even begin to live up to the expectations of Big G’s fan base, but that’s something else. After trolling the various forums and fan sites (and when I say trolling I’m using it in the fishing context), the predominant theme I found was that people wanted something more apocalyptic. They wanted something with a more poetic, and decidedly frightening theme. Or they just wanted to see humanity get its ass kicked.

Actually, humanity did get its ass kicked, but it was by the MUTOs and not Godzilla. Perhaps that was the problem? Godzilla wasn’t the living embodiment of nuclear terror that he was in the 1954 original. That role was played by the MUTOs. Godzilla was actually one of the good guys! Or at least one of the less worse guys. He even got cheered when he saved San Francisco from being turned into gravel. And apparently, that left the fan base disappointed.

Me, I just shrugged and said “Meh, it was a Godzilla movie.” But I thought about the frustrated fans, and started wondering. Then I did something I haven’t done in a very, very long time: I drafted a fan fiction. Don’t worry, I didn’t write it, and I only got as far as an outline. But I tried to design a Godzilla story that would have been more in line with what his disappointed fans wanted. That is to say, an apocalyptic horror monster film that was loaded with messages and metaphors.

So for your enjoyment, here is that draft. Disclaimer: this is only a plot outline, and is intended here for purposes of humor. Nachos, soda, and a healthy respect for sarcasm is strongly recommended.

Godzilla: Theosaurus Rex

  • In the 1960’s, a freighter, carrying highly toxic chemical and nuclear waste, is lost in a typhoon somewhere in the Pacific, not far from the infamous Bikini Atoll. Attempts to locate the dangerous payload were unsuccessful, largely because of the water depth and the prevailing currents. For a few years after the accident, studies were conducted to see what effect the spill would have, but nothing definitive ever came to light. Or rather, nothing important was reported on the news. Gradually, everyone forgot, and records of the event vanished into various warehouses.
  • In late 2014, an offshore oil refinery, somewhere in Indonesia, is destroyed from below. The resulting fire was so large it was seen and photographed by the International Space Station! Rescue workers were on the scene within 20 minutes of the explosion, but only small scraps of wreckage were found, along with two or three survivors who can do nothing more than describe a long, terrifying bellow from what they can only describe as a “massive creature.”
  • The incident hit the news by storm, and was a big hit on social media. No one seriously thought there was a sea monster, of course. But the conspiracy buffs and doomsday cults had a veritable field day!
  • Questions flew for weeks, and there is even an investigation into the event. But when nothing more happens, and no new evidence came to light, the excitement starts to ebb.
  • Then in early 2015 (February or March), everything changed. Godzilla, all 400 feet of him, comes ashore near Jakarta. The unstoppable force of nature proceeds to trash an oil refinery and a huge power station. After a pause in the nearby ocean, he reduces the city of Jakarta to ruin. All conventional weapons are useless against him.
  • The world is in a panic! For almost a week there is a frantic attempt to track or contain the creature, but to no avail. About ten days after the destruction of Jakarta, Singapore suffers the same fate.
  • About a week after that, Kuala Lumpur is hit. A common news clip shows Godzilla toppling the famous Petronas Towers like they were stacked boxes. Now the world community is desperate. Godzilla’s behavior pattern seems to consist of leveling areas of high energy throughput and chemical activity. Pollution might be a factor as well, but the scientists are undecided.
  • In a secret meeting of the UN Security Council, it is decided that if the opportunity presents itself, an ICBM nuclear missile will be fired at Godzilla. Who fires the missile will depend entirely on where the creature appears.
  • A few days later, Godzilla is sighted coming ashore in southern Thailand. The closest high-yield ICBM is at a United States military base in Australia, so the Americans launch an ICBM at Godzilla. China had one of their missiles on standby should the American one fail to reach target. The nuclear warhead detonates right in front of Godzilla’s feet, and levels everything within ten miles. But to everyone’s horror, the nuke has no effect on Godzilla. The force of the blast knocked him into the ocean, but nothing more. If anything the radiation and fallout appears to have made Godzilla stronger!
  • Bangkok and Phnom Penh are leveled more or less on schedule over the following two weeks. Evidence suggests that Godzilla is feeding on the energy output of human population centers, and isn’t likely to stop until he’s completely gorged himself.
  • When Godzilla did not resurface after his usual seven to ten day rest, there was hope that perhaps he had gone dormant again and that the nightmare was over. Nope. He comes ashore in Shanghai, China, makes a direct line up the Yangtze to the Three Gorges Dam, and trashes both the dam and everything around it. The Chinese attempted to stop Godzilla by using a combination of nuclear, chemical and even biological weapons. None of them have a lasting effect.
  • As news pours in about mass destruction, there is a realization that humanity has met its proverbial match. It is only a matter of time before Godzilla levels every major city on earth. Whatever cosmic balance humanity has upset, Godzilla is here to restore that balance, and there is nothing we can do to stop him. The lingering question is the future of humanity. What are we going to do now? One secondary character, in a mad attempt at gallows humor, will joke that this may be a good time to try colonizing the moon and Mars, because Earth just gave us our eviction notice. Strangely, no one laughed.

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And that’s how it ends! Godzilla is going to destroy human civilization one city at a time, with the aim of knocking humanity back to a technology level that is naturally sustainable. That would most likely be a Pre-Industrial level, akin to the early 1800’s. That would involve some very traumatic adjustments on our part. The 80% population drop for starters. Humanity, all sections of it, have to collectively decide what to do while there is still a human civilization left to save.

And in case you didn’t guess, the Greek name means “God lizard king.” That seemed to fit nicely.

So, to all of you disappointed Godzilla fans out there, would that have been better? Is that apocalyptic enough? Did humanity get sufficiently ass whooped? (I’m honestly asking, and I’m trying to be sarcastic-funny, not nasty.) My wife says that a movie that follows this story is likely to get high critical acclaim for sheer chutzpah. But because of the inherent hopelessness of the story, it would be a commercial bomb.

Ah, what we have to endure in the name of art.

Pandemonium

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Pandemonium from Paradise Lost, by painter John Martin.

Pandemonium from Paradise Lost, by painter John Martin.

My old blog, Peppers, used to have a category called Pandemonium, and I have carried it over to this one. It was a category I used for social and political commentary on the world around me, or at least my perception of it. Someone once asked me why I chose the word Pandemonium. That’s a two part story. Allow me to tell it to you.

First, let’s look at how Merriam and Webster define the word:

Pandemonium: noun (pan-da-mo-nee-um)

  1. the capital of Hell in Milton’s Paradise Lost
  2. the infernal regions; Hell
  3. (not capitalized) : a wild uproar; tumult

Since I’m talking about this world and not the afterlife, I’m ultimately referring to the third definition: a loud, tumultuous ocean of noise. But not entirely, which brings me to the first part of my story.

Rewind to the late 1980’s when I was a student at St. Bonaventure University. I had been taking some theology and philosophy courses (which at the time were a University requirement) that included the writings and polemics of the Trappist monk, Thomas Merton. Merton wrote several books of short essays and commentaries about contemporary topics. Most of his writings had a tongue-in-cheek wit about them. But others were acidic and sarcastic, and a few were downright vicious. In fact, he was ultimately silenced on certain topics, because his more venomous writings got his order into some hot water!

Anyway, I was discussing these writings with some friends one night, and we all wondered if we were to each write a similar book, what would it be like? As that conversation turned, I came up a list of topics I would have ranted about. Most of the topics tended to be the unpleasant, controversial, uncomfortable things that no one likes to talk about, but that ultimately everyone must. And when they are discussed, the scene often degenerates into a loud, disjointed fight. One of my friends (who, like Thomas Merton, has since taken a monastic vocation) suggested that I name my book “Cacophony,” or that I use that word in the title, in reference to this noise.

I was thinking on this idea until a literature class, when the professor was talking about John Milton’s classic, Paradise Lost. There is a passage where the narrator describes the capital city of Hell, and he makes frequent references to the constant noise. One speaker would start yelling louder than whoever happened to be speaking, seemingly with the aim of forcing the listener to hear their statements and be forced to ignore the former. Then another speaker would come in and attempt to drown out the original two. Then a fourth speaking would come in do the same. Meanwhile the first speaker has increased their volume to compete with the other three, and so on. After a while, the noise level of so many voices demanding the undivided attention of everyone, at all times, becomes a mass of sound so large than one can no longer hear themselves think. I found that metaphor rather fitting for so much of modern life, so from cacophony I shifted to a title that evoked less of a condition and more of a place.

I never wrote that book. In all seriousness I never expected to. I did other things instead. But throughout my adult life I’ve often found “Pandemonium” to be a poetic descriptor for the constant barrage of noise that modern life subjects us too.

The second part of this story begins a few years ago, when I was setting up my first blog. I once again I found myself wanting to write about cultural, social, and political topics that just annoyed the heck out of me. The noise level that I experienced in the late 1980’s has not subsided. In fact, with the advent of the Internet, it’s gotten considerably worse. I’ve gotten better at filtering it out, and some topics don’t rile me up the way they used to. (Though to be fair, some topics now rile me far more.) But make no mistake: that disgustingly naive 20-year old was still inside me, seething away. And the title of his never-written book (or perhaps not-yet-written book) surfaced anew.

Someone else recently asked me why I’m still maintaining a web site, given that I find the Internet to be largely a noise box that puts television to shame. That’s hard to answer, but I guess one reason is that I’m doing this for myself. This is a means by which I may be able to get my little piece of noise written down, as my personal foil or counterpoint to a lot of the stuff I have thrown at me each day. In all honestly, I didn’t expect many people to read this, but I’m delighted to know that a few people are. (Thanks for visiting!)

Another reason I’m writing this is far more pragmatic. I’m an aspiring writer, and I need to practice my craft. This is one of the ways I have chosen to do that. Who knows, one day I may actually get something published. Perhaps it will be a set of commentaries about the modern world?

So to answer the question as to why I use such an esoteric and pedantic word, I’ll put it this way:


Sometimes I watch the news, traverse the Internet, or listen to the radio, and I’m subjected to a constant barrage of noise. Noise from people or companies I have no desire to talk to, all doing everything in their power to capture every piece of my attention for the few precious moments they need to sell me their questionable products. I hear noise from political and media demagogues who insist that I get in line behind their chosen idol and never want to consider another opinion again. I hear noise from people from many walks of life who want me to subscribe to their point of view. They don’t want me to form my own opinions based on my own experiences, observations or needs, they want me to blindly follow them like a sickened sheep. They – the noise makers – don’t want me to think for myself, they want to do my thinking for me. What’s worse, as soon as I manage to pull away and block out their clamoring, there are at least two more trying to do the same thing. And the cycle continues, over and over. I am hearing the endless cacophony of unwanted voices echoing off the flame-scorched streets of John Milton’s city of the damned: Pandemonium.

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Mantis religiosa

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Behold mantis religiosa, better known as the European praying mantis. I’ve always liked these creatures, despite their reputation as spouse-murdering, sibling-consuming cannibals. They are an excellent example of the amazing things nature can come up with.

Mantis2

This guy was photographed outside of my workplace in the early afternoon of November 4, 2014. Given the brown pigment, this particular one is probably a male. It was roughly five inches from cranium to rump, and wasn’t taking any guff from anyone. He even gave me a “threat display” after I moved him from the busy sidewalk to the relative safety of the stone fence.

So much for gratitude.

Other creatures from Mt. Pony: