cry at a jewel sale, howl like the coyotes

Good morning, Scottsdale!

Well, sort of. That’s what Dalcy and I were saying just last week. Dalcy used to be a member of the Dolley Madisons – some sort of charitable group that I thought was just a local thing until they had a national get-together in Arizona last week. Some sort of New Year’s resolution to reconnect, I suppose. She hadn’t been to one of their meetings in three or four years but thought it would be fun to visit with some old friends. I didn’t see the sense in it but she really wanted to go and I was tired of the weather here – so why not? We flew out for a few days but I won’t be hangin’ around the convention. None of that for me, so I headed out into town. Old Towne.

I really got caught up in downtown Scottsdale – it’s a touristy place with a plethora of places to buy aquamarine-colored jewelry. Can anyone have too much aquamarine-colored jewelry? Yes! Cripes, the stuff seems to spawn while you’re standin’ there watching it lay motionless in its native cardboard box. Is there some sort of contest to see which store sells the most? I’d wager it’s all a big racket: all the stores are owned by Clyde Gabriél and the stuff is mass-produced by a factory outside Peoria. I dunno, I was just there visiting. One store had a huge sign announcing it was GOING OUT OF BUSINESS but when you walked by the small print indicated it was just temporary. Chintzy advertising.

There was a somebody-or-other’s art gallery with scads of artwork that was just itchin’ to be used for Louie Lamarr bookjackets. Lots of cowboys, lots of horses. I nearly ran into a bronzed cowboy figure – I called it Lanky Brannum – and would be paying through the nose the rest of the decade had thing tipped off its base. Poor pitiful me if that had happened.

Anyone remember those stupid LoVE stamps? You know, the letters L-O-V-E are stacked together and the O has this arsty-fartsy slant to make it cute to the eye? Right about where Old Towne starts to switchover to something designed by Crazy Guggenheim was a statue of LOVE. A couple of kids decided to climb the L as I approached. Neither girl was particularly agile, so after watching their mediocre climbing skills part of me wondered how much they would love falling from it. Evil, I know, but whatcha going to do?

What I thought was an old library turned out to be the Historical Museum, in fact an old elementary school. It sort of resembled the school I attended as a child except the stiff, waxy-looking teachers were really mannequins. One of ‘em did remind me Ms. Steinmann, my grammar teacher, though. I ran into a curator-of-sorts, an affable and talkative chap named Mark who was from Ohio or Indiana and wound up talking about the century-old school building as if he attended classes there. I wandered around – noticeably clueless about the history of the region – and got an earful about Winfrey and Helene Scott. It was a great place to spend an hour or so.

With Dalcy later in tow we ran by the Hotel Valley Ho. Didn’t stay there, though. Dalcy said the place probably had a “Sinatra Slept Here” plaque hidden away. It looked like something out of the 1950s. One of the Dollies had suggested the restaurant across the street from this hotel – the Tortilla Factory – and we enjoyed steaks there. Our hotel was north of town out along the Pima Highway. Our last night in town we sat out on the back patio, still warmed from the glorious afternoon sun, and listened to the coyotes yipping away at low-flying planes.

And that’s how I started off my 2012.  Now time to get to work.

a personal appeal from an author of zero articles at wikipedia

Happy New Year to you and yours. I’m pretty sure I received the evilest gift possible this Christmas and it’s taken me a week to fully appreciate its underlying malevolence. This is something Dalcy and I received from – surprise! – Father Varnt. I sometimes don’t think he’s as pious as he makes himself out to be.

The box bills the product as the Digital Coin Counter Container – and yes, it features a digital display, counts coins, and then contains them as well...though not very good. Dalcy tends to pick up every blasted penny she finds so we have little stacks throughout the house. I fed into this new machine what the display said was fifty cents. Peering through the container, I sensed it wasn’t fifty. Starting over with an empty container, that same handful of pennies now equaled thirty-two cents. I know the economy is bad but come on. So I grab another fist full of dollars (great Clint Howard movie – check it out) and start shoving the pieces into the slot. Quarters. Dimes. In the midst of this Dalcy brought up Eisenhower dollars but I don’t think anyone remembers those. Anyway the grandkids were flushing coins through the thing when I started hearing metallic pings. I was dismayed to see through the plastic siding that most coins were now bypassing their collection tube and landing on the interior platform. In the midst of all this fun the batteries died so I still have no idea how much coinage we have lying around. I don’t think the collection tubes can be fitted with coin wrappers so someone could count and wrap coins at the same time so I question this product’s true usefulness.

There’s a resolution for 2012 in all this: cleaning out the house. We’re not hoarders but we tend to keep things a bit longer than needed (ask me sometime about our 1984 visit to Paducah).

I’ve got the news on as I write this and I gotta ask: is anyone else disgusted at the sight of animated bears frolicking around with bits of paper stuck on their backside? Is the pope catholic? (The answer is “yes”!)

I’ve been eating this zaatar stuff since for about a month now.  It’s got this tangy zing that really goes good with vegetables.

Found a box of string in the closet while putting away Christmas decorations.  Might see if I can sell this stuff.

After a week of televised national concerts celebrating Christmas I see there are a few national concerts celebrating the new year on the tube in the coming days. I wonder how many shows some of those choirs do this time of year, plus practices.  Not familiar with many New Year's songs so I may check one of these out.  (Hugh Jackman, the guy from the House Doctor program, is singing in one of them now, so...eh.)

We’re due over to friends for polsole in another hour. It’s supposedly a good luck thing. It’s also a Central American thing. I guess your luck is good until December 20.

things to do near denver when you’re still alive and kicking

Halloa there!

I’m finishing up my first day back at the Hagg, participating in the big in-service celebrations they have for all the faculty and staff the week before school starts. Honestly...and thankfully...I haven’t done a whole heckuva lot today except tidy up a bit, observe the salt charts, answer some mail, and so on. Yeah, that’s right – school doesn’t start until next Tuesday...I’m told a bunch of other colleges began their fun a week or more ago – but no, not us. The only students I’m sure I’ll see this week are those clamoring to get into Benajah Hall a day or two early so they can get enjoy their first nights of freedom alone in a boring dormitory.

What happened to All About Evil this summer? Ol’ Broty wanted to get out the grind, that’s what! Dalcy had a family reunion out Colorado-way last month so the two of us got to stand at the mountain of madnes...well, it wasn’t that bad. We did get run out of the Garden of the Gods because of some impressive lightning. While we were driving around the park searching for the balancing rock Dalcy jokingly asked how monotheistic religions felt about a garden belonging to more than one God. Sigh. There are times I wonder how the two of us survive. It’s a good thing she didn’t make that crack with Varnt around (and I doubt he knows how to read a blog, anyway). But we found the rock...balancing on a bed of concrete. Pret-ty lame, ol’ Broty has to say. I didn’t care too much for the kids running up and down the side of it, either. Was it wrong to wish for an avalanche? (Come on, it’s an evil blog....)

Can you find the nearby John Blare Bridge?!

Anyone remember Alfred Packer? Our waitress at the restaurant kept calling him “Ali G. Packer” but I failed to understand why. Essentially Packer was a cannibal, or so history remembers. The menu was a bit macabre, too. (Not really – try the green chili at the Waffle Wagon.)

Easily the evilest thing was venturing an ungodly number of miles outside of town to visit the Royal Gorge Bridge. Heights are not my strong point but we thought we could brave them long enough to see the Arkansas River at a thousand feet or so. Not so. Someone built a bridge and later went and surrounded it with an amusement park - and not a very good one at that. Buckskin Joe? Hourly hangings? I think not.

And that’s what I did on my summer vacation. I’ll promise to try and post a bit more to this thing during the semester. I was going through the All About Evil inbox and noticed a few questions I’ll try and answer in the weeks ahead. One email I did notice asked if Mercedes ruled. I didn’t quite get it at first, but I think I do now. Wait – no, I don’t. Myron?

Rabbit, rabbit.

pretty chickens and their damn commercials

So I had just finished my turkey sandwich from Betty Anne’s the other day when I was approached by a stranger wearing overalls. I’m not approached by strangers very often out on the street and very few of them are ever wearing overalls. He had just hopped out of a yellow pickup truck that was blaring rock music (something was “crumbling down” over and over) and asked if I had a minute. Long story short, he’s with some national advertising group who does commercials for fast food chicken (I missed the name in all the suddenness). Apparently I was selected because I fit the mold of someone who was not already an actor and someone who looked to know a good value. Sure. They want me to come to a studio in Boston and flap my arms and gums about how great someone-or-other’s fried chicken is, what it means to me, and how it makes me feel. I suspect for the amount of money being offered that the chicken will make me feel great. I’m debating whether or not to go through with it. Plus I’m not yet convinced this wasn’t a belated senior prank.

Did I hear that correctly – that actor Karl Madden has died? Indeed! Item! Madden played alongside Marlin Brando in a number of great films, particularly On the Waterfront. I always liked his Father Barry – except that he reminds me a bit of Father Varnt here at Haggstrum.

Anyone else watching these cricket matches on television? I like the way the guy...the pitcher? Bowler? I like the way the bowler winds up for the pitch. Still my favorite person on the field is the umpire – stoic, unnerved by the bowler, un-wowed by the wicket, hands behind his back, and the hat. Always with the hat.

I’ve received a few “Ask About Evil” emails, too...mostly about evil overblown songs from the 70s (Paradise by the Dashboard Light) and the four classical elements (air, of course, you dolt). But here’s one I thought would be good to share:

What are your candidates for the evilest foods in the four food groups?
Murray H., Mississippi

Thanks, Murray! I’m often described as “old school” and so while my definition of the four food groups may be outdated I think you’ll get the drift. In the dairy group I’ve always had a certain appreciation for the way the curds of cottage cheese have such a negative impact on people (what I call “sway of whey”). Fruit – historically the apple, I suppose, but in looks it’s gotta be the durian. In the vegetable group, pick a root vegetable. Any of those are equally evil but the turnip goes the extra mile. As far as grains are concerned...after all these years, the evilest, the vilest, the hands-down all-around worst to me is rice. Particularly what my wife passes off as “Spanish rice,” which is nothing more than over-steamed white rice with tiny chunks of tomatoes that OD’ed on cumin. That’s evil you can taste, Murray. Thanks for writing, too.

I’m thinking of avoiding the firework frenzy this Fourth and just ringing bells – you know, like how they used to do it. I might bring up that old gong from the basement and put it in the backyard, too. That alone should keep the neighborhood animals at bay. Pretty rank, I know.

Any else ever wondered what would have happened if Joe wasn’t caught goin’ round with a gun in his hand?

recalling an interview with stefan schimpf

This was our debut episode at the Compleat Bellairs with Stefan Schimpf. Stefan was most generous to come in and chat with us and I got the impression he felt genuinely pleased at not just being our first guest but being so beloved by our audience. After all, as I pointed out at the time, he’s really nothing more than a causal reference that authored a book that gets name-checked in The Face in the Frost. He’s no Moriarty or Hyde – or even an Izard, for that matter.

Couldn’t help but notice the jab at Goosebumps...it was always a hoot reading fans at the Compleat Bellairs interactive boards lob their low balls at Ben Stein.

Enjoy!