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Pellucidar - Edgar Rice Burroughs
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Books
- Hits: 1361
I found it at a thrift shop, Dover reprint, and I picked it up because when I was a kid I was crazy for this sort of stuff.
By the time I was 12 I'd read almost the entire children's library, and some of the books that I hadn't included Tarzan, by Edgar Rice Burroughs. I knew who Tarzan was, of course, who doesn't? But I wasn't that interested. Nonetheless, it was getting down to Tarzan or nothing, so I checked out a few of the books.
And I loved them...
I mean, I read everything by Edgar Rice Burroughs. The Tarzan books, the John Carter on Mars, the Moon Maidens, Tarzan at the Earth's Core, I'm pretty sure the library didn't have them all, but what they had, I read.
I loved 'em all.
So when I got to be twenty-ish I revisited them. Specifically Tarzan. And I found them painful, awkward to read, horrible, just appalling...
I blame my fancy highbrow European tastes, I'd been reading the English authors, Thomas Hardy, Somerset Maughm, George Orwell, any number of other authors, Vladimir Nabokov...clearly I was raising the bar...
When I had my son, perhaps when he was 10 or 12, I gave him a couple of dozen original dime-store Edgar Rice Burroughs Tarzan books I'd found at a garage sale. He pretended to try and read and then discarded, they weren't to his taste, what can you do?
But finding this, the Dover reprint, slender, the adventures of David Innes and company at the Earth's core, I couldn't resist. I'd try him again.
And, a slender book, filled with original, novel ideas, poorly executed and even more poorly recorded...psychological gold, this, the primitive, stone age and reptilian races at the earth's core, the beast-man named "Gr-gr-gr", the thags and dinosaurs, the inwardly curving horizon and the stationary hovering moon, but, like Gaston Leroux's "Phantom of the Opera" it's also literary torture. The brilliant device of the author addressing a letter of criticism from a fan at the beginning (who turns to a believer when he sees the evidence the author provides) is undermined by it's execution, and perhaps it's wrong of me to judge as Burroughs himself never aspired to be more than a pulp-fiction writer, in any case, intriguing for the ideas, and he did have some great ideas, but for the most part these books will have to remain in memory and childhood...
U of A offers Spoonbending Course
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: WTF
- Hits: 1412
They really should have offered this to the Undergraduates first. There would have been less of an uproar. And regarding the assertion: "There is absolutely no physical way you can bend a spoon with your mind" Sir/Madame - I would suggest you watch "The Matrix" again. And grab a spoon with two hands, one hand on the shaft, the other on the bowl. Apply pressure. ???. The result, dear Mr/Mrs/Ms, is clearly a result of your intentions, or mind. Discard the intermediaries of hand and force, you did this with your mind. Now chill...
I think it would have been far more interesting if all the "doctors"/"students" had been allowed to take the course and then review it...
PS: I know there are diamonds here, regardless of whatever other bollocks course they offer...
The Pox
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 1895
It began with a toothache. Sure enough, the tooth was wiggly, but my jaw swelled and it hurt more and more and I was thinking there was no way out of it but the dentist when it disappeared...
...Not in a good way. My groin - my private parts, member, erupted in a series of painful blisters, and the symptoms seemed obvious enough, but, well, I haven't been intimate in a long long while...still, I googled and found a great many pictures which underestimated the damage being done to my own loins, and I suspected that somewhere, somehow, I may have acquired a severe, an apocalyptic case of genital herpes...
...with this, the puss burning, oozing, building up beneath the penis and scrotal sac, the white-capped ruby blisters, the end of my tallywhacker swollen to double it's girth, quadrupling the pain, sensitive to every chafe and touch of my undershorts or burning urination through suppurating blisters, I could tour the high schools of America and ensure that no student lost their virginity until marriage. And no sooner am I confirmed in my diagnosis when...
...The skin still peeling on my groin, the lymph nodes swollen to the proportions of garden hoses, visibly extruded above my skin, when a fine, chicken skin rash appears upon the back of my hands...there's an electric tingling upon my palms, a pins and needles, then they begin to grow patches of yellow, the skin thickens, like crusty leather, and breaks into painful crevasses upon every distinguishing line ...the loveline, the heartline, crack to painful fissures a quarter inch deep, suppurating sores, upon the backs of my hands appear ruby blisters, the wrists, and leading up my arms, the sores break out upon my face, my thighs...my ears fill with fluid, draining upon my pillow nightly, burning scabs into my earlobes, and all of a sudden I'm deaf.
90% deaf. I can hear, if I know your speaking to me, if you speak loudly, to my face, but easily 90% of my hearing is gone...
I email Mom. The symptoms have varied enough that I'm thinking it's not genital herpes...Maybe Shingles? But the symptoms of shingles are always asymmetrical, and I'm in perfectly symmetrical misery...."Did I ever have the Chicken Pox when I was young?". She doesn't remember, I can remember the measles, she thinks about it, probably not...
I still have to work, damn the quarantine, the health laws, I try to stay away from the tables, Despite becoming the Red Death the owner will grant you no reprieve. Ever. If you've worked in enough restaurants you know. Even in death I'd have to work there, they'd wheel my corpse about on a dolly to take orders and spray cologne on me to hide the smell, you'd never get a day off until the undertaker came for you and buried you in the ground...But in this deafness, this swimming deep beneath the sea it acquires a new tranquility. I can imagine the harried and henpecked husband becoming deaf, enjoying his deafness, a lifetime of scolding now escaped, I've known a few and I'm more than a little suspicious...the staff are forever testing my hearing, saying things behind my back, I catch them laughing, I can't hear a word.
Still, this is not elective deafness, this is the sores in my ears blocking the canals, not painful, but the city now from my balcony gives the illusion of perpetual quiet. I grow in my beard to hide the scabs on my face, it's been a little over two weeks and the symptoms are abating, the sores disappear, I'm still deaf, but I have a feeling it will restore itself as suddenly as it came, in the meantime I enjoy it, watch "The Tribe" in my free time, irony, those badass-deaf kids, and make my plans for summer...
My Pitch to Reality TV Shows - Survival
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 1816
And I've become hooked on Alone, actually quite a compelling reality show, this crew of survivalists in Season 2 comprising one black man, a Spaniard living in the Yukon, 3 women, and 5 others. A more interesting and diverse crew than the first series, and from what I've seen, more prepared, meaning some of them have learned the hard lessons the first ones paved the way for. This season will go a lot longer than the first. Watching episode 00, the survivalist training, background on some of the contestants, their relationships, their casting videos, this show has generated a lifetimes worth of casting videos and media on survivalism, search youtube and see, trapping, fires starting, finding food and water, the narration cleverly done by the first season's winner and expert survivor Alan, now the series delegate voice of authority.
The Characters, Jose, a Spanish survivalist, good looking, suave and charming, from the Yukon (Canada) and hence he has my vote (don't worry, this is not a democracy), Desmond, a black former military, 3 women, 1 a rather persevering Anthropology professor at U of Oregon, (I'll cheer for her as well because I'm not that nationalistic. Jose is Spanish after all...), Mike, who in a week has built himself a fucking Gilligan's Island, another handsome Sniper who looks a lot like Leonardo DI Caprio...
By the second week it becomes obvious that every remaining contestant is battling their own demons. Some, merely to survive, find enough food, others are thriving yet need find some way to manage their abundance of free time and deal with their prosperity and solitude.
Episode 6, Randy and Larry are both feeling it in different ways, it's only day 18 but you definitely get the feeling that one of them will be leaving soon. Randy, realizing his need for companionship, and Larry with his "F***ing Mouse", he rants about it, the mouse, harmless, friendly even (Larry tells you, the mouse is following him down to the ocean to watch him fish...) ... all this ranting about the mouse, Larry, it's not the mouse, it's you...
Amazing, this, the projecting of our own mental madness and struggles onto the physical, real world. If you needed proof, this is it, We create our world in the image of what's inside us...
The narrative, it's edited in by writers who pluck the meaningful bits and arrange them into place, create form from the abyss of video the contestants provide, and it's predictable, amazing really, how every contestant becomes the victim - or winner - of their own personal narrative, struggle, internal monologue. By week two - for many - the struggle is no longer about survival, it's about being alone with themselves. And therein lies the real challenge. Mt Everest is nothing compared to this. But I'm now in real time and watching the story as it "Unfolds" (on Television) and so I'll have to wait it out like you. But in the meantime, here's my pitch to the reality series....
First of all, I probably wouldn't be in the first few episodes. Priority is generally given to developing the characters who will be exiting first, those who show up later generally are lasting longer. So I wouldn't show up until episode 5 or 6, by which point I would be thriving. I mean, Gilligan's Island style. I know the bar's going to be raised, I'm not building myself a crummy lean to or peaked tent shelter if I'm going to have to winter out here a year at least. Expect great things, a large log cabin chinked with clay and moss, stone fireplace, a root cellar, a place to split and dry my wood, smoke my food, rude furniture, tables, chairs woven from the antlers of all the bears and cougars and wolves who've had the misfortune to cross my path...
This, I estimate, will be day 27. The bar will be raised for this, as you're aware, every season, and while episode 5 might be day 14 now, in the future it will be a heck of a lot more challenging. I'm ready. By the time you're editing me into the narrative I'll have started my crops, having had the presence of mind to eat my final meal with a view towards agriculture - I will be tending the corn, the sunflowers, the pumpkins and squash, the cherries and grapes, the kernels, seeds and pips I harvested from my scat and planted in orderly rows out behind my cabin have flourished. Viewers will be amazed.
Still I won't be getting a lot of screen time. Bear in mind there's another 9 competitors, by the time you start editing me in maybe only 5 or 6, but the time you spend with me, it will be quality time.
DAY 29: I introduce you to my secret companion "COCO", a rude human-ish companion I fashioned from a coconut and an old steamer trunk full of vintage ladies clothing I found washed up upon the shore. I've noticed that a lot of the contestants find the isolation unbearable, as would I if I didn't have Coco to confide in, and she's become my constant companion...
DAY 32: Me sauteing up some tasty mushrooms I found in the forest. Not all were entirely edible, as I discover, and I go on an incredible shamanic journey and spirit quest, narrating it all to the camera. This will of necessity be edited down to fit the TV show, but trust me, people will pay to login to the History Channel and pay for the abundant wisdom and aphorism's I've discovered. They'll want to watch the "Extended Trip" and maybe even you'll break the flow and give me my own dedicated episode. The season extends, more advertising dollars, never a bad thing...
DAY 35: Me in my quiet introspective spiritual superiority. This episode probably won't even have me in it, but what you'll use is the abundance of stock footage I've gathered, of mushrooms in the forest (quietly growing, time-lapse), of the salmon running, of the pods of killer whales that have come to make my cove home, of the bears that have begun to bring me fish and the cougars that, while still wary, play in the wooden boxes I build for them...
DAY 39: THE SHAMAN - It's become impossible to conceal. My knowledge of the woods, my ability to summon every familiar by name, I'm the Shaman.
And I've discovered "The Others". By which I mean I'm not really alone out here, there's a secret "Other" tribe of people, indigenous, furtive, hidden from outside prowling eyes, but with my enlightenment they have begun to contact me...
My attempts to capture on the camera will naturally fail, they're far too elusive, the camera will only ever capture the breaking of twigs, the bending of branches, and my whispered assurances that "They're Here...".
DAY 52: My abundant free time has not been wasted. Boredom is the enemy of sanity, I know this, and I've kept busy. With various scrapers and tools I've made from bear antler and fire-hardened sticks I've dug exploratory holes all over my solitude and found bedrock. I've panned for and recovered no small quantities of gold and some rather quality gems, but most importantly I've found small quantities of iron, and a large vein of copper. I'm entering upon the bronze age. Or, maybe not just me, there are the Others, and I'm bringing them with me...
DAY 62: Here would be a good time for me to talk about my struggle. About how tough it was out here without tobacco and liquor, and how I'm looking forward to the grapes being ready to harvest so I can show the Others a good time. Maybe use some expository flashbacks to show me smoking and drunk back home. And then I show you the weapons...the bronze age has allowed me to forge a variety of weapons - spears, knives, I'm ready. And against the outer wall you can see the outriggers and Canoes we've been carving...and everywhere the bizarre totems, skulls and animals carved into trees, primitive images that tell the terror of my journey...
DAY 78: We've grown tired of waiting, and have begun to wonder who the holdouts are...Who are the other Survivors that are hanging out and keeping us here? Waving ours spears and covering ourselves in warpaint we pull the dugouts down to the Cove...we're going to find and perhaps rescue, perhaps eat them...while the women and children pound the war drums and wait for us in their invisible huts we push into the sea ...
***
This is of course only the beginning, to give you a taste of what an excellent reality show contestant I'd be. This, as you observe yourself, could go on for a year. What fun! You've got my number, give me a ring...
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