‘The Help’ strikes a chord

At some point while we were watching “The Help,” my wife nudged me and pointed out a restaurant in Jackson, Mississippi, in the background in one scene of the movie, where’s she eaten. Her old high-school got name-checked, and so did a familiar grocery store chain, Jitney Jungle.

Yes, you might say the movie — and the book on which it’s based — is familiar territory for her. Literally.

And those who know my family know that its topic — relations between the races in the broadest terms — is one that’s dear to us.

I haven’t read the book, by Kathryn Stockett, but my wife liked it pretty well, although she was boggled by the idea that its events — the struggle of black maids in pre-civil-rights-era Mississippi — took place only a few years before she grew up there.

The movie — which showcases some wonderful actresses, from Viola Davis to Octavia Spencer to Emma Stone to Bryce Dallas Howard, who plays a reprehensible and pathetic racist — is good and manages to avoid the pitfalls of movies like “Mississippi Burning,” which relegated its black characters to the background in favor of the adventures of heroic white FBI agents.

There’s some comfort in watching the movie and not only feeling smug about the foolishness of racism but thinking about how much attitudes have changed. Even in Mississippi.

As someone with an abiding interest in tolerance, I think I was struck most by sympathy for the people who suffered, many mightily, through the depths of segregation and racism in the south as well as awe at how different our lives might have been if attitudes hadn’t changed.

“The Help” is a moment, frozen in time. Thankfully, that time has passed.

Falls of the Ohio

One of the best things about a trip to the Louisville area is on the Indiana side of the Ohio River: The Falls of the Ohio State Park.

If you’ve never been, it’s more than worth a visit. Remember learning about trilobites in science class? Well, thousands of the fossilized marine creatures are embedded in the rocky floor of the falls area. The nearly-400-million-year-old fossil beds are the main attraction of the park.

Depending on the time of year and level of the river — which is usually held back by a 30-foot dam — visitors can walk far out onto the floor of the falls.

When I was there for a visit last fall, the river level was low and you could very nearly walk out to the dam. This week, the water level was quite high and the water was rolling violently.

The effects of the variable water level are obvious in the photo below. High above the water level we found this week were piles and piles of driftwood that had washed up onto the banks.

While the fossil beds are cool and the raging waters were impressive, one of the best reasons to go to the Falls of the Ohio is the peace and beauty of being close to nature — but still close to civilization, with New Albany on the Indiana side and Louisville on the Kentucky side.

Here’s the website for the DNR park if you want to explore further.

(Photos with this blog were taken by me in October 2011.)

‘Avengers’ assemble

The trailer for “The Avengers,” next summer’s Marvel superhero team-up movie, hit the Internets today.

And it’s pretty cool.

I’d like to embed the video here, but as is typical of WordPress lately, it won’t let me.

So, rather than have you take my word for it, I’ll post a link here.

Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam

I love Spam.

The kind you eat.

Well, maybe love is too strong a word. But I like Spam. In a world where people eat raw fish — and pay premium prices to do so — Spam is not only a taste sensation but a bargain.

Okay, maybe there’s a bit of tongue in cheek — not to mention meat byproducts — in this ode to Hormel’s processed meat. But I genuinely enjoy the stuff.

My dad was a Spam eater from way back. (Or, if you prefer, SPAM. But that seems kind of stilted, so for the purposes of this blog, it’s Spam.)

Spam was a taste my dad acquired in World War II, when he was stationed in the Pacific Theater and spent part of his time as an Army cook. Hormel says 100 million pounds of Spam was shipped overseas during World War II. Some of it was even eaten. Much of it was used by my dad in various recipes.

During the war, my dad ate Spam because he had to but retained an appreciation for it, which he passed along to me.

Some of the foods of my youth — most sugary cereals, Beanie Weanies — don’t stand the taste-test of time today. Spam does, however.

I can eat it fresh (well … ) out of the can. I can eat it cold. I can eat it fried, preferably with eggs.

Part of the continuing appeal of Spam, I think, is that it horrifies my son so much. I enjoy torturing him by pulling a can of Spam out of our cabinet — I think that can has been there for much of his young life — and telling him, “What do you think? Should we have Spam tonight?” He reacts with disgust, of course, and so far I haven’t actually made him eat any.

Spam has gotten a bad rap in recent years. Its reputation took on a new luster with Monty Python’s “Spamalot,” but there’s not a lot that even a spoofy Broadway musical can do to overcome the onus of having particularly obnoxious junk email named after it.

Dang. All this writing about Spam is making me hungry. I don’t have any reason to worry that the can of Spam has been eaten, but it might have disappeared from the cabinet through some Spam-preventive skullduggery.

Ah, no. Still there. Waiting for me.

Soon, Spam. Soon.

Lester Holt, hardest working man in show business

I was watching the “Today” show last week and Ann Curry mentioned that Lester Holt had been chosen as the new host of “Dateline” on NBC.

Okay, let’s set aside, for the moment, that I didn’t know that NBC was still showing “Dateline.” It was only a few years ago that the network was airing the magazine show six or seven or possibly eight times a week. But I haven’t noticed it lately.

But I’m totally not surprised that Lester Holt is going to anchor the show.

Holt very possibly anchors more hours of network TV each week than any other living being.

Before the “Dateline” gig, Holt was already hosting the weekend editions of “Today.” Two hours (only one hour on the Indy affiliate) Saturday and Sunday mornings.

He’s also the anchor of “NBC Nightly News” on Saturdays and Sundays.

That means that Holt, a fixture on NBC and MSNBC since 2000, finishes with the “Today” show and then comes back 10 or so hours later to host “Nightly News.”

It’s no secret that the hours suck in journalism. Weekend hours are among the suckiest. But does anybody have suckier hours than Lester? I mean, does NBC give him a cot to nap on between morning and evening shifts at least?

That doesn’t even count all the times Holt guest-anchors on “Today” or “Nightly News” during the week while Matt Lauer and Brian Williams go kayaking or whatever the heck TV news anchors do.

And now “Dateline.”

I don’t think Lester would be quite so appealing, however, if he didn’t seem like such a nice guy. TV thrives on warm personalities. It’s possible for viewers to watch and enjoy an aloof jerk, but I think bad attitudes and star-tripping egos are ultimately obvious.

Lester never gives off that vibe.

And what’s more, he doesn’t even seem frazzled or tired, no matter how sucky his work hours.

I’m not sure even Lester can get me to watch “Dateline,” but I’m glad he’s there.

My moment with Vincent Price

It was the spring of 1982 and I was in an unexpectedly quiet spot in Chicago’s O’Hare airport, waiting for a plane. And, just as unexpectedly, there in front of me was horror movie icon Vincent Price.

I had been in Chicago on a press junket for the Arnold Schwarzenegger movie “Conan the Barbarian,” which was due to come out in just a few weeks. I’ve previously recounted my brief meeting with Schwarzenegger, who was far from a household name at this point.

Likewise, Vincent Price wasn’t a household name anymore. Except in my household, and those of other old horror movie fans around the world.

Price was about 71 by this point and his career had, in some ways, peaked a couple of decades earlier. His series of classic 1960s horror films, many adaptations of Edgar Allen Poe movies, were followed by a series of 1970s films that, by virtue of being offbeat, had given his later career a boost. Price had won critical acclaim and made fans with the “Dr. Phibes” movies and “Theater of Blood,” in which he played a washed-up horror movie actor plagued by a series of murders … or was he the murderer?

I loved the Poe movies and looooved the “Phibes” films, which were modern and old-fashioned at the same time.

But by 1982, the type of horror movies in which Price had starred had fallen out of fashion. This was the period in which every hack filmmaker was imitating John Carpenter’s great 1978 “Halloween” with cheap and tawdry slasher films.

Maybe I was emboldened by having just talked to Schwarzenegger and the “Conan” crew, but I knew I had to talk to Price.

He was, improbably, alone. No entourage. Not even a traveling companion.

I crossed from the bank of seats where I had been about to sit and approached him slowly. He looked up and smiled and seemed to encourage me to come closer.

I introduced myself, told him what I was doing in Chicago and asked if I could sit with him for a moment.

Even though by this point in his career he must have been approached by strangers thousands of times, he welcomed me graciously and gestured for me to sit down.

We made small talk — at least when I wasn’t telling him how much I loved his work — although I don’t recall if he said why he was traveling.

I remember thinking how jealous Jim, Brian, Derek and my other movie fan friends would be about my opportunity to meet one of our favorite stars so I asked if he would mind if I got out my tape recorder and recorded our conversation.

Price, so friendly in our few minutes together, balked at this.

“I think it would attract too much attention,” he told me.

By this point, a few other people had arrived at the gate for their flights and had noticed Price. He was right, and I nodded.

We spoke for a few more minutes, although by this point Price was distracted by the other people around us. Before long, a woman came up to where we sat and asked if she could take his picture. (This was in the days before cell phones, of course, and the woman had a camera, which was certain to attract even more attention.) Price smiled a little tightly and gave his permission.

Feeling almost guilty that I had started this snowball of recognition, I thanked Price for spending some time in conversation with me and headed back to the seats closest to my gate. He smiled and thanked me for my time.

Price spoke to a few of the people near him but before long excused himself, probably to go to a nearby airport restaurant. I didn’t see him again before my flight left.

Although Price seemed almost a curiosity to the crowd in the airport that day, he achieved yet another level of pop culture fame just a few months later. Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” album and music video, featuring Price’s spoken word “rap,” was released in November of that year. Although he wasn’t seen in the insanely popular video, his distinctive voice was heard, and anyone who wondered whatever happened to Vincent Price had their question answered.

I was lucky enough to have found out, a few months earlier, whatever happened to Vincent Price. And in the process, found that he was a gracious and generous man.

I didn’t get a chance to meet Price, who died in 1993, again. But he’ll live on in my memory from our airport meeting that day in 1982.

Please Mr. Postman …

Outside of Christmas and birthdays, there are few moments of genuine joyful anticipation for most kids that can top waiting on the mailman to deliver a package.

Whether the package in question is a gift from a grandparent, an eagerly awaited toy or even a favorite magazine or comic book, there’s nothing like the excitement of checking the mail, sometimes for days or weeks, and finally — finally — receiving what you’ve been waiting for.

As a matter of fact, sometimes the anticipation tops the actual item that’s delivered. Remember that classic “Calvin and Hobbes” comic strip series about the propeller beanie?

That’s why I love the U.S. Postal Service, better known as the post office, and its mailmen — more accurately known as letter carriers and postmasters and other postal workers.

And that’s why it makes me sad that the Postal Service is struggling right now.

There’s a good Associated Press story that sums up the problems facing USPS right now, including declining use of what some derisively call “snail mail” as well as $5.5 billion a year that the organization must set aside for retiree medical costs.

If the Postal Service doesn’t somehow make enough money to cover that expense, it could shut down.

So USPS is considering cutting staffing, closing some post offices and eliminating Saturday delivery. Workforce cutbacks take their toll on any company or organization, without a doubt. Closing post offices not only pose inconveniences for customers but take away a sense of identity for many small towns. Saturday delivery is great but seems the most expendable.

Whatever happens, I hope they work it out. With email and online transactions, we do a lot less mailing than we used to. But our household still gets a steady stream of print magazines, packages and important mail that we can’t live without.

Maybe none of it can match, in pure joy, the mailings and packages I received in my youth: Items purchased from Captain Company ads in Famous Monsters magazine, X-Ray Specs from comic book ads and my Merry Marvel Marching Society membership package.

But the mail is still welcome in our household. More than welcome. Necessary.

Ten years later

I still have the dream.

I’m standing outside at night. I hear the whine of a jet far overhead. I look up and see the airliner, darker than the night sky around it. The shape of its body and wings eclipse stars, then clouds, then trees as it falls to earth.

Sometimes I wake up at that moment. Sometimes the dream involves ushering a child or a dog to comparative safety behind an elaborate fountain like the kind you’d find in a town square. Mercifully, I never dream long enough to see the fire or hear the noise.

I’ve had the dream for the better part of 10 years now. Like my other recurring dreams — being lost, losing teeth and the classic being back in high school with no idea what I was doing or where I should be going — I’m not certain what prompted it, other than general anxiety.

Ten years ago this week, we all felt horror and shock and sorrow as we watched the events of Sept. 11 unfold. I doubt there are many of us who don’t still think about that day. Or dream about it.

Almost as vivid in my memory, however, is the memory of my relief when, a few days after the attacks, I first noticed a vapor trail in the sky. It was a sign that we were recovering, that things were moving back toward normal.

That recovery has seemed very slow at times and the nightmares linger. But we’re recovering, nonetheless.

(Photo above by Dallas commercial photographer Sean Gallagher.)

 

Geektastic: Jonny Quest stop-motion animation

This makes me all geeky goosebumpy.

A stop-motion animation artist named Roger Evans has produced a two-minute-long-or-so version of the opening credits of the classic 1960s animated series “Jonny Quest.”

Yes, this talented man has produced a stop-motion animated version of an animated cartoon, but if that stumps you, you’re missing the point. And probably checking out the wrong blog.

If you’re an old school “Jonny Quest” fan, you’ll appreciate the behind-the-scenes details of how Evans accomplished this. Here’s the webpage with the info.

And if you don’t get a tingle every time the Quest jet cuts through the clouds, I’ll double your money back.

Just for fun: Buckaroo Banzai

Here’s a little something for my fellow geeks out there: The end credits of the 1984 film “The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension.”

The movie, starring Peter Weller, Jeff Goldblum and Ellen Barkin, came out in the summer of 1984 and was met with a collective “Huh?”

The story of Buckaroo, a surgeon/musician/adventurer, and his posse was a throwback to pulp stories featuring superheroes like Doc Savage.

But the movie left a lot of people cold. It did play like a long inside joke, admittedly, but it was an inside joke that I appreciated.

I saw this at the (now gone) Northwest Plaza Cinema in Muncie. It was the summer of “Ghostbusters,” “Beverly Hills Cop,” “Star Trek III” and “Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom,” and Buckaroo and the Hong Kong Cavaliers got lost at the box office.

Overlooked as it was, there’s been talk of a sequel and of  a TV series, and Buckaroo’s HQ, the Banzai Institute, has a Facebook page.

And the legend lives on in the film’s cult status.