Kicking Fears in the Asshole

As a kid I was terrified of two things.

Nuclear War

Tornados.  (No, not the delicious deep fried snack food).  Click on the photo to enjoy the awesomeness.

Truly, there was nothing I hated more than seeing this shit:

or this:

 

Sometimes it was really bad:

 

This was bad enough:  The Guyana Jonestown Massacre was bad enough. I remember this clearly, and the concept of one man being able to talk people into doing the most horrid of actions petrified me. Cult behavior still scares the shit out of me, but back then for the most part, when the National Network broke in, it meant two words in my mind:

They. Launched.

I battled these fears on the nightly quite often. I go deep into the nuclear end here.

I figured out a way to combat those fears and make them, at the least, tolerable.  That was knowledge.  I began watching documentaries and reading books about the subjects, and learning the roots and creations of these destructive forces, and that brought them down to my level.

Books like Gerard DeGroot's The Bomb: A Life, Stephen Walker's Shockwave, Richard Rhodes uber-thick Making of the Atomic Bomb, and Peter Kuran's genius film  Trinity & Beyond: The Atomic Bomb Movie, brought the humanity of the nightmare into the picture, and for some reason, made it less scary overall.  The Nuclear Weapon is a human conceit, and therefore under control of people.  I learned that no one wants to make Mutually Assured Destruction happen, and that launching one takes the involvement of more than one person with that goal in mind.  Highly unlikely. (I hope).

The tornado is not under any control.  As stated, a nuclear weapon is something only a human being can unleash upon the world.  The tornado, is the child of the supercell thunderstorm, but does not obey the orders of any parent. It obeys no road maps, is affected by no conditions, no construction, no landforms.

So I did the same research.  I did the reading and learned how the tornado formed, the history of its damage, and the odds.  I tried to relay this upon my kids.  The odds of a tornado forming, let alone forming above you are small.  Not impossible, but very small.  I don't know if this has helped my kids deal with their fears in any way.  However, as a kid myself, when I did the math in my head, and actually saw one in person, the fear became a subtle background issue, and not a walking nightmare.

There's a reason there are people called storm chasers.  Tornados don't come to you often enough to have that around the clock, gut-rot fear.

Now, I just have to get around to doing something for that fear of cults.  I'm halfway through the terrifying Raven,  (I had to take a break, the writers' cold unemotional description of vividly horrid events seemed a little too unnerving) and the way these people drifted to Jim Jones, and did what he wanted, seems all too familiar.

Some people can talk themselves into listening to and obeying anyone.

Those Quiet Moments: The Debut of Van Damme and the concept of the movie theatre

 

 February 26, 1988. It was a cold night in central Wisconsin.  A friend of mine, Mark, and myself decided to go see what was the first mainstream martial arts film in America since Kill or Be Killed. or perhaps Best of the Best.    There was some bullshit marketing here of course, as Jean-Claude Van Damme was billed in the advertising as being a former competitive martial arts champion.  

Yes, we were there to see Bloodsport.

Now, I guess there's some truth to the championship pedigrees, but it was some off the fringes association that he was the champ of, not any well known international or even American conglomerate.  However, Mr. Van Damme was not only a snappy martial artist nonetheless, but had extensive ballet background as well, giving him flexibility that exceeded even many of the best martial arts purveyors. 

So.  Was he great?  Probably not.  

Did he make it look good?  Hell yeah, he did. That ballet really helped.

It's legendary lore that after JCVD came to America, he appeared in a couple things here and there, but didn't stick. He eventually hung out in the Cannon Films waiting area, trying to get Menachem Golem to give him an acting job by displaying kicks and punches in the lobby, sort of an impromptu audition.  (see the doc Electric Boogaloo or The Cannon Film Guide Vol. 1.). 

One half of the go-go boys was impressed enough to greenlight Bloodsport, but hated it and buried the flick.  Once Cannon began to struggle financially, it was resurrected and led to the brief stardom of JCVD, a guy I still have a soft spot for, not just for this film however. It was admittedly bad, and acted so awfully that it had to embarrass the legendary Roy Chiao.  OK, Donald Gibb and Bolo Yeung carry their weight. 

I was also a great admirer of Timecop, Universal Soldier, and the films he made as the first stateside actor (Yes, I know he's originally from Belgium) to work with the Hong Kong greats John Woo, Tsui Hark, and Ringo Lam.  He also practiced pretty damn solid script selection once he fell into direct-to-video purgatory, as many of those films are much better than those of his fallen 80's contemporaries, and his series on Amazon, Jean Claude Van Johnson is a goddamn hoot to boot.

Anyway, I remember snow falling lightly on that quiet Friday night as Mark and I got out of our shared cab at the Rogers Cinema near the Wausau Center Mall.  The snow-covered ground crunched on our approach, a bite of cold in the air stinging our cheeks as we entered the theatre, then descended to the basement screen, complete with a pole in the middle of the seating.  It's an old building, still there, but no longer a cinema.  I remember sitting there in the cheap upholstery, warming up in a seat not far from the pole. 

There's something fascinating about a theatre with ceilings that low.  There was barely enough clearance for the projected beam to reach the screen.  (This was before digital after all, nothing but good old 35 mm in 1988).   Being from the Milwaukee area originally, I was not unfamiliar with theaters like Kenosha's  Lake 1 and 2, where I saw Bambi with my mom as a child, Star Trek: The Motion Picture with my ailing father,  and Silent Rage with my Dad as teen. An old-ass building with ornate balconies, classy furnishings, and employees in full usher regalia.  It was, after all, a former opera house.

There was also the monolithic United Artists Cinema 5, Kenosha's first true Multiplex, where I saw E.T. the Extra Terrestrial in 1982 (on a second try, the first attempt was sold out, Thanks, Mom!!), and Die Hard 2 in 1990.  I was alone for that one.  But the Lakes were a special situation.

By the way, if you're looking for a great place to see a movie in Wisconsin in a house that's been around forever and still flickers a pic to this day, try the Plaza in Burlington.

The Rogers, however, was a mini-multi-plex.  An oxymoron if there ever was one. Mark and I sat there quietly waiting for the lights to dim for the trailers, hum of the heating system filling the air, me chewing my Dots as I was really taken aback by how just about any space can be turned into something else with creative engineering, elbow grease, and a lack of concern for aesthetics. If you click on the Rogers link a couple of paragraphs back, you can see its original intent was not as a movie theatre, let alone five of them.

I've mentioned this prior on this blog, but there was an even smaller screen in house upstairs, where I saw Good Morning Vietnam very late in its run, on a Rogers screen not much bigger than what's in most peoples living rooms these days.  Why was that screening room so bright, anyway?  Ridiculous experience, that one.

Anyhow, God rest the Rogers. 

And the resident spirit, Bob. If he still dwells there, rattling things.

And long live the Plaza. 

My family and Soda Pop

I'm a soda connoisseur. 

Trained.  Seriously. 

My favorite soda, hands down, is Mello Yello.  Now, Mountain Dew is a fine beverage, but Coca-Cola's answer to it? 

Far Superior, friends & family. 

I take a lot of grief from my editor and wife for being addicted to soda.  Addicted?  I'd say enthralled and educated.  However, as a kid, My Dad had established a two cans a day rule for me when I hit the age of 12.  Like that was the alcohol age for soda or something.   I held to that, as it wasn't hard.  This was the early 80's where you could turn in your empty glass bottle for a deposit.

Why does it feel like a million years ago?

Also, what happened to the language issue:  It was once called "Pop".  In the mid 80's, in Texas, they called it "Soda Water".  

Now everywhere it's soda.  I have no idea what happened there with the verbage.

Digressing.  Soda is a preference thing.  As evidenced above, citrus soda is my favorite, with Mello Yello getting harder and harder to find.  Not available in Texas anymore, I have to get it from a Wendy's or Arby's fountain, or those finer restaurants (because Firehouse and Pei Wei is CLASS) that have Coca- Cola Freestyle machines.  Otherwise,  I'm shit out of luck.  My siblings?  My family tends to lean toward Pepsi.  

I remember during the Cola Wars, my mentor and brother-in-law Don had to demonstrate his skills in knowing the difference.  At a minor league baseball game in Wausau, Wisconsin circa 1987, Coke had a taste testing table in the dirt path to the restroom.  He took a sip of each and blew the Coke in a spray of defiance across the walkway.  Overdramatic?  Sure, maybe.  

I call it loyalty, as he WAS a soldier in the Cola war.

My sister Linda prefers Pepsi, or as she calls it, ZI.  Like a fine wine student, she pairs it with her favorite food.  Pizza, or ZA. 

That's right.  Zi and Za on a Friday Night.

However, Ma is a Coke drinker from way back.  She still is.  On visits, there's always a cold 12 in the fridge.

Speaking of cola, one afternoon in 1989, I drank two Jolts and cleaned my brother-in-law's basement.  

Anyway.

Laurie isn't much of a soda drinker as I can remember, neither is my brother Dan.  Although everybody took part in imbibing Wisconsin's multi-flavor mix and match, Jolly Good at one time.  The taste was indeed cost effective on most of their flavors.

My connoseiurship probably began in early childhood with a company in Kenosha, Wisconsin called Sparco.  Also a mix and match outfit, they made their own, it wasn't carried in grocery stores.  This is probably where Laurie's love of Black Cherry Cola came from.  You walked in and filled a case of 24 glass bottles.   Dad brought this out with the popcorn on movie nights.

However, I've experimented a lot, despite my pickiness.  Next door to my sister Pam's Taco Bell that I worked at was Carl's Hardware.  Standing stoically out front was a really old Double Cola machine.  I often hit that on my way home from work.  It must be some astronomical anomaly as this has been the only time in my life I've encountered that machine.   The soda is regional to the northeast, (New Jersey, New York, and Philadelphia), but it's headquartered in Tennessee apparently.  

So, what that machine was doing in Schofield, WI is still a mystery to me.  

I mean, I've even done some research.  Like a carbonated beverage Fox Mulder.  Can you hear the theme from the X-Files?

I think Double Cola was briefly held at a warehouse in Schofield or Weston WI.  I remember picking up a 12 pack from there wholesale.  Somehow, my Dad found they were stocking it there, and that may be the link to Carl's vending machine. 

My Dad was always finding shit like that out?  How did he do that?

But stocking that machine seemed a lot of effort for a small return if upping sales was their goal.

Now here In Texas, everybody loves this funky Big Red stuff. I've tried it, and  I don't get it.  It's red cream soda.  Kinda tastes like bubble gum. 

But it's BIG apparently.  Like everything else in Texas.  (eye rolls here)  

My kid, Aidan using a shocking video brought me to the attention of Mountain Dew Voo-Dew.

For a breakdown of my flavor variant experimentation, especially seasonally, click here.

In the culture, I'm sure it raises questions, like what the hell is McFly asking for here:

 

 It's all about this:

And maybe this:   Voo-Dew

And if you need more reminding of the truth, turn to no other than the late, great Jim Varney, or Ernest P. Worrell: