Large Fierce Mammal

A whole 31 days in October every year, and it still can’t hold all the shit I find in the 12 months leading up to it. Ah well, one does what one can.

“Frozen Dead Guy Days” is an annual event held in Nederland, Colorado – next scheduled for 7, and, and 9 March 2014 – that found its genesis in the arrival of a frozen Norwegian named Bredo Morstoel. That’s right, he was already frozen when he got there, his remains having been consigned to a cryogenic storage facility after his death in 1989. In case you’ve forgotten, cryogenic storage is sought by people who have themselves quick frozen after death in hope of being cured of what killed them at some point down the line, just as soon as medical science and the general state of giving a shit makes it possible and desirable for them to stage a comeback.

As chronicled in a New York Daily News article from 27 September 2012, at which time there was a chance the festival’s namesake would soon be bound for alternate lodgings in Michigan, here is the back story in the strange matter of the frozen dead guy:

Morstoel died of heart failure in his native Norway in 1989, and (grandson Tryve Bauge) had his grandfather’s body frozen and transported to a cryonics facility in California. Ultimately he had the corpse moved to Nederland, where Bauge lived at the time.

When Bauge was deported because of an expired visa, he hired Bo Shaffer  to act as an unofficial caretaker.

At first, townspeople in the mountain village 17 miles southwest of Boulder, Colorado, were aghast at the thought of a frozen body being stored in their midst.

But they ultimately embraced the idea of an annual festival surrounding its most famous, albeit deceased, resident.

But there was trouble in paradise. The article elaborates:

A financial dispute between … Bauge, and the man hired to replenish the dry ice on a monthly basis, Bo Shaffer, has led to Bauge threatening to move his grandfather’s body out of Colorado.

Each month for 18 years, Shaffer has hauled 1,700 pounds (770 kg) of dry ice – carbon dioxide in solid form – to a remote shed above Nederland to keep the corpse of Morstoel at -24 degrees Fahrenheit (-31 degrees Celsius) and in a state of cryonic suspension.

But Shaffer said he quit after Bauge refused to pay for the rising costs of fuel and ice, which has made the endeavor unprofitable.

“It takes two of us to make the four-hour roundtrip,” Shaffer told Reuters. “My quitting is the only way to get his (Bauge’s) attention.”

Shaffer – AKA “The Iceman” – has published his experiences as arguably the frozen dead guy’s closest associate, in a book titled Colorado’s Iceman and the Story of the Frozen Dead Guy.

Events slated for this year’s festival include coffin racing, costumed polar plunging, frozen T-shirt contests. ice Turkey bowling, brain freeze contests, the ever popular parade of hearses, frozen Salmon toss, snowy beach volleyball, and live music performed by a band called The Blue Ball. There have also been tours to the resting place of Morstoel’s sarcophagus, although event organizers point out that he is not personally open for viewing.

License plate on a hearse participating in the 2007 “Frozen Dead Guy Days” parade of hearses. This reminds me of the plate on a souped up hearse modified for fun by a funeral home director of my own  acquaintance. His reads “OVERTAKER”. (Source: http://www.nydailynews.com/news/national/colorado-frozen-dead-guy-festival-corpse-article-1.1169672)

For more information, consult the official Frozen Dead Guy Days website. If you want to go, freeze those dates now!

Who’s your Granny?

Brown Bag Films is an Irish company described on its website as:

Europe’s most exciting, original and successful creative-led animation studio. Since 1994, their Dublin-based headquarters have produced cutting-edge animation for the international market, bagging numerous awards along the way. These include Oscar® nominations for Give Up Yer Aul Sins (2002), Granny O’Grimm’s Sleeping Beauty (2010) and Bafta and Emmy nominations for their hugely popular TV series, Octonauts (2011).

As a logical and more O’Grimmly humourous step beyond yesterday’s The Watcher in the Window, Granny O’Grimm’s Sleeping Beauty is the focus of today’s Dark Sentiment.

Before we begin, I’d like to mention that Granny O’Grimm bears an amazing physical resemblance, both in appearance and mannerisms, to a woman from my past (of which, in accordance with my antiquity, there are many). Mrs. Berringer was a short, fire plug of a woman who taught Presbyterian Sunday School in my home town of Lunenburg, Nova Scotia, back in the day. Throughout her life, she was coiffed in a ‘do referred to as the “bee hive bubble”, and I believe, if not for that, she would have been as tall as she was wide … or thick, come to that. On her death, I can only assume she required a casket befitting her stature.

In the full flower of animation though, I remember how riveting it was to watch her walking silhouetted against a setting sun, and musing about how many times one could shoot an air rifle or slingshot through that monolith without her noticing – the goal being to open a hole big enough to fire a shelled Chestnut through.

But I digress – something we hoary ancients are prone to. The Brown Bag Films YouTube Channel describes today’s feature film thus:

Full film of the Oscar nominated “Granny O’Grimm’s Sleeping Beauty”, directed by Nicky Phelan, produced by Brown Bag Films, and written/voiced by Kathleen O’Rourke.

In this computer animated short film, Granny O’Grimm, a seemingly sweet old lady, loses the plot as she tells her version of Sleeping Beauty to her terrified grandchild.

Granny O’Grimm’s Sleeping Beauty received an Oscar nomination for Best Animated Short Film at the 2010 Academy Awards.

By way of introduction to Granny herself, the personal information provided on her facebook page says:

Once upon a time there was a granny who dreamed of being the best granny in the whole world. But unfortunately, this granny was tormented by a lifetime of rage against the world and everyone in it.

Now be off wit’ ye! Go to full screen and soak up the Granny goodness!

Here tonight for your edification is another LFM sleepy time tale! The Watcher at the Window is not to be confused with The Monster Under the Bed. which, as you will soon know, is an entirely different thing.

As of last Tuesday, Son LFM is a month among us, and while there’s a while to go, that only serves to enhance my excitement as I look forward to doing a seasonal poetry reading for his Elementary School Grade 1 Class.

 The Watcher at the Window
(A Sleepy Time Tale)

By LFM

Every night, as darkness falls,
And shadows climb up bedroom walls,
From tunnels hidden dark and deep,
Something comes to watch you sleep.

Pull the shades, it doesn’t mind.
Close the shutters, draw the blind.
Huddle ‘neath the blankets tight –
Nothing hides you from its sight!

It never moves, nor blinks an eye,
It finds your room, however high,
And there it watches ’til the dawn.
At morning’s light you’ll find it gone.

But truth to tell my little son.
This thing is not the only one.
Where each child sleeps in all the lands
Outside their pane, a Watcher stands.

Your own holds vigil through the night,
To guard your every dream from fright.
Your Watcher’s not a thing to fear …
Except for one small thing my dear.

Not every child is kind and sweet.
Some like to steal,  they lie and cheat.
Hurting things with kicks and blows.
But when this starts, their Watcher knows!

Become a wicked child of sin,
And what’s without will come within!
What once stood guard will haunt your dreams,
And revel in your endless screams.

So ere you go to bed my lad,
Do cleanse your heart of all that’s bad.
Bring your parents joy, not sorrow,
Lest you be in Hell tomorrow.

The title of today’s Dark Sentiment is taken from that toe tappin’ Queen classic we all know and love, and most particularly its use in one of my favourite commercials of all time. Behold:

This brings me around to two animated short films that I present today for your viewing pleasure, both dealing with the time honoured profession that concerns itself with disposing of the dead while exercising appropriate ceremony and decorum. Each looks at the job of the “funeral home director” or the “undertaker” from different perspectives,  with its own unique flavours of blackest humour.

The first item on our agenda is This Way Up, being the tale of a father and son team of funeral directors who will, quite literally, go to Hell and back to see their client to her proper resting place.

Second, but by no means second string, is the bizarre and grotesquely rendered film, The Backwater Gospel, in which a small town tramp with a bad singing voice and equally bad judgement becomes the scapegoat for much bigger issues. In brief:

As long as anyone can remember, the coming of The Undertaker has meant the coming of death. Until one day the grim promise fails and tension builds as the God fearing townsfolk of Backwater wait for someone to die.

Pour yourself a drink and enjoy today’s presentation.

Unnatural Selection

By LFM

I’ve had a gift these many years
And ken not whence it came.
I cannot claim to guide its ways,
Nor even know its name.

To outward signs, I have good genes,
And carry aging well.
I will admit, I’m all of that,
But something else as well.

It’s not that I don’t age, you see,
It’s that what ages you
Is faster than what ages me.
There’s nothing I can do.

And as the years have passed
Along with people that I’ve known,
I’ve realized some shortened lives
Have broadened out my own.

It doesn’t happen every month,
Nor even every year,
No matter what the timing though,
It happens, never fear.

It always starts the very same –
A love or friendship sours,
And from my depths of enmity
It picks who it devours.

They’ll never find a cure for me,
Nor potion to arrest.
They’ll whizzen up and waste away,
While I still look my best.

“The Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog” by Caspar David Friedrich

Welcome, Dear Reader, to yet another season of Dark Sentiments; being our traditional 31 October days of musings, revelations, exposé, poetry, literature, visual arts, and myriad dark expressions of the Human spirit, all chosen from the sort most in the world have spent the past year trying desperately to avoid, or pretend into nonexistence.

This series first saw moonlight in the month of October 2010, and has cruelly continued every year since then. For those curious, foolhardy, or nostalgic enough to pursue the matter, links to the introductory piece for each past season are listed hereunder:

• Dark Sentiments 2010
• Dark Sentiments 2011
• Dark Sentiments 2012

From each, you can navigate through the entire associated season by using the forward and backward navigation links at the bottom of each page.  Should you choose to dabble in these sins of the past, there is a chance you will find broken links or video presentations that either no longer work as intended, or even still exist. We make every effort to stay on top of such things, but nevertheless beg your indulgence in bringing such occurrences to our attention should you encounter them in your travels … or even travails.

This season will bring out the latest news on some old favourites, and delve into some previously unexplored territory. If you remember as you read this that you’re running a sleep debt, it’s too late now.

Source: http://www.behance.net/gallery/Knife-Crime-Stop-young-men-from-fighting-with-knives/4019847

By the courtesy and unflagging vigilance of the Right Honourable Master At Arms James Albert Keating, I was recently made aware of an entertaining bit of information out of Scotland.

According to her Behance and facebook profiles, Beatrice Sgorbani is a young woman living in Edinburgh, Scotland, working as a “brand and business development executive” for an organization called Wow 24/7. Her employer bills itself on its own facebook page as, “Your essential guide to what’s happening near you.”

Among Ms. Sgorbani’s current projects is the one represented by the banner at the top of this article – “Fists Over Knives”. To clarify, and in case the whole thing stages an internet disappearing act, I’ll quote the mission of this campaign as she defines it on Behance:

Brief: Stop young men from fighting with knives

Solution: Fighting with knives stops young men from…being real men.

The idea is based on the insight that we can’t stop men from fighting, meaning this in general: they’ve always fought and always will, it’s a cultural-natural reaction. But we can stop them from degenerating, we can stop them from fighting with knives and weaponry. We can push on the fact that real men fight with their own fists an (sic) their own strenght (sic); if you use a knife, you’re not that kind of men, or better, you’re not a man.
For these kind of people that would carry a knife, that would use it, manhood is the trigger of their behaviour, it’s the reason to act, it’s what they want people to see in them, in their acts: if you take their manhood away from them, they have nothing. So our shot will be to make them feel that they’re not the macho-man they think they are: they’d be the one people take the piss out of.

They might think that they send a message to people by using a knife, a message of strenght (sic) and a macho-man halo; we’re going to use that same blade they chose, to send them a message, a message of cowardice, of weakness.

So … “insight” … we can’t stop men from fighting because that’s the nature of men …  but we can at least stop young men (because we all know us old men are a lost cause) from fighting with weapons of any kind – beginning with knives – by reserving all the sexual favours in the land for the ones who, in their ultimate demonstration of “manliness”, express their innate berserker nature with their fists alone. That’s it, isn’t it Ms. Sgorbani? You’re OK with fighting as long as it’s fist fighting, and fist fighting earns all the pussy? You’re good with promoting that for the good of society? The bigger the weapon, the shorter the penis? Interesting approach,  coming from the same woman who also takes credit for this campaign she describes as a “Recruitment campaign for the Territorial Army in Scotland”:

Source: http://behance.vo.llnwd.net/profiles23/1058065/projects/3783958/38de880119eeb676e7031738a480894e.jpg

Source: http://behance.vo.llnwd.net/profiles23/1058065/projects/3783958/a9bf8b05903b7fa7b7ae3f71d3a24389.jpg

You can trust me that tanks of any brand or nationality, and mortars as well, are both a lot BIGGER, LONGER, and more DESTRUCTIVE than any knife, or PENIS for that matter, even the most MANLY man could wield; and so, alas, as per Ms. Sgorbani’s assertion:

“… we can’t stop men from fighting, meaning this in general: they’ve always fought and always will, it’s a cultural-natural reaction. But we can stop them from degenerating, we can stop them from fighting with knives and weaponry (LFM emphasis). We can push on the fact that real men fight with their own fists an (sic – LFM emphasis) their own strenght (sic – LFM emphasis) ….”

… our hearts go out to Tank Commander Callum MacLeod and Missile Operator David Hunter, who are both sadly identified in the posters above as being unworthy, at least according to Ms. Sgorbani, of any and all sexual comfort until they see the light, eschewing all weaponry upon the field but their bare hands as nature intended. Ah well, take heart Gentlemen, for Beatrice Sgorbani holds not the key that unlocks all the chastity belts in the land. I’ll swear to it!

We’re also left in a state of sympathy for those whose interest is bound to be fanned by her employer’s headline, Star Wars fans rejoice – scientists create real-life lightsaber. It being an as yet unavailable weapon, the relevance of the “light saber” to penis length has yet to be discussed in any open forum, but I have no doubt we will return to it anon.

To conclude, and in all seriousness, the fact is that Scotland does have a documented history of violent crime perpetrated by youths armed with knives. Now, I should point out that a lot of UK “knife crime” is now being documented based on the simple fact that a person is in possession of a knife, but here’s the thing: not every swinging dick is under consideration – youths – and that alone should tell us something about how society must consider its role in having spawned the problem. As with most such issues, the underlying causes are varied, complex, and lost in the cacophony of political pundits proclaiming that they, and they alone, possess the cure. We see a similar pattern of bullshit in North America with the same response to so called “gun violence”, except at least here the target demographic isn’t so clearly related to age. But getting back to Ms. Sgorbani again, here’s another matter – Scotland also grapples with the highest rates of alcoholism and alcohol related crime to be found anywhere else in the UK. Nobody is saying that the bigger your snoot full the smaller your pecker – least of all, Beatrice Sgorbani who has yet another campaign to her credit, this time flogging Jim Beam Red Stag whiskey that she describes thus:

A marketing campaign that focuses on the synergy between an online channel, a digital devise and the traditional media. How to promote your drink amongst the new generations? Well, talk their language!
A collaboration between the most famous social media Facebook and Red Stag to make everyone stand out from the crowd and be the first among their friends to like the product, to recommend it or share it! And since the conversation has to stimulated the old traditional media receive a new look thanks to Blippar. Scan the poster and interact with the advert to receive discounts!

“How to promote your drink amongst the new generations?”

“Scan the poster and interact with the advert to receive discounts!”

Wow. New generations are what again? Oh yeah! YOUNG people. Youth. Here’s an example of her suggestions for that campaign, and at least for now, you can find the rest of it here. Advertising, you see, is not about championing a noble cause. It’s a form of prostitution, and the one who pays will get his fantasy fulfilled, if we let him.

I’ll conclude with a return to the beginning of this piece, and a word to those of my readers who can separate their knives from their gonads. That should pretty much be all of you. The implement, or the libation for that matter, does not the offending act make, and here, to tidy us out, are the words of old Uncle Argyle speaking to young William Wallace in Braveheart. Politics and advertising be damned, he had it cold.

This news item took me straight back to my state of mind while writing A Tale of Two Bints and a Bear. Take a look pf your own and see what I mean.

In this screen capture taken from amazingly detailed Renaissance surveillance footage, it would appear the man on the ground was insistent on taking the matter too far.

In a recent telephone conversation with my Esteemed Friend Gary Carbone, we spoke of matters that included the taking on of students, and the choosing of training partners. Specifically, the filtering of those who truly want to know from those who simply want to look as though they do, and how one may come to find that even a poor training partner can be better than no training partner at all.

The poem that is the point for today grew out of that conversation, and if I don’t miss my guess, any serious practitioner of a combative Art who also counts among his or her skills the Art of Teaching, will find some of their own Truth in what follows. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you …

The Apprentice

By LFM

A lad asked me to teach him once,
The secrets of the Blade.
He said that he would learn to fence
If I would deign to aid.

I heard his plea, then sat him down
And spoke my simple rule –
That he I name “apprentice”
Must renounce the badge of “fool”.

He would keep two things most secret,
As his life to guard the same –
The first was what he learned from me,
The other was my name.

“But!” he cried, “To name you
“Would put glory on your head!”
I fixed him with my gaze a while,
Then this is what I said.

“Of all the things you’ll learn from me
“Let this now stand as first –
“If your name be now ‘Apprentice’,
“Its preamble will be ‘Worst’.”

“And so you shall not speak my name
“Until I grant the right.
“When that day comes depends upon
“How soon you see the light.”

“For now, I would not have my name
“Connected with your ‘skills’.
“This is no game that you would learn –
“This is an Art that kills!”

“When I expunge the title “Worst”
“‘T will mean you’ve come to be
“Both true reflection of this Art
“And of your Teacher – Me.”

“When your soul and blade together
“Honour Life, and NOT the kill,
“Your lips need never speak my name.
“Your every action will.”

Tired and radiant, Mrs. LFM cuddles our hard won prize, Viktor.

The picture above explains the reason for my absence of late – Viktor Ryszard Lawrence Whynacht was born to Mrs. LFM and me at 02:10 Atlantic Daylight Time on 3 September 2013 – miraculously at almost exactly the same time and on the same date on which, in 2001, I grabbed his perfect Mother, pushed her against a wall and kissed her for the very first time.

The experience has been thoroughly documented, and we have much to say about the wondrous process that took us from the decision more than five years agone to conceive a  child should the Gods favour, and our hearing the lusty first cries of this perfectly formed little boy, but I would ask your indulgence dear reader. This is the first day either of us has had a full slate of lucidity since last Monday, and I hate getting up in the morning to come here even before that first cup of coffee to see what it is I can vaguely remember writing yesterday. I will say that what I find in those moments is often among the best received I’ve ever written, but it’s no way to run a railroad.

In the spirit of brevity then, here are some snippets. As of this afternoon, Mrs LFM had this to say:

After an extremely brutal week, everything is finally perfect.

I wanted as natural a birth as possible. Nature was against me this time. A 45 hour labour ending in a C-Section gave Viktor a rough start to the world. Sometime between hour 40 and 41, I finally relented to an epidural. Around hour 43, Viktor started showing signs of fetal distress, and a C-Section became the only option.

Five days in the hospital and a fight to be released made us both more than a little cranky, but now that we’re home, we’re both doing well. And VERY happy to finally be with daddy and the four-legged siblings!

The onerous process of extrication from hospital was an outcome of Viktor being overdue. In short, he came into the world more developed than he would have been otherwise, so Mrs. LFM’s milk production was slightly behind the curve. Result: several days of slight dehydration and weight loss. More will be explained at length in future installments, and suffice it to say that all is now in synchronicity so that Mother and Son are thriving, but the diagnostic process involved the drawing of more than a few blood samples from Viktor’s heels, and was accompanied by delays that at times were hard to stomach. Testy does not adequately describe my mental state as I wrote this while watching yet another sample being drawn.

Viktor’s Saga – Chapter 1

By the pricking of my heel,
What in hell’s the fucking deal?
People come to poke and prod,
I’m young, but I still think it’s odd.

I’m at this breast here, can’t they see?
It’s warm, and full, and all for me!
And yet it’s when I try to eat,
They steal some blood from out my feet!

My Mum and I don’t like it here!
It makes us cry and smells of fear.
My Dad knows how you get your fun,
He’s coming soon! He’ll make you run!

My Dad arrived all dressed in black.
He’d come from home to bring us back!
My Dad is big and fierce you see,
But never that to Mum or me.

Home is where healing can best be found, and so it has yet again been proven with us. I will leave you with that thought until we meet again.