Cracking Up

A new computer!

When I dropped my 2021 MacBookPro its screen cracked. I used it for several months this way but lately the cracks have been growing making it difficult; it would cost nearly as much to replace it as it is to get this, the fourth laptop computer that I’ve used to create this immoral immortal blog. A shiny new MacBookAir, in the 'starlight' finish, and it is the best laptop I’ve ever owned (and certainly the cheapest!):

Oh well! Live and learn, Bo Diddley says it best:

Batty and the Devil

20 years ago on FITK:



It was a middle-of-the-night session with his trusty laptop.

Perhaps it was nerves, or too much coffee, but the Professor couldn't sleep that night. In his pine-paneled garret, the unreliable narrator worked on yet another installment in that ongoing forum known as Flippism Is The Key. The night was warm, and while a rumble of thunder in the distance augured a storm, at that moment the air was still, with ominous, almost putrescent odors of mown grass, cloying flowers, and humus permeating the neighborhood. While glancing at the clock - 2:30 - a shadow crossed Batty's line of sight, going from the open window to the darkest corner of the little room. "Drat! A bat is that! Scat!", muttered the Suessian Professor. He picked up a throw from the couch to gently capture that 'child of the night' before it could hurt itself or arouse the rest of the household.

He arose, turned toward the corner and then stopped. Instead of a winged mammal, he saw before him, wearing an elaborate Victorian outfit (complete with a red-lined black satin cape), was what appeared to be a man. "Allow me to introduce myself," the apparition purred, "and please forgive my brash intrusion. I am Beelzebub, the Prince of Darkness, Satan, or he who some may call the Devil, and I am here to make you an offer that I think you will embrace willingly, once you comprehend it in its entirety." The dubious professor thought: I simply must get that screen replaced...then spoke: "What do you want with me?" "I notice that you're blogging, having a tough time of it tonight, aren't you? A little short on inspiration tonight?" -the hint of a sneer curled the nocturnal visitor's lip as he continued; "You realize, of course, that I could help you make your blog an overnight sensation, MILLIONS of hits, book offers, screenplays, groupies, even your face on the cover of Wired magazine!"

The professor seemed tempted for a moment, but then slowly crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head; "No, no thank you. I'll pass on that."

"My dear man, don't you realize that I can bestow to you all these things and much more? You don't grasp the breadth of my power, do you? It wasn't Al Gore that invented the Internet, Bub, and may I add, 'you ain't seen nothin' yet!'" "Thank you, no, I'll stick with what I've got. It isn't much, but what goes in this blog is as true as we can make it, no matter how silly or oblique it may appear." The professor was a little irritated by Satan's boasting. "You may be the Devil," he continued, "or you may be the Lord, but this place exists for its own purposes, and is not in service to God, the Devil or Mammon." "Truth!" snorted the Devil; "And can you be so sure of the others who appear here? What darkness lies within their nature?" "They are who they are. They write what they see fit, and I have neither feeling nor reason to doubt their integrity." The Professor was truly angered now, "They have their own demons to deal with, and need no help or hindrance from the likes of you!"

The true nature of the interloper now became manifest, as his fine clothes turned into reptilian scales, and his unctuous voice now turned into a sulfurous hiss- "Wait and see, my ersatz professor, wait and see- you'll be on my side yet- or as I have often been quoted: 'If you aren't with me, you are against me!"

With that the otherwise timid blogger flew into a rage, throwing his copy of HTML for Dummies at the hideous creature. This caused the transformation of the stranger back into his winged form, which then flew through the window leaving Batty alone with his musings once again.

4 Comments:

Anonymous said…

I always love it when old Beelzebub stops by unannounced. It really puts some wind into the old sails.

The problem is that he doesn't like to leave…

Internal Medicine Doctor said…

Here's what I'd like to know? does this mean that Glenn Reynolds sold his soul to the dark lord? hmmmm…

Professor Batty said… I have a feeling that I should know who Glenn Reynolds is... but because I don't, I may still possess my soul…

Internal Medicine Doctor said…

He's Instapundit (100,000+m hits per day)

Reposted

I Want To…

Crowd, Iceland Airwaves, 2023

… return to Iceland.

I’ve done pretty well in honoring my new year’s resolution to stop posting about things Icelandic on FITK. Perhaps my new feelings contain a bit of jealousy; in a couple of weeks The Weaver is off on a Scandinavian cruise—starting in Reykjavík! Or, perhaps, these ruminations are just a bit of stock-taking on my part.

I’ve taken nine trips to Iceland in the last twenty-five years. Each was great in its own way: each had moments of illumination, each made me look at the world in a different way. Some of their appeal was in just getting away from home and going to a place that, for a few weeks anyway, seemed like I was living in an enchanting world. Iceland is far from perfect; it has its own problems, and the people that I’ve gotten to know there certainly have their own tribulations. Still, the those Icelanders I’ve met and talked to have been a joy. I prefer going in late October/early November: airfare is cheap, the weather can be very fine, the theatre season is in full swing, and the Iceland Airwaves music festival is being held with 12 hours of music every day. Swimming outdoors every day (free for seniors!) and talking with the locals is great, meeting with old blog-pals is nice (if bittersweet at times), and there is a place where I could stay that I love. And the rush of being in a crowd of friendly strangers is a definite plus:

Crowd at Lucky Records, 2023

On the other hand some negatives are:
Earthquakes.
Volcanoes.
The world situation.
The weather in Iceland can be horrid (I have been unbelievably lucky in the past—how long can that streak continue?)
Icelandic theatre has taken a bit of a downturn in the last few years.
The music scene, especially Iceland Airwaves, seems to be a hollowed-out shell of its former glory.
I’ve exhausted my Icelandic correspondents’ hospitality; once every eight years is fine, every two years is abusing it.
The lovely place where I stayed last time is much more expensive now than it was in 2023, and is unavailable.
It is hard to put an exact price on trips such as these but what I used to do for under two grand is now closer to four—more money for a lesser experience—that math is not hard to figure out.

The other factor that figures in these considerations is my age. I’ll be 75 in July. I’m in good health now but that may change. While getting to Reykjavík is relatively painless, enjoying the city on foot requires a good set of legs and some stamina, with lots of hills and heavy winds. Will I be still doing solo trips in my 80s?

That last question may actually be a reason to do it now.

Despite all these misgivings, and while my musical tastes have changed over the years, I still find it thrilling to see a performer in the moment, stealing the show:

Jóhanna Rakel, Cyber, 2023, Iceland Airwaves

ArtSlicePod

Visual artists and art historian Stephanie Dueñas and Russell Shoemaker are a couple of lit-up art nerds who host a series of podcasts/videos about various often obscure art personalities in an almost free-form presentation. Their latest effort centers on Wanda Gág, one of my long-time favorites:



If the video seems confused at first, stick with it.
There is method to their madness.
But they are quite mad.
Bonus points to the duo for actually going to the Wanda Gág House in New Ulm, Minnesota!

Bomb Boy

20 years ago on FITK

I was afraid of Richard when I was growing up. Richard was the Bomb Boy. He made bombs in his garage, and blew them up in the empty field by the creek. His specialty was the crafting of pipe bombs, made with sections of steel pipe and match heads. He would set them off with firecrackers, they made a big explosion. Richard was working in his garage one day, making the biggest pipe bomb yet, and he was hammering the end of it shut with a hammer.

When Richard got out of the hospital, he only had one hand and one kidney, he walked funny and was blind in one eye. The sight of him limping down the street always gave me the willies. He did a bad thing, and he paid the price. I had done things just as dumb, but I was luckier than Richard. Maybe God liked me, I thought. Maybe Richard was bad and deserved his fate.

There are hundred of thousands of bomb boys (and girls) now. None of them are any better or worse people than Richard. They didn't make their own instruments of self-destruction. They were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe God doesn't like them.

I don't know what God thinks.

L’ Avventura

Recently I rewatched this existential classic by Michelangelo Antonioni. If you’ve never, it might be worth a look just for the styles portrayed in it. High 60s Italian fashion, a veneer overlaid on centuries-old architecture. And Monica Vitti.

Above the TV sits my art nouveau mantle clock. English casework, French clockwork, circa late 1890s. As I watched the movie, I realized that the movie was made almost exactly between the time the clock was made and the present. There is a chance that the clock-maker was still alive when I was born, and the actors in the film certainly were. Now, I remain—my existence is enriched by the efforts of these departed artisans and artists, although Monica lived until 2022.

Com'on, Summer!

Near Long Prairie, Minnesota, 2009 I’m longing for it…

Sunrise

20 years ago on FITK:

sunrise.

Not needing, not needing you.

Or boys. Or girls.
Needing myself and no one else.
Drinking water.
Being messy.
I think not.

Not caring. Not trying for this.
Just happening. Just doing.
For once.
Not watching. But knowing.
It'll be the right thing.
It'll be therapeutic.

New and exciting.
Butterflies over someone new everyday.
Being sexy, desired, wanted, available
But unable to be reached.
Smart, in a non-overwhelming way - just know
How able I am. So appealing.

It's 9:22 AM in May.
Wishing it was December.
Wishing it was innocence.
And that way forever.
That would be absolutely
B. E. A. U. T. I. F. U. L.

Agree? Only myself.
You couldn't possibly understand me.
Or any of this.
The desires, wishes, wants, needs, loves, hates.
Only me, only me and you.
Me single, alone.

The most appealing thing.
Catch eyes. Blink.
Flirtatious eye-batting.
Lively. Ravishing. Me.
Why yes!
This is merely the beginning.

By RS, reposted

Spring Trim, 1984

Paul explains the importance of proper grooming to Jan and Joan:

Jan submits to Joan’s ministrations:

A North Fifth Street story.

The Night Guest

A novella by
Hildur Knútsdóttir
Translated by Mary Robinette Kowal
A Tor Nightfire book, 2024
Originally published in Icelandic as Myrkið milli strarnanna

This slim volume is an unsettling glimpse into the darker side of modern Reyjavík.

Iðunn, a thirty-something office worker, is having health issues: waking up feeling fatigued, with mysterious bruises and a general sense of unease. She sees various doctors and tries remedies suggested by friends. When she accidentally leaves her fitness watch on when going to bed she is surprised to discover that she’d taken 40,000 steps in the night!

As the story unwinds, strange things continue to happen to Iðunn, and the ending is equally bizarre. There are a fair amount of Reykjavík backdrops where the action takes place—the Grandi district is featured—on some of my favorite walks.

While it isn’t great literature, I did get a kick out of it. A great airplane book  (to be read on a flight to Iceland?) Hildur has written several books for children, she also has another adult title, The Shape of Stones (2025). Kowal’s translation is fresh and modern.

A marginal recommendation.

Dialogue Appropo of Nothing

20 years ago on FITK:

Dialogue Appropo Of Nothing

“...of course there can be no true monologue.”
“What? What of Hamlet's soliloquy?”
“A solitary actor, to be sure - but his lines shared with the audience, each in their own minds delivering a reply.”
“I disagree, surely there is the interior monologue we all have running, as a background to our lives... ”
“Our conscience? Jimminy Cricket, a guardian angel or perhaps  a tempting dæmon, Goofus or Gallant? Are we not talking to God? Is God talking back?”
“What is the sound of one voice, yapping?”
“So it boils down to this. If there is an omnipotent force, all knowing, then everything is known, heard and interpreted.”
"Or not. Then it is nothing.”
“How many people live inside/outside of your head?”
“Real or imagined?”
“Does it make a difference?”
“There is a reality, and if you believe it to be an illusion, place your hand on the table and I will stab it with this ice-pick.”
“I get your point.”
“Point, set and match.”
“Violence never proves anything... OUCH!”

By Professor Batty

1 Comments:

Blogger Comica said…

Whenever I have little arguments with myself, it normally doesn't end in violence, but this particular dialogue sure made me sit and ponder.

I was going to argue that if we talk to ourselves, that would be a true monologue. But no, we're hearing ourselves, and what of the higher beings? Surely they would be an audience with attentive ears.

I guess it's true then. There is no such thing as privacy!

Reposted

Signs of Spring

Wes Anderson rhubarb:

Fine feathered friend checks out the neighbor’s truck:

Dramatic Downtown

Minneapolis, March, 2025…