Movie Report: Pump Up the Volume (1990)

Book coverWell, since I just mentioned the film’s soundtrack, when I had a little free time, I looked for this videocassette which must be one of the most played ones I’ve ever owned. I bought it at Suncoast Video at Northridge Mall when I was in college, and as I had a small video library at the time and, somehow, a lot of free time even though I was involved in activities at the university and working full time, I watched it over and over again. Which probably means I got it my freshman or sophomore year when I was not quite as busy. Regardless, I’ve seen it enough times that even the previews before the feature (for The Book of Love and Metropolitan) were familiar.

At any rate, for those of you who haven’t seen it: A high school student, Mark Hunter (played by Christian Slater), has recently moved to Arizona from back east when his father has become the superintendant for the school district. His father bought him a short-wave radio to talk to his friends back east (this was in the days when long distance was expensive, young feller), but he instead runs a pirate radio station and broadcasts at 10pm every night. Although he is shy in person and has not made any friends, his broadcasts attract the attention of the local students, including Nora DeNiro (Samantha Mathis) who sends poems to his PO Box. Matters take a serious turn and the authorities start looking for him when he talks to a suicidal young man on the air. Suspecting it’s a prank, Happy Harry Hard-On (his on-air persona) teases the fellow but tries to calm him when he then suspects he’s serious–and the boy kills himself after hanging up. Meanwhile, the school principal is expelling students on thin pretexts to thin the herd while keeping the funding, and this comes to light as the FCC closes in on Mark.

The movie gives Slater a chance to go into on-air rants about the concerns of Generation X, and it spoke to me at the time. Come to think of it, the anti-consumerist and desire for authentic experience could probably apply today–I thought about offering to watch it with my young adult children to show them that some concerns might be universal for the age–but it’s an old movie by now and might as well be in black and white to them. Plus, Samantha Mathis appears topless briefly, and although that was a staple for late 20th century cinema, it is definitely not for 21st century movies, and they would be scandalized.

So although I’m not going to rewatch it every week or every couple of weeks as I did when the videocassette was new, I can definitely imagine watching it again.

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Not That Impressive

This Milwaukeean read 138 books this year. Which does he recommend?

I mean, it’s ahead of me–I might end up with 90 this year if I read fast (my book year ends the week after Christmas, although I have been considering calling a lid on it when I finish my current book because, 2025, man).

The late blogger Randy Jackson read thirty books a month. Jeez, he died like 10 years ago. Do I still have to use “late” when talking about someone dead that long? I’m sure there’s protocol on it.

I suppose 138 looks impossible to someone who maybe reads one or two or none, but if I changed my reading habits from doomscrolling blogs and Substacks, I could probably hit that mark consistently. Or at least once.

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Book Report: Mackinac Island by Robert E. Benjamin (2014)

Book coverThis is the third of the three local history books I picked up in our trip up north in 2018 which featured a brief visit to Mackinac Island, a famous resort island more famous because it does not allow cars, so people traverse the island in horse-driven conveyances or bikes. In the summer. I have to wonder if they use snowmobiles in the winter and presume so.

I read Mackinac Island: Its History in Pictures in 2018 and We Live on Mackinac Island in 2021.

This book, of course, is more like the former than the latter. A high-level history of the region chronologically, with a paragraph for various years starting in 1624 and continuing to the present day, although the story thins out toward the end “continued being a resort, basically” was the history. In its history section, it also goes far afield, talking about some of Schoolcraft’s trips in the upper Midwest and some of Pere Marquette’s trips which were outside Mackinac Island.

But it’s sprinkled with historical photos and starts with Indian legends and ends with touring information, so definitely a tourist take-away. Which I was and did.

We only visited the island for a couple of hours on a summer day. What did we do? Took a tour in a horse-drawn carriage. Walked around the fort. Walked around the lower commercial area a bit. And took the ferry back to the UP where we crossed the bridge back to the LP where we were staying.

When I showed my beautiful wife what I was reading, she started to daydream about places we could visit: Sanibel Island again, maybe the keys, Mackinac Island (staying on the island, perhaps)…. But, you know, that’s interesting and all, but when I do that sort of thing or when I’m on vacation, I think, “What would it be like to live there?” Like, for a period longer than a week? Wintering on Mackinac Island? Spending a year on Sanibel Island? I would still be an outsider–hell’s bells, I still feel like an outsider in Southwest Missouri even though I have ancestors from the area and I’ve lived here for sixteen years. Probably I’d feel like an outsider anywhere, and I would probably adjust and get bored living anywhere.

Perhaps it’s just best to visit places for a little bit and to read up on their history from the comfort of my own home.

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A Prediction That Did Not Age Well

I’ve often said, including on this blog in 2016, that Disney would buy Nintendo.

Ted Gioia says today on Substack that Disney itself might be a buyout candidate by a big tech firm:

A few weeks ago, Disney announced another miserable quarter—with profits from its entertainment business dropping 35%. Its margins are ugly, and there’s no clear plan for a turnaround in sight.

The company is so creatively drained that CEO Bob Iger actually wants users to generate their own Disney content. What’s next? Does he want us to build our own theme parks? Should I start my own troupe of Mouseketeers in the basement?

The company is looking for a new CEO—and the sooner, the better, if you ask me. But none of the likely candidates inspire much trust. So the company’s Matterhorn-sloped downward slide is likely to continue with accelerating speed.

I’m convinced that the House of Mouse will soon get swallowed up by a tech titan. I see Apple as a likely buyer, but Disney might also get acquired by Google, and bundled with its YouTube business.

He’s probably more right than I was.

My, the world has changed in those eight years since I posted that.

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Book Report: Bo Jackson: Playing the Games by Ellen Emerson White (1990)

Book coverI don’t know when I got this book, but I picked it up with a couple of other shorter books not so much because I’m looking to pad my annual stats (although I am), but because they were on the collapsed bookshelves where I last think I spotted Time and Again by Jack Finney which I wanted to pick up since I just finished Time & Again by Clifford D. Simak. I didn’t find the book I was looking for, but I did find this little Scholastic sports bio.

Bo Jackson was a big deal in the late 1980s, ainna? He played baseball and football and had a huge Nike ad contract–remember the Bo Knows commercials?

This book, written in 1990, was at the peak of his career. It’s kind of read that kind of bio, brimming with optimism. In 1991, a football injury caused him to miss time in the football season and the whole baseball season; he came back to baseball, won comeback player of the year, but retired in 1994. So he probably did not play long enough to get into either sport’s Hall of Fame–although he is the only athlete so far to have been a two sport all star. But that’s beyond the scope of the book.

The book itself tells about his youth, 8th of 10 chlidren and a bit of a J.D. but not a gangbanger or anything (apparently). It talks about him taking up sports after he straightened out and being a natural athlete who didn’t like to practice, but got through on sheer athleticism, much to his coach’s chagrin. He did multiple sports in college and completed his four years despite being drafted his junior year.

So the book’s a bit of a hagiography, of course, and geared to kids, although perhaps Jackson would not be the best inspiration for them, at least in how practicing and study of a particular sport go. However, he seems a standup guy. He’s remained married to his college sweetheart and has done charitable work after his retirement.

The book mentions, in passing, Deion Sanders, who was just coming into the leagues then. I mention this because I read a similar biography of Sanders in 2012.

So the hunt for the Finney continues after a couple of other books.

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Book Report: Time & Again by Clifford D. Simak (1951, ?)

Book coverWhenever I read Clifford D. Simak’s books (such as City, Mastodonia, or Project Pope), I think they’re…. interesting. But not compelling, which is why they are spaced so far apart in the archives (2010, 2017, 2020, and now 2025). They all feature great sweeps of time or time-travel or distant futures and big questions and although the characters are not bad, they’re do not make for heroes or compelling reading.

At any rate, in this book, a spacefarer who has been missing after going to an isolated and potentially dangerous planet returns after twenty years, but before he does, an unknown person or entity approaches an agent of Earth’s security forces to explain that they should kill Sutton, the traveler. The unknown person is from the future, and he wants to make sure that Sutton does not write a book. Because Sutton, who died in a crash on the planet but was revitalized by the aliens there and put in touch with the entity paired to him, his Destiny, which all living things have. And Sutton will write his reflections in a book which will become a religious text at the core of a inter-time war between a faction that wants Man to be the supremest being in the galaxy and to conquer and rule through a corporation that lasts a million years and one that wants to recognize the dignity of all life, particularly androids, which are not robots but rather are humans who are built organically but are sterile.

So that’s the setup, but it’s not the setup–it’s the story as it is revealed two and experienced by Sutton, the main character, who is approached by both factions and others and struggles with his Destiny–well, not the entity he calls Johnny, but he tries to wrap his head around how it’s all going to come to pass, whether he’s in real danger since he has not yet written the book, and discovering the non-human abilities he has been given by the aliens–including the ability to die and to then revive from the power received from twinkling stars–or a ship’s engine.

So it’s a lot of hopscotching and cogitating on the questions about destiny and the paradoxes of time travel, but events just seem to happen to Sutton, and although he’s a sympathetic character, a stranger both to the future where the factions are sending him back in time and to the past (1981, which is 30 years after the book was written, so the future from the book’s present but closer to the book’s publication date than to today), the alien abilities which are revealed as the book progresses makes him a bit of a Mary Sue, and the ending indicates how one faction has successfully nudged Sutton to fulfilling his destiny. So it smacks a bit of nudge and behavioral economics which I find unpalatable.

So I might have a couple of more Simaks lying around, but it is likely to be another half-decade or more until I get to it if I find it.

I do think I have a copy of Time and Again by Jack Finney around here somewhere, a 1970 book with the same title which also involves time travel. Maybe I’ll pick that up sometime soon (when I find it) just because it would seem to be just the right time to do so.

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“Kat Edmondson” Is How We Say “Stacey Kent” In American

KCSM has Kat Edmondson’s “I’ve Got My Love To Keep Me Warm” in heavy rotation this year.

To me, she sounds a lot like Stacey Kent.

Which does not mean she sounds like Stacey Kent.

But heaven knows I equate vocalists who are very different for some reason.

Will you find these Christmas albums on a musical balance post soon? Probably not; I’m topped up on Christmas music for the nonce.

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National, How?

A mass shooting carried out Saturday by multiple suspects in an unlicensed bar near the South African capital left at least 12 people dead, police said. The victims included three children aged 3, 12 and 16.

Another 13 people were wounded and being treated in the hospital. Police didn’t give details of the ages of those who were injured or their conditions.

Note that this took place in South Africa.

Why is this tabbed as “national,” AP?

Because guns-r-bad and we need to get the message out?

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Two Memories From One Post

The post and the comments at Neo’s place entitled When the only lettuce was iceberg led me to some reflections.

In my home, when I was growing up, we used to have salad with dinner most nights, and that salad was iceberg lettuce and a few tomatoes and cucumbers. With Wishbone dressing. There was no thought of any other kind of salad until years later.

We didn’t have salad every night because we were poor, and probably because my mother was not much of a cook and my father’s, erm, not ready to be married ways meant he was not home that often for dinner. Was he? I don’t remember having dinner as a family when I was young. Sometimes, when he brought some game or, erm, poached dishes to the table. But not every night. But, yeah, if we had a salad, even into my college years when I was living in my father and his I’m a little more ready to be married this time wife, salad was torn iceberg lettuce with some tomatoes or onions, maybe cucumber.

Memory one-and-a-half: In those days, I was working as a produce clerk in the early 1990s, and the grocery store in transition where I worked had only a couple types of lettuce. Mostly iceberg, but a narrow assortment of red leaf, green leaf, endive, and maybe some Boston/bibb lettuce. We had almost as many selections of cooking greens, but it was a store in transition, and not on the way up. The produce section of the lesser grocery stores offer greater selections now, and I pity the poor checkout clerks who have to become familiar with that many more mops of foilage.

Memory one-and-three-quarters: One of the commenter mentions:

And as a post scriptum, I had a friend who wrote a hilarious essay for a newsletter about what a delicious treat he would make with a head of iceberg lettuce:

He would cut it in half, and holding one half in his hand, over a kitchen sink, he would cover the open side of the head of lettuce with catsup and devour it by the bite, adding new catsup when he had taken a bite.

Back in those days, a head of lettuce was relatively cheap–like thirty-nine or forty-nine cents ($2000 in 2027 dollars), and I would often just take one for a snack. I’d salt it if I had salt available, or just munch on it as-is. It caused quite a sensation when the wife of the famously literate Swedish mechanic asked me what I was eating as I traversed her back yard to the famous Iron Maiden fan Dave‘s house.

“It’s a head of lettuce,” I said. And she recounted the story to my family and Dave’s family several times, incredulous. But in those late teen years, anything that filled the belly was a boon.

Memory two: Another commentor replies:

Catsup? I rarely see that spelling. Is it a regional thing?

Ah, gentle reader. I myself held onto that spelling long into the 21st century.

Commentors on my Facebook post indicated I was wrong. But, in my defense, the Dillon’s grocery store had this on its signage even then. Of course, Dillon’s is gone, replaced by a King Cash Saver (briefly) that has turned into a Red Racks and auto parts store (I have been here long enough that I can talk about what things used to be, and sometimes natives don’t even remember).

I’m not sure how I spell it now. I don’t have course to write it much, and I’m never the one to add it to the shopping list. But I’m probably still on team Catsup.

So how many memories did Neo’s post trigger? Two, or four, or more?

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Therefore But For The Grace Of God….

Dad dies after dropping barbell on chest in freak accident at the gym

I generally don’t have a spotter, either, unless my youngest and I are working on the same body parts during one of our infrequent trips to the rec center over in Republic. It’s funny: We signed up for 3 months to try it out, and we went all the time; we signed up for another 3 months, and we went all the time; we signed up for the full year, and…. Well, it’s a long way (about twelve minutes away, a handful shorter than the YMCA, but less expensive).

Which is why I don’t ever push it and max out on barbell bench presses. I know the risks. And I’ve only had to be helped one time where I worked to the point of failure and the bar would go no further.

I also wear gloves, so the bar doesn’t “slip” out of my hands.

But, geez. Makes me feel better about skipping this weekend.

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Another Wing Added To The Gallery of Regrettable Food

Spotted in Ozarks Farm and Neighbor magazine: Frito Cowboy Cabbage

That is, basically, cole slaw with canned black beans and Chili Cheese Fritos in it.

You know, for the most part, here on the Internet and in places where I go, people eat more elevated fare (or, in the case of the Internet, order it cold and expensive delivered).

But out in the real world, people with families are still trying to stretch their food budgets in novel ways.

So perhaps I should not comment archly here given that in 2026 or 2027, I might be eating noodles with fried eggs and rice with beans for two square meals a day.

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Seeds Sown Decades Ago

I dunno what I was doing–making the bed or folding laundry–and a song from the Pump Up The Volume came to mind: “Tail O’ The Twister” by Chagall Guevara.

I mentioned that movie, and I’ve mentioned that the soundtrack how the soundtrack is one of my favorites, and this might be my favorite song from it.

I mean, the lyrics don’t make a whole lot of sense, but it does mention Trump Tower. As did so many things back then.

I played the cassette until it warped, and I eventually got the CD. And I listened to it again yesterday. And felt, briefly, like I was 22.

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Why Not A Roundabout?

Willard considers building an underpass at Highways 160 and AB to ease traffic woes:

According to city engineers, at least 8000 vehicles pass through the intersection every day. It’s why the city is partnering with the Missouri Department of Transportation on an estimated $1.5 million project. Proposed plans include creating an underpass to funnel vehicle traffic on Highway 160 beneath Highway AB.

They’ve already gone nuts and added two roundabouts to Highway 160 leading into Willard.

What would make them decide to go with underpass instead of roundabout? The amount of space available? The fact that there’s a school right there?

I dunno. I guess if I really wanted to know, I could be arsed to go to the informational meeting on December 11. But I’m a blogger. I’ll just sit here in my basement and speculate. Or just raise questions.

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Interesting Word Choice

Missouri bill bans AI from human privileges like marriage:

Would you ever marry artificial intelligence? Would you consider AI a person?

A bill gaining support at the Missouri Capitol would ban AI from any of the privileges of being human, including marriage. St. Louis State Rep. Phil Amato is crafting a bill that would define what AI is by defining what it is not. The bill was pre-filed on Monday and has already gained support from several key players in the Missouri legislature.

Interesting word, privilege. From the bill:

22 3. For all purposes under state law, AI systems are declared to be non-sentient
23 entities.
24 4. No AI system shall be granted the status of a person or any form of legal
25 personhood, nor be considered to possess consciousness, self-awareness, or similar traits
26 of living beings.
27 5. No AI system shall be recognized as a spouse, domestic partner, or hold any
28 personal legal status analogous to marriage or union with a human or another AI
29 system. Any purported attempt to marry or create a personal union with an AI system
30 is void and shall have no legal effect.
31 6. AI systems shall not be designated, appointed, or serve as any officer, director,
32 manager, or similar role within any corporation, partnership, or other legal entity. Any
33 purported appointment of an AI system to such a role is void and has no legal effect.
34 7. AI systems shall not be recognized as legal entities capable of owning,
35 controlling, or holding title to any form of property including, but not limited to, real
36 estate, intellectual property, financial accounts, and digital assets. All assets and
37 proprietary interests generated, managed, or otherwise associated with AI shall be
38 attributed to the human individuals or legally recognized organizations responsible for
39 their development, deployment, or operation.

Basically, it’s saying that LLMs and their like are not human and do not have human rights.

Which journalists think are privileges. Which can be taken away if we humans are bad.

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I Coulda Had A V-8

Tom Kockau at Avoidable Contact writes about the 1970 Lincoln Continental:

Lincoln: Great luxury car manufacturer, until they told all people who don’t want an SUV to F themselves. But such is life. People want a certain kind of vehicle, and over-promoted incompetents torch their own castle. But I digress.

But once upon a time in a BETTER time, you could get a parade float-sized Continental in metallic turquoise, and steer the luxurious behemoth to your favorite supper club for the Old 96er, a baked potato the size of a football, and side salad with bleu cheese dressing, Herbert Tareyton smoldering in the mini Coleman cooler-sized ash tray.

And this very nice ‘70 Continental takes us back to those days of yore! I’ve always liked the 1970-71 Continental four doors. Some argue they are kind of plain for a Lincoln, a little too much Marquis, and not enough pizazz, but I always loved this style.

Ah, gentle reader–at one point, my father told me that would be my first car.

You see, when I was living with him whilst I attended the university, my great-grandmother, whom we called “Grams Great” and which is why I cannot apply that sobriquet to my grandmother even after she became a great grandmother in, what, 1997? since we called her Nana in our youth and she’s now become a Grams Great Great but not if my line, wow am I getting bad at these sentences with commas–to reiterate, my great-grandmother was still living independently in an apartment down not far from my old neighborhood and a block or two away from my brother’s first wife’s parents, and probably her, too, in 1993ish–ah, what? Oh yes, my great-grandmother, who lived independently, had one of those 1970s Lincoln Continentals, and when she came to his house one day, I was given the task of moving the car for some reason and parking it on the street. Ah, gentle reader. I was still a novice even though I probably had my license by that point, but I had a devil of a time parking it even at a patch of turf between driveways–not even parallel parking which I would get adept at two years later because I when I returned to Milwaukee, I stayed with friends where street parking was the only parking. On that summer day, though, I could not handle that much car. Every time I tried to park, I was three feet into the roadway. Three feet? Well, not close to the curb in any event. And my father said to me that that Lincoln would be my first car as he expected I would inherit it from her when she passed soon. Ah, but she was at his funeral but two years later.

It might even have been in that blue that Tom spotted.

It certainly triggered a memory. I like Tom’s Lust Object posts not so much because I have fond memories of the cars themselves, but I do remember a time when those long Cadillacs and Lincolns and (sometimes) Buicks were considered the height of luxury. Like something my godfather uncle would drive. And that I might never aspire to.

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