The Reader Travels

So, Halloween is coming up, and there are decisions to be made. My costume tradition is to pay tribute to someone famous who’s died in the last year, and I have a few interesting options this year. There’s:

• » Jeff Healey, blind guitar player extraordinaire
• » Bobby Fischer who kicked ass at chess and then became a freaky recluse
• » Heath Ledger, his last role presenting some cool possibilities
• » Charlton Heston, though I did the Planet of the Apes when Roddy McDowell died
• » George Carlin, perhaps the old school hippy dippy weather man
• » Isaac Hayes, maybe a little South Park, maybe a little Shaft, maybe some spaceship Scientology stuff, who knows?

I’ve been leaning heavily toward a tribute to Dungeons and Dragons creator Gary Gygax, who died in March of this year. He opens up a lot of possibilities for strange and wonderful creatures. I could be a sexy she-elf or a goddess, a warrior, bard or cleric, a sea nymph, fairy or succubus. I can take advantage of the opportunity to be a hot girl, since the last three years I’ve dressed up as nerdy dudes – Bob Denver in ‘05, Don Knotts in ‘06 and Kurt Vonnegut in ‘07.  So, I’m way past due for a costume that shows off my chest.

But I got thrown for a loop yesterday when I learned of Paul Newman’s death. Whenever I look at pictures of old blue eyes, I see my grandfather. I always thought my mom’s dad looked like Paul Newman, both in his younger pictures and later in life, when I knew him. So, to pay tribute to Paul Newman is to pay tribute to my Papa. Oh well, we’ll just wait and see.

Farewell, Mr. Newman. Farewell, all.

I don’t know why I find the subject of syphilis to be so fascinating. Maybe because you have these great minds through history that turn to madness with the aid of a tiny bacterium. Maybe because I’m also fascinated with Hansen’s Disease which has a similar but more nefarious stigma. 

People are always speculating about famous syphilitics.  But really, we don’t know for sure that Friedrich Nietzsche had syphilis. And we like to blame Van Gogh’s madness on any number of things, including the infamous spirochete. The syphilis entry on Wikipedia has a great list of “Notable known and suspected syphilis-infected people…” that shows who was known to have it, who was merely suspected to have it and who died of it.

Because of my morbid fascination, I think I will start a “diseased world” tour, starting with this book. Of course, you’ll have to wait for the blog to catch up with the research. In the meantime, there is still Shakespeare, who was genius but never mad. I’m not done with him yet.

I gave Scotland, PA three stars on Netflix, but I gave it three-and-a-half on Flixster. The trouble with the Netflix rating system is that you can’t give a movie half a star. Like many, this film for me was more than “Liked It” but less than “Really Liked It.” What I hate is when they tell you they think you’ll rate something three-and-a-half stars but then they only let you rate it three or four.  What’s that about?

Anyway, this was a fun spoof of MacBeth set in a 70s fast food joint in Pennsylvania. Murder, mayhem, drive-through service, what’s not to like?  And of course, there’s Christopher Walken which makes it a must see.

Did you know that Christopher Walken has averaged 3.8 movies per year since 1990?  That’s more than three and almost, but not quite, four.  And during that time, he’s been on seven episodes of Saturday Night Live, and seven episodes of Conan since 2000. I think he’s more of a workaholic than I am, and I need a vacation just thinking about it.

So, despite my dresser, I’m more inclined to believe in karma than an after life Hell.  I’m all about the golden rule. I believe that what goes around comes around. I believe that to live by the sword is to die by the sword and that fighting monsters can turn you into a monster. But I don’t buy into the fire and brimstone routine.

In a Shakespearean or Greek tragedy, the hero is defeated by some personal flaw. He creates his own hell by succombing to  jealousy, greed, paranoia, lust, hubris.

One of the coolest movie versions of MacBeth has to be Men of Respect starring John Turturro. It’s all mobsters and fortune tellers, plotting and back stabbing. Turturro’s own wife plays the Lady MacBeth (aka Ruthie Battaglia), and man is she vicious. Mike Battaglia is a badass. He lies and cheats and murders people to get to the top.

Here’s the question about MacBeth, though. What is our hero’s most serious flaw? Is it that he’s a power hungry murderer? Or is it that he lets his wife tell him what to do? Either way, he’s in Hell long before he goes down.

When I was a pensive seventeen year old, I stared at the beautiful antique dresser inherited from my grandmother and interpreted the art of it. Through my powers of observation, I saw in the dresser a scene of the afterlife.  The top part is carved to represent heaven, and the bottom is hell. Hell is represented by snakes and bats and fire and a great big urn.

Each time I tell the story to someone new, they say, “Oooh, that’s pretty cool,” and I say, “I know, right?” They all stroke my ego and reassure me that I think interesting thoughts, and I walk away feeling good about myself. Until last night. 

I showed the dresser to my friend D, and she said, “It’s a beautiful piece of furniture.” Then I proceeded to tell her the story, but instead of praising me for my insights, she said, “Well, when I walked in here, it was a beautiful piece of furniture, but now it’s just depressing.”

What? You mean you’re not going to tell me how awesome and interesting I am? Oh my god, should I file my dresser interpretations under cringe therapy and just get over myself?

Okay, so my dresser tells the story of eternal damnation, and hell takes up a whole lot more real estate than heaven. But at least my panty drawer is in the top part of the dresser, which, to me, means that despite what the Pope says, there is still sex in heaven. Or maybe it means that sex IS heaven. Aw yeah, that’s it.