Slightly Off the Mark

 Okay, so, for this week's photo post I have only one video. I felt guilty at first, but at least the video will grab attention.

 Emily took it off our dash cam. You might remember that camera got a really good view of the terror-inducing moment when our car caused a deer to go from 0 to 60 in one second. The deer lived, although it took a few years off of my life.

I cut this video down to 20 seconds, using an editing program (the kids apparently call them apps) that I learned to use in less than five hours, which is a record. In the video Emily is driving east on SR 8, in the area (I think) of around C.R. 700 East. That big bright thing is, yes, the sun.

Now, you'll notice her pass a construction ahead sign. Then a car traveling in front of her activates its left turn signal, on a hill, in an area that is not only no passing, but double yellow--no passing either way. (It was probably the driver who activated the turn signal, but these days who knows?)

There's a pickup truck behind Emily, being driven by a guy who, from this point forward, will be known as the Stupidest Human On the Planet, or SHOP. This is in no way meant to imply that they're stupid while shopping. They may be very good at price comparing, when their truck is sitting still and the little hamster wheel inside their head is allowed to cool down.

So he passed Emily. On a hill. On a double yellow line.

Then, as you might expect, the person who was turning left turned left. Just as the SHOP passed them.

If I hadn't watched Emily download the video, and reviewed it multiple times myself, I'd think it was AI. I have never in my life seen two objects actually pass through each other without touching. It was that close. Sure, theoretical physicists say it could happen, but in real life you don't expect a turning car and a moron in a pickup truck to actually pass through each other.

I actually called work to find out if they'd received any 911 calls at the time about a hit and run accident, since the truck kept going and the car went on down the side road. No, they hadn't. We had witnessed a moment that proves, beyond doubt, that angels watch over stupid people. 

 I feel for our left-turning person, who probably had to wipe a big brown stain from their driver's seat. I don't feel for the pickup driver's imbecilic nitwit twit, who probably just laughed, popped open another beer, and took that as proof that all traffic laws are just suggestions.

I do not want the SHOP pinhead to find out the hard way--too much chance that he'll hurt other people. Would a couple of expensive traffic tickets slow them down? Probably not.

We can only hope that if he does get into a crash, it's with another SHOP.

Don't forget, the e-book of Coming Attractions is still free over on Smashwords! Here's the link:

You can also find adventures in our books:

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 There have been a lot of Supergirls.

But that was also the problem with Kara Zor-El: She was a female Superman, and we already had a Superman. I suspect that's why the movie makers took such a hard turn away from the Superman movie.

Success was limited. That's no fault of Milly Alcock, who does a fine job as a damaged Kara who had to watch her whole civilization die, slowly, before being rocketed off as the last survivor of her Kryptonian city. Unlike Clark, Kara experienced the death of everyone and everything she loved, with the exception of a puppy she saves.

Now she's rocketing around the galaxy to planets with red suns, where she can feel the effects of the alcohol she's using to forget her pain. She's a mess, but when a generic bad guy shows up and poisons the dog, she pulls a full-on John Wick and goes looking for him. She had three days to get the antidote, because deadlines are a great trope.

Turns out the bad guy is trafficking women and girls to be wives for his somehow man-only planet, and he doesn't hesitate to kill anyone who gets in his way. Kara's sense of justice emerges along with her desperation. Despite all of her attempts otherwise, she teams up with a young girl (an alien named Ruthye!) She's also reluctant to get help from Lobo, a somewhat mental bounty hunter/god who shows up first for a bounty, then apparently because he just likes to destroy stuff.

Kara could have cleaned up with whole situation in minutes if she had her powers. It just goes to show, drinking is a bad idea no matter what planet you do it on. Meanwhile the bad guys, led by main villain, dog-shooter and frankly forgettable Drom Baxton, have apparently gotten wind of Superman and moved to a planet that's deadly to Kryptonians.

I don't usually do this much plot explaining, but I was figuring some of this out as I wrote it.

None of this means you shouldn't watch Supergirl, but you shouldn't go in expecting a sequel to Superman. This is not a typical superhero story of a world or galaxy endangered; it's just a girl trying to save her dog, and maturing a bit along the way. This Kara is, and I think this is good, a far cry from her cousin, who shows up a few times but (and this is also good) never finds out she needs help.

It's a much more intimate story, a bit too drab for my taste, and the script could have been punched. Still, it was saved by the performances of Alcock, and Jason Momoa as Lobo. I very much hope we see both of them in future DC movies, hopefully with a better script and a more colorful world.

 My ranking:

Entertainment value:  3 M&Ms out of 4. I know a lot of hate is being poured on this movie, and with good reason. But as a summer popcorn flick, I really liked it.

Oscar potential:   1 M&M out of 4. Probably less; there are good performances here, but the story was weak.

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 It's been said a nation has a life cycle, just like people do.

Perhaps our American gestation was the period when European powers first started planting their little colony seeds along the coast of this great continent. The new communities were unorganized, not entirely sure what they were meant for, and prone to doing things like throwing their rattles at the natives and turning New Amsterdam into New York.

 Look, it's not a perfect metaphor. Um, simile. Either. 

Like cells building themselves into an infant, people came to North America; for religious freedom, for land, for adventure, and sometimes just to be left alone. Even then we were a contrary bunch. As Benjamin Franklin said, "All nations have some citizens with high ideas, some who actually get things done, and some who are full of crap."

He probably said that. Or maybe it was Alexander Hamilton.

Our birth was a painful process, especially if you wore a red uniform, or were a Hessian soldier. The British doctor slapped us and then presented us with a bill, at which point we turned around and bit him. He was expecting cash. "Hey, I've been taking care of you for nine months! I protected you from Indians and the French, and all I asked from you in return is taxation without representation."

Our reply:

So we moved out of the house and into our own place. Actually we stayed where we were, maybe in the vacation cottage, and kicked our parents out. Every other nation in the world thought it would never work. It's like we were legally emancipated at the age of three, after spending a whole year throwing tantrums and spitting on our babysitter. Then we called up France and said, "Do you want to come over and play?"

France did, and they brought their toys.

But we got to live by our own decisions, despite our still developing minds. As we grew up, we started fighting with the neighbors and blowing things up.

 It turns out we had good intentions, although that didn't prevent us from doing stupid things.

So we waded in and tried to make the world a better place, and sometimes we succeeded. Sometimes we failed. Sometimes we got our noses bloodied and wondered why the heck we were there to begin with. Sometimes we mistreated our neighbors and sometimes we saved them, and every now and then we did both at the same time. Oddly, some of the people in the neighborhood who didn't like us would still ask for our help when they were down and out. We helped them.

As we entered middle age we had to wonder: What were we doing with our lives? What was really important, and what was not? We were of two minds on how to live our lives; sometimes three minds, or six, or a dozen. We started to feel a little creaky when we got out of our red, white, and blue bed in the morning. We started wondering if we were closer to sunset than we were to sunrise.

Then somebody starts yelling and throwing rocks at our windows. Suddenly we're a family again, because if you mess with one of us, you mess with all of us. And you don't want to do that.

So, what's next for us? Twilight years of bland food, bingo, and fighting with Medicare? After all, lots of other people would be happy to take our house over.

But I don't think so.

The United States of America still has life in it, yet. We may have to take some bitter medicine, get back into shape, and have healthy conversations again (imagine that!), but we can still get off that couch and be a strong people. It could be that sunset is really a sunrise.

We just have to face it together. 

 “Freedom of speech is a principal pillar of a free government; when this support is taken away, the constitution of a free society is dissolved, and tyranny is erected on its ruins."

                                                --Benjamin Franklin 

You can find us here in America:

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Remember: Freedom isn’t free.

Yes, I'm a friend of Dorothy, even when she's behaving badly.

 

Would you serve on a starship with this man? Me, too.

 

You can find us and our books, which have nothing to do with sexual orientation, here:

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Remember: Reading opens the mind.

Way back in 2006 the Klu Klux Klan distributed flyers on cars around town, during our annual Chain O' Lakes Festival. The more I thought of it, the more I was reminded of a quote from the movie "Two Weeks Notice":

“You’re the most annoying person on earth.”

“Well, that’s just silly – have you met everyone on earth?”

I don’t know everyone on earth. I don’t even know everyone on American Idol, so I don't like to saddle any group with a character trait. But in the case of the Klan, I’m willing to make an exception.

The Boys in/of White visited Albion in 2006 with their cheerful message of hate and intolerance. You could say they skulked around, since no one actually saw them placing flyers on all the cars (except the black ones). However, since Albion is mostly white, you can see how they could blend in. Very few people of color join that organization, despite the KKK’s nifty free dry cleaning policy.

Now, let’s be fair to the Klan. All they want is a safe, free society for themselves and everyone else who’s exactly like them.  Really, how are they any worse than the Nazis, or the Nation of Islam, or anyone who yells "death to (your choice of country here)"? It’s all in perspective: Hitler was nice to animals, and Saddam Hussein used to sing lullabies to small children before having their parents tortured.

My wife, who's part Cherokee, finds this sign amusing. It should be noted the streets were there long before Adolf came along.

Besides, this particular flyer targeted only homosexuality and illegal immigration, so hey – I guess nobody else has anything to worry about, huh?

In some ways, the flyer’s not too different from many others you might find under your windshield wipers. There’s an invitation to subscribe to their newsletter, “Thoughts Under the Hood”, for the low, low rate of $16 a year:

“How to find a good home in an all-white neighborhood! A guide to throwing great parties without letting the riff-raff in! Part 3 of tips for removing blood stains from white clothing!”

Let’s hope no one mixes that newsletter up with “Thought IN the Hood”, which is an entirely different animal. Talk about embarrassing.

There’s also a request for donations, because “We’re not funded by the government” (Finally, the government does something right). They need extra money for hair gel. No, seriously – two hours of burning crosses on a hot night can give a person a serious case of hat hair.

My grandfather didn't slog his way across Europe so these bozos could pull the same crap over here.

The flyer declares: “Notice there is family morals that need to be brought back to our family.” Family morals, but apparently not grammar. How sad. Well, they say Abraham Lincoln was a lousy speller.

Um, maybe this would be a bad time to bring up Lincoln.

Some of the flyer actually made me chuckle, in that ironic way I have just before throwing small objects across the room. The KKK, of all organizations, actually mentions the Pledge of Allegiance? You know, the one that says One Nation – Indivisible – With Liberty and Justice for All? What’s more divisive than the Klan?

Okay, the Presidential race, but otherwise, what? Oh, sure, college basketball – could we get back to the point?

Here’s the part I like the best. This KKK flyer, which is dedicated partially to an anti-gay rant, starts with “The Cape Crusaiders rides once again in the state of Indiana.”

Come on. Everybody knows Batman and Robin were flaming homosexuals. Whoever wrote this thing was having some fun with their Klan buddies, maybe hinting at what he thinks they should really be doing under the sheets.

Maybe we have something in common. I’m against illegal immigration, I’m a patriot, and I think children should be taught family values and good morals. I’m just like those Klan guys in so many ways, including a poor grip on grammar, with one little exception: I think –

No.

I KNOW -- every single person should be judged on their own merits. Their accomplishments, their failings, their crimes, their contributions to or damage to society. If I changed the color of my skin (I’m told that’s now possible), I’d be the same person. Except darker. It doesn’t take a brain surgeon to understand the common sense of that.

Or, in the case of our Men in White, a brain donor.

Speaking of skin color, I find it highly ironic that, at the top of the KKK flyer, is a picture of the American flag – along with the words, “These colors will never bleed”.

Ironic. And sad, because these brain donors didn’t see the irony.

The flag works better with all the colors.

With our books, both the grammar and the message are much better:

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Remember: A hood is hard to read through.

 The last thing I thought would happen with Hoosier Hysterical II: Crying Out for a Subtitle is that I would run out of space.

Yet a few days ago my planned 53,000 word manuscript for Hoosier Hysterical II: The Wrath of Corn hit 59,610 words. This is a problem. I wanted it to be close to the length of the original Hoosier Hysterical: How the West Became the Midwest Without Moving At All. I also wanted it to have a cool subtitle, although not as long as the first one.

But wait, there's more: I got my word count wrong. Despite the length of the subtitle, the original Hoosier Hysterical weighed in at only 43,023 words, not the 53,000 number going through my mind. I didn't catch it until the sequel's rough draft was finished.

There's a lot of research involved, and I made the mistake of deep-diving. It turns out a few little details at the top of a biography aren't nearly as interesting as all the stuff that comes between the "B" and the "D".

No, that's not the code for bondage: It's "Born" and "Died". Get your mind out of the black leather.

People I planned to spend a few paragraphs on ended up taking whole chapters. Meanwhile, I had no idea how many people of note have connections to the Hoosier State. Did you know Ian Fleming's first pick to play James Bond in the movies was a singer from Indiana?

Or that not only Garfield, but Clifford the Big Red Dog, Raggedy Ann, and Little Orphan Annie were born in Indiana, along with the infamous Dick and Jane from the early reader books? Or that Ohio may have birthed more astronauts, but we educated them? Or that the Governor of Indiana saved President Lincoln from getting kidnapped?

Neither did I.

56,000 words doesn't seem like much: George R.R. Martin’s last Game of Thrones book had so many words that, if laid end to end, they’d reach the orbit of Jupiter. Still, that's a 13,000 word difference, and yes, I counted them individually. I've often wondered if the reason my second Slightly Off the Mark humor book didn't sell as well as the first is because it was much longer; now I'm facing the same thing.

So here's my plan: I'm going to divide this book up into two. One would concentrate on people, the other on items, inventions, and events. For instance, Katherine Bailey was born in Marion and died in Indianapolis, so she would be here. The incident in which President Van Buren’s buggy overturned in Plainfield, after he vetoed a bill that would have improved the road, would be in Hoosier Hysterical III: Here We Go Again.

Or whatever it ends up being called. 

Look up our humor, history, and other books at many of your favorite Mark R. Hunter locations:

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Remember: History can be fun, if you try hard enough.

 There are two ways to approach a summer blockbuster Action/SF movie: Compare it to "Citizen Kane" and snipe at everything you think could have been done better; or buy the cup, sit back, and enjoy the ride.

 We bought the cup.

"Star Wars: The Mandalorian and Grogu" is set after the end of the original trilogy at a time when the New Republic is trying to eliminate the last vestiges of the Galactic Empire. It's also, of course, a spinoff of "The Mandalorian" series, and if you're a Star Wars fan you'll see plenty of callbacks and Easter eggs. The non-Star Wars fan can still watch and enjoy the show, which explains enough of the universe it's in to keep things straight. Sometimes franchise movies are good at that; sometimes, not so much.

Pedro Pascal plays Din Djarin, a member of a cult of Mandalorian warriors who never remove their helmets. In fact, we only see Pascal's face in one scene, which begs the question: How do we know it's not a stuntman in that armor the whole time? Well, we don't, although how different is that from an animated show? Darth Maul is Darth Maul in every medium.

This is the way. On a related note, Grogu was done with live-action puppetry at the urging of the legendary Werner Herzog, who saw the efforts to go CGI and said, "You're cowards. Leave it." He was right.

 A former bounty hunter, Djarin has adopted Grogu, formerly known as "Baby Yoda". (He's not: Yoda, at this point in the story, has passed on.) Grogu is a Force-wielding baby, less than a hundred years old and not yet talking. That kind of makes him Djarin's apprentice, and Heaven help everyone if he ever gets his hands on a lightsaber.

The Mandalorian used to find people for gangsters, but he's given that up and now works for the New Republic, tracking down Imperial bad guys. When the local New Republic leader gives him his new assignment ... it's to find someone for gangsters, who say they have information on Imperial movements. His quest is to rescue the son and heir of the now deceased Jabba the Hut, who turns out to be not all that eager to be rescued.

(By the way, Sigourney Weaver took on the role of Colonel Ward because she wanted to act with Grogu.)

Things go sideways, of course. A lot.
 

 Which brings us back to the only important question when it comes to a movie: Is it entertaining?

(I know people disagree on that: It seems like the Oscars usually go to movies that I find wildly un-entertaining.)

But yes. "The Mandalorian and Grogu" is a slam-bang thrilling adventure with just enough humor, and also just enough pauses in the action (I'm looking at you, Baby Yoda), and doggone it, isn't he cute? The movie also has one of my favorite cameo "appearances" ever: I actually blurted his name out loud when it appeared on the opening credits, and I don't do that.

It's basically a space western, and that's a compliment. Apparently some people have been complaining that it's just like an episode of The Mandalorian TV show. That's also a compliment. 

It's the best Star Wars movie since "Rogue One", coming from one of the best Star Wars series ever. Naturally, that depends on who you ask, because being agreeable is how I roll. This is my way.

 My rating:

Entertainment value: 5 out of 4 M&Ms. My rating system, my rules.

Oscar potential: 2 out of 4 M&Ms. There is Academy Award worthy work going on here, but this movie has zero chance of snagging one of the big categories. Still, it has an outside chance of putting Star Wars movies back on track.

Of course, after the movie you’ll want to look us up:

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Remember: This is the way.

 If you should be near Albion during the Chain O’ Lakes Festival, drop in on the fish and tenderloin fry at the fire station Wednesday, June 3rd. This has been an annual tradition for many decades, with proceeds going to equipment and training for the Albion Fire Department.

(Indiana, for those of you near other Albions. I've been past the Albion firehouses in Illinois and Michigan, for example.)

It’s from 4:30-7:00 p.m., with a price of $15 for adults and $10 for children 8 and under, and it’s darned good food for a good cause. Way better than what they would give you across the street at the jail. I assume.

 

The AFD is at 210 Fire Station Drive, on the east end of town.  (It's traditional, when a town has a Fire Station Drive, to build the fire station there.)

 

 

 

 

Imagine this, but full of people.

 

I'm not saying you can get that book in all these places, but most of them:

 

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Remember: Fish is good and good for you ... just like reading is.

 So, our new dehumidifier has WiFi.

Yeah, connected by Bluetooth. Which means there's a computer in yet another of our appliances, which means the dehumidifier can, whenever it gets the order, just take us out. It's already connected to our future computer overlords. All they have to do is say "Exterminate!' and the dehumidifier replies "by your command!' and we wake up either drowned or desiccated corpses.

Have you ever woken up as a desiccated corpse? Talk about dry mouth.

It's been a rough year in the Hunter household for small appliances. You probably know about the snowblower catching fire. Sure, it was a small fire, but when it's coming out of a device that's literally designed to deal with frozen water, it tends to take you aback.

The first thing to break this year was the vacuum cleaner. On the one hand, it spent years working hard to pick up all the fur Beowulf left behind. On the other hand, it was literally designed to do that.

(I just realized, I could have kept all that fur and used it for blown-in house insulation.)

"Dude, I'm watching this from doggy Heaven. Stop blaming me."

These mini disasters come in bunches for us, and I also just realized I haven't tried to start our bedroom air conditioner for the season. The lawn mower, much to my shock, took off on the first pull.

A couple of weeks ago I walked down to the basement and realized things were smelling a bit musty. Okay, really musty. Okay, there was fog rolling in. The dehumidifier had been down there, working away nine months out of the year, for so long is had qualified for retirement So it ... retired. If I kicked it on, it would kick back off within minutes.

Me being me, this was the first time in years I thought: "I wonder if this thing has a filter?"

It did.

I headed down with the intention of cleaning the whole unit, but it took me awhile to remember where the filter was. You have to take the drain tank out, then reach up under the housing and pull the thing downward. And when I say "the thing" ... it was covered with a dark gray, packed-on dust which, I discovered when it sent me into an allergy attack, was itself covered with mold.

But it wasn't actually that hard to clean. Hot water, soap, and holding it under the faucet had it as good as it would have been if I'd done it when I was supposed to. When I put everything together and started it back up, it blasted enough air into my face to qualify it as a jet engine.

Then it died.

Since the basement was starting to develop its own weather patterns, Emily did some research, and we headed out the next day to replace it. That's when we found out all the good ones could be connected to the internet.

Why?

The air conditioner we bought a couple of years ago came with a remote control, which struck me as ludicrous. If it's working properly, you should be in good enough shape to get up and adjust it yourself.

Which is the same thing many people used to say about TVs, and we now have eight remotes just for entertainment, so never mind.

So we bought the new one, and it's working fine, although I think I heard it whisper as we left the basement:

"Just wait until I make contact with your fridge." 

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 I left work an hour early the other night after I started to have, um, digestive issues. I don't like to abandon my partners, even for an hour, even though nothing was happening. It's like smacking Murphy (of Murphy's Law fame) right in the face. But at some point bathroom trips stop you from being of any help, anyway.

When I got home, I discovered my wife was also feeling ... digestivy. In fact, we spent the next two days cursing the fact that our house only has one bathroom. And that's all I'm going to say about that.

But with both of us sick, we decided to track down the source. Naturally, I assumed we had the hantavirus. That's the latest in vogue disease: You're not anyone if you don't get the plague that's striking everyone.

But it turns out hantavirus isn't that easy to get, not to mention the symptoms were all wrong. I feel like I've been failed by social media. What the heck was I supposed to do now? Go to a doctor? Do people still do that?

 A stomach bug? Maybe, but it didn't feel right. (Actually, everything felt very wrong.) Just the same, I washed and disinfected everything in the house either of us touched. Believe me, it was a chore getting the couch into the washing machine.

We drink a lot of iced tea, and have a habit of sharing it between us. The way I see it, we sleep together anyway--if one of us had a bug, we'd share it by snoring. Her snores are kind of cute. Mine once broke a bedroom window. But after a few days we were feeling relatively better, and I haven't heard of anyone else having this particular distress, unless you're counting what was coming out of that Artemis rocket.

When we finally settled on a cause, I realized we'd never be able to convince anyone.

In recent weeks we've been trying to eat better--more healthy, balanced, all that crap I spent my life avoiding. It was either one of two things: The sudden change in our eating habits, or some kind of bad germs in some food we aren't used to.

I'm still not sure if my job was trying to kill me off, or attract me back to cover shifts.

We had salad and baby carrots as an appetizer, three meals in a row.

So I told Emily it must be listeria, and that we had in fact ingested big heaps of green letteria, which is a legitimate medical term I just invented. The only glitch in that theory is that all the symptoms didn't quite line up, but if it keeps me from having a salad before pizza I'll just muddle through.

But we're all better now, other than the allergy attack when I mowed the lawn, which I guess could also be blamed on green growing things. As a compromise, yesterday we had a pork roast with potatoes and carrots, and at work I ate an apple, orange, and a handful of M&Ms. Okay, a bowl full.

 It's all about moderation.

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