Tag Archives: Eric Robert Nolan

A few quick words on “The Walking Dead” Season 9 (2019)

I won’t go on at length here about how “The Walking Dead” has so vastly improved.  I’ve already bored a couple of friends of mine to tears by practically evangelizing to them about how they should start watching the show again after having given up on it.

But now that Season 9 has concluded, I at least need to mention here that I loved it — enough to rate it a 9 out out of 10.  There were some narrative problems, some of which were avoidable and some of which weren’t.  (It’s always hard to smoothly script around the departures of major characters.  This instance must have been especially tough.)   But Season 9 is so radically improved in terms of its pacing, plotting and characterization that it might as well be an entirely different TV show.  Not only does it move along at a nice, brisk pace, it also paints a fairly broad post-apocalyptic epic on a broad canvas.  And it’s scary again, too — owing largely to the arrival of “The Whisperers,” who are among the best villains the show has ever offered.  (Only the residents of Terminus come close to being creepier.)

If you’ve given up on the show, I understand that.  The overall story has stagnated for years, most notably when it was mired in the static, over-long and depressing story arc in which our heroes were subjugated by Negan.  But I recommend you sit down with Season 9 and at least give it a chance.  You’ll be happy you did.

 

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My latest get-rich-quick scheme.

I’m selling miracle pills to Donald Trump supporters. (If you take one per day, they’re 100 percent guaranteed to prevent any cancers caused by windmill noise.)

I figure I can satisfy false advertising laws by stating right in the ad that these are placebos.  Nobody in my target demographic will know what that word means.

I can even say that they are derived from “snake oil.”  None of them are going to get that either.

 

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The new issue of Down in the Dirt magazine is now available at Amazon.

The March-April 2019 issue of Down in the Dirt magazine is now available at Amazon.com.  (I shared with you guys on Wednesday that I was lucky to see my poem “hens staring upward” included in the volume.)  The print edition is a 108-page paperback, and you can order it for $10.99 at this link:

Down in the Dirt magazine, March-April 2019 Issue

(As I mentioned here at the blog on Wednesday, you can also view a free online version of the March-April 2019 issue right here at the Scars Publications website.)

Here’s a big thanks to Editor Janet Kuypers for allowing me to share my voice with Down in the Dirt’s wonderfully talented community of writers and artists!

 

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Throwback Thursday: “Sea Monkeys!!!”

Yeah, you know the drill.  “Sea Monkeys” were a complete ripoff, because they were nothing like the charming humanoids featured in the ad below, which most of found towards the back of our comic books in the 1970’s and 1980’s.  They were some variation of “brine shrimp” — tiny crustaceans that looked more like bugs than little nuclear families of smiling mer-men.

I was a little less disappointed than most kids upon receiving my “Sea Monkeys,” and adding water to discover the barely visible creepy-crawlies.  I’d developed an obsessive fascination with all of the oddities advertised in comic books — not to mention those in the fabled Johnson-Smith Company catalog — and my father had patiently endeavored to teach me about false advertising.  (He debunked the legendary “X-Ray Specs” for me, for example, and explained to me that the term “genuine replica” meant that a coin was fake.)

Although he warned me beforehand, Sea Monkeys were something he thought I should also see firsthand, as a learning experience.  So I sent away for them.  (My father might have given me the money; I can’t remember.)  And they were indeed underwhelming, after the kit arrived at my household weeks later.  Rural Long Island had plenty of ponds — I could have just snatched up a bunch of water bugs and brought them home and called them “Sea Monkeys” with equal plausibility.  (I brought home some tadpoles once to discover a #$%^ing terrifying species of water spiders or something had hitchhiked along in the jar.  I arrived at that discovery at night in my room — it was one of those things I didn’t tell my mother about.)

The story of Sea Monkeys gets a hundred times stranger when you read up about their bizarre creator — the dubious “inventor” Harold Braunhut.  He appears to have been some kind of cross between P. T. Barnum and “Jurassic Park’s” John Hammond, along with … maybe a little Richard Spencer?

Braunhut “invented” the infamously nonfunctional “X-Ray Specs” that I mentioned above, for example, along with novelty pet kits like “Crazy Crabs” (they were simple hermit crabs) and “Invisible Goldfish.”  (The latter were less substantive than the “pet rock” of the 1970’s; Braunhut simply sold you an empty fishbowl and fish food.)  He raced motorcycles under the name, “The Green Hornet,” according to his Wikipedia entry, and he turned his home into a wildlife conservation.  And he’d gotten the idea for marketing “Sea Monkeys” from the popularity of ant farms.  (I suppose that makes a strange kind of sense.)  Seriously, the guy’s life was full of weirdness.

He was also a neo-nazi.  And that was especially odd, because … he himself was Jewish.  He even legally changed his name at one point to the more Germanic-sounding Harold von Braunhut to fool his unlikely Aryan pals.  (There are a few interesting articles out there about the man; here’s a great one by Evan Hughes over at The Awl.)

I really want to believe that Braunhut’s (well-documented) involvement with white supremacy groups was one of his many cons.  Surely he was simply trying to swindle them somehow.  He had, after all, sold weapons to the Ku Klux Klan.  Couldn’t he simply be hobnobbing with the Nazis as an undercover inventor trying trick them out of their money?  Why would the marketer of “Invisible Goldfish” be above such a thing?

I’m not sure why I am unconsciously going to such great lengths to exonerate the inventor of “Sea Monkeys.”  After all, he ripped me off when I was nine.  Yet here we are.

 

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Good Knight, folks.

Now I can never stop thinking of the President as Donald Trump Quixote.

He literally thinks windmills are deadly enemies.

 

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Yes, I am indeed an extra in “Avengers: Endgame” (2019).

And I’m damned excited about it too — maybe a little too excited, as the role is so small that you’ll miss it if you blink.  It’s a walk-on part during the scene in which Tom Hiddleston is talking to Chris Hemsworth and Chris Evans on South Preston Avenue in Charlottesville.  (I walk past them in the background when Loki is touching Thor’s shoulder.)

I actually don’t know anything about the scene being filmed outside the three principal actors above — and I didn’t even know that until the day of filming.  (That didn’t stop the studio from making us all sign so many non-disclosure agreements that it took up a full twenty minutes on a very hot day in August.)  But I know it was a busy street full of pedestrians (many of whom were extras like I was), and that they were also shooting along Crispell Drive beside the University of Virginia.

I didn’t get to meet the actors … none of us did.  But I’ll definitely be in the movie; I’m excited about that.  Anyway, I’m wearing blue cyclist shorts, a blue top, and a bike helmet.  Don’t kid me, please, about the tight fit.  I’m nervous enough about appearing onscreen.

[Update:] Also … I have a love scene with Scarlett Johansson.

[Update:] Scarlet Johansson and Sebastian Stan. We joked around during the filming and called it a menage-a-Barnes.

[Update:] And Rocket Raccoon is real and still writes me letters.

[Update:] And this was a prank. Happy April Fool’s Day!!!

 

Avengers-Endgame-Fan-Character-Posters

 

In my day, THIS was our Captain Marvel.

She faced the worst monsters imaginable with no superpowers whatsoever — outside of earnestness, good old American pluck, and the uncanny ability to stop lambs from screaming. Pretty sure she’s like four feet tall, too.

AND WE WERE THANKFUL FOR WHAT WE HAD.

 

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“Our Drive Home,” by Eric Robert Nolan

On our drive home,
your voice was song. Your lips
pursed to form the perfect overture.

(c) 2016 Eric Robert Nolan

 

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Photo credit: By Jonnyboyca at English Wikipedia – Transferred from en.wikipedia to Commons by Rschen7754 using CommonsHelper., Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=17916742

Throwback Thursday: “YOU CAN FLOAT ON AIR!”

Here’s another bizarre relic of Boys’ Life magazine in the 1980’s — an ad for what was apparently a $4.95 do-it-yourself hovercraft.  (Kids needed to read that entire ad to understand that what this company was selling you was not the “AIR CAR” itself, or even its parts, but only “plans and photos.”)

A pal of mine in the Cub Scouts had his heart set on this, but  I wisely cautioned him that you couldn’t always trust advertisers.  (I’d learned my own lesson a couple of years prior from the duplicitous marketers of “Sea Monkeys.”)  You’ve gotta read the whole thing through, I told him.  Pretend that you’re dealing with the least trustworthy kid on the school bus.  It was one of those truly rare moments in my life when I counseled circumspection to others instead of vice versa.

He was pretty zealous in his desire for this thing.  For some reason, he really wanted to take it out over the Long Island Sound (to … Connecticut, presumably?)  I’m still not sure why he didn’t want a jet ski. We indeed had those in the 80’s.  Oh, well.  As dreams go, it wasn’t the worst that a kid could have.

He never wound up sending away for it.  I’m not sure if that’s because I talked him out of it or not.

But here’s the stunning O’Henry-style postscript — I’ve read a few Reddit and Twitter posts from men in their 40’s who also remember this Boys Life ad, and who actually sent away for the plans.  A couple of them claim that they successfully built this device, and that the damned thing actually worked.  (Cue the theme music for Christopher Nolan’s 2006 “The Prestige.”)  It certainly couldn’t hold 100 pounds, they qualified, but it technically still worked.

I guess if I ever run into my old friend from the Cub Scouts after 40 years, I owe him a hovercraft.

 

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Hey, Baby.

I really want to try that new viral trend in which people throw cheese onto babies’ heads.

But I don’t have any kids, so I’m headed to the mall with a package of Velveeta and looking for families there.

 

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