Tag Archives: New York

Throwback Thursday: More of the WOR-9 Thanksgiving Monster Movie Marathon!!!

As I explained last year, monster movies were simply a part of Thanksgiving if you lived in the Tri-State region around New York City between 1976 and 1985.  This was due to WOR-9’s “Holiday Film Festival” broadcast, which actually also extended to the day following the holiday after the lineup’s first year.  (People just called it the “Monster Movie Marathon.”)

As a kid, I was a hell of a lot more thrilled with the monster movies than anything being served for dinner.  (Remember, video stores only began arriving the early 1980’s.  Before that, you usually had to catch a movie on television if you wanted to see it at all.  It’s why every house had a “TV Guide.”)

“King Kong vs. Godzilla” (1962) was one gem in the marathon.  (Or, at least, it seemed like an amazing film to a gradeschool boy.)  I was raised with the enduring myth that this Japanese film had two endings — an American version where King Kong prevailed, and a Japanese version where its native Godzilla was the victor.)  My Dad told me that, and I remember being fascinated that a movie could have two different endings.  I actually only learned just now, writing this blog entry, that it was a particularly widespread urban legend — stemming from an erroneous report in “Spacemen” magazine.  The American version of the film had tons of alterations, but the outcome was essentially the same — King Kong won.

There were always a few more Godzilla movies on the day after Thanksgiving, too.  “Son of Godzilla” (1967) was one of them; that was always hit with the kids.  (I could swear at some point there was a cartoon adaptation in the early 80’s.)  It was weird how 80’s kids apparently loved that ostensibly “cute” character; the adult in me today swears that “Son of Godzilla” looks like an upright, reptile-shaped poop.  (Seriously, check out the second clip below.)

“Godzilla vs. Megalon” (1973) was another one I seem to remember being pretty thrilled with.  I was even occasionally scared of the giant monsters in flicks like these.  (Hey, I was a little kid.)  Even as a first- or second-grader, though, I was smart enough to question why these movies were weirdly inconsistent.  (Why was Godzilla a bad guy who destroyed Tokyo in one movie, but the “good monster” that the Japanese rooted for in another?)

I’m learning now that “Godzilla vs. Megalon” was the target of a Mystery Science Theater 3000 episode.  I’m going to have to hunt that one down.

 

 

 

Throwback Thursday: skipping church!

Here’s a vivid summer memory — and it comes to me courtesy of my dear old friend Sarah in New York, who posted this picture on Facebook not too long ago.  Below is the very beach on Long Island where my older brother and I would park in the early 1980’s when we were supposed to be at church on Sunday morning.

We would eat Entenmann’s donuts and we would listen to WBLI on the radio.  (If you are from Suffolk County, you can’t not hear the chipper WBLI jingle every time you read those four letters.)  If memory serves, the station played Casey Kasem’s countdown on Sunday mornings.

I was pretty young, and I was awed that my brother deemed me cool enough and trustworthy enough to conspire with him in playing hooky from the service.  I was fully complicit, too.  It was my job to run in and out of the church quickly before the service started, in order to grab the Sunday bulletin, with which my mother had instructed us to return every week.

The first time I colluded with my brother this way, I overdid it a little.  Upon our return and gave my mom a lot of unrequested detail about the priest’s sermon, and what it had meant to be.  My brother later pulled me aside in the room we shared, and gave me some sage coaching: “You don’t need to make up a whole big story.”  That was the first time in my life that I learned not to over-embellish a lie.

You see that?  You can learn a lot from a religious upbringing.

 

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Throwback Thursday: Peter Benchley’s “The Deep” and “The Island”

I mentioned these late-1970’s seafaring novels last week — they could be considered the “other” Peter Benchley classics.  Neither “The Deep” nor “The Island” had nearly the broad-based cultural impact of “Jaws,” of course.  But they were still pretty damned good.

I got my hands on the paperbacks in the 1980’s, after my Dad left them lying around the house.  (It’s funny how much of my reading material I inherited from my father or older brother during my formative years.  I wonder how many kids grew up like that and were thus influenced.)  Both books leaned toward being horror-thrillers, as “Jaws” did.

I saw the the 1980 film adaptation of “The Island” on broadcast television when I was in early gradeschool, and it freaked me the hell out.  It’s actually a pretty bizarre tale about a colony of throwbacks who murder modern boatgoers in the manner of 18th Century pirates.  (Check out the trailer below.)  It stars none other than Michael Caine, and also an Australian actress Angela Punch MacGregor.  (If that isn’t a badass Australian name for a lady, I don’t know what is.)

I read the original book when I was older — in some ways, it was even freakier.  There were some weird sexual undercurrents and potty humor that weren’t even necessary for the plot; Benchley was a little more out there than you might gather from the more traditional thriller that “Jaws” was.

“The Deep” was a scuba diving thriller; the book and the 1977 movie filled my adolescent head with ambitions of becoming a professional treasure-hunter.  I remember devoting a lot of thought around age 13 or so to trying to figure out if that was a realistic career aspiration.  (I supposed it all depended on what I found.)  There is a moray eel in the movie, and it is unpleasant.  It prompted me to adopt the neurotic habit of bringing a knife along on the summer snorkeling expeditions behind my friend Brian’s house.

Interestingly enough, Wikipedia informs me that Benchley returned to writing books in the late 1980’s; his last two novels in the early 1990’s sound pretty damn cool.  They’re both seafaring monster stories — “The Beast” and “White Shark.”  The latter even selects its victims from my native Long Island, New York.  Maybe I’ll pick those up this summer.

 

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Mary Washington’s grave and the Gordon Family Cemetery, Fredericksburg, VA, June 2017

The entrance to Kenmore Park/Memorial Park on Washington Avenue.  The obelisk itself is the grave of Mary Washington, George Washington’s mother; right behind it is the Gordon Family Cemetery.  Although George’s father died when he was just 11 years old, his mother saw him ascend the presidency.  She died in 1789.

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Looking east from the park’s entrance, you can see First Christian Church, on the intersection of Washington Avenue and Pitt Street.

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Washington Avenue looking south.

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Gordon Family Cemetery.  The Gordons lived at Kenmore; the gravestones date from 1826 to 1872.

If you were a Mary Washington College student returning from a party downtown in the 1990’s, you could pass the cemetery on your way back to campus at night.  I saw a group of high school kids inside the cemetery one night; they scattered in a panic when they realized I’d noticed them.  (To my knowledge, no Mary Wash kids were involved in shenanigans like that here.)  I believe it is illegal to enter a cemetery like this at night … and I have it on good authority that Southern cops take such an offense very, very seriously.

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Behind the cemetery is Meditation Rock.  This was an occasional destination for college students out for a walk.  Shortly after I arrived at Mary Washington in 1990 from New York, a patient group of upperclassmen “adopted” me and kindly resolved to keep me out of trouble.  (One of them is still my “big brother” today.)  This is one of the first places they showed me when they gave me a tour of the town.

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Am I a weird guy if I suggest that images of Meditation Rock can have Freudian undercurrents?  Is that wrong?  There is a whole “Picnic at Hanging Rock” vibe here.  (The sad thing is, I was actually studying Freud at about the time I first saw it, and it never occurred to me then.)  The juxtaposition with the nearby images associated with death and godliness is aesthetically striking.

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The Kenmore Apartments are still across Kenmore Avenue on the other side of the park.

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Alexandria, Virginia, Train Station, October 2016

The first two pictures of the Alexandria train station here are quite poor, but I’m running them anyway.  The first photo shows a falcon perched in a tree just outside the building.  (He kinda surprised me by launching himself up from some shrubbery just 12 feet away.)  The picture just doesn’t do him justice.  He was huge.

The second photo shows the headquarters of The Motley Fool, even though you can read its sign in white letters only if you squint.  It was a weird surprise for me as I milled about, waiting for a train that was delayed for three hours.  The Motley Fool website is a favorite for my finance-type friends in the New York metropolitan area.

The structure in the third photo should be recognizable to anyone who takes the metro north — the 333-foot George Washington Masonic National Memorial.  It stands atop Shooter’s Hill, which was considered by James Madison and Thomas Jefferson as a possible site for the nation’s capitol.  It doesn’t date from the Revolutionary period; it was built in 1922.

It’s an odd, foreboding looking building, if you ask me.  Its design seems schizoid — it can’t decide if it wants to be an ornate cathedral or a nondescript, staid looking modern bank.  It was supposedly designed after the legendary Lighthouse of Alexandria in ancient Egypt.

 

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Throwback Thursday: one ugly 80’s kid!!!

This picture was taken at homecoming game, I think, at Longwood High School in Suffolk County, New York, in the very early 1980’s.  This would have been the site of the “old” high school, at the end of Smith Road on Longwood Road, and not the “new” school building to which we moved in the late 80’s.

The furry fella is our school mascot, the Longwood Lion; that off-putting lily-white waif you see is me.  (God does not equally bless all children with pleasing appearances.)  I think I still remember that gray sweatshirt, and the oversized black digital watch.  (In the age before home computers, those cheap little doodads were considered a bit fancy.)

It’s a good thing I wasn’t smiling here.  Roughly half my body weight at the time resulted from my oversized teeth and gums, and that was not a pretty thing to look at.  My school picture could have redefined the term “Gummi” in a categorically horrible fashion.  I looked like somebody had cross-bred a “‘Nilla Wafer” with Ridley Scott’s “Alien.”  Or maybe crossbred John Carpenter’s “Village of the Damned” with David Cronenberg’s “The Fly.”  I’m serious.

 

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Photo from Paolo Monti’s “Serie fotografica (New York, 1965)”

Fauna, fauna everywhere …

And not a camera to click.

Seriously, I can no longer leave home without my camera.  There is a veritable County-wide Inter-species Conference commencing right now at a single segment of my local creek.  (We need to give that creek a name at some point.)

I saw a beaver for the very first time, and it was kind of a big deal to me, and if you crack the obvious joke, you’re a nine-year-old.  Beavers look a hell of a lot like groundhogs, as it turns out, except they’re flat-tailed swimmers, of course, and they’re slimmer and far more graceful.  A coffee-colored mama duck had marshaled forth her squabbling, fluttering, barely ordered brood on the opposite side.  They seemed as interested in the beaver as I was.  (Field trip?)

I endeavored to follow the beaver down the narrow waterway, trying to channel Meriwether Lewis without spilling the 7-Eleven “Double Gulp” Dr. Pepper that my doctor keeps telling me I shouldn’t have.  (Donald Trump has inspired me to drink them to honor the police and firemen at 7-Eleven.)

A couple of still, solitary, cranky-looking snapper turtles were sunning themselves, too. They launched themselves like lightning onto the water at the sound of my approaching footsteps.  A pissed-off bullfrog did the same, only very awkwardly, and while cursing me out with a “GROAK!”  (The preceding term is an example of onomatopoeia, by the way.  This is the only meaningful advice I will ever render to you as a writer.)

All of this was maybe 200 feet from that spot where I saw deer and heron commiserating a week ago.  I am precisely the kind of guy who gets lost in the woods, so I’m no naturalist.  (Seriously, that $+I+ happened when I went to New York in January, in the very same woods I grew up in.)  But even I am starting to understand that diverse animals will be drawn to wetlands.

I might just finally figure out my camera’s zoom function and stake that whole area out, on a lark, at some point before Virginia gets too hot.  If anything interesting transpires, I’ll post it here.

Donald Trump is an @$$+073.

What kind of name is “Meriwether,” anyway?  That guy must have caught some heat in gradeschool.

I think the sugar and caffeine in this “Double Gulp” is doing a number on me.

 

 

The George Washington Bridge today.

Shot by my Longwood High School friend, James Dentel.

 

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The Sandy Hook memorial playground in West Islip, NY

I took these shots yesterday of the Sandy Hook memorial playground in West Islip, New York, just past the marina and nestled against the Great South Bay.  This particular playground is dedicated to a little girl named Madeline Hsu.

It’s one of 26 such spaces in the tri-state area dedicated to the 26 victims of the 2012 Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting.

You can read more about the memorial sites here:

“Where Angels Play”

 

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