My New Best Friend

THE SPIDER - MASTER OF MEN!

I'm not sure if all of you remember Nichols Department store, specifically the Salisbury location.  After Nichols went out of business, the building went unused before briefly becoming an indoor flea market.

Flea markets are one of my favorite things in the world, along with antique stores, and coincidentally my sister, had she played her cards right, could have easily wed Bargain Bill, Junior, thus tying our family in with the Bargain Bill Flea Market dynasty of Laurel Delaware for all time.  But you just couldn't do that, could you, Betsy?

Hands down my favorite stall at the indoor flea market was called "Not Just Books", a stall which sold only books.  Exclusively.  Just books and nothing else.  

It was there I bought this:

Or rather, my grandmother bought it for me and, bless her heart, I remember her telling me that it looked like a good one.  For this and many other things, I am forever in her debt.

As far as I knew at the time, the book was part of a series.  It's hero was one Richard Wentworth, who conducted a weird war against evil.  This copy was printed in the seventies, I think, but was a reprint of a novel that had appeared first in January of 1935.  In '35 Wentworth was referred to as "The" Spider while in action but "The" was dropped this time around to make it sound more like a spy code name.  Like Batman, Wentworth was a wealthy man, a criminologist, in fact, who got his kicks crusading against crime.  Other references were changed, and so the Spider's 30's era automobile became a 70's era sports car and some timely references were added.  It was, as they say, jazzed up for then modern readers.

I next picked up a Spider novel shortly after enlisting in the Navy.  I'd long been enamored of pulp novels and in particular the garish colors and gruesome scenes depicted on their covers.  The cover of this edition was a more traditional one:

This was during the long and tedious process of enlistment, signing and swearing in and generally being indoctrinated to the military's highest protocol, which is "hurry up and wait".  On a dinner break I walked over to a bookstore and found the Spider there waiting for me.  I read it, enjoyed it, and left Richard Wentworth behind for more than 15 years.

Legend has it that Harry Steeger, an editor for Popular Publications, was seeking a character to rival the Shadow, produced by Street and Smith.  The Shadow was a man of mystery who wore all black, carried two .45 caliber pistols, had a trademark ring, and was almost as psychotic as the criminals he warred against.  One afternoon while playing tennis, Steeger saw a spider crawling across the court, which to some may have been just a wandering arachnid, but Steeger saw inspiration.  And dollar signs.

Note the black ensemble, the two .45 caliber pistols, the
trademark ring, and just how crazy the Spider looks.  

Norvell Page, a native Virginian, took over writing the new magazine after a few lackluster issues and proved just crazy and weird enough in his own right to add an entirely unheard of dimension of sheer strangeness to the magazine.

Though a few people might still remember the Shadow today (there was a movie with Alec Baldwin around 1997) I prefer the Spider hands down.

The past few months have been a strange and lonely time for yours truly.  Little things have come to mean a lot, and for whatever reason I gave the Spider another shot, and boy am I glad I did.  I've read a bunch  of these damn things and am so glad there are more than a decades worth of them left to go.

During my reading of the last one (#110 "Zara- Master of Murder", November 1942)  I even went so far as to highlight  a few passages:

"He did nothing so limiting as to make plans in advance."

The Spider is a master of impromptu violence and of bewildering escape.  Given a pair of tweezers, he could wipe out an angry mob.  Given a nose hair, he could escape from San Quentin.

"But the eye is slower than the brain- and the Spider is faster than either."

Norvell Page writes of the Spider with grand hyperbole, at the same time making him so sinister you're almost as scared of him as the villain he's pursuing.

"...the Spider's voice was monotonous.  "Nothing can withstand my will.  Zara is not an exception.  My will is more powerful.  It overcomes resistance.  It dominates." "

The Spider is, again imitative of the Shadow, a master hypnotist.  That is why he is called "the Master of Men".  He'd tell you to "go take a hike" and before you knew it you'd be out on a nature trail somewhere and not know how the hell you got there.  

In addition to the heroics, the Spider is also involved with the lovely Nita Van Sloan.  The two are actually a great couple and rather than being completely helpless and constantly rescued, Nita more often than not is a perfectly capable assistant to her beau.  The Spider is very affectionate and tender to her, telling her more than once that "our karmas are one."

And then, of course, he runs off to shoot, stab, mutilate, and telepathically assault people.

The weirdest part?  On the covers the Spider is shown as a guy in black suit, cloak, hat, and mask, right?  This was an editorial decision on someone's part, because inside, the Spider is described as looking like this:

I've only read his hair described as black, but, as I said, I'm new to the Spider.  But fangs?  Brrrr.... Talk about striking terror into the hearts of criminals.  A mask is one thing.  After you got over the initial "why the hell is this guy wearing a mask?" you'd shoot at him, but not this guy.  What a creeper!

Am I gushing?  Yeah, I guess I am.  I'm a fanboy at heart and always will be.  And the new object of my affection?  Richard Wentworth, a.k.a.  the Spider!

The above image is from the ReelArt Studios statue of the Spider.  Had I the hypnotic abilities of my new hero, I would compel you to buy this for me for Christmas.    

Mild-Mannered Reporter Paul Sterling

  When I was very young the local authorities offered a service in which they would take video footage of your child to have on file in the horrific event of their abduction.  My sister and I stood in front of a chart which gave our height and we were asked to state our names and answer a few questions.  The last question they asked was what you wanted to be when you grew up.

I said I wanted to be a superhero and here, twenty five years later, I still do.

Comic books are not the obscure corner of Americana that they once were.  Superhero movies have dominated the box office for years now and mainstream publications and websites now include reviews of comic books alongside film, music, literature, and television reviews.

The next time you're out and about count how many superhero t-shirts you see people wearing.

I was in an extreme minority as a youngster, being a comic book afficianado.  I had a crush on Lois Lane and Kitty Pryde from the X-Men.  I learned from these comic books my morality, such as it is, and despite their glaring unreality, these heroes and their adventures were very real for me.  The fact is that I didn't live near any of my friends growing up, and summertime was very long indeed.  I needed friends and these four-color pages filled that need nicely.

Some people, knowing of my misspent comic book youth, have seemed amazed that I haven't seen the Avengers nor any of the other movies leading up to it, except Captain America.  The fact is the past is very much in the past, and these movies are a decade or two too late.  

As for Cap, he and I go way back.  Only his close friends call him "Cap".  He helped me through many a lonely summer and seeing his movie, well, it was the least I could do for an old friend.  

The following are brief bits on comic books and their lasting effects on my life.

You Wouldn't Like Me When I'm Angry

I took an online "What Superhero Are You?" quiz and was surprised that I am, at least according to this particular source, the Incredible Hulk.  I had my heart set on Superman.  The more I though about it the more it seemed fitting.  I, too, have a lousy temper and am prone to blow-ups.  My communication skills could use a little work, and my wardrobe is a pretty shabby.  

I only read the Hulk comic briefly as a boy, but remember in particular several issues in which the Hulk underwent a weird sort of psychiatric treatment by the green-haired super-powered therapist Doc Samson.  The troubled mind of the Hulk's alter-ego Bruce Banner was explored, and only now can I see myself as akin to him in that we both suffer from self-esteem issues and should probably talk about our feelings more at the outset rather than bottling it all inside.  This first issue climaxed with Bruce accepting the Hulk as part of himself, eventually transforming in a graphic way.  Rather than simply growing and turning green, the Hulk actually tore through the skin of Bruce Banner, shredding his flesh like newspaper.  It was bloody and strange and I've had dreams about it ever since.

As we all know, Bruce is in love with Betty Ross, but the two have never really been able to work it out, being as he was the Hulk and her father wanted to kill the Hulk. Her father was just generally a douche.  Another issue ended with Bruce rushing to a train station from which Betty was leaving for an unknown place.  Being just plain human Bruce, he couldn't run fast enough to catch the train before it left and for the first time in his life actually wanted to become the Hulk.  He slapped himself and tried to make himself angry with painful childhood memories, but it didn't work.  Betty, as it turns out, got off the train somewhere down the line and was walking back when she saw Bruce.  The two of them embracing joyfully is another image burned into my mind.  

Just because I'm the Hulk doesn't mean I can't be sentimental, too.

Rooting For the Bad Guy

A friend from Barnes and Noble told me once of a regular customer of hers, a young boy who preferred villains to heroes.  He would pick Doctor Doom over Captain America and looked forward to Halloweens in which he'd dress up like his favorite bad guys.  

This is interesting to me.  Despite my love for Superman, the fact is I resemble Lex Luthor more closely and, let's be honest, have more in common with a bald sociopath than a super-powered alien.

Villains aren't emotionally involved with anything beyond their own success or failure.  The Joker shows maniacal glee up until the point at which Batman defeats him, and then he shows despair or furious frustration.  Batman, however, remains stoic and constant throughout.  Again, I can relate more to someone prone to failure than someone who never encounters it.  

I know what it's like to get my ass kicked.

Villains are indifferent to feminine charms and rarely let women dupe them or ensnare them the way heroes sometimes do.  Both the Joker and Lex Luthor typically have attractive henchwomen about, gun molls who either love them and are spurned for it or scoff at their fiendish plans while filing their nails.  More often than not, when the hero arrives, the women turn on their "masters" like rabid animals.  Rarely do you see a villain in a loving and committed relationship with a woman who stands by his side as Superman hauls him off to jail.  I suppose this a weakness as well.  

Superhero/supervillain relationships are the ultimate in dysfunction.  "I'll get you next time" the villain says, thwarted though he may be.  Though I love the heroes, sometimes I wish that threat would come to pass.  But if the hero was dead, what would the villain do?  Get a job?  Can you imagine the Joker selling real estate?  No, they need each other.  Love and hate and that invisible line between the two and buy the next issue because we never know for sure.  

It could happen.

Whatever Happened to the Blue Beetle?

I'm sure you've never heard of the Blue Beetle and I won't bother you with a biography.  Suffice it to say, he was a favorite of mine.  The Blue Beetle was one of the only superheros I know who had a weight problem. He had to work that much harder than his peers to stay in tight spandex-friendly shape and I can relate.  It's hard to avoid baked goods after a long week of fighting crime.  Sometimes you need a sugar rush to stay in the game, but the Blue Beetle had to abstain.  This must have sucked for him, because I know it sucks for me.    

You'll notice I'm speaking of him in the past tense.  That's because in an issue some years ago, The Blue Beetle was shot in the head and killed.  This upset me and it was then I started to realize that comic books had changed.  Or maybe that I had changed.

Comic books were, when I was a kid, geared towards kids.  Mostly to young boys.  Comics are now geared towards guys my age or a little younger.  There is more intense sex and violence now, and I won't get into that being right or wrong, but I don't think that kids that are now the age I was when I discovered comics should be reading comics at all.  

If these kids knew what they were missing they would be ticked off.  Can you imagine being a child, going to the park, and not being able to get on the swing set or the monkey bars because a bunch of twenty and thirty year olds were hogging all the fun?  That's kind of what it's like.  Comic books have been hi-jacked from the kids who deserve and need them by a bunch of guys who just can't seem to grow up and shake the habit.

Guys like me, I guess.  

I love the comics of my youth more now than ever.  I talk about them and blog about them.  Probably too much.  But turning my back on them would be like turning my back on an old friend that doesn't fit in with my new friends.  

It would be like not being upset that the Blue Beetle is dead.

I wish that all the kids running around today could have the joy that I had when I was their age.  Loving and appreciating the heroes of my past is the right thing to do, and what little I know of the right thing to do I learned from those heroes.

That's corny, I know, but what can I say?  

I grew up reading comic books.

This blog is dedicated in loving memory to Ted Kord, a.k.a. the Blue Beetle.  

     

    

                  

PAUL STERLING FOR PREZ, or "I'll Politic For YOU, Baby!"

I have never really had any desire to seek public office.  

That's pretty much all I have to say about that.  

There is, however, a long history of fictional characters and otherwise completely unqualified entertainers that would regularly conduct presidential campaigns.  These brave souls included, but are not limited to comedian Pat Paulsen from the Smothers Brothers Show, Walt Kelly's "Pogo", Bozo the Clown, Ronald Reagan, and I remember an issue of Captain America in which he considered running for the highest office in the land.  Heck, he would've had my vote.

I thought today what my campaign would be like if I were running for President.  It would go a little something like this.  

Hail to the Chief

My fellow Americans.

It is with great humility that I come to you today and announce my candidacy for President of the United States.  I'm sure this may come as a great surprise to many of you, but not as big a surprise as it is to me.  I don't know what the hell I'm thinking.  

Some of you might ask:  "Just who is this Paul Sterling? I've never heard of him.  What are his qualifications?" 

My only reply can be: "I'm not sure I know just who you are, either, and what are your qualifications to ask for my qualifications?  Pipe down while I'm talking.  It'll be your turn soon enough."

With these petty matters aside we can now get down to brass tacks.  Just what am I going to do about the problems that face this great nation of ours?  That's a good question, and a fine place to start.

Just give me a minute...

I understand we have a problem with jobs.  There are a lot of people who want one and don't have one.  There are a lot of people who have one don't really enjoy the one they've got.  There are still more who don't have a job and are perfectly happy that way, so for beginners, let's just leave this last group alone.  As for everybody else, maybe some of the people who have jobs they don't like could swap jobs with someone else who has a job they might prefer.  Or maybe they could swap with some of the people who don't have one and just go jobless for a while.  They might like it.  I know this might get a little confusing at first, but what I'm basically saying is this job problem is one that I'm sure we can figure out, okay?

Moving right along...

I also understand that there are several wars going on.  Some of the wars we are directly involved in, and that's a shame.  There are other wars going on that we don't have a hand in at all.  For starters, let's not try and get involved in any of the wars that don't immediately involve us.  Not just yet anyway.  Let's watch the wars for a little bit, see which way it's going, and then after it looks like somebody is definitely going to win, we jump in on their side.  I know this might sound a little wussy, but it's smart.  We've won enough wars.  We've got a good rep in that department.

Now that we've got that settled...

Anybody could tell you that economically we're in the toilet.  Let's face it.  Anybody could tell you that, but I'll bet you that whomever tells you that is just as lousy at math as I am, so stop listening to just anybody.  Let's get some really smart people in there and take a look at the books and get a final decision once and for all just how far down into the toilet the economy is.  I recommend Nancy, who works for H&R Block and did my taxes the past couple years.  She's one sharp cookie.  

We've got other problems too.  A lot of what you might perceive as a problem depends on which of our two political parties you're affiliated with.  If you're a Republican, not being allowed to hunt game with a rocket launcher is a problem for you, as well as border security, and gay couples being allowed to eat openly together at Chick Fil A.  If you're a Democrat, your problems will be that your local grocery store only has three different kinds of hummus, or that vegan unwed mothers aren't allowed in front line combat, or maybe you just don't like the way people treat trees and shrubs.  And why do they call it a "party" anyway?  Neither group seems like they're having any fun at all.   

Basically what I'm saying is there are a whole hell of a lot of problems out there.  Jeez, are there a lot of problems.  Just dozens of them.  And here I am trying to put myself in charge of solving them.  

You know what?  Vote for whomever you want.  Me or any of the other folks running.  You might even have fewer problems four years later, but I doubt it.  Problems are like that old monster from Greek myth.  You know, the Hydra.  You'd cut off one head and another two would sprout right back up.  Doesn't that freak you out?

Anyway, thanks for your time.  Have a good one.  

Oh.  And God bless America.         

  

Last Stop: Tonopah Arizona

I'm still a little shaken up.

I helped Stephen move a television and it's stand downstairs today and though the chore was simplicity itself he insisted on buying me lunch out of gratitude.  

Neither of us really expected what happened next.

Cut to the Chase

There were people in the dining room and none at the bar so we went to the bar.  It was early afternoon and we were catching the shift change between folks who got an early start and were heading out and folks who had worked an early shift and were heading in.  

I had a tuna sub and Stephen had a cheeseburger that made me wish I'd ordered a cheeseburger.  The waitress sat our second round in front of us and we hardly noticed.  There was a car chase on television.  Someone behind me asked if it were O.J. Simpson up to his old tricks again and those of us who remembered that laughed.  

Facts were few and far between.  Someone had stolen a car, fired shots at the police, and was now heading like a bat out of hell out of Arizona.  One newscaster commented on his poor choice of automobile.  Another said the speed of the stolen vehicle was averaging at one hundred miles an hour.  They speculated he was heading to California.

In the interim there were brief clips of fighting in Syria.  Election coverage.  Commercials for prescription medications.  

Stephen and I wondered what was going through this guys mind.  What was his plan?  We said that it was hardly worth the name "car chase" as it was really just the stolen car weaving around traffic on a desert highway.  I excused myself to the restroom and joked that while I was in the can the whole thing would come to a spectacular end and I'd miss it.

When I returned the car had made an unexpected move.  He'd made a u-turn and was now heading down a dirt road.  Again I marveled at what this person must be thinking.  

Just go.  Don't stop.  Keep driving.  Don't let them get you.

The driver passed what looked like two farms, both out in the middle of nowhere.  So far the most exciting part had been the u-turn and now he made a right at stop sign.  I wondered when the helicopter providing the footage would lose it's signal or some producer would call it a lost cause and switch to something else.

And then it happened.

The car stopped and the driver emerged.  I couldn't see much of him, just that he wore an oversize jersey and jeans.  He spent time in the back seat of the car and for a moment I thought maybe there was someone else in the car.  Maybe the person he'd stolen the car from.  They had said all along he'd fired shots at police, so I don't know why I was surprised that he had a gun.  He ran down the dirt road, falling once and rolling in the dust, and took cover behind a bush.  I thought he was planning to shoot it out with the police, but as it turns out, he had another idea. 

He turned the gun on himself and pulled the trigger.  His head moved just slightly, like he'd been pushed.  There was, of course, no sound and as he fell forward they cut away.  Cut to a commercial. 

I'm sure we've all watched clips of horrific happenings and laughed, but in those circumstances you could always tell yourself it wasn't real.  You'd question whether or not it was doctored.  If it got too gross you'd just click it away.  But I saw this over lunch with my friend and I can't shake it.  I can't shake the sheer desperation that he must have felt.  I hated myself for the morbid curiosity that kept me watching.  My God, was this what I wanted to see all along?  

Like this desperate criminal, I just couldn't get away.        

I've been rooting around online and so far the only headline is that there was a televised suicide, the network is being criticized for allowing it out over the air, and one site in particular criticized the footage for being too blurry, can you believe that? 

But I want to know this man's name. 

He Wasn't Talking To You...

I am not a political animal.  I am not informed enough about politics to be one.  I say this cynically, because our media outlets are so flawed that I think it nigh impossible to be truly informed.  

Let me say this now:  If you really think that Fox News is an unbiased and impartial source of information, you are a fool.

Let me also say this:  If you really think that MSNBC and Mother Jones are unbiased and impartial counterpoints to Fox News, you are also a fool.

There are no such thing as facts anymore.  There are simply statistics that, like scripture, can be interpreted and reinterpreted to suit any argument.  There are video clips, sound bytes, and headlines that inspire public debate and all too soon became points of contention for a polarized American public. 

Out of Context

Candidate Mitt Romney was heavily criticized for statements he made at a fundraiser.  None would have known of these statements had they not been caught on video and placed online.  One of the sources of the video was Mother Jones, by all accounts a "liberal" publication.  I mention this just to be fair and unbiased.  I have heard that a spot at this particular fundraiser cost around fifty thousand dollars a plate, but who knows, it could have been more or less.  Either way this was not a rally or public function, nowhere you or I could afford to be.  I watched several different versions of the video and it was hardly the criminally offensive rant I expected.  At least I wasn't offended.  He stated his estimation of the American voting public, particularly this forty seven percent that he, admittedly, isn't concerned about.  

Despite the controversy, Romney has never really apologized, only saying that his words were "inelegant" and hoping that he wished whoever posted the video would post all of it.  Taken in it's entirety, what he said wasn't so bad.  At least that's what he says.  

The point is, how would any of us heard anything of this had the video not been taken and then leaked?  Why did what Candidate Romney say at this function sound so little like what he says to the American public at large?  He called his words "inelegant", but a better word might be "unrehearsed".

I don't know about you, but if I paid thousands upon thousands of dollars in support of a candidate, I wouldn't want the same old rhetoric I could hear on television for free.  Romney was putting on a show for those assembled, telling them what they wanted to hear.  He told them about Americans who saw their basic comforts as "entitlements" and scorned them for it.  Like a magician at a kids birthday party, he performed.

By the time a politicians rhetoric gets down here to us, it's so homogenized and watered down as to render it completely meaningless.  The bulk of what either the President or Romney say is virtually indistinguishable.  Fifty thousand dollars, however, buys you a plate of food and an earful of what a  candidate really thinks about the people voting for him or for his opponent.    

Now, don't get on your left-wing high horse just yet.  Any day now another video will leak, one from another fundraising billion dollar buffet, only this time the President will be caught on tape, making "inelegant" statements.  It's just how things work these days, and I bet I know which network will premiere it when it does surface.  

Like I said, it didn't offend me, but the leaked Romney video kind of made the guy look like an asshole.  There, I said it.  But the big lesson I took from the whole thing was this:  Since when do you have to pay through the nose to keep from getting smoke blown up your ass?

My apologies on using the word "ass" twice there at the end.  I hope it doesn't undermine my message.   

And me?  I'm voting for Donald Duck.

           

ZARDOZ SPEAKS TO YOU!

"Good?  Bad?  I'm the guy with the gun."  Sean Connery as Zed the Exterminator in "Zardoz"

I first became aware of the film "Zardoz" (directed by John Boorman in 1974) while reading a book on cult films in the basement section of the library at the campus of the Universtiy of Richmond.  To call a movie a "cult film" is sometimes a polite way of saying it's an incomprehensible piece of garbage, and this book turned me on to several movies, some of which I loved and others that I didn't like at all.  Some time later my grandmother gave me (for Easter, no less) a book on the films of Sean Connery, who starred in "Zardoz", and that book included more information about and pictures from this weird and wonderful film.

It wasn't until years later that I actually got to see the movie, and when I did I watched it with my mother.  This was awkward, as a lot of the female cast walk around topless for no good reason whatsoever.  Mom insisted that the movie was funny for all the wrong reasons and that Sean Connery must have been going through some kind of midlife drug phase crisis when he agreed to star in it.  I've seen it more than half a dozen times since.  

Yesterday "Zardoz" was the featured film for Sunday Dinner Family Movie Night and it was a roaring success.  Everyone who didn't fall asleep before it was over agreed that it was enjoyable, or at the very least interesting.  I purchased snacks in anticipation of what I jokingly referred to as "Zardozmas", but we ended up eating dinner late and the snacks will have to serve a later function.  I was going to make chili cheese dip which, like the script for "Zardoz", seems like a good idea at the time but comes back to haunt you in ways you didn't expect.  

As much as I'd love to write a long, in-depth, scene-by-scene review of this movie, I won't subject you to that.  I will, however, challenge you to seek this movie out and watch it.  Watch it with friends and loved ones so you can make fun of it.  "Zardoz" brings families together.

Everything I Need to Know in Life I Learned by Watching ZARDOZ

Most people are hesitant to watch Zardoz because Sean Connery runs around in it dressed like this.

Laugh all you want, but this look actually inspired kind of a trend in the realm of comic books.  Kind of a science fiction fetish wear look that you don't see much of these days.

Exhibit A:  Marvel Comics hero Killraven.

Exhibit B:  Superman villain Vartox

      

From Zardoz, I learned that you can't be pulled in by a bunch of flashy theatrics.  We live in a very image-centric society these days, and sometimes people might put up a good front, but in actuality be much less than what they seem.  

For example:  

If the figure above told me to do something, I'd damn well do it.  A giant floating head of stone is a pretty far-out thing to encounter any day of the week.  But...

What if the big stone head was just a front for this guy?  I wouldn't buy a can of green beans from this weirdo.  

From Zardoz I learned that life is full of little indignities.  You lose a big promotion to a lesser qualified co-worker.  Your significant other leaves you for someone else.  You give a big presentation, and only at the end of it do you realize your fly was down.  An effeminate blonde man in silky pajamas wants to inspect your teeth and you can't do anything to stop him because he has telekinetic powers.  You just have to accept these things, realize they have nothing to do with your worth as a human being, and move on.  

From Zardoz I learned that sometimes, no matter how much you want to, you just cannot get out of a bad situation.  Sometimes it's a bad relationship, sometimes it's a dead-end job.  Sometimes fear of the unknown stops you, sometimes it's a force field, but whatever the situation or the stress you feel, you are powerless to simply walk away.

I learned many valuable lessons from this movie, and can only begin to share them with you now.  

From Zardoz I learned that there is indeed someone in the drivers seat, and it sure as hell isn't you.  I learned that you cannot trust the wealthy or any kind of elitist.  Sometimes even intellectuals are too smart for their own damn good.  I learned that you can trust some women, but not all of them, and that even if a woman refers to you as a beast and insists that you be executed every chance she gets, it doesn't mean she doesn't find you desirable, and that while she may form a posse and try to run you down with a horse, this might all be part of some complex mating ritual that you just don't understand and you should just go with it.  

I learned that sometimes, you just have to follow a creative spirit wherever it might lead.  Who gives a damn what everyone thinks?  Maybe the public at large won't get it, but someone will, and they'll be grateful to you forever for what you created. 

I am grateful for Zardoz. 

Director John Boorman, star Sean Connery, and in the background actress Charlotte Rampling, who is HOT.

The Charmer

The Charmer

It was only when Simon met a woman immune to his charms that he could really be himself.  This happened with more frequency as he grew older.  Long ago he'd accepted that even the greatest athlete has a peak and that, once it had been reached, everything else was a slow decline.  

It was this knowledge that made Simon such a charmer.  He seemed to understand that failure was more likely than ever these days, and so went about pursuing romantic entanglements with a measured detachment.    He didn't seem to care, and while this attitude wasn't irresistible to all, it kept him in the game.  

Amber wasn't impressed.  Simon knew this right away and made a kind of peace with it.  There were no other attractive unattached women at the pub on this particular Friday night and Simon had picked her right away.  His first few passes were successful, the usual preliminaries being the exchange of names and Simon complimenting her appearance, in this case a lovely black strapless dress which Amber wore very well.  Right away Simon made her laugh.  This was always a good sign but, again, Simon knew that she wasn't impressed.  Rather than back away and drink alone, Simon did something he had begun doing now, here on the down side of his peak.  He simply made polite conversation with a woman, not as a prelude to sex, but for the simple pleasure of meeting someone new and getting to know them.

Amber asked where he was from, and Simon said "No place special".  Amber thought this an attempt at being mysterious and told him so, but Simon shook his head.  "No mystery."  he said.  

They talked of Amber's marriage, which had ended last year.  Her ex-husband was a gynecologist, one that had been carrying on examinations outside the office with several of his patients.  Amber was still a little hurt by the betrayal.  

Simon never knew how to handle a woman talking about a former mate.  Was he supposed to join in if she started bashing her ex?  Simon was no moralist and, truth be told, a cheater himself.  He let her vent, making small comments along the way to lighten the mood.  After she'd finished, she told Simon that she felt better having talked about it, and Simon was glad.

Simon ordered another round for the two of them.  The evening was going better than either of them had anticipated.  Down at the end of a bar two young people were kissing.  Both were drunk and were making quite a spectacle of themselves.  Amber rolled her eyes and Simon laughed.  Deep inside, he envied the young man.  He'd been watching the couple out of the corner of his eye for a while.  They hadn't arrived together tonight.  The girl had come with friends and the young man had come alone, and despite the protests of the friends with which she'd arrived, one of them calling him "a loser" and insisting that tonight was a "girl's night out", she abandoned the friends and was now making out with the loser at the bar.  The night was going pretty well for them too.  Sure they were hooking up, but who's to say that it wouldn't turn into something lasting?  Simon laughed again.  Amber wanted in on the joke and Simon told her the love story of the exhibitionists down the bar.  Amber said the only potentially lasting thing to come out of that relationship would be an illegitimate child.  

Closing time was coming soon and Simon was faced with a predicament.  Could he reach down deep and pull off a miracle?  He was thinking of things in sports terms more and more these days.  Though not a big sports fan it made sense to think of himself in this way.  It was, after all, a game.  He had been playing it for a very long time, and Simon only rarely stopped to think of just what he'd won or lost.  

The truth was that the game was all in Simon's mind.  There was no winning and no losing.  There was just Simon, and whatever happened would happen regardless of how he felt about it.  Amber was an attractive woman and funny and Simon had enjoyed her company.  If she wouldn't sleep with him, where was the shame in that?  He hadn't lost any game.  He'd written the rule book, built the stadium, sewn the uniforms all by himself.  The game was stupid and Simon didn't want to play it anymore. It was time to retire his jersey.

Amber said that it was getting late and spoke of something important she had to do the next day.  Simon volunteered to walk her to her car after they'd both paid their checks.  Usually, this was part of the game, but now Simon did it because he felt it the gentlemanly thing to do.  He felt good, like he'd just read a self help book and had made a plan to change his life for the better.  At her car, Amber kissed Simon on the cheek.  A soft and tender kiss, her lips barely brushing his skin, and Simon, of course, felt himself getting an erection.  She said, "Simon, you are a very charming man."  Simon thanked her, and really meant it.