FEATURED POSTS
-
June 21, 2017
THE HENRY CHRONICLES
MY PAL HENRY
My dog Henry is not very big – 13 something pounds and a lot of that is fur. But Henry is my pal, and more than that we are related. He is a member of our family, he eats when we eat, he snoozes while we watch TV, and he sleeps at the foot of our bed. Some folks think we own Henry, and in a way we do. We own him in the same sense that families all own one another. We own Henry and Henry owns us.
But Henry and I have a relationship quite apart from the one he has with my wife. Since we’re both male, I understand Henry in ways his mother never will.
I know when he is bluffing, I know why he wants to pee on his doggie enemies’ lawns, and I love the little “you-want-a-piece-of-me” growl he does when he encounters one of them walking down the street.
I was a little boy once. I know how it is. Human boys and dog boys have no social skills. Over time, human boys can learn them, dog boys never do.
So Henry and I are pals, but our relationship goes much deeper than that. In many ways Henry is my guru and confidant, and I am his. He has enabled me to see the world in wondrous ways that I had never seriously considered before he joined the family. And I do my best to keep him out of trouble
Henry obviously is not able to speak English, although sometimes I do believe he merely chooses not to do so. Communication with Henry tends to be through barks and growls, and little yips and stubborn poses that say, we’re not going anywhere until you respond appropriately. And over time, I have come to understand his wants, his needs, and his intent.
Henry, for instance, thinks everything that moves is alive. Sometimes the world is almost motionless, but on a windy day, the entire neighborhood is brimming with energy. The trees sway back and forth, sometimes the leaves jump off and scurry down the street, even the grass and the tall plants get into the act.
After a couple of years watching Henry react to the world coming alive, I began to see it differently as well. Butterflies and Japanese beetles and lizards that dart into the bushes as we walk by are all around us. The world is teeming with life and it’s impossible to spend quality time with Henry and not see it for myself.
Cars also are alive for Henry and so are golf carts and bicycles. They are all friendly beasts of burden, who carry humans and often dogs and other animals from place to place. When another dog comes riding by, hanging its head out of the window, Henry barks at him, much as he would if the dog was walking down the street.
It’s almost as though Henry doesn’t really understand that the dog is not driving the vehicle. In fact, he also is not clear on the concept when we are riding in our car, and he thinks it would be a splendid idea to sit on my lap so we could enjoy our ride together.
One of the other great things about Henry is that he has no guile. He doesn’t know how to be polite. If he is sitting on my lap and somebody comes into the room that he would rather be with, he merely jumps off my lap and goes over to her.
The result is that Henry is both a very honest and completely amoral little being. Hypocrisy is a foreign concept to him. There are some dogs he likes, and some dogs that he hates, merely based on how they look. He doesn’t like dogs whose hair hangs down over their eyes, he doesn’t like black dogs, he doesn’t like dogs who get near his mom, and he doesn’t like dogs who invade his space.
He also hates cats, squirrels, rats, and crows.
What he does like are other Yorkies, who look like him, but are usually a bit smaller. That may make him a doggie racist and politically off the map, but he doesn’t seem to care. As far as Henry is concerned, he is who he is with no apologies to anybody.
The other thing that Henry likes are humans of all races, creeds, and sex. That’s probably because he has never met a human who was mean to him, who didn’t want to feed him, or cuddle him in their arms.
And if I have anything to do with it, he never will.
Do you have a dissenting opinion or any opinion at all on the subject? Contact me at george@georgeleecunningham.com and let me know. Meanwhile, you can always subscribe and get an email reminder of blog postings. Your name will not be shared and you may cancel at any time.
-
June 14, 2017
THE SHORT SHELF LIFE OF HEROES
ROY LARNER: “I NEED TO TAKE THE PISS OUT OF THESE BASTARDS.” – Facebook photo
My favorite story of the last week is the tale of Roy Larner, an unlikely 47-year-old soccer fan who has been dubbed the “Lion of London Bridge” for his fighting off a band of knife-wielding terrorists while others fled in terror.
His story is a shining light, made only brighter by the rather tepid political responses of the London Mayor Sadiq Khan and Prime Minister Theresa May to recent terror attacks in the city. To be fair, it is a public official’s job to try to restore calm after such horrendous events, but people are growing weary of repeatedly being told to “calm down.”
Then along comes Roy Larner, a working class hero, who finally says enough is enough.
Roy had just polished off “four or five pints” at the Black and Blue pub near the London Bridge, when three terrorist thugs – who had just run down pedestrians on the bridge and hacked them to death with machete-like knives – broke through the door.
People started running, but not Roy, who was interviewed in The Sun newspaper:
“They had these long knives and started shouting about Allah. Then it was, ‘Islam, Islam, Islam,'” Larner, a fan of the Millwall Football Club later told reporters. “Like an idiot, I shouted back at them. I thought, ‘I need to take the piss out of these bastards.’
“I took a few steps toward them and said, ‘Fuck you, I’m Millwall’. So they started attacking me. I stood in front of them trying to fight them off. Everyone else ran to the back. I was on my own against all three of them, that’s why I got hurt so much. It was just me, trying to grab them with my bare hands and hold on. I was swinging. I got stabbed and sliced eight times. They got me in my head, chest and both hands. There was blood everywhere.
“They were saying, ‘Islam, Islam!’ I said again, ‘Fuck you, I’m Millwall!’
The terrorists ended up stabbing and slicing Roy eight times in the chest, arms and neck before fleeing outside. Despite bleeding heavily from his wounds, he followed them outside in time to see them gunned down by the police.
We need people like Roy Larner to remind us there is an alternative to running away. We live in a world in which we are repeatedly told to let the police or the authorities handle whatever situation takes place. The police in this case did a bang-up job of getting to the scene quickly and killing the evil jerks who thought it was a grand idea to run down and kill people they didn’t even know.
But it still takes time for the police to respond, and until they get there people need to protect themselves and others. It’s either fight or flee. For guys like Roy Larner, it’s simple. You fight.
We need more guys like Roy Larner, and we all need to be more like Roy Larner ourselves. The story of this plucky hero who would rather fight than run has drawn much praise and admiration from the public.
Unfortunately, I would advise Roy Larner to enjoy it while he can. The press loves stories about individual heroes defying the odds. The second kind of stories the press loves – after the incident is over – is tearing down the same heroes they made famous.
Roy Larner is a brave and colorful character, who says exactly what’s on his mind. Sooner or later that’s going to get him in trouble.
“Show me a hero, and I’ll show you a bum,” Greg “Pappy” Boyington famously said. Boyington was a World War II Marine fighter pilot who lived life as large and bold as he flew planes in combat. He was a seat-of-his-pants kind of guy, much as I suspect Roy Larner is.
The kind of guy who says exactly what’s on his mind and doesn’t mince words. In other words, honest, outspoken, and not politically correct.
Maybe it’s time for the cover-your-ass politicians and leaders to listen and learn.
Do you have a dissenting opinion or any opinion at all on the subject? Contact me at george@georgeleecunningham.com and let me know. Meanwhile, you can always subscribe and get an email reminder of blog postings. Your name will not be shared and you may cancel at any time.
-
June 5, 2017
What Happens Next Will Amaze You! Or Not…
JUST WHEN YOU THOUGHT IT WAS SAFE
As a rule, sequels are never as good as originals.
The original Jaws (1975) about a great white shark killing and eating local town folk in the seaside town of Amity Island and the police chief’s successful effort to kill it was both a financial and creative success.
Jaws II (1978) in which another great white shark comes to town to renew the killing spree so popular in the original film was a much lesser film, but still much better than what was to follow.
Jaws 3-D (1983) was a silly film in which a baby white shark infiltrates a new Sea World park in Florida and apparently begins killing water skiers and other park workers. The baby is captured, but it is soon discovered that the baby shark’s momma is also loose in the park and is the real killer. The shark is finally killed with the help of some friendly dolphins and a hand grenade.
Then, just when people began to think it was safe to go back to the movies, along came Jaws, the Revenge (1987) an even sillier film in which the shark returns to Amityville and kills the police chief’s son. The police chief has by this time died of a heart attack brought on by his fear of sharks. After the death of her son, the distraught widow moves in with her other son, a marine biologist who lives with his wife in the Bahamas. Unfortunately, the shark follows her there. This makes the police chief’s widow so nutty, she is convinced that the white shark community is seeking retribution for all the sharks destroyed by her family. She goes out on a final mission to put a stop to it and with the help of some locals finally kills the last vengeful great white. Or did she? Only time and Hollywood know the answer to that one.
Remember Rocky (1976). A great feel-good flick. Rocky II (1979) was less so. Rocky III (1982), Rocky IV (1985), Rocky V (1990), and Rocky Balboa (2006) left us reeling from the dribble overdose.
I won’t even get into the later super hero films. Grown men and women running around in capes fighting crime just seem too silly to consider at my advanced age.
There are some exceptions that prove the “bad sequel” rule. The Godfather Part II – both a prequel and a sequel – was much better than either The Godfather or The Godfather Part III. It routinely comes up on the “Best Movie of All Time” list. And it should. But Coppola should have stopped when the stopping was good. The Godfather III – not so good. And, of course, there’s the Star Wars franchise, which is a category onto itself – a mixture of mega-hit prequels and sequels with a multi-generational fan base.
But for the most part, sequels suck.
Even so, Hollywood thrives on the assumption that if you can squeeze another dime out of a story, you’d better do it. As a fan, I believe it’s best to leave well enough alone. There is no sequel to Gone with the Wind, Casablanca, or Apocalypse Now, nor should there be. Scarlet and Rhett are never going to fall back in love; the noble Ilsa is never going to leave her husband and get back together with saloon-owner Rick, and I really don’t want to see Captain Benjamin L. Willard go back to the states, check in at the VA with PTSD, get rehab and return to battle.
There really is a time to just let it go.
Which brings me to the wonderful seven-episode HBO mini-series Big Little Lies that concluded earlier this year. I don’t want to spoil it for anybody who hasn’t seen it, but it’s a black comedy about five women who spend the entire series fighting with each other, only to finally put aside their differences and reach a happy ending.
Now there’s talk of a sequel. There’s no doubt the sequel would make money, that people would tune in to see what happens next, but this is where imagination comes in. Let us viewers decide for ourselves what happens next.
I have to agree with Joanna Robinson, writing for Vanity Fair, who says:
“While the desire to get the band back together is understandable, it’s tricky to conceive of a plot that would rival Season 1’s. Will there be another murder? Is Monterey the new Cabot Cove? Or will these five women grapple with lower-key issues the second time around? It’s hard to imagine that Big Little Lies could go more dramatic—and it’s equally hard to picture fans of the first season’s twisty reveals being satisfied with a tamer second installment.”
The thing about a good story is that is has a beginning, a middle, and an end. And what happens after the end is never going to live up to what came before.
Do you have a dissenting opinion or any opinion at all on the subject? Contact me at george@georgeleecunningham.com and let me know. Meanwhile, you can always subscribe and get an email reminder of blog postings. Your name will not be shared and you may cancel at any time.