The 2024 Olympics are going to be held in Paris, and someone has decided that they must find a way to stop healthy young athletes from having sex while they are there. Why, I don’t know. Isn’t that what people do all the time? Of course, because only stupid people would think that would be a good idea, they’ve come up with stupid solutions: anti-sex beds.

They’re narrow and flimsy, so they’re cheap, at least. But you know, I’m not young or athletic, and I look at that and see a floor, and a wall, and they’ve probably got showers, and there’s grass outside, and as a muscular young person I could probably get to the roof. Do the prudes behind this idea have absolutely no imagination?

I’m taking a break in Minneapolis, with just two missions: dropping off an old pocket watch for repair, and meeting some entomologists.

Caliber Works Watch Repair was an interesting outfit. They only have limited hours, and seem to be stacked up with lots of work. There was a line to get in yesterday morning! Most of them seemed to be there to get new watch batteries or a new band, but I dropped this bigger project on them: a badly abused Elgin pocket watch that I wanted completely patched up. Their prices were reasonable, but unfortunately they estimated that it was going to be 18 months before they could get it fixed. Fine, I’m in no hurry. They did open up my watch, making it look easy, and I could get a quick photo of the works and get the serial number for the mechanism.

Yeah, it’s.a poor photo. The serial number is 5770454, which meant I could look it up in a database. Made in 1895, I guess. Not particularly rare or valuable, but I didn’t expect much — it’s value is all sentimental to me. Anyway, I look forward to getting it back ’round about Christmas 2025, when it will be 130 years old and still ticking.

Later this afternoon I’ll pop by Bug Club, and then drive back home.

Anyone else remember the song, Indian Reservation, by Paul Revere and The Raiders? It isn’t a particularly good song, and it’s old, from 1971. Unfortunately, it’s burned into my brain because it seemed like every day when I was in middle school that thing got played on the school bus. The earworm got revived this morning because Ruben Bolling had to stir up old memories, and then teach me that the musicians were assholes.

And just about every time the song was played on the countdown of the internationally syndicated radio show, “American Top 40,” host Casey Kasem would recount, with varying degrees of detail, the “incredible” story behind its writing.

Kasem would describe how songwriter John D. Loudermilk got caught in a snowstorm while driving in North Carolina, and was captured by Native Americans of the Cherokee Nation. They destroyed his car, and then tortured him, “such as piercing his spine with needles,” for days. When the Native Americans found out he was a “respected songwriter,” they said they’d only release him if he promised to write a song about the injustices inflicted on Native American people. When he refused, the painful torture increased and he realized he would be killed if he didn’t comply. So he promised he would write the song. They released him, and he lived up to his word by writing the song that would become a #1 hit.

It was a lie. An improbable, unbelievable, racist lie. He later admitted that he made it all up. Also, how gullible was Casey Kasem?

So now I’ve got an annoying earworm that, every time it wriggles around in my brain, also makes me want to snarl, “Fuck you, Loudermilk.” I really would rather not remember middle school.

I’m supposed to be breeding spiders in the lab today, but then a combination of factors are interfering. Poor Mary got held over at work to cover for someone who was absent, and didn’t get home until 3:30am. I’m trying to make a nice curry for lunch to compensate, and then the plumbers showed up to install a shiny new toilet. Of course they discovered problems — this is an older house — so they’re installing a new base and having to put in some new PVC pipe. I’m trapped here, cooking and cleaning and guiding plumbers through the labyrinth of our basement, and the spiders will have to wait, because I’m being the responsible househusband.

The curry is going to be delicious, though. Tofu, chickpeas, onions, fresh garlic and ginger, tomatoes…too bad you’re not here.

Spiders will be the post-lunch entertainment.

I’m starting up The Raven in 20 minutes, and will make an occasional comment here in honor of Roger Corman.

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5:30 The movie begins with the wonderful voice of Vincent Price reciting Poe’s poem, The Raven. This may be the very last moment the movie has any real connection to the poem, or Poe, or anything from literature. That’s OK, we know what to expect from a Corman movie.

5:32 First bit of slapstick: Vincent walks into a telescope. Har har. Then he moans about his lost Lenore, and is startled by his daughter, Estelle. I guess that counts as a jump scare.

5:35 A raven raps at his window. It’s actually Peter Lorre, who when asked about Lenore, says “How the hell would I know” instead of “Nevermore,” and demands wine and that Vincent should restore him to his human form. He asks for stuff like jellied spiders, which Vincent doesn’t have, since he’s a vegetarian. Good for him! But the magical ingredients might be down in his father’s basement lab.

5:41 He has some nice cobwebs down there. And a tarantula! The movie is shaping up well. Then we get what looks like an undergraduate chemistry lab with colored chemicals and fire and smoke. The raven drinks the potion and turns into Peter Lorre, mostly. They need more potion, but are out of one ingredient, Dead Man’s Hair. Fortunately, Vincent’s father’s corpse is in the basement so they get more, while Lorre explains how Dr Scarabus turned him into a bird. This sets up the big conflict: Vincent needs to battle Scarabus for the leadership of a mystical society.

5:51 Lorre is restored, but the corpse of Vincent’s father warned him, “Beware!” He’s well-preserved and animated for the long dead. Lorre then noticed a portrait of the late Lenore, and says he saw her at Scarabus’ place. The plot thickens! Motives are motivated! Vincent must rescue Lenore’s spirit.

5:51 Vincent walks into a door and knocks himself out, while a servant barges in, swinging an axe. Vincent wakes up in time to zap the bad guy with magic missile. He was under the mental control of Scarabus. Lorre’s son shows up at the door. It’s Jack Nicholson! Looking young and handsome, so handsome that Estelle makes goo-goo eyes at him. The romantic subplot is established.

6:03 Man, this movie has everything. Car chase scene, only it’s a horse-drawn carriage driven by Jack, who is possessed and driving like he’s been hanging out in the Overlook Hotel. The possession conveniently ends when they arrive at Scarabus’s castle.

6:08 Boris Karloff (Scarabus) appears! He offers a friendly welcome, but also denies that he has put Lenore’s soul in bondage. They go to dinner. Karloff is unctuous, denying any enmity. They sit around complimenting each other on their mastery of magic by hand gesture. Lorre challenges Karloff to a magical duel. Karloff casually liquidates him with a lightning bolt, turning him into raspberry jam.

6:20 Bedtime in the creepy ol’ castle. Jack sneaks into Estelle’s room for unclear reasons, and then is locked inside. He has to go out a window and shuffle along a ledge (why not stay with Estelle? She’s cute, and not as dangerous as a high ledge in a rainstorm.) Meanwhile, Lenore (?) appears outside Vincent’s window. She then returns to Karloff — apparently she’s a wicked person who left Vincent for Karloff’s money.

6:26 Jack is outside the castle, and goes back in to find that Lorre is still alive! He was trying to fool Scarabus by pretending to have been killed. Jack goes off to rescue Estelle, while Lorre meets with Karloff. Lorre had been scheming! He had been turned into a raven to lure Vincent to the castle. The plot is getting a bit convoluted, but fun. It’s Karloff, Lorre, and Lenore vs. Vincent, Jack, and Estelle!

6:33 Karloff turns on Lorre, and throws him into a dungeon with Vincent, Estelle, and Jack. It’s going to be 2 against 4 — a strategic error. Lenore comes by to gloat. She is not a nice person at all. Lorre tries to betray the others, and Karloff turns him back into a raven. Vincent’s hands are tied, so he’s helpless; Karloff threatens to torture Estelle unless the secrets of his magical hand manipulations are revealed.

6:39 Lorre returns to untie Jack and Vincent! Karloff suggests a magical duel to the death. Oh boy! They sit in chairs facing each other and do various conjurations against each other. It’s very silly with cheap 1960s style tricks and cuts and gadgets on wires, but this is the climax of the movie, you know. Vincent wins, of course. Lenore tries to sidle back up to Vincent, who is unmoved, and Karloff grabs her and holds her as the heroes flee the castle, as it collapses on Karloff and Lenore, who later crawl out of the rubble. Karloff’s powers are gone. The treacherous Lorre remains a raven and returns to the bust of Pallas.

And that’s the end. It was a bit of low-budget fluff, classic Roger Corman fare, but it never takes itself seriously and most of the actors looked like they were just having fun. The weakest participant was Nicholson — his role seemed mostly superfluous. Price, Lorre, and Karloff were in great form. Lenore (Hazel Court) was having a ball vamping it up and was a perfect cartoon femme fatale. Estelle (Olive Sturgess)…well, she was paired with Nicholson, and they were a good match. Would you believe it was written by Richard Matheson, who wrote scripts for several Corman films at the time?

Five stars. This was good gonzo schlock churned out for the enjoyment of the audience and to keep some well-known actors well-supplied with wine.

The schlockmaster is gone — the creator of all those cheap ripoff sci-fi and horror movies, built on formulaic scripts and a negligible budget, is gone. Gosh, but that man sure chewed his way through movie and television screens. He was as omnipresent as Japanese rubber monster suit movies.

That said, I ate ’em up like popcorn. If one of his Edgar Allen Poe movies popped up on my screen right now, I’d be compelled to watch it to the end (I better not search for one, I’ve got work to do today). He also launched a fair number of careers.

Among the filmmakers who cut their teeth on Corman productions were Francis Ford Coppola, Martin Scorsese, Ron Howard, Polly Platt, Peter Bogdanovich, Paul Bartel, Jonathan Demme, Donald G. Jackson, Gale Anne Hurd, Joe Dante, James Cameron, John Sayles, Monte Hellman, Carl Franklin, George Armitage, Jonathan Kaplan, George Hickenlooper, Curtis Hanson, Robert Towne, and James Horner.

Among the actors whose earliest credits were on Corman projects were Jack Nicholson, Peter Fonda, Bruce Dern, Charles Bronson, Dennis Hopper, Tommy Lee Jones, Talia Shire, Sandra Bullock, Robert De Niro, and David Carradine.

It definitely wasn’t high art, but I am so tempted to pull up a stream of that camp classic, The Raven. But no! I mustn’t! I have things to do!

Maybe tonight.

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You know, the most distinctive things about that movie are the voices. I can hear Karloff, Lorre, and Price in my head right now, and everyone in the movies today sounds so bland in comparison.

No! I’m closing that browser window right now!

I went to the UMM Commencement ceremony today, sorta. I’m afraid I had to bail out before I died — it was being held outdoors, for the first time in a half dozen years, and the sun was blazing down, and I was expected to line up with other faculty an hour ahead of time for the processional, in the sun…and then we were going to march out to some shadeless folding chairs to sit for an hour and a half. Keep in mind we’re all wearing black robes. I decided I didn’t want to watch whole families collapsing with sunstroke, nor did I want to collapse myself.

I came home instead, and watched the colorful weeds commencing in my yard.

I think I’ll also take a nap this afternoon. Apparently the northern lights are going to be flaring some more tonight, and I want to get some better photos.

Our benign neglect of the lawn is paying off.

The UMM commencement ceremony is on Saturday. I’ll be attending in my black robes and funny hat, reluctantly. I go to celebrate the students, but the program is so predictable, and they usually get the most boring speakers. This year, it’s the interim president of the university and former bigwig at Hormel, the spam company, and I’ll be surprised if he says anything but platitudes.

It could be worse. Ohio State’s commencement speaker was a guy named Chris Pan, an entrepreneur, who wrote his speech with the aid of ChatGPT and ayahuasca, led the graduates in a sing-along, and spent a chunk of his time promoting BitCoin, which prompted loud boos from the audience. At least I don’t think we’ll have to suffer through that this weekend.

Maybe it’s for the best that we don’t have any weird speakers.