All I needed this morning was a poisonous earworm

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.

This is not the morning I had planned

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.

Who knew spiders were so lucrative?

It’s like dealing cocaine. An arachnid kingpin, Lorenzo Prendini, curator of arachnids at the American Museum of Natural History, was arrested in Istanbul as he attempted to smuggle 1500 spiders and scorpions out of Turkey. The Turkish police aired a video showing how they tracked the criminal through the airport — looking like an obvious nerd, very suspicious — and then laying out bags and vials full of spiders and spider parts, like they were illicit goods bravely seized from a cabal of nefarious criminals.

They claim, “It has an estimated market value of around $10 million.” Wow. They threw him in a Turkish prison. Look at this smug badass.

He’s my hero.

Of course, they released him after a day when they noticed that he had permits for all of his biological specimens. I hope he’s now strutting around the AMNH like the Walter White or Scarface of arachnology.

Years ago, I was invited to debate one of Harun Yahya’s disciples in Istanbul — I turned it down without a moment’s thought because I figured taking an atheist position in Turkey would get me arrested (also, Yahya was such a fool that I would gain nothing from the encounter.) It’s too bad he’s in prison and his creationist organization dismantled, because now I might consider it for the opportunity to score a cool few million dollars in smuggled baggies full of dead spiders.

Hey, where did they get that market value of $10 million? Who would they sell them to?

Birds

We have a division of labor in our household. I care about the spiders, Mary cares about the birds. She’s got feeders all over the yard, I raise flies and mealworms for the spiders. She’s signed up for FeederWatch, I tally up observations on iNaturalist. It’s not a competition, but she does score more daily points than I do. These are the birds she observed just yesterday.

House Wren, Common Grackle, American Robin, Pine Siskin, House Finch, Blue Jay, American Goldfinch, Downy Woodpecker, Eurasian Collared Dove, Yellow Warbler, Northern Cardinal, White-breasted Nuthatch, Chimney Swift, House Sparrow, Gray Catbird, Warbling Vireo, Chipping Sparrow, Black-capped Chickadee, White-throated Sparrow, Brown-headed Cowbird, Red-winged Blackbird, Purple Martin, Red-eyed Vireo, Trumpeter Swan, Swainson’s Thrush, Barn Swallow, Tennessee Warbler, Dark-eyed Junco, Hermit Thrush, Mourning Dove, Song Sparrow, Swamp Sparrow, Baltimore Oriole, American Crow, Yellow-rumped Warbler, Western Meadowlark, Common Yellowthroat, Wilson’s Warbler, Magnolia Warbler, Indigo Bunting, Northern Flicker, European Starling, Eastern Bluebird, Hairy Woodpecker, Wood Duck, Common Nighthawk

OK, already. We got birds.

Colonialism: just an imaginary problem

I’m no expert in Irish history, but I do know that the root of modern conflicts were planted in the 17th century, when the English colonized Ireland, and native Irish Catholics were displaced by grants of land around Ulster to Protestant invaders. This is a problem that has simmered for centuries and erupted in the Troubles and is still a huge political issue between Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland.

OK, I’ve exhausted my knowledge of the history of the region, but as an American, it is my right to be oblivious of the concerns of foreign countries. Wouldn’t it be tragic if an Irish person were to forget the history of their country?

Behold, Glinner:

Graham Linehan: ‘Colonialism’, another American obsession. The Irish Left doesn’t have a single thought unless Americans had it first.

Gosh. Did American liberals invent the IRA?

Bloody kings

Does anyone like King Charles’ official portrait? I understand the artist didn’t intend this, but I look at it and see imperialism soaking in blood.

The BBC calls it “vibrant”, but they would. The butterfly seems like an ironic touch, or maybe a reference to the flitting silliness of the man’s brain.

I actually rather like the painting for it’s weirdness and the ability to read whatever I want into it — and I don’t like royalty, or this dimwitted king, so that’s what I see. You’ll have to come up with your own meaning.

What a pretty home you have!

One of the things Parasteatoda does is build cobwebs on the side of our house (yes, we have an orange house) that not only gathers bugs, but also windblown debris. They seem to like it, and will even add to it by hoisting bits of gravel and small twigs from the ground up to their nest, which will gradually become more cluttered over the course of the summer. It’s still early, so this tiny little spider mainly has scraps of flower blossoms to hide behind.

If she survives and thrives, she’ll add her egg sacs to the accretion.

I assume you can see her, just below the dark seed pod? She was hiding behind that, and I had to nudge her a bit to get her to come out.

Spider sex orgy, coming right up

This is the week! It was a busy morning in the lab, doing a complete spider cage cleanup, shuffling everyone around, sorting out males and females, and getting ready for the big sexual event scheduled for Thursday, when the virginal boys are introduced to the virginal girls, and we hope grand things happen.

The party takes a couple of days of preparation — tomorrow is the preparatory feast day, for instance. I’ll be posting all the details on Patreon, if you’re really interested.

P.S. When searching for an image to illustrate a ‘spider sex orgy’, make sure you’ve got Safe Search on. I didn’t, and now I have to go bleach my eyeballs. So many strange images, and virtually none of them included an actual arachnid…

We’ve moved!

Somebody snuck in and moved our house farther south. According to this informative map of plant hardiness zones, I’m not living in Zone 4a — we’ve moved to the steamy, tropical zone 4b.

In 2012, the USDA classified Morris, Minn., as Zone 4a.
Back then, Morris’ coldest winter temperature was somewhere between -30 and -25 degrees Fahrenheit on average.

In 2023, the USDA reclassified Morris as Zone 4b.
Now, the lowest winter temperature is between -25 and -20 degrees Fahrenheit on average.

That’s because the new average minimum temperature in Morris is 1.6º F warmer than the previous average, from an earlier period.

Fascinating. My wife is the gardener in the family. I’ll have to suggest to her that maybe this is the year to plant mangoes, bananas, and pineapple rather than tomatoes and zucchini.

Your turn. Look up your zone and find out what climate change has done to your location.

The Raven!

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


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.