Articles by john-ostrander
Thu Apr 19, 2007 — by John Ostrander
JOHN OSTRANDER: Perverse Pleasures
Off In The O-Zone #10
We all know what a “guilty pleasure” is – some movie, book, song, whatever that we are ashamed to say we actually like – nay, sometimes love. While we may be embarrassed by our affection we should, at the very least, be able to claim, “Well, anyway, I like it.” Even if nobody else does. I have my list of those and I suspect you do as well.
This is not the same as the strange, little known things that you love that are, in fact, pretty good. I have my list of those things also and it might be useful to talk about these odd delights at some other time.
Neither of the above are the same as what I call my “perverse pleasures.” I’m not talking about sexual kinks and peccadilloes. I’m talking about music, books, movies and so on that I know, in fact, are awful and that I don’t like but feel a weird compulsion to own them anyway.
On to confession.
The first item is Pat Boone’s 1997 CD In a Metal Mood; No More Mr. Nice Guy wherein the King of White Bread Music decides to do his covers of Heavy Metal songs. We’re talking songs such as Stairway to Heaven, Smoke on the Water, Love Hurts, Enter Sandman and plenty of others. Oh, my ears! He doesn’t do them as Heavy Metal, of course; his arrangements turns them into Big Band tunes. When Mr. Boone sings, he’s usually off the rhythm, flat, or just speaks the lyrics. I have yet to get through a complete cut.
This is completed with a cover shot of the aging Mr. Boone in leather pants, leather vest, and no shirt, fixing the buyer with a steely stare that defies said buyer not to purchase the CD. I, of course, succumbed.
To top it all off, I was doing a guest shot on my friend Bill Nutt’s radio show, The Nutt House, on WNTI. I decided to play a cut of the CD on his show. Hey, they’re not my ratings. My better half, the lovely and talented Mary Mitchell, was listening in. I should explain that Mary is a heavy metal fan. Most people wouldn’t suspect it to look at her but she’s pretty knowledgeable and has her criterion: a good heavy metal band should look and sound like trolls. Pat Boone comes nowhere near that ideal.
Mary asked me what was on my mind to play that track. I explained that none of us at the radio station actually listened to it; we turned off the monitors about thirty seconds into the song so we didn’t have to listen to it. I think that’s where I lost Mary as a regular listener to my radio hijinks. She did listen to the track all the way through.
This is one of my definitions of love – despite having trick-bagged her into listening to something that I couldn’t, she still cares about me.
If Mary hasn’t found the CD, I probably still have it around somewhere.
Wandering over to the DVD section, I find my copy of Barb Wire. I knew the Dark Horse comic on which the movie was based and stumbled on the movie starring Pamela Lee Anderson while channel surfing late one night. I, like millions of Americans, ignored it in its theatrical release but I thought it was worth pausing long enough to see if Pam popped out of whatever she was wearing. It was late night and my standards of viewing are pretty low after midnight.
Thu Apr 12, 2007 — by John Ostrander
JOHN OSTRANDER: Hurling stones
Off In The O-Zone #9
I had a couple of other topics I was going to work on but then I read Mike Gold’s column this week and decided I had enough to say to on it and the subject of his column that I might as well do it in my own. Thanks, Mike, for supplying my column this week!
The question at hand was Don Imus’ racist remarks on his show, categorizing Rutgers University’s women’s basketball team (the majority of whom are black) as “nappy headed hos.” (For short, and because I don’t want to perpetuate the comment by repeating it endlessly, we’ll just reduce it to “nhh”.)
Imus has since apologized at length, doing the mea culpa circuit that prominent white men do when they get caught putting their feet in their mouths. There have been the chorus of calls for Imus’ resignation or firing and Imus has said he was just trying to be funny and he’s really a nice guy and so on. As I write this, Imus has been suspended by CBS radio for two weeks and MSNBC has dropped the television show. After a ritual flogging on the Rev. Al Sharpton’s radio show, Imus is now scheduled to meet with the women he actually insulted and their families. Nice to know we’re all keeping our priorities straight.
Caveat: I don’t listen to Imus. If I’m listening to radio in the morning it’s generally NPR and I don’t do that very often. So I’m getting a lot of this second hand or worse. I’ve never been into the whole “shock jock” thing so you can take what I have to say with that grain of salt. Also, I’ve had my own brush with hoof in mouth disease in a script where I referred to Asian people as Orientals. As has been driven home to me, Orientals are rugs; people are Asian. So I am not within sin. I’m throwing rocks anyway.
Let’s talk about Imus first. My first reaction on hearing all this was, “What an incredibly stupid thing to say.” Imus has been in the game long enough and he knows the field. He has no internal censor that suggested to him for a half second that referring to African-American women as “nhh” just might get him into trouble? Frankly, I always had the impression that Imus was sharper than that.
And then the cynical Chicagoan side of me kicked in. Maybe Imus’ attitude at the time was “Well, remarks like this sure gets people talking about ya, doesn’t it? Good, bad – does it matter so long as they don’t forget you?” Now people might listen in to hear how contrite you are, or if you’ll do it again, or because they think you should do it again. What’s a shock jock without a controversy? Or maybe he didn’t expect people to get upset – stuff like this has been his stock in trade, right? Isn’t it why people listen? Imus says what a lot of people think – isn’t that the justification? The current brouhaha is just a matter of degree.
I wonder – what would the reaction have been if it was the Rutgers men’s basketball team that lost in the Finals (they didn’t even get that far) and Imus had called them “nh (fill in the blank).” Actually, I’m betting nothing would have happened because Imus would have realized, before he said it, that it was going too far. But these are just female jocks. Who really cares, eh? Let’s call them whores because they lost a freaking basketball game. Maybe if Imus had just stuck with being misogynistic instead of racist, he would have been okay.
Thu Apr 5, 2007 — by John Ostrander
JOHN OSTRANDER: The headline quartet
Off in the O-Zone #8
You’ve done this on tests. Which of the following doesn’t fit?
- Celeb fashion flops
- Crafting the perfect lawn
- Man films own death by meth
- Clearing home clutter
If you picked “Man films own death by meth” then give yourself an A. I plucked this quartet as is from my MS Hotmail account; after I sent off an e-mail, a screen popped up asking me if I wanted to go back to the message or to the inbox. In the left margin, there were also some news stories that I might want to pick. These were the four headlines to choose from. Three innocuous bits of news fluff and one fairly grotesque news item.
Each headline had equal value. The type sizes were all the same size. Suicide is given the same value as “Crafting the perfect lawn.” They’re all just newsy bits, one no more important than the next. In a list we sometimes assume that the top or the bottom items have the most impact but not so here. Exchange the top two items and nothing really has changed. Put the suicide item at the top or the bottom and the list changes but nestle it in the middle and it’s just one more bit of fluff.
I’ve been looking at our little headline quartet and reacting several different ways. In this context, with everything being the same, death has no more importance than crafting the perfect lawn. It’s just another widget headline. If everything has the same value, then what has meaning? “Man films own death by meth” is grotesque, it should horrify. The quartet suggests otherwise to me. There is no sense of priority here, that this one thing is more important than this other thing. The context of its appearance in this quartet suggests that the death is mundane.
Which might raise the question – is it more important? An unknown man films his own death by meth. Should his death mean anything more to me than celeb fashion flops? Is his death noteworthy or the fact that he filmed it? If there wasn’t video, we wouldn’t care. Just another meth user screwing up his life. I’m not going to pretend that I care deeply about every person who dies; I don’t. The deceased may have family and friends who will mourn him; I hope he does. Me? I’m mostly appalled but that’s about it. Maybe for me it IS just another widget headline.
Thu Mar 29, 2007 — by John Ostrander
JOHN OSTRANDER: Fire-bombing Dresden
Off in the O-Zone #7
I’m a big fan of The Dresden Files. Which is why I can’t take The Dresden Files.
Maybe I should explain.
About a year ago or so I picked up a novel by Jim Butcher about a wizard-for-hire working out of modern day Chicago. It meshes the hard-boiled detective genre with the wizard and fantasy genre. If you know me, then you know I’m already into what I’ve called narrative alloys – the blending of genres. And I’m still a Chicago boy at heart so of course I was drawn to the book series. Butcher, not a Chicago native, sometimes gets his Chicago geography wrong – one book refers to what is obviously Hyde Park as Lincoln Park which is a very different neighborhood – but he generally gets the feel right.
As the series has progressed, the world of his hero – Harry Dresden – gets richer. He has an army of wonderful supporting characters and an overall interlocking story has emerged. While each book can be read on its own (I read them way out of order); they’re all connected and events in one book have ramifications in later books. Butcher has thought out his magic pretty well, its consistent and believable. In short, he’s created not only a wonderfully interesting main character but his own world that just happens to intersect the real world in a city that I love a lot.
In short, I’ve become a fan and I was really excited when I learned that it was going to be made into a series on the SciFi network. I remained excited – up until I started watching it.
Thu Mar 22, 2007 — by John Ostrander
JOHN OSTRANDER: Scattershot – TV Spots
Off in the O-Zone #6
When I and Mary, my sweetie, sit around doing the couch potato thing, it’s always best to head for the commercial free stuff because it’s guaranteed that a high percentage of the commercials are going to offend her to the point of a rant. Not that the rants aren’t entertaining but I have to keep reminding her, “It isn’t supposed to make sense; it’s trying to sell something.” Or “It doesn’t work for you because you’re not the target audience.”
Generally, I try to let the commercials just wash over me without really registering them but every so often some do. On rare occasion, such as with the Mac/PC commercials, it’s because I genuinely enjoy them. More often, something sticks like tar in my mind because either a) it is incomparably stupid and/or b) my brain, warped by years of pop culture, does something with it the makers of the commercial never intended. Such as our first scattershot target.
LUNESTRA. It’s a prescription sleep aid and, in the commercial, restless people in their beds at night are visited by a luminescent green luna moths after which they close their eyes. The ad-makers, of course, want us to interpret this as Lunestra bringing gentle, natural sleep. Given the moths’ glowing green nature, however, I’ve become convinced it’s stealing their souls and that the people shown are dying. To Mary’s vast amusement (and my own) I’ve taken to screaming at the TV when these commercials come on as if it were a horror film. “LOOK OUT! IT’S STEALING YOUR SOUUUUUULLLL! FOR GOD’S SAKE – WAKE UP! OH NO! IT GOT THAT WOMAN, TOO! CAN NOTHING STOP IT?!?” Try it the next time you see the commercial; great fun.
THE CLONE OF ORVILLE REDENBACHER. When Orville Redenbacher first brought out his own line of popcorn decades ago, he also made himself the company spokesman, always telling us his popcorn was better than these others yadda yadda yadda “. . . or my name isn’t Orville Redenbacher.” Well, Orville was no spring chicken when this all started and eventually died. Recently, they brought back some of the old commercials and that was all right. Kind of a nice retro feel; I thought they worked nicely. That evolved, however, so that they got somebody made up to look like him with a make-up job that makes him look more like a Disney animatronic. And they use the same tag – “. . . or my name isn’t Orville Redenbacher.” It isn’t. We know it isn’t. This Orville has an embalmed look that makes him really creepy.
THE BURGER KING. The only creepier company spokesman on TV right now is the Burger King. You’ve seen him. Human body and an oversized plastic head that seems modeled after a young Henry VIII. The effect is like one of these licensed characters you see walking in a parade or in a theme park. Then they put him into situations that frankly make my flesh crawl. One of the commercials for BK’s breakfast line-up had a guy waking up in the morning and the Burger King was there in bed with him. The tag was “Have breakfast with the King.” The only thing I could think of was, “Dude, I don’t care how much you drank last night or how late their late night window is open, this is just wrong.” Not because the BK might be gay; it’s because he’s not human. Note to commercial makers: I don’t buy products where the commercials creep me out.
Thu Mar 15, 2007 — by John Ostrander
John Ostrander: Writing 101
Off in the O-Zone #5
What does a writer do?
I did an interview recently and I was asked what advice I could give to someone who also wanted to be a writer. I get asked that at classes, lectures or seminars and I always answer by asking that question.
It’s not a trick question, although some people seem to think it is. Generally, I get answers like:
a) writers create stories
b) writers make up characters
c) writers make up things
It’s actually a lot simpler, more basic, and far tougher than all of the above.
What does a writer do? A writer writes. We don’t simply think about writing or talk about writing or imagine ourselves writing, although every writer I know does that and, in many cases, prefers to do that. It’s a hell of a lot easier than actually doing the work. However, if that’s all you do, then you’re not a writer. You’re a wannabee.
A writer writes. Every day. If you’re just starting, find a time and place that you can do it even if it’s only for five minutes. It’s like when you’re starting to exercise; you’re not – or shouldn’t – go from 0 exercise to trying to running the Boston Marathon. You need first to get into shape; with writing you need to get into the habit of writing. At first you’re looking for consistency – five to seven days a week.
I don’t care where or how you do it – in a diary, a journal, with pen and paper, on a computer or what. Text messaging is not the same thing, and you know it. It’s preferable to write in something so you can see what you’ve done, where you can refer back to earlier entries. Date the entries.
Wed Mar 7, 2007 — by John Ostrander
John Ostrander: Now... now... now
Off In The O-Zone #4
There are some things they don't tell you how to do. Sometimes it's things no one can tell you; you just have to experience it for yourself. Sometimes it's just stuff people don't like to talk about. Stuff like death and grief.
I'm going to tell you what I know. Obviously, I can't talk about what it is to die; I haven't walked that road yet and I hope not to for a while. I can tell you, however, what it's like to deal with death and with grief -- at least, what it was like for me. As they say on the car commercials, your mileage may vary.
There are all kinds of death that you experience in your lifetime. Some are not physical -- the death of friendship, the death of a dream or hope, the death of an ideal. These are no less real; the grief we feel for any of them may be no less than experiencing a physical death. However, they are different.
Perhaps the first real sense of my own mortality happened when I was about eight; it was one Saturday in late spring and I was outside on my bike. Our house was actually across the street from our church and I watched a funeral procession come up the street to the church's front door. As I watched, I was hit with the thought that one day I would be in a casket and a boy on a bike would be watching me pass. With that vision came the realization that the world wouldn't end with my death and that, consequently, it hadn't begun with my birth. The axis of my own private earth shifted. I pedaled away but I have never pedaled far away enough.
This all comes to my mind because it is the tenth anniversary of the death of my wife, Kimberly Ann Yale. She died of breast cancer in March of 1997 -- too soon, as many have noted. Here's some of the hard facts I learned from that experience.
Thu Mar 1, 2007 — by John Ostrander
John Ostrander: "We hold these truths to be self-evident"
Off in the O-Zone #3
I just read where the Anglican church, now controlled by conservative African bishops, are threatening to lower the boom of the American branch -- the Episcopalians -- to the point of tossing them out over the issue of appointing an openly and actively gay bishop and the issue of offering blessings to same sex couples.
Never mind that the bishop in question, V. Gene Robinson, happens to be in a very monogamous relationship, or that he is, by all accounts, a very good man and capable administrator. Never mind that he is being open about his sexuality and his relationship -- there would be no problem if he just kept it a secret and lied about it. Never mind that the couples in question are seeking stability in one on one relationships in a loving situation and are looking to commit to one another. Never mind that the Anglican Church has a history of not being doctrinal, of open inquiry, of autonomy for each of the Churches within its communion. What matters is that once again the Christian Right(eous) have determined that their version of the truth is the only truth and will impose that view on everyone and it doesn't matter what they destroy along the way.
The Crusades live.
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Thu Feb 22, 2007 — by John Ostrander
John Ostrander: Scattershot - Past / Present
Off in the O-Zone #2
Perhaps it's a sign of aging when you're more attuned to what came before than what's going on now, especially in entertainment. Oh, I'm up on what's going on with movies and TV (less so in music) and I certainly have my faves in those areas. Recently, however, I've been re-discovering some music I'd had before, some TV I had seen when I was a boy, and have found that some of my favorite movies were created before I was born. This column is a grab-bag (hence "scattershot" -- it'll be our code for columns that have a variety of topics) of some of those. Given the age of the material, these are probably less reviews than post-mortems.
• We Five came out of San Francisco about 1965 when I was still in high school. If you know this folk-rock group at all, it will be for their one big hit, "You Were On My Mind". I not only loved their big single, I bought their two albums, the first named for the hit single and the second was "Make Someone Happy". They broke up after the second album and later reformed with new members. I've discovered that the reformed We Five still plays venues today.
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Thu Feb 15, 2007 — by John Ostrander
John Ostrander: Why do I do this?
Off in the O-Zone
Back in a previous life I was a very struggling actor in Chicago. One summer I was working with a small troupe that, among other things, did children's plays outdoors and in various venues. This particular show we were doing was called Wiley and the Hairy Man, based upon a children's book. I played the Hairy Man - a swamp-man/boogeyman - and, while I kept getting chased offstage by the Wiley in the title, my character kept sneaking back in. It was not a part of particular subtlety but it did require some finesse. I was the monster in a children's play which meant I couldn't be too scary; just enough to produce the tinglies and a lot of laughs.
To be honest, I loved the role. In every venue, after Wiley would chase me away I would look for different places to come back at the required time through the audience. Even my fellow cast members were never quite sure where I would be coming from which kept it fresh for all of us. Sometimes I would pick up a child from where they were sitting in one part of the audience and deposit them somewhere else in the audience. My make-up was absurd, my costume had tatty fur glued on a work shirt, and it was a "Brian Blessed" roaring over the top performance - all in all, it may have been my finest role.
