She Sure Plays a Mean Pinball...

I've got balls on the brain.

Wait. That came out wrong. I meant pinballs.

I recently watched "Special When Lit" a wonderful documenty about the world of pinball. It is to pinball what "Trekkies" was to Star Trek. Wonderfully sweet, humorous and fascinating. Not only the player and collectors but the history and the mechanics of it all.

As I watched, I was transfixed, literally. Watching the lights flashing, the silver ball controlled not only by gravity on the tilted board but the flippers, when it bounces off the bumpers, into the spinners, into the slingshots and hitting the drop target only to land right in between the flippers, just out of reach. Damnit!! No! Why oh why?! ...I want to play again!

I was in Portland last week, in a bar in a part of the city covered in shaded trees and hipsters. And in said bar was, lo and behold, the Indiana Jones pinball machine. I pumped in two bucks worth of quarters and played to my hearts content. This was more than just an enjoyment of the precursor to video games. Something had to be done.

Fatefully, The Rocky Mountain Pinball Showdown just happened to be coming to town the following weekend. So Nina and I packed our things and we were there in two shakes of lambs tail. Again, totally fascinating.

Barely a chick to be found, the average age was around 35-45. T-shirts and sneakers everywhere. (And just between you and me, compared to the conventions I usually frequent, the hygiene was much improved.)

There were pinball games from the early years, through the golden years (70's) and even the cutting edge, Tron and Avatar games. Those kitschy early games were my favorite, including what might be the best name for a pinball machine, "Balls-A-Poppin".

And for the tournaments, they had set up these wonderful camera systems so that a crowd could not only see the board on the giant flat screen but also watch the intensity of the players face via picture-in-picture. (and intense it got...)

Look! I found a girl!

Trade and buy parts, play games and chat with other enthusiasts. Or just take notes and shoot pictures like we did. (ok, we did play a little...)

And I know I'll never think of pinball the same again. Or walk past an arcade without checking to see if they have a Adams Family pinball machine. Or Jurassic Park, my sentimental favorite.

Let your pinball love fly free.

PS- Ever see the documentary "The King of Kong"? Then you're with me when I say... Ho-ly HELL! That is going to a whole lot of weird in one room and I just can't wait! See you all there!

"I wish to remain an eternal enigma to myself and to others"

I like this guy already.

This morning I find myself in Germany, both within my own head and surprisingly also in reality. So why not write about one of my favorite Germans? Why not indeed.

Anyone else think he's kinda hot?

King Ludwig II (or if you're not into the whole brevity thing, Ludwig Otto Friedrich Wilhelm.) was king for 22 years, and remains a beloved icon in Germany. (Don't call him the Mad King in front of the locals. They don't like that much.) He funded art, architecture and music and was a true lover of great and beautiful things. One more reason to dig this guy.

As with many royal children, he had a very structured young life with a regimented schedule of lessons and exercise. He was never close to his mother or father, relying on his eccentric grandfather for adult companionship. He was very shy and sensitive and the absence of regular comfort and love made him more so.

I imagine he was quite lonely at times and thus his imagination seemed to be his way to cope or escape his sometimes dreary childhood. He loved fantastical plays, operas and poetry. He would later develop a friendship with Richard Wagner because of his love of his particular brand of music.

He became King at 18 when his father died suddenly. He started not with policy changes or new laws but with adding to Bavarian culture with a new theater, commissioned operas from Wagner (Ludwig and Wagner = BFF) and other composers and introduced Shakespeare, Moliere and Mozart.

The young and handsome Ludwig was engaged to a cousin for a short time but after much postponing, the engagement was broken off. Scholars debate whether he was gay. He kept a diary that was lost sometime during the second world war but there were some copies that seem to share his struggle with keeping with his catholic faith and his desires.

Other than his cultural contributions to Bavaria, most people would probably know Ludwig for his castles. This was a man who loved his castles, so much so he nearly bankrupt himself funding his dream projects. This is probably the one most people know best.

When you wish upon a star...

He was an odd guy but I don't think he was crazy. He would often have private performances of ballets and operas with either just himself or one other guest. Mostly because, according to Ludwig himself, he didn't like people staring at him because he couldn't concentrate on the play. He was never one for formal events where there would be large crowds. He would often go on night time sleigh rides (with antique sleigh of course) because he fancied himself "The Moon King", sleeping during the day and living at night. Much of the "crazy" king stigma comes from what happen near the end of his life.

Death site memorial for Ludwig

His would have been a pretty interesting life all together but Ludwig wasn't going to go out simply, sleeping cozy in his bed or even dying in "glorious battle". No, this strange guy went out in an equally strange way. 1886, Ludwig was 40 and had pretty much receded into a quiet and solitary life. He was spending every penny he (and anyone he could borrow money from) had on his building projects and the Bavarian ministers had finally had enough. They gathered "evidence" from servants, and had him declared bat-shit-crazy. (I don't think that's the official declaration but it's more fun so there ya go.) The very next day Ludwig was found face down in Lake Starnberb. It was ruled a suicide. Although he had been prone to suicidal thoughts, things didn't really add up. There was no water in Ludwig's lungs and no one believed he had drowned anyway because he had been a strong swimmer since he was a child. One of the psychologist who declared him nutty coo-coo,  Dr. Gudden was bludgeoned/strangled and found dead near Ludwig. Some researchers theorize Ludwig was shot, others say he had a heart attack while fleeing. Perhaps he killed Gudden then died of shock. Honestly, no one knows what happened to him.

I have a lot in common with this "mad king" and I love him for so many reasons. Mostly though, it is because he is a mystery, not only because of how he died but how he lived as well. My favorite quote from Ludwig (and the title to the a little too long article) is "I wish to remain an eternal enigma to myself and to others."

Indeed.


http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/8/8b/Neuschwanstein_Fernblick_pano2.jpg
panoramic view from Neuschwanstein
http://www.oocities.org/gedojudea/ludwig/diary.html
Some letters to/from our dear Lugwig

Just call me Mary

I am the human petri dish.

Koo koo ka choo.

I've been stuck in bed for over a day now with some kind of flu and I am totally useless.  I crawled across the room, making pathetic moans and wimpers, grabbed my laptop, then just laid there, drooling into the carpet until TMS came upstairs and put me back in bed. (Then quickly disinfects his entire body, a la The Crying Game except without the shame. Ok, probably a little bit of shame.)

And since I find myself a hot bed of germs and cold medicine, I thought it would be apt to talk a bit about Typhoid Mary, since I am, minus the typhoid. And my name isn't Mary. Just shut up and read! I'm sorry, it's the phlegm monster talking.

Most people have heard the phrase "Typhoid Mary" and many more know that she was a real person. So let me expand, since she was a stubborn and tragic lady and deserves a few lines.

Mary Mallon was an Irish immigrant who came to America in 1884 at age 15 and grew up to work as a cook. Keep in mind that this was a time when no one knew that after handling raw meat, going to the bathroom or any other icky things that you were supposed to wash your hands. This is especially true if you happened to be a healthy carrier of Typhoid. (meaning, you look/feel totally normal, not sick at all, but carry the disease.) Also, if said carrier is preparing food that isn't cooked to a high enough temperature to kill the disease, it's easily transferred to the food and to those eating the food. With all that said, I'll tell you that Mary's specialty dessert for her families was cold peaches and ice cream.

Hi! I'm cuddly Typhoid!

An epidemiologist named George Soper found the trail and it lead straight to Mary.  He came to her and asked for her urine/feces to test for the microbes. She politely declined with a carving fork. Soper later returned with reinforcements, a chase ensued, and finally she was exiled against her will to North Brother Island with other quarantined people. She was later released, only if she pinky swore that she wouldn't work as a cook. Of course she agreed. She then went out and got another cooking job because opportunities are slim for Irish women and that was her skill. She was found again and sent back to the island.

I can see it both ways, can't you? I don't want this woman to infect me or my family. I also understand that she has to make a living. She wasn't treated well, made to understand and made a scapegoat for an entire epidemic. She was not happy on the island, the way most of us probably would have been.

She wrote in a letter, 

"I have been in fact a peep show for everybody. Even the interns had to come to see me and ask about the facts already known to the whole wide world. The tuberculosis men would say "There she is, the kidnapped woman."

I feel bad for her. She was truly a lady stuck between a rock and a hard place and there was just no winning. She had a stroke, then in 1938 died of pneumonia on the same island.

Well I don't know about you folks but I'm taking a page from 'Lessons that should have been learned by Mary' and keeping my germs to myself. I'm in bed until all this goes away. Or I go stir crazy and lose my marbles; then you will see me on the 9 o'clock news.

Either way, I promise not to make you peaches.


Check out the Nova special "The Most Dangerous Woman in America" and "Stuff You Missed in History Class" podcast for more info on Mary and other cool history subjects.

Don Cornelius was a dirty old man...and I loved it.

Don is dead.

I read a few weeks ago in the New York Times that Don Cornelius had died by his own hand and found myself profoundly sad. He was found in his apartment with an apparent gun shot wound to his head. He was recently divorce, had trouble with the law and there were rumors of health problems. Some say Parkinsons, others say Alzheimers. Either way, it was all too much for Mr. Cornelius and took a gun and you know the rest.

But you probably read this story too. I wanted to tell you a different one, the one and only time I saw the man himself. Though not monumental, it was something I have always remembered.

I was at The Polo Lounge at the Beverly Hills Hotel on Mother's Day in 2002 having brunch with my mom. We had been traveling up and down the coast enjoying the sun and shopping our hearts out. I had decided that for mother's day we would splurge a bit and check out this historical hotel. (No sign of Balushi's ghost or any Marilyn sightings though.)

We sat in a booth near the back patio and enjoyed a lovely brunch when a lovely couple comes around the corner and sits in the booth next to ours. It was Don Corelius and his new Russian model and porn star wife Viktoria. I thought to myself, how cool! I never thought I would spot a television innovator, pop culture icon and advocate for social change at The Beverly Hills Hotel. And I have to say that I also patted myself on the back a little for even recognizing him, as I can't imagine most people under 40 knew of him.

As my mom and I finished our brunch, I noticed that a certain someone was looking my way. I leaned over to my mom and whispered, "I think Don Cornelius is staring at me..." I imagine I was a little his 'type' because I possessed some of the qualities his wife had. Red hair, tall, thin, pale. Perhaps he was just spacing out and was 'looking though' me, as sometimes people do. 

After brunch, Mom and I toured the grounds, wandering around the various paths and hallways in and out of the hotel. We decided to have one more mimosa before we hit the spa so we went to the bar, where a very tall man squeezed past me (it was a bit crowded) and stood beside me, apologizing for brushing past me in that deep smooth voice that made the hairs on the back of neck stand up. I look up at him and smiled, "That's ok."  I giggled internally and called my best friend who had no idea who I was talking about. And that was it.

I still joke that Don Cornelius hit on me at the Beverly Hills Hotel. People roll their eyes and laugh. That trip to L.A. as a young lady was a pretty strange trip in itself and that episode added to the strangeness. Perhaps that is why I'll always have a soft place for him. He helped contribute to my strange journey and I will always be grateful for that.

--------------------------------------------------------------

I very much recommend VH1's documentary on Don and his Soul Train for those who aren't familiar with the tremendous effect he had on music, fashion, dance and even civil rights, to a degree and helping launch the careers of countless superstars. Catch it if you can.

http://www.vh1.com/shows/vh1_rock_docs/episode.jhtml?episodeID=162182

Take a ride on the matrimony pony to babyland...

I want to stick my chopstick in this woman's eye.

But perhaps I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me start this post with a simple misunderstanding...  My mother in law left a message on my cell a few months ago when we were getting married that sounded like this: "Hi! Just had a couple of questions about some different things... When should we meet you tomorrow for the rehearsal dinner? Have you seen by blue scarf? Oh, don't forget to pick up Harold from the airport and then to the reception. Also, are you guys going to have kids? And lastly, who is delivering flowers? Ok, see you tomorrow!"

Wait, what? Did she just ask me if we were having kids? Did she just slip in that most dreaded of all bride questions between Uncle Harold and flowers? It's no one's business about my uterus or our life changing decisions or any of that! I worked myself into a frenzy until I blew up a TMS asking him why his mother was asking about our reproduction ideals. I made him listen to the message she left and he laughed. She was asking if we were having children at the wedding. As in, were we inviting kids... I'm an idiot.

But that little sitcom-esque misunderstanding does bring up something that many newly weds are asked more frequently than not. And to me wanting to stab my eating utensil into Lucile.

But why, you ask? What would make me, a mild-mannered artist, a peace loving girl, to make me consider severely maiming one of my mother's best friends while having lunch at Hiko Sushi? One simple question...

"When are you two going to have a baby?"

That's when I go deaf and blind and just start swinging. I'm sure it's just someone thinking of a topic of conversation, taking an interest in my life. I mean, that is how the song goes, right? "First comes love, then comes marriage, then come baby in the baby carriage." But it's not 1950 anymore. And I'm not June Cleaver. So I may have said one of the following things that may or may not have gotten me in trouble with my mom.

• We are waiting to see how your spawn turns out before we decide to get started.
• Ewww! No, we won't be having one of those things. And if my body starts to bio-terrorize me with brainwashed ideas of babies, I'll just get a puppy.
• Well you complain so much about your own kids we've decided that we may not want any...
• I knew I forgot to do something! Better make a note on my ipad... Hold on... 

Hey, it beats "It's none of your goddamn business."