Thursday, 23 April 2020 16:35

Tiny Mulder, Grand Adventurer

 

 

 

Published in Recent Posts

Tiny Mulder - and our JennyPop - might draw strange looks in public, as JennyPop - and the odd cohort - position him hither and thither; yet, he doesn't mind the judgment. She doesn't mind either. TM is out there and loving it! Drinking in the atmos of pubs and bars, here and abroad, surveying the pumpkin pie and pressies at Thanksgiving dinner and on Christmas mornings, TM will be relegated to a dank, FBI basement no longer. Today, and forever, Tiny Mulder is ... at large! Go forth and find the truth, my tiny friend.

Published in Recent Posts
Wednesday, 06 March 2019 20:49

The Lock of Love: Tiny Mulder in Copenhagen

It is unclear whether or not Tiny Scully would appreciate Tiny Mulder's grand gesture.

Published in Recent Posts

Four Hours in Iceland: Notes on Exhaustion, Brain Drain and David Sedaris

- loopy, jet-lagged scribbling journaled on layover at Keflavik Int'l Airport -

 

20 Sept. 2K17

1:45pm - 5:45pm

8dg C. (outside, duh)

 

How many degrees Fahrenheit are 8 degrees Celsius?

What is the Icelandic currency, and how much is it worth? When "nachos" cost 650kr, what does this mean, to me?

Beer and Brennivin is what this pub, Loksins, offers. What is Brennivin? (In fact, a vile schnapps-like fuel that tastes like Scope. Blech!) My Internet connection is failing; ergo, I cannot research any of this

Published in Recent Posts

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@VisitCA

#DreamBig

Can't make it to Comic-Con? Don't be sad! JennyPop's got you covered! All the dorky fun rages July 19 - July 23, 2017. For full posts, detailed accounts and, possibly, her Souvenir Book article, bookmark @JennyPopCom Twitter and Insta for all the in-depth, geeky, good times.

What are we going to do tonight, Brain?

Same thing we do every night, Pinky. Try to take over the world!


A simple yet brilliant storytelling device. Core, classical elements of drama. Man versus man. Evil archetype endeavours to take over the world; perky protag thwarts said-takeover. From Harry Potter to Shakespeare to Star Wars to every episode of Scooby-Doo, some bastard is trying to make it reign evil and it's up to a few benevolent souls - always with great hair - to save mankind. Pretty standard fare. Purge the pernicious pests so we all can get back to normal life and our frisée salads and Shiraz at Nordstron Café. Yet ... what to do when that evil genius is your own kid? Ah, well. Therein lies the rub.

Marge Simpson knows the harrows of a difficult child. Rosemary had severe misgivings about her Baby. You know Hitler's Mütti must have questioned her First Five interactions with the twee, finger-painting, mustachioed Adolf. Even as recently as FOX's recently-cancelled Sleepy Hollow, Katrina Van Tassel shouldered the emotional weight of an apocalyptic offspring: Henry Parrish, wingman to Moloch. So follows the pathos-laced saga of Dr. Cassandra Railly and her precocious tyke, a.k.a. The Witness: prophet of the Apocalypse and demon wrangler of the Four Horsemen. Awww, but he looks so peaceful when he sleeps.

SyFy's 12 Monkeys is back swinging on the top branch for another season and it's a well-heeled, time-travel itinerary through multiple era, including a grimy yet velveteen Medieval period, a lusty, luxe Baroque spell, post-War Paris' theatre scene - where Emily Hampshire's bonkers Jennifer Goines is a gorgeous study in nut-job perfection - and even the, relatively, boring 1980s.

S3e1, titled "Mother", sets Mama Cass on a new quest, crossing the boundaries of time, space and sartorial permutations to confront her demon seed: as a full-grown man and, in a clearly more complex, philosophical and moral haze, to contemplate the actual, iffy occasion of his birth.

12 Monkeys, "Mother" S3e1 Amanda Schull as Dr. Cassie Railly Photo by: Ben Mark Holzberg/Syfy

The Bad Seed is nothing new. Greek, Roman and Norse mythologies are replete with the mother-as-vessel-for-evil device. Greek myth gave us Echidna: the Mother of all Monsters. To that end, time-travel is also an ancient idea. Norse saga tell of the Three Norns: three women who alone control destiny, via time travel. However, the Norse view of time follows not a direct, linear course, but a cyclical one.

Present returns to the past, past is altered; present is now altered, having absorbed the altered past ... and so on. Similar to the Germanic languages, there is no future tense, per se; there is only the contingent possibility of a future. As with the Norsemen, Cassie's future is contingent upon what happened, or will happen, in the past ... or, the present ... or, ... wait. It is a constant Butterfly Effect, in effect. (Note the various butterfly imagery throughout the series, notably butterfly jewelry.)

"To call past and future to the rescue of the present," thus spake the experimental physicists of Chris Marker's post-WWIII, dystopian, French film La Jetée (1962), the inspiration for Terry Gilliam's mindf#&% film starring a magnificently twisted Brad Pitt, 12 Monkeys (1995).  Gilliam's Brad Pitt vehicle is, in turn, the basis for the legend's latest iteration, SyFy's 12 Monkeys (2015).

In the current Monkey tale, James Cole (Aaron Stanford) travels to our present, from his future date of 2043. It is then The Army of the Twelve Monkeys releases (released? will release? will have released? will have had released?) a plague that wipes out most of humanity. In our present, he meets Dr. Cassie Railly, a virologist whom he believes can eradicate this future minesweep. However, it seems the Monkey Corps and its diabolical leader, The Witness (Mommy's Little Numnum), have more vile deeds to carry out and it's up to our Dystopian Duo, Cassie and Cole, to travel hither and thither, through time and space, to thwart those evil, evil monkeys so we can all get back to our refreshing, summer salads and wine.

No matter the outcome, you've got time to bring out your dead. 12 Monkeys S4 has already been greenlit (will be greenlighted? will have had been greenlitten?), a rare security before the previous season even airs. To boot, S3 proffers the illustrious Christopher Lloyd (Back to the Future, The Addams Family, Taxi) - eternally Uncle Fester to some of us - in a guest-starring role as Zalmon Shaw, sociopathic and sadistic Dir. of Recruitment and Membership for The Monkey Club. (Membership is free, but initiation is pure hell.)

The end of the world could eventually come. So, mark your calendar, kids, and find yourself a nice, purple track suit on eBay. Friday May 19, 2017, the quest for world domination resumes on SyFy. 12 Monkeys S3 airs in one epic, weekend "binge-a-thon": all ten S3 episodes from Friday 5/19 - Sunday 5/21, airing 8p.m. - 11p.m. ET/PT each night. In case mankind is wiped out by a plague, it's a good thing you get to watch the whole season this weekend.

In the meanwhile, for your reading pleasure, I chatted with Aaron Stanford (James Cole) and Amanda Schull (Dr. Cassie) about their roles, the writers' inspirations and Jennifer Goines' 99 Luftballons.

12 Monkeys, "Masks" S3e8 Aaron Stanford as Jame Cole, Amanda Schull as Cassandra Railly

Photo by: Dusan Martincek/Syfy

 

Interview with Aaron Stanford (James Cole) and amanda Schull (Dr. Cassandra Railly)

Monkey Interview Date: May 12, 2017 9:00 am PST

Please note: Transcript has been edited for brevity and clarity, only where JennyPop! questions are concerned. Talent answers are transcribed here in full. 

 

JennyPop!: Good morning! So I have a question and your answer might be largely based on your relationship with your writers because it’s more of a writer-oriented question.

 

But I noticed as a viewer, I see a lot of parallels between your storylines and classical mythology, primarily Norse and Greek. I was wondering if the writers talk to you about some of their inspirations for different characters. I’m thinking of the Norse characters, the Three Norns. They are three women who control destiny and I sort of see them in Cassie, Jennifer, and Magdalena. Basically, they follow not a linear timeline of mankind but a cyclical one, where they go from  present to past, change the past, and then re-enter a new present, which absorbed the changed past. It kind of just goes in cycles like that. And your storyline kind of speaks to me in that way.

 

Aaron Stanford: I’ll tell you what, if they’re not making allusion to that they should be. I don’t have the answer to that. I don’t know if they specifically used that myth. I know that they are influenced by mythology in general. You’ll definitely notice references to Greek mythology.

These guys are big genre and sci fi fans and most of the best sci fi is actually based on ancient mythology. A film franchise like Star Wars is known as the Birth of Modern Mythology. All these rules for storytelling were laid out in the poetics and they sort of adhere to these same rules and that’s just what good storytelling is. So I do not have an answer to that question – whether or not that specific myth comes into play – but I know the writers definitely, definitely lean heavily on ancient mythology.

 

JennyPop!: Interesting because I wondered, and especially Amanda, as like the visual storytellers for the writers, do you kind of feel the, I don’t know, sort of the heft of legend to portray…. Like your character reminds me of Greek mythology's Echidna, who is the mother of all monsters. Your character makes me think of Echidna so I wonder, as a female lead in the series, and there are so many female characters of mythology that put the world on its axis – do you feel any of that in your character?


Amanda Schull: Absolutely. Well Aaron is right that the writers are very influenced by Greek mythology. If you even consider my character’s name, they changed it from the movie which was Kathryn Railly, or Reynolds, I believe. I can’t remember her last name, but they changed Kathryn to Cassandra of the Greek myth. And that was a particularly powerful storyline for Cassie in the first season –knowing the fate of the world and knowing what was going to happen and nobody listened to her.


And you’re right in that Cassie does have a lot of the strengths and weight, similar to Greek mythology, on her shoulders throughout the entire season. But I would go further to say that it’s the women in the show, the female roles that these men, these male writers, have created that allow the weight to shift from one character to the next.


But in particular for these women, allowing them strength that is often reserved for male characters is of particular fascination to me, and flattery as well. And it also just really works with the mythology of our personal show but of course is also very strong in Greek mythology as well.

 

JennyPop!: Clearly. I like to observe the subtext within the show and I see a lot more under the water, so to say, than when I first started watching. So I am enjoying it and, Season 3 episode 2, Jennifer’s character’s performance is just spectacular! I absolutely love - j'adore! Her "99 Luftballons" is fantastic – so, a fantastic show.


Amanda Schull: We’ll pass that along to her!


JennyPop!: Great, thank you very much. Have a wonderful afternoon, thank you.


Amanda Schull: Thank you, you too.


Aaron Stanford: Thanks.


JennyPop!: Bye-bye!

 

12 Monkeys, "Guardians" S3e2 Emily Hampshire as Jennifer Goines Photo by Ben Mark Holzberg/Syfy

"Jennifer ... she's lost in time. Way back. Locked away somewhere inside that primary, pinball machine brain of hers is the answer to everything." - 12 Monkeys

12 MONKEYS

Production (Because credits are important, especially if you're listed. Stay for the credits, kids.)

Written by Terry Matalas, Travis Fickett, Janet Peoples and David Webb Peoples

Directed by David Grossman

Produced by Atlas Entertainment

Distributed by SyFy, NBCUniversal and Netflix

Cast

Amanda Schull as Dr. Cassie Railly

Aaron Stanford as James Cole

Emily Hampshire as Jennifer Goines

Kirk Acevedo as José Ramse

Barbara Sukowa as Katarina Jones

Todd Stashwick as Deacon

- Acclaimed guest stars joining S3 include Emmy winner Christopher Lloyd (Back to the Future), Hannah Waddington ("Game of Thrones") and James Callis ("Battlestar Galactica").

 

@JennyPopCom @SyFy @12MonkeysSyFy @12MonkeysRoom

Published in JennyPop Interviews

Ah, home for the holidays! It’s a dilly of a time to throw your hands up and be the kid again: no responsibilities, no worries, no tasks, no requirements. Just sit back on the old brocade divan and wait for Mom to bring you truffles and a cup of Privateer eggnog, your older brother to slip you a sawbuck or two (plus some extra whiskey in your nog) and for Dear Old Dad to question you about what you’re doing with your money. For my part, Dad’s been asking me the same question for decades and for decades, I’ve been giving him the same answer: “Why, it’s all in my closet, right where it belongs!”

 

Now, it’s supposed to be darn cold this Christmas in Boston. Seems like it’s always cold in Boston and that’s why I made like a baby and headed straight out of there, getting myself to sunny California. Plus, I wanted to get into moving pictures. Did some good stuff, too. Ever see Gold Diggers of 1933? Yep, that’s me in the back, the one high-kicking in the sequined bathing suit. Nice gig, but Joan Blondell stole my part. Heifer. That cement mixer couldn’t dance to save her life. I should have had the lead. That’s all right ‘cause she had to put up with that octopus director. All those hands! He had more moves than a Navy brat. I digress. Anyhoo, like a lot of you this holiday season, I’m homeward bound and it’s a big deal for me!

First, I'm leaving my haunt, which I don't do very often: The Hotel del Coronado in gorgeous, vibrant San Diego. Ever visited? Make a ressie! There's no place like The Holidays at The Del! From Thanksgiving dinner at the famous Crown Room, to Skating by the Sea and cozy fire-ring cocktails overlooking the Pacific, it's the bee's knees, kids! (Brief bio, in case you're curious: Just after I moved out here, wouldn't it figure, I died at The Del, in a dancing incident in 1934, and it was all Ida Lupino's fault. She has no natural rhythm, all flailing arms. We still don't talk. Oh, well. At least I died sporting sequins and rhinestones and some dynamite gams!)

Secondly, despite what you living folk might think, we ghosts only get a couple of times a year when we can leave our haunts. It takes bonkers amount of energy to travel; so, we save up our strength, pretty much like you save up your cabbage, and hit the astral planes. It’s exhausting and can take all day to get across this great big country. Sure, it’s easier than enduring one of your modern flights, but it’s still arduous. Mom and Dad don't like to astral project; they're used to propeller planes, from back in their flying days. (See Mom and Dad in lg pic above, w plane.) So, I don't mind making the trip.

Once the travel day is over and we’re Home Sweet Home, it’s a cozy and comfy class act with little to do except eat, drink and exchange pressies. Cocooning at home plate can be a sweet dish, but it can also come with drawbacks, like forgoing some of those modern conveniences you dig everyday … including the Internet. Wacky, right? Some of you are getting a Christmas sans Internet and don't even realize it, yet. You poor saps. Some parents and grandparents are insistent on collecting those devices or forcing you to turn them off, making certain you all visit properly, ensuring "quality family time" and conversation. Even worse, some will force family-time via Dance, Dance or Alexa-games. 

You think you have it bad, being forced to watch cable TV or compete in Dance, Dance, booze-free, with Grandmama? Try watching your parents foxtrot around the parlor. Dr. Harvey & Hildy are still listening to their old Victrola and beeswax cylinders, making me sit through verse after verse of Yale Boola!, Glow-Worm (in German!), and The Bird on Nellie’s Hat, all whilst viewing the same stereoviews I’ve seen for decades. Bonkers! Don’t worry, fair friends; there are solutions. Yes, most include gin. Ever have a Girlie Martini? No, not Dita von Teese in a giant martini glass … although, yum! A Girlie is equal parts champagne, vodka, a splash of vermouth and a maraschino cherry. Christmas is an excellent time for just such a zinger!

In the end, try to remember it’s family time. If sitting in the tiny house your nonagenarian great-uncle has lived in since the Great War, and consistently heats to eighty-eight degrees, in addition to a roaring fireplace, drives you mad, be patient. When your sister-in-law hands you an apron and expects you to help in the kitchen, even though she knows you don't ever do anything in the kitchen except craft cocktails and make espresso, be kind and oblige. When your neice's boyfriend has no problem telling everyone their political opinions are flat-wrong, just smile and pour another drink.

Ghost-families are no different than yours; they're all equally irritating and annoying ... I mean, fun and annoying. In those family moments, when you realize it's still hours before escaping into town with your beloved and a fave in-law or sibling for cocktails and revels, and you're all sitting around in sweltering silence, staring at each other and picking compulsively from bowls of stale nuts and hard candy …. well, that’s just "quality family time" and you're making someone in that room very, very happy. Drink your Girlie Martini, your Guinness, your I.P.A. or Coppola wine, suck on a pecan and appreciate it in all its absurdity. See you kittens later and enjoy those après-family gatheriings!

Happy Holidays! Abyssinia!

Enjoy craft cocktails? Peruse JennyPop's Festive Libations for The Holidays!

Follow all the holiday cheer @JennyPopCom Insta and Twitter

Published in Miss Hannah Hart

Scribbling and bibbling is not something I decided to "try my hand at" one day. I did not think to myself amidst a sunny sojourn along La Côte d'Azur, "Hey, Magnolia. You should take a stab at writing." It's just what I do. I imagine I was keeping a journal in utero, à la Stewie Griffin, until that blasted Man in White came and removed me from my quiet study.

If I was prone to Glee-style melodrama, I would flip my curls and toss my chin, proclaiming loudly, "I have to breathe, don't I?! Well, dammit, Janet! I have to write!". Thank Jebus I am not thusly prone. Many of you know of this early proclivity, with the emergence of Book Bird, my very first, "published" tale, hardbound by the Parental Units when I was a wee thing, at the age of six. Before that, loads of notepad novellas, written on Garfield stationery and bound nicely with yarn or staples and sporting my very own cover art: "The Bear and the Bees", "The Cat and the Mouse" and, the already legendary, "Jennifer Will Be a Pink Fan Forever!". (Perchance, I shall share these someday.)

If I was a Tombstone gunslinger, I'd have a leather journal in one holster and my Waterman pen in the other. "Draw!" "I'd rather write, Pardner!"

Now, I am almost as famous for my proclivity to scribe as I am infamous for my laziness. There forever looms the certainty that I shall become very bored at a moment's notice and drop that which is my current endeavour. To that end, kudos to Moi for actually finishing and publishing four novels! In fact, I'm feeling very bored this very minute and just may pour a glass of wine and see what's in my Hulu queue. Cross your fingers for some "Real Housewives"! BRB!

I'm back. No "Real Housewives". Yet, there was some "Hotel Hell " (Chef Gordon Ramsay! Hubba-hubba!) and there's always time for a "30Rock" and "American Dad" break. Now, where was I? Oh, yes ... journals.

So, I start off big, with the honest intentions of filling each and every leaf of those gorgeous, blank books I take such pleasure in selecting, and oft decoupaging, themed just so. Some are for travel, some are for working on specific books and some are mere notepads, jotting down everything from Nordstrom wish lists to the Drake Equation.

Journals, especially travelogues, are very similar to the lush, Irish cable knit sweaters I used to knit as a young girl, only to "finish" them some two hours later, claiming, "Look, Daddy! It's a doll rug!" or, the painstakingly sewn, Ralph Lauren-pattern suit I once made in high school. I worked my bony fingers to bloody nubs all summer long: three months of tedious darts, French stitches, princess seams and hand-rolled silk edges, not to mention using bonkers-expensive wool and vintage buttons. Upon its near-completion, you guessed it, I grew bored. Oh, so bored. I ended up safety-pinning the entire hem and refused to iron the fold lines out of the whole thing. So many of my travel journals are beautiful tweed suits with safety-pin hems. Now, you get to fix the hems of a select few travelogues!

How do you think my trips ended? What do you think happened? I'll post a series of these unfinished scribblings over the next few posts and you write the ending! There's even an entry written by a friend with whom I travelled to the U.K. and France one summer. Some of you may know of Miss Nancy: Gloomy, Funny Laguna Girl. Whilst she would essentially, quizzically break up with me years later -I suspect it was politically motivated- I have to give props; she was, probably still is, a damn funny and gifted storyteller. Not nearly as gifted as I, though. Heh heh heh. I wonder if she's still sporting her Goth-lite look?

Nance took over a section of my journal at lunch one day in Edinburgh. It's quite humourous and, in fact, whilst I did finish that particular journal, all the way to its end at LAX, she left her entry somewhat open-ended. Hey! You could finish her entry! Nance, if you're out there, you could finish it, too! Have a read and finish Nancy's Scottish saga! I'll just add one of my own next time. Voila!

Excerpt from Jennifer Susannah Devore's Travel Journal

8 June 1994, Noon (apparently)

Guest Writer, Nancy Owen Freeman

After a couple of hours in and about the grounds of Holyrood Palace, we headed up the Royal Mile, an historic mile-long street which connects Holyrood with Edinburgh Castle. Today, it is lined with antique shops and specialty boutiques and a certain French restaurant called La Crêperie. I'll let Nancy write the ensuing entry.

Nancy's entry -We wandered in not exactly famished, but definitely prowling for a brie and a little mineral water. I plopped down at a corner table relatively quickly, Jennifer however wandered aimlessly turning this way and that trying to summon a hostess with her umbrella. She still had trouble grasping the self-seating theory observed in most English & Scottish restaurants. After a pleasant barmaid emerged and confirmed that we could sit wherever we wanted, Jennifer joined me.

Moments later, after the barmaid had simply removed the large chalkboards with the day's menu from their hangers outside, and leaned them up against the table opposite us for selection, a rather tall shadow fell over the table.

I looked up from the menus and was greeted by what I can only describe as a 6'2" adult "Petit Prince" from the children's novel by Antoine St. Exupery. He had a tastefully sculpted, blond afro, blue eyes and strangely appealing spaces between his teeth. All this sat atop a tall, thin frame, which flowed about the pub with puma-like grace. He was in short, a most delectable Frog.

"Hallo", he began, in an arousing baritone that in no way resembled his prepubescent, fictional twin's soprano squeak. "Bonjour," Jennifer replied. "Ah, bonjour," he returned with a little raise of his eyebrows, a gesture made purely to torment me in my geographically imposed celibacy. He and Jennifer chatted back and forth in French, she finally ordering for both of us since I had slipped into a fuzzy stupor. A surging tide of suppressed hormones was mercilessly tossing me about in the sexual vacuum I had become accustomed to living in over the past 2 years. The disorientation had left my vision blurry and my palms itchy. I was as articulate as a kiwi fruit.

He slinked away and in the somewhat lengthy time it took for him to bring our appetizers, I regained tentative control over my motor functions and told Jennifer how much he resembled an adult "Little Prince". Her eyes bulged in agreement and she threatened to tell him what I'd said when he returned. Just then he flowed back to the table laden with plates of assorted cheese and a basket of French bread.

- Pardon the interruption. I would just like to let whoever is reading this journal know that Mrs. Jennifer Susannah Noelani MacPherson Girstle [sic] Devore is a pathological cleptomaniac [sic]. A conclusion I have come to after just moments ago witnessing her philch a "First Class" head rest cover from the train seat. The second one she has snatched on our trip.-

Back to our story. After he placed our food on the table, Jen proceeded to tell him, in French, about how I thought he looked like "Le Petit Prince, all adult". He giggled and said in his thick Frog accent, "Oh no, he was naive ... " after taking a few steps away from the table he tossed an insidious little grin over his shoulder and finished with, "I am not." At which point I became a complete puddle and Jen had to squeegee me out the door.

What happens next? Where did Le Petit Prince go after his shift? Where is he now? Where is Nancy? Is Le Crêperie still writing menus on chalkboards? Think it over and leave a brief ending or, write out something longer, then copy and paste it in the handy-dandy, JennyPop Contact Page! I'll post the best ending, with proper attribution, of course. (Keep your amendments clean, folks. I may be part-Edwardian upstart, but I am also part-Victorian dowager.)

Copy and Paste your ending here!

Published in Blog Archive

As of late, the adventure-lit of Edgar Rice Burroughs has captured my interest with a pleasant focus. The travel narratives of 19thC. adventurers have forever suited me well: Mark Twain, Richard Henry Dana, Charles Darwin, Henry James and Thomas Jefferson with his 18thC. accounts of Italian and French sojourns. To that end, contemporary travel essayists fill a healthy portion of our nearly 2,000 volume library: Bill Bryson, Peter Mayle, Hunter S. Thompson. Perhaps these travel writers and novelists have fueled my Wanderlust; perhaps I am drawn to them because of said-lust.

I have certainly been intrigued by adventure-lit since I first flipped through a fave and well-dogeared volume of Mom's 1940s  I Married Adventure by Martin and Osa Johnson. Tales of a 1930s power couple, he a photographer and contemporary of Jack London (another childhood fave of mine), she the devoted and steel-spined wife and protective riflewoman, they travelled South America and Africa well before the likes of Margaret Mead, Diane Fossey and Jane Goodall: all ladies whose works were also regular reading material about the house. (Mom was an anthropology major when I was wee and I suppose the lure of travel, questions of man's origins and the eternal quest for social knowledge set in early. Her degree was largely focused on Southeast Asian Studies; but I always thought it was Southy Station Studies, as in people who rode trains in the South. Silly girl.) Natch, I could go on here ad nauseum about all this twaddle, but I must save zee leetle grey zells' work for my current endeavour ... which brings me to the animal-loving Brit in the loin cloth.

Motivated by this year's themes for San Diego Comic-Con -for which I am anxiously awaiting press passes for the purposes of reporting from the convention floor for GoodtobeaGeek.com, as my alter ego/pseudonym Miss Hannah Hart, ghostdame- I have dipped my feathered quill and now sit pensively, pondering my submission to the official Souvenir Book, my inky nib aloft and hesitating just inches above my parchment. My theme of choice? The 100th anniversary of Edgar Rice Burroughs' Tarzan of the Apes.

I utilize this casual canvas, similar to my previous post wherein I gathered some Savannah of Williamsburg thoughts -how to formulate my fourth book in this series- as a sounding board to crystallize some free-radical ideas in my noodle. It seems to be working; I feel the gears moving, like one of Dr. Lucia Devereaux's steampunk contraptions sputtering to life. (If you read Hannah, you'll know of Dr. Lucy.) Some of you may know I was published in the 2010 Comic-Con Book: lead story even for the 60th Anniversary of Peanuts segment! My task at hand this time is considerable. These Tarzan geeks are tough competition.

Now, being the weird combination of she whom reveres original fairy tales -Grimm (Little Red Riding Hood, Hansel und Gretel), de la Fontaine (The Grasshopper and the Ant, The Tortoise and the Hare), de Ségur (Blondine), etc.- yet also adores the Disney reiterations thereof, my Viking and I ventured to Disneyland to get my noggin revving and skittered amidst the branches of Tarzan's Treehouse in Adventureland. In fact, the attraction used to be the Swiss Family Robinson Treehouse and far superior ... to the Tarzan Treehouse, not superior to the Robert Louis Stevenson book. Ha! It was a subtle homage of vintage suitcases, silver hairbrushes and antique china to the durable and genteel, accidental survivalists from the mind of the man from Edinburgh. Happily, some of the props have remained in place.

 

 

Once again, merci pour écouter, thanks for listening; I think I have some ideas brewing. I imagine, alongside reading more of Mr. Edgar Rice Burroughs, a few more trips through the treehouse may very well be in order.

Update to Post: I did indeed come up with an article for Comic-Con 2012 and it was published in the annual Souivernir Book. Read it here!

Published in Blog Archive