Profile picture used to mean something else.

No one ever seems to take photos in profile for fashion/publicity any more. We only ever get full faced shots these days. Sad, profile looks really hot. As an example, Mary Pickford. For another, Pola Negri. And of course, Louise Brooks.

Okay, it just occurred to me that this could be interpreted to mean I've just got a thing for silent movie actresses, since the other examples I was going to cite were Billie Burke and Marie Stevens. That's really not it though, not entirely. It's just those were the times when profile was popular. By the time Rita Hayworth and Veronica Lake came along, the standard photo was full faced and looking at something just to one side of the camera, probably a stuffed toy held by the photographer if I remember right. I'm going from the last time I posed for a picture here.

Have a fistful of pics

By Grabthar's hammer, I'm going to be somebody's Auntie Mame if I have to cross dress to do it!

Odd, with every one of my friends/relations that has a baby, I feel less compelled to breed. I keep thinking *whew* someone else took the parenting bullet for me. Each time someone I know has a child, I just think that there is one more baby I don’t need to have to keep the race going. I don’t even need to have one to raise really, because people around me have them and I can corrupt them remotely.

My intention is simple, Syd and I are going to be “those people” that the parents know and always bring the most amazing gifts for the child. You know the sort of thing. BB guns, drum sets, ferrets, semtex, the usual stuff mom won’t let you have. Then, when they're old enough, we'll take each child to Paris or Bournemouth* and show them the strange and amazing world that exists out there. This corrupting influence should, if I do things properly, utterly horrify the child’s parents. At the very least, I should give them an unrealistic view about how the world actually works, or can work anyway.

Sadly, I can't smoke cigarettes out of a long cigarette holder. A) I would die from the smoke before I finished a pack and B) Syd would leave me. I’m a little old to be picking up habits like that though, I think I’ll have to skip it. I’m sure my dress habits would give me away as an eccentric lunatic anyway. You can’t smoke in restaurants anymore, but you can wear a sports coat made entirely of sequins.

I will always call young people “M'dear boy” though. Even if I'm dealing with a girl, I'll probably call her “M'dear boy” because fuck gender discrimination/neutrality. You don't cajole a Dear Girl into a horse race where you’ve bet everything they own** on the outcome, you do that to a Dear Boy. However, as I do believe in the basic tenants of feminism, I will get girls into the same sort of wacky situations. Everyone needs to be tricked into a wacky situation before they’re 21, or they turn out all stogy and get into accountancy or something.



*It can't be Paris every time.
**They own, mind you. Not I own. I never bet my own money and it gives them incentive to win.

A vague idea about costumes

So I’ve had this idea I’ve been calling “Serial Punk” for a while now. The idea is like the other prefix-Punk systems only it’s about the serials of the 30s and 40s. I’ve never been able to connect with Steam Punk, for various reasons, but I do really connect with pulps and serials from the first half of the 20th century. So that would be a good fit, yeah? I’ve been thinking of what would be the parameters, like would include sci-fi like Flash Gordon movies? Or comic book elements from those days? And what about Indiana Jones, which takes place in the time period I’m thinking of?

THAT hardly matters, that’s up to other people to think about, my costumes would be things I’d want to be.

I’ve got an idea about an archetypal Serial Hero (think Indy) and a couple of others, like a Carnival Barker. Don’t ask why, but I love the idea of dressing up in a striped blazer, a straw hat and pointing at posters with a bamboo cane. I’ve also got the idea of an old eccentric gentleman who gets the hero into adventures, but that’s a different matter entirely. You could also dress up like noir detective, or… something for girls. Gotta be honest, I haven’t through much about what women might wear in this situation. However, a girl could wear a plaid skirt and a white shirt and be a schoolgirl from 1915 right up until today.

Now there are some advantages, like cheapness. Since the serials were made on the cheap, your clothes and props can be super cheap as well. Pants haven’t changed much in the last 100 years or so, and as such you can you can pick up most the things you need off the rack without alteration. Even if you want to dress up like The Shadow you just need a black overcoat and a red scarf. A trip to a regular clothing store and then to the thrift shop and you’re covered. You can do the outfits without a lot of extra work and it’ll still look right. All you might have to do is distress a few things. See, Steam Punk really needs to be done full out, with lots of bits and pieces and ribbons and curly cues and details and stuff, or it looks a bit crap. The whole idea is that you’re going back to a day when people were a bit more flamboyant. However, the simplicity would be a turn off for people who want more things on their clothes. Also, not everyone is into that time period.

I am interested in that time period though, and not interested in putting lots of gears and things on my clothes. I could do some extra detail work, but not that much. These are the outfits I want.

In defense of lies.

Whenever I hear someone say something alone the lines of “I don’t read fiction”…

I don’t find myself thinking “Wow! What a serious minded and buys person this must be. Why there’s so much fact to learn, they haven’t got time to read made up stuff.” which is clearly what they want me to think.

Nor do I think “What a pretentious/lying motherfucker this is. Trying to get me sold on the idea that they’ve got so much to get through they’re doing non-fiction first.”

NOPE!

Shall I tell you what I think when someone tries to impress me with their non-fiction only reading?

“What an ignorant cunt!”

How can you even pretend to know anything about say… The Abolition Movement, without having read Uncle Tom’s Cabin? Can anyone claim to understand the plight of the migrant farmers in the 30s without having read The Grapes of Wrath? Sadly, no. I tried, had to read the fuckin’ thing anyway. Can you even begin to gather what was going through the minds of yuppie, over the hill, coke heads in the 80s without having tackled IT? Don’t think so. Can you say you know what it’s like to chase after a golden statue, only to have it turn out to be lead and besides you weren’t after it, but the person who killed your partner? Yeah, reading The Thin Man won’t help, but pick up another Hammett book and you’ll find what you’re looking for. And allow me to let you in on a secret, if you haven’t read the Greek Myths, almost nothing in their history will make much real sense because their mythology goes hand in hand with their understanding of the universe. Without knowing the fiction, you can’t really claim to know the facts. Reflection showing a greater truth and all that.

Hell, how can you possibly call yourself cultured without having gotten into the works of Shakespeare? Or Chaucer? Or Mark Twain. Or the operas of Mozart. If you want to claim to know things, you really need to read the actual books, just watching torrented episodes of QI* won't cut it.

I’m not saying that you have to read every dime novel that was every published from 1485 up until today. I’m not even suggesting that you cast your net as wide as the things I’ve mentioned here. I’m not even really saying that you must read some fiction, just that you need to if you expect one single iota of respect from me. Of course, if you want the flip side of that coin, I don’t have much respect for people who never raise their head above the imaginary either. You’ve got to read something factual from time to time as well. However, to be honest, I rarely hear anyone I think I even vaguely respect try and impress me by claiming that they never read non-fiction books. Usually, the people who brag about that sort of thing will mention how they never read a book of any kind and spit on the idea of watching a documentary.

Seriously, you need to at least read The Davinci Code or something. I've never read it myself, but I understand it's VERY fictional.



*Don’t give me that fucking look. YOU CAN’T GET THEM HERE!

The Return of Jack Collier (Chapter Thirty-Four)

The Return of Jack Collier

A Jack Collier Story

By Brett N. Lashuay

 

 

Last week’s entry can be found here.  

 

Chapter Thirty-Four: Mister Temple

 

 

            It turned out that I needed Alice to drive Jill and I back to the regional office since Debbie’s car was left at the hotel. I sat in the front seat, with Jill sitting directly behind me as we drove to the San Francisco office. The drive was fairly quiet, because there was something between the two women. I’m not sure it was spoken, but neither of them seemed to be ready to be buddies with the other. I didn’t much care, all I cared about at that moment was having a safe place to rest my head for a few hours.

 

            I felt like I’d spent the last day or so, well… doing the things that I’d done in the last day or so. I felt like I wanted to have a shower and then sleep for a day or two, but I wasn’t going to have the chance. For a while. My phone started to ring and I pulled it out. Alice started to speed up as I pulled the phone out. I didn’t recognize the number.

 

            “Some one is following us.” She said as she put her foot down a little harder, causing the engine to growl louder.

 

            “Jack Collier.” I said, feeling as tired as I probably was.

 

            “Mister Collier.” A voice like a purring puma said to me. “Would you mind asking Miss Liddell not to drive so fast? That speed isn’t safe on these streets.”

 

            “Alice.” I said to her. “The strange man on the other line wants to know if we could slow down a bit?”

 

            “Who is it?” She asked,

 

            “Good question.” I said. “Who wants us to slow down?”

 

            “My name is Temple.” The voice said. “Mister Church asked if I would look after you.”

 

            “Temple?” I asked. “Slow down Alice, we might actually be among friends.”

 

            “Temple?” She asked. “Simon Temple?”

 

            “Simon Temple?” I asked.

 

            “That’s right.” The purring puma on the other line said. “If you wouldn’t mind, I think we should have a face to face talk.”

 

            “Where?” I asked.

 

            “You have an office here in town?”

 

            “Yes.”

 

            “We’ll escort you then.” He purred. “No one’s going to bother you with us behind.”

 

            “You sure?” I asked.

 

            “You’ve got Temple behind you.” He said. “Even those crazy comet humpers aren’t going to bother you with me behind.”

 

            “Well, that sounds reassuring.” I said. “So you’ll follow us to the office?”

 

            “And then we’ll talk.” He said.

 

            We drove to the office, with four black SUVs behind us. I think I must have actually fallen asleep because the trip sort of zipped past and I realized the engine had stopped. I started to sit up when I realized the car had stopped and started to look around.

 

            “Are we in trouble?” I asked.

 

            “No.” Alice said. “We’re here.”

 

            “Oh, that went fast.” I said.

 

            “You snored for like an hour.” Jill laughed as she opened the door and got out.

 

            “I don’t snore.” I told Alice.

 

            “Yes you do.” She said. “You know you do. Every woman who has ever had to sleep next to has noticed it. I almost think the reason you’re so good in bed is to exhaust us so we don’t wake up too many times.”

 

            “At least I’ve got being good in bed going for me.” I said as we climbed out of the car.

 

            “Mister Collier.” The purring puma voice said behind me. “I’m Simon Temple.”

 

            I turned and saw a good looking black man with a shaved head smiling at me. While his voice was about eight feet tall, he’d have to wear three inch lifts to get to six foot. He was good looking though, dressed well in a suit that cost about the same as my car costs. There wasn’t anything ostentatious about him though, he looked like he’d been born knowing what style and sophistication looked like.

 

            “Mister Temple.” I said taking his extended hand. It was firm and strong, but not exactly hard. It was sort of like shaking Church’s hand actually.

 

            “Jack!” Shiri said as she ran out into the parking lot, but she stopped when she got a look at Temple. “Oh fuck.”

 

            “It’s cool.” I said waving at her. “Mister Temple is, well, let’s call him the friend of an old adversary.”

 

            “And that’s good?” She asked.

 

            “We should probably go inside.” I said. “I’ve got to talk to you about company policy towards dealing with the Federales as it is young lady.”

 

            “Pardon?”

 

            “We don’t cooperate with the authorities.” I said and glanced at Alice. “We just sleep with them.”

 

            We entered the building, three guys in baggy pants and t-shirts standing at the office door watching out for us. They were a mixed group, two guys who looked like they were in it for looking tough and one guy who I thought could do some serious damage if given a really good reason. They were also a mixed group racially. One black, one white, one Asian. Interestingly, that was the make up of the executive staff that went up the office as well. Technically though, if I remember right, Shiri is Chinese, Thai, Irish and Latino. Still though, we were more or less a matching set of executive and working staff.

 

            “Were can we talk?” I asked.

 

            “Well we can use my office.” Shiri said.

 

            “I was thinking of discussing something with Mister Temple alone.” I said.

 

            “Well, you could.” She stopped and sighed as she opened the door to the main office where Kari was sitting. She then spoke quickly, “You could use Dale’s office, it’s the one across from mine.”

 

            Shiri then more or less ran to her office and slammed the door behind her. It wasn’t much of a slam, probably she was being annoyed with herself for closing it so quickly. I looked at Kari, who was greatly deflated from her attitude of the last few days. She’d been bubbly and warm, but now she looked like she’d been medicated.

 

            “Hi Jack.” She barely said.

 

            “Hey Kari.” I said walking toward her and taking her left hand in both of mine. “You holding up?”

 

            “I’m okay.” She nodded quickly and bit her lip.

 

            “Okay.” I said. “Mister Temple and I are going to go discuss a few matters.”

 

            “Okay.” She nodded in the same quick way and bit her lip again.

 

            “Something happen?” Temple asked as we passed the desks were four operatives sat, looking dejected.

 

            “One of ours was killed yesterday.” I said as I opened the door to Dale’s office. “This was his office.”

 

            I sat down behind Dale’s desk and Temple sat in one of the client chairs. If nothing else, Dale’s office should have been kept in a museum in an attempt to shatter the stereotype that gay men are neat and tidy. I couldn’t actually see the surface for all the assorted papers, photos, cameras and other paraphernalia of our craft. His chair was good and comfortable though, so who cares if the desk was a sight?

 

            “So what can I do for you Mister Temple?”

 

            “It’s more what I can do for you.” He said steepling his fingers before his mouth. “You’ve annoyed one powerful little group of criminals.”

 

            “I think a lot of them are going to be arrested though.” I said. “I mean the feds are not going to let the Thinkonomics crowd slip through their fingers.”

 

            “Not them.” He shook his head. “I mean the people behind The So-called Church of Thinkonomics.”

 

            “Behind them?” I asked.

 

            “Mister Church told me that you had dealings with them over the event that made you famous.” He smiled then, as if savoring a joke. “The Seven with One Blow event.”

 

            “You’re talking about Unicorn.” I said, wondering if I’d get a flash of lightning and some thunder for saying the name.

 

            “I speak of them.” He agreed. “After that last altercation left them injured, they came out here and regrouped. They’ve been running the Thinkonomics people pretty much ever since they started, so they came here to consider their tactics.”

 

            “Which you don’t much like.” I said.

 

            “I am the sole criminal element in this part of the world.” He stated. “Even the spaghetti eaters, pardon, Italians defer to me.”

 

            “Yeah, but Unicorn isn’t into deferment.”

 

            “No.” He shook his head. “They are not. They haven’t wanted a direct fight with me though, so they haven’t given me an excuse to start one.”

 

            “Are you looking for an excuse?” I asked.

 

            “I’m not looking for anything.” He smiled again and I wondered if he would let me in on the joke. “However, Mister Church did tell me that you were like a magnet for them. He said that if I were looking for trouble I should look for you since it always seems to converge around you.”

 

            “Yeah.” I said. “I do that.”

 

            “I’ve wanted to hurt them, for sometime.” He told me. “And you have created a situation that hurts them without my having to do anything. I am enjoying the event from afar, but I would like to get a closer seat. To that end, if you need something, just ask. If it doesn’t bother you, I’ll have someone watch over you until you leave the general area. I’d like to know where you are.”

 

            “That probably won’t be a problem.” I said.

 

            “Good. I like a man who is reasonable.” And there was something like Church there. A slight hint of menace mixed with the self assurity that comes from knowing you’re the baddest in the room. He didn’t actually know he wasn’t the baddest, but he hadn’t known me for five minutes yet, so how could he know how bad I was?

 

            He reminded me of Church in another way. He spoke like he had to think about what he was going to say and be careful about how he said it, lest he revert to the voice of his youth. I could tell that there was a ghetto talking thug under the smooth exterior, but it was far down and covered with a lot of learned class. He was a man who had come up from the ground level to make himself into something greater than his beginnings would suggest. Just like me, only I wasn’t a crime boss.

 

            “I’ll be going home in another day or two.” I said. “I’ve given my evidence and it’s been agreed that I can give video testimony from Michigan so I won’t even need to come back.”

 

            “That sounds very nice.” He nodded.

 

            “I just want you to know where I stand.” I said. “Because after this I think I’m going to vanish for a while and no one is going to know where I went for a while. I appreciate your offer of help though and I’ll take it kindly.”

 

            “That’s very respectful of you.” He said. “I’m glad we can be reasonable.”

 

            “Well sure.” I smiled my charming smile, which hurt like hell but I did it anyway. “Just don’t have the guys try and be sly, let them just hang out and be obvious. I get paranoid sometimes and I’d rather know my bodyguard is actually with me.”

 

            “Sure.” He laughed as he stood up. “I’ll see to that. You need anything, you let me know.”

 

            And with that he was gone leaving me in the office alone, wondering how deep I’d stuck my foot in it this time and could I pull it out without loosing a shoe.

 

The Old School

I want to start an internet university.

Going to call it "The University of My House" and we'll only give out degrees in Madeupology. No other courses, I haven't got time.

We'll offer BA, BS, MA and PhD in the field. If we can think of other letter combinations, we might offer those as well.

The diplomas will be proper, with seals and ribbons and everything. Might look up and see if I can get a hold of actual sheepskin, just to raise the prices a bit.

If I earn enough from milling these diplomas, I might add a Virtual library and an imaginary Gentlemen’s Club*.





*Not a strip joint, but a proper club. With over stuffed, leather, wingback chairs and old whisky and proper racism, not like the wimpy “Oh, I'm not a racist... BUT!” sort of crap you get these days. No! Proper racism where we don't let people join just because they're white! The Irish are, of course, excluded from that declaration. They can join.