Stratovania

The previous week or so was pretty busy. On Thursday the fifth, there was a Kevin Geeks Out that was different from the usual format. Kevin Maher wrote his own parody of a Hallmark Christmas movie, which was about a vampire lawyer from New York going to a small town in Vermont and falling in love with a werewolf. It was mostly just people performing, although it did have costumes and stock projected backgrounds to set the scenes. As such, they could include the sort of jokes common in radio comedy, where they wouldn't work if you could see what was happening. There was one bit about a piece of art that the protagonist loved and thought would win a contest, which was later shown to be nutmeg with googly eyes. And the inhabitants of the Vermont town had different regional accents, like a Minnesota one for the woman who owned the local diner. There were a few presentations of the more normal sort, one about courtroom scenes in holiday movies and another about how vampires and werewolves hate each other, but they were presented in-character. I get the impression that the rivalry between vampires and werewolves in fiction is fairly recent, like that between elves and dwarves. Interestingly, Tolkien actually used both, the Elf/Dwarf thing being well-known, but there are references in Beren and Luthien to how much vampires hate werewolves, even though both serve Sauron. But in folklore, there was a lot of overlap between vampires and werewolves. Dracula could control wolves and turn into one.


On Sunday, we went with Beth's mom and Uncle John to Batsto, where they had exhibits about the village in the old days, with the mansion being open to guests.

There also had free hot apple cider and cookies, and horse-drawn carriage rides.

We also visited one of the new Spirit Christmas stores, where we walked around the whole place but didn't buy anything.

I did stand in the giant Santa boots. And I like these snack-themed pillows, although I don't know if I'd want to own one.


Tuesday was a Micky Dolenz show at the City Winery in Manhattan, held in the upstairs area where we hadn't been that often before, if at all. They have tables so people can eat food and drinks, but it's an awkward way to watch a concert when the seats aren't actually facing the stage. We'd heard most of the songs he did and his introductions to them before, but he did do Buffalo Springfield's "For What It's Worth," and he mentioned that Stephen Stills was Peter Tork's roommate, and he also auditioned for the Monkees.

There were two Christmas songs in the mix, "Riu Chiu" and "Run Rudolph Run," which the band played without Micky. That song sounds a lot like "Johnny B. Goode," which was also in the setlist.

Paul Schaefer introduced the show, talking about how he worked with Don Kirschner and doing an impression of him, and he played keyboard on a few of the later songs.

Then we saw Micky again on Sunday at the Bergen Performing Arts Center. Beth had bought tickets for that one before the New York show was announced, and tried to sell the tickets, but was unsuccessful.

It was mostly the same, but he did play Elton John's "Your Song," which he hadn't at City Winery. He introduced it by talking about how he and Elton wore the same T-shirt at a party in Los Angeles.

There was also a screen, they had an intermission, and Paul wasn't there. This was after we tried to find a store in a nearby mall and not only didn't, but most of the stores were closed on a Sunday during the holiday shopping season.

I know online ordering has killed a lot of physical shopping, but I'm sure there would still have been some. It might be some weird county rule, as some of the Targets around there were also closed.


We had tickets for Lightscape at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden on Thursday, and it was pretty similar to past years, but not exactly the same. Everything looks really pretty lit up while you're there, but it doesn't photograph that well. It was really cold out that night, despite the weather generally being incredibly warm for this time of year as of late, which was another reason I didn't want to take a lot of pictures. The Singularity and the butterflies in the pond outside the conservatory were cool.


They Might Be Giants played at Kings Theatre in Brooklyn on Friday night (the thirteenth), and it was a longer than usual show with no opener and an intermission.

It's a big venue, and it looked pretty full. John Flansburgh said at the beginning that they were showcasing John Henry, and they did eight songs from that album: "Snail Shell," "Unrelated Thing," "Spy," "No One Knows My Plan," "Dirt Bike," "Meet James Ensor," "Out of Jail," and "The End of the Tour." John Linnell did a bit presumably based on an old record commercial during the improvisational bit of "Spy," which I think he also did the last time we saw the band live. And Flansburgh mixed up the lyrics to "Dirt Bike," but since it's not a song they do often and a lot of the words are just "[da-da-da] dirt bike," that's understandable. They recently brought back the Stick, which is literally a big stick that Flans bangs on the stage for "Lie Still, Little Bottle," a bit that theyhadn't done in a long time.

Horn players Mark Pender, Dan Levine, and Stan Harrison joined the band on some songs, and Dan Miller played the solo at the end of "Damn Good Times" from the balcony.

Flans also talked about how he was responsible for the drones flying over New Jersey.

We finally got our Christmas tree on Tuesday, and decorated it yesterday. I know it's late in the month, and we ended up getting a smaller one than usual, but that means it took less time to set it up.

I don't know that I'm feeling that festive just now, but it's something I would have regretted not doing. I've never been someone who disliked the holidays; they were just a lot easier when other people were setting them up.

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This is kind of an old question at this point, but I figure it would be appropriate for me to answer it. Like some other people who answered this, my first favorites were the Winnie-the-Pooh books. I'm told I could first read at the age of three, and while I can't personally remember this, I guess it's true. And yes, the first stories I read were Pooh stories. I also wrote some of my own, although I don't think I fully grasped the style. One story that I came up with before the age of five (I think I drew the pictures, but one of my parents wrote in the words that I dictated) involves Pooh driving to the North Pole in a Volkswagen Rabbit to go grocery shopping. I had somewhat of an obsession with the Rabbit at that point, not because I ever rode in one (I didn't), but I think I just liked that there was a car with the name of one of the Pooh characters, not to mention the rabbit on the back of the car. I think Volkswagen actually stopped making Rabbits for most of my life, although I believe they're around again now. Hey, since it's a German car, how come it's not called a "Hase"?

Later, I really got into the Alice books, and read them many times. My grandmother owned The Annotated Alice, and that was a help not only at making me a fan of annotated books in general, but because it explained a lot of the Victorian English terms that I initially didn't understand. I still enjoyed the book even before knowing them, though, so take that, L. Ron Hubbard!

I think I got into the Chronicles of Narnia when I was about nine, on a suggestion from my great-aunt. It was also around that time that I started reading The Hobbit, although it was a few years before I'd finish it. Same way with Lord of the Rings, actually. I enjoyed them, but as much as I liked Tolkien's universe, the style wasn't much of a page-turner for me. And I think it was due to a combination of The Annotated Alice and a book on holidays that I knew there were multiple Oz books. I was eleven when I read The Wizard of Oz, and not only did I finish it quickly, but I really got into the series over the next few years.

I still read a fair number of books that are classified as Children's or Young Adult, and not just Harry Potter. A lot of the time, I think the recommended age level is a marketing decision, and not always based on the actual contents or writing style, so why not? It is a little confusing in bookstores, though, because I'll end up looking for the same thing in several different sections. How am I supposed to know whether Borders considers Diana Wynne Jones to be Children's, Young Adult, or just plain Fantasy? Actually, I went there last week, and they had one of the Chrestomanci books in Fantasy and another in Young Adult. Oh, you bookstores and your arbitrary shelving! It reminds me of how the music store near my college dorm put Moxy Früvous' You Will Go to the Moon in Alternative, but their Bargainville in Pop. I guess it's kind of silly to even shop at physical book and music stores anymore, since just about everything is cheaper online, but there's something about the physical stores that I find more enjoyable.

bethje and I finally got around to watching last Sunday's Simpsons, American Dad, and Bob's Burgers (Family Guy was a rerun). I think the Simpsons episode did a good job of parodying eighties sitcoms, and Bart's attempt to sell nuclear secrets to China for a minibike was an interesting twist. I noticed quite a few jokes that I think were really stretched out, though, like the bit with the initials on the vans and the ending in general. Overall, though, I think it worked. I'm kind of surprised by the joke about the World Trade Center address, not because I found it offensive, but because I have to suspect someone still would (or at least pretend to be in order to generate publicity).

I haven't seen Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland, and just about every review I've read suggests I probably shouldn't. I mean, I'm sure I'll watch it when it comes out on DVD, but not at the theater. One thing I remember seeing about it (and I obviously can't confirm this) is that there's a big action sequence near the end. It looks like that's pretty much inevitable for fantasy films these days. Hey, Lord of the Rings was successful, so let's make every other fantasy movie an action epic! Really, I even question some of the fighting in LotR. If taking out Sauron was the key to winning the war, why even bother with all those other battles until he's dead? I'm not saying that killing Sauron would have ended it all, any more than assassinating Hitler would have brought World War II to a screeching halt, just that any orc-killing done while the lord of evil was still around would be akin to moving the contents of a sandbox with tweezers. Still, that was what happened in the books, so I can't blame the movies for following suit. Besides, we got war elephants and fighting trees! When adapting a different sort of book, though, why is it necessary to follow suit? Hey, the Chronicles of Narnia had plenty of battles of their own, but the screenwriter for Prince Caspian still decided he needed to throw in more. And it seems like the only historical films that receive much attention are ones about war. People loved 300 (another one I haven't seen), but it seems to me that the Spartans were one of the least interesting societies in ancient Greece.


Considering who I am, you knew I was eventually going to bring this around to Oz, right? The MGM Wizard of Oz was made in a different time, and it's interesting to note how much LESS violent the movie is when compared to its source book. The book had Dorothy's companions battling wolves, crows, bees, Kalidahs, a wildcat, and a giant spider, usually in confrontations that ended quite badly for the belligerent creatures. None of this was in the movie, but on the other hand, they made the showdown with the Wicked Witch of the West into more of an epic conflict. The film had the Witch's death at the end of a scene with Dorothy's friends breaking into the castle and fighting the guards, while the equivalent in the book occurred when Dorothy was scrubbing the floor for the Witch and became angry at the hag's stealing one of the Silver Shoes. Then again, while the Dorothy of the book certainly didn't know water would kill the Witch, she did fully intend to douse the nasty woman. The splashing of Margaret Hamilton's Witch was collateral damage from Judy Garland's trying to save the Scarecrow. More epic, but also much more polite. Funny how that worked out. I've joked before that a modern remake of The Wizard of Oz would have Dorothy leading a regiment armed with Super Soakers, and unfortunately that probably isn't too far from the truth.

Today, we take a look at the end of the world. More specifically, it's the final war of Norse mythology, Ragnarok. One fascinating thing about the myths of Ragnarok is that the descriptions are so specific, and the gods know all about them, but they're simply resigned to carrying out their roles. No point in messing with fate, I suppose.



According to the myths, the great war will be preceded by three years of harsh winter, during which morality will break down. Then the bonds holding some of the most fearsome monsters will break, and the creatures that have been trying to cause chaos for centuries will finally succeed. The wolves that have been chasing the Sun and Moon will devour them, and the serpent Nidhogg will chew through one of the roots of the World Tree. The monsters will join forces with the frost and fire giants, including Loki, who will escape from his prison. Sources mention two ships, one made of the nails of the dead, that will convey the giants and their allies to the final battleground; as well as the giants invading Asgard by way of the rainbow bridge Bifrost, which would break behind them. The gods will be assisted by the Einherjar, the virtuous dead who had been dwelling at Valhalla. The exact order and location of the events seems to vary from one source to another, but the last battle will be fought on the plain of Vigrid, which is ten thousand square leagues in area, and fills the same basic role that Armageddon does in Christianity. While we know that Armageddon refers to Megiddo in Israel, where many battles have been fought over the centuries, I haven't seen any speculation as to whether Vigrid might be a real place. At some point in the fighting, the wolf Fenrir will kill Odin, who will in turn be avenged by his son Vidar. Thor and the Midgard Serpent Jormungand will take out each other, with the thunder god killing the serpent but falling to the dead snake's venom. Eventually, after many more deaths on both sides, the giant Surtr will end the whole thing by setting all nine worlds on fire with his magic sword.



As is generally the case with mythology, this death of everything is followed by a rebirth. Some of the younger gods will survive the destruction, as will two humans, who will repopulate the world. In the new world, crops will grow by themselves, and peace and happiness will reign. The main dwelling place of the new gods will be Gimli, a hall that shines more brightly than the sun (and the source of the name for the main dwarf in Lord of the Rings). I seem to recall seeing some different takes on the new world from after Christianity started to gain prominence in Scandinavia, in which there's only the one god after the Aesir die. While an interesting way to try to reconcile old and new beliefs, wouldn't that mean Ragnarok would have to have happened already without anyone noticing? ("Hey, did you hear that a giant wolf ate the sun the other day?" "No, I was inside all day.")



The Norse apocalypse has become a popular theme, and the name "Ragnarok" has also been used for things that don't have an immediate connection to the end of the world. Indeed, most of the Google results I found when searching for the term did not refer to the battle, but to the RPG Ragnarok Online. Other references that come to mind are the Esper Ragnarok from Final Fantasy VI, Ragnarok Canyon in Battletoads, and the avian villain Ragna Roc in Piers Anthony's Two to the Fifth.

When dealing with invulnerability in fantasy stories from the classical to the contemporary, one archetype that shows up from time to time is that of the warrior who is completely indestructible but for one small part of his body. Obviously Achilles, who was immersed in the River Styx by his mother Thetis (or, in other versions, had most of his mortality burned away before his father interrupted) but retained a vulnerable heel, is the most famous example. Interestingly enough, according to the Wikipedia entry, this idea didn't actually come about until the first century AD, with Homer and other early chroniclers of the Trojan War making no note of such a thing. A similar tale is told of the Norse hero Sigurd, better known by his German name of Siegfried. When the greedy dwarf Fafnir (who in Wagner's version was a giant who helped to build Valhalla instead) turned himself into a dragon in order to protect his ill-gotten treasure, Siegfried killed him and bathed in his blood, which made the warrior's body invulnerable. A leaf had gotten under one of his shoulders, however, so that was his equivalent of Achilles' heel, and it was this brother-in-law who eventually did him in. Other figures in the same tradition are the Persian Esfandyar, who bathed in a pool of invincibility but kept his eyes closed (I can't imagine that Achilles or Siegfried could have kept theirs open either, but I guess the Persians thought about such things differently); and the Hindu Duryodhana. This was probably the most X-rated of these stories, as his genitals were his weak spot. His mother used a magic gaze to make Duryodhana's body invincible, but since he was covering his crotch at the time, it wasn't affected.



The idea of a weak spot can also apply to monsters, such as Tolkien's dragon Smaug. Tolkien was quite familiar with Norse mythology, and so presumably would have been aware of both Siegfried's own weak spot and the fact that the hero killed Fafnir in dragon form by stabbing him in the belly. Although the Death Star isn't a living thing, its destruction by exploiting a weak point is accomplished in much the same manner. And sometimes it isn't a body part that is vulnerable, but rather a particular method of killing that has to be used. Examples include the various means of killing vampires (a stake through the heart being the most popular, but far from the only one), silver for werewolves, Kryptonite for Superman, and water for the Wicked Witch of the West. (In fairness, L. Frank Baum never said the Witch was otherwise indestructible, and in fact she probably wasn't, but I'd still say it counts.)



Another variation of the theme came to mind during my reading of Lloyd Alexander's Taran Wanderer. The evil wizard Morda traps his life force in his little finger, which he cuts off and hides. This is the same basic idea as what Voldemort did with his Horcruxes, and it shows up in other stories as well. Heck, even Paper Mario uses that same basic concept with Tubba Blubba's heart.



In some of these cases, it seems like it was only something minor that stopped these characters from being totally invulnerable. For instance, if Siegfried had just thought to check his body for leaves, he wouldn't have HAD the weak spot. But I think there's a little more to it than that. It's a general rule in stories that involve magic that none of it can be absolute. Every spell has its counterspell, every curse has its loophole, and everyone who's otherwise invincible has to have a weakness.

The idea that St. Nicholas had helpers in his annual mission to spread joy to children seems to be a relatively recent one, although it's hard to tell. Wikipedia says that the earliest known helper for Nick was a captive devil, who presumably evolved in the nineteenth-century Netherlands to Zwarte Piet, or Black Peter. He was commonly portrayed as a Moor, and people portraying him even today do so in blackface. I've heard one version of the story in which Pete goes down the chimneys prior to St. Nick, since he's already black, and hence the soot wouldn't show on him. He's sometimes portrayed as assisting the saint in distributing gifts, but sometimes is also seen as Nick's dark counterpart, stealing away the bad kids, or giving them switches in place of treats. While Peter was originally one guy, it's said that the Canadians decided there should be several of them, and perhaps this was the origin of Santa having a staff. Nowadays, we typically know his helpers as elves, which is a little weird, as I get the impression that the original elves of Teutonic folklore were typically portrayed as rather nasty, rather than helpful. But words evolve, and popular culture these days generally portrays elves as cute little guys with pointed ears, unless they're following Tolkien's take on Elves as tall, skinny, and stuck-up (but still with pointed ears). Some sources from the early part of the twentieth century, however, refer to the helpers by different names, including brownies, fairies, and gnomes. Perhaps the idea of elves as workers is related to that of tiny magical creatures who do household work unless they're given clothing, as in the Grimms' story of the shoemaker and the elves, and the house-elves in the Harry Potter series. In The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus, Santa receives four helpers: a Fairy, and Pixie, a Ryl, and a Knook (the latter two being types of immortals that Baum invented himself). In what was probably a nod to tradition, the Knook's name is Peter, but there's no indication as to whether he's black. When Santa shows up again in The Road to Oz, he has an entire staff of Ryls and Knooks helping him. The Rankin-Bass television adaptation of Life and Adventures also brings in a Sound Imp named Tingler as an assistant to Claus.

Santa's main animal helpers are the reindeer, and they also don't date back all that far, their first known appearance being in "A Visit from St. Nicholas." The poem also established their names, although I understand that the earliest versions refer to the last two as Dunder and Blixem. I'm not sure whether the reindeer or Santa's Arctic home came first, but I know some sources referred to his home as being in Finland, before his residence at the North Pole was established. Baum placed Santa in the Laughing Valley of Hohaho, rather than at the Pole, but kept the reindeer. In his version, there are ten, and their names are different from the ones we all know today.

That Santa is married is also a pretty new idea, which makes sense, because why WOULD a Catholic bishop be married? Besides, the popular name "Mrs. Claus" is kind of absurd, as "Claus" wasn't intended to be a surname. At least according to Wikipedia, Katherine Lee Bates introduced "Goody Santa Claus" in a poem that she wrote in the late nineteenth century. Some European countries have traditions of women who fulfill the same basic role as Santa, like St. Lucy and La Befana, but a female counterpart is hardly the same as a spouse. Mrs. Claus's role in popular culture is probably largely due to her appearance in several of the Rankin-Bass specials. In Santa Claus Is Coming to Town, her name is Jessica, and she has a psychedelic freak-out upon realizing she's in love with Kris Kringle.

I'm hoping to focus on Jack Frost and Father Winter next weekend, and then the Saturnalia after that. Stay tuned!

I got this meme (and my letter) from annamatic. It was really up my alley.

Name 5 fictional characters you really like, whose names start with the letter you're given, and let us know why you like them. My letter is G.

1. Gollum. I found this riddle-obsessed, hissing creature quite interesting when reading The Hobbit, and was excited to see that he had some back story in Lord of the Rings.
2. Glinda. The most powerful sorceress in Oz, ruler of the Quadlings, and power behind Ozma's throne. I think I'd find her intimidating if I were to meet her in person, but I think she's an interesting character to read about and work with.
3. Granny Weatherwax. Speaking of intimidating witches, the most famous witch on the Discworld accomplishes a lot through intimidation, sheer force of will, and a heavy dose of headology. Her first name is actually Esmerelda, but I think she still counts.
4. Gohma. The one-eyed spider boss from the Zelda games. A pretty cool enemy, and its name is fun to say.
5. Gargravarr. When Zaphod Beeblebrox encountered this guardian of the Total Perspective Vortex, he was undergoing a trial separation from his body. I love gags like that. His first name, by the way, is Pizpot.

If you'd like to play, I can give you a letter. Just let me know.

Speaking of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, a few of my LJ friends have reported that Eoin Colfer is writing a new book in the series. I'm not inherently opposed to sequels by hands other than the original author's (I'm a big fan of the Oz books by Ruth Plumly Thompson, for instance), but so much of the appeal of that series is in Douglas Adams' writing style, and I'm not sure anyone else can really write like he did.