This week’s entry is not one to deviate from the norm from the recent couple of entries that I’ve been posting of late- a myriad mishmash of non connective wires leading to no specific point of reference. It’s a little part of further political commentary, a little bit of streaming angst, a little bit of geographical identity and a little bit of a persona non grata picture show. SO when I decide to switch gears on you, I’ll let you know by pivoting to the applicable term of endearment known in most nostalgic circles and seen in most 1960s’ and 1970s’ era Marvel Comics Bullpen Bulletin text pages as ITEMS!
You’ve probably seen me do this before. So without further ado in putting the gears back in reverse…
ITEM!
I adhere to a strict schedule when entertaining myself. It’s even more desperate now with the air of pestilence and the constant spray of potpourri around me. So much, that I forego all avenue of communication with friends and family. Everything has to be started on the dot. Either it’s on the hours, on the fives or on the tens or it’s not going to work for me. My compulsion is starting to piss off the few guests that I allow into the confines of Casa de la Coatney of late.
Case in point: guests were over a few weeks ago wanting to watch The Mandalorian. I’ve got the 4K UHD screen, I’ve got the sound system wired all through the house, and I’ve got the Disney + subscription. Guests wanted to partake in a few mindbending enhancements before starting the show. I have no problem with that as long it’s done outside on the porch and the door is closed. While they’re outside, I’m fidgeting with the sound system, getting the levels to sound just right on the 5.1 and when they’re done, it’s 11 minutes after the hour. They say they’re ready – I’m not. Sorry guys: you’ll have to wait another four minutes – because you see my mind is wired like a cable station.
Why, they asked?
Because – it’s has to be 6:15 or 6:20.
None of this 6:11, 6:13, 6:17, 6:19 slap happy ass horseshit
00’s 5’s and 10’s. On the fucking dot. It’s how I calculate the running time and I need to monitor the time when I go outside and enjoy the last act with a cigarette. That’s usually when it’s down to the last ten minutes.
No lie. I need some psychological help in this area. I refuse to fucking freeball it. That’s life for me in the entertainment industry when I’ve had a steady diet of watching the clock I’ve been practically siamesed attached to a television or movie screen all though my life. I’m the same way when I’m reading comic books. All productions have to start on the 00’s, 5, or tens. It’s even how I determine how long an actual $3.99 comic book takes me to read. The average content of a 20 page Marvel comic can take you somewhere between 12 to 18 minutes to read. Each dollar amount tacked on increases at least another five to ten minutes of reading.
ITEM!
To piggyback on that last twisted revelation – I like to present the hours I’m available to talk on social media or answer phone calls due to .
I work Monday to Friday from 9:00 AM to 5:30 PM from home. I can be on social media throughout the work day while working on pdfs and Excel spreadsheets, as long as it’s not writing book length diatribes of how happy I would be if Trump would practice what he’s preaches and just eat the goddamn bullet he said he fired down 5th Avenue. I keep to short answers and cheap shots mostly, (don’t tell anyone: but I usually try to coast through the day with a couple of comic books downloaded through the soon to be extinct DC Universe and listening to The Curtis Sliwa and Juliet Huddy Show on WABC AM 770 out of New York) but between the hours of 5:00 PM and 8:00, I’m either blogging or trying to come up with something plausible for generations from now to put into a time capsule.
The phone is usually shut off during these particular days and hours:
MONDAY: 8:00PM – 11:30PM, I’m streaming light shows on my lesser used platforms such as Apple+, Universal Peacock, and HBO Max (gag!). That’s usually all commercial free.
TUESDAYS 7:30 or 8:00 PM, depending on length. A CRITERION blu ray remastered edition of certain films that require extra attention to detail. I usually share my film choices for discussion on facebook with local friends in Los Angeles who have previously attended film screenings with me. AFTER THE FILM: reruns of Lois & Clark: The New Adventures of Superman and the 1966 Batman tv series remastered on blu ray.
WEDNESDAYS: 8:00 PM – 11:00 PM Everything Hulu. I watch three hours straight of commercial streaming television and that usually emits from whatever is on Hulu – either be it an original like the horrid Marvel series, Helstrom, some cheesy sci-fi anthologies like Monsterland or Dimension 404 and maybe followed by a nice pleasant FX original finish. Just finished the entire 4th season of Fargo which I’m trying to research where the writers came up with an idea of a mob story taking place in 1950’s Kansas City. I was absolutely flabbergasted with the meticulous immaculate detail that went into manufacturing this whole production. Chris Rock was steady, composed and delivered a riveting performance throughout and the shock ending tying all four seasons together? Magnifico!! BACK TO reruns of Lois & Clark: The New Adventures of Superman and the 1966 Batman tv series remastered on blu ray.
THURSDAYS 7:30 PM or 8:00 PM a 4k or blu ray edition of any recent or genre related film. Trying to recreate my employer’s movie screenings in my head, I usually share on social media of what popular first run I’m running that night. I have Christopher Nolan’s latest 2 and a half hour COVID cockblocked opus, Tenet arriving via express mail this week. I’ve got Jaws on 4K set for Christmas Eve . I keep feeding the beast with monthly trips to Best Buy or Target– because you get all the bells and whistles on blu rays and 4k than you can get on Netflix and they’re generally fuller on sound and picture if you were streaming. AFTER THE FILM: reruns of Lois & Clark: The New Adventures of Superman and the 1966 Batman tv series remastered on blu ray.
FRIDAYS 6:00 PM – 11:00 PM 5 to 6 shows streaming. Mandalorian, The Expanse, and Chilling Adventures of Sabrina fit in this category. Whatever sci-fi or horror show I find on Netflix, Amazon, or Disney+ (I just signed up with CBS All Access for when The Stand drops), you’ll find me streaming it with friends. AFTERWARD: I take an hour out to read any of the many Marvel or DC Omnibuses I have on my bookshelf. Then I close the night out with a 5.1 remix of a prog album or unopened CD, polished off with a glass of wine, then it’s beddy bye time.
SATURDAYS 3:30 PM to 12 AM. All day cartoons. Streaming or on dvd. What a strain. In the beginning of next year, I’ll revise my cartoon picks,…. yet again. Every week, it’s a costant flux of new shows on the streaming giants. I can’t unglue my eyeballs without downloading 22 to 25 shows a week.
SUNDAYS 10:00 AM – 1:00 PM. I take a three hour block to watch reality television, mostly comic book collecting related show such as what Diamond is shipping out to shops the following Wednesday and I’ve managed to squeeze in Marvel’s new documentary styled mini-series called 616 in this block and I end up watching whatever’s left on the previous Criterion dvd I watched the previous Tuesday. What’s beautiful about Criterion Collection of blu rays – is that they bookmark themselves, so when you put the blu ray disc back in your machine- it automatically picks up from where you left off the time before and that’s very helpful when you don’t have the time to flash through an entire array of supplements and scrolling through chapters. Then I write and do social media junk the rest of the day.
Later that evening…
6:00 PM – 12:00 PM: blu rays, dvds, and cram streaming 7 television shows into 6 hours. Another beast to feed, but it’s up there with the Friday and Saturday evenings in terms of hugh volume.
So, those are my office hours. I don’t pick up the phone, answer texts, or jump on social media during those hours.
ITEM!!
Recently I got reamed on facebook by a former Parsippany High School alumni for distancing myself and disrespecting my former ‘hometown’ and thereby labeling me as a ‘New Jerseyian trapped in Southern Californian‘. I told him that is not true. I’ve always regarded myself as a ‘former Californian trapped in the Bigotville of Parsippany‘ – having had a taste of the Californian lifestyle before I was forced back to enroll in Parsippany High School after I failed trying to locate my real father while I was slumming around with my twin aunts. So we went back and forth with this debacle until I declared myself the winner of the debate.
But then as soon as I log off of facebook, I get into an argument with my roommate who’s been both back and forth between Canoga Park and Parsippany NJ more often than he’s changed his BVDs. Renting a room from me here in Sherman Oaks is considered upscale (thanks to my cushy entertainment industry job) to him and so thus the same subject was brought up. My roommates and his brothers first met me after they were transfered to PHS from Canoga Park, To them, I’m considered to be a New Jerseyian pure and true. My stance in the argument is that since I migrated to a small North San Diego town called Cardiff-By-The-Sea in February of 1985 with a few little interruptions here and there between Kansas City (5 months during 1986) and London in the U.K (6 weeks abroad on my grandfather’s inheritance), I’ve spent most of my near 57 years of mortal coiling camping out in the state of California in both San Diego and Los Angeles. That small taste of the Californian beach lifestyle back in 1978 tranformed me, embraced me the free-for-all anything goes lifestyle and imbued me with an independence and a sense of identity and a feeling of belonging never felt anywhere else before. Upon my first arrival people looked at me, asked how I was doing and were generally interested in coming up to me and inquired me of whatever I was listening to or whatever I was reading (“hey, is that new Amazing Spider-man issue any good?’) and most importantly – girls would smile at me. Never had that happen to me in New Jersey.
But yet, it took me until 1985 to make California my home. I wanted to attend a school out in Los Angeles called the Dick Grove School of Music. Dick Grove was the guy who supplied Parsippany High School along with other schools across the country with text books for all my music classes. I auditioned on the piano and passed and wanted to sign up to be a full time student, but I found, even after qualifying for financial aid that I couldn’t really afford the tuition, so I figured if I went someplace cheaper to live, like imposing upon my father’s side of the family and make a six month trek to Kansas City for a meet and greet to try to get to know that forever elusive side of my family that never had much contact with me throughout my childhood, I might make it out alright. But life turned out to be even more horrendous out in Redneckville with bigotry and crassnes amplified a thousandfold – and mostly aggravated by two cousins I decided to share an apartment with. I got fired from two jobs I tried to hold down due to culture shock – everyone I came in contact with thought I was a snob from the U.K. Couldn’t pierce through my New York sounding accent and hear the difference. I packed my bags and came back out to North San Diego by the time summer of 1986 rolled around. The day I came back I got back both my old room that I rented and my old job back at a vitamin packaging plant as it nothing never happened. I also discovered that I didn’t miss a beat between San Diego comics cons. A six week stay back in 1986 to London is a blog for another day.
In the past decade or so I’ve gone to visit my mother frequently, roughly a trip a year to reconcile with issues I’ve had with my mother and half-sister since my step-father passed away, and even when I do go back, I try to remain incognito and try not have zero communication with anyone I knew growing up. If you go back to one of my earliest YesLogs circa 1969 or 1970, I detailed a incident of when I once ran into a old classmate James Vigilante at a grocery story during one of my trips back to New Jersey and I told him to go fuck himself when he was bothering me at a checkout line. Looking back, I felt kind of bad I did that – little knowing he became a war hero in the Iraqi war and was a very regarded pillar of the community since he served Parsippany as it’s city Treasurer
But ever since the mid-eighties when I packed myself everything except for the damn comic books I left behind that had gotten stolen (all my damn Steve Ditko Spider-mans) from my mom’s basement, I’ve never looked back and disconnected everything from that crazy checkered past. Family members and friends from back east have cursed me ever since, specifically both my half-sister and my grandfather (who went through infamy as one third creator of Bosco chocolate syrup) who came down hard on me. My grandfather took time from a business trip selling patents to pie recipes at a local Alpha Beta store to take me out to a local Jack in the Box in Cardiff-By-The-Sea and then proceeded to publicly berate me for making, in his opinion, such a dickhead move out on the dining patio.
I’ve been even been offered to work back east: around 1987 or 1988, for shits and giggles I attended a seminar at San Diego Comic Con to train to become an assistant editor for Marvel Comics. Tom DeFalco, the instructor of the course was impressed with how many editoral faux pas anomalies I could catch with the naked eye on a fill-in-issue of The Incredible Hulk (that Peter David didn’t write) and Tom suggested that I should get a job working at Marvel.
I remember asking Tom, so, can I work for you guys from here?
‘No’, Tom told me, ‘you’d have move to New York”.
‘I said, fuck that. And move back in with my mom and stepdad? I rather stay out here slamming out labels to slap upon bottles of vitamin pills than resume a life I’ve been trying to escape from ever since graduating high school in 1982’. Tom wished me good luck and hey, no hard feelings – and to this day, we’re still friends on facebook.
I’m often asked: ‘well, Coat. You graduated high school in 1982 and yet it took you three whole and a half years to make it back and refer to California as your home. What the fuck took you so long?’
The simple answer was: debts, money, and school.
I worked out a grand plan that upon graduation, I wasn’t going to go to college, but rather save up and train myself to be a audio engineer. I already told that story about I used to pal around with a girl who worked in the same mall as me who became a victim of a serial killer. I was still crazy about girls like Linda Freeman and Wendy Intille. I evidentally went out to Chillocothe, Ohio for a couple of months to earn a permit to be an engineer. I dated Linda again in the summer of 1983, took her to see David Bowie, even as I became crazy over another girl, Susan Tamar Proper I met at that engineering school. She would stay in touch with me after we graduated school together and invited me to visit her in Williamsburg, Virginia.
It was girls, girls, girls that made me want to stay, but staying at home in Parsippany living in an apartment with my mom, half-sister, and stepfather until the age of 21 – that was the downside. But I couldn’t move or budge. I couldn’t do anything, because shortly after my asshole stepfather got into a serious car accident that nearly immoblized him, I had to cough up the dough for the bills. And since I wasn’t doing much with my college money that was set aside by my grandfather- I was the guy appointed to keep the ship a float.
It seems on Christmas Day of 1984 that the decision was already for me when the hint came from my mom and stepfather when brand new luggage was found waiting for me underneath the Christmas tree. Since everyone was sick and tired of my bitchin’ and whinin’ for helping to pitch in, finally my stepfather was fully recovered enough to get a job- he came up with half the money that was signed out of my account and I immediately hopped on a Greyhound bus bound for San Diego with my walkman jacked up loud into WPLJ playing David Lee Roth‘s version of “California Girls“.
And that’s when the adventure truly began.
ITEM!
Which brings to us to another charistmatic cryptic Cary Coatney, albeit mini- persona non grata picture show. Fellow PHS alumni Joe Zullo and I took a little day trip down to my old stomping grounds of San Deigo that accummulated up the coast to one of my favorite record stores on earth in North San Diego.
First we waved hello to the San Diego Convention Center and the gathered gaggle of desolute COVID 19 homeless stragglers using the place as a shelter to wane off the pandemic. I imagine it gave a whole new meaning behind the monkier ‘gathering of the tribe’ since Comic Con International got shitcanned – except at whatever convention this was: it wasn’t 4 color newsprint they were trading, but rather newprint covered in feces.
Joe and I took a little stroll around The Gaslamp Quarter. Then after a half hour of that, we got in the car and made our way to the best Mexican food chain in all of San Diego county for lunch.
No one ever forgets their first love of where they had their ‘real authentic Mexican stand styled food. It was such a far cry from Mom’s Taco Tuesday where everything was packaged in stale crunchy taco shells and broiled beef in a can from your neightborhood Ortega Taco Kit found in the family dinner aisle at your local Grand Union. Roberto’s was my first foray into a universal exploration of infinite possiblites and imbued me with a new sense of culinary familarity into such unheard of items back east, such as ‘machaca burrito’ ‘chicken quesadilla’ ‘fish tacos’ and ‘carne asada‘ and Roberto’s still to this day makes the best ‘green chile’ sauce unparalleled to whatever mom and pop Los Angeles stand has to offer. You know it’s a perfect food stand burrito when you bite into one of their fresh warm tortillas and somehow it bites back at you with the perfect crispiness. I foregone the traditional machaca burrito (that’s shredded beef and egg and cheese for the uninitated – a type of breakfast burrito that’s served all day) and went for the Shrimp and Steak burrito, a massive hand held tome for only $9.00. Something that big would run you $14 or $15 at a nearby Baja Fresh or Poquito Mas. I was quite the frequent patron of the Solana Beach location during the six years I lived there and had another one not me where I stayed in Ocean Beach. Joe stumbled across this location near Sea World along his delivery route. I’ll go back to my familar Solana Beach one next time on a future solo trip. It’s just a stone’s throw from the Amtrak station.
Then we went up the coast up Interstate 5, got off the Del Mar exit and worked our way up the PCH. I wasn’t paying that much attention to much phototaking as I was too busy regaling to Joe about times I spent going to the racetrack and how many celebrities who lived and died here such as Burt Bacharach, Jimmy Durante, Patrick McNee, Jamie Lee Curtis, Dustin Hoffman’s dad, and empathized about the time I used to watch Desi Arnaz walk his horses around the Del Mar Racetrack shortly before he died and I recalled a whole procession of cars and limos that lined up going up this exact same street you’re seeing up to where Desi is now buried. I destinctly recall Lucille Ball being in one of those limos, that red wavy hair of hers poking through the window was unmistakeable.
Here are some other useable shots. Joe didn’t really want to stop the car since he had to be back in Los Angeles by a certain hour and we had a ultimate destination to get to.
So we traversed from all the way from Sea World non-stop, munching on our burritos all the way, which proved to be a massive balancing act, when you’re dipping hot sauce and positioning the steak and shrimp a certain way so that it doesn’t fall out of the tortilla, not to mention, you’re starting to feel the heat from the hot sauce and desperately need a gulp of that lemonade to cool your palette. After the eternal struggle, we evidentally arrived to my nirvana in all of Northern San Diego County:
Lou’s Records. One of the best independent record stores in all existence – that is, when it’s stacked to such giants as Amoeba in San Francisco and Hollywood and Zia Records out in Las Vegas (and I have to give a shout out to my local store, Freakbeat Records. My phone and e-mail orders to them have been exemplary met beyond the call of duty). But before I went in, I had to finish my burrito first. Joe already managed to wolf his down en route and I still had half of mine to go.
I believe it’s been nearly more than a decade since I been inside and look who’s there as soon as you walk the front door ladies and gentlemen, the owner himself, Lou Russell, hard at work, stacking and cataloging those great newly arrived progressive rock morsels.
Well. I can’t say that everything that Lou carries is prog related, but during my entire residency in San Deigo and while I was working as an assistant engineer at Mira Costa College‘s MooSick Studios, Lou would turn me on to all sorts of new things and on to stuff that I normally wouldn’t buy like Joe Jackson’s latest or Willam Orbit’s Strange Cargo. Like I mentioned in my IQ tribute post – it was Lou himself who talked me into giving the band a try since he noticed that I was a big Marillion fan, and sure enough I bought the first two full length lps, Tales From the Lush Attic and The Wake from him. Another great memory I have of Lou is when he recieved an advanced promo cassette of 1989’s Anderson, Bruford, Wakeman, and Howe– who did he save it for? Little ol’ me. I had the ABW&H album two weeks before it’s official release and boy, I remember being the darling of MooSick Studios with the other engineers. Unfortunately when I first got that cassette, I had it on continuous play in my Walkman and I had put everything and everyone else on ignore. Big mistake I made was bringing my Walkman to a New Order concert up in Irvine with my old gal pal Jennifer Ellis and shortly after that concert, we weren’t seeing much of each other after that.
I would drop a halfway decent size portion of my paycheck at Lou’s every week (and another decent portion at the comic book store across the street called Thrill Books), buying up to 2 or 3 cassettes a week, or whatever I could fit into a $25 budget I remember Lou or whoever was on staff that day would always reminded their customers to save up your receipts, because if you came back with your receipts showing that you spent over $150.00, you automatic got a free cassette or album worth $7.98 or less.
Know what? Some of these customers didn’t listened. Instead, they threw out these receipts on the street and sidewalk, near the bus stop and in the laundromat next door. I came in like a Dyson vacuum cleaner and sucked them all up. When it would usually take me up to 6 weeks to save up receipts for a free album; my scavenger hunt throughout Lou’s general vicinity, scoring discarded receipts yielded me results within half that time.
Joe thought it was crass of me to regurgitate that story to Lou during my new venture down from Los Angeles, but I couldn’t help it- I missed the big cheese himself. He’s always been my favorite record retailer in the entire world (the guys at Freakbeat Records come in at a close second). It’s astounding that Lou’s has only been in operation for five years prior to the exact month that I first arrived to San Deigo. After moving down from Portland,Oregon, Lou’s (aka Louis Russell) first location started out in a small strip mall in Cardiff -By-The-Sea in 1980 right next door to a popular donut stand called VG Donuts, which probably gives a whole new meaning to the connotation, ‘dollars to donuts‘. After you may have purchased the newest Miles Davis or Weather Report album, you can spend whatever change you have leftover getting a couple of blueberry old fashioned bars (they were my favorite back in the day) – but when I came upon the scene in 1985, they were located at a busy intersection of Encinitas Village at 434 North Highway 101. That location always served me well, because it was such a short bus ride to get from my work locaton in Solana Beach to Encinitas on every Friday payday. In the late eighties when I switched jobs in becoming a shift manager at a Circle K, I found a place to live just a couple of blocks away from the store which made my trips to the Lou’s parking lot sniffing out receipts like an inked dried bloodhound more frequent. When I was prepping to go to Los Angeles to try my luck in getting jobs at the movie studios, Lou’s simultaneously was packing to move further up north to 434 North Highway 101 in the rather spotty beach community of Leucadia in a sort of a two building bunglaow style setting where Lou is still currently stationed today. Lou had the whole store set up as a low tier Tower Records, where you walk into one building and there would be nothing but dvds and videotape movie and television season box sets to buy and rent and you’d walk across to the second building where everyhing music related equipped with rare lps and collector sets were sold, but on my recent visit, Lou had it all condensed to one building. Also in the past at this latest location, Lou has held a few outdoor parking lot concerts featuring local reggae and independent artists which have garnered both local and national attention.
When I brought my choices to the counter, Lou had remarked to me, ‘wow, you really haven’t changed in your choices of artists I see.’ One such purchase was:
I just remembered – I had bought my official last Eddie Jobson album over at Lou’s…back in 1985 when he released his new age themed album, “Theme of Secrets” (all composed on a Synclavier). My, how progressive rock time flies. I also bought the new Steve Howe album, “Love Is“, which was surprisingly good, and Rick Wakeman‘s latest moog lauded magnum opus, “The Red Planet” that is slated to be playing on my stereo sometime this weekend. I will be covering more in depth these selection in my planned From High Atop Prog Mountain 2020 blog entry that I plan on blogging about as soon as 2021 rolls around.
So Joe and I had to hit the road. So we pressed on further with the scenic route and headed up to Carlsbad.
Carlsbad, California
On the way out of Oceanside, we got to see small tits.
And soon as we were leaving the Camp Pendleton Beach area, we were waving goodbye to the iconic big tits of The San Onofre Nuclear Generating Plant. If you watched any episodes of TNT’s Animal Kingdom, you’ve probably spotted them in some of the surfing scene backdrops as the beach community based crime drama is known from time to time to come down to do some location shooting.
Not really much of a persona non grata picture show, I’m afraid. If you really want to experience a proper persona non grata picture show, it’s going to require a lot of fancy footwork and I just needed this one time for someone to get me out of LA for a few hours. I might have to head down one day just by myself to accomplish that monumental task.
ITEM!!
I recently posted this on facebook to sadly commemorate the 40th anniversary of the assassination of John Lennon.
The evening December 8th 1980 and spilling into the 9th were the most horrendous days I ever suffered during my years at Parsippany High School. I was taping a Billy Thorpe album called “Children of The Sun” on local station WDHA FM which broadcasted albums in its own entirety during the 10 o’clock PM hour (or was it 11?) and I still have the tape to this very day of when the album got interrupted to report that John Lennon had been shot. Then as the album was approaching its’ conclusion, news cut in again that John Lennon had died. My world instantly fell apart. John Lennon at the time was transforming into a modern day New Yorker being recognized and applauded everywhere he went and I don’t think many people on the West Coast knew that he was a local fixture on rock station WNEW FM. He was good friends with DJ Scott Muni and would sometimes come in as a substitute host for DJs who happened to call in sick. So he would spend a couple of hours spinning records, mostly rockabilly tunes from the fifties and the early sixties that inspired his own brand of songwriting. One highlight I remember quite fondly was him doing advertising spots and one in particular was a spot for a bar in my area of Parsippany, NJ called “Inn The Woods” that unfortunately got burned down in a fire later on. I remember being quite the johnny jerk-off at yelling and screaming at fellow classmates for not giving a shit about John Lennon’s death. Just shut the fuck up and play your stupid Led Zeppelin and AC/DC records being the most prevalent. That’s all that mattered to them at the time.
This photo is from the cover from the first issue of Rolling Stone that marked the start of my year-long subscription and boy, my stepdad threw a freaking shit-fit when I got home from school the day it arrived. My stepfather went ballistic and said “what happens if your half-sister see this? How dare you bring this filth into this house??” I said, ‘what the hell, I’m not in charge of editorial. They don’t do covers like this all the time’. My stepfather just fumed and ordered me to keep it out of her sight. At least, he didn’t rip it in half like he did with my copy of Luke Cage; Hero For Hire No 1 which is an incident I recounted in my last PP Guru blog. Anyway, 40 years ago this day. It certainly seems longer than yesterday.
Another worthwhile activity I did during my week off was to take a short bus ride from my house to downtown Burbank to check out the new Batman statute that’s recently been erected right in front of the AMC Theater where I come to pay to see DC and Marvel movies in IMAX and those are paid holidays, may I remind you. So this 600 pound bronze statue was digitally scuplted by Alejandro Pereira Ezcurra based on a design by artist Jim Lee (inspired by the Batman “Hush” storyline), and crafted by the city’s American Fine Arts Foundry and Fabrication. DC Comics and Visit Burbank both activated their Wonder Twins powers to install the statue at its current home,The AMC Walkway of downtown Burbank.
Hopefully there are plans to do the same for Superman and Wonder Woman – they need their Burbank bronze statue due too.
And that’s it, for the most part, the year of the PP Guru blog 2020. Be back on December 31st when I tally up this year’s In the Craziness of Stats, in the Craziness…2021.
PPGuru 