josh pincus is crying

This week’s word of inspiration on inspiremethursday.com is “push”.

“Uh, we pushed it already, dipshit.”

The illustration friday.com challenge word this week is “theater”.

After arriving in Hollywood, William Castle worked as an assistant director with Orson Welles. Castle directed his first film at 29 and went on to make a name for himself as the “King of the Gimmicks”. Always thinking of ways to drum up an audience, Castle introduced in-theater tricks and gadgets with every new movie. To pique his potential audience’s interest, Castle gave the world Macabre in 1958. A $1,000 life insurance policy from Lloyd’s of London was given to each patron in case he/she should die of fright during the film. Showings also had fake nurses stationed in the lobbies and hearses parked outside the theater.

1959’s House on Haunted Hill was touted as being filmed in “Emergo”. Theaters were equipped with a glow in the dark skeleton attached to a wire, which floated over the audience during the final moments of the film to parallel the action on the screen.

The Tingler, also from 1959, was filmed in “Percepto”. Hidden under some theater seats were large versions of joy buzzers. When the titular creature in the film attacked, the buzzers were activated as a voice encouraged the real audience to “Scream - scream for your lives.”

13 Ghosts, filmed in “Illusion-O”, followed in 1960. A ghost viewer/remover with strips of red and blue cellophane was given out to use during certain segments of the film. By looking through either the red or blue cellophane the audience was able to either see or remove the ghosts if they were too frightening.

1961’s Homicidal contained a “Fright break” with a 45 second timer overlaid over the film’s climax as the heroine approached a house harboring a sadistic killer. A voiceover advised the audience of the time remaining in which they could leave the theatre and receive a full refund if they were too frightened to see the remainder of the film. To accompany this film, Castle introduced the ‘Coward’s Corner,’ a yellow cardboard booth, manned by a theater employee in the lobby. When the Fright Break was announced, a frightened audience member could follow yellow footsteps up the aisle, bathed in a yellow light. The patron crossed yellow lines with the stenciled message: ‘Cowards Keep Walking’ and passed a nurse who would offer a blood-pressure test. All the while a recording was blaring, “‘Watch the chicken! Watch him shiver in Coward’s Corner’!”

In 1961, Castle also offered Mr. Sardonicus. The audiences were allowed to vote in a “punishment poll” during the climax of the film - Castle himself appears on screen to explain to the audience their options. Each member of the audience was given a card with a glow in the dark thumb they could hold either up or down to decide if Mr. Sardonicus would be cured or die during the end of the film. No audience ever offered mercy so the alternate ending was never screened.

For the 1962 release Zotz!, each patron was given a gold-colored plastic “Magic” coin which did absolutely nothing.

Strait-Jacket, released in 1964 and starring Joan Crawford, was promoted with cardboard axes being distributed to patrons.

For screenings of 1965’s I Saw What You Did, Castle turned the back rows of theatres into “Shock Sections”. Seat belts were installed to keep patrons from being jolted from their chairs in fright.

Interestingly, Castle produced Roman Polanski’s film Rosemary’s Baby in 1968, with no gimmicks whatsoever. Castle had wanted to direct the film, but the studio insisted on hiring another director due to the reputation Castle had gained through his previous work. They felt that the novel deserved a better treatment than Castle was able to give it.

Castle passed away in 1977 at age 63. No shocks or flying skeletons have been reported at his grave.

The Monday Artday challenge word this week is “spider”.

After finishing 5th in the slalom at the 1968 Winter Olympics, charismatic skier Spider Sabich joined the World Cup circuit for several seasons. He turned professional after the 1970 season. Pro ski racing had just completed its first season, and was conducted in a dual slalom format, with racers going head-to-head in elimination heats.

Sabich helped popularize skiing in the U.S. in the late 1960s and early 1970s. He was the inspiration for the 1969 film Downhill Racer, starring Robert Redford. Sabich won the pro championship in 1971 & 1972. Although the prize money was modest, endorsements contracts followed. This pushed his annual income well over $100,000 and allowed him to move from Boulder to the ski resort of Aspen in 1971. While chasing rival skier Jean-Claude Killy for the 1973 title, Sabich incurred a back injury on the final weekend of the season at Aspen Highlands. In the semifinals of the giant slalom, he hurtled over the second jump at 50 mph and caught his arm on a gate, somersaulted and landed on his back. He struggled to stand up, but was too stunned to walk and was hospitalized. Sabich was out of the next day’s slalom, and Killy won the season title in his only season on the pro tour.

Late in the afternoon of March 21, 1976, Sabich had returned from a day of skiing and was preparing to shower. He was fatally shot in the bathroom of his home by his live-in girlfriend, singer-actress Claudine Longet, ex-wife of singer Andy Williams. She claimed the gun discharged accidentally, as he was showing her how it worked. He was hit in the abdomen and lost a significant amount of blood before the ambulance arrived. He died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, with Longet at his side. Spider Sabich was 31 years old.

Longet was charged with reckless manslaughter, however she was convicted of a lesser charge, criminally negligent homicide, a misdemeanor. Longet was sentenced to 30 days in jail, but allowed to serve the time at her convenience. She served her sentence three months later, following a vacation with her married defense attorney. After the criminal trial, the Sabich family initiated civil proceedings to sue Longet. The case was eventually resolved out of court, with the proviso that Longet never tell or write about her story.

I’ve had Phillies season tickets since 1996. I sat through some bad years and I sat through some great years, including 2008’s championship season. I’ve been to many ballparks in many different cities. The game on the field is only a fraction of the entertainment to be found at the ballpark. Sometimes the game doesn’t command the same interest as the antics in the stands. Last Sunday’s Phillies game was no exception. Once again, there was this guy…

Lost. Hopelessly lost. I’ve seen him at many games. Reluctantly sent out to the concession stands by his group to load up on hot dogs and soda and beer and snacks. He waits in an endless line, missing several innings and usually a game-shattering play. Hearing the distant cheers, he stands stuck in a queue, lifting himself on tip-toes as he tries to catch a glimpse of the action on the field. Finally, his turn to pay arrives. He fumbles with a few pieces of damp currency, gets his change and hurries back to his seat. It is then he realizes he has become disoriented. He has visited so many food stands that he has forgotten where his seat is. And his friends have his ticket stub. He helplessly chooses a random aisle and spends the next five innings with his back to the game, scanning the crowd for a familiar face. The hot dogs are getting cold, the ice is melting in the Cokes, the beer is spilling. His friends don’t spot him — for Christ’s sake, THEY’RE  watching the game. Oh, it’s not always the same guy, but always he’s just as lost.

The dudes behind me account for the other entertainment in the stands. For fourteen seasons, in two different stadiums, some dude has sat behind me and kicked my seat. A child, an old man, a teen, a drunk. Doesn’t matter. They all kick. This past Sunday was my lucky day. I was treated to seat kickers AND some of the most inane conversation I’ve ever heard. There were two dudes, not much older than 21, dressed in their Phillies regalia, knocking back beer after beer and loudly expounding on the wonders of THEIR  universe…
[Note: Each statement started with an “ach”, a guttural clearing of the throat — JPiC]
Dude 1: ach, Dude, Johnny told me he’s, like, gettin’ a new car
Dude 2: ach, Dude, no way
Dude 1: ach, Dude, aw yeah. what kinda car does your mom drive? She’s got a truck, right? Does it drive good in the snow?
Dude 2: ach, Dude, it is totally cool in the snow.
Dude 1: ach, Dude what happened to your Phillies shirt?
Dude 2: ach, Dude, di’nt I tell you? Last year at the Phillies parade, I got hit by a car. I woke up the day after the parade and I had blood and dirt on my Phillies shirt and I said ‘Dude, what happened?’ and they said ‘Dude, don’t you remember? You totally got hit by a car and the dude that was driving got out all scared and shit and you started laughing and you ran away.’
Dude 1: ach, Dude, that’s awesome. Dude, y’know one time, my dad got tickets to a game back at the Vet [Veterans Stadium, home of the Phillies from 1971 to 2003. — JPiC] and my dad took me up to the press box and he knocked on the door and I met Harry Kalas [Harry Kalas was the long-time announcer for the Phillies, who passed away earlier this week. — JPiC] and he signed a ball for me and I just hung out in the press box with Harry and we were talking baseball. [Based on the “dude’s” approximate age, this anecdote is a total fabrication. — JPiC]
Dude 2: ach, Dude that’s cool. Yo’ dude, I didn’t know you smoked. Does your sister smoke? Does your mom know you smoke? Do you have to hide it from her?
Dude 1: ach, Dude, I’m gonna quit smoking in three years when I finish school.
Dude 2: ach, Dude, at my school, I was the mascot for the football team.
Dude 1: ach, What was the mascot?
Dude 2: ach, Dude, it was a cougar. It was great ’cause the girls all wanted to take their picture with me, so I had girls totally all over me. It was the best job ever. But it sucked.
Dude 1: ach, Dude, at school I have a break every morning from 9 to noon. It’s, like, the most boringest two hours.

And that’s how it went, non-stop for nine innings.
The Phillies won on a walk-off home run by Raul Ibañez. For one ticket price, I got twice the entertainment.

The inspirational word on Inspire Me Thursday is “green”.

In 1955 for a five-minute puppet show called “Sam and Friends”, Jim Henson created Kermit the Frog from a green ladies’ coat that Henson’s mother had thrown into a waste bin, and two ping pong balls for eyes. From there, he launched a creative empire that stretched to public television, children’s entertainment, movies, character creation for hundreds of productions and special effects innovations.

On May 4, 1990, Henson made an appearance on “The Arsenio Hall Show”. He mentioned that he was tired and had a sore throat, but felt that it would go away. The next week, Henson traveled to North Carolina, to visit family. Feeling tired and sick, he consulted a North Carolina doctor who could find no evidence of pneumonia. He suggested that Henson take aspirin to combat his symtoms. Henson returned to New York and canceled a May 14th Muppet recording session. Henson’s wife Jane, from whom he was separated, came to visit and sat with him talking throughout the evening. By 2 a.m. on May 15, he was having trouble breathing and began coughing up blood. He suggested to Jane that he might be dying, but did not want to bother going to the hospital. It was in Henson’s character was not to be a bother to people.

At 5 a.m., he was admitted to New York Hospital. He was placed on a ventilator to help him breathe, but his condition deteriorated rapidly into septic shock despite aggressive treatment with multiple antibiotics. On Wednesday May 16, 1990, 21 hours and 23 minutes after he was admitted, Henson died from organ failure at the age of 53.

May 16th is my wife’s birthday. She felt like she lost a childhood friend. We all did.

The illustrationfriday word this week is “impossibility”.

Any impossibility can be conquered with enough determination and enough syrup.

The challenge word this week on Monday Artday is (by my suggestion) “yecchh!”

I love peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I always have. The drippier and gooey-er the better.

Before I began this illustration, I was inspired by THIS illustration by my friend and fellow artist Matt Can Draw. Matt is ridiculously talented and is the reason I started this blog.
I met Matt several years ago when we both worked in the marketing department in the corporate headquarters of a large chain of after-market auto parts stores. We were two of a roomful of artists who diligently worked to produce weekly color newspaper circulars. We all spent long hours hunched over our Macs, arranging tiny pictures of oil filters and brakes shoes, checking and re-checking prices and making sure our mail-in rebate offers added up correctly. When we were finished, we translated the whole shebang into Spanish, thanks to the invaluable assistance of our in-house translator, as no one was versed in that particular romance language… outside of the menu at Taco Bell.

Matt’s cubicle was two away from mine. We were separated by a guy who spent more time surfing websites on his quest to free the inhabitants of Middle Earth than he did on his advertisements. One day, while waiting for a particularly large ad to make it’s way through the print queue to the the giant color printer, I walked by Matt’s desk. He was doodling as usual. I commented that his drawing looked my drawings. Matt turned his head toward me, a puzzled look on his face. “You draw?,” he asked. “Yeah, I draw.,” I replied, “I’ve been drawing since I was four years old.” Matt was shocked. “I’ve never seen you draw.,” he said, still not shaking his surprise. Suddenly, his look of astonishment turned to contempt. “You know how to draw… and you don’t?, ” he sneered, “You should be ashamed of yourself.” I have ten years on Matt, but this guy was scolding me!  He seemed to be holding himself back from grabbing my shirt collar and shaking me. “When you leave work today,” he began his order, “you go and get yourself a sketchbook and start to draw again. Jeez!” As I slunk back to my desk, I still heard him muttering about me and shirking my illustrative obligation to the world. But, He was right.

That evening, I bought a sketchbook. That night, I began to draw again. That was almost three years ago.

Thanks again Matt.

The Monday Artday challenge this week is “doofus”. That’s right… doofus.

I have been taking the train to work for the past two years. The train experience is very interesting. I never realized how many certified doofuses take public transportation.
There’s the “I gotta get on the train first” guy. This doofus is a grown man in a business suit who inches his way along the platform as the train slows to a stop. He aligns himself with the open door and he MUST BE THE FIRST ONE ON THE TRAIN! FIRST ONE!
There’s “Creepy knit hat I got bodies in my freezer” guy. This doofus wears a dirty windbreaker, zipped up no matter what the weather. He looks like he hasn’t bathed in years. Is that his neighbor’s or family member’s blood I see staining his jacket?
Then there’s “Staring squinty” guy. This doofus stares at my son and me as we wait for the train each morning. He checks the posted schedule with his eyes as slits then widens them to inquisitive orbs and stares at us until the train comes.
Don’t forget “What decade is this?” girl. This doofus (doofette?) is late every morning, arriving just as the train pulls into the station. She hurries up the platform steps, obviously having just dressed at a Grateful Dead concert circa 1968. She wears several blouses of similar sheer material and swirly patterns along with a tight denim skirt and bright colored tights. And nothing matches.

I’m sure they’re writing the same things about me on their blogs.

The word of inspiration this week on inspiremethursday.com is “spice”.

Pierre St. Pierre de la Coriander Voss
In a remote little spot
Of downtown Paree
Sits a tiny quaint bistro
Know as “O C’est la Vie”

The chef at this place
Is renowned for his sauce
An ambrosial concoction
From Pierre St. Pierre de la Coriander Voss

In a big copper pot
Pierre mixes away
A secretive blend
Of thyme caraway

And dill weed and dill seed
And fennel and salt
And six cryptic spices
He keeps locked in a vault

He added some marjoram
Summer savory and myrrh
Spoonfuls of meadowsweet
And gave it a stir

From a few fat tomatoes
And zucchini cut ‘cross
With lemongrass sprinkles
Pierre created the sauce

He pinched, shook and drizzled
Poured, spooned and doled
Handfuls of Roquefort cheese
Minus the mold

Endless simmering later
In the big copper pan
Pierre chucked the whole mess
And opened a can.

The challenge word on illustrationfriday.com this week is “fleeting”.  When I did this illustration, I had a totally different narrative planned. I have since changed direction but the illustration still fits, albeit a stretch.

In 1984, I graduated from the Hussian School of Art, a small but respected vocational art school in center city Philadelphia. Several hours ago, I returned from an informal Hussian class of ‘84 reunion, reacquainting myself with many classmates, some of which I had not seen in twenty-five years.

In February of this year, I was contacted by John Errichetti (the first person I talked to on my first day at Hussian). John got my work number from LinkedIn.com. (Don’t try to find me. I’m not listed under “Josh Pincus”.) He left a voicemail on my office phone. I hadn’t spoken to John in a few years, so I called back. John told me he toyed with the idea of leaving a disguised voice message, identifying himself as the father of a twelve-year-old boy he claimed I was molesting and he needed to talk to me. He asked, “Would you have called me back?” “No.,” I answered, “I would have deleted the message.” He informed about the sketchy details of the reunion. The location — McGillin’s Olde Ale House, a frequent haunt during my art school days — was a place with which I was familiar, although I wasn’t sure if I would be able to find it sober.

This afternoon I hopped on the R1 train with apprehension in my gut. I was headed to see a group of people that I saw every day for four years, and then, suddenly, hadn’t seen in twenty-five. Twenty-five years is a big gap in one’s life. Many, many things happened in twenty-five years. I got married two months after my graduation. Both of my parents have passed away. I have a grown son that none of my classmates ever met. I’ve worked at twelve jobs in twenty-five years. I began to force my mind to think of people and incidents that hadn’t crossed my mind in years. This was going to be weird.

I hurried through the wet streets of Philadelphia and made my way to narrow Drury Lane and to McGillin’s front door. I took a deep breath, grabbed the door handle and entered. The darkened tavern was instantly familiar. I turned to the left was greeted by a chorus of “Oh my Gods!” from a small group of unfamiliar faces, some of whom extended welcoming hands to me. I thought, “Oh shit. I don’t know who these people are.” The group began to identify themselves. I knew them all, even if their visage didn’t strike a chord in my usually-flawless memory. Slowly, I matched the faces to those memories from a quarter-century ago. I ultimately remarked that I felt as though I arrived in a DeLoreon pumped with 1.21 gigawatts of electricity.

I spent an ephemeral afternoon of reminiscing about days long gone, events long past and friends long forgotten. As the day progressed, late arrivals added to the group. Former classmates drifted about, assembling into small groups, breaking apart and reassembling. Of course, there was the obligatory “what are you doing” conversation. But, the talk generally stuck around “remember this” and “remember that”. It was truly enjoyable to discuss and share a part of my life that had been stored in some dark recess of my brain with the people who were key players in those experiences. There were a couple of people, I am sad to say, I didn’t not recognize and even after an explanation, I did not remember. Time was kind to several of the lot, specifically the five female classmates that bravely mingled among the predominantly male gathering. I was disappointed that certain classmates were not able to make it. Conversely, I was happy that others were not able to make it.

During a conversation with classmates Tom Romano and Lorin Stein, Tom chuckled and reminded me of my affinity for The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Lorin laughed too, adding,”You saw that movie, like, 10-15 times, right?” I glanced at the floor. “More like a hundred and fifty times.”, I sheepishly corrected. It was funny that Tom brought up Rocky Horror, as just before I left my house, I had completed the illustration above. How fitting the words of Richard O’Brien from the song The Time Warp —
“Time is fleeting.”