Blue Electric Room

I hold no rights to images from motion pictures, LIFE magazine, the Smithsonian., etc. However, all text here is "copyright Blue Electric Room, David L. Pelfrey" unless otherwise noted. Some posts are true facts about the world, other posts describe the world as it might have been if I were in charge. Please include any text, captions, and credits if you reblog. My obsessions also on display at The Young Persons Guide to the Cinema

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Here we are wasting time when we could have started a doomed relationship months ago. Let's make Valentine's Day our new beginning!

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I'm crazy about you, Valentine! Actually, I was diagnosed before we ever met, but you get the idea.

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I always want you close by, Valentine! That's why I'm pulling you down with me.

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When your name appears in caller ID, I instantly remember you, my Valentine! (I have auto-update).

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The Gospel According to Gen Z

[First, some basic housekeeping. Jesus will NOT be referring to Judas as OOMF anymore.]

Back to the narrative:

That Sunday, Jesus’ fam was shook AF. Mary Magdalene, Peter, and John were like, “No cap, the tomb is empty, bruh. That stone being rolled away is massive sus. Big yikes.” Then everyone heads to Jerusalem to spill the tea and Jesus is low-key ghosting them along the way since no one recognizes him. That’s because, fun fact: resurrection energy is giving mad glow-up. It’s giving total makeover. It’s giving sigma.

Finally Jesus spills tea Himself and he’s like “We back, fam, we back! Any doubters still in the house? I’m looking at you, Thomas.”

This is all awkward AF for Peter, of course. It’s like massive oof for the so-called rock. Just days ago the Roman opp were asking if he and Jesus are besties, and Peter was straight capping “He’s not even in my contacts, bruh.” (Peter’s stan energy was always sus.)

Anyway, the rest of the fam are still high-key wondering what’s up. They def saw those soldiers unalive the savior, but like, now He is back and just lit with swagger energy.

Seriously, the fam was always more than down with Jesus’ water-into-wine “wedding win,” and the loaves-and-fishes miracle got big food-truck yeets. But like, surely that Lazarus gig was a one-off. I know, right?

Wrong. Check the Lord’s fit now. This is the man from Galilee, back from the dead giving mad David Blaine energy.

Right now everyone reading this is sussing zombie apocalypse, early stages of. But stop tweaking, for real for real. The Son of God simply understood the assignment. He secured the resurrection bag so hard that the Romans finna be eternally salty AF. Discussion of Pilate’s skill issue will trend. (Very “mid.” Very “washed my hands of the whole gig.” Very “pink slip.”)

Meanwhile Jesus low-key asks his fam for a snack, and they’re all “Thought we already had our last supper with you, Lord.”

Mary and Joseph's boy is like “This is Sunday. This is brunch. Y’all try to keep up.”

Then He ascended to heaven. The GOAT was NOT capping about the “up” part.

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The personality crisis has ended.

RIP David Johansen

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"I'm seeing something that was always hidden. I'm involved in a mystery. I'm in the middle — of a mystery. And it's all secret." Blue Velvet, 1986

RIP David Lynch

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Love Boat episode 831, "That's So Punk Rock!"

(Showing on all cable channels, Friday, January 15, through spring)

Anticipating next year's 50th anniversary of punk rock (coinciding with a birthday best not mentioned), goth goddess Belle Adonna (Siouxsie Sioux) is having a personality crisis that Zoloft just won't fix.

Her fashion therapist (Cher) has a plan to lift that dark spirit: a Love Boat cruise with a surprise performance by the New York Dolls! The punk party goes to 11 when former Sex Pistols provocateur Malcolm McClaren (Jonathan Harris) and punk-couture legend Vivienne Westwood (Dame Maggie Smith) roll in to make peace with the Dolls, from whom they stole so much. Speaking of peace, Cure frontman Robert Smith (Javier Bardem) arrives to make amends with Siouxsie Sioux (also played by Siouxsie Sioux). Stanley Tucci is on board as a celebrity chef who brings a "punk edge" to the ship's cuisine. Don't blink or you'll miss an uncredited Anthony Bourdain as celebrity chef Anthony Bourdain, who brings a punk edge to the galley after murdering Gordon Ramsay (Burgermeister Meisterburger).

Images from the indefatigable Tumblr legend @loveboatinsanity

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Forgot to mention that, going forward, my weekends will be tied up with the solving of mysteries. I've been cajoled into taking a leadership position with the local Young Person's Detective Club.

I was told it was time I "gave back to the community," whatever that means, so it was either this or spend Saturdays fighting off insects at some sweltering Boy Scout campsite in a local national park.

Not getting paid for my service, but so far this has been wizard good fun! What these rascals can accomplish with a top-quality drone and a Go-Pro camera system will put a lump in your throat. Granted, the copper theft ring the group busted was actually only a halfway house of veterans suffering PTSD, but in fairness to my young team, the building was (as Daniel and Lee Ann both pointed out) extremely creepy. And what's with all that scrap metal in the yard anyway?

Apart from that, I wonder how well things went for young Columbo or young Holmes during their first cases.

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Notes on School Days and Rule Days First week of September always has me recalling elementary school, which is a mixed bag of revery and post-traumatic stress. Today it dawned on me, decades after the fact, that the tablet form of Pepto Bismol, as well as fruit-flavored Tums, would have been mighty handy, circa 5th-8th grade. Normally a lunchroom tray loaded with mock Salisbury steak, something resembling mashed potatoes, and the world's best yeast rolls would bring no major distress to my young GI system. But it goes without saying that the elementary school landscape is a minefield of emotional and social hazards, to which mild indigestion and nausea are common responses, post a cafeteria visit.

For example, one morning the supply counter at our book room ran out of Bic medium-point pens. I had planned to settle for a fine-point in blue, but only black was available. Using a fountain pen was out of the question, because I was writing in a St. Regis 80-page bound notebook, as opposed to the sturdier stock of a better brand of loose-leaf. (I don't even need to say what the liquid indigo mix from a fountain pen would have looked like after only a few lines.) Long story short: my work that morning comprised several pages of deranged glyphs in scratchy, black ballpoint. By the time we strolled into the lunchroom I was a wreck.

There were other episodes. A substitute teacher in our 6th-grade science class once referred to Cardinals as "redbirds" and seagulls as "water birds," yet I'm certain I saw our principal hand her an envelope stuffed with small bills after the three o'clock bell. One afternoon on the playground a stitch in the cuff of the left leg of my plaid flares completely unraveled. You can guess the rest. Another day, a plurality of what can only be described as "C" students in music class voted to make "The Streets of Laredo" the official performance for the boys.

An even worse moment was that Monday morning our teachers introduced yellow chalk. The idea — or rather, the sales pitch — was that yellow text on those green chalkboards would be provide less eyestrain than would white. But we had grown accustomed to the clean, spartan, and yes, traditional aesthetic of white chalk on green. Years of it. In my small but discerning circle we cared about that kind of thing. I recall shooting a glance at Pam, Jill, and Rick as soon as that first yellow stick began its hideous journey across the board. They may have registered even more disdain than I did, which is saying something. Two of the smartest kids in class were quietly sobbing. Laurie left the room without asking permission. I don't recall ever seeing her again.

And yes, we went to lunch mere hours after the appalling incident. Having learned from Mr. Morrow (science) that the human skeleton was made of calcium carbonate, as was chalk, and that the substance was also used in Rolaids, I assumed I could place a small portion of dust from the board eraser on my tongue and survive another taxing meal in the cafeteria. But my nemesis, John (with whom I had a running feud through that entire school year) mentioned that, if I didn't like how yellow chalk looked on the board, I would hate what it might do to my teeth. And that, alone, is why you keep your friends close but your enemies even closer. And not just during math and lunch.

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Colin could secretly observe what was going on at the orphanage and children’s hospital, because no one in charge knew (or would have guessed) that he had survived to live on the outside for the past year. He overheard the agreement their headmaster had made with the research institute; he learned the fates of those 44 missing boys, and now he knew what was being transported across the Thames. But who would believe him if he told them what was in those sacks? They might send him back to the hospital. To the third floor. And Dr. Morley.

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“When the girl returned, some hours later, she carried a tray, with a cup of fragrant tea steaming on it; and a plate piled up with very hot buttered toast, cut thick, very brown on both sides, with the butter running through the holes in it in great golden drops, like honey from the honeycomb. The smell of that buttered toast simply talked to Toad, and with no uncertain voice talked of warm kitchens, of breakfasts on bright frosty mornings, of cozy parlour firesides on winter evening…”

The Wind in the Willows, Kenneth Grahame

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During my last routine visit, my primary care physician mentioned that I was one of the few people who get all dressed up for a checkup. And I'm like "Bro, this swag is my regular drip. You can't mess with it."

Doc: "Not sure what you mean."

Me: "I'm saying my drip is a straight flood. A mighty flow from which even Noah couldn't save you."

Doc: "How is it a flood?"

Me: "'Cause my drip bringing a Nola hurricane surge and I'mma turn this clinic into the 9th ward."

Doc: "I can't tell if that's good or bad."

Me: "Yeah, that's how I feel about my lab results. You finna be in the deep end, son. Ain't no lifeguards on duty.

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THE STOWAWAY MURDERS: "The Love Boat, Special Mystery Edition"

(each Saturday this September, on all networks and cable stations.)

Gangway for danger aboard the Pacific Princess!

World-renowned architect Alastair Balustrade (Julian Sands) is found very, very dead on the Riviera deck, and no one recalls when they last saw him. But that protractor didn’t pierce Balustrade's neck by itself, says world-renowned sleuth Inspector Feargal Tungsten (Roy Thinnes).

Guess who else has cabins on the Riviera deck: criminal masterminds Hasso and Jannik Zeugenzeigen, aka "the Z twins" (Robert Foxworth, Robert Reed). Speaking of Z, stowed away ‘neath decks is none other than criminal mastermind Dr. Zin (Paul Reubens).

Another wrinkle for Inspector Tungsten: Miss Jessica's (Jessica Tandy) diary entry shows she was “very upset” with the deceased. And that rascal Bandit (Bandit) is sniffing around the galley. Is he begging for treats, or tracking his old nemesis Dr. Zin?

Catherine Zeta-Jones guest stars as “the psychic,” and world-renowned Barry White holds court in the Pacific Princess disco. He “can’t get enough of this Love Boat…”

images compliments of Tumblr's beloved loveboatinsanity

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Sure, and the weans of Knocknaheeny (you'll be knowing the village as Cork, Ireland) bring us a wee bangin' tune, joined by the Lisdoonvarna Crew, late of County Clare.

I'm calling it the feel-good hit of the summer, and I can't help picturing the Sleaford Mods egging on the kids from ZOOM, circa 70s, to drop some joy. The banger is brim full of affirmations, top choices here:

"If we see a dream, you know we're gonna chase it, So get over any fear you have, just face it. That's my passion and I couldn't live without it, You can do it like we do it, don't doubt it. Any obstacle, we find a way around it. If you're proud of who you are and what you do, shout it."

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One might watch this stunning performance by the MC5 and think: those guys are rocking like motherfuckers. One would be only half correct. The MC5 are also showing us how to live, and, more specifically, how we might best approach any human endeavor. First, inform all concerned parties and observers that you are the maximum utmost. Second, immediately support your claim with action. Do this twice, and then surprise everyone with an unexpected, stylistic parting flourish.

The first two numbers establish the band's unmitigated magnificence, but the singularity begins its white-hot process at 6:17 with "Looking at You."   Guitar god Wayne Kramer first shimmies some mock Mick Jagger/James Brown moves before he lights up the universe with a blistering solo. Kramer continues taunting the audience with an “oh ye of little faith” smirk, and wows them again with an even hotter solo. (The camera sometimes lingers on Fred "Sonic" Smith, but Kramer is doing the solo heavy lifting.) At 9:42, Kramer’s spin-and-drop for the conclusion brings it all home to Daddy. "How do you like me now?" has been asked by deed, not word. Front man Rob Tyner codifies the entire process with a line for the ages: “Doin’ alright, doin’ alright, yeah!” Can’t argue with his logic—nor his flared trousers, white boots, and afro.

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Women With the Top Down update Faye Dunaway contemplates the terrain that Steve McQueen will be shredding in his Meyers Manx, an insanely fast dune-buggy hybrid of a Volkswagen, a Corvair, and any of your large feline predators. About one minute into the run, it will be obvious that Miss Dunaway’s scarf was a futile gesture.