Star Wars: The Revenge of Rumplestiltskin?

Jodo Kast wandering the purgatorial wastelands of non-canonicity.

Recently I had the pleasure of watching Shrek Forever After with my children on TV. This modern spin on traditional fairy tales deals with an ogre, Shrek, who becomes disenchanted with his settled, domesticated life and longs for the days before he met Princess Fiona and when the villagers were afraid of him. Into this pops that traditional fairy tale rogue, Rumpelstiltskin, who offers Shrek one day of his old ogre life in return for a day in his past, preferably one he doesn't remember. This he does and soon to Shrek's horror, he discovers that 'Stiltskin' has taken the day he was born. From then on it's a race for Shrek to work his way through an alternate time line and share loves true kiss before he vanishes from time altogether. This is a world where he never saved Fiona from her tower, fell in love and had a family. It's a world where his friends don't know him and people have followed a different life path from the one from which we are familiar. It's a clever way of mixing things up and allowing the writers to try new things with established characters. Sufi e to say, for Shrek, things do go back to normal.

When I was five years old my world was shaken by another modern fairy tale . My parents took me to see  the latest blockbuster movie, Star Wars, and i was never the same again. In the wash up of this amazing piece of The Empire Strikes Back was released, I had immersed myself in the world of Star Wars comics. And so I was inducted into the world of the Extended Star Wars Universe,the place were the story continued after the end credits had finished. Soon there were holiday specials, novels, storybook records and radio plays. Eventually there were even spin off TV movies and cartoon series, but by the mid 1980's all had seemingly gone quiet as we waited for the promised prequels and sequels that we soon thought would never arrive. In 1991 the novel Heir the the Empire by Timothy Zahn appeared along with the comic series the Dark Empire and the Star Wars Universe seemed to be grinding to life. As with many Star Wars fans I soon threw myself into this 'Extended Universe' and lapped up the continuing adventures of Han, Chewy, Luke, Leia, Uncle Tom Cobley and all. This was a universe that was expanding in all directions and I loved it. Even when new prequels finally emerged, this extended universe was gobbled up into a carefully mapped continuity. Last I heard, even the old comic series from my childhood was being carefully worked in and discrepancies retconned or worked around. One mighty Star Wars Universe was rising triumphant, a world of it's own with history, mythology and a mighty story to tell. Though one thing was still to come to pass, the three promised sequels, that was until late last year when the announcement that all true Star Wars fans had been waiting for was trumpeted forth from the highest minaret of the Jedi Temple. Finally the promise of 1977 was coming to pass but what story would it tell and where would it fit in the overarching history of the Star Wars Universe? The was that it wouldn't.

To cut along story short, the writers of the new trilogy wanted a fresh canvas  to work with, unimpeded by the shackles of an established continuity. To this my head says fair enough, but my heart says 'Nooooooo, it's not true!', as I see loved story lines and characters disappear into non-canon obscurity. Fictional characters now become officially non-canonical, which sounds like a kind of purgatory for imaginary people. Poor bounty hunter Jodo Kast; imagine being not only fictional and dead but dead in an obsolete story line. Sounds worse than being digested over a thousand years in the stomach of the mighty Sarlach. On the bright side it, looks as if Chewie is no longer dead though sadly, Boba Fett may still be. All bets are off.

I'm not saying that I'm not excited by the release of the new trilogy, I am. It's just that I need to try and ignore all that I thought I knew and accepted about the Star Wars Universe. As the action begins to unfold and the new continuity becomes apparent, I wonder how hard it will be to see this as the new normal.  How hard will it be not to wonder 'which character did a deal with Rumpelstiltskin and changed the present?" Already my bets are on Han. At least he gets Chewie back. That one element alone should be enough to win me over, even at the cost of Jodo Kast. At least the saga continues. May the force of new continuity be with you, always.

PS
Having now seen the film, I'm pretty sure it was Han that made the deal with 'ol' Stiltskin', probably played by Warwick Davis. And yes, he lost the day he was born, and no, his son isn't any less of a darkside brat in this alternate reality. Enjoy the saga.

Doc Holliday and the Three Wise Men

I always thought a great name for a festive season rock band would be Doc Holliday and the Three Wise Men. either that or it would make a great name for the ultimate Western/Sword and Sandal mash up movie that I suspect only the Italians could truly make. The final show down with the Clantons, King Herod's special hit squad, in the Nativity Coral would be an amazing spectacle of slings and arrows would conjure up all the grandeur of Quo Vadis with the surreal staring and eye  twitching of The Good the Bad and the Ugly. And as Lee Van Cleef's consumptive Doc Holliday coughs off into the sunset on his camel, the Magi are free to present their gifts in the the now peaceful town of Bethlehem to the new born king. The last thing we see, as the 'FINE' appears before the closing credits, is Livio Lorenzon's King Herod in the capital, cursing the heavens at the news of the Clanton Squads demise. As awesome as it would be, I feel that this movie may never see the light of day. Human myth making is an amazing phenomena but  this scenario may 'jump the shark' just a little too far to ever become a reality.

Never the less, both the Three Wise Men and Doc Holliday have seen their own share of legend and mythology laid over the known or assumed facts of their lives. Often this is the problem, human beings need to know things about their heroes and when the facts are sketchy or unremarkable we make things up. The beauty of this is that our heroes of the past become the icons we need  for the here and now and not merely long dead mere mortals of bygone eras.

My first introduction to Doc Holliday was in the movie 'My Darling Clementine (1946)' starring Victor Mature as Doc Holliday and Henry Fonda as Wyatt Earp. Here Doc Holliday was a surgeon come gunfighter who valiantly fights his consumptive way through the film along side his buddy, Marshall Wyatt Earp. We meet his attractive love from Boston, the genteel Clementine Carter, played by the lovely Cathy Downs. We watch the long and tense gunfight at the OK Corral get slugged out dramatically over a minute of the film. We see the sickly Doc Holliday fall, slain by a Clanton bullet, before the grip of tuberculosis could take him, The last we see of him alive is the good Doctor falling to the ground, his white handkerchief caught against the gate he was sheltering behind, blowing in the wind, a powerful symbol of his surrender to death.

I was later surprised to find out that Doc Holliday wasn't a surgeon but a dentist,  His beautiful girl friend was actually known as 'Big Nose Kate' and the gunfight was only 30 seconds long and took place in a vacant block near by the OK Corral and not with in it. So much for the dramatic ballet of gun play that Hollywood would lead us to believe. As for Doc's blazing demise during the gunfight, it actually took place 6 years later. The movie may not be historically accurate but it paints a more exciting picture of one of the most famous showdowns in the old west.

When it comes to the Three Wise Men, the stories told well and truly out shine the known facts.The only reference in the Bible to these figures is in vs 1-11 in the 2nd chapter of the Gospel of Matthew. from this we learn that they were 'Magi' from the east that had followed a star to visit a new born King. Magi were originally Persian Zoroastrian priests who had a particular interest in the stars with the name coming to refer to astrologers in general. With them they brought three gifts to present to the royal child once they had found him, gold, frankincense and myrrh, After arriving in the capital Jerusalem they seek audience with King Herod and his advisers,  Learning that the Hebrew scriptures mention the birth of the awaited messiah in Bethlehem, the Magi follow the star again until it stops over the place where Jesus and his family were residing. An angel then warns them in a dream not to report back to King Herod and they return home via a different route. The Bible gives us no names, no country of origin, what they were riding or even the number of wise men. In fact most of what we know about them seem to have been added to the stories later in the retelling.

As with most revered figures, the lack of information was soon compensated for, with traditions maybe historical but most likely legendary, coming into the stories of the faithful to spice up the story with details. One of the problems with the wise men was that they were presented at best as educated astrologers and at worst magicians or sorcerers. To the early Christians this may have been a difficult thing to stomach so the sanitising of the Magi had to begin. St Ignatius of Antioch in his letter to the Ephesians, written in the early 2nd century suggests that at the arrival of the Star of Bethlehem all magic in the world ceased.  It can be assumed that many saw this as the catalyst for the interest of the Magi and that they were now seeking the new source of power in the presence of the Christ child. So now longer were the Magi occult users following their forbidden astrological arts to seek out the new born King but dis empowered figures seeking the new truth. This was a more palatable image for the faithful but the transformation was far from complete.

In the early 3rd century, the christian writer Tertullian  stated that the Magi were actually kings, So astrology aside, these men were actually world leaders who were acknowledging Jesus of Nazareth as the true ruling power. Caesar and Herod may have missed the boat but others had not, at the very beginning Christ was acknowledged by the nations as their King of Kings. Christians could stand firm in their faith that he was the true power in the empire. By the number of gifts the number of the kings was deduced to be three although some traditions suggest as many as twelve. By the time the Armenian Infancy Gospel was written around 600 AD, the names of  Gasper, Melchior and Balthazar had been given to the Three Kings and the transformation was complete. The vague shadowy figures of the Magi had become the very regal Three Kings that we know from carols, annual nativity scenes, and cards riding into history on their camels. They would grace the palace of Herod and the lowly cattle shed in Bethlehem to take their place amongst the saints and martyrs of the church.
Christians could look to these Royal figures and see, that just like themselves, even the Kings of the Orient recognised the true King when their own kings possibly did not.  Christ was Lord of beggar and monarch alike, the true King of Kings. I suspect many Christians today see them as wise men of the ancient world who accepted Christ as Lord when many so called wise men of our age argue the against the very existence of God. For the modern church it is their wisdom and insight into divine truth that is their great, enduring virtue,

Whether it be Doc Holliday or the Three Wise Men, we all have a tendency to look back at our important figures of history with the glasses of the present. Mere mortals of the past can become powerful symbols of the present when we project our current concerns and values onto their cultural memory. Morally complex and violent adventurers can become symbols of law and order in a simpler but wilder time, an important thing for a society recovering from war and seeking stability in the face great loss. Controversial masters of the mystic arts can become the champions of traditional faith and wisdom in an increasingly secular society. This approach may display a cavalier attitude towards the factual details of history but it enables our history to resonate with the present in deep and meaningful ways. We look back to answer questions of the present, to be inspired and strengthened by the past, and to look to a brighter future.Who knows you or I might one day become legendary figures, the mundane and the ordinary facts of our lives transformed into a grand epic of operatic proportion to serve the needs of a future age. And if this happens hopefully they'll make me better looking with killer abs. only the future will tell.

As for my movie idea, I don't think it will ever go ahead despite the continuing popularity of the Three Kings and Doc Holliday. This won't stop me from dreaming and hoping though, as I see the four characters becoming drawn together. An example of this is the fact that the current Doctor Who, Peter Capaldi got to play Balthazar in the recent film The Nativity Story (2006) and Doctor Who was mistaken for Doc Holliday in the 1966 story The Gunfighters, not to mention that he even has his own annual Christmas 'holiday' special. This is far from being a coincidence, so for me the circle of geek is now complete.

God In A Box, God Out Of The Box

Millennia ago, or so the Holy Bible say, humanity made a few decisions that has possibly lead to our current global warming issues, or at least the beginning of the fashion industry. Having lived in blissful climate controlled nudity, we chose knowledge and death over life and blissful ignorance. Like so many kids, once overly keen to leave home and learn the ways of the world, we soon wished that we were back with mum and dad and free from the constant demands of adult life. Besides, back in the Garden of Eden every day was 'Nude Up Friday.' Ever since we were shown the door from innocence, the creator has tried to reach us and invite our species back into the family fold. When looking at the Bible it seems that, like Saint Nick, God has frequently reached out to us with gifts in boxes. 

Box Number 1
The word 'ark' means box and we first come across God's gift giving in the Ark of Noah. Seeing the damage caused by humanity's willing choice of evil over good, alongside damage caused by fallen heavenly powers, the creator chooses to flood the land, and with a remnant of life, start again. 

It's here that box number 1 appears in the story. The vessel to save creation will be a box built by the only good man God can find, Noah. Through the shelter of this giant box, select specimens of life survive a world cleansing flood, only to repopulate a new one that seems replete with the troubles of old. Like school and students, the world seems great until life, human in particularly, comes to mess it up all over again.

Box Number 2
The arrival of box number 2 occurs when God seeks to set his chosen people, the Israelites, free from slavery in Egypt. This tiny box is used to hide the infant Moses in the river Nile at a time when Israelite babies were being slaughtered by the ruling Pharaoh's soldiers. Instead of a remnant of creation, this floating box contained the child that would one day lead a group of liberated slaves and guide them in the ways of a nation that God would choose to help redeem creation . Ironically, or more to the point, providentially, the baby is saved by the daughter of the very Pharaoh who seeks him dead and is soon an adopted member of the royal family. Unlike the first box, this box offers hope to more than just a few survivors, this box offers hope to the whole world. It brings into a position of influence a leader who will guide a people in the ways of an unseen God. In the years to come, many from other nations will admire and join the faith of the redeemed Hebrew slaves. Through the cosmic confusion of the ancient world's many deities, they will see in Israel the worship of a true God who demands justice and mercy from his people. Through the babe found floating in a box he would give the divine laws that would become the foundations of the modern world.

Box Number 3

The third box in the Bible story brings a about a new chapter in God's relationship with his creation. Alongside the laws, God commands Moses to build yet another ark. This time, instead of housing animals or prophets, it will reveal to his people God's very presence. It will be his foot stool on the earth. This box, the Ark of the Covenant, would travel with the Israelites through the desert, eventually finding a place in the Holy of Holies of the Jerusalem Temple. This beautiful gold covered chest would  play a vital role in the yearly Day of Atonement ceremony, the event that ritually cleansed the creation with the symbolic/actual sacrifice of God himself and the casting out of the evil that has contaminated the cosmos. Although this ark disappeared many millennia ago, it still fascinates the modern world, inspiring adventurers and movie makers a like to speculate on it's current where abouts. In the end, only God may truly know the answer, it's sacred presence no longer required in a world with out an earthly temple of bricks and mortar.

Box Number 4
The fourth and greatest box of all in the Bible far outstrips any that have come before it. Like the first, animals approached and fed with in it. Like the second, it held the life of a baby who would bring God's way to a people seeking direction in the ways of justice and mercy. Like the third, it held the very presence of God in the midst of his people. Most likely carved from stone than constructed with wood, this box isn't referred to as an ark but a manger, a feed trough for animals. It was into this that the greatest gift God ever gave, the baby Jesus, his word in human form, was placed after his birth in a Bethlehem stable. He would grow up to show us the way that God calls us to live, loving God and loving one another, He would grow up to give himself, God's presence amongst us, as a sacrifice for the whole of creation. He would grow up to cleanse the creation, not with a world destroying flood of water, but with the shedding of his own divine blood. Rising from the dead with in another container of stone, the now empty tomb, He stands triumphant, present in heaven and in those who follow him.  He is the greatest gift God has ever given us, the gift of a renewed relationship with our creator and hope for a day when death and evil have finally passed away. That's one gift that we all should cherish. St Nick, eat your heart out!

Stranger In A Very Strange Land

In his novel 'The Go-Between', J. P. Hartley begins by saying, "The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there. I'd like to pretend that I'd read the book but the truth is I heard the quote while watching Doctor Who recently. Never the less, the truth of this statement continues to resonate with me. As I've gotten older I've become increasingly aware that the past changes from being the place where you live to another world with its own culture, fashions and mythology. 

This became clear to me several years ago when my daughter asked me 'What's Twisted Sister?' Answering her question I went to my vinyl collection and pulled out my copy of their LP 'Come Out and Play''. As I showed her the special pop-up cover featuring a snarling Dee Snyder leaping out of a man-hole, she suddenly exclaimed, 'What is that?' it was then that I became aware that she had no idea what a record was. 'It's like a big CD', I said. 'It’s what we used in the olden days before we had compact discs.

The older I get, the more I feel like a refugee from that foreign country. So many things I thought would always be with us, newspapers, landlines, cinema cartoons and telegrams, have all begun to disappear or have already gone. Just as scrolls once gave way to books, much of the things of my past will one day be obsolete, As I come to terms with the fact the adventures of Mandrake the Magician will never grace the pages of the Australian Women's Weekly ever again, I know I have two choices, to stay stuck in a disappearing past and go the way of dinos, dodos and Betamax, or to embrace the new treasures of the present and look to the future with optimism, believing that I have a place in that new country as I did in the old. This doesn't mean I can't bring the good things from the past with me into my new home, but it does mean that they need to find a place amongst the culture of the new. Where as I used to watch Tarzan on my VHS, I now watch it on DVD, or even my iPod. Instead of writing a letter on pen and paper, I know use email or messenger. I even read comics on the Internet. These things are just the tip of the iceberg of change, as I look forward to even greater achievements while taking up my citizen ship in the country of the future, This foreign land is a place where I hope they finally deliver on flying cars, hover boards and the mandatory silver jumpsuit, a silver suit for the golden years.

PS: I now listen to Twisted Sister on my iPod, bringing the world of yesterday into the world of tomorrow. Rock On!

Sigfried, Dragons and an Elven Princess

Earlier in the year I wrote about some of the fun I've been having investigating the dim dark roots of my family tree. The beauty of having some distant viking blood is that you can easily find yourself walking in the border lands between straight history and that forged in the Nordic/Germanic imagination of times gone by. What originally started as an attempt to impress my wife by arguing my descent from Ragnar Lothbrok,  of HBO's 'Vikings' fame, set me on a path of discovery that led me through the tangled threads of Wikipedea's web of knowledge. It was here that I came across the ancient stories of the Burgundian Kingdom, Atila the Hun, the stories of the Volsung family and other Germanic and Norse heroes of the dark ages.

When you have distant branches of the family laying claim to various historic and mythological notaries, you soon find yourself paddling in the same gene pool that Tolkien was hanging around when casting for his Middle Earth sagas. To cut a long story short, one of my great grandmothers was a Mcleod, a clan which some histories say were descended from the legendary viking invader, Ivar the Boneless. Once you hit pay dirt like this, you're  off and running because if there is one thing that the Vikings were good at, it was not letting reality get in the way of a good saga.

As I followed the various threads that the Internet offered, I came across familiar names like Gandalf and Frodo. I also learnt that I supposedly had elven blood flowing through my veins. It appears that one of my ancestors King Sigurd Hring, father of Ragnar, married one Alfhild, daughter of Gandalf, the King of Alfheim or Fairyland. Another ancestor, King Volsung of Hunaland, married Hijod, supposedly a giantess, who became the mother of Sigmund, and grandmother of the legendary Sigurd or Sigfried the dragon slayer. I suspect that at times when the mother of a child was unknown, either forgotten or coming from the wrong side of the sheets, it became a good opportunity to add a little magic into the family line. Regardless of the doubtfulnes of such supernatural forbeares, my children have begun to defer to this ancestory in order to explain the wide range of heights with in our family.

Something that caught my attention when playing around with these mythic legends/ sober family history, was the story of the dragon slayers that appeared in my research. Ragnar Lothbrok, Sigmund and most famously, Sigfried, all took on dragons in combat and won, claiming the great horde of treasures that the wyrms jealously guarded. From the (boring) perspective of sober historian, I always wondered how dragons had crept their way into the stories of the ancient heroes and questioned whether there was a greater meaning than just adding narrative colour to ancient biographies. The answer I wanted was discovered in the story of the dragon Fafnir.

Fafnir, also known as Frænir, was the foster uncle of Sigfried and began life as a dwarf, or giant according to Wagner. After killing his father to steal his treasure, he acquired a magical ring called Andvaranaut, forged by the sorcerer dwarf Andvari, also known as Albrecht, or Oberon, Shakespeare's king of the fairies. The magic ring, besides generating wealth and treasure, also carried a curse that bought tragedy with it. Fafnir became increasingly obsessed by the treasure he had acquired and over time was consumed by greed, transforming him into a dragon through the influence of the ring. Some versions of the story also include a magic helmet, the Tarnhelm, that aided in the reptillian tranformation. By the time the confrontation with his foster nephew took place, Fafnir was a greedy wyrm. zealously guarding his treasure horde, the ancient prototype to Tolkien's Smaug. 

To the people who told and retold the history of the ancient Burgundians, recasting it into heroic tales of gods and monsters, the dragon was the symbol of greed. A man may become a dragon if he is overwhelmed by the endless desire  to acquire more. Such greed is no respecter of family tie or friendship. It seeks to put the lust for wealth before the welfare of self and others, creating a monster that is all too recognisable, even in this modern age that has seen the rise of corporate power that rivals that of governments. I can;t help but wonder what elements of our culture will be recast as dragons when it comes time for our days to be retold as myth and legend, I can only hope that I will be associated with the hero's and not the monsters of our times.

A Son of Ragnar or Singing with the Fat Lady

'A Son of Ragnar' or 'Singing with the Fat Lady'

Me unveiling my inner Ragnar

Like many around the world, my wife and I have recently begun watching the History Channel's ‘Vikings’. Based on the medieval viking sagas, the series deals with the life and times of the semi- legendary viking king, Ragnar Lothbrok. Drawn into this retelling are a variety of characters based on other viking notaries, such as Rollo, the ancestor of William the Conqueror and Floki, the first person to intentionally sail to Iceland. As a hardcore Tarzan fan, I initially became aware of the show due to its star, Australian actor, Travis Fimmel, who had played Tarzan in the 2003 TV series of the same name. But it was not until recently that I became a regular viewer of the series and thus familiar with the name, Ragnar Lothbrok. As is my usual tendency, I began to research the historicity of the characters as well as the accompanying mythology. I am a firm believer that if you truly want to understand what a group of people are about, you need to look at their myths and legends. It may play free and easy with the historical facts but it speaks volumes about the people themselves, their dreams and aspirations.

One day I was joking with my wife about the possibility of being related to Ragnar Lothbrok. I knew from my hint of Scottish heritage that I may have had a smidgen of viking blood flowing in my veins, as do  many  people of British descent. Being the geek I am, I decided to investigate. Now ancestry research is not something unfamiliar to my family. My father has been involved in family research for over twenty years, and with surgical accuracy, he has managed to discover much of our family history. With the help of my Mother, he continues to make new connections and discoveries. In contrast to this, if I was to uncover a link to our latest, favourite, TV character, I would need to take the sledge hammer approach to family research, the kind that avoids the finer details and goes for the ‘vibe of the thing’. The question was how could I roll back the years to the mid 9^th century, look a quasi-mythical Viking king in the eye and ask ‘are you my great (x roughly 58) grandfather?’ Barring a time machine, and a crash course in Old Norse, the chances were buckleys and none, until I hit on a brain wave. If I could pin point a notable ancestor far enough back, I may be able to track back closer to the blond bearded one himself. Upon reflection, I knew I already had a likely candidate, a gentleman called Olaf the Black, a thirteenth century  king of the Isle of Man and viking to boot. You see, legend states that Olaf the Black was the father of a certain Leod, who was the founder of the McLeod Clan. As it happens, my great grand mother’s maiden name was McLeod. Bingo, finally I had a lead. All I had to do now was wade into the McLeod family records and see what awaited me.

The internet is an amazing thing. With in minutes I had come across an official McLeod Clan genealogy, well one of several any way, which demonstrated Olaf the Black’s descent from one ‘Ivar the Boneless’. Ivar was one of the leaders of the ‘Great Heathen Army’ that invaded Britain in 865 AD, and most importantly, a son of Ragnar Lothbrok. ‘Eureka!’ my quest was now complete. Barring adoption, infidelity, fake names and the usual fudging of genealogies to fill in blanks, curry favour or legitimise status of notable personages and clans, I was a (very, very) distant son of the famous Ragnar, of whom songs were sung, sagas were written and Hollywood films starring Ernest Borgnine were made. I could now look my wife in the eye and say ‘ I am your husband Quentin, descendant of King Ragnar Lothbrok, scourge of Paris, the British Isles, slayer of dragons (evidently), descendant of Odin (or so he reckoned) and your latest favourite TV character. Long may his series be renewed!’

As sensational as this discovery was, there was still more for me to uncover that would make me more excited than the Pointer Sisters. Further research revealed that the mother of Ivar the Boneless was a woman by the name of Princess Aslaug, also on our favourite show, who was the daughter of the uber-legendary Siegfried the dragon slayer and Brünnhilda, the valkyrie and legendary shield maiden. These people did not just have statues, sagas and movies produced about them, they had a whole series of operas written about them, Wagner’s Classic Ring Cycle. When people say ‘it ain’t over till the fat lady sings’ it’s Brünnhilda, traditionally a buxom soprano in a winged helmet singing the final aria in the opera, they are referring too. If the ancient records are to be believed, my great (x roughly 59) grandmother was the original fat lady. This must be where I get my singing ability from and why I own my own plastic helmet with wings, amazing. Even more miraculous is that as a valkyrie, she carried warriors who had died in battle to Valhalla and I, as a Christian minister, perform funeral services, giving those who have passed on a good send off into the hands of a loving saviour. ‘Snap!’, practically the same job. She’s even a Marvel Superhero and by golly, I love my Marvel Superheroes. And then there is her husband Siegfried, a dragon slayer. Sadly there’s not much call for that around here but I have killed a few mice and spiders in my time and I can be lethal. One does not need to look too far to see the family resemblance. 

There is much to be said for this sledge hammer approach to family tree research. Besides being a lot of fun, it is a great way of learning about the life and times of those who have gone before us in the distant ages and the stories they wanted to tell about there families when facts were not something that needed to get in the way. Because of this, we learn more about how they saw themselves in the cosmos and what they wanted to pass on. We get to know ‘the vibe of the thing’ and not just names, dates and facts. For those of us with a taste for the mythic and fantastic, it rips open the curtain of reality and reveals the places where mythology and history collide. Who knows, maybe one day they will tell similar stories about us, and if they do, I hope I will be the dragon slayer and not the fat lady. I might sing but I don’t look good in a dress. 

Fast Food Apocalypse

As we drove through Adelaide in the early morning dark, we decided that we would stop at a popular fast food chain for breakfast. 'Open 24 hours' the sign said, a promising statement that proved to be misleading. Pulling into the drive through, instead of being spoken to by the usually robotic pre-recorded North American voice, we were met by a disturbing silence that didn't bode well for our 4 am breakfast. Eventually a voice came over the speaker that sounded shocked at the prospect of customers. We were quickly told that we were too early for the breakfast menu and that they were unable to do burgers as well. I quickly checked that the sign did indeed say 'open 24 hours', which turned out to mean 'open but not necessarily serving any of the restaurants signature dishes'. When asked if we could get some coffees, we were told that they would have to be done with the machine, due to the fact that the cafe wasn't open. I got the sense that this too was an out of the ordinary request. I wondered how the cafe normally did the coffee if not with a machine, possibly with beans ground by hand and a cow freshly milked in the back of the kitchen. This process of making coffee also required us to go to the waiting bay as obviously it would take some time now that the machine had to be used. Compounding the issue was the fact that the EFTPOS machine wasn't working and our ten dollar note evidently was too large. Call us cynical, but we now had a suspicion that customers were not expected. Eventually we were asked to pull into the waiting bay, just in case any more customers decided to spring themselves on the now paranoid 'fast-foodateer'.

Soon we had our 'machine made' coffees and were on our way to Melbourne.   As we drove on, we began to reflect on our strange experience and the speculations ran wild, most of it landing firmly in the ridiculous category. Maybe the 24 hour store ran on a 25 hour timetable and we'd arrived in the 25th hour. Maybe the real employee had gone off to visit a lady friend and we were talking to his wing man. Maybe he'd been sleeping in the job and we'd woken him up!  Maybe the Fast food Apocalypse had come. Maybe it really was the final hour for all things greasy and cholesterol laden to come to an end. Maybe, maybe…

As we motored on into the wee hours of the morning, the decision was made to stop at Tailem Bend for breakfast. The Coolabah Tree Cafe at the local Shell Roadhouse was always a great place to stop for breakfast and it was to there that we set our sights. However when we finally arrived in the town, to our tummy rumbling horror, we found that the roadhouse was shut and that no breakfast was to be had there today, at least not until the sun came up. We were obviously outside of the 'open 24 hour zone', if we had ever truly been in one. It was at this point that we decided, if food was to be had, it would most likely be at the border between South Australia and Victoria. Maybe the Fast food Apocalypse had failed to reach Bordertown yet and we would be free to eat eggs, toast, beans and what ever else a breakfast menu provided, as long as it didn't require accepting the 'Mark of the Beast' to do so. Thankfully, Bordertown was Apocalypse free and breakfast and more coffee was had to feed our bodies and lift our spirits. This apocalyptic out break must have been a pre-border event, where those who remain faithfully on the road to the end would eventually receive their just fast food app rewards, or at least a free refill of their favourite soft drink from the holy soft drink dispenser. 

Wiping the coffee from our now satisfied mouths, we pushed on, hour after hour, through the seemingly never ending road works of the Princes Highway. We drove at 25kph to accommodate ghost road workers that were nowhere to be seen, sat behind sluggish trucks packed to the brim with wares of all kinds. We espied the great Castle Kryal flying her flags high on the hill and saw the signs pointing to the great Marsh of Bacchus. Soon we felt our stomachs rumble again and set out to test whether the Fast food Apocalypse had crossed the border.

Before long we came across another fast food outlet with a drive-through and we began to joke about the possibilities of obtaining food from this particular establishment. Ideas such as a chicken plague or burger shortage were thrown around, as well as references to Monty Python's cheese shop sketch, which feature a cheese shop that doesn't stock any cheese. What were the chances that this drive-through would prove to be as barren as the last one. It was after we had sat in front of the speaker for several minutes that our worst fears were realised. Staring at the menu board it soon became apparent that no one was taking our order. Slowly driving around the corner, we eventually arrived at the drive-through window to see a rather embarrassed looking girl emerging from the darkness of the kitchen area. Leaning out the window she said, 'I'm sorry, we can't do food currently, the powers gone off''. The Fast food Apocalypse had caught us. It wasn't 'pre' or 'post' border, it was 'pan' border in nature, It had engulfed South Australia and Victoria and we only hoped it wouldn't take the rest of the world, after all it was sometimes food and I enjoyed having it some times. As we drove off towards Melbourne, we couldn't stop laughing. How unlucky could we be, let down twice by the food chains that are usually the travelers friend; burger joints that didn't sell burgers. From that point on we decided to avoid the Fast food Apocalypse, the rest of our trip would be dine in.

And all our arteries said, 'Amen!'.

Q Castle in the 21st Century

In 1999 Quentin Castle left his home town of Adelaide to follow his calling as an officer of the Salvation Army. When he returned to Adelaide  a decade later, he awoke to discover that it was the 21st Century.  He now wanders the streets of the future, a  man out of time facing the challenges of the world of tomorrow. These are his adventures........

This was how I felt recently when I made one of my few trips to the city center since returning to Adelaide several years ago. There was a time when I would be in town at least six days a week. Everyday I would pass through town and spend my time browsing in shops between connecting buses. Whether it was during my university days or my teaching career, the streets of Adelaide were my playground, the comic shops and record stores my regular haunts. I had even gotten to know Toys'r'us so well, that when people mistook me in my 'teachery' clothes for a shop assistant, I could direct them to the right isle. 'Pink Power Rangers are in number 3' or ' Biker Mice from Mars toys in 8', I would reply, the town was mine and I knew it backwards. I even had a regular beat that I would walk from King William St to Pultney St, scouring every model shop and book exchange for all manner of sci-fi and pop culture esoterica. I knew the names and faces of shop owners and they new me as a regular. I even had my favourite food outlets that I would frequent. I was the mighty hunter and the arcades of Adelaide were my jungle.

Christmas was always especially wonderful in Adelaide. The giant Santa, aloft the John Martin's building, looked over Rundle Mall like a mighty colossus. It was the pinnacle of the wonders on display in the store fronts of department stores, wonders that  made the city a place to soak in the magic of the season. This was the Adelaide of my youth.

Recently, after being away for so many years, I returned to my beloved home town. No longer do I need to travel through town to catch buses, so visits to the city are far and few between. I had heard recently that the giant Santa was nowhere to be seen at Christmas. I was told that there was a rather under whelming seasonal display presented in the city but I still held out hope for the beloved town of my memories. This hope began to dwindle as I existed a city park house and walked out into Rundle mall for the first time in years. As a child I loved the story of Buck Rogers, an adventurer who  finds that he has slept for 500 years, waking up in the 25th century. Sadly on this trip, this was exactly how I felt. As I exited the lifts of the park house I was struck by the simultaneous familiarity and strangeness of the environment.  There was architecture and fixings that told me I was home but beloved shops and entrances were now gone, replaced by different business's with there own additions to the premises. I stood in an arcade and stared at a doorway that used to be a glass wall, my favourite comic shop was gone. There was also once a  record shop nearby, but the one I came across  wasn't it. Time had moved on, things had changed, the colourful characters that once inhabited them, gone. I had woken up in a future world that had moved on while I had slept.

After I had attended to my business, I went for a walk to find an ATM attached to my regular bank. I was soon frustrated that  I couldn't find one, I used to know where they all were but it had been such a  long time between shopping trips. I decided to ask at an information booth that I knew was at the other end of the mall, only to find that it no longer existed, probably ten years gone. As I continued to seek help, I headed for the one place I knew I would see something familiar, a comic shop. It wasn't the comic shop of my youth but I knew that it would be full of things I found comforting, and I was right. With in moments I was in Pulp Fiction Comics, drooling over the merchandise and listening to some cool music. As I perused the titles on the  shelves, I reflected on my visit and decided that although much had changed, Adelaide was still a great town. The big Santa may have gone but the Malls Balls were still there. My favourite joke shop may have closed but the moon still hung in its orbit. My regular comic shop may be long gone but there were new ones..... and the apes hadn't taken over in my absence.

After obtaining some local knowledge in the comic shop, I headed back down  Rundle Mall to the appropriate ATM, which I suddenly remembered, was where it had always been. Some things change, somethings we forget, but this isn't a bad thing. If things never change, if we never change, we stagnate and die. Adelaide's not dead, it's a wonderful town with a wonderful future full of new wonders and magic.

BTW, if you find yourself in Pulp Fiction Comics, ask for a copy of Anthony Castle and Chadwick Ashby's graphic novel DEAD ENDS: Fables of Loss and Morality. It's a great read by two great Adelaide talents (i'm not bias at all).