As I type this, news is breaking that the Atlanta Falcons have fired head coach Dan Quinn. Now he'll have some time to watch some movies. May I make a few suggestions?

157. (1811.) King of the Roaring 20's: The Story of Arnold Rothstein (1961)
Arnold Rothstein was a notorious gambler who is widely believed to have played a significant role in the 1919 Black Sox scandal. This loose biopic barely touches on that, focusing instead on Rothstein's betrayal of his friends. It could only have been improved by casting someone other than emotionless David "The Futgitive" Janssen in the lead role and a much-too-old-for-the-part Mickey Rooney as his whiney best friend.

158. (1812.) The Lost World (1960)
Another misfire of a movie in which dull 1950s-style adventure (and outdated cultural attitude) meets zero-budget special effects. I actually feel bad for Jill St. John for having to be in this as one of two obligatory damsels in need of saving. (I also feel bad for her toy poodle, Frosty, who exists only for comic relief.)

159. (1813.) Loan Shark (1952)
George Raft goes undercover at great personal risk to take down the loan shark operation that killed his sister's husband. That sounds a little cliche, doesn't it? It is. But revenge flicks never have or need the most original plots. Everyone wants to see justice served.

160. (1814.) Wuthering Heights (1939)
Speaking of cliches, this is just a terribly sappy melodrama about a pair of star-crossed lovers. That sort of story never works! Seriously though, Laurence Olivier spends the entire film being a true asshat to literally everyone else on screen, *especially* the girl he supposedly adores. That's not love; that's domestic abuse. I cannot believe that anyone ever really enjoys watching this.

161. (1815.) Skyjacked (1972)
Thrillers in the 1970s always had very little plot and expected the audience to be entertained by constant threats to the life of their ensemble cast. I'd say the biggest name in this film (which, as its name suggests, is all about James Brolin's determination to hijack an airliner and escape to Soviet Russia) is arguably Walter Pidgeon, but Charlton Heston has the big role and faces the most danger (including the wife he is cheating on with a stewardess). For fans of the genre only.

Hang in there, Danny boy. There's more to come.

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Press Briefing by President William Henry Harrison, issued April 1, 1841:

MR. HARRISON: I just left Washington Infirmary, and it's really something very special. The doctors, the surgeons, the bloodletters, and I learned so much about pleurisy. And one thing that's for certain: don't let it dominate you. Don't be afraid of it. You're going to beat it. We have the best cupping equipment. We have the best opium, all developed recently, and you're going to beat it.

I went... I didn't feel so good. And two days ago, I could have left two days ago. Two days ago I felt great, like, better than I have in a long time. I said just recently, better than during the Battle of Tippecanoe. Don't let it dominate. Don't let it take over your lives. Don't let that happen.

We have the greatest country in the world. We're going back. We're going back to work. We're going to be out front. As your leader, I had to do that. I knew there's danger to it, but I had to do it. I stood out front. I led. Nobody that's a leader would not do what I did. And I know there's a risk. There's a danger, but that's okay. And now I'm better, and maybe I'm immune. I don't know.

But don't let it dominate your lives. Get out there. Be careful. We have the best snake oil salesmen in the world, and they're all happened very shortly [sic], and they're all getting approved. And the boiled mixture of crude petroleum and Virginia snakeweed is coming momentarily.

Thank you very much. And Washington Infirmary, what a group of people. Thank you very much.

END

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Dad's in the hospital again for some sort of infection. I thought at first he had decided that if COVID was good enough for the president, it was good enough for him. The good news is that he doesn't have COVID. The bad news is that I don't know what he's got.

[UPDATE 10-06: He's been diagnosed with untreated bronchiolitis that turned into sepsis. He is expected to recover. Would this have become such a dangerous issue if fear of spreading COVID to high risk patients hadn't closed his GP's office to all people with respiratory issues? *shakes fist at 2020*]

After extended visits in three consecutive years, it's getting harder to get Dad to go to the hospital. Despite feeling increasingly terrible, he's refused the option for weeks. He had to spend all last night bleeding from the nose before he'd finally consent to going. What will he have to bleed from next year?

It was almost exactly two years ago that he was checked into the same hospital for diverticulitis, a rupture in his intestines that he never had repaired. Is this a recurrence of that? (How far do you have to stick your head up your ass before bleeding from the nose could be a diverticulitis symptom?) Your guess is as good as mine. Better, probably.

I'm sure you don't really care about my father's medical problems, but this blog also serves as sort of a diary, and one day (probably in October 2022), I'll wonder when it was that Dad went in to the hospital for that mystery infection that might have been COVID.

I mean, I don't mind reminding you, but you really need to work on your long-term recall, future Walter.

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It's finally October, so let's get to some movies.

151. (1805.) Promise Her Anything (1966)
Softcore pornographer Warren Beatty does some very questionable things with a child in order to bone the kid's mom. It's a very 1960s take on 1950's idea of a sex comedy.

Planning to get a widow so drunk she'll let you in her pants? Don't forget the Coke!

152. (1806.) Illegal (1955)
Imagine what a John Grisham book might have looked like in the 1940s and you'll have something near this pretty good legal thriller. Edward G. Robinson plays a crackerjack attorney who makes a mistake that destroys his world. (The innocent who is put to death for a crime he didn't commit is a young DeForest Kelley!) The road to redemption is very rocky indeed.

153. (1807.) Dream Wife (1953)
Cary Grant unintentionally discovers that when you educate a young, subservient middle-eastern Islamic woman in the ways of America, she'll make your life miserable! As close as the 1950s was capable to getting to women's lib.

154. (1808.) Sitting Pretty (1948)
This is the movie that introduced the character of the perfect butler Mr. Belvedere to the screen. There's some dated sexual politics misadventures in this, too, but they're handled with a more empathy for women's point of view. Very enjoyable.

155. (1809.) McCabe & Mrs. Miller (1971)
Robert Altman's idea of a Western is an iconic representation of his style, but it's not an entirely satisfying cinematic experience thanks in no small part to a very weak narrative. (We're all just prostitutes doomed to live in shit and die. Fun!)

156. (1810.) The Senator Was Indiscreet (1947)
The always delightful William Powell plays a corrupt and stupid old Senator who tries to blackmail his way into the White House. With a little plot tightening, this would be the perfect digestif to the unrealistic optimism of Capra's Mr. Smith Goes to Washington. I liked it plenty even before discovering the film closed with an uncredited appearance by Ms. Nora Charles herself, Myrna Loy! Hooray! (This is their last movie together. Boo!)

More to come!

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The 19th Amendment to the Constitution granting women the right to vote was approved in 1920. How many of those women 100 years ago would have voted for someone who bragged he could "grab 'em by the pussy"?

Based on the suffragette art of H.M. Dallas. (And yes, I know she was British.)

You know who the bad guys are. Exercise your rights this year, girls.

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While watching the University of Georgia football team struggle in the first half of Saturday's season opener, it crossed my mind that maybe they were playing poorly because I had forgotten to wear my usual red gameday underwear. I immediately dismissed the thought because it is crazy.

There is nothing I, as a distant observer, might do on my sofa that could possibly affect the outcome of a football game in progress being played hundreds of miles away. There's even less my underwear could do about it. If it could, that would mean that there are intangible, undetectable threads connecting my very being to the game like the strings on a marionette. That's the stuff of superstition and religion. Like I said, crazy.

Of course, it's a seductive kind of crazy. It's easy to think that the world revolves around me, that I'm an integral piece of the cosmos, that my behavior and desires are strong enough to change the outcome of distant events. There are certainly narcissistic people — well known people, powerful people, *presidential* people — who think this. Those people are crazy.

Even if the energy that makes up the sentient being that calls itself Walter Stephens is indeed intertwined with the background radiation of the cosmos in significant ways (and that's a pretty big "if"), it's ridiculous to think that my energy is more relevant to the outcome of a football than the physical/mental energy expended by the 22 people playing it. My wants and desires will never be stronger than a motivated linebacker who has sacrificed significant portions of his life on the way to his goal of being able to charge through offensive linemen so that he can hug quarterbacks. That guy's crazier than I could ever be.

So, just because A) I'm not wearing red underwear, and B) the Bulldogs are playing poorly, those two things don't have to have a causal relationship just because I want them to. It's that sort of magical thinking that gets people in trouble. If you're one of those people, well, you know what you are.

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This month saw the release of Detective Comics #1027. That's right, it's been one thousand issues since the first appearance of Batman!

If you do the math, you'll see that DC cheated a little. It should take 83 years and four months to publish 1000 monthly issues, but Detective Comics #27 was released in March 1939, so it's really only been 978 months (81 years, 6 months). That's nearly 2 years ahead of schedule. Knowing DC, its probably just so that they have an excuse to sell us another $10 "anniversary" issue in 2022.

Oddly, time in comic books generally tends to move the other direction. I doubt Batman has aged even 10 years in the past 1000 comics. Some say they would prefer something closer to real-time aging in comic books, but who really wants to read the adventures of an octogenarian Batman? Could he still be the World's Greatest Detective if he can't remember to take his pills?

"They're called drones, grandpa!"

Obviously not.

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In order to ensure that my 45th year is happier than the year that came before it, my birthday present to myself was deleting Twitter from my phone. Now I just need to hope that 2021 is also an improvement over 2020. Maybe it will get rid of Twitter, too.

So all that and a bag of chips. By which I mean I also bought a bag of BBQ potato chips at the Little Giant grocery store down the street as a birthday treat. I'm sorry to say that it made me feel about as bad as Twitter has lately.

Note to self: don't eat a whole bag of chips in one sitting. You're not 15 anymore.

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