I often end up babbling on and on about H.P. Lovecraft's Cthulhu Mythos to people whom haven't actually read a Cthulhu Mythos story and may indeed think H.P. Lovecraft is a sex shop that also sells printers.
Given that Lovecraft's cosmic horrors have infected pretty much every area of pop culture since his death in 1937, herewith a short glossary to help you navigate those rare occasions when you suddenly need to pretend that you know the difference between a Shoggoth and Fungi from Yuggoth.
H.P. (Howard Philips) Lovecraft 1890-1937: New England born-and-bred writer of science fictional horror and fantasy, he wouldn't become really famous until decades after his death from stomach cancer. A mentor to such writers as Robert E. Howard (creator of Conan) and Robert Bloch (creator of Psycho). Quite racist and classist -- many of his horror stories showcase a profound fear of miscegenation and/or the 'lower' classes. Cthulhu Mythos term actually coined by Lovecraft's posthumous Boswell August Derleth, who founded one of the greatest genre specialty publishing houses, Arkham House, in part to keep Lovecraft's fiction and poetry in print. Central conceit of Cthulhu Mythos is that all religion is wrong, and that Earth was once the home to various cosmic beings who want to get back in but are blocked from doing so for the present. Humanity itself appears to have been some sort of lab accident.
Those crazy names: The names of alien beings in Lovecraft are ostensibly, for the most part, approximations and not 'authentic,' primarily because creatures such as Cthulhu have much different vocal and auditory apparati than human beings.
Great Old Ones: Blanket term for ancient alien beings who want our planet back, including Cthulhu.
Yuggoth: Pluto.
Elder Gods: Blanket term for never-seen alien race that opposed the Great Old Ones long ago and managed to expel them from our space-time and bar them from returning. Apparently exist in or around the star Betelgeuse.
Cthulhu: Ancient and extremely powerful alien being who's either from another dimension or just from somewhere else in space. Changes in space and time, either accidental or engineered by the ELDER GODS, have barred Cthulhu from Earth, where he used to hang out and get up to all sorts of mischief. He will, however, eventually break back into our planet and lay waste to everything we know. Looks like a cross between a mosquito, a squid and a biped; seems to be about as big as a fair-sized office building. Sort of lives on an island submerged in the South Pacific which periodically rises when conditions become right for Cthulhu's re-emergence. Last recorded re-emergence thwarted when a sea captain rammed Cthulhu with a yacht in the 1920's, keeping Cthulhu in the vicinity of the island (Ry'l'yeh) just long enough for conditions to change to force Cthulhu to return to the island before it submerged again.
Dagon: Cthulhu's lieutenant in the Atlantic Ocean; named for Sumer-Babylonian sea-god.
Yog-Sothoth: Cthulhu-level being that seems to act as the gatekeeper (or gatecrasher) between our world and Theirs. Seems to be stuck in 'our' space somewhere around the demon-haunted New England town of Dunwich. Can get human women pregnant. Apparently looks like some sort of tentacle-waving, many-faced blobby thing.
Azathoth: Insane or possibly mindless central being for Cthulhu-type beings, may actually be the center of all existence. Enjoys flute music and weird, shrill piping.
Nyarlathotep: Messenger and harbinger of the Cthulhu-type beings, can occasionally appear as human, but normally looks like some sort of multi-headed flying creature with a "three-lobed burning eye." Can operate in our world under certain conditions, but is extremely sensitive to even small levels of light.
Shub-niggurath: Also known as the "Goat with a Thousand Young", is roughly an Earth Elemental to Cthulhu's Water Elemental. Extremely blobby looking and, under the right conditions, capable of spawning miniature versions of self. Seemingly confined somewhere in England.
Old Ones: Powerful alien beings at war with Cthulhu and company. Once lived on Earth tens of millions of years ago, building a great city at what is now the South Pole, among other places. Final fate of entire species unknown. Ill-fated Miskatonic University expedition to the Antarctic Mountains of Madness in the 1930's unearthed several Old Ones which returned to life once they were thawed and, in a panic, killed most of the expedition before travelling to their seemingly empty city. Resemble seven-foot-tall winged sea-anemones with starfish heads; some sort of animal/vegetable hybrid.
The Mi-Go: Winged, mothmen-like aliens who are enemies of the Old Ones and servants of Cthulhu. May be carrying on mining operations in the Vermont hills for some unknown substance to this day. Can 'fly' through space and enjoy keeping human brains alive and communicative in large metal holding tanks. Are more closely related to fungus than animals. Hail from beyond our solar system, though they do have a base on Pluto (a.k.a. Yuggoth). Can be killed by floods, rifle fire and dogs. Source of stories of the Yeti/Abominable Snowman, as the Mi-Go prefer to stay on or near mountaintops when on Earth.
Shoggoths: Shape-changing, acid-spewing, multiple-mouthed former servants of the Old Ones and current servants of the Great Old Ones. Can live on land or in water. While there's a major hive of them in the city of the Old Ones in Antarctica, they also live throughout the world's oceans and have been seen in New England. Can be as large as the passenger car of a train.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Football, football, football
As I'm stuck wearing my University of Michigan ballcap in public until U of M loses (ah, superstition), I can't help the Steelers get back to winning until Michigan loses. So it goes in the world of sports voodoo.
But this is interesting -- last year's NFL division champions are a combined 10-14 after three weeks of the 2009 season. Early season results are notoriously unreliable, but at least for this brief stretch, the NFL's eternal quest for parity seems to be working.
Of course, history suggests that a number of the front-runners now won't be around at the end of the season, while at least two or three currently struggling teams will be in the playoffs at season's end.
My favourite paper tiger will remain Minnesota until the Vikings actually win a Super Bowl, or at least make it to one. For one thing, I don't trust Brett Favre to hold up over an entire season as an effective quarterback. For another, Minnesota fits way too nicely into a particular paradigm of conventional wisdom that doesn't actually bear out. Namely, TEAMS THAT CAN RUN THE BALL AND STOP THE RUN WIN.
What's wrong with the above CW? Well, mainly that it's trumped by TEAMS THAT CAN PASS THE BALL AND STOP THE PASS WIN SUPER-BOWLS. Good passing is defined more by overall offensive efficiency (how many points do you get out of how many yards?) and yards per attempt than gross yardage. And the NFL is a passing league, now more than ever thanks to three decades' worth of rule changes meant to help the passing game at the expense of the defense.
The last Super Bowl was like an advertisement for the 'Pass/No Pass' theory simply because both the Steelers and Cardinals had below-average running games. Way, way, way below average in terms of both yards and yards per carry. Indianapolis had a legendarily bad run defense entering the 2006-2007 playoffs, and while the return of Bob Sanders helped, Indy's ability to stop the pass was a lot more important.
Actually, the Indy/Miami game of two weeks ago was like a bizarro microcosm of this whole theory, as Miami held the ball with its ball-control offense for 45 minutes of gametime and still lost the game because it couldn't stop Indy's passing game and it couldn't muster much of a passing attack of its own.
So it goes.
You can always go check out a variety of CW-attacking viewpoints over at Cold, Hard Football Facts, whose estimable creators and contributors are engaged in trying to create workable sabrmetrics for football.
But this is interesting -- last year's NFL division champions are a combined 10-14 after three weeks of the 2009 season. Early season results are notoriously unreliable, but at least for this brief stretch, the NFL's eternal quest for parity seems to be working.
Of course, history suggests that a number of the front-runners now won't be around at the end of the season, while at least two or three currently struggling teams will be in the playoffs at season's end.
My favourite paper tiger will remain Minnesota until the Vikings actually win a Super Bowl, or at least make it to one. For one thing, I don't trust Brett Favre to hold up over an entire season as an effective quarterback. For another, Minnesota fits way too nicely into a particular paradigm of conventional wisdom that doesn't actually bear out. Namely, TEAMS THAT CAN RUN THE BALL AND STOP THE RUN WIN.
What's wrong with the above CW? Well, mainly that it's trumped by TEAMS THAT CAN PASS THE BALL AND STOP THE PASS WIN SUPER-BOWLS. Good passing is defined more by overall offensive efficiency (how many points do you get out of how many yards?) and yards per attempt than gross yardage. And the NFL is a passing league, now more than ever thanks to three decades' worth of rule changes meant to help the passing game at the expense of the defense.
The last Super Bowl was like an advertisement for the 'Pass/No Pass' theory simply because both the Steelers and Cardinals had below-average running games. Way, way, way below average in terms of both yards and yards per carry. Indianapolis had a legendarily bad run defense entering the 2006-2007 playoffs, and while the return of Bob Sanders helped, Indy's ability to stop the pass was a lot more important.
Actually, the Indy/Miami game of two weeks ago was like a bizarro microcosm of this whole theory, as Miami held the ball with its ball-control offense for 45 minutes of gametime and still lost the game because it couldn't stop Indy's passing game and it couldn't muster much of a passing attack of its own.
So it goes.
You can always go check out a variety of CW-attacking viewpoints over at Cold, Hard Football Facts, whose estimable creators and contributors are engaged in trying to create workable sabrmetrics for football.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Crime and Punishment and Bacon and Eggs
So this happened in the far-flung past of spring 1990, when I was living in a house with a bunch of bizknobs in Waterloo while attending Wilfrid LaurierUniversity.
At this point I had both a beard and a glorious, shoulder-length head of hair, thus resembling some modern-day Adonis in a London Fog trenchcoat as I stalked the city of Waterloo.
One day, I walked home from school, checked out the food situation (which is funny in retrospect because I did most of my eating either on-campus or at local bar Phil's Grandson's Place) and then strolled off to the Dutch Boy supermarket about a ten-minute walk away to do some grocery shopping.
At this point, I'm in my London Fog trench coat and thus look like a Bohemian hoodlum or possibly the Jesus of Luke-warm.
So as I line up at the ten items or less check-out about half-an-hour later, I notice four uniformed cops come striding through the door looking very grim and purposeful. Like any good Hitchcock hero, I immediately think, "With my luck, they're here to arrest me!"
Which they proceed to do. As I'm led off by one cop, I note the other three cops rummaging through my grocery cart.
So after reading me my rights in the car, the arresting officer (who has the typical cop/porn-star mustache) explains to me what I'm accused of. Apparently, one of the houses on my route home from WLU was robbed around the time I went by. The stolen items were jewelry, bacon and eggs.
In the Lynchian Hardy Boys universe I'm now operating in, a plucky eight-year-old boy from next door to the Bacon House saw me commit this robbery and bravely followed me home, waited around, and then followed me to the Dutch Boy, from whence he phoned the police and his parents.
Well, of course I deny it. I get driven to the station and stuck on a bench while Detective Chimp* and the crack team of detectives search my apartment (thus baffling my roommates who, to be fair, probably should have been arrested en masse on more than one occasion for rowdiness and throwing rocks and beer bottles at houses). Detective Chimp comes out for a moment and looks at the soles of my shoes, grunts and goes back into the back.
So after about a half-an-hour of cooling my heels, I again get visited by Detective Chimp, who informs me that the charges have been dropped and I'm free to go. My shoes don't match any prints they've got in either size or tread.
Their theory of the crime was that I'd stolen the jewelry, bacon and eggs, gone home, hidden the jewelry in my room, and then taken the bacon and eggs with me to the Dutch Boy so that I could disguise my crime by putting the stolen breakfast in my cart and then buying the bacon and eggs from the Dutch Boy.
I'm sure you're thinking at this point that if they'd just waited, I'd have gone to a jewelry store and bought the stolen jewels. But of course.
At this point, without getting angry, I say something like, "Well, old chap, that's the stupidest theory of a crime I've ever heard and besides, I didn't steal the stuff."
Detective Chimp replies, "No, we know you did it. We've got a witness. We just can't figure out how you hid the items from us."
Worried about the state of law enforcement in Waterloo, I wandered off into the gathering night.
And that's why, in my heart of hearts, I really don't trust the police.
* Not his real name. The desk sergeant also wasn't named Sergeant Gorilla.
At this point I had both a beard and a glorious, shoulder-length head of hair, thus resembling some modern-day Adonis in a London Fog trenchcoat as I stalked the city of Waterloo.
One day, I walked home from school, checked out the food situation (which is funny in retrospect because I did most of my eating either on-campus or at local bar Phil's Grandson's Place) and then strolled off to the Dutch Boy supermarket about a ten-minute walk away to do some grocery shopping.
At this point, I'm in my London Fog trench coat and thus look like a Bohemian hoodlum or possibly the Jesus of Luke-warm.
So as I line up at the ten items or less check-out about half-an-hour later, I notice four uniformed cops come striding through the door looking very grim and purposeful. Like any good Hitchcock hero, I immediately think, "With my luck, they're here to arrest me!"
Which they proceed to do. As I'm led off by one cop, I note the other three cops rummaging through my grocery cart.
So after reading me my rights in the car, the arresting officer (who has the typical cop/porn-star mustache) explains to me what I'm accused of. Apparently, one of the houses on my route home from WLU was robbed around the time I went by. The stolen items were jewelry, bacon and eggs.
In the Lynchian Hardy Boys universe I'm now operating in, a plucky eight-year-old boy from next door to the Bacon House saw me commit this robbery and bravely followed me home, waited around, and then followed me to the Dutch Boy, from whence he phoned the police and his parents.
Well, of course I deny it. I get driven to the station and stuck on a bench while Detective Chimp* and the crack team of detectives search my apartment (thus baffling my roommates who, to be fair, probably should have been arrested en masse on more than one occasion for rowdiness and throwing rocks and beer bottles at houses). Detective Chimp comes out for a moment and looks at the soles of my shoes, grunts and goes back into the back.
So after about a half-an-hour of cooling my heels, I again get visited by Detective Chimp, who informs me that the charges have been dropped and I'm free to go. My shoes don't match any prints they've got in either size or tread.
Their theory of the crime was that I'd stolen the jewelry, bacon and eggs, gone home, hidden the jewelry in my room, and then taken the bacon and eggs with me to the Dutch Boy so that I could disguise my crime by putting the stolen breakfast in my cart and then buying the bacon and eggs from the Dutch Boy.
I'm sure you're thinking at this point that if they'd just waited, I'd have gone to a jewelry store and bought the stolen jewels. But of course.
At this point, without getting angry, I say something like, "Well, old chap, that's the stupidest theory of a crime I've ever heard and besides, I didn't steal the stuff."
Detective Chimp replies, "No, we know you did it. We've got a witness. We just can't figure out how you hid the items from us."
Worried about the state of law enforcement in Waterloo, I wandered off into the gathering night.
And that's why, in my heart of hearts, I really don't trust the police.
* Not his real name. The desk sergeant also wasn't named Sergeant Gorilla.
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