I spent a couple hours this evening pouring through old photographs at my mom’s house.  I  had stopped by to provide some woefully inadequate technical support, and while I was letting various programs run, I started looking through the many, many piles of old photographs that were in my mom’s office. 

 It was an intense experience.  She had pictures spanning all over the past sixty years or so of my family’s history, randomly scattered so you never knew who or when you would find in any given pile.  People would be parents in one picture, babies in the next.  Lots of family members as I’d never seen them, or never remembered them.  My grandparents’ wedding.   Captivating pictures of people I could only guess the identity of.  Fashions, hairstyles, backdrops zig-zagging through fifty years of history, while my grandpa looked the exact same in 1974 as he did in 1984 as he did in 1994.  Lot’s of pictures clearly nametagged and dated, in my mom’s, my grandpa’s, my grandma’s handwriting.  A much greater number totally unlabeled, left for remembrance or deduction. 

 My parents the age I am now.  My grandparents the age I am now.   

 A lifetime of photo (and slide and negative) packaging and advertising promoting all sorts of formats and services that are all now obsolete.  Old postcards from old vacations.  Christmas cards from people I’ve never met.  Class pictures from family friends no longer heard from. 

 Old houses.  Old toys.   Furniture not seen in decades.  Pictures of my mom, aunts and uncles as kids playing with the same toys I played with as a kid. 

 Blurry, unrecognizable faces.  Nondescript, blandly green landscapes.  Badly cropped portraits.  Luncheons and functions that I never attended.  

 A wonderful, compelling black and white picture that I think is my mother at about 12 years of age, but wouldn’t be surprised if I was totally off base on the subject and/or the time period. 

 An absolutely hilarious outtake family portrait with funny faces, rabbit ears and people facing the wrong way that I swear I’ve never seen before, despite being in the picture. 

 A blurry, barely recognizable wartime picture of my grandpa with his arm wrapped around a buddy labeled “Me & Lt. Moore (Killed in April)”

 It was a special way to spend an evening.  Even though my family has no shortage of old photographs, there was something special about pouring through this particularly random batch of pictures.  It wasn’t a single moment caught in time, it was an entire history. 

Wizard Boy

Finally we see the coming of Wizard Boy Part Six: The Lord of Halfbreeds,
the movie so hardcore they were afraid to release it last year.

FACT: Wizard Boy is half-Boy, half-Wizard, half-Snake, half-Horse-Fucker.
FACT: Wizard Boy stared killing as a baby and has never stopped.
FACT: Wizard Boy is a feral creature on the edge of civilization. He kept in
a box until the year of Wizarding; in all that time his only food was
FACT: After a semester of Wizard School, Wizard Boy mastered the arcane
secrets of The Philosopher’s Stone. Bored with those secrets, he had the
stone destroyed.
FACT: After a scant four years of Wizard School, Wizard Boy wrested control
of Practical Badassery class away from the faculty who he deemed weak and
ineffectual. He runs his own classroom with his own rules, and those rules
are “kill”.
FACT: Elves, Giants, Centaurs, Werewolves, Spider-Demons. All these and
more have pledged loyalty to Wizard Boy and to his Blood Mission.

Don’t screw with Wizard Boy. He will wizard you to death. And then fuck
your horse.