Robert Nelson

Robert Nelson died recently. He was an experimental filmmaker.

I hadn't heard of Robert Nelson but I had seen a few of his films in college.

I was a member of the Tech Weathermen. The club had nothing to do with the Weather Underground. The Tech Weathermen was formed by my friend Walter Kubilius mostly to put on film festivals. It had some beer busts, too, I think.

Walter would program the little festivals with experimental films, safety films, pornographic films and certainly other interesting genres (I wish I had a better memory).

Walter included some of Robert Nelson's films in these programs. I had only vague memories of these films.

One that is on YouTube is "Oh Dem Watermelons." (WARNING: If you would be offended by a scene featuring a naked woman and a watermelon, don't click on that link!) My memory of that film was simply the last scene with the watermelon chasing the people up Lombard Street. (That scene involves the same technique we used in my own "Silly Backward Antics" video.) The music is by Stephen Foster and Steve Reich who has gone on to become an influential composer. Thank you, YouTube, for letting me relive that film.

The other Robert Nelson film Walter showed us was "Hot Leatherette." I seem to recall its big scene was a loop of a pickup rolling down a cliff. Over and over and over. If anyone can point me to a video of this film I'd be forever grateful.

For your convenience, here is "Oh Dem Watermelons" (but if you're interested in seeing it you've probably already watched it when you clicked on the link above):


There are a few other films I remember from the Tech Weathermen Film Festivals. One was "Tale of a Tailgate." This was a safety film from the Los Alamos Scientific Laboratory (I think it was still called that then). It taught us that we need to aware that equipment can malfunction and we should always prepare for the worst. We got to see someone operating the hydraulics that lift a truck's liftgate. In the film something goes horribly wrong and the lift falls and lands on the operator's foot. That's bad. He should have stood more to the side so that such a malfunction wouldn't result in tragedy. We got to see the failure from several different angles and in slow motion. Gripping!

The movie that still gives me nightmares was one where I was in charge of running the projector. Some of the films were 16mm. Those were shown with projectors in the theater's projection booth. Some were 8mm films. We set up projectors in the middle of the theater for those. I got to run the 8mm projector for one of the pornographic films. The film featured a woman being man's best friend's best friend. And we're not talking just in the style of South Park's "Red Rocket" episode. No, she really put her teeth into her role. Well, maybe not her teeth but something quite close.

The film broke before the climax of the movie. There were boos. I don't know how a stoned person sitting in the dark could thread the film through the projector and get it going again while being booed but I managed. It broke again. Again, I managed to get it going, boos and all. After it broke a third time we gave up on that film. I am so glad I didn't have to see the end of that one.

I wish I had a better memory. I'd like to remember what other movies I got to see in these little festivals (except for those that give me nightmares).

I'm glad I had enough of a recollection of Robert Nelson's movies to search for them after YouTube came along. Now if only someone would post "Hot Leatherette."

By the way, I am a member of the Weather Underground these days! My home weather station uploads its data to their site and they let the world know what the weather is at my house. You might have noticed their weather widget at the top left corner of this blog.

Happy Birthday, Mombert!

As P-Doobie told us, we had a birthday party for Mombert where the dessert was a cheesecake with sparklers instead of candles. It was near the 4th of July, after all. I had my camera ready and took a little video of the festivities.

For your viewing pleasure, here's...

Birthday Cheesecake Flambée!

Now call the fire department.

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Tennis anyone?

Jerry and I went to Pacific Taco #1 for supper tonight. We're on vacation and aren't cooking. The restaurant usually has some South-of-the-Border music playing on the juke box. But tonight there was no music. Just schmoozing between regular customers and the people behind the counter.

The TV was on, but without sound. It was tuned to ESPN and was showing a match from the US Open tennis tournament.

Tennis was the only sport I ever willingly participated in. I was introduced to it through my best friend through my junior high school days (I seem to have changed friends each time I changed schools).

I took lessons in the summer-activities-in-the-park program. One lesson that stuck in my mind was How to Deliver a Killer Serve. The instructor told us to hold our rackets just so, toss the ball into the air, and swing the racket through the ball with a motion we would use as if we were hurling the racket at our opponent. My friend, Kenny, mastered that serve. It would put an incredible amount of spin on the ball so after it curved into the ground it would take off in a strange direction, as if it hit a little wall on the court.

Most of us couldn't quite get the hang of the serve. Some even messed it up so badly that they managed to hurl their rackets at their opponents.

At the end of the six weeks of lessons, we'd have a tournament. The entry fee was a can of new balls. You were out of the tournament after you lost your first match. The loser of each match would get the balls that were used in the match. In one tournament I got to start out against one of the best players in the program. I went home after that first match with the can of balls. I'm sure I lost 6-0, 6-0.

I even participated in the junior high school's tennis program. It was an after school activity where we just played games against others in the program. We didn't play against other schools. It was for fun with little, if any, competition.

I think I kept this tennis thing up for about three years. Each year would start out with a nasty blister on my thumb where it rubbed against the racket. It took a few weeks to figure out how to grip the racket at the start of each year.

Tennis was a good sport for me. I was good enough at it to have fun. And I was on my own. I'm not a team player. Probably because I was always among the last to be chosen for teams in gym class.

(I don't think that any of my family ever watched me play in my few competitions. But I'm not complaining, mind you, just observing.)

I even followed professional tennis. When I lived in Los Angeles in the mid-'70s while working in the B-1 Division of Rockwell International ("Where Science gets down to Business"), I went to The Strings' World TeamTennis games at the Fabulous Forum. (I'm stunned to find out that WTT is still in business.) I'd even know who was playing at Wimbledon.

But I don't follow it or any other sport now. I didn't recognize the names of either of the players tonight. The closest I've gotten to tennis in a long time were the occasional emails I'd get offering me hot pix of Anna Kournikova. I had no idea who they were talking about. (Roger Federer, on the other hand...)

I guess I'm over tennis.

Confusion in the First Grade

I started the first grade badly.

Either nobody told me which classroom was mine or I simply forgot. When the bell rang I went into the wrong room. The teacher called roll and I said "here" when my name was called. It turned out that some kid who was supposed to be in that class had moved away over the summer and apparently nobody told the school. The kid's name was "Charles" or something that sounded like to to me.

Since everybody was accounted for, the teacher started into our first lesson. (I think that this was the legendary Mrs. Bernard (or was she a second grade teacher?).) After some time somebody stuck her head into the classroom to see if I happened to have been misplaced. I had. I was taken next door to Miss Welty's classroom.

I guess I was so traumatized by that first day that I don't really remember much about that year of school. Except for the butter.

One day we got to churn butter. With our own little hands. We all took turns turning the crank on the churn. After a while we had a lump of butter. Real butter. Miss Welty had also made a loaf of bread. I seem to remember that it was somehow baked right there in the classroom. We each got a slice of fresh bread and handmade butter!

I wouldn't touch it.

I was under the impression that Mom didn't like butter. If Mom didn't like butter then Charley didn't like butter! Charley doesn't eat what Charley doesn't like. He won't even give it a taste!

Miss Welty tried and tried to get me to give it a try. I'd have none of it. She persevered. I finally acquiesced. I touched the tip of my tongue to the butter and said "There! I've tried it!" And that was the last time I ate real butter for a long time.

Years later I learned that Mom didn't like store bought butter. That it was nothing like glorious, home churned butter. (I still don't understand how margarine was supposed to be a better substitute for hand churned butter than store bought butter.)

That was my first and last encounter with hand churned butter. I blew it.

Actually, Mrs. Mundinger probably was my teacher then.

First, kindergarten started with Mrs. Thomas and ended with Mrs. O'Flaherty. Then first grade started with Miss Welty and ended with Mrs. Mundinger. Does this happen each year? Life is so confusing!

But this time pregnancy wasn't involved (I guess). Miss Welty got married early in the school year and became Mrs. Mundinger.

I apparently was in love with Mrs. Mundinger. My souvenirs box has more memories of her than of any other teacher.

I have her school picture:

Mrs. Mundinger

The newspaper account of her wedding:

Her Valentine to me:

I need to get some cream and churn me some butter!