RSS Feed

Author Archives: allen0997

Photographic Art

Posted on

~ Photographic Art ~ 

When photography was still something of a novelty, photographic studios sprang up all over the country and portrait photography became a new art form. The photographs were oftentimes stiff and formal, with the subject standing or sitting in an elaborate setting that might include Greek columns or scenes of nature. The top-hatted young man in the picture below gazes confidently into the camera. Who is he? What is his story? We’ll have to make one up for him because we’ll never know.

Photographic Art

The Garden of Allah (1936)

Posted on

~ The Garden of Allah ~

Looking glamorous every step of the way, Marlene Dietrich escapes across the Sahara desert with her mysterious boyfriend, Charles Boyer, in the Technicolor dream, The Garden of Allah, made in 1936. 

The Garden of Allah image 5

The Elegant Dodo

Posted on

The Elegant Dodo

~ The Elegant Dodo ~ 

Sadly the dodo is no more, hunted to extinction in the 17th century. It was a large (over three feet tall and weighing as much as 47 pounds) flightless bird that lived on the island of Mauritius, east of Madagascar in the Indian Ocean. For years some people believed it was a mythical creature and never existed at all, until fossilized remains were found and studied. Author Lewis Carroll popularized the dodo bird by having one appear in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.

Ernest Hemingway (1899-1961)

Ernest Hemingway 1


There is nothing noble in being superior to your fellow man; true nobility is being superior to your former self. ~ Ernest Hemingway 


René Magritte ~ Belgian Surrealist Artist

René Magritte ~ Belgian Surrealist Artist

René Magritte lived from 1898 to 1967. He was a surrealist painter who challenged people’s preconditioned perceptions of reality. Below are a couple of examples of his work.

Kryptonite is the thing that Superman fears most:

magritte-superman (1)

A heart is the thing the Tin Man wants most:


Kingsman: The Secret Service ~ A Capsule Movie Review

Kingsman, The Secret Service

Kingsman: The Secret Service ~ A Capsule Movie Review
by Allen Kopp 

Kingsman: The Secret Service is based on a comic book, so you know about what to expect. Wait a minute, though. It’s better than you probably think it is. It’s literate and well-made, full of action sequences (no matter how implausible they are) in the style of James Bond, without any of the tiresome romantic interludes with bosomy super models.

“Manners maketh the man,” agent Harry Hart (Colin Firth) says, just before he single-handedly reduces a roomful of thugs to a pile of bleeding corpses. If manners maketh the man, so does his clothing. The well-tailored suit (not off the peg) is equivalent to the suit of armor worn by knights of old, says Harry Hart, and the secret service agent the equivalent of the knight.

Harry must find a suitable candidate to put forward to his bosses as a possible secret service agent to replace one who was killed. He recruits a young man from a squalid environment named Gary (known as “Eggsy”) Unwin (played by Taron Egerton). Eggsy’s father saved Harry’s life, so Harry has every reason to believe that Eggsy might have what it takes.

Each of the other agents puts forward their own candidate, so there are eight or so at the beginning. (The number dwindles as they are disqualified one by one.) The training they are subjected to is grueling, difficult and scary. For example, when they are sleeping, the room they are in is flooded with water. They must think fast, as an agent would have to do, or they die. In another scene, they all jump out of a plane at 35,000 feet. They are told after they jump (by radio communication) that one of them doesn’t have a parachute. It’s up to the others to save the life of the one who doesn’t have the chute, while hurtling through space. And if that isn’t difficult enough, they must land in a small circle on the ground. It makes Navy Seal training look like kindergarten.

Of course, there always has to be an arch-villain in a spy movie. The arch-villain here is named Valentine (Samuel L. Jackson). He is an eccentric and colorful tech billionaire with a lisp. He is also an environmental lunatic who believes the earth will survive only if the population is reduced. He devises a plan whereby he offers free Internet and cell phone service to anybody who wants it. (If you give something away, people have to bite. Thus is human nature.) All people have to do is pick up their SIM card that will allow them to get the free service. The thing about the SIM card that people don’t know is that it makes people ultra-violent and instills in them a desire to kill each other. One half the earth’s population kills the other half. In this way the population is reduced and the planet is saved. How are the Kingsmen going to foil this plot? They need lots of help.

Kingsman: The Secret Service is clever and derivative, but aren’t all spy movies derivative of other spy movies? The characters are interesting and engaging. (I could have done without the bitch with blades for legs, though…ho-hum.) If this movie does nothing else, it revives a stale genre and makes it fresh by giving it a different twist. I see there are going to be a whole spate of spy movies out this year. Don’t people who make movies have any originality? I guess the answer to that question is: Whatever makes money. As the saying goes, “Everything that’s old is new again.”

Copyright © 2015 by Allen Kopp

Until We Meet Again

Until We Meet Again image 3

Until We Meet Again ~ A Short Story by Allen Kopp 

During the years that Florida Seamungle took care of Freddy, her invalid husband, he wasn’t able to speak or barely to blink his eyes. She did everything for him: got him up in the morning and put him to bed at night, bathed him, dressed and undressed him, lifted him in and out of his wheelchair (he had always been a small man), cooked his food and fed it to him (all he had to do was swallow), and talked to him as if he might answer. She read to him, sang to him in her wheezing soprano, and sometimes she put a little rouge and lipstick on him to make him seem more alive.

When Freddy finally died in his sleep, Florida had his body cremated without fanfare. She put his ashes in a large-sized Hellman’s mayonnaise jar and kept the jar on a shelf of the curio cabinet next to the TV where she could always see it.

Florida thought she could go on with her life (what was left of it), but she found it was just too bleak and lonely—empty, so empty—without Freddy. She had been married to him for fifty-two years and most of them were good, fine years. She wasn’t able to erase all those years and go on her merry way as if nothing had happened.

At a place called Under the Sun on Skid Row Boulevard that sold just about anything she bought a full-sized male mannequin (also known as a doll) with fully articulated arms and legs. She took the mannequin home with her in a taxi.

Of course the mannequin looked nothing at all like Freddy. Everything about him was shiny. He had shiny black hair (complete with pompadour) painted on his head, shiny black eyes (sparkling, like the glass eyes of a stuffed mountain lion), and a shiny skin with red spots on both cheeks. His shiny lips were slightly parted, showing tiny, perfect teeth which, of course, were shiny.

At first Florida was put off by the difference between the mannequin and Freddy, but after a few days she came to accept the difference and appreciate it. The mannequin was a young man and at times she was able to think of herself as a young woman worthy of him (even if the mirror told her otherwise). And, even though he was inanimate, he was for the most part no more inanimate than Freddy had been.

Florida Seamungle was happy again or, if not happy, she felt useful and not quite so lonely. At mealtimes, she propped the mannequin up at the table and put little dabs of food on his plate which, of course, she ended up eating herself or putting down the garbage disposal. She was delighted that her grocery bills were smaller because the mannequin really didn’t eat all that much.

As she chewed her food, with the radio playing lively dance music in the background, she looked over at the mannequin and smiled and he always smiled back. He was never grumpy or out of sorts. He never dribbled food out of his mouth down his front. He was the perfect dining-table companion. How fortunate she was to have found him!

She left him in his place at the table while she washed the dishes, and when she was finished she wheeled him into the living room and lifted him onto the couch, propped his feet up and covered his legs with an afghan. (He had always been susceptible to chill, especially in the lower extremities.)

They both liked the same programs on TV. If she laughed while watching, she looked at him to see if he was also laughing. If she cried, he also cried, and if she became bored with a program and wanted to change the channels, he was always compliant.

After the weather report, she switched off the TV, took the mannequin into the bedroom and got him into his pajamas and into bed. She pulled the covers up under his chin, kissed him on the forehead and turned off the light. She always left his door open a couple of inches so she would hear him if he stirred.

After several months of unchanging days, the line between Freddy and the mannequin became blurred for Florida and then disappeared altogether. The mannequin became no longer a substitute for Freddy but Freddy himself. Florida forgot that Freddy had died (she put his ashes in the basement where she wouldn’t have to look at them). He had been with her all the time. It was a leap that she made in her mind as easily as breathing.

In October the days were warm and the sky as blue as it had been all year. Florida wanted Freddy to have some time outdoors before winter set in again. She dressed him warmly and took him for a stroll in the park where he might observe the beauty of nature. The little outing went so well, and they both enjoyed being out of the house so much, that she took him again the next day and then the day after that.

On the third day of Florida pushing Freddy through the park, a woman came and stood in front of the wheelchair and Florida was forced to stop. She thought the woman was going to ask her for change because she was that kind of woman, a bum or a homeless person.

“What’s the matter with you?” the woman asked.

“What?” Florida asked.

“What, are you, deaf? I said, ‘What. Is. Wrong. With. You’?”

“Why, nothing’s wrong with me,” Florida said with a smile.

“Are you an escapee?”

“Am I a what?” Florida asked.

“You are such an asshole!” the woman said with exasperation. She was very short and fat, wore a filthy knit cap on her head and a man’s wool overcoat, even though the day was warm. She brandished a lighted cigarette like a knife.

“I beg your pardon?” Florida said.

“Every day for the last three days I’ve seen you pushing that dummy around in that chair.”

“Dummy?” Florida asked.

“Yeah! Him!” the woman said, pointing at Freddy.

Looking down at Freddy to see how the woman might be affecting him, Florida said, “He’s my husband.”

“Your husband!” the woman said with a hoot of laughter. “One of us is nuts and I don’t think it’s me!”

“If you’ll just let us pass?”

“It’s time you woke up and smelled the roses, dearie!” the woman said. “That dummy ain’t nobody’s husband!”

A small group of people, sensing that something interesting was happening, had gathered around to listen.

“We’ve been married for fifty-two years,” Florida said. “Not that I think it’s any of your business.”

“Well, I hope you’re married for another fifty-two and I hope he don’t give you a bit of trouble, neither.”

“That’s silly,” Florida said.

The people who had gathered around laughed and the woman with the cigarette bowed like Sir Walter Raleigh and receded (or seemed to) behind a tree.

Florida felt the people looking at her, laughing. She wanted to get herself and Freddy away as quickly as she could, back to the safety and security of their own home. How ugly the world was! How cruel people could be!

Feeling shaken, she stopped the chair and sat down on a bench to rest before going home. The air had suddenly grown colder and the sun, shining so brightly just a little while ago, had receded behind the clouds.

“It was a mistake to bring Freddy out into the world,” she said. “He doesn’t need this any more than I do.”

She pushed her fingers lightly into Freddy’s upper arm and he tilted crazily against the arm of the wheelchair in such a way that only a person not in his right mind would think he was a real man.

“You aren’t real, are you?” she said. “I’ve only been fooling myself all along.”

She began to be afraid somebody might report her and they—the bureau of crazy people, maybe—would come and take her out of her home and make her stay in a mental home against her will. They might even shoot volts of electricity into her head, the way she had seen on TV. The thought made her feel light-headed with apprehension.

She dumped the mannequin (not really her Freddy, after all) out of the wheelchair under a tree and hurried away before she changed her mind.

On her way out of the park, an old man shuffled toward her.

“Can you spare a dollar?” he asked.

She looked at him and smiled. “Freddy?” she said.

“Name’s Boo-Boo,” he said. “At least that’s what my friends call me.”

“Would you like to come home with me?”

She touched the sleeve of the jacket he wore that was slick with dirt and said, “Gunsmoke is on tonight. That’s your favorite show.”

“What time is it?” he asked.

“I think it comes on at eight,” she said, misunderstanding the question.

“You really want me to come home with you?”


“What’s the catch?”

“No catch.”

“Could I have a bath and some clean socks?”

“Anything you want.”

She pointed to the wheelchair. He sat in it and twisted his head around and smiled up at her.

“This is all right!” he said.

She touched him reassuringly on the shoulder and began pushing toward home. She thought how light he was, how easy to push, and how much she had missed him in the time he had been away.

Copyright © 2015 by Allen Kopp


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 268 other followers