- A length or portion of time
- time period: an amount of time; “a time period of 30 years”; “hastened the period of time of his recovery”; “Picasso’s blue period”
- A portion of time in the life of a person, nation, or civilization characterized by the same prevalent features or conditions
- One of the set divisions of the day in a school allocated to a lesson or other activity
- the interval taken to complete one cycle of a regularly repeating phenomenon
- (ice hockey) one of three divisions into which play is divided in hockey games
- smear with blood, as in a hunting initiation rite, where the face of a person is smeared with the blood of the kill
- Violence involving bloodshed
- temperament or disposition; “a person of hot blood”
- the fluid (red in vertebrates) that is pumped through the body by the heart and contains plasma, blood cells, and platelets; “blood carries oxygen and nutrients to the tissues and carries away waste products”; “the ancients believed that blood was the seat of the emotions”
- The red liquid that circulates in the arteries and veins of humans and other vertebrate animals, carrying oxygen to and carbon dioxide from the tissues of the body
- An internal bodily fluid, not necessarily red, that performs a similar function in invertebrates
- inhale the odor of; perceive by the olfactory sense
- emit an odor; “The soup smells good”
- A quality in something that is perceived by this faculty; an odor or scent
- The faculty or power of perceiving odors or scents by means of the organs in the nose
- the sensation that results when olfactory receptors in the nose are stimulated by particular chemicals in gaseous form; “she loved the smell of roses”
- An unpleasant odor
Good story tellers always appreciate each others company.
I think I was born to be a sailor.
Because I love the water and sailor’s tell the best stories.
Long hours of tediousness and boredom at sea punctuated by short periods of indescribable terror and panic create the perfect environment for telling stories.
Not only that… but in all of that monotony sailors themselves since time began have sat around in circles and passed the ‘story torch.’
I do it on the street all the time.
It always goes like this…
I meet someone and they tell an interesting story that I appreciate hearing.
Doesn’t matter if the story is good most of the time…
a good story teller is an artist that can render any tale exciting and pull you right into it.
The thing is… and this is always true…
someone who tells a good story appreciates hearing one back.
It’s almost an unwritten rule and many a time I’ve listened to a guy finish tellin’ a story and then he looks at me like ‘alright… what do you got?’
I’ve dug hearing great stories since I was a kid and my grandfather told me all kinds of stories about World War Two in the Pacific.
I couldn’t get enough of those stories and everytime I saw him it was the first thing I asked him…
‘tell me another story grampa.’
I used to sit there and visualize the stories he told.
I’d actually ‘see’ what he was talking about in my mind and in my memories I can still ‘see’ his stories today.
I remember the way the sun glinted off the wings of the Japanese Zero Fighter that turned into his position and started firing it’s machine guns at him and his buddies…
the muzzle flashes of the guns in the wings of that plane and the seconds later sound of spent brass bullet cartridges hitting the ground with a ‘tinging’ noise.
I could ‘smell’ the sweat of fear as he jumped into a foxhole and said a few words to God as that plane flew overhead.
Shit like that makes a good story and as Irish as my grandfather was the stories always improved with a little bit of whiskey so as I grew older and encouraged him to drink more the same stories just kept getting better and better.
They got even better when he encouraged me to take a few sips of the whiskey.
‘How did you FEEL when that plane pointed right at you and started shooting’ I asked him once.
Man I really miss that man and his stories.
I wish I’d have recorded them all.
He gave me that and those were the best memories of my childhood.
Stories have gotten me into trouble and stories have gotten me out of it.
I’d just gotten kicked out of Japan for stabbin’ a guy with a broken beer bottle.
I’m not a violent thug…
the dude broke into my home wearing a mask and I woke up none too sober after a great night at The Pig and The Whistle bar in Osaka.
It was kinda weird because I woke up punching some stranger in the face right over my futon.
He was wearing what looked like a white pillow case with eye holes cut into it and I’d broken his nose by the time I ‘really’ woke up so my first recollection of the whole thing was looking at my right fist about to hit the guy’s face again and all kindsa blood on his mask.
I was confused as shit.
‘What was I doing… and who’s face was I pummeling’ I wondered as I took another punch.
‘Why am I doing this’ I asked myself.
I knew I must’ve had a really good reason though.
I was really hoping it wasn’t my roommate playing some kind of a joke.
Which was confirmed when he came around screaming behind me.
He was kinda confused too.
In that split second where I stopped trying to kill the guy and ask my roommate what the fuck was going on the guy took expert advantage of that distraction and proceeded to try to kill me.
I had no idea what the hell was going on but pretty simply put the guy was trying to kill me so I figured that if I could avoid that that maybe I could figure it all out later.
I didn’t know what to do.
I didn’t really wanna kill the guy…
I was just tryin’ to get some sleep after all of those Asahi’s and now look what I gotta deal with.
for some reason I just wanted to throw the guy outta my house.
Seemed smart at the time.
Well thought out.
A good plan even.
The thought of holding him ’til the police came never even entered my mind.
Maybe because we didn’t have a phone and I wouldn’t know how to call the cops in Japan anyway.
I don’t even remember how I got the empty Asahi bottle in my hand or how it got broken like that.
I mighta taken it away from him.
My roommate was no help at all…
he was screamin’ like a little girl who just saw a nasty spider and the shock of the whole thing just rendered him incapacitated as all get out.
I can understand his gettin’ freaked out.
As crazy as it is wakin’ up findin’ yourself tryin’ to kill a guy it’s prolly crazier to wake up watchin’ your roommate tryin’ to kill some masked guy in your house.
Busy as I w
Johnny Kitties: Celebrating Johnny Depp Film #24–From Hell (2001) [June 17, 2012]
The Hughes Brothers, best known for depicting ghetto life in films, such as Menace II Society and Dead Presidents, take their talents to 17th century England in From Hell. The film chronicles Jack the Ripper’s five serial murders of prostitutes in London’s Whitechapel District from August to November of 1888. (The film’s title comes from pieces of evidence–letters supposedly written by the killer and signed "From Hell.") Based on the graphic novel by Alan Moore and Eddie Campbell, From Hell follows Inspector Frederick Abberline (Johnny Depp), a clairvoyant drug addict enlisted by police sergeant Peter Godley (Robbie Coltrane) to help solve the mystery and prevent more murders from happening. As Abberline uncovers the conspiracy, he falls for Mary Kelly (Heather Graham)–one of the women targeted by the killer–which makes this assignment a personal race to save her.
But The Hughes Brothers got style!
Why was I so concerned a few months ago about revisiting Before Night Falls, a beautiful film about a struggling poet, when I had a disturbing movie about Jack the Ripper to soon follow? I must have blocked this one out of my head. I remember seeing From Hell in the theaters but forgot how gritty and realistic it all was. Heather Graham explains that Hughes Brothers touch: "I think they’re bringing to the movie a real rawness. Instead of this overly precious period feel, I think they’re bringing a raw, emotional, passionate, exciting take."
While this isn’t typically my kind of movie, I always love that kind of detail in films and admire what The Hughes Brothers made. They rebuilt Whitechapel to a tee: They showed what the world was like then–how it looked, felt, and smelled. Johnny agrees: "What was really impressive about it is that the Hughes Brothers, Allen and Albert, were really, really, really sticklers for details and for the truth–the exact position of the body, the exact position of this window here, where the window was broken in Miller’s Court–I mean, down to the cobblestones!" But all that hard work didn’t weigh down the set: "They’re so fun," Heather Graham says of the directors. "They’re so well prepared and everything is so well thought out that, when they came to work, they’re just incredibly relaxed."
Like Before Night Falls, this film is not always pleasant to watch, but it’s got great style. When I dreamt up Johnny Kitties, certain movies lent themselves well to drawing: I got instant ideas. Surprisingly, one of them was for From Hell. I remembered a few exterior shots of Whitechapel silhouetted against a blood-red sky (and the grapes, more on that later). Another cool touch the directors added was showing the passage of time by literally speeding up the film or having people appear or vanish like spirits. They also lit all the nighttime scene naturally with streetlamps, candles, or other lighting props on the set, which I think adds to the atmosphere. And, they even made some mini-movies within this movie: One of the plot points is that Abberline is struggling with his chronic depression by feeding his addiction to Absinthe. This addiction would be hard to kick, even if he wanted to, because it turns out that the drink sparks his clairvoyant dreams, in which he sees the killer’s next move and gets that much closer in solving the case. These dreams present entire scenarios in artistic, surreal flashes of images.
As the killer descends into madness, the murders become increasingly grisly. More than anything, I appreciated that the directors didn’t show as much as they could have! The point is made more effectively because your imagination goes wild about whatever might be going on. Still, you see enough to know the murders are disgusting. And, knowing that Jack the Ripper was a real psychopath who terrorized London and escaped capture–that the mystery remains unsolved–compounds the shock.
But what I found almost more disturbing was the bigger picture. The Hughes Brothers painstakingly recreated how people lived in Whitechapel, showing how they suffered, with social barriers, prejudices, and racism, and dealt with their own vices. Meanwhile, across town, high society was exploring medical breakthroughs and oddities: In one scene all the rich doctors are gawking at the Elephant Man. In another, they’re calmly demonstrating a new experimental procedure, giving terrified patients lobotomies! Those scenes freak me out more than hearing Jack slashing whatever off-screen.
You get a real feel for the atmosphere and realize the sad circumstances these women–the murder victims–were in during that era, dealing with the hypocritical connection that weal