No picture today. Copyright issue. Bill Murray owns his likeness.
I came across a reference today to a bit of cultural history I almost forgot.
It is an SNL skit from 1987 where Bill Murray plays Hercules - an old and out of shape Hercules. He's called upon to lift a boulder as a feat of strength to save to the life of a woman who loves him.
He blows out his back.
He ends pleading for a few more minutes to lie upon the floor. It will get better in a little bit.
I about pee'd myself when this aired originally for two reasons: I think I was shitface drunk and I'd seen the very act in person within my own family.
I come from a long line of "hard workers" which means "lift heavy things unaided" in one Western Kansas interpretation. Thus, by the time of solid maturity, my male relatives had "bad backs."
I'm thinking of the physical manifestation of weakness we can bestow upon our protagonists. Or antagonists.
I grew up on "action hero" movies. Books featured near supermen in the writings of Robert Ludlum and Frederick Forsyth and Alistair MacLean.
Nobody had a bad back.
I have a bright protagonist. I'm giving him a bad back. It limits his ability to jump over guard rails and slide down embankments to escape bad guys. It makes him vulnerable to thugs who will try and kill him. It makes him a little more human in that he has more trouble when he gets more stress.
He's not a superman. Smiley had bad eyesight and resembled a dumpy little man. My protagonist is imperfect as well. He's best for the back office which is why I cannot let him hide there.
Time to shove you out, dear boy.
Dance monkey, dance.
Mind the back. It is the season of returning decorations to their improbably high and awkward storage locations.
Nobody writes well on sedation. I've been on codeine. Purple dragon. Or for you rappers out there, "purple drank."
Tastes like childhood again.