A memorable title

The Earth Dies Screaming is a B grade horror movie that came out in 1964. I saw it at the Crystal Theater in Salinas. I was eleven at the time. On Sundays they’d play 5 horror movies for 25 cents. That’s right, a quarter. I saw Blood Feast there. That was a good one. Guy’s an Egyptian caterer likes to slash people and cook em up for high end banquets he tosses for rich folks. They love his meals. I forget how they trip him up. Maybe a customer finds a necktie on a ham bone, I don’t remember. Somebody tips off the health department and now the Villain’s on the run. He meets his end as he’s fleeing the po leece by leaping on the back end of a garbage truck and gets his coat snagged by the compactor which mashes him to shit. The best ending of a movie I know except maybe Marlon Brando saying bye bye to the chick at the bar in The Wild One.

I saw a lot of Horror Movies as a kid which explains why I’m so dicey with my thinking. Most of them were bad B movies. That’s no big deal. Kids make Kind Critics. The Earth Dies screaming is so bad it’s good. I mean, this movie has everything. A fog that kills everybody on earth except the usual suspects. Robots sent down to wipe out the strays. Some of the dead people…laying around on the street and slumped at diner tables…dead people everywhere…some of em come back to life as Zombies. A nice touch! I mean, Ed Wood wished he made this movie. But the best part of this movie…by far the best…is the Title.

The Earth Dies Screaming is a stroke of genius.

Genius because nobody actually dies screaming. A fog kills most everybody in the world…it catches everybody unaware! Nobody feels any pain. They just nod off and die. BA BOOM they’re gone. There’s no screaming. What it is, the dude that produced this movie, he figured he’d give it a real catchy title.

It worked!

I’ve been walking around a couple three days now with the title to this movie in my head. I will admit BLOOD FEAST is a damned good title for a B grade horror movie, but no where near as good as THE EARTH DIES SCREAMING. That’s right. The Earth Dies Screaming is maybe the best title of a movie ever thought up. The title is way better than the movie itself–that’s a given. The title even transcends the genre. The title is so good U2 used it for a title of a song. So did Tom Waites.

Now I got it in my head.

The Strike

I’m with my pal Normal guy. We’re standing in line for a coffee at The Office. The reason you don’t see us is cuz I just took the picture. Normal Guy is behind me in line.

Norm bears a striking resemblance to Michael J. Fox. Ten years older but hanging in there. He’s trimmed down from doing boot camp classes at the gym. Financially he’s still in the toilet. I promised him a double ten spot. It’s not a loan. Loaning money to the people I know is the same as giving it away. I make it a gift. I’m good for a twenty. Anyway, that’s why he’s here, standing in line behind me. I could give him the twenty right now. If I do he’ll split. He don’t like it here. For some reason the office bugs him.

“How come?” I ask.

“Huh?”

“How come you don’t like hanging at the office?”

“It’s the vibe, man. I don’t like the vibe.”

“Starbucks? There’s no vibe at Starbucks.”

“It’s dark. I don’t like dark.”

“It’s not dark in here.”

“It’s narrow.”

“You mean like a cave?”

“Yes. That’s it. I don’t like caves.”

“Well, give me a sec and I get you the twenty.”

“I really appreciate it.”

“Forget about it, man. Just hang with me a minute.”

We’re standing at the counter.

“You guy’s gonna strike,” I ask Igor.

Igor’s looking at me. He don’t know nothin…

“Strike! You know, picket lines and shit.”

Big Girl at the end she’s the manager. She says, “That’s only Union locations.”

“You guy’s not Union?”

“No way,” Igor says. “I need to make money.”

All the Baristas are shaking their heads. No way are they gonna strike.

“Who told you they’re gonna strike?” Normal Guy asks.

“My Buddy the Scholar. He sends me shit. News clips and shit. Big Strike’s in the works. Thousands of locations. He sent me the news clip. The Guardian. They always get it right. Maybe not always.”

Normal don’t give a shit about the Strike.

“I really need to go,” he says.

“I’m buying you a coffee, man!”

“But–“

“Relax…it won’t come out of the twenty.”

“It’s not that…”

He don’t look relaxed. The office gives him the creeps.

Don’t Mourn, organize!

I talk Norm into sitting for a minute. We got the whole big corner table. He can sit for a minute.

Shit.

“I’m all for a living wage, you know what I’m saying, Norm? I’m for the working guy. It’s like Joe something said.”

“Who?”

“Joe something. They executed him for organizing strikers.”

“Who executed him?”

“The Robber Barons. The Big Wigs. The powers that be. You know.”

Norm’s staring at the door, shaking his head.

“Joe Something!”

“You are referring to Joe Hill, Mate.”

The Phony Australian dude is sitting at an adjacent table, minus his dog.

“Joe Hill. Why couldn’t I remember that?”

“Who’s Joe Hill?” Norm asks.

“A Union Organizer, Mate. They shot him for helping the workers.”

“Who shot him?”

“State of Utah, mate.”

“They made a martyr out of him, mate.”

I’m staring at the Australian dude. “Where’s you’re dog?”

“My little Tippy, Mate?”

“Yes.”

“He’s in the car, mate. Little fella’s resting, mate.”

“Are you British?” Norm asks.

“I’m Australian, mate.”

“Enough with the mate shit, okay?”

“Pardon me?’

“I said enough with the phony bullshit mate shit! I’m sick of hearing it. Mate this, mate that. It’s Bullshit! You’re not even Australian! You’re full of shit. I don’t wanna hear another MATE out of you, understand?”

“Calm down, mate. You’re over reacting.”

He rises and moves toward the door.

“You left your computer.”

“I’m not leaving,” he says, looking back at me. “Just checking on Tippy, Mate. Don’t you worry yerself. I’ll be riiiight back.”

“Is he British?” Norm asks.

I remember the famous quote.

“‘Don’t Mourn, organize!'”

“Who?’

“Joe Hill! He said that before they shot him.”

“I really gotta go,” Norm says.

I feel a whole hell of a lot better.

I’m always more relaxed after stuff comes back to me.

Give me five minutes

Norm’s getting up to leave.

“No, no, no, just sit down for a moment longer…here!”

I slap two twenties on the table.

He sits back down. I would. For forty? I’d sit for a fucking hour.

I just wanna explain something,” I tell him. “It’s my memory. Shit has a good hook, I can remember it. LIke the movie I was telling you about. The Earth Dies Screaming. That does it for me. That really jacks up my head. You know what I’m say’n? Look around man! The world’s gone to hell. People Striking. Bombing the shit outta each other. I’m old. I can’t remember shit. I mean, when’s it gonna stop? It aint gonna stop. You know what I’m saying? But as long as I can remember shit I’m okay. It’s good when you remember shit.”

“That’s right, mate.”

I look up at the Phony Australian Dude. Now I’m really looking at him, He looks cleaned up, like he took a shower recently. Tippy looks cleaned up, too.

Tippy’s growl’n at me.

“Now now, little Mate. He’s all right. Bloke’s just Gloomy. Give him a go.”

“A cute little dog,” Norm says, pocketing the two twenties.

“It’s the same with music,” I try to explain. “It’s all about remembering the tune. Especially the Base line. A good base line will hook you.”

“Oh, yeah,” Norm says. “Like Crossroads, by Cream. Who can forget that one.”

“I got one even better.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. I’ll even play it for you. It’s unforgettable.”

“Who’s it by?”

“The Soul Survivors.”