In the midst of the horrific aftermath of the terrorist attack on Democracy orchestrated by the Oleaginous Don, I noticed this photograph of an altercation between T***p supporters, people concerned about fascism, and the San Diego police. I grew up in San Diego and vividly remember the location shown in the photograph.
(My aunt and uncle lived just up the street where we often visited. One night my father took us all down to see where parts of the Crystal Pier crashed into the Pacific ocean. Was there a Boney’s near-bye?)
I had been living far away from my ancestral three-bedroom ranch for several years but flew home to bathe in the sunshine and marvel at my Father’s new 21 inch color television console. But the real magic was a small set-top box that offered access to a select few near-first-run movies. Soon I was staying up late relaxing in Dad’s Barcalounger watching R-rated movies they just didn’t show on broadcast TV in New Jersey.
One I remember was a frightening flick with a Zackerle style crypt keeper and a spinning metal ball flying around with its fangs akimbo. It was satisfactory gore but when I rewatched the movie years later, it was just silly. I probably watched at least six movies, but the one I remember best was a little horror-fest called Black Christmas.