Ask Cronos



Dear Cronos,

Yesterday, my boyfriend told me he was home studying on a night when my friend Stephanie said she saw him at Applebee’s with Brittanee from his fourth-period social studies class. It would be SO messed up if he lied right to my face, but I can’t really be sure if he did or not, because Stephanie once said she thought he had pretty eyes, so she might be saying that to get me to break up with him so she can hook up with him. Help! How can I tell if he’s lying or not?

Confused in Middletown


Dear Confused, My Child,

Fear not, youthful daughter. If this boyfriend you speak of is a spreader of untruths, he will, as sure as the dark lord breathes the acrid smolder of the underworld, pay the supreme price, as Satan receives his soul and the light of redemption grows dark and his bones boil in the fires of nether.

Your dilemma brings to mind a lyric from one of Cronos’s finest works, “Cry Wolf,” off the glorious album by Venom, At War with Satan:

Even a man who's pure of heart
He says his prayers by night
Bane from a wolf when the wolf bane grows
And the moon's full and bright

Now go forth, sister of the night. Let your anger seethe. Burn in your fury, but do not let vengeance consume you. Only the evil king can cast you in fire.

Cronos

Combe CEO Laments Loss of Final Brylcreem User



Combe CEO, Christopher B. Combe, was notably saddened by the death of Ronald Reagan, former President of the United States, but not because he was a particularly avid supporter. Reagan, who died at 93 this past Saturday was, according to sources, the last consumer of the men’s hair-care product, Brylcreem, one among Combe’s stable of consumer products.

“To tell you the truth, I’m disappointed,” Combe said. “Losing an entire customer base is not exactly a consumer brand’s finest hour.”

Brylcreem, once a mainstay of barbershops from Maine to California, had been declining in market share as competition from new products, including hair gel, mousse, and pomades, took its toll on the antediluvian brand. Reagan, according to friends and colleagues, had used Brylcreem since his days as a Hollywood B-actor, and had continued using it long after the product had fallen out of favor among younger buyers.

“No dye ever touched Reagan's hair,” wrote Michael Deaver, Reagan’s former chief of staff, in his 2001 memoir, A Different Drummer: My Thirty Years with Ronald Reagan. “It was an old actor's trick -- Brylcreem -- that gave Reagan's hair that dark gloss, not Clairol for Men.”

Brylcreem was, according to Combe, the first mass-marketed men's hair product. Now, without any customers, the product faces an uncertain future.

“Brylcreem was America, Combe said “It fought in both world wars, and helped coif The Greatest Generation as it built the largest middle class in the history of the world. Although I suppose having no one left to buy it will likely dent its P&L. Plus, now that you mention it, it's kind of ludicrous keeping a whole organization open just to serve one guy.”

Combe added, “Maybe now we can devote some of that time to our other fine products.”

Combe also produces Aqua Velva and ‘Lectric Shave after-shave lotions, and Grecian Formula hair coloring.

Adieu, Voidoid



Robert Quine, one of perhaps three or four true punk-rock guitar gods, was found dead at his home in NYC this past Saturday. He was 61.

From CNN
Robert Quine Interview with Jason Gross (November 1997)

Late Afternoon in America: A Letter to Ronald Reagan



Senator Hatfield, Mr. Chief Justice, Mr. President, Vice President Bush, Vice President Mondale, Senator Baker, Speaker O'Neill, Reverend Moomaw, and my fellow citizens: To a few of us here today, this is a solemn and most momentous occasion; and yet, in the history of our Nation, it is a commonplace occurrence. The orderly transfer of authority as called for in the Constitution routinely takes place as it has for almost two centuries and few of us stop to think how unique we really are. In the eyes of many in the world, this every-4-year ceremony we accept as normal is nothing less than a miracle.

-- Ronald Reagan, in his inaugural address, January 20, 1981

I slouched on the sofa, one hand sheathed by a bag of Funyons. My eyes were on the 25” Zenith that dominated our family room. A news special was airing footage of your presidential inauguration from earlier that morning. Ted Koppel was the host. Your hand was on a Bible and your skinny wife, whom I thought looked nearly identical to one of my aunts, was at your side. A band played “Happy Days are Here Again,” which reminded me that “Happy Days” was on later that evening.

It was late afternoon, and the sky was already darkening. I had an afghan over my shoulders because my parents kept the heat low to save energy. The year before, Iran had really stuck it to the cardigan-wearing peanut farmer with the loser brother. The revolution, then the hostages and the oil and everything lost him the election. Your TV commercials said if we elected you, it would be Morning in America. You did win. I was thinking that late afternoon in America would have been better. Morning meant school and no TV. Late afternoon meant no school and TV and snacks and whatever else other than school.

I have used the words "they" and "their" in speaking of these heroes. I could say "you" and "your" because I am addressing the heroes of whom I speak—you, the citizens of this blessed land. Your dreams, your hopes, your goals are going to be the dreams, the hopes, and the goals of this administration, so help me God.

A mescaline haze hung over the head of my neighbor, Paul, that afternoon. Paul, who was 14 to my 11, had taken something I heard as "purple Micronauts." I knew he smoked pot, which he got from his sister’s boyfriend Tommy. Tommy had a 1970 GTO I wished I had. Mescaline was an alien quantity, not like pot, which I'd seen and smelled at a Yankee game. The word was spooky and vaguely menacing, like the sex acts pictured in the Club and Swank and Oui magazines some older kids had hidden in the woods. Later on, Paul told me what it was like. It was like a small carnival tent had been lowered over his head, he said.

The sound of rock organ blared from Paul's stereo speakers. I could hear it from inside my house, which backed up to his. It was a song from the band Uriah Heep, though I wouldn’t have known it then.

As for the enemies of freedom, those who are potential adversaries, they will be reminded that peace is the highest aspiration of the American people. We will negotiate for it, sacrifice for it; we will not surrender for it—now or ever.

“My parents say he’s an asshole,” Paul said to me the next day at the bus stop. “They say we’ll end up fighting the Russians now.” I didn’t want to fight the Russians.

One day at school, a month or so before, someone spread a rumor the world would end that night. It snowed a lot during the day. Everyone must have been scared because after school no one went sleighriding. A girl whose name I don’t remember said “goodbye forever” as I got off the bus. I wondered how it would end. I figured we’d all just go to sleep and not wake up. I did wake up the next morning. I was happy the world didn’t end, but I still felt like I'd been gypped.

The crisis we are facing today … does require … our best effort, and our willingness to believe in ourselves and to believe in our capacity to perform great deeds; to believe that together, with God's help, we can and will resolve the problems which now confront us. And, after all, why shouldn't we believe that? We are Americans. God bless you, and thank you.

I turned off the TV and ate dinner, did my homework, finished middle school, graduated from college and got a job at a large, multinational corporation.

The world didn't the way people thought it would. The Russians went out of business in 1989, after your second term ended. In the town where we lived, bond traders and investment bankers bought up the woods where Paul and I had ridden minibikes and shot roman candles and looked at porno magazines. They built huge houses that looked more like Hollywood sets than houses. The world ended for Paul in a car wreck in 1992.

Adios.