So I've been working for the last week or so on an homage to my favorite horror writer, H.P. Lovecraft.
Unfortunately, I've been unable to get the right feel for the story and I'm - quite frankly - getting frustrated.
So, if anybody who's familiar with the Great HPL's work could provide some feedback, I'd be really grateful...
Whaddya think?
*********************************************************************************
Miles Richard Whitcomb peered about the thick fog of the docks, shivering in the damp sea air. He sighed in frustration as he tried to find his way through the thickest fog he had ever encountered. It swirled and drifted about him like thick, muslin gauze.
Suddenly, he jumped in fright as a drunken sailor lurched unannounced out of the gloom. The drunken sailor staggered passed Miles, cursing and stumbling before disappearing into the ether again. Just as quickly as he had appeared, the drunk was swallowed up by the night; a smell of gin and his unwashed body the only evidence of his passing.
‘That’s quite enough,’ Miles thought, primly. ‘Enough is enough!’
He was about to turn around and return to his automobile when he saw a sign appear out of the swirling gloom before him. He squinted at it and saw, with no small amount of disappointment, that it bore the picture of a misshapen black bird perched upon a gravestone. Below it, written in faded and peeling paint, was a name; The Shunned Crow.
He had found his destination, although he was at something of a loss to explain how. For that matter, he wondered how on earth he had been convinced to come to this out of the way seaside pub at this time of night in the first place. After all, Miles did consider himself a reasonably smart man, and this conviction made this current lapse in judgment all the harder to understand. In fact, he now felt slightly foolish that he had even agreed to this meeting at all.
He thought back to the first letter he had received from the man he was coming to meet. Mr. Otep was, as he claimed, a representative of the Egyptian government and he had first corresponded with Miles a little over six months ago. Mr. Otep had contacted Miles as a result of a search for some pieces of missing antiquities. Now, nearly a half year later, Miles regretted his casual mention to the Egyptian that he was going to be in Boston for business. His correspondent was overjoyed at the news and had insisted on a face to face meet. Before he could object, and despite his initial misgivings, Miles suddenly found himself agreeing. He was damned if he knew how it had all transpired, but that was how he now found himself on a dark, foggy, dock in upstate Massachusetts.
He was not pleased and, had his upbringing allowed him to somehow honorably break his word, he would have uncaringly stood up Otep. Unfortunately, he was not capable of such rudeness.
And yet, despite his resolve to stand by his word, the hour drive from Boston to Kingsport alone had almost convinced Miles to turn around. Even still, a strident inner voice clamored at him to leave – to turn around and drive as fast as he could back to Boston. In fact, the voice was worse now that he was at the rendezvous point.
Steeling himself against his urge to flee, he pulled his coat tighter about himself and readjusted the leather satchel that was slung over his shoulder.
Miles spied a flight of three steep steps that led down to the bar’s entrance. He descended and reached for the scarred and black pub door, pushing it open and stepping across the threshold. As he did so, billowing tendrils of cloying sea fog followed him into the dimly lit room.
He paused uncertainly at the entrance; struck by the age of the room and bar before him. Shaking off the cold and his own chilling apprehension, he ducked and entered beneath a low slung ceiling, its exposed beams supporting the floor of the building above. Nailed at random spots to the ancient beams were oil lamps that threw a dim and unfriendly light over tables set about the room. An ancient brick fireplace in the far left corner threw yet more light, but that light too seemed somehow pale and unnatural.
The pub looked like it had been around, and changed very little, since the 1700’s when Kingsport was established as a shipping port. Miles could easily imagine generations of sailors, pirates, and privateers reveling in rum-soaked debauchery. The room was redolent with the stink of bad alcohol and bad tempers; a stink that stretched back like a passed storm cloud over the last 300 or so years.
A quick survey showed him that it was a slow night at the Shunned Crow. Besides himself, Miles saw that the pub’s only other occupants were a bartender and two sailors near the fireplace. The sailors were either passed out from drink or dead.
If Miles had felt uneasy about this rendezvous before, he now felt doubly unsure.
Making his way across the sawdust coated floor, Miles cautiously approached the bar. The bartender barely looked up from a newspaper spread before him on the dented and gouged bar top.
As he drew closer, Miles felt his unease grow. There was something odd about the bartended and it wasn’t until he drew closer that he saw what it was. Miles was certain that the bartender was one of the ugliest men he had ever laid eyes upon. The bartender had large, protruding, unblinking eyes and his ugly and angular face had an unhealthy pallor, made more so by the dimly lit ambience of the bar. Additionally, his chin was almost nonexistent and, Miles noted with some revulsion, he had a slightly fishy smell to his clothes or skin.
With great control, Miles stopped himself from wrinkling his noise in distaste.
“Excuse me,” Miles said, “I’m supposed to be meeting somebody. Has a Mister Otep been in this evening?”
The bartender did not speak. He simply pointed back the way Miles had come. Miles followed the gesture and realized that there was a small alcove near the fireplace that had been hidden from his view by the door. Sitting there, his face cloaked by shadows, sat a man in dark clothing.
“Thank you,” Miles said to the bartender. After a second of consideration, he added, “May I have a beer, please?”
The bartender again said nothing as he moved to get a glass. He turned and began filling the dark mug from a keg behind the bar. As he waited, Miles found himself uncomfortably drawn again and again to the bartender’s strange eyes. It seemed to Miles as though the man was incapable of blinking. It took a moment before Miles realized that he himself was blinking rapidly, his own eyes suddenly and sympathetically dry. He had to force himself to stop blinking as the bartender returned.
Miles picked up his glass and laid two quarters on the bar.
“Keep the change,” he said, turning away. The bartender still said nothing as Miles made his way to the table.
“Mr. Otep?” he asked when he reached the dark alcove.
“Yes, Mr. Whitcomb,” the dark man said, leaning forward, “Please, sit down.”
Miles hesitated before he sat, and when he did he looked at the strange man he had inexplicably come to meet at this sinister and out of the way pub.
Mr. Otep was a tall, muscular man, as was apparent by the fit of his clothes. He wore a dark pea coat and leather gloves over hands that seemed unusually broad. Otep also wore a black turban. And - as Miles had expected and as befitted a man of Middle Eastern origin - Otep had dark skin and a swarthy look. What Miles had not expected was the severity and sharp angles of the Egyptian’s features. The Egyptian might have been described as handsome, but his handsomeness was somehow marred by the coldness of his black eyes.
Miles took a sip of his beer to hide the sudden shiver that he felt race up his spine and down his arms and legs.
“It’s so nice to meet you after all of this time,” Otep said, smiling.
“Yes, and it is nice to meet you also, Mr. Otep,” Miles replied.
“Have you brought the item, Miles? I can call you Miles, can’t I?”
“Yes, quite fine, Mr. Otep,” Miles felt himself relaxing. There was something disarming about the dark man’s quiet politeness.
“I must say I envy you, Miles. You are fortunate to have had such a famous relative.”
“It’s really not what you would think, Mr. Otep,” Miles replied dismissively, “There are few who would call my Uncle Howard famous, and certainly not those who read mainstream literature. Sadly, my Uncle was a writer of a small sub-genre that few people seriously read once they reach adulthood.”
“Oh, I must politely disagree, Miles,” Otep purred, “Your uncle was an amazing man who will undoubtedly live on through his works. Howard Phillips Lovecraft was a visionary, Miles; a literary visionary!”
“If you say so, Mr. Otep,” Miles said, not really believing it. For his part, he had found his late uncle’s writings rather wordy and somewhat anachronistic. Miles said as much.
“Anachronistic? Please explain this word, Miles. English is not my first language” Otep apologized.
“My Uncle Howard always fancied himself a Victorian English gentleman who had had the misfortune of being born on the wrong continent. His writings reflected the style of a bygone era. ”
“Ah!” Otep breathed, “I understand, Mr. Whitcomb. But, I expect that much of what you say is most likely tainted by your Midwestern values and upbringing. Please don’t take that as an insult or sleight. In fact I almost envy you your provincial American attitude.
“Thank you, Miles said, unsure of the compliment.
“I’ve just realized,” Otep said, “that I’ve never asked you what is it you do for a living, Miles?”
“I am an engineer for the Willy’s Overland Motor Company, in Toledo. I was born and raised there, in fact.”
“That, I suspect, may have something to do with your evaluation of your uncle’s works. Do you feel that your mechanical tendencies affect your appreciation of art?”
“I wouldn’t say that, Mr. Otep. I enjoy art as much as the next man. I just never really developed a taste for the medium in which my uncle wrote. Let’s just say that my tastes run to the more realistic and less fantastic.”
“Toledo?” Otep asked, his brow furrowing in thought, “Isn’t that where the protagonists from one of your uncle’s more celebrated works came from?”
“I believe it was called The Shadow Over something or other. Yes. He wrote that story after my mother and I visited him one summer. He told me later that he had used me as a basis for that story’s main character. It is somewhat flattering.”
“Yes, I imagine it would be, Miles. But, enough small talk. Let us, as you American’s say, get down to business.”
Otep leaned forward expectantly as Miles reached into his satchel, retrieving the object that had brought him to this dark, seaside pub. It was a wooden case, the size of a cigar box and made of a polished, rich mahogany. Carved upon it was a strange symbol that looked much like a misshapen star with a flaming eye at its center. It was an exquisitely crafted piece that showed a remarkable level of workmanship.
By his manner, it was apparent to Miles that Otep was not concerned with the box so much as with what it held.
“And the sculpture,” Otep breathed, “it is inside?”
“Yes, Mr. Otep, it is. Truth be told, I find the sculpture actually quite ugly and I don’t particularly care for it. The only attachment I have to it is that it was left to me by my uncle when he passed away ten years ago.”
Miles opened the box, revealing an obsidian carved statuette that could only be described as horrific. As he often did when he looked upon it and despite its being an inanimate object, Miles mused that it sat almost malevolently in its ugliness. The carven figure was vaguely octopoid, but it also bore disturbingly humanoid characteristics.
All in all, it was most unpleasant to look upon.
He glanced to Mr. Otep who looked upon it with a predatory longing.
“You see,” Miles explained, “As I wrote, it is not something one puts on display for when company comes to visit.”
“It is breathtaking,” Otep said, much to Miles’ surprise.
“Yes, well,” Miles said, closing the box. Otep looked almost heartbroken to lose sight of it.
“What would you say, Mr. Whitcomb,” Otep said as he turned his black gaze upon Miles, “If I offered you one hundred thousand American dollars for that sculpture?”
Miles visibly started. He blinked in shock before answering.
“As I said in my letters, Mr. Otep,” Miles replied as he slipped the box into his satchel, “I am not interested in selling it. If indeed it is of Egyptian origin, I will be happy to allow you to take photographs and molds of it for your government. Although I absolutely detest the piece, it is a gift from my uncle. I feel obligated to keep it if only as a cherished heirloom.”
“Would you let it go for two hundred thousand dollars?” Otep countered.
Miles looked positively distressed at the amount of money he was being offered for the sculpture, but held firm. He shook his head, “I’m sorry, Mr. Otep. No. I came to Kingsport here at your request and out of respect for your cultural heritage. I did not come to sell the statue. I am most sorry.”
The Egyptian smiled again, and Miles again felt that same sense of disquiet.
“Of course, Mr. Whitcomb,” Otep said, “Forgive my…coveting of your inheritance. Your uncle had an enviable eye for antiquities. May I enquire as to whether or not you have any other objects de art or papers from your uncle’s estate?”
“This is the only thing I have left. I have donated all of Uncle Howard’s letters and papers to Mr. August Derleth in Wisconsin. He is compiling many of them for posterity and for inclusion in a volume of books.”
“That is unfortunate, Miles - most unfortunate.”
Suddenly, Miles smelled a strong fishy odor and sensed a presence behind him. He half turned to see the bartender hulking over him. Too late to react, Miles could only flinch as the bartender struck him with a club.
Miles fell into unconsciousness.
**********************************************************
He awoke to find himself once again embraced by thick fog.
In the distance, there was the muted tolling of a channel buoy. Miles also heard the lapping of water and smelled the sharp tang of sea water. It carried the heavy, fishy, decomposing odor of harbor water.
Groaning, he rolled over to find himself on the deck of a skiff. Peering with anxiety through the fog, he saw with some relief that he was still at dock. Remembering what had happened, he whispered a small prayer of thanks to God that he was still alive.
As he struggled upright, he winced as his head thudded painfully, no doubt from where he had been struck. Just as he sat up, he heard the clumping of footsteps and he saw that Mr. Otep and the bartender were approaching from the ship’s wheel house. The dark Arab was talking, and as they drew near, Whitcomb heard their conversation.
“…now that we have the statue,” the Egyptian said, “tell your brethren to meet us. The time is nigh, Obed. Dagon will be pleased.”
The bartender said nothing. He simply stopped by the rail of the deck and began taking his clothes off. Watching with mounting horror, Miles saw the bartender reveal a body that was not entirely human.
The bartender’s skin was rubbery and marbled with veins. It was stretched tight over oddly shaped joints. The creature’s feet, for it was obvious that the bartender was not entirely human, were long and webbed like those of a frog. The horrific beast finally spoke, but not in words that Miles recognized. It made several raspy, wet, croaking sounds, and Otep nodded as thought he understood. It then turned and slid clumsily over the side of the skiff. There was a splashing into the dank water below, and then silence.
Miles was quite certain that he was losing his mind.
Otep turned, walking towards Miles. He smiled again and Miles felt his blood run cold..
“Ah, Miles. So glad you could join us again. I apologize for my friend’s overzealous in subduing you. It pleases me that you’re not seriously injured as I have other more sinister plans for you.”
“Dear God,” Miles said, “what is going on?”
“I am taking care of some unfinished business, Mr. Whitcomb. It took me a considerably long time to find both you and that artifact your uncle left you. Before that, it took me the better part of twenty years to find that Lovecraft had it. It was fortuitous that he left it to you and that I could strike up a correspondence with you. My luring you here has been a long time coming.”
“Who are you, really?” Miles asked.
“Why, Miles, don’t you know?”
Otep bent down and grinned, his toothy smile seeming too wide and too evil. Suddenly and right before Miles’ disbelieving eyes, the man’s skin seemed to darken and grow blacker, like the ends of a piece of paper placed in a flame.
Miles shrieked and, to protect his sanity from this new horror, Mile’s mind dredged up a memory from his youth. Something he had buried deep down within himself since he had become an adult.
In his mind, he was suddenly twelve years old again and in his childhood bedroom back in Toledo. It was night time and he was reading a copy of Weird Tales by candlelight. The memory flooded over him and he suddenly remembered what he had forgotten in the long years since then.
With dagger-like recall, he remembered that had spent countless nights in his childhood room, shivering in fear and delight as he devoured every story his Uncle Howard had written. He had loved reading all of the old pulp magazines! He had been so proud of his uncle and loved to see the name H.P. Lovecraft on the cover of Amazing Stories or Weird Tales.
He had wanted to write like Uncle Howard, then. It was only when he had grown older and become an adult that he had given up the foolishness of science fiction and horror stories. He felt shame as he realized that he had turned away from his uncle’s genius and his own dreams of becoming a writer in favor of a solid and bland career in Mechanical Engineering. . His shame warred with the dread and horror that he felt as he realized that Mr. Otep was one of the nightmares that could only have been conjured from Lovecraft’s imagination.
All of this came to him as he lay shivering on the mist soaked deck, looking up into Mr. Otep’s black eyes. They were the cold, dead, predatory eyes of a shark and they had no trace of white
“You can’t be real,” Miles whispered, “You can’t be real.”
“Humans are so imaginative,” Nyarlothotep growled, “It’s part of your nature to create and dream and fantasize endlessly, and yet – inexplicably – you all deny the supernatural when in its presence. It’s a special gift you have that is, sadly, wasted.”
Mr. Otep knelt and looked at Miles with those chilling eyes and continued, “Some of you though, some of you are special. Some humans have a special insight that sees more than the imagined. Artists like Hieronymus Bosch, or Hienrich Fuseli, or even your dear, departed Uncle Howard. They look beyond the nightmares and see the horrors that are real and hidden from most humans’ eyes. They see the real, but the other humans see it as simply the fantastic. Lovecraft himself alluded to this in his story, Pickman’s Model. Imagine the horror, Miles; poor Howard Phillips languishing in his agoraphobia and writing about the nightmares that lurked at the edge of his sight. Nightmares that were there, unseen by those around him but undeniably real!”
“No!” Miles screamed. The logical, adult part of him refusing to believe what the long repressed child within knew as certainty. He was paralyzed, frozen in fear.
Just then there was a large splashing in the darkness and fog. It grew louder and louder and suddenly several man-sized, frog-like creatures swarmed aboard the ship, croaking and pointing into the fog. Mr. Otep stood and walked to the edge of the rail, peering into the gloom.
After a long moment there was heavier splashing, but it was subtly different from that of the frog creatures. Beneath the clamor of the splashing there was a heavy, liquid, breathing sound that was both horrifying and inhuman.
The dark man at the rail laughed and raised his arms, a parody of Christ on the cross. The sounds drew nearer and nearer and suddenly, out of the darkness, a giant ropy alien appendage appeared. The unnatural limb was smooth and black. It was grotesque and wrong and throbbed from within with an unnatural luminescence. The tentacle wrapped itself around Otep, caressing his dark clad form in greeting. Meanwhile, the frog creatures began croaking and moaning and chirping in orgiastic pleasure at the arrival of this new terror.
And then, when he thought it could get no worse, Miles felt something within himself snap as he saw more of the bioluminescence slowly emerging from the fog. Whatever it was, the monstrosity that was approaching was terrifyingly huge. It was mind-boggling and Miles could feel an evil wind coming in draughts through the chill fog.
“DAGON!” screamed Otep.
At this, and fearing that his life and very sanity were in peril, Miles’ paralysis broke and he leapt up from the deck. In a mad, fear-filled dash, he scrambled over the far end of the skiff to the dock below. He fell painfully, but was up in a flash, running in blind terror into the fog and darkness-cloaked streets of the small sea town. Behind him, he heard Otep let out a cry of rage and he heard other sounds; sounds of the frog creatures moaning in despair, the sound of flapping feet in pursuit, and, finally, a bellowing roar. It was a roar that would haunt his nightmares; it was a roar of a creature that did not belong in this world.
It was the roar of the black, glowing creature.
It was the roar of madness.
Miles did not look back. He darted in primal fear up the twisted alleys and treacherous cobblestones of Kingsport.
After what seemed like an eternity, he finally found his automobile. Safely within it, he raced southwards towards Boston. He realized with mounting dread, that he still had his satchel with him. Afraid of what he might find, he felt with trembling fingers within the leather bag. As he had feared, he touched the familiar polished surface of the box Uncle Howard had left him.
“Dear God,” he whispered, “they’ll never stop looking for this!”
His mind already damaged and his heart thudding like a drum within his chest, he drove on through the night, uncertain of what to do next. He was only sure that he had had his eyes opened to a new, terrifying world and that the dark and not entirely human Egyptian would never stop looking for him or for the artifact he had at his side.
“Thanks, Uncle Howard,” he moaned.
Taking over the world... one undead soul at a time.
Friday, February 02, 2007
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Music To Soothe The Zombie's Soul
I just wanted to turn readers onto a great site that I've been living at for the last couple of days. It's called iJigg and is probably one of the coolest music sites I've found on the web in ages.
It's sort of the same concept of Youtube where, instead of uploading videos, anyone can upload music. The best part is that it has a super fast load speed, and it has some awesome electronic music.
I especially like Untravel (it reminds me of my friend, kimber's, brother's band - Venus Hum); and Real Sick Fuck (Bestiality is always funny. It's a musical version of what Randall reallly wanted in Clerks II!).
Apparently, the site owners are working through some legal issues, but hopefully you'll be able to download the music to iPods soon.
Speaking of which, Mrs. Zombie let me go out and buy myself an iPod back in December for my birthday. I got a basic shuffle and, truthfully, I LOVE it. I looked at, and could have bought a more expensive nano, or the super size, ultra expensive iHoozawhatsis, but I was really sort of drawn to the simple, sleek design of the shuffle.
If you're on the fence about whether to spend the money on an mp3 player, you cannot go wrong with the Shuffle. For about $70, I have about 150 songs loaded, WITH ROOM FOR ANOTHER 100 or so. I downloaded some things from iTunes, and then ripped the rest from my own cd collection.
Now, you may be saying "But you can't pick your songs! It shuffles your music and you have no control over what it plays next!". And this is true, but I don't see a problem with that. You see, every song i put on it I LOVE. So I don't care about the order.
Plus it's seriously the size and weight of a half dollar. 200 plus of my favorite songs, in a non-skipping player that clips on my shirt for when I go mountain biking is sexy - no matter how you look at it!
Now if i could just download some of the stuff from iJigg...
It's sort of the same concept of Youtube where, instead of uploading videos, anyone can upload music. The best part is that it has a super fast load speed, and it has some awesome electronic music.
I especially like Untravel (it reminds me of my friend, kimber's, brother's band - Venus Hum); and Real Sick Fuck (Bestiality is always funny. It's a musical version of what Randall reallly wanted in Clerks II!).
Apparently, the site owners are working through some legal issues, but hopefully you'll be able to download the music to iPods soon.
Speaking of which, Mrs. Zombie let me go out and buy myself an iPod back in December for my birthday. I got a basic shuffle and, truthfully, I LOVE it. I looked at, and could have bought a more expensive nano, or the super size, ultra expensive iHoozawhatsis, but I was really sort of drawn to the simple, sleek design of the shuffle.
If you're on the fence about whether to spend the money on an mp3 player, you cannot go wrong with the Shuffle. For about $70, I have about 150 songs loaded, WITH ROOM FOR ANOTHER 100 or so. I downloaded some things from iTunes, and then ripped the rest from my own cd collection.
Now, you may be saying "But you can't pick your songs! It shuffles your music and you have no control over what it plays next!". And this is true, but I don't see a problem with that. You see, every song i put on it I LOVE. So I don't care about the order.
Plus it's seriously the size and weight of a half dollar. 200 plus of my favorite songs, in a non-skipping player that clips on my shirt for when I go mountain biking is sexy - no matter how you look at it!
Now if i could just download some of the stuff from iJigg...
Friday, January 05, 2007
Where's Winter?
So - - my father and I got into a fight about global warming the other day. I think he’s full of shit.
As I sit here, it is raining (and parts of where I am are flooding for the THIRD time in 6 months) and it is about 60 degrees. There was a little snow back in October, and then it has not been colder than the high thirties since then.
This is unheard of here in Cleveland. When I was growing up, I remember months and months of snow. And months of “booger-freezing cold”. For those of you who’ve never lived in the northern latitudes of North America, you have no idea what booger freezing cold is. It’s what happens when it gets so cold outside that, as soon as you go out, all of the moisture in your nostrils freezes instantly; causing a constricting, tickly, not entirely comfortable feeling in your nose. This phenomenon was a regular part of growing up here in Northern Ohio. And it is happening less and less.
We also have an interesting geographic and meteorological anomaly living here on the southern shore of Lake Erie. It’s called Lake Effect Snow. It’s what happens when Actic, Canadian air blows across the warmer Lake Erie water. This produces snow. Lots and lots of snow. Ungodly amounts of snow. A few miles in from the lakeshore, about where my house is, this combination of meteorological confluences dumps snow on an area known, oddly enough, as the Snow Belt. It is much worse south of me,in a small village called Chardon, and the surrounding areas of Geauga County.
They have been known to get snowfalls that can be measured in the tens of feet range. As in 10+ feet of snow with a good storm.
The thing is, Geauga County is weird in that the people that live there are one of three things. 1)Affluent business people who commute into Cleveland and live in $500k plus houses. They live in Chardon for the ‘provincial, bucolic charm’ of living on the edge of ‘the country’. It’s them, or 2) The Amish. Ohio has the largest Amish community outside of Pennsylvania, and they all live in the snowbelt. I personally don’t mind the Amish, except when I’m in a hurry and they are in their buggies going 15 fucking miles an hour down a 60 mph state highway. Well, that and their funny beards. .
And that leads us to the third denizen of greater Geauga County. They would be the dumb rednecks who’ve been in Geauga County for generations. They really don’t farm or anything, but they all have pickup trucks with stickers that say such enlightened, nonstereotypical things as “Git ‘R Done!!!”, or “Ain’t Skeered”, or the ever popular one of Calvin peeing on the logo of whatever brand of truck they’re NOT driving.
And here is what I lament most about Global Warming. It was these same rednecks who would, when I was growing up, park their trucks when the snow got too deep and pull out the handy-dandy snowmobile to get around. There’s nothing more heartwarming than to drive past a bar on a Friday or Saturday night along US Route 6 in Geauga County and see twenty or thirty snowmobiles lined up in the parking lot.
Then, every year, one of these dumb and hopelessly shitfaced rednecks would be cruising home a bit too fast after last call and invariable find a wire across someone’s driveway.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the true tragedy of global warming. No more decapitated rednecks, because it’s 60 goddamned degrees in January in the Northern Great Lakes.
“‘Cause decapitation, that’s funny – I don’t care who you are…”
As I sit here, it is raining (and parts of where I am are flooding for the THIRD time in 6 months) and it is about 60 degrees. There was a little snow back in October, and then it has not been colder than the high thirties since then.
This is unheard of here in Cleveland. When I was growing up, I remember months and months of snow. And months of “booger-freezing cold”. For those of you who’ve never lived in the northern latitudes of North America, you have no idea what booger freezing cold is. It’s what happens when it gets so cold outside that, as soon as you go out, all of the moisture in your nostrils freezes instantly; causing a constricting, tickly, not entirely comfortable feeling in your nose. This phenomenon was a regular part of growing up here in Northern Ohio. And it is happening less and less.
We also have an interesting geographic and meteorological anomaly living here on the southern shore of Lake Erie. It’s called Lake Effect Snow. It’s what happens when Actic, Canadian air blows across the warmer Lake Erie water. This produces snow. Lots and lots of snow. Ungodly amounts of snow. A few miles in from the lakeshore, about where my house is, this combination of meteorological confluences dumps snow on an area known, oddly enough, as the Snow Belt. It is much worse south of me,in a small village called Chardon, and the surrounding areas of Geauga County.
They have been known to get snowfalls that can be measured in the tens of feet range. As in 10+ feet of snow with a good storm.
The thing is, Geauga County is weird in that the people that live there are one of three things. 1)Affluent business people who commute into Cleveland and live in $500k plus houses. They live in Chardon for the ‘provincial, bucolic charm’ of living on the edge of ‘the country’. It’s them, or 2) The Amish. Ohio has the largest Amish community outside of Pennsylvania, and they all live in the snowbelt. I personally don’t mind the Amish, except when I’m in a hurry and they are in their buggies going 15 fucking miles an hour down a 60 mph state highway. Well, that and their funny beards.
And that leads us to the third denizen of greater Geauga County. They would be the dumb rednecks who’ve been in Geauga County for generations. They really don’t farm or anything, but they all have pickup trucks with stickers that say such enlightened, nonstereotypical things as “Git ‘R Done!!!”, or “Ain’t Skeered”, or the ever popular one of Calvin peeing on the logo of whatever brand of truck they’re NOT driving.
And here is what I lament most about Global Warming. It was these same rednecks who would, when I was growing up, park their trucks when the snow got too deep and pull out the handy-dandy snowmobile to get around. There’s nothing more heartwarming than to drive past a bar on a Friday or Saturday night along US Route 6 in Geauga County and see twenty or thirty snowmobiles lined up in the parking lot.
Then, every year, one of these dumb and hopelessly shitfaced rednecks would be cruising home a bit too fast after last call and invariable find a wire across someone’s driveway.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the true tragedy of global warming. No more decapitated rednecks, because it’s 60 goddamned degrees in January in the Northern Great Lakes.
“‘Cause decapitation, that’s funny – I don’t care who you are…”
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Still looking for a Harley!
For those of you who know me - - you'll know that I've been looking for a Harley for ages. I love the Harleys!
Anyway - I've been looking for a while and have been trying to work some barters or trades with various old Sportster owners, but to no avail. To help with that, I'm posting my current bike everywhere on the web.
To that end: I'm gonna post up a picture of my bike (or at least a picture of a similar bike I stole from Google) on the site for a couple different reasons. They are, in no order of importance:
A) I have a pretty good local readership. Maybe someone who looks at my site would be interested or knows someone who's looking for a good beginner motorcycle (especially if gas prices go up this upcoming year!),
B) I need to link to a picture for some of the on line forums I frequent,
and, C) I'm hoping SOMEONE will take pity on me and buy the damned thing so I can purchase a cheap, basket case Harley before spring gets here. A bunch of my buddies I ride with (with such warm and cuddly names as "The Snake" and "Rabid Wolf") have been really busting my undead balls to get a Harley, and I've been taken with the idea of purchasing an old, old ironhead Harley (That's from the 60, 70's, or early 80's) and turning into a chopped bobber. And I can't do that if I can't sell my Kawasaki Rice Ride!!!!
Sooooo, here's a picture of it....
My bike looks exactly like that - - but it has saddlebags. Actually - The bike itself is a 2002 Kawasaki Vulcan 500 ltd with about 3500 or so miles on it (that's subject to change if the global warming keeps it as warm as it's been this winter :) ) It's always been garaged, comes with saddlebag supports and a tank bib with a pocket for sunglasses, cellphone, etc...
And it can be all yours for the low, low price of $2500 or best offer...
Whaddya think? Know somebody who wants one? Would YOU like one. Truthfully, it'd make a great bike for a beginning rider.
And if you know Mrs. Zombie - - don't let her give you grief about me and my quest for a Harley! She isn't serious. Really.
Anyway - I've been looking for a while and have been trying to work some barters or trades with various old Sportster owners, but to no avail. To help with that, I'm posting my current bike everywhere on the web.
To that end: I'm gonna post up a picture of my bike (or at least a picture of a similar bike I stole from Google) on the site for a couple different reasons. They are, in no order of importance:
A) I have a pretty good local readership. Maybe someone who looks at my site would be interested or knows someone who's looking for a good beginner motorcycle (especially if gas prices go up this upcoming year!),
B) I need to link to a picture for some of the on line forums I frequent,
and, C) I'm hoping SOMEONE will take pity on me and buy the damned thing so I can purchase a cheap, basket case Harley before spring gets here. A bunch of my buddies I ride with (with such warm and cuddly names as "The Snake" and "Rabid Wolf") have been really busting my undead balls to get a Harley, and I've been taken with the idea of purchasing an old, old ironhead Harley (That's from the 60, 70's, or early 80's) and turning into a chopped bobber. And I can't do that if I can't sell my Kawasaki Rice Ride!!!!
Sooooo, here's a picture of it....
My bike looks exactly like that - - but it has saddlebags. Actually - The bike itself is a 2002 Kawasaki Vulcan 500 ltd with about 3500 or so miles on it (that's subject to change if the global warming keeps it as warm as it's been this winter :) ) It's always been garaged, comes with saddlebag supports and a tank bib with a pocket for sunglasses, cellphone, etc...
And it can be all yours for the low, low price of $2500 or best offer...
Whaddya think? Know somebody who wants one? Would YOU like one. Truthfully, it'd make a great bike for a beginning rider.
And if you know Mrs. Zombie - - don't let her give you grief about me and my quest for a Harley! She isn't serious. Really.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Do you smell something burning?
Just a quick update because I’ve been woefully negligent in updating…
It was a good Yule. Zombie Boy and Wolf Girl got everything they asked for from Santa (except for the two or three things they asked for within twelve hours of Christmas. Sorry, kids - - Santa braves the rude and claustrophobia inducing masses at the local mall only once or twice during this ‘alleged’ season of good will. Sorry - - you gotta let him know about the Heelies BEFORE he’s done his shopping.)
So – what’s the new year got in store for Doctor Zombie?
Well – I’ll be working on more writing. I need to finish my current novel and also try to get some freelance work. I’d love to write for some Indie horror movie rags; mags like Fangoria or Rue Morgue, so I’ll be pestering their as yet unknowing editorial staff to let me contribute. I expect I will most likely need to come to the editor’s houses at night, while their sleeping, and do various evil things to them in a coercive attempt to further my own nefarious writing ambitions.
I’ll also be doing more movie reviews in general. Expect a big change in the site within the next few months. I’ll be redesigning it and making it more of an online zine. Don’t worry though, my lvoely undead minions - - I’ll still be blogging.
And then, there’s the big project on the horizon…
I’ve got one word for you: Solar Death Ray.
I’ve been perusing various sites and have decided to start work on my very own Solar Death Ray. Some of the cool sites that have inspired me are Solardeathray.com, some coolness over at Zombie Squad, and this article on Wired that I found. That and I caught the Mythbusters episode where they attempted to recreate Archimedes Death Ray. I’m not sure about the design I’m leaning towards, but I assure you, you will see updates and pictures of my alpha and beta melting-shit-just-because-it’s-cool! tests.
So - - the new year promises much for Doctor Zombie and my plans for world domination. Happy New Year!
It was a good Yule. Zombie Boy and Wolf Girl got everything they asked for from Santa (except for the two or three things they asked for within twelve hours of Christmas. Sorry, kids - - Santa braves the rude and claustrophobia inducing masses at the local mall only once or twice during this ‘alleged’ season of good will. Sorry - - you gotta let him know about the Heelies BEFORE he’s done his shopping.)
So – what’s the new year got in store for Doctor Zombie?
Well – I’ll be working on more writing. I need to finish my current novel and also try to get some freelance work. I’d love to write for some Indie horror movie rags; mags like Fangoria or Rue Morgue, so I’ll be pestering their as yet unknowing editorial staff to let me contribute. I expect I will most likely need to come to the editor’s houses at night, while their sleeping, and do various evil things to them in a coercive attempt to further my own nefarious writing ambitions.
I’ll also be doing more movie reviews in general. Expect a big change in the site within the next few months. I’ll be redesigning it and making it more of an online zine. Don’t worry though, my lvoely undead minions - - I’ll still be blogging.
And then, there’s the big project on the horizon…
I’ve got one word for you: Solar Death Ray.
I’ve been perusing various sites and have decided to start work on my very own Solar Death Ray. Some of the cool sites that have inspired me are Solardeathray.com, some coolness over at Zombie Squad, and this article on Wired that I found. That and I caught the Mythbusters episode where they attempted to recreate Archimedes Death Ray. I’m not sure about the design I’m leaning towards, but I assure you, you will see updates and pictures of my alpha and beta melting-shit-just-because-it’s-cool! tests.
So - - the new year promises much for Doctor Zombie and my plans for world domination. Happy New Year!
Friday, December 08, 2006
Movie Review - The Gamers (2002)
So I’ve mentioned before a small and as yet unrealeased independent film starring an old friend of mine, the lovely Carol Roscoe (actress extraordinaire!). She worked with a group of improv actors in Oregon called The Dead Gentlemen. These crazy guys have expanded their comedy empire to include several low, low budget indie films; including The Gamers: Dorkness Rising which features my friend Carol.
Well, I managed to get my cold, undead hands on a copy of their first production - The Gamers – and I’ve got to say it is a piece of cinematic fried gold!
As I said, it is a really low budget flick. That being said it was actually well written, had decent (if bottom dollar) production quality, and was downright hilarious.
The plot revolves around a group of college age guys who return to their dorm from a movie on a Friday night to begin a night of role-playing. They are involved in an adventure in an AD&D-type universe and, as they play, the action shifts from their dorm room to the adventure itself - with the actors playing both their real life and game world characters. Leaving on a quest to stop the evil Shadow and save a princess, the adventurers make their way across a fantasy world filled with harrowing evil; or at least some members of the local SCA Guild.
What works so well about this movie is that it resonates in that geeky part of you. You know, that part that anyone who’s stayed up all night – casting spells, or crawling through dungeons, or arguing how their Dwarven Cleric could totally kill a dragon with his +12 Hammer of Inconvenient Doom - must recognize. Basically, it is a movie by gamers for gamers. Anyone who’s gamed will recognize the in jokes of the gaming world. There’s the guy who has to argue every rule. There’s the mishap where the other gamers accidentally kill one member of the party. There’s even an attempt to backstab an enemy in a bar with a ballista that does 264 points of damage.
This flick has it all, dear readers!
I’ve always said that it takes a special kind of person to role play. There’s an intelligence, wit, and creativity that many in the outside world lack. And it is a quality, an essence, that other gamers can sense. Basically, we geeks can smell one another. And the Dead Gentlemen smell like my kind of geeks. Huzzah!
In fact, I’m half thinking I might make Mrs. Zombie watch this as she’s never understood the nerdiness Dr. Z’s capable of. It’s that kind of movie, friend. It is laugh out loud funny, it’s quotable, and it will even appeal to those who aren’t part of the RPG’ing world.
My only complaint was a small one in that the copy I had would not turn off the English subtitles. It was at first distracting, but actually helped later when the poor sound transfer showed. Other than that, it should be obvious how much I liked this movie. (So much did I like it in fact, that I will most likely be shelling out the $20 to pick up the Director’s Cut that was just recently released. It makes me salivate even more for the sequel - -The Gamers: Dorkness Rising.)
So, my final verdict on this is that you MUST purchase this and encourage these guys to make more movies! Doctor Zombie commands all of his undead minions to go to the Dead Gentlemen Site and give them some hard earned sheckels! Do it, my lovely zombie minions! Do it now!
Doctor Zombie’s Rating: 5 out of 5 Chomped Brains!!!
Well, I managed to get my cold, undead hands on a copy of their first production - The Gamers – and I’ve got to say it is a piece of cinematic fried gold!
As I said, it is a really low budget flick. That being said it was actually well written, had decent (if bottom dollar) production quality, and was downright hilarious.
The plot revolves around a group of college age guys who return to their dorm from a movie on a Friday night to begin a night of role-playing. They are involved in an adventure in an AD&D-type universe and, as they play, the action shifts from their dorm room to the adventure itself - with the actors playing both their real life and game world characters. Leaving on a quest to stop the evil Shadow and save a princess, the adventurers make their way across a fantasy world filled with harrowing evil; or at least some members of the local SCA Guild.
What works so well about this movie is that it resonates in that geeky part of you. You know, that part that anyone who’s stayed up all night – casting spells, or crawling through dungeons, or arguing how their Dwarven Cleric could totally kill a dragon with his +12 Hammer of Inconvenient Doom - must recognize. Basically, it is a movie by gamers for gamers. Anyone who’s gamed will recognize the in jokes of the gaming world. There’s the guy who has to argue every rule. There’s the mishap where the other gamers accidentally kill one member of the party. There’s even an attempt to backstab an enemy in a bar with a ballista that does 264 points of damage.
This flick has it all, dear readers!
I’ve always said that it takes a special kind of person to role play. There’s an intelligence, wit, and creativity that many in the outside world lack. And it is a quality, an essence, that other gamers can sense. Basically, we geeks can smell one another. And the Dead Gentlemen smell like my kind of geeks. Huzzah!
In fact, I’m half thinking I might make Mrs. Zombie watch this as she’s never understood the nerdiness Dr. Z’s capable of. It’s that kind of movie, friend. It is laugh out loud funny, it’s quotable, and it will even appeal to those who aren’t part of the RPG’ing world.
My only complaint was a small one in that the copy I had would not turn off the English subtitles. It was at first distracting, but actually helped later when the poor sound transfer showed. Other than that, it should be obvious how much I liked this movie. (So much did I like it in fact, that I will most likely be shelling out the $20 to pick up the Director’s Cut that was just recently released. It makes me salivate even more for the sequel - -The Gamers: Dorkness Rising.)
So, my final verdict on this is that you MUST purchase this and encourage these guys to make more movies! Doctor Zombie commands all of his undead minions to go to the Dead Gentlemen Site and give them some hard earned sheckels! Do it, my lovely zombie minions! Do it now!
Doctor Zombie’s Rating: 5 out of 5 Chomped Brains!!!
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Furry Raccoon Bastards, Part Deux...
So - - my brother Curt stops by a few weeks ago.
“Hey!” says he, “You’re a psychopath. Do you have any bottle rockets?”
“I resent that!” I protested, “Why would you assume that I’m a psychopath who would have dangerous and illegal (in the state of Ohio) explosives just lying around the house?!? I have kids, for chissakes!”
He arched an eyebrow at me.
“All right,” I said, “I’ve got the better part of a gross left over from the Fourth of July. I may also have a Roman candle or two. What do you need them for?”
Well, it turns out my brother had been having some trouble at his new house. He has a nice addition off of the back that has a big fireplace in it. Apparently he had a family of raccoons living in it and he was looking for a way to get rid of them.
Now, you’ve read of my previous battle against the raccoons, so you know I and the furry interlopers have history. That said, though, I had to ask, “So why don’t you light a fire and smoke ‘em out?”
“Well,” replies Curt, “I can’t light a fire because the chimney needs to be cleaned, and the chimney sweeps won’t come clean it with a family of raccoons lurking inside. Also, lighting a fire seems somehow… cruel. That, and I’m sure it’d cook them and it’d smell bad. You know?”
I nodded, not relishing the image of cooked baby raccoons. I added, “Besides, how would you get their charred furry bodies out once they’d died?”
“Exactly!” my brother said, “So, I thought I’d just, you know, get some firecrackers and scare them out. Besides, the Raccoon Removal Guy is REALLY expensive.”
I frowned, thinking through his plan. Although the idea of submitting the raccoons to an artillery barrage not unlike the German Blitz on World War II London seemed somehow less humane, there WAS the opportunity of playing with explosives. Also, it would save my brother some money. And I'd get to play with firecrackers.
The eight year old part of my brain won the argument and fell firmly on the side of firecrackers.
“Cool,” I said, “Let’s go.”
So we retrieved my bag of thunderous doom from the laboratory. (That’s how I 've labeled the waterproof container I keep my firecrackers in. It is emblazoned in big letters “DR. Z’S THUNDEROUS BAG OF DOOM!!!”. That’s so it’s not confused with, say, the Christmas ornaments.) and we headed over to Curt’s, after a short stop at the store for a couple of 8 packs of Guinness.
We arrived and proceeded to set up. His wife peaked her head in and asked what we were planning. We only got as far as “Firecrackers” and “Big Ba-Da-Booms!” and "Han's team is on Endor and they should have turned off the shield generator..." when she shook her head in disgust.
“I’m going to my sister's because one of you two idiots is going to lose a hand or an eye and I’ll be damned if I’m going to drive you to the hospital,” she said.
Why is it women never recognize a good plan when they hear it?
Anyway. We set up and, as we drank a few beers, came up with the finer points of our plan. We retrieved a piece of plywood and a cinder block from the garage. After setting a ladder against the house, we lugged these to the roof. Our intention was to, once the raccoons were extricated from the chimney, run up and put the board over the top. We would, after a few days, replace it with a screeen when we could afford it. (We’d blown any available cash we’d had on us on Guinness and beef jerky at the local Quick Stop. Plus, Curt’s wife had refused to give us any more money because of some nonsense about “not contributing to our stupid, drunken, Irish shenanigans.”)
So, after placing the wood and brick, we scurried back down and ran to the family room, where we proceeded to have a few more frothy Irish adult bevarages. After locating a box of Blue Tip matches, we let loose with the barrage.
I’m sure the neighbors must have thought we were insane as, for the next 40 minutes, it looked like hellfire was spewing from my brother’s chimney. After we had drank the rest of the beer and shot through several hundred bottle rockets and a dozen or so Roman candles, we called off the assault. (This was roughly about the time we were drunk enough that it sounded like a good idea to get some duct tape and make a super bottle rocket by taping 50 or so of them together. Remarkably, and defying the expectations of either of our wives, we showed rare good judgement and decided that the raccoons had most likely had enough.)
So we staggered drunkenly outside, up the ladder, and placed the board over the top of the chimney, securing it with the cinder block. I'm not sure, but I think this is the point at which I fell off of the roof. In an act of brotherly love, Curt left me unconscious and snoring in the fallen leaves in his flower beds, assuming in his drunkeness that I'd planned to stay there in the first place.
I woke up some hours later and staggered home.
“Jackass,” my wife said, seeing my drunken state. She rolled her eyes at my disheveled appearance. (My clothes were muddy and torn, I smelled of gunpowder and Guinness, and I was well and truly blotto.) I staggered off to bed without so much as a good night kiss. I'm not sure why.
I was awoken the next morning by my wife, who woke me by throwing the phone at me where I lay on our bed; snoring, farty, naked, and in the grips of a horrible hangover.
“It’s Curt’s wife,” she said, “You two idiots have done it now.”
It turns out that there were some inherent flaws in our initial plan. Curt had left me asleep in the planter and went inside to find that, now that we’d capped the top of the chimney, all of the bluish smoke and haze from the metric fuckton of bottle rockets we’d sent up the chimney was now backing up into the house. So, in his drunken state, he’d gone back to the garage and placed another piece of plywood against the bottom of the fireplace - - holding it in place with several straegically placed pillows. He too, then staggered off to bed.
That’s were the flaws of our plan became apparent. In retrospect, it would probably have been a good idea to post a lookout outside to see if the raccoons actually CAME OUT of the chimney. Although a seemingly simple idea to any Monday morning quarterback, I have to admit that it wasn’t so apparent when you’ve got a hand full of fireworks just dying to be blown off.
Remember my World War II analogy from earlier? Well, while we were bombing Oxford Street and Picadilly Circus like Germans in Messerschmidts, the raccoons were holed up like Londoners in the Underground. They apparently waited out our artillery, like the furry balls of evil that raccoons are, and waited until the house had grown quiet later that night.
It was then that they crawled out of the chimney like ninjas - - furry, spiteful, angry ninjas.
They knocked over the plywood in the family room and in an act of wanton rage and disrespect, proceeded to shit all over the room; tear up the pillows and couch; and defile my poor brother’s almost priceless collection of Dragon Magazines.
He and I spent several long, hungover hours cleaning it up the next day. We then called the Raccoon Removal Guy - -who charged us an arm and a leg to remove the furry interlopers.
So - - what’s the aftermath? Well, it didn’t turn out too well for me. I’m now required to check with Mrs. Zombie every time I think about any unauthorized uses of DR. Z’S THUNDEROUS BAG OF DOOM!!!; all harebrained, money saving schemes Curt and I come up with must be submitted to a panel that includes at least three wives; and – worst of all – I’m not allowed to participate in anything that involves the word ‘raccoon’ in it anymore. Uncool.
I swear, the furry bastards are out to get me…
“Hey!” says he, “You’re a psychopath. Do you have any bottle rockets?”
“I resent that!” I protested, “Why would you assume that I’m a psychopath who would have dangerous and illegal (in the state of Ohio) explosives just lying around the house?!? I have kids, for chissakes!”
He arched an eyebrow at me.
“All right,” I said, “I’ve got the better part of a gross left over from the Fourth of July. I may also have a Roman candle or two. What do you need them for?”
Well, it turns out my brother had been having some trouble at his new house. He has a nice addition off of the back that has a big fireplace in it. Apparently he had a family of raccoons living in it and he was looking for a way to get rid of them.
Now, you’ve read of my previous battle against the raccoons, so you know I and the furry interlopers have history. That said, though, I had to ask, “So why don’t you light a fire and smoke ‘em out?”
“Well,” replies Curt, “I can’t light a fire because the chimney needs to be cleaned, and the chimney sweeps won’t come clean it with a family of raccoons lurking inside. Also, lighting a fire seems somehow… cruel. That, and I’m sure it’d cook them and it’d smell bad. You know?”
I nodded, not relishing the image of cooked baby raccoons. I added, “Besides, how would you get their charred furry bodies out once they’d died?”
“Exactly!” my brother said, “So, I thought I’d just, you know, get some firecrackers and scare them out. Besides, the Raccoon Removal Guy is REALLY expensive.”
I frowned, thinking through his plan. Although the idea of submitting the raccoons to an artillery barrage not unlike the German Blitz on World War II London seemed somehow less humane, there WAS the opportunity of playing with explosives. Also, it would save my brother some money. And I'd get to play with firecrackers.
The eight year old part of my brain won the argument and fell firmly on the side of firecrackers.
“Cool,” I said, “Let’s go.”
So we retrieved my bag of thunderous doom from the laboratory. (That’s how I 've labeled the waterproof container I keep my firecrackers in. It is emblazoned in big letters “DR. Z’S THUNDEROUS BAG OF DOOM!!!”. That’s so it’s not confused with, say, the Christmas ornaments.) and we headed over to Curt’s, after a short stop at the store for a couple of 8 packs of Guinness.
We arrived and proceeded to set up. His wife peaked her head in and asked what we were planning. We only got as far as “Firecrackers” and “Big Ba-Da-Booms!” and "Han's team is on Endor and they should have turned off the shield generator..." when she shook her head in disgust.
“I’m going to my sister's because one of you two idiots is going to lose a hand or an eye and I’ll be damned if I’m going to drive you to the hospital,” she said.
Why is it women never recognize a good plan when they hear it?
Anyway. We set up and, as we drank a few beers, came up with the finer points of our plan. We retrieved a piece of plywood and a cinder block from the garage. After setting a ladder against the house, we lugged these to the roof. Our intention was to, once the raccoons were extricated from the chimney, run up and put the board over the top. We would, after a few days, replace it with a screeen when we could afford it. (We’d blown any available cash we’d had on us on Guinness and beef jerky at the local Quick Stop. Plus, Curt’s wife had refused to give us any more money because of some nonsense about “not contributing to our stupid, drunken, Irish shenanigans.”)
So, after placing the wood and brick, we scurried back down and ran to the family room, where we proceeded to have a few more frothy Irish adult bevarages. After locating a box of Blue Tip matches, we let loose with the barrage.
I’m sure the neighbors must have thought we were insane as, for the next 40 minutes, it looked like hellfire was spewing from my brother’s chimney. After we had drank the rest of the beer and shot through several hundred bottle rockets and a dozen or so Roman candles, we called off the assault. (This was roughly about the time we were drunk enough that it sounded like a good idea to get some duct tape and make a super bottle rocket by taping 50 or so of them together. Remarkably, and defying the expectations of either of our wives, we showed rare good judgement and decided that the raccoons had most likely had enough.)
So we staggered drunkenly outside, up the ladder, and placed the board over the top of the chimney, securing it with the cinder block. I'm not sure, but I think this is the point at which I fell off of the roof. In an act of brotherly love, Curt left me unconscious and snoring in the fallen leaves in his flower beds, assuming in his drunkeness that I'd planned to stay there in the first place.
I woke up some hours later and staggered home.
“Jackass,” my wife said, seeing my drunken state. She rolled her eyes at my disheveled appearance. (My clothes were muddy and torn, I smelled of gunpowder and Guinness, and I was well and truly blotto.) I staggered off to bed without so much as a good night kiss. I'm not sure why.
I was awoken the next morning by my wife, who woke me by throwing the phone at me where I lay on our bed; snoring, farty, naked, and in the grips of a horrible hangover.
“It’s Curt’s wife,” she said, “You two idiots have done it now.”
It turns out that there were some inherent flaws in our initial plan. Curt had left me asleep in the planter and went inside to find that, now that we’d capped the top of the chimney, all of the bluish smoke and haze from the metric fuckton of bottle rockets we’d sent up the chimney was now backing up into the house. So, in his drunken state, he’d gone back to the garage and placed another piece of plywood against the bottom of the fireplace - - holding it in place with several straegically placed pillows. He too, then staggered off to bed.
That’s were the flaws of our plan became apparent. In retrospect, it would probably have been a good idea to post a lookout outside to see if the raccoons actually CAME OUT of the chimney. Although a seemingly simple idea to any Monday morning quarterback, I have to admit that it wasn’t so apparent when you’ve got a hand full of fireworks just dying to be blown off.
Remember my World War II analogy from earlier? Well, while we were bombing Oxford Street and Picadilly Circus like Germans in Messerschmidts, the raccoons were holed up like Londoners in the Underground. They apparently waited out our artillery, like the furry balls of evil that raccoons are, and waited until the house had grown quiet later that night.
It was then that they crawled out of the chimney like ninjas - - furry, spiteful, angry ninjas.
They knocked over the plywood in the family room and in an act of wanton rage and disrespect, proceeded to shit all over the room; tear up the pillows and couch; and defile my poor brother’s almost priceless collection of Dragon Magazines.
He and I spent several long, hungover hours cleaning it up the next day. We then called the Raccoon Removal Guy - -who charged us an arm and a leg to remove the furry interlopers.
So - - what’s the aftermath? Well, it didn’t turn out too well for me. I’m now required to check with Mrs. Zombie every time I think about any unauthorized uses of DR. Z’S THUNDEROUS BAG OF DOOM!!!; all harebrained, money saving schemes Curt and I come up with must be submitted to a panel that includes at least three wives; and – worst of all – I’m not allowed to participate in anything that involves the word ‘raccoon’ in it anymore. Uncool.
I swear, the furry bastards are out to get me…
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Aaarrrrgghhhh!
I got poison ivy while cutting wood last weekend at our deer camp.
If you've never had it, let me fill you in on how bad poison ivy sucks.
Imagine a mosquito bite. Now multiply the itch by about a thousand and spread that mosquito bite over both of your forearms. Did I mention that NOTHING out there stops the itch?
Then those mosquito bites turn into oozing, crusty, ulcerating blisters. On top of that, you spend a two or three day period breaking out in new blisters as your body starts to react, so I'm still unsure how bad my exposure was.
It could be worse... my dad got it too. And, like I said, mine's limited to both of my forearms. My dad got it on his face and on his junk. I can't begin to describe the primal horror and distress the thought of getting this filth on Doctor Zombie's "little zombie" stirs within me. (shudder/)
So I sit here, feeling as though insects are squirming and twisting beneath the skin of my forearms. I sit here with my arms covered in a smelly, pink (and I suspect, ineffectual) smear of calamine lotion and Benedryl. And I sit here in a foul black mood BECAUSE I CAN'T STOP THE FUCKING ITCHING!
I swear to the dark gods, if one more person tells me that it can't be that bad, that the medicine should make the itch stop; I am going to punch said person in the larynx and stand over their convulsing and prone body, listening in satisfaction as they gurgle and try to breath. I'll stand there and twitch with satisfaction, but only partly. The majority of my twitching will be because I CAN'T SCRATCH!
Groan. Please... make... the...itching...STOP!
If you've never had it, let me fill you in on how bad poison ivy sucks.
Imagine a mosquito bite. Now multiply the itch by about a thousand and spread that mosquito bite over both of your forearms. Did I mention that NOTHING out there stops the itch?
Then those mosquito bites turn into oozing, crusty, ulcerating blisters. On top of that, you spend a two or three day period breaking out in new blisters as your body starts to react, so I'm still unsure how bad my exposure was.
It could be worse... my dad got it too. And, like I said, mine's limited to both of my forearms. My dad got it on his face and on his junk. I can't begin to describe the primal horror and distress the thought of getting this filth on Doctor Zombie's "little zombie" stirs within me. (shudder/)
So I sit here, feeling as though insects are squirming and twisting beneath the skin of my forearms. I sit here with my arms covered in a smelly, pink (and I suspect, ineffectual) smear of calamine lotion and Benedryl. And I sit here in a foul black mood BECAUSE I CAN'T STOP THE FUCKING ITCHING!
I swear to the dark gods, if one more person tells me that it can't be that bad, that the medicine should make the itch stop; I am going to punch said person in the larynx and stand over their convulsing and prone body, listening in satisfaction as they gurgle and try to breath. I'll stand there and twitch with satisfaction, but only partly. The majority of my twitching will be because I CAN'T SCRATCH!
Groan. Please... make... the...itching...STOP!
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Sleep Deprived
I’ve been really busy at work and I'm currently running on pure will and evil malice right now, but I found some awesome links that have been piling up and I needed to get a posting up this week before I left to go bow hunting for the weekend.
I’ll be back next week with a movie review of (shudder) Uwe Boll’s BloodRayne.
I’m going to pick this book up. It’s reminiscent of "Max Brooks’ Zombie Survival Guide". How’d this one get past me?!? Here I am busily planning my take over of the world through a zombie Armageddon, and I find out the fucking robots are planning their own invasion! Dammit! Sure, they get the cool Cylon vibe, and sure, they get to wear vat grown flesh over a titanium endoskeleton. Sure, they even get the sexy weapons, like a phased plasma rifle in the forty watt range… but when all is said and done, us zombies got feelings – ya’ know? Screw those robots!
At the risk of getting my balls busted for wanting a murse, or a manbag, I have to admit that I’ve been looking for a new bag for when I go downtown for school. I just want something kind of trendy, but utilitarian for all the crap I’ve got to carry on a daily basis. I saw these and I am REALLY, REALLY tempted to pick one up. A bit pricy, but *damn* is it nice. And you can call it a man purse all you want, but I bet YOUR purse doesn’t have the capability of carrying an H&K USP .45 semi-automatic pistol with two or three back up magazines of ammunition!!! I’ve lately been thinking in terms of survival, and the concept of a Bug Out Bag (or BOB). These are bags that you would have with you in today’s uncertain world of terrorism and impending zombie or otherwise Armageddon. They would have basic survival supplies that would enable you to fight your way back home, or to a safe place in the event your home is overrun by ravenous cannibal hordes. This would suit that purpose AND carry the daily stuff I need (like my oscillating death ray). The only drawback is that it’s not big enough to carry my school notebooks. That being said, I still think it would probably look GREAT with my Utilikilt. Whaddya think?
I have to admit, Doctor Zombie LOVES him some ass kicking. Especially in my movies. I’ve been known to judge a movie on some very simplistic merits. For a movie to be good, it must have one or more of the following things: A) Gore, B) Monsters, C) Guns, D) Someone getting Kung fu kicked in the face, and E) boobs. What can I say; I’m a simple man with simple tastes. That said, I found this list (on a pretty cool site) of the greatest martial arts movies of all time, and I can find nothing wrong with their choices. I know that top ten lists are a dime a dozen on the internet, but it’s a rare list that I agree with almost entirely. Check it out…
Here’s a link to the new internet obsession – transhumanism. No, not transhumanism as it pertains to man’s quest to improve himself physiologically through science and/or technology. That’s how we run into trouble with the cyborgs (see today’s FIRST post!). I’m talking about the incredible amount of photo-shopping and airbrushing that professional models, actors, and actresses need in order to look like the preternaturally inhuman works of beauty that we see on magazines and on billboards. This is an especially telling example of this. Crap! This makes me think that I, in all of my grotesquely ugly glory, could be a friggin’ model. It’s funny how our perceptions of beauty and our perceptions of perfection are so manipulated by the media, advertising companies, and PR flacks. I find this fascinating - - it’s like Glamour Shots for the rich and famous.
And on the “Doctor Z. wishes he had some money to just invest in pieces of horror history” front - - this real estate agent has listed the house where the mutant rednecks immortalized in Truman Capote’s “In Cold Blood” murdered them a whole family. This is right up there with buying the house from the Amityville Horror, or the Spahn ranch (where Smilin’ Charlie Manson murdered Sharon Tate), or even Boleskine Castle in Scotland (Aleister Crowley’s mansion). How cool would it be to buy this place?!?
That’s all for now, dear reader. I’ve been working from about 5:30pm to 5:30 am for the last three nights at work. I’ve another class to train tonight until 11ish, and then I’m going to crawl off to my coffin for some much needed rest. I’ve found that, when I have a total of less than 5 or so hours sleep - over a three day period, people end up getting murdered. It just happens, and I (sometimes) feel a little remorseful that it has to happen; but they should probably stay clear of a sleep deprived, evil, undead Doctor if they know what’s best for them. I’m just sayin’…
I’ll be back next week with a movie review of (shudder) Uwe Boll’s BloodRayne.
I’m going to pick this book up. It’s reminiscent of "Max Brooks’ Zombie Survival Guide". How’d this one get past me?!? Here I am busily planning my take over of the world through a zombie Armageddon, and I find out the fucking robots are planning their own invasion! Dammit! Sure, they get the cool Cylon vibe, and sure, they get to wear vat grown flesh over a titanium endoskeleton. Sure, they even get the sexy weapons, like a phased plasma rifle in the forty watt range… but when all is said and done, us zombies got feelings – ya’ know? Screw those robots!
At the risk of getting my balls busted for wanting a murse, or a manbag, I have to admit that I’ve been looking for a new bag for when I go downtown for school. I just want something kind of trendy, but utilitarian for all the crap I’ve got to carry on a daily basis. I saw these and I am REALLY, REALLY tempted to pick one up. A bit pricy, but *damn* is it nice. And you can call it a man purse all you want, but I bet YOUR purse doesn’t have the capability of carrying an H&K USP .45 semi-automatic pistol with two or three back up magazines of ammunition!!! I’ve lately been thinking in terms of survival, and the concept of a Bug Out Bag (or BOB). These are bags that you would have with you in today’s uncertain world of terrorism and impending zombie or otherwise Armageddon. They would have basic survival supplies that would enable you to fight your way back home, or to a safe place in the event your home is overrun by ravenous cannibal hordes. This would suit that purpose AND carry the daily stuff I need (like my oscillating death ray). The only drawback is that it’s not big enough to carry my school notebooks. That being said, I still think it would probably look GREAT with my Utilikilt. Whaddya think?
I have to admit, Doctor Zombie LOVES him some ass kicking. Especially in my movies. I’ve been known to judge a movie on some very simplistic merits. For a movie to be good, it must have one or more of the following things: A) Gore, B) Monsters, C) Guns, D) Someone getting Kung fu kicked in the face, and E) boobs. What can I say; I’m a simple man with simple tastes. That said, I found this list (on a pretty cool site) of the greatest martial arts movies of all time, and I can find nothing wrong with their choices. I know that top ten lists are a dime a dozen on the internet, but it’s a rare list that I agree with almost entirely. Check it out…
Here’s a link to the new internet obsession – transhumanism. No, not transhumanism as it pertains to man’s quest to improve himself physiologically through science and/or technology. That’s how we run into trouble with the cyborgs (see today’s FIRST post!). I’m talking about the incredible amount of photo-shopping and airbrushing that professional models, actors, and actresses need in order to look like the preternaturally inhuman works of beauty that we see on magazines and on billboards. This is an especially telling example of this. Crap! This makes me think that I, in all of my grotesquely ugly glory, could be a friggin’ model. It’s funny how our perceptions of beauty and our perceptions of perfection are so manipulated by the media, advertising companies, and PR flacks. I find this fascinating - - it’s like Glamour Shots for the rich and famous.
And on the “Doctor Z. wishes he had some money to just invest in pieces of horror history” front - - this real estate agent has listed the house where the mutant rednecks immortalized in Truman Capote’s “In Cold Blood” murdered them a whole family. This is right up there with buying the house from the Amityville Horror, or the Spahn ranch (where Smilin’ Charlie Manson murdered Sharon Tate), or even Boleskine Castle in Scotland (Aleister Crowley’s mansion). How cool would it be to buy this place?!?
That’s all for now, dear reader. I’ve been working from about 5:30pm to 5:30 am for the last three nights at work. I’ve another class to train tonight until 11ish, and then I’m going to crawl off to my coffin for some much needed rest. I’ve found that, when I have a total of less than 5 or so hours sleep - over a three day period, people end up getting murdered. It just happens, and I (sometimes) feel a little remorseful that it has to happen; but they should probably stay clear of a sleep deprived, evil, undead Doctor if they know what’s best for them. I’m just sayin’…
Monday, November 06, 2006
Vote!
Make sure you get out and vote tomorrow (or today if you're reading this on 11/14!). Normally, this'd be the point that I'd go off in some liberal rage at the blunderings of the current administration and its Republican lackeys, but I've actually found someone a little bit more articulate than myself.
I received this in an email from Ken Kish from Cinema Wasteland and it is absolutely beautiful! I couldn't have said it better myself!
I command you my evil undead minions! Show them some love and support! AND VOTE!!!!
I received this in an email from Ken Kish from Cinema Wasteland and it is absolutely beautiful! I couldn't have said it better myself!
Are YOU personally better off than you were just six years ago? Sick of beingPlease take some time to go over to Cinema Wasteland and spend some drachmas on some of their stuff. Besides Ken's awesome civic-mindedness, they're doing some great stuff for the whole horror genre!
called “un-American” by middle aged gay bashing closet homos and Republican
pedophile politicians looking to sex up your teenage son? Sick and tired of
the same old lies and three word slogans designed tocon inbred red staters and those too stupid to breath if it weren't an involuntary function rather than actual leadership in this Country? Is it getting to the point that you feel America is just one big collective spit-dribbling retard and the best thing that could happen is to have the sun explode? Remember that you have the right to vote the worthless bums out on November 6th. Sadly, In Ohio our vote no longer counts (and I just go through the motions so I have the right to bitch) so PLEASE get out and vote before your vote doesn’t matter either... PLEASE!"
I command you my evil undead minions! Show them some love and support! AND VOTE!!!!
Monday, October 30, 2006
As Halloween Approaches!
More Halloween Linkage!
Cool news on the cenobyte front! Fangoria has announced a remake of Hellraiser. Now normally, this shit would piss me off. I mean, c’mon! Hellraiser? Must the studios – once again – rehash a brilliant horror flick, water it down to a harmless PG-13, and rape a beloved piece of horrordom?!? I was about to fly into an uncontrollable psychotic rage when I saw this, but then I saw that it was being written by Clive Barker himself. Well, I guess tht makes it all right then, doesn’t it? (And on a side note, what the fuck happened to Clive Barker? I love Barker for his madness and for some of the greatest and most original horror in the last twenty or so years. That said, I remember he was a fairly handsome, thin Englishman with a beautifully twisted imagination, excellent writing ability, and deliciously horrifying artwork. Have you seen him lately?!? He’s a horribly squat man with a hoarse voice, almost cartoonishly yellow teeth, and complexion that looks like that Eastern European presidential candidate who was poisoned a few years back. I’m baffled…)
Exterminate! Exterminate! Those cool cats at Evil Mad Scientists are at it again. If you remember, I posted up a link to their wickedly cool Cylon pumpkin. Now they’ve gone and done a carved Dalek pumpkin. I’m going to have to add these guys to my links list!
I’ve two links to assholes who take themselves waayyy too seriously. The first is a scientist who goes to great length to explain why there’s no scientific way vampires, zombies, and ghosts can exist. The second link is to a group of psychologists with their panties in a bunch because Halloween perpetuates stereotypes and stigmas against the mentally ill with “haunted asylums” and portrayals of serial killers like Jason Voorhees or Michael Meyers. Jumping Jesus on a fucking pogo stick- what is wrong with you that you can’t look past your stupid agendas and enjoy Halloween for the wondrous, imaginative holiday it is?!? I’ve a message for these dumb asses: you’d best hide when I take over the world with my undead zombie army because I find your lack of faith…disturbing. Congratulations! You just made it to the top of Doctor Zombies “Must Die” list!
This is fascinating and, frankly, reeeeally sexy. Ms. Dewey has become my new search engine! You KNOW that the geeky part of me is trying to figure out a way to make it voice interactive so I can have my own, hot, computer - like the computer on the Enterprise - just with a hot chick to LOOK at. Woo-hoo, Ms. Dewey! (And thanks to my friend Christine for sending me this link. It can be said that Doctor Zombie is merciless to his enemies and magnanimous to his friends, so Chrissy will be made the Queen of Australia when I take over the world. She will, of course, have to be made into an undead zombie, but she gets to rule friggin’ Australia. It’s a small price to pay , but over all, I’d say it’s a win/win…)
And in the same, although mostly drained and collapsed, geeky vein: Vertigo Comics has made some of the first issues of their better comic books available on line. I’m especially excited about HellBlazer. The Constantine movie was great and, although Keanu Reeves dida good job, I think it came out at a time when the world had had enough of old Kanoo (as my brother Richie pronounces his name). Along the same lines, I’d love to get a copy of the first Hellboy. I happened to DVR the Hellboy cartoon this last weekend and I really liked it. I know it was mostly a prelude to the new Hellboy movie, but I loved the first - - so it’s okay. Zombie Boy loved it also. I don’t care what anybody says, the creature at the end of Hellboy the movie is the single best representation of the unwholesome and alien visions of HP Lovecraft ever put to celluloid. It gives me gooseflesh and shivers thinking about the dark perfection of the Elder Ones and Outer Gods. Brrr… Any way, I digress - back to the comic. I expect I will be utilizing the color printer at work and rediscovering the joy of John Constantine…
One last Halloween link, I promise! Here’s the official site of Bobby “Boris” Pickett and the Monster Mash! Revel in the cheesy graphics and craptastic flash web design! Marvel at the poorly rendered sound effects! Hire Bobby Pickett to sing The Monster Mash at your next Halloween party because, apparently, when your whole career is predicated on one novelty song, you can’t even score a booking at the local rib cookoff. It’s sad really… and the Doctor would like to go on record and say that The Monster Mash is one of his favorite Halloween related novelty songs.
That’s all for now, my lovely undead minions! 2 ½ hours to go until Halloween officially begins and I’ve some last minute adjustments to make to various, nefarious, evil contraptions I’ve brewed up in my lab deep beneath the bloody stage of the Midnight Theater of Terror! I’ll update later this week as I will be otherwise occupied with the various stalking and rending of warm, bloody flesh!
Happy Halloween!
Cool news on the cenobyte front! Fangoria has announced a remake of Hellraiser. Now normally, this shit would piss me off. I mean, c’mon! Hellraiser? Must the studios – once again – rehash a brilliant horror flick, water it down to a harmless PG-13, and rape a beloved piece of horrordom?!? I was about to fly into an uncontrollable psychotic rage when I saw this, but then I saw that it was being written by Clive Barker himself. Well, I guess tht makes it all right then, doesn’t it? (And on a side note, what the fuck happened to Clive Barker? I love Barker for his madness and for some of the greatest and most original horror in the last twenty or so years. That said, I remember he was a fairly handsome, thin Englishman with a beautifully twisted imagination, excellent writing ability, and deliciously horrifying artwork. Have you seen him lately?!? He’s a horribly squat man with a hoarse voice, almost cartoonishly yellow teeth, and complexion that looks like that Eastern European presidential candidate who was poisoned a few years back. I’m baffled…)
Exterminate! Exterminate! Those cool cats at Evil Mad Scientists are at it again. If you remember, I posted up a link to their wickedly cool Cylon pumpkin. Now they’ve gone and done a carved Dalek pumpkin. I’m going to have to add these guys to my links list!
I’ve two links to assholes who take themselves waayyy too seriously. The first is a scientist who goes to great length to explain why there’s no scientific way vampires, zombies, and ghosts can exist. The second link is to a group of psychologists with their panties in a bunch because Halloween perpetuates stereotypes and stigmas against the mentally ill with “haunted asylums” and portrayals of serial killers like Jason Voorhees or Michael Meyers. Jumping Jesus on a fucking pogo stick- what is wrong with you that you can’t look past your stupid agendas and enjoy Halloween for the wondrous, imaginative holiday it is?!? I’ve a message for these dumb asses: you’d best hide when I take over the world with my undead zombie army because I find your lack of faith…disturbing. Congratulations! You just made it to the top of Doctor Zombies “Must Die” list!
This is fascinating and, frankly, reeeeally sexy. Ms. Dewey has become my new search engine! You KNOW that the geeky part of me is trying to figure out a way to make it voice interactive so I can have my own, hot, computer - like the computer on the Enterprise - just with a hot chick to LOOK at. Woo-hoo, Ms. Dewey! (And thanks to my friend Christine for sending me this link. It can be said that Doctor Zombie is merciless to his enemies and magnanimous to his friends, so Chrissy will be made the Queen of Australia when I take over the world. She will, of course, have to be made into an undead zombie, but she gets to rule friggin’ Australia. It’s a small price to pay , but over all, I’d say it’s a win/win…)
And in the same, although mostly drained and collapsed, geeky vein: Vertigo Comics has made some of the first issues of their better comic books available on line. I’m especially excited about HellBlazer. The Constantine movie was great and, although Keanu Reeves dida good job, I think it came out at a time when the world had had enough of old Kanoo (as my brother Richie pronounces his name). Along the same lines, I’d love to get a copy of the first Hellboy. I happened to DVR the Hellboy cartoon this last weekend and I really liked it. I know it was mostly a prelude to the new Hellboy movie, but I loved the first - - so it’s okay. Zombie Boy loved it also. I don’t care what anybody says, the creature at the end of Hellboy the movie is the single best representation of the unwholesome and alien visions of HP Lovecraft ever put to celluloid. It gives me gooseflesh and shivers thinking about the dark perfection of the Elder Ones and Outer Gods. Brrr… Any way, I digress - back to the comic. I expect I will be utilizing the color printer at work and rediscovering the joy of John Constantine…
One last Halloween link, I promise! Here’s the official site of Bobby “Boris” Pickett and the Monster Mash! Revel in the cheesy graphics and craptastic flash web design! Marvel at the poorly rendered sound effects! Hire Bobby Pickett to sing The Monster Mash at your next Halloween party because, apparently, when your whole career is predicated on one novelty song, you can’t even score a booking at the local rib cookoff. It’s sad really… and the Doctor would like to go on record and say that The Monster Mash is one of his favorite Halloween related novelty songs.
That’s all for now, my lovely undead minions! 2 ½ hours to go until Halloween officially begins and I’ve some last minute adjustments to make to various, nefarious, evil contraptions I’ve brewed up in my lab deep beneath the bloody stage of the Midnight Theater of Terror! I’ll update later this week as I will be otherwise occupied with the various stalking and rending of warm, bloody flesh!
Happy Halloween!
Thursday, October 26, 2006
A Special Day
So - - October 26th is a special day for Mrs. Zombie and I. To understand why, you have to understand mine and Mrs. Zombie’s history. Let me explain…
Mrs. Zombie and I met way back in the eight grade when Mrs. Zombie was a young single girl, and I was a young, single zombie. There was an immediate attraction between us and I did what one did in the middle 80’s when a boy liked a girl. I asked her to ‘go out’ with me. In fact, we were in our mutual friend Wendy’s basement at a party, dancing to In The Air Tonight by Phil Collins. (It was about the time that the song was experiencing a resurgence in popularity because of Miami Vice). Anyway, I looked into her beautiful hazel eyes and asked her if she’d be my girlfriend. She said yes immediately, and we exchanged Mizpahs. For those of you who don’t know, Mizpahs were necklaces that were two parts of a heart with some cheesy biblical quote on them. The boy wore one, the girl wore the other, and you were officially branded as “Going Out” with somebody.
It was a halcyonic time for Mrs. Zombie and I. We were a couple, we made out, we went to dances together, she let me get to first base… all the usual stuff. Unfortunately, it would all come to an end as summer neared. Her and I disagree on the particulars surrounding who broke up with whom, but suffice it to say, we went to rival high schools and went our separate ways.
The thing is, we both kept running into each other. For example…
*** I get a high school job at the local Sears store and I’m walking through the stock room, where I run into Miss Zombie. She had just started working there also.
*** One night in High School, I’m sitting in the local Dairy Queen with my then girlfriend, and in walks Miss Zombie. We had a conversation, and I pissed off my then girlfriend for ignoring her to talk to some gorgeous blond basketball/volleyball player from our rival high school.
*** A couple years later, I’m at Bowling Green State University, rushing across campus with my face buried in a copy of Heinlein’s Stranger in a Strange Land, when I bump into this girl, knocking her books out of her hand. I apologize and bend over to help her pick them up, and I realize it’s Miss Zombie!
Now, not being one to ignore these odd convergences of coincidence, and feeling a weird sort of dizzy happiness because she’d never really been out of my thoughts, I say, “Hey! What are you doing here?” She goes on to tell me, much to my chagrin, that she’d transferred to BGSU to be nearer to her fiancee. Sigh.
“That’s great,” says I, “Well, I’m sure I’ll see you around…”
So, fast forward ten or so years. Miss Zombie’s husband has left her and she decides to go on a trip and do some soul searching. “What,” she asks herself, “is good in your life now? What in the past has made you happy?” And it is during this time of quiet introspection that she realizes that Dr. Zombie’s always sort of been in the back of her mind. She resolves to track me down and find me once her divorce is finalized, although she’s convinced that I must be married and in another state by now.
Not a week later, she runs into an old friend. Remember I mentioned how I first asked Miss Zombie out? In our friend Wendy’s basement? Phil Collins? Sound familiar?
Anyway, this friend happens to be the same Wendy and Miss Zombie asks about me.
“Oh!” Wendy says, “I work with him now at Company X! Do you want his phone number?”
Two days later, I return from lunch to find a phone mail message. It’s Miss Zombie and we make plans for coffee.
We met on a rainy, stormy fall day. I arrived first and was drinking a cup of herbal tea when she walked into the coffee shop. I caught my breath and felt that same dizzy, giddy feeling I’d felt years earlier. I knew right then that she was going to be my wife. She said she knew at that moment also. We were caught up in the iron grasp of destiny and fate and we realized that our love was meant to be. It was right, it was pure, and we had traveled across oceans of time to be with one another.
It was October 26th 1997 and it was some 15 years after we’d first met one another.
8 months after that, we were married.
So, Mrs. Zombie - - I love you baby. You are the bright spark of goodness in my otherwise dark and evil heart. You were and are my destiny and I will always love you.
Happy anniversary…
Mrs. Zombie and I met way back in the eight grade when Mrs. Zombie was a young single girl, and I was a young, single zombie. There was an immediate attraction between us and I did what one did in the middle 80’s when a boy liked a girl. I asked her to ‘go out’ with me. In fact, we were in our mutual friend Wendy’s basement at a party, dancing to In The Air Tonight by Phil Collins. (It was about the time that the song was experiencing a resurgence in popularity because of Miami Vice). Anyway, I looked into her beautiful hazel eyes and asked her if she’d be my girlfriend. She said yes immediately, and we exchanged Mizpahs. For those of you who don’t know, Mizpahs were necklaces that were two parts of a heart with some cheesy biblical quote on them. The boy wore one, the girl wore the other, and you were officially branded as “Going Out” with somebody.
It was a halcyonic time for Mrs. Zombie and I. We were a couple, we made out, we went to dances together, she let me get to first base… all the usual stuff. Unfortunately, it would all come to an end as summer neared. Her and I disagree on the particulars surrounding who broke up with whom, but suffice it to say, we went to rival high schools and went our separate ways.
The thing is, we both kept running into each other. For example…
*** I get a high school job at the local Sears store and I’m walking through the stock room, where I run into Miss Zombie. She had just started working there also.
*** One night in High School, I’m sitting in the local Dairy Queen with my then girlfriend, and in walks Miss Zombie. We had a conversation, and I pissed off my then girlfriend for ignoring her to talk to some gorgeous blond basketball/volleyball player from our rival high school.
*** A couple years later, I’m at Bowling Green State University, rushing across campus with my face buried in a copy of Heinlein’s Stranger in a Strange Land, when I bump into this girl, knocking her books out of her hand. I apologize and bend over to help her pick them up, and I realize it’s Miss Zombie!
Now, not being one to ignore these odd convergences of coincidence, and feeling a weird sort of dizzy happiness because she’d never really been out of my thoughts, I say, “Hey! What are you doing here?” She goes on to tell me, much to my chagrin, that she’d transferred to BGSU to be nearer to her fiancee. Sigh.
“That’s great,” says I, “Well, I’m sure I’ll see you around…”
So, fast forward ten or so years. Miss Zombie’s husband has left her and she decides to go on a trip and do some soul searching. “What,” she asks herself, “is good in your life now? What in the past has made you happy?” And it is during this time of quiet introspection that she realizes that Dr. Zombie’s always sort of been in the back of her mind. She resolves to track me down and find me once her divorce is finalized, although she’s convinced that I must be married and in another state by now.
Not a week later, she runs into an old friend. Remember I mentioned how I first asked Miss Zombie out? In our friend Wendy’s basement? Phil Collins? Sound familiar?
Anyway, this friend happens to be the same Wendy and Miss Zombie asks about me.
“Oh!” Wendy says, “I work with him now at Company X! Do you want his phone number?”
Two days later, I return from lunch to find a phone mail message. It’s Miss Zombie and we make plans for coffee.
We met on a rainy, stormy fall day. I arrived first and was drinking a cup of herbal tea when she walked into the coffee shop. I caught my breath and felt that same dizzy, giddy feeling I’d felt years earlier. I knew right then that she was going to be my wife. She said she knew at that moment also. We were caught up in the iron grasp of destiny and fate and we realized that our love was meant to be. It was right, it was pure, and we had traveled across oceans of time to be with one another.
It was October 26th 1997 and it was some 15 years after we’d first met one another.
8 months after that, we were married.
So, Mrs. Zombie - - I love you baby. You are the bright spark of goodness in my otherwise dark and evil heart. You were and are my destiny and I will always love you.
Happy anniversary…
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
I'M your Boogeyman...
More Halloween links!
Outside of Romero’s Holy quatrain, my favorite film is John Carpenter’s Halloween. This 1978 work of genius was actually, until The Blair Witch Project, the highest grossing independent film of all time. I don’t know what it is about this movie that I love so much. Whether it’s Mike Meyer’s relentless evil; Carpenter’s creepy, and yet chillingly appropriate, score; or Jamie Lee Curtiss’ breathtaking performance; I LOVE THIS MOVIE. And so, as it’s that time of year, here’s some Halloween viewing for your pleasure!
Also, and thanks to, the AMC Monsterfest link - - I found a preview for 8 Movies to Die For from After Dark Films. On the weekend of November 19th, the will be hosting HorrorFest, which is basically a weekend of eight movies that they claim are “too scary for theaters”. Here’s a link to participating theaters and a preview. Looks really kind of groovy! Unfortunately, they don’t have any theaters here in Ohio. If you live near any of these theaters, this would be well worth a look see. I may consider loading up the Blue Zombie and road tripping, which leads to an interesting question. Since I’m doing movie reviews on the site, and I seem to have something of a following, I wonder if I can apply for press credentials to these sort of things? How cool would that be! I would love to do a press junket. I may need to look into this…
You’ve heard of Google, but have you heard about Googhoul?!? This is a spooky little link to Halloween related entertainment. Just plug in your zipcode, and it gives reviews and info on local haunted houses, attractions, etc. NOTE: I did do a search of my area and it seemed that some of the reviews were skewed by the management of the Haunted Houses themselves… so peruse with a grain of salt and read the actual comments from users. Neat little tool…
Here’s a great blog from Retrocrush with the worst halloween costumes of all time! What’s great is that the costumes are soooo circa the 70‘s and 80’s. I may be dating myself here, but those were the best costumes… you know, the highly flammable plastic costume that fit over your clothes and the vision impairing, poorly ventilated, hard plastic masks? Sometimes I wonder why more of us DIDN’T make it out of the harrowingly unsafe 70’s…
I found this story on MSNBC… It’s a list of the ten coolest horror movie killings. I agree with most of them (with the exception of the Friday the 13th flicks – Gods how I hate those movies!). An interesting list with some good choices. Of course I might have thrown a couple of different ones on there but that’s the wonder of being a horror movie fan - - there’s all kinds of us out there, and we may not all agree… but we all love the gore! And, on that note, I wanted to mention that the writer is truly a horror fan. You can tell by his choices. The Hitcher with Rutger Hauer is a great addition to the list and gives the writer some credibility, but it is the reference to Day of The Dead and Joe Pilato’s death scene that shows the writer’s pedigree. Day of the Dead is, arguably, the worst of Romero’s Dead films; and only a true horror fan would acknowledge how great a scene it was when the zombies tore Pilato’s character Captain Rhodes in half. Classic!
And, on that note, dear reader… I’ll leave you with Captain Rhodes immortal line from Day of the Dead - - “I’m running this monkey farm now, Doctor Frankenstein…and I want to know what the fuck you’re doing with my time!!!”
Outside of Romero’s Holy quatrain, my favorite film is John Carpenter’s Halloween. This 1978 work of genius was actually, until The Blair Witch Project, the highest grossing independent film of all time. I don’t know what it is about this movie that I love so much. Whether it’s Mike Meyer’s relentless evil; Carpenter’s creepy, and yet chillingly appropriate, score; or Jamie Lee Curtiss’ breathtaking performance; I LOVE THIS MOVIE. And so, as it’s that time of year, here’s some Halloween viewing for your pleasure!
Also, and thanks to, the AMC Monsterfest link - - I found a preview for 8 Movies to Die For from After Dark Films. On the weekend of November 19th, the will be hosting HorrorFest, which is basically a weekend of eight movies that they claim are “too scary for theaters”. Here’s a link to participating theaters and a preview. Looks really kind of groovy! Unfortunately, they don’t have any theaters here in Ohio. If you live near any of these theaters, this would be well worth a look see. I may consider loading up the Blue Zombie and road tripping, which leads to an interesting question. Since I’m doing movie reviews on the site, and I seem to have something of a following, I wonder if I can apply for press credentials to these sort of things? How cool would that be! I would love to do a press junket. I may need to look into this…
You’ve heard of Google, but have you heard about Googhoul?!? This is a spooky little link to Halloween related entertainment. Just plug in your zipcode, and it gives reviews and info on local haunted houses, attractions, etc. NOTE: I did do a search of my area and it seemed that some of the reviews were skewed by the management of the Haunted Houses themselves… so peruse with a grain of salt and read the actual comments from users. Neat little tool…
Here’s a great blog from Retrocrush with the worst halloween costumes of all time! What’s great is that the costumes are soooo circa the 70‘s and 80’s. I may be dating myself here, but those were the best costumes… you know, the highly flammable plastic costume that fit over your clothes and the vision impairing, poorly ventilated, hard plastic masks? Sometimes I wonder why more of us DIDN’T make it out of the harrowingly unsafe 70’s…
I found this story on MSNBC… It’s a list of the ten coolest horror movie killings. I agree with most of them (with the exception of the Friday the 13th flicks – Gods how I hate those movies!). An interesting list with some good choices. Of course I might have thrown a couple of different ones on there but that’s the wonder of being a horror movie fan - - there’s all kinds of us out there, and we may not all agree… but we all love the gore! And, on that note, I wanted to mention that the writer is truly a horror fan. You can tell by his choices. The Hitcher with Rutger Hauer is a great addition to the list and gives the writer some credibility, but it is the reference to Day of The Dead and Joe Pilato’s death scene that shows the writer’s pedigree. Day of the Dead is, arguably, the worst of Romero’s Dead films; and only a true horror fan would acknowledge how great a scene it was when the zombies tore Pilato’s character Captain Rhodes in half. Classic!
And, on that note, dear reader… I’ll leave you with Captain Rhodes immortal line from Day of the Dead - - “I’m running this monkey farm now, Doctor Frankenstein…and I want to know what the fuck you’re doing with my time!!!”
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Do Not Adjust Your Dial...
Just a quick update in preparation for the upcoming Samhain!
I’m like a puppy who’s piddling on the floor with anxiety. Mrs. Zombie is none too pleased about it, but there’s always going to be some piddling around Halloween time. “Don’t worry your pretty little head,” says I. “It won’t stain… well, not as bad as the blood stains at least…”. Zombie Boy and Wolf Girl helped myself and Mrs. Zombie decorate the front yard for Halloween last weekend. We’ve got the graveyard, spider webs, coffin, various body parts, and pumpkins strewn amid the real dismembered corpses I actually have buried in the front yard. We’ve also got some awesome spooky blue flood lights set up. I’ll try and post up some pictures this week…
Mrs. Zombie and I will be visiting a haunted house this weekend and I’m really excited about that. We’ll most likely check out the one on the link I put up on Thursday. I’ll of course let you know on Monday how it was.
On the Midnight Theater of Terror front, two great movies are coming out this week that I’m really, really jazzed about. The first is the DVD release of Slither. I can’t begin to tell you how excited I am to see this flick! It was at the the theaters here for only a week or so, and as I’m too busy and too broke to go to see flicks at the theater, I often have to wait until they show up on DVD. I’ve been anticipating this one for a while. I’ll be renting it this weekend and writing a review soon…
Also, Saw III comes out. Mrs. Zombie, in deference to the spooky season, has been dying to see some horror flicks and, as she never wants to watch them any other time of the year, I do every thing I can to indulge her when the whim strikes her fancy. So, this last weekend, we watched Saw together. I’d of course seen it before, but she hadn’t and she loved it! I watched it again and realised how much I loved it. Another great movie and, hopefully, another great sequel will be found in Saw III.
Of course the DVR will be running overtime taping things on AMC Monsterfest. This is the 10th year of Monsterfest and I’ve got to give some serious thanks to AMC for doing this every year. They make Halloween awesome by playing some of the best horror movies in October. Now, if they’d only have a consistent horror movie night on Fridays or Saturdays - - like in the hey day of 70’s and 80’s horror host shows. Sigh. One can only hope…
Also, remember that the Simpson’s Treehouse of Horror is on November 5th! Check out the awesome job they’ve done with the Simpson’s site!
And, finally, this how-to has been making the rounds on the internet and I loved it because, quite simply, I’m a geek. Mrs. Zombie, Zombie Boy, and Wolf Girl will be going to get pumpkins on Saturday and I’m half tempted to try this… I can hear Mrs. Zombie sighing in exasperation already…
Good night, dear reader… I’ve got to go sharpen my instruments in preparation for the coming trick or treaters… Muuuhahaha!!!
I’m like a puppy who’s piddling on the floor with anxiety. Mrs. Zombie is none too pleased about it, but there’s always going to be some piddling around Halloween time. “Don’t worry your pretty little head,” says I. “It won’t stain… well, not as bad as the blood stains at least…”. Zombie Boy and Wolf Girl helped myself and Mrs. Zombie decorate the front yard for Halloween last weekend. We’ve got the graveyard, spider webs, coffin, various body parts, and pumpkins strewn amid the real dismembered corpses I actually have buried in the front yard. We’ve also got some awesome spooky blue flood lights set up. I’ll try and post up some pictures this week…
Mrs. Zombie and I will be visiting a haunted house this weekend and I’m really excited about that. We’ll most likely check out the one on the link I put up on Thursday. I’ll of course let you know on Monday how it was.
On the Midnight Theater of Terror front, two great movies are coming out this week that I’m really, really jazzed about. The first is the DVD release of Slither. I can’t begin to tell you how excited I am to see this flick! It was at the the theaters here for only a week or so, and as I’m too busy and too broke to go to see flicks at the theater, I often have to wait until they show up on DVD. I’ve been anticipating this one for a while. I’ll be renting it this weekend and writing a review soon…
Also, Saw III comes out. Mrs. Zombie, in deference to the spooky season, has been dying to see some horror flicks and, as she never wants to watch them any other time of the year, I do every thing I can to indulge her when the whim strikes her fancy. So, this last weekend, we watched Saw together. I’d of course seen it before, but she hadn’t and she loved it! I watched it again and realised how much I loved it. Another great movie and, hopefully, another great sequel will be found in Saw III.
Of course the DVR will be running overtime taping things on AMC Monsterfest. This is the 10th year of Monsterfest and I’ve got to give some serious thanks to AMC for doing this every year. They make Halloween awesome by playing some of the best horror movies in October. Now, if they’d only have a consistent horror movie night on Fridays or Saturdays - - like in the hey day of 70’s and 80’s horror host shows. Sigh. One can only hope…
Also, remember that the Simpson’s Treehouse of Horror is on November 5th! Check out the awesome job they’ve done with the Simpson’s site!
And, finally, this how-to has been making the rounds on the internet and I loved it because, quite simply, I’m a geek. Mrs. Zombie, Zombie Boy, and Wolf Girl will be going to get pumpkins on Saturday and I’m half tempted to try this… I can hear Mrs. Zombie sighing in exasperation already…
Good night, dear reader… I’ve got to go sharpen my instruments in preparation for the coming trick or treaters… Muuuhahaha!!!
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Of Cannibals and Monkeys...
Just a quick update of some cool links I found.... they're all sorta Halloween related...
The first is an article from the third world country that is New Orleans . Man oh man does this appeal to Doctor Zombie's dark side. This dude commits suicide and, when the cops find his body, they find a suicide note in his pocket saying he killed his girlfriend. The cops rush to his apartment to find that he's strangled and dismembered the poor lass - - and what's left of her is cooking in the oven. My question is this: What happens to the stove when the landlord re-rents the apartment? Think about THAT the next time you rent a furnished apartment... Also, apparently, this guy and girl were featured in several articles as die hards who stayed in N'awlins throughout Katrina and the aftermath. Pictures and articles about the two can be found here and here.
Side note about the girl: She was pretty hot. Get it? Hot? As in, fresh from the oven?!? Hot?
Oh, never mind…
Here’s an article about the about the top 13 Haunted Houses in the US. This is actually a really good list and it features one huanted house from Ohio. Man, it's been a while since I was last at a haunted house, which is funny, because I used to go to at least one every year from the time I was like 10 or 11. The last time I went to one was back right after I left college for the first time. My brother Phil and I drove down to Kent State University to visit my friend Kristin and we decided to go to one as we sat around drinking and planning to visit the local pubs. (Phil and I used to spend a lot of time at Kent when Kristin was still going there, as my poor, abused liver can attest to.) Anyway, we loaded up a couple of cars with Kristin and some of her sorority sisters and headed out to one that Kristin had heard good things about. Phil and I wound up killing a twelve pack of Sam Adams Pumpkin Ale on the hour or so ride there and were skonched by the time we got there. What I remember most about the night was that it was a cool, clear October night. There was a hay ride out to this forest and maze at the back of this farm and, although it wasn't scary, the ride was well worth it. I remember sitting in the trailer as the tractor pulling us chugged along. The crisp October air smelled of leaves and the coming winter. Overhead, there was a full moon. It's was the perfect representation of all that is October and autumn. Sigh...
Finally - - Dear Gods!It's a monkey arms race! Don't they realize that once one side escalates, the other side has to escalate too?!? It's this sort of one-up brinkmanship that leads to nuclear monkeys. Once that happens, the UN will have to step in and impose sanctions or something. It's horrifying, next thing you know they'll be throwing orangatans and chimpanzees at one another. They better watch it... mutually assured monkey deterence only goes so far before Charlton Heston has to get involved...
That's all for tonight, dear reader. I've got to finalize some plans for the eventual zombie apocalypse.
Unpleasant dreams...
The first is an article from the third world country that is New Orleans . Man oh man does this appeal to Doctor Zombie's dark side. This dude commits suicide and, when the cops find his body, they find a suicide note in his pocket saying he killed his girlfriend. The cops rush to his apartment to find that he's strangled and dismembered the poor lass - - and what's left of her is cooking in the oven. My question is this: What happens to the stove when the landlord re-rents the apartment? Think about THAT the next time you rent a furnished apartment... Also, apparently, this guy and girl were featured in several articles as die hards who stayed in N'awlins throughout Katrina and the aftermath. Pictures and articles about the two can be found here and here.
Side note about the girl: She was pretty hot. Get it? Hot? As in, fresh from the oven?!? Hot?
Oh, never mind…
Here’s an article about the about the top 13 Haunted Houses in the US. This is actually a really good list and it features one huanted house from Ohio. Man, it's been a while since I was last at a haunted house, which is funny, because I used to go to at least one every year from the time I was like 10 or 11. The last time I went to one was back right after I left college for the first time. My brother Phil and I drove down to Kent State University to visit my friend Kristin and we decided to go to one as we sat around drinking and planning to visit the local pubs. (Phil and I used to spend a lot of time at Kent when Kristin was still going there, as my poor, abused liver can attest to.) Anyway, we loaded up a couple of cars with Kristin and some of her sorority sisters and headed out to one that Kristin had heard good things about. Phil and I wound up killing a twelve pack of Sam Adams Pumpkin Ale on the hour or so ride there and were skonched by the time we got there. What I remember most about the night was that it was a cool, clear October night. There was a hay ride out to this forest and maze at the back of this farm and, although it wasn't scary, the ride was well worth it. I remember sitting in the trailer as the tractor pulling us chugged along. The crisp October air smelled of leaves and the coming winter. Overhead, there was a full moon. It's was the perfect representation of all that is October and autumn. Sigh...
Finally - - Dear Gods!It's a monkey arms race! Don't they realize that once one side escalates, the other side has to escalate too?!? It's this sort of one-up brinkmanship that leads to nuclear monkeys. Once that happens, the UN will have to step in and impose sanctions or something. It's horrifying, next thing you know they'll be throwing orangatans and chimpanzees at one another. They better watch it... mutually assured monkey deterence only goes so far before Charlton Heston has to get involved...
That's all for tonight, dear reader. I've got to finalize some plans for the eventual zombie apocalypse.
Unpleasant dreams...
Monday, October 16, 2006
Groan...
So in my English Lit class, we're gearing up to begin reading Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. I was a bit apprehensive at first as I'm, quite honestly, not as strongly read in 17th century British Literature as I would like to be. Truth be told, I prefer American Literature (from all periods), Elizabethan Drama, Victorian British Literature, and the Modern Irish writers (Joyce, Wilder, et al...) to 17th century romantic lit. It's just a preference, you know?
With that said, I can honestly say I never went out of my way to read any of Austen's works. I just never got around to it, although I knew I should have...
So, as I need this class and an A in it to help my grad school chances, I decided I'd better get a jump on the reading, especially considering it is a largish sort of book. My decision to get a good read in beforehand is also motivated by the fact that my professor's passion and specific field of study focuses on the emergence of the novel specifically as it pertains to 17th century literature. When she mentions the upcoming Austen section of the syllabus, I can see her get all dreamy eyed and wistful. I suspect she masturbates to Pride and Prejudice.
So, anyhow - I started reading Pride and Prejudice and it is with all of the motivations previously mentioned borne in mind that I have this to say...
Dear dark pagan gods! Please strike me dead!
This is horrible! Hell is a room where one is forced to read Jane Austen for all eternity, without the benefit of alcohol or a gun with which to shoot oneself in the eye. I would prefer screwing a large caliber .45 into one of my eye sockets and pulling the bang switch with my booger hook than having to sit throught the next 45 or so chapters of this shite!
"He is just what a young man ought to be," said she, "sensible, good humoured, lively; and I never saw such happy manner! - so much ease, with such perfect good breeding!"
"He is also handsome," replied Elizabeth, "which a young man ought likewise to be, if he can possibly can. His character is thereby complete."
"I was very much flattered by his asking me to dance a second time. I did not expect such a compliment."
And on an on and on and on...
It's like an episode of MTV's My Super Sweet Sixteen, only with better diction. Same nattering, self absorbed brats - - but better scripting.
That sound you hear? Yeah, that's me screaming in agony.
Reading 17th century British romantic literature is the literary equivalent of having someone dose your drink with a roofie. You're out, having a good time with your friends, and then you pick up Jane Austen. You start reading as you take a sip on your Jameson's and soda and the next thing you know you find yourself waking up bleary eyed, confused, and inexplicably naked in a shabby hotel bed. After checking that your kidneys haven't been cut out - you look around in shame and confusion, not understanding how you got there, but knowing in that dirty, violated way that you will most likely need to go to the hospital for the inevitable rape kit. Later that night, after showering three or four times you scrub your skin raw to get the horrible touch of Austen's inane social prattle off of your skin. Eventually, you turn off the shower, get off of the bottom of the tub where you were curled up in shame, and stagger to the toilet. When you pee, fire ants come out.
No, wait... I'd prefer that to reading this dreck.
With that said, I can honestly say I never went out of my way to read any of Austen's works. I just never got around to it, although I knew I should have...
So, as I need this class and an A in it to help my grad school chances, I decided I'd better get a jump on the reading, especially considering it is a largish sort of book. My decision to get a good read in beforehand is also motivated by the fact that my professor's passion and specific field of study focuses on the emergence of the novel specifically as it pertains to 17th century literature. When she mentions the upcoming Austen section of the syllabus, I can see her get all dreamy eyed and wistful. I suspect she masturbates to Pride and Prejudice.
So, anyhow - I started reading Pride and Prejudice and it is with all of the motivations previously mentioned borne in mind that I have this to say...
Dear dark pagan gods! Please strike me dead!
This is horrible! Hell is a room where one is forced to read Jane Austen for all eternity, without the benefit of alcohol or a gun with which to shoot oneself in the eye. I would prefer screwing a large caliber .45 into one of my eye sockets and pulling the bang switch with my booger hook than having to sit throught the next 45 or so chapters of this shite!
"He is just what a young man ought to be," said she, "sensible, good humoured, lively; and I never saw such happy manner! - so much ease, with such perfect good breeding!"
"He is also handsome," replied Elizabeth, "which a young man ought likewise to be, if he can possibly can. His character is thereby complete."
"I was very much flattered by his asking me to dance a second time. I did not expect such a compliment."
And on an on and on and on...
It's like an episode of MTV's My Super Sweet Sixteen, only with better diction. Same nattering, self absorbed brats - - but better scripting.
That sound you hear? Yeah, that's me screaming in agony.
Reading 17th century British romantic literature is the literary equivalent of having someone dose your drink with a roofie. You're out, having a good time with your friends, and then you pick up Jane Austen. You start reading as you take a sip on your Jameson's and soda and the next thing you know you find yourself waking up bleary eyed, confused, and inexplicably naked in a shabby hotel bed. After checking that your kidneys haven't been cut out - you look around in shame and confusion, not understanding how you got there, but knowing in that dirty, violated way that you will most likely need to go to the hospital for the inevitable rape kit. Later that night, after showering three or four times you scrub your skin raw to get the horrible touch of Austen's inane social prattle off of your skin. Eventually, you turn off the shower, get off of the bottom of the tub where you were curled up in shame, and stagger to the toilet. When you pee, fire ants come out.
No, wait... I'd prefer that to reading this dreck.
Friday, October 13, 2006
Deviance and Political Insurrection
Here’s some interesting stuff I’ve been meaning to blog about, but have been unable to because of work and school and shtuff…
The first is this link I found to an article about making the case for Libertarian Democrats. I’ve said before that, although I consider myself a liberal, I do find that, idealogically, I tend to come out as a Libertarian. However, the Libertarians, in my opinion, aren’t as Liberal as I like. Yeah they talk a good talk and all, but they are still, at their core, conservatives with a knee jerk fear of the evil, commie, liberal, tree huggers. Bear in mind, I’m talking about the established, ‘official’ Libertarian party here. This author, though, makes a great argument for a political idealogy that I could get behind 100%. Just interesting reading really…
And also on the political front, this just pisses me off! Yeah, yeah, yeah… I get that it’s illegal to make threats against the President (no matter how much of a dumbfuck retard he may be), and I get that the Secret Service is charged with investigating threats against the president. But, seriously, isn’t there someone in DHS or the Secret Service smarter than a box of hammers and with operational authority to look at a Myspace account from a 14 year old girl who is posting about how dreamy Jake Gyllenhall and Ewan McGregor are and realize that she is, in fact, not any risk to Dubya? I mean, seriously? (By the way, better send the Secret Service to my door, I’d almost go gay for Ewan McGregor. It’s all about Renton from Trainspotting and Obi Wan.). I’m reading more and more about these sort of gestapo tactics from the current administration and I’ve said it before… don’t think for a minute that what you put out there on the internet is safe from Big Brother’s eyes. Despite the fact that I every time I say or write something that is politically subversive, and even if I preface said political insurrection with a disclaimer saying that I was saying it satirically, with no intention of following through with it, and that it is simply an expression of my first amendment rights; that’s no promise that goons from George W.’s personal hit squad won’t put a bullet in my head anytime soon. I obviously don’t mean what I’m typing. Really. Sigh. We’re still in America, right?
I pulled this sight off of my brother Curt’s site. I just found it pleasing and that it appealed to my geekish nature. Make sure you check it out.
I spent over an hour on this site and it is one of the best trivia games I’ve ever seen. What’s amazing is that it’s from the site for Dark M&M’s. Essentially, it’s a painting done in Middle Ages/Renaissance style and every item in the painting is a representation of ‘dark’ or horror movies. You click on the picture, type in what you think it is, and it blacks it out if you get it right. Some are obvious, others are obscure. Of course, being the horror movie freak that I am, I couldn’t shut it down until I finished it. How many can you get?
I’m jealous of Phronk! Phronk’s another blogger I’ve met and correspond with. He’s a groovy Canadian cat who’s pretty damn cool. Anyway, I’m jealous because, apparently, he’s become friends with Alan Parsons. Yes, that Alan Parsons. I’ve got to say this is really , really cool. I’m showing my age here but, back in the late 80’s and early 90’s, when I was college, I listened to tons of the Alan Parsons Project. It’s just that college thing. You know, where you start listening to obscure or ‘arty’ music because you’re in that whole intellectual, arty place college inevitably puts you in? I’ve gotta say, Alan Parsons got me laid quite a few times back in college - - and damn if Phronk’s not his buddy now. I’m jealous! (And, since I’m giving props for the limited, but decidedly freaky sex I had back in college.. I wanted to throw some additional thanks out to Peter Gabriel, The Cure, Pink Floyd, Sting, and Tori Amos. If not for you, I’d have never gotten any sex in college. Thank you!)
Another Blogger I read frequently must have gone and done something horrible and terrifying on his blogger site. Apparently, Butchie’s blog is now considered obscene by my work’s internet filters and I can’t read him while I’m supposed to be tending to the interests of one of the top three insurance companies in the US. So, whatever it is you did on your site Butchie, bravo! I’m certain it was depraved, perverted, and completely offensive to morality and humanity. I guess if I need help determining what’s gay - - I’ll just have to do it from home now…
And finally - make sure you check out Tarr and Fether's site in my list of links! They now have some streams of their shows available. Check those whacky, and yet disturbingly morbid, psychos out!
That's all for this evening, my lovely, rotting, undead minions... I'll be spending the weekend sequestered in the Theater of Terror watching old horror movies, eating Habanero Doritos, and drinking Great Lakes Brewery Nosferatu. Unpleasant dreams...
The first is this link I found to an article about making the case for Libertarian Democrats. I’ve said before that, although I consider myself a liberal, I do find that, idealogically, I tend to come out as a Libertarian. However, the Libertarians, in my opinion, aren’t as Liberal as I like. Yeah they talk a good talk and all, but they are still, at their core, conservatives with a knee jerk fear of the evil, commie, liberal, tree huggers. Bear in mind, I’m talking about the established, ‘official’ Libertarian party here. This author, though, makes a great argument for a political idealogy that I could get behind 100%. Just interesting reading really…
And also on the political front, this just pisses me off! Yeah, yeah, yeah… I get that it’s illegal to make threats against the President (no matter how much of a dumbfuck retard he may be), and I get that the Secret Service is charged with investigating threats against the president. But, seriously, isn’t there someone in DHS or the Secret Service smarter than a box of hammers and with operational authority to look at a Myspace account from a 14 year old girl who is posting about how dreamy Jake Gyllenhall and Ewan McGregor are and realize that she is, in fact, not any risk to Dubya? I mean, seriously? (By the way, better send the Secret Service to my door, I’d almost go gay for Ewan McGregor. It’s all about Renton from Trainspotting and Obi Wan.). I’m reading more and more about these sort of gestapo tactics from the current administration and I’ve said it before… don’t think for a minute that what you put out there on the internet is safe from Big Brother’s eyes. Despite the fact that I every time I say or write something that is politically subversive, and even if I preface said political insurrection with a disclaimer saying that I was saying it satirically, with no intention of following through with it, and that it is simply an expression of my first amendment rights; that’s no promise that goons from George W.’s personal hit squad won’t put a bullet in my head anytime soon. I obviously don’t mean what I’m typing. Really. Sigh. We’re still in America, right?
I pulled this sight off of my brother Curt’s site. I just found it pleasing and that it appealed to my geekish nature. Make sure you check it out.
I spent over an hour on this site and it is one of the best trivia games I’ve ever seen. What’s amazing is that it’s from the site for Dark M&M’s. Essentially, it’s a painting done in Middle Ages/Renaissance style and every item in the painting is a representation of ‘dark’ or horror movies. You click on the picture, type in what you think it is, and it blacks it out if you get it right. Some are obvious, others are obscure. Of course, being the horror movie freak that I am, I couldn’t shut it down until I finished it. How many can you get?
I’m jealous of Phronk! Phronk’s another blogger I’ve met and correspond with. He’s a groovy Canadian cat who’s pretty damn cool. Anyway, I’m jealous because, apparently, he’s become friends with Alan Parsons. Yes, that Alan Parsons. I’ve got to say this is really , really cool. I’m showing my age here but, back in the late 80’s and early 90’s, when I was college, I listened to tons of the Alan Parsons Project. It’s just that college thing. You know, where you start listening to obscure or ‘arty’ music because you’re in that whole intellectual, arty place college inevitably puts you in? I’ve gotta say, Alan Parsons got me laid quite a few times back in college - - and damn if Phronk’s not his buddy now. I’m jealous! (And, since I’m giving props for the limited, but decidedly freaky sex I had back in college.. I wanted to throw some additional thanks out to Peter Gabriel, The Cure, Pink Floyd, Sting, and Tori Amos. If not for you, I’d have never gotten any sex in college. Thank you!)
Another Blogger I read frequently must have gone and done something horrible and terrifying on his blogger site. Apparently, Butchie’s blog is now considered obscene by my work’s internet filters and I can’t read him while I’m supposed to be tending to the interests of one of the top three insurance companies in the US. So, whatever it is you did on your site Butchie, bravo! I’m certain it was depraved, perverted, and completely offensive to morality and humanity. I guess if I need help determining what’s gay - - I’ll just have to do it from home now…
And finally - make sure you check out Tarr and Fether's site in my list of links! They now have some streams of their shows available. Check those whacky, and yet disturbingly morbid, psychos out!
That's all for this evening, my lovely, rotting, undead minions... I'll be spending the weekend sequestered in the Theater of Terror watching old horror movies, eating Habanero Doritos, and drinking Great Lakes Brewery Nosferatu. Unpleasant dreams...
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Getting Spooky!
It's that time of year! The time when the air turns colder, and the leaves start to change. It's the time for pumpkins, shorter days and longer nights, and things going bump in the night!
It's Autumn!
Which can mean only one thing! Halloween is coming!
For obvious reasons, Halloween is my all time favorite holiday. And, in preperation for it, I decided to put together a list of my favorite Halloweenish songs. I'll probably spend the next couple of days tracking down copies of these songs and I'll be making a mix CD so I can have my own kooky, spooky soundtrack for the upcoming Samhain.
Doctor Zombie's Halloween Music Mix!!!
Halloween Theme – Composer: John Carpenter
Every Day is Halloween – Ministry
Moon Over Bourbon Street – Sting
Pet Semetary – The Ramones
This Is Halloween – Nightmare Before Christmas Soundtrack
Vampire Erotica – Inkubus Sukkubus
Caravan of Emotions – Sven Vath
The Carnival Is Over – Dead Can Dance
Blood, Milk, and Sky – Rob Zombie
Malignant Fracture – Front Line Assembly
Are We The Sinners – Leather Strip
Trick or Treat - Sneaky Bat Machine
Halloween – Siouxsie and the Banshees
Spooky Music – Rome Burns
Bloodletting – Concrete Blond
Vampire’s Kiss – Midnight Syndicate
In The Hall of the Mountain King – Composer: Edvard Grieg
In fact, I'm so excited about the upcoming All Hallow's Eve that, once I've gotten all of the songs together and burned them, I'll even be willing to share! Drop me an email at darkmuse-AT-core.com, with your address, and I'll burn and mail you a copy too!
I, of course, can't make any promises that there won't be any subliminal messages imbedded on the cd that say things like "Kill and eat your neighbor!", or "Tattoo 'Property of Dr. Zombie' on your ass!"...
Unpleasant dreams, dear readers!
It's Autumn!
Which can mean only one thing! Halloween is coming!
For obvious reasons, Halloween is my all time favorite holiday. And, in preperation for it, I decided to put together a list of my favorite Halloweenish songs. I'll probably spend the next couple of days tracking down copies of these songs and I'll be making a mix CD so I can have my own kooky, spooky soundtrack for the upcoming Samhain.
Doctor Zombie's Halloween Music Mix!!!
Halloween Theme – Composer: John Carpenter
Every Day is Halloween – Ministry
Moon Over Bourbon Street – Sting
Pet Semetary – The Ramones
This Is Halloween – Nightmare Before Christmas Soundtrack
Vampire Erotica – Inkubus Sukkubus
Caravan of Emotions – Sven Vath
The Carnival Is Over – Dead Can Dance
Blood, Milk, and Sky – Rob Zombie
Malignant Fracture – Front Line Assembly
Are We The Sinners – Leather Strip
Trick or Treat - Sneaky Bat Machine
Halloween – Siouxsie and the Banshees
Spooky Music – Rome Burns
Bloodletting – Concrete Blond
Vampire’s Kiss – Midnight Syndicate
In The Hall of the Mountain King – Composer: Edvard Grieg
In fact, I'm so excited about the upcoming All Hallow's Eve that, once I've gotten all of the songs together and burned them, I'll even be willing to share! Drop me an email at darkmuse-AT-core.com, with your address, and I'll burn and mail you a copy too!
I, of course, can't make any promises that there won't be any subliminal messages imbedded on the cd that say things like "Kill and eat your neighbor!", or "Tattoo 'Property of Dr. Zombie' on your ass!"...
Unpleasant dreams, dear readers!
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
Riding the Bus
So I learned some important things today.
As I've mentioned, I started back to school this fall in an attempt to finish my bachelor's, go to grad school, and finally get off my ass and decide what I want to be when I grow up. (For the record - - I want to teach English Lit and writing at a college somewhere).
Anyway, because it was in the sixties today and it looks like winter will be here soon, I decided to wear my Utilikilt one last time before I put it away until St. Patty's Day. Besides, I'm already the old weird guy in a sophomore level English class with a bunch of bright, but life experience deficient, nineteen year olds. If they can't handle me in a kilt, whilst discussing James Joyce's Dubliners, screw 'em! They can use a little Irish culture from an angry, unrepentant, undead, Fenian bastard such as myself!
The problem arose when I got downtown. If you've never been to Cleveland, let me preface it by saying that we've been recently named the #1 poorest city in America (Take that Detroit! We're number one! We're number one!). So, the area that Cleveland State University is in is right on the edge of a blighted, urban wasteland. And this is the area I need to traverse in order to get to school.
This strange and post-apocalyptic landscape is full of decaying warehouses, ghetto housing, and remnants of a once thriving early twentieth century industrial giant. Now, it looks like the Saturday after a limited nuclear exchange, complete with shambling, bleary eyed survivors in the form of the economically disadvantaged who scratch out a living amidst the squallor. And they all end up on the bus that runs back and forth down Euclid Avenue, bouncing and jostling in potholes and cracks in the road made worse by a city that has neither the money nor the desire to repair them. It's funny really, Euclid Avenue was once called the "The Most Beautiful Street in the World" But now it is an infected, dying, cancerous shell.
And that bus I mentioned? Yeah. I ride it every other day...
You see, on my own poor front, Mrs. Zombie and I are pinching pennies to pay for my decision to go back to school. Soooo, rather than pay eight dollars a day parking at the University two days a week, what I've started doing is parking at Mrs. Zombie's work at East 105th and Euclid and taking the bus down to East 19th. This works well because it's free and secure parking at Mrs. Zombie's work, and I'm already paying $25 a semester as part of my tuition for a free bus pass.
Which brings me to my adventure in Celtic wear...
Things I learned today:
- When you're the only white guy on a bus - in a kilt - it helps to have a shaved head, earings, and a goatee like Scott Ian's from Anthrax.
- Cultural wear or not, older people will still stare at you like you're a sexual deviant.
- When worst comes to worst, and an angry looking gang-banger sidles up to you to ask why you're wearing a skirt, look him right in the eye and say, "I'm a mixed martial arts cage fighter and I'm on my way down to the gym to train for a fight." Can you believe he actually bought it?!?
- Nineteen year old college girls are fascinated by kilts and will pester you endlessly about whether or not you've got anything on underneath. I opted to plead the fifth. Is it sad that any interest by nineteen year old college girls warms the undead doctor's heart? Not that I'd do anything, it's just nice - ya know?
- When you're waiting for the bus, other people on other buses and cars will point at you and laugh. They can laugh now; but I promise they'll all be sorry when I take over the world and use them to feed my undead zombie minions! We'll see who's laughing then.
- I don't care what anybody says; sitting in an empty room on a plastic college desk, in a kilt, and farting, has to be the funniest...sound...ever.
- Not having to unzip anything to pee rocks. Just flip the kilt up and go. It's good to be Irish.
- Mrs. Zombie gets mad when you come into her work in a kilt. I'm not sure why.
- When Mrs. Zombie tells you to close her office door so her coworkers and clients can't see her kilt clad dork of a husband, it is not good for the marriage to show her the cool farting trick mentioned earlier. Especially after having had chicken wings and a couple beers the night before.
Cead Ma Failte!!!
As I've mentioned, I started back to school this fall in an attempt to finish my bachelor's, go to grad school, and finally get off my ass and decide what I want to be when I grow up. (For the record - - I want to teach English Lit and writing at a college somewhere).
Anyway, because it was in the sixties today and it looks like winter will be here soon, I decided to wear my Utilikilt one last time before I put it away until St. Patty's Day. Besides, I'm already the old weird guy in a sophomore level English class with a bunch of bright, but life experience deficient, nineteen year olds. If they can't handle me in a kilt, whilst discussing James Joyce's Dubliners, screw 'em! They can use a little Irish culture from an angry, unrepentant, undead, Fenian bastard such as myself!
The problem arose when I got downtown. If you've never been to Cleveland, let me preface it by saying that we've been recently named the #1 poorest city in America (Take that Detroit! We're number one! We're number one!). So, the area that Cleveland State University is in is right on the edge of a blighted, urban wasteland. And this is the area I need to traverse in order to get to school.
This strange and post-apocalyptic landscape is full of decaying warehouses, ghetto housing, and remnants of a once thriving early twentieth century industrial giant. Now, it looks like the Saturday after a limited nuclear exchange, complete with shambling, bleary eyed survivors in the form of the economically disadvantaged who scratch out a living amidst the squallor. And they all end up on the bus that runs back and forth down Euclid Avenue, bouncing and jostling in potholes and cracks in the road made worse by a city that has neither the money nor the desire to repair them. It's funny really, Euclid Avenue was once called the "The Most Beautiful Street in the World" But now it is an infected, dying, cancerous shell.
And that bus I mentioned? Yeah. I ride it every other day...
You see, on my own poor front, Mrs. Zombie and I are pinching pennies to pay for my decision to go back to school. Soooo, rather than pay eight dollars a day parking at the University two days a week, what I've started doing is parking at Mrs. Zombie's work at East 105th and Euclid and taking the bus down to East 19th. This works well because it's free and secure parking at Mrs. Zombie's work, and I'm already paying $25 a semester as part of my tuition for a free bus pass.
Which brings me to my adventure in Celtic wear...
Things I learned today:
- When you're the only white guy on a bus - in a kilt - it helps to have a shaved head, earings, and a goatee like Scott Ian's from Anthrax.
- Cultural wear or not, older people will still stare at you like you're a sexual deviant.
- When worst comes to worst, and an angry looking gang-banger sidles up to you to ask why you're wearing a skirt, look him right in the eye and say, "I'm a mixed martial arts cage fighter and I'm on my way down to the gym to train for a fight." Can you believe he actually bought it?!?
- Nineteen year old college girls are fascinated by kilts and will pester you endlessly about whether or not you've got anything on underneath. I opted to plead the fifth. Is it sad that any interest by nineteen year old college girls warms the undead doctor's heart? Not that I'd do anything, it's just nice - ya know?
- When you're waiting for the bus, other people on other buses and cars will point at you and laugh. They can laugh now; but I promise they'll all be sorry when I take over the world and use them to feed my undead zombie minions! We'll see who's laughing then.
- I don't care what anybody says; sitting in an empty room on a plastic college desk, in a kilt, and farting, has to be the funniest...sound...ever.
- Not having to unzip anything to pee rocks. Just flip the kilt up and go. It's good to be Irish.
- Mrs. Zombie gets mad when you come into her work in a kilt. I'm not sure why.
- When Mrs. Zombie tells you to close her office door so her coworkers and clients can't see her kilt clad dork of a husband, it is not good for the marriage to show her the cool farting trick mentioned earlier. Especially after having had chicken wings and a couple beers the night before.
Cead Ma Failte!!!
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Monday Strangeness
Just some stuff I've been meaning to post about...
The first is this link I found that proves beyond a dount that I am an irretreviable geek. No matter how much I deny it, and no matter how much I fight it... I will always find this incredibly hot. I'm helpless when faced with this. Seriously. Groan....
On the reading and wasting time at work front: I found a really cool on-line zombie novel called Empire that looks like it's hosted off of Blogger. I've only read the first four chapters, but it seems really good. I gotta have my post-apolcalyptic zombie fiction! Speaking of which, I just picked up and started reading Max Brooks World War Z. What a phenomenal novel! Brooks (the son of comic genius Mel Brooks) wrote the original Zombie Survival Guide and built on the success of that freshman outing by putting together a fictional account of mankind's fight against the ravenous undead hordes. I highly recommend it, and I promise I'll post up a review when I finish it...
I'm sure that this site is commonly visited by some of my more technologically adept readers, or at least it should be known by them. For my part, I've found it absolutely fascinating. It's become one of my new daily checks. Social, technological, and cultural hacking in a one stop shopping sort of way. Very cool site and very highly recommended!
Other than that, nothing else going on right now. I'm still waiting to hear back from my doctor about my damned liver biopsy. I'm hoping for good news, especially considering it's autumn and Great Lakes Brewery will soon be releasing my most favorite microbrew of all time: Great Lakes Brewery Nosferatu. Mmmm....tasty. Quite honestly, I can't see spending halloween this year without some vampire themed blood red ale. Nope. No sirree!
That's all for now, my sweet undead zombie minions. Back to your cages before the good doctor pulls out the stun gun and the weed-whacker...
The first is this link I found that proves beyond a dount that I am an irretreviable geek. No matter how much I deny it, and no matter how much I fight it... I will always find this incredibly hot. I'm helpless when faced with this. Seriously. Groan....
On the reading and wasting time at work front: I found a really cool on-line zombie novel called Empire that looks like it's hosted off of Blogger. I've only read the first four chapters, but it seems really good. I gotta have my post-apolcalyptic zombie fiction! Speaking of which, I just picked up and started reading Max Brooks World War Z. What a phenomenal novel! Brooks (the son of comic genius Mel Brooks) wrote the original Zombie Survival Guide and built on the success of that freshman outing by putting together a fictional account of mankind's fight against the ravenous undead hordes. I highly recommend it, and I promise I'll post up a review when I finish it...
I'm sure that this site is commonly visited by some of my more technologically adept readers, or at least it should be known by them. For my part, I've found it absolutely fascinating. It's become one of my new daily checks. Social, technological, and cultural hacking in a one stop shopping sort of way. Very cool site and very highly recommended!
Other than that, nothing else going on right now. I'm still waiting to hear back from my doctor about my damned liver biopsy. I'm hoping for good news, especially considering it's autumn and Great Lakes Brewery will soon be releasing my most favorite microbrew of all time: Great Lakes Brewery Nosferatu. Mmmm....tasty. Quite honestly, I can't see spending halloween this year without some vampire themed blood red ale. Nope. No sirree!
That's all for now, my sweet undead zombie minions. Back to your cages before the good doctor pulls out the stun gun and the weed-whacker...
Saturday, September 16, 2006
Friday Night Horror Theater - The Last Man on Earth (1964)
So I finally cracked open my box set of 50 Horror Movie Classics and decided that I needed to do some reviews of the movies within. I consider it my responsibility as an evil, undead scientist to expose the world to many of the classic horror films that spawned me and my twisted world view. In that vein (jugular or otherwise!), I’ve decided to watch and post a Friday night review of every movie in the box set.
Why? Mainly because I love these movies and, like I said before, they’re responsible for who I am today. And why Friday? That’s an easy one, Friday is the day that - when I was a child and teenager - I used to get to stay up late, huddle in fear beneath a blanket in the darkened living room, and watch Cleveland’s own late night horror hosts…Ghoulardi, Houlihan, Big Chuck, Little John and The Ghoul. I created Doctor Zombie as an homage to those denizens of my youth. And this is a tribute to them.
So, watch the blog every Friday for a new movie!
Tonight, I’m reviewing The Last Man on Earth from 1964. Starring the great Vincent Price as the main character in the first film adaptation of Richard Matheson’s seminal story, I Am Legend, this is a far superior adaptation than the later Omega Man starring Charleton Heston. What works so well about this movie, and carries it even through its cheesier moments, is the breathtaking performance of Vincent Price. I have said it before, and I’ll say it again: Vincent Price is one of the greatest actors to have ever lived.
The Plot: Vincent Price plays Dr. Robert Morgan, the only man left in a world decimated by a mysterious plague that first kills its victims and then brings them back from the grave as vampires. He has been alone for three years, hunting vampires and scrounging for supplies by day and locking himself up at night. Behind doors covered in garlic, mirrors, and crosses; he tries to maintain his sanity through the constant din and pounding of vampires trying to get him. The film is divided into three distinct acts, and it is the first act that is the most powerful. Morgan’s thoughts are narrated aloud by Price as he goes through his daily rituals. The second act flashes back to the introduction of the plague, and the poignant death of his daughter and the resurrection of his wife. The final act wraps the story up by introducing a group of half infected vampires who have come to stop Morgan and his hunt to destroy every vampire in town. Aided by the lovely Ruth, the vampires end up hunting Morgan, making the entire story end tragically for all.
What works: As I said, it’s all about Vincent Price. This is one of the most powerful performances of his I’ve ever seen. He shows an incredible range as he acts out the emotional gamut of Morgan’s character. He effectively conveys stoic resolve as he goes about his daily tasks, rages at the loss of his life and family, expresses despair at his loneliness, grieves for his situation, and slowly goes mad in his isolation. Additionally, the story is a much better adaptation of Matheson’s work than The Omega Man. Vincent Price brings a pathos to the role that is elevated beyond the tawdrines sof Heston's macho swagger. Adding to this standout performance, there is something about the quiet desolation of the Italian city it was filmed in that gave the film an otherworldly quality. For those who, like me, are drawn to ideas of a post-apocalyptic world; this movie brilliantly and truly captures the idea of the last man left on earth. Another excellent choice by the director and DP was the use of wind and leaves to express the change of scenes. It gave the film a creepy feeling that worked so well in an empty world.
What didn’t work: My only real complaint was the vampires themselves. They were really just actors dressed up in dirty clothes. With the exception of Morgan's now infected friend, Ben, none of the extras spoke because, most likely, they couldn’t speak English. Despite being vampires, they had no pointy teeth and, quite frankly, acted more like slow, plodding zombies. Which I’m cool with, but zombies don’t generally talk (Except in ROTLD – but that doesn’t count!). And they were easily defeated by a strong push whenever they attacked Morgan. It wasn’t as bad as the space vampires in Mario Bava’s Planet of the Vampires, but it was - again – at least reasonably faithful to Matheson’s work.
Overall: A wonderful, creepy, excellent adaptation that surpassed expectations on my part, this is a definite keeper. It is quick moving and is a fascinating take on a concept that is now de rigueur in many horror films(lone man makes a stand in a post-apocalyptic infected world!). Vincent Price’s performance, coupled with some beautiful camera work and a well told, well paced story make this a must see for all of my faithful, undead minions.
Doctor Zombie’s Rating: 5 out of 5 Chomped Brains
Why? Mainly because I love these movies and, like I said before, they’re responsible for who I am today. And why Friday? That’s an easy one, Friday is the day that - when I was a child and teenager - I used to get to stay up late, huddle in fear beneath a blanket in the darkened living room, and watch Cleveland’s own late night horror hosts…Ghoulardi, Houlihan, Big Chuck, Little John and The Ghoul. I created Doctor Zombie as an homage to those denizens of my youth. And this is a tribute to them.
So, watch the blog every Friday for a new movie!
Tonight, I’m reviewing The Last Man on Earth from 1964. Starring the great Vincent Price as the main character in the first film adaptation of Richard Matheson’s seminal story, I Am Legend, this is a far superior adaptation than the later Omega Man starring Charleton Heston. What works so well about this movie, and carries it even through its cheesier moments, is the breathtaking performance of Vincent Price. I have said it before, and I’ll say it again: Vincent Price is one of the greatest actors to have ever lived.
The Plot: Vincent Price plays Dr. Robert Morgan, the only man left in a world decimated by a mysterious plague that first kills its victims and then brings them back from the grave as vampires. He has been alone for three years, hunting vampires and scrounging for supplies by day and locking himself up at night. Behind doors covered in garlic, mirrors, and crosses; he tries to maintain his sanity through the constant din and pounding of vampires trying to get him. The film is divided into three distinct acts, and it is the first act that is the most powerful. Morgan’s thoughts are narrated aloud by Price as he goes through his daily rituals. The second act flashes back to the introduction of the plague, and the poignant death of his daughter and the resurrection of his wife. The final act wraps the story up by introducing a group of half infected vampires who have come to stop Morgan and his hunt to destroy every vampire in town. Aided by the lovely Ruth, the vampires end up hunting Morgan, making the entire story end tragically for all.
What works: As I said, it’s all about Vincent Price. This is one of the most powerful performances of his I’ve ever seen. He shows an incredible range as he acts out the emotional gamut of Morgan’s character. He effectively conveys stoic resolve as he goes about his daily tasks, rages at the loss of his life and family, expresses despair at his loneliness, grieves for his situation, and slowly goes mad in his isolation. Additionally, the story is a much better adaptation of Matheson’s work than The Omega Man. Vincent Price brings a pathos to the role that is elevated beyond the tawdrines sof Heston's macho swagger. Adding to this standout performance, there is something about the quiet desolation of the Italian city it was filmed in that gave the film an otherworldly quality. For those who, like me, are drawn to ideas of a post-apocalyptic world; this movie brilliantly and truly captures the idea of the last man left on earth. Another excellent choice by the director and DP was the use of wind and leaves to express the change of scenes. It gave the film a creepy feeling that worked so well in an empty world.
What didn’t work: My only real complaint was the vampires themselves. They were really just actors dressed up in dirty clothes. With the exception of Morgan's now infected friend, Ben, none of the extras spoke because, most likely, they couldn’t speak English. Despite being vampires, they had no pointy teeth and, quite frankly, acted more like slow, plodding zombies. Which I’m cool with, but zombies don’t generally talk (Except in ROTLD – but that doesn’t count!). And they were easily defeated by a strong push whenever they attacked Morgan. It wasn’t as bad as the space vampires in Mario Bava’s Planet of the Vampires, but it was - again – at least reasonably faithful to Matheson’s work.
Overall: A wonderful, creepy, excellent adaptation that surpassed expectations on my part, this is a definite keeper. It is quick moving and is a fascinating take on a concept that is now de rigueur in many horror films(lone man makes a stand in a post-apocalyptic infected world!). Vincent Price’s performance, coupled with some beautiful camera work and a well told, well paced story make this a must see for all of my faithful, undead minions.
Doctor Zombie’s Rating: 5 out of 5 Chomped Brains
Thursday, September 14, 2006
...W/Some Fava Beans & a Nice Chianti. Sllluuurrrppp!!!!
So get this... I had a liver biopsy yesterday. As I’ve explained before, I’ve been having some problems with increased liver function, so my GI specialist decided to do a biopsy to make sure it wasn’t anything worse than a fatty liver.
So…Can I tell you how bad that sucked?!?
First, they lay me on an operating table, find my liver, and write all over me in marker. Apparently, Doctor’s go to med school and spend a buttload of money to learn the impressive diagnostic tool of thumping your fingers on someone’s side to find their liver. And, the funny part is he thumped me, marked it, and then decided to double check with the good old ultrasound. Based on the second set of marker scribbled on my side, I can see that the high tech ‘thumping method’ was off by a good four inches. So, had he relied solely on his thumping method, he most likely would have stabbed me in the gall bladder, or spleen, or something. Reassuring, eh?
By the way, did you know that your liver is actually up UNDER your ribs? It is, which means they needed to cut through the meat between two of my ribs to get to it. Let me repeat that: THEY CUT THROUGH THE MEAT BETWEEN TWO OF MY RIBS. This is funny because the doctor told me - in the office – that he’d just poke me real quick in the side, I’d never feel it, and it’d be over in a second.
Doctor Sadist: Don’t worry; you probably won’t even feel it.
Fucking Liar.
So he makes an incision in my side, hits me with some topical Lidocaine (which doesn't ever work on me. I have too fast a metabolism.) and he makes a few exploratory pokes with the needle.
Me: Ow! Still stinging. Ow!
Dr. Sadist: Hmmm. Let’s try some more topical anesthetic.
Me: Ow! Now you’re poking an entirely different spot!
(Scraping noise as Dr. Sadist drags the needle across my rib)
Dr. Sadist: Hmmm.
Me: Owww! If I live through this I’m going to eat your children. I swear to the dark gods… Owwww!
Dr. Sadist: Now take a deep breath and hold it…
Me: Why? I’m not ready for you to…
The doctor then takes another eight inch needle mounted in a spring loaded gun, sticks it in the half-numb hole in my side, and PULLS THE TRIGGER.
Now, because the needle is spring loaded, it makes your liver jump inside your abdomen. It moved my lungs, my heart, and shifted my stomach. I actually felt things move. None too pleasant a feeling, I can assure you. Imagine getting kicked by a horse - - only on the inside. That'll give you a feeling of how damn painful, and yet chillingly creepy, it feels.
Now, being me, I asked to see the end product, which Doctor Sadist was more than happy to show me. Try this: take a look at your little finger - - see the length from your middle knuckle to the end? That's how big a chunk of my liver they pulled out. (Shudder!)
Now I have a very high tolerance for pain. (I, for instance, have tattoos and used to have a pierced nipple. I say used to because I tore it and my left nipple off whilst leaning against a fence. Not once during that whole lovely ordeal did I complain about the pain.). Yesterday though, after having my insides suddenly bounced around like Jello in a very big bowl, I saw white, and said, very loudly and angrily - "That fucking sucked!!!”
And what kind of answer does the doctor expect to the question, "Are you up for one more? We don't need to, but I'd like another sample."? I think my murderous glance convinced him that that would have been a bad idea. Well, as murderous a glance as I can give when I'm dizzy from pain and unable to breathe because my goddamned lungs have been displaced my several goddamned inches!
So, I'm at work tonight, training with a sore side because I have an incision and the doctor scraped a needle across two of my ribs and because I had my innards forcefully moved about. And I still can't breathe in all the way.
I’m so not happy with my liver right now. We're not talking to one another. When that sucker gets healed and better, I'm going on a bender. I'm going to drink until it's as black as David Crosby's.
Mark my word.
So…Can I tell you how bad that sucked?!?
First, they lay me on an operating table, find my liver, and write all over me in marker. Apparently, Doctor’s go to med school and spend a buttload of money to learn the impressive diagnostic tool of thumping your fingers on someone’s side to find their liver. And, the funny part is he thumped me, marked it, and then decided to double check with the good old ultrasound. Based on the second set of marker scribbled on my side, I can see that the high tech ‘thumping method’ was off by a good four inches. So, had he relied solely on his thumping method, he most likely would have stabbed me in the gall bladder, or spleen, or something. Reassuring, eh?
By the way, did you know that your liver is actually up UNDER your ribs? It is, which means they needed to cut through the meat between two of my ribs to get to it. Let me repeat that: THEY CUT THROUGH THE MEAT BETWEEN TWO OF MY RIBS. This is funny because the doctor told me - in the office – that he’d just poke me real quick in the side, I’d never feel it, and it’d be over in a second.
Doctor Sadist: Don’t worry; you probably won’t even feel it.
Fucking Liar.
So he makes an incision in my side, hits me with some topical Lidocaine (which doesn't ever work on me. I have too fast a metabolism.) and he makes a few exploratory pokes with the needle.
Me: Ow! Still stinging. Ow!
Dr. Sadist: Hmmm. Let’s try some more topical anesthetic.
Me: Ow! Now you’re poking an entirely different spot!
(Scraping noise as Dr. Sadist drags the needle across my rib)
Dr. Sadist: Hmmm.
Me: Owww! If I live through this I’m going to eat your children. I swear to the dark gods… Owwww!
Dr. Sadist: Now take a deep breath and hold it…
Me: Why? I’m not ready for you to…
The doctor then takes another eight inch needle mounted in a spring loaded gun, sticks it in the half-numb hole in my side, and PULLS THE TRIGGER.
Now, because the needle is spring loaded, it makes your liver jump inside your abdomen. It moved my lungs, my heart, and shifted my stomach. I actually felt things move. None too pleasant a feeling, I can assure you. Imagine getting kicked by a horse - - only on the inside. That'll give you a feeling of how damn painful, and yet chillingly creepy, it feels.
Now, being me, I asked to see the end product, which Doctor Sadist was more than happy to show me. Try this: take a look at your little finger - - see the length from your middle knuckle to the end? That's how big a chunk of my liver they pulled out. (Shudder!)
Now I have a very high tolerance for pain. (I, for instance, have tattoos and used to have a pierced nipple. I say used to because I tore it and my left nipple off whilst leaning against a fence. Not once during that whole lovely ordeal did I complain about the pain.). Yesterday though, after having my insides suddenly bounced around like Jello in a very big bowl, I saw white, and said, very loudly and angrily - "That fucking sucked!!!”
And what kind of answer does the doctor expect to the question, "Are you up for one more? We don't need to, but I'd like another sample."? I think my murderous glance convinced him that that would have been a bad idea. Well, as murderous a glance as I can give when I'm dizzy from pain and unable to breathe because my goddamned lungs have been displaced my several goddamned inches!
So, I'm at work tonight, training with a sore side because I have an incision and the doctor scraped a needle across two of my ribs and because I had my innards forcefully moved about. And I still can't breathe in all the way.
I’m so not happy with my liver right now. We're not talking to one another. When that sucker gets healed and better, I'm going on a bender. I'm going to drink until it's as black as David Crosby's.
Mark my word.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Generational Evil
So, I’ve been asked a few times about my last name. My REAL last name, that is. It’s Crowley; and yes, I am related to him.
Aleister Crowley, (also known as The Beast and The Most Evil Man to Have Ever Lived) is my great-great-uncle or cousin…or something).
Let me explain.
Dr. Zombie (Me), son of…
- Mr. Zombie, Sr. (Born 1949), son of
- Thomas Marion Crowley (born 1919), son of …
- George Marion Crowley (born 1877), son of…
- Jerome Crowley (Born 1854)
Jerome had either a brother or cousin (the records are hard to decipher),
- Edward Crowley (Born 1856), who was the father of…Edward Aleister Crowley (born 1875)
This is according to a family bible that was started by my great,great,great grandfather, George W. Crowley (Born 1834) that was left to me when my grandfather passed away.
So…what does this all mean? Probably nothing, besides the fact that evil must transcend time and generations.
How else do you explain me and my insatiable hunger for suffering and human blood?
Aleister Crowley, (also known as The Beast and The Most Evil Man to Have Ever Lived) is my great-great-uncle or cousin…or something).
Let me explain.
Dr. Zombie (Me), son of…
- Mr. Zombie, Sr. (Born 1949), son of
- Thomas Marion Crowley (born 1919), son of …
- George Marion Crowley (born 1877), son of…
- Jerome Crowley (Born 1854)
Jerome had either a brother or cousin (the records are hard to decipher),
- Edward Crowley (Born 1856), who was the father of…Edward Aleister Crowley (born 1875)
This is according to a family bible that was started by my great,great,great grandfather, George W. Crowley (Born 1834) that was left to me when my grandfather passed away.
So…what does this all mean? Probably nothing, besides the fact that evil must transcend time and generations.
How else do you explain me and my insatiable hunger for suffering and human blood?
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Watch Out For Evil Undead Raccoons!
My life is just plain weird.
Let me explain…
This last weekend, I was lying on the couch watching my unrated director’s cut of Romero’s Land Of The Dead. I was enjoying some zombie movie quiet time as the wife and kids were asleep and it was well after midnight. About the time the zombies jump into the Alleghany River on thier pilgrimage to Fiddler’s Green, I heard a rustling sound on the front porch.
‘What the…?’ I thought, visions of shambling hordes of the undead staggering onto my porch filling my head. Any geekish thoughts of an impending zombie apocalypse were quickly quelled when I remembered I had set a bag of garbage on the porch after dinner with the intention of taking it back to the cans later. In my laziness it was still on the porch and apparently being set upon by some animals. So I got up, flicked on the porch light, and looked out the front storm door. There, perched about the bag of garbage and its now strewn contents were two large, fat, bushy raccoons.
“Shit.” I said.
So I knocked on the door, thinking that a large bipedal beast should surely be enough to scare away the raccoons. You can imagine my chagrin when they ignored me. So, I cracked the door and said “Yah. Get outta here.”
Now I’m uncertain what part of my brain reasoned that saying, “yah,” like I was herding cattle atop the back of a horse in some far flung western territory would be enough to scare away some hungry raccoons. Suffice it to say, it was most likely the same part of my brain that makes me utter stupid things at the most inopportune times; like during meetings, during sex, or at funerals.
Anyway, where I’d been ignored before, I found that the removal of the door made the raccoons definitely notice me. In their minds, the garbage bag was now theirs and they were loath to relinquish it. And apparently any fear they have of old, fat, balding, undead bipedal primates is minimal at best. They both looked up at me with their black, beady, alien eyes full of malice and hissed.
The larger one then darted at the door, growling and yowling with terrifying ferocity.
I screamed like a girl and slammed the door. The raccoon hit the door with enough force to make the storm window rattle. It stared at me with a look of pure evil for several seconds before waddling back to its meal of kitchen refuse.
At this point, I was mad. Besides the fact that I’d have to clean up the garbage on the porch - I had been bested by a mammal that, had I been a more primitive version of man, I would have happily killed and roasted on a spit in my dank - but no doubt tastefully decorated - cave.
The feral little bastard had gotten my inner Neanderthal all riled up.
So, I did a uniquely American thing. I thought of all of my options and settled on the one that I think all American men can recognize and appreciate. I decided that the only way to fix this insult was with the tactical advantage of superior firepower.
So I went upstairs and opened my gun cabinet.
As I stood there, squinting at its contents in the dim light cast from the hallway (Mrs. Zombie was asleep), I mentally weighed my options. The shotguns and larger caliber rifles were out of the question. Too loud and too much like using a nuclear weapon in my quiet suburban neighborhood. The handguns too were not an option. Again they were loud and, quite frankly, I wasn’t sure I could stop at one or two shots. When one starts defending one’s house from furry interlopers, the temptation to empty a high capacity semi-automatic weapon ‘just to be sure’ is too great. That left my muzzleloader (only one shot and there were two raccoons), my .22 (I was out of .22 shells) and my bb gun.
I decided on the bb gun.
So, I retrieved it from the cabinet and went downstairs, pumping the Crossman 760 Pumpmaster bb gun as I went. They say you should never pump the bb gun more than 10 times, but I’ve never subscribed to that policy myself. If I was going to use it to wage war, I wanted the bb to come out of the end of the muzzle with enough velocity to kill an elk. With the bb gun pumped at least 15 or 20 times I returned to the front door to find that a third raccoon had joined the other two. They were flanking me!
“Say ghello to my leetle friend!” I yelled, opening the door a crack. The raccoons looked at me with unadultered hate as I stuck the muzzle of the bb gun out the door and pulled the trigger. With a satisfying paaffftt! sound, I struck the largest of the raccoons square in his fat ass.
With a yowl, the ringleader jumped straight up about two feet in the air and landed on the porch in a tangle of fur and legs. It then darted off the porch like Scooby-Doo being chased by a ghost. The other two looked at the antics of their compatriot and decided maybe they’d best run too. I stepped out on the porch, triumphant.
“That’s right, you primitive screwheads,” I said into the night, “I rock like Bruce Campbell!”
So I cleaned up the mess and walked the bag back to the trashcans. I kept the bb gun with me just in case, and I’m glad I did. As I returned from the back yard, I looked towards the hedgerow that we have on the far side of our yard and saw three sets of eyes gleaming with malevolent, demonic rage. I could see that, having recovered from his initial injuries, the raccoon generalissimo had regrouped his forces and was planning a blitzkrieg type attack from beneath the thick hedgerow.
I quickly brought my weapon to bear just as they hissed and began creeping like ninjas from beneath the hedge. I panicked and fired, wincing with dismay as I heard the bb hit high in the hedge. I frantically began pumping the gun again as I realized that I was cut off from the porch by their nefarious approach. I quickly chambered another bb and took aim, squeezing the trigger.
I had shot true!
I hit the raccoon admiral right between the eyes. He flipped over backwards. He saw then that he was outmaneuvered and, with an angry human-like scream of rage, he scurried away into the night. His subordinates, lacking the heart to go on without their leader, followed him in his hasty and desperate retreat.
I was once again victorious, and celebrated by doing a little jig in my front yard. It was a scary sight I’m sure, as I was wearing only my boxer shorts and a pair of Teva sandals. I returned to the house, put the bb gun away, and went on with my night, confident that my home and loved ones were safe and secure because of my daring and courage.
The problem came this morning when I awoke to find my wife standing over me.
“Was I dreaming last night,” she said in that tone that generally means I’m in big trouble, “or were you in your gun cabinet last night?”
I proudly recounted the previous night’s adventure, but she saw things a lot differently then I did.
I’ll never understand women…why on earth would she call me a moron?
Let me explain…
This last weekend, I was lying on the couch watching my unrated director’s cut of Romero’s Land Of The Dead. I was enjoying some zombie movie quiet time as the wife and kids were asleep and it was well after midnight. About the time the zombies jump into the Alleghany River on thier pilgrimage to Fiddler’s Green, I heard a rustling sound on the front porch.
‘What the…?’ I thought, visions of shambling hordes of the undead staggering onto my porch filling my head. Any geekish thoughts of an impending zombie apocalypse were quickly quelled when I remembered I had set a bag of garbage on the porch after dinner with the intention of taking it back to the cans later. In my laziness it was still on the porch and apparently being set upon by some animals. So I got up, flicked on the porch light, and looked out the front storm door. There, perched about the bag of garbage and its now strewn contents were two large, fat, bushy raccoons.
“Shit.” I said.
So I knocked on the door, thinking that a large bipedal beast should surely be enough to scare away the raccoons. You can imagine my chagrin when they ignored me. So, I cracked the door and said “Yah. Get outta here.”
Now I’m uncertain what part of my brain reasoned that saying, “yah,” like I was herding cattle atop the back of a horse in some far flung western territory would be enough to scare away some hungry raccoons. Suffice it to say, it was most likely the same part of my brain that makes me utter stupid things at the most inopportune times; like during meetings, during sex, or at funerals.
Anyway, where I’d been ignored before, I found that the removal of the door made the raccoons definitely notice me. In their minds, the garbage bag was now theirs and they were loath to relinquish it. And apparently any fear they have of old, fat, balding, undead bipedal primates is minimal at best. They both looked up at me with their black, beady, alien eyes full of malice and hissed.
The larger one then darted at the door, growling and yowling with terrifying ferocity.
I screamed like a girl and slammed the door. The raccoon hit the door with enough force to make the storm window rattle. It stared at me with a look of pure evil for several seconds before waddling back to its meal of kitchen refuse.
At this point, I was mad. Besides the fact that I’d have to clean up the garbage on the porch - I had been bested by a mammal that, had I been a more primitive version of man, I would have happily killed and roasted on a spit in my dank - but no doubt tastefully decorated - cave.
The feral little bastard had gotten my inner Neanderthal all riled up.
So, I did a uniquely American thing. I thought of all of my options and settled on the one that I think all American men can recognize and appreciate. I decided that the only way to fix this insult was with the tactical advantage of superior firepower.
So I went upstairs and opened my gun cabinet.
As I stood there, squinting at its contents in the dim light cast from the hallway (Mrs. Zombie was asleep), I mentally weighed my options. The shotguns and larger caliber rifles were out of the question. Too loud and too much like using a nuclear weapon in my quiet suburban neighborhood. The handguns too were not an option. Again they were loud and, quite frankly, I wasn’t sure I could stop at one or two shots. When one starts defending one’s house from furry interlopers, the temptation to empty a high capacity semi-automatic weapon ‘just to be sure’ is too great. That left my muzzleloader (only one shot and there were two raccoons), my .22 (I was out of .22 shells) and my bb gun.
I decided on the bb gun.
So, I retrieved it from the cabinet and went downstairs, pumping the Crossman 760 Pumpmaster bb gun as I went. They say you should never pump the bb gun more than 10 times, but I’ve never subscribed to that policy myself. If I was going to use it to wage war, I wanted the bb to come out of the end of the muzzle with enough velocity to kill an elk. With the bb gun pumped at least 15 or 20 times I returned to the front door to find that a third raccoon had joined the other two. They were flanking me!
“Say ghello to my leetle friend!” I yelled, opening the door a crack. The raccoons looked at me with unadultered hate as I stuck the muzzle of the bb gun out the door and pulled the trigger. With a satisfying paaffftt! sound, I struck the largest of the raccoons square in his fat ass.
With a yowl, the ringleader jumped straight up about two feet in the air and landed on the porch in a tangle of fur and legs. It then darted off the porch like Scooby-Doo being chased by a ghost. The other two looked at the antics of their compatriot and decided maybe they’d best run too. I stepped out on the porch, triumphant.
“That’s right, you primitive screwheads,” I said into the night, “I rock like Bruce Campbell!”
So I cleaned up the mess and walked the bag back to the trashcans. I kept the bb gun with me just in case, and I’m glad I did. As I returned from the back yard, I looked towards the hedgerow that we have on the far side of our yard and saw three sets of eyes gleaming with malevolent, demonic rage. I could see that, having recovered from his initial injuries, the raccoon generalissimo had regrouped his forces and was planning a blitzkrieg type attack from beneath the thick hedgerow.
I quickly brought my weapon to bear just as they hissed and began creeping like ninjas from beneath the hedge. I panicked and fired, wincing with dismay as I heard the bb hit high in the hedge. I frantically began pumping the gun again as I realized that I was cut off from the porch by their nefarious approach. I quickly chambered another bb and took aim, squeezing the trigger.
I had shot true!
I hit the raccoon admiral right between the eyes. He flipped over backwards. He saw then that he was outmaneuvered and, with an angry human-like scream of rage, he scurried away into the night. His subordinates, lacking the heart to go on without their leader, followed him in his hasty and desperate retreat.
I was once again victorious, and celebrated by doing a little jig in my front yard. It was a scary sight I’m sure, as I was wearing only my boxer shorts and a pair of Teva sandals. I returned to the house, put the bb gun away, and went on with my night, confident that my home and loved ones were safe and secure because of my daring and courage.
The problem came this morning when I awoke to find my wife standing over me.
“Was I dreaming last night,” she said in that tone that generally means I’m in big trouble, “or were you in your gun cabinet last night?”
I proudly recounted the previous night’s adventure, but she saw things a lot differently then I did.
I’ll never understand women…why on earth would she call me a moron?
Some Random Links
Here are a few things that caught my eye recently…
Free low budget, independent movie plug – These guys are my kind of geeks. They’ve made a few low budget RPG themed movies and seem to have developed a bit of a following. I mention them because their newest movie, The Gamers: Dorkness Rising, will be released soon and I wanted to give them a free plug. One of the actresses in the movie is Carol Roscoe, a beautiful, sexy, wonderful actress whom I can say is a friend. I sadly haven’t spoken to her in years, but I’ve been keeping an eye on her work and want to give her some promotion. Maybe one of my contacts at Anchor Bay could give her agent a call? Hmmm? What do you think? Anyway, please do me a favor and shell out a few bones and pick up a copy of the DVD when it comes out and revel in the obvious tongue in cheek RPG geekery! And I will be doing a review of it when it is available for purchase. C’mon guys, I really want to see this!
Top 10 Creepiest commercials Ever - I kind of agree with all of these. Especially that dermatophyte thing which makes me wince to think of it. That and the plasticene-headed Burger King. All I gotta say is that, if I wake up in the morning and that’s lying next to me watching me sleep, or I open up the shade to find the King standing at my window, I’m busting out my .45 and a restraining order. There should be laws protecting us normal folk from creepy plastic faced icons who stalk us.
An interesting Engineering Argument - All right, this guy spend too much time thinking like a geek. This is what happens when you live in the basement of your mom’s house and you spend too much time talking to your friends on the Jedi Bulletin Boards and Forums. The sad thing is, I’m enough of a geek to have had this very conversation with MY friends around a beer at the local pub. But I’M not a geek. No way. There’s a difference… I’m doing it with real people, face to face. There IS a difference… right? Right?!? (And because I’m such a sci-fi geek, I couldn’t let this go without making the comment that the Empire would totally employ this sort of system. They’re the friggin’ Galactic Empire - - what do they care about efficiency or the environment?!? Sheesh.)
Diary of the Dead!!! – Oh my god! I just had a zombie induced orgasm! The great George A. Romero has a new dead movie coming out… and it will not be an over-produced, shat upon by a bunch of suits who don’t know horror, watered down, big budget affair. George is doing it right. It’ll be independent and it will be renegade. How awesome is this going to be? Oh dear gods this will be incredible! I’m speechless here…
That sound you hear is Doctor Zombie screaming in terror. My question is, if this protects children from the horrors of a non-Christian world, what sort of PJ’s will they have to wear to protect them from their insane, wacky, nutjob Fundie parents?!? Do the PJ’s come with a rebate or discount coupon to apply to the years of therapy they’ll need later in life? This is the face of real evil here.
Anf finally, I found this quote of a review of Paris Hilton’s new album. Besides the obvious reference to Paris’ horrifying and warbling attempts at singing, I just like the way it’s written. What can I say, I’m a sucker when it comes to British wit and well written insults… Per the Guardian… “She sounds both distracted and bored stiff, as if making an album is keeping her from the more serious business of standing around a nightclub in a pair of really enormous sunglasses,” opined the critic in the London Guardian. “Listening to her sing Rod Stewart’s “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy,” you are gripped by the fear that civilization as we know it is doomed and that brimstone is going to start raining from the sky any minute. It doesn’t, but a sense of terrible foreboding is further stoked by the sleeve notes, which make reference to ‘all my albums to come.’”
I take it back, Paris Hilton is the face of true evil…
Unpleasant dreams, dear reader…
Free low budget, independent movie plug – These guys are my kind of geeks. They’ve made a few low budget RPG themed movies and seem to have developed a bit of a following. I mention them because their newest movie, The Gamers: Dorkness Rising, will be released soon and I wanted to give them a free plug. One of the actresses in the movie is Carol Roscoe, a beautiful, sexy, wonderful actress whom I can say is a friend. I sadly haven’t spoken to her in years, but I’ve been keeping an eye on her work and want to give her some promotion. Maybe one of my contacts at Anchor Bay could give her agent a call? Hmmm? What do you think? Anyway, please do me a favor and shell out a few bones and pick up a copy of the DVD when it comes out and revel in the obvious tongue in cheek RPG geekery! And I will be doing a review of it when it is available for purchase. C’mon guys, I really want to see this!
Top 10 Creepiest commercials Ever - I kind of agree with all of these. Especially that dermatophyte thing which makes me wince to think of it. That and the plasticene-headed Burger King. All I gotta say is that, if I wake up in the morning and that’s lying next to me watching me sleep, or I open up the shade to find the King standing at my window, I’m busting out my .45 and a restraining order. There should be laws protecting us normal folk from creepy plastic faced icons who stalk us.
An interesting Engineering Argument - All right, this guy spend too much time thinking like a geek. This is what happens when you live in the basement of your mom’s house and you spend too much time talking to your friends on the Jedi Bulletin Boards and Forums. The sad thing is, I’m enough of a geek to have had this very conversation with MY friends around a beer at the local pub. But I’M not a geek. No way. There’s a difference… I’m doing it with real people, face to face. There IS a difference… right? Right?!? (And because I’m such a sci-fi geek, I couldn’t let this go without making the comment that the Empire would totally employ this sort of system. They’re the friggin’ Galactic Empire - - what do they care about efficiency or the environment?!? Sheesh.)
Diary of the Dead!!! – Oh my god! I just had a zombie induced orgasm! The great George A. Romero has a new dead movie coming out… and it will not be an over-produced, shat upon by a bunch of suits who don’t know horror, watered down, big budget affair. George is doing it right. It’ll be independent and it will be renegade. How awesome is this going to be? Oh dear gods this will be incredible! I’m speechless here…
That sound you hear is Doctor Zombie screaming in terror. My question is, if this protects children from the horrors of a non-Christian world, what sort of PJ’s will they have to wear to protect them from their insane, wacky, nutjob Fundie parents?!? Do the PJ’s come with a rebate or discount coupon to apply to the years of therapy they’ll need later in life? This is the face of real evil here.
Anf finally, I found this quote of a review of Paris Hilton’s new album. Besides the obvious reference to Paris’ horrifying and warbling attempts at singing, I just like the way it’s written. What can I say, I’m a sucker when it comes to British wit and well written insults… Per the Guardian… “She sounds both distracted and bored stiff, as if making an album is keeping her from the more serious business of standing around a nightclub in a pair of really enormous sunglasses,” opined the critic in the London Guardian. “Listening to her sing Rod Stewart’s “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy,” you are gripped by the fear that civilization as we know it is doomed and that brimstone is going to start raining from the sky any minute. It doesn’t, but a sense of terrible foreboding is further stoked by the sleeve notes, which make reference to ‘all my albums to come.’”
I take it back, Paris Hilton is the face of true evil…
Unpleasant dreams, dear reader…
Monday, August 21, 2006
Update
I've been a bit lax in updating lately. The reasons are varied, but suffice it to say I've been pretty busy.
Work-wise, I started a New Hire class and am working some really late hours for the next 7 weeks. Blech.
Add on top of that the fact that I have been preoccupied with my current health issues (my wonky liver, terrifyingly high 'bad' cholesterol levels, et al...) and I've not had the time or inclination to devote to this blog like I should be. Funny thing, though... apparently, if one stops drinking and begins eating like a vegetarian, you can expect to see weight loss. I've lost like 15 pounds in the last 2 1/2 to 3 weeks. Who'd'a thunk it?!?
And - - worst of all - - I wanted to work on my novel this last weekend, but was horrified to find that the disk I had it on is NOT WORKING! So, apparently, I've lost months of work and now have to REWRITE the whole goddamned thing! And, for some insane reason, I didn't back the goddamned thing up. I'm usually neurotic about backing up. I don't know what I was thinking. What I don't understand (because I'm a geek, but not a techno-geek) is how the six other files on the disk work, but not the two files related to my novel DON'T?!?
Is there somebody out there who can help me figure out a way to recover the files on a floppy disk? Or am I doomed to have to rewrite the whole damn novel (which I was probably a good 60% done with)?!?!
AAARRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHH!
Work-wise, I started a New Hire class and am working some really late hours for the next 7 weeks. Blech.
Add on top of that the fact that I have been preoccupied with my current health issues (my wonky liver, terrifyingly high 'bad' cholesterol levels, et al...) and I've not had the time or inclination to devote to this blog like I should be. Funny thing, though... apparently, if one stops drinking and begins eating like a vegetarian, you can expect to see weight loss. I've lost like 15 pounds in the last 2 1/2 to 3 weeks. Who'd'a thunk it?!?
And - - worst of all - - I wanted to work on my novel this last weekend, but was horrified to find that the disk I had it on is NOT WORKING! So, apparently, I've lost months of work and now have to REWRITE the whole goddamned thing! And, for some insane reason, I didn't back the goddamned thing up. I'm usually neurotic about backing up. I don't know what I was thinking. What I don't understand (because I'm a geek, but not a techno-geek) is how the six other files on the disk work, but not the two files related to my novel DON'T?!?
Is there somebody out there who can help me figure out a way to recover the files on a floppy disk? Or am I doomed to have to rewrite the whole damn novel (which I was probably a good 60% done with)?!?!
AAARRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHH!
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