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...
Taking over the world... one undead soul at a time.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
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!
Monday, August 07, 2006
Movie Review - The Tooth Fairy (2006)
Movie Review – The Tooth Fairy (2006)
Anchor Bay Entertainment’s The Tooth Fairy came to my door about a week ago wrapped in an impressive looking piece of DVD packaging. And I was suitably impressed, until I saw, in large impressive letters, “A Film by Stephen J. Cannell”. Why did I flinch upon seeing this? If you don’t recognize the name, Stephen J. Cannell is probably one of the most influential people in the history of television. He is the creator of the A-Team, Renegade (with Lorenzo Lamas!), The Commish, 21 Jump Street, Riptide, The Greatest American Hero, and The Rockford Files. Take a look back on that list. It is an impressive list of some of the greatest shows to grace the airwaves; or at least when I was growing up. However, a good TV show creator does not a good horror movie creator make. Yeah, I’m sure Cannell, like Aaron Spelling, Sherwood Schwartz, and Donald P. Bellisario made some great TV… but they are not in the same league as George Romero, John Carpenter, Tobe Hooper, or Wes Craven for making one cower on the couch in the darkness of night.
Believe it or not, Cannell actually did a pretty good job.
The Tooth Fairy starts in 1949 where we see two hapless 10 year olds who sneak up to a ramshackle, spooky house in Northern California. They are there to see the Tooth Fairy, an old and horribly disfigured woman who is rumored to give gifts for the baby teeth of young children. One of the boys, harboring a desire for a Schwinn bike, knocks on the door and enters while his friend cowers in the bushes outside. The braver friend is convinced by the horrible (and mannish sounding) Tooth Fairy to give up a loose tooth, only to find that the crazy old woman is after more than the tooth. She proceeds to murder him with an ax in the foyer.
Fast forward to present day and we find that the spooky old house has been bought and renovated and turned into a bed and breakfast by a doctor named Peter who has given up on being a physician to run the b&b and write. Peter is played by an actor named Lochlyn Munro. He is one of those character actors whom you’ve seen in countless movies, but damned if you can remember any of them. He is just getting ready to open the bed and breakfast, and is being helped by his handyman Bobby (a young high school kid who looks like he’s in his late 20’s and played by an unknown Jesse Hutch). They are joined by Star Roberts, who hopes to move into the B&B a little early. Star is played by an actress named Carrie Fleming who is super, super hot. I mean, wow! Her character, Star, is an ex-stripper who is getting ready to start veterinarian school.
Meanwhile, across town, we meet Darcy (Chandra West) and her daughter Pamela (Nicole Munoz), who are driving up to the B&B to spend a week or so with Peter, Darcy’s ex-fiancée. They stop for directions at a local gas station, only to be attacked by two dimwitted and belligerent rednecks who hold a grudge against Peter for evicting them from the Tooth Fairy/B&B where they had been squatting. Although the brothers Chuck and Henry (played with total committment by Peter New and Ben Cotton) are gross exaggerations of redneck idiocy, they are two of the best characters in the film.
So, Darcy and Pamela get to the B&B, where Pamela meets Emma, a ghost who warns her about the Tooth Fairy. Per Emma the spirit guide, we learn that the Tooth Fairy collects the last baby teeth of children, and then murders them, preventing their souls from escaping. Emma leaves to ‘go home’, and Pamela is conveniently attacked by the Tooth Fairy on her bike ride home, conveniently losing her last baby tooth.
Heeding Emma’s warning, Pamela hides her baby tooth and only manages to anger the Tooth Fairy, who kills houseboy Bobby by stuffing him into an industrial wood chipper. The violence escalates, and the Tooth Fairy goes on a rampage in her search for the tooth of Pamela, until she is vanquished at the end.
So, what did I think of The Tooth Fairy? All in all, it wasn’t a bad movie. It had all of the elements that make up a standard, run of the mill serial killer/evil childhood character movie. It was rather formulaic at times, but then it would occasionally show flashes of originality that made it compelling to watch. The blood and gore effects were well done, which is always a plus. And the acting was very good. But again, the parts that resembled a cookie cutter horror film were the ones that hurt the film the most. There was the standard ‘kill those crazy kids who are having sex’ scene. The standard ‘ “Who’s there? Who made that ominous noise down the dark hall?”’ moment. And, perhaps worst of all, there was the obviously identifiable gruesome death fodder. By this I mean, the characters that you know are destined to die because they are so written that way. Spoiler and hint: If your character is introduced as a main character3/4 of the way through the film… things don’t bode well for you…
On a positive note, the character’s that were developed from the beginning were effective and capable of empathy from a viewer. I think this is where someone like Stephen J. Cannell excels at writing anything. He thinks long term. This could have been the pilot for his new whiz-bang super TV show, and he writes the characters with back stories that make a viewer want to invest in them. You have Peter, the ex-doctor who’s thrown it all away to run a bed and breakfast in the country; his girlfriend Darcy who is too tied to her paralegal job to heed love’s call and join him; Pamela who’s an imaginative and loveable little girl; and Cole, Peter’s no-good, dead head, rock and roll friend(who has the best line in the movie - - when explaining that he needs some money, he professes how great everything is, but…”there IS an ant in the afterbirth, though…”).
And finally, you have Star, the ex-stripper who spends the whole movie looking hot as hell, claiming she’s more than a pretty face and a smoking body. She identifies hummingbirds by their Latin name, reads a book on bird biology, and does everything to tell everybody she’s smart and not just some drop dead gorgeous stripper. Of course, she makes a point of hitting on every guy in the B&B and she IS the only character who actually gets naked when she sleeps with someone ‘because she’s scared’. (Picture in your mind, if you will, Doctor Zombie rolling his undead eyes.)
This development though, was a bit tiresome after a while. Truth be told, I’m a horror fan and I want to get to the horror. And there are some great horror moments. For instance, Doctor Zombie was honestly surprised by the first instance in any horror movie that - at least I can remember – where someone gets their penis severed and then you actually SEE IT. The penis that is. Bravo on having the cajones (no pun intended!) to commit to such an in your face effect. Like I said before, the wood chipper scene was great, and the other scenes aren’t too bad.
And The Tooth Fairy wasn’t really that scary. I suppose to a child she would be, but really it’s just a scary woman running around with an axe. (This isn’t really a spoiler, you see her within the first two minutes of the movie.) And the end is where the badness really ratchets up; suffice it to say I’m sure you have the means to kill the spooky, evil Tooth Fairy witch in your own garage. And remember I said it had several stereotypical slasher clichés? Watch for the oh so original glimpse of the allegedly dead Tooth Fairy in the bed & breakfast window as the survivors drive away at the end! “What?!? Huh?!? I thought… they killed… oh horrors! You mean she might not be dead?!?” (Imagine more rolled eyes, dear readers…)
Finally, I’d like to mention the one big name star in the film was PJ Soles (Lynda from the original Halloween). There is something to be said for making a career doing small bit parts solely because you were in one of the greatest horror flicks of all time. Hell, if I’d lucked into a role that made me immortal, I’d ride the wave as long as I could. There’s something honorable in being like PJ Soles, or Cane Hodder, or Michael Berryman. The only thing I’d say to these sort of actors though, is BE SELECTIVE. PJ’s character, the crazy neighbor Mrs. McDonald, has two minutes of screen time where she shows up out of nowhere, spouts a gloom and doom warning about the evil witch Tooth Fairy(!) and tells the main characters how to kill it. It’s like the writers wrote themselves into the corner, found out the casting department had cast PJ, and quickly made up a Deus Ex Machine in her charcter. At least PJ’s still getting paid. I just hope it’s more than scale.
So, overall… The Tooth Fairy was a good movie with some great character development and some good gore. It was a bit long and lost some steam at the end, but it still wasn’t bad. If you go into it expecting typical straight to video badness, you will be pleasantly surprised. There is an expectation from certain horror fans that their movies follow set rules, and if you’re that sort of fan you won’t be disappointed. And, if you’re not necessarily a fan, but like to scare your significant other as you cuddle on the couch with all the lights out, it will suit your purposes as well…
Doctor Zombie’s Rating: 3 out of 5 Chomped Brains
Thursday, August 03, 2006
One of those days...
So, as if my week wasn't already bad enough...
I have always been bit of a klutz and have never been what one could call, "catlike and nimble". I have suffered from this my whole life and, to add insult to injury, I also have horrible luck.
Let me tell you how my day went.
So I go to the local 5/3 Bank to make a payment on my Jeep, "The Blue Zombie". I pull up to the window and, as I have my softtop off, reach out and retrieve the canister from the drive through tube thingy. I put in my payment, get ignored by the pretty girl inside the bank, and eventually get my payment taken. The tube whooshes back to me, I pick it up, and retrieve my receipt. And here is where the wheels fell off the cart...
I go to RETURN the tube to the tube thingy and fumble it. It drops with a clunk to the ground. "Crap," says I. I try to reach it from the driver's seat, but as there's a door between myself and the ground, that doesn't work. So, being the suave and nimble cat that I am, I open my door and bend down to grab the canister from where it lies beneath the Jeep. Unfortunately, my door hits the concrete bank tube thingy and comes to an abrupt stop about a quarter of the way open. With a meaty thwock, I bash my bald forehead ON THE DOOR. "Fuck," I says, rubbing my forehead in that way that doesn't do anything for the pain, but makes you feel better.
Now I'm mad. I pop my emergency brake and put the Jeep into first gear. My intention is to roll far enough forward to clear the dumb concrete tube thingy, open my door and repeat the process - - less the meaty thwock to my now angry and swollen forehead. Unfortunately, I'm so focused on watching the tube thingy, and figuring out the point at which my door clears it, I completely forget to watch the fallen tube on the ground.
Too late, I realize this as I hear the plasticky crunch of the tube as I run it over with a beefy 30x9.5 mud tire.
So, a few minutes and several curses later, I am out of my Jeep, standing in the drivethru lane of the bank. I am holding the shattered pieces of tubing in both hands and pushing the call button.
"Excuse me," I say to the pretty girl who so handily ignored me previously, "I...um...the thing...ummmmm. Sorry?"
"That's all right," she says, "That happens quite a bit. Just set it on top and I'll come and get it on my next break."
So I set the broken pieces on the tube thingy, which is sporting a nice scrape of Jeep factory Patriot Blue paint, and go back to my Jeep. I climb in and a glance in my rear view mirror shows a now golfball-sized knot growing from my forehead like some malignant tumor.
As I pull out of the bank parking lot in my topless Jeep, it begins to rain.
How was your day?
I have always been bit of a klutz and have never been what one could call, "catlike and nimble". I have suffered from this my whole life and, to add insult to injury, I also have horrible luck.
Let me tell you how my day went.
So I go to the local 5/3 Bank to make a payment on my Jeep, "The Blue Zombie". I pull up to the window and, as I have my softtop off, reach out and retrieve the canister from the drive through tube thingy. I put in my payment, get ignored by the pretty girl inside the bank, and eventually get my payment taken. The tube whooshes back to me, I pick it up, and retrieve my receipt. And here is where the wheels fell off the cart...
I go to RETURN the tube to the tube thingy and fumble it. It drops with a clunk to the ground. "Crap," says I. I try to reach it from the driver's seat, but as there's a door between myself and the ground, that doesn't work. So, being the suave and nimble cat that I am, I open my door and bend down to grab the canister from where it lies beneath the Jeep. Unfortunately, my door hits the concrete bank tube thingy and comes to an abrupt stop about a quarter of the way open. With a meaty thwock, I bash my bald forehead ON THE DOOR. "Fuck," I says, rubbing my forehead in that way that doesn't do anything for the pain, but makes you feel better.
Now I'm mad. I pop my emergency brake and put the Jeep into first gear. My intention is to roll far enough forward to clear the dumb concrete tube thingy, open my door and repeat the process - - less the meaty thwock to my now angry and swollen forehead. Unfortunately, I'm so focused on watching the tube thingy, and figuring out the point at which my door clears it, I completely forget to watch the fallen tube on the ground.
Too late, I realize this as I hear the plasticky crunch of the tube as I run it over with a beefy 30x9.5 mud tire.
So, a few minutes and several curses later, I am out of my Jeep, standing in the drivethru lane of the bank. I am holding the shattered pieces of tubing in both hands and pushing the call button.
"Excuse me," I say to the pretty girl who so handily ignored me previously, "I...um...the thing...ummmmm. Sorry?"
"That's all right," she says, "That happens quite a bit. Just set it on top and I'll come and get it on my next break."
So I set the broken pieces on the tube thingy, which is sporting a nice scrape of Jeep factory Patriot Blue paint, and go back to my Jeep. I climb in and a glance in my rear view mirror shows a now golfball-sized knot growing from my forehead like some malignant tumor.
As I pull out of the bank parking lot in my topless Jeep, it begins to rain.
How was your day?
Monday, July 31, 2006
Horror of Horrors!
The Doctor is in a foul black mood.
Mrs. Zombie made me go to the doctor a week or so ago because, despite being an evil, undead scientist; I'm also turning 36 in a few weeks. And, as I'm a fat bastard, I needed a general check to make sure everything is going well.
I should preface this by saying that I did this same thing when I turned 30. I was told at that time that my liver had elevated function and, although I don't really drink that much now... I somehow damaged it when I was in college and drinking everyday. This was compounded by the fact that I didn't really drink much beer at the time - - it was all hard liquor. Add to the fact that I went to school within an hour's drive of the Indiana border where an enterprising college student could get gallons of Everclear (190 proof grain alcohol!!!) with little to no problem (Mmmmm...hairy buffalo....).
So, I went to the doctor this weekend to discuss the results of my tests and, guess what. I have pushed my poor abused liver to the limits of its tolerance.
I am no longer allowed to drink. At all.
Let me say that again. I AM NO LONGER ALLOWED TO DRINK!!!
No tasty microbrews, no frothy adult beverages, no Guinness. Dear sweet god, I'm not allowed to drink Guinness! I'm Irish for chrissakes!!! How am I not to drink Guinness?!? And you can be damned sure that Mrs. Zombie has put the screws to me and put her pretty foot down about drinking. Some silly nonsense about "seeing my kids grow up" and "walking my 5 year old daughter down the aisle someday".
Groan.
Yes indeed. The doctor is in a foul black mood. I will be out tonight - in the inhumanly hot weather - stalking someone, anyone, on which to take out my anger. I warn you, dear reader, if you hear a knocking at your door in the darkest loneliest hours of the night; look before you answer. It might be me, and I've got my blood stained doctor's bag with all of my bright, pretty, sharp things within. I've things that stab, and gouge, and cut deeply into the flesh of my victims.
Pray I don't stop by.
Mrs. Zombie made me go to the doctor a week or so ago because, despite being an evil, undead scientist; I'm also turning 36 in a few weeks. And, as I'm a fat bastard, I needed a general check to make sure everything is going well.
I should preface this by saying that I did this same thing when I turned 30. I was told at that time that my liver had elevated function and, although I don't really drink that much now... I somehow damaged it when I was in college and drinking everyday. This was compounded by the fact that I didn't really drink much beer at the time - - it was all hard liquor. Add to the fact that I went to school within an hour's drive of the Indiana border where an enterprising college student could get gallons of Everclear (190 proof grain alcohol!!!) with little to no problem (Mmmmm...hairy buffalo....).
So, I went to the doctor this weekend to discuss the results of my tests and, guess what. I have pushed my poor abused liver to the limits of its tolerance.
I am no longer allowed to drink. At all.
Let me say that again. I AM NO LONGER ALLOWED TO DRINK!!!
No tasty microbrews, no frothy adult beverages, no Guinness. Dear sweet god, I'm not allowed to drink Guinness! I'm Irish for chrissakes!!! How am I not to drink Guinness?!? And you can be damned sure that Mrs. Zombie has put the screws to me and put her pretty foot down about drinking. Some silly nonsense about "seeing my kids grow up" and "walking my 5 year old daughter down the aisle someday".
Groan.
Yes indeed. The doctor is in a foul black mood. I will be out tonight - in the inhumanly hot weather - stalking someone, anyone, on which to take out my anger. I warn you, dear reader, if you hear a knocking at your door in the darkest loneliest hours of the night; look before you answer. It might be me, and I've got my blood stained doctor's bag with all of my bright, pretty, sharp things within. I've things that stab, and gouge, and cut deeply into the flesh of my victims.
Pray I don't stop by.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Some thoughts and links...
I wanted to add some thoughts on my post from yesterday regarding H.P. Lovecraft, As I sort of feel like I didn't properly explain my love for his works.
As I said yesterday, Lovecraft is, in my humble opinion, one of the greatest writers from the 20th century; and quite possible one of the greatest horror writers to have ever laid blood soaked pen to paper. Lovecraft was a writer from Providence RI who contributed heavily to the early horror and sci-fi pulps of the 20's, 30's, and 40's. Such great classic magazines as Amazing Stories and Weird Tales were graced by his eerie, fantastic tales. Most of today's horror writers, including Stephen King, Ramsay Campbell, Dean Koontz, and Clive Barker have all espoused a love for Lovecraft's works; as well as honest admissions that he has been an undeniable influence on their own fiction.
I first discovered the deliciously horrible worlds and creatures of Lovecraft in high school. I was in a health class in the ninth grade, reading a copy of Tolkien’s The Hobbit when this large guy next to me saw it and freaked out. He was excited because he had found another geek like himself. You see, we geeks have a way of sensing one another. It’s like there’s some strange geek pheromone that causes us to seek one another out. The guy’s name was Sean and he would become one of my best friends (and a man I still consider a brother to this day.) He asked me if I’d ever role-played. I shrugged, saying I’d done some basic D&D in junior high school, and had wanted to play more, but the guys I played with weren’t at all serious about it.
Sean thumped a meaty hand on his desk, wrote down his address and phone number and immediately invited me over to his house to play a game called Call of Cthuhlu. I asked him what the heck it was and, more importantly how in the hell one spelled Cthulhu. He said it was an awesome game and gave me an explanation about monsters, and twenties and thirties pulp fiction, and cults that quite frankly went over my head. The next day, Sean slid me two photocopied stories. One was The Hound of Tindalos by August Derleth, and the other was The Doom That Came To Sarnath, by H.P. Lovecraft. Even then I considered myself a writer and I can remember the giddy thrill upon reading the archaic, yet beautifully written words of Lovecraft. I went on that weekend to play Call of Cthulhu.
It was there that I met my other brothers - Jason and Curt - and it was in Sean’s attic; sitting around a scarred and tilted rattan table, the flicker of candles dancing on the ceiling, and whilst drinking Cherry Coke and eating Cool Ranch Doritoes; that I fell in love with role playing and the works of Lovecraft.
I still have a deep love for the works of the great Howard Phillips Lovecraft. In fact, I so love Lovecraft that I’m torn between using his works for either my Master’s or Doctoral thesis.
If you've never read anything by Lovecraft, Doctor Zombie commands you to click this link and begin reading the wonderous words and chilling evil that is H.P. Lovecraft. Don't make me pull out my mind control ray!
IA! IA! CTHULU PHTAGN!
Some other thoughts/news:
I've been contacted by Anchor Bay Entertainment again and asked to do a review of a new direct to video movie for them. There's a banner for it on the left there. It's called The Tooth Fairy. Once I receive a copy. I'll review it and let you know if it's worth seeing...
Here's an update on Night of The Living Dead 3-d. I've got to say, I'm starting to get kind of excited about this...
Also, another movie that shows I am a complete and total nerd has begun production! Dragonlance: The Movie. And yes, I spent an entire summer in high school role playing this at my buddy Sean's house. Seriously. My other friend Rich ran Dragonlance as an Ad&D campaign and we started playing in April or May. We spent the entire rest of the year living in Krinn. We would seriously go to Sean's on Friday night; load up on Cool Ranch Doritoes, Pork Rinds, Bar B Q Pringles, Root Beer NY Seltzer, and Cherry Coke; play all night; get a few hours of sleep; go to our high school jobs; and go back to Sean's to repeat the process. We'd come home sunday night to the anger of our parents, gassy and bleary from lack of sleep. God I miss that...
Since when did collecting body part become wrong?!? Damn PC police...
Here you go, the perfect anti-zombie set up, ready to go and assembled. Fortunately for Dr. Zombie and my undead minions it's really, really expensive!
Check out this site! For all your pirate needs, it's Billy Bone's Pirate Locker. Remember, all little boys want to be pirates... and we never really outgrow that when we become men! Besides, I absolutely love that intro page pirate song! Arrrr!
And finally, this is allegedly a list of most of the zombie movies ever made. It has some obvious and recent films missing, but it is a valiant effort. If anything, it would be a good source to cross check with in my quest to own and see every zombie film ever made...
That's all for now, dear reader. I must shamble back to the Theater of Terror and check on some of my more recent experiments. They've been waiting for me to return. Ahhhh...the smell of blood, and death, and terror is like the smell of warm cookies in the air...
As I said yesterday, Lovecraft is, in my humble opinion, one of the greatest writers from the 20th century; and quite possible one of the greatest horror writers to have ever laid blood soaked pen to paper. Lovecraft was a writer from Providence RI who contributed heavily to the early horror and sci-fi pulps of the 20's, 30's, and 40's. Such great classic magazines as Amazing Stories and Weird Tales were graced by his eerie, fantastic tales. Most of today's horror writers, including Stephen King, Ramsay Campbell, Dean Koontz, and Clive Barker have all espoused a love for Lovecraft's works; as well as honest admissions that he has been an undeniable influence on their own fiction.
I first discovered the deliciously horrible worlds and creatures of Lovecraft in high school. I was in a health class in the ninth grade, reading a copy of Tolkien’s The Hobbit when this large guy next to me saw it and freaked out. He was excited because he had found another geek like himself. You see, we geeks have a way of sensing one another. It’s like there’s some strange geek pheromone that causes us to seek one another out. The guy’s name was Sean and he would become one of my best friends (and a man I still consider a brother to this day.) He asked me if I’d ever role-played. I shrugged, saying I’d done some basic D&D in junior high school, and had wanted to play more, but the guys I played with weren’t at all serious about it.
Sean thumped a meaty hand on his desk, wrote down his address and phone number and immediately invited me over to his house to play a game called Call of Cthuhlu. I asked him what the heck it was and, more importantly how in the hell one spelled Cthulhu. He said it was an awesome game and gave me an explanation about monsters, and twenties and thirties pulp fiction, and cults that quite frankly went over my head. The next day, Sean slid me two photocopied stories. One was The Hound of Tindalos by August Derleth, and the other was The Doom That Came To Sarnath, by H.P. Lovecraft. Even then I considered myself a writer and I can remember the giddy thrill upon reading the archaic, yet beautifully written words of Lovecraft. I went on that weekend to play Call of Cthulhu.
It was there that I met my other brothers - Jason and Curt - and it was in Sean’s attic; sitting around a scarred and tilted rattan table, the flicker of candles dancing on the ceiling, and whilst drinking Cherry Coke and eating Cool Ranch Doritoes; that I fell in love with role playing and the works of Lovecraft.
I still have a deep love for the works of the great Howard Phillips Lovecraft. In fact, I so love Lovecraft that I’m torn between using his works for either my Master’s or Doctoral thesis.
If you've never read anything by Lovecraft, Doctor Zombie commands you to click this link and begin reading the wonderous words and chilling evil that is H.P. Lovecraft. Don't make me pull out my mind control ray!
IA! IA! CTHULU PHTAGN!
Some other thoughts/news:
I've been contacted by Anchor Bay Entertainment again and asked to do a review of a new direct to video movie for them. There's a banner for it on the left there. It's called The Tooth Fairy. Once I receive a copy. I'll review it and let you know if it's worth seeing...
Here's an update on Night of The Living Dead 3-d. I've got to say, I'm starting to get kind of excited about this...
Also, another movie that shows I am a complete and total nerd has begun production! Dragonlance: The Movie. And yes, I spent an entire summer in high school role playing this at my buddy Sean's house. Seriously. My other friend Rich ran Dragonlance as an Ad&D campaign and we started playing in April or May. We spent the entire rest of the year living in Krinn. We would seriously go to Sean's on Friday night; load up on Cool Ranch Doritoes, Pork Rinds, Bar B Q Pringles, Root Beer NY Seltzer, and Cherry Coke; play all night; get a few hours of sleep; go to our high school jobs; and go back to Sean's to repeat the process. We'd come home sunday night to the anger of our parents, gassy and bleary from lack of sleep. God I miss that...
Since when did collecting body part become wrong?!? Damn PC police...
Here you go, the perfect anti-zombie set up, ready to go and assembled. Fortunately for Dr. Zombie and my undead minions it's really, really expensive!
Check out this site! For all your pirate needs, it's Billy Bone's Pirate Locker. Remember, all little boys want to be pirates... and we never really outgrow that when we become men! Besides, I absolutely love that intro page pirate song! Arrrr!
And finally, this is allegedly a list of most of the zombie movies ever made. It has some obvious and recent films missing, but it is a valiant effort. If anything, it would be a good source to cross check with in my quest to own and see every zombie film ever made...
That's all for now, dear reader. I must shamble back to the Theater of Terror and check on some of my more recent experiments. They've been waiting for me to return. Ahhhh...the smell of blood, and death, and terror is like the smell of warm cookies in the air...
Monday, July 24, 2006
Movie Review: Necronomicon (1996)
I was flipping channels a few nights ago and saw that Showtime was playing Necronomicon this month. Necronomicon was released in 1996 and, although old, it is a movie I hadn't seen yet. And, since I went to the trouble of watching it, I thought I'd do a review...
Now, the whole Showtime thing is a source of contention in my crypt. Showtime comes with the HBO package and, in most cases, it’s absolute crap. Showtimes series' suck (with the exception of Penn and Teller: Bullshit) and they usually have the crappiest movies.
So, you can imagine my surprise when I found that they were playing a Brian Yuzna/Jeffrey Combs film I had yet to see. So, I DVR’d it and watched it this last weekend.
Now, let the good Doctor preface this review with my take on the works of H.P. Lovecraft. Lovecraft is, in my humble opinion, one of the greatest writers form the 20th century. Seriously. And, beyond that, I feel he is one of the greatest horror writers to have ever lived. And many other horror writers; including Ramsay Campbell, Stephen King, Clive Barker, and endless others have also said as much. It could be said that he is responsible for many of the nightmares and horrors produced over the last 60 or so years.
So, with that circuitous explanation, I have to say that I am something of a purist with Lovecraft’s work. The movies that have been done based on his work have left me somewhat wanting. Yuzna’s first collaboration with Jeffrey Combs in Herbert West: Reanimator was one of the better adaptations. 2001’s Dagon was by far the best.
Most of the other’s, sadly, sucked major ass.
Unfortunately, Necronomicon falls pretty close to the category of ass suckage. This movie includes three vignettes around which The Necronomicon plays a part. The Necronomicon, by the way, was created by Lovecraft and represents the most evil book ever conceived. Supposedly written by the mad Arab, Abdul Alhazrad; it is the grimoire du jour of Lovecraft’s mythos. The three vignettes of the movie are book ended by an incredulous story about Lovecraft himself. To say that the stories were ‘inspired’ by Lovecraft is to be generous.
Let’s start with the framing story. Jeffrey Combs (whom I LOVE, by the way) is unrecognizable in makeup that is supposed to make him look like Lovecraft. In fact, if not for Combs’ distinctive voice, I would never have recognized him. It actually, oddly enough, gives him an almost eerie resemblance to Bruce Campbell. Anyway, the movie opens with Lovecraft going to a special library watched over by creepy bald headed monks. It is here that he sneaks into a secret area where he gains access to the dreaded Necronomicon. As Lovecraft explains, he sees it as his responsibility to bring the evil of the Necronomicon to light in his writings. As he accidentally locks himself in the room, he begins transcribing the three stories the rest of the movie consist of.
“The Drowned” – Loosely based on “The Rats in The Walls” in that its protagonist shares the last name of De La Poeur only. That’s about it. Bruce Payne (Best remembered as Passenger 57 in, well, Passenger 57) plays Edward De La Poeur who returns to his ancestral inn by the ocean. Having recently suffered the drowning death of his wife, he stays in the decrepit manor. The lawyer who shows him around tells the story of his ancestor, the sea captain Jethro (played by the incomparable Richard Lynch) who killed himself after the drowning of his wife and son during a stormy sea crossing. Through a letter left to his descendant, Jethro explains that he had gone mad after the loss of his family and had forsaken God. At his darkest moment, a Deep One (a frog-like creature featured in another HPL story) comes to him with a copy of the Necronomicon and an admonition that all is not necessarily lost. Jethro calls upon the dark magics of the dreaded book to bring his wife and son back from the grave. Jethro quickly learns that the reanimated corpses of his wife and son are not as they appear. When they try to kill him, Jethro kills himself. We then flash back to modern day, and Edward immediately searches for and finds the book, and performs the very same ritual. His wife returns from the grave and we learn that she, like Edward’s ancestors, are in fact human meat puppets wielded by a Lovecraftian creature that lives in the basement of the inn. I kid you not. It appears to be Cthulhu himself. Edward has a brief struggle, eventually killing the beast by a conveniently placed and wickedly pointy chandelier. The first story ends with Edward staring wistfully at a sunrise over the ocean.
“Cold Air” – This is the best of the adaptations in this movie. It is a modernization of HPL story “Cool Air”. A reporter goes to a house to question a woman there about a string of deaths over the years at the house. She tells him the story of her mother, a music student named Emily who rents a room at the boarding house in the 60’s. Emily meets the owner who lives on the top floor, a Dr. Madden (played by the great David Warner). We quickly learn that Dr. Madden is not what he seems. He lives in a room kept at arctic temperatures by various machines and is waited on hand and foot by a woman named Lena. After an attempt on Emily’s life by her sexually and physically abusive stepfather, she is saved by Dr. Madden. Any gratitude she might feel towards the good doctor quickly evaporates when she returns to find that the good and kind doctor has killed her stepfather and is using him for grisly experiments. When confronted, the doctor explains that he has come up with a scientific way of stopping death and aging, but at the cost of becoming a prisoner to the extreme cold that maintains his youth. The cold, and spinal fluid sustain his youth. Emily then SLEEPS with him. She becomes pregnant, and returns a few months later to find the doctor cutting up a kind old man who worked at the diner near the house. After stopping him, there is a struggle with the housekeeper Lena, who is jealous of Emily and the Doctor’s love. The doctor overheats, and melts. Emily is shot. The story returns to present time where the daughter reveals she is actually Emily, that she is still pregnant with the Doctor’s baby and hopes to someday deliver it. The reporter falls to the floor, drugged by tea she had offered him. His last sight is that of Emily and an aged and doddering Lena as they come to steal his spinal fluid and kill him.
“Whispers” – This section is based on “the Whisperer in the Darkness” and shares only the creatures (the Migos) with the Lovecraft story. In it we meet the world’s worst female cop, Sarah, as she and her lover/partner are chasing a serial killer named “The Butcher”. Their cruiser crashes and, while unconscious, The Butcher drags Sarah’s partner Paul into a labyrinthine warehouse. Sarah regains consciousness and begins pursuing the killer, following an extremely wide trail of blood deeper and deeper into the warehouse’s bowels. After much Three Stooges like stumbling about, Sarah runs into the owners of the warehouse, Mr. Benedict (played with great humor and aplomb by Return of the Living Dead’s own embalmer Ernie, or Don Calfa) and his wife Mrs. Benedict. Sarah forces Mr. Benedict to take her to The Butcher’s Lair and he does so, leading her into an underground tomb with ancient Indian pictographs. Too late, Sarah realizes that the Benedicts are the killers, but not before they cast her into a pit filled with human remains. Here, she is attacked by Migos, creatures that reproduce by stealing and using the brains of their victims and feed by sucking the marrow from their bones.
The movie ends with the conclusion of the bookend it started with in which Lovecraft must – using his trusty sword cane - fight his way past an evil creature, the even more evil monks, and out the door with the Necronomicon to a waiting cab.
So – what worked in this movie? The effects were good, to an extent. In The Drowned, there was some horrible painted-on-the-film glowing effects during the ritual. The same sort of effect that, truthfully, would have looked dated on a movie or rock video ten years earlier. Also, the creature effects were puppet like, which is unfortunately more noticeable in today’s world of clean and polished CGI. Ray Harryhausen was a genius, but computers made him obsolete. Take that as you will, but it’s true. The other effects, like the melting of Dr. Madden, and the beautifully rendered blood and charnel pit in Whispers were top notch and should appeal to all gore hounds. The scripts left something to be desired. Modernizing of Lovecraft’s works are inevitable and acceptable. I understand that. But some faithfulness to the source beyond a cursory mention should be the goal here, especially in a movie that so patently derives from his works. Truthfully, Whispers sucked. The story was horrible, and with the exception Of Don Calfa, the acting was something I would expect from a film school production. Cold Air was better, but I felt a love story in a Lovecraft story was the wrong way to go. Cthulhu and the Elder Gods care not for human love!
The first vignette, The Drowned, was the best of the bunch, but again, the scripting suffered. This would have made a great feature length movie. It had the right atmosphere, and the strongest Lovecraftian elements, along with the best actors. I would have loved to have seen more development before the quick summoning and subsequent killing of the evil that lurks in the basement.
One final thing that irks me is the whole Lovecraft bookend story. Lovecraft as some sort of sword wielding, adventuring Indiana Jones was downright silly. Those know anything about Lovecraft would know that he was a hypochondriac, agoraphobic, recluse. NOT the type to fight the mythos of his stories. He was a genteel writer with delicate sensibilities. I just wanted to mention that.
Overall, it wasn’t the worst Lovecraft adaptation, but it was nowhere near the best. It was disappointing that Combs and Yuzna, who’ve done so much to put Lovecraft’s works on celluloid, would release such a poorly put together film. It was obvious that this was a fun, “Hey, we need a paycheck!” situation. That being said, it IS still Lovecraft. It should be seen if only by fans of the genre. The effects were decent, the stories passable, if poorly written, and it is standard late night popcorn fare. If you need a horror fix, it will be a better choice than many of the other direct to video car wrecks out there.
Doctor Zombie’s Rating: 3 out of 5 Chomped Brains
Note: Doctor Zombie would give one of his rotting, undead limbs to see a big budget, non-modern, fatihful Lovecraft movie. With REAL effects. It's sad tha the two best potrayals of Lovecraft's works weren't truly Lovecraft films. The first was John Carpenter's In The Mouth Of Madness as it perfectly captured the feel and creepiness of Lovecraft's world. And the best rendering of a Lovecraftian creature can be found in Guillermo Del Toro's Hellboy. The creatures in Hellboy gave me chills and made me squirm in my seat. These guys both get it, as does Peter Jackson. There are rumors he'd love to do "At The Mountains Of Madness". Please. Make it so, Pete. Please!
Now, the whole Showtime thing is a source of contention in my crypt. Showtime comes with the HBO package and, in most cases, it’s absolute crap. Showtimes series' suck (with the exception of Penn and Teller: Bullshit) and they usually have the crappiest movies.
So, you can imagine my surprise when I found that they were playing a Brian Yuzna/Jeffrey Combs film I had yet to see. So, I DVR’d it and watched it this last weekend.
Now, let the good Doctor preface this review with my take on the works of H.P. Lovecraft. Lovecraft is, in my humble opinion, one of the greatest writers form the 20th century. Seriously. And, beyond that, I feel he is one of the greatest horror writers to have ever lived. And many other horror writers; including Ramsay Campbell, Stephen King, Clive Barker, and endless others have also said as much. It could be said that he is responsible for many of the nightmares and horrors produced over the last 60 or so years.
So, with that circuitous explanation, I have to say that I am something of a purist with Lovecraft’s work. The movies that have been done based on his work have left me somewhat wanting. Yuzna’s first collaboration with Jeffrey Combs in Herbert West: Reanimator was one of the better adaptations. 2001’s Dagon was by far the best.
Most of the other’s, sadly, sucked major ass.
Unfortunately, Necronomicon falls pretty close to the category of ass suckage. This movie includes three vignettes around which The Necronomicon plays a part. The Necronomicon, by the way, was created by Lovecraft and represents the most evil book ever conceived. Supposedly written by the mad Arab, Abdul Alhazrad; it is the grimoire du jour of Lovecraft’s mythos. The three vignettes of the movie are book ended by an incredulous story about Lovecraft himself. To say that the stories were ‘inspired’ by Lovecraft is to be generous.
Let’s start with the framing story. Jeffrey Combs (whom I LOVE, by the way) is unrecognizable in makeup that is supposed to make him look like Lovecraft. In fact, if not for Combs’ distinctive voice, I would never have recognized him. It actually, oddly enough, gives him an almost eerie resemblance to Bruce Campbell. Anyway, the movie opens with Lovecraft going to a special library watched over by creepy bald headed monks. It is here that he sneaks into a secret area where he gains access to the dreaded Necronomicon. As Lovecraft explains, he sees it as his responsibility to bring the evil of the Necronomicon to light in his writings. As he accidentally locks himself in the room, he begins transcribing the three stories the rest of the movie consist of.
“The Drowned” – Loosely based on “The Rats in The Walls” in that its protagonist shares the last name of De La Poeur only. That’s about it. Bruce Payne (Best remembered as Passenger 57 in, well, Passenger 57) plays Edward De La Poeur who returns to his ancestral inn by the ocean. Having recently suffered the drowning death of his wife, he stays in the decrepit manor. The lawyer who shows him around tells the story of his ancestor, the sea captain Jethro (played by the incomparable Richard Lynch) who killed himself after the drowning of his wife and son during a stormy sea crossing. Through a letter left to his descendant, Jethro explains that he had gone mad after the loss of his family and had forsaken God. At his darkest moment, a Deep One (a frog-like creature featured in another HPL story) comes to him with a copy of the Necronomicon and an admonition that all is not necessarily lost. Jethro calls upon the dark magics of the dreaded book to bring his wife and son back from the grave. Jethro quickly learns that the reanimated corpses of his wife and son are not as they appear. When they try to kill him, Jethro kills himself. We then flash back to modern day, and Edward immediately searches for and finds the book, and performs the very same ritual. His wife returns from the grave and we learn that she, like Edward’s ancestors, are in fact human meat puppets wielded by a Lovecraftian creature that lives in the basement of the inn. I kid you not. It appears to be Cthulhu himself. Edward has a brief struggle, eventually killing the beast by a conveniently placed and wickedly pointy chandelier. The first story ends with Edward staring wistfully at a sunrise over the ocean.
“Cold Air” – This is the best of the adaptations in this movie. It is a modernization of HPL story “Cool Air”. A reporter goes to a house to question a woman there about a string of deaths over the years at the house. She tells him the story of her mother, a music student named Emily who rents a room at the boarding house in the 60’s. Emily meets the owner who lives on the top floor, a Dr. Madden (played by the great David Warner). We quickly learn that Dr. Madden is not what he seems. He lives in a room kept at arctic temperatures by various machines and is waited on hand and foot by a woman named Lena. After an attempt on Emily’s life by her sexually and physically abusive stepfather, she is saved by Dr. Madden. Any gratitude she might feel towards the good doctor quickly evaporates when she returns to find that the good and kind doctor has killed her stepfather and is using him for grisly experiments. When confronted, the doctor explains that he has come up with a scientific way of stopping death and aging, but at the cost of becoming a prisoner to the extreme cold that maintains his youth. The cold, and spinal fluid sustain his youth. Emily then SLEEPS with him. She becomes pregnant, and returns a few months later to find the doctor cutting up a kind old man who worked at the diner near the house. After stopping him, there is a struggle with the housekeeper Lena, who is jealous of Emily and the Doctor’s love. The doctor overheats, and melts. Emily is shot. The story returns to present time where the daughter reveals she is actually Emily, that she is still pregnant with the Doctor’s baby and hopes to someday deliver it. The reporter falls to the floor, drugged by tea she had offered him. His last sight is that of Emily and an aged and doddering Lena as they come to steal his spinal fluid and kill him.
“Whispers” – This section is based on “the Whisperer in the Darkness” and shares only the creatures (the Migos) with the Lovecraft story. In it we meet the world’s worst female cop, Sarah, as she and her lover/partner are chasing a serial killer named “The Butcher”. Their cruiser crashes and, while unconscious, The Butcher drags Sarah’s partner Paul into a labyrinthine warehouse. Sarah regains consciousness and begins pursuing the killer, following an extremely wide trail of blood deeper and deeper into the warehouse’s bowels. After much Three Stooges like stumbling about, Sarah runs into the owners of the warehouse, Mr. Benedict (played with great humor and aplomb by Return of the Living Dead’s own embalmer Ernie, or Don Calfa) and his wife Mrs. Benedict. Sarah forces Mr. Benedict to take her to The Butcher’s Lair and he does so, leading her into an underground tomb with ancient Indian pictographs. Too late, Sarah realizes that the Benedicts are the killers, but not before they cast her into a pit filled with human remains. Here, she is attacked by Migos, creatures that reproduce by stealing and using the brains of their victims and feed by sucking the marrow from their bones.
The movie ends with the conclusion of the bookend it started with in which Lovecraft must – using his trusty sword cane - fight his way past an evil creature, the even more evil monks, and out the door with the Necronomicon to a waiting cab.
So – what worked in this movie? The effects were good, to an extent. In The Drowned, there was some horrible painted-on-the-film glowing effects during the ritual. The same sort of effect that, truthfully, would have looked dated on a movie or rock video ten years earlier. Also, the creature effects were puppet like, which is unfortunately more noticeable in today’s world of clean and polished CGI. Ray Harryhausen was a genius, but computers made him obsolete. Take that as you will, but it’s true. The other effects, like the melting of Dr. Madden, and the beautifully rendered blood and charnel pit in Whispers were top notch and should appeal to all gore hounds. The scripts left something to be desired. Modernizing of Lovecraft’s works are inevitable and acceptable. I understand that. But some faithfulness to the source beyond a cursory mention should be the goal here, especially in a movie that so patently derives from his works. Truthfully, Whispers sucked. The story was horrible, and with the exception Of Don Calfa, the acting was something I would expect from a film school production. Cold Air was better, but I felt a love story in a Lovecraft story was the wrong way to go. Cthulhu and the Elder Gods care not for human love!
The first vignette, The Drowned, was the best of the bunch, but again, the scripting suffered. This would have made a great feature length movie. It had the right atmosphere, and the strongest Lovecraftian elements, along with the best actors. I would have loved to have seen more development before the quick summoning and subsequent killing of the evil that lurks in the basement.
One final thing that irks me is the whole Lovecraft bookend story. Lovecraft as some sort of sword wielding, adventuring Indiana Jones was downright silly. Those know anything about Lovecraft would know that he was a hypochondriac, agoraphobic, recluse. NOT the type to fight the mythos of his stories. He was a genteel writer with delicate sensibilities. I just wanted to mention that.
Overall, it wasn’t the worst Lovecraft adaptation, but it was nowhere near the best. It was disappointing that Combs and Yuzna, who’ve done so much to put Lovecraft’s works on celluloid, would release such a poorly put together film. It was obvious that this was a fun, “Hey, we need a paycheck!” situation. That being said, it IS still Lovecraft. It should be seen if only by fans of the genre. The effects were decent, the stories passable, if poorly written, and it is standard late night popcorn fare. If you need a horror fix, it will be a better choice than many of the other direct to video car wrecks out there.
Doctor Zombie’s Rating: 3 out of 5 Chomped Brains
Note: Doctor Zombie would give one of his rotting, undead limbs to see a big budget, non-modern, fatihful Lovecraft movie. With REAL effects. It's sad tha the two best potrayals of Lovecraft's works weren't truly Lovecraft films. The first was John Carpenter's In The Mouth Of Madness as it perfectly captured the feel and creepiness of Lovecraft's world. And the best rendering of a Lovecraftian creature can be found in Guillermo Del Toro's Hellboy. The creatures in Hellboy gave me chills and made me squirm in my seat. These guys both get it, as does Peter Jackson. There are rumors he'd love to do "At The Mountains Of Madness". Please. Make it so, Pete. Please!
Monday, July 10, 2006
Debauchery
So - - my kid sister's getting married this fall. My future brother in law's pretty cool. He's into The Simpson's, horror flicks (although he has questionable taste in that area - he's actually spoken positively about some of the cinematic abortions of Uwe Boll, and really liked AvP), and can extensively quote movies, much like the good Doctor can (which, pleasantly enough, pisses both Mrs. Zombie and my sister off to no end). He's also a fan of the Guinness and any man who loves the Irish frothy goodness of Guinness is a good man in my eyes.
Anyway, this last weekend was the bachelor party. We spent the weekend at a couple of rented cabins at Put-in-Bay. For those who don't know, Lake Erie has several islands. Put-In-Bay is on one of them. Essentially, it's this quaint little island with a few really great bars and beautiful lake views. It's also a summer play area for the rich, college students, and anybody else who is into drinking large amounts of alcohol and just hanging out. So, needless to say, it was a weekend of drunken debauchery with little redeeming value. I went up with my dad and my uncle and we started drinking on the ferry ride over on Friday and didn't really stop until we left Sunday morning.
Also, some perspective should be given. There were twenty-five guys total. Of those twenty-five guys, three were over 40 (my dad, my future brother-in-law's dad, and my Uncle Tom), a handful in our 30's (this included me) and the rest were all in their 20's. Only five of us were married.
Here's what I learned:
- When you're on the wrong side of 30, you get grouped up with the 'old guys'.
- Every group of friends has that one guy who, while barely tolerable sober, is a complete ass when drunk. This dubious honor fell on one guy named Meyers. Meyers came back from the bars at 2:30 am, staggering, slurring, and looking to fight anyone or anybody. It's only a matter of time until he pisses someone off and gets beat down because he lacks the motor control to back up his belligerance.
- Golf carts have too high a center of gravity to go around a cul-de-sac at top speed. Their likelihood to tip is further exacerbated by loading said golf cart with eight guys in varying stages of intoxication. Gravity is not your friend when drunk, and neither is gravel in the aforementioned cul-de-sac.
- Additionally, golf carts do not have the necessary ballast to float across the mile or so of Lake Erie to the mainland. In fact, they sink rather quickly; regardless of how much speed you get up before launching into the lake.
- It is possible to get a DUI on a golf cart.
- We had a cabin full of fifteen girls in their 20's next to us. When you get more than two girls together, there is always drama. In fact, I think it is an immutable law of the universe that fifteen girlfriends are incapable of having a good weekend without someone crying, someone being a bitch, and/or someone getting so drunk her friends spend the whole weekend pissed off at her. Guys are much simpler. We drink, we make fools of ourselves, and we pass out. No one fights, no one gets swept up in drama. Even Meyers' foolishness is amusing.
- Fifteen 20ish aged guys will do anything to impress fifteen 20ish aged girls. Until the female drama starts and they start the bitchiness. Then the 20ish guys just hurl mysogynistic insults at the girls. Meyers will go straight to the mysogyny because, in his drunkeness, he thinks, 'the bitshes lub when you tell them dey're shtoopid..".
- The cost to get life-flighted off of the island is between $5000 and $8000.
- Hot college aged girls still won't even LOOK at me. Not that I'd do anything, it'd just be nice. You know?
- Just like when I was in college, there is always one drunken dimwit who manages to puke into the bathroom sink and not bother to clean it up OR take responsibilty for it. Why this happens is a mystery because the toilet is two and a half feet to the left!. I suspect Meyers.
- Two and a half days of non-stop drinking makes me a smelly bastard. I feel bad for the guys who were stuck in my room.
- 20 year old guys can be goaded into surprising acts of stupidity when drinking by simply saying, "I bet you'd never be able to...".
- And, finally, it is never...ever... a good idea to drink an entire bottle of Jameson's and then go all in on the first hand of a $50 buy in game of Texas Hold 'em. Even if you're sure that your off suited 2 and 7 are a sure bet to win. Dammit.
Anyway, this last weekend was the bachelor party. We spent the weekend at a couple of rented cabins at Put-in-Bay. For those who don't know, Lake Erie has several islands. Put-In-Bay is on one of them. Essentially, it's this quaint little island with a few really great bars and beautiful lake views. It's also a summer play area for the rich, college students, and anybody else who is into drinking large amounts of alcohol and just hanging out. So, needless to say, it was a weekend of drunken debauchery with little redeeming value. I went up with my dad and my uncle and we started drinking on the ferry ride over on Friday and didn't really stop until we left Sunday morning.
Also, some perspective should be given. There were twenty-five guys total. Of those twenty-five guys, three were over 40 (my dad, my future brother-in-law's dad, and my Uncle Tom), a handful in our 30's (this included me) and the rest were all in their 20's. Only five of us were married.
Here's what I learned:
- When you're on the wrong side of 30, you get grouped up with the 'old guys'.
- Every group of friends has that one guy who, while barely tolerable sober, is a complete ass when drunk. This dubious honor fell on one guy named Meyers. Meyers came back from the bars at 2:30 am, staggering, slurring, and looking to fight anyone or anybody. It's only a matter of time until he pisses someone off and gets beat down because he lacks the motor control to back up his belligerance.
- Golf carts have too high a center of gravity to go around a cul-de-sac at top speed. Their likelihood to tip is further exacerbated by loading said golf cart with eight guys in varying stages of intoxication. Gravity is not your friend when drunk, and neither is gravel in the aforementioned cul-de-sac.
- Additionally, golf carts do not have the necessary ballast to float across the mile or so of Lake Erie to the mainland. In fact, they sink rather quickly; regardless of how much speed you get up before launching into the lake.
- It is possible to get a DUI on a golf cart.
- We had a cabin full of fifteen girls in their 20's next to us. When you get more than two girls together, there is always drama. In fact, I think it is an immutable law of the universe that fifteen girlfriends are incapable of having a good weekend without someone crying, someone being a bitch, and/or someone getting so drunk her friends spend the whole weekend pissed off at her. Guys are much simpler. We drink, we make fools of ourselves, and we pass out. No one fights, no one gets swept up in drama. Even Meyers' foolishness is amusing.
- Fifteen 20ish aged guys will do anything to impress fifteen 20ish aged girls. Until the female drama starts and they start the bitchiness. Then the 20ish guys just hurl mysogynistic insults at the girls. Meyers will go straight to the mysogyny because, in his drunkeness, he thinks, 'the bitshes lub when you tell them dey're shtoopid..".
- The cost to get life-flighted off of the island is between $5000 and $8000.
- Hot college aged girls still won't even LOOK at me. Not that I'd do anything, it'd just be nice. You know?
- Just like when I was in college, there is always one drunken dimwit who manages to puke into the bathroom sink and not bother to clean it up OR take responsibilty for it. Why this happens is a mystery because the toilet is two and a half feet to the left!. I suspect Meyers.
- Two and a half days of non-stop drinking makes me a smelly bastard. I feel bad for the guys who were stuck in my room.
- 20 year old guys can be goaded into surprising acts of stupidity when drinking by simply saying, "I bet you'd never be able to...".
- And, finally, it is never...ever... a good idea to drink an entire bottle of Jameson's and then go all in on the first hand of a $50 buy in game of Texas Hold 'em. Even if you're sure that your off suited 2 and 7 are a sure bet to win. Dammit.
Friday, June 30, 2006
These Undead Bones
Ay, in the very temple of delight
Veil’d melancholy has her sovran shrine. - Keats
So, I’ve been out of touch all week because of work. My alter ego has to pay the bills, so I’ve been busy doing responsible adult things. Yech.
Be sure to check out things over at Tarr and Fether’s Psycho Cinema. They’ve posted my first article over at their ‘S’newsletter’ section! I am sooo looking forward to working with these guys and contributing to their unique and kooky vision!
And watch for more reviews, as I intend on catching up on some long overdue horror movie viewage over the long weekend!
So, Last weekend I had an epiphany. Now that I’m older, more responsible, and otherwise burdened with a mortgage, car payments, the lovely Mrs. Zombie, and the zombie kids (Zombie Boy and Wolf Girl); I really don’t have that much me time. I remedied that some last weekend by going to see Ministry and The Revolting Cocks at the Cleveland House of Blues. Our local House of Blues, by the way, is the single best venue for concerts I’ve ever been to. And, it was at about the point that RevCo was performing ‘Do You Think I’m Sexy’ that I had my epiphany. I was standing there at the edge of the pit and watching some beautiful and very tasty looking Goth girls dancing on stage, and feeling the throbbing and unrelenting waves of music go around and through me. All around me were the pushing and jumping bodies of a hundred or more people dancing to their own orgiastic and pagan rhythms, the primal and sensual feel of our sweat soaked bodies moving like the excited atoms of some strange, polymorphic beast. I inhaled deeply of the smell of sweat, and smoke, and alcohol and I felt myself grabbed by the inevitable certainty that doing what I was at that moment ( i.e.; seeing a hardcore show from this perspective) was one of the few things that bring joy to my cold, undead heart. That moment was an encapsulation of all that is perfect to me. No matter how old I get, I will always love the thrill of an alternative Industrial/Goth show, much to the disdain of Mrs. Z. You see, she doesn’t like that side of me. She hates the part of me that thrives on the darker things in life. And she hates the primal joy such things bring me. I love her more than life itself, and I know she feels the same, but sometimes I think she wishes she’d married a conservative banker who really dug country music and the Backstreet Boys.
And, by the way, I can still hold my own in a mosh pit. Except for the fact that I may have broken or chipped a bone in my elbow falling during Ministry’s set. I can’t touch my elbow it’s so sore; and I have a purple and red and green bruise that looks much like a spiderweb prison tattoo. That’s the first time I’ve ever really fell hard in a pit in all the years I’ve been doing this.
And I can’t tell Mrs. Z about it, either. I’d NEVER hear the end of it… Besides, I have tickets to see Rob Zombie in three weeks…
Some cool links I found:
The first one is this one about a military coffin that was found in the middle of the desert. I’d read a story about it earlier in the week on a major network web site, and thought it was kind of weird. I also thought it might have been somehow terrorist related. The linked article above puts it all into perspective though. It could be nothing BUT zombies.
And there’s nothing better than a good grave robbing story. Thing is, if you’re going to go to the trouble of digging up a casket, lopping the exhumed corpses head off, and making off with it; at least have a plan for afterwards. I’ve stolen my fair share of body parts, believe you me, and I can tell you that it’s all in the details. This kid is an example of how NOT to do it. Dumbass.
Excuse me while I squeal like a teenage girl! This is exactly the reason why my wife wants to take away my credit cards. But I ask you, how could I not buy a CD set with over 50 horror classics on it?!? Impulse buying be damned … it will be a good few weeks at The Midnight Theater of Terror as I indulge in some classic horror goodness. And I guarantee there will be reviews of some of these because, if you’re any kind of horror movie fan, it’s good to go back to the roots of the genre.
That’s all for now, dear reader. I’m off to torture and eat a door to door salesman who made the mistake of knocking on the good Doctor’s door. Foolish, foolish, man…
Veil’d melancholy has her sovran shrine. - Keats
So, I’ve been out of touch all week because of work. My alter ego has to pay the bills, so I’ve been busy doing responsible adult things. Yech.
Be sure to check out things over at Tarr and Fether’s Psycho Cinema. They’ve posted my first article over at their ‘S’newsletter’ section! I am sooo looking forward to working with these guys and contributing to their unique and kooky vision!
And watch for more reviews, as I intend on catching up on some long overdue horror movie viewage over the long weekend!
So, Last weekend I had an epiphany. Now that I’m older, more responsible, and otherwise burdened with a mortgage, car payments, the lovely Mrs. Zombie, and the zombie kids (Zombie Boy and Wolf Girl); I really don’t have that much me time. I remedied that some last weekend by going to see Ministry and The Revolting Cocks at the Cleveland House of Blues. Our local House of Blues, by the way, is the single best venue for concerts I’ve ever been to. And, it was at about the point that RevCo was performing ‘Do You Think I’m Sexy’ that I had my epiphany. I was standing there at the edge of the pit and watching some beautiful and very tasty looking Goth girls dancing on stage, and feeling the throbbing and unrelenting waves of music go around and through me. All around me were the pushing and jumping bodies of a hundred or more people dancing to their own orgiastic and pagan rhythms, the primal and sensual feel of our sweat soaked bodies moving like the excited atoms of some strange, polymorphic beast. I inhaled deeply of the smell of sweat, and smoke, and alcohol and I felt myself grabbed by the inevitable certainty that doing what I was at that moment ( i.e.; seeing a hardcore show from this perspective) was one of the few things that bring joy to my cold, undead heart. That moment was an encapsulation of all that is perfect to me. No matter how old I get, I will always love the thrill of an alternative Industrial/Goth show, much to the disdain of Mrs. Z. You see, she doesn’t like that side of me. She hates the part of me that thrives on the darker things in life. And she hates the primal joy such things bring me. I love her more than life itself, and I know she feels the same, but sometimes I think she wishes she’d married a conservative banker who really dug country music and the Backstreet Boys.
And, by the way, I can still hold my own in a mosh pit. Except for the fact that I may have broken or chipped a bone in my elbow falling during Ministry’s set. I can’t touch my elbow it’s so sore; and I have a purple and red and green bruise that looks much like a spiderweb prison tattoo. That’s the first time I’ve ever really fell hard in a pit in all the years I’ve been doing this.
And I can’t tell Mrs. Z about it, either. I’d NEVER hear the end of it… Besides, I have tickets to see Rob Zombie in three weeks…
Some cool links I found:
The first one is this one about a military coffin that was found in the middle of the desert. I’d read a story about it earlier in the week on a major network web site, and thought it was kind of weird. I also thought it might have been somehow terrorist related. The linked article above puts it all into perspective though. It could be nothing BUT zombies.
And there’s nothing better than a good grave robbing story. Thing is, if you’re going to go to the trouble of digging up a casket, lopping the exhumed corpses head off, and making off with it; at least have a plan for afterwards. I’ve stolen my fair share of body parts, believe you me, and I can tell you that it’s all in the details. This kid is an example of how NOT to do it. Dumbass.
Excuse me while I squeal like a teenage girl! This is exactly the reason why my wife wants to take away my credit cards. But I ask you, how could I not buy a CD set with over 50 horror classics on it?!? Impulse buying be damned … it will be a good few weeks at The Midnight Theater of Terror as I indulge in some classic horror goodness. And I guarantee there will be reviews of some of these because, if you’re any kind of horror movie fan, it’s good to go back to the roots of the genre.
That’s all for now, dear reader. I’m off to torture and eat a door to door salesman who made the mistake of knocking on the good Doctor’s door. Foolish, foolish, man…
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Things That Go Bump in the Night.
This looks great! I know what you may be thinking. “Great, another remake of Night of the Living Dead. Can’t they let Romero’s masterpiece be? Must these hacks keep digging it up and reworking it in a vain attempt to add to the wonder and legacy that is the greatest horror movie of all time?!?” I know that’s what you’re thinking. I thought it myself. Add to that the fact that it will be in 3-d and it looks like it has the potential to be absolutely crap-tastic. And then I saw the preview they have on the website. And it has Captain Cutter Spaulding himself, Sid Haig, in it and he’s a god. So, needless to say, my curiosity has been sufficiently piqued. We’ll just have to see…
I found this on a forum I frequent and I’ve got to say that this also intrigues the good doctor. It’s an Aussie low budget flick called When Evil Reigns that has a post apocalyptic/zombie armageddon storyline. And, the buzz is that it’s pretty good. I just may shell out the few sheckels to order a copy of it on DVD (plus the whole buttload more sheckels it’ll cost to ship it from Australia., but such is the price one pays when they are an unrepentant horror film freak like your favorite undead genius, Doctor Zombie, is). And, apparently, they made the film for about $5000. That, combined with the fact that they’ve been featured on ABC as the perfect model for low budget fan film production, makes me that much more eager to help these Aussies recoup some of the money they shelled out to make this flick.
Well. Ain’t this a kick in my undead head. This forum is devoted to preparing for the Zombie Armageddon. These guys will be the first on Doctor Zombie’s list when I implement my plans for undead world domination. That I can assure you. They’re just a little too prepared for my tastes. (Actually, this is a great site for survival preparation in general. The Zombie Squadron group is based in St. Louis and the whole ‘zombie’ theme is just a metaphor for any disaster/terrorism preparation. Although I joke about the Zombie Armageddon, in today’s world one needs to think about the possibility of there being a real TEOTWAWKI scenario. Realistically serious threats like Terrorism, Global Warming, Environmental Disasters, Pandemics, Near Earth Object collisions (comets or meteors) and other assorted doomsday scenarios are a very real possibility. Those nutjobs who are preparing for blue helmeted invaders from the UN are now looking – to the Doctor at least – to be not so nutty. I think a little preparation, stockpiling of supplies, and honing of weapons skills may not be such a bad idea. For those who say it can’t happen, look at the cluster fuck that was Hurricane Katrina. I’m just saying…)
And finally, these crazy guys contacted me this week. They’ve asked me to become a regular contributor to their site and I’ve eagerly agreed. Like I told Professor Fether, they are my kind of groovy, spooky cats. I look forward to working with them. I’ve said it many times before, but I think it bears repeating. I know many things about myself, but I know one thing above else; I love horror movies. I love zombies, vampires, werewolves, ghouls, goblins, and all things dark, creepy, and horrific. Like many from my generation, I grew up on a steady diet of Saturday afternoon Hammer Studios classics and Late Night Creature Features hosted by men in mad doctor costumes on creepy sets in the basement of local network affiliate stations. And I mourn the loss of this curious form of entertainment. Much of the 1970’s could be buried away in a mass grave of popular culture, but there is something sad and tragic about no longer being able to stay up late on a Friday or Saturday night and watch The Ghoul, or Dr. Shock’s Chiller X-Ray Theater, or The Big Chuck and Little John Show. My love for horror movies is only the beginning of my eclectic tastes. But it was my introduction at an early age to this genre that helped shape my tastes now that I’ve reached adulthood.
Simply said, I love all things dark.
And so do Doctor Tarr and Professor Fether.
Like I said… my kind of groovy, spooky cats…
I found this on a forum I frequent and I’ve got to say that this also intrigues the good doctor. It’s an Aussie low budget flick called When Evil Reigns that has a post apocalyptic/zombie armageddon storyline. And, the buzz is that it’s pretty good. I just may shell out the few sheckels to order a copy of it on DVD (plus the whole buttload more sheckels it’ll cost to ship it from Australia., but such is the price one pays when they are an unrepentant horror film freak like your favorite undead genius, Doctor Zombie, is). And, apparently, they made the film for about $5000. That, combined with the fact that they’ve been featured on ABC as the perfect model for low budget fan film production, makes me that much more eager to help these Aussies recoup some of the money they shelled out to make this flick.
Well. Ain’t this a kick in my undead head. This forum is devoted to preparing for the Zombie Armageddon. These guys will be the first on Doctor Zombie’s list when I implement my plans for undead world domination. That I can assure you. They’re just a little too prepared for my tastes. (Actually, this is a great site for survival preparation in general. The Zombie Squadron group is based in St. Louis and the whole ‘zombie’ theme is just a metaphor for any disaster/terrorism preparation. Although I joke about the Zombie Armageddon, in today’s world one needs to think about the possibility of there being a real TEOTWAWKI scenario. Realistically serious threats like Terrorism, Global Warming, Environmental Disasters, Pandemics, Near Earth Object collisions (comets or meteors) and other assorted doomsday scenarios are a very real possibility. Those nutjobs who are preparing for blue helmeted invaders from the UN are now looking – to the Doctor at least – to be not so nutty. I think a little preparation, stockpiling of supplies, and honing of weapons skills may not be such a bad idea. For those who say it can’t happen, look at the cluster fuck that was Hurricane Katrina. I’m just saying…)
And finally, these crazy guys contacted me this week. They’ve asked me to become a regular contributor to their site and I’ve eagerly agreed. Like I told Professor Fether, they are my kind of groovy, spooky cats. I look forward to working with them. I’ve said it many times before, but I think it bears repeating. I know many things about myself, but I know one thing above else; I love horror movies. I love zombies, vampires, werewolves, ghouls, goblins, and all things dark, creepy, and horrific. Like many from my generation, I grew up on a steady diet of Saturday afternoon Hammer Studios classics and Late Night Creature Features hosted by men in mad doctor costumes on creepy sets in the basement of local network affiliate stations. And I mourn the loss of this curious form of entertainment. Much of the 1970’s could be buried away in a mass grave of popular culture, but there is something sad and tragic about no longer being able to stay up late on a Friday or Saturday night and watch The Ghoul, or Dr. Shock’s Chiller X-Ray Theater, or The Big Chuck and Little John Show. My love for horror movies is only the beginning of my eclectic tastes. But it was my introduction at an early age to this genre that helped shape my tastes now that I’ve reached adulthood.
Simply said, I love all things dark.
And so do Doctor Tarr and Professor Fether.
Like I said… my kind of groovy, spooky cats…
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