Childe Roland...

...to the Dark Tower came.


So a few weeks ago I mentioned that Stephen King finally signed off on a Dark Tower movie adaptation. I love that they’re finally doing this, King’s greatest work; but I’m also a little hesitant. I love the Dark Tower. It is – in my opinion – probably the greatest piece of epic literature published in the latter part of the twentieth century. In years to come, we’ll speak of it like we speak of Homer’s Odyssey, Beowulf, Elliot’s Wasteland, or Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings. The biggest thing I’m afraid of – though - is how badly they’re going to screw up the casting of Roland himself.

King has said that Roland IS Clint Eastwood circa A Fistful of Dollars and the rest of his early Sergio Leone Spaghetti Westerns. Even Eddie remarks at one point in The Drawing of the Three that it’s like he’s actually looking at Clint Eastwood when he first sees Roland Deschaine.

The problem is - Clint is waaaaay too long in the tooth. Hell he was too long in the tooth back in the 80’s when he did Heartbreak Ridge. So I asked the question in my prior blog post, “who the hell should take up the slack for Clint since he’s gone and actually gotten old”?!?

I’ve been thinking about it and I’ve come up with a few possible actors to pick up Sir Roland’s smooth handled guns and I thought I’d throw them up here…


First on our list is one of this year’s Oscar’s best actor nominees... Viggo Mortenson. I think Viggo is probably my number one choice for the role of Roland. I thought so when I saw him in A History of Violence, and it was confirmed when I saw him in Eastern Promises. He has the right look in that he’s got the craggy features, the tall and thin appearance, and he can convey a whole world of hurt with only his eyes. And that’s the most important part about Roland. He’s a man who’s lost everything and everyone he cares about. He’s a man who’s been beaten and knocked low. And yet, there’s still a quiet nobility to him as he mercilessly pursues his quarry across time and space. My only problem with Viggo is a problem I’ve had with him since his speech at the end of LOTR: The Return of the King. He’s got a squeaky, weak sounding voice. I imagined Roland as having a deeper, raspier voice than Viggo’s got. Roland is a man accustomed to long silences, harsh desert air, and years of smoking. In everything I’ve seen Viggo in I can’t help but think he’s too fey sounding. Too bad…


Next we have a personal favorite of mine just because he’s a god. I submit...Clancy Brown. That’s right, bitches – I’m nominating The Kurgan from Highlander as Roland. Suck it - this is my list, not yours! Bear with me on this as I explain… That voice thing I said about Viggo? Yeah, well unlike Mrs. Wispy Mortenson, Clancy sounds like a fucking MAN! He’s got the perfect voice, but he’s also got an intensity about him that would do Roland, son of Stephen Deschaine, true justice. What’s more - Clancy has actually, as he’s aged, gotten even better looking and his look seems oddly appropriate to me. The only thing is that Clancy’s a big guy. He always has been. And it’s big in a way that doesn’t speak to Roland’s years of wandering and years of few and far between meals. It’s an odd choice, but it feels good to me. Besides, how cool would it be to have the voice of Eugene Krabbs from Spongebob Squarepants in The Dark Tower. That’d be awesome!


I’m at a cross roads with this one. This is Timothy Oliphant. He was in the latest Die Hard movie and played in the adaptation of the video game Hitman. More importantly, he played Sheriff Seth Bullock on Deadwood. I loved Deadwood. Deadwood was one of the best, most realistic westerns ever put to film. Thist show raised the idea of calling someone a cocksucker to almost Shakesperean heights. And Timothy Oliphant was a standout, although he was overshadowed by the ever incredible Brad Dourif and Ian McShane. Oliphant had a constant, simmering, percolating barely contained rage that reminded me of that psychotic, six-seconds-from-snapping-and-beating-some-skell-with-a-phonebook hostility that Dennis Franz brought to his character, Andy Sipowicz, on NYPD Blue. He’s got the intensity, he’s got the western chops, he’s got the tall, skinny body, and he’s got the look – but I’m hesitant to cast him for a few reasons… mainly because he’s TOO pretty. Roland should be worn and battered. I think Timothy’s just a little too smooth.


Next we have of my favorite actors of all time - Jason Stratham. Jason Stratham is one of the baddest, most magnificent bastards out there. He’s the sort of bloke I’d like to sit down and have a few pints with in an out of the way London pub. Said pints would then be followed by picking a drunken fight with, and subsequently cracking the skulls of, various soccer hooligans. Again, he’s got the looks, and he’s got the big league action star credentials to pull it off. His only problem is that I get the sense that he absolutely refuses to (or may be unable to) lose the British accent. Sorry – The Gunslinger Roland does not sound like he’s an extra on Doctor Who.


Daniel Craig is an interesting choice. He’s got the look, and he’s a good enough actor to lose the British accent. And he’s got the tight, corded frame that Roland would have (at least he did in Munich). And he knows his way around a gun – he IS James Bond for chrissakes. And he’s surprised us before in his ability to become a character. And he’s got that requisite coldness that Roland must have. That same coldness that would let him callously allow Jake fall to his death rather than interrupt his pursuit of Randall Flagg. The more I think of it, the more I like Daniel Craig…


This will seem a whacky pick, and he is wrong for a whole host of reasons. He’s too young, he’s too babyfaced, and he’s got a really thick fucking Scottish accent – but I think Gerard Butler has a weird chance here. The thing is, he really impressed me in 300 and totally transformed himself into King Leonidas. It’s amazing what a beard and psychopathic adherence to a weight lifting regime can do. And he brings so much passion to his roles that I think he might possibly have a pony in this Ka-tet. You may disagree, and I think I might even disagree with myself… but I can’t help but think he might have an outside shot here…


Finally – we have The Punisher himself, Thomas Jane. Unfortunately, I’ve heard that the guy who played Titus Pullo on Rome (Ulster actor Ray Stevenson) is taking Jane’s role in The Punisher sequel, so Thomas Jane’s going to be free. Also, he had a role in Stephen King’s Mist, so it’s Ka that he would be involved in the Dark Tower (Stephen King has said that the Mist is a Thinny and that the creatures that come through the mist are a) similar to the crabs that take Roland’s fingers and b) the spider’s that attack Jake at the Way Station). Jane’s kind of a long shot but, again, he’s got the intensity and dark visage of Roland.

So there’s Doctor Zombie’s picks for Roland. Love ‘em, hate ‘em, whatever. What do you think? Any other suggestions for Roland, short of sending a 1983 Delorean back through time to grab a young Clint Eastwood to take the role?!?

Of course it goes without saying that Clint should have a part. It wouldn't be right if he didn't. It'd be a fucking tragedy if he didn't. In fact, he'd be damn near perfect as Roland's father, Stephen. That's a given.

And – since I’m making my casting dream list – I can see NO OTHER ACTOR in the role of Eddie except for Ryan Reynolds. He’s the smartass guy from Blade III and Van Wilder . He’s also the guy that dated and then broke up with Alanis Morisette. That also means he became the source of rage and feminine angst for her latest album. I’m sure she gave him royalties...

That’s all I have for now, dear readers. I look forward to YOUR suggestions for the casting of The Dark Tower.

So - for now - thankee, Sai, for sharing Khef with me!

Snowy Day Musings

Well, as I write this, we're in the grips of a huge snow storm. They're saying 8-12 inches before tomorrow morning, so I've nothing to do tonight except watch Barack Obama pull down Hillary Clinton's granny panties and spank her naughty bottom on TV. The debate, by the way, is being held where I matriculate - - Cleveland State University. Kind of cool ,I guess.

For my part, it’s been a busy few weeks for the Doctor. I’ve been working on rewrites of my novel, working at my real job, and I even managed to squeeze in a winter campout with Zombie Boy and his Cub Scout troop. (I’ve seen horrors that would make a normal person lose precious bits of their sanity – but none of those horrors compares to the sheer brain melting terror that is a weekend in a snowed in cabin with 15-20 hyper active 8 and 9 year olds. It’s somewhere along the order of the 8th or 9th ring of hell. Believe me…).

So – at work we’re exploring ways of networking with new electronic mediums. So I had to create a Facebook profile. Dear dark Pagan gods! What sort of crack is this?!? I’ve been blogging for a few years, but I’ve assiduously avoided any sort of social network sites because of the simple idea that it wasn’t something I’d be all that interested in. Holy crap was I wrong. Like I said, it’s like crack…it’s like a needle of smack in the veins. It’s taking everything I’ve got to not log into it and just click and play all day. At the risk of impacting my productivity, I need to consciously avoid it. That being said – feel free to come visit my Facebook page and say, “Hi.”

Got some zombie news – some good and some bad. I found a great interview with Our holy father George Romero on his latest flesh eating undead opus – The Diary of the Dead. Also – if you haven’t seen it yet – there’s a few trailers over on the film’s Myspace page. This movie makes me hard. The bad news is that there’s no Cleveland – or Ohio, for that matter – showings of it. Sons of bitches. I am absolutely going to die (again!) if I can’t see this in a theater. However, I’m going for a couple days of vacation with the family in a few weeks. As we’ll be in the Pittsburgh area, I may try to sneak out from the hotel and catch a showing of it. I’ll need to tread carefully, because Mrs. Zombie’s already threatened me with a painful death if I don’t stop bugging her about visiting the Evansville Cemetery and Monroeville Mall while we’re there. Hey! If I’m going to make a pilgrimage to the birthplace of the modern zombie film - - I’ll be damned if I don’t go to the holy sites as well!!!

On a similar note, I’ve been thinking about the blog quite a bit and have come to a decision of sorts. The problem is that I love doing my movie reviews. And that was the initial purpose of this blog, beyond being an exercise in just writing more in general. Unfortunately, I’ve been lax about posting entries on a regular basis – let alone writing movie reviews like I should. And add to the fact that I have – in fact - seen an assload of movies that I’ve never even bothered to write reviews about. So what’s a brilliant, undead, insane, evil zombie genius to do?!? Well – that’s where the decision I’ve made comes in. As I see so many horror films, I need to restrict the content. Well, maybe restrict is too strong a word. Let me say instead that I will be limiting the scope and genre of my movie reviews. Going forward – I will just be reviewing movies about the undead. That means primarily zombies, and peripherally, vampires and ghosts. I think this is a good choice. It means I don’t have to write reviews for the 7 or 8 horror movies I watch in an average week, nor do I have to choke down the bitter taste all of those pg-13 shitbag pseudo-horror movies I feel I need to watch. For instance, a week or so ago I saw AVP: Requiem (Good movie, by the way. Lots of gore, lots of scares, and it made up for the crap-fest that was the original AVP), and this gives me room to focus on and stress about writing a review for I Am Legend; which, by the way, I saw a few weeks before AVP. (Another great movie, but less because it was horror and more because it was about survivalism, that stretched the idea of vampires to weird CGI limits. But I digress…) Anyway, Doctor Zombie’s Midnight Theater of Terror will become more streamlined and low drag. Hopefully it’ll also give me room to write more often. So we’ll be talking about more focused, undead related movie reviews, general updates about all manner of cool, and the occasional personal fart joke on my part. And – if I see a movie that doesn’t fit the genre – I still reserve the right to write about it. Let’s hope this plan works. Fingers crossed…

So – some other links…

First I saw this and – although I loves me some Guitar Hero – this is so much cooler. I imagine there’s a whole generation of kids out there saying, “I can totally play guitar. I rock on the last level of Guitar Hero III on Expert. I’ll totally pwn you!” Thank the dark gods someone decided that, instead of further ruining our kids with video games, they’d come up with a way to learn a new skill besides smacking whores ala GTA, or learning how to bowling with a Wii nunchuck. I mean, seriously, what’s bowling without real bowling balls, an inhuman amount of $1 beers, and the local color of the people you meet at the bowling alley?!?

Let me post this up here….



There you go. This is a picture that’s caused some trouble on Wikipedia. There’s been tons of uproar because Muslims consider it offensive and blasphemous to display pictures of the prophet Muhammed. So there! Thhhbbbt! Go ahead and call a Jihad on me, I dare you! Bring it, fuckers!

Trailer for the new Hellboy. Sweeet! I can’t begin to tell you how excited this makes me! Guillermo Del Toro and Ron Perlman rock at a subatomic level!

Of course it’s nowhere near as excited as this!!! Indiana Jones is back and he’s got a new trailer. Jumping Jesus on a mother fucking pogo stick does this look like it’s going to rock. This is a movie I’ll need to take work off for. There are so few of tose these days!!!

And - because I've got a thing for redheads... here's a link to the Lindsay Lohan nudes with the New Yorker magazine. I link to them for a few reasons. the first being that I'm lecherous, I like naked women, and I have always kind of had a thing for Lindsay Lohan. It's that dirty girl thing... and she's dirty in the good way. (For an idea of how I classify Dirty... Good Dirty is Lindsay Lohan or Dita Von Teese; basically girls who you'd never take home to mom - but they'd teach YOU new tricks and hot damn wouldn't they be fun! Bad dirty girls, on the other hand, are like Brittany Spears, Angelina Jolie, Tara Reid, or Tonya Harding. They're damaged goods, they're train wrecks, and you'll most likely catch something. Yikes!) Unfortunately, Lindsay's on her way to her own train wreck - sadly. The other reason I link to them is because I think they're actually interesting in a few ways. Lindsay's pretty, and the pictures are very tastefully done, but whereas Marilyn Monroe's have a flirty, fun sexuality to them - - Lindsay's have a harder edge. Lindsay has a really haunted look in her eyes, a look I suspect is part desperation and part a recognition that her life may be going in the wrong direction. It reminds me of the look of those pictures Dana Plato took right before she OD'ed on a speedball. Not sure where I'm going with that, but either way, Lindsay's still hot, in her freckle-y, redheaded way.

Finally – one of my new favorite shows is the Sarah Connor Chronicles. And – although it plays with the mythology some - it’s still really, really cool. And Summer Glau is sooooo hot. This show is made perfect by the addition of the beautiful young woman who played Summer Tam in Serenity and Firefly. And, like I said, it’s a bit fast and loose with some of the stuff that happened in the first two movies, but it’s trying really hard to be faithful. That being said, I found this thoroughly geeky breakdown of the Terminator models absolutely fascinating. This is just the sort of nerdy stuff that makes the internet so awesome, and the authors of this are my kind of sci-fi geek. Ahhh… the smell of geeks in the morning!!!

That is all for now, dear readers. Unpleasant dreams and, remember, Dungeon Masters don’t HAVE levels. Dork. < snort!>

Where's My Tardis?

Shamelessly stolen from Stupidevilbastard.com... because we're geeks of a similar vein!




It's kind of creepy. Like Les says, "It's like they know me or something..."

The Howl of the Geek

Got a few links…

First off, we have a return to a site that I pimped a while back. The Dead Gentleman are some crazy guys out of Oregon who make low budget flicks that, if they weren’t low budget, would be at home with anything Kevin Smith does. I wrote a review of their first production, The Gamers back in December of 2006. Anyway, I periodically check their site for updates on their sequel - The Gamers: Dorkness Rising (which stars an old friend of mine – the immeasurably talented and beautiful Carol Roscoe). Unfortunately, it is STILL in post-production with no word on when it will be available for purchase. But, despite continuing to make me very sad, they do have a trailer on the site for the film; which makes me marginally less sad. That said, I continue to hope and pray that there will be some movement on the release of the film. So; go to the site, watch the trailer, and join me in my agony of perpetual waiting!

Dear Dead Gentlemen,

Please move it along as I grow impatient.

Love,
Doctor Zombie

p.s. – Don’t make me pull out my d20 of Certain Doom. None of us want that!

In other movie news…

In Hollywood’s ever continuing quest to totally rape all that I consider sacred, New Line is resurrecting the Nightmare on Elm Street series. “Cool!” you might say. I might say so also, except for the fact that they’ve decided, for reasons known only to the retards working at New Line Cinema, to have somebody BESIDES Robert Englund play Freddy Krueger. That’s right, you read that correctly. They’re recasting Freddy Krueger. At least that’s the rumor out there. They’re “re-imagining the series”. And this really, really pisses me off. That’s not to say that the series couldn’t use some help. The franchise declined pretty steadily as the 80’s and early 90’s marched on, sucking the very life out of the series. Freddy, like Jason Voorhees, became a parody of himself. He was redeemed somewhat in Freddy vs. Jason as they returned him to his badass, evil, roots; but the films that immediately preceded that were mediocre at best. The thing is, in Wes Craven’s original, Freddy was one of the greatest horror icons of all time. I remember watching the original at a girl’s house back in high school and feeling an unfamiliar, but exhilarating tingle. And it wasn’t because of the girl. It was a feeling of fear. From a horror movie. And, although that’s common for many people, it is, even at that point in Doctor Z’s life, sadly uncommon. I’ve seen so many horror movies that I am rarely unable to suspend my disbelief enough to get scared. And there’ve been few movies that do that. Nightmare was one of them, and Hollywood is going to fuck with that. Bastards.

Pop this bad boy into your favorites and keep an eye on it! It’s the official blog for Peter Jackson’s Hobbit. This will, as production starts to roll up, become a daily stop for the good Doctor. Damn, I can’t wait for this film!

Other Links:

Is there any way I can talk somebody into trying this with me? I’m going to call my brother Richie and try to convince him that this is something we need to do. This looks so awesome! I actually have been intrigued by the idea of rallies since I first heard about the Gumball 3000. There’s something about the excitement, adventure, and challenge of racing great distances through exotic, foreign lands. If anybody is interested in trying to do this (of course, Mrs. Zombie may have some decidedly negative thoughts on the idea of my flying to England, buying a cheap car, and driving it from England to Africa – but she’ll come around to my way of thinking. She understands my unreasonable need for fame and adventure), contact me at my email up by my profile. Tell me this wouldn’t be a fucking blast!

Look at this utter insanity!!! I was doing a vanity Google search (Quit looking at me like that! Like you’ve never Google’d yourself!?!) Anyway, I found someone trying to sell a used copy of my book, North Coast Gothic: A Grim Fairy Tale for… get this… $199.44. That’s right – some stooge is trying to sell my book for $200 shekels! Now, I’m more vain and egotistical than most when it comes to my writing. In fact, I’m vain and egotistical about practically nothing save my writing ability. Others may argue that my writing is not good… but they can bite me. I’m fucking brilliant. But I am – without a doubt, and even considering my swollen headed self absorption – most definitely not worth $200. This shit cracks me up! Good luck with the sale, buddy. And, by the way, if you, dear reader, are interested in a copy of my book - I always recommend you check it out over at Amazon.com. The link’s on the right, up above, under “My Writing”. Besides being only $12.95 (as opposed to $200!!) they have a great review of it. And yes, I did just shamelessly plug my book. I’ll be the first to admit that I’m a self-promoting douchebag. What are you gonna do about it?

I’ve two new blogs that I’m going to be adding to my blogroll just because they’re really, really cool.

The first is the Zombie Workout blog. The author is an out of work TV writer who’s decided she needs to get in shape to pass the time until the writer’s strike is over. But, instead of joining a gym and spending a few hours a week on an elliptical, she’s decided to look at it in terms of usefulness. And, when looking at practicality, nothing tests one’s fitness as surely as a post apocalyptic world overrun by ravenous, rotting zombies. She explains it much better than I do, so check out the site. Funny thing is she popped in at Zombie Squad last week. I’m not sure what that says, other than the fact that the zombie preparedness world is much smaller than one thinks…

The second blog is The Daily Coyote. This one wins just because of the photography. But besides that, and for those who don’t know, Doctor Z. is a dog person. I love dogs and, much to Mrs. Zombie’s eternal frustration, I sometimes care more for dogs than I do human life. Few things are capable of melting Doctor Zombie’s cold, unfeeling, undead heart – but dogs are the definite exception. And that love for dogs extends to coyotes. Often, when camping here in Ohio, one finds themselves awakened by the eerie howls and yips and ululation of coyotes at night. At first, there’s a twinge of primal fear at the sound, but then it transforms into wonder. I hope to, someday soon, go camping somewhere where there’re wolves. How cool would that sound?!? Anyway, check out this site for the cutest damn coyote on the internet!

And to round out today’s linking goodness… I have this funny piece about biological diversity. It’s about the wonderful insect world, of which I want absolutely nothing to do. Dear dark Pagan Gods - I hate bugs! If you suffer any entomophobia… don’t click the link. I’m serious. Don’t do it. If you think I’m fucking around, and click it, you’ll be sorry. Seriously. Don’t say I didn’t warn you…

That’s all for now dear readers. I’ve actually been remiss in updating like I should. I’ll try to be better, but no promises – I’m working on my newest novel. That’s taking up a lot of my creative writing time. We’ll see about my being less of a slacker…

The Unending Carnival of Shame...

...that is my life.

So, this year I had a couple resolutions, all of which are selfish and totally lacking in redeeming social quality. But that’s what New Year’s Resolutions are about, aren’t they? It’s all about making promises to improve one’s self and to hell with the rest of mankind.

Screw solving world hunger - - I needs to lose my gut!!!

And, losing my blubberous paunch was number one on the list. I know – not horribly original. It’s an obvious one; everyone makes this one at this time of year. Fortunately, I’ve got a head start on this one because I’ve been working really hard to get in shape since the end of last summer. Unfortunately, I slacked over the last month or so, but I’m back in the saddle and ready to push myself over the edge here. I’m so weary of being a fat ass – especially when I meet people who knew me when I was thin. Yes, I’m married and happy. Yes Mrs. Zombie – besides being totally hot – is an incredible cook. And yes, my gut is out of control. I’m fucking working on it. But it would be nice to be less pudgy, you know?

Here’s where we get to the shame.

So I’m working out at the gym the other day. I’d spent about 55 minutes on the elliptical machine and had taken my sweaty panting self to one of the aerobics rooms to do the daily horror show that is Doctor Zombie trying to do abdominal work. As I enter the room I see four other people are there. Three are doing ab work and one is stretching.

I should note that one of the people there is the really cute, unbelievably nice physical trainer who works at the gym. I register that she’s in the room and also see that one of the other people is – quite possibly - one of the hottest, preternaturally beautiful women I’ve ever, EVER seen. Her hotness eclipsed the others in the room, who I noticed in passing were a black guy and an old-ish 50 year old woman the trainer was working with.

So, I turn my iPod up, and grab a physio-ball. For those not in the know, a physio-ball is a large ball made of rubber that you can do ab work and stability work on. It’s basically a heavy duty rubber ball like the ones that come in the big metal cages at Walmart; only these don’t have pictures of Spongebob Squarepants, Dora the Explorer, and Darth Vader on them.

Anyway, I grab a ball and grab a spot on the mirrored wall, near the supermodel-like chick that really doesn’t needs to tighten up her washboard abs anymore, and proceed to grunt my way through 75 crunches and 30 oblique crunches.

As I neared fifty, though, there was an uncomfortable roil in my gut, further exacerbated by the repetitive clenching of my abs.

“Oh shit,” I realize, “I’ve got to fart.”

Of course, I’ve only myself to blame. You see, I’ve been eating nothing but salad for lunch - everyday - for like two whole weeks. And I’d have normally taken care of it if there hadn’t been two really, really hot women in the room. Had it just been me and the guy who by now had been stretching for something like ten minutes (I suspect he was ogling the Victoria Secret model that had now turned and was facing me), I’d have ripped it off and he and I’d have laughed, reveling in the chimp-like masculinity and eight year old humor of a good BRAP-ping fart.

But I couldn’t.

So I clenched my ass and cranked out my last twenty-five crunches. When I was done I stopped and rested a moment, still reclining on the ball. Thankfully, my flatulence passed and I breathed a sigh of relief. I started to get up, though, and here’s where the wheels fell off of my dignity cart.

I had a momentary lapse of balance and, instead of rolling back up the ball and into a sitting position, I lost it.

The ball shot out from under me, flew across the room, and hit the wall with a ringing POINK! sound. It was the same sound a dodge-ball makes when you bean a fat kid in gym class. I found myself suddenly two and a half feet above the floor, with nothing supporting me. I slammed backwards, bouncing on my back and hitting my head on the wood floor.

“Aaaggghh!” I screamed in a manly fashion, and by manly fashion I mean like a scared girl, as I instinctively tried to catch myself. This ignoble effort only managed to make me kick my arms and legs ineffectually and spastically; further making my collision with the floor seem so much more graceless.

As I lay there, I could feel the eyes of everyone in the room staring at me. I glanced up to see the model trying not to laugh and the cute physical trainer looking at me with concern.

“Are you okay?” I saw her mouth, as I couldn’t hear her over the Ramones that was now playing on my headphones.

“I’m fine,” I gasped, as my back throbbed and I realized that I was having trouble breathing.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” I repeated as I lay there like a turtle on my back, unable to feel anything but the pain. The pain, and the shame.

I smiled back at her and turned off my iPod, “The only thing I’ve hurt is my ego and any sense of cool I might have had for myself.”

She laughed, but still looked concerned. Like I said earlier, she’s cute and nice. Of course, she might only have been concerned about the possible lawsuit my physio-ball induced injury might have meant for the gym; but I like to think it’s because she really felt concern.

At that point, I felt a little better as I’d actually managed to say something witty and self-deprecating. Laughing at yourself shows an emotional maturity, something I sorely lack. But at least I gave the appearance of insouciance, so maybe I had managed to salvage some of my dignity.

Having felt some sense of victory in the whole debacle, I struggled to sit up.

The gas I thought I had beat into submission, that I thought was gone, suddenly reared up greasily - - and I farted.

And I don’t mean I squeaked out a little barely audible fart that could have been passed off as my shoe, or bare leg, squeaking on the wood floor. I’m talking the kind of effluvium that starts at the top of your stomach and works through your guts like a bullet train roaring through a tunnel. It was a blatting, earth shaking, F16-hitting-the-afterburners kind of fart. It was the kind of fart that only a two week regimen of salad, garbanzo beans, and bleu cheese dressing can produce. It burst forth from my ass like an angry grizzly bear from its den and ravaged and mauled everyone within earshot.

I looked about in mortification and saw the look of shock on everyone’s face.

“My brother!” the black guy said finally, appreciatively.

“I’m fine?” I said after a painfully long and uncomfortable silence. I finally put my head down and limped to retrieve the physio-ball from where it had come to rest across the room. With a groan borne of immense back pain, I bent and retrieved the ball and put it back on the rack.

Moments like these call for strategical retreats, and I did just that. I scurried out of the room and skulked like a thieving rat back to the locker rooms.

Welcome to the carnival of horror and shame that is Doctor Z’s life…

Faith and Politics

I'm marking myself with a Scarlet A. (How deliciously Hawthorne-ish!)

On the verge of the presidential primary season, when we've got the twin Republican horrors of Mitt Romney and Mike Huckabee, it's important that everyone realize the catastrophic potential these two represent if elected. We've got a Mormon, who's faith has a history of exclusion and discrimination; and a Baptist minister who feels that it his solemn duty to turn America into a Christian-only theocracy.

Think about it. We've barely survived the last 8 years under a grotesque buffoon who found God after climbing out of a bottle. Bush was responsible for essentialy crippling stem cell research in the US, appointing conservative Supreme Court justices with an eye on overturning Roe v. Wade, all but banning anything but abstinence-only doctrine in sex ed. classes, and giving millions upon millions of federal dollars to faith based organizations. Never mind his Christian-fueled, vengeance-based Crusade in the Middle East.

Can you imagine what would happen if we got some religious zealots who had themselves some real Christian fire?!?

Now - I'm not advocating that the current crop of Democrats are any less the political douchebags than their Republican counterparts are. Hell - I'm as afraid of the liberals' negative views on the constitutionally protected right of gun possesion as I am of the conservatives' intolerance of anyone who doesn't subscribe to their particular brand of bible thumping. (although I do have to say - - Go Obama!!!)

But, the thing is that it's important to realize that religious true believers feel that they are somehow marginalized and discriminated against - they're deluded and act as though there is some vast left wing conspiracy that plans to somehow burn down their churches and violate their women. And yet they are the majority in this country. Something doesn't add up there.

What's funny is that these paragons of virtue and religious tolerance, these disciples of Jeebus, hate anyone who isn't Christian as much as the islamic Fundamentalist hate anyone who isn't Muslim. Oddly, or perhaps ironically, Christians and Islamics believe in the same God and BOTH feel that it is their duty to covert the non-believers.

So where does that leave those who don't believe in god?(and I used a little "g" on purpose, fuckers!)Polls show that the majority of Americans distrust Atheists more than any other social group out there. Somehow, a lack of religiosity is more terrifying to the Christians than gays, liberals, feminists, and people who abuse animals and talk at the theater (for whom there is a very special hell reserved!).

So that leaves us with the Hester Prynn-like Scarlet A I'm emblazoning my blog with. I'm coming out as an Atheist. Of course, my long time readers know that I'm an Atheist already, but I really believe that Richard Dawkins Out Campaign is brilliant and I'm proudly coming out of the closet for all to see.

Visit the Out Campaign site - - Richard Dawkins does a much better job of eloquently explaining what the campaign is about. I encourage anybody who is in the closet to follow mine and his lead and COME OUT OF THE CLOSET!

Freedom from religion is as sacred as freedom of religion.

Just Playing...

I'm just throwing this up here because I've been playing with the Big Huge Labs Motivator Poster generator. And for the record... I would totally spank it...

Time To Clean Up...

Wow! I’ve got a crapload of links that have been piling up. Let’s see if I can get through these…

I am of the opinion that one should always be prepared for the impending Zombie Apocalypse. Now in some areas, I’m not as prepared as I should be. I’ve got a Bug Out Bag, but I’ve not been as diligent as I should be in keeping it updated. I have a shitload of pistols and shotguns, but I don’t really have a good semi-automatic SHTF rifle. But, all of that stuff aside, I have always been confident (some may argue that I’m overconfident) in my own sense of self reliance. I’m an experienced outdoorsman with extensive wilderness survival training. I’m a fan of the MacGyver School of kludging. So… to that end, I’ve always felt I can handle any situation so long as I have a good pair of boots and my Leatherman Wave multitool. If, for instance, the shambling masses of ravenous undead were to attack my work, I’d be confident enough to grab my survival Murse (or man purse) from my Jeep and make my way – on foot – home. And I am never, ever, without my Leatherman. In fact, my daily ritual involves stopping before I walk out the door and doing an inventory. Watch? Check. Wallet? Check. Car keys? Check. Leatherman Wave. Check! And I think the Wave is the best out there. It has damn near everything I need to survive for several days in the woods. But all of that love and adoration I have for the shiny simplicity of my Leatherman Wave went out the window when I saw the new Leatherman Skeletool. Oooh! It’s so sexy! Truthfully, it doesn’t have anything I NEED, or don’t already have on my Wave. But damn if I’m not thinking I want it anyway. I say again…sexy!

Speaking of weapons for surviving the rise of the undead… Must. Have. One. Of. These. This makes the lizard part of my male brain sit up and writhe in orgiastic fits. My god, 300 rounds in one minute. This is at once both one of the most ferocious weapons I’ve ever seen and also one of the most beautifully designed killing machines I’ve ever seen. When do they start civilian production, because I’m going to get in line for one now…

I’m a huge geek. I’m so geekish in fact, that I’ve considered getting Bruce Campbell holding his boomstick tattooed somewhere on my body. That or Darth Vader, the Elvin script from the One Ring, Gillian Anderson, The USS Enterprise, Godzilla, or Kira Shoen from NOTLD. I’ve considered them all at one point or another, but then discarded them because a) the old adage of “How’s that going to look when you’re 80” and b) my sense of how others not as geeky as I might perceive it. Take that as you will. But, that being said, you’ve got to agree that these fucking rock…

Speaking of Gillian Anderson… my brother Richie sent me this fan art of her the other day. I had almost forgotten how much I loved her and this made my pants, inexplicably, fit tighter. Especially in the zipper area. Dear dark Pagan god…this is so hot…


Some cool movie updates

I’m such a literary geek that I almost squealed like a college coed in one of the oubliettes I keep in my laboratory when I saw this update. (“It rubs the lotion on its skin!”) Stephen King’s greatest work (besides the post apocalyptic wonder that was The Stand) may be coming to film! There are discussions for the filming of The Dark Tower: The Gunslinger. I actually had my hands on a first edition of The Gunslinger a few years back, and I seriously thought about killing the owner for it. As it was, he wouldn’t take any amount of money for it. I even offered to give him my Jeep. He wouldn’t hear of it. I truly expect future generations to look back upon King’s Gunslinger series as a perfect, classic example of late 20th century epic fiction. Now the question is… who do you think should play Roland in a film version and not TOTALLY suck?!?

This hit the news a couple weeks ago. I really, really dig Morgan Spurlock’s work. I just thought this was a cool story. If he really found Bin Laden, and managed to get film of him… could you imagine what a coup that would be? King George W. would shit himself in apoplectic rage that a liberal documentary filmmaker did what he’s been unable to do for the last six years. Of course, I am cynical enough to think that this may, very likely, be a publicity ploy to drum up interest in Spurlock’s new movie, but I also don’t get the sense that Spurlock’s that kind of guy. Michael Moore, yes. Morgan Spurlock, no. What I’m saying is that Moore’s enough of an asshole to go in for that sort of sensationalist bullshit and feel that Spurlock’s much more altruistic in his goals. I don’t know. We’ll have to see how this one pans out…

Peter Jackson’s been given the green light for The Hobbit!!!! Let’s see what we’ve got here… two movies, one ring, Gollum, the most evil dragon ever, and The Battle of Five Armies. I’m fucking speechless!!!!!

Ooohhhh! More Dark Knight goodness. First I’ve got another update on some of the cool viral campaign Warner Brothers is doing. And then we – finally – have a release of a real trailer for the film. I’m still pleased with the Joker (although I don’t know if it’s the editing or what, but Ledger can lose the Jack Nicholson impression or I’m going to be seriously pissed.) I’m feeling really good about this flick. This is definitely an opening night film…

And - finally - we've got some news on The Watchman movie adaptation!!! There's some information on the actors (although I have to say I'm not too pleased with the actor chosen to play Rorschach), set design, and other various things. All in all though, the sets look awesome - like they were taken right from the pages of the comic. And David Gibbons visited the set and heartily approves of the production. He even says that he's "overwhelmed by the commitment, the passion, the palpable desire to do this right ". This has the potential to be so fucking awesome. Even more awesome then the adaptations of V For Vigilante and Frank Miller's Sin City and 300. We'll just have to wait and see, but I can tell you that Doctor Zombie is really, really excited about this. Now if we can just get someone to option Grendel or Mage....

That’s all for now, dear readers, I think I just heard some Xmas carolers at the front door. Talk about good timing; I just got my oscillating 50 watt plasma rifle working and I need to do a beta test.

Silent night? Holy night? Not if I can help it…

Movie Review - Night of the Living Dead 3D (2006)

So I finally got the chance to catch this. Mrs. Zombie was out of town on a business trip, I’d put Zombie Boy and Wolfgirl down for the night, and I’d sat down to watch some TV. I fired up the barbecue, threw on some long pork, and settled in with the intention of fixing my recent jones for some flesh chomping zombie carnage. I’d actually planned on re-watching Army of Darkness, but imagine my surprise when I saw that the most recent NOTLD remake had hit my cable’s On Demand menu. (I should note I didn’t see it in 3D. It was a regular 2D version, but I wasn’t too disappointed. I expect that I didn’t really miss much when it comes to the hokey 3D gimmick. I don’t think 3D technology hasn’t really changed THAT much since the days of William Castle – or even the 80’s wonders of Jaws 3D. All it does is give you a headache and the stupid 3D glasses give me paper cuts on my ears and nose.)

So, anyway… a couple clicks of the remote and $3.99 later, I’ve queued up NOTLD3D.

“WOO-HOO!” says I. “I get to watch some zombie goodness!”

Truthfully, I went into this fully expecting to be disappointed. I can say though, that I was pleasantly surprised. It wasn’t really that bad.

The movie opened familiarly, with the now iconic black and white footage of a winding road with the Breakneck Creek in the background. “Wha?” I thought, “did they actually film this in Evans City Pennsylvania?!? Will this movie take place in the same iconic cemetery where the great George Romero filmed his masterpiece back in 1966?!?”

Unfortunately, the geekish thrill I felt was short lived as the scene pulled back to reveal a television showing the original movie in a road side - and obviously Californian - gas station. The camera pans to a window where a Mini Cooper drives by outside, swinging past the creepy image of an abandoned SUV. PArked askew next to a discarded gas pump, the SUV's door is open and its occupants are nowhere to be found.

We learn that the Mini is driven by Johnny (Ken Ward) as he and his sister Barbara (Brianna Brown) make their way to a funeral for an aunt they don’t know. They get to the cemetery to find it abandoned and, as the tension builds, they find themselves in the midst of the zombie apocalypse.

Story-wise, the remake quickly veers from the original after this point, but it does so in a way that actually works. Johnny is attacked, runs to the car, and drives off – leaving Barb to fend off the zombies (including her now undead mother). Barb runs to the funeral home where she meets Junior Tovar, as played by the incomparable Sid Haig. She is chased away by Junior and meets up with a young handsome guy named Ben (Joshua DesRoches) who rescues her and takes her to his friends’ farm. The farm, of course, is run by the Coopers.

General undead shenanigans happen, the house is surrounded by shambling zombies, there’s some arguing, and everything degenerates – much like Romero’s classic and the lesser 1990 remake.

The story has been updated and it asks for some suspension of disbelief. But, since I’m watching a movie where the main idea is that hell is full and the dead walk the earth, I’m pretty well committed to a trip down the path of “this can’t really happen”. Henry Copper is now – instead of a caustic, belligerent, know-it-all jerk – an aging, peace-loving, pot farmer. Ben is white (!!!), and Tommy and Judy fuck in a barn, run around naked, and die within the first 20 minutes or so. Barb is reminiscent of the character Patricia Tallman portrayed in the 1990 remake.

Although some of the character changes feel like a stretch, other plot points work well. One of my current peeves is the change that cell phones have had on the whole horror genre. Michael Meyers wouldn’t have been such a problem if Laurie Strode had a cell phone and 911, so I like to see how newer horror films deal with the evolving technology. In this remake, Barb loses her phone while fighting off zombies, and Henry Cooper – in line with his “Dude! Chill, we’re growing some bud here!” attitude, - refuses to have cells because that’s “how the government tracks you, man”.

The story, while not the best, worked. There were some plot twists and the overall revamping of the story wasn't oo onerous. I was disappointed that they felt the need to explain the reason for the zompocalypse though. I don’t need to know why, I just need to know that headshots work and that I have enough bullets to survive.

The acting, on the other hand, suffered from the low budget production value. All of the primary actors had the skill and talent of second year college drama majors. Brianna Brown was better than the others, but not by much. Sid Haig though, being the icon that he is, was the one shining star – and his skills dwarfed those of the amateurs he was working with. Now don’t get me wrong… Sid collected a paycheck and you can tell he only did this because he was probably late on a couple of Cadillac payments; but even his phoned in performance was on an entirely different level than his co-stars.

As I said, this was obviously a low budget film. But that actually didn’t hurt the movie too much. The director of photography and the lighting guys deserve the lion’s share of the salaries for the work they did. They managed to make a film that looked great, and the high point could be seen in the exterior shots of the farm house as the shambling, stumbling masses of undead banged and wandered aimlessly about the beautifully framed and lighted porch and yard. It also helped that there were no apparent sound stage shots. The use of all location shooting (again - no doubt an offshoot of the meager budget) added a sense of realism to the film.

All of the cheap production value, though, and all of the great shots did little to allay my disappointment with the makeup effects. There was little true makeup work. Most of the zombies were people in masks and coverall suits that looked like – quite honestly – masks and coverall suits. It’s obvious when someone is wearing an all body costume. They look like kids look when they have to wear a Halloween costume over a winter coat. And the few actual makeup shots were terrible. When Karen Cooper turns into a zombie and stalks the other actors, it’s great that they paint her face a grayish-green, but the thing is – she’s wearing A MINISKIRT. Here’s a hint…you need to paint HER LEGS TOO!

Sheesh!!

But – all in all, it wasn’t too bad. I enjoyed it and, in the beginning especially, the film conveyed an edge of the seat expectancy of horror. Romero’s legacy wasn’t damaged and, in most instances, his mythos is secure and unfucked with. My recommendation is to catch it, but go into it with the understanding that it is not the best zombie movie ever, but it is in no way imaginable the worst ever made (That’s right, Uwe Boll. I’m looking at YOU!). Enjoy it for zombies, enjoy it for Sid Haig, and enjoy it because it’s not that bad.


Doctor Zombie’s rating: 4 out of 5 Chomped Brains!!!

Did You Get the Flowers I Sent?!?

Dear SciFi Channel,

I know I said some pretty bad things about you the last time I wrote.

Truth be told – after the whole Flash Gordon thing – I was mad at you and I said some very spiteful things. The thing is, I just watched Tinman, and I now realize may have been a little upset and speaking from a place of anger. What I’m saying is I’m sorry and I was thinking, maybe, we could get back together for some coffee, or a drink?

All those things I said about you not being innovative, or sacrificing quality for the bottom dollar – well, I’m not afraid to say I was wrong. And that I’m really, really sorry. I sometimes wish that we could go back to the way things used to be, back when it was just you and I curled up together on a Friday night reveling in the glow of Farscape. You remember when, right? Back before Ben Browder was at Stargate Command and back when Claudia Black was all surly and sexy (and not ditzy and...at Stargate Command).

I mean, we both may be a little bit to blame here. I may have been spending too much time with G4 and her reruns of both classic and next generation Star Trek. And I may have gone out a couple times with the BBC and her deliciously accented Doctor Who and Torchwood. I’ll admit I may have gone a little astray... but who could blame me? Although I hold some of the blame, I daresay we shared some of it as well.

I could only stand so much of watching you cavort like a filthy whore with that slimy, untalented, evil hack - Uwe Boll. A man can only take so much House of the Dead, Alone In The Dark, or endless reruns of BloodRayne before he wants to either tear the very eyes from his head or find solace in the arms of another channel. At least those other channels weren't unfaithful tramps who lack the moral decency to even recognize Boll's films are best dealt with as one would an unwanted pregnancy. What I'm saying is, there's nothing wrong with House of the Dead that an abortion clinic or a coat hanger and a couple good flushes of a toilet can't fix...

And the dark gods know I tried to forget the night I turned you on to find you showing Dragonfly, with Kevin Costner. I don’t know what hurt more; watching you spread your legs for an actor whose skills are so bad he can’t even bother to put on an English accent when he plays Robin Hood, or the fact that you thought that the abysmally bad, boring, and romantic treacle that was Dragonfly would even remotely appeal to Science Fiction fans. And don’t even get me started on the horror and pseudo-scientific codswallop that is Ghosthunters…

But that's all in the past, baby. What I’m trying to say is that my infidelities - too -are a thing of the past. I promise.

I knew that I may have wrongly spurned you after I watched Battlestar Galactica: Razor. And I especially knew I was wrong after having watched the wondrously twisted and beautifully rendered Tinman. I even said to myself, “Hey! Doctor Z! You've really gone and fucked up!”

And, again, I can only apologize.

And I promise that, if you find it within your heart to take me back, I’ll never stray again. I mean it this time. As long as you continue to cast actresses like the deliriously breathtaking Kathleen Robertson in roles like Azkadellia - in Tinman - I swear I’ll be faithful… forever. I’ve turned a new leaf! You’ve wooed me with Kathleen’s incredible cleavage and those magical tribal monkey tattoos perched upon the alabaster slopes of her swelling and corseted bosom.

And the inventive re-imagining of L. Frank Baum’s tales of Oz pushed me over the edge; made me realize the error of my philandering ways. If you’ll forget what I wrote before, and find some small ounce of forgiveness for my indiscretions, I’ll never write badly about you again.

Please consider it? Please honey, take me back?

Hoping against hope for forgiveness,
Doctor Z.

p.s. – Oh yeah, if you renew Flash Gordon, or start showing movies that don’t have Bruce Campbell in them in some way, all bets are off you psycho bitch! Love and kisses - Dr. Z...

Meatpie, anyone?!?

I have a deep, dark confession to make.

I am a straight, married, horror movie loving, old school Goth and...I love musicals.

I always have. It's something my mother introduced to me as a child and - to this day - I still love musicals.

Of course, being Doctor Zombie, I would be remiss if I didn't also explain that I tend to see the darker side of the entire genre. There is nothing so tragic as what the studio system did to the beautiful and phenomenally talented Judy Garland. Drugs and alcohol made a shambles of her later life, but her voice remained angelic until the end. And how fucking creepy is the end of My Fair Lady when the wispy, fairy-like, gorgeous Audrey Hepburn is embraced and kissed by the old and wrinkled Rex Harrison? I can't watch it without feeling like I'm watching a pedephile move in on the teenage babysitter.

"I'm Chris Hanson with MSNBC. Why don't you have a seat over there. Are you 'enry'iggins@aol.com?"

I think part of what appeals most to me is the sense that musicals were a glimpse into a simpler time. I love musicals in the way that I love Big Band music. They are a slice of American pop culture that date themselves as surely as if one had run a test with carbon-14. And there have been damn few modern musicals that have been done since the golden age that hold a candle to the originals.

But that brings me to why I wrote this post. I love Oklahoma. I love My Fair Lady. I love West Side Story. I love Rogers and Hammerstein. I love all of them... but the composer I love above all others is Stephen Sondheim. And his greatest masterpiece - and my favorite musical - is without a doubt Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street.

Imagine my joy when, on our honeymoon, Mrs. Zombie and I found ourselves staying in a hotel in the West End of London on... motherfucking Fleet Street. And imagine the dread Mrs. Zombie must have felt when I explained that my favorite musical was a grisly story of revenge, murder, and cannibalism. And that I was delighted in my dark geekish way at having actually scored a one week stay where my favorite homicidal barber is reputed to have lived.

And - best of all - Sweeney Todd is coming to the big screen. Let's just do a quick geek chic review...

Tim Burton - CHECK!
Johnny Depp - CHECK!
Still a musical - DOUBLE CHECK!

Dear dark Pagan gods - this movie is going to so rock!

Check here for the official site and a deliciously morbid trailer showing Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter in all of their malevolent glory.

I occasionally have moments of deep introspection where I look within myself, shake my own head, and say, "What the fuck is wrong with you?!?"

But then the moment passes, and I head down to my lab in the basement of the Midnight Theater of Terror. A little bit of world domination, evil science, and random torture of zombie minions always sets my shit straight.

Unpleasant dreams, dear reader!

Some Geeky Linky...

I'll be out of town for the next few days. My Da and I bought some property in Eastern Central Ohio (Woot! I've got a Bug Out Location for when the Zombie Apocalypse happens and you don't! Thhhbbbbtt!!) so I'll be bowhunting and scouting all weekend.

Since I'll be gone for a few days, I've decided to throw up a quick post with an assload of links that have been piling up...

First up, we have info on the new Batman movie: The Dark Knight. All I can say is, "New Batman?!? Oh, God! My pants suddenly fit tighter…" It looks great! Heath Ledger’s take on The Joker looks fan-fucking-tastic. Early reports say that he’s ditched the smarmy, “tee-hee-hee” excess of Nicholson’s performance and is going with a darker, more realistic interpretation. It’s about damn time! Eschewing the cartoonish cavorting of prior Joker incarnations and making The Joker the absolutely batshit sociopath he is is going to be refreshing and so worth it. I’ve goosebumps thinking about it. I tracked down some other links. The first is information on the studio's viral campaign (where the first pics of Ledger’s Joker appeared.) For the record – it’s got to be the coolest viral campaign. Ever. Also I managed to find a craptastic teaser trailer, but it’s a trailer – so quit yer bitchin’!

Of all the superheroes out there, Batman appeals most to my own dark tendencies. I’m not a fan of DC comics, with the exception of The Bats. His tortured psyche, his burning anger, his need to exact vengeance; they all combine to make Batman one of the most complex “heroes” out there. In that vein, I’m a huge fan of Frank Miller’s Dark Knight Returns and The Dark Knight Strikes Again. Miller is the first writer to fully capture the tortured, anger driven, damaged psyche that The Bat had, and Tte newest Christian Bale vehicles finally captures what Batman is all about. Vengeance and Brutal Justice, fuck yeah!

At my heart, I’m a geek who looks at a world through the eyes of a life filled with horror and science fiction. I’m also a writer, so I’m always going to be cursed with a fertile and creative imagination. It’s who I am. And so, when I see articles like this, I immediately begin to compare it with what I’ve read or watched, and think of it in terms of, “How can I write about this?”. Often, I get a story idea and just as quickly discard it, much as I did here. However, I still saw this and had a geeky shiver run up my spine. Is it wrong – while trying not to get ALL H.G. Wells – to secretly wish for some good old fashioned Island of Dr. Moreau type experiments?!? Think about the implications of human/animal chimeras… we’re talking about some seriously cool science fiction stuff here.

Mark this one up as one of those, ‘there-but-for-the-dark-Pagan-gods-go-I!” stories. A horror novelist writes a book on cannibalism, and then proceeds to kill and cook his wife. I don't know why, but stories like this make me smile. Oh wait! I do know...I'm an a moral sociopath with a disturbing sense of humor!

Whoop!Whoop! Red Alert! Red Alert! Forgive me while I wax all Star Trek, but Simon Pegg has been cast in the new Star Trek prequel! Shaun of the Dead is Scotty! I swore, after seeing Star Trek: Nemesis that I wouldn’t be sucked in again. I swore to the very depths of my undead soul that I wouldn’t see another bad Star Trek movie. And then they announced that they were doing a prequel to the original series. My initial thought was that it was going to be Dawson’s Creek with a warp core and phasers set on stun. But, curses, I know I’ll end up going to see it. I can’t fight the inner nerd who gets all excited by the prospect of another Star Trek movie. Damn you, inner geek. And damn you, Gene Roddenberry for making me like this!

Speaking of must see movies, found two trailers for the new I Am Legend with Will Smith. Again, I felt really, “Meh.” about yet another remake of Richard Matheson’s post apocalyptic classic, but I’m starting to come around. This is one of my favorite novels – ever – and I really hope the story doesn’t get lost by the studios and the suits who are putting it together. The trailer does look good though, although I will be unable to resist taking bets with my brothers as to how long it is into the movie before Will Smith looks at a vampire and say, “Aw, He-ells no!”

And, because I’m going hunting, I found a great article about the manliest guns ever. Whereas I don’t necessarily agree with some of the choices, I laughed out loud at the writing. Truth be told, it’s actually a pretty good list of ‘must owns’. Man, I need to go shooting…

Political link! Political link! Beware of Doctor Zombie’s Liberal rage! If you’re a bible thumping conservative who demonizes Liberals and Americans who disagree with the current administration alike, skip to the next paragraph. In fact, if you’re a Bush apologist who thinks Ann Coulter’s a nice girl, stop reading my blog. Bush is a criminal and Ann Coulter’s a filthy whore. And this article scares the hell out of me. What’s absolutely terrifying is that I could see this happening. Interestingly, Musharref just did this in Pakistan and, oddly, the Bush Administration has only issued some half assed, mumbled statements about it being not necessarily a good thing. Does that big-eared, grotesque, buffoon in the White House see himself as King George I of America? And what designs does Darth Cheney have? Chilling.

Now – to end on a high note! Some Doctor Who goodies!!! Look! You can now own your very own remote controlled K9. I want one of these! I want it soooo bad! And, if you’re feeling especially crafty, here’s a recipe from the BBC for a very special cake. I’m going to print this out and hand it to Mrs. Zombie. My birfday’s in a month and, although I had my heart set on either a Scooby-Doo or a Harley Davidson cake, I’ve completely changed my mind. I want a cake that buzzes, “Exterminate!” and “We are the superior beings!”

Unpleasant dreams, dear readers!

The Curse of the Widow's Peak!

So – I’ve been shaving my head for 4 or 5 years now. I started to shave it at first because I wanted to mitigate the huge amount of gray hair I had, as well as the inevitable baldness that seemed to grow every time I looked in a mirror. As for the gray, I actually started graying at the age of 16. As I understand it, this is squarely the fault of my Irish genes. Premature graying was something I’d always been aware of and accepted as part of aging.

The baldness, though, that was just goddamned unacceptable. In my twenties, I had shoulder length hair that I could pull back into a Brandon Lee from the The Crow topknot or pony tail. I loved my long hair and I regret cutting it. But the thinning made it necessary and, as I went from that to a shorter style, even the shorter style started to look like shit. So, I took to clippering it closer and closer to my skull until I finally said, “Fuck it,” and started shaving it.

So why am I telling you this? Well, because Mrs. Zombie has decided that she wants me to grow my hair again. She’s challenged me to grow my hair out until my birthday – which is like 5 weeks from now. I’ve made half-hearted attempts to grow it probably two or three times since I started shaving, but then I decide I like it shaved and go smooth again.

Funny thing is, I think the balding has slowed or stopped. Now though, I am almost completely gray. I haven’t shaved since last Friday and my head is covered with sparkly, white hairs that make me look significantly older than my 36 years. As I said, I don’t mind the gray, never have, but Mrs. Zombie hates it with a passion. I’ve actually been dying my goatee for her and, before I shaved my head, she made me dye it frequently. And it’s funny really. Most people, when they meet me, think that I’m in my late twenties or maybe thirty at the most. I still – honest to god – get carded at bars. When I don’t dye my goatee though, the gray makes a huge difference in how I’m perceived. It’s odd really.

So I’ve decided I’m going to take Mrs. Zombie up on the challenge – despite the fact that both of us are most likely going to hate it. She’ll hate it because of the gray and how old it will make me look; and I’ll hate it because the ravages of the balding have left me with an unbelievably large forehead and pronounced widow’s peak.

So – and in that vein – let’s take a look at how my hair could turn out. Here a small retrospective of men with widow’s peaks and how they sported them.

The first on the list is Craig T. Nelson. His is a worst case scenario. Notice the clean, unbroken forehead that sweeps back like a manicured snow slope to roughly the middle of the BACK of his head. Mrs. Zombie and I recently watched Blades of Gory and Craig T. was rocking a Michael Bolton-esque ‘bald-in-the-front, long-in-the-back’ party mullet. I suspect this is partially responsible for her challenge because – quite honestly – Mrs. Zombie has strange taste in men… as evidenced by her marrying me. But putting that aside, she also generally only mentions two actors she’d leave me for: George Eades from CSI, and Craig T. Nelson. That’s right; my wife has an unhealthy lust for Craig T. Nelson. I think it’s the whole Coach thing. She’s an ex-jock and something about him stirs up strange passions. I don’t get it.

Next we’re going old school! That’s right, Bela Lugosi. I could only hope to look as good as old Bela. He made women swoon, he made vampires cool, and he did it with a swept back widow’s peak. He didn’t care if he didn’t have Cary Grant’s looks, or Boris Karloff’s acting chops. He swept in with a cape and that cool-as-all-hell Eastern European accent and became a cinematic icon. Of course the heroin probably helped some too…

My mother always tells people that I look like John Travolta. I honestly don’t see it, although I do see some similarities. We’ve both struggled with our weight and he’s got dark hair and dark eye like I do. I could do worse with my own grooming. If Craig T. Nelson is the worst case scenario, John Travolta’s the best. Now that I think of it, it would be pretty fucking hilarious to sport a Vincent Vega from Pulp Fiction cut. If this works out, I’ve got my costume for Halloween next year!

Next we have…um… yeah. Right. Maybe I should get plugs, like Ben Affleck did.

Next we have Stan Lee's interpretation of the uber-widow's peak. I've read Spiderman comics since I was old enough to read and I've always been fascinated by the anatomically mysterious wonders that are Norman and Harry Osbornes' hair. WTF?!? This is just weird! And what are those strange hair ridges? Speed bumps? The really sad and scary thing is that, when I looked in the mirror this morning, the Osborne family hairline was the first thing to pop into my head. Excuse me while I shudder uncontrollably.

Finally, we’ve got the most likely of the outcomes. Although he was an idol of mine growing up, Butch Patrick’s widow’s peak is a bit too much to hope for. You have widow’s peaks, and then you have Eddie Munster’s widow’s peak. This is like Prince Valiant’s cut, or R. Lee Ermey’s flat top. Certain haircuts are iconic. And Butch rocked the widow’s peak like Eddie Van Halen rocked the guitar. Fuck yeah.

Maybe I’ll post some before and after pics… before I promptly cut it all off on Dec 13th.

SciFi Suckfest

Forgive me while I wax all geeky...

So I've been unusually annoyed with the SciFi Channel.

The SciFi Channel, and more specifically, their new series - Flash Gordon.

I'd been psyched about Flash Gordon ever since they'd started promoting it earlier in the year. They'd even managed to score the original Queen song for the promo's. And then I looked upon it and, lo, did it suck...

And I've seen it every week.

"Why have you watched it every week if its so damned crap-tastic?!?" you may be asking.

Well, there's various reasons , and the fact that I've been too lazy to delete it off of my DVR may be the most compelling. But there are other reasons for my pigheaded refusal to stop watching this insipid, vapid excuse for science fiction. Mainly - I keep hoping it will get better. And, like my sex life before I managed to meet a woman who wasn't repulsed by the sight of me naked, I continue to be disappointed.

And much of it can be placed squarely at the doorstep of the SciFi Channel. I have a love/hate relationship with the SciFi Channel. While they sometimes have some great shows, they also happen to have some of the worst fucking movies imaginable. If any movie is touted as a SciFi Channel original movie, run. Run for your very life. Run as though your very soul depended upon it.

In the last year or so, I can think of only one or two of the poorly CGI'd bags of cinematic shit they pass of as "original science fiction" that I actually enjoyed. Surprisingly, neither of these two had an overgrown, monstrous, poorly rendered snake or lizard in them. This is what SciFi Channel has been reduced to. Nameless teen actors in clunky, poorly cobbled together bad remakes of Anaconda - less the visage of a hot Jennifer Lopez in a wet t-shirt or Jon Voight with a bad Spanish accent.

And - for the record - the two films I did like were both Bruce Campbell vehicles - The Man With The Screaming Brain and Alien Apocalypse. They weren't particularly good, but they had Bruce. As Gundown, over at Zombie Squad once wrote:

"BRUCE CAMPBELL IS A GOD.... HE IS THE ONE TRUE LORD OF FILM. HIS HOLY TRINITY RULES ABOVE US ALL! AS RAMI STANDS TO HIS RIGHT AND ROMERO TO HIS LEFT, HIS WILL IS ENFORCED BY THE ANGEL OF VENGENCE - - KEVIN MOTHERFUCKING SMITH!"

Amen, brother Gundown. Amen.

So - anyway, why am I so frustrated by the SciFi channel, and Flash Gordon specifically?

Because it sucks. Duh.

Let me enumerate the suckage that it has:

- - While supposedly taking place in Maryland or Virginia - it looks like it was filmed in that old standby - Vancouver, Canada. Yeah, we get that its cheaper to film there. And I don't begrudge the producers saving some money. But for Chrissake's at least say it takes place in Seattle or some other nondescript Pacific Northwestern city. Hint: Maryland does not have Cascade or Rockies-like mountains on the horizon, dumb asses.

- - Flash is no longer a football star. Get this - - he's a marathon runner. And not even a famous one. He's the "3 time winner of the City Marathon". They actually try to use this as a pick up line in the first episode. "Hey baby, wanna make it with a tool who paid a $15 entry fee and got a free t-shirt for the local benefit run? You can help me pin on my race number (Wink, wink, nudge, nudge)."

- - Mongo just sucks. A soft filter on a camera does not an alien world make. And Ming is a smarmy guy who rules with an iron fist. Wait, oops! How silly of me, it's not an iron fist... it's by water rationing. That's right, he's an evil dictator who has a garden hose hooked up to a water purifier. Oooh! Scary! Idi Amin, Hitler, and Pol Pot got nothing on Ming the Merciless. Who needs genocide when you can give your subjugated masses cavities because they've got to drink well water instead of flouridated tap water?!? The horror!

- - The hawk men are normal, non-winged, muscular dorks with leather capes that can fly. Totally ignoring the physics and indescribably gay image of muscular men in leather capes flapping away into the night... you never actually see them fly on camera. You'd think SciFi would've sprung for a green screen and some of the same technology my local weather guy's been using for the last 40 years or so, huh? Not so, dear reader. Not so.

- - And there've been no significantly weird monsters on Mongo either. You've got some people in weird costumes (if silk on chicks, and leather on guys, and generic military uniforms and helmets on the Mongo Guard count as "weird"). And the occassional strange face painting. Even the latter Star Trek shows subscribed to the "give them some latex ridges or bumps or spots on their face to make them alien" philosophy. Flash Gordon's not even going that far.

- - What worked so well with the original Flash Gordon (and I'm counting the 1923's serials, the 1940's and 50's radio shows, the 1950's TV series, and even the Queen scored bag of win that was the 1980 movie) was that Flash, Dale and Hans Zarkoff were trapped on Mongo. Lost and adrift in a culture of wierd aliens and cutthroat palace intrigue, they fought with stereotypically plucky human resolve. Now we have "rift technology" where a wormhole opens up between Earth and Mongo and they have to make little day trips to save the universe. Again I blame the cheapness of the production, because it's obviously cheaper to keep the characters in faux-Maryland than to splurge on expensive sets. Whoever's in charge of the money at SciFi needs to stop hanging onto it likes it's his own. At the least, the accountants need to get punched in their junk because 90% of the whole goddamned show takes place on Earth. Dear dark Pagan gods - save us from the bean counters. Please.

- - And don't even get me started on Rankol - one of the bad guys who is supposed to be a creepy alien. Slapping a fake metal plate to the side of his head and hiding a Segway under his robes is absoultely fucking ridiculous. That's right - a Segway. The same thing my office mail guy uses because my company's campus covers over a mile of hallways.

I guess what makes me so mad about this show is that SciFi has such a great track record with their original series. This is the same channel that brought us some of the best and most innovative sicence fiction TV in years. From The Invisible Man series, to Farscape, and the Stargates: I've become accustomed to better quality from them. And the time is ripe for introducing a new, edgy science fiction show to their Friday night lineup. I mean look how successful other reimaginings of classic SciFi have been. Battlestar Gallactica, anyone? The Bionic Women? Doctor Who?

And I think I just figured out the problem. In the last paragraph I wrote "new, edgy..." and "innovative". Flash Gordon is everything but that. It's safe and would be more at home on a network channel and not cable.

But that's the problem with the Sci-Fi channel. They've never gotten the idea that they're CABLE. They've always watered down their movies and, now, apparently, they're watering down their programming. They should take the lead from FX and push the envelope. Sadly, they won't. They refuse to stop being safe because - and I've got this on good authority - the SciFi Channel hates me. That's right. The SciFi channel hates me and small children. Seriously.

But what what else would you expect from a channel that calls itself the SciFi channel and yet DOESN'T RUN STAR TREK in any of its past incarnations. When Spike, or G4 scoops you on the Star Trek, do you really have the street cred to call yourself the "SciFi" Channel?

I'm just saying...

Happy Halloween from Doctor Z.!

A Serial Killer's Genesis...

Not even done with my current novel and I'm thinking of my next. Not sure if this is the beginning of a new novel or a short stroy. Either way, I like the protaganist and there's a whole lot of Doctor Zombie in this character.

Interesting aside: I was at a luncheon at Cleveland State honoring myself and several other student writers who'd had essays published in a compilation when I struck up a conversation with another honoree named Allen. After he'd looked at my bio info in the book, he asked me how much of myself I put into the main character of my novel, North Coast Gothic. I always hate this question because, truthfully, every character I write has some of my DNA in them when I breath them into existance on the page. Like Pygmalion, I'm often startled by the life my characters take on after I create them. To me, they become real and I can hear their voices and see them in my mind. Their quirks, their idiosyncracies, their peculiarities of speech and dialect all become real. It reminds me of a vignette at the beginning of the classic Hammer films The House That Dripped Blood. In it, Denholm Elliot plays a horror writer who feels he's going mad because he begins to see and become stalked by the snaggle-toothed and wild-eyed killer he's created. I live with my characters when I'm writing and I honestly have conversations with them.

Is that crazy?

Anyway - I threw this together and I need to decide what to do with it after I finish the work on my current novel. And - yes! - this character seems much closer to me in personality and disposition than Tom, from NCG, did.

***
The sun wasn’t bright that day. It hid behind an endless expanse of curdled milk clouds, not even bothering to raise its head from beneath the covers of its black and grey bed. Alex was sitting there, thinking black thoughts and gazing at the Breakneck Creek far below him. It winded and twisted itself into the distance, fat and lazy like a molting barn snake. The dark sky gave the world a murky cast, and it was this murkiness that fueled the black thoughts Alex was thinking.

He reached into the bag beside him on the hard, unyielding stone bench he was seated upon and grabbed another piece of beef jerky. He put a jagged corner of the dried meat between his teeth and worried a bite free. Then he was struck with an idea.

He would become a serial killer.

Nothing had really prompted the thought, but once it had time to settle into his mind and make itself a home in there, he found that it was a very comfortable fit. He looked about himself at the manicured lawns that stretched and rolled downward, its green broken only by the varied shapes of tombstones that stuck up like black and gray mushrooms. The Evans City Cemetery in Evans City, Pennsylvania, was a little known place. But, to Alex, it was a wondrous place that would forever be famous for what had happened there many years earlier. It was this very same cemetery where, in 1966, George Romero filmed his immortal Night Of The Living Dead.

And Romero happened to be one of Alex’s favorite directors.

Alex knew many things about himself, but he knew one thing above else; he loved horror movies. He loved zombies, vampires, werewolves, ghouls, goblins, and all things dark, creepy, and horrific. He had grown 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 the local network affiliate. He was not a nostalgic man, but he mourned 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 was 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.
His love for horror movies was only the beginning of Alex’s eclectic tastes. His introduction at an early age to this genre helped shape his tastes now that he had reached manhood.
Simply said, he loved all things dark.

He was an odd man. On the surface, he was attractive. He had dark hair, angular features and cheekbones that could have stepped out onto a runway at any fashion show. Any attractiveness, though, was marred by his constant frown and choice in clothing. Today, he wore a pair of black Dr. Marten boots, black fatigue pants, a long sleeve Rob Zombie t-shirt, and a long black trench coat.

It went without saying that black was his favorite color.

Black clothes and a scowl weren’t the main reason for his off-putting qualities. It was mainly his incessantly dark and brooding personality that turned people off to him. He wore a perpetual air of gloominess like a velvet- brocaded cloak. It was this that repelled most of the normal people he met. In fact, this alone - when combined with his clothing - assured that the majority of society would never see him as ‘normal’.

And he was all right with that.

All of this explained why he was here in this particular cemetery. He made the pilgrimage to this, his own particular Mecca, every few weekends. It was only a few hours ride from his home in Ohio, and he came here in an attempt to absorb or touch some of the creative brilliance that
Mr. Romero surely must have left here all those years ago.

Perhaps that could explain why he had decided to become a serial killer. The particular combination of his own strange predilections and the mystical aura of the cemetery may have caused it; like the confluence of two dark rivers. Or perhaps he’d made some sort of psychic connection with the residual energy and genius of Romero that still, somehow, lingered in this country necropolis. Either way, Alex knew that one never questioned such things. It was of paramount importance to pursue such bursts of creative energy when they presented themselves, and Alex had no intention of ignoring it.

Just then, like the harsh scream of an injured cat, the sound of a child’s laughter intruded upon his reverie. He swung his head around and saw two children playing with a water pump a few feet away from where he sat. The pump had, undoubtedly, been put in the cemetery for watering plants and cleaning gardening tools. Now though, it served as a source of irresistible curiosity to the children. They were two boys, about 8 or 9 years old, and they were splashing each other with as expected childlike innocence, as it were. Some hundred or so feet away, a women and man that Alex assumed must be their parents, were tending a grave topped by a large, square, black headstone.

The pump fascinated the children. It was one of those old fashioned ones that you only saw in Westerns; the kind with the big handle that pumped the water up from some deep well or water table far underground where white, blind, and grotesquely plump creatures lived in perpetual darkness. When the boys began drinking from its gushing mouth, Alex actually opened his mouth to warn them, but them snapped it shut with an audible clack.

If he was going to be a serial killer, he mentally chastised himself; he’d have to stop thinking like a normal person.

If he weren’t a serial killer, he would have warned the kids that they might not have wanted to drink from a well beneath a cemetery. Instead, he affected what he thought was an almost reptilian coldness and made himself enjoy the idea that the boys were drinking water that undoubtedly had been tainted with the leeching of what lay above it. It was a deliciously morbid thought and Alex relished the imagery it conjured. Cannibalism was a very serial killer fascination. It’d worked for Dahmer in Wisconsin.

He adjusted his ass on the hard, unforgiving bench and turned back to thoughts of murder. All the famous serial killers had signatures or fetishes of some sort; some specifically murderous taste in victims that they preyed upon. Ted Bundy had liked pretty college girls, The Green River Killer liked prostitutes (and so had Jack the Ripper, for that matter. HE was one hell of a twisted bastard, Alex thought.), Dahmer liked Asian boys.

He’d need something. It’d take some more thought, Alex decided, although he was pretty sure it would be pretty girls like old Smiling Ted Bundy. He also found that he liked the idea of the infamy that might have come from becoming a serial killer. He saw himself as Death, cloaked in black with obsidian armor and a flaming sword like some almost inhumanly beautiful Manga character.

The overcast sky rumbled with coming thunder and there was a flash of lightning. The trees overhead swayed with a sudden wind like the rasp of beetles in a corpse. Far below, the creek churned brown and muddy in the growing dusk. With a sigh, Alex stood and brushed dust from the back of his trench coat.

At that moment, the parents of the children called to them, and the two boys scurried away, yelling and punching at one another like all young boys do. Alex watched them go, gnawing on his last piece of jerky and glaring balefully at the family.

Maybe he could kill them, he thought.

There was nobody else in the graveyard, and it would be appropriate to do it here. He almost smiled at the thought of the headlines in the paper. Grisly Murders Committed at Infamous Graveyard, they would read. It would be a fitting tribute to George. It would be worthy of this great place.

These thoughts, though, quickly turned to logistics. He had nothing to do the deed with. There was a rusty, bent tire iron in his trunk, but he wasn’t sure how to undo it from under the tire. Also, the children’s father looked like a pretty big guy. Alex knew that he himself was a pretty strong and wiry guy, but the father was morbidly obese. So was the mother, for that matter. And he wasn’t sure he could kill the kids. The thought of killing a child made him feel a little queasy. He hesitated, and saw that his calculations were pointless anyway. The family had begun piling into a newer Ford pickup as the first, fat drops of rain began to fall.

It was better off anyway, he thought as he stood there watching them drive off.

He wasn’t regretful that he’d let them go. In fact, he was glad he hadn’t been rash in killing the family. The murder and subsequent clean up would have taken longer than he’d wanted and he wanted to be back in Cleveland before midnight.

“I’m going to only kill someone who I’ve stalked,” he said aloud to himself. It seemed a better idea than random, unplanned violence. It was more appealing to hunt his prey. Besides, there was the forensics to think of. He thought himself smarter than the average person and knew he wouldn’t get caught - - but only if he planned and took the time to do things right. Yes, forensics would be a problem. It was something he’d need to seriously consider.

As he jogged to his dented Toyota Land Cruiser, dodging bigger and faster falling raindrops, he smiled in what he thought was a chilling manner.

He would be an exceptional serial killer.

***

Halloween is Here!

Check out this website....

I saw a preview for this when I went with Mrs. Zombie to see Saw IV on Friday. (My quick and dirty review: Same old Saw, just a different number after it... although the gore effects were fucking awesome! Especially the autopsy in the beginning. Realistic and beautifully gory!)

Anyway, I digress... So, this Fathom Events is doing a special 7:30 showing of Halloween 4 & 5 at my local theater. For $10, you get the two movies plus a special behind the scenes documentary. I think I may need to attend this.

If any regular, local readers see this before tomorrow, feel free to join the Doctor at the Willoughby Commons Regal cinema tomorrow night for some Michael meyers goodness!

Gods I love Halloween!!!