Freedom of the Mind

From bannedbookweek.com

Banned Books Week: Celebrating the Freedom to Read!

Banned Books Week is the only national celebration of the freedom to read. It was launched in 1982 in response to a sudden surge in the number of challenges to books in schools, bookstores and libraries. More than a thousand books have been challenged since 1982. The challenges have occurred in every state and in hundreds of communities. People challenge books that they say are too sexual or too violent. They object to profanity and slang, and protest against offensive portrayals of racial or religious groups--or positive portrayals of homosexuals. Their targets range from books that explore the latest problems to classic and beloved works of American literature.

According to the American Library Association, more than 400 books were challenged in 2007. The 10 most challenged titles were:

1. And Tango Makes Three by Justin Richardson and Peter Parnell
2. The Chocolate War by Robert Cormier
3. Olive’s Ocean by Kevin Henkes
4. The Golden Compass by Philip Pullman
5. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain
6. The Color Purple by Alice Walker
7. TTYL by Lauren Myracle
8. I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou
9. It’s Perfectly Normal by Robie Harris
10. The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky
(Click here to see why these books were challenged.)

During the last week of September every year, hundreds of libraries and bookstores around the country draw attention to the problem of censorship by mounting displays of challenged books and hosting a variety of events. The 2008 celebration of Banned Books Week will be held from September 27 through October 4.

Banned Books Week is sponsored by the American Library Association, the American Booksellers Foundation for Free Expression, the Association of American Publishers, the American Society of Journalists and Authors, and the National Association of College Stores. Banned Books Week is also endorsed by the Center for the Book of the Library of Congress.

Thank you for celebrating Banned Books Week!

The freedom to read what you want is, to Doctor Zombie, as precious and essential as any of the other freedoms afforded by the Bill of Rights. And I am absolutley horrified that - even today - there are still close-minded, evil, bastards out there who somehow feel it is their right to judge literature and tell others what they can and can't read.

It's similar to a situation a friend related to me recently. 5th grade - at least here in Ohio - is when they have 'the talk' with kids. The sex talk. They have a health class where they talk about how teen pregnancies occur and how best to avoid the whole situation. I should note that abstinence is taught, but not to the exclusion of other forms of birth control and STD prevention. The thing is - because it's not abstinence only education - there's still a percentage of parents who refuse to allow their children to attend the class.

In my mind - this borders on parental negligence. It's like those numbfucks who refuse to have their children immunized and then blithely send their infectious progeny off to school with no regard for herd immunity.

And it's these same morons who feel that Huckleberry Finn is just as dangerous as it apparently was in the 1950's.

I blame the legacy of King George Bush II administration. If that big-eared, c-student, fundie grotesquerie hadn't encouraged the other Fundies... maybe we wouldn't STILL HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT ASSHOLES TRYING TO BURN BOOKS.

Dude... it's the 21st century. Is our country ever going to be mature enough to look at literature as the gift it is; and not the devil's work?!?

So, in celebration of Banned Book Week, please take a moment to go to the website and read (or re-read) at least one of the books on the list.

Intellect freedom should never be surrendered to the evil of small-mindedness and moral ignorance.

Reading is freedom. Read.

Movie review - Gangs of the Dead (2006) {aka, Last Rites}

When there’s no more room in hell… exploitive, direct to DVD, racist and stereotypical crap will walk the earth.

That’s what I thought after sitting through the urban-horror outing of Gangs of the Dead. (Or Last Rites. At some point the title of the movie was changed from Last Rites to Gangs of the Dead. I suspect this was done because Last Rites is a retarded name for a zombie flick.)

Gangs of the Dead tells the story of a group of rival gangs (one black and one Hispanic) who get stuck in an isolated warehouse during a zombie event; this movie is a sad mixture of stereotypes and trite genre conventions. Boasting a cast of unknowns, this film could best be described as a poor remake of Night of the Living Dead. Except that, you know, it kind of sucked.

Now, I do want to say that – in the right hands – urban horror is a great offshoot of the genre. However, much of the recent attempts at it have failed miserably. Low budget, low brow affairs – like this and the craptastic Vampiyaz, Zombiez, and Bloodz Vs. Wolvez – serve only to make quick money as direct to video fare and, when the only people who are profiting are the DVD distributors, you know the filmmaking is always a secondary consideration. It’s like the Blaxploitation films of the 60’s and 70’s… only Blackula, Dolamite, and Shaft were memorable and had redeeming social value By that I mean, these earlier films showed strong African American characters who didn’t take shit from the white establishment and fought against the entrenched and institutionalized racism of the time. Does Gangs if the Dead aspire to such lofty heights? Thirty years from now, will Quentin Tarantino wax orgiastic about Gangs of the Dead?

I don’t think so. Not so much.


Oh how I long for the simpler beauty and grace of Wes Craven’s urban horror masterpiece, The People Under the Stairs.

(I should also add that it makes me cringe to have to write those stupid, contrived, BEV'ified movie names. "Yo! Doctor Zombiez movie reviewz in the houze!" All I'm saying is that every time someone ends a word with a 'z, when it should be an 's', said someone deserves to burn to death in a fire.)

So the zombie epidemic in this film is triggered by a meteorite. To which, I’d like to add, Jesus Titty-Fucking Christ! I am getting so tired of this explanation/origin for zombies! Enough already! We get it! You watched NOTLD and feel it necessary to establish that you’re somehow a fan of George A Romero’s masterpiece. Aarrrgghh! I can feel a goddamned aneurysm coming on!

I’ve said this before and I’ll say it until I’m blue in the face. (Errmmm… I mean bluer than my already vivid undead blue tint; but that’s beside the point.) The fact is… I don’t need to have it explained to me how the dead are rising from the grave to eat the living. All I need to see is the gore and lip-smacking, brain-chomping, blood-squirting goodness.

Anyway, there’s a meteor. It crashes in Los Angeles and turns a group of homeless, fundamental Christians into zombies. They trap the main characters in a warehouse where the survivors pair off into their respective stereotypes. We have the black gang, who are surprisingly free of stereotypes and are the heroes of the film. We have the Hispanic gang run by a brutish Chollo of epic, stereotypical proportions. We have two cops that were about to bust the gangs before the shit went all zombie-like, but are now there simply to be poorly acted stereotypes of racist cops. There’s a couple of chicks attached to the gangs, and a cowardly, ultra-white, fat, “I-can’t-believe-I’m-here-with-all-of-these-varying-shades-of- brown-people!” weather guy who took a wrong turn on his way into the hood and/or barrio to score some coke.

All of the characters, with the exception of the black gang, are violent, stupid, selfish, and stereotypical; which goes to show that – even amongst the black writers and directors of this piece of disposable horror – racism is alive and well. Unbelievable.

But enough about the social aspects of this movie… let’s talk about how it went as a zombie flick. Again, I’ve got to say I wasn’t that impressed. The makeup was passable, especially on the featured zombies. The extras makeup looked like something that a high school drama club production might produce. Gore is good, but much of it was CGI’d, and CGi’d poorly. Which is sad - the best part of this movie could be found in the quality of the digital work. Especially with the meteorite effects. The CGI guy on this film did a good job(I should add that, truthfully, I’ve no idea who the CGI guy was, and I don’t really have the energy to IMDB it. There’s an inverse relationship between my willingness to do research on a movie and how badly it sucked. In this case, I’ll be doing little to no research. Don’t blame me; blame the production company, writer, and director who delivered this steaming pile of crap to my Netflix queue.)

Anyway, the effects for the meteor were actually really well done, but that is then marred by how bad the explosions, head shots, and other visual effects are. The lame story and lame effects were somewhat redeemed by the acting. This really surprised me, considering how most low-budget horror films really, really suffer in this area. In this case, the actors did an admirable job with the offal they had and the actors actually made it almost bearable to watch. Almost. But even a dream cast of Sir Laurence Olivier, Kenneth Branagh, Gary Oldman, Meryl Streep, and John Malkovich could only do so much with a bad script, short-sighted direction, and a moronic stringing together of thoughts and ideas. What I’m saying is, in the vernacular of the peasantry, you can’t polish a turd.

Also…

That is, I…

Ummm...

You know what? I’m done. I’ve got nothing else to say about this film, other than it sucked. It was a zombie film, which doesn’t make it a negative. When compared to Day of the Dead 2, or some of the other lame attempts at the zombie genre out there, it was slightly above the pack -- but not by much. All in all, it was forgettable.

Would I watch it again? No. Do I feel that I wasted an hour and a half of my life? Not really. Was it an Uwe Boll caliber crap-fest? Hells, no.

So… I guess it’s all right if you’ve got nothing else to watch and are dying for some zombie action. Just don’t expect it to be Evil Dead.

Doctor Zombie’s Rating: 2 out of 5 Chomped Brains.

Movie Review - The X-Files: I Want to Believe (2008)

I just returned from a showing of the newest X-Files movie. It says quite a bit about how my life has changed in that I waited this long to see it. It finally hit the local dollar cinema just this week and I made sure I saw it before it passed. The thing is - the economy is tight and neither Mrs. Zombie, nor myself can justify the cost of first run movies at the regular cinema. A movie needs to be something spectacular to make the cost worth it… and I find it saddens me that this movie falls into the category of wait-able.

By the way, this won’t be a usual movie review for me. I won’t be rating this film, and I’m not even sure what I’m going to write about it. I just wanted to articulate some of the feelings I have about it and at least get some thoughts down. It may very well be incoherent and not strictly adhere to accepted grammatical rules… but I wanted to write something while it was still fresh.

I guess I need to preface all of this with a confession of sorts. I saw this movie at the absolute worst time of the year. You see, it’s fall; and fall always, always, always fills me with an almost unbearable sense of nostalgia and melancholy. I think it’s the fact that it’s my favorite season, and it is so intimately tied to some of the best times of my life. Fall was the time I returned to school, and it’s the time of football games, and friends, and Halloween. I almost always struck with a weighty and stifling sense of longing for the past, but that longing is juxtaposed with a feeling that my life is in an uncontrollable, headlong dash forward. Every fall reminds me that I’m one year older and one year farther away from those times I so achingly remember.

And this movie has made that feeling overwhelming.

The X-Files was one of those things that so dominated my past life. And when I say past life, I refer to my life before marriage, and before kids. I wouldn’t change my life for anything, and I am so grateful and happy that I have such a good life, a great job, and such a beautiful family. But that doesn’t in any way mitigate the time-softened feeling of freedom I had after college and before I got married. And the X-Files was an essential part of that. The X-Files came out when I was in college and was there for me, EVERY FRIDAY NIGHT, until a year or two after I got married. Even through the dark years of no Mulder, through the inexplicable shark-jumping introduction of Doggett and Reyes, and even through the death of the Lone Gunmen… The X-Files was there. All parties, all weekend shenanigans, and all social events could not commence until after 10pm on Friday night. Like a house frau with her favorite soap opera, I was wrapped up in the twitching anticipation of when Mulder and Scully were going to realize that they were meant to be together.

And it is through this nostalgic rear view mirror that I find myself judging this movie. And I may be judging it too harshly because of it. I don’t know. I’m having trouble sorting out my personal feelings from any objective view of the film.

So – my impressions of the movie is that it left me wanting. It had been billed as a departure from the prior X-Files movie (Fight The Future). Whereas the prior film was very rooted in the conspiracy mythos of the series, this one was touted as a stand alone; or one of the ‘Monster of the week” episodes. Truthfully… those were my favorites. The weird investigative shit was so much cooler than the black oil, faceless alien bounty hunters, Smoking Man, and Alien/Human hybrid storylines. Not to say I didn’t love the conspiracy episodes; but it was the standalone episodes that showed the true brilliance of Chris Carter. They always had the right mix of horror, paranoia, and creepy chills to please even the most hardened horror and sci-fi fan. The episodes like Ice, and Flukeman, and the fucked up one with the inbred mutant living under the bed are the undeniable pleasures of the series.

The problem with the argument that it was a standalone, monster of the week-type story was that to say so is a complete lie. I Want to Believe is less a monster movie or a monster of the week and more of a return visit to some old friends. There was no monster, only a psychic for Mulder to obsess over and some Russian doctors doing experiments that are Frankenstienian, but not outside of the realm of believability. What I’m saying is it was less science fiction than even the tamest of series episodes. The gore was mild; a severed arm here, a couple poorly sculpted severed heads there. It was like checking in on some old friends you hadn’t seen in years… only to find that they’ve moved on and you haven’t.

Character-wise, it was a pastiche of all the established X-Files clichés; but exaggerated and somehow made bittersweet. Scully and Mulder are still together, and very much in love (which pleases me), but their dynamic is changed. Mulder is the same Mulder and still looking for conspiracies and the paranormal almost slavishly. Scully’s character though, has changed and become what she once was – the disbeliever. She’s a doctor at a Catholic hospital now and she’s returned to the way she was before the series started. She’s skeptical, cold, and disbelieving. And she is struggling with her faith so much that it was the central theme of the movie. Which is hard to understand because, when the series ended, I liked how she had - given all she had seen and done - struck a balance between her faith and the paranormal world that she had come to accept. Now she’s gone completely the other way. And they are both still hurting and living with the pain of losing their son William.

That’s not to say it was a bad movie. I liked that it was like a reunion with old friends, and that they were still – at their core – the same people I’d come to love like my own family. And the movie did a wonderful job of being about their relationship, and their lives after the end of the series. But it wasn’t what made the X-Files great. There was so little X-Files in it, I might as well have been watching Without a Trace: The Movie.

So – what am I saying? I don’t really know. I liked it as one would a good movie. And there were times I was struck with the feeling one might have when they reconnect with an old flame. To see Duchovny and my beloved Gillian Anderson on screen together again was gratifying… but afterwards there’s a sense of regret.

To extend the metaphor - as you lie there besides your old lover, as the sweat cools on your body, and as the sad and poignant feelings of ennui and nostalgia descend - you know it can never be as good as it once was.

I still want to believe.

The Best of Doctor Zombie

So, I've been thinking of putting together some of my funnier posts, polishing them, and maybe trying to publish them as a collection of humorous glimpses into the shame and embarassment that is my life. I'll need to look at what I have, and maybe scrap the whole idea, but I thought I'd give it a try.

So this post is just a series of links to some of the things I've written over the last few years (and not as often as I should) that I think are funny.

And, as an aside, I'll probably put a link of this over under 'My Writings' as sort of a "Who's Doctor Zombie and What Does He Write about?" introduction for new visitors.

Which reminds me, I should probably put up a Doctor Zombie FAQ. Maybe this post will turn into that as well. I'm not sure at this point...

So, if you're a long time reader, feel free to ignore this post. Or go back and look at some of the things I've already written... maybe I can make you laugh again.

Anyway... on with the links...

Fundie Baiting (Nov 2005)
Murderous Thoughts (Dec 2005)
A Groovy Commercial (Dec 2005)

A True Story (Feb 2006)
Fatherhood (Feb 2006)
What Is This Evil? (Mar 2006)
Too Much Information (Mar 2006)
Poor Judgement (Mar 2006)
Dogs of the Living Dead (Mar 06)
Wacky Celebrities (May 06)
Ask and you Shall Receive... (May 06)
The Same Deep Water As You (May 06) *NOTE: Not funny, just well written.
God I Hate Summer (May 06)
Barbarians on the Border (June 06)
Debauchery (July 06)
One of Those Days (Aug 06)
Watch Out for Evil Undead Raccoons (Aug 06)
...With Some Fave Beans and a Nice Chianti (Sept 06)
Riding the Bus (Oct 06)
Groan... (Oct 06)
Furry Raccoon Bastards - Part II (Dec 06)

Where's Winter? (Jan 07)
Drinking Tips (July 07)
Vox Deus (July 07)
The Curse of the Widow's Peak (Nov 07)
Meatpie Anyone? (Nov 07)
Did You Get the Flowers I Sent? (Dec 07)

The Unending Carnival of Shame (Jan 08) NOTE: I get more compliments on this piece then any other one on the site. All the friggin' time, I have people who regularly read my blog mention how much they loved this one particular post above all others. Not sure what that says... or whether or not they know that it is only partially true...
The Name... is Dalton! (Mar 08)
It's All Wolf Girl's Fault (May 08)
Adventures in Northeast Ohio (Jun 08)

Feed the Trolls!

I’m a firm believer that one should never feed trolls, but the other day I received this lovely comment out of the blue. It was based on my review of 28 Weeks Later.

I cannot beleive you gave this beautiful movie 2/5 and you give Day of the Dead 2008 the same mark
Your a crackhead.
Anonymous

Interestingly, this is the first time I’ve received this sort of feedback and, truthfully, the troll amused me. In the interest of full disclosure, here’s my response:

Dear anonymous,
Ahhhh! The anonimity of the internet... it gives voice to all the myriad morons who somehow think their voice is important! Next time, be less of a coward and sign your name. And, while you're at it, maybe you can use the crackling, weakly firing neurons in that vast empty space between your ears to formulate an actual literate sentence... one that explains why you think 28 Weeks Later was a better movie. Until then - fuck off, coward.

Oh! And let me help you here... it's spelled 'believe' not 'beleive', and 'you're' is the proper contraction for 'you are' -- not 'your'. Normally I'm not a grammar Nazi, but your extreme idiocy has grated upon my grammatical nerves.
Please do us all a favor; go back to your kiddie porn sites, spank one out to some poor exploited Malaysian kid, and let the adults continue their conversation.
xoxo,
Dr. Z

The thing is, this has kind of been on my mind for the last few days. No, not the grunting and atavistic monkey-sounds the Anon left. His abhorrent stupidity is inconsequential; what’s been on my mind is that I’ve never really explained what I base my movie ratings on.

The thing is – it’s a wholly subjective criteria. My comment to Anony-dork was true to the extent that the Internet has given voice to the multitudes, no matter how painfully dumb they may be. And that applies to me as well. My opinions are my opinions, and my voice should carry no more weight than that of any of the other bazillion web denizens who are screaming raucously into the ether void.
And I can’t tell you that I have a checklist I run through whenever I watch a movie for review. I don’t have a magical or logical scale that assigns a statistically sound rating to any movie I review.

Seriously. I don’t. I’m not smart enough to do anything like that. I’m just a dork with most of an English degree that just happens to have an unnatural love for horror movies.

What I can tell you is that I rate every movie based on my own criteria. For instance, in the case of 28 Weeks Later, I judged that movie based solely upon my expectations. Now – Mrs. Zombie will be the first to tell you that I am notoriously hard on sequels – but I feel very strongly that a sequel should build on the original. Otherwise – don’t fucking bother (that’s right AVP and AVP: Requiem – I’m looking at you!).

With 28 Weeks Later – it received the rating it did because it was very much a disjointed, predictable, action flick. It lacked the brilliance and horror of the original. It foreswore a great idea for an action movie with thinly veiled anti-American sentiment. It received the rating because it was a sub par movie.

It’s not to say it didn’t have its high points… it was visually stunning and the intro was fucking awesome. But the highs were far outnumbered by the lows.
Day of the Dead 2008, on the other hand, received the rating it did because it sucked through and through. I was not expecting much from it, and it didn’t disappoint. It was a big bag of crap. 28 Weeks was just a disappointment.

The reviews are independent of one another.

So – what am I saying? Well the key is to realize that I write my reviews with the hope that I can make a difference to someone who is on the fence. I understand that there will be those that disagree (like Anonymous – bless his poor, retarded heart) and I welcome their disagreement. I also fancy myself something of an expert on the genre of zombie flicks – so I think I have a grasp on it. Or at least I hope.

And Anonymous? I know Anonymous – and you are no Anonymous.

Movie Review – The Lost Boys: The Tribe (2008)

Huh?!? I waited 20 years for this?!?

That was my initial thought after sitting through this latest attempt to rape my childhood. I promised myself that I wouldn’t watch this when it came out. I swore I wouldn’t be sucked into a sequel to a movie that was an essential and inescapable part of my high school life. Dear dark gods! How I wanted to be Michael from the Lost Boys. I grew a mullet like him, I pierced my ear like him, I even bought a leather jacket and took to wearing wayfarer sunglasses at night. The girl I dated all through high school would call me Michael, and I’d call her Starr. We’d answer the door and say, “…and you must be Max.” Jesus… I still have two or three songs from the soundtrack on my iPod right now. Seriously.

And I was going to hold firm, dammit. I was NOT going to see what was certain to be a horrible movie. And then I started watching the reality show, The Two Coreys. I got sucked into it and actually broke down when I saw that Fel-dog and the Haimster and the other Frog brother, Jason Newlander, were going to be in the sequel. So, when it came up, I put it on my Netflix queue.

Yeah, I knew that Haim’s a slow motion, slurring, chain-smoking, dope-addicted train wreck. And I knew that he was only going to be in a couple of scenes, but I actually convinced myself that Feldman is actually a reasonable guy and wouldn’t commit career suicide or risk whatever legacy he might have. In other words, I bought into the fake reality that is their reality show.

Boy was I disappointed.

The Lost Boys: The Tribe is, essentially, a modernized remake of the original Lost Boys. It started out with some promise. Some surfers sneak onto an ocean-side estate to surf at night. The estate, owned by a vampire played in a surprising cameo by Tom Savini, confronts the surfers with the intention of having a late night snack. Unfortunately, the surfers are the new Lost Boys and quickly turn the tables on Savini as they dog-pile him, kill him, and rip his head off.

Cool! I thought, Awesome gore and an even better cameo… this might actually be good.

From there, we roll into the credits and it’s similar to the beginning of the original Lost Boys with scenes of street people, alternative types, and tattoos aplenty. However, where in the original it was kind of cool and alternative and Santa Carla had the look of a cool place to live; this time it looks like the walking dead, white trash, and drug addicts that can be found in the seedier parts of any big city. I did have to laugh when they had a quick shot of a guy standing on a corner playing a saxophone… it looked to be the same guy who was performing on the beach when Michael meets Starr in the original, right down to the leather pants and long hair… only he’s no longer oiled and buff with muscles. Now he’s old, wrinkled, and sports a potbelly.

The story is simple, a brother and sister move to a new town to live with a batty aunt after the death of their parents in a car accident. The brother, Chris Emerson (played by Tad Hilgenbrek), is an ex-pro surfer who got kicked off the pro-circuit for fighting and his sister, Nicole (Autumn Reeser), end up moving into a rat-hole house. They go to a party on their first night; where they run into the Lost Boys, lead by another ex-surfer turned vampire – Shane. Shane is played by Keifer Sutherland’s little brother, Angus.

Shane takes a liking to Nicole. She drinks his blood, starts to become a vampire, and Chris needs to save her. He hooks up with Edgar Frog, who happens to be living in town, and they go fight and kill the Lost Boys, saving Nicole.
Like I said – this movie is an updated, remake of the original. Feldman basically walks around in his old costume, spouting entire lines of dialogue from the original. The fact that Sam and Chris’ last name is Emerson is never mentioned (I’m assuming they must be the kids of Michael and Starr… but it’s never made clear or mentioned, besides the fact that Nicole has long brown hair and is ‘the spitting image’ of her mother.). The story alludes to Edgar having lost his own brother, Allan, to vampires. The only appearance of Allan comes in the special features as an alternative ending where Allan, now a “Master Vampire” is coming to get Edgar. As the credits roll, we’re treated to a showdown between Edgar and a vampire Sam, but that’s all of about 30 seconds.

And here is where my main gripe with this movie is. The writers and director made this movie that is a watered down remake, but then – as an afterthought – added the bits with Haim, Feldman, and Newlander. And the bits they added (or decided to delete) hint at a great story. For me, the movie should have been about what’s happened to the characters of Sam, Edgar, and Allan in the 20 years since the death of Max and his original band of Lost Boys. Somewhere in there; Sam and Allan have become vampires, Starr and Michael have married and had kids, and Edgar has carried on slaying vampires despite the devastating loss of his brother to the enemy. That’s the fucking story I want! Not some rehash with a bunch of pretty people whose sole acting contributions consist of guest appearances on One Tree Hill and the OC!

And – although Haim has become a walking E! True Hollywood Story – his parts were good. Feldman was the shining star of the cast. What pains Doctor Zombie the most is the potential there. Aaarrrgghh!

And, as for the other characters - the head vampire Shane wandered around half shaved, with long hair, and a fey voice. I suspect he and Haim will share a stint in rehab at some point because he delivered all of his lines as if he were stoned or drunk. And – this may just be me – but the actors who played Chris and Nicole Emerson were both good… but they had a really strong chemistry between each other. Normally, this is a good thing for actors and actresses to have – but not when they’re playing brother and sister. Seriously…I kept expecting them to kiss each other. It was like Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt in Mr. and Mrs. Smith chemistry. There was a scene where Nicole’s standing in a towel, talking to him, and I was certain they were going to get totally incestuous. Creepy! I got the shudders thinking about it!

So – what’s the final verdict? Doctor Z.’s gotta say – pass on it. Pull out your copy of the original Lost Boys and revel in the sheer 80’s awesomeness and save yourself the frustration of watching a sequel that could have been great, but was more than happy being simply less than mediocre. Rating-wise, I’m giving it a 2 out of 5 only because Haim had some great, funny lines. There were also some great gory scenes and gratuitous nudity, which I’m always happy to see, but the script and acting sucked… literally. (Get it? The script sucked?!? That’s a vampire joke…get it? Oh, never mind…)

Doctor Zombie’s Rating: 2 out of 5 Chomped Brain

Movie Review – George A. Romero’s Diary of the Dead (2007)

George Romero’s triumphant return to the horror genre that he created is truthfully –only slightly triumphant. After all of the anticipation, and all of the whinging on my part that Ohio had only one theatrical showing of Diary of the Dead (in Columbus – 2 hours away!) I finally secured a copy on DVD and sat down to watch it with some popcorn, the lights out, and a giddy feeling in my stomach. After viewing it, I’ve got to say I was a bit underwhelmed.

The movie is told in the cineme verite style of The Blair Witch Project, or Cloverfield and is told from the point of view of several college film students. While out in the woods filming a low budget Mummy movie, they hear a radio report of strange attacks. The soon find themselves in the midst of the zombie apocalypse and the film is related as they see it through their own cameras.

In terms of the behind the camera point of view, Romero does a great job of making it much more polished and herky-jerky than the nausea-fests Blair Witch and Cloverfield represented, but it lacks the realism that the prior two films had and excelled at. At several points in the film – especially when they understand that they are truly being attacked by the living dead, they stand by as zombies approach, rolling the film.

From an acting standpoint, and as expected, most of the actors and actresses were pretty, young, and forgettable. A quick perusal of IMDB shows that none of them have any sort of extensive acting resumes - - and their inexperience shows through. The acting was stilted and most of their lines were delivered poorly. The only stand outs were the character of Debra Moynihan, as played by Michelle Morgan, and the alcoholic, bitter, nihilistic film professor (Scott Wentworth). Debra plays the ex-girlfriend of the protagonist and, although she plays the character as overly bitchy and angry, she far surpasses her peers in acting ability and I expect to see great things from her.

So – what did Romero do well? Well, despite my apparent disdain for the movie – it was still a Romero zombie film. And nobody – and I mean nobody – does zombies as well as George does. Visually, there were some great things here. The opening scene, where a news crew rolls up on a fatal domestic, is brilliant. The terror is palpable as the deceased combatants tear their way out of their body bags and attack the EMT’s and the news crew itself. Additionally, there were some great zombie killings. As they roll through Pittsburgh, the main characters run into a group of African-Americans who’ve fortified and dug in. There’s some great suspense as one of the survivors' now undead members stalks all in an abandoned industrial complex. And, when he is finally cornered, he’s killed with acid and I’ve got to say it was one of the best effects of the movie.

Romero also has a knack for creating memorable, almost iconic characters. In Night of the Living Dead, there was Ben – a black man in post Civil rights, rural Pennsylvania protecting himself and others; in Dawn, you had Peter. In Day of the Dead, you had the awesomeness that was Captain Rhodes; and in Land of the Dead, you had Charlie – the mentally disabled, burn-scarred Alvin York of Romero’s post-apocalyptic world. What makes these characters great is that they are a juxtaposed mingling of flaws and nobility. They are characters who have depths that are only hinted at. Romero follows through in this film with the Professor’s character, but the true icon from this movie is the deaf, Amish farmer and bad-ass – Joshua. I won’t ruin it for you, but I will say that scythes rock!

Also – the later scenes at a mansion they end up at are great; especially the pool scene. Again, it’s something you’ll need to see, but it’s great. There is an over-reliance on computer animation in this film, just like in Land of the Dead, but I was disappointed to see it. Yes, Doctor Z. gets that it’s cheaper to do CGI head shots; but they’re obviously fake and computer generated. There’s a difference between CGI and a good, well placed blood squib. Call me a purist or old school, but I like to see some real effects and splatter… not something plugged in as an afterthought in post-production.

As for Romero’s trademark social commentary – it’s here, but it’s not as resonant as it was in prior living dead films. Romero spends the movie commenting on the “media”-fication of our society and our reliance on new technology and the globalization it’s brought. It’s an indictment on a world filled with cell phones, and YouTube, and 24 hour media coverage. And I get the sense he’s also condemning Gen Y’s reliance on the same. He spends the movie criticizing his young, selfish filmmaker characters – but it rings untrue and, honestly, sort of hypocritical. The characters are doing the same thing he did back in 1968 in Evansville PA. And I guaran-damn-tee that, if the zombies rose up then, he’d have spent what little time he had filming the fall of humanity.

So – what’s Doctor Z’s overall appraisal of Diary of the Dead? It was still a zombie flick, and it was done by the father of the genre. Despite its flaws, it was still compelling and moved along at a good pace. The effects were good, the camera work was good, and the zombies were out-fucking-standing. All of this – however – was marred by the bad acting and the characters themselves. I truthfully didn’t care about them like I did past Romero characters. They were unlikable archetypes. But, despite that, it’s still good escapist fun.

My hope was that, when George was allowed to go back to his roots and do some guerilla filmmaking, he’d turn out something visceral and powerful. I have to say I was disappointed. In fact, I’d have to go out on a limb and say that I liked Land of the Dead better. Which says a lot, I think. It’s still a must see, and it’s still got some awesome zombie action, but it’s definitely in the bottom of my ranking as far as Romero’s Holy Quintet goes. Fortunately, he will have the chance to redeem himself. Word is that he will begin filming of Diary of the Dead 2 in September. We’ll have to see. So – as a zombie fan and a lover of all things Romero – I recommend Diary of the Dead.

Let me put it this way, even Romero’s worst zombie film is a hundred times better than most of the other low budget, low rent crap out there that passes as zombie films today. Every modern zombie filmmaker needs to bend a knee and kiss Romero’s ring. So; see it, own it, add it to the collection – just don’t expect it to be more than it is…

Doctor Zombie’s Rating: 3 1/2 out of 5 Chomped Brains

I'm such a 10 year old...

I absolutely can't stop laughing at this picture.



I don't know why it's so funny... it just is. Whether it's the onomatopaeic qualities, or just the fact that it's a perfect encapsulation of what the picture should sound like. It's comic genius. I'm seriously sitting in my cube and having trouble breathing because I'm trying not to laugh outloud, lest my cubemates think I'm suffering some sort of psychotic breakdown. Oh god. it hurts.

Oh, jeez... I just laughed so hard a little pee came out...

***In way of giving proper photo credits... the poster was gratuitously stolen from Zombie Squad's Motivational Poster thread, and it was created by super mod /crazy Welshman, Brash.

Crap! Where've I Been?!?

So yeah... I've been away for a month. Where'd the time go?

I'd like to say that I've been gone because I've been off on a secret mission for the CIA, or something cool like that. But, alas, it's been much more mundane than all that.

Let's see... I've been working, working, working; and I've had no time to post up here. Truth be told, things are tight with the economy and Dr. Z's had to get himself a second job. So, when I'm not working for the man as a corporate drone during the week... I'm working double shifts on the weekends at our local hospital.

That's right, Doctor Z's a security guard. I've got a uniform, with a badge, a radio, and some keys...

It's not as glamorous as mall security, but it's got it's excitement.

I get to babysit psych patients, manhandle Saturday night drunks, roust the homeless from the hospital chapel, and... here's the best part.. I get to carry, check in, and check out bodies from the morgue.

That's right, folks. I somehow always end up with the dead bodies. It's the burden of being Doctor Zombie I guess.

So that's part of the reason I haven't been posting as much. The other's just plain laziness.

So... just some quick thoughts off the top of my head....

Movies: I haven't seen half of the movies I wanted to see because I've been so busy with work. No X-Files, no Hellboy. I did see Dark Knight and it was every bit as good as I'd heard. "Wanna see a magic trick?" is my new favorite quote! I've also been doing the dollar movies thing lately becauxse it's cheaper, but every flick I've seen I've taken WolfGirl or Zombie Boy to see... so I've seen Speed Racer, Prince Caspian, and Iron Man (for the second time). If there's anything I lament about my new, busy work life; it's my inability to see good quality movies. I did get a copy of Romero's Diary of the Dead finally. I'll be posting a review of it soon...

What else? Hmmm... Oh yeah! A friend at work loaned me Seasons One and Two of the Venture Bros. My god! This is the greatest cartoon of all time!!! If you haven't seen it yet, please please please check it out. You won't regret it...

Finally, last night was the first pre-season game for my beloved Clevleand Browns. Yeah... it sucked. Our first team came out and kicked ass and took names. Brady Quinn did a good job besides throwing an interception, and even recovered from that to march the ball down field for a TD. (I'm still not convinced that Quinn is the god-like figure many here in Cleveland paint him to be. Derek Anderson is a hell of a quarterback and his showing last season has earned him the first position... no matter how many whinge that Quinn is like Brian Sipe incarnated.) What else did I want to say about the Browns? Let's see, the second half sucked ass and if Ken Dorsey NEVER plays again, I'll be happy. He threw 15 incomplete passes - IN A ROW. Eight of those were to receivers in the damned end zone. Grrrrr... Oh well, it's preseason, and the first stringers looked good. This is the year... I can feel it...

Anyway, gotta go. I'll post more next week, I promise...

Cheating Death Part III

So I've been my usually irreverent, flippant self about this whole motorcycle accident.

I had a cold dose of reality tonight.

I spent Sunday and part of tonight working on getting my Harley back together. Believe it or not, I was able to cludge and futz it back together. I honestly spent a grand total of $3.44 at Lowe's hardware getting bolts and washers. (I will freely admit I may have gotten stainless steel hardware, and written the zinc product numbers on the bag - - but I know I'm still under $10.)

So I got the bike back together and decided to take a run over to my buddy Snake's shop.... to just give the bike a shakedown after the accident. Snake owns SS Customs in Kirtland Ohio and he is a mechanical and designing genius when it comes to choppers and cars. He's also one of the coolest guys in the world - - he'd literally give you the shirt off of his back. Make sure you check out his site. It's over there in my links (SS Customs stands for Sick Shit Customs, by the way). In fact, if you look carefully, you'll find pictures of Dr. Zombie over there from various gatherings and on my bike - - but you've got to look closely.

Anyway, I stop in to see Snake and he had some bad news for me. Seems I'm not the only guy to have wrecked lately. I was just a shit load more lucky.

Snake's business partner, Dennis (who we call Cowboy) and Snake were coming back from dinner one night on their bikes about three weeks ago. Snake and another buddy got stuck at a light and Cowboy went on up State Route 6. While Snake and the other guy waited at the light, a woman crossed the center line and hit Cowboy head on.

Snake rolled up a couple minutes later to find Cowboy's Harley Deuce in pieces and Cowboy in pieces too.

Snake held Cowboy by the side of the road while he screamed and bled, then rode with him on the life flight helicopter to Cuyahoga County Metro Health Emergency.

Cowboy lived, but they had to amputate his left leg at the knee.

That - - for lack of a better word - - fucking sucks.

Dennis is a good guy, and you hate to hear about this kind of stuff. It's especially hard when it's someone you know. Add to that the fact that I had what is in all reality a very minor motorcycle accident - - but it also makes me realize how lucky I was.

I came home after hearing about it and gave Mrs. Zombie a hug and apologized for scaring her so much on Friday and let her know that I really understand how big a bullet I dodged.

And I did ride with a helmet tonight. It seemed only right.

On a positive note, Snake says that Dennis is doing good and should actually be out of the hospital in a couple weeks. He's got a lot of therapy and needs to relearn how to walk with a prosthetic leg... but he's already said he will keep riding.

He also insists he's no longer Cowboy. His new name is going to be Peg-Leg Dennis, or something sufficiently pirate-like.

Here's hoping to a quick recovery, brother Dennis...

Cheating Death Part II

And the documenting of my Motorcycle accident goes on!

Day two of the swollen angry thigh from hell!!!

Fear the bruise! Fear my angry bruise! Muwahahahah!




Don't mind the gratuitous shot of my Spiderman underwear...

Cheating Death

So - I figured I'd post this here because I know a lot of my friends get information about me through my site.

So - I was rushing home yesterday night (Friday 6/20) because it was mine and Mrs. Zombie's 10 year anniversary. We were having our families over for a small cookout and I wanted to get there so I could help out.

So - - I'm coming up State Route 84 on my Harley...doing about 25 or 30. I was accelerating up to 35 and - truthfully - I was winding up to it pretty quick.

That's when the guy in front of me - with out of state plates - slams on his brakes.

That's right, folks...

I wrecked my Harley.

I locked up my brakes and tried to swing out around him, but there wasn't enough room. I slammed into the back of this guy's 1984 Chevy. Since he managed to jam his brakes enough to stop and then proceed to go forward again - - I think it lessened my impact some. I flipped up and over my handlebars.

What's amazing is that I actually managed to not bash my skull on anything. Looking back - I know what saved me - years of aikido training. I went over the handlebars and all of my martial arts training, muscle memory, whatever.. kicked in. I tucked and rolled on the road and popped back up to a kneeling position. Just in time to see the Harley slam to the ground and skid to a stop a few feet away, the throttle winding up with a horrid roar.

I got up and limped over to the bike just as the guy who stopped in front of me got out of his car with a terrified look on his face.

Shaking from the adrenaline and excitement, I looked at him and said, "Are you okay?" Like he wasn't all safe and comfy in his heavy, Detroit made box, like he was somehow going to get injured by my flipping over the handle bars of my bike.

The guy behind me also got out. They helped me get my Harley up, popped into neutral, and rolled to the side of the road. After assuring all around that I was, in fact, fine, I pushed my bike down a block and parked it.

Then I had to call Mrs. Zombie.

The horror of almost dying, the horror of watching my beloved Harley skid across the ground, the shaking sick-to-my-stomach-because-I'm-coming-down-from-an-adrenaline-dump feeling... all of this paled in comparison to the shameful terror I felt in having to call the wife; with our family at the house.

So, she came to where I was... crying. She then followed me home as I limped the Harley to the house.

To make it even more awesome - my whole family's waiting on the porch when I get home.

It was not fun.

So - - you may be asking, "What's the damage, Dr. Z?"

Let me give you the run down...

In going airborne and launching myself over the front end of the bike, I managed to crack the clamp holding my ape hangers and my apes are now hanging uselessly around the gas tank. I snapped off my right side forward control footpeg, and my throttle's all fucked up (I suspect part of the problem is that there's all kinds of stress on the throtttle cable because my handlebars are ass backwards.)

Unbelievably, I didn't scratch the paint, or ding any of the tins, even though I watched the bike skid across the concrete. I did manage to snap off the end of my brake lever and scratch the chrome on my mirror on the same side. I also but a pretty deep, but small scratch in the chrome of one of my exhaust shields.

I faired about as well as the bike. Even though I didn't have anything broken off of me, my one kneee is kind of sore from the impact. My left thigh, though, that's a thing of fucking beauty. I think I hit it on the apes when I went over, which is what cracked the clamp. The inside of my thigh is sore and has begun to turn the most brilliant purple color. And when i say the inside of my thigh - I mean the ENTIRE INSIDE OF MY THIGH. From my knee to just shy of my groin, from the front all the way to the back, it's turning some really cool violet shades.

And boy does it hurt. So does my whole body for that matter. It's the following day now and I ache all over, as one would think after having had a motorcycle accident. Tylenol is my friend...

So, that's it. I somehow managed to not kill myself, and not do too much damage to my beloved Harley. Either way, it was still a good anniversary - even though Mrs. Zombie is frequently looking at me and shaking her head and saying with derision, "You're a moron!"

Pictures of the damage...


Here's my leg. The camera cannot capture how purple and angry the bruise looks...


Here's my gimped Ape Hangers



...and my broken brake lever


...And my broken forward control.

I'll try and get more pictures of the bruise as it grows because it's cool and chicks dig scars!!!!

Specialization is for Insects.

"A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects."

So I was searching for some epigraph quotes for my new novel. I’ve decided on a Cure song - which is something I’ve done in all of my novels. The Cure is my favorite band, besides the Police; but The Cure is especially conducive to my creative process. I always listen to The Cure when I’m writing… it’s part of my whole process and I feel it necessary to pay tribute to Robert Smith whenever I can.

But I digress…

My protagonist, Sully, is an expert outdoorsman with a degree in English Literature and he tends to throw out a quote here and there during the course of the novel as appropriate. At one point, when commenting on the nature of man, he quotes someone who I consider to be one of the greatest minds humanity has ever produced.

I’m talking about Robert A. Heinlein.

Someday – when our society is sufficiently evolved and the narrow-minded, stupid, sexually repressed bigots have been either bred out of our genes or unceremoniously taken behind the house and summarily executed… the world will recognize Heinlein for his prophetic genius.

No other modern writer has so brilliantly or so sensibly explained the human condition ever. Which leads me to today’s post… it’s a series of some of the best of Heinlein’s quotes and quotes that lead me down the path I’ve taken with my life.

This is a tribute to the man’s singular genius…


Everything I’ve Ever Needed to Know, I’ve Learned from Robert A. Heinlein

On Writing…

"There is no way that writers can be tamed and rendered civilized or even cured. The only solution known to science is to provide the patient with an isolation room, where he can endure the acute stages in private and where food can be poked in to him with a stick."

"Writing is not necessarily something to be ashamed of, but do it in private and wash your hands afterwards."

"A "critic" is a man who creates nothing and thereby feels qualified to judge the work of creative men. There is logic in this; he is unbiased — he hates all creative people equally."

"A poet who reads his verse in public may have other nasty habits."

"If you happen to be one of the fretful minority who can do creative work, never force an idea; you'll abort it if you do. Be patient and you'll give birth to it when the time is ripe. Learn to wait."

Dealing with others…

"You have attributed conditions to villainy that simply result from stupidity."

"An armed society is a polite society."

"The capacity of the human mind for swallowing nonsense and spewing it forth in violent and repressive action has never yet been plumbed."

"TANSTAAFL. (There Ain't No Such Thing As A Free Lunch)"

Approach to life…

"Everything in excess! To enjoy the flavor of life, take big bites. Moderation is for monks."

"Get a shot off fast. This upsets him long enough to let you make your second shot perfect."

"If tempted by something that feels "altruistic," examine your motives and root out that self-deception. Then, if you still want to do it, wallow in it!"

"It may be better to be a live jackal than a dead lion, but it is better still to be a live lion. And usually easier."

"Never appeal to a man's "better nature." He may not have one. Invoking his self-interest gives you more leverage."

"Never underestimate the power of human stupidity."

"Place your clothes and weapons where you can find them in the dark."

"There is no such thing as "social gambling." Either you are there to cut the other bloke's heart out and eat it — or you're a sucker. If you don't like this choice — don't gamble."

"When the need arises — and it does — you must be able to shoot your own dog. Don't farm it out — that doesn't make it nicer, it makes it worse."

"Geniuses and supergeniuses always make their own rules on sex as on everything else; they do not accept the monkey customs of their lessers."

"There is nothing wrong with being scared... as long as you don't let it affect you until the danger is over. Being hysterical is okay, too... afterwards and in private. Tears are not unmanly... in the bathroom with the door locked. The difference between a coward and a brave man is mostly a matter of timing."

Dealing with the fairer sex…

"If the universe has any purpose more important than topping a woman you love and making a baby with her hearty help, I've never heard of it."

"Men are more sentimental than women. It blurs their thinking."

"Rub her feet."

"What a wonderful world it is that has girls in it!"

Sex and Morality…

"Darling, a true lady takes off her dignity with her clothes and does her whorish best. At other times you can be as modest and dignified as your persona requires."

"Of all the strange "crimes" that human beings have legislated out of nothing, "blasphemy"is the most amazing — with "obscenity" and "indecent exposure" fighting it out for second and third place."

"Sin lies only in hurting others unnecessarily. All other "sins" are invented nonsense."

God…

"History does not record anywhere at any time a religion that has any rational basis. Religion is a crutch for people not strong enough to stand up to the unknown without help. But, like dandruff, most people do have a religion and spend time and money on it and seem to derive considerable pleasure from fiddling with it."

"One man's theology is another man's belly laugh."

"A religion is sometime a source of happiness, and I would not deprive anyone of happiness. But it is a comfort appropriate for the weak, not for the strong. The great trouble with religion - any religion - is that a religionist, having accepted certain propositions by faith, cannot thereafter judge those propositions by evidence. One may bask at the warm fire of faith or choose to live in the bleak certainty of reason- but one cannot have both."

Science, Logic, and Reason…

"Anyone who cannot cope with mathematics is not fully human. At best he is a tolerable subhuman who has learned to wear shoes, bathe, and not make messes in the house."

"Delusions are often functional. A mother's opinions about her children's beauty, intelligence, goodness, et cetera ad nauseam, keep her from drowning them at birth."

"If it can't be expressed in figures, it is not science; it is opinion. It has long been known that one horse can run faster than another — but which one? Differences are crucial."

Dealing with the stupid…

"Stupidity cannot be cured with money, or through education, or by legislation. Stupidity is not a sin, the victim can't help being stupid. But stupidity is the only universal capital crime; the sentence is death, there is no appeal, and execution is carried out automatically and without pity."

On Freedom and Governments…

"A society that gets rid of all its troublemakers goes downhill."

"Democracy is based on the assumption that a million men are wiser than one man. How's that again? I missed something.Autocracy is based on the assumption that one man is wiser than a million men. Let's play that over again, too. Who decides?"

"Does history record any case in which the majority was right?"

"When a place gets crowded enough to require ID's, social collapse is not far away. It is time to go elsewhere."

Do you Grokk, water friend?

Adventures in Northeastern Ohio

I'm often amazed by the diversity of Northeastern Ohio. The diversity... and the wierdness.

Take for instance the area to the immediate east of where I live here in Willoughby. Several thousand years ago, the glaciers that covered much of North America stopped roughly a half mile to several miles (depending on where you are) from the shore of Lake Erie. Besides gouging out the massive crater that would eventually fill with water and become the shallowest of the Great Lakes, it left a unique geographic feature on the face of the greater Cleveland area. Where the glaciers stopped, the land swells upward to a higher plain.

This hill transverses Cleveland and the eastern part of the state and is uniformly gouged by the weight of the massive sheets of glacial ice.

This story, however, is not about that. In a round about way, it is though. But I just thought I'd throw in a little geography because I'm a dork.

Anyway, rising onto the higher plain, if you travel eastward, the land rolls with gentle hills and farmland until you reach the Alleghany Mountains some 100 - 150 miles away.

This story is about the farmland east of Cleveland.... and the oddities of humanity that live there.

Anyway... I grew up on the east side of Cleveland and this part of Ohio has a long, storied history of settlement. In fact, Cleveland, and the area to the east of Cleveland where actually not part of Ohio. We were actually, back in the 1700's, part of Connecticut. Yes. Cleveland, and the entire Northeastern part of Ohio where once the Connecticut Western Reserve. That being said, we've seen many a pilgrim and traveler come here in the last 300 or more years.

Besides the Adena, Iroquois, Mohawk, Seneca, and Hopewell indians who once lived and killed each other in savage revelvry and glory... we've had all kinds of non-native settlers who came and... well, killed the indians in savage revelry and glory.

Some of the settlers who've came here have included Joseph Smith and the Mormons after they were run out of New York. Kirtland, which is two miles from my house, still has a thriving LDS community and you can see the house where Joseph Smith lived and took his second wife of many future wives. We also have the occasional FLDS sect, and had some sensational murders a few years back... but I've written about that before.

If you go further east than Kirtland, you start to run into Middlefield, Burton, Chardon, Rock Creek, Orwell, and other communities where people have last names like Yoder and Schnieder. I've always taken for granted the occasional Amish horse and buggy at the Chardon Walmart. OR the sight of Amish children playing in the fields of large farms with white barns and windows with only one curtain pulled to the side.

It's not uncommon to see big Ford E3500 12 passenger vans roll up to the local grocery store or construction site. Disgorging their load of plainly dressed women in bonnets, or men with Abraham Lincoln beards, corded arms, and blue wool shirts; the vans (or Amish taxis, as we call them) drops them off to spend tons of money on commercial, modern sundries - - or build houses in even the poshest and most modern of suburban neighborhoods. Apparently a shunning of modern extravagances only goes so far with today's Amish. This is not your typical Harrison Ford in Witness sort of world anymore!

In fact, you may not know it, but all Amish teens reach an age of adulthood where they are allowed to actually not be Amish.The Amish call it Rumspringa and, for a certain time period, young Amish are allowed to live as Yankees and decide whether they want to actually join the Amish church and lifestyle. It's not uncommon to go into a bar around closing time in Geauga County and find some young, hopelessly drunk Amish men and women pounding Budweiser and singing country music karaoke. I actually have a friend who married an Amish women who decided during her Rumspringa that she couldn't go back to the farm. He now lives with her in Cleveland Heights where they host swinger parties.

But - - and I apologize for my long-windedness - - this story is, sadly, not about the Amish either. But, it's amongst this backdrop of quiet, religious anachronism and conservatism that my story does begin. Imagine this bucolic place that is Northeastern Ohio where the early Mormon Church was founded and is home to Quakers and Amish. The more modern denizens of this geographic area are conservative and, quite truly, solely the reason why Ohio is considered a Republican state - - despite the strongly liberal and Democratic strongholds of Ohio, Toledo, Youngstown, and Columbus.

It is with this understanding of a place where one could just as easily find an Amish buggy hitched up at the Sparkle grocery store next to a Big Ford with gunracks and a 'Redneck' sticker on the windshield and a NRA placard on the rear; that I find it necessary to talk about a gas station that can be found in the vicinity of State route 534 and State Route 422.

Imagine my surprise when I walked into the convenience store/gas station there to pay for some gas and pick up a Vanilla coke and some Beef Jerky. I was on the way back from my parent's trailer at their campground (another oddity of living in Cleveland - most people here have a separate trailer out east somewhere to spend their summer weekends at). Anyway, I walk into this really nice gas station in the middle of nowhere... and walked straight into one of the most surreal experiences in my life.

The place was packed, being the only major source of food and other various sundries for miles around.

As I said, it had a convenience store, a gas station, an attached video store, and a service garage. As I also said, it was really nice considering its relatively remote location. So imagine my surprise when I enter the store and see that every shelf, every cooler, every counter, and even the ATM has a small riser in front of it.

This convenience store/video store/gas station/garage, in the middle of Amish country, in the heart of rural Ohio, is run entirely by a family of midgets.

That's right. I said midgets.

It was like I'd suddenly stepped out of Northeastern Ohio and found myself in some forgotten corner of the Shire. Behind the counter, a hobbit was counting change for some redneck in a Harley Davidson t-shirt and cutoff jeans. There was a pretty looking halfling who was using a long claw like apparatus to stock the shelves with PopTarts and Heinz Ketchup.

I glanced with confusion through a door into the garage to see Frodo Baggins and Sam Gamgee struggling to remove a transimission from a car sitting atop the world's smallest garage lift. Several midget children ran past my legs, gamboling and laughing as they ran into the video store.

I gasped and fought the stange anomie that insisted I had somehow gone afoul of my normal life and had stumbled into some elfen kingdom where the Hostess Twinkees were buy one, get one free.

I don't know why the idea of midgets carving a life for themselves out of the farming community I found myself in so disturbing; I only know that I paid The Mayor of Munchkinland for my gas and totally forgot to get my Vanilla Coke and Beef Jerky. I staggered back to my Jeep, shaken and disturbed for some unknown reason.

I drove away, fleeing like Gulliver from Lilliput.

Movie Review – Day of the Dead (2008)

Hoping to build on the success of Zack Snyder’s excellent 2004 remake of Romero’s Dawn of the Dead, we have a revisioning of Romero’s sub-par Day of the Dead. Sub-par is a good word to use here. Whereas Romero’s third zombie outing was not as brilliant as Dawn of the Dead, Day was still a Romero film and – at the end of the day – was a fucking awesome zombie film. Day of the Dead 2008, on the other hand, was a big, stinking pile of shit when compared to Snyder’s Dawn of the Dead. What’s more, it is almost a sacrilege when held up to Romero’s Holy Zombie Trinity.

Strong words? Yes. Unfair? I think not.

The plot is straightforward… the movie opens with some teens making out in an abandoned Nike missile site in the mountains of Colorado. This is standard fare for most horror films. When one of the horny teens gets a nose-bleed, we get some heavy handed foreshadowing. The generic, pretty teens leave the make out spot, two of them argue, and the girl decides to walk home. She is, of course, attacked in the woods. Meanwhile, back in town, the army has quarantined everything for a “training drill”. Of course, everybody in town is affected by some sort of strange flu-like virus. The military cordone is run by Captain Rhodes (as played by Ving Rhames) and he’s assisted by Corporal Sarah Bowman (played by Mena Suvari). Her sidekicks are two other enlisted guys (Nick Cannon as Salazar and Stark Sands – who plays “Bud”, an allusion to “Bub” from the original). Things go downhill quickly as it becomes apparent that the infection is some strange virus that turns people into zombies. The characters run around town blah blah blah they fight some zombies blah blah blah they go to the gun store blah blah blah they end up back at the missile silo and discover the government and a douchebag named Dr. Logan is to blame for the outbreak blahhditty blah-fucking blah ….

This movie was bad on so many levels I’m actually at a loss as to where to start bitching here.

Let’s start with the obvious… the zombies. Apparently, the virus is airborne and some people are just immune. Once you get sick, it takes a couple hours to settle in. Then, you get a nosebleed, become catatonic for a few seconds where you apparently die, and come back as a zombie. And here’s where this movie gets ridiculous. The instant you die, the virus makes your skin peel off and get all yucky. Then – and it’s never explained except in that it probably seemed cool to the hacks who filmed it at the time – the zombies can now jump, vertically, 25 feet in the air. They’re also super strong and can also run across walls and ceilings like Spiderman. Which, is cool. Wait, did I say that was cool? My bad, I meant to say it was fucking retarded.

The zombies also retain memories of their life before they died. And that brings us to the crux of why I dreaded watching this. I’d heard rumors about the Bud zombie from people who’d seen advanced screenings and the thought made me cringe, but I soldiered on (mainly because I scored a free rental at my Hollywood video. Boy would I have been homicidal if I’d paid money for this crap-tastic travesty!). Anyway, Private Bud got a thing for Sarah. He’s also a pacifist and a vegetarian. So, when he’s bit and turned into a zombie, he helps the characters and doesn’t chomp any of them because he’s got a boyish crush on Mena Suvari and obviously can’t stomach long pork because –you know – “meat’s murder, maaan!”

That's right, horror fans. A zombie that doesn't eat human flesh... because he's a vegetarian. Vegetarian zombies? So what, instead of stumbling around moaning, "BRAIIINNS!!!", they instead insist on "GRAAAIINNS!!!"????

I’m stunned at the awfulness.

What else was wrong? The dialogue was cheesy and stilted, the story was weak, and the plot had holes bigger than the one between Paris Hilton’s legs. Nick Cannon’s character Salazar was a walking caricature of every faceless, cocky, brash, black character you see in the bazillions of low budget movies out there. Ving Rhames was in the movie just long enough to get a paycheck so he could finance his next cycle of steroids and Mena Suvari sleptwalk through her role.

Essentially, this was a by the numbers horror flick by people who aren’t fans of the genre, It has the feel of a movie made by writers, directors, and producers whose normal cinematic contributions are by the numbers, stereotypically stupid teen comedies.

The good? There was little to be found in here that was good. The effects were all right, when they used real effects. I qualify that because they felt it was necessary to make the zombies act like those stupid herky, jerky ghosts you see in the countless PG-13 remakes of Japanese horror films that the horror genre’s been flooded with lately. And they overdid it with the digital blood. Attention all horror film makers. We can tell when it’s digitally created blood! It looks fake! If you can justify spending $12 Million on a movie that Uwe Boll would think is good, spend the extra hundred bucks to pick up a few cases of Karo Syrup and food dye. It looks better, morons! I’m just saying…

It did have zombies, and the chaos when the infection took hold was well filmed. I especially love that they went with running zombies. That, I think, was Zack Snyder’s best contribution to the genre. Running zombies that never get tired and don’t feel tired are scary as hell. In this film, they made it visceral and scary went they weren’t shitting things up with a need to “explain” why the zombies are.

And that’s sort of the crux, I think. That’s what separates a good zombie film from a bad zombie film. I don’t care what causes the dead to come back from life, and you don’t need to have the main characters somehow “stumble” upon the why’s and wherefore’s. I DON’T CARE! What happens in low budget films is that the producers and studio people get wrapped up in the writing process and have to spoon-feed the audience with some idiotic dues ex machine explanation because they’re under the delusion that horror fans need explanations. We don’t – so don’t do it!

A perfect example of how not to be assholes here is to look at Snyder’s Dawn of the Dead (and comparisons are inevitable here. The Dawn and Day remakes were on polar opposite ends of the good/bad spectrum). Snyder was a fan. You could tell he was. He didn’t explain why the world was going to hell in a flesh chomping hand-basket. He could then spend time concentrating on important shit - - like character development and plot. But, unfortunately, we didn’t get Zack Snyder this time around. Instead we got a writer who has the distinction of having written the sequels to the suckfest’s that were the Final Destination movies; and a director who’s biggest credits include the shitty teen soap operas, Felicity and Smallville.

And that’s what’s wrong with horror films today. It’s looked down upon by mainstream directors and writers. So we’re stuck with the likes of Uwe Boll and the hacks that put this film together. It’s funny really; because when big name directors and writers commit to horror films, they tend to be good. It’s sad...

So – what’s the final verdict on Day of the Dead 2008? Take a pass. Watch it when it comes to cable, or if you get a free rental. Don’t spend money on it, because I guarantee you that it will most likely be money wasted - and an hour and a half of your life you won’t get back. It pains Doctor Zombie to say this, dear reader, but this was just a bad zombie film and it was redeemable only in that they had some good gore. That though, was about it. I give it 2 out of 5 chomped brains only because it did have gore, and it did have zombies.

Doctor Zombie’s Rating: 2 out of 5 Chomped Brains

Working Stiffs - Some Zombie Flash Fiction

Note: I've been writing some flash fiction lately because it's a great creative exercise. I like the idea of limiting myself to 750 words. I like the discipline and focus involved in taking an idea and distilling it down to the bare bones, while still balancing the need to tell a story and make it good.

That being said, I wrote this one a few days ago and - truthfully - I don't have the heart to cut anymore out of it. It clocks in at about 1,350 words and is one of the best pieces I've written in a while. Although it was started as a piece of flash fiction - - I think that it's also important to realize that, sometimes, there should be no parameters on good storytelling...

It's the story about to working guys in the middle of a job when the zombie apocalypse starts.

Let me know what you think...

Working Stiffs

“You know what you’re problem is?” I said to Johnny as I slipped on my long rubber rain coat.

“No,” he snapped, “but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

Johnny cleared off the kitchen table and placed his bag on the chair at the tables head. I finished buttoning my coat and pulled on a pair of latex gloves. With a grunt, I helped him manhandle Erik onto the table.

“Your problem,” I said, once Erik was laying between us, “is that you take things too fucking seriously.”

”Is that so?”

“It is. Take tonight for example. Here it was a simple job, in and out, and you have to make it all serious.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Trevor?” Johnny said, as he opened his tool bag and pulled out a meat cleaver. He tested its edge with his thumb and nodded, seemingly satisfied with its sharpness.

“What I’m saying Johnny, is that we had a very simple job. We were to pop into Erik’s place tonight, wait for old Erik to wander in the door, and collect the money he owes Fat Charlie.”

I slapped Erik’s bare chest with a gloved hand for emphasis and went on, “You then have to make it all complicated because you’re worried about all kinds of crazy shit that doesn’t mean a thing in the real world.”

Johnny set down his cleaver next to Erik on the table and grabbed a filleting knife. He pointed it at me and a gestured with it as he retorted,” Just because I’m paranoid doesn’t mean there isn’t a vast global conspiracy.”

“See!” I said, reaching into my own bag and grabbing a machete and a small mallet, “That’s the shit I’m talking about! Your crazy, ‘the-whole-world’s- run-by-a-bunch-of-men-in-a-secret-location-in-Switzerland’ schtick! There’s not some ultra-secret canal that runs everything, man!”

“It’s cabal, moron. Not canal. And the Illuminati aren’t sequestered away in Switzerland. They’re spread all over the world and they run all the major corporations. They just meet once a year in Switzerland for Swiss hookers and Austrian chocolate. ”

I rolled my eyes and walked around to the other side of the table, dragging Erik’s kitchen garbage can as I went. Johnny took his fillet knife and thrust it into Erik’s abdomen near the bottom of his rib cage. With an authoritative jerk, Johnny sliced downward and opened up Erick from his chest to his pubis. I scrambled to get the bucket closer as Erik’s guts slid out of him like slimy, hot ropes. I only managed to grab half of them before the rest hit the floor with a wet splat. I wasn’t fast enough and their weight pulling another large portion of his innards out of the garbage can with them. Gravity’s a bitch, sometimes.

“Jeezy Creezy, Johnny! Give me some fucking warning next time,” I said as I scrambled to put Erik’s kidneys, liver and guts into the bucket.

“Sorry.” Johnny said as I juggled Erik’s stomach into the bin. It was full of liquor and it was like trying to carry a water balloon coated in KY jelly. I didn’t believe he was sorry for one minute.

Through the open window, we heard some screams and the sound of sirens. Johnny and I both froze, and looked in the direction of the window. When the sirens grew quieter, we resumed work. While I got the rest of the guts squared away, Johnny grabbed his cleaver and hacked off Erik’s hand at the wrist.

“So, like I was saying,” I went on, “Erik comes home, I tell him we need the money, and you make things difficult by having to keep watching the news while I’m trying to work. I mean, we’ve got a thing going, you and I. I play the nice guy who acts like their friend while you stand there all muscles and barely contained rage. It’s like Good Cop/Bad Cop, Johnny. Except for the part where we’re not cops and we’re leg breakers for a mob bookie. But no, you’ve got to go off script. You’ve got to get all wrapped up in the cable news networks and I’ve got to be like Abbot without Costello. I’m just saying you’re too damn serious.”

“So, since I wasn’t Bad Cop, you had to shoot him?” Johnny said as he glanced at the window again. There was more screaming in the distance, and more sirens. None of them were in our immediate vicinity though.

“We’re not talking about that unfortunate set of circumstances, right now. Don’t change the subject!” I said as I snatched up my knife and reached up and under Erik’s rib cage slicing his heart and lungs free. I threw the lungs in the bin and I gestured at Johnny with Erik’s heart, “I don’t give a shit that they’re saying there’re some rabies breakouts happening. All I care about is getting the job done. It’s just goddamned unprofessional, Johnny.”

“It’s not rabies,” Johnny said angrily. To emphasis his point he swung the cleaver and angrily lopped off Erik’s right foot at the ankle. He tossed it in the garbage can, rather rudely spraying me with blood, “My conspiracy websites say that there’s more to this outbreak. That it has something to do with a virus or something. It’s been covered up by the world government, but there’s been disturbing reports about it.”

“Oh, really? Let me guess, Bigfoot’s involved somehow. Or the alien overlords have concocted something to make all of us Earthmen sterile so they’ll be able to mate with all of our women?

“Now you’re just being spiteful, Trevor.”

“Well, Christ in a casket, Johnny! What do you expect?” I said as I grabbed Erik’s other arm and my machete, “I mean I get that you like to watch the news, and I get that you’re into all of these nut job conspiracies, and it’s cool because old Erik here wasn’t home yet; but when the deadbeat gets back, you’ve got to get your head in the game! I mean…”

I trailed off and looked out the window again. There were more screams and the smell of smoke wafted through the open window. In the distance, there was the pop-pop of gunfire.

“What the hell?” I said, “I hear 9mm and rifle fire.”

“More like .40 caliber and .223,” Johnny grunted as he cut Erik’s left arm off at the elbow. He leaned over Erik to throw it in the garbage bin when I felt a strange twitch in my hand.

I looked down to see Erik’s right arm twitch again and I yelled in shock, dropping it.

“What?” Johnny said, just as Erik opened his eyes and sat up.

“Johnny!” I screamed, stepping back and struggling to get my rubber coat open to get at my gun. Johnny tried to escape, but it was no use. Erik’s right arm, which was still whole, grabbed Johnny and pulled him close. Erik snarled and, before Johnny could pull free, he lunged and bit Johnny on the side of the neck.

Johnny made a half scream, half gurgling noise and I finally got my coat open. I pulled my .357 out of my shoulder holster just as Johnny gave Erik a mighty shove and he pulled free, falling to the dining room floor. There was a bright arc of red as Johnny fell and I realized that Erik must have clamped down and tore out Johnny’s carotid artery.

I stood motionless as Johnny gurgled a few more times and the arterial blood sprayed like a fire hose on the wall beside him. He was dead within seconds.

Erik snarled again and I turned to the corpse as it turned in very un-corpse-like fashion towards me, reaching hungrily with one full arm and another severed at the elbow. Erik tried to step off of the table, but since he was short a foot, he fell to the floor.

“What the…?” I said, just as Johnny twitched a few times and turned eyes as dead as Erik’s on me. He began to rise to his feet. Closer to me, Erik was pulling himself along the floor towards me.

I screamed again and bolted from the apartment and into the chaos of the night.

Maybe there was something to Johnny’s conspiracy theories after all….

It's All Wolf Girl's Fault

Jumping Jesus on a pogo stick! Have I had a morning...

It is mornings like this that convince me that my willful refusal to believe in a higher power, and yet continue to blashpheme in said non-entity's name as I did in my opening sentence,have come around to give me a big karmic bite in my undead ass.

Let me tell you how my morning started...

So - - I send Zombie Boy and WolfGirl out to the bus stop for school at 8:30. I'm working from home today, so I am looking forward to a few hours of uninterrupted writing. Working from home is nice like that - I don't have a million people coming up to my desk with problems that in their world are huge, but in my world are as annoying as the buzz of mosquitos in a Florida swamp. In other words - it's nothing more than an ever present drone and whine that jangles at your subconscious with the insidious promise of sucking the very blood and life from you. (There's a deeper, better metaphor in their - - but I really don't have the energy to look for it. Suffice it to say, they suck. )

Anyway - I glance out the door to see Wolf Girl come running back down the street from the bus stop. But she's not really running so much as hopping on one foot.

"What happened?" I yell to her from the front porch, "and why are you hopping down the street with all the grace of a blind epileptic having a heart attack!?!"

"Daddy!" she says as she hops across the street, "The boys and I were seeing who could kick higher and my shoe is on Anya's roof."

"Are you kidding me?" I groan, as I step from the porch and look to the corner house. Sure enough, sticking out of the highest gutter on our neighbor's house, is a blue and white converse low top.

"Shit." I mutter.

So after securing an alternate pair of shoes for Wolf Girl, we walk back down to the bus stop. As we go, I notice she's still hopping.

"Why are you still hopping? You have two shoes now." I say to her.

"It was so fun the first time, I think I'm going to do this the rest of the day,"she replies with the level of certainty that only an 8 year old can muster.

So I knock on our neighbor Anya's house. Anya by the way, is a 20 year old Cuban mom of two who barely speaks a word of English. She comes to the door, half asleep and looking every bit as hot as a twenty year old Cuban woman can look - especially in her underwear.

So, as I stand on her porch, trying to explain to her that I need to get a ladder and get my daughter's shoes out opf her gutter, I try to ignore the fact that she's half naked. My telling her what's going on is hindered also by the fact that I am fluent in English and American Sign Language, with a passable knowledge of Italian, French, and Japanese.

You'll note there is no Spanish in there.

My Spanish is limited to how to order beer and Tequila("Cerveza, Dos Equis, Negro Modela, e Los Mujeres Tequila - por favor!") ask where is the bathroom (“Donde es banos, senor? Muy mas cerveza!”) and a few key phrases to ensure I get the most value for my pesos when negotiating for guns - or perhaps a Tijuana whore. Nowhere in my repertoire is, "Hey gorgeous Cubana neighbor, standing there in your underwear... I need to bang a ladder on the side of your house, scurry up it like a second story man, and retrieve my kid's Chuck Taylor from your gutter."

So I finally get her to understand what's going on, she goes back in, and I step off her porch. All the kids are standing there - still waiting for the bus - when I hear one of the other kids say, "Wolf Girl, your Dad looks like he’s really mad at you."

"He's not mad," Zombie Boy replies, "His face always looks like that. Our mom says he's part ogre... just like Shrek, only not so green and a whole lot stinkier when he farts."

Fortunately the bus pulls up at that point - so I'm not forced to kill all of the children. I do note with some resignation that Wolf Girl hops on only one foot up to the bus, up the steps, and down the aisle of the bus – her brown hair bouncing as she merrily goes on with her newfound means of travel.

So - I walk back across the street, go to my garage, get my ladder, go back across the street, get the shoe, and head back across the street. As I was doing all of this, I realized that my two idiot dogs had let themselves out into the back yard. Apparently, all of the mornings excitement had worked the two of them into a frothing frenzy. So – the whole time I’m dealing with Wolf Girl's shoe issue - the Dogs of the Living Dead have been barking their idiot, walnut-sized brains out.

Suddenly I realize that there’s only one dog in the back yard.

“Awww noooo!” I groan.

You see - my beagle is an escape artist. To give you a little history - the beagle’s name is Charlie. His full name is Charles Parnell and he’s named after one of the heroes of the 1916 Easter Uprising in Ireland; as well as the Charles Parnell Pub on Cedar Road in Cleveland Heights – a pub I spent a considerable amount of my youth in, drinking lots of Guinness. He’s also known around the house, alternatively and interchangeably, as Fat Charlie, Stupid Charlie, Lunchbox, Fatty, Tons of Fun, Tubby Tubby Two By Four, Fatty Boom Batty, Tub O’Lard, and Moron Number One. (Our other dog, Nicky Nootch, is – of course – Moron Number Two.)

Anyway, I throw down my ladder as I realize that, despite the natural dog impediment of having no opposable thumbs, Fat Charlie has managed to somehow slip past my supposedly foolproof and impenetrable anti-beagle escape system.

And there was only one place he could be.

To make a long story short – a week and a half ago, our other neighbor’s dog had caught and killed a rabbit. In deference to Wolf Girl’s and the neighbor girls’ sensibilities as they pertain to mauled fluffy bunny rabbits, I had surreptitiously gathered up the rabbit’s corpse and thrown it, still warm, onto the compost pile we have in the back corner of the yard. I covered it with some leaves with the intention of taking it out with the trash a few days later. Honestly, I’d forgotten about it until a day or so ago when, as I sat at my kitchen table, I looked out the window and saw a turkey vulture land in the back yard. It nosed about for the carrion, but couldn’t find it. I suppose I should have gotten rid of the rabbit at that point, but it was drawing vultures to the back yard and that was cool. I mean – seriously – it was a fucking buzzard, in my back yard!

All of this came back to me as I ran around the garage and saw, with horror, that Fat Charlie - Stupid Charlie - was rolling on top of the compost pile like a pig in shit. He saw me and sat up, his tongue lolling and his jowls pulled back in an almost human-like grin.

“Look at the fabulous smell I’ve found, Daddy,” his grin seemed to say.

“Get out of there, you fat, furry moron!” I yelled as I grabbed him by his collar and dragged him to the front of the yard.

He actually had the balls to look surprised.

So now – I’m sitting here typing this with a sore back because I had to lift his fat ass into the bathtub. He’s sitting on the back porch and giving me glares every time I walk by the back of the house. His reproachful glare seems to say, “I found the most wondrous cologne, and you washed it off of me! What’s wrong with you?!? Bad Daddy!”

“Too goddamned bad, you moron,” I told him the last time I went out to check on him.

Worst of all, the whole damn house smells like wet dog. I did find some small measure of satisfaction in the fact that his fur is all puffy and fluffed up, though. It’s like that because I thought it only fair that I use Wolf Girls fruity-smelling Fructis 2 in 1 Shampoo and Conditioner on his stinky pelt. She started this all in the first place with her kicking contest. The only problem is that it makes the beagle look like he’s put on 20 pounds on his all ready overweight frame.

In fact, his glares are so funny, I took a couple pictures of him where he sits, wet and angry on the back porch. Check them out.

(And I know that some of you would rather I post pictures of the hot Cuban Chick from down the street, in her underwear. Too bad – this isn’t one of those kinds of websites. Instead, you get reproachful dogs. Deal with it…)






The worst part is – this all happened in the space of a half hour! Seriously – I’m not working from home anymore. It’s too fucking stressful!