A Violent, Whining Sound..

A Welcome Possession, part 1

2010-12-22T14:03:00.000-08:00

August 28, 2001

Mobile, AL

Somethin you gotta unnerstan about a place like Mobile. Mobile’s an old city, and old cities have a lot of history. Bad stuff, good stuff, all sortsa things happened in the 300 or so years since it officially became a city, and 200 years before, when the Spanish first started comin here. Bloody hunnerd years or so when France, England, and Spain all came through here claimin to own it, when the old Mobilians, as they was called by the white men, just kept their heads down and tried not to get noticed. Whole town got good at not getting noticed. Nowadays, it’s a lot like New Orleans, just with a lot lower profile. Dauphin Street district just as mad, just nowhere near as famous as Bourbon. Hell, son, we even got our own Royal street, and its just about as safe as the Big Penny’s. Some weird ass people livin here, but hey, they’re ours, even if they didn’t start here.

It’s been said that in places where stuff happens, weird stuff, magic stuff, the sun moves a lot slower. Respecting that theory, the sun crawled its way lazily up the lot, through the low rent apartments, hesitating at the blinds of one in particular, where it knew it wasn’t welcome. Throwing caution to the wind, it illuminated the living room, with an almost spiteful satisfaction, where a man lay on the couch. One eye winked open momentarily as a hand fell off the couch, knocking over an empty whiskey bottle. A glare started to form in that one eye, before it was distracted by the shrill ring of an old telephone. The eye, along with the rest of the body, rolled away from the light and noise, choosing an attempt to ignore what could not possibly be a welcome phone call this early in the morning. Nonetheless, a moment later, there was a click as the answering machine came on.

“Mister McGann, this is Deacon Roberts of the Parish of Corpus Christi. According to what I‘ve heard, you‘ve been seen at the St Edmunds in Dauphin Island taking from the holy water again. I can’t help but assume you’ve decided not to heed our warnings. Sir, Exorcism is a very serious matter, and we’ve already discussed this. The ritual is only to be performed with the express permission of the local Bishop, and only by an ordained minister. You, sir, are neither, and I hope you realize that no good can come of this course of action should you continue.”

The answering machine clicked off. With a groan, Jeremiah McGann pulled himself vertical, resting his head in his hands. He pulled the empty whiskey bottle up, looked at it, then downed the last drop that hadn’t been spilled before reaching for a cigarette. Lighting it, he finally took his feet, and stumbled into the bathroom. Last night had been hard. Normally, when dealing with possession, it’s usually some sort of mental illness that a placebo can at least temporarily deal with. Sprinkle some holy water, chant some Latin, use a commanding voice, and the possessed will usually have a bit of a spasm and get better. This one, though.

Not that he considered himself as having a particularly strong work ethic, but he wasn’t fond of doing a job half-assed. This one, though, was more unpleasant than usual. Spittle flecked on the pillow next to her head, those crazy bloodshot eyes, and that voice. She made some damned near unnatural sounds. He looked in the mirror, at where she’d scratched his face. Seemed to be closing, at least. Didn’t seem prone to infection. He splashed some cold water on his face to wake himself up, and straightened his clothes. He stubbed the cigarette out in the sink, and left the bathroom.

The door to the apartment opened, and he winced again as the sunlight assaulted his eyes, this time accompanied by the sweltering humidity. August in Mobile isn’t just hot, it’s wet. The air itself tries its damndest to drown you. The sunlight glinted off the small crack in the windshield of the car waiting for him. The loyal steed, a 1985 Monte Carlo, gunmetal with red trim, squatted like a battleship in the parking space. The door swung open, then slammed shut as he collapsed into the driver’s seat. It was time to go out looking for work. Or for trouble. Not much difference between the two these days. The engine fired to life with a cough, belching out a small cloud of white smoke from the tailpipe before rumbling into gear and clambering over the speed bumps of the apartment complex.

What has and will happen.

2010-12-08T22:00:00.000-08:00

He'd heard the term "heart in his throat" before, but had never really felt it like this. As the battered Toyota limped into the drive, engine whining in protest at the heat from the cracked radiator, he looked at the porch light. It was on, the car she shared with her sister nestled up against the house, almost like it was afraid to leave. He knew the only way he'd made it here was the uncommon chill in the air, otherwise the car would have given up halfway. It was in no condition to make the drive, but this was worth it. One way or another, he'd know.

His mind flashed back to two months ago. At least, he thought it was two months. The world had sort of slipped by for a while after she'd left, but two months felt about right. After an evening of sending impatient text messages back and forth, she'd finally shown up at his door. A few worry lines crossed her otherwise soft features, and something strange in her eyes.

"You drove?" He said playfully, "Must be an occasion."

"I need to say a few things. It's sort of important."

His heart dropped. He knew she'd been distant the last month or so, and he'd kept trying to reach her, but she'd been pulling away. Nothing out of the ordinary, though, he had thought. She's a twin, and besides not like normal people. She'd come out of it.

"I guess I'd better sit down for this," he said, ushering her inside and to the bedroom. He took a seat at the desk, she on the edge of the bed. The thought flashed through his mind. I bought that bed because of her. Before her he'd just been sleeping on a couch, in whatever he'd fallen asleep in. After a while, he'd thought that if he was going to be making love to this special person, she deserved a bed. At the very least, she deserved a bed. Hell, she deserved a four-poster California King with fresh rose petals in his mind. But he'd have to make do with the posh futon mattress he'd found.

She fumbled with a cigarette, her hands shaking as she lit it. She hesitantly started to speak.

"I know I've been really distant this past month, and I'm really sorry. I just..." She took a deep breath. "I don't think I feel the same way anymore. I mean, I still have feelings for you as a friend, but not in that way anymore."

Struck dumb, he spluttered out a stock answer of someone in shock,"What happened?"

"Nothing happened. Really. I just, I don't have those feelings for you anymore, and I wanted to sit down and tell you in person. You deserved that instead of someone just calling you or sending you a text message or something. You deserve better."

He couldn't say anything. He tried to say something. He tried to form some kind of argument. But she'd always been honest with him. She was really, really bad at opening up, but had started to. Something didn't feel right though.

They'd agreed to still see each other, as friends. The next few weeks he'd work his work week, then would spend two of his off days stopping by to play games with her and her twin sister, having a drink and joking and laughing, stealing glances at her when she wasn't looking, playing with her dogs, and threatening to sneak in and clean her apartment. He was sure he could win her back.

Then it happened. Thanksgiving came and went, and they weren't home on Tuesday. He knew they'd left to go see family by Wednesday, and so he let those days pass. Tuesday came by, and he stopped by again, only for her to open the door with a surprised look on her face.

"This...isn't a good time. I've got some furniture coming in for delivery, and then we're going to see grandma."

"Ah.. I see," Bile rose in the back of his throat, "Should I bother checking back with you?"

"Not tonight. I'll text you."

"Are you sure? Only, you haven't sent me a message in weeks."

"I'm sure. I'll let you know."

Wednesday passed with no message. Thursday, he left the house early, went to stop for some fast food, and noticed the car overheating. Determined to see her, he poured water in the radiator, and started for her house, before the temperature guage hit red and the car started rattling. Turning back for home, he sent her and her sister the same message, with her sister replying about an hour later.

So, fair enough, totally not rexpecting a reply here, but I tried to come see you guys and my car overheated. Can you come visit? It's srsly been like 3 weeks.

Hey sorry, just got your test. Tonight's a bad night, I'm seriously exhausted.

No surprise there. I have to honestly ask, are we still friends. I want to be, but I'm not sure you guys are.

Honestly we are but we've been busy and worn out these last two weeks and kay is wanting some space.

Can you please tell her she's welcome to tell me herself. If she'd told me she needed space I would have given it. I told her before she is free to tell me anything. That still stands.

No response past that. Fine, he thought, she wants space. Perfectly normal response.

But, as time passed, he realized something. If she no longer had those feelings, it shouldn't hurt bad enough that she'd still need space, especially as little as they'd seen each other that last month they'd been together. Something didn't add up. Something was wrong. Something didn't feel right.

Two weeks later, he'd taken the risk of driving the car again. As he took the key from the ignition, his own hands shaking quite badly, he took a deep breath and a pull from the flask of whiskey in his coat pocket.

The door opened on the third knock, that look of surprise back on her face.

"Five minutes of your time. That's all I need, and then I'll go away for as long as you like, even if it's forever. "

She nodded, and stepped out into the cold with him.

"Something doesn't add up. I trust you. Implicitly. More than anyone else in the world. Moreover, I trust you to be you as well, and you don't open up. You don't let everything out. Not to me, and probably not even to your sister.

Something doesn't add up. Something stinks, and I need to know. Either you told me the truth about your feelings no longer being there, and you've been stringing me along by telling me you still want to be friends, and if that's true, it sickens me.

"On the other hand," he started, waving at her objection, "On the other hand, maybe you lied about your feelings changing. Maybe you felt like you were opening up again, and it scared you, and you panicked, shutting me out again like last time. Maybe it was that night back in September when we were drinking and your sister nearly walked in on us. Maybe you were afraid of getting close to someone other than your Kam. I don't know, I just don't know every nuance of your mind, but if that's the case..."

He shuddered for a moment, lit a cigarette, and took a deep pull before continuing.

"IF that's the case, then I'm disgusted at myself for not realizing sooner. And not fighting you, like I promised I would. I let you down, and I'll never forgive myself for that. You've been let down enough, and you didn't need me doing that, too."

He looked away for a moment. She was stunned, and started to speak, but he interrupted her.

"No. Don't answer me now. I've already arranged to be off for New Year's Eve. If you want to answer the question, I'll be where I was last New Year's. When I was with you, and I realized how I really felt and how important you were. If you want to answer that question, answer it then. Until then, I'll make no move to contact you. I'll assume nothing until that time."

He turned and walked back to the car. Before he got in, he turned back and looked at her, square in her painfully crystalline eyes.

"I hope to everything I hold dear I'm not wrong."

2010-10-14T02:07:00.000-07:00

Jesus.

Look at that last post. That was over a year ago.

All in all, there were some really good times this last year. I told her why I asked her to come over that night, and she came over again. And kept coming over. And things were good.

Her feelings changed a few weeks ago, and unlike any other, she was upfront and honest, and told me face to face. That proves why I fell for her in the first place.

I'd like to dedicate something to her. Yeah, this is old school, and not normally my style, but Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham are fucking geniuses.

I only hope that maybe..

Just maybe..

I can get her to dance again.

Somethin' in you brought out somethin' in me, that I've never been since
That part of me that was only for you,
That kind of romance
Comes only once, that kind of love
That kind of fever dance
That you love because you become someone else in an instant

Say you will, say you will give me one more chance
At least give me time to change your mind
That always seems to heal the wounds, if I can
Get you to dance

Somethin' in you put a hold on my heart
It's hard to believe now
Here in the place that will never be dark
I remember that place...
That kind of touch, electricity of love
That certain kind of grace
That you love because you become someone else in an instant

Say you will, say you will give me one more chance
At least give me time to change your mind
That always seems to heal the wounds, if I can
Get you to dance

Damaged.

2009-08-20T15:40:00.001-07:00

According to the Free online Dictionary (which I only consulted because I don't consider Mirrian-Webster to be a REAL dictionary, and the Oxford website is typically indecipherable), Damaged is the past tense form of the noun Damage. Or, 1. Harm or injury to property or a person, resulting in loss of value or the impairment of usefulness.
Emotionally damaged is harder to track down a definition to. Mostly because it's dependant on the person's mental state and what they are capable of sustaining before breaking.
So, it's going on two years since I moved out. Since I gave up on that situation and willingly took on temporary homelessness before rebuilding a life. In that time I've taken a chance and had one relationship fail horribly, while suffering through a crippling depression that I was only able to escape by a monumental increase in alcohol consumption.
I've also figured out a few things. I fall hard for some people, and am utterly incapable of acting on this.
I recently expressed the sentiment "I can't have what I really want, but I can get whatever I don't really need" to a trusted friend.
I used this phrase to describe the fact that I can have companionship pretty much whenever I want it. Physical companionship is easy. I then went on to say something to the effect wanting to be admired, trusted, relied upon and wanting to be able to express that to someone in return. My friend said I was describing a relationship past the "getting to know you phase and into that comfortable stage that in a good relationship leads to those cute old couples that have been together since they were old."
She's very perceptive, this friend of mine.
I don't know, though. I just don't think I can do this any more, and I should really see if there is some kind of medication that can turn off these feelings, this desire, this god awful need to feel drawn to someone.
I just wish I could tell her why I didn't want her to come over that night.

BTW..

2009-04-05T02:15:00.000-07:00

Fuck YOU, Toys R Us..

I am NOT a fan of Heroes. In fact, it put me to sleep.

Yet today, when i saw a rack of Heroes action figures on clearance for 4.98 apiece, I jumped on that shit. Why? Claude.

Claude is played by Christopher Eccleston. In a ratty leather coat. So essentially, Claude is the Ninth Doctor, with a beard. PERFECT for post-Time War fun.

But NOOO..

Despite the rack that I read, it's only the "injured Claire" figures that are 4.98. Everything else is 14.99. Which is way too much for an action figure, unless it's one of those new ginchy Watchmen figures, or a fuck-off huge Transformer.

Fuck you, TRU.

Trust

2009-04-05T01:35:00.000-07:00

Trust is a tricky thing.

Experience has taught me not to trust people. I'm not sure if I've ever blogged about my past experiences, but recent events and conversation have brought a few painful memories and patterns to the surface again.

There are people I don't trust. This applies to about 99.9999% of the people/entities that I know. Not including myself. I can't trust myself to say no to something that feels good, such as heavy petting or a strong drink. I've come to terms with that. I'm very easily tempted, if the temptation is right in front of me. This is probably why I am such a solitary person. When left to my own devices, another drink or smoke is the worst I can do to myself. In fact, I'm quite fuzzy as of right now, due to events I may or may not discuss.

My very nature, crafted to perfection by events and people in my life, is to not trust people. I trust things. I trust my cellphone to make a call or text message when I tell it to. I trust my laptop to work until I cause a thermal shutdown (thanks, Iron Man PC Game..). I trust my cane to keep me vertical. Canes are easily the most trustworthy beings ever crafted. Tangents are trustworthy too, as they allow you to avoid the actual point of what you began typing about.

People are notoriously untrustworthy. Whether it's screwing people on the couch you helped put together, secreting control over you one little step at a time, or betraying your image of them, people are experts at letting you down. Humanity, indomitable as they may be, capable of splitting the atom and feeding the hungry, are experts at screwing each other over. Whether it's betraying a sacred trust you put in them, performing below standards they claim to, or just simply not caring, they will never cease to let you down.

So why is it that I'm considering trusting someone. This really hurts. It stings at a primal level.

Hearkening back to a previous post, I've spent a good six years with constant reminders why I shouldn't try to be a good person. Why I should have stayed in Mobile, performing placebo home cleansings to yuppies and exorcising people's personal demons. Yes, there's a hostile spirit in your picture-perfect home. Yes, there's a demon that keeps bringing you back to the bottle. I'll help you with that, for a fair fee.

But she's terrifying me. She actually makes me think it might be ok to trust people again. Why does she have to do this to me? She's leaving in a few months, but god damn it, she's never put any pressure on me. She's never asked anything of me. She's been there for me when I needed a shoulder to sob pitifully on, and when I needed a warm body to press against mine in the middle of the night, and if you think I'm just stating this for effect, I just went through two completely seperate emotional and physical states in under a minute typing that.

She asked me recently.. "Did you do something to me..?"

DO SOMETHING? TO YOU?? Oh wow. That one struck home. Trust me, beautiful straw-haired one, I COULD have done something horrible and unspeakable to you. You've left enough materials behind and lingered far long enough for me to do something unspeakably immoral, but I didn't...

I didn't. I really didn't, and I could have. And now I'm in the position of questioning, is it worth it to clutch on to this self-reliance, this lone wolf nonsense, just for a few fleeting months before she leaves?

The scales are balanced. I have to decide something, or it'll be decided for me. Do I give in, and have a few months with her, that promise to be the best thing I can possibly hope for before she leaves, or do I cling desperately to the loneliness that I've come to adore?

This is by far the hardest thing I have ever had to decide. This was harder than leaving my wife and child. At least then, I had the option of shutting off my emotions and carrying on, despite the pain I could ignore.

Why did she have to be so good...

2009-03-27T01:25:00.001-07:00

"Sometimes when you reach below the practised self-portrait of a man, what you find is...nothing."

-Bob Kelso, on an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation, on killing nanites.

Walmart Shootings. OMFG, Srsly, people?

2009-03-19T02:02:00.000-07:00

...wait, what? This is seriously no different than little Timmy who needs a liver transplant and will get one if you forward this email 5000000 times, or that Bill Gates is tracking your email and will award you with money the more people you send it to.

Or, more accurately, that imaginary horse tranquilizer drug that was so easy to get a hold of that people were spiking drinks with (or not) a few months back.

No one is getting shot at the Walmart on Memorial in Port Arthur, TX. Or if they do, it's because some jackass got this text message 16 times today and decided to make it come true[not me, I only received it 8 times].

Seriously.
http://urbanlegends.about.com/b/2009/03/18/police-walmart-gang-initation-rumors-are-false.htm

http://www.wctv.tv/home/headlines/41402677.html

http://www.selmatimesjournal.com/news/2009/mar/17/dont-fuel-rumors-through-belief/

http://www.sun-sentinel.com/news/local/palmbeach/sfl-031809-gang-hoax,0,6556136.story

http://www.palmbeachpost.com/localnews/content/local_news/epaper/2009/03/18/0318walmart.html

For a more local take..

http://www.panews.com/breakingnews/local_story_077173110.html

And finally, most damning..

http://www.snopes.com/crime/gangs/walmart.asp -- SINCE 2005, PEOPLE, SERIOUSLY!

EDIT: Ok, Blogger has gone horribly stunted, and I can't get the links to work. Copy and paste, please. Long story short, this BS text message is old news. Don't believe it.

That's it. I quit.

2009-03-13T04:12:00.000-07:00

I used to be a not particularly nice person. I hurt people. Made what most people would consider mistakes. Was a bit selfish. Why do I bring this up?

It ties into the theme the title brings. A few years ago, I decided I would try to do good things. Be on the side of the angels for once. Six years, starting with helping out a friend who had a fiance walk out on her, literally in the middle of the night, because she wouldn't terminate a pregnancy.

Since then, I've spent six years on my knees. Avoiding temptation, nose the the grindstone, doing the right thing. Getting shot down every time I try to open up and be a good person.

No more. I'm sick and tired of trying to be one of the good guys. I just don't have it in me any more.

I've got a friend who is hell-bent on world domination. Forget that. Show me the little red button that must not under any circumstances be pressed. I'll press it. I find a way of destroying the world, existence, and I am there. Being a good person has just made me tired. Time to turn on my poker face, fall to the dark side, etc.

I'll still be here, you just probably won't wish I was..

ps - Doctor, if you're out there, I'm sorry. I tried.

The little plastic things, they make me happy..

2009-03-12T23:09:00.000-07:00

So, my emotional life has about as much depth as the kiddy wading pool at your local YMCA, this is no secret. I get little accomplishment out of a job well done. I have no meaningful relations with members of the opposite sex, and can count on one hand (with spare change) the number of people I can trust.

What makes me happy? The little plastic things. Now, don't go getting perverted on me. I get a small wave of relief every time I get one of these things

home and open the package, setting aside a place on the shelf for it.

I'll show you a brief glimpse of my sanctuary, and its accoutrements..

Here we have the greatest thing to hit toys since the original Transformers, the Classics / Universe Classics 2.0 line. They have a shelf to themselves, since I have a metric buttloadof them, in sizes ranging from Deluxe to Ultra.

Next shelf down, we have the Mighty Muggs Snake Eyes, Soundwave, and Storm Shadow [not pictured, Optimus Prime. He's on my desk at work]. Also on this shelf, a badly damaged G1 Soundwave and a Lego Indiana Jones set.

Yep, those are Watchmen toys. Nite Owl II, Silk Spectre II, and Leanin' Rorschach. In the back, you can just make out Shaun and Ed from Shaun of the Dead, and Shaun's newest girlfriend, Marley Shelton's character from Planet Terror. And off to the left there, Q from Star Trek. On either side, only slightly visible, are a Buddhist frog and a jade Buddha.

Here we have Random Shelf #1, with a Simpsons diorama, Captain America Armoured Iron Man, random skull, Joker statue, Madball, X-Men motorcycle [with Marvel Legends figures in the back], and a Superman Returns figure I picked up from Toys R Us for $0.90.

This shelf started out as just GI Joe Ninjas, but I picked up enough of them it expanded onto another shelf. Here we have two Baronesses, Destro, Cobra Commander, Wraith, and several Storm Shadows.

This shelf holds a small collection of Snake Eyes figures, the premiere GI Joe Ninja, plus his on-again, off-again girlfriend in paratrooper togs, Scarlett. Must make for some interesting nights..

..and here we have what gives me right to claim nerd cred over any shelf full of Voltron or Star Wars figures, a shelf of Doctor Who toys, including a classic Dapol Seventh Doctor figure, two each Ood and Clockwork Robot, two Tenth Doctors, Ninth Doctor hiding in the Electronic Flight Control [it does lots of crazy stuff] TARDIS, a Dalek [specifically Sec from the Cult of Skaro], new Cyberman, and companion Martha Jones. Oh, and to you Star Wars fans out there, two of my Doctors have Sonic Screwdrivers harvested from General Grievous's many lightsabers.
Big Lots knockoffs of Beast Wars Optimal Optimus and Transmetal II Megatron, ie "Optimus Primate and Magnatron" of the "Transtech Beast Fighters," with Movie line Jazz, Bumblebee, Barricade, Landmine, and Blackout. The shelf below holds the entire collection of McDonalds Lego Batman toys.

Above top shelf is my collection of Transformers Animated toys, and below is Random Shelf #2, even more random, with Superhero Squad Deadpool, Thor, and Loki, Indiana Jones and Dr Henry Jones, The Undertaker, Rita from Flushed Away, a Dead Like Me bobble-head, a pair of Chinese balls, a Cyberslammers Barricade, Joe-scale Batman and Joker, and several other small cheap toys.

And finally, my collection of mini-transformers. Far, far too many to name, but the lines include Heroes of Cybertron, Titanium Series, Robot Heroes, Movie keychains, and the very top are the Legends class toys of various Transformers line.

Not pictured is my blue box of toys, including a 12-inch Emporer Palpatine, Jesus action figure [with basket of bread and fish and inexplicable young boy], knock-off Devastator, Art Asylum Captain Archer from Enterprise, and various other random toys.

These things.. they give me a sense of peace, looking over them..

From the desk of Andrew Ryan..

2009-03-08T01:22:00.000-08:00

Would you kindly forgive the previous night's outburst? This one has forgotten the fact he's a cold bastard. Seems he made the mistake of overestimating the worth of people again, and he's learned his lesson.

He'll be fine going forward. After all, must make mistakes to learn, no?

Sometimes you need a friend..

2009-03-06T23:09:00.000-08:00

Worst thing, hands down, about being awake when everyone else is asleep?

Sometimes you really need a friend. Sometimes your an idiot, and bared your soul to someone you maybe shouldn't have. Sometimes your usual person for this is someone you don't want to talk to about it.

Just sometimes you don't have anyone to talk to. So I'm talking.. or typing.. to the aether. I need that shoulder right now, and there's no one I can call.

That just fucking figures. See if I stick my neck out for anyone again..

Just a puzzling thought..

2009-03-04T04:46:00.000-08:00

..why do I not feel worse about how empty life is?

I have shelves full of little plastic things bearing the names of Doctor Who, Transformers, Watchmen, GI Joe, and others.

I have a freezer with a bottle of Jamison's Irish Whiskey.

I have a cat.

I have an apartment that I've been able to pay for well over a year now.

I have several options of my next sexual conquest. (if you're reading this, I don't mean you..)

but that's all I really have.

My job is nigh on meaningless. Motivate people to some odd perfection of call-taking that isn't really attainable.

Relationship is dead. I had a shot with someone, but the emotional scars were too fresh, too raw to risk it.

Wall between me and the kid. Namely a wall I call "Ex."

Alcohol, toys, and sex. That's all that really interests me. I don't know if I've lost the ability to really be surprised anymore..

And I don't know if it bothers me. It's 10 till 7 in the morning, I have a meeting at 4, then work until 3. I'll be up in time for work. I'll break my back at it. Throw everything I have into it. Make wry jokes about drinking too much or having no life. And they'll laugh because they think that's all it is. A Joke. He's a funny guy.

I don't know. Waiting to die seems a bit harsh, but double-ewe tee eff am I still doing here?

Runaway Train..

2009-03-02T02:16:00.001-08:00

Train gone off the tracks...

I always hate this part. I check my watch, antiquated brass and cogs, powered by a single fission cell, and the time is right. I make my way to the back of this ancient transport, powered by the steam and coal gathered from the backs of strong but broken men. I move past the aristocrats, the upper crust, their makeup flaking in my wake.

History tells us that this steam train derailed mysteriously in approximately 3 minutes from current local chronal stream. Who am I to argue with history?

"Ours is not to question why.." I mutter, shouldering past an overly perfumed debutante flirting with a coal baron three times her age. History records this as a great tragedy, mainly because of the participants.

I move to the front car, stunning the driver with a short electric burst. Would this be any other night, he would wake nearly an hour later, thinking himself drunk and shrugging off the circumstance. Tonight however, he would not wake. I activate the wide-range stun effect, and slow the train to a stop. No one gets off.

I step off, taking a moment to appreciate the silence of the desert night. A primitive canine animal howls in the distance, and I smile briefly. I afford myself these emotional moments, at great risk. I plant the jumpstar in wheels of the train, and step back aboard. Lighting a small artificial nuclear fire in the engine of the train, it begins to move again, picking up speed far more quickly than it should. Soon..

The bend in the tracks nears. The train is travelling more than three times faster than it should. I feel gravity start to fight the tracks as the train leans hard into the turn. I press the small servo implanted in my wrist, simultaneously beginning the recall process and activating the jumpstar. A small, concussive force detonates in the undercarriage of the train, lifting the engine briefly off of the tracks as I slowly dissolve from this continuum and remateralize back in Control.

I nod at the operator. The job is done. I never question the job.

Never.

To Whom it May Concern..

2009-03-01T02:04:00.000-08:00

...83 years ago, the final rebellion against the new Emporer of Travidia was quelled. Life has become a peaceful, if ordered, utopia. The trains run on time..

Addressed to: Weather Control Bureau of Travidia

Subject: Temperature changes

Priority: High

Dear Sirs,

I am writing to you in a state of half-chill, sniffling greatly and at risk of missing my next required work-shift in the infrastructure preservation department, due to what I am sure is a simple miscalculation on the part of our fellow genuii at the Weather Control Bureau.

Normally, unmolested citizenship in Travidia requires 2 years labour in Infrastructure Rebuilding & Restoration. I am closing on the end of my 8th year as a proud member of the IR&R, and have even volunteered to work nights in the less desirable quarters of our proud nation. As such raises the problem I must now bring to your attention.

For the last three nights, I have left my lowly quarters in the habitat districts wearing little more than my regulation jumpsuit and light undershirt, arriving to work via the public transit system in a sweaty mess. This doesn't usually bother my colabourers, as they usually end up the same manner this time of year. However, upon leaving the confines of our work zone, we discover that the temperature has dropped some 50 degrees, with a thin layer of frost in places. Surely, this must be some oversight, as we are not scheduled for such temperatures, and the vast difference between day and night temperatures would not be seen in some former desert lands, let alone a cityscape.

Some action must be taken to ensure that our citizens are safe from environmental harm, otherwise we may be forced to take shelter in our own habitat districts, and then how would any work get done? If it isn't safe from sudden chills and flash frost, followed by heat stroke the next morning, what incentive have we to continue donating the required 63% of our income to the IR&R projects, let alone the sweat off our (partially frozen) brow?

I say in closing to you, sirs, you must not let this happen again. Travidia is known for its skilled workers and genius Operator class residents. This is hardly the example we set for the unenlightened zones of the world.

-Jamis,

IR&R Division 3

This was not the first such "malfunction," nor would it be the last.

Bloody suckbags..

2009-02-27T03:11:00.000-08:00

Can someone please tell me the appeal of vampires..?

Right, so, someone jumped you, poked you in the neck, and proceeded to drain the blood from your body. Naturally, you die of exsanguination, you get found, identified, embalmed, buried, etc. Then you claw your way out of your coffin with your preternatural strength, pray it's night when you break surface, and..

You're ready to party, STUD MUFFIN!!

Seriously. People dig vampires. I don't get it. It's a corpse that's slightly livelier than your average corpse. It's far more likely to kill you than turn you into one (overpopulation, anyone?), and let's face it: No one wants a relationship with someone that works nights and sleeps all day. That's no way to raise a family.

Whether it's pretention draped in a velvet coat, or a sparkly teenager, I can never look past the fact that they are dead. D. E. D. Dead. Even my main man Harry Dresden knows this, and didn't bang a vampire, despite her looking like Joanna Kelly. Yet I meet so many girls (and even guys!) that swoon over the thought of a vampire.

I think my biggest problem is that I have prominent canine and incisor teeth (seen Lost Boys?), naturally pale skin, eyes that are oversensitive to light, and can't sleep normal hours.

No, I'm not a vampire. They aren't real. I am, though, would you like to get to know me? ..no, stop eyeing my teeth. I don't want to bite you. No, I'm not 300 years old, that's ridiculou-- you know, I give up. Tilt your head back.

Interlude..

2009-02-26T02:07:00.000-08:00

Hrm.

Brb. Magic.

[edit] This might hurt a bit.. blood is thin from alchohol..

Oww.. So, 10 minutes later, I've blessed a friend, bought some luck, and made a token gesture towards keeping a promise.

My arm is killing me though. Either I need a sharper knife or thinner skin..

While the Earth Sleeps..

2009-02-26T00:51:00.000-08:00

Alright, so maybe the entire earth isn't sleeping. It's my day off, which means I only work 3 hours instead of 9. Meetings and whatnot. Also, Marvel Ultimate Alliance with my best mate and a girl who knows (read:can't stand) my ex-wife.

We have to beat it on hard before Ultimate Alliance 2 comes out. Fusion. Go look it up. It will be magnifique. It's based on Civil War, how can it go wrong?

So, everyone else has gone home. She's got school in the morning, he hasn't slept in a week. I'm on my second beer, after two shots of fine Jamison's and feeling that buzz that helps me write again. I have to get this all down before it goes away. BRB, have to refuel...

[Insert pause of 30 seconds while I get up from in front of my couch, grab another Killian's from the fridge, and light another cigarette -- for realism]

So, it's 2:55 AM now, and I'll be up another couple of hours. Some people think it odd that I start to get sleepy as the sun comes up. I personally tire of the "vampire" jokes. Maybe my next post will be a tirade against vampires..

I have something called Delayed Sleep Phase Disorder. Simply put, it's the exact opposite of normal people who find themselves assigned to overnight shifts and can't sleep during the day. I've worked day shifts before. I've gone in at 7 am, worked until 3-4, and been dead the whole day. I'm useless if I come in before 3, and I keep telling people that. I'm thinking of actually getting diagnosed, then coming in with a note pasted to my coat, saying "Look ye bastards and weep! Someone who's been here 5 and a half years and doesn't want your bloody morning shift!" I couldn't even care if I have weekends off, as it all blurs together naturally anyway. Sun comes up, I go to bed, wake up 8 hours later, then work 5 days in a row. Or at least, that's how it will be come Sunday, when I'm back on that shift. I've been off of it for so long it hurts. Getting up at 1 in time to get ready and be at work by 3? Painful. Getting up at 4 in time to be at work by 6? I can do that without an alarm. Sometimes I don't even sleep. Sometimes I only sleep 5 hours and feel fine.

I'm perfectly normal, I'm just a few hours ahead of the rest of you. That doesn't make me lazy, as you fail to take into account that by the time you've gone to sleep, I'm still at work. In fact, I may even be there when you come in the next morning. Depends on how productive I feel.

My only problem comes when trying to make it to the bank, a doctor, some appointment of some kind, or even the laundromat that closes early. Don't get me started on the comic shop. I'd love to go in once a week, spend $20, and leave, instead of making it once a month and having to drop nearly $100 on what I want. 24 hour Wal-Mart and Walgreens are a blessing, and conveniently located not 2 miles from me. Location is key when you don't sleep "decent people" hours.

On the plus side, I get all the right traffic conditions, and no hangovers because I'm still awake when I sober up. And I have an excuse to drink in the morning.

On a completely unrelated note, my phone has the most awesomest wallpaper ev0r. It's much like the Barak Obama "Hope" poster, but has G1 Optimus Prime with a "CHANGE" saying underneath it.

Next time..

Bloody suckbags..

Spookshow, Baby..

2009-02-22T22:59:00.000-08:00

I'm not entirely sure how that title fits with the subject of this post, but I'm just fuzzy enough in the head to make it run..

On the subject of mental oddities, I've noticed a few things about myself. Maybe it's just the time of year for self-introspection (how accurate of a term, or redundant, should I say?), but I've noticed I have the mentality of a hunter animal quite often.

I'm quite fond of the term Alpha male, despite how often it is mis-used. The cool guy, the jock, the one who gets all the attention. Not quite what I had in mind.

Alpha Male, used in biology, refers to the an individual that others in a pack defer to. In animals, this would refer to the fabled "Leader of the pack" or the decision-maker. The one who determines when it is time to hunt, mate, etc.

I often find myself in situations that require decision-making. In such situations, I find myself the one to speak up. The one to make a radical suggestion no one else had thought, or at the least no one had verbalized. In that frame of reference, I compare and contrast alpha male with supposed alpha male.

I can't stand people who pretend to have control over a situation.

My boss, the one who outranks everyone else at my job, is a guy named Mallory. Mallory has written a book (albeit a self-published one that he didn't pay a proofreader for), he's fond of throwing out hyperbole and leaving people scratching their heads, and of calling people out for bullshit in public. I admire this man, as he is my alpha. In fascist Italy, Mussolini was known for making trains run on time. In modern Sitel Port Arthur, Mallory makes the trains run on time.

On the other hand, the contrasting hand, the great left hand of evil, there is the one who thinks he has the answer. The one who comes up with something off the top of his head and refuses to accept any other point of view.

No, scratch that. Veering wildly off-topic.

Why am I the one people look to? I don't have the answers. All I have is confidence in my own abilities, my unnerring ability to point people in the right direction, and the ability to tell people straight up "Stop second-guessing yourself." That, and my devilish good lucks. And my cane. Chicks dig the cane.

Seriously guys. Stop expecting me to know everything. I'm 28 years old, smoke and drink too much, fall over a lot, and have a semi-permanent disability that I have never filed for. The only thing admirable about me is that I get up for work every day without fail and do my damned job. Why am I the one with the final say on things? Why am I the one who strides(hobbles?) boldly ahead of the group, with others trailing in my wake? Why am I the one who has to do it themselves when no one else has the balls to?

I'm tired. I don't want to be the alpha male anymore. I never asked for this, and I want to be lazy. Someone asked me today how I manage to get things done in the hours I'm normally scheduled for without having to work ungodly amounts of overtime, when everyone else works 60 hours just to scrape by.

I could call strike. I could decide I'll do just enough to get by, not stand out.

But i won't. I'll wake up tomorrow, shake off the hangover, and go to work. I'll do what's required of me, inspire one more person to do their job just that little bit better. I'll write something, and it'll be good. I'll call my daughter and talk to my newest ex-girlfriend. I'll keep the twin on my team from quitting one more day until she gets her feet on the ground. I'll do what's required of me and more.

But I'm damned sick and tired of it. I want disability and to be lazy. But it won't happen. I'll just keep going. It's me. And that's probably what makes me the dominant beast, male or no. The one that people look to for answers. But all I'll want to do is curl up on my nice new leather couch in the fetal position while my cat sleeps on my thigh and some sort of celtic punk plays from my laptop speakers.

Next time..

While the Earth Sleeps...

Stream of Conciousness

2009-02-22T01:17:00.000-08:00

Who says it's not a good idea to get drunk every night?

Seriously though. Three nights in a row, three blog posts. I'm improving. If nothing else, the cloud around my head right now is helping me focus on actually getting something down on text. If I were sober, I'd probably be watching some BBC castoff waiting for bedtime until I go to work tomorrow. Maybe I should stop taking days off, then I'll have something to keep me busy.

The title of this post is pretty much something that's been bugging me. Any time someone has ever told me in the past "Think about it", I'm humoring them.

Wikipedia refers to Stream Of Conciousness as..

Stream of consciousness refers to the flow of thoughts in the conscious mind. The full range of thoughts that one can be aware of can form the content of this stream, not just verbal thoughts. Commonly used experimental techniques, including self-reporting, gives easier access to verbal thoughts than to thoughts more closely connected to senses other than hearing and activities other than speaking and writing.

You can tell. That's their font.

I have no stream of conciousness. No train of thought at any given, random moment. I never actually think too deeply on anything. My mind seems to be tuned like one of those super-efficient car engines that switches itself off at a red light, then back on when the gas pedal is depressed. From one moment to the next, there is not actually a thought in my head. No rambling closeup of my face with utterly random thoughts.

I don't even think of sex every seven seconds. It's entirely possible that my eyes come to rest on the curve of someone's back, the cleave of someone's breast, slope of someone's thigh every seven seconds if I'm around people, but the thought? Only if I actively summon it. My mind works on a very primal level. My eyes take in my surroundings, my ears listen for threats or signs of weakness, my nose picks up perfumes like pheremones and stink like poison. My mind processes these things and then stops again, having deemed something as threat, prey, or background.

The blonde at work with the strong perfume? She causes a reaction in me that my body handles without bothering my mind. The guy at work that doesn't seem to wash his clothes? That salty smell stings my nose and I move on. I say something witty and gauge reactions. The normally confident guy falls silent, his eyes flick away for a moment. Weakness. The same interaction brings a reaction of a slight tilt to the head and a flicker of respect in another's eyes. The redhead chuckles quietly to herself.

A movie or tv telepath would have a nightmare with me. No rambling internal monologue. No self-doubting self-review to throw me off my game. Just a hollow silence, reflected in my eyes.

What is strange is, despite the lack of active thought, when I write or speak there is no pause. I sit to type and do so in roughly 10 minutes. I speak, and I finish what I say without stopping to think of the necessary words, my brain firing on all cylinders and finding the necessary verbiage without wasted neurons.

I don't pretend to know how this works, but it can't be normal. Should I worry?

Next time...

Spookshow baby..

Do these fingers still work?

2009-02-21T04:11:00.000-08:00

Alright, I know it's been a while since I posted anything. That's putting it mildly.

I figure enough time has passed that nobody that really matters will be able to see past the thick layer of dust currently cohabiting the URL for this blog, and it's safe to talk.

Shh... they might be listening.

Quiet, you. That's my paranoid side. The last few years have given him good reason to rear his ugly, untrusting head at the most inopportune moments. I've been left with some serious trust issues here lately, and they've been sabotaging me greatly.

I don't know if my ex-wife was unfaithful. She surely had many opportunities, as I was more than willing, if only to appease her, to let her go out with her friends while I stayed home with the little one. Don't get me wrong, I love the kid, and Resident Evil 4 wasn't going to beat itself.

But you don't know what she was doing, do you? They almost told you, and you stopped them..

A friend of mine, who pretty much trained me for my first position at the job I work, offered testimonial of her activities at a local gay bar. A girl who will remain nameless offered to give me details. I turned down the information each time. Why?

It didn't matter.

Doesn't it?

No, it doesn't. I've had a whole year and some change to get over any problems I had with her. I've told her as much, and I've adopted a policy of brutal honesty when it comes to her. Don't say it, or say the truth.

If only she'd afforded you that..

I told you to be quiet. It's unimportant. And you've done your fair share, haven't you. To you, who I doubt will ever read this, but if you do, I'm so sorry I can't trust you. I can't completely trust anyone. I hide certain things, like money and information, from even my closest friends. You've been so good to me, even though I don't deserve it. I didn't have to keep our relationship secret, or hobble it with my fears and insecurities. I could have trusted you, but I couldn't. One of her distant friends was on your MySpace, so I couldn't help but think you might know her. Report back to her. God, why did I let myself think that?

Because if could be true. She could still reach out and hurt you.

No. The Blonde didn't deserve that. She was so sweet, so patient. And finally, so mature, when she realized exactly where I was emotionally, recognized it from her own past, and put her feelings out there, bared them so unashamedly unlike anyone else had before her. She's going to leave eventually. Moving to a commune somewhere north, and I can't bring myself to convince her to stay.

I am so pathetically broken. Physically as well as emotionally. Sometime just prior to Hurricane Ike, I had to start using a cane again. My ankle, injured in a dramatic single vehicle accident, has started throbbing when I put too much weight on the back of my foot. That, along with my acetaminophen usage, alcohol consumption, and bitter outlook has drawn comparisons to Gregory House, even before I watched the show.

You had a chance to be happy? You really think that? What about the other shoe, it would have dropped, you know it would have..

Yeah maybe. But until then, it could have been nice. If only for a little while. Where I'm at, I have to convince myself there's a reason to pull myself out of the hole where I don't trust anyone. The meaningless sexual encounters. Drinking too much and falling over. Finding happiness in the little plastic mass marketed sculptures of pop legend.

I have to convince myself it's not a good idea to seduce the young, immature redhead at work and punish her for her pettiness. I've had several people, ironically all women, tell me I'm truly a good person here lately, but I can't bring myself to believe them. It's easier to be the villian, and somebody's got to be.

Somebody's got to be.. better you than them.

Next time.. Stream of conciousness?

Coming soon again..

2009-02-21T03:38:00.001-08:00

Extreme ways are back again
Extreme places I didn't know
I broke everything new again
Everything that I'd owned
I threw it out the window came along
Extreme ways I know will part the colors of my sea
'Perfect color me'

Extreme ways that help me
They help me out late at night
Extreme places I had gone
That never seen any light
Dirty basements, dirty noise
Dirty places coming through
Extreme worlds alone
Did you ever like it planned?

I would stand in line for this
There's always room in life for this

Oh baby, oh baby
Then it fell apart, it fell apart
Oh baby, oh baby
Then it fell apart, it fell apart

Extreme sounds that told me
They held me down every night
I didn't have much to say
I didn't give up the light
I closed my eyes and closed myself
And closed my world and never opened up to anything
That could get me at all

I had to close down everything
I had to close down my mind
Too many things caught me
Too much could make me blind
I've seen so much in so many places
So many heartaches, so many faces
So many dirty things
You couldn't even believe

I would stand in line for this
It's always good in life for this

Oh baby, oh baby
Then it fell apart, it fell apart
Oh baby, oh baby
Then it fell apart, it fell apart

Oh Baby, oh baby

Oh baby, oh baby

Then it fell apart, it fell apart Oh baby, oh baby
Then it fell apart, it fell apart Oh baby, oh baby
Then it fell apart, it fell apart
Oh baby, oh baby
Like it always does, always does

I came, I chatted, I conquered.

2008-10-14T23:50:00.000-07:00

Welcome to Centennial Wireless Live Chat Support! One of our representatives will be with you momentarily.

You have been connected to Marquita T.

Marquita T: Hello, thank you for choosing Centennial Live Chat, how may I assist you today?

Salem MacG: Hello, Marquita. I have a question regarding your coverage. In the Southeast Texas region, do you run on 850 or 1900 mhz?

Marquita T: Our system runs on 850 mhz to 1900 mhz.

Salem MacG: I understand this. It says as much on your webpage. Is there any way of determining specifically which band an area is covered by?

Marquita T: Thank you, one moment please.

Salem MacG: I have an older model phone that does not receive 850mhz frequency, and I always seem to be roaming.

Marquita T: I understand, just one moment ,please.

Salem MacG: Take your time, Marquita.

Marquita T: Thank you.

Marquita T: The phone has to be Quad band, it has to accept a Sim card.

Salem MacG: Really? Most carriers only require a dual band phone, as 1900 is the most commonly used frequency. As for accepting a SIM card, I assumed as much.

Marquita T: If you are considering purchasing a phone that is not from Centennial Wireless please be advised we do not guaranteed the features will work correctly.

Salem MacG: Quad band is only really required for international travel.

Marquita T: Our system is formatted for Quad band.

Salem MacG: I really only need to know if my area is 850 or 1900 mhz.

Salem MacG: Quad band, meaning 4 frequencies, yes? Only two are used in this country.

Salem MacG: I'm not sure I follow.

Marquita T: Our system runs on 850 mhz to 1900 mhz. Yes, 4 frequencies.

Salem MacG: Do you have anything like an Interactive Coverage Map? Something you can check to see if Jefferson County, Texas is covered by 850 or 1900?

Marquita T: Thank you, one moment please.

Salem MacG: Take your time, Marquita. As a prospective customer, this is a very important question to me.

Marquita T: All of the frequencies are authorized in the United States.

Salem MacG: All... 2 frequencies? Yes, but which one is used in my area?

Marquita T: All four frequencies are available in the United States.

Salem MacG: I'm afraid they aren't. 900 and 1800 aren't used inside of the continental US.

Salem MacG: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quad_band

Marquita T: Preferred Frequency Requirements: 850, 900, 1800, 1900 Mhz

Salem MacG: 900 MHz (Africa/Europe/Brazil/Australia/Asia (ex Japan and S. Korea))

Salem MacG: 1800 MHz (Africa/Europe/Australia/Asia/Brazil)

Salem MacG: But that is beside the point.

Salem MacG: I feel we're moving off track, you and I.

Salem MacG: I just need to know which frequencies are used in a general area in Texas.

Marquita T: How may I assist you?

Salem MacG: ^

Salem MacG: Check my last couple of entries, please.

Marquita T: Those are four frequencies we use in Texas.

Salem MacG: No. 900 and 1800 are not used anywhere in the United States. Or Texas. Only 850 and 1900.

Salem MacG: I need to know which one, 850 or 1900, is used in Jefferson County, Texas.

Marquita T: Thank you, one moment please.

Marquita T: I apologize, I do not know which phones on our network are utilizing different bands. The four frequencies that we offer customers in Texas are able to use our service there.

Salem MacG: Fair enough. Thank you for your time, Marquita. I'm sorry we weren't able to reach a clearer conclusion. Please, though, even if its in your spare time, read the link I sent you. 900 and 1800 are *NOT* used ANYWHERE in the US.

Marquita T: I would advise you to contact the local office or our Technical support with further questions. I will do further research, thank you.

Atmosphere..

2008-08-18T00:35:00.000-07:00

So I'm sitting here right now, drunk off of cheap white wine, smoking a cigarette and reading Warren Ellis's Transmetropolitan while Alien Sex Fiend plays a bit too loud for 2:36 AM.

I bought a pair of Katana, by the way. I hate to say life is good, because that always jinxes things, but..

EDIT:

On a hot summer night, would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?

Will he offer me his mouth?
Will he offer me his teeth?
Will he offer me his jaws?
Will he offer me his hunger?
Again, will he offer me his hunger?
And will he starve without me?

SECOND EDIT:

I burned a small blister in my mouth on hot cheese and fajitas earlier. The wine seems to have crept into my bloodstream faster that way. I am not saying this is a bad thing, and neither is Shirley Manson, who is speaking directly to me, at this point.

Jihad on Ice Cream? I am not making this up..

2008-06-28T16:02:00.000-07:00

Lifted from Wikipedia..

An issue of a religious nature arose in 2005 in the United Kingdom when Burger King introduced a new prepackaged ice cream product; the label of the product included a silhouette of the ice cream that when rotated on its side bore a resemblance to the Islamic inscription for God, Allah (الله). When a British Muslim named Rashad Akhtar, a resident of the community of High Wycombe, was presented with the ice cream cone in a Park Royal Burger King restaurant, he noticed the resemblance and became angered at what he felt was an offense to the Islamic faith.[75] After being informed of the likeness, the local Islamic group Muslim Council of Britain pointed out the issue of the possible interpretation to Burger King; the company voluntarily recalled the product and reissued a version with a new label.[20] The Muslim Council praised the company for its "sensitive and prompt action" in resolving the matter,[76] however Akhtar was not satisfied with the company's withdrawal of the product.[75]

In response to the perceived blasphemy, Akhtar declared it was his personal jihad to find those responsible for the packaging in order to destroy their professional status, personal life and the UK as a whole for having a culture allowing the insult to occur.

Blood on Benefits..

2008-06-18T12:30:00.000-07:00

Apparently, this is what professional actors in the UK do when they're bored.

It's like Saw, with vampires. I am amused..

Win. Complete and total.

2008-06-16T03:55:00.000-07:00

HAHAHHAHA H HAHAHAHAAAAAHHHAHAHAHAHAH AHHAHAHAH AHHAHAHAHA kkkk****

On a related note, I'm in love. Seriously.

This is truly a crime against good taste..

2008-05-22T21:05:00.001-07:00

Yes, that is the Edited version of Requiem For A Dream. On sale next to Jackass: The Movie Unrated version.

Because we all know that a little "ass to ass" lesbianism is far more dangerous than people acting like total morons.

This is truly a crime against good taste..

2008-05-22T21:05:00.000-07:00

I just came..

2008-05-21T17:24:00.000-07:00

+

+

=

Oh my god I can kill them with BEES!!

2008-05-20T12:26:00.001-07:00

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet..

2008-05-17T05:39:00.000-07:00

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetuer adipiscing elit. Nunc laoreet risus nec orci. Donec a mi. Aenean eget ipsum. Nunc dictum fringilla elit. Proin porta pellentesque dui. Nullam tellus enim, dapibus id, sagittis et, suscipit ac, orci. Mauris gravida dolor quis turpis. Maecenas quis purus. Integer tempor massa a magna. Etiam id urna. Nunc orci nisi, euismod eget, egestas at, dapibus nec, felis. Praesent porttitor fermentum metus. Praesent sollicitudin.

Duis ut turpis sed lacus sollicitudin sodales. Nunc varius. Pellentesque mattis dignissim quam. Donec consequat velit sit amet leo. Curabitur euismod cursus risus. Integer id nisl. Maecenas odio ante, pellentesque sit amet, cursus eget, condimentum nec, est. In dictum eros. Aliquam ultrices dolor. Donec velit est, egestas porta, elementum in, lacinia vel, purus. Nulla laoreet mollis metus. Phasellus est velit, porta eget, sollicitudin non, tristique non, nulla. Nam nec sapien. Nunc lacus magna, sodales id, semper id, sodales eget, diam. Nullam faucibus, purus vitae sodales fermentum, quam ipsum rhoncus orci, et vulputate erat felis et metus. Donec blandit nisl eu diam. Maecenas dui. Ut quam. Maecenas tincidunt varius leo. Etiam ultrices orci quis sem rutrum porta.

Sed laoreet, felis a pellentesque bibendum, augue nunc convallis tellus, vitae lobortis magna urna viverra ipsum. Sed aliquet est eget nisi. Vestibulum fringilla, neque a faucibus volutpat, lectus erat scelerisque est, a viverra dui tortor vitae urna. Vestibulum enim lacus, mattis a, tincidunt ac, posuere nec, tortor. Fusce in purus. Quisque semper tortor eget eros dignissim iaculis. Suspendisse semper, quam tristique vestibulum faucibus, nibh tortor fringilla ipsum, vitae mollis felis leo id ante. Sed justo. Aliquam erat volutpat. Donec ipsum. Sed ultricies. Vestibulum pulvinar malesuada nunc. Nunc convallis tristique nulla.

Morbi ligula magna, posuere a, suscipit non, fermentum egestas, mauris. Nulla adipiscing pellentesque pede. Cras non leo. Sed vel nunc non neque dignissim interdum. Mauris vel odio. Vestibulum fermentum. Nam scelerisque nisi. Ut pellentesque, nisi accumsan sollicitudin cursus, justo est pretium purus, et feugiat massa quam in ipsum. In hac habitasse platea dictumst. Maecenas sed magna nec quam posuere condimentum. Cras dui sapien, tempus ac, rutrum a, bibendum quis, nulla.

Praesent molestie fermentum felis. Aenean dapibus urna faucibus ipsum. Suspendisse hendrerit placerat erat. Curabitur quis arcu. Nulla tellus leo, tincidunt ac, varius vitae, semper id, leo. Suspendisse potenti. Duis volutpat ante vitae leo. Nulla dui enim, tempor nec, sollicitudin vel, feugiat sed, lectus. Curabitur consectetuer tempor leo. Mauris dignissim euismod est. Fusce rutrum. Morbi mollis tristique leo. Nulla euismod. Nulla a massa. Suspendisse gravida, urna a rhoncus pellentesque, metus magna congue quam, sit amet hendrerit velit dolor in massa. Aenean bibendum. Duis pellentesque ipsum vel arcu dignissim bibendum. Suspendisse vel massa eu enim porta iaculis. Aliquam fringilla facilisis mauris. Pellentesque habitant morbi tristique senectus et netus et malesuada fames ac turpis egestas.

Dear Linkin Park,

2008-05-13T03:17:00.000-07:00

Ok, I'll stop making fun of you now..

Sincerely,

Salem.

ps - Chester, you still sound like a little kid half the time.

There's a reason Bendis rhymes with Genuis..

2008-03-31T02:38:00.000-07:00

*insert sound of hysterical laughter here..*

Drunken events..

2008-03-31T01:21:00.000-07:00

So, I had a few drinks over the other night to friend. Or at least that's what it seemed at the time, make your own sense. Nerd conversations, from Sci fi to video games, Doctor Who to the Build Engine, Lost to Duke Nukem, all the while more and more of my toys migrated from shelf to table, eventually ending up with.. well, you can see.

Yes, that's Jesus, with a little boy on a metal leash. And below, you see Starscream tail-piping Shockwave, with the Tenth Doctor's head stuck inside a Transformer orifice.

We are strange ones, indeed..

Observations on the Mindset of Texans..

2008-03-30T01:35:00.000-07:00

Just for the record people, here's a map of Texas. For anyone living in the Houston or east-of area, you do NOT live in Southeast Texas.

There is no Southeast Texas. Southeast Texas would, technically, be in the Gulf of Mexico, as this nice map points out.

The sooner you all come to grips with this, the better.

Now, this is just interesting..

2008-03-25T06:25:00.001-07:00

It's been too long since I've lived in a proper place, and been able to meet such painfully interesting people..

I swear I'm not making this up..

2008-03-23T23:17:00.001-07:00

Chris from the ISB would FLIP if he saw this..

Just for the record..

2008-03-23T21:53:00.000-07:00

I don't think I've ever heard anything quite as gay* as Quietdrive's cover of "Time after Time."

Seriously, I feel testosterone leaking away just hearing Cyndi Lauper doing the original version. Hearing what sounds like a 17 year old boy that hasn't dropped his stones sing it accompanied by a soft pop-punk musical background makes my boy-glands hurt.

*Just for the record, I don't mean gay in an insulting manner. I'm quite fond of gay people, they're hardly ever boring.

Support teams are engaged..

2008-03-17T17:05:00.000-07:00

I appreciate the outpouring of concern over my absence, I truly do. Let me all assure you that I am doing fine, and taking the opportunity of a lack of internet to do some sorely needed work. Overtime at work (I'm apparently the official fill-in person for, oh, half of the staff..), rebuilding a social life, and getting rid of some of these damnable CD-ROMs that are cluttering the boxes in my apartment.

I've managed to at least partially furnish my apartment, with a few shelves, a pieces of furniture, and my table and chair set retrieved from my ex-in-law's garage. Several GI Joe ninjas have been added to my display collection, as have several Doctor Who action figures (rock on, Suncoast..).

I've made a few trips out to local bars, a place called Dylan's which is small, has pretty blonde waitresses, horrible live music, etc. Doubly interesting is my first trip in, I was chatted up by a guy in the men's room. Whilst urinating. Either I must have looked really good, or he must've been peeking (shh...).

Mostly, I've been enjoying the rumour mill that's been circulating at work. I was told just last night that there've been rumours linking me, ahem, carnally to at least 9 different women at work. In the last three months. Apparently, and unbeknownst to me, I'm the Wilt Chamberlain of the call center business.

Have managed to track down the first three books in the Faction Paradox series. The Book Of The War, This Town Will Never Let Us Go, and ..Of The City Of The Saved. I recommend them to anyone, especially if you'd like some good sci-fi, and enjoy the nice people at Barnes & Noble saying "Well, we've only got two in the warehouse, but I'll go ahead and order them. I have to warn you, it may not get here."

I have been working on some bits of fiction here and there lately, and I plan on posting them as soon as I've cleaned them up and figured out a way to upload them. I'm only here because I put in for paid time off for St Paddy's day and flatly refused to come in when they called me three hours before my normal shift would have begun today. I worked 12 hours yesterday, they're not getting me today.

The worst thing about this "no internet at home" thing is that I'm missing all my favourite TV shows. Two episodes of Torchwood, two episodes of Ashes to Ashes, the last ever episode of Two Pints of Lager, however many more episodes of The Sarah Connor Chronicles they finished. Hope they don't cancel that show. Heard they cancelled Bionic Woman, which irks me, as I had quite a crush on Michelle Ryan.

One advantage though, is the aforementioned work done. More work to do, to.

One thing first, though. It's St Paddy's day.

Cheers.

Ah DAMMIT

2008-03-05T00:21:00.000-08:00

Alright, people I'm sorry.

I'm trying, I really am. Only, you know, some bastard just secured his router.

I'll be back ASAP, I promise.

Hacked Websites

2008-02-03T22:24:00.000-08:00

On the subject of hacked websites, I always find it a bit funny, if they're of a morally or legally objectionable nature. Usually, old-school hackers aren't terribly malicious, and in the spirit of such, hacker group Anonymous releasing their YouTube video and taking Scientology.org offline was just downright hilarious to me(more of my opinions on this soon).

A slightly less harmful, but no less annoying and culturally dismaying website, wouldyouhitthis.com, has apparently been hit as well. Not exactly a DDoS attack, but still nonetheless effective. Guess people will have to look elsewhere for their bang bucks and nudie pictures..

Nostalgia, Vol2: Ears

2008-01-20T03:52:00.000-08:00

Everyone has those albums.

The groupings of songs that have almost lost their meaning in this day of digital downloads, online singles, and downloaded compilation discs. An album is, at least it used to be, the artist's original vision of songs that, together, formed a single entity. A consistent sound that guides you through a story. In some cases, a cacophony of unrelated sounds. At best, a story that through lyric and sound will enlighten or at least entertain you. I can't speak for the current generation, as more and more I find myself part of the "last generation." Or maybe the one before that, I can hardly keep track these days, and don't much feel like divulging my true age even to my dear readers, dedicated though they may be. I'm going to focus on albums this time around, as my nostalgia closet gets opened one more time.

Meat Loaf: Bat Out Of Hell II: Back Into Hell

Come on, now. Despite being a VH1 staple, back when VH1 wasn't cool, and didn't focus on individual years of pop culture and "celebreality" (totally, like, gag me with a spoon), this album was a work of art. Despite the obvious track of "I Would Do Anything For Love", with it's motorcycle-revving entry, and Hunchback of Notre Dame stylings, this is truly a seminal work. More polished than the first "Bat", yet far superiour to the recent release of "Bat 3", this album had such gems as "Life Is A Lemon" that expressed such disappointment at life not living up to what it's supposed to be, "Objects in the Rear View Mirror" echoing many nostalgic sentiments of mine, feeding me BS about how life used to be so much better, and "Wasted Youth" firing up such teenage rebellion. This was one of the first cassettes I purchased, back when I first moved back to America having lived for so long in various bits of Europe, entering high school and being the new kid with a weird accent. I've still got this album on my Creative Zen, and any time the random track plays a bit of it, I'm instantly in the back seat of the high school bus, with my ratty walkman, volume cranked riding home after a long day of being angsty and flirting with the football team's girls. It smells like being a freshman again.

The Sisters Of Mercy: Floodland

I had a friend whom the memory of which I value more than anything. I sometimes think he was a little swept up in scheming, perhaps playing one side against the other at unnecessary moments, all for dramatic effect that he didn't really need. Jason Penn, I miss you sometimes. If you're ever reading this, please drop me an email, if for no other reason than to let me properly thank you for pulling this album out of your collection and letting me borrow it, after having not even known me for very long. I think it was this, coupled with seeing that picture of Amanda you showed me, in white makeup with that black veil, that originally woke up that bit of me that would bring me through to being able to validly claim "Old School Goth" as my true culture. This album was so cynical, so lyrical, and so hopeful all at once. I still listen to it every time like it was the first.

Guns 'n Roses: Use Your Illusion

It was the orange one, right? Because they release two of these. The one with the livelier, cockier lyrics. The one that taught me that being a bit full of yourself wasn't such a bad thing. That if you lived the image for long enough, people bought into it to. Still a philosophy I live by, so much so that the image has become the man, and all for the better. I'm a bit of a cocky bastard, and it's all this album's fault. Truth be told, I'm listening to one of the tracks now. That epic, November Rain. Still, I hate Axl, for if there's one thing I'm for, it's putting on a good show. That one time in Canada still burns me. Double-billing, Metallica and Guns 'N Roses. James Hetfield burns himself in a flashpot, has to be taken to hospital, and Axl can't go out because he's smoking his cigarettes and drinking his champagne, and he's got a sore throat. There was, literally, a riot that night. GNR could have gone out and played a killer, extra-long show, and the fans would have put it down in history. Instead, Axl's a dick, and instead, Montreal (a beautiful city, btw), gets torched. Still, leads me to...

Metallica: The Black Album

Alright, crucify me. I could have gone old-school metal and picked Kill Em All. I could have gone politico and picked ..and Justice For All. I could have gone controversial and picked Load. But no. Metal begins and ends with Enter Sandman. This is quite possibly the most perfect Metal song ever written, open to close. It's flawless, it truly is. There's only one track on this album that bugs me, and that's Sad But True, and that one was fully redeemed by White Trash King Kid Rock in his American Badass missive. Wherever I May Roam and Of Wolf And Man particularly appeal to me. The latter probably due to my love of Werewolves. That's a new fact you didn't know, eh?

Lacuna Coil: Karmacode

I'll make a confession. With the exception of Enjoy The Silence (possibly the best Depeche Mode cover I've EVER heard), Closer (which is gorgeous), and To The Edge (which I think sounds like Korn should sound), this album is one big song to me. It all sounds the same. And, if I'm speaking honestly, that's a good thing in this case. I don't mind at all, because it's one incredible song sung by a woman whom I truly cannot find words for.

Laurie Anderson: The Ugly One with the Jewels

Alright so this one is spoken word. Completely, with a few sound effects here and there. But this woman, Laurie Anderson, is truly the greatest storyteller I've ever heard. When my daughter's old enough, I want her to hear it. She's got a way with words that I've never heard anyone match, down to even myself. It's a seriously universal crime that she's not more famous than she is. Please, if you take anything away from this, go to a torrent site or SOMETHING and for your own good, please obtain a copy of this album. It's the sheer definition of "work of art" that anything audio-related can achieve.

I hope you've all taken something valuable from this. I still, to this day, highly recommend everything I've mentioned here. Enjoy, please.

Smartass DJ's...

2008-01-19T05:08:00.000-08:00

*BBC6 Radio DJ during the tail end of Thin Lizzy's Jail Break*

Tonight there's gonna be a jailbreak ..

Somewhere in the town .,

Tonight there's gonna be a jailbreak ..

So don't you be around ..

"Tonight there's going to be a jailbreak.. I'd assume that'd be at the prison. "

Style: A Skill or Will issue

2008-01-19T00:56:00.000-08:00

Nnnff.

I've just sort of realized, in a drama-friendly fashion, that I don't own a single T-shirt. No shirt with a witty, internet-based catch phrase, no ratty faded article with a flaming skull and a Metallica logo, not even one of those ginchy "One-Up" numbers in bright green with a mushroom on it(do love those, by the way..). In fact, only a small percentage of my shirts don't have either or both cuffs or collar. Most have some sort of semi-stylish vertical stripes.

I have more rings than I do fingers (and I promise I don't wear them all at once), an expensive(looking) watch, a celtic knot/cross necklace, and a simple studded bracelet (shades of punk rock) that I regularly wear. My hair, when not long, is short enough that it either spikes up on its own, or at the very least is gelled up into place. My facial hair is in one of three states: clean-shaven except for a strip of hair down my chin, that plus a five o'clock goatee, or a full 5 shadow.

I'm very focussed on not necessarily a specific style, just that I HAVE one. Which is why I think it bothers me when I see people that live from one day to the next in simple t-shirt and jeans. I love the goth subculture dearly. I've been there and gone through the other side. Most days I still feel like I'm there, which must confuse the kids working at Hot Topic to no end. Punk Rock and I go way back. Even hip hop and country, when done properly, can be admired.

There's a girl I work with: I wouldn't say she'd fallen off the apple cart, more that she was following it, looking for a ride. She's interesting to look at, and for more than the fact that she is quite attractive. She's got STYLE. Snakebite piercings through her bottom lip. Stripes and solids that by all rights shouldn't EVER be worn together, that she can get to work SO right. Hair in several different shades that seems to be sporting several styles at once. She's got style. She's a bit off, but she makes me happy knowing there's people out there that will put effort into themselves.

Even people who, in no way fathomable, should not be emulated, questionably respected, make me a little happy. Mute it if you have to, but take a look at this Kelly Clarkson video. That's some awesome style. Yeah, it's a music video, by an American Idol (ick) winner, and the whole thing down to her outfit was probably professionally engineered, but that's some damn style. I'd just HAVE to talk to her if I saw her in a club or out somewhere. Just to see.

There's people all over the world, too. Colin Farrel has style. Will Smith has style. Will Smith has loads of style. Patrick Stewart has style.

So can you.

Quick update..

2008-01-09T14:33:00.001-08:00

Well, I've gotten my new laptop computer. A limited edition HP dv6000. Under a grand for 250GB HDD, a 256MB Nvidia card, and 2GB of RAM. The only thing that made me hesitate is Vista and an AMD processor. I've never owned an AMD before, but the price was right.

And I'm a sucker for free gadgets. They threw in a remote control (a remote control!!) that works on Vista, so dammit, I'm stuck. I'm at least going to give Vista a try, and I'll be damned if this thing isn't flying along at obscene speeds despite all the pretty nonsense on my desktop..

Doubt in the City..

2007-12-30T18:50:00.000-08:00

[Excerpt from the Prelude to the War]

When you're little, you're told of a place high in the sky, perhaps in a large cloudbank, where people go after they die, but only if they've been good. They never tell you much detail of this place, only that there is a set of pearl gates, clouds, and angels. These sorts of descriptions work well when you're a child, as your mind fills in the rest with blurred details so your vision of heaven ends up resembling not much more than the Care Bears' home.

There is a place that is not really a place, far away, but right next door, metaphysically speaking. In this place, there is a City that stretches on literally forever, as it houses a large portion of everyone who has ever, or will ever, live. Not a majority, mind you, not even close. But a large number, nonetheless. To an outsider, which this place has never admitted, all the structures look uniform, but in reality, they all look different depending on who looks at them. Each resident of the City has the largest home, at least in their own eyes, and as long as they do not question it, they remain under that impression. Each resident of the City is happy with his or her (or neither) lot.

The people here spend most of their time flitting about on expansive, bird-like wings, not out of necessity, or even design, but simply because that is how they believe they should travel. Eventually one resident of the city will begin to feel a bit silly and land, and walk for some distance, before recovering and reclaiming that glorious right they have to soar like a bird again.
There are no businesses here, unless one is needed, at which point it will manifest itself, along with a resident that feels the urge to be productive and sell an otherwise unneeded article of consumer goods to someone else who may feel the urge to purchase an otherwise unneeded article of consumer goods. Echoes of the past are everywhere here.

In the City center, which is never more than two blocks from the outer edge of forever, there is tower, which is not terribly high from the ground, but is always several meters higher than anyone ever feels like flying before giving up and forgetting why they would ever need to fly that high. The entire upper floor is a massive wraparound window that overlooks the City in every direction. The view from here is indescribable, if only because the only two ever allowed to see it access it from easily sixteen senses that are simply not allowed human beings.

In this blurred, slightly hazy perception of the tower, two men stand overlooking the northeast quadrant of the City, and in the space of their conversations twelve curious residents decide, then decide against, flying to the top of the tower. One man stands behind, and slightly to the left, of the other, in a position of deference. The man behind is tall, slender, and beautiful, with a light beard and shoulder-length hair. A light scar runs down his right side, and he radiates an air of calm that, even from this inexplicable vision you're having, makes you feel somewhat more at ease with the world. The man in front seems to have two faces at once, without even looking at him. One face is angry, and makes you tremble at the thought of what he may do if displeased. The other, sad but loving. You feel terrified but safe at the same time, and confused, so you turn your focus to the man behind instead. He is talking, and slowly the words come to you.

"Contact was made, Father. She was reluctant at first, but is carrying the message to its intended recipient. I'm... I'm not sure this is the right course though."

There is the barest flicker of noise at the edge of your thoughts. A slight buzz, or high-pitched whine. The man behind winces visibly, his aura of calm slightly shaken. This worries you greatly.

"Of course not, but I have to .. not question, but are they really ready? They've had thousands of years, and all they've done is figure out new and inventive ways of killing each other. I understand we're pressed for time, but we have so much more of an advantage than any other pantheon before us. The technological age has afforded us the opportunity to spread our influence so much further. I feel we should wait! Give our message time to evol- Sorry, I know you hate that word- but you know what I mean!"

There is another noise, and the man's eyes widen, and he becomes quiet, almost smaller.
"Yes, Father. I understand. I'll attend to those matters immediately. You're sure you won't get directly involved though?"

A short noise, then it is quiet. As the veil falls over your eyes again, you begin to move back towards waking, but the last thing you see is the man behind moving past you, a single tear forming in his eye, hardly masking a quietly terrified look.

Try not to wake screaming. I know this can not have been a comforting experience, but you will need it in the days to come.

True Call Center Madness..

2007-12-29T23:31:00.000-08:00

What happens to a character when their sales are flagging, and they just can't get any good exposure? Sure, we've seen relaunch after relaunch of tired characters like Punisher or even Taskmaster, brought back to the limelight by a superstar writer / artist team, or big arcing storylines involving EVERY SINGLY COMIC BOOK (except for Warren Ellis's NextWAVE) that brought the spotlight back to minor characters, if only briefly. But what happens when Fate takes a different turn, and they find themselves needing a little extra income?

Inspired by a friend of mine's excellent series of Comic Book characters written by Famous Authors, I give you: Marvel Tech Support!

That's right, outsourcing. That plague of computer owners and underpaid tech support staff alike, even superheroes need extra income. I was recently afforded a look behind the scenes at Marvel's very own in-house call center, located on the 435th floor of the Baxter Building. I was let in to their QA department, to hear some interesting, scary, and at times amusing tech support calls. Any corporation names have been removed to protect copyright interests.

Call 1: Mobile phone support.
Agent: Doctor Strange.

DrS: Thank you for calling ******* tech support, my name is Stephen, how can I help you today?
Customer: Yeah, my phone's not powering on.
DrS: I'm sorry to hear that, I can understand how important it is to keep in touch with family. One moment, while I check our network [at this point, Strange puts the customer on mute] BY THE RUBY RINGS OF RAGGADORR, SHOW ME THIS PHONE! [off mute] Sir, have you dropped the phone in any water recently?
Customer: No, of course not. It just stopped working, I don't know why.
DrS: Sir, the all-seeing Eye of Agamotto has verified that your liquid damage indicator is red. **Call dropped**

Call 2: Cable TV Company.
Agent: Jean Grey (Phoenix)

Phnx: Thank you for calling *******, my name is Jean, how can I help you today?
Customer: I'm not getting any channels on my television. It's all static.
Phnx: I see, and how long has this been happening?
Customer: Well, there was a storm earlier today, some lightning strikes, and ever since then it's stopped working.
Phnx: Alright, well what I'm doing right now is just checking for any outages in your area... and.. there it is. One moment sir .. Ah, there was a line down due to a lightning strike. Is it working now?
Customer: Yes! Actually, it is! That's brilliant! Did you send a technician out that quickly?
Phnx: Erh..yes. Yes, sir, that's it exactly..

Call 3: Computer support.
Agent: Bruce Banner (Hulk)

Hulk: Thank to call **** Support. Hulk answer your call today.
Customer: ..uh.. yeah. My computer's got a blue screen.
Hulk: Hulk no like blue. Hulk like green. Sometimes gray. No blue.
Customer: Yeah, can you fix it?
Hulk: Customer wait. Hulk check.[customer is placed on hold. Hulk raises his hand, and a supervisor checks on him. There is unintelligible chatter for a moment, then in a raised voice: HULK NO LIKE PUNY MANAGER! HULK SMASH MANAGER! HULK QUIT JOB! HULK NO NEED THIS STRESS! - After some time on hold, the customer disconnects.]

I was able to smuggle out several more recordings from the Marvel Call Center's QA department, but it will take some time to transcribe them.

Picture Post

2007-12-27T03:01:00.001-08:00

Yes, I know I'm a horrible person for neglecting my blog. I'll be writing something again very soon, but until then, here's a collection of oddball pictures I've taken with my cameraphone.

This is a caterpillar, with a quarter for reference. F'ing huge.

This is just sad.

Figures you're in a small Texas town when GI Joe relaunches, and the only figure not bought up is the black guy.

This is a not-so-great angle of the car I'm buying.

This is a better angle. I'm a sucker for red-heads. Still, $600 can't be beat.

This is the cutest thing you will see this Christmas. Quiet now, no arguments.

This means you're well and truly fucked.

This is awesome.

Spelling, on the other hand, starts on the next aisle.

They asked me to draw a pig for a psychological exercise at work. I somehow don't think they expected that, though.

Finally, yes. I AM a nerd. Why do you ask?

Young Bloods..

2007-12-13T16:34:00.001-08:00

I'm watching him now, in the mirror. The old man at the bar. Looks like easy prey. Should be enough of a snack to start the night off..

He's walking.. no, limping through the doors of the bar. Brass-handled cane, ugly wood finish. His right leg doesn't bend at all, and looks a little smaller around than the left. Below the sleeve of his right arm, he's got scars heading down to his wrist, circling it in an angry white spiderweb of raised skin. He's got to be in his mid-50s, with a few extra decades of wear on his face. He eases himself onto a bar stool, and orders. Sets the cane against the railing of the bar. The bartender nods at him silently, hands him a double of whiskey. The man stares into it for at least five minutes before picking it up and downing it one slow, mournful shot.

The doors open again, and this time a girl walks in. She can't be more than 17, but she walks in like she owns the place. No one stops her at the door. She turns slowly, taking it in. Her nostrils flare, ears perk up. A frat boy stumbles over with a shot glass in his hand, full of mystery and excitement and just a little bit of a drug intended for her. She casually knocks the glass from his hand and pushes past him. She's got a purpose, and no drunken child with ill plans is getting in her way. She jerks back for a moment, realizing that he's hooked her elbow, a little too intent on her attentions. A flash of red hair later, and the frat boy's limping back to his buddies with a bruise on his shin and his nose leaking.

She clambers gracefully to the top of a barstool two down from his. Orders a double whiskey as well. She smiles softly at him. He smiles back, raises his glass, and downs it.

"Come here often?" she says, without a hint of irony in the line.

"I'm sure someone as pretty as you has heard much better lines in her years," he says, his voice husky and tired.

"What can I say? Lousy script editors. I'm serious though. I've seen you here before. Doesn't seem like the type of place for someone like you. A bit too rowdy, too -"

"Young? It's ok," he nods and smiles, "That's what you were going to say, wasn't it? What's an old codger like me doing in a fresh young place like this? Must be some kind of pervert or queer or something, looking for trouble."

"Mister, you've got me wrong. All wrong. You just seem like an interesting, genuine person, and I wanted to know more."

The two talked for several more hours, a genuine bond seeming to form between them. Underneath the surface though, if you could see the strings between them. Her pulling gently at his at first, then harder as time passed, almost impatiently. Him steadfastly refusing to be moved until, finally, he relents.

They walk out of the bar. He offers her his arm, and she takes it. They walk like old lovers or new friends, into the alley behind the bar, her claiming a shortcut. She releases his arm, and he doesn't seem to realize for about three steps. When he turns around, he's greeted by an unfamiliar site. Any trace of innocence is gone. Her eyes have filmed red, her hair slicked back. The ugly look of a hunter has taken over this girl.

"So, it's come to this has it? I suppose you're going to hiss at me and jump, now."

She leaps forward, expecting easy prey. Expecting him to fall under her and welcome her as she brings him death.
She's disappointed, to say the least.

He moves quicker than she expected, far quicker than anyone could have. She passes through the empty space where he was only a fraction of a second before, confusion just having time to register before a heavy wooden cane comes down and snaps on the back of her skull. Her head is roughly jerked back as she hears a thick Irish accent whisper in her ear:

"Your family's been warned to stay out of this area. We look after our own."

The last thing she sees is the jagged edge of the old man's cane passing through her ribcage from behind, piercing her heart, before she falls to her knees, feeling her fingertips and toes start to tingle. He releases her just as the wind starts to take the ashes formed from the top of her head, and she whimpers one last time before collapsing to the ground in a heap of bone and soot.
He picks up her expensive jacket, and wipes the blood from his cane.

Pity, he liked that cane. Still. Replaceable.

He'll have to warn the families. And it had been so quiet, lately..

Happy Holibrations to all!

2007-12-06T02:17:00.000-08:00

So I've got this utterly and completely brilliant friend who's had a wonderful idea for celebrating this ~~Christmas~~ ~~Yuletide~~ ~~Kwanzaa~~ Holiday season. As she explains far better than I do here, it's celebrating "that time of the year" through things a bit absurd. In the spirit of this new calendar advent, Khaotica, I've invented my own slightly off way of honouring this new/old holiday.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give the Yule-Jim!

The idea first sprang, fully formed from my mind, when I read on our work site's homepage the phrase "Happy Holibration." Thinking to my self "The fuck is a "Holibration"?" I seized upon this idea and ran with it. If we had a non-denominational, non-offensive, and patently non-sensical way of celebrating the time of year that everyone from the Christians to the Pagans to the Mithraists have on their calenders (in some form or another), then we need an appropriate trinket that represents it.

I thusly nominate the Yule-Jim. No one religion expressly mentions packets of processed meat product, let alone festively decored packets of processed meat product. Even those who don't eat meat can either re-gift it to a friend that does with no worries of repurcussions, or simply hang it from a seasonal tree or office cubicle by it's convenient ribbon.

I had 14 of these. Slim Jims come in a package of 15 of the mild variety for about $2.58 US at Ye Olde Wale Marts, and the ribbon, being of the more expensive variety, about $1.98 US. Hence, Holibratory Joy for a mere [insert price here, it's too damn late]. One of the Jims had inexplicably vanished, leaving only an empty, unopened wrapper with a small nub of meat product in the bottom of the can. I'm assuming the Jims had been experimenting with trans-phasic digestive properties (possibly to bypass the colon altogether), and this one had simply been the victim of a failed experiment.

Most of the people simply gave me puzzled looks as a walked briskly off, but several appreciated it on a more personal level. The head man in charge at our building, a brilliant bald black man in his mid-40s (I think..he doesn't seem to age) objected to what they put in them, but when I reminded him he wasn't required to eat it, and it could double as a decorative object, was appeased. One of the upper muckety-mucks said "Thanks, but you should have gotten me a Hot one!" One girl didn't have any other lunch, and was grateful for the snack. Ribbon was spotted in her hair later on that night.

One of my favorites of the night, though, was a lovely red-headed girl (I know, I know..) who had recently lost her mother and was going through a bad spot. I'd heard she'd had a particularly trying day, so called her over.

Me: "I've got something for you."
Red-head: "Does it bite?"
Me: "..no?"
Red-head: "Will it jump out at me?"
Me: "It's not alive.."

When she accepted it, she seriously brightened up. Almost as if that one act of bizarre kindness had turned her day around, and she was reasonably cheerful for the rest of the evening.

Guess it's the Khaotica spirit, getting into us all..

Encounters at a Cafe (continued..)

2007-11-27T19:54:00.000-08:00

Paige blinked, unsure what to make of the fact that this unremarkable, but strangely compelling man was now repeating the words that had been haunting her the past few weeks. Naturally, she fell back on her first line of defence: Sarcasm.
"Maybe my time of the month, but other than that, I'm not sure what you mean, mister Michael," she quipped, marvelling at her fine form.
"You know that's not what I mean. I mean it's time. Time Heaven and Earth finally make inroads towards each other. Time the divine finally presents itself in full to Man. You have been chosen, Paige Thompson, to bring the message to the rulers of your world."
Paige was quiet for a moment. Her mind was reeling. There was no way that this was real, was really happening. Not after all that she'd been through in her life, falling away from her father's faith and finding her own path with no superstitions or blind allegiances to things she couldn't comprehend and didn't believe existed. Going back in her mind for a moment, she took a breath, and felt a bit of calm fall over her. The man was obviously insane. Just weild the sword of sarcasm, and the loony will back off. Either that or flip out and attack, and she had Mister Tazer in her coat pocket, just itching to take him down. She locked eyes with him, and gave it her best shot.
"So, doesn't heaven usually communicate in the form of a burning bush in the middle of a desert? Times changed that much, or is the budget for Heaven running low for this episode?" She felt a swell of pride. Her love of old sci-fi, cheap budgets, wobbly sets, and her distrust of religion in general on the attack.
"As you wish.." Michael smiled softly, and Paige thought the wings pinned to his lapel seemed to be catching the light an awful lot, especially considering the sun was behind him, and..
..suddenly the sun was far too bright behind him. Paige covered her eyes, started to shout, but then the light faded. Paige had gone from sitting in a quiet cafe in Washington's cool, moist air, dressed in a sharp skirt-and-jacket affair, to standing on a desolate plain, the sun shining in her eyes, and not a soul in sight. She looked down, and saw pale, loose fabrics covering her.
PAIGE
She jumped in surprise, looking around. She saw no one.
BEHIND YOU
The voice seemed to come from slightly inside her own head. She turned slowly, and scrabbled back in fear when she saw what looked to be a large, lush green bush, completely out of place in a desert, and looking surprisingly healthy considering the massive blaze of flame that engulfed it.
IS THIS MORE TO YOUR LIKING, PAIGE?
"I... ok. You've got me. Burning bush, desert, voice in my head. I'm either completely cracked, or I'm talking to God, aren't I?" She tried her best to breathe slowly, trying to play it cool.
HARDLY. IF YOU WERE TALKING TO GOD, YOU LIKELY WOULD NEVER REALIZE IT. HE SPEAKS A BIT TOO SOFTLY FOR YOUR EARS TO HEAR, OR FOR YOUR MIND TO ACKNOWLEDGE. I MEANT WHAT I SAID BEFORE, PAIGE. YOU ARE THE MOST LIKELY CANDIDATE TO BRING THE MESSAGE OF PEACE TO YOUR LEADERS. WE CHARGE YOU WITH THIS TASK: WE WILL RETURN TO YOU WITH INSTRUCTIONS. A PLACE TO GO, AND WORDS TO SPEAK, TO A SPECIFIC PERSON. WE WILL LEAVE YOU NOW. ENJOY YOUR LATTE.
"Enjoy my..?" Paige squinted. Her eyes were adjusting again, this time to less light. She looked around. She was dressed in her suit again, at her table in the cafe, watching the drizzle of late morning over Washington. Her latte was still steaming in the cool air.
"That was weird. Guess I am crazy...or...what the..?" Paige stopped as she looked down at her paper on the table. A note was pinned to it, using a small set of wings, much like a pilot would wear. "Remember my words, Paige.." was written on the note.

Encounters at a cafe..

2007-11-23T21:07:00.000-08:00

[Book excerpt from "The War", a work in progress]

Paige Thompson sat at a cafe a few blocks from her temporary offices in Washington, DC, sipping a latte and staring blankly at a newspaper on the metallic grille of her table. She'd been staring at it for the past few minutes, really quite unsure why she was unable to focus on it. She was sure she'd been reading some new article on the President's abysmal approval rating, something her coworkers would get a kick out of, but for some reason the words just didn't quite look the same anymore.

Paige had left university early, accepting a job at a nonprofit organization that, ironically, paid fairly well. Especially considering her overall lack of experience and political drive. She'd meant to go back after the summer, finish her degree, and become a lawyer or paralegal or some such law-related career that her father would approve of. That was ten summers ago. She'd found motivation, and purpose, working for the National Organization for Atheism Honours, cutely nicknamed around the office "Noah" despite it's strong religion-free background. In the brochure she'd been shown before her recruitment, it was meant as a counter-balance to the faith-based scholarship programs, rewarding young students who pursued studies in the sciences and other fields unpopular with church-funded organizations.

An outspoken atheist, Paige was sure that her father was unhappy with her career choices, despite a good-paying job, stability, and the opportunity to go back to school and finish her education whenever she felt her work was finished with Noah. Her father had been a dyed-in-the-wool Southern Baptist, active in the church and community, and not the least bitter for having been passed over three times as pastor of a modertaly-sized congregation in Baton Rouge. He'd taken little Paige with him to church every Sunday, and had her involved in everything from the Wednesday bake sales to the fund-raising carwashes once a month. By the time she was a teenager, she'd had quite enough of his sugary-sweet life that she considered full of fake people, fake smiles, and fake redemption through home-made confectionaries traded for a new vestibule.

Fallen in with the wrong crowd, he'd said. She met new people in high school, ones like she'd never know before, and she started hanging out in coffee shops late, listening to bands with names that made her father shudder visibly, like Acid Bath and Lacrymosa. She pierced her nose at 15, and he'd nearly thrown her out. As soon as she could, she'd gone to college and moved out completely.

Paige sighed loudly, rubbed her eyes, and put down her latte. For a moment, she heard a rustling sound, and then looked back at her paper. The words almost seemed to read "It is time, Paige." She blinked, then looked back again. More political scandal. Too weird. Reminded her of the other morning when, on her way to work, she'd laughed at one of those billboards that read "It's time we talked. - God." If God wanted to talk, she'd thought, he'd come up with a more effective way of communication than a billboard. Maybe a burning bush that spoke in Olde English or something. Strange sorts of things had been happening lately, though. The sort of things that are just easy enough to shrug off and push to the back of her mind. Radio broadcasts that seemed to be talking to her. Man in a movie turns at looks at the camera, winks. No one else saw or noticed them.

"Paige?"

She glanced up, and saw a man, not particularly tall or striking, wearing a black suit with soft pinstripes. His hair was just a little too long to be fashionable, and his white shirt collar was open. She noticed a small pin on his lapel, a pair of wings, much like airline pilots used to hand out to children. Like the set she'd gotten when her father once made the mistake of taking her overseas on a missionary post.

"Sorry, you must be looking for someone else," she said, looking back down at her paper with a little too much interest. A moment passed, and her eyes darted up, seeing that the man was still there. His mouth crinkled into a soft smile, then he spoke again.

"Paige Thompson? Only, I'm fairly certain I've got the right person. You're the only Paige Thompson around, and I'm usually pretty good at finding the right person."

Paige scowled inwardly, trying to decide if the guy was just nuts, or possibly dangerous. Or both. She looked up at him again, mustered her best "I'm a lobbyist, now kindly shove off" voice.

"How can I help you, mister..?"

"Michael. It is time, Paige."

Prologue: Thoughts on the War.

2007-11-22T20:04:00.000-08:00

Any time I'm faced with a situation that I can't understand, or don't want to comprehend, I take a very, very hot shower. When I'm done, I step out into the cold air, still nude, and watch the steam rise from my body. It's that juxtaposition of seeing something that appears supernatural occurring in a completely ordinary position that usually shocks my mind back to reality, allowing me to deal better with what is going on.

Usually.

There was a war, a long, long time ago. Possibly in a galaxy far, far away. Or possibly in this one, as it's the only one according to some schools of thought. All those pinpricks in the night sky? Nothing more than that. Pinpricks in near proximity of our home as it rotates around the sun. We weren't involved the war. Our country wasn't even a country at that time, our people hardly fit to call themselves a true species, by modern standards. Barbaric practices, and the lot. This war didn't happen when most people think it did. The Big One happened much later on in history, and didn't make it into the history books until after that.

I'm writing this now as a Will and Testament. My personal belongings I'm leaving, in equal share, to my dearest friends. My hidden, "job-related" bank accounts, split amongst my daughter and my ex-wife. My collection of little statuettes goes to my cousin. He always liked those.

No, it wasn't suicide, at least not in the traditional sense. More like a "suicide mission." One of those things for "the greater good" that they teach you about in Academy. Greater good indeed.

All I know, after the first engagement, I'll never forget the way hollow points sound as they chew through an angel's wings..

Splendid chaps, all of them..

2007-11-18T23:43:00.000-08:00

Any Doctor Who fan might find this interesting, to say the least.

Oh, someone take this decision out of my hands..

2007-11-18T21:57:00.000-08:00

It's these moments, these life-changing decisions, that stump me the most. Granted, it's all going to come down to whether the other person reciprocates, but I turn now, to my faithful (beyond explanation) readership for advice.

One one hand, I've got the redhead that I've got a fairly good idea of where she's been, how long she's been around, and what she's packing. I also know she's a little pricier. Nice curves, a real head-turner, and hell on wheels. But she's a redhead, right? And redheads are trouble..

On the other hand, I've got the goth girl I've been eyeing. She's really something, let me tell you. Trim, dignified, and stable. My only problem is, I'm not sure where she's been, or how long she's been around. She's not been forthcoming yet.

Meet the redhead. She's an 03 Honda Civic. Yes, that's a body kit. Yes, that's a spoiler. Yes, she's a little hot rod, and probably more than I need right now, but at under 60K miles for 5 grand? A steal. Even if I did swear off redheads..

Meet the goth girl. She's a 99 Volkswagon Jetta. Peppy, but not overpowered. Black with grey exterior. Not sure how many miles she's got on her(still waiting to hear back from the owner), but they tend to be reliable, and at $2900, she's a good 2 grand less expensive. That much quicker to pay off.

I'm not terribly experienced with cars, only having owned one in my entire life. She was an '86 Monte Carlo, purchased in '98 with 74,000 miles, mostly highway, and finely taken care of. Lasted me another 10 years, and 70,000 miles before I could no longer afford the maintenance and the transmission died. Both of these cars are significantly smaller and less powerful, but not so much as the underpowered Corolla that belonged to my ex-wife. I'm torn, though. One represents a (possibly) safe bet, but the other, while more expensive, promises much more fun and possibly a longer lasting relationship.

What do you think?

Let me show you my withdrawals. My withdrawals, let me show you them.

2007-11-15T00:48:00.000-08:00

So, I sit here, on a basic-level internet connection, on a computer that's not mine, staring at the screen, while I gaze at my poor Creative Zen, just thinking of all the television shows that I've missed over the last month I've been out of the house. Well, month-ish. 3-3 1/2 weeks maybe.

I know I've missed 3 issues of Bionic Woman. I've missed 4 episodes of Reaper. I'm going to miss the Children in Need Doctor Who special "Time Crash" featuring the Fifth and Tenth Doctors. Three episodes of Pushing Daisies. Two episodes of The Sarah Jane Adventures (yes, I'm a nerd. Be quiet).

Having just finished the first (and quite excellent) series of Battlestar Galactica, I find myself wanting now to see more. I only got four episodes into Total Recall 2070, and the rest are on a hard drive I pulled from my (RIP) desktop before I moved out. I'm missing the new comics, too.

I tell you, being homeless is a damnable inconvenience. I need my own place, my own internet connection, and a new bloody laptop. Post, and haste.

Stalk a tech support person? No way..

2007-11-10T19:24:00.000-08:00

So, I'm not sure if I mentioned before, but I recently had to chuck a whole boatload of money down a hole to T-Mobile because of .. well..

Alright so, I never got a clear explanation on WHY I had a $600 dollar phone bill, but I was assured it was a good reason. I just got this phone turned back on today, and the first thing that happened, after a quick test call, was I received two text messages.

Dated 11 Nov 2007, 2:00 PM
From: 973xxxxxxx
"Im watching you! Lol"

Dated 11 Nov 2007, 8:45 PM
From: 713xxxxxxx
"I'm getting fed up with this orgasm!"

Now, I've got a lot of text messages to play with on my plan, so I'm not really worried about receiving the odd bizarre message. I'd like to know if it's from someone who's really "fed up with this orgasm" or actually "watching me" though. Either way, numberingplans.com has got this to say about these two numbers..

Number billable as: mobile number
Country or destination: United States
City or exchange location: Newton, NJ
Original network provider: Omnipoint Communications, Inc. - Nj

Number billable as: mobile number
Country or destination: United States
City or exchange location: Houston, TX
Original network provider: Cellco Partnership Dba Verizon Wireless - Tx

And that's just with 5 minutes of checking. I'm sure the results of this particular inquiry will be rather interesting.

NOTE: Actually, I decided to Google that second phrase, and found it's apparently from an episode of "American Dad" (albeit misquoted) entited Haylias. A trigger to deactivate brainwashing on a character named Hayley who, apparently, has an on/off boyfriend named Jeff. Odd, that.. I semi-dated a girl named Haley once. Is she trying to tell me she's a secret agent?

The other message is common among Bluejackers. Only, it was sent SMS, not Bluetooth. The phrase also seems common on DeviantART.

Oh, and as a sidenote, I've sworn off redheads. They're trouble. (and it figures that I'd meet a redheaded goth chick in iHOP last night, after I already made this oath..)

Low-tech Tactile Touchy-feely Technology

2007-11-09T14:51:00.000-08:00

This post may, in fact, spring completely from my love of Doctor Who and Steampunk. Or a distrust of Apple. We'll see. I'm not entirely convinced of my motives.

Maybe I'm asking entirely too much of my modern technology, expecting too much of a tactile response, more than just a beep on a speaker, or something sliding away on a screen. I don't think it's unreasonable that if I perform an action, I should expect some sort of resistance, just to let me know that it's actually doing something, other than just stabbing blindly at a touchscreen that doesn't deign to acknowledge my existence.

It's modern technology these days that bugs the snot out of me. The only thing I didn't like about my last desktop computer (RIP - the wife got it when I moved out) was that you couldn't just sit there and run it with the case open. It was one of the big black monolithic monsters that Dell put out right before it switched to the little shiny silver ones. Massive copper heatsink that stood about seven inches tall, with a 4 inch wide fan. Power supply with a comparable fan. Video card had a three inch wide fan inside a little hood, but you could still see it. Moving parts. I miss moving parts.

My phone is a Motorola V360. Most of you may not have heard of the V360, but it was the phone Motorola was using to test-bed it's Mp3 software, extended video recording capability, and other fun little toys now common place on next-gen RAZRs, RIZRs, and other such hideously flat little pieces of tech. I love my phone. It's got honest-to-goodness buttons on the bottom half of the flip, that affect the screen on the top half of the flip. It's got a memory card, but you have to pull open the back of the phone to get to it. It's half again as thick as a RAZR, but nowhere near as wide. My only complaint is that it has no levers or knobs. I like levers and knobs. This keyboard I'm currently typing on has a knob. I think it's for volume, but I'm not terribly concerned. It's there, and it makes me feel a little more at ease.

This disdain for super high tech leads me towards some fairly interesting places in entertainment. I've recently started watching Battlestar Galactica (yes, believe the hype. It's that good.), and watching this show, the first thing I was struck by was just how pretty the Galactica itself is. Again, big black monolithic vessel, with hangers that manually extend out from the sides of the ship, computers with keyboards, and wired telephones(!). They even chuck their fighter ships out of the sides of the ship instead of having them simply float using "antigravs" out of a nice safe hanger bay. It's like they pulled this ship out of my own dreams.

Also, anyone who knows me, or has read this blog for any length of time, knows I'm a fan of British superstar sci fi show Doctor Who. In particular, the ship of the line there, the TARDIS. And specifically, the TARDIS that the Eighth Doctor called home. Gardens full of big clocks with gears and pendulums, cathedral air about the place, and (most importantly) that woodgrain finished console with levers, buttons, toggles, switches, knobs, and (gasp!) a bell. Simply gorgeous.

Finally, as a snub in the eye to anyone who complained about their beloved franchise Star Wars going from High-tech past to Low-tech present in the course of two decades between sequels, have a look at the NX-01 Enterprise. Sure, it had transporters, but did you really want to use them? It had banks of computers, but those computers had KEYBOARDS that were clearly visible to those of us watching at home. Ladders and stairs instead of turbolifts. Engineers carrying around great honking wrenches. Even their communicators, if I recall correctly, had a small tuning dial. It's the little things that count.

So, to this day, I will proudly say that No, I do not have an iPhone. I do not have a touchscreen computer, nor do I have any sort of plans towards them. Unless they come out with an adapter that lets me control it via a 2 foot lever stuck in the floor, and a series of switches and guages in the wall over it.

The Darkest Day of them All

2007-11-04T16:57:00.000-08:00

It all began with a bump on the head. At least, that's what I tell myself, when I'm wondering just how this all came about. Makes it seem all so innocuous, just a little bump on the head. Not even a band-aid. Will they still make those, one day, do you think?

Anyway. I'm writing this now, and I'm about 97% sure that no one will ever see it. I feel bloody ridiculous, I do, but I've got to get this off my chest, to someone, even if it's the grains of graphite scratching across this old safety manual.

Because it's all. My. Fault.

That's right, it's me. I'm the one who threw the switch, I'm the one who ended it all, caused all this chaos and suffering. It's all my fault. Only, it isn't. It was an accident, and I will swear to the end of time that it was ALL AN ACCIDENT. I only bumped my head.

We had been experimenting with utilizing cheaper resources, making and distributing common goods with much lower overhead, and trying to keep schtum about it, lest it get out to public and cause a media frenzy. We really were working towards the greater good. The time of year was perfect for it, too, with everyone going into a financial crunch and looking for cheaper ways to live. I was so sure we'd planned for everything, but we hadn't planned for this.

Right on schedule, the facility went live at 06:oo hours Friday morning. This is apparently a big deal where I'm stationed, I'm not terribly familiar with the concurrent holiday, something about breaking bread with natives. Generally don't concern myself overmuch with other people's holidays.

Only, something was wrong. We opened the steel shutters seperating the operations area from the outer wall, leaving only soft-plated glass, and there they were. Hundreds of them, with dead looks in their eyes and hungry mouths. Listless and vicious, all at once. They saw the shutters go up, and they knew we were in here. As long as that glass held though, everything would be fine.

We were making final preparations, when I'd tripped over stray wire near the plate glass doors. I fell against the wall, and reached out to try and catch myself, when my head slammed into the door panels. I heard a soft sigh, as the glass parted, and it got very quiet for a moment. Then it all went bad. Horribly, horribly bad.

They were inside the facility, inside our safe haven, far before we'd planned, and farther even before we were ready for them. Immediately my friends and coworkers were swarmed, their cries of pain lost among the mindless drone of the crowds. It went on for hours, except for me, stuck in the door control booth. I considered sealing the doors, but if my friends tried to run, I didn't want to trap them. I waited it out. Finally, it was quiet. I warily left the booth, stepping over scattered papers and smashed boxes.

Let this be a lesson, I say. A $200 dollar laptop after Thanksgiving is NOT worth trampling a human being for. Try not to be a bastard this Black Friday, ok kids?

Just bad enough that you're not sure..

2007-11-04T00:40:00.000-07:00

We've all heard the phrase "So bad it's good." Perfect examples of this concept include the first Evil Dead, Lair of the White Worm, and recent smash hit Snakes on a Plane. When something's so bad that it makes you laugh, you know you're on to something. Alternately, there's "so bad it's painful" which is something that goes beyond unintentionally funny to unintentionally painful to view. Things like that Godzilla movie in 2000 with the CGI lizard and Matthew Broderick, or an episode of the Power Rangers (pick one, except for the episode that guest-starred the Ninja Turtles).

Then there are things that exist in a grey area as such. One of these specimens is a Canadian sci fi show called Starhunter. The words "canadian" and "sci fi" may not readily follow each other in your minds, until you stop and think about it: the Canadians are actually quite prolific science fiction producers. Mutant X, Gene Roddenberry's Andromeda, Highlander, Forever Knight, and the first five years of the X-Files were either created by, or shot/produced in Canada. Modern science fiction, and its fans, owes a great debt to Canada for many good shows in recent history.
Starhunter is an odd beast. It's got a good setting, mostly aboard a (barely) salvaged luxury space-liner originally known as the Trans-Utopian, but called the Tulip because of the faded paint job. The ship is a work of design beauty, with large chunks of hull missing, bare machinery visible, with oppressive grey corridors with missing panels and open grating for floors in places. The most charming part about the Tulip, though, is the smart-arsed stiff-upper lip AI, Caravaggio, who appears as the disembodied head and torso of an English butler (complete with vaguely disturbing cybernetic stumps of arm and waist).

The crew is an odd bunch. Captain Dante Montana's (who seriously must have borrowed his name from an old Gerry Anderson puppet show) main motivation is summed up perfectly in the show's opening monologue, of which I shall quote below:

I'm a bounty hunter
But it's just something that I do
I'm really looking for something that was stolen from me
Ten years ago
They took my son
As I search there are signs that something is happening
That humanity is about to change
But I won't be distracted
How do you find one small boy
In such a large universe
I'm not sure
But I have to keep trying

This guy's a real winner, acting wise. Michael Pare, playing Dante Montana, is the only actor I've ever seen with a ham-fisted monologue. Seems almost contradictory, but there you have it.
Then you've got Tanya Allen, last seen as the mildly retarded villager throwing stones and getting her skin ripped off in Silent Hill, who is either the WORST actress I've ever seen, or a true marvel. She plays the apathetic teenage smartass so perfectly you find yourself wanting to smack her in the back of the head in every. single. scene. Even the ones she's not in.

The saving grace of the show is a character named Lucretia Scott, played by a black English actress named Claudette Roche, who plays the role of hardened ex-marine security officer with serious daddy issues (but considering her daddy is the head of a super-secret bio-engineering cult called The Orchard focussed on the next step of human evolution called the Divinity Cluster, who can blame her. Blimey, I seriously said all that in parenthises..). Someone needs to get this woman on television more often.

Captain Dante Montana(!)'s son Travis, as the monologue states, was kidnapped 10 years before the events of the show, in a raid on their home by (wait for it) The Raiders. That's right, in the Starhunter universe, the raiders are called Raiders, the men are men, and the women are women. Actually, seeing the Raiders up close and personal, they look like a cross between refugees from The Warriors, Mad Max, and proto-Whedon Reavers. Facepaint, bad teeth, and ripped clothing. Apparently, that's scary in the future.

And that's all Series 1. Apparently the entire cast changed in Series 2, with Tanya Allen(!) being the only holdover from the original cast. I know nothing about this new cast, having only seen the first 15 episodes so far.

I hear Series 2's theme song was composed by Peter Gabriel, though. That's something to look forward to. If you ever get the chance to see the show, though, give it a try. Perhaps it will be so bad that YOU might like it. I'm still trying to make up my mind, having devoted 15 hours of my life so far to it.

And kicking myself for, as yet, only having seen the pilot to Battlestar Galactica. Yeah, I missed the boat on that one, people. I'm ashamed. There's a friend at work looking over my shoulder as I type this, giving me the strangest look. He may just seek retribution for me claiming to be a sci fi fan and not having seen past the pilot.

Help.. he's used the word intervention. I have to sit in a circle, smoke cigarettes, and drink bad coffee for three hours a week now. All because I missed BSG. Won't make that mistake again.

It only hurts when I breathe..

2007-10-31T02:05:00.001-07:00

Blimey that's a right emo of a title, isn't it?

Sorry about that. It just occurred to me earlier that for most of the evening, as long as I didn't breathe, my shoulders didn't shake, and my eyes didn't tear up. I think the only thing keeping me going right now is a regular infusion of alcohol, currently some unknown vintage of leftover wine.

So, Sunday afternoon there was another row between the wife and I. Something regarding the car, and money, and food. I don't remember, nor care to try. An hour later I found myself throwing boxes in the back of a co-worker's car and am now living on the couch in a one-bedroom garage apartment in the outlying town of an outlying town(of an outlying town) of which I work. I've been sleeping, eating a little, drinking a lot, and going to work.

I was due for my last break today when the realization hit me that I'd just left my wife and kid, and was for all intents and purposes homeless. And I haven't seen my daughter since Sunday. I'll miss Halloween. She's always the cutest when she dresses up. A real star, that one.

I can't even begin to describe how I'm feeling right now, which is a first for me. I'm usually not at anything approaching a loss for words, but..

Yeah, so that's me at the moment. My personal life isn't too much of a closely guarded secret anymore. Updates to follow, when I find myself somewhere I can plug my ancient laptop into a hardwired internet connection.

Cheers, all. I'm off to drink myself blind.

- Salem MacGourley
On his last pack of ciggies and pissed as all hell(thanks Warren).

23/6/801

2007-10-20T00:14:00.000-07:00

Wake the gods, it's judgement day..

Who you gonna call..?

2007-10-09T22:27:00.000-07:00

Bah...buh..buu..

Please don't let it suck.

In other news, did you know that Ben Stiller was, at one point, supposed to replace Bill Murray's Peter Venkman in Ghostbusters III? That would have been a crime if they'd let that happen, I tell you.

Just a little slice of awesome..(updated!)

2007-10-06T03:00:00.001-07:00

Just because you're a badass cop in a beret that can shoot ninjas by way of a crafty pelvic thrust.

And that's completely badass. Can anyone please click on that picture, watch the ensuing animation, and tell me where that's from? I have to know.

EDIT: Thanks to Herr Müller in the comments section below, I was able to locate the full trailer for the movie, which seems to be the Swedish counterpart to Super Troopers.

For further proof of awesome, I give you the below clips:

Plus that one guy totally looks like Gordon Freeman.

Crimes against music, Vol. 1

2007-10-05T22:24:00.000-07:00

Welcome to Crimes Against Music, a new feature (read: something I'm certain to forget about doing on any regular basis) where I'll post and possibly analyze lyrics to some downright awful pop song. First up?

Soul 4 Real (covered by Immature)'s Candy Rain.

my love, do you ever dream
of candy coated raindrops?
you're the same, my candy rain.

Have you ever loved someone,
so much you thought you'd die?
given so much time, you'd tell
it seems the only way?
tell me what and i'll (and i'll) give to you (you)
'cuz you are

My love, do you ever dream
of candy coated raindrops?
you're the same, my candy rain.

my love, did you ever dream
that it could be so right?
i never thought that i would find
all that i need in life
all i want
all i need
now i know, i know i found it in you (i found it in you)
'cuz you are

my love, do you ever dream
of candy coated raindrops?
you're the same, my candy rain.

(interlude)

my love, do you ever dream
of candy coated raindrops?
you're the same, my candy rain.

My love (tell me)
do you ever dream (have you ever loved someone)
of candy coated raindrops?
you're the same, my candy rain.

Candy coated raindrops

Candy coated raindrops

No. Just.. just no.

Bring me a puppy to kick.

2007-10-02T04:45:00.000-07:00

Everyone has that inner monologue, you know the one that lets you know how life is treating you at that moment?

Well, mine's just spewing an inexorably long and possibly unending stream of obscenities and epitaphs.

Bloody ridiculous, this is getting.

ps - Everyone, I'm sorry, I know I'm behind on posting. Mental trauma + not much chance at the computer = me falling behind again. Dammit.

Literary Challenge re-revisited..

2007-09-24T13:17:00.000-07:00

Oh, and she mentioned vulgar haiku..

"Witch children fallow
by urinating into
the elder's footsteps"

Look, I even made it small and italicized and sensitive-looking, like all haiku are supposed to be!

Don't ask..

2007-09-23T01:40:00.001-07:00

http://www.not2much.info/cgiproxy/nph-proxy.pl

Fallow or follow?

2007-09-21T23:14:00.000-07:00

Additionally, Fallow and Follow are two completely different words. I may have failed to notice this until AFTER I'd written the previous post. Far be it from me to allow my mistakes to lay uncorrected (at least going forward).

Witch children fallow the elder's footsteps.

..and in the year sixteen hundred and eighty three, I was but a lad living in what would become known as Suffolk county of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. King Phillip's War was several years behind us, and I was too young to remember most of any unpleasantness that may have involved my parents or older siblings. Likewise, the burning times were nigh on a decade away, when many unfortunate souls would lose their lives crying in the fire.

I was an insufferable child at times, and would regularly thumb my nose at the uptight and abusive elders of the Protestant Church, laughing as they would shout scripture at me that proved, in their own thoughts at least, that I was surely Hell bound. It may have been this adversion towards those strict religious persons that led me to the settling that lay outside the boundaries of our modest town.

Six women, three of them with husbands, and two children lived in this area, in two small but comfortable houses, sharing the duties of housekeeping, gardening, and a meager bit of hunting (I gather they did not partake of much meat, as there were seldom any carcasses hanging, and never anything large such as a deer or horse would be). The elders had spent several morning services warning us in a not at all subtle fashion to stay clear of these persons, as they were as like the Devil, and would lead us towards damnation. I couldn't help but giggle so, as I'd several times spied a parishioner or two hiding behind a tree, attempting to catch a glimpse of one of the fairer young women as she bathed in the outdoors tub between the two houses. I often wonder to myself what the elder would have said. Or if I'd simply failed to catch him myself.

The elder was a progressive man, often some time ahead of his own time, making decisions that, later in life, the Church authorities would have decided upon as well. One of the more fateful was his decision to enforce the rule about not suffering witches to live. Yet another was his decision to judge who may be deemed a witch. What made him choose the young lady I mentioned above, I'll never know. She seemed perfectly harmless, if a little quiet, and lovelier than I could see fit to describe here even in my private journals, with her fair skin, long red curls, and eyes that already seemed to know what you were thinking before you said it. Maybe that's what he saw against her, as I'm certain I spied a storm cloud over his head one night, as he returned from a late night walk. It was not soon after that his changes in policy began to take effect.

I shall spare the details, not so much from trying to protect the sensibilities of anyone who may wish to read my personal notes, but more so I won't have to see it again myself. The young lady was taken from her home, from the ones she called family, one eve, and brought before the elder and the newly formed Protection Council, to be judged. Needless to say, she spoke not a single word in defense until judgement was passed, whereupon she spoke one single sentence.

"For your crimes, sir, may Olwen see that nothing grows where you step."

I feel for her children most of all, who stood silently in the crowd, tears welling up in their eyes, as the young woman who may well have been their mother was put to death by the church, for crimes that may have been sheer fancy in the mind of the elder.

It was some days later that our normally fertile lands surrounding our village began to take notice of spots of barren ground, almost in the pattern of a man's steps. I thought nothing of it at first, then began to follow these tracks. More than once, I ended up at either the hind entrance of the town Church or the elder's personal home. On one occasion, I'm sure I saw the "witch children" from the corner of my eye.

I recall these events as, a fortnight ago, the elder passed from this world on into the next. The town was by this point covered in barren spots, but no one dared speak to the elder of this. Only yesterday, white flowers, trefoils if I am not mistaken, began to bloom in the barren spots. Out of season even. No flower grows naturally in this cold weather. I am not one to judge, and never will again. I can only hope that poor young lady put to death so many years ago forgives the rest of us for our lack of action, and the many bloody years that followed thereafter..

Witch children follow the elder's footsteps.

2007-09-21T18:32:00.000-07:00

NOTE: The following is a literary challenge, issued by Erin. More information can be found at the link..

Witch children follow the elder's footsteps.

-Associated Cortex News Service - 5549/apple/2007

It is a moment that children are taught in history lessons from an early age, seared in indelible font across their minds, teaching them a lesson of tragedy, a warning against foolish and unchecked agression, in the form of fallout and loss of life.

The Battle of Witchhead, one of the final moments in the last great war, stands side by side with Antietam, Hiroshima, and Titan in an exclusive club of war-ending momentous tragedies. The fallout from the experimental black hole generator rendered all landmasses on Mars as completely uninhabitable for over 250 years and pulling in nearly every orbiting body from ship to station to asteroid, numbering the loss of life in the billions and stopping just short of sucking the entire planet into the other side of nowhere.

Cleaning up the remains of Mars has taken the better part of the following 250 years, with only the last half-decade showing marked improvement in re-settling efforts. Nearly 3 million people and 500 businesses, from retail outlets to call centers, call Mars their home now. Or did until yesterday.

The descendants of the Vedran forces, the small terrorist group that opposed the high glorious Terran Protectorate, had recently resettled on Mars, in a recently terraformed spot on the Olympus plains, claiming not familial rights to the lands but a tax shelter as well for religious purposes, calling themselves the Children of the Witch, after the historical disaster during the Battle of Witchhead. Reports from the evacuees of nearby settlements claim that the Children had always been friendly and helpful, trading and keeping in regular contact with them. Their leader, Norvell Taunton, had recently been on MCC1's evening news programme, thanking the population of Mars for making them feel so welcome despite their history.

Two nights ago, there were reports of possible weapons fire and an explosion at the compound, followed by a large opaque forcefield materializing around the grounds. Reports of events are sketchy after that, but an old-fashioned radio transmission was broadcast, with what is believed to be Norvell's voice speaking. Official secrets acts prevent us from relaying the entire message to you here and now, but essentially, Norvell claimed that his people were "exercising their rights" to the planet, and were "fully prepared to join their elders on the other side." As per Mars Peoples Protectorate's laws, negotiating with terroristic groups is strictly forbidden, and given the history of the Children of the Witch, what was to follow was tragic, but predictable. Maximum force was used on the compound's forcefields, with 12 gliders dropping plasma charges simultaneously. According to official reports, the forcefield had been designed to react to the plasma charges, and detonate a primitive black hole generator, much weaker, but still devestating in effect.

Mars now lies in two pieces, one still in an erratic orbit, the other heading in a course that will cause it to collide with Neptune in several decades. The generator opened a black hole inside the planet, causing the core of Mars to seperate and be pulled through, cracking the mantle in the process.

Delivered to the ACNS from a future-dated transmission originated from Mars, was a holofield display of Norvell Taunton, repeating one line: "Witch children follow the elder's footsteps."

Yes, it's a quiz. Shut up!

2007-09-20T09:06:00.000-07:00

I know, I know. A quiz isn't a proper post. But one of my readers pointed this out to me in a comment for my last post, so here. Anyone who's got a passing familiarity knows this is a good result for me, although I'd prefer the Seventh Doctor (mind you, the Second was far more manipulative than people give him credit for...)

Your Score: The Second Doctor

You scored 33% intelligence, 22% compassion, 50% sense of humor, and 34% weirdness!

Ah, the comedian! But a *capable* clown. You like to come across as a lovable goof, but in reality you're a genius who succumbs to occasional absent-mindedness. You know when to cut and run, and you know when you deny authority, no matter how laughable you sound. Your turn-ons include Charlie Chaplin, The Beatles, men in kilts, women in catsuits, flutists, and your giddy aunt. Your turn-offs include omnipotent beings who like to interfere with your affairs, the ever-persistent Cybermen (heck, you don't even like cybersex!), and thinking about the lisping dandy you'll eventually become.

In honour of Talk Like A Pirate Day..

2007-09-19T18:21:00.000-07:00

/begin flashback/

Erin Palette said...

Yarr, that be some fine video booty!

*pillages it for the SS Gothic*

September 19, 2007 10:46 AM

/end flashback/

This one's for you, Erin. Captain of the SS Gothic.

Oh, dear. He's in a mood again, isn't he?

2007-09-15T18:18:00.000-07:00

Yes. Yes, as a matter of fact, since you asked.

Optimus Prime: One-man Jackson 5 of the Universe

2007-09-14T18:52:00.001-07:00

Anyone who knows me, or has read this blog for a bit, knows that I'm a Transformers fan, and I'm well aware that I'm not the only one. A member of the US National Guard legally changed his name to Optimus Prime recently, and even Mister Potato-Head is getting in on the action, with "Optimash Prime." Frightening.

As inspirational a figure as the mythical, red, flat-fronted, 18 wheeler-cum-robot is, most people don't realize just how many different Optimus Primes there have been. I intend to bring together tonight some of the better known, lesser known, and downright shameful, versions of Optimus Prime in one article. So without any further delay, I give you:

Optimus Prime: The Numerous, the sometimes embarrasing, the always profitable!

Generation 1: aka OG Prime

This is the badass mofo everyone knows. If you don't recognize this Prime, you either weren't alive in the 90s, or have absolutely no pop culture conciousness whatsoever. The iconic chest windows, the smokestacks on the shoulders, the massive effing hand-cannon, the trucker's visor-cap, the mysterious disappearing wheels (really! where do they go?!) and the magical vanishing trailer. It's an icon, truly, for the ages.

Pre-G1 Optimus Prime: aka Orion Pax aka Uptight Prime

This guy here is the wimpy little loser that would one day become our badass robot general and general robot badass. Yeah, I know, looks like a recolour of Kup to me, too. Pretty sad. Now picture him literally getting pushed around by Megatron. *sigh*..

Armada Optimus Prime: aka Muscle Prime

Now, let me get this out of the way. I HATED Armada. Worst Transformers cartoon ever. On the other hand, I liked the Armada version of Optimus Prime so much that I very nearly purchased a Playstation 2 so I could get my hands on the Transformers game. I'm still a little bitter that I still haven't played it. But this is a truly awe-inspiring Optimus, here. I mean, granted he's a robot, and huge pythons aren't exactly impressive when they're manufactured, but c'MON!!

Generation 2 GoBot Optimus Prime: aka Wussy Prime

*snicker* hehe ... erhm.. hahaha. No.

Beast Wars / Machines Optimus Primal: aka Monkey Prime!

Robot. Monkey. Robot Monkey. Do I really need to say more? Oh, and as I understand it, there were about 9 different versions of Optimus Primal, but this is the only one that actually looks like Optimus Prime, despite none of them actually being Optimus Prime.

Well, that's about all the Optimus I can handle for now. Anyone fond of any other particular Optimus Primes I've missed?

PS - taking anti-nausea tablets to avoid a reverse replay of the nights drinking is definitely not a good idea. Just for the record.

Hoov-Bacca

2007-09-13T09:48:00.000-07:00

Just because Eric posted it, and it HAD to be spread.

Oh, and I actually recently drank TOO much. More on that story ASAP, promise.

TelePhonetics

2007-09-09T20:55:00.000-07:00

*Riinngg
*Riinngg
*Riinngg
Hello?
Hello?! Oh! Oh, sorry.. *click

*Riinngg
*Riinngg
*sigh "Hello..?"
*giggle "Oops. Did it again, sorry.

*Riinnngg
*Riinngg
*Ri--"Look, really is this necessary?"
"Gosh but you are cute when you're mad. Look, this won't take much longer, ok?
"What?! What are you talking ab-- *click

*Riinngg
*Riinngg
"Look, I've had about enough of-
"Really, I'm going to have to insist you calm down, do you know how many men your age are afflicted with high blood pressure? Now look, I'm with the phone company, REALLY I am, and I'm going to have to ask that you not answer the phone next time I call, otherwise I may be electrocuted on the high-voltage lines, ok?"
"Oh, I've heard that one befo- *click

*Riinngg
*Riinngg
*Riinngg
*Riinngg
*Riinngg
*Riinngg
*Riinngg
*Riinngg
"Hel-"
"AAAAHHHHHIIIEEEEGSGOHGHHAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH"
"Oh my god are you ok???"
"I thought you said you heard that one before?" *click

*Riinngg
*Riinngg
"Ok, I'm staying calm, and you seem to be a very pleasant young woman, if a bit troubled, but can you please stop calling me? Or at least tell me what's going on. Or at least tell me your name, I don't even know who you are, but you keep calling me, and to be honest, I'm a bit lonely right now, I've just been through some major changes in my life, and I don't mind talking to someone, even if they are a bit deranged, and --
"Oh, you poor dear, you did just have that awful breakup didn't you? I'm so sorry. Look, can you hold still just a moment? Perfect, right there and..."
"AAARARAGHGHGH!!"
"Got it! Look I'm terribly sorry for the inconvenience, just chalk it up to a bad dream. Things should be a little bit easier for you now. Talk to you again, erh, someday, ok?"
"But...but...owww...my ear hurts.."
"Yeah, that'll pass. And when it does, I want you to step out of your apartment, blinking in the harsh sunlight, and realize the world isn't such a bad place after all, and your one bad relationship there was just that, ONE bad relationship. Everything from here on out is in your hands, and I mean EVERYTHING. We're placing a lot of trust in you. Cheers!
*click

The Moments Inbetween

2007-09-07T20:42:00.000-07:00

I'm feeling very nostalgic tonight. And by nostalgic, I don't mean marketed nostalgia, where you end up watching VH1 for four hours while they play a "I love the..." marathon of your favored decade, or you go out and drop $50 on the newest Transformers figures (not that I'd ever do that, mind.. *ahem* moving on). What I'm referring to is those moments that define your life, not the big decisions you make, or the grand adventures you have, but those quiet moments, the ones in between, that define who you really are.

I'm remembering sitting in a coffee shop before all the smoking bans, having my third cup of coffee, perfecting the art of talking about nothing at all for three straight hours with a guy 2 years older than me in a leather coat with a buzzed haircut, a girl from my high school art class that I'm certain would have gone out with me had I had the confidence to talk to her (shame that, she had a Camaro and everything..), and the girl that I truly miss from this equation, Sherry (Sherry, and I apologize if I'm spelling her name wrong, it could have been Sheri, was the pure embodiment of Marla Singer from Fight Club. Picture Marla at 16, and you've got Sheri).

I'm remembering lying in the grass next to an abandoned dirt quarry in Northern Florida, my mum's van parked a few feet away, my first real girlfriend lying inches away from me, cool temperatures and warm sunlight mixing as we just lay there in the grass, listening to The Cure and kissing occasionally.

I'm stone drunk, in the parking lot of a cafe, might have been the same one as before, with the bloke in the leather coat. I'd broken up with a girl not too much earlier that night, and was inconsolable, until he came along with his alcohol and his machismo. We're standing in front of a car that had been left parked there overnight, having a wee down the passenger side, and laughing as puddles form around the tires.

I'm in my college dorm room, after having set up my brand new computer on the hot-shit T1 lightning fast internet connection the campus provided, having set up my free AOL account with the screen name "ICanSeeParham." Parham was, incidentally, a monumentally poor planning idea, as it was the girl's dormitory across the street from the boys building, at level height. With a proper pair of binoculars, one could see, from any window, no less than 20 dorm rooms through the windows. I send my roomie, a high school buddy, an instant message saying, complete with "action colons", "::leans back in chair, peers over your shoulder, out the window::". He received said message, and promptly collapsed in laughter.

It's well on 2 in the morning, and I'm parked 2 houses down from her parent's house. She's snuck out, and I slip the car in neutral, and roll down the natural incline. I've got a damn heavy car, and once it gets rolling, it can make 20mph without ever turning the engine on. I roll through a stop sign, and heave the steering wheel against the power steering that's off with the rest of the car. We clear earshot and I gun the engine, lights powering up and flooding the road, tires biting the pavement, and not 2 minutes later we've reached the community pool and club house. She gets the key she appropriated from her mom, and we sneak into the dark clubhouse. 2 hours of groping and squelchy noises later, she takes off on foot, opting to use the distance to smoke a cigarette and let the smell fade, and I drive off, drowsy but happy.

I can't be more than six, and we're at a castle somewhere in Europe, or maybe the UK. I want to say it's Scotland. Either Scotland or Germany. It's very green, and the temperature is pleasantly cool. I'm standing in the visitor's lot and admiring the scenery, when I'm terrified by a dragonfly that had to be the size of my foot crashing into my neck so hard it dies on impact.

I'm even younger, or maybe a year older, and we're in our flat on base in Germany. It's snowing. I remember snow, despite having lived in the southern US since moving back to this country. This is how I remember it, too. Looking out the window of our flat and seeing the streetlight below, spilling yellow light across the white ground, with flecks of white and yellow falling like rain, only not quite as fast. I remember bundles of warm clothes, and ice-cold needles spilling into the slightly open ends of my gloves as I scoop up snow. I remember an impossible camera angle, looking down on the scene as it arches up and over that streetlight, accentuating the downward flow of white flakes.

Ode to an odd acting career

2007-09-04T00:21:00.000-07:00

There are such actors and actresses (if the female term is still in use these days) known as "that guy" or "that girl" or "whats-his/her-face." Some of these gain great notoriety and eventually evolve an entire career out of it. Some notable examples are Joey Pants (The Matrix, The Sopranos, and Memento), William Fichtner (who has played too many bent coppers to list), and Kurtwood Smith (who got a big break playing a baddie in Robocop, made famous in That 70s Show, and actually appeared in three different Star Trek franchises). Some of these people really make it, and make some good dosh in there career.

Some of them don't. This particular essay is on one actress that I keep seeing pop up in the strangest places. Meet Karen Cliche. That's pronounced "Kleesh", by the way, as I'd made that very same mistake, and had a laugh every time I saw her in something till I was set straight by my contacts at the Hugo Awards (alright, I had some mates who actually attended the Hugo awards once, and I watch lots of good b-rate Sci Fi shows made in Canada..). She's well fit, as you can see from the photo, with a very intense face, and some star quality. It's just...well. She's got a knack for picking roles.

One of her first roles was, get this, a remake of Jekyll & Hyde set in Hong Kong, with more of an emphasis on martial arts and starring, as some of my readers may recognize, Adam Baldwin as Hyde, a martial arts expert fighting a drug racketeering gang. Go back and re-read that sentence, I'll wait.

After that came a stunning turn in a high-concept series that mixed teen angst with vampires. She played one of the lead characters, a femme fatale with a sharp tongue, aided by a dark and brooding vampire, as they faced the pressures of high school and the undead. Yeah, I know, sounds a lot like Buffy too. Unfortunately for poor Karen, Buffy was already booked, and she ended up playing Essie Rachimova (say that three times fast) in the miserably schlocky Vampire High, thus ruining my high school comeback of "Why would a vampire being attending high school?" when quizzed by the, erm, tanner kids I attended with. Thanks guys. Really. This show lasted 26 episodes, where Nathan Fillion can't keep a show for more than 11, tops.

After that came something called All Souls, to which Wikipedia links to a disambiguation page that actually doesn't cover the title in question, so I haven't a clue. Following were several other titles of equally dulling importance, save for the great heist movie called, er, Heist. She was uncredited, but stood alongside the likes of DeNiro, DeVito, and, er, Delroy..

Big Wolf on Campus. Haven't I seen this before somewhere?

There was another show that ran 26 episodes called Galidor that she was a guest star on, but I can't find anything but some fan fiction and the Wikipedia entry, and thus cannot distinguish it from the obviously superiour Mystic Knights of Tir-Na-Nog, so therefore you should clicky that link instead. It's something like celtic power rangers, if you can wrap your head around that one.

Flash forward, a stint on MTV's Undressed, which from what I can tell is mostly teenagers and early adults having sex in staggered scenes, then breaking up (and they blame Britney..), a show called Runaway which was cancelled after three episodes (I'm sure Nathan Fillion feels a little better now..), and Young Blades, which I think is loosely based on The Three Musketeers, but with a girl instead of D'artagnan. Yeah, I'll wait for you to re-read that last bit, too.

Most well-received, she was on a season of Mutant X, namely the last season. I haven't made it that far through the show yet (still 3/4 of the way through season 1), so I can't tell if the show was cancelled because of the Cliche touch of death or if it all went to shite after the cute telepath left the show. Also, Adventure, Inc. (don't laugh) which had Michael Beihn in it as well, about a team of "explorers" who, from their yacht, the "The Vast Explorer" (c'mon, don't laugh) anchored in a fictional South Carolina town (I'm serious, stoppit), headed by Judson Cross, known as "the man who can find anything" (alright, I give up, laugh already). Incidentally, I will quote, in its entirety, the wikipedia entry on Adventure, Inc.

"Adventure Inc. is a television show. It ran from September 30, 2002 to May 12, 2003."

This show ended when the third wheel died. No, really. "Electronics whiz kid Gabriel Patterson's" real life persona kicked it, and they decided not to renew the show. Damn, just as they'd started filling the void left by the cancellation of Relic Hunter..

What's brought Ms Cliche back to the surface of my thoughts? I'll tell you what. Flash muthafuggin Gordon, that's what. I heard they were bringing it back, and I came so hard I forgot where I was. Until I saw the show. Sadly, she's about the only redeeming value, playing the cliched (heh-heh) tough-as-nails female bounty hunter role that Lisa Ryder could have played in her sleep. Seriously. Ming the Merciless is the Big Lots brand Ian McKellan, Flash is even more mindless and wooden than he used to, that smart-assed professor from the original series has been replaced with an RV-driving kid-toucher, and we've seen all of 20 minutes of Mongo before I gave up halfway through the second series. I hope this show lets her down easily, and maybe she can move on to establish herself as more than just the "that chick" of b-rate sci fi shows...

And speaking of b-rate sci fi shows, c'mon Sci Fi channel, bring the heat. We all know you're more than capable of producing decent telly, it's usually only your movies that are awful.

Evil cats

2007-08-31T17:43:00.000-07:00

I love cats. No, really, I do. And not in that floofy, nancy-boy type of way that means I'm not manly enough to like dogs instead. Cliche alert, but I respect cats for their ability to remain aloof and detached. How they only really lose control when they want to. How they always seem dignified, even if they're chasing the beam of a laser pointer in a pointless pursuit up a wall.

I've had several cats in my time. I had a persian once, a couple of tabbies, a highly intelligent Mau named Bandit, and the most recent being a stupid but charming fluffy young female named Elektra (by my semi-estranged wife). I'm considering renaming her. She doesn't quite strike me as greek myth material. I'm thinking Zoe or Colleen. Names that require you to be pretty, but not necessarily intelligent.

I'm staying off and on, due to some home issues, with a friend of mine. He's got two cats, relatively young. One an almost-calico named Bender (I'm assuming it's a Futurama reference - yet another show that passed me by). One a Manx (although I actually suspect that it's not really 100% cat, possibly a genetic splicing of cat and rabbit due to its hind end) named Tabitha that, ironically, is pure white and NOT a tabby. These cats are adorable, they really are.
And I hate them. I cannot effing stand them. Why? What's made me do a partial 180 on my stance on cats? Why am I singling out these two feline specimens for antagonistic displeasure when normally I adore the feline species as a whole?

This is why.

No, that isn't his cat. No, that's not my USB cable. Pictures are not available based on the fact that MY USB CABLE IS NOW DEAD. I know this is malicious behaviour on the part of these two hellions, as well. How do I know this? I stayed last weekend, and they chewed UP MY OTHER ONE. I spent a good half hour yelling at these cats, and chasing them around whipping the floor within inches of them (as I still cannot bring myself to assault a cat, despite my individual hatred of these two), and I genuinely think they're scared of me now. They've been sitting in the window sill of the bedroom, heads bowed whenever I walk past.

I hope they feel guilty, the filthy little buggers. Last week, the cable they chewed through was still connected to the computer, hanging off of a table. Fair enough, I didn't get too mad. Just got my spare one. This time, the spare cable was in my bag, and I was only gone a few hours. They waited until I was gone, and dragged the cable out of my bag to chew it in two.

I shall end this with some traditional comic book obscenities, which perfectly reflect how I feel right now.

)#*$)@(#%_^)$(

By the way, this is my 100th post. Yay me.

Technology Watch here at the Sonic Stapler

2007-08-25T15:42:00.000-07:00

In the beginning, there was man, and there was woman.

And man was agressive and stupid, and woman was relatively far too intelligent and a bit vindictive. Woman hatched a plan to gain knowledge and man was not intelligent enough to mount a convincing counter-argument. Man screwed up the plan, and woman spent the next thousand years reminding him of this fact.

In the 1970s, Smith and Goodwin invented the first predictive text system. This was patented in 1985 by a company called Kondraske, and has since been dominated in the market by AOL/Tegic Communication's T9 system. Millions of mobile phone users send billions of text messages to each other, regarding subjects ranging from intimate personal communications to indecipherable txt-speak language messages.

Recently a tremendous breakthrough in the fields of cloning, artificial intelligence, and mobile phone systems have been combined, creating an entirely new product. My own spies have uncovered, at great cost, the blueprints for a staggering step forward, a collaboration between Motorola, AOL, Tegic Communications, and The Japanese (tm).

The AOL/Tegic T9 Predictive Man.

That's right, ladies (and some gentlemen), you too can have what will within months be touted as the "Perfect Man." The information I shall impart below to you is from the ACTUAL sales brochure for the Predictive Man.

For years, men have been unable to predict the desires and needs of women, despite them giving off such obvious clues. The Predictive Man uses space-age sensor technology, observing everything from the smallest hair-flip, quietly disgusted sigh, or narrowed eyes to not only predict your mood, but predict whether or not you need to be brought out of your funk, or whether you just need someone to yell at. And he won't mind!
The Predictive Man only needs to go to bed when you tell him to. He'll stay up all night polishing the kitchen floor, and be ready to go in the morning (after having cooked you breakfast) on a nice jog in the cool morning air. In fact, due to his Predictive systems, he'll be able to tell from the way you're lying in the bed whether or not you need someone there to cuddle you!
The Predictive Man is all about learned behaviour. Tired of having to train your men in the bedroom? The Predictive Man need only be shown a maneuovre once, and he'll remember it until YOU tell him not to. And need we mention how long an artificial life-form would last? As long as you need him too!

Now, whether this technology will really live up to its boasted capabilities or not, I cannot say. I've not personally seen the Predictive Man. My spies tell me he's quite impressive though. Sort of a mix between David Tennant and Kevin Sorbo, at least for the "Caucasian" model. That's the only one they've been able to catch visual confirmation on.

Watch this space for more information!

It can't rain all the time..

2007-08-16T11:04:00.000-07:00

For those of you who recognize that quote, yes it's from The Crow.

Ok, stop laughing. No, seriously knock it off. Yes, I get it. Mister "No, I'm not goth" is quoting the Crow. Irony prevails, hilarity ensues.

I was 16 or so when I first saw the Crow, it had been out for some time already and I had over-protective parents (and wasn't even living in the country at the time), and thought it was magnificent, as 16 year old goth kids are wont to. It was dark, it was violent, and by god it had a guy with funny greasepaint on his face. Funny greasepaint will get the under-18 crowd almost every time.

So, about a year later, I was dating this girl. Her name was Christy*. She was a little round, but pleasantly so. Blonde hair that could only be described as "floofy." We had fun for a while, before she decided to return to her boyfriend she hadn't told me about.

It can't rain all the time.

Then came Haley, Christy's friend. She was fun for a bit as well, until she felt bad about what "she was doing to Christy."

It can't rain all the time.

Then there was Mylinda. Cor and Blimey she was something. The first goth chick I ever met, about 5'2, from a poor family, and stunning. I wandered the back roads of northern Florida with this girl, and this was truly the first time I'd fell in love. Until her ex-boyfriend moved back. She was honest with me though, and I cried my eyes out for a bit, but quickly forgave her.

It can't rain all the time.

I met a girl named Julia. She was a bit on the big side, but wore it well. Did promotions for local punk rock shows. College student. 4 different colours in her hair. 2 years I spent with her, until she couldn't stand not to control my every thought and move. There was an altercation in the parking lot, and police were called. No arrests were made, but she was told firmly to GO HOME.

It can't rain all the time.

I met Melanie while I was still with Julia. I won't ever tell if we became intimate before or after though. One believes one thing, one believes the other, and I'm not dissuading either. Another two years invested there, LOTS of fun had, trust me. Whew. But in the end, she ended up supporting me because she wanted me there all the time and could afford it, but then resenting me for having to support me.

It can't rain all the time.

There's a chapter still being written, one in which I'm a valiant knight that rushes to the rescue of a maiden in distress, but the end is still too confusing. I can't tell whether the knight slays the dragon and the maiden and knight live happily ever after, or the knight eventually tires of fighting the dragon and gives up, falling in battle. Still, there's one bit I know about the end of the story.

It can't rain all the time.

*Just to screw with you, names may or may not have been changed to protect the, well, the mentioned.

2007-08-15T17:40:00.001-07:00

Just a notice to say:

Will not have computer access tonight. Expect post tomorrow.

Thanks much.

What the well-dressed superheroines are wearing..

2007-08-11T22:48:00.000-07:00

Yes, believe it or not, there's a bit of somewhat sensitive male to me. I'm sympathetic to the plight of women, to a point (as much as a man can be). I also realize something that a great deal of female comic book fans have realized as well. Female comic characters often (forgive the expression) get shafted when it comes to their visual characteristics. More often than not, the artist in question is a man who only regularly sees the female form through the darkened beer goggle haze of a strip club, or feels it necessary to trace pictures from ..hm.. adult-oriented sources (stand up, Greg Land..).

What can be helped, though, is the costume. And wow some costumes are just downright awful. I've been an on-again, off-again X-Men fan for some time, and have seen the costumes go through some MAJOR changes, and I like to check up every now and then just to see what the X-Women are wearing.

-- STORM --

Storm's one character I'll give leeway on, as when she was first introduced, she was an African native from a less advanced area, and had assumed the mantle of weather goddess of sorts, so to be honest, the less Storm wears the more believable it is that she'd pick out said outfit. I hated the godawful silver spandex neck-to-toe outfit she was saddled with in the mid-90s, as I always pictured Storm's introduction to "modest clothing" would have nearly resulted in a brawl between her and Xavier. After all, she was wearing naught more than a loin-cloth when she was first introduced. Checking in with her page on Marvel.com, Storm is currently swapping between a nice, tasteful, bare-shoulders black number with trim and what appears to be an animal skin bikini (or nothing at all), so completely believable there. Storm's very comfortable with who she is, so I don't see her being very bashful about her body.

-- ROGUE --

Oh dear. Rogue always makes me hang my head, not in shame, but in frustration at the fact that this is one of Marvel's most beloved mutants. Has anyone ever been to Caldecott County, Mississippi? Show of hands? No, you probably haven't, as it's not real, but it's supposedly in Western Mississippi, along the River. I've personally been THERE. Give it a pass, and keep driving. It's a scary place. Henceforth, I will focus more on Rogue's costumes. From the ugly green and black thing she wore in her first appearance, to the odd green and black workout costume, to the glam rock power skunk-mullet and short leather jacket, Rogue's style has always made me cringe. I mean, yellow? Who looks good in yellow? No one. Still, setting X-Treme X-Men aside for a moment (or permanently, that book is ..thick), she's currently in a mixture of the least frightening yellow ensemble and her original green & black, but with a white trim. And a long coat. I like the long coat. The long coat fits Rogue's true personality, not just the "HI YA'LL" nonsense they like to stuff her word balloons with.

-- JEAN GREY --

Wait, no she's dead. Again. Just mark her up as unavailable for comment and move on to..

-- PSYLOCKE --

No.. no wait, she's dead too. Kinda. This is harder than I thought. Let me wiki the X-Men roster for who we've got.

Bugger. Current roster has two females in Astonishing. Shadowcat and Emma Frost. I'm not touching either of them. Uncanny has.. Wait, Hepzibah? Hepzibah is an X-Man? WTF?? Regular X-Men has.. Lady Mastermind. You're kidding me. And a Sentinel?

My head hurts. Marvel, I'm not doing another one of these until you can deliver me a proper X-Team.

Fictional characters I'm quite fond of, chapter something or other..

2007-08-07T19:28:00.001-07:00

So, with impending change in my personal life (all I can say), I stave off disheartening despair with a tribute to someone who has a tendency to do the same. Likely it's because she's an alcoholic, and I've been too poor to drink for the past two weeks.

This sucks, by the way. Complete and utter rubbish, I tell you.

Putting aside some of the less fortunate storylines she's been involved with (that whole "the rape of.." business makes me ashamed of being a male writer..), and the more obvious differences (female, a super-hero, powers of alien origin) between Ms Carol Danvers and myself, I'm quite fond of Ms Marvel. And I'll tell you why (surprise, right? were you expecting two paragraphs and a sentence?).

In case any of you may have missed it, not being comics fans (or being comics fans and buying back issues of mid90's Image bad girl comics instead), the Marvel Universe is about one bazillion mutants fewer than it was. Oh, they're not dead. Not most of them anyway, just de-powered. See, the one who runs really fast convinced his sister with reality-altering powers (and a witch to boot!) that the world would be better off with mutants as the dominant species. In this world, the only humans that held any sort of influence were ones with superpowers (or had a metal suit, or were bitten by a spider, or took army-sponsored drugs, etc). One of these was Ms Marvel, who up until this point had been a blink drunk alcoholic, until convinced by fellow blink drunk alcoholic Iron Man, to turn her life around by quitting drinking and being a super hero again (is THAT all it takes!!). She then decided, for reasons unbeknownst to me, to quit being a super hero again and work for the government.

Now then. House of M, mutants everywhere, Ms Marvel is hands-down the most popular hero in the world, kids love her, men want her, women want to h... well, I'll let your imagination work there. Takes all kinds, kids. Unfortunately, Wolverine, who I blame for EVERY mishap in the Marvel U (and some in the DCU), remembers what the world is supposed to be like, and hooks up with other mutants to help them remember. For some reason, they decide the world would be better back the way it was (you know, with Sentinels, mutant anti-human terrorists, human anti-mutant terrorists, and sixteen registered knockoffs of Wolverine, and Rob Liefeld signing back on to bring X-Force back).

Kerfuffle. Scarlet Witch to Magneto: "Daddy - No more mutants." Poof it was all a dream. Deus Ex Scarletwitchina.

Now we get to the good stuff. This is where I stepped in with Ms Marvel. She remembers too. Why? Dramatic licence, I'm sure. Either way, this is where wikipedia says, and I quote, "she concentrates on reinvigorating her career."

That's like saying I'm not happy with the way life is going now, and vaguely would like to improve it. Ms Marvel remembers the way she was during House of M, a grade-A superhero, loved by all, and compares it to when she and Iron Man were pulled over for DUI by the SHIELD helicarrier at 10000 feet, then spent the night propping each other up in the doorway of the Baxter Building singing "What do you do with a drunken sailor" until early in the morn'.

Holy shit. Is this my life? What happened to it? I used to be good. I used to be great. I've seen a glimpse of what I could be. I can't let this all go to waste. Something's got to change.

So she swears off the booze, hires a publicist, starts working with the Avengers again, and slugs Iron Man a good one in his Iron Nose every now and then.

The moral of the story? Anyone can improve their life, if they catch a glimpse at what they could be, if the negative influences are gone.

And I made it through an entire post about Ms Marvel without a single reference to tall blondes in high black leather boots. Oh, bugger me, make that almost..

Just a quick thought..UPDATED!!

2007-08-05T22:55:00.000-07:00

My apologies, I didn't check this after I'd posted it. Please watch it, it's truly funny.

The Beginning..

2007-08-04T16:31:00.000-07:00

Buffy the Vampire Slayer ran for 7 years. 22 episodes a year, except the first, which was 13. Most of the first five years were good, then general concensus states that the show went downhill after that.

The X-Files ran for 9 years. Two of which they only had 1 of their lead actors. One of which they didn't have either.

Stargate SG-1 ran for 10 years. Even after Richard Dean Anderson (arguable the life of the show) left, and was replaced by Beau Bridges. Wait, re-read that. Beau Bridges.

Friends ran for 10 years as well. So much so that eventually it became "The one where you realize they're all in their late 30s and kinda creepy." "The one where you really want to strangle the entire cast with the tail of that fucking monkey." "The one where you want to carbomb the Central Perk during Phoebe's karaoke singalongs." Yeah, I'll admit to being more than slightly annoyed with Friends.

Law & Order has run for a total combined 34 years across the original show and roughly 703 spin-off shows. The franchise is getting a little tired.

Star Trek, for the most part, runs for seven years apiece. Even Voyager, the only series to have an episode retconned out of canon. Only Enterprise (which was actually better than you'd think) and the original series got less.

What am I getting at here? Much in the same way that Americans have to have massive gas guzzling penis extensions, they want their shows to run forever and ever. I don't understand it. Maybe it's that, my first serious experience with a comic book was Neil Gaiman's Sandman, which had its 75 issue run and ended, compared with Uncanny X-Men, which is now up to 2,304 issues, and Batman, which has topped the 10,000 consecutive issues mark.

Alright, I'm exaggerating a little. All I'm saying is, as much as I love the characters at times, tell me a story with a clear beginning, middle, and end. I admire the way the Brits do their television. Recently Stephen Moffat and James Nesbitt brought us the magnificent Jekyll, which lasted a total of six fifty-minute episodes, but will probably affect me more than seven years of the Seven Perfect People in their Perfect Spaceship (aka Star Trek: The Next Generation). A few years back, Simon Pegg, Nick Frost, and Edgar Wright brought us Spaced, which ran 14 half-hour episodes. In the US, this would be considered a failure, not even a total series, to be laughed at by the likes of 3rd Rock From The Sun, Empty Nest, or King of Queens. The exact opposite effect was had, though, as it's considered widely to be a quite successful and fondly remembered show. About a year ago, there was a great drama about relationships and roads not taken that was shown on BBC Three called Sinchronicity that lasted all of six episodes, but wove a story that was far more memorable than anything I've seen of late from the CW or FOX.

What am I getting at here? Perhaps sometimes it's better to tell a story and let it end. There's no reason why a story has to be dragged on for 10 years just to make advertising money or action figures. That's I've always enjoyed mini-series and the like, before I got to watch a lot of foreign television.

Of course, this entire treatise is coming from someone who's favorite show ran for 26 years without interruption, and was relaunched again and just finished it's third year, with countless books, comics, magazines, audio plays, soundtracks, stage plays, action figures, movies, and numerous other venues of entertainment. Continuity nightmares abound, with just as many explanations for them.

So I fully realize that my point of view may be tainted, but this is an opinion after all. And, like the favored subject of the opinion, this article has a beginning, a middle, and..

End.

ps - Dear reader. The many, many links in this post are for your personal research, in case you may not already have an opinion on this subject.

Best. Post. Ever.

2007-07-28T11:55:00.001-07:00

Heeee heee hee!

Simpsonize Me!

Rob Zombie's lyrics make NO effing sense.

2007-07-27T06:09:00.001-07:00

In 196 BC, there was a stone tablet created that repealed a number of taxes and instructed the people to build certain statues in temples, in several different languages. This tablet was found in 1799 by the french in a harbor on the coast of Egypt, and has been renowned the world over by linguists for its key role in translating previously indecipherable languages.

I refer, of course, to the famed Rosetta Stone, which now resides in the British Museum, and has since 1802. Publicly known, the Stone was moved to a safe place underground during WWI. Not publicly known, it was briefly held by the Vatican for a very important reason.

In 1965, Robert Cummings was born to carnies, living a travelling life. Cummings was born with dreadlocks and a cigar in his mouth, and stubbed it out in the doctor's eye before fleeing with his family back to the carnival. He began speaking several months later, uttering stream-of-conciousness babble well into his early teens, at which point he began to write music.

In 1987, the album Soul-Crusher was released, and we begin our analysis here. It is important to note that, whilst the Vatican held the Rosetta Stone, they were able to use it, along with some lines of secret bible code held only by the clergy, to translate the lyrics written by Rob Zombie. As it turns out, Zombie's lyrics in combination with the Rosetta Stone and biblical code hold quite a few predictions. Many of the early lyrics have already come true, making this find even more astonishing. As we speak, my contacts in the Vatican have managed to smuggle six translated verses to me. Some of them, like Erin's Bothan Spies, didn't make it back. Oh they're fine, they're just stuck in traffic on I-10 on the way back to the East coast. Missed their flight.

Song: Die, Zombie, Die
Album: Soul Crusher
Sample: "Dressed to kill. Crybaby keeper.
Nature of the madness. Lies very still.
Shadow boxing motions a real believer.
Areal believer. Look here, get it and go, look here.
Seduction in a new new world, seduction. Into the fire"
Translation: "The idiot child will rise,
Obliged to settle his father's sin,
Fear him greatly, as his rule shall bring terror,
And he'll cheat on his taxes."

Song: Disaster Blaster
Album:Make Them Die Slowly
Sample: "Conquest heat master
Skin crack move faster
Doomwatch got open eyes
Perversion never lies"
Translation: "The world will bear witness
of the law utterly failing to apply to those who own many oxen."

Song: Welcome to Planet Motherfucker / Psychoholic Slag
Album: La Sexorcisto: Devil Music Vol. 1
Sample: "Woven in the surface a premonition of a land erupting
a sparkling occasion of a city crashdown! overhead
Revolv'n in a whirlpool a drag-o-rama walk'n on the
sidewalk so let me see ya howl'n through the keyhole
"god damn, swept away" she shouted - she love it - get
in away yeah! I concentrate the midnight without the
benefit of ceremony - whoever said, "The one who strips
your soul is the one that got away" a weather-beaten
angel descending to embrace the cemetery - got love - so
mystifying "god damn, swept away" she shouted - she
love it - get in away yeah! she shouted - she love it - get"
Translation: "By Sutekh, that movie with the transforming robots shall own.

Song: More Human than Human
Album: Astro-Creep: 2000"
Sample:" I am the Astro-
Creep a demolition
Style hell american
Freak - I am the
Crawling dead - a
Phantom in a box
Shadow in your
Head say acid
Suicide freedom
Of the blast read
The fucker lies -
Scratch off the -
Broken skin - tear
Into my heart make
Me do it again yeah"
Translation: "He who expects no gratitude shall always be poor. Your lucky numbers are 25 85 46 21 and Powerball 92."

As you can see by this shocking discovery, there are great forces at work here. I have yet to receive any information on whether or not Rob Zombie's solo career contains any hidden messages, but I'm sure once my Vatican spies clear the roadwork going through Pensacola they'll be able to tell me more.

I think we need a bigger boat..

2007-07-25T22:19:00.000-07:00

Just so you all know, I now have a decent-sized CGI shark swimming contentedly around my desktop.

I'm thinking of naming him. Either Roy or Erasmus, I can't decide.

Next time on The Sonic Stapler: Rob Zombie's lyrics make ABSOLUTELY no sense!

Torchwood: Another Life - Invasion of the Welsh Pod People - or - It's Raining Welsh!

2007-07-25T05:05:00.000-07:00

NOTE: Some of you may have noticed a link to "Behind the Sofa" and not been adventurous enough to click it. In that case (and not at all because I'd be trying to pad out my writing schedule) that's the other blog I write for, a collaborative review blog of all things (well, most things) Doctor Who. It's interesting reading when we like things, hilarious when we don't. In the off-season, some of the strangest things get reviewed, like so..

Oh, Doctor Who, what a cruel mistress you are, that I find myself gazing at the cover sheet of a Torchwood audio book. Not a radio drama, like I am ever so fond of, but an actual, by the numbers, audio book. I turn the first CD over in my hand, and remind myself that I wasn't all that fond of the show, but it had its moments. These are the thoughts in my head as I ready myself for Peter Anghelides's Torchwood: Another Life.

Audio books have a three-fold goal in my mind. Narration, action, and continuity. Does the narrator keep your attention? Does he have a distinctive voice that you can listen to all day, or does he tire you after the first chapter? Personally, in an ideal world all audio books would be narrated by Stephen Fry or Lisa Bowerman, but I'll bite. John Barrowman narrates Another Life, and I was surprisingly pleased by hearing Captain Jack's dulcet tones pumped into my brain for three straight hours, which is doubly surprising considering I tire easily of the defrocked Captain's hokey accent (made puzzling by the fact that it's a REAL accent, not a cowboy colonial affected by a Big Finish recruitee). Something that could be either a plus or minus is the fact that he didn't even attempt to ape the accents of the other team, be it Owen's strange drawling mockney or Gwen's charming uber-Welsh lilt. David Tennant did accents in the three audio books he did, and he pulled it off well. Nailed Rose's slurred mockney, Mickey's authentic brainless addle, along with various other accents. Then again, Tennant's quite experienced with vocal work, and despite any other differences I might hold with him, his voice is gold.

I actually found myself anticipating the next scenes in this, something that several episodes of Torchwood (stand up, Cyberwoman) failed to do. This really felt like a story that Torchwood should have had, despite being almost another tired bodysnatcher story. The narrative moved along quickly, with a very strong opening scene involving Jack and Gwen chasing a crazed man projectile-vomiting sea slugs into a building scaffolding. The atmosphere was continually reinforced by the story as well, with a massive storm building over Cardiff, blocking out the sun and causing non-stop rain and flooding. The only thing that bothered me was, if Roald Dahl Plass was flooded, how was the Hub still dry? Still, the scene with the slab-o-vator opening and Jack getting drenched was frightfully funny.

Characterization was good, better so than most of the episodes themselves, with Owen actually acting like an adult, none of the slightly icky sexual flirtation between Gwen and Owen, Tosh actually getting some action (not like that!), and Ianto having some choice lines. The characters really feel like they're being fleshed out more than the episodes provided us, and I'm actually really starting to believe that if I can get my hands on the other two audio books, I may just end up enjoying series 2 (and retrospectively enjoying series 1 much more the next time around).

In closing? Torchwood: Another Life was a success, rarely putting a foot wrong, and (surprisingly) minimizing the supposed adult content that plagued the series to ill effect. I think Torchwood might have stronger success in spin-off media than it would in the visual media. Can we get Torchwood: The Comic, or perhaps Torchwood: The Animated Series in the style of Batman: TAS? I think I'm going to further investigate this, with Border Princes (with a zombie-making mcguffin) and Slow Decay (Weevil fun). The good news? Eve Myles narrates Slow Decay. The bad news? Burn Gorman narrates Border Princes. Despite having an infinitely cooler name, I'll probably pass on Border Princes for now and do Slow Decay next.

Liquor and the finer points of consumption.

2007-07-22T13:54:00.001-07:00

Here recently, I've had less chance to write, due partly to a change in work schedules, and due partly to someone's new addiction to internet radio. It seems that the time where I previously would have been writing, I'm otherwise occupied, and never have the chance to do so when home.

But, after veering dangerously close to that personal life upon which I prefer not, and have declined, to discuss, I turn my attentions to the subject of liquor.

I have posted previously (or that may have been in a different blog, I can't recall) that I do drink. It's one of a few select vices, seeing that I don't commit much in the way of crime, consume no hard or otherwise illegal street drugs, smoke considerably less than I used to, and am not promiscuous.

My choice, for some time, has been a brand of Scotch Whiskey (or it may be whisky, I can never remember which) called Highland Mist. Not the most recognizable brand name, but then they tend to be the most expensive. I'll usually purchase a 750ml bottle (commonly known among you non-metrics as a fifth, I believe) and it lasts me until usually two weekends later. I take it home and place it in the freezer, and some hours later, fix a drink and enjoy.
I don't usually drink if I work the next day, or if I am unwell. I never drink BECAUSE I am depressed or angry, but sometimes these do coincide. I've never fought someone or committed an act of vandalism while intoxicated, and only driven once, with the sole intention of moving my car out of someone else's way.

I don't drink to kill the pain, make it all go away, or deal with reality. I drink so for a little while I won't have to deal with the world around me. It takes the hard edges off and makes me numb for a bit - my body that is, not my mind or feelings.

I'm not an angry drunk, nor am I a violent drunk. I'm not quite a happy drunk, more a charismatic drunk. Other people who love to be the center of attention hate me when I'm drunk, as I'm prone to dominate and steer conversations much in the way that a large sail would catch the wind. I'm much friendlier drunk. People I would normally, literally, consider beneath me are suddenly participants in a lively discussion about things I would normally keep to myself about.

Thing is, I think some people are starting to suspect that I may be an alcoholic. On the face value, I do qualify in some ways, but my motives are completely different. I do drink regularly, sometimes to the point of being unable to coherently form a sentence. I do drink alone most times, and fall asleep drunk more often than sobering before falling asleep.

I'd like to go on record as saying I don't drink with any less people that I usually spend time with, I don't do it because of, or to ease any, emotional states. And I'll have you know, I always wake up more refreshed when I've had a few before bed. Helps when I have to wake up early.
In closing, thank you all for your concern, but I'll be fine. And I apologize most sincerely for neglecting my poor blog for so long.

Dear Harry Potter fans..

2007-07-17T04:38:00.001-07:00

In lieu of an actual update, which I have trouble finding the time for here lately, I'm just going to say the following to Harry Potter fans everywhere, just because I hate HP.

Don't click here.

No, really, don't click here.

You'd better not click here, I'm sure you'd regret it..

Don't say I didn't warn you >=D

And that much more is right with the world..

2007-06-28T11:44:00.000-07:00

The heavens have truly opened up and smiled upon me. In not only the same short period of time, nay, the same commercial break, NAY I SAY the same COMMERCIAL I learn of the existence of two wonderful things.

First off, Transformers: The Game will be coming to PC. This is important as I can't be arsed to shell out 600 dollars on one of those fancy new consoles, and am quite good at making outdated technology run state-of-the-art software.

Secondly, Burger King will be gracing us with a line of toys. Understand, Burger King has only ONE franchise in my area, and it's not a half-mile from my house. This means I'll stand a good chance at nabbing a few. *ahem* for my kid of course. *ahem* or my little cousin. Yeah that's the ticket.

Hrm..I'm apparently not trying hard enough..

2007-06-28T10:48:00.000-07:00

Mingle² - Online Dating

That's it, my next post is going to be Care Bears slash fiction. I've got to do something to up my rating some =/

(Cheers, Erin)

Sorry, I've been distracted lately..

2007-06-26T07:14:00.000-07:00

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http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bratz_(film)

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http://www.thebratzfilm.com/

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*pantpant* I'll be ok. I promise. Return to your regularly scheduled apocolypse. Where are Jay and Silent Bob when you need a movie ruined, huh?

The Replacements - Salem Casts the Comics Universe

2007-06-21T09:28:00.000-07:00

Following up on my admission earlier that I actually enjoyed the reimagining of the Fantastic Four in Ultimate Fantastic Four, I must comment that I really don't like the casting in the movies.

Well, not all of the casting. And I'll spread out a bit. I don't like a lot of casting in comic book movies. I'm sure I'm not alone. Some of the bigger ones that stick in my craw (as they say in some places) I'm going to address here. Lots of pictures in this one (I wonder if that will make me "more accessible" or something like that..).

Sue Storm: The Invisible Woman, Sue Storm (Oh, and I apologize for using Greg Land's artwork. It makes my eyes hurt too, but it's the best Ultimate Sue Storm I could find on a moment's notice, and that 24oz Cappacino is singing in my veins right now..), has always - ALWAYS - been blonde, intelligent, and a touch stubborn. Even in the bad old days of anti-feminist comics, she was at the very least a little out-spoken, and a fairly good role model (except for that stripper costume. WTF, seriously?). Which is why I can't wrap my grey matter around why you'd cast a latin-american actress as a blonde character. Jessica Alba? Nah.. I'd cast..

Ali Larter. Physically, she nails it. Blonde, statuesque, natural-looking. She looks tough, comes across as very stubborn and opinionated, and not someone that would just let their brilliant but dense husband walk all over her. As far as intelligence goes, I can't testify if she can pull off a role as a scientist, but she's well spoken. Not satisfied? Nah, neither was I. I'm not a big viewer of American TV and cinema, so blonde American actresses are tough for me to find. I therefore offer an alternative.

Amy Smart: Not quite as physically imposing, but still has a presence. She has gone for some slightly more intelligent roles (not by much, but still..) so she's got that going for her. Be fair though, either one would be more believable and entertaining than Sue Storm.

John Constantine of Hellblazer.

Oh, two very very painful words echo in my brain, as I reflect back on my long history with the stories of Hellblazer, as I witnessed the events of Newcastle, the deals made with Papa Midnite, the nuns and computer hackers that have fallen by the wayside, the dirty, filthy, guilt-wracked road trip through the scarier parts of rural America, to the punk-rock mid-80s days of Mucous Membrane. Which is why when a new take was made on the character, I was interested. Entertained, by the thought of Constantine who worked freelance in the interests of the Church, seeking to win his way back into heaven after a childhood mistake. What we got was "Whoa. Demons." and "I know Exorcism."

This one, I'm especially proud of. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you MARC WARREN! Marc's best known for his role on Hustle, a brilliant BBC drama revolving around a team of high-stakes gunmen, and also played Dracula and a role in Doctor Who for the BBC as well. Look at that picture though! The scruffiness! The attitude! He's perfect! I demand that the BBC immediately remake Constantine, and cast Marc Warren as John! NOW! Plus, marks as John's from Liverpool, Marc's from Northampton, not too terribly far away. Both can pull off scummy London quite well.

I'll try and do another one of these later, as I'm gunning for Nicholas "Droopy Dawg" Cage and Halle "Droopy Dawg" Berry (heh..that's so wrong) next time. Everyone's got one of these though, right? Sound off people, who would you have cast?

Ok, ok, I'll shut up now.

2007-06-19T09:00:00.000-07:00

I managed to get my hands on about 30 issues of Ultimate Fantastic Four this weekend. And I actually read through them. And liked them.

Yeesh. I've never had ANY interest in the Fantastic Four before. I didn't even pay attention when the movie was on. Only, I've always thought that the FF was quite...er..

Ok, yeah, fair warning. I'll probably be lynched by any comics fan after reading this, but I've always thought the FF were quite cheesy. I mean, CMON! You want to talk about unlikely comic book origins, the X-men I can understand, Cappy's isn't bad, Hulk's is a stretch, Spiderman makes my brain hurt, but the Fantastic Fecking Four?!?

Who steals a space shuttle!??! HOW?!?! NO!! It's not even the outer-space radiation in the shuttle or space station (depending on whether you're movie or comic) or the types of powers they end up with (wtf, I say. W. T. F.). It's the space shuttle. Who leaves a space shuttle so unguarded that four people who aren't authorized to be on the shuttle in the first place, not to mention have NO military or stealth training, are able to sneak past security with no problems?

Anyway. This series dealt with all those interesting questions, like just how does the Invisible Woman become invisible (look there's her intestines!), where do Reed's organs go (He doesn't have any!), how do Ben's still work(They just do, ok? he doesn't want to talk about it), and how do the Torch's keep from being incinerated (oh look that's not really his skin we see..ok!).

True, there were hard parts to swallow (I'm not particularly fond of Greg Land's porn-face and identical women), but this IS the series that brought us Marvel Zombies (and I'll have another few hits now just for mentioning them), but I like the whole "genius kids" angle they played on Reed and Sue, and some of the more insanely complicated psuedoscience was nice. And most of all, they did NOT STEAL A FECKING SPACE SHUTTLE this time..

There's just one question that bothers me..

Why..

Does Ultimate Sue look like Martha Stewart?

It's not the heat, it's the humidity..

2007-06-15T07:05:00.000-07:00

Changing gears from my epic science fiction opus the other day, here's a slightly different story I've concocted. No large-scale epic ideas, no universe-threatening armies of robots, just a couple of kids a little too old for their age, in a place a little too small for their kind.

In the southern United States, crickets chirp in the evening, but not for the same reason as other places. In the deep south, crickets are usually chirping out of desperation; from the heat, the humidity, and to fill the void. The crickets know.

If you're under 19 in southeast Alabama, the social scene generally tends to revolve around the series of oversized strip malls that line your town. You're either one of the crowd wearing dockers and polo shirts, with the stereotypical cheerleaders, or the girls not quite pretty or rich enough to make the squad, or you're here. Here being the pavement outside of a large chain bookstore, with its own coffee shop. There's a small wrought-iron fence about waist-high, with a gate that seems to serve no purpose but keep the matching wrought-iron tables and chairs from running away.

If you're here, you're probably not one of the aforementioned Docker-type kids. You're probably not one of the rednecks that live in the trailer park on the outskirts of town, or one of the poor black crowd that lives downtown, or even one of the future IT crowd. What you are, is probably being stared at by the pair of old ladies pushing their way out of the glass double-doors clutching the newest release from Oprah's book club.

Terry Flynn raised his middle and forefinger towards the old ladies, with a spiteful grin on his face. The ladies looked confused and skittered off as quickly as they could. Terry’s family moved to America from Belfast when Terry was very young, He still retained most of his upbringing, thanks in no small part to his mother, a devout Catholic. What they say about Irish boys and their mums? It’s true.

“You know they probably haven’t got a clue what that means, right?”

Terry looked over at his companion, a smallish teenaged boy, with spiky hair and a deep tan that spoke of native American origin and a frame that spoke of under-nourishment. Jesse’d been one of the first friends Terry had made when he started school after the most recent move. They’d been friends since, spending most of their nights in front of the bookstore, surrupticiously sneaking shots of whiskey and smoking cigarettes, despite being three years away from legal age.

“The language… of the rude gesture is… universal, Jesse,” Terry proclaimed slowly, with a slight slur.

“Please. Those old ladies thought some weirdo pothead was flashing a peace sign at them,” Jesse replied, with a chuckle.

“Pothead?!? Me!? Those old bats, bring ‘em on back, I smack em ‘wan!” Terry started to get up, before Jesse pulled him back into the wrought-iron chair with a loud thump, bruising his arm. Terry glared at his friend for a moment, before taking another swig of his whiskey and allowing the warmth to bring a smile back to his face. “Sorry mate, you know how I feel. That stuff makes you stupid.”

“I never felt stupid…just relaxed. Didn’t care. That sort of thing.”

“Right… so relaxed and not caring that you could sit through being robbed and felt up and not fight back.”

Jesse got quiet for a moment. He’d given up pot a few months back, after the incident Terry was hinting at. He’d been at a friend’s house, as usual, getting high the third time in as many days. He was usually very careful about it, mostly because he didn’t want to get busted, but he hadn’t thought much further than that. Terry’d been looking for him, and had walked in on Jesse’s other friend’s dad emptying Jesse’s wallet, and starting to pull his jeans off. Terry’d thrown his flask at the man’s head, like a cold stainless steel Frisbee, and the man had stumbled off allowing them to leave.

Because I missed the Zompocalypse yesterday..

2007-06-14T05:11:00.000-07:00

Clicky if you must. Will make bigger.