Sometimes I write recaps just to remember what I've done...

Today will be largely spent packing and getting ready for the Fangoria Weekend of Horrors in New Jersey. Despite numerous emails from various Fango and Creation heads promising otherwise, neither Amy nor I were ever added to the site as guests or otherwise. But it's okay, we were thanked for our continued support. There's no reason to be bitter about it, however, at least not on Fangoria's end. Everyone over there - magazine, radio, comics and television - has been very nice to us so there's no cause to complain. People who go to the con will find us, invariably. Still, sometimes it's fun to get your shots in.

At this said Fango show, we're unveiling a brief and very rough look at some new Splatter Movie: The Director's Cut footage. No screening or big fanfare, just something we'll be showing at our table. HOWEVER, if any members of the general public reading this are planning on attending, there's a catch. You have to go to the Splatter Movie page and print out a ticket we created. Present this ticket, and we'll show you the footage. There's some good stuff in there too. We're talking double axe murder here. So print out your Happy Cloud ticket (it's just like a Wonka ticket, only you don't have to eat a slew of Wonka bars to get one. Well, you could if you wanted to...) Either print it from the blog or from the Pics page.

Also this weekend, and you won't need a ticket for this, will see the premiere of a brand new trailer for Professor Jack and the Electric Club. When I say "brand new", incidentally, I mean brand new. I literally finished it yesterday, cutting it to replicate trailers for '50s serials (just as the movie itself pays tribute to those by-gone days of yesteryear).

At the end of this cutting, however, I discovered just how much I depsise iDVD. As much as I love Final Cut Pro and most other Mac-related items, their iDVD is wretched. Regardless of the setting, I wound up with crappy compression on the finalized disc, leading me to believe that cutting on FCP, recording to tape, recapturing in Premiere, making an MPG2 from there and finalizing the DVD in Encore is not the tremendous waste of time I suspected it to be. The DVDs are coming out much nicer in Encore. And, no, DVD Studio Pro doesn't seem to be an option, thanks. Takes twice as long as Encore and I'm not thrilled with the output there, either. Yes, I'm sure there is something I'm not doing or some radio button I'm not clicking, but I'll stick to this method above. It takes a little longer, but it seems to work out quite well. Ultimately, what you're dealing with is a near-Luddite teaching himself to use a telephone. I'm usually happy when things just turn on.

But, anyway, the Professor Jack trailer should be up on Myspace and Youtube next week.

* * *

By now, everyone on Earth knows that I'm a Muppet fanatic and that Jim Henson is at the top of my list of heroes. It's not a secret. I have a freakin' Kermit the Frog tattoo on my left shoulder, for pete's sake. And don't think I haven't had to give a beatin' or two out in the yard to some skinhead who made fun of it during exercise turn-out! K to the F, baby! (God, I'm white...)

So, anyway, it should take nobody by surprise that I jumped at the chance to drive to Washington D.C. because a friend of a friend who works at the Smithsonian as a prep mold-maker was currently on the team prepping a new Muppet touring exhibit and had on hand several original Muppets from The Muppet Show, Fraggle Rock, The Dark Crystal, and even a couple pre-dating those (like Featherstone and the King from The Frog Prince (not, I realized later, taking a closer look at the costumes, Hey, Cinderella, where the characters originated) and Wilkins and Wontkins from the old "Wilkins Coffee" commercials!). Our new best friend Danny had arranged for Amy and I to come in about an hour before the Smithsonian heads of state arrived to start their preparations for the exhibit. Basically, we had an hour to peruse.

So, no sweat. The S.I. folks arrived at ten, we could be there by nine. To make sure, we left at four a.m. It takes a little over three hours to get to D.C. from our house. Plenty of time. Even when we got turned around and I drove in the wrong direction for fifteen miles - not a problem. Plenty of time.

Except that Washington D.C. has the worst traffic on the face of the Earth. We hit the George Washington Parkway at 7:30 and sat, crawling along, for nearly two hours. By the time we arrived and found a place to park, it was ten to ten. And that's when we realized we'd parked eight blocks away from where we should have been.

Now we're running through a particularly horrifying neighborhood, winding our way through a carpenter's strike (where Amy was hit in the back with a rock, presumably by someone who didn't think we were sympathetic enough towards the plight of D.C. area carpenters) and dying from the heat. By ten a.m., it had already hit 80+ degrees. Yay.

We finally got to the center and lo and behold, the Smithsonian higher-ups hadn't yet arrived! There was time after all! Danny quickly took us into a temperature-controlled work room, passing a jacket belonging to one of The Dark Crystal Podlings, and took us into a vault. Okay, vault/work room.

On all the tables, beneath sheets of plastic, were about a dozen original Muppets. Not camera puppets, the ones you find in calendars or posters - these were performance Muppets, used on the shows and in the movies. Danny uncovered a Rowlf first. We were inches away from something donned by Jim Henson and Frank Oz. He was a Muppet Show Rowlf - his face was a lighter color than the body fur - and he was in beautiful shape. Next to him, on a lower table, were Ernie and Bert, also covered with plastic. Beyond them, the King and Featherstone. Across from them, placards made up for various Fraggles and Dark Crystal props.

Then Danny opened a cabinet. And took out a Kermit. He'd already been mounted on a styrofoam base to hold his shape and fitted with armiture to keep his arms in place. If I wore white gloves, I could hold him.

I never put white gloves on so fast in my entire life.

Amy snapped a picture of me holding a Muppet Show performance Kermit. His eyes were yellowing slightly, but his flocking was still intact. Danny reached over and positioned his arms so Kermit would be waving at the camera. I was holding something that Jim Henson not only held, but created and was, in a large way, an extension of the man himself. Whether or not Jim actually built this Kermit, I have no way of knowing. At the time, he wasn't doing puppet fabrication, so I doubt that this particular Kermit was a by-product of his time. But he brought him to life. This Kermit in my hands had been on the show. This Kermit had been, at one time, The Kermit the Frog.

I replaced him, gently, back in the case. Then Danny handed me a Muppet Show Mahna Mahna. I was just taking in the detail in the eyes and the feathers surrounding the face when the Smithsonian folks walked through the door. With expressions on their faces as if they'd caught us using the Muppet cabinet as a urinal. It was probably the camera that freaked them out most.

Now, I've been in situations like this before. You don't pose as a journalist for ten years and not run into things you might have to talk your way out of. My biggest concern was that Danny not get into trouble. So I shook hands and smiled and dropped all the names over at the Henson Legacy I could think of. I hit a bullseye on a couple. They started to relax a little but still insisted that Amy delete the pictures that were taken, saying that Disney is very concerned about copyright violation, etc. Which isn't what they were actually worried about. We were foreigners in their territory. Rather than wait to be ushered from the room, I thanked them for their time and told them we'd get out of their way. No one was gracious enough to offer to let us hang out in the back or even appreciate the time it took us to get there - but then again, I didn't expect that kind of reaction. They wanted us out.

So we hung out with Danny for a while longer and he showed us some of the other exhibits being prepped for the various museums, including a fascinating skull for a Jamestown exhibit. To be honest, I think I asked more questions about how their computer-driven lathe worked than anything regarding the actual exhibits.

In the back of my mind, however, I was still buzzing about holding Kermit. I'd had ten minutes in a room filled with genuine Muppets. I didn't get that when we toured the Henson New York Office Building a few years back!

And as it turned out, Amy confessed as we were leaving, that she didn't delete the pictures after all. Once she realized they weren't monitoring what she was doing with the camera, she just shuffled through them and pocketed the flash card. So I have photographic proof that I did, indeed, handle a real Kermit. I will honor their wishes, however, and not post them. Besides, they're not for the public. Everything else I do is usually put out for public consumption. These pictures are for me.

We walked back to our car, discovered we'd gotten a ticket for parking on "Senate Property", though we couldn't have been farther from the Senate if we'd remianed parked in our own driveway. We couldn't find another parking space so visiting another museum or monument was out. So we drove out and opted to meet Eric Thornett for lunch. He showed me one of the new Canon HD cameras his studio had picked up, along with some footage shot and yes, it was all very nice and yes, now I really want one. Particularly if this camera, being a Canon, will fit the lenses I have for the XL2. But I couldn't really concentrate on any of that.

Because I'd held a Kermit for two minutes. We drove six hours (then back for four) for ten minutes and I would do it again in a minute.

Daniel Robert Epstein: R.I.P.

Last week, I got a startling email first thing in the morning from Robert Kurtzman, asking me what happened to Dan Epstein and that he was sorry to hear about it. Being that early, my brain couldn't grasp the question. A few minutes later, I found out the news: writer Daniel Robert Epstein had died of unknown causes.

I didn't know Daniel that well. He was one of the reviewers I sent screeners to and I had arranged a couple of interviews for him for Suicide Girls. He'd interviewed a lot of terrific people for S.G. including Cronenberg and Terry Gilliam, and, for me, was the only reason to visit that particular site. I was very eager to get him to write for me for Sirens, but his schedule never coincided with ours. The first thing you'll notice, reading his work, is his easy-going, conversational interviewing style. He wasn't a cut-n-paste guy; his interviews had depth to them. That was the chief reason I wanted him. You don't see that type of quality on web magazines that often.

But, because we were only email acquaintances, I don't know any of his friends or family and I have no idea how or why he died. He was a few years younger than I am, so that sent a shiver through me. I'm not ready to reach that point in my life where funerals start becoming a staple. Earlier in the year, we lost a good acquaintance, a filmmaker named Joe Casey. We're working on finishing Joe's last film, an anthology we contributed to called Brinke's Tales of Horror, as a tribute to Joe. I don't have a tribute in mind for Daniel. Part of me feels slightly, and guiltily, relieved that we hadn't become closer friends. It's a selfish feeling - utterly selfish. But we don't mourn for the sake of the dead; we mourn for our own loss. If the nuns and priests and other spiritual leaders are to be believed, Joe and Daniel are in a much better place right now and it is the rest of us who are worse off for their passing.

As far as Daniel goes, the journalistic world is certainly worse off. He'd raised the bar pretty high as far as interviewing goes. Any of you want to learn how it's done, read his work over at Suicide Girls. My sympathies go out to his family.

Post-filming recovery

It's after midnight and I'm still capturing footage. I spent a good deal of the day, on and off, sifting through hours of video shot this weekend. Our first production weekend on Splatter Movie went very well, if I do say so myself. We had at least three cameras rolling at any given time so there's a lot to go through. Too early to tell what's gold and what's garbage, so I'm allowing myself to be generous with the longer takes here. Of course, my hard drive space is going to be eaten rapidly at this rate, so I will likely be judicious later.

Saturday was a "getting to know you" day. There were a couple of folks - like our brand new PA Jordan and Nic Pesante's paramour, Catherine, not to mention effects artist du jour Eric Molinaris and make-up artist Lorena - with whom we'd never worked before, and at least one - 2nd Camera Jon Wamsley - who only Amy and I had worked with (on I Spit On Eli Roth - as detailed in Sirens of Cinema #8, on sale now!). So it was a good day for everyone to get acquainted and re-acquainted and especially to check out the space.

The Hundred Acres Manor is growing. Production Designer Ethan Turon is putting together new rooms for the upcoming season, so he and his crew were working while we were scouting locations and just running amok and exploring.

Sunday, Debbie Rochon came down to shoot a couple of pretty intense scenes for Tesseract, the movie-within-the-movie that Amy's character, "Amy Lee Parker", is directing. That's the stuff capturing now in the next room (it's always best if I go do something else when I capture so I don't sit on top of the Mac as its working) and it just looks gorgeous. Jeff Waltrowski, our man-about-town from Hero Headquarters, lit both her scenes nearly single-handedly and the colors are just amazing. Amy decided that the Tesseract footage should be very Argento-esque, with the frames filled with color while the actors themselves would be lit with white light. So the reds and blues and greens in these scenes just pop throughout.

Amy and Debbie have a scene together that will actually be Tesseract's climax - very bloody and very stylistic. I'm really happy with what has been captured, even though I'm only about halfway through the tapes that have been shot (like I said, at least three cameras at some point. Five was actually the record). If I don't get this stuff logged before the next shooting date, however, I'll start to backlog and that just won't be good. However, at this rate, we'll be sifting through at least five hours of video for every weekend we shoot.

If you want to see a very brief tease, we posted Amy Lee Parker's first video blog over on the Tesseract myspace page. You'll have to join as a friend, of course, to see it. Trust me, there will be more coming.

Nuggets of News

My life this week in bite-sized nuggets:

We met with one of our investors on Monday, ate and talked about Splatter Movie and other events in our life. He gave us money.

That morning, a check arrived from another of our investors (which may lead to a big announcement very soon, actually). As far as funding for the movie, we're doing pretty well. Appreciate the support, fellas!

Tuesday we met with one of the owners of the Hundred Acres Manor and met the production designer for the first time, Ethan. We did another walk-through and started to figure out what rooms would be best for certain scenes. Ethan and his crew are actually redesigning a number of rooms for the grand reopening of the haunt in September, so we'll have the opportunity to utilize a lot of brand new backgrounds and settings before anyone else ever lays eyes on them.

Before we left, a deer came running down the hill and scared the shit out of itself - not to mention us. There were about six of us in a group and the thing was running straight for us. A yearling, so it wasn't very big, but it started to skid when it saw us and almost plowed into one of the partners' cars. We took its not hitting us or stomping us to death in a panic as a very good sign. An omen, if you will, of good things to come. At least, it was a portent of our not being stomped to death in the future.

Just got off the phone with the distributor who picked up Abattoir - sorry, A Feast of Flesh. As I detailed today on the Happy Cloud Pictures Blog, the title of our little vampire opus has been changed due to popular demand. Something less French has been requested. We discussed the contract and what special features will eventually be offered on the disk. We're still on track for a fourth quarter 2007 release. As soon as the ink is dry, we'll make a big announcement.

As for the rest of the day, I spent it in the garage and in the attic, hauling out equipment, cleaning it and writing "Property of Happy Cloud Pictures" on it in black and silver sharpie. We have to leave a lot of various bits and pieces at the haunt. I'm not worried about anything stolen, more that something will accidentally get mixed in with the haunt's equipment property. Still, I came away feeling very proprietary.

So we meet with various cast and crew members on Saturday, shoot some b-roll and head home to rest for the big shooting event on Sunday. We have to shoot somewhere in the neighborhood of ten-to-twelve pages in around eight hours. Not even a record for us. Still, a lot to do and a lot of rust to shake off and get our Happy Cloud family back into the well-oiled machine it was while shooting Abattoir. We'll all miss Carlos Savant--he's down at a shop in New Orleans and busy to the gills right now--but welcome Eric Molinaris into the mix. There are a couple of people we've never worked with before but who come highly recommended.

This should work out to be something quite special when all is said and done. But then again, I tend to say that about every production. It's certainly unlike anything we've ever attempted before. To that end, I recommend that everyone check out the two Myspace pages: The Official Splatter Movie Page and The Official Tesseract Page, which is dedicated to the movie-within-the-movie Amy's character is shooting. Awesomeness is coming soon.

Moving Forward...

I spend much of my life in dread of the Big White X.

In the cartoons, that's the "x" painted on the ground where the anvil is intended to drop. Usually, a coyote is standing on the X, watching as the shadow grows above him - right before the inevitable "Wham!"

The problem with my Big White X is that I'm never quite sure when I'm standing on it - or how long that whistling sound will last before I realize I'm hearing it.

The future, to me, is something sharp and pointy and very, very heavy and rushing at me at a frightening speed. Always. It's not the change I fear, it's the impact that change will make. And the problems that come riding on its back.

As you've no doubt read from Amy's blog, after a month of finagling, chasing, begging and calling calling calling, I finally found an insurance agent that would provide us with th policy we were seeking in order to shoot Splatter Movie: The Director's Cut. We were seeking this to not only protect the owners of the Hundred Acres Manor and ourselves but also to insure--hence the word--that our friends and family would be protected in this unfamiliar locational space. If, Film Gods Forbid, someone would actually get hurt, we know now that they'd be taken care of.

For weeks, it was the runaround from this agent, the cold shoulder from that, an attempt at rip-off from the third. But today that came to an end. I even got an emailed proof-of-coverage to show the haunt's owners in case the policy takes a while to come via mail. So we're set to schedule, plan and finally shoot(!). Which is very exciting.

And I'm forcing my head to not look down. I don't want to see the X if I am standing on it. I know in the back of my mind that this was the inevitable conclusion to a very frustrating task, but I worry when things go smoothly - even if they hadn't up until this point.

This, my friends, is what is known as "being crazy".

So I'm trying to break myself of habitually feeling dread every time something goes my way. I'm trying very hard. Positive thinking was never a superpower I possessed. I'm trying to convince myself that sometimes things work out without incurring the wrath of the universe. In short, move onto the next dreadful task and celebrate that I can do so with all ten fingers.

And I understand, too, that there are plenty of new Herculean tasks to undertake - ever movie comes equipped with an endless number, naturally. So plan ahead and, as the cliche goes, hope for the best, prepare for the worst. And appreciate when something goes right.

And then turn around widdershins and spit on a rock, just to be safe.

Pirates, Rednecks and Insurance Companies

So Film Threat put up my review of Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End. I don't normally write reviews of mainstream stuff - they have Pete Vonder Haar for that - but I felt compelled. We saw it again yesterday and sat through the credits for the epilogue (not sure why we didn't the first time). While the first two movies had brief "gag" post-credit sequences, this one actually served as a cap for the story and actually expunged the few negative feelings I had towards the movie. The epilogue, truly, makes the Elizabeth and Will Turner story very satisfying. So much so that you'll be shocked that Disney had the balls to end it that way. Go see it, sit through until the very end - when the ushers come in and start giving you dirty looks - and then come back and discuss.

* * *

We're trying desperately to get Splatter Movie: The Director's Cut off the ground. We just signed our last few actors--I'll make the formal announcement soon--the set is fantastic and ready to go. Our effects are being covered by two very talented men. I have my second cameraman lined up. Our investors are sending us money, enabling us to fly some folks in and feed the rest. Tom Sullivan is on board and anxious to get started! So what's the hold up?

Insurance.

We need to get liability insurance to make sure that - Film Gods forbid - if anyone gets hurt, we're all covered. It's not a lawsuit concern. I'm working with a lot of friends. I want to make sure my friends will be safe.

However... we've spoken with three different insurance companies. One didn't get back to us until late last week saying that no one would underwrite our claim. Of the other two, one guy is on vacation and the other seems to do all of his business from his car. The lowdown seems to be that what we want isn't worth anyone's time. We're not asking for a lot of coverage, we're not looking for a million dollar policy. So no one wants to handle it. Apparently, our money just isn't good enough.

It'll happen and it'll probably happen soon. But the wait is frustrating. Here we are trying to do everything right and the easier route seems to be to just screw it all, damn the consequences. We're not about to call it quits, but the waiting sure is aggravating!

* * *

Last week, I spent two days working an auction. The focus of the auction was heavy machinery of the construction variety. Lots of backhoes and tractors and steam rollers and enormous things whose sole purpose seem to be terraforming planets. This meant, for me, waiting on literally hundreds of contractors and construction workers and businessmen, most of whom had a net worth in the millions, getting them registered and then cashing them out when their auctions were won.

Now, you think "millionaire" and your mind conjures Donald Trump, right? In this case, try "Larry the Cable Guy". There was a guy leaning on the counter counting out stacks of hundred dollar bills. He had, from what I could see, seven teeth. Apparently, an asphalt mixer was more important than dentistry to this entrepreneur.

And yeah, I spent most of the day - the fourteen-hour-on-my-feet-one-break day - dropping what I did for a living and offering these backwoods Rockefellers my business card. And what I was talking about was as foreign to them as the world of Bearcats and backhoes were to me.

So, I contented myself to counting the hours until I was allowed to go home and restraining myself from pummeling those fine examples of maleness who were sexually harassing my female co-workers like it was still the 1850s. Actually, there was one guy who was acting like one of the cave people in Quest for Fire - literally sniffing one of the female account reps. Apparently, Arthur C. Clarke was wrong - you can evolve to the point of using tools without ever having touched the Monolith.

New gee-whiz-bang news!

Okay, so some of you may not have seen this on Amy's blog yet. For those of you sub-rock dwellers:

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Happy Cloud Pictures is proud to announce their next production:
Splatter Movie: The Director's Cut.

An independent production company sets up at a haunted attraction to shoot both a horror movie and the simultaneous making-of documentary, unaware that the set is being stalked by a killer masquerading as one of their own performers. As filming progresses, the line between what's real and what's fiction begins to blur—and then vanishes entirely! Splatter Movie: The Director's Cut takes a time-honored storyline and gives it a Happy Cloud Pictures twist, resulting in a veritable tesseract of a film. The end result will be as much a deconstruction of the slasher subgenre as it will be a new entry in horror history.

To complete this elaborate project, Happy Cloud Pictures is teaming up with the Hundred Acres Manor, Pittsburgh's only 100% volunteer based tri-themed haunt benefiting Homeless Children's Education Fund and Animal Friends. This immense attraction will virtually be a character itself in the film, providing a wonderfully-macabre landscape for the characters to play.

With a script from Mike Watt (The Resurrection Game, Dead Men Walking), Splatter Movie: The Director's Cut will star and be directed by Happy Cloud Pictures co-founder Amy Lynn Best (Abattoir, Severe Injuries) and will co-star legendary special effects artist and actor Tom Sullivan (The Evil Dead)! Also joining the cast are Elske McCain (Poultrygeist) and Best's Abattoir cast-mates Sofiya Mina Smirnova, Rachelle Williams (Jess Franco's Take Away Spirit), Alyssa Herron, Nic Pesante, Stacy Bartlebaugh-Gmys Jeff Waltrowski (Project Valkyrie) and Don Bumgarner.

Keep checking back at happycloudpictures.net or www.myspace.com/happycloudpictures for updates and news about this exciting project.

Now then, this is something we're extremely excited about. The project was inspired by a short film Amy shot with Devi Snively and Jane Rose back in March called, I kid you not, I Spit on Eli Roth (read all about it in Sirens of Cinema #7 - on sale now!). The shoot was set at the aforementioned Hundred Acres Manor - which is about a mile long of twisting, turning corridors and spooky rooms (not to mention an enormous maze that had us all lost for about twenty minutes when we visited with Mike and Carolyn and Anders Erikson and Melinda Kreuger at Halloween).

While shooting the short, I knew I wanted to shoot something of our own there. The place was begging for something bizarre and sinister and violent, but... what? A slasher movie seemed obvious - too obvious. Plus, we already did a slasher movie, albeit a comedy (i.e. Severe Injuries for those not paying attention). But the idea kept gnawing at me every time I'd head toward the upstairs make-up room, inevitably turn the wrong way and slam my shin into a coffin hidden in a room where we hadn't located the lights yet.

Multiple times over the weekend, I creeped myself out. I always found Haunted Houses to be cheesy fun, where you laugh when the high school volunteers leap out at you, their over-sized masks covering their eyes. Being in this enormous haunt pre-season, and having a lousy sense of direction, I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, the distant sense of panic of getting lost (which stems from a tragic Boy Scout woods retreat), etc. So, okay, I knew the story was going to be a slasher movie. But how the hell do you make an original slasher movie? If the recent Hollywood offerings were any indication, you apparently can't. This latter theory is also backed up by the slew of indie fare I've suffered through recently (not everything - don't scream at me - you guys know who did the good stuff).

So the movie-within-a-movie idea came to me - also not terribly original, but I thought I could figure out a unique twist to the entire thing. Both Amy and I have been answering a lot of interview questions lately regarding what makes a horror movie, etc. So if I took the opportunity to actually explore the genre while recreating it at the same time, we just might have something here worth making.

I realized around page 10 that this script was going to be a royal bitch to write. The disjointed nature of the thing dictated that its structure was going to be difficult to find. At the same time, I knew I wanted to incorporate real documentary and interview footage into the narrative, which made things even slipperier to beat into shape. All in all, Splatter Movie was the hardest script I've ever written, and took me the longest ever for a first draft. I was literally averaging about three pages a day. Not to brag, but I usually write MUCH faster than that.

But the resulting draft really felt satisfying once completed. I really do feel like we have something here. It is, if nothing else, very weird. Everyone we've shown it to really likes it. Fred Obermiller, our executive producer, told me he thinks that it's my best work to date, so now I have THAT to live up to. Thanks, Fred. People are coming out of the wood work, too, to help out. Not the least of which Ted Sobek, one of the owners of the Hundred Acres Manor, but also Erik Molinaris at the Douglas School(aka The Savini School) and his team of intrepid and starving students, as well as Mark Marsen and Scott Tyson at Specter Studios, who are donating some props for us to use. So thanks all around to all of these fine folks!

So, we'll see. We have to finalize our production insurance, since we'll be shooting on property not owned by us. Usually, our homeowner's insurance covers us for damage and injury, but there's only so far we can take the idea of "mobile business", so we want to have the policy in place before we shoot to make sure everyone will be safe and protected. But once that's ready, we're set to go. And, as usual, we'll keep everyone posted as things progress.

Henson and other things

Yesterday was a day of mourning for me. Jim Henson died May 16, 1990.

So I spent the day in quiet reflection and repast, contemplating my own position in the universe...

Actually, I didn't remember this date until late in the day. If I had, I would surely have spent it watching my Muppet Show DVDs, sitting in my living room, surrrounded by Muppet paraphenalia, as I plan to later today.

It's always been one of my biggest goals to work with the Muppets. Interviewing several Muppet-eers for the now-defunct Cinefantastique was one of my career highlights, as was setting up this job at the actual Muppet Offices in Manhattan - which, of course, no longer exist. When Amy and I went to visit and arrange the articles, The Muppets were still the sole property of the Jim Henson Company, not the Disney Corporation. People still cared about the Muppets then, too.

We got to see Jim's office. Kept exactly the way it had when he died. There was a stained-glass window - on top was Ernie and Bert, below, the likenesses of Jim and Frank Oz. I swear it felt like someone had just left.

As we sat in this enormous conference room, just Amy and I and Veronica Hart, head of public relations, seated at this enormous carved table with Muppety feet on all four corners, Jane Henson walked in, apologized and walked out. I couldn't believe it.

I really do hope, some day, to write for a new Muppet Show. Right now, though, the Disney Corporation is adamant that the Muppets "no longer resonate with the American viewer". Perhaps that's because they've been kept out of the spotlight for so long? The Muppet Holding Company, as it was called until recently, has a new president now, however. Maybe things will change.

* * *

I've never been accused of being on the cutting edge of anything. So it should come as a surprise to no one that I discovered James Farr's Xombie this morning. Literally this morning. There's an interview with him up on Film Threat right now, and I couldn't help but sympathize with his trials at getting Xombie made by the majors. As he points out, studios are afraid of anything they haven't seen before. We went through a lot of that, and are still going through it, with The Resurrection Game. So swing on over to xombiefied.com and check out the episodes. They're really terrific.

* * *

While on hold for another technical support problem - this time banking-related matters - I couldn't help but realize that I was talking to yet another person in India, rather than anyone in the actual bank I was calling. As I sat and waited, a political pop-up window opened, urging me to feel some sort of outrage over the immigrant "catastrophe" we're facing in America. See, immigrants are flooding into the United States and taking our jobs away. I felt that was about half right, or, actually, two different statements. Immigrants are flooding into our country. Check. They're taking our jobs away. Check. But only the ones we send overseas through national greed and focus on the bottom line.

I don't see college graduates crying out over the need for more dishwashing and hotel cleaning jobs. They're crying out because all of our tech and customer service positions have been given away to folks in other countries who will work for much less than Americans will.

So all this hue and cry about immigration. That's the smoke-screen, right? That's the "hey look over here!" wave of the arms while our jobs vanish from the country. Which am I really supposed to care about? (Don't bother writing to me to tell me how misguided I am about this issue, btw. If I'm ignorant of an enormous amount of facts and figures and statistics and the fact that Pablo the Pool Boy ran off with your mom, ya know what? I'm okay with that hole in my education.)

I should just relax and wait a while. In a few more months, we can worry about gay marriage and abortion again. (As far as I care about these subjects: as long as neither are made mandatory, I don't care who does what. I don't plan to marry a gay man and I am unlikely to ever have an abortion of my own. So it's not my right to tell anyone else that they can or can't.) America will always have it's hysterical causes. So long as we don't mention the war.

With all of this going on, smoking, of course, is the brand new villain. The smoking ban in Pittsburgh lasted for about 14 hours before it was suspended by pending lawsuits issued by two area restaurants. To which I say: bravo and don't hold your breath (no pun intended). Again: I don't smoke. I hate smoking. I'd love it if every smoker I knew magically came to their senses and stopped smoking today so we could all eat in peace without someone having to run outside for 5-7 minutes. But it ain't going to happen.

And that being said, it shouldn't be up to anyone to tell anyone else what they can and can't do. We already have smoking and non-smoking sections in restaurants, to whatever successful degree they exist. Why do we need city-wide bans? Why did New York or California need these things? Why should we persecute an entire section of our society simply because they're committing suicide right in front of us? Everyone should have the right to commit suicide any way they like. And for us non-smokers who don't want to inhale second-hand smoke? Tough. It should be up to each individual to decide whether or not he should shun his friends. As far as my smoking friends go, they don't blow smoke in my face, they don't smoke inside my house when they come over. They don't force a cigarette into my mouth when I eat. That's pretty much all the courtesy I require.

* * *

So a few weeks ago, mankind saw the death of Jack Valenti, one of those villains in history who truly believed he was doing the right thing at all times. He was the head of the MPAA which, of course, is another evil company that truly believes it has the best interests of everyone in mind. Like anti-smoking legislation, it believes it knows better than you. Whether they want to believe it or not, they're censors. Watch This Film is Not Yet Rated for examples of this. For the independent filmmaker, they are the quiet gestapo. They don't come into your house and seize your film - they don't want anything to do with your film, but please come right in Mr. Spielberg and tell us all about your latest war atrocity production.

Now, that being said, the MPAA was set up to prevent the government from stepping in and doing the censoring that Hollywood didn't want to do. Just like the Comics Code, as it was established in the '50s, Hollywood took it upon themselves to self-govern, according the changing mores of the movie-going public. Except, unlike the Comics Code, which has relaxed over the years and has, almost, completely vanished, the MPAA has no strict code to adhere to. Everything is done on a case-by-case basis. So, of course, ample amounts of cronyism abound.

But Jack Valenti stood by it all the way. He knew better than he thought we should. And now that he's gone, his ill-conceived notions of propriety continue to endure. The next element to be taboo in American movies? Smoking, and the depiction of smoking. And, of course, the horrible notion of "the glorification of smoking" (!).

And around and around and around.

* * *

Another entity convinced of his own inherent goodness recently called home: Jerry Falwell. Though I'm sure his ministry will continue to stomp their jackboots over anyone not of their faith, the good reverend is gone from this Earth now. Every random website has a poll: "Jerry Falwell - Heaven or Hell, cast your vote!" I don't think it matters.

If the universe works the way I think it does, and there actually is a Heaven and Hell, well, Falwell went to Heaven. He was convinced that everything he said or did was mandated by his devotion to God. Jews and Homosexuals, in his view, really were responsible for 9/11 (makes as much sense as every other theory). Unless he was a terribly good actor, Falwell was an utter slave to his convictions. He was pious, he was hollier-than-allayou. So, of course, he got his ultimate reward. To think otherwise is either shadenfreude or a gross misunderstanding of the laws of the Divine.

* * *

This is why I love the Muppets. On the Muppet Show, none of this shit mattered. And I hate that I've reached a stage in my life where all of this actually does matter to me. It's a sign of horrible maturity where you are actually affected by the world around you.

The last three weeks

Three weeks later and I've been all over the world again, or so it seems.

It started with I-CON, up in Stonybrook, Long Island. Amy and I were in attendance again at the request of friend and artist Mike Apice. For the second year, we were set up with the artists back in the Art Show portion of the convention. As I've mentioned before, this is a fan-run convention—one of the largest in the country—and because of that, it's a catastrophuck in terms of organization. Neither of us wound up on the site as guests, so nobody knew we were there. Two of our movies screened—at 3pm on Sunday, as the show drew to a close. We were supposed to be on a number of panels—none of which were on the convoluted schedule. And because I get the impression that the organizers aren't as hip to the Art Show as they want us to believe, we were again hidden in the ass-end of the very long sports building, sequestered in a gymnasium on the other side of a second gym where all the guests go to hold their Q&As. As a result, nobody knew we were there.

Which is a real shame because the quality of art on display was simply amazing. No matter which end of the room you started on, your eyes fell upon some of the most gorgeous and offbeat paintings, photography and sculpture. So while the traffic was more of the rural cross-roads variety, rather than the bottleneck to be found downstairs in the dealers' room, we were afforded plenty of opportunity to hang with some of these incredible artists. It was our personal pleasure to hang and eat and drink with a series of Mikes (Lilly, Okamoto and Apice) and their respective others Marie, Diana and Romik (sorry, man, couldn't resist – Romik is an amazing artist in his own right and nobody can dispute that). And we got to meet Artist Guest of Honor Steve Ferris, whose work just brings tears to the eyes. It's my sincere and desperate hope that I'll get the opportunity to work with all of these people again on projects in the future (the three Mikes have already contributed covers to Sirens of Cinema (5, 7 and 2, respectively) and look for a cover by Romik very soon.

Now, aside from the disorganization, there's only one other thing that irks me about I-CON. I've pointed this out before, as well. Science Fiction fans are a different breed from horror fans. There is virtually no little sense of humor to be found at SF shows. Nor is there much originality to be had. SF fans take themselves very seriously. There's no joking about what they like. If you don't know who they're dressed as, costume-wise, it's tantamount to pissing yourself in Royal Court in their eyes. Last year, I entertained myself by asking each person I saw with a scarf if they were Dr. Who or just cold. Not a single smile. This year, I couldn't even work up the energy to do that. The costumes on display, again, were dazzling, but they were all meticulously copied from something else. Anime outfits down to the thread count—not a single original creation, however.

SF fans like what they like and nothing further. Horror fans like everything. SF fans like Voyager or Next Generation and that's it. Horror fans like slashers, monsters, and science fiction. You mention horror to most of these hard-core SF fans, you might as well be exposing yourself to them, the mortified looks you get in return. *Sigh*

But anyway… the very next weekend was Cinema Wasteland. And suddenly all was right with the world. If you know anything about us, you know that Wasteland is our favorite show of the year, hands down. And we get to have this pleasure twice – in March and in October. It's like coming home, it really is.

And the nicest thing about it—something I've come to realize about the horror community in general—is that a family has grown out of this show. The same people attend or set up as vendors show after show. We get together twice a year to hang out, drink, take the piss out of each other and have a really good time. This is all thanks to the atmosphere generated by the promoters, Ken and Pam Kish, and all the vendors, guests and attendees respond to this. It's just a relaxed, wonderful event.

To make it more wonderful, Abattoir had its first screening in its final form on Saturday. After a series of stressful, technology-involved problems (a laptop that stopped working, a DVD player that followed suit), we screened to a moderately-packed house that seemed to respond positively to our weird little vampire movie. Because it was Wasteland, I was actually able to sit and enjoy some of the movie as well, instead of being too nervous to even enter the room. After (and during) the screening, Amy and I contented ourselves to drink perhaps just a little too much. And because it was Wasteland, we had plenty of people watching out for our well-being during the evening. Amy had a trio of French Canadians (Stiv, Hugo and Dave) with whom she murdered the French language. I hung out primarily with JimmyO and April Burril. And by the next morning, Amy and I shared details of the previous night—fortunately for us, we blacked out separate chunks of time, so the filling-in process went smoothly.

Now, this past Friday, Good Friday, was celebrated with Grindhouse. Members of the Happy Cloud family (Amy, myself, Carolyn Oliver and Stacy Bartlebaugh-Gmys) got together with members of Hero Headquarters (Jeff Waltrowski, Dave Cooper, Tara (the future Mrs. Cooper) and their friend Ambrose) for a glorious afternoon of senseless violence followed up with a steak dinner (it's the blasphemy that adds the extra flavor). As expected, Grindhouse was a fabulous, nearly-nonsensical three-hour-plus thrill ride. It's unashamedly stupid and utterly satisfying.

Of course, because Grindhouse was released on Easter Weekend, a notoriously family-oriented weekend, it opened to less-impressive numbers than expected by the Dimension head-honchos. And the crowd of reviewers have, in a marvelous display of shadenfruede, declared the film a bomb. Which is, of course, just silly. Like the B-movie films its creators pay tribute to, I suspect that Grindhouse will need more than a single weekend to find its audience.

On the other hand, I think commercial success was the furthest thing from the minds of Tarantino and Rodriguez. Why should they give a shit? They made a movie—a pair of movies—for an audience of two, themselves, first and foremost. And they banked on there being enough like-minded folks out there—like our aforementioned octet above, for starters—to keep the movie running for a few weekends before the inevitable packed DVD release. Grindhouse celebrates a subculture of movies that very few members of today's modern audience has any frame of reference for. They crafted a pair of intentionally-silly exploitation movies out of pure love for a whole cadre of intentionally-silly exploitation films based primarily in a decade that already seems prehistoric to the slew of ticket-buyers in the new millennium. It was a Sisyphean task that the duo took readily—gleefully. They didn't make Grindhouse to attract the attention of those who made the insipid Blades of Glory #1 at the box office. And they certainly didn't make it for the Meet the Robinsons crowd. Those audiences, quite frankly, deserve exactly what they got and nothing more. They're the reason Norbit 2 is in the works and they can have this world they've carved.

Nope, Rodriguez, Tarantino, and the whole company made Grindhouse for folks like us. And by 'us', I mean, of course, anyone reading this blog, for starters. The film lovers. The hard-core, unapologetic geek. Grindhouse is an intentionally imperfect child, a gritty and gratuitous as absolutely possible.

And to the critics who gnashed their teeth and groused or got embarrassed by the preceding, it wasn't for you and we're all happy you're not in our corner. To Barry Paris, of the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, who needed "post-screening smelling salts" and was sent mincing into the night by the preview, next time, sir, perhaps you'd prefer to spend your time with a good loafer-lightener. And to the nitwits who bitch in the other direction, that the directors failed to emulate the '70s exploitation films because of x, y, z (use of cell phones by characters, references to Iraq, whatever), your theorem is flawed here. I may grudgingly grant that Tarantino inserted a Tarantino movie into the middle of his '70s race car/women revenge film, but, as Mark Bell at Film Threat pointed out, every no-budget '70s-era grindhouse movie has long, extended moments of talkiness. Tarantino is proud of his knack for dialogue—it's what he's known for. So, yeah, his talky parts are especially talky, but no less so than Two Lane Blacktop or Road Games. If you didn't like it, tough. It wasn't made for you.

Our little octet cheered and applauded and roared with laughter all the way through. Once Death Proof gets past the talky first act misdirection and is underway with the marvelous Zoe Bell and her posse, we couldn't take our eyes off the screen. The Faster, Pussycat ending was nothing short of celebratory!

(And to critics, like the aforementioned Mr. Paris, who accuse Grindhouse of being misogynistic, you should, perhaps, look this fucking word up! It comes closer to misandry, for Christ's sake! Oh, and by the way, Mr. Paris, not to beat a dead horse here, but how, exactly, is "Pittsburgh's own Tom Savini" "immortal"? And how is George Romero "sainted"? Seriously, I'm curious as hell.)

So, for my money, Grindhouse was the perfect way to kick off our Easter celebration. Though I couldn't help to think, with no fair amount of irony, that Dimension spent $56 million dollars to make Grindhouse look like The Resurrection Game…

Quick catch up

A death in the family prevented me from updating this over the past few days - that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it. So allow me to quickly say the following:

300... could there be a manlier movie? I asked Amy this midway through watching yesterday. She responded that "any minute now, I'm going to grow testicles!". I replied, "Any minute now, I'm going to grow ovaries!" I liked it. I didn't love it. And having studied Persian culture along with many others over the years, I think I can safely say that I recognized NONE of the costume designs as anything remotely Persian. Or Asian. Or... human. (And is The Island of Dr. Moreau located in the ancient Persian empire? What was with Frankenstein and the other human/animal hybrids throughout the movie?) And why was Xerxes conceived as a villain from Stargate? Anyway... during the middle part of the movie, I found myself mocking the narrator a little: "And Xerxes then sent his Immortals, then other waves of those under the God-King's Rule: the archers, the milk men, the babysitters, those who understood Trigonometry, and a league of men named Dave..."

* * *

Christopher P. Garetano's documentary, Horror Business, as exemplary as it is, should really have been titled Horror Dreamers or something more appropriate as it had so little to do with the "business" of horror filmmaking and everything to do with those whose passion it is to make horror movies. I question a couple of the people he chose to profile, but their dedication to their art cannot be questioned. I recommend to people who can't quite figure out why it is we no-budgeters do what we do. Oh, and some of us are less angry than Ron Atkins. Really.

* * *

Two weeks ago, Amy and I had the pleasure of working with Devi Sniveley of Deviant Pictures (Teenage Bikini Vampire) and Jane Rose (Heading Home) on a predominantly-female-helmed film called I Spit On Eli Roth. It was a labor-intensive two-day shoot at the fantastic "Hundred Acre Manor" in South Park (where I can't wait to shoot again). Expecting a very long two days with little to do, I brought a book. Due to some scheduling snafus on the part of one of the producers, I wound up the movie's director of photography. Quite the surprise, actually.

Ultimately, it's going to be a very fun little movie. Here's a pic:

That's Amy, Jane and Devi starting l-r on the far left.

Lots of blood and anti-social behavior inflicted upon someone who looks an awful lot like Eli Roth. You can allow your imagination to go wild as to why Eli Roth was singled out to be spit-upon. I like to think it was for Hostel, though there are those who would prefer he repent for Cabin Fever. Or his cameo in 2001 Maniacs...

* * *

Amy and I will be speaking at the I-CON 26 SF convention at Stonybrook University on Long Island this coming weekend. One of the panels I'm hosting is "Breaking into publishing for artists", which I know nothing about. I think my whole speech will be "Be a good artist that will give Sirens of Cinema a cover for the same price as a cheeseburger and I'll hire you." Which is exactly happened last year when I met Mike Lilly, Joseph Corsentino, Mike Okamoto and Scott Grimando. I hope to exploit many other talented artists this year.

Oh, and both Abattoir and The Resurrection Game will be screening over the weekend as well. Don't ask me when (and don't ask me why they call Debbie Rochon "The Geilgud of Bad Movies" either. That's just mean.)

* * *

And in case I didn't mention it a hundred times already, Abattoir will be screening at Cinema Wasteland, March 31 at 7:00pm. We're starting to get offers on this one, so we might have a winner on our hands. I know, I've said that too. And I mean it, dammit!

Malena Teves, exactly one-half of the duo that makes up Lorraine 'a Malena, the band that donated the song "Dark Sonnet" to our closing credits, mentions Abattoir HERE on her blog. Thank you, Malena. Everyone should thank her. And go buy a copy of "Mirror Mirror" from which the song was taken.

There should be more soon. Including, hopefully, an official announcement about our next production, some news about an old production, and why I love Terry Gilliam but don't want to be him.

Complications in writing reviews

While working on a new review for Patrick Desmond's The Absence of Light, a project I've had the pleasure viewing multiple incarnations of, I've come to the unshakable conclusion that my days of reviewing indie movies may be numbered. I've professed in the past that I'm done reviewing anything, period, only to allow myself to be sucked back in a few days later. But after ten years in the industry, I just may be too entrenched to churn out an unbiased review.

I had no hand in the production of Absence, though, as I said, I've seen multiple versions as Desmond fine-tuned it over the past two years or so. Since I was first asked to check it out, Patrick and I have become close friends. His lead actor and sound engineer, Rich Conant, has become a good friend as well, and did me the favor of serving as post sound engineer on both Abattoir and the new version of The Resurrection Game (more on that in a minute). Other members of the cast of this film (both the stars and the lesser-knowns) have become acquaintances and con friends (actor Eric Thornsberry has been jokingly referred to as my "Twin" by more than one passerby). Patrick and I continue to discuss the possibilty of our working together on a project in the future.

And, of course, this isn't the first time this has happened. Nor will it be the last. JimmyO Burril and family have become close friends of ours since he first sent me Chainsaw Sally to review. He and Sally star April appear in Abattoir and we've stayed at their house on a couple of occassions.

The entire Project: Valkyrie crew have become members of the Happy Cloud family and we, in turn, have become members of the Hero Headquarters family. We've taken part in Piranha Pictures' Fifth City (and Eric Thornett also appears in Abattoir).

There's talk of our joining in on an upcoming Low Budget Pictures project. We'll likely work with Henrique Couto on an upcoming Freak Production. We have hopes of joining forces with the Wicked Pixel team as well. It's just what happens when you travel the con circuit and like and respect each others' work.

So as our circle of friends widens, the number of people I am not associated with in some small way grows smaller and smaller. Even when I do write reviews for movies I haven't been associated with, I still get dinged by fanboys on message boards - "Of course, this movie gets it's good reviews and quotes from friends", etc. To make matters worse, I don't generally write reviews for movies I don't like, so I'm constantly accused of associate nepotism. It's an ongoing headache. So this current review of The Absence of Light might be one of the last ones I do. I say this now, of course, knowing full well I'll get suckered again in the future. But my intentions, right now, are pure.

With all this in mind, I was also going to review Skin Crawl, which is coming out on DVD at the end of the month through POP Cinema, but I will probably have to pass these duties off as well. Skin Crawl is the feature debut of Justin Wingenfeld, who is quite possibly my oldest friend in the industry. We met when I was a freshman in college and we've shot movies together, performed on stage together, hung out, got drunk, watched endless amounts of movies together. I was at his wedding, but I have yet to meet his brand new baby daughter (which is what comes from living in different states). I also put him in touch with the folks who run Pop Cinema, way back when, back in my Cinefantastique/Femme Fatales days. So my excitement over Skin Crawl's pending release has as much to do with fraternal feelings of affection and love as it does the fact that it's really an amazing, intelligent, disturbing and multi-layered horror movie.

To make things worse for my ethics, Skin Crawl also stars one of my other very best friends, Debbie Rochon, in one of her very best performances. And she has to eat bugs, so how's that for devotion to craft? And I have a vast number of friends within Pop Cinema as well - folks I've known for more than a decade. When you consider that I also wrote the questions for the interview portion of the DVD extras, there goes any hope of being unbiased.

So, I'll console myself by saying that everyone reading this should make it a point to rent or buy Skin Crawl when it's released on March 27 (the same day that the new Fangoria Magazine hits the stands, containing an article on Debbie in which she talks about Skin Crawl - how's that for circular publicity?). There are two articles on this film in Sirens of Cinema #7, due out next week - one by Debbie, the other on co-star Julian Wells - so I at least feel like I've done something to get the word out.

What makes all of this - all the above and even things I haven't mentioned - so amusing is every now and then I'll run across someone on the web who just hates me. Doesn't want anything to do with me. Will go out of their way to avoid me at shows, events, etc. And will say, publically on message boards or whatever, that they not only want nothing to do with me, but won't have anything to do with anything/anyone I'm involved with.

And like I mentioned above, this is a very small community. The number of folks working in the business that I don't know or at least know of is a very small number indeed.

So good luck avoiding me, friends. I'm just one of those guys...

* * *

I mentioned a new version of The Resurrection Game... for reasons I can't yet talk about (though I'm positively dying to), we are in the process of retooling and repolishing this movie for what will be - and this, I swear by the paint-flaking dinosaur outside the Art Institute of Pittsburgh on the Boulevard of the Allies! - the last time. For this final version, I am foleying new sound effects, having the sound tracks remastered and - very exciting - have commissioned a brand new score by none-other than Scooter McCrae. While much of Paul McCollough's original score will remain, Scooter has taken it upon himself to create several new tracks to reinforce the noir tone of the film - saxophones, bass cellos, all the stuff Bernard Hermann was made of.

With all of this will come two new audio commentaries, possibly a new documentary to commemorate the movie's 10 year anniversary, and new motion menus will accompany the new DVD (these hosted by non-other than the one and only Necro-Phil).

I'll be announcing the where's and why's of this new DVD very soon. As soon as I can, anyway.

In the meantime, drop me a line and try to wheedle more out of me. It'll be fun.

* * *

Abattoir, incidentally, will be screening at Cinema Wasteland on March 31 at 7:00. This is very cool news for us. Our brand new baby playing at our all-time favorite show. Don't miss it!

Cock waffles

Well, the weather didn't get its way: we not only made it to Chicago for Fangoria Weekend of Horrors, we made it back as well. Yes, the planes were delayed coming and going, but at least we didn't take Jet Blue and wind up as hostages...

Anyway - as with last year, the Chicago Fango was a big success for us. We got to hang with some very good friends, folks we don't see too often like Tim Buchholz (exec producer of Abattoir), Scott Licina (from Fangoria Comics) and the whole Wicked Pixel crew - particularly Eric Stanze, Jeremy Wallace, Emily Haack who have been fans-via-email for years. I also got the chance to hang with some of the Precinct 13 gang - Robert Kurtzman, Al Tuskes and John Bisson - and got to see the trailer for The Rage, which was very exciting. It was cool to see shots that I got to watch being filmed when I visited the set last fall. (Not to mention it being a rather odd experience. I don't do that many "big" set visits.)

Plus, we got the chance to spend some quality time with Monique DuPree and Saint. We discussed the possibilty of doing a project together - something with a lot of "cool" potential, incidentally.

The nice thing about this show, though, is people tend to come up to us with more regularity - folks we don't necessarily know - and tell us how much they respect our work, our philosophies, etc. Amy had a number of women tell her how much her portrayals of strong women mean to them, how much they admire her views on women in the industry. A number of people - a few who I wasn't aware even knew who I was - came up to tell me that I'm the "best fucking writer around". And they weren't even trying to sell me anything! A couple of folks asked our advice on producing, screenwriting. I worked hard to sound like I knew what I was talking about.

Financially, we left with less stuff than we brought - always a good sign. Abattoir sold well, as did The Spicy Sisters Slumber Party, which usually sells the slowest. (Despite the whole Dinner for Five in Lingerie aspect, it's still a documentary and, therefore, a hard-sell at conventions. So the renewed interest in it was refreshing.)

But, perhaps best of all, Scarecrow, we got to hang with Sofiya and her friend, Rian, who we'd met at that very convention last year, leading to our working with her on Abattoir and Blood Bath. They generously allowed us to stay at their apartment in Chicago, thus saving us a bundle on hotel rooms, but also shuttled us around. Sofiya's friend Alex DelMonaco, and her husband, Tristan, were also staying with them. We'd never met Alex before and she turned out to be a lot of fun. Tristan and Rian ended up cooking for us - steaks, fettucini - and since I'm not much of a cook and they had a two-person kitchen, I opted to hang back and just be one of the girls. I hung with Amy, Alex and Sofiya. We talked about boys and did each others' hair. I discovered that I'm an Autumn. Good times.

We discovered, too, that adding the word "waffle" to profanity will enhance only masculine insults - "Cock waffle", "Dick Waffle" - with the exception of "Dousche Waffle", which seems to work just as well (good thing, too, as that's the exact word I stole from Christopher Moore's A Dirty Job). "Cunt Waffle" doesn't work. "Waffle" softens the impact of former. "Cock waffle" indicates a particularly heinous individual, while "dousche waffle" seems to imply a higher degree of loser than simply saying "dousche" or "dousche bag".

Honestly, we spent a great deal of time figuring all of this out. So you wouldn't have to.

You're welcome.

* * *

The other big news: I've been cast as "Buddy" in Professor Jack and the Electric Club, Jeff Waltrowski's follow-up to Project: Valkyrie. PJ&EC is a genuine tribute to '40s serials and is being done in black 'n white and will actually be serialized on the internet - the first time, at least to my knowledge, that a real serial will be offered in the new frontier that is this nifty internet thing. Now we have to convince Jeff to include a cartoon and a newsreel after each segment.

The first episode is called "Message from Beyond the Moon". Professor Jack, Buddy and Penny journey to find a the crew of a previous moon mission. We encounter Moon Men and The Queen of the Moon (played by Amy!). We're shooting the whole thing in front of a green screen, with the backgrounds and sets added in later by the lovely and talented Jacob Ross.

Here's what I look like in the film:

A little bit Ronald Coleman, a little bit Clark Gable. A little bit Snoopy.

You can check out more about this terribly cool project at http://www.myspace.com/theelectricclub

* * *

Big news about Abattoir and The Resurrection Game, coming soon!

Why I Hate Tuesdays

This blog was originally intended to be about my admiration of Terry Gilliam, how he's one of my personal heroes and someone in whose shoes I never want to be.

However, that will have to wait. I want to tell everyone about what happened to me this past Tuesday.

We are in the process of upgrading our computer equipment. We'd intended to pick up a new PC with a dual processor so that we could return to running Premiere and, let's say, Notepad at the same time. I figured, in hindsight somewhat naively, that once the tower was bought, I could take my old DVD burners, replace the crappy Lightscribe burner we were inflicted with, and slave my back up internal hard drive to the new hard drive, just as I have in the past.

But, no. IBM and PC have decided that all the old connections I was familiar with have been arbitrarily replaced. So I spent hours upon hours, with the help of Amy's father, trying desperately to retrofit the new computer and get it to recognize my older components. And having, well, no luck whatsoever.

Tuesday: In the midst of struggling and swearing and re-installing my old software, grateful, at least, that we'd managed to buy the last existing PC running Windows XP and avoiding the bullet that is Windows Vista, there came a knock at my door. It was my neighbor, Ralph. He's the gentleman sheep farmer who rents us some of his land as pasture for our horses. He also supplies us with large roundbales of hay for the said horrible beasts so they don't starve in the winter.

"I need your help," he said. And I figured he needed me to open the gate for him so he could drive his tractor into the pasture and deliver the bale. Well, as it turns out, he'd already done that. "And your horses took off up the road. They'd never done that before. Normally, they just wait for me to leave and they go right to the hay."

I ran upstairs and thew on some clothes more appropriate to tramping around in the snow. I figured they were right up over the hill, probably in another neighbor's barn, chowing down on other hay bales, etc. They wouldn't have gone far. Ralph felt really bad about the situation, so I was trying to remain light and positive, even though I just wanted to find the two mares, shoot them, and roll them over the hill for dragging me out into the cold.

Grabbing harnesses, a couple of buckets of grain and a lead rope, my thought was that I'd whistle for them, they'd come down, I'd throw a rope around Callie, the older horse, and Filly, the younger, would follow.

My nearest neighbor, Mr. Kiger, is a quarter of a mile away. Up a steep hill. At the crest of the hill, and Mr. Kiger's land, we discovered no horses. Their tracks showed that they were there, but kept on going.

At this point, I could hardly breathe. I ran back down to the house (running a quarter mile down hill in the freezing cold with only a sweatshirt but no coat), I retreived my keys and got my car. Driving back up the hill, I saw Ralph still trudging along towards our next neighbor's land. I let him into the car and we continued on. He'd heard them at the top of the next hill.

I didn't know these next neighbors. Had no idea that they owned horses too. Let alone a rather large Appaloosa stallion who had not, upon first glance, been gelded. There were my two mares - right up against his fence, while he pranced around and screamed, trying to figure out how to get at them.

I whistled. They came. I realized I'd grabbed the wrong halters. Neither was big enough for either one of them. Not a problem for Callie - she's content with a lead rope around her neck provided there's food promised. Filly would be more difficult. Particularly when it became clear that neither wanted to leave the stallion's sight.

I buckled the short halter around Filly's neck, which was all I could do. I looped the lead around Callie, then fed the end through Filly's collar/halter, effectively teaming them together. Then I struggled to get them to walk. They didn't want to. I tried holding a bucket of grain before them. It worked for a bit, then Callie knocked it out of my hand and stopped in the middle of the snowy road to feed.

I should point out that it had been snowing for a couple of days at this point. PenDot doesn't like to plow our road. It's inconvenient, being on the side of a mountain, lacking guard rails, spilling into near 90-degree drops at some points. A snow plow driver could get killed plowing a road like this!

I'm pulling and pushing and cursing these damned horses out as I try to force them to start walking the half-mile plus back to their pasture. They did NOT want to go. Meanwhile, Ralph followed behind me in my car. My only thought was, if he has to get out at any point to help me, someone is going to come along and steal my car. Because that was the kind of day I was destined to have.

Also meanwhile, the owner of the stallion is watching me from behind his fence. He's terribly entertained by my struggles. And does nothing to help. Particularly, he refuses to do the one thing that will improve my life drastically: take the stallion into its barn and out of the sight of my mares. Instead, he lets the stallion prance and scream, he lets me fight my horses all the way down the road by his acreage. And he refuses to even answer me when I ask why he's just standing there watching?

A few minutes later, the one thing I was was dreading occurred: a pick up truck comes around the corner. I was surprised that it was going slowly. Probably, due to the snowy road, the driver was being cautious.

Until he saw the poor, helpless city boy struggling with two mares at the side of the road. The driver now figures that the best way to help this guy would be to, well, gun his engine and shoot past the horses in order to spook them out of their fucking minds!

I'm doing everything with these horses you're not supposed to. And by the time this truck comes along, I've been struggling with them to cross the road. I've somehow wound up between them.

When the asshole in the truck shoots past us, Callie and Filly both spook, turn around and start to drag me back up the hill.

They dragged me for about twenty feet before they recognized that it was me screaming "Whoa!" Callie stopped abruptly and swung her head back towards me. Since I was more or less tethered to her, I swung with this motion - into the steel guardrail. Then Filly felt the need to kick my thigh. Not hard enough to really hurt. Just hard enough to make me feel more abused.

We were still at the edge of the stallion's land. He was still screaming. His owner was still watching and still grinning and I was still vowing revenge. I knew what was happening and why it was happening.

I don't believe in God. And that pisses Him off.

After about a month of this, I finally fought and swore those damned horses back down to their pasture. The last eighth of a mile or so, Callie gets pissed that she can't see the stallion any longer and starts biting me. Then whacking me in the side of the head with her head.

I, in turn, admonish her, telling her that this is her fault. She ran out. If she hadn't run out we wouldn't be going through all of this. Because, you know, horses understand cause and effect.

The pasture: The gate was open and there was Ralph's tractor, waiting. The horses were, naturally, wary of the tractor, so they ran past it quickly. Remember: I'm still more or less attached to them. I hold tight to their various ropes and halters until Ralph parks my car and works his way over to the pasture to close the gate behind me. Because I knew the minute I let go, they were going to bolt right back to that stallion again.

There's no real climax to this story. Once they were back in their pasture, they walked calmly over to their hay bale and ignored my presence. Ralph climbed into his tractor and returned home. I limped/crawled back across the street and into the house, returning to my pile of waiting programs and my new PC, which was still laughing at me in all of its incompatibility.

And that's why I don't like Tuesdays.

A short anniversary announcement

Just a short anniversary announcement. Wanted to do this yesterday but The Empty Ghost Town That is Pittsburgh wouldn't let me. It claims, via banners and great announcements, that it is a "WiFi City". Apparently, it was only kidding.

As of yesterday, February 6, Amy and I have been together for thirteen years. We'd known each other for a couple of years prior, but it wasn't until 1994 that we finally got together. Five years later, we were married.

So last night, I got to have a good dinner with the woman who has been my absolute best friend for a third of my life. We put all the work-stuff aside. Forgot about the pending projects and the upcoming trips (as best we could) and just tried to celebrate the achievement that is the last 10 + 3 years.

With all the ups and downs and middles, I wouldn't have traded a second of it. Honest.

Love you, Amy.

Thank you - now vote!

I want to thank everyone for their birthday wishes. You made it a very special -6th Anniversary of my 40th Birthday. To all of you, have a clam:

Second, I want to bring the Rondo Awards to everyone's attention. Every year, these prestigious awards are granted to the pinnacle examples of classic genre - books, movies, television, events and magazines. And I must say, Sirens of Cinema is woefully under-represented on this year's ballot. And by "under-represented" I mean, not on there at all.

The nice thing about the Rondos, however, is the "Or write in another choice" section, giving the voters a chance to cast their own ballots. Which I'm urging you to do now.

Go HERE, take some time, cast your vote (and don't miss that our good buddy Rich Scrivani's book on his lift with Zacherley is on there too) and do us all a favor and give a little love to Sirens.

Write in for category 10. Best Magazine - "Sirens of Cinema" (if you truly feel this way, which, of course, I'm sure you do.)

Write in for category 11. Best Article - "______" by "_______" from Sirens of Cinema - because, man, we busted our asses last year to bring readers some amazing content! In this category, you can vote for TWO CHOICES!

Category 12 is just not fair. There are some beautiful covers represented there, true, but also some truly lackluster ones - covers that don't come close to Mike Lilly's gatefold cover of Sirens of Cinema #5 or Mike Apice's wrap-around Kong cover from Sirens of Cinema #2. Throw caution to the wind and do a write-in here, too. You'll feel good about yourself all day if you do.

(And I can't help but notice that Genghis Con, PA is not listed among the fine entries of Category 14. Best Convention, but that's not (specifically) the focus of today's little call-to-arms. The Blood Bath: Blood Wrestling event isn't in Category 15 either. Again, beside the point.)

So, again, Go HERE, take some time, cast your vote and do us all a favor and give a little love to Sirens.

We love you, too.

First post of 2007

Ahhh, the first post of 2007. And has 2007 so far lived up to my expectations? Has it truly cast-off the spectre of 2006? Shall it be the year to end all years?

As of this writing, I have not been run over by a truck. Depending on your point of view, this is either the best or worst thing I can report.

I am but seven days away from my 34th birthday. Or, as I like to refer to it, the negative-sixth anniversary of my 40th birthday (yeah, all you stuck-up linear chronologists can suck it!). We're planning a big bash for the celebratory "Escape from the Womb" event. If you can't make it, please send donations (monetary and physical expressions of your love can be made via our paypal address).

In the meantime, I toil.

Yesterday, after about seven hours, I finished the edit of Retreat, the short film we produced for Melantha Blackthorne's Countess Bathoria's Graveyard Tales. This was the result of a whirlwind single-day shoot, chronicaling the oft-told tale of the beginning of a zombie epidemic. (We at Happy Cloud Pictures just can't escape the zombies, can we?)

The script was designed to be something that could be shot in a single day, minus some expository exteriors. And because it was such a tread-upon story, we decided to take a different approach to it visually and structually. At least for us. Amy, DP Jeff Waltrowski and I decided it would have a documentary feel to it, so we lit it naturally (as opposed to our tried-and-true subjective feel (which also allows us to cheat) we love so much), shot hand-held with the wide-angle lens and did a lot of Homicide: Life on the Streets-style compositions - lots of dialogue delivered off-screen while focussing on the subject of the shot, lots of shoulders and hips dominating the foreground, etc.

The result is a tense, frenetic eight minutes, climaxing with a cool and bloody shoot-out. I also decided, while editing, that I'd forgo music and most editing tricks--except for one instance. Usually, I love to pack my movies with score, slow-mo and dissolves (it provides a nice rhythm and covers compositional mistakes, but it wasn't until Abattoir that I became aware that this was actually a style of mine). In Retreat, these devices are kept to the bare minimum. For the music, there are only four notes used in the whole thing (composed by me in Garage Band, which, in truth, was all I was up for).

So, ultimately, I'm pretty proud of this thing. It's different than other things we've done, which is important to our growth as a company. It also proved that we are bringing a really solid rep company together--we're starting to to develop solid machinery, with everyone chipping in on the production and turning out a pretty solid product in the end.

I'm looking forward to seeing how Melantha incorporates it into the final product. There are, I think, eight or ten filmmakers contributing shorts to this project, including Melantha and JimmyO (in fact, we intended to have JimmyO's daughter, Lilli, who stars in his short, S'mores, cameo in our section, but the weather and our vehicles worked against us when we visited over the first of the year).

Plus, it was good practice for when we come together in the spring for our next production (which I'll announce here soon).

***

Abattoir has been sent out to the Dead By Dawn Film Festival in Scotland. It was the first time any of our stuff was requested to be submitted to anything (outside of events run by friends, of course). We're taking this to be a very good sign. If it's accepted, I have to figure out how to get the movie transferred to Beta SP PAL without having to sell my body to cover the expense. Fortunately, Scooter McCrae and Scott Simmons both gave me some ideas. Unfortunately, both of them have suggested "selling my organs", which is only a short step from the former. Then we have to figure out how to afford to get over to Scotland. My body is going to be sore and filled with sawdust, I suspect.

***

Blood Bath: Blood Wrestling Vol. 1 is, if I haven't already mentioned it, NOW AVAILABLE at our site. If you're a fan of sexy women rolling around in fake blood and beating the hell out of each other - and really, who isn't? - you should order at least three copies of this. We shot with five cameras, folks! It took me weeks to edit this! Then it took me another two weeks to figure out why the audio would bounce from front to back speakers without warning. And when I didn't figure out the why, I had to figure out the "what do I do about it"? (It took the Dummies books for both Final Cut and Premiere Pro before I finally found the solution, though I never located the cause.) And, hey, we have a featurette dedicated to the ladies showering after the match! Isn't that enough to keep you warm on those long and lonely winter nights?

***

2007, as I've said, will be bringing some new developments, including the long-awaited Severe Injuries-in-Wal-Mart deal (hopefully) and something cool involving the 10th Anniversary of The Resurrection Game, which I hope to announce soon. Matt Gilligan just finished a brand new poster for Res, which I'll unveil here and on the site.

We're also planning on updating our computer equipment, as I've nearly burned out our PC and prefer to finish DVDs in Encore. So a new computer will be vastly helpful.

Also look for a new book from me (God, I love talking about me) and the afore-mentioned next feature. If the powers-that-be on our side, there will be other things to announce as well. What will become of Genghis Con III? What's new in store for Sirens of Cinema Magazine? (Issue #6 with Justice Howard cover on sale now!) All these questions and more will be answered when I get around to them.

For now, have a clam:

Final Thoughts for 2006

I've been taking a lot of stock of my life over the past few weeks. 2006, while being 100% better than 2005 for us, creatively-speaking, really tried to go out kicking and screaming since the beginning of December, unleashing a lot of hell upon us. I'll refer everyone to my previous blog, which details the absolute worst day of my entire life and kicked off a chain of, while not tragic, per se, certainly annoying events. But that's the way most years seem to go out, so I'm trying to take it all in stride.

2005, as I've mentioned, was one ball-kick after another, and I vowed that 2006 would be an improvement. And it was. We shot 3 1/2 really stand-out projects this year (High Stakes, Abattoir, Blood Bath and our upcoming Retreat which will be finished by the middle of January). Put on a pretty decent convention, put out four really great issues of Sirens of Cinema, and set the ground-work for what might be an even more successful 2007.

2006 saw me drift in and out of a number of part-time jobs, most of which ended due to my conflicts outside of gainful employment. But this December, I landed something that is not only paying me consistently, but also wound up being terrifically flexible, ensuring I won't have to quit or inconvenience anyone when Amy and I have to travel out of town for shoots, conventions, etc. (It's so flexible, I went to work last Thursday to be told that the entire office was closed from the 22nd to the 2nd, so that was a pleasant surprise.) What's better, I actually enjoy the work. Yeah, I have to drive an hour and a half to get there, drop Amy off at work, then walk two miles across the City of Shattered Dreams and Tumbleweeds that is Pittsburgh, PA, but that's going to ensure that I will also get back into shape and lose some of the full-time writer's physique I've acquired from sitting on my ass every single day for the past five years.

And I'm slowly relearning how to accept happiness. It will take a lot of work, and a possible new and nifty prescription of American medication (the chemical solution to life's problems) to get back on track, but I think I actually made some headway today.

It's my biggest problem right now: suspicion of good fortune. I live with the constant fear that I am standing on a big white 'X' and any time something good happens, I'm convinced that it will immediately be followed by a falling piano. It's gotten to the point that any amount of good news has me not only knocking on wood out of heathen superstition, but coming to feel in my heart of hearts that the good fortune will be, at any moment, snatched away from me anyway so there's no point in actually celebrating. In short: I've conditioned myself, Pavlov-style, to reject happiness like a mismatched transplanted organ. I replace any good feelings, as quickly as I can, with suspicion, dread and, usually, anger.

And quite frankly, I'm tired of feeling this way.

I've counted here, many times over, how this self-fulfilling prophecy has worked for me. I celebrate a script deal, then watch it slowly turn to shit in the hands of others. I complete a project, then dread that it will be poorly-received, rejected, etc. And I have to ask: is this fate's doing, or my own karmic sabotage? Is optimism truly an invitation for luck to vanish? Or is my pessimism simply taking over the minute a smile creeps onto my face?

So I tried an experiment today.

Yesterday, we took our car in for a simple alignment and oil change. The whole job would have cost $50 tops. An hour later, our mechanic calls with this question: "Did you know your oil pan is cracked and that your car is officially undrivable?" Our $50 quick fix suddenly became a $400 nightmare. We're only a few days past Christmas, folks; we got no money to cover this very necessary expenditure. So last night, while I tried to hang out with Don and Jeff, both of whom stinging from problems of their own, I wallowed in worry and doubt and fret.

This morning, we discovered that my first paycheck from the new company had come in just before Christmas and I hadn't opened it. Inside, minus taxes, was about half of what we need to cover the car. (The other half will arrive in a matter of days from one of the companies I do publicity for.) Even better, I discovered that I'm making roughly a dollar per hour more than I initially expected from this new company.

Now the experiment: I allowed myself to be happy about this turn of events. It was fortune. If I'd opened the mail on the day it had come, we'd have spent the money already - either on other bills or on more presents for each other or... well, the list is endless. In any event, it would have been allocated for other things. We found it at just the right time. I gave myself exactly one minute to worry - was the phone going to ring and announce some new car problem? Would our second car's wheels miraculously and simultaneously blow off in all four directions needing a replacement to the tune of my first paycheck right down to the penny? The minute passed. Nothing new and disasterous happened. I had, it would seem, sidestepped the 'X'. The piano didn't fall. So I relaxed.

This wasn't easy for me. Being raised Catholic, martyrdom comes very easily to me. I considered the above a very big step in my becoming a new human being. One that will actually allow himself to be happy.

I don't know if anyone's noticed, but I can be a bit of a bastard. I know, I know, it's hard to believe. I don't take compliments well. I have mastered the Ninja style of Sarcasm and use it in both defense and offense. I'm narcissistic, self-loathing, edgy, jumpy, raging, egotistical and tend to lash out at those I love and refer to it as "affection". And God (or whoever) help me, I'm trying to change. Mellow at the very least. I'm tired of smashing bones on unyielding walls when frustration pushes me to the breaking point. Mainly because my breaking point is getting easier and easier to reach any more. Hence the grey hair, the TMJ, ragged nails, and steel cables connecting my neck to my shoulders. T'ain't healthy. But I'm trying.

So my New Year's resolutions have nothing to do with the sit-com cliches. I just want to work on making 2007 work better for me than 2006. Again, professionally, we already have some wheels turning that could translate to some really exciting projects including a new feature, the possible sale of two past features and the possible appearance of yet another of our past features in dollar stores across the country. Sure, there are a lot of "maybes" in there, not a lot of "is"s, but they're all steps in the right direction. There's a lot of potential for "woo hoo" in there. I'd like to actually feel the celebration when they happen. And you'll notice, too, the "when" there. Because, for the love of God (or whoever), I'm very, oh so very, tired of "if"s.

So the big white "X" be damned. Imaginary fate piano be damned. I'm going to try giving optimism a shot. I'm going to try very hard to not turn every corner prepared to duck a punch. I'm not so naive to know this isn't going to be difficult. I'm fully aware that I'm talking about undoing years of conditioning, Catholic and White Guilt and plain old modern day pessimism. Just because I wear a lot of black doesn't mean I want to go Goth, emotionally.

So bear with me, me, because you're in for a hell of a battle, I think.

***

I'd like to leave 2006 with a collection of random thoughts:

- Driving across the McKees Rocks bridge the other day, I noticed a Pro-Life abolitionist standing at the light wearing a sandwich board. On it was a photo of an aborted fetus, in a circle, with a big red line through it, like a "no smoking" sign. I realized I never see any pro-Choice people doing the same sort of thing. What would the Pro-Choice equivalent to that sign be? The same picture of the same dead baby, only with a "Thumbs Up" next to it?

This thought got me giggling all the way across the bridge. Which is what made me realize, yet again, that I'm a very sick individual. And that thought made me proud.

***

Speaking of "no smoking", two restaurants are suing the City of Pittsburgh - with backing money from RJ Reynolds, no less - over the recent city-wide smoking ban. And I applauded the suit, feeling more than slightly greasy that I agree with any stance that RJ Reynolds "Big Tobacco" is taking.

I don't smoke; I hate smoke. It makes me physically ill. I hate the way I smell when I come home after a day spent with smokers. I needle my smoking friends and thank them for the cancer whenever they light up around me. I think it's an idiotic habit. And I insist that if they're allowed to smoke, I should be allowed to chronically masturbate. (And it makes me uncomfortable when they tell me to go for it right there in their living rooms...)

But I never want to be the guy who tells someone what they can and can't do. I ask that people don't smoke inside my house. Everyone I know who smokes respects that. Most of my smoking friends will point their smoke away from me as much as possible. But if this ban goes through, what's the next thing to go? Table salt? Alcohol (again)? Noisy children? (Actually, that last one isn't such a bad idea) Once you outlaw one thing, other things follow. It's a dangerous path, this smoking ban, and I want to see it eliminated. If I end up in my grave because of second-hand smoke-induced cancer, at least it came from the lungs of my friends and at least I wasn't rescued by the Gestapo.

***

Dane Cook isn't funny. I'm sorry everyone. And the Original Kings of Comedy are none of the above. Redneck humor can go away now too. We already have pro wrestling, what do we need Larry the Cable Guy for?

***

The title of the movie Invincible annoys me. It's about a guy named "Vince", so I'm sure Hollywood thought it was being clever by naming the film Invincible. Really, what the title is translating to is The Inability to be Vince. It was a dumb idea, guys. For Christ's sake, think!

***

I'm tired of cute talking animal movies. I thought after Barn Yard and Flushed Away and Over the Hedge that everyone else was too. Then Happy Feet came out and we're back in that rut again.

***

Freedom Writers... how many times are they going to make this movie? Dangerous Minds, Take the Lead, Step it Up, Dead Poets Society ... Teachers, could you just have a positive influence on your kids and take pride in that? Stop writing books about the experiences. Please. Just give us a decade or so to recover, okay? We're all still stinging from Pay it Forward.

***

The Star Wars Trilogy was released, unmolested, on DVD around Thanksgiving. All is finally right with the world. We can finally stop holding our breaths in fear of what Lucas may do to us next. We got our childhood back...

Until next year,

Mike Watt