NaNoWriMo & Omens

While I was writing my first novel for NaNoWriMo, I received a phone call from my friend Jake. He delivered the news that someone I had dated for a short period of time had died on an overdose. (I blogged about this back then.) The point being that I had been writing for a few weeks about regret and death and ends. I'm not saying that her death was a sign. Heck, she'd died a year and a half before I heard about it. But perhaps Jake's call was. Or I at least took it as one.

I just this week decided what I want to write this year. Stories and dreams and memories and beginnings. Today I get a Facebook message from a woman I dated back in 1989-1990. She's been looking through old, old papers and found a file titled "Tales to Sleep." My memories of that file is pretty slim and vague. They were short stories I wrote for her. Specifically to be read out loud to help her get to sleep. Bedtime stories. Fairy tales of sorts.

She wrote me to ask if I wanted copies (if I didn't have any, which I don't). And to tell me she was going to read through them to see if any her son might like to hear in the future. She's been married for awhile now and her son is one. The idea that those stories were all but lost but now have been rediscovered and might be read by/to her child fills me with joy. The whole concept of the stories and their rediscovery fits right into what I want to write about. Eerily so.

And I am taking it as a sign. The NaNoWriMo muse is definitely looking out for me.

I'm Just A Bailout Bill

The voice is dead on. Link.

(via Ross Bergman)

"Remember when New York was New York?"

Before I start let me be clear that I love stories of New York. I love the city's history and the impact it has had on America (heck, the world's) collective consciousness. I love hearing about what was where and what happened and what it was like. I am (in general) against ripping down old buildings and replacing them with monstrosities of reflecting glass.

But there is a type of New Yorker that annoys the hell out of me. When I hear them talk, I grind my teeth and want to slap them silly.

New Yorkers who start every thing with "Remember when..." and end it with "...it's horrible now." They tend to be older (but not always) and are so rooted in memory and nostalgia that (1) anything after a certain point in time just isn't "New York" and (2) seem to have erased anything bad from their brain cells. They ramble nonstop on the fine details of the past, swimming (or drowning) in what they view as some sort of New York Golden Age. No detail is too small to recount as if layering on remembrance upon remembrance will some how convince the listener that, yes, everything has gone to hell now.

The stereotype of this is the New Yorker who refuses to get over the fact that the Dodgers moved to Los Angeles. This is the reason I hate* Jonathan Schwartz of WNYC radio. I love the music he plays but when he starts talking, I start to throw things. Once he had a monologue that went something like this:
"The trumpet player on that jazz ditty was Joseph Finkle. There was a shortstop of the Dodgers... the Brooklyn Dodgers, not the fake Dodgers, those were the good Dodgers, back when baseball was baseball and America was America... there was a shortstop for the real Dodgers of the name Joseph Finkle. That was a grand time. I remember going to Ebbets Field... that was a true baseball stadium when they knew what baseball was and how to build stadiums and popcorn used to taste like real popcorn. I remember the peanuts. They tasted better back then..." (This went on for three minutes until...) "Oh, wait. The shortstop was named Joseph Franklin. Well, here's a song from 1951, when music was actually music."

You might think I'm exaggerated but I'm not. Okay, a tiny bit.

I shouldn't let this bother me but I always have problems with people who don't realize that the world changes. Things change, people change, cities change. There is bad now, there was bad then. No "progress" is not the end all and be all, but change is a part of life. This is not a hard concept to grasp. I run into this issue about lots of things, not just New York. Books, TV, movies, improv, government, relationships, people, etc, etc.. Often it is clear their memory is just faulty. I would never want to taint that memory. What you experienced in your youth has a special place. My memory of seeing Star Wars when it first came out FAR exceeds the actual quality of that movie. My recollection my first kiss with Amy Nation must be far greater that the actual fact. But realizing that memories are their own thing is important.

What set me off on this today? I was sitting in Park Slope, drinking an ice coffee and doing the Sudoku in today's Metro, when the conversation between two well dressed men n their sixties at the table next to be drift into my ears. Here are some bits and pieces:

•"Do you remember Macy's? When it was a full block and had wooden escalators? That was a store! I once went there to buy caviar. You can't do that now, I'm sure. And the main floor used to be larger. When my mom took me there is was something special, not like it is now. They used to have restaurants."
•"I don't know about these natural gas buses. Trolleys! Why did they ever get rid of trolleys? They were fast cross town than any bus is now. Some places still have trolleys. They call then 'light rail' now."
•"Do you remember when the avenues were two-way? Oh, yes. They ruined the avenues when they became one-way. Especially 5th Avenue. The balance is all off. There is too much traffic now. Too many cars. Yes, they ruined it by making it one-way."
•"Stores have these big gates on them. Why is that? All these gates and bars. It's like the Holocaust."
•"See that car? [points to a VW passing by] They just don't make American cars like they used to. It's so ugly. The curves are all wrong."
Later...
•"Did you try that stuff yet? No, I've been to busy to get high. It's really good. Just take a small hit tonight. I think I will."


*I only hate two people in the world. Jonathan Schwartz and I guy I used to work with four years ago who, though his own stupidity, almost killed me on three or four occasions.

YDKJ: The Return

You Don't Know Jack was just a magical computer trivia game. It was around for awhile and then disappeared. Now it is back. Yeah, it is only web-based and single player and super short. They are doing daily DisOrDat questions and now weekly "episodes." Still high quality fun stuff.

I can only hope they can get enough backing to start doin this for realsies again. Maybe a console version with regularly available downloads available. Seems like a good opportunity for a continual money maker. Sell me a retail disc with 500 questions and then do monthly downloads for $4 t0 $5.

Anywhozits, here's the link.

(Note: You may want to wait a few days to try it out. Right now the site seems to be sluggish.)

I miss the Apple Pan

While New York is starting to get some decent burger places, I still have fond memories of the Apple Pan in L.A.. Great burgers, great pies.

Link.

(via The Gothamist)

What You Know

I had a class show this afternoon. Went pretty good. I have of course nitpicked my performance to death, but I did it in my own head as not to annoy my friends and classmates. But everyone stepped up, I felt. It was nice to see.

I started my first scene and realized I was operating from something personal and very recent. It was a strange experience. Sort of transcendent, to be overly haughty about it. It was definitely cathartic, but could have been more so. Because I held back. I didn't take it where it should have gone. I got a bit scared.

Man, I have to stop that.

Tuesday Morning by The Pogues

Too many sad days
Too many Tuesday mornings
I thought of you today
I wished it was yesterday morning
I thought of you today
And I dreamt you were dressed in mourning

But I knew that you
With your heart beating
And your eyes shining
Would be dreaming of me
Lying with you
On a Tuesday morning

I fell through the window
And I found that I was still breathing
I thought of tomorrow
And the fear that you might leave me
I thought of tomorrow
And I wished it was Monday evening

But I knew that you
With your heart beating
And your eyes shining
Would be dreaming of me
Lying with you
On a Tuesday morning

Turn your face from me
I will cover myself with sorrow
Bring Hell down upon me
I will surrender my heart to sorrow
Bring Hell down upon me
And I will say goodbye tomorrow

But I know that you
With your heart beating
And your eyes shining
Would be dreaming of me
Lying with you
On a Tuesday morning

My Day At The Races, Part 1: Anticipation, Memories, and Cats and Mice

My sleep Friday night is erratic and troubled. I know it is the tension of The Idiotarod coming. Previous years being on Team COBRA was like the night before Christmas. This year it was like the night before Christmas... except that we were Santa. All know there are hundreds and hundreds of people counting on us. But by Saturday morning there is little left to do but to let the events play out. We had made all of our plans to the best of our abilities and just prayed that it would happen and that it would be fun. But 99% of the fun has nothing to do with the organizers. We are like the builders of a sandbox. It is there to play in, but we need the kids to come in play and THEY are what makes it fun. In fact, they bring the sand. We just have to make sure we haven't left any holes. Or left any turds in the box. (Okay, this now wins for tortured metaphor of the week.)

In the morning there is a flurry of phone calls as we schedule rides and what not. I spend some time cleaning up from Friday nights party and run out to the stationary store for last minute supplies. I try to eat, but my nerves are so bad that nothing tastes good except coffee... which I just know is going to react badly in my stomach later.

JD has stated he is picking me up at noon. At eleven I shower and then get dressed. I have, in a fit of hubris or something, decided to wear my best suit. I don't know why I thought I wouldn't get hit with food or vileness. I just love the idea of it. My job for the day is the collector of the judges decisions. My plan is to do as little judging as possible, just moderate. I though I should look stuff, accountantly, and the suit is dark with a vest. It also always makes me feel cool when I wear it. And having a bit of attitude will help during the day.

When I get it on, I check myself out. I wear good shoes, but I decide against dress socks and go with the smart wool socks instead. Friday was brutally cold, and even though Saturday is supposed to be warmer, it is still cold. I have bought a $3 pair of gold wire-rimmed, non-prescription glasses, and I slip them on to complete the look. I have to say, I loved it. I had certain seriousness and weight that I normally would have a hard time pulling off. Cheap black gloves and I am ready to go.

I gather all of my materials in my Tivo courier bag. An attache case handcuffed to me wrist would be better, but I wasn't about to spend big bucks for a tiny bit. The courier bag still works. I also through my COBRA jumpsuit (with freshly ironed on gold stars indicating my Committee Membership) and my COBRA knit cap into a pink shaping bag left over from a recent baby shower. It has bunnies on it (the bag, not the jumpsuit) and the idea that I look like I may be going to a fancy Baptism or Bris makes me giggle. It is the theater I love. And for me theater is in the details.

JD is of course running late because MrR has had his phone break in the night. MrR has the vast amount of the contacts for the day. I mean, we have planned enough and decentralized enough that the day should just happened no matter what individuals drop out. But if something goes horribly wrong, we all know that we would look to MrR to see what he says. He is very much the spirit and driving force of the day. If anyone deserves ownership, it is him, regardless of what he might say. So he had to print out his contact list and use MrsR's cel phone for the day. They don't get to my house until 12:30.

I am in the car with JD, MrR and MrsR. We realize that it is just the four runners from the first year of the Idiotarod. The only one missing is Williamsburg. (What ever happened to Williamsburg?) It is a poetic moment. The four of us, driving towards the start of COBRA's Idiotarod. It had just been 3 years since that first year, the year Hackett blew up his face.

I remember back to us sitting in front of one of the checkpoints that first year. We notice that a team that arrived after us has left before us. MrsR goes to and investigates and discovers that they bribed the judges! It is a revelation to us. Immediately you can see the gears turn in all of our heads. Especially MrR. You can just see him get that mischievous grin, that grin that says,"Oh... we can cheat... oh, how that changes everything...." I don't know if we used the word sabotage that day, but its meaning was in our heads. Sabotage would become our mantra, our modus operandi. And it was back at the moment.

As we get closer to the starting line we get a phone call. Our advance person at the REAL strtaing line is reporting that there are already police there. (Note: Some believe that we changed the starting location at the last minute. Untrue. For weeks we had been planning to publish a decoy start line. I mean, come on! This is COBRA! Do your really think we would publish the starting line 24 hours before the race?) Just three beat cops, but they are already there. It is not even 1:00pm yet! We wonder how they could have known but since some idiot had posted the address in the forums the night before, it wasn't a huge surprise. (Another note: If we call you secretly, don't you think that means we are trying to keep it secret? You're an idiot.) But we also think it is funny. There is the part of the whole day, the cat and mouse we know we are playing, that we all love. While we would be ecstatic if the police just stood back and watched, we know that would never happen.

We also know that if you send 1000 people into one area, there is no real way to stop it. We wouldn't be able to stop it if we tried. Events like the Idiotarod are a testament to the power of individuals when they get together. It doesn't just have to be for social change. It can be for art. I am not calling The Idiotarod art. No, yes, I am. It is art. But more on that later.

We are sent into a bit of a tizzy however. We start brainstorming alternate plans for the race. We start think about who we need to call, what plans we can shift, how we might need to adjust. And that is part of the fun of these sort of events and part of the insane magic that is COBRA. I have no idea what the planning was in previous year (and we where certainly helped by them having done such amazing jobs in the past), but COBRA as amazingly democratic. No, democratic is wrong. Organic. It was ideas tossed in the ring, without ego. Sometimes ideas where accepted, sometimes not. But usually yes. And someone would take charge of it and start researching it and make it happen. Or not. There were no fights internally in COBRA (or at least not that I know). Ideas just formed, mutated and appeared, often empty of ownership.

And that carried on to the last day as we discussed about what to do about the police. It wasn't even a debate... it just happened. As a unit we adjusted, shifted. To be overly dramatic and slightly creepy, we were like old lovers, asleep in bed. We just shifted with the other, no thought.

(NEXT: ENGINE #9 and MY SPECIAL TIME ALONE AT THE FINISH LINE.)

Something ELSE I shouldn't talk about here...

While working my tuckus off getting done all the things I still need to get done this week, I began to think of other things that I want to do. Something that I am a tad embarrassed to mention. Something that I've wanted to do for years but repress because it is hard to find someone willing... preferably a few people who are willing. And a time commitment. But while taking a bath tonight, washing off some paint, I was thinking back to the last time a did it and the desire came back in a rush.

I want to game.

And when I say game, I mean pen and paper, plastic polyhedral dice gaming. Roleplaying. RPG. In terms the rest of you might understand (but not understand why I hate using this particular term), D&D. Dungeons and Dragons.

I don't want to play D&D. But something else. vSomething of my own making. See, I always have stories flying around my head. Thousands of stories. Some of these stories are suited to big books, novels (like the one yesterday about the first robot to run for the U.S. Senate). Some are suited to short stories (like the Valentine's Day horror story of the suspicious man who discovers his girlfriend is the first succubus but only loves him). Some suited to radio play (like the invasion of earth by everyone's parallel twin). Or a sketch (man goes on a series of dates with Google, Wikipedia and YouTube). Or a play (The Last Sad Days of Squirrel-Boy). But some stories, certain stories in my head, are suited to roleplaying.

The best experiences roleplaying I had were playing in an alternate dark New York. A New York of shadows and demons and magic. Still the New York we know, but behind the nameless doors are things that are best not spoken of. Lovecraftian Noir with a thick slice of punk and faerie tale. Nothing new there, I know. But that is the thing with roleplaying: it is always new when playing with smart people.

I miss that. I miss the creation from nothing. Improv is a bit like it, and it is certainly better suited to be watched. But to experience a truly evolving story, to be part of it, to have a moment when everyone at the table is near tears at just the story... that is special.

Sigh. I'm such a geek.

(I also took some time out today to see Children of Men. Wow. More on that later, but... wow.)

McDonald's 1972

Yes, I'm just posting random stuff at this point. Just some holiday love for you.

I am loving being in L.A., even if 69 degrees and sun skies is anathema to Christmas in my brain. But I love my family so incredible deeply. It often makes my sad that I am so far away from them most of the time. But I love New York, too. So is the choices we must make.

So I send out good thoughts to you and your families and friend. Go ahead. Eat to excess. Drink too much. Get into fights about some perceived slight committed in 1997.

My 2006 Movie List

It is that time of the year. Everyone gets to make their list. Far be it for me not to jump on the bandwagon. (Why is "jumping on the bandwagon" a bad thing? One, and band that travels in a wagon can use all the friends they can get. Two, they probably know where the party is. More the merrier!) Sadly this year I feel that I was super lax about seeing some of the best things out there. But I will just go with it.

Films I saw that I loved (in no real order):

The Science of Sleep
If there is one director working right now that seems to tap directly into my brain stem, my dreams, my way of seeing the world, it is Michel Gondry. The childlike wonder and aching sadness that only exists because of an even stronger sense of hope. And his use of practical special effects constantly amaze me with their simplicity and beauty. And his stories of love-that-doesn't-happen... sigh. Watch Sleep back to back with Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and who'll get a glimpse of what's like in my head.

Casino Royale
I have always been a Bond fan by for so long I've walked out of them feeling empty. They've been feasts of cotton candy. I am also a fan of revisioning (which is not a real word) things. The reason I love the book Wicked. Casino Royale was EXACTLY was Bond needed. Daniel Craig captured a tortured soul of a cold hearted killer. And they managed to call out Bond misogyny and still make it hot. And thank you for making Bond fallible. For too long he had been to able to walk out of anything with is mood, body and tuxedo untouched. When Craig's Bond is washing off blood to get back to the poker game... that was the moment I knew this was a Bond I gave a shit about.

The Departed
I am not a huge Martin Scorsese fan. I am definitely NOT a Leonard DiCaprio fan. He's fine actor, but too often I just feel the weight of is performance and there is nothing natural about it. Not that he over acts, it's just something about him. But The Departed was such an exquisite dance of storytelling, performances and editing. Two men, trapped in their paths, knowing they were on the way to self-destruction, hurtling towards each other. I have yet to see the original, Internal Affairs, but it is now high on my list.

United 93
Not enough people have seen this movie, but hopefully with the Oscar buzz that will change. On the other hand, it is a movie that you should see when you feel you are ready to see it. It is raw and simple with out a single touch of melodrama. It is a call to not forget. Not to not forget that we are "at war" or whatever the hell it is we are at, but to not forget the emotion and feeling of that day. I wrote pretty extensively about my feeling right after seeing it here.

Happy Feet
Yes, the ending gets a little preachy. Yes, it is just a goofy little film about penguins, which are so 2005. But it is also a film so infused with joy. I was absolutely expecting to hate it but was so surprised. The music is used in wonderful witty ways, the animation is mind blowing, and it manages to shoot tap dancing the way tap dancing should be shot.

The Fountain
Here is movie that I can't quite shake. It is far from a perfect movie but it is also a movie that strives to something that may be unachievable. It is a glorious tone poem of a film, a rumination of love and life. Perhaps it's imagery can be over the top, but if you can let the film wash over you and filter into the corners of your brain, you will find yourself finding bits and pieces of it in your thoughts for weeks after.


Here are some that I really like for different reasons:

Superman Returns
Again, not perfect. But Bryan Singer managed to reboot the series, remove much of the campyness AND play homage to the first to Superman films all at the same time. Heck, it is in many ways a remake of the first film. Superman is an incredibly difficult character to deal with. He is basically a god. But Returns taps into his feelings of always being the outsider. I'm just happy when comic book characters get treated with respect (especially after the disaster of X-Men 3). One can only keep their fingers crossed that the Powers That Be look towards this and Batman Begins as how to do things right.

Shortbus
All the sex stuff aside, this is an almost cuddly love fable to New York and it's lost souls. If you analyze the film and it's characters it all begins to fall apart, but if you just let it be it will bring a grin to your face.

Pirates Of The Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest
Yes. I said it. I really really liked Dead Man's Chest. I know this is not the common feeling. What I think everyone feels missing is that sense of surprise and discovery that came from seeing Johnny Depp's Jack Sparrow for the first time. But for me they managed to play the story and the characters in smart and intelligent ways... well, as smart as one can expect in a film like this. I know many people were turned off by the heightened fantasy aspects but I dug it. Maybe that is just a matter of taste. And the action set pieces... come on, people! They were Rube Goldberg-esque gems!

Dave Chappelle's Block Party
Just fun. It is not music I tend to listen to but it carried me right along. I felt just included in the party. (Also directed by Michel Gondry by the way.)

Movies I still needed to see that I somehow missed or have yet to come out:

The Prestige
Victorian illusionists. Tesla. Dark sense of foreboding. Not sure why I didn't make it to this one.

Brick
I heard so many good things about this one and I tried to see it numerous times. Noir is my big ol' cup o' tea.

Children of Men
This opens tomorrow I believe and sounds like just the sci-fi that I like. It is also tearing up all of the other top 10 lists out there.

Idiocracy
Mike Judge's sci-fi comedy that was abandoned by the studio. Pray to go it makes it to DVD or this might turn into a lost treasure.

The Queen
Again, I tried to see it a few times. I don't know why I am still fascinated by Princess D.'s death since it had no effect on me at the time. There was a band in Minneapolis called Iron Lung with a song about it. I forget what the song was called. If anyone knows where I could find it, I would be grateful.

Pan's Labyrinth
Looks great. Reminds me that I need to return my DVD of Labyrinth that never worked.

Vovler
Was recommended to me so many times by people I respect that I feel I have to see it now. It almost feels like a chore at this point.

Past Tense

It is interesting how are memories are so slippery. Events that happened so long ago that you barely think of them can come back is such tiny nudges. And it is so curious at what you end up remembering.

I ruminate on how distracted we has a society have become. We are constantly in a flood of input. Not that it is anything truly different from say living in turn of the century London. It's just that we now have a massive amount of control over what we have access to at any moment. I have hundreds of channels, an iPod with 2000 plus songs, video games, the internet. I go to the store and there are at least a dozen different types of toilette paper. And somewhere in my brain I have stored bits and pieces about all of those choices. Even the toilette paper.

And back to the internet. My god, the options it gives me. It is no wonder we no longer remember phone numbers and just store them on our phones. It is a wonder I have room to store anything in my brain.

But the internet is a great instant recall device, even when you don't expect it. A tiny poke and a tiny nudge and suddenly a whole chunk of my past comes flooding back. But after years and years of absence, it is now viewed in a whole new light. Re-contextualized, to use a buzzword. And it does seem clearer. Cleaner, even.

It is probably just that I am older. But that is the thing about getting older. Since it happens one day at a time, one second at a time, you rarely notice... like the frog in the frying pan. But when a window into the past is thrown open, you can see the difference, see how you've changed. Like opening a Highlights magazine to discover some one has already circle the differences. And can I mix any more metaphors tonight?

Anywhozits, just a thought. I often feel so young and like I've not made any progress. But then I'm shown who I was... and I realize I was a complete idiot back then.

Love to all. Just felt like saying that. Love to all.

Jolly St. Nick Is Darn Scary

As I am finding myself referencing practically everything she posts, I realized that I have to give Lukira a slop on the links list.

She currently has a wonderful, get in the spirit for SantaCon slide show of photos of kids scared of Santa. The photos were sent in by readers to SouthFlorida.com, Sun-Sentinel.com and Chicago Tribune a few years back.

Sketchfighter 4000 Alpha

I started playing the demo of Sketchfighter 4000 Alpha yesterday. Man, is that just a flashback into my own head! I loved drawing out dream video games on sketch paper when I was a kid. Pages and pages of this stuff, all the time making the noises just under my breath. My only complaint is the music because I didn't spent my childhood in an elevator.

Sorry, Window Users, Mac OS only. I do hope they make this into an Xbox Live Arcade game. It is perfect for it.

(I also got Sneak King from BK for $3.99. I'll have a review up soon.)

Asteroid's Revenge

Here's a very simple flash game: Asteroid's Revenge. It's just like Asteroids... except now you are the big rock taking out those annoying ships. I mean, what did you ever do to them? Just floating around with your rock-homies, mindling your own business. And then the damn ship flys in and starts blowing you up! What up with that?!?

I love the twist. I just wish that when you got it, you broke up into smaller pieces and not just get smaller. Not sure how you would control the extra pieces. I would just be 'truer' to the original.

I hope there are more of these. Space Invaders from the invaders PoV. Playing a ghost from Pac-Man. I always wanted to play a game from the humans that you rescue in Stargate Defender.

(via Plasticbag via Boing Boing)

Broken Angel Update

Christopher Wood posted this on my old post on the subject. I respost is comment here so that it is on the front page.

Update 11/28/06
The Wood family is very thankful for the support we have received in our attempt to rescue Broken Angel. However the building is far from saved and time is running out. Broken Angel is a legally built architectural sculpture, which my father would love to transform into a home for the arts. Broken Angel is viewed by thousands of people who come to see it every year. If this quirky and original structure disappears, Quincy and Downing streets will again become a forgotten corner of Brooklyn. My name is Christopher Wood; I am the son of the creators of Broken Angel. I have lived my entire life in Brooklyn. I have grown up and continue to be enmeshed in a world of art. I am a stone carver and photographer. I have restored many of New York’s cherished landmarks including the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Cloisters, Grace Church, the Tweed Court house, and currently the main branch of the New York City Public Library. I call on Brooklyn to support and help us restore Broken Angel. Please email or write your local politicians to show your support and help us block the demolition of Broken Angel. If you are a legal professional, we desperately need help fighting the Department of Buildings in court. Additionally those who are willing and able can purchase paintings by my father or my photographs of Broken Angel at Artez’n at 444 Atlantic Ave. Works of art for sale can also be obtained online at http://www.artezn.com/. I guarantee that a work of art bought this holiday season will retain its value better than a Play Station 3. Please help us and show the developers who want to turn Brooklyn into another skyline of giant buildings that we will not go gently into the shadows of greed and over development. I can be contacted at chriswood718@yahoo.com
Photos of Broken Angel
My restoration work
Broken Angel in the press:
Daily News
Seth Kushner
Brooklyn Papers
Gowanus Lounge
New York Times

If you can help, please.

Beautiful Harvey Comic covers

I remember being young young and being drawn to the art of Harvey Comics more than I was drawn to say Disney or Archies or superheroes. Does that make me... um... less manly? Whatever. The art is still gorgeous. Dan Goodsell and A Sampler of Things has post a handful of them from the '60s.

(via Boing Boing)

By the Power of Greyskull, don't touch my special place!

20 years... One the street!

Here is an audition tape from a young man audtioning for Full Metal Jacket in 1984.
22 years later, he returns in response to his audition tape being placed on YouTube.Someone give Brian Atene a movie, god damn it!

Halloweenolicious

So we are back to this day again. This holiday that I really love the concept of but so often feel let down by. So much prep, so little pay off. Maybe I just still yearn for the days when it was the all day a school, then Trick o' Treatin', and then a week or so of feasting on the spoils. Now it is frantically working on a costume in the early evening, rushing out the door to some party and then just left with detritus of costume making and a hang over.

My pivotal moment was in Minneapolis. I had a crush on this girl from the restaurant I was working at. A bunch of us decided to go as Alice in Wonderland characters and it the big First Avenue Halloween party and then another party at a loft in the Warehouse District. I was going as the Mad Hatter (that was a good costume actually) and the object of my affection was going as Alice (yes, I have a bit of an Alice fetish... which we won't be going into today). All of us were meeting at First Ave., but I, in my over excitement/anxiety, arrived way too early... right after the doors opened. Since it was still happy hour, I filled the time with Long Island Ice Teas. Ah, the First Ave. L.I. Ice Teas... glorious things. Tasted vile but very large.

By the time everyone else arrived I had passed through tipsy and buzzed and was already two thirds of the way through drunk on my way to plastered. I tried to flirt but I quickly lost track of Alice. At some point the Caterpillar handed me her hookah while she went to dance. I eventually found the loud music was way too much for me and decided to head out to the loft party. It was only four blocks away, yet I managed to get lost. I physically could not read the street signs.

I stumbled onto the alley that supposedly held the entrance to the loft to find two police officers with flash lights searching the snow. Suddenly paranoia about what might be in the hookah I still held in my over-sized cartoon hands hit me. So I stumbled away. I realized the only think I could do was to head home. (I have no idea what time it was by that point but probably brutally early.)

But I could read street signs and I couldn't focus enough to wave down a cab (always a sketchy thing in Minneapolis at the best of times). So I walked. Around 4 miles. Which doesn't sound like a lot but it was a cold cold Minnesota night and I was under-dressed as the Mad Hatter, gripping onto a large hookah, and extremely drunk. Unclear how I made it home.

Anyway, it just seems that the higher my hope about Halloween, the greater my disappointment. The one aberration to that rule in recent years was the Massive Party the I (and others) through at the brownstone two years ago. And last year was okay, but i had no expectations, went out for only a couple of hours, and then ran home to start writing the novel at midnight.

Tonight I am going as the Santa of Death because I have all the parts at home. And I shall be hitting UCB's Halloween shows. And then who knows? I have no crushes, no expectations. If I get home early, I shall write. If I'm having fun, I shall stay out. It's Halloween, so I shall just try to "Yes...And" everything. I need to be doing more of that in my day-to-day life anyway.