The end(s)

In the last two days I've finished A Dance With Dragons, and the last season of 30 Rock. Today, when I'm a little less sick, I'll watch the final installment of the old Chucky movies before the upcoming reboot, Curse of Chucky.

And yet I don't feel a sense of loss.

With the Song of Ice and Fire fandom, I still have the show and two more books on the way. The first of which is supposed to be out early next year. But I'm not holding my breath.

They're already rarer than white Rhinos!

30 Rock wasn't even one of my favorite shows. I love Tina Fey and Jack McBrayer, but I got into the show right before it was cancelled anyway, and knew the last season wrapped things up nicely. It made me a little sad, but it made me laugh much much more.

Yep.

 As for Chucky, I haven't watched it yet, but it's got to be better than this. Damnit Billy Body, this is THE BEST THING YOU'VE DONE SINCE LORD OF THE RINGS? Oh, you don't believe me?

UTTER CRAP. A stain on the Oz fandom (not Billy's fault).

WHAT IS THIS, I DON'T EVEN. Still not Billy's fault.

...To be fair, there's more, but these were the biggest things. Ugh.

Maybe I'm not sad because I still have so much left to conquer. Tomorrow I start reading Dr. Sleep, the long awaited Shining sequel. Then it's on to The Hunger Games, where I haven't seen the movies or read any of the books. Thought, I have seen Battle Royal. Epic.

I guess I don't get as sad when I know something new is right around the bend for me to devour. Thor 2, The Hobbit: Desolation of Smaug, the upcoming Fantastic Beasts and Where to find them movie, there's just so much to look forward to! Maybe someday even Sherlock Series 3.

Long story short...I'm too excited to be sad. Though when the last Hobbit movie airs in 2 years, I'll be sad. And when Sherlock is finally over (they already contracted series 4). And when A Song of Ice and Fire is over. And when Sai King passes. And when Pirates of the Caribbean finishes for good. And...

Aw, crap. Life for future-me is gonna suck.

Well, I have contingency plans. I'm not reading Insomnia until King is dead AND I've read everything else he's ever written. And...that's about it. Crap, past me, why didn't you plan better?!?!?!

Well, there are hundreds of years of popular culture to catch up on. I've only been on the planet for 26 of them. I'll just have to assume I don't devour all of it before I die.

Of course, if you have any suggestions, feel free to leave 'em. :D

Creepshow (real life edition)

Four towns cemetery is a small graveyard near my home in Michigan. You could find mentions of it if you looked hard enough online, but it’s mostly just a tiny little church graveyard. I used to pass it every day on my way to college, and I still go by about once a week. Now I’m a little older, a lot wiser, and never inclined to go in again.

About two years ago a group of my friends and I went ghost hunting. Bahamute wasn’t with us (he’d not interested in the outdoors or the supernatural), but I was in good spirits anyway. It was a warm night, clear skies, and I was raring to catch a ghost on my friend’s camera or tape-recorder. Even a cell-phone video would do.

The cemetery is less than an acre, so it wouldn’t take long to scope out. We broke into groups of two and three and traversed the grounds quickly. Somebody pointed out a few graves behind the fence, in a swamp. He said it was probably where the unwed mothers and babies had been buried. I shivered. This cemetery wasn’t all that old: things like that happened in colonial times, not recently.

Not in my mind anyway.

I wandered with a few people, changing from group to group. I felt restless. Usually when we were ghost hunting, we cracked wise, but nobody was saying much now.

A group near a tall monument, at least seven feet high and shrouded in vines, called us over. There seemed to be a cold-spot about the size and shape of a very tall man. I waved my hands through the air. It did feel a bit cooler, but that could have been my imagination. Everyone began taking pictures, claiming they could see a figure in the digital photos.

I hung near the back of the group, not seeing anything. I still felt disquieted. I didn’t want to be here.

That was when a cold shock squeezed my hand, right between the web of flesh between my right thumb and forefinger. I cried out, yanking my hand away. It hurt. The cold radiated slowly off my hand, and I retreated towards the gate. “I’m out. Something grabbed me. I’m out.”

I was quickly followed by the rest of the party: not so much because of my encounter, but NOBODY wanted to be in there anymore. A few pagan friends burned some sage. Being Baptist, I reasoned God wouldn’t mind me being near a burning plant. We were all uncharacteristically quiet as we left, seeking more hospitable climes in the local diner.

It wasn’t until the morning the bruise showed up.

Deep in the meat of my hand: not a bad bruise, not bad enough to turn black and blue, but definitely there. Yellow and painful, right in the spot where I’d been grabbed by that cold hand.

I know there are mundane explanations. Probably. But they don't hold a candle to cold reality.

Very cold. 

Spam spam spam spam...

So, this is my daily(ish) blog. I’m hampered without internet access (this is being written pre and during rehursal for Spamalot), and my sudden burst of creativity dried up like a trickle of dog piss on a hot Michigan morning.

That’s poetic...that’s pathetic.

In local news, I’m trying to re-start my pet sitting business. I have 20 some year of experience, and I do it all from walking, to potty visits, to sitting, to vets. More importantly, I’m cheap and dogs love me. Like, almost unnaturally. Even abused dogs think I’m the best thing since rotting roadkill on the highway.

Bad choice of words, but you see what I mean.  

Haven’t worked on my book for about a week, but considering I’m editing the completed manuscript of the first book and editing chapter 5 of the second, that’s still not bad. Lost my audip book contracts, however.

In more positive news, I found a new funny pics site, Tickld. You can find the following gems there:

 

 

I’m on the site as TimTheEnchanter. What dontcha click on and see me sometime?

BTW, Knights of the Round Table is a hard-ass number. The movie song is soooooooo much shorter than the broadway version. There’s way more tap, singing, dancing on the whole, and genral silliness. Watching a bunch of guys trying to tap is almost as bad as trying to tap myself.

That sounds so dirty.

Whelp, I see by the ol’ clock in the corner of the screen that it’s ‘get back on stage and learn this shit’ O’Clock. Wish me luck, constant reader. I’ll need it.

Figured out what I want to do with my life!

I’ve been taking care of dogs for twenty years. As a 26 year old, that’s quite an accomplishment. I’ve owned 4 dogs (at once, no less!) and cared for cats and dogs since the age of six. I started simple, letting my neighbor’s dog’s out for a few dollars a week. Now I (and my mother when I’m at work) care for a number of animals in the neighborhood, cats and dogs alike, as well as house sitting.

And there are people running Dog Day Care professionally? Where the hell do I sign up?

I love dogs. My perfect day is going to a dog-park and playing with EVERYBODY. I miss having a dog (my last passed last year), but I have a cat for the first time in over 15 years who I love. She gets along with the occasional pooches who crash at my place, so no worries there.

Seriously, do I have to take a class to work at a place like this? I can take a class.

Three of my dogs were quite old when they died, so I’m no stranger to dealing with elderly animals. We also bred two of my dalmatians together, so I’ve been around all stages of puppyhood too. One of them was abused, as were some of the dogs I pet-sit, so I can handle those as well.

Really, where’s the application? I’ll scoop poo and clean vomit if that’s where I’ve gotta start.

There’s Camp Bow-Wow pretty near my place, and it seems to do pretty well. Do they need a well educated dog-exerciser? 20 years experience, no waiting!

Huh, that sounds off.

Maybe I should operate out of my home. Drop your pooch off, pick ‘em up at the end of the day. All day they can play in the yard, the house, with me, get fed, get medicated, take a nap--whatever they want. If I could make a job of that, I’d be one happy person.

I’m gonna look into the licensing thing. I’d love nothing more than to be around animals. Forever.

And it only took me 26 years to figure out my ideal job. Too bad I finished school first.

Learning to Draw

I’m trying to become an artist.

Oh, not in a big way: just scribbles and doodles for Deviantart, really. I’ve got a few Sherlock and Watson sketches of various quality online. Generally it’s just something I do while on hold at work: pull up a pic and try and copy it down.

I’ve wanted to draw for years. I attended art club after school in high school, but it was more about making ashtrays for bake sales than actually being taught anything, much to my dissapointment. I doodled fairies and freakish hands with chipped nails, none looking any better than something a child would produce. After years of frustration, I just gave up.

Now, it’s actually a little better.

Oh, it’s not good: I don’t hold any illusions to that. But it’s not terrible. It actually looks a bit like what it’s supposed to. So, why now, after years of struggle and angst, can I suddenly do...well, slightly better?

The only difference is I’m trying to copy photos. Copying drawings still results in dismal failure, and drawing from my mind is out of the question. But I can reproduce a face if I’m looking right at it: you can almost tell who it is, even. Sometimes.

I bought a book called ‘anyone can draw’. Haven’t cracked it yet. Still doodling Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman as much as I can (usually one quick drawing a day). Ultimately, I’d like to draw some illustrations for my fan-fiction. It’s an old vice, but a poor whetstone is better than none at all. Sometimes I don’t have the time or inspiration to work on my manuscripts. Fanfiction is a nice stopgap.

What is most surprising is that my drawings are viewed and in a few special instances, FAVORITED. I mean, wow. That means a lot, perplexing as it is.

The Fly vs. Puppetmaster 5

No sooner do I finish watching 1986 masterpiece The Fly do I pop Puppetmaster 5 the Final Chapter (yes another grievous misnaming)  into my DVD player. From the top dog to the bottom of the heap in one fell swoop: possilby the greatest Sci-Fi remake of all time and one of the worst direct-to-video crapfests ever put on celluloid.

It's...it's...

Hmm.

Sorry for the pause, Pinhead and Jester were killing a henchman with a meat cleaver.

My love of bad horror movies is almost as great as my love of good ones. Troll 2 stands on my self next to the original Nightmare on Elm street (as well as all the sequels. And ONLY the sequels, not this piece of shit) Poltergeist and Poltergeist 3 both give me screams, some of terror, some of laughter. And frankly, Poltergeist 2 is a bit underrated. I'll riff bad flix and sit in quiet reverence for the good ones.

It's not isolated to just me. Mystery Science Theater 3000  wouldn't exist if it was. Evil Bong 2 is a self-aware tribute to the bad movie altar (and worth a look. And you actually kind of have to see Evil Bong to follow along).

What is it about so bad they're good movies that draw so many of us in? Yes, some are intentional (just look at Full Moon studios or Asylum Pictures) but many are completely accidental: those are often the best. The humor is always funnier when it's done with a straight face.

So, does that mean every bad movie is a comedy gold mine? No, sadly not. Some are simply bad. But there are enough funny little messes in the bargain bins of Target and the one-stars on Net-flicks to keep me in stitches until the next Insidious-level horror film comes along.

To the girl sitting next to me at Insidious Two

So I attended a showing of Insidious 2 with my future brother in law Grizz last night. We went to a 6:40 show since Grizz had to be up at 6:00 for work at a place that rhymes with Lowgers.

That was our mistake.

What we failed to realize is that a 6:40 showing for a PG-13 flick is going to be PACKED with teenage girls. Now, when I was a teenage girl, I never screamed at a horror movie. Frankly, I’ve never screamed at a movie. Jerked, sure. Clutched Bahamute’s arm, maybe. But screamed? Nope.

The usher was walking the aisles regularly, so talking was kept at a minimum, as was cellphone use. Not completely gone, mind you, but tolerable.

Then, the girl next to me (no older than 14 surely) started talking to me.

“Oh my God, it’s so scary!”

I raised one hand. “It’s fine.”

“But they’re gonna dieeeeeee!” She trembled, blond hair jittering.

“It’s fine. It’s a movie.”

The next thing I knew, her head was in my lap.

I looked across to Grizz.  “I don’t--how do I--what do I--Nothing in life has prepped me to deal with this situation!”

Grizz just grinned. Eventually, the girl left the safety of my lap. The screaming continued unabated.

I turned back to Grizz. “Can I dissociate myself from the gender right now?”

But it’s not a gender thing. Plenty of boys were hollering during the jump scares (which sadly, are ramped up from Insidious One’s total of one to about a dozen. Forgivable, but noticeable).  

I have to assume it’s a maturity thing. Even when I was thirteen I never squealed at scary movies. I might clap my hands over my mouth, but I never once screamed out, even if I was terrified. I was too conscious of breaking the mood and drawing attention to myself.

But even in my day, there were plenty of girls who were squealers. And I guess there always will be.

Futruama: the end (for reals!)

The series that brought together the living memebers of Star Trek TOS (Except Scotty)

The series that gave us such hilarious (yet completely inapplicable to humans) catchphrases like 

and

is ending. And unlike the last two times, this one looks like it'll stick. Moreover, I'm...not really that broken up. Don't get me wrong, I'd love to have more Futurama, but after the 4 movies and resurgance on Comedy Central, most of the big series questions have been answered. The #9 man is the leader of a mind reading cult who saves the world. Fry and Leela finally got it on. And...well, that's really about it. Leela was once called 'The Other' by Nibbler, but that's pretty much fallen to the wayside.

So, if Futurama really IS over, I'll be a little sad, but not destroyed. Not like if it ended after it's Fox run with NOTHING answered. Still, I'll be watching these last few episodes with a LOT of interest.

A Storm of Swords and other weather (Spoilers PAST the Red Wedding)

I finished 'A Storm of Swords' this morning. 

Fuck. Me.

The more I read this series, the more I love it. And despite all the complaints, my three favorite characters are still up and kicking. Arya, Bran, and Tyrion are all alive, if not safe and unscathed.

Cat coming back from the dead? HOLY CRAP. Tyrion going to the Free Cities? He better freaking meet Daenerys (whom I also love). Arya getting Needle back? WOOTNESS!

So yeah, I'm loving it. I LOVE an author who's unafraid to murder his darlings, no matter how pissed the fanbase gets.

Mind you, if Tyrion dies, I'll hold a wake. Seriously. I love that guy. But that's nothing different from everybody else. 

Puzzled

Tonight I'm having some friends over to watch Troll 2. Last night it was Jaws. I'm re-reading IT for the umpteenth time.

I love horror. Good horror, bad horror, horror books, horror drawings, cons, props: ALL of it. Most of my friends don't share this interest: Really, only my future brother in law Grizz feels the same way about it that I do. We'll sit and discuss Stephen King, H.P. Lovecraft, Insidious, anything for hours on end: in that way he and I are closer than my fiancee, his brother.

But not in this way.

For a long time, it was just something that I did. It never occurred to me that my interest in horror wasn't shared by everyone around me. They were misguided, I thought. They just needed to be shown how cool it was.

After a few years with my fiancee, I got over that. He doesn't care about horror one way or the other. It's fine. It's good that we have different interests.  It's healthy, etc.

So here I sit, counting down the hours until Troll 2 and Halloween when I can force everyone into participating in my interests. Selfish? Yeah. But it's one of the few times I push what I want to do. I usually try to make everyone else happy and never consider my own wants first (I fail a lot, but at least I try). 

Also, no qualms about them grabbing my ass or my tits. Like, zero.

Tonight is about doing what I want. I feel a little bad about my selfishness, a bit worse about NOT feeling worse, and mostly happy that I'm going to watch bad movies with friends. Anyone else ever get that?