Tuesday, June 29, 2004


PETER ROTTENTAIL hits the shelves today; please let me know if you have any "rabbit sightings" anywhere.

Finally! The end of DOOMED SWORD RISING today:

Shadow emerges from the curtained alcove, weary but whole.
Immediately, Boris drops to one knee again.
My liege, the queen is dead. Long live King Kelvin.
Shadow waves him away tiredly.
I am no king.
Boris looks up slowly.
The queen produced no other heir, sire.
Mayhaps one day I shall rule over a kingdom of the dead. But there is no realm for me on this earth. Let others fight for the crown.
The Council went under the headsman's axe. And many other nobles were put to the sword as well.
Are you not a knight of the crown yourself, Sir Boris?
I cannot sit at the head of council and country. I have lived the creedo of "Deeds, not Words" for my whole life.
Deeds, not words, are what this land needs right now, Sir Boris.
(to Peryl)
And what of you, then?
I intend to rebuild Crescent Abbey, and restore my Order.
Sadly, the monster below told me that the old gods were dead.
I do not take the word of monsters.
Shadow turns back to Boris.
Sir Boris?
Boris looks thoughtful.
I will tend to the remains of the queen...I will serve her in death as I did in life.
Shadow nods.
Then fare thee well.
Shadow and Peryl exit. Boris sighs and scans the room.
His eyes light on the crown against the wall.
Boris walks over to the crown. He carefully picks it up. It gleams in the light as he turns it this way and that. Boris looks at it thoughtfully.
Shadow and Peryl come out into a small courtyard. They give each other a long look--and then part ways.
Peryl takes a few tentative steps, then turns around.
Feature Peryl's POV as she scans the courtyard. Shadow is gone.
Myriad emotions cloud Peryl's face. But eventually she turns her back on the castle and walks away.

Give me a yell at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

Monday, June 28, 2004

Robot Monster

For those keeping track, PETER ROTTENTAIL, a killer rabbit movie from the Polonia Brothers (with a script co-written by John Polonia and I) streets tomorrow on DVD. It's a fun, raunchy horror-comedy, and has a commentary track from me if you have a particularly long lonely night.

The first review that I found is from the "Gates of Gore" site, here.

Here's more from the closing scenes of RING OF THE SORCERESS:

Shadow peers into the gloom.
Suddenly, a glowing red orb--the one that has haunted his dreams--blinks on in front of him. Then a pulsing, tentacled creature slithers from the darkness, dripping ooze, mandibles clicking. This is AYOB THE UNSEEN, long Shadow's nemesis.
So. Kelvin, the young lord of shadow.
His VOICE echoes in Shadow's mind.
Stay out of my mind!
But I have toyed there for so long now!
And stay out of my mother while you're at it!
This is not the homecoming I had hoped for, princeling.
Homecoming? I've never been in this hellhole before.
Never? For many days and nights you hung on yonder wall.
Shadow snaps his head around, and the camera whips with him. Feature Shadow, stripped to the waist, chained to the stone, MOANING. The camera snaps back to a pale and shaken Shadow.
But I...I was slain on a hunting expedition. By a traitor's arrow.
An arrow? Do you think you were slain by a mere arrow...any more than you were brought back to life by that foundling witch?
Your mother bid it be quick, as she did for the king...she wanted to spare you a place in our army. Hence she had her dog Boris spirit you away and bury you in a potter's field, where she thought my gaze did not extend. But her will is not mine own. It was time she learned that.
You are mine, Kelvin. Mine now and always. That is why I called you back here.
Shadow is stopped cold. But, finally, with shaking hands, he brings out his sword.
I call upon the gods...to guide my hand to strike true against this evil...
(eerie laugh)
Your gods? That call rings hollow in an empty room.
We slew your gods, long before we ever came to toy with this world.
Shadow's sword drops from nerveless fingers.
Now...bow before your new master, prince of puppets.
Shadow drops to his knees, compelled by an unseen force.
(through gritted teeth)
This...must not be.
But it is.
By sheer will, Shadow grabs his sword and drags himself to his feet. Ayob responds with a red beam and a HIGH KEENING NOISE that threatens to split Shadow's skull. But, instead, Shadow steps up and drives the sword into the quivering mass of Ayob's alien torso.
Esme drops in a sharp breath, drawing the watchful eyes of Boris and Peryl. Esme staggers, grabs her midsection, and looks down at herself.
Blood is pooling through her fingers.
My queen!
This...can't be...
Her ring GLOWS COLD though the blood.
Shadow pulls the sword out as alien blood burbles out of Ayob.
You fool! For this your agony shall be--
You are the fool! I am already dead--so I fear not death!
The terrors I can inflict even upon such as you--
Shadow plunges the sword in again. Ayob quivers and falls silent.
Peryl and Boris look on in horror at Esme, who has become a wrinkled crone. She is MOANING and holding her stomach. Suddenly she collapses.
A skeleton, with stinking fluid seeping from bone, rattles to the floor. The nightmarish ring she wore bounces away with a cold PING.
Boris' foot comes down soundly on it, and it makes a sound like HUMAN BONES SNAPPING. When Boris lifts his foot, the ring is nothing but dust.
Boris then drops to one knee. Peryl looks on, wide-eyed.
By the gods.
Esme's crown rolls off, bounces against a wall, and spins to a stop.
Shadow, breathing hard, slowly withdraws his gore-drenched sword once more. After a long, last look at Ayob, Shadow turns and wearily looks for the way out.

Give me a yell at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

Thursday, June 24, 2004

The Alien Factor

My nearly ten-year-old 19-inch TV finally gave out, so for Father's Day I got a new 27-incher, which frightens my daughter as she says it looks like a robot, and makes me feel slightly less liberal then when I had my old clunker. But man, the first show I watched on it, a Food TV special on wedding cakes, looked so great my eyes almost bled.

More from RING OF THE SORCERESS, with some vampire chicks today:

Shadow is ever-watchful. He hears a SHUFFLING NOISE that makes him wary.
Suddenly, the lovely servant from earlier, her clothes in tatters, limps into view.
(barely a whisper)
Help me, good sir knight.
Shadow sheathes his weapon.
I am no knight--but I will help thee.
He reaches out to her, and she collapses into his arms.
How come you to this terrible place?
Queen Esme bid me here.
I should have known. What do you need? Food? Drink?
She looks at him, and her eyes glow red.
I need a life.
She leaps up and latches onto Shadow's neck, trying to drink deep.
After a moment of struggling, she falls off, clutching at her own throat and gasping.
I fear that my blood has turned to dust, maiden. What kind of monster has these catacombs made thee?
The servant girl weeps blood.
I know not. But down here we are legion. And our master is all-powerful.
Take me from his ranks, good sir.
Shadow slowly unsheathes his blade once more.
It shall be done.
The servant girl exposes her neck, weeping with gratitude.
His sword comes down in a killing stroke.
Shadow steps away from the gory chore and looks on the girl with regret. Suddenly, there is a HISSING behind him. He whirls.
More of the former servant girls are stepping from dark shadows.
We are not like her. We love our master.
The girl dives at Shadow, teeth bared, claws extended. Her hands rake across his chest, drawing blood. Another is on his back, putting him in a choke hold, and trying to wrestle him to the ground.
Shadow butts one against the wall until she falls off, stunned. Then he gets his sword free and runs the first one through.
Another dives out of the darkness, and knocks Shadow to the ground. The pair tussle and roll across the cold stone floor. Shadow's face and chest are raked with claws.
Shadow reaches for his sword, fallen not far from his grasp. He finally gets it, and with a mighty blow, runs the servant girl through.
He stands up, and finds he has run it through her and him both. He finds she is pinned to him as he takes a few staggering steps. He wrenches the sword free with a horrible GROAN, and the corpse flops to the ground.
Shadow staggers out of the death-chamber.

Give me a yell at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

Wednesday, June 23, 2004


I got the PETER ROTTENTAIL DVD in the mail from Mark Polonia yesterday. Another solid authoring effort, with a trailer, two commentary tracks, and some interviews. Neat menus, and the picture and sound was very sharp. I felt bad because I was ill when I did my commentary track, but when I listened to a bit of it last night it wasn't as bad as I feared, but I'm not as interesting as I hoped. The masses will have to judge.

As promised, I'll try to wrap up my b-fantasy sword and sorcery epic RING OF THE SORCERESS/SWORD OF THE ZOMBIE/DOOMED SWORD RISING over the next few days. Meanwhile, back in the castle...

Esme stares boldly at an ill-at-ease Boris. Peryl meets her stare.
So, Sir Boris...my son the prince left you here to guard me. From what, I wonder? I fear nothing and no one in my castle or kingdom.
It is not for me to say, m'lady.
Tis true. Deeds, not words. You were raised as good Sir Nicholai's son and squire, and serve the kingdom with honor. Then as I fear no harm and need no guard you can be released from the prince's bidding to do mine own.
Slay this woman who affronts my gaze.
Boris is clearly conflicted. The moment is suspended. But the silence is shattered when Desmond bursts into the room, grasping his bloodied midsection.
You dare!
Desmond falls to his knees.
My queen, the promise...my hour grows short, and I need your promise...
Boris and Peryl stare at Esme.
I cannot honor that promise now.
My lady, I have done your bidding in exchange for life eternal! Life in the new king's court! The things I have done, my queen!
The things you have done will give you cold comfort in the next world.
Esme's ring FLASHES with fire, and Desmond disappears in a WASH OF FLAME, his skeleton etched in black for one harsh moment.
Boris looks on with an arched brow, Peryl looks on with dismay, as smoke wafts from the scorched spot where the aide once stood. Boris turns slowly to the queen.
Life eternal. I have been given no such promise in exchange for my service.
None is needed for the loyalty of my Silent Guard.
The queen speaks truly. But what is this gift?
From our friends beyond the sea. No more need to be known.
That also is true. I have learned much of their gifts and care for them not.
You speak boldly to your queen. But be that as it may, finish the task set before thee.
Boris stares at Peryl, then draws his sword, crouched in a killing stance.
A last request, sir knight. Answer me one question.
Ask it...while you can.
Do you believe that the one standing before you is the true queen?
Boris falters.
Was your queen this youthful...was she this evil? Did she display these unnatural powers? Or is this in fact another, wearing her skin as a cloak?
(through gritted teeth)
Your skin will be my cloak, witch.
Boris grips the sword harder.
(suddenly cooing)
The gift of eternal life will be your reward as well, Sir Boris. It was foolish not to offer it before. Captain of my eternal guard.
Boris doesn't move an inch.
Sir Boris, an answer?
Boris still doesn't move.

Give me a yell at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

Tuesday, June 22, 2004

Cat-Women of the Moon

I had a migraine Sunday night that spilled over into Monday, with double/blurred vision, a first. But today dawned bright and clear. The only good thing that comes from migraines is that in the following days I often feel creative sparks, so let's hope that's the case this time as I could use a dose.

I have finished up my first draft of my latest spec script, a modern dress/original prose adaptation of an obscure Shakespeare play that I have been wanting to put together for a while and finally decided to go for it, even though nobody will probably ever want to read it, much less produce it. But you have to do something entirely for yourself once in a while. I haven't done a spec for about a year, which is good in that I have had plenty of people wanting to do projects for them, but not so good in that you should always try to keep something in your back pocket for yourself, so you're not always delivering other people's babies, but having some of your own.

I still shop my last spec, ROOK, a psychological sci-fi/ alternate history story, around now and then, so it's always worthwhile to write them; though, as my brother pointed out, a story that relies heavily on the political career of Aaron Burr might be somewhat limited in audience. The whole plot for ROOK came to me after a migraine last summer, by the way, on a night when it felt like my head was a metal ball shooting off bolts of lightning. Perhaps I will post it next, if I ever get back to finishing posting the last few pages of RING OF THE SORCERESS, which got some pretty good feedback from loyal blog readers, so I should put the ending up over the next few days.

Speaking of scripts, I heard from Mark Polonia today that they are finishing up the shooting on RAZORTEETH this weekend, the killer pirahna script I polished up for them a while back, to be released next summer. It should be a fun, energetic little action/horror outing.

I also learned PETER ROTTENTAIL is selling pretty well, and streets a week from today, for those interested.

I finished reading LONE WOLF AND CUB finally, a milestone comic book series, eight thousand plus pages, probably the most powerful comic books I've ever read, and definitely an influence on my current writing. 24 volumes from Dark Horse Comics, and a complete knockout start to finish.

Give me a yell at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

Friday, June 18, 2004

Attack of the Mushroom People

I just did the Friday Four meme last post, so here's another one I like to visit, the Daily Dirt, right off the top of my head:

1. When nobody's watching, what do you do?

Watch sports on TV.

2. When you're in the lift alone, what do you do?

Wonder if there's a camera on me.

3. You're in a busy supermarket and you feel like farting, what do you do?

Let it out a little at a time so it sounds like the wheel of the cart.

4. You're wearing leather pants out on a date and you accidentally trip and rip your pants, what do you do?

Although I have never worn leather pants, I actually split the seat of a pair of dress pants at my wife's college alumni gathering, then just sidled along the wall the rest of the night.

5. While taking a shower, what's the silliest thing you've done in there?

Plotted movie scenes.

Today's my daughter's sixteenth birthday--wish me luck.

Give me a yell at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

Wednesday, June 16, 2004

They Saved Hitler's Brain

I missed this week's Friday Four meme, so here it is on Wednesday:

1. Favorite card game and why?

Euchre, which is not understood by anyone who is not a Hoosier, and if you are a fellow Hoosier, need not be explained.

2. Favorite video game and why?

I haven't always had a ton of time for video games but I have spent a fair amount of time on Civilization II, Alpha Centauri, and some NCAA basketball game at various junctures in my life.

3. Favorite board game and why?

I spent a lot of nights as a teen playing a little minigame called "Revolt on Antares" but "Axis and Allies" is always solid.

4. Favorite any-other-type-of-game and why?

For me and Vin Diesel, there can be only one: Dungeons and Dragons, from "Keep on the Borderland" forward.

Give me a shout at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

Tuesday, June 15, 2004

I Wake Up Screaming

Yikes, someone found by blog by typing in: picture of backed up toilet. Talk about portents.

I finished some "Book Beat" reviews for Pomp and Circumstantial Evidence, the little magazine that comes out in support of the Magna Cum Murder Mystery Conference, and thought I would post them today, for anyone looking for a summer read.

TRAIN by Pete Dexter
Noirish crime novel from the author of PARIS TROUT features clear-eyed commentary on marriage, race relations, the bonds of family, and the milieu of life in the 50s in L.A. Packard is an adrenaline-junkie cop, Norah is a socialite with a sadistic crime in her recent past, and Train is an African-American caddie at an exclusive golf club who skirts on the edge of danger. Where these three people intersect, through circumstance and coincidence, is at the explosive heart of the novel. Hard-nosed and compelling throughout; though runs out of steam a bit at the end, a worthwhile read.

LIME’S PHOTOGRAPH by Leif Davidsen
Peter Lime is a jaded Danish photographer who snaps a picture he shouldn’t, leading to a shattering life-altering crime that sends Lime on a spiraling path of retribution. Lime moves from Spain to Denmark to Russia, getting involved in tangled political conspiracies at every stop, as he tries to piece together his devastated life. Danish writer Davidsen has a crisp writing style and sure-handed plotting in this nicely-done English translation of his work; hopefully more of his writing will appear here. This complex, mesmerizing thriller evokes favorable comparisons to John le Carre and Len Deighton.

THE CONSPIRACY CLUB by Jonathan Kellerman
Kellerman veers away from his Alex Delaware series with mixed results. A serial killer, a shadowy group of elderly people with an unknown agenda, and the psychiatrist caught between them make up a triangle of murder and revenge. Engrossing throughout, though has plenty of those moments where a normal person would have quit snooping around and called the police. Not the strongest Kellerman entry, but an enjoyable outing.

Give me a yell at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

Monday, June 14, 2004

The Green Slime

Do you believe in portents? I do, and why not? I have had too many perfectly normal-seeming people sit down and tell me about seeing ghosts or getting phone calls from dead relatives to not believe there is more than we understand on this great green earth. Here's a for instance: many years ago my wife was going through a rough time and woke up in the middle of the night in her apartment calling out for her father. A few short hours later he called her from home, saying he thought he heard her outside calling for him in the night. Any rational explanation is welcome.

So I had to go to the library and pick up a book for my wife and a book on the shelf straight across sort of poked out at me, and I saw it was by William Goldman, my screenwriting hero. William Goldman, you may recall, was the august personage that I evoked on the set of the Bigfoot movie Among Us, when the Polonia Brothers were burning my script in the campfire or when I was carrying a heavy tripod over a rickety bridge on a raging river, sort of "What Would William Goldman Do?" moments.

So I opened it up and started thumbing through it, and got so engrossed I checked it out, and read half of it this weekend. It is called What Lie Did I Tell?: More Adventures in the Screen Trade and something on every page jumped out and punched me in the eye, because it was talking about my life, and the lives of every screenwriter everywhere since Fred Ott sneezed. Most tellingly for me was that my screenwriting hero went for about SEVEN YEARS and was considered a leper in Hollywood and couldn't sell a thing, and this was after Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and The Stepford Wives and Marathon Man and Magic and A Bridge Too Far. Then he came back and did The Princess Bride and Misery and the train kept on rolling. And it made me think, damn, what am I worried about?

So does finding sage words of advice from my hero William Goldman mean my luck about to change for the better again? I hope, I hope, I hope.

Give me a yell at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

Thursday, June 10, 2004

Billy the Kid vs. Dracula

A while back I said that I really had no advice for anyone, except to keep your mouth closed when refilling the water softener.

But I guess I do: If you are going to be a team player, make sure your name is penciled into the lineup first.

Let me add one corollary to that. I think I said this here before, but Jon McBride (Wayne in AMONG US) once told me you can't really help other people move their careers forward, because it takes all of your energy and resources to take care of your own. But, if you get propelled forward, you can bring people in your wake; likewise, if someone else gets rocketed forward, they might look around for their friends and pull you along.

So you can't push somebody else's career ahead; but you can pull, or be pulled.

That makes "don't burn bridges" an unspoken addition, I suppose. It really is true that you don't know who you'll see on the way up or the way down. I can tell you firsthand, having been a little ways up and some ways down, from time to time.

I've had a few personal and professional setbacks lately, which may have sent me on this philosophical bender; so that's probably enough for now.

'Til then, holler back at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

Wednesday, June 09, 2004

Godzilla vs. Monster Zero

I've had to be a bit brief these last few days as my daughter had an appendix scare, so it's been in and out of the hospital the last few days. Seems to have abated for now. Who knows when the other shoe might drop, though.

I wanted to post about my Letterman year, 1987, when I put up that picture Monday. I got to thinking about it when I met these teenagers at Scary Camp in Dayton a week or two ago, and found out one was born that very year.

Way back then I worked on several drafts longhand, then typed the whole 135 page beast on an electric typewriter (actually a step up from the manual I used in high school), and I remember staying up almost all night the night before adding stuff, and working all day on the due date, then getting on my bicycle and pedaling over to the department office just minutes before the deadline.

This may seem arcane to young blog readers today, much the same way that a box of old love letters my wife found in her mother's attic last weekend prompted our daughter to wonder why anyone would write actual letters on paper and put stamps on them and use the post office to send them, forgetting that this was done in the cold, barren frontier days before the Internet and ibooks and digital cable and the like.

I was the first person to win a scholarship with a script, and now scripts win regularly, so I'd like to think I blazed the trail, though it would have eventually gotten blazed anyway. Back then the scholarship awards was its own program (not it is part of the annual Telecommunications banquet), and with much pomp and circumstance they showed clips from each entry. When they got to my entry the moderator held up my script and said, "And here's a script entry from John Dalton," and dropped it on the podium with an unceremonious thump, and I slunk down in my chair as all eyes turned on me with some disbelief (or so it appeared to my 20-year-old eyes). So I got to have that moment of abject embarrassment and those stabbing pangs of regret, and hopefully for those after me the feelings were less sharp.

When other winners were announced they got up and gave long speeches thanking their casts, crews, etc., but I got up and thanked the Smith-Corona typewriter company and the makers of White-Out and sat down rather abruptly. I guess I was a little shit even back then.

The really cool part was back then you also got tickets to the Letterman show, and that spring break my wife and brother and a girl he picked up around that time and myself all drove to New York and had many adventures. It is so far lost in time that the guests on David Letterman that night included Isiah Thomas, when he played for the Pistons, and Terrence Trent D'Arby; and Chris Elliot popped out of a hatch in the audience.

My most memorable Letterman moment: seeing a huge line snaking down the hall at NBC and proudly marching to the front and asking where the VIP line was, only to have your stereotypically world-weary New Yorker tell me that it WAS the VIP line.

Letterman Scholarship in the spring, China and Korea that summer, married in the fall; 'twas my favorite year.

Give me a yell at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

Tuesday, June 08, 2004

Horrors of the Black Museum

What do you do when you're disenfranchised from disenfranchised filmmakers, when you're an outcast in outcast cinema, when you're marginalized from marginal media? Do a spec script, something you want to do, and don't worry if anyone will ever buy it, or read it, or care. So that's what I'm doing. More later.

Give me a yell at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

Monday, June 07, 2004

From the Archives 3

(Third from Right) Found in the bottom of a drawer. 17 years and 40 pounds ago, I won the first Letterman Scholarship awarded to a creative script. I next got paid for a creative script 13 years later. A bit of a dry spell. Posted by Hello

Friday, June 04, 2004

Radar Men From The Moon

Here's this week's Friday Four meme:

1. I like the old [blank] much more than the new one.

George Bush

2. I like the new [blank] much more than the old one.

"Justice Society of America" comic book series

3. I don't understand why they'd try to make a new [blank], when the old one was fine.

"Dawn of the Dead" movie

4. Thank god there's a new [blank], the old one was horrible.

Indiana Pacers coach

Give me a yell at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

Thursday, June 03, 2004

The Brain That Wouldn't Die

I appeared on Newslink Indiana last night, talking (very briefly) about AMONG US, the Bigfoot movie I penned for the Polonia Brothers that just came out a few weeks ago (though the package also includes a little PETER ROTTENTAIL). It happens to be up today, and probably only today, on the web at www.newslinkindiana.com. It is under the June 2nd 10:57 p.m. Newsbreak. Slow news day! The site is not particularly intuitive; you have to click the link, then start the stream yourself. High speed ‘net access and the QuickTime plug-in are both handy.

I got an email from Christopher Sharpe about punching up the third act of SEX MACHINE, and continue talking over the finer points of THE PAYBACK MAN with Ivan Rogers. I have a project for the Polonia Brothers coming down the pike, and something I have been percolating on during those long, lonely nights when my wife was gone that I might reveal more of shortly. Lots of irons in the fire. So I'm enjoying it, because one day I'll be sitting around with nothing to do but read a stack of comics. It's a real roller coaster.

Until then, holla back at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

Wednesday, June 02, 2004

Godzilla vs. the Smog Monster

I spent a lot of time looking over the AMONG US DVD last night, and I think they did a nice job with the authoring. The menu is done in a web page motif that plays into the whole Bigfoot conspiracy plot, and is really pretty neat-looking. It's chock full of extras, including a music video, a behind the scenes doc, a photo gallery (with quite a few I took out there featured), and an out-the-ass commentary by your own beloved blogger.

I sat down and watched it with my teenaged daughter for the first time. There's a scene where Hunter Austin tells Bob Dennis "You made me a laughing stock in my own hometown!" to which my daughter drily replied, "I know how she feels." So the first reviews are in.

Speaking of which, I got a call from Jon McBride last night that he and Mark Polonia were concerned that I would not be ready for the negative reviews. I think I am--but you, loyal readers, will be the first to know.

Give me a yell at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

Tuesday, June 01, 2004

Lethal Track

I've been nosing around the 'net for news about Scary Camp in Dayton, a Horror/Sci Fi Con that I attended on Saturday, and noticed that only one person mentioned meeting me, and nobody took my picture. I guess I still haven't arrived on "the scene." Like a wise man once said, it's hard to be Gladys Knight when everybody else thinks you're The Pips.

In blog news, somebody found my site by typing in: "ravens poems greedy lawyers tales." Also, much love to my pals at b-independent.com who have been hitting my site like crazy the last few days.

My wife called and told me that my AMONG US DVDs arrived today. I'll report more on that tomorrow after I check them out tonight. She got back from Minnesota yesterday after fifteen days at a writer's colony; the second longest we've been apart in seventeen years of marriage. There is an upside to being apart, though: lots of anime and Homestyle Bakes.

Give me a yell at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.