Friday, March 31, 2006

Spring Forward, I Guess...

In day job news, we spent seemingly half the day trying to change everything for the impending change to DST here in Indiana. Almost nobody seems to know anything about how this is supposed to happen. It was worse than prepping for freaking Y2K. The rest of the world wonders why Indiana doesn't have DST, but we Hoosiers wonder why everybody else bothers. I guess at 2 a.m. Sunday we'll figure out why. Have you ever noticed on your Windows preferences Indiana has its own dropdown choice? Now, no more. At least we still have John Cougar Mellencamp, David Letterman, and Garfield that we can call our own.

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Monday, March 27, 2006

Word Cloud

This is a "Word Cloud" that distills the essence of your blog into a block of text. My soul laid bare.

Thursday, March 23, 2006

The Da Vinci Curse... what "Black Mass" has been renamed for release by Cine Excel. You can see the trailer here, which features some dancing girls I didn't see on the set in Pennsylvania, lots of shooting and explosions, Jon McBride getting shocked with some CGI, and (for all of the reviewers who have dreamed of this sight) a shot of me getting machine-gunned in the face.

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Tuesday, March 21, 2006

The MySpace Chronicles

Loyal readers know of me discovering my teenaged daughter on MySpace and secretly reading her blog there. One nice side benefit is I can read all of her friend's blogs too. It's like looking under your kid's bed and finding their diary, and the diaries of all of their friends. Young readers, let me tell you, there's not a parent on Earth who sees anything wrong with this. Let this be a warning. Once I was young and shaggy-haired and wearing my "The Who Maximum R&B" t-shirt with pride, thinking I would never be buzz-haired and wearing a tie; but guess, what, here I am, and one day you will be too.

At any rate, I was outed the other day when I got an email on MySpace from my own daughter, and the heading said, and I am not making this up: "UMMMM OMG." I had found her, thinking she would never find me. I have what I consider a professional MySpace page that basically just has a link back to here. I didn't think of it in the same category as a teenager's MySpace account, but there you go. We had a nice Afterschool Special talk about the dangers of giving out too much info on the 'net and then all was right with the world. She even asked me to be her "friend."

But naturally I had to say no, as I can't have people who like movies like "Peter Rottentail" and "Sex Machine" and "Black Mass" around my teenaged daughter. These worlds must forever be apart. Even in my own house, when my daughter saw me wearing my mint-new "Sex Machine" t-shirt courtesty of Christopher Sharpe and said "Ohmigod, that is soooo wrong."

But a bad byproduct of all of this family openness is that my status as Porn King is revived anew at my daughter's high school (though perhaps has never truly died out, as the Black Mass/Black Ass controversy recently showed). I got a sudden influx of friends requests from my daughter's teenaged guy friends, which surprised me until I looked a little closer at my own Friends list and saw a few b-movie people with handles like French Kitty and SuperHeidi and AssMonkey that probably sparked the imaginations of a few tender teenaged minds. Again I had to say no; it's just a good rule of thumb that adult men should not be friends with teenaged boys over the Internet. Even if they know people who call themselves Assmonkey.

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Sunday, March 19, 2006

Canadian Bigfoot News

Today I got a call from my pal Jon McBride, excited about AMONG US debuting on the Space Channel, Canada's version of the Sci-Fi Channel, this afternoon. We're both eager to see how it plays, as I'm sure Bigfoot sightings are as common as hockey fights up there. Jon supposed that by Monday morning we would either have a new legion of Canadian Polonia Brothers fans, or Canada would be declaring war on the U.S. Any Canadian readers of this humble blog know for certain? Give me a yell at

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

From the AP Wire...

The reviews are starting to come in for Christopher Sharpe's Sex Machine:

MY TEENAGED DAUGHTER: "I don't think Mom would want me watching this."

MY WIFE: "How come all of your movies have shower scenes in them?"

More reviews coming!

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Saturday, March 11, 2006

The Killers and The Spoilers

In the new town where I work I have finally found some good BBQ, a place to get liver and onions, and got my library card. All is restored to the world.

I love listening to old time radio on my long commutes every day and just found a fresh trove of old "Gunsmoke" radio shows. I forgot how hardcore it was. The one I listened to yesterday had Marshall Matt Dillon getting trapped in a remote cabin during a blizzard with a couple of hardcases holding a woman hostage. After they beat her up, Dillon tricks one into shotgunning the other, then pitchforks the remaining man. After he and the woman huddle by the fire, and a convenient music bridge, a more expansive Matt Dillon is asked by the woman if he is married. Of course, he is married to his job. So the woman decides to move to town and buy some pretty dresses and get set up in a saloon. "It won't be any worse than what I been through," says she.

I don't care if this was recorded fifty years ago. Matt Dillon still rules!

Friday, March 10, 2006

Shot in the Heart

I wrote SEX MACHINE director Christopher Sharpe an email about my thoughts on his new movie (none of which I will include here as they are awash with spoilers) and got a nice email back from D.P. Shogo, who offhandedly revealed that he never read the script. Well, that's the glamorous life of a screenwriter for ya; somewhere between the craft services guy and the fluffer. So it goes.

Check out Christopher Sharpe's site for cooler updates about the movie.

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Wednesday, March 08, 2006

The Sun Shines Brighter

Loyal reader Dave wants to know, via email:
So please, if you could hook a brother do I get a
copy of "Sex Machine"?

For one thing, you're starting at the bottom. Asking a screenwriter for a hookup is like trying to sleep your way to stardom by starting with the carpark attendant at MGM studios.

Second, I just got my copy today, and I'm hanging onto it for dear life!

My first, one word impression: Awesome.

My second, two word impression: Effin awesome!

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Sunday, March 05, 2006

Helen Wheels

Last week my wife and I watched a Paul McCartney special on PBS, and I haven't stopped thinking about it because it was both beautiful and horrible. He came strolling into a pretty junky-looking Abbey Road studio and started fooling around with a bunch of old four-track stuff and old instruments. It reminded me of a peppier version of Johnny Cash's "American Recordings." It was haunting and striking and not what I thought Paul McCartney would be doing right now. But it kind of shocked me into thinking that a lot of time has past. I think my sane childhood sort of died the day John Lennon died, my freshman year of high school, and that show reminded me of that.

Today my wife left to visit a sick friend and I did a lot of the bad things that I do when my wife is gone, like watch "Hellraiser" marathons on Sci-Fi and eat big bowls of ice cream and drowse on the sofa. When I was drowsing I had the most vivid memory of being a teenager driving home from my first rock concert. My best friend and I were dating two best friends and everything seemed fine. Later he would work for a major conservative political figure and his girlfriend would become a professional dominatrix. I'm not exactly sure what my old high school girlfriend is doing but it's probably not as funny a story as the other two. We were driving home from Adam Ant in Indianapolis and my girlfriend and I were dozing shoulder to shoulder in the back seat, while my best friend and his girlfriend murmured in the front seat, hoping it wouldn't rain as the windshield wipers were broke in my pal's old VW bug. They were talking about stuff that was important to us then, like was the song "Iran so far away" or "I ran so far away" and was Klaatu really the Beatles. It was a warm night, and the road seemed to stretch on forever.

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