HD #2

Jon Solita tapes Wally Fong for a demo at the HD workshop during Microcinema Fest 2006.

Skillet Warz #1

Brian McQuery and Jason Santo talk in the ultra-hip lobby of the Hotel Indigo, a slight step up from the methadone clinic ambience of last year's hotel spot. Little did these two titans know they would later face off against the legendary Meat Skillet at Billy's Pancake House, and both emerge victorious.

The Sun Never Sets on Palatine

Back from Microcinema Fest 2006 and ready to go sleepy-bye. Full news and reviews later on. 'til then, you can catch a picture of me and SEX MACHINE D.P. Shogo's girlfriend post-screening at Christopher Sharpe's site, here.

More later; but you can catch me at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

On The Road Again

I'll be at Microcinema Fest the rest of the week to eyeball the screening of SEX MACHINE firsthand, closing out the Fest Saturday night. If you are in the Windy City, give me a holler.

You can get pretty good, but not entirely sober, updates on this year's Fest from my pal Wally Fong here.

You can get a recap of what I thought of last year's fest here.

More later; until then, catch me at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

The Net, A Net

Some wise, wonderful scribes at The Horror Blog think the Polonia Brothers should be selected for the next "Masters of Horror" series, here. Link snitched from the PoBros Fan Club site, natch.

You know what the number one question that I get asked on this blog is? "What are the Polonia Brothers like?" When I was in Wellsboro a week ago, sitting on John Polonia's porch across the street from the graveyard on a dark night (not making this part up) I told John and Mark this, and they fell into a surprised silence. I felt like saying, "It's called the Internet, guys, get on it once in a while," but they just don't think that way. All they think about is how much they love movies.

So when I was in Salem, Massachusetts I got plenty spooked. But I got some good ideas for stories, including one I wanted to call Witch Finder General. But John P. casually told me that no, that had been used when the Vincent Price flick "The Conqueror Worm" was retitled. And sure enough, when I got home I checked it on IMDB and he was spot-on. He knows movies, as the massive wall of VHS and DVD horror movies in his house will attest, a fanboy dream and a Blockbuster rep's nightmare.

One time Mark P. told me that when he first saw his wife, he knew he would marry her; and when he first saw a movie, he knew he would make them. How many of us can say our own lives have followed such sure-footed paths?

Give me a shout at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

I Am My Own Evil Twin

The scariest thing that happened to me in Salem was not seeing the glowing orbs a wide-eyed young woman photographed with her digital camera at one of the many haunted houses, though that was scary and I don't like to dwell on it much, but it was finding a certain book in the little shelf of tradeable books found at our inn, just like at many inns and B&Bs all across this great land.

This book was Heaven Lake by John Dalton, and once again I was reminded that I was his shadow, his Frankenstein's Monster, the Bizarro John Dalton.

Longtime readers recall that I once spent a wedding anniversary in a cabin in the woods that ended with me running through the trees to an inn to call an ambulance for my wife in the middle of the night; that the young doctor on call at that rural hospital later revealed that it was the first life or death surgery that he ever had; that in a daze I opened "Story" magazine and saw my own name looking up at me, in a strange disconnect. And the other John Dalton has haunted me since.

The other John Dalton watches the dappled sunset in North Carolina with the other members of the state's emerging literary scene, the other John Dalton got fine writing degrees from the ivied halls of higher learning and publishes in all the best literary magazines. Somewhere I fear he has a painting of me, his own Dorian Gray that shows Hellshock in the place of Heaven Lake, that shows a blistered midwestern cornfield in place of the soft rolling hills of the South, that shows critics howling for his death on b-movie message boards instead of gentle literary criticism in the finer magazines.

I fear to read it, but find I must; I will report back later, gentle reader.

Give me a shout at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

Linky New England

Stayed here.

Also stayed here. And here.

Good meatloaf here.

This place had good eats too.

Scared me, no joke.

Bowed down to this.

Cool show.

Bought some great zines here.

More later!

Give me a shout at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

The Witches' Hammer

History weighs heavily on Salem, Massachusetts. It is a genuinely creepy place, even outside of the touristy witch trial stuff; it's a town where the police tell somebody to board up the windows of their haunted house because there are too many wrecks outside on the street, where the wall of a restaraunt caves in and coffins come through from an old graveyard, where they dig the foundation for a new apartment building and unearth a bunch of unmarked graves and the mayor tells them to put them all back, thank you, we're haunted enough. It's a place where our Inn showcases a letter from a paranormal TV show discussing their findings, where the door to our room creaks open on its own and our 18-year-old daughter has to sleep at the foot of the bed. It's a place that, when I describe it to the Polonia Brothers later--two b-movie horror-meisters whose movies feature guys pooping out knives and whipping Jon McBride with hooked chains--they both decide they don't need to visit there in case something follows them back. A shame, as these guys could make two or three movies out of just driving up and down the narrow cobbled streets and shooting out the car window.

My wife was only scared after eating some dicey potato salad at a local deli. But my imagination was fueled like no other.

More later; until then, give me a shout at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.

Witch Finder General

I have returned from my New England vacation. One of the influential writers of my teen years, Mickey Spillane, died while I was gone. I, THE JURY; VENGEANCE IS MINE; KISS ME DEADLY; THE BIG KILL all great books that I found and devoured once upon a time. Google him if you don't know about him.

I have had adventures great and small; I brushed against my heroic twin, saw orbs in Salem, ate liver and onions with the Polonia Brothers in Wellsboro, ate mussels with my pal Jason Santo in Ipswich, went whale watching, visited graveyards.

Obviously, I'm tired. More later.

The Captain of Her Heart

My pal Amit Tripuraneni is working like a fiend on his movies and when he has down time climbs rocks and cooks gourmet food. Me, I've been catching up on watching Entourage from Netflix and drinking Encore Cola from Meijer. But since I really liked his movie Memories of Tomorrow I thought I would take a page from his lesson book and try some clean living. So Saturday I ran-ish, and by that I mean walked, in a charity 5K at Indiana University East. I finished 159th out of 165 people, right behind an obese, elderly man who seemed on the verge of death. I actually felt rather chipper after, and ate a portabello mushroom sandwich at a cool little restaraunt I like.

So where is Adrian Greiner's hip screenwriter friend on Entourage? In fact, where are any screenwriters on Entourage? And there you go.

Saw this, wish I'd written it myself.

I'd like to go see this.

What the---

Heroic Poses

Me and the Muse, Cranbrook, Bloomfield Hills, Michigan. http://www.cranbrook.edu/.

Zeus Has The Blues

A cryin' Zeus statue, that starts bawling when you step on a stone at its base. Huh, rich people. Cranbrook, Bloomfield Hills, Michigan.

Skulls

Two big heads, one thicker, at Cranbrook, Bloomfield Hills, Michigan. http://www.cranbrook.edu/.

ROOWF!

Captain Incredible, a passive/aggressive vigilante who relies rather heavily on his robot dog to do the ass-whipping, takes on a green-clad speedster in this one-page adventure from the late 70s.

Math-Challenged

Calculus Man? Even I don't know what I was thinking. From 1977-78.

Giraffe Man versus the Monster from Below

As a tribute to my pal Tom, here is an early adventure of Giraffe Man from around 1977-78.

Save Jimmy Carter!

Not only was I producing a line of superhero comics, but I also dabbled in James Bondian adventure with "Agent 3." In this pulse-punding adventure from 1978, Agent 3 tries to rescue my hero, President Jimmy Carter, from an assortment of bad guys.

Luna-Raker

In this subtle homage to "Moonraker," Agent 3 battles a terrorist organization hiding out on a nicely-appointed moonbase.

Dim Star

Perhaps more an homage to "Dark Star."

Kuwait, 1980

In 1980, I foreshadowed coming problems in the Middle East, with Agent 3 taking on some oil-hungry madmen in fetching red berets.

The Return of Plastic Sam

My wife dug out a box of my old comics from the 70s, highlights of which are now presented for your viewing pleasure. From 1978: In my team book "Dial 289-HERO" we find the first mission of the team, assembled by cleverly-titled hero "Plastic Sam," fighting both the villain Bolt and his monster as well as the sinister Garbage Man.

Seven Soldiers

Here we see the debut line-up: Plastic Sam, Carrot Man, Beartrap, Sunman, Melvin the Magnificent, and Hawk. It does add up to the team-desirable seven team members if you count Beartrap's coonskin cap, which had a life of its own.

New Threads

A somewhat melancholy Plastic Sam keeps quitting the team, leaving first Beartrap and later Hawk in charge. Melvin also discards his star-spangled costume for a more reserved lime-green-and-white ensemble, and we see the Heroes' ship.

The End of the Cooties Era

In 1979, the gender barrier was broken in "Dial 289-HERO" at about the same time, ironically, that the book's creator began to notice girls in earnest as well. Eyebeam's introduction to the team comes through a misunderstanding, naturally.

From the Leaves

Longtime reader DG writes:

John, God bless your blog. It is some really funny shit. I have it as an RSS feed (brilliant invention for blogs) so I always see your new posts. Without the RSS I don't think I'd catch it anywhere near as often.-DG.

The bad thing is, usually I'm trying to be serious!

The people at Scar Magazine scare the living shit out of me, but they liked SEX MACHINE. Check out their site here. NSFW, natch.

Give me a shout at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.