Letters to Charlie

Phlegmy Update:

2012-02-02T11:53:00.002-06:00

So they kicked me outta work today.

See, like 80% of our office is out sick. Even though most of us got the flu shot, we all have variations of the same thing -- the flu. Ugh.

Mine started day before yesterday. After lunch, I started coughing. I chalked it up to what I'd eaten for lunch, even though people were already sick and had been for a good week. Then, yesterday, I did the chills/sweats thing, though I was mostly freezing. I felt so awful with the coughing and the shaking and the aching that I asked to leave a little early -- 4:30 instead of 5:00, but you know it's bad when you can't go another half-hour -- with promises that I'd be in early the next morning to cover the time.

When I got home, I immediately took my temperature and guess what? Yup. 103. That's not good.

Since I was freezing, I ran a super-hot bath and relaxed, trying to warm up a little. It made me dizzy, but it felt soooo good. Then I crashed on my bed (still don't have a recliner) in hopes of reading or something, but that was no good. It was too hard to even hold my head up. I was exhausted.

I never really did pass out, but I was in bed for real by 8:00, though I woke up every two hours or so to either shivering, sweating, or horrible barking coughs. Still, I did feel better this morning, and my temp was only 100.1. I even got up a little early so I could hit Wal-Mart for some chicken noodle and orange juice. I even picked up some of that Mucinex cough syrup, and while it tastes AWFUL, it did tame down the cough a bit.

However, folks at work took one look at me and said NO. I was pale and clammy instead of red-faced feverish, but they could tell. So yeah, they sent me home.

Since my doctor has kinda disappeared (no one seems to know what happened, but he closed his practice with the local hospital), I went to Urgent Care. It didn't escape me that a fever spike of 103 wasn't exactly healthy. When I listed off my symptoms, the doctor immediately put on a face mask and ordered up a flu swab. It's supposed to be a 15-minute test, but he said later that a minute and a half later, it already showed Flu A.

Greeeeaaaaaat.

So I had to go back to Wal-Mart for some prescriptions, and he banned me from work today and tomorrow. I'll go in Saturday to make up time and finish up my billing for this cycle, but I HATE being off. I don't have time to be sick, darn it!

At any rate, doctor's orders are to rest and hydrate, so I guess that's what I'mma do. *sigh* I certainly don't want to have accidentally given to anyone who wasn't already sick, but who knows? Like I said, so many people were already out with it.

Stupid flu. It oughtta know when it's not wanted.

Dear Charlie:

2012-01-02T16:50:00.005-06:00

Well, it's 2012. Does it feel any different? Not sure yet.

So I finally broke down and watched the new Pirates of the Caribbean movie, On Stranger Tides. Mind you, I wasn't actually ignoring it and had no real reason for having not seen it yet. I just hadn't gotten around to it and didn't realize it was out to rent yet. Heh.

Of course, I watched all three of the others back to back before popping it in. Any excuse, eh? Anyone who's visited my sidebar knows how I love this series. I don't know why people have any quibbles with these three movies. They're wonderfully entertaining, emotionally engaging, and far cooler than their ride could ever be. I honestly feel my heart soar at the end of At World's End (that's a mouthful!) when they hoist the colors to start an unwinnable war. If that isn't the point of a movie, I dunno what is.

But I admit I had my reservations about the new one. It wasn't Gore Verbinski, and he's definitely what brought so much life and vigor and flesh-melting good fun to the franchise. And truly stunning vision, like when the Singaporean boat is sailing through the sea of stars. That, coupled with the mournful tinkling of Calypso's music box necklace, is perhaps my favorite image of the whole lot.

But it's still Johnny Depp. It's still Captain Jack. So I leapt in.

Honestly, it's not bad. It's entertaining, and Cap'n Jack is his rum-soaked, mind-bogglingly cunning self. It's still Barbossa -- though a more embittered one, which is a strangely good twist -- and the addition of Ian McShane is a definite boost. He's wonderfully amoral as the heartless, heedless Blackbeard. The adventure is fun, and I like the little side-story of the mermaid and the priest. I also like that the king is quite bonkers. Historical accuracy, much? Ha!

But....

Yeah, there's a but. It just seems like something's missing. As much as I was glad to see Will and Elizabeth's story end as happily as it could, I have to admit to missing their liveliness this time around. No offense to Penelope Cruz, but I just didn't care about her character. I think they were trying too hard to be as fun as the earlier folks. So she was a corrupted nun who finds out she's Blackbeard's long-lost daughter. So? I just never felt sorry for her, and I never could figure out what about her was so sterling as to win Jack's affections.

Think about it: Jack, an admittingly self-serving pirate with only the most tentative hold on anything resembling loyalty or admirable character, goes against his better judgment countless times to help Will and Elizabeth. Why? Because, despite all odds, they became his friends. Elizabeth because she's a firebrand who insists on a certain measure of honor and decency even while being willfully determined to do whatever she must to save the people she cares for. Will because he's so disustingly honorable that Jack can't help but take him under his wing to show him how to manipulate the world around them to their better ends.

But... Angelica? Meh.

Consider it: why would Jack Sparrow, a womanizer of perhaps legendary status, give up his own immortality for an innocent he seduced and left years before? Unless it's just because the writers say so?

Will and Elizabeth earned his aid and grudging affections by sticking to their honor even when it hampered their own survival. Angelica turned into a sorry imitation of a pirate who turned into a sorry imitation of a doting daughter who wasn't even an imitation there. Why should he care? She's shown no sturdiness or fieriness of character to earn more than a passing glance from a man who's already tasted the goods and walked away.

It seems like Jack's lingering feelings for her are just sort of penciled in to make him part of the plot, which wasn't necessary considering he was already on the way to the Fountain of Youth, anyway.

Maybe if she had been lying about being Blackbeard's daughter, she might have been interesting enough to keep his eye, but it turns out, she's just ho-hum. Just... written in to have a woman involved. Love Elizabeth or hate Elizabeth, she's infinitely more relatable than Angelica.

Hopefully, they'll take the continuing sequels a different direction in an attempt to find the elusive something that made the first three so effective. They've set Cap'n Jack's standards so high that they can't just say he'd give up everything for someone without proving why. Sparrow doesn't go against his own impulses for no good reason. Maybe winning his loyalty is what made the original interactions so engaging.

Maybe they should stick with that.

Holiday Sidebar:

2011-12-25T14:50:00.003-06:00

In honor of Christmas (yes, currently watching 28 Weeks Later), enjoy some more zombie Christmas lyrics!

The rest can be found in pieces in the sidebar or in toto here. Woo-hoo!

Up on the Zombie

Up on the housetop, snipers pause
It's a zombie Santa Claus
Dragging a bag that's leaking toys
Ignored by undead girls and boys

Ew-ew-ew! What the hell?
Ew-ew-ew! Don't he smell?
Up on the housetop, snipers fire
Santa's head goes like a tire

First, should we go out to recon?
Oh, survivors, are they gone?
All those toys just out of reach
Maybe there's one for us each

Ew-ew-ew! What the hell?
Ew-ew-ew! What's that smell?
Up on the housetop, snipers wait
See if we will take the bait

Next we have to form a plan
Who will go out? Who's our man?
No one wants to, too much fear
Screw those presents! Where's the beer?

Ew-ew-ew! What the hell?
Ew-ew-ew! Zombies smell!
Up on the housetop, snipers cheer
They shot Santa in the ear

Dear Charlie:

2011-12-11T08:14:00.005-06:00

Yeesh! This year's flyin!

I glanced up and realized it had been almost a month since I blogged. I'm the WORST at this keeping up thing. Admittedly, I've been hella busy lately, but that's no excuse. I mostly just haven't had much to say. Plus, with my inability to watch my Chiefs (thank you for NOT WORKING, Channel 7, and thanks for this mandatory digital TV crap that means you can't even watch a snowy static channel for glimpses of the action) has severely handicapped my desire to blurt game commentary. I do believe I've been stewing silently about it.

However, since I'm up unfortunately early on a bright, shiny Sunday morning to do some good works with a Joplin-restoring event dressed as my DickensFest character, and since the last night of DickensFest is right after that, I figured this was as good a time as any to check in. I shouldn't have any community theater-type projects until February-ish, so I feel a bit of a breather coming up, and I'm looking forward to it. I've been non-stop since, oh, August? September? I honestly can't remember, but it's been months. It'll be nice to have nothing but writing and sewing to do most evenings, though hopefully I'll be bored in time for all of this to start up again. Ha!

I even managed to fit a bit of My Gigolo publicity into the mix by doing a blog interview, but I'm not sure when it'll be up. I'll be sure to supply linkage when it's available.

But now, my darlings, I must don my gay apparel and do a bit of fa-la-laaing. Come out tonight and see our last night of DickensFest! We've truly topped ourselves this year, and we love to see all the new faces.

Dear Charlie:

2011-11-16T21:45:00.002-06:00

If you've read any of the movie reviews over there in the sidebar, you realize that I tend to give odd flicks a chance. Indie horror flicks, especially. Most times, that doesn't work out too well.

But once in a while, something really pops. Something that strikes my odd brand of fancy. Something that makes all the dreck worthwhile.

I've found like three of those recently. Four, even. I'm gonna talk about two here.

I tried to post some of this a couple of days ago, but the website wouldn't load and, for the first time in years, I lost the whole post. Suuuuuck, but I'll be copying and pasting before posting this time. Heh, fool me once, and all that.

I do want to at least mention the others I've enjoyed recently. Some are After Dark HorrorFest flicks, one is a Tribeca Films special, and another is from a first-time director. One of the ADHF ones was The Task, which I enjoyed probably because it spits on the concept of reality television. Seriously, give this one a watch. It's loads of fun. The other was Seconds Apart, which features Orlando Jones in a... *gasp*... serious role. I think I like it because he nailed it. Good times.

But the ones I really want to talk about are Grave Encounters and The Presence.

I almost passed on both of them.

Grave Encounters almost lost me because it's one of those "found footage" flicks, and I'm really, really tired of those. It got around that by having the main cameraman be an actual professional cameraman, so I let it slide. And I'm glad I did.

This takes the premise of those "ghost hunter" shows, but takes it to the worst possible scenario. What would happen if one of those teams went into a legitimately haunted place and actually caught blatant visual and audio proof of the supernatural? And what would happen if they couldn't get back out again?

It starts off like most of those shows -- setting the creepy scene and filming the creepy locale, but unable to show any real activity. It's all so subjective. They can get anyone to say anything, but most of the time, there's just nothing but "atmosphere". They even pay a groundskeeper (in a priceless scene) to make up a story about seeing a ghost and hire an actor to pretend to be a psychic, only to be hilariously impressed when he bullshits a story that happens to link up with what the caretaker had already told them. It's actually kinda fun at this point.

And then... stuff starts happening. Slowly, but building to a crescendo.

Better still? They didn't screw up the ending. In fact, I don't think they could have satisfactorily ended it any other way. It wasn't one of those pat "well, let's wrap this crap up and say... I dunno... they've actually been in Hell this whole time" or whatever. Call me a happy camper.

I dunno the Savage Brothers (other than that they have retarded haircuts), but they go on my list of people whose films I won't run screaming from in future. This time.

And then, in a complete one-eighty, I bring you The Presence.

This one almost lost me because the back blurb described it as a "dark romance". In my experience, those inevitably end sooooo cheesy. But... it's Mira Sorvino, and I've always liked her. So, I gave it a go.

This is a weird movie. I won't kid you on that. If you get bored easily, you won't make it past the beginning credits. I'm not sure how far into the film it was before a single line was spoken, but it was a damn long time. It takes balls for a director to risk that. Balls and confidence in the only two actors that have shown up thus far.

None of the characters have names. It sounds weird, but it works. It becomes clear that the man in the cabin isn't really there. When the woman shows up and completely ignores him, it's clear that he's not a corporeal being. But that's why there are no lines for so long -- he can't speak, and she doesn't know she's not alone.

And then she starts to get that feeling... and as it really sets in, her boyfriend arrives. Ratchet up the tension a notch. Here is where you start getting a feel for the characters. There are plenty of reasons she came to this place, and most of them have to do with being alone. I can dig that, though a lot of people wouldn't understand. But she's not as cold as she starts to act, and even the ghost guy is perplexed about why she's acting so strangely.

Until he sees someone else whispering into her ear. Whispering poison, whispering lies, whispering bittersweet reason and bullshit rationale that she can't help but listen to and react to.

But forget all of that. It's a fascinating story, though it may not sound that way as I've described it, but that's not why I think I've fallen in love with this flick. I fell for it because of the ending.

I cannot stress enough how important an ending is. For me, it'll make or break a flick. A bad ending will piss me off to the end of time. A good ending can salvage even a so-so movie and leave me with good feelings.

This ending is... ballsy. The whole flick is ballsy, but taking this particular track in Hollywood? BALLSY. It left me with such a good feeling after everything that had happened. This wasn't a darkly romantic tale (although I can see why they called it that because it defies any other pat explanation). This was... this was what horror movies have forgotten. What all the Saw flicks in the world can never understand or hope to duplicate.

It didn't need blood. Didn't need torture chambers. Didn't need ridiculously Goldberg device entrapments. This flick actually connected me to the characters so strongly that I felt more for their struggle and emotional pain than I could ever feel for any of those torture porn flicks I refuse to watch.

And this was the directoral debut. Seriously. Someone came in with a set of cajones the size of watermelons to get this one in the can and on the screen, and I'm glad for it.

I've been pretty disappointed in movies lately, but these four have really made the others worth the while. I'd watch a lot of Hobo with a Shotgun flicks to see one flick as good as any of these.

Good times.

Awesome-sauce Update:

2011-10-31T23:24:00.003-05:00

Gut-wrenching pull-out win in overtime by my Chiefs. Whew! Talk about a knuckle-biter!

Worse, since I don't have cable, I haunted NFL.com and Twitter for play updates. Hell, I was tempted to turn on the radio and try to find someone announcing live. Wah! This not-being-able-to-get-the-games thing is KILLING ME.

Stupid Channel 7. Stupid MNF going to cable TV. Gah!

...

CHIEFS WIN! WOOT! Four in a row, baby!

Dear Charlie:

2011-10-27T17:40:00.003-05:00

Holy crap! I blinked and October was over!

This is our last weekend of ghost tours, so hopefully things will slow back down a bit after this. I'm hoping for a weenie roast in the boonies before it really gets cold and, though we're doing Third Thursday in November, I'm also hoping we don't jump immediately into DickensFest. I need a breather!

I also need some time to just sit and sew. I have great ideas, but they don't do me much good in my head. Heheh. Gotta get out the ol' needle and thread, maybe Saturday during the day and definitely all day Sunday (maybe while watching the Chiefs game? please let me get Channel 7!) to see how far I can get. That way, I'll have a better gauge of how long it'll take me to do what I have in mind.

It's not like this stuff has to hold up to daily wear forever. But it does need to be durable enough for multiple promo opportunities, a few dress rehearsals, and definitely the actual DickensFest dates. Plus, I gotta be careful of my shoes when we do the Christmas parade again.

Last year, I had blood blisters completely covering the balls of my feet for WEEKS. Not doing that again. Nothing with a heel, dammit! I can surely do period-piece shoes without sacrificing my poor feet.

Oh! And I gotta pick up some thermals, but not until much closer to showtime.

...Since when is my blog a to-do list??

Yeah. Hope it calms down soon. *snickersnort*

Dear Charlie:

2011-10-18T23:18:00.006-05:00

I sometimes have the wackiest shenanigans. Though we're hip-deep in our walking tours this month, I just got all totted up in my Victorian Christmas clothes and participated in a photo shoot for DickensFest. Ha!

Apparently, we're getting some magazine play this time around, so they wanted their material a little earlier than usual. Or than we expected. Yowza.

As for the walking tours, they are going like gangbusters. We've had amazing crowds, and I think people are truly enjoying our little tricks. The first tour of the night is always entertaining and chock-full of fascinating facts, but during the second tour, you get that awesomeness PLUS a little creeping on the side. And oh, how we love to creep. *snerk*

We're also doing Third Thursday against this month, though a short, singing-less version because we're actually doing tours that night. Mostly, we'll be drifting wickedly through the crowds in full costume and make-up, creeping people right the heck out and passing out fliers.

Good times.

And yes, we are -- by necessity -- already thinking forward toward DickensFest. We already planned to do November's Third Thursday, but we'll for sure be doing promotion now. DickensFest last year was a great success, and I can only imagine this year's being bigger still.

So, I'm making a new costume. Yes, I still have the one from last year (sorry, Julia! I know I promised your skirt back, but things got so hectic!), but I have something else in mind. Something both more Christmassy -- just green, folks; don't get all excited; this humbug is still a humbug -- and more period. Good times.

Just gotta ger 'er done.

While doing all that other stuff. Heheh. Who needs spare time?

Oh, that's right. I do. At least, I do if I ever want to finish another book. Yeah, writing's been pretty slim pickins lately. The desire is there, even the words are there, but the time is not. Doesn't look to slow down any time soon, either, but I'm gonna make a more concerted effort to simply make time.

If my beloved sister -- wife, mother of three, full-time worker who is pretty much always on call, cook extraordinaire, housekeeper extraordinaire, etc. -- can make time to write every day, I truly have no excuse. Whew.

Oh, and this odd combining of Halloween and Christmas gives me another chance to spread my beloved Undead Christmas lyrics. Go forth and laugh your blarney stones off, folks.

Musing Update:

2011-10-10T17:35:00.003-05:00

My beloved sister mused recently on the pluses and minuses of living in the country and the possibility of relocating her family back in our hometown. I know I've muttered about it here now and again, usually when I've just spent some time down there in the boonies.

I can't help it. It's back again.

There are a million reasons it wouldn't be feasible for me to move back to the hometown. A MILLION. There aren't many professional, well-paying jobs in that neck of the wood for a single female. I have a great job now that I love and that pays well, and that would be hard to give up. High speed internet is few-and-far-between and expensive as all hell, and I very much hate the idea of giving that up. Yeah, I know.

I'm a lot more involved with community theater than I ever thought I would be and find, to my surprise, that I love it, and there's no community theater in such a small area as my hometown. I still have great friends here that I would miss terribly, that are as close as family, while I've gotten used to being away from those friends back in my hometown (which sounds kinda bad when it's written out like that, heh). I love bumping into them on the Fourth of July and such, but hey.

Etc. etc. etc.

On the other hand, one of the heaviest reasons for staying was my house, and that's almost a year gone now. While I'm happy enough in my apartment and extremely grateful to have it, I'm not particularly attached to it. My friends and my job, yes. My place of residence? Not so much.

Hometown football games. I really miss those. I loved rooting for my boys. I was my team's most devoted fan in high school and would love to be so again.

The great outdoors. Just being out in the boonies where it's more unusual to see a car than not, where people wave at each other when they pass on the road, where everything is six-degrees-of-Kevin-Bacon (you might not know someone, but you know someone related to them or who married into the family). Where you go to Gordon's Orchard to get your Halloween pumpkins and your winter apples. Where there are really only two grocery stores, and one's sort of a gas station, too.

Parades where you actually know the people and businesses represented. The rodeo. Riding horses at Dad's. Bumping into your old English teacher at one of those two grocery stores. Jump Stop pizza (and not much else, heh).

Oh, so many reasons to go home. Oh, so many reasons to stay home.

So yeah, I'm feeling torn. In my more logical moments (about 90% of the time), I reason with myself that I will always retire to my hometown. That would be a much better time for me to move back and truly enjoy the delights of the country. I wouldn't have to make a living, just enjoy it. I have too much to do here where I've made myself a little nook that I fit into quite nicely to leave just yet.

But oh, when I look around as I'm driving and see those oh-so-familiar fields of my youth. When I amble around the square before the annual fireworks display and feel so at home. When I lean against the corral fence at Dad's and reach up to pet the horses. When I stand on his back deck and look across at all that green, all that open space, all those gorgeous old trees....

It's like I'm two people. If only I were twins, right?

Dear Charlie:

2011-10-03T00:09:00.002-05:00

Holy crap, am I a bad blogger! *sheepish*

Sorry, but I've been sooooo busy lately. In a good way! The "new" job is going great, and I love it. Yeah, I know. Creative people shouldn't love strictly left-brained shenanigans like "patient accounts", but I really do enjoy tracking down why something didn't pay. And posting funds. It's like a tangible "stick that one in the done pile" I can point to every time I apply payments.

Nice.

But there's also the walking tours. Third Thursday was a smash, but we jumped right along from that back into the historic walking tours. We've generated a lot of interest and have done lots of media stuff. It's led to all sorts of contacts and opportunities.

Awesome.

We've had lots of rehearsals, but mostly we've been working on costumes and props and technical stuff. We have some pretty awesome effects going, considering we're completely outdoors and rarely within reach of anything resembling a plug-in. Ha. This will seriously be hugely fun, and I have no doubt it'll only get bigger in future.

And I'm in on it! Dude, how long has it been since I was so consecutively in several right places at several right times??

At any rate, gotta hit the sack for work tomorrow. These dishes are done, dude!

Dear Charlie:

2011-09-18T19:29:00.003-05:00

Well, Third Thursday was a smash hit. We handed out about a billion fliers [disclaimer: The prior statement might contain hyperbole.] and sang/danced the night away. It spattered a little rain on and off, but we at Dream Spiral Productions are a little bit like the Army Rangers. We don't wait for a bright, sunshiny day.

Now, we're full-fledged getting ready for our ghost tours in October. I did my old crone make-up for the first time yesterday, and damn. I now know what I'll look like in 20 years or so. CREEPY.

Heheh.

Also, though I held onto that lovely 10-6 scoreboard down there in the sidebar longer than I really should have, I finally switched it to this year's schedule. My poor Chiefs. Not only are they 0-2 already (technically 0-6, if you count preseason, which I'm totally not doing this year), but they've been outscored 89-10.

Ouch.

I'm seriously.

We gotta get it together, boys. If we want to salvage anything of this season, we gotta at least put some points on the board. Worry about winning when we have something resembling an offense. Once we can, ya know, score, we can worry about preventing the other team from doing so.

Or, hell, flip that and prevent scoring before scoring ourselves. I don't care. Just fix something, pretty please!

Love ya, guys, but you're KILLING me.

In much better news, My Gigolo is actually selling pretty well in print. Or has sold pretty well. Ya know how royalties work, heh. They're always like a quarter behind the sales. Either way, I've been pleasantly surprised by the numbers. Thank you so much for buying, guys!

I can only hope you're enjoying, as well. Whee!

Now, back to writing and hopefully getting you something else to read. Crack that whip, folks!

Dear Charlie:

2011-09-10T12:45:00.003-05:00

Boy, have I been a busy little bee lately. Oi!

It started out simply enough. Dream Theatre is putting on another attraction in downtown Joplin this year. You might remember me talking about DickensFest last Christmas and how fun it was (despite the suddenly bitter cold that froze the amp, leaving us without microphones). Yeah, these are the same folks (with new and better equipment, heheh), and I'm kinda part of the group, so I wss thrilled to find out about our historic walking tours.

Come October, we'll have two tour guides taking folks on an easy walking tour through some of the most haunted and spooky areas in downtown Joplin, telling stories about the strange and unnatural happenings in our surprisingly wild history. Residents and businesses came forward in droves to tell us about their experiences in houses and offices, and our researchers did a little of their own digging -- pun intended -- and found even more stories.

We'll also be reinacting some of these occasionally dastardly scenes at particularly interesting locations along the tour. How could I not be in??

So yeah, I started going to rehearsals, got a reinactment part and a costume, and I was pleased as punch to be a part of something again. My schedule at Domino's practically prohibited any such involvement, since my only available times where when everyone else was at work. It's good to be back on a regular schedule. I really do love my new job, and not just for the insurance. Heh.

But then we got further awesome news: in the interest of promoting our walking tours, we were specifically asked to be part of Third Thursday. TT is a function put on by the Downtown Alliance where they sawhorse off several blocks of Main Street for performers, artists, vendors, etc. to showcase their wares and skills. It's open to the public, and people can come and go as they please.

Yeah. I was definitely in.

So, come this Thursday night, if you're not doing anything interesting, come down and see our Dream Theatre group dance and sing the night away. We're a little rock, a bit burlesque, a smidge creepy, and a heckuva lot twisted. It'll be an absolute blast. Good music, amazing lifts and throws, and some of the best choreography you'll see outside a Michael Jackson video.

What's not to love? Woot!

And if anyone's interested in the schedule for our October walking tours, we'll have fliers with times and prices at our Third Thursday booth. I'll also post that information here a little closer to time. I know for sure we'll be doing two tours a night (7:00 and 9:00, I think) Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights all month. I'm pretty sure the first night is October 6, but don't hold me to that until I see our fliers.

Anyway, with the addition of Third Thursday rehearsals to my schedule, I've barely been home. And I haven't had so much fun in a long time! Woo-hoo!

Come out and see us, folks. You won't be disappointed.

Dear Charlie:

2011-08-21T16:33:00.003-05:00

It's amusing to me how often either research or mood-setting for a book puts me in touch with stuff I'd have never been interested in otherwise.

See, I was looking for stuff with the feel of The Secret Garden. Stuff with offbeat kids, imagination taking a front seat, adventure, self-discovery. That kind of thing. Fairies, maybe, like the Spiderwick Chronicles or Fairy Tale: A True Story. Even The Little Princess.

Heh, I'm sure the people at Family Video don't know what to make of me. One week, I'm renting horror stock. The next, anything with an explosion. The next, children's flicks. Heheh.

Anyway, as I was perusing the family movie section and bemoaning the dearth of quality children's fair -- for God's sake, does EVERY MOVIE have to star either the Olsen twins or Hannah Montana?? -- I stumbled upon Nim's Island. I recognized the title because... wait for it... Gerard Butler's in it.

Yes. I rented this flick because of an actor I like. Ugh. You'd think I'd have learned from that mistake in past, but oh well.

Turns out, this one's pretty cute. I don't usually like cute, but this is cute in that "spunky kid, build a village out of bamboo and coconuts, good God is Gerard Butler gorgeous" kind of way that I can stand. Nim is precious, but she's also smart, imaginative, inventive, and resourceful. She's a nice mix of precocious and fragile, having lost her mother but having a loving (if a bit absorbed) father.

Mr. Butler actually plays two parts in this flick. One is the loving father who has raised a gem of a daughter who can take care of herself but needs the security of a parent figure. The other is a character in a book. You read that right. Nim's favorite author is Alex Rover, supposedly a great adventurer. The real Alex Rover is not only not Gerard Butler in some seriously kickin adventurer boots... but not even a man. He's a woman, and the woman is an OCD agoraphobic who hasn't left her apartment in ages.

But that doesn't stop both Nim and the real Alex from conversing with him. Those conversations are the real gem of this flick. Nim talks to him to keep her father close while he's struggling for his life lost at sea. Alex talks to him first for inspiration for the latest story, and then to psyche herself up to help Nim, who she finds out is all alone and scared out of her mind for her missing father.

Good times.

But I gotta admit... if not for Gerard Butler, I totally wouldn't have watched this. From what little I'd read or seen of it, it looked a little... Disney. God, I'm so sick of Disney kid movies. With helpful animals. And cutesy plots.

However, I'm glad I was wrong. This is an entertaining flick. Maybe not one I'll rush out to buy, but one I'm glad I rented.

Um... not sure it helped with story inspiration, though. Heh. Oh, well.

Win some, lose some.

Dear Charlie:

2011-08-19T20:30:00.005-05:00

So, since I've been stuck home with my chest, head, and brain full of snot, I've been thinking about what I might want in a professionally done website. I know without even asking that, the better an idea I have of what I want and the more specific I can be about what I don't want, the happier I'll be with the results and the easier it'll be for whomever I choose to do it.

Like I said on my current site's news page, this means I have to think about my branding. Ugh. I hate that word. It rings synonymously in my mind with "pigeonholing". Similar context, and all that.

But if I want to do this whole publishing thing more than once, I need to step outside my little writer box for a minute and put on my Business Hat. It doesn't fit well, and it tends to chafe if I leave it on too long, but hey. Desperate times and desperate measures.

I need to make my author website powerful. It needs to be more than just someplace for folks to drop by when they're casually curious by my book's title. Right now, it's a placeholder without any pizazz. Sure, it has information, sketchy news updates, and some free reads. It has the bare necessities.

But it needs more.

So, the question becomes... how do I pigeonhole myself when I write across the board? My beloved sister, bless her amazing heart, has such an inspiring grasp of her scope that she can pack all of her incredible writing feats into a single phrase: "Dare to look beneath the mask". Sends a chill down your spine, doesn't it? Makes you want to look beneath that mask even while it tells you it won't be without risks and you might never be the same.

EXCELLENT branding there. It describes her skills perfectly without limiting what she can do with them.

Ugh. The only thing I can come up with is that hilarious line from the first Major League movie: "Juuuuuust a bit outside!"

Yes. My writing style is comparable to a wild pitch. This is what I'm dealing with.

Worse, how do I condense that down into something that could be made into an evocative image? Again using Joely as an example, she has several banners now that each effortlessly evoke the various moods and emotions of her stories. Admittedly, she didn't pick just one, but still. She knew what she wanted to get across and had the smarts to know the finished product when she saw it.

Not sure I can do that. The only thing I think of when I try to encapsulate my stories as a whole is that picture of all the whopperjawed staircases leading everywhere and nowhere. Part of that is because I love different genres and worse, I love adding a dash of this and a pinch of that to everything I write. If I'm writing a Regency, it has to have a touch of action. If I'm dabbling in contemporary romance, I want to throw in a splash of paranormal. I even have an urban fantasy in the works with traces of theology. Talk about your oil and water.

But I love it. I love to mix things up a bit and see what shakes out. I'm putting pirates in a steampunk. Dinosaurs in a space opera.

Staircases to everywhere and nowhere. Juuuuuust a bit outside.

So...I'm working on my options. If I'm gonna spend the money on something, I want to be thrilled with the finished product. My beloved sister's site is definitely good advertising for the people who did hers and they've won me as a future client. However, I'm not stepping into those waters without having a good idea of what I want to get out of it.

So, I'm brainstorming. Trying to figure myself out enough to pick one perfectly evocative image, one incredibly evocative phrase. These two things have to encapsulate my writing as a whole.

And I totally need to get more free reads up and running for the site! Yeesh, I've been meaning to do that forever!

Dear Charlie:

2011-08-08T17:41:00.002-05:00

While I am loathe to displace that last post -- man, still feeling the effects of that one -- I have to muse for a moment on the new reality I've found, living in a disaster town.

See, a storm's moving in. But not the big dangerous kind of storm -- although any storm can be deadly, of course; not meaning to blow off the weather (which is kinda what I'm talking about, because I used to blow off the weather all the time) -- but just a make-a-little-noise-make-a-little-light-make-a-little-rain kind of storm. As normal as sunrise for Missouri.

But you can literally feel the tension in everyone currently in the city limits. The folks at work were edgy the last hour or so. On the way home, driving was way worse than usual (and that's saying something!). Even as I pulled into my apartment compex's parking lot, I noticed people walking with their heads cocked up toward the sky, watching that big, dark cloud roll in with its burden of rain and noise and strobe.

It's a healthy bluish-black cloud. A rain cloud. We really, really need some rain around here.

But people are acting like it's a mushroom cloud instead of a storm cloud.

I was kinda looking forward to the storm, but now I just feel bad for everyone. We're so twitchy now. Just one more sign we're living in a disaster town.

I could almost make one of those "You might live in a disaster town if..." lists, but it wouldn't be funny. I could definitely make it amusing, but... nah. It's too soon.

Catch me this time next year, and we'll see. Heh.

Dear Charlie:

2011-07-27T21:48:00.010-05:00

I have been mentally composing this post all the way home. This is one of those moments you're almost afraid to talk about for fear your normal, path-of-least-resistance self will amble forward and crush the fragile determination you've fostered to do something positive for yourself... but that you have to talk about anyway because it was just too awesome for self-containment.

For the last couple of weeks, the hospital we're affiliated with has been sending out e-mails announcing a presentation by a Navy chief on the stigma and truth of post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD hereafter) brought on by both combat and noncombat situations. Every time I got this e-mail from the hospital, I also received at least three forwards of it from people within our own organization, telling me that it's not mandatory for me to go, but that because I spent some time manning the Crisis phones after the tornado, my attendance was strongly encouraged.

Now, I can think of a few things I'd less rather do than listen to a bunch of sobbing testimonials that conversely make me feel worse followed by a round of personal-space-encroaching hugs... but not right off the top of my head. I did not want to go.

But included in the e-mail's body was a listing of this Navy chief guy's cred. If you know me, you know I'm all about badasses, and this guy is a badass among badasses. He's done stuff he can't even tell us about. And he trains soldiers in the philosophies of total warriorization.

If you've read more than one post on this blog, you know I am all about warriorization.

So, I wobbled back and forth all day today, knowing the presentation was tonight and I needed to make a decision. At the end of it, I decided that the chance of hearing some kick-ass war stories made the infinitely more likely chance of suffering through a hug seem bearable. So, I went. I crossed my fingers that the badass military aspect would prevent too many sobbies.

I really, really don't want to deal with crying outside the scope of my job description.

From the minute Chief Mike Wade took the stage, I knew I was in for a real treat. This presentation was exactly what I needed, exactly how I needed it. I'm not even suffering from PTSD, but I would watch this presentation ten times. In a row. It is brutal truth from his own personal war against the disorder plus real world statistics on the cause, symptoms, progression, and possible outcomes of PTSD, generously sprinkled with hardass military humor.

The chief is an anomaly to the statistics. By all logic, he should be dead like thirty times over (and those are just the times he told us or hinted about), and yet there he stood, cracking jokes in the same breath as he reminded us of how easily any of us could succumb to symptoms of a life-threatening disorder.

Devoid of sentiment, he told us about how he was literally a finger-twitch away from death by SWAT team due to the downward spiral his symptoms had dragged him into. His is not an easy story to listen to, and he doesn't try to pretty it up. In this, as in everything else in his life, he is balls-to-the-wall. He is a military man. He's not devoid of emotion, but he no longer allows it to rule him.

I was more than impressed. In fact, I think I was a little in awe.

Even the meat of the presentation was difficult to watch. He showed actual war footage -- live fire exchanges with the enemy, bombings both from and against us, night-vision urban warfare -- and then showed us footage of our own disaster. Yeah. Even though I'd caught most of our footage before, seeing it all strung together in the context of a PTSD seminar and placed to mood-appropriate music was... intense. To say the least.

Probably 90% of the room was already in tears.

If you have to ask if I was in tears, you don't know me at all. No. I did not cry.

But I was fascinated. This was neither a "come cry with me" sob-fest nor a dry recitation of symptoms and resources. Chief Wade's entire presentation is designed to slap the entitlement right out of you and make you sit up and pay attention. You can tell in an instant that he has no patience for mamby-pambying. It's not that he has no sympathy for the average civilian. Quite the contrary.

It's just that he's been there, and he's been way worse, and he knows there are no shortcuts or easy answers. There's no magic button to push to make you feel better. You have to go after it like you go after any combat engagement.

In his own words, if you're gonna go to war, you'd better by God WIN.

Failure is not an option.

Then, he showed another film of battle footage interspersed with Joplin aftermath footage, all set to "He ain't heavy, he's my brother" as people dragged other people out of hell and hopefully to safety. This time, 99% of the room was in tears.

No. I still didn't cry. Stop asking.

I didn't need this presentation to deal with PTSD. I'm not overly traumatized by the situation here in Joplin, though it's terrible. Everyone deals with tragedy and crisis differently, and my process is my process.

However, I did need Chief Wade's no-nonsense attitude toward the world. As human beings, it is our duty to take care of our loved ones and our community. To do that, we have to take care of ourselves. First, we have to see to our physical needs. Second, our mental needs. Third, our spiritual needs.

I'm pretty good on 2 and 3, but I suck hardcore at 1. That has to change.

I can mentally handle just about anything life can throw at me (please don't see that as a challenge, God!). And if I can live with a militant atheist for almost five months without losing my faith, I think my spiritual foundation is pretty sturdy.

But I don't give a damn about my physical needs. I'm careless with my health, and, though I eat relatively healthy, I am criminally lax about physical activity. Part of the reason I wanted out of an office two years ago was because I sat in an office chair for 8 hours at work, then came home and sat in another chair for how many other hours to write. Domino's helped in a way because it's definitely an on-your-feet kind of job with very few sit-down breaks, but I couldn't afford it financially.

Now that I'm back in an office (and glad to take pleasure in what I'm doing there), I need to get some activity. It's so easy to say "Oh, God, it's been SO HOT! I don't have room for exercise equipment in my studio apartment (true), but I can't just go out walking without melting into a puddle and dehydrating and ending up with heat stroke (very possible), so I can't do anything about it until it cools off!"

It's easy to say those things because they're true. But since when has that stopped someone like Chief Wade?

NEVER. That's since when. Because he's an absolute badass.

Yes, this presentation was exactly what I needed, exactly how I needed it. I've always wished I'd been able to go military (bad knees and flat feet be-damned!). It only stands to reason that it took a hardcore military personality to remind me that, though I've been taking care of my own, I can't do that forever if I don't take care of myself. I may be last on my own list of priorities, but I gotta shift that paradigm.

I stuck around after the presentation and waited until after the people who needed to speak to him privately did so. I wasn't about to interrupt someone else's emotional moment. But I did wait around, talking to friends from work about the presentation and other things.

And then I shook Chief Wade's hand, told him he was a very brave man, and said that, though he continually said "Don't be me" during his presentation, I would be honored to be like him. I like to think he looked a little surprised at that. Then, I thanked him sincerely for speaking so openly about such obviously painful times in his life. I meant every word. I will never forget his words.

To my fellow Joplin citizens, Chief Wade has two more presentations lined up over at Missouri Southern. GO SEE HIM. I'm not sure what nights or times, but if you call MoSo, they'll tell you. Whether you don't feel you're dealing with the aftermath well enough or your friends/family tell you you're not dealing well enough, GO. Even if you (like me) just need a kick in the pants from someone who doesn't care who's had it worse or who's had more to carry through life or who's had a silver spoon shoved up their butt, GO.

You will not regret it.

[Edited to add: One of the two remaining presentations was tonight. Sorry -- I would have added that information here, but I went directly there after work to be there for a couple of friends who didn't want to go by themselves.

Of course, the ones who specifically asked me to be there... didn't show.

Lots of other people did, though, and the show was just as potent the second time around. If you can make it out for the last presentation, it's tomorrow morning at 10:00 AM at the Missouri Southern Justice Center (aka, the police academy). It's well worth the time you'll spend (about 2 1/2 hours, at least).]

Dear Charlie:

2011-07-20T19:35:00.003-05:00

Yeah, I realize it's been a lengthy bit without an update. Part of it is that I didn't want to displace that eulogy. Another part is that I'm simply feeling quiet, what with the craziness lately.

However, I think the malaise is starting to shake off. Part of it is that we're moving into our new office building, so we're finally out of temporary office space (ie., a really big, partitioned conference room that is, by definition, a bit loud and crowded and busy). We just set up our desks and computers and such this afternoon, and tomorrow will be devoted to retrieving our files from storage, dusting off the microscopic tornado residue, and getting back to regular business.

Part of it is writing. It always seems to wake me up, no matter what else is going on, and when I've been without it for extended periods (or when it's sporadic, at best, as it's been for the last year... gah!), I get twitchy. Distracted. Down in the dumps. Staid. Just... not me.

Call it a myth all you want, but I'm just not myself when I'm not writing. I can pretend, but people who really know me know different.

Plus, my sense of humor is in high gear, trying to keep that conference room full of stressed-out scrambly folks from going ballistic, and I stumbled across ever more hilarity at... you guessed it... Cracked.com.

"We're not quite sure how and why Australia has an intelligence agency, but the fact that we've never heard of them proves they're doing something right."

That line alone is worth reading the entire article. They just have a way of saying things, ya know? Like when they're talking about all the different, fascinating ways weather can just frickin kill you. Out of nowhere.

If you aren't giggling like an idiot at the phrasing in that article, you've never had a pants-shittingly interesting weather-related moment in your life. Heh. Or felt that the cosmos itself was out to get you.

Love those guys.

So anyway, just thought I'd drop in and remind myself, if no one else, that life does indeed go on, no matter what weirdness has dropped into your lap and started to wiggle.

Good times.

Sidebar:

2011-07-06T18:57:00.002-05:00

I was going to get on here tonight and post about a punny thing I said at work today that cracked the folks up, but a weird impulse made me cruise by FaceBook after checking my e-mail. I can't emphasize enough how rare that is. Unless I get an e-mail telling me someone's talking to me or some event is coming up, I'm more a Twitter user.

But it's maybe a good thing I did, because I found out that a friend of mine committed suicide Monday. I'm not sure yet how it all went down, but I gotta tell ya, he's the last person I expected it of.

He was young and had plans. He was funny. A little shy, but coming out of it, thanks to community theater. Talented and just discovering it. He could sing, play guitar, and act. He was smart - good grades, intuitive, a great conversationalist.

Maybe that last most of all. He was a great conversationalist. When he talked with you, he understood the concept of give and take. It wasn't all him, but he did have interesting things to say. Witty, informed things. He was just a kid, but he knew the importance of knowing things. Knowledge for knowledge's sake.

So few kids grasp that.

I knew he was down, but I honestly hadn't spoken to him more than once since I moved just after the tornado. I didn't think he was that down, or I'd have talked to him. I'd have given him the Crisis number at work or sat beside him and called it myself and handed him the phone. I failed him, and while I'm not the only one, I feel like a real asshole. Here I've been busting my ass to help total strangers while letting one of my own slip away.

He will be missed by countless groups: school friends he grew up with, theater friends he'd just made, an entire road crew he was an honorary member of, others. He was sweet, generous, loving, and wise (perhaps beyond his years).

And now he's gone.

You will be missed, Chris. You left us too soon, but I try to take comfort in knowing that you only beat me to the finish line and will therefore be waiting when I drag my sorry ass over it, too. We'll have a beer and play some Clue.

I'm really gonna miss that.

Dear Charlie:

2011-06-25T00:53:00.003-05:00

Ya know, I don't usually get on here just to blah-blah about my day, but this has been a pretty good day. We got to tour our new office building today, and it's pretty sweet. It's not finished yet and has no furniture yet, so we're still looking at about two weeks before we can move in and get all settled, but hey. It was nice to see the tangible reality.

Then, I drove down to the hometown for the annual fireworks display. I didn't get to go last year and haven't been down nearly often enough lately, so I was determined to make it this year. They had it earlier than usual, but hey. I'm in.

So I made the drive, spent the evening with young'uns and my best friend from way back in kindergarten and her awesome husband, then drove on home with some rockin tunage to sing along with. That's always a good time.

And then, when I got home, I bumped into my downstairs neighbor again. Neither of us is usually out so late, so we kinda laughed about the coincidence and got to chatting. We're both kinda affiliated with both the hospitals in the area, so we got to talking about that and, if you know me at all, you know it went all over the place after that. My mom calls it "chasing rabbits", and that's as apt a description as any for how a conversation with me goes. Heh.

Anyway, all was good and well until he suddenly told me I was beautiful and asked when we were going out to dinner. Bless his heart. He had no idea, did he?

But I very politely declined and said I don't date. Then, of course, I had to explain why. Thankfully, this is one guy who actually listened to and respected that decision instead of trying to talk me out of it.

I did, of course, have to point out that, while his estimation of my looks was very flattering, I was in actuality all sweaty and gross from being out in the heat for hours before the fireworks, my hair was a blown-all-over-mess, and my t-shirt-and-jeans combo hardly counted as high fashion. Because I'm brutally honest like that.

He's a good sport and said I was beautiful anyway, to which I got all embarrassed and pled the late hour and that I needed to conk out. I hope it doesn't become a thing, because he's actually really nice to talk to. Most of my friends are guy friends, ya know, and I'm always open to a new one.

But not when there's flirting involved. I'm terrible with flirting. In fact, I'm emotionally retarded when it comes to flirting. No idea how to deal with it other than just cutting it off as efficiently (and hopefully as nicely) as possible. Yikes!

But still, a good day filled with explosive things, a surprisingly good buffalo burger (oddly enough, the quarter I got back in change was North Dakota, which has... ahem... buffalo grazing on the back), and kiddoes that think I'm rockin awesome sauce at some old-school Nintendo Super Mario Bros 3, man. I'm seriously.

Good times.

Amusing Update:

2011-06-19T21:28:00.004-05:00

Speaking of things getting back to normal, I've been able to go visit friends and family out of town more lately. Like... every weekend. Ahem. Didn't have the gas money before, but the new job is helping in that respect.

So I went to Dad's for Father's Day. I even put on a little make-up, just for the special occasion. And, lo and behold, I even wore jewelry. I know, right?? Me!

This...

...is my necklace. It's about the only one I wear. I love it, but I'm just not a jewelry person, so wearing it is pretty rare.

And this...

...is the big white spot my favorite necklace left after I spent noon watching the nieces ride horses out in the boonies. Oopsie. I've never been in the habit of wearing sunblock because I just never get burned (except a little across the nose the first time I'm out in the sun).

But because I haven't spent much time out in the sun for the last several years, I guess I'm just a big ol' ball of pasty white. Ugh.

...

Heheh, it is kinda funny, though. I hope it's not so noticeable when it fades to tan in a day or two. Sheesh. Talk about your Sign of the Cross.

Dear Charlie:

2011-06-16T22:10:00.002-05:00

Well, things are slowly getting back to an even keel around here. Oh, not the mess -- that'll show signs for years to come. They're getting a handle on the rubble, yes, and there are lots of bare foundations just waiting for new houses, but there's still a mess we won't soon forget.

It's stuff you don't think about if you're not in it, ya know? Like a friend of mine had to tell her kids not to run around the yard barefoot, even though they'd cleaned up the visible mess. Why? Broken glass. It's EVERYWHERE. And roofing nails. And little twists of metal and shards of broken wood. Oh, and the gazillion shiny pieces of broken mirror that the kids think is awesome to find and bring back to Mom. Which, in turn, gives her nightmares.

I mean, a hospital was blown away. Let's hope her kids don't bring her a handful of sharps. They don't have to be used/diseased to be dangerous.

But things really are moving forward. Many local businesses are already putting their rebuilds in train or moving to new buildings. My own office is one of the moving ones. We'll hopefully be all snug in our new digs in another couple of weeks. New furniture and everything!

And I have internet again. Yay! Wacky, time-wasting good fun has returned. Look, something shiny! Look, something shiny! Hey, look over there - something shiny!

And four hours just magically disappear...heheh....

Good times, man. Good times.

Yes, I'm tired. Why do you ask? Heh.

Anyway. Ahem. Getting the new apartment in shape. Still have a few things in Pesh's garage (sorry! I promise they won't be there forever!), but not sure where exactly to put them here. I have too many books and not enough shelves. Total embarrassment of riches. I love it.

But it does make storing them in a studio apartment a bit fiddly. Oi. At least the movies and CDs are properly stowed. And alphabetized. Yes, I am a total nerd. Yes, I'm totally proud of it.

Oh, and my comic books are properly ordered and ranked, too.

...

What?

Quickie Update:

2011-06-04T20:26:00.002-05:00

Whether you're a brother or whether you're a mother, you're stayin alive... stayin alive....

And that's all I have to say about that. Heheh.

Okay, not so much. Just popping by to say I'm still well. Still settling into the apartment (not home enough to unpack quickly or efficiently), but thanks to help from Mom, I got a rolly chair and a table/desk. Awesome!

Gotta run -- poached internet is unreliable at best. Here's hoping for cable internet sometime soon, eh?

Fly-By Update:

2011-05-30T14:41:00.002-05:00

Borrowing internet again:

It's still crazy here, but we're pulling it together one day at a time. We're down to less than 40 missing people, and that has to be a blessing for the survivors still trying to find their loved ones. I'm trying to focus on positive stuff like that.

Still working lots of hours between work and volunteering, but I took a little bit to move most of my stuff into my new apartment. Yes, I got it. Yes, I feel a little bad for having a place handed to me on a silver platter while so many are homeless and have lost everything. I keep telling myself that I've had my application in for a month and shouldn't feel bad, but I do. It's not faceless strangers who are suffering here, ya know? It's people I see every day. People I know. People I work with.

Anyway, just wanted to put up another note so you all know I'm still kickin around the planet. I've located or talked to plenty of friends, but there are a few I'm still worried about. I keep hoping it'll all shake out in the end.

And I keep praying for everyone here. We're in this mess together, and that's how we'll get out of it.

...

But going through the disaster area every day is hard. I don't know how the search and rescue teams and the clean-up teams bear it. My heart goes out to them, and I thank them with everything in me.

Quickie Sidebar:

2011-05-24T18:48:00.002-05:00

I've poached some internet to tell you guys that I'm alive and unharmed. We're a mess here, but we're digging out. Thank you for the prayers and support.

We totally need it.

Dear Charlie:

2011-05-21T23:06:00.003-05:00

So, Gamer.

On the surface, this is a simple movie. It takes a universal fear -- that pesky fear of being controlled from outside, of not being able to act of your own volition or, worse, being forced to act against your own volition -- and turns it into pure action porn. I'm in.

But it's oh, so much more than that.

Scratch the surface of this flick, and you have yourself a philosophical debate on par with the first Matrix movie. Now, don't start sputtering: I'm not saying doctorate level peeps will be dissecting the moral and social implications of a movie only a few steps shy of a skin flick in places. I'm just saying that it goes a lot deeper than a murder-mart video game, mind control, and the disturbingly plastic and emotionless sex that happens in Society.

The basic set-up, for the folks at home, is that a seemingly philanthopic genius invents a nanotechnology that engenders mind control. This certifiable fruitcake turns this tech (originally intended to create an army of invincible, immortal supersoldiers, and hey, what harm could that do?) into a simulation game called Society. Think Sims, but with real people, actors, being controlled by real people, total perverts.

But Castle, this supposed philanthropist genius nutbar, isn't done yet.

With the prison system overflowing and the world economy teetering on the brink of collapse -- um... this is just a movie, right?? -- Castle introduces a new, even more successful game, SLAYERS. Yes, it has to be typed in all-caps.

Remember the recent remake of DeathRace? SLAYERS is kinda like that, but with the added creepiness of that mind-control thing. Take a bunch of lifers, suit 'em up with ammo and a bit of that nifty nanotech, and let the people paying ungodly sums of money to control them blow them all up.

Who wouldn't sign up for this? It's the ultimate video game experience, something neither X-box, PlayStation, nor the Wii can yet provide, thank God. You aren't controlling an incredibly realistic portrayal of a human in cyberspace. You're controlling an actual human being in a vacant city block somewhere.

You're killing an actual human being. Or using said human to kill another one.

See what I mean? Philosophical, dude.

As for that philanthropy part, Castle's new game generates a shit-ton of revenue that gets funnelled back into the prison systems and the economy, simultaneously getting everything back on track and clearing out superfluous death-row inmates to make room for new ones. Handy. He becomes something of a financial Savior to the people.

Plus, they, like, totally love playing the game.

But scratch a little deeper, and you see the real genius here. It's not just in the writing or the development, but in the acting and directing. I mentioned before how all the actors in Society look plastic and emotionless, and I meant it. These are actors being controlled by outside forces. They literally cannot not do whatever their player directs them to do.

One of the establishing shots shows a rollerblader plowing over this poor chick just standing there. The chick is physically injured, bleeding from a ridiculous amount of roadrash from the collision and fall, and yet... because the player thinks it's hilarious, this poor girl has to sit there laughing even while her body cries from the pain. The total asshole controlling her even makes her lick the blood from her destroyed arm.

Now, does that statement above make more sense? These people are not emotionally invested in whatever happens to them in Society. Their bodies are puppets... but puppets that can feel everything happening to them. That can emotionally respond, but not express. Sometimes, you can see their pain, their loss, in their eyes, but other times? Nothing. Vacant. Nothing there.

It's creepy as hell.

SLAYERS is worse, though. Spoiler alert: the main guy, Kable -- played to gut-wrenching perfection by the ever-talented Gerard Butler -- never actually killed anyone (outside of military combat, we can assume, though we're never told for sure other than that he was a perfect soldier before the film's events) when he was sent to death row for murder. But put him out on that battlefield, and he is an instrument of death. Because his player -- a 17-year-old kid, if you can dig it -- directs him to.

Though, Kable admits that, while someone else moves him around and positions him and aims, he's the only one pulling that trigger. Yes, he is infinitely capable of killing. I think we all are, when we have nothing else.

Philosophical.

At any rate, while the Society freaks force sexual encounters (though the pundits would debate the word "force", since these actors voluntarily agreed to act in Society and are being paid for their services; it's a job), the SLAYERS folks are forced to kill or be killed. Rape is one thing; murder, even in the name of survival, is another.

And the light at the end of the tunnel? If they survive -- not win; survive -- thirty sessions, they get a full pardon. They get to go free.

No one's survived more than ten.

Except Kable. He's on #27. Yes. He is a complete badass.

He doesn't want to kill, but he wants out. He left a wife and kid outside. He didn't voluntarily commit the murder he was tried and sentenced for. He's not a violent man, under normal circumstances.

But he wants out. And he'll do whatever he has to.

You really have to see this flick to get the feel of it. I can tell you about how amazing a job they did of making the SLAYERS footage look like an actual (but live-feed) video game. The MMORPG from Hell, maybe. I can tell you about the soulless looks on the faces of those Society people in all their robot-moving glory.

I can even tell you that Terry Crews -- yes! Cheeseburger Eddie! -- gets to run around psychotic and naked and covered with blood from a fresh kill that wasn't prompted by anything but his own creepiness.

But I can't tell you how you'll feel when you watch Kable's reaction to finding his wife stuck in a hellish, forced encounter with a fellow Society freak and to her subsequent inability to respond to him with anything other than her eyes as her player tries to grab his junk. I can't tell you how whacked out it is to watch a small army of zombie-looking toughs dance to a showtune while Castle pulls their mental strings in a pre-fight display of creepy power.

I can't tell you how disconcerting it is to realize that this 17-year-old manipulator of murder can't quite grasp the fact that he's using Kable as a weapon as truly as if he were holding the gun himself. When a particular prisoner that's been chummy with Kable dies right before his dismayed eyes in the game, this little punk has the audacity to casually remark, "Gibs."

Like gibblets. Pieces. Of human being.

And Kable's the death row convict? Riiiiiight.

Look, I'll admit it: the first time I watched it, I was all about the action. And the action is done frickin awesomely well. It looks both jerky and sleek in the battle scenes, which you'd think a live-action MMORPG would look. It looks hyper-real in Society, which is perfectly on-par with the surreal aspect of the whole idea. This is, by all means, a well-done movie.

But the more you watch it....

Yeah.

The more you watch it, the more you have to think about it. And it very quietly gives you plenty to think about. Would you have the brass cajones to buy yourself a convict to control? Would you get a thrill from directing your Society human robot to soullessly have raunchy, weird sex with a complete stranger?

Or, on the flip side, would you volunteer to be controlled? Could you allow your body to be used, either as a weapon or just plain used?

I'm a resounding NO to all of those questions. But I still watch, fascinated despite myself. Maybe I wouldn't be a participant in either simulation, but... dammit, I can't promise I wouldn't be one of the billions of spectators rooting Kable on.

Philosophical, dude. Philosophical.

Watch. The. Movie. I'm seriously. And think about it. I mean, what else do you have to do, now that the Rapture is indefinitely postponed?

Musing Sidebar:

2011-05-11T21:47:00.000-05:00

Cool summer rain. God, I love that scent.

No, it's not quite summer yet, but it's been hot enough that this cooling, fresh-smelling rainfall has that same feeling. Welcome as glad news, refreshing as ice-cold tea in a porch swing on a summer evening, intoxicating as a kiss in the twilight.

I love the rain. I love the sound of it. And that scent.

Yes, I know we have nightmare flooding here in the middle. Yes, I know we don't need more rain. But....

Makes me want to curl up on the couch before an open window with a good book, lulled into another world with the hush of the fall. Makes me wanna write poetry or song lyrics. Makes me just plain want to breathe.

Breathe deep. Breathe long and slow. Breathe free.

I love it. I love the rain.

Dear Charlie:

2011-05-09T18:57:00.003-05:00

Here, my good friends, is my personal State of the Union address.

Things might actually be looking up. Woot!

Okay, that was a little... short. And by the time I'm done, you'll probably be wishing I'd stopped there. *rimshot* Anyway, I just talked to the guy at the apartment complex I applied to, and while he can't guarantee anything, he said he could "practically guarantee" I'm in. He says he's seen tons of applications, but none as easy as mine, so while it's still up to the district manager, he doesn't see anything to worry about.

And he's already sent in the maintenance guys to clean the apartment he reserved for me. Woot! That sounds pretty positive, right?

It may still be a couple of weeks, but I'm hoping not. I don't like feeling like I'm just spinning my wheels. I like forward momentum. Once I get rolling, having to wait for something just chafes me. I'm usually a patient person, but once I'm in motion, inertia just takes over me. Heh.

Anyway, the new job is going awesome. I'm not completely into what I'll be doing because we're awaiting permissions from program sites, but I've been doing plenty of other stuff. Luckily, they're starting to realize that if they keep me busy, I'm happy. Even if it's drudgery. Just don't leave me sitting and twiddling my thumbs. I'm used to working at a furious pace, and I keep getting done with stuff sooner than they expect, but I just don't know any other way to work. It's balls to the wall all the time.

Inertia. Like I said.

I guess I'm like that even at home. If I'm just reading and watching movies or something, I have no desire to do anything else. But get me cleaning or organizing or writing -- basically anything productive -- and I'll work like a demon until it's done. It's really weird, but I guess it works well enough. Been doin it a long time now, anyway.

Anyway, just thought you peeps should know there's light at the end of the tunnel, and I'm almost certain it's not either a freight train or an alien ship full of proby things. Could be wrong.

But I'm tentatively hopeful. Sweeeeeeet.

Dear Charlie:

2011-04-25T07:05:00.002-05:00

First day on the new job. See? I managed to get up early and everything!

Still working on the find-a-place thing, but I'll be making some calls over lunch and hopefully some visits after work. I'm off from the old job until Wednesday, so I'll have a little time to do that sorta thing today and tomorrow.

Cross your fingers for me? I really wanna get something decent without going into the stratosphere. If rent is more than one paycheck, I can't afford it. Even if I might kinda be able to.

Less is more. Less is more. Less is more.

Anyway, it hasn't escaped my notice that I promised a book giveaway earlier in the month, but to be honest, stuff got crazy this month. I know you guys see that from the little bits I've posted, but I still feel bad.

So, I hereby make an announcement: as soon as I get settled in a new place and am out of the old job (I put in a month's notice, so about the third week in May), I will indeed hold some kind of giveaway. Not sure yet if it'll be a treasure hunt sort of giveaway or an "answer a silly question, win a print copy" sort of giveaway or even just a "draw a name from a hat" kind of giveaway, but it'll be something, and I'll feel very, very bad that it's a month after I initially planned.

*feels very, very bad*

Either way, please bear with me as life attacks, and I'll be happy to share the spoils when this particular dragon is slain. Whee!

My Dearest Charles:

2011-04-20T15:47:00.004-05:00

I've been wishing to have this news to post for a long time. So here goes:

I GOT A DAY JOB!!

Yay!

I feel like I've been let out of jail. I've been in SUCH a bind this past couple of years (or longer), but things just opened back up. I'll be able to get back out on my own. I'll be able to do more community theater. I'll be able to go to the movies again! Man, I've missed that!

Full time with benefits, and that ain't no cabbage in this job market. Back amongst friends, people who wanted me back enough to put in lots of good words for me, which is a different kind of awesome. And at higher pay, which is so awesome I can't even find the words for it. And I kinda do that for a side living, so you know it's big.

Things are looking up. Finally. Oh, man... I'm just so relieved.

Now, I can finally look ahead. I feel like I've been living from paycheck to paycheck for so long that I forgot what looking ahead felt like. Now, I'll actually have some wiggle room. I can think about maybe finishing up my teaching degree (in a few years, taking night classes, hoping the all the current teaching mess is cleared up by then). I can think about all the books I'll finally finish and get sent off to sink or swim in the market. Heck, maybe I can finish the two scripts I have lyin around and see about sending them off, too. I love me some movies.

I can think about things I haven't dared to think about before because I wasn't financially stable enough to even dream about better.

No one knows what the future holds. I'm not Nostradamus. I dunno if I'll love this job or not. All I know for sure is that I'll be back with some good people, it pays well, and it's an absolute answer to prayer on so many levels.

I'm trying to sit here calmly and take deep breaths. It's working, for the most part. I know I shouldn't be so excited about a simple job.

But....

Yeah. After the last year and a half, almost two years? I'm excited. Nobody can take this feeling of impending freedom away from me. I feel like I've been walking the Green Mile this whole time, only to be told just before they sit me down in Ol' Sparky that I've been fully pardoned.

The upward swing starts Monday. I'm back, baby! Woot!

Dear Charlie:

2011-04-16T21:38:00.004-05:00

So this is my new desktop image.

How did I not find this before?? I know it's been around forever. Have I really been in that much of a cultural hole? Yikes.

Sheer genius. That's gonna be my desktop for a long, long time. I'm even thinking about replacing the Kakarot wallpaper picture on my cell phone with it. I know, right?

Now, excuse me while I go watch 300 for the umpteenth time. Heheh.

Oh, and uh... watch your step.

My Dearest Charles:

2011-04-05T05:20:00.004-05:00

That's right, folks. Today's the day.

My Gigolo: The Care and Feeding of a Male Prostitute is now for sale in print.

*does a very quiet happy dance, as everyone else is asleep*

Hey, I tried to go to bed hours ago. I really did. My mind kept wanting to puke out a blog post and link it on all the social networking sites I'm on (yeah, all two of 'em). What can I say? Sometimes that blasted hamster at the wheel just won't stop running.

So, how do I plan to celebrate, you ask? Lovely question. I thought briefly of going out for a nice draft beer (or two). Haven't had one for like two years. Heck, I haven't even had a bottle of beer since moving here.

But then I remembered I have to work tomorrow (today?), so that's pretty much out. Unless I wanna be a complete lush and have a beer before going to work. Not a good plan, considering I'll probably link this on Facebook, and my boss friended me there. Heh.

So, while lying in bed and trying to shut my brain up enough to catch at least a few winks before heading over to Books-a-Million (and maybe Hastings) tomorrow to offer to sign any copies they may have gotten in (totally crossing my fingers to see my book on the shelf somewhere), I started thinking yet again at how odd it is that someone like me wrote and sold a romance novel.

Why? Well, because I don't have a romantic bone in my body.

Anyone who's read more than five posts from this blog knows I'm not exactly blessed with feminine graces. I'm more likely to talk about football and wrestling than... good God, what do girls even talk about?? And seriously, shouldn't I want to celebrate with champagne instead of beer?

Yeah.

So how on earth did I manage to fake enough romance to sell a novel? Heh, pun kinda intended there.

Well, it's like this: I didn't. That's right. This isn't your regular romance novel. I even got a comment from an editor that a particular line wasn't something they'd ever read in a romance novel before.

My characters joke about Hitler and football and Tae Bo aerobics. The heroine is really, really, really bad at dancing and minigolf and, ya know, emoting. The hero has a bit of an impulse control problem. Not terribly good fodder for hearts and flowers and sun-drenched hours.

And yet, they somehow manage to melt a few hearts here and there. Not sure how it happened. Maybe the Muse took over the controls during those scenes, because it sure wasn't me. I'm more likely to subscribe to the The Ugly Truth ideology of male/female interaction than the Harlequin one.

Mind you, I'm not knocking Harlequin. I've read more of their books than I'm really comfortable talking about. Research! It was all research! Learning the craft. Checking out the competition. Especially all the Regency romances.

But when it comes to my own personal life? Yeah. Not romantic. I'd rather have Chiefs tickets than roses and chocolates, and I'd a million times rather go see the latest horror flick than take a windy walk. Although I might submit to such indignity if it's raining. I do love the rain.

So how does the BBQ-eatin, beer-drinkin, WWE-watchin me crank out something that somehow made more than one reader puddle up if not outright sob into a pink lace hanky?

The magic of writing. That's my only explanation. I can do things when I write of which I'm otherwise completely incapable. It's my escape, my salvation, and in the case of writer's block, my curse.

That particular avenue of freedom has been hard to find this past year, and I've butted my head against a lot of mental walls trying to plow open the literary door in my mind. Some days are more successful than others. Of late, I've had more of the good kind, for which I am infinitely grateful.

And as for the bad days? The days when the words simply will not come?

Well, I think from now on, I'll just pick up my book and thumb through the pages. I'll remind myself that I am capable of pretending to be a romantic, of bringing two emotionally retarded people together despite themselves, of sticking it out through the bad until it magically turns into the good.

The proof is right here. In print. And that, my lovelies, is magic.

Dear Charlie:

2011-03-30T13:07:00.003-05:00

You know, sometimes it's just plain good to bump into old friends.

I took one of my advance copies over to the old office I used to work in to give to Missi, the receptionist I worked with for several years there. She's a riot, and she's always been such a friend. I put a nifty little note and signature inside the cover and everything. She deserves it. She's a doll.

But I got so much more than just the one friend.

I hadn't been there ten minutes before Jon came up, too. I just love Jon. He's a riot. We hit it off from his first day there. Same warped sense of humor. Same amusement value in the Undead Christmas lyrics (he was there the first day I started doing them and laughed harder than anyone but me). Good times.

Then, not too much later, while Missi and I were still marvelling over the tangible reality of a print novel in hand and Jon was demanding the next turn in line to read it, Tammy walked in, too.

Now, Tammy's the therapist who actually read the old printed-out manuscript copy before any edits were made. I hadn't even sent it off at the time, I don't think. I was just sitting on the finished product in that vast empty lake of time between finishing and the first revision pass, and she volunteered to read and tell me what she thought. Bless her heart.

So she was excited, too. Good friends, there. I wish I had more freebies to hand out, because I want to give everyone a copy! Luckily, most of them will probably buy one when it hits the shelves, but hey. I like a little instant gratification now and then.

Anyway, after regaling them with my new favorite joke -- What was Michael Jackson's favorite thing about twenty-nine year olds? There's twenty of them! -- I left on a wave of good feelings, and you know? That's what it's all about, there. I may be more glad than I can express that I'm no longer in that situation, but that doesn't mean I don't miss the people. There are some seriously good people there, and I miss them all the time.

Good times. And remember: April 5 is just a few days away now! Eee!!

Dear Charlie:

2011-03-22T15:39:00.002-05:00

Well, I'm gearing up for the print release of my book, My Gigolo: The Care and Feeding of a Male Prostitute. Eee!

As of April 5, you can hold it in your hot little hand. Hey, that's what I'm gonna do. It's available for preorder at the Samhain site (linked above) or at Amazon or almost any of your favorite book-buying sites. Gotta love that.

I really, really can't wait to have it in hand. And hopefully, I'll be adding to it soon. The novella is coming along swimmingly, and I hope it catches my editor's attention. It's contemporary, which again surprises me, but hey. When both your steampunk and your urban fantasy characters turn their backs on you, an author's gotta do what an author's gotta do.

Take that, Alex. Take that, Diplomat. Ha.

And on a less personal but still fun note, I just realized I've never gotten around to enthusing over RocknRolla. I was so enamoured with The Phantom of the Opera that I, of course, couldn't not think of RocknRolla. Yes, my brain works in odd ways. The only thing the two have in common is Gerard Butler, but even a tenuous link works for my poor little mind.

I do remember blogging here on how annoyed I was that the flick wasn't coming to the big screen anywhere around this area. I really wanted to catch this one at the theater. I guess I kinda lost steam on it after that.

But after it came out for rental and I watched it, I just never got around to enthusing properly. Oh, I said lovely things about Mark Strong (not enough lovely things can be said about that man), but not about the movie itself.

So, here goes.

Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels was fun. Snatch was a riot. RocknRolla is just a beautiful thing. It has all the great stuff from the earlier flicks, but amped up with the director's experience. It's like the difference between a brilliant high school research paper and a best selling novel. Both are nice in their own way, but the latter has... I dunno... polish.

Usually. But that's another story. Just making an analogy here.

You know, I didn't like Johnny Quid the first time I watched this flick. Everyone kept calling him absolute class, and I just didn't see it. A junkie through and through, I found him self-serving and just plain annoying. Of course, that means he's well-acted, but hey. Just didn't like him.

I've watched it several times since, and he's growing on me. He still takes a distant back seat to Archy and the Wild Bunch, but I can definitely see the class. He's a nutter, for sure, but he's bought his crackers with blood and come out with a sense of humor (warped, of course) on the other side. I'll call that class.

Archy is the man, but I've already talked about him, though I'm too lazy to go back for the link.

This post is for the Wild Bunch and for Guy Ritchie himself.

Now, Ritchie flicks -- the killer British ganster dark comedies, anyway -- revolve around convoluted plots interlocking and coming free and interlocking again like the inner workings of a clock. At some point, all those separate, spinning cogs come together for the payoff, but in my opinion, it's how well they perform separately that makes the payoff really spend the money.

One of those cogs, the Wild Bunch, cracks me right the hell up. Half the reason is because I remember when a member of the old college group suddenly realized what the rest of us already knew -- that another member was gay. Bless his heart, but he just about lost his mind.

Gerard Butler nails that reaction. I laugh so hard each time, picturing poor Mikey trying not to remember wrestling matches and so forth. Heheh.

And, as in the flick, it didn't take long for him to realize that the other guy being gay didn't mean he was gay. Nor did it mean he wasn't his friend.

When you find art that imitates your own personal life, it's always an experience.

But beyond that, the Wild Bunch is an absolute riot. They're just trying to get along the best they can in a dog-eat-dog world, doing the odd job now and again to keep afloat, not realizing they're pissing in their own pool until they're all but drowning in it. Heh.

That second robbery is a scream. If Dave and I got together for a bit of slipping about, I'm pretty sure our plans would end up in just that kind of chaos. There'd be a helluva lot of running and crashing and hitting people with golf clubs. In other words, we'd screw it up royally enough to maybe laugh about later. If we lived.

And the Russians?

And the look on Archy's face when he breaks into poor One Two's private party with said Russians?

God, I love this flick. It has its serious moments, of course. The funny wouldn't be as fun if it weren't balanced. Johnny Quid wouldn't be a proper junkie if he didn't break down into convulsions (and smell like a rotten goat). Archy wouldn't be the real rocknrolla he is if he wasn't capable of such swift and heated retribution when he discovers who's been snitching on them all. When he discovers how his unswerving loyalty has been repaid.

There is a certain honor amongst thieves. They don't take snitches lightly. They might be bad lads, but they don't turn on each other. Those who do... pay the price.

But there's humor to be found even in such black material. Even in a botched robbery that nearly kills the whole group. After all, if not for those oh-so-determined Russians, we'd never have this lovely line:

"Realize? What, you didn't realize that they had guns? Big, long, dangerous machine guns? With war criminals attached to the trigger?"

And there lies Guy Ritchie's strength. He finds that humor, and that's what steps his flicks up from the rabble. He makes these bad guys into good guys. There's rarely a "good" character in a Ritchie film, but you just don't care. The bad guys are too much fun.

Bless their dark little hearts.

Serious Sidebar:

2011-03-16T03:34:00.008-05:00

Family Video has done me quite a favor this time around.

I rented The Phantom of the Opera. The one with Gerard Butler. I should have watched it years ago.

Why didn't I? Lots of reasons. Sometimes, musicals don't turn out well on film. Sometimes, modern musicals don't stand up to classic ones. Plus, the Phantom has never been on my list of favorites. I never watched any stage version or anything, though I've watched tons of other stuff.

I think I've always liked Les Miserables better, though I admit it's because I saw it performed live on stage and, yeah, it struck a chord down there somewhere that's never stopped thrumming.

But the Phantom? No. Christine pisses me off. The Phantom gets totally shafted. I never liked Raoul. The music's great -- we did a sort of pastiche of it one year for the ol' high school's Memories program (sort of a spring concert) -- but I just never got the feel for the show itself.

That grave oversight has been rectified.

I'm sure there are those who'll scoff and tell me the film craps all over the stage version. What could I be thinking? Those poser film actors could never bring it to life like Broadway can. They may be right.

All I can say in response is that Butler's Phantom brings me to my knees.

I can't explain it. He simply steals every scene he's in. I can't take my eyes off him, and I can't bear it when he stops singing. Who the hell knew he was that amazing a singer? I mean, obviously millions of people do now, but hey. I'm behind the curve. Still haven't read a Harry Potter novel. Sosumi.

He hits every note with his heart. I can't explain it better than that. Whether he's spitting curses or whispering lyrics of love or projecting pure seduction, his voice is pure power. The loud high notes are hard enough, but the light, searching ones? They require such incredible control, such careful pitch.

I'm just so impressed. He sounds like he's trained his whole life, but it turns out not so much. People can train since childhood and never sound as incredible as he does in this movie. Amazing.

Now, don't get me wrong. He's not the only draw. I absolutely adore Minnie Driver's La Carlotta. She's just AWFUL, and I love her. I also get a kick outta the managers and their helpless groveling to protect their investment. It's not just Butler who endears me, though he gets the lion's share of the credit.

The musical numbers are spectacular, however often they're remixed. That scene where the Phantom holds Raoul hostage for Christine's decision and they're all singing different melodies at each other? I could listen to that all day.

But... oh... the Music of the Night....

And the Point of No Return....

I have enjoyed Gerard Butler in every movie of his I've seen, but he's never made me want to cry until now. And the Ice Queen does not cry. But his Phantom's despair, his agonizing loneliness, his impossible longings for kindness in a world that so clearly values perfection of appearance instead of in person....

He hits every single level on which the Phantom should perform. He can be commanding. He can be terrifying. He can be tender. He can be loving. He can weep for what he doesn't understand and never will because he was never given simple compassion.

They might have found someone else to play the Phantom. This hypothetical other person might have sang well. Might have coaxed more than high notes and streaming tears from Emmy Rossum. Might have made it through both the songs and the fight scenes intact. Yadda yadda.

But I can honestly say that if it hadn't been Mr. Butler, I wouldn't have enjoyed it half as much. His Phantom will haunt me, and I truly don't mean that as a pun.

...Though it is a little punny. Heh.

Anyway, I couldn't not write a bit on this one. I can see why it's held my beloved sister willing hostage for so many years. Why my nieces will sit and watch it when they'd rather pull their own teeth than be quiet, otherwise. I've had it two days and have watched it five times.

No, I'm not kidding. I never expected it to grab me so hard.

I think it's at the end, where he's listening to his little music monkey's tinkling song and barely whisper-singing "Masquerade... paper faces on parade... masquerade... hide your face... so the world will never find you...."

The look on his face just cuts my heart out. And I don't even have a heart to cut. You can see how much he just wants to disappear, how he's worn a mask his whole life, even with Christine, how he has no idea what he is without that mask and doesn't dare try to find out. For him, in that moment, his life is over, and it's all over him.

And when he looks up and she's there, the naked, aching expression as he whisper-sings, "Christine, I lo...ove you...."

The catch in his voice... the way he seems to be clinging to one last, desperate hope that she might stay with him, love him, teach him to be a human being....

Oh, God, it almost makes me wish I had a heart, just so I can feel it break for him.

Thank you so much, Mr. Butler. I know you're not the only one who brought this beauty forth, but as I said before: from me, you get the lion's share of credit.

Dear Charlie:

2011-03-14T16:37:00.004-05:00

Okay, so sometimes I like to watch indie horror flicks. Yes, I know. I'm more likely to root for the protagonists to die in most of 'em, but hey. Once in a while, you find something great.

And sometimes, you just find something weird. Like an Italian version of Red Riding Hood. Honestly, with a little higher production value, this wouldn't have been so bad. The earlier acting is stilted and tentative, but the longer the movie goes on, the more I think that's intentional (to an extent; this is probably the very young lead actress's first film role). After all, the main character is not only 12 years old, but batshit crazy.

I'll spare you the details, but it comes down to this: she's the worst kind of crazy -- the wicked-smart kind. She's a veritable prodigy, but her views of the world are juuuuust a bit outside. There are reasons for this, which is impressive in an indie flick. Honestly, the plot of this thing is very well done.

You put a group of more seasoned actors on this and better production value overall, and it'd easily overwhelm most of the horror crap Hollywood's putting out these days.

And I gotta admit, the grandmother was well-played. Even the tutor wasn't bad. Unfortunately, the crazy chick is a bit of a sour note, but honestly, she grows on you. Her acting isn't spot on, but she has an enormous amount of dialogue to impart, and she spits it out with admirable aplomb. It's gotta be tough to sound genius-level crackers while calmly contemplating the precise way to drill through Gramma's kneecaps to safely immobilize her without killing her.

Oi.

But the plot is infinitely more solid than you usually get from movies like these. I just wish they hadn't made George's wolf face solid white. It works for Michael Myers, but not for the wolf face. If they'd made it more rustic, like on the poster/cover, it would've been much more creepy. As it is, it looks like plaster fresh from the mold, like the crew was too rushed to even run a sander over it.

But overall, if you're like me and like to occasionally risk your own sanity by dipping a toe into the vast pool of unknown indie flicks, this one's worth a try. If nothing else, it's worth a chuckle or two. Intentional or not. Heh.

Dear Charlie:

2011-02-26T01:47:00.004-06:00

Expounding on my thoughts on The Last Airbender, I can't help but think that it might be worth a reboot.

You know how Hollywood is these days. They put out a Superman movie, it bombs even when it makes a ton, and they remake it with a different cast and director and writers and make another ton. Ditto Hulk. Ditto everything.

So... why not TLA? Why not see what an action director can do with it?

Can't you just see the fight choreography of, say, Woo-Ping or John Woo or Tom Dey or Corey Yuen combined with the CGI awesomeness of Industrial Light & Magic and the writing genius of, heck, any of a dozen action-savvy screenwriters? People who know how to tell a story with or without effects and without just making shit up because they can't figure out how to get from one place to another quickly?

I think that's my problem. No offense to M. Night, but he's more a character drama kind of guy. That's great if you have six hours of film to spend, but not if you have to tell the same story in a buck thirty. Plus, he's just not as up on hitting the action beats. When Aang sticks a move, THAT'S when the CGI air strike should happen. Not a split second before or after.

I mean, that's just common sense.

I know, I know. Part of that is cast inexperience. These kids were, for the most part, complete unknowns. It takes more than a few weeks in the harnesses to make that movement look natural. I get that.

But seriously.

Get an action crew on this beast, and we'd have ourselves an anime movie.

Oh, and remake that godawful DragonBall: Evolution while you're at it. Good God. It's the badness standard by which I now judge all badness.

Oh! And forget all the 3D, for cryin out loud!

Dear Charlie:

2011-02-21T18:23:00.005-06:00

Much as I hate to displace the picture of the awesomeness of Big Bad George, I feel it's time for a movie review. I haven't done one in a dog's years (namely because I haven't rented a movie since Blockbuster closed and have only been to the theater once in the last year), but I just signed up at Family Video, so I figured I'd do a little renty-renty and maybe catch up on movies I've missed in theater this year.

Starting with The Last Airbender. Oi.

Remember how annoyed I was with DragonBall: Evolution? Ugh. I'm not saying anime can't be made into live action; I just don't see the point. Make it CGI and keep the voice actors. Or at least try to get actors that look like the characters and coach them to sound similar.

And, for the love of the anime gods, please get a decent script that lives up to the spirit of the series and has catchy dialogue!

DBE didn't do that last. Or the first. Or really the second. Some of the actors weren't truly awful (Goku and Piccolo were as close as they could be with the pitifully weak script, as were Grampa Gohan and Yamcha), but for the most part, everything missed the mark. Might have been enjoyable to non-fans (or at least bearable), but it was just plain awful to anyone in the know.

Honestly, it's the same story with TLA.

I'll pass on accusations of "whiting" up the cast. Yeah, the anime had various races representing the different kingdoms, and yeah, they coulda found Inuits or at least Eskimos to play Katara and Sokka and key Water Tribe characters, but they at least had Asians for earth benders and... well... Middle Easterners?... for fire benders. I may not agree with their choices (even the creators said most of the world was supposed to be Asian), but at least they weren't as whitey-white as claimed in all the articles.

My problem with the cast is what they did to the script. Most of my enjoyment of the anime came from the quippiness of the dialogue. Sokka was a laugh riot (Sparky-Sparky Boom Man, anyone?), and Aang didn't spare the puns or the practical jokes. Heck, even Katara got in on the laugh action, though she tended to be the more mature of the group.

But in the movie, that's all gone. Oh, there are a few places where lines could have been mildly amusing... if they weren't delivered devoid of any personality. How can you have a water-bending misfire end up on Sokka without gaining even a chuckle? Well, they managed.

Sokka is completely humor-deprived. He looks a little like the one from the anime, but he certainly doesn't act like him. Aang tries to look cheery on occasion, but it comes across as so forced and stilted that it loses any joy the anime character took in everyday actions. Katara is lifeless. Instead of being the soul of the group, she's a set piece that moves and sometimes says stuff.

And Zuko? Just... no. Instead of being the tormented, driven, honor-searching and morally dubious upstart from the anime, he's just whiny. The only time I like him is as the Blue Spirit -- in other words, when he has no lines and is heavily cloaked and masked. He's Zuko when he's fighting faceless, but that's it.

And did I mention that there's no sense of humor at all?

Even Uncle Iroh is preachy instead of garroulously fatherly. I didn't hear him mention tea even once, though my attention may have wandered.

[Edited to add: My bad. He did say something about having tea when Zuko returned from rescuing Aang. Woo.]

The sad thing is that they managed to hit most of the high points of the anime's first season, but I suppose that in the rush to cram it all in and tell a logical story, they left out everything that made the anime so absorbing.

I mean, how can they leave out the Kyoshi warriors? They're crucial to the end of the trilogy and to Sokka's growth as a character. They even visited Kyoshi Island, for crying out loud.

And, no offense to Cliff Curtis, but he's no Fire Lord Ozai. Part of the reason the Fire Lord is so imposing in the anime is because he looks every inch nobility. Iroh, the rightful ruler, comes across as a bumbling fool, though his power is off the charts. Ozai, on the other hand, is coldly beautiful in the heat of his passionate rule, and every inch the perfection of an Asian male. I particularly like the long hair. Even silent, he is imposing. The Ozai in the film is simply there.

I dunno. Maybe my standards are too high. I wouldn't consider myself an anime fanatic, as much as I enjoy watching a new one every now and then. And I admit to wanting to see a truly well-done live action, just like any other moderate fan.

But with what's already been done, I sincerely doubt "well done" can be done. Oi.

Sad but true.

So, if you haven't already seen The Last Airbender, you aren't missing much. If curiosity impels you, as it did me, you'll find much familiar and probably be impressed with the graphic representations of Appa, the bending styles, and the Fire Nation's army. They're impressive and worth watching.

But if you're looking for the anime brought to life, you won't find it. At least, not the heart of it.

I mean, they can't even pronounce the names right. Sheesh.

Awesome Update:

2011-02-14T16:40:00.003-06:00

As promised (and I always live up to my promises, though sometimes it takes a while), here's a picture of Big Bad George, freshly washed:

And here is the decal that just sets a seal on the awesomeness that is my Deadpool-colored car. Sweet!

Thanks, Jody!

Dear Charlie:

2011-02-12T06:47:00.002-06:00

I do weird things when I can't sleep. Heheh.

So I just saved myself money on multiple levels by... ahem... giving myself a haircut. It's been on my mind a while, but I usually only trust one person to cut my hair, and that person is Uwanna. She lives and does business in my home town, and she's the only stylist that hasn't maimed me in some way or another.

Don't get me wrong: I'm not a vain person. So long as my hair stays out of my face, I'm usually content. However, I don't want to be butched. I've said it once, and I'll say it again: with long hair, at least you can pull it back. With short hair, you're pretty much stuck with it in your face.

But Uwanna has found a happy medium for me several times. For a while there, I'd grow it out to over halfway down my back, then chop it off about shoulder-length (or maybe chin-length, if she could talk me into it). It's kind of a renewal thing. I don't like cutting my hair more than once a year (less if I can help it), but after two years or so, even though split ends are rare, the whole mess just needs to be cut down to size so it can grow out all healthy again.

I hadn't done that for quite some time.

So, it's been on my mind lately. For lots of reasons, most of which have to do with using less shampoo/conditioner and not having to color like a foot and a half of hair. Ugh.

So, tonight, as I was tossing and turning and trying to will myself to sleep, I got tired of shoving my hair out of the way with each turn and decided I needed to run down to Uwanna's and get it cut. Maybe not so much as usual, but at least six inches or so. But it does look cute short (though I hatehateHATE looking cute) and Mom always loves it shorter.....

Toss. Turn. Throw hair out of the way. Toss. Turn. Nearly strangle myself.

That's it.

So I lay there on my back, thinking of how many times Uwanna's cut my hair in a basic bob with a little flare so I can flip it if I straighten, and I'm pretty sure I remember all the steps. Maybe I'll just cut it myself. Save the trip (and the gas money, and the cost of the cut itself, and the tip I always give her).

Then again, I could stop by and see Sean and Kristi and the kids... and maybe stop by to give Aunt Jan a hug and see how the family's doing after RoyAnna's funeral... and get my new key made for Big Bad George....

But I can't do that until Tuesday. And I really can't afford anything extra right now. Anything at all.

I bet I can remember all the steps. And I wouldn't really mind cutting it shorter. Just at, say, shoulder-length. If I want, I can trim it a little higher then, right?

...

...

Yeah. I got up and cut it. And, wonder of all wonders, it actually looks pretty good. I don't have any product in it, and it's a little shaggy in the back, but I kinda like it that way. I have a cowlick back there and was afraid to cut it too straight, anyway, and it gives it a bit of interest.

Just above shoulder-length, but not chin-length. Long enough to have a ponytail (or pigtails, if I want a laugh). But oh, so much shorter.

Just over a foot, to be vaguely exact. Oi.

But it's so much lighter, and it'll be so much easier to deal with, and oh, will I save on shampoo and conditioner! Plus, no gas money for the trip (I use at least half a tank to get there and back, not counting any running around I do while down there), and no stylist cost/tip. And the next time I color (which should be like, um, yesterday), it won't be such an ordeal to get color all the way to the ends without slopping it everywhere. My arms never seem long enough.

And, best of all, my hair grows pretty fast, so it'll grow out again in no time.

The cycle has begun.

Dear Charlie:

2011-01-24T19:00:00.002-06:00

Woo-hoo! Finally crammed stuff around to get my computer desk into my bedroom! Yaaay!

...

Of course, this means I have no excuse for not writing. Gotta get that nose back to the grindstone. But that's a good thing. I'm hoping the creative outlet, once I work it back into shape, will perk me up some. I miss disappearing into worlds of my own creating, miss the flow of words, miss the hours fading to nothing as my characters live their lives on the page.

Let's hope it gets back to that. I can't wait.

If nothing else, it's nice to not have my back to an open, public room. I know it's weird, but I really hate that. I don't even do that in restaurants if I can help it.

It isn't a feng shui thing. I'm not worried about eddying or disrupted chi. Heck, according to feng shui, my current set-up is a no-no because my back is to the doorway. I think I might actually be facing evil. Heheh. Either way, it doesn't bother me in here.

I just don't like my back to an open room.

Yes. I know I'm an oddball. There are degrees of nuttiness I'm willing to tolerate in myself.

Let's do this thing. Woot!

Somber Update:

2011-01-18T15:40:00.003-06:00

Well, I just got back from my cousin's funeral. Car accident. Go figure.

You wanna talk about irony.

Bless her heart, but RoyAnna was young -- only seventeen -- and smart and funny and active and the picture of health. Played all kinds of sports. Brought smiles everywhere she went. She was a good girl -- not a rebel, not a boundary-pusher, kind to strangers and puppies.

And before she even really got a shot at life, she's gone.

How is it that cranky old me has a car accident and gets out without a scratch, while such an innocent is dead? Is it true that only the good die young?

Or is it insulting to her memory to apply such a hackneyed old cliche?

Either way, the funeral was hard. I've never seen the old hometown funeral home so overfilled. It was worse than standing-room-only. People were standing on the sidewalk outside because it was too packed for any more guests inside. It was so full that we didn't even get to stand in the main room, and we were close family.

But that's the kind of girl she was. Everybody loved her. She will be gravely missed.

But sadder still is that I'd only seen her a handful of times in her life. Oh, I knew her. Got regular reports from all over the place, all of them glowing about how funny she was, how good a sport, how active and smart. I felt like I knew her so well, but it had been probably five years since I last saw her.

It's scary how suddenly it ended for her. I mean, it's good that she didn't suffer horribly. Don't get me wrong. But... seventeen? That's a blink of the eye.

At any rate, I hope she rests well, and I hope her parents and sister are able to cope without her. A little of the light went out for all of us today, but we're all hoping that remembering her will bring it back every now and again.

Dear Charlie:

2011-01-16T15:03:00.002-06:00

Okay, so I'm liking the new car. More than liking, but I'm not willing to admit to the L word just yet. Heh.

2008 Dodge Caliber. Very sweet. And it's Deadpool-colored, which is even better. Rides smooth, shifts without a hitch, gets right on it, and has an engine so quiet I can't hear it over the radio. Beauty.

I've named it Big Bad George. Yes, the big and bad are necessary.

...

Okay, so I'm a little afraid that not naming the Avenger jinxed it, so I hurried around to find a name, but I really think it fits. Good ol' BBG.

I think we're gonna be pals. We seem to get along thus far, anyway.

Pictures will follow. I intended to take some just today, but it's too bright outside for my phone's camera.

Stupid sun. I still can't figure out why someone hasn't blown it up yet. Sheesh. Just because doing so would destroy all life on this planet and any potential life-like states on any other planets in the galaxy (at the very least).

Big show off. Pssh.

...I take it that it's pretty obvious I've been perusing my Deadpool collection. At least I'm not talking in different fonts.

Yet.

Progress Update:

2011-01-07T13:55:00.004-06:00

Things might be looking up?

Nothing is set in stone yet, but it looks like I'll be getting a great car to replace my awesome sauce car, and that ain't bad at all. I was really scared. I'm not gonna lie.

But... *crosses fingers*... signs appear very hopeful that I'll have a 2008 Dodge Caliber to replace my 2009 Dodge Avenger, and that is definitely a fair trade. More mileage, but definitely lower than anything else we looked at. I am hugely relieved, and since the two cars are very similar (one's an obvious sedan-type car while the other is a hatchback/crossover-type, but that's really the only difference), I imagine I can count on this one as much as my lovely Avenger.

Basically, just waiting for the insurance paperwork to come thru, but I am definitely relieved. Thank God, and thank you guys for putting up with me in a very, very low moment. I hate blogging when I'm low (it's just not fair to you guys), but it had been a while and I figured I needed to update something.

Now, back to that "getting a good day job" problem....

Heh. At least that's a familiar problem, right? I know there's something out there. I just gotta find it. I am determined to be hopeful.

Here goes?

Odd-Ball Update:

2011-01-05T00:52:00.004-06:00

Well, I know I shoulda blogged before now, but I wasn't quite sure how to go about it. I'm too stressed out to make fun of the situation, but I also don't want to be either whiny, bitchy, ranty, or just plain annoying.

Quite the dilemma.

In the end, I've just decided to be honest. I can always delete later, right? So... here goes.

Needless to say, 2010 wasn't very nice to me. Sure, I got my book out, and that's awesome sauce. Also, I got a great role in a musical and also performed in the local DickensFest. Found out I have a bit of a knack for set painting.

It wasn't a complete bust, is all I'm saying.

But the stuff that went wrong went spectacularly wrong. Still can't find a decent day job, and part-time minimum wage is killing me. Lost my house. Had to sell most of my furniture and such because I simply don't have room for it. Had to move in with other people (if you know me, that's almost funny... if it weren't so sad). So, lost all my comfortable surroundings and that lovely, wonderful blanket of distance that allowed me to survive having to work with other people.

Lost my car.

Yup. My beloved, wonderful, reliable, never-did-anything-wrong Avenger. It's gone to Automotive Heaven. Some guy killed it on Christmas Eve, and for no good reason I can fathom. No, the insurance company isn't screwing me over (for a change), but due to circumstances I'd rather not go into on this blog on which I've always tried to avoid ranting, I'm not getting anything even half as good as what I've lost.

We'll see tomorrow how well or badly I come out of the morass.

And there's where I've been having the hardest time. In a year where I've lost everything including my independence, I still at least had a car I figured I'd have for twenty years. Or more. It was like a safety net at the very bottom of my incomprehensible freefall.

But now? Back to someone else's headaches. Someone else's mistakes. And with the tiny payout I'm getting, the likelihood of those headaches being severe (and expensive) are astronomical.

And I have to choose wisely, because it's not like I'll be able to afford anything better for God only knows how long. This is my only shot at something even half-ass reliable, and no amount of browbeating will make me back down on what I need.

But oh... the browbeating. Crap. Don't get started, Geeb. You'll never stop.

So anyway, it just seems that 2010 gave me one last kick in the teeth, then strode away laughing at my pitiful attempts to salvage something from the wreckage. I can only hope that 2011 holds a few less agonizing surprises.

Please, God? Okay?

/endwhinyrant

Sorry. I tried.

Happy Update:

2010-12-20T12:44:00.003-06:00

Well, ain't I just a bloggin fool this week?

Just thought I'd make available the newest My Gigolo review. Missy at Fallen Angel Reviews gave me five angels! Sweet!

Thanks so much for reading and enjoying, guys. I can't tell you how many warm fuzzies you've given me!

And remember: the book comes out in print in March. Just in time for that incredibly late Christmas present! *snerk*

Awesome-sauce Update:

2010-12-19T15:27:00.002-06:00

Lookit my boys!

See what happens when Matt Cassel is at the wheel? Things happen. Oh, he threw an interception early on, but I think he was shaking off a big hit at the time and wasn't sure if it hurt in a bad way or not. Otherwise? That man was spot on.

No shut out with him at QB.

So, to alla yous guys who pule that Brody Croyle was never really given his shot and would develop into a better QB if given a chance and blah-de-blah, I hate to tell you, but Croyle got his chance like three years ago and... he got hurt. He's fragile. He likes to think he's not, but he is. He breaks easily.

And honestly? Cassel's got just as dynomite an arm, as he's proven time and again.

Give the guy a break, here.

I mean, seriously. He's been fighting tooth and nail to get back into the game (even just a few days after an appendectomy). He is the leader of this team. He gets 'em goin. He just went out there and, 11 short days after being cut open, shrugged off hurries, knock-downs, and outright sacks and shoved it all down St. Louis' throat.

This guy is mustard. Give him the credit he not only deserves but has earned over and over. His team gives it.

Time for the grumbly, mumbly fans to hand over the love.

Dear Charlie:

2010-12-16T16:22:00.002-06:00

You know it's bad when I don't even have a chance to update my Chiefs scoreboard for two weeks. Yikes!

And boy, did my poor boys get spanked on Sunday. They haven't been shut out all year until now. Ugh. Maybe this'll finally shut up all those "Matt Cassel sucks, put in Brody Croyle" doofuses out there. Matt Cassel is a fine quarterback, and he grows with each performance. Brody Croyle had his chance and got injured nearly every time he took the field. Let him go.

Still looking for a job, though I haven't filled out any applications since I moved. Nothing terribly exciting has come up, unfortunately. However, I keep hoping something will come my way that doesn't make me want to crawl in a hole and die rather than do on a daily basis. Oi. That's not so much to ask, is it?

Not much on the writing front, either. Still coping with people always being around and my computer being in the dining room instead of my room. It's hard enough to focus when I'm alone (unless I'm in The Zone), and impossible to focus with so much going on. I'm working on it, but it's not coming easy.

Supposedly, nothing worth having is, but I have my doubts. Easy button, anybody?

Anyway, gotta go to work. Have fun, all.

Dear Charlie:

2010-11-24T13:44:00.002-06:00

Okay, yeah, I'm a bad blogger. This time, I totally have an excuse. My computer was packed for a week while I moved and then made space for it.

So there.

Yes, I moved. No, I didn't get the house sold. No, I don't want to talk about it.

Movin on!

Going from living blissfully alone to living with roommates will be tricky for me, but I suppose I'll manage. Not much else to do at the moment, so I'm determined to make the best of it. Now, if I can just get my clothes unpacked so I can get my movies and books (some of them, anyway) unpacked...

*snerk* See what I did there? Yeah.

Anyway, my Chiefs won, which is good. They needed it after two straight losses to division rivals. I'm not sure which loss was harder -- the gut-wrenching one-score loss in overtime to the Raiders (ugh!) or the disheartening blowout shin-kicking fiesta 49 points given up to the Broncos. Either way, I hope that's our low for the season and we only go up from here. The next time we meet those clowns, it'll be on our own turf, and we've proven that Arrowhead is once again our sovereign dome of victory.

Thank you, Arrowhead Faithful.

Oh, and can someone tell me why, just when I get interested enough with a TV show to actually watch it on TV, there's always some kind of season break or a change in time or a change in night? Why, God, why??

That's right, Castle. I'm talkin to you. Get me all addicted to the point I make up almost three seasons' worth of episodes in a week, and then two weeks later, yank the rug out from under me. Totally not cool.

...Although I thought "abducted by aliens" was a perfectly logical and realistic theory for how that entire case went down. I'm just sayin.

Update:

2010-11-14T23:15:00.003-06:00

No comment on today's Chiefs game. I wasn't able to get enough reception to actually watch it, so I had to just watch the numbers' miserable climb on my pool's homepage.

Le sigh.

Moving has kicked in. I'm no longer just packing (though I'm still doing that, of course), which means there's no longer any stopping it. I know how I feel about it, but I'm trying not to dwell. Hard not to while trying to decide what goes with, what gets sold, and what gets trashed, but hey.

Otherwise, got a killer idea for a book series (don't worry; this is future work talking; I still want to get my steampunk out before, ya know, the end of time) and am jotting down ideas and notes and things I want characters to say. These books will require more plotting and organization than I usually do, so I'm tempted to start up a notebook for it when I get settled at Pesh's house.

And Edgee got me addicted to Castle, the bastard. I knew I'd love it, so I never watched it once. Since last week, I've caught up on all three seasons and have started watching the actual show on Monday nights. On TV. Commercials and all.

Dammit.

And in other news, I'm participating in DickensFest, a local Christmas extravaganza put together by Dream Theater, the same peeps who do the Raycliff haunted attractions. Sweet! It's gonna be epic, I tell ya. We hope it turns into an annual thing, because it's gonna rock.

Yes. I realize it's ironic for me to be in a Christmas production when I don't like Christmas. At least this one's about a haunting, so it's more my stride. Heheh.

OH! And I wrote some more Undead Christmas lyrics. They're up at my site here. Yup. Carol of the Bells. I think I'll have to attack Twelve Days of Christmas next. Mwahah.

Dear Charlie:

2010-11-01T20:58:00.003-05:00

Despite the fact that my Chiefs are 5-2 and just toughed out a messy win over the Bills yesterday, I'm feeling a little sad today. Driving down Rangeline this afternoon, I saw the empty, abandoned building where Blockbuster used to do business. They've already taken down the signs and everything.

Why does that make me sad? Well, I'll try to explain.

See, I'm a tactile kind of girl. Call me old-fashioned, but I want to hold something in my hand. I can't wait until March, when my book comes out in print. It's awesome to be published, and e-books sell like candy in these advanced days of Nooks and Kindles and cell phones that work like Nooks and Kindles, but....

I want to hold my book in my hand. I wanna flip through the pages. I wanna smell the paper and glue, see it on the shelf at Books-a-Million and Hastings, smile secretly when I see someone reading it without telling them I wrote it, blush and feel all embarrassed when Pesh tells someone I wrote it and demands that I sign it for them. Because she'll do that.

Hard to do any of that when it only exists in cyberspace.

In a big way, I see the closing of a brick-n-mortar rental store like Blockbuster as yet another stake in the heart of all brick-n-mortar stores. We're so dependent on the internet that we don't even have to actually insert a DVD to watch a movie nowadays. With Netflix and all those other on-line rental stores, you can download directly to your Xbox or PS3 or whatever.

I can't tell you how many pleasurable hours I can spend at a rental store (or book store, for that matter) just perusing cover art, reading the back to see if I'm interested or if there are enough extras to make it worth the rental (or purchase), remembering watching this flick with these friends or that flick with those friends. VHS is already gone. Pretty soon, you won't be able to rent DVDs at all. You'll still be able to rent movies, but somehow, to a tactile person like me, it's just not the same.

If nothing else, it's hard to chitchat with the counter person about the merits of the Goonies over the Monster Squad when there's no counter person. I like dealing with a person. Sure, I can look extras and prices and whatnot up on-line, but it's so much more pleasant to get that information from a friendly person at the store (and the Blockbuster folks I dealt with were always very friendly, which is admittedly something of a wonder these days), someone who obviously also loves movies and will probably tell me more than even the best back-flap information could ever do.

But again, blog or no blog, Twitter and Facebook account or no, I'm a bit old-fashioned. Tactile. I like to have a tangible product in my hand when I leave a store, rather than just an electrical impulse to my device of choice. What can I say? I'm a child of the '80s. I only missed 8-tracks by a couple of years and still have a few worn-out old cassette tapes.

And I still have a VHS/DVD collection. Movies I can hold in my hand and feel like I actually have something, that I spent my hard-earned (very hard-earned, lately) money on something of tangible value. I don't have to worry about losing all my flicks if, say, my Xbox blows up (not that I have an Xbox or a PS3; I'm just sayin').

I've said it before and I'll say it again: Blockbuster, you will be missed. You won't be there for me this Christmas when I want to rent a zombie flick to make it through the holidays, but it's not your fault. And I'll think of you every time I drive by the sad, abandoned building that's been yours since long before I stumbled into Joplin fifteen years ago.

Alas.

Dear Charlie:

2010-10-24T15:11:00.004-05:00

Ah, with a lovely Chiefs win in the can -- 42-20 over the maddeningly inconsistent Jaguars -- I can turn my mind to other loveliness.

Yes. I'm talking about RED. I'm also talking about KickAss. Watched both this last week and... dude....

But first, I wanna congratulate my boys. Yes, the Jags were playing with an untried last-string quarterback who was driving a tractor when he got the call that he was back on the active roster and... um... starting in five days. That said, until an interception by Derrick Johnson threw off his mojo, Bouman was playing smart football with astonishing poise. He's a hard man to sack, as he can shrug off the most imminent attacks until he can throw the ball away.

However, our defense just wore their offense down. And our offense wore their defense down. In all, despite that back-n-forth first half, this was the Chiefs' most complete game yet. Offense and defense agreed that they wanted it, and special teams pitched in with some excellent return coverage. Beautiful.

So... RED. No, I don't think it's generally capitalized, but I like it that way. Reminds me that it's an acronym.

Someone called this flick a more cerebral Expendables, and I can't really disagree. I loved Expendables, but for different reasons. This movie takes these actor-type stars and turns them into action-type stars... and still manages to succeed.

Of course, Bruce Willis is always just candy to watch. He can play it straight, he can play it funny, he can act, and he can do the action. You put him in a movie, and he gives you what you want. And his retiree pension-check-havin Everyman persona in the beginning is just... sweet. A little socially awkward. Very sweet.

And then people break into his house and he turns into someone else entirely. Except he really doesn't. He's one of the few guys in the world who can keep that endearing, sweet awkwardness while being a stone-cold killing machine. The kinda guy who'll save your life and still open the car door for ya.

Then, they go and surround him with a cavalcade of stars. Brian Cox is also always a joy, as is Morgan Freeman. I'm loving Helen Mirren lately. She was sparkling as Nick Cage's mother in National Treasure 2, and she is equally sparkling here. She has this ladylike sassiness that I hope to have now, let alone in another thirty years.

I'm kinda hit-or-miss with John Malkovich. He is undoubtedly an excellent actor, but that doesn't mean I like all his movies. However, he spends the money here and sells out to his crazy-pants persona here in a major way. And it's believable because he believes it himself. His paranoia and confusion and child-like lack of reasoning (compounded by his eerie-accurate nose for Washington plants) make him a fun character to interact with.

And who knew Mary-Louise Parker could hang with this kind of crowd? But she does, and she doesn't get lost in the scenery. Her kooky pension-office mundanity contrasts nicely with Bruce Willis's "how's retirement working for you?" awkwardness and sets off some very mild, very amusing, very enjoyable chemistry between them. It's not the ridiculous firestorm of a Mr. & Mrs. Smith. Instead, it's... sweet.

And, in my opinion, much more satisfactory.

This flick is a character study that just happens to also be an action flick. Because of that, it works on every level. Good times.

And then, there's KickAss. Again, pretty sure there's a space there, but I like it all smushed together. Deal.

I like comic books. I like graphic novels. And most of the time, even with the inevitable losses encumbent in a changeover to movie format, I like movies made from comic books and graphic novels.

But I love this one.

It starts off simply enough. You have your average kid. Drowning in mundanity. He's not a geek, but he's not a jock. He's not the head of the class, but he's not the tail of it, either. He isn't an artist, a musician, a chess whiz, or D&D basement-dweller who dresses up like an elf every weekend. He's just average.

Of course, he doesn't want to be.

He wants to be a hero. He wants to stop handing over his spare cash to the gangs in the area (and his comic books). He wants to take a stand for something. And, of course, he wants to get the girl. Or at least get her attention.

Enter... Kick Ass. The newest superhero. And perhaps the shortest-lived.

In his debut outing as a superhero, he gets stabbed and run over by a car. In a way, that's the perfect backstory, as he ends up with Wolverine's skeletal structure (well, not adamantium, but hey) and a pain tolerance that makes a masochist look perfectly healthy. But in all, he still doesn't have any super powers. He can shrug off a hit because it doesn't hurt, and he can take a knock to the leg without a broken bone, but he's no stronger or faster or better-trained than before. And he doesn't have the gadgets.

But there are a couple of folks in the city who do. Enter... Hit Girl and Big Daddy.

Both have a backstory also worthy of graphic novel status, and both have a grudge against the big drug-and-crime pusher in the area, Frank D'Arnico. Mark Strong. Just sayin.

I'm lovin me some Mark Strong. I even like him when he's not exactly a bad guy... though that's pretty rare. I mean, c'mon. He's a pretty good bad guy.

At any rate, this is where the movie goes from formula "make fun of what you love while lovingly embracing it" territory to the true sublime. This movie pulls no punches. Little girls just mowing down grown men, grown men beating the crap out of a teenager in a costume while torching another guy, a grown man beating a little girl within an inch of her life....

Definitely not PC. No wonder Matthew Vaughn insisted on finding his own funding instead of going with a Hollywood house. He wanted to keep in all the graphic pain and frustration that make this flick about the characters instead of about the over-the-top violence.

Because again, this is a character study. These aren't cookie-cutter Hollywood walk-ins. These are people you feel like you've met before. Even Hit Girl and Big Daddy, who are bona-fide psychotic and know it and are okay with it, come across as perfectly believable and legit. They're vigilantes of the most vicious and ruthless sort; they care nothing for the law because they know it can't and won't protect them, and so they have no limits when it comes to dealing out their revenge.

Contrast them with Kick Ass, whose weapons are basically police batons as opposed to guns and who is more armed with good intentions and a sense of right than with a blind need to dish out a vengeance buffet.

Yes, this is an action flick. Yes, it's even a comic book movie. But this is nothing like Spider-Man or Superman or even Batman. There are homages and in-jokes, yes. They poke fun at the heroes that spawned Kick Ass's need to fight back.

But at the same time, they succeed where those classic heroes fail. Spider-Man was mutated by spider venom. Superman wasn't even human. Batman had all the money in the world to fund his ventures (though, seriously, of the bigguns, he's my favorite because under all the gadgets, he's just a man bent for justice, which is hella cool).

Kick Ass? Well... he has a cell phone, but that's about it. He even has to ride a bike to the scene of a given crime. He's truly an Everyman, and he makes us Everybodies watching feel like we could put on a borrowed jetpack with mounted Gatlin guns on the shoulders and... ya know... not do too shabby, either.

And that's a good feeling. It's why the movie works.

Watch it.

...

Mark Strong. Just sayin. Or... ya know... repeating. Mark Strong.

Dear Charlie:

2010-10-21T03:47:00.004-05:00

Okay, two quick things:

1. My flashy website is back up. Yay! Technical difficulties and that whole starving artist thing, mainly, but we're back in business with updates to the News page and soon-to-be-updates to the Freebies page. Double yay! And hopefully news (and maybe snippets?) from the latest work in progress. With pirates. Triple yay? Or would the pirates make it quadruple?

2. Pretty please cross your fingers for me for jobbage. I really liked the place where I interviewed, and it'd be way cool to wear jeans to work for the first time since college. Yeah. Let's not talk about how long ago that was. Our little secret and all that.

Okay, three things:

3. My only comment regarding the upcoming Jacksonville game and my beloved Chiefs is this: while the Jags are maddeningly unpredictable from week to week, I think the sting from that oh-so-close Houston giveaway last weekend will have my boys cruisin for a major win. Like when they stomped San Fran to quash the rumors that they could only beat so-so teams, my boys will prevail to quash the rumors that they can't handle play-offs contenders and might as well not bother taking up the play-off slot they might win.

Totally not true.

As usual, my boys just gotta get the O and D working at the same time. When that happens, we go 13-3. Remember 13-3? Weren't those good times? We could be there again.

Just sayin.

And again, let's just not remember exactly how long ago that was. Time and tides and all that.

Oh! And remind me later to pop up a quickie review of RED. Yeah. Watched it.

Are you kidding? Of course I watched it! But more on that later. For now, I must sleep. I've been a wee bit short of it lately, and I'm hoping like crazy I have to juggle two jobs for a while because, ya know, day job! Eee!

*crosses all applicable appendages*

Dear Charlie:

2010-10-17T15:55:00.003-05:00

Okay, I don't want to be the whiny, blame-pointy fan who jumps on every holding call as bull, but... my boys were robbed.

Just sayin.

A bogus "false start" that even the announcers (who invariably don't like the Chiefs unless they're actually from KC) admitted should've been a neutral zone infraction on Houston in the first half, then an even more bogus "defensive passing interference" that shoulda been an offensive interference in the second. Both came at turning point kinda moments, though we didn't let the early one stop us from moving the ball, but that second one was just a game-stealer. You can't give a team that's #1 in 4th quarter scoring a gift 30 yards on a bogus penalty call. Might as well gift-wrap a TD for 'em.

Especially when a player like Brandon Flowers -- a consummate professional who knows what is and isn't a penalty -- is so certain the flag is on the receiver that he's not even watching the refs deliberate. Again, even the announcers said they saw no infraction on Flowers' part, while the Texan receiver gave a very significant and obvious push-off.

No offense to Houston, really (though we totally OWNED them up to the end of the third quarter). They are excellent in the last half and especially in the fourth quarter, but that bogus call put them in the position to undercut our lead by 7 instead of the 3 they would've had to settle for, and that's a game-changer. Give us the penalties we've earned, but in a game that comes down to one score, one referee screw-up can completely undo a team's extraordinary effort.

Yeah, I know error is part of the game, but I get really frustrated when it's twice in the same game against the same team, even if it isn't my Chiefs.

On the other hand, how about that Chiefs offense, eh? Think they worked on not leaving the defense hanging this last week?

I think so.

Great job, O. You did indeed step up. And Cassel played a helluva good game. Smart football. Protect the ball, dominate the clock (up to a point), pass and run until the opposition is off-kilter and can't catch you quick enough. Good times.

Dear Charlie:

2010-10-10T14:57:00.002-05:00

Well, let's look at the positives.

As the last minute ticks off the clock and the Colts take a knee on their victory, you might think there isn't much to cheer about for the Chiefs. Their first big test of the year, and they come up 10 points short, right?

Maybe yes, maybe no. All I know for sure is that those 10 points don't tell the whole story.

My boys frustrated one of the greatest quarterbacks to ever play the game. Down after down, the camera showed close-ups of that "what the hell?" expression on Peyton Manning's face. Our defense foiled him, hurried him, even roughed him up a bit. They harrassed him all day long and held him to field goals in all but one instance and even forced punts in crucial situations.

However, while our defense was stellar today, our offense struggled. We got FGs when we needed TDs. We had one gift-wrapped, handed-down-from-the-football-gods touchdown... and Dwayne Bowe dropped it. And then dropped the next pass, too.

Lots of people will immediately jump on Matt Cassel for this loss, but honestly, it wasn't his fault. He played smart football. But his receivers dropped like 8 passes in a row, and you can't expect the QB to put up good numbers when his receivers have butterfingers.

On the other hand, Tony Moeaki showed up again. He came to play and made some game-changing plays.

But we needed touchdowns. And we didn't get them.

The defense can't win the game by itself. The special teams -- and boy, did they do a sparkling job of being on the spot with the crunch -- can't win by themselves.

The offense has to show up. Everyone has to have their heads in the game.

And Cassel, I love ya, but you gotta never ever drop the ball again. I'm just sayin. I know you were under tremendous pressure and your next play was an astonishingly good strike for a first down, but... wow. If your receivers have butterfingers, you can't. That's like Football Rule #18.

But honestly, we held one of the most exciting, score-mongering teams in the league to field goals for the bulk of the game. We intercepted on one of the best QBs to ever play. And we forced that same QB to fumble the ball for the first time in like 3 years.

Not all bad. Build off it, guys. I know you can.

We're still 3-1, after all. You got a season building here. Just keep fanning those flames, and we'll see what happens.

Dear Charlie:

2010-10-06T13:51:00.002-05:00

Ya know, I've never really understood the BDSM scene.

It's just not my kick, ya know? I'm the kind who gets irritated that you have to "submit" an order, "submit" a query, "submit" whatever. I have no problem following orders from recognized authority figures (boss, editor, parents, cops, soldiers, etc.), but just some schmuck who thinks I should do what he says because he says it?

Not so much.

Also, if someone hits me, I hit back. And not like a girl. In a sparring match, no problem. In the bedroom? Better watch your junk.

So yeah, BDSM just doesn't do it for me.

However, my beloved sister's Connagher books most certainly do.

The latest one, Hurt Me So Good (buy it buy it buy it!), is no exception. Victor is both a Master (a term that would make me snort if it didn't fit him from toes to ponytail) and a true sadist, someone who not only enjoys causing pain but actively needs to do so. To deny that urge is to deny a part of himself, like an arm or his heart.

In fact, it's exactly like denying him his heart. Which is why he's done both for so many years when we first meet him at his... ahem... interesting cable station. He let a little of that monster out the last time he let his heart run around a bit, and he's never been quite the same.

Enter Shiloh, a sassy submissive who is one of the few people I'll believe has the true power in such a lop-sided relationship. She revels in pain, revels in doing any little (or big) thing her Master wants. The problem is... said Master doesn't know he wants her yet, and she's having a spot of bother getting him to let down his guards.

See, even for Shiloh (perhaps especially for her), Victor is an intimidating man. Though he ruthlessly suppresses his sadistic side, he can't completely hide who he is, and that confidence, that charisma, that need to dominate just oozes from him. Anyone with the right set of sensory equipment can feel it, and oh, does Shiloh have the right equipment.

Of course, Joely would never make it so simple. If Shiloh could just offer her pert little butt for a whipping with Victor's favored riding crop, it wouldn't be any fun. Or any emotional torment for the reader.

It just so happens that Shiloh is Victor's employee. Yeah. As if they weren't already un-PC enough, right?

But this is a review, not a plot synopsis, so I'll move on. I don't want to tell you everything, because, seriously, the ride is all the fun. Not half, not three-quarters. All of it. You have to read this book to understand how someone who wants to be hurt and someone who lives to inflict pain can truly work out a solution without someone ending up dead.

No, scratch that. You just have to read this book.

See, it's not just about the "kink". It's not even about the sex. It's about what two people need. It's about trusting their partner to provide that need. It's about two people finding their perfect match and then fighting for that perfection.

It isn't easy. And some scenes ain't even pretty. This is a raw, pain-driven world, and people who just want a little spanking are in for a rocky, even bloody surprise. These people aren't in it for the show, and if you forget that, you'll probably wince away from what you're reading.

But if you're game to open yourself up to just a little of the intensity of a man who'd rather hurt himself than the woman he loves enough to want to damage (read that a couple of times to get the feel behind it), then this is absolutely the book you want. I've read it three times myself (not counting early drafts), and I hate hate HATE the idea of Dominance/submission in my own sex life, but... oh... when he really goes to work with that riding crop....

Yeah.

If I had a rating system, this one would be off the charts. Not just because it's excellent reading with snappy (occasionally blush-worthy) dialogue, killer setting, and smokin-hot romance, but because it... I dunno... shows that you don't have to be damaged in some way to want this lifestyle.

I can't tell you how many times I've seen or read how studies show that people who lead such alternative sexual lifestyles were abused as children or molested as teens or, hell, even just walked in on their parents having sex and were scarred by it. That's the wrong kind of press. Not everyone in the kink set is damaged.

That's not to say that everyone doesn't have scars, but not the kind that "cause" a "deviant" lifestyle. Not sure I'm plainly stating what I mean, but I think you'll understand when you read.

Victor and Shiloh aren't "damaged". They're wounded from past relationships, but in the same way the stiffest, most proper Regency romance hero and heroine might be "damaged" because of ill-advised affairs or match-making mamas. They fell for the wrong people and lived through it.

And now, oh now, they have each other.

What's more happily-ever-after than that?

My Dearest Charles:

2010-09-26T15:05:00.006-05:00

Yes, my dear, I realize I tend to save that opening for my very favorite, most important moments. But I kinda feel this is one of them.

See, my boys just won another one. They're 3-0 now. And, as if that wasn't enough, they kicked the ever-lovin snot out of the other team. No offense to the Niners, who were picked by many as the team to watch this year, but yeah. We totally kicked the crap out of 'em. The final score is (or will be, if they get an extra point) 31-10, but the game wasn't even nearly that close.

We slashed one of the best defenses against the run for over 200 rushing yards. Our air game was equally (perhaps moreso) effective. In all, we got like 500 yards on them [edited to add: okay, 457, but seriously]. Killed 'em in, like, every category measured - first downs, time of possession, penalties (one more penalty but 15 fewer yards), offensive yards, sacks, tackles, rushing, passing, and, of course, TDs.

Well, I guess they did get one interception off a tipped ball. Guess it wasn't a total loss, then. Oh, and Succop, who is otherwise as reliable as a German engine or a Swiss watch, barely BARELY missed a field goal early in. And I mean seriously barely.

Otherwise, it was all Chiefs, all day.

Why, you ask, does this warrant a My Dearest Charles post? Simple: it's exactly what my boys needed.

See, they were 2-0, but everyone (including the boys themselves) admits those wins were ugly. As lucky as skill-won. This team had only won 10 games in three years before this season, and 2-0 or not, their confidence was a fragile, new thing, as tender as a spring bud just waiting to be eaten by a harsh, late frost.

But this? This is a stunning, heady victory. Yes, San Fran is now 0-3, so it's not like they beat the Saints or something, but still. Beat the crap out of them. It wasn't even close. We got ahead and stayed ahead.

And we got there with some razzle dazzle, which always gets everyone excited. A flea flicker and a magic catch by rookie tight end Tony Moeaki (I always feel better when we have a Tony or two on the team, especially at TE), and we were just gone. Rolling nothin but sevens.

It was a beautiful thing, and it was exactly what this shaky new team needed. Confidence. The knowledge that they could not only finish a game, but finish resoundingly. The freedom of knowing we can operate on all fronts - offense, defense, and special teams.

We get to head into the bye week with a big ol' grin and come back against the Colts - an intimidating prospect any time Peyton Manning is at the helm - with the confidence that we're playing as a whole team and we have just as good a chance as anyone else against one of the long-standing great teams in the game.

I can't tell you how much my boys needed that.

So, good on ya, guys, and I look forward to seeing you put a hurt on the Colts. I wanna see 4-0, because then, I just might see 15-1. And wouldn't that be a thing of beauty?

Oh, yeah.

Dear Charlie:

2010-09-19T16:08:00.003-05:00

Interesting times, these.

First and foremost and probably most important... my beloved Chiefs are 2-0. Yes, I said 2-0. They're leading the AFC West.

Good times. I'm seriously.

Um... yeah, there's other stuff, but I'm gonna have to pause and try to remember. 'Cause I'm kinda blinded by the light right now.

2-0.

Awesome.

Yeah. I got nothin. I'll have to get back wi'cha on it.

Dear Charlie:

2010-09-09T22:25:00.002-05:00

Okay, so I'm over at Dave's, and he's playing a game that honestly has me, Dave, and Edgee totally on edge. It's downright disturbing. Apparently, it's called FEAR2, and it obviously lives up to its name.

People just showin up outta nowhere, no idea what's happenin, things phasin in and out... yeah.

This game is awesome.

But anyway, wanted to kick in that, in addition to the long-awaited The Expendables, I've recently been able to watch The Losers. Wasn't expecting much (never read the comic), so I was quadripully pleased by the end product. This movie is just fun.

Jenson may well be the funnest character and Clay may well be the leader, but those clown shoes woulda been dead twenty times over if not for Cougar. Seriously. Hands-down the coolest, most kick-ass member of that little team.

But Jenson is seriously a close second. He's one of those characters you watch a movie for. Sure, it may have been Cougar firing the bullets from like six light years away, but it was Jenson that had those security guards believing the bullets came from his mind.

Heh.

Anyway, enough slobbering over the flick. I can't get "Don't Stop Believin" off my head to save my life (never pictured that one as an action movie chase song, but I'll never see it any other way again), and I think that says everything I need to say about it. Sweeeeeet.

Okay, and back to the increasingly eerie-ass game that has all three of us goosebumpy and jumping at shadows and actually pausing so Dave can go out for a smoke. Yes, he quit. Yes, he started back up. Oi.

But I ain't complainin. In another few scenes, I may have to borrow one myself!

Dear Charlie:

2010-08-30T22:52:00.002-05:00

Now I'm more than ever tempted to delete the last post, but I don't think I will. Why? I dunno. Maybe because it's true and from the heart. Maybe because I sometimes think people think I don't have problems just because I don't talk about them more than I strictly have to.

Whatever.

But for right now, the Geeb's jolly is back in full force. Why, you ask again?

SO glad you asked.

Just watched The Expendables.

Now, maybe it's just because I've had such a crap week. Month. Year. Decade? Anyway, maybe it's because I was in such a crap mood, but I honestly think this may be the shining epitome of what a movie should be -- 100% escapist entertainment.

Seriously. Having a bad day? Watch a movie. If it's a good movie, it'll make you feel better even if it makes you cry. If it's a bad movie, you'll be pissed you bothered popping it in.

Next time I'm having a bad day? SOOOOO watching The Expendables.

All my favorite action folks, both old and new, in one flick? Check. Lots of stuff blowing up? Check. A kick-ass gun that sounds like a cross between a grenade launcher and a tommy gun? Check. Cheeseburger Eddie? Check. Equally kick-ass soundtrack? Check. Tons of fight scenes where everyone having their own fight is absolutely spendin' the money on their opponent? Checkity-check. Scene where an old and grizzled retired battle master repents of the one chance he had to save a piece of his soul? Check. Snarky remarks? Double... no, triple check.

I love this movie. It has everything I need. And I really, really needed that.

And honestly. It's got both Stallone and Schwarzenegger. I'd line up to watch the First Annual "Kyutest Widdle Kitty in the World!!1!" Contest if I thought Sly and Arnie would show up. My ticket was sold just based on that.

Yes, it's action porn. Yes, it's almost two hours of blowing shit up and being both muscle-y and cheeky at the same time. I ask ya: what's wrong with that?

Answer? Nothing. They ain't nuthin wrong widdat.

So, to the revered Stallone, Statham, Li, Lundgren, Willis, Schwarzenegger, Rourke, Austin, Crews, and Couture crew, thank you. Thank you for giving me exactly what I needed exactly when I needed it. You don't know me from Adam, but seriously. Keep doin what you're doin. I love you guys.

Troublesome Update:

2010-08-27T14:46:00.003-05:00

Okay, I try not to weep and wail and rant here, right? So I can totally make the occasional exception to that rule, right?

Yes or no, I'm gonna make an observation that might have a bit of both weep and rant to it. Sorry. You've been warned.

So, back in 2000 (ya know, when dinosaurs roamed the Earth and dirt was new), I graduated college with a BA in English. Supposed to be a gateway major. You can do just about anything with it, right?

WRONG.

Admittedly, if I lived in a bigger city (as friends and family point out ad nauseum), I'd probably make at least $3 more an hour just having any bachelor's degree, but hey. I live here. Not changing soon. At least not changing up, though I'm usually willing to move to a smaller town. Ha.

But yeah. BA English ain't gettin me doodlysquat here. So, gee, I guess I'll try to better myself and my currently crappy situation by going back and finishing that pesky BSE I changed to that pesky BA back in the day. Shouldn't be too hard, right? They're just throwing money at people who want to be teachers, right?

Wrong. AGAIN.

Because, see, both college-type places I've been to in the past week for even the slightest, most remote chance for an possible option have told me... get this... that I'd have been better off dropping out, rather than changing my major and graduating.

No lie.

Okay, they didn't use those exact words, but that's what it boils down to. Because anyone who already has a degree can't get financial aid, grants, scholarships, you name it. Because I qualify (at both locations, mind you, and glowingly qualify, at that) for full-ride scholarships. Just can't get one.

Hell. Couldn't even get one back in the day. Why am I surprised now?

Now, don't get me wrong. I know good and well that the no-loan-no-grant thing is to prevent people being "professional college students" at the government's expense. It's to make sure everyone gets at least one fair shot at affording college. I get that. I understand. I even approve.

But it sucks hairy, sweaty donkey balls when you're just trying to be a teacher.

Right now, I can't afford a stick of gum, but they want me to finish my BSE (or get an associate's degree from a community college) out of pocket? Shyeah, right. Let me also pull a bowling ball, three parrots, and a diesel truck outta my ass.

See, I was told -- yeah, back in the day -- that even with just a BA in English, I could get a teaching job with a provisional license, and the school I worked for would... get this... pay for finishing my education. I was told -- I know, I know -- that money was pretty much falling out the government's ass for the training of good teachers. I was told... well, you get the idea.

I was lied to.

That's fine. I'm used to it. I'm used to everything being hard. Fine.

And I could go get my Master's degree. I can get funding for that. Oh, not grants, of course. But I can totally put myself even deeper into debt to earn yet another degree that has no guarantee of being applicable to real life and that I also can't afford to pay back. Gee. Why haven't I leapt at that particular brass ring yet? What am I waiting for?

Sorry. I really am. I'm just so tired of running into road blocks everywhere I go. Beating my head against every brick wall in sight.

How the hell am I supposed to ever break even if I can't get a better job? I would really enjoy teaching, and the high-school-aged kids I know both at work and at Stone's Throw tell me they'd love having me as their teacher. I know literature. I know composition and grammar. I even know how to relate those things to kids who are more likely to ROFL than compose a sonnet.

But God help me when it comes to actually making a living at it. Apparently, I'm doomed to never being paid for any modicum of talent I might have been given.

Guh. This is one entry I might just delete. Someday. When I feel better.

If I feel better.

I have to go fill out applications now. Dammit.

Oh, yeah: play's going great. We've broken records for ticket sales. Packed house almost every night. Nothing but great comments from the people who've watched it. Rave reviews. And I already have my music for the next one. I'm not acting in it, but I'm singing during the scene changes, which should be cool.

Heh, and because I'm feeling particularly contrary today, I feel obliged to point out that all of that is completely voluntary. Yet another way I manage to use my minimal talents for no gain whatsoever.

'S a good thing I enjoy it so much, eh? Not all dividends have cash equivalents.

Dear Charlie:

2010-08-07T06:05:00.004-05:00

Sorry I've been incommunicado lately, guys. Between rehearsals, job-hunting, working, set painting (yes, again; I can't help it!), trying to help out some friends, and trying to get in any little speck of writing between running lines and such, I just haven't had a lot of spare time.

Heh, and what spare time I've had, I've used to play hidden object games. Yeah, I know.

Sosumi.

It's been crazy, but we're pulling this show together. Our director keeps us feeling good about ourselves, and I'm feelin the energy. It's fun to be singin these quirky ol' songs and spoutin these priceless lines in that ol' hick accent. Good times, and I can't wait for the actual production.

Which, by the way, is next week. *gnaws fingers down to the bone*

That darn auction scene! I swear it's the bane of my existence. I can get the first part, but for some reason, my internal Aunt Eller seems to object to auctionin off her precious niece -- okay, her hamper, but it's one and the same, metaphorically -- and just doesn't want to keep track of all those bids.

But I'll get it. By gum and by gosh, it shall be done.

I think I may have to put my tentative writing on a couple of things off until after the show, though. Or at least until after opening weekend. I gotta keep my mind on what I'm doing. Living in my head is a welcome diversion from the real world right now, but I can live in my head on the stage for the nonce.

Aunt Eller. Aunt Eller. Be the cranky ol' biddy. You are the cranky ol' biddy!

Serious Update:

2010-07-24T21:31:00.002-05:00

Well, it's been an eventful week for my family. Both my Uncle Jack (Dad's brother) and my second mom, Ruth (Kristi's Mom - you remember Kristi, the one with two sets of twins?), had heart attacks this last week.

Thankfully, they're both doing as well as they can be. Uncle Jack is supposed to be going home tomorrow after a (double?) bypass, and Ruth just had a triple bypass and is recovering nicely. She should be out of ICU tomorrow, then maybe home in five days or so. Neither had serious damage to their hearts, so both have excellent prognoses, but pretty please pray for them and send healing vibes their way?

Thanks, guys. You're awesome.

Dear Charlie:

2010-07-19T22:19:00.003-05:00

So we've decided to do Oklahoma! a little differently than it's been tried before. As a group, we decided to... spice it up a bit. Do something more now, more au courant.

That's right, folks.

Undead Oklahoma!

Okay, not really. But we did talk about it. Got the music director laughing so hard she couldn't breathe. Mostly it was the monotone moaning in something approximating harmony that did her in. Good times.

We also managed conversations about invisible appendages from unmentionable nether portions in the back, hip gyrations, and a rather burlesque entrance from the screen door by the otherwise chaste and virginal Laurey. Heh. Oh! And Curly pole-danced!

Ahem. I didn't look. Okay, I did, but I was laughing really hard, so it was totally okay.

Anyway, despite all the general merriment, we did actually manage to set the blocking for the first four scenes, so that has to count for something. You have no idea how hard it is to drop a turn-of-the-century Oklahoma accent once you step off the stage, having just spent almost three hours using the hell out of it.

Guh.

Now, if I could just work out that "day job" part of this equation so I could go to every single rehearsal. And show up on time for the ones I can get to. And not have to take off most of the week during the actual production, just to make sure I make the performances and the pick-up rehearsals in between.

Workin on it. I swear!

Dear Charlie:

2010-07-13T14:39:00.004-05:00

Okay, so I said I'd get back sooner than this. I've been busy! I swear!

First things first: awesome reviewage!

Monica over at IReadRomance gave me a lovely 3.5 out of 4. Thank you, Monica!

"The full title of this novel is My Gigolo: The Care and Feeding of a Male Prostitute and, from the title alone, I figured this was going to be a good read. I laughed. I cried. All the hallmarks of a good book, in my opinion. The premise reminds me of Pretty Woman, except this time it’s the male hooker with a heart of gold."

And Kathy over at Blackraven Reviews gave me 5 out of 5 ravens. Whee! Thanks, guys!

"My Gigolo by Molly Burkhart is a delightfully engaging, laugh out loud read. I had a hard time putting this book down. I couldn’t wait to find out how Gabe and Jack’s story would end."

And as for the play, I got the part of Aunt Eller! So, come the middle of August, I'll be donning some petticoats (or at least a skirt) and sharpening up my best cantankerous tone to do the curmudgeon with a heart of gold a good turn.

I'm already enjoying the rehearsals. Pesh is my niece, Laurey (yes, the lead! yay, Pesh!), so that's already fun, but learning the harmonies for the songs is my favorite part. It reminds me of taking choir back in high school. Every year, I took choir, and I always had such fun with the harmony. Good times.

So yeah, I'm thrilled to be part of such a well-known and fun production, and I hope everyone comes out to see us have a good ol-fashioned ball. Yay!

Dear Charlie:

2010-07-03T16:39:00.002-05:00

Holy crap! It's July!

A few random drive-by thoughts, without any bothersome attempt at logical order:

1. My beloved sister got me addicted to "hidden object" games when I was at her place last time. I love these things. Could play for hours. Not good when I have writing to do, work, and now a probable significant role in a local theater production to squeeze in. Not to mention a quilting project that does sort of have a time limit.

2. One of the games I'm so addicted to is PuppetShow: Souls of the Innocent". It's a beautifully twisted game where demonic and disturbingly humanoid puppets run around stealing souls at the behest of their wicked and selfish puppeteer, blah blah. The point is that at the beginning of the game, you get a crowbar. Man, I used the hell out of that crowbar.

3. I mentioned a significant role above, right? No details today, but I've been invited to the first read-thru on Tuesday, so I'll be thrilled to affirm my information then. Even if I don't get the suggested role, I'll still be happy. Hey, never expected to do more than set painting, so woot!

4. And just how does a night job go with two months of rehearsals, you ask? Good question. In other news, I had a great interview Thursday morning. I hope hope HOPE I get that job. It's a day job, office-y but completely different from the last one. Risk management. It's part time to start, but some benefits still apply, and I still get holidays and whatnot. Plus, they want it to be full time eventually, and I'm all for that. It sort of combines the stuff I liked about being a paralegal (without having to work for lawyers) and the stuff I liked about being a medical records clerk (without having to be a medical records clerk). What could go wrong? Heh. Heh. Ugh.

5. Oh, yeah! At the beginning of the PuppetShow game, you are menaced by a demented puppet. Unsure what to do and with Joely looking on, laughing, I... thought like myself. I hit it with the crowbar. Whaddya know, but it worked. Funny part of that story? At the end of the game (no spoilers, I hope!), you are menaced by another demon puppet. So... whaddya gonna do?

All together now, boys and girls.

Think like Geeb!

That's right. A-plus to you all. Whenever you find yourself in a twisted hidden object game being menaced by freakish nasties, always think like Geeb. Hit it with a crowbar.

Let's see. I think that might be all my news for now. I do have some reviews to link, but I gotta leave for work in about two minutes, so I'll link 'em up when I get home. For now, I think the above randomness oughtta do.

OH! One more!

6. Trade your samurai for a ninja. I'm seriously. My samurai wasn't working out for me, so I gave into the flood of ninjas and caught one, and... yeah. MUCH better luck. And so much more fun, once you teach them not to steal all your left shoes and turn all street signs upside down.

Or at least the street signs that pertain to you. Ahem.

Work! Gotta run!

Funny Update:

2010-06-19T15:26:00.003-05:00

My Gigolo is up for Book of the Week over at Whipped Cream!

Every week, they put their 4.5 and 5 cherry reviews up to recognize both the book and the review. Voting is open Saturday and Sunday here.

Stop by and give a little clicky-clicky? Sweet!

Squiffy Update:

2010-06-18T07:02:00.003-05:00

I really hate to displace such an awesome review-type blog entry with one so lame (or so soon), but hey. Gotta blog when the urge takes me, right?

So I couldn't sleep last night. Usually, when I say I couldn't sleep, I mean I tossed and turned all night but probably managed to snatch an hour or two here and there, though I never went deeply asleep and felt very much awake all night.

But last night? Nope. No sleep. I didn't hit the sack until about 5:00 AM -- gotta stop this working evenings/nights thing -- and by 6:30, I was pretty convinced that I wasn't getting any sleepier. I knew I wasn't sleepy -- tired, yes; sleepy, not so much -- when I hit the sack (which is why I was so late, anyway), but I thought maybe resting my eyes would....

But no. And this isn't the first time. It seems like, lately, about once a week, I just can't sleep. I don't get the droopy-eyes. I don't feel like I'm gonna fall asleep on my feet if I don't go to bed, and so when I do finally hit the ol' mattress, I just lay there. Turn to one side. Turn to the other side. Lay on my back. Lay on my stomach. Try the first side again.

Think about what I might wear for Halloween this year.

Think about how much of Sokka's personality they demolished to "ground" him in the upcoming The Last Airbender movie, though the graphics in the trailers look lifted right outta the anime. Seriously, the guy gets an arc in the series. He goes from "the meat and sarcasm guy" to the efficient, daring, brilliant leader of a three-nation army (okay, one of the nations is only one person, but hey) that cuts a swath through the Fire Nation. Don't take that from him, M. Night. I'm seriously.

And, my personal favorite, how they're gonna pull off the Deadpool movie. No offense to the Green Lantern, but seriously. I hope they get it done and out of the way ASAP because I want Ryan Reynolds in red-n-black like yesterday. I can't wait to see him crazy-smack-talkin, arguing with his yellow and Courier-font boxes, breaking the fourth wall, kicking ass without bothering to get names, chugging Yoo-Hoo and worshiping at the altar of Bea Arthur.

I. Cannot. WAIT.

And it darn well better be R-rated. Seriously. If they can't get the R, they really oughtta not bother. This is a character that can regenerate his head when it gets blown off. Notice I said "when", not "if". His head has been blown off. In detail. In full color on full-page panels. Several times.

Rated R. I'm just sayin.

And then the birds start chirping and I decide that sleep has yet again abandoned me, and it's goodbye pillow, hello Microsoft Word.

Maybe it's not such a bad thing. I have a lot of steampunk to catch up on. Heheh. I also have a little urban fantasy I still want to cross off my To-Write list. And there's always the dark sci fi and the morbid zombie YA and the nifty haunted house story waaaaay down the pipeline and and and....

So yeah. Maybe instead of displacing my beloved sister's review, I oughtta be doing any one of those things, or any one of a hundred million things that don't require my computer at all. I got lots of those, too.

But seriously. Deadpool. The sooner, the crazier, the better.

God, I wish I had more comics. I'm dyin here!

Dear Charlie:

2010-06-14T15:55:00.004-05:00

Eeee! I just got a stellar review from Fern over at Whipped Cream Reviews.

5 stars, baby! Okay, 5 cherries, but hey. Either way, it's sweet!

"My Gigolo: The Care and Feeding of a Male Prostitute is a story that delivers on the heat, the laughs, and the heart (with a title such as this, you have to know there is a notable amount of humor in the work). It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed reading a book this much, and I can honestly say that when I finished I found myself reading over portions that made me giggle, squirm, and fawn over the pages like a lovelorn teenager."

Does it get any better than that? Entertainment is my goal!

Thanks so much for reading, guys, and thanks even more for enjoying. Seriously, if I can crack you up even once, I feel I've done my duty for the day. Whee!

And what better way to celebrate a good review than to give one back? It's the law of the universe, man.

So, my friends, here is to my beloved sister's newest release, The Bloodgate Guardian, available from Carina Press.

If you clicked the link, you'll have the summary, but here's my take on it.

Dr. Jaid Merritt has spent her life chasing her father's approval, but there's one thing she absolutely will not do, even for him: go on a dig. Dubbed "the Un-Indiana Jones" by her students and recently betrayed by the one man she's allowed close enough to possibly hurt her, Jaid would rather spend the rest of her life with her head in a codex than in the jungle.

Of course, that's exactly where she has to go when her father falls through one of the Bloodgates she accidentally helped open.

Enter Ruin, an ancient Maya warrior-priest who guards the Bloodgates as a punishment for long-buried crimes against the gods and the natural order. He holds himself more responsible than his vanished people ever could, but he has a whole new set of unfortunate decisions to make when Jaid stumbles into his world and turns it upside down. With a portal to Xibalba (Hell, for us yokels) open and demons running amok, he'll have to choose between what his head knows and what his heart feels.

Okay, that's about as non-spoilery as I can get. Honestly, I could talk about this book all year. Sure, it's a romance, and the romance is taut and heart-rending and as steamy as the jungles it inhabits, but the setting!

Joely steeps the story in a culture that has long fascinated treasure hunters and archaeologists alike. It truly feels like the Maya world is just out of reach, just beyond some thin membrane of time that could be pierced with the slightest touch, spilling all of that history and ceremony and architecture and...and culture right into our own world.

The descriptions and details are like a thick, frothy mocha capucchino made with heavy whipping cream and Spanish monk chocolate and the deepest, darkest roasted coffee beans in the world. It's an embarrassment of riches, though there's nothing embarrassing about my drinking deep of it.

Jaid is so very human. She's not a kick-ass, gun-toting, grenade-tossing sheila with tight leather pants and a black corset. She's a rather bookish, sometimes timid everywoman who looks deep inside herself to determine what's more important to her -- her father's life or her own bleak, tragic past.

And Ruin... ah, Ruin. What can I say about him? He is tortured, not only by his seemingly eternal punishment but by his own sense of failure. To have used his gifts against his own beliefs... and to still not have what he risked everything for? To live with that guilt and self-loathing for so many centuries? To have died so many times without ever being able to rest?

Joely always puts her characters -- and her readers! -- through an emotional wringer, but these two take the bitter cake and frost it over with remorse icing. They're both so scarred emotionally before they ever meet that it seems impossible for them to ever come to any kind of safe harbor. And yet, that very struggle makes their story so much more poignant.

This book isn't a page-turner. It's a page-devourer. The demons and their hell are chilling. The sense of danger surrounding the hero and heroine is suffocating. And yet, in all of that darkness, there is a light. And that light is always Joely's gift to her readers. It shines in all weather, and it cannot be quenched, though her characters sometimes lose sight of it.

So thank you, beloved sister, for yet another glimpse of that light. I've read this book through its several iterations, and every time, I was unable to put it down. Even if I just wanted to check a certain phrasing that stuck with me or to read a single paragraph that I remembered being particularly chilling or uplifting, I found myself sucked back in.

I'm so proud of the finished product. I'm so proud of you. This book is a triumph on so many levels, and I hope everyone who reads it enjoys it even half as much as I have.

Now...go buy it! I'm seriously!

Dear Charlie:

2010-06-08T22:21:00.002-05:00

Whew! I've been a busy Geeb.

However, not in the usual ways. Oh, work, of course. And helping over at the theater, though I didn't do nearly as much set-painting as last time.

In fact, I just kinda like going over there. The rehearsals for The Importance of Being Ernest are hilarious, and I'm having a ball just being there. Unfortunately, I also feel superfluous, so I probably oughtta just wait for the actual show. Darn it.

Heh.

Anyway, just been running here and there. And writing, of course. Oh, the writing. Sometimes on what I'm supposed to be writing on, sometimes on other stuff, the words have been a-flowing. Yikes.

But I'm not complaining. I love it when the words come in a torrent. When it's almost like taking dictation. When I don't have to struggle with my sentence structure because it's just pouring out of me. That kind of thing. I love it.

Bring it on.

Dear Charlie:

2010-06-02T21:46:00.002-05:00

Remember this post about villainous weather? Well, it's back again. I'm typing this up quickly because I think I'll turn off my computer and unplug the modem before too much longer. It's like a strobe light out there.

But yeah, driving home after work tonight was...fascinating. I stopped to get gas, and everyone (including me) was staring up at the sky with both awe and foreboding. Bad weather, man.

We're in for a doozy.

Dear Charlie:

2010-05-23T16:53:00.004-05:00

Today turned out to be a pretty good day. In fact, a great day.

It didn't start out that way.

See, I knew I had to get up early this morning when I went to bed last night. I hit the sack at around midnight (which is way early for me, thanks to my whonky work schedule), knowing my alarm was set for 8:00 AM.

Why? Because I knew I was going to see Pesh's play today. It's the last performance, and I wanted to see the whole product. Yeah, I'd seen rehearsals, but I'd never seen the play all the way through, and it's just not the same. Plus, it's dinner theater. Seriously. Dinner.

So I knew I wanted to get some of the evil kudzu yard mowed -- I swear I could bale and sell the results -- then get cleaned up and get over there by 1:00 at the latest. Because 1:00 is when they serve dinner. Ya know, the important part. Heh.

Knowing all of this, I lay down and... well... what happened next will only be a surprise to someone who's never read an entry of mine. Yeah. Couldn't sleep. At all.

Four o'clock came and went, and still I tossed and turned, but I did eventually fall asleep sometime after that. Unfortunately, that only made me very cranky when the alarm went off at 8:00. Ugh.

But I got up, got dressed, and was out tilting at windmills... er... mowing happily by 8:30. This lasted until around 10:00, when my mower died.

Admittedly, it could have been because I'm trying to mow knee-high fescue (hey, it's been raining for like three weeks!) with a cheap push-mower from Wal-Mart... that I bought 9 years ago... but when I checked, it was just out of gas.

Easily fixed, yes? No. Turns out, I had nothing but dribbles in the little gallon tank I keep in the shed. Lovely. I'd planned on at least another hour of mowing before showering up and heading on my way. Sure, I could go get gas, but by the time I'd gone somewhere and come back, I'd probably only get in another half hour or so, which, as high as the grass is, won't make much difference.

Screw it. I came inside, gulped down a bottle of water (boy, did it get hot quick, or what?), showered, and even fixed my hair. It was early, but oh, well. My mood had improved just by virtue of being squeaky clean.

That turned out to be a good thing, because the play -- an adaptation of Othello directed and adapted by Paxton Williams -- turned out to be completely entertaining. Oh, dinner was tasty and all (my compliments to the chef!), but the play....

And the audience "got" it, too. There were laughs and gasps, murmured comments, and much appreciative applause, and the cast deserved every bit of it. They were spot on, despite a few dropped lines, and really played to the hilt. And when Othello throttled Desdemona, there was even an astonished, "He really did it!"

Good times.

And then, when the play was over, those wretched people put me to the blush by telling everyone I'd done the set painting and calling me up to the stage so they could give me a gift. Can you believe that? What nerve!

And Pesh totally didn't warn me!

Okay, all joking aside (though that last bit is true), it was incredibly nice of them, and they are all awesome people. Especially after having seen the whole show, I am proud to have been a part of it. Everyone put in a lot of time and effort and heart into every aspect, and it turned out extremely well because of it.

My day...is awesome.

Of course, now I have to ruin it by girding back up for Round 3 with the evil kudzu yard. So far, I'm winning, but I have my battle wounds.

But I will be victorious. Oh, yes. Like Othello over the pernicious Iago... no... wait. Um....

Like Hamlet over the very demons of indecision that haunted him....

...No.

Okay, like... um....

Aw, screw it. I'mma go mow.

Oh, and the gift? The incredibly thoughtful and welcome and awesome-sauce gift? An electric teapot. Have you ever heard of anything more handy? I'm having a spot (or two) of tea as soon as I get out of the shower.

...Again....

Ahem. Mowing now.

[Edited to add: Three hours later, I've managed to beat the lawn into submission (for now; the kudzu refuses to lie down for long), take a cool and scrubby bath (and washed my hair again), and gulp down half a Coke. Probably not the best idea on that last, but hey. It sounded good, even if it's sitting in my stomach like a rock. I did have a bottle of water before hitting the showers, but I needed my fix!

I will definitely be having tea later -- perhaps some of the awesome stuff Pesh so thoughtfully provided Friday. Whee! Thank you, crazy tea lady!]

Dear Charlie:

2010-05-21T14:46:00.003-05:00

Hey, guys! Why doncha click on over to my beloved sister's site and wish her a happy birthday for me, eh?

I'll be guest-posting over there after work this evening (not closing tonight, thank goodness!) about genre and how the concept has changed as far as publishing is concerned, but for now, just give her a few birthday wishes and maybe a hug or two.

Yay!

Happy birthday, most beloved sister of mine! I love you!

Dear Charlie:

2010-05-20T15:09:00.003-05:00

I recently did an extremely entertaining interview with my friend, Soleil Noir (also known as Shannon J. Collins in some rather beastly parts of the interwebs), and she has been kind enough to post it on her review site.

Clicky clicky!

I'm pretty sure no one will enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed doing it. Heheh. I'm weird that way.

Thank you so much, Sol, for being so awesome! You are full of win forever and ever and ever.

I'm just sayin.

My Dearest Charles:

2010-05-16T01:32:00.002-05:00

Huzzah!

Just got home from a loooong shift to find an e-mail from my wonderful editor, Linda. What, pray tell, did this wonderful e-mail say?

Just that My Gigolo: The Care and Feeding of a Male Prostitute hit the My Bookstore & More top ten! Eeee!

Even cooler, by the time I got home, it was up to #9! *does a little dance*

Thanks so much to everyone who's reading! I hope hope HOPE you like it, and here's to many more sales in future!

Can I use any more exclamation points? I dunno! I guess so!

!!!

Okay. I'm done. Time for bed.

...

Eeeee!!

My Dearest Charles:

2010-05-10T17:37:00.002-05:00

Well, my dears, it's that time.

Yes, my book, My Gigolo: The Care and Feeding of a Male Prositute, comes out tomorrow. TOMORROW! Can you believe it?

Thanks to my awesome-sauce editor over at Samhain Publishing, my little story about a girl and her gigolo will hit the interwebs first thing in the morning. Give the ol' link a click tomorrow and, at the very least, check out the gorgeous cover art. Whee!

You know, I've tried not to make a big deal out of this and just kinda take it in stride, but reading through the final copy I received today has completely eroded that surface calm. This is awesome. People I don't know and will probably never meet will shortly (hopefully) be reading something that belched out of my head. That's a powerful feeling, and I hope everyone who suffers the slings and arrows of this quirky business of writing gets to feel it at least once.

What a rush.

So, dine well tonight, folks, because tomorrow we read!

...Er...I hope, anyway. Heheh.

Huzzah!

Dear Charlie:

2010-05-02T23:25:00.004-05:00

Dude. It's May. When did that happen?

Oh, right. Yesterday.

So in addition to starting MayNoWriMo yesterday, I finally got started set painting for Pesh's play (scroll down a bit to the "next show" info). Whee! It really is fun to paint on such a grand scale.

I think I do better on a wall than on a canvas, but that could just be my own perspective. On a wall, I can make minute corrections that no one but me will notice. On an itty bitty canvas, any corrections tend to be obvious because EVERYTHING is small and detailed.

Anyway!

Yeah, when it's all done I'll see if I can't talk Duh Pesh Mode into taking a pic or two with her nifty digital camera and send 'em this way so I can post 'em. So long as I'm not actually in the picture. I'm seriously.

However, thanks to some domestic disturbance shenanigans outside in the street last night at, oh, 4:30 AM that kept me up until almost 6:00; getting up at noon; taking a nice two-hour lunch with Pesh to just kinda yak and have fun; and then six hours of set painting... I'm just now even THINKING about starting my MayNoWriMo words for the day. Heh.

*sheepish*

And I'm blogging. Oi.

But I don't count the day a loss, and I still have as much time as I want, basically, to write. I don't work tomorrow -- though I'll be doing more set-painting in hopes of getting as much done as possible before another work week sets in and I possibly have to put off until next Sunday and Monday -- so I can sleep in a little later than usual and still be a useful member of society.

Heh. Shyeah right. Like I've ever been that.

So g'night, all. The Diplomat calls, and anyone who knows about him knows it's better to answer than to... ya know... die painfully.

Whatever.

Amusing (Long-Awaited?) Sidebar:

2010-04-28T00:03:00.002-05:00

Okay, I think I'm finally ready to rhapsodize about Sherlock Holmes.

Upon multiple viewings, I've hit upon an unexpected surmise: I think there might be a subtle social commentary in this flick. You see, it's Reardon, the ginger midget (not dwarf; there's a difference), who is the real genius in the flick, but it's Lord Blackwood -- a paragon of money and power and stature -- who causes all the fuss.

Sure, it could be said that since it was all Blackwood's idea, it was all his genius. But all Blackwood did was present a series of problems to Reardon, then sit back and reap the rewards (until he overreached, or course). It was the foreshortened person -- more likely considered a circus freak than a scientist -- who made the real magic.

But, of course, in the location and time period of the story, Reardon wouldn't have been able to so much as pull a rabbit out of his hat in front of the privileged world Blackwood wanted to run. Because Blackwood had birth (shadowed though it may be) and a title and wealth, Blackwood was able to stand on the ginger midget's meager shoulders and proclaim himself not only returned from the dead, but supreme lord of all humanity.

But enough with social commentary.

I know a lot of Holmes afficionados will brangle that this film is just a stylized, action-stuffed, bloated, smelly fishbelly of a flop. They couldn't be more wrong.

I grew up reading Sherlock Holmes stories. Of course, I also soaked up more than my fair share of Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys, but hey. I'm from a small town. We did well to have as diverse a library as we had.

At any rate, I saw nothing in this movie that rang false to me. In the original stories, both Holmes and Watson were in their respective primes. Their shenanigans involved a certain amount of derring-do, and, yes, Holmes was something of a martial artist. Also, in several stories -- I'm particularly thinking of the Hound of the Baskervilles -- their cases involved debunking superstition as well as defeating disbelief on the part of authorities. And I can't tell you how many locked-door murders Holmes and Watson have solved.

In fact, my first thought as I strolled out of the theater (even that first time when I didn't get to see all of it because I had to go to work early) was that this flick had rekindled the sporting spirit I remembered from my youth.

You know, before Holmes wore a deerstalker and Watson was a portly old fussbudget who spent more time being confused than actually helping to solve anything.

This is a return to the roots, and I bless Guy Ritchie (and Robert Downey, Jr. and Jude Law and the fabulous Mark Strong, of course) for bringing back the intrepid heroes of my youth. Sure, mysteries are fascinating.

But be honest. Aren't mysteries set against gigantic or shrunken foes and unfettered half-ships on the roll and hidey-gun-toting professors and fancy-togged, magic-weilding nobs more fun?

Do I even have to ask?

Anyway....

In addition to being fun to watch, this flick is beautifully shot. The scenes showing old London are full of both the grime of the times and a certain wistfulness for how grand a city London has always been. Yeah, they're CGI renderings, but someone with a lot of love obviously put a lot of work into them.

Plus, the analyzation scenes where Holmes internally plots his every move to disable an opponent? Pure gold. I'm seriously. Not only in their step-by-step slo-mo but in their real-time follow-through. Beautiful stuff.

And poor Holmes. Both a beneficiary and a victim of his great intellect. It makes him a valuable asset to his kingdom but the very devil in a social situation. Gives him miles of foresight, but leaves him wallowing in friendship muck when it becomes clear he's losing his grasp on the one person he upon whom he can depend.

Downey plays him superbly. Hate to resort to an adverb, there, but seriously. Heheh.

But I think the biggest payoff is Jude Law's Dr. Watson. By returning to a Watson freshly home from the wars, a Watson in his prime both in health and in practice, Law opened the door for a stellar performance that showed just how important Watson has always been to Holmes, both as a friend and as a partner.

Okay, maybe the biggest payoff was Dredger. BIG. But not the slow, lumbering, stupid big that would have been outmatched by this Watson and Holmes any day of the week. Naw, that'd be too easy. Ol' Dredger was huge, yes, but quick on both his mental and his physical feet. Definitely a worthy adversary.

Even if he's French.

Sorry! I had to do it! I had to bring social commentary back into it!

Heh, you gotta admit that Blackwood chose his cronies to be genetic lottery winners. A speedy giant and a brilliant midget.

Or maybe that's why they agreed to serve him. On their own merits in this day and age, either could make a fine living for themselves. In fact, considering that they're both in a movie, you could argue that they have. Ha.

But in 1890s London? Not so. If they hadn't stumbled into Blackwood's sphere of influence, their various talents would have been completely wasted. Reardon, for certain, would have been far better off in a raree show than as a midget genius. And Dredger? Well, he might have found work as a laborer -- perhaps in the ship factory where he and Holmes threw down -- thanks to his very great strength, but he would never have even come close to position in society.

No, in old London, like in so much of the world, position makes might. And, if you can get away with it (unlike Blackwood), might makes right.

Oi. Anyway.

As you can tell, I've thought entirely too much about this movie, so I'm stopping now. Heheh. It's an excellent blick, and I plan to use the soundtrack as background music while writing my steampunk novel. No, Sherlock Holmes isn't quite steampunk, but it does have that feel to it, thanks to all the nifty methods Blackwood and his minions employed to recreate magic.

Plus, I just love that broken piano and the ragged violin sawing. It should sound irritating, like a cat shrieking while kids bang on a wrecked xylophone or something, but it doesn't. It's perfect.

Of course, Lorekeeper is first, but hey. A girl can plan ahead.

Dear Charlie:

2010-04-27T17:46:00.003-05:00

Good grief, it's been a busy week.

1. Joined my beloved sister's MayNoWriMo event with the goal -- what was I thinking?? -- of finishing Lorekeeper, an urban fantasy that sits at about 27K as yet and should finish up at 80K, more or less. Good God.

2.....

Okay, this list was a lot longer in my head. I've been writing in snips and snatches to narrow the gap between what's done and what needs to be done on Lorekeeper before May 1, but that doesn't really seem like that much. I swear I had a list of like four things that's been happening this week, but now that I've sat down to write them in, I can't remember any but the one.

Sheesh. Brain fart much?

....

I know I did other stuff. I just can't think of any of it right now. Darn it. Who me? Lame? Naw.

I...um...mowed half the lawn? Watered the annuals I planted in the flower bed around the porch? Showed the house? Watched the little herb seeds in my indoor kit sprout? Did some dishes? Cooked some stuff?

Geez. This is pathetic. There really was more. I promise.

I can only venture that, in my excitement at showing up for work tonight only to find I wasn't on the schedule because my boss was being nice and forgot to tell me, all rational thought has flown. Oh, well.

Less time blogging means more time writing, right?

Shyeah. Right. Heheh.

I will say that I'm pretty stoked about my book coming out on May 11. You can catch a snippet here or get a look at the details and smashing cover art here.

I'll also be guest blogging at Sis's site for either the book release or for MayNoWriMo. Not sure what my topic will be, though, so suggestions are welcome.

Oi! I know what #2 was, at least! I did a disk cleanup and defragmented.

...

Yeah. That's all I got. Can't remember all the other stuff. That's really gonna bother me.

Meh.

Amusing Sidebar:

2010-04-20T13:50:00.004-05:00

I know! Two posts in two days!

Anyway, so I was sitting in line at the Chik-fil-a drive thru, right? It's lunchtime, so there were several cars in line. I pulled out a book -- my beloved sister's Dear Sir, I'm Yours, which is a superb read in either snippets or in one big swallow -- and read a few paragraphs, scooted forward, read a few more paragraphs, scooted forward, etc.

I finally get up to the window and hold out my debit card, only to have the guy there smile and say, "Your lunch is already paid for. Have a nice day!"

Here's me. Looking stymied.

"My what?" Yeah. I'm brilliant when I'm surprised. Dy-no-mite.

"The lady before you paid for it. Wasn't that nice?"

I blink. "Yes, it was, but I didn't even see who it was! Holy cow, how am I going to thank her if I don't know who it was?"

Kid just grins. "Dunno. Enjoy your lunch!"

All I could say as I searched the parking lot for a vehicle that had already pulled onto the main drag and blended away was, "How could I not? It's free!"

Anyway, I have my suspicions who it was, but unless they 'fess up, I may never know for sure, so I'll just say it here: Thank you so much for my lunch! What a nice (and welcome) surprise!

So I guess next time, it's my turn to pay for someone behind me's lunch, eh? Whee!

Dear Charlie:

2010-04-20T00:14:00.004-05:00

You know, it's funny what your mind does to you when you write.

I've been stalled on this particular story for months now. I started three separate projects in the intervening time which are also in various states of nonfinished, but this one's always been back there.

Then, I committed to my beloved sister's MayNoWriMo and stated my goal as finishing it. As it sits, the current word count is about 27.5K, and I'd like to have that up to 30K before May 1 so I'm not committing to more than 50K while shooting for a finished novel of about 80K. Thus, I pulled it out last week and read up to date and started the drudge of picking up where I left off.

Usually, once I get past that initial speedbump phase of chugging drearily along until it sparks again, I write like the wind. Not so, this time, and I couldn't for the life of me figure out why. The story is there. It's a good story. Maybe a great one.

So why had it turned its back on me just two chapters before the candy bar scene I'm writing the whole damn thing for??

Joely, my beloved and insanely talented sister, always has a soundtrack for each story. She can play those songs and almost instantly be right back in the world she's created. It's amazing, and I'm always fascinated by the music she picks because it's not always what you'd expect.

For this one, I always turn to Stone Sour's "Made of Scars". It has deep meaning for one of the characters, and even the opening guitar chops get me all in the mood to pump out some assassiny violent good fun.

Unfortunately, it hasn't been working. Well, it has, but only hit-or-miss, and that's not good for serious forward progress.

So, because I'm an oddball, I got to flipping through my country music files. Yes, I have country music files. Old country, thank you very much -- George Jones, Merle Haggard, Willie Nelson, Charlie Pride, Johnny Cash, Randy Travis, Dolly Parton, Loretta Lynn, Kenny Rogers, etc. -- with a sprinkling of the good throw-back country from newer artists like Garth Brooks, Chris Cagle, George Strait, and such.

No. There's no Shania Twain. Geez.

Anyway, for some reason, I started writing faster. None of the stuff I was playing had anything to do with the story. It's basically an urban fantasy at its heart, and more about books than boots. In fact, I don't think there's a single Stetson on the page. A couple of magic-slinging gangstas, maybe, but definitely no pearl-handled lead-pushers held by bespurred cattle rustlers in chaps.

And then I realized what I was writing, what I was so stuck on. The scene I just couldn't get out was the heroine remembering something horrible from her childhood that she's hidden from her whole life. It's why she believes in magic, but also why she fears and reviles it so. It's one of those traumatic, life-changing events that completely detoured the course of her entire life, and she's done everything she could to avoid it. So, of course, I made her face it.

Because I'm an author. We do mean stuff like that.

Now, I was raised in the country. We didn't have a car with FM radio until I was in junior high. I grew up with Merle Haggard and Johnny Cash and Loretta Lynn and Dolly Parton. In fact, Dolly's "Coat of Many Colors" makes me puddle up to this day because my mom used to make some of our clothes. We weren't quite as dirt poor as Dolly, but we were poor enough that Mom being able to sew helped out more often than not. And she was damn good at it, too.

It finally hit me just a half hour or so ago that this music is my childhood. Even the newer stuff reminds me of riding horses down old gravel roads, of climbing trees and eating persimmons right off the branch and picking wild strawberries, of summers spent wading in the creek (but never shoeless because of all the snakes) and fishing in the pond and weeding the garden and drinking icy cold water from the well pump.

These aren't horrible memories, mind you. They are, by and large, happy and carefree memories, completely opposite from the ones my heroine has to suffer through. However, I think it's helped to remember being a child myself. And, true enough, not all my childhood memories are so Pollyanna, and I think the shadow of those darker recollections hovering around the bright and sunny ones also helps.

And all because of a bunch of Charlie Daniels Band ballads. And some poor ol' Kawliga. And "He Stopped Lovin Her Today". And an angel flyin too close to the ground. How far is Heaven?

And gimme two pina coladas, because I'm burying my troubles in the sand to better drag my heroine's up to the surface. Mwahah.

Amusing Sidebar:

2010-04-09T13:21:00.003-05:00

Heh, hilarious mixed-messed-up-metaphor conversation between me and Pesh through texting. As always, Pesh is bold. Heh.

I think I'll be a ghost, rather than a zombie. Then, I could be a ghost writer.

I prefer paperback writers. They have a catchier tune.

Heh, you obviously haven't heard "Ghost Writers in the Sky". *snickersnort*

That's cheating.

Yeah, and?

Cheater.

I guess I really must be, because cheetahs never prosper.

Yes, but being a sloth is a sin. Or something like that....

And an elephant never forgives!

Of course not, they never forget. Besides, forgiveness is in the vines.

And a bird in the hand is worth two pennies in a basket.

But only if it doesn't bury the pennies with eggs.

That's egg on your mustache.

Better than a boogie.

But disco never cries.

Heh, that's it for now. I may add to it later if she obliges. Whee!

Ho-hum Sidebar:

2010-04-09T02:40:00.003-05:00

Time keeps getting away from me. Did you know it's already April? That April is already over a week gone?

Part of it, I suppose, is the uncomfortable sensation of not quite managing to live paycheck to paycheck, so I half-wish the time away until that next paycheck to eke out just a little longer. Part of it is just being so darn busy. I'm not even getting 40 hours a week, but it feels like so many more because they all come so late in the day and I've been getting up earlier and staying up later. Part of it is having three writing projects jostling for position after everything being silent in my head for far too long. Not fair, guys. Wait your turn.

But none of that is all of it, because everyone I've talked to says, "Geez, this year is already getting away from me!" See? It's going fast for everyone. It's not just me.

So... is time really speeding up? Or is the economy just so bad that everyone's hurting? Actually, I know that everyone is hurting, but you know what I mean. And if it's this bad everywhere... how can the government keep denying that we're in not just a recession but a depression?

Oi. Didn't mean to get serious on you, but this stuff has been clamouring loudly in my head the past months and kinda wants out. I'm trying to channel part of it into one of the writing projects, but the rest of it wants out, too.

But now... dude, seriously. I have to get some sleep. As Scarlett says, "Tomorrah is anothah day!"

I don't want to blink and miss it.

Dear Charlie:

2010-03-31T00:20:00.003-05:00

I know, I know. Sherlock Holmes. I'll get to it.

Ya know...when I won't just squee with delight until I pass out and you throw up from fangurl overload. Seriously. I'm trying to save you guys, here.

For now, for the life of me, I can't figure out why the critics had such a lukewarm reaction to the movie Ghost Town. Admittedly, it took me this long to watch it because the trailer put it out as a sort of wacky hijinx kind of romp with a romantic subplot. I tend to avoid rom-coms like the plague -- no, I don't want to talk about my book coming out on May 11 -- so I similarly bypassed this one.

Until now. Until Pesh became a hilariously obsessed Ricky Gervais fan and suckered me into his odd, creature-of-impulse world.

But leave all that behind and return to the central point with me: Ghost Town is not just a wacky hijinx comedy. It's not a Romeo and Juliet tale of star-crossed lovers where Mercutio didn't die but ended up with Juliet when Romeo bit the dust. Heh, you notice I used Mercutio. See, he's the funny one.

Like Ricky Gervais.

See what I did there?

Okay, moving on. Anyway, like everything Gervais does -- with the possible exception of strapping-taping his editor -- Ghost Town uses its comedy to shed light on philosophical ideals we all want to explore but sometimes aren't brave enough to face on our own.

Think The Invention of Lying. I actually watched it before Ghost Town, but I'm talking about it second. My blog. I can do that.

On the surface, it's another rom-com. And really, it's not about lying, despite the title and the inciting event of the film.

At its heart, it's a philosophical discussion of why we lie. They took a concept that is, in theory, bad -- thou shalt not lie, though it's not one of the Big Ten -- and asked why we do it anyway.

And then Ricky Gervais stepped in. He's not the typical, upwardly-mobile woman's dream come true of a happily-ever-after man. He's not traditionally handsome. He's not the best at his job, nor is he ambitious enough to strive to be better. He's not rich. He's not particularly charming -- but it's hard to hold that against him, as it's hard to be charming when you're stuck with the absolute truth.

But he does have something no one else has, and it's not the ability to lie. It's a certain kindness that's lacking in everyone else.

See? If we were unable to lie, we'd all have to be psychologically numb from the diatribe of blunt hurt and rejection we'd receive on a daily basis. If you're told a hundred times a day that your butt looks big by everyone you see -- because it's not just that no one can lie but that no one can omit the truth -- you'd either kill yourself, run yourself to death to get rid of it, or mentally inure yourself to that unkind truth.

Then, Gervais' character kicks in. True, his first lies aren't out of kindness, but you can see how much what's said to him by the other brutally honest characters hurts him and how it affects him. How it pushes him to lie to better his immediate situation.

At which point he's able to be nice to the one woman he's had a crush on for half of forever. Ironically, his only lies to her are to make himself look better. Never about how he feels about her. In that, he is just as honest -- but in a sweet, kind, and earnest way -- as everyone else.

Jump back to Ghost Town. The critics seem to think it's formulaic in its approach -- though some dare to complain that it misses the mark in several scenes that they obviously didn't pay real attention to or just plain didn't get -- to getting the not-so-great guy hooked up with the gorgeous, funny, and rich girl.

Not so, Watson.

Sorry. Couldn't resist.

Because this movie isn't about the ghosts. It's about the people they left behind. It's a brilliantly simple twist on the reason why the soul might hang about in the first place -- not because they need us but because we need them. Sorry if you haven't seen it yet.

And yes, you do have the seemingly by-the-numbers Grinch-turning-into-a-nice-guy schtick, but seriously, he fights it all the way. He fights it until he realizes he's all alone but not, as he previously thought, because he wants to be.

But underneath that is, again, a philosophical look at the difference between how we see ourselves and how other people see us. If we could just get others to see us how we see ourselves, everything would be all right, right?

Ask Greg Kinnear's character, Frank. It takes him until the very end to realize the kind of person he really is and how it affected not only his own life, not even only his wife's life, but everyone he's been in contact with since.

He had to see himself as everyone else did to understand why he was so wrong.

In a weird way, this flick reminds me of one of the hilarious conceits of The History of the World, Part One.

I know, I know. Stay with me, here. It's not as big a detour as you might think.

In ancient Rome, what was Comicus' job title as he stood in line for vnemployment (and no, that's not a typo)?

Stand-up philosopher.

Get it? It's a joke. But it's not.

At its heart, all comedy is philosophy. Comedians -- especially off-the-cuff ones -- must be both keen observers of the human condition and brutally pithy in pointing it back at us. The best jokes are the ones that make you laugh nervously because they strike juuuuust a bit too close to home.

So, from now on, that's how I'm going to classify Ricky Gervais: not as a comedian, but as a stand-up philosopher. And I will definitely continue to watch both his movies and his other comedic activities.

Not quite as big a fangurl as Pesh, but hey.

Dear Charlie:

2010-03-25T00:01:00.003-05:00

Random blog attack...go!

So you know how you gear yourself up to make this monumental change in your life, and you're all preparing for it and then you're ready for it and then you do it and...

Nothing?

You set all the wheels in motion, so... why no go? I put my house -- the house I love, for good or ill, and feel comfortable in and feel is as much a home as any I grew up in -- on the market in October. It's March. The END of March.

I quit the old job. Put the house on the market. Sent out a legion of applications and résumés and hot-footed it to several different career possibilities to break out of the office rut. Sold a book (it'll come out in May and I do have cover art, but I'm having a disagreement with my website as to tables; I want them to work, and it doesn't).

I even... good God, I even applied for a job in Springfield, where I swore I'd never move.

I've made these significant changes in my life. So why, oh why, does it feel like nothing has changed? Why does it feel like nothing is happening? Like I'm floundering more than before?

My beloved sister once suggested it was because, while I'd put my home -- AKA, my security blanket -- on the market, I hadn't made quite a big enough leap. After analyzing that for a while, I applied for the Springfield job. I think that might have been a bigger leap than the house-on-the-market thing.

And still.

I'm not complaining, exactly. Definitely not ranting. I'm just... confused. Did I, as usual, miss some opportunity by a scant inch? Was some wonderful window of opportunity open just a second before I shut so many doors to better notice it, only to close when I finally got up the nerve?

Will I ever know?

Probably not. It just seems like time is running down even as it runs faster than ever, and yet nothing seems to be happening. I go to work and I sleep. I haven't written a word in longer than I'll admit to (though, like I said on Joely's blog, I feel something pushing and am just trying to get it all the way out). I'm trying to stay in touch with friends instead of hermiting, as I usually do when I'm not sure what to do but don't want to bother everyone with it.

And... though I can't put my finger on exactly why... I really want to get a dog. A big one. An inside/outside dog. God, I love dogs.

But I'm planning to get an apartment of some sort when/if the house sells, so I definitely can't get a dog. As you all know, I don't do small dogs, and no sane apartment manager would countenance a big one without an ungodly sum beforehand as a deposit. And I don't blame said land-person.

I guess I just felt, when I made the first of those big changes -- quitting the old job -- that once such a positive change happened, others would tumble along. Instead, I've had to make those changes myself, and I'm not sure all of them have been for the best, though I swear I tried to be rational and logical.

I'll just have to see, I guess.

Dammit.

Stupid rest of the world, taking its own time and not working things out for me in MY time instead of its. Sheesh! Where does Fate get off??

EDITED TO ADD: One less thing - I got my website to agree with my assessment of tables. Go check it out! My Gigolo: The Care and Feeding of a Male Prostitute on the Upcoming page! And I even got The Sweetest Kiss moved to the new Bookshelf page for stuff that's currently available. Holy crap! I am ON it tonight!

And now... totally time for bed.

Dear Charlie:

2010-03-09T01:07:00.003-06:00

A lot of people would probably be surprised to find out that I played a lot of sports when I was a kid. Every sport available (to girls) in my town, actually. Basketball, volleyball, track and field. Softball.

Of the variety, I probably liked softball the best. At least, I played it a lot longer than any of the others. Probably five years, all told, though I don't remember for sure when I started. I do remember when (and why) I stopped, but that's not really the point.

The point is that softball encompassed a large swath of my childhood.

I wasn't great. Don't think that at all. I was a good outfielder, decent at short stop, not fond of first base, and only an average catcher (though I had no trouble with the throw to second). I was a reliable batter, though I never hit a homer. A decent base-runner who scored every now and then but wasn't much for stealing bases because I had more endurance than speed.

So no, I wasn't great by a long stretch. And I didn't always enjoy it, especially toward the end. I was a valuable member of the team, but never the star. I guess, for me, softball was a social activity, like going to the swimming pool.

See, we lived way out in the boonies, a good eight to ten miles out of town, and Mom wanted to make sure we weren't stuck with only ourselves for company, so she always made sure we had opportunities to hang out with friends, to be in town, to socialize. So, even though we couldn't always afford it, she made sure we had season passes to the pool and the proper equipment for sports. Bless her mother's heart.

But why am I suddenly waxing half-poetic about a sport that holds equally as many bad memories as good for me, you ask? Excellent question.

The answer: because every once in a while, I watch The Sandlot and remember that softball was an important part of my youth and not always a bad one. The Sandlot reminds me of everything fun about the sport, tinged with a fond sense of nostalgia that makes me want to get out my bat and old glove.

Yes. I still have my old glove. And two bats. And a beat-up old softball that looks like it's had one too many trips over the gravel.

We never had a sandlot. In fact, I can't even remember just hanging out and playing softball when it wasn't either practice or a game. Sometimes me and the adored brother would throw it around in the yard, sometimes with Dad, but that was more practice than anything else.

Man, could Dad throw a pop-up like you wouldn't believe. I remember looking up at that white ball in the blue summer sky, thinking he'd thrown it so high it would never come down.

Anyway....

So maybe The Sandlot isn't so much nostalgia as wistfulness. I don't remember ever playing the game just for fun. It was sometimes fun, but never just for it.

I think that, if I ever lose my mind and decide to spawn kids, I'd much rather they have a sandlot team than a "real" one. There are good things to organized sports, of course, but... sometimes fun is just supposed to be fun. Kids are just supposed to be kids. It really isn't about winning or losing.

It's just... playing the game. The game that never ends.

The game in The Sandlot.

Oh, yeah. And I gotta get 'em some PF Flyers. I'm just sayin.

Dear Charlie:

2010-02-28T02:08:00.002-06:00

Life is funny sometimes.

I've been meaning to write up a review of Sherlock Holmes, but I seem to keep not getting around to it. I truly enjoyed that movie and have lots to say about it, but I just haven't done it.

And yet, only a bit after watching Legion, which isn't as good a movie in many ways, I already know what I want to say about it. I want to paraphrase a line that stuck with me for the entire movie and literally almost made me -- me! -- cry when I heard it. It seemed to resonate, as if it were written for me for just this moment when I was finally ready to hear it.

"And yet, in the midst of all this darkness, I see people who will not give up, even when they know all hope is lost. People who realize that being lost is so close to being found."

I've been feeling a little lost lately. It seems like so many things are going wrong and that I'm barely staying afloat, that my only choice is to give up on everything I've tried to build for myself here. I don't talk about it -- and not just here on my blog, where I've promised I'll never rant and rave, but everywhere and with everyone -- but it's there in the back of everything I do. That feeling of floundering in the dark until you wonder why you're even bothering to flounder at all, since it's obvious you're not getting anywhere.

I think I needed to hear that line. I think that, out of everything else in that movie, of everything I've seen or heard or read recently, that's what I needed to hear most. A reminder that lost is just one step away from found.

I'm going to hang onto that. I'm going to have faith in it. I'm going to keep walking, even if I don't quite know yet where I'm going.

Okay, so it's not a review. Sosumi. I'll do Sherlock Holmes later, all right? Sheesh! Let me have my moment, will ya?

Dear Charlie:

2010-02-15T21:14:00.003-06:00

Yeah, I know. I'm a bad blogger. Sosumi.

*snerk*

Anyway, I just watched the entire Avatar: The Last Airbender series, and I gotta say that I hope M. Night Shyamalan does it justice. I hope he keeps the humor.

I know, I know. DragonBall: Evolution tried to keep some of the anime humor and failed miserably. Ugh. Boy, did they ever. I can't even put my finger on how they went so far wrong, other than to say that a couple of the attempts actually made me shudder.

But honestly, though the Avatar series is a cartoon and is hilarious, I think the humor is to allay the darkness of the subject material. Yes, darkness.

Think about it. The whole plot comes down to this: a power-crazy adult wants to kill the one person who can stop him from world domination...and that one person is a child. A kid who wants nothing more than to play with his friends.

All of whom are also children.

If that ain't dark, I don't understand the meaning of the word. These kids, none of whom are over sixteen (and one of which is blind) have to save the world, which means being ready to give their lives, if needed. They lose loved ones, even die themselves, in their quest. All they have is each other and the few additional friends they're able to make on the way.

Worst of all, it isn't just good versus bad. Some of the bad guys are sort of good. Some of the good guys are just as crazy and willing to sacrifice the innocent as the bad guys. And the Avatar himself, the eleven-year-old kid who's holding the weight of one hundred years of war on his small shoulders, is a monk who was raised to believe killing anyone -- even the epitome of all that is evil -- is wrong.

How do you permanently defeat someone without killing him?

Dark, dude. I'm seriously.

Which is why I hope the humor stays. Sokka, especially, keeps the group going through some of their darkest hours. He'll say something ridiculous. He'll say something inspiring. Doesn't matter. It always works, even when it doesn't.

Trust me. It makes sense.

I'm just saying that, if they're planning to stick close to the source material -- as well they should -- they'd better keep the humor, too. It doesn't detract from the seriousness. In fact, it points out just how serious the situation is and saves it from utter despair. If Sokka can still make a joke, everything must be still be okay, even if only for another five minutes.

Now, Shyamalan isn't known for that kind of humor. He's more known for quiet jokes.

In The Happening: "I'm talking to a fake plant. I'm still doing it."

In Signs: "I cursed." "I heard."

In Unbreakable: "I bet my dad could beat up your dad."

Subtle. Quiet. Hardly the occasionally broad humor of anime, which jokes about there being no bathrooms in the spirit world and turns "Monkey feathers!" into a frustrated curse.

So, I hope he can do it. I hope he can keep that "we're still just kids, even if we have to save all of life as we know it" humor that gets everyone through to the end. Because these are just kids. These are the Mercutio kind of characters who would joke about their own deaths if they had time.

Can't you just hear Sokka saying, on his death bed, "Ask for me tomorrow, and you'll find me a grave man"?

...

Okay, he'd more likely ask you to pack him a picnic lunch for his walk into the Afterlife. Preferably with meat. Lots and lots of meat.

I'm just sayin.

Bizarro Update:

2010-01-31T20:21:00.004-06:00

Okay, so I think I'm losing my edge.

I don't have a heart. I'm pretty sure everyone who knows me will acknowledge that. And I don't do romance... despite the fact that I have a romantic comedy novel coming out in May of this year.

But....

I just caught myself watching not one but TWO romantic comedies. In a row. Ridiculous!

The first was Simply Irresistible, which I only enjoy because it's quirky good fun. Amanda Peet cracks me up as the uppity and hyper ex-girlfriend, and Larry Gilliard, Jr., slays as the guy friend, the friend that's a guy. What the hell is he doing with those dolls, anyway??

*snerk*

So that, I can explain away. It's funny, and it's about a cook and good food and a little bit of magic.

But the second plunge into sap is not so easily assuaged away from my conscience.

You've Got Mail.

Yeah. That one. I can't help it. I like Meg Ryan. Like Sandra Bullock, she has a charm all her own. Quirky and fun.

All was going well enough -- it's a predictable enough scenario, though enjoyable for the fun chemistry between Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan that made Sleepless in Seattle such a success -- until it happened.

Until she closed her store.

I don't know why, but that wrenches my gut. No, I didn't cry -- Klingons don't have tear ducts, remember -- but it did just about break my heart when her loyal customers mourned even as they bought out her stock. When the camera pans around those empty shelves, the shop so devoid of the homey charm she and her mother had invested in it over the course of 42 years. When she says that it feels like a part of her has died, like her mother has died all over again.

When she looks back one last time when the lights are out and sees her mother swinging her child self around, both of them laughing and full of joy.

Maybe it's just because I'd give a lot to have a book shop full of well-loved novels and its own quirky charm. Maybe it's because I have a current story about someone who loses their beloved book shop and all the past invested in it.

Or maybe it's because Meg Ryan is a really good crier. I mean, seriously. She can turn on those tears, and even an old stone-heart like me can't help but feel the ol' ticker clench. She's been killing me since Goose died in Top Gun.

Hell, for all I know, it could be that I'm still a little raw from reading my beloved sister's latest gut-wrencher of a novel. Seriously. That woman can turn me inside out with her words, and it's not just because she's my sister.

At any rate, though the rest of the movie is good enough, that's the part that haunts me the most. Fate doesn't step in at the last moment to give her back her business. Part of the movie is about leaving behind who you were and having the courage to face who you will be, so she has to be shut of that loving past in order to embrace the frightening and unknown path unwinding before her.

Doesn't matter to me. I want to give her that shop back. Help her place every last book back on the shelf. I'd even be tempted to help her decorate that Christmas tree with all its handmade ornaments.

Okay, that's a bit much. I don't do Christmas.

Anyway, I know it's just because I'm biased because I'd love a shop of my own some day, but hey. Whatever it is, it definitely means I'm not the hardass I'm used to being.

Dammit.

Dear Charlie:

2010-01-23T14:23:00.002-06:00

So, after not going to bed until 4AM and not getting to sleep until God knows when and further waking up before 11AM this morning, I texted Pesh, "Why am I awake??"

I now know why.

After dragging into clothes and taking a spin around the 'net, I decided to head for Grand Fortuna -- my favorite Chinese buffet -- for some lunch. I haven't eaten much in the last two days (long story), so I thought I might actually be able to pack away a whole plate. Not so much, but it was good to get out, and I like the restaurant as much for the servers who know me as for the food.

So, I'm nibbling at the too-many remains of my plate and reading a little Stephen King -- I'm actually working on the final edit for the e-book coming out in May at home, but hey -- and I hear a quiet, inquisitive "Molly?"

I look up and there's Scott. Some of you won't remember my awesome musician friend because it's been a long time since I saw him last. Remember when Dave broke my coffee table? Yeah, it's been almost that long since I saw Scott.

At any rate, he and his wife were there, and I was SO thrilled to see them. We had a good catch-up and exchanged current numbers, which is how we'd fallen out of touch in the first place after Scott started playing the casinos over the state line and didn't have as many local gigs. I don't hit the casinos as often as I like (more like once in the last five years), so I just lost touch.

But it doesn't matter now. It's awesome to be back in touch with such good friends. Scott's been there for me in some hard times, and I like to think I was at least amusing company during some of his.

I'm pretty sure that's why I was up so early. I am no longer complaining.

Sweeeeet.

Har-de-har-har Sidebar:

2010-01-06T21:39:00.002-06:00

Okay, so I'm an idiot.

This knowledge always surprises me because I usually think I'm pretty smart. Then, I go and prove that I'm not so much.

So, for my new job, I usually close Tuesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays, and leave after the late rush on Wednesdays and Thursdays. That late rush can be anywhere between 8:30 and 11:30, depending on how busy we are. I haven't left before 10:00 since my first week, though, so I figured later would be more likely tonight.

Thus, when the boss said to leave just before 9:00, I was all, "Sweet! I can go home and do my read-thru and get the revisions back to my editor way early!"

Needless to say, this is what I was thinking as I turned on my car to thaw it out a little while I scraped. I honestly can't tell you how the door magically locked. Usually, if you accidentally hit the button on the key fob, the car honks. There was no honk. And I didn't accidentally lean on the locky thing in the door, either. I have NO CLUE how it locked.

But it sure did. With the car running and the keys inside.

Gleefully oblivious to this, I scrape off the sleet with happy swipes of the trusty ol' ice scraper and then go to climb inside...and realize there's a problem. The door won't open. Totally locked. ALL the doors are locked.

And the car's running.

Okay, so I go over my options. I do have a spare fob at home. Maybe I can catch a ride with someone or even just call a cab. No problem.

So I go back inside, and the boss hands me his truck keys, no questions. Bless his heart. He doesn't know that I practically get hives at the idea of driving someone else's vehicle. Reluctantly, I take his keys, only to freeze in both relief and new horror because...my house key is on the keychain that's locked inside the car.

Before you ask, yes, I have a spare. But it's locked in the lockbox for the realtor to use when showing the house.

Okay, so no problem. I'll just call my realtor and ask for the keypad's code. Except I can't get ahold of her. I leave a message, then try to call a few others, hoping for options. Dad suggests I call a locksmith, but I really REALLY don't want to do that.

Lemme tell you a little side story. Way back when, my keys accidentally got locked in my car at my mom's house. I probably even blogged about it. A locksmith came out to unlock the door, right? Put the little air bladder thing in the crack, pumped it up to create a space, then used a long pointer thingy to push the unlock button. And in the process, bent my door so that it no longer fit easily into the frame and sometimes wouldn't close enough to latch, especially when it was cold.

Fastforward back to tonight, and I'm standing there refusing to call a locksmith and do such a horrible thing to my beautiful new car. It may have magically (and perhaps maliciously) locked itself, but that's hardly a door-bending offense, right?

So I figure I'll give the realtor another try. She picks up this time, and she's already on the way over to my house. I told her that surely wasn't necessary, that I could get to the house if she'd just give me the code, but she said it was no problem and that she'd be happy to bring me my spare key fob.

Of course, a little thinking tells me that she can't give me the code because all her houses probably have the same code, which poses a serious security risk, but seriously. Still a nice thing to do. I dunno where she lives, but she drove almost all the way out of town on the northeast side, then drove my fob all the way west of town in the middle, then back home again.

Bless her heart.

At any rate, in all, I think the car was merrily idling for a good twenty minutes. Maybe half an hour, max. Not bad, all told. And I still got home before 10:00, which is earlier than usual.

Of course, now I'm thinking of making soup instead of doing my read-thru, but hey. I'll talk myself into being a good girl in a little bit. Honestly.

...

Though soup does sound really, really good. Mmmm....

Dear Charlie:

2010-01-03T18:26:00.002-06:00

Well, it's the New Year. Twenty-ten.

My boys just finished out their season by kicking the crap out of Denver. Always a pleasure to see. They also finished better than last season at 4-12. Abysmal, yes, but not really. Not when you look closer.

We played a lot of close games. We stayed in almost all of them. Six of our losses were by one score or less and could've gone either way. The team underwent an almost complete overhaul, but still pulled together enough to hang tough.

I think things will be amazingly improved next year. I know I say that every year, but there's actually opportunity here. And, as I'm sure my beloved Chiefs are thinking, they've already won one game this year. Heh.

Also to look forward to in 2010 is my book coming out in May. I'm working on revisions now and will hopefully have a cover soon. Woot!

Otherwise, pretty much business as usual. My new hours with the new job are tripping me out a bit, but nothing I can't get used to. I know a few folks are feeling a little ignored, and I'm sorry for it, but since I work evenings/nights now, it's hard to get together with people with opposite schedules. I'm working on it!

At any rate, just wanted to squee a bit about my boys' big season-ending victory. We always love beating division rivals. Wheee!

Dear Charlie:

2009-12-25T22:56:00.003-06:00

Heh, now that it's almost over, I feel that I can safely say...

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

See? Not a single zombie in sight. Until just now.

...What?

Funny Update:

2009-12-13T01:57:00.003-06:00

So, my first "real" book signing.

Okay, so the first first one was in my driveway, but hey. Me and my beloved sister drove to our hometown to do a book signing at our old library.

God, I loved that place as a kid. I could spend hours in there. Pull this book from the shelf, read it, put it back. Pull another, read it, put it back. "Mols, it's time go to." "Okay, Mom...." and borrow another five to tide me over until the next visit.

And the librarian was always Luella. Such a sweet woman. She ran the library for 24 years, but has since retired...but she made time to come by today to wish me and Joely well and to tell us how proud she was of us. Lovely woman.

It wasn't a huge turnout, but we had more visitors than we expected and sold some books and reconnected with some old friends and family, and really, what more can you ask?

Did you say...El Sambre's? Why, yes, we did go to El Sambre's.

Our family has been eating at this restaurant a half hour away for... get this... thirty years. Not kidding. This is the place where, when I was 3 or 4, I started to choke on a tortilla chip and the owner himself ran out of the kitchen to give me the Heimlich maneuver. Saved my life. And 20 years later, he remembered me, mostly because we'd been coming in the whole while.

And seriously. Thirty years. That's what you call either seriously loyal patronage or a seriously good restaurant.

Just ate my leftovers. Heh.

Anyway, also got to see Kristi and her litter (as my cousin put it, thanks to her tendency to have two kids at a time). Ava and Cannon are precocious and adorable as always, and Willow and Scarlett... my God, have they grown! They're like little kids, now.

Okay, they're not even a year old yet, but you know what I mean. And they really, really liked my big cross necklace. Nearly choked me with it like four times.

Good times.

Anyway, it was fun to sign as G.B. Kensington, fun to talk with my sister (as always), and fun to reminisce with old acquaintances (have you gotten all that mud out of your ear yet, Sis?) and just a fun day in general.

And I have no cookies left, though I made chocolate chip cookies, sugar cookies, and bonbons, to boot. Goodies went bye-bye. They're gone now.

So long, sailin', sailin'....

Sorry. Listened to "Somewhere Beyond the Sea" on the way home. Heh.

And now, Sweet Dreams tea and a couple of ibuprofen (headache from my hair being up all day) and it is sooooo bedtime. *jaw-cracks a yawn*

Edited to add:

Jeez, I went and forgot the two most fun things of all yesterday! Man, was I tired, or what?

'S what I get for getting up before dawn. Ugh.

Anyway, just before we hit the restaurant, Joely snuck me inside a shoe store -- where I would usually rather remove my eyes with mittens than go -- and informed me that she and Mom had talked and decided to team up to buy me a good pair of shoes for standing on concrete and tile all day. *puddles up* Isn't that sweet? It's Christmas and my birthday all wrapped up in one....

...Or in two, as Crocs were the only things that really felt up to the task and they were on sale, so we got two pairs for probably less than the price of one. Woot! I got work shoes!

And the other thing was at Kristi's house. Her kids are starting to really enjoy video games. Or they really enjoy playing the easier levels, then handing the controllers over to Mom and Dad to get them over the harder ones. Heh.

At any rate, it ended up that Kristi and I played Super Mario Brothers 3 on an old (but excellently maintained) Nintendo 64 for...like five hours. No, I'm not kidding.

It's really, really spooky how quickly it all came back to me. My brother and I beat that game like six times in a row sometimes, and while I initially had NO idea what I was doing, as soon as we got back into it, all the little irritations and joys came back.

Good times. And bless Kristi's mother heart that she'll play for her kids. Heh.

Dear Charlie:

2009-12-06T15:07:00.003-06:00

Eee! More Undead Christmas goodness! This time, I'm crapping on Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Heck, gimme a bit and I'll crap on the actual theme song.

For now, I'll stick to "Silver and Gold". Ha!

Zombies and ghouls
Zombies and ghouls
Everyone's hunting for zombies and ghouls
How do you know when it's dead?
Just to be safe, you should blow off its head

Zombies and ghouls
Zombies and ghouls
Run when they're coming your way
Load up on shotguns and torches
And shoot every corpse you see

____________________________

Edited to add:

As I mentioned on Twitter, my mind was full of Rudolph rewrites at work last night, so you guys get stuck with the result. Ha!

Rudolph the Zombie Reindeer
Had a very rotten nose
I often like to shoot it
Just to see how far it blows

All of the local children
Used to poke at him with flames
But then the undead Rudolph
Munched upon their puny brains

Then one stinky summer's eve
Hunters came to play
Rudolph with his corpse so rank
Got run over by a tank

Now the few local children
Know that zombies aren't for fun
They learned a valuable lesson
Never be withooouuuut aaaaaa guuuuuuuun!

Dear Charlie:

2009-12-05T10:45:00.002-06:00

Remembering Derrick Thomas, truly one of the greats of the game: at the time of his death and now.

#58, we hardly knew you, but we loved you anyway. Rest well, and know that you'll always be remembered.

Dear Charlie:

2009-12-03T15:06:00.002-06:00

Finally got my hands on the new Star Trek. I've already gushed about it here, but I can't help but mention its rewatchability.

Yes, you read right. Budweiser has drinkability. Star Trek has rewatchability.

It just has so much energy. There's always something happening. Even the few slow-down moments are either character-driven or plot-driven. Nothing is superfluous, even the fan-service in-jokes.

J.J. Abrams, you are my hero. For now. Heh.

I'm seriously. When the Enterprise pops out of warp with guns blazing against Nero's ship...just chills, man. Even in the theater, I couldn't help a Woo-hoo! at the sight. At home, I'm much less restrained.

These characters...I just love them. The new treatment doesn't hurt them at all. I can't wait to see more from them. Amazing.

Okay. Done gushing.

For now. Muwahah.

Dear Charlie:

2009-11-22T20:27:00.002-06:00

Got a job! Woot!

*dances*

I start Monday and will be working evenings. Doing what, you ask? Well, let me tell you.

"Domino's Pizza, can I help you?"

That's right, ladies and gentlemen -- NOT office work! Eeee! I'mma be cranking out pizza by the ton. Mm. Pizza.

In other news...CHIEFS WIN! EEEE!

*dances some more*

We totally beat the Steelers! Overtime and sacks and turnovers and woot!

Ahem. Sorry.

Anyway, we're totally better already than we were last year. *points at scoreboard* See? BETTER. That's a good, good sign.

I am content.

Eeee!

And yes, I realize I have brutally abused the E key in this post, but if you don't whip it into shape every now and then, it gets all stuck up and snooty and refuses to do its job.

Weird Sidebar:

2009-11-10T16:01:00.003-06:00

Okay, so I'm reading IT again for like the millionth time -- don't worry, the not-a-novella-anymore is still in the works; it's just being... troublesome -- and it strikes me that I'm old.

I mean, I know this logically, but when you catch yourself reading that Eddie would take the dollar his mom gave him and buy two candy bars and a Pepsi and still have change to rattle all the way home... and remembering when you could do the same (though not from so far back as 1958)....

Dude. You're old.

So anyway, I sorta found myself remembering when I was a kid. We used to go visit my grandmother in Vista -- teeeeeeny tiny little town, population maybe 30 in a great census year -- and Mom would give me, my beloved sister, and the adored brother each 50¢ to spend at the old post office there. It wasn't a post office anymore, of course. It was sort of a grocery/general store. But because time is different in the country, we still called it the old post office.

At any rate, we'd take our 50¢ to the old post office and buy a pocketful of candy and a soda in one of those big ol' glass bottles. Remember them? Joely and Toby would usually get a Pepsi or some "grown up" drink, but I always spent my quarter on a peach Nehi. Always got teased about it, too.

"Why don't you get a grape Nehi? It's better."

Well, it was supposed to be better, but only because it was Radar O'Reilly's favorite drink. Remember him? Yeah. But I hated (and still hate) grape-flavored anything. Tastes like Dimetap. Except Jolly Ranchers, but even they're kinda pushing it.

Anyway, 25¢ would go to that big ol' peach Nehi and the other quarter went to, literally, a pocket full of candy. I was awfully fond of Smarties and Sixlets, if I remember correctly. And Zero candy bars. Remember those?

At any rate, we'd walk back to Grandma's, eating our candy and drinking our pop, and when we were done, we'd walk back to the old post office and trade our big ol' glass bottles for another dime, which would buy us another handful of candy.

Do you get what I'm saying here? You couldn't even get a pop out of a machine in a can for 50¢ now. Forget an entire pocketful of candy.

Now, I'm not saying these were The Good Old Days. I'm not that old yet. Heheh. Those were hard times. We sometimes didn't know if we'd be able to afford propane over the winter (Dad was a construction worker, and work over the cold months was often scarce and dangerous). We were poor, and we knew it.

But Mom still made sure that, anytime we visited Erm and Lap (Grandma and Grandpa, respectively), we had our 50¢ to spend at the old post office.

And oh, how far those two quarters would go.

So even though the age Mr. King is waxing poetic about in IT is a little further back than my own particular Ago, I feel the same jolt of time when I read it. The difference between 1982 and 2009. For him, the difference between 1958 and 1985, which has a neater flip-around appeal, but hey. The point is the gaping, blowing chasm between the two dates and all the things that have changed in the meanwhile.

As T.S. Elliot said: "I grow old... I grow old... I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled."

Must be the overcast sky causing such ruminations. All I know is that it makes me want to write poetry, and I hate doing that. I think I'll turn to Alex and Jacob for comfort and let them blind me with steampunk for a while.

What? You expect me to be blinded with science? Ha!

...

Seriously. OLD.

*shakes head*

Dear Charlie:

2009-10-28T13:12:00.002-05:00

I've been a bad Geeb.

I'm sorry, long-devoted and long-suffering blog, but Twitter is the devil! It's just so easy!

For those of you not tweeting (save your souls! don't submit to the tweetnomenon!), I've been cranking out a steampunk novella for a Samhain anthology. Unfortunately, while I've written 25,000 words or so in like three days, I think I wouldn't be doing the story justice to short it enough to wrap up in 30K.

So, I'm going to let it be what it is and shoot for 50-60K instead. I was definitely writing lean earlier on to keep the wordcount down, and I would love to go back and add some of the steampunk ideas I reluctantly discarded to the overall atmosphere. Plus, now I get to write a candy bar scene that I honestly wasn't sure I could do without before and now don't have to. Woot!

Gotta take enjoyment from those little things, ya know.

No new news on the job front. Still applying and interviewing and getting nowhere with blinding speed. Heheh. At the moment, I only have two interview/applications still outstanding, and I'd really, really like the second one to come through. It sounds like it would be great good fun on top of being a steady paycheck, and, seriously folks, at this point in my life, I want some fun.

I've done the "responsible" jobs for nine years now. I can do them well and I can do them for a long, long time...but I want to have fun at work. And not have fun just because of the people I'm around but because the work itself is fun.

So, keep your fingers crossed, if you pretty please, and we'll see how it goes. I may ask a favor of a friend to see if he needs any help just temporarily to tide me over until I hear for sure on either of the two possibilities. I hate hate HATE asking favors (it's entirely too close to asking for help, and...yeah, you know me), but I'm getting down to the wire, here.

However, thanks to Pesh and her oh-so-timely intervention of Coke and Bigelow tea, I will follow Gloria Gaynor's sage advice.

I will survive.

*snerk* Sorry. Couldn't help myself.

Dear Charlie:

2009-10-17T11:44:00.005-05:00

Literally just got caught with my pants down.

Yes, I just had perhaps one of the dumbest and most ridiculous moments of my life.

As I mentioned in my last post, I've finally listed my house. I didn't expect to be inundated by potential buyers, of course, but I knew there would be last minute calls, and I knew I had to keep the house in good order, just in case. No problem.

Except I didn't expect them on Saturdays. But that's neither here nor there.

See, last night, a transformer popped somewhere in this little corner that Empire Electric seems to forget about. I was still up watching a movie when, at almost the stroke of midnight, the power just...went out. From long experience, I didn't make any assumptions until I looked out my dining room window and assured that everyone to the west of me was, indeed, dark as a cave, while my eastern and northern neighbors still had porch lights and such.

So, I took up my trusty flashlight and checked both the inside and outside breakers, just to be sure, then called the electric company and reported the outage. The lady says, "Have you checked your breakers? No one else in your area has reported an outage."

Because I'm the patient sort, I merely and politely said, "Well, it is after midnight. I imagine no one's noticed it but me."

A moment's silence.

"And yes, I checked my breakers before calling, just in case. Internal breaker and main breaker outside."

She sighed heavily. "All right. I'll send someone out."

Long story short(er), they were out there tinkering around until at least 3:00 AM. Because I'm a light sleeper, I couldn't sleep until they left. They have really bright work lights, and I have windows. But I didn't breathe so much as a word of complaint because I was grateful that they were fixing the problem immediately. I have chicken in the fridge, and I don't want it to go bad.

So I was glad it was Saturday morning and I could sleep in with good conscience.

So when my phone rang at 9:00 AM (and I was still awake after 4:00, when I stopped looking at the clock I'd reset immediately upon the power restoral), I was a little nonplussed but not actually irritated.

"Hi, I'm calling from Remax and I'd like to show your house between 10:30 and 11:00. Would that be okay?"

No problem.

I dragged out of bed, dressed and tidied up (had some dishes to wash from last night, but really, I've not been bad), took out the trash, and sprayed a little Febreeze, just to be sure. Left the house at 10:00 in case they were early (my actual realtor, NOT from Remax, is an early bird that way) and headed for the Colonel's Pancake House.

They were really, really busy. I just wanted to sit down with a little breakfast and read, so I headed on to IHOP. Also incredibly busy. Well, no problem. I stopped in at Hardee's instead, since their drive-thru line was around the block. I wasn't in a hurry and just wanted somewhere to camp until after 11:00.

No problem.

So I read and I gnoshed and...unfortunately...got a Diet Coke instead of a Coke. Oh, I could have dumped it out and got myself a regular Coke, but that would be rude, and, seriously, what am I complaining about? It's caffeine, right?

So I drank the whole thing, mostly because then I could refill with regular Coke and really wake up, and by about quarter after eleven, I was ready to go home, certain that the agent had come and gone and the potential buyer had passed judgment on my housekeeping inabilities.

No problem. Right?

So I got home and looked around for a minute. Put everything down. Had to go to the bathroom.

Hey. Seriously. A big ol' Diet Coke. Sue me.

No sooner had I turned on the CD player and opened my book to where I left off at Hardee's than...the front door opened. No, I am not kidding.

Not quite panicking but quite red in the face, I hurriedly flushed and washed, grabbed up my book and my Coke, and tried to run out the door, only to be caught in the living room by the agent and prospective buyer.

"Oh, are you still here?"

Me, embarrassed at totally being caught in the bathroom, said, "Oh, I've already gone and come back. Sorry, I'll be right out of your hair."

"Oh, sorry, we were late."

No kidding. Holy crap.

I made my escape and ran over to the closest gas station to laugh about the situation with a friendly cashier who works there, dinkered around for a good twenty minutes, then came back just as they were leaving.

Wanna make any bets on whether I'll get an offer? Ha!