Snow Belongs on TV

For those who must deal with it in person, my condolences.

Art Interlude

Rich Arons and musical pal Rossini have fun with images.

richarons

Life's A Gas in Malawi

A nation that bans farting is out to make a statement.

Kindle Dawn

There's a first time for everything in publishing, including new-fangled reading things.

Unfinished Bin

While working on the novel last year I stopped writing short stories. I need to crank out a few and send them around. Fortunately, my unfinished bin offers a wealth of material.

On Monday, I found an old horror story I wrote for an anthology a few years back. It was rejected, then rewritten, then parked, then forgotten. Yesterday, I came across it in a pile of folders I call my "unfinished bin." After a quick read I concluded my rediscovered tale stunk like wino poo.

But there's plenty to work with. I need to lop off the first seven pages and start in the middle of things. And so I will...eventually. Don't rush me. I'm getting to it. No. No, I 'm not. I'm writing aimless post-filler right now. Okay. NOW I'll get to it. So long.

I Will Be Interviewed

Necrotic Tissue wants to interview me for Issue #14 in May. Several questions deal with Freakazoid!, which is fine—glad to keep alive the guy with lightning in his hair. I'll update later in the spring as publication approaches. What fun! What giddy fun!

Dagon and Jill Publishes

Issue #13—how fortuitious!—of Necrotic Tissue is out. My story is teased on the cover along with my fine name in the lower left hand corner. (Editor's Pick, I tell you!) Few will spot my name because of the hot spider chick, but it's there nevertheless. Should time and finances permit, pick up a copy. (Note: this is a print publication not digital. As such, it involves various inks and paper.) Should you buy Issue #13 and enjoy my story, stop over at Amazon and rate "Dagon and Jill" as well as the publication in a kindly manner as befits good folk. (Image: Stygian Publications.)

Link to Great Gift

This could be yours.

Rats and My Security Guard Job

Over the years, I've worked a few midnight-to-eight jobs in downtown LA. This article comes as no surprise. Like fishing tales, rat sizes grow larger with the retelling but I will nonetheless affirm that downtown LA rats are fecund and large. A jewelry factory where I worked as a security guard had trash cans overflowing with discarded lunches. You'd hear the metal cans rattling all night as the rats chowed down. I'd make my rounds and flash a light, catching sight of a long, scaly tale disappearing snake-like down the side of a barrel. Once a bold rat paused atop the trash and eyed me as I passed. I wanted to shoot the defiant vermin, but only carried a .38 and feared aggravating it.

Back at my desk, I'd type up jokes and short stories and glance at the monitors until my next round. Once an outside monitor displayed a rat with ruler- straight tail trotting across the street toward our building. In this pre-digital age, our grainy, black-and-white monitors barely registered the outdoors. For a rat to show up, it had to be trophy-sized.

Around 6 AM, the morning security shift would clock in. I worked with really fascinating guys. Jerry my boss was a former Air Force military policeman who'd been stationed on remote Johnston Atoll out in the Pacific. He guarded the launch sites used in Operation Dominic, the last of the outer space thermonuclear tests back in the early sixties. Treeless and barren, the atoll provided little recreation. Jerry said the garrison split roughly into two categories: physical fitness fanatics and drinkers. (I think he leaned toward the healthy side.) In any case, Jerry watched as hydrogen bombs were fired up into space and detonated, blossoming in the pitch-black sky like eerie buds.

At the factory, Jerry had an assistant named Ski. Ski was a former LA cop, fired for pulling some prank on a supervisor. He had a lawsuit going, claiming unlawful termination. I couldn't comment on the "unlawful" part, but Ski did have a very droll sense-of-humor. He'd served in the 26th Marines at Khe Sanh and had his own adventures with large rodents.

During Khe Sanh, Ski and the other Marines were pinned down by heavy North Vietnamese rocket and artillery fire. No al fresco dining there. Living in bunkers, they ate and dumped their trash on the floor. This bonanza drew in large rats from the surrounding forest who disturbed the men's meager sleep and occasionally nestled between their legs for warmth. (Charming.) One day, the troops had enough. Someone squirted lighter fluid on a rat, while someone else lit the critter on fire with a Zippo cigarette lighter. Other bunkers joined in. Soon the perimeter was alive with flaming rats, falling rockets and laughing men.

It made my rat woes seem weakish by comparison.

Years later, I spotted a small article in the LA Times. Ski was mentioned along with the words "settlement" and "estimated million dollars." Whatever the amount, I'll bet it could buy a tanker truck of lighter fluid. (Image: hotrodswag.com)

Christmas in January

This weekend we'll be joining our Orthodox and Armenian brethren who celebrate the birth of Christ in January, starting about the time we Catholics take down the Christmas decorations. Why? Because of monetary reasons we skipped our usual northwest trip to visit my sister. Instead, we'll holiday in Sonoma County. North of San Francisco, this wine country locale is close to the sea and Indian gaming. As my sister's boyfriend has a time-share in said region, it will be a festive cheap event.

Eponymous. There. I've used the word. I feel soiled. George Orwell once said, in effect, that to maintain fresh writing you should use no word which has found currency with the press. I'm guessing he would've included the Web. He also said don't trust large pigs. I don't. So I'm okay there.

Space Mobsters vs. Nazis

Brutal bug-like aliens with murderous ray guns, wearing snap brim hats and track suits, battling, well, Nazis—I'm thinking SS panzergrenadiers with Tiger Tanks and air support. Our world faces destruction unless young people without super powers or very-much ambition can stop them both.

A. Short story?

B. Video game?

C. Graphic novel?

D. Animated feature?

Vote and let me know what you'd like to see.

I opened up an idea for votes awhile ago. The people wanted a sit-com and I actually wrote it. So let's see where this one goes. (I haven't given up on the book—just gathering energy for the last push on draft one.)

So long, Gerry Rafferty

In an age before iTunes and craft-your-own-playlists, songs played on the radio. Some played more than others. Sting and The Police "I'll Be Watching You" dominated the 1983 airwaves. Rod Stewart's "Forever Young" ruled in 1988. And ten years earlier, Gerry Rafferty's "Baker Street," with its jazzy sax lick, defined that summer. In 1978, I was working days on a Post Office loading dock and nights as a stand-up comic in and around the Windy City. I'd get off work, stop at the local tavern, quench a beer or five, and usually hear some part of "Baker Street"—starting or ending. Rush home, shower and eat then scoot to my first gig, often way south down in Lyons. "Baker Street" would accompany me on the toll road regardless of what pop station I settled on. After Lyons, I'd drive north to Rosemont or into Chicago to the northwest side, performing my set at this club or that. (The club in Chicago had a stage above the bar—it used to be a strip joint—and the drink mixer just below the stage. You were guaranteed to have a high-pitched whirring sound obliterate at least one of your punch lines...more if the bartender didn't like you...or liked you personally but didn't care for your act.) In between my sundry rounds of mirth, I'd be catching Gerry Rafferty. Today I heard he died of alcoholism. (I consider myself fortunate not to have trod a similar path.) May he rest in peace as I recall mail sacks, Old Style draft, hot nights driving, laughs and drink blenders. (Image: Pop Dose)

via Jaspierrr

Artist Maz Zolp Demo Reel

Here sits her animation demo reel. Give it a peek and enjoy the pert, retro soundtrack.

"Dagon and Jill" A'Coming

Third day of the new year and nothing fantastic has happened yet. Then again, nothing terrible has happened.

In a few weeks, (Fri., January 21) a short-story of mine will appear in Necrotic Tissue #13. "Dagon and Jill" explores the blending of worldviews as a publisher struggles to put out a trilogy of disturbing text books that have a way of coming true. This will be in print—a form of written communication involving paper.

Nothing fantastic since I started this post.

I'll update as the months unfold.
(Image: Stygian Publications)

Torchy the Battery Boy

Observe; ponder; don't be greedy.

via ChunkyBoots

About Yesterday...

...the same goes for today.

Happy New Year!

An old, but heartfelt greeting.

via XmasFLIX

Last Run

For 2010. I haven't posted much about running lately because I've hit a rut: run a few days, overdo it in some subtle way, rest, ice, start again. 2011 goals? Keep trying. Tomorrow night continues a New Year's Eve tradition: Marx Bros. Marathon. They're running them roughly in order from early evening to early morning, though I'll be lucky to make it to the MGM pair—Night at the Opera and Day at the Races which straddle midnight. I'm always glad to see another year, just not so much of it that early.

I Shouldn't Be Alive

Actually, I'm fine. But the above-named show is an Animal Channel favorite, featuring mediocre acting, reused scenes and stock footage blended together into a cheap pleasing time-waster.

Vile Butchery via The Onion

How ugly, this creative process.

Jay Maynard Link

Tron legend—and old school Animaniacs fan—Jay Maynard is back in the news.

Ha!

Ha, ha! Ha! More writing today and more on the burner for tomorrow. Non-animated, but paying nonetheless. What a plump Christmas bonanza of TV last night. LOR-2 plus Christmas Story plus Wizard of Oz; the channel changer was on fire.

Merry Christmas!

To one and all, old and young, sober and awash in eggnog.

A Very Zombie Holiday

As turkey smells permeate the house, don't forget the undead.

Christmas Eve

Well, here we are. Christmas looms. I'm pleased to be sitting in my sweat clothes blogging away on a sunny morning. If Santa brought me a new writing desk tomorrow—or the means to obtain one—I'd be delighted. My ideal desk would have vertical book shelves built in and an intricate Japanese device that would complete writing projects (in English) so I could devote more time to sloth and sloth-friendly activities.

My book has locked up near the finish line, legs turned to cement by lactic acid. It's shuffling forward slowly, knowing its bounce will return in time. I've had many wee writing projects since September, all paying little, some paying less, but all paying something. My day is quite occupied writing items humorous or not for different blogs and websites. Multiple deadlines make the time zip past. And while a few more bucks wouldn't hurt, I count myself fortunate to be writing as opposed to unloading mail trucks or monitoring burglar alarms or shooting mad dogs for the county—which had its moments.

A most Merry Christmas to all. My the Jolly One bring you all manner of jolly things.

And in the Heavens....

A sign. About five minutes after this, the rainbow split as another storm rolled in. Rain blew sideways like the Vietnam scene from Forrest Gump. But now its quiet.

Man, It's Raining Out

I was talking last night to friend who recently had to give up his house. He's living in an apartment in my neighborhood. We recalled past heavy rains when we were home-owners and how we worried about leaks and tarps and hillsides changing zip codes. Now I can watch the water fall in sheets and say, "Ah, well, that's certainly a crisp downpour." Then I go off to eat chili and wheat.

Cry Me An Atmospheric River

More rain, oh yes, by Jove. And big damn clouds.

Could Be Worse

Germans ahead of the curve in dealing with travel nightmares.

Hearst Castle Neptune Pool

Today's sea is quite storm-tossed. However I only have photos of yesterday's sea, which was more or less Okay. Still, no poet ever won fame writing things such as "my thoughts tossed about like a fairly average sea."

To the left is the Neptune Pool, shot from under my umbrella at Hearst Castle. Quite a place, a bit roomy. But they've still got zebras running around the yard as well as assorted foreign deer. I especially enjoyed the Patty Hearst Room, where our tour was locked in closets, emerging as crazed revolutionary nut cases. Fortunately, the tour had a small bank set up for us to rob. Later, we hijacked the tour bus "for the people," rode it to the gift shop and bought tee-shirts and coffee mugs.

Photos From Cambria

Here in this small town in central California, my wife and I relax as we ponder our future as members of the work force and Californians. Beautiful scenery but strange merchandise in the stores. For instance, there are action figures of zombies, frightened people from B-movie horror films, and paparazzi. Imagine running home from school so you and your chums could dive in and play with papparazzi action figures. We decay as a nation.

New Bowl in Town

Perhaps even a step up from the Meineke Car Care Bowl.

You Need A Friend

New Apple Friend Bar Gives Customers Someone To Talk At About Mac Products

Yuletide Thoughts

Christmas nears and we're rather broke. But we have our love and steel ball bearings that we fling at the back windshields of cars cruising our street with the bass cranked up to Stun. It's the little things that hold you together.

Paul Rugg Auctions Freakazoid Stuff

For the sake of charity, Paul Rugg will part with various Freakazoid! cells and memorabilia. Times are tough, but even tougher for some. Paul has even promised to sign each cell in the blood of a Taliban warrior, killed as part of a different charity auction. In any case, stop by his site for a merchandise preview. (Image: Joker.Net)

Tom Sheppard Brings Home the Bling

Scroll down and visit Tom Sheppard's name as a WGA award recipient in animation for an episode of Back at the Barnyard. With a 2010 Emmy for the same show, Tom's walking heavy this year—a man fat with awards.

Video: Scary Hand Model

Losing her grip. Zombies are out; scary hand models in.

bestviewedvids via Ace of Spades

Advice for New Writers

Teens write, read, meet and collaborate on fiction over at Figment. I'm pitching the site on a column where an older, experienced writer teaches a new generation how to complain, brood, and properly nurse resentments so they mature into depression. This is vital to the writing experience and a must for young scribes. (Picture: scienceblogs.com)

Batman Sobs by Bruce Timm

Via Tom Ruegger @ Cartoonatics: Bruce Timm renders the agony of defeat.

Cal Arts Update

Samantha has been up to this.

Miss TSA 2011

Friend Ken sent this cutie along to delight and enchant.

Good On All Sides

I hate hearing that some star I like is a real butt-head off camera. Thankfully, that was not the case with the late Leslie Nielsen. As he once said in Police Squad:

"Life is risk. Getting up in the morning, crossing the street, putting your face in a fan." (Photo: Chris Malafronte)

There's A Drebin in Heaven

Leslie Nielsen is gone but we'll always have the House of Rattan.

via ambassador7

A Road Not Taken by E.T.

Many endings were contemplated for E.T. The one depicted here would have led the character of Elliot down a different path. But director Spielberg chose a less European direction. (Image: Yurock)

Binky the Doormat

It all comes out at the bar.

via bryan10983

Happy Thanksgiving!

Yes, a fine, noble Thanksgiving to all, filled with football and turkey and pleasing condiments that don't irritate either the palate or the conversation. (Image: nitro:licious!)

Russian Flick Kills Cow

Saw a Netflix film last night called Come and See. Set in Russia during World War II, the movie follows a peasant teenager who volunteers for the Soviet partisans. Directed by Russian Elem Klimov, we observe the protagonist's journey over several weeks as he transforms from a smiling, eager-to-please young fellow into a hollowed out wreck whose actions often inadvertently lead to the death of others. Sound effects levels were uneven as if certain ones had been hastily added in post. The ending was lame and the director allowed actors to address the camera in such a way that you felt they were talking to a camera and not another character. But the movie had its moments.

One scene had our protagonist and another partisan steal a cow. Leading the placid beast across a field at dusk, they are suddenly caught in the light of a flare. A German machine gun opens fire, tracers zipping through the fading light. Our protagonist hits the dirt, but his friend is killed while the cow goes on munching grass, oblivious to rounds whizzing past.

With night approaching, the cow wanders back toward the barn from which it was stolen. Our teen partisan stops the animal and leads it back across the field. The movement draws another flare and a second, more prolonged machine gun burst. This time the cow is hit. It falls, drags itself on front legs, topples on its side and lows in agony as it tries to rise. Hiding behind the riddled animal, the terrified teen watches the cow's eye rolling in pain, too stupid to know its been shot; too dumb to know its almost finished.

Somehow the slaying of a harmless animal effectively captured the ugliness of war in a way that horrid deaths to characters good and bad failed to do.

Though made in 1985, Come and See presents the cow's last words as "Eat Mor Chikin."

I think someone tampered with the film.
(Photo: Wickipedia)

'94 Emmy Photo

Mirth in Beverly Hills as we chuckle our way through disappointment at the spring 1994 Emmy Awards. The wrong Animaniacs' episode was submitted to the judges. We lost for Best Show, but Tom and Richard Stone won for the theme song. Another gem from the Hastings Archives. From l. to r.: Tom Ruegger, Peter Hastings, Rogerio Nogueira, Andrea Romano, Randy Rogel, me, Paul Rugg and Nick Hollander.

South Park Steal from You Tube?

Who is right here?

Board With Life

Acme Comedy Theatre doesn't rate a peep, but former carpenter Adam Carolla manages to nail down the laconic wisdom while lost in Boston. (Photo: Huffington Post)