Horrorhack's Library of the Damned

Yay! "Best of All Flesh" is a go!!

2009-07-25T18:04:00.000-07:00

I'm really thrilled to announce that my story, "Night Shift," is going to be included in the upcoming zombie anthology, "The Best of All Flesh." It was originally published in "The Book of More Flesh," the second book in the trilogy (of sorts) based on the "All Flesh Must Be Eaten" RPG. I'm honestly surprised that it made the cut, because there were a ton of great writers and super stories in the three anthologies. No false modesty here...I'm really stunned.

It's available for pre-order at Amazon (just click on the cover over there on the right and you'll zip right to it) and should be out in December 2009.

Hopefully, my romance novel, "The Giving Season" will be out around that time too. Yes. Romance novels and zombie stories. I am a very complicated woman.

What the hell's so "wise" about 'em?

2009-07-16T09:58:00.000-07:00

It's been a while since I've posted (for all NONE of you who read this blog), but I have a very good excuse: for the last month or so, I've been in massive, bone-pulsing, throbbing pain from my two lower wisdom teeth. Oh, it's been fun.

Back in May, I woke up one night to a eye-watering pain in the left side of my mouth. I'd been having some problems, but I thought it was my sinuses, since the pain/pressure went into my ear and throat. But that pain was nothing compared to what woke me up that night. To illustrate how much it hurt: I called around for a dentist the next morning. Yep...the pain was bad enough to drive me to a dentist. That's pretty bad.

And you know what's really fun? Trying to find a dentist who'll take an emergency. Every single ding-damn one I called was booked solid. By the time I finally found one who'd see me, I was ready to take a hammer to my jaw and take care of business myself.

But I did find one, and as soon as I sat in the chair (this is, by the way, after he made a few "WTF" comments about my weight--I mean really...WTF?) and opened my mouth, he took one look and said, "Nope, I can't help you. You're going to have to go to an oral surgeon."

*sputter* Excuse me, but wha? An oral surgeon? I just want the teeth pulled out. Do whatever you have to do, just GET THEM OUT OF ME!

X-rays are taken. Apparently my wisdom teeth are overachievers and are coming in under a "bony prominence" or some such thing. Basically, they're going to have to be cut out of my jaw. Great. $185 bucks later--and with NO PAIN MEDICINE--I walk out of the dentist's office and go home to make an appointment. This is, keep in mind, in late May.

So guess when my appointment's scheduled? July 1. So I got to have a good solid month of throbbing, aching, maddening, unending pain in my mouth. And lucky me, the pain hops sides from time to time, so both wisdom teeth get a good go at me. I've probably ruined my liver with ibuprofen and Tylenol, but damn...how could anyone be expected to have even a halfway normal life with that much pain? June was just a blur to me.

By the time I had my surgery, the pain had gotten to the point where it felt like a dull nail pressing slowly...oh, so slowly...into the raw nerves of my lower jaw. I had been nervous about the IV sedation I would be having for the surgery--I've never had any kind of operation before--but by July 1, I was ready to do whatever I had to do to make the pain go away. Christ, it was bad.

Cut to me waking up after the surgery. My mouth is packed with gauze. I can't feel anything below my nose--and oh, what blessed relief THAT was!--and I have a prescription for 20 tablets of Lortab to get me through the after-surgery pain. I'm warned about dry-socket, and after I pay my $600 bill (thank God for credit cards), I go home to recuperate. All's well that ends well, I think.

Until the numbness wears away. And then oh, my God...both sides are throbbing and aching and pulsing with agony and I'm bleeding so much I'm sick to my stomach from swallowing blood and my stitches feel like they're coming loose too soon and I can't eat anything and it's bad, so very bad, almost as bad as when the damn teeth were in my skull. I can't open my mouth very wide because it feels like I'm going to crack my jaw. This goes on for days and days. The Lortab does exactly shit for the pain, so I have to combine it with mega-doses of ibuprofen (sorry liver) and all I want to do is sleep until I don't feel anything because the pain is just so nagging, so nonstop, so constant that it feels like it's driving me insane.

More days pass. The pain becomes more manageable, but it's still hiding in the shadows, ready to spring at me whenever I eat something or tense my jaw (as I apparently tend to do when I sleep). Eating becomes a whole new fun thing, because removing the wisdom teeth has created handy dandy pockets to catch all kinds of food particles, which then irritate the living hell out of me until I'm able to rinse my mouth out. The taste of blood still lingers in my mouth, although by now I think it's just my imagination. I hope.

As I write this, it's been a little over two weeks since the surgery, and I'm still aching--although it's nothing like before. The pain now feels like it's deep in my jawbone, a dull pulse that has just sort of settled in for the duration. It's better than it was, but good Lord...it's still driving me nuts.

I found the cartoon (from www.peter-hodges.com) while doing a Google search and it pretty much sums up my experience. I'm just glad it's behind me now...because good grief, I don't think I could do it again. The blood...so much blood...

Dept. of Execrable Movies: Raimi Edition (SPOILERS)

2009-05-29T18:15:00.000-07:00

Okay, I must have sat through another version of this movie, because it sure wasn't the one that everybody seems to be raving over. It wasn't scary. It wasn't particularly original (a gypsy puts a curse on somebody who pisses them off...hmm, sounds a lot like "Thinner," methinks). And if this is supposed to be Sam Raimi's grand return to the horror genre, then he can stay the hell out, as far as I'm concerned.

I. Hated. This. Movie.

And when I say "hate," I mean hate with the fire of a thousand suns. Yeah, I'm surprised too. I figured I'd at least like it. It's Sam Raimi! "The Evil Dead" is one of my favorite movies of all time. How could it not be good?

Well, let me count the ways...

First of all, there's the problem of the main character--you know, the pretty blonde who denies an ugly old woman an extension on her bank loan and done gets herself all cursified. One of the most important rules of scriptwriting is HAVE A SYMPATHETIC MAIN CHARACTER. That way the audience actually gives a shit if she lives or dies or gets herself dragged to hell.

In this movie...not so much. Her boss leaves the choice up to her, and she chooses to kick the old woman out of her house so she'll seem all badass and tough and will get promoted. It's not like her hands are tied and she's really sorry, but she has no choice...blah blah blah. She wants the promotion, so she kicks out the old woman. Cut and dried.

There's a really great book on scriptwriting called "Save the Cat" (the irony in this will be apparent in a moment) that urges scriptwriters to insert one small scene in their script that will align the audience's sympathy with the main character. Maybe they save the cat from a tree. Maybe they do something nice for an old person. Whatever. It's a moment where they are funny or sweet or caring, and it's guaranteed to put the audience squarely on the character's side for the rest of the movie.

There's one moment in this piece of cinematic crap that totally destroyed any small shred of sympathy I had for the main character. It involved a teeny kitten, a big knife, and a cut to the outside of the house with an off-screen cat's screech. Why...WHY??? Why do you have your main character kill a kitten--even if she's trying to save her soul--midway through the movie? It was almost played for laughs (disturbing enough) but it was just unnecessary. After that scene, they couldn't drag that bitch's ass to hell fast enough.

And then there's Raimi's insistance on using his lameass slapstick. I like the Three Stooges too, but that kind of stuff has no place in a horror movie, even if you are attempting to add humor. It totally pulled me out of the movie and made me wonder who in the hell green-lit the script. I mean, it LITERALLY drops an anvil on a character's head. I kept waiting for somebody to do the Curley shuffle.

And let's not even mention the moment when a goat talks. Yes. Talks. A goat. By that point, I was doing the Sideshow Bob shudder.

Stephen King once wrote that when he couldn't go for the scare, he'd go for the gross-out. Okay. Fair enough. I've done it in my own writing more than once. Raimi, unfortunately, took those words to heart. There was more spit/worms/maggots/blood/formaldehyde/unknowable bodily fluids going into the main character's mouth than necessary for the plot. It was like Raimi decided that his audience was going to be made up of teenage boys who'd think it was super cool to watch a pretty girl get choked on thick goo while a toothless old woman gummed her open mouth. I've got nothing against disgusting stuff in movies, but come on...there's a limit.

Honestly, I cannot understand why this movie is getting so many good reviews. It's like Raimi's diehard fans are just happy enough to see his name on the screen, to hell with whatever follows it. One review called it a perfect summer horror flick. No. It's not. It's a horror movie for people who don't know what horror movies should (or could) be.

If Raimi had played it straight, if he'd cut out the dumbass slapstick and made the script a little more palatable, this might have been a good movie. As it is, he uses all his old "Evil Dead" tricks--shaky cam, zooms, quick pans to shock the audience, "possessed" objects, etc. and so on. It's all gimmicks, no substance.

The movie could have been good. If he'd made the main character sympathetic, the gypsy woman totally unlikable (instead of pathetic), and made good on the promise of showing the Lamia demon (instead of shadow silhouettes and quick glimpses), then maybe...maybe...it would have been scary. If it had really been, as the trailer says, about the fact that even a good person could be condemned to hell, then that would have been something for the audience to think about.

Drag the bitch to hell, see if I care. And take this damned movie with you.

I FINALLY figured out...

2009-05-18T07:12:00.001-07:00

...what Kate Gosselin's hair reminds me
of...

The indomitable Lola "I want to bear your children!" Heatherton (Catherine O'Hara) from SCTV!

Once seen, it can't be unseen.

Like the mountains are safe...

2009-05-07T13:11:00.001-07:00

Weird-ass dream

2009-05-05T05:48:00.000-07:00

I dreamed last night that I was lost on my old college campus. I was there to do some kind of library-related thing, and I couldn't find my class, so I kept wandering around looking for the right building. That was bad enough, but then I stumbled across a myopic little man who was making a delivery and asked if he knew where the building I was looking for might be. He said he was making a delivery there, so I could come along with him. Even in my dream, my gut said, "Whoa...hold on," but I went along with him anyway.

It was only 11:30am in the dream (I remember the time vividly, because my "class" was supposed to start at noon) but it was dark outside. I followed this little man across campus until we were at a completely unfamiliar place, and then he turned around and said, "This is as far as you're going" and pulled out a serrated knife. And then that little bastard stabbed me!

I remember being shocked and surprised and--above all--pissed off beyond all reason that he would dare do that to me. I grabbed the knife and turned it around on him and pretty much pulled a Jack the Ripper on his ass. Didn't kill him, but I dragged him around campus looking for a cop, leaving a trail of blood behind me. I remember looking at my knife wound in the dream and being grossed out, and feeling the pain from it.

According to an online dream dictionary, this dream means that I feel I've lost direction in my life and I'm pretty pissed off about it. This is what the site has to say about dreaming about being stabbed:

To dream that you have been stabbed, signifies your struggle with power. You may be experiencing feelings of inadequacy and defensiveness. Alternatively, you may be feeling betrayed as the popular phrase goes, "being stabbed in the back".

To dream that you stab someone, indicates your fear of betrayal and your untrusting nature. You may be too much on the defensive.

Me? On the defensive? Untrusting? Okay. Maybe.

I've had these kinds of dreams before, where I've been attacked (one time I was even shot in the gut) and beat the holy hell out of the person who hurt me. Where that comes from is a mystery to me; I've never been in a fight in my life. I've never even slapped anybody.

But apparently if anybody tries to stab, hit, and/or shoot me, I'll turn into a Tasmanian Devil of rage. Huh. Good to know.

"Popping Out Kids for Fun & Profit (but mostly profit)" by OCTOMOM!

2009-02-06T12:26:00.000-08:00

Well, hell...what a fool I've been all these years!

Why didn't I figure out earlier that the quick (not necessarily easy) way to be a multi-millionaire was to use my student loan money for in-vitro fertilization instead of a silly college education? Then maybe I could have squeezed out a litter of kids and made mucho money off of them. Silly, silly me.

I mean, look at Octomom (aka Octopussy, aka Nadya Suleman, aka Woman Who Should Have Her Uterus Revoked). She's 33 and had those octuplets, which means she's got Oprah slobbering all over her for an exclusive interview (to the tune of $2 million, according to the rumors) and so many potentially lucrative book/tv deals that she had to hire not one, but TWO PR flacks!

And here I am, idiot me, thinking that the way to get a book deal was to actually...oh, I don't know...write a book or something.

And even though her eight newest babies are lying in a hospital struggling to survive, Octomom somehow managed to spruce herself up for an exclusive interview with the Today show. What a brave little trouper!!! And she explained herself so well...she wanted a big family because poor widdle her was an only child and her family was all bad and dysfunctional.

Wait a second...would this be the same mother and father who not only had to declare bankruptcy to pay for HER bad investments and who have given her and her brood a place to live? Would THEY be the dysfunctional family she was referring to? Ooh...what bad, bad people!

But hey, it's okay because Octomom is a CHILD-REARING EXPERT now. Yep. That's her story and she's sticking to it (because that's the kind of TV show she's angling to get).

I'm sorry, I'm sure being pregnant is a wonderful miraculous miracle of miracle but come on...when it comes right down to it, it's a biological process that doesn't exactly take a lot of heavy thinking. Sperm meets egg, cell division commences, and voila...nine months later you have a baby. And yet, because she managed to get IVF so many times, she's an expert on raising kids.

My opinion? She's an expert in bullshit, and she's flinging it for all the world to enjoy.

I have a theory that this woman is nothing but a hoarder, the kind of person who would have a house filled with fifty cats if she didn't take to the IVF treatments so well. Her mother has said she always wanted a big family. Okay. Great. Can't blame a person for that. But what kind of irresponsible, unthinking, stupid asshole goes out and gets IVF when she can't even support herself...and then brings all the embryos to term because she wanted more kids?

And as for those poor octuplets...if a parent crammed eight kids into a tight space, made them share an inadequate amount of nutrition and didn't give them room to grow normally, wouldn't they be slammed into jail by child protective services? Octomom claims to have wanted all the babies, but obviously she's not thinking about what would be best for them, or else she wouldn't have put all their lives at risk. Even now, as they struggle to get through these first few weeks of life, there's a big chance that they'll have future health problems. If they make it.

But I'm sure that's the last thing on old Octomom's mind. She's already got it made. If some of the babies die now, well...too bad, so sad, but she's already got contracts in place since they're the longest surviving octuplets. And just think of the sympathy she might get if some of the babies die. Boy oh boy, won't people feel like jerks then! She'll be able to play the grieving mother card and make even more scratch by allowing Entertainment Tonight or People magazine to buy the exclusive rights to the funeral and the photos of her dabbing away tears while trying to be strong for the other children.

Maybe I'm being too hard on the poor dearie. According to her interview on the Today show (which she expected to be paid for, by the way), all of the expenses of having 14 kids is coming as a huge surprise to her. Of course it is! Who could have known that it takes money to raise and care for children? Who could have predicted that having octuplets would mean a shitload of hospital bills? No one could have known that in advance! Why, I'm sure Octomom believed that once she had her precious babies that angels would descend from on high and shower her with oodles and oodles of money. Doesn't that happen to every woman who has a baby?

Ugh. I can't imagine a woman being that fucking stupid. And yet...and yet...

All I can say is that it's a damn good thing for Octomom that I don't run things, because I'd have those kids taken away from her in a heartbeat. And it's not because she's a single mother. It's because she's proved herself to be too reckless and too self-involved to be a responsible mother. Those kids are going to be the ones to pay the price for all this, one way or another.

But what am I saying? Octomom's the child-rearing expert! Her children will grow up to cure cancer and solve world hunger and be the saviors of us all!!

Well...the ones who manage to make it through the first few weeks, that is.

But it's all good for Octomom. She's got her contracts and her PR people and her TV interviews to console her. And as we all know, as long as Octomom is happy and gets what she wants, that's ALL that matters.

Moldy Oldie

2009-02-04T20:55:00.000-08:00

What happened to January?

2009-01-31T12:56:00.000-08:00

Wow...time flies, don't it?

Well, since I'm writing this now, I guess it's safe to say that we all survived the New Year. Yay, us. I don't even remember how I spent New Year's Eve (not due to a surplus of partying, but due to not doing anything particularly particular. Maybe we watched movies?).

But anyway...here it is January 30 and a whole month has passed in a whirlwind of snow days from work, doctors' appointments, and new episodes of "24" on TV. I've been working on a script that I'm not allowed to talk about just yet (let's just say it's a "reimagining" of a beloved, non-copyrighted classic) and trying to keep warm. It's been unreasonably winterlike this winter. I didn't realize how much I'd depended on the Greenhouse Effect to keep wintertime temperate and moderately dry.

It's hard to believe it's February already. And even harder to believe is that my birthday is coming up in less than a week. *groan* Let me just tell you that it sucks to have a birthday in February. And here's a short list of reasons why:

It's too cold to have any kind of swimming party when you're a teenager (unless you're a member of the Teen Polar Bear Club, which I wasn't).
There's a more than good chance that a snowstorm will keep anyone from being able to attend your birthday party.
Ice cream cakes are painful.
Two words: Valentine's Day.

When I was younger (and unattached), this used to be particularly painful for my angsty, lovelorn self. Oh, the pain of turning another year older and being reminded that I am, once more, alone... (the previous sentence, by the way, should be read in a "Lost in Space" Dr. Smith voice). I used to be very attuned to Valentine's Day when I was younger. I'd see the VD cards and the candies and the flowers and yearn to the bottom of my little heart that one day February 14th would mean something special to me.

Blech.

Now that I'm older, wiser, bitterer, and WAY more cynically realistic, I've come to realize that Feb. 14th does mean something to me: it's the day before payday! Honestly, V-day absolutely doesn't bother me anymore. Being single doesn't bother me anymore either, but that's a whole 'nother post in and of itself. And having to face V-day just a week or so after my birthday REALLY doesn't bother me.

I don't know exactly what happened, but I'm glad it did. I'm not really cut out for the whole angsty lovelorn thing. It gets boring after a while.

But anyway...my birthday. Blargh. I know I'm getting more mature, because I've told my family that if it happens to snow too badly for anyone to come home for cake and presents, I'll just wait until the next week. For presents, mind you! It's not that I'm bummed out about turning 39 so much as simply stunned that I'm actually that old. That's a grown-up's age! I'm not a grown-up.

Actually, I'm rather looking forward to my 40s. My 20s were spent unhappily in college and then more unhappily unemployed for a couple of years, and then unhappily employed. I'm not saying that I walked around all gloom and doom all the time, but...there were some tough times.

My 30s were better. I quit my crap job and got a much better one as a library director. For the first six or so years of my 30s, I had a very enjoyable online relationship with a guy who I cared about a lot (but which ended, more or less, when I was about 36). I was gainfully employed for all but two months of my 30s, and I managed to start selling some short stories. Now, in my 39th year, my first novel will (I hope) be published in the fall. So...progress.

I freak out about my age only in terms of the physical decay we all face as we get older. More doctor visits. More problems. I do what I can, and I'm starting to take better care of myself than I ever did in my 20s or 30s, so hopefully that'll ease the transition into the 40s. I moisterize the hell out of my skin (you know that character Cassandra in the new Doctor Who series? The big flap of skin who constantly barks out for her lackey to "Moisterize me! Moisterize me!"? She's my hero).

I've got some big changes coming my way this year (a major surgery this spring/summer, for one), but hopefully this year will pass as most of my others have: quietly, calmly, nondramatically. I'll use this time to contemplate my life, my accomplishments, my future...and to get a head start on my total meltdown this time next year when 40 is actually staring me in the face.

Happy birthday to me. :)

Word of the Day: Novusannusphobia

2008-12-30T16:38:00.000-08:00

And it's that time of the year again.

For as long as I can remember, I've suffered from the dread "novusannusphobia," or fear of New Year's. Most people can go out and party and have fun on New Year's Eve. I tend to cower in the corner of my couch, watching the ball drop with a rising sense of fear and panic, waiting for the alien ships to descend from the skies or the explosions of mass bombs to detonate.

Yeah, I'm a real cheery person on New Year's.

All (okay, most) joking aside, I've never really liked the whole concept of New Year's Eve. It makes me nervous. Maybe it's because I've never been to a New Year's party. I don't know. I just know that it's always made me skittish, like I'm waiting for another shoe to fall and hit me upside the head.

Here's how my New Year's Eves have been spent for most of my life: pizza is ordered. Horror movies are rented. I sit up with whoever's home and not working that night and watch movies until three or so in the morning. At midnight, we stop the movie and watch Dick Clark drop the ball in Times Square, just to make sure nothing apocalyptic happens. Then, on New Year's day, we sleep late and eat cabbage rolls, and I force myself to eat a tiny bit of cabbage for good luck. The excitement, quite literally, does not stop in my house.

Remember back in 1999, with all the talk about the end of the world and computers becoming our new masters and New Year's Eve harkening the destruction of civilization as we know it? And remember how that didn't exactly happen? I watched TV endlessly that night, cringing as it turned midnight all over the world, wondering if the mother ships were going to finally appear or if my computer was going to spontaneously develop artificial intelligence and make me its bitch (well, even *more* of its bitch). And then....nothing happened. At least that one year I felt somewhat justified in my paranoia.

So that's your new word for the day, kids: novusannusphobia. File that one away next to "consiliumphobia" (fear of resolutions) and "victusterminophobia" (fear of diets).

But anyway...hope everyone has a happy new year and a good 2009...if we can just survive the night. Bwah-ha-hah!

More Tales from the Library of the Damned Idiots

2008-12-18T12:13:00.000-08:00

Anybody out there remember the days of ICQ?

Back in the late '9os, it was the go-to time-waster of the library director of my old library, as well as his henchman--er, assistant director. They would spend most of the day setting up illicit trysts (one of which, I heard, occurred in the library's own storeroom) and flirting with people online. I'd hear that damned "uh-oh!" alert in my dreams.

Not to say that I didn't get on ICQ myself. I did...I just didn't use it as an escort service. I never really liked the whole "chatting with strangers" concept, anyway (which makes me a complete freak of nature online, I know). But I did use ICQ...which is where this particular tale begins.

A little background: I was (still am/will always be) a goody two-shoes. Yeah, I'll admit it. I'm proud of it. I don't drink, smoke, pick up men, do drugs, whatever. I'm a very straight arrow. But it's not like I bragged about it or tried to put myself on a pedestal about it. That's just how I've always been. Which made me stick out like a sore thumb at the library.

The director and assistant director, for lack of better terminology, liked to "party." And as Eddie Murphy once immortalized in song, they liked to party all the time. And they didn't like the fact that I didn't join their reindeer games. Even though I'd considered them both friends, I didn't hang out with them after work, and I certainly didn't go out drinking or picking up men with them. So because of my tendencies to be so boringly goody-two-shoes, they decided to have a little fun with the lonely little wallflower.

A little more background: I'm not the type of woman who incites instant lust, which is just fine and dandy with me. I've been on this planet long enough to know how men see me, and I'm cool with it. Plus, I'm a little bit on the intelligent side and I'm not totally naive. Keep that in mind as the tale unfolds.

Anyway, one day I'm at my post at the front desk and I get an instant message on ICQ. I don't recognize the name, but the sender says that (and I'm paraphrasing from memory here) that he's seen me at the library and would like to get to know me.

Okay...already I'm suspicious.

I respond politely but I don't take the bait. I have a feeling this is a joke, and I'm not going to go along with it.

The guy writes back. He talks about how pretty he thinks I am, and how much he'd like to talk to me. Blah blah blah. By now, I know this is a bunch of BS.

This goes on for a few days. I'm not falling for it. The ICQ guy starts saying stuff about being in the library while I was there. He remarks on how he liked a sweater I was wearing and tells me what it looked like. He asks me why I left at a certain time. He's trying to make me think that he's watching me and that he knows me but I don't know him, but boy he sure is interested in me and would really like to date me.

By this point, I'm pissed off. I suspect the director and assistant director, because they're just cruel and sadistic enough to try to make a person like me think that she's got a secret admirer, just to pull the rug out from under me once I start believing it's real. I never thought it was for real, because as I stated above, I know how men see me, and I'm just not the type of woman who gets all kinds of spontaneous compliments. The creepy stalker aspect of it notwithstanding, I was angry because I suspected the AD (who I thought was a friend) and the director were working together to try to humiliate me.

I let them know that I thought it was them. I asked them pointblank. They denied it. The AD kept trying to convince me that it was for real. She really wanted me to buy into it (I don't know why she wanted to embarrass/hurt me so much) and I refused.

This went on for about a week or two. Then one night I had to close the library by myself, and while I was turning off all the computers, I saw that she had left her ICQ open on her computer in the workroom. And that the person she was talking to, a guy in another state, was unaware that she was gone for the day and was asking her questions about what he should say to me.

So...long story short: she, probably the director, and some guy she knew from out of state were working together to make me think that I was being stalked by somebody online. Great friend, huh?

I don't think I've ever been more angry in my life. I mean, I was pop-an-artery, blood-pressure-cuff-exploding furious. I confronted her about it that weekend (online, which seems only appropriate) and she tried to laugh it off as just a joke. Then it got ugly. We ended up not speaking to each other at work for months. The director loved the conflict at first (because he was a champion shit-stirrer), but when he started catching flack for it, he tried to order us to get along. Not hardly. I went to work, did my job, spoke to either of them whenever I absolutely had to speak to them, and that was that.

Funny, funny joke that was.

So when I read about the recent controversy about a girl who killed herself because another girl and her mother (and some other people) played one of those "funny" online jokes on her (the girl and her mother posed as a boy to try to make the other girl think he liked her, then turned on her to humiliate her), I'm of the opinion that the whole bunch of them should be punished to the fullest extent of the law.

And people wonder why I'm so cynical and distrustful...

Meme

2008-12-10T11:06:00.000-08:00

I've never really done one of these before...mostly because I'm afraid it will be utterly boring to anyone who reads this blog. But I'm stuck for something to write about today and this will help ease my brain into writing mode. So my apologies if you get bored--please check back soon for something hopefully more interesting. Remember, you can't have a meme without ME.

Name: Rebecca Brock. Almost was Jennifer, but my parents changed their minds. I don't think I seem like a "Jenny." I'm definitely more of a "Becky" or "Beck." I hadn't really noticed before, but it's a gosh-darn wholesome name, isn't it?

Childhood Ambition: It's pretty much always been to be a writer, ever since third grade or so. For a while, though, I thought I might be a doctor, probably an obstetrician, but that was based on me trying to impress my dad (who thought writing was a nice hobby but that I would need something to fall back on). Then I realized two important things about being a doctor: 1) I would have to dissect cadavers in med school; and 2) I would be spending a lot of time looking at strangers' hoo-ha's. My medical career died in that moment.

Fondest Memory: This one's hard, because I have a lot of good memories. I couldn't pinpoint which one was my fondest. So here's some examples of my good memories:

The Christmas my parents bought me the entire collection of Fangoria magazines up to that point (I think it was in the early 80s, so there were three or four year's worth of books) and hid them way under the tree so they could do that whole "Christmas Story" thing of asking me who that last present was for. I was thrilled with the present. It also allowed me to become pen pals with Erich, who is still a good friend to this day.
The time our family took a vacation in Maine and we ate at a place called "Lobster in the Rough"--a lobster shack out in the woods. Dad and my brothers had lobster, but since I didn't like it at that time, I had hot dogs with Mom. Those were some good hot dogs, too.
Just about every Christmas Eve that I can remember from childhood (and up to now, actually): my brothers and I would always wake up and hear Santa jingling his bells and rustling packages. One year, when we lived in a two story house, we sat at the second floor landing and listened to the grandfather clock chime every fifteen minutes, waiting for it to be time to get up (usually about five or so). Another year, my Dad almost got locked out of the house after playing Santa. That would be bad enough, but he was just wearing a robe and underwear when it happened.
The afternoon a stray cat decided to trust me enough to bring her newborn kittens to my house and I suddenly inherited a long-haired, black and gray tabby and her five beautiful long-haired white kittens. Those cats helped keep me from going crazy when I was going through a stressful time with work. Never doubt the healing ability of cats.
There's more, but I don't have the time to write them all out. Let's just say, this is making me realized I've been very fortunate.

Soundtrack: This depends on what I'm doing. If I'm writing horror, my soundtrack is probably a lot of Rob Zombie/Marilyn Mansion/horror movie score music. If I'm writing romance, it's all soft pop and love songs. Right now, I'm listening to a lot of Christmas music.

Wildest Dream: Sadly enough, I don't think I have a "wildest dream." My dreams are pretty reasonable--have enough money to get out of debt one day, find an audience for my writing, etc. If I had to say, though, I'd guess it would be to win a super massive lottery and have millions of dollars to give to my family and friends and charities, and go buy my farmland where I could run a no-kill animal shelter.

Proudest Moment: Maybe the day I made my first professional writing sale to "Book of More Flesh"? I don't know...I'm kinda proud of getting through the day sane, so my "proud" threshold is set pretty low.

Biggest Challenge: In total honesty, I'd have to say this would have to be my battle with my weight and my blood sugar, trying to get the first one down and the second one under control. Anyone who has been lucky enough to never have a weight problem should never have to know how hard it can be. It's a daily struggle.

Alarm Clock: I can usually count on one of three things waking me up at approximately the right time every morning: 1) my alarm (of course); 2) my dog, who needs to go outside at least three or four times a night; and 3) a phone call from an 800 number (probably a creditor). Every ding damn morning.

Perfect Day: Gosh let's see...it would be at the start of a vacation from work. Sleep until 10 or so, then roll out of bed to a perfectly clean and organized house. Work on crafting something for a few hours (crochet or sewing or something), eat lunch, spend the afternoon watching movies or catching up on an entire season of a TV series, eat dinner that someone else has fixed and will clean up after, putter around online for an hour or so, then write until one or two in the morning. If you haven't noticed, I'm pretty much a homebody. And boring as dirt.

First job: Blargh. Horrible. If the pits of hell had an insurance agent, this office would have been it. I was hired to help them with their filing (this was before they computerized) and all I could do was pull files and refile them. They didn't teach me how to take a claim or do anything else. After a week of this, I was miserable. Florescent lights that flickered. A local radio station that either played country music or read out funeral announcements. A boss who was a total dickheaded bitch. Miserable. A month later, I was "let go" because the other boss's son was off from college and needed work. Fine with me. I realized then that I'd rather be unemployed than unhappy.

Indulgence(s): Books, mainly. Lots of books. I'm a total greedy pig for books. Even if I'm not going to read them immediately, I want them in my possession so I can read them when I want.

Last purchase: Christmas presents. God bless online shopping.

Favorite movie: Again, I've got too many to narrow down to just one. I love horror movies (well, good ones, at least--I'm a vicious critic of substandard ones), so the George Romero zombie movies are my favorite, as well as "Return of the Living Dead,"and the "Dawn of the Dead" remake. I like comedies, too, the dumber the better sometimes. And romantic comedies. But not so much "chick flicks" like "Sex and the City" or anything with Renee Zellweger.

Inspiration: Sappy as it sounds, my family...especially my mom, because she totally remade her life after divorce (went back to school, got a good job, became independent). She showed me that a person can take care of themselves without depending on anyone else. That might sound more cynical than it actually is, but it's a good lesson.

My life is: still in progress, thank God.

My blog is: apparently read by somebody, since it's coming up on a thousand hits (and I know they can't all be mine, checking to see how many hits I've gotten).

Traditions Pt. 1

2008-12-06T09:51:00.000-08:00

Ah, Christmas. I love it. I really do. I've been extraordinarily lucky (fortunate, blessed, whatever you want to call it) to have the most wonderful family in the history of the world, and we have our Christmas traditions that we still try to follow every year when it comes to our Christmas tree.

One of our most important traditions is this angel tree-topper. It's been in our family for about 40 years now (my parents got it for their first Christmas together). Every year, I sweat bullets until we take the angel out of the box and see that she's still in one piece. This picture really doesn't do her justice. She's been on top of the tree every Christmas that I can ever remember.

We also have a tradition of watching "The Wiz" while decorating our Christmas tree. I have no idea how this began, but I have a vague memory of it being on HBO in the background back in the early 1980s while we decorated the tree (and it was a good thing we did it earlier in the evening; after "The Wiz" I remember "It's Alive" being on). It's hard to describe how I feel when I hear the opening bars of the credits. It's like dozens of Christmases telescoping in on themselves, years of doing the exact same thing while listening to that exact music. None of us know how we began associating that movie with Christmas, but it's not the same without it. I'd say we've watched "The Wiz" while decorating the tree for almost thirty years. Wow.

This is one of my favorite Christmas ornaments. It was made for me a long time ago by a very good friend of mine, Erich Lubatti. It's an elf arm, and it takes a proudly prominent place on the tree every year. It's probably around twenty years old, believe it or not.

I'm a wanna-be Martha Stewart when it comes to this time of the year. I always have great and grand plans to make cookies and bake pies and cakes and sew and crochet ornaments...and sometimes I do. Most times I don't. Here, though, are some ornaments I've managed to make over the years.

What's a Christmas tree without the embodiment of all that is ancient and evil? Say "Ia!" to Christmas Cthulhu!

I made these two bad boys for my brother, Dave, who loves all things Tim Burton. Cross stitch, no pattern but my own. Thank you.

This fellow with the Colgate smile is Red Jack, a character that Dave created. I made a couple of versions of him last year. Not necessarily an ornament, per se, but he looks good stuck in the tree.

This is Melty, the sad snowman. Seems that the forgotten victims of global warming are the animated snowmen. I made two versions--one with the hat and one without. I might make some to sell (as well as some other ornaments), so if anybody's interested in having a Melty of their own, check out my Etsy page.

And here is the finished tree. Please excuse my crappy photography skills. It looks better in person.

Let the Christmas Season begin...

2008-11-30T17:09:00.000-08:00

Be you naughty, or be you nice?

Another video

2008-11-23T12:06:00.001-08:00

I'm loving this editing software. I just wish I had more clips to work with. Here's one that I just finished, in case you're a fan of Izzy/Denny on Grey's Anatomy.

I've discovered editing software

2008-11-23T00:34:00.000-08:00

It's not very good, but this is my first time playing around with this stuff. And so, of course, I thought I'd use one of my favorite topics: Jeffrey Dean Morgan. [Caution: video contains the f-bomb, in case you're skittish about such things]

A Little Quirkiness

2008-11-19T13:15:00.000-08:00

As long as I can remember, I've always written stories with a particular "cast" in mind. I'd base my characters on actors I liked and "borrow" their physical traits and imagine them in my head as I wrote my stories. Looking back on my old stuff, it's really weird (and strangely hilarious) to see who my celebrity crushes were at the time...because I had some real doozies.

You see, I grew up in the '80s. In a time when most girls my age were sighing over Tom Cruise in "Top Gun," I was more interested in Michael Ironside (who, incidentally, was also in "Top Gun" but is probably best known either for his work on the TV show "V" or as the guy who made somebody's head explode in "Scanners"). Mr. Ironside made more than a few guest appearances in my stories when I was a teenager--in fact, I was guilty of writing fan fiction before anyone ever knew what fan fiction was. He was just perfect in my stories, though--he looked like a mean son of a bitch (and usually played the bad guy), but in my stuff, he was always a nice guy underneath the glower. Even as a teenage girl, I had a weakness for balding older men.

Later in my teens, circa 1989 or so, I wrote a werewolf novel called "Wolf's Blood" with the stupendously original plot of an undercover cop who was also a werewolf (hey, back then it WAS a fairly original idea; I've been ripped off a half-dozen times since then...I'm looking at YOU, "Nick Knight"). Anyway, at that time I also developed an interest in the pseudo-metal group Winger (remember them? "Seventeen"? "Madelene"? Anyone?)

So can you see where this one's headed?

Yes. I will admit it now without shame or embarrassment. I cast Kip Winger as a werewolf cop in my novel. Robert Picardo was his partner. I forget who the love interest was, but the bad guy was Richard Lynch. Hey, laugh if you will, but in my head that was a pretty damn good cast. And Kip Winger was mucho good looking back then, all toothy and hairy and werewolfy. I defend my decision and stand by it. So there.

And at the other end of the hair spectrum, there was Mitch Pileggi, who blipped up on my radar back in '89 after I saw "Shocker." Yow. My poor innocent self was completely taken by that big, bald, angry man. He popped up in a few of my stories, usually as a heroic family man trying to save his kids...although I do have one special story where he's not such a nice guy. That one's been read by exactly three people (myself included in that count) and it's not for public consumption. Heh.

Once I started moving into romance novels as well as horror, I had to try to find more conventionally accepted role models for my characters...meaning, basically, that I had to try to find someone who would suit the status quo instead of my own peculiar tastes. I started writing romance seriously (sorta) back in 1993 when I was at school--I started working on the book that would eventually become "The Giving Season" (which will hopefully be published by Pearlsong Press next holiday season). Wow, did I go through the guys for that one. Nobody really felt "right" in the role. I think I even tried George Clooney in it once, and I don't even particularly like George Clooney. Gary Sinese did a brief stint in my head as the character. Jamie Sheridan. No one really clicked.

So I put that one aside and started working on a pirate time-travel story (that I'd originally started back in high school). Went through a lot of guys on that one too--Russell Crowe as the good pirate; Bruce Payne as the bad one (Payne, by the way, was the blonde terrorist in the movie "Passenger 57"). Peter Wingfield (Methos from the "Highlander" tv show, as seen on the left) as the good pirate; Adrian Paul (Duncan MacLeod from "Highlander") as the bad one--see the theme there? Again, I couldn't get anyone to fit the story. As a result, the stories faded into the background. If I couldn't sustain an interest in the characters, how could I expect a reader to do the same?

Time passed, as time often will, and I went back to the pirate story first. By this time, I had discovered Gerard Butler. Boing! Now is that the makings for a good pirate or what? And as the evil pirate? How about Clive Owen? Yup yup. Interest rekindled.

And then there's "The Giving Season" and my as yet untitled comagirl story. I needed a good hero, somebody kind and sweet and funny and handsome...but who could I use in my mental movie? Who could I possibly cast? Hmmm...

Enter the Jeffster. Jeffrey Dean Morgan, that is.

I could actually hear the click when I went back and imagined him as the character. Even weirder, it was like I'd written it with him in mind the whole time...even before I'd even seen him in anything. So Mr. Morgan has now become my new go-to guy for pretty much all my fiction, horror and romance and everything else.

(I'm laying claim to this unhealthy fascination with him NOW, by the way, before he becomes a huge movie star when "Watchmen" comes out next March).

When "The Giving Season" comes out next year, I'll owe a special thank you to Jeffrey Dean Morgan for the pure inspiration he unknowingly gave me. He helped me resuscitate a novel that was bound for the desk drawer and actually make it something publishable. I'd like to think that he shares a lot of the traits as my characters, but unfortunately I know that all too often, celebrities don't exactly live up to the standards we imagine for them. But still...I'd like to think he's that nice of a guy. He likes dogs, after all. How bad could he be?

So that's my weird quirk #9,203,495. I cast celebrities in my stories in order to make them more fun to write. Some people might find that interesting...but I kind of doubt it.

To Mom or not to Mom...

2008-11-19T10:16:00.000-08:00

This is going to be a serious entry on a serious topic. I apologize in advance. I'll return to my normal program of nonsensical twittery soon.

At lunch today at work, we were talking about taking in foster kids, and I realized that I have a very strong desire to be a foster mother. Maybe not right now, but at some point in my life. And it's funny, because I never had the biological alarm clock going off to have babies of my own. I never went through the baby rabies that many women my age have gone through. The thought of giving birth, frankly, scares the hell out of me, and I've never felt the burning need to pass on my DNA (wondrous though it may be) to future generations.

But...the thought of taking in kids who don't have anyone to love them and giving them a home and support and comfort and peace really appeals to me. I mean, the thought of it is bringing tears to my eyes as I type this. My brother used to work in a youth shelter and he would tell me stories of kids who were just used up and thrown away by the people who were supposed to protect them. The thought of it enrages me while breaking my heart at the same time. I'm a firm believer that "nurture" has far more to do with how a child grows up than "nature." A lot of these kids just don't have a chance.

I've always thought I would be a good mom, but I've also pretty much always known that the traditional family unit wouldn't be the route my life would take (you know, with a husband in the picture). If I could take in a foster kid or two, I'd probably spoil them rotten. And my mom, who doesn't necessarily want grandchildren, would be worse than me in spoiling them (not to mention my two brothers). Any child I fostered would be welcomed into a ready made family, with a loving mother, grandmother, and uncles (not to mention cats and dogs). And I would love those kids more than anything.

Right now, the option of being a foster mother isn't in the cards for me, but I hope that one day soon I'll be able to take some kids into my home. It's weird for me to think of being a parent, because for years I'd accepted the idea that it wouldn't happen for me, but I like the idea of being able to make a difference in someone's life and raise a child to be happy and healthy and secure. I know being a foster parent would be more difficult than I can even imagine, but it would be more fulfilling than just about anything else I can imagine, too.

Anyone who is reading this who might be able to take in a foster child--maybe your own children are grown and off to college, or maybe you have room in your homes and hearts for just one more--please consider contacting your state's foster agency and looking into being a foster parent. So many kids need someone strong and loving to protect them. Every child who finds a home may grow up some day to do great things. Give them the chance.

Serious entry complete. We now rejoin the nonsensical prattery already in progress.

Speaking of freaky religious horror movies...

2008-11-17T20:16:00.000-08:00

I've seen this movie, "Beyond the Door," exactly once. It was made in 1974, in the midst of dozens of "The Exorcist" ripoffs, and it freaks me out even more than "The Exorcist." Seriously. That's why I've only watched it one time. I really don't think I could make myself sit through it again.

More than likely, my imagination and memory has over-exaggerated the creepiness of the movie. The plot, in a nutshell, is fairly simple: a pregnant woman, already the mother of two, is possessed by the devil (or some random demon) and levitating puke-spewing follows. The woman is played by Juliet Mills, one of the most wholesome actresses to survive the 1960s. She starred in "Nanny and the Professor," for pete's sake! (She's also married to Maxwell Caulfield, who, you might recall, starred in the immortal "Grease 2" and not much else).

I actually have a copy of this movie sitting on my DVD shelf. My brother bought it, but I haven't dared to watch it yet. I remember all the parts I need to remember, and I don't care to see them again. I'd probably laugh at the utter badness of the movie now, but every time I think about slapping it in the DVD player, I remember snippets of the movie...like the scene where her kids' toys come to life and send them, screaming, into their mother's room, where they find her laying on her stomach BUT LOOKING RIGHT AT THEM! Yes, the classic 360 head move, done in a way that messed me up worse than the one in "The Exorcist."

Oh, and there's also the scene where she's levitating (vertically, if I recall) over the bed. I don't know if it was a glitch in the videotape when I saw it or if it was on purpose, but the film kept stopping and starting while she was doing all her floaty demon stuff. Very weird. I always had an unreasonable fear of watching "The Exorcist" and seeing Regan look directly into the camera at me (and yes, I saw "Repossessed" and was appropriately freaked out when Linda Blair did it in that movie).

Audiences today are so jaded and cool that "Beyond the Door" would probably not even register as a "real" horror movie. But to me, it's on the same creepiness level as "The Exorcist." Maybe even worse, because with the "name brand" movie, I know all the behind the scenes stuff with Dick Smith and the make up and the actors and all that happy crap. With "Beyond the Door," it's just a badly dubbed Italian movie that I know nothing about. Maybe Nanny DID get possessed while making the movie! (Okay, I know that didn't happen, but you get the idea).

Even if you can laugh it off, just look at the poster for this movie! Look at the eyes! They friggin follow you! This is from the golden age of exploitation horror movies, when the poster was usually better than the movie itself. This is the kind of poster that would have sent me screaming when I was a kid, if I saw it. I'm not that crazy about it now, as an adult.

I'd be curious to hear what other people think of this movie. Obviously, it's not as scary as I remember it to be (nothing is ever anything as you remember it to be). The thing is, it's just scary enough to make me not really want to watch it again to see if I'm right. Call me coward. Call me chicken. I just know I ain't sitting through it again.

Lose your appetite, not your soul

2008-11-16T17:08:00.000-08:00

See this picture? Back in the mid-eighties, a local restaurant used to have it hanging at one of the booths. You could sit down, eat a hamburger and fries, and contemplate the idea of the Rapture causing planes to crash into buildings and multi-car collisions on the highway. Fun stuff.

This painting really messed me up as a kid. I mean, it seriously creeped me out. I wish the image was larger, but if you look at the lower right, you'll see zombie souls rising out of the cemetery. You can only imagine the chaos and horror going on everywhere else in the city. Think that made the hamburgers go down easy? Think again, pal. Think again.

I remember when I first heard about the concept of the Rapture. One of my junior high friends was a mega-Christian, and she absolutely could not wait for it to happen. As she explained it to me, all of God's chosen (i.e. Christians who belonged to her church) would suddenly disappear in the blink of an eye and ascend to Heaven without dying. Dead Christians would be brought up out of their graves and the rest of us would have to live through trials and tribulations the likes of which we could not imagine.

Yikes. Color me freaked out.

The idea of the Rapture and the resurrection of the dead has stuck with me all these years. And it still creeps me out. So imagine how thrilled (really; not being sarcastic here) I was when I found this little ditty of a zombie novel: "The Dead," by Mark Rogers. The plotline is basically ripped from Revelations--the Rapture happens, good people disappear, the wicked and the agnostic are left to deal with pissed off resurrected people--and it's one hell of a good book. I much prefer it to many of the gazillions of other (mostly self-published) zombie novels on the market today.

I think the reason I like this book so much is because it really hits a nerve in me that most horror just can't touch. Vampires roaming around? Yawn. Werewolves? Boor-ing. Ghosts, goblins, monster? Snore. I'm not easy scared by horror movies, and I'm definitely not easy disturbed by horror novels. But if you add a religous element, I'm usually sleeping with the lights on for a while.

There might have been a point to this post at one time, but it's lost now. To sum up: the Rapture is scary business, and "The Dead" is a really great zombie book that I highly recommend. Ain't nothing scarier than religion.

Don't judge me!

2008-11-09T10:27:00.001-08:00

I've been adding music to my mp3 player and I'm sudden gobstricken by the weirdness of my tastes in music. I'm not kidding. "Eclectic" just isn't a strong enough word to describe it.

I should pause to mention that I'm not cool when it comes to today's music. In fact, I'm supremely irritated by new bands that have oddball, pretentious names ("Death Cab For Cutie" is one example that instantly springs to mind). I don't know who is considered hot or what underground bands the kewl kids are listening to, and frankly, I don't care to know. My musical tastes have been ridiculed my whole life, so I'm thick-skinned when it comes to criticizing how not with-it I am. Oh, I'm such a music nerd. Boo friggin hoo.

Here's what's on my Zune at this moment:

Soundtracks:
"Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band" (yeah, I admit it)

Selected songs from "House of 1000 Corpses" ("Pussy Liquor" is my favorite) and "The Devil's Rejects" ("Freebird" gives me the creeps, for some weird reason)

"Across the Universe"

"Phantom of the Opera" (the Gerard Butler version--yowza)

"Swing Kids" ("Sing Sing Sing" is the best big band song, ever)

"What's Love Got to Do With It" (the Tina Turner bio--love "Rock Me Baby")

"South Park: the Movie"

A few songs from "The Punisher"

"Bye Bye Birdie"

Robert Rodriguez's "Planet Terror"

A Danny Elfman block of "The Nightmare Before Christmas," "The Corpse Bride," and "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory"

Joss Whedon's "Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog"

"Hairspray"

"Xanadu" (the original movie, not the godawful play)

Various Artists

Prince--"Let's Get Crazy," "Batdance," "Kiss"

"Boingo" (entire album)--Boingo (I highly recommend this, by the way)

"Number 1s"--Beatles (because I love them so)

Various Madonna songs from the recent past ("Hung Up," "Frozen," "Deeper & Deeper," etc.)

Katy Perry--"Hot & Cold," "I Kissed a Girl"

Bloodhound Gang--"The Bad Touch"

Limp Bizkit--"Behind Blue Eyes"

Robbie Williams--"Angels"

Smashing Pumpkins--"The Beginning is the End is the Beginning" (the cool song from the Watchmen trailer)

Tracy Bonham--"Mother Mother"

Evanescence--"Call Me When You're Sober," "Going Under," "My Immortal"

Marilyn Manson--"Tainted Love," "Personal Jesus," "Beautiful People," others

Johnny Cash--"The Man Comes Around" (used in the great title sequence of the "Dawn of the Dead" remake), "God's Gonna Cut You Down"

Britney Spears--"Womanizer," "Gimme More," "Piece of Me," others

Ramones--"Blitzkrieg Bop," "I Wanna Be Sedated," others

Peggy Lee--"I'm A Woman," "My Man"

Various other songs: "Down With the Sickness," "White Rabbit," "Gold Digger," Nickleback songs (yeah, Nickleback, I admit it), etc. and so on.

So that's just a sampling...I also have a lot of disco on my laptop, as well as more soundtracks ("Land of the Dead," "Deep Blue Sea," "War of the Worlds," "300," and many many more). I love '80s music and I like a lot of classical music (especially if it's all dark and ominous). My tastes go all all over the spectrum. I like what I like.

I guess in a way, I'm a music snob in that I can't stand it when people claim to never listen to Top 40 pop or think that as soon as a band gets famous, it sells out. Please. As I said...I like what I like, and I don't apologize for loving the "Sgt. Pepper" soundtrack, or for knowing all the words to most of Britney Spears' songs. If that makes me a music nerd, then so be it. I wear my badge of dorkiness with pride.

Yet Another Weird Dream

2008-11-08T16:36:00.000-08:00

Okay...this one, I can't blame on the NyQuil.

I realize that hearing about other people's dreams is about as interesting as watching dust gather, but the dream I had last night freaked me right the hell out. I mean, I woke up actually a little scared. That rarely happens to me, folks.

In the dream, I was on a plane, sitting in the middle of the row, and all of a sudden I could feel myself becoming possessed. I'm talking "Exorcist" level possession. Levitating, head-spinning, green-puking, monster-faced possession. And I couldn't do anything about it. I could feel the demon taking over, and all I could do was watch it attack the people around me. Remember...I was ON A PLANE. Can you imagine what that would be like, to be sitting next to someone who all of a sudden morphs into a demon-faced puke slinger?

I tried to fight it, and I think I eventually got it under control/out of me. Or so I thought. The freakiest part of the dream was after I was off the plane and I walked past a window. I glanced over and instead of my normal reflection:

I saw this, instead --->

Yeah. That's a double take I'll never forget.

(Although I do see a certain similarity about the nose...my eyes are much less mucus-yellow, though)

Blast from my past

2008-11-07T11:24:00.000-08:00

Last night I had a dream about a boy I liked in grade school. I think this was the end effect of taking NyQuil before going to bed, but it was weird nonetheless, because I literally have not thought of this guy for many, many years.

Like I said...weird.

The guy's name was Larry England, and we were friends pretty much throughout grade school. In each grade, he would either sit in front of me or I would sit in front of him and we'd always get in trouble for turning around and talking to each other. He was a mini-jock (he played in the pee-wee football leagues in grade school) and I was already a nerd, bringing books and magazines to school every day, but for some reason we got along really well. Of course, I had a crush on him, but so did every other girl in the class. But he wasn't friends with every other girl in the class, so I had a slight advantage.

I've been thinking about grade school all day today because of this dream. I remember that back then, when a boy and girl liked each other, they'd "go together," with the boy traditionally being the one to ask the girl to "go with" him. That was a big thing, back then. It really got popular when we were in fifth grade--that's when everybody started to pair off. Well, everybody but me. I was the girl who brought books (without pictures!) to school everyday, after all.

I have one crystal clear memory of grade school that--I realize in retrospect--perfectly predicted the way all my relationships with guys would go for the rest of my life. It was sixth grade. Larry had just broken up with his girlfriend, Shannon, and the rumor buzzing around class was that he was going to ask another girl to go with him. Because this was way before I turned cynical and pessimistic about all things pertaining to the male species, I thought surely *I* would be the one he liked. After all, we talked all the time and were really good friends and obviously he would ask me to go with him now that he'd broken up with Shannon, right?

Well...

Cut to gym class. Nobody's really doing anything, so I'm standing in the gymnasium talking to my sorta friend Kim, who was the wealthiest girl in the class and, subsequently, pretty popular. So we're standing there gabbing and here comes Larry. My heart leaps into my throat. This is it! I'm finally going to have a boyfriend! He's going to ask me to go with him and I'm going to say yes and it's all going to be so great!

He comes up to us. Says hi to me. Looks at Kim. Asks HER if she'd go with him.

I'm standing there like I've been kicked in the gut, totally gobsmacked. Kim? But he never even talks to Kim! When did he start liking Kim? What just happened here!? I thought he was going to ask ME to go with him! Wait...what?

Heartbroken, I sat on the swings alone at recess, singing "Hopelessly Devoted to You" to myself (because I loved all things pertaining to 'Grease' and wanted to be just like Sandy) and feeling miserable. Was I still friends with Larry after that? Of course. Did he talk to me more than he talked to Kim? Yeah, buddy, he did. That made me feel a little better, in a weird way.

After grade school, he went to a different junior high than me because of where he lived. After that, we were at the same high school, but by that point, too much had changed. He had gone on to play football in jr. high and high school, so he ran with a totally different crowd. Plus, too much time had passed since grade school. He'd made new friends and was in different classes than me. I don't think I ever spoke to him in high school, sadly enough. Of course, by that time I was a full-fledged nerd and he was a football player, and we all know that the only time those two social groups meet are in bad '80s teen movies.

But that's the story of my friend Larry and me. I wonder if he remembers me at all. I was the girl in grade school who brought Famous Monsters and Mad Magazines to class and once wrote a sequel to Halloween 2 in which everybody in the class was killed by Michael Myers. You know...the weird girl who sat behind you.

Apparently my subconscious mind remembers him. Wherever he is now (probably married with a couple of kids, like everyone else I graduated with) I wish him well.

Not to get too political, but...

2008-11-05T11:47:00.000-08:00

VOTE

2008-11-03T22:16:00.000-08:00

It's been a long, hard eight years, people. Is there a light at the end of the tunnel? Yes, but it's too soon to know if it's a freight train coming our way (apologies to Metallica).

So get out and vote. And remember...you can't bitch later if you don't vote today.