Waiting on the proofs of your book is an excruciating, aggravating experience. I’ve got a few beta readers who are waiting on a copy, and if memory serves, my previous five copies arrived in under a week. This time around, it’s going on two for two. I’m about to find someone named Lulu and find some way to aggravate them back. Maybe I’ll disagree with everything they say for two minutes, or twice insult their shoes. Bah.

But I can’t stay grumpy for too long. You can’t keep your chin down if you’re looking at the stars, so allow me, if you will, to share:

1) The sWitch placeholder website is up, and there’s a blog (huge thanks to the wonderfully talented Lisa de Araujo for both) where you can bask in the darkward tone of the novel. There will also be character discussions there soon, but of course I can’t say exactly “when”. My proofs have yet to arrive, you see? Anyhow, if you’d like to become a fan, check out the Facebook page and don’t forget to say hello. There may also be cookies in it for you, so you don’t want to miss out.

2) My cooking/reality show Table 42 with Chef Darryl Harmon has a teaser trailer up, and so far response to it has been overwhelmingly positive. Shooting for the first episode will begin on March 24th. I’m excited, and I know my peeps are, too.

3) Teapott Fables has a placeholder site up, and I can tell you the real thing is going to be fantastic. Teddy‘s showed me some sketches, and all I can say is you’ll definitely “fancy a cuppa”.

4) Lastly, or fourthly I guess, I’m planning on adapting HorrorCon for the screen, with further plans to make it myself. I will be working on another book at that time, as well. Somewhere in between, I will slip into a lovely coma.

That’s the lot, I suppose. There’s some music being made, as well, but I’ll hold off on that until I’ve got something for you to hear. In the meantime, have a look at a talented, writer friend named Ryan Chin who we can expect great things from in the not-so-distant future.

Hello, chaps and chappettes. Time for a year ending thingamapost to placehold my wordpress account before they kick me off for lolligagging. Truth be told––and those of you who know me already know this––I’ve been attacked by many projects at once. Those of you who really know me also know that I tend to check out from the world when embroiled in a number of creative adventures, and I’ve come to find that includes online worlds, as well. Sure, I supply my share of comments in this forum or that blog but when it comes to concentrating on reportage of the more personal variety, I tend to leave it go. The idea overwhelms me a bit, and I’m sure you’ll see why very soon.

Novels –– I’ve completed what really feels like a polished edit for sWitch. I’ve queried it around, gotten some positive feedback and some garden-variety rejections. Next up: get it to print so I can send it around in its complete form (I think of it as an art piece of sorts, so it has to be framed) and create a website for it. I’m thinking of using social networks to create a naughty buzz. I feel I’ve written something the likes of which you’re not likely to find at your local bookstore, and I’ve decided to make that an asset rather than an obstacle. You don’t get the chance to review your own work in a query, and to be honest it’s not really my style. Still, I’d like to take this opportunity to say that sWitch is challenging, smart, fun, scary and not afraid to push all of your dirty buttons. Who knows, if it becomes cultishly popular in the next year, maybe I’ll work up an illustrated coffee table version that will offend and delight your guests in equal measure. Or perhaps I’ll edit a trailer for the outrageous film it’s begging to be. My ultimate dream is for people to throw “sWitch Parties” where everyone dresses like a suburban square save a few sexy, paganistic touches and dances to lounge music while eating pentagram cookies. Can you dig it, man? Anyway, also coming soon is Square One –– a science fiction novel about the rediscovery of humankind by our own cybernetic creations centering on the most unlikely love story of all time against an all-too-familiar sounding rebellion. Notes are being taken with the first chapter not far off in the horizon.

Screenplays –– I’m still querying Shelf Life and am considering a few fledgling filmmakers to send it to. I’ve given some thought to making this one, as well. Since becoming pretty handy with my relatively new Canon XH A1s digital video camera, the idea to shoot something for a festival has greatly appealed. I write like a filmmaker, so why not take the next step? Ditto for Welcome to Cydonia, which needs making in a bad way. Cape May is still waiting, and you don’t keep an old girl like that waiting for long.

Other writing projects –– my animated vignette The Ballade of Haunted Hill will hopefully be completed sometime early in the new year thanks to the extraordinary efforts of my wonderfully talented collaborateur and sometime tea lady Teodora Parvanova (Soon to be Teodora Jones, which is probably the coolest name since Cleopatra Jones). She and I are also working on an animated TV series that we’ll be entering into a European animation contest. The story is based on an old Bulgarian Fable of sorts about an incorrigible young boy who finds his heart after losing his head in hell and it’s pretty rad in an Alice in Wonderland kind of way. And if you’re wondering, yes, finally getting my big break with an animated TV series after collaborating with a Bulgarian animator I met over the Internet by answering her “ad” for a writer is exactly how I envisioned my career path to go. All kidding aside, Teddy’s a delightful gem with a bright future and it’s been educational and fun to work with her. Whatever comes of our projects, I’m already proud as punch to have created what we have and hope to continue our partnership long into the future.

Music –– because there’s still a little time left between working, eating and sleeping, in addition to gigging and embarking on various projects with my band Surrounded By Idiots I’ve been putting my solo acoustic act together and am available for hire come the new year. It’s been an embarrassing amount of fun to get serious about––not only writing new songs and finding my identity as an acoustic artist––but honing my guitar skills. Most of my weekend is taken up playing and rehearsing and if you’re interested in learning more, head to my website and check out my artist list (which is constantly growing).

TV/Web Productions –– for the past few months I’ve been developing a cooking/reality show called “Table 42 with Chef Darryl Harmon” that takes place at The Water Works Restaurant in Philadelphia. Chef creates special dishes for a lucky couple who have been selected to dine at the famous “Table 42″ where over 300 wedding proposals have taken place as well as all sorts of other special moments. For more info on that, check out the website and look us up on Facebook. Shooting is scheduled to begin next month and we’re hoping to host a premier party at The Water Works for Valentine’s Day. Forks and fingers crossed we’re able to pull it off. So watch all spaces and keep an eye on your HDTV sets, as the table is set for us to be there, too.

And that, folks, is all the time I can afford to give you. It doesn’t mean I don’t love you, it just means you’re a few pegs down the list. Hey, at least you’re on the list, you ungrateful, time-stealing, bas–just keeding. Allow me to leave you with one of the most beautiful folk guitar performances I have ever seen and a song I hope to include in my repertoire. Ladies and gentlemen, Jesse Winchester singing Sham-A-Ling-Dong-Ding on Elvis Costello’s excellent Sundance Channel series “Spectacle“.

I agree, Neko. Have the best damn holiday ever, everyone. Peace to you all.

Welcome to another “episode entry” that seeks to disturb (and distract) you with various thoughts and images all related to that wonderful box of brain-eating radiation we commonly refer to as the TV. So get up real close, because it’s so funny when mom orders us to sit back or we’ll go blind. That’s not why I’m going blind, mom!

What’s On:

Click to get your own. Only $19.99!!1!

As most of you in the know already…um…know, Battlestar Galactica has once again docked its gritty form of spacey paranoid theater inside our airlocks. My thing is to let a few episodes pass me by so that I can load up for an evening of one, long uninterrupted chunk of geeky goodness. And people, pay attention: it’s still awesome…mostly. I won’t spoil here, although I’m sure I’m well within my rights to do so, but to summarize quickly: they found earth, it sucked, they had a rebellion, it failed, the Cylons are learning some mind-blowing shit, and I’m like “whuh?”.

Let’s put it this way, the first episode that dealt with the aftermath of the coup was a ten-thousand word sack of expository revelation delivered at 100 miles-per-hour. And even after I went to the official site to catch up, I realized why the show is so good and why it’s also losing me a bit; it’s so fucking deeeeep. There are family trees here that are so thick and complicatedly branched that halfway through climbing around in it you realize you never put this much work into your own freakin’ tree. Not that it’s all that interesting to learn that your great Aunt Edna from Bulgaria lived until she was 98 because she never left the house. Compared to a race of humanoids constructing a race of robots to enslave only to have them construct robots to eventually free them (or something, I’m close), it’s just not all that worth the eye strain.

Anyway, it’s still good, unrelenting and merciless drama in a very cool setting. Yes, it’s a little confusing at times, but so is arithmetic and you still have to balance your checkbook, right? And if anyone out there is watching it, let me know how you’re finding the final season of this groundbreaking show.

American Idol. Oh, shut up. I have something of a vested interest, okay? I was once given the opportunity to try out for Star Search when I was in high school and turned it down to smoke weed and listen to Led Zeppelin (sorry, mom). I actually think the new season is very weak so far, but there’s still an air of authenticity to the proceedings that is rarely matched by other reality shows. “Project Runway” and “America’s Next Top Model” being the other two. I know, I know…I’m a little girl eating frosted flakes with her teddy bear. Whatever.

My horse so far is the 16 year-old chick with the Raggedy Anne hair. The girl can wail. Don’t go getting sloppy, now, Annie!

Survivor: Tocantin. Okay, I’m not the biggest fan of this show and haven’t watched it since the first one. To be honest, I’m not sure why I’m watching it now. It was on when nothing else was, I guess, and it’s kind of fun to watch everyone get skinny and look better half-naked than they ever will again. Oh, and this is official: implants will outlive you. That’s all I’m saying.

Dr. Drew Pinsky: Rich, tired of the lies.

The other distractions that I like––Rock of Love Whore Bus, Celebrity Rehab: Sober, My Ass, and the American incarnation of one I used to love from the U.K. called “Ladette to Lady” which is now known as The Cum Dumpsters of Hedsor Hall or something, are in alternating degrees of hiatus and hilarious. Seriously, what is the logic behind a sober house? You get a bunch of ex-junkies together, put another ex-junkie in charge of them, allow them to come and go as they please, and watch one by one as each completely fucks up whatever ground they gained in rehab. It makes for great TV, but how far are we from “Celebrity Suicide House” or “Baby Daddy Stud Farm School for Wayward Video Ho’s”? The last time they scraped anything off the bottom of barrel and made it into something truly worthwhile it was called Grappa. And to be honest, it sucks, too.

Of course, I also consume it. Pay lots of money for the honor, to boot. But hey, I work hard and do lots of thinking at the same time. Why not come at the world in a completely stupid way every once and awhile to recharge. It’s MSNBC, Sports, and trash TV until my eyes bleed, so suck ‘em. At least I’m being honest.

That said, I’d like to leave you with a little video that is both cool, and something of a confession. Even though I liked it overall, I was a little hard on “True Blood” back when it was on, and now I have to admit I’ve started to miss it. Ain’t that always the way? You narrow-ass Gothic cowboys is always so stooopid!

Anyway, attached, please find the very cool opening title sequence accompanied by the even cooler theme song called “Bad Things” sung by up-and-coming patty flipper, Jace Everett. And until sometime next week, probably Friday, have a great weekend. Oh, and if anyone’s watching “Doll House”, let me know how it is, would you? I’m a fan of both Whedon and Dushku, but I’ve not been impressed enough by the commercials to sacrifice my Friday night. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, see the entry below this one. Heh.

Congrats, Mickey — R.I.P Loki

So…I’m gently easing myself back into the blog thing. I think taking it slowly has been to everyone’s benefit, as I would have likely been a terrific bore these last couple of weeks and my focus here has always been to lift and stimulate others with similar interests. As it was, I was making people cry, and shoot, who needs that in the dead of winter, eh?

But for all of you who have shared your comforting thoughts here and elsewhere, I really can’t thank you enough. I saw my last entry as an explanation of sorts, and it turned out to be more of a eulogy. I probably had it in mind all along, and I’m glad it turned out like it did. If it did happen accidentally, at least in part, it turned out to be well worth it. There was an outpouring of support that propped me up long enough to take nourishment and an expression of deep appreciation is definitely in order.

In the downtime, I worked very hard on two things: one, querying sWitch, from which I received a request for a full manuscript (hurrah!), and two, mastering the art of distraction. Now, before you shrug that off as the collective habits of unproductive losers, hear me out. This won’t take long for reasons that will soon become very apparent.

What You’ll Need:

A television – any will do unless it has rabbit ears. Access to hundreds of cable channels is preferred, but if you’re on a basic tier, no worries. This part will only be cut shorter, with time lost to be made up later during other activities.

A computer – any variety, as long as you have Internet access. I suppose serious gamers need not worry about that, but you’re the exception here and I don’t play games anymore. Bonus points if you have a) a wireless router, b) a laptop, c) a 17 inch screen or bigger.

Speakers – these can be hooked up to your computer or to a nearby stereo, but having access to music through your desktop is preferable because it decreases the need for you to break stride. More on that in a moment.

Alcohol – teetotalers, skip this section and move on. The rest of you, listen up. Sure, you could substitute booze for another vice, but there’s nothing like a steady introduction of your favorite spirit(s) to move the night along. Those who have told their spouses or significant others that they’ll be home in an hour and end up being dumped out of a car the next morning know what the fuck I’m talking about.

Fancy lights – these are not essential, but if you have lots of cool glowing things around you, or at least a glut of gorgeously ridiculous artwork, they can come in handy not only to set the mood, but when you need something to ogle for a few.

Comfy clothes – again, another element that I wouldn’t qualify as critical, but if you don’t want to stand out as a rookie, a pair of broken-in sweats and a snug skully keeps you from needing to–ahem–adjust or be mindful of your appearance or posture. The point is to resemble a happy human slug by the night’s end, so we don’t need to be fretting over wrinkling anything but our lazy derrieres.

Okay, once all these elements are in place, lock the door, put the ringer on vibrate or turn it off entirely, and do as follows:

1) Turn on the TV. Pick something that you kind of want to watch, but preferably something that updates frequently like sports, an old movie that you’ve seen a bunch of times that you can sample from, or even a cable news network that will keep you informed through a bottom line. The point is to check on it when you need a stretch, not let it play you. You’re in control here, and for fuck’s sake nothing with subtitles.

2) Start the tunes. Assuming most of us listen through our computers, pick shuffle or a playlist that will keep the vibe alive for at least 45 minutes. Lately, because I’ve needed an extra lift, I’ve been going to the well for my favorite songs from English Beat and General Public. Which is all of them. That’s good, because the playlist will take a while and I don’t have to think about it again for a good long stretch of unadulterated, magnificent distracting.

3) Get your drink on. I like to crack open a beer (Guinness or Miller Lite–the libation equivalent of Rich Man, Poor Man) and prepare a shot. I’ve been on a tequila kick lately for it’s smooth, grinny buzz, but I’ll do a nice whiskey or vodka if changing it up sounds like fun. See, that’s the key: changing it up. It’s all about constant variety in stimulation, and just like our favorite physical act–that’s right, dancing–doing the same thing ad nauseam will put your ass back into your head and we do NOT want that. Remember: reality is the enemy.

4) Once you’ve got your shot ready, grab it and your drink and decide what it is you think could use a toast. I have several options: Arsenal Football Club (since this is mostly a Friday routine, they usually play the following day), my girlfriend (we’ve been known to do this via phone, which is an excellent way to keep in touch), my dearly departed Lucy which necessitates a visit to her mini-shrine in the back room, and any combination of friends, family, ideology, or, obviously, your own fine self.

5) Do the shot. Chase it. Good pupil.

6) Return to “home base”, which is at the computer but near enough to a TV where you can either look up and see it or a minimum of movement can put it’s wisdom at your disposal. That’s why you get bonus points for being wireless and portable, cause it’s easier to move around to make this so. Once you’re settled, again, it’s all about mixing it up.

Lately, I’ve been hitting writers forums and sharing pointers and opinions. Sometimes I go to my football blog and say obnoxious things that are hilarious to me at the time, and embarrassingly excellent to read back later. And like most people, I am frequently called to Ye Olde Book of Fayce for an update or to make fun of something someone just said. To make this easier, my 17 inch screen lets me have several windows/applications open at once, facilitating distracting maneuvers. Whatever you do, and I can’t stress this enough, keep the act moving and do not force yourself to be “responsible”. Serious is for another time, so wrap serious in a serious blanket and deposit it into the serious drawer. This is about following your muse/buzz/whims, not solving any of life’s great mysteries. That’s what college was for. We know better, now.

But that’s not to say it must be all play. Many times I’ll get some great ideas for my stories and jot them down. But notice I said “jot”. Do not confuse this with “draft”, or “compose”. You cannot take a long time to “jot”. By definition, to jot means to get the fuck out with it and then get the fuck on with it. And by “it” I mean mastering hardcore distraction. So put the pen down, Skankespeare, and get another shot. And make it quick before you miss that part in Sixteen Candles where Anthony Michael Hall is found trapped under the coffee table after everyone has left the party.

At any time in the above steps, please feel free to improvise. That’s an important part of escaping: escaping the escaping. Let your soul dictate where you go next. And don’t apply too many restrictions. Okay, streaking around the block may sound like a great idea but would your 90 year-old neighbor really appreciate it? To be safe, keep it inside. That’s why I had you lock the door. It wasn’t just so no one would come in unannounced to catch you bare-ass naked in the downward facing dog position.

At some point, you’ll forget everything. In fact, “you” will disappear entirely if you do it right. You’ll transform into a conduit of positivity and groovy sensation. Just be careful not to overdo it. You don’t want to end up a conduit of anything else. Will you fuck it up? Probably. But don’t give up. The mastering of hardcore distraction takes practice, but with a few tweaks here and there depending on your personal constitution, you’ll get it. And you won’t miss a thing but a chicken wing and an onion ring (this will make sense when you’re doing it right, so jot it down).

Oh, one last point: be sure to go to bed with a glass of water and a couple of aspirin. You may not need either, but why take the chance? Okay, that’s all for now. I need to do something else.

And hey…you’re all stars, those of you who came when I called. Bright, beautiful stars.

Yes, yes…it’s one of those entries. A typical, end of the year, nostalgically self-absorbed menu of rehash and hodgepodge that seeks to define one’s future by exploring one’s immediate past under the pretense that we have any control over either. And I might as well tell you the end: I’ll find it in me, after much hedging and hand-wringing, to conclude that the trailing twelve months have been learning experiences and that, if I take each painful second to task, 2009 will be, at most, 51% positive. And then I’ll sign off with something wistful, lacing my words with the appropriate mixture of determinism and melancholy so that my caricature here remains slightly tragic, yet ever-so courageous.

Oh, fuck that. To be honest, it’s been a decent year of love, work and wonder and any disappointments seemed to fuel new adventures and fresh outlooks on what’s important and what’s not, what’s going well and what might need a tweak here or there. I tend to enjoy the turning of the new year in all of its predictably garish glory that sets awash over the human genome like so much spilled glitter on a bared, rosy tit. It’s a fist in the air, a solo out; none of it should count for the rest of it but some of it should count for something. Or something.

In any event, I’ll be spending it with a loved one and a few other loved ones and maybe having some exotically flavored dip. I could be persuaded to indulge in a cocktail or two, and if I’m feeling nasty, a bit of Wii bowling. If all goes as planned, I’ll miss the ball dropping due to watching the 8-ball drop into the side pocket, and when informed of the clock’s final tick and rewind, I’ll shake a few hands and plant a doozy on my Weezy. Then I’ll go back to doing what I was doing and considering more dip. And beer. And maybe a shot of mighty fine whisky.

Okay, so maybe a small list is in order: I wrote two books, read a few more, learned a lot, spent time with friends I hadn’t seen in a while, saw some gorgeous English countryside, watched a few horror classics and a couple of newer, non-classics, discovered Alien Worlds and other audio book magic, changed my sideburns, bought some awesome dresses that look fantastic on my woman, cured my cat of diabetes (sort of!), and got hardwood floors. On the negative side, I watched my favorite sports team play like poo with feet and my other favorite sports team win the world series. Wait, this is supposed to be all negative. Okay, let me try again…the economy blows, but Obama won the election. Sorry, one more time…we lost some real talent in the entertainment industry and a lot of good men and women died in a pointless war, but my family is healthy and I’ve got loads of great friends.

Shit, maybe I just can’t do full-bore negative. Let’s call it a character flaw and move on.

In the end, and more germane to this blog, I wrote a lot and did it listening to lots of good music and drinking a fair amount of good beer. I imagine I’ll do much of the same in the coming year, and it is my new goal to achieve the old goal that I failed to achieve in 2008: secure literary representation. Whether I accomplish that or not, I will have written hundreds of thousands of more words, each one in its place, doing work, baring my soul by some equation, and giving me countless hours of satisfaction and joy. In between, I will live my life much as I have done up to this point. The future is hopeful, good people. Keep your eyes open and your ears to the ground and with a little luck we’ll see one another on the other side with smiles, and stories and song. And whisky.

Before I sign off, please click the eye above and give some love to a woman who puts together a blog that is tireless in its offerings of the beautiful, haunting, frightening and purely unusual. Please? Cheers.

Have a wonderful new year, everyone. See you.

Consider this another one of those “brain dump” entries that throws out a few tidbits in the hopes of getting a few in return. I like to share my viewing and reading experiences with y’all, and would love to hear what you’ve found particularly remarkable in the various entertainment mediums.

Television has been stingy in its offerings lately, and I put that down to holiday schedules. I tend to watch only sports around these times, with the occasional reality show finale. Last night concluded the highly ridiculous “Rock of Love: Charm School” series for this season (and perhaps forever as they tend to mutate into spin–offs rather than pick up where they left off). For those of you who may have missed it, ex-porn star/stripper turned reality show D-list celebrity Brandie M. beat some chick named Destiney. Apparently it came down to her renouncing her old burping and farting ways and swearing to like herself a lot more now that she won the 100k. Sharon Osborne was reduced to tears trying to choose between them, but managed in the end. My cat sneezed. It was magical.

Earlier this week I picked up a passed over classic called The Unseen from a tip I received in the latest issue of Rue Morgue. I was enthralled by the early 80′s attempt to creep me out. Sidney Lassick (formerly known as the mugging and immature Charlie Cheswick in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest) overplays another role as an abusive museum curator who invites three female TV reporters into his home to bathe freely over the product-of-incest son he keeps hidden in the basement; himself played with fierce enthusiasism by character actor, Stephen Furst. You may recognize that name as he was the “zero…point…zero” fraternity brother “Flounder” in Animal House. In most publications where one reads of Lassick or Furst, their roles in this forgotten freak-show are rudely omitted. The Unseen was prophetically named, and that really is a shame. I honestly have a hard time remembering two better horror performances of that decade.

I didn’t stop my trip into horror cinema’s past at 1981, but continued another ten years over the ocean until I reached the first installment of Spanish director Armand De Ossorio’s classic undead quadrilogy Tombs of the Blind Dead. There are several things I loved about this film, not the least of which was learning that at one point when it was released in American drive-in theaters, it was retitled Revenge of the Planet Ape in order to take advantage of the successful monkey franchise of that time. Not a single frame was changed prior to doing this, either (one of which I’ve used as my entry photo above). How fucking awesome is that? Very, is the answer; very fucking awesome. To get a better understanding of the story, sometimes it’s best just to turn it over to a video. While you watch it, marvel at how the ghosts could have easily been any permutation of humanoid and truly understand the genius behind such a shameless marketing ploy. But the 70′s were all about shamelessness, weren’t they? How else would you get that relentlessly bleak tone, that announcer’s voice, those mustaches? If you don’t know the answer, I’ll give it to you: shamelessness and horror are a touchstone of modern storytelling. We’d be lost without it.

To be completely honest, the sets were extraordinary and the ghost effects surprisingly accomplished. What I really miss about horror films of this ilk that was so prevalent back then was the freedom the director had to lay waste to everyone and everything, and then follow it up with a “sequel”. There is no reprieve in TotBD. You’re fucked from the first reel. I’ve put an order in for the rest of the series, and I look forward to sharing my thoughts and tight pants with you in the future.

Other than those two horror staples, I did manage to catch another horror flick on the Sci-fi Channel called Wind Chill. It wasn’t the worst movie I’ve seen on there, and I was actually rather impressed by the dialog––which was a good thing since the entire film plays out with two people trapped in a car in a blizzard. They’re bad luck continues when they begin to see strange things in the surrounded woods.

The best thing about the movie was the performance of the female lead. The actor’s name is Emily Blunt, and she’s starring with Bencio Del Toro in the upcoming The Wolf Man remake, directed by Joe Johnston. He’s behind a lot of the early Star Wars effects and most recently helmed Hildago and Jurassic Park III. It’s a somewhat strange resume for something like this, but the publicity photo I’ve seen is simply beautiful. There was a trailer floating about, but NBC Universal…ahh, found a bootleg.

Yeah, I know it’s probably not cool to post it, but “shameless”, remember?

Hey, I’d like to wish everyone a very happy holiday season. I may post in the interim, but if I don’t, do try and be the kind of person that would lend a helping hand and an understanding ear. If you can’t, just scare the hell out of them. Sometimes it’s just as important to remind the world of how good they have it. Heh.

Now, off to shine up those queries for a mid-January mailing.

I’m thinking of starting “Dexter” over from the beginning cause I never really got into it, and I hear good things about “Supernatural” which lasted a whole thirteen seconds before I switched, so I may give that another shot. The same goes for “Fringe”, which started off strong and then tapered off with certain speed. So far “Estate of Panic” and “The Cha$e” have proven worthy distractions, but I want something with depth, character and fierce antagonists––although, The Cha$e and its live-action video game formula complete with chasing “hunters” entertains me for reasons I’ve still yet to figure out.

I can’t get into “Ghosthunters” cause I think it’s a load of tricky editing bunk, and “Scare Tactics” annoyed severely back in its original inception and I highly doubt that normally very funny Tracy Morgan can resurrect it. “BSG” is still some time away, and I just don’t do anything on the major networks for fear I’ll destroy something out of commercial and mainstream lameness frustration.

So anybody got any tips? I’ve got a few of the film variety, and I think y’all should check them out. Feast, the result of a TV staple of old called “Project Greenlight“, turned out far better than expected. It’s way over the top, gruesome, funny and fresh in a few new places. Henry Rollins wears pink sweatpants at some point. Do you really need to know anything else? I’ve got Feast 2 on the way, and hold out hope that maybe Johnny Lydon will show up in a tutu.

As mentioned, Cemetery Man impresses after not having seen it in a decade and a half. Its humor is sharp and the premise is fun: a lonely man (Rupert Everett) takes care of a cemetery where the dead return to life after 7 days, and he and his thick-skulled grave-digger companion dispatch them with unabashed impunity and even fall in love with icky results. It’s British, too, so they mumble lots of brilliant stuff. You could do worse, believe it.

Okay, the only other thing to report while I’m waiting on some great viewing tips is that I’ve just buttoned up a third revision on my latest novel, and am heading back in to sure up the chapter headings and get my POV paragraphs in sensible order. Oh, and I’ve got to add a few physical descriptions for my characters. I’ve recently received some excellent advice in regards to this convention that I’d taken to bucking. It appears that one reader of my novella would have caught a lot of other stuff I tried to squeeze in if they had a solid hero to latch onto in their mind. So, I’ve reversed my opinion that it’s better to let readers liberally construct their own characters (thanks, Dad!) and decided to add my visions of them. Anyone got their own opinions? If so, do share or be square.

That’s all. Below please enjoy a trailer for an upcoming Thai offering called Deep in the Jungle. It’s about snake women and it’s awesome. Obviously. Cheers and fears!

So season one is in the can–or the coffin, I guess you could say. We’ve come to learn a few things, a few things have been left for us to debate, and summer 2009 is when we’ll get some answers. But there are a few issues I’d like to address now, and please join me if you’re so inclined. By the way, I’m going to have spoilers spilling like freshly drawn blood all over this blog, so if you haven’t seen the finale yet, be warned.

Okay, we all knew Rene was the killer, they were none to subtle about what he was fixing to do for the entire first half hour, and when he finally got to it we got to see Sam the dog save the day as Vampahhr Bill burnt to a crisp trying to join in. Sookie takes Rene out with a fairly cool shovel finish, and even though his head didn’t roll into the grave like I was hoping it would, at least we got some closure on that mystery. And what a mystery it was: escaping the murder of his sister, whom he killed because she was fang-banging, he drives a few hours to Bon Temps, learns a Cajun dialect that makes him sound different than everyone else (because that’s not going to draw attention to him, although I might have let it slide if we were supposed to think he just “sucked” at it), keeps the dialect tutorial tape and all the incriminating tapes of the women whom he killed in plain sight in the garage, starts killing again, and–here’s the best part–get’s married. Now, some of us might say it was the writers’ way of throwing us off his trail, and I guess it worked. But once he was identified, like so much of what is revealed in True Blood, we’re kind of left with a taste in our mouth like the cream used for the special sauce had gone off a little. I suppose one could say he was looking to get caught. But you know what, as a viewer, I don’t want him to be looking to get caught. I want something clever to slip him up. I guess if it weren’t for Sookie’s special powers it would have never happened because the entirety of the south is rather shit at solving crimes when they can be bothered to try, so good for you, Sookie? Err, yeah.

Which brings me to the baffling reactions of our characters to the deaths of those near and dear to them. “I’ve got bad taste in men” says Rene’s widow. Her offering flowers to Sookie head first was pretty funny, but no sooner is the man she married declared a serial killer that not only killed Sookie’s dear old gran but even one of her co-workers, she’s flirting with the veteran who thinks she’s “the bomb”. Not a single accusation of being a “dumb-ass”, not one question as to why the evidence was so easy to find even a little kid could do it (literally), nothing. So say “forgiving and forgetting” is just what they do in Bon Temps. Okay, fair enough. Why couldn’t Arlene be a little twisted about this sudden development? Why wouldn’t she possibly blame Sookie for discovering her husband’s “secret”, seeing as it was vampires that drove him to be what he was? We’re not sure why he hated them so much, but I suppose vamp hate is as nonsensical and as primitive as gay-bashing, racism, and general “otherness hating”, and Ball may have been all too eager to give Rene the blade here. He’s just “bad” according to Ball, and he got what he deserved. If you ask me, we’re being shortchanged when it comes to the underlying morality in True Blood, and what we’re getting is a soap opera with vampires. Not bad when there’s nothing else on, but when morality is where the show hangs its hat, it’s hardly deeper than a bite to the neck.

Let’s move on. Sam has a history with our good Samaritan (I can’t find her name anywhere, unbelievably). She’s awfully proud of herself for having found him, although he did open up a bar named after himself. She’s granting wishes to Tara for reasons that are suspect, but at the end of the episode, we’re made to think that Sam is just really pissed about her showing up. Is she dangerous? Maybe. Can she do a mean shimmy? Apparently so. What I’m getting is that we’ve got another season coming of Sam bitching all over the bar about an itch he can’t scratch (and as a part-time dog, that’ really shouldn’t be an issue). Add to that hot prospect the fact that Jason is born again (Zzzzz), Lafayette is probably dead (most interesting character and best actor) and we’ll likely see more of bumbling cop Andy (ZZZZZ).

Whoopee.

As it stands right now, I’ve two things to look forward to in the summer: learning who killed Lafayette (the Senator? Jason? The pig?), and seeing the character of Jessica make life miserable for Bill. That’s really about it. True Blood: Season One felt very much like a writing exercise where you try and draw parallels between Vampires and “Your Favorite Scapegoat to the Ills of Society”. There were some clever bits, and there was no shortage of blood and nudity. But somewhere along the line I felt like there wasn’t enough “grit”. I know that Ball was more interested in setting the table from which we’ll feast for seasons to come, but where there’s shallow plot and sloppy character development, there needs to be an artistic point of view to balance it.

So do I stake it, or is there something residual in its effort to depict the monstrousness of humanity–a quality that makes HBO so addictive and provocative–that “glamours” me back in? So far the mysteries have been secondary to the soap, and not surprisingly, that’s cleaned them up to almost make them bland. And if it’s irritation that’s driving me to know who offed one of the better reasons to watch the show, I’m not sure that’s worth more than a future google when action resumes. I guess it all depends on the same thing that most shows go through great pains to avoid: whether there’s something better on at the time.

If I could say one thing to Alan Ball it would be this: have you even seen the opening of your own show? Because for the first time in a long time, as good as it is (and as they usually are), it really shouldn’t overshadow the stuff that follows it.

Of course, Bill and Sookie are going out of their way to prove that ancient adage incorrect. And so is Ball, I think. He knows enough to show the good and bad sides of all of his characters, and rarely presents us with a thoroughly distilled archetype one way or the other. That’s why we begin to care for them: because they’re like us. They fuck up, just like we do. And it’s when True Blood started showing that in storyline after storyline that I started wanting to see more.

What struck me last night was either a bit of lazy writing or another concerted effort to blur the lines. Not to give too much away for those who haven’t had a chance to see the penultimate episode, but there’s a moment when Sookie confesses to Sam that she was bitterly angry at Bill for going off without any guarantee that he’ll be back. Erm…that’s not how I remember it, Sookie. Basically, Bill killed one of his own to save her, and did everything he could to let her know that he had no choice but to leave immediately to face what he’d done. It may have been several days in Bon Temps time, but in narrative time it was a only a single episode before Sookie was again trying out that dirty dog from work. People forget easily in Bon Temps. Maybe it’s the heat, I don’t know, or maybe Ball is trying to mix it up a little too much in order to push things in the direction he needs them to go.

Without looking at it too closely (something almost impossible for me, I admit) as things became even darker last night (and funnier, too–Bill’s “makee” was definitely one of the highlights of the season for me) we got a lot of mixed signals and ambiguity that made me wonder if the characters remained true enough to their essence for me to pine for them over the long, winter months. Right now, I’m sort of in mourning for two characters that won’t return (some people do just “die” die on True Blood, come to find), and the others are sticking with me in a rotating state of flummoxed flux. I do love a competent series, though, and waiting for last night’s episode to start brought back that great anticipatory feeling that I hadn’t had since BSG. Regardless of any narrative weaknesses one might clearly or not-so-clearly perceive, wanting to know “what happens next” is a powerful drug; it’s almost as powerful as “V”. Well, okay, that might be overdoing it.

Anyhow, we were dropped a bomb last night, and the coming attractions pretty much left very little doubt as to who might be behind the reign of terror in the town. And if I’m right, you’ve got a better chance of getting out alive after a debauched night at Fangtasia than you do in the comfort of some close friends. We also saw the introduction of a new character which tempts me to guess what page of mythology she comes from, and I suspect Ball will leave us with plenty to think about over the close season. I just hope he stays consistent with what we’ve seen thus far.

One more piece of business before I’m out: I’m considering producing a podcast that will consist of reviews, comments on the world of dark fiction and horror (with perhaps a little “light side” thrown in for balance), and a serially narrated story of my own original fiction. I’ve got tons of it, and I’m always writing more. There’s been a resurgence of interest in “Horror Radio” since podcasts and the like have become so popular, and I like the idea of giving my visitors (which have grown in number lately, and for which I am very grateful) a few minutes of drama to stew over every week like they used to do back in the day. As someone who does lots of voice-overs and impressions and so forth, it would be a fun way to get my ideas out. Now I’d like to know what you think. Comments below or by email would be muchly appreciated.

That’s all for now. Tune in next Monday – or earlier, I haven’t decided yet – and I hope you have an exciting week of stories to look forward to. As for me, I’ve got to go plan some shows.

Having sat through six back-to-back episodes of HBO’s new Southern Vamp-Gothic series “True Blood”, I am reasonably pleased to report that there’s more to this Alan Ball infection confection (based on the Sookie Stackhouse book series by Charlaine Harris ) than I first believed. But we’re not home and safe yet, tenderloins, so don’t you put away that garlic just yet.

Let me first say that I’ve been guilty of bailing out on a number of TV shows before returning to them with my tail between my legs. Ball’s “Six Feet Under”, his first foray into the ultra-permissive theater of HBO, had me stifling a gag reflex at every melodramatic touch. There also seemed to be a statement being made about everything from gay sex to family dysfunction in every single narrative beat. It felt forced and self-righteous, and I began to wonder if Ball had any idea that other people besides himself lead real lives where some of these issues were serious, everyday matters and that he wasn’t being revolutionary and brave simply by dramatizing them in as graphic a manner as he could. At some point I was expecting one of his more depressed and neurotic puppets to start humping the scenery. To say the least, I switched off and waited for “The Sopranos”. Being from Jersey, that rung a little more true, even if it also tread a little heavily now and again.

Then, several years later, I returned. I’m not even sure why. Prompted by nothing whatsoever I switched it on and began to notice the color schemes of the various scenes. Then for some reason, the dialog began to hum and refresh like a finely tuned water pick. Maybe my life had gotten more interesting over the gap years, or maybe the show had loosened up a tad. Whatever it was, I started tuning in from the first minute it kicked off, and once I saw what was probably one of the most hilarious opening death scenes wherein a family man accidentally runs over his own head while trying to retrieve the paper without leaving his SUV, I got it. The uncomfortable high humor, the tragic and twisted honesty, the unbridled passion and love – I got it all. It became my favorite hour of TV, and yes, I had all the air crushed from my lungs when the last episode showed me it had been holding my heart in the mortuary refrigerator the whole time and then proceeded to bury it in an avalanche of blessed and perfectly pitched melancholy. Damn you, Alan Ball. I’ve not been as tough in any way, since.

So after loving American Beauty, and now Six Feet Under, you could imagine my delight when learning that Ball was at it again, and this time with a series about vampires. I could scarcely believe my good fortune. It had taken me at least a year to properly mourn the Fisher family, and even though a part of me still wanted them all to come back to life (except for maybe Billy, who nearly drove me and Brenda to will ourselves to death), serving up a tasty portion of the undead was the next best thing. Anna Paquin only sweetened the pot. Sure, vampires had been done to death by then, but I knew that Alan would find a way to steal my soul again. And there I was, leaving the doors and windows unlocked, waiting as one does for it to happen.

The opening, as are most of HBO series’ openings, was as appropriately interesting and mouth-watering as the food photos on a Friday’s menu. But once I took my first taste, I spit it right back out. I was horrified, alright, but not from the danger of a vampire’s hunger, but instead from the thick “I do declare” southern dialog that rolled off the character’s tongues – not like freshly withdrawn blood – but more like warm chocolate milk. It was Tennessee Williams as envisioned by the Podunk Senior Center doing a play written by third graders from Podunk Elementary. And then came the nudity and sex, slathered over top like extra butterscotch on a butterscotch sundae with butterscotch morsels. In short, I thought it was a gratuitous mess that seemed to have no point but to present yet another allegory for fringe societies done with a paint-by-numbers grid. I’m mean it: I was confused, and more than a little pissed-off.

Shaking off my initial reaction and recalling how I’d made the mistake of bailing too early before, I got stuck in and waited for the second episode. Then the third. By the middle of that one, I’d switched over to something else and to be quite honest, forgot the damn thing was even on. I didn’t want to admit to myself – someone who had taken a year to catch on to the wondrousness that is “Battlestar Galactica” – that this time I’d gotten it right. True Blood was just bad. Ball had failed me. Finally. Badly.

So after a few weeks of saying as much in as many online horror forums as I could find, I began to listen again to those who had agreed with my initial reservations but had stuck it out and had come to find that there was something here besides hokey blood-sucking humor and overwrought performances. There were “surprises” apparently, and things had taken a turn for the bizarre. Some had even mentioned that, despite the wicked humor, they’d felt “disturbed”. And as I took it to mean in a good way, I decided to take the weekend, retrace my steps and take the show into another few episodes. And that’s what I did. Having gone all the way to episode 6, I’m hear to tell those who may be curious about this series a secret…

…the magic number is 5. I’ve yet to go back to SFU and see if the same holds true there, but it would appear that by episode 5 I forgot I was watching a new show and started to feel something for some of the characters. A good sign is being a little annoyed with the cumbersome way one needs to download the next episode in order to keep the train rolling. And I can tell you now, I was annoyed – take that to mean in a good way.

So, I’ve three more episodes to go before I’m all caught up, and I reckon I’ll be watching at least one of ‘em tonight. Possibly two if I get started early on my supper. I still don’t know if I’d pay two bits for a peek at the rest, but daggone-it, somethin’s tellin’ me I need to stick it out fer a coupla more.

*spits*

Hmm…maybe a bloody mary whilst viewin’ would spice things up a notch.