Category: movies

welcome to portugal

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Where I’ve been awake for roughly thirty-six hours, rented a van too big for the small European streets, and immediately scraped the back right passenger side on the ramp out of the airport parking lot, to which I thought, “thank goodness for insurance”, before being thrust into a five lane roundabout (with stoplights! In the middle!) outside the airport, and we could get out of Lisbon fast enough.

We are Algarve bound, and thankful for it. The scenery is lush and green, with the terrible rainfall they’ve gotten, and distracts us from the fact that everything north of Porto is without power, for the better part of a week.

It soon turns to Sergio Leone territory, before becoming the land of roundabouts, and the taste of a shitty Portuguese beer down by the water and its washed out beach.

There are statues made of washers which are surprising lifelife (and kinda sexy, which is probably a weird thing to admit), but still, pretty darn cool.

And cats. Lots of cats.

So, you know, good.

Target: 1500 words
Written: 3524 words, short story: Never Worked That Hard

Read: The Tipping Point, Malcolm Gladwell
Comics: Fables: The Wolf Among Us 40-43
Music: 39/Smooth, Green Day

heartburn, round two

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Weirdly, I ate super light yesterday, but did have a customary glass of red wine, as one does, on Sundays.

We drink red wine on Sundays, or so my father-in-law tells me.

He’s also a man who feeds his other daughter ice cream and Coke for dinner on a regular basis, so he’s not exactly the sommelier we look for.

But still, for some reason we do it (and I do love a good red), but it seems to have triggered a relapse from the night before’s horrid gastrointestinal adventures, and now, I sit, having lost another couple of hours of wondrous sleep.

Plus some weird fuckin’ dreams.

Weird fuckin’ dreams, man.

I liked the ones I had before the acid set in; The Last Showgirl apparently wormed its way into my subconscious in the forms of Song and Ship.

Sorry, honey. It was involuntary. I can’t be held responsible for what my unconscious mind dredges up.

Target: 1400 words
Written: 3315 words, comic: The Stuff 4

Read: Full Catastrophe Living, Jon Kabat-Zinn (we're livin' the full catastrophe, all right)
Comics: Fables 135-137, Fairest 21
Music: 20 Years Of Hell, Vol IV, Anti-Flag/One If By Land

we are all going to die

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I mean, probably. Well, definitely. The question is really when and how.

Is it when Trump starts the end of the world? Is it a pandemic exploding through us because morons think vaccinations are somehow worse than the disease they’re designed to protect against?

Is it climate change?

When I write, I’ve often dreamed of it as being read still hundreds of years hence (I imagine that’s true of many artists). At this point though, hurtling toward climate collapse at least, I’d be happy if we still had books at all in twenty years. Or if anyone was around to read them.

Maybe someday, aliens will settle our barren, self-destroyed plant, and find those written and using supercomputers we haven’t dreamed of, translate them and think, Jesus, what a bunch of fucking assholes.

And then they blew it all up.

Damn, dirty apes.

(A story, as told by a fatalist, using cultural references aliens probably won’t get, because I don’t think we ever beamed Charlton Heston to space. We are the monkeys, man! The monkeys are us!)

Target: 1400 words
Written: 1071 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Tesla: Man Out Of Time, Margaret Cheney
Comics: Fables 40-43
Music: 06.27.01 Peel Session, The Strokes

well how about that

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I’m still writing about feces and doormats.

Steinbeck wrote about the Great Depression. Fitzgerald about the vapidity of the rich.

Shakespeare wrote of love and loss and tragedy, of empire and family.

And I’m writing about feces on a doormat.

Perhaps I’m not really cut out for this whole literary genius thing. I’m the Meatballs of the Great Canadian Novel. This generation’s A Clockwork Orange is actually a rendition of Porky’s, by way of American Pie.

Porky’s did bring us Kim Cattrall, however, and that’s a fucking gift.

Screw Sarah Jessica Parker. I never liked her anyway.

Target: 1400 words
Written: 2321 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: The Never-Ending Present, Michael Barclay (and now I'm crying, damn it)
Comics: Fables 1-4 (finally, something good)
Music: Workbook, Bob Mould

westworld

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See, these are reboots that I can get behind, because the movie was whatever. The series though…

The problem is, we don’t need to need to reboot everything. Where’s our new ideas?

Where’s the innovation?

No wonder fascism is on the march.

Everything old is new again, and we’ve apparently run out of ideas.

Target: 1400 words
Written: 1392 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: The Never-Ending Present, Michael Barclay
Comics: Bloodstrike Brutalists 23-24, 0, Bloodstrike Battle Blood 1
Music: Wolves In Wolves' Clothing, NOFX

rosemary’s baby ii

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You think Donald sees that baby and thinks, man, I wish I could have that kid’s life.

Or do you think he’s just so worried about if Daddy loves him that he’s just jealous Satan actually thinks his son is cool?

Target: 1400 words
Written: 906 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: The Picture Of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde
Comics: Youngblood v3 1-2, Youngblood GT Interactive Special 1, Awesome Adventures 1
Music: Will Of The People Muse

rosemary’s baby

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You know, I’ve never actually seen that.

Was the baby really the spawn of Satan?

And was its name Donald?

Target: 1400 words
Written: 440 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Quiet: The Power Of Introverts, Susan Cain (well, that took way too long)
Comics: Judgment Day 3, Judgment Day: Aftermath 1, Youngblood Super Special 1, Awesome Holiday Special 1
Music: Western Stars, Bruce Springsteen

remember

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Now, more than ever.

Remember.

When the masks come off, it will be the face of the hopeful that shine, and the face of the condemned that bleed with fear.

Remember.

Target: 1400 words
Written: 1623 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Quiet: The Power Of Introverts, Susan Cain
Comics: Shattered Image 1-2, X-Force/Youngblood 1, Extremely Youngblood 1
Music: Wild Horses, The Rolling Stones

sunday, sunday

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Bah bah, bah, bahbahbah bah.

Also, I’m a little hungover. Going to a movie premiere, then rushing to a bar to catch the last two-thirds of the World Series, only to have it go extra innings, and be stressful to the point of multiple Guinnesses (Guinnessi?), well, that’s too late a night for me.

The movie was better than expected; a local production filmed two blocks from us at an abandoned prison from the old days (built by William Lyon Mackenzie King). We walked past the filming every day, saw the crew and the actors and actresses hanging out, scared the shit out of my wife given that she’s got a monster phobia of jails (and snakes and heights).

My cousin’s day worked as a PA on set too, so more ties yet. We had to go.

It was cool to see the various things we’d glimpsed translated onto the screen – the weird partial fence they put up for an outside shot, the girl leaving the jail by a side door after “killing” the Jason-like monster, Jeffrey. The old Bronco and convertible they came and left in (which had a fake severed head on the hood).

Fun times, unique kills, but maybe dragged out a little too long. A touch more editing time might help it get that really tight feeling.

Kill, or be killed – the rule of editing.

Only what’s necessary; and no more. Something I’ve been working on for months.

(It’s called Fresh Meat, if you’re interested, coming to a film festival near you, maybe?)

Target: 1400 words
Written: 

Read: Quiet: The Power Of Introverts, Susan Cain
Comics: Bloodpool Special 1, Team Youngblood 21, Chapel v2 7, Youngblood v2 7
Music: Wiggle Diskette, They Might Be Giants

also

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It’s a fact that I’m not technically allowed to watch Bruce Lee movies, in that I get kind of hyped up and destroy college apartments.

But damn, man. So good. He beat up Jackie Chan and broke Chuck Norris’ neck (Chuck, who had a good thing going until he came out MAGA and now, no one thinks he’s invincible; he’s just another asshole).

Anyway, I should probably clean this mess up.

Target: 1300 words
Written: 1699 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Sloppy Seconds, Tucker Max (somehow even stupider than the other ones)
Comics: Tomb Raider v2 18, Lara Croft And The Frozen Omen 1-3
Music: What Hits!, Red Hot Chili Peppers