Comings and Goings

Blogger Vacation™ continues until I finish this goddamn screenplay.

BUT BUT BUT, as this also functions as the official band blog, I have to break in from time to time to give updates... This is one such time.

Item the FIRST! Our most recent pairing with Kid Congo and the Pink Monkey Birds was a rip-roaring success. We couldn't ask for a more lovable group of degenerate rock stars to pay visit to our humble midwestern burgh.

KCC was even nice enough to snatch a photo with Curvacia and myself on the Jackpot patio-- like so:

Item the SECOND! Allison at WILL YOU BE MY +1? was kind enough to send some love our way-- via a naughty-but-nice dissertation on our ode to 60's stripping housewives, NUDIE WATUSI. Her thoughts?

"Diving into the first verse is like a bite of a sundae after not having one for a while…a spoonful of delicious nostalgia.

“Now everybody knows/ the peppermint twist/ and you can do the alligator/ and it goes like this/ you’ve been mashing those potatoes/ since the day you were born….”

Harkening back to old dance crazes, it’s what you expected, and what you wanted. It’s also all one long pick-up line…that is, if the “nudie watusi” Manilow finally invites us all to do is what I think it is. (I think so.)"

We here at Spook Light Central couldn't agree more, obviously. Thanks for the kind words, Allison!

Item the THIRD! Witness some sonic noiseplay and stellar footwork from our recent gig at the 8th Street Taproom.

Now, some of y'all may have hear about this big Garage Fest that's coming to town next month:

Needless to say, some of us were a bit heartbroken over the lack of local acts on this bill, so we've assembled a few of our best and brightest for a pre-show at the Replay the night before... if anyone out there in bloggerland happens to be in Lawrence that night, stop on in and say "Hello!" We're always happy to make new friends!

Until next time, I remain...

--SCARY MANILOW!

Howl of the Nightmare!

Still on Blogger Vacation™ for a least another week or two-- trying to wrap up our MUSIC VIDEO, our NEW RECORDING, and get prepped for our second gig with KID CONGO POWERS! All very exciting things, and all things which, combined with the screenplay, are keeping my free time completely OVERBOOKED.

For now, please enjoy this awesome monster we made this summer. My daughter wrote it AND stars in it--I like to think she has a real future as a multi-media personality ahead of her (maybe as a late night horror host?)... Ladies and germs, I'm proud to present HOWL OF THE NIGHTMARE!!!!

Going, Going, GONER

And now, a seasonal, hot-weather update from THE SPOOK LIGHTS!

We're still mid-recording, chipping away at this thing slowly but surely. Despite some unforeseen delays in the creative process, I fully expect that we'll be mixing this thing by the time the leaves turn brown.

Meanwhile: is anyone interested in a copy of our 7-inch? Red vinyl, screenprinted covers, and two great songs for the low-low price of FREE! I've got a handful of them to give away, mostly because I just want to get the songs into circulation, so if you want a copy or know of a good place to send one, drop me a line in the comments and we'll work out the details...

In other news, Curvacia and I got our 4-day passes to this year's GONERFEST, which means our Autumn just got 100% more Memphis-y! It pains me to report that we'll have to bow out of our opening spot with the OHSEES that same week (SADNESS!!!!) -- but it's a small price to pay for seeing the holy trifecta of OBLIVIANS, NEW BOMB TURKS, and motherfucking GUITAR WOLF!

This will be my first experience with them since the death/ reincarnation of Bass Wolf-- but if the new lineup is even HALF as solid as the version I saw ten years back (when they rolled through town with THE CRAMPS, no less!), our money will be more than well spent.



If you haven't seen SORE LOSERS, the movie these clips were taken from yet, do yourself a favor. Director John Michael McCarthy toured this movie and its follow up, SUPERSTARLET AD through Lawrence a decade or so back... The idea of touring an underground movie through rock clubs like a band was a pretty inspirational concept to me at the time. His newest pic, THE CIGARETTE GIRL, looks pretty astounding as well:

PSS: If anyone is interested, here's a bunch of pictures from last year's Memphis trip-- a pilgrimage to see the almighty GORIES in action!-- CLICK HERE and browse away. Hopefully this trip is just as rocking but with less car-hitting-deer action.

Americathon (1979)

Also... THIS:

Another Deposit in the Swear Jar of Life

"A NOVEL NO PARENT SHOULD MISS!"

Picked this prime slice of summertime sleaze at the local Goodwill the other day. It was a reward to myself for enduring the outermost circle of Thrift Store Hell. Not only did we spend half an hour marooned in the checkout aisle behind a Sweatpant Collector (three carts heaping full), but I was also forced-- FORCED, I say!-- to use less-than-gentlemanly language in front of my daughter. Tragedy! So unnecessary, and yet so unavoidable. Allow me to dish the goods:

I could see her coming from across the store: snorting, spitting, wheezing with rage. Her thinning hairdo-- if you could call it that-- was dyed the same garish color as the letters on her t-shirt (which boasted an endorsement for some sort of evangelical hootenanny), and her false teeth were piss-stained with nicotine. As her shopping cart zigged in a zag-like pattern, I found myself studying her movements, pondering her motivations. What could be making her so angry? She stooped down to collect a pile of stuffed animals and hurled them into a motheaten recliner. How could anyone be so miserable in a place so filled with JOY?

I mean, true, there were masked children running rampant through the aisles, and true, there was nary an employee in sight-- I assume they were sharing reefers over a pile of scavenged treasure in the donation room-- but how was that any different than any other day at Goodwill? The mountains of debris, the absentee approach to customer service-- this is the kind of atmosphere I sign up for when I head down to the local thrift. Am I alone in thinking this is part of the appeal?

I was checking shirt sizes with my daughter in the middle of the store when her cart screeched to a halt behind us.

"Excuse me," she snarled-- not at me, mind you, but at my 8-year-old child. "I'd like to get through."

"Well okay, then!" I dramatically waved my arm to showcase the expanse of aisle beside us. There was more than enough room to go around-- you could have moved a dining set through there without much effort.

"I already done picked up your mess for you!" she barked nonsensically, as if she really believed that we had savaged the entire store. I tried to catch her eye, but her glare was firmly locked on my daughter.

Now, in my head, there exists a litany of erudite responses for just such an event. I've spent hours, even days concocting witty remarks and cataloging them for quick retrieval in the heat of battle. This could have been such a battle. Alas, my tongue is always quicker to the draw.

"Hey lady," I chirped. "GO FUCK YOURSELF."

I won't lie-- it felt pretty good. There was no way to contain my smile. This person, in her many guises-- bible thumper, shitty driver, prohibitionist, values voter-- has been ruining my day for the past few decades. Isn't it time I had the chance to ruin hers?

My daughter was smiling, too, although she obligingly covered her ears in the traditional "bad word" pose. Our opponent lurched away, aghast, sputtering with disbelief. I expecting her to run shrieking to the management, but the confrontation had deflated her. She spent the rest of her time moping around the store, no longer glaring or throwing things, just going about her business with dulled, automatic precision.

Double Whammy

HARVEY PEKAR.

TULI KUPFERBERG.

Enjoy.

Posted without comment:

My Life Is Indebted To Songs

I've been on a real soapbox in my personal life lately, bitching about everything from the unchecked police power at the G20 summit in Toronto (which has yielded both predictable and infuriating results) to Halliburton's ties to the gulf oil spill and BP's subsequent immolation of endangered sea turtles to the new youth mentoring program that Blackwater has set up in Afghanistan to the homophobic, religiously deranged aristocrat who will probably be our state's next governor and his racist, homophobic (and did I mention racist?) best pal who will be our next AG. Why should I ever smile again?

Because of this, perhaps?

Yes, CERTAINLY because of that.

Sorry to be such a Gloomy Gus. I'll be back soon with some really sweet Harlequin Romance cover scans, HONEST.

Return of Wolf Girl

As if last year's HAUNTED HOUSE FULL OF DEAD COPS wasn't proof enough, I think these pictures provide clear evidence that this child carries my DNA.

Mix the Dark Passions

I'm in a Bill Paxton kinda mood today:

La Resistencia es Inútil!

Went to see THIS last night:

And caught a brief glimpse of THIS GUY on a TV set within the movie:

Which led me to decide that I should share THIS with you:

Te gusta!

50 Cents and a Smile

First up: THE SPOOK LIGHTS were nominated for BEST GARAGE BAND in the 2010 Pitch Music Awards... Which is great, and could potentially be greater as soon as I figure out where to send people to vote. Details as they emerge...

Next: A couple of awesome grabs from the 50-cent bin at the new Salvation Army thrift here in town:

As with 77 SUNSET STRIP, I was unaware that GIDGET started life as a series of books. The non-Sally Field-esque model on the cover throws my mind for a loop. What kind of Bizarro-world GIDGET does this novel detail?

"I took one more look at the holocaust before I settled down and started the motor. Okay, you crazy mixed-up kid, I said to myself before I maneuvered myself out onto the highway, now you've been at a luau... and now you know what an orgy looks like."

HOLY SMOKES, MOONDOGGIE!!! I can't wait to see what happens in the rest of the story!

On that same note, who's up for some not-so-thinly veiled sexual shenanigans with THE MONKEES?

I also grabbed a YACHTLOAD of old Harlequin Romance books-- but that's another post for another time, my friends...

Tough On Hippies

Hey, remember that time our cat ran for mayor?

Also:

I finally tracked down a decent-looking copy of HUMAN HIGHWAY-- can't wait to watch it again! I haven't seen it since high school, when a particularly deranged friend of mine screened his dad's bootleg VHS tape for me.

The top review on Amazon pretty much sums it up: "I like acid, devo, and rock n'roll. I like this movie. That is all."

Slopping: A Consideration

Backhanded compliments from strangers have always ranked high on my list of hidden pleasures in life. Don't ask me why, because I honestly couldn't explain... I reckon I'm just a sucker for flattery, even in unintentional form.

Example: Whilst perusing the pulp spinner at a local used book store yesterday, I was approached by a dumpling-shaped cad in yellow denim. "You got a good look goin' on there, buddy," he snorted at me. "Sorta like some kinda BLUES CLUB thing, if ya know what I mean." There was something vaguely threatening about the way he paired those words... a hint of accusation, some formless offense taken at my peculiar pairing of shirt and pants... But any implications of violence whizzed right over my head, as I was already busily recording this moment for future reference. This was hardly my FAVORITE compliment of the year (that dubious honor goes to the frat boy who barked into my face over the Jackpot tapwell: "What, is it fuckin' BEATNIK NIGHT down here or something?"), but it was cause enough to celebrate.

So I snatched up my daughter and fled to the nearest pizza buffet to drown my good cheer in marinara and shame. Curvacia and I long ago nicknamed this place THE PIZZA TROUGH (imagine the tagline: COME SLOP YOURSELF... AT THE TROUGH!!!), and for good reason: the place is literally SQUIRMING with mewling piglets, stuffing their gaping maws with fistfuls of greasy carbohydrates. Just the thing I needed to boost my ego after having my good looks sullied.

What sets PIZZA TROUGH apart from its competitors is its willingness to experiment with the form-- at THE TROUGH, pizza is no mere vehicle for cheese to enter your bloodstream. It is a mode of self expression, bound only by the whimsy of its creator's hands. Case in point: MACARONI AND CHEESE PIZZA. Mounted on a pedestal, bathed in a celestial, warming glow. Whether I was conscious of it or not, I had always dreamed of a moment like this. My daughter and I were frozen to the spot in awe... The on-duty manager, as if anticipating this reaction (indeed, having possibly lived through this VERY SITUATION no less than a hundred times that same afternoon) dutifully shoveled a slice onto each of our plates, then sent us away with a knowing wink.

Long ago I devised a plan: open a restaurant catering to discriminate white-trash tastes, a midwestern FUSION CUISINE if you will. I have a list somewhere of all the menu items, which ranged from heartburning (ONION RING NACHOS) to ingenious (BISCUITS & GRAVY SWIRL BREAD) to the downright befuddling (BURGER-RITOS, the spiritual opposite of a TACO BURGER)... Never once did the concept of MACARONI AND CHEESE PIZZA enter into my mind. So it was with no small amount of professional envy (and hesitation, as well-- Hands or fork? Hands or fork? From-the-hip decision making has never been my strong suit) that I leaned forward and took that first, lingering bite.

EPILOGUE: Explosive diarrhea, my friends. Perhaps we were never meant to tamper with forces greater than ourselves.

The Not-So-Final Frontier

We hosted a bonus screening of IT STARTS WITH MURDER to raise money for a DVD release... The attendance was certainly more of a "quality over quantity" affair, which was fine with me. I'd much rather play to a small crowd of devoted friends than a packed room of ambivalent strangers. I'm just a NERVOUS NELLY like that!



(Special shout-outs are due to our pals LYDIA for her generous patronage and JOI for bringing the hype on Yelp! You guys are the bestest!)

Meanwhile:

In true Hollywood style, production has begun on our new movie before the script is even finished! Enjoy this bonus glimpse into THE GALACTIC JUNGLE...

Kiss My Giblets

A great commercial that my pal Lydia turned me onto-- it's like Banquet Dinners was trying to appeal to the Kuchar brothers set:

The American Friend (1977)

My absolute favorite Dennis Hopper film, probably the best of the Ripley adaptations, and one of Wim Wender's top three efforts. Dodge City is burning tonight, my friends.

Running With The Devil

One of the most endearing things about headset phones is their ability to transform the average passerby into a gibbering, post-schizoid comedy act. Take for example the jogger I passed on my way to the car wash yesterday... At first, I mistook her for just another athletically-clad, wandering psychopath, the type we usually find wandering near the campus of a major state university. Then I spied the telltale cords dangling from her ears and the awful truth was revealed... This was no mere battle with personal demons; it was nothing more than a typical phone conversation gone horribly wrong. How yawn-worthy. How pedestrian.

Still, having just spent the better part of three days reformatting my hard drive, I like to think she was screaming at some smug Microsoft tech-support geek. Go get 'em, tigress!!!

Anyhoo-- music for your midweek enjoyment:

ON WITH THE SHOW!

You gotta GET IN to GET OUT!

Quick! Someone loan me 1.5 million bucks-- THE AMITYVILLE HORROR HOUSE is for sale!!!!

Do me this one favor, and I promise to invite all of you over for a big slumber party-- just us Spook Lights, you friends, a family of irate ghouls, and JODY the fucking PIG.

Two Wheels Part Two

An addendum to my previous post about Bicycle Month:

Two Wheels and an Attitude

I recently purchased a car after going nearly ten years without one. Being the flashy motherfucker that I am, I droped a grand on a '92 Oldsmobile 88 Royale-- something I can feel good about rolling my peeps to bingo in. Burgundy exterior, burgundy interior, pre-filled ashcan, in-dash cassette player... all my needs are met. So, of course, the fucking thing is already in the shop.

As you may or may not know, I have a pretty stellar frankenbike (mentioned in passing all the way back HERE) which currently occupies several spots on the floor of our garage. This would be as good a time as any to reassemble those shameful pieces into a functional whole-- I can seize this opportunity to start riding again, to try and do something about this CAR GUT I've so recently acquired (seriously, now that I don't drink anymore, driving a car is the only excuse I have for carrying a spare tire). And, what with May being NATIONAL BIKE MONTH at all, fixing my bicycle feels like a CIVIC DUTY... who am I to swim against the moral tide?




The first recorded auto accident involved a car hitting a cyclist, which also occured in May-- having been clobbered by a few autos whilst riding in the past, I'd just like to pass on a little advice: WATCH OUT FOR CARS. MOST DRIVERS ARE IDIOTS AND THEY WILL NOT SEE YOU. If this advice fails you and you somehow walk away, HIRE A GOOD LAWYER and SUE, SUE, SUE. It's the American thing to do, after all.

Allow Me to Ruin Your Weekend

Thank you, CHRISTIAN NIGHTMARES, for alerting the world to this video. Thans to you, Joe Horn will never fingertap in vain!

PS: If the video isn't pants-pissingly funny enough, the attached comments are a comedy GOLDMINE. Please tell me this is all some kind of brilliant joke on the world- because if these people are REAL, and sharing the same OXYGEN as me, then I'm ready to check out at any time.

See My Thong, Bitches

I came across this flier last week and meant to post it IMMEDIATELY, but the past few days have really gotten on top of me and I put it off until now. It might be the most shining example of effete collegiate white-ness I've seen in a long time. Seriously, if ONE drunken, late-night mooning stirs you to author such high-minded nonsense, at least make an attempt to use proper punctuation and capitalization... unless, of course, e.e. cummings wrote this letter, in which case all is forgiven.

PS: "You need to read a book about how to look hot" is my new go-to insult for the remainder of 2010.

OBSERVE:



"this is addressed to one individual, then two groups of people:

-the woman who directed the statement, "you wanna see my thong, bitches?" at my sister and i on friday, may 7th at 1:31 am on the sidewalk of mass. street.

-the group of four-five women with her (cohorts).

-the general public

i hope this small effort makes it obvious how serious i'm considering the confrontation between myself and the director of that hideous statement. she did hike her dress in the next moment, showing me her explicit choice in undergarments. the rest of the situation was my shower of words, expressing the need for her to go home and read a book, then her rebuttal of, "you're ugly. you need to go read a book about how to look hot."

this is no time for us- first as people, second as americans- to be parading around our consumptive, idiot nature. you are entitled to fun, but you aren't entitled to misuse your drunken joy: by directing the word 'bitches' at women who haven't earned an insult, by baring your bottom, or by making yourself translucent with your rebuttal. your mind simply should not allow it. i've educated myself since graduating high school: i've managed to assimilate the facts of the world into my lifestyle. my plea is this: if you know anyone who would behave so, rip down this paper and show it to them. they've made an enemy."

The Queen is in the Closet (Camp Records, 1965)

http://www.mediafire.com/?mynfzznvzgj

Whack-a-mole

Tomorrow is National Masturbation Day. To get ready for the big event, here's a couple of helpful videos to PRIME THE PUMP.

Amateur Hour

STANDARD SUNDAY NIGHT CONVERSATION AT WORK:

"Do you have any specials tonight?"

"Yeah, it's two dollar wells."

"Really? Okay. I'll take one of those, please."

"Okay, so what do you want?"

"A well. One well."

"Um... What KIND of well? We've got vodka, bourbon, gin, etc."

"Oh, I didn't know what you mean. Do you have a well beer?"

"Our cheapest beer is Hamm's. You want a Hamm's?"

"Uh, what in the world is a HAM?"

"Hamm's? It's just a cheap beer in a can."

"In a CAN? Oh my gawd. That-sounds-REVOLTING! Can you make me a Limeade Martini?"

"A limeade martini?"

"Yeah, you know... a LIMEADE MARTINI."

"I have a lime. I have martini fixings. You mean, like a gimlet?"

"Oh, never mind. Just give me the fucking HAM."

"One Hamm's coming up..."

"Oh my gawd. What the hell is this we're watching? It looks horrible."

"This movie? It's called C.H.U.D. I brought it from home."

"C.H.U.D? What in the world is a C.H.U.D?"

"A Cannibalistic Humanoid Underground Dweller."

"Do you LIKE this kind of movie or are you just trying to be funny?"

"A little of both... That'll be one-seventy-five for the beer."

"Okay, hang on-- do you have change for two dollars?"

END TRANSMISSION.

From the Private Files of Mr. Manilow

As mentioned previously, we've been rearranging our humble abode in order to make our lives more manageable. This has involved sorting through mountains of accumulated clutter, discarding what we can (with no small amount of heartache), and finding more visible exhibit space for the rest. In the process, I've rediscovered some long-forgotten gems from the bowels of my collection... OBSERVE!

Photos of old drunks that I am convinced are actually myself and Curvacia after a bizarre time-travelling incident:





Hilarious postcards that I'm going to fill out and mail to myself from the beachfront hotel of some exotic tropical isle:





An awesome puzzle called "The Mods" that I picked up from a flea market and never had the heart to assemble:



And, of course, TRASHY BOOKS GALORE:




"AN EVENING READER," indeed!



"Laundering procedures in this book were developed in the Maytag product testing laboratory-- a complete, up-to-date LAUNDRY RESEARCH CENTER." Some people have the best jobs, I swear.



In my head, this title always reads as "Killer in DA House."






I also found a slew of amazing records backed up somewhere -- a PUTT PUTT concept album, anyone?-- which I promise to rip and post samples from as soon as this ordeal is through.

Cosmonautopia

Scenes from the the future, Soviet style:

Still Kicking...

One of these days, I'm going to get back to regular posts, I swear. And by "regular posts," I mean, "updates about something other than my band."

In my defense, the last month and a half of my life has been occupied with family visits, extended stays in the local medical research facility, and a massive home-base rearranging project (which yielded great results in the FORGOTTEN JUNK department-- more on that later this week).

Until this weekend, I leave you with THIS:

And THIS:

As you were, comrades.

(For some reason, Youtube doesn't embed any smaller than this anymore, so a third of the screen has been clipped by Blogger. D'oh! If you double-click and go straight to the source, you should be able to see the whole thing).

The End is Nigh

I haven't had a drink in almost four months now, but the stress of having a seven-inch release AND film fest deadlines ON THE SAME DAY might push me back over the edge. Stay strong, Manilow!




Wish us luck tonight! I'll be back this weekend with a full report.


PS: Today is New Year's on "old calendar"-- according to the tarot, the first day of the Fool's journey, TRUMP 0. Here's to taking a leap of faith!

Slab Rat

This week I'm selling my health for medical research. And what is my health worth, you might ask? This time around, 1700 smackaroos-- two stays of four nights each, which isn't so bad when you consider the free food*, bedside cable television, and unlimited internet access... It's almost like a quick stay at a low-end resort, the kind of resort where they stick blood-draw catheters in your arm, bundle you in group dorms with hardened criminals, and impose a strict LIGHTS OUT policy every night at 11.

*A quick note on the aforementioned "free food": we're testing an experimental diabetes pill. Since none of us in the control group actually HAVE diabetes, and forcibly infecting us with diabetes would be somewhat unethical, they're making us to eat hospital-style junk food to compensate. In the words of our study director, "Take my word for it. I'm not gonna lie to you. It's a whole lot of mayonnaise." Anyone who knows my feelings towards mayonnaise (ugh) will understand that I'm REALLY earning that check this time around.

I picked up this record recently and it is the OPPOSITE of mayonnaise. Two things I love combined in one complete toothpaste. Ladies and germs, I give you HUGO MONTENEGRO covering NEIL DIAMOND:



http://rapidshare.com/files/120734171/hugo_montenegro_-_neils_diamonds.rar

PS: Curvacia recently picked up a USB turntable for our mutual birthdays-- expect a FLOOD of esoteric thrift-store weirdness to be heading your way in the coming weeks!

Someone threw a party, someone threw a FIT!

For my birthday, I want to gain residence in a world that is a cross between THIS:






And THIS:





Now... who's gonna make that happen for me?

Checking in

I walk. I breathe. I live! And here's the proof:



This is my suit for tonight's gig with Kid Congo Powers. It was kindly donated to me by the brain trust at our local Social Service League thrift store. Curvacia and I should get their logo tattooed on our bodies in some visible location-- they've contributed so much to the look of our band and our movie that they might as well be a sponsor.

Life is hectic. A month away from the blog has given me some time to sort through my projects. I'll be back on a regular basis within the next week or so, provided some asshole customer doesn't shut my big mouth for me during my St. Patrick's bartending shift. Until then, here's a movie for the weekend:




EDIT: It was AWESOME. Not only one of the best shows we've ever played, but one of the best shows I've ever SEEN. If you haven't made time to check out the Pink Monkey Birds, pencil it into your day planner for YESTERDAY. Seriously-- Kid Congo is a consummate showman and a perfect gentleman through and through. I wish his band would play in town every night, it was that good.

Also, I took my cut of the money to the antique mall this afternoon and scored a copy of GOD BLESS TINY TIM on vinyl. Does life get any better than this?

Dale Hawkins, RIP!

Fare thee well, sir-- if I were still a drinking man, I'd pour one out for you.

Spring Fling

Shows! Shows! Shows! The winter is drawing to a end (although you'd never know it by stepping outdoors) and it is finally time for the Spook Lights to step out of hiding. We have new songs to play, a new seven-inch to sell (although I still haven't come up with any artwork for the cover yet), and new shows scheduled for your viewing pleasure.

Our self-imposed hibernation was supposed to last until the end of March. Every year we come back on April Fool's Day and pick some unlucky local bastards to open for us(in this case a new band called THE MOUTH BREATHERS)... But we decided to cut our break short this year when the chance to play with KID CONGO POWERS presented itself to us. What, you think we'd just say "NO" to an opportunity like that?

Kid's newest project, THE PINK MONKEY BIRDS (check out their album DRACULA BOOTS right HERE) are playing at the Jackpot Music Hall on March 13th, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't ready to drop trou for ANYONE who would give us a chance to open this gig. Luckily, my integrity was never compromised-- all it took was a couple of quick hone calls to seal the deal.



(It turns out that Kid makes his way to Kansas often-- his drummer is one-half of the brain trust behind THE HARVEYVILLE PROJECT, where the Pink Monkey Birds have recorded BOTH of their albums!)

Honestly, though-- I'm still armpit-deep in the new screenplay, so this movie thing is really first and foremost on my mind. The story is all mapped out for me, I have most of my actors lined up many of the locations scouted. All I need is a decent camera and someone with a knack for constructing miniatures and I'll be well on my way. And when I say "a knack for constructing miniatures," I don't mean DUNGEONS AND DRAGONS figurines... I mean something like THIS:

Science MADNESS!

Here's an old chestnut I happened across by sheer accident:




That's me in the back row-- it's hard to tell from the quality of this scan, but my costume that year was an effective hybrid of FREDDY KREUGER, HERBERT WEST, and JASON VORHEES-- I remember that I discovered the movie REANIMATOR that summer and immediately sculpted the face of Jeffrey Combs into my mental totem pole of horror icons. The bloody lab coat in this picture survived nearly a decade's worth of "mad science" themed Halloween costumes-- I kept it all the way into college, where it was eventually set on fire.

I just realized that I've lost count of how many mad science costumes I've worn through the years-- not just on Halloween, mind you, but for ANY occasion when a crusty lab coat and a set of glowing test tubes might come in handy... This is starting to feel like a photo gallery in the making. Stay tuned to this page for any further developments.

On a related note: my Freddy glove in this picture is totally homemade. Unable to afford one of the fancy plastic ones from the toy store, I cut razor shapes from a cardboard cereal box, spray painted them silver, and glued them to an old brown gardening glove. THAT'S dedication to form, my friends. When it comes to deviant lifestyles, I was definitely born into this one.

Connection: MISSED!

Someone posted THIS as a "Missed Connection" today, and it is OBVIOUSLY about Curvacia VaVoom:

"Basically, I love seeing you around town! You walk around like you own the place, like you're the rock and roll queen of the universe, which you are. This is good. My problem is that I don't see you anymore. You're not serving your community of admirers the way you used to. Maybe you could just spend Saturday afternoon doing some window shopping? Some drinking? Maybe star in more movies, play more shows? To be absolutely clear, if you set the hair up Really Big and wear The White Boots, you would be doing great service to your community. Come on, have a heart! :)

So basically I know the answer to this too, but on the off chance: I WANNA BE YOUR LOVE SLAVE. I can play guitar a little myself, and I could be tuning yours. Getting drinks for you is not too menial for me. How about helping carry things? Do you need a listener? More? I'm happy to help the cause in any way possible. The cause being: YOU!! Because--and I know I'm not alone here-- I can tell that besides being the queen of the rock and roll universe, you are a Great Person to Be Around. "

Seeing as how whoever-it-is referenced the band AND the movie, and seeing as how those are both projects that we very publicly undertake as partners, I can only assume that this person knows she and I are...um... AFFILIATED.

So how should I respond to this? Does this guy sound like potential stalker to anyone else? I don't know whether to be paranoid or angry right now. Should I reply to their post as a means of luring them into a trap? Or should I just laugh it off? I'm interested in hearing some thoughts from the void...

Truer Than True Stories

Taking a moment to think about Messrs. Holly, Valens, and Bopper on the anniversary of their fated plane ride (which was yesterday, actually-- even in the blogosphere, I remain fashionably late)...



I've always felt that The Big Bopper got shafted after his death-- how come no one ever made a schmaltzy Hollywood biopic about him? It's the part Dan Ackroyd was BORN to play!

Anyhoo, "The Day the Music Died" holds an especially terrifying place in my fractured subconsciousness, and not just because it sucks the life out of any listener within a thousand yard radius. I first heard it at my grandparents' house during the summer between third and fourth grade. I was hanging out in the creepy spare bedroom with my cousin when it came on the radio. My cousin was describing a book with a funny title to me-- HELTER SKELTER, I think it was. He had just finished reading it, and being in his early teens/late adolescence at the time, was thoroughly freaked by the horrific violence described within.

"You could hear them screaming over a while away!" he said. My grandparents' house was in the country, at least twenty miles from the nearest town-- I realized with a shudder that NO ONE would be able to hear us screaming all the way out here.

"They cut out her baby and wrote HELTER SKELTER on the walls in blood!" The walls in the spare room were clean and white, and I could see in my mind how clearly any blood-messages would show up on them.

"The MANSON FAMILY," my cousin said. "It's a true story, and they never caught all of them-- they could still be killing people RIGHT NOW!"

Of course, I had to sleep by myself in the spare room that night. I never closed my eyes, not once, I just laid under the covers and cried and listened to that chorus repeat in my head: "This'll be the day that I die! This'll be the day that I die!"



I didn't even know what the lyrics were about until much, much later. I overlapped the song and the story for so long that they became inseparable to me-- it was always a song about the Manson murders, as far as I was concerned.

On a (mostly) unrelated note: TUESDAY WELD is a Druidic high priestess, and the plane crash was rigged as a sacrificial offering to her. Or so some people believe. How many more lives will end before her reign of terror is finally stopped?

The Cries of a Lonely Anachronism

As an adult, I am hopelessly out of touch with modern technology. There were moments in my youth when I strived to be on "The Cutting Edge," but those days, like the digital age, have rapidly passed me by. In an era when most people get their news from The Internet™, I still find myself opening a print newspaper and frowning at the advice column. Admittedly, I have to walk farther to steal one since my neighbors gave up their daily subscriptions many years ago, but I think the point remains: I have failed as a citizen of the new millennium.



Evidence: I still use a land line. I don't have a cell phone, and I pride myself on the fact that I have never sent nor received a "text message." It is my private hope that I will hear the BEEP of my life-support system flatlining before ever hearing the BLIP (or worse, feel the BUZZ) of an incoming message from anyone, ANYWHERE. Especially while I'm at lunch, or worse, in a MOVIE THEATER. It's tiresome enough having to erase your voices from my answering machine when I get home from work, people-- I certainly don't need to be troubled with your lives while I'm out in PUBLIC.



I maintain that part of the reason I have been more successful creatively than many of my peers is because I don't waste my time "downloading apps" or whatever it is these kids do nowadays in lieu of collating zines or conjuring mix tapes or digging through thrift store donation bins. If there is something on the World Wide Web more life-affirming than any of these activities, I certainly haven't seen proof of it. Have you?