Owwie-zowie!

So after successful navigating a car trip back from Philadelphia through the not-quite-giant storm (to see the Flyers beat up on the Maple Leafs - thanks, honey!) I managed to fall down in my front yard this morning chasing Norton.

I twisted my back, so I've spent most of the day either on the couch or in bed.

So, feeling lazy, I thought maybe I'd post the coolest thing I'd seen recently, this a capella tribute to the "Star Wars" movies and John Williams' movie theme music.


Only to discover there is, as usual, more to the YouTube than meets the eye.

I don't remember where I first saw this thing (one of the blogs I read, I'm sure), but I thought it was awesome.


Turns out the guy, Corey Vidal, is just lip-synching, and the real song is by these guys, Moosebutter, who apparently gave the dude the go-ahead, never dreaming it would become an Internet sensation.

For more on the story, try this video news report:

Civil War music (anachronistically)

Marisa recently introduced me to a band called The Decemberists and we got tickets to a concert at the newly renovated Wellmont Theatre in Montclair.

So, of course, the concert rocked, and ever since then, I've been on a Decemberists kick.

M had told me before the concert that all of their songs tell a story, such as the legend of the crane wife.

How excited was I to discover they have a Civil War song?

And if perhaps - the son of an English professor, after all - I prefer the "Romeo & Juliet"-esque stylings of "O Valencia!," I nonetheless think "Yankee Bayonet (I will be home then)" is probably my favorite just because of the story.

Have you hit "play" on the video above? Catch the lyrics, then keep reading...

So the song tells the story of a widow of the Confederacy, who true love lies "far from the hills of the sea-swept Carolinas."

It always makes me think of Dorsey Pender, whose near-daily letters to his devout wife were one of the great love stories of the war - before they abruptly ended, far indeed from his North Carolina home.

Other Decemberists songs I recommend heartily include "Shanty for the Arethusa" and "The Mariner's Revenge Song."

Eh, I can't resist. Here's "O Valencia!"

I laughed, I cried, I almost peed

I saw this - as an aside, no less - over on Boobs, Injuries and Dr Pepper, which usually cracks me up, but for different reasons.

14. Do you know they had a headline the day Ike Turner died and it said, "Ike Beats Tina Turner To Death"? I mean, seriously? Who let THAT one slip?

And of course, it was in... the New York Post.

Maybe only headline writers (like me) will find it funny. Or maybe not.

• National Ledger
• Gawker
• Next Things

Stop the bus and turn the radio up high...

I'm going back to the Vermont well one more time, if you please...

You may recall the other week, in my Thanksgiving political rant I cited my latest fave band, Grace Potter & the Nocturnals.

Well, if there's a song I like even better than the rockin' "Ah Mary," it's the rockin' "Stop the Bus." Not as political, but just as fun.



Anyway, now that you're done listening, maybe I should clarify. I picked up on Grace Potter from Marisa, the Queen of Random Indie Music herself.

Vermont is one of her favorite places, and the Nocturnals are out of that state. She was playing them en route last month, when we took a little long-weekend road trip up to Burlington.

Tragically, the only live music we heard was a show at Higher Ground headlined by the overrated and underwhelming Matt Pond PA, who we both wanted to like but unfortunately couldn't. The show was cheap, though, and the opening act, a local band called The Year's Best was actually really entertaining.

On the other hand, two things more than made up for that.


The first was the discovery of the delightful Danforth Pewter, whose jewelry M absolutely adored.

You may have noticed she got some for Hanukkah, and let me tell you, guys, not only is it striking, it's a steal. Many of the pieces, including the one above that she just loves, are in the $25 range.

(Danforth folks, send coupons for your very own Mookie J. Monkey endorsement, in the right-hand rail!)

The second highlight was meeting up with the Healthy Hippie herself, Taraleigh, whose sainted mother is M's "Work Mom."

Not only is Taraleigh very cool, she publishes a fascinating newsletter (with a mag in the works) on good health (duh) and general hippie-ness (double-duh). M even merited a mention in a recent issue, though sadly I wasn't healthy enough or hippie enough to get in.

Anyway, if healthy or hippie-type thinking is your thing, check her out. Hey, you'll know if you're the right audience. Jin.

M talks about retiring to Vermont someday. I could dig that. Burlington's a nice town with some fine shopping, good food, clean air... and Division I ice hockey, by God.

Plus, the environs include (all of which we saw in a measly four days):

• Ben & Jerry's
• Cabot Cheese
• All the fruit wine you can drink...
• ...And then some! (Try the Strawberry Rhubarb!)
• Green Mountain Coffee
• Plus, the world famous On the Rise bakery

So maybe someday, once the kids are grown and I can cash in my pension... it'll be breakfast at Uncommon Grounds on Church Street, followed by some shopping at the Crow Bookshop, then a glass of Grand View wine after dinner... and on to the game! Go Catamounts!

Poll results: For the curious, the final tally was 3 for "Write more, ya bugger" and 1 for "Knock it off with the damn monkeys." So don't say I don't give my fans what they want. This is three posts in like 24 hours. None about monkeys. The rest of you, hey, vote next time.

New label: It's high time I added a "travel" label for those posts that involve me going somewhere (other than Hawaii, Miami or Scotland, of course.

Defining rhetoric

Happy Thanksgiving, everybody!

I've had a lot to be thankful for this year, not the least of which is meeting the love of my life.

Anyway, on the way home, we were listening to my latest favorite song, Grace Potter & the Nocturnals' "Ah Mary."

And it had me thinking...

If you haven't heard the song, check it out now, listen to the words as carefully as you can, and then move on to the rest of the post.



Pretty brilliant metaphor, huh?

So I'm at a post-Thanksgiving weekend where I - a conservative Democrat - am about the most right-wing person, and we're talking about politics.

Don't get me wrong, I believe that if we're going to fight a war, we ought to fight to win it. You can't, as I said, make friends with the people you're trying to kill. You win first, then make friends later.

Think of World War II. I had a teacher who once told me the Japanese won World War II forty years later, with the VCR. Know how they did it? Because after they lost the Big One, they basically were banned from having a military.

All those billions of dollars we spend on national defense?

The Japanese spent 'em taking American technology and learning to make it smaller, cheaper and cleaner. That's why Detroit invented the automobile, and nowadays everybody drives Toyota hybrids.

But I digress.

The thing is, you take a song like "Ah Mary" and you listen, you'll find there's a certain love of country in there, to go with the anti-war theme, almost as if you can't help but love her even as she burns you.

And it had me thinking.

The biggest beef I have with the current administration is this: They've turned what defines the country upside down.

The Bush II White House has taken "my country, love it or leave it" to the nth degree. And to my way of thinking, that's ass-backwards.

Openly objecting to the government is, in many ways, the highest form of patriotism.

Wrapping yourself in the flag to hide your faults, on the other hand, is the highest form of treason.

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.

That's the First Amendment. You know, the one that comes even before the precious right "to keep and bear arms"?

Notice the freedom of speech? Peaceably assemble? Petition the government for redress?

Yeah. You don't like something about America... you're allowed to say so. And isn't trying to make America better really patriotism at its finest? Change, in the name of progress?

But to sweep basic human dignity aside, to sweep aside the freedoms this country is built on, and to justify it by covering yourself in red, white and blue - which is to say, abusing the symbol of those very freedoms, and abusing the memories of all those who hold that symbol sacred, who have fought and died for it, who fight and die for it this very day...

Calling that patriotism is adding insult to very real injury.

Calling that patriotism warps and twists the very definition.

Calling that patriotism is anything but patriotism. It's a mockery of patriotism. It's flat-out offensive to those who really do love this country, and not the high-and-mighty oil dollar or the power of office.

Calling that patriotism is sick. And wrong. And a hallmark of this administration.

So sing on, Grace Potter. Your song is lovelier and more thought-provoking than anything I heard the other night at Democratic debate.

I know I normally stay away from politics, but when I think about all the things I'm thankful for, it always comes back to my living the American dream.

I love my country, right or wrong. I love everything it's done for me, and for my family. But that doesn't mean it can't be better. If we don't move forward, on human rights, on the environment, on patriotism, we're just spinning our wheels.

And that's nothing to be thankful about.

It's all over but the cryin'

"AMERICAN IDOL" SPOILERS HERE. I THINK. BEWARE.

Well, according to my new MySpace friend Haley Universe, it appears my foray into "American Idol" fandom was short-lived.



According to HU, poor Haley Scarnato is going home, long legs, short skirts, dubious voice and all. And I never even got through to vote for her. I hope it's not my fault. I tried. I actually called the hotline for the first time in my life, only to discover that you apparently have to call right after the show. Which ends long before I get home from work.

I think I'll go back to my policy of only liking reality shows that end in fistfights.

Haley, we hardly knew ye.

But Mookie J. Monkey will gladly pitch your upcoming album here in exchange for coupons/samples/a free CD/etc.

I've got to be more discerning in my MySpace friends, don't I?

So over on MySpace the other day, I got a friend request from the Haley Scarnato Fan Club.

I had no clue who she was. But as I friend just about anybody who isn't a spammer, I said, sure, friend, sign me up.

And that's how I discovered she's on "American Idol."

A show I never watch.

But now, after reading much of New Jersey's beloved Antonella Barba in the paper, I at least figured this Haley girl must have been mentioned somewhere along the way. (We have a pretty darn good TV writer.)

Sure enough, I looked her up, and the consensus appears to be:

1. She's an awful singer.
2. She's got great legs and slutty clothes.
3. She's an awful singer.
4. Reason #2 gets her votes.

I asked the resident "AI" expert at the office (she runs the pool) and sure enough, the consensus was:

1. She's an awful singer.
2. She's got great legs and slutty clothes.
3. She's an awful singer.
4. Reason #2 gets her votes.

Now, thanks to the wonders of YouTube, I've examined some Haley performances.



1. Bad singing? Check.
2. Short skirt thing? Check.



1. Bad singing? Check.
2. Short skirt thing? Check.

You know what, between the long legs, vacant expression and shaky vocals, I'm thinking this girl could be a poor man's Jessica Simpson. And if what I hear about at least one other contestant is true (he/she is the worst one on the show), then my girl's got a shot at the Top 5, and that and the legs ought to be good for a record deal, right?

(Wait a minute... There's already a poor man's Jessica Simpson, isn't there?)

Well, I may have a woman, but I'm still a man. So I'm voting for the girl with the long legs. And my new MySpace friend. Besides, a guy with Becky Baeling's "Becstasy" on his iPod isn't in much position to criticize bad singing.

So I say: Go Haley!

Everybody else is doing it...

Aric and Stewie did "best of 2006" posts, so I stole Freak's blog title and thought I'd do my own.

What can I say? I'm a lemming.


So, "with no ado whatsoever," here's my best of 2006.

(Much like the Oscars, it's going to be heavily weighted toward the end of the year... sue me.)


Best book: I'm going to go with "Dark Harvest," by Norman Partridge, from Cemetery Dance. A really terrific little horror thriller.



Best book, Civil War: "The Generals of Gettysburg," by Larry Tagg. A series of short, but thorough biographies of every brigade-level commander on up, North and South, who fought at the Civil War's signature battle.



Best CD: The "Snakes on a Plane" soundtrack. You might be able to tell if you watch the "My lousy taste in music" display below, but I'm completely addicted to Cobra Starship's "Snakes on a Plane (Bring It)" single.


Best experience: The "Dead Hunt" premiere, back in June, and the public premiere, at HorrorFind in August. That's me and my proud parents at the June show above. (Rest in peace, Don. I hope I did you proud.)



Best movie, in general: "The Descent," the follow-up to "Dog Soldiers" by Neil Marshall. Great, scary, scary movie. Best one of the year on several horror fans' lists.



Best movie, in theater: "Snakes on a Plane," which I saw the same day as "The Descent," in New York. I differentiate because "SoaP" was just an experience to be enjoyed. "Descent" is a better film. "SoaP" was more fun.


Best score: My PlayStation 3, which I got more or less by blind luck. Blu-Ray, baby! I'm in the high-def DVD wars! Score!


(Photo by Hawaiian Fire)

Best vacation: Do you really have to ask? Hawaii, baby!

You know you're...

You know you're a guy - and a guy who grew up in the '80s - when...

The outfit I order DVDs from put up a preorder for an A&E Biography disc titled "Biography: Tiffany."


My first thought: Why the hell is A&E doing a biography of Tiffany? What has she done lately? (Besides pose for Playboy - no, that link's not to the pix, pervs! - in early 2002.)


Oh, it's this Tiffany, the guy who founded Tiffany & Co., the jewelry place.

Jeffrey Loria is an idiot, and other observations

OK, NORMALLY I WOULDN'T call a man with more money than God an idiot. It seems poor form, and probably on the surface flat-out incorrect.

But he is. And here is the proof.

See, Jeffrey Loria owns the Florida Marlins. And today, the team fired its manager, ex-New York Yankees player and coach Joe Girardi.

From what I can tell, Girardi is something of a jerk, or at least as brusque as his buzzcut.

But he took the youngest team in baseball, with its lowest payroll, within a dachshund's hair of a .500 record and a playoff berth. He might be National League manager of the year. With that team, he should be in the running for manager of the decade.

For that, he got fired the day after the season ended, basically because the owner, who ripped the team apart for the sake of something green and with dead presidents on it, and the GM, who played along, don't like him.

That's. Just. Stupid.

I'm not a Marlins fan, so the heck with 'em. I know (of) Girardi from his days with the Yankees, and he'll get another job (possibly with his hometown Chicago Cubs, another team in need of a lift) and land on his feet. Probably more than can be said for the Marlins. Frankly, no offense to the new manager, I hope they stink up the joint next year.

It would serve Loria right for letting his ego take precedent over his fans' chance to see a winning team.

And now for something completely different...

I saw the coolest thing on my flight back from San Francisco this weekend. I was in the middle seat on the red-eye, but the window shade was open in my row, so I happened to be up as we flew near... a thunderstorm.

So we were in a cloudless part of the sky, but off to the left, there was a city and high above, light flickering amid the clouds. Then, BAM!

Lightning. Striking the city.

I don't know where we were, but they must have been having a heckuva storm. I was transfixed. Bolt after bolt, crystal clear, flashing from the clouds high above to the city lights below.

I love flying when you can see the cities and other sights below. And this was one of the most amazing things I've ever seen.

Another random catch-up observation from my vacation week...

OK, I'm on the BART system going to the airport - stunningly shiny and clean compared with NJ Transit - and I nearly smacked the lady sitting behind me.

Why?

Well, I'm minding my own business, reading my book, and scratching an itch on the back of my head. See, I have a little bump or something on the back of my head, about the size of a bad zit, maybe, and inevitably, when I get my hair cut, it gets nicked by the clippers. (It's under the part of my hair I get buzzed short.)

So it's always a bit of a scab and, as a result, itchy.

Suddenly, the lady behind me asks if I need help! Like, not that she's grossed out or exactly offended (I realize it's sort of poor form to sit there rubbing an itch, but it's not like I was flaking dandruff into her coffee or something), but like, in a crazy way that suggests either she really did want to help, or maybe it was some breach of BART policy to scratch in public.

I didn't even get my head all the way around to stare daggers at her, when she hopped out of her seat and fled the car.

What the hell?

"Mortal Kombat" and more...
One more week to "MK: Armageddon." I'm getting twitchy with excitement. Really, really twitchy. So twitchy I'll probably buy the video game guide, something I never do, and have to keep resisting the temptation to call the store I preordered from and ask them when it'll be in. Every day. ... "The Descent" and "Snakes on a Plane" will hit DVD at the end of December and start of January, respectively. I can't wait for that, either. Hey, patience isn't one of my virtues. ... Oh, and sorry for the weird width on "My Lousy Taste in Music" below - one of the songs on the "SoaP" soundtrack has a super-long name. I can't figure out how to fix it, and since iScrobbler isn't working with my latest version of iTunes and my iPod, well, you'll just have to bear with me.

Oh, yeah, I forgot...

For those who might be wondering why "My lousy taste in music," at the bottom of the page, hasn't updated in ages... well, my new car doesn't have a tape deck, so I haven't been using my iPod on my commute.

It does play MP3s, so I burned a mega-CD and I've been listening to that. But I heard Apple's FM adaptor blows - from somebody who works for Apple, no less - so I'm trying to figure out what to do.

And since I don't listen to much music when I'm not commuting (just ask my lonely little iDog, Morgan Jr., which I never use)... nothing for the Scrobbler to update.

Canto-pop goes the weasel!

OK, here's the big music post I've been plotting for days now. It probably won't live up to the hype.

It all started a few days ago (duh) when I got my hands on an album by a group called the Twins.

It's what they call Canto-pop - pop music (duh) out of the HK/China region, presumably in Cantonese (thus the Canto-).

(It's not like I speak Cantonese. I'm not even Chinese. I'm Vietnamese. And I don't speak that, either.)

The Twins are a duo of these two adorable Asian girls - I know, redundant - named Gillian Chung and Charlene Choi. I'm not 100% sure which is which, but I'm pretty sure Gillian is the taller, more alto-y one, and Charlene is the smaller, squeakier one. (You understand, they look absolutely nothing alike, unless you're one of those neanderthals who think all Asians look alike.)

So how did I end up listening to this, you ask? Well, a couple of years back, I blind-bought a DVD called "The Twins Effect" at Poker Industries, primarily because of the box. The box was made up like a book with a real giant metal bat on the cover.

It was some kind of vampire action movie, an import, and Stewie and I checked it out, and it pretty much rocked.

The one thing we couldn't figure was the name.

So we did what any self-respecting geek would do, and hit the Net. Presto, the Twins are a pop group. Thus, in Asia, "The TWINS Effect." In the U.S., they called it "The Vampire Effect." And cut like 20 minutes out of it, the idiots.

I figured at some point, I'd want to hear them sing. I was figuring them to be sort of Britney/Mandy/Tiffany-esque, and I wasn't too far off.

I don't think. It's not like I can understand a word they're singing. I think I caught a "dim sum" in there somewhere, and maybe a "Yao Ming." Even the song with "Texas" in the title is in Chinese. Dubya would freak. I mean, I should've guessed. It's not like the movie's in English.

And, having seen them act - there was a "Twins Effect 2," too - and heard them sing, I can now say...

They're no Ekin Cheng.

That's a joke. I've never heard Ekin Cheng sing. He's another star of "Twins Effect," and another Canto-pop singer. Apparently, the movie is full of 'em. I wouldn't know. The only actor I've ever heard of in any context beyond the movie is Josie Ho (who plays Ekin Cheng's vampire-hunting partner), who is a daughter of Stanley Ho, a big casino magnate in Macau.

Stanley Ho named two of his daughters Daisy Ho and Pansy Ho. I shit you not. That's almost as bad as the little Ho boys I went to high school with.

But they were Vietnamese. And unlike some OTHER Vietnamese at Bloomsburg High School, they could speak with a Vietnamese accent.

Lost in translation: These kids were named Tung Ho and Dat Ho. I couldn't make that up. They never got the joke, which I suppose is better off.

(Aside, how to put your foot in your mouth: I was talking with a co-worker whose wife is Vietnamese, he was asking me about if I'd ever eaten Vietnamese food. I said no, and cheerfully related the tale of how some of my fraternity brothers in college went downtown, and came back with business cards from "My Dung Vietnamese Restaurant." I'm not kidding. So I tell him this, and he says, "Well, you know, in Vietnamese, the d is pronounced y, so it's (young)." I said, "How do you know that?" And he said, "Because that's my wife's name." Mmm. Skechers taste good. At least he pointed out he's been telling her for years to either get why people snicker at her, or just go by "Dee.")

Where was I?

Oh, yes, the Twins.

I must say I did actually enjoy the music, but I can see how it's fluff-pop, especially if the lyrics are all about love. Not that I can tell. But it's not going to get me to pursue more Canto-pop.

Let's face it, I have crappy taste in music. But not that crappy. Give me a good '80s rock ballad any day over two skinny Asians chirping something I can't understand.

On the other hand, if you like vampire movies, I recommend "The Twins Effect." Try to find the uncut import. It's actually a whole lot of fun - and judging from reviews, it's a lot more fun if you don't know what an annoying cultural phenomenon the Twins are. Of course, then you won't get the title.

(And now that I think about it, if you've read this far, I guess it's too late for you not to know what an annoying cultural phenomenon the Twins are. Of course, they're someone else's annoying cutural phenomenon.)

Hey, you want to know why to see it? Simple: Two cute Asian girls - I know, redundant - wire-fu-fighting over a stuffed teddy bear. You don't get that in a Jackie Chan movie.

Oh, wait. Jackie Chan is IN "Twins Effect." Oops.

So is Karen Mok, of "So Close." And the other Canto-pop guy whose name escapes me. Hey, it's a good cast, what can I say?

Links:
• Twins, "actors, singers, idols of millions"
• "The Twins Effect"
• "The Twins Effect" packaging - cool, huh?
• Twins: "The Missing Piece" album
• What? They could've said it...
• Ekin Cheng, co-star
• Josie Ho, co-star
• And sister Pansy Ho - a reformed Paris Hilton type - and her casino
• Somebody named Dung, explaining it
• And Edison Chen (the one whose name I couldn't remember) - whose look in "Twins Effect" may be responsible for my latest haircut

All together now:

"All around the random blog post,
the munkee chased the weasel.
Munkee thought was all in fun...
Canto-POP goes the weasel!"

Down with the Lounge-ness

Today I heard one of the funniest albums I've gotten in ages, "Tuxicity" by Richard Cheese and Lounge Against the Machine.

You may have heard some of his music if you've seen what they call the "f***ing huge" movie, "Dawn of the Dead" (the remake).

Lounge Against the Machine is a cover band - and they cover metal, rap and alterna-rock rearranged as lounge music.

No, I'm not kidding.

"Down With the Sickness," the song that played over the montage-of-boredom scene in DOTD, was originally done by Disturbed, and if you listened to their version (over the closing credits) you'd know exactly what I mean.

It's so ridiculous, it made me laugh hysterically all the way to work (I was playing the CD in the car).

Richard Cheese has about four more albums, and I'm tempted to buy them all. The only problem is, if you haven't heard the originals, the lounge versions aren't half as funny. But if you have...!

The Cheese stuff reminds me of the worst CD I've ever heard: Pat Boone's "In a Metal Mood" cover album. Very similar music, the difference is, Cheese is trying to be funny. Boone wasn't.

When I reviewed that Boone CD, I remember writing that when I played it out loud, Michelle burst out laughing and Morgan (RIP, puppy!) started whimpering.

We passed that Boone CD around the office for weeks, until somebody either lost it or (yikes!) took it home for keeps. It was just disgracefully bad, these big-band/lounge covers of metal songs like "Paradise City" and "Smoke on the Water."

But Cheese just has this tone about him that tells you from the get-go that he's being a goof, and his cheerful swearing or random riffing (when covering Britney Spears' "Crazy," he basically winds up pointing out she's hot and he'd do her) just add to the surrealism. I mean, a lounge version of "Baby Got Back"?

Strange how it's all how you take yourself, isn't it? A fine line between parody and just straight-up humiliation. It's no wonder Zack Snyder (director of DOTD) fought to use it.

Links:
• Richard Cheese and Lounge Against the Machine
• "Dawn of the Dead," the 2004 version
• Pat Boone's fall from grace into metal
• An interview with Zack Snyder, which mentions the DOTD music

I can't think of any witty closer here. I miss my dog.

Oh, for a muse of fire...

You may recall from one of my earlier (earliest!) posts that my friend Blakeslee, a folk-rock singer of some small note and no small talent, owed me an EP...

Well, I got it in the mail the other day, at last. The new version of "The Ballad of Anna Mae," my favorite Blakeslee song, is faster and yet more personal. It loses some of the haunting feel of the original, but makes up for it by being a complete change of pace - a nice complement to the other piece.

But more interesting, at least for me, was the note enclosed that was a sort of apology to the recipients of the EP for the delay in the sending. And part of it remarked on how some personal issues had affected Blake's musical career, from the standpoint of losing one's way and finding it again.

Now, by virtue of my semi-regular correspondance with her, I know some little bit of what happened in her life and while I don't feel it's appropriate to share, suffice it to say I can understand something of what she went through, with personal troubles affecting one's creative spirit for the worse, or possibly better.

When I went off to college, I fancied myself a poet, as so many angst-ridden teenagers do. I had received some notice in high school for my abilities in both fiction and poetry, and in fact chose my college based on its offering a major in creative writing, which I was determined to study against the advice of my parents, who as I think I've established, are always right. (Dammit!)

And in college, I fell in love. In that innocent way you only get to do once. And Michelle became my muse, in many ways.

My poetry themes changed from self-doubt and loss to love and defiance, strength to conquer all found in green eyes and a whirl of auburn hair.

I wasn't a very good poet, and my grades probably reflected it. I got B's in poetry, mixed A's and B's in fiction and pulled fairly steady A's in screenwriting. But there was a certain joy in a quick love poem, dashed off on an e-mail to the girl I loved.

Stuff probably fit for Hallmark cards or Rod McKuen, but that's not the point. The point is, I believed in it.

And then, one day, she was gone from life. And with it went my poetry.

I was trading poems with a co-worker a while back, discussing our mutual interest in writing, the variances of our style, and so forth, and I realized, I've written no poetry since college. None, or at least none completed. Meanwhile, mind you, I've written a few short fiction pieces, two complete horror movies and countless reviews, columns and other more traditionally journalistic endeavors.

But all I could muster up in the way of poetry was stuff from college, mostly raw and unrevised.

Then, one day, on a vacation, a poem came to mind. So I wrote it down - try doing this while driving in a rainstorm, not easy! - and actually thought it was pretty good. But I was back to angst, and loss, and then the moment was gone. I've written no poetry since.

Reading Blake's note, thinking of how her own loss shook the world of her songwriting, made me think I'm not alone in this.

They say all great artists must have suffered in their lives... but I wonder why. My suffering didn't improve my art, at least as far as poetry is concerned. If anything, it ended that art. Maybe that speaks to my lack of greatness. But what I know is, my inspiration for my poetry left with Michelle. Maybe she was my muse, as least for that part of my life. Maybe someday, I'll find another one, and like Blake, resume where I left off, no one the wiser unless I tell them so.

Funny thing is, one of the best poets I knew in college had suffered. (Her mother had died young.) And her suffering shaped her art. And her art was great. So I guess it works both ways.

But I have no desire to write poetry. Not that the world will miss it. I just think it's funny that it's gone. I still write - I'm tinkering with a short play, at least in my head - and with "Dead Hunt" (obligatory shilling: coming this fall on DVD from Timewarp Films!) I've certainly achieved, or at least am I on the verge of achieving, my greatest commercial success as a writer. But I guess I miss the poetry. My co-worker has a wife and two adorable daughters. He has his muses.

I guess I have none.

And I guess it doesn't matter. Blake is back, and that's good. And I'm a better screenwriter than poet anyway. No great loss to the world. Just to me, I guess. And I'll get over it. I think.

Links:
• Blakeslee's site, including MP3s of both "Anna Mae" tracks
• CD Baby, where you can buy her CDs (Go buy some - some asshole stole her car, so she needs the money!)
• Carnegie Mellon's creative writing center

I should point out I do actually write a little bit of what technically is poetry, as I have been dubbed the poet laureate of my department at the newspaper (the editor who won a poetry contest is probably the poet laureate for the paper, but I didn't much like his stuff from what I read). But most of what I do now is just business-oriented limericks and haiku, most regrettably too obscene to use as drop-heds on stories. I made my reputation that time a big Jersey company held its annual meeting on Nantucket, if you get my drift.

There once was a blogger on Taurus
who surrendered to his inner chorus,
tried to write verse,
each word worse and worse,
'til his audience cried out, "You bore us!"

The screenwriter bumped off his starlet,
since he'd already killed hero and harlot.
Wrote a chase through the mud,
left her covered in blood...
After all, that's why he named her Scarlett.

Try to write haiku.
Can't remember the format.
Thank God for Google.

No obscene words yet.
No truth in advertising?
No rhyme for "asswipe."

This is what I do with my $100,000 degree. I told you my parents are always right. Hopefully the movie will make up for this.

Nostalgia lives, and Jenny Craig weeps

While I warm up my sore throwing arm, allow me to take you on a tour of my (metaphorical) glass house.

When I was a sophomore in high school, I was 15 years old, stood 5-foot-8 and weighed 110 pounds. When I was a senior, I was 17, 5-foot-9 and 148 pounds. By the time I was 19, I weighed 163, and I'd stopped growing taller. At 21, I was 190. At 24, I was 205. I stayed at 205 until 28, when somehow I ate my way up to 238 one holiday season. When I stopped being able to see my Little E when I looked down, I went on a diet and got back down to about 210.

The point is? Most people gain weight as they get older, whether they want to or not. Hey, there's a reason I'm joining a gym in Hillsborough, and it's NOT because I like working out.

So now that all of that is on the record, let me get to my point:

I've found a new TV show to rubberneck at: NBC's "Hit Me Baby 1 More Time," which apparently is named for the Britney Spears song (she's Mrs. Kevin Federline to you Teen Beat readers; she used to be a singer, or at least a lip-syncher).

And based on a column by one of my newspaper's TV writers, I'm not alone in staring, half-amused and half-appalled, at this show.

Hey, "The Contender" is over, and "Trading Spaces" sucks without Paige Davis. I've got to tape something.

The basic premise, for you who haven't seen, is this: Five musical acts, mostly from the '80s and unseen since, sing a hit, then cover a current pop song, with the audience picking a winner. Despite the thought that these has-beens might need the cash, the winner gets only a donation to a charity of its choice.

Musically speaking, I've enjoyed the show. I've known all but one or two of the songs performed, and in many cases, have it floating around on a CD somewhere. And to my surprise, I've known most of the current hits, too, probably the result of listening to far too much Top-40-Crap radio on my commute.

It is fun, though to see how some of the covers differ from the regular songs, like a hip-hop guy covering Britney's techno-dance "Toxic." Although perhaps my favorite song covered thus far (four episodes, I think) was Five for Fighting's "100 Years," and Sophie B. Hawkins just BUTCHERED it.

(Aside, my formative musical years run from about 1985, when I joined the Columbia House cassette tape club at 10 years old, to about 1997, when my music-loving ex-fiancee walked out of my life. I buy maybe a half-dozen CDs a year, and my last purchase was the 10th anniversary acoustic version of Alanis Morissette's "Jagged Little Pill," which falls into my musical prime, as it were.)

But really, the most morbid aspect of the whole affair isn't thinking about how old *I* have gotten as realizing how old *they* have gotten.

And old, generally speaking, means fatter and balder. Well, the women aren't balder.

But I remember Mike Reno, lead singer of Loverboy, as a Canadian sex symbol (now that's an oxymoron) in tight leather pants and a headband. I liked Loverboy then, I like them now, and frankly, they can still rock out pretty well.

But they seemed light a band member, and my guess is, Reno ate him. He was HUGE. Like bloated huge.

Hell, Tiffany was in Playboy about three years ago, and SHE looked chunky, even if her implants were falling out of her outfit.

And there was some guy who had some seriously huge hair back in the '80s, and he came on stage in a ballcap with a ponytail out the back. And he wouldn't take off the hat. Evidently all that hair migrated to the back of his head.

The worst part is, they take pleasure in showing the performers in their prime. You know, young, thin and energetic. Then they bring them on stage as the host, Vernon Kay, intones, "and now, (he or she) is back!" And it's like, DAMN! what happened to you???

By the way, Paige Davis gets fired, and Vernon Kay has a job? He's the most annoying Englishman this side of Tony Blair. I've taken to fast-forwarding through his bits. Hit this one more time, doofus, then SHUT THE HELL UP.

But hey, to the performers' credit, they're musicians, and most of them can still sing. Likewise, almost all know how to play to the crowd, and they must be doing something right, because NBC keeps showing lots of scantily clad young women waving their arms in the front row while mouthing the words and swaying to the beat. Although, oddly enough, the later performers have been winning and it's the vocalists who've tended to win (well, Vanilla Ice isn't really a vocalist) rather than the rockers (who usually go first to get things started with a bang)... me, I prefer rock, but hey.

What it comes down to is, for this child of the '80s, the show is just fun. Even if it's goofy, cruel, morbid fun. Props to NBC for keeping me amused in a post-"Contender" world.

• "Hit Me Baby 1 More Time," on NBC
• I don't know if any of this is true, but it mocks that stupid Vernon Kay and is therefore good
• A random '80s nostalgia link
• Britney, baby, one more time
• And Jenny Craig, because we all need it (though I, for one, still have my HAIR)

Yeah, that's two posts in one day, but it's after midnight, so as far as I'm concerned, this counts as tomorrow's. Or today's. Whatever. You know what I mean. Now where'd I put "The Contender" on my DVR...?

Acting on impulse

In the CD player in my car, I've got a CD by a band called Antigone Rising.

It's actually quite good, and really growing on me, especially considering I bought it on a whim.

At Starbucks.

At the paper, we had a story slated on how Starbucks has begun selling exclusive CDs, and this Antigone Rising was the first one. Anyway, we ended up pulling the story (you know, when you say "all the news that fits in print," some stuff doesn't fit), but a couple of weeks later I was in Starbucks and I saw it on the rack.

So I bought it. I'm an impulse buyer. And this time, it appears to have paid off.

I like female vocalists and this is a nice sort of guitars-and-vocals group that can play fast-and-catchy and slow-and-soulful. The one song, "Michael," about a friend dying in a car crash, just evokes all kinds of sad, nostalgic memories.

And all of that reminded me of my best impulse buy ever: "Ice Station."

"Ice Station" is a novel by an Australian named Matt Reilly, and remains quite possibly the only book I've ever bought off those racks of paperbacks they have at the checkout counter at Barnes & Noble.

What can I say? I was stuck in line, and it had Antarctica on the cover. Now I love books about Antarctica and the Arctic, so I picked it up and read the back. And it had a Marine Recon team traveling to a base in Antarctica. I was sold. I mean, what did I have to lose? It was only a paperback.

And it wound up being my favorite book, possibly ever. And Reilly has become one of my favorite authors, and opened up my reading realm to the genre of what I think of as modern action science-fiction.

So, today, in honor of my impulse buying tendencies, I thought I'd list some of my favorite authors. I love to read, and I just got the newest books from two other favorites, the team of Preston & Child and James Rollins. All in all, a bunch of good reasons for a list-of-links day! (Note this list is most definitely not all-encompassing.)

Modern action science-fiction:
• Matt Reilly, author of the marvelous "Contest," "Ice Station" and its two sequels, and the brilliant "Temple."
• Douglas Preston & Lincoln Child, the authors of "The Relic" and more, and the most skillful interweavers of characters from book to book that I can think of.
• James Rollins, who covers similar themes as Reilly, but with a very different style, in "Amazonia," "Ice Hunt" and more.
My new interest, horror fiction:
• F. Paul Wilson, creator of Repairman Jack and the Adversary Cycle.
• Brian Keene, author of the stellar not-quite-zombies book "The Rising" and its sequel.
And something completely different:
• Jinxworld, home of Brian Michael Bendis, the author of my favorite graphic novels, the "Powers" series.

Other links:
• Starbucks
• Antigone Rising
• Barnes & Noble

And, for today's postscript, I'm going to honor the stars of my favorite reality show, "The Contender," which is being rebroadcast on CNBC. Here's hoping it finds a home for season 2! (Is it fair to call it my favorite reality show? It's the only one I watch, unless you count the home-deco stuff on TLC.)

The Final Four:
• Sergio Mora, "The Latin Snake," the winner and still champion...
• Peter Manfredo Jr., "The Pride of Providence," who came in unbeaten and the best fighter, and left twice-beaten and the second-best fighter.
• Alfonso S. Gomez, the bronze-winning underdog with a strong chin and stronger heart.
• Jesse Brinkley, another highly ranked fighter who suffered two losses en route to fourth.
The rest of the Elite Eight:
• Anthony Bonsante, "The Bullet," my favorite fighter... an animal in the ring who doesn't have a Web site I could find.
• Joey Gilbert, smart and sneaky, who proved his heart late in the game.
• Ahmed Kaddour, "Baby Face," cocky, grating, undefeated coming in, and cocky, grating and twice-defeated going out.
• Ishe Smith, "Sugar Shay," fierce and bitter; if the show had a villain, it was Shay or his rival, Ahmed.
And the rest:
• Jimmy Lange, who got tricked by Anthony and then upset by Joey.
• Juan De La Rosa, "El Gallo Negro," which must be Spanish for "doesn't want to get hurt" - the teen-ager won, but quit.
• Tarick Salmaci, "The Arabian Prince," whose boxing comeback came up short.
• Brent Cooper, "The Disciple," who got decked by Anthony after the betrayal.
• Miguel Espino, who wept after losing the closest decision.
• Najai Turpin, "Nitro," who tragically committed suicide before the show aired.
• Jonathan Reid, the "Reid Dawg," a veteran with a checkered past and huge family.
• Jeff Fraza, the "Hellraza," who never stepped into the ring, but got knocked out by, of all things, chicken pox.

I wish I were a music video director.

This is my first post on my first blog. Not much of an introduction, but I've finally found the inspiration to write this stream of consciousness blog. My grammar won't be perfect, because I'm not at work, but hopefully you'll enjoy anyway.

My inspiration? Music.

I have had three friends in this life who are published musicians. Is "published" the right word? I'm a writer, so I'm going with it.

The first was Paul Tabachneck. I haven't seen Paul in years, but back in college at Carnegie Mellon, he had a band called Stone Soup. I think there's another band called Stone Soup, but this isn't them.

Paul and I were editors together on the Tartan, which is CMU's college newspaper. Anyway, after Paul quit as a section editor, he wound up on my copy staff. The proofreading lounge at the Tartan had this huge, world's-most-comfortable couch, and every now and then, Paul (and Victor, another proofreader) would put on a little impromptu concert.

The song he used to play was called "She the 4th (Andrew Got Another Lover)" and it's probably a joke only CMU students would get (the Andrew part. you had to be there). Anyway, one day, a while after I'd left CMU, I was visting Pittsburgh, and I found Stone Soup's "Self-Titled Debut" in the local music section of a CD store. So, seeing the title of the song (which I'd never known, but knew it was the right song) I bought the CD and I still mix that track onto driving music CDs.

I hope Paul's off making music somewhere. His stuff wasn't really my taste in music, to be honest, but that song was great. I'm sure you'll hear more about my misadventures at CMU in the future. If I keep this blog up.

My second friend who makes music is Heather Shayne Blakeslee. Blake and I went to school together in Bloomsburg, and she went on to be a folk-rock singer in New York, and then Philadelphia. I was the valedictorian in the Class of '92, by about 00.01 of a percent, and she was salutatorian. I'm not sure who is more embarrassed about that.

Anyway, Blake chased down her dream, God bless her, and she's got two CDs out, one called "Bones" and the new one called "Treon's Cut Rate."

I'm lousy with music, and I don't rightly know if it's fair to call her stuff folk-rock, but that's what I do. Think Indigo Girls, or Melissa Etheridge. If you like them - and I do, despite myself - you'd like Blake.

My favorite Blakeslee song is "The Ballad of Anna Mae," from Bones, and eventually remixed onto an EP she promised to send me but hasn't yet. "The Ballad of Anna Mae" would make a killer frontier-farm-Cold Mountain-horse-and-cotton-dress-and-hat kind of music video. I mean, killer. I wish I were a music video director. I've got the entire thing in my head. It would be absolutely killer, with horses and cowboys and this clearing in the woods and a ghost!

Blakeslee kicks ass and should make it big. She's got a beautiful voice, and "Snowing in Stroudsburg," off TCR, always makes me think of home, even if home is Bloomsburg and not Stroudsburg. Close enough. What a beautiful song. I think it's replaced "Opiates and Envy" as my second-favorite Blakeslee song.

Remind me to tell you the story of how I went to see Blake play in the lesbian bar.

Anyway, the other reason I'm writing this is because I just got another CD from a friend. This one's by a guy named Justin Timpane, who's an actor in the movie I'm working on with Timewarp Films. More on that in another post.

Anyway, Justin did the soundtrack for the previous film from the company, "Crawler," and he gave me a copy today (no, the movie's not out yet). Apparently, he's done a bunch of CDs, but I don't know - I only met him on this film.

Anyway, the first song on the soundtrack is a song called "Crawl." (Yes, I started three graphs in a row with "anyway," sue me. I'm not at work, I can write however I feel like. I told you this was stream of consciousness.)

Back to "Crawl." I'm going all-caps here for emphasis.

WORDS CANNOT DESCRIBE HOW MUCH "CRAWL" KICKS ASS.

I put the CD on in my car at 5 p.m. and by the time I turned it off an hour and a half later, I'd played "Crawl" about a dozen times. (It's about 3 minutes, I'd guess.)

This song kicks ass.

It's perfect. I love it. (Well, almost perfect, I wish the whispered words at the end were a bit louder; I'm a writer, I love lyrics.)

This song kicks so much ass, I'm jealous I had nothing to do with "Crawler" because I want to play this song for everyone I know and I wish I could say it went with my movie. But it doesn't. I wish my movie had a song that cool.

Look, let's be honest, I've got bad taste in music. I own CDs by Tiffany, Debbie Gibson and Richard Marx. I shit you not. But I know good music when I see it, and this is good music. This is more than good music, this is great music.

By the way, of the three names dropped above, two have appeared naked in Playboy. Aren't you glad Richard Marx isn't one of them? Hey, "Hazard" kicks ass. But "Ballad of Anna Mae" is better. Same idea, though, just less pop kitsch and more haunting beauty.

Back to "Crawl." How can I describe it? I don't know. I don't know shit about music. It's rock, pseudo-metal, the kind with lots of guitars where you turn up the volume, open the sunroof and just let it play while you bob your head and thump the steering wheel.

It made me think of Bolt Thrower, except Bolt Thrower was insanely disappointing and this was just so frickin' awesome.

I turned up the volume at every intersection, on the off chance a record producer would pull up next to me in Princeton, roll down his window and say, "Who is that?" And then I'd tell him, because if there's any justice in the world, some record producer is going to read this and take my word for it and check this song out and make Justin rich.

(Make Blake rich, too, but it's a whole different kind of music.)

OK, here's how to think about it: I got to this bar called QXT in Newark. It's a Goth bar, and my friends Sari and Luisa take me. I have half a mind to take "Crawl" to QXT and try and bribe the DJ to play it because it would fit right in there. It's dark, pounding rock, the kind I love.

Perfect driving music. This one's going to be on a lot of mixes of mine.

By the way, one more reason I wish I were a music video director: Play "Crawl" and just film the Goth girls in plaid skirts and purple hair dancing to it at QXT. Oh. My. God.

And oh, my God, does this song kick ass. I can't even think of anything better to say, and I've got a degree in creative writing.

I've got to talk to Justin about his other CDs. The soundtrack to "Crawler" is great - even if I didn't get through it all because I listened to "Crawl" so much - but instrumental stuff doesn't make good driving music, and that's when I listen to music, in the car.

If the rest of his CDs are like "Crawl," I'll buy every one. Yes, I figure he'd probably give them to me for free, but I'm not above paying money to support my friends. Ask Blake.

And yeah, when my movie hits DVD, I'm making my friends buy it. There's money at stake there! I only get paid if we make a profit! (insert smiley face here)

So, to sum up: Record producers, e-mail me! I've found the perfect song. Between Blake and Justin, maybe I can have a finder's fee? I could use the money.

Links (no, I don't have a clue how to make HTML in this thing):
www.heathershayneblakeslee.com
www.timewarpfilms.com
www.timpane.com

I'm not editing this or spell-checking it. Screw that. It's my day off.