Everything I know about the difference between good guys and bad guys I learned from my childhood adoration of professional wrestling. Here's the difference: good guys are only good guys because they don't get caught cheating. Bad guys are bad guys from the start and don't hide the fact. That's why I always cheered for the villains. At least, they were honest. Nothing bothered me more than a face pretending to be a hero and getting away with it. Plus, the heels always made for the better characters. Think about it, who was more entertaining to watch? Nikolai Volkoff singing the Soviet national anthem and the Iron Sheik spitting at America, or Ricky Steamboat doing whatever it was he did? And what did he do? Look pretty? I can't remember. The bad guys left an impression. And remember, bad guys are always bad. They never hide it. Good guys who do bad things are fucking scumbags. For argument's sake, let's ignore those of us who are lawful neutral and in-between.
The same principle can be applied to real life. An ideal husband is a worthless piece of shit once he starts cheating. Doesn't matter how wonderful he appears to be beforehand. And that's all it would've been. A façade. You don't cheat if you're good. I don't want excuses. You don't do it. Period. End of discussion. A police officer oversteps his authority? A criminal. A ballplayer cheats to win? Doesn't deserve the rewards. Politician lies? Shouldn't get the votes or hold office.
But, the line gets blurred when it comes to soldiers, doesn't it? That's what I learned from watching American Sniper last night. Clint Eastwood's film is excellent. Not as artsy as The Hurt Locker but more engaging. Bradley Cooper earns his Oscar nomination with his portrayal of military legend Chris Kyle caught between his duty and his moral obligation. Soldiers do bad things but they're not fucking bad guys. They're heroes. Those who send warriors into battle are the real villains. And, I think this goes for both sides. Sure, the film inaccurately portrays all Muslims as Islamic militants. But, a careful analysis reveals that we're only seeing their world through a limited-omniscient narration. We only know what the soldier knows. What he's taught. What he learns. This even applies to his relationship with his wife. All Kyle hears is … you need to come home, we're your family, I can't take this anymore … so that's all we hear. There's no depth to his wife's character. That's not stereotyping, that's storytelling. We only know the world through our protagonist. If that's what Kyle believes, we can't be mad at the movie. Only at the system that created him.
On a side note, the real life Chris Kyle had a rather public dispute with my all-time favorite wrestler Jesse "The Body" Ventura. Here's a quick synopsis: Kyle claimed he punched Ventura in the face for badmouthing Navy Seals. Ventura denied the accusation. He was a Seal during the Vietnam War, after all. Seems ridiculous, right? Ventura sued Kyle for defamation and won. Kyle's widow (Kyle was murdered a couple of years ago) is appealing the ruling. Ventura wants more money now because he believes the controversy (pronounced Jimmy Fallon's way, of course) was used to publicize Kyle's book and subsequent blockbuster movie. Make sense?
I find the whole case disheartening. Another tragic twist in another impossible situation. Kyle serves four tours in the Iraq War only to be killed by a crazed veteran. What are the chances? I wish more effort and financial resources were directed to help embattled soldiers. Too many ruined lives are forgotten. That's your ugly.
Sunday, February 8, 2015
Sunday, February 1, 2015
Super Bowl Sunday
Like most Americans, I love Super Bowl Sunday. It's a national holiday. Except for Thanksgiving, more food is consumed today than on any other day of the year. The earliest memory I have of the Big Game is from thirty-six years ago. The Cowboys tight-end drops a pass from Roger Staubach in the end zone, giving the Steelers the victory in Super Bowl XIII. I remember my dad jumping up and down in triumph. "Wait a minute," I said. "You're a Giants fan, Pop! Why do you give a shit?" (I realize I'm putting curse words in a child's mouth, but I also grew up with an older brother who told the neighbor's dad "Go fuck yourself!" when asked what our dad would say if told we were cursing in the street.) "That's why I care!" Pop replied. My dad was big to me then. Still is. Had plenty of tattoos. Still does. I figured I'd better agree with him. I still do. I hate the Patriots now, but the idea is the same. You cheer against your favorite team's biggest rival. No matter who they play. You must despise them! We're Americans. We compete! We root against our enemies with every ounce of our souls. I'm a Jets fan. Pathetic, I know. The only thing I can brag about is that if it weren't for Joe Namath, there wouldn't be a Super Bowl Sunday. But forty-six years later, no one really gives a shit about Broadway Joe. Or about the Jets, for that matter. But I'm rooting for the Seahawks today (of course).
I haven't told you why I love the Super Bowl yet. It's for the same reason I love Christmas and every other holiday. It brings families and friends together. OK, this year's a bust for me. I don't have anyone to watch it with. My wife's on a cruise to the Bahamas, my daughter wants to play football (not watch it), and my son hates New England like I do (see the pattern?). Fine. I get it. I'll get over it. I don't want to watch that fucking team again anyhow. (The commercials do show some promise, however - those Doritos sneak previews online are hilarious! And there's Katy Perry, of course.)
For me, life would be nothing without Joe Montana (downs the Bengals with forty seconds to go), Marcus Allen (bulldozes the Redskins defense), Bradshaw to Stallworth, Favre and Elway scramble all over the field, Da Bears!, Scott Norwood kicks wide right (holy fuck!), David Tyree's miracle catch buries the Great Satan's perfect season (second greatest moment in New York sports history behind Billy Buckner letting a certain ground ball pass through his legs). Even if I hated some of those guys, I love them all. Why? Because for better or worse, they played and I watched with the people I love. Even with my mom, who complained on Sundays about how much she hated football yet stuffed us with trays of lasagna every Super Bowl and screamed at the TV alongside the rest.
Three years ago, my dad visited for Super Bowl weekend. Together, we watched Eli and the Giants rally to beat the Patriots for the second time. After the game, I collapsed in my wife's arms, bawling as hard as I did when each of our children was born. "Are you that happy the Giants won?" she asked. "No," I sobbed. "I'm just happy I got to watch the game with my dad."
I haven't told you why I love the Super Bowl yet. It's for the same reason I love Christmas and every other holiday. It brings families and friends together. OK, this year's a bust for me. I don't have anyone to watch it with. My wife's on a cruise to the Bahamas, my daughter wants to play football (not watch it), and my son hates New England like I do (see the pattern?). Fine. I get it. I'll get over it. I don't want to watch that fucking team again anyhow. (The commercials do show some promise, however - those Doritos sneak previews online are hilarious! And there's Katy Perry, of course.)
For me, life would be nothing without Joe Montana (downs the Bengals with forty seconds to go), Marcus Allen (bulldozes the Redskins defense), Bradshaw to Stallworth, Favre and Elway scramble all over the field, Da Bears!, Scott Norwood kicks wide right (holy fuck!), David Tyree's miracle catch buries the Great Satan's perfect season (second greatest moment in New York sports history behind Billy Buckner letting a certain ground ball pass through his legs). Even if I hated some of those guys, I love them all. Why? Because for better or worse, they played and I watched with the people I love. Even with my mom, who complained on Sundays about how much she hated football yet stuffed us with trays of lasagna every Super Bowl and screamed at the TV alongside the rest.
Three years ago, my dad visited for Super Bowl weekend. Together, we watched Eli and the Giants rally to beat the Patriots for the second time. After the game, I collapsed in my wife's arms, bawling as hard as I did when each of our children was born. "Are you that happy the Giants won?" she asked. "No," I sobbed. "I'm just happy I got to watch the game with my dad."
Thursday, January 8, 2015
Elvis Is My Religion
Today would've been The King's 80th birthday. For revisionists, Elvis is easy not to like. He stole black music. Didn't write his own songs. Couldn't act. The list of insults goes on. Billboard even went so far as to change the start of their record-keeping to August 4, 1958, which cheats Elvis out of his first years of achievements. His best. And guess where Elvis was at that time? In the army. For two years. If you think any of those criticisms are more important than what he accomplished, stop reading. I'm here to celebrate Elvis. His records won't last forever, others will outsell him, but nobody will ever be bigger.
"Before Elvis, there was nothing." - John Lennon.
Elvis' creation story is well-documented. Summoned to a meager studio in Memphis after having paid to record a few emotive demos, Elvis can't get any of the ballads (Dean Martin's, mostly) right. While on break, he and the boys bust loose on an amped-up version of an old blues song and get what they're after: a hillbilly who can sing and play with soul. For a year and a half, he tours the South, shouting his rhythm and blues and driving the teenage girls wild with his hips, before he's picked up by a national record label. Nobody has seen or heard anything like him. He floods the world. In the 60's, The Beatles are the Second Coming of Elvis. In the 80's, Michael Jackson is Elvis Born Again.
"Hearing him for the first time was like busting out of jail." - Bob Dylan.
Completed by his return from the army in 1960, the sanitizing of Elvis actually starts when he's moved to television. The black and white images don't do him justice. Not when he's wearing flashy pink and purple outfits and they're only willing to show him from the waist up. Not when the girls can't tear apart the stage. (During live shows, the musicians kept time by watching Elvis wiggle because they couldn't hear anything.) Throw in a subdued performance aboard a Navy ship, have him wear a tuxedo and sing to a nonplussed hound dog, and the electricity he exuded on stage (they called him the Atomic Powered Singer before the Pelvis) diminishes. But the damage is done. The sea of pop music has parted ways for rock'n'roll and the sexual revolution.
"He came along and whispered the same dream in everybody's ear." - Bruce Springsteen.
Elvis opens the door for white teenagers to buy black music. And their parents hate it! That's his biggest accomplishment, really. Ask Chuck Berry or Little Richard. The late James Brown (the only non-family member granted a private viewing at Elvis' funeral) said the same. Elvis starts singing "race" songs and paves the way. He was an integrator. Listen to "If I Can Dream." The most passionate sermon I've ever heard. He shares Martin Luther King's dream. "In the Ghetto" is another prayer. If only he'd taken artistic control more often, maybe he wouldn't have suffered so at the end.
"If it hadn't been for Elvis, I don't know where popular music would be." - Elton John.
Elvis played rock, country, soul, gospel, blues, rhythm and blues, a little funk, and even opera. We all know his hits. His parables. They're popular for a reason: the aggressive backbeat, the uninhibited rhythms, the fervent vocals. We also know that you have to sift through plenty of duds to find his best. Here are some less familiar essential songs that capture his brilliance as a recording artist.
"Is It So Strange?" (1957), "Wear My Ring Around Your Neck" (1958) - What Elvis does best in the 50's with both ballads and rockers: injects them with the holy spirit.
"Reconsider Baby" (1960) - Elvis returns from the army and produces the best studio album of his career - Elvis is Back!. This is the bluesiest of the bunch. The first Elvis song to feature a sax solo.
"One Broken Heart for Sale" (1962) - After hitting the Top Ten with 24 consecutive singles, Elvis peaks at #11 with this smooth pop song that reflects his more elegant sound of the early 60's.
"It Hurts Me" (1964) - Co-written by Charlie Daniels and buried as a B-side, this power ballad trembles with desire and desperation.
"Guitar Man/What'd I Say?" (uncut studio version - 1967) - Pure energy. Jerry Reed's finger picking supports a relentless country rhythm.
"Lawdy, Miss Clawdy," "Trying to Get to You" (live television versions - 1968) - Why everyone wanted to play the guitar. Unrestrained covers from his 50's catalog.
"Power of My Love," "Wearin' That Loved On Look" (1969) - Elvis gets lost in the desert and tempted by Hollywood. When he returns home, he produces the second best album of his career - From Elvis in Memphis. These funky, soul grooves underscore his haunting, scratchy vocals.
"That's All Right," "Mystery Train/Tiger Man" (live stage versions - 1970) - Elvis builds his temple in Las Vegas with live covers of his earliest recordings. Just as raw but even faster. The musicians and backup singers are his unapologetic disciples. Elvis at Sun is a must-have collection for all rockabilly fans.
"Where Did They Go, Lord?" (1970) - The gospel according to Elvis. A sorrowful tale of lost love.
"The Sound of Your Cry" (1970)/"We Can Make the Morning" (1971) - Elvis recorded more songs in Nashville than anywhere else. These wanton gems lure us with tender verses and then pound us with their driving choruses.
"I Got a Feeling in My Body"/"If You Talk in Your Sleep" (1973) - Two funk songs laced with gospel and recorded at the famous Stax studios in Memphis. Soulful propulsion.
"For the Heart" (1976) - The best country song from his famed Jungle Room sessions. Sexy, smooth abandonment. Elvis has come full circle.
It's not so much that I love and miss Elvis (as much as I could love and miss someone I never knew), it's that I feel cheated. I was only eight years-old when he died and didn't get to witness his impact firsthand. I remember hearing "Moody Blue" on the radio. That's it. Kinda sucks. Not perfect, he embodied everything I believe in: self-expression, desire, compassion, originality, generosity. I go to church every time I hear his voice.
"Whatever I will become will be what God has chosen for me." - Elvis Presley
"Before Elvis, there was nothing." - John Lennon.
Elvis' creation story is well-documented. Summoned to a meager studio in Memphis after having paid to record a few emotive demos, Elvis can't get any of the ballads (Dean Martin's, mostly) right. While on break, he and the boys bust loose on an amped-up version of an old blues song and get what they're after: a hillbilly who can sing and play with soul. For a year and a half, he tours the South, shouting his rhythm and blues and driving the teenage girls wild with his hips, before he's picked up by a national record label. Nobody has seen or heard anything like him. He floods the world. In the 60's, The Beatles are the Second Coming of Elvis. In the 80's, Michael Jackson is Elvis Born Again.
"Hearing him for the first time was like busting out of jail." - Bob Dylan.
Completed by his return from the army in 1960, the sanitizing of Elvis actually starts when he's moved to television. The black and white images don't do him justice. Not when he's wearing flashy pink and purple outfits and they're only willing to show him from the waist up. Not when the girls can't tear apart the stage. (During live shows, the musicians kept time by watching Elvis wiggle because they couldn't hear anything.) Throw in a subdued performance aboard a Navy ship, have him wear a tuxedo and sing to a nonplussed hound dog, and the electricity he exuded on stage (they called him the Atomic Powered Singer before the Pelvis) diminishes. But the damage is done. The sea of pop music has parted ways for rock'n'roll and the sexual revolution.
"He came along and whispered the same dream in everybody's ear." - Bruce Springsteen.
Elvis opens the door for white teenagers to buy black music. And their parents hate it! That's his biggest accomplishment, really. Ask Chuck Berry or Little Richard. The late James Brown (the only non-family member granted a private viewing at Elvis' funeral) said the same. Elvis starts singing "race" songs and paves the way. He was an integrator. Listen to "If I Can Dream." The most passionate sermon I've ever heard. He shares Martin Luther King's dream. "In the Ghetto" is another prayer. If only he'd taken artistic control more often, maybe he wouldn't have suffered so at the end.
"If it hadn't been for Elvis, I don't know where popular music would be." - Elton John.
Elvis played rock, country, soul, gospel, blues, rhythm and blues, a little funk, and even opera. We all know his hits. His parables. They're popular for a reason: the aggressive backbeat, the uninhibited rhythms, the fervent vocals. We also know that you have to sift through plenty of duds to find his best. Here are some less familiar essential songs that capture his brilliance as a recording artist.
"Is It So Strange?" (1957), "Wear My Ring Around Your Neck" (1958) - What Elvis does best in the 50's with both ballads and rockers: injects them with the holy spirit.
"Reconsider Baby" (1960) - Elvis returns from the army and produces the best studio album of his career - Elvis is Back!. This is the bluesiest of the bunch. The first Elvis song to feature a sax solo.
"One Broken Heart for Sale" (1962) - After hitting the Top Ten with 24 consecutive singles, Elvis peaks at #11 with this smooth pop song that reflects his more elegant sound of the early 60's.
"It Hurts Me" (1964) - Co-written by Charlie Daniels and buried as a B-side, this power ballad trembles with desire and desperation.
"Guitar Man/What'd I Say?" (uncut studio version - 1967) - Pure energy. Jerry Reed's finger picking supports a relentless country rhythm.
"Lawdy, Miss Clawdy," "Trying to Get to You" (live television versions - 1968) - Why everyone wanted to play the guitar. Unrestrained covers from his 50's catalog.
"Power of My Love," "Wearin' That Loved On Look" (1969) - Elvis gets lost in the desert and tempted by Hollywood. When he returns home, he produces the second best album of his career - From Elvis in Memphis. These funky, soul grooves underscore his haunting, scratchy vocals.
"That's All Right," "Mystery Train/Tiger Man" (live stage versions - 1970) - Elvis builds his temple in Las Vegas with live covers of his earliest recordings. Just as raw but even faster. The musicians and backup singers are his unapologetic disciples. Elvis at Sun is a must-have collection for all rockabilly fans.
"Where Did They Go, Lord?" (1970) - The gospel according to Elvis. A sorrowful tale of lost love.
"The Sound of Your Cry" (1970)/"We Can Make the Morning" (1971) - Elvis recorded more songs in Nashville than anywhere else. These wanton gems lure us with tender verses and then pound us with their driving choruses.
"I Got a Feeling in My Body"/"If You Talk in Your Sleep" (1973) - Two funk songs laced with gospel and recorded at the famous Stax studios in Memphis. Soulful propulsion.
"For the Heart" (1976) - The best country song from his famed Jungle Room sessions. Sexy, smooth abandonment. Elvis has come full circle.
It's not so much that I love and miss Elvis (as much as I could love and miss someone I never knew), it's that I feel cheated. I was only eight years-old when he died and didn't get to witness his impact firsthand. I remember hearing "Moody Blue" on the radio. That's it. Kinda sucks. Not perfect, he embodied everything I believe in: self-expression, desire, compassion, originality, generosity. I go to church every time I hear his voice.
"Whatever I will become will be what God has chosen for me." - Elvis Presley
Tuesday, December 30, 2014
2014 Year-End Lists
This year, I learned everything I know about pop culture from Jimmy Fallon. My wife and I watch all the episodes of The Tonight Show now that he's hosting (usually a night or two after they air). My favorite guest has been Jerry Lewis. Not only am I a lifelong fan, but the practical joke he played still keeps Jimmy Fallon scratching his head, I'm sure. I also check Box Office Mojo, Billboard, and EW on a regular basis to stay in touch. Some of this list might reflect releases from late-2013, but who gives a shit?
Of the songs I heard this year, these are my five favorite in order:
"Fantastic Man" by David Byrne and the Atomic Bomb Band. The energy of his live cover makes William Onyeabor's original sound sleepy.
"All the Time" by Bahamas. Love the James Franco commercial.
"Tuesday" by I Love Makonnen. I'll rap this every day of the week.
"I Am a River" by Foo Fighters. No disrespect to Kurt Cobain, but I prefer Dave Grohl.
"Turn Down for What" by DJ Snake and Lil John. From one of my favorite comedies this year, 22 Jump Street.
Play these albums often and loud (fuck you, I list six):
Rock or Bust by ACDC
1000HP by Godsmack (Reminds me of my younger brother's band The-Furnace - shameless plug, I know.)
.5 The Gray Chapter by Slipknot
Turn Blue by The Black Keys
The Hunting Party by Linkin Park
The Marshall Mathers LP 2 by Eminem
An Interlude. I vote Taylor Swift as Entertainer of the Year. Just because I don't listen to (or like) pop music doesn't mean she isn't incredible. She's all over the internet, magazines, TV. She writes her own songs, plays her own instruments. Has a great sense of humor. Isn't afraid to go public without makeup. Stands up for artists' rights. She's the best right now. Simply put.
Since going to the movies with my family becomes a $50+ event, I only go to see huge blockbusters. When I'm in that space, I want to hear and see everything blowing up as loud as fucking possible. My wife and I watch all the artsy/Oscar-shit at home after the nominations come out so we can pause and discuss or throw something at the TV as needed. Here are some I enjoyed in the theatre (no order):
Guardians of the Galaxy
Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Transformers: Age of Extinction
Dawn of the Planet of the Apes
Godzilla
Interstellar
Noah
Edge of Tomorrow
Non-Stop
Into the Storm
I don't watch TV often. I don't have the time. Also, there are so many great shows to choose from that I find the menu overwhelming. Since I don't have an addictive personality, I'm fine letting all that great programming slip by me. Someday, I'll blog about the greatest shows I've never seen an episode of. You'll be amazed. In addition to The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon, I watch the following:
The Big Bang Theory (Sheldon is the funniest character I've seen since Kramer.)
The Walking Dead - I struggle with this one. It's jumped the shark. Except for a few standout episodes, the last two seasons have put me to sleep in my recliner on Sunday nights.
NFL Football (every day, all day) - This is at an end, actually. I've resolved to cancel my Sunday Ticket with DirecTV. I'm a NY Jets fan. Enough said.
Bob's Burgers - My little girl asked me to watch this because Bob's bald spot reminds her of mine. I love it.
This was an amazing year for books. Yes, because I published my first novel. What the fuck do you think I'm doing here? Crow Creek sold about 300 copies. I can't complain. I just hope Queensboro sees print this spring. If you're looking for another great first horror novel, pick up The Specimen by Pete Kahle. He won the Kindle award for Horror/Suspense. I also enjoyed My Name Is Marnie by Tracie L. Carbone.
As a member of the Horror Writer's Association, I made plenty of new friends this year. None better than Tom Calen. Check out his Scars of Tomorrow series and start with Torrance. I also want to mention Jonathan Maberry. Not only is he a brilliant author (Fall of Night is his most recent, I believe), but he takes the time to support struggling authors like myself.
Stephen King published two novels this year, Mr. Mercedes and Revival. Although I tend to be harsh when criticizing him, he's still the best, and it's only to his own works that I compare him. Both books are solid. Great characters, thrilling plots. He's our generation's Mark Twain (to paraphrase the late HWA President Rocky Wood).
Finally, Joel Williamson (UNC-CH professor) published Elvis Presley: A Southern Life. I'll post more about The King on January 8th (what would be his 80th birthday), but just wanted to say that this biography does an excellent job of defining the context of his life and work.
Have a great 2015! Thanks for reading.
Of the songs I heard this year, these are my five favorite in order:
"Fantastic Man" by David Byrne and the Atomic Bomb Band. The energy of his live cover makes William Onyeabor's original sound sleepy.
"All the Time" by Bahamas. Love the James Franco commercial.
"Tuesday" by I Love Makonnen. I'll rap this every day of the week.
"I Am a River" by Foo Fighters. No disrespect to Kurt Cobain, but I prefer Dave Grohl.
"Turn Down for What" by DJ Snake and Lil John. From one of my favorite comedies this year, 22 Jump Street.
Play these albums often and loud (fuck you, I list six):
Rock or Bust by ACDC
1000HP by Godsmack (Reminds me of my younger brother's band The-Furnace - shameless plug, I know.)
.5 The Gray Chapter by Slipknot
Turn Blue by The Black Keys
The Hunting Party by Linkin Park
The Marshall Mathers LP 2 by Eminem
An Interlude. I vote Taylor Swift as Entertainer of the Year. Just because I don't listen to (or like) pop music doesn't mean she isn't incredible. She's all over the internet, magazines, TV. She writes her own songs, plays her own instruments. Has a great sense of humor. Isn't afraid to go public without makeup. Stands up for artists' rights. She's the best right now. Simply put.
Since going to the movies with my family becomes a $50+ event, I only go to see huge blockbusters. When I'm in that space, I want to hear and see everything blowing up as loud as fucking possible. My wife and I watch all the artsy/Oscar-shit at home after the nominations come out so we can pause and discuss or throw something at the TV as needed. Here are some I enjoyed in the theatre (no order):
Guardians of the Galaxy
Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Transformers: Age of Extinction
Dawn of the Planet of the Apes
Godzilla
Interstellar
Noah
Edge of Tomorrow
Non-Stop
Into the Storm
I don't watch TV often. I don't have the time. Also, there are so many great shows to choose from that I find the menu overwhelming. Since I don't have an addictive personality, I'm fine letting all that great programming slip by me. Someday, I'll blog about the greatest shows I've never seen an episode of. You'll be amazed. In addition to The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon, I watch the following:
The Big Bang Theory (Sheldon is the funniest character I've seen since Kramer.)
The Walking Dead - I struggle with this one. It's jumped the shark. Except for a few standout episodes, the last two seasons have put me to sleep in my recliner on Sunday nights.
NFL Football (every day, all day) - This is at an end, actually. I've resolved to cancel my Sunday Ticket with DirecTV. I'm a NY Jets fan. Enough said.
Bob's Burgers - My little girl asked me to watch this because Bob's bald spot reminds her of mine. I love it.
This was an amazing year for books. Yes, because I published my first novel. What the fuck do you think I'm doing here? Crow Creek sold about 300 copies. I can't complain. I just hope Queensboro sees print this spring. If you're looking for another great first horror novel, pick up The Specimen by Pete Kahle. He won the Kindle award for Horror/Suspense. I also enjoyed My Name Is Marnie by Tracie L. Carbone.
As a member of the Horror Writer's Association, I made plenty of new friends this year. None better than Tom Calen. Check out his Scars of Tomorrow series and start with Torrance. I also want to mention Jonathan Maberry. Not only is he a brilliant author (Fall of Night is his most recent, I believe), but he takes the time to support struggling authors like myself.
Stephen King published two novels this year, Mr. Mercedes and Revival. Although I tend to be harsh when criticizing him, he's still the best, and it's only to his own works that I compare him. Both books are solid. Great characters, thrilling plots. He's our generation's Mark Twain (to paraphrase the late HWA President Rocky Wood).
Finally, Joel Williamson (UNC-CH professor) published Elvis Presley: A Southern Life. I'll post more about The King on January 8th (what would be his 80th birthday), but just wanted to say that this biography does an excellent job of defining the context of his life and work.
Have a great 2015! Thanks for reading.
Tuesday, December 16, 2014
Do You Hear What I Hear?
Christmas is the best time of year. My parents did what they needed to make sure the three of us enjoyed the holidays. We had parties, friends, and lots of food. I remember scanning the night sky for Rudolph each year after we were sent to bed. My brothers and I never slept. I loved sneaking downstairs to spy on Santa as he placed the gifts. I'm not sure why my parents didn't treat every day like Christmas. Might've made their marriage easier.
My wife and I take great care to give our children the best Christmas possible, especially since (so often) we spend the holiday by ourselves. We've established plenty of traditions (brand new Christmas pajamas, my reading of A Visit from Saint Nicholas, an extra plate for the weary traveler are but a few). Our celebration is always punctuated by music, so I thought I'd share some of my favorite songs. The list won't include any traditional carols. Or anything by Elvis. That just wouldn't be fair.
"Buon Natale" by Nat King Cole. It wasn't until a couple of years ago that I first heard this gem. I only knew his signature "Christmas Song" and ended up buying his album. His backup vocalist steals the track, but the entire song is festive and makes me think of our 2013 trip to Italy.
"Have a Holly, Jolly Christmas" by Burl Ives. What could be better than Big Daddy playing the most adorable snowman since Frosty? No Christmas song makes me think of my childhood more than this twangy folk song. We loved those Rankin/Bass animations. And I was definitely the Heat Miser to my big brother's Cold Miser.
"Go Tell It on the Mountain" by Andy Griffith. You might be surprised to know that this NC native and silly sitcom star recorded some great gospel music. I can listen to this one on repeat for the entire morning commute to work.
"Mele Kalikimaka" by Bing Crosby and the Andrew Sisters. I love Bing Crosby's smooth baritone vocals and how they contrast with the angelic harmony of the Andrew Sisters. Plus, there's the pool scene in Christmas Vacation. Enough said.
"It Must've Been Ol' Santa Claus" by Harry Connick, Jr. This one deserves to be at the top of the list if I were ranking them in order. I'm not a big fan of Harry Connick, but this song has the drive of the best bluesy/jazzy numbers ever recorded for the holidays.
"Pretty Paper" by Roy Orbison. Elvis said he had the best voice in rock-n-roll. This song proves it. Written by Willie Nelson. An ode to the 50's (my favorite era) and downtown shoppers.
"That Spirit of Christmas" by Ray Charles. Another song inspired by Christmas Vacation. Brings me to tears every time I see Chevy Chase locked in the attic watching old movies. Jerry Lewis once said great comedians make you laugh. The best make you cry. So true.
"Christmas Bells" by Perry Como. Very Bing Crosby-inspired. Our first Christmas in NC, a custodian at the middle school recommended Perry Como. Here I was trying to impress him with my knowledge of all things black and bluesy, and he hits me with a white crooner. I had to laugh. But, he was right (no surprise). After Elvis, Bing, and Dino, Perry Como is my fourth favorite at Christmas.
"Christmas at Our House" by Lou Monte. I always knew "Pepino the Italian Mouse." My wife's Meemaw gave me Lou Monte's album for Christmas about fifteen years ago. Makes me think of the roll of scotch tape she wrapped up in my present. I still have it. I miss the days we spent with Alexis' family when we were young and first married.
"I Told Santa Claus"/"Christmas is a Special Day" by Fats Domino. Nobody rocks and rolls like the Fat Man. The album was produced as part of a throwback holiday collection that includes a Christmas album by Dion. Both are must-buys. Dion sings all the staples, so no specific ones make my list, but I love his version of "Silent Night," especially the ad-lib interlude about growing up in New York.
The Soul Christmas Album. I put this on the list because it's a collection that every bluesy music fan should own. All the greats are here. Otis Redding (his stirring, soulful cover of "White Christmas" is probably my favorite version of the song), Ray Charles, Solomon Burke, Clarence Carter, Carla Thomas (daughter of Memphis legend Rufus Thomas), William Bell. Also has some stunning instrumentals by King Curtis and Booker T. and the MGs. You will listen with a smile the whole way through.
And that's what Christmas is all about for me. Giving happy gifts. I thank all my friends and family (especially my wife and children) for picking me up, not only around the holidays, but all year long.
My wife and I take great care to give our children the best Christmas possible, especially since (so often) we spend the holiday by ourselves. We've established plenty of traditions (brand new Christmas pajamas, my reading of A Visit from Saint Nicholas, an extra plate for the weary traveler are but a few). Our celebration is always punctuated by music, so I thought I'd share some of my favorite songs. The list won't include any traditional carols. Or anything by Elvis. That just wouldn't be fair.
"Buon Natale" by Nat King Cole. It wasn't until a couple of years ago that I first heard this gem. I only knew his signature "Christmas Song" and ended up buying his album. His backup vocalist steals the track, but the entire song is festive and makes me think of our 2013 trip to Italy.
"Have a Holly, Jolly Christmas" by Burl Ives. What could be better than Big Daddy playing the most adorable snowman since Frosty? No Christmas song makes me think of my childhood more than this twangy folk song. We loved those Rankin/Bass animations. And I was definitely the Heat Miser to my big brother's Cold Miser.
"Go Tell It on the Mountain" by Andy Griffith. You might be surprised to know that this NC native and silly sitcom star recorded some great gospel music. I can listen to this one on repeat for the entire morning commute to work.
"Mele Kalikimaka" by Bing Crosby and the Andrew Sisters. I love Bing Crosby's smooth baritone vocals and how they contrast with the angelic harmony of the Andrew Sisters. Plus, there's the pool scene in Christmas Vacation. Enough said.
"It Must've Been Ol' Santa Claus" by Harry Connick, Jr. This one deserves to be at the top of the list if I were ranking them in order. I'm not a big fan of Harry Connick, but this song has the drive of the best bluesy/jazzy numbers ever recorded for the holidays.
"Pretty Paper" by Roy Orbison. Elvis said he had the best voice in rock-n-roll. This song proves it. Written by Willie Nelson. An ode to the 50's (my favorite era) and downtown shoppers.
"That Spirit of Christmas" by Ray Charles. Another song inspired by Christmas Vacation. Brings me to tears every time I see Chevy Chase locked in the attic watching old movies. Jerry Lewis once said great comedians make you laugh. The best make you cry. So true.
"Christmas Bells" by Perry Como. Very Bing Crosby-inspired. Our first Christmas in NC, a custodian at the middle school recommended Perry Como. Here I was trying to impress him with my knowledge of all things black and bluesy, and he hits me with a white crooner. I had to laugh. But, he was right (no surprise). After Elvis, Bing, and Dino, Perry Como is my fourth favorite at Christmas.
"Christmas at Our House" by Lou Monte. I always knew "Pepino the Italian Mouse." My wife's Meemaw gave me Lou Monte's album for Christmas about fifteen years ago. Makes me think of the roll of scotch tape she wrapped up in my present. I still have it. I miss the days we spent with Alexis' family when we were young and first married.
"I Told Santa Claus"/"Christmas is a Special Day" by Fats Domino. Nobody rocks and rolls like the Fat Man. The album was produced as part of a throwback holiday collection that includes a Christmas album by Dion. Both are must-buys. Dion sings all the staples, so no specific ones make my list, but I love his version of "Silent Night," especially the ad-lib interlude about growing up in New York.
The Soul Christmas Album. I put this on the list because it's a collection that every bluesy music fan should own. All the greats are here. Otis Redding (his stirring, soulful cover of "White Christmas" is probably my favorite version of the song), Ray Charles, Solomon Burke, Clarence Carter, Carla Thomas (daughter of Memphis legend Rufus Thomas), William Bell. Also has some stunning instrumentals by King Curtis and Booker T. and the MGs. You will listen with a smile the whole way through.
And that's what Christmas is all about for me. Giving happy gifts. I thank all my friends and family (especially my wife and children) for picking me up, not only around the holidays, but all year long.
Thursday, December 11, 2014
These Are My Rules
I make them up. Yes, that line comes from George Carlin. Grandma Nance and I took a trip to Las Vegas in the early 90's and went to his show. We laughed our asses off. We enjoyed his Sports routine and Masturbation bit. While there, we also saw David Copperfield (mesmerizing), Tom Jones (rocked the house), and Wayne Newton (he sucked). You wouldn't think an 80-year-old could keep up, but she did. We both went home winners. She played my number on the roulette wheel, and I used my craps strategy (I'll share both if you want). We stayed at Caesar's Palace and had farting contests every night. Well, really, it was me farting and blaming it on her.
But this isn't about Grandma Nance, as much as I would love to keep writing about her (and will again soon enough, I'm sure). This is my list of rules. Remember, I make them up, so if you don't like them, write your own fucking rules. There's no order here. Only how that pop into my head. And I'm in the mood to rant.
1. Don't shake my hand. I don't want to touch you. If you must make contact with me upon greeting, a fist bump will do the trick (I can wipe my knuckles later). A simple nod works better. 'Sup?
2. Wear shoes. I don't want to see your feet. Honestly, I don't know how you fuckers walk around with flip-flops or sandals. I'd feel naked without my black Reebok walking shoes. Been wearing that style since my freshmen year of college when I trudged my ass across campus twice a day. I even wear bathroom slippers and house slippers while indoors.
3. Don't send me photos with your pets in them or sign their names on my Christmas card as if they're your children. They're not your children. They're not human. Give them a puppy biscuit for me instead. If you have a cat (or any other exotic animal), have a brief stare down and tell them it's from me. That'll suffice.
4. Put dishes in the dishwasher, not pots and pans. Wash that shit by hand. I don't give a fuck if there's a setting for pots and pans.
5. If you're driving in front of me, just drive. Defensive drivers cause accidents and need to stay off the roads. If you use your cell phone while driving, I hope you die. Just don't take any innocent people with you.
6. Don't post every intimate detail about your life on Facebook, especially not your political or religious views. If your friends don't already know you, then they're not your friends. They're just faces that you're trying to impress.
7. If you invite me to your house (and I realize how seldom this happens - I'm not easy to get along with), don't ask me to bring food. I'll offer. And don't make me go outside. I'm not an animal. I'm happy inside. That's why we have shelters. Outdoor parties are for hunters. I'm proud to be an indoorsman.
8. Courtesy flush, for the love of God. I don't want to walk into the bathroom and find your shit streaking the bottom of the bowl. Here's what you do: take a shit, flush, wipe your ass, flush, pull up your pants, flush, wash your hands, get out. Three flushes, and we're good.
9. Avoid small noises. They're annoying. Don't tap your feet, crack your knuckles, click your pen, rattle your keys, jingle your change, scrape your silverware, slurp your straw, pop gum, sniff, cough. You get the idea. Let me add, don't bite your fingernails. Holy fuck, is that the worst. Adults don't need to teethe. If you're that stressed, get a prescription for Xanax.
10. I guess I'll wrap this up. Here's something that bothers me: I walk up to you, but you're already talking to someone else. That's cool. I'll wait my turn. But, acknowledge that you know I'm waiting. "I'll be with you in a moment" or "give me a second" works just fine. Don't leave me standing there with my dick in my hands.
But this isn't about Grandma Nance, as much as I would love to keep writing about her (and will again soon enough, I'm sure). This is my list of rules. Remember, I make them up, so if you don't like them, write your own fucking rules. There's no order here. Only how that pop into my head. And I'm in the mood to rant.
1. Don't shake my hand. I don't want to touch you. If you must make contact with me upon greeting, a fist bump will do the trick (I can wipe my knuckles later). A simple nod works better. 'Sup?
2. Wear shoes. I don't want to see your feet. Honestly, I don't know how you fuckers walk around with flip-flops or sandals. I'd feel naked without my black Reebok walking shoes. Been wearing that style since my freshmen year of college when I trudged my ass across campus twice a day. I even wear bathroom slippers and house slippers while indoors.
3. Don't send me photos with your pets in them or sign their names on my Christmas card as if they're your children. They're not your children. They're not human. Give them a puppy biscuit for me instead. If you have a cat (or any other exotic animal), have a brief stare down and tell them it's from me. That'll suffice.
4. Put dishes in the dishwasher, not pots and pans. Wash that shit by hand. I don't give a fuck if there's a setting for pots and pans.
5. If you're driving in front of me, just drive. Defensive drivers cause accidents and need to stay off the roads. If you use your cell phone while driving, I hope you die. Just don't take any innocent people with you.
6. Don't post every intimate detail about your life on Facebook, especially not your political or religious views. If your friends don't already know you, then they're not your friends. They're just faces that you're trying to impress.
7. If you invite me to your house (and I realize how seldom this happens - I'm not easy to get along with), don't ask me to bring food. I'll offer. And don't make me go outside. I'm not an animal. I'm happy inside. That's why we have shelters. Outdoor parties are for hunters. I'm proud to be an indoorsman.
8. Courtesy flush, for the love of God. I don't want to walk into the bathroom and find your shit streaking the bottom of the bowl. Here's what you do: take a shit, flush, wipe your ass, flush, pull up your pants, flush, wash your hands, get out. Three flushes, and we're good.
9. Avoid small noises. They're annoying. Don't tap your feet, crack your knuckles, click your pen, rattle your keys, jingle your change, scrape your silverware, slurp your straw, pop gum, sniff, cough. You get the idea. Let me add, don't bite your fingernails. Holy fuck, is that the worst. Adults don't need to teethe. If you're that stressed, get a prescription for Xanax.
10. I guess I'll wrap this up. Here's something that bothers me: I walk up to you, but you're already talking to someone else. That's cool. I'll wait my turn. But, acknowledge that you know I'm waiting. "I'll be with you in a moment" or "give me a second" works just fine. Don't leave me standing there with my dick in my hands.
Saturday, December 6, 2014
Drago vs. Stephen Hawking
I have a few moments, so I might ramble. I spend an excessive amount of time watching my computer think. The spinning circle of death. Used to be an hour glass or something stupid. I hate it. I prefer the days when I completed my attendance and calculated my grades on paper.
Did you know that I worked in a single screen movie theatre while in college? (There's a point to this. Maybe.) I ran the box office. This was back in the days of The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Batman, and Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. Our theatre manager was an old Italian woman with wavy blue hair and spotted hands. She favored me. Made the rest of the staff jealous because she was as mean as hell but let me hang out in her office and eat candy (not movie candy - she kept a bowl of peppermints). I went to visit her a few years after I graduated, but she had died. I felt a twinge of sorrow despite the joy of the employees who'd worked at the movie house long enough to remember her. She talked of her desire to return to Italy. Too bad she never made it back. The rolling green hills and cool evening breezes. I see myself ending up there. My wife and I holding hands as we walk along the beach or sit outside a café eating cannoli and sipping espresso. My wife has pretty hands. I like holding them. She has soft feet. Makes me happy. People who don't take care of their feet kind of disgust me.
I said there was a point to this. When I worked at the movie theatre, I computed all the transactions in my head. No calculators. No computers. I spent two years in that fucking box office window and never made a mistake. Never short. Never over. I don't know that I can do that anymore. Or if anyone can. We're all too dependent on machines. Drives me crazy. I'm even at the point where I hate watching television. I don't want to get addicted to any programming. The Walking Dead was my last guilty pleasure, but I find myself nodding off this season while that plays.
The other night, while out walking with my little girl (yes, our family takes walks together and eats meals together), she said that robots will take over the world someday because people are getting too fat and lazy. Reminded me of the movie Wall-e. The next day I read a news article (online, of course) about Stephen Hawking's prediction that artificial intelligence will bring an end to humanity. The same thing my twelve-year-old said, only his was in a creepy automated voice, no doubt. The point remains. It doesn't take the smartest man in the world to know that something's wrong. Only the smartest little girl.
If you're looking for a good book to read (as opposed to collect dust on a shelf), pick up a (print) copy of Men, Women, & Children by Chad Kultgen. He could be my favorite author right now. Just a warning - his books are pornographic (and I don't mean the sanitized 50 Shades-bullshit), so if you're a prude, don't get it. I have no idea how they adapted it into a movie rated anything less than NC-17. Kind of disappointed if they did. The child-like adults and children in the book lead meaningless lives, go through the motions, and have no control. Think Carl Sagan's Pale Blue Dot. The point, I believe, is that we need to find meaning in our lives. We can't just go through the motions. We need to take control. This is all we'll ever have. All there'll ever be. (And don't spout any religious hocus pocus at me right now - you know what the fuck I'm talking about.)
Did you know that I'm wearing an old Dracula tee-shirt today that says "Bite Me" on the front? Funny how some people pronounce it in the traditional way as "Drac-yoo-luh" but some change the middle syllable to "Drac-uh-luh." I'm OK with either. Did you know that I can pull my knees up higher than my chest while standing? I can. One at a time, of course. I still run, ride my bike, jump rope, do cartwheels across the stage, and hunt and peck on a keyboard with two fingers. I laugh, cry, sweat, pick my nose (we all do - only the honest among us admits it), sing, dance, yearn, doubt, wonder. I watch Chad Kultgen's squirrel videos on Instagram. I wouldn't miss them. I have priorities. Passion. I love. I take the time.
Did you know that I worked in a single screen movie theatre while in college? (There's a point to this. Maybe.) I ran the box office. This was back in the days of The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Batman, and Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. Our theatre manager was an old Italian woman with wavy blue hair and spotted hands. She favored me. Made the rest of the staff jealous because she was as mean as hell but let me hang out in her office and eat candy (not movie candy - she kept a bowl of peppermints). I went to visit her a few years after I graduated, but she had died. I felt a twinge of sorrow despite the joy of the employees who'd worked at the movie house long enough to remember her. She talked of her desire to return to Italy. Too bad she never made it back. The rolling green hills and cool evening breezes. I see myself ending up there. My wife and I holding hands as we walk along the beach or sit outside a café eating cannoli and sipping espresso. My wife has pretty hands. I like holding them. She has soft feet. Makes me happy. People who don't take care of their feet kind of disgust me.
I said there was a point to this. When I worked at the movie theatre, I computed all the transactions in my head. No calculators. No computers. I spent two years in that fucking box office window and never made a mistake. Never short. Never over. I don't know that I can do that anymore. Or if anyone can. We're all too dependent on machines. Drives me crazy. I'm even at the point where I hate watching television. I don't want to get addicted to any programming. The Walking Dead was my last guilty pleasure, but I find myself nodding off this season while that plays.
The other night, while out walking with my little girl (yes, our family takes walks together and eats meals together), she said that robots will take over the world someday because people are getting too fat and lazy. Reminded me of the movie Wall-e. The next day I read a news article (online, of course) about Stephen Hawking's prediction that artificial intelligence will bring an end to humanity. The same thing my twelve-year-old said, only his was in a creepy automated voice, no doubt. The point remains. It doesn't take the smartest man in the world to know that something's wrong. Only the smartest little girl.
If you're looking for a good book to read (as opposed to collect dust on a shelf), pick up a (print) copy of Men, Women, & Children by Chad Kultgen. He could be my favorite author right now. Just a warning - his books are pornographic (and I don't mean the sanitized 50 Shades-bullshit), so if you're a prude, don't get it. I have no idea how they adapted it into a movie rated anything less than NC-17. Kind of disappointed if they did. The child-like adults and children in the book lead meaningless lives, go through the motions, and have no control. Think Carl Sagan's Pale Blue Dot. The point, I believe, is that we need to find meaning in our lives. We can't just go through the motions. We need to take control. This is all we'll ever have. All there'll ever be. (And don't spout any religious hocus pocus at me right now - you know what the fuck I'm talking about.)
Did you know that I'm wearing an old Dracula tee-shirt today that says "Bite Me" on the front? Funny how some people pronounce it in the traditional way as "Drac-yoo-luh" but some change the middle syllable to "Drac-uh-luh." I'm OK with either. Did you know that I can pull my knees up higher than my chest while standing? I can. One at a time, of course. I still run, ride my bike, jump rope, do cartwheels across the stage, and hunt and peck on a keyboard with two fingers. I laugh, cry, sweat, pick my nose (we all do - only the honest among us admits it), sing, dance, yearn, doubt, wonder. I watch Chad Kultgen's squirrel videos on Instagram. I wouldn't miss them. I have priorities. Passion. I love. I take the time.
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