Christmas in January

This weekend we'll be joining our Orthodox and Armenian brethren who celebrate the birth of Christ in January, starting about the time we Catholics take down the Christmas decorations. Why? Because of monetary reasons we skipped our usual northwest trip to visit my sister. Instead, we'll holiday in Sonoma County. North of San Francisco, this wine country locale is close to the sea and Indian gaming. As my sister's boyfriend has a time-share in said region, it will be a festive cheap event.

Eponymous. There. I've used the word. I feel soiled. George Orwell once said, in effect, that to maintain fresh writing you should use no word which has found currency with the press. I'm guessing he would've included the Web. He also said don't trust large pigs. I don't. So I'm okay there.

Space Mobsters vs. Nazis

Brutal bug-like aliens with murderous ray guns, wearing snap brim hats and track suits, battling, well, Nazis—I'm thinking SS panzergrenadiers with Tiger Tanks and air support. Our world faces destruction unless young people without super powers or very-much ambition can stop them both.

A. Short story?

B. Video game?

C. Graphic novel?

D. Animated feature?

Vote and let me know what you'd like to see.

I opened up an idea for votes awhile ago. The people wanted a sit-com and I actually wrote it. So let's see where this one goes. (I haven't given up on the book—just gathering energy for the last push on draft one.)

So long, Gerry Rafferty

In an age before iTunes and craft-your-own-playlists, songs played on the radio. Some played more than others. Sting and The Police "I'll Be Watching You" dominated the 1983 airwaves. Rod Stewart's "Forever Young" ruled in 1988. And ten years earlier, Gerry Rafferty's "Baker Street," with its jazzy sax lick, defined that summer. In 1978, I was working days on a Post Office loading dock and nights as a stand-up comic in and around the Windy City. I'd get off work, stop at the local tavern, quench a beer or five, and usually hear some part of "Baker Street"—starting or ending. Rush home, shower and eat then scoot to my first gig, often way south down in Lyons. "Baker Street" would accompany me on the toll road regardless of what pop station I settled on. After Lyons, I'd drive north to Rosemont or into Chicago to the northwest side, performing my set at this club or that. (The club in Chicago had a stage above the bar—it used to be a strip joint—and the drink mixer just below the stage. You were guaranteed to have a high-pitched whirring sound obliterate at least one of your punch lines...more if the bartender didn't like you...or liked you personally but didn't care for your act.) In between my sundry rounds of mirth, I'd be catching Gerry Rafferty. Today I heard he died of alcoholism. (I consider myself fortunate not to have trod a similar path.) May he rest in peace as I recall mail sacks, Old Style draft, hot nights driving, laughs and drink blenders. (Image: Pop Dose)

via Jaspierrr

Artist Maz Zolp Demo Reel

Here sits her animation demo reel. Give it a peek and enjoy the pert, retro soundtrack.

"Dagon and Jill" A'Coming

Third day of the new year and nothing fantastic has happened yet. Then again, nothing terrible has happened.

In a few weeks, (Fri., January 21) a short-story of mine will appear in Necrotic Tissue #13. "Dagon and Jill" explores the blending of worldviews as a publisher struggles to put out a trilogy of disturbing text books that have a way of coming true. This will be in print—a form of written communication involving paper.

Nothing fantastic since I started this post.

I'll update as the months unfold.
(Image: Stygian Publications)

Torchy the Battery Boy

Observe; ponder; don't be greedy.

via ChunkyBoots

About Yesterday...

...the same goes for today.