The population of the world was being transformed into zombie clones. I’m not sure how they managed to clone zombies, but man of the zombies were identical clones of each other. They were actually more like colorless paper dolls, and I don’t know why I they were so frightening, but that’s dream logic in effect. I was in danger, and I tried to navigate around a town next to a lake, trying to avoid the paper doll zombie clones until I came to a 2-story building with a working elevator. I used the elevator to get to the second floor. I assumed that paper doll zombie clones didn’t know how to use elevators. Unfortunately half of the surviving population of the town had the same idea. Dozens of them were holed up on that second floor.

Some of the survivors decided to leave the building and try to escape, and I decided to go with them. We ran through the streets. Some of us were captured by the zombies and eaten. The rest of us hid in a parking garage while a nuclear bomb was dropped on the town, presumably to eradicate the zombie threat. We ducked and covered and were able to survive. I was worried about fallout. I hopped into a car and drove away being pursued by more of the zombies. I got to a maze of alleys, where there was another building with more survivors in it. They were eventually discovered by the zombies. At this point I discovered that once a human was turned into a zombie, their hands became crab claws, and that’s how I could tell the difference. I ran away through the maze of alleys and eventually got to an apartment where I was supposedly safe from the outside world.

I was visited by travelers from the future. They said they built the place so I could live there, and everything I needed was there and I didn’t have to leave. They told me that I was one of the only humans left on Earth and we were the only hope for the survival of the human race. I think this part of the dream was influenced by The Time Machine and I Am Legend. Foolishly, I left the safe haven and found other survivors but we were subsequently ambushed by more of the flipper-zombies. I think this may have been a new dream because the paper doll zombies were all replaced by the flipper-zombies. I killed the flipper zombies with an ice pick and tried to escape back into the safe haven.

Who said punk is dead? It’s still alive in cookie form!

Points to discuss with kids after viewing the movie.

1. How old is Arlene Sue for real? She looks at least 25.

2. Why did fictional teenaged girls always have “Sue” as part of their names?

3. Was Arlene Sue eating a chicken wing in that one scene?

4. The point of this trailer was to scare kids into not being sluts. If you were a 15 year old slut, would this scare you?

5. Is it creepy to find Arlene Sue attractive even though she’s supposedly 15?

6. The narrator had some kind of east coast accent. True or False. Discuss your answer.

7. If you watched this movie at work, were you trying to Alt-tab to another window during the scene where Arlene Sue was in her underwear brushing her hair?

I made a cinematic discovery over the 3-day weekend while trying to get my mind off of the “flutters” I was feeling in my chest. My heart was skipping beats… That’s a story for another day. And no, I’m not in love. It’s purely physical. [rimshot]

At 3:00 AM this movie was on Sundance called The Devil Came From Akasava. It was so surreal and I spent the duration in a haze trying to figure out if it was a foreign film. You know when you’re watching a movie on television and it looks like the voices were dubbed but then you realize that the picture is being broadcast out of sync with the audio? Here’s the trailer. Please resist the urge to get up and do the monkey in your go-go boots while viewing. I know the music is catchy** but try not to hurt yourself:

What happened in Akasava? Apparently an ice cold killer was in the burning jungle. According to IMDB it was filmed in German. That explained why the lips didn’t seem to be moving with the dialog. At the time I considered the possibility that it a delusion caused by extreme fatigue. I also noticed that just about everyone in the film was smoking a cigarette, even during a scene in a hospital room. Ahhh the 70’s. It reminded me of that old Lung Fever sketch on SNL.

**The music in the trailer is by Manfred Huber & Siegfried Schwab. The track is called “There’s No Satisfaction” from the album Vampyros Lesbos Sexadelic Dance Party.

Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skulltakes a good story and fails to deliver it cleanly. The mythology and speculation behind the crystal skulls was pretty well done, but since the Indiana Jones films are mostly action flicks, it wouldn’t be right without some multi-vantage action scenes, car chases, and nasty critters (e.g. snakes, bugs, and rats were used in previous films). They deliver in that regard, but the film overall reeks of George Lucas’s cheesy writing credits. Nobody should be surprised, since Lucas is infamous for ruining his own legacy (see Star Wars special editions and prequels). As a director, I don’t think that Steven Spielberg has lost his touch. He revolutionized the “action sequence” so the action in this film is nothing now. It’s business as usual. However, as co-writer and producer, George Lucas maybe should have left some things out.

From the beginning of the film, it’s obvious that the plot relies partly on the Roswell conspiracy and the legend of El Dorado. It’s the late 50’s and Indiana is old, having been through World War 2 working for the US Government. True movie geeks out there wouldn’t find this too strange since Indiana Jones fought in WWI. Because of his association with the US Goverment he is kidnapped by the Soviets to help them find a crate hidden in the infamous “Area 51″ which contains the preserved body of a dead alien creature. Not so ironically, this is the same warehouse seen at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark where the Ark of the Covenant was allegedly stored.

While escaping and later being pursued by the KGB, Indiana Jones and his new “short round” Mutt go on a journey to South America to find an old friend of Indiana’s and Mutt’s mentor Oxley, who went missing searching for El Dorado. That kicks off the adventure, and soon we learn the connection between the Roswell alien and the hidden city of El Dorado.

I loved the story, but I’m probably biased due to my infatuation with alien conspiracies and the paranormal, and it would have played much better without the improbable depths the action sequences go into. For example, a scene where a DUKW (duck) makes some ridiculous maneuvers down three waterfalls and another scene where Mutt is seen swinging on vines Tarzan-style accompanied by some overly-friendly monkeys. The last time I checked this wasn’t a Brendan Frasier movie. Almost as ridiculous is the scene with the army ants. I’ll leave that to the imagination for now. You’ll have to see the movie to understand what I’m talking about.

Overall this is an entertaining action film with some ok acting (Cate Blanchett kind of stole the show in many of the scenes in my opinion). It was a great story that should have been better written. There were a few too many homages to previous films, especially a few gratuitous references to Marcus Brody. A few ridiculous action scenes should have been revised or left out altogether, and the brief Star Wars reference should have been cut from the script.

Is this nearly as good as the previous Indiana Jones films? Not really. Am I going to buy it on DVD? Yes, out of principle. I already have the first three, might as well complete the collection.

On Friday I was riding the Brown Line to Lincoln Park to meet my sister and my cousin at a restaurant that we ended up not eating at. We sat in front of the place for almost an hour. If smelling food had the same advantages of actually eating it, I think I would have had a pretty good meal. The estimated waiting time fluctuated between 45 minutes and one hour each time we asked, so we decided to go somewhere else.

I read a few weeks ago in the Sun Times that the Brown Line is the most obnoxious line in the city. I believe it. Many of the people who take the Brown Line during rush hour are self absorbed executive types. I haven’t seen this actually happen, but supposedly the Brown Line is where people don’t donate their seats to the elderly on packed train cars. I haven’t seen this for myself, since I avoid taking mass transit during rush hour. For me it’s unnecessary since I drive to work. If I could I would.

The Brown Line is also one of two El lines that transport people back and forth between Lakeview, Lincoln Park, and Downtown. It’s a party train on Friday nights. A drunk girl and boy came on to the train at 7:00 PM. The girl was loud and wouldn’t shut up. I shot a few glances at her to see what kind of creature I was dealing with. Not surprisingly she was blonde with a fake tan and nails that were so long and manicured I was pretty sure she was unable to dial the keys on her own cell phone. She mentioned a few times (or rather slurred) that she had to get off on Armitage, but she was so obnoxious that when I noticed she was actually getting off at Fullerton I conveniently forgot to let her know.

The train ride also featured a rather portly version of a bachelorette party. Not much here that doesn’t need to be repeated.

Now you wonder why I mentioned ELO and Satan in the title of this blog. I just wanted to inform people that the ELO song “El Dorado” contains satanic messages when played in reverse. I tested this theory and listened to the song a few times, and not once did I get the urge to worship Satan. Maybe I should take the case to Mythbusters.

I already commented on foie gras a year ago, so I’m not going to give my opinion on that. I think it’s cruel and unnecessary what they do to those geese, but I’ll try anything once. Now it’s back. Chicago has repealed its ban on the delicacy. This has done nothing but fire up my curiosity. I want to know what the big deal is and why people like eating foie gras. Stay tuned…

The stupid t-shirt is back, too. That is, it never went away. I have resolved to make my own t-shirt that says “Durr, I’m an ignorant shirt vendor”.

Since we’re on the subject of ‘back’, those crazy kids are back in Narnia. I’ll post a review after I see Prince Caspian this weekend.

As you can probably tell I started up on my writing again. After participating and winning NaNoWriMo last November, I became more confident in my ability to write, not necessarily write WELL, but to write A LOT. At least more than I’ve ever written in my lifetime. I’ve told many people that my attempts at writing something significant started in highschool, but my efforts were reserved for other goals, like getting a college degree, getting a job, and trying hard to live a normal life. I don’t think anyone lives a normal life, to be honest. I don’t think my life will ever be normal. I decided around 2001 to stop trying so hard to be normal and express myself. I was laid off from my job around October 2001 and decided to start writing about my experiences of being unemployed. This led to my first attempt at a novel called The Art of Zan.

It was about a regular guy whose life gets turned upside down when he loses his job, his girlfirend dumps him, and everything starts to fall down around him. I read a sample to a writing class and people loved it. It was funny and it made people really feel for the main character. I don’t know why I dumped this project. It was probably lack of motivation.

I tried my hand at short stories. Shorter is easier, right? Wrong. I managed to complete one story called “The Barbecue”. It was actually a rewrite of something I wrote when I was in highschool. It was only about 10 pages and it was kind of a suburban gothic horror story that was more ironic than anything. It made most people laugh and cringe when they read it. I decided it wasn’t worth publishing because I didn’t have much confidence in my amateur writing style.

Another story I never finished was “Meet The Greys”. It was about an alien abductee who is immune to the alien “hypno ray” becuase he was on Ritalin.

Then there was another unfinished novel called Artifact. I only had about 30 pages of it written out before I lost interest. It was kind of a satirical take on the 90’s alien conspiracy craze spawned by the X-Files and other Sci Fi shows of the era.

NaNoWriMo brought us Faint Pulse, a horror satire about an imminent zombie apocalypse. The first draft is complete. It’s only about novella length (130 pages), but after the rewrite version 2 will be about 200 pages.

In the downtime I started the short story “3 Days Later”, another zombie apocalypse satire.

Why am I so infatuated with zombie apocalypse. I’m really not. I’m more interested in poking fun at popular genres.

I’m now planning my 2008 NaNoWriMo project. It’s going to be a cross between Philip K. Dick and a cheap cyberpunk pulp novel along the lines of Gibson or Stephenson.

I guess I can convert this blog into my own literary blog, but what about all the other crap that’s worth commenting about? I’ll still be commenting on the same old crap, but this is also going to document my journey towards publication. Stay tuned!

Here is an unedited paragraph from the horror satire short story “3 Days Later”. I’ll post more later.

I loved her. Everyone knows that I loved her, but when someone whom you gave your life to suddenly and violently turns against you, your instinct kicks in. You try to defend yourself. In my situation, that meant picking up a porcelain lamp and hurling it at her head, which seemed to split open in a fountain of blood and chunks. I was horrified at what I had done, and I knew I was going to pay the price for killing my own wife. The only thing that prevented me from falling on my knees and mourning her death was her seemingly instantaneous resurrection. She stood up, her face still a disfigured mess of blood and bone, and lunged toward me, reaching out with her bloody hands. I backed away and managed to leave the bedroom. I wore nothing but a pair of sleep pants and socks, but that did not prevent me from leaving my house for the last time.

And here’s an exerpt from the novel Faint Pulse, which is currently being rewritten.

An unsettling mist started to settle along the sidewalk, and Vic kicked through it. He felt a shiver run up his spine but decided it was best not to show any fear, even when there wasn’t anybody around. One never knew who could be watching from far away. Most of all he knew himself and knew to hide his own fear from himself. If someone can hide emotions from himself he could hide it from anyone. He knew he was better than most people. His reputation depended on it.

A figure approached him, its footsteps not making a sound, but the mist along the sidewalk seemed to dodge every stride like a swarm of mosquitoes dodging a fly swatter. Vic noticed steam puff out with his breaths. The air suddenly became chilly for the early September night after a day that began as one of the hottest days this late in the year. He stopped but the figure kept walking until it was just a few paces from him.

“Taking a walk this late at night?” said a woman’s voice. The voice was rough and sandy, yet strangely seductive. She seemed to glide along the sidewalk moving closer. Her face was barely visible except for a single blue eye, highlighted by a nearby street light filtered off by a tree. Her clothes were drab and dusty as if she had been crawling through the dirt.

“I don’t have any money,” said Vic. “So get out of my way and get a job.”

The woman giggled. It wasn’t a playful giggle, but a slow dry laugh, as if she was suffering from bronchitis.

“It’s not money that I’m after,” she said. Vic noticed the blue eye winking at him. He considered this statement for a few seconds wondering about the possibilities. Since when were women this easy? In has past conquests he had to work hard to get laid. He even employed the use of alcohol and sometimes even drugs. He realized he was considering a possibly homeless woman who was probably crawling with diseases, among other things.

He wiped his brow, which he noticed was suddenly slippery with sweat. He had barely noticed that the shirt underneath his hockey jersey was starting to become damp and wondered if it was the cool humidity or if he was starting to sweat. It didn’t seem like those rare cool days where the moisture in the air was enough to soak hair and clothes. It seemed dry and chilly. He also noticed he was shivering.

“Out of my way, lady.” He said finally. “I don’t want your herpes.”

“I don’t have anything you wouldn’t want,” she teased.

Vic scratched his damp hair. “Look, I usually don’t smack women around, but if you don’t get out of my way…”

“I know you don’t, Victor.” Said the dark woman. Most of her face was masked by the darkness but it was apparent that she was smiling.

“Ok,” said Vic taking a step closer and trying to seem as intimidating as possible. The woman didn’t flinch or take a step back, which is what Vic expected. “Who the hell are you?”

He searched and indexed his mind to recognize some kind of pattern in her voice, some kind of inflection that would lead him to a memory, anything that would help him understand. It was becoming increasingly difficult to concentrate due to the shivering which, he noticed, was becoming uncontrollable. He hugged his enormous body underneath the jersey. The cold sweat was already starting to seep through. There were dozens of women he could possibly pull out from the back of his mind. Faces started to flash across his mind’s eye, but not many names. There were no names because the faces were from those he didn’t care about. The voices were even more difficult to remember.
“Oh don’t worry. You don’t know me,” the woman said, as if reading Vic’s mind. “I know you. You’re Victor. Victor James. You’re thirty years old and you live down the street. You’re a cruel person. You have always been cruel. You victimize those who can’t defend themselves. If you had a brain cell in that tiny steroidal head of yours, you could be some kind of charming sociopath. An evil genius. But you’re not. You’re worthless.”

Vic opened his mouth to speak but all that came out was a puff of white steam. He suddenly realized that the woman’s hand clutched a mound of denim from the crotch of his jeans. It may have been a moment of disbelief, but he suddenly felt she was holding more than denim. She squeezed gently. In most situations Vic would have been cool and collected and ready to treat the woman like shit in order to get her back to his apartment for some abusive loving. But this wasn’t the case. He could see almost see her face now and could only manage a few quick titters from the back of his throat.

She looked young, but at the same time she wasn’t. There was not a wrinkle on her face, but her skin was pale and chalky and fragile. Her head was framed by a fountain of raven black hair and her lips were as white as the rest of her face. Vic was no judge of aesthetics, but there was a certain beauty in her eyes that even he could see. There was something about her eyes. There was fury and tragedy in them. She smiled at him. It was a tiny meek smile with a hint of madness.

Vic tried to pull away but she squeezed harder, almost causing him to buckle at the knees, not because of the pain but more to prevent her from getting a good grip on his jewels. He had the urge to drive his fist into her nose or at least push her away. He lifted his arm to push himself off of her but something was wrong. He looked to his side and realized his arm never moved. For the first time he realized how terrified he really was.

“Where are you going, sweetie?” she said playfully. “I’m not done with you yet. You have to be punished. ” A spider pushed it’s way out of her nostril and crawled up her cheek and disappeared into her hair.

Vic started to panic. “No. Get away from me,” he pleaded. He tried to pull away from her but her grip on him was so tight it threatened to rip him away from his appendage if he tried too hard.

“For preying on the weak, I find out guilty,” said the woman. The smile never left her face. “For being disrespectful to just about everybody I find you guilty. For what you did to your own brother.”

The chill Vic was feeling was interrupted momentarily by a rash of heat crawling up the side of his face and his ears. “No,” he said. “No please. It was an accident. I didn’t mean to.”

“You are sentenced to castration.”

Vic’s screams were heard blocks away. For the first time in his life, he screamed like a woman. But embarassment was the least of his worries.

Many people, like myself, work for corporations that suddenly have the initiative to “go green“. This is a concept that has been growing in popularity for a number of years. Going green means being more environmentally conscious… using less paper and petroleum-based plastics, building facilities that minimize the use of energy, setting up recycling programs for employees, etc. The cafeteria at the office, for example, dumped styrofoam and is now using containers made from recycled paper and plastic forks made from some kind of polymerized corn starch. I’m impressed, because it’s looks and feels like plastic, but it’s biodegradable.

Along with this initiative, they have started charging more for using the recycled paper containers and biodegradable silverware. If you choose not to go with the paper and go with glassware, you don’t get charged. It’s funny how they don’t really give you a choice as to what type of container you are allowed to use, so there’s no getting around the increased pricing. This forced environmentalism puts an even bigger strain on the working man who is already paying more for gasoline, postage stamps, and since I work in Cook County, inflated sales tax.

I have no problems with saving the environment. I try to recycle as much as I can and I volunteer at the Brookfield Zoo, an organization that promotes conservation leadership, and in addition to that I donate money to the Lincoln Park Zoo (What can I say? I like animals). It doesn’t make much sense to make people pay more to be more environmentally conscious. Instead, would it make more sense to charge people who choose NOT to go with the new containers? As unfair as this sounds, it makes sense. You don’t want people to grudgingly choose one path because the other path is blocked. People need incentive to choose the one path.

Besides, I’m stick of hearing people bitch about being forced to recycle.