Inevitable Disasters

3B Theater Update!

2008-11-29T03:14:00.000-06:00

A quick post to let you all know that I have a new review for Death Laid an Egg, Guilio Questi's oddball ode to murder and chicken-farming, over at the old website. Brazen and brash, the film is a total Jedi-Mind@#%k on both the audience and on the gialli genre in general. Please check it out, and let me know what you think.

Thanks!

We (Don't) Got Wood.

2008-11-23T02:02:00.007-06:00

Man, first they get there sorry asses swept -- again! -- in the playoffs, and now they announced they're not going to re-sign Kerry Wood.

I saw him throw a 3-2 yacker once to Todd Helton from the Rockpile at Coors Field that made my knees buckle a half-a-mile away. Helton never had a chance. And I know the guy had his detractors, but speaking frankly, they're [expletive deleted]ing morons -- who never struck out twenty guys in one ball game while allowing no walks and one hit that on any other day could have been an error, or tried to win more than fifteen games in a season with a collection of Molotov cocktails in the bullpen.

Screw them. And screw the Cubs.

I'm done.

So long Woody.

Crystal Lynn, 1961-1978

2008-11-08T05:05:00.011-06:00

I remember clearly the day my sister died:

November 7, 1978.

She was 17 years old. A senior.

It was a Tuesday. Evening.

I remember the day my sister died because I was the one who first answered the door when the Adams County Sheriff's deputy showed up with my Uncle Harry in tow.

I remember opening the door after the heavy knock, the doorbell long broken. The deputy was looking at his shoes, or maybe inspecting the cement floor of the garage. Uncle Harry looked odd, flushed. Maybe out of breath. He didn't look at me or say anything as he lead the deputy up the steps and inside. Sensing something was wrong, I beat a hasty, back-pedaling retreat, bumping into my mother who also came to the door to see who it was.

As I faded into the background, Uncle Harry took my mom firmly by the shoulders, said something I couldn't quite make out, then "Sue" -- he always called her Sue, her middle name, instead of Sandy, "Chris is dead."

She died in a two car collision. Gravel road. Blind corner. No stop signs. No yield signs. No fault.

One dead.

Then my mother screamed. No moment of hesitation, no pause or moment to let it sink in, what she'd heard. She just screamed. At first guttural, then a mournful wail that seemed fueled from somewhere harsh and bottomless, then collapsed into her brother's arms and began beating him on the back with her fists, raging against whatever power that decided to kick our family in the teeth again.

It had been a horrible twelve months for my clan. A year earlier, after a freak accident, my father went to the hospital and never came back. Too much blood thinner followed by too much coagulant sent a clot rocketing through his system until it got stuck and fried his brain. The machines kept him alive for a few more days, then the decision was made to pull the plug. He left behind a wife and five children, two sisters and three brothers.

Chris was the oldest sibling, I was the youngest; seven going on eight at the time I opened that door.

As the screaming continued unabated, frightened, unable to process the scene properly, I continued my clumsy retreat, to get away from that awful, awful noise. Out of the kitchen, through the living room, down the long hallway to the back bathroom where I slammed the door and collapsed back against it, hands clamped over my ears, slouching, contracting and curling into a really small rock.

Not again.

But the noise wouldn't stop no matter how hard I wanted it to go away.

I don't remember who found me, or when or how. It's gone. Blocked. The next thing I remember was our house was suddenly inundated with weeping relatives and cousins who looked at me funny. I also made the mistake of watching the evening news and saw footage of Chris's flattened Oldsmobile; a grotesque cartoon caricature of a crushed auto straight out of a Saturday morning cartoon. It was a decision I still regret making to this very day.

Looking back over the intervening thirty years, speaking frankly, it's been a tough go. The best way to describe my family in one word is volatile. And if you wanted to use two words: Highly volatile. Teetering on the brink when dad died, Chris's untimely death sent us into a tailspin that it never recovered from. Lots of simmering sibling animosity, survivor's guilt, and self-loathing led to eruptions of violence that were just waiting for an excuse, any excuse to detonate; threats, abuse and ugly confrontations, followed by, and made infinitely worse by, a strange silence and a sense that if we just ignored what just happened, a macabre game of let's pretend, then it must not have happened at all. Right? Or worse yet, accepting or taking the blame or fault for everything, and I mean everything, in a wrong-headed approach to keep the uneasy peace.

Blessed are the peacemakers, right?

Bullshit. We're a cursed and repressed lot.

But it worked, sort of. Cyclical in nature, our passive-aggressiveness, it wasn't long before the fires got stoked up, tempers flared, and people got hurt again.

But you took it. You took the lumps and buried the scars, emotional and physical, and buried them deep, and you soldiered on. Why? For a mother who tried so hard to keep things together and "normal." So much so that she made a bad situation infinitely worse by her actions and, more often, inaction. And worse yet, using the "family guilt" to try and keep things together for nothing more than an appearance of normalcy.

I try not to blame her for this. Some days it's hard. Some days I'm proud of her, others I felt like I've been thrown under a bus.

Sad; but that's just the way it was, and still is.

I'm sure our story isn't an isolated one. Tragedy is not exclusive. And I'm no saint in this story. I bear as much fault, real fault, as anyone else. Things have scabbed over pretty good over the years, but too much picking and tearing have left some permanent damage. In the end, we fake it good most times, the whole family thing. In fact, I'd say we got it down to a science.

But in all honesty, it wasn't just my sister who died thirty years ago, today.

Tune-Age Tuesdays: Cartoon Groovies...

2008-11-04T14:55:00.003-06:00

"Jabberjaw" performed by Pain:

"Yogi Bear" performed by High School Jim:

Need a Laugh? Here ya go:

2008-11-02T02:36:00.003-06:00

The Secret Wars Re-Enactment Society.

Yeah, I know that's been around forever and a day. I don't care -- it still cracks me up.

In Memoriam: Neal Hefti 1922-2008

2008-10-21T21:25:00.006-05:00

Composer Neal Hefti passed away last week. Hefti, a native of Hastings, NE, my old hometown, was an old school big-band swinger who played and composed for the likes of Harry James and Charlie Spivak. Despite this pedigree, most people only know that Hefti was the one who penned the highly obnoxious but very memorable theme to the old Batman TV show, but few also realize he also composed the theme to The Odd Couple. However, it was Hefti's penchant for forlorn horns and trippy guitar solos for the theme of a criminally overlooked western called Duel at Diablo that I've had stuck in my head since I heard the word that he was no longer with us.

Rest in Peace, sir.

The Theme from Duel at Diablo (with lyrics):

The Instrumental Version:

What the Hell?!? Jaws The Revenge

2008-10-11T21:02:00.007-05:00

So I got together with some friends the other night for an evening of beer and movies and general steam venting after another collective crappy week. The theme for the evening was Franchise Killers, and first up was JAWS IV a/k/a JAWS the Revenge -- a film I hadn't seen since I forked over at the Box Office, and as the DVD reached the absolutely hilarious climax where the shark jumps out of the water and is harpooned on the end of the boat, vomits up a copious amount of blood, until the boat breaks apart, and then our latest rendition of Bruce -- a/k/a the Shark that Roared -- slowly sinks beneath the waves, fade to happy ending etc. etc. etc...I put my beer down and braced myself for the high hilarity. Roar, baby. Roar!

So, imagine my surprise when THIS happened instead:

What the hell?!? Did that shark just f@#%ing explode?!? Did I miss the part where they nitro-tipped the boat? What? Was that a rare strain of Great White: Carcharodon carcharias goboomski. Did she blow it up with her brain? Oh. My. God. And Shit on stick. I call SHENNANIGANS!! on the whole damn thing.

This is what the original ending looked like (I apologize for the quality; best I could find):

What? did they think the explodey shark was a better ending than that? For shame, Universal. Shame the hell on you.

YouTube Finds: Scream Bloody Murder!

2008-10-09T01:30:00.005-05:00

Here we go, our first adventure into online public domain films. First up, here's an awesome piece of vintage '70s sleaze better known as Scream Bloody Murder, that I stumbled upon while prowling around YouTube looking for old trailers. It's just your typical story of a young boy who got his arm tore off in a bulldozer accident who grows up into a homicidal maniac -- that is, until he runs into a hooker with a heart of gold, and things start to get a little weird when the nut-job with a hook for a hand tries to woo her away from her life of sin. *sniff* Ahhhhh. E'yup, man, you can smell the urine emanating right off the screen!

It's broken down into several parts, so I'll just supply a direct link to Part One (of Nine) and let you decide if you wanna press on any further.

Tuneage Tuesdays: Guilty Pleasures.

2008-10-08T03:37:00.002-05:00

Ladies and Gentlemen, The Moody Blues:

No. That's extremely catchy pretentious crap, pilgrim.

Trailer Park Fridays: Sinister Soul Cinema!

2008-10-03T13:32:00.002-05:00

A quick tribute to the great William Marshall.

Blacula:

Scream, Blacula Scream:

And as a bonus, here's the trailer for Abby, the blaxpo version of the Excorcist:

Picture Monday: The Towering Inferno Screencap

2008-09-29T13:35:00.006-05:00

"I don't know. Maybe they oughta just leave it the way it is.

Kind of a shrine to all the bullshit in the world."

The Towering Inferno was my cinematic introduction to Paul Newman. Not exactly the most classiest role, and most certainly not the best in his storied career (-- and for the record, judging by what I've seen, I think that honor belongs to Hud), but it will always be one of my favorites: an Über-talented architect, well aware of his culpability, but doesn't shirk his responsibilities, who bucks the muckety-mucks and meets the problem head on and with the throttle wide open.

Rest in peace, good sir.

Trailer Park Friday: Noir, and Neo-Noir

2008-08-22T13:21:00.002-05:00

The Killers. Hemingway. Siodmak. Siegel. One author. One story. Two directors. One style. Two completely different films.

First up, the 1946 version:

Next, the 1964 version (and check out whose playing the dastardly villain.):

In Memoriam: Julius Carry (1952-2008)

2008-08-21T00:17:00.004-05:00

Julius Carry, a wonderful character actor, passed away today without much fanfare or adulation. The name may not be familiar to a lot of you, but if I throw out Lord Bowler or The Shogun of Harlem it might ring a few more bells to those of us who had the pleasure of watching this man in action as the cranky bounty hunter in the woefully underrated The Adventures of Brisco County Jr. and the bat-shit insane villain in the equally under-ballyhooed The Last Dragon. And those of us who've been around a little longer will even remember him in The Fish that Saved Pittsburgh and The Avenging Disco Godfather.

The man in action. (The Last Dragon.)

Now that's an entrance.

Thanks, Mr. Carry. Your familiar scowl and low-burn grumble and growl will be sorely missed. Sho-nuff.

Picture Monday: Brawndo! The Thirst Mutilator!

2008-08-18T23:16:00.004-05:00

(Hang in there, buddy. Help's on the way soon.)

Trailer Park Fridays: Theatrical Screenings

2008-08-15T03:34:00.006-05:00

Got to thinking the other day about theatrical screenings. Why? Well, this year has been kind of an aberration for me, movie-seeing wise, with an all out blitz of actual movie theater attendance. With the likes of Iron Man, The Hulk, Wall-E, Indy 4 and an anniversary screening of Animal House all out in '08, I've found myself at the cinemaplex more this year than the past five years combined very easily. A combination of non-comfort -- a man of my tonnage and cup-holders do not get along all that well, general audience behavior, a second-shift profession, and if we're going to be honest, nothing really turning my crank enough to get my fat-ass into those little seats for a weekend matinée, kept me at home waiting for the DVD, but lately, thanks to a new daily matinee policy, lower prices, thinner crowds, and a few pounds off my butt, have gotten me back into the movie-going habit of my youth. Which got me to thinking about what movie from my misspent youth had I paid to see the most times at a theater. And here's what I came up with to the best of my recollection.

Coming in at number three:

At least seven times (actually a tie with Jurassic Park* but I like this movie better). And this is kinda of recent entry, but this movie made me laugh so hard and made me feel so good after each screening, that I just had to see it again and again, and I kept dragging more and more different people with me to spread the happy hillbilly bumpkin viral hootenanny joy-gasm that this wonderful film is.

Coming in at number two:

Easily nine times. Between the hard-top run and the recirculation through the local Drive-In, it seems that one whole summer, after legion baseball practice, a whole herd of us went and saw this Hal Needham ode to high-octane and celebrity cameos. (And I know it isn't the trailer because I couldn't find a theatrical trailer.)

And the film that I saw the most times in the theater is...

..ass a whopping 14 times. "Aw, Ray, the sponges moved about a foot and half."

Now I know these numbers may be small, but when you consider that for the first twenty or so years of my life the nearest theater was thirty miles away, I think I did pretty good because there a big lump of films that were viewed at least five or six times. And now that I think of it, I've completely lost track of how many times I saw Harry and the Hendersons one summer, but it was a lot. Sucker for Bigfoot am I.

* Frankly, I'm not sure if the seventh time I saw Jurassic Park counts, because I saw it during the 39th week of a 53 week run at the Starship 9 Dollar Theater and the print was so mangled about a third of the film was missing.

Tune-Age Tuesdays: The Big E

2008-08-13T04:24:00.004-05:00

Ladies and Gentlemen, the King.

Promised Land:

American Trilogy.

I'm sorry. Excuse me, just gotta little something in my eye.

Picture Monday: Birthday Boy!

2008-08-12T15:54:00.004-05:00

Ah, B-Fest. Happy birthday, pal!
(C'mon The Blue Bird of Happiness wasn't that bad.)

Trailer Park Fridays: Mad, Mad, Mad Muppets

2008-08-08T22:51:00.003-05:00

This is pilfered from another thread over on the BMMB about recasting movies with nothing but Jim Henson's Muppets. Personally, I chimed in with It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad Muppet World, and here's how I thought the cast would shake out:

Spencer Tracy (Culpepper) ... Steve Martin (Token Human)
Milton Berle (Finch) ... Kermit
Dorothy Provine (Emaline) ... Annie Sue
Ethel Merman (Mrs. Marcus) ... Miss Piggy
Sid Caeser (Melville) ... Gonzo
Eddie Adams (Monica) ... Camilla
Mickey Rooney (Dingy) ... Rowlf
Buddy Hackett (Benjy) ... Fozzie
Jonathan Winters (Pike) ... Animal
Jimmy Durante (The Smiler) ... Dr. Teeth
Dick Shawn (Sylvester Marcus) ... Link Heartthrob
Terry Thomas (Hawthorne) ... The Swedish Chef
Phil Silvers (Otto) ... Rizzo the Rat
Marvin Kaplan (Irwin) ... Bunson
Arnold Stang (Ray) ... Beeker
Don Knotts (Motorist) ... Lew Zealand
Peter Falk (Cabbie) ... Floyd
Eddie Anderson (Cabbie) ... Zoot
Jim Backus (Fitzgerald) ... Snookums
Paul Ford (Col. Wilburforce) ... Sam the Eagle
Carl Reiner (Air Traffic Controller) ... Scooter
Jesse White (Air Traffic Controller) ... Pops
Three Stooges (Firemen) .. Grover, Harry Monster, Cookie Monster
Jack Benny (Motorist) ... Oscar the Grouch

And here's the trailer for It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World:

And the only trailer I could find for the Muppets was this:

Tune-Age Tuesdays: Movie Themes!

2008-08-05T15:42:00.002-05:00

Here's a tune that is almost guaranteed to bring out the Solid Gold Dancer in just about anyone.

A full write-up and review of Moon Zero Two will be posted over on Micro-Brewed Reviews just as soon as I burn out the urge to replay that clip and stop dancing. Now, if you'll excuse me...

Picture Mondays: 1941 Screen Cap.

2008-08-04T15:22:00.002-05:00

"I don't think you're gonna hit him, Ward."
-- Angelo Sciolli, 1941

Trailer Park Friday: Outlaw Bikers!

2008-08-01T15:13:00.002-05:00

First up a film that is a helluva lot better than its title would imply.

Werewolves on Wheels:

I'm serious, it's not that bad!

Next, we have a film that is no where near as good as its title would imply.

Satan's Sadists:

How could this possibly be bad? Two words: Al and Adamson.

Tune-Age Tuesdays!

2008-07-29T15:24:00.002-05:00

"Rock and Roll!!!!!"

For those uninitiated, that was Guitar Wolf's cover of "Rumble."

Quote of the Week:

2008-07-26T02:35:00.005-05:00

"My cat's breath smells like my other cat's butt."

-- Osco Sean

Trailer Park Fridays

2008-07-25T14:30:00.004-05:00

This week, a couple of blasts from two swingin' and swanky 1960's spies and sci-fi epics.

First up, secret-agent Mike Connors tries to foil the nefarious plot of a mad scientist intent on ending mankind and then re-creating it in his own image, literally, in (gotta love this title) Kiss the Girls and Make them Die:

And then we head into outer-space with cranky space-commander Robert Horton whose orbiting satellite has come down with a bad case of The Green Slime:

And since we kinda blew off Tune-Age Tuesdays this week, I'll wrap this up with The Green Slime's groovin' theme song. Enjoy...

Need Another Laugh?

2008-07-24T03:03:00.000-05:00

Here ya go:

Need a Laugh?

2008-07-22T15:13:00.001-05:00

Here ya go:

Go no clue, either. Sorry.

An Open Letter to MLB Commisioner Bud Selig

2008-07-16T14:29:00.003-05:00

Dear Bud,

Great game last night, huh? Yeah, I'm still not sure how the N.L. got out of that base loaded, no out jam, either. Crazy, I know! But you wanna know what's even crazier? If Corey Hart's throw from right field had been about six-inches more on target, Jason Moron would have been out at the plate in the bottom of the 15th inning, just sliding under Brian McCann's tag (-- or was that Justin Morneau? ESPN could not confirm this name check, too busy trying to track down Josh Hamilton for an another interview about his former crack-cocaine habit, or were too busy trying to dry-hump the facade of Yankee Stadium...I got conflicting reports, here.)

Yeah, that's right, Bud. They could still be playing. While that wouldn't have bothered me any, as the game was that exciting. Despite Dan Uggla's bad night at second base, defense and pitching were lights-friggin' out, and put on quite a show. And if that throw had been a just a little more on target, my gosh, we could be starting the bottom of the 27th right now.

Now I know you were a little embarrassed by the infamous tie-game a few years back, which started this whole home-field advantage crap being decided by the winner of the All-Star Game, but it almost happened again last night: a grueling extra-inning tie. That'd be almost twice in a span of a little over five years. And since it "counts," there's a chance that this exhibition game is gonna run into these same problems next year, and the year after that etc. etc. etc.

So here's an idea: set a ten-inning limit. That way we don't destroy any pitchers and prevent a few gastrointestinal problems for the managers. And in the case of a tie after ten-innings, the rule should clearly state that Home Field Advantage for the World Series will then be determined by which team has the better record. Now there's a novel idea. And if by some quirk they have the same record, well, Bud, time to flip a coin. National League - heads. American League - tails.

Pretty simple, Bud.

Sincerely, Your Buddy, Chad

Tune-age Tuesdays (7/15)

2008-07-15T15:25:00.003-05:00

As you've probably noticed if you've been tuning in for awhile, I'm very big on instros when it comes to music that I like and enjoy. Can't explain it, just the way it is. And here's a couple more courtesy of drummer Sandy Nelson and guitarist Richie Allen.

First up, "Let There Be Drums":

And second,"Teen Beat" -- plus a little eye-candy courtesy of Vargas and the pin-up irregulars:

Picture Monday 7/14

2008-07-15T15:11:00.003-05:00

Snakes in a Drain.
No, I don't think the water is supposed to be that color, either. (Note the vintage '77 Kenner Millennium Falcon and the battle damage sustained in The Battle of Bicandabutane-6 back in '81.)

Happy Birthday Round Beeping Thing.

2008-07-13T05:07:00.004-05:00

That's right, the Telstar-One satellite was launched on June 10 back in 1962. So let's all raise a glass in toast to a Round Beeping Thing, and celebrate what could be in store for us in the future and forget for just one day what probably will be our future with a little help from Mr. Joe Meek and The Tornados.

Trailer Park Fridays (7/11)

2008-07-12T03:28:00.004-05:00

Gonna do a little compare and contrast this go around by viewing the domestic and international trailers for the same movie.

First up, the American trailer for Mario Bava's Blood and Black Lace:

And now the French trailer for Sei donne per l'assassino:

Man, no matter what the language, I truly love that flick.

Flickr Poster Archive Update:

2008-07-10T14:27:00.002-05:00

Okay, managed to get a whole butt-load of new poster images uploaded onto Flickr for your viewing pleasure. This time around, we salute and focus on the wide and varied career of Italian (and my personal favorite) filmmaker Mario Bava: Thrillers, mysteries, murder, mayhem, vampires, aliens, alien vampires, westerns, spies, brutes, babes, swords, sandals, knives -- you name it, he filmed it and captured them like no other before or since. And not just the American release posters, either; nope, this update definitely has an international flavor to it.

Please enjoy the brand new Il Mondo Cinematografico di Mario Bava!

And if you're just joining us, feel free to check out my B-Movie Poster Archive.

More to come, including a tribute to American International Pictures, Slashers, and '70s disaster movies. Stay tuned.

Need a laugh?

2008-07-09T00:57:00.000-05:00

Here ya go:

Damn but if that isn't hilarious.

Tuneage Tuesdays (7/8)

2008-07-08T00:18:00.003-05:00

Ladies and gentlemen, Screaming Lord Such and the Savages.

Dracula's Daughter:

Jack the Ripper:

Man, that is one thing I really miss the most about the old AMC, the American Pop series and The Scopitones buffers and bumpers. *sigh*

Picture Monday (6/7)

2008-07-07T18:40:00.005-05:00

Happy 100th Birthday, Grandma!

The Tally thus far: 5 Children; 19 Grandchildren; 34 Great-grandchildren (and counting) and 6 Great-Great-Grandchildren (and counting.)

Quote of the Week:

2008-07-03T04:24:00.006-05:00

"Like my grandfather used to say, "Many things may look bleak at the moment of there occurrence, but at least we ain't got locusts".

-- Sgt. Nick Yemana
(Barney Miller)

Tuneage Tuesdays: 7/1

2008-07-02T03:32:00.004-05:00

Got into one of those bar arguments that you can only have in a bar after you've been slinging them back for several hours a few weeks ago, and the topic for this heated discussion, actually usurped from nearby table, was "Who was the greatest American Rock and Roll band?" And after giggling at the other table's conclusion that it was either The Rolling Stones or Led Zeppelin, my friend Dale and I commenced to comprise a true list of Yankee thunder and twangers. When the dust settled, and it was depressing how hard it was to come up with ten worthy contestants, we were deadlocked on who was number one. Dale thought it was Aerosmith, while I said it was The Ramones. There songs are too short, he said. They hadn't done shit since Permanent Vacation, I said. Dale argued that my choice didn't have enough commercial success, while I argued his band should be penalized several spots -- if not outright banned from the list, for that frakkin' love theme from Armageddon. His foundation weakened, I proceeded to destroy it by saying if we used his criteria of success then the greatest American band ever was either The Monkees or N'Synch.

Game. Set. Match.

Picture Mondays: 6/30

2008-06-30T15:46:00.002-05:00

6'4" inches of pure Hex Appeal.

Ms. Haynes was part of Dr. Draculas Den of Living Nightmares, a live midnight spook-show, that toured the mid-west in the '40s and '50s.

Cinema Suicide: Wicked, Wicked

2008-06-28T14:17:00.008-05:00

I almost killed three people last night: yours truly, and my good friends Mike and Sarah. Now, homicide was not my intention when I went over to their house for an evening of film and booze to shake off a really crappy week at work, but, while screening the first feature of the night, a cinematic anti-masterpiece called Wicked-Wicked that I brought to the party -- you're welcome, we all almost died from acute asphyxiation. I don't know if it was the booze consumed, the anamorphic duo-vision split-screen, the singing talents of Ms. Tiffany Bolling, the bug-eyed organist banging away at her keys, the teleporting actors, atomically powered euphemisms, or the 70's camouflage costumes that blended in with the wallpaper and carpet ("All I can see is a 'stache and mullet!") that helped set the stage for this near-death experience, but the final catalyst was about a thirty-second montage featuring Scott Brady, Cranky Detective, rapidly recapping how the prime murder suspect kneed him in the junk, then jumped out a window, and then drove his car off a cliff in a flash of hilariously rapid-fire, nonsensical edits that had all of us laughing so hard and doubling over, gasping and fighting for air that we all almost died -- so much so that we had to stop the movie for several minutes until our color and breathing returned to normal, allowing us to continue. Fully composed, tears wiped from our eyes, diaphragms aching, we managed to finish the feature, and though we almost had a terminal relapse during the climax with the brilliant return of Scott Brady, Cranky Detective, who probably flunked out of his hostage negotiation training, we all managed to barely survive the experience. Wow.

Folks, I'm telling you, if you haven't had the pleasure of seeing Wicked, Wicked you definitely owe it to yourself to try and track down a copy. It's so wrong, so wonderfully, wonderfully wrong in all the right ways. Just be sure to have some emergency oxygen tanks lying around. Seriously, unless you want the cause of death on the coroners report to read "Death by Misadventure: extremely bat-crap insane movie."

Trailer Park Fridays: 6/27

2008-06-27T01:53:00.002-05:00

Managed to catch a David Cronenberg double-feature last night thanks to a quirk in the cable schedule on a couple of pay channels. I never really had an opinion on the guy because, honestly, I hadn't really seen anything done by him (The Dead Zone and The Fly and that was about it), especially his earlier stuff, mostly for the simple fact of lack of opportunity. Now I have, and holy cow, Shivers and Scanners was a whole six-pack of @#%*ed up. And I mean that in an extremely good way. Scanners was gooey and gross, and perverse doesn't even begin to do Shivers justice. I mean, holy crap! The cherry pie! Sweet bajeezus the cherry pie! Anyway, glad to cross another embarrassing gap off the old cinema shortcomings list and looking forward to tracking down Rabid, The Brood, and Videodrome and finally giving them a look, too.

If you're like me, this is what you have to look forward to:

Shivers (1975)

Rabid (1977)

Good and Pissed. And a little scared to boot.

2008-06-25T02:08:00.003-05:00

I honestly can't fathom what it would be like to have a job one day, and then not to have one the next. Especially when you've done nothing wrong to deserve this "privilege."

You have a job. You don't have a job.

You've been employed for a month, six-months, a year, five years, ten. Doesn't matter.

Just like that. *snap* Gone.

Seriously. No sign. No warning. Go into the office as usual; say "hi"; settle in and prepare to dig into the day's crap-pile of stuff to get done. Just like yesterday, and the day before that etc. etc. etc. Just another day in paradise, right? But then, you get called into the boss's office. Uncomfortable silence. Hemming, hawing, nose-scratching, and then we get to the inevitable "There's no easy way to put this..."

Welcome to the ranks of the unemployed.

This did not happen to me today. But it did happen to several of my co-workers. Five all told. Three confirmed, and two more owed more to scuttlebutt than anything else. No word. No nothing, just a few empty desks scattered around the building and a lot of tears come five o'clock.

Sure, you wanna get angry -- and rightfully so. What happened in all honesty is wrong, horrible, unfair, and downright unconscionable. @#%*ing-A right it is. It also @#$%ing sucks to the Nth degree. But then there's that nagging voice warning you to stay calm, pal. You could be next. Be happy that you still have a job.

Thanks, inner voice. Like I didn't feel enough guilt already. I'm just one big ball of anger, disillusionment, guilt, shame, and more than a little scared shitless that's threatening to boil over into I don't know what.

But seriously, even if you did lose it, rant and rave, scream, put your foot thru your Mac, pull out your hair, and set the building on fire -- who is that really hurting. I mean: Who do you rant and rave to?

I have no doubt that this batch of unforeseen layoffs are due to some greater mismanagement or incompetence performed way, way up the corporate food chain. One has to wonder: Are they punished or laid off for this, too? Maybe. Maybe not. Who knows. Bottom line, baby. It's all about the bottom line, no matter what the collateral damage. And I feel it's only get worse, a lot worse, with no sign, at all, of it ever getting better any time soon -- if it all.

What I do know is that five people had jobs today. Tomorrow, the don't.

Today, I have a job. Tomorrow?

Picture Mondays (6/23)

2008-06-25T02:02:00.004-05:00

More Inclement Weather:

Seems to be the same disturbing pattern these days. Humid and sultry afternoon, six o'clock a severe thunderstorm warning, six-o-five it's raining and hailing to beat hell, then by six-ten the sun is shining and all is right with the world. Go fig.

In Memorium: George Carlin (1937-2008)

2008-06-23T15:48:00.002-05:00

I don't have much to say on this, too hard, so I'll just offer one of my favorite bits:

Trailer Park Friday: 6/20

2008-06-20T14:09:00.005-05:00

Sure, you've seen a few Godzilla trailers. Heck, you've probably even seen the original Japanese trailers. We all have. But have you ever seen them in German?

Nope, me neither. So here ya go.

Frankenstein und die Monster Aus Dem All (Destroy all Monsters):

Frankenstein -- Zwekampf der Giganten (War of the Gargantuas):

Frankenstein? Your guess is as good as mine on that translation. And as an added bonus, here's the Teutonic trailer for Gamera gagen Gaos:

Health Update.

2008-06-18T02:04:00.004-05:00

All good news from the doctor. A "viral" lung infection he called it. Nothing to worry about. And sure enough, the morning of the appointment that I put off and put off I wake up feeling the best I had in about week and half. No lung butter, no rasping and hacking. Figures.

Anyways, Doc Reimers assures me I'm on the downhill side of whatever was coagulating my bronchial passages but just to be safe he prescribed me some anti-biotics and some industrial strength cough syrup that I've affectionately dubbed "The Red Tar." Now, loyal readers of the old review website probably remember that I do not get along well with cold medicine, which led to this conversation with my physician describing my normal reaction to over-the-counter cold remedies:

"Well," I said, "when I took some Alka-Seltzer Plus once it took about two-minutes before my heart felt like it was going to explode out of my chest like that thing in Alien. And when I took some Sudafed I got all fidgety and very, very paranoid, which led to the unfortunate K-Mart incident when I was escorted out of the store for accusing a customer of giving me the stink-eye. And since that didn't work, I took some Nyquil which immediately rendered me unconscious for several hours and when I woke up about two hours later I was completely hot-wired and stuck to the ceiling of my bedroom with all twenty fingers and toes embedded in the plaster."

"You might just want to stick with one teaspoon of that, then" the doctor said without batting and eye, handing me the scripts.

Needless to say, I'm getting better -- and I'm very cautious while operating heavy machinery.

Tuneage Tuesdays: 6/17

2008-06-18T01:47:00.003-05:00

Ballad of the Hollywood Tough Guys.

First up, Robert Mitchum and and ode to Thunder Road.

And then Clint Eastwood croons a tribute to all the lonely drovers out on the trail with Rowdy.

Pretty damn good, aren't they? (And I'm just as shocked as you are.)

Picture Monday: 6/16!

2008-06-16T02:30:00.005-05:00

From the Low Deserts of Nevada:
Dry Lake Bed Derby with your Momma's Cadillac.

Oh yeah, there's definitely a story behind that shot.

Trailer Park Fridays: 6/13!

2008-06-14T02:46:00.004-05:00

We're gonna do something special today. A tribute to a criminally under-appreciated icon of '70s Sleazoid Cinema, Ms. Tiffany Bolling. Blond, beautiful, and tough as nails, you name it, she's done it genre wise. Don't believe me, then check out these trailers:

Wicked, Wicked (1973)

The Candy Snatchers (1973)

Kingdom of the Spiders (1977)

Okay, okay, fine; so she can't act worth a poop, but I don't care. She is teh awsum!!!

Under the Weather...

2008-06-13T03:07:00.008-05:00

This past winter I went thru one hellish round with the flu and something I like to refer to as "the lingering crud." I beat it then with nothing but OJ and Ibuprofen, though it took nearly two weeks, and I thought I could beat it again when I relapsed this past weekend when my lungs slowly started to coagulate like a couple of sacks of wet cement. Is there anything worse than a summer cold? Bleech. Well, everyday I thought I was getting better, but as soon as I went to bed and lay down, the cement came back and I'd start hacking up this vile, greenish goo. But no doctors for me; no sir. What doesn't kill me, blah blah blah; but then night before last I was having a strange dream. And in that dream I was choking on some dust. And when I woke up, I couldn't breath. No, I wasn't congested; I couldn't breath. At all. As my head pounded and muscles weakened for lack of oxygen, a little voice cried out "breath through your nose, stupid." That helped, and I was able to get just enough air in to dislodge the gloppy obstruction before I freakin' died. Still have it in a soiled hanky. I call it Orpheus. Thinking about having it bronzed.

Anyway, I do have a doctor's appointment scheduled for today. I think this is something more serious than a bad cold or allergies. And a quick Google search on my myriad of symptoms tells me I either have bronchitis -- or congestive heart failure.

Sometimes I really hate the internet.

A Futile and Stupid Gesture: Part II

2008-06-12T01:16:00.012-05:00

When we last left our heroes back in the Spring of 2007, against all better judgment, they had decided to embark on a two city, two stadium tour to watch and root on the Chicago Cubs -- the team they both had the shared misfortune of rooting for. So this might make more sense if you read this part first.

When it was first announced that Lou Pinella would be taking over the recently terminated Dusty Baker, the small group of baseball enthusiasts I pal around with were already working on the over/under for how many games into the season it would be before "Mt. Lou" erupted. Over his long and storied career as a baseball manager, Sweet Lou has been involved in many memorable outbursts and dust-ups. And when the Cubs stumbled badly out of the gate in '07, floundering and stinking up the bottom of the NL Central, it seemed that the only thing to look forward to was the inevitable explosion from their volatile new manager. At the time, we had hoped the volcano would remain dormant until August when we saw the Cubs play the Rockies. And when that was scuttled, replaced by this new adventure, we hoped the pending blast would at least wait until the weekend of June 2; D-Day for our two day double-header.

Somehow, I got roped into tracking down tickets and hotels for this expedition. (Thanks, Bob.) And after a few panicky online attempts at reservations of several Chicago Hotels, I finally managed to find one way out by O'Hare. Not to worry, Bob said. He'd navigated the L-Trains from the airport to Wrigley Field before -- I typed ominously. We don't call him Scout-Master Bob for nothing, folks. The sidewalk Magellan who has a bad habit of circling several blocks to find a location right next door to the starting point, was to be our navigator. Tickets proved just as tricky. Both of us wanted to sit in the Wrigley Field Bleachers at least once before we died, so bleacher seats it would be. Since it was pretty well into the season, I jumped on the first batch of tickets found on eBay and paid waaay too much money. But, you only live once. What the hell. Matching bleacher seats for Miller Park soon followed, and with horrific mathematical computations on what gas would probably cost us, we were ready to roll.

The plan was to drive to Chicago on Saturday, check into the hotel, and then head downtown for some pizza at Gino's East and then a few beers at the famed Billy Goat Tavern. (Famous for "The Curse" and providing the inspiration for the old Belushi "cheezboiger, cheezeboiger" SNL skit.) Sunday we had a day game, then a tour of several Wrigleyville watering holes where we would probably drown our sorrows over another ugly loss. One more night at the Best Western, then off to Milwaukee on Monday for a night game. And when that concluded, the plan was to head out of town and trust to luck in finding accommodations somewhere between Wisconsin and home when we or the car ran out of gas.

When the big week arrived and we ticked off the final days until our Futile and Stupid Gesture Tour embarked (and man, we need to get T-shirts for that), the Cubs started their annual June Swoon a little earlier than normal. The final two weeks of May had been pretty wretched, even for the Cubs. They had lost five straight and eleven of thirteen by the day before we were to leave. Another game and another loss was pretty much cemented when it happened. No, not Lou losing it. I'm referring to pitcher Carlos Zambrano beating the hell out of his catcher, Michael Barret, in the dugout after giving up a two-run homer. I'm telling ya, it makes a guy wanna start rooting for the Tampa Bay Devil Rays. Could it get any uglier than that? Well, yeah; it could. But, even as bad as they were, there was still an outside chance we could see Mt. Lou erupt.

This was my eighth trip to Chicago, second to the Friendly Confines, so do the math and most of the trips were in the dead of winter with horrible weather and bitter cold as I sojurned to B-Fest -- a 24 hour bad movie festival. (Details here.) Welcomed sunny skies shone on us all the way, we were making great time, and by the time we hit Illinois and turned onto I-88, we picked up WGN and listened to Ronnie and Pat call the latest series of fiascoes between the chalk lines. The Cubs were losing. Again. To quote Mr. Santo: "Awww, man. Awww. That's just awful..."

But then, what's this -- a rally? No way. But it didn't last very long, ending with a real close play at third base when Angel Pagan was thrown out.

And then it happened:

Missed it by one damn day. One DAMN day!!! Bob and I were both incredulous as the spectacle played out on the radio. And as bad as these guys were stinking it up, the only thing to really look forward to, baseball wise, had already happened. And to make matters worse, it was starting to drizzle -- and it wasn't supposed to stop raining until the middle of the week. Ah well, I hear Gino's has got some great pizza.

One. Damn. Day.

What happens next? Stay tuned for Pizza tails, train rides, biblical rain, and adventures into the bowels of downtown Chicago in A Futile and Stupid Gesture: Part III.

Tune-Age Tuesdays: 6/10

2008-06-10T15:29:00.003-05:00

Ladies and Gentlemen, Satan's Pilgrims.

Haunted House of Rock:

Burnin' Rubber:

And I really wish I could find a clip of them tearing through the Devil's Punchbowl. Alas, no such luck.

Picture Mondays: 6/9!

2008-06-09T15:51:00.003-05:00

"Can you make that out 'To My Favorite Primitive Screw-head?"

Trailer Park Fridays: 6/6!

2008-06-06T14:03:00.005-05:00

You see that guy over there? ---- >

That guy is Percy Rodrigues, and it was his deep, dulcet and menacing tones that did more to scare me out of the water than any old mechanical shark ever could back in the '70s.

Jaws (1975)
Directed by: Steven Spielberg Starring: Roy Scheider, Richard Dreyfuss, Robert Shaw and Bruce the shark.

And just when you thought it was safe to go back into the water...

Jaws 2 (1978)
Directed by: Jeanot Szwarc Starring: Roy Schieder, Lorraine Gary, Murray Hamilton, and Bruce the shark as Jason Vorhees.

Mr. Rodrigues provided the narration for a lot of trailers; comedies, dramas, it didn't matter, he still scared the beejeebers out of me.

Biblical Weather

2008-06-04T17:36:00.005-05:00

Okay, it hasn't been all that bad. But honestly, I can't remember the last quiet night we've had around here when something didn't rumble threw and take a crap on us.
If you click on the picture for a closer look, you'll see those white dots aren't rain, that's hail. A mish-mash of marble to ping-pong sized variety. The latest storm blew in and blew out in less than ten minutes, leaving small drifts of hail in its wake. Gotta love livin' in the Great Plains.

Harvey Korman (1927-2008).

2008-06-03T03:34:00.005-05:00

I don't think this clip needs much of a set up:

This one either:

Comedian, straight man, it didn't matter. Thanks for all the laughs, Harvey. Viya con dios.

Tune-age Tuesdays: 6/3

2008-06-03T02:58:00.007-05:00

A Special Memorial Tribute to the late Ellas Bates.
But you probably knew him better as Bo Diddley (1928-2008):

From 1966's The Big TNT Show: Bo Diddley, with drummer Clifton James, bassist Roosevelt Jackson, and the amazing Bo-ettes; Norma-Jean Wofford a/k/a "The Duchess" on the second guitar, Lilly "Bee Bee" Jamieson, and Gloria Morgan.

He left us too soon at the age of 79, and I'll leave you with one of my favorite of his songs that really needs no introduction:

Man it's been a bad week. Can we please stop it with the memorials?!? First Harvey Korman, and now this. Color me massively bummed.

Picture Mondays: 6/2!

2008-06-02T15:32:00.011-05:00

No, that's not your creepy uncle Larry, whose breath always smelt like scotch, and cousin Claude, whose general odor was something akin to raspberry Kool-Aid; no, what that is, is a photo I found on the web awhile back featuring one of the oddest of odd couples from the 1970s, nudie filmmaker Russ Meyer and film critic Roger Ebert.

Most folks are probably aware that Ebert wrote the screenplay for one of Mr. Meyer's few forays into major studio territory, Beyond the Valley of the Dolls. But did you also know that he penned the scripts for Up! (as Reinhold Timme) and Beneath the Valley of the Ultra-Vixens (as R. Hyde), two more gloriously gonzoid opuses and odes dedicated to large breasted, well-hipped and long-legged women and the violence that surrounded them? Well, now you do -- and knowing is half the battle. I've always liked and respected Mr. Ebert and his opinions. He's always given genre films a fair shake, and this only makes him even that much more cooler in my book.

In Memorium: Kearney Drive-In 1950 - 2008

2008-06-01T12:54:00.005-05:00

When I posted about that tornado warning in my take on the latest Indiana Jones flick, I mentioned gawking at the panicked and spooked mall patrons scrambling about. Yeah, I'm one of those guys who at the first hint of bad weather runs outside for my own look instead of heading to cover. Nine times out of ten, it's a "no big deal" situation, but Thursday, when I stepped outside of the mall and the change of barometric pressure hit me and sucked the air right of my lungs, and as I looked around and saw the sky was painted an unholy shade of green, I muttered a quick "Uh oh," before picking up the pace as I headed to my car. And my feeling of dread only grew worse when I tried to tune in a weather report on the radio and all of my programmed stations were off the air! The sky was rumbling and some nasty lightning was popping off to the west when I got home, just as the sirens started sounding again. Inside I went and tuned the TV to the local radar channel, confirming that a large ball of red was blossoming and bearing down on my hometown...

In the end, we got lucky as the storm slid just to the south of us. But just to the west of us, in Kearney, NE, they weren't so lucky. Thank Thor that there were no fatalities and the only injuries reported were during traffic accidents by those puttering around to take in the aftermath of the storm. Which brings me to the bad news:

Alas, part of that aftermath was the Kearney Drive-In Theater. Half the screen was obliterated during the storm, but the marquee was undamaged, which now simply reads "Gone With the Wind." Scuttlebutt for the longest time said the owner was looking for any excuse to shut it down and sell out. Scuttlebutt also said one of the main reasons they didn't was because they couldn't afford to tear down an asbestos filled screen. Now that mother nature has stepped in, the rumor mill already has an apartment complex going up on the property.

Regardless, it sounds like the old Kearney Drive-In is now gone for good, which bums me out to no end. I made it a personal goal several years ago to get over there at least once a summer, and a couple weeks ago I had a night off and called over to see what was showing. Prom Night and 21 were the double-bill, and sadly that wasn't enough to get me over there that night; thought I'd wait for something else. Which makes me doubly bummed because I blew my last chance to see an honest to god double-feature, with a "Three Stooges" short, vintage intermission footage, trailers, death-dogs and a possible dead battery when the night ended. *sigh*

So I ask you all to fly your tinny Dr'in Speakers at half mast for at least a week as we mourn the passing of one more, ever dwindling piece of Americana, and one of the last functioning Drive-In theaters in the state of Nebraska.

R.I.P.

Trailer Park Fridays: 5/30!

2008-05-30T01:21:00.007-05:00

So who's up for a few ghost stories? How about a double-dip from legendary schlockmeister William Castle?

House on Haunted Hill (1959)
Directed by: William Castle Starring: Vincent Price, Carolyn Craig, Elisha Cook Jr., a really unfortunate looking dismembered head, and about seven unwanted guests.

Hurry, click the link or you'll be late for you own funeral!

Well, they don't call him the Poor Man's Hitchcock for nothing. .45 pistols for party favors? Are you kidding? And man, does Carolyn Craig have a set of lungs on her, or what?!? Truly amazing. Speaking of screaming for your life...

13 Ghosts (1960)
Directed by: William Castle Starring: Don Woods, Martin Milner, Jo Morrow, Margaret Hamilton and about 11 unwanted guests -- thirteen if you count the ghostly lion.

Alas, Emergo and Percepto are not included for either trailer. But I'm telling ya, stick with these originals and avoid those tepid remakes from the last decade.

Indiana Jones and the Rise of the Godless Tornados!

2008-05-29T20:58:00.009-05:00

You remember that episode of WKRP when a tornado was bearing down on Cincinnati, still reeling from the giant Lizzard attack, and Les Nessman couldn't find the file on what to do in case of that certain emergency, so instead, he's ordered to use the instructions on what to do during a communist invasion, and whenever it says "Russian" to substitute in the word tornado? Yeah, that one. Hilarity, needless to say ensues. I was reminded of that, today, when I finally managed to carve out a couple of hours to go and see Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Geritol Tablets.

As a firm believer in the exponential Law of Diminishing Returns on this particular franchise -- hell, I thought he was too old in the Last Crusade, and being totally prepared to take the shoveling face-fulls of the usually high levels of Spielbergian bullshit* during the action scenes, and steeled for whatever Lucas considers as comedy, I felt I was ready for whatever they chucked at me. And for the record, what I saw wasn't all that terrible, just a bit tired and overdrawn -- even the normally thunderous THX fisticuffs were toned down. Sad. But that's what I expected going in. And the only thing that really bugged me was that the much ballyhooed return of Marion Ravenwood was a total bust as Karen Allen was completely wasted from what I got to see. Which brings me back to Les and those "Godless Tornadoes" -- for you see right at about the part when Indy and Co. fought off the Rooskies, the deadly ants, and took a ride over not one, not two, but three treacherous waterfalls (and I'm not even going to get into how he managed to survive an atom bomb detonation), then found the lost city of whatever, was surrounded by natives closing in for the kill, when the film abruptly stopped with about ten to fifteen minutes to go, the lights came up, and the theater manager informed us that sirens were sounding a tornado warning and we had to evacuate the theater immediately because it was headed right for us! (My home is somewhere in the middle of that huge reddish blob on the map.)

Again, the movie wasn't all that bad; it isn't terrible, I just didn't like it all that much and the last few scenes would really have to be something to change the overall verdict. And yeah, I am a little disappointed for missing the ending -- but the scenes of blind panic on some of the theater and mall patrons as they freaked and rushed about was more than worth it, quite a surreal scene -- but I'm not sure if I want to waste my free pass on seeing it again to finish it up. And honestly I don't think I can say anything worse than that. And if for some reason George and Steve-O decide to try their hands at another one, it's time to pull a Roger Moore and turn the reins, bull-whip and fedora over to somebody else, and somebody really, really needs to give them Nathan Fillion's phone number.

Tune-age Tuesdays: 5/27!

2008-05-28T03:36:00.003-05:00

Day late, I know it's Wednesday, leave me alone! I haven't gone to bed yet, so it's still Tuesday! THHHBBBTTTHH!! This week I'm gonna show my age and feature a couple songs featuring two singers that I crushed on something fierce back in the day.

First up, Sheena Easton's Telephone. Only saw bits and pieces of this video back then, no cable in Sticksville, but I definitely like the way the director thinks!

And then Ms. Olivia Newton John, singing the title song from a flick that I really, really, really hope to see at B-Fest some year. Ladies and Gents, from the Two of a Kind soundtrack, a simple Twist of Fate.

*sigh*

Picture Mondays: 5/27!

2008-05-26T20:51:00.006-05:00

Men in Sheets...

From left to right, that's a guy named Paul, the master of ceremonies, then yours truly, and lastly my buddy Bob waiting for the cops to show up as we loiter outside the Grand Theater while waiting for a screening of Animal House back in March of this year. (Half price if you wore a toga -- and I'm always looking for any kind of excuse to wear that hat in public.)

2008 marks the 30th Anniversary of Animal House, and a damn fine film it is. It makes me all nostalgic for my very own "Fat drunk and stupid is no way to go through life son" consultation with the Dean of Students at old HC when I almost flunked out my freshmen year. Yeah, like I told my friend Mike, who also attended, "I came to a realization a long time ago that no matter how hard I wanted to be Bluto, I know, deep in my heart, I will always be Flounder."

Words to live by.

Greatest. Cameo. Ever.

2008-05-25T16:04:00.005-05:00

The following clip is from an imported movie called Zoku Sanchome no Yuhi ( a/k/a Always Sunset on 3rd Street). I have no idea what it is about, but the opening two minutes are @#%*ing awesome!!

Big thanks to CultofSuckitude over on the BMMB who brought this to my attention!

Trailer Park Fridays! 5/23

2008-05-23T15:45:00.005-05:00

Feeling like Italian tonight, maybe a fist full of spaghetti...

Ammazzali tutti e torna solo a/k/a Kill them All and Come Back Alone (1968)
Directed by: Enzo G. Castellari Starring: Frank Wolff, Franco Citti and Chuck Connors as the Lucas McCain's evil twin Clyde

Do the math, and it kind of makes sense.

And I think the audio being out of whack only adds to it, don't you?

And for a second feature, more of the same, but this one probably owes more to Mario Bava than Sergio Leone...

Django (1966)
Directed by: Sergio Corbucci Starring: Angel Alvarez, Loredana Nusciak, Eduardo Fajardo, and Franco Nero as Django, who, frankly, could take out the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly without breaking a sweat.

Truly an awesome flick! Check out it as fast as you can.

An Evening with The Rat Pack

2008-05-21T21:01:00.003-05:00

Night off. Half a bottle of bourbon. And Turner Classic is showing a Rat Pack marathon -- Ocean's 11, Robin and the 7 Hoods and even Sargent's 3, which I haven't seen yet. So I'll be sitting back, putting the feet up, and mixing the drinks on the stiff side as I watch Frank, Dean, Sammy, Pete and Joey do their thing.

Ah, life is good.

Poster Archives on Flickr!

2008-05-20T06:56:00.003-05:00

For those interested, since the advent of the World Wide Web, over the years I have been slowly accumulating about a metric ton worth of gigabytes of vintage movie posters on my hard drive. And inspired by a wonderful Blog called Cinebeats, I decided to get organized and get them uploaded onto Flickr for your viewing pleasure.

So far I've got a Godzilla set uploaded, dedicated to all those wonderful imports from Toho Studios (with plans for an original posters set to come -- stay tuned), and another for The Planet of the Apes franchise. Also in the works is another batch for American International, another for Roger Corman, B-Movie monsters, Italian slashers, and a lot, lot more.

Still tweaking on the layouts, and those should be available for public viewing -- I don't think Flikr requires you to register anymore to view. If not, it's relatively painless and free. Enjoy.

Tune-age Tuesdays!

2008-05-20T01:38:00.003-05:00

Ripped from a thread over at the good old BMMB about music inspired by B-Movies, I present one of my faves, The Cramps "Teenage Werewolf" backed up by scenes from the film that inspired it. Take it away Lux...

And as a bonus, more neo-rockabilly from the '80s with The Polecats "Make a Circuit with Me."

Damn that's catchy -- but maybe I should have made that Post-Apocalyptic-Rockabilly. Man that was HUGE in the '80s, remember?

Picture Mondays!

2008-05-19T02:10:00.004-05:00

Cat in 3-D!

That's my cat.
Her name is Wrigley.
(As in Field, not the gum.)
She's @ 10 years old.
Favorite food: Whatever the hu-man is eating, especially Tostitos or Little Debbie Fruit Pies.
Favorite Hobby: Horking up hair-balls on the bed in the middle of the night just to watch the hu-man scramble for cover.
Most Endearing trait: Toss up between her troubles staying upright whilst cleaning her nethers and an insatiable need to destroy every roll of toilet paper in the universe.

Foolish Hu-Mans!

2008-05-17T01:22:00.010-05:00

One of my all time favorite movies just got a fantastic write-up over at And You Call Yourself a Scientist, an equally favorite online film review website -- and you can read Lyz's hilarious take on Robot Monster by clicking right here. I do truly love that movie, too; it is so right in its wrongness that one can only boggle as it plays out and transcends into something truly remarkable -- the ultimate gonzoid monster-movie classic. And I still contend that Mr. Tucker's magnum opus needs to dethrone Ed Wood's Plan 9 as thee quintessential B-movie watching experience. There's just something about the Shakespearean sincerity when our hero, Ro-Man, tries to profess his doomed love for the Hu-man A-lice, that one can't help feel sorry for the big lug:

Kind of hits you right [thumps chest] there, don't it. So much so that I'm surprised no one has tried to combine those elements, the Bard by way of Barrows and Brown, into one film yet:

"Hath not a Ro-Man eyes? Hath not a Ro-Man hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? Fed with the same food, hurt with the same calcinator death-rays, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Hu-Man is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? At what point do these two ideals connect on the graph? Why can this not be in the plan?!? Therefore if we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that. We cannot but we must. For if a Ro-Man wrong a Hu-Man, what is his humility? Revenge. If a Hu-Man wrong a Ro-Man, what should his sufferance be by Hu-Man example? Why, revenge; a revenge most indescribable. Fact: the villany you teach me, I will execute, and it shall go hard but I will better the instruction. There is no escape from me!"

-- Agent X-J2, "The Merchant of Ro-Man", Act III Scene I

I'm telling ya, it would have been beautiful.

Trailer Park Fridays!

2008-05-16T02:10:00.006-05:00

Starcrash (1978)
Written and directed by: Luigi Cozzi. Starring: Caroline Munro, Marjoe Gortner, the Hoff, a chemically altered Christopher Plummer, and Joe Spinell as, basically, Ming the Friggin' Merciless.

Behold the Awesomeness! Behold the Delirium!
Behold Ms. Munro in a leather bikini!

Plus!

Torso (1973)
Director: Sergio Martino. Starring: Suzy Kendall, and a lot of disposable spam.

Can you spot the psycho-sexual killer? Can you spot anything, really? Man that's murky...(NSFW!!!)

One of the Proudest Moments of My Life...

2008-05-15T02:55:00.004-05:00

Finally managed to watch King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters -- a fantastic and fascinating documentary about one every-man's trials and tribulations as he attempts to break the record high score for the old Donkey Kong arcade game, a record that's currently held by a walking piece of noxious smarm. And not only does our protagonist have to deal with Mr. Smarmy, he must also deal with his band of remedial flunkies who worship at the joystick of this asshat, all of them determined to foil and defame our hero at every step.

Now some folks might find the surprisingly highly competitive, volatile, and cutthroat world of Arcading snarkily amusing, others kinda pathetic, but to some of us it hit all the right combo-buttons straight into the bonus round -- and it's been a long, long time since I cheered that hard at the conclusion of movie. And it was also, actually, highly educational, too. I had no idea what a kill screen was, but I had experienced one and didn't even know it. At least I think I did...

Back around October of 1985, after an evening's rehearsal for the All-School Play let out, a couple of us minor thespians illegally snuck into town on a school permit and hit the Copper Quarter Arcade attached to the Runza, right across the street from the Topsy Turvy Car Wash -- made infamous a few decades later by the local P.D. If I'm remembering things right, it was me, Jim King, and Dan Fitzke. Once inside, I pulled up a stool and plopped down in front of the Galaga machine, my all time fave, and dropped in a quarter. Dan called next, but he never got the chance to play. Not to brag but I was pretty damned good at the game, but that night, man, I was in the !!@#%*ing zone. Over an hour later, I was still zapping aliens on the same silver. Stages racked up, points racked up, my carpal-tunnel initialized itself, but I kept right on blasting away. And away. And away...I honestly don't know for how long -- long after the current high score had been obliterated, I recall, and it would have been even longer except that when I completed the current stage, annihilating those little bugs off the battlefield with a double-barreled ship attack, the machine I was playing seemed to throw a rod. First it kind of blanked out, then it booted back up to a full screen of code -- kinda like the opening of The Matrix -- then it blanked out again, and after a few more hiccups and false starts, the screen reverted to start-up mode and asked for another quarter.

Holy crap, I just killed the machine!

Turns out all those games were designed to be finite, and the dream of playing forever on one quarter was just an urban myth. And once you reached the Nth stage of whatever game you chose, the machine would stop, kill you, and rollover and reset for the next guy.

Was it an actual kill screen? According to a quick Google search you have to complete 250-odd stages to accomplish this. Had I played that long? Had I achieved Arcade Nirvana? Or had I just played long enough to overload a flaky motherboard? As I said before, I honestly don't know how long I actually played but it was for quite awhile. I know this because I got Jim in some deep-shit with his folks because by the time we got out of there, and back to his car at the school, it was well after 11pm., meaning we all got home several hours late. (My mom wasn't real thrilled either.) And I don't remember what my final score was, either, because I wasn't paying attention -- too busy shooting, and it was lost when the machine wigged out, and then to add insult to injury, the damn thing didn't even ask me to put in my initials for the new high score.

Regardless, I have witnesses and I am damn proud of that moment, and the film brought it all back in quite a nostalgic rush. Nedgasm! And now I gotta wrap this up. Just found a site that'll let me play Galaga online and I got the urge to blast me some bugs. Also been trolling around on eBay. And will someone please talk me out of blowing my entire economic stimulus package on my very own upright Galaga arcade game?

Post Mordum Pick Me Up!

2008-05-14T15:21:00.003-05:00

Bad day yesterday, but I always know what'll snap me out of any funk.

Ladies and gentlemen, The Dave Clark Five:

Man, now don't you feel better? I know I do.

Election Day Blues.

2008-05-14T01:46:00.004-05:00

I voted in anger today. And I'm not necessarily proud of it.

The day started out great. Met Bob and the Brott for lunch at the Steak Buffet and promptly O.D.'d on some medium to mostly well charred, and chicken-fried protein. Plus pie. Bonus! And lunch was on Bob, which made it even better. Thanks, buddy.

Then, since it was getting towards the middle of the month, off to the Post Office I went to pick up some one-cent stamps so I could get some terminal bills in the mail. Turns out half the population of Grand Island had the same idea. Had to park across the street at Nathan Detroit's. That'd never happened to me before. Long, long line but an amazingly short wait considering. Home. Pen. Dead Pen. New pen. Checks. Cable. Utilities. Insurance. Mortgage. Licking. Stamp. Stamp x five. And all the while something was really bugging me, and worming around in my brain:

A cartoon. Editorial toon to be precise, that was published in the paper I work for by a syndicated tooner who I won't bother to name -- he doesn't deserve it -- but whose content needled my normally docile mood into a churlish anti-red. See, this [expletive deleted] with a pen is a political hack, wonk, whack-job for a certain political party that'd rather be dead than blue.

Good lord, but the state of politics in this country is an embarrassment and teetering toward a god-damned disgrace. This "us" against "them" crap has got to stop. And this inking asshat is only exacerbating the problem.

As a rule, I do not vote strictly along party lines as this idiot encourages everyone to do -- or the boogey-man'll get you. Please. Grow the !!@#%*!! up. What is this, high school?!?

I try, I honestly try to make an informed decision and vote for who I feel is the best qualified regardless of affiliation.

But not today.

Today I lost it and went on a personal crusade to give this guy the finger, and sadly, probably will again in November.

Because honestly, in the words of one Ronald Reagan, take a look around at this great country of ours -- take your time, I've got plenty -- and then ask yourself and those around you -- Are you better off now than you were eight years ago?

Noodle that one for awhile, jerk.

A Futile and Stupid Gesture on Our Part: Part I

2008-05-12T14:44:00.008-05:00

It was almost one year ago when I set out on one of those great life adventures, filled with fun, peril, biblical rain, and copious amounts of beer, but in truth, the origins of this tale can be traced back to October of 2003, back during the Chicago Cubs improbable playoff run that, like always, ended in disaster. Up three games to two against the Marlins in the NLCS, the night before the meltdown in Game Six and the inevitable loss in Game Seven (...hmmm, disasters...inevitable...Inevitable DIsasters?), a good buddy of mine named Bob and I were sitting in a bar, slightly lubricated -- OK, a lot lubricated, and deluded, which is why, then and there, we decided, tickets or no World Series tickets, we were gonna head to Chicago -- just to be there.

Man, I'm telling ya, when they won, we were gonna GO!

But, as we all know, they didn't. So we didn't either.

But man, I'm tellin' ya, we were gonna go...

Now jump a head to March of last year -- St. Patrick's Day to be precise, and in between the tequila shooters at the Glass Bar (financed by an aborted attempt to sell my 'I'm With Stupid' T-Shirt to some very intoxicated co-eds) and the 4-foot tower of green beer at the Alibi, me and Bob, depressed that our annual trip to Denver and Coors Field for another Cubs/Rockies dust-up was scuttled due to every wedding/birthday party known to man happening on that very same weekend in August, hit upon a plan. And not just any plan: a two city, two ballpark tour featuring the same crappy team that we have the misfortune to root for.

Man, it was gonna be awesome!

After sobering up the next day, a quick check of the schedule showed it was possible, and probable, but not very economical -- !!@%*#!! $3.50 gas. We kicked the idea around all of April and most of May -- and tack on the fact that the Cubs had already imploded, had lost five straight and eleven of thirteen, one had to ask one's self -- "Just what in the hell are you guys thinking?"

The answer? It's simple: It's baseball. It's ball park brats. It's stadium beer. It's sunny skies and the smell of fresh cut grass. It's Wrigley Field. Bleacher seats. And Miller Park and Bernie the Brewer and Sausage races. Old Styles and Pabst Blue Ribbon. We got Cubs/Braves on Sunday afternoon in Chicago, and Cubs/Brewers in Milwaukee on Monday.

Honestly, I couldn't afford it. Neither could Bob. But, as Bob pointed out -- quoting Otter from Animal House, despite all the omens and ominous portents facing us, "No, I think we have to go all out. I think that this situation absolutely requires a really futile and stupid gesture be done on somebody's part."

And we're just the guys to do it.

Find out what happened next in A Futile and Stupid Gesture: Part II.

New Tunes!

2008-05-12T04:32:00.004-05:00

Behold, the Surf Coasters!

Misirlou:

Sharkman:

I think I have a new favorite band.

Feeling Kinda Blue, a Frustrated Kinda Blue.

2008-05-11T02:13:00.003-05:00

My computer crapped out at my work station today. Again. For the second time in as many months. !!@#&%!! I hope the hard-drive isn't shelled like last time. Of course, it waited until I had everything reloaded, tweaked and fine-tuned and just got back to normal before it decided to give me the finger.

Repeat. !!@#&%!!

Called in tech-support, who basically looked at it and said -- Yup, it's broke. Same guy told me Friday he upgraded the OS on the machine, to which I cringed. Kinda like pulling the pin on a live grenade. Too many programs, bound to throw a rod on one of them. Course he got to go home while I worked and listened to it tick down. Swears that has nothing to do with the current meltdown. Which is fine. Don't get me wrong, I like our systems guy. To whit:

See, it chimed, he says while rebooting for the umpteenth time.
That's a good thing, right? I say.
Absolutely, he says.
You mean it'll work, I say.
Well, probably not. No, not really, he says.

See. Affable sort. So no, I don't blame him for what happened but on the same stroke the machine is still broke, and he's the tech guy -- fix it. But, weekend and all -- so there it will set like a really expensive paperweight until Monday, and then probably back to the shop for another "new" hard drive.

Threepeat: !!@#&%!!

Limped through tonight OK on the back-up. Flakey machine. Send a page. Program Crash. Send a page. Program Crash. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Gonna be a long weekend.

*sigh*

Trailer Park.

2008-05-11T02:04:00.004-05:00

In honor of unearthing a few ads for one of the greatest gonzoid classics of all time over at Scenes from the Morgue, thought I'd celebrate by sharing their trailers with you all.

Behold! The Giant Claw:

And where were you The Night the World Exploded:

Kittens on a Treadmill.

2008-05-10T03:49:00.001-05:00

This will only end in tears.

Feeling Good.

2008-05-10T03:36:00.003-05:00

Finally! After a couple weeks of building, tweaking and fine-tuning, I managed to at last publish a massive update for all my sister sites. Micro-Brewed Reviews is finally a go, and Scenes from the Morgue is chugging along and shaping up far better than I thought possible.

I had hoped to have an official 3B Theater update to add to the mash-up, but I just couldn't quite bring together the reviews for Tony Rome and The Lady in Cement. The more I dug, the more I found a solid connection between the careers of star Sinatra, director Gordon Douglass and pulp writer Marvin Albert on whose books the films were based. Wasn't satisfied with the initial write-up, or the second, so we're gonna let that one sit on the back-burner for awhile until I can take one final run at it.

So for now, enjoy a few new reviews and a few rehashed and refurbished reviews over at 3B Theater.

Getting to Know You...

2008-05-08T23:32:00.003-05:00

Okay, we've started over, blogging wise, so I thought it'd be a nice opportunity to let you all know a little about me with one of those chain-meme's that I keep getting via e-mail. Read at your own risk:

Q. What is your wallpaper on your computer?
An Ed Benes rendition of the Black Canary leaning against her motorcycle. All about the fishnets and leather, baby!

Q. How many televisions do you have in your house?
Three: Rumpus room, living room and bedroom.

BIOLOGY

Q. Are you right-handed or left-handed?
Right handed. But I can swing both ways if need be. What’s the word for that again?

Q. Have you ever had anything removed from your body?
Adenoids. A few anomalous bumps and moles. A few teeth.

Q. What is the last heavy item you lifted?
A junked water-softner still full of salt.

Q. Have you ever been knocked out?
Yep. And concussed. Several times. Several times too many, probably. What were we talking about again?

BULLSHIT

Q. If it were possible, would you want to know the day you were going to die?
Absolutely not!

Q. If you could change your name, what would you change it to?
Woodrow – and don’t call me Woody. Or Thaddeus.

Q. What color do you think looks best on you?
Frankly, no color looks good on me so I’ll settle for navy or black. Definitely dark.

Q. Have you ever swallowed a non-food item?
On purpose? Swallowed a coin playing quarters once. And if you believe the urban legends quite a few stray spiders while I've slept.

DARES

Q. Would you kiss a member of the same sex for $100?
I’d probably do it for $10.

Q. Would you allow one of your little fingers to be cut off for $200,000?
Yeah. If I let you take ‘em both do I get $400,000?

Q. Would you never blog again for $50,000?
I guess I could keep doing it with a non de plume. Maybe Roger Wilco?

Q. Would you pose naked in a magazine for $250,000?
Sure. No one would buy it. But sure, it’s your money.

Q. Would you drink an entire bottle of hot sauce for $1,000?
No.

Q. Would you, without fear of punishment, take a human life for $1,000,000?
Depends. If I had irrefutable proof that the victim deserved it, maybe. And just maybe. I gotta weird, almost pathological guilt hang-up.

DUMB

Q: What is in your left pocket?
Nothing. Wearing sweats.

Q: Is Napoleon Dynamite actually a good film?
Good but not great. It made me laugh when it was trying to be funny and I think that says a lot.

Q: Do you have wood or lay carpet in your house?
What is this “lay carpet” you speak off? Sounds kinky. For the record, all carpet except for part of the basement which is concrete.

Q: Do you sit or stand in the shower?
Stand. I fall asleep a lot in the shower. See question #6.

Q: How many pairs of flip flops do you own?
None. My feet are grotesque.

LAST

Q: Last person who texted you?
My cheap-ass phone plan won’t let me. Never had the pleasure.

Q: Last person who called you?
My buddy Bob to come over and watch the Cubs lose on satellite.

Q: Last person you hugged?
My cat. Yes. She counts. Fine. A co-worker and she really, really needed it.

FAVORITES

Q: Number?
Zero my hero.

Q: Season?
Baseball. Oh that season. Used to be winter. Used to thrive in the cold. Now I hate it, so let’s say fall.

Q: Colour?
American flag blue.

CURRENT

Q: Missing someone?
I'd rather not talk about it.

Q: Mood?
Tired.

Q: Listening to?
A mix CD called Sand in Your Crack. Surf thrash instros.

Q: Watching?
Plan to watch The Car as soon as I get this thing posted.

Q: Worrying about?
Money. General debts. House needs work. I got friends I’d really like to visit.

Q: Wearing?
Sweats and Tee.

RANDOM

Q: First place you went this morning?
The toitee.

Q: What can you not wait to do?
At the moment, watching The Car in widescreen DVD.

Q: Do you smile often?
Not really.

Q: Are you a friendly person?
People tell me I am. And I guess that’s what really counts, right?

What the -- Where'd Everything Go?!?

2008-05-07T19:22:00.002-05:00

Yes, there used to be a lot more, here. You're not crazy.

Never fear, folks. We (as in me and all the voices roaming around in my noggin) are just stuck in a strange nesting and reorganizing mode. Nothing was completely trashed, just moved. So if you're looking for the reviews that were here, they've been moved over to one of our new sister sites: Micro-Brewed Reviews. And if you're looking for those old newspaper movie ads, those were shipped off to the brand new site: Scenes from the Morgue. And don't forget about the mothership: 3B Theater.

So what does that leave, here?

Well, more personal stuff. Pics, thoughts, rants, and other general writing. Updates will probably be sparse, but my goal is to start working on the novel again, which I'll probably post in excerpt form here sometime in the near future.

Stick around. Should be interesting.

My New Reading Hat...

2008-05-07T15:25:00.002-05:00

Whattaya think?

Thanks to my good friend, the Other Bill, who slapped this thing together for me. Awesome job, pal.