Insert title here

As I approached my fiftieth birthday, I had become more and more enraged an mystified by the idiot decisions made by my countrymen. And then I had come suddenly to pity them for I understood how innocent and natural it was for them to behave so abominably, and with such abominable results: They were doing their best to live like people invented in story books. This was the reason Americans shot each other so often: It was a convenient literary device for ending short stories and books.

Why were so many Americans treated by their government as thought their lives were as disposable as paper facial tissues? Because that was the way authors customarily treated bit-part players in their made-up tales.

And so on.

Once I understood what was making America such a dangerous, unhappy nation of people who had nothing to do with real life, I resolved to shun storytelling. I would write about life. Every person would be exactly as important as any other. All fact would also be given equal weightiness. Nothing would be left out. Let others bring order to chaos. I would bring chaos to order, instead, which I think I have done.

If all writers would do that, then perhaps citizens not in the literary trades will understand that there is no order in the world around us, that we must adapt ourselves to the requirements of chaos instead.

It is hard to adapt to chaos, but it can be done. I am living proof of that: It can be done.

- Kurt Vonnegut
Breakfast of Champions

I put a few hours of work into the new novel tonight, cleaning up some of what was bugging me about the second chapter. There's still something kind of itchy about it, but I think I like it better now, because I seem to be managing to spread out the details of the school shooting a bit more effectively. Which isn't entirely because I want to spread it out, but because that's the style I'm trying to use for this book -- lots of short, almost jarring, pieces. Now we're here. Now we're somewhere else. Now we're somewhere else. Jumping from the events of the present, to recollection, to the realm of pure fantasy, every page or so.

I'm having fun with it. Well, as much fun as can be had dwelling in the head of someone who hasn't slept in four days.

Finished Vonnegut's Breakfast of Champions earlier tonight -- one of the books I picked up in Kamloops during my first week's vacation this year. I enjoyed it tremendously, and was profoundly struck by the chunk of the book I quoted at the top. I actually read that chunk last night, and have been burning with a desire to post it ever since I read it.

It's an interesting idea he poses -- and an idea he used in the actual writing of Champions, which is, I think, one of the greatest satires of American (and, thus, North American) culture I've ever read. Published in 1973, and still just as relevant. I haven't read a lot of Vonnegut, but from what I have, that seems to be the case.

Reading Vonnegut -- or any good satirist, for that matter -- leaves me wanting to dig out last year's aborted NaNo novel and take another stab at it. I wish I knew why it was that the book unravelled on me. If it was because I was trying to satirize something too big for my talent, or if it was simply because I was rushing through it to meet my daily word count. I still think the idea -- and the satire within that idea -- has merit, and I'd love to give it another shot. Maybe when I'm done with this new one.

On the topic of the NaNo, I'm a little concerned about this year. It's still a few months away, but I'm burning out the only current novel idea I have right now, and at the rate I'm writing, I'll be lucky to be done with this one by the time November rolls around. I'd hate to miss a NaNo after three years, but I'd hate more to try to put this book on the sidelines in order to pursue something else for just a month.

Started writing this week's column in my head tonight before jumping on the novel. I should have typed the words up at the time, because when I try to remember them on Wednesday, they won't be quite as good as they were tonight.

That's the way it always goes.

I need a notepad and a pen. And then I need the willingness to actually use them.

Working on the new novel again tonight. Already seeming like I'm not going to get much of it done, as I'm already avoiding it by writing here instead. But I needed to stop and complain about stupid little things. Like the fact that it's only the second chapter and I already can't quite remember how long the protagonist has been awake for.

I need to keep notes. How freaking difficult is it to just jot down the day and time that he last slept, and then refer to that anytime I need to know? Not difficult at all. So why haven't I? Outside of my often being a gigantic retard, I'm really not sure.

It's a little detail, to be sure, and one easily fixed in later drafts. But I hate having to clean up stuff like that in later drafts, because it's so bloody easy to just get right the first time through if you're paying attention. And it's not that I'm not. Or not entirely. It's just that my mind wanders, and I end up focused on other things, digressing into a commentary on how the future turned out to be a world of sedation, and isn't it wonderfully ironic that in this sedated world, our protagonist would be an insomniac?

Yeah, wonderfully ironic, except we can't remember anymore how long he's been awake for, because, Todd, you haven't figured out how to use a notepad yet.

I think I'm also avoiding this chapter because it's the back-story chapter. Well, not THE backstory chapter. The way I write, I never know when backstory is going to suddenly rear it's ugly head. But this is the big one. The spiritual moment that did the exact opposite thing from most spiritual moments -- the moment that convinced our hero that God doesn't exist. And the moment that everything else in the book is going to end up connected to. This is the Columbine chapter. This is when our protagonist tells the story of the day his high school was the site of horrible, random, meaningless violence -- when a pair of students blew away a half-dozen other students, just because they could.

I so fucking don't want to mess this up.

It needs to hit the reader hard when it happens. It needs to explain how this character gave up on God. And it needs to do all of this while treating the topic of high-school violence with respect. I don't want this to be a bullshit exploitational thing. My thoughts and opinions on high school violence are complicated at best (but really, when aren't they?) and I need to get as much of that across on paper as human possible.

I should just stop worrying about it and go and do it. I tend to be mostly successful when I take that approach. But I'm a bit out of it myself right now, from not having a fantastic sleep last night, and I half think I might be better off saving it until my brain is working better.

I'm even stressing about what would make the best background music for trying to write this chunk.

Again, I should stop worrying, and just load something up and write it.

Instead, I distract myself here.

Writing about how I'm distracting myself.

How meta.

In novel-related successes, I did name the pseudo-love-interest character (and, even before then, figured out the love-interest subplot for this novel, so that's yet another success) and have already established the line that introduces her. Or at least her name.

"Her name was Summer, but she looked more like late-autumn."

Super-cheese? Probably, but at least for the moment, it's working for me. Because it's coming from the main character, and not a third-person narrator. And if it's super-cheese, at least it helps depict his sudden, love-at-first-sight reaction to her.

Now if only I had a name for my main character.

What's a good name for a 20-something insomniac?

I need something quick, because there's no way I'm going through half a novel without naming my narrator again.

Dear "StumbleUpon" plug-un for Firefox...

...sometimes I love you.


Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

Random 10

It’s not Friday for most of the world, but today does mark the end of my work week, and I’m jonesing to blog, and I’m sitting here listening to music anyway, so I figured it might be a good opportunity to dust off the ol’ Friday Random 10. Arguably Friday or not.

PS: As per the “Tell me something about you that I don’t know” question from two entries ago; yes, I am singing along with every single one of these. Take that.

1. Marianne Faithfull – Incarceration of a Flower Child – I’ve only listened to this song a handful of times, but I just can’t get over it. Written by Roger Waters of Pink Floyd in 1969, it wasn’t recorded until 1999, and even then it was performed by Marianne Faithfull (with Waters on the bass). It’s pure, classic Waters, and in many ways, seems lyrically stronger than much of what Floyd was doing in that era. As much as I would love to imagine what it would have sounded like as performed by a 1960s-era Pink Floyd, the Marianne Faithfull version is so wonderful haunting that I wouldn’t trade it for anything else.


2. Brazil – Mr. Helpmann – A quick radio interview from Terry Gilliam’s Film “Brazil.” – funny, funny stuff, but it might be a little confusing if you’ve never seen the movie. Which, by the way, if you haven’t you should. No really. Like, right now. Go rent it or buy it or steal it from someone you don’t much like. Because, seriously, it’s that good.


3. Phil Collins – That’s Just The Way It Is – I was super-into Phil Collins in the mid-to-late 80s, but something about the transition into the 90s seemed to diminish either his musical power, or my taste for his music. I still have a soft spot for his tunes from that era, but anything he’s done since then just doesn’t sit well for me. This is from the “But Seriously” album, which marked the end of my fascination with him – some good stuff on here, but some of it is already stale-dating.


4. Alabama 3 – Ain’t Gonna Go – From Alabama 3’s first album. Is there anything from these guys that isn’t just completely, undeniably, 100%, multi-flavoured awesome?


5. Eagles – Wasted Time – Probably the most optimistic lost-love song ever written. An all time favourite of mine, and one I always queue up whenever I’m feeling particularly blue.


6. INXS – Laying Down the Law – Looking at the tracks listed above and below this song, I can only assume this is from the “Lost Boys” soundtrack. Which is a movie I’m really not fond of, and which I only downloaded for one song. Come on, random 10, things were going so well – I didn’t need to be reminded of how much crap is on my hard drive.


7. Eagles – James Dean – More stuff that I only have because I’m an insane collector. Don’t think I’ve heard this song before, but this one I’ll actually listen to, because, for the most part, the Eagles are pretty cool. [EDIT: Okay, I think I probably have heard this before – probably in the background, on a radio, somewhere. Either that or it’s one of those songs that just has that sound to it – like something you’ve heard before, even if you haven’t.]


8. Alanis Morissette – Baba – I think one of these days I’m going to do an “almost random 10” list because I can’t count the number of times I’ve had a song pop up that I’m not terribly familiar with (like, say, this one) which is immediately preceded or followed by something I’m much, much more familiar with (like, say, Morissette’s “Thank U” – as is the case here).


9. Sinead O’Connor – Waiting for a Van – Things started so well. How did they so quickly digress into bunches of stuff I don’t really know? I guess have 10 CDs of rare Sinead O’Connor stuff doesn’t help.


10. Pink Floyd – Vera – From “The Wall” (though this is an extended take on it, yanked from the movie). I really need to see this film, and I really need to sit down and listen to this album again. I think I sort of overdosed on it in my teens, which, as overdoses often do, led me to run screaming away. But it remains an epic, musical achievement, probably the most famous and most successful rock opera of all time, and Pink Floyd has long been a personal favorite.


11. Peter Gabriel – Ngankarrparni (Sky Blue) [Reprise] – Damn, that’s a lotta brackets. Just guessing from the surrounding tracks, but this looks like it might be from Gabriel’s “Rabbit-Proof Fence” soundtrack. Additionally, it sounds (and is titled) like it was take on his “Sky Blue” song, from the album “Up.” Which, by the way, was awesome. [EDIT: This is sort of interesting to listen to. I’ve never seen “Rabbit-Proof Fence” (where I think this version is from) but it’s definitely an early take on “Sky Blue” without any lyrics. Just the music and the chorus of voices going, “Oh oh-oh-oh ooooooh.”]


12. JB’s Blues – From the “I Heart Huckabees” Soundtrack. Damn that’s a good movie. Damn that’s a good soundtrack. And yes, I’m going to 15. At least.


13. Warren Zevon – I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead – The song right under this is  “Lawyers, Guns and Money,” which I’d rather listen to right now. So I think I will.


14. Pink Floyd – Another Brick in the Wall Part 3 – Wow, two songs in one night from “The Wall” – it must be a sign! And they’re not even the over-rated ones! W00t!


15. Beck – Hotwax – I really need to start listening to some earlier Beck. I mean, I don’t really have an excuse for not. I’ve got all his stuff on my hard drive.


16. Tatu – All The Things She Said – And on this note, we’ll bring this to a close. This song is currently on my short-list of songs to use in the intro / intermission set for the play “Closer.” Assuming I ever get around to directing that thing.

Good night! Stay safe!

Editors -- who needs 'em.

Daniel Schorr on blogging:

"What we have here is a medium in which there is no publisher, no editor, no anything. It's just you and a little machine and you can make history. I find that scary. Nobody should get into print or on the air without some kind of editor. I have an institutional belief that nobody can be above having a good editor."

From Romenesko (via A Capital Idea)

I was actually thinking about this recently, noticing how many web sites and blogs (this one included) have, among other things, horribly written headlines. Headline writing, I really think, is an artform, a skill that not everyone possesses. Somewhere in between are the people that -- like me -- have difficulty crafting a good a headline, but can spot a bad from a mile away. Then there are the people who think that puns are the highest form of humour, and litter their headlines with them.

I won't take that topic any further -- any regular reader of my column should know what I think about puns.

The point is this: bad headlines are the least of your worries if you're writing without an editor handy.

The average blogger probably doesn't know the first thing about plagarism. The average blogger probably doesn't know the first think about libel. And, while the average blogger is probably safe from this sort of thing most of the time, we all get our panties in a bunch now and then, and get off on a rant that we might regret after a few days. Unfortunately, regret is rarely enough once the damage is done.

And it's probably fair to bet that if a blogger doesn't have an editor on staff, he doesn't have a lawyer on staff either.

It's surprising that there haven't been more lawsuits -- or, if there have been a flood of lawsuits already, it's surprising that they haven't been more wildly publicized. Is it that Internet writers have, so far, just gotten lucky? Is it that most libelous weblogs aren't actually read by enough people for the lebelled party to ever find out about it? Did lawyers around the world suddenly decide that there was just far too much litigation already tying up the courts?

Either way, I agree with Mr. Schorr's comment, that there is no one that can't be helped by a good editor.

Time Killing FTW.

I swiped this little Q&A meme from over here (can't remember for the life of me how I even ended up at that site, random clicking seems to be the most logical answer). Here we go.

1. Grab the book nearest you, turn to page 18 and find line 4. Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut - "stadtische Ordnung hineingesat; da ruhmie mir der"

2. Stretch out your left arm as far as you can. What can you touch? My laser printer, and in it an aborted print job of my last completed novel -- aborted because, after starting the print job, I realized I didn't have anywhere near enough paper to print the whole thing.

3. What is the last thing you watched on TV? No cable in the house. The television show I watched (on my PC) was the final episode of the current season of the Sopranos.

4. Without looking, guess what time it is. 3:15-ish

5. Now look at the clock. What is the actual time? 3:19

6. With the exception of the computer, what can you hear? Aimee Mann, Stupid Thing, from the "Whatever" album, which is currently playing on my computer's MP3 player.

7. When did you last step outside? What were you doing? Sometime around noon, I think, to check the mail and see if I had a delivery notification card -- I'm desperately waiting for a repaired DVD player to get back to me.

8. Before you started this survey, what did you look at? My blogger log in screen, and then Wordpad, which I pasted the survey into so I could delete the previous surveyor's ansewrs.

9. What are you wearing? Black dress shirt from yesterday and lazy-day pants. Doing dishes and housecleaning today, and haven't climbed into the shower yet.

10. Did you dream last night? Probably. Don't remember it though.

11. When did you last laugh? The last time I actually recall was while playing 1980s-era arcade games on the gamecube with my roommate last night, but I'm sure I chuckled at something earlier today.

12. What is on the walls of the room you are in? Paint. Mostly white, but one wall is sort of covered with green swooshes and splats. One of the walls has someshelving, with a bunch of my more expensive books on it.

13. Seen anything weird lately? I saw a pair of shoes -- just a pair of shoes -- in the parking lot outside Canadian Tire a few weeks ago. Made me think that someone had been shot with a disintegrator ray.

14. What do you think of this quiz? It's delaying the next load of dishes, so it's not all bad.

15. What is the last film you saw? Moulin Rouge, in the company of friends.

16. If you became a multi-millionaire overnight, what would you buy? A brand spanking new computer with at least a 40" wide screen monitor, I'd pay off my house, pay off my remaining debt, and buy a new car.

17. Tell me something about you that I don’t know. I secretly like to sing. Really, really loudly. But usually only after a couple of drinks, and when I'm alone.

18. If you could change one thing about the world, regardless of guilt and politics, what would you do? Let's get rid of this whole stupid poverty thing. It's really rather unneccesary.

19. Do you like to dance? I'm pretty lacking in rythmn, so for the most part, no, but when the music slows, and the lights dim, I can't think of any reason I *wouldn't* want to have my arm around someone special on the dance floor.

20. George Bush: makes me grateful I'm a Canadian.

21. Imagine your first child is a girl. What do you call her? I can't even name my fictional characters without weeks of stress.

22. Imagine your first child is a boy. What do you call him? See last answer.

23. Would you ever consider living abroad? Sure.

24. What would you want God to say to you when you reach the pearly gate? "I don't want to fixate on the negative, so I'll start off by saying that you did a pretty good job. But if you want to discuss ways that you could have improved your performance, come and talk to me in my office later."

25. 3 people who must also do this quiz in their blog: I don't know if three people with blogs routinely visit this spot, so I'll just point the finger of evil at Elise, who has been known to drop by on occasion.

Tonight on a very special Stick Figure Drama Update

Stick Figure Drama special features are finally available, after months of my intending to get around to doing this. I know the weekly strips are in pretty dire need of an update, and that's coming soon, but c'mon, this stuff's even better. It's rare material! It includes the 2004 Cariboo Advisor Photo Album advertisement, the 2005 Cariboo Advisor Photo Album advertisement (which, finally, attaches a name to every stick figure drama character), and the 2005 Christmas advertisement (which some people feared would offend christians, so you know it's gotta be good).

It also includes the first ever appearance of the original version of Stick Figure Drama #70, which was yanked from publication at the last minute because of it's controversial nature.

Enjoy!

An update, because things have been pretty dry around these parts.

My lord, this heat.

I can't see straight. I can barely think. The only thing I'm actually capable of doing is sweating, and I'm pretty sure that's automatic.

I'm sure there are hotter places in the world, and I know that leads people to suggest that I should quit my damn complaining. I'm just glad I'm not in those hotter places right now. I don't think I'm built for this weather. Though, I suppose I'm still trying to figure out exactly what my body's built for, besides being a temporary storage container for liquor.

Against my better judgment, I started picking away at a new novel the other night. Slowly. And I mean fucking sloooooowly. It's looking about 1600 words every four or five days, instead of the 1600 words every day that I'm used to for national novel writing month.

I think I'm afraid about the sort of commitment a novel requires. I think I'm afraid of losing the next 30 to 60 days of my life to this thing, because once it gets rolling, it really gets rolling, and there's no tearing yourself out of it. I'm gettin ga pretty good sense of what the book's about, though, just from leaving it in the back of head to simmer for a few months. Which is something I need to remember to do when I have an idea for a story or a novel. When the first flash of inspiration hits me, it's never well-enough formed for me to actually sit down and work on it then. It seems like it is, but I only need to get about a page and half into it before I start noticing that there are big gaping holes where all the important points should be. And then I'll back off for awhile.

But those gaping holes have been closing off pretty quickly. The core story -- which I think I've mentioned her before -- involves a character suffering from insomnia, who bumps into a group of people who intentionally going through sleep-deprivation in an attempt to stumble upon some sort of spiritual enlightenment.

With a set-up like that, obviously it's a story that's going to play with notions of faith and spirituality and the inevitable questions of, "Why are we here?"

A tragic high-school shooting will likely also play a role, if I continue down this path as planned.

After last year's NaNo "The Small Town Pornographer's Blues," which was sort of a deviation from the norm for me, I feel like I'm back in familiar territory with this one. A character who is broken and hopeless. A quest for meaning. And a writer's endless struggle to revisit familiar territory without repeating himself.

And, completely unrelated to this, and completely unrelated to just about anything, I've had Shakira's "Underneath Your Clothes" stuck in my head off and on for the last few weeks. I don't know why. And I don't know how to get rid of it either.

AMAROK

I got back on Saturday from a very brief vacation to Kamloops. As is my nature on road trips lately, I brought along my mp3 player and my whacky FM tuner thing, that broadcasts the signals from an audio device to an FM station, for ease of listening. The tuner kind of sucks, because the music is always filled with more static than I'd like, and the bass is weak, and blah blah blah, but it's also better than nothing.

I had a collection of Mike Oldfield stuff loaded up on my MP3 player, and on the trip home, I happened to cue up the "Amarok" album -- which isn't realy an "album" in the traditional sense. It's pretty much just a 60-minute track. But it's a 60-minute track of some of the most amazing music you will *ever* hear.

My research into Mike Oldfield in general, and this album specifically, indicates that this was something he put together as a "fuck you" to his label of the time -- Virgin Recores. It was a contractual obligation album. It was something he did to get the hell away from where he was working.

But, even as a "fuck you" album, Amarok is, at times, one of the most amazingly jubliant pieces of music I've ever experienced. Every single time I hear it -- and there have been many times -- there are points where I get chills, points where tears well up in my eyes at the beauty of it, at the joy of it. "Fuck you" albums shouldn't be this much fun.

But this one is.

If you don't know this work, and odds are you don't, you're missing out. And if you don't know Mike Oldfield at all, you're robbing yourself of the gift of one of the finest musicians of the late-20th and early-21st centuries.

I was going to write something about MySpace...

...but then I decided to save it for a column.

Instead I'm going to ramble about music.

Badgerbadgerbadger.

I'm posting this, in spite of it being years old by now, because it's just the sort of thing that never actually gets old. And because I haven't made an appropriate gesture in honour of the death of Petey, our beloved invisible karaoke-singing badger.

Badger badger badger.

Sniff.

Insomnia 'til you're dead...

I'm sure there are, but at the moment I can't think of a worse affliction than Fatal familial insomnia.

I stumbled upon the rare, inherited disorder -- which, essentially, is a total, irreversable, and incurable form of insomnia, that you get to suffer from until you go insane and die -- while searching for information on the far more vanilla form of insomnia, because I'm considering a story or novel involving the topic, and was curious, specifically, about the world record for sleep deprivation (in the area of 10 to 12 days, for straight insomnia, which may or may not be long enough for what I have in mind for this story -- it'd probably only end up being 7-10 chapters, as I'd intend each chapter as one day of insomnia, until the spell finally broke, but then again, it's fiction, so I can push it longer if necessary).

But I digress. Back to this creepy, tragic way of dying.

Back to the Wiki entry on the disease:

The age of onset is variable, ranging from 30 to 60, with an average of 50. Death usually occurs between 7 to 36 months from onset. The presentation of the disease varies considerably from person to person, even among patients from within the same family.

Let's stop and think about that for a second.

Death usually occurs 7 to 36 MONTHS from onset. That's 7 to 36 MONTHS without sleep. That's 7 to 36 MONTHS of slowly losing your mind, becoming increasingly anxious, phobic, and paranoid.

If it wasn't for the fact that I already have a fairly good idea of where I want to go with this insomnia book -- and, unfortunately, it involves the character eventually falling asleep -- I would incredibly pumped about writing about this disorder. It's just so...terrifying.

I only hope I can sleep tonight, with this particular thing on my mind.

At last, stickage

I've been a little lazy with the stick figure drama updates as of late, likely because for the most part I've shifted from doing them on the weekend, to doing them on Monday. At the end of a Sunday work shift, I'm still energetic enough when I get home to upload the new strip. At the end of a Monday work shift, I just want to lay down and die.

So the last three weeks of stick is now updated under the stickage navigator. That includes this week technically-published-but-you-still-might-not-have-seen-it-yet strip.

[Spoilers follow -- go read the stupid strip first, it'll only take you a second]

Speaking of that strip, here's a bit of trivia: the last two panels were actually drastically rewritten at the last minute, to include an Abba karaoke reference instead of a bizarre and obscure They Might Be Giants musical reference (I planed to refer to Petey as a "Wicked little critter" -- which, actually, I still want to do at some other point in the future).

This rewriting also allowed me to get them into the Dart for next week, instead of having them stand around for yet *another* week before beginning the road trip, which I think is a good thing. I'd like to get them to Lefty before, say, the end of the year.

In rewriting, though, I found that Tracy had pretty much zero to say with the new didalogue, which is pretty much the only reason that she shouts out, "Shotgun!"

Also, the paramedic has a black eye for reasons of continuity. And he doesn't say anything because he's all pissy about it.

ALSO...the more I think about it, the more that filler strip #99.5 is bugging me. I don't think it's terribly clear what is supposed to be going on in the strip (Weird Bob stumbling onto Petey's invisible little corpse), nor am I even entirely sure that I still want that to be what was going on in that panel. Really, when you get right down to it, it could be just bout anything.

I think, long term, one of two things will happen with that strip. I'll either A) try to pretend it never happened, and scrub its existence from my mind; or B) Retcon the bejeezus out of it, and make it mean something entirely different. Dunno what quite yet.

Anyway, enough stick figure creator ramblings. Tune in next week for exciting road-trip humour.

Digital ghosts

My computer has taken, lately, to randomly and spontaneously rebooting itself. It's a minor annoyance, because it means sitting around for a few minutes waiting for it start back up again, but only minor, because it only happens once every few days. I'm inclined to think that something'e overheating, but not sure exactly what it is.

It takes a few minuts to boot up because I have a lot of applications that load at startup -- instant messengers, video utilities, anti-virus apps, firewalls, things like that. Some of them are hangers-ons from previous days, applications I know longer use but haven't gotten around to removing yet. Others are loaded almost out of nostalgia -- in spite of my awareness that I no longer use it, it seems strange to not have it running anymore.

ICQ is one of those programs.

ICQ was the first major internet instant messaging application, and thus has been around longer than all the others, even though over the years many of the others -- like MSN Messenger -- have become far more popular.

There was a time once where 99% of my contacts were on ICQ, and I only had MSN installed for or two people who refused to use anything else. Fine, I'd think, I can have two chat apps installed without too much of a hassle.

A few months back, the last person I actually talked to in ICQ finally switched to MSN, and now my ICQ loads up every time my computer starts for no reason at all.

While I was waiting for my computer to reboot today, staring at all the programs starting during the boot-up process, I thought about removing ICQ. It's not really do much except taking up hard drive space and valuable system resources.

But then I thought about birthdays.

One of the neat features of ICQ (and maybe MSN has this too -- I'm not sure) is that, when someone on your contact list is approaching a birthday, you'll get a reminder. A crppy little snippet of "happy birthday" will play over your speakers, and a little icon flashing in your system tray will tell you that someone on your list is about to celebrate a birthday. And it gives you three days warning to go, "Oh, crap, I almost forgot it was their birthday!" and run out and buy them something nice.

And then I got to thinking about all these people on my ICQ contact list -- some of whom have been on there for close to ten years, and many of whom haven't been online in ICQ in five -- and how, in a way, it's a tiny little ghostly fragment of who they are. Their name is there. Their email address is there. Their birthday is there. And, if they haven't moved or changed occupations, their addresses and places of employment are there.

And whether they've been online or not, all that information still exists.

The idea manages to be simultaneously creepy and comforting. Creepy, because it's like someone is spying into your life -- or what your life was the last time you updated your ICQ profile. And comforting because, in a way, it's an acknowledgement that this person existed. They could wander into the forest and disappear without a trace, and yet this tiny little chunk of information that my computer has access to proves that they did, in fact, exist once. They were real. They were my friends. They had birthdays and addresses and home and work contact numbers.

It's a uniquely 21st century way of validating your existence.

So ICQ remains on my hard drive, and will for the foreseeable future (meaning, likely, until my next hard drive reformat). Because I like the birthday reminders. And because I like having access to these strange, digital ghosts of those who have come and gone, but who still remain embedded in my memory.

Stabbing yourself in the face doesn't give you cancer either...

From an anonymous comment under my blog entry on trying to quit smoking on a particuarly nasty production day, which can be found here.

Smoking causes cancer.
Body Modification doesn't.

I'm left to assume that this is not only a comment on the blog entry, but a comment on a column I recently wrote on body modification, in which I said some less than flattering things about the practice. In the column I chose to connect more common forms of body modification, like piercing, with some of the more non-traditional, like chopping off your toes to varying lengths, or intentionally getting shot. And then implied that there was something a little bit nuts about all of it.

Which, you know, I still sort of agree with. In spite of the fact that, yes, body modification doesn't cause cancer. Because in and of itself, that's really not a terribly good reason to do something. There's plenty of things that don't cause cancer that you still shouldn't do. Running razor blades up and down your arms doesn't give you cancer. Shooting heroin doesn't give you cancer. Eating things like rocks or soil doesn't give you cancer. And these are all things that people do, for a variety of reasons. And yes, it's usually because they're messed up in some way.

As for my smoking, it's not without its messed up reasons, which are best described by author, humourist, and all-around smart-guy, Kurt Vonnegut.

"The public health authorities never mention the main reason many Americans have for smoking heavily, which is that smoking is a fairly sure, fairly honorable form of suicide."

There's a reason that I'm drawn back to smoking at times of great stress or great depression. It's because it allows me to feel like I'm actually participating in the act of ending my life. Just in a way that actually takes awhile to accomplish. And one in which, if I ever got my act together, and ever felt positive and successful enough for a lengthy enough period of time, I could still probably shake before it had done any sort real long term damage.

So there you have it, Mr. Anonymous: You might have been a little uncomfortable with my attempts to point fingers at your pathology, but aren't we a little bit more even now that I've poked a finger at my own?

I have things to say on the topic of success.

And the topic of failure. And the topics of dreams and reality and age and jobs and careers and love and death.

But I don't have it in me to discuss it now.

I had a weird moment the other day, though, when I flashed back to memories of my first apartment -- a crappy, studio-style place, divided with walls that didn't quite reach to the ceiling, that was located in an industral area of town (near Scout Island, in fact) and was, most likely, not even a legal place to live.

And I found myself thinking of that place, and of where I live now -- how I lived then with two roommates, making my share of the rent about $100 a month, and how I'm now carrying an $800 mortgage, though that's recently been aided with the arrival of a renter.

And it was one of those funny moments where I had to admit that, for the most part, I've been mostly successful in my life. Which is funny, because so much of the time I feel like a massive failure.

Meta-fiction at its finest

So, because I’m a retard, I impulse bought Douglas Coupland’s “JPod” yesterday, while picking a few groceries at Save-On. I used the excuse that it was proudly boasting a 30% OFF sticker, which would knock a little more than 10 bucks off the cover price, making the first edition hardcover almost affordable.

Of course, I already had one new book to read, and two others – purchased even earlier – already on the go. Not to mention a collection of short stories purchased sometime last year that I still have yet to get through.

So, knowing that I was hard at work to ensure that I had a ton of books I’d never get around to reading, I focused my energies on finishing the last third of Peter Straub’s “In the Night Room” tonight. And I was glad I did.

Glad I had bought it too – I almost didn’t considering my last attempt at a Straub novel (Mr. X) left me less than thrilled. I had missed his next novel – “Lost Boy, Lost Girl” – and when I saw “In the Night Room” on the shelf, I struggled with whether to buy it. I’ve always been a big fan of Straub, his “Shadowland” among my favourite books of all time, but it was difficult to shake the bad taste that “Mr. X” had left in my mouth.

More than anything else, “In the Night Room” is a writer’s novel. Granted, I’m sure the twists and turns of the story would be entertaining to anyone who gave the book a chance, someone familiar with the processes – and sacrifices – of writing will get oh so much more out of it.

At the heart of it, the novel is a reminder to writers to respect the lives of the fictional characters they create and breathe life into, because in its own way, that process of writing is creation, of a sort. And those things that you breathed life into, didn’t live until the moment you breathed life into them.

I was reminded of a character I had written in a novel a few years ago – a novel I never got around to finishing – who I intended to kill at the end of the novel, only because she needed to die in order to teach the protagonist a lesson. And I couldn’t help but wonder, if I was writing that novel right now, if maybe I would give that creation a bit more respect, and let her have the life that she had fought so hard to have, instead of yanking it away as nothing more than a plot device.

“In the Night Room” also looks at the respect writers must give to the real world, which they mine day and night for material to use in their fiction. It’s a reminder that their source material, however fictionalized it may become, must be treated fairly as well. Simply slapping the label of “fiction” on something does not absolve you from bastardizing and poisoning the original, real-world source of that work.

It’s interesting to see a writer that in tune with the creative process, asking questions of that creative process, and that willing to strip it bare – and, in many ways, criticize himself. I’m now quite eager to get my hands on the Straub novel I managed to miss.

Speaking of love stories

I wrote half a page of…something…the other night. It’s still too early, and I still have too loose a grasp on it, to know exactly what it’ll be. It’s the story I think I mentioned here before, about insomnia, and a group of people who force insomnia on themselves in an attempt to reach enlightenment. I had started the story a few weeks back, but didn’t like the feel of the first few lines, so I spiked it. When I started it again just a few nights back, it was after finding a new narrative voice, and I think it’s a voice that works better. It’s broken, fragmented, like I’m sure his mind would be having not slept in days. If possible, I want to fragment it more and more as the story progresses, so his narrative is all over the place, talking about today, then suddenly two years ago, then suddenly yesterday, and suddenly today again. All over the place. Bordering on psychotic.

But what’s bugging me about the story right now is that I don’t see a really obvious love story angle for it. And having said in the past that all great stories are, ultimately, love stories, I really feel that unless I find that love story hook for this one, it’s never going to be everything that it could be. I do have a notion for a love story element, but it’s messy and dysfunctional, and I’m not sure that I want to go in that direction. Everything else around this character is going to be messy and dysfunctional. If there’s going to be a love story, it should be his one stability.

The greatest thing you'll ever learn...

Watched Moulin Rouge tonight with a group of friends – a funny movie to watch the night after seeing Closer, as the two movies are sort of polar opposites of one another. Both love stories to some degree, but one focused on the idealistic, romantic side of love, the other focused on the darker, seedier, and more selfish side.

Strangely, I love both stories.

Those of you more closely acquainted with my bitter and jaded side might it odd to think that I’d enjoy a movie like Moulin Rouge, but I’ve said before that I think all good stories are ultimately love stories on some level. You can have all the explosions and car chases and zombies and aching existentialist drama that you want, if you haven’t got a love story in there somewhere, it’s simply never going to be a *great* story.

And bear in mind that when I say that all great stories are love stories, I’m not saying that all love stories should have happy endings. Sometimes love ends tragically. Sometimes it ends painfully. Sometimes it ends angrily. Sometimes it ends with violence. Sometimes it ends quietly.

Those are all things that we can relate to, and in relating to them, relate to those characters.

Though Moulin Rouge ends in tragedy, the love story it depicts is the kind we’re all used to seeing in films and books – the fairy-tale love story of a true love, that knows no bounds, that will live until the end of time. Which, unfortunately, is a fairy-tale 99% of the time. Which is why its so appealing when we see it up on the screen, and are given the chance to dream about it for two hours.

I wrote a column a few years ago about research that had been done that indicated that women who grew up reading fairy-tales about this sort of true love were more prone to end up in abusive relationships. Which is sort of sad, if you think about those women waiting for their ugly, violent, horrible husbands to finally turn into the Prince Charming they believe, in their hearts, that they can be.

But they won’t be. Because most love stories turn out like they do in Closer. With pain and betrayal and lies and tears. Which is, for an entirely opposing reason, why people can relate to a story like that. Because they’ve lived it, or something similar, at least once in their lives. They recognize the words and the intentions and actions, because they’ve been there themselves.

The one issue I have with Closer is that, when you strip all that ugliness away, there’s very little warmth left at the heart of it, which is too bad, because no matter how terribly a love story might turn out, it was always – at one point – a love story. The sort of love that feels almost like a fairy-tale, that you hope might last forever, but in your heart you know will fade. That’s always where it starts, before things turn sour, but there’s so little of that in Closer. I think maybe if there was more of it, the play would ring even more profoundly true, but then you’ve only got so much time to tell your story too.

But in Moulin Rouge, once you strip away the glitz and the spectacle and the over-the-top fairy tale, what your left with is a very simple message, and a powerful and important one. One that we can all take to heart, and think about every once and awhile.

The great thing you’ll ever learn is just to love, and be loved in return.

Not matter where your love goes, no matter what the future holds for it, its enough that it existed in the first place.

That’s something that Dan, Larry, Alice and Anna could have spent some time thinking about.

Getting Closer

I just finished watching the film "Closer" -- directed by Mike Nichols, and written by Patrick Marber -- after watching, a few weeks ago, the Prince George production of "Closer" -- written by Patrick Marber -- at the Central Interior Zone Drama festival, after reading, some weeks earlier, the play "Closer" and the proposing that play to direct for next season, and having that proposal rejected.

My association with this story has been complicated to say the least.

I've made it a policy to avoid seeing productions of things I have an interest in directing. I believe very strongly in bringing a unique vision to a play, a vision that came directly from me, untainted by outside influences. I've always felt that was what art was about. Bringing something to life that had never lived in quite that way before. There is no more extraordinary a feeling than that.

Seeing "Closer" at festival this year was a tough decision, even after my directing proposal had been rejected, because the rejection didn't change the fact that I still wanted to direct it. But I went. And surprisingly, I found my reaction wasn't so much of the "wow, that's really cool, I'll definitely have to do that!" variety, and more of the, "Huh, I wouldn't have done it quite that way," type.

So, coming away from seeing the play, and feeling like my artistic vision had not been compromised, I decided to watch the film. Because, having already seen the play, I decided to take a different approach to this one.

Instead of locking myself away from other takes on something I want to do, I want to drown myself in it. I want to enrich my understanding of the material. And where the play made me think of things I wouldn't do, the movie made me think...not so much of things I *would* do, but it made me look at certain scenes, certain moments, certain characters, differently.

And ultimately, it's just left me wanting to direct the play that much more.

The film, as a film, stumbles a little. A lot of the dialogue -- which, for the most part, is verbatim from the play -- seems a little awkward on screen. And a few powerful, beautiful moments (like Alice's decision to give all her love to Dan because he cuts the crusts of his sandwiches) are thrown away, which is unfortunate. The film shifts the time, and direction, of another pivotal moment, though I'm still undecided if it's an improvement or a detriment. And they tossed out the final scene, which was definitely a loss.

Regardless of the changes, though, the heart of the story remains the same: that people are cruel animals. That they will destroy anything and anyone in their path seeking their own happines. Thank God the moral of the story is that damnation ultimately awaits them at the end of that path.

Verdict

Quitting during the production of a two-section, 52-page paper appears to be both good and bad. Half the time I'm too busy to think about smoking, which is good. The other half is so filled with stress that I can't think of anything *but* smoking...

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Sent via BlackBerry on the Bell Mobility network because I am teh kewlz0rz.

Smoke quitting attempt #147

I'm back on the patch today. Didn't wake up feeling completely alive and refreshed, but at least I didn't feel completely beaten up from lack of sleep. Hopefully that's enough to get me through the day.

Time will tell, though, whether it's a good idea to try and quit smoking during the production of a two-section, 52-page newspaper.

Though, I suppose, as some have mentioned in the past, "Is there a good time to quit smoking?" No, probably not.

Dear nasty, evil, card-game-teaching person...

I've spent the better part of this evening playing Euchre at Yahoo Games. Just because I've become obsessed with understanding this terrible game, and improving my ability to strategize.

I hope you're happy.

Nicotine, addiction and depression

Yesterday I was reading through an amazing archive of mental health fact sheets that mysteriously found its way onto my desk a number of years ago, and which I have carefully preserved since then (because you never know when you'll need to look up the 2002 stastics for schizophrenia in Canada) when I stumbled upon the smoking-related fact sheet (having to do specifically with addiction issues).

I was surprised to learn that incidences of depression are significantly higher in people who smoke than in people who don't smoke.

This came as a surprise, at least partly, because whenever I try to quit smoking, it tends to be depressive feelings of one kind or another that get me craving a cigarette again (depressive feelings which are ultimately made worse by the smoking itself, because then I feel like a failure, and I beat myself up for being a failure, which makes me smoke more, etc., etc.)

It's been a few years since the first time I tried to quit, when I managed three months of success before falling off the wagon again, and I can't remember whether I felt any more or less inclined to depression from not smoking. But it's something I'll be trying to take notice of this time around, if I can manage to keep myself butted out for longer than two days at a time.

Night of the living nicotine addiction

Having experienced two different (though eerily similar) zombie dreams in the past few months, I'm inclined to think that the two are related and, in fact, I suspect they're about quitting smoking.

If I had to guess, the zombies would represent my cigarette habit (an inescapable force that's intent on taking my life). In both dreams, my primary concern was whether I had enough ammo to properly defend myself against them. That seems like a pretty obvious representation of fears that I won't be able to kick the habit.

I don't recall ever having something this close to a recurring dream before, so I really am inclined to think these symbols meaningful, and not just random, unconscious brain firings...

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Sent via BlackBerry on the Bell Mobility network because I am teh kewlz0rz.

Nausea...

I seem to be having one of those "my job makes me physically ill" days. Either that or I have stomach cancer. I almost kinda hope it's the cancer. I think that'd be easier to deal with.

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Sent via BlackBerry on the Bell Mobility network because I am teh kewlz0rz.

This is gonna be hard

One of the biggest things recommended to people who are trying to quit smoking is to modify their activities to avoid triggering moments -- or to find an alternative for those triggering moments. Like if you smoke after meals, replace the smoking with something else -- like going for a walk, or shooting heroin.

Having dabbled with quitting on more than one occasion, I know I've got four primary triggers.

1. Eating
2. Drinking (as in booze, not just liquid in general)
3. Driving
4. Computering

The eating's easy enough to handle if I eat in small bursts -- the post-food cigarette cravings seem to come more powerfully after a big production of a meal. The drinking craving is a little bit tougher to deal with, but if I can keep myself from having a few drinks with another smoker for the next few weeks, that'll help enormously. The driving one is hardly an issue anymore -- because it was one of my strongest triggers, it was actually one of the earliest I dealt with in previous quitting attempts.

But the computering one. That one's going to be tough.

At work, I'm fine. Because there's work to do. There's stuff to keep me busy. There's things to focus on. And besides, I couldn't actually smoke at my computer at work, even if I wanted to.

But at home...

At home, I'm used to sitting at my computer, with a butt smouldering in the ashtray. And don't even get me started on how closely connected smoking and writing at this machine are.

I've known before, and know this time too, that it's dealing with *that* association that's going to be the most difficult.

By tomorrow morning, I'll have gone 24 hours with only a half-cigarette consumed. And the most important thing is this: I'll be sleeping with a patch on. That'll mean two things. First, I won't wake up tomorrow craving a cigarette. I'll wake up feeling fine and dandy, with all my nicotine levels exactly where they should be.

Also, if past performance is any indicator, it means I'll probably have some seriously messed up dreams tonight.

Why 'The Sopranos' still works for me

If there's one thing you can be sure of with a television program, it's this: When you get to the end of the season, there will be a cliffhanger waiting for you. It doesn't seem to matter if it's a drama or a comedy, the final episode of a season is sure to leave audiences on the edge of the seat wondering about...something.

Since the season-ending cliff-hanger was first popularized in the 1980s, thanks to the "Who Shot JR" storyline of "Dallas," its become a cliche. You can't sit down to watch the final episode of a show without wondering what sort of mystery is going to be awaiting you at the end of the hour (or half-hour, as the case may be).

It's like M. Night Shyamalan was made programming director of every network in North America.

And it is because of this cliche of cliffhangers that "The Sopranos" still works for me.

Some argue that the show peaked at the close of the second season, and while the first two seasons were certainly high points, and while I'd agree that it has, occasionally, drifted since then, thanks to a solid creative team, it has yet to jump the shark. And the fact that tonight's episode -- the last until January 2007 -- contained no cliff-hanging moments just proves that.

The thing about cliff-hangers, and why they worked twenty years ago, is that it creates tension. It creates a mystery. It creates suspense. Because you don't know what's going to happen.

Today, with every show under the sun trying to come up with the weirdest show-stopper of a cliff-hanger, the suspense is gone. You can feel it coming from a mile away. You can sit back and relax, knowing that something bizarre and shocking is going to happen, and the answers won't present themselves for another year, and when that happens, you're not surprised, because you saw it coming.

Maybe you didn't see exactly *what* was coming. But you saw that something was.

This season of "The Sopranos" spun that cliche 180 degrees. WHile tonight's episode pushed the tension with certain subplots, and made everyone think that things were going to spill over into some frantic, violent cliff-hanger, nothing happened.

And in doing nothing, they succeeded in doing the one thing that other television shows only dream of doing -- surprising the audience.

To my knowledge (and because I'm far from in the know, this is subject to change) there are only 8 episodes of the Sopranos left before the program leaves the airwaves forever. And for breaking new ground in dozens of ways, not limited to but including season-ending episodes without a cliff-hanger in sight, it will be missed.

It's the weekend, so that means it's time for STICK

Stick Figure Drama #102 has been added to the archive. This strip officially sets in motion the next major story arc, as well as hinting at something dark in Weird Bob's past. What will it turn out to be? Only time, as they say, will tell.

Okay, this is weird...

So I logged into my cafepress account tonight, because I vaguely recalled that they printed books, and I wanted to check their prices. While I was there, I noticed that my account had a $0.51 credit, which seemed odd, because I wasn't sure why they would give me money just for having an account. So I poked around a bit, looking for transaction histories, and lo-and-behold, someone actually bought a "Really Bitter and Jaded Man" bumper sticker.

Someone in California, apparently. Someone who would have no idea what Stick Figure Drama was. They just went and...bought a bumper sticker. Because...I don't know. I can't even imagine why they would. Because they thought it was funny? I don't know. Maybe.

It's too much for me to get my head around.

Somewhere in California is a car sporting a bumper sticker with a stick-figure depiction of me in a cape with a beer-mug logo on my chest. That's just...I can't even describe how weird that is. Cool, but...weird.

If you want to check out the two products avaialble at the Stick Figure Drama Cafepress site, you can visit my storefront here. If you want to check out the crappy products I came up with for "Some Things You Need To Know Before The World Ends: A Final Evening With The Illuminati" -- a play I directed to years ago -- you can find that storefront here.

Tonight on a very special "Stick Figure Drama"...

Two stickage updates today -- #99.5 (the filler strip, the existence for which is explained in detail here) and #101, this week's strip, which will be out in the Advisor as of tomorrow, but if you haven't seen it there yet, you can still see it here first.

Oh, and #101 includes a very special guest star. Go look!

EDIT: I almost forgot -- bonus points to anyone who can spot the obscure homage contained in episode #101. I'll give you a hint...wait, no I won't.

The Central Interior Zone Drama Festival is over and I am now simultaneously relieved and sad...

During Thursday night's Festival performance of "Welcome ot the Monkey House" where, as director, my only real job was to sit back, watch the show, and see every single little thing that goes wrong, I found myself thinking at one point, "Why do I do this to myself?"

Tonight I was reminded of exactly why when "Welcome to the Monkey House," came out of festival with five -- count 'em, five -- awards.

Specifically: Best Ensemble (for the finest group of actors a director could ever hope to work with, even in spite of the fact that there were 3 red-heads in the cast), Best Actor (for Brad Hammerstron who sold two-and-a-half very different characters in his time on stage), Best Lighting (thanks for all your help and hard work, Craig!), Best Costumes (Juli, I don't need to tell you how much you rock, because I'm sure you already know, but I'll tell ya anyway -- you rock!), and Best Hair and Makeup (to Tashja, who coordinated this area of the production that was completely alien to me, and to the designers who made these characters of the 1960s come alive, thank you, thank you, thank you).

Some half-drunken photos of people at the awards to follow once appropriate people e-mail 'em to me...

It's all about the quotes...

In non-spoilery book-talk, I think I've pinned down the quotes I want to use to open part one, part two, and the epilogue of "Waiting for a Miracle" -- and I'm surprised that I haven't done this already. Finding appropriate quotes has always been one of my favourite book-writing side projects, and yet this one has been quoteless for almost a year.

And then, while I was skim-reading this weekend, I loaded up Leonard Cohen's "The Future" album -- which contains the song "Waiting for the Miracle" from which I kinda stole the title to the novel -- and listened while I read along. And as I listened, I few lines from a few different songs that seemed to hit at what I was going for with the different parts of the book.

And how wonderfully appropriate it would be if I could pull all the quotes from the one album that inspired the title.

Part Tne's quote:
“I lift my glass to the awful truth
Which you cant reveal to the ears of youth
Except to say it isn’t worth a dime”

Part Two's quote:
"Nothing left to do
when you know
that you've been taken
Nothing left to do
when you're begging for a crumb
Nothing left to do
when you've got to go on waiting
waiting for the miracle to come"

And the Epilogue's quote:
"Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in."

Nothing much to note here, particularly if you haven't read the book -- as most of you visiting haven't. Although you might find this interesting for trivia's sake. Or simply because Cohen's got an undeniable way with words.

Hindsight being what it is...

I've been skim-reading my way through 2004's National Novel Writing Month novel -- "Waiting for a Miracle" -- for the last few days, trying to refresh my memory of it. I've got someone reading it now, with an editor's eye, and so I thought it might be nice to review my own material in case the editor in question had questions for me.

What I found while skimming it was kind of surprising.

While writing it, I had been afraid that the second half of the book was overly draggy. That it was too long, and took its time getting to where it needed to be. That was my biggest concern about pacing. What I actually found, though, was that it actually travelled too fast. It got us to places sooner than it should have, that there wasn't enough of a sense of mystery going on.

Right now, the book is broken up into two approximate halves -- appropriately titled Part One and Part Two. The first part explains the back story of the main character, a miserable alcholic man who may or may not be able to perform miracles. The second part of the book is the story of a female reporter tracking him down in order to write a story on these supposed miracles.

The problem is, it very much feels like she tracks him down too fast.

Looking at it now, I almost think it should be three parts. The first part identical to what it is now, with the backstory. The second part should be a longer and mysterious search for the miserable drunkard. And the third part could be what happens between the reporter and the drunkard when she finally finds him.

The only sort of structural headache to that is the fact that each of the two parts has a different narrator -- the miracleman in part one, and the journalist in part two. If I went with three parts, it would seem sort of strange to have one narrator for one part, and another for two parts. An inequity in narration, sort of. Like there should actually be three different narrators. But because there aren't three really vital characters (well, there are, but the third one really, really wouldn't work as a narrator) there's no third party to drag onto the job.

I think I *did* figure out, though, how to stretch out the second part of the book without adding pointless padding.

The reason it moves ahead too quickly is that the journalist's story ultimately becomes her quest for the miracleman's story, which moves us forward into his world, and into the discovery of his life and lifestyle, far too quickly. However, if she had her own story -- her own character arc to pass through -- while she was also hunting down the miracleman for her editor, there could be occasional distractions from her own story.

And, in fact, without that she's not much more than a literary gimmick through which we view a character -- in a way, she's only there to illustrate the difference between the way the main character sees himself, and how other people see him.

It wouldn't even be that hard to do. She already has a sort of character arc in the story, just not one that was particularly well fleshed out at the beginning. It was something I stumbled onto as I went along. Fleshing that character arc out is something I could probably almost do in my sleep.

But it's going to probably require a fair amount of rewriting work on the second half of the book. But I think the second half would require that rewriting anyway -- it's not as clean as I'd hoped it was. A lot of it reads quite weak. The first half, on the other hand, is surprisingly strong for a first draft and is, I think, some of the best writing I've ever done in anything, in any medium, and won't require much in the way of cleaning at all.

Even the pacing of it seems spot on. in spite of the fact that I was just groping around for ideas and plot threads at the time. I actually think I had a stronger idea of the second half before starting it than I did of the first half, and yet it's the first half that seems more natural, more cohesive, more right.

I guess that's just the way things work out sometimes.

On the bright side...

In the end, though, something good may have come out of my outing to see “The DaVinco Code” tonight (see previous entry for more details on that)…an idea for a short story.

I went for a coffee at Tim Horton’s after the film with the Vanderhoof friend and his wife. It was about 9:30 at night, and there were only a handful of people there, but I found myself wondering, who is it that goes and drinks coffee at 9:30 at night? Who drinks coffee at 11:00 at night? Or 1:00 in the morning?

And then a mailbox, upon which was printed: All other destinations.

I’m not exactly sure where I’m going yet, but I’m seeing a group of people who force insomnia onto themselves in an attempt to expand their consciousness, to see the world around in the a different – and bigger – way. And someone who, while suffering in the midst of his own legitimate insomnia attack, stumbles upon this group. And who possibly manages to stumble onto the very thing that they’re looking for.

It’s too late to start messing around with it now, sadly, but it definitely feels like an idea worth playing with. Insomnia isn’t exactly one of my current creative obsessions, but I’ve had enough experience with it that it might be worth playing with creatively.

We’ll see.

Exposition and car chases

So I went to see “The DaVinci Code” tonight, which was kind of a surprise as I had absolutely no interest in the film, which stemmed in part from the fact that I had absolutely no interest in the book. On top of that, the fact that I have little to no interest in Tom Hanks as an actor should have kept me out of the theatre.

But a friend of mine was passing through town from Vanderhoof this weekend, and he called to see if I wanted to go, and was willing to buy my ticket. So off I went thinking, at the very least, I could make fun of the movie if the movie didn’t provide much in the way of fun itself.

Which I actually did for awhile. Until I started to feel guilty that I was maybe ruining the movie-going experience for other people.

To be sure, “The DaVinco Code” is not a good movie by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, I’m also tempted to say that it’s a bad adaptation, in spite of the fact that I’ve never read the book. I say this because the film feels like a adaptation from a book at just about every single point. Which is a bad sign. If you’ve adapted the novel properly, your film should feel like a film, not a badly adapted novel.

Ultimately, the biggest problem with the film – and this could very well be the biggest problem with the book too – is that nothing terribly interesting happens. A bunch of people sit around at different locations and talk about The Knights Templar and the Priory of Scion and the Holy Grail and the bloodline of Jesus. And then, just when the film has been dragging so long that you think you might actually nod off, the throw in a car chase! Holy excitement, Batman! And then, when the oh-so-exciting chase scene is finished, it’s back to people sitting around talking again.

Exposition and car chases does not a movie make.

It might have been easier to sit through if the dialogue had been interesting. But it wasn’t. At more points than I could possibly count, the dialogue took on the heavy, clunky tone that comes from a weak writer attempting to push out too many ideas too quickly. WATCH as Tom Hanks and Ian McKellen awkwardly debate the presence of Mary Magdalene in DaVinci’s depiction of the Last Supper. FEEL the absence of tension in the scene. MARVEL as some of Hollywood’s finest manage to keep themselves from looking completely embarrassed at the drivel they’re forced to spout.

On the topic, it should be noted that Ian McKellen was the saving grace of the film, who managed to make the whole thing at least survivable. He was charming and funny in spite of dialogue that was anything but, and did a fine job reminding the audience that he’s a damn fine actor, regardless of the strength of the film or the role.

Besides McKellen, about the only thing I can offer positively about The DaVinco Code is that it wasn’t as long as King Kong. And it was mildly more intellectually stimulating.

Here’s a quick note to screenwriters, both those of the up-and-coming variety, as well as those who are already working within the Hollywood system: Expositionary dialogue works in novels because novels are ultimately a literary medium. It doesn’t matter that a bunch of people sitting around in a room talking isn’t visually interesting. Books don’t have to be visually interesting. Movies do.

And if your movie isn’t visually interesting, a handful of car chases isn’t going to help a whole lot, as much as you’d like to think otherwise.

While the argument for the existence of a descendant of Jesus walking among us today are intriguing and worth at least considering, , “The DaVinci Code” manages to make them seem like anything but. And that is perhaps its greatest crime – taking an interesting idea and turning into something mind-numbingly dull.

Hello, Void.

I had to say goodbye today. That's not something I enjoy doing at the best of times, as I'm sure is the case for most people. And this wasn't the best of times.

Everyone in your life ends up at some level of a hierarchy, whether you admit it or not, whether you think about it consciously or not. You've got acquaintances, friends, good friends, great friends, and then you've got those people around you that you simply can't imagine not having around. Those people that, without them, would leave a massive, gaping void in your life where their presence used to be.

It was one of those friends that I had to say goodbye to today.

She's been around at just about every job I've had in the last fifteen years -- spending a few months with me at the Cariboo Advocate many, many years ago, a few years with me during my tenure at the Tribune, and most recently the last four and a half years at the Advisor.

She left for Kamloops today. Hello and new and terrifying void in my life. I imagine you and I will be getting fairly well acquainted over the next few months.

When you work beside someone that long -- and it's someone who is that dear a friend to you -- they are in your life constantly. Daily. She was around to laugh with during the good times, and around to sympathize with in the bad. And I'd be remiss if I didn't say that, through some of those bad times, it was her more than anyone else who kept me going.

She's not dead, I tell myself. She's just in Kamloops. It's not that far away. And technology these days is great -- she's got e-mail, she's got a cell phone, youc an keep in touch. What's the big deal?

What *is* the big deal?

The big deal, I think, is that keeping in touch, while nice, is nowhere near the same as being able to just randomly bump into someone in the hallway and share a quick laugh with them, or stop by their office on your way out the door and see if they want to go for a drink. These sort of casual connections you can make with someone that close to you, who is that firmly planted in your life, are among the things that people -- myself included -- take for granted, never considering that the day would one day come when it's no longer possible to just bump into them in the hallway, or stop by their office on your way out the door.

This has been weighing on me for three days now, and today it broke, with the hug, with tears, with the real, raw realization that this era we had shared together that had spanned more than a decade was over. With all of that, and with the good-bye.

I have a column still to write tonight, and an e-mail to compose after that, but I'm not looking forward to either. My head is thick and foggy and I just can't think straight. I want to be in bed or staring at the television or reading a book or doing anything other than thinking, because just about every thought right now brings me back to this situation, this loss, and this void. This void that is so fresh and new that I don't even feel it yet. I just know that it's there. And that I'll start to notice it more and more each and every day.

One of our former employees in 100 Mile House used to call the two of us "The Bickersons," joking that when we argued work-related stuff we often sounded like an old married couple. The two of us would occasionally joke that we'd stick together until our dying days, aging into cantankerous old farts who sat on the porch and yelled obscenities at the damn-fool kids who strayed too far onto our lawn.

It was a nice thought, as absurd and unrealistic as it was. Time intervenes. Life intervenes. And no matter how much time was spent being that intensely glued together, it simply wasn't going to last. Something eventually pulls one or the other away, into something new, into something different, into something better. And eventually the other finds that he or she simply can not follow along this time.

Still, it's fun to dream while the dreaming's good.

See you around, dear friend. God willing, may we be lucky enough to one day share a hallway again, where we can share a quick, random laugh. Until then, I will miss those, and the countless thousands of other moments that we've shared. Because I'm pretty sure that this void isn't going to be anywhere near as entertaining.

NOW IT CAN BE TOLD: The story of why Stick Figure Drama #100 was bumped a week, and the chaos that followed

I've been planning Stick Figure Drama #100 for -- I kid you now -- months now. The strip has been complete for more than six weeks, just waiting for this week's issue of the paper. Everything was on track, or so I thought.

When I handed page six of the paper to our editor this morning, he laughed. He laughed because my cartoon -- which depicted a tombstone with the name "PETEY" on it -- was sitting next to his editorial, announcing the grand opening of "Speedy Petey's Car Wash and Lightning Lube". His editorial was on the topic, because we were running a four-page spread in the paper promoing the opening.

The cartoon, sitting next to that editorial, appeared to give the appearance that the cartoonist was predicting the death of this newly announced endeavour named "Petey".

This was obviously not the case. It was simply an unfortunate circumstance.

I volunteered to yank the potentially offensive cartoon and hold it until next week. Then I realized that the same cartoon had already run in 100 Mile and in Quesnel, so I needed to make sure that whatever I replaced this week's cartoon with in Williams Lake would also have to function as next week's cartoon in Quesnel and 100 Mile (while the tombstone cartoon runs in Williams Lake) to prevent the three communities from getting out of synch.

I also had to do a cartoon that did no use the word "Petey" in order to avoid any further confusion.

I had a few ideas in my head over the course of the day, and finally settled one, which I'll post here later tonight or tomorrow.

At this point, I feel as if I should say something about the best laid plans of mice and men (and, I suppose, badgers), but I truly do abhor cliches, so I'll just leave it alone.

Stickage #100

It's been two years in the making. At last it can be revealed.

STICK FIGURE DRAMA #100 IS NOW AVAILABLE!

You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll wonder why you've wasted your time reading this crap.

To those of you who've been a tad confused by the current storyline, fear not. A new and (hopefully) far more accessible story arc starts next week. For now, let's all celebrate the absurdity of the fact that, over the last two years, no one has yet tried to end the reign of Stick Figure Drama.

Viva le stick!

Teh shit

You ever have those days that are just so overwhelmingly dreadful that you can't even talk about them? That to even put them into words would create such a harsh reminder of how dreadful that 24-hour period was, it would make your head explode? Yeah, I had one of those today. And no, I'm not going to put the day into words. Because if I did, my head would explode.

This year has been so fucked it's not even funny. Ups and downs and peaks and valleys, and I know that's a part of life, but it seems like so much of this facet of life has been crammed into a 365-day period that I just can't keep up, I can't think straight, I can't even breathe. I'm dizzy, I'm nauseated, I'm giddy, I'm ecstatic. I'm filled with joy and filled with misery. I don't know whether to laugh or cry right now, and I feel like if I let go, I'd do both at the same the time.

Change is hard. Change is good. Change is terrifying. We get stuck in a rut sometimes, and it's comfortable riding in that rut, and when I'm in that rut, however comfortable it is, I hate it. I hate it because I know I'm in that rut, and that I'm there only *because* it's comfortable. But when you get knocked out of that rut, and you're veering all over the road because you've been in the rut so long that you can't even remember how to steer, that's terrifying. It makes your heart beat and your blood pump, but it's terrifying.

I had the weirdest sense lats August that I was slipping into what would be the strangest, most surreal, and somehow most exciting year of my life. So far that prediction hasn't been wrong. And there's still three months to go.

Can't wait to see what happens next.

Mobloggin' the relay

I'm at the relay for life tonight, and as I'll have my blackberry with me, there's a pretty decent chance I'll end up doing some moblogging. It'll be appearing at the theatre's blog if I do, so go look over there.

This is an update

It's 10:45 pm and I just finished splashing fake blood on a white lab coat in preparation for tomorrow night's relay for life.

I was surprised by the blood's consistency -- thicker than I was expecting. So I had these thick, slug-like gobs of blood on the lab coat, which just looked kind of dumb. Then I realized that it dribbles kind of well, so I've tried to prop the coat up kind of vertically, so it can dribble down the front of the coat. Which is actually working kind of well, except for the stuff near the bottom, because I can't get it quite vertical enough.

And, watching it dribble makes me think I maybe used too much. Which is too bad, because I've got nothing left for my goggles.

I'm trying to get all my last minute preparations done. I'm charging batteries for my crap-ass digital camera right now. As soon as they're charged, I've gotta charge the batteries for my MP3 player. After that...hm, after that I'm not sure what I have to do. Does this mean I'm almost done?

I've got to go and buy glow-sticks and some kind of food tomorrow. I have no idea what to buy. Something non-perishable, or something. Cans of beans? Spam? Wait, no, I think Spam causes cancer, so that's probably a no-no.

Corn?

Those little mini corn on the cob things?

Where do those come from?

What am I talking about?

Why is there no happy medium in my life? Why does it seem that I'm either too busy to even breathe properly, or sitting around for days on end with nothing to do? Is this just a problem with scheduling? Or is life really that big a roller-coaster ride?

Did you know that you should really wash the oil off of an olive before putting it in a martini? I didn't know that. If you don't, you get a greasy martini. Nobody likes that.

Okay, bye.

Dual Stickage

I missed last week's stick figure drama update, mostly because I wasn't actually doing the cartoon from home on the weekend (I did four weeks worth at one sitting a few weeks back). So, now officially updated are last week's strip, and the strip for this coming week (the one that'll appear in the paper on Wednesday). Yet another sneak peek for all your rabid fans who just can't wait for it.

In retrospect, I'm beginning to think that if I'd had any idea at the time how bizarre the resolution for this phase of the Compu-Zilla storyline was going to turn out to be, I probably would have just stayed the heck away.

And to those of you who aren't entirely sure what's going on, even though you read it faithfully every week, allow me to apologize for the fact that apparently you need a mensa-level memory in order to keep up with this stupid thing.

Stripper Music

Without a doubt, one of the greatest things about the Internet is that, whoever you are, whatever you're interested, and whatever you might be doing for a living, there's a place online for you. Someplace where you can go to talk with others of a similar mindset, to ask questions from others of a similar profession, or simply lament with others who've experienced similar troubles.

Even if you happen to be, say, a stripper.

Now, I know you're wondering, "Todd, why are you interested in Web sites dedicated to the profession of stripping?" I know you're wondering that because I'd be wondering the same thing if I were in your shoes. And before we go any further, let me ease your mind and assure you that it's not because I'm planning a career change. My instincts tell me that the stripping industry probably isn't for me (and audiences around the world rejoice).

The reason I've been looking into strippers -- and, more specifically, stripper music -- is because of a play I've proposed to direct next season, called "Closer." By Patrick Marber, the play tells the story of four people looking for love, but who seem to find only betrayal and sorrow.

One of the characters is a stripper, and one of the scenes takes place in a private room at the strip club where she works. But musical accompaniment for this one scene is only a small part of what I'm looking for.

I was trying to dig up a musical theme for the play -- something to play during the intro and intermission -- when I stumbled upon the idea of using stripper music. If it manages to set the right ambiance, it could create a mood of casual sexuality without any legitmate emotion attached, which is a perfect mood for a play like "Closer." Additionally, a lot of the stripper music I've found seems to be of the lost-love or not-true-love variety that would mesh nicely with the text of the play.

What's been most interesting about this endeavour, though, is realizing some of the variety of material that is considered "stripper music." On some level, I think I was expecting to find a simple top ten lest of best stripper songs. Not so. The closest I've found was a list of the most overplayed songs in strip clubs, which is probably just about the same as a list of the most cliched stripper songs, which is probably what I was looking for with a "best of" because that, ultimately, translates to "most recognized."

Sure, some of the songs were obvious. Nine Inch Nails' "Closer" for example seems like an obvious strip club staple. And songs by Enigma didn't come as a surprise to me. But I wasn't expecting to see Chris Isaak's "Wicked Game" and "Baby Did A Bad, Bad Thing" or Fiona Apple's "Criminal" (there seems something weird about the idea of hearing Fiona Apple in a strip club, actually).

And did you know -- I never would have even *guessed* -- that "Hotel California" is so overplayed that it is many, many strippers least favourite song? It's been *SO* overplayed, that Guns N Roses' "Welcome to the Jungle" is considered a post-modern version of it (and just as overplayed).

All of this information came to me courtesy of the StripperWeb -- "The largest and most active EXOTIC DANCER and STRIP CLUB resource worldwide!"

And we love you for it, StripperWeb.

The music search goes well, by the way. I'm currently about 34 tracks that I need to start whittling down into semi-finalists. Before I get to that point, though, I'm thinking I might actually post a message in the StripperWeb forums myself and explain what I'm doing, and why I'm there, and see what sort of diverse music gets recommended to me by those who know the industry better than anyone. Because they're in it.

Random 10

Okay, so it’s been a couple of weeks since I did this. Doesn’t mean I’ll never do it again. As should be apparent by this very post right here.

1. Kidney Thieves – Crazy – I’ve been listening to a lot of “stripper music” lately (look for a future update to explain this) and have been endlessly surprised by what I’ve stumbled upon that fits the description of “stripper music.” I’ve had kind of a thing for the Kidney Thieves for a few years, but this particular track hadn’t entered my collection until it came up as a stripper song recommendation. And I’m incredibly glad that it did, because it’s an amazing and entirely unexpected cover of the Patsy Cline song.


2. Jewel – Winter Wonderland – I have a vague memory of downloading random Christmas albums last year, in some sort of twisted (likely drunken) burst of seasonal inspiration. I’m inclined to think that this song exists on my hard drive for that reason.


3. Roxette – Listen to You Heart – I can’t remember now if this was a “Movie Ballad” Roxette song or just a “Ballad Ballad” Roxette song. I’m inclined to think just “Ballad Ballad” even though it could have so easily been a “Movie Ballad.”


4. Various Artists – Gorilla – I love having rips of sound effects CDs on my hard drive. The weirdest stuff comes up during random playlists.


5. Madonna – Like A Prayer – Wasn’t this song used to shill Pepsi at one point?


6. Artur Sullivan – HMS Pinafore, Oveture – Much like having rand sound effects crop up, I’m just as likely to have random classical songs that I’ve never heard before pop up. I love my MP3 collection.


7. Collective Soul – No More, No Less – I’m very quickly reaching a point where I’ll be inclined to say that this is the most retarded Random 10 I’ve ever done. Nothing against Collective Soul, I’ve just never heard this song before. Big surprise.


8. Evanescence – Imaginary – Okay, this one I’ve actually heard, this one I actually know. But I haven’t got much to say except that, while this isn’t among them, some of Evanescence’s stuff makes for damn fine stripper music. Apparently. This is what I hear, at any rate.


9. Elton John & Billy Joel – I’m not sure entirely why this happens, but it seems that, in spite of having a fair amount of Elton John on my hard drive, the only stuff that ever comes up is from my one album of him dueting with Billy Joel. Is that weird, or what?


10. Nine Inch Nails – Sin (Short) – A remix from the “Pretty Hate Machine” album. And another artist that fits into the “stripper music” category. Can you tell I’ve been thinking an awful lot about stripper music lately?


11. Howard Jones – Equality – I was quite fond of Howard Jones – and the political commentary he attempted to make in some of his early music – when I was young. I have to admit, though, that years later, some of this stuff just seems kind of heavy-handed and amateurish. Like that Academy Award winning film “Crash.”

Kids these days...

I'm speechless. Really, I am. And there are tears in my eyes.

http://peacetakescourage.cf.huffingtonpost.com/

Kids these days. It's almost enough to make you think there might be hope for mankind.

Yesterday's news, today!

If I had a brain, I’d be in bed, resting off this cold. But I don’t have a brain, and it’s not that late, and I’m strangely driven to follow through on the brief movie reviews I promised last night (adding two more from tonight to the list) if only because this cold has left me with a strange absence of creative energy. Perhaps I’m looking for evidence that it’s still flickering inside of me somewhere. Or perhaps I’m looking for someway to inspire its reappearance.

Whatever the case, I’ve watched five movies in the last two days, because I haven’t had the energy or motivation to do much of anything except lie on the sofa and have entertainment spoon-fed to me. This is the only time in my life that I kind of regret not having cable, but really, in the long run, five movie rentals (plus maybe two more tomorrow, if I still feel this crappy) is still a whole lot cheaper than the year’s worth of cable I’d be paying for, and not using, in between bouts of sickness.

Some movies were good, some movies were bad, and some were just wild, mindless entertainment – a fine selection to choose from, if I may say so myself. Shall we begin?

HOSTEL:

I started last night with “Hostel,” a horror film from director Eli Roth that had come recommended by someone who, well, has a taste for horror films. As do I, for the most part, though to be honest, I wasn’t expecting much, as most horror films these days seem to either be remakes of 1970s American horror films (mostly bad) or remakes of modern Japanese horror films (mostly…well, at least interesting, if not always good)

“Hostel” was different. It was a brand new script, from a relatively new filmmaker. And for the most part, it was effective.

The spent a little too much time focused on the setup for the story – a trio of 20-somethings backpacking through Europe, looking for a little lovin’ – but by the 30 minute mark, the creepiness started to work its way in. For the most part, the gore was understated, and the film went with the old-school “what you don’t see is even more effective” route (except for a few notable scenes, one of which actually made me leave the room – eyeball torture, bleargh…)

Part of what makes the film work is the not knowing. I hadn’t read much about the film prior to seeing it, and I don’t know how much of the plot details are given away in trailers and other marketing, because quite frankly, I didn’t see much of the marketing. But it’s a film that is well served by going into it not knowing what’s going on. Some of the film is obvious and predictable, but there are a few interesting bumps on the roller coaster ride nonetheless.

Final Grade: C+

A HISTORY OF VIOLENCE:

In a way, it seems simultaneously strange and fitting that a film about violence, set against a very American back-drop, would come from a Canadian filmmaker. What seems strange about it is that it comes from Canadian filmmaker David Cronenberg, who, while always interesting, has never been known for delivering…let’s say accessible films.

But “A History of Violence” is accessible – probably in part because it’s adapted from a graphic novel (or comic book, if you’re not afraid of looking like a geek for saying so) – while also being provocative and engaging. It’s not an easy film, by any stretch, and it occasionally punches you in the stomach. But as a film that seems to ultimately be a rumination of violence, it shouldn’t get away without punching you in the stomach at least once or twice.

And “rumination” is probably the best word. Like I said, it’s not an easy film, and it doesn’t exist to spoon-feed easy answers to the audience. Instead, it asks questions, and then turns its back on you, leaving the answers in your hands. Which, I happen to think, is exactly what all good art should do.

Final Grade: B+

WAR OF THE WORLDS:

What good can be said about a film whose entire plot appears to be: “After watching millions of people die, Tom Cruise finally learns that he’s kind of a crappy father.”

Here’s the problem with “War of the Worlds.” As much as Stephen Spielberg wants to create a relentless sense terror and dread right from the get go, he fails completely, because there are only four characters in this film. 1. Tom Cruise; 2. Tom Cruise’s daughter; 3. Tom Cruise’s son, 4. Millions of expendable other people (also known as “every body else.”)

In order to create a sense of dread, the audience must be able to believe that something dreadful might happen to the characters that they care about. At no point in this film is there that sense.

How do you create a sense of dread? Introduce characters. Make us like them. Make us care about them. Make us want to see them live. Then kill them. Ideally, do that in the first 30 minutes (though it’s tough to make us like and care about them in that much time, it’s not impossible). Once you’ve done that, you’ve at least taught us that bad things can happen to people we like. Maybe we’re still fairly sure that Tom Cruise will survive, because, you know, he’s Tom Cruise. And maybe we’re still fairly sure that the daughter will survive, because, you know, she’s young and cute. But the son, who’s kind of a dink? Well, him we might not be so sure about.

But without convincing us that anything can happen, we simply won’t believe it. So that even when the son appears to have gotten himself into a situation where his death is assured, we can all sit back and know that he’ll somehow be magically waiting for them in Boston. Because the lesson in Stephen Spielberg films is that bad things don’t happen to the people we care about. Particularly when there’s only three of them.

On the bright side, interesting cinematography…

Final Grade: D

GOOD NIGHT AND GOOD LUCK

I have a sort of romanticized view of journalism, which stems from years spent in the newspaper industry. Which is funny, because the years I spent in the newspaper industry happened entirely by accident, and the romanticized idealism I have evolved out of that accident.

“Good Night and Good Luck” works for me – and works very, very, very well – because it plays on that idealism. By showing us what CBS newsman Edward R. Murrow was willing to do in the 1950s to stand up to Senator McCarthy, specifically, and the “Communist Scare” in general, it’s a reminder of what journalists in both print and television can – and should – be doing today.

In my traditional post-film-watching Internet trivia searching, I stumbled upon a review of the film from someone who enjoyed it, but thought that it fell flat. That it didn’t give as much background to the story, that it didn’t give a strong enough backdrop to the era of McCarthyism, didn’t give Murrow enough motivation for the actions he takes. And if the film was meant as a historical lesson, I’d be inclined to agree. But I don’t think that was the point.

The point, I think, was to send a message to journalists. And I think the message was this: “Do your fucking job.”

The United States has been falling apart under the leadership of George W. Bush, but for the most part, the media has refused to hold him accountable. The media has refused to ask tough question. The media has refused to try to skewer him. Meanwhile, it’s spin here, and propaganda there, and the average American citizen sits back in their chairs not knowing what’s going on. Because the media there isn’t doing its job.

I have no idea how effective the message of “Good Night and Good Luck” was. I suppose the bottom line is that something is better than nothing. And for their attempts to spread that message, I tip my hat.

Final Grade: B+

DOOM

Fun, cheese-ball, sci-fi, action, horror film. Everything I thought it was going to be going into it, so I was hardly disappointed.

I wasn’t driven to see this film by any stretch of the imagination, but it had been nagging at the back of my mind for awhile, because I do have a bit of the computer gamer in me, and the film was adapted from a computer game. Loosely, mind you, but I don’t think that was entirely a disservice. The biggest problem with adapting a film from any medium – book, graphic novel, video game – is figuring out what to keep, and what to throw away. I think, for the most part, they found a decent balance in “Doom.”

Strangely enough, the film is actually more successful at creating a sense of dread than “War of the Worlds” was – simply because of the style of film it is. You know this is a cheese-ball, sci-fi, action, horror film, so you also know that everyone on the screen has an equal chance of winding up dead before the credits roll. Well, everyone except for the young marine who was recently reunited with his twin sister. But if a film like this can’t be obvious in its plotting now and then, what film can?

Final Grade: C+

Oh CRAP...

I was about to pop by here and write brief reviews of the three films I watched tonight, and then I realized that I still haven't done my column yet, because I'm sick, and have been in a lazy, brain-dead state for most of the day.

So...off to write my column. And odds are, bed after that. So movie reviews, if they come at all, will have to wait for another night.

For the record, the films are: Hostel, A History of Violence, War of the Worlds.