Beginning at the end

So I just wrote the last scene of a new play. Which isn't to say that it's finished. Rather I simply wrote the last scene first, because it was important to me that I remember where I'm going with the story (what little story it can be said to have).

The play is called "Guts" almost entirely because of this line, from the final scene:

It’s a choice that takes guts. Which, ironically, is exactly where he was stabbed.

Which, hey, probably doesn't explain a whole lot out of context, but I don't feel like quoting the whole sort monologue, so that's all you're gonna get for now.

Having the title of a project this early is almost unheard of for me. It titles are usually the last thing I do, and often don't even show themselves until the second draft. But when the title -- and the corresponding line that justifies the title -- hit me with a one-two punch last night, I knew I had no choice but to use them. They were just too fantastic.

No, the novel's not abandoned, not yet at any rate. But it will likely remain on vacation for the next two weeks, until my commitment to Rocky Horror is finished, and I have freed up a bit more time. In the meantime, this play will give me a place to goof off for short creative periods, being composed of a bunch of a scenes likely no longer than three to five pages (I wrote about 3/4 of the first scene today too, with a pretty good idea of what's going on in scene two).

Longer excerpts to come, perhaps, at some point in the future. Or perhaps not. Depends on my mood, and the quality of the day's output.

EDIT: The "I just wrote" part isn't quite so accurate anymore, as this entry refused to post when I first wrote it. It's since been a few days.

New Toys

I haven't had much time to muck about with it, but I came across a nifty new (well, it's not *that* new, but it's new to me) site called LibraryThing. It's sort of a book collecting / cataloguing site, combined with a social network site like MySpace, as it allows you to find other users of the site with similar tastes in books.

Though there are other cataloguing programs available (and I've mucked with some in the past) there's something sort of cool about being able to maintain your collection online at a consistent web address. Makes it easier when someone says, "Hey, you got any good books?" You can just answer, "Here, check out my collection."

Which you can, in fact, do here.

It's a work in progress -- most of what's up there is just from memory, and even then mostly my more recent acquisitions. Still, it gives  a good feel for what the site can do.

It's not dead!

Well surprise, surprise, I actually dusted off the novel tonight, and spent some quality time with it. Which is nice, because I was beginning to think that it was going to die the painful, unfortunate death that so many of my unfinished projects have suffered.

Which is not say that it's necessarily free from suffering that death. But I have managed to buy it some time.

I fought and struggled with it for what felt like hours, sure that I had managed a frighteningly significant output. In the end, though, it was only three pgaes. Nothing to sneeze at, I guess, but hardly frighteningly significant.

On the bright side, finding my way into the narrator's voice after these many weeks spent idling, was surprisingly easy to do. And he's a blast to write, because he alternates between rambling, run-on sentences and short, abrupt, sentence fragments.

This book is going to be an editor's worst nightmare.

And I love that.

I'm feeling a bit like some of my more concrete plans and intentions for the book have started to slip awa in the time that I haven't been working on it, and that' I'll be sort of winging it again from here on in, but I'm still hoping that some of it will gradually come back to me. I know, pretty much, the remainder of this chapter, but it's pretty shaky after that...

Wait, it's coming back to me.

Wow, that was pretty cool, actually. While writing about where the book was going from here, I started to actually *think* about where the book was going from here. And, upon thinking about it, remembered where the book was going from here.

Who'd have thought that thinking would prove that beneficial?

I'm surely as shocked as you are.

In any case, three pages after weeks of a dry spell still seems pretty insignificant. While it's nice to know that, at the very least, the book isn't irrepairably broken, it'll still be awhile before I'm back in the flow of it again. But the ideas are still buzzing, and assuming I can find the time for it, I'm quite looking forward to finding that flow.

Criticizing the Controversy (Part Two)

A quick aside before we get into the next phase of this list. Obviously I've decided to split these up instead of posting them all as one great big, cumbersome analysis (and after seeing how long part one ended up being, I'm glad I made that choice), but I've decided to make one small modification to the way I'm splitting them.

Instead of the original plan -- with posts of 10, 10 and then 5, I'm going more closely follow Entertainment Weekly's breakdown, and go 10, 10, 4 and then 1, because I'm going to want to talk about the number one spot for a few reasons, but most importantly, why the number one pick shouldn't be, and why my alternative choice is so much better.

It's also worth noting that, obviously, I'm not adding any films to this list. That's not because EW's list should be taken as the final word on film controversy, but only because it's the list it'self that I'm criticizing, not attempting to make one of my own.

With those few details out of the way, let's press on to part two.

15. TRIUMPH OF THE WILL (1935)
THE PLOT Riefenstahl's notorious documentary of the 1934 Nazi rally at Nuremberg elevates propaganda to seductive Wagnerian grandeur. THE CONTROVERSY While intellectuals still ponder the ethics of admiring so malevolent a masterpiece, others have had more visceral reactions. In the early '40s, director George Stevens was so disturbed by the film that he joined the Army the next day. Protests greeted Riefenstahl (who never shook her Nazi-tainted past) at a 1974 Telluride Film Festival tribute, and the Anti-Defamation League decried a 1975 screening in Atlanta as ''morally insensitive.''
THE COMMENTARY While I certainly won't debate that a documentary on a Nazi rally would -- and yes, probably should -- be controversial, I would argue that it's likely an important documentation of a piece of history that maybe we, as human beings, aren't terribly proud of, but which should be remembered at all costs. For that reason alone, this is a film that should be preserved (though it's worth noting that I say that about this film, sight unseen)

14. THE WARRIORS (1979)
THE PLOT Members of a street gang battle their way through a New York City populated by rival gangs (''Warriors, come out to plaaay!'').
THE CONTROVERSY Hill's lurid nightmare of urban warfare was widely condemned for glorifying violence. Reports of criminal incidents where the film was shown — including the stabbing of a teenager in Massachusetts — fueled the outrage, forcing Paramount to temporarily pull its print and TV advertising for the film.
THE COMMENTARY Haven't seen this one either, though I do have vague memories of seeing promotional images from it. I was likely too young to have spotted ads in newspapers when it was originally released, so it was likely on video box-covers in later years. None of which has anything to do with the supposed controversy of the film. Just interesting trivia. So let me say this: Movies don't make people criminals. They just give people with criminal tendencies specific ideas they maybe wouldn't have otherwise had.

13. THE DA VINCI CODE (2006)
THE PLOT A professor (Tom Hanks) unearths a 2,000-year-old conspiracy to cover up the marriage between Jesus and Mary Magdalene.
THE CONTROVERSY It didn't end up drawing mass pickets or boycotts, but there was much debate while the film was being made. Westminster Abbey wouldn't allow Howard to shoot inside its halls, and some 200 protesters mobbed the set in Lincolnshire, England (although Howard says most were merely ''trying to get autographs'').
THE COMMENTARY Ha ha ha ha ha ha. Wait, seriously? Okay, it's a crappy movie, a crappy adaptation of a bestselling book, whose author ripped the whole idea off from a book originally published, I think, in the 70s. The only real controversy here is how sad the book-buying public is to have shot this thing up the best-seller lists.

12. THE DEER HUNTER (1978)
THE PLOT The Vietnam War shatters the lives of three Pennsylvania steel-mill workers.
THE CONTROVERSY By the time it won the Best Picture Oscar, Deer Hunter had ignited major debate over its shocking POW-camp scenes, in which American soldiers are forced to play Russian roulette. War historians argued there was no record of such atrocities, and others called the Vietcong depiction racist. Cimino called the criticisms ''beside the point.''
THE COMMENTARY The Cimino quote that EW uses gives the director the appearance of being dismissive of the criticisms, while managing to avoid the point of the quote -- that he was not attempting to make a factual film about the Vietnam war. To me, the Russian roulette sequences could be seen as a metaphor for the terror, the randomness, and ultimately the senselessness of war in general. It's probably also worth noting that I think this a fantastic film.

11. THE MESSAGE (1977)
THE PLOT Anthony Quinn plays Mohammed's uncle in an epic telling of Islam's origins.
THE CONTROVERSY The movie rankled Muslims and sparked riots, and that was just during production. Post-release, in March 1977, Hanafi terrorists took more than 100 people hostage in Washington, D.C. — killing a reporter and shooting the city's future mayor Marion Barry in the two-day siege — demanding in part that The Message be banned. (It wasn't.) In a cruelly ironic coda, the Syrian-born Akkad died amid al-Qaeda's coordinated hotel bombings last fall in Amman, Jordan.
THE COMMENTARY This is an interesting choice, is it goes against expectations by including non-American controversy, and for that I'll tip my hat to EW. If your film inspires a hostage-taking, there's pretty much no arguing that there was some controversy surrounding it.

10. BABY DOLL (1956)
THE PLOT A Mississippi cotton-gin owner (Eli Wallach) humiliates a competitor (Karl Malden) by attempting to seduce the man's still-virgin wife (Carroll Baker).
THE CONTROVERSY Written by Tennessee Williams, the film struck Catholic leaders as lewd. (A similar flap greeted 1943's The Outlaw over Jane Russell's bust.) New York's Cardinal Spellman forbade the faithful to see it ''under pain of sin.'' Some theaters pulled it, but it eventually earned four Oscar nominations.
THE COMMENTARY You know, if nothing else, this makes an interesting list of films I may not have heard before that might be worth checking out. Cardinal Something-or-other tells his good Catholics to avoid it, even though they all know they can check the film out and then go to confession the next day. Controversy level? Lukewarm at best.

9. LAST TANGO IN PARIS (1972)
THE PLOT A disaffected American (Marlon Brando) travels to Paris, where he throws himself into an affair with a young Frenchwoman (Maria Schneider).
THE CONTROVERSY Critics and audiences were sharply divided over this X-rated erotic psychodrama. The film's stark (as in naked) depiction of loveless, animalistic carnality horrified some — and landed its director and stars in an Italian court on obscenity charges.
THE COMMENTARY Of course this would make the list, though likely on because it was Marlon Brando in the role (if it had been a random B-list actor, or a native Italian, it would have likely been long forgotten by now). Having not seen it, I'm unsure if the fact that people are still talking about it is a testament to the strength of the film, or just that people like complaining.

8. NATURAL BORN KILLERS (1994)
THE PLOT Homicidal lovers (Woody Harrelson and Juliette Lewis) cut a blood-soaked swath through America.
THE CONTROVERSY Though intended as a satire on the media, the film actually inspired several copycat killers to seek their own 15 minutes of fame, some even using imagery and dialogue from the film. Over 12 murders in the U.S. and abroad have been linked to Killers. One victim's family tried to sue Stone and Warner Bros.
THE COMMENTARY Another film I'll defend, though not to quite the same degree as The Deer Hunter. While I am a fan (and the Director's Cut sits proudly on my DVD shelf), I do think the satirical elements may have been hidden a little too well underneath the carnage. You really do have to spend a fair amount of time with the film, peeling away at its layers, to get at the core. I still think it's a core worth getting to, but the process could have been made a little easier.

7. THE BIRTH OF A NATION (1915)
THE PLOT Griffith's epic follows the travails of two families during the Civil War and Reconstruction.
THE CONTROVERSY The film's depiction of African Americans as childlike, conniving, or rabid sex fiends, and the Ku Klux Klan as heroic saviors, sparked nationwide protests by the nascent NAACP. (It also became a KKK recruiting tool.) Censorship debates and protests have dogged the film in subsequent rereleases and when it was added to the National Film Registry in 1993.
THE COMMENTARY It does seem a little odd that this film didn't crack the top 5, given both its historical significance, as well as its well-publiciized racism. Another one I haven't seen, though I'd quite like to, only because of its significance as a part of film history.

6. THE LAST TEMPTATION OF CHRIST (1988)
THE PLOT Jesus (Willem Dafoe) pursues his calling but, in a Satan-induced hallucination, dreams of a normal life that includes sex with Mary Magdalene.
THE CONTROVERSY Religious fundamentalists picketed and threatened boycotts weeks before its release. One group offered to buy the $6.5 million film from Universal to destroy it; some theaters, and later Blockbuster, refused to carry it. Oh, and the French rioted.
THE COMMENTARY Another one that should have at least cracked the top 10. And then some. This film should have topped the list, and I'll tell you why. But not right now.

 

And that brings Part Two of Criticizing the Controversy to a close. Two more installments still to come, including the exciting discussion of what's wrong with the number one spot. Look for it within the next few days.

Criticizing the controversy (Part One)

A few months ago, Entertainment Weekly published a list of the 25 most controversial films of all time -- and interesting list, to be sure, but with some odd choices that got the gears in my head rolling. And when I saw their number one choice (when it seemed completely clear to me what the number one choice SHOULD have been) I knew had to comment on it.

But I just didn't get around to it.

But because I haven't done any significan writing in the last week or so, I am feeling a burning urge to write SOMETHING, and so I pick this idea out of the discarded-idea-bin, and dust it off, and see if I can breathe some life into it. Because the wheels are still rolling, and there's still a desire for commentary.

I've decided to quote EW's article, instead of actually just linking to it (which, in the interest of fair use, I'll do here anyway) because it's just easier than expecting everyone to keep two documents open at once, right? Right.

25. ALADDIN (1992)
THE PLOT You know: the genie-in-the-lamp tale.
THE CONTROVERSY The American-Arab Anti-Discrimination Committee balked at a lyric describing the film's Arabian setting as a land ''where they cut off your ear if they don't like your face.'' Result? The studio dubbed out the lyric for subsequent releases.
THE COMMENTARY Seems likely that they were desperate for something to fill out the 25th slot by including this one, though I suppose the fact that it came from Disney just amp up the controversy factor just a touch. How could the home of Mickey Mouse and Cinderella be the source of such a racial insensitive comment!? Perish the thought!

24. CALIGULA (1980)
THE PLOT This lavishly decadent film depicts the orgy-filled life and death of ancient Rome's most notorious — and clearly psychotic — emperor (Malcolm McDowell).
THE CONTROVERSY Described as a ''moral holocaust'' by Variety, the film was first given a very limited theatrical release for fear of prosecution on obscenity grounds.
THE COMMENTARY What is pretty much the first (and one of very few) big-budget, mainstreamish attempts at pornography, yeah, this was pretty much a given on this list. I've never seen it, but a part of me has been curious, if only to watch what I'm sure, even at the time it was being filmed, was a sort of cinematic train wreck. Because, seriously, there's no way this could have gone well.

23. KIDS (1995)
THE PLOT A group of teens (played by, among others, Rosario Dawson and Chloë Sevigny) prowl the streets of NYC in search of sex, booze, drugs, and other high-risk kicks.
THE CONTROVERSY Clark's disturbing vision of promiscuous, borderline-sociopathic teens was heralded by some as a much-needed wake-up call about the nation's youth. Others saw prurient exploitation. As a buffer against the furor, Miramax created a new entity, Excalibur Films, to release the pic.
THE COMMENTARY "Others saw prurient exploitation." Um, which others are we talking about? Mormons? Neo-nazis? It's important to know, before we decide whether we're going to give their opinion any credence. And really, in the post-Britney-Spears world of the oversexualized teen, it seems to me that maybe this sort of "Wake-Up Call" is more than just necessary. The idea that, as a culture, we're actually breeding pedophiles is sort of disconcerting.

22. DO THE RIGHT THING (1989)
THE PLOT Racial tensions in a Brooklyn neighborhood escalate from amusing to tragic during the course of a single scorching summer day.
THE CONTROVERSY While the film was seen by some as a masterpiece (and earned Lee a Best Original Screenplay Oscar nom), others blasted the director as irresponsible, predicting that the film's shocking climax — in which Mookie (Lee) hurls a trashcan through a storefront window, inciting a riot — would evoke similar reactions from urban moviegoers. Thankfully, the film proved to be more of a catalyst for heated debate than a flashpoint for actual violence.
THE COMMENTARY It was controversial because what people feared might happen, didn't? I think that alone should drop this one a few notches. Maybe place it just above Aladdin.

21. BONNIE AND CLYDE (1967)
THE PLOT Faye Dunaway is Bonnie, a bored Texas girl looking for danger. Warren Beatty is Clyde, a pistol-packing ex-con. They fall in love and kick off an infamous Depression-era crime spree.
THE CONTROVERSY Two years before Sam Peckinpah's The Wild Bunch, Penn's bloody, slo-mo bullet-riddled finale, where the young lovers bite the dust, sparked an outcry — even tough-guy actor James Garner, no stranger to shoot-outs, called it ''amoral.''
THE COMMENTARY This, I must confess, I haven't seen, in spite of knowing that I should, if only because of it's place in film history, for being a violent, bloody, and, yes, ultimately controversial film.

20. CANNIBAL HOLOCAUST (1985)
THE PLOT This nauseatingly graphic Italian prototype for The Blair Witch Project follows four documentarians filming cannibal tribes in the Amazon. They become lunch.
THE CONTROVERSY After its 1980 Milan premiere, the film's print was confiscated by the city's magistrate. Later, Deodato faced life in prison when Italian authorities believed the stars of his film were really killed. The actors finally appeared on TV to prove otherwise.
THE COMMENTARY Now THAT is a controversy. The print being confiscated? The filmmaker in prison? Holy crap, why hasn't an American film company used that sort of thing is a viral marketing campaign? It's brilliant?

19. BASIC INSTINCT (1992)
THE PLOT A trigger-happy detective (Michael Douglas) falls for a bisexual author (Sharon Stone) who's suspected of murdering her male lover with an ice pick.
THE CONTROVERSY Gay-rights activists objected to the portrayal of man-hating lesbians before a frame of film was shot and protested through the film's opening. Then there was the film's eye-popping sex, including Sharon Stone's notorious leg-crossing, which contributed to Basic's initial NC-17 rating.
THE COMMENTARY I love people who criticize something before they've seen it, going simply on speculation and rumour. Because we all know how accurate that sort of information is. Which isn't to say that Basic Instinct is a film that should be defended as some sort of great crusader in the fight for film freedom, or whatever. It's just a crappy murder-mystery. With, you know, a Sharon Stone crotch-shot.

18. I AM CURIOUS (YELLOW) (1969)
THE PLOT Freewheeling Lena experiences the swinging '60s: protesting Vietnam, questioning the class system, and exploring carnal desires.
THE CONTROVERSY Before the 1967 Swedish film could open in the U.S., it was seized by customs officials concerned that scenes containing full frontal nudity and simulated sex acts were pornographic. The courts initially deemed the movie obscene, but the verdict was overturned.
THE COMMENTARY "The courts initially" blah blah blah. Unless there are actual, you know, paying, movie-going, people involved, it's not much of a controversy, if you ask me. The government getting their panties in a knot does not a controversy make.

17. FREAKS (1932)
THE PLOT For his still-creepy circus noir about a midget who's conned by a greedy temptress, Browning used real sideshow performers.
THE CONTROVERSY Audiences fled preview screenings in droves. (One patron claimed the film caused her to miscarry.) Even with a castration scene cut, the National Association of Women found the film ''offensive'' and urged boycotts. It was banned in Atlanta and pulled from distribution; it was forbidden in the U.K. until the early '60s.
THE COMMENTARY This is one that I've wanted to see for *years* and still have yet to. As a controversial film, could you ask for any more than someone claiming that they MISCARRIED because of your movie? No, I don't think so.

16. UNITED 93 (2006)
THE PLOT An ultra-vérité re-creation of the tragic heroism surrounding — and inside — the only hijacked 9/11 flight not to reach its intended target.
THE CONTROVERSY Greengrass' virtually-there experience may have been a little too close for comfort for some moviegoers. Even the trailer's suggestion of the movie's content prompted audiences to shout Too soon! One New York City theater pulled the footage from its preview reel after many viewers (one left sobbing) complained.
THE COMMENTARY This I haven't seen. And while I am slightly tempted because of it's inclusion on this list, I'm pretty sure the film is just going to be a big rah-rah masturbation session about how awesome America is that really doesn't manage to see 9/11 in any large or significant or, really, accurate sense. So no thanks.

And that's episode one of criticizing the controversy. I'm kind of getting into this, and would love to keep going, but it's late, and I have to go to bed, so I won't. More to come soon, though. Or not. Hard to tell.

I am so freaking tired.

I haven't touched the novel in a little over a week. I'm desperate to get back to it, but I'm having a tough time seeing any free time for it in the near future. Thankfully it doesn't FEEL like I'm losing ground on it, which is good.

There's been a long planned blog post (a commentary on a somewhat recent Entertainment Weekly article on the 25 most controversial films of all time) that I think I'm going to start work on tonight. I haven't decided yet whether I'm gonna write it all up and do a massive single post, or split it into three (10, 10 and 5), but I'm currently leaning towards the split. Except if I do that, there's no guarantee I'll actually finish it. Which is always a risk. Moreso when I'm as drowned in extracurrics as I am right now.

If I *do* go with a split, the first post should probably appear a bit after this one. So for those of you obsessively visiting this blog (ha!) just be patient. There might be something new (and maybe even interesting) shortly.

Oh, I think I feel a rant coming on...

So I'm going to try to not let it out of my system here. Because that'd be flushing a perfectly good column down the tubes.

But I *am* feeling a solid, angry, teeth-grinding kind of rant coming over me. And it's aimed at a 50-ish British children's novelist named Geraldine McCaughrean. Here's a quick bit of bio courtesy of Wikipedia.

Geraldine McCaughrean (pronounced "Mc-cork-ran")¹ is a British children's novelist. She was born on June 6, 1951 in North London, and took an education degree, then worked in magazine publishing for ten years before becoming a full-time writer. She now lives in Berkshire with her husband John and daughter Ailsa.

She has written more than 130 books, and won numerous prizes.

Okay, first:

If you've written more than 130 books, and you're not 75 years old, you're not trying hard enough. That they're children's books isn't any fucking excuse for writing them fast. Put your head in the adult world for awhile. Tackle some difficult topics. I don't think that everything you output needs to be a contender for the Pulitzer Prize, but anything more than two books a year is a serious indicator that you really don't give a damn.

And second: If you really don't give a damn, then you should not be comissioned to write a sequel to a classic story like Peter Pan.

And third: If you are commissioned to write a sequel to Peter Pan, and you do give a damn, you should turn that job the fuck down, immediately, without a second's hesitation. Because it's a story that is not only beloved by generations upon generations of people, it is a story that is likely beloved by its creator. And that creator is likely spinning in his grave right now, because it meant something to him, it was a story he cared about, and to you, well hell, it wasn't much more than a paycheque, was it? I mean, who cares about history? Who cares about respect? Who cares about letting someone's work stand alone as their work?

But then, if you're pumping out more than two books a year, I guess I shouldn't be surprised that the paycheque is all you care about, should I?

And yeah, damn it, a good chunk of this rant is probably going to end up in the column too. Because it came out on the blog better than I thought it would.

Hey, lets stop shooting each other, okay?

From an Associated Press Article, listing a history of U.S. school shootings:

• Oct. 2, 2006: A gunman took about a dozen girls hostage, killing at least three of them, at a one-room Amish schoolhouse in Pennsylvania's Lancaster County, police said. The shooter was among the dead, and a number of people were injured.

• Sept. 29, 2006: 15-year-old Eric Hainstock brought two guns to a school in rural Cazenovia, Wis., and fatally shot the principal, a day after the principal gave him a disciplinary warning for having tobacco on school grounds, police said.

• Sept. 27, 2006: Duane Morrison, 53, took six girls hostage at Platte Canyon High School in Bailey, Colo. Morrison, sexually assaulting them and using them as human shields for hours before fatally shooting one girl and killing himself.

• Aug. 24, 2006: Christopher Williams, 27, went to an elementary school in Essex, Vermont, looking for his ex-girlfriend, a teacher. He couldn't find her and fatally shot one teacher and wounded another, police said. Williams also killed his ex-girlfriend's mother, according to authorities. He shot himself twice in the head after the rampage and was arrested.

The article, focusing on the U.S., doesn't include the recent Montreal school shooting, so if we include that in the last, that's five in North America since August.

And I'm thinking, holy crap, do I feel morbid right now.

Only the August shooting had taken place when I started working on this new novel, which uses high school violence as a fairly prominant sub-plot, and I don't even recall hearing about that one until just now. High school violence just worked for the story, and it was a topic that had been in the back of my mind for the last few years anyway, a topic I was eager to spend some time on.

But now -- what the heck is wrong with 2006 that, suddenly, this is the year that everyone wants to blow each other to pieces at school? Are these all copycat crimes, or have we as a culture reached some sort of terrible boiling point?

And, really, how weird is it that this topic shows up in my head, and ends up poured out into a novel, during a year when high school violence suddenly leaps out of control.

What sort of bizarre collective unconscious have I stumbled upon?

And do I want to be a part of that collective any longer than absolutely necessary?

EDIT: After some additional thought, I'm reminded that a bit less than a year after my attempt at writing a novel called "The Small Town Pornographer's Blues" (which was to be about the struggles of an entrepreneur attempting to break into the porn film business in a small town) someone in this area started advertising in the classifieds, looking for both actors and cameramen to work on adult films locally.

I'm not trying to imply that I'm psychic or anything. Nonetheless...creepier and creepier.

Speaking of McDonald's...

Another random childhood memoy just came to me.

I have this vague recollection of my folks having a book which was, essentially, a combination McDonald's History, as well as a McDonald's travel guide (specifically, the locations of every McDonalds in Canada and, I think, the United States). I remember trying to read it again and again and again, because I figured this book must somehow be as wonderful as the restaurant, but I simply couldn't push my way through the dry prose detailing the rise of the franchise.

Coinciding with this memory is the realization that my parents, when planning our vacation itinerary, must've made every effort possible to ensure that there would be sufficient McDonald's stops along the way, to keep us kids satisfied (and coated in a glistening sheen of grease).

I'd be totally creeped by a similar sort of marketing move if I encountered it today, but as a memory, it still manages a warm place in my heart.

RIP, hot mustard

I don't believe I spend any more or less than time than average thinking about food on any given day (though I've met people who do), so it seems strange to me that some of my fondest childhood memories are memories in which food play a central role.

For example:

I remember one morning, as a child, after spending the night at a friend's place, going for breakfast at a local diner with the friend and his dad. Now, his dad was a bit more willing to indulge the psychotic whims of children than my own folks had been, and so, on this particular morning, he allowed me to fulfill one of my greatest childhood wishes -- having a cheeseburger for breakfast.

Cheeseburgers, for whatever reason, had reached an almost mythical status in my young head, and were the greatest treat that could be bestowed upon you for a meal. I had spent months, perhaps even years trying to convince my parents to let me eat a cheeseburger when we were out for breakfast, but they refused, time and time again.

So of course, I was expecting absolute bliss from dining on a cheeseburger at 10:00 a.m. Instead, I just got sort of nautious.

Another memory:

Our family didn't eat at McDonald's with any sort of regularity, and so when we did go, it was something to celebrate. You wanted to make an event out of it. Not long after the initial launch of McDonald's Chicken McNuggets, they became my meal of choice when visiting McDonald's. And of course, as my meal of choice, there was the Holy Grail of Chicken McNuggets.

The 20-piece meal.

Much like the breakfast cheeseburger, all my requests for a 20-piece meal were refuesed by my parents for what felt like years (though it was probably only a handful of months -- childhood memory is funny that way) before they finally got tired of hearing my complaints and relented.

And what should have been a glorious moment of joy became, much like the breakfast cheeseburger incident, a moment of overconsumption and nausea.

The moral of the story: When parents say, "No," it isn't always because they're mean. Sometimes it's because they don't want you to throw up all over yourself, and them, and the nice people at the table next to you. Which isn't to say that I did, but I could have. You never know with food related things.

Which brings me, in a very offhand way, to the real point of this post.

McDonald's Hot Mustard sauce, for their Chicken McNuggets, is, apparently, no more.

According to the woman who took my order yesterday, McDonald's took a survey and discovered that more people preferred the Honey  Mustard to the Hot Mustard, so the Hot Mustard was removed as an option.

And to those people who took that survey, and who inspired McDonald's to remove the Hot Mustard sauce from their menu, I want to say simply this: I hate you all.

Hot Mustard is all I've ever had on my McDonald's Chicken McNuggets, all I've ever wanted to have on my Chicken McNuggets. Now, in my adulthood, it has less to do with the taste -- though I still enjoyed that the last time I was lucky enough to have the hot mustard sauce -- and more to do with nostalgia. With reconnecting with the simpler times of your childhood.

And you people, you stupid Honey Mustard people, have destroyed all that.

Today we mourn the passing of Hot Mustard from the McDonald's menu, and while we hold no grudges against this newer, less nostalgic "Honey Mustard" -- for it is innocent of any food related crime, and is simply the unlikely replacement for a fondly remembered product -- we acknowledge that McDonald's will never be the same. And that I will likely never eat their Chicken McNuggets again.

Goodbye, dear, Hot Mustard. You will be missed.

From the 'No Duh," department.

Courtesy of this week's horoscope at AstrologyOnline:

You can make money if you are careful not to let it trickle through your fingers.

And...this is a surprise, how, exactly?

Feast or Famine

Well, the high-school shooting backstory of the current novel, which I once thought would be contained in a single chapter and has since exploded into three, may now not be quite long enough.

Stupid books and going and evolving even while you're working on it.

I had a flash of inspiration tonight about the book, about approaching the story almost as having dual narratives -- the current, insomnia-based storyline, and the backstory, school-shooting storyline.

And the idea really onle stumbled out of a notion that I've known about from the get go, that each of these two narratives are ending with something very, very similar happening.

No, I'm not going to say what that similar thing is.

And no, I don't care if you're the type who flips to the end of the book before you even start reading the beginning.

And if you are that type, shame on you.

The point is this: For the last two chapters -- which were two chapters longer than I was expecting the back-story to play out over -- I've been sort of speeding up the back-story narrative, hoping I could get out of it before it took up too much time or space.

Now, suddenly, I wish I hadn't. I wish I'd taken a bit more time with it, because if I could line up those two different narrative events, it would, pardon my french, absofuckinglutely rock.

So now, having spent two chapters trying to speed up all the high school violence stuff, now I'm going to slow it down.

Take my time.

Let it breathe.

I still might end up having to a do lot of restructuring work on the rewrite -- inflating some of the earlier stuff so the whole narrative is a bit more balanced.

Or maybe everything will come out just perfectly, exactly as it should be.

Maybe pigs will fly too.

Another 2,000 words down tonight. Current word count: 35,860.

I rock.

Well, it wasn't quite 6,000 words...

...but I did get somewhere between 4,500 and 5,000 words into the novel yesterday (I'm not 100% sure of the word count, as I wasn't following it religiously -- I had the feeling going into it that the word count would be light, so I didn't want to really know just how light. Boy, was I surprised!)

AND almost 4,000 of those words came spilling out in one sitting that just kind of spiralled out of control.

Clearly I've had some pent up narrative waiting to get vomited out on the page.

On top of everything else, an anecdote I heard at work today -- about a street in Kelowna that, apparently, has no service of any kind, be it electrical, gas, cable, or anything else, because it's essentially a have for crackhouses and drug dealers -- is bouncing around in my head as an idea for later in the novel.

My first thought was that the idea of a street where no one goes, that the government pretends doesn't exist, might make an interesting location for another story. But then, the more I thought about it, the more it seemed like this could be better used in this novel. Not only a location forgotten and ignored by the government and by the utilities companies, but a location forgotten by God himself. I've been looking for a spot where the final "showdown" between Jeremy and the cult leader would take place, and I was already thinking of a location like this -- someplace derelict and worn down -- but this idea of a forgotten, ignored neighbourhood takes the original idea one step further.

It does feel a little bit too close to the notion of "Undertown" that I had in the "Stealing Time" novel from a few years back, but I don't think there's much of a chance of that novel ever getting finished, and if it's just going to sit around and collect dust anyway, I might as well rip something off from it.

I still need to give it a bit more thought, particularly in the area of where I'm intending to introduce the idea of this location. My first thought was that I needed to introduce it towards the beginning of teh novel, to have it in people's minds already for the climax, but I've begun to think that there might be a good point in the next chapter or two for that introduction -- might not be at the beginning, but it's early enough from the climax that it'll still get the job done.

As always -- and as is always surprising -- the further into the book I get, the more everything starts to coalesce. All the varying, disconnected ideas begin to pull together into a single, unifying thread.

God, I love it when that happens.

Punchdrunk

I'm not sure what drew me to it, but I watched Paul Thomas Anderson's Punch-Drunk Love tonight, for what is probably only the second time. And the first time since I bought the DVD a few years back.

My first experience watching the film -- which I was desperate to see, after being blown away by Anderson's "Boogie Nights" and "Magnolia" -- was in the form of a 700 MB AVI file I downloaded from the internet, the video of which appeared to have been shot on a handicam by someone in a theatre. The quality of the image was far from fantastic, but it least the camera seemed to be on a tripod, so it didn't wobble a lot.

I recall kind of enjoying the film at the time, but not being terribly affected by it. My review probably would have been summed up with a "Meh."

Which is probably why it's taken me so long to revisit it. I'm glad I did, though.

Punch-Drunk Love is a sweet, strange, and surprisingly moving love story. It's funny, though sometimes darkly so, it's strange, with moments of absurd randomness that might take some time to wrap your head around, and -- most importantly -- it's ultimately redemptive, as Barry Egan, a quiet, lonely, angry man finds a way out of his own personal darkness after falling in love with Lena Leonard.

Barry says this at the climax of the film: "I have a love in my life. It makes me stronger than anything you can imagine."

And it's a wonderfully powerful, beautiful moment.

Granted, it's a moment that comes in the middle of a mattress store in Utah while he's staring down the owner/operator of a phone sex business that's been trying (somewhat successfully) to extort money from him.

Still, powerful and beautiful. Even if a little absurd.

I think I needed something light and redemptive and loving after last night's unexpected outburst. Not sure entirely where it came from, but it went on a lot longer, and a lot further then I was expecting when I first sat down to write. I actually had a moment this morning, upon waking, when I thought, "Oh crap, what did I write last night?"

Thankfully I wasn't too embarassed when I checked it out this morning.

Maybe I just had a lot of religious agression pent up from the fact that I haven't done any significant work on the novel in the last few days, and haven't had an outlet for the sort of the stuff I've been conjuring up for the book. Or maybe I just hit the wrong tangent at the wrong time.

I"m taking the next two days off work after a gruelling two weeks putting out more publications than I can count, and I'm looking forward to doing a whole lot of nothing, occasionally broken up with some work on the novel. I still need to get through the second half of the manifesto so I can get the second act sort of rolling along. I'm not sure why I've been avoiding it. I've felt like writing, which is, in part, why I dumped so much in the blog last night, I think. I just haven't done any of it.

But whatever I've been doing, it's been unsatisfying, because in the back of my mind, I'm thinking, get off your ass. Get over to the book. Get WRITING.

So enough of this avoidance.

I want 6,000 down in the next two days -- that's only three bursts of 2K. Should be a breeze.

Of course, now that I've said that, I'm sure I've jinked myself.

Alphablogging (Part One)

So, a few people asked me what my thoughts were after watching the first of the Alpha videos.

And my answer to them all was the same.

"Preaching to the converted."

Which surprised me, a little, because the setup  I had heard for the Alpha video was that they were hosted by an agnostic who'd found God, who set out to disprove the existence of the divine, and instead ended up embracing it. And that, I thought, was something I could get my head arounde. That was an argument I'd love to hear.

And maybe that's still where we're going. There's still 9 weeks, 9 videos, to work our way through. Perhaps that still on the horizon.

But, from a purely marketing perspective, bad start.

It's like the way we're told to write essays when we're in high school.

Tell us what you're going to tell us. Then tell us. Then tell us what you told us.

As an introductory video, its job should have been to tell us what we were going to be told for the next nine weeks. If it was going to ask serious questions, then those questions should have come up. If it was going to tackle difficult issues, then those issues should have come up. But for the most part, they didn't.

Instead, the video host made some jokes, got some laughs, and said the sort of things that are only really going to ring true to people who are already on his side.

I suppose maybe I'm being a little unfair.

Complicated questions were asked. But over-simplistic answers were given. Which doesn't bode well for the rest of the program.

If we were going to be dabbling in complicated answers, I'd hope that there would be a hint of that in the first video. Instead, what we got were answers that, well, preached to the converted.

Or, I suppose, to the almost converted.

To those that were looking for easy answers.

When the man on the video (I don't know his name, and while a variety of names came up on my Google searches for Alpha Courses, I'm not sure who's who, and I'd hate to misrepresent anyone) talked about the emptiness we feel inside, or the desire to find something more in life, I started to think, "Hey, maybe i could acutally get into this."

Because I think we all feel that.

We're all familiar with that emptiness, that certainty that there must be something more to life than just what we know.

But the answer to that emptiness, it seems, is Jesus. And, more specifically, a personal relationship with God, though Jesus.

That's the only thing that can fill that void. The only thing that can make us complete.

But...

And this isn't something new.

This is something that's been niggling at the back of my head for years.

Something that's bugged me for years.

We're all created with this void. Because this void arises out of a desire for a relationship with the God that created us. And the only way to fill it is with a personal relationship, with him, thorugh Jesus.

So then...

Why?

Isn't it a little bit perverse?

Isn't it a little perverse to create something that is lacking something, then demand that it seek you out for what it lacks, and then act as if you're loving and merciful for giving it what it lacks? For being willing to fill the absence that you created?

How is that merciful?

How is that loving?

Dear God, let this emptiness, this void, be worth more than just an excuse to seek you out. Do not let me think that you made me, and then tortured me, all so that I would feel compelled to find you.

If that's what it's all about, if all you want is to be loved, if all you want is to be worshipped, then just make us loving, just make us worshipful. Get rid of the whole joke that is free will.

If all you want is love and worship, then why did you put in me the desire for so much more?

But...

Already, my opinions are coloured by what I read tonight, about the Alpha Program. Already I'm reminded that, too often, churches are like politicians, where after awhile, they stop caring about their congregation, and focus only on their sustainability. Their ability to pay the bills. Their job.

The alpha program has been ridiculously successfuly. I've only seen one video, and I think I already know why.

Because it preaches to the converted.

And, more importantly, it preaches to those who want to be converted.

Those who are desperate for an answer.

Those who want to fill the void in the hearts, at any cost. Those who are willing to cling to any truth. Those who are willing to find any meaning they can.

It preaches to the converted, and to those who are desperate for conversion.

This is the sort of rant that would likely have someone accusing me of not approaching the program with an open mind. But if they did make such an accusation, I don't think they could be any more wrong.

I do have an open mind.

I'm open to anything.

But I have conditions. I have logical conditions, scientific conditions, and yes, even spiritual conditions.

As the narrator in my current novel has said, on more than one occasion, yes, I want to believe.

But I'm still waiting for you to give me something worth beliving in.

Alphablogging (Prologue)

I've been fighting against the desire to do this for most of the day, until I finally had to throw in the towel and accept that, if I have to fight this long against a desire, then the desire must be there for a reason, and so maybe I should just succumb to it.

I was invited this weekend to attend the "Alpha Course" which is a sort-of introduction to Christianity program. The invitation came at, sort of, the perfect time for it, while I'm working on a book where issues of faith and spirituality play a very, very large role, which led me to actually consider going to something that I, normally, would have just dismissed and avoided. Because, I figured, at the very least, maybe it could give me a bit more to chew on, thematically, for this book.

And, admitedly, beyond that, there was also the fact that, yes, like a lot of people, I'm searching for some grander truth, some greater meaning behind our existences here on this planet. A lot of that search, I think, is going to end up finding itself into this current book -- a lot of it already has -- and already I'm feeling like part of the point of this book is for it function as a sounding board for all the question about life I have, as well as a sounding board for a handful of the answers.

Bottom line is this: Questions of faith have been in my head a lot lately, and when the invitation came to attend something that might lead to me ask further question, or look at those questions from a different perspective, I found myself actually inclined to attend.

Which I did, last night.

The Alpha Program, in a nutshell, is a ten-week course, where one night a week the participants gather, eat a meal, watch a video on Christianity, and then discuss the questions, issues, and answers that arose from that video. All in the interest of getting closer to the heart of, for lack of a better workd, the truth.

And it wasn't really until today that I even thought about blogging my own response to it.

But...

I'm going to have to get used to sharing my opinion, if I'm going to actually continue on with this thing. Even if maybe that opinion isn't shared by any one else, even if maybe that opinion isn't welcome. Because if I'm going to go there and just sit in a corner, and keep those questions to myself, then I'm not doing anyone any good by being there.

So, in the interest of opening myself up, in the interest of improving  my ability to share what I'm *really* thinking, and *really* feeling, I'm going to blog my reactions to the Alpha Program. I won't be blogging immediately afterwards -- it might take a day or two or three before I sit down and get out my thoughts, but that's likely because I need to chew on the ideas that came up on that particular night before commenting on them.

And, wow, there's only been one night so far, but I already feel like I've been chewing for weeks.

I already feel like I have so much to comment on.

Part of this desire to comment, I'm sure, is coming as a direct result of doing a little online research on the Alpha Program. And the fact that some of the information available is good, and some of it, well, isn't. And even though reading up on the program is maybe a bit like flipping to end of a book even before you've begun it, I just can't help myself. I'm not very good at opening myself up, blindly, to outside influences. I like to know what I'm getting myself into.

And, in spite of the fact that I kind of feel like I know where things are going, and how we're going to get there, I'm going to try not to let that colour my perspective of anything. I'm going to try to take each moment of the Alpha Program (assuming I see it through to the end) as its own, individual moment, coloured only by what has come before, and not coloured by what I'm anticipating.

As much as I can.

I'm only human.

But this entry has gone on long enough, and I still have to comment on the opening "Alpha" evening. So what's say you join me over in the next post?

700 words. Meh.

Half the manifesto is complete.

Well, maybe only a third. I dunno. This book seems to have a tendency to spiral out of my control whenever it seems fit. This seems like an area where it might.

Bottom line, only 700 words tonight before I threw in the towel. Which isn't bad, actually, because after getting home at 9:00 p.m., and making my lengthy school-violence-rant on the blog, I really didn't think I'd have much left in me.

But I had a little.

Surprisingly.

So I went and spent it.

And it didn't feel too bad. It didn't feel too far off from where it was when I was improv-writing it behind the wheel of the car driving into town a few days ago.

Which is nice.

Most of the time, I never feel like I can get close to that moment of initial inspiration. Most of the time, whenever I have to revisit something I already thought out, plotted out, scripted out, it comes out feeling weaker, watered down.

This...not so much.

That feels good.

But now it's 11:15, and I'm burn out, and I have so much more to say, but I don't have the energy for it, so I hope it stays right on the surface. I hope I can find it quickly tomorrow night, I hope I can slide easily right back into the moment agian. And I think, if I can get at it tomorrow, I might be able to.

In other book related news, I've been thinking about a new title for it for the last couple of hours, one I stumbled upon completely accidently, even though it should have been a no-brainer because I already started writing a short story with the same title a number of years ago, a short story with no hope of ever going anywhere.

It's also a no-brainer because it follows the same naming scheme I used for the last novel -- "Waiting for a Miracle" -- which borrowed (or, if you'd prefer, stole) it's title from a piece of modern music.

The title I'm now considering for the current book?

"Absence of Faith."

Which isn't exactly stolen from the title of a song, but rather from a line in a song -- in this case, "Closer" by Nine Inch Nails.

It's a nice phrase, one that's been stuck in my head pretty much since I first heard it. And it sums up a lot of the themes of the book quite nicely. Unfortunately, I don't think I'll be able to homage the source material, like I did for "Waiting for a Miracle," by quoting it, as I'm already leaning towards two book-opening quotes that aren't "Closer."

One of the quotes is from a Nine Inch Nails song, so I suppose that could be an acknowledgement, but...

Just a thought. And those handful of you who visit this blog, feel free to toss in your comments on the title (even though, of course, you don't know a heck of a lot about the book at this point). It's far from written in stone at this point, and I'd gladly welcome any other perspective at the moment.

I may not officially slap a title on this thing until after I type the words "THE END" but there's no reason not to start planning right now.

And then comes the finger-pointing...

And so violence has once again erupted in a school, this time in a Montreal college, and already, just a day after the fact, fingers are already pointing. Blame is being placed. Goates are being scaped.

The media is, of course, all over it, quoting postings that the shooter -- now identified as Kimveer Gill -- made to a blog located at VampireFreaks.com. Of course, the blog is apparently no longer available at the site, and what information we're getting is, of course, filtered. Filtered by a media eager to point fingers, lay blame, scape goats.

I understand why these web pages disappear so quickly after an incident like this. It's like an albatross around the neck of a web site. It's publicity of the worst kind. Who wants their web site to be associated with a violent shooting spree? That can't be good for business.

But at the same time, there's important historic documentation to be gleaned from these sites, documentation beyond what the police require in their investigations, beyond what the media requires to tell their skewed, tabloidized version of events. It's the communication of a real person, who felt something, and communicated those feelings, whether those feelings were pain or rage or sadness or emptiness. And while we've seen, and some of us have suffered, as a result of what those feelings were, now very few of us will ever have the chance to actually see them, because Kimveer Gill is dead now, denying us the chance to ever ask, "Why?"

I'd probably let this event slide except for one thing: School violence is very much at the front of my mind right now, because it plays a relatively important part of the new book I'm working on. It's something I've had complicated feelings about ever since what happened at Columbine in 1999. And, while I certainly don't think I'll be able to get every single thought or feeling I have on the topic out onto paper in the writing of this novel, I'll certainlly be hitting a lot of it.

So it's in my head.

And then this happens.

So it's in my head some more.

And it's driving me nuts, because we've been missing the point for years. Every time this happens, we sit on the brink of something revalatory, we're on the edge of understanding something that's broken in our culture, but we throw it away. Because, while we're asking the right question -- which is "Why?" -- we don't really care about the answer.

We don't really want to know the truth.

We don't really want to know about what's broken in us.

Not just in people like Kimveer Gill or Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold -- because, of course, there is something undeniably broken in people like that -- but also in the rest of us, those of us who helped shape those people, who helped break those people.

Unfortunately, at the end of the day, all we want is to sleep better.

We want simple answers to complicated questions.

When we ask, "Why?" we want someone to tell us:

It was because of violent video games; or

It was because of industrial music; or

It was because of violent images on film.

Already the media -- the last place we should be turning for answers, the last place we should be turning for truth -- is handing us the easy answers on a silver platter.

Gill enjoyed playing the video game "Postal." He enjoyed playing the video game "Super Columbine Massacre." His favourite movie was "Natural Born Killers."

These are easy answers, that bring us no closer to the truth, because no one really gives a damn about it. The media wants nothing more than a soundbite, because the truth will likely take awhile to get to, and they know this story will be old news within a week. As for the rest of us, we just want to be comforted. We just want to be told there's nothing to worry. We just want something simple we can point our finger at so we can sleep better at night, knowing that we did our jobs. Knowing that we've made the world a better place by laying blame on something, anything.

Whatever was convenient.

Whatever was available.

- - -

On this topic, and something I stumbled upon while doing a quick batch of research, Slate has a really fantastic look at Columbine, five years after the fact. Much of the stuff they cover was news to me, and shows that, at least in some circles, the media actually gives a damn about trying to get to the facts, and not just the soundbites that'll get the ratings. Check it out.

Experimentationalism

I've started a new blog over at blogger beta. Don't imagine I'll be doing a whole lot over there, but anyone interested in checking out my mucking about with the new blogger features can visit toddsullivan.blogspot.com.

Yeah, I'm as surprised as you are that the address is still available.

EDIT: It might help if I got the address right.

Another taste

It’s like I said, I want to believe in something. It’s just that there’s nothing out there to believe in. Nothing that pulls all the madness together and wraps it up in a nice little package, with an attractive little red bow. Nothing that tells me how God can love a healthy child born in to a middle-class suburban family, a child born with cancer, and a child born into a war-ravaged country, all equally. How can a God allows the routine slaughter of innocents claim to love his creations with all his heart?

When a parent tries that game, he goes to jail.

When a father explains that the reason he killed his son is because he loved him, he goes to the electric chair, or he goes for psychiatric evaluation.

God is a mass murderer.

God is a psychopath.

But no one can hold him to it, because even if he exists, you can’t track him down. You can’t drag him into court or drop him onto a sofa in a psychiatrist’s office.

If God exists, and if he’s nuts, well, he’s still in charge of it all.

There’s a madman at the wheel.

When you come to that conclusion, as it’s the only conclusion you can really come to, I assure you that it’s a whole lot easier, and a whole lot safer, to just believe in nothing at all.

Which is to say, simply stop believing.

God goes into the closet, along with Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, Sleeping Beauty, Prince Charming, and Happily-Ever-Afters.

But when you grow up with faith – and not just faith in God, but faith in all that stuff – every time you lose a little bit of it, you get left a little emptier inside. It leaves a hollow little hole in your heart, or in your soul, where dust and cobwebs collect.

And as the years go on, you keep losing more and more. And the hole just keeps getting bigger and bigger.

There is no Santa Claus, the hole gets bigger.

There is no Easter Bunny, the hole gets bigger.

There are no good guys or bad guys, just different ideologies, the hole gets bigger.

God doesn’t love you any more or any less than anything else in the world, including children with cancer, and flattened cats on the side of the road, and dead 14-year olds in high school cafeterias, and the AIDS virus, and hepatitis, and algae, and sub-atomic particles.

The hole gets bigger.

Pretty soon, you start to feel like all that’s left inside is that hole, and you wonder if anything will ever start to fill the hole back in again, or if your life is just going to be spent listing piece after piece of yourself.

I’m smart enough to know that I’m not old enough to be sure. But I’ll tell you this: It’s not looking good.

It’s not hard to imagine some future version of myself, aged and bitter, and sad and lonely, with my insides so hollowed out that I can’t feel anything at all anymore. There’s no joy or sadness, no love or hatred, just blank indifference to any and everything around me.

Dead on the inside, just waiting for the outside to catch up.

Just waiting for the body to figure out what the heart already knows.

That there’s nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing worth believing in, nothing worth fighting for, nothing worth dying for, nothing worth living for.

That we were the ones in charge, that we were the ones behind the wheel, that we were the ones given an empty canvas, and what we painted onto it was brutal and red and violent and angry and perverse. That we are the masters of our own destinies, and as those masters, we have damned ourselves to hell.

And that hell is this: Life in the 21^st century.

So yeah, it’s fair to say that I wished I could believe in something. Take my word for it, believing in nothing at all is no goddamn fun.

The blog's been kind of vacant lately, so I thought I'd make up for it with another chunk of the novel, taken this time from the portion that I wrote tonight.

Still working on it, technically, in the background, while writing this blog post, but I don't think I've got much of it left in me for tonight.

Current word count: 27,712.

300 more words to break the 28,000 mark and maintain my nightly average of 2,000 words.

I should be able to do that.

NIce surprise -- I thought I was further away than that.

I'm trying to get past the second-act jitters. The feeling that, having put out about 1/3 of the novel's total, it's only a matter of time until things turn sour. It's been going too well, too smoothly, too effectively. It can't keep going like this.

These feelings persist in spite of the fact that I have a pretty good idea of how it's ending (with one of two climaxes in mind -- one being more of an anti-climax, in some ways) as well as a pretty good idea of what's going to happen between then and there.

If I can get through this chapter, I'll be fine.

This chapter had so much stuff in it, so much important stuff -- the pressing on of the love-story angle, the revelation of the cult-leader, and -- the part I'm most concerned about now -- the cult leader's first chance at sharing his manifesto.

His well-oiled spiritual fantasies.

I'm not going to get to that tonight, thank God. I won't let myself. Because I need a clear head for it, and I need to start my evening's writing binge with it. I need to be on the ball, firing on all cylinders, and right now I'm not.

I wrote a good chunk of the manifesto in the car the other day. I wish I'd had a recorder with me, as some of it was pretty good, and I know with my luck it'll never be that good again. Or, if it is, it'll somehow not actually feel that good. It'll feel like a bad photocopy of the original idea, and I'll always kick myself for not capturing the first, pure moment of the idea's creation.

C'est la vie, I guess.

Sayla vee.

Back to work now. 300 words to go for tonight, if I can get out 300 words before it's manifesto time.

Cheerio.

Just a taste...

We immortalize the flesh and blood in granite and stone, and then we lose the most important parts of them; our memories. The only part of them that lives on after they die. And most of us don’t even notice that we’re doing it. The memories just slip away without anyone fighting to keep them, without anyone giving a damn or trying to keep them alive.

Too busy with work and school and looking for someone to slam your genitals against. Too busy shuffling through life, day and in and day out, in spite of every single day being exactly the same as the one before.

I notice. I notice how much every day is so maddeningly the same as the one before, because there’s no distinction in my days anymore. It’s all just one thing. One long cycle of moments that are the same, over and over and over again, endlessly repeating, until death finally visits us, and it becomes our turn to be immortalized and forgotten.

Just a little taste of the current novel, taken -- out of context, of course -- from the third chapter. I stumbled upon it while backtracking and trying to confirm some dialogue tonight, and I just liked this bit so much I had to post it.

Which is not to say I'm patting myself on the back.

Oh, who am I kidding, yes I am.

It's ON again.

After vacation for just slightly more than a week, the book is rolling again. Well, rolling is maybe a but presumptious...at this point.

But another 2,000 words were added last night. And another 2,000 tonight would bring the total to 22,000, and (I suspect) a close to Chapter Four, the second of what will be (I suspect) three "High School Violence" chapters.

I'm rather looking forward to Chapter Five, for a number of reasons. First, it's the official first appearance of the enigmatic cult leader, who will, more or less, act as a sort-of antagonist (please note the wishy-washiness of the term -- most of the stuff I write doesn't really have antagonists or protagonists, just, you know, people).

Second, it will continue the eventually-dysfunctional love story that started in Chapter Three.

Third, it wlil give me a break from the school violence back story. A break I need to increase tension, to give me the opportunity to figure out some of the dramatic stuff that's still a little loose in my head, and break that will just give me a much needed break from writing about something so horrible.

Getting back to the book was a relief after the break. The longer I stay away from a project, the harder it is to get back into it again, the harder it is to pick up the threads, and find where I was going with them. I'm stunned, looking back on it, that I was able to pick up and continue, and eventually finish, "Waiting for a Miracle" after letting the book collect dust for more than six months.

But the 2,000 words last night came out almost painlessly, which was nice. There were a few moments of staring at the screen, thinking, "What do I want to say here?" which did cause a few fleeting moments of concern. But for the most part, I found the threads I had dropped and, more importantly, rediscovered my narrator's voice.

Which I'm starting to quite like.

He's really drifting into stream-of-consciousness style stuff right now, his mind all over the place after going five days without sleep. And, another new developmen that'll be fun to play with in Chapter Five -- paranoia and hallucinations.

Jeremy's roller coaster ride is far from over.

In fact, it's just about to get interesting.

A book update, but not.

So the novel's been suffering.

Well, not suffering so much, as taking a sort of temporary vacation. For the last week.

I can tell myself that it was the best thing, I can tell myself that, as I was about to enter some parts of the story that hadn't quite gotten fleshed out in my head, taking this break from it -- a break that would allow me to better understand where I was going with these parts -- was exactly what the book needed.

I can tell myself all sorts of stuff, but the truth is, the book has been on vacation because of this:

Yes, last Friday I acquired an XBox 360. And it has pretty much devoured every free moment of consciousness I've had since then.

I feel guilty neglecting the book. I sometimes think I can feel the book looking at, glaring at me, silently demanding my attention. And I try to apologize, I try to tell the book that I still love it, but that maybe we were getting to serious too quickly, that maybe we need some space, and that no, this isn't just another way of saying that we should break up, because I really do care about the book, and the want the best for our relationship together. But then the book usually goes on a drinking binge and then I'll find it locked in the bathroom at 3:00 a.m. sobbing so loudly I can't sleep, and by then there's no apology good enough.

The bottom line is this: A brief vacation from the book, even if not taken for the best of reasons, likely came at a good point anyway, if I can get back into it again. The plan was to do 2000 words tonight after work, but unfortunately, it's Friday, and some coerced me into have a few after work drinks, and now any chance of writing before tomorrow is pretty much shot.

Instead...hello multiplayer Uno on the 360.

This is a test

This is me testing the new Windows Live Writer, the blog-posting utility from our friends at Microsoft. If it works, then you'll see this msg. If not, then you went.

The sleeping insomniac, mass murder, and methamphetamines

I've decided to tell myself that the reason I'm so tired these days because I'm spending so much time living inside the head of an insomniac who, at last count, hadn't slept in five and a half days.

I, on the other hand, have been sleeping every night, and waking up freaking exhausted in spite of it.

The biggest problem with first-person narratives, particularly whe you're writing about broken or self-destructive or exhausted characters, is that you tend to dwell inside of their heads, vicariously experiencing what they're experiencing. I really should learn my lesson and get back to writing third-person narratives some day.

I took a break from the book last night, partly beacuse I figured I deserved it, and partly because I'm juggling three plot threads, and slowly figuring out how to work them into the book.

The school violence sub-plot just seems to want to go on and on, and it's starting to look like it'll stretch into three chapters instead of just two, and maybe four if I want to spend any time with the aftermath. Which should be fine. I think I even sort of connect the personalities of the shooters with the personalities of our "cult leader" in their attempts at seizing a sort-of power because they feel powerless in their own lives. Still, this ever expanding sub-plot is throwing me for a bit of a loop, as it's becoming much bigger than I had anticipated.

The second sub-plot, recently stumbled upon thanks to a conversation with a friend, involves methamphetamines and their use by this cult of people trying to stay awake. I know nothing at all about this drug, and am definitely going to have to do some research I'm going to discuss it, if even in a brief way. But it was the mention that was made to me that some people on meth go for four or five days without sleep that made the use of the drug in the book seem almost too perfect. Sometimes coffee and red bull isn't enough.

What's bugging me a bit about the meth side-plot is that I'm not entirely sure how to weave it into the rest of the narrative, except as a trivial side-bit regarding the lengths to which these people are willing to go to in order to stay awake, and, in theor, receive enlightment. Which, come to think of it, is maybe all it needs to be. Something that can spark the narrator's own desire to reacquaint himself with the divine after seeing how desperate these people are for *any* sort of meaning.

Or maybe something that can push him further away from it.

More thought required here.

The third current problem is the realization that, for the most part, nothing of any interest happens in this current chapter, barring the flash-black, school-shooting material. But driving into work today, I happened upon a way to spin the chapter that makes it's nothingness work -- the narrator's feeling that this is his life. This is what his life is like -- boring, meaningless, insignificant. Day in, day out, half-asleep, half conscious, half alive.

If I can pound out 2,000 words tonight, I should be able to cross the 20,000 word threshold, putting at almost half of a NaNo novel. Looking back, I can barely tell where these 20,000 words have come from. If the next 20,000 come this easy, this book should be cake.

Except for the whole being exhausted all the time thing.

25 and 33, and other things.

On August 12, I turned 33 years. Also on August 12, IBM 5150 PC -- generally considered to be the first personal computer -- turned 25 years old.

I'm trying to remember if I knew this, but near as I can, tell it comes as a surprise that I would share a birthday with the personal computer. Eerie.

That little piece of trivia is about the only good thing to come out of my birthday this year. Which, for the most part, is fine by me. Birthdays have sort of lost their shine over the last few years. I can remember, seven years ago or so, while I was still at the Tribune, sneaking around after hours so I could scribble my birthday in everyone's daytimer, just to make sure no one would forget. I couldn't be bothered to do that anymore. Too much work. And for what? So what if their daytimer screams a reminder at them about my birthday, most people would either ignore it or offer a half-hearted, unfelt birthday wish. I'd rather they just not say anything at all.

Had to renew my licence on my birthday as well. Renewed for five years, at a not-so-economic $75. Which I guess is okay for five years, but having to drop that much at once, while I was on vacation, stung a little.

It also stun to realize that the next time I renew my licence, I'll be 38 years old, staring down the barrel of 40.

Holy fuck, let's not talk about that.

I've been in a horrible funk lately, and I kind of hope that the whole "vacant-birthday-getting-old-almost-40" thing is the cause of it. Because if it is, it should be passing soon, and it couldn't pass soon enough for me. Why it hasn't passed already, actually, with progress on the new novel going so well, I can't figure out. Usually I'm at my emotional lowest when I'm *not* working on a project. Usually having a short story or a novel on the burner is enought o keep me uplifted. Not so this time.

I do feel pretty good when I'm actually working on the book. For the few hours each night that I'm staring at the screen and pumping out the words, everything else goes away, and I am energized and enthused. But then when it's done and I shut the document down, I look around and I think, "What am I doing this for?" And not the book, but everything else. Everything that feels like it's just killing time, everything that feels like it's not building towards a legacy I can be proud of, everything that makes me think that, unless I can fix it, bring meaning to it, make it worth something, then I'm just wasting perfectly good oxygen here.

I don't want to say that I'm a wreck, because I'm not. I'll live. I always do. Until I don't. But I'm definitely off, and in a funk, and in need of something to reinvigorate my interest in the world around me, something to convince me that I'm doing something good by being here. Or, better yet, in need of something to emerge on the horizon that can help me throw off everything around me that's dragging me down, so that I can embrace the things that really matter to me more than anything else in the world.

Book Update:

The current word count on the Insomnia novel is just over 14,000 words, with 4,000 words dumped in the last two evenings. I should be able to drop another 2,000 tonight without even breaking a sweat.

I want to say that this is the easiest, most comfortable novel that I've ever worked on, but I'm afraid I might jinx the work. But I can't deny that everything is coming together brilliantly. I stumbled upon a new subplot a few nights back, and figured out last night -- while working on the third chapter -- exactly how to introduce two of the book's subplots, including the always important "romantic" one.

I think I figured out how to get around the days-as-chapters problem as well (by simply throwing it out the window, and accepting that some chapters will end up titiled things like "Saturday Morning" and "Saturday Evening" -- as is the case with chapters three and four).

The school-shooting back story is coming along nicely as well, after my initial concern over it. I ended up having to go back and throw out just about everything I had already done on it and start it over from scratch, but this time it's actually working, and working so well that the back-story became long enough to split into two chapters.

Which should also make for some good drama, as I get to drop the back story right at a cliffhanger.

And then, of course, introduce a chapter with no references to the shooting right afterwards.

It's fun to leave people on the edges of their seats.

It's a shame that this isn't a NaNo novel, in a way, because I'm sure I could have torn through the 50,000 in a month easily. At the same time, I'm glad I jumped on it when I did. I think part of what caused last year's novel to fall apart was that I sat on it, even while I was burning to work on it, just so that I'd have something to do for NaNo. By the time November came along, I was no longer quite as passionate about it as I had been four to six weeks earlier. I had over-thought it. It was boring.

So even though I'll likely not be novel-writing this november, it is at least a worthy sacrifice, if I can end up with a worth-while novel completed at an entirely different time of year.

Non-NaNo writing

Well, it's official. I'm working on a new novel.

I cracked the 10,000 word mark on the "Insomnia" book last night so I guess, even after the bumpy start, and my general unwillingness to follow through on the commitment necessary in crafting a 50-100,000 word project, this currently untitled novel is my current, full-ish-time project.

It's actually gone intensely well the last few days. I probably did 3 or 4,000 words last night, easily more than twice my regular daily output during NaNo. Which means I'm probably going to take a break tonight, because I really don't want to burn out on this book so early on.

I'm beginning to get a little concerned about my structural plans, how that will effect length, and how that will effect the whole narrative.

Breaking each chapter into each individual day seemed like a really smart way to break up a story that wasn't going to have any sort of normal breaking points (because he's not sleeping, and so his whole experience just turns into one, nightmarishly long day). But I'm beginning to detect a few problems with the chapter=day approach.

First, In order to cover enough territory to make certain plot points believable, I'm going to have to cram a lot of stuff into each day, which will make for some awfully long chapters.

If I don't go that route, I'm not sure ten days is enough to pull it all off, but I can't push his insomnia too far past the generally accepted record (which is, in fact, ten days) with risking disbelief in the part of the reader.

I might be panicking over nothing at all. It might all just work out smoothly and naturally. Here's hoping it will.

ADDENDUM: I was going to mention what this noveling during the non-November months was going to do for my National Novel Writing output this year, because I fear I won't be doing it. This current book will either still be in progress, and I won't want to put it on hold for 30 days just to work on something completely unrelated, or else it'll be done and I'll be too creatively burned out to start on something new so soon afterwards.

So, if either of those things happen, I was thinking of using national novel writing month as an excuse to start editing my last finished novel (the one started during the 2004 NaNo). Treat it as national novel-editing month. Because it does need the editing work if anything's ever going to happen with it, and I really would like to see something happen with it.

Which seems to make this the appropriate time to send subtle hints to my lovely and talented volunteer-editor to try to get her editing work done by November first, so I can start looking at pages to rewrite, rework, or just throw the heck out.

Hint, hint.

Spaz attack

Blogger had a small spaz-out last night, refusing to post my entry and, instead, posting it a half-dozen times this morning. The over-posting has been cleaned up, but for anyone who stopped by and wondered why I was ranting about the same thing six different times, there's your explanation.

How the heck do you spell "spaz" anyway?

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!