With guns in hand and fingers crossed...

Book Review - "Ransom of the Healer"

2013-11-29T08:33:00.000-08:00

In any book review, there is always the potential for some plot point or other piece of vital information to be inadvertently leaked. I will make my best effort to leave the stones turned face down, but also recommend you proceed with caution, as you should in reading any review of a book you have not already read for yourself. After all, your own review upon entering the shiny, untrodden world of the unknown is really the only one that truly matters. And rest assured, oh lover of the unexplored worlds lurking on bookshelves everywhere, the world found in the Ransom Series is one well worth adventuring. But for now, the review of this, the first novel from A.C. Autry, “Ransom of the Healer.”

The pace in the first half of the novel is slower, as the primary characters are introduced and the world is created. The author spins the web of the story line by line, pulling the reader into an unknown, mysterious new world a little at a time, carefully not revealing too much too quickly. You spend most of the first half gaining an understanding that there are supernatural things afoot, but without understanding the full details. A.C. Autry’s world for the Ransom Series is not just a new spin on well-travelled landscapes. The author takes some fundamental concepts from the rich traditions of fantastical literature, and crafts an entirely new race of beings. The setting is modern, so the idea is that these beings are among us even now - we just don’t know it. The story is told from a “his” and “hers” point of view, alternating between Catryn and Nathan, and seeing the world through two sets of eyes, some of which might or might not even be human, effectively builds the mystery while providing the back story needed to move into the present action.

The second half of the book is a breakneck speed race to the finish, only to find that the finish is just setting the stage for a much larger story to be continued in the next edition. A.C. Autry hints at many subplots throughout the book, and leaves the reader with much to wonder about and speculate on. The true power of this book is that the characters themselves become so important to you. Kurt Vonnegut believed that a compelling story always required at least one character for the reader to root for. In “Ransom of the Healer” the reader will find many such characters, and they are not your stock, two dimensional archetypes either. They each carry their own backstory, their own flaws, and their own hopes. All of which I can’t wait to find out more about as the series unfolds.

In the world of fantasy, the Ransom series breathes fresh air into a genre overrun by vampires and werewolves, and provides we lovers of worlds beyond our own an opportunity to visit a place that just might be there, if only we could see it. I wait with eager eyes and space on my bookshelf for the sequel to “Ransom of the Healer.” May it find its way to print quickly!

Swallowed by a whale.

2013-04-08T13:13:00.000-07:00

Well, my goodness.

It has been a long time since my last blog posting, and for that I apologize. I'm certain that all five of you have been deeply impacted by my absence. The only excuse I can offer is that I was swallowed by a whale, and that pretty much took up most of my time for the last few months.

My whale was not a literal whale, of course. My whale was comprised mostly of working long hours and then working some more long hours. Not as exciting as a rogue orca, I know.

After such a long hiatus, it would be safe to assume that I would have a backlog of topics to kick around and rant about, but the thing about being inside a whale is that pretty much all you think about while you are in there is the whale itself. And no one really wants to read about all of that.

One thing that has started to bug me though, and it has bugged me enough that it managed to seep through the whale walls, is how extremely dang derivative everything has become in the world today.

Every where I turn, everything is just a reboot or a reimagining of something else. This is okay to a certain extent, but it has gotten out of control. For example....

I recently became aware that there is a new version of Carrie coming out this year. Okay. I get it. It was a great book and a really successful movie in 1976. So much so that a sequel was created and released in 1999. So much so that another remake was released in 2002. And, apparently, so much so that we need another version of it to come out in 2013. I'm sure it will be great. The source material is great, so it's hard to screw it up, but come on. It's a little too much, isn't it? Do we really need to see it all over again? We know it ends badly. Blood. Fire. The works.

When you tack this on to the recent / upcoming remakes of Red Dawn, Friday the 13th, A Nightmare on Elm Street, Halloween, the Evil Dead, The Great Gatsby, Conan, Footloose, The Lone Ranger, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Fright Night, the Karate Kid, Clash of the Titans, The Thing, The Last House on the Left, and the 4 million other films / TV Series that aren't readily available off the top of my head, it just too much.. AND, that doesn't even tap into the constant rebooting of superhero films, which relaunch every 5-6 years.

Okay... So I'm excited to see the Evil Dead remake. I'm inconsistent and hypocritical.

I'm also a shameless self promoter, and with that in mind....

The short film I worked on last year, which can be read about in more detail by clicking HERE, is being made into a full length feature film this summer. You can make your own contribution to the demise of the hollywood remake merry-go-round by donating to the making of an original independent film.

You can help change the world, one zombie movie at at time!

If you are interested in contributing, click on the link below to go to the indiegogo donation page. From there, you can also see the trailer and the original short film, and can interact with some of the cast and crew. There are some really great prizes and giveaways for donating. Go make me famous!

http://www.indiegogo.com/projects/altered--2/x/2710011

Blessings, until the next post find its way beyond the whale.

Help stop Santa's reign of terror!

2012-10-29T09:34:00.000-07:00

Okay fellow humans and other readers, I’m fed up and I’m not sure how much more I can take. I know I’m not alone, but I definitely feel that I’m in the minority on this one. It’s been going on for years, and this year it started more than a month ago. Somebody has got to do something about it.

Can we PLEASE stop with the Christmas items on display at the stores already!!

Why does America hate Halloween and Thanksgiving so much? Do we really need to begin making our Christmas preparations in September? Are we just trying to make those people who leave their lights up year round feel better about themselves? So many questions that demand answers! But do you hear about any of this in the presidential debates? No!

In fact, if either candidate would promise to pass legislation requiring us to only promote and celebrate one holiday at a time, I would not only vote for them, I would wear a sandwich board with their face on it every day from now until voting closes. But they won’t do it. I don’t believe either candidate has the courage and fortitude to really tackle an issue this volatile.

This is ridiculous. Halloween gets what, one or two measly aisles at the store? Christmas already has an entire wing at Walmart and people are still walking around in shorts. It’s too soon! There is only so much Christmas spirit that can be generated. It should be focused into a month and a half at the most, not a third of the calendar year.

We have a rule in our house. We do not put out any fall decorations before October 1st. We do not put out any Christmas decorations until Thanksgiving has been completed. And the Christmas decorations have to come down within a couple of days of the New Year beginning. These should not just be rules for my house. These rules should be mandated for all humans everywhere, punishable by public flogging. And just to keep it festive, the administrator of said flogging will dress in a manner appropriate for the particular crime.

For example, if a person disrespected Thanksgiving by putting up Christmas lights before the appointed time, they would be flogged by a person in a Turkey or Pilgrim costume. If a person failed to take down their Christmas decorations, they would be flogged by a snowman, reindeer, elf, or the main man himself, Santa. I know what you are thinking, but baby Jesus would not be appropriate for flogging and, being a baby, could not provide the proper velocity to send a message not soon forgotten. There is always Easter.

I know this is a dangerous message to share. I know that even you, beloved reader, might soon be pulling out of your driveway to come bludgeon me with a candy cane, laughing all the way to your favorite Christmas mix CD, but someone has to stand up and declare they won’t take it anymore! Someone has to have the courage to stop Santa's reign of terror!

Join me in my efforts to save Halloween from that rotund toymaker and his army of elven miscreants!

Before it’s too late!

The Country Life (part 5 of 5)

2012-09-01T22:38:00.003-07:00

Chapter Five

Ryan never was afterward able to completely piece together the remaining hours that passed from the time he realized someone had moved his coffee table to the time when the police showed up at his front door the next morning. He knew that at some point he must have crawled along the wall to the corner of the living room and curled up behind his large green armchair since that was where he was when the police finally kicked in the front door.

His memories were somewhat fragmented and he was never confident that he could accurately ascertain what memories were real and what memories were dreams or fancies formulated by his mind as a result of being in a state of absolute panic. He remembered having had the vague notion of hearing someone moving around in the house with him, but wasn't sure if that was real or imagined. The only part that seemed solidly cemented in his mind was the part that seemed the most absurd of all. He remembered hearing a voice repeating the same phrase over and over again, with the voice coming from different rooms in the house, always moving. The voice never altered in tone or pitch as it moved all around him from the kitchen to the back bedrooms and back again. Always moving, never changing.

The phrase which Ryan heard being repeated was, "I guess I'll have to call the phone company first thing in the morning to straighten this out." Each time it was repeated it was followed by a chuckle.

The very last thing he could remember at all, fictional or otherwise, was the impression that someone had sat down in the chair he was hiding behind, and that that someone in the chair then repeated that same phrase one final time before breaking into sustained, maniacal laughter, which followed Ryan down into darkness as his consciousness slipped away.

When the police arrived, Ryan was in no fit state to even be aware of their knocking on the door or their ringing the doorbell. They eventually kicked in the door and made their way inside. They found Ryan fairly quickly, but found no evidence of anyone else in the house. He would eventually find out that his next door neighbor had been murdered the night before.

Someone had also killed the dog, but there was less fuss about that.

The neighbor's time of death had been estimated at shortly before 2:00 AM. No one had bothered to estimate the dog's time of death.

The following months found Ryan arrested, out on bail, charged with first degree murder, and then, finally, a free man again as a lack of any physical evidence linking him to the murder resulted in the charges being dropped. The whirlwind of activity kept him so busy that he had had very little time to process what was truly happening around him and even less to be able to make sense of the bizarre happenstances of the night in question. He had initially tried to explain to the police about the voice he had heard in his house and about the dog barking, but eventually his lawyer instructed him to kindly shut his trap as he was only making things worse.

In the end Ryan moved back to the city and was even able to get his very same apartment back. After what had happened, he wasn't sure he'd be able to sleep in the country house ever again. He had yet to have any luck selling the country house due to it's now less than stellar reputation. He tried to return to his prior life, but his heart wasn't in the editing game any more. His headaches had not come back with his return to the city, but he found he could not muster any energy for editing other people's work any more.

One day, about five months after he had given up on editing entirely, he picked up a notepad and a pen and began writing down a thought that had been running through his mind all morning long. This led to another thought. Then another thought. Before he knew it, Ryan had written sixteen pages and, upon review, found it to be excellently written and quite compelling.

He had found his voice at last.

When published the following year, "The Country Life" went straight to the top of the bestseller list. It was a story about a man with multiple personality disorder and the horrific results of his illness. It was a sort of a Jekyll and Hyde story, with one personality being an ordinary, mild mannered individual with a mundane, every day job. The other personality was a murderous fiend. The chilling narrative described a night when the alternate personality made its way to the surface and killed the next door neighbor.

In the story, the reader came to know that the man was about to shift to his other, darker side when he began to get a terrible headache. The main character in the book ended up in a mental institution at the end of the story, locked away for the rest of his life following his trial for the murder. No one failed to notice the resemblance to the author's own life, which only served to fuel book sales.

Ryan eventually moved out of his apartment for a second time, and went back to his still unsold country house. The man responsible for the murder of his neighbor had never been caught, but Ryan no longer thought too much about any of that. It all seemed ancient history. Part of another life, and one which he'd just as soon forget. Loyal readers even began to make pilgrimages to see the house, hoping to catch a glimpse of the now famous author.

It took more than a year after publishing "The Country Life" for Ryan's world to slow back down again. He then began trying to write a follow up novel, but was finding it increasingly difficult to do so. He would sit for hours with a pen and notepad, but nothing would come. He began to loathe the very sight of his notepad and its blank pages. He even began to feel nauseated whenever he passed the pad sitting on his desk and began avoiding the study, except for the one hour a day he would force himself to sit with the pad in his lap and try to write.

He began to wonder if he was getting an ulcer, as the stomachaches were getting quite bad. His doctor, however, couldn't find anything physically wrong with him and, after multiple visits, suggested that Ryan might look into calling a psychiatrist based on that working for him when he had his issues with headaches.

Ryan thought about this on his way back home and decided he had nothing to lose and might as well call Dr. Copeland again. It certainly couldn't hurt to try.

The Country Life (part 4 of 5)

2012-08-31T17:32:00.002-07:00

Chapter Four

Ryan had never considered himself to be much of an automotive expert. Not by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, his mechanical proficiency was primarily limited to adding gasoline when required and using the filling station squeegee on the window. However, despite his extremely limited knowledge of the mysteries of the internal combustion engine, he felt very confident in his opinion that cars do not normally wind up with four flat tires simultaneously.

After exiting the vehicle, he had confirmed that all four tires were indeed completely flat by use of the emergency flashlight he kept in the glove box. He was now standing beside the car and staring at it, a perplexed expression on his face, when he heard a noise he would never forget.

The dog had continued its steady stream of barking the entire time Ryan examined each of his tires. Suddenly, just after he finished his circuit of the vehicle, the barking rose in pitch and ferocity to a heretofore unheard level. The noise sounded increasingly frantic when, all of a sudden, it cut off completely with a high pitched yelp.

Then silence.

Ryan didn't even realize he was running until he was already on the front porch. He rushed inside, slammed the door behind him and stood leaning against it, his breath coming in shrill, ragged gasps and his heart beating frantically in his chest.

"Everything...is just...fine. Quit...being...stupid!" he berated himself as he tried to get his breathing under control. He closed his eyes and began counting silently to himself. By the time he reached 85, his breathing had more or less returned to normal and his heart had begun to slow down again. He felt a little bit more like himself again, and he thus began the same process most adults go through following a fright. Denial. His job now was to convince himself that his fear was entirely irrational. He locked the front door behind him, muttering "Just to be on the safe side," and took two steps forward through his entrance hall before every light in his house suddenly went black at the same time.

This time Ryan had to count all the way to 337 before he could begin to think clearly again. Once he was calm enough for a semblance of rational thought, he started slowly making his way forward.

"Just a blown fuse. Nothing out of the ordinary." His voice sounded strange and hollow and far too loud in the darkness around him, and he quickly decided to stop talking as he continued on his path through the living room, towards the back bedroom where the fuse box was located.

The pain in his shin was truly remarkable, as was the octave his voice reached as he crashed suddenly and violently to the floor. With the hand not holding his throbbing shin, he felt blindly for the object that had caused him so much pain. It was his coffee table! The very same table he had so skillfully maneuvered around just a few short hours ago when the dog had first awakened him. He wondered how he could have possibly drifted so far off course and felt to his left to use the couch to pull himself to his feet, but instead his hand found the piano in the darkness. Completely disoriented, he reached to his right and found the couch where it never should have been.

His brain was struggling to process the information it was receiving and Ryan was trying desperately to come up with some way for the layout of the furniture to make sense, when suddenly the truth hit him hard, sending a feeling of icy dread through his stomach.

The coffee table had been moved.

It should have been on the other side of the couch and instead it was between the couch and the piano. This realization led him directly to the next conclusion, which would have knocked him to the floor if he had not already been there.

Someone must have moved the coffee table since coffee tables were not known for moving themselves.

Ryan found that all of his prior impressions of terror were purely intellectual in nature.

The Country Life (part 3 of 5)

2012-08-30T18:48:00.000-07:00

Chapter Three

Ryan just couldn't take it any more. Living in a remote area was one thing, but letting your dog flip out non stop for two straight hours was just going too far. He generally tried to take a 'live and let live' attitude about how other people choose to go about their business, but this kind of tomfoolery was just not acceptable.

"How the heck is that man sleeping through all of this?" he asked himself. He didn't know his neighbor, Mr. Jansen, very well, but decided that the two of them were about to get to know each other a whole heck of a lot better.

Ryan crossed the Study and picked up the handset of the antique desk phone, which he had purchased from a thrift store after cancelling his cell phone plan, and brought the receiver up to his ear.

Nothing.

No dial tone, static, or anything else. Ryan jiggled the cradle several times and made sure the phone cords were all fully connected, but still nothing came from the earpiece. "Great. This is just great. First time I need to make a phone call in a month and the stupid thing is dead. I guess I'll have to call the phone company first thing in the morning to straighten this out!"

Ryan laughed at his little joke and hung up the phone. He decided to give Mr. Jansen another half hour to do something about the racket his dog was making before taking any further action. If the dog didn't zip it by that time, he would just have to drive up the road and call on the good neighbor in person. He really didn't want to, but "Enough is enough!" he added vehemently.

"Can a dog lose his voice?" he asked the empty room. "I'm thinking the evidence on hand is pointing towards a 'No' verdict, but perhaps this specimen is an anomaly, or some kind of mutant dog. I've certainly never heard one go on and on like this before."

Ryan only lasted another twenty minutes before the barking finally drove him out the front door and down the sidewalk. The barking was even louder outside, and Ryan wondered again how anyone could possibly sleep through this much noise. "It's enough to wake the dead," he told the night sky. It was still so dark he couldn't see more than the vague outline of his vehicle and he had to feel his way down the car's side to find the door handle.

Ryan knew that something was wrong the second he slid into the driver's seat of the car. He could not immediately identify what it was, but he definitely felt that something was not normal. He tried adjusting his seat and checking the mirrors, but neither of those things did anything to diminish his feelings of uneasiness. He went ahead and turned the key and the engine roared to life, sounding healthy enough. Deciding that it must have been in his head, he shifted into reverse and pressed the accelerator pedal.

This was the very first moment that night when Ryan felt afraid.

It wasn't the last.

The Country Life (part 2 of 5)

2012-08-29T19:00:00.000-07:00

Chapter Two

Ryan put his red pen down on the stack of papers on his desk and looked at the grandfather clock in the corner. "Half past three and you're all ready to quit aren't you?" he asked himself with an air of mockery. "These books aren't going to edit themselves you know."

He did, in fact, know this to be a true statement. For three endless years, he himself had attempted to write a novel which he, at that time, believed would change the scope of American literature forever. In those three years of attempting to etch his name alongside Steinbeck and Hemingway, he nearly lost his grip on reality entirely. The stress and pressure associated with trying to pull together all the loose ends of his story nearly left him completely unhinged. When he finally gave up on attempting any further polishing of his prose and sent the completed manuscript to an editor, he found out just how terribly far from the great American novel he had landed. Instead of great, he was merely unpublishable.

This began the long and arduous process of attempting to resuscitate what would have been better left for dead. This attempt to breathe life into his manuscript lasted three and a half months, during which time he became more and more fascinated with the little red marks all over the pages of his would be masterpiece. Had there been fewer of them, he might have simply taken their direction and moved on with the rewriting. However, the exorbitant proliferation, the veritable sea of red swimming on every page, became more and more captivating as he made his way through the novel. Ryan began to see his writing in a whole new light. He began to clearly see the problems inherent in his writing, and even began to discern the solutions to those problems. Had his material been remotely worth saving, this newfound knowledge might have indeed been the beginning of his ascendency to literary greatness. As it was, he instead found his new calling.

Ryan had spent the last six years of his life becoming one of the most sought after editors in the business. He had edited fourteen New York Times best sellers and a great many more books that had turned a tidy profit for several major publishing houses. He had reached that wonderful point in his professional career where he could afford to be selective about what work he chose to edit. He had reached the pinnacle, and it was everything he could have hoped for it to be.

Then the headaches had begun.

They were small at first, just a nagging pain behind his eyes, and he initially thought that he might just need a new pair of glasses. He then proceeded to place the blame on the glare on his computer screen. Eventually, he came to a point where he would start feeling his head throb the second he flipped on his computer monitor in the morning and he started to wonder if he had a brain tumor or something along those lines. His doctor couldn't find anything wrong with him, and neither could any one else in the long string of specialists he went to see. His head was scanned and scrutinized from every possible angle, always with the same results. No one could find anything physically wrong with him.

The headaches continued to worsen over the subsequent months, and when they finally reached the point that he could no longer work at all, he concluded that it was time to take drastic action. He decided he had no other recourse remaining but to follow up on the one and only recommendation made by one of the specialists which he had not yet pursued.

Ryan went to see a psychiatrist.

He visited the psychiatrist once a week for three months, during which time he continued to be unable to work on his computer. In fact, he had stopped even going into his study at all, as the very sight of the monitor on the desk caused him to begin feeling the prickling sensation behind his eyes that always foreshadowed the coming of a monstrous headache.

Dr. Copeland, the aforementioned psychiatrist, eventually made a recommendation that would change Ryan's life forever. He recommended that Ryan try an experiment to see if it would help alleviate his symptoms. He suggested that Ryan leave the city for an afternoon and take a printed copy of a manuscript with him. He was to leave his cell phone and laptop at home, drive well outside the city limits to a park the doctor told him about, and take the manuscript and a red pen with him.

Ryan followed the directions exactly, and the results were truly extraordinary. It was only when it began to grow so dark he could not make out the words on the page that he looked up and realized how much time had passed while he had been sitting at a picnic table, happily editing away without the faintest trace of a headache.

The decision was one of the easiest Ryan had ever made. He took his entire savings and bought a house in the country. He allowed a realtor to do most of the work, with the explicit instructions that he was looking for a house the furthest from any city as could be found, but it had to be one that still had electricity and plumbing. He cancelled his cell phone plan, threw out his computer and television, packed his remaining possessions, and left the city with no plan to ever return.

That was all now six months in the past and, other than the occasional dog interrupted sleepless night, Ryan had found the country life immensely to his liking. He had worked steadily the entire time and seldom missed any of the conveniences he had left behind. He had not felt even the faintest symptoms of a headache since he began his new life, and he was excited to see what the world outside his windows would look like when winter came. He imagined it would be much more picturesque than the dirty slush he was used to seeing outside his apartment in winter time.

Ryan was perhaps a bit lonely, but he had made his peace with that a long time ago. At least in the country he could pretend that the reason he was lonely was because no one else was around. He found this to be far preferable to the loneliness a person could feel in a crowded city.

The Country Life (part 1 of 5)

2012-08-28T21:10:00.000-07:00

The Country Life

a short story by Andrew Shane Autry.

Chapter One

The dog next door was barking again.

Ryan sat up, seeking to free himself from a tangle of bedclothes, and stared blearily at the clock on the dresser opposite his bed. He fell back with a groan, while outside the sounds of barking ceased. It was five past two in the morning and he was now wide awake. With no real hope, he flipped his pillow to the cool side and burrowed deeper into the blankets, shutting his eyes tightly. He began counting softly to himself.

The silence lasted approximately twelve seconds before a sudden, fresh eruption of barking drove all thoughts of going back to sleep from his mind. The deep baritone bellowing cut through the silence like gunfire, rendering any chance for further slumber highly improbable.

Ryan sighed deeply, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, then rolled out of bed and slipped his feet into his house shoes. He stumbled through the bedroom and took his robe from the hook on his closet door, slipping it over his pajamas as he stepped into the hallway. He didn't turn on any lights as he made his way through the living room and weaved around the piano and between the sofa and the coffee table. "Radar," he said softly to himself as he slid through the blackness, amazed at how familiar this place already was to him. It was as if he had been living here all his life.

He continued through the kitchen and into the laundry room, reaching blindly for the doorknob he knew would be there. He found it on his first try, and smiled to himself as he turned the handle. He shivered as he opened the back door and felt the crisp, cold night air blow his hair from his forehead and the last remnants of sleep from his brain.

He couldn't see a blessed thing out there. It was one of those chilly autumn nights with absolutely no moon to speak of. The sky was entirely overcast, cutting off any starlight that might have otherwise provided at least a hint of visibility. Ryan thought about his apartment back in the city and wondered again if he had made the right decision. There were no streetlights out here anywhere.

"And that's one of the reasons you moved here," he reminded himself, with a condescending tone. "You always complained about the streetlights and how you couldn't see the stars. And besides, you really need to quit talking to yourself out loud."

Talking to himself out loud was one of the many eccentricities that were gradually becoming standard operating procedure for Ryan since he had left the aforementioned city and moved to the middle of nowhere. "Cause if nowhere has a definable middle, this is at least somewhere in its neighborhood," he added wryly to the darkness, pulling his robe more tightly around him.

Ryan stared into the emptiness in the direction of his neighbor's house. Neighbor was a word that meant something very different out here in the country, especially when compared to its former association to people with whom he had shared a wall back in his city apartment. The neighbor currently in question lived about two hundred yards away, and the next closest house beyond that was over three miles further down the road. "At least I know for sure they can't hear my toilet flush anymore."

The dog was still barking, but Ryan quickly gave up any hope of being able to see what it was that had drawn its noisome ire. The beast was likely barking at a raccoon or a skunk or some other nocturnal intruder. Quite possibly it was barking its fool head off for no good reason at all whatsoever. "Dogs are like that sometimes," he added for the benefit of no one in particular.

It was amazing though, how the sound carried, considering it was coming from about two football field lengths away. The funny thing was that Ryan knew that life in the city had been exponentially louder than the sound of a single dog barking, but back then he had never been bothered by the noise. He knew that he had previously slept right through the night to a symphony of car horns, noisy neighbors, and televisions blaring at all hours. Nonetheless, the solitary dog next door had cost him many a night's sleep during the half a year since he decided to try his luck at the country life.

Ryan's eyes had now adjusted to the darkness somewhat, and he could vaguely make out a slightly different shade of charcoal which was caused by the line of trees standing about fifty feet from his back door. "Good evening woods," he said cordially, then turned around and stepped back inside.

"Stupid mutt," he grumbled as he closed the door and re-entered his kitchen. He flipped on the light and turned on his coffee maker. "Might as well get some work done since I'm up anyway."

So I'm pretty much famous now.

2012-07-29T22:40:00.000-07:00

Here's how it happened.

I was looking on Craig's List a few weeks ago, when I stumbled across an opportunity to expand my horizons a bit.

Side note #1 - The "Talent" section under "Gigs" in Craig's List is a sordid and creepy place, and should generally be avoided.

But back to the main point...

I have long held the lofty ambition to someday be used as an extra in a movie. I understand that I have clearly set the hopes and dreams bar pretty high on that one, but we can't all wish as hard as Rudy. I have always been amused by the thought of watching a movie and seeing myself walk by in the background. I was particularly interested in trying to shemp my way into being an extra in some sort of zombie or indie horror movie, preferably one which will eventually become a cult classic.

With this dream in mind and hope in my heart, I was perusing ads which were looking for extras, then there it was.  The ad was casting for a Zombie 48 Hour Film Project. I wasn't sure what that was, but they were looking for people interested in being involved, and it had Zombie in the title, so I knew I wanted to find out more.

I sent an email with my credentials and photos and I shortly received a positive response. They wanted me to come in for an audition of sorts.  The aforementioned credentials included my having acted in two silent indie films. This is in point of fact, true. I did do this.  I even have a VHS Copy of one of the films. The other project I have never actually seen a completed version of. I was on screen for about 12 or 13 seconds in the one I have. The films were made by a man named Todd Morten and were shot with a Super 8 camera. The time frame of this acting experience was around 1996 or thereabouts. I might not have mentioned these particular details in the email. It's entirely possible I just mentioned that I had acted in two Indie Films. Regardless, I was on my way to fame and fortune.

Side Note #2 - I was also in a promotional video for a rock and roll band called Spin 490. I played a character loosely based on myself, but did not include this in my credentials. Perhaps I might have been able to skip even having to audition if they knew I had been in three film projects. I also own a VHS copy of this rockumentary. If anyone knows how to convert VHS to something I can put on youtube, great adventure might be ahead for all of us.

So I went in for the audition. I was a little nervous because I wondered if perhaps the people involved might actually be cannibals who lure the careless in with fake ads and then eat them. Perhaps even while filming the whole thing, thus creating something of a reality zombie type film, just without the whole undead thing. It turned out they did not plan to kill me. So that was good.  I answered some questions about what I loved about Zombie movies and what a Zombie Purist is, and then I had to read a part. This was difficult for me, mainly because in my head I was hearing the part read in 1920's reporter guy voice. I knew using this voice would be the most sure fire way imaginable to not get the green light, so I suppressed the scat man in my soul and read the part in my normal voice. I guess it was good enough.

I was offered some role in the film, though I do not as yet know what that role will be. It turns out that a 48 hour film project is a rather interesting and marvelous thing. This particular one can be examined in greater detail here, but the basic gist is that the filmmaker will get their topic on Friday and have that evening to write the script. They then have all day Saturday to shoot the movie and have to do all the editing, etc on Sunday. So it's film making at warp speed.

I don't know if I'll be talking in the film or if I'll just be eating people. Or perhaps being eaten by other people. Or standing in the background watching other people be eaten. I won't know until late Friday night sometime before showing up Saturday morning. As I said, interesting and marvelous.

All of this will take place at the beginning of September. So I'd recommend getting in good with me now, because in about a month I'll be far too big time for all you little people.

Blessings.

A Sunday Drive

2012-06-08T22:12:00.000-07:00

A Sunday Drive
a short story by andrew shane autry

There's nothing quite like feeling the wind blowing through your hair and the sun shining brightly on your face as you drive down the highway on a Sunday afternoon in early Spring. I can't remember ever feeling this alive in my entire life before today. The very atmosphere itself feels absolutely charged with some special electricity, never there before today. Even the air feels different in my lungs. It tastes sweeter too, like I've never really breathed before. Who knows? Maybe I haven't.

I can tell that Cole feels the same way. He's usually so grim and stoic, but not today. Not now, with the sun in the sky and scenery blurring past on either side. I look at him behind the wheel and he's even smiling! He's so handsome when he smiles and his eyes catch the light in that way that is so uniquely him. And that dimple! I don't know why it's so hard for him to smile most of the time. I guess he is who he is and I should just be glad for this moment in time. I guess one moment is all we can ever feel at any particular point in time anyway, so I should just plan to enjoy the now that we're driving through and not worry about any yesterdays. I certainly don't plan to worry about any more tomorrows either. I don't plan to ever worry about any more tomorrows ever again.

Cole's hair is too short for him to really enjoy the whole "blowing in the wind" effect of riding in a convertible, but that might be for the best. With how fast we're driving, it certainly wouldn't be advisable for him to have his vision obstructed by flying hair. I wonder if it detracts from the whole convertible experience when you have short hair. I've never had short hair. My mom always said boys prefer girls with long hair, but then she said a lot of things. I stopped really listening a long time ago. I wonder if Cole would like me with short hair.

I've never driven this fast before. I'm sure I'd be entirely terrified if every nerve in my body wasn't absolutely screaming with delight as we fly past car after car. It's like what that song says about passing cars like they're standing still. Now I get it.

I never really noticed before, but there seem to be more white cars on the road than any other color. I wonder why that is? It's strange what your mind will fix on sometimes. You're just drifting along and all of a sudden you notice something you weren't even paying attention to. White! What a boring color for a car. What's fun about white? I like yellow cars, like the one we're in now. Red is fun too.

This is actually my first time riding in a convertible. Cole usually drives his mom's minivan, but it broke down and here we are. This is such a rush! I wonder what he's thinking about right now, this very second. I guess you never really can know that sort of thing about another person. Every time you ask someone what they're thinking about it changes what they're thinking so you get, at best, some sort of filtered, watered down version of their thoughts. And most people aren't even that honest with what they say back to you anyway when you ask them that question. I think Cole is honest. At least I think he's honest with me, and that's all that really matters.

I really love him, you know? He's not like other guys. I know a lot of girls say that. In fact, I think every girl who ever had a boyfriend or even just wanted to have one said that very thing about the guy she liked, but Cole really is truly different. He does things for me that no other guys would ever even think about doing. He is so considerate. Take my parents for example. Cole handled them so differently than any other guy I ever went out with. Completely different. No one could say otherwise.

I think he really loves me too. I mean, he's never just come right out and said, "Steph, I love you," or anything like that. That's not his way, but I believe he says it with his actions much louder than he could ever say it with only his words. Some people say that actions speak louder than words and I believe that those people are right to say so. Cole isn't much of a talker, but I feel like he's making himself clear to me all the time regardless. Of course, it would be really nice to hear it. Maybe just once. Right now would be the perfect time. Maybe that's what he's thinking about, but I won't ask.

Cole is such a good driver. I can't believe he can so calmly maneuver through traffic at this speed with just his left hand on the wheel. He always drives with just his left hand on the wheel, at the very top, in the center. "High Noon," he calls it. I like it that way cause then his right hand is free to hold my hand or sneak its way around my shoulders. Sometimes he even strokes my hair while he's driving. I love it when he strokes my hair. I've always liked movies where the guy reaches over and strokes a girl's hair. There's something so intimate about it. Something so calm. So right.

Looking at the dashboard, we still have about half a tank of gas left. I wonder just how far that will get us. I never paid much attention to gas mileage or things like that, so I don't have a clue what kind this car might get. I'd ask Cole but I don't want to trouble him. He looks so happy right now and I want him to stay that way for as long as possible. We both know we'll have to stop eventually when the gas is all gone. I wonder where we'll be when we finally have to stop. What state we'll be in. In fact, I wonder what state we're in now?

"Louisiana," Cole answers when I ask him. He actually had to shout it twice before I could hear him over all the racket. Everything is so loud with the top down at this speed.

Louisiana sure seems far from home to me. Before today I'd never even been out of Virginia. Of course today was a day for a lot of things I've never done before. I wish we had time to stop for some dinner. I haven't eaten anything since dinner last night and I've always heard that the food in Louisiana is spectacular.

On a personal note, I've always been an adventurous eater. I despise those girls who only eat salads on a date and turn down dessert. Cole found out very quickly what to expect when he took me to dinner for the first time. I always find something on the menu I've never eaten before, and that's just what I order. I've heard all about interesting Louisiana food like Cajun fried alligator tail, gumbo, fried crawfish, and all sorts of other things I'd like to try now, but there's no time.

We just passed a sign welcoming us to Texas. Cole smiled at me as we passed the sign. We've talked about Texas before since Cole used to live here. I met him right after he moved from his old home in San Antonio. He says Texas is nothing like what you see in the movies. He says it's just like anywhere else except it gets really hot in the summer and not too cold in the winter. I couldn't really say since I've never really been anywhere, but I wonder if maybe every place is pretty much the same as every other place, except for the weather. Maybe that's stupid.

"We might just make it," he calls out, still with that same dimpled smile on his face. I wonder if he really believes it. I smile back for him, big and bright and I know my eyes are dancing, but I'm starting to fade a little. It's been a very long day and some of the exhilaration is finally starting to wear off. Maybe it's the hunger. I never should have thought about food. Thinking about it only makes it so much worse.

We had a near miss about ten minutes after we crossed the border to Texas. We saw the sea of brake lights and flashing red and blue ahead just in time to whip the car off the road, drive across a field, and merge back onto a smaller blacktop road heading south. It happened so fast it took my breath away!

"It's a good thing everything is so flat in Texas!" Cole shouted gleefully across the car when he finally stopped laughing. I smiled back, trying to hide the fact that my blood was pounding so hard in my head I could barely see. Cole was amazing! He never even hesitated or took his foot off the gas! Looking behind us, I saw that a few of the cars had followed his lead, albeit much more slowly, and were on the same alternate route we were now on. "Monkey see, monkey do," I thought, and that's when the laughing started for me.

Cole was no longer smiling as he watched me out of the corner of his eye. "You okay kid?" he warily inquired. I waved him off, gulping in air and trying to stifle the waves of laughter threatening to choke off my air supply. I'm not even sure why I'm laughing. I just can't seem to stop. I finally get everything back under control, and glance over at the gas gauge again. I think that maybe its time to say something, but looking at the now stern face beside me, I think better of it. It's not like he doesn't already know anyway. He's probably known all along.

The funny thing is that we were almost out of gas anyway when it happened. If it had lasted even five minutes longer, it probably would have ended so differently. But it didn't last five minutes longer.

We hit the road spikes going well over 100 miles per hour and were airborne almost immediately. I'd like to believe that they didn't know that might happen, but I don't know. I think they were pretty mad about the near escape at the Texas border and were pulling out all the stops before we could make it to Mexico. I guess they thought all of this had gone on more than long enough and it was time for extreme measures.

We rolled over in the air so that we were flying upside down through open space. It was so surreal and so like a scene in a movie. Everything slowed down just like it would on screen and every detail became crystal clear. Cole turning to look at me, smiling a strange half smile, shrugging his shoulders and taking his one hand off the steering wheel. I see my own hand reaching towards his face all by itself, moving slowly through the small space between us, almost getting there.

Then we hit the ground and the flashing lights close in all around us. Cole was killed instantly. I knew he must have been or he would have said something to reassure me as we lay there surrounded by darkness inside the crushed cockpit of the upside down convertible, pulsing red and blue lights creeping in under the edges.

I'm not sure how I managed to survive, even for just a little while, but I did. I lay broken, with glass, metal, and upholstery pressing close on every side, watching my own blood begin to pool around me. I can hear them shouting, but their words mean nothing to me. I grope around in the dark for Cole, but find nothing. Maybe he isn't even in here with me. Maybe he landed somewhere else. Suddenly I find that I don't really care so much anymore. I feel too tired and know that, where ever he is, I'll probably be joining him soon enough.

It had been such a long day.

My parents telling us no.

The fight.

The yelling.

The push.

The knife.

The blood.

The blood.

The running.

The mini van.

The smoke.

The break down.

The gas station.

The yellow car.

The man.

The knife again.

More blood.

The driving, driving, driving, driving, driving, driving. The sirens.

The chase.

And finally, the crash.

So tired now.

I guess I never really believed we could escape after what we did, but it would have been nice to have had more time. I always thought there would be more time. Seventeen is just too soon. Too fast.

So tired.

Is this really all my blood? How much blood does one person have in them anyway? Not this much. There can't be.

So tired.

Cole? How...

So tired.

I always meant to visit Texas sometime. There's that at least. At least that happened for me, when so many other things didn't and never will.

So tired.

Mom? Dad? I guess maybe you were right after all. It kills me to admit it. Get it?

So tired.

What is wrong with you, Stephanie? You really should be praying right about now, not joking. I don't think you're gonna make it kid. I love it when you call me kid, Cole.

So tired.

I'll never get to try that gumbo now. Do they really eat alligator tail?

So tired.

Focus Steph! Running out of time. Running out of blood. Must be. So much blood.

So tired.

God?

What I've been reading lately

2012-05-24T21:34:00.000-07:00

Greetings.

I do not anticipate that this will be one of my more popular blog postings. In it, I will not be arrogantly declaring the top five somethings of all time or taking a cynical/humorous view of the dangers of the modern world. Instead, I thought I would take a moment to share what I've been reading lately.

Why should you care?

That is an excellent question. You shouldn't.

And yet, here are some of the most recent books I have read over the last couple of months. I believe that reading is important and that it fundamentally shapes how we think and view the world. Turn off your computer and go to the library!

"Night of the Living Trekkies" by Kevin David Anderson and Sam Stall. I think the name pretty much speaks for itself. I couldn't put it down.

"The Torrents of Spring" by Ernest Hemingway. Reading this book was a very strange experience. I've read most of Hemingway's work and there is a pretty definitive style and pattern to his writing which this work deviates from drastically. As I understand it, the book was his way of mocking another writer.

The Traci Ganner trilogy of Science Fiction books by Brian Jeffreys. I have completed "The Fall of the Terran Empire" and "The Orion Gambit" and am now starting the final book, "Glory and Empire." I don't regularly dive into the Science Fiction end of the pool, but this has been a pretty enjoyable swim so far. I'm also going to name drop and let you know that I know Mr. Jeffreys in person. Indeed. I might even be able to introduce you to him. Come to my church with me sometime. Anything is possible.

"God Bless you, Dr. Kevorkian" by Kurt Vonnegut. Mr. Vonnegut can really do no wrong when he puts words on paper. Or could do no wrong that is. Since he's in heaven now and all. This last statement is a joke for the Vonnegut fans. Though with my personal views on the Spiritual world, it is decidedly less humorous and makes me rather sad. Be that as it may, another delightful read from one of the greatest authors of the 20th Century.

"Fight Club" by Chuck Palahntuk. I really don't know what to think about this one. I wanted to like it so bad because it had so many moments of extraordinarily great writing in it. I just couldn't bring myself to love it though. Almost. It was so close. I will purchase another Palahntuk sometime soon to see if those glimpses of genius can come together for a full picture.

So there you go. I have quite a few books on my radar for the remainder of the year, and I hope you do to. Maybe something on here will give you a starting point.

Blessings.

Of Books and Covers and Pakistani Taxi Drivers

2012-05-11T19:28:00.000-07:00

One of the extraordinarily great men of wisdom and true philosophers of the 21st century drives a taxi cab in Chicago.

It's true. I met him.

I travelled to Chicago on business this week, and I providentially found myself in the backseat of a taxi driven by a man of Middle Eastern descent. Let me first state that I do not have a tremendous amount of taxi experience and am hardly the world traveler that might come to mind when I refer to travelling "on business." In fact, I have ridden in a taxi less than 10 times in my entire life. I will say though, that the majority of taxi drivers I have encountered have likewise been of Middle Eastern descent, and most have driven in such a manner that my automatic chicken brake foot ends up utterly exhausted by the time we reach our destination.

But this man was different.

I got the hint of something different when I mentioned the hotel I was going to and he referred to its architecture. Incidentally, I stayed at the Radisson Blue Aqua, which was built in 2011 and is known for its flowing water-like architecture. I then asked him how long he had been in Chicago. I confess I did this mainly to try to figure out how fluent he was in English, in order to determine what level of conversation we could possibly have. It turned out that he had lived in Chicago for 25 years, and I later found out he had lived on the West coast for another 10 years prior to that. So this man who it turned out was initially from Pakistan had actually been in America longer than I have, and had seen much more of the country during that time. How about that?

Thus began one of the 10 greatest conversations I have ever had. If only I could have somehow recorded the conversation to transcribe it verbatim here, each and every one of you would be better for having read it. The conversation took about 45 minutes to an hour as we travelled from O'Hare to downtown Chicago. I could have happily tripled the drive and am sure there would have been no lull along the way.

We talked about Education and advanced degrees and the divergence of those degrees from the eventual occupations we live out.

We talked about Social Media and the ongoing isolationism of our youth and the continual disconnect from reality.

We talked about Theology and the history of Christianity, including the origins of the 12 tribes of Israel.

We talked about Ecology and the potential results of our fossil fuel addiction, along with the natural purposes of oil and the potentially catastrophic direction our abuse will take us.

We talked about Religion and the place of the mind in the healing process.

We talked about Science and how it interacts with faith.

We talked about Philosophy and the perspectives we prejudicially hold.

We talked about pornography and it's ramifications on the marital state, the objectification of humans, and the damage it is causing to the youth of today due to its unlimited accessibility.

We talked about Science Fiction with a particular focus on the pessimistic future casters like Huxley, Orwell, and Toffler.

We talked about the changing face of America and our fears for the future generations.

It was amazing.

I asked him how often he had conversations like the one we were having and discovered that they were extremely rare. I did not find this surprising since I found them equally rare in my sphere of influence. He said that the majority of people take one look, assume he just got off the boat, give him their destination and go straight to their Smart phones.

Those poor slobs. Their lives could be so much richer.

His name was Osmund, and he gave me a card on which he wrote the name of two authors I should read. I directed him towards a few of my favorites as well. I tipped him a solid 20% and we shook hands in parting. I got the impression that the handshaking was at least as unusual as the conversation had been. He let me know that I was one of the great conversationalists he had met, even rating me at a similar level of a Neurologist who taught corporations how to practice humility, which he had the fortune of having driven a few months earlier. What great company we are sometimes blessed to keep.

I suppose the moral is to not judge a book by its cover. Or perhaps to look beyond the race or the profession of a fellow human. Or maybe even that we should count our blessings because our professions do not always align with our intelligence. But then the next day I was driven back to the airport as though the very hounds of hell were close behind by a man who frankly frightened me a little bit. Our conversation didn't get past where I was going and what time my flight was.

So there might not be a moral at all.

Tip your drivers.

You just don't know.

Monsters. Oh my.

2012-04-25T14:49:00.000-07:00

Good Day to you.

I initially set out to write a blog about our cultural obsession with image and beauty. I even typed a few profoundly thoughtful and deeply insightful sentences before deciding I’m really not up for that level of deep insight or profound thoughtfulness today. It’s just too depressing as a topic to wade into very far. The water is cold and full of giant squids. We humans are a severely damaged life form indeed.

But speaking of giant squids, instead of the aforementioned topic, today we’ll be discussing my favorite kinds of monsters.

Almost as profound and a lot more fun!

Brace yourselves!

1. Zombies

I love zombies in almost every manifestation they appear in. I love fast zombies. I love slow zombies. I love zombies created by viruses and zombies created by toxic waste. I love zombies who only eat the brains of the living and zombies who eat all the available parts of the human. I love Deadites. I love them all. I know that of late our society has been completely inundated by zombie movies and zombie humor, but I have not hit my limit yet. I have a great capacity to appreciate the carnivorous undead.

Recommended Films: Fido. Zombieland. My Boyfriend’s Back. Shaun of the Dead. Dance of the Dead. Night of the Living Dead. Braindead (aka Dead Alive).

For further info on good Zombie Movies, Click Here!

Recommended Life Changing YouTube Video: Click Here!

Recommended Reading: Night of the Living Trekkies.

2. Werewolves

I have long been a big fan of the werewolf in both film and reality. I am a little more restrictive in my wolf-man affection, and gravitate towards the traditional werewolf. I’m not so much a fan of just the shape shifter who becomes a wolf in order to fend off vampires. My personal preference is for the lycanthrope that is controlled by the lunar cycle and which can only be killed one way. Silver bullet. That’s it. That is the only way to kill a werewolf. See the epicly great film “Monster Squad” for further discussion on how you kill werewolves and to see Uncle Rico as a werewolf. And stay inside during the full moon. Trust no one.

Recommended Films: Monster Squad. Teen Wolf. Underworld.

Recommended Reading: Samantha Slade: Monster Sitter.

3. Swamp / Lagoon creatures

Swamp Thing. The Creature from the Black Lagoon. Cajuns. Giant Gators. Leeches. The Swamps and Lagoons of the world are indeed frightening places. Wear hip waders and bring your boomstick.

Recommended Films: Swamp Thing. Monster Squad.

Recommended Lifestyle Choice: Try fried Alligator Tail. It’s tasty.

4. Mythological Monsters as a whole

There are far too many great mythological monsters to list each of them individually, but I do greatly enjoy them and couldn’t leave them unmentioned. Sirens, Hydra, Minatours, Medusa, Cyclopses, Krakens, and so many more. Those Argonauts had a tough ride.

Recommended Reading: Till We Have Faces

5. Squirrels

These modern day monstrosities have never received their due as the true population menaces that they are. John Hodgman has tried to warn us. Heed the warning and be wary around these wicked beasts. They are after more than your acorns. Don’t be fooled by their froofy tails and never let them inside your homes. These carnivorous rodents are never to be fed.

Recommended Reading: An Almanac of Complete World Knowledge Compiled with Instructive Annotation and Arranged in Useful Order by myself, John Hodgman, a Professional Writer, in The Areas of My Expertise, which Include: Matters Historical, Matters Literary, Matters Cryptozoological, Hobo Matters, Food, Drink & Cheese (a Kind of Food), Squirrels & Lobsters & Eels, Haircuts, Utopia, What Will Happen in the Future, and Most Other Subjects.

6. Vampires

Again, I’m more of a traditionalist in this realm. I prefer the sunlight killing, garlic hating, bat shape shifting, blood sucking, coffin sleeping, stake-through-the-heart fearing undead fiends of yesteryear over the sparkly marble-skinned heartthrobs of more modern acclaim. Don’t mistake me as a Twilight hater since those people tend to annoy me just as much as extreme Twi-harders do. Obviously I’m not an extreme traditionalist since much of what I prefer is post Stoker, so I guess you could say I prefer the vampires as they were still popularly depicted in the 1980’s.

Recommended Reading: Dracula, by Bram Stoker.

Recommended Films: Monster Squad. The Lost Boys. Once Bitten.

Honorable Mentions:

Trolls, Mummies, Mer-people, Jellyfish, Frankenstein’s monster, Giants, Orcs, Ghosts, Gremlins, Ghoulies, Cookie Monster, Banshees, Critters, and Giant Insects.

Top Five Dead People I Would Like to Have Dinner With

2012-04-09T14:00:00.000-07:00

Having now discussed the top 5 living humans that I would love to have over for dinner (see my last blog post), I would like to now turn my attention to the top 5 dead humans to dine with.

The idea here is that each of these 5 individuals would return from the grave (in a decent, non-zombie, no hunger for the flesh / brains of the living kind of way) in order to spend the evening dining with me. This is as good of a reason as any to return from the grave, and better than some. The pool of candidates was much larger amongst the dead than it was for the living, and I had to skip quite a few noteworthy names that would have been fascinating to invite. In the end, these are the final invitees to the dinner party.

Dead Dinner Guest #1

Judas Iscariot

Okay. So I’m guessing the reaction at this point is mixed, so let me explain my reasons for inviting one of the most despised individuals of all time. Mr. Iscariot is not being invited out of veneration of any kind on my part, but rather because I’d really love to hear his thoughts on what happened, leading up to his betrayal of Jesus. There has been a great deal of speculation regarding his motivation for taking the 30 pieces of silver, and I’d like to get his point of view. Obviously it wasn’t all he had hoped for, what with the subsequent suicide and all. He would also be able to give a firsthand account of some of the other life and times moments in the life of Jesus, assuming of course you can trust anything this guy has to say. Depending on his retrospective points of view, he might be asked to leave the table, particularly as he might make my third guest a little uncomfortable.

Dead Dinner Guest #2

John Steinbeck

John Steinbeck is my personal favorite author, and I would greatly enjoy listening to him talk about just about anything and everything. I certainly enjoyed his writing about anything and everything. I’d like to know what would be the central crisis of his writing if he were alive today. I would love to ask what he considered to be his finest work. Does he regret any of his work? Who is his favorite character? The curiosity around this guest alone could take up the entire meal. Maybe he’ll stay for coffee afterwards.

Dead Dinner Guest #3

Mary the mother of Jesus

As mentioned, Judas might have to leave the table when this guest arrives. At the very least, these two aren’t sitting next to each other and all sharp knives will be removed from the table. Mary is being invited because I would be very keen on obtaining some insight into this most intimate of perspectives on the life of Jesus and what it was like to grow in the realization of his divine nature. I’d like to know how he was perceived by his brothers and by Joseph. This perspective on the life of Jesus is one that I find utterly fascinating, and having her attend would help provide some balance and reference to the portrayal from Judas. It would also be interesting to find out her thoughts on the practice of prayer being focused on her in some religious circles. A lot of fascinating rabbit trails could be followed with this guest.

Dead Dinner Guest #4

Eleanor Dare

Who is Eleanor Dare? I completely understand your confusion. Who was this woman, and what happened to her? Ever since I first heard of the lost colony of Roanoke in Elementary school, I’ve been fascinated with the mystery and want to know what happened to the people. For the unfamiliar, Roanoke Colony was one of the first colonies in America. They were facing some hard times and their leader went back to England for supplies. Due to a series of circumstances, he was unable to return for three years. When he came back, everyone was gone and no trace of the colonists was ever found. Which brings us back to the question, “Who was Eleanor Dare?” Eleanor Dare was the mother of Virginia Dare, the first European child born in the colonies (that was recorded anyway, who knows about those crazy Vikings). I’ve chosen her to be the one to tell me what happened to the colony. With my luck, she probably got eaten by a bear while the colony was still in Roanoke and she won’t be able to tell me anything about what happened, but I had to pick someone. I’m greatly looking forward to finding out the secret to this centuries old mystery.

Dead Dinner Guest #5

C. S. Lewis

Another favorite author, particularly for his works of Fiction. Clive Staples Lewis barely made the cut because I feel like I already know his perspectives on so many things due to his works of non-fiction. But then I think about books like, “Till We Have Faces” or “Perelandra” and I can’t imagine not inviting him to the dinner party. Plus I’m sure he would enjoy meeting Mary and Judas as well, so I’d be doing him a favor, which might get me an in with the Inklings in the event they are still meeting in the afterlife. I’d also be interested in getting Mr. Lewis’s thoughts on the recent movie adaptions to his Narnia stories and whether he ever noticed that his name is a complete sentence.

Guests held in Reserve

Any good host knows to require an RSVP. Nothing could be more embarrassing than to have someone return from the grave to come to your dinner party only to find that they are the only guest to show up.

LAME!

With that in mind, one needs backup guests prepared to invite in the event one of the primary guests is unable to make it due to some other pressing obligation on their time.

Reserve Dead Dinner Party Guest #1

Kurt Vonnegut

No explanation needed. True greatness and one of my top 5 authors. God Bless you Mr. Vonnegut.

Reserve Dead Dinner Party Guest #2

Marilyn Monroe

Why so sad? Was it murder? Who did it? JFK? Do you know about that ridiculous statue in Chicago? Biggest regret?

Reserve Dead Dinner Party Guest #3

Rasputin

Assuming that he has learned English in the afterlife, I’d have quite a few questions concerning the night of his death. As a history minor in college, I wrote an upper level paper on Rasputin’s death and it was one bizarre unexplainable event after another. The guy just wouldn’t die. Perhaps the mad priest could help separate fact from fantasy for me. Plus we could share a chuckle about his portrayal in the Disney film, Anastasia, which I’m sure he finds quite amusing. I’m pretty sure, based on pictures like the one above, that this is a guy who knows how to party.

Blessings.

The five living people I’d like to have over for dinner.

2012-04-05T09:05:00.000-07:00

I’ve heard the question before, and perhaps you have too.

"If you could choose five people to have dinner with, who would they be?"

I’ve heard the question posed as 5 living people, 5 dead people, or 5 people, living or dead. Since I have found the dead to be terrible conversationalists (not to mention their unfortunate impact on the desirability of the cuisine) I am going to look exclusively at the world of the living when compiling my perfect dinner party.

A few rules are needed going into this sort of thing, since without rules we’d all be running around in chicken suits, eating baby kangaroos.

Rule #1 The undead are not considered truly living, so no vampires, zombies, etc are eligible to attend, regardless of their otherwise charming nature and conversational aptitude. Sorry twi-hards.
Rule #2 The invitees have to be humans. Animal celebrities need not apply, and since after rising from the dead Jesus dropped the carnal aspect of his nature, He would also be deemed ineligible since he is no longer human. On a side note to this rule, since the Christian deity is omnipresent, He will already be in attendance anyway without requiring you to use up one of the five slots, and could thus be considered a “bonus guest” at any event.
Rule #3 Members of your immediate family can attend without requiring you to use one of the five available slots, so you need feel no remorse for leaving out those dearest to you.

So. The expectations are clear. The five living humans I would invite to my dream dinner are listed below.

Guest #1
Bruce Campbell

The single greatest actor of all time would guarantee the conversation kept moving and that everyone had an amazing time. I have already read his autobiography, “If Chins could kill: Confessions of a B Movie Actor” twice and will likely read it again soon. Furthermore, in the event any of the aforementioned undead (being furious at not being allowed to attend the dinner party) show up to wreak havoc, I want Bruce Campbell at my side.

Guest #2

Christian Hosoi

The greatest skateboarder of all time at my dinner table?! I had the distinct privilege of meeting Mr. Hosoi briefly a year ago at a Vans promotional event, and he was every bit as amazing as I hoped he would be. The documentary, “Rising Son: The Legend of Skateboarder Christian Hosoi” changed my life, and Christian Hosoi is truly one of the few heroes in my world. I need his help to convince my wife that I am not too old to buy a skateboard. Of course it will be a Rising Sun Hammerhead.

Guest #3
Terry Scott Taylor

I am sure that many of you are thinking, "Who?" Of course it is possible you thought this on the previous two guests as well, and, if so, you really need to expand your horizons. Terry Scott Taylor is one of the greatest living song writers walking the earth today. I was privileged to meet him briefly at two shows in the last decade, and both times he blew me away, while I was unable to do much more than tell him my name. Terry has been the front man / primary song writer for about a billion bands since the 1970’s, brilliantly transitioning from genre to genre over the last 40 years while never flagging in writing profoundly meaningful lyrics to make the world a better place to live in. Camarillo Eddy is welcome at my dinner table anytime, including this ultimate night of feasting.

Guest #4

Peyton Manning

I love Peyton Manning. Last year was hard for me, when number 18 wasn’t continuing his march through the record books. This guy is everything a professional athlete should be. He’s been in my heart ever since he called Vanderjagt his "idiot kicker." I’m holding out hope he can stay healthy another four years and break every record currently held by Brett "open fly Jeans" Favre.

Guest #5
Stephen King

I really struggled with this one. Most of the people I have a significant amount of admiration for are writers, but most of those I adore are no longer above ground. When considering the living authors available, I considered J. K. Rowling and Yann Martel, along with Cormac McCarthy and Margaret Atwood. In the end I decided the best compliment to the existing dinner party would be Stephen King. While not for everyone, and I certainly haven’t read each of the 5,000 books Mr. King has written, he is a true living legend in the literary field. He’s someone who can really write, but chose a genre generally populated by pulp hacks. He has dominated that genre for more than three decades now and has shown no signs of slowing down. Inviting Stephen to dinner would really cover two bases for me. I love literature and I love all things frightening. In addition, Stephen King is a huge baseball fan and a musician. I think we’d get good sports cross talk, good movie cross talk, and good music cross talk. Chemistry is vital in this kind of dinner party, and I think Stephen would round out the party nicely.

So there you have it. The perfect dinner party for living humans. Sorry I couldn’t fit you in, but which of these people could I truly bump to make room for you?

Please feel free to share your personal five.

Next up, I will likely focus on a dinner party from beyond the grave and choose the five dead people I would have chosen, were they still alive.

Blessings

The Journal of Stephen Michael Hobbs (Part 7 of 7)

2012-03-08T17:39:00.000-08:00

Saturday, June 11th This is it. This will be my last journal entry. I don't know now why I even bothered to try to put any of this on paper. I thought it would help someone understand, but I realize now that some things can never be understood. I saw the priest a little while ago. He kept saying the same old things he's always been saying. I feel kind of sorry for him. I almost played along just so he could have a clear conscience about being a part of all of this, but in the end I couldn't do it. It just wouldn't be honest and, if nothing else, I've never been a liar. This is no time to start picking up bad habits. They tell me that it's almost time and I won't be able to take this journal with me to the next room, so I guess I better hurry up and finish saying whatever it is I've been trying to say. In almost no time at all I'm going to see her parents and will get to tell them what I've been waiting so long to tell them. I can't wait to see their faces when they realize that they are actually doing the very opposite of what they always meant to do. When they realize they are actually sending me to her and that they won't be there to try to keep us apart any more. I wonder if it is gonna hurt. They say it's humane, but how would they know? It's not like they ever actually did it before. I guess I'll know soon enough. And then she'll be there waiting for me. Arms open in forgiveness. I never meant to hurt her and I know she understands that now. I just couldn't stand to lose her and I lost it for a moment there. Just for a moment, but a moment was all it took. But all of that is behind us. I know she understands now and is waiting for me. I can't wait. Getting nervous. I know they'll be here soon to take me. Mom, if you read this I'm really sorry about how all of this happened and someday I'll see you again. Hopefully then you'll finally be willing to talk to me again. I forgive you for the years of silence. Dad, I guess we'll never see other again cause if I get my wish we're not going to end up in the same place. There are some things that can't be forgiven. Meredith. I love you. I'll see you soon. Stephen Michael Hobbs

The Journal of Stephen Michael Hobbs (Part 6 of 7)

2012-03-07T19:34:00.002-08:00

Friday, June 10th Well I guess the cat's out of the bag now. I was gonna wait till tomorrow's entry to talk about seeing Meredith again soon, but that letter from Ryan just set me off. It's true. I'm finally gonna see her again after all these years apart. I wonder what she'll think when she sees me. I know I don't exactly look the same anymore. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I've let myself go or anything like that. In fact, I'm probably in the best shape of my life what with all the time I spend working out each day. But I am older. No doubt about that. And my hair... Well let's just say it's not the same as it used to be. I bet she looks just the same. Just as young and beautiful as ever. I can hardly wait. It's hard to even write this. My hands are shaking with excitement. I keep having to stop writing every few minutes so I can pace around and burn off some of this nervous energy. And the best part is that everyone will finally know. Everyone who ever tried to keep us apart will know. I'm going to look straight into her parent's eyes and tell them that they can't keep us apart anymore. And then they'll know they can't do anything about it. All these years of keeping us apart are finally gonna be over forever. And there's nothing they can do about. I can't write any more now. I'm too keyed up to sit still.

The Journal of Stephen Michael Hobbs (part 5 of 7)

2012-03-06T16:50:00.003-08:00

Thursday, June 9th I got a letter from Ryan today. He still doesn't get it, after all these years. He's still trying to make me see things differently. "Before it's too late" he says. It was too late the moment I first set eyes on her. How can I change the way I feel? Feelings aren't like that. They just are what they are and were what they were. I can no more change my feelings than I can go back and change what happened. Of course I wish I could go back and change the way things happened. I'd give anything to find some way to change things so that she and I would never have been separated from each other. Looking back it seems that every other person we knew wanted the two of us to be apart. Her parents, her boss, her friends. Even God I guess. Even God wanted us to be apart. No one wanted us to be together. She and I knew better though. And yet here we are. I'm here and she's there and there is so much distance in between us. I've never let it go though. I've never for one single moment stopped planning to be together with her again. I've never stopped believing that we will be together again. I've never moved on and neither has she. There's no moving on for either one of us. That's what Ryan doesn't understand. He talks about it like it's all over and I need to just let it go. Like that's the only way I can be at peace or some such nonsense. I won't be at peace again until she and I are finally together. And we will be together again. People talk like if you make a mistake then that's it and it's all over forever. Love isn't like that. Love overcomes mistakes and survives. We all make mistakes, but they don't last forever. I know she forgave me the second I messed up. It's all these other people that can't let it go. It's all these other people that keep getting in the way and not letting us be together. Soon though. In fact, it will only be a couple of days now till we're together again. That's something no one will ever understand. All the Ryans and possum faced mothers of the world can't keep us apart any longer. Meredith knows it too. She knows I'm coming for her. It's been so long and the waiting is finally almost over.

The Journal of Stephen Michael Hobbs (part 4 of 7)

2012-03-05T18:32:00.001-08:00

Wednesday, June 8th So I guess I need to try and tell you more about Meredith and I so you can understand us better and know what it was really like. It was so easy to feel everything so clearly, but it's not so easy to try to put all of those feelings into words. Words are harder than feelings. She and I were seeing a lot more of each other. She played it real cool for a long time and I liked that a lot. I wasn't looking for some easy tramp that would just flirt with anyone. Not Meredith. It took months just to get past her outer defenses and really get her to even talk to me. I went to that stupid shop every single day and gradually she started to open up and see me as more than just some guy who once dropped a cheesy line on her. I realized quickly that she didn't go for that sort of thing and started taking a different approach. I had to start going by the shop each day if I wanted to see her at all since I couldn't go to her window at night anymore. Between the motion light and old "Buckshot Watson" on the prowl I didn't dare risk it. I finally got her to lower her defenses a little bit by asking some questions about that junk in the store and even buying a few things. I remember the first time I made her laugh. Some joke I made about the garden gnomes they had for sale. She had the greatest laugh. Those full lips. I can still see them so clearly. I can still hear her laughing. I eventually got up the nerve and asked her to go out on a real date. Poor thing. I could see that she was so excited and so disappointed all at the same time. You see, her parents didn't allow her to date anyone who was already out of high school, so she had to turn me down. I didn't even think of asking her to sneak around behind their backs cause I knew that she was a good girl and wouldn't do it, no matter how much she was starting to fall for me. So I reassured her that I would just keep coming by the shop each day so we could keep seeing each other without doing anything against the rules. She put up a token argument just so I could see she respected her parents and what not, but I could tell how pleased she was. I think she was probably already mostly in love with me by then. And so it went on. I came by every day and walked around the store and talked with her whenever the manager wasn't around to eavesdrop on us. That nosy little pansy was always hanging around trying listen in on our conversations. I think her parents were getting wise to the whole thing and must have said something to her. I could see little changes in her with each visit. She would start getting more and more nervous while we were talking and would start looking from side to side to see if anyone was within earshot. Her parents! I still get so mad when I think about those days, which should have been the greatest in our lives. So young and in love! But they were determined to keep her from me and it wasn't enough that we were playing by their rules and just talking in the store. They couldn't just let things happen naturally. They couldn't see what they were doing to her. I could see it. She grew more pale and thin as the weeks passed. She began looking for eavesdroppers more and more frantically each time we talked, her eyes darting from side to side. Then one day she just wasn't there. I went into the shop and there was some other girl behind the counter. I admit I overreacted. I do. I clearly overreacted, but who can blame me? This was the only time I had to spend with the girl I loved and now that was being taken away from me too! I paid for the broken counter top and the owner finally agreed to not press charges. It's not like I hurt anyone or anything, but I knew that my days of visiting Meredith at work were over. I was gonna have to find some other way to see her. I knew I had messed up, and it wasn't fair to Meredith that she had to go without seeing me now just because of my mistake. If only everyone else would have just gotten out of the way and let us be together. It was almost like that famous play. She was just like Juliet and I knew that if things continued like this it would eventually get to that same point. I knew she would rather die than live without me, but I wasn't gonna let that happen to her. I decided then and there that we were going to be together and if we had to break a few rules to make that happen, so be it. No one was going to keep us apart anymore.

The Journal of Stephen Michael Hobbs - Part 3 of 7

2012-03-04T11:51:00.003-08:00

Tuesday, June 7th I just read back over what I wrote yesterday. That doesn't tell you how it was at all. Not by a long shot. I left out too much that showed how she felt about me as the relationship progressed and it ended up reading like I was some kind of stalker or something. It wasn't that way at all. It's just so hard to get the words out on paper. Too much is left out. I don't feel much like writing about Meredith today. I think I'll tell you more about me instead. That ought to be easy. I like to think I might know a thing or two about that topic. I grew up in Granton same as every other kid I knew. There was nothing really special about it. I caught crawdads and played baseball and read comic books same as the other kids. I went to the movies and played in the park and tried to bum smokes from the older kids. Real normal small town kid stuff. The only real difference between me and the other kids is that I was a better athlete than most kids my age. When Junior High rolled around I played on all the teams. It was all so easy. I hit manhood a bit earlier than most of my friends and was big for my age besides. It was around that time that the girls around me started changing too. And how! I learned just how much they were changing from a girl named Jessica Wilson in the 8th grade. No big deal since I think she shared this same knowledge with about half the football team. I wonder where she is now. Probably a preacher's wife or something. Who knows? I certainly had a nice time with her on several occasions the following summer. It wasn't so easy the next year when high school started. Jessica moved on to the Seniors on the Varsity Team and suddenly I wasn't the biggest kid on roster anymore. I kept growing though. By 10th grade I was back in the starting lineup on the defense for the football team and hitting cleanup on the baseball team. I had plenty of girlfriends that year. Nothing special. Then, my Junior Year, a girl named Laura Brighton transferred to our school. Her family had moved from Omaha and she was about the best thing I'd ever seen. She and I were something of an item for most of that year. Her parents never really liked me though and they eventually decided to move back to Omaha just before the school year ended so we couldn't see each other anymore. She was the closest I ever came to really loving someone before Meredith came into my life. Looking back now, I realize how juvenile it all was compared to what I would later have with Meredith, but you couldn't have told me that at the time. At the time I could not have been more head over heals for Laura. I would have done anything for her back in those days. That's what scared her parents so much. They realized I could be something for her that they could never be. That I would do things for her that they could never do. I proved that when Trevor Barnes said something about her that he shouldn't have said. I won't relate exactly what he said, but let's just say it was sexual in nature and that he implied having first hand knowledge. I put that redneck in the hospital for a month. Laura and I should have been closer than ever after I had shown her how much I cared, but instead her parents took her and headed back for Nebraska as soon as they heard about what happened. As soon as they realized she could love me more than she loved them, they took her away from me. It's kind of funny now. Trevor still has that crooked nose I gave him and he won't look me in the eyes when we pass in the market. At least that was true the last time I saw him before I left Granton a few years ago. I got suspended from school for a while because of the whole Trevor/Laura thing. My coaches never treated me the same again after that. They still let me play the following year. They knew they couldn't win without me, but when it came time for college recruiting, I know those hypocrites blacklisted me. No offers. Not a single one. I tried confronting my football coach and he just shook his head and said something about me not being college material. I should have stuffed that stupid whistle down his throat that day. Not college material? Why? Cause I defended my girlfriend? Why couldn't they just come out and tell me the truth! I know the truth is that they were punishing me cause their golden boy Trevor wasn't able to Quarterback the team anymore due to some lingering nerve damage to his shoulder. Same with baseball. He had been the team Ace and he couldn't even throw a ball over 70 MPH after what I did to him. Punk got what he deserved though. If someone else were to say the same thing about Meredith that he said about Laura, I know I'd do much more than just end their sports career. I'd end them period. So I didn't go on to college sports glory. I didn't go on to college at all. After graduation, I bummed around my parents house for a while until they got fed up and made me get a job. After that I worked at Roger's Garage. I was always good with my hands and good with cars. I guess you could say I was in something of a holding pattern in my life. Waiting for the next thing to happen. The next thing to happen was Meredith. I'll tell you more about her tomorrow.

The Journal of Stephen Michael Hobbs Part 2 of 7

2012-03-03T14:31:00.001-08:00

Monday, June 6th I almost didn't sit down to write this today. First of all my hand hurt like fire after all that writing yesterday. Second of all I don't really know how to put into words something like how we met. I can tell you about what happened, but unless you could feel all the things there were to feel I don't know that you'll be able to understand. I'll try though. I got nothing else to do. I first met Meredith about 11 years ago. A little over 11. It was in the spring. I saw her walking into some knick knack store on the square. One of those stores that sells a bunch of junk no one needs. Snow globes and stuff like that. You know the kind. It turned out she worked there, but I didn't know that at first. It was love at first sight, just like you hear about. For me anyway. Since she didn't see me when I first saw her she couldn't feel the same way I did right away. I was just coming out of the courthouse when I saw her across the street, getting out of her car. I can still see it today, just like it happened then, except now I sort of see it in slow motion, like in a movie. She stepped out of a yellow Volkswagen Bug and walked into the junk store. She had this really great tan and was wearing a red dress with white flowers on it. It was one of those little summer dresses and it hit her about mid thigh. She was tall, leggy, and had dark brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. She had on these really big sunglasses so I didn't get a great look at her face until later. I decided I wanted to get a better look at her and find out who she was. So I crossed the street and went inside that junk shop. Like I said before, it turned out she worked there and was behind the counter already. I start walking around the place, picking stuff up and pretending to look at it while keeping one eye on her the whole time. Turned out her face was just as nice to look at as her figure. Nicer even. She had these enormous brown eyes and really full lips. She had lips like that actress. What's-her-name with the full lips? I'm bad with names. You probably know who I mean though. That really smoking hot one. So finally she comes over and asks me if I need help finding anything. So I give her a line about how now that she was in front of me I think I found just what I was looking for. She's classy though. She doesn't go for it that easy and looks a little annoyed and tells me to let her know if I need any more help and goes back behind the counter again. I look around for another couple of minutes to make it look good before I leave. This kind of set the pattern for the next few weeks. As soon as I got off work each day I'd wash up and head over to pretend to shop for something. She played dumb every day and mostly pretended to ignore me, but we both knew what was going on and it was obvious that there was a mutual attraction building between us. I figured out her first name from listening to some of the regular customers talking to her. A bunch of old blue hairs mostly, buying baskets and those dead flowers that smell like old ladies houses. Poper-something or other. Maybe I'll ask the priest about that stuff next time I see him. Could be those baskets are religious or something and he'll know what they're called. So anyhow, I wanted to find out more about this girl besides that her name was Meredith, so one day I decided to wait across the street and follow her home. By the next day I knew her full name, address, and just about everything else there was to know. She lived outside of town, out in the boonies and it turned out she was a High School Junior down at Woodrow, which is where I went to school. So she would have been a freshman my Senior year. Looking back, I still wonder how I missed seeing her when we were both in the same school together every day for a year. Maybe she hadn't blossomed yet or something. I was pretty caught up in playing football and baseball, so it would have been pretty easy to overlook some flat chested little runt with all the cheerleader skirt I was chasing back then. But back to Meredith. She didn't have no brothers or sisters. Just that possum faced mother I already mentioned, and her dad, who worked some white collar job in the city for some big shot company. I decided to start moving the relationship forward a bit, but wanted this time to be different than the other girls. I wanted to make sure she knew that what I felt for her was different than anything I'd ever felt before. That it was special and she was special. So what I did was that I started leaving things for her on her windowsill. Little presents just for her. It was easy enough to figure out which window was hers. Don't go thinking I'm some kind of a peeping tom or something though! I never looked in no one else's window before or since. It wasn't anything like what those pervert weirdoes do when they go around trying to peep in people's windows for a glimpse of skin. I loved Meredith from the first moment I saw her. It was a different kind of thing when I'd watch her. I'd stand out there for hours some nights just watching her doing her homework, or reading a book. I even watched her sleep all night a few times. It got so that I could barely keep my eyes open at the garage the next day. So anyway, I started leaving things there for her on the windowsill. Just little things so she'd know someone was thinking about her and cared about her. A flower one day. A polished rock another day. I kept this up for a few weeks until her nosy cow of a mother got wise and bought one of those motion detector lights and put it right outside of Meredith's window. I had to run like a cursed rabbit the first night when it came on. I just made it to the trees when I heard the door open and her dad started yelling for me to "show yourself, you pervert!" He had a shotgun in his hands and looked ready to blast the first thing that moved. It was right then that I knew her parents would do anything to keep us apart. I can barely hold the pen steady now. Dang hand cramps. More tomorrow.

The Journal of Stephen Michael Hobbs - Part 1 of 7

2012-03-02T20:04:00.000-08:00

I'm going to try something new. I'm in the process of learning how to write. It turns out that writing is a lot harder than reading. With that in mind, I'm going to post a short story here and am open to feedback. There are seven chapters, so I'll post a chapter a day for the next week. I hope you enjoy it.

The Journal of Stephen Michael Hobbs

Sunday, June 5th

This is not a love story. At least not like any love story I ever heard of being told. But in another way I guess it is a love story. Maybe the truest love story ever told. More true than that romance junk they sell down at the drugstore in Granton. The kind with those roided up men wearing those open white shirts with the billowy sleeves and some chick in a low cut old timey dress. The one's that all have that same guy on the cover. That big guy with the long hair. You know who I mean. This isn't that kind of story at all.

I never kept a journal before now. But these days I got a lot a time on my hands and I need to fill it with something. God knows it doesn't pass easy. Getting all this down on paper is as good a way as any. Besides, I like to think that someday someone might read this diary and learn something from it. Kind of like that Jewish kid that wrote about Nazi's and stuff. Like that, except I ain't Jewish and the Nazi's are the least of my problems these days.

But back to the main point. I don't believe there could ever be another love like mine to tell about, but maybe writing about it could help somebody in some way with some lesser romance. I like to think maybe it could. I got to tell you though, I never realized how hard it was to try to write stuff down. My hand can't keep up with all these thoughts in my head and by the time I finish writing a line I don't remember where I was going anyway and have to read what I wrote all over again to remember what I need to write next. Maybe it gets easier as you go. We'll see. This might end up being the world's shortest story. I suppose that would be okay too. Maybe there ain't anything to learn from it anyway. Maybe no one will even read it in the first place.

I guess I should start by telling you who I am and who she is. Those are the important parts to the story I suppose. I was born Stephen Michael Jamison, but I guess you could say that my mother had some difficulty sticking to any one particular marital vow. Because of that, I went through a few different last names before landing with my current one. I've also been an Arnold, a Jefferson, and an Eddings along the way. The last sucker to adopt me and force a name change left me Stephen Michael Hobbs, but everyone has always called me Stevie for as far back as I can remember. I never liked being called Stevie. Never. It sounds like such a baby name. Nobody ever asked me what I ought to be called though, so Stevie it was. Still is.

Her name is Meredith Lane Watson. I don't know if she ever had any other names, but I don't think so. Her mother is one ugly cow, so it's hard to imagine more than one man being willing to marry her. I guess Meredith picked up some recessive traits or something, cause she doesn't look anything like her mom, thank the good Lord in heaven. We learned about recessive traits in biology class. I always liked my science classes back when I was in school. At one point I wanted to be a scientist, but that never happened. I guess you could say a lot of things didn't happen. I guess a lot of things never will happen. That's just the way things go. "The Lord's will" they say. They're always saying some junk like that. As if God really cared if I was gonna be a scientist or not. I figure God has a lot more important things to think about than my career plans. But I guess neither God or I have to worry much about that any more. I think it's safe to say I'm pretty set in my current path at this point.

I don't think you ever get over your first real and only love. No matter how much time goes by and what happens along the way. You keep right on loving them until the day you die. I don't know. Maybe you keep on loving them after that. I like to think so.

That's all I got for tonight. Looking back at the page it looks pitiful compared to how much time it took to scratch all of this out. I would have thought it would be a lot longer. Tomorrow I'll tell you about how we first met.

The Downfall of Musical Integrity

2012-02-29T10:22:00.003-08:00

Well, I almost managed to already blow my resolution to post at least one blog per month. Thank goodness for Leap Day!

So, in February I more or less dismissed whatever shreds of musical integrity I still had. Here’s how it happened…

It all started in late 2011, at a work related dinner. After a long day of meetings in Chicago, the members of my team went out to dinner with our Vice President. Two incidents occurred during the course of dinner which led to the demise of the aforementioned integrity.

1. One of my peers made a joke (too long and convoluted to explain here) that culminated with her making up a fictional band name. The name of the band was Red Headed Tuesday.

2. Somehow the topic of Bisected Uvula’s came up in the conversation during dinner. Even now, I have difficulty remembering how this particular topic managed to make its way into the discussion, but once there it could hardly be ignored. (Important side note – a Uvula is the little hanging deal in the back of your mouth. Not something else.)

Somehow, these two incidents magically combined (which is again far too convoluted to try to explain) in such a way where the final joke (which you will have to trust me was extraordinarily funny at the time) was that “Bisected Uvula” was a love song written by the band Red Headed Tuesday.

And then I had an idea.

I went back to my hotel room that night and wrote the song “Bisected Uvula.” Incidentally, I was watching Point Break on the hotel TV at the time. My multi-tasking capabilities are unparalleled. I was deeply amused by my song, and decided I wanted to share that amusement with my VP, since she was had been equally amused during the dinner conversation.

One thing led to another, and then to another, and then in February I somehow convinced two friends to help me record the song under the band name Red Headed Tuesday. They engineered and mixed the whole thing, so I suppose their musical integrity might take a hit as well. Over the course of 4 evenings, I recorded all the instruments and vocals and ended up with a final version to share with my VP.

The song is completely ridiculous. I’ve spent the last 20 years dreaming of impacting other people’s lives by writing insightful, meaningful lyrics and putting out quality music. Instead, all that hard work has led me down a path that dead ended into “Bisected Uvula.”

But it’s too late to turn back now. I already sent the MP3 to my VP, who then played it in our leadership meeting. Complete with a power point of the lyrics. I’m pretty famous now.

So for the 5 amazingly brilliant people who read my blog with any regularity, I hope you find this truly entertaining. My integrity (as if I really still had any to lose considering I once recorded a song titled “Death Star Love Song”) is in flames, but at least my heart was never in the right place.

You can listen to and download (for free) “Bisected Uvula” by Red Headed Tuesday by clicking right here

And here is a visual journey through the process.

Blessings

Top 5 Wines under $10.

2012-01-03T12:18:00.000-08:00

As previously discussed in the blog titled, “What’s up with my mouth?” I made it known that I enjoy a glass or two of wine on most evenings. Like many of you, however, I operate on a budget which does not allow me to just grab anything I want off the wine shelf. As a result, I have tried a great many wines under $10 over the last year and a half and would like to pass along some of what I have learned. This knowledge is worth well more than its weight in wine as you can hopefully use this list to avoid bringing home some of the moonshine hooch that often falls into this price range. There is plenty of that out there and no one deserves that. And remember, many places (like Tom Thumb) give you a 10% discount if you buy 6 bottles or more.

(Disclaimer – Wine should be enjoyed in moderation. Take it easy.)

5. Smoking Loon – Cabernet Sauvignon

A good solid Cabernet for the price. Not the best, but doesn’t vary much from bottle to bottle like some of the less expensive wines do. Available at multiple locations. Their Merlot is also pretty decent.

4. Francis Ford Coppola - Rosso

This blended wine is the only Coppola I have found which is consistently under $10. I normally pick this one up at Tom Thumb for about eight dollars and am never disappointed. I have tried some of Mr. Coppola’s $10+ wines as well and they are also quite good, but seldom make their way into the Autry home due to the aforementioned budget.

3. Rex Goliath Giant 47 Pound Rooster
– Cabernet Sauvignon

Pretty much anything by Rex Goliath will not disappoint. You can find this brand in many locations, but Walmart carries many Rex Goliath options for $4.97 / bottle. The Cabernet is my favorite, but their Pinot Noir, and Sauvignon Blanc are also very enjoyable. Priced as an everyday wine, but good enough for company.

2. Spanish Quarter – Cabernet-Tempranillo

Excellent Blended Wine, available at Tom Thumb. There’s a lot going on in this one and I was very tempted to put this one at #1. Their Chardonnay-Albarino is my favorite white wine and would probably come in around 6 overall for me.

1. Apothic Red

This Blend is simply unbelievable. Available at Tom Thumb and Walmart, usually for just under $10, this wine really delivers. Made from 3 grapes, the flavor is quite hard to define and I haven’t tasted another wine that I could compare it to. And besides, very few people can describe what they are tasting without sounding like pretentious bores. I have found that this Red appeals even to those who normally prefer white wines.

Cheers!

Top 5 Best Worst Movies of all time.

2011-12-28T07:52:00.000-08:00

What is it about an extraordinarily bad movie that compels us so? I find myself entranced and deeply amused by fantastically bad movies. Now it is important to understand what I mean by “bad.” There are plenty of terrible movies that are not enjoyable to watch in the least. But then there are movies that are so bad that they you have to watch them over and over again and the catch phrases from the movie become part of your daily vernacular. The difference may be most noticeable when you can profoundly enjoy the bad movie without requiring commentary from Mystery Science Theatre to do so.

With that in mind, I have compiled my personal list of the top 5 amazingly bad movies of all time. The list is perhaps fairly predictable, but no less sincere. I have definitely found that the horror genre tends to produce the best worst movies of all time, and those are the films that made it into my top five.

5. TerrorVision

The monster actually comes out of the TV after being accidentally beamed there via satellite and uncle Rico is Punk Rock Uncle Rico. Hilarity ensues. I really debated whether this one should make the top 5 and almost put “The Stuff” in instead, especially since I’ve only seen Terrorvision on TV and have never actually seen the theatrical release. I gave this one the edge due a slightly higher level of absurdity and because I like Uncle Rico, who in this movie actually was still young enough to throw a football over them mountains.

4. Slumber Party Massacre 2

Now don’t misunderstand and think that true greatness can be found in Slumber Party Massacre part 1. It took a second effort to achieve true greatness and there is nowhere near enough of a coherent plotline to require you to see the first movie. I think that all you really need to know is that the killer in the movie has a giant electric guitar with a drill on the end, with which he terrorizes people at a Slumber Party and drops amazing one-liners. There is even a dance sequence. Disclaimer - there is an unfortunate nude scene early in the film, which detracts from the overall greatness.

3. Plan 9 from Outer Space

It really wouldn’t be a legitimate list without this film being involved. Ed Wood clearly put forth his “best” effort for this one. For further enjoyment of this film (outside of watching the film itself) see Tim Burton’s “Ed Wood,” which spends a great deal of time on the making of this movie, which many have proclaimed to be the worst film ever made.

2. Killer Klowns from Outer Space

That’s right. They spelled Clowns with a K. Krazy!

1. Troll 2

I know how clichéd it is to name this the best worst movie of all time. I am aware that there is in fact a documentary called “Best Worst Movie” which is all about this film. It’s a spectacular documentary by the way. I am, however, unable to rank this movie anywhere else but number one with a clear conscience. This film is a perfect storm of all the scenarios required to make a truly terrible film. You can check these all off your list. The writer and director speak little to no English and are complete dictators. The actors have little to no acting experience (or talent), including one man who was on a day pass from the mental hospital. A completely ridiculous plot that is often incoherent. Truly horrible special effects and costumes. No actual Trolls or connection to Troll 1. And this list could go on and on. So my friend, pour yourself a nice tall glass of Nilbog milk, grab a double decker bologna sandwich and sit back to enjoy the greatest worst movie ever made.

Blessings.