so this co-worker of mine, Matthew Bryan:
he has this video making the rounds of the internet. the music and the base video is him. the meticulous roto-scoping is done by his old boss. some 6000 frames, or so he says.
luckily matt keeps his shirt on at work.
Just now I decided I would look through the cobwebby dregs of my harddrive, trying to find any short stories that I started and never finished that might actually be worth the time and effort to make whole.
I was astounded by how bad they all were.
More astounding yet, they closely resembled the format of stories that I’ve been rejecting all this time. As I skimmed through the opened files, my slushpile jaded eyes screamed "reject! reject!"
Here’s an example. From the address I had on the standard manuscript format header, I would have to conclude that I last worked on this in 1999. The file information says that it was last modified in 1980 (when I was six) so I have to assume that’s some sort of Y2K artifact (I’ve been waiting for that to destroy my life! Finally!) The file name still adhered to the 8-character DOS convention, and was saved in WordPerfect (but not WordStar, thank god!).
Oh, and I signed it "Ingvar." That’s just how long ago this was.
Here you go, the opening page and a half of "The Greatest Highway in the World":
| Quote: |
|
He swirled his pinot noir, watching the ruby glint of the prairie fire through the wine. For the first time in weeks, Gary felt safe and relaxed.
“Is it just me, or does red wine go well with wildfire?” Mindy, his wife, laughed over the rim of her glass. “Gary, you think everything goes best with red wine. He’s served fish with marinara sauce. Just so he could crack open a merlot.” “But the red flames, the red liquid. Both fires and reds are served warm.” “I’m thinking you should go for more contrast,” volunteered Ethan. He had finished most of his third glass, so his opposition appeared academic. “Take a reisling for instance. Serve it cold. That juxtaposes with the heat of the flames. Or a bubbly. Fires seem celebratory to me. A flute of champaign wouldn’t be out of order just now.” “How many flutes would be in order do you think?” Mindy winked at him, flirtatious in a way that a married woman can only be with a gay man. “Why stop?” The fire had crawled halfway up the slope. The wind barely stirred, nudging the flames lazily as they ate the golden grass. Grasshoppers buzzed all around the house, nonchalantly ignoring the approaching blaze. It was a lazy Summer day, and nature couldn’t be bothered to take notice of its own forces of destruction. “Neither of you get the point. Pretty soon we’ll be in the thick of the smoke. A pinot noir can absorb a lot of soot and just taste better and better. You’ll be glad you’re not drinking some sissy white wine when the shit blows over us.” |
Okay, I won’t make you read any more.
Here’s some of the ways this selection is sucky:
1.) The story opens with about a page of dialogue. Any action stays way off screen. Scene setting is minimal. Any idea where they actually are? I’m not sure, and I wrote the damn thing.
2.) The subject of the dialogue is something that I don’t find interesting and I know nothing about it. Why the hell would I make people talk about wine? That’s the dullest subject in the world.
3.) Mentioning a gay man as if that established character. Now that I’m older and more experienced, I know that gay men come in a variety of flavors. So to speak.
4.) Using a phrase as hackneyed as "forces of destruction." Um, it’s not just that it’s a redundant term, it sounds like the title of a fourteen year old’s first attempt to write a heavy metal anthem.
5.) Attempting humor in a way that isn’t funny. Marinara on fish? How is that funny?
So in conclusion: Yep. I suck.
If you’re in the vacinity of Duval and 51st St. then you ought to check out the brief stack of SPACE SQUID next to all the little full-color DJ ads.
I was just notified that my review of Love Story 2050 was cited by a pirate bittorrent post of the movie.
Probably because I was the only reviewer in the whole world who gave it a glowing write-up.
Currently there are 2 seeds and 2 leechers for a file that is 1.37GB, due to it’s 3-hour running time.
I’m sure that by now you have slavishly read your copy of SPACE SQUID cover-to-cover, lingering often on the ad for Bikini Blood Bath.
Nearly every review you read for Bikini Blood Bath uses the word "dumb." I don’t think that’s fair. A better word would be "retarded." Bikini Blood Bath is flat-out, totally, absolutely genius retarded. In all honesty, I would say that Bikini Blood Bath got an LOL seven or eight times.
Yes, there are bikinis. Yes, the corn-syrup and food-coloring flows freely. Yes, there are naked boobies.
Bikini Blood Bath is about a group of high school girls (every last one of them in their twenties)who have a slumber party while a psychopath in a chef’s hat stalks the neighborhood. And where do the bikinis come into the plot, you may ask? Well, I don’t want any spoilers, but let’s just say there’s a hottub involved.
This is the sort of movie I would make if I had access to a digital camera and naked boobies.
The soundtrack is all hard-pumping guitar-squealling rock from the Connecticut band White Ligar.
You can catch their video on their myspace page. White Ligar does for 80s hair-rock what Bikini Blood Bath does for 80s sorrority-slaughter movies. For those of you who lean a bit glam, they have a helpful and informative make-up tips page.
I just want to thank directors Jonathan Gorman and Thomas Edward Seymour, and the executive producer Bruce Danger Seymour, for sticking to their principles and making this totally retarded film.
If IMDB is to be believed, they’ve got two sequels already in the can. I’m not surprised. Bikinis and blood mean limitless creative potential.
This article makes no particular mention of legal issues related to a Bollywood James Bond movie. Nevertheless, I’m all for it. Sanju Baba is way cooler than any Brits out there.
All of the contributor copies are in the snailmail as of now. If you’re a SPACE SQUID contributor or an advertiser and you don’t get you very own copy of the SPACE SQUID experience to hold in your very own physical hands within a reasonable time period, you should let me know.
For the rest of you, we’ve made SPACE SQUID drops at our usual Austin spots in the past couple of days:
Dragon’s Lair (@Burnet&Koenig)
Book People (@Lamer&6th)(they gave us an employee pick!)
Quacks Bakery (@43rd&Duval-by the bathrooms)
We should have a PDF available for free download pretty soon, but seriously, wouldn’t you prefer to have a paper copy? Remember, it’s not hurting the environment if you never throw it away.
those of you familiar with austin might understand this.
two images are GIMPed together so you can see the entirety of the bumpersticker.
considering that the other stickers pictured are from a pirate station, an underground press, and a grafitti club, you can imagine what sort of taco stand this is.
In the table of conents, Glenn Shaheen, author of "Professional", was mis-identified as a resident of Austin, when in fact he is a resident of Houston.
I can not apologize enough for this grotesque insult.
A recent trip to La Michoacana grocery and meat market yielded some interesting treats such as this flan, that includes colorful cubes of jello:
The FUD brand grilling sausage was only barely edible.
It had the highly organny taste of a sausage with very high organ content. Go fig.
The Mexican version of swiss cake rolls shows a delicious swirl of caramel mixed with the creme.
Unfortunately the caramel is invisible, and it gives the rolls a nasty sour taste.
Every now and then, I try and find the processed fish sticks that taste exactly like the ones I ate in the elementary school cafeteria. These Gorton fish patties didn’t quite manage it, but they did make the claim that they taste just like a grilled cheese sandwich, which is a weird claim for a fish product to make.
And you know, they kinda did.
While passing the Phoenicia Mediterranean bakery on Burnet, I stopped by and found some nifty and affordable foodstuffs. The cheese bread was stone baked, tasty, and a mere $1.75.
I wish I knew what touristic pork ham means. It’s Polish and seems like a spreadable SPAM.
There was also a thinly-sliced cured ham dish that was as pungent as it was sensually raw.
While the roommmate was out of town I ate a lot more bacon than I do normally. I guess I just feel a bit uncomfortable about consuming a pound of bacon in front of witnesses. Here is a photo of my greatest culinary invention since popcorn tacos. I call it the BLTaco:
Yeah, the BLTaco rocks.