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Actually, This Is Me With a Mustache

In my last post, I posted a picture of Ron Swanson with the caption, “this is me with a mustache”. In actuality, this is me with a mustache:

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Random Grab-Bag O’ Thoughts, December 5, 2016 Edition

I talk about Westworld, but it’s spoiler free. Promise.

1. Westworld just aired its season finale. If you haven’t seen it, I strongly urge you to do so. It’s on HBO. If you don’t subscribe to HBO, someone you know has HBO Go. Get their password from them. Ask nicely. Catfish them. Threaten them. I don’t care what you do, just get the damn thing and watch the show. The writing is amazing. There is no such thing as a throwaway line. It’s so tight. I couldn’t write that if you gave me a billion years and a copy of the script. It’s a great example of Chekov’s gun principle: if there is something shown or said on the show, it will be for a reason. The finale pays off in a big way.

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5 Things for Tuesday, October 25th, 2016

1. Jack Chick died today. If you don’t know who he is, you probably didn’t play Dungeons & Dragons back in the ‘80s. Chick was a fundamentalist Christian comic artist who wrote tracks presented in comic book form. These railed about the terrible things bringing American civilization directly into the ARMS of LUCIFER HIMSELF, like Masons, Jehovah’s Witnesses, sports, role-playing games, music, bare navels, evolution, peach pits, homosexuality, Halloween, girls wearing pants, critical thinking, and wearing sandals without socks, to name a few. They were, and are, terrible, bigoted, narrow-minded, and thoroughly, deeply hilarious. They never fail to make me laugh every time I see one. So in his way, he brought a lot of joy to my world. I think if Jack Chick was right about his beliefs, he’d probably be in Hell right now, but if my worldview is correct, his consciousness is no more and he is as one with the Universe now as he was before he was born. I think that’s a nice thought. It’s certainly more than he would have ever wished for me.

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This is laughably inaccurate. When we play D&D, we wear white robes and only draw 2 circles around the pentagram.

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The Five Best Things About The Hobbit Films

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Reblog: Cancer Feelings: Fear

I haven’t had much to say here of late, obviously. I entertain notions of doing so, but time and circumstance and lack of anything meaningful or interesting or funny that I want to say (ed: Never stopped you before.) (Shutup.) has prevented it. Someone who HAS things that are not only meaningful and interesting and funny to say is my wife. She’s writing a series on the feelings that cancer causes from her own perspective. She just posted about Fear, and… let’s just say that it’s deep and insightful and entertaining as hell, because she can write better than I. See for yourself:

Speaking of our house, that’s probably been the hardest and scariest thing. We bought a house in September and I was scared to death of it for the first month. I didn’t want to be alone in it, and I still won’t go into the basement when Alan’s not home (that may be more because basements in general are scary and I’m a child). It definitely helped to get all the furnishings of the old, religious couple who lived here before out (multiple. cherub. switch plates. I shit you not.), but I would still go through the house with a golf club or a sword a lot of the time when I got home alone. I’d ask Alan to draw the curtains at night because I would jump at the movement of the reflections. I couldn’t shake this feeling that something was hiding in our house waiting to attack me. I told my cancer shrink (yup, I have a cancer shrink. She’s a stage 3 breast cancer survivor, 22 years in remission, and she rocks) and she made a very good point. “Of course you’re scared there’s something lurking in your house trying to kill you. There was something hiding in your body for 10 years that just tried to kill you.” And just like that, Carol exploded my brain.

Go here to read the rest of it. Say hi to her when you do. She’s really nice.

Top Ten Inexplicable Names Rich People Give Their Sons Which Are Jobs They’d Never Allow Them to Do for a Living

In order of pretension:

1. Tanner (leather maker)

1. Chandler (candle-maker)

1. Baxter (Baker)

1. Fletcher (arrow maker)

1. Brewster (Brewer, often a female brewer)

1. Carter (one who moves things from place to place, in a cart or as if they are a cart)

1. Hunter (self-explanatory)

1. Cooper (barrel maker)

1. Harper (one who plays a harp)

1. Mason (stoneworker)

And the most horrible name no one should give their son but would probably expect him to do for a living:

Wexler (money-lender)

What I imagine everyone named these things sees in their mirror every day.

What I imagine everyone named these things sees in their mirror every day.

Don’t name your children like this.

What It Would Take to Get Me To Pay $4k a Night for a Hotel

I am not unfamiliar with the concept of a luxury hotel. I am also aware that hotels on the beach in Florida are pricey as all hell. I am not entirely a beautiful naive sophisticated newborn baby (despite what my betrothed would say), so the fact that there are incredibly expensive hotel rooms out there is not a shock or unfathomable or anything. It does make me feel a little ill, to be honest, or at least the concept of paying for such a hotel does – I am an accountant, after all, and cost/benefit analysis is as hard-wired into my psyche (accountants are born, not made – if someone likes to learn about rules and is the first one to read them when a new boardgame is brought out, you’d probably make an excellent accountant. Which after reading that makes accountants sound boring as hell, which isn’t always true, but accounting itself really is pretty boring when you get right down to it.) as love of steak and distrust of yellow squash. I can’t wrap my head around paying 10 times as much for something simply for the fact that I can afford it when a suitable alternative provides the same function. I get nauseous.

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Five Things on a Monday – December 8th 2014

He hungers for souls.

He hungers for souls.

Since I don’t have any opinions on hotly-contested topics I wanted to express – today, anyway – I thought I’d fall back on an old thing I used to do, five brief blurbs about something that I find interesting or annoying or happening or some kind of ing. Here are those five things for today:

1. I saw BBC’s Sherlock for the first time this past weekend. I’d heard a lot about it from people – well, mostly about how people of all sexes want to carry Benedict Cumberbatch’s babies – but I’d never gotten a chance (well, actually, I’d never carved out the space for it) to see the show before. I thought it was a great show, with an excellent cast doing an amazing job of putting Sherlock in the modern day without losing the Holmesy feel. BC (even I have my limits on how much I want to type) and Martin Freeman absolutely sparkle in their interactions and make a script full of superb dialogue really crackle like a mouthful of locusts. Moriarty, Lestrade, Irene Adler – they all put a different spin on the classic characters and really shine, but none more so than Moriarty (played by Andrew Scott), who makes both the funniest and scariest villain I’ve seen in a long time – he is just flat-out crazy and awesome. So if you have missed this obscure series (it’s only won several Emmys, BAFTAs, and Golden Globes and is the most-watched drama series in the UK and insured international stardom for BC – it’s been flying well under the radar and you’ve probably never heard of it), I’d recommend you give it a whirl. And unlike those people who expect you to watch the entirety of The Wire and Dexter and the Sopranos and Parks and Recreation and Scandal and etc and so forth – watching all of it would take you just one longish Saturday binge.

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Yes, I’m Still Alive

Holy shit. I knew it had been awhile since I’d posted anything here, but I didn’t realize that it’d been a year-and-a-fucking-half. Time really flies when you don’t have anything you want to say.

Well, I’m back now. Hopefully for good. I spent some time recently reading through some of my old posts and I was pleasantly surprised by some of what I wrote. I even laughed out loud at some of the shit that I have no memory of writing, which is always a treat. So I was contemplating a return to this place, exercise my brain and try to recapture the voice that I use here, since that voice is the same voice in Waiting on the Dead and I’m seriously out of practice with the manic foul-mouthed hate-fueled style that me and the narrator both use to dish out bullshit thinly disguised as thoughts and half-baked observations about ephemera and terrible adaptations of the things I love (fuck you, Hobbit movies) in that particular cadence that evokes the ramblings of a meth-fueled ex-child-star with a microphone shoved into his face for the first time in a decade.

OK, run-on sentence achievement unlocked. That’s a good sign.

So anyway, I have no idea what I’m going to say here tomorrow or Friday or whenever. I have some ideas – someone told me I should retell the story from the Silmarillion in plain English and in a conversational style, which appeals to me since most people would rather gargle nail polish remover than read that book, which is crazy because it’s the best book of all time, but whatever, some people have no taste, but I also realize that it would end being more words than is actually in the Silmarillion because I’ve never met a sentence that couldn’t stand to have a few adjectives and adverbs and clauses and asides shoved in there – that I may work with, or I might talk about a movie project that I’m currently involved in, or I might just bitch about the terrible sound quality of America’s drive-thru speaker system – if we don’t maintain our infrastructure, America, then the terrorists win – or some other random thing that no one but me gives a shit about. We shall see.

I wasn’t surprised when I returned about one thing, though: people still really fucking want to know if they found Sophia in The Walking Dead. You’d think three years would have gotten the message out, especially if you know who Sophia is and care enough to look up if she got found but can’t be bothered to watch the show or talk to anyone about it, but whatever. 100 visits a day to a blog that hasn’t been updated in forever is something nice to come home to.

And yes, I just spent five hundred words communicating something that could have effectively done in two, which means that I might just be able to recapture the old spirit of this whole shebang. So for the TL/DR assholes out there, allow me to give you the two-word version of this post:

I’m back.

Bitches.

Fine, three words then.

I Want You To Write My Novel For Free (Updated with FAQ)

It’s a win-win, right? You do the writing, I copy and paste it, slap my name on the cover, and pay you in those most priceless of gifts, an Acknowledgement and a death in print! (It’s priceless, you see, because I will not be paying you in actual money in any way, therefore having no price for me whatsoever.) I mean, who could pass up a deal like that? You won’t find a better one – well, at least maybe a more honest one – in town!

OK, so now this is where I explain that I haven’t gone completely off the deep end, thereby invalidating the prize for everyone who had April 17th 2013 in the pool for Yep, Alan’s Finally Snapped and Needs a Burly Escort to the Rubber Room.

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