Memorialize this!!!

I shouldn’t have to care, I didn’t die while in the military.  But I do appreciate an extra day off, who doesn’t right?  But let’s remember what it’s supposed to stand for, or at least pretend we care.  Fact is, for most holidays we couldn’t care less; it’s a paid day off, forget the facts right?  Fuck no!!!

We “celebrate” for those that died in combat in prior wars. I think we have honestly forgotten there are plenty of missions going on right now and plenty of soldiers dying.  I’m here to say “Don’t worry about the guys out there right now”, they’re doing fine.  I remember my DI (Drill Instructor) warning me back in ’98 that some of us would see war as we finished boot camp.  Son of a bitch was right, some of us did see war.  There is no infantry enlisted soldier that doesn’t realize that there is a slight possibility that they will see war, be injured or die due to that.  It’s what we do, we fight, we die or we come home.

I understand the reason for Memorial Day, I appreciate it.  So do moms, brothers, sisters and friends.  But for the living, the ones who saw a country with no god just kids with guns we couldn’t honestly care less, it’s a day off for us just like it was when we were back in the rear. 

So enjoy your BBQ just like I did today, a rib eye steak cooked over an open fire.  Enjoy the day off from work just like I did.  But for the love of anything you hold sacred don’t forget it’s just another day for you ‘cause you haven’t done anything to earn it or appreciate it.  If you have, don’t listen to me ramble.  But if you haven’t, call off the wah-ambulance ‘cause you have to work, call it off ‘cause things didn’t go your way, call it off ‘cause you feel that it’s unfair.  Shut your mouth, take the time to think and realize that not everything is about you, there are things greater than you and things will go a lot smoother if you stopped thinking otherwise.

Podcast

This list prompted a discussion between myself & Juan (zombieyears.com) that in turn prompted our very first podcast.  The list consists of pitches & pilots for the upcoming season of television from the four major networks.  Some good ideas & some horrible ones, somewhere in the middle of it we decided this needed to be recorded.  Because we can't shut up I broke the podcast into 5 parts (thanks ABC), god forbid we torture anyone with the whole discussion as one file.  Enjoy.

Click here to listen to each networks picked shows.

Update:  Untitled Ed Redlich & John Bellucci Project Female NYPD detective has uncanny memory.
Update:  Grimm Fairytales meet cops.


Commmercials are out for these.

R.I.P. Macho "Childhood" Man

“Macho Man” Randy Savage died and along with him a little bit of my childhood died, too.  In a few years remakes will stop, well I doubt they will ever stop, but they will stop remaking the stuff from my childhood.  After that, all I grew up with will disappear and with it my late childhood.  Luckily they haven’t raped all my childhood for profit yet or dug up the cemetery where they all lay waiting.  The Smurfs already got hit, 21 Jump Street has a hit out on them, Transformers are zombies at this point, poor G.I. Joe got ambushed, A-Team had some good doctors work on them but still just a corpse of their former self, even Clash of the Titans didn’t stand a chance.  Whatever’s left I’ll keep to myself so that anyone listening won’t steal what little luster there is left of my childhood.

Let’s take a minute to talk about childhood.  Sometimes I think my childhood was taken from me, unbeknownst to my mother, shit we needed to work to pay the bills and she needed help working.  That’s it, nothing more to it.  That’s the same lady that bought me my first typewriter ‘cause she saw I like to write, probably with some of that money I help her earn that month. 

So too often I find myself saying yes I didn’t do a lot of things other kids were doing, but I also admit to being able to catch up to my childhood in the following years as a late teen.  A little old for a sleepover but it happened.  But losing that childhood gave me the adolescence that too many teens envied, while I almost took it for granted.  I wasn’t rebellious, I got into some shit, did some shit but never disrespected my mother or our home.  Basically got away with plenty that other teens never even came close to being able to get away with.

I’m in my 30’s now and can take the time to reminisce and explore the fact that I should no longer claim that my childlike-wonder is a direct result from an absent childhood that I recaptured years later anyway.  I guess what I’m saying is it’s time to grow the fuck up.  I read comics cause I like them, I watch cartoons because they capture my attention.  Fact is I write and if someone came to me and offered me money to write a kids’ cartoon I’d take his money and run to my office to write like a madman. 

There I go justifying why I do childish things, why do I need to?  I’m not playing, I put on a mask when I leave the house but this isn’t that mask, I like shiny things and bright colors tend to steal my gaze, I find my imagination challenged by drawings and paintings.  There’s something to say about being able to personify fears, monsters, and the unknown, and I take pleasure in providing that for myself and those willing to listen.

So rest in peace Macho Man, keep in peace that little bit of childhood of mine you take with you and protect it.  Make room for those coming after and serve as a St. Peter at the rusty copper gates that hold together the sanity I claim now due to you Macho and those like you that roam in my head and fly out my mouth when I talk to “kids” like me.

-This message is approved by my childhood-

The first is the last

            I drink the first sip, it burns so good down my throat. The only love hate relationship I have with my drinking is that I love it but hate it when it’s not around.  Drink of choice:  rum and Coca Cola.  A Cuba Libre as it’s otherwise known.  To which I say, no, I’m sure Cubans would rather be known for mojitos, though Havana Club makes some great dark rum.

            So let’s dedicate this post to the first sip and how it sucks that we can never remember the last.  You know the feeling, after a long day, long drive home, you open the door, the dog greets you, the girl greets you, the scent of something just about done in the oven greets you and on the table a glass of half and half with just enough condensation to let you know it’s just right.  You empty your pockets on your nightstand, you ask about her day, you remove your shoes and slide into your slippers. 

            The glass is cool on my lips, the taste hits the buds and slowly trickles into my mouth.  I let it fill and take a big gulp down my gullet.  It’s not amazing, or out of this world but fuck does it feel right.  It doesn’t compare to something else, it’s not something that has a ritual, it doesn’t even make sense that it should feel so good.  It just does, that cold elixir fills my body and lets the nepenthe fill my veins until I forget the day’s events. 

            I drink one cup, followed by another, and yet one more after that.  Each glass, the first sip loses it’s luster but never it’s taste.  I drink ‘til the drinking hour is done and then drink one more.  There’re rules to this game, but I’m making the rules up as I go.  Sip another drink and this moment almost makes sense. 

            The first no longer has any taste and I wish I could remember the last one but if I could then the last drink would taste like the first, but somewhere in between everything feels right and the darker the rum the sweeter the mix.  The sweeter the mix the easier to confuse the bitter truth from the sad reality that without the first there would be no last and that last only enables the first to exist.

            So cheers, baby, for being the first but goddamn you for ruining my last.

-EXTRA! EXTRA! EXTRA!-

I'm working with Juan Navarro from zombieyears.com and a whole lot of other things, the dude doesn't sleep i think, on an illustrated kids book.  THE ABZ'S OF ZOMBIE SURVIVAL.  I think it's a fun idea to touch on a subject that has so much potential and so much material out already.  A year ago i wouldn't have thought about something like this, but thanks to Juan my imagination has been on fire to zombies and luckily he's fuel to that fire.  This should be a lot of fun to do and i'll post up a page or two when they are ready.  Hopefully we can get it out soon but like i said, the man does everything, and i might not have finished all the writing yet, yet.  No worries though, i got the BRAINS for it.  (Yeah, that was bad)

 Quick preview of what's to come.

The nurse left at 5 pm.

The nurse left at 5 pm. If you can even call her a nurse- she ensures I swallow my drugs and then leaves. I doubt a monkey could do that but I’m sure one man could be paid minimum wage to watch 10 monitors and make sure it gets done. I had always disagreed with those things but lately they seem to make sense. I can sleep a full 6 hours now. The doctors call it post traumatic- but honestly I was having these problems before, I had just never been diagnosed until now and with my "back packing" trip through most of Iraq it's easy to get it confused.

After I wake up the nurse comes in to remind me that I need to take my meds. Those usually wake me up and get me going for the day. At 2 she reminds me again; those give me an appetite like you wouldn’t believe. At 8 I take my last ones- she leaves me a note for those, those are the ones that make a robot dream. She comes and goes throughout the day, she clocks in and out at will, she doesn’t really have a schedule but she's always there when I need her.

The nurse hasn’t been doing this too long, I can tell when she makes mistakes and she can tell when I call her out on them. We both laugh but she always gives me that raised eyebrow look telling me I should "watch it, sir!". We'll see how long she lasts, who knows how many more there will be after her. This just started, who knows how long this will last, if it ends up being long term I wonder if she'll still be my nurse.

I don’t plan on going on past the required amount of time taking these damn things. I mean I don’t need them, I do like them, but I refuse to be that person who you hear about being addicted. Smokes couldn’t do it, alcohol barely has a hold on me so there is no way these little guys are going to break my record. But for the sake of the nurse I will do the bare minimum I have to, I barely know her but I would hate for her to feel she didn’t do a good job and failed me.

This has progressed to a level I wasn’t expecting, it started with me just trying to get some extra money from the VA. My buddies were all getting in on it, who can’t use an extra $300 a month, that was going to be my beer money. Now the nurse won’t even let me drink- well, she lets me squeeze in a few drinks a week, but not without stern warning on how many years of my life each one of those drops are taking from me. She's a little dramatic if you ask me, but no one ever asks me for a proficiency report on her. She freelances from what I can tell, though I never hear her talking about other patients.

The transformation when the nurse clocks out is amazing. It is to me, at least. She just laughs about it most of the time. At 5 sharp she turns into a whole different person, so much so that I think I’m even nicer to her. The nurse leaves at 5 and that's when she turns into my wife.

“Well it seems I got that old traveling bone…”

I hit the road and just kept running months after I turned 18, packed my bags and that was it.  It seems like I’ve got some sort of wondering spirit and as long as I can see the road it seems to feel like home wherever I am.  I don’t know where that comes from, it’s not a need but I don’t find it to be a fault either.  I spent years behind the wheel of an 18 wheeler and it never felt like I lost my way, there was always a home base at the end of my log book.  Went overseas and never felt homesick.  I’m bound to bound from place to place it seems, even now I look at my surroundings and it’s not home, just a temporary place to lay my head.  My pillow has been a camouflaged pack, a rock, a $3 pillow from Wal-Mart, a stranger’s bed and mostly a surprise when I wake up.  I’ve packed my bags more often than I’ve changed jobs, which says a lot considering how much I’ve moved.  The most peaceful I’ve ever been was during the full moon under the stars where I was able to see all the stars, doesn’t matter where it was it always seemed like the place I was supposed to be.  Maybe that’s why I associate myself with people who did the same, damn you Kerouac, but it has been a fun trip and I do eventually end up in the same place, back in LA.  So “put a candle in the window…yeah I’ll becoming home soon, as long as I can see the light”.

The BBQ scene

INTERIOR OF CAR.  DRIVING THROUGH A RESIDENTIAL AREA.

 

RAY

Thanks for coming bro, these type of get together are boring as fuck.  It’s like the richer you get, the duller you become.

 

CHRIS

Well unless you get money through stardom, I’ve heard that’s fun.  I mean they look like their having fun in those US Weekly magazines at the grocery store.

 

RAY

Well this guy got it through his PHD, so that’s the opposite of fun I hear.

 

CHRIS

No shit?  What kind of doctor is he?

 

RAY

Actually I don’t know.  But I know my sister was impressed by it when they met.

 

CAR STOPS IN FRONT OF LARGE HOUSE, MANSION LIKE.

 

RAY

Ok, we’re here.

 

CHRIS

What’s his name again?

 

RAY

Doug.  Ok lets go.

 

EXTERIOR.  BACKYARD OF LARGE HOUSE.  RAY AND CHRIS STANDING BY A BAR.

 

RAY

Can you believe this shit.  This dude’s got a taco cart in here, for my sister’s side of the family.  Right next to a sushi bar, an open bar, a live band and a fucking chocolate fountain.  You don’t even have to dip your own strawberries, he’s got a dude for that too!  It’s like marrying into royalty, but not.

 

CHRIS

This is pretty sick man.

 

PAUSE.

 

How fucking poor are we that this is what we’re impressed by?

 

RAY

Speak for yourself, I’m marrying into this.  

 

A MAN APPROACHES RAY AND CHRIS STILL AT THE BAR.

 

RAY

Doug! This is a great party man.

 

DOUG

Thanks.  Hey you’re sister’s looking for you.

 

RAY

Oh okay, I’ll see you guys in a bit.

 

RAY EXITS.

 

CHRIS

This IS a great party man.

 

DOUG

Thanks, I’m glad you guys could make it.

 

CHRIS

Anytime.  Seriously, any time.

 

PAUSE.

 

So Ray wasn’t specific, but what kind of doctor are you?

 

DOUG

Oh I’m not a doctor.

 

CHRIS

Oh I’m sorry I think I misunderstood Ray.  I thought he said you had a doctorate.

 

DOUG

Oh that, yes I have a PHD.  A PHD on doctorates.

 

CHRIS

So you are a doctor?

 

DOUG

By title mostly.

 

CHRIS
Ok, so what field do you specialize in?

 

DOUG

All of them.

 

CHRIS

What do you mean?

 

DOUG

I know what all doctors know.

 

CHRIS

Wow!  I didn’t know there was a way to do that, or that it was possible.  How did you pull that of?

 

DOUG

Study your butt off, that’s about all I can say.  Its not that big of deal really.

 

CHRIS
But I mean to be able to just step in and do what any doctor can do.

 

DOUG

Oh no I cant do what doctors do.

 

CHRIS

 

PUZZLED.

 

I thought you said you knew what all doctors knew?

 

DOUG
Yes I do.  I specialize in knowing what doctors know.

 

MATTER OF FACT LOOK ON HIS FACE.

 

I know what all doctors should know.

 

CHRIS

So you studied to know what…

PAUSE.

Doctors…should

 

PAUSE.

 

Know?

But you don’t actually do any doctoral things, like saving lives, or animals or anything.  You don’t even fight gingivitis?

 

DOUG

No.

 

OFFENDED.

 

My doctorate is on doctors, not medicine.

 

CHRIS

PENSIVE.

 

Huh, a doctorate on doctors.

 

DOUG

Yep.

 

LOOKS AROUND, HANDS IN HIS TROUSER POCKETS.

 

CHRIS

LOOKS AROUND.

 

Well you must be good at what you do, this is an impressive house.

 

DOUG

I do ok, but thank you. 

 

If you’ll excuse me.

 

DOUG EXITS.

 

RAY ENTERS.

 

RAY

BEWILDERED LOOK ON HIS FACE.

Have you ever heard of a PHD in doctorates?

 

CHRIS

Yeah…study of doctors if I’m correct.

 

RAY

Yeah.

 

CHRIS AND RAY BOTH LOOK AROUND, PANORAMIC-LIKE AT THE LARGE HOUSE.

It's the end of the world

It’s the end of the world, but no one at Morongo knows it, or cares, most of these old farts have been expecting it, waiting for it or praying to see it in their lifetime, my mother included, though I doubt she ever waited for it, she’s got too much energy to be sitting around for death, or the apocalypse, right now her concentration lies on the 5cent slot machine with the American Bandstand theme to it, just like the roulette table did just an hour ago, god love her, I hate gambling but I like trying new things, the roulette table was the primary reason to come out here, but seeing her excitement fuels me like nothing else right now, I tried the roulette table too don’t get me wrong, but in the process of teaching her how to play I lost my $20, she on the other hand turned $5 into $50, another interesting thing, well that I found interesting, is that she doesn’t know how to play most of these slot machines, but I am with her, at her back or her side to make sure she understands, and even now as I watch her turn 5cents into $101 at the slot machine I can’t help but smile at how beautiful she looks happy, I know I wont have her forever, I’ll be lucky if she’s there another 20, I’ll take what I can get, but at this moment nothing matters, the world could be ending, but here at Morongo nobody knows it or cares.

Cool Hand Jackie

They say “don’t judge a book by its cover” and for the most part it’s true, but goddamn you movies!!!  So, it’s zero-dark-thirty and I’m flipping through NETFLIX yet again trying to find something to watch that A:  I wouldn’t normally watch and B:  Has to be some sort of exploitation.  ‘Cause one thing NETFLIX is good for is the really out there stuff that they have rights to.  So I’m flipping, flipping and flipping.  Then I see Jackie Chan on the cover of a movie called “The Prisoner” and I thought “I haven’t seen Jackie in his prime in a while” and I press play.

Let’s get something straight, though: I’ve been known for watching bad movies and for liking bad movies.  Jackie’s movies aren’t bad per se, but you do have to have a taste for his kind of movie. That being said, don’t lie to me about a movie with your cover.  This movie has Jackie on the cover for really no apparent reason; at best you can say Jackie has an extended cameo.  So why put him on the cover, huh? Seriously, I mean you could have sold me with Sammo Hung, he’s not a bad actor.  Now, if you are going to already lie to me with the cover, why not call the movie at least what it is, a mish mash of American prison movies put together.  I mean it was practically a Chinese fan movie about American prison movies.  There are at least 2 scenes that are almost shot for shot recreations of “Cool Hand Luke” - come on, Jackie!!  I blame you ‘cause I’m sure you’re aware that they use you on the cover.

In conclusion, no, I did not finish watching the movie.  I was angry and wasn’t going to take it anymore.  It wasn’t a terrible movie from what I saw, but the lies, oh the lies.  Why-won’t-anyone-think-of-the-children lies.  I just could not get over them.  But, hey, you take the good with the bad, I guess.  Just saying.

Hi...

Writing has been a way for me to communicate with a world that refuses to listen to me.  I’ve been able to slip it notes in class to tell it how I feel.  It laughs it off as a school boy crush but it knows I’m around.  For a while that was enough, but lately I’ve been wanting more, maybe a commitment.  So I’m putting it all out there, sitting outside its window with my ipod and bose system for the whole neighborhood to hear.  I imagine you’re reading this ‘cause it thought that maybe you and I would be a better match.