Critical Thinking

While a part of me feels strange talking about In a Cabin in the Woods so much, this blog is supposed to be a record of the rambling thought that go through my head, and as those who've been in close contact with me for the last couple of months can tell you, while working on Cabin there wasn't room for much of anything else in there. So, it shouldn't come as much of a surprise that, while not always at the forefront of my brain now, it still occupies much of my idle thoughts.

When it comes to writing, I think I'm very much in the Stephen King school; by that I mean that the way I write the stories is very much like how he's described his own writing process, wherein the characters sort of take over and lead him down paths he had never expected. I definitely am not comparing myself to him in terms of my writing skill or ability to write a suitably chilling horror story, as Flunky will be glad to tell you.

Oh, did I forget to mention that I got feedback from Flunky? Yup, we chatted online the other night; he was very forthright in listing all of the many, many flaws he saw in the piece. As for the positives, he was very complimentary of the bits of poetry I came up with and . . . well, that's about it. Oh, wait, he also said he was in awe of how much I wrote. So, to recap: I’m a wordy bastage who should stick to poetry.

Remind me again why I wanted feedback?


Okay, before we go any further, let me preface it with this: are there any words scarier to the potential recipient of criticism than "let me preface it with this?" Yes, the preface statement is generally of a positive note, but it's also usually an "okay, here's a little bit of nicety up front that you can look back on fondly while I rip the heart and soul out of your work" sort of thing. Well-intentioned, but occasionally nerve-wracking. I mention this because so far two of my reviewers have started thusly; I felt like I was on the Superman ride at Six Flags, the sinking feeling hit my stomach so hard. If you'll notice, I kind of subverted the standard use of the preface statement above; I'm a rebel, I am!

It took me a few days to decide whether I wanted to talk about my chat with Flunky: on the one hand, it pretty much consumed my thoughts for the next day or so, which makes it prime blogging material. On the other hand, I was afraid that my talking about it might come across as (a) Flunky bashing (b) passive aggression (c) fishing for compliments (d) all of the above (e) insert own negative connotation here. But the gripping hand is, it was either indulge in some cathartic blogging or drown in my own cycle of composition. So, after taking a couple of days to gather my thoughts, here we are.

One thing I want to stress here, if just because experience has taught that people tend to read the worst intentions in my work (which I suppose shows what they think of me, but that's a paranoia to be chased some other time), and I really don't want this to be one of those times, so, please, bear this in mind: the purpose of this post it to explore my reaction to criticism in general, using my discussion with Flunky as an example; this is in no way, shape, or form a condemnation of Flunky or his critical appraisal of my work.

Now that that's out of the way, on to the evisceration of my pride and joy!

All kidding aside, Flunky's critique of Cabin was exactly what I was wanting: an honest reaction, pointing out what he saw as the problem spots. Flunky basically said "these are the problems/questions I had as the reader": example A was clunky, example B was confusing, example C was annoying, example D used "dirt" instead of "soil*," etc., etc. I can't say that I agreed with all of his points, but I was able to see where he was coming from on most of them. Would I have been happier if the positives outweighed the negatives? Well, of course, I'm not that big of a masochist. But, better truthful criticism than phony praise; or, so I keep trying to convince myself . . .

Although he had something critical to say about every story save one (which I suspect just slipped his mind), the bulk of the problems he addressed centered around one story in particular; for now I'll leave it to those who've read Cabin to guess which story holds this honor. To be honest, the singling out of one story didn't surprise me: it was the story which I had previously described as the one I was the least happy with. It also (not coincidentally, I'm sure) was the first story I finished. I was never fully satisfied with it, but I was so fixated on getting the other stories written by my deadline that I never found the time/energy to do much editing or revision. I had convinced myself that it was fine as is; I now know better.

Since the critique was done through IM, I had a chance to respond to his comments as they came along; that's an awkward situation in and of itself. I had to make some sort of response, lest he start to think that I was ticked off and sulking, so I found myself overloading my responses with emoticons to make sure they didn't come across as a kind of "I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore!" style reply; the perils of online communication and its lack of verbal and physical cues. I read each reply three or four times before hitting "send," analyzing it to an insane degree; was I being too defensive? Too flippant? Too touchy? Too too? Yes, the neurosis was in full swing. The advantage of the conversational format was that I was able to prod for clarification on some points; of course, the downside is that there were a couple of conversational deviations that detoured us from the matter at hand, a problem that wouldn't have occurred with an emailed review.

Some of Flunky's criticisms were accompanied by suggestions for ways to "fix" the problems; I don't think there was a single one that made me go "yes, that's the answer, well done, my friend, well done!" In fact, most of them provoked more of a "no, that would never work, never, do you hear me?!?!" reaction. Not because the ideas were bad, per se, but because they didn't gel with my (for lack of a better (and less pompous) word) "vision." Not to mention my tendency towards "sorry, if it's not my idea, I can't use it" behavior; call it pride, call it stubbornness, call it fierce independence, call it borderline OCD, stick a feather in its hat and call it macaroni; I'm sure there's bits of truth in each of them. Well, except that macaroni bit. Flunky would say "You could do this," and I would callously brush off his well-intentioned advice with a high-handed "But that doesn't feel right," only to follow it up with a "But what does feel right is this" response. So, while his suggestions themselves may not have taken root, they did spur my thoughts in other directions.

Following the demolishing of my ego, I jokingly told Flunky I was going to go and cry myself to sleep; his response was “Don’t you do that every night?” Touché, my friend, touché. And while I wasn’t quite an emotional wreck, I have to admit that the whole process left me . . . I don’t want to say “upset,” which carries a connotation of anger which doesn’t fit. Depressed? Out of sorts? Beside myself? Something along those lines; as welcome as the criticism was in terms of self-improvement, there’s just something about having one’s shortcomings enumerated that takes the wind out of one’s sails. Unpleasant as it is, it’s a necessary evil: without constructive critiques, I would never have an opportunity to truly improve my writing.

I haven't been able to work up the nerve to give Cabin a good once-over after talking with Flunky, but I fully plan on it; right now I'm regretting sending Cabin out to as many people as I have in its less-than-perfect condition. Of course, if I waited for perfection, nobody would ever get a chance to read it. Although, that would mean that nobody would ever critique it either . . . hmm, maybe I'm on to something here . . .

Oh, who am I trying to kid? We all know that I’m too big of an attention whore to keep from shoving my stuff in people’s faces.

*Trust me, if you know Flunky well, the dirt/soil thing is hilarious; I only wish I'd done it on purpose. I prefer my Flunky-baiting to be done intentionally.

Go On, I Dare Ya!

One of my favorite things on the TV show Ed was the running joke of "I'll give you ten bucks to [insert absurd dare here]" Outisde of the general amusement factor, a large part of what I liked about it was that it reminded me of my college years. In particular, it reminded me of Dr. G'ovich, who often indulged in his function of "devil on the shoulder" to dare or bet others into questionable activities. For a while he and The Old Man did a variation on the Ed thing, only at a much cheaper rate; I believe their bets were $1, although they may have gone as high as $2. The only one I remember distinctly was one that The Old Man balked at; the Doc had offered him a buck or two if he would stand up on the table in the lobby, drop his pants, and sing "I'm a Little Teapot." The Old Man refused; he had no problems with getting up on the table and dropping his pants; no, it was the song he objected to. Not singing in general, but that song in particular; he wouldn't even sing it if he'd been able to keep his pants on. Some people.

Whammy, Wowee, Zowee! You've Just Been Pranked!

Pranks.

I stink at pranks.

I just don't have the devious mind necessary to concoct them, unlike most of my former roomies. But, when you're stuck living with a bunch of guys, whether it be in a dorm or a house, there's no way to avoid being embroiled in them; pranks are a way of life.

One of the most popular ones in the dorms was the "penny lock." I don't pretend to understand the physics of it all, but the basic idea is this: you stand outside the dorm room, pushing against it as hard as you can, jamming pennies into the space created near the handle, which somehow keeps the door from opening. One of my favorite examples was when one of the guys on my floor had his phone cord stolen by his "friends" right before they locked him in, so he was forced to resort to sticking his head out his window and yelling at passersby for help.

I myself was never the victim of a pennylock; not for lack of trying, I'm sure, but more due to room placement. You see, in most cases in order to get enough pressure on the door to place the pennies, one of the pranksters would push off of the wall facing the door; since my room opened up onto the elevator landing, this was impossible. Now, the only attempted penny locking that I know of was doubly futile because I was aware of it happening. You see, Rudy and I had been tormenting Coronela somehow (quite possibly by trying to work a certain phrase that was also the title of a song she detested into our conversation every chance we got; that was one of our more regular Coronela-baiting tactics) and she had finally given chase; we raced up stairs to my room. Since she couldn't be on our floor unescorted, she grabbed Captain Ego to be her token male presence. When we refused to open up for her, they decided to attempt a penny lock. Of course, not only did they have difficulties getting the necessary pressure, but Rudy and I would periodically jiggle the door, causing the pennies to fall and roll under my door; torturing my friends has never been as profitable for me since.

Another frequent prank was the use of thumbtacks on the elevator doors in the dorm. Basically, if you place a tack in the rubber part of the door, the doors would close all the way, but the sensor would think they were still open, so the elevator wouldn't go anywhere; I believe G'ovich made reference to this in his "Very Bad Things" post a while back. I remember one occasion where we had gotten on the elevator with one of the female residents of the dorm who was in a foul mood to begin with; when all of the guys got off on our floor, G'ovich placed the tack, and we all congregated outside of my door to watch the fun; the doors opened, and she was fuming, storming past us to the stairs, not even caring that she was unescorted. I don't think my description can possibly do the situation justice.

Other Parker pranks included the "face-paint" incident which helped bond Flunky and G'ovich. I was out of town that evening, so I'm a little blurry on the details, but it basically boiled down to the two of them going around the dorm and smearing facepaint on doorknobs, pool cues, etc. in order to get it all over the hands of unsuspecting dorm residents. I can still hear Flunky's whispered threats of "Facepaint! Facepaint!" echoing in my mind.

And then there were the fireworks.

You know those pull-string fireworks? The ones where you have to pull on a string on each side to make it go off? The kind that seem just perfectly crafted to attach to your roommate's bedroom door so that they pop whenever he opens it up? I think you see where I'm going with this.

One person you didn't want to prank was The Old Man, or at least, so his stories led us to believe. He regaled us with tales of a time while he was in the Coast Guard when a prank war broke out between him and a crewmate, a prank war which escalated into destruction of personal property. Whether the stories were true or just a way to discourage people from messing with him, I couldn't say, but they served that purpose pretty well.

I’ll close with a recounting of a one-time prank that happened when I was still rooming with Bubbles. One day I got up not long after I heard Bubbles head to class and opened the door to our room, only to find the doorway completely covered in a wall of cotton. My biggest question was not who had done it, but how the heck did Bubbles get out, since I was pretty sure it hadn't been him behind it. I later found out that the barrier had indeed been there when he first got up; he had taken it partway down to go shower but, being such a considerate roomie, he had put it back up when he left for class so that I wouldn't miss out on the experience. What a swell guy, huh?

Oh, and three guesses which oft-mentioned blog monkey was responsible in the first place.

Written Word Wed. - ". . . Once He'd Ridden Without Pants, Too, But Luckily All the Tar and Feathers Helped Him Stick to the Horse . . ."

Once again, I shall have to pass on reviewing Robin Hobb's Farseer trilogy, this time because I'm too preoccupied reading Kathy Reichs' Deja Dead, which is ostensibly the basis of the TV show Bones, but which so far has demonstrated little in common with the series beyond a forensic anthropologist who happens to be named Temperance Brennan; the Temperance in the book and the Temperance of the show are worlds apart. Trying to decide if I would have liked the book better if I hadn't seen the show first; of course, if I had read and enjoyed the book first, I might have been less thrilled with the show. But, more on that once I'm done with it; until I can find the time and/or motivation to write a new review, you'll have to settle for yet another left-over from my Genre Fiction class. This time, it's my Fantasy selection; the first part might sound a little familiar. That's right; it's another Discworld novel.


Pratchett, Terry. Going Postal. New York: HarperCollins, 2004. ISBN: 0-06-001313-3

Going Postal is the 29th or 30th (depending on if you count the illustrated The Last Hero or not) novel in the bestselling Discworld series. Before addressing the book itself, here’s some background on the series. The series is set on the Discworld, a disc-shaped world (of course) which rests on the backs of four giant elephants, which in turn stand on the back of the Great Turtle A’Tuin, who in turn soars through the vastness of space. Discworld is a world filled with mystical characters such as wizards, witches, gods, vampires, golems, zombies, and about anything else you can think of. Most of the action in the series revolves around the sprawling city of Ankh-Morpork. The series started off as a parody of typical Sword-and-Sorcery novels, but over time its scope has evolved into covering a wide range of topics, including Hollywood, Rock & Roll, freedom of the press, jingoism, and every possible stereotype we have of Australia. Different books focus on different characters, and I tend to place the books into one of six categories of my own devising. The category that has dominated most of the recent Discworld books is one I call “Tales of Ankh-Morpork,” and it is into this category that Going Postal falls.

The protagonist of Going Postal is the unfortunately named Moist van Lipwig, an unrepentant (and highly successful) con-man. At the beginning of the book, Moist is hard pressed to decide which of the following is the most surprising: that he has actually been captured by the Ankh-Morpork City Watch (which he hardly feels is fair since they neglected to advertise the fact that they had werewolves in the Watch); that he has been sentenced to death by hanging (under his assumed name of Alfred Spangler) and, indeed, has been hung; or that following his hanging he awakens to find himself not only alive (albeit with a sore throat), but seated in front of the Machiavellian ruler of Ankh-Morpork, Lord Vetinari, who declares that Moist’s alter-ego of Alfred Spangler is now legally dead and that Moist has the choice of either accepting a job as the Ankh-Morpork Post Master or joining Alfred Spangler in the great abyss. Moist agrees, hoping to make his escape at the first opening, but is deterred by the presence of his parole officer, the nigh-unstoppable golem known as Mr. Pump. Resigning himself to his position (for the time-being), Moist proceeds to take over the post office, which has become rundown and forgotten in the face of the new-fangled Clacks system (a sort of semaphore-based Internet). Moist learns to his horror that the post office is filled to overflowing with years worth of undelivered mail, a condition that is worsened by the fact that, on the Discworld, even the most basic words have power; messages have an innate desire to be delivered; and a large enough confluence of the two can begin to warp reality himself. Moist soon finds himself chosen to be the avatar for the undelivered mail and so undertakes a mission to return the post office to its former glory. Unfortunately, his attempts attract the attention of the businessmen in charge of the Clacks, who don’t take kindly to the threat to their monopoly on communication and who are willing to go to extreme (and deadly) measures to make sure that their business emerges on top.

Going Postal is an example of a humorous fantasy. It exemplifies several conventions of the genre, such as the presences of magic and magical creatures and an otherworldly setting. Although it is part of a series of books, unlike most fantasy series the Discworld books are more episodic in nature. There are recurring characters and themes, but with rare exceptions each book is a self-contained adventure. The transformation of Moist from a self-serving conman to the noble Postmaster reflects the idea of a journey of discovery often found in Fantasy.

I enjoyed this novel a great deal. Pratchett is one of those rare authors with the ability to make me laugh out loud in every book. Pratchett has a gift for constructing quirky characters whose logic doesn’t quite gel with the world around them. Although I was saddened that most of the long-time characters were minimized in this book, the new characters were just as engaging and entertaining. Moist, like many of Pratchett’s protagonists, is a cynical observer who is constantly flummoxed by the illogic of those around him, and in many ways represents the reader’s P.O.V., only filtered through the mind of an almost pathological con-artist.

While I would gladly recommend this novel, I would caution that it would probably be best to read some of the earlier books first, in particular The Colour of Magic (the first book in the series) and Feet of Clay (which features the Watch, Lord Vetinari, and golems), although a quick glance at the online primer (http://www.terrypratchettbooks.com/discworld/) might work just as well. Although this book could conceivably stand on its own, I feel that there are numerous facets of the novel which would be better grasped by someone who had a better understanding of the series as a whole. I think this novel would appeal to anyone who is a fan of humorous fiction in general. The idea of the Clacks system borders on Steampunk, which might appeal to SF fans.

TV Tues - Suck Is Not a Number

The holidays are over, and new programming has come back with a vengeance. Tonight brings with it the return of new episodes of Gilmore Girls, Supernatural, The Shield, and (yes, I'm hooked now), Dirty Jobs, as well as two more eps of Scrubs.

And now, my thoughts on the week that was in TV land.


Surface/Medium: Thanks to a combination of hectic viewing schedules and the obsessive writing of Cabin, I found myself about, oh, 4 or 5 weeks behind on both of these shows; finally got caught up this last week. Surface has gone in some interesting directions; not sure I like all of them (especially the storyline with the kids), but it's not making me scream in frustration like Invasion has, so its still ahead of the game there. And Medium continues to impress me; I love the relationship between Joe and Allison, his mild skepticism (of a "I believe you're psychic, but are you sure this means what you think it means?" nature) helps ground the show considerably.

Scrubs: So very happy that NBC has finally put this back on the schedule. As usual, my favorite moments revolved around The Janitor, and the borderline-uncomfortable moments revolved around Elliot. I would also like to take this moment to applaud the blatant nepotism which led to series creator Bill Lawrence's real life wife becoming such an integral part of the cast; this role of Jordan showcase's Christa Miller's comic chops about a zillion times more than her old role as Kate on The Drew Carey Show. One of my favorite bits was Turk's sneaky feeding of birth-control pills to Carla; totally made me think of Zinger and Pooh.

Dirty Jobs: Two more clip shows watched, before the new eps start up tonight. I'm kind of glad that the "Dirtiest Tools and Machines" wasn't the first ep I saw; while it had some entertaining moments, I don't think that it would have pulled me in like the other two eps I'd watched had. I've even gladder that I had finished eating before attempting to watch the "Dirtiest Jobs" ep, which engaged my gag reflex multiple times. It's always fun to watch Mike Rowe totally stink up a job; one of my favorite moments in the tool episode was when Mike asked they guy training him on how to use the electromagnet to rate him on a scale of 1 to 10, and the guy told him "I don't think 'suck' registers on a scale of 1 to 10."

My Name Is Earl: Best ep since the beauty pageant. From the opening bumper with the rat in the machine, to the rotating slogans at the ranch, to Randy's bird fear, to Catelina's mildly disturbing memories of her days on the farm, this ep had me rolling. Oh, and kudos to the writers for introducing the successful character and not feeling the need to make him a total jerk or phony or the like.

Stargate: SG-1: My favorite part of this episode was the little comedy routine Daniel and Cameron did for the benefit of the Prior; I miss the Jack/Daniel dynamic, but the Cameron/Daniel dynamic has definitely improved. Of course, what I'm really looking forward to is the addition of Claudia Black as a full time cast-member next season; she's the best additions to the SG universe since Jonas Quinn.

Stargate: Atlantis: I doubt this series will ever entertain me as much as SG-1, but watching Rodney o.d. on the enzyme, kick butt, and then freak out was probably the highlight of my TV watching evening.

Battlestar Gallactica: I won't say much about this ep, since Flunky is without cable and unable to partake of the show until it comes out on DVD, but I will say this: another truly excellent episode of an excellent series, but man, do I hate cliffhangers.

Alien Nation Disc 1: A little bit of cheesiness here and there, but all in all I think the series holds up pretty well; the pilot is a tad heavy-handed, but what do you expect from a 1989 TV series created by the man responsible for the oh-so-subtle "Aliens=Nazis/Scientest=Jews" metaphor for V?

The Odds of Me Watching Most of These Are "Slim" and "None," and Yet, I Insist on Adding Them . . . I Have an Illness

Semi-regular "Added to my queue" post; nothing too exciting movie-wise, but there's a new season of one of my favorite sitcom's coming out soon. Which reminds me; it's not available to be put in the queue, but it is available for per-order on Amazon.com, so rush out and order your copy of Season 3 of Newsradio right now so we can be sure that they eventually release Season 4. Don't worry, I'll wait . . . you done? Good. Now, on to the queue.


Doll Graveyard: Horror movie that's being billed as a return to the glory days of Full Moon Entertainment; for those of you unfamiliar, Full Moon is a strictly direct-to-video horror film company which provided us with such classics as Puppet Master, Blood Dolls, Demonic Toys, and, one of my favorites, Shrunken Heads,, in which three gang members get killed and brought to life as flying shrunken heads. As you might gather from the title, this is another "killer toy" movie.

Cake: Romantic comedy that makes it onto the list because of the presence of Sandra Oh and Sarah Chalke; odds of me actually moving it high enough in the queue to actually watch it are slim, but you never know.

Titus Season 3: Return of one of the most entertaining dysfunctional families ever to grace the TV screen.

Fear of Clowns: Horror movie with killer clowns; how can you go wrong?

Tamara: Take on Carrie, only with an vengeful ghost instead of a timid telekinetic.

Come Early Morning: Writing/directing debut of Joey Lauren Adams who, refreshingly, does not also star; she leaves that honor to Ashley Judd.

The River King: Drama starring Ed Burns as a cop investigating the death of a boy at a private school.

Movie Mon. - One "Yes," One "No," One "Maybe"

Slow movie watching week, mainly because I just wasn't in the mood for any of the movies I had available to watch. Plus, I spent an inordinate amount of time sitting at my computer transcribing tapes from my holiday driving; kind of hard to watch a movie and listen to recordings of your own mindless ramblings at the same time.

But, that's neither here nor there. On to the reviews.


War of the Planets: Extremely low-budget SF film about a group of colonists on an alien world terrorized by the planet's native inhabitants. I don't remember where I read the positive review of this film that prompted me to put it in my queue; if I did, I would return to that site and drown it in a storm of trollish posts that would make John Byrne envious (I know only Fellow Book Monkey and Blogger will get that reference, but I'm okay with that). Where to begin with the film's shortcomings? I don't know if I even want to dignify it with that much time and effort; it's already sucked up more of my life than it should have.

My Date With Drew: Here's the premise; semi-loser Brian Herzlinger wins the jackpot on a game show thanks to a final question about his life-long crush, Drew Barrymore. Seeing it as a sign, he decides to use the winnings to help finance his quest to get a date with Drew, and document it all on film. The size of this windfall? $1100. Since he doesn't have a video camera, and buying one would make a sizable dent in his budget, he takes advantage of his friend's credit card (his credit being too horrible to do it himself) and Circuit City's generous return policy to obtain a video camera for 30 days, which then becomes the built-in deadline for his quest. I have to say, I was surprised at just how much I enjoyed this film; I didn't exactly have the "I laughed, I cried, I gave it a 5 minute standing ovation" reaction that they recorded on the special features about the journey of the film to the big screen, but I did laugh quite a bit. Herzlinger is sort of a goofball, but an entertaining one; at one point he complains after watching footage of himself that he was acting like a muppet, to which all of his friends reply "But that's you! You are a big muppet!" The harshest critics of the film blast it for lacking meaning, for spotlighting a talentless hack, for promoting a stalker, for buying into the idolatry of celebrities, to which I reply: get off your freaking high horse, ya snobs! Is this film going to help foster world peace or change the way people view cinema? Doubtful. But then again, it's a film about a dork trying to get a date with a movie-star; if you're expecting it to be more than that, you're a bigger fool than the guy who gave a positive review to War of the Planets; man, did that stink.

Wolf Creek: Australian horror film with that time honored hook "inspired by true events." Not your typical slasher film, which is probably why it has gotten such wildly differing reviews from horror fans. I saw a matinee, and was satisifed that I got my money's worth; might not have felt so if I'd paid full price, but we'll never know for sure, will we? One of my problems with the film is the first hour, which is agonizing, but only in its slowness; I had a flashback to Fellow Book Monkey and Blogger Bubblegum Tate's "There's an awful lot of driving in this picture" comment from when we saw John Carpenter's Vampire$; luckily, this film was nowhere near as crappy as that one. I have no problem with a horror film that takes time to set up characterization before unleashing the terror; some of my favorite horror films follow this formula (Jeepers Creepers and the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre come to mind). No, the problem I had with the first hour of "characterization" was that there was precious little of entertainment value to be found; there were flashes here and there, but all in all the first half of the film left me underwhelmed. It definitely picked up after they discovered that their car wouldn't start and the killer was introduced; defintiely not your typical psycho killer, which was nice. The movie then became an odd mix of characters doing the stereotypical stupid stuff that characters always do in horror movies, and eschewing the same. I don't want to go into too much detail here, lest I ruin any suspense; the only thing that made me really want to slap a character around was when one of the victims decided to use time better spent making her big escape to slowly go through the killer's memorbilia; yes, it gave us some exposition, but dang, did it make her seem like a moron. "Hmm, the crazy killer man could come back any second, I'd better hurry . . . oh, look, video cameras! Wonder what's on them?" Sheesh. Most of the other "logic holes" the film's more savage critics point to are easily explained away, I think, but that one just bugs me. To sum up: worth a matinee/rental if you don't mind horror films, but don't expect a non-stop thrill-ride.

Return of the Rambling, or " . . . and Knowing Is Half the Battle"

While I am not yet ready to make it available to anyone and everyone who could stumble across the blog, I have slowly started to distribute TOFKAP to various friends and family members; primarily those who (a) are the most likely to read that sort of genre anyway or (b) have been the most interested in/pestered me the most about TOFKAP. Oh, and for those of you wondering, the title of TOFKAP is In a Cabin in the Woods, which I will probably refer to as Cabin from here on out rather than TOFKAP. Until, y'know, I get struck by the urge to call it something else. Anyway, the whole process has been an interesting one on several levels, but now as I wait to hear feedback from the latest round of readers, I find myself pondering my reasons for writing in the first place.


First of all, I write primarily for myself; I also write because I have no choice. Ideas pop into my head and refuse to fully disperse until I see them through to their inevitable conclusion. Sometimes they can get submerged for a time, but they always come bobbing back up to the surface. Take for example the second and fourth stories in Cabin: some of the characters in them have been living in my head since I was in elementary school; the basic plot of the second story has remained mainly unchanged since Junior High; the first written draft was attempted on my ride back from a leadership conference in Breckenridge, CO my Senior year; the next draft was started about 8 years later, while I was waiting to do my interview for my first job at UNT; and now, it's finally complete. Sort of. But, more on that some other time. The important thing here is that most of this was just stuff that I did to entertain myself, composing it all in my head but rarely taking the time and energy to put it into print. Which, in retrospect, is a good thing; when I think back to the early "drafts" of these stories, I cringe.

So, yes, I write primarily for myself; and yet, at the same time, I almost always feel compelled to share my writing with others. Why is that? Is it a desire to entertain others? A search for validation? A masochistic streak? I can't say with any certainty, but I do know that for some reason, my compositions don't feel "real" to me until they've been shared with somebody else. This goes for anything I write, from fiction to movie/TV reviews to cathartic unloading of psychological baggage. Until I get confirmation that it's been experienced by another person, it's not truly complete. That's one of the reasons I started the blog, so I could have an easy venue for distributing my ramblings, one which, ideally, would encourage others to engage in some sort of give and take.

Now we get into the tricky part of the relationship between reader/writer; the giving and receiving of feedback. You have no idea how gratifying it was to find out that people were actually reading the blog; you see, no matter how much my writings amuse and entertain me, I have a hard time convincing myself that they'll do the same for others. So, to find out that others were not only reading my ramblings, but enjoying them, was surprising and fulfilling at the same time. Of course, knowing that it was a bit of a success just ramped up my fear of eventual failure since I now had a standard to maintain, but hey, if I didn't have something to obsess over I wouldn't be worthy of the name Cap'n Neurotic, now would I? Still, when it comes to blog-feedback, I tend not to obsess as much as I might on other things; I know Dr. G'ovich isn't a huge fan of my TV Tuesday posts, but I also know there are at least three regular readers who are, so it balances out. I do worry that the sporadic quality of my posting during the last couple of months due to distraction with Cabin might have alienated some of the blog monkeys, but really, there was nothing I could do about that; practically every waking moment not spent at work or church was consumed with working through the ins and outs of my experiment in writing. It was a strange feeling; after such a long time of writing primarily for myself, I found myself in a situation where I was also writing for others on a daily basis; but then I was suddenly thrust back into writing primarily for myself again, and the writing for others suffered for it. It shouldn't have bothered me so much; I doubt there's a single regular blog monkey who isn't a personal friend, co-worker, or family member, and I'm not getting any recompense for this outside of the warm fuzzies generated by knowing I'm providing a small bit of entertainment (or at the very least mild distraction) to others. But I felt like I'd entered into some sort of social contract, and by skimping on the blogging I was breaking that contract and letting people down. Yes, I have issues.

Back to the matter which got this rambling started: In a Cabin in the Woods. As you now know, it started out as a surprise Christmas gift for Flunky, which is one of the reasons I was so secretive about it on the blog. But as Cap'ns Cluck and Disaster can tell you, I was also secretive about it in real life as well. Why? Hard to say; I think in the beginning it was a fear that I wouldn't be able to pull it off like I wanted, that it would be derailed by writer's block or burnout or lack of talent or something else; by not disclosing the exact details I was protecting myself from dashing other's expectations. There was also a bit of "what if they think it sounds like a stupid idea?" working there. Honestly, for that first week or two, I wasn't sure if I was ever going to share the full details of what I was doing with more than a handful of people. But, as I dove into it more, and became more convinced that this was something that I was going to be able to pull off with some level of success, I started to broaden the circle of who knew about it. There was little rhyme or reason to why I shared with some people and not with others; I was working totally on gut instinct there. That was when I recruited my dad and Fellow Book Monkey and Blogger Bubblegum Tate into being test-readers; Wrath teh Berzerkr later volunteered himself as the third after I asked for his opinion on some of the names and terms I made up for the final story. Of course, my dad was the only one who read the whole thing and gave me much in the way of feedback before I sent Cabin to Clan Flunky.

From the instant I sent off the first portion of the first draft to anyone, I was on pins and needles waiting for feedback; it’s one thing to put up some random bit of rambling on the blog each day, but to try to create a world out of whole cloth, complete with fully realized characters and a plot that isn't filled with logical inconsistencies and holes you can drive a Mack truck through, well, that's a horse of a different color. That nervousness has doubled and trebled with each copy I've sent out; I both crave and dread feedback. What sort of response will constitute a happy ending for me? Will I be satisfied as long as the positive reactions outnumber the negative, even if only by one? Or will I let even a single negative reaction harsh my buzz? Should I give more weight to certain opinions over others? How should I take a complaint held by one person if nobody else echoes it? Most importantly, in the end, which is more important: satisfying myself, or satisfying the reader?

So far, I've received substantial feedback from three people, all positive, for the most part. I mean, I can't really complain about someone saying that they read all 117 pages in one night because it was such a compelling read, can I? Another of the reviewers was very straightforward about what she thought did and didn't work, which I appreciated; most of the cons she pointed out were things which had concerned me as I was writing, with maybe one point of criticism taking me by surprise. Still, at this point I think having three people who've enjoyed it overall counts as a moral victory of sorts. Of course, it’s easy to say that when I haven’t received any overwhelmingly negative feedback . . .

I realize that Cabin isn't going to be everyone's cup of tea, one of the pitfalls of a portmanteau* piece partaking of different styles and genres. After reading one story (which is very much of the horror genre), my mom proclaimed that she knew she should have made me read more Hardy Boys when I was younger instead of Stephen King. In a similar vein, Flunky Lover told me that she wasn't as thrilled with the horror-tinged stories as she was the others, since that's not something she typically enjoys. I think that's one of the things that's going to interest me the most; finding out which stories were enjoyed by which readers, and why.

I've been asked by a few people about what sort of feedback I'm looking for, to which I have replied, "I dunno." Before sending it off to Flunky I was mainly concerned with whether it all made sense to anyone besides myself; after Dad finished it all and said it made sense to him, that took care of that. So, what sort of feedback should you give me? Whatever you want to tell me, as long as it's truthful; not looking for false praise here. Just want to say you liked it? Fine. Want to shower me with praises? Double fine. Want to tell me that you didn't care for it, and here's exactly where I went wrong? I'm bracing myself even as we speak; honestly, as long as it's a bit more substantial than just saying "This stinks!” I'm game. Don’t want to say anything at all? That’s your prerogative; I really only want to hear back from you if you feel compelled to share. Okay, that's a lie: I always want to hear back from anyone who reads anything write (compulsive need for validation, don’tcha know), but if you don't want to, I promise I won't hold it against you. Much. As for how to share your thoughts, feel free to email, IM, phone, and/or ambush me face-to-face; I’ll strive to take both praise and criticism graciously.

Now, if you’re one of those who has not been selected to receive a copy of Cabin, but would like to subject yourself to a series of horror, SF, and fantasy stories penned by yours truly, then please, feel free to pester me, and I’ll see about maybe hooking you up.

All right, that went on a lot longer than I had planned, and veered into directions I hadn’t anticipated; Cap’n Rambling is back!



*portmanteau: term used to describe a work consisting of several shorter stories with a common linking device which often serves as a final full story in its own right; popular format for horror films, particularly the Amicus films of the 70s; Stephen King’s Creepshow, Creepshow 2 and Cat’s Eye are some more recent examples. Now you know . . .

I Should Save This For Movie Monday, But Just Had To Share Now

Last month I posted a review of The Chronicles of Narnia done by Howard "Schlock Mercenary" Tayler because I found it very insightful and informative; now I'm posting a link to his review of the new video-game based film Bloodrayne because it is scathingly funny as well as a reminder to all right thinking individuals to avoid giving any money to any Uwe Boll film at all costs. Have we learned nothing from the train wrecks that were House of the Dead and Alone in the Dark? Apparently not, because the man keeps making movies.

So, without further ado, please go read Howard Tayler's review of Bloodrayne

On the Origin of Monkey Fever

I realize that there has been a real dearth of Book Monkey related material here at CoIM, for which I apologize. Part of this is probably just because the Book Monkeys have been the least diligent checkers of the blog (Fellow Book Monkey and Blogger Bubblegum Tate notwithstanding), and so I don't feel as compelled to write about them; without their constant feedback, their stories aren't popping into my head as easily as those of the frequently commentating Parkerites and Singles are. Which is to bad, since in some waysthey're the ones most responsible for CoIM.


A few weeks ago after the All-Singles Christmas party, a few of us went to Starbucks to hang out. Cap'ns Cluck and Disaster were trying to convince The Nickless One that she should try out CoIM. While attempting to explain the Cast List, one of them made a comment that they still weren't sure where the name "Book Monkeys" came from. This made me realize that I probably didn't give a clear enough explanation of where exactly the whole monkey thing started in the first place; it all rests squarely on the shoulders of Rebel Monkey and Bunny.

Now, between the two, Rebel Monkey is the major monkey maniac. However, I most closely associate the group name with Bunny; I can remember her going off on a tangent one day, saying that we staff members treated the students like they were trained monkeys, sending them out to fetch books from the shelves. "Go, book monkeys, scale the shelves!" Pretty entertaining little speech, and it stuck with me. But this was not the only monkeyshines going on in ILS. The walls of the office were decorated with all sorts of random things that the students had created; one that couldn't help but catch the eye was a copy of a magazine cover featuring the Spice Girls, whose heads had all been replaced by pictures of monkeys, with the words "Spice Monkeys" spelled out above them.

Over the years, the monkey has remained a large part of Rebel Monkey's life; when she set up a message board for some of us, she went through several names for it, one of which was "Island of the Book Monkeys." It was while we were frequenting this board that Rebel Monkey gave me fiction writing challenge to me, wherein I would have to turn a series of random words into a comic book. I decided I would do the challenge in the form of a comic book solicitation, and created a comic book company name which I thought would fit well with the whole Book Monkeys idea: Infinite Monkeys Press. I even created a logo and posted it.

When it came time for me to create a web page for my Website Development class, I decided to have fun with it and devote it to IMP; after sending the finished project out to many people, I started getting all sorts of monkey stuff (for my 30th b-day my co-workers decorated my cubicle with 30 monkey cut-outs, bananas, and various monkey-related quotes). When I decided to start a blog, it only seemed fitting to continue the monkey theme, which insured that I would get even more monkeys given to me over the following months; I've gotten at least 5 for graduation gifts alone (more if you want to count each monkey in my Barrel of Monkeys individually).

So, now, here I am, endlessly inundated with monkeys, when it's really Rebel Monkey with the monkey fixation. Which is fine; there are worse things I could be receiving, I suppose.

Rules of Engagement

I decided I might as well post my long and rambling T.A.G. instructions in the feeble chance that they might actually amuse someone other than myself. I know it's a long-shot, but I'm willing to take that chance

OFFICE ASSASSINS
RULES AND REGULATIONS
(VERBOSE VERSION)

To most people, ILS stands for Inter-Library Services. We, of course, know better. As employees of the International League of Super-assassins, we have pledged our lives to being the best there is at what we do...namely, knocking people off. However, while the head office is proud to have such a highly competent group of blood thirsty killers working for them, there comes a time in all evil organizations when the concept of downsizing has to come into play. In an attempt to be fair to our employees, as well as to insure that we only downsize the weak links in our chain (thinning out the herd, as Mr. Kelly would have it) we have decided to hold a contest. Each one of our highly talented, and vicious, assassins will be assigned a special target---another assassin. HQ will monitor the progress of this contest closely, with their top administrative aide Todd Enoch (Code Name: Black Bolt) overseeing the spectacle of doom. The basics of the contest are simple. Keep killing till you can’t kill no more. However, knowing how overzealous some of our agents can be (yes, we’re talking to you, Ms. Fenton), we have taken the precaution of outlining some restrictions to the contest, to make it more entertaining for those of us watching from above, as it were. So, read on if you dare, and prepare to enter the ILS CIRCLE OF DEATH!

MATTERS OF LIFE AND DEATH

The contest is set up in a circular pattern, with the targets assigned randomly to each assassin, regardless of affiliation outside of the contests. Remember, trust no one, not even your roommate. The circle operates like this. Person A is assigned Person B, Person B is assigned Person C, and so on until we reach Person Z, who is, of course, assigned Person A. When Person A slays Person B, Person A acquires Person C as a new target. Simple enough, right? You wish.

GROUND RULES

1) Death must be caused by a hand held weapon of some sort, whether it be knife, gun, or battle-axe, it really doesn’t matter. However, no makeshift weapons. No matter how cool it might seem to be able to fashion a deadly object out of a rolled up newspaper and some gum, this isn’t a tryout for a MacGyver revival. Also, no booby traps, or attempted poisonings. We want some good, old fashioned violence done here, people, so make us proud.

2) You may only attack your assigned target. Any attempts on someone who is not your target will not only blow your cover (very bad for an assassin’s professional image), it will also result in serious repercussions. However, if your initial attack fails, your target is now free to hunt you. If, as a target, you are able to turn the tables on the assassin, you must immediately inform the Circle of Death Overseer, Mr. Enoch (Code Name: Darkseid), so he may advise your assassin’s assassin that he (or she, to be PC) is now your assassin. Any attempts to delay this report in order to buy yourself some time will result in grave penalties. Plus, don’t be too sure that dead men (yes, and women) can’t tell tales.

3) While dead people might be able to tell tales, they really shouldn’t. Anyone slain in this contest who is subsequently found speaking about the circumstances of his or her death will be regarded as one of the Undead, and will be immediately staked, beheaded, and buried at a crossroads, probably at the corner of University and Duck, just for the fun of it. That clear?

4) After you have iced your target, you will immediately be eligible to hunt down their target like a dog. In order to promote the smooth flow of information, which is the hallmark of ILS, you should inform Mr. Enoch (Code Name: Blackheart) of your success within a reasonable amount of time.

5) In keeping with the wonderful world of bureaucracy we have all come to know and love here in ILS, the Circle of Death shall be judged on a numerical basis. Every target you eliminate will be worth one point. If you are able to turn the tables on your assassin, you will be awarded two points. The last person standing will receive a bonus “glad to see you’re still kicking it” 3 points. No points will be deducted for dying, since we feel that deducting your life is harsh enough.

6) In case of a messy, double kill, or possible mis-reported death, Mr. Enoch (Code Name: Music Man) will be called in to make a ruling. His ruling is not necessarily final. If, for some obscure reason which we can’t possibly begin to conceive, you mistakenly think Mr. Enoch (Code Name: Electric Toad) has made an error in judgment, you can ask for an appeal. Your case will be stated in front of a tribunal of randomly chosen surviving contestants. If there are not enough survivors to form a tribunal, we shall randomly select members from a group which closely resembles deceased players, but which couldn’t possibly be the deceased players, since they are, after all, deceased. The decision of this tribunal, once it is finally formed, is final. Of course, since Mr. Enoch (Code Name: Anarky) couldn’t possibly make a faulty decision, this last part is entirely moot, right?

7) To paraphrase a tastelessly worded philosophy, “Here in ILS we don’t pee in our own pool.” In other words, the Library is off limits, 24-7. Any attempted assassinations in Edmon Low proper will result in activation of the remote controlled poison capsules we implanted in your brains when you first started here. You are under the protection of Big Brother for fifteen minutes before your work shift and ten minutes following your shift, to allow for safe passage to and from work. We want you to have to sweat a little to get your target, after all. Other than that, there are no common safe zones. If, for some reason, you wish to socialize with your potential murderers, you may form a peace pact with them. However, do not expect them to follow it. Only pacts signed in front of Mr. Enoch (Code Name: Big Head) can be even partially enforceable, and then only if he feels like it.

8) Outside of peace pacts, there is to be no conspiring with other assassins in order to lure in targets. Not only is it stupid (how do you know they’re not YOUR assassin?), it’s just not nice. And you know, when you think assassins, you think “What a bunch of nice guys and gals.” Along the same lines, there is to be no pumping of dead players for information. If you are caught interrogating a dead player, it will be assumed you are a necromancer, and you will be burned at the stake.

9) While other players are off limits, outsiders are prime sources of information and/or subterfuge. The only stipulation is that the outsider is not allowed to physically detain or attack your target. They can tattle, they can distract, they can sing the entire score of The Ring of the Nieblung for all we care, but if they attempt to make any sort of overt action towards your target, you will be “removed” from the playing field. I think we all know what that means.

10) The contests will last for three weeks. That should be more than enough time for all of you Machiavellian masters of murder to mutilate your many targets. If not, well tough, the games over anyway. Points will be added up at this time to determine the winner. If there is more than one survivor, no bonus points will be given. What, you may ask, if the person with the most points is dead? Well, while we hate to encourage such non-productive activities as dying, we do need to recognize the fact that the deceased did manage to score more points than the living. In this case, we’ll just take a tissue sample down to the Copy Center and whip us up a Super-assassin Circle of Death Champion clone. Regardless, the person with the most points will receive the grand prize, consisting of money taken from all of his or her vanquished foes. Ah, how sweet it is.

The game will start on Monday, October 19th at High Noon. The list of targets will be available 24 hours prior to that. Mr. Enoch (Code Name: Puppet Master) will be available at work on the 18th from 1 to 9 to provide you with target information. While Mr. Enoch (Code Name: Dewey Decimator) will be available to answer your question at almost any time, please keep in mind that a sleep deprived Mr. Enoch (Code Name: Network) is not necessarily a happy Mr. Enoch (Code Name: Grumpy).

LET THE GAMES BEGIN!

MR. ENOCH (CODE NAME: SKELETOR)’S CONTACT NUMBERS

555-4352(Home, leave a message if you can without jeopardizing your cover)
555-5411(Work, trust no one but Mr. Enoch (Code Name: Chronos), and even then be leery. Some of your co-workers may be masters of disguising their voices.)
555-3795(Mr. Enoch (Code Name: Ambush Bug)’s Friday Night Poker Game. Call here and make him look important in front of his non-assassin friends.)

Who Knew?

Thanks to an off-hand comment by Peter David on his blog, I just found out that the infamous "Uma/Oprah" bit from the Oscars many years ago was actually a riff on an old New Yorker article, a fact that I had never heard mentioned before; I suppose people were too busy focusing on the "Oprah hates Dave!" drama.

Anyway, click here, scroll down to the bottom, and click on the "listen" link for "Yma Dream" to hear Christine Baranski's rendition of the original article.

Beware the Killer Book Monkeys!

Yesterday I promised that I'd talk about my experiences with T.A.G and the Book Monkeys; never let it be said that I don't keep my promises!


During the fall of my first year working at the OSU Library, my tales of the Parker T.A.G. adventures inspired several students and staff members to give it a whirl. Now, while I enjoyed T.A.G. in theory, and had really enjoyed being able to "kill" Bubbles like I had, in practice the game really wasn't for me; all of the planning, and stalking, and being sneaky . . . I suck at sneaky, I really do. Believe me, trying to be sneaky about TOFKAP for so long just about killed me. I agreed to become the co-coordinator of the game so I could keep a hand in it without having to worry about playing myself. We did require a small entry fee, so that the big winner would get a cash prize.

When it came time to write up the rules and make the sign-up sheet I, being possessed by one of my then-infrequent bursts of rambling creativity, decided that everyone needed code names and Modus Operandi, and then typed up an incredibly long and detailed and over-the-top set of instructions, as well as a slightly more straight-forward version for those who didn't want to scan the ramblings. Some of the participants really got into the code names and M.O.s, while others didn't forcing me to come up with something for them. The contestants were:

1) Code Name: The Rose [not to be confused with Rose Hips the Enforcer]
MO: A talented Tarot reader, The Rose forecasts doom upon all who cross her path. Beware the black magic woman’s thorns, for they are bad mojo.

2)Code Name: Hot Pants [a.k.a. Kokkamama]
MO: This overly aggressive assassin often utilizes her trained pit bull to “detain” targets, while she administers the killing touch personally with her titanium "baseball bat.”

3) Code Name: Wonder Woman [a.k.a. The Mag
MO: Trained in the deadliest of the martial arts, this modern day Amazon combines a devastating battle cry with her enhanced feminine wiles to wreak havoc on her foes.

4) Code Name: Stealth
MO: Don’t be fooled by her sunny exterior. She’s only thinking of the many ways to take your life like a thief in the night. You won’t see her coming.

5) Code Name: Diva
MO: Lurking beneath a facade of quiet grace lies a personality so powerful that it could destroy whole city blocks if she let it run unchecked. Beware, for Diva always gets what she wants.

6) Code Name: The Shadow
MO: Death will come swiftly to those who might oppose! His dogs are rabid, and his family cannot be trusted.

7) Code Name: Rocket, the Flying Squirrel [not to be confused with Rocket G'ovich]
MO: A wild card in the deck, this operative from MMR (Murderous Minions of Ragnarok) has infiltrated ILS to even up the score with her old sparring partner, The Shadow. Not much is known of her methods, so be wary.

8) Code Name: Black Lotus 007 [a.k.a. Bunny]
MO: Luring, magnetic, deadly! Once you catch this real-life Bond girl’s sweet essence and beautiful appearance it’s too late...

9) Code Name: Raptor
MO: Master of all things aeronautic. Beware death from above.

10) Code Name: La Asesina [a.k.a. Rebel Monkey]
MO: This Latin beauty precedes all of her murderous actions with a declaration of her trademark phrase, “Tu culo es mia!”

11) Code Name: Fred dog
MO: No stranger to death and destruction, Fred dog relies on her native cunning and ruthlessness to bring ruination upon her targets.

12) Code Name: Ninja Chick
MO: The one with the mad skills, Ninja Chick lives by the motto “Don’t make me get military on your ass”.

13) Code Name: ibn al-Xuffasch (Son of the Bat) [a.k.a. Fellow Book Monkey and Blogger Bubblegum Tate]
MO: Stalking his prey with class and style, serving operatives up with a martini of violence (shaken, not stirred) this captain of debauchery deals death with his trusty, modified Walther PPK.

14) Code Name: Spy Chickidooda [a.k.a. Strengthy Girl]
MO: The latest addition to ILS, Spy Chickidooda remains a relative unknown. Don’t trust her protestations of inexperience, they are only designed to put you off guard.

15) Code Name: Shotgirl
MO: Mistress of the flaming tequila shot, Shotgirl’s veins are proof against the strongest poisons known to man.

Insidious Evil declined to play the game, but did let it be known to one and all that she was more than willing to lend out her nefarious mind . . . for a price.

Now, if anyone out there is thinking about setting up or taking part in a game of T.A.G., let me caution you: if you're going to be playing with someone you room with, make sure that you're on really, really good terms with said roomie. Otherwise, there could be some crap that pops up and causes friction in your household; if you doubt me, ask Rebel Monkey, although the fact that she doesn't even like to speak the name of the roomie in question, I doubt you'll get much out of her. Suffice it to say that, before the whole thing was over, both Rebel Monkey and her roomie had withdrawn from the game voluntarily.

Now, while the Library itself was a safe zone, we did not have any sort of buffer zone outside like at Parker; once you left those doors, you were fair game. I have fond memories of watching Fellow Book Monkey and Blogger Bubblegum Tate shooting out of the front doors and racing across down the sidewalk full tilt, weapon at the ready. This was during the time when some of us would get together to watch certain TV shows at Tate's place; I remember him double and triple checking that I was by myself before opening his front door, plastic gun in hand.

After a week or so, the contestants were whittled down to two: Tate and Fred-dog. I think most people's money was on Tate, due to his vigilance if nothing else, but in the end, it all came down to luck; both surviving assassins happened to have a class in the same building at the same time without realizing it. On this fateful day, their paths crossed while moving through the mass of students traveling down the halls and, as luck would have it, her weapon was handy while his was not. He saw her, started to dig in his backpack for his gun, realized it was futile, and threw his hands up in the air, telling her to go ahead and shoot. And thus ended the last game of T.A.G. I was involved with.

Later, another student would hear of our tales of T.A.G. and would pester me endlessly to start it up again, but after the drama of Rebel Monkey and her roomie, I was a bit gun shy. After I moved to Denton, The Mag would start it up again with some variations, such as allowing booby traps and bombs and the like. Sounds needlessly complicated, and exceedingly entertaining; kind of sorry I wasn't around to see it.

TAG, You're Dead!

The transcribing of the holiday tapes has finally commenced. First up: playing T.A.G. with the Parkerites.


Early in my Freshman year of college, somebody in Parker decided to organize a game of T.A.G.: The Assassin Game. If you're not familiar with the game, it goes like this (or, at least, our version went like this); the organizer of the game takes the names of all of the players and creates a circular structure of targets. Person A has Person B for a target, Person B has Person C, and so on and so forth until finally Person Z has Person A. The objective of the game: to "kill" as many targets as possible without getting "killed" yourself; once you "killed" your target, you took over their target as your next hit. You could only "kill" your target or your assassin, and you could only "kill" your assassin if they drew on you first.

And how did you "kill" someone? With little plastic weapons. Once the game was underway, you suddenly saw everyone walking around with water guns, dart guns, disc guns, plastic knifes, etc. Basically, if you tagged them before they could tag you, they were dead. The whole building was a safe zone, as was a small section of sidewalk outside the building as a concession to the smokers in the dorm, who would have had a fit if they couldn't get their nicotine fix without some degree of safety.

I remember playing at least twice that first semester. The first time, everyone was talking about who their targets were, and who had killed them, and so on, so that by the end of the first day, a group of us had already figured out the entire circle of doom; needless to say, that first round was over really quickly. For the next round, such jabbering was verboten.

I never was all that great at the game; the whole stalking your target thing just wasn't my forte. I was pretty pleased during that first game when one of the targets I managed to whack had my roommate as his target; I mean, who doesn't long for a chance to bump off their roomie at one point or another? Of course, since this was the first game, he knew that I was after him, which made things a bit tricky. We had been joking around about it, with me following him around, him acting like he was going to leave and then veering back inside at the last minute, goofy stuff like that. At one point he was standing outside in the safe zone, talking with some of the smokers; I went over to another player and asked if I could borrow his retractable plastic knife, stuck it in my front pocket, and headed outside. He saw me coming and made sure that he was inside the safety zone, which extended to the end of the first big block of concrete in the sidewalk; once you were past that first crack, you were fair game. He did the usual goofing around, acting like he was going to leave the safe zone, while I protested that I didn't even have my gun on me. It was around this time that one of the R.A.s who was out there pulled out a bottle of bubbles and started blowing them. My roomie started following them around, acting like he was mesmerized, saying "Ooooooo, bubbles," and the like. So intent was he on his goofy charade that he followed the bubbles right out of the safety zone; I hopped out, "stabbed" him, and hopped back in: victory was mine! And now you know where he got the nickname Bubbles from.

My victory was short-lived; it wasn't long before I met my own demise during a function at the BSU. Not sure who it was that ratted me out to my assassin, but there I was, sitting in the floor of the worship hall, doing some stupid ice-breaker, when suddenly I saw a fellow third-floor Parker resident coming down the stairs, disc gun blazing; due to my cross-legged seated position I was unable to extricate my own gun in time, and was thus slain, much to the confusion of pretty much every other person at the BSU.

My death in the second game was all due to Coronela, who wasn't playing this time around, due to her becoming a bit too high-strung the first time around due to the machinations of a certain Eeeeeeeeevil individual; I swear, at one point when he popped up in front of her outside the dorm she screamed loud enough to set off car alarms outside. Anyway, I was heading to the BSU for something and she asked if she could walk with me, since she was heading to something in the same direction. So, we made our way across campus, and crossed the street to the BSU. I started to head to the back entrance which I almost always used, but she turned towards the front, so I followed her. We both walked up to the front door, at which point good ol' Bubbles jumped out from behind the bushes and gunned me down. Yup, Coronela and Bubbles were co-conspirators in my execution. It didn't bother me so much that she had betrayed me; if only it hadn't been to him. I mean, I lost all bragging rights for knocking him out of the first game. But, at least I wasn't distracted by bubbles; that's something, anyway.

I honestly have no idea who won either one of those first two games; we played again the next year, but my heart wasn't really in it, and I got eliminated pretty quickly. And that would be the end of my T.A.G. playing days; it wouldn't, however be my last association with the game. No, that would come about four years later during my time among the Book Monkeys, which I'll talk about tomorrow.

Rhymes With Fiction

Today marks the grand opening of Fellow Book Monkey and Blogger Bubblegum Tate's latest endeavour, a weekly fiction blog entitled Pulp Diction! The first entry is a James Bond meets Nick Fury, Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. meets Tate's twisted mind sort of thing. If you long for the days of Doc Savage and The Shadow and the Silver Age of comics (or are just looking for yet another way to kill time), you should check it out.

Written Word Wed. - What? The Movie's Different From the Book? That's Crazy Talk!

Well, I was going to talk about Robin Hobb's Farseer Trilogy, but my head is killing me, so an in-depth review will have to wait 'til later; for now, suffice it to say that I devoured all three of them, and made a special trip to Barnes & Noble as soon as I got back to Denton so I could use the gift-card my co-workers gave me for graduation so I could pick up the semi-sequel trilogy The Liveship Traders. So, instead of a brand new review, I'll leave you with another of my left-over reviews from my Genre Fiction class. This week's entry was my Thriller selection, The Bourne Identity


Ludlum, Robert. The Bourne Identity. New York: Richard Marek Publishers, 1980. ISBN: 0-399-90070-5

The Bourne Identity follows the adventures of an amnesiac man who is found drifting, half-dead, in the Mediterranean Sea. After being nursed back to health by a local doctor, the man follows the only clue he has to his true identity, which leads him to a Swiss bank account, and a name: Jason Bourne. But his quest to rediscover his past soon results in several attempts on his life. Bourne kidnaps a Canadian government worker, Dr. Marie St. Jacques, to help him escape from one such attempt. Although initially terrified of Bourne, Marie soon discovers that Bourne’s actions are born out of desperation and confusion, and after he risks his own life to save hers, she becomes determined to help him get to the bottom of the mystery that is his life. However, the closer they get to the truth, the more Bourne pushes her away, as all the clues seem to point to one conclusion: Bourne is really the ruthless international assassin known as Cain. Marie refuses to believe that the man she has begun to fall in love with could be the conscienceless killer known as Cain, and the two struggle to sift through all the lies and deceptions surrounding Bourne’s history while also avoiding the forces of Cain’s rival, the assassin known as Carlos, as well as U.S. government agents who are hunting Bourne for reasons of their own . . . reasons that hold the key to unlocking Bourne’s past.

The Bourne Identity is an example of as Espionage Thriller. Bourne is constantly struggling with the question of who he can trust and, thanks to his amnesia, that question even applies to himself to some degree. As his memories start to gradually resurface, Bourne begins to reacquire the specialized skills of a spy, and since the book is viewed primarily through his eyes, as he rediscovers these skills so does the reader, thus fulfilling the Thriller’s dependence on exploring the minutiae of a given profession or field. The question of Bourne’s identity serves as the puzzle to be solved, and the conflict with international assassins and government agencies gives the story a larger scope. Bourne is isolated from help through his ignorance of his true past, but through his struggles and the help of Marie (the veritable romantic interest/sidekick) he is eventually able to reinvent himself and begin to find peace. Ludlum increases the tension by occasionally switching the point of view of the narration, allowing the reader to learn things about Bourne’s past that he himself is unaware of.

Overall, I enjoyed The Bourne Identity. I think it could quite easily be described as a “page-turner,” especially towards the later half of the book when the reader has all the information about Bourne’s situation, but every other character is working under some sort of false assumption. Although, this did lead to some annoyance on my part when one of the US agents allows his assumptions to override all common sense and completely ignore Bourne’s claims of amnesia without considering them at all. I also felt that the expository sections of the novel were often constructed in a clunky fashion, with the dialogue coming across as forced and unnatural. I also felt that the relationship between Bourne and Marie was a tad unrealistic, with her placing such enormous trust in a man who, only days before had kidnapped her and killed several men in front of her. Their relationship felt more like an excuse to give Bourne someone to rely on, rather than a natural outgrowth of the characters themselves.

I would definitely recommend The Bourne Identity to a fan of Thrillers. There is a fair amount of violence in the book, but nothing too terribly graphic. The book might also appeal to mystery fans, as Bourne puzzles through the various clues to his true identity. While it felt a little off to me, the relationship of Bourne and Marie could conceivably make this book of interest to Romance fans looking to branch out to other genres, since it is Marie’s love and trust in Bourne’ inherent goodness that pushes them dig past the initial conclusions of his assassin past.

TV Tues - TV Wasteland

Not a whole lot going on in terms of new programs last week, so not a lot to report. I did get to watch a lot of Wheel of Fortune, Clean Sweep, and Magnum, P.I. while I was at my folks' place. Things pick up this week, with the return (finally!) of Scrubs tonight, as well as new eps of Earl and The Office on Thursday and Stargate and Battlestar Galactica on Friday.

So now, my scanty reviews:

Arrested Develoment: Loved last night's ep and its many, many inside jokes about the show's problems, from the veiled shots at Fox to the narration begging the audience to tell all their friends about the show.

Dirty Jobs: Still not on my "can't miss!' list, but this second clip show (this time focusing on "Dirty Water Jobs") definitely helps it inch closer.

Gargoyles Season 2 Disc 2: It's always nice to watch an old show that I used to love and find that it still holds up. This disc contains the four-part "City of Stone" which explores the history of Macbeth; fans of the Scottish play might be a bit disapointed at how this history deviates from the play, but those familiar with the history of the real-life Macbeth will appreciate its (relative) historicity.

Movie Mon.- The Hop-Clop Goes On

Got lots o' movies watched over the last week, two of which I'm going to save for a separate post since my thoughts on them require not only some pretty big spoilers, but also some ramblings. I'll summarize thusly: Cry_Wolf, possibly worth your time; November, not so much. But, more on that later. For now, enjoy the following nine pellet reviews, including one which will probably insure that I get a few interesting Google hits.


The Producers: Entertaining film version of the hit Broadway musical, which was in turn based on an early Mel Brooks movie. I do agree with those who have been critical of the direction; there were several scenes which suffered from the static set-up. I also had a bit of trouble dealing with Matthew Broderick's early "melt-down" scene, which felt too much like he was trying to channel Gene Wilder, and not doing a very good job of it. But, from the instant Will Ferrell came on screen as the crazy German playwright, the movie started to click, and it was a fun ride from then on. Be sure to stick around through the end credits to hear his love-balladization of "Der Guten Tag Hop-Clop," entitled "The Hop-Clop Goes On," which ends with his pimping of "Mein Kampf"

Devil's Rejects: I hadn't planned on watching these semi-prequel to Rob Zombie's House of 1,000 Corpses, since in my mind that movie was pretty much a festering pile of manure, but when I was at the video store looking for stuff that my dad and I might enjoy watching when mom wasn't around, I noticed this one and the big "Two Thumbs Up!" label on the box. Curious about just how Rob Zombie was able to bamboozle Ebert and Roeper, I went ahead and got it. Gotta say, about a zillion percent improvement over Corpses in terms of style, pacing, writing, etc. However, this is a brutal movie; the scenes with the crazed killers tormenting the musicians at the hotel made me pretty uncomfortable a few times. Lots of dark gallows humor here, lots of blood, lots of profanity.

Must Love Dogs: Pretty enjoyable romantic comedy starring Diane Lane and John Cusack. I think my favorite thing about the movie was the relationship between Lane and her family, especially her sister played by Elizabeth Perkins; their sense of humor when dealing with each other added a nice dimension to the film. My biggest complaint is that, honestly, I felt no chemistry between Land and Cusack at all; their romance didn't ring true to me one bit. So, if that's the sort of thing that you base your enjoyment on, then you might be out of luck here, although I'm sure others would disagree with me. Despite my not buying into their relationship, the quality of the writing kept me engaged.

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead: "Audiences know what they expect and that is all they are prepared to believe in." So says the Player King in this odd bit of cinema, and truer words have rarely been spoken, sadly enough. Not a new movie to me, but one that I hadn't seen since college. A very strange movie focusing on the titular characters, both of whom were taken from Shakespeare's Hamlet. In fact, the film re-enacts all of the duo's scenes from that play, as well as having them overhear several others; a familiarity with the play would undoubtedly aid the enjoyment of the film. But this is not a movie that hinges on plot; no, it hinges on dialogue and character. Tim Roth plays the forceful Guildenstern while Gary Oldman plays the naive yet inventive Rosencrantz . . . or is that the other way around? Not even they are sure which is which for most of the film. If you want a film that is all about linear storytelling, give this a miss; however, if you don't mind something a little off-beat with some really entertaining uses of language (the scene where the two play a game of "Question" is one of my favorite scenes), this might be a nice diversion. I think the movie's worth watching just to see Gary Oldman play a good-natured, slightly goofy character, as opposed to the usual psychos and crazies, if nothing else.

Creep: British horror movie staring Franka Potente of Run Lola Run fame as a party girl who gets trapped in the London subway system at night and is stalked by a psycho killer that turns out to be a little bit more (or is that less?) than human. Pretty enjoyable little slasher film; the Creep was an interesting character with enough quirks to set him apart from the generic slasher. And man, was the operation scene creepy; dad and I were both squirming in our seats for that part. Biggest problem with the film is that it featured a few too many of those "Oh, I hit the killer with a blunt object, knocking him down, but instead of taking advantage of the situation to make sure he stays down, I'm going to drop the weapon and run away" moments; those drive me crazy.

Bad News Bears: One of the less enjoyable remakes I've seen recently. Not necessarily a bad film, but as my mom said while watching it, it often felt like they were trying too hard. Some of the changes worked well (such as having the litigation happy parent be a high-power businesswoman), others less so (the inclusion of the paraplegic kid was ludicrous).

The Exorcism of Emily Rose: A movie that definitely suffered at the theater due to mixed messages; it was billed as a horror movie, when it's really more of a courtroom drama with horror trappings. All in all, a well-done movie with some good performances all around.

Dark Water: Remake of the Japanese horror film Honogurai mizu no soko kara. I liked the original okay, but wasn't too impressed with the Americanized version, which is kind of the opposite of my usual reactions; thought The Grudge was much creepier than Ju-on, and liked The Ring a bit more than I did Ringu. But in this case, the film just did not translate well at all.

The Curse of Debbie Does Dallas: No, this was not porn; yes, it was a movie about porn. Specifically, this was a documentary about the history of the ubiquitous Debbie Does Dallas, focusing on what exactly it was about the film that made it such a cultural phenomenon. One of the most interesting things about the doc was that all of the men who were in the original film agreed to be in the documentary, while all but one of the women refused, and the one who did agree only did so on the condition that her interview not last longer than fifteen minutes. Was also entertained by the stories of the mob connections which helped the film to flourish. One thing that struck me was how they kept hitting on the fact that almost all of the cast were people who were trying to make it as legitimate actors, and who thought that a role in a porno would actually be a good stepping-stone, or at the least not be a detriment to their careers; in just about every case the film was either the last thing they ever did, or was just the first step in their burgeoning pornstar lives. I realize that the porn industry in America was in its infancy at the time, but come on, did they really think that something like that would possibly help them make it big in Hollywood? I can only think of a handful of actors who were able to make the transition from porn to legitimate acting; of course, none of them had the misfortune of landing a role in the most famous porno of all time.

And with that, I'll now just sit back and wait for all of the "porno" and "Debbie Does Dallas" hits . . .

Joss Has No Shame, and We Love Him For That.

Fun with the mastermind behind Buffy, Angel, and Firefly/Serenity.

Although Really, He Should Have Pointed Her to Interlibrary Loan . . .

A comic strip librarian who champions comic books, Serenity, and Connie Willis. it's official now: Dewey is my hero.